The Outdoor Girls at the Hostess House | Page 8

interested," they cried in chorus, at which the old woman's face lighted up and she went on with more cheerfulness.
"Well, to begin with," she said, "we lived way at t'other end o' the world. Danestown, it was called, and my husband--better man never breathed--died when my little boy was only four years old. I wasn't so young any more, for Willie was the youngest--the others had all died when they was babies--and Willie's pa and me was getting along in years when he come to us--the dearest, sweetest, prettiest baby you ever set your eyes on.
"Well, we had managed to save some little money, though 'twasn't over much at best, and with me workin' on the farm week days and Sundays, we managed to get along pretty well. An' I was savin' pennies--" Here the old voice trembled and nearly broke, so that it was some minutes before the speaker could go on.
The girls tried hard to think of something to say, but as everything that came to them sounded flat and inappropriate, they kept a sympathetic silence--which was perhaps the best they could have done, after all.
"As I was sayin'," the old voice continued after a while, "I was squeezin' every little penny I could from the bare necessities to lay aside for the boy. You see, it had been his father's wish that Willie should be given the chance neither of us had ever had to get some schoolin' and have his chance in the world. I was hopin' that by the time the boy grew up I might maybe have enough to send him to college.
"Of course," she added, with an air of apologizing for a weakness that went straight to the girls' hearts, "they was only dreams. But I don't see as there was any harm in them, seein's I always kept them to myself an' never told anybody 'bout them--leastways, no one but Willie.
"Sometimes, on a winter night when the snow was fallin' outside an' the wind was howlin' round the house, I used to draw Willie up to the big, open fireplace we had in the kitchen and tell him 'bout his pa an' how he had always wished for Willie to be a fine, big man.
"An' Willie, he'd listen with those big, earnest eyes o' his--such beautiful eyes my Willie had--" Again the voice broke and trailed off into silence while the girls sat and waited as before, only with a stronger pity in their hearts for this faithful little old woman who had loved so well--and lost.
"An' then," the voice continued, more softly and dreamily than before, my little boy would reach up and pat my cheek, just like his father used to do, and seems like I can hear his voice now, just as plain as I did all those long, long years ago.
"'Maw,' he'd say, drawlin' a little in his cunnin' way, 'just don't you worry. I'll do all those things, jest like pa said, an' then we'll go an' live in a big house an' you won't have to work so hard any more--jest be happy.'
"An' then he'd take my hand that was coarse an' rough from workin' in the field and rub his soft little cheek against it an' look up at me, an' just smile--"
There was a little sob from the spot where Amy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, while the other girls were frankly and openly crying and not even noticing it.
"He--he must have been a darling!" cried Betty, unsteadily.
"He was," answered the old lady simply. "It wasn't very long after that he ran away, and I suppose"--again her eyes sought the parade ground--"if I was to meet him now I maybe wouldn't know him. You see, I'd still be lookin' for my little brown-eyed, yellow-haired Willie boy."
"But what made him run away?" asked Mollie, rubbing her eyes furiously with her handkerchief. "I shouldn't have thought--"
"Neither would I," the strange little woman interrupted abruptly. "If he hadn't had such a high spirit he never would. But--well, seem like I'm gettin' ahead of my story.
"You see, some o' the neighbors' children was a pretty wild lot an' they always had a grudge against my boy 'cause he wouldn't join them in all their escapades.
"You see, Willie took a lot after his father. He used to just like to sit and dream and read books you'd thought a little fellow like him couldn't understand at all--he was just twelve when he ran away.
"An' o' course these other boys, they didn't like him 'cause he was different, an' they was always layin' the blame for all their pranks on him.
"But my Willie, it didn't bother him much. He used to tell me that as long as he knew he didn't do it and I knew it, what other