The Cinder Pond Part 7

Jeanne had often wondered how soft, plump Mollie _could_ be comfortable with strands of red hair straggling about her face, with her fat neck exposed to the weather, her uncorseted figure billowing under her shapeless wrapper, her feet scuffling about in shoes several times too large. Even when dressed for the street, she was not much neater. But that was Mollie. Gentle as she was and thoroughly sweet-tempered, it was as impossible to stir her to action as it was to upset her serenity. As for wrath, Mollie simply hadn't any.

"You could burn the house down," declared Mrs. Shannon, "an' Mollie'd crawl into the Cinder Pond an' set there an' _sleep_. Her paw died just because he was too lazy to stay alive, and she's just like him--red hair and all. If it was _red_ red hair, there'd be some get up and go to them Shannons; but it _ain't_. It's just _carrot_ red, with yaller streaks."

"When Annie's hair has just been washed," championed Jeanne, after one of Mrs. Shannon's outbursts against the family's red-gold locks, "it's lovely. And if Sammy ever had a lazy hair in _his_ head, I guess Michael pulled it out that time they had a _fight_ about the fish-pole."

"Where's Sammy now?" asked his grandmother, suspiciously. "'Tain't safe to leave him alone a minute. He's always pryin' into things."

"He and Michael are trying to pull a board off the dock for firewood."

That was one convenient thing about the wharf. You could live on it and use it for firewood, too, provided you were careful not to take portions on which one needed to walk. To anyone but the long-practiced Duvals, however, most of the dock presented a most uninviting surface--a dangerous one, in fact. If you stepped on the end of a plank, it was quite apt to go down like a trap-door, dropping you into the lake below.

If you stepped in the middle, just as likely as not your foot would go through the decayed board. But only the long portion running east and west was really dangerous. The section between the Duvals and dry land, owing to the acc.u.mulation of cinders and soil, bound together with roots of growing plants, was fairly safe.

"Of course," said Jeanne, who sometimes wished for Patsy's sake that there were fewer holes in the wharf, "if it were a _good_ dock, we wouldn't be allowed to live on it. And if people _could_ walk on it, people _would_; and that would spoil it for us. As it is, it's just the loveliest spot in the whole world."

CHAPTER VII

A MATTER OF COATS

Mrs. Shannon had been right about Mr. Duval. He _was_ saving money.

Also, it was for Jeanne; or, at least, for a purpose that closely concerned that little maiden.

What Mrs. Shannon had not guessed was the fact that Old Captain and Mr.

Duval had discovered--or, rather, had been discovered by--two places willing to pay good prices for their excellent whitefish and trout. The _chef_ of a certain hotel noted for planked whitefish gave a standing order for fish of a certain size. And a certain dining-car steward, having once tasted that delicious planked fish, discovered where it was to be obtained in a raw state and, thereafter, twice a week, ordered a supply for his car.

The townspeople, moreover, liked to buy fish from Old Captain's queer shop in the end of his freight car. The third partner, Barney Turcott, whose old sailboat had been equipped with a gasoline motor, had been fortunate in his catches. Altogether, the season was proving a satisfactory one.

Sometimes Duval looked at his bankbook and sighed. He had vowed to save the money because it was _right_ to save it for the unhappy purpose for which he wanted it. But when he should have enough! Duval could not bear to think of that moment. It meant a tremendous sacrifice--a horrible wrench. Yet every penny, except what was actually needed for food, went into the bank. And the fund was growing almost _too_ rapidly for Duval's comfort.

One evening, when Jeanne stepped over the high threshold of her father's little room for her lesson--no matter how tired the fisherman might be, the daily lesson was never omitted--she found Mr. Duval kneeling beside the little old trunk. It was open and the tray had been lifted out. From the depths below, her father had taken a number of fine white shirts--what Old Captain called "b'iled shirts." A pair of shoes that could have been made for no other feet than Leon Duval's--they were so small, so trim, and yet so masculine--stood on the table. Beside them were two pairs of neatly-rolled socks--of finest silk, had Jeanne but known it. Still in the trunk were several neckties, a suit of fine underwear, also a suit of men's clothing.

Duval carefully lifted out the coat and slipped it on. It fitted him very well.

"Tell me, little one," said Duval, eagerly, "if it looks to you like the coats worn by the well-dressed men of today?"

"I--I don't think I've _seen_ very many well-dressed men--that is, to notice their clothes," said Jeanne.

"Nor I," said her father. "I am on the lake daytimes, where the well-dressed are apt to wear white flannels and are nineteen years of age. Often there is a pink parasol. The _lake_ fashions, I fear, are not for a man of my sober years. In the evening, the well-dressed man is either indoors or in his overcoat. I think I must ask you to do me a favor."

"I'd love to, Daddy. What is it?"

"Tomorrow, you will be taking this book back to the library for me. On the way there and on your way back, through the town, whenever you can, walk behind a well-dressed gentleman. I want you to study the seams and the tails of the coat. Now look well at these."

Mr. Duval, decidedly dandified in his good coat, turned his back to his daughter.

"Observe the seams," said he. "The length of the tails, the set of the sleeves at the shoulder. At the cut also in front; at the number of b.u.t.tons. Tomorrow, you must observe these same matters in the coats of other men. Above all, my Jeanne, do not seem to stare. But keep your eyes open."

"I will, Daddy. I know exactly what you mean. When I made this pink dress for myself and the things for Annie and Sammy, I looked at the clothes on other children to see how wide to make the hems, how long to make the sleeves, how high to make the necks, and where to make things _puffy_."

"And you made a very good job of it all, too, my little woman. I am proud of your skill with the needle and greatly obliged to your good friend, Old Captain. Now look again at the seams in the back and then for our lesson. But first bring a plate of water and a large spoon. I will teach you how to eat soup."

The garments were put away and the trunk closed by the time Jeanne returned. The soup lesson amused her greatly.

"I can eat it much _faster_," she said, "the way Sammy does. And it's hard, isn't it, not to make a single bit of noise! I think I'm getting _funny_ lessons--sitting with both feet on the floor and standing with my shoulders straight and cleaning my finger nails every day, and brushing my teeth and holding my fork. And last night it was writing letters. I liked to do that."

"There is much more that I _should_ teach you, my Jeannette, that I am unable. I am behind the times. Fashions have changed. Only a gentlewoman could give you the things that you need. But books--and life--Ah, well, little Jeanne, some day, you shall be your mother's true daughter and I shall have done one good deed--at a very great cost. But take away these dishes--you have eaten all your soup."

"It was pretty _thin_ soup," laughed Jeanne. "What are we to try next?"

"Another letter, I think."

"That's good," said Jeanne. "I like to do letters, but I'm _so_ afraid I'll forget and wipe my pen on this pink dress. I almost did last time."

The next day Jeanne remembered about the coat. Unfortunately it was a warm day and an inconvenient number of well-dressed men had removed their coats and were carrying them over their arms. But those were mostly stout men. She was much more interested in short, slender ones.

Happily, a few of slight build were able to endure their coats.

Jeanne's inquisitive eyes all but bored twin holes in the backs of a number of very good garments. At first she had been very cautious, but presently she became so interested in her queer pursuit that she forgot that the clothes contained flesh and blood persons.

Finally a sauntering young man wheeled suddenly to catch her very close to his heels.

"Say," said he, grinning at her, "I've walked twice around this triangle to see if you were really following me. What's the object?"

"It's--it's your coat," explained Jeanne, turning very crimson under her dusky skin.

"My coat! What's the matter with my coat?"

"The--the style."

"What! Isn't it stylish enough to suit you?"

"It's the _seams_. I'm--I'm using them for a pattern."

"Ah, I see. Behold the lady tailor, planning a suit of clothes for her husband."

"I _haven't_ any husband," denied Jeanne, indignantly. "I'm too young to be married. But I'm awfully glad to see the _front_ of your coat.

I've seen a great many backs; but it's harder to get a good look at fronts. Good-by."

"Queer little kid!" said the young man, pausing to watch Jeanne's sudden flight down the street. "Pretty, too, with those big black eyes. Looks like a French child."

In her flight, Jeanne overtook a boy of about her own height, but far from her own size. He was stout and he puffed as he toiled up the hill.

Where had she seen that plump boy? Was it--yes, it _was_ the very boy she had pulled out of the lake, that pleasant day in May, when the lake was still cold. What _should_ she do if that grateful boy were to thank her, right there in the street! Having pa.s.sed him, she paused irresolutely to look at him. After all, if he wished to thank her, he might as well have a chance to get it over.

But Jeanne needn't have been alarmed. Roger glanced at her, turned bright scarlet, and dashed into the nearest shop. Jeanne, eying the window, wondered what business a boy could possibly have in that particular place. So did Roger after he got inside. It was a hair-dresser's shop for ladies. He bolted out, tore past a bright pink dress, and plunged into a tobacco shop. That at least was a safe harbor for a _man_.

"I guess," said Jeanne, surprised at Roger's sudden agility, "he didn't know me in these clothes. Next time I'll speak to him."