is at all unhappy she limps about on three legs as if really lame. She
does not know her way about the city, and she is never supposed to go
anywhere without her leash. As nearly as I can understand from Jane,
Fidessa went out for a drive to-day under her care. When Jane left the
carriage to call on a friend of hers, who lives near the park, she
forgot all about my dog. Fidessa probably jumped out of the carriage to
take a walk herself. But I must say that it seems most extraordinary
that no one saw her, neither the coachman, the footman nor Jane. When
the carriage started home none of them took the trouble to look under
the rugs to see if she was there." Here Jane began to sniffle a little.
"Well," continued Madame du Launy, "it is a great wonder that she was
not stolen or run over, poor little thing! It's no thanks to you, Jane,"
and she looked daggers at the unfortunate maid. "It is a wonder, too,
that none of you could find Fidessa. For I don't believe that the little
thing was actually hiding, and you all three have come back with the
report that it was impossible to find her."
While Madame du Launy was speaking Julia said to herself that she would
be very sorry to bring on herself a scolding from so sharp-voiced an old
lady, and she could not help feeling sorry for Jane, even though the
latter had probably been careless.
But now, with a sudden change of manner, Madame du Launy turned toward
the young girl. "There is no reason, however, why you should suffer for
Jane's misdeeds.
"Jane, ring the bell," she cried, and then in what seemed an incredibly
short time, a man entered with a butler's tray, which he placed on a
table in front of Madame du Launy, while the latter invited Julia to
come nearer and take a cup of tea.
Now as Julia sat there drinking tea from the quaintest of old-fashioned
china cups, and eating slices of thin bread and butter, and cakes that
almost melted in her mouth, she could not help wondering what her
friends and her cousin would say to see her actually seated in the house
which most of them considered absolutely impossible to enter. In spite
of the fact that the curtains at one or two windows had been raised a
little the room was still rather dark, and as she glanced about, Julia
could see the pictures and furniture rather indistinctly. She noticed,
however, that one wall was quite covered with large pieces of tapestry
representing medieval battle scenes, and that on the opposite wall on
either side of a long mirror there hung a number of family portraits.
One of these in a heavily gilded oval frame represented a young girl of
perhaps eighteen years, whose features, for some reason or other, seemed
strangely familiar; in fact there was something in the bright and
earnest face that drew Julia's eyes so constantly towards it that she
began to fear lest Madame du Launy would think it strange that she
should pay such close attention to it.
[Illustration: "NOW AS JULIA SAT THERE DRINKING TEA FROM THE QUAINTEST OF OLD-FASHIONED CHINA CUPS"]
It seemed a remarkable thing to Julia that she should find herself
drinking tea under the roof of the mysterious house about which the
schoolgirls had shown so much curiosity. It seemed even stranger that
Madame du Launy should prove to be altogether less of an ogre than she
had been represented. Although a trembling hand and a rather weak voice
betrayed her age, she talked brightly of various things, asking Julia
about her school, and her studies, and drawing the young girl out to
talk about the western country in which she had spent so much time. On
one subject, however, the old lady was silent. She said nothing in
praise of Boston, either ancient or modern. She never alluded to a
single individual as "my friend" or "my neighbor." She spoke only of
things, and for the most part of things that had no connection with New
England. Her questions about the school were evidently prompted by
politeness in accordance with the general rule that one should show an
interest in whatever probably interests the one with whom she is
talking.
Jane who stood not far from her mistress' chair, and James who kept his
post near the drawing-room door, looked in amazement on Madame du Launy
and her young guest. In all their remembrance,--and both had lived in
the house more than twenty-five years--they had never seen a young girl
in conversation with their mistress. Indeed, they had seen very few
guests in that gloomy old drawing-room, and certainly they had never
known any one else to be asked to drink tea. It was as pleasant as it
was novel to Madame du Launy to have Julia sitting with her, and as for
Fidessa, she altogether forgot the strict discipline under which she had
been reared, and instead of sitting calmly on her cushion, she jumped up
in Julia's lap, and from time to time planted a cold, moist little kiss
on her cheek. When at last Julia rose to go she had made a much longer
visit than she should have made in view of the fact that the end of the
afternoon was near at hand, and that she had some distance to go to
reach her uncle's house. When, however, she rose to go, Madame du Launy
begged her to wait a moment. "I have ordered my carriage," she added,
"for it is altogether too late for you to go home alone. Let me thank
you very much for your kindness to my little Fidessa, for it would have
been a very serious loss for me, had she fallen into the wrong hands."
Then when she saw James returning to announce that the carriage was
ready, she added, "and if you will come again some afternoon, and spare
an hour or so for me, you will add more than you can imagine to relieve
my very monotonous life." Thus Julia as she bade the old lady good-bye
felt that she had made a new friend, and in a very unexpected way. The
carriage in which she rode home, though old-fashioned in shape, was
delightfully comfortable, and when she descended from it at her uncle's
door, still another surprise awaited her. The footman placed in her hand
a little box "with Madame du Launy's compliments," he said. This when
she opened proved to contain a delicately chased little envelope opener,
shaped like a tiny scimitar. "Really," she thought, "I have had a most
exciting adventure. Better than I deserve, for it was only this
afternoon that I was feeling so cross and so disheartened because the
Four would not include me in the club. But if I had been with them this
afternoon I could not have had this adventure."
"Well, I certainly _should_ call it an adventure," said Mr. Barlow that
evening, when she told him her experience with Mme. du Launy. "Why, even
I, in all my years of residence here, have never had a glimpse of the
old lady. I have sometimes thought it a pity that she should lead so
solitary a life, but it's her own choice. They say she has a regular
hermit disposition. How did it strike you, Julia?"
"Not that way, uncle, at all, not at all, though she seemed very sad."
"Perhaps she's repenting for the way she has neglected her
grandchildren," interposed Brenda.
"Are you sure that there are any grandchildren?" enquired Mrs. Barlow.
"Why, yes, of course, at least I suppose so," answered
Brenda.
Mr. Barlow laughed, "I am afraid that you cannot make out a very strong
case of cruelty to children unless you can prove the existence of the
children."
"Oh, well," interposed Mrs. Barlow, to prevent that ruffling of Brenda's
feelings which was sure to follow when she felt that some one was
laughing at her, "There is not much doubt that there are one or two
grandchildren for whom Madame du Launy ought to do something. I forget
what I have heard about it myself, but I could make enquiries."
"Oh, Julia will soon be able to tell us more about Madame du Launy and
her grandchildren than anybody else ever dreamed of," said Brenda, a
little spitefully, as she left the room.
"Poor Brenda," murmured Mr. Barlow, "will she ever overcome that spirit
of jealousy?"
XXI
MISS SOUTH AND JULIA
"You can say what you like," said Belle to Brenda when the latter told
her of Julia's adventure with the dog, "but I think that it was
downright mean in her to go to Madame du Launy's in that sneaking kind
of way."
"Why, Belle, it wasn't sneaking. What was she to do with the little dog?
She couldn't leave it on the street."
"Well, she knew how anxious we all were to see the inside of that house,
and the least that she could do was to invite some of us to go with
her."
"Oh, Belle, if you are not the most unreasonable girl in the world,"
exclaimed Nora, who had heard the latter part of this speech. "You
couldn't expect her to invite one of us Four, when at that very moment
we were having our meeting; and it's you who won't let the rest of us
invite her to sew with us. For my part, I am glad that Julia has got
ahead of us."
Here Brenda spoke up in a tone rather more judicial than she was
accustomed to employ. "I think that you are wrong, too, Belle; I don't
believe that Julia had ever given Madame du Launy a thought before, and
I'm almost sure that she didn't expect to be invited into the house when
she took the little dog home."
"Oh, she knew what she was doing," replied Belle; "you can't make me
believe anything else, and I only hope she'll invite you to go there
with her some day. You must be sure to let me know if she does."
"Oh, of course," responded Brenda carelessly, "but then I am not so
anxious myself to see Madame du Launy, I never did care so very much for
old ladies."
"It isn't Madame du Launy," interposed Belle, "it's the house. Didn't
Julia tell you that it was perfectly beautiful?"
"I don't know that she said so very much about it. She hasn't said much
to me. You'd better ask her yourself, if you wish to know all about it,"
said Brenda in reply, while Nora added a little mischievously, "Yes,
here she comes, with Edith and Ruth."
But Belle with a scornful "No thank you," passed on into the house.
As a matter of fact Brenda was just a little envious of what to her
seemed Julia's good fortune in this particular instance; but her
cousin's charm of disposition and manner had already begun to have an
effect on her, and she was also weary of hearing Belle so constantly
find fault with her. After all blood is thicker than water, and Brenda
had a little more than her share of true family pride. By noon, however,
her annoyance with Belle had disappeared, and she listened eagerly to
some plans which Belle was arranging for the afternoon.
It happened that very day that Miss South and Julia were to make one of
their journeys to the North End, and on the way Julia very naturally
told her teacher of her visit to Madame du Launy. The latter listened
with great interest, but made rather less comment than Julia had
expected. Yet she asked one or two questions that surprised Julia. "Did
you like the picture of the young girl over the drawing-room
mantelpiece?"
"Why, is there one there, did I speak of it?" said Julia.
Miss South, Julia could not help noticing it, really blushed as she
replied,
"Well, you may not have mentioned it, but I had heard----"
"Oh, yes," interrupted Julia, without waiting for her to finish. "Oh,
yes, I do remember; a young girl with long, fair curls. I sat just where
my eye fell on it, and I could not help thinking that it was rather a
sad picture, at least the girl had a sad expression, and it seemed too,
as if I had seen some one who looked very much like her. Why, have you
ever seen that portrait, Miss South?"
"Oh, no," answered Miss South. "Oh, no, but I have heard of it, and--"
but she did not finish the sentence, and altogether she seemed to be in
a rather silent mood, although she encouraged Julia to talk freely about
Madame du Launy.
"Madame du Launy must be dreadfully lonely," said Julia, "living alone
in that great house. I believe it is true as the girls at school say
that no one ever goes to see her."
"Not to see a great many people does not always mean loneliness,"
replied Miss South. "You know that I have not a great many acquaintances
in Boston, but still I am never lonely. Of course," she continued, "I
have you girls, but that is not the same thing as having friends of my
own age to exchange visits with me."
"Yes," responded Julia sympathetically, "and since I have known so much
about you I have often thought that it must be very hard to be alone
this way in a large city. Of course you have your brother to think
about--but he is so far away, out there on the railroad in Texas,--why
you are worse off than I am, for I have my uncle and aunt--and Brenda--"
she ended with a smile.
"As I have said, Julia," continued Miss South, "I am not so very lonely,
although I have not a single relation in Boston, at least not one to
whom I can turn; yes, I might as well say, not one."
"How did you ever happen to come here, then?" asked Julia.
"Oh, I had just finished my normal course in New York, when I met Miss
Crawdon one summer. She needed an assistant, and made me a very good
offer. Besides I had always wished to come to Boston, and as long as
Louis and I had to be separated, it seemed to me that I might as well be
here as anywhere else. I should have liked to go to Texas with Louis,
but his work keeps him so much on the railroad that we should not have
been much good to each other. Of course when he is a railway president
we shall live together--but he is only twenty-two now, and it is foolish
to think of that at present."
For the first time since the beginning of her acquaintance with Miss
South, Julia felt decidedly anxious to ask questions about her early
life. Perhaps Miss South had an insight into her mind. At any rate she
said, in a half tone of apology, "Since you are interested, Julia, I
will tell you a little about myself. When my brother was ten years old,
and I fourteen, our father died. Our mother had died several years
before. The little bit of money which our father left was hardly enough
to support us until we were educated. Fortunately he had a friend, a
lawyer, who looked after it very carefully, and although he had to spend
most of the capital for us as well as the interest, we were both able to
live comfortably, though in a very economical way, until I was eighteen.
At this time we had but a few hundred dollars left, and Louis was glad
enough to take a situation in a railroad office offered to him by the
efforts of the same kind friend. He was soon earning his board, and
every year he has had an increase of salary, with a steady promotion. I
went first to the State University in the state where I had grown up and
was able to afford myself a good normal course. Since I came to Boston I
have been able to save a little from my salary. You can see, then, that
I am not very badly off--only I do wish sometimes that I had a few
relations."
"Haven't you any, really?" asked Julia.
"None--at least practically none near enough to take any interest in me.
You see my mother was an only child, at least her brother and sister
died young, and so was my father. Besides he was an Englishman, and what
distant cousins of his there are, live in England."
Julia would have liked to ask more, but just at that moment a little
figure darted into view, and flung himself upon her. It was Manuel, in
all the glory of a new pair of trousers, new at least to him, though
even an eye inexperienced in tailoring could see that they had been cut
down from garments originally made for a much larger person. But to him
they were absolutely the finest pair of trousers that he had ever seen,
because they were the first that he had ever worn. After this there was
no danger that any one could imagine that he was his own little sister,
a mortifying mistake that strangers were in the habit of making.
Miss South and Julia followed him down the crooked street, which their
several visits had made very familiar to them, and stood behind him as
he pushed open the narrow door. At the very first glance into the room,
Miss South, who was ahead, felt a little disheartened. Everything was in
disorder, although she had been making such efforts this winter to get
Mrs. Rosa to see the necessity for cleanliness and neatness. But when
she and Julia went inside she felt that perhaps she had been a little
too severe in her judgment. Mrs. Rosa lay back in her chair looking
sicker and weaker than they had ever seen her, and though she put out
her hand in greeting, she seemed unable to rise.
"How is this?" exclaimed Miss South.
"Oh, miss, I believe I'm real sick," was the reply; "I haven't eaten
nothing for such a long time. I can't eat nothing, and I can't hardly
raise my voice to the children. Here you, Manuel, don't eat that bread
and molasses before the ladies."
Then Mrs. Rosa lay back in her chair in a fit of violent coughing
brought on by her efforts to be polite and parental at the same time.
"Aren't you almost ready to go to the hospital, now, Mrs. Rosa?"
enquired Miss South, sympathetically. "I think that it is altogether too
hard for you to try to stay here to manage these children and take care
of yourself."
Mrs. Rosa shook her head. "Not the hospital, miss; I should die, I'm
sure, if I should go there."
"But you can't stay here, if you grow worse, and indeed, I am sure that
you cannot get any better, if you stay here. Then your children would be
much worse off than they would be if you should be parted from them for
a little while. The doctors at the hospital might make you perfectly
well." Mrs. Rosa shook her head feebly, and Miss South felt decidedly
discouraged. Even when Julia added her voice in a gentle persuasive way,
Mrs. Rosa refused to be convinced. No, she would stay where she was for
a while. By and by perhaps she would go somewhere, but she could not
tell; she couldn't leave the children, and the nurse had told her that
she could not take them with her to the hospital.
"Well, wouldn't you go to the country if we could find a place for you
there?" asked Julia gently; "perhaps we could find a house where you and
the children all could go, for you can't get well if you stay here."
At this suggestion, Mrs. Rosa's face brightened a trifle, but from her
reply it was hard to tell whether she would be perfectly willing to
leave her own unwholesome abode, even for the country.
"You ought to make Angelina keep this room cleaner," said Miss South.
"Oh, I can't make Angelina do nothing," she answered; "Angelina is so
lazy I don't know what to do with her. She just reads library books all
the time."
Again Mrs. Rosa leaned back in a fit of coughing, and Miss South and
Julia, after leaving one or two little delicacies that they had brought
her, went away less cheerful than they had been.
"It's rather dreadful, isn't it?" said Julia.
"Yes," replied Miss South, "especially as it would not require a great
deal of effort or money to make that family perfectly comfortable."
"How much?" asked Julia.
Miss South laughed. "You are very practical," she said. "Perhaps I ought
to have said that it is effort in the right direction that is needed
rather than money."
"Nobody can do very much, I am afraid," said Julia, "while Mrs. Rosa is
so obstinate. It seems as if some one ought to have the right to oblige
her to move."
"Well, personal liberty is one of the privileges that foreigners living
in this country appreciate the most. Yet Mrs. Rosa ought not to feel
that she can do just as she likes, since she is living on charity
altogether now."
"I was wondering--" began Julia.
"Yes," continued Miss South, "her church pays half her rent, and
provides her coal; the Provident Association supplies her with
groceries. Some of her Portuguese neighbors help her with food from
their own table, and one or two charitable people give shoes and old
clothes to the children. The dispensary doctor treats her without
charge, and she has the occasional services of a district nurse. If
Angelina would only follow out some of the directions left by the nurse,
the whole family would be much more comfortable."
"I had no idea," said Julia, "that so much would be done for one poor
family; and you haven't spoken of what you do yourself, Miss South."
"Oh, my part is very small; I just keep a general oversight, and by
calling on Mrs. Rosa once or twice a week, I try to see that things run
smoothly."
"There isn't so very much, then, for Brenda and the other girls to do.
You know that they are working for a sale from which they hope to raise
a lot of money for Manuel and his family."
"Yes, I have heard about it," replied Miss South, "and I should be the
last one to discourage them in their efforts; but I am sure that if Mrs.
Rosa had been depending on their help she would have suffered this
winter. They are too spasmodic."
"What do you think then that there will be for them to do with the money
they raise at the Bazaar, for I am sure that they have large
expectations?"
"Oh, there are many practical things. This matter of moving the family
to the country, for example. To accomplish this will take more money
than you might think, and I do not myself know any charitable agency
with money to expend in this way."
"But do you think that you can move them?"
"Why not? It may be hard, but if Mrs. Rosa should find it impossible to
get help from the people who have been helping her, she may be glad to
fall in with our plan."
"Well, it's all very interesting," said Julia, "and it may be that I can
help you in some way. Of course I do not wish to interfere with Brenda's
plans, and I shall have to find out what she intends to do. If I were
going to have anything to do with the Bazaar directly, it would be
different."
"Haven't you been admitted yet into the sacred circle of 'The Four'?"
said Miss South, smiling. "I thought that you would have been before
this."
"No," replied Julia a little sadly. "No, I suppose that they think that
I should not have so very much time for fancy work, and I dare say it is
better that I should spend what spare hours I have in some other way,
but still----"
"But still," said Miss South, finishing out her sentence, "but still it
isn't altogether agreeable to be left out."
"No," answered Julia, "it isn't."
While they were talking they had been riding up Hanover street, and
leaving the car in Washington street, they did two or three errands in
one of the large shops.
"Shall we walk home now, or ride?" enquired Miss South.
"Oh, I would much rather walk," answered Julia, "if it is all the same
to you;" and so they walked on through Winter street, intending to cross
the Common. Leading off Winter street there is a side street on which is
the back entrance of the music hall. Now just as they reached the corner
of this street, they saw two girls near the theatre door, walking in
their direction.
"Why, how much that looks--why it is Brenda," exclaimed Julia, "and that
is Belle with her," she continued in surprise; "I wonder what they are
doing down here."
Even as she spoke, the two figures at which she had been looking a
moment before disappeared within a doorway.
"Would you like to meet them and ask them to walk home with us?"
enquired Miss South.
"Why, I don't know," replied Julia. "I am afraid that they may not wish
to come with us; it almost seems as if they are hiding from us. You saw
them, didn't you, that first time, Miss South?"
"Yes, indeed, I recognized them both, but isn't it unusual for them to
be down town alone?"
"It's against the rules for Brenda, I know, at least I have heard my
aunt say that she did not care to have her go down town without her. I
imagine that probably they have some one with them. Brenda is rather
careful about disobeying, as a general thing."
"Oh, then it's probably all right," said Miss South, "and we might as
well go on."
XXII
BRENDA'S SECRET
Julia had not been long in the house after her walk with Miss South,
when she heard her aunt at her door. In reply to her "Are you here,
Julia?" the young girl ran forward, with a "Yes, indeed, auntie, come
right in."
"Why, how pretty your room looks," exclaimed Mrs. Barlow; "I had almost
forgotten that it could be so pleasant."
"That sounds as if you had not been up here for some time, and indeed I
was thinking myself only this morning that you had rather neglected me
lately--at least in the matter of visiting me."
"I know it, dear child, but you know that I have been very busy this
winter. There are many things to occupy me, and the Boston season is so
short. We haven't had one of our pleasant chats here for several weeks.
But I hope that you are perfectly comfortable. I am sure that you would
tell me if you should need anything that I had overlooked."