<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_42'></SPAN>42</span>CHAPTER V</h2>
<p>It was a particularly warm July evening, but
a faint breeze from the west stirred the leaves
of the Crimson Rambler that climbed over
the front veranda at Five Oaks, and brought the
first relief from the scorching heat. The great
stone lions loomed out of the shadows and caught
the moonlight full on their shaggy heads. To the
doctor, sitting alone on the veranda steps, they
seemed almost alive, and he smiled at the thought
that came to him.</p>
<p>“So you think you, too, are guarding her,” he
chuckled quietly. “Pray, and are you also her
‘Lawfull Protectur’?”</p>
<p>A light step sounded on the floor behind him,
and he sprang to his feet.</p>
<p>“She’s asleep,” said Mrs. Kendall softly. “She
dropped asleep almost as soon as she touched the
pillow. Dear child!”</p>
<p>“Yes, children are apt—— Amy, dearest!”
broke off the doctor, sharply, “you are crying!”</p>
<p>“No, no, it is nothing,” assured Mrs. Kendall,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_43'></SPAN>43</span>
as the doctor led her to a chair. “It is always
this way, only to-night it was a—a little more
heart-breaking than usual.”</p>
<p>“‘Always this way’! ‘Heart-breaking’! Why,
Amy!”</p>
<p>Mrs. Kendall smiled, then raised her hand to
brush away a tear.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand,” she murmured. “It’s
the bedtime prayer—Margaret’s;” then, at the
doctor’s amazed frown, she added: “The dear
child goes over her whole day, bit by bit, and
asks forgiveness for countless misdemeanors, and
it nearly breaks my heart, for it shows how many
times I have said ‘don’t’ to the poor little thing
since morning. And as if that were not piteous
enough, she must needs ask the dear Father to
tell her how to handle her fork, and how to sit,
walk, and talk so’s to please mother. Harry,
what <em>shall</em> I do?”</p>
<p>“But you are doing,” returned the doctor.
“You are loving her, and you are surrounding
her with everything good and beautiful.”</p>
<p>“But I want to do right myself—just right.”</p>
<p>“And you are doing just right, dear.”</p>
<p>“But the results—they are so irregular and uneven,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_44'></SPAN>44</span>
sighed the mother, despairingly. “One
minute she is the gentle, loving little girl I held in
my arms five years ago; and the next she is—well,
she isn’t Margaret at all.”</p>
<p>“No,” smiled the doctor. “She isn’t Margaret
at all. She is Mag of the Alley, dependent on her
wits and her fists for life itself. Don’t worry,
sweetheart. It will all come right in time; it
can’t help it!—but it will take the time.”</p>
<p>“She tries so hard—the little precious!—and
she does love me.”</p>
<p>A curious smile curved the doctor’s lips.</p>
<p>“She does,” he said dryly.</p>
<p>“Why, Harry, what——” Mrs. Kendall’s eyes
were questioning.</p>
<p>The doctor hesitated. Then very slowly he
drew from his pocket a large, somewhat legal-looking
document.</p>
<p>“I hardly know whether to share this with you
or not,” he began; “still, it <em>is</em> too good to keep
to myself, and it concerns you intimately; moreover,
you may be able to assist me with some
advice in the matter, or at least with some possible
explanation.” And he held out the paper.</p>
<p>Mrs. Kendall turned in her chair so that the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_45'></SPAN>45</span>
light from the open hall-door would fall upon the
round, cramped handwriting.</p>
<p>“‘To whom it may concern,’” she read aloud.
“‘Whereas, I, the Undersigned, being in my sane
Mind do intend to commit Matremony.’ Why,
Harry, what in the world is this?” she demanded.</p>
<p>“Go on,—read,” returned the doctor, with a
nonchalant wave of his hand; and Mrs. Kendall
dropped her eyes again to the paper.</p>
<p>“Harry, what in the world does this mean?”
she gasped a minute later as she finished reading,
half laughing, half crying, and wholly amazed.</p>
<p>“But that is exactly what I was going to ask
you,” parried the doctor.</p>
<p>“You don’t mean that Margaret wrote—but she
couldn’t; besides, it isn’t her writing.”</p>
<p>“No, Margaret didn’t write it. For that part I
think I detect the earmarks of young McGinnis.
At all events, it came from him.”</p>
<p>“Bobby?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“But who——” Mrs. Kendall stopped abruptly.
A dawning comprehension came into her eyes.
“You mean—Harry, she <em>was</em> at the bottom of it!
I remember now. It was only a week or two ago
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_46'></SPAN>46</span>
that she used those same words to me. She insisted
that you would beat me and—and bang me
’round. Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my poor little
girl!”</p>
<p>The doctor smiled; then he shook his head
gravely.</p>
<p>“Poor child! She hasn’t seen much of conjugal
felicity; has she?” he murmured; then, softly:
“It is left for us, sweetheart, to teach her—that.”</p>
<p>The color deepened in Mrs. Kendall’s cheeks.
Her eyes softened, then danced merrily.</p>
<p>“But you haven’t signed—this, sir, yet!” she
challenged laughingly, as she held out the paper.</p>
<p>He caught both paper and hands in a warm
clasp.</p>
<p>“But I will,” he declared. “Wait and see!”</p>
<p>Not twenty hours later Bobby McGinnis halted
at the great gate of the driveway at Five Oaks
and gave a peculiar whistle. Almost instantly
Margaret flew across the lawn to meet him.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s jest a little matter of business,” greeted
Bobby, with careless ease. “I’ve got that ’ere
document here all signed. I reckoned the doctor
wouldn’t lose no time makin’ sure ter do his
part.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_47'></SPAN>47</span></p>
<p>“Bobby, not the contract—so soon!” exulted
Margaret.</p>
<p>“Sure! Why not? I told him ter please sign
to once an’ return. An’ he did, ‘course. I reckoned
he meant business in this little matter, an’
he reckoned I did, too. There wa’n’t nothin’ for
him ter do but sign, ’course.”</p>
<p>Margaret drew her brows together in a thoughtful
frown.</p>
<p>“But he might have—refused,” she suggested.</p>
<p>Bobby gave her a scornful glance.</p>
<p>“Refused—an’ lost the chance of marryin’ at
all? Not much!” he asserted with emphasis.</p>
<p>“Well, anyhow, I’m glad he didn’t,” sighed
Margaret, as she clutched the precious paper
close to her heart. “I should ‘a’ hated to have
refused outright to let him marry her when mother—Bobby,
mother actually seems to <em>want</em> to have
him!”</p>
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