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Cinder Pond, The

<h3>CHAPTER XV</h3> <h4>ALLEN ROSSITER</h4> In November there came a day when nobody in the Huntington house spoke above a whisper. There was a trained nurse in the house, three very solemn doctors coming and going, and an air of everybody waiting for something. James told Maggie, and Maggie told Jeanne, that old Mr. Huntington had had a stroke. "Is my grandfather going to die?" asked Jeannette, when Maggie had patiently explained the serious nature of Mr. Huntington's sudden illness. "I don't know," returned Maggie. "Nobody knows, not even the doctors." For a great many dreary days, her grandfather remained "Just the same," until Jeanne considered those three words the most hateful ones in the English tongue. Then, one memorable morning—years later, it seemed—she heard Dr. Duncan say, on his way out: "A decided change for the better, Mrs. Huntington." Jeanne was so glad that she danced a little jig with her friend in the mirror. Often, after that, she waylaid the pleasant white-capped nurse to ask about the invalid; but Miss Raymond's one response was "Nicely, my dear, nicely." For weeks and weeks, Jeanne saw nothing of her grandfather; consequently, her mathematics became very bad indeed. But at last, one Sunday morning, the nurse summoned her to her grandfather's room. "Your grandfather wants to see you," said Miss Raymond. "You must be very quiet and not stay too long—just five minutes." Five minutes were enough! There was a strange, wrinkled old man, who looked small and shriveled in that big white bed. Her grandfather's eyes had been keen and bright. The eyes of this stranger were dull, sunken, and oh, so tired. "How do you do?" said Jeanne, primly. "I'm—I'm sorry you've been sick." "Better now—I'm better now," quavered a strange voice. "How is the arithmetic?" "Very bad," said Jeanne. "Miss Turner says I plastered a room with two bushels of oats, and measured a barn for an acre of carpet, instead of getting the right number of apples from an orchard. You have to do so many kinds of work in examples, that it's hard to remember whether you're a farmer or a paperhanger. I suppose wet things would run out of a bushel basket, but wet measure and dry measure get all mixed up—" "I think your grandfather is asleep," said the nurse, gently. "You may come again tomorrow." As Mr. Huntington improved, Jeanne's visits grew longer. After a time, he was able to help her again with her lessons. But all that winter, the old man sat in his own room. In February the nurse departed and James took her place. James, who had lived with the family for many years, was fond of Mr. Huntington and served him devotedly. As before, Jeannette spent much time with her grandfather. Also, in obedience to their mother's wishes, the young Huntingtons entered the old man's room, decorously, once a day to say good morning. Neither the children nor Mr. Huntington appeared to enjoy these brief, daily visits. Jeanne was certainly a more considerate visitor. She was ever ready to move his foot-stool a little closer, to peel an orange for him, to find him a book, or to sit quietly beside him while he dozed. One day, in March, he told her where to find some keys and how to fit one of them to a small safe in the corner of his room. "Bring me all the papers in the first pigeon-hole to the left," said he. "It's time I was doing some spring housecleaning." "I love to help," said Jeanne, swiftly obedient. He sorted the papers, dividing them into two piles. "Put these back, and bring me everything in the next hole." Jeanne did that. This operation was repeated until all the papers, many quite yellow with age, had been sorted. "These," said her grandfather, pointing to the documents on the chair beside him, "are of no use. We'll tear them into small pieces and wrap them in this newspaper. That's right. Now, do you think you could go to the furnace and put this bundle right on top of the fire, without dropping a single scrap? Do you know exactly where the furnace is?" "Yes," said Jeanne. "When I first came, I asked Maggie what made the house warm. She said the furnace did. I wanted to see what a furnace was, so she showed it to me." "Where is Mrs. Huntington?" "She's out with the girls—at the dressmaker's, I think." "And Bridget?" "Asleep in her room. This is Maggie's afternoon out: Bridget always sleeps when Maggie isn't here to tease her." "What is James doing?" "I guess he's taking a nap on the hat-rack. He does, sometimes." "Very well, the coast seems to be clear. Put the bundle in the furnace, see that it catches on fire. Also, please see that you don't." "I've cooked," laughed Jeanne, "and I've never yet cooked myself." In five minutes, Jeanne was back. "James is snoring," said she. "He does that only when Aunt Agatha is very far away. Listen! He does lovely snores!" "Did the trash burn?" "Every scrap," replied Jeanne. "I opened the furnace door, after a minute or two to see. The fire was pretty hot and they burned right up." "It is foolish," said her grandfather, "to keep old letters—and old vows." During the Easter vacation, the Huntingtons entertained a visitor, an attractive lad of fifteen, whose home was in Chicago. His name was Allen Rossiter. "He's sort of a cousin," explained Harold. "His grandfather and my grandfather were brothers." Jeanne decided that Allen was a pleasant "sort of a cousin." A fair, clean-looking lad with wide-awake blue eyes, Allen was tall for his age and very manly. "I've heard a lot about you," said Jeanne, the day Allen paid his first visit to old Mr. Huntington. "You've been here before, haven't you?" "Yes. You see, my father's a railroad man, so, naturally, I have to practice traveling because I'm going to be one, too. I've learned how to order a meal on the train and have almost enough left to tip the porter." "You've accomplished a great deal," smiled Mr. Huntington. "More than that," said Allen. "I know how to read a time-table. How to tell which trains are A.M.'s and which are P.M.'s. Which ones are fast and which are slow. Here's a time-card—I have ten lovely folders in my pocket. Tell me where you want to go, Jeannette, and I'll show you just how to do it." "To Bancroft," said Jeanne. "It's 'way, 'way up on Lake Superior." "Here's a map. Now, where is it?" "About there," said Jeanne. "Yes, that's it." "And here's the right time-card. You go direct to Chicago—" "I know that," said Jeanne. "But you want a fast train. Here's a dandy. It starts at 9:30 P.M. That's at night, you know. You are in Chicago at noon. The first train out of there for Bancroft leaves at eight o'clock at night. Then you change at Negaunee—" "That's easy," said Jeanne. "You just walk across the station and say: 'Is this the train to Bancroft?' Daddy told me always to ask. But what do I do in Chicago? That's the hardest part." "You go from this station to this one. Here are the names, do you see? There, I've marked them. I'll tell you what I'll do. You telegraph and I'll meet you and put you aboard the right train. When do you start?" "Just three years and three months from now, right after school closes." "Well," laughed Allen, "you certainly don't intend to miss that train. But I'll meet you. I'm the family 'meeter.' I meet my grandmother, I meet my aunts, and all my mother's friends. I'm always meeting somebody with a suitcase full of bricks. Anyway, nobody ever brings a light one. But your shoes, I'm sure, wouldn't weigh as much as my grandmother's—-she's a big grandmother." "May I keep this time-card?" asked Jeanne, earnestly. "You may," returned the smiling lad, "but it'll be pretty stale three years from now." "And three months," sighed Jeanne. "But having this to look at will make Bancroft seem nearer." "So," said Mr. Huntington, "you're going to be a railroad man?" "Yes," replied Allen. "If they have railroad ladies, by that time, Jeannette, I'll give you a job." "I shan't need it," said Jeanne. "I'm going to be married." "To whom?" asked Allen. "Got him picked out?" "The iceman, I think. Oh, does a railroad man stay away from home a great deal?" "Almost all the time, my mother says." "Goody! That's what I'll have—a railroad man." "I'll wait for you," laughed Allen. "You're the funniest little kid I've met in a long time." "I don't have to decide until I'm twenty," said Jeanne, cautiously. "I might find a more stay-away husband than that." The next morning the postman brought a letter from Jeanne's father. As usual, Harold, who had rudely snatched the mail from James, held Jeanne's letter behind him with one hand and held his nose with the other. "What's the matter?" asked Allen. "Fish," returned Harold, pretending to be very ill. "Her father's a fishman, you know. You can smell his letters coming while they're still on the train." Allen glanced at Jeannette. She was red with embarrassment and very close to tears. "You young cub," said he, "I've heard all about Jeanne's father from my grandmother. I don't know what he's doing now, but the Duvals were a splendid old French family even if they were poor. 'Way back, they were Huguenots—perhaps you've had those in school. Anyway, they were fine people. And Jeannette's father was well educated and a gentleman. It isn't a bit worse to sell fish than it is to sit all day in a bank. I'd rather sell fish, myself.... Particularly, if I could do the catching." "You'd better not let mother hear you," said Clara, primly. "We aren't allowed to say anything about Jeannette's people." "I'm sure we don't want to," said Pearl, virtuously. "Well," returned Allen, "my grandmother says that the Duvals began being an old family long before the Huntingtons did—that's all I know about it; but my grandmother never tells fibs, and she knew the Duvals. The rest of us don't. Hurry up and read your letter, Jeannette. We're all going to the park to feed the animals—which one shall we feed you to?" Jeanne laughed. Allen had hoped that she would. It was a nice laugh, quite different from Harold's teasing one. At the park, Jeanne had another embarrassing moment when Clara maliciously pointed out the tree that Jeanne had climbed; but Allen had pretended not to hear. Harold, who had carried an umbrella because Pearl had insisted, slashed the shrubbery with it and used it to prod the animals. He annoyed the rabbits, tormented the parrots, the sea lion, and finally the monkeys. "Quit it," said Allen. "You're a sissy," retorted Harold, unpleasantly. "No, I'm not. Men don't torment animals." "Harold always does," said Pearl. "It's hard enough to live in a cage," said Jeanne, "without being poked. There! Mr. Monkey has torn your umbrella." "Little brute!" snarled Harold, aiming a deadly thrust at the small offender. "I'll teach you—" Allen wrenched the umbrella from his angry cousin. "Let me carry it," said he. "There's a guard coming and you might get into trouble." Allen's visit lasted for only five days. Jeanne was sorry that he couldn't stay for five years. He respected her father. If that had been his only admirable trait, Jeanne would have liked him. "Remember," said Allen, at parting, "that I am to act as your guide three years and three months from now." "I won't forget," promised Jeanne, who had gone to the station with her cousins to see the visitor off. "I have your address and I learned in school how to write a long, long telegram in less than ten words. You'll surely get it some nice warm day in June, three and a quarter years from now." How Jeannette kept this promise, you will discover later. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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