Book: Helen of the Old House

H >> Harold Bell Wright >> Helen of the Old House




Little Maggie caught her warlike brother's arm. "But, Bobby--Bobby, yer
wouldn't dast to do that, yer know yer wouldn't!"

"Huh," returned the boy, scornfully. "I'd show yer if I had a chanct."

"But, Bobby, yer'd maybe kill the beautiful princess lady if yer was to
blow up the castle an' every-thin'."

"Aw shucks," returned the boy, shaking off his sister's hand with manly
impatience. "Couldn't I wait 'til she was away somewheres else 'fore I
touched it off? An', anyway, what if yer wonderful princess lady _was_
to git hurt, I guess she's one of 'em, ain't she?"

Poor Maggie, almost in tears, was considering this doubtful reassurance
when Bobby suddenly pointed again toward that pretentious estate on the
hillside, and cried in quick excitement: "Look-ee, Mag, there's a
autermobile a-comin' out from the castle, right now--see? She's a-goin'
down the hill toward town. Who'll yer bet it is? Old Adam Ward
his-self, heh?"

Little Maggie's face brightened joyously. "Maybe it's the princess
lady, Bobby."

"And who is this that you call the princess lady, Maggie?" asked the
Interpreter.

Bobby answered for his sister. "Aw, she means old Adam's daughter.
She's allus a-callin' her that an' a-makin' up stories about her."

"Oh, so you know Miss Helen Ward, too, do you?" The Interpreter was
surprised.

The boy turned his back on the landscape as though it held nothing more
of interest to him. "Naw, we've just seen her, that's all."

Stealing timidly back to the side of the wheel chair, the little girl
looked wistfully up into the Interpreter's face. "Do yer--do yer know
the princess lady what lives in the castle?" she asked.

The old basket maker, smiling down at her, answered, "Yes, dear, I have
known your princess lady ever since she was a tiny baby--much smaller
than you. And did you know, Maggie, that she was born in the old house
down there, next door to Charlie and Mary Martin?"

"An'--an' did she live there when she was--when she was as big as me?"

Bobby interrupted with an important "Huh, I know her brother John is a
boss in the Mill. He was in the war, too, with Captain Charlie. Did he
live in the old house when he was a kid?"

"Yes."

"An'--an' when the princess lady was little like me, an' lived in the
old house, did yer play with her?" asked Maggie.

The Interpreter laughed softly. "Yes, indeed, often. You see I worked
in the Mill, too, in those days, Maggie, with her father and Peter
Martin and--"

"That was when yer had yer real, sure-nuff legs, wasn't it?" the boy
interrupted.

"Yes, Bobby. And every Sunday, almost, I used to be at the old house
where the little princess lady lived, or at the Martin home next door,
and Helen and John and Charlie and Mary and I would always have such
good times together."

Little Maggie's face shone with appreciative interest. "An' did yer
tell them fairy stories sometimes?"

"Sometimes."

The little girl sighed and tried to get still closer to the man in the
wheel chair. "I like fairies, don't yer?"

"Indeed, I do," he answered heartily.

"Skinny and Chuck, they said yer tol' _them_ stories, too."

The Interpreter laughed quietly. "I expect perhaps I did."

"I don't suppose yer know any fairy stories right now, do yer?"

"Let me see," said the Interpreter, seeming to think very hard. "Why,
yes, I believe I do know one. It starts out like this: Once upon a time
there was a most beautiful princess, just like your princess lady, who
lived in a most wonderful palace. Isn't that the way for a fairy story
to begin?"

"Uh-huh, that's the way. An' then what happened?"

With a great show of indifference the boy drew near and stretched
himself on the floor on the other side of the old basket maker's chair.

"Well, this beautiful princess in the story, perhaps because she was so
beautiful herself, loved more than anything else in all the world to
have lots and lots of jewels. You know what jewels are, don't you?"

"Uh-huh, the princess lady she has 'em--heaps of 'em. I seen her onct
close, when she was a-gettin' into her autermobile, in front of one of
them big stores."

"Well," continued the story-teller, "it was strange, but with all her
diamonds and pearls and rubies and things there was _one_ jewel that
the princess did _not_ have. And, of course, she wanted that one
particular gem more than all the others. That is the way it almost
always is, you know."

"Huh," grunted Bobby.

"What was that there jewel she wanted?" asked Maggie.

"It was called the jewel of happiness," answered the Interpreter,
"because whoever possessed it was sure to be always as happy as happy
could be. And so, you see, because she did not have that particular
jewel the princess did not have as good times as such a beautiful
princess, living in such a wonderful palace, with so many lovely
things, really ought to have.

"But because this princess' heart was kind, a fairy appeared to her one
night, and told her that if she would go down to the shore of the great
sea that was not far from the castle, and look carefully among the
rocks and in the sand and dirt, she would find the jewel of happiness.
Then the fairy disappeared--poof! just like that."

Little Maggie squirmed with thrills of delight. "Some story, I'd say.
An' then what happened?"

"Why, of course, the very next day the princess went to walk on the
seashore, just as the fairy had told her. And, sure enough, among the
rocks and in the sand and dirt, she found hundreds and hundreds of
bright, shiny jewels. And she picked them up, and picked them up, and
picked them up, until she just couldn't carry another one. Then she
began to throw away the smaller ones that she had picked up at first,
and to hunt for larger ones to take instead. And then, all at once,
right there beside her, was a poor, ragged and crooked old woman, and
the old woman was picking up the ugly, dirt-colored pebbles that the
princess would not touch.

"'What are you doing, mother?' asked the beautiful princess, whose
heart was kind.

"And the crooked old woman answered, 'I am gathering jewels of
happiness on the shore of the sea of life.'

"'But those ugly, dirty pebbles are not jewels, mother,' said the lady.
'See, these are the jewels of happiness.' And she showed the poor,
ignorant old woman the bright, shiny stones that she had gathered.

"And the crooked old crone looked at the princess and laughed--a
curious, creepy, crawly, crooked laugh.

"Then the old woman offered to the princess one of the ugly,
dirt-colored pebbles that she had gathered. 'Take this, my dear,' she
croaked, 'and wear it, and you shall see that I am right--that this is
the jewel of happiness.'

"Now the beautiful princess did not want to wear that ugly,
dirt-colored stone--no princess would, you know. But, nevertheless,
because her heart was kind and she saw that the poor, crooked old woman
would feel very bad if her gift was not accepted, she took the dull,
common pebble and put it with the bright, shiny jewels that she had
gathered.

"And that very night the fairy appeared to the princess again.

"'Did you do as I told you?' the fairy asked. 'Did you look for the
jewel of happiness on the shore of the sea of life?'

"'Oh, yes,' cried the princess. 'And see what a world of lovely ones I
found!'

"The fairy looked at all the pretty, shiny stones that the princess had
gathered. 'And what is this?' the fairy asked, pointing to the ugly,
dirt-colored pebble.

"'Oh, that,' replied the princess, hanging her head in
embarrassment,--'that is nothing but a worthless pebble. A poor old
woman gave it to me to wear because she thinks it is beautiful.'

"'But you will not wear the ugly thing, will you?' asked the fairy.
'Think how every one would point at you, and laugh, and call you
strange and foolish.'

"'I know,' answered the princess, sadly, 'but I must wear it because I
promised, and because if I did not and the poor old lady should see me
without it, she would be so very, very unhappy.'

"And, would you believe it, no sooner had the beautiful princess said
those words than the fairy disappeared--poof! just like that! And right
there, on the identical spot where she had been, was that old ragged
and crooked woman.

"'Oh!' cried the princess.

"And the old woman laughed her curious, creepy, crawly, crooked laugh.
'Don't be afraid, my dear,' she said, 'you shall have your jewel of
happiness. But look!' She pointed a long, skinny, crooked finger at the
shiny jewels on the table and there, right before the princess' eyes,
they were all at once nothing but lumps of worthless dirt.

"'Oh!' screamed the princess again. 'All my lovely jewels of
happiness!'

"'But look,' said the old woman again, and once more pointed with her
skinny finger. And would you believe it, the princess saw that ugly,
dirt-colored pebble turn into the most wonderfully splendid jewel that
ever was--the true jewel of happiness.

"And so," concluded the Interpreter, "the beautiful princess whose
heart was kind lived happy ever after."

Little Maggie clapped her thin hands with delight.

"Gee," said Bobby, "wish I knowed where that there place was. I'd get
me enough of them there jewel things to swap for a autermobile an'
a--an' a flyin' machine."

"If you keep your eyes open, Bobby," answered the old basket maker,
"you will find the place all right. Only," he added, looking away
toward the big house on the hill, "you must be very careful not to make
the mistake that the princess lady is making--I mean," he corrected
himself with a smile, "you must be careful not to pick up only the
bright and shiny pebbles as the princess in the story did."

"Huh--I guess I'd know better'n that," retorted the boy. "Come on, Mag,
we gotter go."

"You will come to see me again, won't you?" asked the Interpreter, as
the children stood on the threshold. "You have legs, you know, that can
easily bring you."

"Yer bet we'll come," said Bobby, "won't we, Mag?"

The little girl, looking back at the man in the wheel chair, smiled.

* * * * *

For some time after the children had gone the Interpreter sat very
still. His dark eyes were fixed upon the Mill with its tall, grim
stacks and the columns of smoke that twisted upward to form that
overshadowing cloud. The voices of the children, as they started down
the stairway to the dusty road and to their wretched home in the Flats,
came to him muffled and indistinct from under the cliff.

Perhaps the man in the wheel chair was thinking of the days when
Maggie's princess lady was a little girl and lived in the old house
next door to Mary and Charlie Martin. Perhaps his mind still dwelt on
the fairy story and the princess who found her jewel of happiness. It
may have been that he was listening to the droning, moaning voice of
the Mill, as one listens to the distant roar of the surf on a dangerous
coast.

With a weary movement he took the unfinished basket from the table and
began to work. But it was not his basket making that caused the
weariness of the Interpreter--it was not his work that put the light of
sorrow in his dark eyes.

* * * * *

As Bobby and Maggie went leisurely down the zigzag steps, proud of
the tremendous success of their adventure, the boy paused several times
to execute an inspirational "stunt" that would in some degree express
his triumphant emotions.

"Gee!" he exulted. "Wait 'til I see Skinny and Chuck an' the rest of
the gang! Gee, won't I tell 'em! Just yer wait. I'll knock 'em dead.
Gee!"

On the bottom step they deliberately seated themselves as if they had
suddenly found the duty of leaving the charmed vicinity of that hut on
the cliff above impossible.

Suddenly, from around the curve in the road followed by a whirling
cloud of dust, came an automobile. It was a big car, very imposing with
its shiny black body, its gleaming metal, and its liveried chauffeur.

The children gazed in open-mouthed wonder. The car drew nearer, and
they saw, behind the dignified personality at the wheel, a lady who
might well have been the beautiful princess of the Interpreter's fairy
tale.

Little Maggie caught her brother's arm. "Bobby! It's--it's _her_--it's
the princess lady herself."

"Gee!" gasped the boy. "She's a slowin' down--what d'yer--"

The automobile stopped not thirty feet from where the children sat on
the lower step of the old stairway. Springing to the ground, the
chauffeur, with the dignity of a prime minister, opened the door.

But the princess lady sat motionless in her car. With an expression of
questioning disapproval she looked at the Interpreter's friends on that
lower step of the Interpreter's stairway.




CHAPTER II

LITTLE MAGGIE'S PRINCESS LADY


By nine out of ten of the Millsburgh people, the Interpreter would be
described as a strange character. But the judge once said to the
cigar-store philosopher, when that worthy had so spoken of the old
basket maker, "Sir, the Interpreter is more than a character; he is a
conviction, a conscience, an institution."

It was about the time when the patents on the new process were issued
that the Interpreter--or Wallace Gordon, as he was then known--appeared
from no one knows where, and went to work in the Mill. Because of the
stranger's distinguished appearance, his evident culture, and his
slightly foreign air, there were many who sought curiously to learn his
history. But Wallace Gordon's history remained as it, indeed, remains
still, an unopened book. Within a few months his ability to speak
several of the various languages spoken by the immigrants who were
drawn to the manufacturing city caused his fellow workers to call him
the Interpreter.

Working at the same bench in the Mill with Adam Ward and Peter Martin,
the Interpreter naturally saw much of the two families that, in those
days, lived such close neighbors. Sober, hard working, modest in his
needs, he acquired, during his first year in the Mill, that little plot
of ground on the edge of the cliff, and built the tiny hut with its
zigzag stairway. But often on a Sunday or a holiday, or for an hour of
the long evenings after work, this man who was so alone in the world
would seek companionship in the homes of his two workmen friends. The
four children, who were so much together that their mothers used to say
laughingly they could scarcely tell which were Wards and which were
Martins, claimed the Interpreter as their own. With his never-failing
fund of stories, his ultimate acquaintance with the fairies, his ready
understanding of their childish interests, and his joyous comradeship
in their sports, he won his own peculiar place in their hearts.

It was during the second year of his residence in Millsburgh that he
adopted the deaf and dumb orphan boy, Billy Rand.

That such a workman should become a leader among his fellow workers was
inevitable. More and more his advice and counsel were sought by those
who toiled under the black cloud that rolled up in ever-increasing
volumes from the roaring furnaces.

The accident which so nearly cost him his life occurred soon after the
new process had taken Adam from his bench to a desk in the office of
the Mill. Helen and John were away at school. At the hospital they
asked him about his people. He smiled grimly and shook his head. When
the surgeons were finally through with him, and it was known that he
would live but could never stand on his feet again, he was still silent
as to his family and his life before he came to the Mill. So they
carried him around by the road on the hillside to his little hut on the
top of the cliff where, with Billy Rand to help him, he made baskets
and lived with his books, which he purchased as he could from time to
time during the more profitable periods of his industry.

As the years passed and the Mill, under Adam Ward's hand, grew in
importance, Millsburgh experienced the usual trials of such industrial
centers. Periodic labor wars alternated with times of industrial peace.
Months of prosperity were followed by months of "hard times," and want
was in turn succeeded by plenty. When the community was at work the
more intelligent and thrifty among those who toiled with their hands
and the more conservative of those who labored in business were able to
put by in store enough to tide them over the next period of idleness
and consequent business depression.

From his hut on the cliff the Interpreter watched it all with
never-failing interest and sympathy. Indeed, although he never left his
work of basket making, the Interpreter was a part of it all. For more
and more the workers from the Mill, the shops and the factories, and
the workers from the offices and stores came to counsel with this
white-haired man in the wheel chair.

The school years of John and Helen, the new home on the hill, and all
the changes brought by Adam Ward's material prosperity separated the
two families that had once been so intimate. But, in spite of the wall
that the Mill owner had built between himself and his old workmen
comrades, the children of Adam Ward and the children of Peter Martin
still held the Interpreter in their hearts. To the man condemned to his
wheel chair and his basket making, little Maggie's princess lady was
still the Helen of the old house.

Sam Whaley's children sitting on the lower step of the zigzag stairway
that afternoon had no thought for the Interpreter's Helen of the old
house. Bobby's rapt attention was held by that imposing figure in
uniform. Work in the Mill when he became a man! Not much! Not as long
as there were automobiles like that to drive and clothes like those to
wear while driving them! Little Maggie's pathetically serious eyes saw
only the beautiful princess of the Interpreter's story--the princess
who lived in a wonderful palace and who because her heart was so kind
was told by the fairy how to find the jewel of happiness. Only this
princess lady did not look as though she had found her jewel of
happiness yet. But she would find it--the fairies would be sure to help
her because her heart was kind. How could any princess lady--so
beautiful, with such lovely clothes, and such a grand automobile, and
such a wonderful servant--how could any princess lady like that help
having a kind heart!

"Tom, send those dirty, impossible children away!"

The man touched his cap and turned to obey.

Poor little Maggie could not believe. It was not what the lady said; it
was the tone of her voice, the expression of her face, that hurt so.
The princess lady must be very unhappy, indeed, to look and speak like
that. And the tiny wisp of humanity, with her thin, stooping shoulders
and her tired little face--dirty, half clothed and poorly fed--felt
very sorry because the beautiful lady in the automobile was not happy.

But Bobby's emotions were of quite a different sort. Sam Whaley would
have been proud of his son had he seen the boy at that moment.
Springing to his feet, the lad snarled with all the menacing hate he
could muster, "Drive us away, will yer! I'd just like to see yer try it
on. These here are the Interpreter's steps. If the Interpreter lets us
come to see him, an' gives us cookies, an' tells us stories, I guess
we've got a right to set on his steps if we want to."

"Go on wid ye--git out o' here," said the man in livery. But Bobby's
sharp eyes saw what the lady in the automobile could not see--a faint
smile accompanied the chauffeur's attempt to obey his orders.

"Go on yerself," retorted the urchin, defiantly, "I'll go when I git
good an' ready. Ain't no darned rich folks what thinks they's so
grand--with all their autermobiles, an' swell drivers, 'n' things--can
tell _me_ what to do. I know her--she's old Adam Ward's daughter, she
is. An' she lives by grindin' the life out of us poor workin' folks,
that's what she does; 'cause my dad and Jake Vodell they say so. Yer
touch me an' yer'll see what'll happen to yer, when I tell Jake
Vodell."

Unseen by his mistress, the smile on the servant's face grew more
pronounced; and the small defender of the rights of the poor saw one of
the man's blue Irish eyes close slowly in a deliberate wink of good
fellowship. In a voice too low to be heard distinctly in the automobile
behind him, he said, "Yer all right, kid, but fer the love o' God beat
it before I have to lay hands on ye." Then, louder, he added gruffly,
"Get along wid ye or do ye want me to help ye?"

Bobby retreated in good order to a position of safety a little way down
the road where his sister was waiting for him.

With decorous gravity the imposing chauffeur went back to his place at
the door of the automobile.

"Gee!" exclaimed Bobby. "What do yer know about that! Old Adam Ward's
swell daughter a-goin' up to see the Interpreter. Gee!"

On the lower step of the zigzag stairway, with her hand on the railing,
the young woman paused suddenly and turned about. To the watching
children she must have looked very much indeed like the beautiful
princess of the Interpreter's fairy tale.

"Tom--" She hesitated and looked doubtfully toward the children.

"Yes, Miss."

"What was it that boy said about his rights?"

"He said, Miss, as how they had just been to visit the Interpreter an'
the old man give 'em cookies, and so they thought they was privileged
to sit on his steps."

A puzzled frown marred the really unusual loveliness of her face. "But
that was not all he said, Tom."

"No, Miss."

She looked upward to the top of the cliff where one corner of the
Interpreter's hut was just visible above the edge of the rock. And
then, as the quick light of a smile drove away the trouble shadows, she
said to the servant, "Tom, you will take those children for a ride in
the car. Take them wherever they wish to go, and return here for me. I
shall be ready in about an hour."

The man gasped. "But, Miss, beggin' yer pardon,--the car--think av the
upholsterin'--an' the dirt av thim little divils--beggin' yer pardon,
but 'tis ruined the car will be--an' yer gowns! Please, Miss, I'll give
them a dollar an' 'twill do just as well--think av the car!"

"Never mind the car, Tom, do as I say, please."

In spite of his training, a pleased smile stole over the Irish face of
the chauffeur; and there was a note of ungrudging loyalty and honest
affection in his voice as he said, touching his cap, "Yes, Miss, I will
have the car here in an hour--thank ye, Miss."

A moment later the young woman saw her car stop beside the wondering
children. With all his high-salaried dignity the chauffeur left the
wheel and opened the door as if for royalty itself.

The children stood as if petrified with wonder, although the boy was
still a trifle belligerent and suspicious.

In his best manner the chauffeur announced, "Miss Ward's compliments,
Sir and Miss, an' she has ordered me to place her automobile at yer
disposal if ye would be so minded as to go for a bit of a pleasure
ride."

"Oh!" gulped little Maggie.

"Aw, what are yer givin' us!" said Bobby.

The man's voice changed, but his manner was unaltered. "'Tis the truth
I'm a-tellin' ye, kids, wid the lady herself back there a-watchin' to
see that I carry out her orders. So hop in, quick, and don't keep her
a-waitin'."

"Gee!" exclaimed the boy.

Maggie looked at her brother doubtfully. "Dast we, Bobby? Dast we?"

"Dast we!--Huh! Who's afraid? I'll say we dast."

Another second and they were in the car. The chauffeur gravely touched
his cap. "An' where will I be drivin' ye, Sir?"

"Huh?"

"Where is it ye would like for to go?"

The two children looked at each other questioningly. Then a grin of
wild delight spread itself over the countenance of the boy and he
fairly exploded with triumphant glee, "Gee! Mag, now's our chance." To
the man he said, eagerly, "Just you take us all 'round the Flats,
mister, so's folks can see. An'--an', mind yer, toot that old horn good
an' loud, so as everybody'll know we're a-comin'." As the automobile
moved away he beamed with proud satisfaction. "Some swells we are--heh?
Skinny an' Chuck an' the gang'll be plumb crazy when they see us. Some
class, I'll tell the world."

"Well, why not?" demanded the cigar-stand philosopher, when Tom
described that triumphant drive of Sam Whaley's children through the
Flats. "Them kids was only doin' what we're all a-tryin' to do in one
way or another."

The lawyer, who had stopped for a light, laughed. "I heard the
Interpreter say once that 'to live on some sort of an elevation was to
most people one of the prime necessities of life.'"

"Sure," agreed the philosopher, reaching for another box for the
real-estate agent, "I'll bet old Adam Ward himself is just as human as
the rest of us if you could only catch him at it."

For some time after her car, with Bobby and Maggie, had disappeared in
its cloud of dust, among the wretched buildings of the Flats, Helen
stood there, on the lower step of the zigzag stairway, looking after
them. She was thinking, or perhaps she was wondering a little at
herself. She might even have been living again for the moment those
old-house days when, with her brother and Mary and Charlie Martin, she
had played there on these same steps.

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