The Four Corners

"I think Mary would say it was the very thing to do, if it suited you."

"I think it would be better for mother to have a place she could call home. This is where she lived when she was first married, before my grandparents died and she went to Uplands. It is familiar to her. She could be near the children and yet could have the quiet which she is accustomed to. We can have Martha to do our work and I do not see that we could do better. Then, too," she paused in some embarrassment, "mother would want to pay a generous rent."

Miss Sarah raised her hand. "That must be settled by you and Mary," she said. "As for the rest, I know she will consent."

"Then will you send for Martha? And I am sure we shall be able to get settled very soon."

The result of this planning was that within a week Miss Helen and her mother were established in the old wing. During the time of preparation, Mrs. Corner did not leave her room, and seemed still dazed and shattered, but was quiet and docile, seldom showing any evidence of her old spirit. The furniture saved was supplemented by such new pieces as were needed and it really was a cozy little home into which Miss Helen took her mother. There was no lack of helpers. Friends, neighbors and kinsfolk were only too ready to lend their aid, though by far the most eager were the boys and girls of the house, who were willing runners of errands and did much toward making the rooms pretty and cozy.

Still, from the moment of her removal from Uplands, Mrs. Corner failed visibly. She rallied a little after going into the rooms prepared for her, and took a passing interest in them, but it was only a short time after that she grew weaker and at last could not even leave her bed. "It is the shock and the exposure," said Dr. Ward, looking grave when Miss Sarah questioned him. "I doubt if she gets over this, but we must try to keep Miss Helen in good heart." And with the knowledge that a broken, feeble old woman was nearing the brink of the dark river, the last vestige of ill-will left Miss Sarah, and she was a tower of strength to Miss Helen in her hour of trial.

The wind-swept, blackened rooms of the house at Uplands gave the children an awed feeling whenever they looked that way. From those of the rooms which were not completely burned out, the water-soaked furniture had been removed, except where, here and there, a scorched piece of drapery flapped from some broken window, or a charred article of furniture was visible through the gaps in the walls. The fire had started in a defective flue and one side of the house was in complete ruins.

It was a desolate sight to those who had known and loved its inmates, and of these perhaps the chief mourner was old Unc' Landy who, in spite of his railings at the former mistress of the mansion, now felt for her only pity. "Hit sho is hard fo' a proud uprighteous pusson lak ole miss ter give up all dese yer flesh-pots ob Egyp'," he said to Nan, "de quails an' de manna an' de gol'en calf what she been a hankerin' arter in de days ob huh youf. Yas, Lord, yuh done lay yo' han' mighty heaby on huh, an' I suttinly does groan in spi'it when I sees how de mighty fallen. I sholy does wrastle wid de Lord in de night season implorin' Him to hab mercy on huh po' soul."

Such talk was awe-inspiring to the children, not one of whom thought of anything but the favors their grandmother had shown them, and all of whom were ready and eager to do the least thing they could to add to her comfort or to their Aunt Helen's.

"It means so much to have you dear children so near," said Miss Helen many times a day. "I don't know what I should do without you."

The March winds were still and the April rains were falling gently when the end at last came to Grandmother Corner's days on earth. In the early evening of a spring Sabbath she called clearly: "Mary Lee, Mary Lee!"

Nan ran for her sister. "Grandmother wants you," she said, and Mary Lee wondering, hurried in to receive no look of recognition. She was as a stranger to her grandmother.

"Here is Mary Lee," said Nan bending over her.

Mrs. Corner shook her head. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she whispered.

"It is your mother whom she is calling," said Aunt Sarah as the patient dozed again.

Presently there came a second call: "Helen, Helen!"

"I am here, mother!" said her daughter.

The mother opened her eyes and looked at the little figure by her side. "You will be just, Helen," she said. "Jack was my child as well as you, and his children must have what is right."

"They shall have it," said Miss Helen, laying her cheek against her mother's frail-looking hand.

"There was a will – I forget," and again she dozed.

Aunt Sarah spoke to Nan. "You and Mary Lee go now into the next room. I will stay here, and if Miss Helen wants you, I will call you."

The dusk was settling down on the earth, the mountains were dimly seen through a mist of rain. "There are shadows everywhere," said Nan, as she stood looking out of the window. Jack and Jean were staying with their Cousin Mag, but the two elder girls had kept close together all day.

The dusk had faded into twilight when there was a slight movement in the next room, then the girls heard a footstep on the stair and some one hurried along the hallway. They went to the door. "Where is she?" they heard some one say, and they looked to see their Aunt Helen clasped in the arms of their own mother and heard her say: "Oh, Mary, Mary, you are all I have left me now, you and the children."

CHAPTER XX

LOOKING AHEAD

It was one lovely day in June that Nan hied her to Place o' Pines. She gazed with a half smile at the old log of wood on which the music rack was still fastened. No need now to pretend a piano she remembered with pride and pleasure. She began softly to sing the old tune but this time Little Jamie was not the refrain, but that other one: Dearest Mother.

"The very nicest thing in all the world is a mother," she said to herself. "I believe just as Dr. Woods said to Aunt Helen the other day; she made me say it over so I wouldn't forget it: 'The Being who could conceive and create a good mother must Himself be perfect love.'"

"Nan, Nan," came the voice of some one calling from afar.

Nan started up and listened, then she crept out of the opening in the pines and ran around to the fence, giving the peculiar call which the Corner children always used in answering one another. "Where are you?" Mary Lee's voice came nearer. There was an excited and triumphant ring in it. Evidently, she had something important to tell.

"Here I am," said Nan, squeezing herself through the fence and meeting her sister on the other side. "What do you want me for, Mary Lee?"

"You ought just to hear what mother and Aunt Helen and Aunt Sarah have been talking about; the most exciting things. Come over here and I'll tell you." Mary Lee spoke importantly. It was generally Nan who was the dispenser of news, and Mary Lee seldom had the chance of taking the role of herald, in consequence she carried herself with the little air of superiority which Nan generally assumed upon such occasions.

Nan followed her to a patch of grass by the side of the fence, and they sat down together. This summer the two were more frequently companions, for Phil had suddenly discovered a preference for the company of boys, and was generally with Ashby and Ran pursuing more masculine sports than Mary Lee cared to join.

"We're not likely to be here six months from now," Mary Lee began with a view to making a sensation.

"What do you mean?" said Nan, startled out of a pretended indifference.

"Just what I say. Of course, Aunt Sarah and the boys will be here but we shall not."

"Oh, Mary Lee, we are not to be sent away to boarding-school, are we?" asked Nan in a horror-stricken voice.

Mary Lee hugged her knees and rocked back and forth in enjoyment of the situation. "No, we're not going to boarding-school. Oh, Nan, it will be perfectly splendid, and you've always longed to travel, you know. It will be so fine to see oranges growing, and all sorts of things, olives and lemons and such oceans of flowers. You used to make such a fuss over that one little palm, and how you will revel in the things we shall see."

"I think you might tell me what you are talking about," said Nan impatiently.

But Mary Lee was enjoying her unwonted pleasure of news-giving too much to let out all her information at once and she went on, "Of course we shall not travel so very much after we once get there for it will be better that mother should settle down in some one place where it will agree with her. Aunt Helen says we must not give up our studies, and that you especially must keep up your music, so we shall probably take some little cottage where we can have a piano. It would be fun to have a Chinese servant, wouldn't it?"

Nan was too quick-witted to let this hint pass. "I know now!" she cried exultantly. "It's California. Now, Mary Lee, don't fool about it any more, but just begin at the beginning and tell me."

Seeing that there was no use in further holding off, Mary Lee smoothed down her frock and began. "Well, I just happened to be on the porch outside the living-room when it all started, and I went in and listened; they let me. It began by mother's saying that the doctor told her it would be perfectly safe to stay here during the summer, but that when November came she must go away again. He said that if she would do that for two or three years he was sure that she could get over all her symptoms. 'It makes my heart sink when I think of being separated for even one more winter from my children, but it must be done,' said mother, 'and it is fortunate that the boys want to come back and that I shall be able to cover my expenses.'

"Then Aunt Helen spoke up. 'Don't say anything about expenses, Mary,' she said; 'you know it was mother's wish that the estate should be divided, and though she did not sign that last will, I consider it just as binding as if she had done it.' Oh, Nan, she said she meant to have grandmother's first will set aside so we could have our share lawfully."

"That is just like Aunt Helen," said Nan. "Go on."

"Then they talked about that for a little while and said a lot about lawyers and trustees and things I didn't understand, then Aunt Helen said, 'What do you think of California for a winter, Mary?'

"'But it is so far,' said mother, 'and it is such an expensive trip. I should like it better than the Adirondacks, but for the distance. But I couldn't be so far from my children. Of course,' she said, 'you and Aunt Sarah would be here, and that would be a great comfort.'

"'I didn't mean for you to go alone,' Aunt Helen said; 'I meant that the children and I would go, too.'

"Mother turned right around and put her hand on Aunt Sarah's. 'But what would my dear auntie do?' she asked.

"'Don't mind me,' Aunt Sarah said. 'I'll manage. If you want to close the house, I'll go to Henry Dent's or somewhere, but if you'd rather keep it open I should like mighty well to stay right here and look after those boys, and perhaps I could get a couple more to come in, so it would keep me interested and occupied.'

"Then I spoke right up, Nan."

"What did you say?" asked Nan, eagerly.