Four Girls and a Compact | Page 7

a green fleck down the road, a different green
from the grass and trees. If it should be Emmeline's house--if she could
get to it!
"I must!" she said, and hobbled to her feet. Somehow she got over the
wall, and went stumbling toward the green spot. The agony in her foot
increased every moment; she grew dizzy with it.
It must be Emmeline's house--a little, green-painted one beside the road!

There could not be two green houses in Placid Pond. With a long breath
of relief she got to the door. After that she did not know anything for a
little time, then her eyes opened. Someone with a kind, anxious face
was bending over her. It was Emmeline! It looked like the face of an
old friend to the poor, little Talentless One.
"There, there, poor dear! Never mind where you be, or who I be--you
'tend right to gettin' out o' your faint! Sniff this bottle--there! You'll be
all right in a minute. It's your foot, ain't it? It's all swollen up--how'd
you sprain it?"
She had the injured foot in her tremulous old hands, gently loosening
the shoe. The girl, though she winced with pain, did not utter a sound.
"There ain't any doctor this side of Anywhere," the kind voice ran on,
"but never you mind. I'll risk but what I've got liniments that will
doctor you up."
And the girl, looking up into the peaceful old "lineaments," smiled
faintly, and knew there was healing in them. Even in her throbbing pain
she could think of this new pun that she would regale the girls with
when she got back to them--if she ever got back!
"You are 'Emmeline,' aren't you!" she presently questioned, feebly, like
an old woman, for the pain seemed to have made her old. "I'm so glad
you are Emmeline!"
Poor dear, she was wandering in her mind, and no wonder, with a foot
swollen up like that! It was queer, though, hitting on the right name in
that way.
"There! there! Yes, I am Emmeline, though I might've been Sophia or
Debby Jane! Namin' people is sort o' accidental. I always wished they'd
named me somethin' prettier by accident! But I guess Emmeline will
have to do."
It was long after this before any explanation was made. The fact that it
was Emmeline was enough for those first hours.

"Now, you kind of bear on to yourself, poor dear! This boot has got to
come off!" the kind voice crooned. But, in the awful process of
"bearing on," the Talentless One shot out into the dark, as if pushed by
a heavy hand. How long it was before she came back into the light she
did not know--it seemed to be a point of light that pricked her eyes. She
shut them against it, and longed to drift away again; the dark had been
cool and pleasant.
It was a lighted lamp on a tiny, round table. She found it out the next
time she opened her eyes. She was in a little bedroom, on the bed. The
door was open, and a voice drifted in to her:
"She was coming to beautifully when I left her. I thought mebbe she'd
feel more at home to come to alone. I've got her ankle all dressed nice,
but it would make your heart ache to see it! The poor dear won't walk
again this one while--"
"But, Emmeline Camp, what are you going to do with her all that
time?" The second voice was a little shrill.
"Sh! I'm goin' to doctor her up, just as if she was the little girl the Lord
never gave me. I've always known what I'd do if my little girl broke
anything--There! you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Williams, while I take
this cup o'tea in."
It is odd how many little confidences can be exchanged in the time of
cooling and drinking a cup of tea. The caller had gone away, and the
old woman and the girl were left alone. Little by little the story of the
B-Hive and the quest for an Eldorado came out. Emmeline Camp sat
and nodded, and clandestinely wiped her eyes.
"I see--I see, deary! Now, don't you talk any more and get faint again.
I'll talk. You no need to worry about anything in the world--not yet!
When it's time to commence, I'll tell you. How does your foot feel now?
Dear, dear! When I was fussing over it, it seemed just as if it was my
little Amelia's foot! I've always known what I'd do if she sprained hers,
and so I did it to yours, deary!"

"Is Amelia your daughter?"
The old face wavered between a smile and tears. "Yes," she nodded,
"but she warn't ever born.