Presently the big Old Captain went inside his old car and there was a great clatter among the cooking utensils, mingled with a sort of m.u.f.fled roar. He was working off his overcharged feelings.

Jeanne's sobs, having gradually subsided, she began to be conscious of the unusual disturbance inside the car. Next, she listened--and _hoped_ that Old Captain wasn't saying bad words, but--

"Hum! Ladies present," rose suddenly above the clatter of dishes. The silence, followed by: "Dumbed if she hasn't eaten all the bread!"

Right after that the listening Captain heard the sound of tearing paper. A moment later, Jeanne was in the doorway--a loaf of bread in one hand, a basket of peaches in the other. Her face was tear-stained, but her eyes were brave. She even smiled a little, twisty smile--a smile that all but upset Old Captain.

"There's some rolls, too," she said, in rather a shaky voice. "Take these and I'll bring you the tablecloth. After this, I'm going to be the supper cook. I planned it all out this morning."

Jeanne, brave little soul that she was, was back among the everyday things of life. The greatly relieved Captain beamed at the shining white tablecloth and the cheap, plated silver. He picked up one of the new knives and viewed it admiringly.

"I ain't et with a shiny knife like this since I was keepin' bachelor's hall," said he. "I'll just admire eatin' fried potatoes with this here knife."

The Captain was very sociable that evening. He had to see the contents of all the parcels, and expressed great admiration for the checked gingham that was to be made into a big ap.r.o.n. Once, he disappeared to rummage about in the dark, further end of the long car. Presently he returned with a rusty tin box.

"This here," said he, "is my bank."

He opened it. It was filled with money.

"You see," said he, "when you earns more than you spends, the stuff piles up. Now here's a nice empty can. We'll set it, inconspicuous-like, in this here corner of the cupboard. Any time you wants any money for anything--clothes or food or anything at all--you look in this can.

There'll be some thar. You see, you're _my_ little girl, just now. The rest'll be put away safe--you can forgit about _that_. Was that there a yawn? Gettin' sleepy, are you? Well, well, where's the lantern?"

At the door of the Duval shack, Jeanne stumbled over something--a large basket with the cover fastened down tight. Jeanne carried it inside and lifted the cover. It contained four small kittens and a bottle of milk.

A card hung from the neck of the bottle. On it was printed:

"We got no Mother. From BARNEY."

"Drat him," said the Captain, "them kittens'll keep you awake."

"Not if I feed them," returned Jeanne. "Of course I shall still love Bayard Taylor, but after all, kittens are a lot more cuddle-y than snails. I'm so glad Barney thought of them. They're _dear_--such a pretty silvery gray with white under their chins. I do hope they'll find me a nice mother."

By the time the kittens were fed and asleep, Jeanne, who had certainly spent an exhausting day, was no longer able to keep her eyes open.

CHAPTER XXII

ROGER'S RAZOR

"This here is Sat.u.r.day," said Old Captain, at breakfast time. "Our cupboard is pretty bare of bacon, potatoes, and things like that. I'll go up town after the fodder. Then this afternoon, me and you'll go to see Mollie. Most ginerally I takes her somethin'--fruit like, or a bouquet--old Mrs. Schmidt gives me a grand bunch for a quarter. It's quite a walk to that there hospital, so don't you go a-tirin' of yourself out doin' too much work; but I sure did enjoy my room last night--all clean an' ship-shape."

"Wait till _tonight_!" said Jeanne. "You'll have _sheets_!"

"Will I?" returned Old Captain, a bit doubtfully. "Well, I _may_ get used to 'em. They does dress up a bed."

In spite of the squealing kittens, in spite of the many small tasks that Jeanne found to do, many times that morning her eyes filled with tears.

Poor daddy and Michael--to go like that. Curiously enough, the remembrance of a drowned sailor, whose body had once been washed up on the beach near the dock, brought Jeanne a certain sense of comfort.

The sailor had looked as if he hadn't _cared_. He was dead and he didn't _mind_. He had looked peaceful--almost happy; as if his body was just an old one that he had been rather glad to throw away.

"His soul," Leon Duval had said, when he found his small daughter in the little crowd of bystanders on the beach, "isn't there. That is only his body. The man himself is elsewhere."

"_Father_ doesn't care," said Jeanne, and tried to be happy in that comforting thought.

That afternoon, they visited Mollie.

"This bein' a special occasion," said Old Captain, "I got _both_ fruit and flowers. You kin carry the bouquet."

It took courage to carry it, but Jeanne rose n.o.bly to the occasion. She couldn't help giggling, however, when she tried to picture Mrs.

Huntington, suddenly presented with a similar offering. There was a tiger lily in the center, surrounded by pink sweet-peas. Outside of this, successive rings of orange marigolds, purple asters, scarlet geraniums and candytuft, with a final fringe of blue cornflowers.

"If I meet that fat boy," thought Jeanne, wickedly, "I'll bow to him."

"Once I took a all-white one," confessed Captain Blossom, with a pleased glance at the bouquet, "but the nurse, she said 'Bring colored flowers--they're more cheerful.' 'Make it cheerful,' says I, to Mrs. S.

Now that there _is_ cheerful, ain't it?"

"Yes," agreed Jeanne, "it _is_. Even at Aunt Agatha's biggest dinner party there wasn't a _more_ cheerful one than this. I'm sure Mollie will like it."

But _was_ that Mollie--that absolutely neat white creature in the neat white bed? There was the pale red hair neatly braided in a shining halo above the serene forehead. The mild blue eyes looked lazily at the bouquet, then at Jeanne. The old, good-natured smile curved her lips.

"h.e.l.lo, Jeanne," she said, "you're lookin' fine. You see, I'm sick abed, but I'm real comfortable--real comfortable and happy." Then she fell asleep.

"It's the medicine," said the nurse. "She sleeps most of the time. But even when she's awake, nothing troubles her."

"Nothin' ever did," returned Old Captain. "But then, there's some that worries _too_ much."

They met Barney in the road above the dock. Jeanne held out her hand.

Big, raw-boned Barney gripped it with both of his, squeezed it hard--and fled.

"You tell him," said Jeanne, with the little twisty smile that was not very far from tears, "to come to dinner tomorrow--that _I_ invited him and am going to make him a pudding. Poor old Barney! We've got to make him feel comfortable. Tell him I bought a fork--no, a _knife_ especially for him."

"Barney's as good as gold," returned Old Captain. "But, for a man of forty-seven, he's too dinged shy. 'Barney,' says I, more'n once, 'you'd ought to get married.' 'There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out,' says Barney. 'Yes,' says I, 'but ain't the bait gittin' some stale?'"

"Is it _really_ September?" asked Jeanne, one morning, studying the little calendar she had found in her work-box.

"Today's the fourteenth," replied Old Captain. "What of it?"

"I'm worried," said Jeanne. "I came to make a _visit_, but I haven't heard a word from Aunt Agatha or my grandfather about going back, or _anything_. Of course, I _ought_ to be in school."

"There's a good school here. You have clothes--an' can get more."

"I don't _want_ to go back to Aunt Agatha, you know. I'm sure she's _very_ angry at me for running away. It took her a long, long time to get over it after I went swimming in the fountain. I suppose this is worse."

"Well, this here weren't exactly your fault."