Mother-Heart

Mother-Heart

By D. W . Cummings

The nurse with the dark hair and Irish eyes saw her first,

and flashed a smile of welcome. The thin mite of a girl, her

timidity thawed in the warmth of it, came confidently forward.

She paused a few feet away. There, with one grimy finger-

tip in her teeth, she appraised us gravely, out of big, brown eyes

that looked all the bigger in the white, peaked face. It was a

shrewd little face, wise with the wisdom of the streets, where,

by the soiled and ragged appearance of her, she must have spent

a good part of her eight or nine years.

"I've come about my brother's hand," she announced at

last, with a quaint dignity. She addressed herself directly to

Miss O'Malley, whose smile had ushered her in.

I saw a flash of mischief in the Irish eyes, but never a hint

of it in the winning smile with which the nurse responded:

"Good for you! But — who is your brother?"

"Mooney Mayhue."

"And — where is your brother?"

"In the hall. I'll fetch him!"

She flashed out of the hospital reception room and back

again, dragging a moon-faced urchin, as grimy and ragged and

underfed as herself. She planted herself in front of Miss

O'Malley and carefully explained the case:

"You see, he got a splinter in it last night and I yanked it

out. That was easy. But I got to thinkin' afterwards, what if

it might be blood-poison. I asked dad. He said he didn't know

but it might. Then I says I thought I better come here, and he

says I better, too. So I've come."

How she knew of the emergency hospital no one ever

stopped to guess. The knowledge of it undoubtedly had trickled

through to her out of the maze of neighborhood gossip. But

know of it she certainly did, and of her citizen's right to demand

treatment.

Miss O'Malley looked at me with dancing eyes. I looked

back and winked. None of us was busy, and this looked like a

rare bit of fun. My wink was a cue for her to go through

with it.

"It's a good thing you did," said Miss O'Malley to little Miss

Mayhue, with her most professional air. "Please step this way."

Chin in the air, lips tightly closed, the young American

MOTHER-HEART 215

citizeness prepared to follow. But she straightway struck a

snag. Little brother was of a different mind.

"Come on!" she commanded.

"I wo-unt," he drawled, immovable.

She turned on him severely:

"Mooney Mayhue, do you want to have your hand and

maybe your hull arm cut clean off?"

"No-up!" he gulped.

"Then come right now with this lady. Come on!"

He stood like granite.

"Aw, come on, Mooney!" she coaxed and tugged. "It won't

hurt much, will it, nurse-lady?"

"Naw!" replied Miss O'Malley, shrewdly meeting the

youngster on his own level. "It won't hurt a man!"

He eyed her suspiciously and she met his look with frank

encouragement. Slowly the suspicion faded from his eyes and

he followed her trustfully.

The other nurses were but indifferently interested and re-

mained in the reception room. As assistant city physician, how-

ever, I felt that my duty called, and so I brought up the rear.

Down the hall to the operating room they went, Miss

O'Malley chattering brightly and the children answering in

monosylables that grew less and less timid as they proceeded.

Upon reaching the operating room, the strong odor of ether

from a recent case struck them full in the face. The youngsters

gulped, but kept pluckily on. Miss O'Malley led the way straight

to the wash-bowl.

"The first thing," she explained, "is to wash the wound

thoroughly. Dirt, you know, is the very best friend old Mr.

Blood-poison has."

"Zat so?" exclaimed the girl with rounded eyes. "None

of us knowed that or — or I'd a-washed him. He'd ought-a be

washed anyway, I guess," she added, surveying her brother du-

biously.

"Well, I rather think so, too," agreed Miss O'Malley judi-

ciously.

By this time she had scoured all the dirt from the boy's

hand and was ready for the examination. Seated on a stool,

with the boy's back to her chest, his cheek against hers, she

carefully searched. There it was, at the base of the thumb, a

tiny red spot with a streak of black down the center. Sister

hadn't "yanked" quite all the sliver.

Mooney's fear had evidently departed, for he watched the

nurse reach for a pair of tweezers without batting an eye.

But the movement had a strangely terrifying effect on the

girl. She stepped nervously forward, her hands twitching at her

dress, her eyes fixed imploringly on the nurse's face.

216 IMPROVEMENT ERA

A dab of alcohol reached the quick and made the boy wince

slightly. His sister saw it and turned pale. She took his hand

and softly stroked it, trying hard to stifle her fears and nerve

him up. Mooney stolidly ignored her.

Deftly Miss O'Malley laid open the skin to get a grip on

the sliver. She must have stung a little, for the boy sucked in

his breath audibly.

Sister evidently feared he was on the verge of a swoon.

With an anguished expression, she dived into her pocket, drew

out a dingy little rag of a handkerchief and began tenderly to

wipe her brother's forehead.

This indignity was too much. He turned to her disgustedly :

"Ah, g'wan! It ain't hurtin'!"

Slightly reassured by the rebuff, she stepped back a little,

but hung nervously about. She could not restrain a gasp when the

nurse, with a quick little twist, pulled the sliver from the flesh,

although Mooney made no sound. Then fear gave way to affec-

tionate admiration:

"Isn't he brave!" she exclaimed, turning to me.

"I should say he is!" I agreed heartily. I was far more in-

terested in her than in the patient.

"Now, Doctor," said Miss O'Malley, "I wish you'd look at it

and see that there is nothing left in the wound."

Very gravely I stepped forward, and closely examined the

injury, while Mooney's sister stood palpitating by. She sighed

with relief when I pronounced it a perfectly successful operation.

Then, with tense interest, she watched the nurse elaborately

bandage Mooney's hand.

The dressing complete, Miss O'Malley took up her record

book.

"What is vour name?" she asked the girl.

"Lorry Mayhue. Right name's Lorelei, out'n a pome, but

everybody calls me Lorry."

"Have you a father and mother?"

She hesitated.

"Pa drinks and ma — ma, pa says, — run off with another

man!"

Ludicrous — tragic. We started to smile — then sobered

quickly.

The answer made Miss O'Malley forget the record. She

stooped down and drew the little girl to her:

"Who takes care of you?"

"I do most of the work, 'cept cookin'. I can't cook 'cause

I ain't tall enough to get over the stove. So pa cooks, when we

got anything."

Lorry lifted her hand and began running it along the smooth

MOTHERHEART 217

edge of the operating table. The movement brought into clear

view a cut at least half an inch in length, blazing angrily on her

wrist.

"Let me look at your hand, Lorry," I said sharply.

She drew it behind her.

"It ain't nothin'."

"But let me see it!"

She stretched it toward me, a scornful little pucker on her

lips.

"Do you know what blood-poisoning looks like?" I asked

her.

"Nope," she answered calmly. "I heard it hurts awful,

though."

"Well, it begins just like your hand is — now."

That startled her.

"Oh, don't worry. We'll fix it. You can always fix it when

you catch it in time. How did you do this?" I asked as I dipped

her hand into the washbowl.

"Scratched me with a pin."

I dried her hand, put on an antiseptic dressing and bandaged

it up, all without hearing a sound from her. Then I took both

her thin little hands in mine, looked her full in the face and

said:

"My dear, tell me, why were you afraid of blood-poisoning

in your brother's hand, and weren't afraid of it in your own?"

Her face creased up in puzzled wrinkles.

"I — don't know!" she answered slowly.

"Little mother-heart!"

Miss O'Malley's voice caught in a sob. Impulsively she

stooped and gathered the child in a tight embrace.

"Dear little mother-heart!" she murmured again.

Quite pleased, but utterly bewildered, Lorry bashfully dis-

engaged herself. With a shy glance at Miss O'Malley and me,

she murmured a pretty thanks.

I replied by telling her to be sure and come the next day

for another dressing. She said she would. Then, taking

Mooney's unbandaged hand, she led him out of the operating

room and down the long hall.

Silently, we watched them go. After a few steps, Lorry

freed her hand and slipped it about Mooney's shoulders. He,

indifferent to the caress, but absorbed in contemplation of his

bandaged hand, began in his excited baby drawl to tell about it.

And Lorry, her own uninjured hand swinging forgotten at

her side, was still bending tenderly over him as the two little

waifs passed out of our sight.

218 IMPROVEMENT ERA

II

"Mooney slung that rock!"

"I did-dent!"

"He tried to hit me with it!"

"I did-dent!" It was a drawl fast tightening into a wail.

"Yuh did too! Bill seen yuh. Didn't yuh, Bill?"

"Yep!"

"Yuh did-dent!"

"Come on, you, Mooney! Both of 'em seen yuh. What's

the use. It's the juvenile court for you. Come on!"

The officer jerked the boy toward him, turned on his heel

— and came face to face with a well-dressed, determined looking

girl, perhaps eighteen years of age. She stood directly in his

path.

"What's your hurry?" she asked coolly.

He regarded her, speechless.

"What's he done?" she demanded, pointing to Mooney.

"Who wants to know?" snapped the officer.

"I do, being his sister."

Her suavity disconcerted him, took a little edge off his high

manner.

"He throwed a rock at this here kid and broke that window

across the street over there. I'm goin' to take him to the juve-

nile court. Whatchu goin' to do about it?"

The crash of the window had reached my ears just as I was

coming from a fashionable apartment house where I had been

visiting a patient. Too late to see the missile thrown, I reached

the pavement in time to see the officer rush from the drug store,

followed by the druggist, cross the street hurriedly and gather

the boys to identify the culprit.

Before he could utter a syllable, Mooney had been pro-

claimed the defendant. His accuser was named Dutch, it proved

later, while Bill made a willing chief witness for the prosecution.

Law and order stood personified in the officer, the druggist was

present as plaintiff and the young woman had arrived on the

scene unexpectedly as counsel for the defense.

Her advent gave the thing a final touch of interest that

held me. I strolled over to the group to offer myself as clerk,

bailiff or jury, in case the need arose.

"What am I going to do?" said the girl, repeating the

officer's question. "I can tell you better after I've talked with

him."

"Who said you were goin' to talk with him?" retorted Law

and Order glaring.

"Oh, come now! Don't be afraid. I won't steal him!"

MOTHER-HEART 219

Her ridicule loosened his grip on Mooney and the girl drew

her brother aside for a whispered colloquy. We could not hear

what she said, but it was evidently straight to the point, for she

was soon back in our midst.

"Mooney didn't do it!" she asserted flatly to the officer.

"Didn't suppose I thought you'd say he did, did yuh, — bein'

his sister!"

She regarded him thoughtfully.

"It'll take some words, but I'm goin' to prove to you, — even

you — that he didn't."

She gave him no chance to reply but turned to the druggist,

who wore a blonde silk mustache on his pink face with a con-

scious pride in its beauty.

"You're the proprietor of the drugstore, aren't you?" she

inquired sweetly. He nodded, beaming.

"I'm awfully sorry about your window!"

She uttered this remark with such a tender look of sym-

pathy that it made him a friend of the defense on the spot.

What was a plate glass window or two to him? A mere trifle to

pay for a smile like that!

"And that's the thing that caused all the trouble, isn't it?"

She indicated a small piece of brick he held in his hand. "May

I see it?"

Pinching it tightly between his thumb and fore-finger, with

his other fingers curved daintily outward, he dropped it gently

into her hand. Then drawing back, he bit his lip, crossed his

feet and clasped his hands. He looked such a dear!

"And, of course, when you heard it smash through your

window, you rushed right out of the store, didn't you?"

"Oh, on the instant ! You see, I naturally wanted to entrap

the malefactor!"

"Better not call me that!" murmured Mooney, darkly.

"Of course!" said the girl, silencing Mooney. "And where

was this boy standing when you saw him first?" She indicated

her brother.

The druggist strode mincingly toward the sidewalk. We

were all standing in the street.

"Right there by the curb," he pointed, with delicate pre-

cision.

"That's right, isn't it, Bill?" she asked casually.

"Yep!" glibly responded the chief witness for the prose-

cution.

"And where was this boy standing?" she asked the druggist,

pointing to Dutch.

"Over there by the mortar trough," replied the man of

medicines, in the same highly refined way.

The mortar trough lay against the curb some twenty feet

220 IMPROVEMENT ERA

from where Mooney had been located. It was full of fresh

mortar that was being used in the construction of a residence

next to the apartment house.

A look of alarm spread over Dutch's face at the druggist's

reply, but before he could speak, the girl had shot another

qviestion at Bill:

"Is that right?"

Bill could not see what she was driving at, but he

evidently felt something ominous in her questions, and squirmed.

The battery of those stern brown eyes cowed him, however, and

again he answered: •

"Yep!"

The word was no sooner out of his mouth than the girl ad-

vanced on him with startling suddenness:

"So you mean to tell me that Mooney stood here against the

curb, threw this brick at Dutch there, on the same side of the

street, and the brick flew over and broke the drug store win-

dow?"

The suddenness of the attack left Bill too dazed to invent a

lie and explain the difficulty. He could only gulp.

Not so Dutch. In desperation, he cried out :

"It slipped out of his hand!"

The young attorney for the defense paused in dismay.

Mooney looked anxious. The officer, with a sneer, stepped

forward ;

"He got yuh there, didn't he? Come on, kid! I ain't goin'

to waste no more time!"

"Just a minute! Just a minute!" interposed the girl. "Just

because he said it slipped doesn't make it so, does it?"

The girl stood hunting swiftly for the next move while the

officer framed his reply. By chance, her eyes dropped to the brick

she was holding in her hand. There were several particles of

mortar on her palm around it, which she had scraped off in her

tight grip. I saw her eyes flash exultantly, as she raised her

hand to check the officer's impending outburst.

Slowly, as not to arouse his suspicion, she sauntered over to

Dutch's side. When near enough, she suddenly reached out and

seized him by the wrist. With a quick jerk upward, she forced

his fingers to spread wide open.

Almost covering two of them were white specks of mortar.

"Mooney, open your right hand!"

Her brother obeyed. Nothing white could be seen thereon.

"Officer, oh, jewel of wisdom, who threw that brick?"

Law and Order sheepishly walked over and gripped Dutch

with one hand and Bill with the other. As he did so, Mooney

burst into a taunting laugh. Dutch turned on him with a snarl:

MOTHER-HEART 221

''You ain't got nothin' to laugh at. We'd a put it over if

your sister hadn't been so smart!"

He had time to say no more, for Law and Order jerked

him forward, and the three disappeared around the corner. But

Dutch's words had left Mooney strangely crestfallen. I stood

wondering why when —

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

It was the voice under the silk mustache, speaking in a

spasm of admiration.

"You are wonderfully clever ! I don't see how you think so

quickly! May I — won't you — please favor me by coming over

and — and having something at the fountain!"

"I'm sorry, but I must refuse," she replied with a smile, and

turned toward Mooney.

"I'm much more sorry than you!" he cooed. Then, backing

away toward his store, he continued gushingly: "Perhaps some

other time. I'd really like to make your acquaintance. You

are so won — "

His heel struck the street car track and he nearly — but not

quite — spoiled the picture. Prudence overcoming gallantry, he

fronted about hurriedly and entered his store face first.

I turned and looked at the girl. She had not even followed

the druggist's movements, but stood near the downcast Mooney,

her arm about his shoulders.

There could be but one Mooney with a drawl like his, so

this must be Lorry Mayhue. Straightway out of my memory I

began a comparison — the little girl waif in the hospital with the

grown-up maiden.

In externals there was none of the waif left. No rags, but

a well-made walking suit of blue ; no grime, but a glowing fresh-

ness; no gaunt, half-starved form, but a rounded, shapely slen-

derness.

In the things of the soul, however, there was all of the waif

remaining. The grave tenderness, the unbeatable determina-

tion, the direct simplicity and lack of self-interest were quite the

same in the maiden as they were in the waif who had approached

us that day, announcing:

"I've come about my brother's hand!"

They were there in vivid clearness as she stood once more,

just as she had stood in the hospital, with her arm about her

brother's shoulders. The words fitted again so aptly that I mur-

mured them aloud:

"Little mother-heart!"

The girl glanced up sharply. She had heard and she remem-

bered. Words of affection were rare to the waif, and they had

sunk deep. She stood for a moment, trying to puzzle me out

Then, slowly, recollection came to her.

222 IMPROVEMENT ERA

"It is Dr. Landen, isn't it?"

"It is— Miss Mayhue."

"How did you know?" she asked, shaking hands cordially.

"I heard Mooney's name — and his drawl. How are you,

Mooney?"

The boy stared at me uncertainly.

"He doesn't remember you," interjected his sister, quickly.

"This is Dr. Landen, Mooney." We shook hands. "He was

little more than a baby — and he saw you but once, you know."

"That was your fault. Why didn't you come back for an-

other dressing?"

She paused, a little diffidently.

"It's a long story, Doctor."

"I want to hear it," I said impulsively. "Won't you ride

with me, say, out to the park and back, while you tell it to me?"

It was abrupt, of course, and I was not surprised when she

hesitated.

"Please don't stand on formalities," I urged. "It's broad

daylight and I'm just an old, perfectly respectable family phys-

ician— married, and all the other qualifications — and I really

want to hear you. Mooney will chaperone."

She smiled and turned to her brother.

"Want to go, Mooney?"

He started toward the car, drawling:

"Uh-huh."

"All right, we'll go — providing, Doctor, you deliver us home

in time for early Saturday dinner. Aunt Minnie is hard on late

comers, and she knows I have Saturday afternoon off at the office

and no excuse."

"Punctuality is my middle name," I cried, helping her into

the machine. Mooney was already buried in the back seat. "Do

you live near here?"

"Three blocks east, where fashion ends and mere respecta-

bility begins."

We both laughed, and I started off. We were soon whirling

southward toward the park. ,

"Commence your apology any old time, Miss Mayhue. Why

didn't you keep your first appointment with me?"

"Did you really expect me?" she asked, curiously.

"Mrs. — er — Miss O'Malley and I both spoke of it several

times. You see, you made a deep impression."

"Is Miss O'Malley still— Miss O'Malley?" she asked irrele-

vantly.

"No, Miss O'Malley is now Mrs. Dr. Landen."

"You've a right to be proud of the fact. She's a dear!"

"You may call and tell her that to her face. In the mean-

time— we're almost to the park!" I warned.

MOTHER-HEART 223

She was silent for a moment and then began, seriously:

"We couldn't come back, Doctor. When we got home that

day, we found father sitting in our one kitchen chair — dead."

There was no grief in her voice, and I ventured :

"Alcoholism?"

"It must have been. I called in the neighbors. While they

were fluttering around, oh-ing and ah-ing, I remember I sat won-

dering how we were going to get along. I even figured on get-

ting a box I could stand on, and cook.

"But I needn't have bothered my head. The neighbors sent

for the coroner and the police and the pauper clerk, and after

two hours of heartless talk between them, they consigned

Mooney and me to the orphans' home."

A hardness crept into her voice.

"There wasn't any other place to send us, of course, and

we've no reason to complain of our treatment. But there wasn't

a day of the five years we spent there that I wasn't planning

how to get away.

"My chance came when a Mrs. Blyden offered me a place as

her housemaid, with time for studying shorthand and typewrit-

ing at night school. It took me a year to learn, for I had a lot to

do outside. But finally I got my first position, at $35 a month

— and the world was mine!"

She stopped and drew a long breath before continuing:

"Mooney had stayed in the orphanage. Mrs. Blyden helped

me find a widowed aunt we'd almost forgotten — a sister of my

mother. She was desperately poor, trying to support five chil-

dren— but she said Mooney and I could come and live with her

if I'd pay half the grocery bill.

"Our accommodations were a blanket and a mattress in the

corner. But the grocery bill wasn't very large — and even just a

blanket and a mattress are better than an orphans' home — when

you pay for them."

"Good for you!" I broke in.

"Thanks!" she said with a smile. Then she went on: "I'm

now earning twice my first salary, and aunt, too, has come up in

the world a little. I've a room to myself and Mooney shares one

with his cousin. He goes to school and is getting along fine.

You see," she continued, laughing, "I've done nothing at all ex-

citing. Just simply taken care of Mooney and myself."

"Mostly Mooney," I commented.

"You're right!"

Mooney must have got a running start on his interjection,

for in spite of the drawl it came with startling suddenness.

"It has been mostly me," he continued, pushing his articula-

tion to utmost speed. "She's saved me from dyin' a couple of

times with scarlet fever and diphtheria, she keeps me from

224 IMPROVEMENT ERA

flunkin' at school and getting run over, and bein' pinched, like

today, and — and everything. She's even learnin' to swim to keep

me from gettin' drowned. I know I'll give her the chance," he

finished dejectedly.

There was something too sturdy about Mooney to make this

speech sound effeminate. He was just too slow, too superla-

tively deliberate to take proper care of himself, at least, in the

eyes of his sister. And so, with her quick wit, she had obviously

made it a life habit to step between him and trouble, no matter

whether, if left alone, he could have won out himself, or not.

"Don't be foolish, Mooney," said his sister deprecatingly.

"We stop here, Doctor." ,

I drew up under the shade trees in front of a neat cottage

of the type built in large numbers two decades ago — front room

flanked by a porch, large bay windows and a gabled roof. There

were a lawn and flower gardens in front.

Lorry got out, followed by Mooney, who placed himself be-

side her. With her habitual gesture of arm around shoulders,

she drew him tightly to her.

"Mooney plays my game — just as hard as I play his!" she

said with a tender pride. "And he always will!"

I saw Mooney shyly pat her hand and then edge uncom-

fortably away. He strolled toward the fence, out of earshot. I

quietly slipped to the curb, and stood beside Lorry, who had

followed her brother with her gaze. Presently she turned to me :

"I can't fully explain why I care so deeply for Mooney,

Doctor. I think, though, that it's because I never could get over

the fact that he has never known mother love. I did know it —

for just long enough to learn how precious it is. Mother was as

dear and sweet as ever a mother could be — until father's drunk-

eness broke her heart. She left us suddenly. I remember I

told you father's lie about it. It was a hateful lie, for she — she

had a mental breakdown and — and was accidentally drowned."

A moment of silence and then she went on:

"Mooney was only a baby, then, and doesn't remember a

thing about mother. It's a miracle either he or I lived through

those horrible years. But somehow, we did. I've dragged on

through them, holding tight to that memory of mother love and

trying all the time the best way I know how to pass it on to

Mooney. It's sort of second hand, but it's love — and it counts."

Her last words were almost fierce in their passionate earn-

estness. Once more they sent my mind racing back over the

years — to a hospital and a little grimy girl, bending lovingly over

a baby brother. I took her hand in mine:

"I've had a mother's love — all my life. I treasure it deeply.

But I doubt whether I've had anything finer, rarer, more wonder-

ful than what you have given Mooney."

MOTHER-HEART 225

The intense gratitude I saw in her misty eyes made me won-

der if anyone before had ever fully appreciated her.

The silence that followed was broken by a drawl from

Mooney, who raised his voice to make us hear:

"Better be crankin' up, Doc!"

"Why, Mooney!" exclaimed Lorry, horrified at his easy

familiarity. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Look who's comin'!" he replied laconically.

We glanced in the direction he indicated. Approaching

rapidly was a rather dark, thin, good-looking young man with

appealing eyes and a timid manner. He was carrying a violin.

Lorry identified him with a quick lover's blush.

He drew near and she bashfully introduced us. We started

to chat — about Lorry's and my first meeting, I think. We, I say,

started to chat, but we didn't keep it up long. They soon had

the conversation monopolized.

Mooney joined the group. He asked me a question about

my car. I answered, and he followed with another. I an-

swered again, rather lengthily. By the time I had finished,

Lorry and the young man — his name was Lawrence Haydon —

were over by the fence, out of earshot and absolutely absorbed in

each other. I studied them a moment and then I turned once

more to Mooney:

"Mooney," I said with conviction, "those two over there are

in love."

"You're right."

"Who is he?"

"He gives violin lessons and plays in the theayter orchestra.

He makes good money, and he treats Sis great!"

"Are they going to get married?"

"Nope."

"What is stopping them?"

"Me!"

"You!"

"Yep, me." His tone was the lowest in dejection.

"Why should you stand in their way?"

"Because I'm too blamed slow to get out!" he drawled

wretchedly. "I'm too slow 'bout takin' care of myself, and Sis

says she won't get married and leave me. He needs her worse

than I do, because he is a softy. Fiddlers always is. I'm slow,

but if I was up against it, I'd get around to takin' care of myself,

you can bet on that. So I've been tryin' to find a way out — but

I'm too slow, even for that!"

Here was the explanation of his dejection in the face of his

triumph over Dutch. It had taken his sister to get him out of

the box — and he at the age most conscious of its dawning man-

226 IMPROVEMENT ERA

hood! The thought was gnawing at his pride — had been doing

so, perhaps, for many months.

I said something helplessly perfunctory, which he did not

heed. He did not hear me call out goodby to Lorry and Law-

rence, nor was he aware that they came to shake hands with me.

Only when the whirr of my engine began did he come back

to outer consciousness. He glanced up to find me gazing full

upon him. Meeting my look squarely, he drawled the thought

that was uppermost in his mind:

"You wait, though, Doc. I'll find a way out yet!"

Ill

It was characteristic of Mooney that it took him fully three

years before he even started to accomplish his purpose. And

then, because he used only indirect methods, the process was a

long and painful one.

In the meantime, Lorry had called on my wife, and my wife

and I had called on Aunt Minnie, and there had grown up a

deep and cordial friendship between us. Aunt Minnie proved

to be an admirable woman, and an important explanation of

both Lorry's and Mooney's moral and intellectual success.

The execution of Mooney's plan, long-matured though it

was, came with a shocking suddenness.

He dropped completely out of sight!

We searched the city for days, and found no trace of him.

I engaged a national detective agency, but their nation-wide

search proved fruitless. He was gone.

Lorry refused to believe it. She tramped the streets day

and night, rushing home feverishly at intervals in the hope of

finding him returned. She grew thin and ill, but kept stead-

fastly at it, ceaselessly hunting and hunting. Poor little mother-

heart !

One day, long after I had given up hope, I found a letter in

my mail bearing Canadian postage. Failing to recognize it I

opened it with indifferent interest. It read:

"By the time you get this, I'll be on board a transport. I'm

a Canadian soldier and I'm going to France. It was the only

way out. Now Doc, it's up to you."

"Your friend,

"Moo/iey."

Stunned, I handed the letter silently to my wife. She read

it and burst into tears. "What a fine, crazy, splendid way out

the boy had found!

MOTHER-HEART 227

Together we hurried over to Lorry. She held a letter in

her hand, but we need not have seen that to tell she had received

the news.

"You — you've had a letter, too?" she asked a little wildly.

I nodded. Then straight into the arms of my darling she

went. I turned my head away.

"Gone to the war, Miss O'Malley ! My baby brother— gone

to the war!" Miss O'Malley was what they always called her.

We sought the right word to comfort Lorry and could not

find it. There were only a few Lorrys in our land then, but oh,

the thousands there are now! Tender mother-hearts, torn with

a ceaseless ache! We search for the word to comfort them but

we cannot find it. There is no word. The spirit that moves us

must work in our souls unexpressed, reaching out mutely to

soothe the aching hearts

Presently Lorry lifted her wan white face and turned to me

nervously :

"I must get perfectly well, Doctor. You must make me ab-

solutely well. He may need me more than ever. Wound — "

she shuddered. "How he may need me!"

This became her dominating thought. She insisted on

seeing me frequently and followed my directions scrupulously.

There was no beating that indomitable will. She grew stronger

rapidly, in spite of the intensity of her grief.

It soon became clear to me that Mooney's departure had

failed in its purpose. I made sure of this when, upon suggest-

ing his object one day, I received this passionate reply:

"No! I won't think of my own heart! Less than ever now

— with Mooney in the trenches!"

The strength of her love amazed me. It was beyond logic,

beyond persuasion, so fixed as to be almost an obsession, so ar-

dent as to be almost fanatical.

His continued absence made it all the more intense and

profound. In fact, the anguish she suffered added an element

of martyrdom which, I finally concluded, had defeated his pur-

pose forever.

His return seemed to confirm this indubitablv, for he came

back, after two years, wounded severely. He had grown into a

powerful man, but the twist of a German bayonet had robbed

him of his strength, had made him, in spite of his gallant effort,

as utterly dependent upon his sister as a baby.

He was helpless for weeks. Lorry threw herself into the

care of him with an ecstasv of devotion that made of Lawrence —

always constant, always adoring — an exile. And though I knew

Mooney would get well, I felt surer than ever that he would

never be anything else than "Lorrv Mavhue's brother."

I did not calculate on the alchemy of war.

228 IMPROVEMENT ERA

One evening I called and found him noticeably improved.

I told Lorry that I did not think it necessary to sit up with him.

She promptly told me that I did not know my business, and that

she would not think of leaving him alone. We started to argue

when Mooney suddenly cut in:

"Doc's right, Lorry. You go to bed!"

We both turned to him in amazement. There was some-

thing in his words that made them, not a request, not a sugges-

tion, but an out-and-out command ! Mooney had actually ordered

Lorry to do something!

And, miracle upon miracle, he made her do it! There was

some argument, in which no voices were raised and no angry

words spoken, but in which Mooney definitely established

mastery.

There were several incidents of a similar character and sim-

ilar results. Lorry explained them away by saying that she had

to humor a sick boy. But I soon formed a different opinion.

His wound was, perhaps, the least serious consequence of

Mooney's experience in France. War had worked a wonderful

change in him. It had stiffened his soul with the magic power

of initiative, had discovered for him the bed-rock of his man-

hood— self-reliance.

That became plainer than ever when he got on his feet and

started to work. He secured a position as an automobile me-

chanic, a trade he had learned in France and learned well.

On his first pay-day he had a quiet little talk with his Aunt

Minnie. When Lorry went to furnish her half of the grocery

bill she found it settled. In the argument that followed between

brother and sister, the victory was wholly Mooney's.

One evening he came home and found her ironing a waist

She did a lot of things like that to save money. But that night

she was too tired to have been doing anything but sleeping.

Mooney saw it and promptly took a hand:

"You're nearly all in, Sis. Let that go until tomorrow!"

"I can't," she sighed. "I have to wear it tomorrow night."

"Then I'll buy you a new one first thing in the morning,"

he bribed.

"You'll do nothing of the kind!" she flared. "I guess I can

earn my own clothes!"

Mooney sighed, (walked slowly over to her, and without the

slightest warning, swept her into his arms and carried her to her

room. He had carefully deposited her on her bed before she

could get her breath.

"Why — why, Mooney! How — how dare you!" she gasped,

"You haven't gumption enough to take care of yourself,"

he explained tolerantly," so I've got to do it for vou. Go to

bed!"

MOTHER-HEART 229

"I won't!"

"What's the use, Sis. You'll only lose the argument. Why

not save time and get a little more sleep?"

That was the baldest assertion of his authority he had

ever made, and it stung. Hot words rose to her lips — but

they stopped when she caught the look in his eyes. Clear, de-

termined looking eyes they were, but yet so tender, so anxious,

so utterly adoring!

Her voice caught in a sob. Wounded pride and weariness

battled with a delightful sense of being cuddled and bossed

by this powerful, domineering, worshipful young giant of a

brother — battled till she felt overwhelmed.

She sank back on the bed, biting hard to stop the quiver

in her lip. Mooney saw his advantage. With the genius of a

born soldier and the tenderness of a woman, he said no word,

but, bending over, kissed her and left the room.

Lorry did not follow him. The next day he bought her a

waist — and she wore it.

The final victory came not long afterward. In it, I was his

ally. On the whole I am proud of the fact, though I vow I have

an average conscience.

I became an ally, however, entirely unawares. Mooney

simply stopped me on the street one day, and asked me to spend

the evening with him and Lorry and break the loneliness of

my wife's absence out of town.

When I arrived I found Lorry and Mooney sitting cozily be-

fore an open fire. My chair was waiting for me, and I was soon

as comfortable as they. There was nothing at all to indicate

what was impending.

Presently Mooney turned to Lorry and said, casually:

"Sis, don't you think it's about time that you — well that

you and Lawrence — "

"No, I don't!" she interrupted abruptly. "And I won't

discuss the matter."

"Oh, yes you will," he returned easily. "Because I'm go-

ing away."

"Where?" she demanded, startled.

"The big boss wants me on his auto tour through the south.

I'll be gone months. Then what'll you do?"

"Wait till you come home," she answered promptly.

"But what if I were gone for a year — for several years?"

"Let's not talk about it!" she exclaimed uneasily.

"But we must talk about it!" he insisted.

"Then I'll tell you, Mooney," she said gravely, after a pause.

"You don't remember mother, do you?"

"No, I don't," he said softly.

"I do. And I remember her as the kind that loves and

230 IMPROVEMENT ERA

never stops loving — the kind that every man ought to know

if he's to be the best kind of a man. But you couldn't know

her, except through me.

"That, I am sure, is why — why I love you so much. It seems

as if I've always, ever since I was a wee rag of a girl, felt as if

I had to let you know, through me, what a wonderfully dear

mother she was. I've felt as if I never ought, never could leave

you until you found someone else — whom you loved better,

and wanted more. Whether that's the true explanation or not,

the way I feel toward you is — is the foundation of my life. You

can't coax it away. You can't scold it away. You can't frighten

it away. It's there — until you take it away!"

The sublimity of her words seemed for a moment to swerve

him from his purpose. His eyes grew misty, and he struggled

for composure. But soon the old stubborn look, that was at

the same time deeply reverent, came back into his eyes, and he

answered :

"But, Lorry — sister — can't you see how — how far wrong

you've gone with it? I'm not a world-beater, but you've made

a decent man of me, and that's all I have coming from you.

To go on like this is cheating yourself ! It's cheating Lawrence !

I tell you it's all wrong!"

He had risen in his earnestness and stood before her with

outstretched hands. She placed hers in his, half-yielding.

Then, suddenly, she drew back, almost fiercely:

"No, no! You're asking me to be selfish — to forget you!

Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't!"

Mooney's jaw set and his face grew white.

"All right, you force me to it. Lorry, I'm going to re-enlist

tomorrow!"

A deathly silence followed. It was broken by her laugh:

"You can't. Your wound!" she said lightly.

He turned to me.

"That has entirely healed, hasn't it, Doctor Landen?"

He looked me straight in the eye, and I knew then what he

expected of me. His wound never would heal enough to go back

in the army, but I answered, steadily:

"Yes, it is — quite healed."

My eyes sought Lorry's face, and I sickened as I saw the

agonized struggle depicted there. It lasted perhaps a few sec-

onds, but to us it seemed an age. Then came her desperate

cry:

"No! No! Mooney — not again! I couldn't — I couldn't

stand it! I'll — I'll do what you say. Only — don't go, little

brother — don't go!"

She clung to him, sobbing wildly. The strain for a time

MOTHER-HEART 231

was terrific. He had won, but his white drawn face and twitch-

ing lips told at what a price!

It was several minutes before he calmed her.

"That — that hurt — cruelly," she said, as he released her.

Sobs still clutched at her voice.

"I know, dear, I know. But can't you see? It — it sets you

free!"

"Free!" She lingered thoughtfully over the word. Then

she turned pleadingly to me:

"Is — is he right, Doctor?"

"Absolutely, dear girl. Absolutely," I said patting her

hand reassuringly. He has very very truly set you free!"

She sank into a chair and sat gazing into the fire. Slowly

her face cleared. The love that had lain so long smothered

in her heart began to shine out, in the glow of her beautiful

eyes, in the smile that played on her lips. She was happy,

wonderfully, radiantly happy!

Suddenly she stiffened, and then — giggled. As though speak-

ing to herself she murmured delightedly:

"But, Lawrence! He — he won't know! I shall have to —

propose to him!"

"Oh, I'll fix that!" said Mooney officiously.

"No, you won't!" She was on her feet in a flash, cheeks

aflame. "Promise you won't say a word to him! Promise, or

I'll never marry him as long as I live!"

"I promise!" gasped Mooney. "Cross my heart and hope

to die!"

"You, too!" She turned sternly on me.

"Indeed, yes!" I exclaimed hastily. "He'll get no help

from me!"

She shook with laughter at our dismay. Then, with a toss

of her head:

"The idea! Remember, Lawrence is only a man!"

Again that laugh — clear, ringing, care-free. As it ended,

she turned to me:

"Good-night, Dr. Landen. You'll excuse me, I know, because

I've had enough excitement for one evening. And besides, I'm

just crazy to get by myself and — frame that proposal!"

She laughingly shook hands, then turned and gazed quiz-

zically at her brother. Presently she walked up to him, put

her hands on his shoulders, and looking him straight in the

eye, said:

"Brother, dear, the idea has popped into my head that this

is a plot, that you were just trying to scare me!"

My heart stood still, but not a muscle of Mooney's face

moved. As though not observing him closely at all, Lorry went

on softly:

232 IMPROVEMENT ERA

"But, even if you were, I shouldn't mind. In fact, even if

I discovered positively that it was a plot, I — I'd be glad! For —

for I'm as happy as heaven itself could make me! Good night!"

As the door closed gently behind her, both Mooney and I

heaved a deep sigh of relief. She had given us absolution.