Edith recovered slowly; but the shock had told upon her, and it was
thought she needed a change of air.
"Take her to a city," suggested the doctor; "she requires diversion."
And very hurriedly and unexpectedly they decided to go to Washington
for a week or two, stopping in Philadelphia on their way back for a
glimpse of Neal.
The party consisted of Mrs. Franklin, Edith, and Cynthia, with the
addition at the last moment of Aunt Betsey. Each of the three
Franklins felt a slight pang of disappointment when they heard that
Miss Trinkett intended to join them; it would have been just a little
nicer to go alone. But the old lady never suspected this, and she
met them in Boston on the morning of the 1st of June, full of
excitement and pleasure at the thought of seeing "the inner workings
of this wonderful government of ours."
Hester's one thought was that she should soon see her brother again.
During the last few weeks a letter had come from the head-master at
St. Asaph's, deeply regretting the unjust judgment that had been
passed upon Neal in suspending him from school. It had since been
proved that he was innocent, and the faculty would be only too glad
to welcome him back. Mrs. Franklin felt that she could not do too
much to atone to Neal for having suspected him, and she longed to
tell him so.
"And if I once see him I can persuade him to come back. I know I
can!" she said, joyfully, to Cynthia.
The visit was an unqualified success. The Franklin party did a vast
amount of sight-seeing, Miss Trinkett being the most indefatigable of
all. Indeed, Cynthia was the only one who was able physically to
keep up with her energetic little grandaunt, and even she was
sometimes forced to plead fatigue.
Miss Betsey left nothing undone. She journeyed to the top of the
Monument, she made a solemn pilgrimage to Alexandria. She was never
too tired to go to the Capitol, and her little black-robed figure and
large black bonnet soon became familiar objects in the visitors'
gallery, while she listened carefully to all the speeches, thrilling
or dull as they chanced to be. When the latter was the case, as
frequently happened, Miss Trinkett waxed warm with indignation at the
lack of attention paid to the prosy old member by his inconsiderate
colleagues.
"Look!" she would whisper to Cynthia; "they are actually reading and
writing and talking quite loud to each other while that poor old
gentleman is speaking; and some have gone out. How shocking!"
And she would lean forward again in an attitude of renewed attention,
and listen to the reasons for or against some very unimportant
project.
At Mount Vernon Miss Trinkett's joy and patriotism knew no bounds.
She bought little hatchets by the score, and herself drew up the
bucket from the general's own well. She was even guilty of breaking
off a twig in Mrs. Washington's garden, notwithstanding the signs
which informed her that she was doing it under penalty of the law.
"I just couldn't help it," she said afterwards to her nieces, in
apologetic tones. "To think of that labyrinth and that box-border
being Martha Washington's own, and me with the same thing in my
garden at home! It made me fairly thrill to think of Martha and me
having the same tastes in common. I knew she'd have let me take it
if she'd been here, for I always heard she was real kind-hearted, if
she was dignified, so I just did it."
But the most exciting day of all was when they visited the
Dead-letter Office. Miss Trinkett, interested as she had always been
in the mail service, was much impressed. She sat up-stairs for
hours, and gazed over the railing at the rows of men who were opening
and examining thousands of missent letters. She could only be torn
away by the entreaties of Cynthia, who begged her to come see the
collection of curiosities which had found their way to this vast
receptacle.
At the first glass-case Miss Betsey stood appalled.
"Cynthy Franklin," she exclaimed, "look there!"
Cynthia looked. There was every conceivable thing in the place, from
a bee-hive to a baby's rattle.
"Do you see?"
"What, Aunt Betsey?"
"There! Look, my own rag doll!"
[Illustration: "'THERE! LOOK, MY OWN RAG DOLL!'"]
"Aunt Betsey, it can't be!"
"It is, Cynthy. Don't I know the work of my own hands, I should like
to ask? Well, well, I want to know! I want--to--know! Find me a
chair, Cynthy. I feel that taken aback I don't know but what I'm
going to faint, though I never did such a thing. But do tell! do
tell! Oh, this government of ours! It is an age to live in, Cynthy."
Cynthia brought her the chair, and the old lady seated herself in
front of the case.
"I do declare, if there ain't the very eyes I sewed in with my own
hands--black beads they are, Cynthy--and the hair I embroidered with
fine black yarn! And the petticoats, Cynthy! The flannel one's
feather-stitched. I could tell you what that doll has on to her very
stockings. To think that something I made so innocently, away off in
Wayborough, for our little Janet, now belongs to the United States
Government! Well, well, it's a great honor; almost too good to be
true. But the little satchel, Cynthy? The satchel that hung at her
side with the gold in it, where's that?"
That indeed was missing.
"Well, well, we won't say anything. I'm sure Government deserves it
for all the trouble it takes, opening all those letters and bundles."
But her family thought differently, and wheels within wheels were set
in motion by which the fifty dollars in gold were recovered--the
famous fifty dollars, the loss of which had so affected the fortunes
of Neal Gordon.
It seemed that in her agitation after the death of Silas Green, Miss
Betsey, though she stamped it generously, had put no address at all
on the package, and having sent it off by the half blind Mr. Peters,
the deficiency had not been discovered.
He had taken it to Tottenham post-office, where both he and Miss
Trinkett were unknown, and hurried away, leaving the valuable package
to the mercies of Government.
"And to think that Government takes care of things and gives them
back to you when you are as careless as all that!" said Miss Betsey.
The doll she would not receive.
"No, no," she said; "let it stay where it is. I'll make another for
Janet, some day. It's an honor I never expected, to have one of my
rag dolls set up in a glass case in a public building in the city of
Washington for thousands and thousands of the American people to gaze
at! Indeed, I want to know!"
The two weeks in Washington finally came to an end, and the Franklins
bade farewell to the beautiful city with its parks and circles, its
magnificent avenues, its public buildings, and towering Monument.
"Well, well," said Miss Betsey, as she took her last look, "I haven't
lived all these years for nothing! I've been to the capital of my
country and I've visited the tomb of Washington. And, Cynthy, now
it's all over and we're safely out of the way, I'm real glad I took
that twig from the garden. I had a kind of an uneasy feeling about
it all the time I was in town, but now I feel better."
When they arrived at Philadelphia Mr. Carpenter was waiting for them
at the station. Neal, he explained, was at the lumber-yard; he could
not get off at that hour. They had intended going to a hotel, but
William Carpenter, with Quaker hospitality, insisted that they should
stay under his roof while they were in the city.
"Rachel expects thee," he said to his cousin when she remonstrated;
"she has made the necessary preparations."
"But there are so many of us," said Mrs. Franklin.
"There is room for all, and more," he replied, calmly.
Miss Trinkett was much pleased with all she saw, though somewhat
surprised when she heard herself called by her given name on so short
an acquaintance.
"However, it gives you an at-home feeling right away," she confided
to her nieces. "It seems as if I were back in Wayborough with the
people that have known me ever since I was born, I wouldn't like to
say how many years ago, though not so very many, either."
It was the middle of the afternoon when Neal came in. Hester heard
his familiar step coming down the long, narrow hall to her room,
where she was resting. There was a knock at the door, and she called
to him to come in. In another instant his arms were around her.
"Neal, Neal," she cried, "is it really you at last? Oh, how I have
longed to see you! Let me look at you."
She held herself away from him, and scrutinized the face which was
far above hers.
"You've grown. You are taller than ever. I only come up to your
shoulder, Neal. What a big man you are going to be! And you have
altered--your face looks different. What is it?"
"Can't say," he laughed. "Don't stare a fellow out of countenance,
Hessie; it's embarrassing. Did you have a good time in Washington?"
It was evident that he did not wish to refer to past events, but
Hester insisted upon speaking. She felt that something must be said
sooner or later, and there was no time like the present. It would be
well to get it over.
"Neal," she said, tenderly, taking his hand as they sat together on
the sofa, "I never really thought you took the money. I only did for
an instant after you ran away. Of course that seemed strange. But,
Neal, you will forgive us for thinking so at all. You will come
back, won't you, dear? John wants you to as well as I, and you will
go to college."
Neal rose and walked to the window. He stood there for a moment,
with his hands in his pockets. Then he turned, and, coming back,
stood in front of her.
"I'll tell you what it is. Hessie, we've both got something to
forgive. I was beastly extravagant at St. Asaph's, and not at all
fair and square when I asked you for the money that time. Then,
being suspended was all against me, and of course John had a right to
get mad. It's awfully hard to swallow the fact that he wouldn't
believe me, and he thought I would steal; however, he had some excuse
for it. My old pride was at the bottom of it all. You see I've had
time to think it over since I've been here; two months is a good long
time. I've been alone a lot, and when you're not measuring boards at
a lumber-yard you have plenty of time for thinking over your sins.
And I suppose I was pretty well in the wrong, too. I ought not to
have run away; I know that."
Now that Neal had reached this conclusion he was courageous enough to
acknowledge it.
"And you will come home now, and go to college."
"No, I don't think I will. Cousin William seems to think I do pretty
well in the business, and I shouldn't wonder if he'd feel rather
badly to have me go. He was very good to take me in. Then I made up
my mind I'd stick at the old thing and show Cyn--show some people I'm
no coward. Then I'm not very much gone on books, Hessie, and if I
went to college I'd want to give a good deal of time to sports and
all that, and I'd need a lot of money. Somehow I don't seem to be
able to see other fellows spending a pile without doing likewise. I
haven't got it, and I am not going to be dependent on you, Hessie
dear, much as I know you would like to give me every cent you own.
But, on the whole, I think I like better to make my own living. I
rather like the feeling of it."
Hester felt that Neal was showing that he was made of good stuff.
She was not a little proud of his independent spirit. She was
greatly disappointed that he was not going through college; but,
after all, she reflected, there was great wisdom in what he said.
She determined to say no more until she had consulted with her
husband, but she knew that he would agree with Neal.
"And now where are the girls?" demanded Neal, with a view to changing
the subject. "I want to see them."
His sister called them in from the next room, and they had a merry
meeting.
"How funny it is," thought Cynthia. "The last time I saw Neal we
were like two drenched water-rats on the river at home. Whoever
thought we should meet away off here in a strange house and a strange
city, where all is so different? I believe things are really going
to come right after all, and that day I was perfectly certain they
never would. Here is Edith well and strong when I thought she was
surely going to die, and mamma has seen Neal and seems as happy as a
lark, and Neal himself looks fine. Somehow he seems more like a man.
I'm proud of him."
All of which train of thought took place while Cynthia was indulging
in an unwonted fit of silence.
Neal soon suggested that they should take a walk, and the girls
acceding to it, the three set forth, Neal feeling extremely proud of
the two pretty maidens with whom he was walking.
"Philadelphia has an awfully forlorn look in summer," he said, with
the air of having been born and brought up a Philadelphian. "You
see, everybody goes out of town, and the houses are all boarded up.
You're here at just the wrong time."
"We are certainly here at a very hot time," remarked Edith, as she
raised her parasol.
"They call it very cool for this time of year," said Neal. "You
forget you are farther south than old Massachusetts. It is a dandy
place, I think, though I wouldn't mind knowing a few people that are
not Friends."
"How can you know people unless they are friends?" asked Cynthia,
gayly.
"Cynth, what a pun!" said Neal, with an attempt at a frown. "I say,
though, it's awfully jolly to have you two girls here, even if
Cynthia does keep at her old tricks and make very poor puns. How
long are you going to stay?"
"As long as we're bidden, I suppose," returned Cynthia, with one of
her well-known little skips, as they set foot on Walnut Street Bridge.
It was six o'clock, but being June the sun was still high above the
horizon. A gentle breeze came off the river, and the afternoon light
threw a soft radiance over the masts of the vessels which, lay at
anchor at the wharves, and the spires and chimneys of the town.
They wandered through the pretty streets of West Philadelphia; Neal,
happy in having companions of his own age again, laughing and talking
in his old way, care-free and fun-loving once more.
To Cynthia the past year seemed a hideous dream, now to be blotted
out forever.
She and Neal had one conversation alone together. It was the night
before the visitors were to leave Philadelphia, and the two were in
the old garden that was at the back of Mr. Carpenter's house. It was
not like Aunt Betsey's garden, nor the more modern one at Oakleigh,
but the roses and the lilac blossoms suggested a bit of country here
among city bricks and mortar.
Neal was very quiet, and Cynthia rallied him for being so, as she
herself laughed heartily at one of her own jokes.
"Well, perhaps I am rather glum," said he; "but I think you are
horribly heartless, Cynthia, laughing that way when you're going off
to-morrow, and nobody knows when I shall see you again."
Cynthia was sobered in a moment.
"Neal, I want to tell you something," she said. "Mamma told me that
you have decided to stay here and work instead of going to college,
and I admire you for doing it. Of course, it's a great pity for a
boy not to go to college, but then yours is a peculiar case, and I'm
proud of you, Neal. Yes, I am! You're plucky to stick it out."
"Wait until I do stick it out," said Neal, coloring hotly at the
unexpected praise. "But it's rather nice to hear you tell me I'm
something besides a coward."
"Hush! Don't remember what I said that day. Just forget it all."
"Indeed, I won't! It is written down in my brain, every word of it,
in indelible ink. There was something else you said, Cynth. You
said you had faith in me. I mean to show you that you didn't make a
mistake. It will be harder work than ever now, though. Having seen
you all makes the idea of toiling and moiling here pretty poky.
However, my mind is made up. I will stick it out!"