"I think," said Doctor Churchill, leaning back in his office chair, with
a mingling of the professional and the friendly in his air, "that we can
get at the bottom of Evelyn's troubles without very much difficulty." He
had just sent Evelyn back to Charlotte, after an hour in the office,
during which he had subjected her to a minute and painstaking
examination into the cause of her ill health. And now to her brother,
anxiously awaiting his verdict, he spoke his mind.
"If you'll let me be very frank with you, Thorne," he said, "I'll tell
you just what I think about Evelyn, and just what it seems to me is the
proper course for us to take with her."
"Go ahead; it's exactly that I want," Lee declared. "I know well enough
that my care of her has been seriously at fault."
"Never in intention," said Doctor Churchill, "only in the excess of your
tenderness. Evelyn has lived in overheated rooms, with hot baths,
insufficient exercise, and improper food. In the kindness of your heart
you have been nourishing a little hot-house plant, and there's no
occasion for surprise that it wilts at the first blast of ordinary air."
Lee looked dismayed.
"I'm mighty sorry, Andy," he said, remorsefully.
"Don't feel too badly," was his friend's reply. "After a winter with us
Evelyn will be another girl."
"What?" Lee started in his chair. "Andy, what are you thinking about?"
"Just what I say. Charlotte and I have talked it all over. We've both
taken an immense liking to Evelyn and we'd honestly enjoy having her
here for the winter. It only remains for you to convince Evelyn herself
that we are to be trusted, and to secure her promise that we may have
our way with her from first to last, and the thing is done."
"You are sure that's really all there is to it? You're not keeping
anything from me?"
"Not a thing. And I'm as sure as a man can well be. That's why I don't
prescribe a sanatorium for her, or anything of that sort. All she needs
is a rational, every-day life of the health-making kind, such as
Charlotte and I can teach her--Charlotte even more effectively than I.
Evelyn needs simply to build up a strong physical body; then these
troublesome nerves will take care of themselves. Believe me, Thorne,
it's refreshingly simple. I've not even a drug to suggest for your
sister. She doesn't need any."
"But, Andy, it doesn't seem to me I can let Evelyn stay here with you
all winter--the first winter of your married life. You two ought to be
alone together."
"No. Charlotte and I haven't set out to go through life--even this first
year of it--alone together. We are together, no matter how many we have
about us. It will be only in the day's work if we keep Evelyn with us,
and it's a sort of work that will pay pretty well, I fancy."
"It certainly will--in more than one kind of coin," and Lee gripped his
friend's hand.
So it was settled. Evelyn agreed so joyously to the plan that her
brother's last doubt of its feasibility was removed, and he went away a
day later with a heart so much lighter than the one he had brought with
him that it showed in his whole bearing.
"God bless you and your sweet wife, Andy Churchill," he wrote back from
his first stopping-place, and when Churchill showed the letter to
Charlotte she said, happily:
"We'll make the copper motto come true with this guest, won't we? Evelyn
will be a very pretty girl when she loses that fragile look. Her eyes
and expression are beautiful. Do you know, she accepts everything I say
as if I were the Goddess of Wisdom herself."
"Charlotte," said Mrs. Peyton, a few days later, coming hurriedly into
Charlotte's own room, where that young woman was busy with various
housewifely offices, "I've had a telegram. I'm so upset I don't know
what to do. My sister is sick and her husband is away, and she's sent
for me. I'm not able to do nursing--I'm not strong enough--but I don't
see but that I must go."
"I'm very sorry your sister is ill," said Charlotte. "Tell me about
her."
Mrs. Peyton told at length. "And what I'm to do with the children," she
said, mournfully, "I don't know. Sister doesn't want them to come. But
here I'm away up North and sister's out West, and the children couldn't
go home alone. Besides, there's nowhere for them to go. I am their only
home. Dear, dear, what shall I do?"
The front door-bell, ringing sharply, sent Charlotte down-stairs. At
this moment she saw her husband coming up the street in his runabout.
When Doctor Churchill ran into his office after a case of instruments he
had forgotten, his wife cast herself into his arms, in such a state of
emotion that he held her close, bewildered.
"What on earth is it, dear?" he asked. "Are you laughing or crying?
Here, let me see your face."
"O Andy"--Charlotte would not let her face be seen--"it's Cousin Lula!
She's--she's--oh, she's--_going away_!"
Churchill burst into smothered laughter. "It can't be you're crying," he
murmured. "Charlotte, I don't blame you. Look up and smile. I know how
you must be feeling. You've been a regular heroine all these weeks."
"I'm awfully ashamed," choked Charlotte, on his shoulder, "but, O Andy,
what it will seem not to have to--oh, I mustn't say it, but--"
"I know, I know!" He patted her shoulder.
"Her sister is ill, in the West somewhere. She has to go to her at once.
She wants the children to stay with us."
"She does!"
"Her sister doesn't want them there, and she can't send them home. Andy,
I wouldn't mind that so awfully. I'd almost like the chance to see what
we could do with them."
"Well, don't answer definitely till I have time to talk it over with you
and with her. I must go now."
They talked it over, together, and with Mrs. Peyton. The result of these
conferences was that two days later that lady took her departure,
leaving her children in the care of the Churchills.
"On one condition, Cousin Lula," Doctor Churchill had said to her with
decision. "That you put them absolutely in our care and trust our
judgment in the management of them."
Mrs. Peyton tried to make a few reservations. Her cousin would have none
of them. At last she submitted, understanding well enough in her heart
that Andrew Churchill would be the safest sort of a guardian for her
children, and admitting to herself, if she did not to anybody else, that
Charlotte would give them care of the sort which money cannot buy.
"That woman gone?" asked Jeff, coming into his sister Celia's room.
"Well, I'm delighted to hear it. But I must say I think Charlotte's
taken a good deal of a contract. I didn't mind so much about their
agreeing to keep Evelyn Lee, for she's a mighty nice sort of a girl, and
will make a still nicer one when she gets strong. But these Peyton
youngsters--I certainly don't think taking care of them ought to have
been on the bill. That idiot Lucy--" His expressive face finished the
sentence for him.
Celia smiled. "I know. I feel as you do, and I think father and mother
are a little anxious lest Charlotte has taken too much care on her
shoulders. But Charlotte and Andy have set out to make everybody happy,
and they're seizing every chance that offers. They're so enthusiastic
about it one can't bear to dampen their ardour. The least we can do is
to help them whenever we can."
Jeff made a wry face. "I don't mind assisting in the boy's education,
but I draw the line at the girl. She's a silly. Why, she--" His face
coloured with resentment. "It sounds crazy to say, but she does, for a
fact, make eyes at every man or boy she sees."
Celia laughed. "I hadn't noticed. But she can't mean to, Jeff. She's
only fifteen."
"That's the idiocy of it. She's only fifteen, but you watch her the next
time any of us fellows come into the room. Just can tell you; he's in a
chronic state of laugh over it. She thinks she's a beauty, and she
thinks we're all impressed with the fact."
"She is pretty."
"I don't think so. I don't call any girl pretty who's so struck with
herself that she can't get by a mirror without a glance and a pat of
that big fluff of front hair. You don't catch Eveyln looking into a
glass or acting as if she thought everybody was about to fall in love
with her. I'm going to take her skating when she gets strong enough."
"That won't be for some time, I'm afraid. But she certainly is looking
better already."
So she was. Charlotte had begun very gently with Evelyn, reducing the
temperature of the daily bath only by a degree at a time, lessening the
heat in the sleeping room, opening the windows for outside air an inch
more each night, coaxing her out for a short walk of gradually
increasing length each day, and generally luring her toward more
healthful ways of living than those to which she had been accustomed.
Bedtime found Evelyn exceedingly weary, but it was healthful weariness,
and she was beginning to be able to sleep.
A tinge of colour was growing in the pale cheeks, a brighter expression
in the large eyes, and altogether the young guest was showing a
gratifying response to the new methods.
"I think," said Charlotte to Evelyn one morning, when three weeks had
gone by, "we shall have to celebrate your improvement by a little
concert this evening. Would you like to hear the Birch-Churchill
orchestra?"
"Orchestra? How lovely! Indeed I should!" cried Evelyn, with a display
of enthusiasm quite unusual. "What do you play?"
"Strings. We're badly out of practice, but there are always a few old
things we can get up fairly well at a minute's notice. The truth is, we
haven't played together since long before my wedding-day, and I resolved
the minute we were married we'd begin again. We will begin, this very
night. I know they'll all be glad."
The performers did, indeed, show their pleasure by arriving early,
flannel-shrouded instruments under their arms. Doctor Churchill came in
just as they were tuning. Since Lanse had been away, Andy, who was
something of a violinist had taken up Lanse's viola, and was now able to
occupy his brother-in-law's place. Celia, however, had been chosen to
fill the vacant rôle of leadership.
"The rest of us are only imitators," Jeff declared to Evelyn, as he
stood near her, softly trying his strings. "Charlotte's the best, and
Andy's very good indeed; but it's only Celia who goes to hear big music
and sits with the tears rolling down her cheeks, while the rest of us
are wondering what on earth it all means."
Evelyn, leaning back among the pillows of the wide couch, called Lucy
softly, motioning her to a seat by her side.
Lucy came quickly, pleased by Evelyn's notice. She in her turn had been
regarding Evelyn as a monopolist of everybody's attention and had made
up her mind not to like her. But now she sank into the place by Evelyn's
side, and accepted the delicate touch of Evelyn's hand on hers as
recognition at last that here was another girl fit to make friends with.
"Don't they play well?" whispered Evelyn, as the music came to a sudden
stop that Celia might criticise the playing of a difficult passage.
"She doesn't think so," called Just, softly, having caught the whisper.
He indicated his elder sister. "She won't let me boom things with my
viol the way I'd like to. What's the use of playing the biggest
instrument if you can't make the biggest noise?"
"Solo, by the double-bass!" cried Andy; and the whole orchestra, except
the first violin of the leader, burst into a boisterous rendering of a
popular street song, in which Just sawed forth the leading part, while
the others kept up a rattling staccato accompaniment. Evelyn and Lucy
became breathless with laughter, and Mr. and Mrs. Birch, who had just
slipped into the room, joined in the merriment.
"There you are," chuckled Jeff. "That's what you get when you give the
donkey the solo part among the farmyard performers."
"He can sing as well as the peacock," retorted Just, with spirit.
"We were right in the middle of the _'Hungarian Intermezzo,'_" explained
Celia to the newcomers. "I stopped them to tell them why they needed to
look more carefully to their phrasing, and the children burst into this
sort of thing. What shall I do with them?"
"It's a great relief to feel that they're not altogether grown up, after
all," said Mr. Birch, helping himself to his favourite easy chair near
the fireplace. "There are times when we feel a strong suspicion that we
haven't any children any more. Moments like these assure us that we are
mistaken. Go on with your '_Intermezzo,_' but give us another nursery
song before you are through."
"Nursery song! That's pretty good," said Jeff, in Just's ear, and that
sixteen-year-old mumbled in reply, "I can throw you over my shoulder
just the same."
"Boys, come! We're ready!" called Celia, and the music began again.
"Are you getting tired, dear?" asked Mrs. Birch of Evelyn, when the
"_Intermezzo_" was finished, noting the flush on the delicate cheek.
Evelyn looked up brightly.
"Not enough to hurt me. I'm enjoying it so! Aren't large families
lovely? I was so much younger than my brothers and sisters that by the
time I was old enough to care about having good times like this on
winter evenings they were all away at school or married. We never had
anything so nice as a family orchestra, either. I wish I could play
something."
"How about the piano?" asked Charlotte, who sat near. Evelyn's flush
grew pinker.
"I can play a little," she said. "But you don't need the piano."
"Yes, we do. A piano would add ever so much. Next time we'll have our
practice at home, and give you a part."
Then she glanced at Lucy, and saw what might have been expected, a look
of envy and discontent. "Is there anything you can play, Lucy?" she
asked. "It would be very nice to have everybody in. Perhaps Ran could
have a triangle."
"I play the piano," said Lucy.
"Oh, give Lucy the piano," Evelyn said, quickly,--also as might have
been expected.
"We'll try you both," put in Doctor Churchill, "as they always do
aspirants for such positions."
"I've had lessons from the best master in our state," said Lucy to Just.
"That so? Then you may win out," was his opinion. "But you can't be
sure. Evelyn's not much of a bragger, but she seems to be a pretty
well-educated girl."
"Just, be careful!" warned Charlotte, in his ear, as she drew him gently
to one side. "I know you don't like her, but you must be considerate of
her."
"I don't feel much like it."
"You know I want your help about Lucy." Charlotte had drawn him still
farther away, so that she could speak with safety. "But you know, too,
that snubbing isn't a way to get hold of anybody."
"It's the only way with conceited softies," began Just.
But Charlotte caught his hand and squeezed it. "No, it isn't. I'm sure
she's worth being friends with, and if she can learn certain things you
can teach her in the way of athletics, and reading, and all that, you
can do her lots of good."
"Don't feel a bit like being a missionary!" growled Just. "Suppose I've
got to try it, to please you. Evelyn's all right, isn't she?"
"Yes, she's a dear. I'm so glad we kept her. That makes me realise she's
had quite enough excitement for to-night. I must carry her off to bed.
Perhaps you'd all better--"
"No, you don't!" said Just, with a rebellious laugh. "Just because
you've set up a sanatorium and a kindergarten you can't send your
brothers off to bed at nine o'clock. I want a good visit with you after
the infants and invalids are in bed."
"All right, big boy," promised Charlotte, rejoicing in the affectionate
look he gave her.
She had been anxious that her marriage should in no way interfere with
the old brotherly and sisterly relations, and it was a long time since
she had had a confidential talk with her youngest brother. Jeff was
always coming to her precisely as in the old days, with demands for
interest and advice; but Just had seemed a little farther away.
So when she had seen the "infants and invalids" happily gone to rest,
and after a quiet hour of family talk about the fireside had said
good-night to all the others, Charlotte turned to Just with a look of
welcome as fresh and inviting as if the evening had but now begun.
Doctor Churchill had gone to make a bedtime call upon a patient
critically ill, and the two were quite alone.
"This is jolly," said Just, settling himself on a couch pillow at her
feet, his long legs stretched out to the fire, his head resting against
his sister's knee. "Now I'm going to tell you everything that's happened
to me since you were married. Not that there's anything wonderful to
tell, or that I'm in any scrape, you know, but I'd like to feel I've got
my sister and that she cares--just as much as ever." He twisted his head
about till he could look up into the warm, sweet face above him. "_Does_
she care as much as ever?"
It was an unusual demonstration from the big boy, now at the age when
sisterly companionship is often despised, and Charlotte appreciated it.
More than Justin Birch could understand was in her voice as her fingers
rested upon his hair, but what she said gave him great satisfaction,
although it was only a blithe:
"Just as much--and a little more, dear. Tell me the whole story. There's
nothing I'd like so much to hear."
* * * * *