In Wild Rose Time Part 26

XII-THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES

The boys chipped in one evening and took Dil to the theatre. They were fond of the rather coa.r.s.e fun and stage heroics. Dil was simply bewildered with the lights, the blare of the second-rate orchestra, and the crowds of people. She was a little afraid too. What if they should meet some one who knew her mother?

A curious thought came to her unappeased soul. Some one was singing a song, one of the rather pathetic ballads just then a favorite. She did not see the stage nor the young man, but like a distinct vision the little room in Barker's Court was before her eyes. Bess in her old wagon, Mrs. Murphy with her baby in her arms, old Mrs. Bolan, and the group of listening women. The wonderful rapture in Bess's face was distinct. It was the sweet old hymn that she was listening to, the voice that stilled her longing soul, that filled her with content unutterable.

There was a round of applause that brought her back to the present life.

They were rather noisy here. She liked the dreamland best.

"That takes the cake jist!" declared Patsey, looking down in the bewildered face. "What's the matter? Youse look nawful pale!"

"My head aches," she said. "It's so warm here. And it's all very nice, but will it be over soon, Patsey?"

The boy _was_ disappointed; but the next morning Dil evinced such a cordial interest in all the points that had amused them, that Patsey decided that it must have been the headache, and not lack of appreciation.

But he hung around after the others were gone, with a curious sense of responsibility.

"Youse don't git reel well any more, Dil," he said, his voice full of solicitude. "Kin I do anythin'-"

"O Patsey!" The quick tears came to her eyes. "Why, I _am_ well, an'

everything's so nice now, an' Mrs. Brian jes' lovely. Mebbe I ain't quite so strong sence I was sick. An' sometimes I get lonesome with you away all day."

"I wish youse knowed some gals-"

"Patsey," a soft, tender light came to her brown eyes, "I think I miss the babies. They're so cunnin' an' sweet, an' put their arms round your neck an' say such pritty little words. An' if I could have some babies I wouldn't wash any more. That puts me out o' breath like, an' hurts my side. 'Twas that tired me for last night."

"Youse jist sha'n't wash no more, then. But babies is such a bother!"

"I love thim so. An' only two, maybe. Curis there ain't a baby in this house, nor in the front, neither. Babies would seem like old times, when I had Bess."

There was such a wistful look in her pale, tender face. Patsey thought she had grown a great deal prettier, but he wished she had red cheeks.

And he was moved to go out at once and hunt up the babies.

Other girls might have made friends in the neighborhood; but Dil had never acquired friendly arts, and now she shrank from companions.h.i.+p. But she liked Mrs. Brian; and that very afternoon as they sat together Dil ventured to state her desires.

"You don't look fit to bother with 'em. You ought to be out pleasurin' a bit."

"But I'm strong, though; an' I used to be such a fat little chunk! I was stunted like; but I think I look better not to be so fat," she said with quaint self-appreciation.

"There's one baby I could get for you easy. The mother's a nice body-you see, the man went off. She's waitress in a restaurant, an' her little girl's pretty as a pink, with a head full of yellow curls, an' big blue eyes. She pays a dollar for her keep, 'ceptin' nights an' Sundays. An'

you'd be so good, which the woman ain't. You couldn't hurt a fly if you tried."

"Oh, if I could have her!" cried Dil eagerly. A little girl with golden hair, curly hair. And a dollar would pay for the was.h.i.+ng and ironing.

The boys had been so good about fixing up things and buying her clothes that she had felt she must do all she could in return.

"I'll see about it this very evenin', dear."

"Oh, thank you! thank you!"

The mother, a slim young thing, came to visit Dil on Sunday, with pretty, chubby, two-year-old Nelly, who was not shy at all, and came and hugged Dil at once. Her prettiness was not of the _spirituelle_ order, as Bess's would have been under any circ.u.mstances. The eyes were merry and wondering, the voice a gay little ripple, and comforted Dil curiously.

And through the course of the week several "incidental" ones came. It _was_ like old times.

"Seems to me it's nawful tough to be nussin' kids," said Patsey; "but, Dil, you've chirked up an' grown reel jolly. You're hankerin' arter Bess, an' can't forgit. An' ef the babies make ye chipper, let 'em come.

I only hope they won't take any fat offen yer bones, fer youse most a skiliton now. But sounds good to hear youse laugh agen."

"I'd like just a little fat in my cheeks," she made answer.

Patsey brought her home a white dress one day, and said they would all go down to Coney Island some Sunday.

"I wouldn't dast to," she said. "I'd be that afeared o' meetin' mother.

She used to go las' summer. An' if she should find me-"

"Yer cudden't find anybody, les' yer looked sharp. An' youse er that changed an' sollumn lookin' an' big-eyed, no one'd know yer."

"But _you_ knew me," with a grateful little smile.

Patsey grinned and rolled his eyes.

"I was a-layin' fer ye."

"You can take me up to Cent'l Park, Patsey. I'd like to go so much."

"That's the talk, now! So I will. We'll all go. We'll have a reg'lar persesh, a stunner, an' take our lunch, like the 'ristocrockery!"

Dil did brighten up a good deal. Baby kisses helped. She was starving for love, such as boys did not know how to give. She used to take Nelly out walking, and imagine her her very own. The mother instinct was strong in Dil.

Having the was.h.i.+ng done did ease up the work; though one would have considered it no sinecure to feed five hungry boys. Now and then her head would ache, and occasionally something inside of her would flutter up in her throat, as it had when Bess died, and she would stretch out her hands to clasp some warm human support, her whole body in a s.h.i.+ver of vague terror.

If John Travis would only come. She _could not_ disbelieve in him. Last autumn in the moment of desperate despair he had come, bringing such a waft of joy and satisfaction. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. She began to hope, in a vague way, that the Lord had come for Bess, for she wanted her in that beautiful heaven. But the mystery was too great for her untrained mind. And there intruded upon her thought, the horror of that moment when she knew Bess was dead.

The hot weather was very trying. Hemmed in on all sides by tall buildings, her own room so small, with a window on a narrow s.p.a.ce hardly six inches from the brick wall of the next house, there was little chance for air. The boys seemed to sleep through anything.

So the weeks pa.s.sed on with various small delights and events. The boys would go off and spend their money when they needed clothes, and then would follow heroic efforts at economizing. Dil had such shrewd good sense, and they did listen to her gentle advice. They were a gay, rollicking lot, but their very spirits seemed to be of a world she had pa.s.sed by. It was as if she was on the way to some unknown land, not quite a stranger, but a sojourner.

Owen was a really tolerable boy, and bade fair to keep out of the reform school. They all mended of their swearing; they were ready to wait on her at a word.

The white frock was a beauty. Shorty brought her some pink ribbons that made her look less pale, and she had a wreath of wild roses on her hat that Mrs. Brian gave her.

They made ready for their excursion one beautiful Sunday morning in July. There had been a tremendous shower the night before, and all nature was fresh and glowing. The very sky was full of suggestions in its clear, soft blue, with here and there a white drift.

Oh, how lovely the park looked! Dil had to pause in a strange awe, as if she was hardly prepared to enter. It was like the hymn that was always floating intangibly through her mind-the fields and rivers of delight, the fragrant air, the waving trees and beds of flowers, the beautiful nooks, the bridges, the winding paths that seemed leading into delicious mysteries.

The boys were wild over the animals. They were irrepressible, and soon tired out poor Dil. She had to sit down and press her hand on her heart.

There was a strange sinking, as if she was floating off, like the fleecy white drifts above her.

"Youse air nawful white!" cried Patsey in alarm. "An' ther's sich a queer blue streak acrost yer lip. Air ye sick?"

She drew a long breath, and the world seemed to settle again, as she raised her soft eyes with a smile all about them.