COMPLICATIONS.
But Persis little foresaw what her interest in Annis’s ancestry was
to develop, nor how it would affect the whole family. The first storm
of indignation fell upon her devoted head the next day, when Lisa and
Mellicent burst in upon her as she sat absorbed in one of her new
Christmas books.
“A nice thing you have done for us all,” began Lisa. “I just wish
you had let those Browns alone; but, as you are such a stickler for
justice, maybe you will enjoy having your chickens come home to roost.”
“Why, what have I done?” Persis asked, innocently, looking up from her
book.
“You have done everything. Poor, dear grandma, whom you profess to love
so much; and now you’ve deliberately robbed her! Yes, robbed her, when
she does so like to be Lady Bountiful; all for the sake of that meechin
Mrs. Brown and her meek little milksop of a daughter.”
“Milksop, indeed!” retorted Persis, angrily. “She isn’t a milksop
anything of the kind. She’s just as bright as you are, and much more of
a lady.”
“Thank you! And what do you call yourself, pray? Oh, no doubt you
consider any one is better than your own family. You’d better go and
live at the Browns. You might help to wait on the boarders.” And Lisa’s
nose took an angle of forty-five degrees in the direction of the
ceiling.
“They won’t have to keep boarders now, will they?” inquired Mellicent.
“No, I suppose not,” Lisa acknowledged, with something like
unwillingness.
“Oh, won’t they? Why? Do tell me. I am wild to know,” interposed Persis.
“Maybe you’ll not be so glad when you hear,” returned Lisa; “but I will
tell you. Of course you know how grandma’s sister ran away from home
and married a wild young fellow by the name of Brown, and how she died,
and how he was killed during the war, and all that. Well, his people
knew that grandma’s people objected to the match, which they had a
right to do, for this Brown was as wild as could be.”
“He perfectly adored his wife, and he reformed when he married her. He
was only wild when he was very young,” interrupted Persis, in defence.
“Well, that is neither here nor there. Anyhow, his family were furious
because the Carters snubbed him, and there is no telling how he might
have turned out if he had lived. At all events, his people wrote
to Great-grandpa Carter and told him that both Mary Carter and her
husband, Worthington Brown, were dead, and they never said a word about
their having left a child, for they wanted to spite the Carters.”
“It was more that they loved the child so much they were afraid he
might choose to spend his time with his mother’s people if he knew
them,” put in Persis, still on the defensive.
Lisa passed over the interruption. “And so,” she went on, “they left
him in ignorance. Then Great-grandfather Carter made an entirely new
will, leaving all his money to Grandma Estabrook and her brother’s
family, but he never signed the will; but in his first will he left
the money to his three children, and in a codicil he said that if his
daughter Mary left no heirs her share was to go to grandma, because he
had already given his son as much as it would amount to; so grandma had
her sister’s money, and now she is going to give it up to these Browns,
people she never heard of till lately, for the name of Brown is such a
common one that grandma never dreamed they were related to her till you
fished them out.”
“And you know”—Mellicent continued the grievance—“she will only have
half as much as she has had; and then she has been a great help to
mamma, for all the luxuries came from her, so we shall not have any.”
Persis was conscious that this was an appalling piece of news, but she
valiantly held her ground. “Well, it doesn’t make us paupers, and _we_
shall not have to keep boarders.”
“Except Basil and Porter,” put in Mellicent.
“They’re not real boarders; they are papa’s wards, and we are doing
them a great favor,” Lisa amended. “We shall have to do without all
sorts of things; and when we have had pretty nearly everything we
wanted it will be no fun to see Annis Brown perked out in what ought to
be ours, and to have to say we can’t afford to do thus and so.”
“It is rather a strain,” admitted Persis; “but, just the same, it is
right, and it will not hurt us. Besides, if you look at it from the
Browns’ side, we have been defrauding them all these years, and they
have had to bear all sorts of things which we will never be called upon
to do.”
“It is no fault of ours. They wouldn’t have been so poorly off if old
Mr. Brown had taken better care of his money.”
“Oh, Lisa, how could he? It was the war made him lose, and he died
before he had time to make good his losses.”
“Well, it doesn’t alter the fact that it is all very unpleasant,
and I don’t enjoy having unexpected relations thrust upon me, and I
don’t believe the rest of the family do either. It would be perfectly
unnatural if they did.” With which parting thrust Lisa took her
departure, Mellicent following.
Persis was left with conflicting emotions; her spirit of justice was
here satisfied in a way of which she little dreamed. Her “chickens”
had “come home to roost,” indeed, and she was conscious of a queer
contradictory feeling about the matter. Pretty trinkets, her new
bicycle, little treats, summer journeyings, had all been grandma’s
bounty, and now—well, she would go and see grandma herself, and take
her cue from this interested member of the family.
Accordingly she sought Mrs. Estabrook’s sunny room. “Oh, grandma,” she
began, as soon as she entered, “I am so dreadfully upset in my mind;
are you?”
“About what, dear?”
“About your giving up half your income, and all that.”
Grandma smiled a little sadly. “Dear child,” she said, “we human beings
are far from perfect, even though our standards are as high as we can
make them; but there is one thing we can do: we can rout unworthy
feelings at their first appearance, and we can be sure that what seems
to be our loss is oftener our gain through the development which it
brings us and the good which it brings to others. I confess to having
had a little pang at giving up some of the riches I have held in trust,
but then I considered that all I have is only mine to use for the
Master, you know.” And she paused while Persis buried her head in the
comforting lap as she sat on the floor by grandma’s chair.
“So,” grandma went on, “it resolved itself into this. A purely selfish
consideration was what was troubling me, and that was unworthy of an
almoner of my Father. I enjoyed giving because of the recognition to
generosity I received, because I was tickled by thanks and pleased by
expressions of gratitude; therefore I said to myself, quite likely
I am getting to be a self-satisfied old woman, and it is time some
one more worthy should have a share in the giving; and then I became
quite ashamed of myself, and after I had thought of how my dear sister
if she were here would sorrow for the trials and deprivations of her
little grand-daughter, I became more ashamed than ever, and now I am
very happy to think I can add so much to the comfort of such a worthy
descendant of my dear Mary.”
Persis looked up, and her face reflected the exaltation she saw in the
one bent over her.
“You can help me much, dear,” grandma went on. “I know the rest must
feel somewhat sore over it, although they admit the justice. And you,
my dear generous little girl, will do your best not to grumble if you
cannot have all you have been used to.”
“Oh, grandma, I will try,” Persis replied, earnestly. “Tell me,” she
continued, “did you—did you use to quarrel and say snappy things to
each other, you and your sister Mary?”
Grandma sighed. “I am afraid sometimes we did, dear, and if you knew
how much I have grieved, all these weary years, over some of the unkind
things I have said, you would set a seal upon your lips very often.”
Persis laid hold of her grandmother’s hand sympathetically, and looked
up with a penitent look in her gray eyes. “How can I help it, grandma?”
she said. “Lisa queens it so, and is so aggravating. She always makes
me feel as if I were such an inferior, as if I were a worm of the dust,
a regular earthling, and I soar, indeed I do.”
Grandma laughed as much at the phrasing as at the protesting tone. “I
don’t doubt you soar, dearie, and it is quite likely that some day
your wings will take you longer flights than Lisa dreams of, but it is
better to bide your time and prove your right by your deeds, not by
your words.”
“I am inclined to be wordy, I admit,” acknowledged Persis. “I never
know when to stop talking about a thing. I hammer and hammer till I
wear every one to a thread and they wish me in Halifax. How shall I
help it, grandma?”
“Set a seal upon your lips,” again quoted grandma.
“I will,” declared Persis, jumping up with the zeal of a new decision
shining in her eyes. “I will, grandma, sure enough. I’d like to start
at once.” And she did so literally, for an hour later Lisa, coming
into her room, was amazed to see Persis sitting gravely over her book,
an enormous wax plaster fitted over her mouth, which plaster bore an
unusually fine impression of the family crest, the motto, “_Toujours
fidèle_,” standing forth in distinct prominence.
“For pity’s sake!” exclaimed Lisa. “What is that for?”
Persis gravely produced a bit of paper and a pencil; then she wrote, “I
shall be glad to hear anything of importance you may wish to say, but I
am bound not to talk for an hour.”
“Are you going to wear that thing for an hour?” asked Lisa.
A nod of the head gave the reply.
“Then you are a goose.”
A very decided shake in the negative, and Persis was aware that but
for her seal Lisa’s remark would have brought forth a much more
disagreeable protest. She therefore concluded that in the very first
hour she had warded off a discussion, although, as she pensively
decided, there wouldn’t have been any need of it but for the seal.
Failing to have her curiosity gratified, Lisa left her sister to her
own devices, and when the hour was up Persis carefully peeled off the
wax, to be put aside for future use.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “I feel like a corked-up bottle of beer,”
she continued to herself. “And, my, how sore my lips are! I’ll have to
have the glycerin-bottle filled if I am to keep this up. Oh, dear, what
a mean creature I am! I have not been near Annis to-day. It is kind
of awkward, too, for they all feel so stirred up about her that they
will be horrid if I ask her here. Mamma won’t, of course, and grandma
will be a love. I’ll find out when Lisa is going out, and then I’ll go.
Oh, maybe she can have a wheel now, and we can go all around together.
After all, as grandma says, gain often comes from loss. I don’t believe
I shall mind the change of affairs so very much. I wonder if the boys
know.”
The boys did know. They had been told with much emphasis by Mellicent,
who dwelt with feeling upon the pitiable condition to which she
personally would be reduced, though, to give her credit, she did mean
to be cordial to Annis, and was really glad to discover the kinship.
The whole affair appealed strongly to her romantic little soul, and
gave her an interesting topic to discuss with Audrey.
Persis found her with the boys playing “parcheesi” in the library.
“I say,” blurted out Porter, without looking up, “why didn’t you let
that Brown girl fight her own battles? If you hadn’t been so fierce to
get her into the club you would never have known anything about her
being your cousin.”
“As if I were so mean as to be sorry,” said Persis. “She’d as good a
right and a better one than any of us to join it; and even if she’d
never had a single ancestor, she would always be a dear, lovely girl.”
Basil looked up, amused at the fierce little partisan with her
remarkable statements and her readiness to take up the cudgels.
“Where’s your chip, Perse?” asked Porter, mockingly, for “Perse is
always going around with a chip on her shoulder,” he was wont to say.
“Chip, yourself; at least you’re only a blockhead,” retorted Persis,
the seal being most certainly no longer upon her lips.
“Ah, what’s the use of squabbling?” interposed Basil, in his slow way.
“You did all right, Persis, and I side with you, whatever the others
say. They’ll get over it after awhile. Annis is a first-rate sort of a
girl, and you were another to take her part.”
Persis shot him a grateful look and sat down to watch the game. The
little talk with grandma came back to her, but it was too sacred to
be repeated there, and she contented herself with remarking, “Well,
anyhow, grandma is content, and so I think we have no right to
complain.”
“Well, but if she had never known she would be just as happy,”
persisted Porter, “and you’d all be better off.”
“Oh, but then Annis would have been cheated out of her rights.”
“What’s the odds, so long as no one knew it?” continued Porter.
Basil spoke up. “Look here, young man; that’s no way to talk. Wrong is
wrong, whether any one knows it or not.”
It was Porter’s turn to look uneasy, and he glanced quickly at
Mellicent, who blushed and seemed to be giving close attention to the
game.
“I’m going out on my wheel,” Porter announced, as if anxious to change
the subject, and, springing up, he left the room, Mellicent following.
Basil began to turn over the leaves of a book absently, while Persis
sat watching him. Presently he looked up. “Say, Perse,” he said, “does
Porter talk to you much about the boys and—and things?”
“No,” she replied; “he used to more than he does now, but he told me
some tricks the boys played, and I suppose I was too plain-spoken for
him, for he said I was ‘a chump,’ and since then we haven’t been quite
so confidential.”
Basil looked thoughtful. “I wish he were confidential with you. I know
you are up and down straightforward enough not to let him impose on
you. I wish I didn’t have to say it, but Porter is awfully plausible.”
“Yes he is,” agreed Persis. “He is very agreeable when he wants to be,
and he knows just how to get around one. Is—is anything wrong, Basil?”
“I hope not, but I thought I’d just ask.” And Basil began to walk
around the room, his hands in his pockets and an occupied look upon his
face.
“Can I do anything?” hesitatingly asked Persis. “Maybe I shouldn’t
ask,” she continued, quickly, “but you know papa and mamma have always
said we all ought to be sisters to you, and I would do anything I
could.”
“You’re very good,” replied Basil. “Just keep your eyes open, that’s
all. If I see any cause for anything further, I’ll tell you. I—I don’t
like to have Port discussed too much,” he added, apologetically, and
Persis realized that her “wordiness” might be in the way of further
confidences.
[Illustration: Decoration]