_BREAKERS AHEAD._
Anxious to smooth the way for Phebe, Rose was up betimes, and slipped
into Aunt Plenty's room before the old lady had got her cap on.
"Aunty, I've something pleasant to tell you; and, while you listen,
I'll brush your hair, as you like to have me," she began, well aware
that the proposed process was a very soothing one.
"Yes, dear: only don't be too particular, because I'm late and must
hurry down, or Jane won't get things straight; and it does fidget me
to have the salt-cellars uneven, the tea-strainer forgotten, and your
uncle's paper not aired," returned Miss Plenty, briskly unrolling the
two gray curls she wore at her temples.
Then Rose, brushing away at the scanty back-hair, led skilfully up to
the crisis of her tale by describing Phebe's panic and brave efforts
to conquer it; all about the flowers Archie sent her; and how Steve
forgot, and dear, thoughtful Archie took his place. So far it went
well, and Aunt Plenty was full of interest, sympathy, and approbation;
but when Rose added, as if it was quite a matter of course, "So, on
the way home, he told her he loved her," a great start twitched the
gray locks out of her hands as the old lady turned round, with the
little curls standing erect, exclaiming, in undisguised dismay,--
"Not seriously, Rose?"
"Yes, Aunty, very seriously. He never jokes about such things."
"Mercy on us! what _shall_ we do about it?"
"Nothing, ma'am, but be as glad as we ought, and congratulate him as
soon as she says 'Yes.'"
"Do you mean to say she didn't accept at once?"
"She never will if we don't welcome her as kindly as if she belonged
to one of our best families, and I don't blame her."
"I'm glad the girl has so much sense. Of course we can't do any thing
of the sort; and I'm surprised at Archie's forgetting what he owes to
the family in this rash manner. Give me my cap, child: I must speak to
Alec at once." And Aunt Plenty twisted her hair into a button at the
back of her head with one energetic twirl.
"Do speak kindly, Aunty, and remember that it was not Phebe's fault.
She never thought of this till very lately, and began at once to
prepare for going away," said Rose, pleadingly.
"She ought to have gone long ago. I told Myra we should have trouble
somewhere as soon as I saw what a good-looking creature she was; and
here it is as bad as can be. Dear, dear! why can't young people have a
little prudence?"
"I don't see that any one need object if Uncle Jem and Aunt Jessie
approve; and I do think it will be very, very unkind to scold poor
Phebe for being well-bred, pretty, and good, after doing all we could
to make her so."
"Child, you don't understand these things yet; but you ought to feel
your duty toward your family, and do all you can to keep the name as
honorable as it always has been. What do you suppose our blessed
ancestress, Lady Marget, would say to our oldest boy taking a wife
from the poor-house?"
As she spoke, Miss Plenty looked up, almost apprehensively, at one of
the wooden-faced old portraits with which her room was hung, as if
asking pardon of the severe-nosed matron, who stared back at her from
under the sort of blue dish-cover which formed her head-gear.
"As Lady Marget died about two hundred years ago, I don't care a pin
what she would say; especially as she looks like a very narrow-minded,
haughty woman. But I do care very much what Miss Plenty Campbell says;
for _she_ is a very sensible, generous, discreet, and dear old lady,
who wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a good and faithful girl who has
been a sister to me. Would she?" entreated Rose, knowing well that the
elder aunt led all the rest more or less.
But Miss Plenty had her cap on now, and consequently felt herself
twice the woman she was without it; so she not only gave it a somewhat
belligerent air by setting it well up, but she shook her head
decidedly, smoothed down her stiff white apron, and stood up as if
ready for battle.
"I shall do my duty, Rose, and expect the same of others. Don't say
any more now: I must turn the matter over in my mind; for it has come
upon me suddenly, and needs serious consideration."
With which unusually solemn address, she took up her keys and trotted
away, leaving her niece to follow with an anxious countenance,
uncertain whether her championship had done good or ill to the cause
she had at heart.
She was much cheered by the sound of Phebe's voice in the study; for
Rose was sure that if Uncle Alec was on their side all would be well.
But the clouds lowered again when they came in to breakfast: for
Phebe's heavy eyes and pale cheeks did not look encouraging; while Dr.
Alec was as sober as a judge, and sent an inquiring glance toward Rose
now and then as if curious to discover how she bore the news.
An uncomfortable meal, though all tried to seem as usual, and talked
over last night's events with all the interest they could. But the old
peace was disturbed by a word, as a pebble thrown into a quiet pool
sends tell-tale circles rippling its surface far and wide. Aunt
Plenty, while "turning the subject over in her mind," also seemed
intent on upsetting every thing she touched, and made sad havoc in her
tea-tray; Dr. Alec unsociably read his paper; Rose, having salted
instead of sugared her oatmeal, absently ate it feeling that the
sweetness had gone out of every thing; and Phebe, after choking down a
cup of tea and crumbling a roll, excused herself, and went away,
sternly resolving not to be a bone of contention to this beloved
family.
As soon as the door was shut, Rose pushed away her plate, and going to
Dr. Alec peeped over the paper with such an anxious face that he put
it down at once.
"Uncle, this is a serious matter, and _we_ must take our stand at
once; for you are Phebe's guardian and I am her sister," began Rose,
with pretty solemnity. "You have often been disappointed in me," she
continued, "but I know I never shall be in you; because you are too
wise and good to let any worldly pride or prudence spoil your sympathy
with Archie and our Phebe. You won't desert them, will you?"
"Never!" answered Dr. Alec, with gratifying energy.
"Thank you! thank you!" cried Rose. "Now, if I have you and aunty on
my side, I'm not afraid of anybody."
"Gently, gently, child. I don't intend to desert the lovers; but I
certainly shall advise them to consider well what they are about. I'll
own I _am_ rather disappointed; because Archie is young to decide his
life in this way, and Phebe's career seemed settled in another
fashion. Old people don't like to have their plans upset, you know,"
he added, more lightly; for Rose's face fell as he went on.
"Old people shouldn't plan too much for the young ones then. We are
very grateful, I'm sure; but we cannot always be disposed of in the
most prudent and sensible way; so don't set your hearts on little
arrangements of that sort, I beg," and Rose looked wondrous wise; for
she could not help suspecting even her best uncle of "plans" in her
behalf.
"You are quite right: we shouldn't; yet it is very hard to help it,"
confessed Dr. Alec, with a conscious air; and, returning hastily to
the lovers, he added kindly,--
"I was much pleased with the straightforward way in which Phebe came
to me this morning, and told me all about it, as if I really was her
guardian. She did not own it in words: but it was perfectly evident
that she loves Archie with all her heart; yet, knowing the objections
which will be made, very sensibly and bravely proposes to go away at
once, and end the matter,--as if that were possible, poor child," and
the tender-hearted man gave a sigh of sympathy that did Rose good to
hear, and mollified her rising indignation at the bare idea of ending
Phebe's love affairs in such a summary way.
"You don't think she ought to go, I hope?"
"I think she will go."
"We must not let her."
"We have no right to keep her."
"O uncle! surely we have! Our Phebe, whom we all love so much."
"You forget that she is a woman now, and we have no claim upon her.
Because we've befriended her for years is the very reason we should
not make our benefits a burden, but leave her free; and, if she
chooses to do this in spite of Archie, we must let her with a
God-speed."
Before Rose could answer, Aunt Plenty spoke out like one having
authority; for old-fashioned ways were dear to her soul, and she
thought even love affairs should be conducted with a proper regard to
the powers that be.
"The family must talk the matter over and decide what is best for the
children, who of course will listen to reason and do nothing
ill-advised. For my part, I am quite upset by the news, but shall not
commit myself till I've seen Jessie and the boy. Jane, clear away, and
bring me the hot water."
That ended the morning conference; and, leaving the old lady to soothe
her mind by polishing spoons and washing cups, Rose went away to find
Phebe, while the doctor retired to laugh over the downfall of brother
Mac's match-making schemes.
The Campbells did not gossip about their concerns in public; but,
being a very united family, it had long been the custom to "talk over"
any interesting event which occurred to any member thereof, and every
one gave his or her opinion, advice, or censure with the utmost
candor. Therefore the first engagement, if such it could be called,
created a great sensation, among the aunts especially; and they were
in as much of a flutter as a flock of maternal birds when their young
begin to hop out of the nest. So at all hours the excellent ladies
were seen excitedly nodding their caps together, as they discussed the
affair in all its bearings, without ever arriving at any unanimous
decision.
The boys took it much more calmly. Mac was the only one who came out
strongly in Archie's favor. Charlie thought the Chief ought to do
better, and called Phebe "a siren, who had bewitched the sage youth."
Steve was scandalized, and delivered long orations upon one's duty to
society, keeping the old name up, and the danger of _mésalliances_;
while all the time he secretly sympathized with Archie, being much
smitten with Kitty Van himself. Will and Geordie, unfortunately home
for the holidays, considered it "a jolly lark;" and little Jamie
nearly drove his elder brother distracted by curious inquiries as to
"how folks felt when they were in love."
Uncle Mac's dismay was so comical that it kept Dr. Alec in good
spirits; for he alone knew how deep was the deluded man's chagrin at
the failure of the little plot which he fancied was prospering finely.
"I'll never set my heart on any thing of the sort again; and the young
rascals may marry whom they like. I'm prepared for any thing now: so
if Steve brings home the washerwoman's daughter, and Mac runs away
with our pretty chamber-maid, I shall say, 'Bless you my children,'
with mournful resignation; for, upon my soul, that is all that's left
for a modern parent to do."
With which tragic burst, poor Uncle Mac washed his hands of the whole
affair, and buried himself in the counting-house while the storm
raged.
About this time, Archie might have echoed Rose's childish wish, that
she had not _quite_ so many aunts; for the tongues of those interested
relatives made sad havoc with his little romance, and caused him to
long fervently for a desert island, where he could woo and win his
love in delicious peace. That nothing of the sort was possible soon
became evident; since every word uttered only confirmed Phebe's
resolution to go away, and proved to Rose how mistaken she had been in
believing that she could bring every one to her way of thinking.
Prejudices are unmanageable things; and the good aunts, like most
women, possessed a plentiful supply: so Rose found it like beating her
head against a wall to try and convince them that Archie was wise in
loving poor Phebe. His mother, who had hoped to have Rose for her
daughter,--not because of her fortune, but the tender affection she
felt for her,--put away her disappointment without a word, and
welcomed Phebe as kindly as she could for her boy's sake. But the girl
felt the truth with the quickness of a nature made sensitive by love,
and clung to her resolve all the more tenaciously, though grateful for
the motherly words that would have been so sweet if genuine happiness
had prompted them.
Aunt Jane called it romantic nonsense, and advised strong
measures,--"kind, but firm, Jessie." Aunt Clara was sadly distressed
about "what people would say" if one of "our boys" married a nobody's
daughter. And Aunt Myra not only seconded her views by painting
portraits of Phebe's unknown relations in the darkest colors, but
uttered direful prophecies regarding the disreputable beings who would
start up in swarms the moment the girl made a good match.
These suggestions so wrought upon Aunt Plenty that she turned a deaf
ear to the benevolent emotions native to her breast, and taking
refuge behind "our blessed ancestress, Lady Marget," refused to
sanction any engagement which could bring discredit upon the stainless
name which was her pride.
So it all ended where it began; for Archie steadily refused to listen
to any one but Phebe, and she as steadily reiterated her bitter "No;"
fortifying herself half unconsciously with the hope that, by and by,
when she had won a name, fate might be kinder.
While the rest talked, she had been working; for every hour showed her
that her instinct had been a true one, and pride would not let her
stay, though love pleaded eloquently. So, after a Christmas any thing
but merry, Phebe packed her trunks, rich in gifts from those who
generously gave her all but the one thing she desired; and, with a
pocketful of letters to people who could further her plans, she went
away to seek her fortune, with a brave face and a very heavy heart.
"Write often, and let me know all you do, my Phebe; and remember I
shall never be contented till you come back again," whispered Rose,
clinging to her till the last.
"She _will_ come back; for in a year I'm going to bring her home,
please God," said Archie, pale with the pain of parting, but as
resolute as she.
"I'll earn my welcome: then perhaps it will be easier for them to give
and me to receive it," answered Phebe, with a backward glance at the
group of caps in the hall, as she went down the steps on Dr. Alec's
arm.
"You earned it long ago, and it is always waiting for you while I am
here. Remember that, and God bless you, my good girl," he said, with a
paternal kiss that warmed her heart.
"I never shall forget it!" and Phebe never did.