like that."
"Let's wait until we get the money," said Brenda, grandly. "Perhaps
we'll have enough to buy them a house--or----"
"Or a horse and carriage," laughed Edith. "Oh, Brenda, you _are_ so
unpractical."
"There, there," said Nora, who saw another cloud rising over the horizon
of the Four Club. "Let's talk of something sensible."
"What are you working at, Belle?"
Belle held up a pretty piece of blue denim on which she had begun to
outline a pattern in white silk. "This is to be a sofa cushion," she
said in answer to Nora's question. "People always like to buy them, and
this shade of blue goes with almost anything."
"Oh, it's too sweet for anything," said Nora, enthusiastically.
"Yes, indeed," added Edith, with perfect sincerity. "You do such perfect
needlework that I really envy you."
Both Nora and Edith were glad to praise Belle's skill, for although they
knew that they themselves had been in the right, they realized that
Belle would not feel very kindly toward them for not siding with her in
the matter of Julia. Nora, like Edith, was a peacemaker, and both wished
the afternoon to end as pleasantly as possible.
Belle was by no means indifferent to the praise of her friends. She
really could do very fine embroidery and she took considerable pride in
her work.
"I never _could_ have patience to do anything like that," said Nora,
whose specialty was crocheting. "I like to do something that I needn't
look at all the time. I could crochet an afghan almost in the dark."
"Yes, but an afghan is such an endless piece of work."
"Well, I don't suppose I'll make _many_ of them for the Bazaar."
"I should say not," said Edith. "What are you going to do first, Brenda?
You haven't had a needle in your hand this afternoon."
"I know it, I know it," cried Brenda, the heedless. "But I can't think
what to begin first," and she opened the bottom drawer of her bureau,
where were displayed a tangled heap of linen and floss and gold thread
and silk plush and other materials for fancy work which she had bought
at different times. There were cushion covers and doilies in which a few
stitches had been taken, only to be thrown aside for something else, and
some of them were in so soiled a condition that they were not likely to
be good for anything.
"Oh, what a wicked waste of money, Brenda Barlow," exclaimed Nora, as
she looked at the contents of the drawer.
"Well, at any rate it shows that I have had good intentions," said
Brenda.
IX
A MYSTERIOUS MANSION
At the corner nearly opposite Miss Crawdon's school stood a large,
old-fashioned mansion of brick painted light brown. It was a detached
house almost surrounded by a high wall. In the wall was a pillared
gateway, and each pillar was surmounted by two large balls that looked
as if they had dropped from the mouth of a great cannon. Behind the
fence and close to the house were two little garden beds, and there were
three or four trees in the yard back of the house. It was said that the
mansion had once been surrounded with extensive grounds that sloped down
hill almost to the river. But new streets and houses had gradually
encroached on these grounds until hardly a trace of them remained. There
was never a sign of life seen about the old house. Windows and doors
were always closed. Even the blinds were seldom drawn up, though once in
a while at an upper window, some of the schoolgirls said that they had
seen a woman's figure seated behind the lace curtains. Occasionally,
too, on sunny days they had noticed a large, old-fashioned carriage
drive up under the porte-cochere, while an old lady very much wrapped
up, and attended evidently by a maid, entered it. In taking their walks
at recess the girls always passed this house, and, as schoolgirls, they
naturally felt much curiosity about the lady who occupied it, since she
seemed to be surrounded by an air of mystery.
They knew, of course, her name--Madame du Launy--and some of the girls
had heard more about her from their parents.
"My mother," said Frances Pounder, "says that my grandmother told her
that Mme. du Launy was a very beautiful girl. She married a Frenchman
whom her family despised, and she stayed in Europe until after her
father's death."
"Was the Frenchman rich?" asked Edith, in rather an awe-stricken voice,
for the story sounded very romantic. The girls at this moment happened
to be seated on the steps leading to the school, and Frances was in her
element when she had an interested group hanging on her words.
"Oh, dear, no, he wasn't rich at all. He was a cook, or a hair-dresser,
or something like that, only very good looking. But when Mme. du Launy's
father died, she had three little children, and her father was so
proud--he was a Holtom--he couldn't bear to think of her coming to want,
so he left her all his fortune just the same as if she hadn't married
beneath her."
"That was right," said Nora approvingly. "I think it's ridiculous for
fathers to cut their children off with a penny, the way they used to."
"Well," responded Frances, "I think it's a great deal more ridiculous
for people to marry beneath them."
"Of course you'd think that, Frances," interposed Belle.
"There, there, don't begin to quarrel, children," said Nora. "Go on with
the story, Frances. What did Mme. du Launy do when she got her money?"
"Oh, she brought her Frenchman and her children to Boston, and she lived
at a hotel while she began to build this house. Some people went to see
her, but the Frenchman was a terribly ill-mannered little thing, and
nobody liked him because he was so familiar. Mme. du Launy and he were
hardly ever invited anywhere, and they spent most of their time driving
about in a great carriage which held the whole family, and a maid and
governess."
"I should think they would have stopped building the house."
"Oh, no," said Edith, "they kept on, and after a while they went to
Europe to buy things for it. They had more than a ship-load, and they
say that everything was perfectly beautiful,--foreign rugs, and
tapestry, and glass, and gilt furniture."
"Dear me, I should love to have seen it."
"Well, it's all there in the house now, but you'd have to be a good deal
smarter than any one I know to see it."
"Why Frances, do you mean that no one ever goes there?" asked Julia.
"Yes, that's just what I mean. I don't suppose any one in Boston except
the doctor, and two or three very old people, have ever been inside that
door."
"Yes, that's true," added Edith. "I've heard my mother speak of it. Mme.
du Launy is terribly peculiar."
"I should think she'd be lonely," said Julia.
"I dare say she is," replied Frances, "but it's awfully selfish to shut
up a great house like that."
"Why does she do it?"
"Oh, I believe, when she came back from Europe the second time she set
out to give a great ball. She sent invitations to every one, no matter
whether people had called on her or not. Of course very few people went,
only her relations and a few others. This made her so angry that she
vowed she'd have nothing more to do with people in Boston. Not long
afterward her husband died, then her children died or turned out badly,
and she has just lived alone ever since."
"It sounds rather sad," said Julia, when Frances had finished.
"Nonsense, Julia," said Brenda, "you're so sentimental."
"No, she isn't at all," cried Edith, "it is really sad. I wonder what
became of the children."
Here Belle spoke up. "I've heard that the boys all died. One of them ran
away to sea and was drowned. But I believe the girl married some one her
mother didn't like, and so she disinherited her. She may be living
somewhere, but she must be an old woman herself, for my grandmother says
that Mme. du Launy is about eighty."
As the girls looked toward the house they saw a figure standing behind
the curtains of the window over the front door.
"There she is now," the girls cried.
"Wouldn't you like to go inside?" said Nora to Edith.
"I don't know that I'm really anxious to," replied the latter.
"Oh, I am," said Nora, and a moment later she cried out to Frances,
"Frances, you are rather clever, can't you suggest some way by which I
can find my way inside that house? Wouldn't one of your great aunts give
me an introduction to Mme. du Launy? I'm just dying to see what is
inside those brick walls."
"No," responded Frances, rather scornfully; "if they could they
wouldn't, but I'm sure they haven't kept up any acquaintance with Mme.
du Launy."
"Well," replied Nora, "I'll find a way. Mark my words, before the
present crescent moon is old I shall have at least a speaking
acquaintance with Mme. du Launy. Poor thing, she must be very lonely."
"I don't believe she'd appreciate your society particularly, Nora, for
one thing you're pretty young," said Edith.
"No matter, I'm going to know her. Come, Brenda, I'll confide in you."
So Brenda and Nora walked down the street, leaving the other girls to
wonder what they were planning. This was by no means the first time that
the girls at Miss Crawdon's school had discussed Mme. du Launy and her
affairs. Indeed, each set of girls had wondered about her and her
beautiful furniture, and her music box that played a hundred airs, and
all her foreign treasures, and her possessions lost nothing in splendor
as the girls told what they had heard about them.
Of the four friends, Belle and Edith were most indifferent to the house
across the way. But a number of others among the schoolgirls seemed
inclined to join Nora and Brenda in whatever they were planning. One day
as they walked about at recess they saw the old lady leave the house and
enter her carriage. They were too polite to stand and gaze at her, but
some of them could not resist the temptation of staring at the carriage
as it rolled by.
The next day Nora and Brenda were seen to be very much interested in
playing ball. They tossed it from one to the other, and occasionally as
they passed the brick mansion they let it roll within the gateway on the
gravelled walks. There were half a dozen girls walking in front of the
old house and tossing the ball. As they played, the ball rose higher and
higher. Nora and Brenda were standing almost inside the gateway, when
suddenly the ball seemed to fling itself against one of the windows, and
the crash of breaking glass was heard. Some of the girls looked
frightened and hurried across the street toward the school. Brenda too,
started to go, but Nora took her by the hand. "Remember your promise,"
she said, so loudly that two of the other girls who were crossing the
street, turned about and joined them. Just at that moment the
school-bell rang, and rather reluctantly the girls turned back to
school. Nora and Brenda paid very little attention to their lessons the
rest of the morning. Some of their friends who had witnessed the
mischief done by the ball were also excited. They all more than half
expected to see Mme. du Launy's aged servant-man make his appearance to
complain of the injury done to the window. As it drew near two o'clock
and nothing of the kind had happened, they were really disappointed.
"We're not going home with you," cried Nora, as she and Brenda and the
two other conspirators walked down the steps of the school.
"Why not?" asked Edith from the dressing-room.
"Oh, we have something to attend to," replied Nora.
"Well," said Edith, "luncheon is the most important thing that I have to
attend to just now."
"What shall I say to your mother?" asked Julia, as she saw Brenda
preparing to turn in the opposite direction from home.
"Don't say anything, Julia. I'm not a baby to need looking after."
Julia had no answer for this inconsiderate speech, for indeed she had
become only too well accustomed to Brenda's little rudenesses.
"Let's wait and see what they are going to do," suggested Edith, looking
toward Nora and Brenda and the two or three others who had joined them.
"I must go on," answered Julia. "I ought to be at----"
"I'll wait," spoke up Belle. "Come, you can stay, Edith."
So the two friends waited near the school while Brenda and Nora and the
others crossed the street to Mme. du Launy's mansion. They were
surprised to see them ring the bell, and after a moment, when the door
was opened, to see them step inside.
Not many minutes later they saw the door reopen, as the girls, looking
somewhat crestfallen, turned away from the house.
"What in the world were you up to?" called Belle, rather excitedly as
they turned homeward.
"Wait till we get out of sight of the house," said Nora, "and I'll tell
you. It was this way, I had just made up my mind that I'd see the inside
of that house. Frances Pounder seemed so sure I couldn't. So I thought
and thought, and to-day when we were playing ball you see we broke the
window."
"On purpose! I do believe. Why, Nora, I should think you'd be ashamed!"
"Well, I had the money in my pocket to pay for it. That was what we went
for after school. But that queer old butler,--really I almost laughed in
his face. However, I managed to say, 'I'm extremely sorry, but I broke a
pane of glass in the window over the front door when I was playing ball
this morning.' 'We hadn't discovered it, miss,' he said, as solemn as
could be. 'Then you might go and look,' I replied, 'and if you will
please tell Mme. du Launy that I'd like to pay for it, I'll be greatly
obliged.' I thought that while he was looking at the glass and talking
to the old lady, he'd at least ask us into the reception-room, or
drawing-room. But not a bit of it. There's a little vestibule just
beyond the front door, and there he left us. He asked us to sit down,
and we did sit down on the edge of two great black settles there in the
marble vestibule. When he came back I felt sure he was going to take us
straight up to Mme. du Launy. Instead of that he merely said: 'Mme. du
Launy presents her compliments, and is greatly obliged to you for
telling her about the window. She couldn't think of letting you pay for
it, as an apology is quite enough.'"
"And you didn't see anything in the house?"
"No, not a thing; though as he opened the door into the hall we caught a
glimpse of a big gilded table and an enormous piece of tapestry over the
stairs. Wasn't it mean, after all our efforts?"
"Who has won the bet, you or Frances?" asked Belle.
"I'm not sure. I have been in the house and I haven't," replied Nora.
"I should think you'd have been frightened to death. What would you have
done if you had seen the old lady?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. There were so many of us we shouldn't have been
frightened," and Nora looked at Brenda and the other girl who were
vehemently describing the adventure.
X
A SOPHOMORE
When Edith's brother Philip came in from College to spend Saturday and
Sunday, Edith's house was apt to be a rendezvous for the other girls.
Not that Philip was likely to waste much time with mere girls. Not he!
He was a Harvard sophomore, and realized his own importance quite as
much as the girls did. But still there was always the chance that he
would come into the room just for a minute, and tell them some of the
latest Cambridge news. He would have scorned to call it gossip. If there
was any one thing in the world he hated--so he said--it was girls' talk,
this jabbering about nothing. For his part he wouldn't waste his time
_that_ way. Yet, when he had an appreciative audience,--and girls
generally appreciated what Philip said,--he would often spend as much as
half an hour talking about the fellows--how beastly it was Jim Dashaway
couldn't row on the crew, and he would grow almost enthusiastic when
describing the tussle between Ned Brown and Stanley Hooper over the
respective merits of Boston and New York in which Hooper, the New
Yorker, was terribly beaten.
"And upon my word," he concluded, "I wasn't sorry, for the New York set
is getting just unbearable. I wouldn't so much mind fighting Stanley
Hooper myself about New York and Boston. I guess I'd show him that New
York isn't the whole world."
"I should say not," exclaimed Nora; but Belle, who had some New York
cousins, was silent. Brenda, however, noticing Belle's expression, and
not feeling disposed to side completely with Nora, said,
"You're terribly narrow, Nora, to think that nobody's any good unless he
comes from Boston."
"I didn't say so," replied Nora.
"No, but that's what you mean, and I'm surprised, Philip Blair, that a
boy should be so awfully one-sided."
"Well, you'd better talk, Brenda Barlow," broke in Nora again. "Just see
the way you treat Julia. If she'd been born in Boston----"
"I don't treat her," interrupted Brenda.
"No, that's just it, you don't treat her decently."
"Oh, I say," said Philip, from his place in front of the mantelpiece,
"how queer girls are; do you always fight like this when you're
together?"
"We don't fight like you boys," answered Edith, good-humoredly. "We
don't knock each other down and run the risk of breaking one another's
noses."
Philip looked over his shoulder in the glass. There was nothing the
matter with his own shapely nose, and I doubt that he would have run any
such risk as Edith suggested. Perhaps this was the reason why Philip was
not a fighter. There was one good thing about the little disputes in
which Brenda and Belle indulged. They very seldom lasted long. In the
present instance the girls were ashamed of having shown temper before
Philip. The latter, however, did not dwell on their weakness.
"Oh, say, did you hear about the time Will Hardon had with the Dicky,
last week?" he asked.
Nora nodded. She, too, had a brother in College.
"What was it?" asked Edith. "You haven't told _me_, Philip."
"How funny you are, Edith," said Belle. "You never hear anything. Hasn't
anyone told you how the other fellows made him run blindfolded in his
shirt sleeves down Beacon Street?"
"No, really?"
"Of course, really!"
"And then they led him up the steps into Mrs. Oxford's when she was
giving an afternoon tea, and when they took the bandage off his eyes
there he was in his shirt sleeves, without his hat, and his hair all
tumbled, and everybody looking at him."
"Oh," said one girl, and "Ah," said another; and "How silly!" they all
cried together.
"If girls amused themselves like that what fun you'd make of us!" said
the practical Nora.
"I shouldn't think there'd be much fun in making anybody uncomfortable."
"Oh, it gives a fellow a chance to show what kind of stuff he's made
of," explained Philip, "whether he has good manners, and whether he's
clever--and all that."
"There must be better ways of showing bravery," said the practical
Edith. "I don't believe you know a bit more about Will Hardon's bravery
than you did before."
"We knew something about his manners."
"What?"
"Why, when he saw where he was, he didn't run away, or flunk out. He
only looked a little sheepish, the other fellows said, but he just bowed
to the ladies, and saying politely that he was sorry to have disturbed
them, he walked off as nice as you please."
"Wasn't he mad at the two fellows for taking him there?"
"Of course not; that's a part of the thing. Why, there are fellows in
Cambridge who would go through fire and water, or stand on their heads
in front of a pulpit for the sake of getting into the Dicky. I tell you
we make some of them suffer."
Philip said "we" with a rather important air, although he had belonged
to the illustrious organization a very short time.
"Well, I think you're perfectly horrid," cried Brenda, "I mean the
Dicky. I've heard about the way you make people suffer, branding them
with hot cigars, and making them run barefoot winter nights, and doing
all sorts of useless things."
"If you went to College you'd see more use in them."
"I'm glad girls don't go to College."
"Oh, some do!"
"Not girls we know."
"I'm sure I can't tell," said Philip rather crossly, "there are a lot of
girls studying in Cambridge now at the Annex, and the fellows don't like
it at all."
"Well, I declare," exclaimed Nora, "I'd like to know what difference it
makes to them."
"Oh, they hate to see these girls going about with books, and trying to
get into Harvard."
"Yes, trying to break down the walls," said Nora, sarcastically.
"Oh, see here, it would just spoil everything to have women in the
classes with us."
"Are you afraid they'd get ahead of you?" asked Edith, gently.
"Now, look here, Edith, I don't want you to talk that way," responded
Philip with brotherly authority. "There isn't any danger of girls
getting ahead of us."
"Why, I heard," said Nora, "that one of the professors----"
"Oh, yes, I've heard it too," interrupted Philip. "I've heard that some
professors say that their Annex classes do better work than ours,--but
anybody can tell that that's all rot."
"I believe it's all perfectly true," said Nora.
"Well, I wish myself that our English instructor hadn't such a fondness
for reading themes to us that the girls have written. He makes out that
they are better than ours, but I can't say that I see it myself."
"Who gets the best marks?"
"I'm sure I can't say. He gives us such beastly marks that I dare say he
makes it up with the girls. But I wouldn't let a sister of mine go to
College," he concluded inconsequently.
"It's a good thing Edith doesn't wish to go," said Nora; adding
mischievously, "but Brenda Barlow's cousin Julia is going."
Brenda blushed, for Julia's intention of going to College was still a
sore point with her.
"Does Julia wear glasses, or look green? I beg your pardon, Brenda----"
"No, she doesn't," said Nora shortly. "She's about the nicest girl I
know."
"Oh, she is lovely," added Edith.
"A matter of opinion," murmured Belle under her breath.
"You don't mean to say you haven't seen her," cried Brenda in surprise.
"No, I haven't happened to," answered Philip.
"She's invited to my cooking party next week," said Nora. "You know that
you've accepted too, so you'll see her."
"Oh, yes, by the way," said Philip, "what evening is it?"
"Friday, of course," replied Nora, "so we can sit up late without
thinking about school the next day."
"Well, you'll see me sure," said Philip. "But see here, it's five
o'clock now and I have an engagement down town."
Philip hurried off, bowing in a very grown-up way to the group of girls.
For whatever criticisms any one might make about Philip's indolence and
disinclination to study, no one could deny that he had very good
manners. Though only about four years their senior, he seemed much older
than Brenda and her friends. Years before they had all been playmates
together, but his two years in College had taken him away from them, and
it was not often that he condescended to spend as long a time in their
presence as had been the case this afternoon.
"Do you think that Philip looks very well, Edith," asked Belle when he
had left the room.
"Why, of course, don't you?" replied Philip's sister.
"It seemed to me he was just a little pale."
"He is always pale," said Edith.
"Do you suppose he sits up too late?" asked Brenda.
"I'll warrant he doesn't study too much," said Belle.
"How can you?" cried Nora. "How can you criticise Edith's brother? Don't
let her do it, Edith."
"It doesn't trouble me," answered the placid Edith. "I know all about
Philip, and he's good enough for me."
"That's right," said Nora. "Always stand up for your brother. But I do
think he might have better friends. He really isn't very particular."
"Why, what do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know exactly, but I heard my brother talking the other day.
He says there are two or three fellows just sponging off of Philip all
the time, and Philip is too good-natured to say anything."
"I wonder how he'll like Julia," said Edith.
"Oh, he won't like that kind of a girl," hastily interposed Belle. "Boys
never like a girl who studies; especially one who is going to College."
"Well, Julia is just the nicest girl _I_ know," said Nora, repeating the
words she had used to Philip.
"And Philip is one of the nicest young men I know," said Brenda,
politely, turning to Edith. "But don't tell him I said so," she added
with a blush.
"Oh, no, of course not," laughed Edith, as the girls separated for the
afternoon.
XI
THE COOKING CLASS