The Lilac Lady Part 17

"Since I was five years old."

"Oh, as little as Allee when mamma died! Wasn't there anyone to take care of you? Did your Aunt Pen adopt you?"

"Aunt Pen has always lived with us. I don't remember any other mother."

"And did you always live here?"

"Yes, I was born here. It wasn't part of the city then."

"But you don't look real old."

"I am not _real_ old. I was twenty-four last November."

"And Gail was nineteen the same month! You're only four, five years older than she is. That's not much--but there's a bigger difference."

"How, dear?"

"Oh, she looks 'sif she liked to live better'n you do."

The woman drew a long, s.h.i.+vering breath and closed her eyes as if a spasm of pain had seized her; and Peace, frightened at the death-like pallor of the face, quavered, "Oh, don't faint! What is the matter? Are you sick? Or is it just a chill? Maybe you better run around a bit until you get warm."

The deep, unfathomable blue eyes opened, and the voice said bitterly, "I can _never_ run again. I must lie in this chair all the rest of my life with nothing to do but think, think, think! Do you wonder now that I am not happy? Do you understand now why Aunt Pen has a hard time? Do you see the reason for that tall, thick hedge all around the yard?"

"No," Peace replied bluntly. "I can't see a mite of sense in it! If I had to live in a chair all my days, I'd want it where I could watch the world go by. I'd cut down all the hedges and let the sun s.h.i.+ne in. If I couldn't run about myself, I'd just watch the folks that did have good feet. I'd wave my hands at the children and give 'em flowers, and they'd come and talk to me when I was tired of reading. I'd have a bird like you've got, and I'd make a pet of it, too. I'd have more'n one; I'd have a whole m'nagerie of dogs and cats and rabbits and squirrels and--and ponies, maybe, and a monkey or two. And I'd teach them to do tricks, and then I'd call all the poor little children who can't go to the circus to see my animals perform. I'd have gardens of flowers for the sick people and vegetables for those who haven't any place to raise their own and no money to buy them. That's what Saint John is going to do with all they don't use at the parsonage. I'd make a park of my back yard and let dirty children play there so's they would not get run over in the street; I'd--oh, there are so many things I'd do to enjoy myself!"

Peace paused for breath, the well of her imagination run dry, but her face was so radiant that instinctively her listener knew these were not idle words, though she could not keep the hard tone out of her voice as she answered, "Ah, that is easy enough to say, but--wait until you are where I am now, and I think you will find it lots harder to practice what you preach. You will turn your face to the wall, say good-bye to those who you thought were your friends, build a high fence around yourself and hide--_hide_ from the world and everything!"

"Oh, no," Peace protested, shuddering at the picture she had drawn. "I should _die_ if I couldn't see the sun and flowers and kind faces of the folks I love. But--it--would be--awfully hard _never_ to walk again."

"Hard? It is _torture_!" She had forgotten that she was talking to a mere child, one who could not understand what it was to have dearest ambitions thwarted, one who could not even know yet what it was to have ambitions. "I had dreamed of being a great singer some day--"

"Oh, do you sing?" cried Peace, who was pa.s.sionately fond of music in whatever guise it came.

"Masters said I could--"

"Then please sing for me. I can only whistle, and then folks say,

"'Whistling girls and crowing hens Always come to some bad ends.'

"I'd like awfully much to hear you sing."

"Oh, I don't sing any more! That is all past now; but oh, how I loved it! We were going to Europe, Aunt Pen and I, and when we came back after months and years of study, I thought I should be a--Jenny Lind, perhaps.

I thought of it by day, I dreamed of it by night. It was _everything_ to me. And then--my horse fell--and here I am."

"Was it long ago?" whispered Peace, strangely stirred by the pa.s.sionate words of the girl before her.

"Five years."

"And you've been here ever since?"

"Ever since."

Oh, the hopelessness of the words, the bitterness of the face!

Involuntarily Peace turned her eyes away, and as her glance fell upon the delicate bloom of the lilac bushes beside her, she began to hum under her breath, "Oh, you lovely lilacs, growing up so high."

"Sing to me," commanded the lame girl imperiously.

"Sing? I can't sing! All I can do is whistle."

"But you were singing just now."

"I was humming."

"Don't quibble!" A faint smile smoothed away the hard lines about the young mouth. "Please sing that little tune for me. I have heard you so often in the garden and that seems quite a favorite of yours, but I can never make out the words."

"That's 'cause the words ain't usu'ly alike."

"What?"

"Why, Allee and me have always fitted talking words into our song music and--"

"I don't understand, I am afraid."

"Why, we just sing things instead of talking them like other folks would. They don't rhyme, but they fit into tunes which we like, and our Gleaners' motto song is our favorite, so that's the one we usu'ly hum, and that's how you hear it so much."

"Then sing the motto song. The tune is very pretty."

"Yes, it is pretty, but the reason we like it so well is 'cause it sounds glad. We never can sing it when we're cross or bad. It's made just for suns.h.i.+ne."

Softly she began to chant the words:

"'In a world where sorrow Ever will be known Where are found the needy And the sad and lone.'"

Peace was right in saying that she could not sing, and yet her happy voice, warbling out those joyous words, made very sweet music that bright May morning. The lines of weariness gradually left the invalid's face, a feeling of rest stole over her, and with a tired little sigh, she closed her eyes.

"'When the days are gloomy, Sing some happy song, Meet the world's repining With a courage strong;

"'Go with faith undaunted Thro' the ills of life, Scatter smiles and suns.h.i.+ne O'er its toil and strife,'"

piped Peace, staring at the waving plumes of lavender above her head.

"'Sca-atter suns.h.i.+ne all along your wa-ay, Cheer and bless and bri-ighten--'"

The song ceased in the midst of the chorus.

The big blue eyes flashed open and the lame girl demanded in surprise.

"Why did you stop?"