IN THE STAR CHAMBER.
There never lived a more genial, kindly man than old Judge Hazeltine,
and the house he planned and built reflected, as perfectly as a house
could, the character of its owner.
"The front door looks like the Judge," people used to say, laughing as
they said it, for he was portly and the door was wide. But they meant
more than just that, for there were few, even among the unimaginative,
who did not feel drawn to that door. Hospitality shone from every
panel, the big fanlight was like a genial sun, and the resemblance to
his cheery face and cordial manner was not altogether fanciful.
Of the inside of the house perhaps it is enough to say at present that
it kept the promise of the outside.
After the judge's death the old home fell to the share of the younger
of his two sons, for the William Hazeltines had already built their
fine mansion out on Dean avenue, where Aunt Marcia found things more
suited to her fastidious taste than on the quiet street which had
ceased to be fashionable.
On the other hand, her brother-in-law declared that he much preferred
his large garden and home-like neighborhood to the elegant monotony of
her surroundings. The children agreed with their father, and so
perhaps, for the matter of that, did Uncle William.
At the top of the house there was a long low room, with five windows
looking east, west, and south, which was known as the star chamber.
This name had originated with Uncle William in the days when he and
his brother Frank played and studied there, as Carl and his sisters
did now. On rainy days when the garden was out of the question the
children were most likely to be found here.
It was a pleasant place and well suited for any sort of indoor game.
Except for a rug or two the floor was bare, and the furniture
consisted of an old claw-footed sofa on which at least six people
could sit comfortably at one time, a wardrobe, some book-shelves, and
a hammock swung across one corner. There may have been a chair or two,
but the wide window-sills made pleasanter resting-places. Here in the
summer time you looked out into the soft greenness of the maple trees,
getting glimpses of the quiet street, but when the branches were bare
a fine outlook was to be had all over the neighborhood, and you saw
how big houses and little houses stood sociably side by side, while an
old gray church kept guard at one corner. Here Bess and Louise
romanced over an imaginary family known as "The Carletons," or played
dolls with Helen, and here Carl arranged his stamp album and made
signals to Ikey across the street. Sometimes their father and uncle
would drop in and pretend they were boys once more. Then what delight
it was to listen to their stories of boyish pranks!
Aunt Zelie was their most frequent visitor. The days when she kept her
dolls and "dressing-up things" in the old wardrobe, which was now put
to the same use by her little nieces, were not so very far back in the
past, and many of her story books were still to be found on the
shelves among later favorites.
Going up to the star chamber on the morning after the excitement over
the Brown house, she walked in upon an indignation meeting.
"Just when we wanted to play Crokonole!"
"It is _too_ mean!"
"She might let him come, it spoils all our fun!"
This is what she heard, and she asked in surprise, "What in the world
is the matter?"
There was silence for a minute, during which the rain made a great
pattering outside; then little Helen, who was serenely busy with her
paper dolls, replied, "Ikey's grandma won't let him come over, 'cause
he took her fur rug and Sallie's clothes-pins."
"What did he want with the clothes-pins and rug?"
"We wanted them to play with, Aunt Zelie. You can do a great many
things with clothes-pins," Bess explained.
"Aleck was to have been King Richard--the rug was for him at the
banquet; and now he hasn't come and we can't do anything," said Louise
mournfully.
Aunt Zelie sat down on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap.
"I should like to know how many of _our_ things have been carried over
to the Brown house garden," she said.
"We took some of the straw cushions and two or three cups that Mandy
said we might play with," replied Bess, watching her aunt's face
anxiously. There was another silence, during which Carl became
absorbed in a book and Louise gave her attention to Helen's dolls.
Then Aunt Zelie spoke:
"The more I think of this the more uncomfortable I feel about it."
"I can't see why," came from Carl.
"Because it seems to me such a lawless proceeding. Do you know that
there are people who say that no children were ever so lawless as
American children to-day?"
"That is poetry, auntie; you made a beautiful rhyme," laughed Louise.
But her aunt refused to smile.
"It is not poetry, but sad fact, I'm afraid. You may not have done
much actual harm, but you have shown no respect for other people's
property. You went into the Brown house garden without leave, and you
encouraged Ikey to carry off his grandmother's things without
permission. I have trusted you all summer--I thought I could; but this
makes me afraid that you ought to have someone with more experience to
watch over you. You know when I came back to you two years ago I
promised to stay so long as I could be a help to you, but--"
"Oh, Aunt Zelie! You do help us--don't go away!" cried Bess, clasping
her around the waist; Louise seized one of her hands tightly in both
her own, and Carl looked out the window with a flushed face.
"That is not fair, Aunt Zelie," was all he said.
He could never forget--nor could Bess--how she had come to them in
their loneliness, and taken the motherless little flock into her arms,
comforting them and wrapping them all about with her love and
sympathy. How could they ever do without her?
"You aren't going away, are you?" Helen asked, leaving her dolls and
coming to her side.
"I hope not, for I can't think what I should do without my children,"
she answered. And then they all snuggled around her on the old sofa
and talked things over. It was astonishing what a difference it
made--trying to look at the matter from all sides. Even Mrs. Ford's
indignation did not seem so very unreasonable when you stopped to
think how inconvenient it was to be without clothes-pins on Monday
morning.
"I know it does not seem exactly right as you put it, Aunt Zelie,"
Carl acknowledged, "but it was such fun, we couldn't have had so good
a time anywhere else."
"Suppose you found the Arnold children playing in our garden some day,
would you think that because they had found that they couldn't have so
good a time anywhere else, it was all right?"
"Why, auntie, those Arnold boys are not nice at all; we _couldn't_
have them in our garden," cried Louise.
"No one was living in the Brown house--it is different," Carl began.
"I know what she means," said Bess. "Just because it is fun isn't a
good excuse."
"That is it," answered her aunt. "I believe in fun if only you do not
put it first, above thought for the feelings or property of others. I
am sure you did not mean to do wrong, but it would not do for me to
let you go on being thoughtless, would it?"
"Mrs. Ford isn't a bit like you, Aunt Zelie; she was dreadfully mad at
Ikey, and said he must stay in his room all day," remarked Louise.
"I am sorry for Mrs. Ford. I rather think _I_ should be dreadfully mad
too, if I were in her place. She is an old lady and is used to having
her household affairs move on smoothly, and one day she finds her
servants upset and some of her property missing, all because certain
naughty children cared more for a little fun than for her comfort."
Aunt Zelie spoke gravely, and her audience looked very much subdued.
In the course of the day Joanna, one of the maids, was sent over to
the Brown house to inquire about the things left by the children in
the garden. She returned with the missing articles, which had been
carried into the house by the man who cut the grass.
"Did you see anybody, Jo? Are there any children?" were the questions
she met with. But she had only seen a middle-aged woman who was
cleaning the hall, and had learned nothing about the new occupants.
"It is very stupid of Joanna," said Carl as he rolled up the rug and
the clothes-pins and marched over to apologize to Mrs. Ford for their
share of the mischief. He did this so meekly and with such evident
sincerity that the old lady was greatly mollified, and sent him up to
tell Ikey he might consider himself released from the day's
confinement in his room.
For the rest of the week the children were models of propriety. No one
would have dreamed that they had been outlaws so short a time before.
From the star chamber windows Robin and his merry men looked down on
the transformation which was taking place in their old domain.
The long grass was cut down, and with it those patches of pepper grass
that had seasoned many a feast. The bushes and vines were trimmed, the
walk was reddened, the shutters were thrown open. Every day added
something to the change, yet, besides the servants, no one had been
seen about the house.
Who could their new neighbors be? The subject was discussed morning,
noon, and night, till their father said he would have to tell them the
story of the man who made a fortune minding his own business. Uncle
William, who was there at the time, said that probably the man was too
stupid to enjoy his fortune after he made it, and he pretended to be
willing to go over and inquire at the door, if Louise would go with
him.
"At least we know there can't be any children," said Bess, "for they
couldn't stay in the house all the time."
"Please tell us the story about the man, Father," asked little Helen,
and couldn't understand why they all laughed.