"You act and look awful bangy, to-day, mamma, just as if you were going
to sweep rooms right away."
Five days later, Mrs. Holden acknowledged to herself that she felt
"bangy." It was her first long journey without her husband and, less
independent than her sisters, she would have dreaded it in any case.
Without Mr. Holden, the trip was an undertaking; with Mac, it was almost
insupportable. She embarked with a lunch basket, with picture books and
with theories. She landed, a chastened woman. Within twelve hours, the
basket was empty, the picture books were in shreds, and Mac, bareheaded,
coated with cinders and wreathed in smiles, was prancing up and down the
car, heedless of her admonitions. By day, the other passengers petted
him and encouraged him to all manner of pertnesses. At night, they
murmured, not always among themselves, when he waked up and in stentorian
tones demanded a drink. No child of three is altogether a desirable
companion on a long journey, least of all McAlister Holden. Small wonder
that it was a pale and haggard Hope who drove up to The Savins, one night
in late June, while Mac was as vivacious as at the start!
He went through the introductions with the nonchalance of his years,
though he resisted Theodora's efforts to kiss him, and sniffed
disdainfully at Phebe who was trying for her sister's sake to conceal her
dislike of children. By Mrs. McAlister's side, he paused and looked
straight up into her face. Then he tucked his hand into hers confidingly.
"Are you my grandma?"
"Yes, dear."
"Why, you look too new," he said frankly, and then put up his rosy lips
for a kiss. For the moment, the cherub side was uppermost, and his
mother, as she reflected upon the permanence of first impressions,
rejoiced that it was so, and she hurried the child off to bed, for fear
he might do something to destroy the illusion.
"Mamma," he said sleepily, as she left him, to go down for her own
dinner; "will you please tell me just vis much?"
"Well?"
"Were you a mamma when you lived here before?"
"No, Mac."
"And now you've grown out into a beautifully mamma. Good-night!" And he
went to sleep with the saintly side of his character still uppermost.
The Farringtons and Cicely dined at The Savins; but, directly after
dinner, Cicely excused herself and went home to do some practising.
"No; I suppose it could wait," she said to Allyn who followed her to the
door; "but it must be done some time. It is ages since you were all here
together, and you ought to be just by yourselves to-night."
"But you are one of the family," Allyn protested.
"That's nice of you, Allyn; but it isn't quite the same thing. Besides,
if I practise now, I shall have more time for fun, to-morrow. Go back to
your sister. Isn't she a dear?"
"Yes, Hope is a good one," Allyn said, though without much enthusiasm;
"but Ted is worth ten of her, according to my notions." And Cicely nodded
up at him in token of agreement.
By the time dinner was over, the evening had grown chilly, and the
McAlisters drew up their chairs around the open fire.
"All here once more, thank God!" the doctor said contentedly, as he
settled himself between Theodora and Mrs. Holden.
"This seems just like the good old times," Theodora added. "It's five
years since we were all here together, like this. Doesn't it make you
feel as if you had never been away, Hope?"
"Yes, almost. If Allyn weren't quite so grown up and Billy so lively, I
should believe we were children again. Ted, do you remember the first
night that Archie came here?"
"The night I went slumming and stole the child? I should say I
did. Archie didn't take it kindly at all, when he found the infant
in his bed."
"That reminds me, papa," Phebe said abruptly; "Isabel and I want to take
some fresh-air children, next week."
"Why, Babe, I don't see how you can," Theodora remonstrated.
"I didn't ask you, Teddy. I have thought it all over, and I can't see any
objections. I should take all the care of it, and I want to do it."
"But the house is so full, Babe," Mrs. McAlister said. "There isn't any
room for one."
"It could sleep on the lounge in my room. I wouldn't let it trouble you
any. It is a fine charity, and this is such a good place for a child to
play. Isabel will take one for a week, if I will, and I said I would.
There is just time, before I go away," Phebe said with an air of
finality which would have ended the subject, had it not been for Allyn's
last shot,--
"They'd better get its life insured, then, for there's no telling how
long it will be before Babe takes it as a subject for her scalpel."
"Don't be foolish, Allyn," Phebe returned; but Hubert interposed,--
"Isn't Archie going to come on at all, this summer, Hope?"
"I'm afraid not. Summer is his busy time, and he will be out in camp till
snow flies."
"I don't see the use of having that kind of a husband," Phebe
observed severely.
"You like the kind like me better; don't you, Babe?"
"No; I should get sick of having you everlastingly around the house,
Billy. I want a man to have hours and stick to them, not keep running in
and out. I sha'n't marry. If I did, I would insist on a ten-hour law;
then I could be sure of getting some time to myself."
"Archie lives on a ten-month law," his wife said regretfully. "Of course,
I can go out to camp to be with him; but it's not good for Mac. He picks
up all the talk of the miners and retails it at inopportune times, and
runs wild generally. Archie usually comes home for a day, every two or
three weeks; but, this year, he is too far out for that, so I thought it
was best for me to come East now."
"You had an easy journey; didn't you?" Hubert asked.
"Yes; at least, as easy as it could be with Mac."
"I think you have slandered Mac," Mrs. McAlister observed. "He seems as
gentle as a cooing dove."