Miss Theodosias Heartstrings | Page 5

travel-stained, soiled; they had still an air of soil
and travel-stain. They didn't look clean!
Miss Theodosia groaned. "It may be blueing streaks," she said, but
there was little comfort in blueing streaks. She got her opera glasses
and peered through them at her beloved dresses. Brought up at close
range, they were certainly blue-streaked, and there was plain lack of the
snowy whiteness her stern washing-creed demanded.
At intervals, small figures issued from the house and circled about the
clotheslines, inspecting their contents critically. Miss Theodosia saw
one of them--it was the child of her doorstep--lay questionable hold (it
must be questionable!) upon a delicate garment and examine a portion
of it excitedly. She saw the child dart back to the house and again issue
forth, dragging the slender young washerwoman. Together they
examined. Miss Theodosia caught up her glasses and brought the little
pair into the near field of her vision; she saw both anxious young faces.
The face of Stefana was strained and careworn.
Miss Theodosia was thirty-six years old, and all of the years had been
comfortable, carefree ones. In the natural order of her pleasantly
migratory, luxurious life, she had rarely come into close contact with
careworn or strained faces; this contact through the small, clear lenses
seemed startlingly close. 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!
Stefana carried the disputed garment back into the house and rewashed
it; it was dripping wet when she again dangled it beside the others.
Several times during the afternoon this process was repeated, until, at
nightfall, the entire wash dripped, rewashed and soggy. Miss Theodosia
nodded her head approvingly; she had her reasons for being glad that
the wash was to remain out overnight.
It was a starless, moonless night--a night to prowl successfully about
clotheslines.
Miss Theodosia prowled. The little dry-goods box full of children was
a small, vague blur, a little darker than the darkness. The children slept
the profound sleep of childhood and childhood's unbelonging toil.
Sleep was smoothing Stefana's roughened little nerves with gentle hand
and fortifying her courage for yet more strenuous toils to come.
Evangeline's weary little arm--and tongue--were resting.
Miss Theodosia prowled softly, to avoid disturbing the little box-house.
She had the guilty conscience of the prowler that sent her heart into her
mouth at the crackling of a twig under her feet. She found herself
listening, holding her breath in a small panic. No sound of wakened
sleepers, but there must be no more twigs.
"I must add a postscript to Cornelia Dunlap's letter," she thought. "This
would make a thrilling wind-up! Cornelia would say, 'Lawk-a-daisy me,
it can't be Theodosia Baxter!' She wouldn't need any little dog."
Safe in her own house once more, Miss Theodosia breathed a sigh of
relief. Saved! But there was another trip yet to be made to that region
behind the vague little blur of a box. It was too soon to be relieved.
"What I've done once I can do twice," boasted Miss Theodosia,
undaunted, though at the approach of her second prowling expedition,
her courage waned unexpectedly. "I mean if I have a cup of
tea--strong," she weakly appended to her boast. It would take her

longer out there the second time. She really needed tea.
Miss Theodosia retired at eleven, tired but contented. She even smiled
at her sodden fingers--when had Miss Theodosia Baxter's fingers been
sodden before!
The next morning, the child and the childlier child appeared at her
porch, where she rocked contentedly.
"She's ironin' 'em!--Stefana's ironin' 'em! No, I can't sit down; she said
not to. She's ironed one dress three times. It's funny how irons stick,
isn't it? No, not funny--mercy gracious! You oughter see Stefana's
cheeks, an' she's burnt both thumbs--I'm keepin' Elly Precious out o' the
way, an' she's forbid Carruthers comin' in a step. She'll get 'em ironed,
Stefana will. You can't discourage Stefana! Last night I kind of thought
you could, but the clo'es whitened out beautiful in the night. Stefana
said it was the night air. There wasn't a single streak left this mornin'.
We're goin' to keep your money in Mother's weddin' sugar-bowl, an'
when she comes back, we're goin' to ask her if she don't want some
sugar!"
All day Stefana toiled and retoiled. It was night when