Not Under the Law

by Grace Livingston Hill

She had had no time to look out at her new purchase while it was being placed, and now was not even sure they had set it evenly on its floor. It might be on end or toppled onto its roof for aught she knew, and when this thought presented itself she walked on in a growing dismay. But the street light just opposite proved a boon and shone right between the two trees to the little white building which was nestled all properly on a level spot, floor down, and even as a die, with its little front porch facing the street and set back about fifteen feet from the fence. When she put her hand on the porch rail it seemed to be standing solidly. She could see, on stooping down, that it was set on some stones with fresh cement. The men had taken trouble to make it right and firm for her. How kind they were! She must try and hunt them up tomorrow and thank them. Then she remembered the vine and tired as she was stepped around to see how it had fared on its journey. Behold it had been taken out of its lard can and set in the ground! They had even found some water and watered it, for drops were glistening on the leaves and an empty tin can lay on the ground. Somehow it brought sudden tears to think that these two rough men had taken so much pains to set out the vine for her, a stranger.

“It is just God,” she said to herself as she went back to the front porch, “God is taking care of me!” Then she lifted her eyes to the stars and said in a soft voice as she stood on her own little step, “Dear Father in Heaven, bless this little house, and me, and take care of me here for Christ’s sake.”

It occurred to her as she turned toward the door that it might be locked and then where would she find a key to fit it? But the knob turned and the door opened without any trouble and she stepped inside and closed it softly after her. For a moment she could see nothing. Then her eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, and the patches of light on the floor that came through the little diamond panes of the windows and door showed the room to be empty save for a wooden box in the middle of the floor, and a great stack of newspapers in one corner.

Joyce had brought a few matches with her from Mrs. Bryant’s and now she struck one and looked around carefully. The place was tolerably clean. The floor was dusty of course and a few peanut shells were scattered here and there, but nothing very bad. The walls were lined with compo board and painted white, and in the flare of a few matches presented no unpleasant features. The box was empty and the pile of newspapers seemed to be different lots left over from some newsstand. They were of old dates, folded but once, and quite clean. There did not even seem to be any spider webs in that corner, and only the top papers were dusty.

Having satisfied herself so far she deposited the remaining matches on the window sill for a possible time of need in the night and set to work. Those newspapers were her only chance, and she was thankful for them. She must make a bed out of them.

Her first act was to drag the box across the floor to block the door. There was no key and she had no mind to sleep in a strange place, with a door that could be opened by any one in the night. The box was just high enough to reach under the knob, and heavy enough so that the door could not be opened without making a good deal of noise; and after she had placed it she felt quite secure in her new shelter.

She covered the top of the box with a clean newspaper and put her hat and handbag upon them. Then she attacked the pile of newspapers. She unfolded them sheet by sheet and crumpled them thoroughly, throwing them into the corner and when she had covered a space on the floor about six feet long by three feet wide with these crumpled papers crowded close together, she laid several open sheets smoothly over them tucking the edges well underneath, and began again crumpling papers and putting on the top another layer. These in turn had several whole newspapers laid smoothly on the top and then another layer until she had quite a comfortable couch of springy paper. She even opened out a couple of papers and filled them with crumpled pieces for a pillow.

There were still plenty of newspapers left and she spread them out overlapping one another in layers, until she had a coverlet of good proportions. Then she folded their edges back to hold them together.

“Now, I sha’n’t freeze if it turns cold in the night,” she thought gleefully.

Next she went to her little new windows and wrestled with them. They were casements, swinging in, but it required much pounding and pulling to make them swing at all at first. At last she had them all open wide letting in the sweet night air. She looked out into the dark garden a trifle dubiously, it is true. It did seem a little uncanny to sleep there alone with windows wide and the street so close, with not even a curtain to shelter her, but she must have air and there was nothing else to be done. She must just wake up early in the morning before folks were astir. Curtains were among the first things she must purchase. Of course there were the newspapers, but they would shut out the air.