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We ten

by Barbara Yechton · English · Gutenberg #20052 · 455,266 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: We ten
        or, The story of the Roses

Author: Barbara Yechton

Illustrator: Minna Brown


        
Release date: December 7, 2006 [eBook #20052]
                Most recently updated: January 1, 2021

Language: English

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WE TEN

Or

The Story of the Roses

by

BARBARA YECHTON

Author of
"Ingleside," "A Matter of Honor,"
"Gentle-Heart Stories," "Two Knights-Errant,"
"Little Saint Hilary," "Christine's Inspiration"

With Illustrations by Minna Brown







[Illustration: "'OH, PAPA! _PAPA_! SURELY YOU ARE NOT GOING TO _BURN_
THE _FETICH_!'"]



New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1896
Copyright, 1896,
by Dodd, Mead and Co.
All rights reserved.

University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.



TO
MY DEAR ONES.


_"Thou hast done well thy part, if
    Thou hast done thy best;
  As sure as I am God, I answer
    For the rest."_




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                                   PAGE

     I. ROSES AND ROSES                      1

    II. IN THE STUDY                        17

   III. CONCERNING A PERFORMANCE            25

    IV. AND A FETICH                        43

     V. A FRACAS AND AN ARRIVAL             53

    VI. DISPOSING OF A FETICH               72

   VII. NEW FRIENDS                         92

  VIII. A RESOLUTION                       109

    IX. MAX'S WARD                         123

     X. IN THE SCHOOLROOM                  145

    XI. AN AFTERNOON RECEPTION             165

   XII. IN THE SHADOW                      182

  XIII. THROUGH THE SHADOW                 200

   XIV. A MISSION OF THREE                 213

    XV. SOME MINORS                        230

   XVI. AND A MAJOR                        254

  XVII. NORA'S SECRET                      274

 XVIII. EXPERIENCES AT ENDICOTT BEACH      283

   XIX. HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER               322

   XX. A SOLEMN PROMISE                    346

  XXI. THROUGH THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND       367

 XXII. AUF WIEDERSEHEN                     378




WE TEN,
OR THE
STORY OF THE ROSES.




I.

ROSES AND ROSES.

TOLD BY JACK.


When papa said positively that only Phil could go to college, we all
felt so badly for Felix that we held a council in the schoolroom that
very afternoon. At least, six of us did; the other four had been ruled
out by Felix, who declared that "kids were not allowed in council." Paul
and Mädel didn't mind so much,--they're the twins, they're only seven
years old; nor did Alan,--he's the baby; but Kathie was awfully mad: you
see, she's nearly ten, and she does love to hear all that's going on.
When she gets crying, there's no stopping her, and I tell you she made
things pretty lively round that schoolroom for a little while. How she
did howl! We were so afraid she'd start Alan, and that the noise would
reach papa's study; good-bye then to our council. We got provoked with
Kathie; it was so silly of her to stand there crying like a big baby,
and keeping us back that way.

First Phil called out, "You just stop, this minute, Kathie!" and then,
when she kept right on, he threw the old sofa pillow at her, and told
her to go smother herself; Nora said, "Horrid child!" in her most
disgusted tone, and Nannie and Betty coaxed and coaxed, trying to
quiet her.

[Illustration: "THE SCHOOLROOM VIXEN."]

But nothing had any effect until Felix limped over to his easel. Felix
is lame,--dear old Fee!--but my! isn't he clever! Greek and Latin are
just as easy as--as--anything to him, and he writes stories and
poems,--though nobody knows this 'cept us children and Miss Marston, and
we wouldn't tell for the world,--and he paints the most _beautiful_
pictures you ever saw. Well, as I was telling you, he limped over to his
easel, and took up his brush. "Just keep that charming expression on
your face a few minutes longer, Kathie," he said, "until I get it on
canvas; and I'll paint your picture as the 'Schoolroom Vixen,' and send
it to the Academy. That's right, open your mouth _just_ a little
wider--what a wonderful cavern!--hullo! why'd you stop crying? I'm not
half through."

That quieted my lady! You see she was afraid he was in earnest; and
after Nannie had wiped her eyes for her, and given her the last piece of
chocolate in her box, off she went to the other end of the room, and
began playing house with the twins and Alan under the schoolroom table,
as nicely as you please.

Then the council began. Nannie said it was called to discuss "ways and
means." I suppose by that she meant to see if there was any way that
Felix could go to college too; but, as usual, in a very little while
everybody began to take "sides," and then, the first thing we knew, we
were all talking at the same time, and just as loud as ever we could.
That's a way we have,--all talking and nobody listening. What a din
there was, until Felix scrambled up on a chair and pounded on the floor
with his cane, and shouted out louder than anybody else: "Who _am_ I
talking to? I _will_ be heard!" That made everybody laugh, and brought
us back to business; but in a few minutes we were just as bad again.

We're the greatest family for taking sides that you ever heard of, and
we do get so excited over things! Anybody that didn't know would surely
think we were quarrelling, when really we'd just be having a discussion.
I can't see where we got it from, for dear mamma was always just as
sweet and gentle, and goodness knows papa doesn't say ten words in a
day, and those in the very quietest voice. I can't explain it, but it's
a fact all the same that we are a noisy family,--even Nora. Miss
Marston--she's our governess--says it's very vulgar to be noisy, and
that we ought to be ashamed to be so boisterous; but nurse declares--and
I think she's right--that the reason is 'cause "the whole kit an' crew"
(she means us) "come just like steps, one after the other, an' one ain't
got any more right to rule than the other." You see Phil is seventeen
and Alan is five, and between them we eight come in; so we are "just
like steps," as she says.

[Illustration: "PLAYING HOUSE WITH THE TWINS AND ALAN UNDER THE
SCHOOLROOM TABLE."]

Perhaps I'd better tell you a little about each of us, so you'll
understand as I go on: Well, to begin, Phil is a big strong fellow, and
just as full of fun and mischief as he can stick; he just _loves_ to
play practical jokes, but he isn't so fond of study, I can tell you, and
that vexes papa, 'cause he's got it all laid out that Phil's to be a
lawyer. Being the eldest, he seems to think he can order us children
round as he pleases, and of course we won't stand it, and that makes
trouble sometimes. But Phil's generous; he'd give us anything he's got,
particularly to Felix, he thinks so much of him,--though of course he
wouldn't say so,--so we get along pretty well with him.

Next come Felix and Nannie; they're twins too. I've told you 'most
everything about Fee already. He's awfully cross sometimes, when he
isn't well, and, as Nora says, he really orders us about more than Phil
does; but somehow we don't mind it, 'cause, with all his queerness, he's
the life of the house, and he's got some ways that just make us love him
dearly: mamma used to call him her "lovable crank." Nannie is devoted to
Felix; they're always together. They're trying to teach themselves the
violin, and she reads the same books and studies the same lessons as he
does, to keep up with him; she's clever, too, now I tell you,--- I'd
never get my Greek and Latin perfect if she didn't help me,--though she
doesn't make any fuss over it. Nannie is an awfully nice girl,--I don't
know what we'd do without her; since mamma died, she's all the time
looking after us children, and making things go smoothly. She doesn't
"boss" us a bit, and yet, somehow, she gets us to do lots of things.
She is real pretty, too,--her eyes are so brown and shiny. It's queer,
but we don't any of us mind telling Nannie when we get into scrapes;
she talks to us at the time, and makes us feel sorry and ashamed, but
she never makes us feel small while she's doing it, and we never hear
of it again.

But you wouldn't catch us doing that to Nora! She comes next, you know,
and she's really _very_ pretty, though we never tell her so, 'cause
she's so stuck up already. Felix puts her into lots of his pictures, and
I heard Max Derwent say once that she was beautiful. Max is papa's
friend; he is a grown-up man, though he isn't as old as papa. He used to
come here a lot, and we children like him first-rate; but now he's in
Europe. Well, to come back to Nora: she likes to be called Eleanor, but
we don't do it; she is so fussy and so very proper that Felix has
nick-named her Miss Prim, and we _do_ call her that. Miss Marston thinks
Nora is the best behaved of us all; and sometimes, when Nannie is in
papa's study, she lets her go in the drawing-room and entertain people
that call. You should see the airs that Nora puts on when she comes
upstairs after these occasions; it's too killing for anything! We boys
make lots of fun of her, but she doesn't care a jot. And yet, isn't it
queer! with all her primness and fine airs, of us all, Nora cares most
for Phil, and he's so untidy and rough; she almost runs her legs off
waiting on him, and half the time he doesn't even say thank you!

The next after Nora is Betty, our "long-legged tomboy," as Felix calls
her, 'cause she is so tall and so full of mischief. Just to look at her
you'd think she was as mild as a lamb; but in reality she's wilder than
all of us boys put together. I've seen her slide down the banisters of
three flights of stairs, one flight after the other, balancing papa's
breakfast tray on one palm; and for warwhoops and the ability to make
the most hideous faces, she goes ahead of anything I've ever heard or
seen. She is as bad as Phil for playing jokes, and when she gets in one
of her wild moods, the only way Miss Marston can manage her is to
threaten to take her to papa's study; that brings her to terms every
time. For that matter, we none of us like to go there, though I'm sure
papa never scolds, as some people's fathers do,--I almost wish he would
sometimes; he just looks at us; but, all the same, we don't like to go
to the study.

I hope you won't think from what I've said that Betty is a disagreeable
girl, for she isn't at all; I'm really very fond of her, and we're
together a great deal, because I am the next in age to her. She's
awfully quick-tempered, and flies into a rage for almost nothing; but
she's very honest, and she'll own up to a fault like a soldier. Once in
a while we have a falling out, but not often, 'cause I won't quarrel.
Nannie says that I give in sometimes when I oughtn't to,--she means when
it isn't right to; I guess that's my fault, but I do hate to squabble
with any one,--it's such a bother. I don't know what to tell you about
myself, except that I'm not very bright at my books, though I love to
read stories. It does seem so strange that we shouldn't all be smart,
when papa, as everybody knows, is such a wonderfully clever man. I'm
Jack, or, rather,--to give my full name,--John Minot Rose. I think
that's rather a nice name, but you can't think what fun the whole family
make of it; they call me "a Jack rose," and "Jacqueminot," and
"Rosebud," and a "sweet-scented flower," and all sorts of absurd names.
Of course it's very silly of them. Betty gets furious over it; but I
don't really care, so what's the use of being angry.

Kathie comes next to me; she is a nice little girl, only she does love
to tattle things, and that makes trouble sometimes. She's very gentle,
and just as pretty as a picture, with her long light curls and pretty,
big blue eyes; but my! isn't she obstinate! She doesn't fly into rages,
like Betty, but she keeps persisting and persisting till she carries
her point, and when she once starts in crying, you may make up your
mind she isn't going to stop in a hurry. But she doesn't mean to be
naughty, I'm sure; and she's the most polite child, and so willing
to do things for people!

Then come the other twins, Paul and Mädel. Paul is a standing joke with
us, he's so solemn; and yet he says such bright, funny things, in his
slow way, that we have to laugh: we call him the "Judge." Mädel is a
little darling, just as jolly and round and sweet as she can be; nurse
says she's going to be a second Nannie. We all make a great deal of
her,--much more than we do of Alan; for though he's the baby, he's so
independent that he doesn't like to be petted.

So now you know all about the Roses; it does seem as if I'd been a long
time telling about them, but you see there are such a lot of us.

Well, to go back to the council. Fee was awfully cut up over his
disappointment, and cranky too; but nobody minded what he said, until,
all at once, Nora got in a tantrum, and declared he was "acting _very_
mean to Phil," that he needn't always expect to have things his own way,
and that papa was perfectly right to give Phil the first chance. That
set Fee off, and in about two minutes we were all mixed up in the
fuss,--taking "sides," you know; that is, all but Phil,--he just sat
hunched up on the arm of the old sofa, swinging one of his long legs,
and scowling, and chewing away on a piece of straw he'd pulled out of
the whisk-broom, and he didn't say a word until Nora turned on him, and
asked him, very indignantly, how he could sit there and let Felix bully
her in that way. Then all at once he seemed to get very mad and just
pitched into Fee.

I don't remember what he said, and I'm glad that I don't, 'cause I
_know_ Phil didn't mean a word of it; but Felix felt awfully hurt. He
got two bright red spots on his cheeks, and he set his lips tight
together, and when Phil stopped to catch his breath, after an unusually
long speech, he got up and pushed his chair back. "It is so pleasant to
hear one's family's honest opinion of one's self," he remarked, in that
sarcastic way he has. "I shall try to remember all that you've said,"
bowing to Phil and Nora, "and I shall endeavour to profit by it. And as
long as I'm such a contemptible and useless member of the community,
I'll relieve you of my company." His voice shook so he could hardly say
the last words, and he started for the door, stumbling over the
furniture as he went. Between you and me, I think his eyes were full of
tears, and that they blurred his glasses so he couldn't see,--did I tell
you that Felix is near-sighted? Well, he is.

"Oh, Phil, how _could_ you say such mean things to your own brother!"
cried out Nannie; and with that she flew after Felix.

That cooled Phil down, and if he didn't turn on Nora! "It's all your
fault," he said angrily; "you just nagged me on to it. You're never
happy unless you're quarrelling."

This was pretty true, but I don't think it was at all nice of Phil to
say so, and I felt very sorry for Nonie when she burst out crying. Betty
and I were trying to quiet her, when in walked Miss Marston, to know
what all that loud noise and banging of doors meant. We didn't tell her
about the _fracas_, 'cause, though she's pretty good in a way, she isn't
at all the person one would want to tell things to. She carried the
little ones off for their early dinner, and Nora and Betty too,--"to
help," she said. But I stayed in the schoolroom. I knew if I went down
stairs they'd just keep me trotting about waiting on them all, and
that's such a nuisance! so I curled up on the sofa and read for a while.

The fire was so bright, and everything was so cozy, that I did wish some
of the others would come in and enjoy it. I was really pleased when
Major and Whiskers came walking in and settled down near me. They're our
dog and cat, and they're good playfellows with us; but they will fight
with each other now and then. At first I enjoyed my story immensely; it
was about a boy who was having the wildest kind of adventures among the
Indians. I wouldn't go through such exciting times for anything; but I
enjoy reading about 'em, when I'm all safe and comfortable at home.

Well, when it grew too dark to read, I laid my book down and began to
think, and presently it seemed as if a whole pack of Indians were
dancing like wild round me, in full war-paint and feathers, and nipping
little pieces out of my arms and legs. I stood it as long as I could,
and then I began to hit out at 'em. All at once one of the creatures
commenced flourishing his tomahawk at me, getting nearer and nearer all
the time. "I _have_ tried, but I can't get in," he said, grinning
horribly, and the voice sounded just like Phil's; "he's locked his door,
and he won't even answer me,--he's madder than hornets."

[Illustration: "'WHY, _JACK_!' SAID NANNIE."]

"I'm sure you can't blame him: what you said was very unkind, Phil; I
didn't think it of you!" The voice was certainly Nannie's; and yet there
was that horrid old Indian still nipping me.

"I know it, Nan; you needn't rub it in," groaned Phil,--the Indian. "But
really, I didn't mean one word of it, and he ought to have known that.
Why, Fee's got more brains than the whole crowd of us put together, and
if only one of us can go to college, he ought to be that one. I've
screwed up my courage, and I'm going to speak to father about it."

"Oh, Phil, don't, please don't; it'll be no use. You know there is no
changing papa when his mind is made up. Better let things stand as they
are until Max gets home; it won't be very long, you know. And besides,
I'm sure Felix wouldn't let you give up college for him. But you're a
dear, generous boy, to propose it."

"No, I'm not; I'm a great clumsy, cantankerous animal. Now if I could
only talk as Felix can, I wouldn't mind interviewing the _pater_
to-morrow; but just as sure as I undertake to say anything to him, I get
so nervous and confused that I act like a fool, and that provokes him.
He seems to paralyse me. But, all the same, I'm going to talk to him
about this matter to-morrow, Nannie,"--the Indian's voice sank so low
that I could hardly hear it; "I have a feeling that mother would want
Fee to go to college."

I sat up and rubbed my arms that had gone to sleep, and looked around; I
was still on the old sofa, and just a few feet away from me sat Phil, on
the edge of the schoolroom table, and Nannie in a chair beside him.

Confused and only half awake as I was, my one idea was to slip away
quietly and not let 'em know I'd heard what they had been saying, for I
was sure they wouldn't like that. Nannie says I ought to have spoken
right out; but I do hate to make people feel uncomfortable. So I swung
myself softly to my feet, and--landed hard on Whiskers's tail!

Of course, after that, there was no hiding that I was there. Poor
Whiskers gave a howl of pain, and, flying at Major, boxed the solemn old
doggie's ears, much to his surprise and wrath, and they had a free fight
on the spot.

"Why, _Jack_!" said Nannie; and I got hot all over, for I just felt by
her tone that she thought I'd been listening.

"Our Jacqueminot, I declare!" cried Phil. "You are a nice young rosebud,
I must say, to be snooping around this way! Come here, sir!"

He made a dive for me, but I drew back. "I _didn't_ listen!" I called
out. And then I remembered that I really had, only I thought it was the
Indians talking; and, dipping under his arm, I rushed out of the room as
hard as I could go, before he could catch me.




II.

IN THE STUDY.

TOLD BY JACK.


I thought very often of what Phil had said, I couldn't help it; but I
don't suppose I would ever have really understood what he meant if I
hadn't heard something more the next day. Poor me! it just seemed for
those two days as if I did nothing but get into people's way and keep
hearing things that they didn't want me to. This time it was partly
Betty's fault,--at least, she was what Phil calls the "primary cause."
I suppose it was because it was such a lovely day out-of-doors, that I
couldn't seem to put my mind on my books at all, and when Betty pulled
two feather-tops out of her pocket, and offered me one, I took it very
willingly, and we began to play on the sly. Of course we got caught: my
feather-top must needs fly away from the leg of the table, which was our
mark, and stick itself into Kathie's leg. I don't think it hurt her so
very much, but she was startled, and didn't she howl! Miss Marston was
all out of patience with me already, and when, soon after that, I made
a mess of my Latin, she got very angry, and walked me right down to
the study.

Papa listened in dead silence to all she told him; then he just lifted
his eyes from his writing, and pointed to a chair a good way from him:
"Sit there," he said, "and study your lesson, and don't disturb me." So
I took my seat, and Miss Marston shut the door and went away.

My! how quiet it was in that room! Not a sound except a faint scrabbling
noise now and then from the L behind the portière,--where some very old
reference books are kept,--and papa's pen scratching across the paper,
and even that stopped presently, and he began to read a book that lay
open beside him. As he sat there reading, with sheets upon sheets of the
Fetich scattered all round him, I looked and looked at him; I don't know
why it is, but somehow, when I'm anywhere alone with papa, I just have
to keep looking at him instead of anything else. He's a tall man, and
thin, and he stoops round his shoulders; he wears glasses, too, like
Felix, and he always looks as if he were thinking of something 'way off
in his mind. Nurse says she's sure he'd forget to eat, if the things
weren't put right under his nose; you see that's because he's all the
time thinking of books. Oh, papa's awfully clever!

[Illustration: "PLAYING FEATHERTOP."]

After a while I found a lollipop in my pocket, and I began to suck
it,--just for company, you know; and truly the room was so quiet I was
afraid papa'd hear me swallow. Every now and then there was that little
scrabble behind the portière; I made up my mind papa must have some one
there making references for him, and I wondered who. But just then came
a quite loud knock at the study door, and before papa had finished
saying "Come!"--he never does say it right away,--the door flew open,
and in bounced Phil, as if he were in an awful hurry. He marched
straight to papa's desk, and began, very quickly, "Father, I'd like--"
But papa just waved his hand at him, without looking up: "In a few
minutes," he said, and went right on reading.

You should have seen Phil fidget: he stood on one foot, then on the
other; he put his hands in his pockets and jingled the things he had
there, till he remembered that papa doesn't like us to do that, then he
took his hands out. He straightened up, and shook his coat collar into
place, and he cleared his throat; but nothing had any effect until he
accidentally knocked a book off the desk. Then papa started, and peered
up at him in the near-sighted way that Felix does sometimes: "H'm, too
bad!" he said, taking the book from Phil; then he sighed, put his finger
on the page of his book to mark the place, and said, in a resigned sort
of way, "Well, what is it you want?"

And I tell you, Phil didn't take long to come to the point; he pitched
right in, in that quick, headlong way he has when he's awfully in
earnest. "I want to ask you, father, please to let Felix go to college
in my place. As long as we can't both go, I think he ought to be the
one. You know, sir, he's a thousand times cleverer than I am, and he'll
be sure to do you twice the credit that I shall. I do wish you'd
consider the change."

"And what do _you_ propose to do in that case?" papa asked, peering up
at him again.

"Go into business,--lots of fellows do at my age,--if I can get anything
at all," answered Phil, squaring his shoulders.

Papa sat and thought and thought for several minutes, without a word;
then he said, in that quiet tone of voice that we children know always
settles a question, "No, I prefer that the present arrangement should be
carried out." Then he began reading again.

I thought Phil would have gone, after that; but no, he got quite
excited: "It isn't fair to Felix," he cried, thumping his hand down
on the desk with such force that the pages of the Fetich just
danced,--you'll hear more about the Fetich by and by,--"indeed it
isn't! He's got the most brains of the whole lot of us put together,
and he _ought_ to have some advantages. And besides, sir, you know
he was mother's boy." Phil's voice shook so that a big lump came in
my throat. "I'm sure she would want him to go to college; for her
sake, let us change places."

Papa put up his hand quickly, and shielded his eyes from the light, and
he didn't answer right away. "It was--her wish--that you should go," he
said presently, stopping between the words.

"Because she expected there'd be money enough for us both," Phil began
eagerly; but all of a sudden the portière that hung over the L was
pushed aside, and who should come limping up to them but Felix!

His eyes were shining, even through his glasses, and he didn't seem to
mind papa one bit. "So that's what you're up to, is it?" he said to
Phil, "trying to give me your birthright!" By this time he'd reached
Phil's side, and he threw his arm right across Phil's shoulders. "_Dear_
old Lion-heart!" he said,--how his voice did ring out! "And I thought
you didn't care!"

And papa just sat there and looked at them, without a word, from under
his hand.

Now I suppose you think I was a very mean sort of a boy to sit there and
take in all this that wasn't intended for me to hear; but really it
wasn't my fault. You see, I was so surprised when Phil walked in and
began to talk like that, that I never thought of saying anything; but
pretty soon I remembered, and I felt very uncomfortable. I got up then,
and walked a few steps forward, but nobody noticed me. And when Phil got
so excited, I _couldn't_ get a word out. Then Felix came out, and I
really got desperate,--I felt I _must_ let 'em know I was there; so I
just called out twice, quite loud, "Please, I'm here!"

They all jumped, they were so surprised, and Phil wheeled round on me
in a minute. "That ubiquitous 'Jack rose' _again_!" he exclaimed; and
taking me by the collar,--that was really _very_ mean of Phil,--he
walked me very fast over to the door. Then he opened the door, and said,
"_Skip!_" and gave me quite a hard shove into the hall, and shut the
door again. I tell you what now, my feelings were awfully hurt; I just
wished Betty were there; I know she'd have given it to Phil!

"Jack!" somebody called just then, and there was Nannie seated in the
niche at the head of the stairs. I ran up and squeezed in alongside
of her, and she snuggled me up to her, and made me feel ever so much
better. I told her the whole story, and somehow, by the time I got
through, instead of being angry any more, I really felt sorry for the
boys. "Oh, Nannie," I said, "I do wish Fee _could_ go to college!"

Nannie caught my hand tight between her two palms. "Jack," she said
softly, "say our verse for the day, will you?"

So I repeated it: "'I say unto you, that if two of you shall agree on
earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for
them of my Father which is in heaven. For where two or three are
gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.'"

"That has comforted me all day," whispered Nannie. "That's what we can
do for Felix: we can pray--you and I--that God will make a way for him
to go to college. Will you, Jackie-boy?"

"Yes," I said presently; "but--but--perhaps, Nannie, you'd better not
say anything to Betty about it, 'cause--well, you know she _might_ make
fun of me."

"Oh, no, she won't," said Nannie, "because you and I are the 'two,'
Jack, and she's the 'three'; she's praying for Felix, too."

Well, I _was_ dumfounded,--Betty, of all people!

Just then the study door opened, and Phil and Felix came out; Phil had
his arm over Fee's shoulder, and he began helping him up the steps. I
felt they'd want Nannie to themselves,--and, besides, Phil might just
have said something to tease me again; so I ran up stairs alone, and
left them to talk together.

All this happened some weeks ago, and though Phil has commenced college,
no way has come yet for Felix to go; but we "three" still keep on
praying for it.




III.

CONCERNING A PERFORMANCE.

TOLD BY NANNIE.


So many and such unexpected things have happened lately that I scarcely
know where to begin, or how to tell everything.

The very first surprise was two letters that came for Felix and me from
our godmother, aunt Lindsay. She is not really our aunt, though we call
her so, and I'm named Nancy after her; but she knew dear mamma when she
was a girl, and she is the only person except mamma that we ever heard
call papa "Jack." Aunt Lindsay is quite an old lady, and she's very
eccentric. She lives in a big old house in Boston, and very seldom
comes to New York; but twice a year, on our birthday and at Christmas,
she sends us a letter and a present,--generally a book,--and Fee and I
have to write and thank her. How we dread those letters! It was hard
enough when we had mamma to talk them over with before we began them;
but now it's a great deal worse, for Miss Marston does not help us in
the least.

She says we are quite old enough now to do them alone, and I suppose we
are. But we can't express ourselves in the same way time after time, and
it is so difficult to think of new things to say that are interesting
and not frivolous,--for aunt Lindsay wouldn't permit that. Sometimes we
really get low-spirited over our efforts, and I'd be ashamed to tell how
many sheets of paper and envelopes are spoilt in the undertaking. Once,
in a fit of desperation, Felix bought a "Complete Letter-Writer," and
we hunted through it; but there seemed to be nothing in it suitable
for an occasion such as ours, and besides, the language used in the
"Letter-Writer" was so very fine and unlike our former efforts that we
were afraid aunt Lindsay would, as Phil vulgarly puts it, "smell a
mice." So that had to be given up, and finally, after many and great
struggles, with the help of the whole family, we would manage to write
something that Miss Marston allowed us to send. On the principle that
brevity is wit, some of these productions of ours are really remarkable.

And now, though it was neither Christmas nor our birthday, here came two
letters from our godmother which would have to be answered. We groaned
as we received them, and the family, even to Kathie, gave us their
sympathy,--Phil suggesting that perhaps "the old lady" had sent us a
whole library this time, which would of course call for a special
expression of gratitude.

Think, then, how we felt when we opened the letters and found that our
godmother wrote to tell us she had made arrangements for Felix to take
painting lessons for one term, and for me, violin lessons for the same
length of time! To say we were astonished doesn't at all express our
state of mind. The questions that occurred to us when we got over the
first shock were, how could aunt Lindsay have known just what would best
please each of us, and why had she remembered us at this time of the
year, which was no particular occasion? And then we thought of her
kindness, and were _so_ ashamed! Fee and I looked at each other, and
though we didn't say it, the same thought came to us both,--that we
would write her the nicest letter of thanks that we could compose, if
it took every sheet of note-paper we owned.

Of course we read aunt Lindsay's letter aloud,--that and talking them
over is the best part of receiving letters,--and of course we all got
very much excited over our unexpected good fortune. Felix said right
away that he would give Nora lessons in drawing two afternoons in
the week,--she really draws very nicely, and is so anxious to get
on,--provided she'd promise not to "put on any airs or frills;"
and I told Fee I'd help him--in the same way--with his violin
playing. Then Phil proposed, and the whole family approved, that
we should on the following evening--which was papa's night at the
Archæological Society--celebrate the happy event by what we call
"a musical performance."

Though we are very fond of these "performances," we have not had one for
quite a while, because some of us older ones haven't felt up to it; for,
as Fee truly says, "it really requires very good spirits indeed to make
a festive occasion go off successfully." Since that day in papa's study
that Jack has told about, nothing more has been said of Fee's going to
college,--though we all want it just as much as ever, and Jack and I
feel that it _will_ come,--and Felix himself seems to have quite given
up the idea.

He laughs and jokes again in his old merry way, particularly when Phil
is at home; Nora and he have made friends, and Betty and Jack have got
over staring at Fee with big round eyes of sympathy, and dear old Phil
no longer skulks in and out of the house as if he were ashamed of
himself; now he tells us bits of his college experience, and--as of
old--gets Felix to help him with his studies. Things look as if
everybody was satisfied; but, though he never alludes to it, I know
Fee's heart is sore over his disappointment,--you see, he is my own
twin, and, while I love all my brothers and sisters, Felix is more dear
to me than any one else in the whole wide world, and I understand him
better than anybody else does.

Fee is not like the rest of us; in the first place, he is more delicate,
and his lameness makes him very sensitive. Then, too, though we all,
from Phil to Alan, confide in him our troubles and pleasures, he rarely,
if ever, opens his heart to any of us. And when we talk things over
among ourselves, and so in a way help one another along, Fee keeps his
deepest feelings to himself. Very often we children talk of dear mamma,
particularly when we're together in the firelight Sunday afternoons and
evenings,--it's a comfort to us; but Felix simply listens,--he never
speaks of her, though he was mother's boy. But I know, all the same,
that he misses her every day of his life, and that as long as he
lives he'll never forget one tone of her voice, or one word she
has said to him.

Fee used to have a dreadful temper; he'd say such cutting, sarcastic
things! and when mamma would speak to him about it, he'd declare that he
_couldn't_ help it, and that the sharp ugly words _would_ come. But now,
since she's gone, he is so much better, and I'm sure that he's trying to
control himself, because he remembers how grieved she used to be when he
got into a rage. I don't mean to say that he has entirely gotten over
it,--I don't suppose that will ever be; but he doesn't flash out as he
used to, and sometimes when he is very angry, he sets his lips tight
together, and limps out of the room just as fast as ever he can go, to
keep the ugly words from being spoken.

Once in a great while, if I am alone in the schoolroom, he'll come and
throw himself down on the old sofa beside me, and, putting his head in
my lap, lay my hand over his eyes. I know then, as well as if he had
told me, that he is thinking of dear mamma and longing for her; and such
a rush of love comes into my heart for him that I think he must feel it
in my very finger-tips as they touch him.

He was more with mamma at the last than any of us, because he is so
gentle and helpful in a sick-room; but when the end had come, and we
children were standing about the bed, crying bitterly, with our arms
around one another, I missed Felix. From room to room I hunted, and
at last I found him, huddled up in a heap on the floor of the old
store-room at the top of the house. And never shall I forget the
white, utterly wretched face that he turned on me, as I knelt down
by him and put my arms round his neck. He held my shoulders with his
two thin hands so tight that I could feel his finger-nails through my
sleeves. "Oh, Nannie!" he said, in such a hoarse whisper I'd never
have known it for Fee's sweet voice, "if I could only _die_ this
very night!" Then he sank down, and lay there trembling from head
to foot, and sobbing, sobbing!

I pulled a quilt down from one of the shelves and threw it over him;
then I sat on the floor and drew his head into my lap and just
smoothed his forehead and hair for the longest while, without a word,
until he quieted down. I felt, somehow, that he would rather not have
me say anything.

Don't imagine, from what I've said, that Fee is a dismal sort of person,
for indeed he isn't; he's the merriest of us all, and the prime leader
in all the mischief and fun that goes on; and just as soon as it was
settled that we should have a performance, he began to plan what each
person should do, and to arrange the programme. We always have a
programme: it saves confusion and people's feelings getting hurt; for,
of course, then one can only go on in one's turn and for the special
part set down; otherwise, everybody would be on the stage at once, and
there'd be no audience.

The large closet in the schoolroom is our dressing-room on these
occasions, and as we have no way of making a stage, the younger
children, Paul and Mädel and Alan,--Kathie is too big for that
now,--stand on a table near the closet and deliver their parts. Felix
makes up the funniest names for us on the programme, and we answer to
them as readily as if we were in the habit of doing so every day.

We were all very busy that afternoon and evening and the next afternoon
preparing our parts for the performance; but, with all that, Fee and I
got our letters off to our godmother. I felt so truly grateful both for
him and for myself, that I didn't have nearly as much trouble composing
it as I had expected. But all day I was in a perfect fever to get up to
the Conservatory, where aunt Lindsay had entered my name, and to make
arrangements for taking my violin lessons. Miss Marston and I talked
the matter over, and found that when all the little home duties and
my regular studies were finished, there was but one hour that I could
set aside regularly for my new work. For though I should only take two
lessons a week, I should have to have time to practise, or I'd be able
to make no progress at all.

She said I might go up that afternoon; so right after school Nora and I
started out to the Conservatory. I was very nervous, and my violin is
not a very good one; Phil says it's nothing but a fiddle, and that
the old second-hand dealer from whom we bought them--Fee has one,
too,--cheated us. They certainly do squeak dreadfully, at times, when
you least expect it; but then we didn't pay much for them,--you may know
that, when we saved for them out of our allowance!--and, as nurse says,
"If you want a good article, you've got to pay for it;" still, they're a
great deal better than nothing. But to go back to my story: Nora says
that, considering how very nervous I was, and the poor instrument I had,
she thinks I did fairly well. I love violin music! I can't express what
a delight it is to me to play; and the prospect of being able to improve
myself in it made me very happy. The professor that aunt Lindsay wanted
to be my teacher told us his classes were very full, and that the hour I
named for Wednesday and Saturday afternoons was the only time he could
give me; then he said something kind about my playing, that gave me a
little confidence, and sent me home quite radiant.

As I came out of the room which Betty and I share, after putting away my
things, nurse opened the nursery door and beckoned me in: "Miss Nannie,"
she said impressively, "I'm kinder worried 'bout your pa. He's never had
no appetite to brag of; but for a week past he's been eatin' like a
bird. Mornin' after mornin' he ain't touched nothin' but his tea, an'
I'm afraid something's wrong. I don't want to frighten you, my dear, but
I thought by tellin' you, maybe you could find out if anything ails him,
and get him to send for the doctor. I think he looks kinder bad,
and--lors! child, if anything happened to him, what _would_ become o'
you all!"

I got very nervous, until I remembered how easily nurse gets alarmed; if
the children feel the least under the weather, she is apt to imagine
that they are going to be seriously ill. "No," I said, "I haven't
noticed that he looks badly; but thank you, nursie, for telling me. I'll
look closely at him this evening at dinner, and I'll try my best to find
out if he isn't well."

Papa always has his breakfast and lunch in the study, and dines with us.
We older ones think that he does this as a duty, for we are pretty sure
that he doesn't enjoy it; you see, papa does not really care for
children, and there is no grown person now for him to talk to,--except
Miss Marston, and she is not very interesting. Poor papa!

He sits at the head of the table, but Phil does the carving; and though
very often he does not say a dozen words throughout the entire meal, yet
even our daring Betty is subdued into good behaviour by his presence.
There is no reason for it that we know of,--papa has never forbidden our
talking at table,--but somehow, since dear mamma has gone, we have very
little conversation at dinner; though we make up for it at other meals,
I assure you. I sit in mamma's place now, and this evening, as I looked
carefully at papa across the long table, I could see that he did look
thinner: there was a tired expression on his face, too, that troubled
me. As I passed through the hall, about half an hour later, he stood
there in overcoat and hat, putting on his gloves before starting out for
a meeting of the Archæological Society; and when I asked, "Papa, are you
feeling well? really quite well?" he put on that bored expression that
always makes me feel miles away from him.

"Well? Oh, yes!" then he added, with more animation, "Nannie, I wish
you would get me that pamphlet that is lying on my desk. I nearly
forgot it."

[Illustration: "ALAN MADE HIS BOW."]

He took the pamphlet when I brought it, and began fingering it
aimlessly, giving me a disagreeable feeling of being in the way; and as
I turned and ran up the stairs, he went into the drawing-room. He wasn't
there but a minute or two,--before I reached the second floor I heard
the front door close behind him,--and the next morning, when Nora and I
were dusting the drawing-room, we found the pamphlet on the floor before
mamma's picture. After all, he had forgotten it.

I ran on up to the schoolroom, and there everybody was in a great state
of excitement, preparing for the performance, which was to begin and
end early on account of the younger children. There was no attempt
at costume, but we girls wore a ribbon--they belong to our "stage
property"--tied from shoulder to waist, the boys carried a paper rose in
their button-holes, and Kathie and the twins and Alan were decorated
with huge paper-muslin sashes and fancy caps, so that we all presented
quite a festive and unusual appearance. The chairs were ranged in rows;
the invited guests--Murray Unsworth, and his cousin, Helen Vassah (they
always come to our "festive occasions")--arrived; nurse, and Hannah, our
maid, came in and took their places at the back, cook stealing in a
little later; a bell tinkled; Alan walked out of the closet, was
assisted to the table by Felix,--who was master of ceremonies,--and made
his bow to the audience with one hand on his heart and a trumpet in the
other, and the performance began.

[Illustration: "VIOLIN DUO, RENDERED BY THE WORLD-RENOWNED VIOLINISTS,
MLLE. NANINA AND MONS. FELIX."]

The programme was elaborately printed in two or three colours, on heavy
light-brown paper, and it was tacked up on the schoolroom wall in full
view of all, so that each person would know when his or her turn had
come, and could disappear in the dark closet,--no lights were allowed
there for fear of fire,--to reappear immediately before the audience,
amid a storm of applause. This is the way the programme read:--

    "Yankibus Doodlum," trumpet solo by the Infant Prodigy, Master
    Alano Enrico Rosie.

    "Eight White Sheep," vocal duet, rendered with appropriate
    finger-play by the Celebrated Twin Singers, Fräulein Mädel and
    Herr Paulus.

    "Little White Lily," charming vocal solo by the Famous Prima
    Donna, Mlle. Kathé.

    "Charge of the Six Hundred," favourite recitation by the
    Distinguished Elocutionist, Prof. Jacqueminot.

    Extraordinary exhibition with Indian clubs by the Remarkable
    Strong Girl, Signorina Bettina, with piano accompaniment by
    Signorina Eleanora Nonie.

    "Serenade," Gounod, violin duo, rendered by the World-Renowned
    Violinists, Mlle. Nanina and Mons. Felix.

    "Le Soupir," piano solo by the Brilliant Pianist, Signorina
    Eleanora Nonie.

    { "Swanee River."
    { "Feniculi."
    { "Good-night, Ladies," college songs, with banjo accompaniment,
    by the Wonderful Tenor Singer and Banjoist, Prof. Philipo.

    Curtain down! Lights out!

Everything went off beautifully, from Alan's opening bow to Phil's
parting obeisance, with two exceptions,--the small boy fell off the
table and scraped his shin, and so had to be comforted, and Kathie got
so excited when she knew her turn was coming that she jumped up from her
chair and raced round and round the schoolroom table, scuffing her feet
on the floor and making her hand squeak on the wooden surface of the
table, thereby interfering with the effect of Fräulein Mädel and Herr
Paulus's vocal efforts. She was captured, however, and brought to reason
and good behaviour by the threat of having her name crossed off the
programme. With these two trifling exceptions, the performance was most
creditable, the _artistes_ were warmly received and enthusiastically
applauded,--in one or two instances they even applauded themselves.

Hastily manufactured bouquets of newspaper and paper-muslin were
showered upon the stage, and when all was over nurse and cook surprised
us by refreshments of cookies and lemonade, served on the schoolroom
table. How we enjoyed it! Not a cake was left, nor a drop of lemonade.
Nora was shocked, and I was so glad Miss Marston had not accepted our
invitation to be present!

When it was all over, and we were putting away the things, I told
Felix what nurse had said, and asked him if he had noticed that
papa wasn't well.

Fee looked at me with reflective eyes for a moment or two. "Yes," he
said slowly, "come to think of it, the _pater_ _has_ looked rather seedy
lately. And another thing," he added, "he hasn't let me make a single
reference for him this whole week; and yesterday, when I went in
somewhat abruptly, he was sitting at his desk with pages of the Fetich
before him, but not writing or reading, just resting his head on his
hand. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before."

Again that horrid apprehension came over me.

"Oh, Fee," I said nervously, "do you suppose he is ill,--that anything
is going to happen to him? _Do_ tell me frankly what you think!"

Felix bent over the stage property he was doing up, as he answered:
"I've thought for some time past that he misses--mother--more than
ever." Then he walked off with his bundle.

How utterly ashamed I felt! Nurse had noticed how badly he looked; Felix
had, too,--and perhaps he had guessed the trouble truly; Phil, even,
might have seen it, and I, papa's eldest daughter, who had promised
mamma to take care of him, had been too selfishly absorbed in my own
affairs to even think of him! It was no comfort to tell myself that papa
was hard to get at; I felt I had neglected him.

"Don't worry, twinnie," Felix said, kindly, coming back to me. "You know
care once killed a feline, in spite of his nine lives; so don't you go
in for that sort of thing, or you'll get the worst of it. Go to bed
now, and have a good sleep; by daylight things will look very much
brighter; and at any rate you have your violin lessons ahead of you,
and the performance behind you,--two good things. Good-night."




IV.

AND A FETICH.

TOLD BY NANNIE.


BUT my first thought in the morning was of papa, and I wondered what I
ought to do for him; how I longed for dear mamma! If even Max were
home!--for he was a great favourite with papa, and might be able to
persuade him to see Dr. Archard. Though papa is so quiet and gentle, he
is really a very difficult person to get to do things that he doesn't
want to; and he never wants to have a physician for himself. I was
feeling very blue, when something Betty said reminded me of my violin
lessons, and then the very thought made me more cheerful.

Betty and I room together, and Nora and Kathie have the next
apartment; and what did Nora and Betty do but put their heads together
while we were dressing to think of a place in the house where I might
go to practise every afternoon without disturbing papa. One or the
other of the girls practises every afternoon, and the combination of
violin squeaks and piano exercises would, we knew, disturb papa very
much. Miss Marston, we were sure, would not permit them to neglect
their music,--Nora is a fine musician, and Betty would be if she'd
only put the same interest into that that she does into some other
things, such as Indian clubs, and sliding down banisters, and playing
practical jokes,--and we couldn't plan where my violin hour could best
come in, when Nora thought of the old store-room at the top of the
house. That was a good idea, because, by closing the door and hanging
a thick quilt over it, not much of my scraping would escape to mingle
with the piano scale-running, and so annoy papa. The girls' arranging
for me in this way quite cheered me up,--the question of practising
having troubled me a good deal, for I knew a noise of that kind would
seriously interfere with papa's writing, and delay still longer the
completion of the Fetich.

Years and years ago, before Phil was born,--indeed, before mamma and
papa were ever married,--papa began to write a book, and it is not yet
finished, though there are pages and pages of it. Of course it is _very_
deep and _very_ clever, for papa is a great scholar. Max Derwent says
that if papa would only finish the book he thinks he knows of a
publisher who would accept it at once; and that would be a great help
to us, for papa has lost a lot of money this year, and we have to be
_very_ economical. That is the reason Fee can't go to college as well as
Phil; papa explained this to the boys that day in the study, after Jack
had been put out. Dear Jack! he is such a gentle, old-fashioned little
fellow, it really seems as if he ought to have been the girl, and Betty
the boy.

But, for all that Max said, papa can't seem to get to the end of his
work; he writes and re-writes, and keeps making changes all the time.
Sometimes I have wondered if he has worked over it so long that he hates
to part with it. The title of this great piece of work is "The History
of Some Ancient Peoples," or something very like that,--it's about
the Egyptians and Phoenicians and Chaldeans; but among ourselves we
children call it the Fetich. Long ago Fee gave it that name, because he
says it rules the house, and everything and everybody has to give way to
it; and he isn't very far wrong, I'm sorry to say. Ever since we older
ones can remember, the Fetich has engrossed papa's entire attention, and
kept him so occupied that he has had no time for anything else,--not
even for his children. In our own home we have to go quietly and soberly
about as if in a stranger's house,--to creep softly through the halls
and steal up the back stairs, and to subdue our voices when the natural
childish impulse is to run gaily and speak out merrily. It has kept our
father apart from us and made him almost a stranger to his children;
and, as we look back, some of us grudge the hours of dear mamma's time
that were spent each day in the study,--away from us,--reading and
copying off the Fetich, and helping and encouraging papa.

Dear, blessed mother! what a brave, loving spirit hers was! Even to the
last, when she was almost too weak to speak, she would have papa carry
her to the study, and, lying there in the invalid-chair, she'd smile at
him as he kept looking up at her from his writing. The very last talk we
had together,--after she had been taken back to her room,--when we had
spoken about the children and she had told me different little points
about their dispositions, and some ways in which I might be able to help
them after she had gone, she said very earnestly, "And always be very
good to your father, Nannie; he will be in sore need of comfort, for he
will miss me more than any one else."

"Oh, mamma, mamma!" I cried, choking, "no one _could_ miss you more than
we shall!"

Mamma stroked my hand softly as it lay on the bed beside her. "Dear,"
she said presently, "I know my boys and girls will _never_ forget me,
not even the very youngest, for they will hear of me from you older
ones. Oh, if it had been my Father's will, how gladly would I have
remained with you all! But you are all young; life and hope are strong
within you, and you love one another. He--your father--is so different;
he will grieve--alone--and grow farther and farther from human love and
sympathy. Nannie, dear little daughter, remember how very, _very_ happy
he has made me all these years, and oh, be good to him, and very patient
and loving when I am gone!"

Her very last look was given to papa; her last word was "Jack!"

[Illustration: "I GAVE A VERY FAINT KNOCK."]

For a good while I did try to do things for him, and to let him see that
I loved him; but I had a feeling all the time--as in the hall that
night--that he didn't want me near him, and would rather not have me in
the study: so gradually I gave up going there, except for a few minutes
each morning to ask if he needed anything. But this morning dear mamma's
words came back to me, and I felt very guilty as I ran up to the study
after breakfast; I had tried faithfully to look after the brothers and
sisters, but I had neglected papa; and I am afraid, in the lowness of my
spirits, that I gave a very faint knock on the door. After waiting a
minute or two, I opened the door, as no answer came, and stepped into
the study.

Papa's breakfast, which had been sent up more than half an hour before,
lay cold and untasted on his desk, and papa himself knelt on the
hearth; there was no fire, and in the empty grate, laid criss-cross,
were pages and pages of closely written manuscript. On the chair beside
him, and on the floor, were more pages of manuscript in bundles. In my
father's hand was a match, which he had just drawn and was about to
apply to the papers.

My heart gave a tremendous throb that seemed to send it right into my
throat, and I sprang forward, crying out, "Oh, papa! _papa!_ surely you
are not going to _burn_ the _Fetich_!"

The match fell from papa's fingers, and he looked up at me with an
expression that was half bewilderment, half relief. "Eh! burn _what_?"
he said.

"I--I--mean--were you going to burn--your book?" I remembered in time
that he did not know we called it the Fetich. "Oh, papa," I pleaded,
"_why_ are you doing this? Your wonderful book, that mamma was so
proud of!"

Papa got up and sat in his chair, and the sadness of his face made me
think of Fee's that awful night; the tears came rushing to my eyes,
and I knelt down and took his hand in my two and held it fast. He
let me keep it, and peered earnestly at me for a few minutes in his
near-sighted way. "It might as well be destroyed; I shall never finish
it--_now_" he said presently, in a low voice, as if he were speaking to
himself, and looking beyond me at the Fetich in the grate. "She is no
longer here to praise and encourage--my lifelong work,--a failure!"

Then, all at once, a daring idea came to me; and, without giving my
courage time to cool, I said quickly: "Papa! dear, dear papa,"--how my
voice shook!--"_please_ let me help you with your work of an afternoon,
something as mamma used to do!" I thought I saw a refusal in his face,
and went on hastily: "I know quite a good deal of Latin and Greek, and I
write a plain hand; I could copy for you, anyway, and I would be _very_
careful. Will you? Ah, _please_! I know she would like me to do it. And
perhaps"--the words faltered--"perhaps she can see and hear us now; and
if she can, I _know_ she will be glad to have me do this for you."

Papa gave an eager, startled glance around the room; then he drooped his
head, and covered his face with the hand I wasn't holding, and for
several minutes we didn't speak. Presently he said slowly,--and the
unsteadiness of his voice told me more than his words did,--"I suppose I
could let you try; for I do need--some one. You might be useful to me,
my dear, if you could come regularly to help me--every day; on that
condition I will accept your offer, and thank you for it--"

"I can--I will; _indeed_ I will!" I broke in.

A look of relief came over papa's face, a faint little smile stirred his
lips, and he gently patted my shoulder. "You are like your mother," he
said; and turning up my chin he kissed me,--a light little kiss that
just brushed my face, but I knew what it meant from him.

Then, as he stooped over and began to gather up the Fetich, he added, in
his usual voice: "These are some chapters that I've written lately, and
become somewhat discouraged over. Help me put them back in their place
on my desk, Nannie; and be careful to keep every page in its regular
order." I did so, and listened attentively while he explained, with
great care and insistence, what I should have to do, and how much time
he would require me to spend in the study.

It was not until I had left him, and was on my way to the schoolroom,
that I remembered that the hours I had promised papa were those I had
set aside for my violin lessons and practice. And then--I am sorry and
ashamed, but I _couldn't_ help it--I ran swiftly away and hid in a
corner by myself, and cried bitterly. It wasn't that I wished I hadn't
made papa that offer, for I would have done it over again, even while I
felt so badly; but, oh, how hard it was to give up my dear music! And I
really didn't know what to do about my teacher and aunt Lindsay.

[Illustration: "'I CAN--I WILL; _INDEED_ I WILL!'"]

But it all came right after a while; dear old Felix came to the rescue,
as he generally does, and offered to go to the conservatory and take
the lessons for me, and then give them to me in the evenings in the
old store-room,--that is, if aunt Lindsay didn't object. Of course I
was thankful; for while Fee does not love violin music as I do, he is
very thorough, and would, I know, do his best for me. So I wrote and
explained to aunt Lindsay, and she did not object in the least; in fact,
her letter was the nicest she has written us yet. And this is the way
that things stand at present: Papa is still writing the Fetich, and I
am helping him; evenings, Fee and I have great times in the store-room,
with the door closed and heavily muffled, giving and receiving music
lessons, and practising with our squeaky violins,--we really do have
lots of fun!

And now to-day comes the good news from Max that he will soon be home;
he writes that he has a "surprise" for us, and of course we are all
very curious. Dear old fellow! It will be such a comfort to have him
among us again!




V.

A FRACAS AND AN ARRIVAL.

TOLD BY BETTY.


Of all people in the world, _Jack_ has been in a fight! Phil brought him
in, and such a sight as he was! his nose bleeding, his coat torn, and a
lump on his forehead as big as a hen's egg! "Why," said Phil, "I
couldn't believe my eyes at first; but true it was, all the same,--there
was our gentle 'rosebud' pommelling away at a fellow nearly twice his
size! And what's more, when I pulled him off, and separated them, if my
young man didn't fly at the other fellow again like a little cock
sparrow! I could hardly get him home."

"Yes, and I'd do it again!" cried Jack, ferociously, mopping his wounded
nose with his handkerchief, while Nannie rushed to get water and
court-plaster.

"What'd he do?" asked Phil and Fee and I, all together. We knew it must
have been something very dreadful to rouse Jack to such a pitch; for,
as nurse says, he is one of the "most peaceablest children that ever
lived." But he wouldn't tell. "Never you mind," was all he'd say.

By this time Nannie had brought a basin of water and the other things,
and when Fee waved his arm and called out tragically, "Gather round,
gather round, fellow-citizens, and witness the dressing of this bleeding
hero's wounds," we crowded so near that Nannie declared we made her
nervous. Jack did look so funny, with a big bath-towel pinned round his
shoulders, and the basin right up under his chin, so the water shouldn't
get over his clothes! And of course, as we looked on, everybody had
something to say. "Tell you what, Jack," said Phil, "you could paint
the town red now, and no mistake, just from your nose; _what_ an
opportunity lost!"

"And I shouldn't wonder if the bridge of that classic member were
broken. Oh the pity of it!" put in Fee, in mock sympathy.

"You'll be a sight to-morrow,--all black and blue," remarked Nora,
eyeing him critically. "I thought you were too much of a gentleman to
fight on the street, Jack,--just like a common rowdy!"

"I'm glad you didn't get beaten," I said; "but my! won't Miss Marston
give it to you to-morrow!" She was out this afternoon.

"Your nose is all swelling up!" announced Judge, solemnly, and Kathie
murmured sympathetically, "_Poor_ Jack!"

[Illustration: "'GATHER ROUND, GATHER ROUND, FELLOW-CITIZENS, AND
WITNESS THE DRESSING OF THIS BLEEDING HERO'S WOUNDS.'"]

Even Nannie--and she isn't one bit a nagger--said, "Oh, Jackie, I'm _so_
ashamed of you! Mamma wouldn't want her gentle boy to become a fighter."

"Yes, she _would_ so, if she knew what this fellow did," asserted Jack,
as positively as he could with the water pouring down over his mouth.

"_What_ did he do?" we all shouted. "Tell us, what _did_ he do, Jack?"

But Jack got furious. "None of your business!" he roared; and twisting
himself away from us, he dashed out of the room, Nannie following after
him, basin in hand, imploring him to let her finish dressing his nose.

We really didn't mean to make him angry,--it's just a way we have of
speaking out our minds to one another; but Nannie felt very sorry,--she
said we had teased Jack. I felt sorry, too, when he told me all about
it,--Jack generally does tell me things,--after making me promise "truly
and faithfully" that I would not say "one word about it to any single
person we know." Many a time since I've wished that I hadn't
promised,--it isn't fair to Jack himself; but he won't let me off.
Jack is really a _very_ odd boy.

Well, it seems that as Felix passed along the street where Jack and some
of his friends were playing, one of the boys caught up a piece of straw,
and twisting it across his nose like a pair of spectacles, limped after
Fee, mimicking his walk, and singing, "H'm-ha! hipperty hop!" Jack
clinched his hands tight while he was telling me. "Betty," he said, "I
got such a queer feeling inside; I just _swelled_ up, and if he'd been
_three_ times as big, I'd have tackled him. I waited for Fee to turn the
corner,--you see I didn't want him to know what Henderson was doing
behind his back,--and _then_ didn't I just _go_ for him! I _tell_ you,
I whacked him!"

My blood fairly boiled to think that anybody could have been so
contemptibly mean as to mock our dear old Fee,--as if he didn't feel
badly enough about being near-sighted and lame! I would like to have
gone right out and thrashed Henderson all over again; but, as Jack very
truly said, "that would only make a grand row, and then the whole
thing'd be sure to get to Fee's ears, and that's what we don't want." So
I had to cool down. This was the reason Jack wouldn't tell the others
what the trouble was--and there Felix himself had been teasing him! Nor
has he said one word to anybody but me about it, though he has been
blamed and punished for fighting on the street, when, if he had only
told, or let me tell for him, the true reason for his acting so, I'm
sure everybody would have changed their mind at once; but he will not.
This was very nice of Jack,--he has some ways that really make me very
fond of him; but he is also a very queer and provoking boy sometimes,
as you will hear.

The worst was to get through dinner that evening without papa's
noticing. Of course Miss Marston would be sure to tell him as soon as
she knew, and of course Jack would be punished; but he did want to put
off the evil hour as long as possible. His seat at table is quite near
to papa, but I come between, and I promised I'd lean as far forward as I
could, all through the meal, so as to shield him. We got downstairs and
settled in our places safely; but Jack was as nervous as a cat. I really
think he wouldn't have minded taking his dinner _under_ the table for
that one occasion; and no wonder, for everybody, even to Hannah, kept
looking at him, and Phil and Felix kept passing him all sorts of things,
with such unusual politeness as was enough to fluster anybody. Still,
everything went well until we came to dessert; it was cottage
pudding,--Jack's favourite,--and I suppose he got reckless, or forgot,
in his enjoyment of it, and leaned a little too far forward, for
presently papa said, very quietly, "Betty, sit properly in your chair."
Of course I had to obey, and that brought poor Jack into full view.

A broad strip of white court-plaster across one's nose, and a big
bruised lump on one's forehead _are_ rather conspicuous things, and, I
tell you, papa did stare! but he didn't say a word. Neither did Jack
speak, though he knew papa was looking at him; he just kept right on
eating very fast. He said afterward he'd have eaten the whole pudding,
had it been before him, for he was so nervous he didn't really know what
he was doing; but he got redder and redder in the face, and presently he
choked,--a regular snort! I immediately flew up and pounded him on the
back; but papa made me sit down again, and as soon as Jack had stopped
coughing violently, he said, "Leave the table, sir, and come to my study
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."

I think, had we dared, we could all have roared with laughter as Jack
got up and walked out of the room; not because we didn't feel sorry for
him, for we did,--I especially, knowing how it was he got into this
scrape,--but he did look _so_ funny! I don't know why it is, but Jack is
a person that makes one laugh without his intending in the least to be
funny; it's the way he does things.

I can't begin to tell you how I urged Jack to tell papa why it was he
had gotten into that fight. I scolded, and coaxed, and talked, _and_
talked, but I _couldn't_ get him to say he would, nor to let me tell; in
his way, I do believe he is as obstinate as Kathie. Even the next
morning, when he stood at the study door, ready to knock, though his
hands were as cold as ice, and he looked awfully scared, all he'd say to
my repeated, "_Do_ speak out like a man, and tell it, Jack," was,
"_Perhaps_." I would like to have gone right in and told papa the whole
matter myself, but you see I had promised; and besides, we are none of
us very fond of going into the study,--though Nannie is in there pretty
often lately,--I'm sure I can't say why it is, for papa never scolds us
violently: whatever he says is very quietly spoken, but I tell you every
word goes home!

The schoolroom bell rang while I was talking to Jack; so of course I had
to go, and it was fully half an hour before he walked in and took his
place. His face was very red, even his ears, and he didn't look happy;
but it wasn't until after school that I had a chance to ask him
anything, and he wasn't very amiable then. He had a book,--some story of
wild adventure and hair-breadth escape, and he hated to be interrupted.
For all that Jack is such a quiet, gentle sort of a boy, he likes to
read the most exciting books, about fighting and shipwrecks and
savages,--though I'm _sure_ if an Indian should walk into the room, he'd
fly into the remotest corner of the closet and hide,--and the hymns he
loves the best are the ones that bring in about war and soldiers. You
should hear him sing, "The Son of God goes forth to war," in church! he
positively shouts. So when I said, "Well, Jack, how'd you get along this
morning?" he went right on turning over the leaves to find his place,
and answered shortly:--

"Oh, no play out-of-doors for a week, and a double dose of that vile
Latin, and a sound rating for getting into a row on the street,--that's
all."

"But didn't you tell him--" I began indignantly, but Jack interrupted.

"He didn't ask why I did it, and I didn't tell him," he said.

"What a _silly_ you are!" I cried, I was _so_ mad! "That Henderson ought
to be told about and punished--now!"

"Henderson is a beast!" Jack said severely; then, having come to his
place in the story, he added: "Now please go away, and don't bother me,
Betty; I want to read." He settled himself on the schoolroom sofa in his
favourite position, with his back against the arm of the sofa, and his
legs straight out along the seat, and began to read. I knew he'd get
cranky if I said any more, so I went away.

But for all that he called Henderson names, what did Jack do but go
and make _friends_ with him just a day or two after he was allowed
to go out!

I was so provoked when I heard of it, that I fairly stormed at Jack; he
took it all in the meekest way, and when I finished up,--with a fine
attempt at sarcasm,--"If _I'd_ been you, I would have snubbed such a
mean boy for at least a _week_ longer," he grinned and said, "If you'd
been I, you'd have done just as I did." Then he added, in that
old-fashioned, confidential way he has, "I couldn't help it, Betty; you
see the boys wouldn't have a thing to do with him, or let him join in
any of the games, until I had forgiven him, and I just _couldn't_ stand
seeing him hanging around and being snubbed."

"Oh, yes, you're very considerate for him; but _he_ will make fun
of _your_ brother again to-morrow, if he feels like it," I said,
still angry.

"No, he _won't_" asserted Jack, positively; "'cause I told him--not
disagreeably, you know, but so he'd feel I was in earnest--that if he
ever did, I'd just have to thrash him again. And he said, 'A-a-h, what
d'you take me for? D'you s'pose I knew 'twas _your_ brother?' And that's
a good deal from Henderson, for he's an awfully rough boy. You know,
Betty, you've _got_ to make allowances for people, or you'd never get
along with 'em. And, besides, he looks worse than I do," went on Jack,
feeling of his nose and forehead. "I really felt ashamed to think I'd
hit him so hard, and,"--shuffling his feet, and looking very
sheepish,--"well, you know, the Golden Rule is my motto for this year,
and, as I thought to myself, what's the use of a motto, if you don't act
up to it? So I just made friends with Henderson. I knew you'd say I was
silly to do it, but I don't care,--I feel better; I do hate to be mad
with people!" And with that he walked off, before I could think of
anything to say.

A lot of things happened that week. To begin with, some new people moved
into the house opposite us, that has been empty for so long. It's a
small house,--nurse says it used to be a stable, and was turned into a
dwelling-house since she has lived here,--set quite a good way back from
the street, and with a low stoop to one side and a piazza off that. A
tall iron railing, with an ornamental gate, encloses a front yard in
which are some forlorn-looking shrubs, a rosebush or two, and a couple
of scraggy altheas. Workmen had been about the place for some time,
putting everything in order, and of course we took the liveliest
interest in all that went on, from the pruning of the shrubs to the
carrying in of the furniture; and the day the new people moved in, Miss
Marston could hardly keep us younger ones from the windows: indeed, for
that matter, Nora was just as curious as we were, for all she talks
about "vulgar curiosity." They came in a carriage, and there were three
of them,--a tall, black-bearded man, a little, fragile-looking lady, and
a tall, lanky boy, perhaps as old as Felix, with a rather nice face, who
shouldered a satchel and the travelling-rugs, and brought up the rear of
the procession to the house, with the end of a shawl trailing on the
ground behind him.

Jack heard from Henderson--who has become his shadow--that the gentleman
has something to do with a newspaper, and that the boy goes to college,
and Phil saw him there the other day; but it wasn't until the following
Sunday, nearly a week after, that we heard their name and who they
were,--and that came by way of a grand surprise.

We were sitting round the schoolroom fire, talking and singing hymns,
when the door opened, and who should come walking in but--Max Derwent!
We _were_ surprised; for though he'd written to say he was coming, we
didn't expect it would be so soon. Dear old Max! we were delighted to
see him, and I do believe he was just as glad to see us. But just at
first we couldn't any of us say very much; dear mamma was with us when
Max was here last!

After a while, though, that feeling wore away, and I tell you our
tongues did fly! Max measured us all by the closet door, where he took
our measurements before he went away, and he says we have grown
wonderfully,--particularly Nannie. He was so surprised when he first saw
her, that he just held her hands and looked at her, until Nannie said,
"Why, Max, you haven't kissed me; aren't you glad to see me?" I think
she felt a little hurt, for he'd kissed the rest of us,--even to Phil
and Felix,--and Nannie and he used to be such good friends.

"Why, Nancy Lee," Max said, "you have grown such a tall young lady
since I've been away, that I didn't know whether you'd still allow
me the dear old privilege; indeed I will kiss you;" and with that
he stooped,--Max is tall,--and kissed her on her forehead, just
where the parting of her hair begins.

But Max couldn't get over her being so grown, for he kept on gazing
and gazing at Nannie, and she did look sweet, sitting there in the
firelight. Nora is very pretty,--her features are so regular; but Nannie
has a _dear_ face: her brown eyes are big and shining, and her hair is
so thick and pretty; it's light brown, and little locks of it get loose
and curl up round her forehead and ears, and when she talks and laughs I
think she's every bit as pretty as Nora. Somehow there's a look about
Nannie's face that makes you know you can trust her through and through;
I tell you I'm awfully glad she's in the family; in fact, I don't know
what we'd any of us do without her, from papa to Alan.

Well, we told Max every single thing that had happened--good, bad, and
indifferent--since he went away, including, of course, about Phil's
going to college, and Fee's not going, and about aunt Lindsay's present
to Fee and Nannie,--all talking together, and as loud as we pleased (we
always do with Max) until we came to the new people that had moved in
across the way--and what do you suppose? Max knows them!

"They are the Ervengs," he said, "and the boy's name is
Hilliard,--Hilliard Erveng. The father is a partner in a large Boston
publishing house that has just opened an agency here, and I shouldn't
wonder if Erveng were in charge of the agency by his taking a house in
New York. That's the firm I thought would buy your father's book, if
he'd only finish it; but from what he told me this afternoon, it's
still a long way from completion." He glanced at Nannie as he spoke,
and she nodded her head sadly. "I used to know Erveng; he was a
classmate of mine," went on Max, thoughtfully, wrinkling up his
eyebrows at the fire. "I wonder how it would do to rake up the
acquaintance again, and bring him over unexpectedly to call on the
professor,"--papa's friends all call him Professor Rose,--"and
surprise him into showing Erveng the manuscript!"

[Illustration: "'THE BOY'S NAME IS HILLIARD ERVENG.'"]

"Oh, Max, that would never, never do," cried Nannie, quickly. "You know
how averse papa is to showing his work to any one; he couldn't do it,
I'm sure, and it might make him very angry."

"And yet, if he _did_ show it, think what a benefit to you all it might
be; for I am convinced the work is one that would be an acquisition to
the reading public; and Erveng would recognise that at once. Think of
what it means for all of you, Nancy Lee," urged Max,--"college for
Felix, drawing lessons for Nora, a fine violin for you, gymnasium for
Betty, a splendid military school for Jack,"--here Jack broke in rudely
with, "_Don't_ want any military school, this one's bad enough," and
was silenced by Phil's hand being laid suddenly and firmly over his
mouth,--"and all sorts of good things for everybody, if only Erveng
sees the manuscript of the Fetich" (Max knows what we call it).

Nannie still looked dubious, but Nora exclaimed: "I say, do it, Max! It
does seem a shame to have us suffering for things, and that manuscript
just lying down there; and perhaps then papa would stir himself a little
and finish it. I declare I would like to take some of the pages over and
show them to Mr. Erveng myself!"

We all knew that she wouldn't; but as she said the words, an idea
popped into my head, such a splendid idea--at least I thought it was
then--that I nearly giggled outright with delight, and I had positively
to hold myself in to keep from telling it. Happening to look up
suddenly at Phil, I caught him with a broad grin on _his_ face, and
winking violently at Felix, who winked back. That did not surprise
me,--those two are always signalling to each other in that way; but
when they both straightened their faces the instant I saw them, and
assumed a very innocent expression, then I began to suspect that they
were up to some mischief: little did I dream what it was, though! Phil
is a _fearful_ practical joker; you never know where he's going to
break out. I'm pretty bad, but he is ever so much worse; and Felix
helps him every time.

"What sort of a man _is_ Mr. Erveng?" asked Felix, with an appearance of
great interest.

Max laughed. "Well, he used to be considered rather eccentric," he said.
"I remember the fellows at college nick-named him 'Old-Woman Erveng,'
because--so they said--he had a large picture in his room of a fat old
woman in a poke bonnet; and at the social gatherings to which he could
be induced to go, he always devoted himself to the oldest and fattest
ladies in the room, without noticing the young and pretty girls. _I_
thought he was rather a nice sort of fellow; what's the matter, Betty,
want any assistance?"

What Max said fitted in so well with the plan I had in my mind
that--though I tried to keep it back--I had chuckled, and now they were
all looking at me.

"When Elizabeth 'chortles' in that fashion you may be sure there's
mischief in her mind," Felix remarked, eyeing me severely. "Out with
it, miss."

"Or I'll have to garote you," put in Phil, leaning over toward me with
extended thumb and finger; but I skipped away and got beside Max.

"Indeed, it's you and Felix that are up to something," I retorted. "I
can see it in your faces."

"Oh, tell us what your 'surprise' is, Max," put in Nannie, quickly. I
think she wanted to turn the conversation, and so keep us from
wrangling, this very first evening that Max was with us.

"Why, I've brought back a ward," answered Max. "His name is Chadwick
Whitcombe. He went to-day from the steamer to stay a week or two with
an old friend of his father's; then I shall bring him to see you, and
I'm going to ask you _all_"--here Max looked at each one of us--"to be
nice and friendly to him, for poor Chad is singularly alone: he has not
a relative in the world. Though he will come into a good deal of money
by and by, the poor fellow has knocked about from place to place with
his former guardian, who has just died, and he has had no home training
at all. May I count on your being kind to him?"

Of course we all said yes,--couldn't help ourselves,--but I heard Fee
sing, under his breath, so it shouldn't reach Max's ears:--

    "Here comes Shad,
     Looking very sad;
     We'll hit him with a pad,
     And make him glad!"

and when I laughed, Phil scowled at me, and muttered something about
"giving him to Betty to lick into shape." I couldn't say anything, for I
was right close to Max; but I made one of my worst faces at Phil. Soon
after this, Max went down to the study to spend the rest of the evening
with papa.




VI.

DISPOSING OF A FETICH.

TOLD BY BETTY.


I might as well tell you that my plan was to dress up, some afternoon
that week, in one of nurse's gowns, and her bonnet and veil,--if I could
possibly induce her to lend them all to me without having to tell why I
wanted them,--and to go and call on Mr. Erveng in regard to the Fetich.
What I should say when I met him didn't trouble me; you see there was
really only to tell him about the book, so he might make papa an offer
for it; but what _did_ weigh upon me was how to get dressed up and out
of the house without being caught: there are such a lot of us that
somebody or other's sure to be hanging around all the time. For several
days I couldn't get a chance: Monday it rained; Tuesday afternoon Phil
took Paul to the dentist, and nurse went along,--Judge is one of her
pets; Wednesday afternoon Jack and a whole lot of boys played close to
the house, and of course I couldn't walk right out before them,--it
would have been just like Jack to run up and say something, perhaps
offer to assist my tottering steps down the stoop. But at last, on
Thursday, the coast seemed clear: Nannie was in the study with papa,
Nora was practising, Jack was on the schoolroom sofa reading, the
children in the nursery, and Phil and Felix up in Fee's room; I could
hear a murmur of voices from there, and every now and then a burst of
laughter. This was my opportunity.

The door of nurse's room, which was next to the nursery, was open, and
as I stole in, hoping she was there, that I might ask her, I saw her
wardrobe door open, and hanging within easy reach a dress and shawl that
would just serve my purpose. But her bonnet and veil were not in their
usual place, which rather surprised me, for nurse is very particular
with us about those things, and I had to hunt before I found even her
oldest ones, in deadly fear all the time that I'd be caught in the act.
You see, I made up my mind I'd borrow the things, and then tell her
about it when I brought them back.

Flying into my room, I locked the door, and just "jumped" into those
clothes, as the boys would say; and I did look so funny when I was
dressed, that I had to laugh. In the first place, Max had said Mr.
Erveng liked fat old women; so I stuffed myself out to fill nurse's
capacious gown to the best of my ability, with pillows and anything else
I could lay my hands on; I think I must have measured yards and yards
round when I was all finished. Then I pinned my braid on the top of my
head, put on nurse's bonnet, and dividing the veil so that one part hung
down my back and the other part over my face, I was ready to start. I
had slipped on a pair of old black woollen gloves that I found in the
pocket of my new skirt, and, stealing cautiously down the stairs, I got
out of the house without meeting any one.

But I can't tell you how queer I felt in the street,--it seemed as if
everybody looked at me, and as if they must suspect what I was up to. I
forgot all about walking slowly, like an old woman, and fairly flew up
the flagged path to the Ervengs' stoop; and the ring I gave to the bell
brought a small boy in buttons very quickly to the door. "I wish to see
Mr. Erveng on business," I said, disguising my voice as well as I could.
Then, as he murmured something about "card,"--I had entirely forgotten
that,--I pushed my way past him, saying, "It is something _very_
important, that I _know_ your master will be glad to hear."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he ushered me into a room which looked
to be half drawing-room, half study: there were in it a sofa, some fancy
chairs, a set of well-filled Eastlake book-shelves, and a desk almost as
big as papa's. Portières hung at the end of the room. I took a seat
near one of the long windows opening on the balcony, and began to
arrange in my mind what I would say to Mr. Erveng, when suddenly,
glancing toward the gate, I saw some one open it and come slowly up the
walk,--a stout, elderly female, dressed in a black gown, a black shawl,
and a bonnet and veil, _precisely_ like the ones I had on! Her veil was
drawn closely over her face, she wore black woollen gloves, and held in
one hand a black reticule--which I would have declared was nurse's--and
in the other a clumsily folded umbrella. As I sat and stared at the
advancing figure, I wondered if I were dreaming, and actually gave
myself a pinch to assure myself I was awake. But who _could_ she
be,--this double of mine? I wouldn't like to tell Jack or any of the
others, you know, but I would really not have been sorry to have been
at home just then.

At this moment the old lady entered the room. Buttons closed the door,
and we were left alone facing each other,--for I had got up when she
came in,--and I must say the unknown seemed as much surprised as I was.
Then all at once she began to walk round and round me; and as I didn't
want her to get behind me, I kept turning too,--just as if I'd been on
a pivot; I believe I was fascinated by those big eyes glaring at me
through the thick black veil.

"Betty! 'by all that's abominable!'" suddenly exclaimed my double; and
_then_ I knew who it was.

"_Phil!_ you _mean_ thing!" I cried, intensely relieved; and darting
forward I caught hold of his bonnet and veil.

"Hands off!" he called out, wriggling away; "an ye love me, spare me
'bunnit.'" Then, as he got to a safe distance, and threw back his veil:
"Look here, old lady, if you lay violent hands on me again, I'll yell
for help, and bring the house about your ears. _Then_ you'll rue it."

This provoked me. "You're the one will rue it," I said. "You've just
spoilt the whole thing by spying on me and following me here--"

"Well, I like that!" Phil interrupted. "It seems to me the shoe's on the
other foot. What are _you_ doing here, in that outrageous costume, and
in a stranger's house? Whew! wouldn't there be a small circus if the
_pater_ should see you! I'd feel sorry for you, I tell you. And what
excuse do you propose to offer Mr. Erveng when he makes his appearance
here, as he will in a few minutes?" Sidling up to me, he nudged my
elbow, and added persuasively: "'There _is_ a time for _dis_-appearing.'
Say, Betty, my infant, one of us has _got_ to go, so I'd advise you to
fly at once. Buttons is out of the way, and in an excess of brotherly
affection I'll escort you to the door myself. Come--fly!" And he nudged
me again.

"No," I said obstinately, "I won't go; I was here first. I'm here, and
here I'll remain."

"Oh, very well," said Phil, in a resigned sort of tone, seating himself
in a most unladylike attitude on a three-cornered chair. "Then come sit
on the edge of my chair, you little fairy, and we'll pose for the
Siamese twins."

[Illustration: "'COME SIT ON THE EDGE OF MY CHAIR, YOU LITTLE FAIRY.'"]

But I was so disappointed I was afraid I'd cry. I had hoped _so_ much
from this interview with Mr. Erveng, and here was Phil spoiling
everything by his silliness. "I think you are simply _horrid_," I
broke out, very crossly. "I just wish Mr. Erveng would come in and
beat you, or turn you out, or _something_."

"If the old man shows fight, I'll have his blood," cried Phil,
tragically, springing from his chair. "Gore, _gore_! I _will_ have
gore!" He did look _very_ funny, striding up and down the room and
scraping his toes along the floor in our most approved "high tragedy"
style, with nurse's shawl hanging over one shoulder, his bonnet crooked
and almost off his head, and shaking the umbrella, held tight in a
black-woollen-gloved fist, at an imaginary foe.

Angry as I was, I _had_ to laugh, and I don't know what next he mightn't
have done--for Phil never knows when to stop--had we not just then
caught the sound of a distant footstep. Phil didn't seem to mind, but I
got so nervous that I didn't know what to do. "Oh, _won't_ you go?" I
cried in despair. "He'll think we are crazy! Oh, where _am_ I to go?"

"Goodness only knows!" answered Phil, trying to straighten his bonnet;
then, glancing around the room, "There isn't a piece of furniture here
large enough to hide your corpulent form," he said. "There he comes!
_Now_, I hope you're satisfied; you _wouldn't_ go when you could."

Sure enough, the footsteps were almost at the door. I looked frantically
about. I would gladly have escaped through the window, and climbed over
the balcony to the ground; but to put aside the delicate lace curtains
and unlatch the sash would have taken more time than we had to spare.
Suddenly Phil cried, "The _portières_, you dunce!" giving me a push in
that direction, and like a flash I got behind them. I heard Phil say
"Bother!" under his breath, as he stumbled over a footstool in his haste
to get seated, then the door opened, and some one entered the room.

Provoked as I was with Phil, I couldn't help hoping that his bonnet was
straight, and that he had on his shawl, for his figure wasn't as good as
mine. I heard a strange voice--Mr. Erveng's--say: "I'm sorry to have
kept you waiting so long, but I am extremely busy. Will you be kind
enough to state your business as briefly as possible?"

Then Phil began, imitating an old lady's voice to a nicety: "Having
heard that you publish a great many books, I thought you would like to
know of a very clever--really _re_markable--work which is being written
by a well-known scholar who lives in this street, and that perhaps you
would call on him and make him an offer for it." I knew the moment I
heard this speech that Felix had made it up, and just coached Phil; it
was certainly better than what I had thought of.

The portières behind which I had hid only covered a door, and, though I
squeezed up as tight as I could, I was awfully afraid they would part
and show me underneath. But, all the same, I couldn't resist peeping to
see what was going on. Phil had his back to me, but Mr. Erveng sat
facing me in the swing-chair that was by his desk, and I noticed at once
that he was the black-bearded man we'd seen the day the family moved in.

I listened eagerly for Mr. Erveng's answer. He said very coolly: "It is
not our custom to make an offer for a work of which we know nothing.
Manuscripts are generally submitted to us. What is the title of this
'remarkable work'?"

I didn't like the way he said this, and I thought he looked very
suspiciously at Phil; but Phil didn't seem to notice it, for he answered
eagerly: "It's called the Fe--'History of Some Ancient Peoples,' and
I've brought you a chapter or two to look at." Here I heard a rustling,
and peeping between the portières, what should I see but Phil handing
Mr. Erveng some _pages of the Fetich_!

I was so perfectly amazed that I had to stuff the portière into my
mouth to keep from calling out; how _had_ Phil ever got hold of those
chapters without papa's knowledge? I knew Nannie would never have
helped him after what she had said on Sunday to Max, and how had Phil
_dared_ to bring them here! What would papa say if he should know what
he had done,--indeed, what we had both done! Oh, how sorry I was that
I hadn't gone when Phil urged me to.

When I got over my surprise a little, and again looked through the
portières, Mr. Erveng stood holding the Fetich in his hands, and looking
over the pages with a frown on his face. "This is curious," I heard him
say. And then, suddenly, before I could guess what he was going to do,
he crossed the room and drew my portières aside! At first I held on to
them, with a desperate desire to lose myself in the scanty folds; but
they were firmly withdrawn, and there I stood,--a fac-simile of the fat,
black-robed, black-veiled person who sat on the three-cornered chair by
Mr. Erveng's desk!

"_Whew!_" whistled Phil, then tried to look as if he hadn't uttered a
sound, while Mr. Erveng took hold of my arm and walked me over to where
Phil stood. "Now," he said sternly, "I should like an explanation of
this extraordinary behaviour."

But not a word said either of us,--I couldn't, I was so frightened; I
assure you I wished myself home! And while we stood there--Mr. Erveng
waiting for an answer--the door opened, and the boy that Max had said
was Hilliard Erveng came into the room.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, turning back, "I didn't know any
one was with you."

But his father called out to him, "Stay here, Hilliard!" Then turning
to us he said _very_ sternly, "I have reason to think that this
manuscript"--he still held the Fetich in his hand--"has been stolen
from its rightful owner, of whom I have heard, and to whom I shall take
pleasure in restoring his property. Unless you both at once take off
what I am convinced is a disguise, and offer a full and satisfactory
explanation, I shall be under the painful necessity of calling in a
policeman and giving you in charge."

"Oh, no! no! _no!_" I cried out. "We _didn't_ steal it--at least, it
belongs to our father, and--"

[Illustration: "THERE WE STOOD; A FINE PAIR WE MUST HAVE LOOKED!"]

But Phil strode over to my side. "Hush, Betty," he whispered; "I'll
explain." Sweeping off his bonnet and veil, he threw them--nurse's best
Sunday hat!--on a chair, and faced Mr. Erveng. You can't think how
comical he looked, with his handsome boy's face and rumpled hair above
that fat old woman's figure. And in a moment or two, I think, I must
have looked almost as comical too; for before Phil could begin, Mr.
Erveng said, "I insist upon that person removing her bonnet and veil
as well."

So off went mine, and there we stood; a fine pair we must have looked!
That boy Hilliard gave a little giggle,--Phil said afterwards he'd like
to have "punched" him for it, and I felt awfully foolish,--but Mr.
Erveng frowned.

Then Phil began and told who we were, and how something that had been
said by a friend of ours had given him, and me,--though neither knew
about the other,--the idea of coming over and asking him, Mr. Erveng,
to buy the Fetich (of course Phil called the Fetich by its proper
name), and thinking he might like to see some of the manuscript, he
had got hold of two chapters and brought them along to show.

"But why this absurd disguise, if all this is true?" asked Mr. Erveng
of us, looking from one to the other.

I began: "Because Ma--" but Phil gave me a hard nudge of the elbow: "Max
mightn't like us to tell that," he mumbled, which ended my explanation.

But I was determined to get in a few remarks: "Papa doesn't know a thing
about our doing this," I said very fast, for fear Phil would interrupt
again, "and we don't want him to. We just came here and told you about
the Fe--his book, because we were sure he'd never tell you, or let you
see it, himself, and we thought if you knew of it, you would want to
buy it from him, and that would make him finish it up,--papa's been
_years_ writing that book,--and then Felix could go to college and--"

"_Betty!_" broke in Phil, in such a sharp, angry tone, and with such a
red face, that I moved away from him.

"That's where I've seen you,--at college," exclaimed the boy; he talks
in a slow, deliberate way, something like Judge. "They _do_ live across
the way, father; I've seen him"--with a nod of his head at Phil--"going
in there."

"Ah, really, how kind of you to remember me!" cried Phil, with sarcasm.
"Please let me have that manuscript, Mr. Erveng, and we will go home."

"No," remarked Mr. Erveng, very decidedly. "There is something about the
affair that I don't understand, and I shall not feel satisfied until I
have restored this manuscript, which I know is valuable, to its owner,
and found for myself that the story you have told me is true."

"All right, then," Phil cried recklessly. "Come, Betty, let's put on our
'bunnits' and go face the music."

Deeply mortified, we "dressed up" again, and went home under the escort
of Mr. Erveng and his son. Hannah opened the door, and how she did stare
at the two fat, black-robed, closely veiled ladies who waddled past her
into the drawing-room! Hilliard did not come in with us, and when Mr.
Erveng found that neither Phil nor I would answer Hannah's "Please, what
name shall I say?" he took a card out and gave it to her, saying, "Ask
Mr. Rose if he will be kind enough to let me see him for a few minutes."

While we sat waiting, Fee came limping down the stairs and looked in on
us. "Hullo!" he exclaimed in astonishment; "_two_ here? What's up?" Then
he saw the stranger and stopped.

"Oh, we've had a dandy time!" said Phil, throwing back his veil, "and
it isn't over yet. Mr. Erveng, allow me to introduce to you my brother,
Felix Rose."

While the introduction was going on, papa came into the room, and the
expression of his face was something that can't be described when he
found that the two ladies to whom he had bowed when he entered were
indeed Phil and I. Mr. Erveng stated the case as briefly as possible,
making much more light of it than we had expected, and handed to papa
the pages of the Fetich that Phil had brought to him. Papa said very
little, but his face grew quite pale, and he accompanied Mr. Erveng to
the door, where they stood talking for a few minutes; then Mr. Erveng
went away.

Fee had disappeared with our bonnets and veils,--we would willingly have
divested ourselves of the other garments as well, but we knew he was
not equal to the accumulation of pillows, shawls, and gowns which that
would involve,--and we were sitting in dead silence when papa returned,
and, opening the folding doors, motioned us to go into the study.

Nannie sat there writing; but the merry little laugh with which she
greeted our entrance died quickly away as she guessed what we had been
doing, and her low, "Oh, Phil, oh, Betty, how _could_ you!" made me feel
more ashamed than a scolding would have.

Papa put the two chapters of the Fetich carefully away; then he took his
seat at his desk and said, "Now I wish to hear the meaning of this most
extraordinary and unwarrantable behaviour."

For an instant neither of us spoke; then, just as I opened my mouth,
Phil began. He made a very short story of it,--how, through Max, we had
heard of Mr. Erveng's being a publisher, and how the story about his
liking fat old ladies had put the idea into our heads to dress up and
call on him, and interest him in papa's book.

Papa frowned at us over his glasses. "What has Mr. Erveng to do with my
book?" he asked, sternly. "And why did my son put my most cherished work
into a stranger's hands without my knowledge?"

"Because--" began Phil; then he got as red as a beet, and stood
plucking at the skirt of nurse's gown without another word.

I felt sorry for Phil. I knew that, like me, he had done it in the
interest of the whole family; so when papa said a little sharply, "I am
waiting for an answer, Philip," I said very quickly, "Please don't be
angry with Phil, papa; we did it because we thought if Mr. Erveng knew
of the Fet--book, he'd want to buy it, and then perhaps you would finish
it, and sell it for a lot of money, and then Fee--um--eh--we could do
lots of things."

Just then the study door opened, and in came Felix, quite out of
breath from hurrying up and down stairs. He saw Phil's downcast
face, and hastening forward, laid his hand on Phil's shoulder,
saying, "I deserve a full share of Phil's scolding, father. Betty
evidently carried out her scheme without assistance, but I dressed
Phil, and helped him to get off without being seen. So I know, sir,
that I ought to share his punishment."

"I see; then this was a conspiracy to force me to finish my work and
sell it," said papa, slowly, with a grieved, shocked look in his eyes;
then, turning to Nannie, he asked unsteadily: "Are _you_ in it, too?
Margaret--your mother--used to urge me to--write slowly--but--perhaps I
have lingered too long over it. I thank you," with a look at us, "for
recalling me to my duty, though I think it would have been kinder to
have spoken to me, rather than to have gone to a stranger in this way.
I will finish the History--as soon--as I can."

There was no anger in papa's voice, but a hurt tone that went right to
my heart, and made me horribly ashamed, while Nannie flew to his side
and threw her arms around his neck. "Don't take it to heart, dear
papa," she pleaded, pressing her cheek against his face. "It was only
thoughtlessness on their part; they _didn't_ mean to grieve you, I know
they didn't. Oh, boys, Betty, speak up and assure papa of this."

I began to cry out loud. I _despise_ crying, and I know papa hates it,
but I simply _had_ to sob, or I would have choked. The boys felt badly,
too. Fee leaned on the desk and said, low and very earnestly, "I am _so_
ashamed of myself, father. And I know Phil is, too."

"I've made a great ass of myself," growled poor Phil. "I wish, sir, that
you'd give me a thrashing, as if I were a little shaver,--a sound one; I
know I deserve it."

But papa loosed Nannie's arms from about his neck, and put her gently
from him. "My dear," he said wearily, "I--I--wish you would make them
all go; I want to be alone."

       *       *       *       *       *

Papa did not come down to dinner that evening, and we were a very
subdued party, though Nora tried to cheer Phil up by telling him that
she knew he had done what he had for the benefit of the whole
family,--she didn't tell _me_ that!

"Yes," answered our eldest brother, gloomily, "it was my first attempt
at that sort of philanthropy, and it'll be my last--stop staring at me,
Jack, or I'll throw a bread-pill at you."

"Is that what you call it, Philip?" said Miss Marston, lifting her
eyebrows. "It seems to me more like that love of practical joking
and the self-will that your mother was so constantly warning you
and Betty against."

"Indeed, then, you're right, ma'am," put in nurse, who happened to be in
the room, adding, with a pointed glance at me, "I wonder what the dear
lady would 'a' said to this day's conductions!"

And not one of us had a word to say in reply, for we well knew how
grieved she would have been.




VII.

NEW FRIENDS.

TOLD BY BETTY.


"Betty! _Bet-ty!_" called Nannie from the foot of the stairs, "tell Jack
that he's got just about three minutes more, as papa has started to put
on his overcoat, and he does so dislike to have us late for church. Do
make him hurry!"

But that, as I knew very well, was easier said than done, for Jack hates
to hurry. Almost at the last minute, when we had gathered in the
schoolroom to let Miss Marston see us before we started out with papa
for church, it was discovered that Jack's boots needed cleaning. So now
he was up in the attic, brushing away at them, and singing with all his
might,--

    "Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
       Continually are green,
     Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
       As nowhere else are seen.
     Right through thy streets, with pleasing sound,
       The living waters flow;
     And on the banks on either side,
       The trees of life do grow."

Jack was just beginning the last line of this verse when Nannie called
to me; so I let him finish, then I shouted up the attic stairs, "Jack,
you've just got about two minutes and a half; papa has started to put on
his overcoat. Are you ready?"

"Most," Jack answered; "I've got one more heel to do,"--as if he'd had a
dozen or so! and he actually started on another verse of the hymn.

I flew up the attic steps and gazed indignantly at him through the
railings: "You are the most provoking boy I ever knew," I said, "and the
biggest poke! I do believe you _love_ to be late. There's everybody down
in the hall ready to start, and here you are loitering as if you had
hours to spare."

[Illustration: "'BETTY! _BET-TY!_' CALLED NANNIE."]

"Are you two coming, or are you not?" cried Phil from the hall below.
"The procession is ready to start, and woe to stragglers! If service
began at twelve instead of eleven o'clock, Jack, you'd still be late.
Come on, Betty."

"I declare, if you aren't all the greatest pack of naggers!" exclaimed
Jack, impatiently, throwing down the blacking brushes and snatching up
his hat; then he raced after us down the stairs and brought up the rear
as we filed out of the front door.

There are always so many of us to go to church--all of us children
(except Alan, who goes to the children's service in the afternoon),
and Miss Marston and papa--that we do make, as Phil says, a regular
procession as we walk down the avenue and across the park to the old
brown church every Sunday. I don't mind going in the procession, nor
does Jack,--unless he's _very_ late; but Nora thinks it's horrid, and
Phil and Felix always hang back for the very last, and try to look as if
they didn't belong to us at all. Nannie and Mädel go with papa, Kathie
and Paul with Miss Marston, and the rest of us straggle along as we like
until we get to the church. It's brown and very large, and has a good
deal of ivy growing all over it. It's the church where Murray Unsworth
and Helen Vassah stood sponsors for their little cousin Paul; they go
there and their grandfather and grandmother.

Papa likes to sit away up front; so up the middle aisle we go,--oh, how
the boys and Nora hate this part!--and file into the first two pews. We
are always early, and sometimes it does seem so long before service
begins. Jack and I sit at the upper end of the first pew, and I couldn't
tell you how many times we have read the Creed and Commandments that are
printed back of the chancel, and the memorials on each side. Then we
look out the hymns for the day, and read them all through. Jack likes to
do this; he has all sorts of odd ideas about them; for instance, he says
that when he sings,

    "Christian! dost thou see them
       On the holy ground,
     How the powers of darkness
       Rage thy steps around?
     Christian! up and smite them,
       Counting gain but loss;
     In the strength that cometh
       By the holy cross,"

he somehow always thinks of the picture in papa's study of St. Michael
and the Angel. He says he can see, right in his mind, the great
beautiful angel of light triumphant in the strength of God, and under
his feet the stormy evil face of the conquered Lucifer. I've got so now
that I too think of the picture when I sing the hymn, and of the hymn
when I look at the picture.

Then in the other hymn, where it says,

    "Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
       Is He sure to bless?
    'Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
       Answer, Yes,'"

Jack says he sees--just like a picture--a steep hill up which a whole
lot of people are striving, with all their might, to climb; they're poor
and tired and sick and lame, but they struggle bravely on; and by the
beautiful gates at the top of the hill stands One grand and white and
shining, wearing a golden crown. He bends forward and takes hold of each
tired traveller as soon as he is within reach, and helps him safe within
the gates; and in the hands that do this are "wound-prints." Jack always
shuts his eyes and lowers his voice when he tells us about this thought
of his; only Nannie and I know of it, and while I am hearing about it I
always feel quiet.

How he _does_ enjoy singing! His little body seems to expand, and you'd
be astonished at the noise that he can make. This particular Sunday that
I am telling you about my ears were fairly ringing as Jack joined in the
chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and I wasn't sorry when Phil
leaned over from behind and whispered, "Say, Rosebud, you're not
detailed to lead the choir, you know."

Even the choir-master looked at him; but, perfectly regardless of
everything and everybody, Jack sang through the five long verses, and
sat down with the air of having thoroughly enjoyed himself.

I made up my mind, though, that I'd say something about it on our way
home; but just as we were coming down the church steps Jack gave my arm
a nudge. "There are your friends," he said, with a grin,--"the two of
'em; just see Phil and Felix scoot!" And when I turned quickly to see,
who should it be but Mr. Erveng and Hilliard!

Mr. Erveng has been over to call on papa since that horrid afternoon
that he escorted Phil and me home; but Hilliard didn't come with him,
and we weren't sorry,--I mean Phil and I,--for we both felt foolish
about meeting him; we hadn't forgotten that giggle of his when we took
off our bonnets and veils that day in his father's library, and I think
we both felt that we didn't want to know him any better.

Mr. Erveng and papa walked across the park together, talking, and as we
all followed behind,--Felix and Phil were out of sight,--who should come
up beside me and lift his hat but that Hilliard! "May I walk with you
part way home?" he asked, "I want to say something to you."

He speaks slowly, deliberately, and has a way of half-closing his eyes
when he's talking, that gives him a sleepy look,--though he can open
them very wide too, sometimes; and he's sallow, and has lots of
freckles. Altogether, he isn't nearly as good-looking as our boys, or
Murray Unsworth; still he has rather a nice face, and we've found out
that he is just as gentle and nice as a girl to his mother,--I mean in
waiting on her and doing things for her. But all the same, I don't know
whether I like him or not; you see he's never had a sister, never been
much with girls, and he's got such silly, prim ideas about them.

Well, to go back: when he asked that, I said, "Oh, yes, I suppose so;"
but Jack says my tone wasn't very polite. I didn't mean to be impolite,
but seeing him brought that horrid afternoon right to my mind, and I
could just hear him giggle all over again; I assure you Phil and I'll
not try that sort of thing again,--not if the Fetich never gets sold.

And evidently that was in his mind, too; for he said, "I want to
apologise for being so rude as to laugh that day in my father's
office,"--that's the way he talks, so formal, as if he were as old as
papa,--"and for guarding--"

"We didn't think it was at all polite, I must say," I broke in.

But he went right on; that's another of his ways,--if one interrupts
him fifty times in a remark, he'll listen, but make no reply until he's
finished what he started out to say. Now I think that's provoking,--I
wonder how he'd get on if he lived in our family!--and it makes the
person that interrupts feel very small and nettled, too. "And for
guarding you and your brother home, as if I doubted your word,"
he finished.

Well, now, do you know, I hadn't ever thought about that part,--his
going along to guard us,--until he said this; and then, all at once, I
felt very angry. "I think it _was_ very, _very_ rude of you," I said
decidedly, "and I really wish you would go away and walk with your
father, or by yourself--"

"Why, _Betty_!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise; then, leaning across me,
he said politely, "_Please_ don't think that Betty is a rude girl, for
indeed she isn't; but she is awfully quick-tempered, and when she gets
mad she is apt to say lots of things that she doesn't mean. She is
really quite a nice girl. I'm Jack Rose, her brother; so you see I
ought to know."

"So you should; I'm glad to meet you," Hilliard said, shaking hands with
Jack. Then he added to me: "I _do_ hope you and your brother will let us
be friendly. I've told my mother about you both, and she wants so much
to know you and your sisters. Perhaps some of you would come over and
see her? She is very much of an invalid, and is not able to go out,
except for a drive now and then; but when she is well enough to see
them, she enjoys having visitors."

I was ashamed of having spoken so sharply, but I _didn't_ want to go and
see Mrs. Erveng; so all I could say was, in a lame sort of way, "Thank
you; perhaps--if papa says we may."

Instead of letting the matter drop there, he must needs go on: "I have
tried several times to speak to your brother,--at college, and once on
the street,--but he seems to avoid me," he said. "I wanted to explain to
him; I was afraid you might think my father was severe, but he really
didn't beli--he didn't suppose--that is, the young people we've known--"
He stopped, looking awfully red and embarrassed, then ended up with,
"I'm afraid I'm making an awful muddle of it, but I'm really very sorry;
I hope you and your brother will understand that."

By "brother" I think he meant Phil, but Jack took it to himself. "Of
course, oh, certainly," he said, nudging my elbow to say likewise, and
bobbing his head round my shoulder.

But I wouldn't, for I understood, just as well as if Hilliard'd said it,
that he--they all--thought our coming over to his house, as we had done,
to sell the Fetich, was a very queer proceeding. Miss Marston had said
that they must think me very unladylike. She so often tells me people
think that of me that I've got used to it and don't mind; but I felt
_very_ uncomfortable when it occurred to me that perhaps this boy and
his father and mother thought so too. "Why didn't you say right out that
you thought my dressing up and coming over to your house that way was
very queer and unladylike?" I demanded. "I know it's what you think."
He opened his mouth to speak, but I went on quickly: "Pooh! that's
_nothing_ to what I _can_ do. I can slide down three flights of
banisters without one swerve, and make worse faces than any one we
know, and whistle, and brandish Indian clubs, and fence and climb
besides, and, oh! lots of other things that only boys do; why, I'm
strong enough to be able to thrash Jack--there _now_!"

"I'd just like to see you try it!" put in Jack, hastily, ruffling up;
then, in an undertone, with a nudge of his elbow, "Oh, come now, Betty,
_do_ behave yourself."

But Hilliard just looked at me--his eyes were wide enough open now--as
if I were some strange kind of animal; he really looked shocked. I
wondered what he would think of some of my performances at home, and
I couldn't resist saying, "I suppose the girls that you know never do
such things?"

"Not when they are as old or as tall as you are," he answered quietly.

Just then Miss Marston and the little ones and Nannie and Nora came up
to us, so I introduced Hilliard to them, and as soon as we saw that Nora
was talking to him, Jack and I dropped behind and kept there.

"Betty," said Jack, severely, as we turned away, "you are really a most
provoking girl! I told that boy that you were nice, and you turned
right round and acted _abominably_. What possessed you? I didn't hear
him say one thing to make you angry."

"Jack," I answered, "sometimes you're as dense as a London fog. That boy
is a conceited poke because he has no sister; and you'd be just like him
if I weren't here to train you."

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Jack, indignantly. "Talking about
conceit,--where do you put yourself?"

Two hands came suddenly between us; a pleasant voice said, "Let's talk
about the sermon, and see which of us remembers most of it;" and there
was Max. He had been in church, he said, but stopping to speak to some
one had detained him, and he was now going home to have dinner with
us,--which meant a visit with papa after dinner, and then a nice long
talk with us in the schoolroom. Max is so nice about that; he never
slights us. In fact, I think he spends more and more time with us, for
he and Nannie have started in to play violin and piano duets together,
and he comes one week-evening to practise. He has lent her his
violin,--a beauty!--and he takes the piano part. His ward--"the great
Shad," as Phil and Felix call him--has not yet arrived; but Max told us
this Sunday, as we walked along, that he expected him to be in the city
very soon, "and then," he said, "I shall bring him round to be
introduced to you young people."

When we reached our house, Hilliard said good-bye, and ran across to his
own gate; but Max, Mr. Erveng,--Max has been to call on the Ervengs, and
has renewed acquaintance with his college-mate,--and papa stood talking
for a few minutes before they separated. As we entered our door, Nannie
was right behind me, and I heard her say to Felix in a low voice, "Look
at papa as he stands between those two men; don't you think he looks
_very_ old and worn?"

"Well, he's years older than they, isn't he?" asked Fee, turning to
look. I too craned my neck for a glimpse, but barely caught sight of
the top of papa's hat over Phil's shoulder.

"Not so many," Nannie said; "he is eight years older than Mr. Erveng,
and ten years older than Max. Not enough to show such a difference."

"Why, he looks twenty years older than either of them;" then, lowering
his voice,--but I heard him,--Felix added, "Poor old _pater_! He seems
to enjoy talking to Mr. Erveng; but do you know, Nannie, I'm _awfully_
sorry we played that joke about the Fetich. I fancy he hasn't been quite
the same since."

"No, he hasn't, and he's working desperately to get the book finished;
he even works in the evening, when he used to read as a recreation. I
hope he won't get ill." Then the front door closed, and there was a
general rush upstairs to take off coats and hats.

I wasn't very happy the rest of that day; Nannie's remark about papa,
and what that disagreeable boy across the way had said, kept coming back
and coming back to me, so that I really got quite unhappy over it, until
I told Nannie the whole thing that night, and then I began to feel
better. Though Nannie always tells you right out if you've been wrong,
she is also sure to say something to comfort you.

I was in the schoolroom the next afternoon, practising, when suddenly
the door flew open, and in bounced Jack, in a state of wild excitement.
"Oh, think of it! _think_ of it, Betty!" he exclaimed joyously, "I'm
going to sing--to _sing_! just think of it!"

"Why, you've been doing that for a long time, haven't you?" I asked,
with a lively recollection of what I had endured only yesterday.

"Oh, but this is different; it's to be in church,--I mean in the
_choir_,--and I'm to be _paid_ for it!"

"What! really?" I gasped in astonishment. "Why, Jack! _Do_ tell me all
about it!"

[Illustration: "'WHY, YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT FOR A LONG TIME, HAVEN'T
YOU?' I ASKED."]

This he was only too delighted to do; but he was so excited that he
could not sit still, and he kept walking backward and forward before
me while he was speaking. "Well, it was this way," he said; "just now,
while I was playing in the yard, Hannah said papa wanted to see me.
Of course I thought right away that something must be wrong, and I
didn't feel very happy over it, I can tell you; but when I got to the
study, there was papa with a big piece of news for me. Mr. Hawkins from
our church had come to see him to ask if he would let me sing in the
choir, and was waiting in the drawing-room for my answer! Why, I'd have
been glad to sing there for nothing, you know; but when papa went on,
and said I would get fifty cents for each Sunday that I sang, I was so
delighted, Betty, that I really couldn't say a word. But I guess papa
knew by my face how overjoyed I was, for he patted my shoulder and said,
'Well, then, you can go in the drawing-room and tell Mr. Hawkins that
you will accept his offer, and be at rehearsal on Friday evening;' and
then he spoke about what an honour it was to be chosen to sing God's
praises in His own house. I tell you what, Betty, I'm going to try to
be a very, _very_ good boy; now aren't you glad for me?"

Indeed I _was_ glad, and I told him so; and then what do you think he
said? Why, he came close to me, with his clasped hands behind his back,
and rocked himself to and fro on his heels and toes; his eyes were
shining with delight. "Betty," he said, "I'm to get fifty cents a week
at first, and more, Mr. Hawkins says, just as soon as I can read music
readily. Now I'm not going to spend one cent of it,--not a single
penny. I'm going to save it up until I get a lot, and then,--what d'you
think? I'm going to _send Felix to college_! Isn't that a splendid
scheme? now isn't it? You see," he went on eagerly, "I've been praying
for a way for Fee to go,--you have, too, haven't you? and Nannie,--and
I think God has just answered our prayers by letting me get this."

"Yes; but won't it take an awfully long time at that rate to save enough
to send Fee?" I asked.

"Oh, not so _very_ long," Jack replied cheerfully. In the exuberance of
his joy he took hold of the schoolroom table and threw his heels in the
air; he looked so funny that I could have roared with laughter,--Jack is
as clumsy as a cow! Then all at once he remembered something, and coming
over to me said, very impressively, "Now, remember, Betty, you're not to
say one word about this to Fee,--not a word; I sha'n't mention it to any
one beside you, but Nannie, and she wouldn't tell; and then, when we've
got enough, we'll give it to Fee, and tell him what it's for. Hoopla!"
And again he embraced the table and threw his heels in the air.




VIII.

A RESOLUTION.

TOLD BY BETTY.


Two or three days after this--after school hours--Nannie came flying
into the schoolroom, where we all were, and announced that some of us
had been invited to take tea with the Ervengs that afternoon. While we
sat in surprised silence, she went rapidly on to explain: "Such a nice
little note to papa, written by Mrs. Erveng: this is one of her 'good
days,' and she would like so much to make our acquaintance; would four
of us come over and take tea, etc. Hilliard brought the note just now,
and papa told him that some of us would be happy to accept." She paused
and looked mischievous as a groan broke from us. "I know you are all
dying to hear who are to go," she said, "so I'll put you out of your
suspense at once; Phil--"

"No, you don't! I haven't any 'bunnit,'" broke in Phil. "You don't catch
me going over there again in a hurry, I can tell you."

"But you ought to go, Phil, really you ought," Nannie said. "You and
Betty ought to go over and apologise to Mr. and Mrs. Erveng for the way
in which you two Goths invaded their house. Fee, papa says you are to
go, too," she added to her twin.

"Oh, but this is too bad of the _pater_!" exclaimed Felix, colouring up;
"he knows how I hate to go among strange people. I declare, I _won't_
go!"

"Go tell the governor so--go _now_, while you're in the humour for it,"
urged Phil, with suspicious eagerness; "and--um--while you're about it,
you know, just mention incidentally that those are my sentiments, too,
will you?"

"Nonie, you're to lend grace to the entertainment," went on Nannie, with
twinkling eyes.

"Who, me? I?" exclaimed Nora, quickly. "Oh!" Then, recovering herself
the next minute, she said coolly, "Well, I'm perfectly willing to go;
for that matter" (with that superior air that does so provoke us), "some
of us ought to have gone long ago, and called on the Ervengs,--Miss
Marston says so, too,--to apologise for and explain the, to say the
least very peculiar, conduct of some other members of our family."
And here she looked at me,--just as if Phil were not more to blame
than I in that horrid affair of the Fetich!

I made a face, and Phil said: "Oh, come, now, Nora, we've heard that
before; so do spare us the rest. Who else is to be a victim, Nancy?"

"Betty fills up the sum of the 'some,'" answered Nannie; "papa thinks
she certainly ought--"

"I _won't_ go, I won't, I will not," I interrupted. "That boy is too
conceited for anything, and I'm not going over there to be
criticised,--so now! I don't want any of their old tea, and I'd just
like to be ill or to hide away or something, so's not to go."

"Let's you and I run away," suggested Phil, in a stage whisper behind
his hand; then, striking an attitude, he extended his long arms: "Come,
fair damsel, come, we'll fly to other climes,--the attic or the cellar,
_anywhere_, so it be not to the Ervengs'." He made a sudden snatch at
me, but I was prepared,--I know him of old!--and, dodging under his arm,
darted round the table and soon put a wide distance between us.

"Then nobody's going," asserted Jack; he sat on the edge of the
schoolroom table, grinning and hugging his knees, which were drawn
up to his chin.

"Not a one!" "No, _sir_!" "No, _indeed_!" answered Phil, Felix, and I,
in one breath.

"I do think you are all the rudest, most unmannerly creatures!"
exclaimed Nora, indignantly. "These people have been polite enough to
invite us to their house, have taken the trouble to prepare for us, when
really the attention should have come from us to them, and here you all
act as if they had insulted us. Positively, you are a most uncouth set.
_I_ am very much pleased with Mrs. Erveng's invitation, and I am going,
if no one else does. Rude things!"

She started for the door; but Phil got before her, and salaamed to the
floor. "What _would_ we do without you, O most noble and elegant
Eleanora!" he cried, as he bobbed up and down; and limping over, Fee
stared at her through and under and over his glasses. "Friends," he
exclaimed, turning to us and putting on an expression of intense
astonishment, "allow me to call your attention to this remarkably
healthy variety of a well-known plant, Miss"--with a wave of his hand
toward Nora--"Miss Prim Rose."

"You think that's very smart, don't you?" Nora said, getting red, and
tossing her head. Jack flew down from the table, and over to Nora's
side, calling out, "Now you just stop teasing her, Felix!" and Phil
threw an arm round her, and pulled her down on his lap, saying, "Don't
ruffle yourself over such trifles, old lady; keep cool!"

I laughed, and Nannie put in quickly, "Nora is quite right: it _was_ our
place, as old residents, to call first on the Ervengs,--particularly
under the Fetich circumstances; and when they are kind enough to
overlook our remissness, and invite us to visit them, we ought at least
to appreciate the attention, not rail at it. Anyway, it was papa who
decided which of us should go. I would certainly have been included in
the number had I not something to do for him this afternoon and evening;
I would have liked to go. So do behave yourselves!"

"Nancy Lee on etiquette," said Felix, with a grimace, while Nora
struggled away from Phil's encircling arm with a sharp, "Of _course_ I
am right!" and stalked out of the room, her nose in the air.

Now perhaps you think because we said all this that we didn't go to the
Ervengs'; well, we did, the whole four of us, and that very afternoon.
Though we fret and fume over things beforehand, we generally end by
doing just as papa says about them. One reason for this is that, when
it comes to the point, none of us are willing to tell him that we won't
obey. Papa's very gentle, but he expects us to do as he says, and dear
mamma always made us mind; so, as I said, it generally ends by our
following orders. Still, sometimes it is a great satisfaction to "spunk
up" beforehand, as Phil calls it, and just speak out our minds in the
bosom of our family. And after that,--it's the funniest thing! but do
you know, we'll almost always turn right round and do just what we said
we wouldn't do, as meek as lambs. I don't know if all large families are
like this, but it's our way.

Well, to go back to the tea. Nora was very glum on the way over,--she
usually is when she's on her high horse,--but the boys seemed to be in
great spirits, for they just giggled to the Ervengs' very door, and
barely had a straight face when Buttons appeared. I fancied that he
looked curiously at me, and I wondered uncomfortably if he knew that
Phil and I were the two fat old black-robed ladies he had admitted the
other day.

Mr. Erveng was out, for which Phil and I weren't sorry; but Hilliard
met us in the hall and took us upstairs to his mother's sitting-room,
where she was lying in an invalid's chair with a white shawl round her
shoulders. She's very pretty,--Hilliard isn't a bit like her,--but she
looks very delicate and fragile; why, her hands are like _mites_, and
she's very, _very_ gentle, and speaks in a low voice. She welcomed us
very cordially, and said she thought it was so kind of us to come,--here
I thought of our remarks at home, and didn't dare look at Phil and
Fee,--and she and Nora seemed to get on nicely.

[Illustration: "HILLIARD SHOWING HIS MICROSCOPE AND HIS 'SPECIMENS.'"]

Very soon Hilliard carried the boys off to show them his microscope and
his "specimens," and what he called his home-gymnasium. I should have
loved dearly to go, too, but nobody asked me; so there I had to sit
primly on a chair and listen while Mrs. Erveng and Nora talked of books
and pictures and music and all sorts of things. And while they talked I
looked around the room; Nora said afterward that I stared at everything,
until she was ashamed,--but what else was there for me to do? And it was
such a pretty room! furnished in light blue, with touches of yellow here
and there; some lovely pictures hung on the walls, a graceful bronze
Mercury stood on a pedestal between the curtains of one of the windows,
growing plants were scattered about, and everywhere were books and
flowers. It was all very sweet and lovely: it matched well with Mrs.
Erveng, who looked daintiness itself lying back on her silken cushions,
and I ought to have enjoyed it; but in some way or other it made me feel
uncomfortably big and clumsy and overgrown, and I couldn't get over the
feeling. Nora, however, didn't seem to be troubled in this way; I
couldn't but notice how pretty she looked, and how well she talked.

You mustn't think that Mrs. Erveng slighted me, for she didn't,--she was
very polite; but I had a feeling all the time that she just looked upon
me as a great rough tomboy,--thinking of that horrid Fetich affair! for
she certainly didn't treat me as she did Nora, and there are only
fourteen months between us, if Nora _is_ so tall, and acts so grown up.
At home we make great fun of Nora's airs and graces, and even that night
Phil nudged me, when no one was looking, and whispered, "Do see the
frills Nonie's putting on!" but all the same I think both Felix and he
were very glad that she could carry off things so well.

We had tea in the cosiest little room on the same floor, and we couldn't
but notice how Hilliard waited on his mother,--just like a girl would
have done; indeed, he was very much more gentle and helpful than I
could have been, I am afraid,--though Fee used to be like that with
mamma. After tea Nora played; I was asked, too, but I could no more
have got through a piece without breaking down than I could have flown.
She didn't feel so, though, and did splendidly; she is really a fine
pianist, Miss Marston says. After that we sang college songs, and about
nine o'clock, or a little after, we four went home.

"Unfortunately, I am not able to return any visits," Mrs. Erveng said,
when we were leaving, "but if you or your sisters will take pity on my
loneliness, and come over to see me whenever you can spare an afternoon
or evening, I shall consider it very friendly, and I shall be very glad
to see you."

She looked at Nora, and Nora answered very sweetly, "Thank you for our
pleasant evening, Mrs. Erveng; we shall be glad to come again." Now I
never would have thought of saying that! Then we all bade good-night
and went home.

Hilliard walked to our door with us, and as he shook hands for
good-night he said to me, "I'm very glad you came over; mother and I
enjoyed it. I hope you'll come again; you see we get very quiet
sometimes, just she and father and I."

I was surprised that he didn't say this to Nora, for he had talked
almost entirely to her,--very little to me during the evening; but I
suppose he did it so I shouldn't feel slighted,--as if I cared!

Phil admits that he likes Hilliard better than he did, and Felix, who
had a long talk with him, says "he's bright, and 'way up in the
classics." Well, he may be all that, but all the same I think he's a
poke. I don't like him very much. I have a feeling that he went home
and told his mother what I said about making faces and sliding down
banisters, and that--with the Fetich affair--she thinks I'm a great
rough girl. I don't really care, you know, for I have other friends who
like me and think I am nice,--Murray and Hope Unsworth and Helen Vassah
are always glad to have my company,--but still it _isn't_ comfortable,
now that I'm growing older, to be treated as if I were a child.

I didn't say much while Nora and the boys were giving Nannie an account
of our evening,--they had enjoyed it; but later, when we were alone
up in our room, it all came out. She said: "What's wrong, Miss
Elizabeth?"--that's one of her pet names for me. "You look as sober
as a judge; didn't you enjoy yourself this evening?" And then I told
her all about it, though really there wasn't much to tell when we came
to it, for Mrs. Erveng had been very polite and nice, and the boy had
treated me politely, too. I was afraid Nannie would think I was making
a mountain out of a molehill, as nurse says. But that's one of the
lovely things about Nannie,--she understands just how things are, and
so quickly.

She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and taking one of my hands
in hers, kept smoothing it while she talked. "It means this, dear," she
said, "that you are getting to be quite grown up, and that the time has
come for you to put away rough, hoidenish ways, and to begin to be
gentle and dignified, like the true lady that we all know you are at
heart. You see we are accustomed to your ways, and while we may tease
and scold one another here at home, we also make allowances for the
different ones as an outsider would never do, because we love one
another--see? Mrs. Erveng and Hilliard simply know you as a tall girl
who looks quite a young lady, and naturally they are surprised when you
act like a tomboy. You know, Betty, you are nearly as tall as Nora; now
just imagine her sliding down the banisters, wrestling with the boys,
climbing the fence in the yard, hanging to the tops of the doors, and
making the horrible faces that you do!"

But my imagination couldn't picture such an impossibility as Nora and I
acting alike. "I couldn't--I _couldn't_ be like Nora," I declared,
sitting up in bed. "I know she's got nice manners and all that,"--I had
never really thought so till that evening,--"but, oh! I _couldn't_ be as
prim and--and--proper as she is--" Here my voice began to shake, and I
got so sorry for myself that the tears came.

Then Nannie put her arms round me, and gave me a hug. "You needn't be
like anybody but yourself," she said,--"the nicest, gentlest, and best
part of yourself. Give up one hoidenish way at a time; that will be
easier than trying to do all at once, you know. Suppose you begin by
walking down the stairs to-morrow morning to breakfast, instead of
sliding down on the banisters, as you usually do."

"Oh, but you don't _know_ how awfully hard that'll be to do," I said
tearfully; "our banisters are so broad and smooth, and one goes so
swiftly down them,--almost like flying--"

"I don't suppose it will be easy to give up the habit," broke in Nannie,
wiping my eyes with her handkerchief; "but all the same, Miss Elizabeth,
I am confident that if you really make up your mind to stop sliding,
you'll do it. You can't keep up such a tomboyish trick all your life,
and now is a good time to begin, _I_ think. Dear mamma used to say that
everybody had to have some responsibility or other; why not begin to
take up yours now? Helen Vassah is only about six months older than you
are, and here she has the responsibility of being little Paul's
godmother. And there's Hope Unsworth a little younger than you; you know
how she helps her grandmother in her charitable work. They are certainly
not 'prim or proper;' they are full of fun, yet they wouldn't either of
them ever think of doing the rough things that you do,--now would they?"

I had to admit that I knew they wouldn't.

"Then," said Nannie, "don't you do them either. Take yourself as your
responsibility, and show us what you can accomplish in that line. Will
you, dearie?" She snuggled her head close up to mine on the pillow as
she said this.

"Oh, _dear_!" I sighed, "I do wish Jack had been I, and I'd been Jack!"

"Even then you would have had to stop such childish tricks some time or
other before you grew up. With all his larks, Phil doesn't do them; and
think of papa's coming down to breakfast on the banisters!" Nannie and I
had to laugh at the very thought.

"Well," I said presently, "perhaps I'll try; but that conceited boy'll
think he's made me do it."

"Oh, no, he won't!" Nannie said, in a tone of conviction that was very
comforting. "If he does think now that you're inclined to be a hoiden,
why, he'll soon change his mind, when he finds what a nice, sweet little
lady you are from day to day. _Don't_ look so dismal, Miss Elizabeth;
there's lots of fun left for you!"

"I'll try; but I _know_ I'll forget, time and again," I said, sighing
heavily.

"I don't think there'll be so very many slips," Nannie answered
cheerfully; "but if there should be, we'll just do as Rip Van Winkle
did,--'we won't count' them."

"And will you promise not to tell anybody that I'm trying--not a single
creature--not even Felix or Jack?" I asked anxiously.

"I _will_ promise not to tell anybody--not a single creature--not even
Felix or Jack," Nannie replied, laughing. "Does that satisfy you? Now,"
she added, "I'm going to say my prayers here beside you, and I'm going
to ask our Lord to help you keep your word; you'll ask, too, won't you?"

I nodded, and as she knelt down slipped my hand into hers; a few minutes
after I was asleep.




IX.

MAX'S WARD.

TOLD BY BETTY.


No less than three birthdays in our family fell in the next week: first
Fee's and Nannie's,--which I suppose I ought really to count as one, as
they are twins,--and then Nora's. As these birthdays _will_ always come
together, and to avoid hurting people's feelings, as Jack would say, we
celebrate them alternately,--Fee's and Nannie's one year, and Nora's the
next; and this was Nora's year. We had had several performances lately,
so Fee said he'd try to think of something else, if we'd all promise to
do just as we were told. Of course we promised; then he and Phil invited
the Unsworths and Helen Vassah and that boy across the way,--I didn't
want _him_, but all the others did, so he was asked. Hope was at her
grandma's, so she couldn't come; but Murray and Helen did, and, _of
course_, Hilliard.

The birthday fell on a Friday, and as papa is always at home on that
evening, we were afraid he wouldn't allow us to celebrate it; but to
our great joy he told Nannie to tell us that we might have all the fun
we wanted, as long as we behaved ourselves and kept the doors closed, so
the noise would not escape. So right after school hours Phil and Felix
took possession of the schoolroom, and after having got us to give them
all our presents for Nora, they locked themselves in. "We're going to
have a bang-up entertainment, now, you'll see," Felix said, just before
he closed the door,--"something unique, unprecedented, etc.; and no one
is to put even a nose into the banqueting hall"--with a wave of his hand
over his shoulder--"until the doors are thrown open and the music
strikes up. Now remember--"

"Yes, and no snooping or hanging around either!" put in Phil, standing
on tip-toe to rest his chin on Fee's crown and glare at us. Then the
door was locked.

Such a hammering and dragging about of furniture you never heard; and
when every now and then Phil would come out for something or other,
Fee would open the door very cautiously, as if afraid somebody'd see
something, and shut and lock it with a bang when he re-entered. As you
may imagine, our curiosity was excited to the highest pitch to know what
we were going to have. Then just before dinner Jack came running in, in
a great state of excitement; he had been to rehearsal, and had done so
well in the piece he had to sing that Mr. Hawkins had really engaged
him, at fifty cents a week, with the promise of more as he improved.
Jack was almost wild with delight. "Isn't it fine! Isn't it just jolly!
You should have heard me sing; really, it didn't sound bad!" he
exclaimed about twenty times; and the knowing looks and nudges and
winks that he bestowed on me couldn't be counted. No amount of
snubbing could repress him.

It seemed to us as if dinner would never be over; but at last it came to
an end, and Jack and I and the younger children flew upstairs and stood
waiting for the signal to enter the "banqueting hall." In a few minutes
more up came Nora, with Helen and Murray and Hilliard. I was sure Murray
and Helen would enjoy the "festive occasion," for they like the things
that we do; but I didn't know how that boy would take it. He was very
smiling, however; and I heard him tell Nora, as he presented her with a
lovely bunch of roses, that it was "very kind of her to allow him to be
of the party." Just then the schoolroom doors were thrown open, and the
strains of the wedding march from Lohengrin floated sweetly out to us
from violin and piano. At the same moment Phil appeared with a paper
flower in his buttonhole, and arranged us in couples,--Nora and he
going first,--and so we marched into the schoolroom.

I think perhaps I ought to describe the schoolroom to you, for it is
playroom, sitting-room, schoolroom, and everything to us. It's on the
top floor,--so that our noise sha'n't disturb papa,--and takes in the
whole width of the house and half its length, making an immense room.
There are some back rooms on this floor, and the large open space on
each side of the stairs is what we call the attic. Though almost
everything in it is old and shabby, we do have royal times in the
schoolroom, for it is our own, and out of study hours we can do there
as we please. Here are Phil's banjo and his boxing-gloves, and a lot
of what nurse calls his "rubbish"; Fee's easel is in this corner, and
a couple of forlorn, dirty old plaster casts which--unless he has a
painting-fit on him--generally serve as hat-rests for Phil and himself.
Pictures in various stages of completion stand about. Here, too, are
Nannie's and Fee's violins, resting against a pile of old music that Max
gave them before he went away. In the next corner, the other side of the
low, deep-silled windows, hangs Nora's china-shelf, on which are ranged
what the boys call her Lares and Penates,--vases and pretty cups and
saucers that have been given to her. Here, too, are her plants,
conspicuous among which is a graceful fan-leaved palm, known in
the family as Lady Jane.

These are the front corners; and between the windows stand our
book-shelves,--they are in a clumsy, unsteady old case, that rocks from
side to side if you touch it, and is only held together by the wall
against which it leans. The shelves are rather short,--now and then a
shelf slips off its notches and spills our library,--and they are so
narrow that books constantly fall down behind, and lie there until
house-cleaning or a sudden desire for one of those volumes brings them
all to light, and they are restored to their places.

One of the other--back--corners is mine; and here I have my
"gymnasium,"--my Indian clubs and dumb-bells; here, too, are my tennis
racket (I love to play!) and two old walking-canes with which (when I
can get him to do it) Jack and I fence,--dear me! I wonder if I shall
have to give _that_ up too, now that I have given that promise to
Nannie! Then comes our sofa: it's an old-fashioned, chintz-covered
affair, with a high back and high arms that stick straight out at each
end, and it's dreadfully shabby now; but all the same there isn't one of
us--except, perhaps, Nora--that would be willing to exchange it for the
handsomest piece of furniture that could be offered us. The times we've
played house and shipwreck, and gone journeys on it, and romped and
pranced all over it, can't be counted! This is Jack's favourite place to
sit and read; and under it, concealed from public view by the deep
chintz flounce that runs around the front and sides of the sofa, are
stored his treasures,--his books and stamp album, a queer-looking boat
that he has been building for ages, and a toy steam engine with which he
is always experimenting, but which, so far, absolutely refuses to "go."

I have frequently offered to share my corner with Jack, and I couldn't
understand why he always refused, until one day I accidentally
over-heard him speaking about it to Nannie.

"You see, Nannie, Betty means well," he said, "but she does hit out so
with those clubs! I'd be sure to get hurt some time or other; and then,
besides, she'd just own my things more than I would myself." Of course
this last part isn't really so, for he hasn't a thing that I'd care for;
but still he sticks to the sofa.

[Illustration: "THE 'QUEEN OF THE REVELS.'"]

Kathie and the twins and Alan have the other corner with their doll's
house, a tail-less hobby horse, known both as the "palfrey" and the
"charger," and blocks and toys without number. We've a piano in the
schoolroom for practising, and in the middle of the floor is a large
table, round which we sit in and out of school hours. This table has no
cover; it is liberally besprinkled with ink stains, and adorned in many
places with our initials, and with circles done in red ink,--goals for
feather-top playing,--and pieces have been hacked out of the edges,
trying the sharpness of sundry new knives. The old table is not at
all ornamental, but we couldn't get on without it, and we older ones
have quite an affection for our old Jumbo. Some pictures--three or four
of them by Felix--are hung up on the walls. And now you know how our
schoolroom looks.

But a grand transformation had taken place: all our stage property had
been utilised; the pictures were draped with red, white, and blue paper
muslin; the "statuary" and plants were arranged about the room with an
eye to a fine effect; great bunches of paper flowers bloomed in every
available place,--even on the gas fixtures! The large table was too
heavy to be pushed aside, but it was covered with Murray Unsworth's big
flag, which gave it quite a festive appearance; while the smaller table
over in the corner, though partially concealed by the dining-room
screen, gave tempting glimpses of "refreshments." Nannie was at the
piano, and beside her was Fee, playing away on his violin with all
his might.

At the farther end of the room, on a dais, was Miss Marston's chair,
covered with red paper muslin, and here, after we had promenaded several
times round the room, Phil seated Nora, announcing her the "Queen of the
Revels," which so struck Jack's fancy that he gave his hand a little
upward jerk, and shouted, "Hurray for we!" And then, though of course we
oughtn't to have done it, being for ourselves, you know, we every one
joined in a "three times three" hurrah! Kathie and the little ones got
so excited that they fairly yelled, and we had some difficulty in
quieting them.

When order was restored, Phil and Felix brought from the closet a large
clothes-basket, piled full of neatly tied-up parcels of all sizes, which
they placed beside Nora. Fee then made a sign to Phil. "Begin!" he
whispered. Phil struck an attitude, with his hand on his heart, and
began, "Fair Queen!" then stopped, looked astonished, put his hand to
his forehead, gazed at the floor and the ceiling, then burst out with:--

    "When these you see,
     Fair maid, remember we;
     As we've remembered you,
     And given you your due."

"_That_ isn't what you were to say, you goose!" exclaimed Felix,
wrathfully. "That isn't your speech!"

"Don't talk to me about your old set speeches, when a man can rise to
an occasion like _that!_" remarked Phil, loftily, straightening up and
throwing back the lapels of his coat with a great air. "_Poetry!_--d'ye
mind that, Mr. Wegge? The genuine article, and at a moment's notice! At
last I've struck my vocation."

Of course we laughed uproariously; we were in the mood for it, and
would have laughed if some one had held up a finger at us.

Felix then made his speech, expressing our love and wishes for many,
many (I believe there were six manys) happy returns of Nora's birthday,
and he began to hand her her presents, reading out the inscription on
each as he did so, she opening them. The first was "Nora, with love and
birthday wishes from Max," and when the wrapper was off, it proved to
be a lovely print of Von Bodenhauser's Madonna. Max had given Nannie a
picture on her birthday, and Nora was delighted to get one as well.
Next came smaller gifts from Helen Vassah, Jack, Felix, and Nannie,
and then Felix fished up a large, rather bulky parcel, the inscription
on which he read very distinctly: "Dearest Nora, with love from the
'Twinsies,'"--that's the name we give to Felix and Nannie to
distinguish them from the younger twins.

"Why!" exclaimed Nora, in surprise, as she took the parcel on her lap,
"you have both already given me something, you dear, generous creatures;
I'm afraid you've been extravagant. And so nicely done up, too; thank
you, thank you very much!" and she kissed them warmly.

"Oh, that's all right; don't speak of it," said Felix, modestly, while
Nannie began wonderingly, "Why, I didn't--"

"Ought to be something very fine," hastily interrupted Phil, "_four_
wrappers!" The next minute there was a shout of laughter from us all
as, after carefully unfolding the last paper, Nora drew out nurse's
work-basket, piled high with innumerable pairs of our stockings and
socks which were waiting to be darned!

I expected Nora would have been provoked, but she only laughed as
heartily as the rest of us. It was a fortunate thing she was in such
a good humour, for three more times the boys played that joke on her
before the basket was emptied. One was her own choicest cup and saucer,
"with love from papa;" the next, the drawing-room feather-duster, "a
token of appreciation from the family,"--Nora _hates_ to dust! and the
third, an unfinished sketch which she began months ago, and which was
for Phil when completed; this was "from her affectionate brother,
Philip." And they were so cleverly sandwiched in between the real
birthday gifts that Nora got caught each time, to our great enjoyment.

After this we had games, and refreshments were served early on account
of the little ones. As soon as they had said good-night we played more
games, and then the boys began to get noisy; that's the worst with
boys,--at least our boys,--just as soon as they begin to enjoy
themselves, it seems as if they _must_ make a noise and get rough. Ever
since Nannie and I had that talk, I've been trying my best to act like
a young lady, and this evening I was particularly on my good behaviour;
but, oh, it was tiresome! and I could see that the boys didn't know what
to make of it,--Murray Unsworth asked if I didn't feel well, and Fee
looked very quizzically at me, though I pretended I didn't see him. I
was so afraid he'd say something right before that boy!

Well, as it happened, all my pains went for nothing,--and just through
Fee's nonsense. Murray and I were looking at Phil's boxing-gloves,--Phil
was out of the room,--and as we talked, I slipped on one of the gloves,
when Felix came up behind me and took hold of my arm. "That's Phil
opening the door," he said quickly; "let's play a joke on him." And
before I had the least idea of what he was going to do, Fee had raised
my arm and given the person who was entering such a whack on the
shoulder with the boxing-glove as whirled him completely round, so
that he got in the way of another person who was behind him, and
nearly knocked him over. In a moment more we saw that the two
persons were papa and a stranger,--a young man!

There was an instant's awful pause, broken by a nervous little giggle
from Jack at the sight of Phil--behind papa--with his hands clasped,
his knees bent as if in abject terror, and his eyes rolled up to the
ceiling. Then, settling his glasses--which had been nearly knocked
off--straight on his nose, papa looked around at us and asked, "Is
this the way you welcome your guests, Nora?" adding, to me, "Take
off that glove, Betty!"

I got awfully red, I know; but before I could say anything Felix stepped
forward and explained, and Nora advanced with a smile, saying, "We are
very glad to see you, papa."

Then papa introduced the young man, and who should he be but Max's ward,
"the great Shad," or, to give him his proper name, Chadwick Whitcombe!
He had expected to meet Max at our house, and had waited some time
downstairs for him; then, as the evening wore on and Max did not
appear, papa had thought it best to himself bring him up and introduce
him to us.

Of course we all looked at him,--and the more so that he isn't at all
like what we had any of us expected. In the first place, though Max says
he's just nineteen, he acts as if he were years older than that, and
altogether he is different to any of the boys we've ever known. He's not
quite so tall as Fee, though he wears very high heels on his boots; and
his features are so delicate, his complexion so pink and white, that in
spite of a tiny moustache, which he's very fond of caressing, he looks
a great deal more like a girl than a boy. His hair is as yellow as
Mädel's; it's wavy like a girl's, and he wears it long and parted in
the middle; and his eyes are large and very blue,--Phil says they are
"languishing," and he and Felix have given him another nick-name of
"Lydia Languish." He wore evening clothes, with a white flower in his
buttonhole, and there were diamond studs in the bosom of his shirt, and
a diamond ring on one of his fingers. When papa introduced him, he put
his heels together and made us three very low and graceful bows, saying,
in a voice just like a girl's, and with a smile that showed his white
teeth, "I am _very_ happy to--aw--meet you!"

[Illustration: "'AW!'"]

After looking at the presents, which, minus the jokes, were ranged on a
table, and saying a few words, papa went away. I have an idea that he
noticed the difference between this delicate Dresden-china young man and
our own fun-loving boys, and rather dreaded leaving the stranger to our
devices; for at the door he laid his hand on Phil's shoulder and said,
"Remember, no more jokes to-night, Phil." And with a look of injured
innocence that almost upset Felix and me, Phil answered, "Why, no, sir,
_certainly_ not."

We were rather quiet at first after papa went away; then Phil nudged
Nannie, with the whisper: "Go talk to him; I don't know what to say to
such a dude;" while Felix chimed in, in the same low voice, "Ask him if
he puts his hair up in papers, nights,--or get Betty to ask him."

But I edged away quickly, and joined Murray and Helen at the other side
of the room. I was determined I would get into no more mischief.

But they needn't have troubled themselves,--Chad didn't seem one bit
embarrassed: he just drew a chair to Nora's side and began talking to
her as easily as if he had known her all his life; and in a little while
Nannie got the boys over to the piano and singing songs with rousing
choruses, which they always enjoy. I think she did it this time, though,
to divert their attention from the new-comer, for they were just ready
to bubble over at the way he talked; even Hilliard's sleepy eyes were
twinkling with sly merriment.

When Chad talks he is, as Murray puts it, "too awfully English, you
know, for anything," though he was born and has lived most of his life
in America; and he pronounces his words in the most affected way.
Altogether, he is awfully affected; you should see the air with which
he flirts his handkerchief out of his pocket, his mincing steps, and the
bored, you-can't-teach-me-anything expression of his face.

"I've--aw--really been very busy since my return," he told Nora, in that
high-pitched, affected voice of his. "I've--aw--moved into bachelor
quarters, and been--aw--having my apartments decorated and furnished.
Have my own ideahs, you know, and--aw--'m having 'em carried out--all
in blue--effect will be--aw--really very fine. I've--aw--brought back
pictures and bric-à-brac and--aw--curios of all descriptions, and
now--aw--'ll turn 'em to good account. Awful job, you know--expect to
work like a slave--these--aw--so-called decorators over here have such
abominable taste! but the effect will be unique--of that--aw--'m sure."

"Why, aren't you going to school--I mean college?" Phil turned round in
the middle of a chorus to ask bluntly.

"I--aw--have no intention of it," answered Chad, lounging off in his
chair and stroking his baby moustache.

"Oh, I see: your education's finished," said Phil, with that innocent
expression on his face that we know means mischief; but before he could
say another word, Helen Vassah cried out, "Oh, Phil, here's our
favourite duet; you must sing it with me," and Nannie struck up an
unusually loud accompaniment.

Before the evening was over, we made up our minds that Chad was the
silliest, most conceited creature; he did nothing but talk of himself
and his possessions, and in the most lordly way imaginable. No matter
what subject was introduced, he'd go right back to the one thing that
seemed to interest him,--himself. He lounged back in his chair and made
not the slightest effort to join in the entertainment. In fact, Nora was
the only person he honoured with any notice; and while we all think him
very unmannerly, she--would you believe it!--likes him.

Coming over later in the evening to the corner of the room where Helen,
Fee, Jack and I were, she said to Helen, "Isn't he nice? Did you see the
way he offered me his arm to the piano? so polite, and different from
the generality of boys,--don't you think so?"

"Yes," Helen said, with a smile, "he is quite unlike any of the boys we
know; who _does_ he look like, Nora? We all see a likeness, but can't
think to whom."

"Oh, I know, I've got it, I know," cried Jack, excitedly; "he looks
(except that he hasn't got on knee-breeches and lace ruffles) just like
that picture Max gave you, Felix,--don't you remember?--with a lace
handkerchief in one hand and a snuff-box in the other. Oh, you
_know_,--the French Marquis--"

"You're right, Jack,--so it is; he does look like 'Monsieur le
Marquis,'" Nora said, glancing at Chad. "He _has_ an aristocratic
face,--'Monsieur le Marquis.'"

[Illustration: "HERE IS THE SKETCH."]

"Monsieur le Don_key_ would be a more suitable name," exclaimed Fee,
while Helen, Jack, and I laughed. "If you'd seen how absurd he looked
when he clicked his heels together and offered you his arm, you would
know mine is the title that best suits him. I declare I'll make a sketch
of you both from memory; it was too rich to be lost." Catching up a
blank book, he began to sketch rapidly. Nora turned away, laughing; but
we three remained, looking over Fee's shoulder, criticising and offering
suggestions, until it was finished. Here is the sketch: it's pretty good
of Nora, but of course it's a caricature of Chad.

About a quarter to ten the "party" broke up. Chad was the first to go;
as he rose to say good-night, I heard Nannie whisper to Phil: "Phil,
you'll have to see him out. Fee can't go all the way downstairs and then
up again,--it's too much for him,--and Jack is too young; anyway, it is
your place as the eldest."

"Little snob!" said Phil, savagely. "I'd like to take him down by way of
the banisters,--just give him one shove, and let him fly."

"He _is_ a snob," admitted Nannie, "but he is also Max's ward, and that
entitles him to some consideration from us; and remember, too, what Max
said,--that he has knocked about the world ever since he was a little
fellow: that would account for much. You know, Phil, we've had our home
and one another and dear mamma; and besides, you wouldn't want to spoil
Nonie's birthday. Do treat him civilly! will you?"

"Well, I'll try," Phil answered, making a wry face; "but if he begins
any of his 'aw--aw,' on the way down, I'll not answer for the
consequences."

Bending low over Nora's hand, Chad murmured something of which we only
heard "Chawming evening--pleasure of meeting you--Max again," then,
bowing twice to the rest of the company, he took his departure.

"I've enjoyed myself immensely," Hilliard said, as he bade good-night;
then he added to me, "I never knew before how interesting a large family
could be,--you have such fun among yourselves; and I think it is so kind
of you all to let me come over and share your good times." Then Murray
and Helen made their adieux, and all went away together.

Phil came racing back to the schoolroom after seeing them out. "Well,"
he said breathlessly, taking a seat on the edge of the big table, "well,
everything went off all right; quite a success, wasn't it? barring the
great Shad,--he was no addition to our party. I'm awfully sorry he's
such a cad; for Max's sake I'd have liked to be nice to him."

"You are hard on him, Phil," Nora said. "He may be a little conceited,
but I think he's not at all a bad fellow; now see if you don't like him
better after you get to know him."

"Not at all a bad fellow!" repeated Felix, sharply. "Well, you may think
so, but I don't. I agree with Phil,--he _is_ a cad! Did you see the
expression of his face as he looked around our shabby old schoolroom,
and took in the simple birthday refreshments? he didn't even take the
trouble to hide his contempt for our poverty and childishness. You may
think that's like a gentleman, but I do not."

"He wouldn't touch the cake, and only took a glass of water," I
volunteered at this point.

"You here?" cried Nora, wheeling round on me, "and Jack? It's high time
you two were in bed." Then she went on: "Our appetites are equal to
anything; but not everybody dotes on home-made cookies and tough sponge
cake. _I_ found Max's ward a very polite young gentleman, a pleasant
change from the rough, unmannerly boys one usually has to put up with.
Betty and Jack, _are_ you going to bed, or not? Why don't you speak to
them, Nannie?"

"Don't be cross to them," whispered Nannie to her; "it's your birthday,
you know. Come, Betty; come, Jack, let's go off together. I'm tired and
sleepy, too."

Rather unwillingly we bade good-night and went downstairs with Nannie.
As the schoolroom door closed behind us, I heard Felix say, with a sharp
insistence unusual to him, and bringing his hand down on the table to
emphasise his words, "I _don't_ like that fellow! I _don't_ like him,
and I wish he hadn't come here!"




X.

IN THE SCHOOLROOM.

TOLD BY FELIX.


"Felix," said the _pater_, "your two elder sisters are to go with me on
Thursday afternoon to Mrs. Blackwood's reception, and I should like you
to accompany us; Phil went the last time--" He stopped abruptly, with a
stifled sigh, and began hastily turning over the leaves of the book
which lay open before him on his desk.

I knew why he sighed; I remembered well who had been with him the last
time he attended a reception at Mrs. Blackwood's; the awful, aching
longing that I have so often to fight down has taught me something of
what my father must suffer. If I could only have expressed what was in
my heart! but all I could manage to get out was, "Very well, sir," and
my voice sounded so cold and indifferent that I was ashamed.

I'm not afraid of the _pater_,--I can talk easily enough to him on
ordinary subjects; but when it comes to anything about which I feel
very deeply, Nannie is the only person to whom I can bear to speak, now
that _she_ is gone. And even to Nannie I can't say much; I wish I
could,--it would be a relief sometimes. I envy the others that they can
talk of--mother; it is a comfort to me to listen, but it cuts me to the
heart to even say her name. So this afternoon I sat quietly at Nannie's
table, and went on sorting the references I had been making for the
Fetich, until my father got up from his desk and began pacing up and
down the study floor, with his hands clasped behind his back. His head
was bent forward, and he had evidently entirely forgotten that I was in
the room; for he sighed heavily several times, and then, with a sudden
straightening of his whole body, as if in acute physical pain, he threw
back his head, and a low, quivering "_A-a-h!_" that was like a groan,
broke from his lips.

An iron hand seemed clutching my throat, and I could hardly see for
the blur across my eyes, as I crept out of the room and closed the
door softly.

I sat on the steps for a few moments, then--for I had forgotten my cane
in the study--went slowly upstairs, and that gave me a chance to recover
myself before I reached the schoolroom; though perhaps Nannie noticed
something unusual,--my twinnie's eyes are so sharp, and her heart is so
tender,--for it seemed to me that her voice was very loving as she said,
pushing forward our big old rocker as soon as I entered the room: "You
naughty Fee! you've come up without your cane; you must be tired. Sit
here and get rested."

[Illustration: "ALAN, ON HIS FIERY STEED."]

I _was_ tired,--unusually so,--and was glad to get into the chair. It
was after school hours, and the clan was in full force. Nora was seated
at my easel, humming "A Media Noche," and trying to copy her birthday
picture; Betty and Jack were fencing,--at least, Betty was making
furious lunges at Jack, which he was mainly occupied in dodging, while
every now and then a vehement protest was heard, such as, "Now, Betty,
look out! that was my head," or, "That came within an inch of my nose--I
_do_ wish you'd be careful!" Kathie and the twins were playing house,
holding lively conversations in a high key, while Alan paid them
repeated visits, prancing around the room, and to their door, on a
broomstick, which was his fiery steed, and to control which required
both voice and whip; Nannie was hunting through our pile of violin music
for a certain duet to play with Max when he got home; and in the midst
of all the noise Phil lay on the sofa, his head nearly level with the
seat, and his long legs extended over the arm, reading Virgil aloud.

That's his way of studying,--a most annoying one to a nervous
person!--and, as the noise around him increases or decreases, so he
raises or lowers his voice. As may be easily understood, there are times
when he fairly roars.

The news of the reception had preceded me, and as I came in Phil reared
his head in such a comical way to speak to me that Betty instantly
declared that he looked like a turtle. "So you're booked for the
Blackwood tea-fight," he said. "Well, old man, my sympathy for you is
only equalled by my thankfulness that I am not the victim. Take my
advice,--I've been there several times, you know, and you
haven't,--fortify the inner man before you go. It's a very mild
orgy,--a thimbleful of chocolate and one macaroon are all you'll
get,--and coming between luncheon and dinner, I'm afraid you'll
feel--as I did--as if you'd like to fall on the table and eat up all
that's on it." His head fell back, and he resumed his reading, the
book resting upright on his chest.

"People are not supposed to gorge themselves at an afternoon reception,"
remarked Nora, before I could get a word in. "It is--"

"'A feast of reason and a flow of soul,'" finished Nannie, smiling,
"though I'm sure dear old Mrs. Blackwood would willingly have given you
a pound or two of macaroons and a whole pitcher full of chocolate, had
she known you were hungry."

"Oh, I'm not saying a word against her in particular; she's a first-rate
old party," commenced Phil, but he was instantly interrupted.

"Phil, you are positively vulgar," cried Nora, in a tone of disgust.

"Don't speak of our dear old friend in that way, Phil; it isn't nice,"
said Nannie.

"Well, now, here's a queer thing," remarked Phil, in an argumentative
tone. "If I'd said Mrs. Blackwood was 'a host in herself,' it would
have been considered a delicate compliment; and yet when I call her a
'party,' which certainly means a host, you two jump on me. There's no
accounting for the eccentricities of the feminine character." Then, as
his head sank back, "I do believe somebody's been pulling the feathers
out of this sofa pillow; there can't be two dozen left in it. I suppose
Betty's been making an Indian head-dress for herself. Just poke that
history under my head, will you, Jack? or I'll certainly get rush of
blood to the brain. There, that's better! Why so silent, most noble
Felix?" with a sidelong glance at me after settling himself. "Art
filled with fears for Thursday's function?"

Usually I enjoy Phil's nonsense, and talk as much of it as he does; but
somehow I didn't feel in the mood for it this afternoon. One reason may
have been because of the dreadfully tired feeling that had come over me
since entering the schoolroom: it was really an effort for me to answer
him; I felt as if I wanted only to be let alone, and I realised, without
being able to control it, that my voice was very irritable as I said
briefly, "One has got to be silent when you begin to gabble."

Phil reared his head again, and looked at me. "Whew!" he whistled,
"aren't we spicy this afternoon!" Nannie immediately rushed into
conversation.

"Mrs. Blackwood wrote papa that she and Mr. Blackwood had just received
some very rare old books from Europe," she said, "among them a
Chaucer,--and beside that, a charming Corot; so, Fee, both you and
papa will have something to enjoy, while Nora and I are exchanging
small-talk."

"Oh, that's why papa was so willing to go to the reception," Nora
remarked, with her usual brilliancy. "I might have known there was
something like that about it."

[Illustration: "'FEE, DEAR,' SHE SAID IN AN UNDERTONE, 'DON'T YOU FEEL
WELL? TELL ME.'"]

Willing! I thought of what had happened in the study that
afternoon--poor old _pater_! I felt like saying something sharp to
Miss Nora, but it was actually too much trouble to speak; I was so
tired, and the chair was so comfortable, that I did not want even
to think of any exertion.

By this time Nannie had found her duet, and she came and stood by my
chair, looking anxiously at me. "Fee, dear," she said in an undertone,
"don't you feel well? Tell me." Her fingers stole up and gently stroked
the hair behind my ear. "Tell me, Fee," she pleaded.

"I only want--to be let alone," I said, but not unkindly. I didn't mean
to be disagreeable to her, and I think she understood,--she is so quick
of comprehension!

At this moment there was an outcry from one of the fencers. "If you
aren't the meanest girl I know!" cried Jack. "You don't seem to care
how much you hurt a person. I won't play another minute, now, then!"
and his stick rattled on the floor.

"She's given me a horrid poke in the ribs," he said, coming over to
Nannie, with his hand pressed to his side. "I tell you now, it hurts;
and she doesn't care a rap,--rough thing!"

Betty was laughing immoderately. "Poor wounded warrior!" she mocked;
"he's taken his 'death of danger' ever since we began. What a baby you
are, Jack! I'd just like to give you something to make a fuss about. Ho,
there! defend thyself, Sir Knight."

She bore down on him with upraised stick, but Jack dodged behind Nannie.
"Now stop, I tell you, Betty!" he cried sharply. "Go away! I'm not
playing; you're too disagreeable."

"Oh, come, Miss Elizabeth, do behave yourself," said Nannie.

But Betty kept dancing around Jack, and making thrusts at him. "Hie thee
hither, my squires," she called to the younger boys. "Come on, Sir Paul,
come on, Sir Alan, and we'll capture this recreant knight."

"You ought to be sent to boarding-school, where you'd be _made_ to
behave yourself!" "Fair play, Elizabeth; don't hurt our Rosebud;" and
"I'd just like to see 'em try it," came simultaneously from Nora, Phil,
and Jack.

But the "squires" had no intention of interfering; they had pressing
affairs of their own to look after. One of the dolls having suddenly
developed a complication of diseases,--measles, scarlet fever, and
whooping cough,--the heads of the household were after the doctor in hot
haste. Sir Paul had mounted the "charger," and was urging him on at his
highest speed, while Sir Alan came dashing toward us on his broomstick,
thrashing his steed without mercy, and shouting, "Gee up, horsie,
_g-e-e_ up!" at the top of his voice.

At this juncture the door opened, and in stepped nurse. "Lors-a-me!
Bedlam let loose!" she exclaimed, putting up her hands and looking as
surprised as if this noisy state of things were not of daily occurrence.
"Master Felix, your pa'd like to see you 'bout some referumces,--or
something like that. Come, children, it's time to get ready for your
dinner. Oh, come now,--I ain't got no time to waste; to-morrow you c'n
get the doctor--come!"

As I sat up and took hold of the arms of the rocker, as a preliminary to
rising, Nannie said, coaxingly: "Mayn't I go down and explain to papa
about those references? You could tell me, you know, Fee. Then you could
go to your room and lie down for a little while before dinner,--you look
so tired."

"I _am_ tired," I answered slowly, "awfully tired. And I really don't
know why I should feel so. I've not done any more or as much as usual
to-day. No, Nan, I think I'll go down; but first I'll get ready for
dinner, and that will spare another trip up and down the stairs. I'll
go to bed early to-night, and that'll make me all right to-morrow." So
saying, I stood up and took a step forward; just then Alan, who had
escaped from nurse and taken another gallop around the room, came
kicking and prancing up on his restive steed. He rushed by with a great
flourish, whirling the end of the broomstick as he got near me; nurse
made a dive at him, and the next moment I was in a heap on the floor!

I wasn't hurt, except for a sharp rap on one elbow, and my first impulse
was to call out and reassure the family, for they were frightened; but
though I could hear all that went on,--in a far-off way, as if I were
in a dream,--to my great surprise I found that I could neither move nor
speak, nor even open my eyes!

Like a flash, Nannie was beside me on the floor, crying, "Oh, _Fee!_ are
you hurt?" and trying to slip her little hands under my shoulder. Nora
and Betty immediately began scolding Alan, who protested vehemently,
"I _didn't_ hit him; no, I _didn't_, truly I didn't." I heard Jack's
nervous demand, "Oh, do, somebody, tell me what to do for him!" and
Phil's startled exclamation, "Great Cæsar's ghost!" and the thud with
which his Virgil fell on the floor. Then I felt his strong arms under
me, and I was lifted and laid on the sofa.

"Are you hurt, old fellow? are you, Fee?" Phil asked anxiously, bending
over me.

"Mebbe he's faint like; open the window, Master Phil! Children, _don't_
crowd round your brother so," said nurse. "There, now, fan him, an' I'll
bring some water." As she turned away I heard her say,--nurse never can
whisper,--"I don't like his looks; go tell your pa, Master Phil, an' ask
him if you can run for the doctor."

Nannie's fingers tightened round my hand. "O-o-h, my _dear_!" she
whispered.

The quiver in her voice told me that she, too, had heard nurse's remark,
and that she was frightened,--my little twinnie! I think she would
willingly any time suffer pain to spare me. I longed to comfort her,
to tell them all that I was not at all hurt, that I had no pain
whatever,--even the backache, which is my almost daily companion,
having left me since the fall,--yet the terrible languor which
controlled me seemed almost too great to be overcome. Then I thought
of poor Nannie, and the _pater_, and the doctor, and the beastly
fussing and restrictions I'd have to endure, and with a desperate
effort--for my tongue really felt heavy--I managed to get out,
"I'm--not--hurt. Don't--need--doctor."

Nannie gave a little gasp when I spoke, and catching my two hands in
hers, kissed them.

"You old humbug!" cried Phil, gaily,--I could hear the note of relief in
his voice; "I do believe you've been shamming to give us a scare. Open
your eyes this minute."

And then I found that I could raise my lids and look at the dear faces
gathered about me.

"Sure you feel all right, Master Felix?" nurse asked, eyeing me closely.

"Sure," I answered slowly; "only tired."

"Well, if it's only tired you are, the best place is bed, an' we'll not
send for the doctor," she said; and I made no objection, though usually
I hate to go to bed in the day-time.

Not having inherited the good physique of the family, I've spent more
days in bed and on the sofa than I'd be willing to count, and I'm not
anxious for more. Still I would rather do that now than have the doctor
sent for, so without demur I let Phil carry me down to my room, and
undress and put me to bed.

What wouldn't I give to be as strong as he is! And he's gentle with it;
sometimes he provokes me by the way he watches and takes care of me,--as
if I were so fragile I'd go to pieces at a knock,--though in a way I
like it, too, and he doesn't mean to rub it in.

He has an idea that I care less for him than he does for me, because I
am so unfortunately constituted that I can't express what I feel;
but--if he only knew it--life to me wouldn't be worth the living without
him and Nannie,--dear old lion-heart! Sometimes I wonder if he will
always be as good to me, and care as much; I mean when he gets older,
and goes more among people, and they find out what a fine fellow he is,
and what jolly company. He declares now that I'm the good company; but
_I_ know that my good spirits are more dependent on his than his on
mine. In our studies I'm the quicker,--he doesn't love books as I
do,--but he is so kindly and brave and bright and merry, that I'd defy
anybody not to like him.

But--though he thinks he is awfully sharp--Phil is one of the kind that
will be imposed upon; he's so honest and straightforward himself that
he thinks everybody else is also, and I'm constantly afraid that some
fellow or other that he doesn't see through'll get hold of him and get
him into mischief. This was one of the reasons why I was so awfully
disappointed at not going to college; Phil and I've been together all
our lives, and I hated mortally to have him go off alone and meet
people, and make friends there that I would never know. He really
needs me--my cooler judgment, I mean--just as much as I ever need
his protecting strength. I'm almost sure that _she_ thought so, too,
for whenever college was spoken of she would say, "You must go at
the same time, Felix, and help him;" and once she added, "help him
in _everything_," and I understood what she meant.

It won't always be so: I think that by and by, when Phil gets to be a
man, he'll have more judgment; and now it's only because he's so true
himself, and so simple-hearted. I really believe I love him all the
better for these traits, though sometimes, when I get provoked, I tell
him that he is gullible, and a second Dr. Primrose.

When I found that I couldn't possibly go to college, it was a great
relief to know that Murray Unsworth was there, and that they'd be
together. Murray's an A 1 fellow! But I must confess that so far Phil
hasn't changed at all; he depends on me and seems to like to be with
me just as much as ever. And now comes along that snob Chad. I _don't_
like that fellow, and I'll be furious if he gets intimate with Phil.
Phil didn't like him at all at first, but I can see--though he won't
admit it--that Chad is worming himself into his good graces. He's
found out that Phil is first-rate company, and now he is trying to
be very friendly.

Max was called out of town on the evening of Nora's birthday, and he
didn't get back for some time; but that has not prevented Monsieur le
Don_key_ from coming here again and again. He had the assurance to send
his card up to Nora the second time he called,--for her to go down to
the drawing-room and entertain him alone! just like his impudence! But
of course Miss Marston would not let Nora go, and instead, the _pater_
walked in, and squelched Mr. "Shad." We don't know what father said, but
the next time Chad appeared he found the schoolroom good enough for him;
and now, as I said, he is trying to be very friendly with Phil.

I don't want him to get intimate with Phil; I dread it, for I have a
conviction he's not the sort of fellow that it will do anybody any good
to know. From what he has told Nora, it seems that Chad's father was a
miner who "struck a bonanza," as he expresses it, and made a great deal
of money; then, just as he was ready to enjoy the fortune, he and his
wife were killed in a railroad disaster, leaving Chad, who was the only
child, to the guardianship of a fellow miner--another "bonanza" man--and
Max, whose only acquaintance with Mr. Whitcomb, by the way, had been in
successfully conducting a law case for him. The other guardian took the
boy all over the United States, and then to Europe, letting him, I
fancy, do as he pleased,--study or not as suited his own will,--with the
result that Chad is an ignorant, vulgar, conceited cad, with the merest
veneering of refinement, who cares for no one but himself, and whose
sole standard for everything and every one is that of money. When
the other guardian died, of course Max had to assume the charge of
Chad,--who'll not be of age for nearly two years,--though I should think
he must be a serious trial, for Max is so thoroughly nice himself, so
honourable and clever and refined, that this affected, snobbish little
Dresden-china-young-man, as Betty calls him, must jar on him in every
way, though perhaps Chad is on his best behaviour with his guardian.

Chad affects to be quite a man of the world, talks a great deal about
his "bachelor quarters" and the theatres; he drinks and smokes, and
I've heard him swear; he considers all this the proper thing for young
fellows of our age, and more than once he has sneered at Phil and me as
"behind the times." He calls Murray "the Innocent," though I've snubbed
him for it pretty sharply, and whenever he gets a chance, he makes fun
of Hilliard's slow ways, when old Hill is worth a dozen or two of such
blowers as he. I almost wish Murray'd give the bediamonded cad a
thrashing,--only that the fellow's not worth his touching. Phil and
I neither drink nor smoke; we've never spoken about it to each other,
but we know that our--mother--would not have liked us to do any of
these things, so we let them alone.

I think Chad knows that I've no liking for him,--to put it mildly,--and
that he returns the compliment. I try not to quarrel with him; in
fact,--though it goes awfully against the grain,--I make an effort to be
civil, so as to see, hear, and know all that goes on between himself and
Phil, and to be able to guard Phil from him without Phil's knowing it.

I've said a few things to warn Phil; but I had to be careful, for he's
such an old Quixote that, if he thought I was particularly down on Chad,
he'd begin to take up the cudgels for him. But he _sha'n't_ get hold of
Phil, I declare he sha'n't,--not as long as I am here. I wish to
goodness he hadn't ever come near us!

Nannie is the only one to whom I've said anything of my fear, and she
laughs it away. She says Phil is the last person in the world to fall
in with a fellow like Chad; but I'm not so sure of that, for Chad can
be entertaining enough when he chooses to be, telling of his life in
California and the wild West, and in Europe. I know he has invited Phil
to come to his rooms, and twice he has taken him off for a long walk.

Phil _loves_ to walk, with long, swinging strides, that, try to keep up
as I may, wear me out before we've gone many blocks, even with the
support of his arm. So there I can't be with him.

_She_ used to say that it was best to recognise one's limitations, and
to respect them: I recognise mine only too well,--I've _got_ to; but
instead of respecting, I abhor them, and am always striving to get
beyond them. With all the strength of soul that is in me I try to be
patient and contented--to accept myself; but now that she has gone, only
God and I know the miserable failure I make of it day after day. I want
to do so much; I want to amount to something in the world, to have
advantages for study and improvement, and to fit myself to mix with wise
men by and by,--clever men and scholars,--and to hold my own among them.
I could do it, I feel I could, if only I had the opportunity for study,
and the health to improve it; this isn't conceit,--_she_ knew that,--but
a cool, calm gauging of the sort of ability that I know I have.

We--she and I--used to plan great things that I was to do when I went to
college; when I finished college, and went into the world, I was to
become a famous lawyer,--"good, wise, and great, my son Felix," she used
to say, with a look in her eyes that always stirred me to more and
better efforts. She helped me in every way, and it was a delight to
learn, in spite of the drawback of ill-health. But now all is changed:
she is gone, there is no prospect whatever of my getting to college, and
somehow, lately, this miserable old back of mine seems to be getting to
be a wetter and wetter blanket than ever on my ambition. Ah, if I but
had a physique like Phil's! She used to say, "Remember always, Felix,
that your fine mind is a gift from God, a responsibility given you by
Him." Oh, why, then, did He not give me a body to match? All things are
possible to Him; He could have done so.

When I was a little fellow I used to pray most earnestly that God would
let me outgrow this lameness and be strong like other boys; but we had a
talk about it,--just before she went away,--and ever since then I have
asked only to be patient and contented. But with all the trying, it is
_very_ hard to say truthfully that I am thankful for my creation. I have
never spoken of this to Nannie, but perhaps, with that quick intuition
which makes her such a blessing to us, she guesses it; for only last
Sunday, in church, when we came to that part in the General
Thanksgiving, she snuggled closer to me as we knelt, and gave my hand a
quick, warm little squeeze, as if to tell me that she was glad of my
"creation and preservation."

Nannie comforts me more than I can ever express to her; she has many a
time given me courage when my spirits were at a very low ebb.




XI.

AN AFTERNOON RECEPTION.

TOLD BY FELIX.


Though I felt all right the next day, to please nurse I did not get up;
but on Wednesday I did. At first my legs were very shaky, even for me:
my cane was not enough; I had to hold on to the furniture besides to
make my way about the room. But gradually that wore away, and by
afternoon I was quite as well as usual; so on Thursday we went to the
reception in the order first planned.

The Blackwoods live in a large old house, and by the time we got
there--we were rather late--the parlours were quite crowded. I think
the _pater_ was a little nervous as we went up the palm-lined
staircase; he hates an affair of this kind, and only the rare editions
and a strong dislike to hurting the feelings of his old friends could
have induced him to attend it. He kept Nannie close beside him, Nora
and I following behind.

Mrs. Blackwood is a fine-looking old lady, with beautiful white hair,
which she wears turned straight off her face; she gave us a warm
welcome, and after walking father through the rooms, and introducing him
to a number of people,--not one of whom he would have recognised five
minutes after!--and after showing us the Corot, which is a _beauty!_ she
led the way to the library. It was a cosy room, for all it was so large.
The walls were lined with books; a desk stood near one of the windows;
some tables--on which were books, photos, and several handsome glass and
china bowls filled with flowers--and a variety of comfortable chairs
were scattered about; in a space between the book-shelves, and thrown
into bold relief by the dark portière behind it, was an exquisite marble
Laocoön, and in the bay-window the beautiful Venus de Milo.

[Illustration: "IN THE BAY-WINDOW."]

I should have enjoyed staying there, but we'd only been in a short
while when Mrs. Blackwood's daughter came and carried us younger ones
off to the drawing-room again. In vain Nannie and I politely protested
that we should rather stay in the library; Mrs. Endicott was not to be
resisted. "Your father and my mother enjoy looking at books more than
anything else," she said pleasantly, as we made our reluctant way back;
"but I know that young people like to be where there are life and
gaiety,--and you haven't even had a cup of chocolate. Come this way,
and I'll introduce you to Miss Devereaux."

She piloted us rapidly through the crowd to the upper end of the room,
where at a table sat a young lady pouring chocolate, to whom she
introduced us.

Taking my "thimbleful" of chocolate, I retreated to a corner where I
could sit and sip and take observations unobserved. To begin with, I
could not but notice the difference in my two sisters. Nannie had found
a place on a lounge near the tea-table, and was gazing about her with
the deepest interest,--her brown eyes all a-shine, the faintest ripple
of a smile stirring her lips; to my eyes she looked very sweet! Nora
stood, cup in hand, sipping her chocolate, and chatting as easily to
Miss Devereaux and the different ones who came up as if she were in the
habit of going to afternoon receptions every day in the week. I saw
people look and look again at her, and it didn't surprise me, for Nora
is a stunner, and no mistake. As Phil says, she carries herself as if
she owned the whole earth, and she is self-possessed to a degree that is
a constant surprise to us. If she weren't always so dead sure that she
is right and everybody else wrong, we'd all think a great deal more of
her; but as she is, one feels it a positive duty to snub her sometimes.
We are proud of Nora's beauty, but she's the very last one we'd any of
us go to for comfort or in a strait,--why, Betty'd be better, for all
she's so fly-away and blunt.

Miss Devereaux was handsome, too: she was large and statuesque, with
beautifully moulded throat and arms, and hair which rippled like that
of my poor old plaster Juno at home,--in fact, she suggested to my mind
some Greek goddess dressed up in silk and lace; I quite enjoyed looking
at her, and would have liked to make a sketch of her. But she wasn't as
nice as she looked; in her way she was as snobbish as is Chad. A tall,
very richly dressed woman was brought up and introduced; she wore
enormous diamond ear-rings, and her manner was even more condescending
than that of the young goddess herself. She pulled forward a chair,
completely barring the way to the table, and, seating herself, stirred
her chocolate languidly.

Miss Devereaux was all attention; she offered almost everything on the
table, and listened with the deepest interest while the diamond lady
talked loudly and impressively of _her_ last afternoon reception,--the
distinguished people who were present, and what the music and
refreshments cost. Then, suddenly remembering that she was "due at one
of 'Mrs. Judge' Somebody's receptions,--they were always _alagant_
affairs,"--the diamond lady put down her cup, from which she had barely
taken a sip or two, and with a bow, and what Phil calls "a galvanised
smile," sailed off to parts unknown.

"Such a charming woman!" murmured the goddess to Nannie.

Before Nannie could answer, there was a new claimant for
refreshments,--a slender, rather spare little woman this time, dressed
in a severely plain black gown; her hair was parted and pulled tightly
away from her face; her bonnet was a good deal plainer and uglier than
anything that nurse has ever had,--and she has rather distinguished
herself in that line. This little woman was evidently not used to
receptions and young goddesses. She seated herself on the extreme edge
of the chair the diamond lady had just vacated, and after taking off her
gloves, and laying them across her lap, she accepted her chocolate and
cake with a deprecating air, as if apologising for the trouble she was
causing. "Oh, thank you, _thank_ you," she said gratefully; "you are
_very_ kind."

The young goddess gave her a haughty stare, and then assumed a bored
expression that I could see made the poor little woman nervous. She
stirred her chocolate violently, and drank half of the cupful at a
draught; then, evidently considering it her duty to make conversation,
she remarked, "Didn't we have an interesting address yesterday at the
Missions House?" She glanced at Miss Devereaux as she spoke.

"Ah--indeed!" answered that young person, with another haughty glare
that almost overcame the little woman. She got very red, and in her
agitation drained her cup, and sat holding it. She looked thoroughly
uncomfortable.

I'm not fond of addressing strangers, but I couldn't stand that sort
of treatment any longer, and got on my feet with the desperate intention
of immediately starting a lively conversation with this particular
stranger, without regard to Miss Devereaux. But Nannie was ahead of me;
bending forward, she said in her friendliest tone,--and Nancy's
friendliest tone is worth hearing, I tell you,--"I read of it in the
papers; it must have been _very_ interesting."

The little woman's look of gratitude was positively pathetic.

[Illustration: "'IT MUST HAVE BEEN _VERY_ INTERESTING.'"]

"Yes, it was, _very_ fine!" she said,--bending forward, and jerking
her sentences out nervously,--"so many people, and such splendid
speakers! I wish Mrs. Blackwood'd been there!" Then, waxing
confidential, she went on in a lower key: "She and I used to be girls
together,--ages ago. Then her folks took her to Europe to finish her
education,--some people set such store by foreign education! We didn't
meet again--though I heard of her off and on--till here, lately, when I
came to New York to live. Of course--for old times' sake--I looked her
up and called,--handsome house, isn't it? Seems like some people have
everything,"--with a short sigh that sounded almost like a snort,--"but
I must say Tilly isn't a bit stuck up over it,--never was. Say, who's
_she_?" A quick sidelong motion of eyes and thumb in Miss Devereaux's
direction gave point to this last question.

"I think her name--" began Nannie, but she was interrupted by a loud
crash which seemed to come from one of the adjoining rooms. In an
instant my twin was on her feet: "Oh, _Felix_!" she cried breathlessly,
"that came from the library! Papa has knocked over something!"

The _pater_ has an absent-minded way of upsetting things, and Nannie's
tone carried conviction with it; so, as fast as I could, I followed in
her wake as she threaded her way swiftly through the crowded room.

Nora raised her eyebrows with an air of mock resignation. "No use our
_all_ going," she said in an undertone as I went past her, and resumed
her conversation with the gentleman to whom she had been talking.

Some people had collected in the doorway of the library by the time I
got there, and I was delayed a minute or two in getting into the room;
then I saw, at one glance, that our worst fears were realised. There
stood my father, minus his spectacles, peering about him with a most
anxious, bewildered expression on his face,--I was struck with how ill
he looked! and around him on the polished floor lay the fragments of
one of the Doulton bowls! The small table on which it had stood
was-overturned, flowers were scattered in every direction, and among
the ruins shone my father's glasses, broken in several pieces.

Nannie went straight to the _pater's_ side and took his hand. "Felix and
I are here, papa; what can we do for you?" she said. The colour was in
her face; I know she felt embarrassed, but her voice was quite calm.

My father screwed up his eyes in a vain attempt to see the extent of the
mischief: "I--I think--I think, my dear, that I've broken something," he
said. At which very obvious statement there was a sound of smothered
laughter at the door.

Nannie's colour deepened, and I believe I muttered something about
finding Mrs. Blackwood; to tell the truth, I was so rattled--between
sympathy for the _pater_ and embarrassment at the accident--that I
hardly knew what I was saying, but my father caught at it. "Yes, yes,"
he said nervously, "I must speak to our hostess; I must apologise for my
awkwardness. Ask Mrs. Blackwood if she will be kind enough to step here,
Felix--or stay, I will go to her."

"I'll find Mrs. Blackwood for you," volunteered one of the bystanders;
but at that moment the little crowd at the door parted and in came Mrs.
Blackwood, and who should be behind her but _Max_! I was delighted to
see him. I felt that we were all right then, for Max always knows what
to do; and I think Nannie felt as relieved as I did, for she gave a
glad little cry as she held out her hand. Then she turned as red as a
rose,--I suppose she suddenly realised how many people were looking at
her; but evidently Max didn't mind them in the least, for he held on
to Nannie's hand, and smiled, and looked at her just as kindly as if
we were at home,--Max likes us all, but Nannie has always been his
favourite.

In the mean time Mrs. Blackwood was trying, with exquisite tact, to make
my father feel less uncomfortable. "It was the most absurd place to put
a bowl of flowers," she asserted cheerfully, "on so slight a table, and
so near the book-shelves. I've always declared that an accident would
occur; now I can say, 'I told you so!' and that's such a satisfaction
to a woman, you know."

She laughed merrily, but the _pater_ still looked troubled. "It was a
great piece of carelessness on my part," he repeated mournfully, for
about the fifth time. "I stood looking over a volume I had taken from
the shelf,--that, I am thankful to know, has not been injured" (with a
hasty glance at the book still tightly clasped in his left hand),--"and
becoming interested, I presume I forgot where I was, and--and leaned too
heavily against the table. It gave way, and--this ruin is the result!
I--I--cannot express to you how I regret the accident."

"_Don't_ be troubled over it, dear friend, _please_ don't," Mrs.
Blackwood urged. "Nothing is broken but the bowl, and that may have been
cracked before,--it seems to me that one of them was; let us rather
rejoice that you were not hurt by your fall, for _that_ would indeed
have been a 

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