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Brenda,
Her School and Her Club
BY HELEN LEAH REED
AUTHOR OF "MISS THEODORA," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY JESSIE WILLCOX SMITH
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1900
_Copyright, 1900_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
[Illustration: "THE CHILD HIMSELF, SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF CURIOUS GIRLS, CLUNG TO NORA'S HAND"]
CONTENTS
I. FOUR FRIENDS
II. JULIA'S ARRIVAL
III. THE RESCUE
IV. A CLUB MEETING
V. MISS CRAWDON'S SCHOOL
VI. MISUNDERSTANDINGS
VII. VISITING MANUEL
VIII. PLANNING THE BAZAAR
IX. A MYSTERIOUS MANSION
X. A SOPHOMORE
XI. THE COOKING CLASS
XII. CONCERNING JULIA
XIII. GREAT EXPECTATIONS
XIV. THE FOOTBALL GAME
XV. A POET AT HOME
XVI. AN HISTORIC RAMBLE
XVII. THE ROSAS AT HOME
XVIII. MERRY CHRISTMAS
XIX. NORA'S THOUGHTLESSNESS
XX. FIDESSA AND HER MISTRESS
XXI. MISS SOUTH AND JULIA
XXII. BRENDA'S SECRET
XXIII. ALMOST READY
XXIV. AN EVENING'S FUN
XXV. THE BAZAAR
XXVI. GREAT EXCITEMENT
XXVII. A MISTAKE
XXVIII. EXPLANATIONS
XXIX. AFTER VACATION
XXX. BRENDA'S FOLLY
XXXI. THE SHILOH PICNIC
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"THE CHILD HIMSELF, SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF CURIOUS GIRLS, CLUNG TO
NORA'S HAND"
"'OH, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, GIRLS,--LET US WORK FOR--MANUEL!'"
"SHE WAS ABLE TO RUSH ON AND PICK THEM UP AS THEY WERE DASHED AGAINST A
LAMP-POST"
"NOW AS JULIA SAT THERE DRINKING TEA FROM THE QUAINTEST OF OLD-FASHIONED
CHINA CUPS"
"'WHY, BRENDA BARLOW, WHY ARE YOU LYING IN THIS DOWNCAST POSITION?'"
BRENDA, HER SCHOOL AND HER CLUB
I
FOUR FRIENDS
"What do suppose she'll be like?"
"How can I tell?"
"Well, Brenda Barlow, I should think you'd have _some_ idea--your own
cousin."
"Oh, that doesn't make any difference. I've hardly thought about her."
"But aren't you just a little curious?" continued the questioner, a
pretty girl with dark hair.
"No, Nora, I'm not. She's sixteen and a half--almost a year older than
we are. She's never lived in a big city, and that's enough."
"Oh, a country girl?"
"I don't know that she's a country girl exactly, but I just wish she
wasn't coming. She'll spoil all our fun."
"How?" asked a third girl, seated on the bottom step.
"Why, who ever heard of _five_ girls going about together? If three's a
crowd, five's a perfect regiment. I agree with Brenda that it's too bad
to have her come. Now when there's four of us we can pair off and have a
good time."
The last speaker had a long thin face with a determined mouth and large
china blue eyes. She was the only one of the four whom the average
observer would not call pretty. Yet in her little circle she had her own
way more often even than Brenda, who was not only somewhat of a tyrant,
but a beauty as well.
"Brenda and Belle
They carry a spell,"
the other girls were in the habit of singing, when the two _Bs_ had
accomplished something on which they had set their hearts. Edith, the
third of the group, in spite of her auburn hair, was the most amiable of
the four. I say "in spite" out of respect merely to the popular
prejudice. Nobody has ever proved that auburn hair really indicates
worse temper than hair of any other color. Edith almost always agreed
with any of the plans made by the others, and very often with their
opinions. Dark-haired Nora was the only one of the group who ever
ventured to dissent from the two _Bs_. Now she spoke up briskly,
"I know that I shall like your cousin."
"Why?" the other three exclaimed in a chorus.
"I can't tell you _why_, only that I know I shall."
"You're welcome to," said Brenda, tossing her head, "but I guess if you
had just begun to have your own house to yourself you wouldn't like
somebody else coming that you'd have to treat exactly like a sister."
"Why, Brenda!" said Nora, with a look of surprise, and then the others
remembered that Nora had had a little sister near her own age whose
death was a great sorrow to her.
"Why, Brenda!" repeated Nora, "I wish that I had a sister."
Now Brenda Barlow was not nearly as heartless as her words implied. She
had two sisters whom she loved very dearly. But they were both much
older than Brenda, and by petting and spoiling her they had to a large
extent helped to make her selfish. One of them had now been married for
four years, and had gone to California to live and the other was in
Paris completing her art studies. When Janet married, Brenda had not
realized the change in the family. But when Agnes went to Paris, Brenda
was older, and she fully felt her own importance as "Miss Barlow."
"It's the same as being 'Miss Barlow,'" she said to her friends, "the
servants call me so, and I've moved my things down into Janet's room. I
can invite any one I want to luncheon without asking whether Agnes has
any plans,--and I shouldn't wonder if I could have a dinner-party once
in a while--of course, not a _very_ late one, but with raw oysters to
begin with--sure--" and the other girls laughed, for they knew that
Brenda had been practising on raw oysters for a long time, and that she
felt proud of her present prowess in swallowing them without winking or
making a face.
Mr. Barlow was generally absorbed in business affairs, and Mrs. Barlow
had so many social engagements that Brenda did as she wished in most
respects. She ordered the servants about when her mother was out, and
they were as ready to obey her as her friends were to follow her lead,
for when Brenda wanted her own way she never seemed ill-natured. She
simply insisted with a very winning smile--and nobody could refuse her.
She had found it very pleasant to rule her little world. It was even
pleasanter than being the spoiled and petted child that she had been
when her sisters were at home. Her father and mother had never seen how
fond she was growing of her own way until they announced the coming of
her cousin Julia.
"She is older than you, Brenda, and I hear that she is far advanced in
her studies. I dare say that she will be able to help you sometimes."
"Oh, papa! I _hate_ to have any one help me. She'll be an awful bore, I
suppose, if she thinks she knows more than me----"
"Grammar, Brenda," said her mother with a smile.
"Well, then, more than _I_," repeated Brenda.
"I'm sure she won't be a bore, Brenda, but her life has been very
different from yours. She has led a quiet life, for you know she was her
father's constant companion until he died."
Here Mrs. Barlow sighed. Julia's mother was Mrs. Barlow's sister, and
had died when the little Julia was hardly five years old.
"Uncle Richard was always delicate?" ventured Brenda.
"Yes, dear, and he spent his life trying to find a place where he could
gain perfect health. Boston was too bleak for him, and that is why you
have not seen Julia since she was very little. Your uncle did not care
to undergo the fatigue of traveling East even in the summer, and he
could not bear to be parted from Julia. But she was always a sweet
little thing."
"I hope you won't be disappointed in her," cried Brenda, half in a
temper. "I believe you are going to care for her more than you do for
me."
"Nonsense, Brenda," exclaimed her mother in surprise.
"Well, you can't expect me to feel the same about her,--a strange
girl--who knows more than I, and is just enough older to make every one
expect me to look up to her. Oh, dear!"
Since Brenda had not concealed her feelings from her mother, it was
hardly to be expected that she would be less frank with her three most
intimate friends.
After Nora and Edith had bade Brenda good-bye that afternoon when they
had talked about the unknown cousin, they walked rather slowly up the
street.
"Do you suppose Brenda's jealous?" said Nora, in a half whisper.
"Oh, hush," answered Edith, to whom the word jealousy meant something
dreadful. "Of course not."
"Well, don't you think it's strange for her not to feel more pleased at
the prospect of having her cousin with her. I should think it would be
great fun to have another girl in the house."
"Oh, well, Brenda can always have one of us. Her mother is so good about
letting her invite people--and of course she can't tell how she'll get
along with her cousin. No, I really shouldn't like it myself."
As Nora and Edith walked away, Brenda turned to Belle, in whom she
always found a ready sympathizer.
"You know how I feel, Belle."
"Yes, indeed; I think it's too bad. I'm sure it will spoil half our fun.
It's horrid anyway to have some one older than yourself ordering you
round."
"Oh, I don't suppose she'll do that exactly."
"Well, it's just the same thing. If she's such a model, as your mother
says, she'll make you feel uncomfortable all the time. Then if she's
wearing mourning, she can't do the things that you do, and you'll have
to stay at home and be polite to her. Yes, I'm really sorry for you,
Brenda."
With sympathy like this, Brenda began to regard herself as almost a
martyr.
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "why couldn't she have waited until next winter?
Come, Belle," she continued, "you'll stay to dinner, won't you?"
Belle hesitated for a moment. "I suppose I _ought_ to go home."
"Oh, why?"
Belle was silent. She knew that certain unfinished lessons awaited her,
and that her grandmother objected to her dining away from home, unless
she had first asked permission. She fortified herself, however, by
saying to herself, "Oh, well, mother won't care." For her mother was
what is commonly known as easy-going, and seldom interfered with her
daughter's goings and comings.
Belle always enjoyed dining with Brenda. The dining-room was so
attractive with its great blazing fire, its heavy draperies and cheerful
oil-paintings on the wall. At home she sat down in a large, severely
furnished room, with her solemn grandmother wrapped in a white knitted
shawl at one end of the long table, her half-deaf uncle James at the
other end, and her brother Jack on the side opposite her. Her delicate
mother often dined upstairs. Uncle James usually had some story to tell
of misdeeds that he had heard some one ascribe to Jack ("and how a deaf
person can hear I don't see," Jack would say crossly to Brenda). Her
grandmother generally read Belle herself a lecture on paying proper
respect to one's elders, or some similar subject, while Belle and Jack
exchanged glances of mischievous intelligence, which often drew strong
reproofs from their grandmother, and sometimes from her mother when she
was present.
No wonder, then, that Brenda's invitation was a strong temptation to
Belle.
"Come, silence gives consent," laughed Brenda. Dragging Belle by the
arm, she touched the door-bell, and in a moment the two girls were
inside the house.
"What room is Julia going to have?" asked Belle, as they ran up the
front stairs.
"Well, you _will_ be surprised; that's one of the things that makes me
so cross. Just _think_ of it, Agnes's rooms in the L--that sweet little
studio that I wanted mamma to let me have--it's all fitted up for Julia.
Don't you call that mean?" Belle pressed her friend's hand.
"You poor thing!"
"Yes, it seems Agnes is sure not to come home for two years, and so
mamma thought the studio would be a good place for Julia to practice in,
and so there's a piano and--well--let's come and see. We've got time
before dinner."
Pushing open a door on the second floor and going down a step or two,
Brenda and Belle found themselves inside a little reception-room. The
walls were a deep red, there was a cashmere rug on the polished floor, a
clock and two bronze figures on the mantelpiece. An open bookcase in one
recess, a short lounge in the other, a low wicker tea-table, and two or
three small chairs made up the furnishing.
"This is just the same as it was," said Brenda, "and so is the
bedchamber," pointing to a door on the left of the reception-room, "but
see here!" and she turned to the right. Belle followed, and they found
themselves in a long, narrow room, with a bay window at one end and a
skylight overhead. On the walls were several large unframed sketches in
black and white, together with water colors and a number of fine
photographs and engravings in gilt or ebony frames. Against the wall
near the bay window stood a small upright piano with an elephant's cloth
scarf over the top. The groundwork of the scarf was of a deep yellow,
harmonizing with the tint of the painted walls. There were two or three
comfortable chairs covered in yellow-flowered chintz, and in the centre
an inlaid library table with a baize top and an assortment of writing
utensils. There were several rugs of a prevailing yellow tint on the
polished yellow floor, and one side of the room was occupied by rows of
low open book-shelves which held, however, only a few books.
"I believe Julia's going to have her father's library brought here,"
said Brenda, in explanation of the empty shelves. "Don't you _hate_
book-worms?"
"Yes," responded Belle, "but how _lovely_ this room is! What a _shame_
that you couldn't have it yourself! Why, I thought your mother said that
they were going to leave the studio just as it was until Agnes came
home."
"Well, so they were, but she won't be home for two years, and then
she'll probably have a studio down town, and so they've put most of her
things away and fitted up this room just for Julia. _She_ has to have
everything."
"I know just how you feel," and Belle pressed Brenda's hand
sympathetically. "But then, your own room is lovely."
"Oh, yes, of course; but it isn't the same thing as a studio. A studio
is so--so artistic."
The girls were standing in the bay window, bathed in a flood of sunshine
from the setting sun. They glanced across the broad river toward the
roofs and spires of Cambridge. A tug-boat went puffing along the stream
towing a schooner loaded with lumber.
"Oh, my, it must be late! the sun is just dropping behind those
Brookline Hills. Come up to my room."
The room on the floor above the studio which had formerly been Janet's,
also overlooked the river. It was in the main house and its windows
looked down on the roof of the L containing the studio. In fact, the
studio to a slight extent impeded the view of the river which was
obtainable from this upper room. But the room itself was large and
cheerful, with a carpet and paper of bluish tint, a large brass bedstead
canopied with blue, comfortable lounging chairs, a dainty little sofa,
dressing-table, desk, and all kinds of pretty ornaments. A half-open
door showed the adjoining dressing-room with its long pier-glass, and a
coal fire blazed in the open grate.
"Make yourself comfortable," said Brenda hospitably, "for if you don't
mind, I'm going to write a note that I want to send out by Thomas before
dinner. It won't take me ten minutes."
Brenda sat down at her little desk, while Belle sank in the depths of an
easy chair near the fire.
Just as Brenda finished her note, a white-capped maid came into the
room.
"Oh, Jane, just give this note to Thomas, please. I want him to take it
to Mrs. Grey's and bring back my new coat. I can't go to school
to-morrow without it."
"I don't hardly think Thomas can go, Miss Brenda."
"Why not?"
"Well, he's got to go to the station for your cousin."
"My cousin?"
"Yes, miss. A telegram came this afternoon that she'd be here at
six-thirty, and your mother left word when she went out that they
wouldn't be much later than that getting back from the train."
"Well, I never! The idea of her coming without any one's expecting her.
Why didn't she write?"
"I don't know, miss. I heard something about a letter that got lost, but
anyway your mother's gone to meet Miss Julia, and she left word she
thought you'd better give up going to the tableaux this evening, for she
wouldn't like you to leave your cousin alone."
"There, Belle, that's the way it's always going to be. Everything for
'Miss Julia.' I don't care, I'm going out just the same. The idea of
losing those tableaux."
"But, Brenda," began Belle.
"No, it isn't any good arguing with me. I never _could_ bear to be
interfered with, and mamma knows perfectly well that I want to see 'The
Succession of the Seasons.'"
"But it's to be repeated to-morrow evening. You know I'm going then."
"I don't care. I hate to go the second night to anything."
Belle did not reply, though as Jane left the room, she turned to Brenda.
"I'd better not stay to dinner to-night."
"Oh, do. I don't want to sit alone with Julia. I shan't know what to say
to her. No, really you can't go home."
Then running to the stairs and calling after Jane, Brenda cried,
"See that there's an extra place at the table for Belle."
After this she began to open the drawers of her bureau, tossing their
contents about, and she ran in and out of her closet to bring out one
gown after another for Belle's inspection.
"Which would you wear if you wanted to make a good impression on a new
cousin? I want to look as old as I can, and I believe I'll do up my
hair."
"Oh, Brenda!"
"Yes, I will. Now see, if I put a string on the band of this skirt it
will almost touch the floor. There, help me."
When the skirt was lengthened, Brenda regarded her reflection in the
pier-glass with great satisfaction. Brushing her waving brown hair to
the top of her head, she gathered it in a soft knot, and thrust a long
gold pin through it.
"Tell me the truth, Belle, wouldn't you think me sixteen years old--if
you didn't know," she cried to her friend, who could hardly conceal her
mirth at Brenda's changed aspect.
"I don't--why, yes, of course," as she saw a frown stealing across
Brenda's face.
Brenda strode around the room with all the dignity she could command,
her pretty face somewhat flushed by her exertions in giving her hair
just the right touch. As a matter of fact she looked rather odd, but
Belle did not dare tell her that her skirt hung unevenly, and that two
or three short locks of her hair stood out almost straight behind.
"Hark, I believe they've come," Brenda exclaimed.
Certainly there was a noise in the hall below.
"Where's Brenda?" she heard her mother call.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to go down," she said reluctantly to Belle,
and the two girls slowly descended the stairs.
II
JULIA'S ARRIVAL
As the two girls went downstairs, Brenda politely urged Belle to go
ahead of her. She, herself, lingered a moment to look over the
balusters, and thus, when they reached the broad hall at the foot of the
stairs, she was several steps behind her friend.
Belle, with a quick eye, before she reached the bottom of the stairs,
noticed a little group near the fireplace,--an elderly woman with a
shawl over her arm, who looked like a maid; Mrs. Barlow, holding the
hand of a slight girl in black, and last but not least, a large Irish
setter which lay at the young girl's feet. All this Belle had hardly
time to notice when the young girl rushed forward and throwing her arm
around her neck, cried,
"Oh, Cousin Brenda, I'm so glad to see you." Belle for a moment looked
disconcerted, and Mrs. Barlow, without showing any surprise at Belle's
presence, relieved the latter by saying:
"This isn't Brenda, Julia, but one of her friends."
Julia, still with her hand in Belle's, smiled pleasantly.
"I'm glad to see you," she said, and just at that moment Brenda came in
sight.
Julia was hastening forward to greet her cousin as she had greeted her
friend, but something in Brenda's face forbade her. Brenda could not,
perhaps, have explained why she felt so annoyed at Julia's mistake. She
was not unduly vain, yet it annoyed her that her cousin had mistaken
Belle for her. For well as she liked Belle, she knew that all the other
girls considered her not especially good-looking. Though she could not,
probably would not, have put it into words, the thought flashed through
her brain that Julia was stupid to have made such a mistake. The thought
took form in a rather repelling glance as her eye met her cousin's.
"Come, Brenda, you should not make Julia go more than half-way to meet
you," called her mother from her place near the fire.
"No'm," replied Brenda, hardly knowing what she said, for really she
felt a little shy about the new cousin, who was more than a year her
senior. "With her hand outstretched, she stepped toward Julia, moving
with the dignity that her lengthened skirt demanded.
"Dear me! What can it be?" she thought, as she felt something hindering
her progress. It could not be that the skirt was _too_ long. She stooped
a little to raise it from beneath her feet, and then, how mortifying!
she felt a string snap. She clutched wildly at her skirt with both
hands. But it was too late, and making the best of the situation, she
stood before her cousin in her short ruffled petticoat, instead of her
long, grown-up gown.
"There, Brenda," cried her mother, comprehending the situation at a
glance, for this was not the first time that Brenda had tried to
lengthen her skirts. "There, Brenda, I hope you won't be as foolish as
this again. Speak to your cousin, and then go up and put on your skirt
properly."
Poor Brenda! What a loss of dignity! She hardly knew what she said to
Julia, or what Julia said to her. She resented Belle's offer of help,
for had she not heard a decided giggle from her friend at the moment of
the catastrophe? So rushing to her room, she locked the door and did not
leave it until called to dinner.
Now Brenda, though by no means perfect, was not ill-natured, and she
seated herself at the table with the intention of making herself
agreeable to Julia.
But there are times when nothing seems to go exactly right, and this
evening was one of them. In the first place it disturbed Brenda to see
her father's glance of amusement as his eye fell on her new style of
hair-dressing.
"Which is it now?" he laughed, "Marie Antoinette or Queen Elizabeth?
Dear me, Brenda, it's a long time since we've seen you masquerading in
this fashion."
Brenda reddened. In spite of the mishap to her dress, she wished her
cousin to believe that she always wore her hair on the top of her head.
Vague hopes were floating through her mind that she could persuade her
mother to let her give up her childish pigtail altogether.
"Why does papa always say things like that?" and she reddened still more
as Julia's eyes fell on her. She remembered, however, her duties as
assistant hostess.
"Did you have a pleasant journey?" she asked politely.
"Yes, indeed," answered Julia. "That is, I was just a little tired, but
it was so delightful to look out of the car window and know that I was
really in Massachusetts. It seemed too good to be true."
Mr. Barlow looked pleased. "Ah, Julia, it gratifies me very much to have
you say this. Sometimes when people have traveled they lose their love
for their early home."
"Yes, Uncle Robert, I've always loved to think of Boston as my real
home. Although it's so long since we lived here."
"Why, what do you really remember of Boston?" asked Mr. Barlow.
"Well, the State-House, Uncle Robert, and the Common--of
course--and--and Brenda."
"Oh, you can't remember Brenda?"
"Yes, indeed I can. She was the dearest little thing! You see when I was
five years old, Brenda seemed almost a baby--a year and a half between
two girls makes a good deal of difference,--when they're little."
But even this last saving clause did not prevent Brenda's heart from
giving a sudden thump, especially as she caught a sympathetic glance
from Belle which seemed to say,
"Ah, she's reminding you how much older she is than you."
Brenda straightened herself up. She tried to think of something to say
that would show that though younger, she at least had some knowledge of
the world.
"Can you eat raw oysters, Julia?" were the rather strange words that
came to her lips. Julia, unable naturally to follow the train of thought
leading to this question, answered brightly,
"I've never tried. You see we don't have very good oysters in the West,
and some way I've never thought I'd like them raw."
"Oh, if you want to seem really grown-up you'll have to eat oysters off
the shell," said Mrs. Barlow. "I believe Brenda has practised so that
she can eat them without wincing."
Then Belle, who prided herself on her tact, hastened to change what she
knew might become a sore subject with Brenda.
"Were there many people you knew on the train, Miss----"
"Oh, please say Julia," broke in the young girl. "Every one always does.
No, there wasn't any one I knew in the cars between here and Chicago. If
I had not had Eliza I should have been very lonely."
Brenda had subsided into an unwonted silence. She was wondering how she
could excuse herself to her cousin--whether her mother would really make
her give up the tableaux for that evening. She heard, without really
listening, an animated conversation between her father and Belle on the
best way of learning history. Belle believed that more could be learned
by general reading than by studying a text-book. "Belle always has so
many theories," Brenda was in the habit of saying.
"I wish Jane would hurry with the coffee," she cried.
"Why, Brenda," and her mother looked surprised. "You are not going to
have coffee."
"Of course, you know you always let me have a little cup when I'm going
out."
"But you are not going anywhere to-night. Didn't you get my message?"
Brenda understood well enough that her mother did not wish to discuss
the question of her leaving her cousin when Julia herself was present,
yet she persisted.
"But, mamma----"
Mrs. Barlow shook her head. "There is nothing to be said. You know,
Brenda, when I mean a thing I mean it."
Julia looked a trifle embarrassed, realizing that in some way she was a
hindrance to a full discussion between her aunt and cousin.
Brenda's face was twisted into a curious scowl. She was forgetting her
duty to her cousin.
"Oh, mamma, I've made up my mind to go."
"No, Brenda, it is impossible. Let us hear no more about it."
"What is it, Brenda, that you wish to do?" asked Mr. Barlow, who while
talking with Belle had only half heard the conversation between Brenda
and her mother.
Mrs. Barlow shook her head. She did not care to enter into a discussion
before Julia likely to make the young girl feel that her arrival had
interfered with any plan of Brenda's.
Then Belle, who realized that she was not always in favor with Mrs.
Barlow, saw her opportunity.
"If Brenda will change with me, she can have my ticket for to-morrow
evening."
"Why, that is very kind in you, Belle, but have you time to get ready?"
"Oh, yes, if you'll excuse me now," and before Brenda could remonstrate,
she saw Belle receive the tickets from Mrs. Barlow's hands and heard her
hasty words of good-bye as she started home under the escort of Thomas.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Barlow took any notice of the cloud on Brenda's
face. Fortunately they could not read her reflections on the duplicity
of Belle, who after pitying her so in the afternoon, had now begun to
side against her. This at least was the form which Brenda's thoughts
took. Rightly or wrongly she considered herself an ill-used young
person.
Just then the maid entered with a letter on a salver. Mrs. Barlow
glanced at it and then laughed.
"This explains the mystery, Julia, you wrote 'New York' instead of
'Boston,' and so your letter has been two days longer than it should
have been in reaching us."
"Oh, did I, Aunt Anna? How stupid! Well, you have treated me much better
than my carelessness deserved."
"Well, I'm only glad that I happened to be at home when your telegram
came. It would have been a little cheerless for you had you happened to
arrive when we were all out. But come, you must be tired."
"Oh, not very." Then, as they left the room, Julia threw her arm around
Brenda.
"I know that we shall be great friends."
Already Brenda had begun to return to herself. She hoped that Julia had
not noticed her ill-temper. Perhaps after all she should like this new
cousin better than she had expected.
"If I were you, Brenda, I'd take Julia to her room now," said Mrs.
Barlow.
"How lovely!" exclaimed Julia, as they entered the pretty bedroom near
the studio. "Am I to have this all to myself?"
"Yes," replied Brenda.
"I never saw so pretty a room! How I _shall_ enjoy it! Whose used it to
be?"
"Oh, it was Agnes's room. She had it decorated to suit her ideas. You
know she's an artist."
"Oh, yes. How delightful to be an artist. I wish that I had some special
talent."
"I thought you had. Some one, mamma I think, said that you were
musical."
"So I am in a way. I've given more time to music than to anything else.
But that was chiefly to please papa."
Here Julia sighed, while Brenda hardly knew what to say.
"You must miss him very much," she ventured.
"Oh, don't speak of it, Brenda. I can't bear to think that he is really
gone." And Julia's tears began to fall.
"What shall I say?" thought Brenda, and as her words of sympathy were
beginning to take shape, her mother entered the room. Wisely enough, she
made no comment on Julia's tears, believing that they would flow less
freely if she seemed to take no notice of them.
"I have come to see if you are perfectly comfortable. To-night Eliza
will sleep on the lounge in your room, and after this we will arrange a
bed for her in the room across the hall. In either case you will not
feel lonely."
When Julia had thanked her aunt for her kindness, Mrs. Barlow drew
Brenda one side.
"Now, Brenda, we must bid your cousin good-night," and then, with a
final word or two of advice to Julia, Mrs. Barlow with Brenda left the
room.
"I'm going to bed now, mamma," said Brenda, as they reached the hall.
"Very well, I haven't time myself to tell you that I think you have
behaved very foolishly this evening. I hope you will be more sensible
to-morrow."
"Good-night," cried Brenda, without making any promises.
When she was within her own room she flung herself down on her bed.
"I know just how it will be," she said to herself. "I can never do what
I want to. It will always be 'Julia, Julia.' She isn't so bad herself,
but it's the way every one will treat me that I hate."
With these confused words on her lips she began to get ready for bed.
III
THE RESCUE
Brenda started for school a little later than usual the morning after
Julia's arrival. As she walked up Beacon Street she saw Edith and Nora
ahead of her, half-way up the slope on the sidewalk next the Common.
"Oh, dear, they might look back," she said to herself. But they neither
looked back nor paused on their way, and Brenda was prevented from
hurrying by a line of wagons and street cars which blocked Charles
Street. She was kept standing for two or three minutes at the street
crossing, and when she continued her way Edith and Nora had turned into
the side street leading to the school. When Brenda reached the school
door, Belle was the centre of a group of girls seated on the steps.
"Why didn't you call for me, Belle?" cried Brenda petulantly.
"Oh, I had to do some errands on the way, and I thought, too, that you
would stay home with your cousin."
"Well! I should say not. I shall see enough of her."
"Tell us about her, Brenda," cried Nora who came out from the house for
a moment. "Belle says she has come. What _is_ she like?"
"Like? Why, like any girl. There's nothing special about her. She wears
black and I think she feels kind of superior. It's going to be awfully
hard for me."
"Yes, Brenda," said a thin-faced girl in the group back by Belle. "You
don't think any one could be superior to you, do you?"
Brenda, with her back to the sidewalk, was ready with a sharp reply,
when a warning look from one of the girls closed her lips.
"Why, girls," said a cheerful voice behind her, "ought you not to go
inside now? You should be in your seats by twenty minutes past nine. I
have said many times that you were not to wait for me."
The girls all respected Miss Crawdon, and they were just a little afraid
of her. Her authority was not always agreeable, when she chose to make
them feel it. Miss Crawdon was tall and blonde, with eyes some one said
"that saw everything." These were the right kind of eyes for the
principal of a girls' school. She had a pleasant voice with a tone of
decision in it that no one dared dispute. At her words the girls seated
on the steps slowly arose, and in a very short time they were at their
desks, getting out books and preparing for the day's work.
Brenda and Belle occupied adjacent seats. Edith and Nora were in the
same room, though a little nearer the window. They with about ten other
girls formed what might be called the middle class of a school of forty.
There were about fifteen older girls who would stay in school one or two
years longer, while Brenda and her friends had three years before them.
At least they would not "come out" for three years.
The older girls naturally kept much to themselves. They "did up" their
hair, wore skirts almost touching the ground, and were in every way
envied by their juniors. The youngest girls of all concerned themselves
very slightly about the oldest of all. But the girls of Brenda's age
imitated in many ways the doings of these older girls, and when, as
occasionally happened, one of the graduating class invited a younger
girl to walk with her at recess, the latter for a day or two after was
treated with great deference by her companions.
These oldest girls were not ahead of their schoolmates in all their
studies. In Latin and mathematics some of them recited with the younger
girls, or it might be fairer to say that some of the brighter young
girls were in the classes with the elder. Edith, for example, was ahead
of Brenda in mathematics, and her class almost through geometry, was
planning to go into trigonometry.
The discipline of the school was not unduly strict, yet after the
opening, girls were not expected to speak to one another without special
permission. In this matter they were put rather on their honor, for no
special punishment was inflicted for disobedience. A word of
disapprobation was usually the most severe reproof, although, in rare
cases, girls had been kept after school. Nora, whose intentions were
always good, was, of the four friends whom we have been observing, the
most likely to break some of the unwritten laws of the school. She
always saw the funny side of things, and it was very hard for her to
keep still when she wished to share her fun with somebody else. Belle
was no more scrupulous than Nora about observing rules, but she could
whisper to her neighbor in a quiet way without attracting attention.
Edith was really a conscientious, painstaking girl. On this account some
of those who did not know her well called her a "bore." Brenda was good
or bad by fits and starts. Sometimes for a week she devoted herself to
her lessons. She would then put her finger to her lips when Nora, in
passing her desk, bent over her to tell her some bit of news. She would
pretend not to understand when Belle laid a small piece of folded paper
on her desk, and she would keep her eyes fixed on her books when any
other girl tried to distract her attention. To-day, however, it was
different. In the first place she did not know her lesson very well and
did not feel like studying. In the half-hour in which she was supposed
to be doing her Latin exercise her mind constantly wandered, and she
could not help seeing that Belle was anxious to tell her something. At
length the little wad of paper fell on her desk.
"The tableaux were perfectly splendid! You ought to have been there."
Brenda nodded sadly. Surely this was not kind of Belle, who knew that
only stern necessity had kept her at home.
"I suppose the tableaux will be as good to-night," and a second note
fell on Brenda's desk, "but there won't be half as many people you know.
Everybody was there last night. Shall you take Julia?"
Again Brenda nodded, but by this time she was growing impatient. Leaning
forward toward Belle's desk, "Keep still, can't you, Belle," she
exclaimed in a voice intended to be a whisper. Unfortunately her voice
was louder than she thought, and she was recalled to herself by Miss
Crawdon's voice, "Be careful, Brenda," and Brenda applied herself to her
books until the hour arrived for the Latin lesson.
At recess Belle, pretending not to see Brenda, joined two of the older
girls and walked with them for the half hour, while Brenda and Nora and
Edith sat on the steps.
"Why didn't you know your Latin lesson?" asked Brenda of Edith. "I never
knew you to stumble so, and you couldn't give a single rule."
"Well, you know I didn't study yesterday afternoon. I meant to, but it
was too lovely to go in the house, and then last evening I went to the
tableaux. It seemed hard to have to stay home to study though I suppose
I should have. You didn't know your own lesson very well, Brenda,
although you stayed home all the evening."
"But, you see, I had company----"
"You'll find it hard to do your lessons if you make company of Julia.
Isn't she coming to school too?"
"Oh, I guess so. Won't it be hateful to have her in the class above us?"
"Perhaps she won't be. Didn't you say she hadn't been at school much?"
"Oh, girls who have studied at home always think they know more than any
one else. Oh, there, there!" and Brenda paused in her speech as a little
child playing on the opposite sidewalk ran out into the street in front
of the very wheels of a passing wagon. For a moment all held their
breath, then Nora with a leap and a run was down the steps and in the
street. Before the child realized its own danger she had snatched it
from in front of the horses, and had dragged it to the sidewalk. The
teamster, a rather stupid-looking man, had dismounted from his place.
"Waal, now, the child ain't hurt, I guess," he said to the girl, "I
pulled up as soon as I heard you holler, but it was such a little mite
of a thing that I couldn't hardly see it."
"Oh, it wasn't your fault," Brenda and Edith exclaimed. "It ran out so
quickly, but if you hadn't stopped your horses, it might have been
killed."
After assuring himself that the child was not really hurt, the teamster
went on, the child himself, surrounded by a group of curious girls,
clung closely to Nora's hand--a forlorn little thing--with bare feet and
a torn pinafore. The mud spattered over his face did not show very
distinctly on his dark skin. One small hand he had thrust into his eye,
and behind it the tears were slowly trickling down. Nora held the other
hand, and the child clung to her as if never intending to let go.
"What's your name, little boy?" cried one of the girls.
The child only sobbed.
"Here, Amy, give him a piece of your banana. He looks like an Italian
fruit-seller's child. He'll eat a banana."
But the little boy was not to be tempted.
Just then the noon bell sounded from the schoolroom.
"There, Nora, let him go, he'll find his way home," suggested one of the
girls.
"Oh, no, I'm sure he's hurt. Where do you live, little boy?"
Still no reply. The other girls went back into school, while Nora walked
irresolutely toward the door, holding the child's hand. As she stood at
the foot of the steps wondering what to do, Miss Crawdon appeared at the
door with Brenda and Edith who had hurried to tell her about the child.
"Is the little fellow hurt?" she asked with interest.
"Not really hurt, perhaps, but awfully frightened, and I'm sure he
doesn't live anywhere around here. I don't want to leave him when I go
into school, what _shall_ I do?"
"Don't look so distressed, Nora," said Miss Crawdon smiling. "I'm not
sure myself what is best." Then, after a moment's reflection, "You may
send him down to the basement with the janitor, and later I will see
what can be done."
So Nora, saying all the reassuring things that she could to the child,
left him with the janitor, Mr. Brown, although this separation was
accompanied with loud cries and shrieks on the part of the little boy.
It was very hard for Nora and the others to remain perfectly quiet
during the hour and a half that remained of school. They were anxious to
exchange questions about the child, to speculate about his home, and I
am sure that the little boy was more in the thoughts of Brenda, Edith,
and Nora than their lessons.
Belle had missed the excitement of the morning, for at the moment of the
accident she and the two older girls whom she had joined, were out of
sight of the school walking in another street.
She had returned to the schoolroom hardly half a minute before the end
of recess, when there was really no time to ask a question. She did not
dare to ask a question of Brenda, who still wore an unamiable
expression.
When half-past one came, however, Brenda and Belle forgot their little
disagreement, and hastened after Nora to learn what she was going to do
with her protege.
"Now, I'll tell you girls, just what I'm going to do. Miss Crawdon says
it will be all right. Brenda and I are going with Mrs. Brown to see
where Manuel lives--we have found out that his name is Manuel. We can
get some luncheon here, and please, please, stop at my house, Belle, and
tell my mother, and you, Edith, at Brenda's."
"Why don't you let Mrs. Brown go alone?"
"Oh, it will be so much more fun to go too."
"You can't find his house."
"Oh, yes; it will be somewhere down Hanover Street. Mrs. Brown knows. If
we take him there, he'll lead us on. Oh, it will be great fun."
"I don't believe your mother would like you to go without letting her
know."
"Well, I just have to go. I'm sure she won't care."
Though Nora was so confident, Brenda had some misgivings. She knew that
she really ought to be at home, but the temptation to go with Nora was
too strong to resist.
So, soon after two o'clock the strange procession began its march toward
Hanover Street, Manuel walking between Nora and Brenda, while Mrs. Brown
brought up the rear. Manuel was still silent.
"If he were a girl he'd talk more," said Nora.
Manuel showed very little interest in the whole proceeding. In fact he
seemed so tired that Mrs. Brown would have carried him had he not
resisted her efforts to take him in her arms.
IV
A CLUB MEETING
The strange procession had not gone very far when Nora heard some one
behind calling her name. It was Miss Crawdon, who, as Nora turned
around, signalled her to stop.
"Oh, Brenda, Miss Crawdon wishes to speak to us."
In a moment their teacher had overtaken them.
"I must reconsider my promise to you, or at least, Nora, you partly
misunderstood what I said. It will not do at all for you to go home with
this little boy. Your mother would blame me very much."
"Oh, Miss Crawdon," pouted Brenda. Nora, too, showed her disappointment.
"Now, Brenda, consider what it means. In the first place it is uncertain
whether or not you could find his home. In the second place you might
have to go into some dirty street or alley. With your mother's consent I
should have nothing to say, but as it is----"
"Well, can't we go as far as Scollay Square? We could get a car there
and go straight home."
Miss Crawdon hesitated a moment.
"As it happens," she replied, "I have to go in that direction myself. We
will walk together, and I will see you safely on your car. Mrs. Brown
and Manuel may lead the way."
"Isn't he cunning!" exclaimed Brenda, as the little boy looked over his
shoulder at the girls, with one little hand doubled up against his eye,
and his other clutching Mrs. Brown's skirt.
"I wish he would talk to us," responded Nora. "Where do you live, little
boy?" Manuel smiled knowingly. "There," he said, waving his hand
indefinitely toward the Square, across which the electric cars were
whizzing.
"Oh, no," cried Nora, "nobody lives there; there are shops and a hotel,
and----"
"Birdies, birdies, there," cried Manuel.
Even Miss Crawdon smiled as Manuel ran up to a shop window, and pounded
the glass, somewhat to the dismay of the parrots exhibited there in
their cages.
"Well, he seems to know this shop," said Mrs. Brown. "We might wait here
for a minute."
At the other side of the shop around the corner was a doorway in which
sat a woman with a basket of fruit for sale. Manuel himself was the
first to catch sight of her, and rushing forward with a flying leap, he
almost knocked her basket over. The little boy had found his tongue, and
chattering like a magpie, he pointed toward the ladies. The woman,
rising from the step on which she had been sitting, came toward the
little group. In broken English she explained that Manuel was her
youngest boy, and that sometimes she let him go with her on her round of
fruit-selling. Lately she had had her stand near this bird store, and in
some way on this particular day, Manuel had wandered away from her.
"You must have been worried," said Nora.
"Oh, no," she answered philosophically; "me thought him gone home."
Then Brenda, who had hitherto kept silent, broke in with a graphic
account of the fate Manuel had escaped through Nora's bravery. The
mother probably only half comprehending the young girl's rapid flow of
words, smiled and showed her white teeth. "T'ank you, t'ank you," she
said. "You come and see him some day," she added, in a general
invitation to the group.
"Come, girls, we must hasten," said Miss Crawdon. "Mrs. Brown will take
down Manuel's address. Then, if your mothers are willing, you may go to
see him some day."
Rather reluctantly Nora and Brenda bade good-bye to black-eyed Manuel
and his mother. They gave Mrs. Brown many injunctions to make no mistake
about his house and street. On Saturday they both hoped to be able to go
to see him.
To them the whole thing presented the aspect of an adventure.
"I never spoke to a foreigner before in Boston, did you?" said Nora, "I
mean except French teachers," she added.
"No, not a poor foreigner," responded Brenda. "Wasn't that woman
picturesque, with her shawl over her head?"
As they drew near home both girls began to feel a little doubtful as to
the wisdom of what they had done.
"Well, your mother never scolds," said Brenda, as she bade good-bye to
Nora at the door of the latter.
"Why, yours doesn't either," exclaimed Nora.
"Oh, you don't know," and Brenda shook her head. "There's Julia now----"
"Nonsense," laughed Nora, running up the steps. "Good-bye, now. I'm
coming to see Julia this afternoon. You know I expect to like her."
"Your lunch is waiting, Miss Brenda," said the maid as Brenda started up
the front stairs toward her room.
"Oh, I've had my luncheon," replied Brenda. "You don't think I'd wait
until this time."
"Brenda," called her mother from the library, "it's half-past three.
Where have you been since school?"
"Oh, dear!" grumbled Brenda to herself. "I don't see why I have to give
an account of every step I take. I'll be down in a minute," she called
out, as she continued her way upstairs. When she descended to the
library, she hastened forward with a polite "Good-afternoon" to Julia,
who was seated before the fire with a book in her lap.
"Julia has been reading to me," said her mother.
"We have had a very pleasant hour," added Julia.
"But tell me where you have been," said Brenda's mother. "You know that
it is a rule that you should come directly home----"
Brenda tossed her head.
"Oh, I asked Belle to come and tell you."
"She may have left word that you were not coming, I think that Thomas
gave me some message, but let us hear where you have been."
Mrs. Barlow spoke pleasantly, for she knew by the cloud on Brenda's face
that there might be a storm if for the present she said too much about
her absence from luncheon.
"Yes," added Julia, "do tell us where you have been. I have an idea that
you have had an adventure."
"How could you guess?" exclaimed Brenda, and then, with the ice broken
by these words of Julia's, she gave her mother an animated account of
Nora's bravery, Manuel's beauty and the fruit-woman's picturesqueness.
Mrs. Barlow and Julia were interested. Brenda had a graphic way of
telling a story, and the events of the morning lost nothing by her
telling. But Mrs. Barlow shook her head when Brenda spoke of visiting
Manuel in his home.
"It might not be at all a proper place," she said, "and besides,
Manuel's mother may not care to have strangers visit her. Poor people
sometimes are very sensitive about such things."
Before Brenda had time to argue this point with her mother, the portiere
was pushed aside and Belle and Edith came into the room. Julia rose to
shake hands with Belle, while Edith with a very sweet smile, stepping
toward her, said:
"I am glad to see you. I am one of 'the Four.' Brenda's told you about
us. I am Edith."
Julia felt strongly drawn to the pleasant-faced girl. She liked her
better than Belle, although on the two occasions of their meeting the
latter had been markedly polite to her.
"Yes, we're all here now except Nora. We ought to be ready to give her a
serenade, or something like that when she comes. She's really a kind of
a heroine, isn't she?"
"Oh, nonsense, Edith," said Belle. "She did not actually do so very
much. Those horses were not running away, and a little paddy like that
child has as many lives as a cat."