ELSIE REDEEMS HERSELF
"DO you know, Aunt Jessie, that to-morrow will be the first of May? It's
nearly four months since you and Mother came to New York."
Miss Graham was leaning back in a comfortable arm-chair by an open
window, through which the bright spring sunshine was pouring, flooding
every corner of the pleasant hotel bedroom. She was still looking rather
frail and delicate, but there was an expression of hope and joy in her
face, that had never been there in the old days at the ranch. A crutch
stood at her side, but there was no wheeled-chair to be seen. At
Marjorie's words she looked round with a smile.
"Time has certainly flown," she said. "Have you had a pleasant ride?"
"It was glorious. Beverly and I had a splendid gallop. I hope you
enjoyed your drive."
"Yes, it was lovely," said Miss Jessie, secretly thinking that Marjorie
had grown very pretty lately. She looked so well in her perfectly
fitting riding habit, with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I
wasn't at all tired when I came home either, which Dr. Randolph
considers a distinct gain. He says I am one of his star patients. Have
you finished your lessons for to-morrow?"
"Haven't any; it's Saturday, you know. I shall have plenty of time to
study between now and Monday. I came to have a little chat with you
before I dress. I'm going out this evening, you remember. It's the last
meeting of the Club, and quite an important occasion. The Bells are
sailing for Europe to-morrow, and Lulu is our president."
"I thought you wrote me that Elsie was elected president," said Miss
Graham, who seldom forgot anything Marjorie told her.
"She was at first," said Marjorie, hoping her aunt would not notice her
suddenly heightened color. She drew a low chair to Miss Jessie's side,
and settled herself for a comfortable chat.
"Why did she give it up?" Miss Graham inquired, with interest.
"I--I don't exactly know. It was after I came back from Virginia and
Barbara came home. She said she would rather not be president any more,
and asked Lulu to take her place."
"I like Elsie," said Miss Jessie. "She is very clever, and has been
rather spoiled in consequence, but there is much that is fine about her.
She will make a noble woman, I am sure."
Marjorie looked pleased.
"Elsie likes you," she said, "and I don't think she is really fond of
many people. She hasn't nearly as many friends as most of the girls at
school have, but I love her dearly, and so does Babs."
"I had a letter from your father this afternoon," Miss Jessie said,
after a little pause; "I am keeping it for you to read. He says things
are looking up at the ranch, and he is hoping for a better season than
last. He thinks he may possibly be able to come East for us himself next
month. I do hope he can, for it would be such a treat for him."
"I suppose he is thankful to get Mother back," said Marjorie, "but, oh,
how we do miss her, don't we, Aunt Jessie?"
"Yes, indeed, but it wouldn't have been fair to have kept her any longer
when she was so anxious to get home to your father. After all, she had a
good long rest, and your father declares she is looking ten years
younger in consequence."
"What a wonderful winter it has been," said Marjorie, reflectively,
resting her knee against her aunt's knee. "When I left home last
October, how little any of us dreamed of all the strange, beautiful
things that were going to happen. Those first weeks were pretty hard; I
was a good deal more homesick than I let any of you know, but I knew
everybody meant to be kind and I did try hard to make the best of
things. Then came the Randolphs' invitation to spend the holidays in
Virginia, and the wonderful discovery about Undine. And then--as if that
wasn't happiness enough--Dr. Randolph saw you, and brought you and
Mother back to New York with him. The operation was pretty dreadful, but
ever since Dr. Randolph told us he was sure it had been a success,
everything has been simply heavenly."
Miss Jessie said nothing, but softly stroked Marjorie's hair, and there
was such a look of joy in her eyes, that the girl could not help being
struck by it.
"Aunt Jessie," she said, laughing, "do you know, I never realized before
how young you are. I used to think of you as quite a middle-aged lady,
but I don't know how it is, you look different now somehow--almost like
a girl."
"I was twenty-nine last week," said Miss Jessie, smiling; "I suppose
twenty-nine may seem middle-aged to fifteen."
"But it doesn't," protested Marjorie; "not a bit; I think I must have
been a goose ever to have thought such a thing. Beverly calls you a
perfect trump, and he wouldn't say that about any one he considered
middle-aged; it wouldn't be respectful."
"I am very much obliged to Beverly for his good opinion," said Miss
Jessie, laughing and blushing in such a very girlish manner that her
niece regarded her in growing astonishment.
"I believe it's the thought of being well and strong again that has made
all the difference," she said. "Oh, Aunt Jessie darling, think of it,
you'll never have to sit in that dreadful wheeled-chair again! What
walks and rides we'll have together. Are you sure Dr. Randolph will let
you go back to the ranch in June?"
"He says I shall be quite strong enough for the journey by that time,"
Miss Graham answered, but she did not meet Marjorie's direct gaze as she
spoke. "I feel that I ought not to trespass on the Randolphs'
hospitality any longer than is necessary. Think of what they have done
for me, Marjorie. First all those weeks at the hospital, and then
insisting on my coming here, and all of it just because we were kind to
Undine."
"I don't think that is the only reason," said Marjorie, eagerly. "That
was the beginning of it, of course, but now they all love you for
yourself. Babs says her mother loves you dearly, and she and Beverly
were both so pleased because you said they might call you 'Aunt Jessie.'
As for the doctor, I'm sure he likes you ever so much."
"There's some one at the door; go and see who it is, Marjorie."
Marjorie rose obediently, wondering what could have possibly caused her
aunt's sudden embarrassment, and when she returned she was followed by
Barbara, who had also dropped in for a little chat, Miss Jessie's room
being a favorite rendezvous with all the young people.
"Well, and what have you been doing this afternoon?" Miss Graham asked
pleasantly, as Barbara settled herself for a comfortable half-hour.
"I went for a walk with Elsie and Hortense. We had a nice time, but I
don't think Elsie felt very well, she was so quiet. I asked her if her
head ached, and she said no, but I'm afraid it did."
"I don't think Elsie has seemed quite like herself for several days,"
said Miss Jessie, a little anxiously. "Perhaps she is studying too hard;
her mother tells me she is so very ambitious."
Neither of the girls had any explanation to suggest, and they all
chatted on pleasantly on various subjects until it was time to go away
and dress for dinner. Barbara was also going to the Club that evening,
having been admitted as a guest of honor some months before. Indeed, she
was quite the heroine of the hour, for the romantic story had quickly
spread from friends and acquaintances to strangers, and she had even
been written about in several newspapers, a circumstance which had
filled the breasts of some other girls with envy. For several weeks
there was not a girl in the city so much talked about as Barbara
Randolph, the child who had been mourned as dead by her family for
nearly three years, and then reappeared under conditions sufficiently
interesting and romantic to fill the pages of a thrilling story-book.
The Randolphs disliked the publicity, but Barbara was pursued by
reporters and photographers until Beverly lost his temper, and
positively refused to allow any member of the family to grant another
interview.
"How does it feel to know that everybody in New York is talking about
you, and all the papers asking for your picture?" Elsie had asked one
day, to which Barbara had answered, with a laugh:
"I don't know that I have any particular feelings about it. I am too
happy at being at home again with Mother and Beverly to care for
anything else in the world."
Elsie was nowhere to be seen when Marjorie returned to her uncle's
apartment, and the cousins did not meet till they were both dressed for
the evening, and had joined Mr. and Mrs. Carleton in the drawing-room.
Then Mrs. Carleton's first words were an anxious question.
"Are you sure you are feeling quite well this evening, Elsie darling?
You are very pale."
"Of course I'm all right," said Elsie, crossly. "I do wish you wouldn't
fuss so much about me, Mamma."
Mrs. Carleton sighed.
"I am sure I don't intend to fuss," she said, plaintively, "but how can
I help worrying when I see you looking so badly, especially when you
will insist on studying so hard?"
"Nonsense," said Mr. Carleton, looking up from his evening paper, with a
frown. "I have looked over Elsie's lessons, and there is nothing wrong
there. She isn't studying any harder than a healthy girl of her age
should. What's the matter, Elsie--don't you feel quite up to the mark?"
He spoke kindly, but his tone was a trifle impatient, and before Elsie
could reply, her mother began again.
"She won't tell you; she insists there is nothing the matter, but she
has not looked like herself for days. If she isn't better to-morrow I
shall have the doctor see her, and give her a tonic."
Mr. Carleton threw down his newspaper.
"My dear Julia," he said, "I believe you consider a tonic a cure for
every evil in the world. The girls are ready, so let us go down to
dinner, and see if Elsie doesn't make up for her loss of appetite at
luncheon."
But Elsie did not make up for her lack of appetite at luncheon. She
toyed with her food, and her color changed so often, from white to red,
and back to white again, that by the time dinner was over even her
father began to look at her curiously. But when Mrs. Carleton suggested
that she should not go to Gertie Rossiter's, where the Club was to be
held that evening, she protested that she was perfectly well, and was so
decided in her determination to go, that, as usual, she had her way.
The meeting was at eight, and Marjorie and Elsie were obliged to hurry
away from the dinner table to join the two Randolphs, as the four were
to go together in the Carletons' carriage.
"Uncle George says we might have had his car as well as not," remarked
Barbara, as they took their seats in the carriage. "He has come to spend
the evening with Mother and Aunt Jessie, and won't need it."
"Your uncle is very generous with his car," said Marjorie, innocently.
"He lent it to your mother and Aunt Jessie this afternoon, you know, and
Aunt Jessie said they had a beautiful ride."
"Oh, Uncle George would do anything in the world for Aunt Jessie,"
remarked Barbara, at which her brother smiled a rather mischievous
smile, but said nothing.
There was an unusually large gathering of the Club that evening, in
honor of the president, who, with her family, was to sail for Europe the
following day. As it was a gala occasion, no sewing was to be done, and
the boys were invited to come with the girls, and devote the evening to
dancing and games.
"I'm afraid our sewing really hasn't amounted to very much," Winifred
Hamilton remarked ruefully. "Mother says she's afraid the Blind Babies
would be badly off if they had to depend upon us for clothes, but we've
had an awfully jolly winter, and I'm sorry it's over, aren't you, Mr.
Randolph?"
"Well, summer is pretty jolly, too, you know," answered Beverly,
smiling. "I sha'n't be sorry to have vacation begin. We are going abroad
as soon as college closes."
"How nice," said Winifred, looking interested; "perhaps you'll meet the
Bells. They expect to stay over till October. I really don't know how I
shall manage to get on so long without Lulu."
"Why don't you go, too?" Beverly asked, good-naturedly.
"I should love to, but I couldn't leave Mother. Dr. Bell offered to take
me, and Father and Mother said I might go if I liked, but I couldn't
make up my mind to leave them. Perhaps some day we shall go ourselves,"
finished Winifred, trying to look hopeful.
"I'll let you into a little secret if you'll promise not to tell," said
Beverly, who had a genuine liking for Winifred, despite the fact that
she was "young for her age." "My mother is very anxious to have Marjorie
go with us, provided her parents will consent. Miss Graham thinks they
will, and Mother has written to ask them before speaking to Marjorie
herself. Mind you don't tell, for it's a great secret. Even Babs doesn't
know, for she and Marjorie are such chums she would be sure to let
something out. Hello! what's up? Lulu is going to make a speech."
There was a sudden hush as Lulu, with Elsie at her side, stepped
forward, and rapped sharply on the table, to call the club to order.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she began in what the girls called "her
presidential tone," "I didn't expect to have any regular meeting this
evening, but Miss Elsie Carleton has an announcement to make, and has
asked me to tell you she would like to speak. As you all know Miss
Carleton was your president until she resigned in favor of another, I am
sure you will all be pleased to hear what she has to say. Go ahead,
Elsie; everybody's listening."
All eyes were turned in surprise upon Elsie, as she stood before them,
very pale, but with a look of settled determination on her face. Twice
she tried to speak, and stopped, and they could all see that she was
very nervous. Then the words came, very low, but sufficiently audible to
reach every ear in the room.
"Girls," she began, looking straight before her, and clasping and
unclasping her hands as she spoke, "girls and boys, too, for I want you
all to hear. I have a confession to make. It's about something that
happened at the first meeting of this Club--the night we were all
initiated. That poem I wrote--some of you thought it was the best, and
you made me president--it--it wasn't original; I learned it when I was a
little girl, but I thought nobody would recognize it. I didn't mean to
cheat at first, but I couldn't make up anything that I thought was good
enough, and I hated to have the other poems better than mine. I haven't
anything more to say except that I've been ashamed of myself ever since,
and I can't have you go on thinking me cleverer than I am, any longer."
And then, without waiting to note the effect of her startling
announcement, Elsie turned and fled.
Marjorie and Barbara found her upstairs in the dressing-room, crying as
if her heart would break. Neither of them said a word, but Marjorie put
her arms round her cousin's neck and hugged her.
[Illustration: "IT TAKES A LOT OF PLUCK TO GET UP AND SAY A THING LIKE
THAT."--_Page 355._]
"What are they saying about me?" whispered Elsie, burying her face on
Marjorie's shoulder. "Do they all despise me?"
"Not a bit of it," declared Marjorie, reassuringly. "They're all saying
how plucky it was of you to confess. Lulu says she never liked you so
much before in her life. As for me, I'm so proud of you I don't know
what to do. Oh, Elsie darling, I'm so glad you did it!"
"It was you who made me do it," sobbed Elsie, clinging to her cousin.
"You were so splendid about it all. You knew, and yet you never told any
one, not even Papa when he was provoked with you, because you wouldn't
explain what the trouble between us was. Your brother knew too, Babs,
and he has never said a word, but I know how he has despised me. I've
despised myself too--oh, how I have despised myself! I've been selfish
and conceited all my life, and I didn't care much, but one can't help
feeling mean and ashamed beside girls like you, and brave, wonderful
women like Aunt Jessie. I don't believe I've got one real friend in the
world."
"You've got lots," protested Marjorie and Barbara both together.
"Just come downstairs and see if you haven't."
It was a very quiet, subdued Elsie who reentered the drawing-room,
escorted by her two staunch friends, but the welcome she received was
such that, before the evening was over, she found herself able to smile,
and take a passing interest in life once more. Elsie had many faults,
but she was not a bad girl, and she had learned a lesson that would last
her all her life. One of the first to approach her and hold out his
hand, was Beverly Randolph.
"You're a trump, Elsie," he said, in his blunt, boyish way. "It takes a
lot of pluck to get up and say a thing like that. Let's shake hands and
be friends." And at that moment Elsie was happier than she had been in
months.
"I think I'll just stop a minute to say good-night to Aunt Jessie,"
remarked Marjorie, as they were going up to their apartment in the lift.
"I don't believe she has gone to bed yet if Dr. Randolph is spending the
evening. Tell Aunt Julia I'll be right up, Elsie."
So Marjorie stepped out of the lift with the Randolphs, while Elsie went
up another floor to her own apartment. Mrs. Randolph had insisted that
Miss Graham should be her guest on leaving the hospital, and one of the
most comfortable rooms in the apartment had been assigned to her.
It was Mrs. Randolph herself who opened the door for the young people;
she was smiling, and looked as if she were pleased about something.
"Has Aunt Jessie gone to bed?" Marjorie asked.
"No, dear, she is in the parlor with Uncle George, and I think she wants
to see you."
Barbara hurried her mother off to her room, to tell of the events of the
evening, and Beverly followed, at a mysterious signal from Mrs.
Randolph, so Marjorie was the only one to enter the cozy little parlor,
where she found her aunt and the doctor sitting on the sofa side by
side.
"I just came in for a minute to say good-night," she began. "I've had a
lovely evening, and--and--" here Marjorie paused abruptly, struck by
something unusual in the faces of her two listeners.
"Is--is anything the matter?" she inquired anxiously.
"Do we look as if there were?" inquired the doctor, and he smiled such a
radiant smile that Marjorie's sudden anxiety melted into thin air.
"No, not exactly, but Aunt Jessie looks so--so different. Oh, Aunt
Jessie darling, I know something has happened--is it good news?"
"The very best news in the world for me," said the doctor, laughing,
while Aunt Jessie drew her niece into her arms, and hid her smiling,
blushing face on Marjorie's shoulder. "Your aunt has promised to give me
something that I want more than anything else. Marjorie, do you think
you would like to have me for an uncle?"
"And that was just the crowning happiness of all," said Marjorie, when
she and Elsie were talking things over half an hour later. "I thought I
was just as happy as any girl could be before, but when I saw that look
on Aunt Jessie's face, and thought of all she had suffered, and how
brave she had been, it seemed as if my heart would burst with gladness.
It's just the most beautiful ending to a beautiful winter."
"I wish I had done more to make the first part of the winter happy,"
said Elsie, with a remorseful sigh. "I don't see why you didn't hate me,
Marjorie; I'm sure I deserved it."
"Why, I couldn't," said Marjorie, simply, "you were my own cousin, you
know."
Elsie went up to her cousin, and put her arms round her. That was such
an unusual proceeding from cold, undemonstrative Elsie that Marjorie
was speechless with astonishment.
"I believe you are the best girl in the world, Marjorie," she said,
unsteadily. "I'm not worthy of your friendship, but if you will really
love me, and forgive me for all the mean, hateful things I've done, I
will try to deserve it--I will indeed."
THE END
DOROTHY BROWN
By NINA RHOADES
Illustrated by Elizabeth Withington Large 12mo
Cloth $1.50
[Illustration]
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MARION'S VACATION
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[Illustration]
THIS book is for the older girls, Marion being thirteen. She has for ten
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Only Dollie
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[Illustration]
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The Little Girl Next Door
By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated
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[Illustration]
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Winifred's Neighbors
By NINA RHOADES Illustrated
by Bertha G. Davidson Large
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[Illustration]
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_For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt
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* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
Page 104, "stiches" changed to "stitches" (aunt's stitches had)
Page 200, "Glass" changed to "Grass" (Keep off the Grass)
Page 219, "Luly" changed to "Lulu" (Lulu Bell, one)