The Primrose Ring Part 12

"Could ye--could ye get one for the price of a penny?" Bridget considered her own question, and coupled it with something she remembered Sandy had been wishing for back in Ward C. "Wait a minute; I'll ask ye another. Could ye be buyin' a home for childher an' dogs for the price of a penny?"

The queen nodded.

"Would it be big enough for nine childher--an' one dog; an' would it be afther havin' all improvements like Miss Peggie an' the House Surgeon?"

Again the queen nodded.

Bridget lowered her voice. "An' could we put up a sign furninst, 'No Trusters Allowed'?"

"I shouldn't wonder."

"Then," said Bridget, with decision, "I've thought all round it twict an' my mind's been made to stay; we'll buy a home."

She made a hollow of her two hands and called, "Whist--whist there, all o' yez! Pether an' Pancho--Michael--Susan--do ye hear!" And when she had them rounded up, she counted them twice to make sure they were all present. "Now ye listen." Bridget raised a commanding finger to the circle about her while she exhibited the golden penny. "Is there any one objectin' to payin' this down for a home?"

"What kind of a home?" asked Susan, shrewdly.

"Sure the kind ye live in--same as other folks have that don't live in horspitals or asylums."

"Hurrah!" chorused everybody, and Bridget sighed with relief.

"Faith, spendin' money's terrible easy."

She put the penny in the queen's out-stretched hand. "Do I get a piece o' paper sayin' I paid the money on it?" she demanded, remembering her responsibility.

This time the queen shook her head. "No; I give you only my promise; but a promise made across a primrose ring is never broken."

"And Toby?" Peter asked it anxiously.

"You must leave him behind. You see, if you took him back over the River of Make-Believe he would have to turn back into a make-believe dog again; but--I promise he shall be waiting in the home for you."

The queen led them down the hill to the sh.o.r.e again; and there they found the ferry-man ready, waiting. It is customary, I believe, for every one to be ferried home. The river, that way, is treble as wide, and the sandman is always wandering up and down the brink, scattering his sand so that one is apt to get too drowsy to swim the whole distance. The children piled into the boat--all but Michael; he stood clinging fast to the queen's gray dress.

"Don't you want to go back?" she asked, gently.

"Nyet; the heart by me no longer to b.u.mp--here," and Michael pointed to the pit of his stomach.

"Aw, come on," called Peter.

But Michael only shook his head and clung closer to the gray dress.

"All right, ferryman; he may stay," said the queen.

"Good-by!" shouted the children. "Don't forget us, Michael."

"Nyet; goo'-by," Michael shouted back; and then he laughed. "You tell Mi' Peggie--I say--Go' blees you!"

And this was Michael's patch.

The ferryman stood in the stem and swung his great oar. Slowly the boat moved, scrunching over the white pebbles, and slipped into the water. The children saw Michael and the queen waving their hands until they had dwindled to shadow-specks in the distance; they watched the wake of starshine lengthen out behind them; they listened to the ripples lapping at the keel. To and fro, to and fro, swayed the ferryman to the swing of his oar. "Sleep--sleep--sleep," sang the river, running with them. Bridget stretched her arms about as many children as she could compa.s.s and held them close while eight pairs of eyes slowly--slowly--shut.

VIII

IN WHICH A PART OF THE BOARD HAS DISTURBING DREAMS

It is a far cry from a primrose ring to a disbanded board meeting; but Fancy bridged it in a twinkling and without an effort. She blew the trustees off the door-step of Saint Margaret's, homeward, with an insistent buzzing of "ifs" and "buts" in their ears, and the faint woodsy odor of primroses under their noses.

To each member of the board entering his own home, unsupported by the presence of his fellow-members and the scientific zeal of the Senior Surgeon, the business of the afternoon began to change its aspect. For some unaccountable reason--unless we take Fancy into the reckoning--this sudden abandoning of Ward C did not seem the simple matter of an hour previous; while in perspective even Margaret MacLean's outspokenness became less heinous and more human.

As they settled themselves for the evening, each quietly and alone after his or her particular fashion of comfort, the "ifs" and "buts"

were still buzzing riotously; while the primroses, although forgotten, clung persistently to the frills or coat lapels where the Youngest and Prettiest Trustee had put them. There it was that Fancy slipped unnoticed over the threshold of library, den, and boudoir in turn; and with a glint of mischief in her eyes she set the stage in each place to her own liking, while she summoned whatever players she chose to do her bidding.

Now the trustees were very different from the children in the matter of telling what they remembered of that May Eve. Of course they were hampered with all the self-consciousness and skepticism of grown-ups, which would make them quite unwilling to own up to anything strange or out of the conventional path, not in a hundred years. Therefore I am forced to leave their part of the telling to Fancy, and you may believe or discredit as much or as little as you choose; only I am hoping that by this time you have acquired at least a sprinkling of fern-seed in your eyes. You may have forgotten that fern-seed is the most subtle of eye-openers known to Fancy; and that it enables you to see the things that have existed only in your imagination. It is very scarce nowadays, and hard to find, for the bird-fanciers no longer keep it--and the nursery-gardeners have forgotten how to grow it. In the light of what happened afterward, I think you will agree that Fancy has not been far wrong concerning the trustees; she has a way of putting things a little differently, that is all.

To be sure, you may argue that it was all chance, conscience, or even indigestion; because the trustees dined late they must have dined heavily. But if you do, you know very well that Fancy will answer: "Poof! Nothing of the kind. It was a simple matter of primrose magic and--faeries; nothing else." And she ought to know, for she was there.

The President began it.

He sat in his den, yawning over the annual report of the United Charities; he had already yawned a score of times, and the type had commenced running together in a zigzagging line that baffled deciphering. The President inserted a finger in the report to mark his place, making a mental note to consult his oculist the following day; after which he leaned back and closed his eyes for the s.p.a.ce of a moment--to clear his vision.

When he opened his eyes again his vision had cleared to such an extent that he was quite positive he was seeing things that were not in the room. Little shadowy figures haunted the dark places: corners, and curtained recesses, and the unlighted hall beyond. They peered at him shyly, with such witching, happy faces and eyes that laughed coaxingly.

The President found himself peering back at them and scrutinizing the faces closely. Oddly enough he could recognize many, not by name, of course, but he could place them in the many inst.i.tutions over which he presided. It was very evident that they were expecting something of him; they were looking at him that way. For once in his life he was at loss for the correct thing to say. He tried closing his eyes two or three times to see if he could not blink them into vanishing; but when he looked again there they were, more eager-eyed than before.

"Well," he found himself saying at last--"well, what is it?"

That was all; but it brought the children like a Hamlin troop to the piper's cry--flocking about him unafraid. Never in all his charitable life had he ever had children gather about him and look up at him this way. Little groping hands pulled at his cuffs or steadied themselves on his knee; more venturesome ones slipped into his or hunted their way into his coat pockets. They were such warm, friendly, trusting little hands--and the faces; the President of Saint Margaret's Free Hospital for Children caught himself wondering why in all his charitable experience he had never had a child overstep a respectful distance before, or look at him save with a strange, alien expression.

He sat very still for fear of frightening them off; he liked the warmth and friendliness of their little bodies pressed close to him; there was something pleasantly hypnotic in the feeling of small hands tugging at him. Suddenly he became conscious of a change in the children's faces; the gladness was fading out and in its place was creeping a perplexed, questioning sorrow.

"Don't." And the President patted a.s.suringly as many little backs as he could reach. "What--what was it you expected?"

He was answered by a quivering of lips and more insistent tugs at his pockets. It flashed upon him--out of some dim memory--that children liked surprises discovered unexpectedly in some one's pockets. Was this why they had searched him out? He found himself frantically wishing that he had something stowed away somewhere for them. His hands followed theirs into all the numerous pockets he possessed; trousers, coat, and vest were searched twice over; they were even turned inside out in the last hope of disclosing just one surprise.

"I should think," said the President, addressing himself, "that a man might keep something pleasant in empty pockets. What are pockets for, anyway?"

The children shook their heads sorrowfully.

"Wouldn't to-morrow do?" he suggested, hopefully; but there was no response from the children, and the weight that had been settling down upon him, in the region of his chest, noticeably increased. He tried to shake it off, it was so depressing--like the accruing misfortune of some pending event.

"Don't shake," said a voice behind him; "that isn't your misfortune.

You will only shake it off on the children, and it's time enough for them to bear it when they wake up in the morning and find out--"

"Find out what?" The President asked it fearfully.

"Find out--find out--" droned the voice, monotonously.