"Do you think they will really like me?" asked Mrs. Franklin for the
hundredth time, and for the hundredth time her husband answered,
smiling, "I think they really will."
They were just arriving at Brenton. Many inquiring eyes had been
turned towards them in the train, for every one knew John Franklin,
and every one surmised at once that this was the much-discussed
second wife.
It was decided by those who saw her that she was a very
attractive-looking woman. She was rather slight and of medium
height, and she was quietly dressed in black, for she was in
mourning. Though not actually pretty, she had a charming and very
expressive face, and she was very young-looking. Somebody who sat in
front of her said that her voice was low and very musical.
Brenton decided at the first glance that Mr. John Franklin had done
very well for himself.
"There is the carriage," said he, as they crossed the station
platform.
"And this is Jack, I am sure," said his wife, holding out her hand
with a smile which won her step-son on the spot. He was too shy,
however, to do more than grasp it warmly as he stood beside her with
uncovered head.
"He is a dear," she said to herself, "and just like John. If only
the others are as cordial. Somehow I dread Edith."
She was quite as excited as were her step-daughters when she drove up
the avenue and her eyes fell for the first time upon the group on the
piazza.
Cynthia walked down the path to meet her, holding Janet and Willy by
either hand. Edith remained standing on the step.
"How do you do?" said Cynthia, with a cordial smile.
Mrs. Franklin looked at her. Then she put her arms around her and
kissed her.
"This is Cynthia, I am sure," she whispered, tremulously, "and these
are 'the children.'"
She kissed them and passed on to her husband's eldest daughter, while
they greeted their father.
Edith was very tall, and her position on the step gave her the
advantage of several inches in addition. She fairly towered above
the new-comer.
"How do you do, Mrs. Franklin," she said, holding out a very stiff
hand and arm. She had made up her mind that she for one would not be
kissed.
"And you are Edith?"
"Yes, Mrs. Franklin, I am Edith. I hope your journey has not tired
you?"
"Not at all. I am not easily tired."
Edith kissed her father, then turned again to the stranger.
"Let me show you the way up-stairs."
And thus Mrs. Franklin entered her new home.
"I am afraid it is going to be war with Edith at first, but I won't
be disheartened," she thought. "I'll make her like me. It is
natural for her to feel so, I suppose. Ah me, I am in a difficult
position."
Edith and Cynthia shared the same room. It was a large one with a
bay-window, which commanded a fine view of the winding river and the
meadows beyond.
One could tell at a glance upon entering the room which part of it
Edith occupied, and which Cynthia. Cynthia's dressing-table, with
its ungainly pin-cushion, its tangle of ribbons and neckties tossed
down anywhere that they might happen to fall, its medley of
horseshoes, tennis balls, and other treasures, was a constant source
of trial to Edith, whose possessions were always kept in perfect
neatness. She scolded and lectured her sister in vain; Cynthia was
incorrigible.
"It's too much bother to keep things in order," she would say.
"After you have been around with your duster and your fixings-up I
never can find a thing, Edith."
The night of Mrs. Franklin's arrival they talked over the new state
of family affairs.
"I think she is nice," said Cynthia, with decision. "I like her, and
so does Jack."
She was perched on the side of the bed, leaning against the tall
post, her favorite position when she had anything of especial
interest to discuss.
"I don't," said Edith, who was brushing out her long hair with great
vigor. "I don't, and I _won't_!"
[Illustration: "'I DON'T LIKE HER, AND I WON'T'"]
"That is just it, Edith. You have made up your mind you won't like
her just because you didn't want her to come. Now she is here, why
don't you make the best of it? What do you dislike about her?"
"Her coming here. She had no right to."
"Edith, how silly you are! She wouldn't have come if papa had not
asked her, and she wouldn't have if she had not loved papa. I should
think you would like her for that if nothing else. I do. And she is
pretty and sweet and dear, and I am going to help her all I can. I
think I shall even call her 'mamma.'
"Cynthia, I shall never do that. Never, to my dying day!"
"Well, I shall; that is, if she doesn't mind."
"She will. It will make her seem too old."
"I don't believe she would mind that, and any one can see she isn't a
bit old. I think we are very fortunate, as long as papa was going to
marry again, to have him find such a nice, lovely woman."
Edith did not reply. She finished her braid and tied it up. Then
she said:
"Of course, it is a great deal harder for me than for the rest of
you. I thought I was always going to help father, and now I can't."
"Of course it's hard, Edith, but--but don't you think you could still
help him if--if you were nice to his wife?"
"I don't want to help him that way," said Edith, honestly, as she
blew out the light.
The next day when Cynthia asked somewhat timidly if she might call
her step-mother "mamma," she was surprised and touched by the
expression that came into Mrs. Franklin's face.
"Oh, thank you, Cynthia!" she said. "I thought I would not ask you,
I would just leave it to you, but I should like it so much."
And so they all called her by her new title except Edith.
Preparations for the tennis tournament were in full swing, and
Cynthia and Jack, who were to play together in mixed doubles, were
practising hard.
The court at Oakleigh was not a good one, so they were in the habit
of going to the tennis club at the village when they could get there
in the afternoon. It was not always easy, for they were short of
horses, and it was too far to walk both ways.
"Why do we not have some more horses?" said Mrs. Franklin one morning
when the question was being discussed.
"Why, we can't afford to," replied Cynthia, in some surprise.
"Besides the farm horses we only have two, you know, and they get all
used up going to and from the village so much."
Mrs. Franklin glanced at her husband. Then she said, "It seems as if
we ought to have more. You know, John, there is all that money of
mine. Why not buy a horse and trap for the children to use?"
"My dear Hester, I can never consent. You know I wish you to keep
all your money for your own exclusive use. You may have all the
horses you want for yourself, but--"
"John, don't be absurd. What can I do with all that money, and no
one but Neal to provide for? Your children are mine now, and I wish
them to have a horse of their own."
The thing of all others for which Edith had been longing for years.
But she determined that she would never use her step-mother's gift.
"Is Neal your brother?" asked Cynthia.
"Yes. Haven't I told you about him? He is my dear and only brother.
He is off on a yacht now, but he is coming here soon. He is older
than you and Jack, just about Edith's age."
Jack looked up with interest.
"I'm glad there's another fellow coming," he said. "There are almost
too many girls round here."
"Jack, how hateful of you, when you always have said I was as good as
another fellow!" exclaimed Cynthia.
"Well, so you are, almost; but I'm glad he's coming, anyway."
The new horse was bought, and a pretty and comfortable cart for them
to use, a "surrey" that would hold two or four, as occasion required.
At first Edith would not use it. She jogged about with the old horse
and buggy when she went to the village, thereby exciting much comment
among her friends. Every one suspected that Edith could not
reconcile herself to the coming of her stepmother.
The day of the tournament arrived. Before Mr. Franklin went to
Boston that morning he called Edith into the library and closed the
door.
"I have something to say to you, Edith. I have been perfectly
observant of your conduct since I came home, though I have not spoken
of it before. I preferred to wait, to give you a chance to think
better of it. Your treatment of my wife is not only rude, it is
unkind, as rudeness always is."
"Father, I haven't been rude. Why do you speak to me so? It is all
her fault. She has made you do it."
"Hester has not mentioned the subject to me, Edith. You are most
unjust. You are making yourself very conspicuous, and are placing me
in a very false light by your behavior. Are you going to the tennis
tournament to-day?"
"Yes, papa."
"How do you intend to get there?"
"Drive myself in the buggy, of course."
"There is no 'of course' about it," said her father, growing more and
more angry. "If you go, you will go as the others do, in the surrey.
I will not have them go down with an empty seat, while you rattle in
to the grounds in the old buggy in the eyes of all Brenton."
"Then I won't go at all. The buggy was good enough before; why isn't
it now?"
"Not another word! I am ashamed of you, Edith, and disappointed. I
have no time for more, but remember what I have said. You go in the
surrey to the tournament, or you stay at home."
He left her and hurried off to the train. Edith went to her own room
and shut herself in. For more than an hour a bitter fight raged
within her. Her pride was up in arms.
If she gave up and drove to the club in the surrey, every one would
know that she was countenancing her step-mother, as she expressed it,
and she had told Gertrude Morgan that she would never do it. If she
stayed at home she would excite more comment still, for it was
generally known that she was to act as one of the hostesses, and she
had no reasonable excuse to offer for staying away.
Altogether Edith thought herself a much-abused person, and she cried
until her eyes were swollen, her cheeks pale, and her nose red.
Cynthia burst in upon her.
"What is the matter, Edith? You look like a perfect fright! Are you
ill?"
"Ill! No, of course not. I wish you would leave me in peace,
Cynthia. What do you want?"
"To come into my own room, of course. But what is the matter, Edith?
Was papa scolding you?"
Edith, longing for sympathy, poured out the story, but she did not
receive much from that practical young person.
"I wouldn't cry my eyes out about that. Of course you will have to
do as papa says, or he won't like it at all. And it is a thousand
times nicer to drive in the surrey than that old rattle-trap of a
buggy. The surrey runs so smoothly, and Bess goes like a breeze.
You had better give in gracefully, Edith. But see this lovely silver
buckle and belt mamma has just given me to wear this afternoon.
Isn't it perfect? She says she has more than she can wear. It was
one of her own. _I_ think she's a dear. But there is Jack calling
me to practise."
And happy-hearted Cynthia was off again like a flash.
Edith bathed her face and began to think better of the subject.
After all, she would go. It was a lovely day, every one would be
there, and it was not worth while to make people talk. Above all,
she would be sorry to miss the affair to which she had been looking
forward for weeks.
She dressed herself that afternoon in a simple gingham that had seen
the wash-tub many times, and took her place on the back seat of the
surrey, with Mrs. Franklin, Jack, and Cynthia sitting in front. Mrs.
Franklin was in the daintiest of summer frocks, and Edith glanced at
her somewhat enviously.
"I wish we were the ones that had the money," she thought, "and that
she were poor. I believe then I should not mind having her so much."
Mrs. Franklin had a gay and cheery disposition, and she tried to pay
no attention to Edith's coldness.
"I wish I were going to play myself," she said, as they drove off.
"Why, do you play?" asked Cynthia, turning around in surprise.
"To be sure I do. I used to play a great deal at one time. I mean
to ask your father to have the tennis-court at Oakleigh made over,
and then we can have some games there."
"How jolly!" exclaimed Jack and Cynthia together.
"We cannot afford to," put in Edith, coldly.
Mrs. Franklin paid no attention to this. "It will be nice when Neal
comes," she added.
"Neal, always Neal," thought Edith. "Pleasant for us to have a
strange boy here all the time. Oh, dear, how hateful I am! I don't
feel nice towards anybody. If only papa had never seen or heard of
the Gordons, how much happier we should all have been."
But she was the only one of the household that thought so. The
younger children had been completely won over, and it was a constant
source of surprise and chagrin to Edith to see how easily their
step-mother managed the hitherto refractory pair.
Before long the party reached the grounds. The Brenton Tennis Club
was a very attractive place. The smooth and well-kept courts
stretched away to the river, which wound and curved towards the old
town, for the club was on the outskirts of the village. The river
was wider here than it was farther up at Oakleigh, and picturesque
stone bridges crossed it at intervals.
Benches had been placed all about the grounds, from which the
spectators could watch the game, and under a marquee was a dainty
table, with huge bowls of lemonade and plates of cake. Edith
presided at the tea-kettle, looking very pretty, notwithstanding her
old gown and the stormy morning she had passed.
Mrs. Franklin, upon whom most of the Brenton people had already
called, sat on one of the benches with some friends, and was soon
absorbed in the game.
Cynthia played well. She flew about the court, here, there,
everywhere at once, never interfering with her partner's game, but
always ready with her own play. She and Jack, though younger than
the other players, held their ground well.
It was only a small tournament, and "mixed doubles" were finished up
in one afternoon, Jack and Cynthia carrying off second prizes with
great glee.
"Just what I wanted, mamma," said Cynthia, as she displayed a fine
racket of the latest style and shape; "I hope they will have another
tournament before the summer is over, so that I'll have a chance to
win first prize with this new racket."
They were driving home in the dusk, for the game had lasted late,
when they overtook and passed a boy who was walking on the road to
Oakleigh, with a bag slung over his shoulder on a stick, while a
black spaniel trotted along at his heels. Mrs. Franklin did not see
him.
"I say there, Hessie! Can't you give a fellow a lift?" he shouted.
"Why, Neal!" exclaimed Mrs. Franklin; "where did you come from?
Jack, stop, please. It is Neal! You dear boy, I am so glad to see
you! This is my brother, children; and, Neal, here are Edith,
Cynthia, and Jack Franklin."
"Whew, what a lot! I say, Hessie, what were you thinking of when you
married such a family as that? But I fancy you haven't got room for
me in there. I can walk it easily enough. Don't mind a bit."
"Nonsense! we can squeeze up," said his sister, which they did
forthwith, and Neal Gordon climbed into the cart.
"No room for you, Bob," he remarked to the spaniel, who danced about
the road in a vain endeavor to follow his master; "you can go ahead
on your own legs."
He was a tall, well-developed fellow, with a hearty, cheery voice,
and a frank, sometimes embarrassing, way of saying the first thing
that came into his head.
"What a crowd!" he continued. "Any more at home?"
"Yes, two," said his sister, gayly--"Janet and Willy. I am so glad
you have come, Neal. But why didn't you let us know?"
"Couldn't. The _Dolphin_ put in at Marblehead, and I had gotten
rather tired of it aboard, so I thought I'd cut loose and drop down
on you awhile. Got out of cash, too."
"Oh, Neal!"
"Now you needn't say anything. You didn't give me half enough this
time. Too much absorbed getting married, I suppose. I say," he
added, turning to Jack, "what kind of a step-ma does Hessie make?"
"Bully," replied Jack, laconically.
"I thought she would, but she's on her best behavior now. She'll
order you all round soon, the way she does me."
"They don't deserve it as you do, you silly boy," said his sister.
They were a merry party that night at supper. It seemed as if Neal
would be a great addition to the family, and even Edith thawed
somewhat. This pleased Mr. Franklin, who had been thoroughly annoyed
by her behavior, and who had been really afraid that she would stay
at home from the tournament rather than use his wife's gift.
"Everything will run smoothly now," he said to himself, and, manlike,
he soon forgot all about the trouble.
"By-the-way, what relation am I to this family?" asked Neal,
presently. "If Hester is your mother, of course I must be your
uncle. I hope you will all treat me with proper respect."
"I hope we shall be able to," said Cynthia, looking up with a saucy
smile. She liked the new-comer immensely.
"Did you ever run an incubator?" asked Jack, after supper.
"Not I. Have you got one?"
"Yes. Come along down and see it."
They descended to the cellar, and Jack turned the eggs while he
explained his methods to his new friend.
"Is there money in it?" asked Neal.
"Lots, I hope. But the trouble is, you've got to spend a lot to
start with, and if you're not successful it's a dead loss. My first
hatch went to smash."
"How would you like to take me into partnership? I want to make some
money."
"First-rate."
They were deep in a discussion of business arrangements when they
went back to the others.
"We'll make a 'go' of it," said Neal. "It's just the thing I've been
looking for."
"I have an idea, Jack," said Mrs. Franklin, as they came in. "When
are the chickens to come out?"
"Next Thursday."
"Then we will celebrate the event in proper style. We will ask our
friends to come to a 'hatching bee.'"
"But suppose they don't hatch? Suppose they act the way they did
before?" said Jack, dubiously.
"Oh, they'll hatch, I will answer for them. You have learned how to
take better care of them, and no one has interfered, and--oh, I am
sure they will be out in fine shape!"
Only Edith objected to this proposition, and she dared not say so
before her father.
Apparently the Gordons were going to carry all before them, and she,
who until so recently had been to all intents and purposes the
mistress of the house, was not even asked if she approved of the
idea. She went to bed feeling that her lot was a very hard one.