GUESSWORK.
"But," said the captain, at length, "you haven't guessed yet what I
have for you."
"Sure enough!" cried Hope, suddenly sitting upright. "Is it a sari for
each, or a fez, or--"
"Or a pajama?" laughed Faith.
"No, you are miles away! It's something that is precious, that you can
share equally, and that did not cost me a penny. There! I've given
you pointers enough for the dullest guesser."
"And only made it harder!" said Hope.
"Let's see, it's precious, and to be shared, and cost nothing? I
didn't suppose one could even pick up a pebble, in Algiers, without its
costing."
"Well, this is not a pebble," returned the father.
"Oh, may we ask questions?" cried Faith. "Like the game of 'Twenty
Questions,' you know?" and, at his nod, she continued excitedly, "Is it
animal, vegetable, or mineral?"
"Well, one might almost say all three," said their father slowly, "for
its principal ingredient is certainly vegetable, yet with it is a
strong impress of what may be made from a mineral, and neither would be
of the least use, but for the animal, which combines the two, to make
them what they are."
"Dear! dear! It grows harder and harder," groaned Hope. "Is its
principal element fire, air, earth, or water?"
"Well, you've rather caught me there," laughed the father. "Let me
see--there may be fire of a certain kind in it, though it's not yet
visible; of course it is permeated with air, like everything else, and,
judging from its appearance, I should think there was considerable
earth about it--" laughing amusedly--"but water? Well, no--it has
crossed water, no doubt, but--"
"Papa, it's a book!" Hope burst out with conviction. "The paper is
vegetable, the ink mineral, and the fire is--is--well, genius, you
know, and--wait! I'll ask another question; can it be opened and shut?"
"It can be open--yes. But shut? I hardly see how--"
"Why, surely, papa, you can shut a book," put in Faith.
"But it isn't a book," returned the captain blandly, at which both
stared in dumb amazement.
"Not a _book_? Oh dear!" they sighed in concert.
Their father laughed outright.
"Why don't you ask some more questions?" he cried teasingly.
"Oh, because it seems as if every one mixed us up worse. I was so
_sure_ it was a book," groaned Hope, quite crestfallen.
"Well then, is it useful or ornamental?"
"Now, that's a poser!" He ruminated a minute, then said, "It's useful,
certainly, but not just what you'd call ornamental. One wouldn't save
it for an ornament--not this one, anyway, but simply for its contents--"
"I have it, I have it!" Faith actually jumped up and down.
"It's a letter! It's a letter from Debby! Now, isn't it? Your
'contents' gave it away. Say I'm right, father--come, now!"
"Well, you are. You've guessed it, that's certain."
"Humph!" sneered Hope, distinctly miffed, "who couldn't, after you'd
fairly told it? I knew all the time it was a book, or a letter, or
something."
"You should have said so sooner, Miss Hindsight," laughed her father.
"But I confess you came pretty close to it, my dear. And here it is.
From Debby, surely, because from Portsmouth, but this elegant modern
writing is never hers in the world. She has evidently engaged some
friend to write that address, and it's a neat one."
"Father, you said there was earth about it; how can that be?" broke in
Hope, scarcely mollified, as yet.
He held it up, and pointed to its worn condition, and two or three
black thumb-marks.
"Isn't there earth for you?" he laughed. "What is earth but soil?"
"Oh--h!" cried Hope, "is that fair--to play upon words so?"
"Let's call it square anyhow, sweetheart, and you read it aloud to
sister and me, won't you?"
Hope could do no less than comply, and the bulky missive was received
by the listeners with as much respectful enjoyment as if it had been a
neat-appearing, well-worded epistle, instead of the rambling,
disjointed, much-soiled, and oddly-expressed letter that it was. The
good woman began and ended every paragraph with lamentations and
longings over her darlings, and the lines between told of her 'good'
and 'bad' lodgers, as she distinctly divided them, her few pleasure
jaunts, and some of the gossip of the neighborhood, only a few words of
which concern this little history.
"You'll recklict," she wrote, "the leddy what come jest a dey or too
before yoo saled? Well, shees heer yit and I like 'er best ov al. She
ain't to say real lively, yoo no, but shese good compny, and ken talk
good on most enny sub-jick, and she ain't abuv spending a 'our with old
Debby now'n then either. She is thee wun what is riting yure names on
this verry letter--ain't it good ov 'er?"
"Who is this lodger?" asked the captain. "I don't remember seeing her."
The girls looked at each other inquiringly.
"Don't you remember, Hope?"
"I didn't suppose you'd forget, Faith!" were their simultaneous
remarks, as each began to laugh.
"No," said Hope then, "I can't remember at all; but I know she was
looking at our rooms just the day before we sailed, and we thought her
very ladylike and pleasant. Don't you know how interested she seemed
in our voyage, and how we thought her an American, then recalled
afterwards that we had not found out whether she was or not?"
"Yes, it does come back to me," said Faith, and the talk drifted into
other home matters, not essential here.
The next day was more sultry than any they had yet experienced, and the
decks were filled with loungers. Hope and Bess, however, were deeply
occupied over some new stitch in embroidery, that one was teaching the
other, and Faith, who had been romping with the little ones till warm
and weary, thought, while resting in a deep steamer-chair by herself,
that she would give dear old Debby's letter a second reading. As she
drew it from her pocket for that purpose, and removed the envelope, a
little puff of wind caught the latter from her lap, and sent it lightly
skimming down the deck. Faith, quite unheeding, read on, smiling over
her nurse's peculiar spelling, and the envelope sped along its way
unchecked, an unconscious instrument of fate. As if heaven-directed,
it presently swerved a trifle from its first course, fluttered to and
fro an instant, then neared a woman, who sat listlessly by herself, her
arms resting upon those of her chair and her eyes, dark and sad,
fastened upon the far horizon. There was a tense quiet in her attitude
that seemed to cover something most unlike quietude within.
A slight noise at her side broke the spell of her gloomy musing and,
glancing down, she saw the bit of stiff paper lying motionless beside
her, and thinking it something she might herself have dropped, reached
idly down and picked it up.
But at the first glance she was as one electrified. Sitting upright,
pallid and eager, she gazed at the superscription, her face growing
radiant with hope and joy. At length she rose and, turning about,
looked forward along the deck, gay with its groups in light clothing,
its covering awnings, and its little children with their picturesque
Indian ayahs.
A short way off sat Faith, smiling over her letter, and to her went
Lady Moreham, a soft expression upon her face that made it lovely.
"My dear," she said, as the girl looked up brightly, "is this yours?"
Faith glanced at the envelope, which the speaker did not offer to
relinquish.
"Why, yes. Did I drop it? Oh, it blew away. Thank you for returning
it."
As she spoke she rose, with instinctive courtesy, and offered her
chair, bringing another from a little distance for herself. Lady
Moreham accepted it with an absent manner, and, sinking into it, said
quickly, with agitation in her tones,
"I must ask you a question or two, but not out of curiosity, believe
me. Was this address written by some one you know--a friend?"
Faith smiled.
"Yes and no, my lady. We have met the one who wrote it--Hope and
I--but neither of us can recall her name;" and thereupon she told
something of her old nurse, and the coming of the new lodger, just
before their departure on this journey.
Lady Moreham listened with breathless interest, her eyes intent upon
the envelope, which she still held. As Faith touched lightly upon the
appearance of the stranger, she said briefly.
"Tell me more, please. Describe everything about her. Was she tall,
or short? What colored hair and eyes? What sort of voice?"
"A flutey voice, like some birds I've listened to," returned the girl
ruminantly, "but with something a bit odd and different in her speech
that made us think her an American, and Hope even spoke of it; but just
then the carriage came to take us to the wharf, and she forgot to
answer."
"Yes, yes," cried the other eagerly, "and she was tall and slender?"
"Very, and a fine figure, we thought. She had light brown hair, and
her eyes--"
"Yes, her eyes--" Lady Moreham was bending forward with bated breath,
and Faith watched her wonderingly as she continued, "When she looked at
you, listening to what you had to say, was there any peculiarity?"
"Only that they were not of the same size nor color," laughed the girl,
"and she had a way of dropping her head a little, and looking up
sidewise like a bird."
"True, true!" breathed the lady, "and as you say one eye was brown and
one blue."
Faith nodded acquiescence, but smiled to herself, knowing she had said
nothing of the kind.
"But you cannot remember her name?"
"No, neither of us. We only saw her for a few minutes, once or twice,
you see."
A little cloud fell over the lady's face, and after a perplexed gaze,
in which her eyes, fixed upon Faith, seemed to look through and beyond
her, she rose abruptly, said in her usual reserved manner, "Thank you
for your information," and walked away.
Faith, looking after her wonderingly, saw young Allyne standing near,
his eyes turned wistfully upon herself. She flushed a little, and so
did he; then, with an impulsive movement, he made a step forward.
"Miss Hosmer," he began quickly, "I've wanted to say a word to your
sister for some time, but no opportunity has offered. Perhaps it will
be just as well to say it to you?"
Faith bowed, not comprehending, and he went on rapidly, as if to hurry
over a disagreeable duty,
"I feel that I was inexcusable, the other evening, in my reference to
your sister, and I can't understand myself at all. I suppose she
doesn't care what I think of her--good, bad, or indifferent--but I want
you, at least, to know that I do think her one of the sweetest, most
modest, girls I ever saw--too reserved and quiet, indeed, if she has a
flaw!"
Faith's drooped eyes were dancing. She knew the young man believed
himself to be speaking to Hope, about herself, and that, to be quite
fair, she ought to undeceive him at once. But a spirit of mischief had
taken possession of her and she felt he deserved some punishment.
Besides, it is so rare a chance when one can talk oneself over with a
person who has not learned one's identity! So she answered brusquely,
in Hope's own manner,
"I couldn't understand it, either, and it will be hard to make my
sister listen. She is a bit inflexible, at times. If you knew her
better you could never have hurt her so. She is not a flirt, by any
means!"
"I know it!" groaned Allyne, thoroughly shamed and penitent. "I knew
it then, but--I may as well own up--it was the champagne."
"More shame to you!" declared Faith with unusual decision. "That is no
excuse at all, for if it makes you do and say things to regret later.
Why don't you simply let it alone?"
He looked at her with a derisive laugh.
"Why don't I?" he began, then catching her earnest expression, checked
himself. "That's good logic, I suppose," he added.
"More--it's good sense," she argued. "I love oranges, for instance,
but they make me ill. Do you suppose I go on eating them? That would
be too foolish! Yet men are supposed to have more strength and
self-control than women."
The attaché drew up a chair and dropped into it, not loth to linger,
even to be lectured.
"I don't think men have more of such strength though," he said. "Their
superiority is physical, not mental."
"They ought to be ashamed to own it!" cried Faith. "The two should go
together."
"Well, we are ashamed--_I_ am ashamed!" smiling upon her. "Yet we are
willing to give you girls all the credit you like for your decision of
character, only caring to retain just a little vanity on account of our
own endurance in other ways. And you'll have to own there isn't one of
you who likes a Molly Coddle!"
"Is it being a Molly Coddle to be strong and true to yourself?"
"Oh, well, you put it nicely, but just look at the fellows who will sit
by and never join in the wine and the fun--aren't they a rather
feeble-looking set?"
"Is my father feeble?" asked Faith, turning such a sweetly arch and
tender face upon him that the young man felt his heart thump.
"Well no--hardly!" he laughed.
"Yet he knows enough to leave all liquor alone, and believes himself
the stronger for it. And don't you, yourself, feel a bit safer on
board this steamer, to know he can perfectly control himself?"
Allyne tapped his chair arm and ruminated.
"_He_ certainly is no Molly Coddle!" he observed, finally, with a vivid
remembrance of the captain's stern visage and curt manner upon a
certain uncomfortable occasion. "I think I never looked at the matter
quite in this light before, Miss Hosmer. Nearly every one I meet takes
wine, and I've been disgusted with myself that I couldn't keep my head
so long as others did when drinking. It never occurred to me to keep
my head by not drinking at all! That's worth considering. Thank you
for a kind word and good thought!"
"You are welcome!" smiled the girl rising. "And I'll leave you to
digest it while I go and read to Mrs. Blakely."
"Mrs. Blakely! That old lady with the green goggles?"
"Yes."
"What, in goodness' name do you find to admire in her? I thought she
was a cranky old invalid."
"Well, she is not very young, nor handsome, nor pleasant, and she has
trouble with her eyes--but that's just why I do read to her. Now, nice
strong people with good eyes, and manners--like yourself, for instance,
don't need such attention. You can amuse yourselves;" and with a
laughing glance, and little mocking courtesy, she slipped away.
He looked after her with admiring eyes.
"She hit me there!" he owned inwardly. "But even her scorn is
pleasant. Gad! I can congratulate myself that she isn't the one I
insulted. She would never have forgiven me--that's certain! As it is,
this little girl may intercede with her sister and make it easier
there. I'm glad I had the sand to speak out, anyhow!"
He had been seated some time, lost in thoughts that could not harm him,
when Hope came tripping by, intent on finding Dwight, with whom she had
some scheme on hand, her eyes dancing with fun and expectation.
Allyne, looking up, thought his _vis-a-vis_ of a short time since was
back again, the arch, laughing expression with which she had left him
not yet cold on her face. "I have thought it all out," he said
quickly, "and you are right. I mean to try it, at least."
Hope stopped, with a cold stare of astonishment.
"Try it?" she repeated blankly.
"Yes," his face falling like the barometer before a storm. "Surely,
you have not forgotten! I'll try going without entirely, if you tell
me to. It is best, and you are right. But, if I do, may I not count
upon your friendship to help me? And you surely will make it right
with your sister, also? Though I may value yours the most, I can never
feel right until that is straightened out."
Hope saw there was something she did not comprehend, but from former
experiences concluded she could pretty accurately conjecture what had
gone before. In some way this bold offender had seen and talked to
Faith, won her soft heart to pardon, and was now suing for her own
forgiveness, with the belief that she and Faith had talked it over, and
only thus could her full friendship be secured. She would lead him on
to fuller confession before committing herself. It would serve him
rightly for his insolence! Because her sister was soft-hearted was no
reason she should be, and when he offended one he must learn that he
offended both.
"I don't know that I can make it right with her," she said guardedly.
"Why should I try?"
"Oh, but you seemed so forgiving a moment since," he urged. "You
haven't repented of it so soon, I'm sure."
"I did, did I?" thought Hope, still more puzzled but bound not to show
it--then aloud, "But girls sometimes change their minds."
"In a half hour? Then, where is that decision you boast of? No, if
you are weak enough to do that, there is no use in my trying."
"Trying what?" wondered Hope, and said vaguely, "The two cases are
scarcely similar."
"Perhaps not, but how could you consistently call me weak to yield to
wine, if you are to be helpful and kind one minute, and scornful the
next? You said you would help me to win over Miss Faith, and I thought
you also tacitly promised me help in another way. Are you going back
on everything, now?"
"No, indeed!" cried Hope, fully comprehending at last. ("So he talked
Faith over, thinking it was I--and she let him think so--sly puss! I
didn't believe it was in her!") Then aloud, "I will do what I can, of
course, but Faith, though seeming so gentle, has a strain of
obstinacy--"
"Yes, you hinted at that before."
("Indeed!" laughed the girl inside, "how well she did it!")
"But she is so fond of you, and I long to be friends with both."
"Yes?" interpolated Hope, with an indifferent accent.
"Yes," strongly; "but if I can't have her friendship, I still plead for
yours. You can help me--you have helped me already."
"But if she won't listen to me?" queried the girl, keeping her amused
eyes lowered.
"Then give it up, and I will bear her displeasure; but don't double it
by adding your own."
"Then, possibly, I had better not say anything--"
"And keep the matter to ourselves?" eagerly.
"Why, y-yes, for the present, at least."
"All right! I'm willing. Only you'll ignore me when she's by, I'm
afraid."
Hope turned suddenly away, almost unable to control her laughter.
"I ought to ignore you always," she said, "but--"
"But you won't, I'm sure! And, in time, even she will see how I have
improved, and relent towards me."
"Do you think so?" asked Hope in a smothered tone.
"Indeed I do! She is too sweet and fine a girl to hold resentment, I'm
sure. I'll win her over yet!"
"Well, you might try," said the naughty girl in a tone of doubtful
assent, "but my sister is not one to be trifled with, and you were wise
to come to me. If you ever do speak to her, I wouldn't advise you to
repeat this conversation--" and, chuckling amusedly, Hope sped on her
way, leaving Allyne in great contentment of mind. He looked after her
with a smile.
"It was lucky I tackled the right one!" he muttered. "The other is
lovely; I suppose, but I like a little more force and fire. In spite
of their resemblance it's easy enough to tell them apart when one is
really interested. Well, I must keep my promise, now, and behave
myself--that is clear!"