The Island of Faith Part 12

"We have plenty of sleeping-rooms on the top floor," she said slowly, "and I suppose that the older girl could help a bit, evenings. Why, yes, perhaps a family might solve the problem--it's easier to keep a woman with children than one who is," she laughed, "heart-whole and fancy free!

Who are they, dear, and how do you happen to know of them?"

Rose-Marie sat down, suddenly, in a chair beside the Superintendent's desk. All at once her knees were shaky--all at once she felt strangely apprehensive.

"Once," she began, and her voice quivered slightly, "I met a little boy, in the park. He was hurting a kitten. I started to scold him and then something made me question him, instead. And I found out that he was hurting the kitten because he didn't know any better--think of it, _because he didn't know any better_! And so I was interested, ever so interested. And I decided it was my duty to know something of him--to find out what sort of an environment was responsible for him."

The Superintendent's tired face was alight She leaned forward to ask a question.

"How long ago," she questioned, "did you meet this child, in the park?"

Rose-Marie flushed. The time, suddenly, seemed very long to her.

"It was the day that I came home bringing a little gray cat with me," she said. "It was the day that I quarreled with Dr. Blanchard at the luncheon table. Do you remember?"

The Superintendent smiled reminiscently. "Ah, yes, I remember!" she said. And then--"Go on with the story, dear."

Rose-Marie went on.

"I found the place where he lived," she said hurriedly. "Yes--I know that you wouldn't have let me go if you'd known about it! That's why I didn't tell you. I found the place where he lived; an unspeakable tenement on an unspeakable street. And I met, there, his family--a most remarkable family! There was a mother, and an older sister, and an older brother, and a drunken father, and a little crippled girl...."

And then, shaking inwardly, Rose-Marie told the story of the Volskys. She told it well; better than she realized. For the Superintendent's eyes never left her face and--at certain parts of the story--the Superintendent's cheeks grew girlishly pink. She told of the saving of Ella--she told of Bennie, explaining that he was the same child whom the Young Doctor had met in the hall. She told of Mrs. Volsky's effort to better herself, and of Jim's snake-like smoothness. And then she told of Lily--Lily with her almost unearthly beauty and her piteous physical condition. As she told of Lily the Superintendent's kind eyes filled with tears, and her lips quivered.

"Oh," she breathed, "if only something could be done for her--if only something could be done! Billy Blanchard must see her at once--he's done marvellous things with the crippled children of the neighbourhood!"

With a feeling of sudden confidence Rose-Marie smiled. She realized that she had caught the Superintendent's interest--and her sympathy. It would be easier, now, to give the family their chance! Her voice was more calm as she went on with the narrative. It was only when she told of the death of Pa that her lips trembled.

"You'll think that I'm hard and callous," she said, "taking his death so easily. But I can't help feeling that it's for the best. They could never have broken away--not with him alive. _You_ would never have taken them in--if he had had to be included! You couldn't have done it.... But now,"

her voice was aquiver with eagerness, "now, say that they may come! Say that Mrs. Volsky may take Katie's place. Oh, I know that she isn't very neat; that she doesn't cook as we would want her to. But she can learn and, free from the influence of her husband and son, I'm sure she'll change amazingly. Say that you'll give the family a chance!"

The Superintendent was wavering. "I'm not so sure," she began, and hesitated. "I'm not so sure--"

Rose-Marie interrupted. Her voice was very soft.

"It will mean," she said, "that Lily will be here, under the doctor's care. It will mean that she will get well--perhaps! For her sake give them a chance...."

The Superintendent's eyes were fixed upon s.p.a.ce. When she spoke, she spoke irrelevantly.

"Then," she said, "that was where you went every afternoon--to the tenement. You weren't out with some man, after all?"

Rose-Marie hung her head. "I went to the tenement every afternoon," she admitted, "to the _tenement_. Oh, I know that you're angry with me--I know it. And I don't in the least blame you. I've been deceitful, I've _sneaked_ away when your back was turned, I've practically told lies to you! Don't think," her voice was all a-tremble, "don't think that I haven't been sorry. I've been tremendously sorry ever so many times. I've tried to tell you, too--often. And I've tried to make you think my way.

Do you remember the talk we had, that night when we were both so tired, in your sitting-room--before Dr. Blanchard came? I was trying to sc.r.a.pe up the courage to tell you, then, but you so disagreed with me that I didn't dare!"

The Superintendent seemed scarcely to be listening. There seemed to be something upon her mind.

"Rose-Marie," she said with a mock sternness, "you're evading my questions. Answer me, child! Isn't there any one that you--care for?

Weren't you out with some man?"

Rose-Marie was blushing furiously.

"No," she admitted, "I wasn't out with a man. I never had any sort of a sweetheart, not ever! I just let you all think that I was with some one because--if I hadn't let you think that way--you might have made me stay in. I wouldn't have made a point of deliberately telling you a falsehood--but Dr. Blanchard gave me the idea and "--defiantly--"I just let him think what he wanted to think!"

The Superintendent was laughing.

"What he _wanted_ to think!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Rose-Marie--you've a lot to answer for! What he wanted to think...." Suddenly the laugh died out of her voice, all at once she was very serious. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "your idea about the Volsky family is a good one. We'll try it out, dear! There was a MAN, once, Who said: 'Suffer the little children to come--'Why, Rose-Marie, what's the matter?" For Rose-Marie, her face hidden in the crook of her elbow, was crying like a very tired child.

XVI

ENTER--JIM

It was with a light heart that Rose-Marie started back to the tenement.

The tears had cleared her soul of the months of evasion that had so worried her--she felt suddenly free and young and happy. It was as if a rainbow had come up, tenderly, out of a storm-tossed sky; it was as if a star was shining, all at once, through the blackness of midnight. She felt a glad a.s.surance of the future--a faith in the Hand of G.o.d, stretched out to His children. "Everything," she sing-songed, joyously, to herself, "will come right, now. Everything will come right!"

It was strange how she suddenly loved all of the people, the almost mongrel races of people, who thronged the streets! She smiled brightly at a mother, pushing a baby-buggy--she thrust a coin into the withered hand of an old beggar. On a crowded corner she paused to listen to the vague carollings of a barrel organ, to pat the head of a frayed looking little monkey that hopped about in time to the music. All at once she wanted to know a dozen foreign languages so that she could tell those who pa.s.sed her by that she was their friend--_their friend!_

And yet, despite her sudden feeling of kinship to these people of the slums, she did not loiter. For she was the bearer of a message, a message of hope! She wished, as she sped through the crowded streets, that her feet were winged so that she might hurry the faster! She wanted to see the expression of bewilderment on Mrs. Volsky's face, she wanted to see a light dawn in Ella's great eyes, she wanted to whisper a message of--of life, almost--into Lily's tiny useless ear. And, most of all, she wanted to feel Bennie's warm, grubby little fingers touching her hand! Jim--she hoped that Jim would be out when she arrived. She did not want to have Jim throw cold water upon her plans--which did not include him. Well she knew that the arrangement would make no real difference to him--it was not love of family that kept him from leaving the dirty, crowded little flat. It was the protection of a family, with its pseudo-respectability, that he wanted. It was the locked room, which no one would think of prying into, that he desired.

She went in through the mouth-like tenement door--it was no longer frightful to her--with a feeling of intense emotion. She climbed the narrow stairs, all five flights of them, with never a pause for breath.

And then she was standing, once again, in front of the Volskys' door. She knocked, softly.

Everything was apparently very still in the Volsky flat. All up and down the hall came the usual sounds of the house; the stairs echoed with noise. But behind the closed door silence reigned supreme. As Rose-Marie stood there she felt a strange mental chill--the chill of her first doubt. Perhaps the Volskys would not want to come with her to the Settlement House, perhaps they would resent her att.i.tude--would call it interference. Perhaps they would tell her that they were tired of her--and of her plans. Perhaps--But the door, swinging open, cut short her suppositions.

Jim stood in the doorway. He was in his shirt sleeves but--even divested of his coat--he was still too painfully immaculate--too well groomed.

Rose-Marie, looking at him, felt a sudden primitive desire to see him dirty and mussed up. She wished, and the wish surprised her, that she might sometime see him with his hair rumpled, his collar torn, his eye blackened and--she could hardly suppress a hysterical desire to laugh as the thought struck her--his nose bleeding. Somehow his smooth, hard neatness was more offensive to her than his mother's dirty ap.r.o.n--than his small brother's frankly grimy hands. She spoke to him in a cool little voice that belied her inward disturbance.

"Where," she questioned, "are your mother and Ella? I want to see them."

With a movement that was not ungraceful Jim flung wide the door. Indeed, Rose-Marie told herself, as she stepped into the Volsky flat, Jim was never ungraceful. There was something lithe and cat-like in his slightest movement, just as there was something feline in the expression of his eyes. Rose-Marie often felt like a small, helpless mouse when Jim was staring at her.

"Where are your mother and Ella?" she questioned again as she stepped into the room. "I _do_ want to see them!"

Jim was dragging forward a chair. He answered.

"Then yer'd better sit down 'n' make yourself at home," he told her, "fer they've gone out. They're down t' th' hospital, now, takin' a last slant at Pa. Ma's cryin' to beat th' band--you'd think that she really liked _him_! An' Ella's cryin', too--she's fergot how he uster whip her wit' a strap when she was a kid! An' they've took Bennie; Bennie ain't cryin'

but he's a-holdin' to Ma's hand like a baby. Oh," he laughed sneeringly, "it's one grand little family group that they make!"

Rose-Marie sat down gingerly upon the edge of the chair. She did not relish the prospect of spending any time alone with Jim, but a certain feeling of pride kept her from leaving the place. She would not let Jim know that she feared him--it would flatter him to think that he had so much influence over her. She would stay, even though the staying made her uneasy! But she hoped, from the bottom of her heart, that the rest of the family would not be long at the hospital.

"When did they go out?" she questioned, trying to make her tone casual.

"Do you expect them back soon?"

Jim sat down in a chair that was near her own. He leaned forward as he answered.

"They haven't been gone so awful long," he told her. "An'--say--what's th' difference _when_ they gets back? I never have no chance to talk wit'

you--not ever! An'," he sighed with mock tragedy, "an' I have so much t'