CHAPTER VIII--SUSAN'S PRESENT
The next morning early, before breakfast, Susan ran out on the frontporch to view the new day. Grandfather had suggested that she go lookfor "fairy tablecloths" in the grass, but Susan more than half suspectedthat he wanted her out of the way while he finished shaving. Shecouldn't help whisking about the room and it did make his hand shake.
Susan watched two rosy little clouds grow fainter and fainter in thepale blue morning sky, and then disappear. She leaned over the porchrailing and stared down into the bed of gay portulaca that Grandmothertended with such care both night and morning.
"Grandmother's flowers," thought she, smiling at the bright little cups,all wet with dew. "They are awake and I am awake. I guess everybody isawake now. But where is Snuff? He's always the first one up."
Susan turned to go in search of her playmate when a flutter of whitecaught her eye. On one of the porch posts a slip of paper had beenfastened with a common white pin. In a twinkling Susan was on the railand down again, paper in hand.
"Grandfather, Grandfather, here's a letter," she called, and, runningthrough the house, she gave the paper to Grandfather, just settlinghimself at the breakfast table.
"Hum," said Mr. Whiting, when he had read the slip and studied itbackward and forward. "This is a strange thing. It's for you, Susan.Look at this, Grandmother."
On a jagged slip of wrapping-paper, printed in uneven letters thatslanted downhill, were the words:
"A pressent for the little miss on the school-house steps."
"A present for me?" said Susan, delighted, as Grandfather read it aloud."I'll go straight down and get it. Shall I?"
"No, no. Eat your breakfast first," answered Grandfather, who was notnearly so pleased at the idea of a present as Susan thought he ought tobe.
In fact, over Susan's head, he and Grandmother exchanged glances whichseemed to say they did not altogether understand what had happened.
But Susan saw nothing of this, and, breakfast over, she and Grandfatherstarted at once down the lane to see what her mysterious present mightbe.
"Grandfather, where is Snuff?" asked Susan. "I haven't seen him thismorning."
"No more have I," answered Grandfather.
He whistled again and again, and Susan called, but no Snuff appeared inanswer to these familiar signals.
On the school porch lay a dark bundle. It was a large bundle, and itmoved slightly from side to side. As they drew nearer they heard a wail,and Susan immediately recognized the cry.
"It's Gentilla," she called out. "It's Gentilla crying."
Yes, it was Gentilla, so securely wrapped in a big gray shawl that hadbeen wound tightly about her and pinned in place that she could moveneither hands nor feet, and could only rock herself from side to side asshe lay on the hard boards of the porch floor.
Grandfather and Susan helped her out of the blanket, and Gentilla triedto tell her story, but all she could say was:
"All gone away,--riding."
She rolled her big gray eyes and waved her tiny hand, and that was thebest that she could do to explain her presence there so early in themorning.
There was a strange look on Grandfather's face, and he thrust his handsin his pockets and pursed up his mouth as if to whistle as he stared atthe little schoolhouse. For from every window the panes of glass hadbeen neatly removed, and a glance within showed that the old stove haddisappeared also.
"You take Gentilla up to the house, Susan," said he. "I'm going down theroad a ways."
"Yes, I will," said Susan. "But, Grandfather, where is my present?"
"Perhaps Gentilla is the present," called back Mr. Whiting, alreadystriding down the hill.
And half an hour later when he returned to the house, Grandfather sankinto a chair, put the tips of his fingers together, and began to laugh.
"Do tell me what it is all about," said Grandmother, coming out on theporch, duster in hand. "The children are over at Mrs. Vane's, and theycame up here with such a story that I don't know what tothink:--Gentilla wrapped in a shawl, and panes of glass gone, and Idon't know what all."
Grandfather nodded in agreement as she spoke.
"Yes, sir," said he. "They told the truth. The glass is gone and thestove is gone from the schoolhouse, and what is more, the gypsiesthemselves have gone from the grove. They have cleared out bag andbaggage, and have left Gentilla to us."
"Do you mean to tell me that they have deserted that child?" demandedGrandmother. "What kind of people are they, anyway, to do such a thingas that?"
"Gypsies," answered Grandfather tersely. "She wasn't their own child,you know. And they were always jealous of the way we treated her. Isuppose they argued that, if we were so fond of her, we would be glad ofthe chance to take care of her. I've telephoned, so that people will beon the lookout for them, but the chances are we shall never hear of themagain."
"I wouldn't want Gentilla to go back to them after the way they havetreated her," said Grandmother indignantly.
"No, except that she is one of them, after all," answered Mr. Whiting."Well, we will keep the little girl for a time. We needn't be in anygreat hurry to decide what to do. At any rate, Susan will enjoy a visitfrom her."
And that Susan proceeded to do at once. She and Phil and Gentilla spenta long and happy day together.
But that night, with Gentilla tucked snugly in the big spare-room bedacross the hall, Susan was so excited she couldn't sleep. She twistedand turned and tossed, and at last pattered downstairs for a drink ofwater.
In the kitchen, to her surprise, she found Grandfather feeding Snuff,who had been missing all day. Snuff ate his good supper as if he werestarving. He was covered with mud, an old rope was tied round his neck,and he was so stiff and lame he could scarcely hobble.
Susan waited until Grandfather had seen Snuff safely at rest upon acomfortable bed of straw in the barn. Then upstairs they went together,and Grandfather lay down on the outside of Susan's bed beside her andtook her hand in his.
"Where do you think Snuff was all day, Grandfather?" began Susan. "Iwish he could talk and tell us."
"So do I," said Grandfather heartily, "Did I ever tell you about a dog Ihad when I was a little boy--"
"Yes, you did," interrupted Susan. "Thank you, Grandfather, but I knowall about him. His name was Nick and he was black all over with not awhite spot anywhere. Grandfather, do you think Mr. James Lee took thestove from the schoolhouse?"
"I think he did," answered Grandfather briefly.
"And the glass out of the windows?"
"And the glass out of the windows."
"What will he do with them?"
"Sell them, I think," said Grandfather.
"But they didn't belong to him?" questioned Susan.
"No; they belonged to the town."
"Then he stole!" exclaimed Susan, pulling her hand from Grandfather's sothat she might shake an accusing finger in his face.
"It looks that way," admitted Mr. Whiting.
"But you wouldn't steal."
"I hope not," returned Grandfather. "But you must remember, Susan, thatthe gypsies don't go to school or to church, and so they don't know thedifference between right and wrong as well as the people who do."
"They ought to go," said Susan morally. "I go. Everybody ought to go.I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to teach Gentilla Biblestories right away to-morrow. How long will she stay here? Forever?"
"No, not forever. I don't know how long. Now you must go to sleep, orGrandmother will be up here after us."
"I will," promised Susan drowsily. "But, you know, Grandfather, I thinkthey took Snuffy, too, and that is where he was all day. Don't you?"
Grandfather nodded in the darkness. He had been thinking the samethought, but he tiptoed out of the room without another word, and amoment later Susan fell asleep.
Early the next morning she began to train Gentilla. She made her say"thank you," and "please," and "excuse me," until the poor littlevisitor was so bewildered that she cou
ldn't answer the simplestquestion. She forced her to listen to Bible stories which she didn'tknow very well herself, so poky and long-drawn-out that, if Gentillahadn't had a happy way of falling into little cat-naps whenever thestory was too dull to bear, I don't know what would have become of her.
In her own behavior Susan was so moral and proper, and so unlike her ownlovable little self, that Grandmother, though she didn't say a word,couldn't help thinking, "If this keeps up, I shall have to go away on avisit. Only I know it won't last."
And it didn't last. It was too unnatural. Of course it didn't last.
After dinner Grandmother asked Susan to go to the store for two spoolsof black thread.
"Your Grandfather has torn the pocket in his coat," said she. "Gentillawill wait with me until you come back, for she walks slowly and I am ina hurry."
"Yes, Grandmother," said Susan, primly, hoping they were admiring hermanners.
She walked quickly, and was back in a short time with two spools of_white_ thread.
"But I told you _black_," said Grandmother. "I can't mend yourGrandfather's coat with white thread. I will keep these spools, but youwill have to go back for black ones. Remember what I want it for, andthen you won't make another mistake."
Gentilla, really enjoying herself alone with Grandmother, sat on theshady porch, comfortably holding Flip.
The sun was hot, and the road was dusty, and it is not pleasant when oneis trying to be an example to be told that one has made a mistake. Susanfelt aggrieved.
"You said white spools, Grandmother," she answered bluntly. "I know yousaid white."
Now this was not at all like Susan (perhaps the strain of being anexample was beginning to tell) and Mrs. Whiting stared at her insurprise.
"Do you mean to be saucy, Susan?" she asked, after a pause. "Go on yourerrand at once, without another word."
Susan turned on her heel and swallowed hard. She wanted to scream, orthrow something at somebody, but she didn't dare do anything but walkslowly down the lane on her errand.
When she returned, Grandmother took the spools and went into the house.Gentilla, still cuddling Flip, looked up with a smile, but she receiveda black look in return.
"You can't hold Flip," said Susan, glowering at her. "You may haveSnowball, but Flip is mine." And she roughly seized Flippy to pull herout of Gentilla's arms.
But Gentilla was not a gypsy child for nothing. If Susan could pull andslap, she could scratch and kick. So when Grandmother, at sounds of thescuffle, looked out of the window, she saw the model teacher and herpupil engaged in a hand-to-hand battle, with innocent Flip nearly tornin two between them.
"Susan Whiting!" called Grandmother.
And at the sound of her voice, with a mighty push that sent Gentillabackward upon the floor, Susan wrenched Flip from her grasp, and turnedand faced the window.
"Put down your doll," commanded Grandmother. "Now, go upstairs to yourroom and wait there for me."
It was a miserable Susan whom Grandmother joined a few moments later.Without a word, Mrs. Whiting washed the hot face and hands, and helpedSusan make ready for bed.
Downstairs she put Gentilla into the hammock, she herself lay down onthe couch, and the afternoon quiet was unbroken as they all refreshedthemselves with a long nap.
When Susan woke, and saw Grandmother standing by her bedside, shestretched out her arms and laid her penitent head upon Grandmother'ssoft shoulder.
"I don't know what did it," said Susan at last, when she had whisperedfor several moments in Grandmother's ear. "I meant to be good. I wastrying so hard." And Susan pensively put out her tongue and caught atear rolling slowly down her cheek.
"Well, Susan, take my advice," said Grandmother sensibly, "and don't tryto train Gentilla any more. It is all most of us can do to take care ofourselves, and we think Gentilla is a nice little girl just as she isnow, don't we?"
Susan nodded soberly. Much nicer than Susan Whiting, she thought, as sheremembered slapping and pushing and knocking Gentilla down.
But she brightened when Grandmother added:
"Hurry now and dress yourself. We are all invited over to Mrs. Vane'sfor tea, Grandfather and all. And you are going to wear your new dresswith the little pink flowers. I put the last stitch in it for you notfive minutes ago."
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