Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XXI

  BAD NEWS

  Peter Conant had told his wife that he wouldn't be at the Lodge thisweek until Saturday, as business would prevent his coming earlier, yetthe Thursday afternoon train brought him to Millbank and Bill Coombs'stage took him to Hillcrest.

  "Why, Peter!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah, when she saw him, "what on earthbrought you--"

  Then she stopped short, for Peter's eyes were staring more roundly thanusual and the hand that fumbled at his locket trembled visibly. Hestared at Aunt Hannah, he stared at Irene; but most of all he stared atMary Louise, who seemed to sense from his manner some impendingmisfortune.

  "H-m," said the lawyer, growing red and then paling; "I've bad news."

  He chopped the words off abruptly, as if he resented the necessity ofuttering them. His eyes, which had been fixed upon the face of MaryLouise, suddenly wavered and sought the floor.

  His manner said more than his words. Mary Louise grew white and pressedher hands to her heart, regarding the lawyer with eyes questioning andfull of fear. Irene turned a sympathetic gaze upon her friend and AuntHannah came closer to the girl and slipped an arm around her waist, asif to help her to endure this unknown trial. And Mary Louise, feelingshe could not bear the suspense, asked falteringly:

  "Has--Gran'pa Jim--been--"

  "No," said Mr. Conant. "No, my dear, no."

  "Then--has anything happened to--to--mother?"

  "Well, well," muttered the lawyer, with a sort or growl, "Mrs. Burrowshas not been in good health for some months, it seems. She--eh--wasunder a--eh--under a nervous strain; a severe nervous strain, you know,and--"

  "Is she dead?" asked the girl in a low, hard voice.

  "The end, it seems, came unexpectedly, several days ago. She did notsuffer, your grandfather writes, but--"

  Again he left his sentence unfinished, for Mary Louise had buried herface in Aunt Hannah's bosom and was sobbing in a miserable,heart-breaking way that made Peter jerk a handkerchief from, his pocketand blow his nose lustily. Then he turned and marched from the room,while his wife led the hapless girl to a sofa and cuddled her in herlap as if she had been a little child.

  "She's best with the women," muttered Peter to himself. "It's asorrowful thing--a dreadful thing, in a way--but it can't be helpedand--she's best with the women."

  He had wandered into the dining room, where Sarah Judd was laying thetable for dinner. She must have overheard the conversation in theliving room, for she came beside the lawyer and asked:

  "When did Mrs. Burrows die?"

  "On Monday."

  "Where?"

  "That's none of your business, my girl."

  "Has the funeral been held?"

  He regarded her curiously. The idea of a servant asking such questions!But there was a look in Sarah's blue eyes that meant more thancuriosity; somehow, it drew from him an answer.

  "Mrs. Burrows was cremated on Wednesday. It seems she preferred it toburial." Having said this, he turned to stare from the window again.

  Sarah Judd stood silent a moment. Then she said with a sigh of relief:

  "It's a queer world, isn't it, Mr. Conant? And this death isn'taltogether a calamity."

  "Eh? Why not?" whirling round to face her.

  "Because," said Sarah, "it will enable Mr. Hathaway to face the worldagain--a free man."

  Peter Conant was so startled that he stood motionless, forgetting hislocket but not forgetting to stare. Sarah, with her hands full of forksand spoons, began placing the silver in orderly array upon the table.She paid no heed to the lawyer, who gradually recovered his poise andwatched her with newly awakened interest. Once or twice he opened hismouth to speak, and then decided not to. He was bewildered, perplexed,suspicious. In thought he began to review the manner of Sarah's comingto them, and her subsequent actions. She seemed a capable servant. Mrs.Conant had never complained of her. Yet--what did she know of Hathaway?

  Mary Louise did not appear at dinner. She begged to be left alone inher room. Sarah took her some toast and tea, with honest sympathy inher eyes, but the sorrowing girl shook her head and would not taste thefood. Later, however, in the evening, she entered the living room wherethe others sat in depressed silence and said:

  "Please, Mr. Conant, tell me all you know about--mother."

  "It is very little, my dear" replied the lawyer in a kindly tone. "Thismorning I received a message from your grandfather which said: 'PoorBeatrice passed away on Monday and at her request her body was crematedto-day. Be very gentle in breaking the sad news to Mary Louise.' Thatwas all, my child, and I came here as quickly as I could. In a day orso we shall have further details, I feel sure. I am going back to townin the morning and will send you any information I receive."

  "Thank you," said the girl, and was quietly leaving the room when Irenecalled to her.

  "Mary Louise!"

  "Yes?" half turning.

  "Will you come with me to my room?"

  "Now?"

  "Yes. You know I cannot go up the stairs. And--I lost my own dearmother not long ago, you will remember."

  Tears started to the girl's eyes, but she waited until Irene wheeledher chair beside her and then the two went through the den to Irene'sroom.

  Mrs. Conant nodded to Peter approvingly.

  "Irene will comfort her," she said, "and in a way far better than Imight do. It is all very dreadful and very sad, Peter, but the poorchild has never enjoyed much of her mother's society and when the firstbitter grief is passed I think she will recover something of her usualcheerfulness."

  "H-m," returned the lawyer; "it seems a hard thing to say, Hannah, butthis demise may prove a blessing in disguise and be best for thechild's future happiness. In any event, I'm sure it will relieve thestrain many of us have been under for the past ten years."

  "You talk in riddles, Peter."

  "The whole thing is a riddle, Hannah. And, by the way, have you noticedanything suspicious about our hired girl?"

  "About Sarah? No," regarding him with surprise.

  "Does she--eh--snoop around much?"

  "No; she's a very good girl."

  "Too good to be true, perhaps," observed Peter, and lapsed intothought. Really, it wouldn't matter now how much Sarah Judd--or anyoneelse--knew of the Hathaway case. The mystery would solve itself,presently.