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diff --git a/76993-0.txt b/76993-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5b8d66 --- /dev/null +++ b/76993-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8407 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76993 *** + + + + + + AN + INDEPENDENT DAUGHTER + + +[Illustration: The newly made graduate hurried down to meet her +friends.] + + + + + AN INDEPENDENT DAUGHTER + + + BY + AMY E. BLANCHARD + + AUTHOR OF “TWO GIRLS,” “BETTY OF WYE,” “THREE PRETTY MAIDS,” ETC. + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY + ALICE BARBER STEPHENS + +[Illustration: '[Logo]’] + + PHILADELPHIA + J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY + 1900. + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1898, + BY + J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + CHAPTER I. + COLLEGE-MATES 11 + + CHAPTER II. + A SERENADE 25 + + CHAPTER III. + FAREWELL, ALMA MATER 42 + + CHAPTER IV. + LISA’S WEDDING-DAY 58 + + CHAPTER V. + RUFFLED FEATHERS 72 + + CHAPTER VI. + DEAR DELIGHTS 85 + + CHAPTER VII. + A SUMMER SHOWER 100 + + CHAPTER VIII. + A COMING SHADOW 114 + + CHAPTER IX. + YOUR GOOD COMRADE 129 + + CHAPTER X. + UNTO THE HILLS 143 + + CHAPTER XI. + THE NEW TEACHER 156 + + CHAPTER XII. + NEW FRIENDS 168 + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 181 + + CHAPTER XIV. + A SLEIGHING PARTY 194 + + CHAPTER XV. + PITFALLS 207 + + CHAPTER XVI. + THE HOUSE OF THE BLACKSMITH 221 + + CHAPTER XVII. + “JES’ MISS ANNE” 234 + + CHAPTER XVIII. + A DREAM FULFILLED 248 + + CHAPTER XIX. + LEAVE-TAKINGS 264 + + CHAPTER XX. + AT LAST 277 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + PAGE + The newly made graduate hurried down to meet her + friends _Frontispiece._ + She bent over it eagerly 136 + Across the bed was thrown the figure of the girl 222 + He had dropped on his knees beside her, and had + gathered her hands in his 286 + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + + + AN + INDEPENDENT DAUGHTER + + + + + CHAPTER I. + COLLEGE-MATES. + + +Persis Holmes was walking slowly down the street. The summer breeze +swept her college gown around her in swirling lines, and ruffled her +hair so that once or twice she put up her hand to tuck back the straying +locks under her “mortar board.” She was coming from one of the +dormitories, and her goal was the gray building farther down the street. +She had not yet reached the long walk which led the way, between +pleasant stretches of green sward, up to the door of the principal +college building, when she heard some one running behind her. “Stop, +Persis,” a voice called. + +Persis paused and waited for a little dumpling of a girl who came up +nearly out of breath. “I thought I’d never catch you,” she panted. “You +look just like a poster girl, Perse, with those spiral folds wrapping +around you. I want to know if you’ve heard from Annis.” + +Persis looked down smilingly at Patty Peters’s little roly-poly figure. +Persis was not much over medium height, but she quite towered above +Patty. “I did have a letter this very morning,” she replied. “It was +written from Heidelberg, and the boys had been there.” + +“Tell me what she said.” And Patty gave a little skip in order to keep +up with her friend’s longer pace. + +Persis took a letter from one of her note-books. “We’ll go to the +reading-room, and I can tell you.” + +Patty agreed, and, swinging open the heavy door at the entrance of the +building, Persis led the way, and the two girls settled themselves in a +corner for a whispered conference. + +They were laughing heartily when they were joined by Nettie Greene. +“What are you two chuckling over?” she asked. + +“Why, Persis has just been reading a letter from Annis,” Patty replied. +“Tell her, Persis.” + +“Why, it is only a story about one of our college boys; the captain of a +foot-ball team he is. You know how the students in Heidelberg think they +display their prowess by slashing each other, and duelling, and all that +foolishness. Well, Harvey Dana is there studying, and one day, as he was +walking down the street, two German students stepped up, and one of them +struck him square in the face. You can imagine Harvey’s rage. He just +drew off and gave the fellow a blow, and a twist that sent him rolling +over and over in the gutter. Then he squared on the second one, and for +a moment the volumes of German and English words of wrath made the place +tremble, but the first fellow picked himself up, and they all looked at +each other, and then the Germans broke out into a roar of laughter, and +apologized, asking to shake hands, and wanting Harvey to take a glass of +beer with them. They just wanted to test him.” + +“Well, they found out the stuff of which he is made,” said Nettie. “Of +course, Annis is having a lovely time, but you must miss her very much, +Persis.” + +“I do miss her. Yes, she is having the treat of her life, and the voyage +did her good. Annis is not very strong,—that is, she has not the +endurance that I have, and Mrs. Brown thought a year of Europe would do +more for her than this last year of college.” + +“How do you like living in the Boarding Hall?” asked Nettie. “You had +such a pleasant home with the Browns; it seemed too bad that you had to +give it up just at the last.” + +“So much the better that I did not have to give it up before. I don’t +mind the experience. I’m rather fond of new experiences. I am finding +out a lot about human nature, and the truth of the saying, that you +don’t know people till you come to live with them, is daily becoming +more and more borne in upon me. The girls here are truly a motley crew.” + +“I know,” returned Nettie. “I tried it last year, you know. The first +and second year Margaret and I were together, but this last year mamma +thought I might be trusted to behave myself outside of college walls, +and so I’ve had rather a freer time. I must say I don’t like being +hedged in by rules and regulations.” + +“I don’t mind those much,” replied Persis, “but I must confess I don’t +like to be quite so close to some of my neighbors. There is one girl who +is the most pervasive person I ever saw. She slams her door so that it +shakes the building every time she goes in or out her room; her tread +upon the stairs is like an elephant’s, and she screams through the halls +like a fish-woman. I can’t imagine what sort of a home she has lived in, +and yet she is supposed to belong to nice people.” + +Nettie smiled. “Like a girl who has been boarding where I do,” she +remarked. “She makes her boast that she can be ready for breakfast three +minutes after the bell rings, and that she never gets up till she hears +it. I told her I hoped she didn’t do it often, for if cleanliness were +next to godliness she must be miles away from the latter. It was very +rude of me to say so, but she provoked me to it.” + +Persis laughed. “How did the three-minute maid like that?” + +“She was furious, naturally, but I noticed after that she was much later +in coming down to breakfast. She is horrid anyhow. So very ill-bred, and +the most vulgarly exacting creature you ever saw. She pays less board +than any of us, and seems to think our dear, kind Mrs. Scott keeps +boarders simply because it is a privilege to have such young persons +under her roof. I can’t bear the idea of demanding more than you pay +for, and I wish you could see this fussy and fastidious young woman. +Such actions as hers prove her no Christian, if they do not prove that +she is underbred.” And Nettie sniffed contemptuously. + +“Mothers are very right when they tell us that they are judged by our +actions,” put in Patty. “I always get my idea of a girl’s home from the +way she behaves away from it, and perhaps it is not always fair to her +mother.” + +“Let’s adjourn to my room,” Persis proposed, bouncing up. “I only came +over to hunt up a reference, and then I’ll be ready to go back. Mell +sent me a big box of home-made caramels to-day, and they’re fine.” + +“Where is the girl who could withstand such a treat?” replied Nettie. +“I’m ready to sample them. What do you hear from home, Perse? All well?” + +“All are well. Grandmother has had a cold, but she is better. Father is +busy on his new book. Lisa and mamma are absorbed in wedding-clothes. +Mell has been sulking for some time past, and sent me the caramels as a +peace-offering.” + +Nettie looked up inquiringly. + +Persis laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing, only Aunt Esther invited me to spend +a part of the summer holidays with her. She has a project for a trip in +which I am included. Mell has always felt that, in some way, she had a +pre-empted right on Aunt Esther, and she didn’t relish being set aside +on this occasion. It’s mean of me to tell it, but you know her so well.” +Persis was always contrite when she came suddenly to a realizing sense +of having said more than was necessary. She turned to the bookcases, +wishing she could hold herself in check more readily. + +But these, her special friends, did not censure her, for they knew the +Holmes girls of old. Nettie Greene and her sisters, in particular, had +been the playmates of Persis and her sisters ever since they could +toddle, and Nettie was fonder of Persis than of Lisa and Mellicent. +Lisa, the eldest, was soon to marry a young naval officer. Mellicent, +the youngest, had just finished her studies at Miss Adams’s school, and +did not care to undertake a higher course. She was fond of admiration +and pleasure, and, being an exceedingly pretty girl, was likely to have +both. She had sweet, affectionate, appealing ways, generous she was, and +devoted to the friends who professed a fondness for her, or who admired +her, but she was quite ready to turn from them at a word of dispraise, +or at the slightest appearance of lack of admiration. Of the three +Holmes girls, she was, so far as mere external beauty went, perhaps the +most attractive. Lisa, in her way, was quite as handsome, and possessed +of a really finer character. She was, however, imperious and haughty, +and needed the discipline of sorrow to develop her. Persis, the middle +one, had her faults. She was quick-tempered, decided in her opinions, +and rather too ready to express them, but she was forgiving and +sympathetic, selfsacrificing and loyal to the last degree, ready for +self-reproach when she realized that she was at fault, and willing to +admit her error. She was at this time slightly above medium height, with +an erect carriage which made her look taller. Her intelligent speaking +countenance reflected every emotion, and her earnest gray eyes spoke of +truth and sincerity. She did not look at all like her sisters, and +although the mere casual observer was ordinarily attracted to the other +two, Persis’s friends perceived a beauty which mere outline of feature +was not required to express. + +Having sought out her reference, Persis closed the book she was +consulting and put it carefully back on the shelf. She loved all books +too well to treat any one of them carelessly. “Come girls,” she said, +and the three took their way towards a tall brick building about a block +farther up the street, known as the Boarding Hall. Patty Peters was +Persis’s next-door neighbor on her right; on the left was the room of +“the girl with the elephantine tread,” as Persis called her. + +The girls made themselves comfortable in Persis’s pretty room. Here her +originality and individuality showed themselves very plainly. + +Nettie, nibbling at the caramels, looked around and said, “Perse, you +always do have such a way of making places cosey. There is nothing bleak +and bare about this room, and yet it is cool and refreshing. I believe +if you were in an Esquimaux hut you’d find a way to make it look bright +and cheerful.” + +“I should try,” returned Persis. “I believe in being bright and cheery, +and in doing all one can to make the rest of the world feel so; and +Patty feels the same way.” Persis cast an affectionate glance towards +her little neighbor. “Patty is a cure for the blues any day,” she +continued. “She is naturally a bit of sunshine. As for myself, I decided +long ago that I could be either gloomy, miserable, and burdensome, or +cheerful, happy, and helpful, just as I cultivated a contented spirit. +It is mainly a matter of cultivation. I used to think it was much more +interesting and romantic to be repining, and to bemoan the weariness of +existence and the joylessness of the world, but I’ve found out since I +came to college that the persons who are always sighing, and fancying +trouble at every turn, are not the ones who succeed or who help to raise +the world to a better condition; therefore my motto is, ‘unwavering +cheerfulness.’” + +“But one can’t wear butterfly wings all the time,” Nettie made reply. + +“No. I don’t mean that one needs to be frivolous and unsympathetic. I +think it requires a lot of strength and determination to be cheerful all +the time, but it _helps_ more than anything. Why, the girls who come in +here ready to flop on some one, and get into perfect panics over +supposed future miseries, quite wear me out. There is one in particular +who is a perfect ‘old man of the sea:’ she hangs around your neck, and +you have to carry her everywhere.” + +Nettie was thoughtful. “I don’t believe I ever thought of my blues +hindering other persons’ lives,” she remarked after a pause. + +“But they do,” replied Persis, earnestly. “Don’t you see that if some +one has to carry her own real burdens and others’ real burdens, if you +add to them yours which are only possible, you are giving them an extra +weight?” + +“I’ll be cheerful, Perse, from this out. I know now what our old nurse +meant when she used to say, ‘He that seeks trouble it is a pity he +should miss it,’ and ‘Worry is a worse dog than Want.’ I know mother +tells me I help her the most when I don’t worry.” + +“That is true,” returned Persis. “I believe we could all give more help +to those we love by looking on the bright side for them and with them. +It takes all the heart out of those who are trying to have every sort of +possible misery suggested.” + +“Let’s make a compact and call ourselves ‘The Cheerful Three,’” Patty +proposed. + +“Good! we will,” cried the other two. + +“Then we will be helpers and not hinderers,” Patty continued. + +“True enough, Miss Patty-Cake. Goodness! what’s that?” And Nettie gave a +start. + +The others laughed. “It’s only ‘My Lady Slam-bang,’” Persis told her +friend. + +“How can you stand it? I never heard such a noise. And what a voice! Was +she brought up in the backwoods? Has she no consideration for others?” + +“I think, very little of anything but thoughtlessness. And as to her +rearing, I think she must have lived in a saw-mill, where there are no +doors, or in a restaurant, where the doors swing both ways,” returned +Persis. + +“Or else in a tent,” put in Patty. “I’m afraid, come to think of it, +that the Cheerful Three are disposed to be critical.” + +“All girls are,” asserted Nettie, helping herself to a particularly +toothsome caramel. “Do you know, to change the subject, that you girls +must promise to come and spend next Saturday night with me?” + +“Three in a bed!” exclaimed Persis, aghast. + +“No, there need be but one doubling up. The three-minute maid is going +to leave us; her room is next to mine, so I have spoken for it; for the +new boarder will not come till Monday.” + +“I hope the room will be well cleaned,” observed Persis. + +“It will be. I’ll see that the windows are left open so as to rid the +place of any lingering odor of scented soap or cheap perfume, for I know +your aversion to them, Perse. Anyhow, I think we’ll put Patty in there, +and you can bunk in with me; I promise you no ‘German cologne’ nor +‘Cashmere bouquet’ is to be found in my apartment.” + +“Then we’ll come; at least, I will. How about you, Patsy?” + +“Oh, I’ll be glad to join you. What’s the special frolic, Nettie?” + +“I can’t tell you. I promised not to. By the way, Persis, do you hear +from Basil Phillips often? Why didn’t he take up his studies here +instead of going abroad? He could have taken a post-graduate course.” + +“Oh, he wanted to study at the Beaux Arts. He is going to be an +architect, you know,” replied Persis, passing over the first part of the +question. + +“Has Annis seen him?” + +“Oh, yes.” Persis did not pursue the subject, but exclaimed, “I do +believe it’s something to do with the college boys.” + +“What is?” asked Patty. + +“Why, Nettie’s wanting us on Saturday.” + +“I’ll not tell,” cried she. “You can’t make me.” + +“We don’t want to know. Do we, Patty?” + +“Of course not; we’d much rather be surprised.” + +“Oh, of course,” returned Nettie. “All the same, you are wild with +curiosity.” + +The other two protested, and, to show their indifference, began to +discuss college topics. + +Persis was an ambitious, good student, and was taking her four years’ +course in three years. The departure of Annis Brown for Europe lost +Persis her special chum, for her cousin Annis was her bosom friend, and +she missed her sadly. However, she perhaps devoted herself all the more +assiduously to her work, and looked eagerly forward to the next summer +when she should be a full-fledged graduate, and could take up life +seriously. + +“Dear me! Persis, do put those caramels away,” Nettie exclaimed at last. +“I have made a perfect gourmand of myself, and I am so thirsty.” + +“Oh, are you? I can offer you a real home-made beverage,” replied +Persis, going to a little cupboard. “Grandma knows I am fond of +raspberry vinegar, and she made a fine lot of it last summer. It is such +a _quenchative_, as we say at home.” + +“You all do have the most original sayings,” Nettie observed. “I +remember how puzzled I was when I was a little girl, and was once +spending the day with you; for when luncheon was announced, you said, ‘I +must go and brush my rabbit before I go down.’” + +“What did she mean?” inquired Patty, looking puzzled. + +“She meant brush her hair, a hare being called a rabbit.” + +Patty gave a groan, but Persis now had ready her glasses of the cool, +ruby-colored draught, and offered it to her guests. + +“How delicious it looks! and it tastes so, too.” And Nettie sipped, with +an air of satisfaction, from the thin tumbler Persis handed her. + +But she had hardly more than tasted its contents before she sprang to +her feet, crying, “What is that?” for something fell heavily against the +door, and the other two girls jumped up. + +Persis stood a moment, and then cautiously turned the knob. There was a +push, a sound of scurrying feet, and into the room fell a nondescript +figure, constructed out of pillows, and wearing a man’s clothes. + +“It’s some of Bessie Taylor’s nonsense,” began Persis. But she stopped +short as she perceived a movement on the part of the figure lying +prostrate on the floor. + +“Oh, there is something alive! Oh, girls, suppose it should be a mouse,” +cried Nettie, jumping up on a chair. + +“A mouse! Who’s afraid of a mouse?” returned Persis, scornfully. “Don’t +be a goose, Nettie. I think mice are dears, myself.” And she proceeded +to examine the pinned-up coat-sleeve, which appeared to be animated by +something inside it, and, as the pins were withdrawn, out scampered a +little black kitten. + +“Oh, the poor little thing!” cried Patty, trying to catch the small, +frightened creature, which took refuge under the bed. + +“It’s the cook’s pet,” Persis told them. “We must take her up to the +kitchen.” + +“Up!” said Nettie, descending from her perch on the chair. + +“Yes. You forget the dining-room and kitchen are on the top floor.” + +“To be sure. I had forgotten. Now, what can we do to pay back those +girls?” + +“We’ll carry Mr. Man to Bessie’s door,” Persis decided, after a moment’s +reflection. “He shall carry this sphinx-like riddle: ‘From what was cast +down one may be set up. From what was a terror, produce a delight. Who +finds, keeps.’ I’ll put a box of caramels ’way down among the pillows, +and they’ll wonder and wonder what the mystery is.” + +“What made you think of that?” questioned Patty. + +“Reading about Samson, I suppose,” rejoined Persis, crowding her box +down as far as she could into the coat-sleeve. “Come, help me carry Mr. +Man back again.” The girls started, but before they had gone far they +saw the matron at the other end of the corridor. If Mrs. Nevins happened +not to be in an amiable mood, there might be a lecture in store for +them; so the girls scampered back, dragging their burden with them. But, +watching for a second opportunity, they found the coast clear, and bore +out the figure with the riddle written on a piece of paper, +conspicuously pinned to his coat. They stood it up against Bessie’s +door, and tiptoed back to Persis’s room. + +A little scream half an hour later told them the manikin had been +discovered, and they chuckled over their secret. + +“I think it is a pretty, amiable, nice way to pay them back,” Nettie +declared. “But Perse, you always were given to doing nice things.” + +Persis laughed. “Except when I stirred up our club at home by refusing +to abide by their rules.” + +“That was a nice thing in reality.” + +“Yes, in the end; but what a hubbub it created!” And Persis smiled at +the recollection. + +As Nettie parted from her two friends she heard a great chattering in +Bessie’s room, and knew that a bevy of girls was there, puzzling over +Persis’s riddle. High above the others came shrilly the voice of My Lady +Slam-bang. Nettie caught a perfect torrent of slang, and once a piercing +whistle. + +“What a boisterous hoyden of a girl! She’d tone herself down if she knew +the impression she makes,” thought Nettie. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER II. + A SERENADE. + + +The Cheerful Three met in Nettie’s room the next Saturday evening. The +house where she boarded stood several squares beyond the college and +nearer the suburbs. + +“I’ve brought some XXX sugar,” Persis announced, “and we can make some +candy. Patty has nuts and two or three kinds of extracts, and—oh, yes, I +have eggs, so we can proceed to make ever so many kinds.” + +“Good,” cried Nettie. “You’ve solved a difficulty for me, girls. But we +must have some chocolate, too. Who’ll run out with me to get some? The +shops are still open, and we can get anything we want.” + +Both girls signified their willingness to visit the shops, and all three +started forth. + +“If we had a brother or a cousin or some reliable masculine escort, we’d +go down to market and buy some taffy,” Patty remarked. “You know its +quite a frolic, and nowhere do they have such a Saturday night market as +here. In fact, I believe there are few such markets anywhere. Did you +ever go down on Christmas-eve? It is a real carnival on the street where +the market is, and it is getting livelier every year. But, of course, +you have always been at home for the holidays.” + +“No, not always. The first year I was here the family were all abroad,” +rejoined Persis. “And grandma and I spent the winter at Mrs. Brown’s. +You remember she took a house here.” + +“To be sure, I had forgotten. And the Phillips boys came that first +holiday. Oh, yes, and that friend of yours, Mr. Danforth.” And Nettie +gave Patty a little knowing look which Persis did not see. + +“Dear me!” exclaimed Nettie, suddenly, after they had returned from +their shopping expedition. “I don’t know what to make the candy in. I +hate to bother Mrs. Scott to loan me anything.” + +“Take that big flower-pot,—the yellow one over there,” Persis suggested. +“It will make an excellent bowl.” + +“Sure enough; and let me see—we’ll just use sheets of white paper to +spread the candies on. I’ll have to light my lamp, for I want to melt +the chocolate over the gas. How will I do it?” + +“Can’t you set your hot-water kettle on the little gas-stove, or +whatever it is, and put the chocolate in that mug? It will fit in the +top of the kettle, won’t it?” Persis was always ready with expedients. + +“That will do exactly. Now we’re all right.” + +For an hour or two the girls chattered away, stirring, tasting, and +patting into shape their confections until they were tired out. + +“Goodness, Nettie,” exclaimed Persis, viewing their work. “I don’t see +why we made such a lot. We’ll never get all this stuff eaten up before +it gets stale.” + +“What a remark to make in a community that boasts of four hundred girls, +each possessing her own special sweet tooth!” rejoined Nettie. + +“Oh, well, if you are going to scatter them broadcast, all right,” +Persis returned, sitting on the floor and hugging her knees. “What are +you doing now?” For Nettie was packing away an assortment of the candies +in little boxes which she had fished out from the lower part of her +washstand. + +“Oh, I’m just disposing of these,” replied Nettie, nonchalantly. “What +time is it, girls?” + +Patty glanced at the small clock ticking away on the dressing-table. +“Ten o’clock! who would believe it! I’m going to bed. You know I was +always a regular sleepy-head. Mother says that’s why I’m such a +roly-poly. I sleep so soundly.” + +“Do you sleep soundly?” And Nettie smiled. + +“Yes.” + +“Then leave your door open. Perse and I may want to call you if we are +ill from overeating.” + +Patty laughed, and the girls proceeded to prepare for bed. They were a +long time about it, however, and it was nearly eleven before their heads +were on their pillows. + +It seemed to Persis that she had only travelled half-way to Slumberland, +and sweet sounds were already weaving themselves into her dreams, when +she was awakened by a whisper from Nettie. + +“Listen, Persis.” + +“Hm?” said Persis, drowsily, for she could not detach the music from her +consciousness. + +Nettie gave her a little shake. “Come, get up,” she said. + +“What for?” + +“We must waken Patty.” + +“Why?” + +“Don’t you hear? Why, we are being serenaded.” + +At this, Persis sat bolt upright, and realized that “Nellie was a lady,” +was being sung by a quartette of manly young voices just below the +window. + +“Oh, how lovely!” she whispered. “Oh, Nettie, did you know about it? I +never heard a real serenade. Isn’t it romantic to be wakened this way? +Who are they?” + +“Some of the University boys. They asked me if you girls could manage to +spend a night with me, for they wanted to serenade us, and they didn’t +dare to go to the boarding hall of your college.” + +“Of course it wouldn’t do. But isn’t it fine? I’ll go give Patty a +shake; nothing short of a downright yell will waken her, unless I do.” +And Persis slipped out of bed and ran to the other room. + +Sleepy Patty at first only grunted, but at last she was made to realize +what was going on. Then the girls threw something around their shoulders +and stole to the windows in order to catch more of the melody. The moon +was shining brightly, and they could very plainly see the dark figures +in the little garden below. + +“That is Walter Dixon with the banjo, and Rob Maxfield with the guitar; +and I don’t know who has the mandolin. Joe Chapman is singing tenor, and +Matt Ward bass, but I don’t know the baritone. I wonder who he is.” +Nettie was peeping stealthily through the shutters. + +“They seem to be strong on the Nellie songs,” said Persis. “They are +starting up ‘The Quilting Party.’ What are you going to do, Nettie?” + +“I’m going to let down these boxes of candy to them. See I’ve tied them +to a string, kite-tail fashion. I think they deserve some sort of +recognition.” + +Carefully, very carefully, the girls secreted themselves behind the +curtains and dropped the long string over the window-sill. There was a +cessation in the music, and then the girls’ college yell, followed by +that of the boys’ own college, quite startled the neighborhood by the +vigor with which they were given. + +One more parting song was given, and then the boys departed, the +tinkling of the mandolin and guitar being heard more and more faintly as +they took their way down the street. + +“Oh, it was just lovely,” sighed Persis. “I had visions of the Alhambra, +and of Spanish cavaliers, and all sorts of things. I think the boys were +just dear to think of it, and I’ll tell Walter so the next time I see +him.” + +“I wonder if they ever serenade Connie,” observed Nettie, as they crept +back to bed. + +“I don’t know, but I should suppose they would. Connie has grown to be +the nicest sort of a girl. I always did like her, although her family +did not attract me.” + +“Oh, well, they are simply no relation at all to her. They are simply +the children of her father’s wife, so we can overlook their untutored +ways,” returned Nettie. “Mrs. Dixon is just as fond of Connie as she can +be. I wish she and Walter would marry. Do you think they will?” + +“I don’t know. I hardly think so. They are more like brother and sister. +I’m going to spend a day or two with them next week. You know the +Cooking Club meets there, and we are going to give the boys a supper, +some of Walter’s friends, and one or two of the boys from home.” + +“Who?” asked Nettie, wickedly. + +“Oh, only Mr. Dan and Porter Phillips. They are coming on to be here at +class-day, too. You know Mrs. Phillips is still abroad, and Porter is at +our house.” + +“You don’t call Mr. Danforth a boy, do you?” + +“No, not exactly; but we have known him so long, we always class him in +with home folks.” + +The next Saturday found a merry party of young people in Mrs. Dixon’s +roomy kitchen, baking and stewing, and stirring and tasting. + +“Aren’t we lucky in having such a cool evening?” said Connie, who, with +a white apron before her, was carefully compounding the dressing for a +salad. + +“Cool! Do you call this cool?” exclaimed Patty Peters, who was lifting +something from the oven, her round red cheeks glowing from the proximity +to the fire. + +“Not inside that oven, of course.” + +“No, nor within a mile of it.” + +“What’s that? It smells so good,” observed Porter Phillips, sniffing at +the contents of the pan Patty was turning around. + +“It is Patty-cake, Patty-cake, baker’s man, of course,” averred Walter +Dixon, who, with a blue-and-white checked apron tied around his waist, +was executing high kicks. + +“Oh, now, come off. Have we got to have much of that sort of thing?” +Porter said, in a disgusted tone. + +“Of course you have, wherever Walter is,” put in Connie. “Which of you +boys is going to grind the coffee? You’re here to help, remember. No +work, no eat.” + +“Didn’t I turn that ice-cream freezer till I nearly had vertigo?” +returned Walter. “You ought to let me off, Con, and give these other +fellows a chance.” + +“For shame, lazy-bones. You are host here, and ought to set them a good +example. Never mind, Mr. Danforth has come to the rescue.” + +“You’d better let Mr. Dan make the coffee,” Persis suggested. “He can +make the finest you ever tasted.” + +“No, he mustn’t be allowed to make it. The men are only to do the work +that requires muscle. We furnish the brains,” replied Connie, saucily. +“My, what a noise! with a coffee-mill and an egg-beater going at the +same time. Here, Walter, taste this dressing. Does it need more +vinegar?” + +“No, not a bit. You fellows over there picking out crab meat, are you +most through? The lady over here says she is in a devilish humor, and +wants you to hurry up.” + +“Oh, Walter!” cried Persis. “I said nothing of the kind. I said I was +ready for the crab meat.” + +“Well, aren’t you going to devil them, and aren’t you in the humor for +it?” + +“Don’t explain, don’t explain, that only makes it worse. I wish I had a +pump handy, so as to give you a sousing.” + +“Souse? did I hear correctly? Are we going to have pigs’ feet? You +didn’t mention it before.” + +“Hush, at once. You are too silly to live,” cried Persis, peremptorily. +“Go get that crab meat from those boys before you say another word.” + +Walter only grinned and went off, returning with the dish. “Do you know +why I always insist upon having sausage on my birthday?” he asked. + +“No, silly. I’ve no time to guess your idiotic conundrums.” + +“I’ll give you a hint. I was born on the second of February.” + +“I don’t care when you were born, and if you don’t behave yourself +better I’ll wish you never had been born. Take your fingers out of that +dish. Who wants to know your conundrums?” + +“You do. You know you do. See what a sweet, forgiving spirit I have, for +I will tell you, for all your harshness towards me. I insist upon having +sausage because my birthday comes on ground-hog day.” + +“Mr. Dan! Mr. Dan!” Persis called. “I wish you would come and sit on +Walter; he is getting worse and worse.” + +“Is that slang, or do you mean literally, Miss Persis?” asked Mr. Dan, +approaching. + +“I mean both, if it requires the two constructions to keep him quiet.” + +“Persis is most wofully wanting in appreciation,” Walter complained. “I +had another first-class conundrum to spring on her, and now I am +squelched.” + +“Keep it till supper time,” Mr. Danforth advised. + +“As a favor,” interposed Persis. + +“Are you going to have favors? I didn’t know that?” + +“We are going to have sense.” + +“What kind?” + +“What kind? Why, common sense. You, perhaps would best not appear,” +retorted Persis, filling her shells carefully with the mixture she had +prepared. + +“Oh, I didn’t know but what you meant sweet scents; little bottles of +cologne at each place, or something of that kind.” + +Persis made no reply, but stalked to the range to place therein her +devilled crabs, Patty having removed her pans. + +“There!” she said; “my contribution will soon be ready. How are you +coming on Con?” + +“Finely. My salad is a thing of beauty. Wilson Vane says he thinks he +can eat it all, but I have my doubts. We will cook the lobster Newburg +on the chafing dish, of course. Now, let me see. Nettie Greene made +angel cake this morning, and Bessie Taylor has chocolate cake and +maccaroons. Nina Barker made Maryland biscuits and jellied chicken, and +there are three kinds of sandwiches, besides salted almonds and bread +and pickles. So, I think we’ll do very well. What are those boys up to?” + +“They’re finishing the crab-claws.” + +“Boys!” called Connie. “Wilson, you and Porter stop that; you won’t have +any appetite for your supper.” + +“Won’t we? I’ve an appetite I wouldn’t take fifty dollars for. I’ve been +saving it up for a week, and the family thought I was going into a +decline. I promise, though, that I’ll not take off the edge of it.” And +Wilson threw down the claw he had been cracking and came over to where +Persis and Connie sat perched on the window-sill. + +“What a fellow Mr. Dan is,” he said. “He’s helping everybody, and seems +to know just what to do. Generally I feel like a fish out of water, in a +kitchen, although this affair is great fun, but Mr. Dan takes hold like +an old hand.” + +“He has always been a home boy,” replied Persis. “His mother was a widow +and an invalid. Mr. Dan was her only child, and did so much for her. Her +loss, however, was a terrible blow to him.” + +“I can imagine it. Strange, for all his domestic ways, he’s as mannish a +fellow as ever I saw.” + +“Yes, he is.” Persis spoke a little wistfully. “He has more noble +qualities than any man I ever met,” she then said, steadily. + +Wilson looked at Connie and smiled. Persis knew perfectly well what they +were thinking. “That is no reason why I shouldn’t give him his due,” she +told herself. Then she continued, “He is just as thoughtful a friend as +he was a son. He is a great tower of strength, and has been an immense +help to Porter and Basil.” + +“Yes, I believe that. I used to think Port was a little shaky in some +directions.” + +“He’s not perfect,” Persis acknowledged, regretfully, “but he has the +making of a fine man in him if he’s not spoiled by flattery and +success.” + +“Well, I’m half starved. When do we start in?” asked Wilson. + +“As soon as my crabs are browned. Are they done, Connie? Then we are +ready. Come, boys, help us to carry in the dishes. I hope your labors +have given you appetites.” + +“Don’t fear,” they cried, scrambling from their different corners, and +from the door-steps, where most of them had congregated. + +“Fall in line,” called Walter. “I’ll carry the crabs.” + +“Better let Mr. Dan have the coffee-pot,” said Porter, “he’s the +steadiest. Give me that dish of salad. I’ll try not to stump my toe, and +spoil this fine structure. My, but it’s jolly-looking—all those little +tricks around it. I’m tempted to snake one of those fat olives.” + +“Don’t you do it, for your life,” Connie commanded. “You shall have all +you want at the table.” And Porter refrained. + +Connie had clever fingers, and had painted pretty cards, which Persis’s +wit had helped out by apt and sly hits which the inscriptions contained. + +“We ought to have put you in a dish, Con,” said Walter, pausing between +satisfying bits of lobster. + +“Why?” she asked, innocently. + +“Because a Stew-art thou.” + +“He’s off,” cried Porter. + +Walter smiled complacently. “Oh, Con doesn’t mind. She’s used to my +little spicings, and couldn’t enjoy a meal without, could you, Con? +Here’s the next. You all needn’t listen if you don’t want to. I’ll get +it off for Con’s benefit.” And Connie nodded to him indulgently. “Why do +we know that Adam was a gambler? This is as new and fresh——” + +“As you are,” interrupted Porter. + +“Oh, eat your supper,” responded Walter. “Say, Con, have you guessed +it?” + +“No; I’m thinking of gambling on the green, and that sort of thing.” + +“No, no; ’way off. Give it up? Because, when he came from the garden of +Eden, he left a Par-a-dise behind him.” + +“Now, that isn’t so bad,” interposed Porter, grandly. “We’ll admit that, +Walt. You are improving.” + +“Hear the infant. One would think him a Senior at least. You’re just +barely out of the Fresh class yourself, remember. Look here, fellows, we +haven’t said a word about the ‘wittles.’ Aren’t they first-class?” + +“By the way they are disappearing I should judge we thought so,” replied +Wilson. “Nothing less than speeches, toasts drunk in silence and +standing, will express our appreciation. I say we don’t stop to air our +opinions now, but wait till the festive board is cleared. We don’t have +to wash the dishes, do we?” + +“No,” Mrs. Dixon, who chaperoned the party, told them. “It seemed to me +that getting the supper was quite enough for these girls, and I have +provided dish-washers. So you will be free to follow your own sweet +fancies after supper. Boys, you know you must vote on the bestowing of +the prize.” + +“Prize! What prize?” + +“Why,” Persis informed them, “we always give a prize to the one who has +shown the most culinary skill on such occasions.” + +“But isn’t it largely a question of taste,” Mr. Danforth remarked. “If I +like chicken-salad better than devilled crabs, I should naturally vote +for the salad.” + +“Oh, but you see what a fine, impartial, and discriminating sense it +requires. It is not a question of what you like, but what shows the best +cooking,” Mrs. Dixon explained. + +“We’re in for it!” cried Wilson, in mock despair. “Think of it, fellows. +The fate of eight fair damsels hanging upon our votes. It is enough to +make a man commit suicide.” + +“You don’t vote for the damsels. You are to consider them only negative +conditions. The dishes themselves, as proud personalities, are to be +passed upon.” + +“Bread, and pickles, and everything?” + +“Yes, except the butter; that is not home-made.” + +“By the way, who made the bread? It is uncommonly good,” observed Mr. +Danforth. + +“Don’t tell, girls. As many articles as possible shall go on their own +merits,” said Persis. “Then no partiality will be shown them on account +of the makers. I don’t believe any of the boys know who is the +bread-maker.” + +“I believe you made it,” Mr. Danforth remarked, in an undertone, to +Persis at his side. But she only laughed merrily, and refused to tell. +And, lo! when the votes were counted, bread came first, and pickles +second. + +“Aren’t we out of it nicely?” cried Wilson. “No one can accuse us of +partiality.” + +“Except those whose dishes you do know,” replied Patty, demurely. “For +example, you saw me make the chicken-patties.” + +“And didn’t vote for them! Done for! What an ostrich I am! I forgot +entirely that the not voting for specials gave us away.” + +“But who is the bread-winner?” inquired Mr. Danforth. “I am really +anxious to know.” + +“Who but Patty herself,” Connie announced. + +“Bless you, Patty dear. I’m proud of you,” Persis laughed, gleefully, +and cast a mocking glance at Mr. Danforth, who returned it with one of +discomfiture. + +“I was sure it was you,” he said, in a low tone. + +However, no one grudged little Patty her prize,—a pretty lace-pin, the +head of which represented a tiny broiling-iron. + +“There ought to be a second prize for the pickles,” declared Walter. “I +constitute myself a committee of one to provide it in behalf of the +guests. Here, Con.” And, taking out his own scarf-pin, he tossed it +across the table. + +“But, Walter, I made the pickles,” Connie informed him, in a surprised +tone. + +“I know it,” he replied, calmly, helping himself to an olive. + +A little flush mounted to Connie’s cheek, and she laughed somewhat +nervously as she said, “Thank you, kind sir.” + +Walter nodded in reply, and then called, “Speech! speech! Here’s to the +prize-winners, may they never fail to rise to an emergency, and may they +never get in a pickle.” + +“Can’t you respond to the honor shown you, Patty? Say something, just a +few words,” whispered Persis; but Patty was dumb, and looked confusedly +at her plate. + +“Oh, Persis, I can’t,” she whispered back. + +“Answer for her,” said Persis, turning quickly to Mr. Dan, who arose and +made a speech which won great applause, not only for the speaker, but +for the blushing Patty, who, hearing her accomplishments so eulogized, +felt that after Mr. Dan’s recommendations she might receive a proposal +from any one of the young men before her. + +“Now, my sweet pickle, to you,” said Walter, waving his cup towards +Connie. + +“Oh, Walter!” protested she. + +“You’ve got to. We’re not going to do the toasting and the speechifying +too for you girls. You’ve got a chance to talk without interruption, so +go ’long and do it.” + +Connie paused in embarrassment before she began in a little prim way, +but catching a sight of Walter’s face, and seeing that the girls looked +disappointed, she launched forth into a perfect torrent of fun and +nonsense, so that she sat down amid shouts of mirth and was applauded to +the echo. + +Connie’s effort set the ball rolling, and the fun grew fast and furious +till Mrs. Dixon asked them if they realized that they had been three +hours at the table. + +“It has been a great success,” the boys assured the young cooks. + +“My only regret is that you didn’t make the bread,” were Mr. Danforth’s +parting words to Persis, as, after an hour on the cool porch, the guests +departed. + +“Well, I _can_ make bread, if it gives you any consolation to know it,” +Persis replied, “But I cannot guarantee that it is as good as Patty’s.” + +“Will you make some for me some day?” + +“Perhaps. Just now I’ve enough to do in getting ready for class-day. I +can’t think about bread nor anything except mental food.” + +The boys went off singing, and the June night, with its warmth, its +sweetness, its thrill, typified the gladness of their youth. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER III. + FAREWELL, ALMA MATER. + + +With the question of themes, examinations, and other college matters to +fill her mind, Persis had little time for frivolities for the next ten +days. Wilson Vane, Porter Phillips, and Mr. Danforth had returned the +day after the supper, and the girls were preparing to break up their +college associations when once the more important matters connected with +their studies were done with. + +“I hate to disarrange my pretty room,” said Persis, as she began to +unpin the sketches adorning her walls. “Thank you, Patty! you’re always +on hand to help. I’ll do the same for you when you’re ready to begin the +work of tearing up.” And she handed her neighbor a picture to place in a +safe spot. “Dear me, how much stuff one does accumulate in a year!” she +went on to say, as she stepped down from her chair and looked around her +at the dismantled apartment. “I cannot possibly get all this into my +trunks, and I’ll have to box a great deal of it.” + +“My books are packed,” Patty said, “but I shall have to get your help +about my pictures. I’m such a ‘little runt,’ as my old mammy used to +call me, that I can’t reach anywhere scarcely. Persis, I’ve been +thinking about the supper.” + +“Have you? What about it?” + +“Don’t you think it was queer for Walter to give Connie that pin before +all of us?” + +“Why, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it. It’s just like Walter; he’s +so impulsive. Why, did it strike you as being queer?” + +“No-o, not till I heard some of the other girls talking about it. They +thought it was not very good taste, since the supper was given in the +Dixons’ own house.” + +“Well, if it had been a prearranged thing, I suppose it wouldn’t have +been, but it was simply a generous impulse. I could see the motive, and +it made me think twice as much of Walter. He couldn’t bear to have Con +left out, and I think it was very nice of him to do just what he did.” + +“That’s a much better and kinder way to look at it, and I’ll tell the +girls so. Here comes Nettie; let us hear her side.” + +“The Cheerful Three are on hand,” cried Persis from her high stand on +the dressing-table. “I’ll say how do you do, Nettie, when I’ve unpinned +this drapery. There it comes. Now these fans and these peacock feathers. +Who says they’re unlucky? They never brought me any ill-fortune. There! +My, how blank it looks! Throw some of that trash on the floor, Nettie, +and find a place to sit down. I have scarcely seen you for a week.” + +“No; nobody has seen anybody, we’ve all been so busy. However, I have +been a little gay in some of my doings.” + +“What doings?” + +“I went down the bay on a revenue cutter with some friends, and had a +jolly time at a funny little fishing-shore up one of the creeks. I wish +you had gone, Perse. Why didn’t you both go? Connie said you were +asked.” + +“So we were, but we had a lot of other things to do and had to decline. +Tell us about it, Nettie.” + +“There’s not much to tell, except that it was such a queer place, and +they served supper, deliciously cooked, on long pine tables out under +the trees, where we could throw our fish bones and chicken bones out on +the grass, where they were immediately snapped up by a parcel of +strange-looking dogs which sat around and waited for them. It was rather +a novel sort of experience, and one which you, especially, would have +enjoyed.” + +“Who all went?” + +“The Dixons, including Connie, of course, Rob Maxfield, and some others +I didn’t know. Connie kept wishing for you.” + +Persis and Patty glanced at each other, and then Patty put her question +about the pin. + +“Why, I don’t think it was anything at all out of the way,” Nettie told +them. “Girls are such hateful things sometimes. I don’t believe one of +the boys thought twice about it. I wish girls were not so petty.” Netty +looked quite provoked. + +“Girls are small,” Persis admitted. “They see some little insignificant +thing, and they pick at it and pick at it till they have made a big hole +in some one’s character, and then they say, ‘Oh, see that careless +person. Why doesn’t she mend it?’” + +Patty laughed. “That is just it. Why, those girls have talked and talked +and buzzed and buzzed about poor Connie till you’d think she had done +something dreadful.” + +“So, she has gotten into a pickle after all.” + +“Yes, in a way; but she doesn’t know it, and she must not.” + +“Of course she mustn’t. Who would be so mean as to tell her?” + +“Some girls would like nothing better. I believe I know some who can’t +be anything else but mean.” + +“Well, let’s whistle them down the wind. We don’t care about them, do +we?” And Persis smiled on her friends. + +“Not a whit. We had a glorious time, didn’t we?” + +“We did, indeed,” Patty agreed. “No hatred or uncharitableness to make +bitter sauce for our supper.” + +“Some of the girls are inclined to scorn our cooking club,” Nettie told +them. “They think it is beneath college-bred girls to give their +attention ‘to such debasing things as appealing to the senses,’ they +say.” + +“That’s all nonsense,” declared Persis, emphatically. “I believe in +doing well whatever one has to do, and I’ll venture to say half, at +least, of the girls in this college will undertake to be house-keepers +without a qualm of conscience as to whether they are capable of making a +real home. They’ll think that they are superior beings so far as brains +go. That’s all right enough. Women do need to fit themselves to be true +companions to their husbands, but a knowledge of all the books in the +world isn’t going to satisfy a man if he is in need of a good dinner.” + +“Hear! hear!” cried Nettie. + +“You know the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is——” + +“Never mind, don’t finish; it is too gross a suggestion to be uttered +within these hallowed walls.” + +“I’ll spare you, then; but I will say that the art of cookery is not to +be despised, and if it were meant that we should live on sawdust, why in +the world were so many dainty and delicious articles of food created? I +don’t believe in this lofty scorn of good housewifery. I think the woman +who makes the inmates of her home comfortable, and thinks up dainty +meals for them is much more to be commended than one who spends her time +over her own purely selfish employments.” + +“One needn’t go to extremes in either direction,” interposed Nettie. + +“That’s just it; we do go to extremes, we women. I’ve always maintained, +and still do, that the more a woman has cultivated her mind the better +judgment she ought to have in all directions,” put in Patty. + +“That’s the truth, too,” replied Nettie. “And if ever I am a home-maker, +I hope I’ll make a real home, neglecting neither the moral, mental, nor +physical side of it.” + +“There, now, we’ve settled it,” laughed Patty. “Let’s change the +subject. What a fine-looking fellow Porter Phillips is getting to be. I +hadn’t seen him for a long time. He’s better looking than his brother, +isn’t he?” + +“He’s not half so good-looking,” returned Persis. + +“Why, Perse, do you really think so?” asked Nettie. + +“I don’t mean handsome. I mean he is a better fellow, and his face shows +it. I don’t mean that Porter is bad, for he isn’t. He is just a little +vain, and selfish, and thoughtless, and Basil is just the opposite.” +Persis’s eyes were very bright. + +“You are always such a stanch defender, Perse,” returned Nettie. “And +how about Mr. Dan? I heard you sounding his trumpet the other day.” + +“Mr. Dan is a good fellow, too, but——” + +“But what?” + +“Oh, nothing. We’re very good friends, but——” + +“‘But,’ again.” + +“Oh, well, don’t let’s compare them. They are very different. What do +you think of Wilson Vane, Patty?” + +And now it was Patty’s turn to look confused, as she answered, “I think +he seems a very pleasant person.” + +“What a tall, spidery fellow he is,” said Nettie. “But I like him. He’s +not so silly as his sister.” + +“No; he is quite sensible in most directions. To be sure, he has his +little foibles and fopperies that make him seem foolish, but I think +he’s outgrowing them. He is something of an Anglomaniac, and while the +craze lasts is likely to be laughed at; but no doubt he’ll get more +wisdom with age. Patty dear,” turning suddenly to her plump little +friend, “you’d be just the nice, sensible body for him. You’d be the +making of him.” + +“Oh, Persis!” And Patty blushed a vivid crimson. + +“You needn’t ‘Oh, Persis!’ me. He was mightily taken with you, any one +could see, and the bread was the finishing stroke.” + +“I’d like to know what Mr. Dan meant by asking you if you’d make bread +for him some day,” put in Nettie. + +“Did you hear that?” Persis asked, with a little embarrassment. “Oh, +that was just a bit of fun. For a sensible man Mr. Dan can be very +trifling at times.” + +Nettie kept her own counsel, but she was not surprised on class-day to +see Persis examining with a pleased face the cards in two baskets of +flowers, one of gorgeous red Jacqueminots and mignonette; the other pure +white Niphetos roses. + +“York and Lancaster,” cried Nettie. “Who sent them, Perse?” + +“Mr. Dan and Basil. Wasn’t it sweet of Basil to remember, when he was +away over in Paris?” + +“And his are——?” + +“The white ones. Oh, Nettie, there they are,—mamma and papa, and the +girls, and—oh, Nettie—grandma, and—no, it can’t be; yes, it is—Basil. +Oh, when did he come?” And the newly made graduate hurried down to meet +her friends, who with smiling faces were waiting for her. + +“I was so afraid you wouldn’t get here,” cried Persis. “How lovely to +think you could all come.” + +“We barely managed it,” Professor Holmes told her. “My freedom came last +night when our exercises were over, so we concluded to wait and all come +together.” + +The tall young man standing by Lisa’s side held out his hand. “Haven’t +you a word for a returned voyager?” he asked, smiling. + +Persis looked up with glowing face. “Oh, Basil!” she exclaimed; “I never +dreamed of seeing you. A word for you? I have about a hundred thousand +as soon as I get a chance to pour them forth.” + +“Shall we retire and afford you the opportunity?” asked Lisa. + +Persis blushed and stammered, and then recovered herself. “You mean +girl,” she cried. “Of course, I want every one of you, and I have as +many words for each one, only Basil has been away the longest. Did I +conduct myself with credit? What did you think of my theme, papa? Oh, +Lisa, I have a million things to ask you, but I must go now and speak to +the professors. I see two or three hovering around on the outskirts, as +it were. Oh, there come Mr. Dan and Porter. Just think what a centre of +interest I am to-day. Never mind, Lisa, your turn comes next.” And with +a gay nod she turned to greet the young men who were making their way +towards her. + +Porter hurried forward and grasped both of her hands. “Hallo, Perse!” he +said. “Awfully glad you came out so well. How you must have worked to +manage it in three years. You don’t look any the worse for it. Does she, +Mr. Dan? I thought these last two weeks might knock you up.” + +Mr. Dan was looking at Persis critically. “No,” he said. “I don’t +believe it has hurt her. She’s a little thinner, perhaps. My +congratulations are ready for you, Miss Persis.” + +Persis expressed her thanks, and then, remembering suddenly that here +was the giver of the red roses, she added, “And the lovely roses, Mr. +Dan. Thank you so much for them.” She had not forgotten Basil’s +offering, but that recognition was to be contained in the hundred +thousand words. + +“I suppose to-day represents the summit of your ambition,” Mr. Danforth +remarked. + +“No,” replied the young graduate, “the goal always recedes as we +approach it, and I am sighing for new worlds to conquer. Now I am +longing to go abroad.” + +A shade of disappointment passed over the young man’s face, but before +he could say anything, Persis, who was on the lookout for friends, +exclaimed, “Oh, there are the Dixons. Come, let us go and find them; +they’ll never discover us in this crowd.” And they proceeded to where +this last group was standing. More congratulations, and the exuberant +enthusiasm of her young friends was very sweet to Persis. + +“We’re like a snowball,” she said, laughingly, to Connie. “Every time we +make a turn we gather an accretion of some kind.” + +“Persis would say ‘accretion,’” cried Walter. “She must appear erudite +upon such an occasion.” + +“Never mind,” returned Connie. “Persis is all right.” + +“What’s the matter with Persis? She’s all——” began Walter. + +“Never mind,” Persis interrupted him. “This is not an election. I see +Aunt Esther and Uncle Wickes over there. The world and his grandmother +seem to be here to-day. At least, my world. I wonder who the +distinguished-looking old somebody is with Aunt Esther.” + +The stranger proved to be nothing less than, as Persis said, “a +sure-enough admiral,” whose first visit to the college this was. + +Persis felt quite grand as she piloted him around, and half wished that +all her classmates knew what an honorable guest they had. + +“You have a great many friends here,” the old man said, as Persis nodded +right and left. + +“Yes,” she replied; “but most of those in the crowd here are only +acquaintances. My own, own people are standing over there by the door.” + +“Suppose we sit down here, and you tell me about them,” the admiral +suggested. + +Persis, nothing loath, agreed. + +“The two very pretty girls, are they your sisters?” asked the admiral. + +“Yes: the darker one is Lisa. She is to be married in a couple of weeks +to—— Oh, perhaps you know her betrothed: he is in the navy,—Lieutenant +Griffith—Richard Griffith.” + +The old man knitted his brows thoughtfully, and then seemed to remember. +“Yes, yes,” he nodded. “I know him. A nice fellow. So, that’s his +sweetheart. She’s very handsome.” + +“Yes, isn’t she? And the other one,” Persis went on, “the fair one, is +Mellicent. She looks lovely to-day, doesn’t she?” + +The admiral smiled at the unaffected expression of admiration. “She +does, indeed,” he answered. Then he looked at Persis critically. + +She laughed. “You are wondering why I am so different from them. Their +coloring is quite unlike, but their features are like, and mine are +totally different I am the middle one, but I’m quite used to being the +ugly duckling,” she added, archly, “and I don’t mind it in the least.” + +The admiral smiled again, thinking how very attractive was the speaking +face under her college cap. “Your costume is very becoming,” he assured +her, “but you do not resemble your sisters.” + +“Now, let me tell you who the others are. The tall man with the little +bald spot on top of his head is my father, and the old lady by his side, +the one with white hair, is my grandmother, and my mother stands next to +her. The tallest of those young men is Basil Phillips, the one with the +smooth face; he always reminds me of an old colonial picture. The one +with the budding moustache is his brother, Porter. They are my father’s +wards. The one talking to grandmother is Mr. Danforth, a journalist. He +used to be our tutor. We have known him since we were children. The +other young man is Walter Dixon, and the girl with him is Constance +Steuart, and that is Mrs. Dixon talking to mamma. Aunt Esther Wickes and +the captain you know.” + +“And I do not doubt but that you are very happy to-day.” The admiral +looked down on the eager young face, as if he envied this fresh, +enthusiastic spirit. + +“Yes; my only regret is that my cousin, Annis Brown, is not here. We +have been chums for so long, and expected, in our early school-days, to +be graduated the same year, but I found I could get through my course a +year earlier, and Annis, somehow, did not seem to be very strong, so she +left college, and has been abroad with her mother for some months.” + +“And what are you going to do with all this learning?” asked the +admiral. + +“I? Oh, I have several schemes. I used to think I should like to try +journalism, but I don’t know. I want to go abroad for a while, and then +I shall make something my special work.” + +“You will not be a new woman, I hope.” + +“In the ordinary sense, no; but I will be an independent woman, and try +to live the life for which I am best suited.” + +“I am old-fashioned, I suppose,” returned the admiral. “You will pardon +me if I say that I think home is a woman’s true kingdom.” + +“We are old-fashioned, too,” replied Persis. “I have not been brought up +to ignore any of the purely domestic acquirements. I can cook almost +anything, and I enjoy doing it. I went through a real siege of learning +to sew, and if I find I am to make a home, I hope I shall do it the more +intelligently because of my studies. I don’t despise small duties, nor +do I undervalue the real, true, beautiful home, such as my mother has +made for her husband and children. But I will not accept such a life +unless I can honestly believe it to be for my truest happiness and my +best development.” + +The old man looked a little disapprovingly at the eager girl. “My dear +child,” he said, “don’t be too independent We men need the home-makers.” + +“I do believe a happy marriage is the best life, and the one that brings +the best development,” returned Persis. “But, missing the requisites for +a happy marriage, isn’t it much better to live a useful, single life, +contributing to universal good, than to pass your days in repining over +an unwise choice, and regretting a mistake made in a frivolous, +unthinking way?” + +“Yes, yes. I believe you are right. There would be fewer unhappy men and +women, if more girls thought as soberly as you do.” + +Persis laughed. “Sober! I’m not usually called sober.” And, indeed, her +laughing face bespoke anything but seriousness just at that moment. + +“Will you present me to your parents?” asked the admiral. + +Persis willingly complied, and they joined the little company of her +friends. + +She soon found herself standing with Basil somewhat apart from the +others. “It is so nice to see you again, Basil,” she said. “And, oh, the +roses were so sweet. I am going to put one away and keep it forever in +memory of my class-day. Now tell me about Annis.” + +“Annis is fine,” returned he, heartily. “We had great times over there, +Persis. I wish you had been with us.” + +“I wish so, too; but I couldn’t be there and here, too. And now I have +it in anticipation. Do you know I always tell myself that, when I have +not been to some special place, or have not seen a thing that others are +talking about, I say, There is one more enthusiasm I have not outlived.” + +“You dear, cheerful soul,” replied Basil. “You’re like bottled-up +sunshine.” + +Persis ignored the remark except by the happiness in her eyes. “Tell me +some more. Is Annis coming back in time for the wedding? It is two weeks +off. Basil, it was so dear of you to come home for this.” + +“Well, I was coming for the wedding anyhow, and I thought I might as +well stretch the time that little.” + +“Are you going back?” + +“Perhaps so. I have not decided. Mother would like to stay over, and +Porter is so safe with you all. I wish, if I do go, that you could take +your trip then, Perse. You could join mother, and have a fine time +travelling about.” + +Persis’s eyes took on a wistful look. “I should like to, but when I go +it will be for study, I think. Not this year, though, Basil. You know +Lisa is so soon to be married that I should not want to go and leave my +dear people, when I’ve been away three years at college. Think of it, +Basil, four years since you designed the Greek dress for me, when I was +graduated from Miss Adams’s school.” + +For answer, Basil took a little note-book from his pocket, and showed +Persis a small photograph. It was herself in the pretty classic dress. + +“Oh,” cried she. “Have you that still? I remember when Walter came over +with his kodak. And you’ve kept that all this time.” + +Basil made no answer, but looked from the picture to the girl before +him. “You’re like wine, Persis,” he said. “You improve with age.” + +Persis made a profound courtesy. “I’m not used to compliments from you,” +she declared. “This comes of your living among Frenchmen. You’ll have to +scold me a little before I can really believe you are home again.” + +And then there was a stir in the company, leave-takings, and plans made +for future meetings. The crowd began to grow less, and soon the doors of +the college hall closed after Persis. + +She looked back with a little sigh as she walked down the path. Then she +waved her hand to the gray walls. “Good-bye, Alma Mater,” she said. + +Mellicent looked over her shoulder at her. “Why, Persis actually has +tears in her eyes,” she remarked. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER IV. + LISA’S WEDDING-DAY. + + +The sweet, perfume-laden air of June swept through Lisa’s room, where +she and Persis were busily engaged in packing away various small +articles. These were Lisa’s treasures, each suggesting some period of +her girlhood, and seeming alive with memories which more than once +brought the tears to the eyes of herself and her sister. + +“Oh, Lisa! Lisa!” Persis exclaimed, in a burst of emotion. “It will +never be the same again. Girlhood will be gone for you in a few days. We +shall never be together in just the same way again.” + +The bright drops stood on Lisa’s lashes. “Don’t, Persis, don’t. It isn’t +like you to see the shadowy side.” + +“I know it.” And, remembering the Cheerful Three, she gulped down a sob. +“But then I don’t have sisters getting married every day,” she said, in +excuse. + +“I should hope not,” returned Lisa. And that turned the balance, so that +instead of crying they both laughed. + +A moment after, Mellicent came running up the steps. “Another express +package, Lisa. Hurry and open it.” And in the presence of this new +excitement, the little pile of mementos on the bed was swept into a box +and thrust aside to make room for this last addition to the +wedding-presents. + +The three girls stood with their heads together to catch a sight of the +gift, which proved to be a fine piece of cut glass. + +“That makes three bowls,” Mellicent announced. “How will you ever manage +to carry so many breakables over the face of the earth, Lisa?” + +“I shall not try to. I’ll leave them here, and if we ever do settle down +in one place we can have them.” + +At this moment there came to their hearing a little bustle of excitement +in the hall below, and a voice was heard saying, “Where is she? Where is +she?” Then came hurried footsteps up the stairs and along the entry. + +Persis sprang to her feet and flew to the door. “It’s Annis!” she cried. +“Oh, Annis, you darling!” And the two girls threw themselves into each +other’s arms. + +“I’m glad you’ve come,” cried Lisa. “Let’s look at you, Annis. Now +Persis will perhaps be comforted for my loss, over which she has been +mourning.” + +“Oh, yes. You mustn’t forget to pay your respects to Lisa. She is the +most important person in the family just now. Think of it, a bride in +the house! We haven’t had one since our dolls were married.” + +Annis embraced her other two cousins with a little less effusion, but it +was evident that they were glad to see her. + +“Let’s see how you look, Annis,” Mellicent said. “We want to observe +your Paris style.” + +“You won’t see much, I am afraid. This costume is quite English, you +know. Do I look like a travelled lady?” + +“You look fine.” Persis held her off at arm’s length and took in the +details of the quiet, tailormade gown, the sweet little face, with its +touch of sunburn, under the sailor hat, the soft blue eyes full of +affection, and she flung her arms again around her cousin. “Oh, Annis, +you don’t know how glad I am to have you again,” she repeated. “Aren’t +you glad to be back? Come, tell me all about everything, and then we’ll +talk about the great event.” + +“Let’s talk about the wedding first. The account of my travels will +keep.” + +“And the wedding will not? Well, there is some truth in that. And you’ll +want to see the presents,—a hundred and nine so far.” + +“And mine will make a hundred and ten.” + +“Put it down, Mell,” cried Lisa. “A hundred and ten. I’m crazy to see +it, Annis.” + +“Well, you shall as soon as our trunks come. It’s nothing very +magnificent, but I think you will like it.” + +“It’s just like Christmas-time, isn’t it? Only the presents all come for +me, and I don’t have to hang up my stocking.” + +“Do tell me all about the plans,” Annis entreated. “You see I haven’t +heard anything, for I’ve not had letters for two or three weeks.” + +“Well it’s to be a real out and out high noon, bridesmaid affair. Lisa +is nothing if not stylish, you know. A breakfast afterwards here at +home,” Persis informed her. “I, of course, am to be best girl; then the +bridesmaids are to be you and Mell, Mr. Griffith’s sister and Margaret +Greene, Nellie Hall and Kitty Carew.” + +“And the ushers?” + +“Why, they are—let me see—Basil and Porter, Walter Dixon and Ned Carew; +think of poor Ned’s being called upon for such a service. Then, there +are two friends of Mr. Griffith’s.” + +“Persis will _not_ call him Richard,” Lisa complained. + +“I simply cannot,” declared Persis. “I should be sure to forget and call +him Dicky-bird some day, and disgrace myself. I’ll wait till he is +actually my brother-in-law. Oh, dear, fancy a brother-in-law.” + +“He’s a dear,” interposed Mellicent. “I just love him, Annis.” + +“Well, you see, I don’t know him so well as the others do, for I’ve been +at college most of the time that the rest have been making his +acquaintance,” Persis explained. + +“Oh, yes, and college; there’s all that to talk about, Persis. How is it +Mr. Dan is not one of the ushers?” + +“He was to have been, but I don’t think he could stand the strain upon +his feelings.” + +“Now, Persis,” Lisa cried, reprovingly. “You know better than to say +such a thing.” + +“I couldn’t have known better, or I should not have said it,” returned +Persis, laughing. “Oh, Annis, you know that Audrey Vane is married, and +she has gone to Ireland—or is it Spain?—to hunt up the grave of her +ancestor, King Milesius.” + +“Now, Persis,” came a second reproachful voice. This time it was +Mellicent’s. “You know it is no such thing.” + +“Annis, your coming has just sent Persis off on her high horse,” Lisa +remarked. “She hasn’t been so wicked since she came home from college.” + +“It’s nervous excitement,” Persis excused herself by saying. “I’m not +responsible for what I say, or do, at this present time. Pardon me, +Pigeon, if I show any seeming disrespect to her highness, Lady Audrey +Vane—I mean Lady O’Flannigan.” + +“It isn’t O’Flannigan,” Mellicent corrected. “You always say that, and +it’s Mallory.” + +“Well, I knew there was a distinctly Hibernian flavor about it.” And +Persis flashed a mischievous look at her sister. + +“Come, Annis, let’s go see the presents. Come, girls, we’ve not made our +manners to Mrs. Brown.” And the three followed the speaker down-stairs. + +A week later there came a fair day, for the dawn of which Persis had +been watching since the first peep of the earliest robin. Fresh and +sweet came the morning air through her vine-hung window, and as rosy +clouds sent their flushes up the sky, and she saw that the day promised +to be all that could be desired, she went to Lisa’s door and tapped +softly. To Lisa’s “Come in,” Persis responded by flying to her as she +sat up in bed. It was to each of them almost the most solemn moment in +the day as they sat clasped in each other’s arms, not saying a word. + +It was Persis who broke the silence by saying, “Oh, Lisa, I’m so glad we +don’t quarrel as dreadfully as we used to.” + +“So am I,” returned Lisa. “I wonder what made us such scratch-cats.” + +“Too much Ego.” Persis contributed this with a wise look on her face, at +which Lisa laughed. + +“Well,” she responded. “This is the one day in all my life in which I +suppose I may be considered to have the right to give my Ego full rein.” + +“So you may. Oh, Lisa, have you noticed what an exquisite morning it is? +I was so afraid it was going to be very warm, and I don’t think it will +be. Are you very nervous?” + +“No, I think not very. I do feel queer when I remember that after to-day +I shall never be Lisa Holmes again.” + +“How many times have you written ‘Mrs. Richard Griffith’ on slips of +paper which no one would see?” asked Persis, laughing. + +Lisa blushed, but laughed, too. “What do you know about such things, +miss? You, who have never been in love?” + +And it was Persis’s turn to blush. “That’s turning the tables nicely,” +she answered, merrily. “I don’t know a thing from experience, only from +being a looker-on. I may have rummaged your scrapbasket some time.” + +“I don’t believe it. You don’t do such mean, sneaky things.” + +“Thank you, ma’am. See, Lisa, it is broad daylight. I am going to get +up, for there is a deal to do before you can be ready to walk up the +middle aisle. How gorgeous it will be to see so many uniforms and pretty +summer gowns. I think June is surely the month for weddings.” + +“Shall I have the pleasure of attending yours next year, Miss Holmes?” + +“Oh, I shall be Miss Holmes after to-day, sure enough. No, madam. No +wedding for me this year, I fell up the steps yesterday. Lisa, did you +ever see any one look lovelier than Mellicent in her bridesmaid frock? +She will make a sensation to-day among the naval officers.” + +“Yes. I want to have you both down to the ball at Annapolis, if we ever +are stationed there.” + +“How fine! But, indeed, we must dress, Lisa.” And Persis slipped out of +bed and ran to her own room. + +The presence of a lot of young people took away from the seriousness +which might have been felt at the breakfast-table. Annis Brown, Basil +and Porter Phillips were present, and the chatter went on in the +liveliest manner. Porter usually had a fund of anecdotes and jokes, and +was really quite a brilliant talker. Basil, though usually quiet, had a +keen appreciation of humor, and when he did say anything funny it was +extremely droll, consequently even Grandmother Estabrook laughed till +the tears came to her eyes. + +“We cannot spend any more time in giving ourselves over to this unseemly +mirth,” declared Persis. “We’ve got to dress the bride and each other, +and see that mamma’s hair is arranged just right, and that grandma +carries out her reputation for dignified elegance.” + +“She never fails to,” put in Basil, who was a stanch champion of Mrs. +Estabrook’s. + +“Of course. We know that, but the eyes of the American navy are upon us +to-day, and we want to put on some extra touches so as to impress the +guests with a due sense of our importance. There’s Richard. I did call +him Richard that time. Did you notice?” And Persis turned to Lisa. But +Lisa’s eyes were for the young naval officer who appeared at the door +with his sister, a girl about seventeen. + +“Marjorie couldn’t wait,” Richard informed them. “She said you expected +her to dress here, and she charged all the bell-boys in the hotel to +call her at six o’clock. So here she is.” Lieutenant Griffith was a +pleasant-looking fellow, not specially handsome, “a real thoroughbred,” +Porter called him. His manner was charming and his voice rarely well +modulated. He was desperately proud of having won Lisa, whose beauty he +was never tired of gazing upon. + +“I’m only afraid he will spoil our girl,” Mrs. Holmes had said to her +mother. “She is already too imperious.” + +“I always felt that Mr. Danforth would have suited her better in many +ways,” Mrs. Estabrook confessed; “that she would have developed into a +finer woman through his influence; but we can be thankful that Richard +is such a dear, good, sweet-tempered fellow, and Lisa has chosen more +wisely than we at one time imagined she might.” + +From breakfast-time on the bustle grew greater. One after another of the +relatives arrived; belated presents appeared; the bridesmaids fluttered +up- and down-stairs; Porter and Basil rushed in and out to see after +certain forgotten matters, and all went merry as the traditional +marriage-bell. + +Porter was bent upon carrying out one or two practical jokes which he +had planned for the occasion. In vain Lisa had said, with her haughtiest +air, that it was ill-bred and vulgar to do such things. In vain Persis +had declared insistently that it was coarse and unkind. Porter was bent +upon his scheme, and the girls had determined to outwit him. They said +nothing, but it was a prearranged plan that Lisa’s baggage should be +sent out of the house several days before she left it a bride. +Consequently the conspicuously placed trunks upon which Porter had +determined to paste enormous red paper hearts, were simply dummies, and +to thwart the too zealous well-wishers in the matter of rice and old +shoes was the next puzzle. + +At last the bells rang out high noon, and as the last echo died away the +six bridesmaids appeared at the chancel of the beautiful old church, and +walking down the aisle met the bride, who wore the conventional white +satin, her veil being rare old lace, a family heirloom. Persis, in +white, was the maid of honor; Mellicent and Marjorie Griffith came next +in costumes of faint gauzy pink; then Annis and Margaret Greene in pale +buff, and lastly Nellie Hall and Kitty Carew in delicate green. All the +bridesmaids wore picturesque hats, and were truly lovely. + +Persis, all excitement, felt perhaps as keenly as did her sister, since +she was of a more emotional temperament. It was with difficulty that she +could keep back the tears, especially as, walking down the aisle, she +saw her mother’s lips trembling, and caught sight of her grandmother’s +downcast eyes. + +“Oh, I shall never, never marry,” she told the girls, as she found +herself in the carriage being whirled back to the house. “It is too +dreadfully solemn a thing.” + +But half an hour later it did not seem so dreadful as she stood watching +with Basil the wedding-guests who filled the room. + +“See how devoted Dr. Wheeler is to Mellicent,” she whispered. “Isn’t he +handsome? They make a fine-looking pair. Don’t you think so?” + +“Yes, but I don’t want Mellicent to fell in love with him.” + +“Why? Do you want her yourself?” asked Persis, flippantly. + +“No-o.” Basil spoke as if giving the subject a little thought. “I don’t +believe I do.” + +Persis laughed. “I really believe you are considering the matter.” + +“No; I was thinking of some one else.” + +“Oh.” Persis followed his glance, and saw that it sought out Porter, +who, though devoting himself to a pretty girl, cast dour looks once in a +while in Mellicent’s direction. “Is that it?” she cried, with sudden +enlightenment. + +“What?” + +“Why, Porter. I never dreamed of it. He’s too young to think of such +things; so is Mellicent, for that matter. She is scarcely seventeen, and +he is only a boy.” + +“A pretty big one.” + +“Yes, but I don’t believe it is a real feeling. He’ll get over it, +Basil. Men always do.” + +“Do they? How do you know so much?” + +“That is what every one asks me when I offer my nuggets of wisdom. I do +know cousin Ambrose Peyton didn’t, to be sure, but he’s the exception +that proves the rule. Oh, Basil, don’t let Porter go to the railroad +station. We don’t want him to badger that long-suffering bride and +groom.” + +“How can we keep him?” + +“Mellicent can, maybe.” + +“I don’t doubt it. What a wise head! but we’ll have to give her a word +on the subject. Hallo! There’s Mr. Dan.” + +“I didn’t see him at church.” + +“I did.” + +“Did you? Oh, but you had a fine chance to see every one.” + +“Shall I tell him where you are?” + +Persis glanced up at her companion to see if she could discover any +underlying motive in his question, but Basil looked down at her with +serene eyes. + +“Yes, go tell him, if you want to,” she said, a trifle impatiently. And +Basil went. A moment later Persis saw him at Annis’s side, while Mr. +Danforth stood before her. For some reason a spirit of coquetry totally +foreign to her took possession of the girl, and she looked up with a +glance which set the young man’s pulses beating. + +“Why did you refuse to help us out with what Porter calls ‘the ushing’?” +she asked. + +“I wasn’t sure of being able to keep an engagement of that kind, and I +know what a nuisance it is to have plans disarranged at the very last +moment.” + +“You always are so very thoughtful.” Persis looked down at her roses. + +“I have hardly seen you since your return from college. Haven’t you a +lot to tell me?” + +“I have, indeed, and I have a lot to ask.” + +“Your position as editor of the children’s department is still waiting +for you.” + +“Not waiting. Miss Bond does very well, doesn’t she?” + +“Yes, quite well.” + +“Then I think she would best keep the position a while longer. By +refusing to take her place I shall be doing an act of mercy in more than +one direction.” + +“But not in all.” + +“Why?” + +The young man was silent a moment. “Not in mine,” he said at last. + +Persis flushed, and turned abruptly. “Oh, Lisa has gone up to change her +dress,” she exclaimed, glad of an excuse to escape. “I must go to her, +Mr. Dan.” And she fled to her sister, whom she found bidding her mother +a tearful farewell. + +“Oh, mother dear, don’t cry,” said Persis. “You know there is so much +sunshine, Lisa will have rainbows before her eyes all the way if she +weeps in this way, and the landscape will look as if it had been painted +by a rank impressionist. Mrs. Griffith, we have managed beautifully. +Wild horses can’t drag Porter to the station, and everything else is +smooth sailing.” + +“Mrs. Griffith! How funny it sounds. I am Mrs. Griffith, but just the +same, dear, dear people, I am always your Lisa,” the bride said, with a +little catch in her voice. Then with one more close embrace she left her +mother and ran to the steps. + +“Where’s your bouquet? You must throw it,” cried a dozen voices. + +Persis ran back for it, and Lisa gave it a toss. + +“Look at the hands stretched out for it,” laughed Persis. “What a +comment upon the desire for a speedy marriage. Oh, see who has it!” +Annis had caught it and had given a swift little glance at Basil, who +stood by her side. + +Then came a shower of rice, and, as the newly married pair started off, +a dozen old shoes went flying after them, a particularly disreputable +one lodging on top of the carriage, which fast elicited a mocking cheer +from the boys. + +Fifteen minutes later, however, Mellicent announced, triumphantly, “You +needn’t be so jubilant, Porter, Lisa outwitted you. There was another +carriage waiting for them around the corner, they just transferred +themselves into that, and Lisa’s baggage was sent by express a week +ago.” + +“I vow!” cried Porter, looking so crestfallen that a burst of laughter +went up from all present. + +It was evening before the last guest had departed, but the sunshine had +gone out of her day long ere this for Persis. “Oh Lisa! Lisa!” she +sighed, as she sought her sister’s empty room, and perhaps the tears +which rose to her eyes were not altogether on Lisa’s account. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER V. + RUFFLED FEATHERS. + + +“Now, Melly, how can I help it?” Persis was saying a few mornings after +the wedding. “You know perfectly well I didn’t fish for an invitation. I +don’t do such things. And I suppose the reason Aunt Esther asked me was +because you and Lisa have both had such famous trips. Just think, you +have been to Europe and to Egypt, and Lisa to California and Japan, as +well, while I had to stay at home and delve at my studies.” + +“Well, you can go anywhere you want to now,” returned Mellicent. “I’m +sure you have money enough. No one ever left me ten thousand dollars as +Cousin Ambrose Peyton did you, and I have no husband to buy me pretty +things as Lisa has. I’m sure I’m much the worst off.” Mellicent was +nothing if not a martyr on all available opportunities, and she spoke +plaintively. + +“You know I would willingly share half my income with you, if grandma +had not said that she could do ever so much more now that there was only +one of us to buy extras for.” + +Still Mellicent’s air of injured innocence remained, and Persis, looking +at the stubborn set of her chin, was suddenly exasperated into saying, +bluntly, “Well, I can’t help it if Aunt Esther does want me. I know very +well why she’s not so fond of you nowadays.” + +Mellicent’s blue eyes took on a coldly defiant look. “Go on, I’d like to +know why.” + +“Oh, Mell! I ought not to have said it, maybe,” Persis began, +contritely. “But I do know it is because you haven’t been quite truthful +with Aunt Esther, and she does hate insincerity and deceit.” + +“It isn’t true.” Mellicent began to sob. “Call me anything you want. I’m +always misunderstood and abused. I think you might have stood up for me +to Aunt Esther, and have shown some sisterly feeling, instead of +listening to such tales.” And with a handkerchief to her eyes she left +the room. + +Persis stood looking after her. “Oh dear!” she sighed, after a moment. +“Perhaps I should not have said it, and I couldn’t tell her that Aunt +Esther never said a word to me about it, but that it was Lisa who told +me. Yet, after all, it is true, and I should be a poor sister if I +didn’t try to help Mell to mend her faults. Maybe, though, I didn’t go +about it the right way,” both of which conclusions were right. + +Mellicent could not bear to be blamed. She would twist and turn any +accusation so that it might rebound upon the accuser, and never could +she recognize as a friend one who showed her a fault. Whether she really +believed herself incapable of doing wrong, or whether she thought that +by persistent contradiction she could persuade away a fact, she was a +most slippery person to deal with when it came to the question of a +misdeed. First; denial came promptly; next came an air of injured +innocence, and even in the face of proof positive she took refuge behind +such a martyr-like expression that Persis often felt condemned at +pressing the matter, and dropped the subject, all the time chafing under +the implied charge of persecution and ill-temper, which Mellicent’s +manner conveyed. Such a course, however, was not in the long run to win +Mellicent much respect, and she was fast winning from certain persons a +contempt which could never be felt towards her elder sisters. + +As a little child Mellicent had been the favorite of her Aunt Esther +Wickes, her pretty appealing ways having gained her this preference; but +as she grew older, and her character developing showed vanity, +affectation, and a certain vacillation of principle. Persis’s frank, +unaffected manner and her strict integrity won her the first place in +Aunt Esther’s respect and regard, a fact which aroused Mellicent’s +easily awakened envy, and she accused Persis of robbing her of her +rights. + +Poor Persis felt quite like a culprit before Mellicent’s attack, but had +no final way of establishing her innocence beyond saying, “Why, Mell, I +haven’t done a thing but be myself.” That was just it. Each had been +herself, and Persis’s self had proved a more acceptable fact than +Mellicent’s; a fact that no amount of persistent protest could deny; a +fact that was visible under every cloak of pretence. + +The elder sister stood looking after the younger as she went out of the +room. “Dear me,” she said, “I wonder why here at home I must rub some +one the wrong way. It used to be Lisa, and now it is Mellicent. I get +along beautifully everywhere else, and am never considered unamiable. I +see I will have to do as I used, and go talk it over with grandmother.” + +It seemed to Persis that she detected a growing feebleness in her +beloved grandmother, a transparency of the fair pure skin which +betokened a nearer approach to spirituality, but the smile with which +she greeted her favorite granddaughter had nothing of pain in it. + +“Oh, grandsie dear,” said this middle one, bending to kiss her, “here +comes the same old sixpence. You’d suppose that three years of college +would have taught me to unravel my difficulties without any one’s help, +but as soon as I get home again I find myself lapsing into the old +ways.” + +“Dear child, I’m glad of it. It makes you seem less grown up. I cannot +quite get used to your being a woman.” + +“I can’t myself, I think I’ll be a long time getting to the real +grown-up point. Sometimes I actually feel as if I should like to play +with my dolls. I do like to dress them, even yet, and there are some +other infantile delights which still appeal to me strongly.” + +“Such as——?” + +“Scraping the preserving kettle and eating cake dough.” + +“Truly infantile. Anything else?” + +“Yes: I like to make faces at myself in the glass. I can get into +shrieks of laughter, when I am entirely alone, at some of my +contortions.” + +“You are a child, Persis.” + +“I said so. But now, grandsie dear, tell me what is your full and +unbiassed opinion of Mellicent.” + +“Mellicent?” Grandmother looked astonished. + +“Yes. Do you all spoil her, or is she a little fraud who gulls +everybody, or what?” + +Mrs. Estabrook looked sober. “My dear, that is a serious question.” + +“I know it.” And then Persis told her late experience. + +“I’ve been afraid for some time that Mellicent was not developing the +nobler side of her nature,” was the remark Mrs. Estabrook made when +Persis had finished. “She has been so delicate that your father and +mother have considered her health before anything else. I hope when she +is really a woman, and her health is established, that she will be +stronger morally. Her great trouble is that she wants to be considered +first with every one, just as she is so considered at home.” + +“The everlasting Ego again,” returned Persis, laughing. + +“Yes, and she does not realize that her very self-adoration, her love of +admiration and attention, are winning her just the opposite from what +she most ardently desires.” + +“She poses for an angel, and cannot fly.” + +“Something like that. She longs to be beloved as one who possesses the +highest qualities, and the qualities are missing.” + +“Emerson goes into all that so well in his ‘Spiritual Laws,’ although, +in a nutshell, what he says is, ‘A man passes for what he is worth.’” + +“Yes; but Persis dear, don’t grow exacting and critical to such a degree +as to see faults before virtues. Mellicent has many virtues.” + +“I know, grandma, and I wouldn’t confess to any other human being that +she hadn’t them all.” + +“Very good, then. She is so young. Let us try to help her by example, by +a steadfast upholding of principle, rather than by hammering at her.” + +Persis flashed out a smile. “That’s my way, isn’t it? Thank you for the +_us_ you so deftly inserted into that remark. I am a sad hammerer, I’m +afraid. Now grandma, I do feel very bad about Aunt Esther’s +disaffection, and yet, after all, I think the sole reason she invites me +on this trip is because I’ve had fewer opportunities for travel than +Lisa and Mellicent.” + +“I’ve no doubt that is so.” + +“But, nevertheless, I’d like to make it up to Mell in some way. Do you +know of any place where she would specially like to go for a couple of +weeks? And could you—would you go with her?” + +Mrs. Estabrook gave the question a moment’s thought, then she replied, +“I think Mellicent has a great longing to go to Narragansett Pier, for +she has said so many times.” + +“Well, grandma dear, that much is settled. Now the other.” + +“About my going with her? Why, yes, I could, but I don’t believe it +would be the cheapest trip in the world.” + +“You would want to stop at a nice hotel, and I mean you shall.” + +“_You_ mean.” + +“Yes, ma’am, if you please. I shall settle all the bills. You see,” she +went on, eagerly, “this invitation from Aunt Esther will save me ever so +much, and I have a little reserve fund, you know.” + +“That you are saving towards a trip to Europe.” + +“Never mind Europe; it won’t sink, like the lost Atlantis.” + +“And how about the new furnishings for your room.” + +“My room has served me as it is for many years; I think I shall still +manage to be comfortable in it. Now, don’t say a word, grandma. I know +you think it is an extravagant scheme, and want to tell me that I am not +at all thrifty to lavish my money on a trip like that; but please, +ma’am, let me humor myself this time. It is purely a selfish wish, for I +couldn’t enjoy my own trip if I knew Mell were not having a good time; +besides, it will do you both good. They say the Narragansett air is +delicious, and you both need a change. Say that you’ll do me the favor +to smile on my plan.” + +“Well, dear, since you put it that way.” + +“And I want Mellicent to think it is just one of the regular summer +plans and no special treat. I don’t want to be mentioned in the matter.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I need a little wholesome discipline myself. I might be +top-lofty, and I need some meekness in my composition. Don’t I, truly, +grandma?” + +“A little, perhaps, at times.” + +“If there is anything I hate, too, it is to see a person make a parade +of any little generous act, assuming an attitude before the world as if +he would say, ‘Now, everybody look at me. I’ve just been real liberal, +and I want all the credit for it I can get.’ It disposes one to think +such acts are rare on the part of that special individual.” + +Mrs. Estabrook smiled. “There is another thing which I quite as much +dislike, and that is a lack of recognition of that same generous act by +the person who is the recipient. Now, I think it would be only gracious +and right for Mellicent to be able to say, ‘This outing was given me by +the generosity of my sister.’ A person has no right to accept a thing of +that kind without giving due recognition for it. For my own part, I +think I should be rather ashamed to accept a thing I could not tell +about.” + +“Nevertheless, I’m obstinate enough to want my way this time. Perhaps +some time you might tell her, after the summer is over. Will you let it +be that way?” + +“Yes, if you so desire it.” + +“Thank you. You’re a darling. One thing more. I wish to give and +transfer, without reservation, the amount I intend to be spent into your +hands, and you can find out if Mell would rather spend more of it on +purple and fine linen, or whether she would rather go with what she +would ordinarily have, and let the rest be spent in extending your stay. +That’s all, I believe.” + +“And quite enough.” + +“Now, do you mean I am a bore?” + +“What about that wholesome humility?” + +“It is needed this moment. You needn’t answer my question. I’m going to +hunt up Annis. Doesn’t she look sweet and pretty these days?” + +“She does, truly. Where are you off to?” + +“A game of golf, I think.” + +“Isn’t it too warm for exercise?” + +“Oh, we can sit down between strokes if we choose.” + +“Is Mellicent going?” + +“I don’t know. I suppose she is preparing her garments for the stake, or +is reading ‘Joan of Arc,’ maybe, or Fox’s ‘Book of Martyrs.’” + +“Now, Persis.” + +“That wasn’t nice of me, was it? Can’t help it, grandma; I’se drefful +wicked sometimes.” + +“If Mellicent isn’t going out, send her to me.” + +“And you’ll sweeten her misery by giving her our scheme to turn over in +her mind. That’s good of you. I go much more serenely now I know that +she will not be weaving the sacrificial robes. There! don’t say anything +more. I repent. I shall be covered with dust, and will probably sit in +it before long.” And Persis fled. She gave Mellicent her grandmother’s +message, after finding out that golf was not included in her sister’s +plans for the afternoon, and then she went out to find Basil and Porter +Phillips, with Annis, waiting for her on the porch, and they all started +for the golf links together. + +“Some day,” Persis said, as she switched a pebble with her stick, “some +day I hope so to focus my mind that I shall be able to avoid all +angles.” + +“What does that remarkably deep and occult observation mean?” asked +Basil, who was walking beside her. + +“It means that although angles may be necessary in the structure of +human existence, nevertheless there is no reason why one should be +forever bruising one’s self by running against them.” + +“Somewhat more lucid, but still veiled in semiobscurity.” + +“In other words, you’d like to know what has been ruffling my feathers.” + +“That’s it.” + +“The general contemplation of problems in general and my own life +problem in particular. What’s the reason, Basil, to come down to plain +hard sense, what is the reason that one may live for years with certain +persons and be considered amiable and sweet-tempered, and suddenly a +change of base discovers him or her to be as full of angles as a +polygon?” + +“‘A prophet is not without honor save in his own country and among his +own kin,’” quoted Basil, sententiously. + +“That’s not it, altogether.” + +“No; but who is it says that two human beings are like globes which can +touch only in one point, and while these remain in contact all other +points remain inert?” + +“Very true, to a certain limit; but when even a sphere is covered with +sharp protuberances there is no telling where the opposite one may be +touched.” + +“What in the world is all that metaphysical talk about?” asked Porter, +turning around. “Come down out of the clouds, you two. Say, Perse, why +didn’t Mellicent come?” + +“She had other fish to fry, she informed me. She was going to talk to +grandma about a proposed trip to Narragansett.” + +“Narragansett!” + +“Yes, my lord.” + +“Humph!” Porter gave his golf stick a thwack against an unoffending +stone by the way. + +“You do not approve, fair sir.” + +“I approve right enough, but I thought we were all going on that trip +through Virginia. It would have been lots more fun than playing the +society act at a fashionable watering-place.” + +“For you, maybe; but, as I heard a woman say once, ‘Some’s ideas +differs.’” + +“I believe, after all,” Porter remarked, “I don’t care to play golf +to-day. Don’t let us go to the links; suppose we go to the cricket club +instead, and have a game of tennis. We can get rackets there.” + +“I’d rather play with my own,” Persis said. + +“That’s mean of you, Porter, to want to desert us,” interposed Basil. +“We started out for golf.” + +“I’ve a right to change my mind,” Porter retorted. “You all can go +golfing if you like. I’m going to the club.” + +“Never mind then,” Annis’s gentle voice broke in. “Let’s all go to the +club. We’ll see lots of the girls there, Persis, and it will be fun to +talk to them, even if we don’t play. The boys can do as they choose, and +we can come home together when we are ready.” + +Persis agreed, and they turned towards the pretty little club-house +nestled in among the trees. It was a favorite resort for the young +people of the neighborhood, and generally showed groups of pretty girls +in their outing dresses or little parties of young men in their +flannels. To-day there was quite a merry company gathered, and the girls +were soon the centre of a jolly crowd. Several of their old +school-fellows and the college-mates of Porter and Basil collected in +one corner of the porch, and the youthful spirits made the most of the +occasion, the place ringing with their merriment. + +It was innocent fun, and Persis thoroughly enjoyed it. She had been so +long under a certain restraint at college that this entire freedom was +very acceptable. + +“You’re not a bit spoiled, Persis, by being a college graduate,” said +Kitty Carew. “I thought you’d be too much of a bluestocking ever to +glance at the club or its frivolous members.” + +“I enjoy _frivole_,” returned Persis. “I believe I enjoy it more than +ever after so much digging. It doesn’t make boys feel themselves too +superior to have fun when they go to college, and I don’t see why it +should make girls feel so.” + +“And now, what do you intend to do?” Kitty asked. + +“Enjoy myself for a season, and then, like the traditional bee, ‘I’ll be +busy, too.’” + +“‘For Satan finds some mischief still,’” Porter quoted; “and there’ll be +the mischief to pay if we don’t all get home. There’s a thunder-storm +‘bruisin,’ as Patrick says.” And the company scattered at sight of the +threatening clouds. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER VI. + DEAR DELIGHTS. + + +The prospect of her much-coveted trip, and a little flattery from one of +her admiring friends, had so far restored Mellicent’s good-humor that by +the next day she was all smiles, and Persis felt that she might follow +her own plans without the marring element of envy. + +When the time came for them to be starting away in opposite directions, +the two sisters parted with the best sort of feeling. Mellicent was +beaming. She had a pretty new travelling costume, and a trunk full of +such dainty frocks as girls love; she was going to Narragansett, and she +had nothing more to wish. Persis, too, felt very complacent. She was +never very fond of display, but in her well-fitting blue serge, her +sailor hat, neat gloves and shoes, she had an air of elegance which +rather outdid Mellicent, who inclined towards showiness, and was often a +trifle overdressed. + +Persis, too, had not a desire beyond that which the summer promised to +fulfil. Mrs. Brown and Annis, Mrs. Phillips and her two sons were her +travelling companions. At Baltimore they were to be joined by Mrs. +Dixon, her son Walter, and Connie Steuart, and at Washington Mrs. Wickes +would welcome them, Captain Wickes being now stationed at this latter +place. + +“After all the scatterations, what fun for us all to be together again,” +said Persis. “I wish Lisa and Richard were here. You see,” turning to +Basil, “I am cultivating the habit of speaking of him as a sister +should.” + +“Where are the doves?” asked Connie. “Have they finished their +wedding-journey?” + +“Oh, yes; they are in Brooklyn now. Mamma and papa are going to see them +soon. They are quite old married folks, and are talking of the most +prosaic sorts of things. Won’t Aunt Esther have a big houseful to-night? +It is what she most enjoys, however, and that roomy old place of hers +over in Georgetown is just fine.” + +Washington was looking its fairest, for the June roses still held their +own, although it was the last of the month, and the many pretty houses +with their green and flowery accompaniments seemed a very agreeable +sight after the staring rows of hideous little brick houses which filled +the Monumental City. + +“How I do wish Baltimore could add more grace to her other virtues,” +Mrs. Dixon said, looking around. “I love the city so dearly, and yet I +never saw a place where brick walls so crowded one, even to the very +outskirts. So much open country in every direction and scarce a bit of +green before the houses to relieve the eye. Philadelphia does much +better with her western section and her many pretty suburban places, and +New York does not show more monotony in her rows of brown-stone fronts. +However, I suppose we cannot have everything. We surely have a great +deal.” + +“Indeed, you have,” Mrs. Phillips agreed, heartily; “but I, too, have +often wondered why there is such an unpleasant sameness in the streets +of Baltimore, and why the houses, if they must be nearly all alike, are +not at least set back so that a variety in gardens might relieve the +lines of red brick. But here we are.” + +In a pleasant old-timey house surrounded by a garden they found Mrs. +Wickes expecting them. “The neighbors will think you have suddenly +opened a boarding-house,” were Persis’s first words. “These boys insist +upon going to a hotel, Aunt Esther.” + +“They’ll do nothing of the kind,” declared Mrs. Wickes, extending a +cordial hand to her friends. “Come in, every one of you. I have had your +rooms all prepared, and there’s not a sign of a reason why any one +should leave me—unless he prefers to,” she added, with a bright glance +at the three young men. + +This was quite enough, and not another word was said about going to a +hotel. + +“Now, what is your plan of operation?” Mrs. Dixon asked. “We hear, +Esther, that you have laid out a delightful trip for us, and so we rely +entirely on your generalship.” + +“The trip I had planned awaits your endorsement, of course,” Mrs. Wickes +returned. “I will give you it in outline, if you choose to consider +yourselves ‘personally conducted’ by me. I thought we would start by +taking the steamer down the Potomac to Norfolk, see that quaint old +place, and then go to Virginia Beach for a few days; returning, take the +boat up the James River to Richmond, then cut across the country to the +Natural Bridge. There we can settle ourselves and take driving trips to +the many different springs within comfortable distance. After we have +wearied of that we can make our way home by way of Shenandoah Valley, +stopping at Luray if we choose, and will, I think, have made a very +pleasant circuit.” + +“Fine!” exclaimed every one. + +“Just where I’ve always longed to go,” announced Persis. + +“Nothing could be jollier,” the boys declared. + +“But how about that sight of the Great Falls of the Potomac? Does that +come in on the trip?” asked Porter. + +“Great Falls of the Potomac?” echoed Mrs. Phillips. “I never even heard +of them.” + +“No, I suppose not,” replied Mrs. Wickes. “If they were in Europe all +the guide-books would mention them as one of the wonderful sights of the +continent, or if they were even in the region of our Yankee neighbors, +they would not be left unsung. But they are certainly worth seeing. +However, they do not lie on the route of our journey, but are only +fourteen miles above us here on the river, and we can drive there any +day when we get back, if you can wait, Porter. I am short one hand, and +my household arrangements are not quite so complete as they will be +later.” + +“And we pounced down upon you in this way!” exclaimed Mrs. Phillips. + +“That does not make the slightest difference. It is only that my butler +can more easily be pressed into doing duty as one of our coachmen a +little later. I always prefer to have him drive a second carriage +instead of depending upon a strange man. Pardon my discussing my +domestic affairs, but you are all such old friends, and I wanted Porter +to know why I postpone the expedition. I think I must tell you, however, +of the absurd trick my house-maid had played upon her, and which +accounts for her absence. She came to me in great distress yesterday, +saying, ‘Mis’ Wickes, I got word that my sister’s ve’y low, ma’am, an’ I +is ’bleedged to go home fo’ a few days.’ I knew refusal meant simply +that Eliza would take French leave, so I gave her the permission. This +morning my cook told me that it was all a scheme to get Eliza home; that +her mother wanted her, and had bidden her sister to go lie down in the +cellar. ‘Aun’ Philly say Rosy kyarnt be much lower’n dat,’ said Sophy, +‘an’ she ain’t tellin’ no lie to ‘Liza, for Rosy sutt’nly are ve’y low.’ +‘Why didn’t you tell Eliza before she went?’ I asked. ‘I aint heerd it +mahse’f twel to-day,’ Sophy said. ‘’Liza tol’ me dis mawnin’.’ ‘You saw +Eliza this morning. Why didn’t she come back to her work when she found +out the trick?’ ‘’Liza say you done tell her she kin stay away a few +days,’ was the reply. Such are the ideas of service which prevail about +here among the colored people.” + +They all laughed, and the company broke up into little groups, the elder +ladies finding comfortable chairs in one corner of the wide porch, where +they could drink in sweet odors of roses and honeysuckle, and the young +folks flocking together. + +Persis and Annis had long been devoted friends. There was a little +jealousy in Persis’s composition, and she liked to have Annis all to +herself. She had for a little time suspected that Annis liked Basil more +than she cared to suppose, but this idea had vanished altogether, and +she was learning to conquer the impulse which led her to be exacting, +and was trying to see that real love would cause her to desire her +friend’s happiness at any cost. More and more was Persis learning this. +So when Annis said she should enjoy a little walk, Persis saw her wander +off with Basil, and turned to join the others. “You come too,” said +Basil; but Persis shook her head, for Annis did not second the +invitation. Walter and Porter were both given over to fun, and in a few +moments Connie and Persis were laughing at their nonsense, and were +surprised when Basil and Annis returned, so short a time had they been +away. + +“Come, Persis,” said Basil; “Annis and I are no help to each other. I +want you to tell me about such a fine old place up beyond here.” + +“Oh, I know where you mean. It is the old Tudor place, of course.” +Persis arose and joined Basil. “Aren’t you coming, too?” she asked +Annis, who lingered. + +“No, I have seen it. I’ll stay.” And Persis took her turn. + +“It is a beautiful old place,” she agreed with Basil. “It was built +about the time that Mount Vernon was.” + +“I should like to own just such a spot. When are we going to start on +our trip, Persis? I want to see something of Washington. There have been +some good buildings put up since I was here.” + +“Yes; and we ought to go to Mount Vernon. Annis has never been there, +but we can do all that when we get back. I think Aunt Esther would +rather we’d start on our longer trip first, and I, for one, should like +to consider her convenience.” + +“You are given to considering the convenience of every one, aren’t you, +Persis?” + +“I? No, I don’t believe I do always. I’m very likely to look to my own. +Isn’t this a contradictory old town: decayed elegance, tumble-down +poverty, pretentious newness, and solid comfort all combined, one next +door to the other, as like as not. See, Basil! I know you’ll like that +place.” + +“Yes, I do. That’s another thing: you always know just what I’m going to +like.” + +“It seems to me that you’re very appreciative of my good qualities this +evening.” + +“I have always been, I think; and since we are together again after so +long a separation, they strike me more forcibly than ever. Tell me, +Persis, what about Mr. Dan?” + +“What about him? Why, I don’t know. What should there be about him?” + +“I didn’t know but that he was to be everlastingly about you?” + +“Oh, Basil, don’t you, like so many others, get that notion. I never +have had, and never will have, any but a real good, comfortable, +all-around feeling of comradeship for Mr. Dan.” + +“Humph!” + +“Don’t be humphing at me. It is true. Cross my heart.” + +Basil walked along, absently striking at a little stick with the switch +he carried. “I’m glad I asked,” he said presently. + +“I am, too. I’ve been thinking for some time that you were carrying +about with you some such idea. Here we are at the top of the hill. I +wish it were light enough for us to see the beautiful view of the river +from the college grounds. We could walk over that way, but I’m afraid it +is too dark. Shall we go back?” + +“As you say.” + +“I think it hardly seems quite fair to leave the others very long, and +it is scarce light enough to see any more architecture to-night. Basil, +we will see some ideal old places in Virginia. You’ll just love them.” + +“Yes, I expect to. I think we are going to have a fine time for the next +few weeks, don’t you?” + +“Don’t I?” There was a ring of utter gladness in Persis’s voice. “It is +an Elysian dream, Basil.” + +“Seems pretty much that way to me. I could ask nothing better than just +such a trip in just such company.” + +Persis flashed him an answering smile. “What a bright face she has, and +how pretty she looks to-night!” thought Basil. + +Annis seemed very quiet that evening, Persis thought, and after a while +the latter managed to get close to her friend and slip an arm around +her. “Tired, Annis?” she whispered. + +“A little.” + +“We won’t sit up late. I hope Aunt Esther has put us in a room +together.” + +“Very likely she has arranged to have me room with mamma.” + +“And put Connie with me? I’d so much rather it would be you, dear. I’m +going to ask.” + +A little later Persis followed her aunt into the house, and upon coming +out again she nodded to Annis. “It’s all right,” she told her. “There +are nine of us; the three boys bunk in one big room together, Connie is +to have a cot in the little dressing-room off Mrs. Dixon’s room, Mrs. +Phillips and Mrs. Brown each has a room to herself, and we go shares. +Aunt Esther always does just the right thing.” + +“These are fine large rooms, aren’t they?” Annis observed, when they had +reached their quarters. + +“Yes, it is a nice, old-fashioned, roomy house, and I like it. Don’t you +remember, Annis, how we discussed the old and the new when you were +looking for a house? Doesn’t that seem ages ago?” + +“It does, indeed. I don’t believe I was ever so happy.” + +“Why, dearie, aren’t you happy now?” Persis put her arms around the +slender figure, and looked down anxiously with eyes full of love. + +Annis gave a little sigh. “Yes, I am sometimes, and I could be under +some circumstances, but as one grows up there are so many unexpected +experiences coming to one. It scares me sometimes to look ahead.” + +“Well, there is only pleasure to look forward to just now. Don’t you +think so?” + +“Oh, yes, I do, indeed.” + +“Then don’t get vaporish, dear little cuzzy-wuzzy. It’s a beautiful +world. We ought to, we must, be happy.” Persis could see no possibility +of any other condition on this night. + +But Annis did not respond as her cousin felt that she ought, and after +they were in bed Persis turned the matter over in her mind as she lay +quietly by Annis’s side. Then she said, suddenly, “Annis, did you see +any one in Europe that you liked immensely, more than—more than you ever +did?” + +Annis was silent for a moment, then she said, hesitatingly, “Yes, I +did.” And having confessed this much, nothing further could be had from +her that night. + +Persis, however, in silent sympathy, slipped an arm over and felt for +Annis’s hand, which she held closely till both were asleep. + +“Six young persons start on a trip with four chaperons, how many does +each one have? That is a question in mental arithmetic which will take +all our spare time while we are away to solve.” Persis gave utterance to +this as they were seating themselves on the deck of the steamer, the +boys having brought them chairs, placing them where they could be the +most comfortable. + +“Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Wickes. “It is easy enough to solve that. Each +takes her proper charge. Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Dixon, and I take a girl +apiece, leaving the boys to their respective mothers.” + +“That gives my mother more than her share,” Walter put in. “I should say +that the fairest plan would be to leave me out. I don’t mind; I always +was ready to give up to others. Or else each chaperon could give +two-thirds of her time to each one, and the remaining one-third of the +time we could go scot free.” + +“Either would be much more to your liking, I’ve no doubt; but you will +have to walk a chalk line, I tell you, sir,” returned his mother. + +As Walter did precisely as he pleased, and managed to convince his +mother that whatever he did was all right, this was an idle threat, and +amused every one. + +Annis and Porter had never been on the best of terms, at least they were +not congenial, and consequently Persis usually felt that she must not +couple them together, and often allowed herself to be paired off with +Porter when another arrangement would have suited her better. Since her +questioning of Annis she had felt a new jealousy for her cousin, and +wondered more than once who it could be who had won her heart. Once she +asked Basil, “Did you see any one specially attentive to Annis while she +was abroad?” + +Basil considered for a moment. “No-o, I can’t say that I did. I believe +there were two or three fellows who hung around the party, but I never +noticed any one specially gone on her. Why?” + +“Oh, nothing. I just wondered.” + +“Harvey Dana used to be with us more than any one; but then you know I +was only with the crowd a comparatively short time, and there might have +been all sorts of goings on which I didn’t see.” + +“True,” agreed Persis. “Well, whoever does fall in love with Annis will +get a treasure.” + +“Yes, she’s a mighty nice girl. Hasn’t quite as much go as you have, +Persis.” + +“But she is a dear, and is twice as sweet-tempered as I am,” interrupted +Persis, eagerly; “and she is as true as steel.” + +“No one contradicts you, you fierce little body. You always amuse me, +Perse, when you bristle up that way, like a hen when a hawk is after her +chickens.” + +“Do I bristle up? Well, I can’t help it, I love my friends so hard, +Basil. Love isn’t worth anything unless it is given unstintedly, it +seems to me. I believe I care more for my friends than they do for me.” + +Basil gave her a slow side glance. “Exceptions prove the rule,” he said, +enigmatically. They were leaning over the side of the boat watching the +light dancing on the waves. The stars were out, and the night was still +and calm. Neither seemed to be in a very talkative mood, but yet Persis +felt strangely peaceful and happy. Anything, everything worth living for +seemed possible, and yet, and yet, ambition was slowly fading away at +the approach of another mysterious presence. + +She gave a long sigh just as Porter sauntered up and said, “What are you +two mooning about off here? You’re as silent as two clams.” + +“It is so delightfully serene under this sky,” Persis replied. + +“And I disturb the serenity. I’ll go back.” + +“No.” She laid a detaining hand on his arm. “We’ll all go together in a +moment. What are they all doing?” + +“Oh, the chaperons are reminiscing. And Walt and Connie are chaffing and +frivoling, as ‘’tis their nature to.’” + +“Why don’t you frivol likewise?” + +“I can’t go off by myself and poke my own ribs and cackle, can I?” + +“No, you poor, neglected creature, you can’t. We’ll all have to hang +together. Come.” + +Just such little situations were all that marred the trip. Connie and +Walter seemed daily to show a more decided preference for each other’s +society, so the other four young people were apt to make up a party to +drive or walk together. + +Of all places, Persis declared herself the most entirely pleased with +the Natural Bridge. “It is the most satisfying place I ever saw,” she +declared. “It does not disappoint one a bit. It’s just as big and just +as wonderful as I imagined it would be.” + +They had arrived late in the afternoon, and Persis could hardly wait to +see the great arch. Basil had quietly made a few inquiries, and gravely +piloted her down a piece of road quite near the hotel. + +“Is it far?” asked she. + +“No; quite near.” + +“Which direction shall I look?” + +“Come here.” Basil stepped to the side of the road on which they were +walking and held aside the bushes. “I want to show you something, +Perse,” he said. “Give me your hand. There, look over.” + +“Oh!” cried she, in amazement; “we’re on it! Oh, Basil, why didn’t you +tell me? I never dreamed of it. Isn’t it strange? Why, it looks just +like any old road till you look over.” + +“That’s just what it does. I wanted to surprise you, Persis.” + +“Well, you succeeded. Can we go down under it?” + +“Yes, we will after supper. I believe there is a special party here, +which gives a definite occasion for lighting it up, and we’ll have a +fine show.” + +True enough, it was weirdly and bewilderingly grand, and thrilled them +to look up from below at the huge chasm with its noble span. + +“That is what I call a bridge of size,” remarked Walter to Connie. + +She laughed, and Porter groaned. “Even here we have to listen to such +things from you, Walter.” + +“I feel as if I were in a queer sort of a dream,” Persis whispered. “As +we came down that dim woodsy path lighted by torches, I was more and +more assured that I was living in a fairy story. Oh, see, they are +sending off fire-works! How mysterious it makes everything seem! Oh, I’d +like to stay here always.” + +“Wait till the daylight comes. You may be disenchanted,” her aunt +suggested. + +But Persis was not disappointed even then, and from the moment that she +sprang out of bed to see the mists rolling from the peaks about her, +till the sun dipped behind them that evening, she was in a state of +exaltation that surprised most of the others. “It has been such a +reverential day,” she said to Basil that night. + +He nodded. Basil always understood. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER VII. + A SUMMER SHOWER. + + +“Isn’t it fun to dash off this way!” Connie was wont to exclaim, as day +after day driving trips were planned. “I believe, after all, we have +lost something by the invention of steam. The good old way of coaching +it must have been very satisfactory.” + +“I’d like you to try it for a year,” Walter replied. “You’d be glad +enough to go back to Pullman cars and rapid service.” + +“I suppose I should, having once had it, but I do think this leisurely +way of travel is fine. We see so much, and are so independent, without +the bother of time-tables or trunk checks.” + +They were on their way to one of the many springs which are so plentiful +in that part of the country. Basil, Walter, Mrs. Dixon, Connie, and +Persis were in one three-seated carriage, the remainder of the party +occupying another. They were wont to change about on every trip, “So as +not to be clannish,” Mrs. Wickes said, and the plan worked very well. If +the distance to be covered were great, and there were no hostelries +along the way, luncheon was provided, and was eaten along the road-side. +And so long as they reached comfortable lodgings by night it was all +that was asked. A little luggage was carried in case they elected to +remain two or three days at some specially attractive spot. And thus, +with care thrown to the winds, the days were slipping along in an +ideally happy manner. + +“No matter where we go, I’m always glad to get back to the Bridge,” +Persis declared over and over again. The place never lost its +fascination for her, and in after years she looked back upon the time +spent there as one of her happiest memories. There were days when the +driving trips were set aside, and those who did not care to spend their +time on the porches of the old inn could wander at will over the +mountain-paths; and this, too, was a delight. + +“At last the time has come for folding our tents,” Mrs. Wickes announced +one morning at breakfast. “I suppose you young people never would be +ready to go back, but as I have left behind a long-suffering and patient +husband, I shall have to return to Washington. You all, however, do not +need to go just because I do, much as I want you.” + +“As if we would desert our general,” cried the boys. “No, we must see +that beautiful Shenandoah Valley and those wonderful caves. Give us your +orders.” + +“Suppose, then, we spend one more day here, and then go right through to +Luray.” + +“The fiat has gone forth. One more day of respite. Who will, may follow +my example. I am going to spend that one day above, about, and below the +bridge,” announced Persis. + +“Above, around, about, athwart,” Walter repeated; “sounds like a list of +prepositions.” + +“No matter what it sounds like, I’m off. I’ll pack my trunk after +dinner. I can’t miss these morning sights.” And Persis sprang off the +porch and was proceeding towards a little nook in among the bushes, +where she loved “to sit and hold her breath,” as she said. + +This morning Basil joined her before she reached the spot. “The grass is +damp, don’t go there yet,” he warned her. “Let’s keep to the road for a +while.” + +“I just hate to think of leaving, don’t you, Basil.” + +“Why, I’m about ready for a change of base. I think we’ve seen all there +is to see.” + +“We never could see all there is to see, for every day is different. How +beautiful it must be in the winter and at early spring. I’d like to see +the place under all aspects.” + +“You are the most enthusiastic visitor the bridge has ever had, I +believe.” + +“I wonder if I am. Ever since I was a little child and used to pore over +those old volumes of _Harper’s Magazine_ that are in our library I have +longed for just this trip. You remember Porte Crayon’s ‘Virginia +Illustrated,’ don’t you? Well, that I used to read and re-read, and now +I have realized my dream of going over the same ground.” + +“So, you’ve had your heart’s desire.” + +“Yes, and the beauty of it is that I’m not in the least disappointed.” + +“Don’t you want to take one more horseback ride this afternoon?” + +“Oh, yes, I should love to.” + +“Just you and I will go. Will Mrs. Wickes object?” + +“Aunt Esther? No, I think not. Who could be a safer companion than my +brother Basil?” + +Basil frowned slightly, but he made no comment. And no objection being +made by Mrs. Wickes, the two started off down the mountain-road, +Persis’s bright face glowing with happiness under her ridinghat, her +neat habit showing off her pretty figure to advantage. She looked back +and waved her hand as she rode away. + +“How well Perse looks on horseback,” Walter remarked. “I wish you liked +to ride, Connie.” + +“I wish I did, but I don’t. Persis rides just as she does everything, as +well as possible. She never lets anything down her; whatever she +undertakes she goes into heart and soul. Now, I’m not that way. I feel +timid and doubtful over most things which I undertake. I’m scared to +death on a horse. I might ride on a pillion, if you choose to take me +behind you in that fashion.” + +Walter laughed. “I don’t choose. We’ll take a walk instead. What’s +become of Annis?” + +“She said she was going to pack her trunk, and Porter has gone down to +the junction on the stage.” + +“Oh, all right. The mater is giving herself up to a nap, and told me to +see after you. She’s afraid you might fall off the bridge. So we seem to +be left to follow our noses.” + +“Will you follow mine, or shall I follow yours?” + +“You shall walk by the side of mine.” + +“Don’t let’s pursue the subject, we might say something silly. Suppose +we talk sense for a change.” And the two started forth and were soon out +of sight. + +“What have you decided to do with yourself next winter?” Persis was +asking Basil at the same moment. + +“I’ve about concluded to settle down somewhere. Where would you advise a +fellow to live?” + +“Right here.” + +“Nonsense! How many houses should I be likely to plan in a year?” + +“You might plan a great many. You’d have plenty of time for it.” + +“You’re right; but who would want to build them?” + +“I’m sure I don’t know. I didn’t agree to inform you on that point. I’m +not at all practical on this occasion. I can’t think of anything but sky +and trees and summer weather; weeds by the wayside and flowers in the +fields. Don’t let us take thought for the morrow.” + +“But summer will not last always.” + +“No, there’s the pity of it. Yet I want to enjoy it, and be as care-free +as I can, during this outing. Don’t talk about planning houses and +suggesting bricks and mortar, or even fat bank accounts.” + +“All right; we’ll wait till the summer-time has gone and we’re home +again. I was going to ask what are your plans, Persis?” + +“I don’t know. I’ll sit down some day after we are all at home again, +and I’ll think very hard over the problem of life; then you shall know +the result.” + +“If I am there; and if I’m not, you can write to me about it.” + +“If you’re not there? Why, where will you be?” + +“I thought you didn’t want me to think about it.” + +“I don’t; but I suppose all women are contradictory, and since you have +started the train of thought I must needs follow it out; and then——” + +“And then—— Go on.” + +“I don’t like the idea of your being in some too distant place where a +body can never get a chance to mend your gloves, or sew up a rip in the +lining of your overcoat.” + +“Persis!” + +“Is that spoken in a tone of reproach, mockery, or appeal?” + +“It is a combination of so many emotions, I’d better not attempt to +describe them.” + +“Well, that, too, can be ‘another story.’ Now let us settle your +settlement.” + +“I had thought of Washington as a desirable place for a young and +ambitious architect.” + +“Yes, Washington will do finely. Let’s call it Washington, and be done +with it.” + +“You’re not particular, after all.” + +“Oh, yes; only I don’t want you to be beyond the possibility of +occasional reach.” + +“Persis!” + +“There is that same ‘Persis!’ I shall be so curious about her presently +that I shall repent my decision to let explanations go till another +time.” + +“Shall I explain?” + +Persis shot him a glance. Basil had an earnest face, but just now it was +more than usually so, and his companion, seeing it, felt close to a +confession. Truly, women are contradictory. She gave a little nervous +laugh, and, touching her horse lightly, she briskly cantered down the +road. + +Basil was not long in overtaking her. + +“‘Seeing riding’s a joy for me, I ride,’” she quoted. “I want to ride +fast. I want just this day of sweetness to linger. No past, no future. +Will any one hear me, Basil, if I sing or shout?” + +“I shall.” + +“Oh, you wouldn’t mind. I can’t express the voice of my mountain spirit +in ordinary speech.” + +“Then don’t try.” Basil felt that somehow a golden moment had slipped +him. The elusiveness of Persis’s mood had piqued him a little. + +“Oh, you dry old body, why don’t you, too, feel the strange music of the +Pan pipes and the songs of the wood-nymphs on every side?” + +“Because something else speaks to me so loudly that I can hear nothing +else.” + +Persis gave him a second quick look, and again touched up her horse. +“Then I’ll go off yonder and answer the forest voices, and you needn’t +come; you can just watch me from afar. Oh, no, I can’t go, either. We’re +coming to a little town, and I must be on my good behavior. Oh, Basil, +see! there are beehives in that garden. Do you believe we could get some +bread and honey if we turned up that lane and asked at that house? I’m +half starved. This mountain air gives one sixteen appetites a day.” + +“I confess to a similar experience. We’ll try for the bread and honey.” + +They rode towards the house and accosted a little tow-headed child who +stood among the flaming rows of zinnias. + +“Have you any honey?” Persis asked. + +The little girl ran swiftly to the house, and came back with a motherly +looking woman, who smilingly granted the request made her, sending out +by a colored boy a plate of biscuits, a dish of honey, and glasses, +herself bringing a pitcher of milk. + +“This mountain air does make us so hungry,” Persis explained, as she +took the biscuit Basil had spread for her. + +“Won’t you alight and come in?” asked the woman. “It is kind of unhandy +eating perched up there.” + +“Oh, no; I like it,” Persis returned. “What good biscuits! and such +delicious milk!” + +“Can’t I get you something else?” the woman asked, hospitably,—“a piece +of cold chicken or ham?” + +“Oh, no; this is just what we want.” + +“You all are not from anywhere around here, are you?” was the next +question addressed to Persis. + +“No; we are stopping over at the Bridge, and are only out for a ride. +We’ve never been in this direction before. That’s quite a little town +beyond here, I should judge.” + +“Yes, it’s right smart of a place; but mighty few strangers come to it, +being off the line of the railroad.” + +“Oh, I see.” + +Persis instinctively felt that it would not do to offer pay to this +kindly woman who proffered her food so promptly and plentifully, but she +saw that Basil closed the fingers of the child’s little fat hand over a +coin, and noticed that the colored boy grinned from ear to ear as he +bowed and scraped; so she knew the kindness was not unrecognized. + +“It looks like we’d have a thunder-gust,” said their entertainer, as +they turned to go. “You’d better wait till it’s over.” + +“Oh!” Persis looked at the clouds rolling up from the horizon. “Do you +think it is near?” + +“I can’t say. One doesn’t know; up here in the mountains these summer +showers come up very quickly sometimes.” + +“I think if we ride fast we can get back,” Basil assured her; and with a +nod and a pleasant good-bye, they started at a smart pace up the road. + +“We didn’t get to the village after all, and I wanted to see it,” Persis +said, regretfully. “It is truly a land flowing with milk and honey.” + +“Yet you would not make it a land of promise,” Basil remarked, under his +breath. + +Persis did not reply, for just then a flash of lightning startled her, +and the big drops began to patter down. They were scarce a mile beyond +the house where they had stopped, when the storm broke in all its fury. + +“There, ahead,” Basil cried. “There is some sort of a little house in +the woods.” And they turned their horses towards it, going at full +gallop. + +A rude school-house with a rough porch in front it proved to be, but it +was a shelter for them and even for their horses. + +“We’d better get as far in as possible,” Basil said, lifting Persis from +her saddle. “Are you very wet?” + +“Scarcely any, worth mentioning. My habit is quite heavy, you know, and +we really only had a fair sprinkle. But, dear me, how it is coming down +now!” + +“Well, we’re in luck to come upon this place. Of course, we could have +gone back to that house, but we should have been drenched getting +there.” + +“At any rate, we’re not hungry; and if the storm does not keep up too +long we can get back before dark, can’t we?” + +“I think so. The roads will be muddy, but that will be all. There’s not +much danger on horseback even if there should be washouts.” + +“We’ll hope there’ll not be——” A terrific crash of thunder interrupted +her, and Persis started. Basil took her hand in a protecting clasp. “I’m +not afraid,” she whispered; “only, it is awe-inspiring.” + +The storm was at its worst now. The two standing under the old porch +said very little. Once there came a rivening bolt which shattered a tree +in the forest beyond, and the rain fell in torrents; but the shelter was +secure, and no leaks of any account gave them discomfort. A second +terrific roar made Persis cower closer to her companion. He looked down +at her with a gently assuring smile, but said nothing except, “We’re +safe, Persis.” + +“Yes, I know; only, it’s startling,” she answered. + +At last the mutterings of thunder became fainter and fainter. Away off +the rolling clouds displayed zigzag streaks incessantly, but above them +there was a rift in the gray. + +“We’ll get pretty wet as it is,” Basil remarked. “Shall we wait a +little, Persis? the trees drip so; if we were in an open road it +wouldn’t matter much.” + +“I think we’d better not wait long, for it will soon be dark, and that +will be worse than a wetting.” + +It was rather precarious riding, after all. Little purling brooks had +become swift torrents, which the horses breasted bravely, but which gave +Persis cold shivers to cross; and once she had to draw her feet up on +the saddle, so near did the water come to the horse’s head. The sun was +setting in a gorgeous sky and a half-moon was faintly struggling through +broken masses of clouds when the two finally reached the inn, and found +an anxious company on the outlook for them. + +Persis noticed that Annis looked particularly pale and wistful. “Did you +think we were drowned?” she asked. “Why, Annis dear, one would think you +were the one worst scared. Was the storm very sharp here?” + +Annis turned away abruptly, murmuring something about a headache, and +Persis followed her up the stairs to their rooms; but Annis shut her +door, and Persis stood longingly outside before she concluded not to +disturb her. “She must have a bad headache, poor dear, and now that she +knows we are safe she has gone to lie down,” she told herself. + +The next evening found them at Luray, looking across the mountains, over +which the moon shone softly. One day there was given to the caves, which +Persis declared roused her wonder less than the bridge. “They make me +feel my insignificance, I must confess,” she told her aunt. “And when I +consider that it took hundreds of years to form an inch of those giant +stalactites and stalagmites, I feel that I could comprehend a little +better that man ‘cometh up like a flower.’ It is all so weird and +wonderful that I cannot talk much about it, Aunt Esther. Basil would +tell me I don’t have to,” she added, smiling. + +“We American women do talk too much, I suspect,” Mrs. Wickes replied. +“We are a restless set, and like to hear ourselves chatter, whether we +say anything worth hearing or not.” + +“Perhaps I would do well to cultivate that golden silence which grandma +used to talk to me so much about.” And Persis smiled, remembering some +episodes of her earlier girlhood. “I wonder what sort of an experience +it would take to develop taciturnity in me.” + +“Nothing less than solitary confinement,” avowed Porter, at her elbow. + +“Now, Porter, that is mean of you,” Persis answered. “I’ll remember that +the next time you are moping by yourself and wishing for a little +friendly notice. Then I’ll treat you with spurn.” + +“I take it all back,” Porter responded. “I was just chaffing. Honest, +Perse.” + +“All right, we’ll see. Oh, dear! I’m beginning to realize that our trip +is about over.” + +“What are you going to do next?” Porter inquired. “Have you heard from +the family?” + +“Yes; a budget came for me this morning. Grandma and Mell have left the +Pier and have joined mamma and papa at some little unhay-feverish place +up near the White Mountains.” + +“I suppose Mellicent had a fine time.” + +“She did, indeed, and mourns that she does not possess a cottage at +Narragansett. Mamma says I may either join them or go with Mrs. Brown +and Annis.” + +“And which shall you do?” + +“I haven’t decided. I shall stay a few days with Aunt Esther. You know +we haven’t quite come to the end of our junketing. There are plans to be +made all around.” + +“Yes, so my mother says. We, too, have to settle the rest of our +summer’s campaign. There, the others are ready to start. The train must +be coming.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER VIII. + A COMING SHADOW. + + +“August in Washington is not the most exhilarating season,” Basil +remarked, after a return from an exhaustive and exhausting study of the +city’s architecture. “Still, I am vastly inclined towards the place, and +have actually been looking at offices, Persis.” + +“That is attending to business with a vengeance,” she replied. She was +sitting in the cool drawingroom, drumming softly on the piano when Basil +came in. She stopped the little waltz which lightly tinkled from the +keys, and looked up. “Wasn’t it awfully hot and discouraging over in +town?” she asked. + +“Not so very. There are so many open squares, and cross angles and +trees, that except where the sun shines on the asphalt it isn’t +oppressive. It is deliciously cool in here, and that dim blue frock of +yours makes you look as if you didn’t know what it was to be warm.” + +“Do you like this? I made it myself, and it cost five cents a yard, a +mid-summer bargain. I believe I have a genius for being poor.” + +“Or, at least, for making the most out of very little. Where are the +others?” + +“Scattered around in various cool spots. Walter, Connie, Porter, and +Mrs. Dixon are on the back porch; Annis—ah! here she is. Come in, ‘my +dearest, dear little heart,’” for Annis stood hesitatingly in the +door-way. “Oh, do you want me? I forgot all about that pattern I +promised to hunt up. I’ll do it now.” + +“And I must go and find mother,” said Basil. + +Persis put her arm around Annis as they passed up the wide stairway. +“This hot weather completely wilts you, doesn’t it, Annis?” she said. +“You were never buxom, but now you look really droopy. I don’t believe, +as I come to think of it, that you looked much better even when we were +in the mountains, for, although you never were a rattle-pate, you have +been quieter and less merry than usual.” They had reached the door of +their room, and Persis took Annis’s face between her hands, gently +kissing her. “Darling,” she went on to say, “you are troubled about +something. Tell me what it is. Can I do anything?” + +Annis dropped her eyes. “You could,” she made answer, “but I wouldn’t +have you for a million worlds.” + +Persis drew back and looked at her. “Why, Annis, aren’t you ashamed not +to let me? You know I’d do anything—anything at all, even to the giving +to you the half of my kingdom,” she concluded, with a smile. + +“I know it.” + +“You don’t love me, then.” + +“Oh, Persis, I do, I do! I’m a wretched, weak, silly girl. I’ve no force +of character at all, and you are so strong. Oh, Persis, I do love you! +Don’t let that come.” + +“What?” Persis cuddled the smaller girl’s head against her shoulder. + +“Why, anything—any cloud.” + +“I’ve thought some days that there was a little cloud.” Persis spoke +slowly. “Once or twice, Annis, you were so offish. I didn’t understand +it. It was so very unlike you.” + +“I know I’m horrid, I know I am; but I’ve not been happy.” + +“I could see that. Is it—is it because of that—that unknown you met in +Europe?” The question came in a whisper. Annis lifted her head and +looked half startled. The color rushed up to her cheeks, and she broke +away from her cousin with a little gesture of protest, which Persis +interpreted as meaning to do away with the subject. + +“We won’t talk about it then.” She attempted to change the subject by +saying, “But I wish you’d let me do that, whatever it is.” + +Annis shook her head decidedly, and Persis turned the topic by +announcing, “To-morrow we go to the Great Falls. Oh, Annis, you will +like it, I know. The only reason I don’t want to go is that I don’t want +it over, for that means a breaking up of the party. I suppose the next +day there will be the beginning of the separation, for the Dixons will +go then. To think we have been on the go for over eight weeks, and now +the summer is nearly over. Has your mother decided yet where you will +spend the rest of it? I wish you’d go to New England with me.” + +“Mamma thinks she doesn’t care for New England this year, and so we +shall very likely go to the Water Gap for two or three weeks in +September.” + +“And then go back home and take your house again? I wonder if Mrs. +Phillips will stay in the city with Porter, or come here to Washington +with Basil.” + +“Mamma thinks she will not take the house for another year. The tenants +want to keep it,” Annis replied. Then, after a pause, she asked, “Has +Basil decided to settle here?” + +“I think so.” Persis spoke unconcernedly. “Oh, don’t you hope it will be +clear to-morrow?” she added. “I went once to the Falls when it rained +all day, and it was so drippy, and the rocks were so slippery.” + +Persis’s hopes were realized, for it proved to be a fine day, a shower +having cooled the air and laid the dust. As the horses trotted up the +Conduit Road, over Cabin John Bridge, and on up the river road, the +occupants of the three carriages caught glimpses of the blue Potomac +between the trees, and the opposite shores of Virginia. + +Mr. Danforth had promised to join this expedition, and was on hand the +evening before they were to start. He was always an addition to a +travelling party, and, as a good driver, good athlete, good comrade, was +always greeted with a warm welcome. All the boys liked him, and on this +occasion he was in the best of spirits. + +Arrived at the old hotel by the side of the road, the party proceeded +across the canal lock to the rocks. + +“Such a way,” exclaimed Connie, “I never saw! Is it the best they can +do? The idea of having to scramble across boards and over beams! and, +oh, dear! have we got to cross that dreadful shaky little bridge? I can +never do it in the world.” And, indeed, it did seem to be a venturesome +undertaking, so much so that Mrs. Phillips could not be persuaded to try +it, and Mrs. Brown, having gone a few steps, turned back, and no amount +of coaxing could induce her to make a second attempt. + +“But, mother, it is perfectly safe,” Basil assured her. “It is too bad +to have come this far and not to go over to where you can get a view.” + +But Mrs. Phillips flatly refused to budge, and the others went on their +way. The boys made nothing of it; Annis turned very pale as Basil guided +her over; Connie pranced, and protested with little shrieks that she +never in the world could venture, even with Walter to go with her. “It +swings and teeters so!” she exclaimed. “I am more afraid with the two of +us on it than if I were alone, and yet I can’t go by myself.” + +“You act just like a skittish horse,” Walter told her. “To be sure, it +does sway, but it is perfectly safe.” And at last, with Walter holding +her hand, she managed to get on the other side. “Oh, dear!” she sighed, +as she reached solid earth; “I feel like a mouse in a trap, for we’ve +got to go back the same way, and I dread it so.” + +Mr. Danforth and Porter piloted the older ladies, but Persis persisted +in making the journey alone. “I can do it better,” she told them. + +“You always are brave.” Basil spoke in an aside to her. “I never knew +you yet to be wanting in courage, either moral or physical.” + +“I’ve not had many tests as yet,” she answered; “and this surely cannot +be dangerous, or so many persons would not use it.” + +The scramble to the top of the rocks did not seem difficult, and here +the view of the falls was obtained. + +“Well, it is fine,” Mrs. Dixon declared, as she looked at the eager +rushing flood tossing over the rocks. “It is really grand. We’ll sit +here and enjoy it, and you young folks can scramble about all you +please.” + +Naturally that was exactly what the young folks wanted to do, and one +after another went farther and farther, fascinated by the invitation +which the rocks offered for such explorations. + +“I’ve come to the end of my limit at last,” Persis announced, having +left Annis a few feet away. Connie, still farther behind, had begun to +retrace her steps. The boys were not satisfied, however, and were +leaping from one jutting rock to another. + +“Here, Annis, give me your hand,” said Persis; “I’m sure you can make +one more jump. This is a nice flat rock, there is plenty of room for +both of us on it.” And she turned to lend her aid. + +At that moment a shout from Mr. Danforth was heard. “Look out, there, +Basil! I wouldn’t try that. It looks treacherous.” But he was too late, +Basil had made the leap; and as Annis and Persis, clinging together, +turned their eyes in Basil’s direction they saw him slip and fall. +Sucked in by a swift eddy, he was being borne on down towards the rapid, +relentless current. + +Mr. Danforth did not lose an instant. Calling to Porter to follow, he +made a short cut along the rocks nearer shore, having taken in at a +glance the possibility of Basil’s being swept that way, on account of +there being a divergence in the flood at that point. + +Persis gave one smothered, horror-stricken cry, and clutched Annis +fiercely, who uttered a shrill scream of terror. “Oh, Persis! Persis!” +Annis cried; “can we do nothing? Oh! must he be killed? I cannot stand +it, I cannot! I wish I might go, too; I cannot live if he is gone. Oh, +Persis! oh, what shall I do? Oh, Basil! Basil! I would die for you. Oh, +save him! save him!” The words came brokenly from the girl’s very heart, +and for one second Persis’s hold on her lessened, then she gathered her +closer to her. + +“Hush, Annis, hush,” she besought her. “All we can do is to pray God to +spare him.” And with quivering lips and quickly beating hearts, they +stood for what seemed an eternity waiting the result. + +Mr. Danforth had thrown himself flat across one of the large rocks, +bidding Porter to hold him fast, and as Basil, still clutching feebly at +the slippery, elusive crags, reached him, he was caught in the strong +arms, which managed to draw him out of danger. Battered and bruised, he +was but living. + +“Is he safe? Is he badly hurt?” Persis’s voice came, sharp with anxiety. + +“He’ll be all right, I think,” came back Mr. Danforth’s reassurance. “I +wish we had a drop of brandy.” + +“I’ll go get some; I’ll be back in a minute.” She knew on these +excursions her Aunt Esther always carried a little flask in her bag, in +case of emergency, and she sprang from rock to rock, never thinking of +fear or anything but Basil. Once or twice in her haste she fell, but she +scrambled up again and went on to the top of the rocks. “Give me the +brandy, quick, quick!” she cried, as she came in sight of the figures +sitting together. + +Mrs. Wickes started to her feet. “What is the matter? Who needs it?” she +asked, sharply. + +“Basil.” The reply came breathlessly. “I can’t stop. Oh, quick! Walter +is coming, he’ll tell you.” For Walter had followed, thinking to +overtake Persis in her flight, but she encountered him half-way down the +bluff. + +“Give it to me,” he cried. “I can get back quicker.” And Persis +relinquished the little flask. + +Walter’s long legs and sure footing took him swiftly to where Porter and +Mr. Danforth were with Basil. By degrees they managed to get the +unconscious form to a place of more security, and by degrees they +managed to restore consciousness. Other visitors to the place gathered +with ready offers of help, and difficult and toilsome as the trip was to +the hotel, it was at last accomplished. + +“It was a close shave,” some one told them. “A young fellow was drowned +here last year through just such an accident.” + +A doctor who was at hand pronounced no bones broken, and no internal +injuries so far as could be discovered. “He must be kept very quiet,” he +advised. “I don’t see how he got off so well as this. A little more and +it would have been impossible.” + +It was a very solemn and subdued party that travelled slowly back to +town. Mrs. Wickes hastened on ahead, and by the time they were able to +get Basil to the house all was ready for him. + +“Oh, Mr. Dan,” said Persis, with such a ghastly face as was only matched +by Annis, “if it hadn’t been for you we should not have Basil.” + +Annis’s lips quivered as she, too, gave her praise for courage and +promptness. + +“It was lucky we were all close together,” Mr. Danforth said. “I could +not have managed alone. It was the knowledge that Porter was behind me +and Walter behind him that made it possible.” + +Poor Mrs. Phillips was completely overcome by the catastrophe, as she +realized how perilously near grief and loss had been. + +By night Basil was pronounced safe, although he was feverish, and was +aching from head to foot. + +“He needs quiet and care, and will come out all right,” the doctor +assured them. “He has a good constitution, and no bad habits to stand in +nature’s way, I judge. A clean, wholesome life is a great safeguard in +accident cases,” he added. + +“Then Basil has the best of chances,” Mr. Danforth certified. “I’ve +known him from boyhood, and his record will bear any sort of a +search-light thrown on it.” + +“And so the end of the lovely summer has been disaster,” Persis said to +her cousin. “How dreadful to think that in the twinkling of an eye such +things can come!” + +Annis was more than usually subdued. Persis alone knew her secret, and +she had feared to be left alone with the older and stronger girl, but +when night came, here they were together, and Persis had no word of +reproach for her. + +But outwardly calm as she was, Persis’s brain was in a whirl. The +discovery of what Annis felt was a revelation to her. She did not +suspect it. The hint about the somebody abroad had completely misled +her. And now that the assurance of Basil’s safety was theirs, this must +be met and settled. Happiness for herself at the cost of misery for +Annis, that was what it meant; and yet—and yet. “I know which of us +Basil cares for,” Persis told herself, “and he is not a flirt; he is not +one who makes love to every girl he meets. I’m sure of that.” + +She sat so long at the window in the dimly lighted room that after a +time Annis said, timidly, “Persis, aren’t you coming to bed?” + +“After a while,” was the answer. “I have so much to think about, Annis.” + +The little figure in the bed sat up and held out two supplicating hands. +“Oh, Persis! Persis!” came the cry. “Why did you ever want me for a +friend? I have brought you only misery.” + +“Hush!” Persis’s voice was sharp and peremptory. Then she left her place +by the window and went over to the bedside. “I wanted you because I +loved you,” she said. “I can’t talk it all out now. I will after a +while.” + +“But he—he loves you.” + +“Does he? He has never told me so. There, I said I was not ready to +talk.” And she resumed her seat by the window. + +The great thing that she could do for her cousin. This was it,—she could +give up Basil. A great thing. How great a thing was it? What did it mean +to her? Care for him herself? Of course she did. She always had cared. +She knew that now. It had been a natural growth, not a sudden fancy. And +Basil, he had been more than once on the verge of a confession. She knew +that. If she had only let him tell her that day of their mountain ride +in the storm, then it would all have been settled, and her duty would be +to him, to him alone, but now——Oh, but Annis had deceived her by saying +she cared for some one in Europe. No, she didn’t say that. She said she +saw some one in Europe for whom she cared. So she did. She saw Basil, +and poor, little, unhappy Annis would have gone through life without +ever yielding up her secret, but for that dreadful, sudden horror which +wrenched it from her. + +But Basil doesn’t care for her, Persis next told herself, but might he +not if he could be made to believe that she, herself, regarded him only +as a good comrade, as a dear counsellor, an old crony, or anything of +the kind? Annis, with no one but her mother, a delicate woman who might +leave her desolate in a few short years, and she, Persis, so rich in +affection, father, mother, sisters, grandmother. Why, she was selfish, +of course she was. She would give Annis a chance, at least she could do +that, and then, if after that it so happened that Basil persisted in +caring for the wrong girl, why, she couldn’t help it. + +So she settled it, not without a last struggle, but, as Basil had only +that day told her, Persis was always brave. She went to where Annis lay +watching her. There was something motherly in the way she leaned over +her friend. “Annis,” she began, “nothing must come between us. You must +think of me as Basil’s sister, not as anything else. Tell me, dear, has +he—did you think, in those days at Paris, that he cared for you? Don’t +lock away in your heart anything which will help us to understand.” + +“Oh, Persis, how strong you are! I think no girl ever had so loyal a +friend.” + +“Oh, yes,” the reply came, a little sadly. “Girls, real true, loving, +womanly girls, are always loyal. I know they say that you can trust your +friends in all affairs save those of love, but I think even there girls +can be honest to each other. Tell me all about yourself and Basil. I +know he has always liked you and admired you.” + +“Yes. I think we have always liked each other, and I used to think, at +first, that you and Mr. Dan were fond of each other, so I didn’t try not +to care.” + +“And in Paris?” + +“And there I saw him constantly. He was very good to mamma and me, and +went everywhere with us. Mamma used to say it was because we were old +friends, and because he felt as if he had a sort of claim on us, since I +was your cousin; but—but I hoped it was because he really liked me. +Don’t think he ever said sentimental things to me, he never did, but +I—perhaps I imagined when he sent me flowers that they meant more. I +suppose it was because I wanted to think it was so. But after we came +back, and I saw him with you, I felt that all his attentions were +because I was your dearest friend; that he liked to be with me because I +could talk about you. Not being able to get pudding, he took pie,” she +concluded, with a little attempt at jocularity. + +“And you have been miserable over it. It is dreadful. But Annis dear, +when he finds poor pudding isn’t good for him, and, besides, that it is +not attainable, he will conclude that never was anything quite so +absolutely satisfactory as good pie.” + +“Oh, Persis! No, no! I won’t have you talk so. I believe you are going +to do a dreadful thing.” + +“How, dreadful?” + +“Why you’ll ruin his life for the sake of my foolish, foolish fancy.” + +“Ruin his life? not a bit of it. His little preference for me is only a +flash in the pan.” Persis spoke lightly. She wondered as she did so, if +she were sure that what she said was true. “Now, dear heart,” she +continued, “don’t be miserable, I’m going to make a business of +persuading your mother that no place in the world will suit you so well +as Deal Beach, where the Phillipses are going, and that the Water Gap is +horrid, and so you see propinquity may do a great deal. Will you try and +be happy for me?” + +“I will. Oh, Persis, I was so afraid you did really care. What a friend +you are! But promise me, if, after all, you discover that no one but you +can make him happy, that you will try to be fonder of him.” + +Persis shook her head. “I can’t make any such promise; besides, that is +a contingency we don’t have to contemplate just now. He is not going to +have the chance to consider me for a moment. It is out of the question, +as he will soon find out. It is the kindest way all around.” + +She was very brave, there is not a doubt of it, yet it was she who lay +wide awake till the gray dawn came stealing into the room, and it was +her heart, which, brave as it was, felt a very sorrowful ache as she lay +quietly by the side of fair little Annis, to whom hope brought happier +dreams than had visited her pillow for many a night. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER IX. + YOUR GOOD COMRADE. + + +Basil continued to improve, but only his mother and brother were allowed +to see him for the next day or two. The Dixons took their departure the +evening following the accident, and Mr. Danforth went at the same time. + +The next morning Persis found her way out of a certain difficulty which +had presented itself to her. The doctor advised as speedy a removal as +possible of the patient to the sea-shore, and to the same place Persis +persuaded Mrs. Brown it would be best to take Annis. + +“She didn’t improve in the mountains,” said the artful Persis. “And I +think, Mrs. Brown, that it will be so pleasant for you all to be +together. Annis doesn’t make friends at once, you know, and it will be +so nice for her to have the boys as company.” So Mrs. Brown had yielded, +and that much was settled. + +Mrs. Wickes would not allow her remaining guests to shorten their stay +by one day. She had long wanted a visit from Mrs. Brown and Annis, and +declared that now she had them, she meant to keep them. The Phillips +family were old friends, and their stay was quite as hospitably insisted +upon. Mrs. Wickes was one of the few house-keepers who did not impress +her guests with a sense of their presence being an added care. There was +no attempt at over-entertainment, yet everything in the most unobtrusive +way was provided to add to the comfort of those in the house. At the +same time there was no striving at effect visible, neither did there +appear an oppressive anxiety. Captain Wickes, whole-souled, hearty, and +kind, was the essence of hospitality, and gave his guests to feel that +it was a privilege to receive them under his roof, consequently Basil +could not have been more fortunately situated. + +Persis had expected to remain till the others were ready to go. She +rather dreaded seeing Basil. She felt that a sight of him, as one +rescued from death, would appeal to deepest emotions; that she would +find it difficult to keep back words which might mean too much, and she +wished for an escape, which fortunately just then came. + +“Too bad,” she said one morning, after having looked through her mail; +“I shall have to go home at once. Papa must have some papers from his +desk, and needs them right away; so, as I am the only one within a +respectable distance, I am delegated to get them and send them or take +them on. I shall have to get ready and go off to-day, Aunt Esther.” + +“Oh, my dear girl, I hate to have you go off alone,” said her aunt. +“Must you really go?” + +“Yes; papa is very anxious to have the papers by a certain date, and has +sent me the key of the desk. You know old Prue keeps the house open, and +I’ll be very comfortable there over night. I’ll only stop long enough to +see to the matter and to repack my trunk, and then go right on.” She was +rather glad that, after all, fate had taken certain things out of her +hands. She could not see Basil if she wanted to, and no one could +question her excuse for taking a sudden departure. + +Just before she was ready to leave her room she gave Annis a little +note, saying, “I have written this for you to give to Basil. I’ve sent +him a message by Mrs. Phillips besides.” Annis’s blue eyes were full of +tears. She had an uneasy feeling that Persis was giving up more than she +would admit. “Read the note,” her cousin said, gently. And Annis read,— + + +“DEAR BASIL,—The doctor has made a cast-iron rule that no one is to be +permitted to see you, so I must say good-bye by other means than a +hand-shake. Perhaps the hand-shake would be too vigorous, after all, for +I am so thankful you still have a hand and are going to get well soon. +Good-bye, dear old fellow; make haste and get strong, so that when I see +you I shall behold your hearty self. You’ll be glad to know that Annis +and her mother are going to the shore, too. I know when you can begin to +potter about on the sands you will see that Annis has a good time. She +is sort of doncie, I think, and needs chirking up; so I hope you’ll do +each other lots of good for your own sakes and that of your old crony. + + “PERSIS.” + + +Annis slipped the note back into the envelope. “Persis,” she said, “I’m +not going to the shore. I’ve thought it over, and I will not.” + +“You will.” Persis spoke determinedly. She took Annis by the shoulders. +“Promise you will, if you want me to go away satisfied; promise me.” + +“I promise. Oh, Persis, I couldn’t believe you really wanted me to.” + +For answer she was kissed and held in a close embrace. Her cousin felt +that the strength of her renunciation was in this parting. Strange, she +was not more jealous of Basil than of Annis, and into her devotion to +the latter had come an element which increased its fervor. “Annis, +Annis,” she said brokenly, “if you don’t keep on loving me I can’t stand +it.” + +“Oh, my dear, my darling, no one but mamma ever was to me what you are,” +whispered Annis. “You are worth the whole world to me.” And Persis went +away satisfied. + +Nevertheless, when the excitement of these last days was over, and when +she was by herself on the train which was bearing her swiftly away from +those who had been her daily companions for all these weeks, she felt a +sinking at heart, a sense of desolation began to creep over her. She +winked away tears that would rise to her eyes and set herself to force +other thoughts than those which would fill her mind, do what she would. +“All these years I’ve been away from my dear home people, and almost as +soon as I was back I traipsed off. I ought to be ashamed not to be +gladder that I’m going to them now. I must think about them. They must +come first.” But, for all, the unquiet spirit would not down. As fate +would have it, there had come to her a second source of trouble and +regret in a letter which that morning’s mail had brought her from Mr. +Danforth. + +She had rather snubbed Mr. Dan of late until his effort in Basil’s +behalf had brought from her an effusiveness born of gratitude, and this +was the result. He had waited till she had finished her college course, +till she had completed this coveted trip, and now had asked her to marry +him. + +“Oh, what a contrary world!” sighed poor Persis. “How easily it might be +settled if I had only a reasonable, manageable heart! Dear, good Mr. +Dan, I like him so well, and he saved Basil’s life; that alone ought to +compel my deepest feeling towards him; but I cannot, I cannot pretend to +more than I do feel. I should be so pleased to admit him to any other +relation but that of lover and husband. If I only could fall in love +with him, or if he and Annis had fancied each other; dear, oh, dear! +either would be so satisfactory to everybody; but it isn’t that way a +bit. It is the horrid contradictory thing that’s sure to happen. Annis +is just that quiet, still kind of a person who feels deeply. She never +could get over this, never, and she is not the one to turn to something +else and fill her life with it, as I believe I can do—as I must do. It +will be a tug for me, but I never was downed, and I won’t let myself be +now. Bless my dear old Basil! If he were a little less dear, how glad I +should be; but Annis will suit him far better than I could. No one could +doubt it for a moment.” With such thoughts did Persis fill her mind +during her trip home. + +She never remembered being in her native city at this season, and it +seemed very desolate and lonely,—houses closed, heavy shutters barring +windows, streets dusty and deserted. In her own neighborhood, to be +sure, it was not so, for the pleasant grounds around each house and the +wide porches were an invitation to remain at home, which many families +accepted rather than to be crowded into close quarters at some +watering-place. + +Finding the front door closed, but the library windows leading on a +porch open, Persis entered by the latter means, and passed through the +house to the kitchen, where old Prue was, with a protector in the person +of her grandson, a lad nearly grown. + +The old colored woman was stirring up biscuits, and lifted her floury +hands in surprise as Persis entered, exclaiming, “Law, Miss Persy, hit +ain’t yuh! I ‘clar I thought yuh was a ha’nt comin’ in so suddint. What +in the worl’ fetched yuh home, honey?” + +“Why, nothing very dreadful,” laughed Persis. “I have come from Aunt +Esther’s, and am going to join the family up in the mountains. Can you +give me some supper? And—yes, I’ll sleep in mamma’s room, it will be +cooler there. I have to hunt up some papers in the library to-night. +What time is it, anyhow?” + +“Hit’s arter six. Me an’ Mose was gwine ter hev a bite when I bakes dese +biscuits, but I reckon yuh want sumpin’ better’n biscuits an’ bacon.” + +“No, I don’t, unless it is a glass of milk.” + +“Dey plenty ‘serbs, honey, I done put up whilst yo’ mah been +away,—blackbe’ies an’ cu’ants an’ raspbe’ies.” + +“Well, I’ll have some blackberry-jam, or no—I have some fine peaches +with me, and Aunt Esther has stowed a lot of cakes in my bag. I think +she had an idea the city would be a desert waste, and that I should find +it hard to get food. I’ll go put on a cooler frock, Aunt Prue, and I’ll +be ready by the time the biscuits are.” Having finished her solitary +supper, for which, after all, the traveller did not feel much appetite, +she gave orders for breakfast, and then went to look up the papers she +was to find. “I shall take a train for New York about noon,” she told +Aunt Prue, “for I want to get the Sound boat. My trunk will be here +presently. Let it be taken up-stairs; I want to repack it in the +morning.” + +She turned to the library. It was still quite light. “I shall have +plenty of time to get the papers before dark,” she said to herself, “and +I’d better be sure of them to-night. Let me see, in a tin box in one of +the drawers of the desk.” She fitted the key which her father had sent +her, and found no trouble in gaining access to the desk. She opened one +or two compartments, and finally came upon one which held two long, +narrow boxes and a number of packets of papers. A little padlock was +attached to each box. + +“Oh, yes. Papa told me I should find a bunch of keys in the small drawer +to the left.” After fumbling around a little, she came across the bunch, +and, trying one or two of the keys, found one which opened the larger of +the two boxes which she had taken out. + +“How much shorter the evenings are! It is nearly dark. I’ll take these +to the window,” she soliloquized. This she did and began to examine the +papers. “A deed from H. B. Holmes. That isn’t it. Old bills, no.” +Suddenly she started and hastily picked up the next paper she saw. She +bent over it eagerly, fear, dread, a dozen different emotions, causing +her to tremble. On the back of the envelope which she held to the light +she read, “The adoption papers of Anne Maitland, now known as Persis E. +Holmes;” then followed the date, nearly a year after Persis herself was +born. + +[Illustration: She bent over it eagerly.] + +“What does it mean? What does it mean?” she whispered, with cold lips. +She flung the paper from her as if it had been some pestilential thing, +and sank down on the floor, covering her face with her hands. She felt +numb, terror-stricken, and dared not move. The light faded, the room +grew dimmer and dimmer, the evening breeze sprang up and drifted the +scent of petunias and the strange sweet odor of opening moon-flowers +into the room. + +“I must have become suddenly crazy,” said the girl at last as she rose +to her feet. “What a trick for the twilight to play me.” She felt weak, +and her knees trembled as she crossed the room to make a light. Twice, +three times she essayed to pick up the paper which she had flung from +her. The tin box still rested upon the window-sill. As she took it up to +replace the other papers which she had taken from it, Persis saw at the +very bottom a little package tied with a white ribbon. She took the box +over to the light, and lifted out the small bundle. On it she read, “One +of little Persis’s curls cut from her head when she died.” The year only +was given; it was the same as that on the larger packet which Persis had +flung from her. “I was a year old then,” she murmured. She opened the +paper; a shining bit of golden hair fell in a little spiral heap on the +table. Persis laughed hysterically. “My hair is black. It was always +black. I have always been told that it was never any other color. And +this—whose is this?” She went over and picked up the paper which had +fallen from the envelope. “I have a right to read this, I surely have,” +she whispered. And she unfolded it. All she could learn was that a +certain Anne Maitland was legally adopted by H. B. Holmes, and that she +was henceforth to be called Persis Estabrook Holmes. How long she sat +puzzling over it Persis did not know. She would not read anything more. +This concerned herself, and her father had given her free access to it. +Herself! She gave a little shudder. Was she—this Anne Maitland? Why, she +must be! The child with the golden hair was dead—was dead. This was why +she was so unlike her sisters. She dropped into a chair, and great sobs +shook her. Few tears came to her eyes, only those dreadful racking gasps +convulsed the form that cowered there in the silent room. + +“Oh, it is too cruel, too cruel!” she moaned. “They never meant me to +know. I can see it all now. The little baby Persis with the golden hair +like Mellicent’s died, and I was chosen to take her place. If I had only +been told at the first, I could have borne it, but to know it now! Oh, +it is terrible, terrible! How could they deceive me! I remember, now, +that mamma has often told me that I was not named till I was over a year +old. It is only too true that I am Anne Maitland. Why,”—Persis sat up +straight again,—“they have even let me join a patriotic society, and +have let me claim the same ancestors as Mellicent and Lisa. Perhaps they +knew I had a right to them; perhaps I am a relative; but who? who?” She +struck her hands helplessly together and turned her head from side to +side as one in delirium. “I cannot stand it. I cannot bear to live a +lie, and all of them, even grandma—no, no,”—she drew her breath with a +little hissing sound,—“no, she isn’t mine. Not even grandma is mine. I +have nobody in the world!” + +After a while she became calmer. She picked up the papers one by one, +and restored them to their place in the box. Her fingers shook as she +gathered up the little coil of fair hair in the palm of her hand, and +tied the paper in which she replaced it with the bit of white ribbon. +She locked the box and put it back where she had found it. Then she +proceeded to hunt for the paper which Mr. Holmes wanted, finding it +without difficulty in the second box. She laid it aside, and then sat +down again. She heard Mose come through the hall to close the shutters. +He stood irresolutely on the threshold. + +“Shall I shut up the house now, Miss Persis?” he asked. + +The girl started, and gathered up her keys and papers hastily. “Yes; I +will go up-stairs,” she replied. She dreaded to have any one see her; +and, passing by the room which had been prepared for her, she took +refuge in her own bedchamber. + +There stood her familiar belongings, among them the old writing-desk +which her cousin,—“not her cousin,” came the thought,—Mr. Ambrose +Peyton, had given her; and this brought another subject to be +considered. He had believed her to be the actual granddaughter of his +beloved Persis, and in consequence had left her this desk and +contents,—those contents which turned out to be the little fortune of +ten thousand dollars. She had no right to that now, even though she had +been made Mrs. Estabrook’s namesake. No, no; it had all been fraud. Yet, +how could they, how could they, those dear, honorable guardians of her +youth, how could they permit it? + +“Of course,” Persis reflected, “they argued that I was really legally +their daughter; that I was in reality the representative of the little +Persis who was born to them. And they love me, they do, they do,” she +murmured. “They have been as if I were really their very own, and I have +never known the difference. And grandma has loved me best of all. She +must have known, of course she must; and if she countenanced it, why, it +must be right. And yet—oh, I cannot stand it! I cannot!” + +She opened her desk and sat down to write, first to Mr. Danforth,—that +was an easy task now,—then to—no, not to Basil, but to Annis, and, last, +to those still so dear, so very dear. + +“My beloved ones,” she wrote to those whom she had called her parents, +“I have learned what you never intended I should know. I opened the box +by mistake. I cannot understand all the mystery, but this much is plain +to me, that I am not your child. For all your kind care, your loving +care, of me I am very grateful; but I cannot yet come to you, knowing +that I am not your very own. I could not bear to see your other”—this +was scratched out and “own” substituted—“daughters possessing a claim on +you which is not mine by inheritance. Some day, perhaps, when I have +come to be calmer and can get used to the thought, I may be willing to +take my place again in the family—if you will allow me—with all those +whom I so dearly, oh, so dearly, love. Never doubt this for a minute, +that I love you; I love you all. Please see that the ten thousand +dollars from Mr. Ambrose Peyton go to the real claimant. I cannot feel +that I have a right to it. Some time I may see you again. I am going to +make my own living. I can do it; do not be afraid for me, and do not +blame me. I shall suffer less by doing this way. + +“Although I have no real right to the name, I must for the last time +sign myself, + + “Your loving daughter, + “PERSIS.” + +This letter, blistered by hot tears and written in an irregular manner, +unlike the writer’s usual neat style, was enclosed with the paper +desired by Mr. Holmes. Persis next set to work to gather together +certain of her possessions. “They will not grudge me anything, I know. +They would have me take all, but I shall only carry away what I am +likely to need.” She therefore packed two trunks,—one with winter +clothing, the other with the plainer attire belonging to her summer +wardrobe. She selected a few of her favorite books, some little trifles +which held an association very dear to her, the photographs of the +family and her dearest friends. She gathered together all Basil’s +letters, meaning to burn them. For a moment she held them lovingly in +her hand. Such pleasant letters they were, telling of boyish +experiences, of life at college and in Paris, and of days of travel. +Persis took out one or two from their envelopes and glanced over them +wistfully; then she made a package of them, sealed them up closely, and +left them in her desk with sundry other packets, leaving a note of +request that they should be left so until she should come to claim them, +or, if that never happened, to burn them when it was certain that she +would “no longer care for earthly matters.” + +There was a little touch of tragical display in some of the things which +she did that an older woman would not have included in such a +leavetaking; but Persis was young, she was emotional, and her bravery +approached heroics at times. + +She was conscious of the “chir-chir” of the insects in the trees +outside, of that faint odor of the moon-flowers, accompaniments to that +August night which always brought it back to her in after years. + +It was nearly daylight when she had at last finished her work, and she +threw herself across the bed without undressing, worn out, but tingling +with nervous thrills which did not permit her to sleep except fitfully. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER X. + UNTO THE HILLS. + + +A tap on the door aroused the sleeper, and she sprang up hastily to see +the anxious face of old Prue. “Law, honey,” she exclaimed, “I sutt’nly +was skeered. Huccome yuh ain’t sleep down in yo’ ma’s room? All +higglety-pigglety up hyar. An’ yuh ain’t sleep on dat baid ’thout no +kivers, is yuh?” + +Persis tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt; the increasing pain +which her brave heart felt had come with sharper force with the day. “I +had so much to do,” she faltered. “I just threw myself down here when I +had finished.” + +Aunt Prue sniffed disapprovingly. “That ain’t no way o’ doin’,” she +declared. “Yuh look lak yuh been drawed th’ough a knot-hole. Po’ chile! +yuh sholy is plum wo’ out. Come down an’ git a good cup o’ coffee. I +done fix yuh up a good breakfus’. Is yuh ready soon?” + +Persis looked at her dishevelled attire. Her usually dainty habits +asserted themselves, however miserable she might be. “I’ll take my bath +first. I’ll not be long,” she replied. She felt feverish and thirsty, +but breakfast was not a pleasing prospect, and to Aunt Prue’s +dissatisfaction she only nibbled at the chicken and waffles. + +“Yuh sholy is plum wo’ out,” repeated the old woman. “Yuh ain’t gwine +ter do no trab’lin’ dis day, chile, not if I kin he’p hit. Yuh is white +as a ghos’, an’ yo’ eyes is all holler in yo’ face. Yuh ain’t fittin’ +fo’ no trab’lin.” + +“I must go, I must. Oh, Prue!” For a moment the impulse came to confide +in the old woman, who had so long been a faithful servitor in the +family. No doubt she could tell her all she wanted to know, but a +shrinking from discussing the subject at all forbade her to unburden her +heart, and she sipped her coffee slowly, wishing that Aunt Prue would +not be quite so solicitous. She was nervous and weary, but still was +unshaken in her purpose. + +The expressman came for her trunk, and the moment arrived when the break +must come. She went from room to room, feeling strangely weak, but she +did not falter in her decision. It seemed to her that Mrs. Estabrook’s +room was the hardest to leave. A dozen little familiar objects reminded +her so acutely of the dear old lady’s presence. The comfortable chair by +the sunny window; the little work-table; the row of books on the shelf +above; the footstool; the clock and the old-fashioned ornaments on the +mantel, all seemed to bring the owner vividly before her. There had +always been a peculiar bond between Persis and Mrs. Estabrook, which +made them closer in their confidences and sympathies than is usual +between persons of such a disparity of age. “How sorry she must always +have been for me,” Persis thought, “for not even papa and mamma seemed +to care so much for me. Lisa was always her mother’s favorite, and +Mellicent her father’s. Of course, I could not be the same to them, but +they tried, they did try to love me, yet how could they?” She sighed, +and then two tears splashed on the chintz cover of grandma’s easy-chair, +as the girl bent over and kissed it. + +At the last moment she threw her arms around old Prue with a clinging +touch, at which the old woman wondered. “Oh, dear old Prue,” she said, +“don’t forget me.” + +“Law, chile, you sutt’nly is quare. I ain’t gwine fo’get yuh in two or +free weeks. I ain’t got such a terr’ble good remember; ‘taint so good as +hit used to be, but it’ll las’ dat long, honey.” And she chuckled at the +idea. Yet she felt very anxious about the girl. “She in fo’ a spell o’ +sickness, dat I know,” said Prue, as she watched Persis go down the +street. + +It was not northward that Persis turned her face, however, for she took +a train which bore her back over the ground she had but lately left. She +showed almost the craftiness of one insane in the way she arranged her +plans, for she had consulted maps and time-tables, and had selected as +her destination a little town in an unfrequented part of Virginia. From +thence she had determined to make her way to the village near which she +and Basil had been overtaken by the storm. Her yearning was for the +mountains. “If I can find peace anywhere, it will be there,” she said to +herself, sighing wearily, as she laid her head back against the cushions +of the car. + +She was tired out mind and body, but the wearisome round of thought kept +up its treadmill, and she could not rid herself of going over and over +the same ground. To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow it would be the +same. She could see no respite ahead. + +She thought of all her wise philosophies, of how loftily she had +maintained that an exterior cheerfulness was always possible for those +who would but think so. “The Cheerful Three!” What a different being it +was who had been one of them; and, yes, it was a very different being; +that was Persis Holmes, this was Anne Maitland. + +The place of her destination was not reached till about nine o’clock. +Persis had not realized that it would be so late, and that she did not +know whether or not she could find accommodations in the town; but she +plucked up heart, and consulted the conductor. + +“Can you tell me if there is a safe place to stop at the next station?” +she asked him,—“for a lady, I mean.” + +“Why, yes, I reckon there is. There’s the Mansion House. Ladies most +always go there. It’s all right.” + +“Can I find my way easily?” + +The conductor reflected. “Well, I can’t tell you just how to get there; +but there’ll be some one from the house down at the station, I reckon.” + +Persis thanked him; and when the train drew up at her stopping-place she +stepped out and looked around. A building bearing the name “City Hotel” +stood across the street, but that Persis knew was not where she had been +directed to go. + +The train thundered on, and she was left almost alone on the platform, +in the dim light of a kerosene lamp which hung by the door of the little +waitingroom. A couple of men standing by looked at her curiously. One of +them stepped up to her. “Were you expecting some one to meet you?” he +asked, respectfully. + +“No,” replied the traveller; “I want to go to the Mansion House. Is +there any one from there meeting this train?” + +“Why, there doesn’t happen to be for this train. They don’t always come. +Bill!” raising his voice; “none of Clark’s folks around, are there?” + +“No; John came down, but he didn’t stay.” + +Persis looked distressed. + +The man called Bill came forward. + +“Mr. Haines will go up with you,” said the first speaker. “He’ll see you +get there all right. He’s our policeman.” + +So, under the escort of the village policeman Persis was piloted across +the street, up a bit of road, and down a long lane, at the end of which +an old-fashioned stuccoed house stood. Mr. Haines swung his lantern +cheerfully and warned Persis of mud-puddles and rocks in the way. He +ushered her into the house without ceremony, and went to hunt up the +host, who presently appeared. The policeman evidently departed as soon +as his business was finished, for Persis did not see him again. + +“Can you give me a room?” asked the newly arrived guest. + +“I reckon we can, if you all don’t mind the first floor.” + +Persis did not mind anything of that kind. The hobgoblins which +terrorized her were not such as a strange room in a strange house could +furnish. + +The man disappeared, and soon returned, bringing fresh towels hung over +his arm and a slip of paper in his hand. “I ain’t got a register handy,” +he remarked. “Just put your name here.” + +Persis was startled for a moment. She had not thought of being obliged +to decide so quickly as to which of her names she would bear; but she +did not hesitate long, and “Anne Maitland” was written on the slip which +the man left lying on the table, while he requested Persis to follow +him. + +She was shown into a lofty, old-fashioned room, which was furnished +comfortably enough, but which seemed close and stuffy. + +The man filled the pitcher, brought matches, and hung the towels on the +rack, being evidently used to performing any office which came his way. + +“Shall you all want breakfast?” he asked, pausing at the door. + +“Yes,” was the reply. + +“What time?” + +“About eight o’clock.” + +“All right; she’ll see that you have it. If I ain’t around just go hunt +her up.” + +Who this mysterious _she_ might be, Persis did not inquire, but she was +given an opportunity to find out the next morning. She was too utterly +exhausted not to sleep, despite the rather too hard bed and too soft +pillows; and although she was early awakened by the tramp of feet +overhead and by the running down the uncovered stairs of several +persons, she did not get up till the sun was high. + +She left her room, to find no one in sight, and she proceeded to examine +her surroundings. The house was an old country mansion set in the midst +of a garden. The mountains—once more the mountains—rose up on every +side, but at this hour covered with the mist which obscured their peaks. + +After standing on the porch a few minutes, Persis went to hunt up her +hostess, whom she found in a back room. + +“He said you’d be along about eight,” was her greeting, given with a +smile. “I reckon you all are hungry as a hunter. Like corn-cakes? I’m +just stirring up some. Just go in and set down,” opening a door leading +to another room, “and I’ll have your breakfast right in. Si! Si! you Si! +bring me in some wood.” + +A little woolly-headed darky popped up from some dark corner and +scuttled out. He was the only servant Persis saw while she was in the +house. When the breakfast was ready,—fried fish, crisp bacon and fresh +eggs, fried potatoes, butter, bread, and corn-cakes,—Persis was able to +eat more than at first she thought possible, although her hostess +protested that she didn’t eat more than a bird, and was evidently +disappointed that her efforts were not more substantially appreciated. + +Persis asked about the little village nestled in the mountains, where +she had determined to go. + +“Black Rock? Why, yes; it’s about eight or ten miles, I reckon,” the +woman informed her. + +“Can I get any one to take me over there, me and my trunks?” + +“How many trunks?” + +“Two.” + +“Hm! I reckon you must be the new school-teacher,” thought the mistress +of the Mansion House. “I heard they were going to have a strange teacher +there this year,” she remarked, irrelevantly, as it seemed to Persis. “I +reckon some of the folks in town can take you. Want to go to-day?” + +“I think I should like to.” + +“Si! Si!” called the woman; “you go tell Marster Torm to come in.” + +The small darky departed, and Persis returned to her room. + +Later in the day she was jogging along a country road towards the little +village of Black Rock, her trunks piled up behind her in the wagon, and +herself seated by the side of a lazy-looking, good-natured countryman, +who drove a pair of dun mules, and only now and then, to his companion’s +relief, made any remark. + +Persis had clung persistently to the one idea of reaching this place. +For some reason it seemed to offer her the surest haven. If she could +only be received under the roof of the kind woman at whose gate she and +Basil had stopped—was it less than two weeks ago? Was it not years? she +thought. + +“Do you know the house to which I want to go?” she said to the man who +accompanied her. “It is the last house in the village before you reach +the school-house.” + +“T’other end?” + +“Yes, I think so; on the road to—to the Natural Bridge.” + +The man nodded. “I know,—Jim Temple’s.” + +He had concluded that Persis was the new teacher, and began to make a +few remarks about the school, which were not interrupted. Indeed, Persis +was scarcely listening to what he said. She was looking closely at the +little village through which they were passing. Suppose this Mrs. Temple +should absolutely refuse to take her in. What then? “She must! She +must!” The girl had so persistently decided this, that now that the +possibility of a refusal met her she was anxious and worried. + +The same little child came shyly out. “Hallo, sissy, anybody about?” +asked the man, who pulled up his mules before the gate. + +And again, as before, the kind-looking woman appeared. Persis had been +helped down from her high seat, and stood eagerly waiting. She held out +her two hands as the child’s mother approached. + +“Oh, Mrs. Temple,” she said, “can you take me in? Oh, please!” + +The woman looked at her in surprise. Then her face cleared. “Oh, you’re +the new teacher. Why, yes, of course. The teacher most always boards +here, if she doesn’t happen to live near. Come right in.” + +Persis hesitated; she could live under no more false pretences, she +thought. “I’m not the new teacher,” she replied; “but if you have room +for me, let me stay at least a little while.” Then, seeing hesitation +visible on Mrs. Temple’s face, she added, “Please do. I do not know +where else to go.” + +“Poor child!” from the motherliness of her nature Mrs. Temple spoke out. +“I don’t reckon he’ll mind. You all can leave the trunks, John.” + +The big man was lifting down the luggage, which he set on the porch; and +after accepting what Persis considered a very modest trifle for his +services, he drove off and left a lonely girl to take up a strange new +life. + +“I made sure you all were the teacher,” Mrs. Temple began as they went +inside. “She sent word to the trustees that she was sick, and mightn’t +be able to begin next Monday.” The thought that here was a possible +opening came like an inspiration to Persis. + +“Oh, then, if she doesn’t come, do you think they would take me till she +is well? I have been to college. I could take an examination if +necessary.” + +“Well, now, perhaps you could, then. I know the trustees were mighty put +out. They were talking it over day before yesterday. The one who had it +last year got married this summer, and they thought some one who didn’t +live in the neighborhood could discipline the scholars better. She knew +everybody, and they thought she was partial, and I reckon maybe she was. +She certainly had her own kin to teach, and she wasn’t going to get into +hot water with their fathers and mothers, her own cousins. Where have I +seen you before? Your face certainly does look mighty familiar.” + +Persis flushed up. She was too truthful to evade the question. “I +stopped here on horseback one day, and you gave me and my companion some +biscuits and honey.” + +“Why, to be sure; I remember. I wondered if you got caught in that +storm. Did you get cold? You look like you had been sick.” + +“We found shelter under the school-house porch, and did not get very +wet. I know, Mrs. Temple,” she went on, “that my coming seems strange to +you, and I cannot tell you a great deal about myself. I have had a great +sorrow since I was here. My name is Anne Maitland. I have been well +educated, and am able and willing to support myself. I had a little +money, but I gave it up, because I found out I was not the person for +whom it was intended. Is that enough for you to know? I wish I could +tell you more. I don’t want you to think I am an adventuress.” + +“Bless your heart, child, no one would ever think such a thing. I can +see you look pale, as if you had been ill. That’s why I didn’t recognize +you at first.” + +“No, I’m not ill, only tired, very tired; and oh, trouble that comes so +suddenly is very hard to bear.” + +“Poor dear, poor dear; there, never mind, you’re safe. I’m not going to +turn out a homeless girl while I’ve a place for her. Now, miss, come up +and take off your hat, and get the dust off. Here, Mattie, take this +lady, Miss Maitland, up to the spare room, and tell Columbus to get some +fresh water for her.” + +With a sudden impulse Persis turned and held out her hands, her eyes dim +with tears. “Thank you! how good you are!” she murmured. “I knew you +were the one to whom I could come. I have felt it all along.” + +“Indeed, did you? I declare. You remembered me? I didn’t know you came +a-purpose. I thought it was because they told you the teacher boarded +here always, and you thought we took regular boarders.” + +“No, no; it was because I remembered you.” + +A pleased smile gave Mrs. Temple’s face a kindlier expression than even +before. “I declare,” she repeated. “I’m sure I’m glad you feel so. Hurry +up, Mattie. Did you find Columbus?” + +The aforesaid Columbus, a very black, lank, barefooted darky boy, +appeared. As soon as his eyes fell on Persis an eager and pleased look +came into them. His mistress laughed softly, as he whispered something +to her. “Go ’long Columbus, you’re clean daft. Hurry now, and get the +young lady some fresh water.” And Persis, preceded by the little Mattie, +and followed by the eager-eyed boy, was ushered into a big upper room, +the dormer windows of which showed deep recesses in the walls which +sloped in a long slant from the peaked roof. + +As the door closed behind her, Persis gave a sigh of relief. A sure +refuge, this she believed it to be. These were good, kind people, plain +and homely, but full of generous hospitality and a sweet charity, and +she sank on her knees at the window where the last sunbeams were +shining. Before her rose, peak after peak, the steadfast mountains, in +all their solemn, tranquil majesty, and there came to the weary girl in +her sorrow a verse which she had often heard her grandmother repeat,—“I +will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XI. + THE NEW TEACHER. + + +Persis had acted impulsively. Had she been too prompt in her decision? +she asked herself that night, as she lay in her big four-posted bed. The +mountains had already begun to show their influence upon her. She had +always been a decided sort of person, who acted promptly, and without a +dependence upon the opinions of others. She was too sore and hurt at +first to consider whether her action would bring sorrow to any one, but +she had told herself that no other course was possible. The right of it +was a question which she allowed her own share in the matter alone to +determine. For the present she could see only the fact that she had been +led to believe what was not strictly true, and the truth, as she +perceived it, made it impossible for her to live any longer in the old +relation till she should have adjusted herself to present conditions. +There returned to her a hundred incidents which her fancy imbued with a +deeper meaning than she had recognized in them before. Every little +possible indifference she magnified; each word of censure returned +doubly charged with bitterness, and yet the longing for mother and home +increased day by day. + +Mr. Temple listened rather dubiously to his wife’s account of the +stranger within their gates. “You don’t know anything about her, +Martha,” he said. “I certainly don’t approve of taking in a stranger +that way. Where did she come from? Who sent her here?” + +“She came herself,” Mrs. Temple replied. And then she recounted what +Persis had said. + +“Humph!” Mr. Temple ejaculated. “She got around you that way, did she?” + +“Oh, but Jim, any one can see that she is a lady, and I believe that +nice-looking young man who stopped here with her that day is at the +bottom of all her trouble,” Mrs. Temple said, emphatically. “Perhaps +she’s had a falling out with him, or perhaps he’s some way mixed up with +her business affairs. There are queer things like that always happening. +Maybe she had to give up her fortune or marry him, and she’s taken this +way so as not to be persecuted.” + +“That’s just like a woman. She always scents a love affair,” returned +Mr. Temple. + +“Well, you’ll see.” Mrs. Temple maintained her belief. + +“All right,” Mr. Temple rejoined. “The next time any of us goes over to +the Bridge we’ll inquire if a Miss Maitland stopped there, and if +anybody knows anything about her. Meanwhile, I suppose it won’t hurt for +her to stop here till the teacher comes, anyhow; but I wash my hands of +any mess you get into. If you find yourself getting into trouble, you’ll +have to make your own way out of it. You always were too soft, Martha.” +This last was said with a smile. Mr. Temple would not, for the world, +have had his wife any less tender-hearted, and he himself was very much +interested in the new arrival. + +Mrs. Temple took advantage of the smile, and followed it up with, “Jim, +won’t you see the trustees and find out about that Miss Collins? If she +doesn’t come, it’ll be like a providence for Miss Maitland to be right +on hand.” + +“Humph! Yes, I’ll see, but I reckon it won’t do any good,” mentally +determining that it should, and feeling rather important over being able +to solve the difficulty of providing a substitute for the delinquent +Miss Collins. + +He came in with a beaming smile on Sunday evening and looked over +knowingly at his wife. “Well, Martha,” he said, “Miss Collins ain’t +coming, after all. Some of the trustees went up to Staunton to see about +her, and the truth of the matter is, she’s been trying to get out of +coming here, because she found she could get a school nearer home.” + +“Why didn’t she say so?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple. + +“Oh, she thought she’d play sick, and slip out of it that way. Made it +easier, she thought.” + +“Well, have they got another teacher?” Mrs. Temple asked, eagerly. + +“No, not exactly. They said if Miss Maitland could give satisfactory +references, and could show her certificate, and all that, they’d try +her, if she wanted to apply.” He looked over to where Persis was +sitting. + +“But I can’t,” she made answer. “I cannot show any certificate or +diploma. All I can do is to take an examination.” Persis looked +distressed. + +“Pshaw! that’s too bad,” returned Mr. Temple. But, seeing the look on +her face, he added, “Maybe we can fix it up somehow. Suppose you go up +to the village with me to-morrow and see the trustees. Perhaps if you +talk it over you can make out to get the school.” + +“Oh, you are very kind. I will go, gladly.” + +“The only one you’re likely to have any trouble with is Dr. Rivers,” Mr. +Temple informed her. “He’s a great stickler on education, and if you can +contrive to convince him that you know a heap, he’ll give in. We are to +meet at his house.” + +“And Mr. Boone is the next fussiest,” Mrs. Temple told her. “If you can +manage those two you are all right.” + +Both these good friends looked the girl over critically as she appeared +to take her drive with Mr. Temple the next day. She had given some care +to her toilet. “I will try to look my best,” she said to herself; “then, +perhaps, they will take it for granted that I am what I appear to be, +even if I cannot carry my family tree under my arm.” Her gloves and +shoes were faultless; her gown a well-fitting one of handsome material, +but made simply; her hat matched it; and, surveying herself in the +glass, Persis felt the first pleasurable excitement she had known since +she left home. She was going, perhaps, to solve the difficulty of +earning her bread. + +“My! but you all look nice!” Mrs. Temple observed, approvingly; and +Persis smiled, gratified by the hearty praise. + +It was something of an ordeal, after all. These men, in their rough +clothes, were gentlemen, however, men who read much, and whose old +libraries, descending from father to son, showed that more than one +generation had been inclined towards literary tastes. They represented +the most important men of the neighborhood and of the village, and were +authorities upon all momentous questions concerning the dwellers +therein. + +Dr. Rivers seemed to be specially formidable. He questioned and +cross-questioned, and at last launched out into a hot argument on some +point to the modern acceptation of which Persis held. The doctor waxed +more and more ferocious, and as the two kept up a brisk passage-at-arms, +the remaining three trustees lapsed into silence and listened with +attention. At last Persis made a specially good point. She was +thoroughly at home with her subject, and her college training stood her +in good stead, even though she could show no diploma. She was not to be +won over to the doctor’s way of thinking, and was so spirited in her +defence that the listeners smiled more than once. + +At last the young applicant was surprised to see the doctor throw +himself back in his chair and laugh heartily. “Well, Miss Maitland,” he +said, “I haven’t enjoyed such a tilt since I can’t tell you when. I +don’t know but that you have the best of me. What do you think, +gentlemen?” + +“That Miss Maitland has proved herself no mean opponent,” said Mr. +Boone. “She certainly gave a Roland for your Oliver, doctor. I should +like, if you have no objection, to ask Miss Maitland to show her +qualifications in mathematics.” + +“A written examination, do you propose?” + +“Do you agree, Miss Maitland?” + +“Readily. I am quite at your service.” + +The four men put their heads together, and from the doctor’s +book-shelves selected one or two old books, from which problems were +chosen for Persis to solve. Here, too, she acquitted herself well, and +the trustees withdrew to the porch for a conference, while Persis was +left to await her fate. + +Dr. Rivers was spokesman on their return to the office where the +interview had taken place. “In view of the lateness of the season, Miss +Maitland,” he said, “we are willing to waive the question of any other +reference than that which Mr. Temple personally offers. He declares +himself entirely willing to stand responsible for you.” + +Persis looked up at Mr. Temple with a gratified smile. He had not told +her that he would do this, and she had not expected it. He looked +slightly embarrassed, but bowed gravely to Dr. Rivers as he made this +announcement. + +“And we think it but fair,” the doctor continued, “to add that the +examination to which you have been subjected was not an ordinary one, +but of a much higher standard than that usually required. You have our +hearty congratulations for having passed it successfully. All that +remains is the question of discipline; we hope you will be able to +maintain good order. The children you are to teach, with one or two +exceptions, are not of the better class, and what we really need is a +teacher who has tact rather than a profound knowledge of the classics.” + +“I think I can manage them,” replied Persis. “I will do my best.” + +“I believe that,” returned the doctor, kindly. “Now, my dear young lady, +we feel ourselves responsible for you to the community, and at the same +time you are under our protection. I trust in any difficulty that you +will feel yourself free to consult any one of us. Personally I can say +that I shall be happy at any time to place myself at your service.” + +“Professionally?” put in Mr. Boone, facetiously. + +The doctor waived aside such an imputation. “Far from it. Marshall, my +dear sir, Miss Maitland, I trust, understands.” + +“Oh, I do, and I thank you very much, and all of you.” And Persis +turned, making a pretty little gesture, which included the five men. + +“And I shall also be delighted,” the doctor continued, with a twinkle in +his eye, “at any time to discuss such questions as we have had under +consideration this morning.” + +Persis laughed. The old man was really delightful, and she promised him +that she would take advantage of any such opportunity afforded her. + +“You will be ready to begin to-morrow?” was the final question, which +was answered in the affirmative, and the newly appointed teacher went +off, feeling very well satisfied with her success. + +She had, indeed, done a better morning’s work than she realized; for as +an entire stranger, dropped suddenly in their midst, surrounded by +mystery, she had been approached with caution and reserve; but her lack +of self-consciousness, her gentle dignity, and evident sincerity won her +the recognition she deserved. + +Mr. Temple was scarcely less pleased. “Well, you couldn’t have done +better if you’d known them for years, and had studied the doctor’s blind +side,” he told her. “Dr. Rivers is right strong in his prejudices, but +if he is once convinced he is like flint. You’ve got about the best +backer you could find in this neighborhood. He prides himself upon being +able to read character, and I’ll warrant you’ll find you’ve won a pretty +favorable opinion. I never saw him more gracious.” + +“I am so glad,” rejoined Persis; “and, oh, Mr. Temple, I want to thank +you for standing by me. It is so very, very kind, so good of you to +believe so entirely in an absolute stranger, and to answer for me. I can +never forget it.” + +The truth was that the chivalric spirit of these Virginia gentlemen had +been deeply stirred; that she was worthy was almost of less account than +that she was a woman, young, unprotected, and trustful, who had appeared +suddenly among them desiring to win her way honestly. Not one of these +men who did not immediately place his own daughter in such a position; +and not only were their hospitable instincts aroused, but those which +should belong to the disinterested chivalry which asks no questions +beyond that which is answered by “a maiden in distress.” + +And therefore the following morning Persis started out to take up these +new duties. In one week what changes! and what wind of good fortune it +was that blew her this way! + +She approached the weather-beaten little old school-house with varied +emotions, the past and the future curiously mingled,—curiosity, a little +dread, a deal of confident belief in her being able to fulfil the +calling of a successful school-mistress, and, lastly, that strange +tumult at heart, born of the fact that here she and Basil had stood on +that day which she could now never forget. On the porch, over whose +floors the feet of shy little urchins were now treading, she had spent +an hour with Basil—with Basil; and if she had permitted it——No. She gave +her head a little shake, and smiled down at the small Mattie who was to +be her companion to and from school. + +The little country children stared hard at the new teacher, at her neat, +pretty frock, at the golden-rod in her belt, and the day went fairly +well. + +“Blessed be work!” Persis said to herself, as, tired, but more glad of +spirit than she had hoped to be, she took her way home. + +She threw herself heart and soul into her labors. Persis never did +anything by halves. It was all or nothing. Renunciation could not be +made in part any more than could acceptance of a duty be made in a +faint-spirited way. Connie spoke truly when she said that whatever +Persis did she did well. + +At first the excitement and newness of the position prevented monotony, +but as the weeks wore on and the cold weather approached, there were +many nights when the weary teacher went heart-sick and homesick to bed. +The little elegancies and luxuries of life were missing here, and +although kindness prevailed, nothing could make up for mother-love and +the comradeship of life-long friends. The only link which existed +between herself and the old home was the newspaper which came regularly, +and to which Persis had subscribed. “I can keep up with them in that +way,” she told herself, “and if anything dreadful happens, I shall know +it, and then——” What she might do in such an event she did not dare to +ask. The sharp, sharp pain was giving way to a dull ache, and the quiet +of the mountains was beginning to pervade her spirit. The children at +school were commencing to show timid expressions of affection towards +their new teacher. Autumn flowers and bright leaves were laid upon her +desk, rosy apples and little hoards of nuts were awkwardly offered, and +one day a little bit of a tot, who was deeply in love with his teacher, +appeared hugging a wee tortoise-shell kitten. + +“We’ve got three more at home,” he piped up, as he came running in, “and +mother said I might give you this one.” He had lugged the small creature +all the way from where he lived, a distance of three or four miles. + +Persis snuggled her face against kitty’s little furry coat, and was as +pleased as a child at the gift. She knew Mrs. Temple was too kindly +disposed to all creatures to object to another member being brought into +her household, for tame chickens, ducks, and turkeys were wont to wander +into her kitchen, and cats galore roamed at will about the premises. + +The kitten behaved very discreetly during school hours, and was given a +sumptuous luncheon. Persis carried it home in her arms. Something of her +very own to love. She inwardly thanked the small scholar over and over +again, for the little kitten became a great comfort, watched for her +return from school each day, and lay in her lap, or on her +writing-table, at night. + +Poor Persis had few letters to write these days, for she had resolved to +correspond with no one for the present, and but for magazines, with +which she provided herself, would have had many dreary evenings. + +The mountains in autumn. She had told Basil that she would like to see +them at all seasons. And what a constant source of pleasure they were, +gorgeous in their coloring on clear days, or wrapped in the soft purple +haze which the season brought! + +“You all seem like you had been raised in the mountains, you’re that +fond of them,” Mrs. Temple said to her one Sunday as they were on their +way home from church. + +“I am fond of them,” Persis replied. “I love them dearly. There is +something so peaceful about their silent, immovable peaks, and yet they +are never surrounded by just the same conditions. They do not change +themselves, yet they appear to. I think help does come from them,” she +added, half to herself. + +“I’ve often thought that,” was the unexpected response. This plain, +motherly, domestic Mrs. Temple was wonderfully sympathetic. Her +intuitions were very quick, and more often than Persis knew she felt a +responsiveness to the girl’s remarks. + +Little Mattie adored “Miss Anne,” but the village girls looked upon her +with a reserved admiration. They didn’t understand her, and that she +held aloof from social gatherings was attributed to her being either +“stuck up,” or, as some maliciously averred, she was “probably afraid to +associate with people who might find her out,” for she gave no +confidences. Golden silence had, at last, come to form a large part of +Persis’s code. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XII. + NEW FRIENDS. + + +Meantime, how fared it with those whom Persis had left behind? + +The incoherent letter which had been mailed on the day of the girl’s +departure from home reached its destination about the time she herself +arrived at Black Rock. + +Mr. Holmes, seeing that the paper sent was the proper one, did not at +first perceive the enclosure, and remarked, “Persis has sent the paper +all right.” + +“Did she say she would go with the Browns?” asked Mrs. Holmes. + +“Perhaps there is a note inside the envelope. Look and see, my dear.” +And Mr. Holmes, deep in the perusal of a business letter, passed the +envelope over to his wife, who shook from it Persis’s poor little note. + +She read it over twice before she could take in any part of its meaning. +Then she gave a little cry. “Oh, Horace!” she exclaimed; “read this. +This is terrible! Oh, the poor, poor child! What shall we do?” + +Mr. Holmes dropped his letter and hastily scanned Persis’s note. “I +can’t make it out,” he said, looking puzzled. + +“Why, don’t you see? Don’t you understand what she has discovered? Oh, +Horace! where has she gone? What will become of her? Those papers in the +other box!—you have not forgotten what they are?” + +Mr. Holmes nodded thoughtfully. He was beginning to take in the +situation. “But surely, surely——” he began. “Why, Mary, that was so long +ago—why, she cannot mean——Yes, I agree with you; it is terrible. I must +go on at once and stop her.” + +“Where will you go?” + +Mr. Holmes looked bewildered. “Why, my dear, there will be no trouble. +Do you think she can have disappeared without a trace? Those things +don’t happen, except in books.” He was trying to reassure his wife, but +he was heavy at heart. + +At this moment Mrs. Estabrook entered with a letter in her hand. “I’ve +just heard from Esther,” she informed them. “She says Persis has left +her and had decided to join us. She should be here to-day, shouldn’t +she?” + +“Oh, mother! mother!” cried Mrs. Holmes; “read this. Isn’t it terrible? +Who could have dreamed that such a result would come from what was a +real kindness?” + +“I don’t understand,” replied Mrs. Estabrook, looking up from the note +after reading it. “Does she mean—can she really have left her home and +have gone away among strangers?” + +“Oh, I wonder if she has?” returned Mrs. Holmes. + +“Surely not!” Mrs. Estabrook said. “She is probably with Annis and her +mother.” + +“Where are they?” asked Mrs. Holmes. + +“Oh, yes; I believe Esther wrote that they were still with her. The +Dixons, then—somewhere with friends.” + +“I shall go and find out,” Mr. Holmes said, resolutely. + +“But, Horace, your hay-fever. You can send a despatch.” + +But he shook his head. “It would only be wasting time if she has gone +off alone.” + +“Then let me go. I’ll get some one to help me find her,—Mr. Danforth or +Dr. Dixon.” + +Still Mr. Holmes was determined. “No; we can both go, if you wish. I +must see just what the papers are to which she alluded. I have almost +forgotten even the name.” + +“Anne Maitland,” Mrs. Holmes replied, in a whisper. + +He nodded in reply; and the first train to be had bore them towards +home. + +Old Prue greeted them with, “How Miss Persy?” + +“Oh, Prue! that is what we want to know,” answered Mrs. Holmes. “Tell us +just what she said and did.” + +“I ‘low she in fo’ a spell o’ sickness,” replied Prue. “She look lak a +po’ little white ghos’, an’ she gimme good-bye lak she know she ain’t +gwine see me no mo’.” + +“Oh, Horace! then she has gone—gone, who can tell where? Oh, my poor +little girl! How could she! how could she!” + +Mr. Holmes had gone directly to the desk and had taken out the larger +box. “These are what she has found, Mary,” he said. “Do you wonder that +she felt as she did?” + +“No, no; but if she had only trusted us; if she had only not been so +impetuous!” + +“Don’t blame her.” Mr. Holmes spoke unsteadily. “She thought we had not +trusted her; that we had deceived her. I can understand how it hurt her +proud, young spirit.” + +“Yes, I know. Oh, my poor little girl! Oh, Horace, I must see her! We +must find her. I want her in my arms again.” Mrs. Holmes was crying +hopelessly. + +“Don’t, Mary, don’t. We know Persis too well to believe she will do +anything radically wrong. She has acted hastily under the pressure of a +terrible grief, but she will do nothing to be ashamed of.” + +“But if she is ill among strangers,—if she should die,” Mrs. Holmes +sobbed. + +Mr. Holmes compressed his lips. It was a hard thought that such was a +possibility, but he would not yield to it. “I do not believe it,” he +said, firmly. + +Knowing her fondness for the Bridge, a despatch was sent there, but, as +might be supposed, the answer gave no clue to her wherabouts. All +search, all inquiry, seemed to end where it began. Persis had left home, +presumably to go to New York. Not a trace of her could be found after +that. + +“She means to stay,” Mrs. Holmes decided, after searching Persis’s rooms +and finding what remained of her possessions. “She has provided for the +winter.” + +Their search was not over when the first message came from Persis: + + +“MY DEAR PEOPLE,—I am well, and am making my own living honorably. Do +not worry about me, and do not try to find me. I do not forget you one +moment, but I cannot bear the thought of what a different life I should +have to face if I were to come to you. If I can learn not to shrink from +it, I will see you, even though it can never, never be the same again. + + “From one who was your daughter, + “PERSIS.” + + +This the girl had managed to give to some one on the train which she +took one Saturday for the purpose of making a little tour of +investigation to one or two of the nearest towns. She was restless, and +had always greatly liked to visit new places. It suddenly occurred to +her that here would be an opportunity of sending a message without +disclosing her identity to the village people at Black Rock, and she +wrote the little note, placed a stamp upon it, and slipped it in her +pocket. + +“Are you going through to Washington?” she asked a lady in the seat +ahead of her. A reply in the affirmative decided the questioner, who +took out her letter. “Would you be kind enough to mail this for me at +the station when you arrive? I should like it to go from Washington. I +would be so very much obliged if you send it.” + +Thinking that she meant to insure a speedier delivery of the letter, the +lady very readily promised. And thus it reached her home, and brought a +subdued pleasure. + +“She is safe, as you said,” Mrs. Holmes told her husband. “We shall have +to let time work out the result, I am afraid.” + +“Considering her point of view, she is doing what might be expected of +one of her temperament,” returned Mr. Holmes. “All we can do is to wait +events, my dear.” + +Mellicent wept bitterly on hearing what had happened, and became +suddenly aware that she had not appreciated Persis. Her grandmother had +divulged Persis’s secret, thinking the time had come for it, and +Mellicent knew that to Persis was due her trip to Narragansett Pier. + +Lisa, too, was crushed when she heard of the trouble. “Dear, loving +Persis,” she said to her husband. “No one did appreciate her when she +was at home. Now that she is gone, we are all discovering what a +generous, unselfish girl she was. Oh, if we could only see her again, +she should know how much we love her.” + +But the mountains around about Persis kept their secret well, and in +time the family at home came to accept her absence as a fact which, +however it might be deplored, must nevertheless be borne with +resignation. There was no less desire to discover her whereabouts, but +the effort to do so became less active. + +It was hard to explain matters, and only to intimate friends was an +attempt made to do so. To mere acquaintances it was easy to say, “Persis +is trying her wings. She wants to know how it feels to be absolutely +independent.” + +“I should think you would want her at home,” one friend said to Mrs. +Holmes. “Now that your eldest daughter is married, and Persis has +finished her college course, how could you let her leave you?” + +“I do want her,” Mrs. Holmes replied, quietly, “but I also want what is +best for Persis.” And there was no more said on the subject. + +Annis could not disabuse her mind of a feeling of guiltiness towards her +cousin, although the little hasty note which reached her assured her +that no one was accountable for her going away. “I do not know whether, +after all, I am your cousin or not,” Persis had written. “Grandma can +tell you, but oh, Annis dear, try to love me anyhow.” + +“As if I should not,” Annis said to Basil. “As if there were ever any +one so well worth loving.” + +Basil was silent. He felt so, too. Of all her friends, he seemed best +able to grasp the situation. “She wants to be let alone,” he said after +a while. “She will come back when she is ready. I am not afraid but that +she will.” It was he who first suggested that she might have gone to the +Bridge, and when all search seemed fruitless, he maintained his opinion +that they would soon hear from her, or that she might return any day. + +Mr. Danforth, too, felt the loss of his friend deeply, but Persis’s +answer to his letter had made him understand that only as a friend did +she consider him. Moreover, her independence in deciding so summarily to +leave home rather disappointed him. He was one of the men who prefer the +part of the oak, and would have all women accept the character of the +vine, and he thought Persis might have asked for advice before acting so +hastily. Persis would have been surprised if she had known that it was +he, and not Basil, who spent the winter in Washington, for, having had +an offer which promised well for his journalistic career, his work took +him to the capital, and fortunately he was removed from associations +which would have proved very unhappy ones for him. + +But there were many who mourned her in the little circle of her +long-known and intimate friends. + +Persis was far from knowing what a very lovable person she was, and how +much she was missed. + +“It is strange,” Mellicent said, plaintively, “that every one is so +devoted to Persis. I believe the boys have all been more or less in love +with her.” + +“Why, Mellicent, what makes you say so?” said her mother. + +“Well, I am sure of it. When I speak of her to Mr. Dan, he immediately +looks as if I had told him he were going to be hung, and Basil scowls +and bites his lips, as if he would like to say something but didn’t +dare, while Porter mourns openly, and Walter Dixon says she is the +finest girl in the land, and if he had a sister he should want her to be +just like Persis.” + +Mrs. Holmes sighed, and Mellicent began to look very “teary ’round the +lashes.” She had many weeps over Persis’s absence. She, too, felt with +Annis that she had somehow pushed her off. It looked as if this absent +member of the family might expect a very great spoiling if ever she did +return. + +But as yet she had no such intention. It was a very alien sort of life +for her, yet not one from which she shrank. A city girl, bred in a home +of comfort and even of luxury, to be suddenly transported to this wild +neighborhood, one would suppose would fret greatly against conditions +which robbed her of her ordinary comforts, but she took the walk to +school ’mid cold and wet. She gave out her best to the eager little +pupils, and returned home to her room up under the eaves to pass the +evening in study, or, taking her work, would spend it with the family in +the sitting-room. + +There were three younger children besides Mattie, and at first it was +hard for the new inmate of the household to become used to their noise +and chatter, but she had the blessed quality of adaptability, and +managed to fit in comfortably. + +“Miss Anne and Dr. Rivers are great friends, I tell you,” Mr. Temple +would remark, jocularly. “If he were a widower, I’d think he had an eye +on her.” + +“Now, Jim, you know the doctor is old enough to be Miss Anne’s father,” +Mrs. Temple would reply, and her husband would laugh at her earnest +tone. + +It was, nevertheless, a fact that the doctor had taken a great fancy to +the new teacher, and no one dared to say a word in her disfavor before +him. Mrs. Rivers, too, shared her husband’s opinion, and it became a +weekly habit for Persis to spend Sunday with this kind couple. Mrs. +Rivers, it must be admitted, was the more curious of the two regarding +the girl’s history, and often said, “I wish, doctor, that Miss Anne +would tell us more about herself.” + +“She’ll tell when she gets ready,” would be the reply. “Don’t go +badgering her, mother; it is a sore subject with her, and it isn’t kind +to be curious about it.” + +Yet Persis was on the point of revealing her story more than once, and +often caught herself, in a burst of confidence, referring to scenes and +persons at home. Therefore the doctor, who had travelled more than his +neighbors, came to a pretty shrewd conclusion as to where she belonged; +but he was too honorable to make any use of his conjecture, and never +hinted at knowing more than Persis actually told him. + +There was one person who from the first had given the stranger a +dog-like devotion, and this was the colored boy, Columbus, a great, +lanky, overgrown fellow, with the simplicity of a little child and the +tastes of a girl. He loved nothing so well as a doll which he could +dress up, and could pretend to be a person of importance. Were there a +marriage in the village, the doll wore bridal array, and for the nonce +became the interesting bride; were there a funeral, the doll appeared in +deep mourning. Did a stranger attend the church, Columbus went home with +the cut of her gown distinctly pictured on his mind, and at the next +opportunity she was reproduced in miniature. To give him a few scraps of +silk or velvet was to win his heart, and Persis was his ideal of all +that was stylish and lovely. + +“I always said Columbus ought to have been a girl,” Mrs. Temple would +say. “We took him to the county fair once, and all he did was to sit and +look at the people’s clothes. He would sneak off any time I would let +him for the sake of getting at his box of pieces.” + +Yet Columbus was a well-trained servant, for Mrs. Temple was a notable +house-keeper, and the boy was a model waiter, and was handy in many +directions. His privilege of privileges was to be allowed to bring his +doll and his box of pieces in the evening and sit with the family in one +corner of the room. He had a really wonderful gift of imitation, and the +costumes he evolved from his little store of goods were actually +astonishing. + +The first time Persis saw herself reproduced she was quite taken aback. +The cut of her gown, the blazer jacket, shirt-waist, and even the smart +collar and tie, were exact, while the doll’s hat was a marvel of art. +That such a taste should be developed in a poor little ignorant colored +boy seemed a strange freak, but one which amused Persis, and she +fostered it by many a gift of dress-stuff, and won an almost adoring +worship from Columbus by promising to send away for a fine new doll for +him. + +The boy could whistle like a bird, and on the long, dark evenings which +November brought never failed to go up the road to meet Persis and +follow her home from school, his sweet, piercing whistle always +announcing his approach. No matter what he was doing, whether forbidden +or not, nothing stood in the way of his seeing that she reached home in +safety. + +“But, Columbus, you mustn’t leave your work,” Persis expostulated. + +“I ain’t gwine let nothin’ tech you alls, Miss Anne,” he would say. “I +jes’ ’bleedged an’ compelled to come. I couldn’t he’p it, nohow.” + +If anything detained her in the school-house, he would wait outside till +she should be ready, and then trot along a couple of yards behind her, +carrying her lunch basket. It must be confessed that his presence did +rob the long, lonely walk of its terrors, and his came to be an accepted +office at last. + +Persis’s little kitten was another source of pleasure and amusement. She +named it Comfort; and on long winter evenings, when the wind howled +through the pines and swept across the mountain fastnesses, the little +creature did indeed bring her mistress solace as she sat by her fire +which crackled away in the wood-stove. What pictures arose before the +tired girl at such times those about her little knew; and sometimes the +hot tears would fall on Comfort’s sleek coat, till she, roused from her +doze, would climb up on her mistress’s shoulder, and with her small red +tongue would strive to give furtive little licks to the girl’s cheek, as +if she would show her the affection she craved. And then Persis would +bury her face in the soft fur, and tell the unconscious little animal +the secrets she dared not divulge to any other. And so November went by, +and the time neared Christmas. How Persis dreaded that day to come! She +had managed to send off a little package from the nearest town, to which +she rode with Mr. and Mrs. Temple to make a few Christmas purchases. +There was no express office in the village. + +“I wonder why I am so persistent in not letting them know where I am?” +on her return she asked herself. “It is that dreadful feeling that comes +up whenever I think of seeing any of them. Mine and not mine. No, no; I +must stand exile till I can feel more reconciled to the change.” And she +gave a deep sigh. “‘An exile from home, pleasures dazzle in vain,’” she +quoted. “Christmas-eve, and here I am.” Then her lip trembled, and she +sank down on her knees, sobbing, “Oh, mother, father, I want you so! I +want you so!” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. + + +Winter in the mountains! When Persis awoke on Christmas-morning she +looked out upon a white world, and the feathery flakes were still +drifting down. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed. + +But just then came the soft clamor of small hands patting on her door; +and little voices cried, “Merry Christmas, Miss Anne! Hurry down and see +our Christmas-tree.” + +Then came Columbus’s mellow, “Chris’mus gif, Miss Anne! Is yo’ fiah +bu’nin’ all right? Hyah’s yo’ hot watah.” + +“The fire is fine,” Persis answered. “I’ll be down directly. Merry +Christmas, little folks!” + +The children danced around outside her door until she opened it, and +then she saw Columbus sitting on the top step with the baby, wrapped in +a blanket, in his arms, while the others were battering their heels +against the floor. + +“Here she is!” came a chorus. And, attended by these satellites, Persis +descended the stairs. + +The little pile of gifts by her plate seemed very paltry compared with +her usual fine array; but she was grateful for these, for she had +expected not so much as a penny’s worth. These were only trifles, but +they expressed much,—the white aprons from Mrs. Temple, the carefully +hemmed handkerchief from little Mattie, the balsam pillow from one of +her older pupils, and last, but not least, a remarkable necktie over +which poor Columbus had toiled, and for which he had reserved his +choicest piece of satin. This brought the tears to her eyes. + +But the rapture with which Columbus received his new doll, with her +chestnut locks and blue eyes, showed him to be quite the happiest person +in the house; and he went off to the kitchen holding his treasure +gingerly, but with his big adoring eyes so fixed upon it that it was as +much as he could do to walk straight. + +“Don’t you look so much at that doll that you can’t bake any cakes for +us, Columbus,” called Mrs. Temple after him. “You’d better get that +griddle going pretty quick, or we’ll keep that doll in here.” + +That was sufficient warning for Columbus. “‘Deed an’ ‘deed, Miss Marth’, +I ain’t gwine cas’ my eyes to’ds her twel de cakes is bake,” he replied, +fervently; and the promptness with which he supplied the table bore out +his resolution. + +“You have made Columbus more your slave than ever,” Mrs. Temple said, +laughing. “I’m afraid he will have eyes for nothing but the doll +to-day.” But a few decided conditions established only spurred Columbus +up to do his work properly, and the way he flew around proved that +happiness is a great promoter of industry. + +About noon Dr. Rivers’s sleigh came dashing up to the door, and the +doctor, well muffled up, came stamping in. The snow had ceased to fall, +but not before it had made good sleighing. “I’ve come to carry off Miss +Anne,” he announced to Mrs. Temple. + +“Indeed, then, doctor, you’ll not. She’s going to eat Christmas-dinner +with us. Have I been fattening up my biggest turkey for you all to come +and carry off my only guest? You can’t do it. Here she is. Let her speak +for herself. Miss Anne, are you going to desert us to-day?” + +“Why, no. Who says so?” + +“The doctor.” + +Persis turned inquiringly to where the doctor stood slapping his big fur +mittens together. + +“You see, Miss Anne, our boy is home from college. You haven’t met him, +and we want a sort of jollification for him. Some of the young folks +will be in this evening, and my wife sent word that you must come and +stay all night. It’s holiday-time, you know.” + +“Oh, but doctor, I can’t, I’m afraid. You see, I have fixed up a +Christmas-tree for the school children. Some of them, poor little souls, +never saw one. These mountaineers, many of them, never make any account +of Christmas, if they ever even heard of it. Of course, I can’t do much, +but I have some little bags of candies and some cheap toys for them. I’m +afraid, however, that the snow will keep some of them away.” + +“Don’t you believe it,” the doctor replied. “They’ll come, every +mother’s son of them.” He looked at her sharply, and then he added, +“Miss Anne, do you know you’re the first teacher who ever thought of +doing such a thing for that school. Heretofore the teachers have seemed +to be more eager for a holiday than the scholars, and have turned the +key in the door of the school-house as early as the law allowed, and +shut out any thought of it till they had to return.” + +Persis smiled. “Then I’m glad I’ve established a precedent; but you see, +doctor, I couldn’t disappoint them.” + +“I do, indeed, see. Will you let me come?” + +“It is a trustee’s privilege, I believe, to visit the school whenever he +may wish,” returned Persis, demurely. + +“Then I’ll stop by, and take you up there, and you can go home with me +after your performance is over. What time shall you begin?” + +“At two o’clock; but I shall go over as soon as we have finished +dinner.” + +“Then I’m afraid I shall not be able to do more than be on hand at the +last minute.” + +“Columbus can drive her and Mattie up there,” Mrs. Temple spoke up. + +“Oh, but Mrs. Temple, that will interfere with his work. He will not be +through with his dishes,” Persis expostulated. + +“Never mind. I’ve got old Ginny in the kitchen to-day. Columbus can be +spared as well as not.” And to Columbus’s great joy, it was so arranged, +and the little festival at the school-house was made ready for its +guests. + +It was cold as Greenland, but Persis found a huge fire already blazing +in the stove. Some one had seen to it that the teacher should not be +nipped by Jack Frost. The oldest of the boys were expectantly waiting +outside when the sleigh, driven by Columbus, came up. + +“Miss Anne! Miss Anne!” they shouted. “Here she is! Help her out, Josh. +Come in, Miss Anne. Merry Christmas, miss! Here, Columbus, fetch along +that fur robe.” + +“No, no!” Persis remonstrated. “Put that over the horse; he’ll freeze to +death in that little cold shed. Make him good and comfortable, Columbus. +I shouldn’t be happy, boys, if I knew a horse was shivering outside +here. My, what a roaring fire! Why, Josh, what is that?” + +“It’s a pair of kind of fur shoes to put on over your others on cold +days, and when you all go out sleigh-riding, Miss Anne.” + +“And you made them for me? Why, how clever you are! Aren’t they warm? +They are like moccasins, only warmer. Here, Columbus, put them on for +me. Why, they are fine. How did you know what size to make them? Thank +you very much, Josh. I never had a Christmas-gift like this before.” + +Josh, in clumsy expression of delight, shuffled from one foot to the +other, the other boys looking on enviously. Persis’s heart warmed +towards these uncouth sons of still more uncouth mountaineers, so +grateful for the little grace and love she had given them. + +“Come, boys, let’s get up the greens,” she said. “There, see how pretty +we can make it. That bunch of red berries in the pitcher on my desk. +Doesn’t the tree stand nice and straight? We’ll have to hurry to get it +ready; the bags first; now the strings of pop-corn. Can you fasten on +the candles? Not too close together. There, we have it.” And ordering, +encouraging, appreciating the work, Persis was the controlling spirit. + +The boys gazed in open-eyed admiration. The last candle was hardly made +secure before the jingle of bells and the stamping of feet announced the +approach of the partakers in the festivities, and, what with parents and +children, Persis thought she could hardly find room for them, but at +last she managed. + +There was not much time to be wasted in exercises. Only a Christmas +carol or two; the story of the first Christmas told in the simplest way, +another carol, and then the tree was lighted and the gifts were +distributed. + +Such eager children, such wonder and delight, gave Persis a thrill of +something between pleasure and pity. “Oh! oh!” came in subdued +exclamations, and on every one of the rough faces of men gathered in the +corners was a pleased smile. + +Dr. Rivers, by the door, took it all in, and as the hearty voices +shouted, “Hark the herald angels sing,” he made his way towards the +teacher standing in among the wreaths of green. + +Every one knew Dr. Rivers. He had watched by many a sick bed, eased many +a pain for those present, and when he spoke they all listened. It was +only a Christmas greeting he gave them, the desire to do so born of +Persis’s little effort, but it warmed the hearts of all of them, and +they went off, having gone a step nearer to a knowledge of what +Christmas might mean. + +Persis had worn her prettiest frock, partly because of the doctor’s +coming jollification, and partly because she felt it would give pleasure +to her pupils. She had a bunch of red berries in her belt, and a few +were tucked in her black hair. The doctor thought he had never seen her +look so well. She was lifted out of herself. The doing for others had, +for the time being, made her own troubles take a place in the +background. “She’s a dear, good girl, whatever any one says,” thought +the doctor. + +“What a judicial expression,” she interrupted his cogitations by saying, +as she noticed his steadfast regard of her. “I’m afraid you’re very +critical, doctor, and haven’t quite approved of my little parade.” + +“My dear girl,”—the doctor pronounced it “gyurl,”—“I never approved more +heartily of anything in my life. I wish a dozen more I could mention had +been here.” + +“I am so glad you do feel so, and I thank you so much for your little +address. It was just what was needed for a climax. This has really made +me have a very happy day, and I dreaded it more than I can tell you.” + +“The Christmas spirit,” said the doctor, slowly, “is not that which +gives what is not of ourselves.” + +Persis looked up. She had not heard the doctor say such a thing before. +He was wont to show rather a mocking, sarcastic side. + +“That is what grandma says,” replied she, forgetting where she was. Then +she bit her lip, and flushed up. She went on hurriedly. “I know what you +mean, doctor. We must give of ourselves or else it is not a gift. Do you +know, I have had two or three presents to-day which have touched me to +the very heart? They represent loving sacrifice, and mean more than +dozens of elegant presents I have had bestowed upon me in times gone +by.” And then she told him of the fur shoes and the necktie. “Josh is +one of my very best scholars,” she went on to say. “He has a very +receptive mind, and is so deeply and tenderly interested in animals. I +try to make my boys, and girls, too, develop a care for dumb creatures. +I found Josh one day with a little bird whose leg was broken. He had +splinted it nicely and took the little thing home, where it got entirely +well. I have great hopes for Josh, and my children here are teaching me +true values,” she concluded, soberly. They had been standing in the +empty school-house, but Persis was soon snuggled down under the robes in +the doctor’s sleigh, and they were driving at a spanking pace towards +the village. + +“We must get up a sleighing party while my boy is here,” said the +doctor. “I speak for your being one of it, Miss Anne. You’ve no excuse +now that there is no school to use up your vitality. We have not +insisted before on your joining our frolics in the village, because you +did have that excuse.” The doctor was always head and front in any +social event. Any sort of festivity without his presence would have +seemed lacking its principal guest. + +“I think I can promise to be one of a sleighing party,” replied Persis, +“if I can depend upon you and Mrs. Rivers for my companions.” + +“Now, is that flattery, or a distinct desire for our company?” asked the +doctor. + +“It is the latter.” + +“I know one or two boys who will jump at the chance of escorting you. +Indeed, I had thought my son might be the accepted swain on that +occasion.” + +“But I haven’t seen him,” laughed Persis. “And even as it is, I am +willing to give his parents the preference.” + +“Wait till you do see him. I’ll not make any promise till then.” The +doctor was very proud of this big son, the child of his old age; for Dr. +Rivers had not married young, and the two fair daughters born to him had +died in early youth. It was ten years later that a boy made glad the +hearts of the desolate couple, and he was their idol. + +A tall, handsome fellow was this Pendleton Rivers, who ran down the +steps as Persis and the doctor stopped before the gate. He had been very +eager to see this new teacher, around whom a halo of mystery and romance +clung, and he was disposed to be very attentive to her. + +It had grown quite dark by this time, and he could not very well see the +girl, hooded, veiled, and generally bundled up from the cold; but once +she had laid aside her wraps, and stood with her cheeks rosy from the +frosty air, she looked very like the old Persis, and Pen regarded her +admiringly, at the same time feeling that her face was a familiar one. +“Where have I seen the girl before?” he asked himself. + +A little later on Persis herself felt a fear of recognition. “I never +thought to ask which is your college, Mr. Rivers?” she said. “I suppose, +of course, it is the University of Virginia or William and Mary?” + +“No; I am a Johns Hopkins man. This is my junior year.” + +And Persis felt her hands grow cold. A classmate of Walter Dixon’s, of +Rob Maxfield’s, and half a dozen boys that she knew. And she quickly +changed the subject to matters relating strictly to Virginia soil. + +But after supper came another season of anxiety. It was before guests +had arrived, and while the doctor and his son were talking over college +affairs. As boys will do, Pen was recounting his little escapades. The +doctor was enjoying his boy’s visit hugely, Persis could see. He rubbed +his hands as Pen told of a recent exploit. “That reminds me of my old +days in Baltimore, when Walt Dixon and I were chums. Have you come +across him, by the way?” + +“Who, the doctor? Why, yes; his son turns out to be a college-mate of +mine, and we never knew it till this year. Dr. Dixon is fine—fine as +silk, and Walter is a chip of the old block. They say he’s engaged to +that Miss Steuart who lives at the Dixon’s. Dr. Dixon is her guardian, +or something.” + +Persis clasped her hands nervously. “What a small world, after all! +Connie and Walter! to hear of them in this out-of-the-way place!” She +leaned forward with parted lips. + +“Nice girl, is she?” queried the doctor. + +“Yes, a real jolly girl. Not exactly pretty, but just the jolliest sort, +kind and thoughtful, and bright as a button. I believe the Dixons like +her immensely. I was there a few nights ago. There was a Miss Peters +there, from Virginia originally, and a Mr. Phillips, a young student +from the Quaker City.” + +The blood surged up into Persis’s face, and then left it pale as a +ghost’s. The doctor was watching her, but she was not aware of it. “What +Peters family is that?” he asked. “Any kin of old Tom’s?” + +“I don’t know, sir. I think the same family, probably. I liked young +Phillips. He told me he spent some time at the Bridge last summer, and +praised it quite enough to suit even a Virginian.” + +Poor Persis! a small world, after all, it was, indeed. Questions which +she dared not utter crowded to her lips, but she overcame the temptation +to ask what she so desired, and changed her seat from the chair by the +table to a low stool near the open fire, where, screening her face with +her hand, she listened for what might come next. + +“I’d like to have the Dixons down here. Pity you hadn’t found them out +sooner. I had lost track of them entirely for the past few years. I’m +glad you’ve come across them.” + +“You see, Walter and I are in different departments,” Pen explained. “He +is studying electrical engineering, and I’m in the classical course, so +we didn’t happen to meet till the latter part of last year, and then I +somehow didn’t associate the name with your chum. This year, however, +we’ve often met in the gym, and one day found out that our fathers were +old friends; since then we’ve been very chummy. You never met Mrs. +Dixon, did you, mother?” turning to Mrs. Rivers. + +“No; but I have met the doctor. Did you say that the son was down this +way last summer?” + +“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he was; but I spoke of young Phillips. +There was quite a party of them making a trip through Virginia, and from +what they said they must have had a jolly good time.” + +“Too bad, too bad,” the doctor repeated. “To think they were within such +a short distance, and we didn’t know it.” His hospitable instincts were +quite outraged. “Well, well, we’ll not let them go to a hotel next time, +will we Becky?” + +“Indeed, we will not; but Miss Anne must think us very rude, doctor, to +be talking about people she never heard of. Here we’ve brought her and +made her sit in a corner to listen to this boy’s talk. Come, Miss Anne, +we want to hear about that frolic at the school-house. Doctor, tell us +about it; Miss Anne is too modest to praise it properly.” + +The doctor launched out into a humorous account, and Persis added some +funny descriptions of her company; of how one of the children had never +seen a Christmas-tree, and set up a scream when the first candle was +lighted, thinking the tree was on fire. And so the talk went on till a +smart rapping came at the door, and a dozen young people flocked in. + +Persis had nimble fingers for dance music, and had hoped to fill the +office of musician; but she had only played two or three tunes when +there arrived an old darky fiddler, and so there was no escape for the +“teacher,” who soon found herself floating off in a dreamy waltz, which +the old man played with an ecstatic throwing back of his head and a +gentle pat of his long, flat foot. + +Pen Rivers found his partner so good a dancer that he claimed her again +and again; and she, who had always enjoyed nothing more, gave herself up +to the pleasure, although, had she known of certain developments which +would result, she would have been less ready to dance with Pen Rivers. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XIV. + A SLEIGHING PARTY. + + +It was after midnight when the guests departed, and, since Mrs. Rivers +had matters to see to in the dining-room, and Pen had escorted home one +of the beauless damsels, Persis was left alone with the doctor. + +“We are those ‘who tread alone a banquet-hall deserted,’ aren’t we, +doctor?” said the girl, who stood with one slender foot resting on the +brass fender. “By the way, why didn’t you ask me to dance with you?” + +“Because I thought you had a better match in Pen. The young scamp dances +well, doesn’t he?” + +“He does, indeed.” + +“And so do you, I heard more than one say. You’re not a novice in that +accomplishment.” + +“No, and I am very fond of it. The mere pleasure of the motion, the +rhythm, fascinates me, and I believe I used to enjoy dancing with the +girls quite as much as I did going to the assembly in——” She paused, and +the doctor supplied the word,—the name of her native city. + +Persis started. “Oh, doctor!” she exclaimed; “what—how——” + +“How did I know? There, my child, I don’t believe you have done anything +so dreadful that you need look so scared. It is your secret just as much +as it ever was. I have gathered my knowledge from what you have said at +different times. A doctor has cause for the exercise of his perceptive +faculties, and you have, perhaps, said more to me than you realize. Now, +don’t tell me a word if you don’t want to. I saw this evening that you +were very visibly moved by Pen’s talk, and I inferred that you were more +than ordinarily interested in the persons of whom he spoke.” + +“Yes; I know them, every one. I wish I could tell you.” + +“I do not ask you to. I have thought sometimes that you ought to provide +some one with the address of your friends in case of serious illness, or +such trouble; but I have trusted you entirely from the first, and you +know I have no wish to force your confidence.” + +“Yes, I do know, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you have +been so kind and considerate. I had no right to expect it.” + +“Not ordinarily, perhaps; but every honest, well-intentioned person has +a right to expect the recognition due him or her; and you have done +nothing to win other than the entire respect of us all since you have +been here.” + +“Thank you. I think, doctor, in the presence of such trust in me, that I +may have been wrong not to tell you more about myself. Until just before +I came here I believed myself to be the own daughter of those who had +taught me to call them parents. I suddenly discovered that I was an +adopted child, and the name by which you know me is the one which was +first mine.” + +“You were legally adopted?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then you have a legal right to the name given you at adoption; it is, +in fact, your rightful one.” + +“But I cannot bear to use it. You do not know, doctor, what a dreadful, +dreadful revelation it was to me. I came upon the knowledge suddenly, +without warning.” + +“You are sure of what you say?” + +“I saw the written proof, the adoption papers, and I left home.” + +“Without your parents’ knowledge or consent?” + +“Yes; I could not bear the thought of seeing them, knowing they were not +my real parents. Oh, doctor, I cannot bear the thought, even now.” + +“And they do not know where you are?” + +“No; I have let them hear from me twice. They know I am well and that I +am self-supporting. I am of age, you know, and should not be dependent.” + +“Do you think it was quite just to them, after their loving care of you, +to leave them in that way? They must have loved you greatly to make you +feel so strongly in the matter. If you never knew the difference between +them and your own parents, their devotion to you must have been marked, +and they must be greatly distressed at your leaving them.” + +“I don’t know; I don’t know. I was too sore and hurt to think of +anything but myself, I am afraid. You think I was very wrong, doctor?” + +“I think you have made an error of judgment, and that it would have been +better to have had a fair and clear explanation of the whole affair.” + +“But nothing could have altered my position. Nothing could make them +really my very own, nor change me to their flesh and blood, and—and I +dread so to learn my own parentage. It is that which haunts me, which +makes me fear to know more.” + +“Maitland is a good name,” said the doctor, thoughtfully; “and although +I cannot entirely approve of what you have done, Miss Anne, I can see, +for one of your temperament, wherein the provocation lay; and since you +say they know you are safe, I think they will by this time have come to +understand how very strong was the feeling which prompted you to flee +from their protection. I will keep your secret, my child, and we will +not refer to it unless you wish. One word more. Were you their only +child?” + +“No, they have two other daughters.” + +“And you have never known any difference?” + +“Scarcely any. They are both very beautiful girls, while I, you know, am +not. I used to be a little unhappy because of it, and used to think +mamma preferred the elder sister and papa the younger because of their +beauty, but perhaps I was over-sensitive.” + +The doctor smiled. There was such an entire lack of self-consciousness +in the speech, and yet, thought he, she is such a charming girl; to be +sure she has not a Grecian nose, and her mouth is a trifle too small, +but she is pretty, very pretty, and, what is more, she has that +irresistible quality of attracting persons which is worth more than +beauty. + +Persis watched him wistfully. “You don’t mind my not telling you my +other name? And you will still be my friend? I do need friends very +much.” + +“Of course I will be your friend, even if you are a runaway, and I don’t +care a picayune about the other name.” + +“Don’t suppose for a moment, doctor, that I don’t realize how much love +and care has been lavished upon me, or that I don’t appreciate that I +might, if left to the lot to which I was born, have now been—Heaven +knows where or what. It is that which nearly kills me. I might have been +a beggar, a criminal, or—who can tell?” + +“You are morbid about it, Miss Anne. I doubt if you would, even under +the different environments which you imagine, have become anything very +dreadful, and, as it is, I think you were probably the child of friends +or perhaps relatives.” + +“Oh, do you think so?” + +“It seems probable. If your adopted parents had been without children, +they might have taken you from some institution; but with one daughter +already they were scarcely likely to do that.” + +“Oh, thank you for saying so.” + +“I cannot help wishing that your people could know where you are. I +think you wrong them and yourself by this secrecy.” + +“I will let them know, when I can bring myself to the point. I am trying +very hard to do it. I had not thought it would be so long, but it is a +hard, hard struggle. I think this day has helped me, doctor; my dreadful +self, which has been staring me in the face these months past, has not +seemed quite so important. I am trying to think more of helping others +and less of pleasing myself.” + +The doctor cleared his throat and turned away. The brave look in the +girl’s eyes, which, too, had a pathetic expression, moved him, and he +was glad when a step on the porch announced Pen’s return. + +The good old man gave the girl’s shoulder an affectionate little pat. +“Never mind, child,” he said, reassuringly. “You are safe, and so is +your secret; no one but ourselves shall catch an inkling of it.” + +Having unburdened herself thus far, Persis felt a great sense of relief. +She was no longer sailing under false colors, so far as the doctor was +concerned, and he had promised to stand her friend. The next day she +wrote out Mr. Holmes’s address, and, enclosing it in an envelope, she +gave it to the doctor. “I have taken your advice,” she told him. “If +anything happens to me, you will find the address of my adopted father +in this envelope.” + +“That’s right,” replied the doctor. “That makes me feel easier. We don’t +want to lose our teacher, yet I wish you would go a little further and +write them more fully.” + +But Persis shook her head. “Not yet. I can’t just yet. I think I am +getting more used to the thought each day, but I can’t bring myself to +more quite now.” + +“Well, well, I won’t press it. Let’s talk about that sleighing party. +Are you still determined to go with the old folks?” + +“Yes, I should prefer it.” + +“Then Pen shall go, too, and we’ll make a compromise by taking the +double sleigh. Becky and I will settle ourselves comfortably in the back +seat, and Pen shall drive, with you on the front seat.” + +“Doctor, you are very good,” returned Persis. “Indeed, as I think of it, +there are a great many good people in the world.” + +“Because I want you to ride on the front seat?” laughed the doctor. + +“Yes,” returned the girl, gravely. “Not every father would encourage it, +not knowing any more about me than you do.” + +“Nonsense,” was the reply. “I know you are a very charming young woman, +but I told you I trusted you entirely. Besides, we agreed not to mention +that subject again.” + +But alas! the doctor’s arrangements for the sleighing party did not meet +with favor in all directions. More than one girl in the village had her +eye upon the young collegian. In consequence, there were several +indignant maidens who aired their views to each other, and to certain +swains who thought that Pen Rivers was “getting touched up with city +airs.” + +“They are mighty exclusive, aren’t they?” said Sid Southall to her +younger sister, Virgie. “There was a time when I was quite good enough +for Pen Rivers to go sleighing with, but this city girl seems to run the +whole Rivers family. Who is she, anyhow?” Sidney felt that she had more +than one grievance against Persis, for not only had there been a +childish affair between herself and Pendleton, but Sidney had hoped to +get the school this year. She therefore regarded the new teacher with +jealous eyes. + +Sid Southall was thought to be quite the prettiest girl in the village, +and was rather spoiled in consequence. She had not dreamed that the +school would be refused her if she wanted it; but Dr. Rivers had his own +views concerning Sidney’s qualifications, and had set his face against +any such proposition. He knew perfectly well, too, what sort of a dance +Sidney was likely to lead Pen, if she were given the opportunity, and he +knew that a pretty girl was something it was hard for Pen to withstand. +So the astute old doctor chuckled to himself after he had told his son +what was expected of him. “You see, Pen,” said the father, “Miss +Maitland is our guest, and of course it would not do for you to invite +another girl.” + +“Of course not, sir; I know that,” Pen had replied, readily enough. + +“She’s the nicest girl I’ve seen for many a day,” continued the doctor. + +“And from what Dr. Dixon tells me, you ought to be an authority on that +point,” returned Pen, slyly. + +“Look here, sir! tell Walt Dixon he always did talk too much. What’s he +been saying to you?” + +“He simply asked me if I liked the society of young ladies; and when I +owned to such a weakness, he remarked that, considering whose son I was, +he thought I came honestly by my taste in that direction.” + +“Well, sir, suppose he did; it is nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll venture +to say I’m a better man to-day by reason of the girls I knew when I was +your age.” + +“I never for one moment, sir, felt the smallest desire to hide my face +on account of my inheritance in that or any other direction; and if the +companions I choose make me as good a man as my father, I shall be +mighty well satisfied with myself.” + +The doctor gave a queer twist of a smile, but he was pleased at the +pride his boy took in him, although his only answer was, “Then we’ll +consider that our sleighing party is all arranged.” + +“So far as I am concerned, yes, sir. I shall be delighted to be paired +off with Miss Maitland. By the way, dad, has any one seen about our +having music at the Inn? And how about supper?” + +“That’s all settled. I sent word to the colonel yesterday. We’ll have +our supper and you’ll have your dance all right. The colonel won’t be +there himself, but he’ll arrange it for us.” + +And therefore, an evening or two later, a dozen sleighs dashed out of +the village towards the Bridge. It was bright moonlight; the snow was +crisp and well packed, and Persis, cuddled down under a pile of +buffalo-robes, her fur shoes on her feet, and hot bricks in the sleigh +as additional warmth, felt something of her old love of fun returning, +and made herself very entertaining. Persis at her best was no mean +companion, and the doctor thought he had never heard her laugh so +merrily. “I never thought to ask where we are going,” she said. + +“There is only one place to go,” replied Pendleton, “and that is the +Bridge. It will be a fine sight to-night. We are to have supper at the +old Inn and have a dance.” + +“The Inn?” Persis echoed. + +“Yes. Has no one driven you over there? I say, father, that’s too bad. +Here Miss Maitland has been within ten miles of the bridge all this +time, and no one has taken the trouble to show it to her.” + +“I have seen it,” replied Persis, faintly. “I was there one summer.” + +“Oh, that’s all right, then; but I really believe it is finer in +winter.” + +“Can we see it plainly from the road?” + +“In this moonlight, yes. There is just one point where it stands out +finely.” + +The merriment was hard to force for a while after this. The Inn! How +many associations it brought up! Suppose some one should recognize her +there. She gave a little shiver, which Pen attributed to the cold. +Attention to the comfort of a lady under his charge had been taught him +from the time he could walk. Gallantry of the real old-fashioned sort +was made his by precept and example, and he tucked the robes closer +around the girl by his side, and asked, solicitously, if she were +comfortable. + +“I couldn’t be more so,” she replied, determined to shake off the +chilling fear which had taken possession of her. “With only the tip of +my nose visible, and in this nest of furs, I couldn’t be cold.” + +“There, we can see the bridge,” Pen announced, and Persis looked. It was +beautiful, like, yet unlike, the place as she remembered it, and she was +thankful for the snowy wreathing which took away the too familiar look. +She breathed a sigh of relief as she gazed around at the landscape +wearing its winter face. “It is very beautiful,” she said, quietly. “I +think I never saw so beautiful a sight. It is worth a much colder ride +than this.” + +The absence of the genial colonel was a second source of congratulation +to the girl, who had dreaded to see the kind old host, for he would be +sure to recognize her; and therefore, with no haunting fears, she +resolved to throw care to the winds, and to enjoy herself, and show her +appreciation to those good friends who so desired her pleasure. + +Pen Rivers found Persis too good a dancer not to lead her out oftener +than Sid Southall thought necessary; and Persis, finding that +Pendleton’s step matched hers so well, and that the doctor and Mrs. +Rivers were evidently pleased that she should dance often with their +boy, consented to be his partner as often as he desired. + +But at the last she insisted on the doctor’s dancing the Virginia reel +with her, but he laughingly protested. “I know you were a dancer in your +college days; wasn’t he, Mrs. Rivers?” persisted the girl. + +“I should think so.” + +“So were you, mother,” put in Pen. “Haven’t I heard how you captured +father’s heart at the White Sulphur, and how you wore—what was it? Come, +come, you must dance. Will you compel a lady to ask you twice, father? +Where is your gallantry?” And thus beset, the doctor laughingly gave his +arm to Persis, while Pen bowed low before his mother. + +After a bountiful supper of chicken, waffles, ham, biscuits, sandwiches, +salads, cake, and coffee, the sleighs were brought out and the return +journey was begun, every one being in the best of spirits. + +During a lull in the gay talk, in which Persis managed to do her part, +Pen started up a college song, and the girl beside him could not resist +joining in. Then, as they struck into some old ballads, the doctor’s +bass was heard, and they kept up the music for the greater part of the +remaining way home. + +“Where did you learn all the college songs, Miss Maitland?” asked Pen. + +“I have had a number of college friends,” she replied. “Do you belong to +the Glee Club, Mr. Rivers?” + +“No, but I go out with the boys serenading once in a while. The last +time that we serenaded the girls was in the summer. I didn’t know the +girls, but it was all the same. What was that girl’s name where we went? +Black? White? No, Greene; that was it. Hetty—no; that’s the rich woman. +Nettie; that’s it,—Nettie Greene.” + +Persis, under her buffalo-robes, smiled. Pen Rivers had been one of the +boys who serenaded “The Cheerful Three.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XV. + PITFALLS. + + +The Christmas holidays were soon over, and Persis again took up the +routine of her daily life. The early breakfast, the walk to school, the +busy hours following, and the walk home again; a little rest, an early +supper, an hour with the family, and then the seclusion of her own room, +this was the round. + +Columbus’s new doll in her various characters was one of the amusements +which the teacher really enjoyed. On the day after her return from her +Christmas visit at Dr. Rivers’s, she found Columbus in a corner of the +kitchen. The doll, in a frock which was an exact imitation of Persis’s +Christmas attire, stood in front of a tiny cedar-tree, which Columbus +had decked with bright bits of paper; arrayed in the foreground was a +company of clothespins representing the school children. The doll was +holding a Christmas festival. It was all such a funny little burlesque +that the looker-on laughed heartily, and Columbus seemed rather abashed +by her amusement. + +“Never mind, Columbus,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean to make fun of +me.” + +“‘Deed an’ ‘deed, Miss Anne, I ain’t mek no fun. I jes’ think dat +fessible were gran’, an’ I laks to hev it ober uvery day.” He had caught +the tune of the Christmas hymn, although he garbled the words in a most +absurd way, and as Persis passed out of the room she heard him strike +up, “Hark! the hurry angey sing.” + +“We’ve had the Christmas entertainment over every day,” Mrs. Temple told +her, “and I wish you could hear Columbus’s attempt at repeating the +doctor’s speech. It’s the funniest performance you ever heard.” And +Persis agreed with her when later she had an opportunity of hearing it. + +The teacher’s hold upon her pupils she had considered to be very sure, +but after Christmas there seemed to creep into the school a discordant +element. For some time it was too subtle to be directly traced. The very +pupils who were supposed to be the most rebellious were her firm +supporters. These were the big, rough boys who had not heretofore +learned to be law-abiding citizens either at home or elsewhere, but this +new teacher had been the first to open their eyes to certain facts which +had never before appeared clearly to their dim perceptions. She told +them about the boys she had known; of what was considered honor among +them. She appealed to the best within them, and from first to last they +adored her. The leaven which was at work in raising a spirit of discord +was, therefore, not started by the boys, and Persis, all unsuspicious, +did not know that the sleighing party was the indirect cause of this new +element of rebellion, and that the head rebel was Virgie Southall. The +first inkling the teacher had of what was going on came during one +recess, when, having gone to a window to raise it, she heard a voice on +the porch say, “And she’s not who she says she is, anyhow. My sister +says she is passing herself off for somebody else. Some one told her so; +and I’d like to see me mind her. Dick says he wouldn’t, and that she’s +no right to come down here among respectable people and palm herself off +for quality.” + +Persis started back, her cheeks flaming. Were they perhaps talking of +her—of her? She went back to her desk and leaned her head on her hand. +The noon recess was longer than usual that day. From this time out on +the side of the girls in the school there was visible defiance. The +eldest girl there was the daughter of a blacksmith, whose shop stood +half a mile or so beyond the school-house. Josephine Flint was a pretty +creature with big black eyes and a quantity of tawny hair. She was +ambitious and had a bright mind, but one or two hints as to her +abominable taste in dress had not been taken in good part, and she was +ready to join forces with Virgie; and the two made themselves +disagreeable in the thousand ways which girls of that age find it +possible to do. Sly little pin-pricks were their thrusts, but harder to +deal with than open defiance. The little girls in some cases took their +cue from the older ones, and from having a well-organized, perfectly +controlled school, a certain sort of disorder began to prevail. Lessons +were slighted, insolent bearing became common. But the teacher set +herself doggedly to work to fathom the cause of it and to find the +remedy. Fortunately the boys stood by her, and the little girls did not +all of them forget the Christmas-tree. + +It is a great pity that girls can be so sly and mean; that they are +willing to wreak out their petty spite by a refinement of torture which +boys would not know how to use. So Persis reflected as she watched her +scholars carefully, and one day, having caught Josephine in an act of +open defiance to the rules, she kept her in after school. + +A sullen fire shone in the offender’s eyes, as she was requested to keep +her place. She did not dare to disobey; there were too many boys around +who would not fail to uphold the teacher, and who would not stand a +moment upon running after the delinquent and bringing her back if she +attempted to run away. So she sat still, determining that she would get +the best of it in the end. Except for the tick-tick of the little clock +on the shelf, the school-house was very quiet after all had tramped out +leaving the two together. The days had almost reached their limit of +being shorter than the nights, and Persis looked back, reflecting that +nearly three months had passed since the Christmas-tree stood in its +place. + +She felt sorry for the girl before her, and wondered how she could reach +her as she sat there stolid and sullen. “Josephine,” said the teacher +after awhile, “will you tell me why you object to obeying the rules? You +used to find no difficulty in doing it. What has happened since +Christmas?” + +The girl remained obstinately silent. + +“Grandma used to say that the surest way to reach people was to love +away their faults,” Persis said to herself, and she arose and went +towards the refractory scholar, putting a kind arm around her. “Josey,” +she said, “we are in this world to help each other. You are the oldest +girl in the school. I need your help just as much as you do mine. I +haven’t a hard feeling against any one of my pupils, and I do want to +love them and do my very best for them. Will you tell me if you have any +grievance? I think if I could see your side of the question we might +come to understand each other better. I am talking as woman to woman. +You are old enough not to be treated as a naughty child.” + +Josephine shot a swift look at her. She saw only anxious solicitude in +the face at her side, but she was not prepared to give in. She was eager +to learn, but she was resolved not to be coerced in any direction. It +was a question of conduct, not of lessons. + +Seeing no sign of relenting, Persis returned to her seat, saying, “When +you are ready to speak, Josephine, I am ready to hear any excuse you may +have to offer for infringing the rules.” + +She had hardly reached her desk when she heard a movement. Josephine had +arisen and was fleeing down the room. She caught her shawl and hat from +a nail by the door, and, before her teacher could overtake her, had +flung open the door and was gone like a flash. + +For a moment Persis was too greatly astonished to be angry, and then she +felt incensed as well as piqued by such a proceeding, but, seeing +nothing to be done, she went to the door, where Columbus was waiting to +be told to close the shutters. Mattie had gone on ahead with some of the +other children. + +The next morning Josephine was present as usual, a triumphant smile on +her face, and before the day was over the offence of the previous +afternoon had been repeated, and a second time the girl was detained, +this being Friday afternoon. + +“I must keep my temper, and I must deal gently with her,” said poor +Persis to herself. But all the patient teacher’s talk proved of no +avail, and, during her period of “dealing” with the culprit there was an +alert, watchful look on her face which Persis could not understand, and +yet the scholar made no attempt to break from her durance vile. + +The afternoon was waning, but neither teacher nor pupil would give in. +After a time was heard some one fastening the shutters, and then came a +rap on the door. “Columbus thinks it is high time for me to go home,” +thought Persis. “I shall have to have another seance on Monday I am +afraid. Come in,” she said, as a second rap was heard. + +The door opened and there entered, not Columbus, but Dick Southall. +“Come, Joe,” he said. The girl arose to her feet with a glance at +Persis. + +“Sit down,” ordered the teacher. Josephine hesitated. + +“If you will wait on the porch for a few minutes, Mr. Southall,” Persis +said, quietly, “Josephine will be ready.” + +“I don’t propose to wait,” he replied, coolly. “You shall not keep her +here one minute.” + +“Who questions my right?” + +“I do. You’ve no business here, anyway, with your shamming. I don’t +intend my sister, nor this young lady either, shall obey you. Perhaps +you don’t think I know about you, and perhaps you don’t know that you +were seen at the Bridge last summer passing yourself off under a +different name. If the trustees knew that, where would you be?” + +Persis paled, but she stood her ground. “Dr. Rivers knows my history,” +she said, coolly. “He is at liberty to give the trustees any information +he may see fit.” + +The young man looked taken aback. + +“I am responsible only to the trustees,” Persis went on, following up +her advantage, “and I intend to have my rules obeyed while I am in this +school. Josephine must remain till I give her permission to go.” + +But Josephine had already possessed herself of her hat and shawl, and at +a given signal from her confederate she darted out, the young man +following, shutting the door and locking it behind him, while Persis was +left alone in the closed school-house. + +She waited a few moments and then she tried the door, but it was fast, +and so were the shutters, which fastened on the outside, after a +primitive fashion. She knocked loudly on the door, and called, +“Columbus! Columbus! open the door!” But there was no response. Where +was her faithful henchman? + +She was furiously angry. “The idea of such insolence!” she exclaimed. +“We will see whether the trustees have any control over such things. +That dreadful, impertinent Dick Southall shall pay for this.” + +She listened eagerly for a sound of some one outside, but there was +nothing to be heard but the March wind in the trees. It was not very +cold, and there was a pile of fire-wood in the box. Persis put a stick +into the stove, and then opened a window so as to ventilate the room +through the chinks in the shutters. She did not for an instant think +that she would have to pass the night there. Columbus would return, or, +when it was found that she did not come, some one would hunt her up. Yet +who could imagine that she was locked in the school-house. Slowly the +hours wore away, and there came no hope of release. Then the prisoner +grew hungry, and hunted around for scraps of food in her lunch basket. +She found the few bits left from her always bountiful noon-day meal. She +ate the scraps eagerly, with an apple which one of the children had +brought her. She had no light save that of the fire, which gave little +enough, since it was in a close wood-stove which smoked badly if its +door were left open. At last she drew two benches together and laid upon +them the sheepskin which was spread under her desk. It was one which Mr. +Temple’s thoughtfulness had provided. Then making a pillow of some +papers and rolling herself up in her coat, she lay down to get what rest +she could. + +She was aroused by a pounding on the door. It was so dark in the room +that at first she thought it was the middle of the night, but a faint +streak of light shining under the door told her that it was brighter +outside. “Who is there?” she asked, going closer to the door. + +A deep voice replied by asking, “Are you there, Miss Maitland?” + +“Yes. Who is it?” + +“Jake Flint.” + +“I have no key. You will have to unbar the shutters from the outside.” + +There was heard the slipping of a wooden bar, and then the early dawn +was let into the room through the gray square at the side, and Persis +opened the window. “Mr. Flint,” she said, “is it you?” + +“Yes. This is a pretty bad business, Miss Maitland. Are you able to +climb out?” + +“Yes; I will get a chair.” + +“Give me your hand. There, miss, are you all right? Here, my wife sent +this. I hope it isn’t altogether cold.” And going to his mud-splashed +buggy, he produced a little basket. “Not a word, please, miss, till you +have taken this.” He poured out from a flask some strong coffee and gave +it to her. She drank it thirstily. A sandwich was next offered, which +was accepted, and eaten hungrily. + +“I believe I was faint,” Persis said, smiling. “There, I feel much +better.” + +“Will you get in, then, and let me take you to our house?” + +“Oh, not to Mr. Temple’s?” + +The man looked troubled. He began to busy himself in something about the +harness. “If you wouldn’t mind going home with me, miss, I’d like you +all to see Joe before school takes in on Monday, and if you wouldn’t +mind doing me the favor, miss.” + +“Why, yes, I will go.” Persis hesitated a little. “But please tell me +how you knew I was in the school-house.” + +Mr. Flint had settled himself by her side and was turning his horse up +the road. “I knew because Joe told me after I brought her home from +driving off with that scoundrel.” + +“Who? Dick Southall?” + +“Yes!” The irate father broke out into a fierce expletive. “He was +trying to get my girl to run away with him, and I caught them. He marry +her, indeed! a girl of mine! I don’t care if my mother and father were +‘po’ white trash,’ as he calls em, Dick Southall’s not good enough for a +girl of mine. I’d like to know how he’d take care of her; and, what’s +more, he’s already promised a girl up near Charlottesville to marry her; +and I’ll have no such double-dyed rascals hanging around my house.” + +“Oh, poor Josey!” + +The man turned quickly around. “You say that, Miss Maitland, after the +way she’s behaved! Oh, I knowed all about it! She told me herself. I’d +ought to have dragged her over to the school-house by the hair of her +head and made her get down on her knees to you, but her mother felt +sorry for her, she cried so.” + +“Oh, but Mr. Flint, she is so young; and I’ve no doubt but that she is +really sorry. I don’t suppose for a moment she thought I’d be kept shut +up there. She knows Columbus always comes for me.” + +“Well, to do her justice, she didn’t, not till it was too late to do any +good. That evil scamp told her as a good joke that he’d locked the door +and had thrown away the key. I’d like to horsewhip him.” + +“Oh, no, please, Mr. Flint. Don’t you see that the less noise over it +the better for Josey and me, and for all of us?” + +“And after all you’ve done for that school. Why, Miss Maitland, I could +ha’ cried about it, I could. When I see those little chaps singing that +Christmas hymn, and knowed what that there Christmas-tree meant to some +of ’em, I felt—I dunno’ how I felt. And Josey, she was so pleased with +her lessons, and the way you all helped her. She’s our youngest, and we +ain’t been able to do much for the others; but she’s keen as a razor to +learn, and I mean her to be eddycated, even if I warn’t. I’ve worked +hard, and I will work hard to keep her going. Why, I could ha’ cried to +think how Josey set her face agen’ you all, after all you’ve done for +her, and I feel like I couldn’t face my neighbors if they knowed about +her doin’s. They all set such sto’ by you, and we alls done the same.” +The man was so really distressed that Persis was touched. + +“Well, Mr. Flint,” she replied, “let us be thankful that it isn’t too +late to save Josey from a greater heartache than she has given us. I +confess that I have had trouble of late with several of the girls, but I +did, and I still do, want to help them in every way.” + +“That’s what my wife said. She begged and pled that I’d go get you all, +and let us talk it over without no publicity.” + +“Sometimes great good comes out of great evil,” returned Persis, slowly. +“Perhaps, Mr. Flint, it required this to show Josey that Dick Southall +was not what she thought him to be, and it may be the turning-point for +her. We must forgive her. She requires a great deal of sympathy, I +think.” + +The man was silent. There was a grim look on his face which spoke +nothing of forgiveness. Persis saw it, and was troubled for his +daughter. “You will forgive her, won’t you?” she said. + +“I might for her disobedience to me, but not to you.” + +“Oh!” Persis exclaimed. “Are you going to punish me, too?” + +“God forbid!” + +“But you will, if you do that. For my sake, Mr. Flint, please.” + +The man looked at her eager face, pale from fatigue and anxiety. “She +don’t deserve it,” he broke out. “Why, when I look at you all, I’d like +to thrash her within an inch of her life.” + +“But she is my pupil, and if you make her hard and sullen it will be +much harder for me.” + +“Well, we’ll see how she behaves. I’m not goin’ to have no foolishness. +She’s got to eat humble-pie.” + +It was growing lighter, and they were close to the blacksmith’s house, +from the chimney of which smoke was rising. + +“Mrs. Flint said she’d have breakfast ready,” said the man. “I reckon +you all can eat a little.” + +“I don’t know. I know I wanted that coffee you were so kind as to bring. +Shall I go right in, Mr. Flint?” + +“Yes. I reckon you’ll find her in the kitchen.” Persis wasn’t quite sure +whether Mrs. Flint or Josey was meant, but she lifted the latch of the +door and went in. + +A woman with sad eyes, a thin face, and scant hair came forward. “Oh, +miss, I’m so glad you come!” she exclaimed. “He’s terrible down on Joe.” + +“We’ll have to see that he isn’t too hard,” replied Persis. + +Mrs. Flint dropped into a chair and began crying. “He said so; he said +you’d forgive her, po’ gyurl! He said you all were so good you’d do it. +But I didn’t see how you could.” + +At that moment Mr. Flint entered, and his wife sprang to her feet and +began nervously to set the breakfast on the table. + +“Where’s Joe?” asked the father. + +“She’s up-stairs yet,” returned his wife, meekly. “You said she wasn’t +to come down, daddy, and she ain’t.” + +“Then let her stay there,” said the man. “Come, miss, won’t you jine us +in our meal o’ wittles?” + +“I don’t reckon we’ve got nothin’ you all can eat, but maybe you can +make out,” Mrs. Flint said, deprecatingly. + +“Your coffee was so refreshing, and I did need it so much,” Persis told +her. “And down this way you do have such good egg-pone. Yes, thank you, +I’m very fond of chicken.” And in spite of the coarse table-ware and the +fact that Mr. Flint drank copiously from his huge saucer, and used his +knife and fork indiscriminately, Persis made a good breakfast and +actually enjoyed it. + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XVI. + THE HOUSE OF THE BLACKSMITH. + + +It went to the heart of the teacher to see how proudly, yet how kindly, +these mountaineers offered their hospitality. Evidently the best the +house afforded had been set before her, and the guest did all within her +power to show appreciation. + +“Josey, she’s our youngest,” Mrs. Flint told her. “The other gyurls are +all married, and the boys are working away from home; but we all has +always set great sto’ by Joe; we sort o’ favored her, bein’ young an’ +ambitious.” + +“She is a very bright scholar,” Persis told them; “and there is no +reason why she should not do you credit. May I see her?” she asked, as +they rose from the table. + +Mrs. Flint looked at her husband. “Shall the teacher go up?” She put the +question timidly. + +“Why, if she don’t mind——” he began, awkwardly. + +“Oh, no, I don’t mind. I think, if you don’t object, that it would be +easier to see her alone,” put in Persis. + +“Poor little, rebellious, ungoverned girl!” she said to herself, as she +mounted the steep stairs to the room above. + +Mrs. Flint knocked at the door. “Joe!” she called. “Joe!” + +There was no answer, and she turned the knob. Then she beckoned to +Persis, who went in, and the mother withdrew. The furniture of the room +was very plain and meagre. Across the bed was thrown the figure of the +girl. + +Persis laid her hand softly on the mass of red-gold hair. “Josey,” she +said, “poor little Josey, won’t you speak to me?” + +The girl lifted her head and showed her eyes swollen with weeping. + +“I’m so sorry for you,” whispered Persis. “I have had trouble too. Won’t +you tell me all about it?” + +“Don’t! don’t!” cried the girl; “don’t talk to me that way. I ain’t +worth your wipin’ your shoes on.” She hid her face in the bedclothes +again. + +“Come, come, that is not the way to talk. I, too, have known bitter +sorrow. I know how you must be suffering. I think, perhaps, I understand +better than any one else could. Won’t you tell me?” She put her arm +about the prostrate figure, and the girl sprang up. + +“Oh, Miss Anne,” she cried, “how can you do it when I’ve been so bad? I +didn’t mean to get you shut up. I wonder you don’t hate me. How can you +help it?” + +[Illustration: Across the bed was thrown the figure of the girl.] + +“I don’t hate you at all. You know I said we could help each other, if +we would.” + +“Yes, I know, I know. I wanted to give in then, but—but——” + +“But what?” + +“They wouldn’t let me. I’d promised I wouldn’t.” + +“Who are they?” + +“Sid and Virgie Southall—and—and Dick.” This last in a whisper. + +“And did you care so much to please them?” + +“I did, but I hate ’em now, all of ’em. I know now that they look down +on me, and that they just flattered me up so’s to get me to be on their +side. Daddy said I shouldn’t go with Dick, and that made me fierce to +go, and he said I shouldn’t marry him, and I said I would. I didn’t +really, ’deed, Miss Anne, I didn’t really care so much, but daddy was so +terrible set against it, and it made me keen the other way. It was +because he was so down on Dick that I took up for him. He said he was a +wu’thless, lazy, fool man, and I stood out he wasn’t.” + +“And is he?” Persis put the question gently. + +“He’s lazy, and I reckon he’s pretty much of a fool, but I liked him to +like me.” + +“You were flattered because he did. I see. But, dear child, you would be +very miserable married to him. Don’t you think so?” + +“Yes’m. I know he’d boss me. He always tried to. I’d a given him up long +ago if daddy hadn’t been so cantankerous, and so set against me.” + +“But Josey, your father loves you dearly.” + +“He doesn’t.” + +“He does. He is heart-broken over all this. He may not take the wisest +way of showing it, but he said as much to me.” + +“Oh, Miss Anne!” + +“Yes, I can assure you he has, Josey dear. You could make your father +and mother so proud of you. Why, you might teach school yourself some +day, and think how pleased that would make them. They have worked so +hard, and your mother has really needed your help. Instead of asking it, +she has done all the work, and let you go to school.” + +“I know.” + +“Then you will study hard after this?” + +“You ain’t goin’ to let me go back to school?” Josey cried, in +astonishment. + +“Why not?” + +“After the way I have acted?” + +“No one knows but ourselves and Dick Southall. I think your father will +settle him.” Persis remembered the grim look on the man’s face. + +“Oh, Miss Anne!” Josephine fell on her knees by her teacher’s side and +humbly kissed her hand. + +“There! Why, Josey, don’t.” Persis really felt embarrassed. “I am as +anxious as possible to have you come back, and help me get the school +into its former good order.” + +“The Southalls can’t abide you, and they’ll do all they can to kick up a +fuss with the rest of the scholars.” + +“Then we must do our very best to prevent it. I do not see why they +dislike me so much. I know Miss Sidney did want the school, but that +doesn’t seem enough to warrant such enmity.” + +“Oh, don’t you know why it is? You won’t mind, Miss Anne, if I tell you? +Sid Southall thinks you cut her out with Mr. Pen Rivers.” + +“Why, I never heard of such an idea!” Persis spoke her surprise. + +“It’s at the bottom of all of it. It’s why Dick was agen’ you.” + +“Against, you mean.” + +“Yes, ma’am, against you. And why Virgie set us all to actin’ so, and +why Sid tried to get up some sort of tales about you.” + +Persis looked very thoughtful. Looking back, she remembered things which +bore out Josephine’s statements. “Well, never mind all that,” she said +after a pause, and with a return of dignity. “Can you tell me how it +happened that no one came from Mr. Temple’s to look me up?” + +Josey hung her head. “Dick met Mattie and told her you wouldn’t be home +last night.” + +“I suppose they thought that I had gone to Dr. Rivers’s.” + +“That’s what he meant them to think.” + +The two were silent a few moments, then Josey asked, “Is father very +angry, Miss Anne?” + +“I’m afraid he is.” + +“Will he thrash me?” + +“Why, goodness! I hope not.” The idea gave Persis a shock. + +“Yes, he will. I’m so afraid, I’m so afraid.” Josey hid her face in +Persis’s skirts. + +“Why, you poor child, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t——” She was going to say, +“he couldn’t do such a degrading thing,” but she remembered that Mr. +Flint had expressed his opinion. However, she was determined that his +daughter should be spared such a degradation. + +“Josey,” she said, “I shall ask him to forgive you. I think if you go +and tell him that you are sorry; that you and I have settled it, and +that you are to come back to school and be my best helper, that it will +be all right.” + +“Will you go with me?” + +“Why, certainly. Come, let us have it over with.” And, holding Josey’s +hand, she led her to her father’s presence, and took the initiative by +saying, “Mr. Flint, Josey has something to tell you.” + +“I’m sorry, daddy, I _am_ sorry,” repeated the girl, in a voice full of +tears. + +The father scowled. “I reckon you’ll be sorrier yet,” he remarked. + +“Mr. Flint,” said Persis, her cheeks burning, “I know Josey has done +wrong, but she has confessed it, and what more can she do? She is nearly +a woman, and she is aware that she fully deserves your anger. You say +you want her to be a lady. You want her to live so you can be proud of +her. You can’t beat a girl into being a lady. Gentlemen don’t strike +women.” + +The man quailed before Persis’s scornful tone. He meant to do right, but +he knew no other punishment than that which brute force could bestow. +“Miss Maitland,” he answered, “that’s a hard word for you to say, but I +see, Miss, what you mean. I reckon I ain’t always took the right way.” + +“My grandmother used to say that love is the best master. Josey says you +do not love her, and she believes it.” + +“Don’t love my child! Why, Joe!” + +“Oh daddy, do you?” the girl asked, eagerly. + +“I’ll knock down any fellow that says I don’t.” + +“Oh, then——” Josey ran forward and hid her face in her father’s rough +sleeve. + +“Then it’s forgive and forget all around,” Persis interposed. “If you +don’t forgive Josey, Mr. Flint, I can’t forgive you.” + +“For what, miss?” he asked. + +“For rousing me up at four o’clock and making me drink cold coffee.” And +the words relieved the strain, for Mr. Flint smiled, and his hand sought +the rough tawny head of his daughter. + +“Come, Joe,” he said, “you ain’t had no breakfast; and I must drive Miss +Maitland home.” And then Persis knew that she had gained her point. + +“You’ll be sure to be on hand early Monday morning,” Persis whispered as +she bade Josey good-bye. “I shall depend on you, you know.” + +Josey nodded. + +Mrs. Flint’s worn face was lighted up by a smile. “Oh, Miss Maitland,” +she said, bashfully, “I wish I could say what I feel, but, indeed, +ma’am, I’ll never forget you all, never. It’s not likely you’ll ever +want to come to our poor place again, but, indeed, I’d be so proud to +see you.” + +“Why, of course I’ll come. And may I have some more of that good +egg-pone the next time?” + +Mrs. Flint smiled delightedly at the gracious tactful acceptance of her +invitation. + +“What do you suppose Dick Southall did with the school-house key?” +Persis asked Mr. Flint as they drove off. + +“I’ll be dog-goned if I know. I’ll run back and ask Joe.” He left Persis +half-way down the lane, and came back with the information that Dick had +thrown away the key. “It’s pretty big, and I reckon we kin find it; and +if we can’t, I can easy make another. If I put my shoulder agen’ the +door I reckon it won’t stay shut long; but I thought I’d better not bust +it in this morning.” + +The “bustin’-in” process was not found necessary, for the key was +discovered a short distance from the porch, in among a clump of weeds; +and the teacher went in to gather up certain books and other of her +belongings, and then she was taken on to Mr. Temple’s, although she +expostulated, and declared herself perfectly able to walk. + +“Remember, Mr. Flint,” she said at parting, “no one is to know anything +about this matter. I think the trustees would best not know of it at +present. It is an affair between ourselves.” + +“Joe don’t deserve that you all should screen her,” he replied; “but I’m +glad enough not to say nothin’ about it, though all the same I mean to +take it out of Dick Southall’s hide.” + +Just how he fulfilled his threat Persis at that time did not learn, +although she heard that Dick Southall had left the neighborhood, and +eventually it was told her that he had married the girl near +Charlottesville. Virgie brought the news to school and announced it with +an air of triumph in the presence of Josey and Persis. The former looked +at her teacher, and gave a little laugh in which there was neither +malice nor chagrin. Joe had learned several things by that time. + +Persis felt quite weak and exhausted when she reached home after the +strain upon her which the last twenty-four hours had brought, and she +was glad that it was Saturday and that she had no special duties to +perform. + +“You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw you driving up +with Jake Flint this early in the morning,” said Mrs. Temple. “How in +the world did you happen to come with him? I thought you were at Dr. +Rivers’s.” + +“No; I went to the Flints’,” returned Persis, coolly. + +Mrs. Temple stared. “You went there! Well, if that don’t beat me out. I +shouldn’t think they were your kind of people. Not that Jake Flint isn’t +a good, honest man, and his wife a hard-working, nice, good woman, but +they come of a real common family, not the kind you’re used to +associating with.” Mrs. Temple had a great deal of pride in Miss Anne. + +“I judge they are not the most cultured persons in the world,” returned +Persis; “but a teacher has certain duties to perform, and Josey needed +me.” + +“Josey, yes, she’s a pretty thing; and I’ve seen her look quite the +lady, and Dick Southall thinks so. His family are dead set against it.” + +“No more than hers.” + +“The Southalls are ’way above the Flints.” + +“In point of family, perhaps; in point of morals, I doubt it. Josey is +worth a dozen of Dick Southall.” + +“I reckon you’re right, but ’tisn’t every one that thinks so down this +way.” + +“No; money counts for the most in some places, family in others; morals +come first in very few, I often think.” And Persis went up to her room +thinking that she could boast of neither family nor money, “and +sometimes I doubt about the morals,” she sighed. “Sometimes I think +that, after all, I may have done very wrong to leave home, and yet—I +believe I am doing a little good, and am learning that to merge the Ego +into universal good is to gain a power that will live through the ages. +What is it Emerson says?— + + “‘Nor knowest thou what argument + Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent.’ + +I mean to do all I can to make a fine woman out of Josey. Heigho! I’m +glad there is no school to-day, and that my only duty is to darn my +stockings. Atlas must have grown very weary of carrying the world on his +shoulders.” + +Virgie Southall was surprised and provoked on Monday morning to find +that her strongest ally had deserted to the enemy. She cared nothing +whatever for Josey, and would have scorned her as a sister-in-law, but +as a means to an end she was worth cultivating. However, Josey withstood +all overtures, and acted so decorously and sedately that even the boys +opened their eyes, and Joshua Harman, who at one time had secretly +admired the blacksmith’s daughter, began to return to his allegiance. + +Persis resolved to make more of a companion of Josey. She loaned her +books and magazines, gave her hints about her dress and her deportment, +showed her that simplicity need not express either poverty or +inelegance, and that cheap, flimsy materials elaborately trimmed display +a vulgar ostentation which stamps the wearer as possessing an +uncultivated taste. The country girls, unfortunately, were most of them +inclined towards flashiness, and adorned their cheap, badly cut garments +with coarse trimmings which only added to their lack of grace. “If you +want to look like a lady,” Persis told Josey, “you must dress quietly. +Only wealthy persons can afford startling costumes. If you have any +money to spend, put it all in the best material you can buy, and never +mind the garnishing. Let your frocks fit well, and you will look all +right.” + +Josey did at first secretly rebel, but even though she could not always +perceive it, she made up her mind that what her teacher said was bound +to be right, and she expanded like a flower under the warmth of a +woman’s loving influence, so that even the trustees noticed her +improvement in every direction. + +More than once Persis went to the Flints’ and spent a Saturday. +Sometimes the big, rough sons, or the hard-working married daughters +would come shyly in, having walked a long distance to get a sight of +Josey’s teacher, who was so wonderful. By degrees the school slipped +back to its former record for orderliness, the only really rebellious +spirit being Virginia Southall, who maintained a scornful mien. + +There were some minor offences committed,—as in what school are there +not?—but on the whole Persis felt quite proud of her little flock. + +“I always meant to be a journalist or a writer,” she told herself, “and +yet here I am, a country school-teacher, in a mountain district at that, +and miles removed from a city. It might be a worse lot,” she concluded. + +Yet ever that underlying longing for home existed, and she knew that +sooner or later she must yield to its controlling force. Once she read +in her home paper that Professor Holmes was ill with the grippe, and she +could scarcely restrain the impulse to fly. “But who will take my place +here?” she said to herself. “I owe a duty in this spot. I have chosen it +deliberately.” And she stayed, watching eagerly for the news which +announced Mr. Holmes’s recovery. Several times she saw Mellicent’s name +mentioned among the society items, and one day she came across a little +piece of news which interested her greatly: “The engagement of Miss +Patty Peters, of Washington, to Mr. Wilson Vane, of this city, is +announced.” + +“I knew that would come,” exclaimed Persis. But it had the effect of +making her absent and dreamy for the rest of the day; it brought back so +vividly all the dear old times, the old friends. Patty, cheerful little +Patty. “What a mockery for me to have joined the Cheerful Three!” sighed +Persis. “There is more than time stretched between me and my old +friends. It can never, never be the same again.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XVII. + “JES’ MISS ANNE.” + + +Columbus was sitting out in the wood-shed one morning late in March. He +was absorbed in picking over a pan of chicken feathers, from which he +had selected such as he thought might be suitable to adorn a new hat for +his doll. “Your doll ought to have an Easter bonnet,” Persis had told +him. + +“What are Eastah, Miss Anne?” Columbus asked, and “Miss Anne” explained, +as best she could, concluding with the remark, “In the city, where I +used to live, Columbus, everybody likes to dress up in something new for +Easter.” + +“I wisht I could see ’em, Miss Anne.” + +“Perhaps you can some day, when you have grown to be a man, and have +become a famous dress-maker, with an establishment like Worth’s or +Redfern’s.” + +Columbus grinned. It was a favorite joke with him and Miss Anne. He was +thinking of Easter now. “An’ I gwine git Miss Anne some Eastah aigs lak +she done tell me ‘bout; I cyarnt git none o’ dem little mek-believe +rabbits what she say dey has, too; but I gwine git her rabbit-foot fo’ +good luck. Lef’ han’ hin’ foot o’ a rabbit cotched in a grabeyard in de +dark ob de moon. Dat what ole Han’bal say. Ole Unc’ Han’bal say dat, an’ +I mek up mah min’ Miss Anne ’bleedged ter hev one. I thes knows she are. +Dey ain’t all de bestes’ frien’s to’ds Miss Anne ‘roun’ hyar, dat dey +ain’t; an’ I ‘low I ain’t gwine let her git inter no kin’ o’ trouble ef +I kin he’p it, ’deedy I ain’t.” Thus Columbus soliloquized over his pan +of feathers. + +He picked out a particularly long, prancing cock’s feather, and held it +out at arm’s length. “Dat thes what I lookin’ fo’,” he exclaimed, “an’ I +cyarnt do no better’n dat ef I tries all day. I has my eye on dat fedder +befo’ dish yer ole rooster git he neck twis’. I been watchin’ dis long, +droopy fedder dis many a day. I knowed ole rooster gwine drap hit some +time or nur’r, or essen I gwine fin’ hit in de pan whilst he a-bilin’ in +de pot. Lemme see, dat all? Who dat a-comin’ lickety-split up de lane? +My lan’!” + +Columbus dropped his pan and fled with long, springing leaps towards the +road. Two horses were dashing furiously up the lane. They were harnessed +to a buggy, in which sat Persis, vainly tugging at the lines. It was Dr. +Rivers’s vehicle. He was that day trying a pair of new horses, and was +bringing Persis home behind them. Getting out to open a gate, he had +left her to hold the lines. The horses had taken fright at a white +chicken which suddenly started up in the road, and now the pair were +running away. + +Columbus took in the situation at a glance. He did not hesitate a +moment. If the horses should swerve ever so little, it would, perhaps, +mean death to his adored Miss Anne, and he ran full tilt towards them. +The terrified creatures came on faster and faster. The boy made a grasp +at one of the check-reins and seized it, but he was dragged forward, +stumbling, falling, but still holding on. At last, with this weight +tugging at his bit, the horse stopped, and the other, prancing, +trembling, tossing his head, also came to a stand-still just before the +last gate-way was reached, but not before poor Columbus had been dragged +along, had received more than one blow from the sharp hoofs, and now lay +on the ground, stunned, bleeding, but still holding the rein. + +By this time Dr. Rivers came up. “Miss Anne, are you all right?” he +asked, anxiously. “Thank God, you did not try to jump.” + +“Oh, never mind me, doctor; see to poor Columbus. Oh, don’t tell me he +is killed!” And Persis looked, shuddering, at the limp figure which the +doctor dragged from under the wheels. + +“Poor fellow, I’m afraid he is done for,” he said. + +“Oh, no, no,” cried Persis, beginning to climb out of the buggy. + +“Wait,” the doctor advised. “I must fasten these horses. There, now, you +may get out, Miss Anne. That is the last of this team for any one. I +fancy these blacks have run away before, or they wouldn’t have shied at +a chicken. A horse that has once run away is never safe.” + +Persis was leaning over the unconscious form of the poor boy. “Oh, +doctor, he has saved my life, and has given his own.” And the tears +rained down her cheeks. + +By this time Mrs. Temple, Aunt Ginny, and others had gathered around, +and Columbus was gently lifted and carried to the house. + +The doctor shook his head gravely, as he made a careful examination. +“I’m afraid he can’t live long. He may linger awhile, but there is not +much chance of ultimate recovery. All we can do is to make him as easy +as possible, after I have dressed his hurts; that one on his head is +pretty bad.” + +Persis was kneeling by the boy’s side. One of his hands still held the +feather which he had borne to the scene of the accident, and which clung +to the flesh where it was cut through. + +He opened his eyes after a while. “Miss Anne,” he said, faintly. + +“I’m here, Columbus.” + +“Yuh ain’t killed?” + +“No, I am not even hurt.” + +“Den, I done hit.” + +“Yes, you saved me. If the horses had reached the gate-posts, the +chances are that I should have been flung out. Oh, Columbus!” + +The doctor shook his head at her. “He must be kept perfectly quiet. It +is his only chance. We’ll do our best for him, but even if he should +live he would probably be a cripple. I think partial paralysis is likely +to ensue, so he would be useless.” + +“Not useless, with such a brave soul,” whispered Persis. + +“Aunt Ginny is a good nurse,” the doctor went on. “You’d better let her +take charge of him, and go lie down. Your nerves are pretty well shaken. +I’ll give you a composing draught.” + +But Persis could not be satisfied to give Columbus up entirely to his +old grandmother’s care, and spent many an hour by his side in the next +few days; and, strange to say, Columbus did seem to get better. + +“His internal injuries were not so great as I at first thought them,” +the doctor told them. + +After a while the boy began to hobble about on crutches, still very weak +and hollow-eyed, but patient and uncomplaining. Miss Anne, his beloved +doll, and his box of pieces seemed to be sufficient to fill him with +content. + +Persis robbed one of her own hats that the doll should have a marvellous +Easter bonnet. “After all,” she sighed, “it would have been an easy +solution of many difficulties if I had gone out of the world,” but she +reproached herself the next moment. “While I can be useful I have no +right to say such a thing.” + +Easter was coming very near, and Columbus had not given up his idea of +getting Miss Anne a rabbit’s foot. There was something connected with +its supposed mysterious influence which somehow in his simple mind +seemed to make it an appropriate Easter offering. He had strange ideas +concerning the year’s spring festival. If Easter-eggs and rabbits, why +not a rabbit’s foot? And so he laboriously set forth to hobble off to a +cabin in the woods where lived an old colored man who had promised to +secure him the luckiest kind of a voodoo charm in the shape of a +rabbit’s foot, in return for the boy’s long-hoarded store of pennies, +and Columbus returned with it in his pocket. He felt weak and exhausted +after his unusual effort, and a few days after was “down sick” Aunt +Ginny told them. + +The old woman’s little cabin stood not far from the house. It was a +remarkable-looking place inside, with the queerest jumble of things on +the mantel and other shelves. It had always had a fascination for +Persis, who thought the nodding mandarin figures of coarse plaster, the +cheap glass-ware, the skins and stuffed birds, the big black fireplace +with its crane and its baking kettle, all made it as grotesque an +apartment as she had ever seen. + +“Columbus he plum sick agin,” Aunt Ginny brought word to the house. + +“What seems to be the matter?” asked Mrs. Temple. + +“He got a misery in he haid, an’ he say he th’oat feel mighty quare. I +ast him do he want nothin’, an’ he say ‘jes’ Miss Anne.’” + +“I’ll go see him right after breakfast,” Persis decided promptly. And +this she did. + +The boy’s eyes were very bright and his speech hoarse and thick, but he +smiled a welcome. “Miss Anne,” he said, huskily, “when dat Eastah?” + +“Day after to-morrow, Columbus.” + +“I feels lak I ain’t gwine ter see hit.” + +“Oh, yes, you will. Why, Columbus, you were so near to dying a while +ago, and see how you came through it.” + +He shook his head. + +“His throat seems to hurt him. Have you looked at it?” Persis asked Aunt +Ginny. + +“No, I ain’t ‘zackly _look_. I give him a winegar goggle dis mawnin’.” + +“I think the doctor ought to see him,” Persis remarked. “I’ll go after +him. I promised to go there to-day anyhow.” + +Columbus turned his big mournful eyes on her. “Is you cornin’ back befo’ +dat Eastah?” he asked. + +“I think so, but I am not sure.” + +“Den, granny, please ma’am, jes’ put yo’ han’ un’neat’ my pillow, an’ +get me out dat little passel yuh fin’ dere.” + +Granny obeyed, and Columbus took it in his hand. “I ain’t got de aigs +what I was a gwine ter git, but I has a rabbit-foot fo’ yuh, Miss Anne; +hit lucky, an’ I done got hit fo’ yuh.” + +Persis recoiled. She could not bear to touch the uncanny thing, but she +saw the eager look in the boy’s, face and she accepted the gift with all +the grace she could summon. + +“Hit boun’ter bring yuh luck; hit de mos’ luck’es’ kin’,” continued +Columbus; “an’ yo en’mies ain’t gwine ter do yuh no mo’ ha’m.” + +“Dat so,” chimed in Aunt Ginny. “Whar you git hit at, ’Lumbus?” + +“Ole Unc’ Han’bal’s.” + +“Yuh ain’t been dar?” + +“Why, Columbus, that’s ’way off in the woods two miles, isn’t it? and +through the swamp and all. How could you manage it?” exclaimed Persis. + +“I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout de furness ob hit,” said Aunt Ginny. “What I +thinkin’ is dat uvery blessed one o’ Unc’ Han’bal’s gran’chilluns is got +de diphthery. Dat what I a-thinkin’. Yuh ain’t oughter be hyar, Miss +Anne. Dat what got ’Lumbus. I ’bleedged ter go tell Miss Marthy; she set +out ter come hyar torreckly.” + +“Go tell her, and I’ll stay here. I’d better not go back to the house +myself till I’ve seen the doctor. Bring my hat and coat and my gloves, +Aunt Ginny.” + +Aunt Ginny made her exit, and Persis remained. + +“I knowed I ain’t gwine see dat Eastah,” whispered Columbus, still more +huskily. “Miss Anne, ef I dies, will yuh dress my doll in her mo’nin’?” + +“Why,—oh, Columbus, don’t think of such things.” + +“Please, Miss Anne?” + +“Yes, yes; I will.” + +“An’ will yuh tek her an’ tek keer o’ her twel de day I’se bu’ied, an’ +den dress her in her white frock an’ let her be bu’ied with me?” + +“Oh, yes, certainly; but please don’t talk so, Columbus. You’ll get +well—you must.” + +“I wisht you’d put on her new frock an’ dat pretty hat an’ set her hyar +on de baid, please, ma’am.” And Persis obeyed, feeling strangely +apprehensive. She had just finished tying the hat on the doll’s head, +when Aunt Ginny returned. + +“I’ll go right off,” Persis said. “Columbus, I’m going to send the +doctor here to make you well; and we’ll have a nice Easter, I’m sure. +I’ll come back as soon as I can. Did you tell Mrs. Temple, Aunt Ginny?” + +“Yass, miss; an’ she say huccome yuh don’t come back, she know why.” + +“Very well. Good-bye, Columbus.” And she was soon on her way down the +road towards the village. She found the doctor in his office, and told +her errand. + +“Humph!” he said; “and you’ve been there exposing yourself to the +contagion. You’d better not go back to Mrs. Temple and those children.” + +Persis looked distressed. + +“You just stay here,” added the doctor. “The mischief’s done, I suppose; +but there are no children in this house, and here you stay, miss. Let me +see,—you have holiday to-day.” + +“Yes; it is Good-Friday.” + +“So much the better. If you were to take diphtheria it wouldn’t do to +carry it to your scholars.” + +“Indeed, no; but I hope I’m safe.” + +“I’ll try to keep you so, but you’re in just the state to take it.” + +“Now, doctor, why try to scare me?” + +“I’m not; I’m simply showing you that you must take care of yourself. +You’re not given to doing it, and you’re run down and peaked-looking. +You’ve had too much of a strain lately. You need a tonic.” + +“Oh, I’m always rather less hearty in the spring.” + +“Yes, yes, no doubt; but I know you’ve had a dozen things to pull you +down lately,—nursing that nigger boy and fussing over that girl of +Flint’s, besides the nervous shocks you have had.” + +“Doctor, it’s no use trying to keep secrets from you. I believe you have +second sight, or are the seventh son of a seventh son, or something of +that kind.” + +“I’m not a blind idiot. I know that two and two make four.” + +“Where did you find the two twos?” + +“You mean in that Flint affair? Well, one of the school children whom I +was attending told me how Joe Flint had acted, and also how she believed +Virginia Southall had put her up to it. You must remember that a patient +has a good chance to dispense gossip. And then Dick Southall called on +me to give him a little attention, which it was quite evident he needed. +Young men don’t fall out of their buggies and get quite that kind of +marks on them. Patient number three tells me that Miss Anne actually +goes and takes tea at the Flints’, and that Joe fairly worships the +ground she walks on. You see, my multiplication table doesn’t have to be +carried on very far.” + +Persis smiled, “I think perhaps I’d better give you the inside facts, +and let you scold me.” And she told him of her night in the +school-house, of the events which led to it, and its sequel, sparing +Josephine as much as she could. + +But the doctor did no scolding. He fumbled around in his medicine +closet, and made no remark for some minutes. “Here,” he said at last, +pouring something out in a glass, “take this, and go up-stairs and tell +Mrs. Rivers that I say to see that you have some good chicken broth for +dinner, and that your room is dry and warm, and that you don’t sit in +draughts.” + +“And you won’t let me go back to poor Columbus.” + +“I see myself!” + +“Then I will try to submit gracefully. Oh, I forgot, I’m proof against +all evil.” And she produced her rabbit’s foot. “I forgot to tell you, or +did I say? that Columbus had been to Uncle Hannibal’s, where they have +three cases of diphtheria, and that he got the rabbit’s foot from +there.” + +The doctor held out his hand for Columbus’s gift and, opening the door +of the stove, he threw it inside. “That’s the best thing to do with +that,” he remarked. + +“Thank you,” returned Persis. “I hated to touch it. I am too fond of +little Molly Cotton-tails to want their poor little feet as charms.” + +“No, you don’t need them,” returned the doctor, picking up his hat. + +His report of Columbus’s case was not encouraging. “The boy has been in +a pretty bad way all along,” he said. “He couldn’t have stood any +disease, and I’m afraid he’ll not pull through; but we’ll make a fight +for it.” + +The tears came to Persis’s eyes. “And all for me,” she murmured. +“Doctor, it is a dreadful responsibility, this of our duty towards our +neighbor. I’ve done so little for that poor boy, and he sacrificed his +life for me. I can’t get him out of my mind.” + +“You’d better,” replied the doctor. “See here, Miss Anne, you’ve got a +way of taking things too much to heart. You must get over it.” + +“I can’t, and I do not know that I want to.” + +The doctor gave her a glance which expressed several things,—disapproval +that she made light of her own dangers; approval that she was willing to +bear others’ burdens. “I never had but one crow to pick with you,” he +said. + +“And that is——?” + +“That you don’t let those good people at home know where you are.” And +he left the room. + +This was on Saturday. On Easter morning Persis was standing on the porch +in the spring sunshine, just after the doctor had driven off, when a +little scrap of a darky came up the steps. + +“Dis Miss Anne?” he asked. + +“Yes; did you want to see me?” + +“Aun’ Ginny she say ’Lumbus mighty bad.” + +“Oh, poor boy!” + +“An’ is de doctah gwine let you come see ’im?” + +“Why?” + +“Kase he keep a-sayin, ‘I wants Miss Anne. Jes’ Miss Anne,’ Aun’ Ginny +say.” + +“Tell her I’ll come.” + +The small bow-legged specimen of humanity soberly dropped an +old-fashioned bow, pulling at the tuft of wool on his expansive forehead +as he did so, and then he turned and went up the road. + +Persis entered the house and sought Mrs. Rivers. “What shall I do?” she +said. “That poor boy is begging for me. And oh, Mrs. Rivers, he did not +regard his danger, but flung himself before those horses to save me. Can +I let him lie there longing to see me, and not go to him? I don’t +believe I’m in any greater danger than at first, and I was with him +then, you know.” + +Mrs. Rivers looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid to advise. I know what the +doctor would say.” + +“What?” + +“Don’t go” + +“‘Greater love hath no man than this,’ and it is Easter-day. Mrs. +Rivers, I must. Don’t say a word. I take my life in my hands, perhaps, +but, after all, what is it?” + +“Don’t stay long, and come right back. I’ll see that you are provided +with the necessary safeguards. You’d better have this bottle of camphor, +and—well, Miss Anne, I know how you feel, and I think I should do just +as you are doing if I were in your place.” + +“Thank you. I’ll do my best.” And in a few moments she was on her way. +The light of the Easter promise hung over the land. The spring was near +at hand, yet Persis felt conscious, even then, of a chilliness and of a +tightness about her throat. + +She came in sight of Aunt Ginny’s cabin; a flood of sunlight struck its +whitewashed walls. “What a glorious Easter-day!” thought the girl. Just +then the door of the little dwelling opened, and she met the doctor face +to face. His face was very grave. “How is he?” inquired Persis. “Oh, +doctor, he asked for me, and I could not deny a poor dying boy on +Easter-day. I could not.” She paused. “May I go in, please, and see him, +just one minute?” + +The doctor shook his head. “Columbus knows better than we do the meaning +of Easter,” he answered, gently. “Come home with me, Miss Anne.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + A DREAM FULFILLED. + + +“Miss Anne, you have a chill,” exclaimed, the doctor, as he bundled his +charge into the buggy. “You ought to have stayed at home, close +in-doors.” + +“On this beautiful day? Why, doctor, I must go to church. I wouldn’t +miss it for anything, especially now. Poor—no, happy Columbus! Such an +innocent, simple, loving soul! Oh, doctor, I promised to do one thing +for him. You will let me do it?” + +“What is it?” And Persis told him what Columbus had requested concerning +his doll. + +“I’ll see to it,” the doctor assured her. “You must not go near there.” + +“Not even to the funeral?” + +“No. I’m going to take you home and put you to bed. You’re shaking yet.” + +“It is only a nervous chill, I know. I was so startled, so shocked.” + +“How does your throat feel?” + +“My throat? Why, a little stiff. I think that, too, comes from +nervousness.” + +The doctor hurried her into his office and examined her pulse, her +throat. “To bed with you,” he ordered. “I’ve been afraid of it.” And +sure enough, before night Persis was in a raging fever, and the white +patches on her throat had spread alarmingly. + +Night and day she was watched over by the doctor and his wife, who gave +her unremitting care. “I was afraid of it from the first,” the doctor +told Mrs. Rivers. “The boy Columbus was a very bad case, and Miss Anne +was just in a condition to contract any disease.” + +It was noised throughout the neighborhood that Miss Maitland was +dangerously ill. The children gathered in the school-house one morning, +but there was no teacher. Mr. Boone drove up about half an hour after +the usual time for opening. “I’m sorry to be obliged to announce that +there is no one to take charge of the school,” he said. “Your teacher is +very ill. We are not at all inclined to close the school, and will try +and have a substitute in a day or two.” + +Across the school-room the eyes of Joshua Harman and Josephine Flint +met. Josh arose, flushing to the roots of his hair, but there was always +a dogged persistence about the boy which prevented his allowing anything +to stand in the way of duty. He saw a chance to help Miss Anne. “If you +don’t object, sir, and the scholars are willing,” he began, “I’ll do my +best to keep them together. I reckon the boys will stand by me. I cyarnt +be so sure of the gyurls. Josey Flint’s ahead of the rest; if she’ll +take the gyurls, I’ll do my best with the boys.” And Josh sat down. + +“I don’t see but that you have suggested an admirable plan,” Mr. Boone +assured him. “You two are the oldest, as well as the most advanced +pupils, I think I have heard Miss Maitland say, and you know her +methods. Yes, I think that is a very good plan, and we’ll be much +obliged to you if you can carry it out. If you have the slightest +trouble, report to the doctor or me.” And Mr. Boone mounted his horse +and drove off well pleased. + +Then Josh addressed himself to the school. Rather an uncouth sort of a +speech it was, but it meant, “We’ll stand by Miss Anne shoulder to +shoulder, and even if we can’t make much headway we won’t slide back.” + +Virginia Southall gathered up her books and departed. “She did not mean +to be under Joe Flint,” she announced. + +“So much the better for me,” Josey thought. And therefore, each helping +the other, Josh and Joe started in. + +Meantime, Persis lived in a strange, unreal world. She felt herself +floating off, with the buoyancy of a spirit untramelled by fleshly +conditions, as she had often before dreamed herself doing, out of the +window, over the tops of trees, out—out above the earth, yet all that +time something was clutching at her throat. What was it? Then again +Columbus was calling her to come; he wanted her. “Jes’ Miss Anne, jes’ +Miss Anne.” She heard it over and over again, and they would not let her +go. And, last of all, she thought she was at home again, and that her +mother bent over her and called her “darling daughter.” This dream +lasted the longest, for whenever she opened her eyes she saw her mother +before her. + +And one day she became aware that it was no dream, but that her mother +was really there by her side. Then it came to her that she had been +dreaming many strange things: that she had gone from home, and had been +through many queer experiences; but that thought, too, vanished into the +unreal world, and nothing seemed an absolute truth but that her mother +was there by her side. + +“Mamma,” she said, weakly. + +“Yes, my darling.” + +“It is you? I’m not dreaming?” + +“It is I, dear.” + +“I dreamed you were not my mother; wasn’t it queer?” + +“Very queer. Don’t talk, darling. Take this. There, now shut your eyes.” + +“Mamma.” + +“Yes, dearest.” + +“Please hold my hand; I want to be sure I’m not dreaming.” And she fell +asleep with her mother’s hand clasping hers. For there had come a time +when Persis’s recovery looked very dubious to Dr. Rivers, and he had +gone to his desk and had taken from it the envelope the sick girl had +given him. “If ever there was to come a time for using this, it is +here,” he said, and before long a message flashed over the wires, a +message which brought Mrs. Holmes post-haste to the patient’s bedside. +It was a struggle, for Persis was very near the dark river, but the +doctor never left her till he had overcome the disease, and then +followed a low fever, which, after all traces of diphtheria had gone, +threatened to sap the patient’s remaining strength. But the unflagging +devotion of those about her brought the invalid up out of the valley of +the shadow of death, and it was with a leap of thankfulness at her heart +that Mrs. Holmes at last saw that she was conscious and in a more +natural state, very weak, but better. + +“I am sure she is better,” she said, anxiously scanning the doctor’s +face. + +He felt her pulse, took her temperature, and smiled. “Yes, she shows the +most favorable signs I have seen yet. I think we may hope, Mrs. Holmes.” +That was the day on which Persis first recognized her mother. The next +time she awoke her mind seemed still clearer. + +“Mamma,” was the word which first sprang to her lips. + +“Yes, my dearest one.” + +“It is really you?” + +“Yes, really your own mother.” + +“But that dream, mamma; it was so very vivid. I seem to have been a long +time somewhere else, where I was not myself but some other person, and I +wasn’t your daughter. I am your daughter; tell me so, mamma.” + +“Yes, my very own dear, darling daughter.” + +“You are not saying that because I am so weak?” + +“No, dear; you are my very own.” + +Just then the doctor came in, and Persis turned a startled look on him. +She clutched her mother’s hand nervously. “Mamma,” she whispered, “he is +one of the persons in the dream. Why isn’t Dr. Armstrong here?” + +“He couldn’t be, dear.” + +“Oh, yes; and he has sent this doctor instead. But why does he look so +natural, so very familiar? I haven’t just dreamed about him.” + +“There, dear, don’t bother about it. It is all right, all right,” her +mother said, soothingly. + +“And you won’t go and leave me?” + +“No; I’ll stay right here.” + +“But this is a strange room, mamma. Am I in a hospital?” + +“No; in the house of a friend, Persis, a very dear friend.” + +“Why, you said Persis. I thought my name was—— What was my name?” + +“Never mind; don’t try to think of anything but that you are my dear, +dear daughter. You must try to keep quiet, my child.” + +The doctor ordered a quieting medicine, and for the time being the +patient was soothed. But as strength returned the old questions arose, +and one day it all came back to her, and she turned on her pillow and +wept softly. + +Her mother found her thus, the tears trickling through her wasted +fingers. “My precious child, what is it?” she asked. “Are you in pain?” + +“No; but oh, mamma, even if you are not my own mother, it isn’t so hard +as I thought it would be; and I can’t, I can’t have you leave me.” + +“Why, my dearest, I have no idea of leaving you. What is it that is not +so hard?” + +“The seeing you.” + +“And why should it be?” + +“Because, oh, mamma, you know I am not really yours. I remember now how +I found the papers, and it hurt me so. Oh, I have been so wretched, _so_ +wretched! I couldn’t, I couldn’t reconcile myself to it. I said, ‘I +won’t! I won’t have it!’ And then I went away. I remember it all now.” + +“But my dearest girl, I told you that you were my own, my very own. +Don’t you remember that?” + +“Yes; but I know you only said it because I was so sick and weak, and +you didn’t want to agitate me.” + +“But I tell you so again.” + +Persis tried hard to rise, but fell back on her pillow, too weak to make +the exertion. “You’re doing it again! you’re doing it again!” she cried, +the tears coursing down her cheeks. + +“Hush, my precious one; try and be quiet, and I will tell you all about +it. You must not be so disturbed, it is not good for you. Listen, dear: +you found a paper in a box and you thought it related to yourself. Why +did you think so?” + +“Because it was signed H. B. Holmes, and because I found the little +golden curl of the baby that died, and I knew it must have belonged to +the real Persis. She had hair like Mellicent’s.” + +“But she was not the real Persis.” + +“Oh, no, no! You are not trying to deceive me? No, no! I cannot bear +it.” + +“My darling, I wouldn’t deceive you for my right hand. Your father and I +never had an adopted daughter. The only Persis we ever called daughter +was our very own child, a little baby with black hair like my mother’s, +our own dear little baby, who now that she is grown insists upon calling +herself by another name.” + +“Oh, mamma! mamma!” + +“Yes, dear, you are Persis Holmes. It has always been your name since +you had a name at all.” + +“And Anne Maitland?” + +“Anne Maitland was a little baby girl who died when she was not two +years old. Can you remember anything about your Uncle Will’s wife, +Persis? She married a second time after Uncle Will died. She lives in +Italy. Helen Foscari is her name.” + +“Yes; but I never remember seeing her.” + +“No, I don’t suppose you do. Her maiden name was Helen Bancroft. She had +a sister who married a man by the name of Maitland, a very cruel, bad +man, who deserted his wife. On her death-bed Mrs. Maitland gave her baby +to her sister Helen, who legally adopted her; and because the child had +been called Anne, after Mr. Maitland’s mother, Helen determined that she +would change the name. She was very fond of your grandmother, so she +asked if she might name the little one after her, for she said, ‘I never +want the child in any way to be reminded of her father or his family.’ +You may remember having been told that for a long time you were not +given a name. Your father wanted you called Mary, after me; your Aunt +Esther was very anxious that you should be her namesake; and I wanted to +name you Persis, after your grandmother; so when there was no longer any +little Persis, Aunt Esther and your father compromised, and agreed that +you should be named as I so greatly desired you should be. The adoption +papers for little Anne were made out legally, and, unfortunately, +instead of Helen’s signing her full name she simply signed H. B. Holmes. +Your father’s initials are the same, and you made a very natural +mistake, although if you had examined closely you would have seen a +difference in the signatures, although they do closely resemble each +other. Moreover, if you had read all the papers you would have learned +the truth. The little baby did not live long, but Helen loved her +devotedly; and after your uncle’s death, when she went abroad, she left +the box containing the papers and the lock of hair in your father’s +charge, and they have been in his desk ever since.” + +Persis’s eyes were fastened on her mother’s face as though she would +never remove her gaze. + +“We had almost forgotten about them,” continued Mrs. Holmes, “until your +discovery brought the old story to mind, and so, dear child, you see how +very easy it is to make a mistake, even with the proof of what we call +‘black and white.’” + +Persis drew her mother’s hand towards her, and laid her cheek upon it. +She could scarcely realize yet that all these months had not been a +dream, but she felt that one great and good blessing was hers, that her +mother, her own mother, was by her side, and she sighed. “Oh, I am so +thankful, so thankful.” She lay very still, only now and then pressing +the dear hand closer. After a time she looked at her mother wistfully +and said, “Dear mamma, did you feel very bad when your naughty child ran +away?” + +“How could I help it, darling? And yet I knew my child so well that I +could understand how she, of all my daughters, would be likely to suffer +the most at such a discovery as she believed she had made.” + +“I ought not to have taken so much for granted, but it seemed so very, +very plain. Why had I never heard about the little baby that died?” + +“Because, dear, we have not spoken much of your uncle’s wife, she lived +so far away, and I suppose we felt a little disapproval of her second +marriage, and a coolness seemed to arise after it took place. We have +not seen her for nearly twenty years.” + +“I see. Everything seemed to conspire to make me take the wrong view.” + +“Yes, it does seem as if it did.” + +“Oh, mamma dear, think of how much there is for me to know. You will not +leave me?” + +“I shall not go till you are able to go with me.” + +“But my school.” + +“Never mind the school. The doctor will not consent to any such labors +on the part of his patient for many weeks, I am sure, and then the +school session will be over.” + +Dr. Rivers came in soon after this. “Well, Miss Anne,” he said, +cheerfully, “how goes it to-day?” + +“But I’m not Miss Anne any more,” she said, smiling. + +“You will be to me, to the end of the chapter.” + +“Very well, I don’t care. I am quite willing to be called anything as +long as I know——Has mamma told you, doctor, what a strange mistake I +made?” + +“Yes, I was told long ago.” + +“Nobody seems to scold me very much, yet I think I deserve it.” And the +tears began to flow again. + +“I think your punishment was inflicted by yourself, and that it has been +quite severe enough,” Mrs. Holmes remarked. + +“But I had no right to punish you, only I thought—I didn’t believe you +could care so very, very much, for I thought only an own mother could, +and I didn’t dream I was making my own dear ones feel unhappy over me.” + +“Or you wouldn’t have done it, of course. It’s as clear as mud,” said +the doctor, laughing. “But you’ve had excitement enough for one day. +Will you let this precious mother out of your sight long enough to give +her a chance for a breath of fresh air?” + +“Oh, yes.” + +“But you’d rather not, I’ll venture to say.” + +“No matter what I’d rather. Take her right along before I get so silly +as to object.” + +After this Persis recovered rapidly. There was so much that she was +eager to learn, that when she was able to be propped up in bed she asked +so many questions that her mother declared it kept her busy from morning +till night answering them. + +“Tell me about Annis,” was one of the first requests. + +Mrs. Holmes looked grave. “Annis has had a sad time,” she replied. “She +has met with a great loss.” + +“Oh, mamma, not her mother!” + +“Yes, dear.” + +“Oh, my poor, poor little Annis? Where is she?” + +“With your Aunt Esther. Mrs. Brown died in Washington last October, and +Aunt Esther has kept Annis with her ever since. Excepting our family, +Aunt Esther is, you know, about her nearest relative.” + +“And I was away when the poor darling needed me most. Oh, mamma, how +many dreadful things happen to make one reproach one’s self! How does +Annis bear it?” + +“She is, of course, almost heart-broken, but I think she is becoming +calmer now. Mr. Danforth seems to be a great comfort to her.” + +“Mr. Dan?” Persis’s eyes opened wide. + +“Yes.” And Mrs. Holmes told of the young man’s work in Washington. “He +is very kind-hearted, and at the time of Mrs. Brown’s death did +everything in his power. I hardly know how Aunt Esther could have +managed without him, for the captain was laid up with rheumatism, and +Mr. Danforth relieved them of all trouble in the matter. His having lost +his own mother so recently has made him feel a very keen sympathy for +Annis. They are each comparatively alone in the world, and that is a +great bond between them.” + +Persis looked very grave and thoughtful. “Mamma,” she said, “where is +Basil? Is he in Washington, too?” + +“No; didn’t I tell you that he went abroad again, soon after his +accident? The doctor thought the voyage would do him good, and Basil is +such an earnest fellow, his friends all advised him not to settle down +to business for another year, and his mother insisted that he should +travel, since he had seen very little of any of the noted places, except +Paris. And so now he is hunting up the best examples of architecture, +and I dare say it is much better for his profession that he is doing +just what he is. Porter and his mother have lived in Mrs. Brown’s house +all winter. It is Annis’s house now, of course.” + +“Yes; doesn’t it seem strange? I wonder——” Persis paused. + +“What, dear?” + +“Nothing much. I was wondering about Mr. Dan, that is all. It seems +strange that I never thought of his liking Annis, but they would suit +each other perfectly. Mr. Dan is so strong and reliable and likes to +take responsibilities, while Annis is dependent and needs some one on +whom she can lean. I think Mr. Dan always hoped I’d outgrow my +independent ideas, and come to accept him as my oracle.” + +Mrs. Holmes smiled. “I knew he was fond of you, Persis; he told your +father so.” + +“Then it is not such a secret. Yes, he was too fond of me, and I was +sorry. He is such a good man, such a fine character, yet I couldn’t like +him just in that way. I hope he has recovered from his fancy.” + +“I think he has. He is not the man to let such a thing overwhelm him; +and from all I hear he is likely to be consoled.” + +Persis smiled. All the snarls were beginning to unravel. How she should +like to see Annis, and hear about all her experiences! + +It was very delightful to receive letters from all the dear people. +Grandma wrote such a long, loving epistle, and then came one from Mr. +Holmes. After this the missives poured in very fast. Mellicent, Annis, +every one, wrote. + +“What is that letter, mamma?” asked Persis, the first day she was able +to be up and dressed, for her mother’s eyes looked very “weepy,” as the +children used to say, over a letter she had been reading. + +“It is a letter from grandma, dear.” + +“And why, mamma? Has anything happened?” Persis looked nervous and +anxious. + +“Nothing but what we are glad to hear. Think of it, Persis. I am grandma +now, and grandma is great-grandmother. Lisa has a little son.” + +“Oh, mamma, has she, really? And you are not with her!” + +“No, but grandma is, and Mellicent is keeping house for them all. I did +not tell you, for fear you would grow impatient, but Lisa came home +before I left.” + +“Oh, I shall be glad to be at home again, mamma; and yet—and yet, isn’t +it strange? I feel very sorry to leave this place. Did you ever see such +dear, good people as Dr. and Mrs. Rivers? And the Temples, too, are so +kind.” + +“They have been friends, indeed. We owe them a great debt of gratitude, +which we shall never be able to repay. But for them I should have lost +my precious child, I am afraid.” + +“Oh, mamma, it is dreadful, dreadful to think what one mistake can do! I +think I shall bear the marks of it to my dying day. But maybe—I do think +it has done me some good.” + +“My dear one, I think it has, sad as it has been for us all. Sorrow is a +wonderful friend, if we could but learn to think so.” + +Persis nodded thoughtfully. She looked very pale and thin, and her eyes +were big and shadowy. She was very unlike the rosy girl who had so +blithely started away for her summer outing. + +“Mamma,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “I don’t believe I shall +ever be quite the same again; but one thing I do know, I shall never, +never want to leave you and papa and grandma again.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XIX. + LEAVE-TAKINGS. + + +There was a crowd of eager little faces to be seen in the old +school-house one morning in the latter part of May. It had been nearly +two months since Miss Anne had been obliged to forsake her flock, and +now she was coming to see them. + +Joshua and Josey had kept steadily on with the work, and, although there +was some disaffection on the part of the scholars, the school for the +most part did the self-instituted teachers credit. Josh tackled the +mathematics; Joe gave herself over to interesting the little ones and in +trying to foster a love of reading in the older children. Persis’s +magazines and books had been the rounds, and showed hard wear, but they +had done a good work. Dr. Rivers’s watchful eye saw the earnest effort +given by the two young teachers, and he had his own views, which he +meant should be carried out, although, as yet, he was not ready to make +them known even to Persis. + +On this bright May morning, when everything was throbbing with new life, +when, Persis thought, the world never looked fairer, she stepped once +more on the porch, her mother and the doctor having driven some distance +farther. + +There was a little buzz among the children inside the school-house. +“Here she comes! here she comes!” was whispered; and presently, still +pale and thin, but looking smiling and happy, “Miss Anne” appeared. + +“I have only come to say good-bye,” she told them. + +“Ah-h!” came a disappointed chorus. + +“But,” she continued, “I want to sit here and hear just what you can all +do, and how you have come on since I last saw you. I want to see all the +blots on the copy-books. I want to know if Johnny Fairbanks can work an +example in long division without making a mistake, and if Susie Hart +knows her multiplication table, and all that.” + +For an hour she sat there absorbed in the work, and when the wheels of +Dr. Rivers’s carriage were heard returning, she arose and looked around +lovingly upon the children. “I want my dear mother to see you,” she told +them. “Perhaps some of you have heard that my name is not Anne Maitland, +but Persis Holmes, and that I believed myself to be an adopted child. It +is a story you all may hear remarked upon, so I want to tell you myself +all about it.” + +“But we want to call you Miss Anne,” piped up one little voice. + +“Well, you may. Miss Anne I will be to you all, if you prefer it. I +shall never forget you, and I hope I shall see you often again.” Then +she gave them some words of loving encouragement which really came from +her heart; and, seeing her mother had arrived, she brought her in and +presented her to the scholars; then came the word for recess, and the +scholars trooped out, only Josh and Josey staying behind. “And these are +my right-hand helpers,” Persis told her mother. She had an intuitive +feeling that one day they would conclude to go through life as mutual +helpers, for she noted how Josh followed Joe as she moved about, and how +Joe’s face lighted up when Josh spoke to her. “If I can ever help you in +any way, I hope you will let me know. I owe you a debt, remember,” she +said to them. + +“Oh, Miss Anne,” protested Joe, “never say that! I do want to study and +learn more, but I shall miss you so. I shall miss you so much! No other +teacher will be the same.” + +“Write, and tell me all your difficulties,” Persis encouraged her by +saying. “And Joe dear, we’ll try and see what can be done about a better +education.” + +“And Josh, he wants so much to be a doctor,” replied Joe, with a pretty +blush. + +“He does? Well, now, that, too, will have to be looked into.” As indeed +it was; and if any one chooses to look far enough ahead she may be able +to see the fulfilment of Josh’s hopes in Dr. Rivers’s present interest +in him, and her prophetic eye may further see the old doctor’s young +assistant riding about the country, dreaming of the day when a new sign, +bearing the name “Dr. Joshua Harman,” shall hang under the old one on +which “Dr. Rivers” stands dimly forth. She can fancy, too, if she +wishes, how pretty Josephine looks as she rides around by the side of +her husband, the young doctor. But all this is too far ahead for any one +to picture very clearly just now. + +There were other good-byes to be made,—a last visit to the blacksmith’s, +and a day or two with the Temples, where Persis gathered up her +belongings and, with many regrets that she must leave her pet, took her +kitten to Mrs. Rivers, who was devoted to cats and who promised to care +for the little creature. + +“I shall be glad enough to have her,” she said, “for it will be like a +link to you, Miss Anne dear.” + +“Yes,” put in the doctor, “the cat will be well spoiled, I can promise +you.” + +“Now, doctor, you know well enough you’ll be the first one to spoil +her,” Mrs. Rivers predicted, as the doctor slyly offered a bit of +chicken to Mistress Comfort, who took advantage of this attention to +jump up on the giver’s shoulder. + +“I was going to say,” continued the doctor, turning to Persis, “that +Mrs. Rivers and I were talking it over this morning, and if you think +you’d like to try again to be an adopted daughter, why we would not +object to playing the part of the adopted parents.” + +“Now, doctor,” Persis protested, “there is a small arrow hidden in that +seemingly polite speech; nevertheless, I shall not allow it to hurt me, +but will consider how very flattering the offer is. Oh, you dear +people!” she added; “it goes hard to leave you, even when I am going to +my very own.” + +“I wish that boy of ours were in your city,” the doctor remarked. + +“Perhaps he will decide to settle there, and then, sir, what a chance we +will have to pay off old scores,” responded Persis. “By the way, doctor, +there is one thing I should like to do, and that is, I want to place a +little stone over poor Columbus’s grave. I have ordered it, and will you +see that it is put up properly?” + +“I will, indeed.” + +“And tell me, was the doll buried with him?” + +“Yes.” The doctor did not say that with his own hands he had arrayed the +beloved doll in her white frock, and had at the last moment laid her by +Columbus’s side. There was nothing irreverent in the act, but he had +thought best not to create comment among the colored people, who had +strange superstitious ideas, and so no one but the doctor knew when it +was done, and none saw it. “Let me see,” observed the doctor, “I seem to +have been given several grave responsibilities. I am to make a doctor of +Joshua Harman, a lady of Joe Flint, a model institution of the district +school, and what else?—oh, yes, a perfectly contented cat out of a +spoiled kitten. Don’t you think, Miss Anne, I’m rather too old to take +on so many burdens?” + +“Not a bit of it,” returned Persis, sturdily. “It will do you good, and +you’ll delight in doing it. Oh, doctor, I found out long ago that you +are a great fraud in some directions. You pretend to be a lazy, cynical, +blasé old martinet, and there’s not a word of truth in it. You can’t +scare me again.” + +“Did I ever scare you?” + +“Yes, on that day when I came for my examination.” + +The doctor laughed. “You took up the cudgels with a pretty good grip for +a scared girl.” + +“Well, I knew it was no use to do anything else, and I’ve not often +shrunk from doing a thing, no matter how much it frightened me.” + +Mrs. Holmes laughed. “Yes, I can vouch for that. You used to be terribly +afraid of dogs when you were a tot, but you always stood perfectly still +if you saw one coming, a block away, and would say, in a very loud +voice, ‘Go ’way, dog.’” + +“Well, Miss Anne,” said the doctor, rising, “if you want to have a last +glimpse of the bridge, we’d better go there to-day.” + +“Mamma,” Persis said, as they were starting out for their drive, “isn’t +it strange how often our idle wishes come true? I said to Basil that I +should like to see the bridge at all seasons, and so I shall have.” Her +eyes took on a far-away look as she let them rest on the beautiful +gray-green landscape. “The tender grace of a day that is dead,” she +murmured to herself, and then she nestled close to her mother, saying, +“Oh, mamsie, dearest mamsie, once in a while it comes over me that I +lost you and have found you again. That ought to make up for everything, +shouldn’t it?” + +“And does it?” + +“Yes, I think it does.” The reply was given slowly, but with conviction. +“See, there!” she presently exclaimed, with animation; “there, mamma, is +the bridge; but you must go on it and look down, and under it to look +up, before you can have a real idea of its grandeur.” + +And this was the last outing before the final one, which meant farewell +to the village of Black Rock. + +“You’re not to desert us entirely, remember,” were the doctor’s parting +words. “We want you as often as you will come. I suppose I shall need +some looking after in fulfilling all those offices you have left for me. +You’ll have to come and prod me up, or I may fail in my duty.” + +“I’m not afraid,” returned Persis. “Nevertheless, I shall want to come. +Oh, doctor, I am sorry to leave you all.” A grinding of wheels, a +puffing of steam, and the train moved, bearing away Persis Holmes, and +leaving behind all that pertained to Anne Maitland. + +“Shall we stop in Washington and make a call on Aunt Esther?” asked Mrs. +Holmes. + +“If you really want to, mamma, but——” + +“But what, dear? Would you rather go right through?” + +“Oh, mamma, I would. Now that I am fairly on the way, it seems as if I +could not wait, and yet I long to see Annis.” + +“I think, perhaps, after all, you would better not. It would be a trial +to meet Annis, and I doubt if you are strong enough. So we will go +straight on, if you can stand the continuous ride.” + +“Oh, I can, since we have taken a sleeper. We shall get there—when, +mamma?” + +“In the morning, about eleven o’clock.” And at the appointed hour they +arrived. + +“Do they expect us?” asked Persis. + +“Yes; the doctor sent a despatch to your father. Why, Persis dear, you +are trembling all over. There, dear! This trip has been too much for +you, I’m afraid. You were not strong enough to stand it.” + +The train had stopped, and Persis had risen to her feet. The passengers +were crowding out into the big station. “Don’t hurry, dear,” cautioned +Mrs. Holmes. But Persis had given a little cry, and made a step forward, +to be caught in the arms of her father. + +Nearly every one had left the car, and the girl stood for a moment with +her head hidden on her father’s shoulder. “Oh, papa! oh, papa!” she +said, brokenly. “It is so good—so good to see you again!” + +“I was afraid you hadn’t come,” he said. + +“I didn’t want Persis to be pushed and jostled in the crowd. She isn’t +very strong, as you can see,” Mrs. Holmes replied. + +Mr. Holmes scanned his daughter with concern. He had never seen her so +pale and thin. “Come, now, let us get ourselves out of this gloomy +station,” he urged. “Come, daughter.” + +“Oh, papa,” again exclaimed Persis, “I love to hear you say that.” + +He smiled. “Well, you poor little runaway, I’ll say it as often as you +like. There, now, this is the carriage I ordered. Get in, Mary. Get in, +daughter. Now home.” + +The door of the carriage snapped together, and in another moment Persis +was being whirled up the familiar streets towards her home. + +“How lovely and dear it all looks!” she sighed. “Oh, there are some new +houses, and oh, who are the people in Mr. Todd’s house? The wistaria is +in bloom. How full it is this year! Oh, mamma, papa, we’re home!” + +The door stood wide open. A girlish form appeared. Mellicent came +running down the walk, to be clasped in her sister’s arms. “Oh, Persis, +Persis! Oh, you poor darling! How queer to see you so thin! Can I help +you? Let me take that bag. Don’t carry anything. Can you walk?” + +“Can I walk? Why, of course,” Persis laughs. “I am not quite such an +invalid; am I, mamma? Oh, Mellie dear, it is really you. Let me look at +you. How lovely it is to see you!” + +At the door stood Mrs. Estabrook, holding out eager, trembling hands. +She ran down the steps and folded Persis to her heart. + +“Oh, grandma! dear, dear grandma!” + +“My dear one, we have you once more.” + +“Let us have a chance,” came a voice from the hall-way, and there stood +Lisa, looking very lovely, with a new and tender light in her face, as +she held out her baby towards her sister. “See him, Persis. Isn’t he a +darling? Go to auntie, my precious!” + +“Oh, may I take him?” cried Persis. “Isn’t he dear? Oh, you cunning +thing! And you are really my nephew! Oh, Lisa, how queer to think of +it!” + +“Yes, isn’t it? And he’s used to being quite the most important person +in the house, so you mustn’t put his nose out of joint. But oh, Perse, +you do look as if you had been ill. You mustn’t hold the baby too long. +I’ll take my son, if you please. Aunt Prue is waiting to speak to you.” + +“Fo’ de Lawd, Miss Persy, I sholy is glad to see yuh. I nuver ‘spected +to see yuh no mo’. Law, honey, ain’t yuh white? An’ dem big eyes looks +lak gre’t big owl-eyes. Praise de Lawd, yuh’s home agin! Yaas, honey, +I’se tollable, thank yuh.” + +“Come, child, you look fagged out. I think, Mary, she’d better go lie +down after her journey,” said grandmother. + +“I think so too,” agreed Mrs. Holmes. + +“Oh, please, don’t send me off by myself,” begged Persis. “Let me go in +the sitting-room and lie on the lounge, where I can see you all. It has +been so long, you know, and I have had so many weary hours alone.” + +“Poor child!” said grandmother; “you have suffered so much. Yes, we’ll +all go up in the sitting-room. It is time for baby’s nap; but Lisa can +come after she has put him to sleep. Aren’t you hungry, dear? Hadn’t you +better let Prue get you a little lunch?” + +The tears sprang to Persis’s eyes. “Oh,” she said, “the prodigal’s +return is surely made a season of rejoicing.” + +“Bring out the best robe and put it on her,” cried Mellicent. “There, my +first effort in the direction of dress-making is for you. I’ve made you +a wrapper all myself. Don’t you want to put it on?” + +“Oh, Melly, how good of you! Now, there. Yes, it fits beautifully, or +will when I’ve a little more flesh on my bones. Now, just let me lie +still and look at you all.” + +The scent of the wistaria came in through the window; the drowsy hum of +the bees among the blossoms, the sweet, perfume-laden air soothed and +refreshed her, and at last one after another stole out of the room that +she might sleep. + +“How frail and ill she still looks!” Mrs. Estabrook said to her +daughter, seeing the dark shadows under the eyes where the long black +lashes rested. “I was shocked at her appearance.” + +“She has been at death’s door,” returned Mrs. Holmes. “I felt at one +time that she was lost to us indeed. It makes reproach and censure fade +very far into the background when one finds a loved one hovering so very +near the border-land, and you do not know how the poor child has +suffered mentally. Yet she did a noble work, and has made very close +friends. Even had what she believed to be true actually happened, she +would never have let it spoil her character.” + +“I am sure of that,” replied Mrs. Estabrook. + +“Whatever error was hers she has atoned for it. She has gone through +more than any of us realized, and has had a bitter cup to drink.” + +“Dear girl! dear girl!” murmured grandmother, resolving that nothing but +love and sympathy should meet the return of the wanderer. + +Once in a while a little troubled sigh came from the sleeper, and her +forehead contracted as if in pain, but at last she stirred, and smiled +to see her grandmother sitting close by her. “Dearest grandsie,” she +said, “I still have bad dreams, and I was so glad to wake up and see +you. Oh, grandma, how glad I am to get home again! I don’t deserve to be +loved, but please do love me.” + +“Love you, darling! You never were more beloved. We have missed you +sorely, dear, and your old granny more than any of the others. Now, +don’t you want to see your room? We have given Lisa and the baby the +spare room on this floor, and the little room next it. So your old +quarters are waiting for you. Richard will come for his family in a few +days, and take them back to Brooklyn. He is a nice fellow, Persis, and +we have grown very fond of him.” + +Persis followed her grandmother and Mellicent, who joined them, to her +old room. Grandma opened the door, and the room’s returned occupant gave +an exclamation of pleasure. The new furnishings which she had so desired +were there: a pretty brass and enamel bedstead, new curtains, a +comfortable, soft lounge, a long cheval glass, a beautiful old-fashioned +dressing-table, and handsome Oriental rugs, all had been added. The old +desk, beautifully polished, stood in its accustomed place near the +window. + +“Oh, grandma! oh, Mellicent!” exclaimed Persis. “What a lovely surprise! +Who did it?” + +“All of us,” Mellicent told her. “The table is from grandma, the glass +and lounge from papa and mamma, the rugs from Richard and Lisa, and the +curtains from your baby sister.” + +“And all those pretty toilet furnishings?” + +“Oh, Annis contributed those, and oh, I forgot, that rocking-chair is +from Aunt Esther.” + +“How dear, how lovely of you all! Was ever girl so blest! And to think +that Richard, too, should join in; he is a real brother, isn’t he? I am +even better off than I used to be, and I once thought——” her lip +trembled. + +“Never mind, dear child.” Grandmother’s arms were around her. “Let all +that go with the rest of the bad dreams. We are once more together, a +united circle.” + + + + +[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’] + + + CHAPTER XX. + AT LAST. + + +The Cheerful Three were sitting in Persis’s room. One by one had the old +friends been admitted to see the convalescent, who as yet could not +stand much excitement. + +“And so, Miss Patty,” she was saying, “I was right, and you did like +Wilson. I am heartily glad we are to have you for a neighbor; and when +is the wedding to be?” + +“Not till fall,” returned Patty. “Oh, Persis, it is very nice to have +you back again. What a romantic time you must have had!” + +Persis looked grave, she could not yet, without shrinking, look back +upon the ordeal through which she had passed. + +“And were you always cheerful, Persis?” asked Nettie, slyly. + +“Indeed, I was not, although I tried to be. What presumptuous creatures +we are when we first flaunt our wings in the sunshine, and how we talk +of high-flying, and scorn those poor maimed creatures who crawl. Yet, I +still maintain that a certain amount of cheerfulness is possible under +most conditions, and when those nearest and dearest are close to us, +well, and in no dire need or disgrace, nothing else seems of much +account.” + +“How queer that you should have been teaching in Pen Rivers’s country. +You met him, didn’t you?” Nettie said. + +“Yes, and he is a nice boy; but his parents are nicer, I think. No one +could have been kinder than they were to me.” + +“Did you meet any nice girls?” asked Patty. + +“Not very many,” Persis returned, with a thoughtful smile. “There were +not more than a dozen girls in the village.” + +“Well, I hope they behaved with more grace than some girls I met once in +a country community where I visited,” Nettie remarked. “They made a rule +never to present any of the young men of the neighborhood to a girl +visiting there. Of course, sometimes they couldn’t help it, but they +never asked them to call, or in any way tried to secure attention for +the girls who came as strangers.” + +“Now, Nettie, that’s hard to believe. Where would you find girls so +ill-bred and selfish? Surely not in a Christian country,” Patty +responded. + +Nettie laughed. “If I mentioned the locality you wouldn’t believe it.” + +“It must be in the vicinity of Hong Kong, or somewhere around Bagdad,” +returned Patty, “for it certainly does seem hard to believe that girls +anywhere in an enlightened land could so far transgress the first law of +Christianity.” + +“Which is, do as you would have done to you,” interposed Persis, “and +that gives us to understand what Patty would like. However, I think in +almost every community there are one or two such girls. I have come +across a few,” remembering Sid Southall. + +“I’m glad you didn’t say you had met many,” returned Patty. “I wonder +what those same girls would think if the tables were turned when they +went visiting.” + +“They would be indignant, of course. I was so surprised, girls, when Mr. +Rivers spoke of the Dixons,” Persis said. “Do tell me, is it really true +that Walter and Connie are engaged? I imagined last summer that it would +be so.” + +“Oh, yes, they really are, and as happy as can be,” Nettie replied. + +“And your sister Margaret is married. Dear, dear, how all the girls are +leaving me to pine on the stem.” + +“Oh, Perse, it isn’t time for you to talk that way. Any girl with your +attractions,” protested Patty. + +“I think it would be too bad for Persis to marry,” put in Nettie. “She +has so much ability, and could make a name for herself.” + +“Without changing it, eh? Well, I don’t know. So far, all I have done is +to succeed in teaching a district school seven months out of the year.” + +“And all I’ve done is to go and fall in love, and promise to be married. +That’s what my college education has done for me,” said Patty. + +“Never mind, Patsy dear,” replied Persis, patting the plump little hand +on which Wilson’s ring shone. “I’ll tell you what I think. A woman’s +best, purest, and highest ambition is that which is exercised in the +making of a home. It will require all the knowledge she can acquire in +any direction if she can fill her place as wife and mother wisely and +nobly. If she is self-seeking, or if she desires self-gratification, +pleasure, and admiration more than her best development, she would best +not marry, for she will not do her duty. There is little room for Ego in +a woman’s kingdom. I beg your pardon, girls, for delivering a lecture. +I’ve been a school-marm, remember.” + +“It sounds like old times; go on,” said Patty. + +“That’s one side of it, but a woman may do her duty, and fail of success +because she has married a selfish, domineering man, or a weak, silly +one. Give us a lecture on that, Miss School-marm,” put in Nettie. + +“Oh, I’m speaking of ideal marriages, I suppose. I think a happy +marriage brings the most complete life. Yes, it is a thousand times +better to remain single than to marry a man you cannot respect, who wins +your contempt because he is a petty tyrant, or whom you despise because +he is a cringing slave, without principle or backbone. If you don’t meet +a man whom you _know_ will make you a better, as well as a happier +woman, you would much better go unmated. A very noble, beautiful, +independent and happy life can be lived by the unmarried woman who has +some definite aim, who doesn’t care one whit whether she is called an +old maid or not, and who can scatter her fine experiences broadcast for +the benefit of her poor, married sisters who have never had the chance +of stepping outside a given circle.” + +Nettie laughed, and Patty looked very thoughtful. + +“You have scared Patty to death,” said the former. “I believe this +minute she is contemplating sending back Wilson’s ring. If you do, Miss +Patty, I’ll send you back to Washington to-morrow.” + +“I was contemplating nothing of the kind,” she replied. “I was only +thinking of what a responsibility I am going to take, and hoping I +should be all that Persis said.” + +“Her words of wisdom fell on good ground, it seems. Dear old Perse, it +is good to have you with us again, even when you do say such solemn +things. It takes me back to college when we used to settle the affairs +of the nation. Ah, me! those were good old times. Now tell us your +plans. You’ll not go away again, I hope.” + +“Not unless I go with my parents. There is some talk of papa’s taking +another trip to Greece and Egypt; and since his eyes have been troubling +him, I could help him in his work. I think I should find it very +fascinating. There is talk of taking some queer sort of a villa in one +of the isles of Greece.” + +“‘The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece!’” quoted Nettie. + +“Yes, that very romantic locality; and there we may remain a year or +two.” + +“And you would really like it!” + +“Yes, immensely, for we could all go. Grandma, and all of us.” + +“Lisa, and the baby?” + +“Well, no, they would have to stay this side the Atlantic, I suppose. +Still, this is all very vague at present. Just now the family seem to +consider that my whole duty consists in absorbing everything nourishing +that any one of them happens to suggest. Here comes some one now, and +I’ll venture to say it is Mell, with broth or jelly or milk, or +something. Do stay girls, and let me take it by proxy.” For the girls +had risen to take their leave. + +“Thank you, no; we ought to have gone long ago,” they replied. “We have +overstayed our time as it is, but we were so glad to see you again, +Persis. Take the broth, or whatever it is, so as to get strong soon. +Good-bye.” + +The footsteps Persis had heard on the stair halted at the top of the +first flight, but in a little while were heard coming nearer; then there +was a gentle tap at the door, and in a moment a little figure in deep +mourning had entered the room. + +“Annis!” cried Persis; “oh, Annis!” And, at the flood of memories which +overcame them both, they rushed together and burst into tears. + +“Oh, Persis! Persis! my poor darling Persis! I have wanted you so,” +murmured Annis. “It seemed as if I had lost everything; as if you, too, +I should never see again.” + +“Oh, Annis, I know! I know! I wish I could tell you how I feel about +it,—about everything.” And the two girls in each other’s arms stood +silent for some moments. + +It was Annis who finally lifted her head from her cousin’s shoulder and +looked searchingly in her face. “Dear,” she said, “I forgot that you are +not strong. Come sit down, and let me look at you. Why, Persis, how ill +you must have been to still look so!” + +“Now, Annis,” she replied, “that is discouraging. I was flattering +myself that I was beginning to look quite well. You should have seen me +six weeks ago.” + +“It is not only that you are thinner, but you are somehow different.” + +“How, different?” + +“You have a new look in your eyes. I think it is because you went away a +girl and have come back a woman.” + +“Perhaps that is it. Take my lovely, big comfortable chair, Annis, and I +will lie on the lounge. Am I not fine with all these new things?” + +“Yes; I heard of them. To think, Persis, you have been home two weeks, +and I have just seen you. I could not come before; there were some +matters I had to attend to.” + +For the rest of the morning the two girls sat and talked over the many +things that had happened since they parted, and at last Annis said, +“Persis dear, there is one thing I want you to know. From the moment you +went away I realized what a weak, disloyal creature I had been—you +know—about Basil. I made up my mind right then that it was a foolish, +foolish fancy, for I saw at once not only that he cared for you,—oh, +Persis, you do not know how much!—but that it was unwomanly and +altogether dishonorable for me to think of him for one moment. You know, +he went abroad only a few weeks after you left us. He wrote to me when +dear mamma was gone, and I answered. It was not hard then; nothing was +hard compared to the one great trouble that swallowed up everything +else. And now I think it seems—I cannot understand why I ever cared +for—there is—some one else.” + +Persis held out her hand and took Annis’s in a close clasp. “I know, +dear,” she said; “it is Mr. Dan.” + +Annis looked down; then she lifted her head proudly. “Yes, it is. Oh, +Persis, you cannot imagine what a help and comfort, what a rock of +refuge, he has been to me. It seems now as if we had always belonged to +each other. I know he cared for you. I used only to think of him as your +lover. I feel proud that he was; I don’t know why it has never troubled +me to know it. I think, perhaps, it is this: that if after being fond of +you he could turn to me, that he pays me the highest compliment he +could. Perhaps it seems very soon for me to feel so, but it isn’t +because I forget dear mamma. I was so lonely, so lonely! and he, too, is +all alone, and that is why, out of the whole world, it seems as if we +ought to have chosen each other. You don’t know how good and thoughtful +he is.” + +“Don’t I know? Why, Annis, if I had searched the world over, I could not +have chosen better for you. I do like him so much, I always have; and +now, why, Annis, it is just like a story-book: all the tangles are +straightened out. Oh, my dear, I wasn’t sure; but now I am very, very +happy.” + +“And Basil,” Annis continued. “Persis, you must, must care for him. Why, +Mr. Dan says he can see now how much you have always been to each other, +and how Basil has felt all along. He wonders that we were all so blind. +Persis, you must, must care. Don’t say that, after all, you are +indifferent.” + +“I’m like the tar-baby, ‘I keep on a-sayin’ nuffin’,’” laughed Persis. +“It would be perfectly nonsensical for me to give up all my ideas of +living a life of single-blessedness, instead, as Walter very elegantly +expressed it, instead of one of ‘double-cussedness.’ It would be so +commonplace, so conventional for us all to marry. Just think of it! not +one of us started up the ladder of fame. It is not at all according to +my notion of what ought to be.” + +Nevertheless, there came a day, not long after, when Persis had to +decide the question. It was a soft June morning. She was lying on the +sitting-room lounge, in her pretty pale-blue wrapper which Mellicent had +made her. She was half asleep, and scarcely heard some one who came +softly in, but, opening her eyes, she saw Basil bending over her. She +had not believed that she would be so unutterably glad to see him; but +before she could say a word he had dropped on his knees beside her, and +had gathered her hands in his. + +“Oh, Persis, my poor, dear little Persis!” he began, brokenly. “No, no, +don’t get up; let me stay here and tell you something. I took the first +steamer I could catch after the news came that you were home again. The +vessel got in this morning. I have just seen your grandmother, and she +told me I should find you here. Persis, tell me, why did you go to that +little village? Was it because we were there together? You knew that day +what I wanted to say. You knew I cared. Why did you put me off? You were +such a witch. Why did I let you elude me? My dear, my dear, don’t you +know you are a part of my life? No, I shall not let you escape me +again.” + +The same old spirit of mischief took possession of Persis. “Basil, that +is taking a mean advantage of me. You know I can’t run away this time.” + +“I know it. I don’t mean to have you. I could not stand it to lose you a +second time. Why, Persis, I have kept you in my heart of hearts for +years, ever since I first knew you. My love has grown with my growth and +strengthened with my strength. If you had——” His voice faltered, and he +buried his face in the pillows. + +“Don’t, Basil, don’t. Why, Basil,” Persis murmured, “I never dreamed you +cared like that.” + +[Illustration: He had dropped on his knees beside her, and had gathered +her hands in his.] + +He lifted his head. “No, I never was the stormy kind; but if I had lost +you, Persis,—now that I know how near you were to another world, for you +are so white and frail-looking, I can realize it,—it seems as if I could +not bear the thought of what might have been. I should have gone through +life maimed and halting. I thought at one time that you were fond of Mr. +Dan, and how miserable I was!” + +“Oh, Basil, Basil, I never dreamed you were. I was jealous, too.” + +“Then you cared, you cared.” + +“Of course I care. Didn’t you know it? I, too, have always cared, +always. Let me stand up, Basil, so you can see I am not such an invalid +as you think. There, do I look so very ill? I am well, and I am getting +stronger every day.” + +For answer he clasped her in his arms, and she whispered, “I know now, +Basil, that part of my misery was giving you up. I didn’t tell myself +so, but it was, it was.” + +“But, my darling, you didn’t have to. Nothing would have made any +difference.” + +“I thought I had to, and that was just as bad; but I know now, if at any +time I had seen you for one minute, that I never, never could have done +it. As soon as I saw you just now I knew it. But, Basil, there is one +thing I don’t see how I can bring myself to do.” + +“And that is——?” + +“Change my name again. It is too much to expect of any girl.” And she +looked up with laughing eyes. + +He smiled in his old way. “You won’t have to. I’ll only build an +addition to it.” + +“There spoke the architect.” + +“And you can call yourself Mrs. Holmes Phillips.” + +“With a hyphen?” + +“I will even submit to the hyphen if it will make you happy.” + +“But, Basil, I could never, never go away from home, even so far as +Washington, to live.” + +“You shall not. I have resolved to settle right here, where all my +friends are.” + +“And it will be years—years before I could make up my mind to leave home +at all.” + +“Even if we could live next door, or across the street, or if I were to +build a house on the first vacant lot nearest?” + +“Well, perhaps; but it is a very open question, and needn’t be mentioned +at all for centuries.” + +“And to think,” Persis said to her grandmother as they sat in the +twilight,—“to think that all my sufferings were useless. I needn’t have +made one sacrifice.” + +“Were they useless?” replied Mrs. Estabrook. “I doubt it. All sorrow is +for our advantage, dear child. We need the strength, the knowledge of +spiritual laws, which it gives us.” + +“Yes, I suppose we do need a sort of moral gymnastics to keep us from +being weak and flabby.” + +“That sounds more like my old Persis than anything I have heard for a +year.” + +“It is because I am so entirely, deliciously happy. Grandma, did you +know all along about Basil?” + +“Yes, I believe I did.” + +“Do you think I am a silly, sentimental goose?” + +“Why, my blessed child, no, a thousand times no. And your father and +mother will be more than content. There is no one who is so like a son +to them, whom they love more. Basil has the first place among the boys, +and he is very, very dear to me.” + +“I am so glad. Isn’t it strange that each should have had such a narrow +escape? But it has brought us very close together.” + +“It is the sorrowful things which do.” + +“Yes, I know. It is the same with Annis and Mr. Dan. If I had not gone +away, I do not believe that it would ever have been just like this for +them, or for me, either.” + +“Grief is, after all, a friend.” + +“Yes, I begin to understand that; and, grandma, I believe, because of +it, Basil and I will be able to be truer and finer and stronger. I could +not—I always said I could not—marry a man who did not respond to the +best within me.” + +There was a sound of welcoming laughter in the hall below, and Mellicent +came flying up the steps. “Come, Perse; Mr. Dan has come, and Lisa has +had a despatch saying Richard will be here directly. Isn’t it fine? +Three arrivals in one day! And oh, Perse! Basil——” She paused, and +looked from her sister to her grandmother. “Why,” she went on, “I +believe I have guessed something. Papa and Basil have been talking in +the library for an hour, and papa has come out looking as happy as a +lord, and he actually had his arm around Basil. Papa! So, miss, I verily +believe—yes, I am confident, from your modest, drooping eye—that you +have something to do with it. Yes, you. Tell me, am I good at guessing?” + +“Yes, most sapient maiden,” returned her sister, “you are.” + +“Good! Dear old Baz! Why, he’s like a brother already. The blessed old +fellow, I shall go hug him if he’ll let me.” And she was off like a +flash. + +“One of the good things which has come from sorrow is that Mellicent is +improving,” Mrs. Estabrook said. “Nothing has ever stirred her up and +caused her to forget herself like this year’s trouble.” + +“Here we all are,” cried Lisa, as Persis approached. “Come, speak to +Richard, Perse. He’s consumed with longing to see you. There, Mr. Dan, +you’ve made a long enough speech.” + +Persis looked around from one to the other. All her best beloved ones +were gathered about her. The first faint color appeared in her cheeks; +her eyes shone. “Why, you look quite like yourself,” said Richard. “I +expected to see a poor, puny invalid.” + +“Happiness is a great healer,” replied Persis, “and I am very happy.” + +“I think it is about as beaming a crowd as I’ve seen in a long time,” +returned Richard. “Each seems to have some especial inward satisfaction, +which is visibly apparent in a protracted and expansive smile. There +must be some reason for it. Which of you men is open to +congratulations?” + +“Mr. Dan,” cried Persis. + +“Basil,” cried Annis. And every one laughed. + +“Never mind, Melly, your time will come,” Richard said, teasingly. “Rome +wasn’t built in a day.” + +Mellicent made a saucy reply, and the party separated. + +In a few moments Annis and Mr. Danforth had wandered to the porch; +Persis and Basil walked up and down the garden with Mrs. Estabrook; Mr. +and Mrs. Holmes sat listening to Lisa singing up-stairs a gentle +lullaby; at the gate stood Mellicent, an expectant look on her face. + + + THE END. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76993 *** |