A Great Surprise
"The life we choose
Breathes high, and sees a full-arched firmament.
Our deeds shall speak like rock-hewn messages,
Teaching great purpose to the distant time."
--_George Eliot._
To the young all things are tragic. To Beatrice it seemed that the end
of everything had come. Now she realized that behind her objection to
Adele's presence in her home there had lurked the fear that her father's
stay would be short.
She shed no more tears, but her dry-eyed grief was more distressing for
that very reason. If Doctor Raymond hoped to talk matters over again he
reckoned without his host, for Beatrice could not speak of the
separation. The scientist was very busy and had little leisure to devote
to his daughter, but he noted with concern her lack of interest in
everything.
"Beatrice," he said to her one day, "you need some one with you. I am
obliged to be away a great deal just now, and it is lonely for you. Your
aunt has kindly consented to superintend the preparation of your
wardrobe, and it might be wise for you to spend the remaining time
there. Either that or else they must come here."
"Let them come here, father. I--I don't want to leave home before I
must."
There were no tears in her voice, but something in it caused her father
to say, not quite steadily:
"My daughter, be brave. Don't make it hard for me."
Beatrice looked at him quickly.
"Is it hard for you, father?"
"Harder than I would like you to know, child. You know why I must go.
Let us not dwell on the unpleasant part of it. After all, two years are
nothing. After the first hurt of the separation is over you will find
new interests, and life will once more become rosy. You are going to be
brave, aren't you?"
"Yes, father," answered Bee steadily.
"That is my good little daughter. Today I will bring Adele and her
mother over, and they will cheer you up. It will benefit Henry also to
have the change."
"Very well," answered the girl trying to smile.
She had not seen her cousin since she left her outside old Rachel's
cabin, and when evening brought Adele once more to Walnut Grove a dull
wonder crept into her heart that her coming was not fraught with pain.
To her surprise there was a great difference in the manner of both her
father and her cousin toward each other. Adele no longer made pert
sallies at his expense after the manner of a petted child; she seemed
rather subdued toward him. Bee did not fully comprehend how dissimilar
was their attitude for some days, and then she came slowly to see that
while Doctor Raymond was unfailingly courteous toward his niece it was
to her he turned, to her wishes that he deferred. It came to her with a
sort of shock that it was she herself who was first with him.
"Why! he loves me best. Father loves me best!" she said to herself in
surprise. "How has it come?"
To her wonder Adele treated the fact as a matter of course, but as a
full realization of the truth came to Bee her unhappiness at his going
increased.
"I wish I were going to college," cried Adele one day, fluttering about
a number of parcels that had just arrived. "I never saw such a lot of
hats and gowns. You will be the best dressed girl there, Bee."
"Will I?" asked Bee indifferently. Pretty frocks were all very well in
their place, but they did not relieve the ache in her heart.
"You don't care a thing about them," declared her cousin. "You are such
a funny girl! Isn't she, mamma?"
"A little inclined so," answered Mrs. Raymond, who delighted in pretty
clothes. "Bee, do take more interest. It is ungrateful not to appreciate
what your father is doing for you. Now, Adele cares a great deal more
about her appearance than you do about yours, yet I should not get her
so many things. Of course William knows that you need more dressing is
the reason he is so liberal."
"No, Aunty," returned Bee. "Father is not generous because of that, but
because he wishes to make up to me for his absence."
And with the utterance of these words it became clear to her that this
was in truth the reason. That he was not quite easy in his mind
regarding her, and sought this means to relieve the feeling. A quick
gush of tenderness flooded her being.
"I must be brave," she told herself over and over. "It distresses him
because I am unhappy. I must be brave."
"Bee," spoke Adele sharply, "what in the world are you mooning about?
Mamma has spoken to you twice."
"I beg your pardon, aunty," said Bee contritely. "I did not hear you. I
was thinking."
"You should conquer that habit of inattentiveness," chided her aunt. "I
notice that it is growing on you. What has come over you, Bee? I never
saw such a change in a girl in all my life!"
"Am I so changed?" asked Bee wistfully.
"Well; you are so thoughtful and quiet. You used to be so merry, you
know."
"It's father, aunty," cried the girl, bursting into tears. "I am trying
to be brave, but oh, Aunt Annie! my heart is breaking."
The lady drew her to her and kissed her.
"It doesn't do to have so much feeling, child," she said. "There! dry
your eyes, and look at this tweed. It will make a handsome traveling
gown."
"Yes;" broke in Adele ecstatically, while Bee wiped her eyes, and
endeavored to interest herself in the dress. "There are to be gloves,
hat and shoes in keeping. The girls would call it swell. And, Bee, we
are all going to New York with Uncle William to see him off. Won't it be
fine to be in New York City? You better believe that I'm not coming back
without seeing some of the sights."
"I think we shall all be willing to do that, Adele," smiled her mother.
So the talk went on. Bee was fitted with wraps, gowns, hats, and other
things considered necessary until her head whirled with the
multitudinous furnishings, and all the world seemed to resolve itself
into one vast dressmaking shop created solely for her benefit.
"Another, aunty?" she asked wearily one morning as Mrs. Raymond called
her into the sewing room for a fitting.
"Yes; this is the very last one, child; and a beauty it is too."
"I do not think that I ever had so many dresses in all my life
together," observed the girl. "What am I to do with them all?"
"You will find use for everything when you reach the college, Beatrice,"
smiled the lady. "This one is for evening. There are many social
functions, and of course you will take part in them. It is tiresome, I
know, to fit all these things but you will be glad later that you have
them."
"I may be," answered Bee. "I am not ungrateful, aunty, for all that you
are doing, only just now it seems as though there were ever so many more
than I will need. And," she added with a troubled look and speaking in a
lower tone, "are you sure that father can afford to spend so much on
me?"
"You absurd child!" exclaimed Mrs. Raymond with misty eyes. "Of course
he can. I think myself that he is doing more than is necessary, but it
pleases him, Bee, so accept it for the pleasure it gives him."
"But if he is denying himself," began Bee, but they were interrupted by
the entrance of Aunt Fanny.
"Dose satanic gen'mun dat wuz heah ter dinnah dat time dey is all
downstairs, an' dey say dey wants ter see Miss Bee," she announced.
"Isn't it father?" asked Bee in astonishment. "He is in the library,
Aunt Fanny. You mean him, don't you?"
"No'm; I doesn't. Dey said Miss Beatrice Raymond," answered the negress
pompously. "Jest like dat: Miss Beatrice Raymond."
"Better run down, Bee," suggested her aunt. "I dare say that they wish
to see you again as this may be their last visit before William goes."
So wonderingly Beatrice went down to the library. They were all there.
The four scientists whom she had entertained with the Butterfly Dinner
that now seemed so long ago. They arose at her entrance and greeted her
cordially albeit with some embarrassment. Her father, too, appeared
moved out of his ordinary composure.
"Miss Raymond," spoke one of the naturalists, "we have sent for
you--that is--we have never forgotten that dinner, and as a token of
our appreciation--"
"You are all wrong, Davis," broke in another. "It isn't a token at all.
It is her natural right."
"You see," exclaimed the shy man whom Bee remembered so well, "that we
were astonished when we learned how you had helped to catalogue the
specimens which your father brought back, and we realize how much help
you can be to him; so we think--"
"In short," announced the first speaker, "we wish you to accompany your
father as his secretary; all expenses to be borne by the University.
Will you accept?"
"I--What do you mean?" gasped Bee, clasping her hands and breathing
quickly.
"Just what we say, Miss Beatrice. You have done a good work this summer,
and we believe that with your leaning toward science it would be of
great benefit to you and to ourselves also to send you with Doctor
Raymond to help him in his work. The faculty decided upon this move
unknown to your father, and have sent us as a committee to ask your
acceptance."
"My acceptance?" came from Bee in a sob as she turned blindly toward
her father. "Oh, father, father! you tell them."
"Gentlemen," said Doctor Raymond unsteadily, "in my daughter's name I
thank you. She accepts with pleasure, and will endeavor to discharge the
duties entrusted to her with faithfulness. As for myself--" He paused,
unable to finish.
"Nonsense, Raymond! you needed some one to look after you. We shall
expect the finest collection that is on this continent with her to help
you. It is for our benefit that we are doing this. Now let's settle some
of the details, if Miss Raymond is able to attend to them."
"Oh, yes;" laughed Bee through her tears. "I can do anything now."