He did not laugh at her quaint phrasing of her intentions, but tightening his clasp upon the small body nestling within the circle of his arms, he quoted,

"'Work a little, sing a little, Whistle and be gay; Read a little, play a little, Busy every day.

Talk a little, laugh a little, Don't forget to pray; Be a bit of merry sunshine All the blessed way.'"

CHAPTER V

AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION

Having a naturally light-hearted, merry disposition, Peace did not find it hard work to "smile and talk," but it was hard, very hard, to restrain her generous impulses to give away everything she possessed to those less fortunate than herself, and it soon became a familiar sight to see her fly excitedly into the house straight to the study where the busy President spent many hours each day, exclaiming breathlessly as she ran, "Oh, grandpa, there is a little beggar at the door in perfect rags and tatters! Just come and look if she doesn't need some clothes. And she is so cold and pinched up with being empty. Gussie has fed her, but can't I give her some things to wear? I've more than I need, truly!"

Then the good man with a patient sigh would leave his work to investigate the case, spending many minutes of his precious time in satisfying himself as to whether or not Peace's newly found beggar was genuine and really in need of relief,--for this small maid's thirst for discovering vagabonds seemed insatiable, and the string of tramps which haunted the President's doorstep led poor Gussie a strenuous life for a time. But relief came from an unexpected source at length.

Late one dull spring afternoon, as Gail sat with her chum, Frances Sherrar, in the cosy window-seat of the reception-hall, studying the next day's Latin lesson, a shadow fell across the page. Looking up in surprise, for neither girl had heard the sound of approaching footsteps, they beheld on the piazza the bent, shriveled, ragged form of what appeared to be a tiny, deformed, old woman. An ancient, faded shawl, patched and darned until it had almost lost its ident.i.ty, enveloped her from head to foot, and she looked more like an Indian squaw than like a civilized white being. Her head and hands shook ceaselessly as with the palsy, and the way she tottered about made one fearful every minute last she fall.

"Oh," cried Gail in quick sympathy, "what a feeble old creature! It is a shame she has to beg her living. Where is my purse?"

"Are you going to give her money?" asked Frances in surprise.

"Doesn't she look as if she needed it?"

"She is a fake. I've seen her ever since I can remember--always just like this. She wouldn't dare beg in town, but we are so far out--well, if you are really determined to do it, here's a quarter."

Gail took the proffered coin, added a shining dollar to it, and stepping to the door where the palsied beggar stood mumbling and whining a pitiful hard luck tale, she pressed the silver into the leathery, claw-like hand, smiled a sympathetic smile and bade the old woman a G.o.d-speed.

Frances stayed for dinner that evening, and as the family gathered around the table for this, the merriest hour of the whole day, the President suddenly clapped his hand against his pockets, searched rapidly through them, and finally brought forth a crumpled sheet of paper, daubed with many ink blots and tipsy hieroglyphics, which read, "No more beggars, tramps and vagabuns allowed on these promises. We have already given away enuf to keep a army. There are two dogs and two men in this family--so bewair!"

Even the presence of Peace, the author, did not prevent an explosion of delighted shrieks from the little company, but the child merely fixed her brown eyes, somber with reproof, upon the perfectly grave face of the Doctor of Laws, and demanded, "Now, grandpa, what made you take it down?"

"I didn't, child," he defended. "It had blown down, I think, and lodged about the door-k.n.o.b. I thought it was a hand-bill, and rescued it as I came in."

"Where had you put it?" asked Cherry, grinning superciliously at the distorted characters on the soiled paper.

"On the side of the house by the front door," she confessed. "That's where I put that one."

"That one! Are there more?" laughed Frances, whose affection for this original bit of femininity had only increased with the months of their acquaintance.

"Of course! There had to be one for each door, 'cause the beggars don't all go the back way, and to be sure everyone saw the tag, I stuck one on the corner of the barn nearest the road, and another on each gate. That surely ought' to be enough, oughtn't it?"

"I should think so," Mrs. Campbell agreed, making a wry face at thought of the queer-looking signs scattered so liberally about the property "How did you come to make them?"

"'Cause of that beggar at the front door this afternoon," Allee volunteered unexpectedly.

"What beggar?" asked the President with interest, while Gail and Frances exchanged knowing glances.

"A teenty, crooked, old woman came to the house while grandma was out this afternoon," Peace began. "She looked as if she might be a witch or old Grandmother, Tipsy-toe--I never did like that game--"

"We thought she _was_ a witch," again Allee spoke up, unmindful of the frown on her older sister's face; "and we hid."

"But we watched her," Peace continued hastily, "and saw Gail give her some money. She did look awful forlorny and squizzled up as if she never had enough to eat to make any meat on her bones, and she nearly tumbled over, trying to kiss Gail's hand 'cause she gave her some money. So after she was gone, we ran down to the gate to watch her, and what do you think? Just as she turned the corner, there was a cop--"

"A what, Peace?"

"I mean a p'liceman, coming along with his club swinging around his hand, and when the beggar woman saw him, she straightened up as stiff and starchy as anybody could be, and hustled off down the street 'most as quick as I can walk. She was a--a fraud, and Gail got cheated just like I did when I gave that hole-y shoed girl on the hill my shoes."

Here Frances shot a look of triumph at discomfited Gail. "So I made up my mind that grandpa is right--they are all frauds."

"Why, Peace, child, I never said that in the world," the President disclaimed, surprised out of his usual serenity by her words.

"That's so,--you said only half were frauds. Well, I guess it's the fraud half that come here to beg of us. Gussie is tired of feeding them, Jud's getting ugly, and if they keep on coming I'm 'fraid they'll really eat grandpa out of house and home. Jud says they will. There were seven tramps last week, and already we have had two this week, and one beggar.

So I made these signs and stuck them up where everybody'd see them and know they meant business, w'thout Jud's having to turn the dogs loose or get his shotgun like he said he ought to. He told me that all hoboes have some way of letting other hoboes know where they can get a square meal, and that's why we have so many. He says they never used to bother so until I came here to tow them along by coaxing Gussie to feed 'em. I thought I was being good to 'em. S'posing we had sent grandpa away when he came tramping around to our house in Parker--Faith wanted to--where would we be now? Still grubbing in Parker trying to get enough to eat, 'most likely; or maybe in the poorhouse, for 'twas grandpa who paid the mortgage on the farm. I guess I must wait till I'm grown way up to have any missionary sense."

She spoke so dejectedly and her face looked so pathetic and utterly discouraged that no one had the heart to laugh, but a sudden feeling of restraint fell upon the group. Even the President had no words in which to answer the poor, disheartened little missionary.

"Do you belong to Miss Smiley's Gleaners?" It was Frances who spoke, and though the words themselves signified little, her tone of voice was like an electric thrill, and the faces of the whole company turned expectantly toward her as she waited for Peace's answer.

"No, not yet. Evelyn has been after us ever since we came here to join them, but something has always kept us away from the meetings each month, so we haven't been 'lected yet. Evelyn says they don't do much but have a good time, anyway, though it is a missionary society. That's about all our Sunshine Club in Parker ever did, too, 'xcept make comfort powders for the sick and _mained_ in the hospital."

"Evelyn is right about what the Gleaners used to be, but since her aunt has taken up the work, they are doing lots of real missionary work. Why, since Christmas they have raised enough money to take care of two orphans in India for a year. Edith Smiley is such a beautiful girl--"

"Ain't she, though!" Peace burst out with customary impetuosity. "I've wanted her for my Sunday School teacher ever since we began to go to South Avenue Church, but she's got a cla.s.s of _boys_."

"And don't they adore her!"

"No more'n I would."

"It is easier to get teachers for girls' cla.s.ses; and besides, Miss Edith has had these boys from the time she started to teach. She certainly has her hands full with her Sunday School cla.s.s, the Gleaners Missionary Band and the Young People's Society, for she is our president this term. There is no lag about her. She is always planning something beautiful for somebody. _Everyone_ loves her. When Victor was in the hospital the time he was hurt by the runaway, Miss Edith took him flowers several times; and the nurse told us that she visits the children's ward twice a month regularly and takes them fruit or flowers or sc.r.a.p-books or something nice. They always know when to expect her, and she never disappoints them."

"She certainly knows how to make sunshine for those around her," said Mrs. Campbell warmly. "I am so pleased to think she could take charge of the Gleaners. We ladies were really afraid the society must die. Miss Hilliker had neither strength, time nor talent to do justice to the work; but, poor soul, she did try so hard, and she did give the children a good time, whether or not they ever accomplished anything else."

"I am glad Miss Smiley has taken the Gleaners, too," said Peace meditatively. "Me and Allee 'xpect to join at next meeting. I guess maybe Cherry and Hope will, too, though I haven't asked them yet."

"I think you have headed them in the right direction, Frances,"

whispered the President in grateful tones, when at last the dinner was ended and the chattering group were filing out of the dining-room. "I was beginning to wonder what in the world to do with our little Peace, but I think perhaps Miss Smiley will help solve the problem for us."

"I know she will," Frances replied confidently. "I can understand how discouraged poor Peace must feel. I've been there myself, only instead of giving away my own things as she does, I gave away other people's belongings. I can never forget the seance I had with mother the day I handed over father's best, go-to-meeting overcoat to a dirty, evil-looking tramp, and gave away Victor's velocipede to the ash-man's little boy. I came to the conclusion that the whole world was just a sham and all men--yes, and women--were liars. Mrs. Smiley came to my rescue, and what missionary spirit there is left in me is due to her good work and untiring efforts. Edith is a second edition of her mother."

"And I think Frances must be second cousin at heart," said the Doctor, gently pressing her hand.

"I don't deserve such praise," she protested, blushing with pleasure at his compliment. "I have only tried to make the most of the best in me, remembering the little verse we had for a motto:

'No robin but may thrill some heart, His dawnlight gladness voicing.

G.o.d gives us all some small sweet way To set the world rejoicing.'

"We were only children when we took that as our cla.s.s motto, but we have kept it all these years, and I know there is not one of the girls who considers it childish sentiment even yet."