Edna Turpin - Honey Sweet

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HONEY-SWEET

* * * * *

The MacMillan Company
New York Boston Chicago
San Francisco
MacMillan & Co., Limited
London Bombay Calcutta
Melbourne
The MacMillan Co. of Canada, Ltd.
Toronto

* * * * *

[Illustration: Anne sat pale and wordless]

* * * * *

HONEY-SWEET

by

EDNA TURPIN

Illustrated by Alice Beard

New York
The MacMillan Company
1914
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1911,
by the MacMillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1911. Reprinted June,
1913; August, 1914.
Norwood Press
J.S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

To
ANNE WOOLSTON ROLLER
and
MARY ADAMS MITCHELL

HONEY-SWEET

CHAPTER I

Anne and her uncle were standing side by side on the deck of the
steamship _Caronia_ due to sail in an hour. Both had their eyes fixed on
the dock below. Anne was looking at everything with eager interest. Her
uncle, with as intent a gaze, seemed watching for something that he did
not see. Presently he laid his hand on Anne's shoulder.

"I'm going to walk about, Nancy pet," he said. "There's your chair and
your rug. If you get tired, go to your stateroom--where your bag is, you
know."

"Yes, uncle." Anne threw him a kiss as he strode away.

She felt sure she could never tire of that busy, changing scene. It was
like a moving-picture show, where one group chased away another.
Swift-footed stewards and stewardesses moved busily to and fro. In twos
and threes and larger groups, people were saying good-bys, some
laughing, some tearful. Messenger boys were delivering letters and
parcels. Oncoming passengers were jostling one another. Porters with
armfuls of bags and bundles were getting in and out of the way. Trunks
and boxes were being lowered into the hold. Anne tried to find her own
small trunk. There it was. No! it was that--or was it the one below?
Dear me! How many just-alike brown canvas trunks were there in the
world? And how many people! These must be the people that on other days
thronged the up-town streets. Broadway, she thought, must look lonesome
to-day.

Every minute increased the crowd and the confusion.

There came a tall, raw-boned man with two heavy travelling bags,
following a stout woman dressed in rustling purple-red silk. She spoke
in a shrill voice: "Sure all my trunks are here? The little black one?
And the box? And you got the extra steamer rug? Ed-ward! And I
dis-tinct-ly told you--"

"The very best possible. Positively the most satisfactory arrangements
ever made for a party our size." This a brisk little man with a
smile-wrinkled face was saying to several women trotting behind him,
each wearing blue or black serge, each lugging a suit-case.

A porter was wheeling an invalid chair toward the gang-plank. By its
side walked a gentlewoman whom fanciful little Anne likened to a
partridge. In fact, with her bright eyes and quick movements, she was
not unlike a plump, brown-coated bird.

She fluttered toward the chair and said in a sweet, chirpy voice:
"Comfortable, Emily? Lean a little forward and let me put this pillow
under your shoulders. There, dear! That's better, I'm sure. Just a
little while longer. How nicely you are standing the journey!"

A man in rough clothes stopped to exchange parting words with a youth in
paint-splotched overalls.

--"Take it kind ye're here to see me off. I been a saying to mesilf four
year I'd get back to see the folks in the ould counthry. And here I am
at last wid me trunk in me hand--" holding out a bulging canvas bag.
"Maybe so I'll bring more luggage back. There's a tidy girl I used to
know--"

Beyond this man, Anne's roving eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar,
gray-clad figure. She waved her hand eagerly but it attracted no
greeting in return. Her uncle looked worried and nervous. Indeed, he
started like a hunted wild creature, when a boy spoke suddenly to him.
It was Roger, an office boy whom Anne had seen on the holiday occasions
when she had met her uncle down-town. Roger held out a yellow envelope.
Her uncle snatched it, and--just then there came between him and Anne a
group of hurrying passengers--a stout man in a light gray coat and a
pink shirt, a stout woman in a dark silk travelling coat, and two stout,
short-skirted girls with good-natured faces, round as full moons. The
younger girl was dragging a doll carriage carelessly with one hand. The
doll had fallen forward so that her frizzled yellow head bounced up and
down on her fluffy blue skirts.

"Oh! Poor dollie!" exclaimed Anne to herself. "I do wish uncle--" she
caught a fleeting glimpse of him beside the workman with the canvas
bag--"if just he hadn't hurried so. How could I forget Rosy Posy? I wish
that fat girl would let me hold her baby doll. She's just dragging it
along."

Presently the Stout family, as Anne called it to herself, came
sauntering along the deck near her. She started forward, wishing to beg
leave to set the fallen doll to rights, and then stopped short, too shy
to speak to the strange girl.

A lean, sour-faced man in black bumped against her. "What an awkward
child!" he said crossly.

Anne reddened and retreated to the railing. Feeling all at once very
small and lonely, she searched the dock for her uncle but he was nowhere
to be seen.

Then a bell rang. People hurried up the gang-plank. Last of all was a
workman in blue overalls, with a soft hat jammed over his eyes. Orders
were shouted. The gang-plank was drawn in. Then the _Caronia_ wakened
up, churned the brown water into foam, crept from the dock, picked her
way among the river vessels, and sped on her ocean voyage.

CHAPTER II

It was eight o'clock and a crisp, clear morning. A stewardess was
offering tea and toast to Mrs. Patterson, the frail little lady whom
Anne had observed in a wheel-chair the afternoon before. Seen closely,
her face had a pathetic prettiness. With the delicate color in her soft
cheeks, she looked like a fading tea rose. Yet one knew at a glance that
she and bird-like Miss Sarah Drayton were sisters. There was the same
oval face--this hollowed and that plump; the same soft brown hair--this
wavy and that sleek; the same wide-open hazel eyes--these soft and
sombre, those bright as beads.

"If you drink a few spoonfuls, dear, you may feel more like eating,"
Miss Drayton's cheery voice was saying. "And do taste the toast. If
it's as good as it looks, you'll devour the last morsel."

Mrs. Patterson sipped the tea and nibbled a piece of toast. "It lacks
only one thing--an appetite," she announced, smiling at her sister as
she pushed aside the tray. "Did you hear that? I thought I heard--is it
a child crying?"

The stewardess started. "Gracious! I forgot her! A little girl's just
across from you, ma'am--an orphant, I guess. She's travelling alone with
her uncle. And he charged me express when he came on board to look after
her. Of course I forgot. My hands are that full my head won't hold it.
It's 'Vaughan here' and it's 'Vaughan there,' regular as clockwork. Why
ain't he called on me again?"

She trotted out and tapped on the door of the stateroom opposite. There
was a brief silence. Vaughan was about to knock again when the door
opened slowly. There stood a slim little girl struggling for
self-control, but her fright and misery were too much for her, and in
spite of herself tears trickled down her cheeks.

"She's an ugly little lady," thought Vaughan to herself.

Vaughan was wrong. The child had a piquant face, full of charm, and her
head and chin had the poise of a princess. She had fair straight hair,
almond-shaped hazel eyes under pencilled brows, and a nose "tip-tilted
like a flower." Peggy Callahan, whose acquaintance you will make later,
said she guessed it was because Anne's nose was so cute and darling that
her eyebrows and her eyes and her mouth all pointed at it. But now the
little face was dismal and splotched with tears, the tawny hair was
tousled, and the white frock and white hair-ribbons were crumpled.

"Were you knocking at my door?" Anne asked in a voice made steady with
difficulty.

"Yes, miss. I thought you might be sick. We heard you crying."

"Oh!" The pale face reddened. "I didn't know any one could hear. The
walls of these rooms aren't very thick, are they?"

"No, miss." In spite of herself, Vaughan smiled at the quaint dignity of
the child. "Don't you want me to change your frock? Dear me! I ought not
to have forgot you last night! And breakfast? You haven't had breakfast,
have you?"

"No. Are you the--the--" Anne drew her brows together, in an earnest
search for a forgotten word.

"I'm the stewardess, miss."

"Oh, yes!--the stewardess. Uncle said you'd take care of me. Where is
he? I want Uncle Carey."

"Have you seen him this morning, miss?" asked Vaughan.

"No. Not since a long time ago. Yesterday just before the boat sailed.
When Roger was handing him a piece of yellow paper. I waited on deck for
him hours and hours. Where is he now?"

"In his stateroom, maybe--or the smoking-room--or on deck. Maybe he's
waiting this minute for you to go to breakfast. We'll have you ready in
a jiffy."

Anne's face brightened. "I can bathe myself--almost. You may scrub the
corners of my ears, if you please. And I can't quite part my hair
straight. Will you find Uncle Carey? and see if he is ready for me?"

"Oh, yes, miss. If you'll tell me his name."

"Uncle Carey? He's Mr. Mayo. Mr. Carey Mayo of New York."

"Yes, miss. I'll find him. Just you wait a minute. I forget your name,
miss."

"Anne. Anne Lewis."

The good-natured stewardess bustled about in a vain effort to find Mr.
Carey Mayo. He was not in his stateroom, nor in the saloon, nor in the
smoking-room, nor on deck. In her perplexity, she addressed the captain
whom she met at the dining-room door.

"Beg pardon, sir; I'm looking for a Mr. Mayo, sir, and I can't find him
anywheres."

"Well?" Captain Wards was gnawing the ends of his mustache.

"It's for his niece, sir, a little girl. She ain't seen him since
yesterday, sir. Been crying till she's 'most sick."

"My word!" exclaimed Captain Wards. "I had forgotten there was a child.
She's not the only one that wants him. I've had a wireless from New
York--the chief of police," the captain explained to a gentleman at his
elbow. "This Mayo is one of the bunch down in that Stuyvesant Trust
Company. They've been examining the books, but his tracks were so
cleverly covered that he was not even suspected at first. Yesterday they
found out. But their bird had flown. He's on our register all
right,--self and niece,--but we can't find him anywhere else."

They looked again and again in the tidy, empty little stateroom, as if
it must give some sign, some clew to the missing man. There were his
travelling bags strapped and piled where the porter had dumped them. The
steward who had shown Mr. Mayo his stateroom remembered that he had come
on board early, more than an hour before sailing time. Oh, yes, the man
had taken good notice of Mr. Mayo. Could tell just how he looked.
Slender youngish gentleman. Good clothes, light gray, well put on. Clean
shaven. Face not round, not long. Blue eyes--or gray--perhaps brown.
Darkish hair--it might be some gray. Nothing remarkable about his nose.
Nor his complexion--not fair--not dark. Anyway, the steward would know
him easy, and was sure he wasn't aboard.

A deck steward said he had looked for Mr. Mayo not long before the
vessel sailed. A boy had brought a telegram for him. But a first-cabin
lady had called the steward to move her chair.

The chap said he was Mr. Mayo's office boy and could find him if he
were on the _Caronia_.

No one had seen Mr. Mayo after the boy brought this telegram. Evidently,
some one had warned him that his guilt was discovered and he had hurried
away to avoid arrest. Where was he now? And what was to become of his
little niece?

CHAPTER III

During the search for her uncle, Anne awaited the stewardess's return
with growing impatience and hunger. In that keen salt air it was no
light matter to have gone dinnerless to bed and to be waiting at nine
o'clock for breakfast. At last she heard approaching steps. She flung
her door open, expecting to see her uncle or at least the stewardess.
Instead, she stood face to face with a strange boy, a jolly,
freckle-faced youngster of about thirteen.

"Good-morning," he said cheerily. Then he beat a tattoo on the opposite
door.

"Mother! Aunt Sarah! Aunt Sarah! Mother!" he called. "Must I wait and go
to breakfast with you? I am starving. Aren't you ready? Please!"

Anne was still standing embarrassed in her doorway when the opposite
door opened and facing her stood the bird-like lady whom she had seen
the afternoon before. Miss Drayton kissed her nephew good-morning,
straightened his necktie, and smoothed down a rebellious lock of curly
dark hair. She smiled at the sober little girl across the passage as she
announced to the impatient youngster that she was quite ready for
breakfast and would go with him as soon as he had bade his mamma
good-morning. As he disappeared in the stateroom, the stewardess came
back, looking worried.

"I--I--can't find your uncle, miss," she said.

Anne's eyes filled with tears. She swallowed a sob and steadied her
voice to say: "He--must have forgotten--'bout me. I--don't have
breakfast with him 'cept Sundays."

"The captain said I'd better show you the way to the dining-room, miss.
A waiter will look after you."

The shy child shrank back. "I saw the dining-room yesterday," she said.
"There--there are such long tables and so many strange people. I--I
don't think I want any breakfast. Couldn't you bring me a mug of milk
and one piece of bread?"

Miss Drayton came forward with a cordial smile. "Come to breakfast with
me, dear. My sister is not well enough to leave her stateroom this
morning, so there will be a vacant seat beside me. I am Miss Drayton and
this is my nephew, Patrick Patterson, who has such an appetite that it
will make you hungry just to see him eat. After breakfast we'll find
your uncle and scold him about forgetting you. Or perhaps he didn't
forget. He may have wanted you to have a morning nap to put roses in
those pale cheeks. Will you come with me?"

"If you would just take charge of her, ma'am," exclaimed the stewardess.

Anne's sober face had brightened while Miss Drayton was speaking.
Indeed, smiles came naturally in the presence of that cheery little
lady. With a murmured "Thank you," the child slipped her hand in Miss
Drayton's and together they entered the dining-room.

While breakfast was being served, Pat Patterson gave and obtained a good
deal of information. He told Anne that he was from Washington, the
finest city in the world. He learned that she called Virginia home,
though she lived now in New York. Pat was going to spend a year in
France with his mother and Aunt Sarah. Uncle Carey, with whom Anne was
travelling, had told her nothing of his plans except that he and she
were going "abroad" and were to "have a grand time" on "the Continent."
Pat's father was to come over later for a few weeks; he was down south
now, helping build the "big ditch"--the Panama Canal. "Where is your
father?" he asked Anne.

"Dead."

"Oh!" with awkward sympathy.

"Long time ago, when I was little."

"Do you remember him?"

"If I shut my eyes tight. It's like he was walking to meet me, out of
the big picture."

"And your mother--" Pat hesitated.

"I remember her real well. I was seven then. That was over a year ago.
Sometimes it seems such a little while since we were at home--and then
it seems a long, long, long time."

"You've been living with your uncle since?" asked Miss Drayton, gently.

"Yes. Uncle Carey. Where is he? I do want Uncle Carey so bad." The
child's voice trembled.

"Don't worry, dear. We'll find him," said Miss Drayton, as they left the
dining-room.

The captain, who had kept his eyes on the little party, anticipated Miss
Drayton's questioning. Drawing her aside, he explained the situation.
"The scoundrel is probably safe in Canada by this time," he ended.
"He'll take good care to lay low. This child's other relatives will have
to be hunted up and informed. I'll send a wireless to New York. The
stewardess will take care of the little girl."

"Oh, as to that," Miss Drayton answered, "it will be only a pleasure to
me. She's a dear, quaint little thing."

"That's good of you," said Captain Wards, heartily. "I was about to ask
you--you're so kind and have made friends with her, you see--to tell her
that her uncle isn't here."

"Oh!"--Miss Drayton shrank from that bearing of bad tidings. "How can
I?"

The captain looked uncomfortable. "It is a good deal to ask," he
admitted. "I suppose I--or the stewardess--"

"But no. Poor little one!" Miss Drayton took herself in hand as she
thought of the shy, lonely child. "She must be told. And, as you say,
I've made friends with her, so it may come less hard from me. Leave it
to me, then, captain." And she went slowly back to Anne whose face
clouded at seeing her new friend alone.

"I thought Uncle Carey would come back with you," she said.
"Please--where is he?"

"Anne, when was the last time that you saw Uncle Carey?" inquired Miss
Drayton.

"A little while before the steamer left New York," answered Anne. "He
said he was going to walk around. And he was down there on the--the
platform below."

"The dock? On shore, you mean, and not on the steamer?"

"Yes, on the dock; that's it. And Roger--Roger that stays in Uncle
Carey's office--gave him a letter--a yellow envelope. Then some people
got in the way. And I haven't seen him any more."

"Let's you and I sit down in this quiet corner, Anne," said Miss
Drayton, "and I'll tell you what I think. That yellow letter was a
telegram. It was about business, and it made your uncle go away in a
hurry. Such a great hurry that he didn't have time to see you and tell
you he was going."

"Didn't he come back? Isn't he on the steamer?" Anne asked anxiously.

Miss Drayton shook her head. "I think not, dear. They've looked
everywhere."

Tears were trickling down the child's pale cheeks. "And he left me--all
by myself?"

"No, dear; no, little one." Miss Drayton drew the little figure into her
lap. "He left you with good friends all around you. We'll take such care
of you--Captain Wards, that kind stewardess, and I. Isn't it nice that
you and I are next-door neighbors? Bless your dear heart! Of course it's
a disappointment. You miss your uncle. Snuggle right down in my arms and
have your cry out."

Anne winked back her tears. "It hurts--to cry," she said rather
unsteadily. "But you see it's--it's lonesome. I wish Rosy Posy was
here."

"Is Rosy Posy one of your little friends at home?" asked Miss Drayton,
wishing to divert Anne's thoughts.

"Yes, Miss Drayton. She's my best little friend. And so beautiful! Such
lovely long yellow curls. She sleeps with me every night. And I tell her
all my secrets. I've had her since I was a little girl."

"Oh! Rosy Posy's your doll, is she?" questioned Miss Drayton.

Anne nodded assent. "Uncle Carey gave her to me. I make some of her
clothes. Louise makes the frilly ones. We were getting her school
dresses ready. Uncle Carey said I really truly must go to school this
year. Then yesterday he came home in such a hurry. Louise thought he was
sick. He never comes home that time of day; and his face was pale and
his eyes shiny. He said he had to go away on business and was going to
take me with him. Louise packed in such a hurry. And I left my dear
Rosy Posy." The child's lip quivered. "Uncle kept saying, 'We ought to
be gone. We ought to be gone. Hurry up. Hurry up.' And we drove away
real fast. Then we got out and got in another carriage. It was so hot,
with all the curtains down! I was glad when we came on the boat. But I
do miss Rosy Posy so bad--and Uncle Carey."

Miss Drayton spoke quickly in her cheeriest tone. "Aren't you glad that
Louise is there to take good care of Rosy Posy? I expect she'll have a
beautiful lot of frilly frocks when you get home. Some time I must tell
you about my pet doll, Lady Ann, and her yellow silk frock."

"I'd like to hear it now," said Anne.

"And I'd like to tell you," smiled back Miss Drayton. "But I must leave
Pat to play ring toss with you while I go to see about my sister. She
isn't well and I want to persuade her to take a cup of broth."

CHAPTER IV

Miss Drayton explained her prolonged absence by relating to her sister
the story of their little fellow-voyager. Mrs. Patterson's languid air
gave way to attention and interest. It was pitiful to think that so near
them a deserted child had sobbed away the lonely hours of the long
night. A faint smile came as the lady listened to the tale of Rosy Posy,
Anne's "best little friend" with the "such lovely long yellow curls."
Then her eyes grew misty again.

"Poor all-alone little one!" she exclaimed. "With no friend, not even a
doll." Then at a sudden thought her eyes sparkled. "Sarah," she said,
"I'll make her a doll. And it shall be a darling. You remember the baby
dolls I used to make for church bazaars?"

"What beauties they were!" said her sister. "Like real babies, instead
of just-alike dolls that come wholesale out of shops. I remember one I
bought to send out West in a missionary box. You had given it the
dearest crooked little smile. I wanted to keep it and cuddle it myself.
But, Emily dear, it is too great an undertaking for you to make a doll
now. You'll overtax your strength. And, besides, you've no materials.
We'll buy a doll in Paris for this little girl."

"Paris! With all these lonesome days between!" objected Mrs. Patterson.
"Indeed, it will not hurt me, Sarah. Why, I feel better already. And
you'll help me. If you'll get out your work-basket, I'll rummage in this
trunk for what I need."

A muslin skirt was selected as material for the doll's body and her
underwear, and a dainty dressing-sacque was chosen to make her frock.
Mrs. Patterson pencilled an outline on the cloth, then rubbed out,
redrew, changed, and corrected the lines, with painstaking care. At
last she threw back her head and looked at her work through narrowed
eyelids.

"She is going to be a very satisfactory baby," she announced; "just
plump enough to cuddle comfortably."

"Surely you will stop now, dear, and finish another time," urged Miss
Drayton, after the pieces were cut out and sewed together with firm,
short, even stitches. "You may not feel it, but I am sure you are
tired--and how tired you will be when you _do_ feel it!"

"Indeed, no, Sarah," said Mrs. Patterson. "This rests me. I've not
thought about myself for an hour. Why did you mention the tiresome
subject? That skirt must have another tuck, please. And it needs lace at
the bottom. Just borrow some, dear, from any of my white things. Now I
must have some sawdust."

The stewardess came to their help, and persuaded a steward to open a
case of bottles and give her the sawdust in which they were packed.
Mrs. Patterson received it with an exclamation of delight and held out a
silver coin in return. But Vaughan put her hands behind her.

"Please'm," she said, "it ain't much. But I wanted to do something for
that poor little orphant."

Mrs. Patterson smiled her thanks, then she pushed and shook and crammed
the sawdust in place, taking a childlike eager interest in seeing the
limp form grow shapely and firm. This done, she consented to take
luncheon and a nap, after which Miss Drayton brought Anne to make her
acquaintance. When Mrs. Patterson sent them out "for a whiff of fresh
air," she thrust into her sister's hand a workbag with frilly white
things to tuck and ruffle. Then she drew out her box of colors. Under
her deft touches, now fast, now slow, the baby face grew life-like and
lovable.

"She's to be a comfort baby for a troubled little mother," said Mrs.
Patterson to herself. "She must be one of the happy-looking babies that
one always smiles at."

And she was. Her mouth curved upward in a smile that brought out a dear
little dimple in the left cheek, and her big blue eyes crinkled at the
corners with a smile climbing upward from the lips. There were two
shell-like little ears and some soft shadowy locks of hair, peeping out
from under a lace-edged cap with strings tied under the chin.

When she was fitted out in the garments that Miss Drayton had fashioned,
that lady exclaimed: "Why, Emily, Emily! You never painted a picture
that was more beautiful. That darling smile! And the dimple!"

There was some debate as to when the doll should be presented and it was
finally decided to give her as bed-time comfort. Promptly at eight
o'clock, Mrs. Patterson insisted on undressing Anne, while Miss Drayton
and Vaughan hovered outside the open door. Anne submitted rather
unwillingly and took a long time to brush her teeth. Then she knelt down
to say her prayers. After the

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