For an instant silence reigned; but it was not in the frank natures
of either Octave or Fritz to tremble long before the apparition which
had appeared so suddenly in their midst. Fritz flew to the arms
outstretched to receive him with a genuineness of joy that was very
sweet to Ruth’s heart, and Octave’s momentary hesitation vanished at
the first kindly smile from her relative’s lips.
“Dear Aunt Ruth, I am glad to see you, after all,” she said, coming
forward as Fritz was deposited upon the ground; and Ruth’s clear gaze
rested on the girl with fond surprise. She did not remember to have
left Octave so well grown and fair of face; and yet a second’s thought
showed that no very great change could have been accomplished during
the few weeks of her absence.
Fritz and Octave had been the aunt’s favorites. She had not even
attempted to deny that fact to herself; there was something akin to
her own outspoken nature in their characters, and it was with the
most implicit confidence she believed that, whoever might have been
misbehaving while she had been away, it could not be Octave.
Undoubtedly, Fritzy had been in scrapes innumerable; he could not exist
without them; but the scrapes of a child “going on nine” are rarely
very serious. Her mind naturally fell upon Paula, whom she liked least
of all her nieces; and it was with a prejudgment that Paula had been
trying something romantic and out of the common that she had returned
to The Snuggery to investigate.
Paula, poor Paula! The irreproachable and really lovely girl, whose
faults might be disagreeable because they touched so closely upon the
faults of others, but who fully intended to be just perfect, and was
all the time anxiously investigating her own motives, lest there should
be some flaw therein.
The one fault of which the elder “Miss Pickel” had been most painfully
self-conscience was her own selfishness and love of ease.
Wise Grandmother Kinsolving had seen this, and had put the girl at
the head of affairs, believing that a position of trust would best
counteract Paula’s tendency to indolence and fault-finding. Mother Amy
had found that congenial labor is a happy antidote to the poison of
sin, and believed implicitly in the old “word” that “Satan still will
find some task for idle hands to do.” Well, then, whoever fell under
the guidance of the far-seeing Friend was rarely left to be a victim of
the evil spirit’s wiles.
But, as soon as she heard that her aunt had arrived, Paula reflected
with no small degree of pride on her excellent management. She
considered that she had earned a right to be a bit self-complacent,
since, during her brief reign, accidents had been fewer than usual, and
“the children” had really acquitted themselves very well indeed.
So, delaying only long enough to complete the very pretty afternoon
toilet she was making, “Miss Pickel” descended to receive her aunt,
with what Uncle Fritz would have judged a very graceful greeting, and
of which his loving heart would have been most proud.
But prejudiced Aunt Ruth saw only a prim little maiden, dressed far
beyond the necessities of the occasion, and read in the momentary delay
that dressing had occasioned the tardy welcome of one who was conscious
of having something to hide.
Even the unobservant Christina noticed the coldness of the aunt’s kiss,
as compared with that she had bestowed on each of the others, who had
not tarried for any toilet making before they bade her welcome home. As
for Octave, she looked up in such visible surprise that honest Ruth was
convicted of unfairness, and tried to remedy the mischief by scrupulous
inquiries after Paula’s health.
“I am perfectly well,” answered Paula, thanking her relative sweetly,
and inquiring in her own turn after their grandmother and her
home-coming.
“She will not return for some time yet, if I can prevent it,” answered
Ruth, with considerable sternness. “She is used to quiet, and I should
not like to have her improvement all for nothing, as it would be if she
came back just yet.”
“Will you have lunch or dinner now?” asked the deputy house-mistress,
trying to be perfect in her behavior.
It was very odd, Ruth thought, to have anyone asking her in her
own house if she would have something to eat, as if she had been a
stranger; and somehow it did not strike her at all pleasantly. The
pretty young Quakeress was, in reality, a little out of temper. She
had been vexed at having to take this unexpected journey home, and,
with her propensity for worrying, was already fancying a thousand evils
which might have befallen her precious mother at the hands of that
ignorant serving-maid to whom she had been entrusted.
“No, I am not hungry. It is not our habit to lunch at irregular hours;
or it _was_ not our habit, when I was mistress here. Where is Rosetta?”
“Gone to the village for an afternoon’s visit,” replied Paula,
surprised in her turn by her aunt’s tone, and more hurt by it than she
would have cared to show.
At this news Octave rejoiced, for she preferred telling her aunt as
much other “Mystery” affair as she was free to divulge, and not have
the account garbled by any other’s report. Oddly enough, her proceeding
had never looked such a bold and strange one as it had during the few
minutes since Aunt Ruth had returned.
“I wonder why I do feel so queer! I’m sure I did nothing wrong, nothing
I would not do again, if I was placed in just such a position. And it
is all coming out so beautifully, too. Oh, dear! How shall I get a
chance to talk with her first!” thought Octave, growing more and more
perplexed.
But presently Ruth’s eyes begun to wander afresh around the apartment.
There was one other who had failed in her welcome, and that the
sweet-faced Content. Octave interpreted the glance in her quick way,
and replied to it. “Oh, it’s lamb and caper sauce this afternoon, Aunt
Ruth. It’s the first tantrum Melville has had in some time. He really
is the most improved boy--”
“There was plenty of room for it,” interrupted Ruth, grimly. “What was
the ‘tantrum’ about?”
Octave colored. She could not answer without involving somebody else in
possible blame, and that one she who, strangely enough, seemed already
to have incurred it. Had the family been asked who would have the best
record to show the absent house-mistress upon her return, the answer
would have been unanimous, “Paula.” It was incomprehensible, yet it
seemed true, that now Paula was the only one found wanting in favor.
“What was the ‘tantrum’ about, Octave? Thee must tell me.”
“It was a trifle, Aunt Ruth. If you please, I would rather not tell.”
“As thee likes. Christina, then.”
But Christina, the peace lover, was frightened. She tell tales of
anybody! Least of all, of Melville and Paula!
The affair was really, as Octave had said, one of the slightest
import; but because of their hesitation it grew to assume tremendous
consequence in Ruth’s mind. There was evidently something they all
wished to hide, and a very natural feeling of resentment filled her
heart. Here, in her own home, over which, under the gentle supervision
of her mother, she had reigned supreme during all her maiden life, she
was flouted by a parcel of young creatures who had intruded upon her
peace, uninvited, and unconscious, even, of that intrusion. They seemed
so to take it for granted that she was as pleased to have them there
as they had been to come! and she did not like it at all; she had only
received them because her mother had said it was right.
“Well, if none will tell, then I will go and learn from Melville
himself. He has faults enough, but he is not afraid to give an answer
when it is demanded.”
With that, and with a motion which seemed to impart to the rustling
gray gown which clothed her tall figure an air of great austerity, Ruth
led the way to the cripple’s room. Scarcely knowing whether they were
wanted or not, but with the natural curiosity of their age, the others
followed in a body.
“Hello, Aunt Ruth! When did you come to town?” was Melville’s rather
disrespectful salutation.
“I came home this afternoon. I am pleased to see thee in such fine
spirits. I had heard that thee was in a ‘tantrum.’”
“Oh, I was, a little while ago; but Content has cured me. She’s a great
pacifier of family strife, Aunt Ruth.”
“I know that,” replied the aunt, kissing with fervency the niece who
had sprung to her side in glad surprise. “Our little Content is always
right.”
“Scuse me, Aunt Ruthy, but she isn’t. She told a story one day.”
“O Fritzy, I think that could not be!”
“Yep; she told me so her own self; didn’t you, Content?”
“Yes, I did tell him so, Aunt Ruth; but it was not here that I was
guilty of the sin. We were comparing notes, and finding out that
everybody does wrong, even though they do not mean to,” said Content,
in her low voice and with a painful flush on her fair cheek. It was
one thing to be confidentially sympathetic with Fritzy, in the privacy
of her own room and the sacredness of a Sunday afternoon chat; it was
quite another to have her fault published “on the housetop” as it
were, and as a sort of send-off to her aunt’s unexpected return.
“Well, I declare!” said Octave, suddenly. Then stopped, as if she had
forgotten herself.
“Thee declares what, Octave?” asked Ruth, sharply, and sitting suddenly
down upon the foot of Melville’s lounge.
“I don’t know how to say it, but something appears to have come over
all of us and set us all by the ears, just the minute you came in.”
It was an unfortunate speech, and Octave swiftly recognized the fact;
but she could see no way of setting it right, so perforce she left it.
“I am not accustomed to setting people ‘by the ears,’ Octave; and if
thee and thy sisters are disturbed by my coming there must be some
reason for it. I may as well tell all that I had a very peculiar letter
from Rosetta Perkins, and it is that has sent me home on this flying
visit.”
Melville caught the word “flying,” and, in his relief that it was only
such an one, he winked at Octave. Aunt Ruth intercepted the wink and
the swift glance of sympathy which answered it. More than ever was she
convinced that there was mischief afoot, and that she was none too soon
upon the scene.
“Aunt Ruth, did you bring Rosetta’s letter with you?” asked Octave, so
suddenly that the other replied without thinking.
“Yes, I think it is in my hand-bag.”
“Will you let us see it?”
“For what reason?”
“Because it seems to have made mischief. There is something wrong
somewhere, and I, for one, don’t know where; but I should like to. If I
see what she has said, then I can tell just how to straighten it out.”
Ruth was sorely puzzled; but she smiled at Octave’s ingenuous
confession that she desired to fix things up to suit the occasion; yet
some way she did not misconstrue it, nor in any degree include her
favorite in the general blame.
“Thee can read the letter if thee chooses; read it aloud. But thee is
not likely to make much sense out of it. I could not, therefore I came
home.”
Miss Kinsolving took the letter from her satchel and gave it to
Octave, who attempted to read it aloud, as she had been directed. But
the feat, for that fun-loving girl, was an impossibility. She would
enunciate a few word and then stop to laugh, which, in itself, would
have been confusing, had the epistle been most carefully worded; but,
composed as it was and ambiguous in the extreme, the others found the
suspense more than they could endure; so it was finally handed over to
Content, and she managed to get through it after a fashion.
“But what does it all mean?” asked that girl, smilingly.
“It means, as far as I can translate it, that there has been some
strange occurrence here. Something that would not have happened if
mother and I had been at home. I have come here, as I told thee, to
find out what it is. Paula, thee is the eldest. What has happened that
should not?”
Paula did not answer. Her eye unconsciously flew to Octave, and then
dropped upon the carpet. Her new habit of self-denial would not allow
her to convict her sister.
Ruth frowned. “What is it, Content?”
But poor Content flushed and paled, yet neither would she reply; that
is, in such terms as her aunt desired. “I would rather not tell, Aunt
Ruth.”
“Then thee acknowledges there is something, and thee knows what that
something is?”
“Ye-es,” said Content.
“I shall get to it, then; Fritzy, what has happened?”
“I run Don into the side of the stable and barked his sides all off.”
It was a relief for all to laugh; the confession was made in such
honest trepidation, for Fritz knew that old Don was the “apple of his
Aunt Ruth’s eye.”
“Christina, will thee tell me?”
The gentle tone assumed when she was addressed sent soft-hearted little
Christina into a flood of tears.
“Melville?”
“Wild horses won’t drag it out of me, Aunt Ruth.”
“Then, Paula, I shall hold thee responsible. Thee was left in charge.
Come with me to my room. I will hear thy story there.”
“Wait, Aunt Ruth; there is no blame to be put upon anybody but me. I,
Octave, was what ‘happened’; I always am, you know.”
There was visible relief in all the faces of the group, save that of
the self-accused. Yes, and save in that of Aunt Ruth herself. At that
instant it was perfectly evident to all that the judgment which would
be meted out to Octave would be far more lenient than it would have
been in any other case.
An expression of keenest regret stole over the young Friend’s features;
and a look of astonishment that cut Octave to the heart. But she did
not gaze upon it long, for, with an impetuous rush, she fell upon
Ruth’s neck and hid her face on the gray-clad shoulder. “Yes, Aunt
Ruth; and I am sorry; but I should do it again, just the same. No, I
mean, not perhaps not the same--but, oh, dear! I--I believe, upon my
word, I’m crying; and I’m sure I don’t know why!”