ALCIDES.
There was quite a battle-royal on the sea-shore after that: Dulce and
Phillis pelted Laddie with bonbons; while their mother enjoyed her nap
in the snug parlor. And Dorothy, pleased, bewildered, and half
frightened at what the mistress might say, stowed away game and fruit
and confectionery in the tiny larder, and then turned her attention to
such a tea as her young ladies had not seen since the Glen Cottage
days.
Laddie raced and barked, and nearly made himself ill with the sweet
things; and Nan laughed, and then grew serious as she remembered an
afternoon in the Longmead Meadows, when Dick, in wild spirits, had
pelted her and Phillis with roses until their laps were full of the
delicious, fragrant leaves. "'Sweets to the sweet,'--so look out for
yourself, Nan!" he had said, in his half-rough, boyish way. But that
was in the days when both were very young and Dick had not learned to
make love.
Mattie joined in the game a little awkwardly,--it was so long since
the poor little woman had played at anything. Her younger sisters
never chose Mattie in their games. "She makes such mistakes, and puts
us out; and that spoils the fun," they said; and so Grace was their
favorite playfellow.
For it is perfectly true that some grown-up people have forgotten how
to play, while others are such children at heart that they can abandon
themselves most joyously and gracefully to any game, however romping;
but Mattie, who was sobered by frequent snubbing, was not one of
these. She loved fun still, in her way, but not as Phillis and Dulce,
who thought it the cream of life and would not be content with the
sort of skimmed-milk existence of other young ladies.
Sir Harry watched them admiringly, and his enthusiasm grew every
moment.
"I say, you are the right sort, and no mistake. I never met jollier
girls in my life. A fellow would not know which to choose: would he,
Miss Mattie?"
Mattie took this seriously.
"Nan is chosen:--are you not, Nan?" she said, in her downright
fashion. And then, as Sir Harry stared at this, and Nan blushed and
looked even prettier, Phillis first scolded Mattie soundly for her
bluntness, and then took upon herself to describe Dick's perfections:
"The dearest fellow in the world, Harry, when you come to know him;
but not handsome, and dreadfully young looking, some people think.
But, as Nan will not look at any one else, we must make the best of
him."
"And when are they to be married?" asked her cousin, curiously. He was
not quite pleased with this discovery.
"When?--Oh, Harry, there is an 'if' in the case," returned Phillis,
solemnly. "The dearest fellow in the world has an ogre of a father,--a
man so benighted, so narrow in his prejudices, that he thinks it
decidedly _infra dig._ for his intended daughter in-law to sew other
people's gowns. I do love that expression. Harry: it is so forcible.
So he forbids the banns."
"No, really!--Is she serious, Nan?" But Nan grew shy all at once, and
would not answer.
"I am serious, Sir Henry Challoner," replied Phillis, pompously. "The
path of true love is impeded. Poor Dick is pining in his rooms at
Oxford; and Nan--well, I am afraid her looks belie her; only you know
appearances are sometimes deceitful." And indeed Nan's pink cheeks and
air of placid contentment scarcely bore out her sister's words.
The newly found cousin sat in silent perplexity staring at them both.
Love-affairs were not much in his way; and until now he had never been
thrown much with his equals in the other sex. His rough colonial life,
full of excitement and money-getting, had engrossed his youth. He was
now a man of thirty; but in disposition, in simplicity, and in a
certain guilelessness of speech, he seemed hardly more than an
overgrown boy.
"Well, now, is it not like a book?" he said, at last, breaking the
silence quite abruptly. "It must be an awful bother for you, Nan; but
we must put a stop to all that. I am the head of the family; and I
shall have a word to say to that Mr.--what is his name?"
"Mr. Mayne," returned Nan, softly.
It was at this moment that the name of Hercules came into Phillis's
head for her cousin. What feats of strength did he mean to undertake
on their behalf? Would he strangle the hydra-headed monster of public
opinion that pronounced "women who sewed other women's gowns" were
not to be received into society? Would he help Nan gather the golden
apples of satisfied love and ambition? What was it that he meant to do
by dint of sheer force and good nature?
Harry Challoner did not long leave them in ignorance of his
intentions. In the coolest possible way he at once assumed the
headship of the family,--adopting them at once, and giving them the
benefit of his opinions on every point that could possibly be mooted.
"I had not a soul belonging to me until now," he said, looking around
on his cousins' bright faces with a glow of honest satisfaction on his
own. "It made a fellow feel precious lonely out there, I can tell
you."
"You ought to have married, Harry," suggested Dulce.
"I never thought any one would care for such a great hulking fellow,"
he returned, simply; "and then the girls over there were not to my
taste. Besides, I never thought of it; I was too busy. I am going to
take a holiday now, and look about me a little; and when you and Aunt
Catherine are settled, I may have a try myself at some one," he
finished, with a big laugh.
This notion amused the girls immensely, then and afterwards. They
began to talk of the future Lady Challoner. Nan proposed one of the
Paines. Phillis thought if Grace Drummond were only as sweet-looking
as her photograph he could hardly help falling in love with her. And
Dulce was of opinion that Adelaide Sartoris, handsome and queenly as
she was, would not consider a baronet beneath her. They confided all
these thoughts to Sir Harry, who thanked them quite gravely for their
interest and promised to consider the matter. He even wrote down the
names in his pocket-book one after another.
"Adelaide Sartoris, did you say? Ah, we had an Adelaide at Sydney, a
little, dark thing, with hair blown all over her temples, and such a
pair of mischievous eyes: that girl was always laughing at me,
somehow. And yet she seemed sorry to bid me good-bye."
"Perhaps she was in love with you?" observed Dulce. But Phillis
frowned at this. She thought they had gone too far in their jokes
already with a cousin who was such a complete stranger. But he
returned, quite gravely,--
"Well, now, you know, such a thing never came into my head. I talked
to her because a fellow likes to be amused by a lively girl like Miss
Addie. But as to thinking seriously of her--well, I could not stand
that, you know to be laughed at all one's life; eh, Miss Mattie?" And
Mattie, at this appeal, looked up with round, innocent eyes, and said,
"Certainly not," in such an impressive tone that the other girls burst
out laughing.
They all went home after that. Sir Harry escorted his cousins and
Mattie to the Friary, and then returned to his hotel to dinner. But
the girls, who were in a merry mood, would not part with Mattie. They
sent her home to put on her green silk dress, with strict orders that
she was to return as soon as possible.
"We are all going to make ourselves pretty," announced Phillis. "A
cousin does not turn up every day; and when he promises to be a good
fellow, like Harry, we cannot do him too much honor."
"Ah, I should like to come," returned Mattie. "I have had such a nice
day; and, if Archie will not mind----" And then she bustled into the
vicarage, and into her brother's study.
Archie roused himself a little wearily from his abstraction to listen
to his sister's story; but at the end of it he said good-naturedly,
for he had taught himself to be tolerant of Mattie's little
gaucheries,--
"And the long and short of it is that you want to be gadding again.
Well, run and get ready, or you will keep their tea waiting; and do
put on your collar straight, Mattie." But this slight thrust was lost
on Mattie as she delightedly withdrew. Archie sighed as he tried to
compose himself to his reading. He had not been asked to join Mattie.
For the last few weeks he had become a stranger to the cottage. Did
they notice his absence? he wondered. Did they miss the visits that
had once been so frequent? By and by he would resume his old habits of
intimacy, and go among them as he had done; but just now the effort
was too painful. He dreaded the unspoken sympathy in Phillis's eyes.
He dreaded anything like an understanding between them. Nan's perfect
unconsciousness was helpful to him; but there was something in
Phillis's manner that stirred up an old pain. For the present he was
safer and happier alone in his study, though Mattie did not think so,
and told her friends that Archie looked terribly dull.
Mrs. Challoner proposed sending for him; but Phillis, greatly to her
mother's surprise, negatived the proposition:
"Oh, no, mother; pray do not! Mattie, you must excuse me. I do not
mean to be rude, but we should all have to be so dreadfully
well-behaved if Mr. Drummond came, and I just feel myself in a
'nonsense mood,' as Dulce used to say when she was a baby." And then
they all forgot Archie, and fell to discussing the new cousin.
"He is dreadfully ugly, mammie, is he not?" observed Dulce, who had a
horror of red hair. But Mrs. Challoner demurred:
"Well, no, pet; I cannot agree with you. He is very plain, but so is
Dick; but it struck me they were both rather alike." An indignant "How
can you, mother!" from Nan. "Well, my dear," she continued, placidly,
"I do not mean really alike, for they have not a feature in common;
but they have both got the same honest, open look, only Dick's face is
more intelligent." But this hardly appeased Nan, who was heard to say
under her breath "that she thought Dick had the nicest face in the
world."
"And Sir Harry has a nice face too: has he not, Mrs. Challoner?"
exclaimed Mattie, who never could be silent in a discussion. "It takes
time to get used to such very red hair; and, of course, he is
dreadfully big,--almost too big, I should say. But when he talks he
has such a good-natured way with him; now, hasn't he?" appealing to
Nan, who looked just a little glum,--that is, glum for Nan, for she
could not do the sulks properly; she could only look dignified.
Mrs. Challoner grew a little alarmed at her daughter's demure face:
"Nan, darling, you know I am as fond of Dick as possible; but I cannot
help being pleased with my new nephew, can I? And I must say I think
Harry is very nice, in spite of his roughness." But here Phillis, who
had been unaccountably silent, suddenly struck in:
"Mother, it was a mistake mentioning Dick: the name is sacred. Nan, if
it will please you we will declare that he is beautiful as a young
Apollo."
"Don't be a goose, Phil!" from her sister. But Nan was smiling.
"As for Harry, he is a perfect hero. I expect great things from the
great man. To my imagination he is a perfect Hercules,--Heracles, son
of Zeus and Alcmene. I wonder if Harry could tell us the name of
Hercules's mother?"
"Of course not, and no one else either," retorted Dulce.
But Phillis did not heed this.
"To me he shall be the young Alcides. He has promised to fight the
Nemæan lion, in the shape of Richard Mayne the elder. By and by we
shall have him striking off the heads of the Lernean Hydra. You look
mystified, Nan. And I perceive Mattie has a perplexed countenance. I
am afraid you are deficient in heathen mythology; but I will spare
your ignorance. You will see, though, I am right----"
"But, Phillis----" broke in Dulce, eagerly. But Phillis waved her hand
majestically at the interruption:
"Mother, to be serious, I consider Harry in the light of a
providential interposition. You are always mourning that there is not
a man belonging to us. Well, now we have got one, large as life, and
larger, and a very good fellow, as you say; and we are no longer
'forlorn females.'"
"And indeed, Phillis, I am most thankful for that, my dear; for if
Harry be only as good as a brother to you----"
"He means to be more," returned Phillis, with a sage nod of her head.
"He talks in the coolest way, as though he had adopted the whole
family and meant to put a spoke into the domestic wheel. 'I must put a
stop to this,' or, 'That must be altered,' has been a frequent remark
of his. Mother, if he is dreadfully rich, as he says, does he mean to
make us rich too?"
"My dear, we have no claim on him."
"He thinks we have the strongest possible claim: does he not, Nan? You
should have heard him talk this afternoon! According to him, we were
never to sew gowns again; Nan and Dick were to be immediately united;
the Friary was to be pulled down, and a glorified Glen Cottage to be
erected in its stead. But mother,"--here Phillis's lip grew
plaintive,--"you won't desert your own girls, and be talked over even
by an Alcides? We do not mean to have our little deeds all put on the
shelf in that off-hand fashion. I shall sew gowns as long as I like,
in spite of a hundred Sir Harrys."
And then they perceived that under Phillis's fun there was a vein of
serious humor, and that, in spite of her admiration of her hero, she
was a little afraid that her notions of independence would be
wounded.
They became divided on the question. Mrs. Challoner, who had never had
a son of her own, and did not much like the idea of a son-in-law, was
disposed to regard her nephew warmly, and to accord to him at once his
privilege of being head of the family.
"In this case, a cousin is as good as a brother," she averred; and Nan
rather leaned to her opinion.
"You see," she said, in her practical way, addressing no one in
particular, but looking at Phillis, "it has been terribly against us,
having no one belonging to us of the same name; and it will really
give us a standing with some sort of people."
"Fie, Nan! what a worldly speech! You are thinking of that tiresome
Mayne _pere_ again."
"I have to think of him," returned Nan, not at all put out by this.
"Dick's father must be a person of great importance to me. He has
often hinted in my hearing that we have no relations, and that the
Challoner name will die out. I expect he will be rather taken aback at
Harry's appearance."
"Yes; and Dick will be jealous: he always is of other fellows, as he
calls them. You must score that up against Dick, please. Well, I won't
deny that Harry may make himself useful there: all I protest against
is the idea that he will bundle us out of this dear old Friary, and
make us grand, in spite of ourselves."
"Dear old Friary!--Oh, oh!" gasped Dulce; and even Nan looked mildly
surprised.
"He will not make me give up my work until I choose," continued
Phillis, who was in an obstinate mood. "It is not make-believe
play-work, I can tell him that;" but Mrs. Challoner grew tearful at
this.
"Phillis, my dear, pray hush! Indeed--indeed I cannot have you talking
as though you meant and wished to be a dressmaker all your life."
And when Phillis asked, "Why not?" just for the sake of argument,--for
in her heart she was growing heartily sick of her employment,--her
mother threw up her hands in despair:
"Oh, my dear Miss Drummond, do not believe her: Phillis is a good
girl; but she is always like that,--hard to be convinced. She does not
really mean it. She has worked harder than any of them; but she has
only done it for her mother's sake."
"Of course she does not mean it," echoed Nan, affectionately, and much
struck by a sudden yearning look on Phillis's face,--an expression of
smothered pain; but Phillis drew away from her sister's gentle grasp.
"I do mean it!" she said, almost passionately. "I am dreadfully tired
of the work sometimes, and hate it. Oh, how I hate it! But I think I
have been happy, too. I liked the excitement of the fighting, and the
novelty of the thing; it was such fun,--first shocking people, and
then winning them over in spite of themselves. One felt 'plucky,' as
Harry said. And then one's friends were so real." And her eyes fell
unconsciously on Mattie.
"Oh, yes," returned Mattie, with her usual gush: "Archie and I took to
you from the first. I must say I was surprised, knowing how fastidious
Archie was, and his notions about young ladies in general. But, dear,
he never would hear a word against you: he was even angry with Colonel
Middleton the other day because--but there! I ought not to have told
you that."
"Oh, we know all about it," returned Phillis, carelessly; but Dulce's
bright face looked a little overcast. "Son Hammond is in the case; and
we can all judge of a father's feelings by a certain example that
shall be nameless. Good gracious, mammie! there comes the Alcides
himself, and Dorothy has not cleared the tea-things! I vote we meet
him in the garden, to avert breakages." And Phillis's proposition was
carried out.
But when they were all seated in the little parlor again, and the lamp
was brought, sundry packages made their appearence, and were
delightedly unpacked by the girls, Phillis assisting with great
interest, in spite of her heroic speeches.
"One can accept gifts from a cousin," she said, afterwards.
Sir Harry had shown good taste in his purchases. The ornaments and
knick-knacks were all pretty and well chosen. The good-natured fellow
had ransacked the shops in Paris for such things as he thought would
please his unknown cousins. The bracelets, and fans, and gloves, and
laces, made Dulce almost dance with glee. The lace was for Aunt
Catherine, he said; and there were gloves for everybody,--dozens and
dozens of them. But the fans and bracelets were for the girls; and
to-morrow he would get the bonbons for Dulce. And then, as the girls
laughingly apportioned the spoil, he whispered something to Nan, at
which she nodded and smiled.
Mattie, who was carefully admiring the lace in her short-sighted way,
felt something touch her elbow, and found Nan pushing a fan and a
parcel of gloves towards her,--beautiful gloves, such as Isabel had in
her trousseau.
"Yes; take them; we have so many; and, indeed, we have no use for more
than a fan apiece. Oh, you extravagant Harry!"
Sir Harry laughed as he balanced the fan clumsily on his huge finger:
"Take it; you are very welcome, Miss Mattie. You know we are quite old
acquaintances; and, indeed, I look on you as a sort of cousin."
"Oh, dear!--thank you; you are very good, Sir Harry," cried poor
Mattie, blushing with pleasure.
Never had she spent such a day in her life,--a day wherein she had not
been once snubbed, except in that remark of Archie's about her collar,
and that did not matter.
"Poor little woman, she looks very happy!" observed Mrs. Challoner,
benevolently, as Mattie gathered up her spoils and went out of the
room, accompanied by Dulce. "She is such a good little soul, and so
amiable, that it is a pity Mr. Drummond is always finding fault with
her. It spoils him, somehow; and I am sure she bears it very well."
She spoke to Nan, for her nephew seemed engrossed with tying up
Laddie's front paw with his handkerchief.
"I am afraid, from what she says, that they all snub her at home,"
returned Nan. "It seems Grace is the favorite; but you know, mother,
Mattie is just a little tiresome and awkward at times."
"Yes; but she is very much improved. And I must say her temper is of
the sweetest; for she never bears her brother any malice." But at that
moment Mattie re-entered the room: and Sir Harry, releasing Laddie,
proceeded, as in duty bound, to escort her to the vicarage.