"How very difficult it's going to be to explain now," Elsie Marley said
to herself as she dressed on Friday morning. "How I wish I had done it
that very first hour. Mr. Middleton would have understood, then, for I
had just told him Elsie liked to act; and he wouldn't have cared. He
couldn't have been really hurt as I am afraid he will be now. And yet,
how can I help feeling glad I was here to take the library for him?
And I did so enjoy doing it, too."
She decided that if Miss Stewart were able to go back this afternoon,
she would leave directly after lunch and get the only train for New
York that she knew--the one Elsie Moss had taken. And if she couldn't
possibly explain in any other manner, she would have to write a note
and steal quietly away. It wasn't a nice thing to do; yet she couldn't
afford to let the difficulty of explaining the situation keep her here
until Elsie Moss should have become so firmly established that it would
be cruel to drag her back to Enderby.
On the other hand, as long as she had started in with the library work,
if Miss Stewart wasn't well enough to attend this afternoon, she would
remain one day more. And if she found that that was to be the case,
she would spend her morning writing the note to Mr. Middleton to fall
back upon in case of need, and a letter to Elsie Moss warning her of
the change.
When she went down to the dining-room, Mr. Middleton had that same air
of eagerness mingled with what seemed to Elsie assurance of the
permanency of their relationship. After a little he inquired whether
her unfamiliar work of the day before had tired her overmuch.
"Oh, no--Uncle John, not at all," she replied, consciously hampered by
lack of vocabulary or of tone to express enthusiasm that was new to her.
"Well, then, what should you say to giving Miss Rachel another day of
rest?" he suggested. "I have been afraid for some time that she's
rather letting people get on her nerves, and possibly a few days off
would be a benefit for all concerned. She has lived alone for years,
and, good as she is, has grown narrow and notional as one inevitably
will who hasn't other personalities in a household to rub against. I
dare say if she had her way she wouldn't allow a boy under fifteen in
the library."
"She's afraid they'll soil the books?" Elsie remarked lamely, striving
to be adequate to the occasion. But somehow, he seemed rich enough to
lend her something unawares.
"Yes, dear, that's it, of course, and perfectly natural and legitimate
in its place such caution is. But the trouble is, she puts it first
and foremost. We want certainly to keep the books as neat as is
consistent with constant use, and it's always safe to ask to see a
lad's hands; but there are different ways of going about the business.
The main thing about a library is, of course, its usefulness to the
people; perhaps, most of all to the younger among them. You agree with
me, dear, that that consideration comes before everything?"
"Yes, indeed, Uncle John," she said primly.
He smiled suddenly and very charmingly.
"Elsie dear, if I hadn't known that your step-mother was a
schoolmistress, I should have guessed it," he declared. "Externally,
her influence upon you has almost blotted out your mother's. I'm
thankful you didn't stay with her long enough for it to go deeper,
excellent woman as I know her to be. As it is, your speech and manner
conceal rather than reveal your likeness to your mother, but it
struggles through for all that."
He paused and his face grew grave.
"I hope--I trust, dear, you didn't feel--_repressed_?" he asked
anxiously. "You are so quiet and reserved and docile for a young
girl--especially for your mother's daughter. Your stepmother was--kind
to you, surely?"
"Oh, yes, sir," she faltered, distressed at the dilemma. Vaguely aware
that she had an opening for her confession, she made no attempt to use
it. "I know I am--everything is"--she faltered.
"You're just right, Elsie dear," he said kindly. "Just be yourself.
And if you have learned not to be spontaneous, try to forget it. In
any event, never repress any desire for gayety or romping or what-not
in this house. You don't at all need to be quiet oh your Aunt Milly's
account. She isn't strong and she is excitable, and yet she isn't
somehow what is called nervous at all. She doesn't mind noise or even
tumult; indeed, she likes to feel that things are going on in the house
even if she cannot share them."
Even now, Elsie understood that this was quite true in regard to Mrs.
Middleton. There was, in spite of what the girl called her falsity,
something generous about her. Elsie wasn't herself any the more drawn
to her--or any the less repelled--but now she first had a slight
inkling of any foundation for Mr. Middleton's strange infatuation.
There was, somehow, in the midst of all that sentimentality, some
genuine feeling which for him transmuted the whole into pure gold.
Well, for her part, she could stand it another day for the sake of
going to the library.
"What are you going to do this morning, Elsie?" Mr. Middleton inquired
as they returned to the house after a few minutes spent in the garden.
Elsie colored faintly.
"Write some letters," she said.
Indeed, she spent the whole morning in the attempt, though she
accomplished nothing. She made half a dozen beginnings of the letter
which was to set forth the scheme Elsie Moss had concocted and she had
entered into; but none went further than three sentences, and it began
to seem that that expedient were the more difficult. In any event,
before she made a seventh trial she turned to the note that was to
acquaint Elsie Moss with the situation. Here, she only failed the more
dismally. When it was time to dress for lunch, she seemed to be forced
to explain to Mr. Middleton just as she was leaving, and to come upon
poor Elsie Moss quite unexpectedly. It seemed as if it would almost
kill her to do either.
Mrs. Middleton did not appear at lunch and everything was so pleasant
that Elsie's spirits rose until she was almost gay. She talked more
than she had done since she came--almost more than she had ever done
before until she met Elsie Moss--and she was at once gratified and
appalled to perceive that she was reminding Mr. Middleton of his
sister. Of course, his real niece would remind him still more, but
Elsie knew that the wrench to his feelings before she should be
established in the parsonage would be severe, even terrible. If only
Mrs. Middleton kept her room continually! And yet, he might not like
that.
The library was only the more engaging that day. Mattie Howe came in
early and they went through a number of shelves in the children's
department together in selecting her book. Then Elsie took the little
girl in her lap--in a curiously easy fashion--and they looked at the
colored pictures in a large book that did not circulate until some one
else came in and claimed the librarian's attention.
A roguish-looking boy with a tousled head entered, stared at Elsie in
amazement, and went abruptly out. Returning a little later with
shining face and wet, parted hair, as he asked at the desk for a book,
he spread out a pair of very clean hands in a manner intended to be
nonchalant. He was ready and eager to talk and very amusing. Before
Elsie got through with him, she had assured him that she meant to read
"Robinson Crusoe" within the next fortnight.
Then a lad apparently of about her own age, a high-school boy, shy, but
with very gentle manners, who started as if to retreat as he saw her,
gathered his courage, returned his book, and stood there undecided.
"Do you want another book?" Elsie asked.
"Have you got anything about Edison?" he asked. "I've got to write a
composition about electricity, and I thought I might start with him."
Elsie consulted the catalogue, but greatly to her disappointment was
unable to find anything. The boy had such nice manners and such
honest, deep-set eyes that she wanted to help him.
"You might start with Benjamin Franklin," she suggested, not very
confidently.
"Sure!" he returned, smiling frankly. She got him a biography of
Franklin, and he sat down at one of the tables with note-book and
pencil and was soon deep in it.
There were a number of references to Franklin in the catalogue, and as
Elsie went back to it to see if she might have made a better choice,
she saw that one referred to the proper volume of a "Dictionary of
American Scientists." It came to her that she might discover Edison in
the same place. She was pleased to find several pages of a recent
volume of the work devoted to that inventor. She carried it to the boy
and pointed out the pages with a feeling of satisfaction almost like
triumph.
The afternoon flew. She closed the library regretfully, for she never
expected to enter it again. For to-morrow was Saturday, and if she
should stay beyond the afternoon, it would mean she could not get away
until Monday. And that she could never stand. For she had gathered
somehow that Mrs. Middleton made a special effort to sit up all Sunday
except during the time her husband was at church. If it was mostly a
case of nerves, Miss Stewart might as well come back one day as another.
But again at dinner Mrs. Middleton was absent from her place. She sent
a special request to Elsie to occupy it, and Elsie spent a very happy
half-hour telling Mr. Middleton about the happenings of the afternoon,
hearing his explanatory comment on persons and things, and serving the
pudding. And when he told her he had seen Miss Stewart, who thought
she would hardly feel like coming back until Monday, and had assured
her that his niece would be glad to take her place another day, Elsie
was quite undisturbed.