CHAPTER IX

BABY OR SOLDIER--WHICH?

Not a word did Joanne say to her girl friends about her summer plans. Cousin Sue’s advice had not fallen upon stony ground. Why should one dwell upon an unpleasant subject when there was no immediate need to? Why cross a bridge till you came to it? Meantime there were many things to occupy a schoolgirl’s thoughts, with examinations coming on, and quite as many things to interest a Girl Scout outside the matter of winning badges. Sunflower Troop took weekly hikes, sometimes no farther than to Potomac Park to see the Japanese cheery trees in blossom, sometimes as far as Arlington. There was a Saturday picnic to the Great Falls, another to Alexandria and Mt. Vernon. An afternoon at the Zoo gave an opportunity to those girls who were studying birds and animals. An afternoon in the Maryland woods permitted more than one to complete her list of wild flowers. So the weeks went by till June when Joanne was whirled away to Annapolis where her grandparents must go to join in the excitement of June week at the Naval Academy.

One might give chapters to the doings of that gay occasion, but while Joanne did participate in some of them her grandmother declared that she was still too young to go to the dances except as a looker on, therefore that sober pleasure was all that was hers.

However, she had plenty to report to an interested audience, when she returned, but that done she felt that she was nearing that dreaded time when she must disclose the fact that she would not be able to join her troop at the camp in July.

It was but a few days before the closing of school that she was walking home with Winnie and Claudia, and the subject came up.

“Just think,” said Winnie, “July will be here before we know it, and then, ho for the woods and dales of Maryland! Aren’t you excited about it, Jo? Now that those old exams. are over and you have come off with flying colors you can just rest your mind and dream of the lodge and the river.”

Joanne looked very grave. “Perhaps I should have told you before,” she answered, “but I simply couldn’t, for I have been hoping I wouldn’t have to. Girls, I’m not going.”

“Not going?” The other two girls stood still and looked at each other, then Claudia gave Joanne a little shake. “Of course you’re going. You needn’t think we’re going to be taken in by such an obvious joke.”

“Really and truly,” avowed Joanne. “Gradda is going to Jamestown, Rhode Island, and refuses to leave me behind.”

“Are you still jollying us, or is that a fact?” queried Winnie.

“I wish it were a joke, but it is only too solemn a fact,” responded Joanne with so grave a face that the others no longer doubted.

“Oh, well, then that will break up the party,” asserted Winnie. “I, for one, wouldn’t think of going if you are to be left out. It would be too mean for words when you were the means of getting us the invitation. Don’t you think so, Clausie?”

“I certainly do, unless Joanne really likes going with her grandmother.”

“If you had seen me when she announced her intention,” said Joanne, with a little whimsical smile, “you wouldn’t have thought I was carried away with enthusiasm.”

“Oh, Jo, what did you do?” inquired Winnie with a little laugh.

“I shrieked protests; I stamped; I defied; I sassed; I flounced out of the room and went up-stairs and howled.”

“Well, for once I think you were excusable, for all, perhaps, except for the sassing. What did your grandmother do?”

“She hadn’t a chance to do anything much, for after I had got my bearings I rushed madly to Cousin Sue Pattison and she straightened me out so that I wrote a note of apology and my bark sailed on serenely.”

“Good girl!” Claudia patted her on the back approvingly. “I’ll bet it took courage to eat that piece of humble pie.”

“I’ll say it did,” returned Joanne with a little laugh at her bit of slang, “but it was soon over and I don’t mean to let myself go so rambunctiously again; it doesn’t pay, I find. You girls should know Cousin Sue; she is the dearest thing. I don’t know what I should do without her. We have been such friends ever since that horrid time.”

“If she is anything like Mr. Pattison she must be a peach,” declared Winnie.

“She is just as much of a peach but a different variety,” replied Joanne. “Well, girls, I want to say this, that you are not to consider me at all in the going to the lodge. You are to go and have the very best sort of time. It will make me very unhappy if you back out. I want you to use Chico all that is good for him and I want you to be nice to Pablo. As long as confessions are in the air, I may as well tell you that at first I was so mad that I vowed no one should ride Chico if I couldn’t, and I was ready to fight any one who dared to suggest riding him.”

“But now you have come down from your high horse,” said Winnie.

“Not my high horse; my little pony,” retorted Joanne brightly.

“Well, if you can joke about it, I should say you had recovered entirely from your mad,” said Claudia. “Listen, girls, I don’t think we’d better say anything about Jo’s not going, at least not yet. It will stir up such a rumpus, and the girls will jabber over the pros and cons till they are blue in the face. We won’t spring it on them till the very last. I must say, Jo, that I think you’re tremendously generous. If it were my cousin’s place and my pony, I’d rebel, I’m sure.”

Joanne looked at her with a queer little smile. “No, you wouldn’t,” she said, “at least, not for long, because you are a Girl Scout.”

Claudia gave her a hug, then and there, in spite of the fact that they were by no means without observers. “You dear, sweet little thing,” she cried; “you’ll sail in ahead of all of us, if we don’t look out.”

Then the three parted, and Joanne walked on thoughtfully, beneath the arching, leafy trees. There were roses, roses everywhere; the air was sweet with them and with the pendant blooms of wistaria. Joanne felt very happy even when she thought of the coming of July, which would separate her from her companions. “I have nearly a whole month yet,” she said to herself as she mounted the steps leading to her home.

She found her grandmother and Cousin Sue in close conversation. “Cousin Sue!” she exclaimed, “I certainly am glad to find you here. You are going to stay to lunch, of course.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Selden assured her.

“How goes school?” asked Mrs. Pattison.

“Fine as silk. I’m through all my exams. and I passed every one. I even got a pretty good mark in math., which was the fiercest one of all for a poor body like me. As for my writing and spelling, I’m afraid I had a call down on them. Even Grad can’t say I haven’t improved in other things; I have worked hard enough.”

“You don’t feel the worse for it?” said her grandmother anxiously.

“Dear me, no, I am as fit as a fiddle. You should see the stunts I can do in the gym. Gradda, do you think there will be any chance for me to row and swim, this summer? I can swim a little but I want to be a Jim dandy at it. There should be lots of chances at a place like Jamestown.”

Mrs. Selden glanced at Mrs. Pattison and smiled. “What would you say if I told you we were not going to Jamestown?”

“Oh, Gradda!” Joanne clasped her hands ecstatically.

“No, we are not going for several reasons. In the first place I have had a letter from Mrs. Abercrombie who says the Admiral has to go to the Pacific coast and she is going with him, so I don’t care to undertake the upkeep of the cottage we had planned to share. Then, your grandfather is interested in some matters here which will keep him occupied until August at the earliest. Sue and I were talking over the situation when you came in.”

Joanne gave her cousin an appealing look.

“I’ve been trying to persuade your grandmother to come to Virginia with me,” said Mrs. Pattison, giving Joanne an understanding look. “My sister has a great big house, and would be perfectly delighted if I were to bring Aunt Alice with me, for she adores to have company. Of course it will not be as cool as at the seashore, but it is in the mountains and ever and ever so many persons go no farther in summer. Besides, it is within easy distance of the city, so Uncle Greg could run into town whenever he found it necessary. I think it would be an ideal arrangement. It is really lovely at Kate’s and the nights are cool.”

“And----” Joanne paused to give her cousin another appealing look.

“You wouldn’t have to bother about the housekeeping,” Mrs. Pattison went on, turning to Mrs. Selden. “Kate has an old mammy sort of cook who has been with her for years and years, and I will guarantee you will have good things to eat.”

“Oh, my dear,” murmured Mrs. Selden protestingly, “as if I would take that into consideration.”

“I would, then,” said Mrs. Pattison with a laugh; “it would make a tremendous difference to me. Come, Aunt Alice, be a sport, and say you will go, then you can bundle Jo off to Ned’s place and be as free as air.”

Joanne gave a little start and waited breathlessly for her grandmother’s answer.

“If I could be sure it would be the best thing for her,” returned Mrs. Selden meditatively.

“Of course it will be. You couldn’t have her at a better place, with Miss Dodge and Miss Chesney to look after her, not to mention that nice Mrs. Clover, and old Unc’ Aaron, who is a host in himself. Why, she couldn’t be any better off in a sanitarium.” Mrs. Pattison glanced at Joanne with mischief in her eyes as she ended her remark.

“Well,” said Mrs. Selden with a sigh, “it all sounds very attractive, and you are very good to want to help me out. I declare when I had Mrs. Abercrombie’s letter this morning I was completely upset. Of course I shall have to talk it over with Gregory, but I haven’t a doubt but he will consider it a very happy idea, all things taken into consideration.”

“Come, Jo, don’t you want to take me up-stairs to wash my hands?” said Mrs. Pattison, feeling it wise to leave the subject at this point.

Joanne was only too glad to get her cousin off to herself, and when they had reached the next floor she fell upon her with a mighty hug. “Oh, you precious darling,” she cried, “I could squeeze you to pieces.”

“Please don’t,” returned Mrs. Pattison, “for I really want to take some of me to Kate’s. Wasn’t it fun, Jo?”

Joanne giggled. “It was simply great. I could scarcely keep my face straight when you said that about the sanitarium.”

“I believe that really did the business. You’ll have to get Miss Dodge here and have her talk a great deal about First Aid and Health rules and all that.”

“I’ll do that very thing. Gradda doesn’t take us seriously at all. You’d think the Girl Scouts nothing but some sort of club where the girls did nothing but amuse themselves.”

“She’ll realize the practical part in time. She doesn’t absorb a new idea very quickly; she isn’t built that way,” said Mrs. Pattison as she lathered her hands. “What team work is your troop doing just now?”

“We’re trying to raise the money to buy canteens for a troop of girls that are too poor to raise it for themselves; working girls, they are, most of them.”

“A good cause. I’ll give a quarter toward that. Just wait till I dry my hands.”

“How lovely of you! But there’s no hurry.”

“No time like the present; I might forget it.” She presently produced the quarter and the two went down-stairs together.

Joanne was not doomed to wait long before she learned her grandparent’s decision. Nothing was said at the dinner table about the summer plans, and Joanne was discreet enough not to bring up the subject, knowing that her grandmother was not one to be hurried, and that any show of impatience on her own part would only defer the matter. Immediately after dinner Dr. Selden went out and had not returned when Joanne went up to her room, supposedly to go to bed. She had fidgeted about all evening, finding it hard to settle down to any one thing.

“I declare, Joanne, you make me nervous,” said her grandmother. “What a restless child you are. Can’t you sit down quietly at something? Do find something to do or else go up-stairs to bed; it is high time you went anyway.”

“I thought I might wait till Grad came in,” replied Joanne.

“There’s no telling when that will be. He was going to meet some old friends at the club and they may talk till midnight. I advise you to go right to bed this minute and see if you can’t sleep off some of that restlessness.”

Joanne felt that argument would not help her cause, so up-stairs she went, and not very long after heard her grandfather come in. “Oh dear,” she sighed, “why didn’t I wait a wee bit longer? However, I don’t suppose it would have done any good, for I doubt if Gradda would talk about me or make any plans for me before my face. I wish I knew what they are talking about.” She sat on the side of her bed swinging her bare feet and listening to the murmur of voices in the room below. After standing it as long as she could she slipped her toes into her bedroom slippers and went to the head of the stairs, straining her ears to hear what was being said. Her grandmother seemed to be holding the floor; she could hear her soft voice going on and on, but could not hear what she was talking about.

Presently the soft voice ceased and Joanne heard Dr. Selden’s deeper one answering: “It seems to me an excellent idea, Alice,” she could hear this clearly. “I don’t see why you hesitate a moment.”

More soft murmuring, then: “But, my dear, it is high time the child was taught self-reliance. Suppose anything were to happen to us, it would be a pitiful situation for her. She has been carried around on a silver tray, as it were, all her life. If she were to be suddenly thrust out into the world alone it would be very hard for her. It isn’t fair to deprive her of her proper development.”

Again the soft murmuring; this time a little louder.

“All very true,” the deep voice came in again, “but we are living in a different age, and you cannot expect things to go on in the way they did when you were young. Conditions have altered; standards are not the same. As long as she is healthy and happy why not let her do as the other girls do?”

This time Joanne heard: “But, Gregory, I don’t see how I can allow her to be separated from me an entire month.”

“Nonsense!” again Dr. Selden spoke. “You may as well get used to it. Suppose she marries some day and goes to the uttermost parts of the earth.”

Joanne started back, suddenly realizing that she was eavesdropping. What right had she to listen to a conversation not intended for her ears? The color flamed up into her face, and she clapped her hands over her offending members. “How mean of me! How mean!” she whispered as she ran back to her room. “I wouldn’t have believed I could be so contemptible. Poor, dear Gradda; how anxious she is about me. I am an ungrateful wretch.”

She scrambled into bed, and, warm June night though it was, drew the sheet over her head as if to shut out the conversation taking place below. She could not shut out, however, the memory of what she had heard. Suppose anything were to happen to those two; the thought had never occurred to her before; she had taken them as a matter of course. Terror seized her. She jumped up, hurried into her slippers and wrapper and flew down-stairs.

Her grandmother looked up to see her standing in the doorway pale with emotion. “Why, Joanne, my child, what is the matter?” she asked. “Are you ill?”

“No,” quavered Joanne, not having control of herself to say more.

“Then what has frightened you?”

“I love you both so much and I don’t want any--anything to happen to--to happen to you.” She rushed to her grandmother and flung her arms around the puzzled lady’s neck, then she burst into a torrent of tears.

“There, there,” said Mrs. Selden soothingly. “Of course we know you love us. She must have had a bad dream,” she said to her husband.

He nodded assent. “We’re all right, Joanne,” he said soothingly. “The bears won’t get us this time,” he added as if to a small child.

Joanne lifted her head and turned in her position on her grandmother’s lap. “It--it wasn’t a dream,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “I am a mean, sneaking varmint, for I went to the head of the stairs and leaned over the baluster to listen, and I heard what you said about suppose something were to happen to you what would I do, then it came over me what a deceiving, eavesdropping sinner I was, and I just couldn’t stand it, I had to come down and tell you that I love you harder than I ever did in my life.”

“You poor, dear, excitable little child,” said her grandmother, patting her shoulder. “I don’t know what is to become of you if you keep on like this.”

“But I don’t intend to keep on like this,” returned Joanne straightening up and wiping her eyes. “I don’t mean to keep on thinking so much of myself and what I like. Every now and then I come to a place where something opens, like a path, and I see farther. I suppose that is the way one grows up. You go on for a while as complacent as a pussy cat that has just had a saucer of cream, then suddenly something comes over you and you see yourself in quite a different light. It isn’t pleasant,” she shook her head mournfully.

“No, the truth isn’t always pleasant,” her grandfather agreed, “but I wouldn’t take myself too seriously. Suppose a soldier were suddenly to come face to face with an enemy whom he didn’t at first recognize as an enemy, but suppose in the fight that followed the soldier came off victor, would he throw himself on the ground and weep because he failed to recognize the enemy at the offset?”

Joanne smiled. “He would be an idiot if he did that.”

“Then don’t do that. Go to the fight with a smile and a cheer. Down the enemy but do it like a man. You’ll have battles to the end of your days, but don’t let any one see you go all to pieces when you are entering the fight.”

Joanne looked up with a sort of awed expression. “Goodness!” she exclaimed, “you make me feel more of an idiot than ever, Grad.”

“I don’t think you are an idiot, by any means, but I do think you are still rather babyish.”

Joanne sat thoughtfully lapping the fingers of her grandmother’s hand one over the other. Presently she looked up brightly. “All right, Grad,” she said. “An eavesdropping, weepy baby is almost worse than a woebegone soldier; I don’t intend to be either.”

“Then trot off to bed and don’t let’s have any more of these heroics.”

Joanne obeyed, but as she was mounting the stairs she heard her grandmother say: “Don’t you think you were a little hard on her, Gregory?”

Her grandfather’s reply was: “Not a bit of it; what the child needs is stimulant, not sentimental sympathy.”

That was the end of that bout, but Joanne never forgot it, and buckled on her armor more firmly than ever in order to meet the next fray in a more soldierly spirit.