A Daughter of the Union. Lucy Foster Madison
dusk not an article remained upon the steps. Then, tired but happy, they assembled in Mrs. Vance’s parlor to count the proceeds.
“Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed Mr. Vance as the girls announced the result in excited tones. “Why, girls, this is wonderful! The government would better turn over its finances into your hands.”
“You blessed dears,” cried Mrs. Vance, “it will do so much good! You don’t know how much that will buy, but you shall go with the committee and see for yourselves.”
“We have done well,” said Jeanne in congratulatory tones.
“I don’t believe that grown people could do any better,” and Nellie Drew gave her head a proud toss.
“There’s a little lame boy asking to see Miss Jeanne, ma’am,” announced a servant entering at this moment. “Shall I show him up?”
“Yes, Susan. Who is it, Jeanne?”
“It must be Eddie Farrell. He lives down on Fourth Avenue. His mother washes for Nellie’s mother, and they are awfully poor. He came by while we were fixing our things and we told him all about what we were doing and why we were doing it. How do you do, Eddie?” as the door opened to admit the visitor.
A little fellow not over ten years old, with great blue eyes that were just now alight with eagerness, paused abruptly as he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Vance. He made a pathetic looking figure as he stood in the doorway. He was deplorably lame and leaned on a pair of rude crutches for support, balancing in some way known only to himself, a long bundle under his arm.
“Have a chair, my boy,” said Mr. Vance, kindly noticing his embarrassment. “Did you wish to see Jeanne?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy sat down and then opened his bundle disclosing a pair of well made crutches. “The girls told me what they wuz doing fer the sogers and I’ve been thinking ever since what I could do. I didn’t have no money ner nuffin’ ter give ’cepting these crutches. I thought mebbe they’d do some pore feller some good what ’ud have his leg cut off.”
“But where did you get them?” queried Mr. Vance.
“They wuz mine, sir. Bill, a sailor man I knows, he spliced on some pieces to make ’em longer, and there they are, sir.”
“My lad,” and Mr. Vance laid his hand softly on the boy’s head, “it is a great deal for you to give. You need them yourself.”
“I’ll get along all right,” said the boy eagerly. “ ’Deed I will, Mr. Vance. See, Bill he rigged me up a pair that’ll do me all right, an’ I’d like ter help some pore feller.”
Mr. Vance gazed pityingly at the rude substitutes which the boy held up, and then looked at the crutches so deftly lengthened. His voice was husky as he spoke:
“It is a great gift. More than you should give.”
“It ain’t nuthin’,” answered the lad. “I feel fer the feller that is born with two good legs an’ then loses one of them.”
Mr. Vance nodded understandingly. Mrs. Vance’s eyes were full to overflowing as she stroked the boy’s hair gently.
“We’ll write a little note and tie on the crutches,” she said. “Then whoever gets them will know who gave them.”
“That will be fine,” cried the lad gleefully. “I’m so glad you’ll take them. I wuz afraid mebbe it wouldn’t be enough ter give.”
“It is more than we have done,” said Jeanne as soon as she was able to speak.
“Then good-bye,” and Eddie arose. “I’ll run back and tell mother.” He nodded to them and left the room, his face aglow with satisfaction.
“We haven’t done anything,” said Jeanne emphatically. “We didn’t give a thing we could not do without. Oh, I feel so mean!”
She looked at the girls tearfully, then drew a slender chain from her throat, and detached the gold piece which was suspended from it. “There!” she said, putting it with the bills on the table. “Uncle Joe gave me that before he went to the army. After he was killed at Shiloh I thought I would never part with it, but I am going to let it go for the soldiers too.”
“It is good for us,” said Nellie wiping her eyes. “We were awfully puffed up over this fair. I was beginning to think that we had done something great.”
Mr. Vance laughed.
“You need not feel so bad, girls,” he said. “If it had not been for you that poor little fellow wouldn’t have thought of giving his crutches.”
“I wish he had some though,” remarked Jeanne wistfully.
“Make your mind easy on that score, my dear, I’m going to look after that boy.”
“And meantime you girls can go with me to the Association to carry the money and the crutches, and we’ll tell the ladies all about it,” said Mrs. Vance.
CHAPTER II
A GREAT UNDERTAKING
For a time affairs went on in their usual way, and the girls contented themselves with hemming towels and handkerchiefs and making socks. That is, all the girls save Jeanne Vance. With her the desire was stronger than ever to do something more than she had done.
“What makes you so thoughtful, Jeanne?” asked her father one evening looking up from his paper. “You are as still as a mouse. Come, and tell me all about it.”
“It’s the country,” said Jeanne settling herself comfortably on his lap and laying her head on his shoulder. “I was thinking about our army and how much there was to be done for it.”
“I am afraid that you think too much about the war,” observed her father soberly. “It is not good for you.”
“I can’t help it, father. Dick’s letters make me, and the work that you and mother do keeps it always before me. I am the only one who doesn’t do much.”
“I am sure that you carried that fair through admirably, and have made a number of articles for the soldiers. Best of all you are looking after yourself so well that your mother and I can devote our whole time to the cause. And that is a great deal, my little girl.”
“But I should like to do something else,” persisted Jeanne. “It doesn’t seem as if I were helping one bit.”
“Very few of us can see the result of our labors. If you were in the army it would be the same way. A soldier often has to obey orders for which he can see no reason, but his disobedience might cause the loss of a battle. We are all of us part of a great whole striving for the same end. If each one does his part all will be well. If every little girl in the country would do as much as you are doing, the amount of work accomplished would be startling.”
“If I were a boy I could do more,” sighed Jeanne. “It is very hard to be ‘only a girl,’ father.”
Mr. Vance laughed.
“But since you are one, Jeanne, try to be contented. I am very thankful for my daughter if she is ‘only a girl.’ ”
“You are troubled too,” observed Jeanne presently, noting a look of anxiety on her father’s face.
“Yes, child; I am.”
“Could you tell me about it, father? Perhaps it would help you. I feel ever so much better since I have talked with you.”
“I am afraid that you cannot help me, child. If only Dick were here,” and he sighed.
“Could I if I were a boy?” asked the girl, wistfully.