To escape an impending war of words, Steenie retreated to the presence of her own kin once more, and this time with a determination to beg from them enough information to enable her to understand clearly this new anxiety they were suffering.
“Yes, Steenie, I will tell you,” said Madam Calthorp, gently, and quite in her natural manner again. “But do you go out of doors, Daniel. The air is better for you, and Sutro has returned. I will be careful in my disclosures, but there is no need for you to hear the painful repetition.”
Mr. Calthorp rose wearily. There was a look of hopelessness about his fine face which even blindness had not brought to it; and Steenie watched him depart with a heavier heart than she had ever known.
“Now, Grandmother.”
“Yes, dear. To begin with, though we were never rich, neither were we poor. We had enough, with economy, to provide for all our ordinary needs, and a surplus for emergencies. What your father had inherited and acquired, together with my own money, was all in one place,—intrusted to a corporation of which your grandfather was the founder, and which people said was ‘as good as the bank of England.’ Some weeks ago, about the time you came from Santa Felisa, I heard rumors of trouble about this money of ours, and I instituted inquiries to verify or disprove them. The report brought to me was that they were without foundation, that our possessions were as secure as they had always seemed, and that I need have no uneasiness whatever. I did not mention these rumors to my son, because his own personal affliction appeared to be as much as he—as any of us—could bear; but now I wish that I had done so. Of course he could not read; and his sensitiveness about meeting people, together with my mistaken kindness, kept him wholly ignorant until the blow fell. This morning, after you left us, a messenger was sent to us by the directors, announcing the sudden and utter failure of the bank; as well as that I, a stockholder, am liable—that is, in debt—for several thousand dollars. Now, this is exactly our situation: I own this house and a small farm in another part of the county. That I can sell for enough to pay my indebtedness, except about one thousand dollars. Many poor people will be losers by this failure, and I cannot rest, retaining anything—even if I might—which would relieve their necessities. So, the only course left us is to sell this house also; and out of its proceeds pay the extra one thousand. There will be a small sum remaining, or should be,—enough I hope to hire a tiny cottage somewhere; but how we are to exist in that cottage the future alone can prove.”
Steenie listened attentively, breathlessly; her big blue eyes fixed upon her grandmother’s face, and rejoicing in the calmness which had returned to it. She did not know that the only expression of distress which the proud Madam had given, had been the one exclamation at first sight of her own self. “Everything has come upon us—but death. We are ruined. Ruined!”
“When, Grandmother? When will we go to the cottage?”
“Oh, I do not know. Not just yet. The adjustment of these matters will take time; we shall not be disturbed in the immediate present; but the eventual condition of affairs will be what I have decided already. And Steenie, my dear little child, now you have a chance to be even doubly helpful to your poor father. Blindness is a trial which no seeing person can comprehend; but for a strong man to suffer it, and to know that he cannot do one thing to alleviate the necessities of those who are dear to him, is terrible. It is this which is so intolerable to my son. If he could regain his sight, no matter how poor he was, he would face the world gayly for your sake and mine. He would work for us and forget all the mishap; but to be idle in such a strait—ah! I know from my own heart what it must be to him.”
“Poor, poor papa! But can’t I do something? Maybe I can! I’m not blind nor old, and I’m as strong as strong. See here! I can lift a chair ever so high! And Judge Courtenay says I’m most puffectly ’veloped for a ten-year-old goin’ on ’leven. I’m much bigger’n Beatrice, an’ she’s half-past twelve. Isn’t there some way, Grandmother, dear Grandmother? Think, please; in that in-telligence of yours, maybe you’ll find out something. And if you do—won’t I do it! Just you see!”
“You precious baby! If your ability only matched your courage, Grandmother knows that you would banish every care from all our hearts! But, yes; there is one thing you can do: bear whatever deprivations you may have with that same sunny spirit; be patient when, by-and-by, we older folks begin to lose our own serenity, and grow fretful, perhaps, and difficult to get along with. You can remember then that it isn’t what you call our ‘truly selves,’ but the worn nerves and depressed hearts that cause the sharp words and moods. Early to learn a woman’s lesson, my gay little Steenie; but I believe you are capable of learning it well.”