THE FAIREST LILY
The President was waiting for Henning in his office. The two friends
left Roy at the door, and quietly stole out of the corridor into the
sunshine, where with subdued voices they discussed the misfortune
which was overshadowing their friend.
"I never knew a boy to meet with so many misfortunes in one year as
Roy has done," said Beecham.
"It is hard," replied Bracebridge, "but God knows best. I sometimes
think he is being tried, as gold is tried in the furnace, for some
great purpose."
Beecham was silent. Such thoughts were just a little above Jack's
ordinary plane of thinking. Bracebridge continued:
"What do you say if, during his absence, we make a grand effort to
find the thief? What a glorious thing it would be if he could come
back cleared of all suspicion!"
Beecham was never patient when the words "suspicion" and "Henning"
were mentioned in the same connection. This time he said something
quite rough, and, to tell the truth, quite unlike himself. Ambrose
looked up in surprise.
"You must excuse me. I lose all patience in this affair."
"All right, old fellow. We will make a big effort, eh?"
"You may bet your last little round red cent we will."
Henning reappeared. He had but little time to spare if he would catch
the six o'clock train. By traveling all night he would reach home by
seven o'clock in the morning. Hurriedly changing his clothes, he shook
hands with the two and was driven to the depot. Both promised to write
as soon as there was anything important to write about.
While Roy Henning is traveling homeward as fast as a night express can
take him, we will explain the reason why the telegram had been sent.
This can not be done better than by going to the Henning home, and
there tracing the course of events.
* * * * *
"I think it's real mean to rain like this," said Tommy Henning, early
in the morning of the day on which Roy, his big brother, had received
the alarming telegram. Tommy let his picture book drop to the floor,
and swung his fat little legs backward and forward. Soon tiring of
this, he flattened his nose against the window pane of the
drawing-room where the two children had been trying to amuse
themselves.
"What's mean, Tommy?" asked his sister, Ethel.
"Oh, things!" and with this broad generalization he continued to
exercise his legs. "What's the use if it's going to rain all the
time?"
"But it isn't going to rain all day. It will clear up before long, see
if it doesn't."
Tommy was a real boy and, like his big brother, hated above all things
to be obliged to remain indoors. It had been raining for twenty-four
hours, and he longed to get outside in the free, fresh air, being
particularly anxious just now to take Ethel for a ride in the boat on
the big pond below the orchard.
Tommy was sturdy, but his sister was a frail girl, of shy and nervous
disposition. Her chief characteristic was her passionate love for her
brother Tom, who did not show much appreciation of her affection,
because he did not realize its depth. He loved his sister, but in a
somewhat boisterous manner. Not unfrequently he showed his affection
in a way that was rather painful than otherwise to the delicate child.
This was because he did not think. He did not intend to be rough, yet
he secretly thought that it was a hardship that she was not a boy, for
then he could have "lots more fun." They got along well together,
however, and loved each other very dearly.
True to Ethel's prediction, it soon ceased raining, the clouds
breaking and rolling away in great masses. Tom's vivacity returned
with the sunshine.
"Ma! ma! may we go down to the pond now, and get some of those
lilies?" begged Tommy, as he rushed into his mother's room.
"I am afraid not for the present, my son," replied his mother, "at
least Ethel can not go. It is a little chilly after the rain, and
besides, the boat will be full of water."
Ethel did not really care about going just then, but seeing how
anxious her brother was to enjoy the ride and get the beautiful
flowers, the first lilies of the summer, she also pleaded for
permission. At length under the combined pleading of the two, Mrs.
Henning consented.
"Now, Tommy," she said, "if I let you go, you must promise me not to
go near the mill-race."
"All right, Ma; there's lots of room without going near there," and
the handsome little fellow scampered off in high glee, with the full
intention of keeping his promise.
The injunction was not an unnecessary one. The mill-race was a
dangerous spot. At the sluice there was a considerable current of
water which would take a boat caught in it over the bank and
dangerously dash it into deep water, if it escaped being broken to
pieces on some large boulders which had formerly been a part of the
masonry of an old mill.
The pond was noted in the neighborhood for the profusion and beauty of
its water-lilies. The children found no greater delight in the summer
than in gathering them and adorning their pretty suburban home with
them.
The boy found there was not much water in the boat. With Ethel's
assistance he bailed it out and they were soon among the water-lilies.
They formed a pretty picture--these two children, Tom in his white
flannel shirt adorned with a pretty pink tie, a special Christmas gift
of Ethel; she in her pink dress and white sunbonnet, her lap almost
covered with luxuriant flowers.
"That's enough, Tom; plenty for to-day," said Ethel.
"All right. Now for a good row around the pond while you cut the
stalks."
Tommy had a good voice, and as he rowed he began to sing:
"See our oars with feathered spray
Sparkle in the beam of day,
As along the lake we glide
Swiftly o'er the silent tide."
The pond was large enough to afford the boy a good pull with the oars.
He enjoyed it immensely. The boat had glided from shore to shore
several times, when Master Tommy Henning began to look for fresh
excitement. Stealthily he began to pull stronger on one oar than on
the other, and so gradually to near the mill-race.
"Oh, Tom! Tommy! look, look, we are getting near the dam!" shouted
Ethel, very much frightened.
"That's nothing. There's no danger here," said the boy. He made a
turn, then came nearer than before to the dangerous spot.
"I'm so frightened! Tom, please, Tom, don't go so near," pleaded
Ethel.
"That's because you are a girl. If you were a boy you wouldn't be
frightened a little bit."
He rowed away for a little space, and soon in a spirit of pure bravado
he pulled nearer a few feet. Ethel began screaming with fright.
"That's just like girls. They always scream at something or other,"
said the ungallant Tommy.
Ethel was very much frightened. She trembled violently, but Tom
affected not to see. With another stroke he went still nearer to the
mill-race. At this Ethel gave a prolonged, agonizing shriek of fear,
which made even her madcap brother feel a little uncomfortable,
although he still persisted in teasing her, for he knew his strength
and as yet had the boat under complete control.
"I'm going nearer yet, Sis," he said to the greatly frightened little
girl, and began to turn the prow of the boat a little.
She began one more wild shriek of terror, but stopped suddenly. She
could scream no more. The horror of her perilous position rendered her
mute. She could do nothing but shiver and tremble violently. Her eyes
were wide and staring.
"What do you stop screaming for? You ain't out of danger yet. Girls
always scream longer than that in one breath."
There was no reply. Tom looked around to see his sister burst into a
very torrent of tears. This was too much for the boy.
"Oh, come, Ethel. I was only fooling. Don't cry. There's no danger.
See!"
He headed the boat in the opposite direction and began to row away
from the dangerous locality. Ethel continued to sob convulsively,
unable to restrain herself. She had been thoroughly frightened, and
now she could not speak. Her eyes were staring wildly; the blue veins
on her forehead stood out rigidly. She seemed choking as if half
stifled with the horror she had felt. Tom was now heartily ashamed of
himself, and heartily wished he had not disobeyed.
"Stop crying, Ethie, and I'll give you my new box of paints," said he
anxiously.
The magnitude of the inducement was the measure of Tom's anxiety. But
with even this tempting offer of his greatest wealth, she could not
refrain from weeping and sobbing.
"I never thought you would take on so, or I never would go near the
old thing. I just did it for fun," urged the boy persistently. All his
coaxing was of no avail and he became alarmed at her hysterical
sobbing. To add to his confusion, as he neared the boat-landing he saw
his mother standing on the bank. She had heard the screaming, and
rushed down to the pond, fearing some accident had happened.
"What have you been doing to your sister?" she asked sternly.
"I thought I would scare her a little bit--only a little, though;
that's all, Mama."
"And you went near the dam?"
"Not very close--true if I did. There was no danger."
Ethel's pale face and hysterical weeping told how near he had been.
"Go to the house, sir, and stay there for the rest of the day," said
his mother, in a tone Tommy knew from experience was not to be
disobeyed.
This was a great punishment for Tommy, for, of all things, he loved to
be out of doors in the free air of heaven. There was, however, a
certain manliness about the little fellow, so he went to his
punishment without a word. He could not understand why his sister had
screamed so much, and more especially why she did not now stop crying.
Ethel did not easily recover from her fright. Her mother brought her
to the house and laid her on a cushioned lounge, where she remained
all the afternoon completely prostrated. Tommy was told to stay in the
same room, which he did more or less sulkily. He thought his
punishment excessive, and he showed his resentment to his sister by
being a little bit cross to her. Early in the afternoon he worked
himself into the belief that he was actually the injured one. All this
was a proceeding most unusual with Tommy.
The little girl lay on the lounge quite weakened and very sick from
her adventure. She did not move, but lay still and quiet, with an
occasional hard sob, resembling the last muttering of a storm in the
distance. Toward four o'clock of that long afternoon she said faintly
to her brother:
"Tommy, I am so thirsty; will you get me a drink?"
Now Master Tom was still quite ill-tempered and, contrary to his usual
custom, very much disinclined to oblige her. Seeing a glass of water
on the table, he handed it to her, saying:
"Here's some. Drink this."
She touched her feverish lips to it and said: "It's quite warm. It has
been here all day. Mama brought it in this morning for the canary."
"Well, it's good water, anyhow," said Master Tommy, and he went back
to his seat and sulked.
She sighed and closed her eyes without allaying her thirst. Presently
Mrs. Henning came into the room, and saw, with alarm, that Ethel was
in a high fever. She telephoned at once for the family physician, who
was in his office when the message came. When he came he looked very
grave, and declared that the child would not live more than
twenty-four hours. The physician knew Ethel's constitution well. She
had grown up an extremely delicate child. He gave no hope of her
recovery. He declared the attack had been brought on by some unwonted
exertion beyond her strength, or by some extraordinary strain caused
by great fear or overwhelming grief. When told of what had occurred on
the pond he shook his head ominously, and frankly told the mother to
expect the worst, recommending, as a conscientious physician, that a
priest be called without delay.