The Two Calls
"A thousand flowers,
By the road-side and the borders of the brook,
Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew
Were on them yet, and silver waters break
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes."
--_Summer Wind. Bryant._
"Thanky, honies, yer moughty good ter an ole worman. Thanky kindly." Old
Rachel beamed upon the two girls from the depths of a rocker, her black
face shining with delight at sight of all the good things they had
brought.
"Have you been sick long, Aunt Rachel?" asked Bee, putting jelly,
chicken, and other delicacies upon the only table the cabin afforded.
"Bress ye, chile! I ain't what yer call sick. Jest a-ailin' like. Dat's
all. I went ter my son's in Possum Holler fer a spell, an' I ain't been
right peart sence. But I'll be as spry as eber purty soon."
"Well, we will look after you until you are," spoke the girl gently.
"Yes, honey. I'll 'pend on you all ter look aftha me. I was moughty good
ter yer ma. She'd 'prove of yer lookin' aftah ole Rachel. 'Deed she
would." The old woman kept her eyes fixed on Adele as she talked. "Is
yer a fairy, er an angel, honey?" she asked.
"Neither," Adele laughed gaily. "I am just a common, everyday girl, Aunt
Rachel."
"No, honey. 'Scuse me. No common ebbery day ga lain't a-gwinge ter look
like yer. Does dey, Miss Bee?"
"No, indeed," answered Beatrice. "Now Aunt Rachel, I'll bring or send
you something every day, and father said to tell you that he was going
to have the doctor look in on you."
"Now ain't dat jest like yer pa? He don't fergit dat I was wid Mis'
Raymond in her las' sickness. Tell him I'm much obleeged ter him. He was
moughty fond ob yer ma; yer pa was, an' she was ob him too. Put a flower
ebbery day on his table when he'd go in ter study."
"Why, Aunt Rachel, you never told me that before," cried Bee.
"Didn't I? I fergit things, Miss Bee. She did dough. Yas'm. Sometime
hit 'ud be a rose, sometime a pansy; but allers a posy ob some kind 'ud
go on dat man's table ebbery mo'nin'. You kummin' ebbery day, Miss Bee?"
"Yes, Aunt Rachel."
"Den you kum too, honey." The negress appealed to Adele. "Lawsie, chile,
yer jest a sight for soah eyes. You am suah. Hit does me good jest ter
look at yer. You am de Lily ob de Valley, an' de Rose ob Sharon. You
suah am."
"Yes, yes, I'll come." Adele received this homage with laughing protest,
but she was none the less pleased because it was homely.
"Hit suahly will do me moah good dan de vittles," went on the negress.
"An' I ain't a-sayin' nuffin agin good eatin' eider."
"I'll come," promised Adele again. "I'll come every day."
"Bress yer heart, chile. Thanky, Miss Bee."
"Good-bye until tomorrow," said Beatrice kindly. "Be careful of
yourself, and if you need anything send to the house for it. We will
come to see how you are tomorrow."
"I won't need nuffin elsen but a sight ob dat bressed angel," declared
old Rachel as the girls bade her good-bye, and left the cabin.
Through the woods they went to the road where they found Doctor Raymond
waiting for them, and they started for the visit to Mrs. Medulla.
"How is old Rachel?" he asked.
"I did not think her very ill," remarked Adele. "Did you, Bee?"
"She said that she was just ailing," replied
Bee, "and that she would be all right in a few days. I thought she was a
little feverish. She took quite a fancy to Adele."
"I can well believe it," answered Doctor Raymond heartily. Each time he
saw the girl she seemed more lovely. Today in her white dress with Bee's
white lace hat upon her head, and her eyes velvety as the heart of a
purple pansy she looked the angel Aunt Rachel had called her.
"I wonder," thought Bee as they entered the gate of the Brawley place
where the Medullas lived, "I wonder if Percival and his mother will be
as much taken with Adele as every one else is?"
"Your daughter and I are friends already, Doctor Raymond," said Mrs.
Medulla, drawing Bee to her as she greeted them graciously.
"I am glad to hear it," observed the scientist courteously. "My daughter
is so unfortunate as to be obliged to devote a great part of her time to
me, and I have been away from civilization so long that I am scarcely
the companion for her. The influence of a woman of culture cannot fail
to be of great benefit to her."
"Thank you," replied the lady quietly. "And is this the cousin of whom
you have spoken, Beatrice?"
"Yes;" answered Bee, watching her intently to see if she too had fallen
a victim to Adele's beauty. The lady smiled at the girl's fixed gaze,
cognizant of what was passing in her mind. She was too well bred to
betray the astonishment she felt at Adele's wondrous loveliness, and she
was filled with a great commiseration for Beatrice.
Adele was at her best. She knew that she was beautiful, and accepted
homage as her right. She had grown to expect admiration and devotion as
her due. So she chatted brightly, or listened with pretty deference
whenever one of her elders spoke.
She knew that her uncle admired her. That he did so beyond his own
daughter did not seem at all unusual or amiss. Bee had always been
second. It seemed but natural to Adele that she should be second with
her father also. Bee's feelings on the subject were not considered. They
never had been. Mrs. Medulla turned suddenly from her, and laid her hand
lightly upon Beatrice's arm.
"I could scarcely keep Percival at home today," she said. "He insisted
that it was his duty to call to see how you were."
"I should have been glad to see him," responded Bee. "Where is he?"
"I hear him coming," replied the mother.
"My daughter tells me that he is a violinist," remarked the scientist.
"Yes; Percival plays well," returned his mother simply. "He was worn out
with his recitals last season, and we came here that he might have the
benefit of outdoor air and exercise. He practices every day in the
garden, and I think him much improved."
"Percival," as the boy entered the room, "do you see who has come?
Doctor Raymond, this is my son. Miss Adele, this is Percival."
"Gee!" whispered the boy to Beatrice after he had made his devoirs.
"That cousin of yours is pretty, Beefly, but I don't like her as much as
I do you."
"You don't?" Beatrice was plainly amazed. "Why not, Percival?"
"Because a girl like that never thinks of anything but herself," he
announced. "She couldn't be chums with me like you. I know 'em,"
concluded this experienced young man.
"How do you know?" asked Bee so delightedly that Mrs. Medulla glanced at
her with a smile, well pleased to see her so bright.
"Would it be asking too much to desire your son to play for us?"
inquired Adele sweetly. "We would like to be favored as well as Bee.
Wouldn't we, Uncle William?"
"Certainly," answered the naturalist as in duty bound.
"I will play one piece, and no more," said the lad, taking his violin
from the case and adjusting his music. "I am not in the mood, but
because of Butterfly I will play."
Adele glanced at him quickly, showing plainly that she thought he
alluded to her; but the boy's smile and nod toward Bee were
unmistakable.
"How funny that you should call Bee that?" she exclaimed.
"That is what she does," explained Percival. "Gee! I saw her catch one,
one day, and the jump she made with the net was a corker. Remember,
Butterfly--Beefly, I mean? It was the first day that we became friends,
though I had watched for a chance to speak for a long time. She is the
nicest girl I know."
Beatrice's eyes misted suddenly. How loyal he was! He acknowledged
Adele's beauty, but it made no difference in his liking for herself.
Doctor Raymond was slightly astonished, but he merely smiled at the
boy's enthusiasm, then settled himself to listen politely as Percival,
without more ado, began to play. His interest was aroused, however, by
the first notes, and soon he was leaning forward eagerly.
Adele fidgetted as she saw how rapt everyone became, and that no one was
paying the slightest attention to her. It was a new experience to have
any one else be the center of attraction while she was about.
"That is wonderful playing, my lad," exclaimed the naturalist, as
Percival finished. "Wonderful!"
"It was certainly very fine," agreed Adele. "I should like to kiss you
for it, Master Percival."
"No, you don't," ejaculated Percival. "I am not going to be mauled
around by a silly girl."
Adele's eyes flashed; then she recovered herself.
"Of course, if you do not choose, I will not," she said, retiring
gracefully from her defeat. "I merely wished to show how much I
appreciated your playing."
"I don't care much for such appreciation," remarked the boy scornfully.
"I get enough of it in the cities. Beatrice isn't a bit like you."
"No?" Adele's lip curled ever so slightly. "Bee is so sensible."
"Yes; she is," cried the lad, glaring at the other spoiled child
fiercely. "I'd rather play to her than to a dozen like you. She knows
how to appreciate music. Her eyes are full of tears now, and she
scarcely breathed all the time I played, but she doesn't want to kiss
me. Phew! it's silly!"
"Percival," interposed his mother quickly, "wouldn't you like to show
Beatrice and her cousin your new pony?"
"Gee! I had forgotten it," cried the boy, restored to good humor
instantly. "Come on, Beefly! You may come, too," he added to Adele.
For the merest second Adele hesitated. Then, as she saw that both Bee
and Percival were waiting, and that the lady and her uncle looked at her
expectantly, she arose and accompanied the two from the room.
"What a warm-hearted child she is," observed the lady to the doctor.
"She is indeed," agreed he. "And as beautiful as warm-hearted. Would
that Beatrice were more like her."
"Pardon me, Doctor Raymond; I was not speaking of your niece, but of
your daughter." The lady's surprise was obvious. "Your niece is an
exceedingly beautiful girl, but she has not the depth of character that
your daughter has. What Percival said of her appreciation of music was
true, although the boy should not have uttered it. Beatrice's judgment
is much better in such things than her cousin's."
"You amaze me, madam," gasped the scientist. "Adele seems to me to be
very sensitive to the beautiful, and extremely appreciative of the
poetry of life. Beatrice is of a more practical turn of mind. A mind of
much vigor and strength, I grant, but still uninclined toward those
things that make life graceful."
"Doctor Raymond," spoke Mrs. Medulla quickly, "there is no nature that
is deficient in its musical phrase, least of all a personality like your
daughter's. In her direct and genuine nature there is a 'Leitmotif' of
pure sweet melody that will enrich the life of its discoverer. It awaits
only the master touch. Will you be the one to give it?"
"What do you mean?" asked the Lepidopterist.
"This," she said, speaking warmly. "Beatrice is a warm-hearted, loving,
impulsive girl. She needs very tender guidance just at this time to
develop into the noble woman that she is capable of becoming. The child
is doing much for herself, but you should aid her. No doubt you will
consider the liberty unwarranted, but it must be excused by the interest
I take in her. Your niece is a very lovely girl. Any other girl who is
brought into relationship with her falls into second place unless she is
as beautiful. Beatrice was associated with her for ten years in her
home. Naturally she took second place there. If you are not careful she
will be second in your home and heart also."
"Really," began Doctor Raymond with some stiffness.
"Mamma, mamma!" Percival broke into the room followed by the two
cousins. "I don't like Adele one bit. She is wearing Beatrice's new hat;
and she shouldn't."
"Percival!" exclaimed Mrs. Medulla in shocked tones.
"I don't care," cried the lad shrilly. "I don't want her to wear my
chum's things."
"I said that she might," protested Bee, while Adele stood speechless
with mortification. "If there was another boy who lived with you,
Percival, you would often wear each other's things."
"You are rude, Percival," reprimanded his mother in severe accents. "It
is just as Beatrice says: girls always do it."
Percival said no more, but he glanced so significantly at the hat as he
bade Adele farewell that the blood rushed to her face, and her adieu was
very constrained.
"I don't like those people," she exclaimed as they passed beyond
hearing. "Bee, how can you bear the way Mrs. Medulla pronounces your
name? It sounds like Beyoutricky."
Bee opened her lips to reply, but before she could do so, her father
spoke:
"I rather liked them. The lady pronounces Beatrice's name after the
Italian fashion, and is a very warm friend of hers. The boy is
undoubtedly a genius, albeit somewhat spoiled. I am glad that we have
them for neighbors."