tell him her griefs, and so far as he could he would sympathize with
her; but when she talked of running away, he would simply laugh.
"Why, if you wish to go back to Shiloh, I'm sure Miss Julia would let
you; you have only to tell her and she would let you off."
Then Angelina would shake her head. "Ah! you have no idea how important
I am. Why, I know they couldn't get along without me, and I'm sure that
if I should leave, everything would stop. I'm surprised that you should
suggest it, John."
"But you talked of running away."
"Well, so I might, if Concetta keeps on acting in that forward way, as
if she were the most important person here. No, I won't desert Miss
Julia, even if Miss Brenda does show so much partiality. I suppose it's
my Spanish blood that makes me take it so hard."
John looked at Angelina bewildered.
"Spanish blood! why, we're not Spanish; I hadn't heard of it."
"There, John, you haven't a bit of romance; I should think that you
could tell that we're Spanish just by looking in the glass, and I'm sure
Spain and Portugal are very near together, and though mother says she
was born a Portuguese she may be Spanish. A great many people are
beginning to sympathize with me on account of the war."
There! the secret was out. The war with Spain had now come to the
foreground, and Angelina wished in some way to be a part of it and of
the general excitement. Had John been old enough to enlist she might
have worked off some of her energy in urging him to do so. As it was,
she amused those who had known her the longest by talking about her
fears for her own safety; for although Manila Bay was an American
victory, "of course," she would say, "every one has a prejudice against
persons of Spanish blood," and Angelina would raise her handkerchief to
her eyes, as if she were an exiled princess of Castile.
John only laughed at Angelina when she talked in this way to him, and
wished that he could enlist and go toward the South, where the troops
were gathering for the war.
"I should like to be a nurse," she then said, "for really this work here
with these younger girls is very tiresome, and I don't think that Miss
South and Miss Julia properly appreciate me."
"You are ungrateful," John would reply solemnly. "Why, if it wasn't for
these young ladies I'm sure that mother wouldn't be alive now; she never
could have lived if we'd stayed on in Moon Street, and it was just
through them that we were able to have a home of our own, for those bare
rooms in Moon Street were not a home."
John was an industrious youth, working hard, saving money, and studying
evenings. He was devoted to Manuel, now a strong boy of nine, and
anxious that he, too, should have a good education. Angelina's
flightiness troubled him, but he hoped that she would in time outgrow
it; for though the younger, he always felt that he was in the position
of an older brother, and when it came to any particular action, Angelina
usually took his advice, after first demurring, and professing that she
would rather do something else. Now he felt that he was right in trying
to make her keep her place at the Mansion; but even while he was trying
to persuade her, he could see that Angelina was thinking of something
else.
But the war did not entirely occupy the thoughts of Julia and Pamela and
the others at the Mansion, and the former went on with the preparations
for her special exhibition after the fashion that she had planned long
before the fateful sixteenth of February. Gretchen and Maggie were her
chief assistants in carrying out her plans, and they went about with an
air of mystery that was particularly tantalizing to the others.
"What do you suppose it's going to be?" asked Concetta, with two buttons
conspicuously fastened to her waist bearing the motto, "Remember the
Maine."
"Some kind of a picture show, I guess; I saw two boxes of thumb tacks on
Miss South's table. I tried to make Maggie tell, but she's as still as a
mouse; she always is. Don't she make you think of one?"
"Yes, she does," replied Haleema. "I've a good mind to peek in now;
there's nobody about."
At that moment Angelina came around the corner.
"I'm exceedingly surprised," she said, in her haughtiest manner, "that
you should try to pry into what doesn't concern you."
"I didn't."
"Yes, you were trying to."
"No, I wasn't, and, besides, I have a perfect right to; I belong to Miss
Northcote's class. So there! You needn't stand and watch me."
"I'll report you to Miss Dreen," said Angelina. "It's your day in the
kitchen. I remember that."
Concetta's face clouded as Angelina passed on to the kitchen.
"I wish people would attend to their own business."
Concetta had hoped that Miss Dreen, who was a little absent-minded,
would fail to notice her absence. Another grievance was added to the
long list that she cherished against Angelina.
But after all they were not kept so very long in suspense, for on the
Saturday after this little episode the doors were thrown open, and all
the girls marched in to see what really had been going on behind the
closed doors. Those in the secret were proud enough, and Maggie in
particular displayed an unexpected talkativeness. At least she was able
to explain the why and wherefore of the exhibit quite to the
satisfaction of all who heard her.
The first exclamations of pleasure were called out by the sight that met
their eyes. One side of the room had been divided by partitions to make
two rooms. Each was furnished completely, and even those girls who were
too old to play with dolls were fascinated by the house; for each of the
two rooms was fitted up with absolute perfectness, from the wall-paper
to the tiny cushions on the sofa. They were on a scale large enough for
everything to be seen in detail, but a degree or two smaller than life
size. Pamela justly prided herself on the completeness of it all, and
this completeness had been made possible only by the kindness of Julia,
who had told her to spare no expense in having the house furnished
exactly as she wished it to be. She was safe in giving this wide
permission, since Pamela's friends all knew that extravagance was
absolutely impossible with her, and that she would use another's money
more carefully even than her own.
Both rooms were furnished like sitting-rooms, but they differed utterly
in style. Maggie put it correctly by saying that one was "warm and
fussy-looking," while the other was "cool and restful."
The floor-covering on the former, painted to imitate a real carpet, was
of bright colors and florid design. The reds and greens of which it was
composed were just a little off the tone of the flowered wall-paper,--a
greenish background with stiff bunches of red flowers, "that look as if
they were ready to jump out at you," as one of the girls put it.
The little chairs and couch were upholstered in bright brocade velvet,
each one different from the others, and none in harmony with the paper
or with each other. On the tiny centre-table were one or two clumsy
pieces of bric-a-brac, and the pictures on the walls were small chromos
in ugly gilt frames. There were bright cushions on the divan, and
crocheted tidies on every chair.
Nellie thought this room "perfectly beautiful." Her cousin's wife, whose
husband was a prosperous teamster, had one almost like it, she said. "Oh
what lovely easy-chairs! I hope I'll have a parlor as elegant as this
some day."
The other room did not please her, it was too plain; whereas Concetta,
within whose breast there must have lingered some remnant of Italian
artistic instinct, thought it altogether beautiful.
This second room had a plain, dull-green wall-paper, on which hung a few
photographs suitably framed. There was matting on the floor, and in the
centre a green art-square. The chairs were of rattan, in graceful
shapes, with green cushions, and one of artistic design in black wood
with broad arms was comfortably cushioned for a lounging-chair. A
bookcase, also of black wood, was filled with plainly bound books. On
the rattan centre-table was a tall green vase with a single rose in it,
and near by two or three small volumes of good literature. The ornaments
on the mantle-piece were few and well chosen, and each had an evident
reason for being there. The simple gilt moulding at the top was in
contrast with the fussy frieze in the other room, and the plain net
draperies at the windows were much more agreeable than the lace curtains
in the other room, with their elaborate pattern and plush lambrequins.
Each girl as she came in was given a small blank-book, and was asked to
note down what she thought of each room, and to state her reasons for
preferring one room to another.
"Ought we to like one more than another?" Inez asked anxiously.
"Oh, Inez," said Haleema, "you are like sheep, you never stand alone,"
which, although not an exact rendering of the proverb, at least partly
described the disposition of little Inez, who was far from independent.
"My book isn't half full," said Phoebe, after she had written for
several minutes.
"Ah, that isn't all," rejoined Maggie.
"No, indeed," added Pamela, who had been listening with much interest to
all the comments. "You have entirely neglected this end of the room. You
will probably find more to do here than at the other end."
Here the wall had been covered with a plain gray denim, against which
were pinned samples of wall-paper of every quality and color. Some were
quiet and in good taste, as well as inexpensive; others were evidently
costly, and at the same time loud and glaring. Each piece was numbered,
and the girls were asked to write in their books their opinion of these
samples.
Again, on a table near the wall-paper lay a number of cards with pieces
of dress fabric fastened to them, and the girls were asked to state
which would probably hold their color the best, which would be suitable
for a working dress, which for a durable winter dress; and near certain
bright-colored fabrics were trimmings of various sorts, and they were
asked to tell which would best harmonize with the fabric.
"It ought not to be so very hard for you to answer these questions,"
said Julia, as she found Concetta scowling over her blank-book. "I know
that Miss Northcote has had much to say to you this winter about
furniture and wall-papers, and you ought to remember the reasons she has
given for calling one thing more beautiful than another. Then, as to
dress materials, why, think of our shopping expeditions, and the trouble
I have taken to make you understand what is best."
"Yes, 'm," said Concetta. "If there's to be a prize, I'll try to prefer
the best things; but if there won't be one, why, I think I'll just say
what I really think."
"Oh, Concetta! Concetta! you are hopeless," responded Julia; and though
she smiled slightly at this frank confession, she felt a little
depressed that her winter's work should have had no better effect.
At five o'clock the books were all collected and put in Pamela's care
for discussion at the next meeting of her class, and a few minutes later
the aunts or cousins of the girls, as the case might be, began to
appear. Their "oh's" and "ah's" were genuine as they looked at the two
rooms; the numbers were about equally divided between those who
preferred the restful room and those who preferred the fussy and gaudy
one. They were greatly surprised to find that the more showy room had
had no more money spent on it than the other. To them it looked much the
more expensive; whereas to Julia and Nora and the others it was a
surprise that the cheap and shoddy things of the gaudy sitting-room had
cost as much as those in the really aesthetic apartment.
All had been invited to the six-o'clock tea, and this had been designed
to show the skill in cooking of some of the number,--or perhaps I should
say skill in the preparation of a meal, since much that was to go on the
table was prepared under the eyes of the visitors.
The dainty sandwiches, for instance, were so prepared. There were three
or four different kinds, of lettuce, of cheese, and some with nuts laid
between, to the great surprise of Mrs. McSorley. She had associated with
the name only the sandwich of the ham variety. Then the cold chicken,
creamed and served in the chafing-dish, and put steaming on the plates;
the chocolate that Maggie prepared on a tiny gas range, crowned with
whipped cream that she had whipped before their very eyes,--all these
things had their effect. When Luisa showed the blanc-mange that she had
made, "without any flavor of soup," Haleema remarked so mischievously,
that Luisa had to admit that earlier in the season she had prepared
some blanc-mange in a kettle which had not been washed since some
strong-flavored soup had been contained in it. Each girl had one special
dish that she had made the day before,--cake, or biscuit, or jelly. The
results were very satisfactory to the admiring relatives, who went home
particularly pleased with the Mansion and the young ladies, as well as
with their own particular loaf of cake or mould of jelly, as the case
may be. Each one, too, carried away a fine photograph of the Mansion,
under which Pamela had written one of her ever applicable Ruskin
quotations.
"The girls to spin and weave and sew, and at a proper age to cook
all proper ordinary food exquisitely; the youth of both sexes to be
disciplined daily in the studies."
This was at the bottom of the card, and at the top she had written:
"Never look for amusement, but be always ready to amuse."
"There," said Julia, after the last visitor had departed, "I don't
suppose that any of our guests know that we are college women, nor
probably have they heard the time-worn discussion as to whether college
women are capable of understanding the management of a house, but it
strikes me that we made a pretty good showing this evening."
"Ah," replied Miss South, "I am older than you, and I can say pretty
confidently that no one need stand up for the college woman as home
maker; she needs no defence. More than half the college graduates of
to-day have homes of their own that are well managed, and have a high
sanitary standard, and--but there, I am talking as if you needed to be
convinced, whereas this is very far from being the case."
"Indeed, Miss South," said Nora, "even I, who am not a college girl--"
"Oh, but you are; don't forget the good work that you did as a special
at Radcliffe."
"Thank you, Julia, but I'm only slightly a college girl. Well, even I
always have plenty of ammunition ready when one or two persons I might
mention have things to say about the uselessness of a college
education."
"You are a good champion in any cause, and we thank you," said Julia,
slipping her arm in Nora's, and making a low courtesy.
This exhibit of Pamela's was the end of the festivities at the Mansion.
The evenings were growing warm, and the interests of the girls were
turning in other directions. The meetings of the League were regular
sewing circles, and the busy needles of the members struggled through
the heavy denim that was to be used in comfort bags for the soldiers, or
they hemmed flannel bandages, or applied themselves to other useful bits
of work suggested by the Woman's Auxiliary of the Aid Association. While
others worked, Angelina read aloud to them, for she was fond of reading;
and those girls who had friends or relatives in the regiments that were
going South were proud of the fact, and referred to it often.
But Maggie--poor Maggie! It seemed to her that she had reason to be
prouder than any of them, for she not only had a letter, but a
photograph, from a soldier, and to her Tim was a really heroic figure in
his blouse and campaign hat. And the words had a sacred meaning, "I'm
going to do something great before you see me again; I'll do something
great, and by and by we'll have that home of our own."
She could not talk about this to any one, for the mention of Tim's name
still aroused a very bitter spirit in Mrs. McSorley, and Maggie feared
that if she confided even in Miss Julia, Tim's plans might in some way
come to Mrs. McSorley's ears. Although living now afar from her
immediate authority, Maggie still stood in great awe of her aunt, and
though the rather scanty praises bestowed on her showed a change in Mrs.
McSorley's spirit, Maggie knew how unwise it would be to speak to her of
Tim.
Of the staff, Brenda was the only one who had little to say about the
war. She had not written to Arthur nor he to her since the Artists'
Festival; but she heard of him indirectly through Ralph and Agnes. His
regiment had gone to Tampa before the end of May, and if he was waiting
for her to reply to that unanswered letter, he waited in vain. Brenda,
when once she had made up her mind, was very determined. She showed,
however, that she was not happy. Her face had lost its color, and she
had less animation.
"It all comes from staying indoors so much. Really, you must come with
us to Rockley," her parents insisted.
But Brenda would not change her mind. She was now taking the place of
Anstiss, who had been called home on account of the illness of her
mother.
"I did not know that you could be so industrious, Brenda. Have you any
idea how many hundred of these comfort bags you have made this spring?"
"No," said Brenda, so shortly that Edith knew that she had made a
mistake in asking the question.
XVIII
WHERE HONOR CALLS
In all his life Philip Blair had hardly learned a harder lesson than
that teaching him that it was his duty to stay at home with his father
at a time when so many of his friends and classmates were setting off
for the war. "They also serve who only stand and wait," echoed
constantly in his ear, though unluckily almost as imperative was another
refrain, "He that lives and fights and runs away, may live to fight
another day." It seemed to him not unlikely that those who did not know
him very well might put him in the latter class,--of those who avoided a
present danger for an unlikely and distant good.
He could not deny the fact that his father was evidently ill, and as
evidently needed him. This in itself was reason enough for his staying
in Boston. He had so thoroughly mastered the details of the business,
that it would have been false modesty to deny that his departure would
make no difference. Even had his father been in perfect health, Philip's
departure would have thrown a certain amount of care upon him; but in
his present rather weak condition the young man felt that he had no
right to add to his burden. He envied Tom Hearst his commission as
captain in a regiment of regular troops, and he felt that his years on
the ranch had especially fitted him for a place with the Rough Riders.
What an opportunity this war might offer a young man for real
distinction! and yet the chance was that he could have no part in it.
Poor Philip! If some of his critics could have read his heart, they
would have had less to say about his staying at home. Certain
complications in his father's business had led him to give up his plans
for studying law. He was now a business man, pure and simple, and almost
any one would admit that he was devoting himself to his father's
interests.
In one of his downcast moods one evening he strolled over to the Mansion
to take a message from Edith to Julia. His family had already gone down
to Beverly, but Edith, with her usual conscientiousness, let hardly a
week pass without sending some special message to Gretchen.
The evening was one of the close and sultry evenings of early spring,
and as Philip drew near he was pleased to hear the voices of Brenda and
Julia. The two were seated on a rattan settle that had been drawn out
into the vestibule, and upon greeting them Philip discovered Pamela and
Miss South near by. After delivering Edith's message the conversation
drifted to the ever-engrossing subject.
"I hardly expected to find so many of you here," said Philip. "Surely
some of you intend to go as nurses to help your suffering countrymen."
"Angelina," responded Miss South, "is the only one of us who is
desperately in earnest about becoming a nurse."
"So far as I can remember she has all the qualities that a nurse ought
not to have."
"Oh, you are rather severe; she is not quite so bad, yet I doubt that
she would make a good nurse. But she really is interested, and I have
known her to make many sacrifices this spring to help the soldiers."
"She thinks that the Red Cross costume would be very becoming, and that
is the secret of her interest," said Brenda, with a slight tinge of
bitterness.
"What do you hear from the seat of war?" asked Philip, turning to
Brenda, as if to change the subject.
"Oh, I never hear anything. Agnes and Ralph have letters, but I have too
much to do to bother about the war."
Brenda's tone belied her words, and Philip wisely attempted no
rejoinder. A moment later she made an excuse for leaving the party in
group.
"Ralph," explained Julia, "expects to go abroad in a few days; his uncle
is very ill in Paris, and it is necessary that he should see him. I
believe that Agnes is not sorry that he has decided to go. Otherwise, I
am sure that he would soon be starting for Cuba."
"It's hard for any one to stay behind," said Philip; and then as Inez
and Nellie came out from the house with a message for Miss South and
Julia, the duty of entertaining Philip fell on Pamela. He never knew
just how it happened, but soon he was opening his heart to her more
freely than he had ever opened it to any one else; and when their little
talk was over he felt that at least one person realized that in staying
North at a time when men were needed in the South he was truly trying to
do his best. Undoubtedly Julia understood this, and Miss South, and all
sensible people who saw that Mr. Blair's health was now so precarious;
but Pamela made it so clear to Philip that his duty to his father was
really the higher duty, that he left the Mansion in a much more cheerful
frame of mind than that in which he had approached it.
"It is just as she says," he thought, as he walked homeward. "If my
country were attacked, or if our flag were in danger, then it would be
the duty of every man to rush to the front. But now--why, when it comes
to fighting on land, we'll just have another walkover like the battle of
Manila Bay."
He stepped briskly down the hill toward his home.
"What a bright girl Miss Northcote is, and how thankful she must be that
her teaching is almost over for the year. Though she never admits it,
she must find teaching very tiresome."
Pamela was glad, indeed, that her school tasks were over in season to
give her a week or two for special study, as she was anxious to do her
very best in the work that she had chosen at Radcliffe this year. The
two courses would count toward her post-graduate degree. Strangely
enough, a few days before the examination she had a chance to put her
own theories of duty into practice.
A telegram from Vermont told her that her aunt had been thrown from a
carriage and seriously injured, and that in her moments of delirium she
was constantly calling for her. It took Pamela but a few moments to
decide, and packing a small trunk she was ready for the evening train
North.
"My examinations can wait until next year," she replied to Julia's
expostulations; "and even if they could not, this is really the only
thing for me to do."
Though for many years her relatives had been far from sympathetic,
Pamela recalled the days of her childhood, when they offered her a home,
and when in a clumsy way they had tried to make her happy. Knowing how
her uncle had depended on his wife, she could not bear to think of his
helplessness, and to help him became at once her nearest duty.
Thus it happened that when Philip a few days later came again to the
Mansion for counsel, he found Pamela gone. Julia, too, happened to be
out, and Brenda, with whom he talked, was so downcast that he was
obliged to put himself in the most cheerful frame of mind to assure her
that there was not the least danger of actual fighting.
"Why, before you know it, they'll all come marching home, and there'll
be processions and speeches and all the things that conquering heroes
expect--"
"They won't be conquering heroes if they haven't done any fighting."
"Don't interrupt; and you can throw a wreath at Arthur's feet."
"I wasn't thinking of Arthur."
"Excuse me, but I think that you were; and then, well--and then they
will live happy ever after."
"Philip Blair, you are too absurd. Conquering heroes and wreaths,
indeed!"