Bee Is Disappointed in Percival
"If lives were always merry,
Our souls would seek relief,
And rest from weary laughter
In the quiet arms of grief."
--_Henry Van Dyke._
"Why, why," stammered Bee, so astonished by the lady's words that she
could scarcely speak. She glanced down at the incriminating shears which
she held in her hand, then at Percival, expecting that the lad would
instantly tell how the affair had occurred, and so absolve her from
blame. To her amazement the boy did not utter a word, but stood gazing
at his mother as though fascinated. It came to Beatrice with something
of a shock that he was frightened.
"Which one of you did it?" demanded Mrs. Medulla, turning first to the
boy and then to the girl. "Why, oh why, was it done? Don't you know,
Beatrice, that this will end all engagements for the winter? Percival
knew it. He would not have the hardihood to do such a thing by himself.
It must have been you. You should not have done it. No manager wants a
boy without curls."
"Oh," murmured Bee. She looked at Percival beseechingly, but the boy,
usually so ready with excuses still stood mute.
"Have I been mistaken in you after all, Beatrice," went on the lady,
surprised at the girl's continued silence. "You seemed to have such an
excellent influence upon Percival heretofore that it grieves me to find
that my estimate of your character is wrong. I did not dream that you
would incite him to mischief of any sort. I can not understand it. A
thing of this nature, upon which so much depended, should not have been
done without consulting me. Percival has not been kept in curls and
knickerbockers without a reason. I know he has rebelled at times, but he
knew the necessity. Didn't you know this, Beatrice?"
"No;" uttered Bee helplessly. "I didn't know. I--"
"You did know, however, that you should have kept him from such an act
until my return," said the mother, who was very near tears. "Why did you
not?"
It has been said that Beatrice was possessed of that peculiar sense of
honor that is common among boys, where one will suffer an unjust
accusation rather than tell upon another. She was like a boy in many
ways: frank, direct, and scornful of tattling; so now she stood silent
while the lady waited, perplexed by what seemed to be an obstinate
refusal to answer.
"I shall have to report this to your father, Beatrice," she said
presently, with sorrow. "Perhaps he will be more successful in obtaining
an explanation from you than I have been. We will go to him. Percival,
do you remain where you are. I will deal with you upon my return."
She caught Beatrice by the arm and hurried her out of the house, through
the fields to her own home. Doctor Raymond sat with Adele in the
library. He glanced up in some astonishment at their abrupt entrance.
"Doctor Raymond," began Mrs. Medulla at once, her usually even tones
tense with excitement, "do you know what your daughter has done?"
"Nothing serious, I hope, madam," he replied with a quick glance at
Beatrice.
"It is serious, doctor. Very serious for us. She has cut off Percival's
curls. Do you realize the meaning of such an act? It means that no
manager will book him for an engagement. People don't care for a boy
musician without curls."
Involuntarily Doctor Raymond's eyes wandered to Adele, who sat watching
the scene with troubled countenance. She was daintily arrayed as was her
custom, and looked sweet, charming, and ladylike. All that a girl should
be she appeared to be. A slight, a very slight sigh escaped him. Slight
as it was, however, his daughter heard it. She saw plainly what was
passing in his mind, and it was all that she could do to restrain
control of herself.
"If Beatrice did this I can not believe that she realized the full
import of the action," he said gravely. "And while I do not wish to
palliate the offense, I fear that you exaggerate the effect upon your
engagements. Your son plays wonderfully well, Mrs. Medulla, and should
not be dependent upon the mere adjunct of curls for an audience."
"Doctor Raymond," spoke the lady earnestly, "I know whereof I speak when
I say that it will be years before Percival can appear before an
audience again. As an Infant Prodigy he was remarkable. As a boy no
manager will take him. There is no between-period with performers. One
must be a prodigy, or a man genius, to command attention. I can not
understand why Beatrice should do it, and I can get no explanation from
either her or Percival."
"Why did you do it, my daughter?" asked the scientist.
But Beatrice was past speaking. Something in her throat choked her. She
looked down suddenly to find that she still held the shears in her hand.
How could any one believe otherwise than that she had cut the boy's
curls when she held the telltale scissors in her hand?
"Why?" asked her father again, but still she did not answer. "Do you
remember what I said about my forgiveness of your carelessness depending
upon your future conduct, Beatrice?"
Bee nodded, battling hard to keep back the tears. She did not wish to
get Percival into trouble, yet she was not willing that her father
should think that she would be capable of doing anything that would
bring harm to Mrs. Medulla. Presently, obtaining the mastery of her
emotion, she crossed swiftly to his side and laid her hand timidly upon
his arm.
"Father," she cried pleadingly, "please don't ask me to tell you
anything about the matter. I--I can't."
"Why, Beatrice?"
The girl did not reply. She only gazed at him with mutely appealing
eyes.
"Is it because it would involve another in the telling?" he asked
abruptly, stirred, perhaps, by a remembrance of his own youth.
"Yes," whispered Bee. "Please, please, father, don't ask anything more."
"Suppose we let the affair rest until tomorrow, Mrs. Medulla," suggested
he, turning to the lady. "It is my opinion that neither Beatrice nor
Percival realized what they were doing. Perhaps both are laboring under
some natural agitation in consequence as the matter seems to be fraught
with more serious results than they thought. You would better go to your
room, my daughter."
"Yes, oh, yes;" assented Bee quickly. "I'd like--I'd like--" And she
burst into tears.
"Excuse me a moment, madam, I beg," said the scientist rising. He drew
his daughter's hand through his arm, and quietly led her from the room,
up the stairs to her own chamber.
"I do not believe, Beatrice, that you are any more concerned in this
matter than is Percival," he remarked as he opened the door for her. "I
can see that you consider it right to shield him as well as yourself by
refusing an explanation. I shall ask you nothing further concerning it.
I can only say how deeply I regret that you should have done anything
that would give pain to Mrs. Medulla."
"Father, father," sobbed Bee, turning to him appealingly, "it isn't, it
isn't as you think. Oh, do trust me a little."
"Do you think you have proved worthy of being trusted, Beatrice?"
"No;" admitted the girl humbly. "I don't deserve it at all when I was so
careless; but this is different. You ought not to judge me harshly until
you know all about it."
"I do not wish to judge you harshly in anything, my child. In the
present instance nothing can be done until the circumstances are known.
As you refuse to tell them you must accept whatever judgment your
actions call for. I think if I were you I should lie down for a time.
You seem quite warm and a little upset. Try to compose yourself."
"I will, father." Bee entered the room with a sigh. He had not yet
forgiven her the loss of the butterfly, she could see. She sat down and
buried her face in her hands as the door closed behind him, and gave way
to a flood of tears.
For what lay at the bottom of her bitterness? It was the knowledge that
with just a little more carefulness on her part none of this trouble
would have come upon her. Grief when caused by one's own carelessness is
harder to bear than that which comes from unfortunate circumstance, so
now Bee took herself to task severely.
"Mrs. Medulla told me that I was liable to spoil everything," she
mused with some bitterness. "Oh, dear! just when things were going
nicely I had to spoil it all by a few moments of carelessness. And if
Percival doesn't explain his mother will never like me again; while
father--" She choked. Her heart ached with longing for her father's
forgiveness.
"Poor father," she exclaimed suddenly as she went to the mirror to put
up her hair. "If he is as disappointed in me as I am in Percival I know
just how he feels. I knew that Percival was a spoiled child, but I
didn't think he was a coward. I wonder if I seem as different to father?
If I do I don't wonder that he prefers Adele."
And with this Bee laid down upon the bed, and through sheer exhaustion
fell asleep.