The Witness, Grace Livingston Hill Lutz [the little red hen ebook .TXT] 📗
- Author: Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
Book online «The Witness, Grace Livingston Hill Lutz [the little red hen ebook .TXT] 📗». Author Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
Or Reception Apiece A Year, But That Was About The Limit.
Well, There Was Tennelly's Mother! Dignified, White-Haired, Beautiful,
Dominant In Her Home And Clubs, Charming To Her Guests; But--He Could
Just Fancy How She Would Raise Her Lorgnette And Look "Bonnie" Brentwood
Over. There Would Be No Room In That Grand House For A Girl Like Bonnie.
Bonnie! How The Name Suited Her! He Had A Strange Protective Feeling
About That Girl, Not As If She Were Like The Other Girls He Knew;
Perhaps It Was A Sort Of A "Christ-Brother" Feeling, As The Minister Had
Suggested. But To Go On With The List Of Mothers--Wasn't There One
Anywhere To Whom He Could Appeal? Gila's Mother? Pah! That Painted,
Purple Image Of A Mother! Her Own Daughter Needed To Find A Real Mother
Somewhere. She Couldn't Mother A Stranger! Mothers! Why Weren't There
Enough Real Ones To Go Around? If He Had Only Had A Mother, A Real One,
Himself, Who Had Lived, She Would Have Been One To Whom He Could Have
Told Bonnie's Story, And She Would Have Understood!
He Looked Into The Pictured Eyes On The Wall And An Idea Came To Him. It
Was Like An Answer To Prayer. Stephen Marshall's Mother! Why Hadn't He
Thought Of Her Before? She Was That Kind Of A Mother Of Course, Or
Stephen Marshall Would Not Have Been The Man He Was! If The Bonnie Girl
Could Only Get To Her For A Little While! But Would She Take Her? Would
She Understand? Or Might She Be Too Overcome With Her Own Loss To Have
Been Able To Rally To Life Again? He Looked Into The Strong Motherly
Face And Was Sure _Not_.
He Would Write To Her. He Would Put It To The Test Whether There Was A
Mother In The World Or Not. He Went Back To His Room, And Wrote Her A
Long Letter, Red-Hot From The Depths Of His Heart; A Letter Such As He
Might Have Written To His Own Mother If He Had Ever Known Her, But Such
As Certainly He Had Never Written To Any Woman Before. He Wrote:
Dear Mother Of Stephen Marshall:
I Know You Are A Real Mother Because Stephen Was What He
Was. And Now I Am Going To Let You Prove It By Coming To You
With Something That Needs A Mother's Help.
Chapter 8 Pg 51There Is A Little Girl--I Should Think She Must Be About
Nineteen Or Twenty Years Old--Lying In The Hospital, Worn
Out With Hard Work And Sorrow. She Has Recently Lost Her
Father And Mother, And Had Brought Her Little Five-Year-Old
Brother To The City A Couple Of Weeks Ago. They Were Living
In A Very Small Room, Boarding Themselves, She Working All
Day Somewhere Down-Town. Two Days Ago, As She Was Coming
Home In The Trolley, Her Little Brother, Crossing The Street
To Meet Her, Was Knocked Down And Killed By A Passing
Automobile. We Buried Him To-Day, And The Girl Fainted Dead
Away On The Way Back From The Cemetery And Only Recovered
Consciousness When We Got Her To The Hospital. The Doctor
Says She Has Exhausted Her Vitality And Needs To Sleep For A
Week And Be Fed Up; And Then She Ought To Go To Some
Cheerful Place Where She Can Just Rest For A While And Have
Fresh Air And Sunshine And Good, Plain, Nourishing Food.
Now She Hasn't A Friend In The City. I Know From The Few
Little Things She Has Told Me That There Isn't Any One In
The World She Will Feel Free To Turn To. She Isn't The Kind
Of Girl Who Will Accept Charity. She's Refined, Reserved,
Independent, And All That, You Know. There's Another Thing,
Too--She Prays To Your Stephen's Christ--That's Why I Dared
Write To You About It.
You See, I'm An Entire Stranger To Her. I Just Happened
Along When The Kid Was Killed And Had To Stick Around And
Help; That's How I Came To Know. Of Course She Hasn't Any
Idea Of All This, And I Haven't Any Real Business With It,
But I Can't See Leaving Her In A Hole This Way; And There's
No One Else To Do Anything.
You Wonder Why I Didn't Find A Mother Nearer By, But I
Haven't Any Living Of My Own, Except A Stepmother, Who
Wouldn't Understand, And All The Other Mothers I Know
Wouldn't Qualify For The Job Any Better. I've Been Looking
At Your Picture And I Think You Would.
What I Thought Of Is This (If It Doesn't Strike You That Way
Maybe You Can Think Of Some Other Way): I'm Pretty Well
Fixed For Money, And I've Got A Lump That I've Been
Intending To Use For A New Automobile; But My Old Car Is
Plenty Good Enough For Another Year, And I'd Like To Pay
That Girl's Board Awhile Till She Gets Rested And Strong And
Sort Of Cheered Up. I Thought Perhaps You'd See Your Way
Clear To Write A Letter And Say You'd Like Her To Visit
You--You're Lonesome Or Something. I Don't Know How A Real
Mother Would Fix That Up, But I Guess You Do.
Of Course The Girl Mustn't Know I Have A Thing To Do With It
Except That I Told You About Her. She'd Be Up In The Air In
A Minute. She Wouldn't Stand For Me Doing Anything For Her.
She's That Kind.
Chapter 8 Pg 52I'm Sending A Check Of Two Hundred Dollars Right Now Because
I Thought, In Case You See A Way To Take Up With My
Suggestion, You Might Send Her Money Enough For The Journey.
I Don't Believe She's Got Any. We Can Fix It Up About The
Board Any Way You Say. Don't Hesitate To Tell Me Just How
Much It Is Worth. I Don't Need The Money For Anything. But
Whatever's Done Has Got To Be Done Mighty Quick Or She'll Go
Back To Work Again, And She Won't Last Three Days If She
Does. She Looks As If A Breath Would Blow Her Away. I'm
Sending This Special Delivery To Hurry Things. Her Address
Is Miss R.B. Brentwood, Good Samaritan Hospital. The Kid
Called Her "Bonnie." I Don't Know What Her Whole Name Is.
So Now You Have The Whole Story, And It's Up To You To
Decide. Maybe You Think I've Got A Lot Of Crust To Propose
This, And Maybe You Won't See It This Way, But I've Had The
Nerve Because Stephen Marshall's Life And Stephen Marshall's
Death Have Made Me Believe In Stephen Marshall's Christ And
Stephen Marshall's Mother.
I Am, Very Respectfully,
Paul Courtland.
He Mailed The Letter That Night And Then Studied Hard Till Three O'clock
In The Morning.
The Next Morning's Mail Brought Him A Dainty Little Note From Gila's
Mother, Inviting Him To A Quiet Family Dinner With Them On Friday
Evening. He Frowned When He Read It. He Didn't Care For The Large,
Painted Person, But Perhaps There Was More Good In Her Than He Knew. He
Would Have To Go And Find Out. It Might Even Be That She Would Be A Help
In Case Stephen Marshall's Mother Did Not Pan Out.
Chapter 9 Pg 53Mother Marshall Stood By The Kitchen Window, With Her Cheek Against A
Boy's Old Soft Felt Hat, And She Looked Out Into The Gathering Dusk For
Father. The Hat Was So Old And Worn That Its Original Shape And Color
Chapter 9 Pg 54Were Scarcely Distinguishable, And There Was One Spot Where Mother
Marshall's Tears Had Washed Some Of The Grime Away Into Deeper Stains
About It. It Was Only On Days When Father Was Off To Town On Errands
That She Allowed Herself The Momentary Weakness Of Tears.
So She Had Stood In Former Years Looking Out Into The Dusk For Her Son
To Come Whistling Home From School. So She Had Stood The Day The Awful
News Of His Fiery Death Had Come, While Father Sat In His Rush-Bottomed
Chair And Groaned. She Had Laid Her Cheek Against That Old Felt Hat And
Comforted Herself With The Thought Of Her Boy, Her Splendid Boy, Who Had
Lived His Short Life So Intensely And Wonderfully. When She Felt That
Old Scratchy Felt Against Her Cheek It Somehow Brought Back The Memory
Of His Strong Young Shoulder, Where She Used To Lay Her Head Sometimes
When She Felt Tired And He Would Fold Her In His Arms And Brush Her
Forehead With His Lips And Pat Her Shoulder. The Neighbors Sometimes
Wondered Why She Kept That Old Felt Hat Hanging There, Just As When
Stephen Was Alive Among Them, But Mother Marshall Never Said Anything
About It; She Just Kept It There, And It Comforted Her To Feel It; One
Of Those Little Homely, Tangible Things That Our Poor Souls Have To
Tether To Sometimes When We Lose The Vision And Get Faint-Hearted.
Mother Marshall Wasn't Morbid One Bit. She Always Looked On The Bright
Side Of Everything; And She Had Had Much Joy In Her Son As He Was
Growing Up. She Had Seen Him Strong Of Body, Strong Of Soul, Keen Of
Mind. He Had Won The Scholarship Of The Whole Northwest To The Big
Eastern University. It Had Been Hard To Pack
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