THREE LITTLE WOMEN, A STORY FOR GIRLS
by
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
1913
CONTENTS CHAPTER I--The Carruths CHAPTER II--"Baltie" CHAPTER III--The Spirit of Mad Anthony CHAPTER IV--Baltie is Rescued CHAPTER V--A New Member of the Family CHAPTER VI--Blue Monday CHAPTER VII--Mammy Generalissimo CHAPTER VIII--Chemical Experiments CHAPTER IX--Spontaneous Combustion CHAPTER X--Readjustment CHAPTER XI--First Ventures CHAPTER XII--Another Shoulder is Added CHAPTER XIII--The Battle of Town and Gown CHAPTER XIV--The Candy Enterprise Grows CHAPTER XV--The Reckoning CHAPTER XVI--United We Stand, Divided We Fall CHAPTER XVII--A Family Council CHAPTER XVIII--"Save Me From My Friends" CHAPTER XIX--"An Auction Extraordinary" CHAPTER XX--Constance B.'s Venture CHAPTER XXI--Constance B.'s Candies CHAPTER XXII--First Steps CHAPTER XXIII--Opening Day CHAPTER XXIV--One Month Later
CHAPTER I
The Carruths
The afternoon was a wild one. All day driving sheets of rain had sweptalong the streets of Riveredge, hurled against windowpanes by fiercegusts of wind, or dashed in miniature rivers across piazzas. At noonit seemed as though the wind meant to change to the westward and theclouds break, but the promise of better weather had failed, andalthough the rain now fell only fitfully in drenching showers, and onecould "run between the drops" the wind still blustered and fumed,tossing the wayfarers about, and tearing from the trees what foliagethe rain had spared, to hurl it to the ground in sodden masses. It wasmore like a late November than a late September day, and had adepressing effect upon everybody.
"I want to go out; I want to go out; I want to go out, _out_, OUT!"cried little Jean Carruth, pressing her face against the window-paneuntil from the outside her nose appeared like a bit of white paperstuck fast to the glass.
"If you do you'll get wet, _wet_, WET, as sop, _sop_, SOP, and thenmother'll ask what _we_ were about to let you," said a laughing voicefrom the farther side of the room, where Constance, her sister, nearlyfive years her senior, was busily engaged in trimming a hat, holdingit from her to get the effect of a fascinating bow she had just pinnedupon one side.
"But I haven't a single thing to do. All my lessons for Monday arefinished; I'm tired of stories; I'm tired of fancy work, and I'm tiredof--_everything_ and I want to go _out_," ended the woe-begone voice inrapid crescendo.
"Do you think it would hurt her to go, Eleanor?" asked Constance,turning toward a girl who sat at a pretty desk, her elbows restingupon it and her hands propping her chin as she pored over a copy ofthe French Revolution, but who failed to take the least notice of thequestion.
Constance made a funny face and repeated it. She might as well havekept silent for all the impression it made, and with a resigned nodtoward Jean she resumed her millinery work.
But too much depended upon the reply for Jean Carruth to accept thesituation so mildly. Murmuring softly, "You wait a minute," sheslipped noiselessly across the room and out into the broad hallbeyond. Upon a deep window-seat stood a papier-mache megaphone.Placing it to her lips, her eyes dancing with mischief above its rim,she bellowed:
"Eleanor Maxwell Carruth, do you think it would hurt me to go outnow?"
The effect was electrical. Bounding from her chair with sufficientalacrity to send the French Revolution crashing upon the floor,Eleanor Carruth clapped both hands over her ears, as she cried:
"Jean, you little imp of mischief!"
"Well, I wanted to make you hear me," answered that young ladycomplacently. "Constance had spoken to you twice but you'd gone toFrance and couldn't hear her, so I thought maybe the megaphone wouldreach across the Atlantic Ocean, and it _did_. Now can I go out?"
"_Can_ you or may you? which do you mean," asked the eldest sistersomewhat sententiously.
Constance laughed softly in her corner.
"O, fiddlesticks on your old English! I get enough of it five days ina week without having to take a dose of it Saturday afternoon too. Iknow well enough that I _can_ go out, but whether you'll say yes isanother question, and I want to," and Jean puckered up her smallpug-nose at her sister.
"What a spunky little body it is," said the latter, laughing in spiteof herself, for Jean, the ten-year-old baby of the family was alreadyproving that she was likely to be a very lively offspring of theCarruth stock.
"And where are you minded to stroll on this charming afternoon wheneverybody else is glad to sit in a snug room and take a Saturdayrest?"
"Mother isn't taking hers," was the prompt retort. "She's down helpingpack the boxes that are to go to that girls' college out in Iowa. Shewent in all the rain right after luncheon, and I guess if _she_ can goout while it poured 'cats and dogs,' I can when--when--when--well itdoesn't even pour _cats_. It's almost stopped raining."
"Where _do_ you get hold of those awful expressions, Jean? Whoeverheard of 'cats and dogs' pouring down? What _am_ I to do with you? Ideclare I feel responsible for your development and--"
"Then let me go _out_. I need some fresh air to develop in: my lungsdon't pump worth a cent in this stuffy place. It's hot enough to roasta pig with those logs blazing in the fire-place. I don't see how youstand it."
"Go get your rubber boots and rain coat," said Eleanor resignedly."You're half duck, I firmly believe, and never so happy as when you'resplashing through puddles. Thank goodness your skirts are still short,and you can't very well get _them_ sloppy; and your boots will keepyour legs dry unless you try wading up to your hips. But where are yougoing?"
"I'm going down to Amy Fletcher's to see how Bunny is. He got hurtyesterday and it's made him dreadfully sick," answered Jean, as shestruggled with her rubber boots, growing red in the face as she tuggedat them. In five minutes she was equipped to do battle with almost anystorm, and with a "Good bye! I'll be back pretty soon, and then I'llhave enough fresh air to keep me in fine shape for the night," out sheflew, banging the front door behind her.
Eleanor watched the lively little figure as it went skipping down thestreet, a street which was always called a beautiful one, although nowwet and sodden with the rain, for Mr. Carruth had built his home in amost attractive part of the delightful town of Riveredge. Maybe youwon't find it on the map by that name, but it's _there_ just the same,and quite as attractive to-day as it was several years ago.
Bernard Carruth had been a man of refined taste and possessed a keenappreciation of all that was beautiful, so it was not surprising thathe should have chosen Riveredge when deciding upon a place for hishome. Situated as it was on the banks of the splendid stream which hadsuggested its name, the town boasted unusual attractions, and drew toit an element which soon assured its development in the mostsatisfactory manner. It became noted for its beautiful homes, itscultured people and its delightful social life.
Among the prettiest of its homes was Bernard Carruth's. It stood but ashort way from the river's bank, was built almost entirely ofcobble-stones, oiled shingles being used where the stones were notpracticable.
It was made up of quaint turns and unexpected corners, although not asingle inch of space, or the shape of a room was sacrificed to theoddity of the architecture. It was not a very large house nor yet avery small one, but as Mr. Carruth said when all was completed, thehouse sensibly and artistically furnished, and his family comfortablyinstalled therein:
"It is big enough for the big girl, our three little girls and theirold daddy, and so what more can be asked? Only that the good Lord willspare us to each other to enjoy it."
This was when Jean was but a little more than two years of age, andfor five years they _did_ enjoy it as only a closely united family canenjoy a charming home. Then one of Mr. Carruth's college
chums gotinto serious financial difficulties and Bernard Carruth indorsedheavily for him.
The sequel was the same wretched old story repeated: Ruin overtook thefriend, and Bernard Carruth's substance was swept into the maelstromwhich swallowed up everything. He never recovered from the blow, orfalse representations which led to it, learning unhappily, when themischief was done, how sorely he had been betrayed, and withineighteen months from the date of indorsing his friend's paper he waslaid away in pretty Brookside Cemetery, leaving his wife and threedaughters to face the world upon a very limited income. This was alittle more than two years before the opening of this story. LittleJean was now ten and a half, Constance fifteen and Eleanor, theeldest, nearly seventeen, although many judged her to be older, owingto her quiet, reserved manner and studious habits, for Eleanor was,undoubtedly, "the brainy member of the family," as Constance put it.
She was a pupil in the Riveredge Seminary, and would graduate thefollowing June; a privilege made possible by an aunt's generosity,since Mrs. Carruth had been left with little more than her home, whichMr. Carruth had given her as soon as it was completed, and theinterest upon his life insurance which amounted to less than fifteenhundred a year; a small sum upon which to keep up the home, providefor and educate three daughters.
Constance was now a pupil at the Riveredge High School and Jean at thegrammar school. Both had been seminary pupils prior to Mr. Carruth'sdeath, but expenses had to be curtailed at once.
Constance was the domestic body of the household; prettiest of thethree, sunshiny, happy, resourceful, she faced the family's alteredposition bravely, giving up the advantages and delights of theseminary without a murmur and contributing to her mother's peace ofmind to a degree she little guessed by taking the most optimistic viewof the situation and meeting altered conditions with a laugh and asong, and the assurance that "_some_ day she was going to make herfortune and set 'em all up in fine shape once more." She got hersanguine disposition from her mother who never looked upon the dullside of the clouds, although it was often a hard matter to win aroundto their shiny side.
Eleanor was quite unlike her; indeed, Eleanor did not resemble eitherher father or mother, for Mr. Carruth had been a most genial,warm-hearted man, and unselfish to the last degree. Eleanor was veryreserved, inclined to keep her affairs to herself, and extremelymatured for her years, finding her relaxation and recreation in amanner which the average girl of her age would have considered tasks.
Jean was a bunch of nervous impulses, and no one ever knew where themadcap would bounce up next. She was a beautiful child with a mop ofwavy reddish-brown hair falling in the softest curls about face andshoulders; eyes that shone lustrous and lambent as twin stars beneaththeir delicately arched brows, and regarded you with a steadfastinterest as though they meant to look straight through you, andseparate truth from falsehood. A mouth that was a whimsicalcombination of fun and resolution. A nose that could puckerdisdainfully on provocation, and it never needed a greater than itsowner's doubt of the sincerity of the person addressing her.
This is the small person skipping along the pretty Riveredge streettoward the more sparsely settled northern end of the town, hopping_not from_ dry spot to dry spot _between_ the puddles, but _into_ and_into_ the deepest to be found. Amy Fletcher's home was one of thelargest in the outskirts of Riveredge and its grounds the mostbeautiful. Between it and Riveredge stood an old stone house owned andoccupied by a family named Raulsbury; a family noted for its parsimonyand narrow outlook upon life in general. Broad open fields lay betweenthis house and the Fletcher place which was some distance beyond. Inmany places the fences were broken; at one point the field was a gooddeal higher than the road it bordered and a deep gully lay between itand the sidewalk.
When Jean reached that point of her moist, breezy walk she stoppedshort. In the mud of the gully, drenched, cold and shivering lay anold, blind bay horse. He had stumbled into it, and was too feeble toget out.
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