CHAPTER XIV

SURPRISED AT HERSELF

After the chauffeur's ignominious retreat Mrs. Andrews was uncertain what to do. The place was strange to her, and she had no idea how far she was from home. She looked up and down the road, but not a sign of a human habitation could she behold. The only spark of hope was a break in the forest a short distance ahead, and thinking that there might be a house near, she hastened forward. She had not advanced far when a light to the left attracted her attention. This was encouraging, so keeping steadily on, she ere long reached a gateway. The light came from a house over in a cleared field, and with this to guide her she soon reached the building and rapped upon the door. It was opened by a woman, who stared in amazement at the night visitor. A slight cry of fear also escaped her lips, for Mrs. Andrews presented a somewhat formidable appearance. Her hat was lop-sided, her hair dishevelled, her clothes covered with dust, and her face strained and defiant.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" the woman in the door asked.

"I want the police," was the curt reply.

"The police!"

"Yes. An attempt has been made upon my life, and I only barely escaped. Oh, it was terrible!"

"Isn't that awful!" and the woman held up her hands in fear, at the same time glancing anxiously around. "But there are no policemen here."

"I know that. But isn't there a telephone somewhere near? I must send word to town at once and have that villain arrested."

"We have a telephone at our store," the woman explained. "My husband would phone for you, if he knew about your trouble."

"Don't you live here?".

"Oh, no. I live about half a mile up the road."

"Well, then, go at once and phone for the police," Mrs. Andrews ordered.

"I can't do that very well now," was the reply. "I'm looking after a sick woman, and it would not do for me to leave."

"A sick woman! Here?"

"Yes. It's Mrs. Denton, poor soul. She's had a hard time of late, and the strain has been too much for her, and so she took to her bed last week. The women around here have taken turns staying with her. I do not know what will become of her."

"Is she very ill?" Mrs. Andrews asked.

"I'm afraid so. It is a nervous breakdown. I am going to take two of the children for a while, but what will happen to the other three the Lord only knows. But dear me, I've been keeping you standing here all this time. Come in and rest yourself, for you must be tired out after your trying experience."

The room into which Mrs. Andrews was ushered was the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, and a fire was burning in the stove.

"She's in there," the woman whispered, pointing to a door on the left. "The children are upstairs."

Mrs. Andrews at once removed her hat, arranged her dishevelled hair, and brushed some of the dust from her dress. When she had accomplished this, she announced her intention of remaining with the patient.

"But I don't mind staying," the woman informed her.

"Perhaps not, but I want you to go and phone to the police. Tell them that Isaac Dimock's chauffeur ran away with Mrs. Abner Andrews, of Ash Point, and nearly killed her by running the auto into a ditch. You will do that, won't you? I hope it will not be too much trouble."

"Oh, I don't mind going," the woman replied.

"But——" Here she hesitated, and lowered her voice as she glanced toward the bedroom. "I don't like to leave her."

"Can't I look after her as well as you?" Mrs. Andrews asked.

"Perhaps so. But you might not altogether understand her. She's greatly worried about her children, and she's afraid they'll starve. It's necessary to keep cheering her up and telling her that they'll be all right."

"H'm, I guess you can leave that to me," Mrs. Andrews replied. "I'm used to odd people, so you go along and telephone for the police. I don't want that rascal to escape."

The woman at once obeyed, and when she returned several hours later it was broad daylight. She was surprised to find Mrs. Denton asleep, and Mrs. Andrews preparing breakfast for the children.

"How did you do it?" she asked, as she peeked into the bedroom.

"Do what?"

"Get her to sleep?"

"Oh, that was no trouble. I simply told her that her children would be all right; that you were to take two and that I would be responsible for the others."

"What! Do you mean to take three?"

"Certainly. What else is there to do? I shall look after them until some other arrangement is made. You phoned to the police, I suppose?"

"Yes, and they said the matter would be attended to at once."

"That is good," and Mrs. Andrews gave a sigh of relief. "I must go home now, and I wish to take these children with me. Is there anyone you can get to drive us?"

"My husband will," the woman replied. "He is going to town right after dinner, and will be glad to take you and the children along."

During the rest of the morning Mrs. Andrews found plenty to do in tending the sick woman and looking after the children. Nevertheless, the time passed all too slowly. She was anxious to get home, and yet she dreaded going back with the little ones. She wondered what Abner would say. She knew very well what she would have said had he done such a thing. She was really surprised at herself, and almost repented of her hasty action as she sat silently in the waggon that afternoon. Where would she put the children to sleep? Where was the food to come from for such an increase in the family? For months there had just been herself and Abner, and they had lived very simply. Since Belle's arrival they had fared more sumptuously than ever before. But now with three extra mouths to feed, making seven in all to provide for, it would mean a hard struggle. "I have been a fool," she told herself, "and have let my heart run away with my head."

It seemed a long time to Mrs. Andrews before she reached home. When the team at last stopped in front of the house she was surprised to see two little boys perched upon the limb of an apple-tree near the back door. Who could they be, and what were they doing there? Her attention was diverted by the sudden appearance of Jess and Belle from the house, who bore down upon her, and bombarded her with a stream of questions before she had time to alight from the waggon.

"For pity sakes! Give me time to breathe," Mrs. Andrews gasped. "It will take me a whole day to answer all your questions. Come, help these boys down."

Instead of at once obeying, Jess and Belle looked at each, other in consternation. Then they stared at the children.

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Andrews demanded. "Haven't you ever seen boys before? They won't bite."

"Whose are they?" Jess found voice to ask.

"They're ours now; that is, for a time, anyway."

"And are we to keep them, mother?"

"Certainly; until Mrs. Denton gets better."

"But we have two already," and Jess turned and looked toward the lads perched upon the apple-tree.

Mrs. Andrews also looked, and it was upon her face that an expression of consternation now appeared. Intuitively she realized that something unusual had taken place during her absence.

"Are they here to stay?" she demanded.

"It seems so," Jess replied.

"Where's your father?"

"He left home this morning in search of you, and we haven't seen him since."

For a few minutes Mrs. Andrews sat perfectly still, staring straight before her. Then she roused to action, sprang from the waggon and fairly dragged down the children. Thanking the driver for his kindness, she headed straight toward the house without once looking back. Jess and Belle rounded up the boys and marched them to the back door. By this time the two urchins of the night were down from the tree, eager to make friends with the new-comers. Leaving the five in the yard, the girls followed Mrs. Andrews into the house. Seating herself upon a chair in the kitchen, the troubled woman began to fan herself furiously with a copy of The Family Herald and Weekly Star. Her face was a study. An expression of anger and consternation was depicted there, her lips quivered and she was evidently making a great effort to control herself. Seeing this, Jess' sympathy was aroused, and stepping quickly forward, she placed her arms lovingly about her mother's neck.

"There, mother dear," she soothed, "don't feel so badly. There has been some mistake, I am sure."

"Mistake! How could there be any mistake? Your father must have planned to bring these boys here while I was away."

"Oh, no, he didn't," Jess explained. "They dropped upon him last night." Then she related the story as her father had told it to her the night before.

Mrs. Andrews said nothing for a while when Jess was through, but sat lost in thought.

"I wonder why Abner hasn't come back," she at length remarked. "He has had plenty of time to hunt for me all over town."

"Perhaps he is afraid to come," Jess suggested.

"Afraid to come!" Mrs. Andrews exclaimed in astonishment.

"Yes, afraid of what you might say."

"Oh, I see," and Mrs. Andrews looked meaningly at her daughter. "I guess we're quits, then, for I was really afraid to meet him."

A merry ringing laugh from Belle followed this candid confession. The humorous side of the situation had appealed to her from the moment of Mrs. Andrews' arrival with the three boys. There was nothing tragic about it to her, as she had no idea of the straitened circumstances of the Andrews' household. It had never dawned upon her what a struggle Mr. and Mrs. Andrews had made to eke out a precarious living from their gravel hill of a farm, and to keep Jess at the Seminary. Had she known this, and what an addition of five children would mean, she would have seen nothing amusing in the situation. It was as well, however, that she did not know at this critical moment, for her merriment dispelled the clouds, causing Jess to laugh, and the semblance of a smile to lurk about the corners of Mrs. Andrews' mouth.

"Well, I never!" the latter declared. "I believe that's just what's keeping Abner away. I always knew he was afraid of my tongue, but I never imagined it would cause him to run away from home."

"And were you really afraid to come home, mother?" Jess laughingly asked.

"Oh, of course not afraid. Though I must confess I had serious qualms of conscience as to what I had done. You see, when I promised Mrs. Denton to take the children I let my heart run away with my head."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"Well, I should have carefully considered what we should do with the boys, where we could put them to sleep, for instance. Perhaps it would have been better if I had come home first and talked the matter over."

"It's lucky you didn't, mother. You never would have brought those boys had you known there were two here already, would you?"

"Certainly not. But now that we have five on our hands where in the world are we to put them? That's what I want to know."

"Why not let them sleep out in the woodshed?" Jess suggested.

"In the woodshed! That would never do."

"And why not? There is plenty of room there near the kitchen, and it is clean and neat. It is just the place for them this warm weather."

"But we haven't enough beds for them all."

"Let them sleep on the floor; they will think it great fun. Then when daddy comes home he can fix up little canvas bunks for them. He will know the kind I mean."

"And would you let them sleep there all alone?"

"We can take turns sleeping out there with them. That sofa behind you will make a most comfortable bed. Oh, I think it will be great, don't you, Belle?"

"Indeed, I do," was the enthusiastic reply. "Why, it's just like a story, though much better, for this is the real thing."

"Well, I suppose there is nothing else to do," and Mrs. Andrews gave a deep sigh. "We might as well get to work at once, as it will be supper time before we know where we are. I wish to goodness Abner would come home."

In a remarkably short time that part of the woodshed near the kitchen was made ready. Boxes and barrels were moved, and beds spread down upon the floor.

"There, I guess that is the finish," Jess declared, when the sofa had been brought from the kitchen. "I shall sleep like a babe on that to-night."

"Not to-night," her mother informed her. "I intend to take the first turn, as I want to see for myself how the youngsters behave."

"And you won't be afraid, mother?"

"Afraid! Did you ever hear of me being afraid? Of course, I shall fasten the door securely, and I'd like to see anyone try to get in through that opening there. I've told Abner over and over again to fix in that window which was blown out by that big gale last fall. But maybe it's just as well as it is, for it will let in plenty of air, which no doubt we'll need. I hope to goodness you gave those street-Arabs a special scrubbing, Jess?"

"Yes, I tubbed them thoroughly this morning, and they certainly needed it."

"And did you change everything on your bed?"

"Indeed I did, and the clothes are all out on the line yet."

"I looked after the 'sudden' night-gowns myself," Belle laughingly remarked.

"Sudden night-gowns!" Mrs. Andrews repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Why, they were sudden, were they not? From pillow-slips to night-gowns in a minute was rather a quick change, I should say. It was the finest piece of conjuring I have ever seen," and in a few words she explained what Abner had done.

"Oh, my poor pillow-slips!" and Mrs. Andrews sighed. "But, then, it might have been much worse. You can never tell what Abner will do when he starts on the rampage. I wonder where he can be."

The boys had been very busy playing that afternoon, and were thoroughly tired when summoned to bed. They were delighted at the idea of sleeping on the floor, and considered it great fun. While Jess and Belle looked after their welfare Mrs. Andrews milked the two cows, and attended to the milk, after which she fed the pigs, and fastened up the hens and chickens. She was very tired after her trying experiences and the sleepless night at Mrs. Denton's. In fact, she could have slept anywhere, "even on a fence-pole without once rolling off," she informed the girls as she bade them good-night. Trying the door to see that it was securely fastened, and glancing at the two pails filled with water near at hand, she blew out the light, and laid herself down upon the sofa.