Read Online Deadly Nightshade by Elizabeth Daly - Free Book Online Page B

mean?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou mean—right away?”
    â€œIt would be the best thing in the world for Mr. Bartram.”
    â€œFor the kid, too, I guess; but it isn’t everybody would adopt a gypsy, let alone this gypsy.”
    â€œMr. Bartram isn’t everybody.”
    â€œBut it would keep the whole thing right in front of him all the time.”
    Gamadge said: “Just the kind of thing you New Englanders are supposed to be willing to tackle, isn’t it? Now later immigrants, like Annie and myself, might balk at it; but you are made of sterner stuff, and ought to take it in your stride.”
    â€œI’m not a New Englander,” said Miss Ridgeman, faintly smiling, “but I can easily imagine myself doing it. His grandmother wants to take him back with her to Whitewater Beach; I understand that she has some kind of decent place to live, there, but I wish he didn’t have to go. Have you seen him, Mr. Gamadge?”
    â€œYes; nice little fellow. They seem to be making him comfortable enough.”
    â€œDoctor Loring saw to that. The gypsies still cure people with spells, he says.”
    â€œBut would his folks give him up?” asked Mitchell.
    â€œI understand that his father and mother are dead. Doctor Loring thinks his grandmother might be glad to ‘give him up,’ if you can call it that.”
    â€œSell him, most likely.”
    â€œI’m afraid so. It would be the saving of Mr. Bartram to get up an interest in another child; and this one needn’t be any burden on him at all. The house is big, and I should be only too glad to stay on and look after him. Only…”
    She paused, and was silent so long that Mitchell asked: “Only what, Miss Ridgeman?”
    â€œI hardly like to offer.”
    â€œIn the name of goodness, why not?”
    â€œAfter what happened, Mr. Bartram may not think that I’m capable of looking after a child. I shouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.”
    â€œNow, Miss Ridgeman—” Mitchell was concerned.
    â€œHe can’t bear the sight of me.” Her self-possession had cracked a little, but she went on, calmly enough: “I ought to leave the house; I would, only they need me badly just now, on account of Irma.”
    â€œMr. Bartram hasn’t said a word about your being to blame. Nobody blames the Beasleys, or the Ormistons.”
    â€œIndeed people do blame the Ormistons.”
    â€œAnnie seems to be down on him. Do you know why?”
    â€œNo, I don’t, Mr. Mitchell. He’s never been inside this house, to my knowledge, since I came here myself, when Julia was born. I think the families used to know each other in Boston. Perhaps he was a disagreeable boy.”
    â€œHe’s an eccentric kind of a feller now. Funny thing he did—asking Mr. Bartram to let him bury Tommy in the Bartram lot; and the boy wasn’t even dead!”
    â€œAnnie can’t get over it; but in a way it isn’t so queer. The Ormistons have always lived in Europe a good deal, and I suppose they probably just get buried anywhere they happen to die. Annie thinks it’s more important to have a graveyard than to have a home.”
    â€œAnd in France,” said Gamadge, “families often share burial lots; lack of space, I suppose, as well as frugality.”
    â€œStill, he was a little casual about it all. But they were terribly upset in every way. They are now. They’re half packed, with their things in crates and boxes, all alone in that deserted place. Of course he wants to get home.”
    â€œAn artist with all his materials in crates must be a pathetic object,” said Gamadge.
    â€œI can sympathize with him in a way, because we’re so upset ourselves. We weren’t prepared for three house guests, and one of them needs a good deal of attention.” She glanced down the room at the absorbed Irma, and went on: “Annie’s lame, and the new