Annie Hamilton Donnell

“ Shows begin early and last long. Miss Theodosia's show began at the opening of the gates. She and her little string of followers filed in.
"Mercy gracious!" breathed Evangeline in awesome delight at the vision spread before her.
"Mercy gracious!" breathed Miss Theodosia. They were different mercy graciouses. But a miracle was on the way to her, coming straight and fast through the crowds of festive circus-goers. Very soon now—in an hour—in another moment—It arrived! Miss Theodosia felt herself yielding to the lure of the sawdust and the side shows—the pink lemonade and the balloons. ”

“ They got much starch in. Inspiration appeared to come to Miss Theodosia. Even the really awful task of ironing that bosom till it glittered and shone in unwrinkled board-like expanse was at length accomplished. Miss Theodosia was justly proud of herself—and of Stefana; she insisted upon including Stefana in her triumphs.
"Eureka!" she exulted. "Call Evangeline, Stefana, and Elly Precious, and Carruthers! Call in a Chinaman, if you like, and tell him to look at that! Ask him to beat it!"
"There isn't any in this town," responded literal Stefana. ”

“ The knowledge came, as so much that was worth while came, through Evangeline, Elly Precious in its wake. They came running this time. Elly Precious' small body rolled and lurched with their hurry and the agitation of Evangeline's soul.
"Somethin's—happened."
"Give me the baby. Sit down, dear. Now."
"The flower wagon brought Stefana—roses," whispered Evangeline. "In a long box—an' tissue paper. Oh, my mercy gracious, stopped right straight at our house! An' nobody dead." Evangeline's whisper rose to a weird little cry. The wonder of the flower wagon stopping right straight! And every one alive! ”

“ Miss Theodosia and Evangeline smiled across at each other indulgently.
"Elly Precious is havin' a good time. That's his good-time noise. Oh, I think he's a nice person, don't you?"
"Nice? I love him!" cried Miss Theodosia warmly. Her face that was still the face of a girl was tenderly flushed. "I love every inch of him, Evangeline."
"Merry gra—that's a lot of lovin'! I guess you are ahead o' me!"
"Evangeline Flagg, aren't you ashamed! When he is the dearest, cunningest—"
"Not—not cunnin'est. But he's got beautiful whiskers. ”

“ We want to hear it, don't we, Elly Precious? We love love-stories."
"Not yet. Not till it is a little farther along." He set the third cup down untasted. His face, as Miss Theodosia looked smilingly at it across the baby's head, had grown grave. She wondered simply. Miss Theodosia was not making a love-story.
"Will you tell us about it when it's farther along? About the heroine and how she likes being in a love-story? Mercy gracious, it must be exciting!"
"If I can find out how she likes it," was his enigmatic answer. "She may not work out as I want her to. Heroines are women, you know." ”

“ Evangeline suddenly straightened on the edge of the big chair and eyed Miss Theodosia sternly, as though that innocent soul had been the one guilty of disloyalty to darlin' dears.
"Children are a great comfort," declaimed Evangeline with emphasis. She might have been the mother of six comforts. Tenderness crept into her eyes, and her freckles seemed to fade out, and even the small blunt nose of her take on middle-agedness and motherliness. '"Specially when you undress 'em. They're so darlin' an' soft! You ever undressed one—a reg'lar baby one? ”

“ It came near to Miss Theodosia, and it was not the nurse-angel in cap and shining halo. It was Stefana!
The child was in her nightgown. One look into her wide, unseeing eyes was enough; Stefana was asleep. In a chattering little voice she was talking to herself. It was like a soft wail of sound.
"I must get them back! Quick, before she sees; I must iron them over. Perhaps if I starched them again—another coat of starch might hide the smooches. She mustn't see the smooches! If Mother should lose the chance—oh, I must get 'em back and starch 'em another coat! Mother mustn't lose her! ”

“ On the morning after her adventurous night, as Miss Theodosia lingered luxuriously over her late breakfast, came bursting in Evangeline Flagg. A gray-checked something waved from her hand like a flag of truce. Evangeline always burst into things—houses, and rooms, and excited little speech.
"Here it is!—that is, if it's yours. Stefana says to ask. 'Tain't ours. Mercy gracious, no! We don't take our aperns to bed. Stefana never heard of such a thing. Neither o' us never. In bed—right straight in bed! An' Stefana hugging it up like everything! ”

“ Oh, Cornelia, teach him to pat-a-cake! Get a baby with the measles if there's no other way. You will love him in between all his little measles. But, listen to me; take this advice: Don't let them take him back! Hold on to both his little hands. Run away to Africa with him if there is no other way—he will love to play in the sand beside the pyramids. Send him to college, Cornelia, and I think—yes, make a doctor of him. Doctors are best.
"Morituri salutamus—we who are about to lose our babies and die wish you happiness with yours, is the free translation. Hold on to yours. He is a dear, I know. ”

“ Stefana's lean and anxious face, the child's baby-bent little back, like the back of an old woman—it was at these Miss Theodosia looked through her pearl glasses. She forgot to look at the garment the children examined so troubledly. Suddenly, Miss Theodosia Baxter—traveler, fortune-favored one—found herself as anxious for the success of Stefana's stout little project as the two young people within her field of view, but, suddenly and unaccountably, from a new motive. The slim, worn-looking little creature,—and that tinier, tired little creature—must not fail! The stout project should succeed! ”

“ We've got a new cloesbasket Stefana's going to make bows for the
handles, tell Elly Precious.
"P. S. Pink bows."
Miss Theodosia was not impatient as she folded the little letter again. Tears stood in her eyes. She hurried back, bottleless, to Elly Precious, to tell him. That he had fallen asleep made no difference.
"You are going home day after to-morrow! Dream it in a little dream, dear. When you wake up, it will be true. They can't hardly wait and there's a new 'cloesbasket' with bows—P. S., pink bows. Oh, Elly Precious, you know you're glad to go home! You've been pretending, too!" ”

“ Stefana laboriously shut up Elly Precious' go-cart, and Miss Theodosia lifted Elly Precious in her arms. In the procession they sought those best-of-all seats. What followed, even Evangeline gazed upon in silence; there were no words in Evangeline's dictionary for what followed. She sat on the edge of the best-of-all seat and drank in riders and clowns and dizzy performing fairies—an intoxicating draught.
"Miss Theodosia," in a tiny whisper.
"Yes, dear?"
"Ain't you glad you ain't dead? 'Cause you don't need to be." Which was Evangeline's way of complimenting Heaven. ”

“ Ten-year-old arms may not be as steady for cradling as thirty-six-year olds. Miss Theodosia's were steady and soft. The baby nestled into them and she rocked him.
She was rocking a baby! She was glad to be alone in the dark. The sensation rather overwhelmed her. Then Elly Precious flung up little hot hands and touched her face, and the sensation was no longer a new one. ”

“ I know just Stefana."
"And Evangeline."
"And Evangeline," laughed Miss Theodosia.
"Is she romantic?" demanded the Story Man. And there he had Miss Theodosia. She had instant vision of Evangeline growing, straight and thrifty already, on her own small roots. It was not possible to visualize a blushing—a clinging little Evangeline.
"She is still young," Miss Theodosia murmured. "Besides, she's one of a kind. There's only one Evangeline. You can't reason by only one of anything. The exception proves the rule." ”

“ Quickly Miss Theodosia looked up.
"There! You are harking back; please don't hark back! It was mean in me to say it. I'm sorry! If I'd sent Elly Precious to college—while he was my baby—and given him a doctor's degree, he could have taken it or left it. He'd have had a right. Men have rights to their own lives."
"Sure," but John Bradford's tone was thoughtful rather than emphatic.
"Still—I sometimes wonder—"
"Why?—tell me why!" ”

“ Our present-day soil is too invigorating, too stimulating. The young things stand up on their own roots. No more clinging. Each one aspires to be a spunky little tree by herself. Look at 'em and see for yourself—the subways and elevateds are full of 'em at the crush hours, nights and mornings—all glorying in their independence—their fine, strong, young roots. No blushing, no clinging there! Are you convinced?"
"I am not," flashed Miss Theodosia gamely. "There must be one little dreamer of love dreams left." ”