Jane Journeys On | Page 6

a small
bag and was faintly pink with her haste. There was apprehension in the
look she gave her friend. "Wasn't I quick, Jane?" She had left them
alone to give Martin Wetherby his chance, but ancient girl loyalty had
winged her heels.
"Yes," said Jane, slipping her hand through Sarah's arm. "Sally, I've
just been telling Marty that I'm going away for a while."
"Jane Vail! Going away? What for? Where?" She stood still on the
sidewalk, exploding into tiny, staccato sentences.

"To New York," Jane heard herself saying with entire conviction. "I'm
going away to work."
"To work?" They were all in the brightness of the street light now, and
Sarah brought her nearsighted gaze close to Jane's glowing face. "Have
you lost your senses?"
"Neither my senses nor my cosy little hundred-a-month," said Jane.
"Come along, people,--it's a scandalous hour." She started briskly up
the silent thoroughfare and the others followed. "No, it's really all quite
sane and simple." (The astounding thing was that she had known it less
than five minutes herself, and now it was a solid and settled fact to her.
Happily, gloriously, she didn't have to choose, after all. She didn't have
to be either a Nannie Slade Hunter or a Sally Farraday; there was a
chance to be something quite fresh and new.) "I'm going to New York
to write. I mean, to see if I can write."
Martin Wetherby, heavily keeping step beside her, not even touching
her arm at crossings, was silent, but her best friend was vocal and
vehement.
"Jane Vail! I never heard anything so--so far-fetched in all my life!
Going to New York to write! Can't you write here in your own town, in
your own home? Of course you can. Why,--see what you've
accomplished already."
"I haven't accomplished anything, old dear, except a few papers for the
Tuesday Club and the Ladies' Aid, and----"
"You've had three stories accepted and published and one of them paid
for,--I think you've had a great deal of encouragement, don't you,
Martin?"
The stout young man made a husky assent.
"But Sally, you don't realize the interruptions, the distractions----"
"Interruptions! Distractions!" Sarah cut in hotly. "Why, your Aunt

Lydia is perfectly wonderful about not letting you be disturbed! And
anyhow--what about Harriet Beecher Stowe, writing Uncle Tom's
Cabin with poverty and sickness and a debilitating climate and seven
children?"
"My good woman," said Jane, cautiously, "it's entirely possible that I
may not have exactly the same urge. I want to find out if I have any at
all." She slipped an arm through Sarah's and through Martin's and gave
each of them a gay little squeeze. "Don't be so horrified, old dears. It
isn't across the world, you know, and I'll be coming home for all
high-days and holidays. After I really get started I daresay I can work
at home,--and perhaps, you know, it will be Bo-Peep herself who
comes home, bringing her tales behind her!"
But Sarah Farraday was still protesting in a cross panic when they had
taken leave of a subdued Martin and were creeping upstairs in Miss
Lydia Vail's house.
"Look!" said Jane, nodding at the transom over her aunt's door. "She's
fallen asleep again without turning off her light. You go on, Sally, I'll
be right in."
Miss Lydia was propped up on two pillows, an open book before her on
the patchwork quilt, and her head had sagged forward on the breast of
her blue flannelette nightgown. She was making a low comedy sound
which would have distressed her beyond measure if she had heard it.
When Jane took the book from under her plump hands and gently
removed one of the pillows she came back to consciousness with a jerk.
"I wasn't asleep," she stated with dignity. "Not really asleep; I just
closed my eyes to rest them and sort of lost myself for an instant." Her
eyes narrowed intently. "My dear, what is it? You look--you look queer!
Sort of--excited!" A quick, pink blush mounted over her face. "Jane!
Oh, my darling child--is it--has Martin"--then, disappointedly, as the
girl shook her head,--"Is it just that you've been having a wonderful
time?"
"It's just that I've been having a wonderful idea, Aunt Lyddy!" She

patted the pillow. "I'll tell you to-morrow!"
"What, Jane? What is it? I sha'n't sleep a wink if you don't tell me!"
"I'm going away for a while, Aunt Lyddy, dear,--to New York. I want
to see if I can really do something with my writing."
The little spinster paled. "Jane! Going away?" Her eyes brimmed up
with sudden tears. "My dearest girl, aren't you happy in your home?
I've tried, oh, how I've tried to take your dear, dead mother's place! But
it seems----"
"Of course I'm happy,--I've always been