papa were ever married,--papa began to write a book, and it is not yet
finished, though there are pages and pages of it. Of course it is _very_
deep and _very_ clever, for papa is a great scholar. Max Derwent says
that if papa would only finish the book he thinks he knows of a
publisher who would accept it at once; and that would be a great help
to us, for papa has lost a lot of money this year, and we have to be
_very_ economical. That is the reason Fee can't go to college as well as
Phil; papa explained this to the boys that day in the study, after Jack
had been put out. Dear Jack! he is such a gentle, old-fashioned little
fellow, it really seems as if he ought to have been the girl, and Betty
the boy.
But, for all that Max said, papa can't seem to get to the end of his
work; he writes and re-writes, and keeps making changes all the time.
Sometimes I have wondered if he has worked over it so long that he hates
to part with it. The title of this great piece of work is "The History
of Some Ancient Peoples," or something very like that,--it's about
the Egyptians and Phoenicians and Chaldeans; but among ourselves we
children call it the Fetich. Long ago Fee gave it that name, because he
says it rules the house, and everything and everybody has to give way to
it; and he isn't very far wrong, I'm sorry to say. Ever since we older
ones can remember, the Fetich has engrossed papa's entire attention, and
kept him so occupied that he has had no time for anything else,--not
even for his children. In our own home we have to go quietly and soberly
about as if in a stranger's house,--to creep softly through the halls
and steal up the back stairs, and to subdue our voices when the natural
childish impulse is to run gaily and speak out merrily. It has kept our
father apart from us and made him almost a stranger to his children;
and, as we look back, some of us grudge the hours of dear mamma's time
that were spent each day in the study,--away from us,--reading and
copying off the Fetich, and helping and encouraging papa.
Dear, blessed mother! what a brave, loving spirit hers was! Even to the
last, when she was almost too weak to speak, she would have papa carry
her to the study, and, lying there in the invalid-chair, she'd smile at
him as he kept looking up at her from his writing. The very last talk we
had together,--after she had been taken back to her room,--when we had
spoken about the children and she had told me different little points
about their dispositions, and some ways in which I might be able to help
them after she had gone, she said very earnestly, "And always be very
good to your father, Nannie; he will be in sore need of comfort, for he
will miss me more than any one else."
"Oh, mamma, mamma!" I cried, choking, "no one _could_ miss you more than
we shall!"
Mamma stroked my hand softly as it lay on the bed beside her. "Dear,"
she said presently, "I know my boys and girls will _never_ forget me,
not even the very youngest, for they will hear of me from you older
ones. Oh, if it had been my Father's will, how gladly would I have
remained with you all! But you are all young; life and hope are strong
within you, and you love one another. He--your father--is so different;
he will grieve--alone--and grow farther and farther from human love and
sympathy. Nannie, dear little daughter, remember how very, _very_ happy
he has made me all these years, and oh, be good to him, and very patient
and loving when I am gone!"
Her very last look was given to papa; her last word was "Jack!"
[Illustration: "I GAVE A VERY FAINT KNOCK."]
For a good while I did try to do things for him, and to let him see that
I loved him; but I had a feeling all the time--as in the hall that
night--that he didn't want me near him, and would rather not have me in
the study: so gradually I gave up going there, except for a few minutes
each morning to ask if he needed anything. But this morning dear mamma's
words came back to me, and I felt very guilty as I ran up to the study
after breakfast; I had tried faithfully to look after the brothers and
sisters, but I had neglected papa; and I am afraid, in the lowness of my
spirits, that I gave a very faint knock on the door. After waiting a
minute or two, I opened the door, as no answer came, and stepped into
the study.
Papa's breakfast, which had been sent up more than half an hour before,
lay cold and untasted on his desk, and papa himself knelt on the
hearth; there was no fire, and in the empty grate, laid criss-cross,
were pages and pages of closely written manuscript. On the chair beside
him, and on the floor, were more pages of manuscript in bundles. In my
father's hand was a match, which he had just drawn and was about to
apply to the papers.
My heart gave a tremendous throb that seemed to send it right into my
throat, and I sprang forward, crying out, "Oh, papa! _papa!_ surely you
are not going to _burn_ the _Fetich_!"
The match fell from papa's fingers, and he looked up at me with an
expression that was half bewilderment, half relief. "Eh! burn _what_?"
he said.
"I--I--mean--were you going to burn--your book?" I remembered in time
that he did not know we called it the Fetich. "Oh, papa," I pleaded,
"_why_ are you doing this? Your wonderful book, that mamma was so
proud of!"
Papa got up and sat in his chair, and the sadness of his face made me
think of Fee's that awful night; the tears came rushing to my eyes,
and I knelt down and took his hand in my two and held it fast. He
let me keep it, and peered earnestly at me for a few minutes in his
near-sighted way. "It might as well be destroyed; I shall never finish
it--_now_" he said presently, in a low voice, as if he were speaking to
himself, and looking beyond me at the Fetich in the grate. "She is no
longer here to praise and encourage--my lifelong work,--a failure!"
Then, all at once, a daring idea came to me; and, without giving my
courage time to cool, I said quickly: "Papa! dear, dear papa,"--how my
voice shook!--"_please_ let me help you with your work of an afternoon,
something as mamma used to do!" I thought I saw a refusal in his face,
and went on hastily: "I know quite a good deal of Latin and Greek, and I
write a plain hand; I could copy for you, anyway, and I would be _very_
careful. Will you? Ah, _please_! I know she would like me to do it. And
perhaps"--the words faltered--"perhaps she can see and hear us now; and
if she can, I _know_ she will be glad to have me do this for you."
Papa gave an eager, startled glance around the room; then he drooped his
head, and covered his face with the hand I wasn't holding, and for
several minutes we didn't speak. Presently he said slowly,--and the
unsteadiness of his voice told me more than his words did,--"I suppose I
could let you try; for I do need--some one. You might be useful to me,
my dear, if you could come regularly to help me--every day; on that
condition I will accept your offer, and thank you for it--"
"I can--I will; _indeed_ I will!" I broke in.
A look of relief came over papa's face, a faint little smile stirred his
lips, and he gently patted my shoulder. "You are like your mother," he
said; and turning up my chin he kissed me,--a light little kiss that
just brushed my face, but I knew what it meant from him.
Then, as he stooped over and began to gather up the Fetich, he added, in
his usual voice: "These are some chapters that I've written lately, and
become somewhat discouraged over. Help me put them back in their place
on my desk, Nannie; and be careful to keep every page in its regular
order." I did so, and listened attentively while he explained, with
great care and insistence, what I should have to do, and how much time
he would require me to spend in the study.
It was not until I had left him, and was on my way to the schoolroom,
that I remembered that the hours I had promised papa were those I had
set aside for my violin lessons and practice. And then--I am sorry and
ashamed, but I _couldn't_ help it--I ran swiftly away and hid in a
corner by myself, and cried bitterly. It wasn't that I wished I hadn't
made papa that offer, for I would have done it over again, even while I
felt so badly; but, oh, how hard it was to give up my dear music! And I
really didn't know what to do about my teacher and aunt Lindsay.
[Illustration: "'I CAN--I WILL; _INDEED_ I WILL!'"]
But it all came right after a while; dear old Felix came to the rescue,
as he generally does, and offered to go to the conservatory and take
the lessons for me, and then give them to me in the evenings in the
old store-room,--that is, if aunt Lindsay didn't object. Of course I
was thankful; for while Fee does not love violin music as I do, he is
very thorough, and would, I know, do his best for me. So I wrote and
explained to aunt Lindsay, and she did not object in the least; in fact,
her letter was the nicest she has written us yet. And this is the way
that things stand at present: Papa is still writing the Fetich, and I
am helping him; evenings, Fee and I have great times in the store-room,
with the door closed and heavily muffled, giving and receiving music
lessons, and practising with our squeaky violins,--we really do have
lots of fun!
And now to-day comes the good news from Max that he will soon be home;
he writes that he has a "surprise" for us, and of course we are all
very curious. Dear old fellow! It will be such a comfort to have him
among us again!
V.
A FRACAS AND AN ARRIVAL.
TOLD BY BETTY.
Of all people in the world, _Jack_ has been in a fight! Phil brought him
in, and such a sight as he was! his nose bleeding, his coat torn, and a
lump on his forehead as big as a hen's egg! "Why," said Phil, "I
couldn't believe my eyes at first; but true it was, all the same,--there
was our gentle 'rosebud' pommelling away at a fellow nearly twice his
size! And what's more, when I pulled him off, and separated them, if my
young man didn't fly at the other fellow again like a little cock
sparrow! I could hardly get him home."
"Yes, and I'd do it again!" cried Jack, ferociously, mopping his wounded
nose with his handkerchief, while Nannie rushed to get water and
court-plaster.
"What'd he do?" asked Phil and Fee and I, all together. We knew it must
have been something very dreadful to rouse Jack to such a pitch; for,
as nurse says, he is one of the "most peaceablest children that ever
lived." But he wouldn't tell. "Never you mind," was all he'd say.
By this time Nannie had brought a basin of water and the other things,
and when Fee waved his arm and called out tragically, "Gather round,
gather round, fellow-citizens, and witness the dressing of this bleeding
hero's wounds," we crowded so near that Nannie declared we made her
nervous. Jack did look so funny, with a big bath-towel pinned round his
shoulders, and the basin right up under his chin, so the water shouldn't
get over his clothes! And of course, as we looked on, everybody had
something to say. "Tell you what, Jack," said Phil, "you could paint
the town red now, and no mistake, just from your nose; _what_ an
opportunity lost!"
"And I shouldn't wonder if the bridge of that classic member were
broken. Oh the pity of it!" put in Fee, in mock sympathy.
"You'll be a sight to-morrow,--all black and blue," remarked Nora,
eyeing him critically. "I thought you were too much of a gentleman to
fight on the street, Jack,--just like a common rowdy!"
"I'm glad you didn't get beaten," I said; "but my! won't Miss Marston
give it to you to-morrow!" She was out this afternoon.
"Your nose is all swelling up!" announced Judge, solemnly, and Kathie
murmured sympathetically, "_Poor_ Jack!"
[Illustration: "'GATHER ROUND, GATHER ROUND, FELLOW-CITIZENS, AND
WITNESS THE DRESSING OF THIS BLEEDING HERO'S WOUNDS.'"]
Even Nannie--and she isn't one bit a nagger--said, "Oh, Jackie, I'm _so_
ashamed of you! Mamma wouldn't want her gentle boy to become a fighter."
"Yes, she _would_ so, if she knew what this fellow did," asserted Jack,
as positively as he could with the water pouring down over his mouth.
"_What_ did he do?" we all shouted. "Tell us, what _did_ he do, Jack?"
But Jack got furious. "None of your business!" he roared; and twisting
himself away from us, he dashed out of the room, Nannie following after
him, basin in hand, imploring him to let her finish dressing his nose.
We really didn't mean to make him angry,--it's just a way we have of
speaking out our minds to one another; but Nannie felt very sorry,--she
said we had teased Jack. I felt sorry, too, when he told me all about
it,--Jack generally does tell me things,--after making me promise "truly
and faithfully" that I would not say "one word about it to any single
person we know." Many a time since I've wished that I hadn't
promised,--it isn't fair to Jack himself; but he won't let me off.
Jack is really a _very_ odd boy.
Well, it seems that as Felix passed along the street where Jack and some
of his friends were playing, one of the boys caught up a piece of straw,
and twisting it across his nose like a pair of spectacles, limped after
Fee, mimicking his walk, and singing, "H'm-ha! hipperty hop!" Jack
clinched his hands tight while he was telling me. "Betty," he said, "I
got such a queer feeling inside; I just _swelled_ up, and if he'd been
_three_ times as big, I'd have tackled him. I waited for Fee to turn the
corner,--you see I didn't want him to know what Henderson was doing
behind his back,--and _then_ didn't I just _go_ for him! I _tell_ you,
I whacked him!"
My blood fairly boiled to think that anybody could have been so
contemptibly mean as to mock our dear old Fee,--as if he didn't feel
badly enough about being near-sighted and lame! I would like to have
gone right out and thrashed Henderson all over again; but, as Jack very
truly said, "that would only make a grand row, and then the whole
thing'd be sure to get to Fee's ears, and that's what we don't want." So
I had to cool down. This was the reason Jack wouldn't tell the others
what the trouble was--and there Felix himself had been teasing him! Nor
has he said one word to anybody but me about it, though he has been
blamed and punished for fighting on the street, when, if he had only
told, or let me tell for him, the true reason for his acting so, I'm
sure everybody would have changed their mind at once; but he will not.
This was very nice of Jack,--he has some ways that really make me very
fond of him; but he is also a very queer and provoking boy sometimes,
as you will hear.
The worst was to get through dinner that evening without papa's
noticing. Of course Miss Marston would be sure to tell him as soon as
she knew, and of course Jack would be punished; but he did want to put
off the evil hour as long as possible. His seat at table is quite near
to papa, but I come between, and I promised I'd lean as far forward as I
could, all through the meal, so as to shield him. We got downstairs and
settled in our places safely; but Jack was as nervous as a cat. I really
think he wouldn't have minded taking his dinner _under_ the table for
that one occasion; and no wonder, for everybody, even to Hannah, kept
looking at him, and Phil and Felix kept passing him all sorts of things,
with such unusual politeness as was enough to fluster anybody. Still,
everything went well until we came to dessert; it was cottage
pudding,--Jack's favourite,--and I suppose he got reckless, or forgot,
in his enjoyment of it, and leaned a little too far forward, for
presently papa said, very quietly, "Betty, sit properly in your chair."
Of course I had to obey, and that brought poor Jack into full view.
A broad strip of white court-plaster across one's nose, and a big
bruised lump on one's forehead _are_ rather conspicuous things, and, I
tell you, papa did stare! but he didn't say a word. Neither did Jack
speak, though he knew papa was looking at him; he just kept right on
eating very fast. He said afterward he'd have eaten the whole pudding,
had it been before him, for he was so nervous he didn't really know what
he was doing; but he got redder and redder in the face, and presently he
choked,--a regular snort! I immediately flew up and pounded him on the
back; but papa made me sit down again, and as soon as Jack had stopped
coughing violently, he said, "Leave the table, sir, and come to my study
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."
I think, had we dared, we could all have roared with laughter as Jack
got up and walked out of the room; not because we didn't feel sorry for
him, for we did,--I especially, knowing how it was he got into this
scrape,--but he did look _so_ funny! I don't know why it is, but Jack is
a person that makes one laugh without his intending in the least to be
funny; it's the way he does things.
I can't begin to tell you how I urged Jack to tell papa why it was he
had gotten into that fight. I scolded, and coaxed, and talked, _and_
talked, but I _couldn't_ get him to say he would, nor to let me tell; in
his way, I do believe he is as obstinate as Kathie. Even the next
morning, when he stood at the study door, ready to knock, though his
hands were as cold as ice, and he looked awfully scared, all he'd say to
my repeated, "_Do_ speak out like a man, and tell it, Jack," was,
"_Perhaps_." I would like to have gone right in and told papa the whole
matter myself, but you see I had promised; and besides, we are none of
us very fond of going into the study,--though Nannie is in there pretty
often lately,--I'm sure I can't say why it is, for papa never scolds us
violently: whatever he says is very quietly spoken, but I tell you every
word goes home!
The schoolroom bell rang while I was talking to Jack; so of course I had
to go, and it was fully half an hour before he walked in and took his
place. His face was very red, even his ears, and he didn't look happy;
but it wasn't until after school that I had a chance to ask him
anything, and he wasn't very amiable then. He had a book,--some story of
wild adventure and hair-breadth escape, and he hated to be interrupted.
For all that Jack is such a quiet, gentle sort of a boy, he likes to
read the most exciting books, about fighting and shipwrecks and
savages,--though I'm _sure_ if an Indian should walk into the room, he'd
fly into the remotest corner of the closet and hide,--and the hymns he
loves the best are the ones that bring in about war and soldiers. You
should hear him sing, "The Son of God goes forth to war," in church! he
positively shouts. So when I said, "Well, Jack, how'd you get along this
morning?" he went right on turning over the leaves to find his place,
and answered shortly:--
"Oh, no play out-of-doors for a week, and a double dose of that vile
Latin, and a sound rating for getting into a row on the street,--that's
all."
"But didn't you tell him--" I began indignantly, but Jack interrupted.
"He didn't ask why I did it, and I didn't tell him," he said.
"What a _silly_ you are!" I cried, I was _so_ mad! "That Henderson ought
to be told about and punished--now!"
"Henderson is a beast!" Jack said severely; then, having come to his
place in the story, he added: "Now please go away, and don't bother me,
Betty; I want to read." He settled himself on the schoolroom sofa in his
favourite position, with his back against the arm of the sofa, and his
legs straight out along the seat, and began to read. I knew he'd get
cranky if I said any more, so I went away.
But for all that he called Henderson names, what did Jack do but go
and make _friends_ with him just a day or two after he was allowed
to go out!
I was so provoked when I heard of it, that I fairly stormed at Jack; he
took it all in the meekest way, and when I finished up,--with a fine
attempt at sarcasm,--"If _I'd_ been you, I would have snubbed such a
mean boy for at least a _week_ longer," he grinned and said, "If you'd
been I, you'd have done just as I did." Then he added, in that
old-fashioned, confidential way he has, "I couldn't help it, Betty; you
see the boys wouldn't have a thing to do with him, or let him join in
any of the games, until I had forgiven him, and I just _couldn't_ stand
seeing him hanging around and being snubbed."
"Oh, yes, you're very considerate for him; but _he_ will make fun
of _your_ brother again to-morrow, if he feels like it," I said,
still angry.
"No, he _won't_" asserted Jack, positively; "'cause I told him--not
disagreeably, you know, but so he'd feel I was in earnest--that if he
ever did, I'd just have to thrash him again. And he said, 'A-a-h, what
d'you take me for? D'you s'pose I knew 'twas _your_ brother?' And that's
a good deal from Henderson, for he's an awfully rough boy. You know,
Betty, you've _got_ to make allowances for people, or you'd never get
along with 'em. And, besides, he looks worse than I do," went on Jack,
feeling of his nose and forehead. "I really felt ashamed to think I'd
hit him so hard, and,"--shuffling his feet, and looking very
sheepish,--"well, you know, the Golden Rule is my motto for this year,
and, as I thought to myself, what's the use of a motto, if you don't act
up to it? So I just made friends with Henderson. I knew you'd say I was
silly to do it, but I don't care,--I feel better; I do hate to be mad
with people!" And with that he walked off, before I could think of
anything to say.
A lot of things happened that week. To begin with, some new people moved
into the house opposite us, that has been empty for so long. It's a
small house,--nurse says it used to be a stable, and was turned into a
dwelling-house since she has lived here,--set quite a good way back from
the street, and with a low stoop to one side and a piazza off that. A
tall iron railing, with an ornamental gate, encloses a front yard in
which are some forlorn-looking shrubs, a rosebush or two, and a couple
of scraggy altheas. Workmen had been about the place for some time,
putting everything in order, and of course we took the liveliest
interest in all that went on, from the pruning of the shrubs to the
carrying in of the furniture; and the day the new people moved in, Miss
Marston could hardly keep us younger ones from the windows: indeed, for
that matter, Nora was just as curious as we were, for all she talks
about "vulgar curiosity." They came in a carriage, and there were three
of them,--a tall, black-bearded man, a little, fragile-looking lady, and
a tall, lanky boy, perhaps as old as Felix, with a rather nice face, who
shouldered a satchel and the travelling-rugs, and brought up the rear of
the procession to the house, with the end of a shawl trailing on the
ground behind him.
Jack heard from Henderson--who has become his shadow--that the gentleman
has something to do with a newspaper, and that the boy goes to college,
and Phil saw him there the other day; but it wasn't until the following
Sunday, nearly a week after, that we heard their name and who they
were,--and that came by way of a grand surprise.
We were sitting round the schoolroom fire, talking and singing hymns,
when the door opened, and who should come walking in but--Max Derwent!
We _were_ surprised; for though he'd written to say he was coming, we
didn't expect it would be so soon. Dear old Max! we were delighted to
see him, and I do believe he was just as glad to see us. But just at
first we couldn't any of us say very much; dear mamma was with us when
Max was here last!
After a while, though, that feeling wore away, and I tell you our
tongues did fly! Max measured us all by the closet door, where he took
our measurements before he went away, and he says we have grown
wonderfully,--particularly Nannie. He was so surprised when he first saw
her, that he just held her hands and looked at her, until Nannie said,
"Why, Max, you haven't kissed me; aren't you glad to see me?" I think
she felt a little hurt, for he'd kissed the rest of us,--even to Phil
and Felix,--and Nannie and he used to be such good friends.
"Why, Nancy Lee," Max said, "you have grown such a tall young lady
since I've been away, that I didn't know whether you'd still allow
me the dear old privilege; indeed I will kiss you;" and with that
he stooped,--Max is tall,--and kissed her on her forehead, just
where the parting of her hair begins.