Molly Brown of Kentucky. Speed Nell
of waving blue grass to the dark beech woods that bordered the pasture, a feeling of great happiness and contentment in her heart. How peaceful and sweet was life! She leaned against her husband, who put an ever-ready arm around her, and together they gazed on the fruitful landscape. Mrs. Brown crooned to the baby a song ever dear to her own children and one that had been sung to her by her own negro mammy.
“Mammy went away – she tol’ me ter stay,
An’ tek good keer er de baby,
She tol’ me ter stay an’ sing dis away:
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby!
Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,
Kaze when yer wake, yo’ll git some cake,
An’ ride a little white horsey!
We’ll stop up de cracks an’ sew up de seams —
De Booger Man never shall ketch you!
Oh, go ter sleep an’ dream sweet dreams —
De Booger Man never shall ketch you!
Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,
Kaze when you wake, you’ll git some cake,
An’ lots er nice sugar candy!”
How could whole countries be at war and such peace reign in any spot on the globe?
The whirr of an approaching motor awoke them from their musings and stopped the delightful song before one-third of the stanzas had been sung. It was Kent with John in the doctor’s little runabout.
“My boy! my boy!” and Mrs. Brown dropped the baby in her basket and flew across the grass to greet the long-absent Kent.
“I couldn’t wait for Paul but had to get old Dr. John to bring me out. Mumsy, how plump and pink you are. I declare you look almost as young as the new baby,” said Kent after the first raptures of greeting were over. “And Molly, you look great! And ’Fessor Green, I declare you are getting fat. I bet you have gained at least three-quarters of a pound since you got married. Positively obese!”
“You haven’t said much about the baby,” objected Molly.
“Well, there’s not much to say, is there? She is an omnivorous biped, I gather, from the two feet I can see and her evident endeavor to eat them, at least, I fancy that is why she is kicking so high. She has got Edwin’s er – er – well – his high forehead – ”
“She is not nearly so bald-headed as you were yourself,” declared his mother. “You were such a lovely baby, Kent, the loveliest of all my babies, I believe. I always adored a bald-headed baby and you had a head like a little billiard ball.”
They all laughed at this and Kent confessed that if he had been bald-headed himself, he believed the little Mildred must be, after all, very charming.
“Any letters for me?” he asked, and Molly thought she detected a note of anxiety below all the nonsense he had been talking.
“No, I have not seen any.”
“Well, have you heard from – from Judy Kean?”
“Yes,” confessed Molly. “I got a letter to-day.”
“Please may I see it?”
“Yes, of course you may.”
But Molly felt a great reluctance to show Julia Kean’s letter to her brother. She knew very well he was uneasy already about their friend and was certain this letter would only heighten his concern. Kent was looking brown and sturdy; he seemed to her to have grown even taller than the six feet one he already measured when he went abroad. His boyish countenance had taken on more purpose and his jaw had an added squareness. His deep set grey eyes had a slight cloud in them that Molly and her mother hated to see.
“It is Judy, of course,” they said to themselves.
“I landed my job in New York,” he said, as he opened the little blue envelope.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Molly.
Mrs. Brown tried to say splendid, too, but the thought came to her: “Another one going away from home!” and she could only put her arm around her boy’s neck and press a kiss on his brown head.
They were all very quiet while Kent read the letter. Dr. John, alone, seemed disinterested. He very professionally poked the infant in the ribs to see how fat she had grown and, also, much to the indignation of Molly, went through some tests for idiocy, which, of course, the tiny baby could not pass.
CHAPTER III.
KENT BROWN
“Mother, will you come and take a little walk with me?” asked Kent as he finished Judy’s letter. With his hand trembling, although his eyes were very steady and his mouth very firm, he tucked the many thin blue sheets back in their envelope.
“Yes, my son!” Mrs. Brown held her head very high and in her expression one could very well read: “I told you so! Did I not know the ‘mettle of his pasture’?”
“Mother,” he said, as he drew her arm in his and they took their way through the orchard to the garden of Chatsworth, “I must go get Judy!”
“Yes, my son, of course you must.”
“Oh, Mother, you think it is the only thing to do?”
“Of course, I know it is the only thing to do. I told Molly and Edwin only a few minutes ago that you would want to do it.”
“And what a mother! I – well, you know, Mother, I am not engaged to Judy – not exactly, that is. She knows how I feel about her and somehow – I can’t say for sure – but I almost know she feels the same way about me, at least, feels somehow about me.”
“Of course she does! How could she help it?”
“You see, I knew it would be some time before I could make a decent living, and it did not seem fair to Judy to tie her down when maybe she might strike some fellow who would be so much more worth while than I am – ”
“Impossible!”
“I used to think maybe Pierce Kinsella would be her choice, when they painted together so much.”
“That boy! Why, Kent, how could you?”
“Well, he was a very handsome and brilliant boy and is pretty well fixed by his uncle’s generosity and bids fair to make one of the leading portrait painters of the day. His portrait of you has made every lady who has seen it want him to do one of her. Of course, he can’t make all of ’em look like you, but he does his best.”
“It may have been wise of you not to settle this little matter with Judy, son, but somehow – I wish you had.”
“It was hard not to, but I felt she was so far away from her parents. I thought she would be back in America in a month, at least. I wanted her to come with me, but she felt she must wait for them, and of course, I had to hurry back because of the possible job in New York. I am afraid that I will lose that now, but there will be others, and I just can’t think of the things that might happen to my Judy – she is my Judy, whether we are engaged or not.”
“When will you start, son?”
“Why, to-night, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly to-night! I have money for you.”
“Oh, Mother, the money part is the only thing worrying me. I have a little left, but not enough to get me over and back. I must have enough to bring Judy back, too. You see, a letter of credit now in Paris is not worth the paper it is on.”
“No, I did not know. That is the one part of Judy’s letter that put me at ease about her. I thought she had plenty of money, and money certainly does help out.”
“Well, that is the part of her letter