I think it was Rita.

Jackie

Jackie stands at the open window in her little room and breathes the fresh air. She's hot and the bit of fresh air feels good on her tearstained face.

She raises her eyes higher and higher, until at last she's looking up at the stars and the moon.

"Oh," Jackie thinks. "I can't go on. I haven't even the strength to be sad. Paul has left me, I'm all alone, maybe for good, I just can't go on, I can't do anything, all I know is that I'm in despair." And while Jackie looks, looks at the things of nature, which show her all their beauty that day, she grows calm. As gust after gust of wind blows through the trees outside the house, as the sky darkens and the stars hide behind big, thick clouds, which look like bundles of blotting paper in the cloudy light and take on every conceivable shape, Jackie suddenly feels that her despair is gone, that she's still capable of doing something, and that no one can take away the hap Jackie 61 piness she feels inside her. "No one can do that," she whispers without knowing it. "Not even Paul."

After standing at the window for an hour, Jackie has recovered; she is still sad, but no longer in despair. Anyone who looks at nature, which is the same as looking into oneself, long and deeply enough, will, like Jackie, be cured of all despair.

Cady's Life

CHAPTER I.

When Cady opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was that everything was white all around her. The last thing she remembered clearly was someone shouting at her. . . a car. . . then she fell down, and then every- thing was dark. She felt a sharp pain in her right leg and left arm, and without knowing it she sighed softly. Just after that a friendly face bent over her, looking out from under a white cap.

"Are you in great pain, poor thing? Do you remember what happened to you?" the nurse asked.

"It's nothing. . ."

The nurse smiled. Cady went on, speaking with diffi- culty: "Yes. . . a car, I fell. . . then nothing."

"Never mind. Just tell me your name. Then your par- ents will be able to come and see you and they won't have to worry anymore."

Cady was visibly horrified. "But. . . but, but. . ." that was all she could say.

"Don't worry, your parents haven't been waiting for you so very long. You've only been here with us for an hour or so."

Cady managed a bit of a smile.

"My name is Caroline Dorothea Van Altenhoven, Cady for short. My address is 261 Zuider Amstellaan."

"Do you miss your parents very much?"

Cady only nodded. She was so tired, and everything hurt so badly; just one more sigh and she had fallen asleep.

Sister Ank, who kept watch beside the bed in the little white room, looked anxiously at the little pale face that lay on the pillow as peacefully as if nothing were wrong. But something was very wrong. The child had been hit by a car that had come around the corner just as she was crossing the street. As the doctor had thought, she had a compound fracture, her left arm was crushed and something was wrong with her left foot, too.

There was a soft knock at the door; a nurse admitted a lady of medium height, followed by an unusually tall, handsome man. Sister Ank stood up; it was bound to be Cady's parents. Mrs. Van Altenhoven was very pale and looked at her daughter out of frightened eyes. Cady didn't notice, for she was still sleeping peacefully.

"Oh, Sister, tell me what happened to her. We waited and waited, but we never thought of an accident, oh, no..."

"You mustn't worry too much, Mrs. Van Altenhoven. Your daughter has already regained consciousness." Sister Ank told them as much about the case as she herself knew. She made it sound much less serious than it was, and that made her too feel a lot more cheerful. Maybe the child would recover after all.

While the grown-ups stood talking, Cady woke up, and when she saw her parents in the room, she suddenly felt much sicker than when she had been alone with the nurse. She was a.s.sailed by thoughts; horrible visions came at her from all sides, she saw herself crippled for life. . . with only one arm, and all sorts of terrifying visions.

Then Mrs. Van Altenhoven noticed that Cady was awake and went over to the bed.

"Are you in great pain? How are you now? Would you like me to stay with you? Is there anything you need?"

Cady couldn't possibly answer all those questions. She only nodded and longed for the moment when all the commotion would be over.

"Father!" That was all she could say.

Mr. Van Altenhoven sat down on the edge of the big iron bed and, without saying a word or asking any questions, took his daughter's hand in his.

"Thank you, oh, thank you. . ." Cady said no more, she had fallen asleep.

CHAPTER 2.

A week had pa.s.sed since the accident. Cady's mother came to see her every morning and afternoon, but they didn't let her stay very long, because she wore Cady out with her incessant nervous chatter, and it was plain to the nurse who always took care of Cady that she was much more eager to see her father than her mother.

The nurse had very little trouble with the patient who had been entrusted to her care; though Cady must often have been in great pain, especially when the doctor was examining her, she never complained and was never dissatisfied.

What she liked best was to lie still and daydream. Sister Ank sat beside her bed with a book or her knitting. After the first few days Cady didn't sleep so much. Then she was glad to chat awhile and there was no one she'd rather have chatted with than Sister Ank, who was calm and always spoke gently; it was her gentleness that Cady liked best. As she now began to realize, it was this motherly tenderness that she had always felt the lack of. Little by little, a feeling of confidence grew up between the nurse and Cady.

One morning, when the first two weeks had pa.s.sed and Cady had told her a good deal, Sister Ank tactfully asked about Cady's mother. Cady had expected the question, and she was glad to be able to tell someone how she felt.

"What makes you ask me that? Has it struck you that I'm not nice to my mother?"

"No, not exactly. But I have a feeling that you're not so fond of your mother as of your father."

"You're right. I can't feel any real affection for my mother, and I have been very unhappy about it. Mother is so very different from me; in itself that wouldn't mat- ter, but she has no understanding for things that I think important and that mean a lot to me. Can you help me, Sister Ank? Can you tell me how to be nicer to my mother, so she won't feel that I don't care for her as much as for Father? I know Mother loves me very much, I'm her only child."

"Yes, your mother means well, I think she just can't strike the right note. Maybe she's just a little bashful in her own way."

"Oh no. She's not bashful. Mother thinks her behavior is just right for a mother, she'd be speechless with amazement if anyone told her there was anything wrong with the tone she takes with me. Mother doesn't doubt for a moment that I'm entirely to blame. Sister Ank, you're just the mother I'd like to have. I so long for a real mother, and the woman who is my mother will never fill that place. I'm sure no one in all the world has everything they could ask for, though most people think I want for nothing. I have a cheerful home, Father and Mother get along well, they give me everything I could possibly want, and yet, isn't a real, understanding mother an important thing in a girl's life? And maybe not just a girl's. How do I know what boys think and feel? I've never known a boy at all well. I'm sure they have exactly the same need for an understanding mother, but maybe in a different way. Now it suddenly comes to me what's wrong with Mother, she has no tact. She has such a hor- rid way of talking about the most delicate things, she has no idea what's going on inside me, and yet she keeps saying how interested she is in young people. She has no idea what patience and gentleness are; she's a woman, but she's not a real mother."

"Don't be so hard on your mother, Cady. If she is different, maybe it's because she has suffered a good deal. Maybe that's why she doesn't like to talk about the delicate things."

"I don't know. What does a daughter like me know about the life of her parents? About her mother's life? Does anyone tell her? Mother doesn't understand me and I don't understand her. That's why there has never been any trust between us."

"And your father, Cady?"

"Father knows Mother and I don't get along. He under- stands Mother and he understands me. He's a darling, Sister Ank, he tries to make up to me for what Mother doesn't give me. Only he's afraid to talk about it, he never talks to me about anything that might involve Mother. A man can do a lot, but he can never take the place of a mother. "

"I'd like to contradict you, Cady, but I can't, because I know you're right. I think it's a great shame that your mother and you are far apart instead of being close friends. Do you suppose things will never get better, not even when you're older?"

Almost imperceptibly Cady shrugged her shoulders. "Sister Ank, I miss a mother terribly. I'd be so glad to have someone I could trust completely and who would trust me too. "

Cady fell silent and Sister Ank looked very grave. "Let's not talk about it anymore, child, but I'm glad you've told me all this about your mother."