Uncle Sidney
THE next afternoon, Ruth and Billy had a long and earnest talk in the
wood-shed. The visit of her uncle had been of enough importance for
Ruth to be kept home from school and she was now in a very excited
state of mind. She had waited with much impatience Billy's return from
school, for there were many things which she must ask him, things which
she felt she could not question Miss Hester about. She sat now upon a
tall chest, her feet dangling dejectedly. There were marks of tears
upon her face and she held her hands nervously clasped.
Billy sat upon an overturned box. From time to time, he flung a chip
to Stray who, with head on one side, watched eagerly for the attention
and, so soon as the chip was near enough, snatched at it, then grabbing
it, played with it till it ceased to be a novelty. He then planted
himself within Billy's range again looking inquiringly for the next
chip. Neither Billy nor Ruth paid much attention to his antics.
"You see," Ruth was saying, "it is all for me to decide. Aunt Hester
says she cannot do it, and says it must be as I say. My uncle talked
and talked. He told me I should have music lessons and that I should
be sent to a good school and all that. I am sure this school is good
enough and I don't care a bit about the music lessons. I'd rather know
how to draw pictures than to play the piano. You know, Billy, there is
only one thing makes me think I ought to go, and that is Aunt Hester.
You know what you said about another mouth to feed. I'm another mouth,
you know, and if it makes Aunt Hester work so hard to feed me, maybe I
ought not to stay."
Billy was silent for a moment and stopped throwing sticks to Stray.
When he spoke, he said very thoughtfully, "I'm the one to go away, not
you. I'm a boy and can make my own living."
"Oh, no, for you see you haven't any relations like my Uncle Sidney,"
returned Ruth. "And, besides, who would chop the wood and do the
errands, Billy? Then if you went away, who would keep store and buy
back the big house for Aunt Hester? It would be foolish for you to go
when I have an uncle to take care of me."
With his duties as man of the house thus brought to his mind, Billy
demurred. Perhaps after all, his place was here.
"If I only wasn't another mouth," Ruth went on, "or if I were a dog
like Stray and could live on scraps, or if I were a cat and could catch
mice."
"Then nobody would want you," said Billy.
"Indeed they would then. There are ever so many people who like cats
if you don't. Aunt Hester does and so do I and so does Lucia. Oh dear,
I should hate to give up Lucia. I wish I ought not to go instead of
oughting to go."
"Maybe you'll like it awful much," said Billy, encouragingly. "Maybe
your uncle has lots of boys and girls and you'll have fun with them."
"No, he hasn't. He has only one little boy about five years old. Billy,
promise me on your sacred word and honor that you will come and get me
just as soon as you begin to keep store, or, if Aunt Hester gets the
claim, before that."
Billy nodded gravely. He wished it were not right to tell Ruth that it
would be best for her to leave them. He felt that he would miss her
sadly and that one small boy in the house with a grave elderly woman
would not have as agreeable a time as when a youthful comrade like Ruth
was on hand to take an interest in small matters beneath the notice of
their elders.
Ruth had always a lively imagination and was vastly amusing at times.
To be sure, she was very often absorbed in her doll or in Lucia Field,
but, at other times, she and Billy had most exciting plays in which she
was almost as good fun as a boy, he told her. He thought of all this
now, but his loyalty to Miss Hester and his practical bent made him
repeat:
"I guess you'll have to go, Ruth."
But Ruth had been thinking, too. "I'll go, but I'm not going to promise
to stay. I'm coming back the first chance I get. If I find a thousand
dollars that nobody wants, or if I do something like saving a train
from running off the track, and they give me a whole lot of money for
it, or if—or if—the claim comes out all right, I'll come straight back,
so I just won't think that I'm going for good, and I am going in now to
tell Aunt Hester so."
"Don't tell her it's because you know she can't afford to keep you,"
charged Billy, bluntly.
"Of course not," returned Ruth. She jumped down from her seat and went
slowly back to the house. Miss Hester was sitting at the window of her
room which looked out upon the street. She had her lap full of little
garments upon which she was sewing a missing button here, a tape there.
"This isn't Saturday," said Ruth. "What are all these?"
She came nearer and put an arm around Miss Hester's neck.
"They are some of Henrietta's things. I didn't know but that you would
need them," answered Miss Hester, soberly.
"Won't my uncle buy me any clothes?"
"He will probably buy all you need, but I don't want to have you go
away unprovided for. I suppose you must go, Ruth. I should be doing you
a wrong to encourage you to do otherwise."
"I'm not going for good," returned Ruth confidently. "I am going only
for a little while till something happens. If you get the claim, you
know, or if I find a whole lot of money, I will come back. Even if
those things don't happen, Billy will come for me as soon as he is big
enough to keep store."
Miss Hester smiled faintly. "I am afraid it will be many a day before
that."
Ruth shook her head. "I'm not going to think I'll be gone long. I will
tell my uncle that I am going to stay only a little while, that I am
coming back to you and that I love you better than him or anybody."
The feeling that this departure was in the nature of a visit made her
more cheerful. Like all children, she loved excitement and change, and,
since she had decided that she was to return, there was only left a
rather pleasant anticipation instead of a grief.
It was well for Miss Hester that the time for preparation was short for
Mr. Mayfield could wait only another day, and so Ruth's belongings were
hastily packed. That she might make a good appearance, the store of
clothing in the chest up-stairs was drawn forth and all of Henrietta's
things that were in good order were packed in a small trunk. Hetty,
too, was given room, and Ruth begged that her box of pieces might go in.
"It will make me feel like home to see all my doll rugs," she said.
And Miss Hester stowed away the box just as it was.
At the last moment, Billy, who had been struggling between his love for
Ruth and his love for Stray, came forward, insisting that Ruth must
take the little dog with her, since he belonged half to her and could
not be divided.
But, though Ruth would have liked dearly to have him, Miss Hester
decided otherwise.
"You don't know that your uncle's wife would be willing to have a
dog in the house. Indeed, I think it is quite unlikely that she
would consent to your having him, for there is the little boy to be
considered."
"I think you are awfully good, Billy, to want me to have him," Ruth
declared, "and I'd just love to take him, but, you see, I have Hetty
for company and you won't have anybody to play with but Stray."
But Billy was determined that she should receive some token, and, from
his little hoard which he was saving up for Christmas, he took out
sufficient to buy a gayly flowered mug upon which was written in gold
letters: "From a Friend."
Ruth thought it was beautiful and begged Miss Hester to pack it very
carefully.
"I will use it every day at table," she said.
Then, after whispering to Miss Hester, she left the room and returned
with a red silk handkerchief which Dr. Peaslee had once brought her
after a visit to the city.
"I want you to have this to remember me by," she said to Billy, and he
accepted the gift solemnly.
At last the little trunk was packed and stood waiting.
Then Ruth went to make some hurried farewell calls. To all inquiries,
she replied that she was going to her uncle's to make a visit, but
that she expected to be back soon. So often did she repeat this that
she persuaded herself it must be true until the last moment when the
possibility of its not being merely a visit faced her, and she flung
herself into Miss Hester's arms in a passion of weeping.
"I—don't want to go. I—I don't want to go," she sobbed.
"You needn't, dear, you needn't," whispered Miss Hester herself feeling
very heavy hearted.
But just then Billy came rushing in shouting: "He's come in a carriage,
Ruth, to take you to the station."
And the dignity of such a departure for the moment caused Ruth to check
her tears. It would be a triumphant exit, she considered. And after
one last frantic hug and the passionate reiteration, "I am coming back
soon, I am, I am," she obeyed her uncle's call and was helped into
the carriage, her trunk being already established by the side of the
driver. She waved her handkerchief from the carriage window. Her last
glimpse of the brown house showed Billy at the gate holding up Stray
for her to see. Miss Hester was not in sight. She had gone indoors
where no one would observe her tearful eyes.
Soon the carriage turned into the main street. The children were on
their way to school, and to Ruth's satisfaction, they passed Nora
Petty, to whom Ruth gave a condescending nod. She was riding away into
new splendors where Nora could no longer twit and tease her.
As the train moved out of the station, there came over the child an
overpowering desire to jump out and run back to Aunt Hester who loved
her, to Billy and Stray, to the little brown house which she might
never see again. The big tear drops rolled down her cheeks. She wiped
them furtively away as she kept her head turned as if looking out the
window. Her handkerchief became a damp little ball in her hand and the
telegraph poles, as they flashed by, were seen through a watery mist.
Her uncle wisely said nothing to her for a time, but absorbed himself
in his newspaper, but, when the train boy came along, he bought some
fine fruit and a box of chocolates saying cheerfully, "Here, little
girl, don't you want to see what is in the box?"
Her thoughts diverted in such an agreeable way, the worst was over
for Ruth and she turned to the sweets for solace. After a while her
uncle began to talk to her, to tell her of his home, of his little
boy, Bertie, and from this he went back to his own childhood when he
and Ruth's father were playmates together. So the morning was not very
long, though Ruth was glad when she climbed down from the cars to take
luncheon at a station where they tarried for half an hour.
It was late in the afternoon when they arrived in front of her uncle's
door. Ruth observed what to her was a very fine house, and, when she
entered the hall, she was quite overcome, for, to her inexperienced
eye, it appeared a mansion magnificent beyond her highest expectations.
They had hardly entered before a piping voice called out: "There's
papa," and swiftly sliding down the baluster came the figure of a
little boy. He came with such speed that he nearly fell off when he
reached the big newel post, but his father caught him.
"You rascal," he cried, "what did I tell you about doing that?"
"It's so much the quickest way to get here, papa," said Bertie. "What
did you bring me?"
"I brought a little new cousin."
Bertie turned and regarded Ruth with anything but an amiable
expression. "I don't want her," he said. "I want something nice. Didn't
you bring me any candy?"
Mr. Mayfield looked rather abashed. "To tell you the truth, son, I
didn't," he began.
But Bertie interrupted him with a loud wail. "Mamma, mamma," he cried,
"he didn't bring me any candy and you said he would." Then throwing
himself down on the floor, he kicked and screamed violently.
Ruth heard the swish of silken skirts and down the stairs a lady came
swiftly. She was very fair and looked quite young. Ruth had never seen
any one dressed so wonderfully, and she stared with all her eyes at the
vision.
"What is the matter with my darling?" cried the lady. "Oh, have you
come, Sidney?" She gave Ruth's uncle a cheek to kiss. "What is my
precious boy crying about?" she asked bending over the raging child.
"Papa didn't bring me any candy and you said he would," howled Bertie.
"You are an old—"
"There, there," began his mother gathering him into her arms. "How
could you be so forgetful of the precious child, Sidney?" she said
reproachfully.
"Well, you see, Lillie, I had so much to think of. Oh, by the way,
Ruth, this is your Aunt Lillie. Did you get my telegram, dear?"
"Oh, yes, it came all right, of course," replied Mrs. Mayfield
petulantly. "You ought to have given me more notice."
"How could I? My letter explained why."
Ruth stood awkwardly by. She had not received a very warm welcome, for
Mrs. Mayfield only nodded and said coolly, "How do you do, little girl?"
Bertie's howls continued.
"I wish I had something to give the child to pacify him," muttered
Mr. Mayfield who saw that no one would receive much attention until
Bertie's fit of rage was over.
He turned apologetically to Ruth. "You don't happen to have any candy,
do you?" he whispered.
Ruth promptly produced the box of chocolates which was but half empty.
She had been so much more abundantly fed than usual that she had not
been able to eat all the candy.
"Just give them to Bertie," whispered Mr. Mayfield, "and I will get you
some more."
Ruth obediently slipped the box into his hand and he gave her a smile.
"Here, Bertie," he said, "see what Cousin Ruth has for you. Papa didn't
bring you any candy, but Cousin Ruth did."
At this Bertie rushed from his mother's embrace and grabbed the box
from his father's hand.
"'Tain't but, half full," he whined. Then turning, he gave Ruth a push.
"You mean old fing," he cried, "why didn't you bring me a whole box?"
"Now, Bertie," said his mother, "that's not a pretty way to talk. I
am sure you ought to say, 'Thank you,' to your cousin. Won't you say,
'Thank you'?"
"No, I won't," returned Bertie, beginning to gobble down some of the
chocolates as fast as he could.
Ruth was shocked. Such an ill-mannered child she had never seen. She
felt mightily ashamed for him.
"I suspect Ruth is rather tired," said Mr. Mayfield. "You'd better show
her to her room, Lillie."
For answer, Mrs. Mayfield touched an electric button and a neat maid
appeared. "Take Miss Ruth to her room," said the lady, "and help her
dress for dinner, Katie."
Ruth followed the girl up three flights of stairs, catching glimpses
on the way of rooms whose elegant furnishings seemed to her fit for a
palace. At the top of the house, she was ushered into a hall bedroom,
comfortably, even prettily, furnished. It looked out upon the street,
but it seemed to Ruth, accustomed to her little room adjoining Aunt
Hester's, a long way off from any one, and she wondered if she would
not feel afraid up there. She timidly asked Katie who had the next room.
"Nobody, miss," was the reply. "It's one of the spare rooms, but it
ain't often used except when there's more company than common. But I
sleep just down the hall in one of the back rooms."
This was comforting and Ruth felt relieved. The trunk having now
arrived, Katie fell to unpacking it. She smiled at the old-fashioned
clothes, but made no remark, being too well-trained a servant for that.
She selected Ruth's very best frock, a cream-white delaine with small
Persian figures upon it. The frock was trimmed with an old-fashioned
gimp, heading a narrow fringe, but its quaintness suited Ruth and she
looked very presentable, Katie thought, as she led her down-stairs when
a soft-toned Japanese gong announced that dinner was ready.