UNCLE PAUL'S ANSWER
"Mother! O mother, where are you!" Pauline cried, and on Mrs. Shaw's
answering from her own room, she ran on up-stairs. "O Mother Shaw!
It's come at last!" she announced breathlessly.
"So I thought--when I heard Patience calling just now. Pauline, dear,
try not to be too disappointed if--"
"You open it, mother--please! Now it's really come, I'm--afraid to."
Pauline held out her letter.
"No, dear, it is addressed to you," Mrs. Shaw answered quietly.
And Pauline, a good deal sobered by the gravity with which her mother
had received the news, sat down on the wide window seat, near her
mother's chair, tearing open the envelope. As she spread out the heavy
businesslike sheet of paper within, a small folded enclosure fell from
it into her lap.
"Oh, mother!" Pauline caught up the narrow blue slip. She had never
received a check from anyone before. "Mother! listen!" and she read
aloud, "'Pay to the order of Miss Pauline A. Shaw, the sum of
twenty-five dollars.'"
Twenty-five dollars! One ought to be able to do a good deal with
twenty-five dollars!
"Goodness me!" Patience exclaimed. She had followed her sister
up-stairs, after a discreet interval, curling herself up unobtrusively
in a big chair just inside the doorway. "Can you do what you like with
it, Paul?"
But Pauline was bending over the letter, a bright spot of color on each
cheek. Presently, she handed it to her mother. "I wish--I'd never
written to him! Read it, mother!"
And Mrs. Shaw read, as follows--
NEW YORK CITY, May 31, 19--.
_Miss Pauline A. Shaw,
Winton, Vt._
MY DEAR NIECE: Yours of May 16th to hand. I am sorry to learn that
your sister Hilary appears to be in such poor health at present. Such
being the case, however, it would seem to me that home was the best
place for her. I do not at all approve of this modern fashion of
running about the country, on any and every pretext. Also, if I
remember correctly, your father has frequently described Winton to me
as a place of great natural charms, and peculiarly adapted to those
suffering from so-called nervous disorders.
Altogether, I do not feel inclined to comply with your request to make
it possible for your sister to leave home, in search of change and
recreation. Instead, beginning with this letter, I will forward you
each month during the summer, the sum of twenty-five dollars, to be
used in procuring for your sisters and yourself--I understand, there is
a third child--such simple and healthful diversions as your parents may
approve, the only conditions I make, being, that at no time shall any
of your pleasure trips take you further than ten miles from home, and
that you keep me informed, from time to time, how this plan of mine is
succeeding.
Trusting this may prove satisfactory,
Very respectfully,
PAUL A. SHAW.
"What do you think, mother?" Pauline asked, as Mrs. Shaw finished
reading. "Isn't it a very--queer sort of letter?"
"It is an extremely characteristic one, dear."
"I think," Patience could contain herself no longer, "that you are the
inconsideratest persons! You know I'm perfectly wild to know what's in
that letter!"
"Run away now, Patience," her mother said. "You shall hear about it
later," and when Patience had obeyed--not very willingly, Mrs. Shaw
turned again to Pauline. "We must show this to your father, before
making any plans in regard to it, dear."
"He's coming now. You show it to him, please, mother."
When her mother had gone down-stairs, Pauline still sat there in the
window seat, looking soberly out across the lawn to the village street,
with its double rows of tall, old trees. So her flag had served little
purpose after all! That change for Hilary was still as uncertain, as
much a vague part of the future, as it had ever been.
It seemed to the girl, at the moment, as if she fairly hated Winton.
As though Hilary and she did not already know every stick and stone in
it, had not long ago exhausted all its possibilities!
New people might think it "quaint" and "pretty" but they had not lived
here all their lives. And, besides, she had expressly told Uncle Paul
that the doctor had said that Hilary needed a change.
She was still brooding over the downfall of her hopes, when her mother
called to her from the garden. Pauline went down, feeling that it
mattered very little what her father's decision had been--it could make
so little difference to them, either way.
Mrs. Shaw was on the bench under the old elm, that stood midway between
parsonage and church. She had been rereading Uncle Paul's letter, and
to Pauline's wonder, there was something like a smile of amusement in
her eyes.
"Well, mother?" the girl asked.
"Well, dear, your father and I have talked the matter over, and we have
decided to allow you to accept your uncle's offer."
"But that--hateful condition! How is Hilary to get a chance--here in
Winton?"
"Who was it that I heard saying, only this morning, Pauline, that even
if Uncle Paul didn't agree, she really believed we might manage to have
a very pleasant summer here at home?"
"I know--but still, now that we know definitely--"
"We can go to work definitely to do even better."
"But how, mother!"
"That is what we must think over. Suppose you put your wits to work
right now. I must go down to Jane's for a few moments. After all,
Pauline, those promised twenty-fives can be used very pleasantly--even
in Winton."
"But it will still be Winton."
"Winton may develop some unexplored corners, some new outlooks."
Pauline looked rather doubtful; then, catching sight of a small
dejected-looking little figure in the swing, under the big cherry-tree
at the foot of the lawn, she asked, "I suppose I may tell Patience now,
mother? She really has been very good all this time of waiting."
"She certainly has. Only, not too many details, Pauline. Patience is
of such a confiding disposition."
"Patience," Pauline called, "suppose we go see if there aren't some
strawberries ripe?"
Patience ran off for a basket. Strawberries! As if she didn't know
they were only a pretext. Grown people were assuredly very queer--but
sometimes, it was necessary to humor, their little whims and ways.
"I don't believe they are ripe yet," she said, skipping along beside
her sister. "O Paul, is it--nice?"
"Mother thinks so!"
"Don't you?"
"Maybe I will--after a while. Hilary isn't to go away."
"Is that what you wrote and asked Uncle Paul? And didn't you ask for
us all to go?"
"Certainly not--we're not sick," said Pauline, laughing.
"Miranda says what Hilary needs is a good herb tonic!"
"Miranda doesn't know everything."
"What is Uncle Paul going to do then?"
"Send some money every month--to have good times with at home."
"One of those blue paper things?"
"I suppose so," Pauline laughed.
"And _you_ don't call that _nice_! Well of all the ungratefullest
girls! Is it for us _all_ to have good times with? Or just Hilary?"
"All of us. Of course, Hilary must come first."
Patience fairly jumped up and down with excitement. "When will they
begin, and what will they be like? O Paul, just think of the good
times we've had _without_ any money 't all! Aren't we the luckiest
girls!"
They had reached the strawberry-bed and Patience dropped down in the
grass beside it, her hands clasped around her knees. "Good times in
Winton will be a lot better than good times anywhere else. Winton's
such a nice sociable place."
Pauline settled herself on the top rail of the fence bordering the
garden at the back. Patience's enthusiasm was infectious. "What sort
of good times do you mean?" she asked.
"Picnics!"
"We have such a lot of picnics--year after year!"
"A nice picnic is always sort of new. Miranda does put up such
beautiful lunches. O Paul, couldn't we afford chocolate layer cake
_every_ time, now?"
"You goosey!" Pauline laughed again heartily.
"And maybe there'll be an excursion somewhere's, and by'n'by there'll
be the town fair. Paul, there's a ripe berry! And another and--"
"See here, hold on, Impatience!" Pauline protested, as the berries
disappeared, one after another, down Patience's small throat.
"Perhaps, if you stop eating them all, we can get enough for mother's
and father's supper."
"Maybe they went and hurried to get ripe for to-night, so we could
celebrate," Patience suggested. "Paul, mayn't I go with you next time
you go over to The Maples?"
"We'll see what mother says."
"I hate 'we'll see's'!" Patience declared, reaching so far over after a
particularly tempting berry, that she lost her balance, and fell face
down among them.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed, as her sister came to her assistance,
"something always seems to happen clean-apron afternoon! Paul,
wouldn't it be a 'good time,' if Miranda would agree not to scold 'bout
perfectly unavoidable accidents once this whole summer?"
"Who's to do the deciding as to the unavoidableness?" Pauline asked.
"Come on, Patience, we've got about all the ripe ones, and it must be
time for you to lay the supper-table."
"Not laying supper-tables would be another good time," Patience
answered. "We did get enough, didn't we? I'll hull them."
"I wonder," Pauline said, more as if speaking to herself, "whether
maybe mother wouldn't think it good to have Jane in now and then--for
extra work? Not supper-tables, young lady."
"Jane would love it. She likes to work with Miranda--she says
Miranda's such a nice lady. Do you think she is, Paul?"
"I'm thinking about other things just now."
"I don't--There's mother. Goodness, Miranda's got the cloth on!"
And away sped the child.
To Patience's astonishment, nothing was said at supper, either of Uncle
Paul's letter, or the wonderful things it was to lead to. Mr. Shaw
kept his wife engaged with parish subjects and Pauline appeared lost in
thoughts of her own. Patience fidgeted as openly as she dared. Of all
queer grown-ups--and it looked as though most grown-ups were more or
less queer--father was certainly the queerest. Of course, he knew
about the letter; and how could he go on talking about stupid,
uninteresting matters--like the Ladies' Aid and the new hymn books?
Even the first strawberries of the season passed unnoticed, as far as
he was concerned, though Mrs. Shaw gave Patience a little smiling nod,
in recognition of them.
"Mother," Pauline exclaimed, the moment her father had gone back to his
study, "I've been thinking--Suppose we get Hilary to pretend--that
coming home is coming to a _new_ place? That she is coming to visit
us? We'll think up all the interesting things to do, that we can, and
the pretty places to show her."
"That would be a good plan, Pauline."
"And if she's company, she'll have to have the spare room," Patience
added.
"Jolly for you, Patience!" Pauline said. "Only, mother, Hilary doesn't
like the spare room; she says it's the dreariest room in the house."
"If she's company, she'll have to pretend to like it, it wouldn't be
good manners not to," Patience observed. The prospect opening out
ahead of them seemed full of delightful possibilities. "I hope Miranda
catches on to the game, and gives us pound-cake and hot biscuits for
supper ever so often, and doesn't call me to do things, when I'm busy
entertaining 'the company.'"
"Mother," Pauline broke in--"do keep quiet. Impatience--couldn't we do
the spare room over--there's that twenty-five dollars? We've planned
it so often."
"We might make some alterations, dear--at least."
"We'll take stock the first thing to-morrow morning. I suppose we
can't really start in before Monday."
"Hardly, seeing that it is Friday night."
They were still talking this new idea over, though Patience had been
sent to bed, when Mr. Shaw came in from a visit to a sick parishioner.
"We've got the most beautiful scheme on hand, father," Pauline told
him, wheeling forward his favorite chair. She hoped he would sit down
and talk things over with them, instead of going on to the study; it
wouldn't be half as nice, if he stayed outside of everything.
"New schemes appear to be rampant these days," Mr. Shaw said, but he
settled himself comfortably in the big chair, quite as though he meant
to stay with them. "What is this particular one?"
He listened, while Pauline explained, really listened, instead of
merely seeming to. "It does appear an excellent idea," he said; "but
why should it be Hilary only, who is to try to see Winton with new eyes
this summer? Suppose we were all to do so?"
Pauline clapped her hands softly. "Then you'll help us? And we'll all
pretend. Maybe Uncle Paul's thought isn't such a bad one, after all."
"Paul always believed in developing the opportunities nearest hand,"
Mr. Shaw answered. He stroked the head Towser laid against his knee.
"Your mother and I will be the gainers--if we keep all our girls at
home, and still achieve the desired end."
Pauline glanced up quickly. How could she have thought him
unheeding--indifferent?
"Somehow, I think it will work out all right," she said. "Anyhow,
we're going to try it, aren't we. Mother Shaw? Patience thinks it the
best idea ever, there'll be no urging needed there."
Pauline went up to bed that night feeling strangely happy. For one
thing the uncertainty was over, and if they set to work to make this
summer full of interest, to break up the monotony and routine that
Hilary found so irksome, the result must be satisfactory. And lastly,
there was the comforting conviction, that whatever displeasure her
father had felt at first, at her taking the law into her own hands in
such unforeseen fashion, had disappeared now; and he was not going to
stay "outside of things," that was sure.
The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Pauline ran up-stairs
to the spare room. She threw open the shutters of the four windows,
letting in the fresh morning air. The side windows faced west, and
looked out across the pleasant tree-shaded yard to the church; those at
the front faced south, overlooking the broad village street.
In the bright sunlight, the big square room stood forth in all its prim
orderliness. "It is ugly," Pauline decided, shaking her head
disapprovingly, but it had possibilities. No room, with four such
generous windows and--for the fire-board must come out--such a wide
deep fireplace, could be without them.
She turned, as her mother came in, duly attended by Patience. "It is
hideous, isn't it, mother? The paper, I mean--and the carpet isn't
much better. It did very well, I suppose, for the visiting
ministers--probably they're too busy thinking over their sermons to
notice--but for Hilary--"
Mrs. Shaw smiled. "Perhaps you are right, dear. As to the
unattractiveness of the paper--"
"We must repaper--that's sure; plain green, with a little touch of
color in the border, and, oh, Mother Shaw, wouldn't a green and white
matting be lovely?"
"And expensive, Pauline."
"It wouldn't take all the twenty-five, I'm sure. Miranda'll do the
papering, I know. She did the study last year. Mother, couldn't we
have Jane in for the washing and ironing this week, and let Miranda get
right at this room? I'll help with the ironing, too."
"I suppose so, dear. Miranda is rather fussy about letting other
people do her regular work, you know."
"I'll ask her."
"And remember, Pauline, each day is going to bring new demands--don't
put all your eggs into one basket."
"I won't. We needn't spend anything on this room except for the paper
and matting."
Half an hour later, Pauline was on her way down to the village store
for samples of paper. She had already settled the matter with Miranda,
over the wiping of the breakfast dishes.
Miranda had lived with the Shaws ever since Pauline was a baby, and was
a very important member of the family, both in her own and their
opinion. She was tall and gaunt, and somewhat severe looking; however,
in her case, looks were deceptive. It would never have occurred to
Miranda that the Shaws' interests were not her interests--she
considered herself an important factor in the upbringing of the three
young people. If she had a favorite, it was probably Hilary.
"Hmn," she said, when Pauline broached the subject of the spare room,
"what put that notion in your head, I'd like to know! That paper ain't
got a tear in it!"
So Pauline went further, telling her something of Uncle Paul's letter
and how they hoped to carry his suggestion out.
Miranda stood still, her hands in the dish water--"That's your pa's own
brother, ain't it?"
Pauline nodded. "And Miranda--"
"I reckon he ain't much like the minister. Well, me an' Sarah Jane
ain't the least bit alike--if we are sisters. I guess I can manage
'bout the papering. But it does go 'gainst me, having that sexton
woman in. Still, I reckon you can't be content, 'till we get started.
Looking for the old gentleman up, later, be you?"
"For whom?" Pauline asked.
"Your pa's brother. The minister's getting on, and the other one's
considerable older, I understand."
"I don't think he will be up," Pauline answered; she hadn't thought of
that before. Suppose he should come! She wondered what he would be
like.
Half way down the street, Pauline was overtaken by her younger sister.
"Are you going to get the new things now, Paul?" she asked eagerly.
"Of course not, just get some samples."
"There's always such a lot of getting ready first," Patience sighed.
"Paul, mother says I may go with you to-morrow afternoon."
"All right," Pauline agreed. "Only, you've got to promise not to 'hi
yi' at Fanny all the way."
"I won't--all the way."
"And--Impatience?"
"Yes?"
"You needn't say what we want the new paper for, or anything about what
we are planning to do--in the store I mean."
"Mr. Ward would be mighty interested."
"I dare say."
"Miranda says you're beginning to put on considerable airs, since
you've been turning your hair up, Paul Shaw. When I put my hair up,
I'm going on being just as nice and friendly with folks, as before,
you'll see."
Pauline laughed, which was not at all to Patience's liking. "All the
same, mind what I say," she warned.
"Can I help choose?" Patience asked, as they reached the store.
"If you like." Pauline went through to the little annex devoted to
wall papers and carpetings. It was rather musty and dull in there,
Patience thought; she would have liked to make a slow round of the
whole store, exchanging greetings and various confidences with the
other occupants. The store was a busy place on Saturday morning, and
Patience knew every man, woman and child in Winton.
They had got their samples and Pauline was lingering before a new line
of summer dressgoods just received, when the young fellow in charge of
the post-office and telegraph station called to her: "I say, Miss Shaw,
here's a message just come for you."
"For me--" Pauline took it wonderingly. Her hands were trembling, she
had never received a telegram before--Was Hilary? Then she laughed at
herself. To have sent a message, Mr. Boyd would have first been
obliged to come in to Winton.
Out on the sidewalk, she tore open the envelope, not heeding Patience's
curious demands. It was from her uncle, and read--
"Have some one meet the afternoon train Saturday, am sending you an aid
towards your summer's outings."
"Oh," Pauline said, "do hurry, Patience. I want to get home as fast as
I can."