September was come, and the day on which Frank was to go to school was
drawing very near. Frank himself was devoting every minute that he could
get to bluefishing, and became very greatly irritated at whatever came
in the way of his pleasure. He even came to regard this going to school
as something that ought to be put off until bluefishing was over; and as
for “that provoking Harry Cornwall, he was good for nothing at all—all
the time doing something in the lane, digging the potatoes, or pulling
onions, or anything but go a-fishing, as he, Frank Hallock, wished him
to do. Why, he hadn’t been out with him to the island more than three
times since September came. And as for Kate, she was no good at fishing,
she wouldn’t bait his hook, but just wanted to pull out the fish for her
own self.” And yet Frank admitted that he might have let her come out
with him in the _Clover_. It was a pretty boat—white and green—that lay
on the ripple of the blue Sound that sweet September afternoon, and
anyone passing it and beholding the face of Frank Hallock, lighted up
with exultation as he whipped into his boat a gleaming bluefish, a
little larger than its fellows, would have thought “What a fine-looking
lad that is!” A cheery voice from a passing boat, whose approach Frank
had not seen, called out, “Any good luck to-day?”
“First-rate luck,” answered Frank. “Where going, Victor?”
“Up to the dock after a new net.”
“When are you going to Long Island?” called Frank.
“Soon as we’ve fixed the net,” shouted back Victor. “In a day or two
we’ll be off.”
Meanwhile the boat, plied by vigorous strokes, was urging its way up the
harbor, so that Frank’s “Wish I was going with you!” failed to be heard.
Frank was fishing just outside the harbor.
“I want to run up, mamma, and see the _Clover_. I want to know that
Frank is safe,” said Kate, at or about the same time that Victor’s boat
was at the town wharf. From the tower room she could discern a little
speck, which she imagined to be a boat. She went home and began to sew
faster than ever, as though to make up for time lost in going on her
little trip to investigate. Kate Hallock knew perfectly well that
something had happened to make her father and mother uncomfortable. No
one had said so, it is true, but she felt the worry, whatever it was,
that troubled them.
“Mamma,” said Kate, after a long bit of silence between them. “I was
very naughty the night you came home from New York and told me Frank was
to go to school; for after I went to bed, I lay awake thinking that I
ought to go just as much as Frank, and how ever so nice it would be to
be at school and have a handsome brother like Frank coming, all dressed
in his uniform, to see me.”
“But, Kate, my dear,” began Mrs. Hallock with a sigh.
Before she could utter another word, Kate had cast down her work and put
her arms about her mother’s neck.
“O, mamma, I got over it right away, the very instant I thought of all
the lonely rooms for you at home, and papa every night when he gets back
from business, and poor Neptune in his stall, with nobody to love him
much! It’s a lovely afternoon to go and give Grandma Dobson a drive, she
is always so sweet, and ‘ready in a minute’ to go when I ask her! I
don’t really and truly, mamma, think it would be best for me to go to
school, even if you wished to have me.”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Hallock, kissing the pretty face close to her own,
“what should you say if your papa thought it best to sell Neptune?”
“Sell my Neptune, mamma!” ejaculated Kate, with a gasp. “I should say
that I would rather live on bread and water all the rest of my
life—mortal existence they call it in church, don’t they, mamma?” with a
miserable little attempt at a laugh.
Kate began dimly to discern that the trouble she had felt related to
money matters, and if economy could save Neptune, economy she was ready
to practice to the utmost.
“If you had to choose, Kate, between Frank’s going to school and keeping
your pony?”
“If I were Frank,” said Kate, “I should go to work and help papa instead
of going to school. But, mamma, tell me all about it. I thought papa was
rich. We live like rich folks, I am sure, and I don’t think we ought to
make any pretence about anything. Grandma Dobson doesn’t, and I
shouldn’t wonder one bit if that is just the reason that her poor brown
house always seems so pleasant. Has papa lost much money?”
“Yes, my dear. Your papa may have to give up our pleasant home here; but
we hope to keep it.”
Kate began to look very sorrowful.
“Then, mamma, why send Frank to school at all?” she questioned. “It will
cost ever so much money.”
“We have decided that it is best to do so, hoping that Frank may become
all that we wish him to be.”
“Yes,” said Kate, “it will be nice, some day, to have a president or a
governor for a brother. I’ll do without new dresses this winter, and
squeeze into my last winter’s cloak and shorten up my arms some way to
fit the sleeves. You remember they got pretty short before the winter
was over; and I’ll—let me see—what can I do? I’ll do anything in the
wide world to keep Neptune. Why, mamma, I’d just as soon think of
selling Frank or you! I’ll manage to feed him without costing papa one
cent. There’s lots of salt grass that nobody ever thinks of cutting, and
then there’s the pieces of bread that are always left.”
Mrs. Hallock smiled.
“Anyhow,” said Kate, blushing deeply and with tears in her eyes, “you
just leave the feeding part to me; and I know Harry Cornwall will help
me. You’ve no idea the lots and lots of stuff he has raised this year;
and I’m sure it will be real nice to make sacrifices for dear Frank. You
know, mamma, it will be like the story books.”
Kate grew quite eager as she ran on, planning what she could do, if
affairs got to the very worst; and she was in the midst of it all when
Frank came in with a basket of fine fish, which he displayed with all a
fisherman’s pride.
“Has my uniform come yet?” he questioned.
“Mamma!” asked Kate, “will Frank’s new clothes cost much money?”
“Ah, Kate!” cried Frank, “so you want all the money for your own pretty
dresses, do you?”
“No, I don’t, Master Frank; and I was wondering whether the uniform
would help any in making you a great man.”
“I shall never make a great man, Kate,” said Frank, “and the sooner you
give up that hope for me the better.”
“Then,” said Kate, “I’ll make a great woman of myself.”
Kate had, in the midst of her utmost devotion to Frank, moments of
self-assertion. If he would not be the actor in whom she could rejoice,
then she felt the necessity to be that which he would not be.
“I should not wonder one bit if you did,” mused Frank. “Let me see—which
one of the distinguished will you pattern after?”
Mrs. Hallock had left the room after taking a glance at Frank’s fish, so
that Kate felt quite free to impart the news she had received, in her
own manner.
“Frank,” said Kate, her eyes shining, “if I were you, I’d go to school
and make of myself the very best scholar I could. I’d learn and learn
until I knew enough to support myself and lots of folks besides—I would.
O, Frank! did you know that papa has lost ever so much money, and that
maybe Neptune will be sold to pay for your uniform, or something?”
“Whew!” cried Frank. “Who said so?”
“Mamma told me so this very afternoon, and we are going to do without
ever so many things this winter, to save money for you.”
“I’ve noticed that something was going wrong for some time,” said Frank,
“and now it’s out. Well, you can get along without Neptune, Kate, and it
does cost a great deal to keep a horse.”
“How much did papa pay for the _Clover_?” questioned Kate.
“Fifty dollars. I know, because I went with him to buy it.”
“You can sell that, I know,” said Kate, assuredly, “for I know who will
buy it.”
“Catch me selling my boat!” cried Frank; “indeed I won’t. I shall want
it every vacation, unless it’s at Christmas holidays.”
“The _Clover_ would be just as happy with anybody else rowing it as with
you in it, Frank.”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Why, my poor Neptune would break his heart to go away from his home and
from me.”
“Nonsense! Horses get used to things.”
“Frank, you know how much I love my pony, and there is only one Neptune
in the whole world for me; but there are plenty of boats that you
wouldn’t know from the _Clover_, that you can have some day.”
“Pshaw! Neptune would fetch a couple of hundred dollars, I think, though
he is rather slow and getting a little old.”
“Yes, that is it!” burst out Kate, with a flood of tears running down
her face. “He is getting old, and somebody would begin to abuse him and
sell him cheap by-and-by; and he’d be driven off, lame and half starved,
by a cruel old fellow from a horse-market in New York. I’ve seen them
when I’ve been there, and I’ve just wanted to be the general of the
biggest army that ever marched, and see if I couldn’t set some things
right and save the poor, old, lame, hungry beasts that had done their
best in their best days, working away for their masters. Frank, Neptune
sha’n’t be sold to send you to school—there now!” and Kate ran off to
the stable and was having her cry out, with her arms around Neptune’s
neck, when Harry Cornwall, passing by, heard her sobbing.
“What has happened, Kittie?” he questioned, looking in.
It was too late for Kate to pretend that she was not crying and in real
trouble, but Kate was too loyal to her parents to tell what had
happened, and so she said:
“Thank you, Harry, it isn’t anything that I can tell you about. Perhaps
you will know some day.”
She wiped her eyes and went in with Harry to show him the splendid luck
Frank had had fishing.
“See what you lost!” cried Frank, exultingly, “when you might just as
well as not have gone with me.”
“I couldn’t go without neglecting Mrs. Dobson’s farm—I mean the onions,”
said Harry, “and onions will be fetching a good price presently. I’ve a
good many of them, too, and it’s just the weather to get them in. I
don’t mean to be selfish either,” continued Harry, “but the onions and
the oats are my crops on shares. Mrs. Dobson gives me half, so you see
I’ve a special interest in silver-skins.”
“Do you know, Harry,” questioned Kate, “will horses eat onions?”
“What a goose!” said Frank.
“I don’t think they will, Kittie,” answered Harry. “Why?”
“Because,” bravely said Kate, “I’ve taken the responsibility of keeping
Neptune this winter, and I knew you’d help me, Harry, with whatever you
could spare.”
“I’ve a share in the oats, and you shall have all that Neptune can eat.
We’ve a good hundred bushels between us.”
“Then Neptune will not suffer, and we’ll see what can be done when
Master Frank is off in his uniform and everything is frozen up good and
white for the winter,” said Kate, with a feeling of relief concerning
Neptune.