ABOUT SEVERAL THINGS.
It seemed to Edna, as she looked up, that she had never seen Uncle
Justus's eyebrows appear so shaggy, nor his eyes snap so. "Boys!" he
thundered out, "leave the house."
Every one slunk out of the room and down the stairs without a word.
"Edna," he said, when the last one had left, "go to your room. I
thought I could trust you," he added. "Come with me, Louis."
Edna crept up stairs, her bosom heaving, and such a hurt, dreadful
feeling in her heart. It was so terrible to be judged in that way, as
if she had taken part in all that disorder. She felt as if she could
not stand it, but there was no room left for explanation, and she
cried as if her heart would break over this dreadful condition of
things.
It was not long, however, before she heard some one coming up stairs.
"Edna, my child, where are you?" a voice said, quite gently. "Your
uncle didn't understand," she heard Aunt Elizabeth say. "He is very
sorry he blamed you unjustly. One of the boys, Charlie Stabler, has
been here to acknowledge his part in the affair, and to offer to pay
for any damage done. He is a very manly boy, although he did not do
quite right to join the others. He has also said that you had nothing
to do with the trouble, and has told of Louis' defense of you, which
in some degree lessens the fault."
Edna jumped up and threw her arms around her aunt. "O, auntie," she
cried, "I am so glad you have come back." Aunt Elizabeth smiled and
bade Edna bathe her face and go down and see her uncle, who was
waiting for her.
Uncle Justus stood at the foot of the stairs; he opened his arms as
his little niece came down, and as he held her closely she knew he
meant to make amends for the harsh judgment.
"How is your sick sister?" asked the little girl.
"She is better--a little better, but still very ill," replied Uncle
Justus.
"I am so glad she is better," returned Edna, "And you won't have to go
away again, will you?"
"I hope not. You had a hard time getting along, did you?"
"We didn't at first," acknowledged Edna, truthfully. "We had fun, but
to-day it has been just horrid. Why didn't you come back this morning,
uncle?"
"We missed the train; there are only two trains a day from that
junction, and something happened to the carriage on the way, so we
were too late for the morning train. You didn't have school, of
course. I found Miss Ashurst's note when I reached here. She has an
attack of grippe."
"O, yes, we did have school. I am sorry, uncle, but the little girls
weren't as good as the others."
"And you are one of the little girls," returned Uncle Justus, smiling,
and looking down at her. But Edna felt that whatever he might hear of
the rest, he would not include her with the number of those who had
misbehaved.
That he was highly pleased with Agnes Evans's account of the day was
evident from his manner to his pupils, and he did not even reprimand
the little girls, who continued under Agnes Evans's teaching while
Miss Ashurst remained away. To Edna's surprise Louis was not shut up,
but there was a sullen look on his face which told of his feelings.
Edna's gratitude for his defense of her increased her affection for
her cousin, and she tried in every way to show him little attentions,
which he took graciously enough, but which did not seem to add very
much to his happiness, and at times Edna felt very indignant at the
sternness with which he was treated, and the cold tones in which he
was addressed. It was very nice to have Uncle Justus give her credit
for trying to be a good girl, and to have Aunt Elizabeth smile upon
her, but it made her feel the coldness of their manner to Louis all
the more.
To be sure Aunt Elizabeth did not seem to think Edna ever could be
cured of certain faults. "You are a very careless child," she would
say. "I am afraid you will never be the neat housekeeper your
grandmother was;" or, "Edna, that exhibition of temper over little
things must be controlled; it is a very serious fault." Again it would
be, "You are very babyish, and lack self-control; there is no need of
crying over such a small matter as a little blister on your finger."
And Edna wondered if she were expected to be like the Spartan boy who
held the fox under his coat while it gnawed at his heart. Aunt
Elizabeth never pitied her, and even the little caresses from Uncle
Justus were few and far between.
"I should like a real lap," said the little girl, wistfully, to her
doll. "I should like to have mamma to hug and hug as hard as I wanted,
and I should like to have sister to be silly with. I like to be silly
sometimes, and sister does, too. It is a long time, Ada, since we saw
them all, the boys, and the kittens, and Snowflake, and all the rest.
I am afraid it is going to be a long time more, for mamma wrote that
it would have to be quite warm weather before they could come back."
To be sure Ellen had a lap ready whenever there was time for her to
sit down, but she was kept very busy, the one servant in a large
house, and even on the days when the wash-woman came she worked just
as hard. Then Aunt Elizabeth did not approve of much time spent in the
kitchen by her niece, and so, with Louis grumpy, Ellen busy, Uncle
Justus reading, and Aunt Elizabeth absorbed in her many interests,
there were days which seemed very long to the little girl, and once or
twice she went to her room at night so homesick that she threw
herself, crying, on the bed, with her doll hugged up to her, and fell
fast asleep without undressing, to awaken in the middle of the night
chilly and uncomfortable, finding herself on the outside of the
covers. She would then shiver out of her clothes and creep into bed,
after groping around to get Ada and place her safely under the
bedclothes. But this was only sometimes; generally speaking, the days
were not unhappy ones, for lessons and practicing, so many squares of
patchwork, so many pages of reading filled up the hours, and the
playtime was not so long as to become tiresome.
Once a week there was a visit to Maggie, who was always overjoyed to
see her little friend.
"I don't know what I shall do when you go home," Maggie said, sadly,
one day. "And when you take Moggins so far off, I'll never hear of
him."
Edna was thoughtful. "What becomes of little girls who live here till
they grow up?" she asked.
"Some of 'em don't stay that long, they get 'dopted," replied Maggie,
"an' some of 'em get places." And Edna bore this information in mind.
"What do you have to do to get 'dopted?" she asked her aunt.
"You don't do anything but try to behave yourself," replied she. "What
are you thinking about, Edna? Surely you do not need to have anyone to
adopt you?"
"No," was the reply, "I was thinking of Maggie."
"Well, if some lonely, childless person were to come along and take a
fancy to Maggie, she might be adopted, but usually the younger
children are preferred; little girls of her age are not often chosen."
Edna was disappointed. She had thought that maybe her aunt's influence
might be all that was necessary, provided Maggie should care to be
chosen as some one's possible daughter.
But she did not give up the hope. "Maybe some one will 'dopt you,
Maggie," she said, "and then, of course, you can have Moggins back
again. Your new mamma would want you to have him." And so the two
children talked over this possibility, as if it were a delightful
fairy tale.
All this time Louis' discontent seemed to increase and he chafed more
and more under restraint. It is quite true that the same kind of
treatment did not suit the two children. Edna, on the one hand, an
honest, conscientious, self-sacrificing little girl, and on the other
hand Louis, a spoiled, proud, rather selfish little boy. Gentle
firmness would have been best for Louis, but firmness without
gentleness did not suit him at all, and he resented the methods of his
uncle and aunt.
"I'm not going to stand being ordered about as I am, and treated as if
I were the worst person in the world" he said to Edna. "They're all
right when you are concerned, but they act as if I were a criminal,
and I don't want to be good for them."
Edna looked distressed. "O, Louis," she said, "I don't believe they
feel that way."
"They act that way," replied he, "and I know what I am going to do."
"What?" asked Edna. "Tell me, Louis; I won't tell."
"Sure you won't?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Give your word of honor that you won't tell anyone I know."
"Yes, I promise."
"Well," and Louis lifted his hand emphatically, "I'm going to run
away."
"O, Louis."
"Yes, I'm going to find my mother and father."
"Why don't you write to them to come take you away?"
"I have asked them, but they wrote back that this was the best place
for me, and that I must stay, and I won't--I won't."
"Please stay," pleaded Edna. "Just stand it a little while longer. I'm
so afraid you'll get into a herd of cattle out on the prairies where
they have whole stampedes, and you might get caught by the Indians,
and I'd never see you again," and Edna's eyes filled at the
possibility.
"Ho! no fear of that. I'd skulk as well as the best of them, and I'd
keep out of the way of the cattle. I might stop over night with some
of the cowboys, but I wouldn't stay," replied Louis, with a very dim
idea of what he might have to encounter.
"Well, anyhow, it wouldn't be right," replied Edna.
"I'd like to know why; it isn't as if I were running away _from_ my
father and mother. I'm going to run _to_ them; that makes all the
difference."
But Louis had talked so before, and Edna did not take it very much to
heart, especially as just about that time came an invitation from
Agnes Evans which Uncle Justus accepted for Edna without consulting
anyone.
Miss Evans asked if Edna might be allowed to spend Saturday and Sunday
in the country. The girl had taken quite a fancy to the child, and had
won her confidence so that nowadays Miss Agnes was consulted upon all
points, and although Aunt Elizabeth frowned upon the decision, Uncle
Justus would not allow it to be changed, and so Edna set out very
gayly, and thought nothing could be more delightful than to spend this
time with her beloved friend.
"You know," said Agnes, "I have a little sister, so I am sure we can
make you have a good time. Do you like the country?"
"O, I like it much better than the city," was the reply. "I live in a
half-and-half country place. We have chickens and a cow. O, it has
been so long since I saw a real chicken."
Miss Agnes laughed. "Where did you see any make-believe ones?"
Edna laughed, too. "O, I mean live running-about chickens. I am a
little afraid of cows. Ours hasn't any horns; it is the horny kind I
am afraid of."
They were then on their way to the pretty country home in which Miss
Evans lived. She spent her time during the week at a married sister's,
in order to attend Professor Horner's school, but she always went home
on Friday afternoons, returning Monday.
It was a mild day in March when the spring seemed quite near, although
snow and frost might still be expected. At the station a carriage met
them, and they were driven about half a mile to where a low,
old-fashioned house stood. Two great cedar trees stood, one on each
side the walk which led up to the house, and which was bordered by a
box hedge so high that Edna could not see over it. A little girl, a
trifle younger than Edna, came dancing down to meet them. She had
yellow curly hair and big blue eyes. Edna thought her very pretty and
was ready at once to make friends with her.
[Illustration: DOROTHY.]
"Take Edna up to your room, Dorothy," said Miss Agnes. "You are to be
roommates, you know. Show her your dolls, and make her at home," and
Edna followed her new acquaintance up the broad staircase, feeling
that this was much more like being at home.
"She is a dear little child," Agnes said to her mother, "and I am sure
is often homesick, and longs for her own little playmates."
"You must bring her out often," replied motherly Mrs. Evans. "I can
imagine how glad I should be to have some one take a little notice of
Dorothy if she were away from home."
"How long are you going to stay?" asked Dorothy, not meaning to be
rude, but like most children, wanting to crowd all she could into the
time.
"Till Monday evening," answered Edna. But it was not on the next
Monday nor the one following that which found Edna back again in the
city.