The Wyndham Girls

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE LITTLE BLIND GOD OPENS HIS EYES

  While Phyllis was having, as she said in her letters, a pleasantamphibious summer, the rest of the Wyndhams were staying in town forthe first time in their lives. New York is not as bad a place duringthe heated months as people think it who fly from the first touch ofthe mounting sun. Except for the noise, even Mrs. Wyndham did not findit uncomfortable, and the noises could be forgotten while she restedand read in their little dining-room, the depth of the apartment awayfrom them.

  Jessamy and Barbara discovered that there was much to be enjoyed inearly rising for walks in the park; still more, in trips for which theyhad started betimes to take a car at the Bridge and go down to the sea,bowling along at a tremendous rate after they had passed the crowdedBrooklyn streets, and getting cool and invigorated as the swift flightof the car blew their hair back from their faces with a wind salt fromthe ocean.

  Nor were the long sails up the wonderful Hudson less than a revelationof delight, especially to artistic Jessamy, whose soul reveled inbeauty such as the whole world can hardly equal--beauty they hadheretofore missed, because it lay so near to them and they had wanderedaway in summer to fashionable resorts.

  Ruth took her vacation like a dissecting-map, she said, in littlebits, which, fitted together, would make a whole of more than twoweeks;--she filled the place that would have been Phyllis's in theexcursions of that summer. And Tom, graduated now into a full-fledgedDoctor of Medicine, with a degree and a diploma, and everything readyfor a large practice, except his contract with an undertaker, as hehimself declared--Tom was the escort and cicerone on every trip, withNixie, his hair clipped for the summer, to complete the party whenits destination was one that allowed the presence of little dogs.Jessamy, watching the course of affairs, with double eagerness forBab's happiness and Phyllis's return, sometimes was almost completelydiscouraged by the behavior of her trying sister. Since the theatricalsTom had been turning with constantly increasing evidences of likingto Babbie, and Jessamy began to feel quite certain that his dawningfancy for Phyllis, nipped timely in the bud, would blossom into reallove for wayward Bab, if that young person would allow it to do so. ButBarbara behaved in such a way that Jessamy wondered that Tom could bepatient with her, and, much more, that he could find attraction in herthorniness.

  "She is Barbie, not Babbie, mama," Jessamy said, with tears ofimpatience in her eyes, one night when the four young people hadreturned from an afternoon at Glen Island. Now that Phyllis was writingso cheerfully, and the choice she had made seemed to be turning outwell, for her at least, Jessamy had told her mother Phyllis's motive ingoing, for she longed to have her unselfish little cousin held at hertrue worth by all who were dearest to her.

  "You have not the slightest idea of how Bab behaved to Tom to-day, andhe was a perfect saint in patience and kindness," Jessamy continued."She is driving away her own happiness in spite of Phyllis's sacrificefor her. You know it would have been lovely for Tom and Phyllis to havecared for each other, and now Bab is going to offend him beyond pardon,and we shall lose the dear boy altogether. I feel so sorry for Tom Ican hardly keep from saying: 'Oh, Tom dear, just please marry me, andlet that naughty girl go!'"

  "That would be a singular performance on the part of my dignified elderdaughter," laughed her mother, "and rather a useless one, because, yousee, Tom doesn't want to marry you. Perhaps he will never want to marryBabbie, so try not to worry, Jessamy. I should be glad when the daycomes that I must give one of you up, if it could be into the hands ofas trustworthy a man as Tom; but I am in no hurry to meet the day, solet matters take their course, Jessamy, my dear."

  "They aren't taking their course," sighed Jessamy. "And you areforgetting, mama, that Bab is so dreadful because she really likesTom so very much. Of course he may never want to marry her; that iswhat bothers me. I should think it would be a miracle if he did. Shehas made up her mind to be true to her name, and has put a barbed wirefence all around herself. I wish I could get her straightened out, andbring Phyllis home, and all be happy again."

  "Let matters take their course, Jessamy," said her mother again."Barbara is very young; I really believe, on the whole, I am glad notto see my baby with a lover--even Tom."

  Jessamy had not exaggerated Barbara's freakishness toward unoffendingTom. There were days when she treated him quite tolerantly, sometimeseven let him get glimpses of the sweet, sunny Barbara he had firstknown; but most of the time she was sharp of tongue, uncertain indisposition, unjust, and actually pert. The receipt of a small servicefrom Tom was enough to plunge her into saucy, school-girl sarcasm thatwas so unlike herself, so unworthy of her, that Jessamy held her breathlest she not only offended, but, worst of all, disgusted Tom; and fordisgust Jessamy had heard there was no cure.

  The pitiable part of it was that poor little Babbie evidently hatedherself for being so wayward and naughty, and Jessamy often saw herturn away to hide her tears after an especially vicious attack on Tom,to which she was apparently impelled by a force stronger than her willand judgment.

  For a long time Tom bore this treatment with dignified patience,struggling hard to keep his promise to Phyllis and regain the littleBab he knew and cared for. Then Jessamy saw that he was letting Babbieseverely alone, studying her with pained surprise in his honest eyes,and she hoped that the study might give him a clue to the cause ofBab's transformation. For, she thought, she is exactly like _Beatrice_herself; and when _Benedick_ suspected that she snubbed him because shecared for him, he began to care for her. But Tom was far too modest andinexperienced to construe the little active verb, with its moods, whichhe was studying, by any such rule. He decided that Barbara had foundhim a nuisance, and wanted to drop his acquaintance; so, hurt to thecore, he silently acquiesced in her decision, and the Wyndhams knew himand Nixie but rarely.

  As weeks went by, and Tom's sole visit had been to herself when Jessamyand Barbara were known to be out at lectures which they were attending,Mrs. Wyndham began to share Jessamy's feeling that if something werenot done a possession more precious than the wealth they had lostmight drift away from her girls forever. Mrs. Wyndham was thoroughlyunworldly; it would be horrible to her even to think of making amarriage for her children from ambitious motives; but she realizedhow rarely in a long life one finds a true friend; and she began tofeel that it would not do to sit passive while Babbie drove Tom away.Besides, it was dreadful to know that the poor boy was feeling that hisfriends were changed to him, who had never been less than devoted toall of them in the hard days at the "Blackboard," and ever since.

  That night Mrs. Wyndham went into Bab's room in the dark to find hercrouching, a forlorn little heap of misery, in her chair, sobbing underher breath lest Jessamy hear in the next room. Her mother gathered herup in her arms, and sat down in the rocking-chair, Babbie half in, halfoff her lap, and rocked and cuddled her without a word. For a while Babcried tempestuously, but after a time the clasp of the arms which hadalways soothed her childish griefs quieted her; indeed, Babbie's griefmight be of a sentimental nature, but she was a child still.

  When she was calm enough to listen Mrs. Wyndham said: "Now, my littleBabbie, you are unhappy because you have been a saucy little Bab, andhave driven away with cruel injustice the best friend you and Jessamyand Phyllis have, except one another. It is a pity, but it is somethingto set right, not to cry over. We will send a note of apology to Tom,and we will tell him--I will write it--that Babbie is dreadfullycontrite over her whimsies of the summer, but that they arose fromlittle private worries of her own, which she was unjust enough tovisit upon him. And Tom will come, and Barbara will be kind andcordial, first because she has absolutely no right to treat Tom rudely;secondly, because she will have too much regard for her dignity as ayoung woman, not a capricious child, to give way to her impulses."

  "It's too late, mama," moaned Bab. "Tom asked me what was wrong, and Itold him nothing, but that I was tired of seeing the same faces all thetime. And then he stopped coming. And, Madrina," she ad
ded, startingup with sudden resolution to be honest, "I have acted as I have justbecause he liked Phyllis, and I was afraid--oh, I was afraid he wouldthink she thought I liked him--too much, you know, and so had goneaway!"

  "What a foolish Babbie!" said her mother, stroking her hair. "Tom doesnot care more for Phyllis than for you. He was beginning to turn toher, but she slipped away in the beginning, and Tom has found my littleBabbie more than he realized, now that he has been thrown with hermore. Tom would never dream Phyllis, or any one else, suspected youof liking him too well; he is not a coxcomb, but a straightforward,honest young fellow, who loved us all. He is hurt and angry that oneof us could be so capriciously unjust to him. You have no right--nomoral right, Barbara--to let this go on another day. And if our dearestPhyllis hoped to further your happiness in going away, you surely cando no less than love her better than ever, and return her goodness toTom."

  "I'll do my best to behave better, Madrina, if you can get Tom back;but I'm afraid I shall be bad again when I see him," said Barbara,contritely.

  Mrs. Wyndham smiled in the security of the darkness. "You must behavewell for your own sake, Babbie. You know what every one will sayif they see you treating Tom abominably, without cause. And if weapologize successfully to him this time, we can never do so again."

  Mrs. Wyndham wrote a most affectionate note to injured Tom, and Barbarainclosed a note of three lines of her own in brief, but humbly contriteapology. It was probably the latter which produced the desired result,for Tom and Nixie appeared that evening, and Bab sang and playedhis favorite airs, and peace once more reigned on the banks of theHudson. But the old, free, unconscious days seemed gone forever; andJessamy, and even her mother, saw with regret that it was only by amighty effort that Bab kept up the cool politeness into which her goodintentions had degenerated. Tom came much less often. It looked asthough matters were settling into the frigid decorum hardest to breakup, and more hopeless than quarrels. Thanksgiving came and passed withPhyllis's sacrifice no nearer its reward than at first.

  On the top floor of the house where "The Land of Canaan" apartment madethe third, lived a family whose youngest member, a girl of eleven,frequently held what Bab called "overflow meetings" with her dolls onthe steps; for the family was large--as was the doll family, for thatmatter--and little Margery was forced to the street, the playground ofcity children, by lack of space.

  A friendship had sprung up between her and the Wyndhams, especiallyBab, born of mutual admiration for Jumeau babies with spasmodic joints,and the little girl's unspeakable worship for an older one. Tom wasincluded in Margery's favor, both for his own and Nixie's sake; once,indeed, when the child had a sore throat, Tom cured her, and henceforthhe was brevetted "my doctor," a distinction he valued. Margery was aquaint child, given to the companionship of books and people beyond herage, and with the contradicting childishness and maturity of an onlychild in a family of adults. She was a welcome and frequent visitor tothe Wyndhams', petted and read to by Jessamy and her mother, spoiledand played with by Bab, for whom she cherished a dumb devotion notunlike Nixie's own.

  As weeks went on, Margery's sharp eyes discovered the estrangement andincreasing coolness between "her doctor" and her dearest Bab; and afterlong puzzling over it, and tentative attempts to sift the matter, sheset her nimble wits to work to remedy it.

  Simple methods did not appeal to the queer little girl; but at last shehit upon a plan that suited her childish love for melodrama and latentlonging to be a heroine. It was a gray December day, and Margery, leftalone with the servant, recognized her opportunity. Bab--alone too,with Violet, as it chanced--was startled by a violent peal of the bell.Answering the summons herself, she faced the Hortons' maid, white underher Irish freckles, who stood wringing her hands on the door-mat, andwho cried at the sight of her: "Oh, Miss Wyndham dear, come up for thelove of hiven! I do be alone with Margery, an' she took that bad she'llbe dead agen her mother comes back."

  "Dead! Margery!" gasped Bab, and flew up the stairs, outstrippinghonest Norah in her alarm. There was cause for alarm to the eyes ofinexperienced Bab, as she looked at the little figure stretched on thebed, her face swollen out of all likeness to pretty Margery, or evento human features. A crimson face, with cheeks, eyelids, lips puffedand distorted, lay on the pillow, crimson hands as shapely as tomatoespicked the quilt, while hollow groans issued from the purpling mouth.

  "Oh, dear, darling little Margery," cried Bab, in an agony of terror,"what has happened? What can be the matter? Run, run, Norah, for DoctorGilbert; I'll stay with her. It must be poison; oh, what has she eaten?"

  "Nothin', miss, but her lunch wid the rest of 'em," began Norah, whileMargery moaned:

  "Not Doctor Gilbert. I want my Doctor Tom."

  "Oh, darling, Doctor Gilbert is so much older and wiser," Bab pleaded,kneeling by the bed; but Margery only burst into plaintive sobs. "Iwant my doctor; I shouldn't think you'd be cruel now," she sighed.

  "Then call Doctor Leighton, Norah," said Bab, blushing at this betrayalof Margery's observation. "Only hurry, hurry!"

  It seemed hours before Tom came, though Norah met him in the streetand returned with him in half of one. Bab spent the minutes bathingthe still swelling face, soothing the poor little patient, and tryingto keep her own nerves under control. Margery grew every moment moreill. Would Tom never come?

  At last he did come, and as he entered the room the relief was sogreat that Bab forgot to incase herself in the disguise she had wornso long. Her eyes were so full of love and joy as she raised them toTom that he stopped short in amazement at the revelation, and a greatflood of happiness rushed over him, too great for any circumstances tocheck. "Oh, Tom, I'm so glad you have come; now it will be all right,"she said, in a low voice of utter trust. "Dear little Margery isdreadfully ill, but you will save her. I have done nothing but batheher, for fear of making some mistake."

  Tom did not answer; he walked straight to the bed without looking atBarbara. His heart was throbbing so joyously that he had hard work toforce his thoughts to duty.

  "Margery, what have you eaten?" he demanded, having felt the child'spulse and looked closely under the almost closed eyelids.

  "Nothing," murmured Margery.

  "Margery, remember that I am a doctor, and know when I am told thetruth. You must tell me what you have taken," said Tom, sternly.

  Bab crept close to Tom, oblivious to everything else in hearing thishint, confirming her own fear of poison. Tom put one hand over the twolittle ones clasped imploringly on his shoulder, trying to rememberonly Margery, and to forget that this was Bab coming to him thusvoluntarily.

  "I always tell the truth," said Margery, replying to his question withall the indignation her strength allowed. "I haven't eaten anything;but I didn't say I hadn't taken anything. I took quinine; but it's muchworse than before. I wouldn't tell you if I wasn't dying."

  "Quinine! Ah, that's it! And worse than before, you say? Have yousuffered like this before from quinine?" asked Tom, comfortinglypatting Bab's head, which had dropped on his shoulder at the word"dying."

  "Once, but not so much. I didn't think it would be so awful when I tookit, though I did think I'd feel very badly. The doctor said I had anidiotsinkersy in me about taking quinine," groaned Margery.

  "Did you take it purposely?" asked Tom, amazed, as he handed aprescription to Norah and bade her hasten to get it filled. "That wascertainly an 'idiotsinkersy.' Why have you done such a thing? Do youlike to be ill, Margery?"

  "No; but--oh, my mama won't like to find me dead!" And Margery burstinto open wailing, in which Bab joined.

  "You are not going to die," said Tom. "Bab dearest, don't feel sodreadfully; Margery will come out all right. But why, in the name ofall that's wonderful, have you deliberately taken what you knew wouldmake you ill, little lass?"

  "For your sake," said suffering Margery, as impressively as her swollenfeatures permitted.

  "For my sake!" echoed Tom, dumfounded.

  "I knew if I was awfully ill Miss Bab
would be nice to you, and so Itook the quinine," murmured Margery.

  "You dreadful child!" cried Bab, indignantly, springing away from Tom'sside.

  Margery turned away without a word, hiding her swollen face, her tears,and her wounded heart in the pillow.

  "Bab doesn't mean that, Margery," said Tom, gently. "You are giving hergreater pain than her physical suffering, Bab; you know she adores you.Be just to the poor mite, and remember her motives were good, even ifyou don't like her methods," he whispered hastily.

  Bab knelt contritely, and took the queer, forlorn little figure inher arms. "No, of course I didn't mean that," she said. "Forgive me,Margery. What made you think of such a very strange thing to do?"

  "The Bible says you ought to lay down your life for your friends,doesn't it?" sobbed Margery, drying her eyes on the ruffle of hernightgown sleeve in default of a handkerchief.

  "It says you can't prove greater love than by dying for them--yes,"said Bab.

  "'I KNEW THAT IF I WAS AWFULLY ILL MISS BAB WOULD BENICE TO YOU,' MURMURED MARGERY."]

  "Well, then, I thought I ought to be willing just to be sick for you,when all the books say how every one forgives every one else, andfoes make up, around sickbeds, and things. I couldn't bear to see howyou and my doctor were getting worse foes all the time, so I took thequinine, though I knew I had an idiotsinkersy in me that made it poisonto me, and I'd be dreadfully sick. I thought you'd make up around mybed, and love me, and say how I'd saved you, and how you'd never forgetme. And you are friends around my bed, and I'm fearfully sick; but youonly say I'm dreadful. Oh, why don't my mama come back and take care ofme?" And Margery wailed anew over the ingratitude of humankind.

  What could Bab say? Or how could she do less than express--even if Tomwere there--her gratitude to this martyr to her welfare?

  "Dear little Margery, you are not dreadful. I am dreadful to havecalled you so, even though I didn't mean it. I was annoyed for amoment; that was all. You are a dear, devoted little friend. Pleaseforgive me, for you know I love you dearly," she said, kissing the wet,shapeless little face.

  "And my doctor?" stipulated Margery, before according pardon.

  "I think we shall be better friends. I won't be horrid any more,"whispered Barbara.

  And then Margery gave the kiss of peace.

  Mrs. Wyndham had come in, and hearing from Violet whither Tom andBarbara had gone, and why, hastened up-stairs, hoping to be of use.In a few moments more Mrs. Horton returned, and Tom escorted Babdownstairs, leaving Margery, much better, to the competent care of thetwo mothers.

  Barbara let herself into her own apartment with her key, and for afew moments an awkward silence prevailed, broken at last by Tom.

  "I think I shall adopt a Margery rampant, with a quinine capsule inthe quartering, for my coat of arms," he said. "I've an idea our queerlittle friend, with a constitutional idiosyncrasy against that drug,has done me a great service. She has proved that you do not quite hateme, do you, Babbie?"

  "No, Tom; but you--you like Phyllis," stammered Bab.

  "Like her! I love her--the unselfish, dear, good girl!" cried Tom."Have you been jealous of Phyllis? Then you love me, Barbara. Youcouldn't be jealous unless you did! I did imagine once that of all thedear Wyndhams, Phyllis might be dearest; but it was a mistake. I sawstraight after she was gone. I never loved her--not that way, Bab; Ionly fancied that I might. But I do love Phyllis so much that I wanther for my cousin. Will you make her my cousin, Babbie?"

  "She is much nicer than I," said Bab, very low, without raising hereyes, and clinging to her last moment of freedom.

  "Bab, don't waste any more time; you have treated me badly enough,heaven knows, and I haven't enjoyed it. Tell me you love me, thisinstant," said Tom, in a tone which Barbara might have resented had nother recent fright and humiliation subdued her.

  "I love you, Tom," she repeated meekly, and straightway forgot alldoubt, all fear, in perfect happiness.

  When Jessamy came home she nearly dropped in the doorway; for there wasBab throned in the window, looking radiantly pretty with the depth ofjoy and womanly sweetness the events of the afternoon had called intoher face, and beside her, on a low stool, sat Tom, looking entirelyblissful and unusually humble.

  He sprang up as he saw Jessamy. "Come to your brother, Jessamy!" hecried. "Bab has promised to marry me."

  "I have promised not to marry him," said Bab. "I have told him I willnot so much as hear it spoken of for ages. As though I wanted to marryyet!"

  But Jessamy waited to hear no more. She threw herself at Bab in somemysterious way, and hugged and kissed her sister--with a kiss for Tom,too--in almost hysterical rapture.

  "It was pretty rough on me to be treated as I have been lately," saidTom, as they tried to settle down to sanity. "But I ought to haveknown what it meant; for the very first time I ever saw Bab, she threwherself at my feet, for me to pick up, or leave, as I chose."

  "Why, Thomas Leighton!" cried Bab, indignantly.

  "Fact, and you know it," affirmed Tom. "Never mind, Babbie; 'some fallsare means the happier to rise,' you know. That fall of yours on the'Blackboard' steps was one of them; for, my heart, aren't we happy!"