Jack and Neal entered into partnership in the poultry business.
"You see I sha'n't have a cent of my own until I am twenty-five,"
explained Neal, "and my old grandmother left most of the cash to
Hessie. She had some crazy, old-fashioned notions about men being
able to work for their living, but women couldn't. It's all a
mistake. Nowadays women can work just as well as men, if not better.
Besides, they marry, and their husbands ought to support them. Now
what am I going to do when I marry?"
Cynthia, who was present at this discussion, gave a little laugh.
"Are you thinking of taking this important step very soon? Perhaps
you will have time to earn a little first. Chickens may help you.
Or you might choose a wife who will work--you say women do it better
than men--and she will be pleased to support you, I have no doubt."
They were on the river, tied up under an overhanging tree. Cynthia,
who had been paddling, sat in the stern of the canoe; the boys were
stretched in the bottom. It was a warm, lazy-feeling day for all but
Cynthia. The boys had been taking their ease and allowing her to do
the work, which she was always quite willing to do.
"I'll tell you how it is," continued Neal, ignoring Cynthia's
sarcasm, "I'll have a tidy little sum when I am twenty-five, and
until then Hessie is to make me an allowance and pay my school and
college expenses. She's pretty good about it--about giving me extras
now and then, I mean--but you sort of hate to be always nagging at a
girl for money. It was a rum way of doing the thing, anyhow, making
me dependent on her. I wish my grandmother hadn't been such a
hoot-owl."
Cynthia looked at him reprovingly.
"You are terribly disrespectful," she said, "and I think you needn't
make such a fuss. You're pretty lucky to have such a sister as
mamma."
"Oh, Hessie might be worse, I don't deny. It's immense to hear you
great girls calling her 'mamma,' though. I never thought to see
Hessie marry a widower with a lot of children. What was she thinking
of, anyway?"
"Well, you are polite! She was probably thinking what a very nice
man my father is," returned Cynthia, loftily.
"He is a pretty good fellow. So far I haven't found him a bad sort
of brother-in-law. I don't know how it will be when I put in my
demand for a bigger allowance in the fall. I have an idea he could
be pretty stiff on those occasions. But that's why I want to go into
the poultry business."
"And I don't mind having you," said Jack. "Sharing the profits is
sharing the expense, and so far I've seen more expense than profit.
However, when they begin to lay and we send the eggs to market then
the money will pour in. I say, we don't do anything but sell eggs.
It would be an awful bore to get broilers ready for market.
By-the-way, I think we had better go back now and finish up that
brooder we were making."
"Oh, no hurry," said Neal. "It won't take three minutes to do that,
and it's jolly out here. It's the coolest place I've been in to-day.
Let's talk some more about the poultry business. We'll call
ourselves 'Franklin & Gordon, Oakleigh Poultry Farm.' That will look
dandy on the bill-heads. And we'll make a specialty of those pure
white eggs. I say, Cynthia, what are you grinning at?"
"I am not grinning. I am not a Cheshire cat."
"I don't know. I've already felt your claws once or twice. But
you've got something funny in your head. The corners of your mouth
are twitching, and your eyes are dancing like--like the river."
Cynthia cast up her blue eyes in mock admiration.
"Hear! hear! He grows poetical. But as you are so very anxious to
know what I am 'grinning' at," she added, demurely, "I'll tell you.
I was only thinking of a little proverb I have heard. It had
something to do with counting chickens before they are hatched."
"Oh, come off!" exclaimed Jack, while Neal laughed good-naturedly.
"And I've also a suggestion to make," went on Cynthia. "From what I
have gathered during our short acquaintance, I think Mr. Neal Gordon
isn't over-fond of exerting himself. I think it would be a good
idea, Jack, when you sign your partnership papers, or whatever they
are, to put in something about dividing the work as well as the
expense and the profits."
"There go your claws again," said Neal. "Let's change the subject by
trying to catch a 'lucky-bug,'" and he made a grab towards the
myriads of insects that were darting hither and thither on the
surface of the water. "I'll give a prize. This fine new silver
quarter to the one who catches a 'lucky-bug.'"
He laid the money on the thwart of the boat and made another dash.
"When you have lived on the river as long as I have you'll know that
'lucky-bugs' can't be caught," said Cynthia. "Now see what you have
done, you silly boy!"
For with Neal's last effort the quarter had flown from the canoe and
sunk with a splash in the river.
"Good-bye, quarter!" sang Neal. "I might find you if I thought it
would pay to get wet for the likes of you."
"If that is the way you treat quarters, I don't wonder you think your
allowance isn't big enough," said Cynthia, severely; "and may I ask
you a question?"
"You may ask a dozen; but the thing is, will I answer them?"
"You will if I ask them. Were you ever in a canoe before?"
"A desire to crush you tempts me to say 'yea,' but a stern regard for
truth compels me to answer 'nay.'"
"You couldn't crush me if you tried for a week, and you couldn't make
me believe you had ever been in a canoe before, for your actions show
you haven't. People that have spent their time on yachts and
sail-boats think they can go prancing about in a canoe and catch all
the lucky-bugs they want. When you have upset us all you will stop
prancing, I suppose."
"Claws again," groaned Neal, in exaggerated despair.
"I say, Cynth, let's go back and put him to work on that brooder,"
said Jack, who had been enjoying this sparring-match. "We'll see
what work we can get out of him."
And, notwithstanding his remonstrances, Neal was paddled home and put
to work. Cynthia's "claws" did take effect, and for the first time
in his life he began to feel a little ashamed of being so lazy.
Jack was one of the plodding kind. His mind was not as brilliant as
Neal's nor his tongue as ready, but at the end of the year he would
have more to show than Neal Gordon.
Mrs. Franklin carried out her plan of inviting their friends to the
"hatching bee," and Thursday was the day on which the chicks were
expected to come out. As the morning wore on Cynthia's excitement
grew more and more intense, and all the family shared it.
"What shall we do if they don't come out?" she exclaimed a dozen
times.
At one o'clock a crack was discovered in one of the eggs in the
"thermometer row." At three it was a decided break, and several
others could be seen. Cynthia declared that she heard a chirping,
but it was very faint.
Mrs. Franklin remained up-stairs to receive the guests, who came down
as soon as they arrived. There were about a dozen girls and boys.
Fortunately the cellar was large and airy, and the coolest place to
be found on this warm summer day.
And presently the fun began. Pop! pop! went one egg after another,
and out came a little struggling chick, which in due time floundered
across the other eggs or the deserted egg-shells, and flopped down to
the gravel beneath on the lower floor of the machine. It was funny
to see them, and, as they gradually recovered from their efforts and
their feathers dried off, the little downy balls crowded at the front
and, chirping loudly, pecked at the glass.
Mrs. Franklin joined them now and then, and at last, when about
seventy chicks had been hatched, she insisted upon all coming
up-stairs for a breath of fresh air before supper.
Here a surprise awaited them. Unknown to her daughters Mrs. Franklin
had given orders that the supper-table should be arranged upon the
lawn in the shade of the house, and when Edith stepped out on the
piazza she paused in astonishment.
What terrible innovation into the manners and customs of Oakleigh was
this? Last year, for a little party the children gave, she had
wanted tea on the lawn, but it could not be accomplished. How had
the new-comer managed to do it?
"Isn't this too lovely!" cried Gertrude Morgan, enthusiastically,
turning to Edith. "My dear, I think you are the luckiest girl I ever
knew, to have any one give you such a surprise. Didn't you really
know a thing about it?"
"I have been consulted about nothing," returned Edith, stiffly. She
would have liked to run up-stairs and hide, out of sight of the whole
affair.
"I hope you like the effect, Edith," said Mrs. Franklin, coming up to
her as she stood on the piazza step. "I thought it would be great
fun to surprise you."
"I detest surprises of all kinds," replied Edith, turning away, "and
it seems to me I have had nothing else, lately."
Much disappointed and greatly hurt, Mrs. Franklin was about to speak
again, but at this moment Cynthia, enchanted with the success of the
hatch and with the pretty sight on the lawn, rushed up to her
step-mother and squeezed her arm.
"You are a perfect dear!" she whispered. "Everything is nicer since
you came. Even the chickens came out for you, and last time it was
so dreadful." And Mrs. Franklin smiled again and felt comforted.
[Illustration: "'YOU ARE A PERFECT DEAR!' SHE WHISPERED. 'EVERYTHING
IS NICER SINCE YOU CAME'"]
The table was decorated with roses and lovely ferns, strewn here and
there with apparent carelessness, but really after much earnest study
of effects. Bowls of great unhulled strawberries added their touch
of color, as did the generous slices of golden sponge-cake. The
dainty china and glass gleamed in the afternoon light, and the
artistic arrangement added not a little to the already good appetites
of the boys and girls.
Fortunately Oakleigh was equal to any emergency in the eating line,
and as rapidly as the piles of three-cornered sandwiches, fairy-like
rolls, and other goodies disappeared the dishes were replenished as
if by magic.
After supper the piano was rolled over to the front window in the
long parlor.
"Put it close to the window," said Mrs. Franklin, "and I will sit
outside, like the eldest daughter in 'The Peterkins,' to play. That
will give me the air, and you can hear the music better."
They danced on the lawn and played games to the music; then they
gathered on the porch and sang college songs, while the sun sank at
the end of the long summer day, and the stars came twinkling out, and
by-and-by the full moon rose over the tree-tops and flooded them with
her light.
Altogether Jack's second "hatching bee" was a success. A good time,
a good supper, and, best of all, one hundred and forty chickens.
Yes, it really seemed as if poultry were going to pay, and "Franklin
& Gordon," of the Oakleigh Poultry Farm, went to bed quite elated
with prosperity.
The next morning at breakfast they were discussing the matter, and
Mr. Franklin expressed his unqualified approval of the scheme.
"If you succeed in raising your chickens, now that they are hatched,
Jack, my boy, I think you are all right. You owe Aunt Betsey a debt
of thanks. By-the-way, where is Aunt Betsey? Have you heard from
her lately?"
There was no answer. Jack exploded into a laugh which he quickly
repressed, Edith looked very solemn, while Cynthia had the appearance
of being on the verge of tears.
"I want to see Aunt Betsey," said Mrs. Franklin, as she buttered a
roll for Willy; "I think she must be a very interesting character."
"It is very extraordinary that we have heard nothing from her," went
on Mr. Franklin. "What can be the meaning of it? When was she last
here, Edith?"
"In June."
"Was it when I was at home? Hasn't she been here since the time she
gave Jack the money for the incubator?"
"That was in May. You were in Albany when she was here the last
time."
"It is very strange that she has never written nor come to see you,
Hester. It can't be that she is offended with something, can it? I
must take you up to Wayborough to see the dear old lady. I am very
fond of Aunt Betsey, and I would not hurt her feelings for the world."
There was a pause, and then into the silence came Janet's shrill
tones.
"I know why Aunt Betsey's feelings are hurted. They was turribly
hurted. Edith an' Cynthia an' Jack all knows too."
"Janet, hush!" interposed Edith.
"Not at all; let the child speak," said her father. "What do you
know, Janet?"
"Aunt Betsey came an' she went to see Mrs. Parker, an' Mrs. Parker
said she'd been there before an' Aunt Betsey said she hadn't, an' it
wasn't Aunt Betsey at all, it was Cynthia dressed up like her, an'
Aunt Betsey said we was all naughty 'cause we didn't want the bride
to come, an' the bride was mamma an' we didn't want her, it was the
trufe, an' Aunt Betsey went off mad 'cause Cynthia dressed up like
her. She wouldn't stay all night, she just went off slam-bang
hopping mad."
And then Janet's face disappeared behind her silver mug; she needed
the refreshment of milk after this long harangue. But she peered
over the top of the cup at her sisters, and there was a wicked
delight in her eyes at the effect of her words.
"What does the child mean?" exclaimed her father. "Will some one
explain? Edith, what was the trouble?"
"I would rather not say," said Edith, her eyes fastened on her plate.
"That is no way to speak to your father. Answer me at once."
"Papa, I cannot. It is not my affair--"
"It is your affair. I insist--"
"Wait, John," interposed Mrs. Franklin.
"Not at all; I can't wait. Edith was here in charge of the family.
Something happened to offend Aunt Betsey. Now she must explain what
it was. I hold her responsible."
"Indeed she's not, papa," said Cynthia, at last finding her voice.
"Edith is not to blame; I am the one. I found Aunt Betsey's false
front, and I dressed up and looked exactly like her, and Jack drove
me to see Mrs. Parker. Edith didn't want me to go and I would do it.
Really, papa, Edith isn't a bit to blame. And then when Aunt Betsey
came soon afterwards she went to see Mrs. Parker, and she didn't like
it because she said she had been there two weeks ago and told her--I
mean, Mrs. Parker told me about--"
Cynthia stopped abruptly.
"Well, go on," said her father, impatiently.
Still Cynthia said nothing.
"Cynthia, will you continue? If not--"
"Oh yes, papa, though--but--well, Mrs. Parker told me that you were
going to marry again. And then when Aunt Betsey really went, Mrs.
Parker said, 'I told you so.' Aunt Betsey didn't like that, and when
she asked us if she had been here, of course we had to say no, and
she was going right back to tell Mrs. Parker what we said; so I had
to confess, and, of course, Aunt Betsey didn't like it, and she went
right home that day."
Mr. Franklin pushed back his chair from the table, and began to walk
up and down.
"I am perfectly astonished at your doing such a thing, and more
astonished still that Edith--"
"Papa, please don't say another word about Edith. She didn't want me
to go, and I would do it."
"Why have you not told me all this before?"
"Because, you see, I couldn't. I had heard that you were going to be
married, and I didn't believe it until you told me; at least--"
Cynthia paused and grew uncomfortably red.
"Poor child!" said Mrs. Franklin, smiling at her sympathetically.
"It must have been very hard for you."
"It was," said Cynthia, simply; "only you know, mamma, I don't feel a
bit so now. And then when you came home, papa, it was all so
exciting I forgot about it, and I have only thought of it once in a
while, and--well, I've been afraid to tell you," she added, honestly.
"I should think so! I am glad you have the grace to be ashamed of
yourself, Cynthia. Has no apology gone to Aunt Betsey?"
"No, papa."
"It is outrageous. The only thing to do is to go there at once.
Jack, get the _Pathfinder_."
The _Pathfinder_, boon of New England households, was brought, and
Mr. Franklin studied the trains for Wayborough.
"Hester, you had better come too. It is only proper that I should
take you to call on Aunt Betsey. Get ready now, and we will go for
the day."
The Franklins were quite accustomed to these sudden decisions on the
part of their father, and Mrs. Franklin did not demur. She and
Cynthia hurried off to make ready, and the carriage was ordered to
take them to the station.
Cynthia's preparations did not take long. Her sailor-hat perched
sadly to one side, her hair tied with a faded blue ribbon, one of the
cuffs of her shirt-waist fastened with a pin. All this Edith took in
at a glance.
"Cynthia, you look like a guy."
"I guess I am one."
"Don't be so terribly Yankee as to say 'guess.'"
"I am a Yankee, so why shouldn't I talk like one? Oh, Edith, what do
I care about ribbons and sleeve-buttons when I have to go apologize
to Aunt Betsey?"
Edith was supplying the deficiencies in her sister's toilet.
"It is too bad. Janet ought not to have told. But it is just like
everything else--all Mrs. Franklin's fault."
"Edith, what do you mean? Mamma did not make Janet tell; she tried
to stop papa."
"I know she _appeared_ to. But if papa had not married again would
this ever have happened? You would not have heard at Mrs. Parker's
that he was going to, Mrs. Parker wouldn't have said 'I told you so'
to Aunt Betsey, Aunt Betsey wouldn't have found out you were there--"
"Edith, what a goose you are! Any other time you would scold me for
having done it, and I know I deserve it. Now you are putting all the
blame on mamma. You are terribly unjust."
"There, now, you have turned against me, all because of Mrs.
Franklin. I declare, it is too bad!"
"Oh, Edith, I do wonder when you will find out what a lovely woman
mamma is! Of course, you will have to some day; you can't help it.
There, they are calling, and I must run! Good-bye."
Hastily kissing her sister, Cynthia ran off.
Neal had much enjoyed the scene at the breakfast-table. He only
wished that he had been present when Cynthia impersonated her aunt.
It must have been immense. He wished that he could go also to
Wayborough, but he was not invited to join the party. He was to be
left alone for the day with Edith, for Mr. Franklin had decided that
Jack should accompany them, to thank Aunt Betsey once more, and to
tell her himself of the success of the hatch.
"I'll have to step round pretty lively, then," said Jack. "Those
birds must get to the brooders before I go. Come along, Neal. It's
an awful bore having to go to Wayborough the very first day. You'll
have to look after the chicks, and don't you forget it."
The chickens safely housed, and the family gone, Neal prepared to
enjoy the day. He had made up his mind to see something of Edith,
and he had no idea of working by himself, especially as there was no
absolute necessity for it.
"The day is too hot for work, anyhow," he said to himself.