HIDE AND SEEK
There was a moment's astonished hush as the group about the fire stared
at the erect young figure. Then Murray's father was the first across
the floor to meet him; and in an instant more the whole family was upon
him, while the Bells rose, smiling, to do him honour.
"My dear boy!" There was a great gladness in Harrison Townsend's voice
and he wrung his son's hand as if he would wring it off. Murray's
mother, too--he had not known she was capable of so much tenderness, and
he kissed her with a feeling that in his thoughts he had n't done her
love for him justice.
As for Olive and Shirley, there was nothing lacking in the way they
showed their joy in having him at home again. Murray himself, during
this long year of absence, was not the only one who had learned a few
enlightening truths about the great business of living.
To the full, also, Murray enjoyed the surprising fact that the Bells
were grouped about the fire in a way which indicated that they were
entirely at home. He rejoiced in the heartiness with which the male
members of that family gripped his hand--they seemed like brothers. And
when the sweet-faced, bright-eyed lady in gray pressed his hand in both
her own and looked at him as if her pleasure in his return was very
great, Murray, quite unable to help it, stooped and kissed her also.
Surely, homecoming was a happier thing than he had dared to picture it.
He was off upstairs to his room presently, while word was sent to an
exasperated cook to delay the dinner yet a little longer. In less time
than could have been expected, however, Murray was down again, and in
his evening clothes showed even more plainly than before the astonishing
increase in his weight.
"These shoulders," cried Peter, inspecting them, "can they be the
shoulders of the delicate young gentleman who went away last year
looking so long and lean and lank? I wonder you could get them into
your coat."
"I could n't," Murray answered, laughing. "I had to borrow father's
dinner-jacket and one of his waistcoats."
"It was fortunate for you that the old coat was n't given away when the
new one came home," his father observed, regarding the shoulders in
evidence with great satisfaction.
They went out to dinner in the gayest spirits, and if everybody
remembered with regret the one absent, everybody still rejoiced that
this promising son of the house was once more at its board. For there
could be no question that the eldest son looked now a fit representative
of the family of Townsend.
The dinner which followed was an elaborate one, for it was not within
the range of the hostess's notions to entertain in any simple fashion,
even when the occasion was the birthday of a fourteen-year-old. But the
young people at the board succeeded in infusing so much of their own
joyousness into the affair that the time passed swiftly. There were
birthday gifts at Jane's plate as well as at Shirley's, and it would
have been hard to tell, at the close of the feast, which pair of cheeks
was the pinker, or which pair of eyes the brighter. It is safe to guess
however, that there were elements in the pleasure of one recipient which
must have been lacking in that of the other, and that the presence of
one birthday guest counted for more to her than all the gifts put
together. The fact that she could hardly look up without encountering
the interested glance of the newly arrived traveller was just a trifle
disconcerting, and it must be admitted that when Jane and Shirley
gathered up their gifts at the close of the dinner, the little girl knew
better than the older one just what she had received.
Dinner over, a short and not especially dramatic little scene took place
behind closed library doors. Scenes which mean the most are often
quietest of all.
"I just wanted to tell you, sir," said Murray to his father, "something
I thought you might like to know right away. I--went West to make
myself strong enough to--to go into the business, if you care to have
me. I mean," he went on quickly, as his father looked at him as if he
could not quite believe the purport of these words, "I mean in whatever
capacity you can use me. Shipping-clerk, if you think I 'd better begin
at the bottom"--and his smile was not a smile which supplied "but of
course you won't."
Mr. Townsend stood looking at Murray, studying the straightforward gaze
which met his; noting the tints of health, the signs of vigour in the
fine face. "Murray, do you mean it?" he asked.
"I do, sir."
"And yet you don't like the prospect of a business life any more than
you ever did, do you?"
"Not much, sir."
"You make this offer knowing fully what it entails? I have little
expectation that your brother will ever agree to my wishes."
"That's what decided me."
"You are willing to give up your books? You could complete your college
course now, with your renewed health."
If Murray winced at this he did not let it show.
"I think you need me now, sir. And as for the college course--and the
books--I shall have my evenings."
Mr. Townsend studied his son's face a full minute in silence. Then he
held out his hand. Murray seized it with a grasp which banished the
elder man's doubts and showed him that his boy's heart was in this offer
of himself. The two shook hands without speaking. There seemed no need
of further words just then.
It being Shirley's birthday, that young person's wishes ruled the hour.
Prompted by Rufus, who thirsted for something lively, she decreed a game
of hide-and-seek over the whole house, and succeeded in enticing the
elder people into the frolic. Mr. Townsend and Murray, coming from the
library, found things in full swing.
Mr. Bell was just emerging from a small closet under the staircase, his
hair much rumpled. Mrs. Bell, laughing blithely, had run round a corner
of the reception-room and touched "goal" before her son Rufus could
swing himself down the stairs and get in ahead of her. Mrs.
Townsend--and her husband could not quite credit his eyes as he saw
her--was, with trailing skirts held close, squeezing out of a very small
corner behind the grand piano in the drawing-room.
"Well, well!" cried the newcomers, enthusiastically. "Let us into the
game."
"Come on!" shouted Rufus. "Father 's 'it'! Let's play it in another
way, and hide for keeps. Everybody stay hid till found, and each man
found join the hunt. Makes it nice and exciting for the last fellow."
"You 'll have to tell us our bounds pretty carefully," said Mr. Bell,
smiling at his hostess. "In our excitement we may open the wrong doors."
"Open any door," responded Mrs. Townsend promptly, feeling more like a
girl again than she had felt in many years of formal entertaining, and
preparing, as she spoke, to hurry up the staircase to a retreat that she
felt would be secure. It proved great fun, and a full half-hour went by
before the last one was found. Murray had been the first to be
discovered, his head so full of the late talk in the library that he had
somewhat dazedly secreted himself in a position easily come upon by Mr.
Bell. So when the second round began, it was Murray who stood counting
the tale of numbers in the hall below, while his quarry scurried away
over the house.
"He knows every nook and corner of it, of course," whispered Ross to
Jane, as they ran lightly up the second flight of stairs, "so we 'll
have to hide pretty close to escape him. I 'm for a closet I know of
where there's a pile of blankets as big as a barn. Will you come?"
"No--I know a better place," and Jane slipped away by herself. She
meant to be the last found, and to elude Murray as long as she could, a
very girlish feeling having taken possession of her that the time to run
away is the time when you see somebody looking uncommonly as if he would
like to be with you. Although she longed to hear the outcome of the
conference in the library, she was somehow just a little afraid of the
new Murray, and it was with a delightful sense of exhilaration that she
made her quick and quiet way up a third flight of stairs to one of
Shirley's haunts in an unused portion of the regions under the eaves.
It was a long time before she heard the sounds of the hunt, in which at
last the whole party had come to join, approaching her hiding place. But
suddenly a lower door was thrown open, and Murray's voice sounded far
down in a determined challenge:
"We'll have you now, Jane--it's no use. Shirley 's kept us away so
far--the rascal--but your time 's up!"
She _could not_ be caught! There was a tiny door low down in the side
of the closet where she was hiding, and dark though she knew it must be
in the unknown region beyond this door, she opened it, slipped through,
closed it, and crept along the bare beams beyond.
Murray was carrying a little electric searchlight, which he was flashing
into every nook and crevice. Its sharp beam had penetrated the hole in
the blankets Ross had kept for a breathing space. It had likewise sought
out the hems of skirts, the soles of shoes, fingers clutching concealing
draperies, and elbows sticking unwarily out from sly nooks. Jane saw
its rays outline the edges of the small door beyond which she crouched;
then she heard Murray's triumphant cry, "O-ho, she's dropped her
handkerchief! Now we 're hot on the trail. She's gone through this
door, the crafty lady!"
There was a shout of mingled laughter and expostulation. "She wouldn't
go through that rat-hole! It's too dark in there for a girl. There 's
no floor, either."
But Murray was attempting to open the door. It was a sliding door, not a
hinged one, and for a moment it delayed him, for he was not familiar
with these regions, so dear to Shirley.
During that moment, Jane, with the breathless unreadiness to be
discovered which takes hold of the hiding one, even in a game, had
desperately retreated over the rafters, in the hope of coming upon some
sheltering corner. The next instant, with a smothered cry, she had
fallen over the edge of something, _splash_ into three feet of water!
Nobody had heard her, and somehow, in the intensity of the game, Jane's
second emotion, after the startling sensation of her sudden immersion,
was one of absurd relief at finding herself, after all, safe from
discovery. For, as the little door at last flew open, and Murray's
brilliant light leaped into the space under the eaves, it disclosed to
Jane that she had dropped into a cistern, the top of which lay level
with the floor beams, and at the bottom thereof, where, having scrambled
to her feet, she stood stooping, was out of sight of the faces peering
in at the small door.
"Not here," was Murray's disappointed observation, after one wave of his
light round the small space, "unless she's in mother's special
rain-water tank, white frock and all. Come on. I thought we had her
then, sure. Where can she be? She's been here--witness that
handkerchief. And if there's a cranny we have n't explored, I 'll----"
The little door closed with a slam; the light faded away from its edges.
The voices of the party were heard retreating down the stairs, and Jane
was left alone to realise the humour of the situation.
It was undoubtedly humorous. It could hardly be dangerous, for October
had been a mild month, and Jane was well used to cold plunges. The
wetting of the pretty frock was of no consequence, for it was quite
washable. It was fairly easy to scramble back to the rafters--Jane had
done that the moment the searching party was out of hearing, and was
carefully wringing out her drenched skirts. Her impromptu bath had wet
her to the shoulders, besides bruising her arm rather badly. But the
trying thing was to get downstairs and away without being
discovered--and the whole company in full cry over the house!
Jane laughed rather hysterically, shivering a little, more from
excitement and chagrin than from chill. She crept carefully to the
small door, meaning to push it open and listen, when suddenly it began
to slide quietly aside of itself. The next instant she saw a sunburned
hand upon its fastening, and heard a cool voice, close by, say quietly:
"It's all right. Nobody knows but me. They 've given it up, and sat
down to await your own sweet will in showing up. Here 's a big steamer
rug. Will you have it to wrap up in? I 'll get you home without a soul
knowing, and we 'll play it off as a joke, somehow."
"Thank you," answered Jane, in a very meek voice, which shook with
mingled irritation and merriment, as the rug came through the opening.
"Perhaps I could put it on better if I were not balancing myself on
these rafters."
"I beg your pardon. I 'll get out of this closet, and you can get in.
I just thought you would n't leave so--so damp a trail behind you if you
were wrapped up in something. Here are a--er--a pair of Olive's rubbers
for your feet, so you won't show any tracks."
Murray's voice was shaking also, and in a minute more the two were
laughing together. Jane, shrouded in her rug, emerged from the closet
into the attic, and Murray regarded her by the light of his electric
searcher.
"You don't look much the worse for having taken such desperate measures
to escape me," he remarked, noting with keen enjoyment the rich colour
on the cheek near which he was rather mercilessly holding his torch.
"Rather meet a cold ducking than a warm friend any time, wouldn't you?"
"Not at all. I--you know how one hates to be caught."
"Does one? Now I can't conceive jumping into a tank of water to escape
you, if you had been after me!"
"Please stop laughing at me and help me to get home."
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm--I may pretend to be laughing, but
inside, I assure you, I 'm tremendously worried lest this running away
indicates a state of mind--"
"Please take me home!"
"Come, then." He led the way, by back staircases, to a quiet side
entrance, and so quickly across the street, and into her own house.
Then he went back to the others, to evade their questioning so cleverly
that nobody but Jane's mother suspected that anything out of the
ordinary had happened. In a very short time indeed Jane drifted
inconspicuously in upon the company again, and when inquiries from the
younger members of the party as to the change in her costume fell thick
and fast upon her, Murray protected her with the nonchalant explanation:
"Don't bother her. She's very kindly trying to shield me for being the
cause of a little accident that happened to the other dress. It was
confoundedly awkward of me, but she cheers me by declaring that she can
easily repair damages!"
It was Murray who took Jane home again by and by, and who lingered on
the porch, after the others had gone in, to tell her how his father had
received the good news.
"I 'm so glad!" Jane's hands were clasped tight together. "I knew it
would be just as you tell me. Are n't you wonderfully happy?"
"Wonderfully. Happier than ever in my life--except for just one thing."
"Nothing serious?"
"Well--I certainly hope not. What bothers me is that--you seem,
somehow--not exactly afraid of me, but--different. I don't know how to
express it--but I----" He stopped, his tone growing anxious. "You
know, I could n't bear that," he added. "Unless I thought it meant----
See here, Jane--are we just as good friends as ever?"
"Why, of course we are!" She said it shyly. She was very glad it was so
dark on the little porch.
"Friends for always?"
"I don't change, I think," she answered, with a proud little lift of the
head.
"Don't you? Well, as I don't either, that ought to satisfy me. Yet it
does n't quite, after all. It's odd, but I believe just being good
friends who don't change is n't enough. Oh, don't go! You're not
angry? Yes, I know it's late, but I 've hardly seen you yet. You will
go?--But you 'll let me come over early to-morrow--after more than a
year away? Well, then, to-morrow I 'll have to teach you not to be
afraid of me. On my honour I 'm not carrying a 'gun!' Wait a
minute--just a minute! ... _How did I ever stay away from you so long?_
... --Good night, little Jane--good night!"