How the Day Ended
"Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appeared two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose."
--_Cowper._
Bee was awakened by Aunt Fanny bringing in her dinner. The sun had set
and the cool sweetness of the evening gave relief from the heat of the
day. All the events of the afternoon seemed unreal and dreamlike in
spite of her aching eyes. She arose and began to bathe them, with a
strange feeling of insensibility as though nothing could ever make her
cry again.
"Now, honey, I jest ain't a-gwine ter take dat dinnah back," remarked
the negress determinedly, seating herself as Bee motioned her to take
the food away. "Dere ain't no use mopin' erroun' like you-all is doin'.
Yer pa fixed hit him own se'f, an' I ain't gwine ter take hit back."
"Did you say that father fixed it?" asked the girl with quick interest.
"'Deed he did, Miss Bee. He done poured de tea, an' put two lumps of
sugah in de saucah jest like you does fer de world. Den he fixed de
thing on de tray, an' he say, 'Take dat to Miss Beatrice,' he say.
'Co'se I done hit; an' heah I is, an' heah I stays 'twel you eats hit."
"If father fixed it, I will eat it," said Bee. "You are not joking about
it, Aunt Fanny? You are sure that he did it, and not Adele?"
"Now, Miss Bee, yer knows dat Miss Adele ain't a-gwine ter bodder her
haid 'bout udder folks; specially ef dey ain't erroun'," returned Aunt
Fanny scornfully, with whom Adele was no favorite. "No'm; she too busy
wid sayin': 'How does ye like yer coffee, uncle deah? Am hit sweet 'nuff
fer ye?' Jest like buttah wouldn't melt in her mouf. No'm; Miss Adele
ain't a-bodderin' 'bout you all. Ner enny body elsen but her own se'f."
"I don't know about that," demurred Bee, wishing to be just to her
cousin. "She certainly looks after old Rachel. I don't believe that she
has missed a day going down there for the past three weeks. We must give
her credit for that, Aunt Fanny."
"Huh!" snorted Aunt Fanny. "I reckon yer doesn't know ebberthing, Miss
Bee."
"What do you mean?" questioned Bee, pausing in the act of taking a bite
of bread.
"Nebber you min' what I means," returned the old woman mysteriously.
"Jest yer eat yer dinnah."
"But I want to know," insisted Bee. Before Aunt Fanny could answer,
however, Adele herself entered the room.
"Uncle William says for you to come right down, Bee. Percival and his
mother are there, and wish to see you."
"Percival," exclaimed Bee. "Why, I thought his mother would not want him
to see me any more?"
"You can't blame her, can you?" asked her cousin pertly. "Bee, whatever
got into you today? Percival looks dreadful with his curls off. What
made you cut them?"
Bee's eyes flashed. She did not reply for a full moment. When she spoke
she said merely:
"Perhaps you would not understand even though I should tell you about
the matter, Adele."
"Perhaps not. Bee Raymond, do you know that you are dreadfully changed?
When you came in the library this afternoon with that bleached hair of
yours flying you looked a perfect fright." Adele giggled, and then added
with some malice: "Uncle William thinks so, too."
"Never mind," spoke Bee frigidly. "You have your good looks so what does
it matter? Just think what a calamity it would be if you were to lose
them!"
"I think you are just as mean as can be to even suggest such a thing,
Bee Raymond. I wouldn't lose my beauty for anything."
"I should hope not," said her cousin cuttingly. "There wouldn't be
anything left to you if you did."
"I couldn't be as ugly as you are if I did lose it," retorted Adele
angrily.
"Oh, I am getting horrid," exclaimed Bee rising, her better nature
coming to her aid. "Simply horrid! I beg your pardon, Adele. You
couldn't be anything but pretty, of course. Will you come down with
me?"
"Oh, it's all right," yawned Adele, quite appeased by Bee's apology. "I
dare say that I should feel just as you do were I in your place. No; I
won't go down. It's you they want to see. They are in the library with
Uncle William."
Bee went slowly down stairs. She felt reluctant to meet Percival, and to
have the subject of the hair cutting reopened. As she entered the
library the boy ran to her, and caught her hand.
"Beefly, you're a brick," he cried. "You see, when my mother came in she
was so angry that I was scared. I think I never was afraid of her before
in my life, so I let you take the blame. And you didn't tell on me at
all. You're a chum worth having. That was twice today that you took my
part."
"Perhaps, my boy, you would not mind telling just how the matter
occurred," suggested Doctor Raymond. "Beatrice has left us very much in
the dark concerning it."
"I don't mind in the least," answered Percival who seemed eager now to
explain everything. "Beatrice was not to blame at all. You see--"
"Permit me to say a word first, Percival," interrupted his mother, who
had stood quietly by while he made his apologies. "Beatrice, you must
pardon me, also, as well as Percival. I did not understand things until
he explained them on my return home. I am truly sorry that I spoke so
hastily as I did before learning all the circumstances. It seems, from
what Percival tells me, that you did all that you could to keep him from
cutting his hair, and then shouldered the blame rather than tell on him.
My dear, I am very sorry for what I said. Can you forgive me?"
"Don't speak of it, Mrs. Medulla," cried Bee warmly. "I was to blame
after all, because I ought to have held his hands, or kept him in some
way from those shears. And oh! where are they? I brought them home with
me."
"Then we are friends again, dear," said the lady kissing her. "Never
mind the shears. I don't mind if I never see them again. I--"
"Mamma, Doctor Raymond is waiting to hear the particulars," broke in
Percival, anxious to be heard. "You see, sir," turning to the scientist
who was listening amusedly, "ever since I came here the boys have been
making life miserable for me about the way I dressed and wore my hair.
Yesterday that big Jack Brown was having sport with me, teasing for a
curl, and, and all that sort of thing. When I tried to fight him I could
not do anything because he grabbed my hands. Beatrice came to my rescue,
and maybe she didn't put him to flight. You should have seen her." He
chuckled at the remembrance, then continued: "I told her that the baby
business ended then and there. That I wasn't going to be made fun of any
longer. I asked her to cut off my hair, but she wouldn't; so I did it. I
didn't think about the money part of it, or I would not have done it. I
can play just as well with trousers and short hair as I can with curls
and knickerbockers, and I told mamma so after she came back from here.
Wasn't Beatrice a trump, though, not to tell on me, and to take the
blame? Why didn't you tell, Beefly? I thought girls always did."
"Of course I wasn't going to tell if you wouldn't own up," returned Bee.
"That would be tattling."
"Any other girl would have done it," cried Percival. "I hate awfully to
go away and leave you."
"O Percival! are you going away?"
"Yes; I came to tell how the affair happened, and to say good-bye. I am
going back to New York to study. I am going to show people that a boy
can play as well as a man even though he isn't an Infant Prodigy. I'll
have to work hard, and throw no more fits if things go wrong; but, Gee!
I'd rather do it than to wear curls."
"You are right, my lad." Doctor Raymond shook his hand. "You will come
out all right. I am sure. Your playing can not fail to win you a place
in spite of your clothes. I wish you every success. I will leave you to
say good-bye to the girls while your mother and I have a few words. You
would like to see Adele too, I presume?"
"I suppose so," answered Master Percival dubiously. "Mamma said that I
must be very nice to make up for my misbehavior, so I suppose that I
must see Adele too. I don't care so much for her as I do for Beatrice.
She is too pretty to be jolly. Pretty folks don't make very good chums.
They think too much of themselves. I can't bear any one who is spoiled,
but--Yes; send her down."
Doctor Raymond smiled broadly as he and the lady left the room.
"I am so sorry that you are going, Percival," said Bee with a catch in
her voice. "I shall miss you so much. Oh, I wish you were not going."
"I am coming back some day, Beefly," he declared earnestly. "Mind you
don't go away from here so that I can't find you. You must stay right
here."
"Yes;" answered Bee. "I shall always be right here whenever you come. I
hope it won't be long."
"And so you are going to leave us?" said Adele sweetly as she entered
the room. "I shall miss you very much, Percival. I am glad to have had
the pleasure of knowing you, and of hearing you play. Perhaps we shall
meet again."
"Thank you," answered the boy on his best behavior. "I am glad to have
known you, too. I have enjoyed our picnics very much, Adele."
"Picnics?" ejaculated Bee. "When did you ever have a picnic with Adele?"
"Hasn't she told you?" asked the boy in surprise. "Every morning that
you studied with your father lately, she would bring a basket of goodies
and we went to the grove. It was fun, but it would have been jollier if
you had been there."
"Adele," cried Bee sharply, a remembrance of Aunt Fanny's words coming
to her, "were those the things you were to take to old Rachel?"
"Yes, they were," answered Adele defiantly. "I got tired of carrying
them down to that cabin. I don't believe that old woman is sick,
anyway."
"Whether she was or not you should have taken those things to her,"
spoke Doctor Raymond, who had entered the room unperceived by the young
people. "If you were tired of taking them you should have said so, and
some one would have relieved you of the burden. As it is, she deems us
guilty of neglect when we promised her aid, and, worse still, she may
have suffered for the need of those very things. Is there no confidence
to be placed in girls? Is neither of you to be trusted?"
Adele's face at first scarlet with mortification turned white under the
reproof. She gazed at him pleadingly, and then bursting into tears ran
to him and threw her arms about him.
"Do forgive me, Uncle William," she sobbed. "If you will, I'll never
neglect her again. Please, please try me just once more! Only once
more, Uncle William. Will you?"
Doctor Raymond's stern expression relaxed as the pretty penitent clung
to him.
"There!" he said with great gentleness. "Perhaps I demand too much of
you. I should remember that you are young and thoughtless, and perhaps,
too, you did not realize the gravity of what you were doing. There,
child! we will say no more about it, but you must be more careful."
"And you do forgive me, uncle? You will let me try again?"
"Yes, child; of course I forgive you."
Bee listened to the foregoing conversation with amazement and profound
astonishment. She, too, had trespassed, but he had promised forgiveness
only if her future conduct merited it. What was the reason that he found
it so much harder to forgive her than Adele? Did he exact more from her
because she was his daughter? He had told her that he had thought her
different from other girls. If that were the case then did he expect her
to come up to a higher standard? Puzzled, perplexed, she gazed at her
father with such steady directness that he turned his head and met her
glance squarely.
"Beatrice," he said, "I fear you do not understand many things."
But Bee smiled suddenly. She thought she had solved the enigma. And with
the thought came the resolve that she would meet his expectations; that
she would, if endeavor could bring it about, reach the high standard he
had set for his daughter. So she was able to reply:
"I think that I do, father. It's all right."
Then with Percival she went out of the room.