Mary Louise by Lyman Frank Baum (top 100 books of all time checklist .txt) đ
- Author: Lyman Frank Baum
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âThat very question has often puzzled me, as it has you,â she confessed. âOnce I asked Peter about it and he scowled and said it might be just as well to allow Colonel Weatherby to mind his own business. The Colonel seems to have a good deal of money, and perhaps he fears that if he surrendered to the law it would be taken away from him, leaving you and your mother destitute.â
âWe wouldnât mind that,â said the girl, âif Granâpaâs name could be cleared.â
âAfter all,â continued Mrs. Conant reflectively, âI donât believe the Colonel is accused of stealing money, for Peter says his family is one of the oldest and richest in New York. Your grandfather inherited a vast fortune and added largely to it. Peter says he was an important man of affairs before this misfortuneâwhatever it wasâovertook him.â
âI can just remember our home in New York,â said Mary Louise, also musingly, âfor I was very young at the time. It was a beautiful big place, with a good many servants. I wonder what drove us from it?â
âDo you remember your father?â asked Mrs. Conant.
âNot at all.â
âPeter once told me he was a foreigner who fell desperately in love with your mother and married her without your grandfatherâs full approval. I believe Mr. Burrows was a man of much political influence, for he served in the Department of State and had a good many admirers. Peter never knew why your grandfather opposed the marriage, for afterward he took Mr. and Mrs. Burrows to live with him and they were all good friends up to the day of your fatherâs death. But this is ancient history and speculation on subjects we do not understand is sure to prove unsatisfactory. I wouldnât worry over your grandfatherâs troubles, my dear. Try to forget them.â
âGrandfatherâs real name isnât Weatherby,â said the girl. âIt is Hathaway.â
Mrs. Conant gave a start of surprise.
âHow did you learn that?â she asked sharply.
The girl took out her watch, pried open the back ease with a penknife and allowed Mrs. Conant to read the inscription. Also she curiously watched the womanâs face and noted its quick flush and its uneasy expression. Did the lawyerâs wife know more than she had admitted?
If so, why was everyone trying to keep her in the dark?
âI cannot see that this helps to solve the mystery,â said Mrs. Conant in a brisk tone as she recovered from her surprise. âLet us put the whole thing out of mind, Mary Louise, or it will keep us all stirred up and in a muddle of doubt. I shall tell Peter you are to live with us, and your old little room at the back of the hall is all ready for you. Irene has the next room, so you will be quite neighborly. Go and put away your things and then weâll whistle for Irene.â
Mary Louise went to the well-remembered room and slowly and thoughtfully unpacked her suit case. She was glad to find a home again among congenial people, but she was growing more and more perplexed over the astonishing case of Granâpa Jim. It worried her to find that an occasional doubt would cross her mind in spite of her intense loyalty to her dearly loved grandparent. She would promptly drive out the doubt, but it would insist on intruding again.
âSomething is wrong somewhere,â she sighed. âThere must be some snarl that even Granâpa Jim canât untangle; and, if he canât, Iâm sure no one else can. I wish I could find him and that he would tell me all about it. I suppose he thinks Iâm too young to confide in, but Iâm almost sixteen now and surely thatâs old enough to understand things. There were girls at school twenty years old that Iâm sure couldnât reason as well as I can.â
After a while she went down stairs and joined Irene in the garden, where the chair-girl was trimming rose bushes with a pair of stout scissors. She greeted Mary Louise with her bright smile, saying:
âI suppose everything is fixed up, now, and we can begin to get acquainted.â
âWhy, we ARE acquainted,â declared Mary Louise. âUntil to-day I had never heard of you, yet it seems as if I had known you always.â
âThank you,â laughed Irene; âthat is a very pretty compliment, I well realize. You have decided to stay, then?â
âAunt Hannah has decided so, but Mr. Conant may object.â
âHe wonât do that,â was the quick reply. âUncle Peter may be an autocrat in his office, but Iâve noticed that Aunt Hannah is the ruler of this household.â
Mr. Conant may have noticed that, also, for he seemed not at all surprised when his wife said she had decided to keep Mary Louise with them. But after the girls had gone to bed that night the lawyer had a long talk with his better half, and thereafter Mary Louiseâs presence was accepted as a matter of course. But Mr. Conant said to her the next morning:
âI have notified your grandfather, at his six different addresses, of your coming to us, so I ought to receive his instructions within the next few days. Also, to-day I will write Miss Stearne that you are here and why you came away from the school.â
âWill you ask her to send my trunk?â
âNot now. We will first await advices from Colonel Weatherby.â
These âadvicesâ were received three days later in the form of a brief telegram from a Los Angeles attorney. The message read: âColonel Weatherby requests you to keep M. L. in Dorfield until further instructions. Money forwarded. Hot. Caution.â It was signed âO. L.â and when Mr. Conant showed Mary Louise the message she exclaimed:
âThen Mr. OâGorman was right!â
âIn what way?â questioned the lawyer.
âIn the note he left for me at the hotel he said I might find my grandfather by writing to Oscar Lawler at Los Angeles, California. This telegram is from Los Angeles and it is signed âO. L.â which must mean âOscar Lawler.ââ
âHow clever!â said Mr. Conant sarcastically.
âThat proves, of course, that Granâpa Jim and mother are in California, But how did the detective know that?â she asked wonderingly.
âHe didnât know it,â answered Peter Conant. âOn the contrary, this message proves to me that they are not there at all.â
âBut the telegram saysââ
âOtherwise,â continued the lawyer, âthe telegram would not have come from that faraway point on the Pacific coast. There now remain five other places where Colonel Weatherby might be located. The chances are, however, that he is not in any of them.â
Mary Louise was puzzled. It was altogether too bewildering for her comprehension.
âHere are two strange words,â said she, eyeing the telegram she still held. âWhat does âhotâ mean, Mr. Conant?â
âIt means,â he replied, âthat the government spies are again seeking Colonel Weatherby. The word âcautionâ means that we must all take care not to let any information escape us that might lead to his arrest. Donât talk to strangers, Mary Louise; donât talk to anyone outside our family of your grandfatherâs affairs, or even of your own affairs. The safety of Colonel Weatherby depends, to a great extent, on our all being silent and discreet.â
The more Mary Louise saw of Irene Macfarlane the more she learned to love her. No one could be miserable or despondent for long in the chair-girlâs society, because she was always so bright and cheery herself. One forgot to pity her or even to deplore her misfortunes while listening to her merry chatter and frank laughter, for she seemed to find genuine joy and merriment in the simplest incidents of the life about her.
âGod has been so good to me, Mary Louise!â she once exclaimed as they were sitting together in the garden. âHe has given me sight, that I may revel in bookland and in the beauties of flowers and trees and shifting skies and the faces of my friends. He has given me the blessing of hearing, that I may enjoy the strains of sweet music and the songs of the birds and the voices of those I love. And I can scent the fragrance of the morning air, the perfume of the roses andâyes! even the beefsteak Aunt Hannah is frying for supper. The beefsteak tastes as good to me as it does to you. I can feel the softness of your cheek; I can sing melodies, in my own way, whenever my heart swells with joy. I can move about, by means of this wonderful chair, without the bother of walking. You donât envy me, Mary Louise, because you enjoy almost equal blessings; but you must admit I have reason for being happy.â
Irene read a good many books and magazines and through the daily papers kept well posted on the worldâs affairs. Indeed, she was much better posted than Mary Louise, who, being more active, had less leisure to think and thus absorb the full meaning of all that came to her notice. Irene would play the piano for hours at a time, though obliged to lean forward in her chair to reach the keys, and her moods ran the gamut from severely classical themes to ragtime, seeming to enjoy all equally. She also sewed and mended with such consummate skill that Mary Louise, who was rather awkward with her needle, marveled at her talent.
Nor was this the end of the chair-girlâs accomplishments, for Irene had a fancy for sketching and made numerous caricatures of those persons with whom she came in contact. These contained so much humor that Mary Louise was delighted with themâespecially one of âUncle Peterâ toying with his watch fob and staring straight ahead of him with round, expressionless eyes.
âReally, Irene, I believe you could paint,â she once said.
âNo,â answered her friend, âI would not be so wicked as to do that. All imitations of Nature seem to me a mock of Godâs handiwork, which no mortal brush can hope to equal. I shall never be so audacious, I hope. But a photograph is a pure reflex of Nature, and my caricatures, which are merely bits of harmless fun, furnish us now and then a spark of humor to make us laugh, and laughter is good for the soul. I often laugh at my own sketches, as you know. Sometimes I laugh at their whimsical conception, before ever I put pencil to paper. Lots of caricatures I make secretly, laughing over and then destroying them for fear they might be seen and hurt the feelings of their innocent subjects. Why, Mary Louise, I drew your doleful face only yesterday, and it was so funny I shrieked with glee. You heard me and looked over at me with a smile that made the caricature lie, so I promptly tore it up. It had served its purpose, you see.â
So many of these quaint notions filled the head of the crippled girl that Mary Louiseâs wondering interest in her never flagged. It was easy to understand why Mrs. Conant had declared that Irene was the joy and life of the household, for it was impossible to remain morbid or blue in her presence.
For this reason, as well as through the warm and sincere affection inspired by Irene, Mary Louise came by degrees to confide to her the entire story of the mystery that surrounded her grandfather and influenced the lives of her mother and herself. Of her personal anxieties and fears she told her new friend far more than she had ever confessed to anyone else and her disclosures were met by ready sympathy.
âPhoo!â cried Irene. âThis isnât a REAL trouble; it will pass away. Everything passes away in time, Mary Louise, for life is
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