“Nell!”
There was genuine delight in the boy’s tone as he came forward to
greet her, shyly, perhaps, and with a bit of shamed hesitancy because
he could not but remember that the family had probably told her all
about him, and she would of course disapprove of him as much as they
did.
But Cornelia, with the steaming gravy-boat in one hand and a pile of
hot plates in the other, turned a warm, rosy cheek up to him, her
eyes still intent on putting down the dishes without spilling the
treacherous gravy on the clean tablecloth.
“It’s great to see you again, Carey,” she said heartily, trying to
make the situation as casual as possible. “Sorry to seem brief; but I
have something luscious on the stove, and I’m afraid it’ll burn. Sit
down quick, won’t you?—and be ready to eat it while it’s hot. We’ll
talk afterward. I want to have a good look at you and see if you’ve
grown more than I have.”
Her voice trailed off into the kitchen cheerily, and not in the least
as though she had been palpitating between hope and fear about him
all the afternoon and working herself to a frazzle getting his room
ready.
She returned almost immediately with the first plate of golden-brown
waffles, and stole a furtive glance at him from the kitchen doorway.
He had not yet seated himself, although the others were bustling
joyously and noisily into their chairs. He was still standing
thoughtfully, staring around the dining-room and at the table. As she
approached, he gave her a furtive, sweeping look, then dropped his
lashes and slid into his chair, a half-frown beginning to grow on
his brow. He looked as if he were expecting the next question to be:
“Why weren’t you here last night? Where were you? Don’t you know you
were rude?” but none of those questions were voiced. His father did
clear his throat and glance up at him gravely; but Louise with quick
instinct began to chatter about the syrup that Cornelia had made.
His attention was turned aside, and the tense expression of his face
relaxed as he looked about the pleasant table and noticed the happy
faces.
“It hasn’t looked this way since your mother went away,” said the
father with a deep sigh. “How good that bread looks! Real home-made
bread again! What a difference that makes!” and he reached out, and
took a slice as if it were something merely to look at and feel.
“I’ll say! That looks rare!” Carey volunteered, taking a slice
himself and passing the plate. “Some smell, this dinner, what?” he
added, drawing in a long, deep breath. “Seems like living again.”
His father’s tired eyes rested on him sadly, contemplatively. He
opened his lips to speak; but Cornelia slid into her chair, and said,
“Now, father, we’re ready”; and he bowed his head and murmured a
low, sad little grace. So Carey was saved again from a much-deserved
reproof. Cornelia couldn’t help being glad; and Louise looked at her
with a knowing gleam in her eye as she raised her head, and broke
into a brilliant smile. Louise had bitter knowledge of what it meant
to have Carey reproved at a meal. There was always a scene, ending
with no Carey.
“Yes, and,” began Louise swiftly as soon as the “Amen” was concluded,
“there’s waffles _and_ gingerbread! Think of that! And Nellie had
time to fix up your bedroom, Kay. Did you go up there?”
“I should say I did! Nell, you’re a peach! I never meant to have it
looking that way when you came home. I sure am ashamed you had to dig
that stuff all out. Some junk I had there. I meant to take a day off
and clean house pretty soon.”
“Well, now you can help me with some of the other rooms, instead,”
his sister replied, smiling, and hastened back to turn her waffles.
“I sure will!” said Carey heartily. “When do you want me? Tomorrow
morning? Nothing in the way of my working all day if you say the
word. We used to make a pretty good team, Nell, you and I. Think we
could accomplish a lot in a day.”
“Yes, Carey hasn’t any job to hinder him doing what he pleases,”
put in Harry with a bitter young sneer. “I’d ’uv had it all done by
myself long ago if I hadn’t had a job after school!”
“Yes, you young brag!” began Carey with a deep scowl. “You think
you’re it and _then_ some!”
“It would seem as if you might have given a little time, Carey,”
began his father almost petulantly, with a look about his mouth of
restraining less mild things that he might have said.
Louise looked apprehensively at her sister.
“Oh, well,” put in Cornelia quickly, “you couldn’t be expected to
know what to do, any of you, till your big sister got home. You’ve
all done wonderfully well, I think, to get as much done as you have;
and I only blame you, everyone of you, especially father dear, for
not sending for me sooner. It was really—well, criminal, you know,
Daddy, to keep me in expensive luxury and ignorance that way. But I’m
not going to scold you here before folks. We’ll have that out after
they’ve all gone to bed, won’t we? We’re going to have nothing but
pleasant sayings at this supper table. It’s a kind of reunion, you
know, after so many years. Just think; we haven’t all been together
for—how long is it?—four years? Doesn’t that seem really awful? When
I think of it, I realize how terribly selfish I have been. I didn’t
realize it in college because I was having such a good time, but I
have been selfish and lazy and absolutely thoughtless. I hope you’ll
all forgive me.”
Carey lifted wondering eyes, and his scowl faded while he studied
his pretty sister’s guileless face thoughtfully. The attention was
diverted from him, and his anger was cooling; but somehow he began to
feel deep in his soul that it was really he that had been selfish.
All their scolding and nagging hadn’t made him in the least conscious
of it; but this new, old, dear, pretty sister taking the blame on
herself seemed to throw a new light on his own doings. Of course it
was merely momentary, and made no very deep impression; but still the
idea had come, and would never be quite driven away again.
The supper was a success from every point of view. The pot-roast was
as tender as cheese; the mashed potatoes melted under the gravy like
snow before the summer sun, and were enjoyed with audible praise; and
the waffles sizzled and baked and disappeared, and more took their
places, until at last the batter was all gone.
“Well, I couldn’t hold another one,” said Carey, “but they certainly
were jim-dandies. Say, you haven’t forgotten how to cook, Nell!” and
he cast a look of deep admiration toward his sister.
Cornelia, so tired she could hardly get up out of her chair after she
dropped into it, lifted a bravely smiling face, and realized that
she had scored a point. Carey had liked the supper and was over his
grouch. The first night had been ushered in greatly. She was just
wondering whether she dared suggest that he help wash the dishes when
he suddenly jerked out his watch, glanced at it, and shoved his chair
back noisily.
“Gee! I’ve gotta beat it,” he said hurriedly as he strode to the hall
door. “I’ve gotta date!” and before the family had drawn the one
quick, startled, aghast breath of disappointment and tried to think
of some way to detain him, or find out where he was going, or when he
was coming back, he had slammed the front door behind him.
The father had an ashen-gray, helpless look; Louise’s mouth drooped
at the corners, and there were tears in her eyes as she held up her
head bravely and carried a pile of plates out to the kitchen, while
Harry with an ugly sneer on his young lips shoved his chair back,
noisily murmuring: “Aw, gee! Gotta date! Always gotta date! When I
grow up, I’ll see if I always have to have a date!” Then he snatched
an armful of dishes, and strode to the kitchen, grumbling in an
undertone all the way.
Cornelia cast a quick, apprehensive look at her father, and said
cheerily:
“Oh, never mind. Of course young men have dates; and when you’ve
promised, you know it isn’t easy to change. Come, let’s get these
dishes out of the way quickly; and then we can sit down and talk.
It’s great to all be together again, isn’t it? Father, dear, how
long do you suppose it will be before mother is well? Have you had a
letter today?”
The father beamed at her again, and, putting his hand in his pocket,
drew out an official-looking envelope.
“Yes,” he said wistfully; “that is, a note from the nurse with the
report. Of course she is not allowed to write. She just sends her
love, that’s all, and says she’s getting well as fast as possible.
She seems to be gaining a little. Here’s the report.”
They all gathered around it, studying the little white, mysterious
paper that was to tell them how the dear mother was getting on, and
then turned away little wiser. Suddenly Harry, noticing the sag
of Cornelia’s shoulder as she stood holding on to the back of her
father’s chair, turned with a swift motion, and gathered her into his
strong young arms like a bear. Before she could protest he bore her
over to the old, humpy couch, where he deposited her with a gruff
gentleness.
“There you are!” he puffed commandingly. “You lie there, and Lou and
I will do the dishes. You’re all in, and you don’t know enough to
know it.”
“Nonsense!” said Cornelia, laughing and trying to rise. “I’m used
to playing basketball and hockey, and doing all sorts of stunts. It
won’t hurt me to get a little tired. I’m going to wash those dishes,
and you can wipe them.”
“No, you’re not. I say she’s not, Lou, is she?” and he held her down
with his rough young force.
“Certainly not,” said Louise grown-uply appearing with her hands full
of knives and forks. “It’s our turn now. She thinks we don’t know how
to wash dishes. Harry Copley, you just oughtta see all she’s done all
by herself upstairs, cleaning Carey’s room, and washing blankets,
and all, besides making bread and gingerbread and everything. Come
on upstairs and see. No, we won’t go yet till the dishes are done.
’Cause Nellie would work while we were gone. Daddy, you just sit
there and talk to her, and don’t let her get up while we clean up.
Then we’ll take you upstairs.”
So Cornelia lay still at last on the lumpy couch, and rested,
realizing that she was “all in,” and feeling well repaid for her hard
work by the loving light in the children’s eyes and her father’s
tender glance.
The thought of Carey hung in the back of her mind, and troubled her
now and then; but she remembered that he had promised to help her in
the morning, and somehow that comforted her. She succeeded in keeping
the rest of the family so interested in her tales of college life
that they did not remember their troubles.
When the dishes were done, Cornelia told Louise how to set some
buckwheat cakes for morning.
“I saw they were selling buckwheat cheap in the store,” she
explained; “and so I got some. It will soon be too warm to eat
buckwheat cakes, and I’m just crazy to taste them again. I haven’t
had a decent one since I left home.”
“Carey just loves ’em,” said Louise thoughtfully.
“Aw, he won’t get up in time to get any,” sneered Harry.
“He might if he knew we were going to have ’em,” said Louise.
“Let’s write him a note, and leave it up on his bureau,” said
Cornelia brightly. “That’ll be fun. Let’s make it in poetry. Where’s
a pencil and a big piece of paper?”
“I’ve got some colored crayons,” suggested Harry.
So Cornelia scribbled a minute, and produced the following, which
Harry proudly copied in large illuminated letters on a piece of
wrapping paper:
“The Copleys’ breakfast’s buckwheat cakes,
With maple syrup too;
They’re light and tender, sweet and brown,
The kind you needn’t chew.
So, Carey, rise at early dawn,
And put your vesture on,
And come to breakfast in good time,
Or they will all be gone!”
Louise danced up and down as she read it.
“O Nellie, Nellie, that’s real poetry!” she declared, “and aren’t we
having a good time?”
“I should say we were!” declared Harry, beginning to make a large
flourishing capital T with green and brown crayons. “Talk about
dates!” contemptuously. “If a fella has got a good home, he oughtta
stay in it!”
“O Nellie, it’s so good to have you home!” sighed Louise suddenly
snuggling down into her sister’s tired arms. “I’m so glad your
college is done!”
And all at once Cornelia realized that she too was glad. Here had
she been nearly all this afternoon and evening, having a first-rate,
beautiful time getting tired with hard work, but enjoying it just
as much as if she had been working over the junior play. It came to
her with a sudden start that just at this hour they were having one
of the almost last rehearsals—without her! For a second it gave her
a pang, and then she realized that she really and truly was just
as much interested in getting Carey’s room fixed up, and making a
cheerful, beautiful living room some day for the family to gather
in, and having good times to win back Carey, as ever she had been
in making costumes for the girls and making the play a success by
means of her delightful scenery. For was she not, after all, about
to plan the scenery for the play of life in the Copley family? Who
should say but there would be as much tragedy and comedy and romance
in the Copley play as ever there had been at Dwight Hall? Well, time
would tell, and somehow the last twenty-four hours had put her on a
different plane, and enabled her to look down at her college life
from a new angle. What had done it? Her knowledge of how her father
and mother had struggled and sacrificed? The dearness of her young
brother and sister in their sturdy, honest desire to be helpful and
to love her and look up to her? Or was it her longing to hold and
help the young brother who had been her chum and companion in the
days before she had gone to college? At least, she could truly say
in her heart that she was glad she was here tonight, and she was not
nearly so dismayed at the dreary house and the sordid surroundings
as she had been twenty-four hours before; for now she knew that it
only spelled her opportunity, as that lovely lady on the train had
suggested, and she was eager to be up and at it in the morning.
They all went up together to the third story presently, and stood
in the swept and garnished front room, Mr. Copley going over to the
bureau and touching with a tender movement of caress the picture of
his wife that stood there and then looking toward the empty white bed
with a wistful anxiety. Cornelia could almost read the words of his
heart, and into her own there entered the burden of her brother, and
she knew she would never rest in her own selfish ease again until she
felt sure that Carey was all right.
She crept into bed beside Louise at last, almost too weary to pull up
the covers; and let the little girl snuggle thankfully into her arms.
“You’re almost—almost like my dear muvver,” murmured Louise sleepily,
nosing into her neck and settling down on her sister’s arm with a
sigh of content; and Cornelia thought how sweet it was to have a
little sister to love and be loved by, and wondered how it was that
she had dreaded having her for a roommate.
Then, too weary to think any longer, she fell asleep.
Hours afterward, it seemed, she was awakened by a stumbling footstep
up the stairs, halting and fumbling about in the hall, and then
going on, stumbling again, up to the third story. She heard a low
muttering, too, and it frightened her. Had Carey been drinking? A
strange, rank smell of cigarette smoke—and more—drifted into the door
which had been left ajar; and a cold frenzy took hold of her heart.
Carey had been drinking! She felt sure. A moment more, and she heard
light footsteps from the little hall bedroom above, and Harry’s
indignant young voice remonstrating, the sounds of a brief struggle,
the thud of a heavy body on the bedsprings above, and then Harry’s
voice coming clearly down the stairs in disgust as he pattered back
to his hard little cot.
“Ow! You great big fish, you! You oughtta be ashamed of yourself!”
It was hours after that that Cornelia finally fell asleep again, and
during those hours she found herself praying involuntarily, praying
and pleading: “O God, help me to help Carey. Don’t let Carey be a
drunkard. Don’t let him be wild and bad! Help him to want to be good
and right. Help him to be a man. O God, help me to do something about
it!”