The next morning Virginia wrote Mrs. Henderson about the case of Charles Augustus. She wrote also to Joe Curtis, but in her letter she did not refer to her meeting with his mother and lame brother or to her visit to his home. Afterwards she went out and sat in the hammock. Swinging gently, she gazed with serious eyes at the landscape; but her thoughts gave but little heed to the beautiful scenery which lay before her.

With motherly interest, Aunt Kate watched her niece through the kitchen window. Wise in the habits and customs of young women, she noted unfavorable portents. “Lands sakes,” she called to Helen, “Virginia is moping away in the hammock trying to make herself homesick. Hurry out and cheer the poor child up. Don’t let her get lonesome and unhappy.”

Helen obediently entered upon her kindly mission. Seating herself by her cousin, she put an arm about her and gave her cheery greeting, “Hello cuticomes. Of whom are you dreaming?”

“I am thinking of Charles Augustus.”

“He is a darling kid. I could eat him for candy.” The cannibalistic Helen smiled anything but fiercely at the thought of her tender prey.“He is so sweet, Helen. That makes it sadder.”

“Makes what sad?”

“His lameness. It is dreadful. Think of it, Helen, never to be able to run and play in comfort.”

Shadows of unhappiness clouded the usual cheerfulness of Helen’s face. “It is terrible,” she sighed.

“All through his life,” the melancholy Virginia went on, “that crutch must be with him. Even when he proposes to a girl it will be beside him at her feet.”

“He could leave it in the hall with his hat.” Helen’s optimism attempted to thrust aside the enshrouding gloom.

“No.” Virginia was determined that no ray of light should brighten the dark picture she was painting. “When Charles Augustus proposes, unless the crutch is near, he can’t get from his knees.”

Helen conceded the point by a helpless nod. “It won’t be a bit romantic. It will be pathetic,” she whispered.

“Not if the girl loves him truly. Not if he is the answer to the call of her heart.”

“He would be the Knight of her thoughts then,–the Prince of her dreams,” interjected Helen, the sentimental.

“With a crutch. He will rest on it even at his wedding.”

“When they go away on their wedding trip, the rice and old shoes will beat against it,” groaned Helen.

“It will be at his bedside when he dies.” Virginia’s eyes filled with tears. “Were he a soldier it would be a badge of honor–a mark of patriotic suffering; but poor Charles Augustus was always that way and must always remain so unless some one will pay for an operation.” Virginia buried her tear-drowned eyes in her handkerchief.

The sympathetic Helen succumbed to the prevailing sorrow of the occasion and wept also.

From her watch tower at the kitchen window, Aunt Kate espied the sorrowing ones. “My sakes alive, what has got into those girls?” she exclaimed. “They must be hankering for a funeral.” Hastening forth, she planted herself before them and viewed the weepers with stern eyes. “What is all of this crying about?” she demanded.

They told her, abating no jot or tittle of gloom.

“Was Charles Augustus unhappy yesterday?”

“No,” they admitted.

“Well then,” Aunt Kate’s voice rang forcefully, “what’s the use of crying over happiness? Tears are to wash sorrows away.” Her final remark pointed her thoughts in a practical direction. “You two can wash the surrey as well as for me to pay Tom fifty cents to do it. You can use some of those tears around here if you get tired of pumping water.”

So the grief stricken arrayed themselves in bathing suits and tugged the surrey into the sun. They hitched the hose to the force pump and labored diligently amidst floods of conversation and torrents of water. They polished and, inadvertently or with malice aforethought, turned water upon one another until peals of laughter echoed into the kitchen. A complacent Aunt Kate gave but little heed to them until they presented themselves before her, much bedrabbled but in an exceedingly cheerful frame of mind.She gazed over her glasses at them and said, “Mercy sakes, I told you girls to wash the surrey not yourselves. Get off those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold.” As they disappeared towards the stairs she called after them, “You girls were bound to have a moist morning. Now I hope that you are satisfied.”

Days passed which Aunt Kate, in her wisdom, saw were busy ones. At last an answer came to Virginia’s letter to Mrs. Henderson. Hennie had a habit of accomplishing the things which she undertook and her response was most satisfactory. She had arranged for the operation upon Charles Augustus at the New York hospital. A place had been found for Mrs. Curtis to stay and tickets had been placed at the Old Rock station for her and her son.

Sufficient funds had been raised to cover everything but the operating fee. But as soon as the case came to the attention of the surgeon, he had suggested that, as the matter of age was a very important factor in the ultimate success of his efforts, the operation be performed at once. He was quite willing to await the result of Mrs. Henderson’s further exertions for the payment of his bill.

A very happy and delighted Virginia cried the good news aloud to Aunt Kate and Helen. “Right after lunch we will go and see Mrs. Curtis and Charles Augustus and tell them the good news,” she planned. “Isn’t Hennie perfectly splendid?”

Aunt Kate was making pies. Her eyes twinkled as she told Virginia, “I don’t gather from this letter that your friend Mrs. Henderson spent much time weeping over Charles Augustus’s crutch. She is going to get rid of the old thing. That line or two you wrote did the lame boy much more good than all the tears you and Helen wasted around here the other morning.”

Virginia bobbed her head in agreement with the wisdom of her aunt. Then she climbed the stairs to make ready for her trip, lifting a sweet little voice in song.

As Aunt Kate heard her, she smiled gently; but her face grew suddenly stern as she muttered, “Until I settle brother Obadiah’s hash, I’d better keep an umbrella and a mackintosh handy if I don’t want to get wet”; after which she dusted the flour from her hands with great vigor.

The two girls gave little time to their lunch that noon, and soon afterwards started up the pond in a canoe. Helen was filled with energy. She dug her paddle into the water and pulled mightily.

“Stop, Helen, we are turning around,” protested Virginia.

“Paddle your share, ‘V.’,” retorted Helen with an air of injury. “Remember, you are not a passenger.”

By vigorously wielding her paddle, Virginia managed to hold the canoe on its course. “Please don’t make me work so hard, Helen,” she objected. “We want to hurry and get there.”

“We are doing that splendidly, ‘V.’ We can’t go very fast if you want to sit and dream. Paddle, dear heart–work your way.”

So it came to pass that Virginia paddled to keep up with Helen and that young woman paddled to make her cousin work, and thus the light canoe was driven over the water with speed and they soon reached the end of their voyage.

Charles Augustus espied their approach afar off and hobbled down the meadow path to meet them with joyous outcry. “Hello, you came to see me, didn’t you?”

“Of course. You are my sweetheart,” the brazen Helen told him.

“My!” he sighed, shaking his head after the manner of an elderly philosopher. “It’s been a long time since I saw you. I expected you every day. Mother said that she guessed you were busy people.”

Mrs. Curtis came to the door at the sound of voices. Her face lighted when she recognized them. “Charles has been watching for you each day,” she told them. “I tried to persuade him that you might have interests besides visiting small boys; but I wasn’t very successful.”

Charles Augustus balked in the pathway, pulling at the hand of Helen. “Don’t let’s go in. It’s much nicer out here. Let’s play as we did the other day.”

Mrs. Curtis nodded understandingly when Helen bowed to her admirer’s wishes, and led Virginia into the house. “It is nice of you to come and see me again so soon,” she told the girl when they were seated in the front room; “especially after the way I must have tired you with my troubles and drowned you with my tears.” Her forced gaiety could not deceive one to whom she had opened her heart. The marks of trouble and anxiety showed too plainly in her face.Virginia saw the opportunity to transmit the good tidings she had brought. Its very bigness embarrassed her. “I have some good news for you,” she cried, and abruptly thrust the letter towards the older woman, her eyes big and tender with the joy of her message. “There!” she stammered. “Read–read that, please.”

Mrs. Curtis took the letter from Mrs. Henderson and began to peruse it.

It seemed to Virginia that she would never finish.

At last Mrs. Curtis turned towards the girl. Her face was pale and the stress of her emotion weakened her. “I can’t thank you,” she whispered in a queer strained voice. Suddenly her strength swept back to her. Under the force of the joy which enveloped her she spoke in a dead monotone, staring ahead of her with unseeing eyes. “My Charles will walk and play like other boys. In a few weeks–perhaps before Thanksgiving Day–he can throw aside his crutch.”

Virginia, agitated by the intenseness of the other’s feelings, watched in silence.

Mrs. Curtis had forgotten her visitor now. She was thinking aloud. “What a happy day it will be for Joe and Charles and me,” she murmured,–“the happiest since my husband died.”

The gladness of the other thrilled the girl.

Like a flash there came a change in Mrs. Curtis’s mood. Her joy came into conflict with a defiant pride. Her face became cold and hard. “It’s charity,” she wailed, “just plain charity. Am I a beggar now?”

She turned furiously upon Virginia, transformed by passion, “If my husband had lived–if I, a weak woman, had been given a fair chance to make an honest living in this land of the free,” she sneered, “I too would ride in my automobile in silks and diamonds and extend charity to the poor. If there were justice among men I would not be in a position where people could offer me charity.”

A bewildered Virginia listened timidly as the woman, almost beside herself, went on, “There is no justice–there is no right,” Her eyes seemed ablaze to the startled girl. She thrust her arms above her head. “The wicked prosper and the good are ruined. It’s all wrong–wickedly wrong,” she screamed and, rushing into an adjoining room, cast herself across the bed, sobbing convulsively.

Amazed at the effect of Hennie’s letter, Virginia was tempted to run away. She hesitated, however. Through the doorway she could see the shaking form of Joe’s mother upon the bed. Quickly the passion died out of the sobs of the weeping woman and in its place came a note of pathetic helplessness which clutched at the girl’s heart and seemed to call her.

In a moment Virginia was at the side of the bed. Leaning over, she took one of the toil worn hands into her own. There came an answering pressure and the girl seated herself by the bed-side holding the knotted fingers in her own. The sobs lessened, the quivering form became calmer, and at length Mrs. Curtis sat up and raised wet eyes to those of her visitor. “You must think me lacking in appreciation of the generosity of your friends,” she choked, still shaken by the reflex of her sobs. “It’s not true, though. That was a display of my silly pride. It’s about all that I have left of the happiest days of my life. Forget my words, dear, and forgive me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for what you have done for my boy and me. To have him walk without a crutch, on my hands and knees I’d scrub the most crowded street in the world. There is no humiliation too great for me to undergo for him. I would glory in it.” In the glow of mother love her face softened and became beautiful. Now she seemed to grasp the full significance of the news and to be filled with unrest as if afraid that the opportunity might escape. “When can we go?” she worried–“tomorrow?”

“Today, if you wish,” Virginia explained.

Her woes cast aside and filled with excitement, Mrs. Curtis dried her tears and returned to the other room with the girl. Through the window Charles Augustus could be seen hobbling about in a game with the active Helen. His mother watched his awkward movements intently for a moment. “In a few months he will be running about without the crutch,” she whispered and, swinging about, she seized Virginia by her shoulders, looked deep into her eyes as she murmured gently, “May God bless you and yours for what you are doing for me and mine, and may happiness be yours and theirs until the end of time.”

Charles Augustus displayed greater interest in the journey he was about to take than in the fact that he might no longer need his crutch. As he passed through the meadow with the girls he explained his position. “It’s great fun to travel on the cars. I don’t care a bit where I go, so it’s some place else.” Possible objections arising from the change struck him. “When I come back, will you come and see me, even if I don’t have a crutch?” he asked Helen.

The enchantress caught him in her arms and answered him with a kiss.

Regardless of this attention, dissatisfaction crept into his face. “If I don’t have my crutch, I will catch you all of the time. There’ll be no fun in playing with a girl who always has to be ‘it.’”

His fears did not impress Helen the agile. “When you are able to play without your crutch,” she promised him, “I shall fly with delight.”

“Like an aeroplane?” inquired Charles Augustus with great seriousness.

They left him standing upon the shore. As they paddled away he was leaning on his crutch, watching something. Suddenly he made a hopping dart and dropped to the ground. Instantly he was up again, shouting triumphantly, “Look–look at the old bullfrog I caught.” He held the slimy creature aloft, by one of its legs, for the admiration of the girls and asked, “Do you think that my mother will let me take him to New York with me?”

“Ask her,” suggested the diplomatic Helen.

Notwithstanding the happy outcome of her efforts to help Charles Augustus, Virginia was very silent and preoccupied that evening.

“That child is homesick,” Aunt Kate thought, as she kissed her good night and watched her slowly ascend the stairs, candlestick in hand.

As Virginia undressed, she was very thoughtful. She went over to the dresser and, holding Mrs. Henderson’s letter close to the candle’s flame, re-read it. There was a wistful, helpless look in her face when she was ready to climb into bed. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” she whispered sadly, “please believe as mother did, so that I can come back home.” An hour afterwards she fell asleep upon a pillow moistened with tears.

The two girls were at the station in the morning to say good bye to Charles Augustus and his mother as they departed for New York.

Before the train left Charles Augustus complained to Helen, “Mother wouldn’t let me take my frog to New York.”

“That is too bad,” commiserated the deceitful Helen.

“Mother said that the frog wouldn’t care for New York. He might get lonesome there.”

Helen gravely considered the problem. “Your mother is right, Charles. A frog would find few friends and little amusement in New York.”

Virginia bade Mrs. Curtis good bye at the car steps. “You will write and tell us about everything, won’t you?” she begged.

The older woman embraced her. “Good bye,” she murmured. “Words can’t tell what I would say to you, dear. Of course I will write.”

Again the days passed and the best of news came from New York. The operation was performed and the twisted muscles worked into place. The surgeon was confident of the success of his efforts and felt sure that, at the worst, Charles Augustus would only have a slight limp which would disappear with age.Yet Virginia was not happy. Very sweet she was and thoughtful of others; but she was serious and often, too, a look of sadness rested on her face.

Aunt Kate watched her with the vigilant eye of a mother in those days. One afternoon she discovered her niece alone in the hammock, viewing the pond with a melancholy countenance. “Land sakes, that child is moping again,” she groaned. Leaving her work, she joined the girl and commanded, “Tell me your thoughts, Virginia?”

For the moment the girl was startled. “I was thinking about South Ridgefield,” she confessed timidly.

“I knew it,” Aunt Kate exclaimed, apparently much puffed up by her mind-reading ability. “You are trying to see how unhappy you can make yourself and every one else who looks at you.”

Virginia was mute before this accusation.

“Were you thinking of your father?” asked Aunt Kate, proceeding with her examination of the witness.

The girl nodded sadly.

“Why do you think of him?” Aunt Kate seemed shocked at the depraved taste of Obadiah’s daughter.

“Oh, Aunt Kate, I do wish that he would pay for Charles Augustus’s operation. I would feel as if there might be some chance of my going home some day.”

“I am sorry that you don’t care for the company of Helen and me, Virginia.”

The girl gave her aunt a pleading look. “You know what I mean. I love you and Helen dearly.”The older woman softened, patting her niece upon the cheek; but she stuck to the business at hand. “That water business would cost your father a lot of money, wouldn’t it?”

“I think so,” Virginia agreed.

“Hum,” muttered Aunt Kate. “We’d better give Obadiah a light dose to begin on.”

“I don’t understand you, Aunt Kate,” said the girl.

“No matter,” responded the older woman. “What I want to know is, have you asked your father to pay for the operation on that lame boy?”

“No, he knows nothing about it,” admitted Virginia. “Aunt Kate, I would be afraid to ask him after the way he talked to me.”

“Afraid!” Aunt Kate was filled with astonishment. “Afraid of Obadiah? My stars and garters! You must begin some place! How on earth do you expect him to give to something he never heard of? Don’t you know child, that to get a Dale to do anything which costs money you must ask them not once, but thrice. Seventy times seven is about right for Obadiah.”

“But, Aunt Kate, after what my father said, I couldn’t ask him to help pay Charles Augustus’s bill.”

“Why not?” demanded Aunt Kate.

“I don’t know why. I am sure, though, that I couldn’t.”

“I know why,” declared Aunt Kate. “It is obstinacy–plain Dale obstinacy sticking out of you.”

Virginia was silent for a moment, possibly reviewing her personal characteristics as illuminated by her aunt. Then she asked, “You think that I should ask him?”

“Certainly, give brother Obadiah a chance.”

“But, Aunt Kate, he will refuse.”

“We will write him then that you are going to stay with me.”

“Oh,” groaned Virginia, great tears springing into her eyes opened wide with alarm. “Then I could never go home as long as I live. I’d never see Daddy or Serena or even Ike again.”

“Fiddlesticks, child, don’t be a weakling.” Her eyes twinkled. “This is no tragedy. It is only a difference of opinion, with brother Obadiah, as usual, wrong.”

“It would be a tragedy if I could never go and see my father.” Virginia shook her head sorrowfully. “I have been thinking about it lots lately, and sometimes I wonder if my mother would want me to stay away from home much longer.”

Aunt Kate put her arm about the girl. “Won’t you trust to the judgment of your old aunt, who knew your mother before you? I don’t want your efforts to help other people to be turned into a punishment.”

“I have thought of that, too.” Virginia was very solemn as she spoke. “Perhaps I went about it the wrong way. If I had done things differently perhaps I wouldn’t have made Daddy angry.”

“You must not allow yourself to worry, dear. We will give your father a chance to help Charles Augustus. If he doesn’t do it, something else will come up and we will keep on giving him the opportunity. In the end everything will work out for the best, I am sure.”

So that afternoon Virginia wrote to her father and asked him to contribute towards the expense of the operation upon Charles Augustus. It was a cheery letter and in no word of it could one guess the tears and longings between the lines.

Obadiah’s answer, as befitted a good business man, was prompt. While he admitted the sadness of the case he could see no reason why he should be asked to pay for an operation upon a boy of whom he knew nothing. He enclosed a small check and concluded his letter with directions that his daughter return home at once.

“Just as I expected,” announced Aunt Kate, when Virginia, the bewildered subject of conflicting emotions, brought it to her. “Obadiah is wild to have you home. That is our strength. Don’t you surrender to him, Virginia. I wouldn’t be a slave to any man and certainly not to brother Obadiah. I always made him step about, I can promise you. And if you follow my advice you can, too.”

Virginia’s face was wistful. “I don’t want to make Daddy step about, Aunt Kate.”

“You started this revolution, Virginia, and you must see it through. Now, I am in it. The only slave in that big house in South Ridgefield is going to be Obadiah. My dander is up, child, and I am going to make him sweat. I must finish the job of training which I started years ago. He never disobeyed me then and he had better not try it now.” Her eyes flashed and her manner was extremely menacing. “In the meantime,” she stormed, “he has brought you into the world, which complicates matters but does not relieve me of my responsibilities.”

The second letter to Obadiah was in the hand of Virginia but it breathed the words and spirit of his sister Kate. It was an independent document. Every line of it bristled with the spirit of ’76. It regretted his decision not to help in the case of Charles Augustus and also that Virginia had not completed her visit so that she could return to South Ridgefield. In vague terms it referred to a home with her aunt, and discussed a career, as well as certain positions for teachers available in and about Old Rock.

Virginia copied the letter and signed her name. Then she re-read with increasing alarm the ultimatum which she had approved. Had she been alone it would have been instantly destroyed; but under the stern eye of her aunt she was helpless. Obediently she addressed the envelope and, shaking way down in her very boots, she watched her aunt fold, seal and bear away for personal mailing the bolt which was to be cast at her father’s head.

At the door Aunt Kate turned and, with the greatest assurance, told the fear-shaken girl, “Mark my words! This letter will make brother Obadiah sit up and take notice.”