_ CHAPTER III. A LATTER-DAY MIRACLE
Saturday dawned gloriously. The warm rain that had fallen over night had dissolved the last frail bond of winter and had set the spring world free. Trees and bushes and shrubs were frosted with clinging, glistening diamonds that shimmered and gleamed in the sun, while the moist, warm earth sent up a pungent sweetness found only in the early spring.
"Smell it, just smell it!" said Jessie, sniffling rapturously, as she and Evelyn started on their way to Lucile's.
"Isn't it great?" Evelyn agreed. "That rain was just what we needed."
"It reminds me of last spring----"
"That's strange."
"What?" said Jessie, puzzled.
"Why, that this spring should remind you of last."
"Don't get flippant, young lady," said Jessie, severely, "or I shall be obliged to give you a ducking," the river being very convenient just there, as the girls had to walk alongside its shores for some distance before turning into Lucile's avenue.
"Please don't; I had enough of a ducking last year in camp when I fell off the rock. Don't you remember?" said Evelyn, with a rueful smile.
"I should say I do, rather," laughed Jessie. "No one who was there and saw you could ever possibly forget it."
"Oh, I know I always make an impression," said Evelyn, wilfully misunderstanding.
For once Jessie could find no suitable retort. "You hate yourself, don't you?" was all she could say.
"Not so you could notice it," said Evelyn, enjoying her victory. "It seems to me that you were saying something when I----"
"When you so rudely interrupted," said Jessie, sweetly. "I'm not so sure that I will tell you now. It was nothing of any importance."
"Oh, I knew that," said Evelyn quickly--it was certainly her lucky day.
"You win!" cried Jessie, good-naturedly, throwing up her hands in mock despair.
Evelyn laughed merrily. "I'll have to look out after this," she said. "There'll be back-fire, I'm afraid. But, seriously, Jessie, what were you going to say?"
"Oh, only that this wonderful weather reminds me of this time last year when we were just making our plans for camp."
"Yes and even then we hadn't begun to realize how great it was going to be."
"I never knew what real fun was till we got way off there in the woods with the river before us and the woods all about us. And the very best thing of all was that we had only ourselves to depend on for everything."
"And we seemed to get along pretty well, too, considering," said Evelyn.
"Of course we did," Jessie agreed, and then added with a laugh, "I think we would be a valuable aid to suffrage. Tell everybody we managed to get along without any man's help."
"Oh, but we didn't," Evelyn objected. "How about Mr. Wescott?"
"It seems to me we could have gotten along very well without any of his help," retorted Jessie, vindictively.
"Perhaps we could, but--our guardian would tell a different story," said Evelyn, meaningly.
As she spoke the door of Lucile's house opened violently and Lucile herself came flying to meet them. She was dressed all in white and she seemed to the girls the very spirit of spring.
"Oh, girls, I'm so glad you came early," she cried, joyfully. "I was hoping you would, so we could talk things over by ourselves before the others came." She threw an arm about each of the girls and ran them up on the porch.
"We are the first, then?" said Jessie, perching on the railing.
"I told Jessie you would think we had come to breakfast," remarked Evelyn, flinging her hat carelessly into a chair.
"That's the way to do it," said Lucile, sarcastically. "It would serve you right if somebody should sit on it."
"Put it on, Lucy, and let's see how you look in it," Jessie suggested.
Lucile laughingly obliged, and the girls gave an involuntary gasp of delight.
"Oh, you darling," cried Evelyn, hugging Lucile so ecstatically that in her enthusiasm she almost lost her balance and nearly fell to the ground beneath. Lucile clutched her and brought her back to safety.
"A chair is the safest place for you," said her rescuer, laughingly.
"Take off the hat and everything will be all right," said Jessie. "That was what nearly caused your undoing."
"Oh, very well," Lucile agreed. "For such a little thing why quarrel?" and disappeared within the house.
"Remember," said Evelyn, warningly, "remember, that hat is mine, and if you dare to put a slur upon it I'll----"
"Lucy, Lucy," cried Jessie in a frightened voice, "come quick; she is threatening me!"
"All right; wait a minute," came the voice from inside.
"But I can't wait a minute," wailed Jessie; "she may have killed me by that time."
"Well, what----" began Jessie, and Evelyn, glancing at her astonished face, broke into a shout of laughter.
"Oh, Lucy, come and see what you've done," she gasped. "Oh, Jessie, I never saw you look so funny, and that's saying a good deal."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Jessie, icily, though there was a twinkle in her eye. "Not having a mirror, I'm afraid I can't join in the joke."
"No, you are the joke," countered Evelyn.
Jessie's natural sweet temper was fast becoming ruffled by this rapid fire and she had opened her mouth for a sharp retort when Lucile came running out.
"What's the matter?" she cried, gaily, and then, at sight of Jessie's face, she stopped.
"Overdose of hammers," she diagnosed, then wisely changed the subject.
"If we don't hurry up, the girls will be here before we have a chance to say anything at all about Mrs. Wescott."
She perched herself upon the railing beside Jessie and soon they had forgotten all momentary animosity in an animated discussion.
Five minutes later Lucile exclaimed, "Here come Marj., Ruth and Margaret now. I wonder where the rest of them are."
"Welcome to our city," said Jessie. "We have great news for you strangers."
"So we imagined." It was Marjorie Hanlan, a tall, dark, good-looking girl, who answered.
"I couldn't sleep, wondering what you wanted," chimed in Margaret, the little girl who had been lame, but now was just like other girls.
"And we have all been so happy about you, Margaret, since Lucy told us the specialist said you were cured," broke in Evelyn.
"Isn't it great?" said Marjorie. "Margaret was telling us about it on the way up. It seems almost miraculous."
Margaret flushed happily. "Oh, the doctors say there is nothing miraculous about it. They say all I wanted was the exercise and healthy outdoor life. But I know who really did it," she added, putting her arm about Lucile. "It was you girls--yes it was," she insisted, as they started to protest. "You were the first I can remember--except father, of course--who treated me like a human being and not a curiosity. And, oh I'm so grateful and happy," she ended.
Lucile patted the brown head on her shoulder.
"You give us altogether too much credit, Margaret, dear," she said, unsteadily. "It was Miss Howland that thought of it in the first place, and after we knew you we just couldn't help loving you for yourself and wanting to help."
"That's right," cried the girls, heartily.
Margaret glanced around at the sober faces of her friends and, although her eyes were still wet, there was a little hint of raillery in her voice:
"Well, I did think you girls had something to do with it, but since you say you didn't, we'll have to call it a miracle, after all."
The girls laughed a trifle shakily and Evelyn added, "But there's our guardian, you know."
"Oh, yes," said Margaret, and her voice was very tender. "Of course, there's our guardian. I don't know what we'd ever do without her."
"Well, we've had to get along without her for almost six months," Ruth broke in, a trifle pettishly.
"Yes; I wonder if we'll ever see her again," said Marjorie. "We were getting along so splendidly when that Mr. Wescott----"
"Oh, don't be too hard on him," cautioned Lucile. "If we loved her so much, we couldn't blame him for doing the same thing."
"I know, but if he'd only waited two or three years," mourned Marjorie. "He came a good deal too soon, and now I don't suppose we'll ever see her again."
The three conspirators exchanged significant glances and Lucile cried, merrily, "Perhaps you'll change your tune in a little while," and just as the girls were about to demand the meaning of this strange remark, she added, "Here come the rest of them now," and flew down to welcome them.
"What on earth----" began Marjorie, and then stopped as the remaining girls of the camp-fire Aloea, six in all, for they had added two to their number since the spring before, ran up on the porch, all talking at once and making such a noise that her voice was drowned.
It was quite some time before order was restored and Marjorie could again demand an explanation.
"Now that we are all here, Lucy," she said, "suppose you tell us what you meant by that speech of yours."
"What speech?" said Lucile, for she had forgotten it in the excitement of welcoming the new arrivals. "I'll explain anything, but I have to know what it is first."
"Naturally," Marjorie agreed. "Perhaps you will remember that just before the girls came you spoke of our changing our tune, or something to that effect, in regard to Miss Howland."
"Mrs. Wescott, I suppose you mean?" Lucile inquired, blandly, "It seems to me I did say something like that. What would you like to know?"
"What you meant by it," shouted Marjorie, and Margaret added, "Go ahead, give it to us, Lucy. I have an idea that's what you called us here for."
"Smart child," approved Jessie, with an approving pat and nod of the head. "You're coming right along."
Margaret thrilled with a pleasure that was almost pain. "She never would have dared say that to me before," she cried to herself, exultantly. "She would have been too afraid of hurting me. Now I know I'm just like all the rest!" _