HELEN IS PUZZLED.
Miss Stuart's visit was drawing to a close, and Nan was giving a
luncheon in her honor. The little parlor of the parsonage was redolent
with the fragrance of roses and mignonette, which were massed in every
vase and bowl, and the arrangement of the simple, old-fashioned
furniture bore evidence of Nan's artistic taste. A few good etchings
and a half-dozen rare old prints adorned the walls, and scattered
about on the low mantel were several valuable bits of _vertu_.
Nan stood in the center of the room, and received her guests with
outstretched hand and beaming face.
"Now, I call this delightful," she said cheerily, as she shook hands
with Miss Stuart. "Even father has gone away for the day, so we are a
typical Hetherford party--all girls and no men. Em said you would be
bored to death," she rattled on in a confidential undertone, "but for
once in a way I thought you might find it amusing to have plenty of
your own sex. It is no novelty to us, as Em will tell you with a face
as long as the moral code."
"I think it is charming," Miss Stuart affirmed, with a greater regard
for amiability than for truth.
Nan smiled mischievously.
"Confess it is dull."
"Indeed it is not, Miss Nan. The imp of dullness would never dare to
show his surly face in your presence."
"Ah, you do not know," and Nan shook her head in laughing protest.
"Drop in here any Sunday between church-time and dinner, and you will
find us boon companions."
The door into the dining-room was opened, and a grim-visaged woman in
a starched calico gown of uncompromising stiffness appeared on the
threshold. For a moment she eyed Nan threateningly, and then
announced:
"Your lunch is on the table," and added, as she faced about and
marched back into the dining room, "and it's getting cold."
Nan, in no wise disconcerted, turned a wry face toward her guests:
"Biddy and I had one of our most deadly affrays just before you
arrived, so don't be surprised at anything she may give us for
luncheon. I tried, for your sakes, to keep my temper until later in
the day, but it wouldn't be kept."
"It never will," sighed Emily ruefully, in the midst of the general
laugh.
Nan ushered them into the dining room:
"Miss Stuart, will you sit here on my right? Girls, take any places
you want."
"You needn't have worried about luncheon, Nan. These biscuits are
simply delicious," observed Helen, consolingly, as Bridget vanished
into the kitchen. "Biddy is far too proud of her skill to disgrace
you."
"Oh, she would not mind me," laughed Nan airily. "Nothing would
restrain her but her sense of importance, and her undying jealousy of
your cook."
"What a glorious time we had at the dance," Emily remarked
irrelevantly. "It was about the most successful thing we have done
this summer. It has made such a difference having the _Vortex_ here,
hasn't it, Jean?"
Jean, thus addressed, changed color rapidly, and then was furious with
herself, for she caught Miss Stuart's eyes fixed on her with insolent
directness.
"Oh, bother the _Vortex_," cried Mollie petulantly. "Don't let us talk
about men. There are dozens of subjects more interesting."
"We will make it 'man,' and talk of Dick. Eh, Mollie?" and Nathalie
laughed provokingly.
"We couldn't do better," responded Mollie imperturbably. "Dick is
lovely, is he not, Miss Stuart?"
Miss Stuart flung back her head with a merry laugh; no whit
embarrassed by the naïve question. Dick had been her shadow for the
past week, and was sighing and pining like the most approved of
lovers, yet she answered with a nonchalance which Nathalie would have
given worlds to acquire.
"He is truly charming, Miss Mollie. I quite share your enthusiasm."
Then she dropped out of the conversation, listening with languid
interest to the topics which the others fell to discussing with much
animation. Their views of life differed materially from her own; their
complete unworldliness called a half-contemptuous smile to her lips,
and yet there was awakened within her a shadowy feeling of regret. She
had lived a purely pleasure-loving life, without a thought beyond her
own advancement along the line of her ambitions. To a certain extent
she had been eminently successful. Her marvelous beauty, supplemented
by a decided mental ability, had strewn her path with the admiration
and adulation which she craved, and faults and failings, which in a
less beautiful woman would have received harsh censure, were in her
case overlooked and condoned. To-day, for the first time, the thought
assailed her that perhaps she was the victim of an erroneous idea;
that perhaps these young girls, living their lives so simply, actuated
by a desire to act uprightly and to be honest and affectionate in
every relationship in life, had found a happiness which had eluded her
grasp.
Nathalie, who vainly strove at times to be cynical, made some careless
remark, and Miss Stuart listened wonderingly to a gentle remonstrance
which Eleanor administered in accents of earnestness.
"Ah! Nat, dear, don't say that, even in fun. Everything makes a
difference."
"Indeed, yes," added Helen.
"No stream from its source flows seaward,
How lonely soever its course,
But what some land is gladdened.
No star ever rose or set
Without influence somewhere."
She quoted the lines charmingly, despite the little shyness which was
so characteristic of her.
"I suppose that is true," said Mollie thoughtfully; "and in the large
things in life we know that we can only be in harmony with God's plan
by acting absolutely in accordance with our consciences. But it is
hard to realize the importance of our decision in regard to the small
daily occurrences. They seem almost too insignificant to exert any
influence, either for good or evil."
"Influence does not lie only in deeds, Mollie," Eleanor replied,
"either small or great. It seems to me that it is what we are, not
what we do, that is the essential thing. If one's heart is pure and
true, purity and truth will be manifested in one's actions, however
trivial. And remember, dear, for I am going to quote now:
"No life can be strong in its purpose and pure in its strife,
And all life not be stronger and purer thereby."
Jean gave her friend's hand an affectionate squeeze.
"I do believe you are the best girl living," she whispered softly,
with an air of profound conviction.
"You see, girls, what it is to have a friend like Jean."
"You mean like Eleanor," Jean promptly retorted.
"I suppose that is true friendship," mused Mollie.
"Must friendship necessarily be as blind as love?" queried Nan, with a
smile at the two girls which robbed the words of any sting.
"Jean knows nothing of love," declared Emily, with an air of
superiority which was eminently amusing. It was common parlance that
Emily never saw the general aspect of things quite as clearly as most
people.
Jean joined somewhat constrainedly in the laugh that greeted these
words, and wondered if it could be her imagination that Miss Stuart's
smile held a covert sneer.
It was late in the afternoon when Helen reached the manor and made her
way up to the nursery. The room was dim, for heavy clouds shortened
the summer day. A sharp east wind moaned through the trees outside,
and nurse had wisely lighted a wood fire in the wide chimneyplace. Its
fitful flickering light fell full on little Gladys kneeling before the
hearth, her eyes big with excitement as her chubby hands shaped a
wonderful house of blocks; while near her Larry, lying flat on his
back, threw out occasional hints and suggestions as to its
construction. Willie, curled up in one of the deep window-seats, was
making the best of the fast-fading daylight to finish a story which,
to judge from his absorbed expression, must have been of thrilling
interest. As Helen pushed open the door and advanced toward the
cheerful fire, three pairs of eyes looked up to greet her.
"Well, chicks, you all look very happy and comfie."
Gladys thrust out her hands in quick alarm to save her block house
from dangerous contact with the skirt of Helen's gown.
"P'ease take care, sister," she lisped. "Don't step on our b'ocks,
'cause Larry an' me is buildin' a big castle."
"Baby, baby, 'Larry an' me is buildin'?'"
Gladys shook her fluffy head impatiently.
"I haven't got any time to bovver. I'm velly busy."
Helen laughed, and dropping down upon the floor, began to lend a
helping hand. Gladys sank back on her heels with a complacent sigh.
"Build a booful one, sister, big as this," raising her arms high over
her head.
Helen nodded, but paused from her task, block in hand, to give a
glance at Willie.
"Put down your book, dearie," she said to him. "This is the worst
possible light to read in. You will ruin your eyes."
Willie heaved a sigh as he closed the precious book and, stretching
himself after his cramped position, rose slowly to his feet, and
joined the group before the fire. Flinging himself down near Helen, he
laid his head in her lap. She patted his little round face
affectionately, and went on with her castle-building.
The setting sun had broken through the clouds, and a flood of yellow
light streamed through the western windows. From the huge logs in the
fireplace an increasing volume of flames roared up the chimney, its
ruddy glow illuminating the eager faces of the children, intent on
every movement of their sister's deft hands. The truly wonderful house
of blocks was nearing completion when Jean came quietly into the room.
For a moment she stood silent in the shadowy doorway contemplating the
pretty scene with wistful eyes. As she approached more nearly she
unconsciously echoed Helen's words of a few moments past.
"Well, you look very happy, all of you."
Helen laughed softly.
"This is an exciting moment, Jeanie, so you must not marvel if we are
not very talkative."
Jean leaned against one side of the old-fashioned chimneyplace, and
absently watched the placing of the last few blocks.
"Gladys," she whispered, after a moment, "what do you think I saw just
now?"
"What, Jeanie?" lifting her flushed face to her sister's.
"Mary on her way upstairs with your supper, and oh, what cookies!"
"Goody!" cried Larry, springing to his feet with a bound which brought
the beautiful castle tumbling to the ground.
"You naughty boy!" scolded Gladys crossly. "See what you done!"
Jean took the angry, pouting little face between her hands, and smiled
tenderly down into the tearful eyes:
"It is hard luck, baby, but you might as well get used to having your
castles demolished."
"It's a shame," grumbled Willie, who was almost as disappointed as his
little sister. "Larry's always rough."
"Never mind, dear," interrupted Helen, rising from the floor. "I am
sure Larry didn't mean to upset the house, and in any case we could
not leave it in Mary's way."
"Bother Mary."
"Hush, Willie, you must not speak so. Now run away and dress for
dinner. Larry and Gladys must have their supper."
Jean followed her sister out into the hall, and laid a detaining hand
on her arm.
"Helen," she said, very low, "are you ever really unhappy?"
"Why yes, Jean, sometimes. But why do you ask? Surely you are always
in good spirits."
Jean smiled a little bitterly:
"Oh, of course I am, and I suppose I must go on fulfilling my destiny
until the end of the chapter. But even if one has a reputation for
unending hilarity, there are times----" She broke off abruptly with a
laugh which suggested tears, and rushed away in the direction of her
room, leaving Helen sorely puzzled.