Caro was in great haste to tell Marjorie about her candle, and when she went skipping around the corner next morning she met Marjorie skipping in her direction.
“Why I was coming to see you,” they both exclaimed.
Marjorie’s father was a younger brother of Caro’s grandfather, and their home was not far from the seminary. The little girls had already become good friends, but as Marjorie had been out of town with her mother they had not seen each other for several days.
“You come to my house, Caro, for I have something to show you,” her cousin said.
“Well, let’s go to the orchard then,” Caro suggested.
One of the many pleasant things about Charmington was that it combined the delights of city and country. Down on Main street[16] there were stores large enough to supply all reasonable desires, and yet five minutes’ walk in any direction brought you to the region of wide lawns and forest trees; and back of some of the pretty dwellings were orchards and gardens in which you could easily forget there was a town anywhere about. So it was in the Barrows orchard, for years a favorite playground for the children of the family.
Marjorie had some paper dolls and a new book to show Caro, and these they carried with them.
“Let’s run, so Tom won’t see us and want to come,” she said.
Little Tom Turner who lived next door, was in her opinion only useful as a playmate when she had no one else, or to make up the necessary number in some game, usually it was more fun to run away from him. So they raced through the long grass, brown curls and flaxen braids bobbing up and down in their haste.
At the extreme end of the orchard there was a large flat stone under a pear tree, and here they sat down to get breath and look at the dolls and the book.
Marjorie had a great deal to tell about her[17] visit, and as she listened Caro’s eyes presently made a discovery. “Why there’s a gate! where does it go?” she asked.
The boundary line of the Barrows’ grounds was marked by a rough stone wall, against which grew currant and gooseberry bushes, and almost hidden by these she noticed now for the first time a gate.
“Why Caro I’ll tell you, the people who live over there aren’t nice at all. They got mad at papa because of the trolley line, and they won’t give any money to the seminary because they are mad at Uncle Charles too.”
Persons who could be angry at her grandfather certainly could not be nice, Caro thought. “But what was the gate for?” she asked.
“A long time ago when Sister Alice and Brother Charlie were little they used to play with the Graysons.”
“Oh, are there children there?”
“No, indeed; that was a long time ago; but Caro—” Marjorie’s voice sank to a whisper—“there’s a man over there who has something the matter with him. He can’t walk, and a servant pushes him around in a chair. Nobody ever sees him, but one day I peeped over[18] the fence and there he was, all wrapped up and—dear! but I was scared!”
“He couldn’t hurt you, could he?”
“No—I suppose not, but he might say something to me.”
“Well that wouldn’t hurt. I’d like to see him,” said Caro.
All this was so interesting she had come near forgetting her candle. Now she thought of it and told Marjorie about it. “Just think,” she added, “my own grandmother’s candlestick—when she was a little girl.”
“I think I’ll ask mamma to give me one,” Marjorie said.
“What did grandpa mean when he said he wanted me to be a candle? Do you know?”
“He meant you must be good, I ’spect,” Marjorie replied in an offhand manner as she picked some Spanish needles from her dress.
“Candles aren’t good; that’s silly,” said Caro scornfully.
“I don’t care, he meant something like that; you ask him.”
She did ask him that evening. It was just at twilight and Dr. Barrows was sealing a letter to his daughter when Caro seated herself on the[19] arm of his chair. “Can I talk to you grandpa?” she asked; and as if he too wished to join in the conversation, Trolley, with one silent spring was on the study table, close to the president’s elbow.
“He’ll do for a paper weight, won’t he?” laughed Caro, as the cat gravely seated himself on the notes for to-morrow’s lecture. “And he can lick your stamps for you,” she added.
Her grandfather laughed a little at this bright idea. “Well Mischief,” he asked, “what do you wish to talk about?”
“I want to know how I can be a candle?”
“What do candles do?”
“Shine?”
“Yes; they make a little brightness—give a little cheer. Can’t my girl do that?”
“Marjorie said you meant ‘be good.’”
“Well—yes, only I should say be loving and kind. There are so many sad, lonely, worried people in the world, who need a little cheer. The very best way to be a candle is to love people, Caro.”
“I love you, grandpa!”
“And you bring a great deal of cheer into my life, dear.”
[20]“Do I?” with a pleased laugh. She put her arms around her grandfather’s neck and pressed her cheek to his for a moment, then with a sudden change from seriousness to mischief, she turned to Trolley. “Pussie,” she said, “you must be a candle too. You must love me, and you mustn’t be cross when there isn’t any cream on your milk—and we’ll both shine together.”