Lee sat limply on the edge of her cot wishing she had a husband to
button her boots. Mrs. Tarleton had been very ill during the night,
and her daughter’s brain and eyes were heavy. Lee had no desire for
school, for anything but bed; but it was eight o’clock, examinations
were approaching, and to school she must go. She glared resentfully
at the long row of buttons, half inclined to wear her slippers, and
finally compromised by fastening every third button. The rest of her
toilette was accomplished with a like disregard for fashion. She was
not pleased with her appearance and was disposed to regard life as a
failure. At breakfast she received a severe reprimand from Mrs. Hayne,
who informed her and the table inclusively that her hair looked as if
it had been combed by a rake, and rebuttoned her frock there and then
with no regard for the pride of eleven. Altogether, Lee, between her
recent affliction, her tired head, and her wounded dignity, started for
school in a very depressed frame of mind.
As she descended the long stair leading from the first floor of the
boarding-house to the street she saw the English lad standing in the
door. They had exchanged glances of curiosity and interest across
the table, and once he had offered her radishes, with a lively blush.
That morning she had decided that he must be very nice indeed, for he
had turned scarlet during Mrs. Hayne’s scolding and had scowled quite
fiercely at the autocrat.
He did not look up nor move until she asked him to let her pass; he was
apparently absorbed in the loud voluntary of Market Street, his cap on
the back of his head, his hands in his pockets, his feet well apart.
When Lee spoke, he turned swiftly and grabbed at her school-bag.
“You’re tired,” he said, with so desperate an assumption of ease that
he was brutally abrupt, and Lee jumped backward a foot.
“I beg pardon,” he stammered, his eyes full of nervous tears.
“But--but--you looked so tired at breakfast, and you didn’t eat; I
thought I’d like to carry your books.”
Lee’s face beamed with delight, and its fatigue vanished, but she said
primly: “You’re very good, I’m sure, and I like boys that do things for
girls.”
“I don’t usually,” he replied hastily, as if fearful that his dignity
had been compromised. “But, let’s come along. You’re late.”
They walked in silence for a few moments. The lad’s courage appeared
exhausted, and Lee was casting about for a brilliant remark; she was
the cleverest girl in her class and careful of her reputation. But her
brain would not work this morning, and fearing that her new friend
would bolt, she said precipitately:
“I’m eleven. How old are you?”
“Fourteen and eleven months.”
“My name’s Lee Tarleton. What’s yours?”
“Cecil Edward Basil Maundrell. I’ve got two more than you have.”
“Well you’re a boy, anyhow, and bigger, aren’t you? I’m named after a
famous man--second cousin, General Lee. Lee was my father’s mother’s
family name.”
“Who was General Lee?”
“You’d better study United States history.”
“What for?”
The question puzzled Lee, her eagle being yet in the shell. She replied
rather lamely, “Well, Southern history, because my mother says we are
descended from the English, and some French. It’s the last makes us
creoles.”
“Oh! I’ll ask father.”
“Is he a lord?” asked Lee, with deep curiosity.
“No.”
The boy answered so abruptly that Lee stood still and stared at him.
He had set his lips tightly; it would almost seem he feared something
might leap from them.
“Oh--h--h! Your father has forbidden you to tell.”
The clumsy male looked helplessly at the astute female. “He isn’t a
lord,” he asserted doggedly.
“You aren’t telling me all, though.”
“Perhaps I’m not. But,” impulsively, “perhaps I will some day. I hate
being locked up like a tin box with papers in it. We’ve been here two
weeks--at the Palace Hotel before we came to Mrs. Hayne’s--and my head
fairly aches thinking of everything I say before I say it. I hate this
old California. Father won’t present any letters, and the boys I’ve met
are cads. But I like you!”
“Oh, tell me!” cried Lee. Her eyes blazed and she hopped excitedly on
one foot. “It’s like a real story. Tell me!”
“I’ll have to know you better. I must be sure I can trust you.” He had
all at once assumed a darkly mysterious air. “I’ll walk every morning
to school with you, and in the afternoons we’ll sit in the drawing-room
and talk.”
“I never tell secrets. I know _lots_!”
“I’ll wait a week.”
“Well; but I think it’s horrid of you. And I can’t come down this
afternoon; my mother is ill. But to-morrow I have a holiday, and if you
like you can come up and see me at two o’clock; and you shall carry my
bag every morning to school.”
“Indeed!” He threw up his head like a young racehorse.
“You must,”--firmly. “Else you can’t come. I’ll let some other boy
carry it.” Lee fibbed with a qualm, but not upon barren soil had the
maternal counsel fallen.
“Oh--well--I’ll do it; but I ought to have offered. Girls ought not to
tell boys what to do.”
“My mother always told her husband and brothers and cousins to do
everything she wanted, and they always did it.”
“Well, I’ve got a grandmother and seven old maid aunts, and they never
asked me to do a thing in their lives. They wait on me. They’d do
anything for me.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Boys were _made_ to wait on
girls.”
“They were not. I never heard such rot.”
Lee considered a moment. He was quite as aristocratic as any
Southerner; there was no doubt of that. But he had been badly brought
up. Her duty was plain.
“You’d be just perfect if you thought girls were more important than
yourself,” she said wheedlingly.
“I’ll never do that,” he replied stoutly.
“Then we can’t be friends!”
“Oh, I say! Don’t rot like that. I won’t give you something I’ve got in
my pockets, if you do.”
Lee glanced swiftly at his pockets. They bulged. “Well, I won’t any
more to-day,” she said sweetly. “What have you got for me? You _are_ a
nice boy.”
He produced an orange and a large red apple, and offered them
diffidently.
Lee accepted them promptly. “Did you really buy these for me?” she
demanded, her eyes flashing above the apple. “You are the _best_ boy!”
“I didn’t buy them on purpose, but my father bought a box of fruit
yesterday and I saved these for you. They were the biggest.”
“I’m ever so much obliged.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, with equal concern for the formalities.
“This is my school.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“You’ll come up at two to-morrow? Number 142, third floor.”
“I will.”
They shook hands limply. He glanced back as he walked off, whistling.
Lee was standing on the steps hastily disposing of her apple. She
nodded gaily to him.