CHAPTER X
WHAT’S IN A DRESS?
Of course Elliott never could have done it without the Gordons. Elliott and Harriet made the crab-apple juice into jelly, Mrs. Gordon sent in bread and cookies, and both mother and daughter stood behind the girl with their skill and experience, ready to be called on at a moment’s notice.
“Just send for us any time you get into trouble or want help about something,” said Mrs. Gordon over the telephone. “One of us will come right up. Most likely it will be Harriet. I’m so cumbersome, I can’t get about as I’d like to. Large bodies move slowly, you know.”
Other people besides the Gordons sent 224 in things to eat. Elliott thought she had never known such a stream of generosity as set toward the white house at the end of the road—intelligent generosity, too. There seemed a definite plan and some consultation behind it. Mr. Blair brought a roast of beef already cooked, from Mrs. Blair, and hoped for both of them that there would soon be good news of the boy. The Blisses sent in pies enough for two days and asked Elliott to let them know when she was ready for more. People she knew and people she didn’t know brought rolls and cookies and doughnuts and gelatines and even roast chickens, and asked, with real anxiety in their voices, for the latest news from Camp Devens.
They didn’t bring their offerings all at once; they brought them continuously and steadily and with truly remarkable appropriateness. Just when Elliott was thinking that she must begin to cook, something was sure to rattle up to the door in a 225 wagon, or roll up in an automobile, or travel on foot in a basket. It was the extreme timeliness of the gifts that proved the guiding intelligence behind them.
“They couldn’t all happen so,” was Henry’s conclusion. “Now, could they? Gee! and I’ve thought some of those folks were pokes!”
“So have I,” said Elliott, feeling very much ashamed of her hasty judgments.
“You never know till you get into trouble how good people are,” was Father Bob’s verdict.
Gertrude fingered a doughnut ruefully. “I want it, but I’m almost ashamed to eat it. I’ve thought such horrid things of that old Mrs. Gadsby that made ’em.”