The Four Corners

Jack took no such industrious means of showing her concern, unless one may consider her method an industrious one, for she called on various of the school children to come to a peep-show, one penny admission. Ten girls came, and with the proceeds Jack bought corn to pop. Nan helped her to turn it into delectable pop-corn balls which were so toothsome that Ran and Ashby bought most of them, and their boy friends were customers for the remainder, so with little labor Jack was fifty cents to the better and serenely watched her less quick-witted sister Jean patiently working her lace.

Nan and Mary Lee took a hint from Jack and conceived the plan of having a bazaar for the benefit of the little mountain girl. The boys fell in with the plan; some of the schoolgirls joined them and Cousin Polly Lewis herself offered to mother the scheme.

"It is very exciting," said Nan to Mary Lee when they had taken the first decided move. "I keep thinking of all sorts of things to do and of people to ask for contributions. Do you suppose, Mary Lee, it would do to ask grandmother? I shouldn't in the least mind asking Aunt Helen."

"I wouldn't ask them for the world," replied Mary Lee.

"But it isn't for ourselves."

"I don't care; it's asking just the same isn't it?"

"Yes, that's so, and I made up my mind never to ask them for the least thing."

"It's all very well to be friends with them, I suppose," said her sister. "I mean to be polite to them if I ever meet them, but I don't think we ought to place ourselves under obligations to them in the smallest way." Mary Lee evidently voiced her Aunt Sarah's opinions.

"Oh, well," sighed Nan, "then I won't, but I am going to tell them about Daniella. I was just thinking, Mary Lee, suppose Daniella won't take anything after we have had the bazaar for her benefit. What shall we do then?"

"Give the money for something else: home missions or traveling libraries or something. We shall have had the fun anyhow," a view of the matter which Nan regarded as very sensible. Mary Lee generally did have sensible advice to give.

"I'll make a lot of panuchee," Nan went on, "and I'll put black walnuts in some; nearly every one likes that kind best. I know the Academy boys will buy it, and that it will go off like hot cakes. Cousin Mag is going to send a fine cake and Miss Bouldin has promised one. Do you think it would be best to have a fancy table or just things to eat?"

Mary Lee considered the question. "It will be a little more trouble to have the fancy table, but if we find people want to give things of that kind we can have it. We'll ask Cousin Polly."

"And where shall we have it?" said Nan. This was the most frequently discussed question and they had not, as yet, come to any satisfactory answer to it.

Mary Lee looked out of the window thoughtfully. "I am sure I don't know," she replied. "No one wants to give up a room big enough."

"If mother were only here," sighed Nan, "she'd think of some place that would do; she always has ideas." Then suddenly the girl gave a little squeal and clutched Mary Lee's arm. "I know," she cried. "Why didn't we think of it before? We'll have nothing to pay for it and it will not put any one to inconvenience, and it will be as if we really had it ourselves as we wanted to do in the first place. We can use the old wing."

"Of course we can," said Mary Lee. "It will be just the place. There is plenty of room up-stairs or down. We can have the eatables in the library and the fancy things up-stairs in the room over it. Nan, that's splendid. Let's go straight to tell Polly."

They dashed out of the house and down the street to the Lewis's where Polly met them at the door.

"We have an idea," said Nan, breathlessly.

"I thought you must have something the way you came tearing," said Polly. "I'm glad it isn't anything breakable."

Nan was too anxious to give her suggestion to notice the playful irony. "We're going to have the bazaar in the old wing of our house," she said. "It's empty and handy and – "

"Dirty," laughed Polly.

"It can be cleaned easily enough. Now, Cousin Polly, why will you laugh at it? Isn't it a fine idea?" Nan was aggrieved.

"It certainly is, Nan," returned her cousin. "I won't make fun, I really won't. What does Aunt Sarah say about it?"

"Oh, she won't care. We spoke of using our living-room first, you know, but she put her foot down, and when Aunt Sarah does put her foot down, she puts it down hard. You know there are four rooms in the wing beside the attic; we can use the two largest rooms for the tables and keep the supplies in the others."

Polly nodded. "We really could serve supper, or have a loan exhibit," she said reflectively, "and we might then be able to make quite a sum, but I reckon we'd better not attempt too much. Maybe some other time we can do that. Yes, Nan, the wing will be just the place. Now, let me see. You and Betty Selden can have the eatables and I will have Mary Lee with me at the fancy table. Jack and Jean can be flower girls and Ran can take the money at the door."

"Where can we get flowers at this time of year?" asked Mary Lee. "We don't want to buy them, do we?"

"Oh, everybody has a few house plants," returned Polly, "and there are still chrysanthemums in bloom out of doors. We can make up some very small bouquets and sell them for five cents apiece."

"What I want to know is exactly what we are going to do with the money," said Nan. "People ask me and I can't tell them."

"Why, it's for Daniella," said her cousin.

"Yes, I know; but she wouldn't take any when you offered it to her."

"Then we'll spend it for her in whatever way seems best. Where are you off to now?"

"We must tell Aunt Sarah what we have decided to do, and we have lots to do to get ready in time. I think I'll begin to clean the rooms at once," said Nan, eager for the fray.

"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Polly. "I'll come over to-morrow with old Achsah and get them in order. I'll have to see about tables. I suppose some long boards supported on boxes would do."

"There's the joggle-board," said Nan, "we could use that." The joggle-board was a useful possession; it had been put up for the children's amusement in the first place, and was a very long, very tough, very limber board, the two ends of which securely rested on uprights. It gave in the middle to the weight of the body and as younger children, the Corners delighted to joggle on it; even now Jack and Jean sometimes entertained themselves by its springing motion, though it was more often used as a repository for anything that came handy. The milk pans sunned there, pies were set upon it to cool, tomatoes were placed there for ripening, seeds were spread out for drying.

Polly thought rather favorably of the joggle-board. "We'll try it," she said, "if it isn't too long to go in those rooms. I'll ask father where we can get some other boards. We can cover them with table-cloths and they will do very well."

"There are no other boards at our house," remarked Mary Lee. "Unc' Landy uses up every bit and end to fix up the fences and roofs."

"We'll get some somewhere," said Polly.

The two girls ran home, eager to view the possibilities of the wing. They flung open the windows of the deserted rooms, discussed their size, advantages and disadvantages.

"It will be as cold as charity," declared Mary Lee.

"Then we'll have to have fires, open fires will be cheerful, and we'll make the place as pretty as possible."

"My, how dusty the windows are; it's going to be a sight of work," said Mary Lee.

However, this matter was taken off their hands by Polly who pressed her friends into service and by the last day of the month all was ready. Pine branches and autumn leaves decorated the mantel; curtains were hung at the windows; the long tables up-stairs presented articles pretty, useful and dainty, while down-stairs was shown such an array of goodies that every schoolboy dived into his pocket the moment he entered the door. Packages of panuchee tied up in Japanese napkins were in great demand; caramels were scarcely less favored, and cakes disappeared bodily in no time. Jack and Jean disposed of every bunch of flowers, and up-stairs, though the fancy articles went less slowly, they met a steady sale and very few were left by the end of the evening. These were sold by auction. Colonel Lewis undertook the office of auctioneer, serving so successfully that while every buyer thought he or she had a bargain, the articles really brought a fair price.

When all was over, and the last visitor had departed, the money was counted, the three boys, Ran, Phil and Ashby willingly undertaking to do this. "Twenty-seven dollars and forty-five cents," they announced.

"My, haven't we done well!" exclaimed the girls.

"I thought if we made twenty or twenty-five it would be a lot," said Nan. "I almost wish I were a mountain girl myself to have a bazaar held for me."

Jean looked quite shocked at this remark, but Jack agreed with Nan that it would not be a bad thing for one.

Polly was appointed guardian of the fund and it was agreed that an expedition to the mountain cabin should be made that they might learn what Daniella required and to what use it were best to put the money.

During this time the little maid of the mountain never dreamed of what was going on in the valley below, where the town whose spires she could see, seemed a far, unknown and mysterious place. If she had imagined that she was the constant thought of a little group of girls, or if she had known that their keen sympathies and tender desires went out toward her, she would have been less desolate than she was, sitting in the cabin alone with her feeble old grandfather whose mind was like that of a little child.

For two days these two had been there alone, Daniella watching, waiting by the tiny window, watching and waiting for the return of her mother who had gone to town to get a few things that she felt they could no longer do without.

A long time old Daniel Boggs and his son's wife had lived on the mountain. Here little Daniella had been born a month after her father's death. Here the child had thriven like an early spring flower not afraid of chill winds and lack of sunshine. Old Daniel had his little patch of corn, his wood lot, a few rows of potatoes, and a couple of pigs. If his revenues were increased by any other means, his family did not know it. They had enough and were content till in course of time Daniel became more of a child than his little granddaughter, and of late had lapsed into almost a helpless state. He had to be constantly watched lest he do some mischief, and he had become unable to do any work so now though the corn had been gathered and the potatoes unearthed by Daniella and her mother, the wood-pile was low and the winter was coming which would find them wanting many things. To get these Daniella's mother had gone to town taking with her a dozen rabbits which they had trapped, and which she hoped to sell.

For two days, Daniella had kept up the fire, had fed her grandfather, had looked after her chickens and the pigs and now was anxiously wondering why her mother did not come. Did it take so long to sell a dozen rabbits? In the small square window her anxious little face was framed as a party of young people came up the road. Daniella recognized them at once. There was the young lady who had promised her the red jacket and with her were two younger girls one of whom she had seen before. Daniella stood watching them. They came straight to the cabin and knocked on the door. Daniella opened to them.

"May we come in?" said Polly. "I have brought your red jacket."

Daniella's dark eyes sparkled, and she stepped aside that her visitors might enter. "Maw done gone to town," she said. "Tain't nobody hyah 'scusin' me an' grandad sence day 'fo' yessaday mawnin'." She had been so long with only the doddering old man in the corner that she was ready to talk.

"When do you expect your mother?" asked Polly.

"I dunno. She say when she done sell her rabbits she come back. Hit take a pow'ful time to sell rabbits, don't it?"

"It ought not to," answered Polly a little uneasily. She was wondering if the woman had deserted her daughter or if any ill could have befallen her. "Aren't you afraid to stay here alone?" she asked.

"No'm. Grandad jest lak a baby an' I kin cook the wittles, but I wisht maw'd git back."

The old man in the chimney corner stirred and looked vacantly toward the visitors. "Fine day," he said, wagging his head, then he added in a confidential whisper, "but they won't find it."

"Now, grandad," chided Daniella, "jest you quit talkin'."

The old man turned again to the fire and mumbled something about no one's ever finding out anything from him. Meanwhile the girls looked around the room. It was fairly clean, though dingy. A four post bedstead over which was a patchwork quilt, stood in one corner; in another was a sort of bunk over which was thrown a hairy robe of skins sewed together; two hickory chairs, a rude stool, a bench, a table made up the rest of the furniture. On a shelf was a pile of dishes and against the wall hung a few cooking utensils. It was by far the simplest establishment the girls had ever been in.

Polly produced the red jacket, known in common parlance by the unpleasant name of "sweater," and Daniella gave an exclamation of pleasure. "Try it on," said Polly, holding it out, and Daniella thrust her arms into the sleeves. She gave no thanks, but her evident delight was sufficient.

"Ef I had a pair of shoes I'd go hunt up maw," she said. "Leastways, I'd go if I could leave the old man."

"The shoes are here, too," said Polly, as she drew from her bag both shoes and stockings.

Daniella straightway plumped down on the floor to try them on. "Shoes never feels good," she said, "but these is the nicest feelin' I ever had. Oh, I wisht maw would come. Do you reckon she could take all this time to sell rabbits? She had twelve of 'em. We trapped 'em, her an' me. She was goin' to take 'em to the sto' and git things fo' 'em, an' then she was comin' back."

"She ought to be here then," said Polly.

"I wisht I could go hunt her up," said Daniella, anxiously. "You don't reckon nothin' could have ketched her, do you?"

"No, I don't see why anything should," Polly tried to reassure her. She gave a glance at the others, a glance which Daniella read with alarm.

"Yuh-alls thinks somethin's went wrong with my maw," she cried. Daniella looked helplessly at the old man. "I dassent leave him, I dassent, an' I wants to fin' my maw."

Without a word to the others, Nan stepped forward. "I'll stay with your grandfather," she said. "You go to town with my cousin and my sister and hunt up your mother. I'll stay till you can come back."

"Oh, Nan!" Mary Lee gave a low ejaculation.

"Oh, Nan!" repeated Polly, "ought you?"

Nan nodded. "Yes, I think I ought."

"I won't forget you," said Daniella in a low tense voice. "You're good, you are, an' I'll work fo' you. I'll trap rabbits fo' you, I'll get nuts fo' you, I will. Grandad ain't no trouble, but you has to watch him lessen he sets hisse'f on fiah, an' he has to hev his supper airly. I'll come right back soon as I finds maw," she promised eagerly.

"I will stay till you come," said Nan, steadily.

"Thar's a pone o' braid on the shelf, un'er thet dish," said Daniella, "an' thar's rashers hangin' up thar, an' thar's long sweetenin' in thet jug. Thar am' no other kin'."

Nan was mystified but she said nothing.

"All grandad has to hev is a bowl of coffee an' some braid," Daniella went on. "I'm goin' away fur a little while, grandad," she said, turning to the old man. "Now you behave yo'se'f an' don't give no trouble."

"Nobody'll git anythin' outen me," said the old man with a chuckle. "I'll be as dumb as an oyster."

"He don't know what I'm talkin' about," Daniella explained. "You needn't min' him, jest keep up the fiah an' see that he doesn't fool with hit."

"If we're going, we must start at once," said Polly, "so you can get back to-night, Nan," to which remark Nan heartily agreed.

The glory of the red jacket and new shoes did not fill Daniella's thoughts, for now that her fears were aroused, she was more and more anxious about her mother, and she climbed up into the carriage with no just appreciation of the situation.

At the last moment, Polly came back. "It seems perfectly dreadful to leave you here with that silly old man, Nan," she said. "I shall not have an easy moment till I know you are safe at home."

"Oh, don't bother about me," Nan replied. "I shall do very well, but I do hope Daniella will get back before night."

So they drove off and the last thing that Nan saw of them was the gleam of the red jacket as the carriage disappeared behind the trees down the longer and less steep road by which it had come. She wondered what she would do with herself during the hours which must intervene before she could be released. But here her habit of dreaming came in well, and she was presently building air-castles while the old man dozed, or muttered to himself in the corner.