WEEDS AND FLOWERS
"Good morning, Miss Jane Bell! May I come in?"
Jane lifted her head quickly from over the phlox-bed she was weeding in
the little garden back of the house, to see Forrest Townsend looking
over the wooden gate which shut away the garden from the surrounding
neighborhood.
"Good morning! Yes, indeed, come in," she responded blithely, waving a
discarded white ruffled sunbonnet at her guest. He vaulted over the low
barrier and came swinging down the narrow path to the end of the
enclosure, where the phlox-bed lay. Here he stood still, regarding with
favour the girl in the blue dress, whose bronze-tinted hair glinted in
the early June sunlight.
"Always busy at something, are n't you?" he said, tipping over a
bushel-basket half-filled with weeds, and seating himself upon it.
"Yes, I know I 've spilled out the weeds, but I 'll pick 'em up again
when I 'm through. I came over to have a serious talk with you, and I
've got to be down here near you, where I can look you in the eye. The
grass is too damp yet to sit on in white trousers."
Jane laughed. "It can't be a very serious matter that's troubling you,
or you would n't think of your clothes."
"It is serious, though. I 'm full of it, and can't stop to talk about
the weather, so here goes.--I 've quarrelled with my father."
Jane, who had thus far not ceased her weeding, stopped work and sat
still to look at her neighbour. He met her gaze defiantly.
"Yes, I know. You think this is another case of schoolboy heroics, like
the last fuss I told you I had with him--"
"I wish you would n't tell me."
"I 've got to tell somebody. Come, Jane--you 've grown to seem like the
best friend I have--don't turn the cold shoulder on me just when I need
you. You know what my mother and sister are like----"
With a gesture of disapproval Jane turned away to her work.
Forrest watched her for a moment in silence; then he began again:
"All right, I won't complain if you 'll just let me tell you about this
last scrape. There 's nobody else I can talk to--you know enough about
us to know that."
"There ought to be. Your brother----"
"Oh, Murray! With all respect to him--since you insist on respect--he
's not off the same piece of cloth with me, and can't understand me any
more than I can him. His blood is n't good red blood at all; it's
white, I think, and I----"
Jane rose up from her knees and stood above her visitor, determination
on her frank face.
"Forrest Townsend," said she, "if you can talk to me without running
down your family, I 'll listen, but not otherwise. I don't think you
ought to tell me your affairs at all, but if you 're sure I can be of
use I 'll hear them, on that one condition."
Forrest studied her a moment without replying, while her clear hazel
eyes returned his gaze. Then he laughed rather awkwardly.
"You 're the soul of honour, are n't you?" he said. "And that's just why
I need your advice. I don't want to do anything dishonourable, but I 'm
in a corner, and don't see any way out except a jump over the wall. Let
me tell you--please!"
Jane dropped upon her knees again and gave her attention to her work.
Taking this as permission, Forrest began, picking up a long, pink-headed
weed and pulling it through his fingers as he talked.
"I 've known all the while father wanted me in the house with him, and
wanted me to go to college with that end in view. We 've had a few
brushes on the subject from time to time, and I 've told him over and
over I never meant to go to college, or to go into the business, either,
but he 's thought it boy talk, I suppose. Anyhow, it turns out he's
never taken me seriously when I 've told him I meant to live my own life
in my own way. He had me tutored all last winter, to get me ready for
my entrance examinations, and he expects me to go down and take them
next week. That 's where I balked. He tackled me last night, and I had
it out with him. The result was"--Forrest tried to keep up the
nonchalant manner he had assumed when he began this explanation, but his
voice showed his strong feeling as he ended the sentence--"the result
was--he gave it to me hot and heavy, and I--talked back at him. In
short, I----"
Jane, her pretty lips set close together, her troubled eyes on the
ground, listened anxiously for the words.
"You don't mean----" she began, slowly.
Forrest nodded, and she caught the gesture. It brought her head round
and her eyes to search his. "You didn't--say you wouldn't do what he
wants?"
"I did--and meant it."
Jane drew a long breath. She forgot her weeding and sat back upon the
walk, pulling off her gloves. Forrest waited silently for her first
comment.
"Imagine my brother Peter doing that," she murmured.
"I can't imagine it--though Peter's no soft-head. But your father's
human, Jane. Mine--isn't."
"Oh, he is--he is! Don't say that! He may seem stern and hard, but
that 's only on the surface, I 'm sure."
"Much you know about it!" muttered Forrest. "But, anyhow, hard or not, I
'm not going to be put into a business life I hate."
"What would you like to do?"
"Go into the army."
Jane stared at him, astonished. This idle youth live that sort of life?
Her lips curved slowly into a smile, at which Forrest promptly took
umbrage.
"See here," he said, sitting up straight, "you 're not to judge me, you
know, from what you 've seen of me in the two months you 've lived in
Gay Street. I 've been on vacation, I admit, ever since my tutor left
in March. Besides, it 's not enlisting as a private I 'm thinking
of--no, no! I want to enter the army by the way of West Point, and get
my lieutenant's commission at graduation. That 's a very different
thing."
"Yes, that's true. It means, I believe, four years of the severest
training in the world. I know a boy who went--he could n't stand it."
Forrest flushed hotly under his fair skin. "And you think I could n't.
That settles it. I 'll go, if only to prove you 're mistaken."
The girl looked up quickly, startled by his tone. "Ah, please," she
began, "don't talk that way. Tell me--will your brother go into the
business?"
"Not much! His health settles that for him. Besides, he 's too bookish,
and father 'll let him do what he pleases, anyway--he does n't mind
having one son of that stripe. But the other son--he must go into the
mill, whether he wants to or not!"
"Could you get to West Point without your father's permission? Don't
you have to be sent by somebody--your Congressman, is n't it?"
"Oh, there 's a lot of red tape, and father could block the whole game,
I suppose. If he does--well, I 'd enlist and get into the ranks and
work my way up, rather than go into that dingy old office and tie myself
to a desk and a telephone."
Forrest got upon his feet as he spoke, brushed a clinging weed leaf or
two from his clothes, and stood looking gloomily down at Jane, who had
risen also. "It 's evident I get no sympathy from you," he said. "I
thought you were a girl who could understand a fellow's ambitions--not
wet-blanket them."
Jane looked up at him, smiling, although her eyes were still troubled.
"I can, I think," she said. "Yet--somehow--I'm imagining the
disappointment it must be to a father who has built up a great business
like Townsend & Company's to have his son take no interest in it. I
can't help thinking--"
"What?"--as Jane paused abruptly.
"Never mind."
"But I want to know what you can't help thinking."
"Well, I 'm wondering if it would be any harder for you to go into your
father's office than it is for Peter to work with my father in the
note-paper factory. Do you know what Peter wants to be?"
"No. I know he has a good position for his age, with the Armstrongs."
"Yes, but Peter wants--has wanted for six years--to be a chemist--an
expert, you know. Oh, I 'm not sure I ought to tell you--please never
speak of it. Even father does n't know it's any more than a boy's
fancy. Peter could n't afford the years of training, of course--and
father can't spare him. There are"--as Forrest looked surprised--"more
people dependent on father and the boys than you know of--and I must n't
tell you. All I want you to know is that"--Jane smiled
wistfully--"there are other people who can't have their own way--and who
are making the best of it, and pretty bravely, too."
Mrs. Bell came to the door of the house, and with a pleasant nod and
smile to Forrest, told Jane that a certain bowl of bread-dough had
reached a critical condition of lightness. The girl picked up her
basket, and Forrest bent to toss into it the weeds he had thrown out.
"Please don't feel I 'm an unsympathetic listener," begged Jane, as her
visitor took his leave.
"I won't. I know you mean it all right. I just think you don't
understand all the facts in the case. Much obliged to you for hearing
me out. If I turn up missing some day, you 'll know you did your part,
and gave me the proper grandmotherly advice." And Forrest swung away
through the gate with a reckless air, which Jane thought rather
melodramatic, and quite in keeping with a certain staginess sometimes
apparent in the youth's bearing.
Jane's acquaintance with Olive Townsend had progressed very slowly.
Olive was not a girl who possessed the gift of making many warm
friendships. She was not well liked even by the young people of her own
chosen circle. Girl visitors were not frequent at the Townsend house,
and Olive was seldom seen coming or going with one or another of such
friends. Yet there was something about her personality which held a
strong attraction for Jane, and made her want to know Olive well.
When Peter returned from his first horseback ride in Olive's company,
Jane had waited with interest for his description of the event. Peter
always told Jane his experiences--for the reason, perhaps, that she
never demanded them from him, never betrayed his confidences, and
invariably showed her appreciation of his comradeship.
"She 's an odd girl," said Peter to Jane. "She seemed principally
occupied, for the first two miles, in noticing how I rode, whether I
kept elbows in, head up, back stiff, like herself, and whether I held my
whip in the proper position. We jogged along at a fussy little pace,
talking about nothing in particular, and minding our p's and q's as if
we were at Professor Miller's riding academy, with the eye of the master
on us."
"I hope she was satisfied with your correct style," Jane said. "I saw
you start, and I thought you looked more at home in the saddle than
she."
"I probably am. After riding everything on grandfather's farm ever
since I was a little shaver, and breaking every colt he had for the
three years we lived there, I ought to feel fairly comfortable on a
model saddle-horse like the one she gave me. She's been trained in the
school, which leaves a lot of things to be desired, to my way of
thinking. She broke loose all right, though, when I got my chance to
show her what my idea of the sport is."
Peter's face took on a comical expression, and Jane hurried him on with
an eager "Well?"
"We got out on the Northboro Road. You know that long stretch where
there are so few houses--just a sort of lane between big trees, shady
and cool, and the road like a training-track at this time of year?"
Jane nodded.
"I proposed that we let out a reef or two. She agreed, and we broke
into a baby canter. I kept hitting up the pace a little. Her horse
caught the idea, and began to quicken. She bumped about a bit, but I
saw she would know how to stay on, even if she moved faster than she
ever had before. Just as we got up a fairly decent speed, one of those
little _crack-a-cracks_ of motor-cycles came bursting out of a driveway,
and both our horses shied and threatened to bolt.
"It was nothing, you know; they were over it in a jiffy, and she kept
her seat all right, and showed she was game. But it stirred both horses
to take the rest of that stretch at as pretty a gallop as you 'd care to
see; and when I saw the girl was all right, I shouted, 'Come on!' and
let them have it. I tell you, she forgot the riding academy and
Professor Miller, and rode for fair. It was jolly good fun, and she
enjoyed it, too."
Peter laughed reminiscently. Jane remarked that she had noticed Olive's
masses of black hair were not in quite such trim shape when she came
home from that ride as upon setting forth; and Peter admitted that upon
that joyous gallop she had dropped not only her whip, but most of her
hairpins, of which latter articles he had been able to recover for her
only a few.
"That's all the girl needs," he observed, sagely. "Just shake out a few
of her hairpins each time you 're with her, and she 'll learn how to be
good friends with you."
"I don't have much chance to shake out her hairpins," Jane objected.
"You will. You're to go next time--some day when her brother Forrest is
away, and I can ride his horse and you the one I had. I told her a
pitiful tale of how you loved to ride, how well you could do it,
and----"
"Peter!"
"Oh, I didn't whine--just let her know I was n't the only horseman in
the family. She 'll ask you--see if she doesn't; if she doesn't I won't
go my self."
Olive did not ask Jane, however, and after one more ride with her, Peter
suddenly became too busy to accept her invitations. Olive went off by
herself one day, suffered a fall and a sprained shoulder, and was
thereby initiated at last into Jane's friendship.
"My sister sent me over," said Murray Townsend, one June evening, to
Jane, who, hemming a tiny ruffle, sat in the western sunlight upon the
little back porch, where the family now spent their evenings, enjoying
the first blossomings of the small garden. "She's been fretting all day
with that shoulder of hers she hurt last week, and vows she can't get
through the evening with me. The others are all away--as usual. Won't
you do us the favour of coming over?"
"Was it really her suggestion--or yours?" Jane challenged him, for it
was not the first time he had made the attempt, upon one excuse or or
another, to get her across the street.
"Hers, on my honour, though I 'll admit I seconded the motion. She
really wants you. She's lying on a couch round on the side porch. It's a
jolly place, or would be if it--had you in it," he nearly said, but
discreetly substituted--"had such a nice crowd in it as this."
He glanced from one to another of the group upon the little porch. Ross
was softly breathing notes from a flute. Mr. and Mrs. Bell sat side by
side, in happy comradeship. Peter, his long legs extending well out
upon the grass before the porch, whittled at a bit of wood; and Nancy,
close beside her cousin Ross, was holding for him a page of music, which
he evidently was trying for the first time.
"Stay with them, if you 'd like to," suggested Jane, softly, as she put
away her work and prepared to accept his invitation. "You know they
always like to have you--every one of them--and I can slip across by
myself. I 'll take her some of my mignonette and June roses."
"Thank you for your kind permission," answered Murray, following Jane's
white-clad figure slowly down to the mignonette-bed at the farther end
of the garden, "but I 'd rather accept it some evening when Miss Jane
Bell is to be at home. 'Hamlet' with Ophelia left out would n't be much
more of a play than it would be minus the melancholy gentleman himself."
Armed with a great bunch of the fragrant blossoms from the garden, Jane
accompanied Murray across Gay Street, through the gate in the high
hedge, and over the lawn and round the house to the great sheltered
porch on the other side, its tall columns making it as great a contrast
to the miniature place she had just left as could be imagined. Rugs
carpeted the floor, big bamboo and rush chairs invited repose, and
screens hung ready to be dropped, and to shut it quite away from
invading breezes.
On a wide, richly cushioned settee lay Olive, listless and unhappy. She
scanned Jane closely, noted that her visitor was not less attractively,
if far less expensively, dressed than herself, and lifted to her face
eyes into which had suddenly come a look of relief and interest.
"For me?" she asked, as Jane put the flowers into her outstretched
hands. "Oh, how sweet! Why don't we have such mignonette as that in our
gardens?"
"There are a lot of flowers," thought Murray, as he watched Jane take
her seat by his sister and begin to entertain her, "that they grow in
Gay Street which we don't know the smell of over here. If we could just
transplant the one I brought over to-night, what a beginning of a garden
we should have!"