But drive as they might, Mr. Kimball and his assistants, they couldn't beat that storm that was brewing. It came up rather slowly, to be sure, at first, but very persistently. Evidently the old stage-driver was right. It was “coming to stay.”
“Ye see, ma'am, ef we hadn't started when we did, like enough we couldn't a got home to-night,” he vouchsafed over his shoulder to Miss Salisbury, as they rattled on.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed at thought of her brood. Those young things were having the best of times. It was “wildly exciting,” as Clem Forsythe said, to be packed in; those on the end seats huddling away from the rain as much as possible, under cover of the curtains buttoned down fast. And hilarity ran high. They sang songs; never quite finishing one, but running shrilly off to others, which were produced on several different keys maybe, according to the mood of the singers. And as every girl wanted to sing her favorite song, there were sometimes various compositions being produced in different quarters of the big stage, till no one particular melody could be said to have the right of way. And Miss Salisbury sat in the midst of the babel, and smiled as much as her anxiety would allow, at the merriment. And as it was in this stage, so the other stages were counterparts. And the gay tunes and merry laughter floated back all along the cavalcade, mingling harmoniously with the rainfall.
Suddenly an awful clap of thunder reverberated in the sky. The songs ended in squeals of dismay, and the laughter died away.
“Oh—oh—we're going to have a thunder storm!” screamed more than one girl, huddling up closer to her next neighbor, to clutch her frantically.
“Oh, I'm so afraid of the thunder!” screamed Amy Garrett.
“You goose, it won't hurt you.” Lucy Bennett, whom Amy had crouched against, gave her a little push.
“It will. It will. My uncle was struck once,” said Amy, rebounding from the push to grasp Lucy frantically around the neck.
“You nearly choked me to death,” exclaimed Lucy, untwisting the nervous hands; “don't get so scared. Your uncle never was struck by the thunder, and we haven't had any lightning yet; so I wouldn't yell till we do.”
“Well, there it is now,” cried Amy, covering her eyes. And there it was now, to be sure, in a blinding flash; to be followed by deeper rolls of thunder, drowning the screams of the frightened girls, and the plunging of the horses that didn't like it much better.
Mr. Kimball peered out and squinted to the right and to the left through the blinding storm; then he turned his horses suddenly off from the road, into a narrow lane. “Oh, why do you?” began Miss Salisbury. But this remonstrance wouldn't have done any good had the old stage-driver heard it. At the end of the lane, he knew in a few moments they would all arrive at a big old fashioned mansion where shelter could not be refused them under such circumstances. Although,—and Mr. Kimball shook within himself at his temerity,—under any other conditions visitors would not be expected nor welcomed. For Mr. John Clemcy and his sister, Miss Ophelia, had never exhibited, since they settled down in this quiet spot after leaving their English home many years ago, any apparent desire to make friends. They were quite sufficient for themselves; and what with driving about,—which they did in a big basket phaeton, or behind their solemn pair of black horses, and the still more solemn coachman, Isaac, also black,—and in the care of the large estate and the big brick mansion, they found ample occupation for their time and thoughts.
Up to this big red brick mansion now plunged Mr. Kimball with as much assurance as if he were not quaking dreadfully. And the other stages following suit, the sudden and unusual uproar brought two faces to the windows, and then to the door.
“May we all git out and go into your barn?” roared Mr. Kimball, peering at them from beneath his dripping hat.
There was an awful pause. Mr. Kimball clutched his old leather reins desperately; and Miss Salisbury, to whom had come faint rumors of the chosen isolation of the brother and sister, felt her heart sink woefully.
Mr. John Clemcy stepped out,—slender, tall, with white hair and beard, both closely cropped. He had a pale, aristocratic face, and a pair of singularly stern eyes, which he now bent upon the old stage-driver.
“Brother,” remonstrated his sister,—she looked as much like him as possible in face and figure,—“do not venture out in this driving storm.”
“No,” said Mr. Clemcy, “I cannot consent to your going into my stable. I—”
“'Taint Christian,” blurted out the old stage-driver, “to leave human bein's out in sech a pickle.”
“No, I am aware of that,” said Mr. John Clemcy, without a change of countenance; “and so I invite you all to come into my house.” He threw wide the door. “My sister, Miss Clemcy.”
Miss Ophelia stepped forward and received them as if she had specially prepared for their visit, and with such an air of distinction that it completely overwhelmed Miss Salisbury, so that her own manners, always considered quite perfect by parents and friends of her pupils, paled considerably in contrast. It was quite like entering an old baronial hall, as the courtly, aristocratic host ushered them in; and the girls, not easily overawed by any change of circumstance, who had tumbled out laughingly from the stages despite Miss Salisbury's nervous endeavors to quiet them, were now instantly subdued.
“Isn't it solemn!” whispered Alexia, hanging to Polly Pepper, her pale eyes roving over the armor, and old family portraits almost completely covering the walls of the wide hall.
“Hush,” whispered Polly back again.
“But I can't breathe; oh, look at that old horror in the ruff. Polly—look!” she pinched the arm she grasped.
Meantime, although there were so many girls, the big red brick mansion seemed quite able to contain them hospitably, as Mr. and Miss Clemcy opened door after door into apartments that appeared to stretch out into greater space beyond. When at last the company had been distributed, Miss Salisbury found her voice. “I am pained to think of all the trouble we are giving you, Miss Clemcy.”
“Do not mention it.” Miss Ophelia put up a slender arm, from which fell off a deep flounce of rare old lace. The hand that thus came into view was perfect; and Miss Salisbury, who could recognize qualities of distinction, fell deeply in love with the evidences before her.
“Do you suppose she dresses up like that every day, Silvia?” whispered Lucy Bennett, in an awe-struck voice.
Silvia, in matters of dress never being willing to show surprise, preserved her composure. “That's nothing,” she managed to say indifferently: “it can't be real, such a lot of it, and around her neck too.”
Down into the old colonial kitchen, with its corner fireplace, wide and roomy, and bricked to the ceiling, Mr. Clemcy led the way. It was a big room, and not used for its original purpose; being filled with cabinets, and shelves on which reposed some of the most beautiful specimens of china and various relics and curiosities and mementos of travel, Miss Salisbury thought she had ever seen. And she had been about the world a good bit; having utilized many of her vacations, and once or twice taking a year off from her school work, for that purpose. And being singularly receptive to information, she was the best of listeners, in an intelligent way, as Mr. Clemcy moved about from object to object explaining his collection. He seemed perfectly absorbed in it, and, as the girls began to notice, in his listener as well.
Lucy Bennett was frightfully romantic, and jumped to conclusions at once. “Oh, do you suppose he will marry her?” she cried under her breath to Silvia, as the two kept together.
“Who? What are you talking about?” demanded Silvia, who was very matter-of-fact.
“Why, that old man—Mr. Whatever his name is,” whispered Lucy.
“Mr. Clemcy? do get names into your head, Lu,” said Silvia crossly, who wanted to look at things and not be interrupted every minute.
“I can't ever remember names, if I do hear them,” said Lucy, “so what is the use of my bothering to hear them, Sil?”
“Well, do keep still,” said Silvia, trying to twist away her arm, but Lucy clung to it.
“Well, I can't keep still either, for I'm mortally afraid he is—that old man, whatever you call him—going to marry her.”
“Who?” demanded Silvia sharply.
“Our Miss Salisbury, and—”
“Lu Bennett!” Silvia sat down in the first chair she could find. It was very fortunate that the other groups were so absorbed that nobody noticed them.
“Oh, you do say such perfectly silly things!” declared Silvia, smothering the peal of laughter that nearly escaped her.
“Well, it isn't silly,” cried Lucy in an angry whisper, “and it's going to happen, I know, and she'll give up our school to Miss Anstice, and come and live here. Oh my!” She looked ready to cry on the spot. “Look at them!”
Now, Silvia had called Lucy Bennett “silly” hundreds of times, but now as she looked at Mr. Clemcy and Miss Salisbury, she began to have an uneasy feeling at her heart. “I won't go to school to Miss Anstice,” she declared passionately. Then she began to plan immediately. “I'll get mother to let me go to boarding school.”
“And I'll go with you,” exclaimed Lucy radiantly. All this was in stage whispers, such a buzz going on around them that no one else could possibly catch a word. And so in just about two minutes, they had their immediate future all planned.
“Well, you better get up out of that chair,” said Lucy presently, and picking at Silvia's sleeve.
“I guess I'm not hurting the chair,” said Silvia, squinting sideways at the high, carved back. “They asked us in here,—at least he did.”
“Well, he didn't ask us to sit down,” said Lucy triumphantly.
“And if he's going to marry her,” said Silvia, in a convincing whisper, “I guess I can sit in all the chairs if I want to.”
“Hush!” warned Lucy, “here comes Miss Anstice.”
Miss Anstice, with her front breadth all stained with jelly cake and marmalade, was wandering around, quite subdued. It was pitiful to see how she always got into the thickest of the groups to hide her gown, trying to be sociable with the girls. But the girls not reciprocating, she was at last taken in tow by Miss Ophelia, who set about showing her some rare old china, as a special attention.
Now, Miss Anstice cared nothing for rare old china, or indeed, for relics or curiosities of any sort; but she was very meek on this occasion, and so she allowed herself to be led about from shelf to shelf; and though she said nothing, Miss Ophelia was so enchanted by her own words and memories, as she described in a fluent and loving manner their various claims to admiration, that she thought the younger Miss Salisbury quite a remarkable person.
“Show her the Lowestoft collection, sister,” called Mr. John Clemcy, from across the apartment, and breaking off from his animated discussion over an old Egyptian vase, in which Miss Salisbury had carried herself brilliantly.
“I will, Brother John,” assented Miss Clemcy, with great affability. “Now here,” and she opened the door to its cabinet, “is what will interest you greatly, I think.”
Suddenly, a crash as of breaking porcelain struck upon the ear. Every one in the old room jumped, save the persons who might be supposed to be the most interested—Mr. Clemcy and his sister. Their faces did not change.
Miss Salisbury deserted the Egyptian vase. “Who,” she demanded, hurrying to the centre of the apartment, a red spot on either cheek, “has done this?”
Mr. John Clemcy followed her. “Do not, I beg,” he said quietly, “notice it.”
“Notice it! after your extreme hospitality—oh! which one of my scholars can have forgotten herself enough to touch a thing?”
The groups parted a little, just enough to disclose a shrinking figure. It was Lily, whose curious fingers were clasped in distress.
“She is very young,” said Miss Clemcy softly, as Miss Salisbury detached her from the group, and passed into another room, crying as if her heart would break.
Mr. John Clemcy then came up to his sister and her visitor. “Your sister must not take it so to heart,” he said.
Miss Anstice was worn out by this time, what with her gown, and now by this terrible thing that would bring such discredit upon their school; and besides, it might take ever so much from their savings to replace, for Lily was poor, and was a connection, so they perhaps would have to help her out. She therefore could find no words at her command, except, “Oh dear me!” and raised her poor eyes.
Mr. John Clemcy searched her face intently, and actually smiled to reassure her. She thought he was looking at her gown; so she mumbled faintly, to draw off his attention, “I am afraid it was very valuable.”
He didn't tell her it was one of the oldest bits in his collection; but while Miss Clemcy slipped off, and quietly picked up every piece of the broken treasure, he turned the conversation, and talked rapidly and charmingly upon something,—for the life of her, Miss Anstice never could tell what.
And he was still talking when Miss Salisbury brought back Lily by the hand, red-eyed and still sniffling, to stumble over her pleas for pardon. And then, the storm having abated, there were instant preparations for departure set in motion. And Mr. Kimball and his associates helped them into their vehicles, Miss Clemcy's beautiful old lace showing off finely on the great porch as she bade them good-bye.
“It is real, I guess,” declared Silvia, looking closely from her seat next to Lucy. “And, oh dear me, isn't this too horrible, what Lily Cushing has done?”
Mr. John Clemcy helped the ladies in, Miss Anstice putting forth all her powers to enable her to ascend the steep steps without disclosing the front breadth of her gown. Despite her best endeavors, she felt quite sure that the keen eyes of both brother and sister had discovered every blemish.
Miss Salisbury sank back in her seat, as the barge rolled off, quite in despair; for she knew quite well that the broken vase was one of the gems of the collection.
“Oh, see the lovely rainbow!” The girls' spirits rose, now that they were once more on the move. What was one broken vase, after all? And they began to laugh and talk once more.
“Oh dear!” Polly Pepper glanced back. “Alexia, this will just about kill our dear Miss Salisbury!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I'm clear beat,” Mr. Kimball was saying to himself, as nobody paid attention. “You might knock me over with a feather! To think o' that old reecluse that won't know nobody, him nor his sister, an' is so hifalutin' smart, a-bustin' out so polite all of a suddint.”
“Polly,” said Jasper, “could you come into the den?”
“Why, yes, Jasper,” she cried, in surprise at his face. “Oh, has anything happened?”
“No,” he said, but the gloomy look did not disappear. “Oh Polly, it's too bad to ask,—were you going to study?” with a glance at her armful of books.
“No—that is, I can do them just as well after dinner.” Polly dropped her books on the hall chair. “Oh, what is it, Jasper?” running after him into the den.
“It's just this, Polly, I hate to tell you—” He paused, and gloom settled worse than ever over his face.
“Jasper,” said Polly quite firmly, and she laid her hand on his arm, “I really think you ought to tell me right away what is on your mind.”
“Do you really, Polly?” Jasper asked eagerly.
“Yes, I do,” said Polly, “unless you had rather tell Mamsie. Perhaps that would be best, Jasper.”
“No, I don't really think it would in this case, Polly. I will tell you.” So he drew up a chair, and Polly settled into it, and he perched on the end of the table.
“You see, Polly,” he began, “I hate to tell you, but if I don't, why of course you can't in the least understand how to help.”
“No, of course I can't,” said Polly, clasping her hands together tightly, and trying to wait patiently for the recital. Oh, what could it be!
“Well, Pickering isn't doing well at school,” said Jasper, in a burst. It was so much better to have it out at once.
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, in sorrow.
“No, he isn't,” said Jasper decidedly; “it grows worse and worse.”
“Dear me!” said Polly again.
“And now Mr. Faber says there isn't much hope for him, unless he picks up in the last half. He called me into his study to tell me that to-day—wants me to influence him and all that.”
All the hateful story was out at last. Polly sprang out of her chair.
“You don't mean—you can't mean, that Pickering will be dropped, Jasper?” she cried as she faced him.
“Worse than that,” answered Jasper gloomily.
“Worse than dropped!” exclaimed Polly with wide eyes.
“To be dropped a class wouldn't kill Pick; so many boys have had that happen, although it is quite bad enough.”
“I should think so,” breathed Polly.
“But Pick will simply be shot out of the school,” said Jasper desperately; “there's no use in mincing matters. Mr. Faber has utterly lost patience; and the other teachers as well.”
“You don't mean that Pickering Dodge will be expelled?” cried Polly in a little scream.
“Yes.” Jasper nodded his head, unable to utter another word. Then he sprang off from the table-end, and walked up and down the room, as Polly sank back in her chair.
“You see, it's just this way, Polly,” he cried. “Pick has had warning after warning—you know the teachers have a system of sending written warnings around to the boys when they fall behind in their work—and he hasn't paid any attention to them.”
“Won't he pay attention to what the teachers write to him, Jasper?” asked Polly, leaning forward in her big chair to watch him anxiously as he paced back and forth.
“No, calls them rubbish, and tears them up; and sometimes he won't even read them,” said Jasper. “Oh, it's awful, Polly.”
“I should say it was,” said Polly slowly. “Very awful indeed, Jasper.”
“And the last time he had one from Herr Frincke about his German, Pick brought it into the room where a lot of us boys were, and read it out, with no end of fun over it, and it went into the scrap-basket; and he hasn't tackled his grammar a bit better since; only the translations he's up a trifle on.”
“Oh, now I know why you wouldn't go to ride with me for the last week,” cried Polly, springing out of her chair to rush up to him, “you've been helping Pickering,” she declared, with kindling eyes.
“Never mind,” said Jasper uneasily.
“And it was splendid of you,” cried Polly, the color flying over her cheeks. “Oh Jasper, I do believe you can pull him through.”
“No, I can't, Polly.” Jasper stood quite still. “No one can pull him through, but you, Polly.”
“I!” exclaimed Polly in amazement. “Why, Jasper King!” and she tumbled back a few steps to stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“It's just this way.” Jasper threw back his hair from his hot forehead. “Pick doesn't care a bit for what I say: it's an old story; goes in at one ear, and out at the other.”
“Oh, he does care for what you say,” contradicted Polly stoutly, “ever and ever so much, Jasper.”
“Well, he's heard it so much; perhaps I've pounded at him too hard. And then again—” Jasper paused, turned away a bit, and rushed back hastily, with vexation written all over his face. “I must speak it: I can't help him any more, for somehow Mr. Faber has found it out, and forbids it; that's one reason of the talk this morning in his study—says I must influence him, and all that. That's rubbish; I can't influence him.” Jasper dashed over to lay his head on the table on his folded arms.
“Polly, if Pick is expelled, I—” he couldn't finish it, his voice breaking all up.
Polly ran over to lay a hand on his shaking shoulders.
“What can I do, Jasper?” she cried brokenly. “Tell me, and I'll do it, every single thing.”
“You must talk to him,” said Jasper, raising his head. It filled Polly with dismay to see his face. “Get him in here; I'll bring him over and then clear out of the den.”
“Oh Jasper!” exclaimed Polly, quite aghast. “I couldn't talk to Pickering Dodge. Why, he wouldn't listen to me.”
“Yes, he would,” declared Jasper eagerly; “he thinks everything of you, Polly, and if you'll say the word, it will do more good than anything else. Do, Polly,” he begged.
“But, Jasper,” began Polly, a little white line coming around her mouth, “what would he think to have me talk to him about his lessons?”
“Think?” repeated Jasper, “why, he'd like it, Polly, and it will be the very thing that will help him.”
“Oh, I can't!” cried Polly, twisting her fingers. Then she broke out passionately, “Oh, he ought to be ashamed of himself not to study; and there's that nice Mr. Cabot, and his aunt—”
“Aunt!” exclaimed Jasper explosively. “Polly, I do believe if he hadn't her picking at him all the time, he would try harder.”
“Well, his uncle is different,” said Polly, her indignation by no means dying out.
“Yes, but it's his aunt who makes the mischief. Honestly, Polly, I don't believe I could stand her,” said Jasper, in a loyal burst.
“No, I don't believe I could either,” confessed Polly.
“And you see, when a boy has such a home, no matter what they give him, why, he doesn't have the ambition that he would if things were different. Just think, Polly, not to have one's own father or mother.”
“Oh Jasper!” cried Polly, quite overcome. “I'll do it, I will.”
“Polly!” Jasper seized her hands, and held them fast, his dark eyes glowing. “Oh Polly, that's so awfully good of you!”
“And you better run right over, and get him now,” said Polly, speaking very fast, “or I may run away, I shall get so scared.”
“You won't run away, I'll be bound,” cried Jasper, bursting into a merry laugh, and rushing off with a light heart. And presently, in less time than one could imagine, though to Polly it seemed an age, back he came, Pickering with him, all alive with curiosity to know what Polly Pepper wanted of him.
“It's about the play, I suppose,” he began, lolling into an easy-chair; “Jasper wouldn't tell me what it's all about; only seized me by the ear, and told me to come on. Draw up your chair, Jasper, and—why, hullo! where is the chap?” swinging his long figure around to stare.
“Pickering,” began Polly; and the den, usually the pleasantest place in all the house, was now like a prison, whose walls wouldn't let her breathe, “I don't know what to say. Oh dear me!” Poor Polly could get no further, but sat there in hopeless misery, looking at him.
“Eh—what? Oh, beg pardon,” exclaimed Pickering, whirling back in his chair, “but things are so very queer; first Jasper rushes off like a lunatic—”
“And I am worse,” said Polly, at last finding her tongue. “I don't wonder you think it's queer, Pickering, but Jasper does so love you, and it will just kill him if you don't study.” It was all out now, and in the most dreadful way. And feeling that she had quite destroyed all hope, Polly sat up pale and stiff in her chair.
Pickering threw his long figure out of the easy-chair, rushed up and down the den with immense strides, and came back to stand directly in front of her.
“Do you mean it, Polly?” His long face was working badly, and his hands were clenched, but as they were thrust deep within his pockets, Polly couldn't see them.
“Yes,” said Polly, “I do, Pickering.”
He stalked off again, but was back once more, Polly wondering how she could possibly bear to tell Jasper of her failure, for of course Pickering was very angry; when he said, “Polly, I want to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Polly looked at him sharply, and caught her breath.
“I won't drag Jasper down, I tell you, with me. I'll get through somehow at school. I promise you that. Here!” He twitched out his right hand from its pocket, and thrust it out at her.
“Oh Pickering Dodge!” exclaimed Polly in a transport, and seizing his hand, it was shaken vigorously.
“There, that's a bargain,” declared Pickering solemnly. “I'll get through someway. And say, Polly, it was awfully good of you to speak.”
“It was awfully hard,” said Polly, drawing a long breath. “Oh, are you sure you are not vexed, Pickering? Very sure?” And Polly's face drooped anxiously.
“Vexed?” cried Pickering. “I should rather say not! Polly, I'm lazy and selfish, and good for nothing; but I couldn't be vexed, for 'twas awfully hard for you to do.”
“I guess it was,” said Polly. Then she gave a little laugh, for it was all bright and jolly again, and she knew that Pickering would keep his word.
And that evening, after Jasper and she had a dance—they were so happy, they couldn't keep still—in the wide hall, Jasper burst out suddenly with a fresh idea.
“Polly,” he said, drawing her off to rest on one of the high, carved chairs, “there's one more thing.”
“Oh, what is it Jasper?” she cried gaily, with flushed cheeks. “Oh, wasn't that spin just delicious?”
“Wasn't it?” cried Jasper heartily. “Well, now, Polly,” flinging himself down on the next chair, “it's just this. Do you know, I don't believe we ought to have our play.”
“Not have our play?” Polly peered around to look closely into his face. “What do you mean, Jasper?”
“You see, Polly, Pick was to take a prominent part, and he ought not to, you know; it will take him from his lessons to rehearse and all that. And he's so backward there's a whole lot for him to make up.”
“Well, but Pickering will have to give up his part, then,” said Polly decidedly, “for we've simply got to have that play, to get the money to help that poor brakeman's family.”
Jasper winced. “I know; we must earn it somehow,” he said.
“We must earn it by the play,” said Polly. “And besides, Jasper, we voted at the club meeting to have it. So there, now,” she brought up triumphantly.
“We could vote to rescind that vote,” said Jasper.
“Well, we don't want to. Why, Jasper, how that would look on our two record books!” said Polly in surprise, for Jasper was so proud of his club and its records.
“Yes, of course; as our two clubs united that evening, it must go down in both books,” said Jasper slowly.
“Yes, of course,” assented Polly happily. “Well, now, you see, Jasper, that we really can't give it up, for we've gone too far. Pickering will have to let some one else take the part of the chief brigand.” For the little play was almost all written by Polly's fingers, Jasper filling out certain parts when implored to give advice: and brigands, and highway robberies, and buried treasures, and rescued maidens, and gallant knights, figured generously, in a style to give immense satisfaction.
“And the play is so very splendid!” cried Jasper. “Oh dear me! what ought we to do, Polly?” He buried his face in his hands a moment.
“Pickering must give up his part,” said Polly again.
“But, Polly, you know he has been in all our plays,” said Jasper. “And he'll feel so badly, and now he's got all this trouble about his lessons on his mind,” and Jasper's face fell.
Polly twisted uncomfortably on her chair. “Oh dear me!” she began, “I suppose we must give it up.”
“And if we gave it up, not altogether, but put it off till he catches up on his studies,” suggested Jasper, “why, he wouldn't be dropped out.”
“But the poor brakeman's family, Jasper,” said Polly, puzzled that Jasper should forget the object of the play.
“Oh, I didn't mean that we should put off earning the money, Polly,” cried Jasper, quite horrified at such a thought. “We must do something else, so that we can sell just as many tickets.”
“But what will it be?” asked Polly, trying not to feel crushed, and sighing at the disappearance of the beautiful play, for a time at least.
“Well, we could have recitations, for one thing,” said Jasper, feeling dreadfully to see Polly's disappointment, and concealing his own, for he had set his heart on the play too.
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, wrinkling up her face in disdain. “Jasper, do you know, I am so tired of recitations!”
“So am I,” Jasper bobbed his head in sympathy, “but we boys have some new ones, learned for last exhibition, so Pick won't have to take a moment from his lessons. And then we can have music, and you will play, Polly.”
“Oh Jasper, I've played so much,” said Polly, “they're all tired of hearing me.”
“They never would be tired of hearing you, Polly,” said Jasper simply. “Every one of us thinks you play beautifully.”
“And tableaux and an operetta take just as much time to rehearse,” mused Polly, thinking very hard if there wasn't something to keep them from the dreaded recitations.
“And I just loathe an operetta or tableaux,” exclaimed Jasper, with such venom that Polly burst out laughing.
“Oh Jasper, if you could see your face!” she cried.
“I shouldn't want to,” he laughed too; “but of all insipid things, an operetta is the worst; and tableaux—the way Miss Montague drilled and drilled and drilled us, and then stuck us up like sticks not to move for a half-hour or so, nearly finished me.”
“So it did me,” confessed Polly. “And besides, it would take a great deal more time to go through all that drilling than to rehearse the play.”
“Of course it would,” said Jasper, “so tableaux, thank fortune, are not to be thought of. I think it will have to be recitations and music, Polly.”
“I suppose so,” she said with a sigh. “Oh Jasper!” then she sprang off from her chair, and clapped her hands. “I've thought of the very thing. I believe Mr. Hamilton Dyce would tell some of his funny stories and help out the program.”
“Capital!” shouted Jasper; and just at this moment the big front door opened, and the butler ushered in Miss Mary Taylor and Mr. Dyce.
Polly and Jasper rushed up to the visitors, for they were prime favorites with the young people, and precipitated upon them all their woes. The end was, that they both promised beautifully to do whatever was wanted, for Miss Mary Taylor sang delightfully.
“And Pickering is safe, Polly, for I know now he'll go through the last half,” cried Jasper as they ran off to study their lessons for the next day.
And after that, there was no more trouble about that program, for as luck would have it, the very next day a letter came from Joel, saying that Dr. Marks had given them a holiday of a week on account of the illness of two boys in their dormitory, and, “May I bring home Tom Beresford? He's no-end fine!” and, “Please, Mamsie, let me fetch Sinbad! Do telegraph 'Yes.'”
And Mother Fisher, after consultation with Mr. King, telegraphed “Yes;” and wild was the rejoicing over the return of Joel and David and Percy and Van, and Tom; for Mother Fisher was ready to receive with open arms, and very glad silently to watch, one of Joel's friends.
“And to think that Sinbad is coming!” cried Polly, dancing about. “Just think, Phronsie, Joel's dear dog that Dr. Marks let him take to the little cobbler to keep for him!” And she took Phronsie's hand, and they spun around the hall.
“I shall get him a new pink ribbon,” declared Phronsie breathlessly, when the spin was over.
“Do,” cried Polly. “Dear me! that was a good spin, Phronsie!”
“I should think it was,” said Ben. “Goodness me! Polly, Phronsie and you made such a breeze!”
“Didn't we, Pet!” cried Polly, with a last kiss. “Oh Ben and Jasper, to think those boys will be here for our entertainment!”
“I know Tom is made of the right stuff,” Mamsie said proudly to Father Fisher, “else my boy would not choose him.”
“That's a fact, wife,” the little doctor responded heartily. “Joel is all right; may be a bit heedless, but he has a good head on his shoulders.”
The five boys bounded into the wide hall that evening—Joel first; and in his arms, a yellow dog, by no means handsome, with small, beady eyes, and a stubby tail that he was violently endeavoring to wag, under the impression that he had a good deal of it.
“Mamsie!” shouted Joel, his black eyes glowing, and precipitating himself into her arms, dog and all, “See Sinbad! See, Mamsie!”
“It's impossible not to see him,” said Ben. “Goodness me, Joe, what a dog!” which luckily Joel did not hear for the babel going on around. Besides, there was Phronsie trying to put her arms around the dog, and telling him about the pink ribbon which she held in her hand.
“Joe,” said Dr. Fisher, who had been here, there, and everywhere in the group, and coming up to nip Joel's jacket, “introduce your friend. You're a pretty one, to bring a boy home, and—”
“I forgot you, Tom,” shouted Joel, starting off, still hanging to his dog; “oh, there you are!” seeing Tom in the midst of the circle, and talking away to Grandpapa and Polly.
“As if I couldn't introduce Tom!” sniffed Percy importantly, quite delighted at Joel's social omissions. “I've done it ages ago.”
“All right,” said Joel, quite relieved. “Oh Phronsie, Sinbad doesn't want that ribbon on,” as Phronsie was making violent efforts to get it around the dog's neck.
“I would let her, Joel,” said Mother Fisher, “if I were you.”
“But he hates a ribbon,” said Joel in disgust, “and besides, he'll chew it up, Phronsie.”
“I don't want him to chew it up, Joel,” said Phronsie slowly, and pausing in her endeavors. And she looked very sober.
“I'll tell you, Phronsie.” Mrs. Fisher took the pink satin ribbon that Phronsie had bought with her own money. “Now, do you want mother to tie it on?”
“Do, Mamsie,” begged Phronsie, smoothing her gown in great satisfaction. And presently there was a nice little bow standing up on the back of Sinbad's neck; and as there didn't seem to be any ends to speak of, there was nothing to distract his attention from the responsibility of watching all the people.
“Oh, isn't he beautiful!” cried Phronsie in a transport, and hopping up and down to clap her hands. “Grandpapa dear, do look; and I've told Princey all about him, and given him a ribbon too, so he won't feel badly.”
And after this excitement had died down, Joel whirled around. “Tom's brought his banjo,” he announced.
“Oh!” exclaimed Polly.
“And he can sing,” cried Joel, thinking it best to mention all the accomplishments at once.
“Don't, Joe,” begged Tom, twitching his sleeve.
Polly looked over at Jasper, with sparkling eyes, and the color flew into her cheeks.
“Splendid!” his eyes signalled back.
“What is it?” cried Joel, giving each a sharp glance. “Now you two have secrets; and that's mean, when we've just got home. What is it, Polly?” He ran to her, shaking her arm.
“You'll see in time,” said Polly, shaking him off, to dance away.
“I don't want to know in time,” said Joel, “I want to know now. Mamsie, what is it?”
“I'm sure I haven't the least idea,” said Mother Fisher, who hadn't heard Joel's announcement. “And I think you would do better, Joey, to take care of your guest, and let other things wait.”
“Oh, Tom doesn't want to be fussed over,” said Joel carelessly; yet he went back to the tall boy standing quite still, in the midst of the general hilarity. “That's just the way Ben and Polly used to do in the little brown house,” he grumbled—“always running away, and hiding their old secrets from me, Tom.”
“Well, we had to, if we ever told each other anything,” said Ben coolly. “Joel everlastingly tagged us about, Beresford.”
“Well, I had to, if I ever heard anything,” burst out Joel, with a laugh. “Come on, Tom,” and he bore him off together with Sinbad.
“Polly,” Jasper was saying, the two now being off in a corner, “how fine! Now, perhaps Tom Beresford will sing.”
“And play,” finished Polly, with kindling face. “Oh Jasper, was anything ever so gorgeous!” she cried joyfully, for Polly dearly loved high-sounding words; “and we'll sell a lot more tickets, because he's new, and people will want to hear him.”
“If he will do it,” said Jasper slowly, not wanting to dampen her anticipation, but dreadfully afraid that the new boy might not respond.
“Oh, he'll do it, I do believe,” declared Polly confidently; “he must, Jasper, help about that poor brakeman's family.”
And he did. Tom Beresford evidently made up his mind, when he went home with Joel, to do everything straight through that the family asked him, for he turned out to be the best visitor they had entertained, and one and all pronounced him capital. All but Joel himself, who told him very flatly the second day that he wasn't half as nice as at school, for he was now running at everybody's beck and nod.
“Instead of yours,” said Tom calmly. Then he roared.
“Hush up,” cried Joel, very uncomfortable, and getting very red. “Well, you must acknowledge, Tom, that I want to see something of you, else why would I have brought you home, pray tell?”
“Nevertheless, I shall do what your sister Polly and your mother and Jasper and Mr. King ask me to do,” said Tom composedly, which was all Joel got for his fuming. And the most that he saw of Tom after that was a series of dissolving views, for even Phronsie began to monopolize him, being very much taken with his obliging ways.
At last Joel took to moping, and Ben found him thus in a corner.
“See here, old fellow, that's a nice way,—to come home on a holiday, and have such a face. I don't wonder you want to sneak in here.”
“It's pretty hard,” said Joel, trying not to sniffle, “to have a fellow you bring home from school turn his back on you.”
“Well, he couldn't turn his back on you,” said Ben, wanting very much to laugh, but he restrained himself, “if you went with him.”
“I can't follow him about,” said Joel, in a loud tone of disgust. “He's twanging his old banjo all the time, and Polly's got him to sing, and he's practising up. I wish 'twas smashed.”
“What?” said Ben, only half comprehending.
“Why, his old banjo. I didn't think he'd play it all the time,” said Joel, who was secretly very proud of his friend's accomplishments; and he displayed a very injured countenance.
“See here, now, Joe,” said Ben, laying a very decided hand on Joel's jacket, “do you just drop all this, and come out of your hole. Aren't you ashamed, Joe! Run along, and find Beresford, and pitch into whatever he's doing.”
“I can't do anything for that old concert,” said Joel, who obeyed enough to come “out of the old hole,” but stood glancing at Ben with sharp black eyes.
“I don't know about that,” said Ben, “you can at least help to get the tickets ready.”
“Did Polly say so?” demanded Joel, all in a glow. “Say, Ben, did she?” advancing on him.
“No, but I do; for Polly asked me to do them; and you know, Joe, how busy I am all day.”
He didn't say “how tired” also, but Joel knew how Ben was working at Cabot and Van Meter's, hoping to get into business life the sooner, to begin to pay Grandpapa back for all his kindness.
“Ben, if I can help you with those tickets I'll do it.” Every trace of Joel's grumpiness had flown to the four winds. “Let me, will you?” he begged eagerly.
“All right.” Ben had no need to haul him along, as Joel raced on ahead up to Ben's room to get the paraphernalia.
“I can't think what's become of Joel,” said Polly, flying down the long hall in great perplexity, “we want him dreadfully. Have you seen him, Phronsie?”
“No,” said Phronsie, “I haven't, Polly,” and a look of distress came into her face.
“Never mind, Pet,” said Polly, her brow clearing, “I'll find him soon.”
But Phronsie watched Polly fly off, with a troubled face. Then she said to herself, “I ought to find Joey for Polly,” and started on a tour of investigation to suit herself.
Meanwhile Ben was giving Joel instructions about the tickets; and Joel presently was so absorbed he wouldn't have cared if all the Tom Beresfords in the world had deserted him, as he bent over his task, quite elated that he was helping Polly, and becoming one of the assistants to make the affair a success.
“I guess it's going to be a great thing, Ben,” he said, looking up a moment from the pink and yellow pasteboard out of which he was cutting the tickets.
“You better believe so,” nodded Ben, hugely delighted to see Joe's good spirits, when the door opened, and in popped Phronsie's yellow head.
She ran up to Joel. “Oh Joey!” she hummed delightedly, “I've found you,” and threw herself into his arms.
Joel turned sharply, knife in hand. It was all done in an instant. Phronsie exclaimed, “Oh!” in such a tone that Ben, off in the corner of the room, whirled around, to see Joel, white as a sheet, holding Phronsie. “I've killed her,” he screamed.
Ben sprang to them. The knife lay on the table, where Joel had thrown it, a little red tinge along the tip. Ben couldn't help seeing it as he dashed by, with a groan.
“Give her to me,” he commanded hoarsely.
“No, no—I'll hold her,” persisted Joel, through white lips, and hanging to Phronsie.
“Give her to me, and run down for Father Fisher.”
“It doesn't hurt much, Joey,” said Phronsie, holding up her little arm. A small stream of blood was flowing down, and she turned away her head.
Joel took one look, and fled with wild eyes. “I don't believe it's very bad,” Ben made himself call after him hoarsely. “Now, Phronsie, you'll sit in my lap—there; and I'll keep this old cut together as well as I can. We must hold your arm up, so, child.” Ben made himself talk as fast as he could to keep Phronsie's eyes on him.
“I got cut in the little brown house once, didn't I, Bensie?” said Phronsie, and trying to creep up further into Ben's lap.
“You must sit straight, child,” said Ben. Oh, would Father Fisher and Mamsie ever come! for the blood, despite all his efforts, was running down the little arm pretty fast.
“Why, Ben?” asked Phronsie, with wide eyes, and wishing that her arm wouldn't ache so, for now quite a smart pain had set in. “Why, Bensie?” and thinking if she could be cuddled, it wouldn't be quite so bad.
“Why, we must hold your arm up stiff,” said Ben, just as Mamsie came up to her baby, and took her in her arms; and then Phronsie didn't care whether the ache was there or not.
“Joe couldn't help it,” said Ben brokenly.
“I believe that,” Mother Fisher said firmly. “Oh Ben, the doctor is away.”
Ben started. “I'll go down to the office; perhaps he's there.”
“No; there's no chance. I've sent for Dr. Pennell. Your father likes him. Now Phronsie”—Mrs. Fisher set her white lips together tightly—“you and I and Ben will see to this arm of yours. Ben, get one of your big handkerchiefs.”
“It doesn't ache so very much, Mamsie,” said Phronsie, “only I would like to lay it down.”
“And that is just what we can't do, Phronsie,” said Mother Fisher decidedly. “All right,” to Ben, “now tear it into strips.”
Old Mr. King was not in the library when Joel had rushed down with his dreadful news, but was in Jasper's den, consulting with him and Polly about the program for the entertainment, as Polly and Jasper, much to the old gentleman's delight, never took a step without going to him for advice. The consequence was that these three did not hear of the accident till a little later, when the two Whitney boys dashed in with pale faces, “Phronsie's hurt,” was their announcement, which wouldn't have been given so abruptly had not each one been so anxious to get ahead of the other.
Old Mr. King, not comprehending, had turned sharply in his chair to stare at them.
“Hush, boys,” warned Polly, hoarsely pointing to him; “is Mamsie with her?” She didn't dare to speak Phronsie's name.
“Yes,” said Van, eager to communicate all the news, and hoping Percy would not cut in. But Percy, after Polly's warning, had stood quite still, afraid to open his mouth.
Jasper was hunting in one of his drawers for an old book his father had wished to see. So of course he hadn't heard a word.
“Here it is, father,” he cried, rushing back and whirling the leaves—“why, what?” for he saw Polly's face.
“Oh Jasper—don't,” said Polly brokenly.
“Why do you boys rush in, in this manner?” demanded old Mr. King testily. “And, Polly, child, what is the matter?”
“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, rushing over to him to put her arms around his neck, “Phronsie is hurt someway. I don't believe it is much,” she gasped, while Jasper ran to his other side.
“Phronsie hurt!” cried old Mr. King in sharp distress. “Where is she?”
Then Percy, seeing it was considered time for communication of news, struck in boldly; and between the two, all that was known of Joel's wild exclamations was put before them. All this was told along the hall and going over the stairs; for Grandpapa, holding Polly's hand, with Jasper hurrying fast behind them, was making good time up to Ben's room.
“And Dr. Fisher can't be found,” shouted Van, afraid that the whole would not be told. Polly gave a shiver that all her self-control could not help.
“But Joel's gone for Dr. Pennell,” screamed Percy; “Mrs. Fisher sent him.”
“He's very good,” said Jasper comfortingly. So this is the way they came into Ben's room.
“Oh, here's Grandpapa!” cooed Phronsie, trying to get down from Mamsie's lap.
“Oh, no, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Fisher, “you must sit still; it's better for your arm.”
“But Grandpapa looks sick,” said Phronsie.
“Bless me—oh, you poor lamb, you!” Old Mr. King went unsteadily across the room, and knelt down by her side.
“Grandpapa,” said Phronsie, stroking his white face, “see, it's all tied up high.”
“Sit still, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Fisher, keeping her fingers on the cut. Would the doctor ever come? Besides Joel, Thomas and several more messengers were despatched with orders for Dr. Pennell and to find Dr. Fisher, with the names of other doctors if these failed. God would send some one of them soon, she knew.
Phronsie obediently sat quite still, although she longed to show Grandpapa the white bandages drawn tightly around her arm. And she smoothed his hair, while he clasped his hands in her lap.
“I want Polly,” she said presently.
“Stay where you are, Polly,” said her mother, who had telegraphed this before with her eyes, over Phronsie's yellow hair.
Polly, at the sound of Phronsie's voice, had leaned forward, but now stood quite still, clasping her hands tightly together.
“Speak to her, Polly,” said Jasper.
But Polly shook her head, unable to utter a sound.
“Polly, you must,” said Jasper, for Phronsie was trying to turn in her mother's lap, and saying in a worried way, “Where's Polly? I want Polly.”
“Polly is over there,” said Mamsie, “but I do not think it's best for her to come now. But she'll speak to you, Phronsie.”
“How funny!” laughed Phronsie. “Polly can't come, but she'll talk across the room.”
Everything turned black before Polly's eyes; but she began, “Yes, Pet, I'm here,” very bravely.
“I am so glad you are there, Polly,” said Phronsie, easily satisfied.
Footsteps rapid and light were heard on the stairs. Polly and Jasper flew away from the doorway to let Dr. Pennell, his little case in his hand, come in.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed cheerily, “so now it's Phronsie; I'm coming to her this time,” for he had often dropped in to call or to dine since the railway accident.
“Yes,” said Phronsie, with a little laugh of delight, for she very much liked Dr. Pennell. He always took her on his lap, and told her stories; and he had a way of tucking certain little articles in his pockets to have her hunt for them. So they had gotten on amazingly well.
“Why, where—” Phronsie began in a puzzled way.
“Is Dr. Fisher?” Dr. Pennell finished it for her, rapidly going on with his work. “Well, he'll be here soon, I think. And you know he always likes me to do things when he isn't on hand. So I've come.”
“And I like you very much,” said Phronsie, wriggling her toes in satisfaction.
“I know that; we are famous friends, Phronsie,” said the doctor, with one of those pleasant smiles of his that showed his white teeth.
“What's famous?” asked Phronsie, keeping her grave eyes on his face.
“Oh, fine; it means first-rate. We are fine friends, aren't we, Phronsie?”
“Yes, we are,” declared Phronsie, bending forward to see his work the better, and taking her eyes from his face.
“There, there, you must sit quite straight. That's a nice child, Phronsie. And see here! I must take you sometime in my carriage when I go on my calls. Will you go, Phronsie?” and Dr. Pennell smiled again.
“Yes, I will.” Phronsie nodded her yellow head, while she fastened her eyes on his face. “I used to go with Papa Fisher when I was at the little brown house, and I liked it; I did.”