Keineth

CHAPTER XX

SHADOWS

"William, it _can't_ be true!"

Keineth, pausing on the threshold of the dining-room door, overheard the words. Peggy and Billy had gone to school; she was starting out for her music lesson and had stopped to ask Aunt Nellie a question. The tone of Aunt Nellie's voice, the seriousness of Mr. Lee's face, made Keineth's heart turn cold with fear!

"Aunt Nellie." They both turned towards her, startled. Involuntarily Mrs. Lee slipped the newspaper she had been reading under her napkin.

"Keineth, dear!" She held out her hand, her eyes filling with tears.

Keineth stood quite still, looking from one to the other, and because he was always somewhere very close in her mind and heart she cried "Daddy!"

Mrs. Lee had a curiously helpless look, as if she scarcely knew what to say, and with one hand she still held the paper beneath her napkin. Mr. Lee's voice was husky, he had to clear it two or three times before he could speak, and all the while Keineth's great eyes were fastened gravely upon him, demanding the truth.

"It may be a false report, my dear. There's been an accident at sea, and according to the paper--"

"My daddy was in it!" cried Keineth, putting her hands to her face. "Was my daddy in it?" she demanded in a queer little voice.

"Come here, dear," Mrs. Lee held out her hand again, but Keineth did not stir.

"Was he--in--it?" she demanded again.

"His name was listed among the passengers sailing from Liverpool, but there may have been a mistake."

Keineth's eyes were blazing. She walked to the table.

"Please give me that paper, Aunt Nellie! I have a right to know what it says!" She did not seem like the child she was as she stood there, white-faced. Her voice was very calm. Aunt Nellie handed her the paper; as she did so she said pleadingly: "Keineth, why not wait until your Uncle William has found out if it is true?" But Keineth did not hear her; she slowly unfolded the paper, stared a moment at the headlines, then, turning, rushed with it from the room.

There it was--his name! Her finger found it and stopped, as though she cared nothing for the rest! She read the big letters of the headlines, the few words that told of the attack by a German submarine on the big passenger ship, of the horrible confusion of the few moments before it sank, of the wild panic of the cowardly and the splendid bravery of a few! Then: "John Randolph, of New York City, the well-known journalist, abroad on a special mission for the President of the United States, was among the passengers."

Keineth, on her knees, with the paper spread out before her, read and reread the words. They sounded so final! He was gone--her daddy was gone!

And yet--how could this happen to her in this way? She knew a little of death; way back in her memory was a haunting picture of her own mother's going, of her father's grief and the music and the flowers. And she had watched the funeral of Francesca's baby brother from behind the geranium boxes. There had been music then, too. But this was so different--just the lines in the newspaper and then nothing more, ever and ever and ever! It couldn't happen like that! She was too puzzled to cry. There were so many questions she wanted to ask-how deep _was_ the ocean there? Couldn't they swim? And whom could she ask who would tell her all about it?

She heard the door open, but did not turn her head. She felt Aunt Nellie's arms lift her, draw her head close to her breast. Aunt Nellie's voice was very tender.

"Uncle William has gone to telegraph immediately to the New York offices of the steamship line. We may learn more, my dear. You must be brave--you know how brave your father always was."

Almost violently Keineth pushed her away.

"I don't believe it!" she cried. Seizing the paper, she tore it into little bits and threw them fiercely to the floor.

"I'll never, never, nev-er believe it! He _will_ come back!" And poor Keineth threw herself upon her bed and covered her face tight with her hands She had caught the look of deep pity on Aunt Nellie's face. Aunt Nellie believed it! She could not bear it!

"Please go away," she begged through her fingers. And Aunt Nellie slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Keineth could shut from her eyes Aunt Nellie's pity, but she could not shut from her mind the flood of thoughts that came. Cruel thoughts, too, which her persistent "I don't believe it" failed to drive away! She had seen a picture once of a sinking ship; a great wave of water had engulfed it, men were clinging to its side like flies! She remembered it now! Remembered, too, an awful storm when, holding her daddy's hand, she had watched from a high point of land the angry sea surging over the rocks far beneath them. It was green and black and white where the water hissed, and its roar had made her shiver! That was the same sea! "Oh, I don't believe it!" she whispered. She had made so many pictures in her mind of her father's home-coming--she had felt sure he would surprise her! She had thought that perhaps she might go back to the old house and find him there, or go with someone to the dock and watch his boat come in and see him waving from its deck! Perhaps she might be standing some afternoon in the living-room window looking down the street watching Terry light the street lamps and suddenly see him walking towards her! And now--oh, it just couldn't be true!

At noon Mr. Lee came home to luncheon. The newspaper report had been confirmed by the New York offices of the steamship company. He said this very gravely and slowly, as though he hated to speak the words. Peggy sat watching Keineth in a frightened sort of way; she wished Keineth would cry so that she could put her arms around her to comfort her! But Keineth only sat very still staring down at her plate.

"I think I'll practice, Aunt Nellie," Keineth said when the luncheon was finished. She had to do something. She walked out of the room as she spoke, Peggy cast an entreating look toward her mother.

"Mummy, isn't it dreadful? What _will_ we do? She acts so queer!"

Mrs. Lee answered very slowly. "Keineth will not believe it, Peggy! But when she does, when her loss comes to her, we must help her in every way! We must make her feel how much we love her and that she is one of us!"

"Why, what if it was our daddy," Peggy cried. "Listen!"

For from across the hall came wonderful music--not the lesson Keineth should be practicing, but fairy things! And happy notes, too, as though Keineth's own hands were trying to dispel the heavy shadows about her and give her comfort and hope!

Mr. Lee was carefully reading the report of the disaster in the afternoon paper.

"You know it's a funny thing--no one on the boat had seen John Randolph! Maybe--"

"Oh, maybe he got left!" cried Billy, who all through the tragic moments had been unusually silent.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. Its clang startled each one of them! The music across the hall stopped with a crash! They heard Keineth flying to the door.

In a moment she returned, holding a yellow envelope in her hand. Though it was addressed to her she carried it to Mr. Lee. "Please read it," she said in a trembling voice. "I think it is from Daddy! I--can't!"

Peggy crossed quickly to Keineth's side and put one arm close about her. Mr. Lee tore open the cablegram, read the lines written in it, tried to speak and, failing, put the sheet of paper in Keineth's hands.

"Oh!" Keineth cried. "Oh!" Something like a laugh caught in her throat.

Changed plans--did not sail on boat. Thank God!
--JOHN RANDOLPH.

Both of Peggy's arms flew around her now; they hugged one another and both cried. And Aunt Nellie was crying, too, and Mr. Lee had to wipe his eyes. Billy was saying over and over, "Didn't I just have a hunch, now?"

The shadows lifted from their hearts, the children listened while Mr. Lee read to them the full account of the disaster which had stirred every nation of the globe. Billy and Peggy asked many questions, but Keineth was very silent. There were other little girls whose fathers had gone down into the sea--her heart went out to them in deepest pity. "I feel as though this morning was weeks ago," she said afterwards as she and Peggy curled upon the window seat with some sewing. From outside the sun was shining through the bare branches of the trees, making dancing figures on the polished floor. Keineth sighed. "It makes one realize how unhappy lots and lots of people are."

"And it makes you feel as though you could do _anything_ to help them," answered Peggy, staring thoughtfully out of the window where on the city street humanity surged backward and forward in all the forms of joy and sorrow known by God's children.