AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
"Who do you think is going to win that prize of Mr. Ashton's?" asked
Fred Bradford of his sisters that day at the dinner table. "It is
coming near Easter, you know, and you must have some idea by this
time."
"Why, Maggie, of course," answered Bessie, positively, for the
question was not one which admitted of dispute to Bessie's mind. She
gave no time for her sister to answer, and Maggie did not reply.
"You seem to be very sure of your position, little woman," said her
father.
"Well, papa," said Bessie, still confidently, "Lena has not been able
to try for it, you know, since she was burned; and Gracie _will
not_ try. She says she don't want it, and she acts very queerly
and seems to have no interest about it at all."
"Perhaps she's ashamed of the way she behaved that day she had the
row with Lena," said Fred, who had heard the account of Gracie's
ill-behavior, not from Maggie and Bessie, but from some of "the other
fellows" whose sisters were members of the "Cheeryble Sisters."
Bessie shook her sunny head.
"No, I don't think so," she answered. "At least she has never said
so, and if she felt sorry enough to keep her from trying for the
prize, I should think she would tell Lena so."
"_You_ would, but not she," said Fred. "Catch Gracie Howard
eating humble pie. But you don't seem to have much idea of gaining it
yourself."
"I!" said Bessie, opening wide her eyes in undisguised astonishment,
"why, no; I am not even trying for it."
"Well, it is too late now, as it is so near Easter," said Harry; "but
since the prize is for general improvement and not for any one
particular composition, I do not see why you should not have tried
and generally improved as well as the others."
"Well, I did try to do the best I could and to improve myself,"
answered Bessie; "but I did not think about gaining the prize. I know
I couldn't."
"Catch Bess not doing her level best for conscience' sake, prizes, or
no prizes," said Fred. "Oh, I say, Bess, you are going to begin your
music lessons at Easter, are you not?"
The color flushed all over Bessie's face and neck as she answered,
after a moment's hesitation, "No, I am not, Fred; and no questions
asked."
"'No questions asked,'" repeated Fred, laughing, "but that is rather
hard on our curiosity, when you have been so wild for music lessons
for the last year or more. What have you been doing that they are
forfeited, for I know papa promised them to you after Easter?"
"I told you no questions asked," repeated Bessie, in a slightly
irritated tone, and looking very much disturbed.
"Hallo!" said the astonished Fred, taking these for the signs of
guilt. "Hallo! our pattern Bess has never been doing anything wrong,
has she? And so very wrong that--ouch! Hal, what was that for? I'll
thank you not to be kicking me that way under the table!"
For Harry had given him a by no means gentle reminder of that nature;
and now his father, too, came to the rescue.
"Let your sister alone, Fred," he said. "I can tell you that she has
done nothing wrong. She and I have a little understanding on this
matter; but she has forgotten that there is no necessity for doing
without the music lessons, and she is, I assure you, to have them.
But, as Bessie says, 'no questions asked.' We will drop the subject."
Bessie's soft eyes opened wide, as she gazed at her father in pleased
surprise. Although the money which had been devoted by her to Lena's
relief had not come through him, it actually had not occurred to her
until this moment that she would not be called upon to give up the
music lessons. She had made the sacrifice freely for Lena's sake, and
had had no thought of evading its fulfilment, even after
circumstances had turned out so differently from anything that she
had expected.
She flashed a grateful, appreciative glance at her father from out of
the depths of those loving eyes, but said nothing; and, as Mr.
Bradford had decreed, the subject was changed. The father and his
little daughter understood one another.
Mr. Bradford did not, however, tell Bessie that he had never intended
that she should be obliged to carry out her sacrifice; she had
offered it unselfishly, and in good faith, and he would let her have
the satisfaction of feeling that she had been willing to do this for
her little friend.
Bessie was not sure whether or no she was in haste to see Lena and
hear from her of the providential gift she had received. She was so
little accustomed to conceal her feelings, to evasion, or to
affectation of an ignorance which did not exist, that she did not
know how she was to maintain an appearance of innocence when Lena
should tell her that which she would doubtless believe to be
surprising news; and more and more confirmed became her resolution
"never, never, never to have another secret" which she could not
share with her mother and Maggie.
But when she did see Lena--which was not until the latter had sent
for her to come to her--all difficulty on that score was removed, for
the news which her friend had to communicate to her was really so
extraordinary and unlocked for that she did not need to affect
surprise, or to feel embarrassed over her own share in the events
Lena had to relate. And the possibility of Bessie being the donor of
that sum of money never occurred to Lena. Perhaps she would have been
glad to know it, for Lena was a proud child, with a very independent
spirit, and in spite of the immense relief it was to her to be able
to free Percy from the difficulties in which he had involved himself,
there had been an uncomfortable feeling back of that from the sense
of obligation to some unknown person. Who could have sent her that
money? Who could have been aware of her extreme need of it?
There is small occasion to say that it had scarcely come into her
hands when it was sent again on its travels; this time to Percy.
The hilarious acknowledgment which immediately came back to her was a
relief in more ways than one, although she was half provoked at the
_insouciant_, devil-may-care-now spirit which it evinced.
Percy wrote:
"DEAR LENA,
"You're the dearest of little sisters, the brickiest of bricks! But
there is no need for me to rob you of your hundred dollars. You say
somebody sent it to you anonymously; well, the same somebody, I
suppose, has done the same good office for me, sent me a hundred
dollars. You say you don't know who it could be; why, it was Russell,
of course. You know he's just as generous as generous can be, and
since he came into his own money he can't rid himself of it fast
enough, but must always be finding out ways of spending it for other
people. And I don't see anything so strange in this way of doing it.
He knew the powers that be would make an awful row if they knew we had
all that money to spend at our own sweet wills, so he took this way of
sending it to us, so that we could keep our own counsel; and if they
do find out we have it, we can say we don't know where it came from.
It is a blessed thing they will never know that I had mine, at any
rate, or ask where it went. You may be sure it did not stay in my
hands long, but went into those of Seabrooke in five minutes. How I
did want to keep it too. But there, Seabrooke is paid, and I'm free
and no one the wiser; at least, no one that I'm afraid of, so no harm
is done. But to think I've had to lose that money for such a thing as
that. I suppose it was a shabby trick to play, and I tell you I think
I never heard anything quite so scurvy as Flagg putting that stuff
into Seabrooke's carafe to make him sleep, and I'm sure Seabrooke
feels more put out about that than he does about the letter, because
that was malice prepense, and the other was--well--an accident; at
least, we did not know the mischief we were doing, and we have made it
all right. But he can't get over the drugging, and I'm glad I had no
hand in it, for I do not know what the doctor will say to it. He is
not back yet; but his son is better, and he will be here when we come
after the Easter holidays. I'm rather sick of Flagg anyway; he has
mean ways, and our dear old Russell wouldn't tolerate him for a
moment, so I'll shake him off all I can when I come back to school.
I'll keep your hundred dollars till I come home, and hand it to you
then. You're a trump, Lena, and I never would have taken it if I could
have helped it. But I would have had to do it if this other hundred
had not come. And, do you know, there is one thing that puzzles me. It
came by post from New York in a hair-pin box, and done up in about a
thousand papers-at least there were six--so I suppose Russell sent to
some one in the city to do it for him; but the whole thing was awfully
womanish. The address was in the most correct, copy-book-y
handwriting, every point turned just so, every loop according to rule.
But it came just in the nick of time, and saved me and your money.
Bless your heart, how are the feet?
"Your own all the same everlastingly obliged brother,
"PERCY NEVILLE."
Thankful as Lena had been to receive this letter, so annoyed was she
by Percy's indifferent, careless way of looking upon his own misdeeds
that she did not show it to Bessie; she was ashamed to do so,
knowing, as she did, Bessie's conscientiousness and strict sense of
honor and honesty. "All right now." Was this indeed all the
impression made upon Percy by his late peril, all the shame and
regret he could feel? Child though she was, and several years younger
than her erring brother, the ways of right and wrong were so much
clearer to her than they were to him, she had so much more
steadfastness of character and purpose.
"Now," she said, when she had told Bessie all, "now if I could only
find out who sent me that money and return it when Percy sends it
back to me. But you see, Bessie, I am not so sure that it was
Russell. It is not at all like the way he does things; he is never
mysterious or anonymous; and he is not at all afraid of papa or
mamma, and can do what he likes with his own money. He is very, very
generous, and always takes such nice ways of being kind to people and
giving them pleasure; and I do not think that this would be at all a
nice way of sending presents to Percy and me. Do you, Bessie?"
"No," answered Bessie, doubtfully, remembering her own way of
conveying to Lena the means of rescuing Percy,--"no--I--do not like
anonymousity very much; but I suppose there are times when one has to
do it."
"Um-m-m; no, I do not think so," said Lena, all unconscious of
Bessie's secret, and looking at her with surprise; for she knew
Bessie's ideas about underhand dealings to be as uncompromising as
her own.
But Bessie stuck to her point; she had known of a case where "to be
anonymous" was the best and only course to take, so it had seemed to
her, and she was not to be convinced that there were not times when
it was justifiable.
However, she was not anxious to dwell upon the subject, and soon
changed it. She knew that Lena's unknown friend was not her brother
Russell, and she was herself mystified about the other sum sent to
Percy; but, fearful of betraying her own part, she began to talk of
something else.
"Do you remember, Lena," she said, "that next Sunday is Easter
Sunday, and that Saturday is the day for Miss Ashton to name the one
who deserves Mr. Ashton's prize?"
"Yes," answered Lena, rather despondently, "but that cannot make much
difference to me, except that I shall be so glad if you or Maggie win
it."
"Oh, Maggie will, certainly," said Bessie, secure in her belief that
no one could compete with her sister, now that Lena was supposed to
be out of the question and Gracie Howard had decidedly withdrawn from
the contest. "Maggie is sure to have it, and you know that she is
anxious for it so she can give it to Gladys Seabrooke, as you would
have done."
"I was thinking," said Lena, with a little hesitation, very different
from her usual straightforward, somewhat blunt way of speaking, "I
was thinking that you and Maggie praise me too much for wishing to
earn the prize for Gladys Seabrooke. I would like to be the one to
win it for her; but I think--I know--it is more for my own sake than
for hers. You know I told you I wished so much that papa and mamma
would think me so much improved by Miss Ashton's teaching that they
would wish me to stay with her; and they would think it a sign of
that if I did win the prize."
"Yes, I know," answered Bessie; "but I thought your father had
promised that you should stay with Uncle Horace and Aunt May, and go
to Miss Ashton's while you were in our country."
"Yes," said Lena, "but I want to stay here till I am quite grown up
and educated. I want papa and mamma to think that I am doing better
here, improving more than I have ever done before--as I am--so that
they will leave me till I am grown up and quite old. Uncle Horace and
Aunt May would keep me; Uncle Horace said he would like to have me
for his girl always."
Not even her opinion of Mrs. Neville as a mother, not even her
appreciation of the happiness of a home with her beloved Colonel and
Mrs. Rush could quite reconcile Bessie to the fact that Lena was not
only willing but anxious to leave her own home and family and to
remain in a country where she would be separated from them for years
to come; but nevertheless she felt a great sympathy for her and a
strong desire that this wish should be fulfilled. Still she could
not but have a little feeling of gladness that, according to her
belief, there was no one who could now compete with her own Maggie
for the prize; and she rather evaded the subject and took up that of
school-news until Maggie, who had come with Jane, the nursery-maid,
to take Bessie home, ran in.
She brought with her the papers read at the last meeting of the
"Cheeryble Sisters' Club," such papers being, at Lena's special
request, always turned over to her for perusal.
"Whose are these?" asked the young convalescent, when Maggie
delivered them to her.
"One is Bessie's, and it is poetry. Did you know that Bessie had
begun to write poetry?" said Maggie.
"Two poetesses in one family!" said Lena. "No, I did not hear that
Bessie wrote poetry too."
"And this is so sweet," said Maggie; "such a pretty idea. And this
paper is Lily's. Lily has given up the resolution that she would
never let her compositions be read in the club, and this is the
second one she has given us. It is good, too," she added. "And this
is another one from Frankie. He seems to think himself quite a
'Cheeryble Sister,'" she added, laughing.
"Can you not read them to me before you go?" asked Lena, and Maggie
assented.
"I'll read the best first," with a smile full of appreciative pride
at Bessie, "for fear Jane comes and asks me to hurry because she has
a million things to do."
And accordingly she unfolded one of the papers she had laid upon
Lena's table when she came in; but before she had time even to
commence it, Jane put her head in at the door with the usual formula.
"Miss Maggie and Miss Bessie, will you please come. I have a million
things to do, and ought to be at home."
"In a few moments," answered Maggie; but Jane added to her
persuasions by saying:
"And it's snowing, too; a snow kind of soft-like that'll be turning
into rain before long, and Miss Bessie'll get wet."
This moved Maggie, as the politic Jane knew that it would do, for it
was not expedient for Bessie to be out in the damp or wet; and when
she glanced out of the window and saw that the maid's words were
true, she lingered no longer, but laid the papers down again and told
Lena they must go; and Jane, congratulating herself that she had
gained her point so easily, was bearing away her young charge when an
interruption occurred.
The children were in Mrs. Rush's sitting-room, and just at this
moment she came in, accompanied by a little old lady, who will,
doubtless be immediately recognized by those who have met her before.
"Maggie and Bessie, you are not just going, are you?" said Mrs. Rush.
"Here is an old friend who would like to see you, at least for a few
moments."
"I think we must go, Aunt May," said Maggie, "for it is snowing, and
mamma would not like Bessie to be out." Then, turning to the little
old lady, "How do you do, Miss Trevor? It is a long time since we
have seen you."
"Time, indeed; time, yes, time," said Miss Trevor, shaking hands
warmly with both Maggie and Bessie. "And you've grown, yes, grown,
actually grown--why, grown!" she added, in a tone which would
indicate that it was a matter of surprise two girls of the ages of
Maggie and Bessie should grow. Then she put her head on one side and
critically scanned her quondam pupils, giving them little nods of
approval as she did so.
Maggie and Bessie were used to Miss Trevor's odd ways and manner of
speaking; but to Lena they were a novelty, as she had never seen her
before, although she had heard of her from her aunt and from her
schoolmates, who often made merry over the recollection of her
peculiarities when she had been their teacher in writing and drawing.
Presently she turned to Lena and surveyed her as if she were a kind
of natural curiosity; yet there was nothing rude or obtrusive in the
gaze.
"My niece, Lena Neville, Miss Trevor," said Mrs. Rush. "Lena, dear,
this is Miss Trevor, of whom you have often heard me speak."
"So this is the little heroine," murmured Miss Trevor, "heroine, yes,
heroine, indeed. Fire, oh yes, indeed, fire; such courage, such
presence of mind, yes, mind, indeed, mind."
Lena was annoyed. She did not like allusions to the fire, to her own
bravery and her rescue of her little sister, even from those who were
near and dear to her; and from strangers they were unendurable to
her. She shrank back in her chair and half turned her face from Miss
Trevor, while the dark look which Mrs. Rush knew so well, but which
she seldom wore now, came over it.
She hastened to effect a diversion.
"Miss Maggie, if you please, it's snowing fast," said Jane, "and I've
a mil--"
"The young ladies cannot walk home in this wet snow," interposed Mrs.
Rush. "The carriage has gone for the colonel; when it returns it
shall take them home. And, Miss Trevor, it shall take you also. You
can go to the nursery if you choose, Jane."
So Jane, forgetting the "million things" in the prospect of a
comfortable gossip with old Margaret, departed to the nursery till
the carriage should return and her young ladies be ready to go.
Miss Trevor, who was at her ease with Mrs. Rush and her former pupils
of Miss Ashton's class if she was with any one, asked many questions
about the studies of the latter and of the progress they were making
in the two branches in which she had been their instructress, and
gave some information respecting herself; Lena listening and looking
on in wonder at her peculiarities of speech and manner, but taking no
part in the conversation.
But at last Miss Trevor turned to her again.
"Neville, you said, my dear Mrs. Rush,--your niece--yes, Neville,
indeed, Neville. Such a favorite with me--me, indeed, yes, favorite.
I know a boy, yes, boy--indeed, youth--such a fine youth--such a
hero--ro, indeed, ro--does not fear geese--hissing creatures, my
dears--yes, creatures, indeed creatures, my dears, yes, creatures,
indeed. Neville he is, yes, Neville--chevalier _sans peur et sans
reproche, 'proche_, indeed, _'proche_."
Now, as may be supposed, Lena was far from regarding her brother
Percy as a "chevalier _sans peur et sans reproche_." She had
little reason, in view of late occurrences, to do so, and she never
connected him with the heroic youth on whose praises this odd little
old lady was dwelling. She felt no interest in her, only a sort of
impatient surprise, and wished that her aunt would take her away.
Miss Trevor dwelt farther upon the episode of the geese and Percy's
coming to the rescue; and while Lena maintained a sober face, seeing
nothing especially funny in the story, Maggie and Bessie, and even
Mrs. Rush, had some difficulty in restraining themselves from
laughing outright at the tragic tale she contrived to make out of it,
and the thought of the droll spectacle the old lady must have
presented as she flew down the street, pursued by the hissing,
long-necked foe.
But presently Lena's attention was aroused.
"But are flocks of geese allowed to wander loose in the streets of
Utica, Miss Trevor?" asked Mrs. Rush. "I thought it was too much of a
place for that."
"Oh, no, my dear not Utica, no indeed, not Utica--did you not know?
We moved, yes, moved, a year ago, yes, 'go, to Sylvandale, yes,
Sylvandale--yes, 'dale," said Miss Trevor.
"Sylvandale! Neville!" said Mrs. Rush. "Lena has a brother at school
at Sylvandale. Percy Neville! Can it be that our Percy is your young
cavalier, Miss Trevor?"
"Percy Neville," repeated Miss Trevor, "yes, indeed, that is his
name, name, yes, name. Is it possible he is your brother?" turning to
Lena with a face now radiant with pleasure at this discovery. "Ah!
such a boy, boy, indeed, boy!"
Lena was interested now, and, perhaps a trifle uneasy, lest by any
possibility some knowledge of Percy's escapades should have come to
Miss Trevor and might by her be incautiously betrayed to Colonel and
Mrs. Rush. She turned rather an anxious eye upon the old lady,
wishing that she would not pursue the theme of Percy and his valorous
deeds, but not seeing very well how she could change the subject.
Words did not come easily to Lena.
And her fears were not without foundation, although Miss Trevor knew
nothing of Percy's troubles. Further and more startling revelations
were to come.
For just at the moment, to this assembled group, entered Hannah,
bearing in her hands a tray, on which was a cup of beef-tea for Lena.
She was close to her little lady before she perceived the stranger,
whom she would have shunned as she would a pestilence. The
recognition was mutual, and to Hannah most unpleasant, and in the
start it gave her she nearly dropped the tray and its contents.
"Merciful Lord!" she ejaculated, taken completely off her guard; but
the exclamation was far more of a prayer than an irreverent mention
of her Maker's name.
For was not her beloved nursling in danger? Her Master Percy, for
whom she had sacrificed so much, was he not in danger of betrayal and
disgrace in case this old lady should touch upon the subject of the
money confided to her care to be conveyed to him?
She was not gifted with presence of mind, and she stood perfectly
still, staring in undisguised perturbation at Miss Trevor.
Perceiving this, Miss Trevor believed that it was caused not only by
surprise at seeing her there when she had told Hannah that she
expected to return at once to Sylvandale, but also by the fear that
the money had not reached its destination in good time, and she
hastened to relieve her, thus bringing on the disclosures which
Hannah was dreading.
"Good morning," she said, kindly. "Your money has gone, yes gone, my
good woman, gone. I stayed in the city, yes, stayed, but the money
has gone. He has it, the dear boy, yes, boy, he has it."
It was not her money but her boy that Hannah was fearing for now, and
for whom she stood dismayed at the sight of Miss Trevor. Moreover,
although she knew her place, and generally treated her superiors with
all due respect, if there was one thing more than another which
exasperated her, it was to have any one call her "my good woman;"
and, hastily setting her tray upon the table, she looked daggers at
Miss Trevor, as she answered, snappishly:
"I wasn't askin' ye nothin', ma'am."
Then she turned and fled, desirous to avoid all questions, although
it was not Hannah's way to flee before danger, either real or
apprehended.
[Illustration: "I WASN'T ASKIN' YE NOTHIN', MA'AM."]