MRS. WENTWORTH WARD CHANGES HER OPINION.
“BEFORE I’d be afraid of a toad!”
“But, Peter, you’re not afraid of anything.”
“And you’re afraid of everything, so there’s the difference. I never saw
such a girl. Snakes, and lizards, and toads, and spiders, and wasps—there
isn’t a thing you’re not afraid of.”
“Yes, there is, too!” said Sophy, indignantly. “I’m not afraid of flies
or butterflies or caterpillars—yes, I am afraid of caterpillars. They’re
so fuzzy.”
“There, you see there is hardly anything! As for flies and butterflies,
why, of course a baby wouldn’t mind them.”
“But what’s the use of those other things, Peter? What’s the use of
wasps?”
“Wasps! Why, they’re _very_ useful. They don’t hurt you unless you bother
them, and they eat up slugs, and some kinds of caterpillars.”
“Well, wasps are very frightening, I think, even if they are useful, and
so are hop toads, and hop toads are so ugly! Oh, here comes one now! Go
away, you horrid, naughty toad!”
Peter and Sophy were on the piazza in the early twilight. Honor and
Katherine were with the Madisons on the river, enjoying a picnic tea.
Supper at Glen Arden was over, and Mrs. Wentworth Ward had walked to the
village for her “constitutional,” which the hot weather had prevented
during the day. Victoria had gone in search of Dave Carney, whom she
thought she should be apt to find at liberty at this hour. It was the
evening of the day upon which the robbery had been discovered.
“There is no use in an ugly toad, Peter,” continued Sophy.
“Indeed there is!” said her brother, in a tone of marked masculine
superiority. “That just shows how little you know about things. Toads are
regular policemen.”
“Peter! What do you mean? Do they arrest people?”
“No, of course not, you goosie! But they arrest insects. If you put toads
into hotbeds or cold-frames, they’ll eat up all the bugs and worms that
come after the plants. They keep regular guard, just as policemen do.
There, do you hear that tree toad now?”
Sophy listened to the shrill song of the little creature that appeared to
be sitting upon the branch of a tree close by.
“They’re as good as hop toads, for they eat caterpillars, and worms, and
hateful flies that lay their eggs under the bark of the trees, and would
eat up the trees if it were not for the toads.”
“I’m glad they eat caterpillars as well as the wasps,” said Sophy.
“They’re so disagreeable. Why do you suppose caterpillars were made,
Peter?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure. To eat up something else, I suppose, and to
be food for toads. I’ll tell you another funny thing about hop toads.
They never will touch a dead insect or bug or anything. They’ll only
catch them alive. Isn’t that queer?”
“How much you do know, Peter!” said his sister, admiringly. “I wish I
knew as much as you do. I’m going to keep asking questions all my life,
and then perhaps some day I shall know as much.”
“You never will, for you are only a girl, and I’m a boy. You’ll never
know as much as I do, for I shall always keep ahead of you. First place,
I’m nearly five years older than you, and then, I’m a boy.”
“Oh, I know you think it’s very grand to be a boy,” said Sophy, still
keeping a watchful eye upon the extremely active hop toad which with
other members of its family had come forth from beneath the piazza for a
hop in the evening air; “but some girls know a good deal. I was asking
Mr. Madison about it the other day, and he said some girls knew as much
as boys did, and when they grew up some women knew as much as some men. I
think Mr. Madison likes girls better than you do, Peter. I think he likes
Honor and Katherine very much indeed. He is always coming here to get
them to go somewhere.”
“I know he is,” rejoined Peter. “I like Mr. Madison ever so much, and I
think he’s a jolly good fellow, and I like the way he talks, usually, but
he’s awfully silly about girls. We were having such an interesting talk
the other day about animals and birds when Honor happened to come along,
and he stopped right off short and walked off with her up to the house,
and never came back to the trees where we were sitting at all! Oh, he’s
downright silly about girls, and I don’t think you had better go by what
he says about them.”
The dialogue was interrupted at this point by Victoria. She came up
across the grass from the barn to the steps at the end of the piazza.
There she paused.
“Peter,” said she, “have you seen Dave lately?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since—oh, I can’t think when it was.”
“Try and remember. I want to know particularly.”
“I guess it was before dinner. I saw him go across the garden towards the
Ashmont road. I wondered where he was going.”
“I’m going around to the kitchen for a minute,” said Victoria, “and then
I’ll come back.”
She was absent for five or ten minutes. When she returned, it was with a
very grave face.
“Peter,” she said, “I’m very much afraid Dave has run away.”
“Vic! What do you mean?”
“Blanch says he hasn’t been in the kitchen since breakfast time. After
the detective was here she saw him come out of the barn in very old
clothes, and she thought he was going out to the farthest field to work.
He went over in that direction.”
“Yes,” said Peter, eagerly, “that’s the way I saw him go.”
“He didn’t come in to dinner, and when she asked Wilson, the man who is
working here to-day, you know, where he was, Wilson said that Dave said
he had to go down to Fordham to get something, and he wouldn’t be home to
dinner. Wilson supposed he was just going to take his noon hour to go
down there, but he has never come back.”
“Why didn’t they tell us before?” asked Peter, impatiently.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Victoria. “You know what B. Lafferty is. She is
dreadfully stupid about such things, and when I said something about
it,—that she ought to have told us,—she said she wasn’t going to let on
to that proud and haughty person from Beacon Street that her suspicions
were correct.”
“Did she mean Aunt Sophia?” asked Sophy, who had forgotten her fear of
the toads and was listening with eager attention.
“No; she meant Ellen Higgins, I suppose. Both Ellen and Aunt Sophia think
that Dave had something to do with the robbery; and, do you know, Peter,
it looks very much like it, now that Dave has gone.”
“Yes,” said Peter, very solemnly, “it really does. Oh, Vic, I never
should have believed it of him, should you? I liked him so much. I can’t
think so even now. I believe we’ll find out yet that he didn’t have
anything to do with it. Maybe he was taken ill somewhere, or something
has happened, and he can’t get back. I _can’t_ believe it was he.”
But the other members of the family did not agree with Peter. When they
heard the news of Carney’s disappearance, they looked at one another with
troubled faces. They had all liked the lad; and the discovery that he had
deceived them and had treated them with such base ingratitude, after all
that had been done for him, filled them with disappointment and real
sorrow.
Mrs. Wentworth Ward was, of course, triumphant. She plumed herself upon
her superior cleverness in having suspected the boy from the first; and
she soundly berated the detective for having neglected to arrest him at
once. Now the thief had escaped, and there was no knowing when he would
be found. With this exception, therefore, the Starrs awaited further
developments with ill-concealed anxiety.
Honor and Katherine were very busy during these summer days; and even the
intense heat which was raging at present did not keep them from their
work. As soon as school had come to an end,—early in June,—they began
upon their preserving. Glen Arden was famous for its currants and
cherries, as well as for its apple and pear trees. As each fruit ripened,
the huge kettle was brought out, a quantity of sugar ordered, and every
available hand was brought into service.
Miss Madison, coming one morning to ask for Katherine’s assistance with
some new music, found all so busy that she forgot her violin and, begging
a large apron, sat down at the dining-room table with the others and
began to stone cherries with vigor and enthusiasm.
Strawberries, when they came in season, were ordered in large quantities
from the market, as not enough were grown upon the place to answer the
purpose. In due time, currant jelly was to be put up, and the pears—for
this was a pear year—were to be turned to account.
Mrs. Ward had ordered a liberal quantity of all varieties of preserves,
and a message came from Mrs. Madison begging that she also might have the
privilege of ordering some. All that were left were to be sent to the
Woman’s Exchange in Boston, to be sold.
It was hot work, no doubt, and there were pleasanter things to be done in
summer time than stirring with a long spoon in a kettle full of steaming
fruit; but it was a source of great satisfaction to the girls to feel
that they were making money as well now as when school and music pupils
occupied their time, and it was certainly a far more entertaining way
than that. The preserving days at Glen Arden proved to be the gayest of
the summer; and Roger Madison, hearing about them from his sister,
deliberately remained away from his law office one morning and,
presenting himself at Glen Arden, begged for something to do, upon which
they set him to stemming currants, with strict injunctions not to taste.
The week which followed the robbery passed away in this wise, and then
one morning came the information that the stolen silver had been traced.
Some of the articles had been found in a pawn-shop in Boston, having been
left there by a young man—almost a boy, in fact—of slight figure, and
with very light tow-colored hair. His eyes were peculiar, and would
probably lead to his detection. They had a way of shifting uneasily, and
of not meeting those of the person to whom he spoke.
This description fitted Dave exactly, with the exception of the part
referring to the eyes. Dave had very good eyes, the Starrs thought, and a
perfectly straightforward manner.
“Probably, since he did this dreadful thing,” said Victoria, sadly, “his
eyes have changed.”
“I don’t believe he did it,” said Peter, stubbornly. “I shall never
believe it unless he tells me so himself.”
Within a very short time, the suspected burglar was arrested, and it was
found that his name was Carney! Roger Madison went to the jail to see
him, and there, to his astonishment, found that it was James, and not
David Carney. This young man closely resembled him, to be sure, but he
was older, and his face had a totally different expression. He was
David’s brother. His accomplice was also arrested, a much older man than
himself, and most of the stolen property was recovered.
The question now was, where was Dave? Was he also implicated, and had he
for that reason run away? At all events, he had completely disappeared,
and as the summer days passed by, and still there was no word of him, the
Starrs gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. They did not wish,
however, that any search should be made for him.
The elder Carney confessed that he had entered the house by way of the
second-story window, which proved that Sophy had not dreamed that he went
through the room, while his close resemblance to his brother easily
accounted for the mistake of thinking that it was Dave. The only wonder
was, that no one had remembered the brother before, but as he had been
seen only by Peter and Sophy, perhaps that was not surprising.
* * * * *
One day, in early September, when the sky was blue, and goldenrod and
asters were in bloom, when the birds were preparing for their flight
southward, and squirrels were busy with their preparations for the
winter, Victoria, Peter, and Sophy were walking home from Ashmont, two
miles away. They left the road at a certain point, and striking into the
woods, followed a scarcely perceptible path, which would in time bring
them to their own pasture land.
It was a glorious day to be out of doors, and in the free woods. The air
was cool and crisp, and yet the sun had a certain warmth which was good
to feel when they emerged from the woods and found themselves beneath the
open sky.
Peter’s leg was entirely well now, and he walked without even the
suggestion of a limp. The accident had been a severe trial in many ways,
but his sisters had said to one another more than once during the summer,
that Peter had borne it manfully, and had proved that he was possessed of
plenty of pluck. He was much less impatient of control, than he once had
been, and indeed the girls were less exacting. Honor and Katherine
discovered, slowly but surely, that there were other ways of influencing
Peter, and probably all boys, than by argument or command, and they
acknowledged, at last, that Victoria’s method was more efficacious than
theirs.
“Suppose we sit on the rock for a while,” said Vic, as they walked along
the cart road in the pasture. “It is too lovely to go indoors, or even to
go home. Vacation will soon be over, and we had better make the most of
our few days. Heigh-ho! I don’t want to go back to school a bit. I did
hope that I could stay at home after this, and help the others, but they
all seem to think it is more my duty to go for another year.”
They had climbed the huge mass of rock which long ages ago had been piled
there in gigantic confusion. Lichen grew over it now, bushes had found
root in the crevices, and mosses and grass made soft resting-places upon
the top. It was Victoria’s favorite spot upon the place, and she
particularly loved it on a golden September day like the present one.
“I shouldn’t think you’d mind your school a bit,” said Peter. “What would
you do if you had to go to that hateful one that I go to? Do you know,
Vic, I’ve half a mind to accept Aunt Sophia’s offer and go to
boarding-school?”
“Peter, you don’t really mean it?”
“Yes, I do. I was talking to Mr. Madison the other day, and he advised me
to. He thinks I’ll get a better education. And after all, Vic, it’s
pretty good of Aunt Sophia to offer it again after our refusing
everything last winter.”
“I know,” said Victoria; “I feel as if we had misjudged Aunt Sophia. She
means to be kind to us, and if she has that unfortunate way of acting as
if she wanted to run the entire universe, I suppose we ought to make the
best of it. It is only her disposition, and as she has had plenty of
money all her life, and no one to interfere with her, I suppose there is
some excuse for it. She really has been very nice this summer, and it
didn’t turn out as badly as I was afraid it would. After all, Peter, I
think you are right. We oughtn’t to refuse everything she offers, and it
would be of great advantage to you to go to St. Asaph’s. If only she
allows the rest of us to continue to earn our living in peace!”
“Look, Vic!” exclaimed Sophy, in an excited whisper. “Who is that peeping
up over the river bank? Look, Peter!”
They gazed in the direction that Sophy indicated, but could see nothing.
“I’m sure it was somebody,” continued Sophy, still in the same eager
whisper, “and it looked like Dave Carney!”
At this Peter jumped to his feet, and nimbly leaping from rock to rock,
ran to the river bank some little distance away. The girls watched him.
They saw that he was speaking to some one below the bank. He did not
return, and unable to restrain their curiosity further, they too left the
rock and followed him. They found him in earnest conversation with a boy
in a boat, and that boy was David Carney.
“Why, Dave!” cried Victoria; “have you come back? I am so glad to see
you!”
Dave shyly pulled off his cap.
“He says he hasn’t come back to us,” said Peter. “He didn’t mean us to
see him. He only came to take a look at the place.”
“Why did you run away, Dave?” asked Victoria.
“I ran away because I knowed it was Jim,” said Carney, looking up at her
as she stood above him on the bank. “He always said he was agoing to
break into your house sometime. He wanted me to help, but I wouldn’t have
nothing to do with it. That made him mad, and we had a quarrel. Jim got
into bad company down at Fordham, and I guess they got him into this
scrape.”
“I always thought your brother couldn’t be a very nice person,” said
Sophy, who had been watching Dave with round and solemn eyes. “He used
regular swear words that day I met him with you.”
“I’d have been as bad myself if it hadn’t been for you folks,” said Dave.
“I’d have gone straight after him if you hadn’t caught me that time when
I was stealing those apples,” he added, looking at Peter. “I only did
that because I was hungry. It was the first time, but I guess it wouldn’t
have been the last. That morning when they told me there’d been a
robbery, I knowed it was Jim, and I couldn’t stay. I knowed you’d think
it was me that done it if I ran away, but I couldn’t stay in the place
where you folks had been so good to me, and my own brother had broke into
the house.”
“And what have you been doing ever since?” asked Peter.
“I hid for a few days. Then I heard Jim was caught, so after that I went
to Boston and got some work off and on down on the wharves. I’m out of it
now, and I came out to Fordham, and a fellow I know loaned me this here
boat, and I couldn’t help coming up to see how it looked here. I didn’t
mean you to see me.”
“And will you come back to us now?” asked Peter.
“Come back!” repeated Dave. “You don’t want me to come back, and me
running away, and having a brother in jail for robbing you?”
“Why, of course! I never supposed you had anything to do with it. I said
so all along.”
Dave’s eyes rested upon the other boy’s face with an expression of
dog-like devotion. Then he turned to Victoria.
“No, he never did think so,” said she; “but I must confess, Dave, that
when you ran away, the rest of us doubted you. But we must talk to my
sisters about it. Will you come up to-night and hear what they think?”
And Carney promised that he would.
The Starrs returned to the house in great excitement, eager to impart
their news to the sisters at once, but they found a still greater
surprise awaiting them. On the piazza were Aunt Sophia and Mr. Abbott in
earnest conversation. Mr. Abbott, whom they had not seen at Glen Arden
for so many months! He had been abroad for his health, and although his
wards knew that his steamer was in, they had scarcely expected to see him
so soon.
“To tell you the truth, Dickinson,” Mrs. Wentworth Ward was saying as
Peter and his sisters came around the corner of the house, “even though I
so strongly disapproved of their plans at first, I am really quite proud
of the girls. They have done well, and they deserve to succeed. If Peter
will only do as I wish and go to St. Asaph’s—”
Here she stopped, for Peter himself came into sight, but her remarks
proved that in spite of all that had been said to the contrary, Mrs.
Wentworth Ward was broad-minded enough to know when she was mistaken, and
generous enough to acknowledge the fact.
Honor and Katherine came home from an errand which they had been doing at
almost the same moment that Peter and the younger sisters returned, and
the welcome which Mr. Abbott received proved that they were indeed glad
to see him again.
There was much to be told to him, the history of the summer and of the
robbery, and now the account that Peter and Vic had to give of the
meeting with Carney. They were so sure of Dave’s innocence of any
complicity in the affair that it was impossible for the others not to be
impressed by their story, and even Mrs. Wentworth Ward gave an unwilling
assent to his being taken back for another trial. Therefore it was
decided that when Dave should come for his answer that night he was to be
told to stay.
“But what about these Madisons whom I hear quoted so much?” said Mr.
Abbott, looking quizzically from one to the other of his wards.
“The nicest people in the world,” said Katherine, eagerly. “We have had
such a lovely time with them this summer, Mr. Abbott! Miss Madison is the
most charming woman I ever knew. We play together a great deal, she on
the violin and I on the piano. There is a brother, Roger, too, who is
very nice. We all like them immensely.”
Victoria, Peter, and Sophy joined in the chorus of praise, as did even
Mrs. Wentworth Ward, but Honor was noticeably silent.
Mr. Abbott remained to dinner and even to supper also, staying long
enough to see Dave Carney and convince himself, as he did the moment he
looked at him, that he was an honest fellow. He also desired to meet Miss
Madison and her brother, about whom he had heard so much. When he finally
returned to Boston, there was a twinkle in his kind eyes and a satisfied
expression upon his face.
He had heard now a complete history of the past year, and he felt
confident that the coming one would be even more of a success. The Starrs
had tried their wings and had proved that they could fly.
That same evening Mrs. Wentworth Ward called Victoria into her room.
“My dear,” she said, “do you remember what I said to you one day in the
early summer in regard to Katherine and young Madison?”
“Yes, Aunt Sophia, I do indeed!” replied Vic.
“I want to tell you something else, then,” said her aunt. “I think I was
mistaken. In fact, I find that I have made a number of mistakes about you
all. I think now that it is friendship, mere friendship, between him and
Katherine. It is very rare, but this time I believe it to be the case.
Katherine finds the sister more absorbing and interesting than the
brother, and the real object of his interest is not Katherine, but Honor.
I think you will find that I am right.”
And after events proved, greatly to Mrs. Wentworth Ward’s own
satisfaction, and indeed to that of all concerned, that she had indeed
guessed correctly.
And when Honor was told by Roger and Victoria together that he was “the
man who bought the etching,” she took the news so quietly that Victoria
came to the conclusion that much-dreaded events never turn out to be as
unpleasant as one fears that they will be,—a conclusion that was
frequently proved to be a true one during the remainder of her life.
* * * * *
THE END.
* * * * *
BOOKS BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
MALVERN. A Neighborhood Story. 341 pages.
With five Illustrations by ALICE BARBER STEPHENS.
Cloth. $1.50.
A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE. 340 pages.
With five Illustrations by ALICE BARBER STEPHENS.
Cloth. $1.50.