EXPLANATIONS.
"NOW, Mr. Randolph, you must interfere. I cannot let this go on
any longer!" burst forth his wife one morning as he rose from the
breakfast-table.
The girls had left the room, and husband and wife were alone, and Mr.
Randolph said rather sharply:
"What are you worrying yourself about now, Clara? Isabel is no worse,
is she?"—for Isabel's cough had been very troublesome this spring.
"It isn't Isabel at all, but your niece." Mrs. Randolph always said
"your niece" when she was angry with Mabel, and so her husband was
quite prepared for some complaint.
"What is it now?" he asked.
"Can't you see she is quite a disgrace to us, going about in dowdy
winter clothes such weather as this? If her name wasn't Randolph, so
that everybody had to know she was a relation, it would not matter so
much."
"Would it make the clothes lighter then?" asked her husband in a
mocking tone.
"No! But she would not be able to annoy us so much. It is only done to
annoy us, I know," added the lady, "for Isabel says she has got the
money to buy new things."
Mr. Randolph looked puzzled.
"My dear, I wish you had tried to make things more comfortable for the
girl," he said in a vexed tone.
"More comfortable!" repeated the lady. "Why, she is treated like my own
daughters. What more would you have?"
"Well, my dear, I don't know how it is; I don't understand woman's ways
altogether, but I'm not blind. And I can see that you and Julia are
somehow always at enmity with Mabel. It makes me very uncomfortable, I
can tell you, sometimes. And if it was not that Isabel had grown very
fond of her cousin, so that I cannot think it is wholly her fault, I
would send her home at once."
"Then whose fault is it, pray?" angrily demanded the lady. "From the
moment that girl came into the house, she tried to set herself up above
Julia. And do you think I would let her do that without putting her
down?"
"Nonsense, Clara; that is all your fancy. For she knew before she came
that she was to be in the school-room with Isabel, to share her lessons
and be her companion."
"Yes, and she made up her mind to place herself on a footing with Julia
before she had been in the house an hour. I can see as well as you, Mr.
Randolph."
"Well, but my dear, is she trying to rival Julia by wearing dowdy
dresses?" asked the gentleman.
"No, but that is just one of her whims, to vex and annoy us. It must
be, as she has had the money to buy other clothes," concluded the lady.
It certainly was a puzzle, even to Mr. Randolph. He had thought it
would be easy enough to remedy this when he first heard his wife's
complaint. He would give Isabel a cheque for herself and Mabel to go
shopping with, for he could easily understand that in the present
critical state of his brother's business, he could not afford to
withdraw much money from it, and so Mabel could not have much to spend
in dress. But if money had been sent to her for this purpose, and she
still chose to wear these winter dresses, then what could he do?
As he drove to the town that day, he half regretted having asked her
to pay this visit, for he could not help feeling somewhat disappointed
in her, despite Isabel's glowing admiration of her cousin. There had
been a feeling of half-suppressed quarrelling and antagonism in the
atmosphere of his home since her arrival. And although she and Julia
were outwardly civil to each other, still it was the civility of foes
rather than friends, and each seemed to be on the watch lest the other
should gain some advantage in the undeclared warfare.
Mr. Randolph had not said this to himself in so many words, but it was
what had made itself felt almost as tangibly. And thinking over all
this, he was the more puzzled to know how to proceed in this delicate
matter of Mabel's dress, lest he should do more harm than good. He had
the greatest confidence in his sister-in-law's good sense and right
judgment, and at last he decided to write to her about it.
He wrote the letter that same afternoon. And then at the last minute,
instead of placing it in the basket with others to be posted, he put
it into his pocket, for a sudden thought had come to him, that he
would talk to Mabel after all, before writing to her mother. This had
probably occurred to him through the recollection that his wife and
elder daughter were going to a party that evening, and therefore he
would have an opportunity of speaking to Mabel without making a fuss
about it, for she came to the drawing-room with Isabel as a matter of
course now, whenever they had it to themselves.
Now, it must not be supposed that it was at all pleasant for Mabel to
wear the dresses she positively hated. But she undoubtedly assumed a
rather more haughty air, now that her cousins had donned their pretty
spring dresses, lest anyone should dare to think of her as a "poor
relation." And this had helped her aunt to form the theory that she was
simply doing it to vex and annoy them.
It would, no doubt, have comforted Mabel to have known what her aunt
thought about it, and she would have been even more haughty. But as it
was, the moment her uncle began to speak about her not changing her
winter attire, she burst into tears, exclaiming:
"I cannot, uncle; indeed, I cannot."
Mr. Randolph looked surprised, but he was glad to think that the letter
he had written was safe in his pocket, instead of on its way to her
mother. Isabel, too, looked surprised—surprised at her cousin's words,
and still more so at her troubled manner.
"Do you mind telling me what you mean by 'you cannot?' I understand you
have had some money sent to buy new dresses."
"Yes, uncle, but—but I owed the dressmaker all that money," she
stammered.
"Owed the dressmaker that money!" repeated Mr. Randolph in a puzzled
tone. "But how could that be, Mabel?"
"Oh, I see, I know," exclaimed Isabel, upon whom the truth had suddenly
dawned. "You did not send that dressmaker's bill to your mother, Mabel?"
Mabel shook her head. "I couldn't," she said, "after the letter I had
from her."
"But what dressmaker's bill is it?" asked Mr. Randolph, who was
determined to get to the bottom of the business before offering any
help.
Then together the girls explained how the dress had been bought for the
party, Isabel generously taking all the blame when she saw her father
was inclined to find fault with Mabel for not consulting somebody
before incurring such a heavy debt.
"You should have gone to your aunt, my dear," he said, "and asked her
about the dress before ordering it."
"Oh, but Julia had said her old dress would do, and it wouldn't," said
Isabel, determined to defend her cousin.
"What do you know about it, Pussy Paleface?" said her father tenderly,
drawing her on to his knee and kissing her.
"Why, I know you are going to make out a cheque for us to go shopping
with to-morrow," said Isabel in a tone of mock solemnity.
"I perceive you are a witch, madam, young as you are, or you could not
have read my thoughts so accurately."
"You dear old dad! I knew you would help Mabel out of her trouble."
"Yes, but only for this time, remember. For I don't approve of young
girls ordering dresses without consulting older and wiser people. I
wonder what your mother would think of this business, Mabel?" he said,
turning to her.
Mabel's heart was too full for her to speak, for her uncle's last words
had lifted such a load of care from her mind. But her tearful, grateful
face spoke more eloquently than words.
"Well, well," said her uncle, "I don't think Mabel will be in a hurry
to go into debt again, and so we'll say no more about it."
"Indeed—indeed, uncle, I shall never forget it, I have been so
miserable lately," gasped the poor girl, trying to keep back her tears.
"Oh, Mabel, and you never told me about it!" said her cousin
reproachfully.
"Why, what could you have done, Pussy?" said her father.
"I would have brought that horrid dressmaker's bill to you, of course,
long, long ago, if I had only known about it," said Isabel.
But her father shook his head. "It would not have done, Pussy. I don't
think I should have paid it. Girls must learn, as well as other people,
the true value of money. Mabel has had her lesson, and a rather painful
one it has been. Yours will come some day."
But even as he said the words, a doubt crept into the father's
heart whether such a lesson would ever be needed for his younger
daughter—whether the training for life here was not wholly unnecessary,
for of late she had grown even more delicate and frail-looking.
By a certain intuition Isabel seemed to guess the drift of her father's
thoughts, and she whispered:
"I am laying up treasures for by and by."
"Treasures for by and by!" he repeated, putting from him the thought
that her words implied, and pretending not to understand what she meant.
"Yes! I shall need the other sort of wealth most. The minister preached
about it on Sunday—'Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where
neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break
through and steal.' Treasures of the soul, the minister said it
meant—treasures of knowledge and truth concerning God and the Lord
Jesus—treasures of love, our loving others—treasures of service. I
sha'n't have much of that," said Isabel, "for I'm such a poor thing—of
so little use to anybody, but I can love them. Oh, you dear dad, how
I love you—best of all, I think; and after you, everybody I know. I
should like to help them in all sorts of ways, but as I can't do that,
I can love them and pray for them—ask God to help them more than I can."
'Mr. Randolph looked dumbfoundered. All the repressed fear and dread
that he had stifled and subdued in his own heart sprang into life as he
listened to Isabel.
"My dear, my darling," he gasped, "how long is it since you felt worse?"
"Worse, papa! I am not worse," said Isabel. "My cough is a little
troublesome at night that is all. Only—only, I thought you knew I
should never be a very old woman."
Her father looked at her earnestly. "You are sure you are no worse,
Isabel?"
"No, no, dear papa. Why do you look so frightened? You know I promised
a long time ago that I would tell you or mamma the moment I felt the
least bit worse."
But although she thus assured him in the full sincerity of her heart,
the anxious father could not feel satisfied. His fears had been
awakened, and these told him that there was a change in his beloved
child. She looked more ethereal, and the light as of a higher world
shone in her eyes and played about the smile that wreathed her lips.
She looked so much more animated and happy, too, than she did a few
months before. And he looked from her to Mabel, as if mutely asking
what she had done to bring about such a change.
"My dear, you look very happy," he said.
"Happy! Oh yes, papa. Haven't I everything to make me happy—everything
in earth and heaven!" she said with a look of rapturous joy. "Do you
know, papa, what the minister said on Sunday? That the kingdom of
heaven must come to us, be begun in our own hearts here in this world,
in this life, or we should never come to the kingdom beyond the gates
of death. And it's true, papa. I feel it and know it; and, oh! I do
wish everybody else could know it too—know it the same way that I do."
"Oh Bella, Bella, are you going to slip away and leave your poor dad
all alone here?" exclaimed Mr. Randolph in an agony of despair.
It was the beginning of the end, he felt sure, or timid, gentle Isabel
would never have the courage to talk like this.
A shadow came over her bright eager face for a minute or two, and the
tears slowly welled into her eyes as she threw her arms around his
neck, exclaiming:
"Oh papa, papa, I cannot leave you!"
"Hush! Hush! Darling, we won't talk about it—we won't think about it—we
will be very happy together."
"Yes, we will," said Isabel slowly, "but—but it can't last for ever,
papa—one of us must go some time."
"Yes, some time," admitted Mr. Randolph.
And then he asked Mabel to go to the piano and play some of their
favourite music. But instead of going with her cousin to turn the music
as usual, Isabel still sat on her father's knee until the French clock
on the mantelpiece chimed the hour for them to go up-stairs.
Mabel had been scarcely less surprised than her uncle at the turn the
conversation had taken. For although they often talked over their
Scripture reading together, she had never obtained such a glimpse of
what was going on in her cousin's heart as this afforded. And she, too,
wondered whether Isabel's health was worse.
The next day, however, all such fears were put to rest in Mabel's mind,
for Isabel was eager with delight at the anticipation of the shopping
expedition. Her father had written out the cheque and given it to her
before they went to bed. And before Mabel was up the next morning,
Isabel came tripping into her room in her pretty pink dressing-gown.
"Get up, dear, it is the most lovely morning, and I want to look over
my German before Herr Muller comes, that we may be ready to go shopping
the moment our lessons are over," exclaimed Isabel.
Mabel rubbed her eyes sleepily. She had been dreaming that her cousin
lay dying, and this vision of her, flushed and excited over the
prospect of turning over pretty dress goods, was so absurd a contrast,
that as she realized it, she could not help laughing.
"What are you laughing at?" asked her cousin.
"At you, to be sure," answered Mabel.
"Am I such a figure, then?" said Isabel, going to the looking-glass and
surveying herself.
"No, no, it was not that. But my dreams and your talk last night have
got mixed up somehow, and I wondered how you could be so eager about
this shopping."
"But why shouldn't I be eager?" said Isabel. "I could dance for joy
about it, because we are going to make so many people happy and
comfortable again who have been very uncomfortable lately."
"So many people!" repeated Mabel.
"Yes, dear. To begin, there was dear papa, the dearest father that ever
a girl had. Well, I began to see that he looked uncomfortable when you
came into the breakfast-room of a morning in such a warm dress—the
sight of it seemed to make him hot," laughed Isabel. "Then mamma would
frown and look across at Julia, and Julia would shake her head at me as
though she thought it was all my fault."
"And you, what did you feel?" laughed Mabel, for she could laugh about
it now.
"Oh, I don't know what I felt. But make haste and dress, Mabel. We must
be in good time this morning, for I am going to ask mamma to go with
us."
But when they descended to the breakfast-room, they heard that Mrs.
Randolph was not well, and would not get up until the middle of the
day. Isabel looked dismayed at the news:
"Oh, papa, we wanted to go shopping."
"Well, dear, I will arrange that for you with mamma. I should think you
might be trusted to buy a dress or two after such a lesson—eh, Mabel?"
"Yes, uncle, I will be very careful not to spend more than I ought to
do. Mamma sent me a list of what she thought I should require, and the
probable cost, so I will take that with me as a guide."
"That's right, dear. Then I am sure you and Bella might come to the
town by yourselves, and when you have done your shopping you can drive
round to my office and we will all come home together."
This was an arrangement that delighted Isabel.
But the shopping itself was not such an unmixed pleasure, for she found
that her aunt's list did not embrace anything very costly or elaborate,
and her plan of persuading Mabel to order an outfit the counterpart of
her own did not succeed at all.
Mabel carefully counted the cost of every article, and compared it with
her mother's list, and Isabel could not but own she was right.
"Yes, yes, you are right, Mabel. But I cannot help feeling
disappointed, for I thought that cheque would have bought so many more
things. I wonder whether I should ever learn the value of money?" she
added musingly.
"To be sure you will when it is needful."
"Ah, when it is needful! But perhaps it never will be needful, and that
is why I am so slow at learning."
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