"Yes, I know--Miss Eunice," said Amos.
"Yes, my Eunice. She is all I have got, and she is better to me than
two or three brothers."
"Yes, I know," said Amos, nodding his head; "I heard Dr Everett talking
about her with father. Oh, no, it wasn't doctor's talk; only how good
she is, and how much she thinks of you!"
"Why do they call you Faithful?" asked Ned.
"No one calls me that but Nellie, and you must ask her why."
"I suppose it is because you never shirk," said Amos.
Fidelia looked grave.
"I don't deserve it for that reason," said she.
"You know Jabez Ainsworth, don't you?" said Amos.
"Oh, yes; I have always known him! We are good friends."
"He is a smart boy, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is smart, and good, though he gets into trouble now and then.
He is seventeen."
She told them an amusing story or two about Jabez--about adventures
which he had had and trouble into which he had fallen when he was a
little fellow, because of a determination to get his own way. She ended
with an account of his last venture in taking Eunice's garden for the
summer, so as to make some money, because he "was bound to put himself
through college, and _be_ somebody."
Amos listened in silence.
"Do you suppose he'll do it?" said Ned.
"I think so. Oh, yes, he is sure to succeed! His grandfather will help
him, perhaps, when he sees that he is determined to be educated. But,
whether he helps him or not, Jabez is bound to succeed."
"I wonder if the hardest things aren't the easiest after all!" said
Amos. "I mean, that we don't always care much about what we can get
without much trouble."
"He means, _he_ don't care about going to college," said Ned; "but
father means he shall."
"Oh, yes, I suppose I shall go! But I'd a good deal rather go West to
Uncle John's great farm."
"You can do both," said Fidelia.
"It takes five years to get through Amherst College."
"Well, you can spare them. You are young. How old are you?"
"I was fifteen in May."
"Only fifteen! I thought you were older than that."
Amos looked pleased.
"How nearly are you ready for college?"
"I might go this fall; but father thinks I had better wait a year. I
don't care."
"I think so too--if you don't care. Next year Jabez may go too. I only
wish he had your chance--and yet I am not sure. He may do all the
better for having to work his way through. But for one to have your
chance, and not to care for it, that I cannot understand!" added Fidelia
gravely.
"My father is not a rich man," said Amos.
"No--not as Mr Kent is rich. But an education such as he is able and
willing to give his boys will be worth more--if they take the good of
it--than all Mr Kent's money would be. You don't realise, your
privileges, young man."
She said a good deal more than that. Amos had heard much of it before,
but somehow it sounded differently repeated by this girl with laughing
lips and shining eyes, and with now and then a touch of only
half-conscious scorn for the eyes that would not see and the hands that
did not care to seize the chances for which others were eager to strive.
Amos had not much to say as they rose and turned homewards.
By-and-by they stopped to rest, leaning for a little on the crooked
fence on the brow of the hill, from which more than one tree-shaded town
could be seen, and many cultivated fields and rough pastures, and broken
stretches of woodland, with the light of a wonderful sunset lying on
them all. It was a fair scene, suggestive of peace and plenty and
contentment; and, looking on it, Fidelia lifted up her voice and sang--
"My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty--Of thee I sing!" and
so on to the end. Amos looked up amazed, and at the second verse struck
in a true boy's second. So did Ned; and even Franky, climbing up to the
top rail of the fence, tuned his shrill pipe with the rest.
Of course they sang "My Country" to the tune which belongs to it--a tune
which with these words, and with other words, has stirred and thrilled
patriotic breasts on both sides of the sea for many a year and day.
Fidelia and the Austin boys called it "America," but on the other side
of the sea it is called "God save the Queen." They sang it there on the
hill-top, with all their hearts. Then they sang "The Star-spangled
Banner" and "Hail! Columbia!" as they took their way through field and
wood; and more besides, till tired old ladies, rocking themselves in
their chairs and taking their rest at open doors caught the sound and
smiled; and boys and girls, milking their cows in pasture corners,
paused in their work to listen.
Tired? That was the very last thing they were thinking of as they
passed the south porch, on their way to the kitchen with their fish.
Fidelia nodded and smiled to the party sitting there, waiting to be
called to tea, but passed on to the kitchen with the boys, where the
fish was displayed to the admiring eyes of cousin Abby and the doctor.
"And so Miss Fidelia did not scare away the fishes, as girls generally
do?" said cousin Abby.
"I guess she didn't. I tell you, she knows how!" said Ned.
"She's first-rate," said Frank.
Fidelia laughed--"I have had a good time. I should like to go again
some day."
"And why should you not? And Nellie shall go next time. I don't
believe she has had so good a time at home," said the doctor, as his
daughter came in.
"Oh, yes, I have had a pretty good time! But I should like to go
fishing with the boys and Fidelia next time. You feel better, don't
you, Fie?" said Nellie, as they went upstairs together; and her friend
assured her that the day's tramp with the boys had done her good.
On the bed, as smooth as cousin Abby's skill in ironing could make it,
and adorned with here and there a knot of ribbon which Fidelia had not
put on, lay the white dress which was "to be kept for Sunday."
"I thought I had better have it all ready," said Nellie hurriedly, "as I
thought you might be late. We are going to have company this evening--
just the Newtons, and Conways, and a few others. Mother thought she
would like Mrs Kent and the girls to see some of our friends, and this
was the best night for them to come. I am sorry it happened so, for you
must be tired--though you don't look tired."
"I am not a bit tired. And don't look so troubled, child. Oh, yes,
I'll wear the white gown--red ribbons and all! I'll do my best to do
you credit."
"How you talk, Fidelia! But I do want you to look nice. Father says--"
But what her father said Fidelia was not to hear. A knock came to the
door, and cousin Abby entered with a tray.
"Doctor said Miss Fidelia had better have her tea up here, and rest a
spell till the company come. She mustn't get too tired, you know," said
the old lady, smiling.
"Well, there! I might have had the sense to think of that myself, and
saved you the trouble," said the delighted Nellie.
Fidelia said nothing, but she cleared a place on the table for the tray,
and thanked the old lady with a kiss.
"If you should drop asleep for half an hour it wouldn't hurt you any,"
said Cousin Abby as she closed the door.
And, in the midst of her questioning as to why these people should be so
kind to her, Fidelia did fall asleep, and woke only when, an hour later,
Nellie returned ready dressed and eager to help her--
"You look quite nice!" was all Nellie allowed herself to say to her
friend as they went downstairs together. "Now they'll see for
themselves whether she is beautiful or not," she was saying to herself;
but she knew it would not be wise to say it to Fidelia.
Of course Miss Austin had to be ready to receive their friends; and
Fidelia fortunately found Amos entertaining the minister with an account
of the day's sport and the pleasures of a day among the hills.
"Here is Miss Fidelia. She knows all about it," said the boy; and they
had a pleasant half-hour together.
Nellie's triumph began when Judge Newton asked her whether the tall girl
standing talking to the minister was the beautiful Miss Avery they had
heard so much about. More than one asked the same question.
"Oh, no," said Nellie demurely, "that is only my room-mate, Fidelia
Marsh! Wait till you see Miss Avery."
And she had another little triumph when, drawn towards the piano by the
exquisite touch of Miss Kent, Fidelia almost unconsciously put out her
hand to turn the page of the difficult music she was playing, and kept
on turning it to the end. It was the look of surprise which passed
between Miss Kent and her cousin that delighted Fidelia's friend.
"You play, do you not?" said Miss Kent, rising.
"Not as you play. Oh, please don't go yet!" said Fidelia earnestly.
"Sing something, Ella," said her cousin. "Sing this"--laying a song
open before her. "No, Miss Marsh. I will turn the music. You must
only enjoy it."
And Fidelia did enjoy it, as she had seldom enjoyed music before;
growing pale and red by turns, as the thrilling voice rose and fell.
For the moment the enjoyment was perfect. When it ceased, Fidelia would
have slipped quietly out of the room. Miss Kent rose.
"You sing, I am sure, Miss Marsh?"
"No," said Fidelia gravely; "I do not sing."
"Fidelia!" exclaimed Nellie.
"No," repeated Fidelia; "I don't sing. I have only just found it out."
"And what is this Amos has been telling us about your starting the
echoes among the hills on your way home to-night?" said Dr Everett, who
had drawn near.
"_I_ think you can sing," said Amos. "Oh, yes, I can sing to please
Amos!" said Fidelia, trying to speak lightly, but troubled under the
eyes of those who had gathered round the piano, and more troubled still
by the rush of her own vexed thoughts.
"Is it envy?" she was saying to herself. "Is it pride and jealousy and
discontent? Am I going to disappoint Eunice, after all? Oh, I am not
good!"
She did not know who proposed it, or how it happened, but in a little
Miss Kent seated herself at the piano again, and the young people
gathered round her, "to sing something they all could sing,"--a much
more enjoyable affair to most uneducated singers than just to sit and
listen to fine music. Of course they began with "The Star-spangled
Banner;" and if Fidelia's voice did not ring out quite as it had rung
out to please the boys among the hills, it still caused the Boston
cousins to exchange surprised glances, thus giving the watchful Nellie
another moment of delight. They did not sing long, however; and when
Miss Kent rose again, Fidelia moved away to the other end of the room,
believing that the pleasure of the evening was over for her.
But it was not. She found herself in a little listening with much
interest to the minister and the judge as they discussed a question
which had come up before the last ministerial association of the county,
and thinking it would be something to tell Eunice about when she went
home. In the midst of it a voice said,--
"Miss Fidelia, I have a message for you from your sister."
"From Eunice?"--and she turned to see Dr Justin Everett standing beside
her.
"Yes. I went to Halsey with my brother this morning, and have only just
returned. We called to see your sister on our way."
"She is well?"
"That is part of the message she sent to you. She says you are not to
hurry home, as my brother seemed to think you meant to do. You are to
stay and have a good time. She does not need you in the least. No;
that is not part of her message. But she is going with Mrs Stone to
pay a visit of a week over in Northwood, and you are to stay here till
that is over. She will write fully to-morrow."
"I am glad she is strong enough even to think of a visit to Northwood."
"Yes; and Mrs Stone will take excellent care of her. The change will
do her good. And your change will do you good also."
"It has done me good already."
Then he gave her another message from his niece, Susie Everett, and told
her several items of Halsey news; and then some one came to interrupt
their talk; and then the evening went on as all such evenings do, until
the guests rose to go away. And Fidelia was saying to herself, while
she listened to Nellie's remarks on things in general, that Eunice and
Dr Justin were good friends again, and she was not sure whether she was
glad or sorry that it should be so.