interest of the whole family; so when papa said a little sharply, "I am
waiting for an answer, Philip," I said very quickly, "Please don't be
angry with Phil, papa; we did it because we thought if Mr. Erveng knew
of the Fet--book, he'd want to buy it, and then perhaps you would finish
it, and sell it for a lot of money, and then Fee--um--eh--we could do
lots of things."
Just then the study door opened, and in came Felix, quite out of
breath from hurrying up and down stairs. He saw Phil's downcast
face, and hastening forward, laid his hand on Phil's shoulder,
saying, "I deserve a full share of Phil's scolding, father. Betty
evidently carried out her scheme without assistance, but I dressed
Phil, and helped him to get off without being seen. So I know, sir,
that I ought to share his punishment."
"I see; then this was a conspiracy to force me to finish my work and
sell it," said papa, slowly, with a grieved, shocked look in his eyes;
then, turning to Nannie, he asked unsteadily: "Are _you_ in it, too?
Margaret--your mother--used to urge me to--write slowly--but--perhaps I
have lingered too long over it. I thank you," with a look at us, "for
recalling me to my duty, though I think it would have been kinder to
have spoken to me, rather than to have gone to a stranger in this way.
I will finish the History--as soon--as I can."
There was no anger in papa's voice, but a hurt tone that went right to
my heart, and made me horribly ashamed, while Nannie flew to his side
and threw her arms around his neck. "Don't take it to heart, dear
papa," she pleaded, pressing her cheek against his face. "It was only
thoughtlessness on their part; they _didn't_ mean to grieve you, I know
they didn't. Oh, boys, Betty, speak up and assure papa of this."
I began to cry out loud. I _despise_ crying, and I know papa hates it,
but I simply _had_ to sob, or I would have choked. The boys felt badly,
too. Fee leaned on the desk and said, low and very earnestly, "I am _so_
ashamed of myself, father. And I know Phil is, too."
"I've made a great ass of myself," growled poor Phil. "I wish, sir, that
you'd give me a thrashing, as if I were a little shaver,--a sound one; I
know I deserve it."
But papa loosed Nannie's arms from about his neck, and put her gently
from him. "My dear," he said wearily, "I--I--wish you would make them
all go; I want to be alone."
* * * * *
Papa did not come down to dinner that evening, and we were a very
subdued party, though Nora tried to cheer Phil up by telling him that
she knew he had done what he had for the benefit of the whole
family,--she didn't tell _me_ that!
"Yes," answered our eldest brother, gloomily, "it was my first attempt
at that sort of philanthropy, and it'll be my last--stop staring at me,
Jack, or I'll throw a bread-pill at you."
"Is that what you call it, Philip?" said Miss Marston, lifting her
eyebrows. "It seems to me more like that love of practical joking
and the self-will that your mother was so constantly warning you
and Betty against."
"Indeed, then, you're right, ma'am," put in nurse, who happened to be in
the room, adding, with a pointed glance at me, "I wonder what the dear
lady would 'a' said to this day's conductions!"
And not one of us had a word to say in reply, for we well knew how
grieved she would have been.
VII.
NEW FRIENDS.
TOLD BY BETTY.
"Betty! _Bet-ty!_" called Nannie from the foot of the stairs, "tell Jack
that he's got just about three minutes more, as papa has started to put
on his overcoat, and he does so dislike to have us late for church. Do
make him hurry!"
But that, as I knew very well, was easier said than done, for Jack hates
to hurry. Almost at the last minute, when we had gathered in the
schoolroom to let Miss Marston see us before we started out with papa
for church, it was discovered that Jack's boots needed cleaning. So now
he was up in the attic, brushing away at them, and singing with all his
might,--
"Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
Continually are green,
Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.
Right through thy streets, with pleasing sound,
The living waters flow;
And on the banks on either side,
The trees of life do grow."
Jack was just beginning the last line of this verse when Nannie called
to me; so I let him finish, then I shouted up the attic stairs, "Jack,
you've just got about two minutes and a half; papa has started to put on
his overcoat. Are you ready?"
"Most," Jack answered; "I've got one more heel to do,"--as if he'd had a
dozen or so! and he actually started on another verse of the hymn.
I flew up the attic steps and gazed indignantly at him through the
railings: "You are the most provoking boy I ever knew," I said, "and the
biggest poke! I do believe you _love_ to be late. There's everybody down
in the hall ready to start, and here you are loitering as if you had
hours to spare."
[Illustration: "'BETTY! _BET-TY!_' CALLED NANNIE."]
"Are you two coming, or are you not?" cried Phil from the hall below.
"The procession is ready to start, and woe to stragglers! If service
began at twelve instead of eleven o'clock, Jack, you'd still be late.
Come on, Betty."
"I declare, if you aren't all the greatest pack of naggers!" exclaimed
Jack, impatiently, throwing down the blacking brushes and snatching up
his hat; then he raced after us down the stairs and brought up the rear
as we filed out of the front door.
There are always so many of us to go to church--all of us children
(except Alan, who goes to the children's service in the afternoon),
and Miss Marston and papa--that we do make, as Phil says, a regular
procession as we walk down the avenue and across the park to the old
brown church every Sunday. I don't mind going in the procession, nor
does Jack,--unless he's _very_ late; but Nora thinks it's horrid, and
Phil and Felix always hang back for the very last, and try to look as if
they didn't belong to us at all. Nannie and Mädel go with papa, Kathie
and Paul with Miss Marston, and the rest of us straggle along as we like
until we get to the church. It's brown and very large, and has a good
deal of ivy growing all over it. It's the church where Murray Unsworth
and Helen Vassah stood sponsors for their little cousin Paul; they go
there and their grandfather and grandmother.
Papa likes to sit away up front; so up the middle aisle we go,--oh, how
the boys and Nora hate this part!--and file into the first two pews. We
are always early, and sometimes it does seem so long before service
begins. Jack and I sit at the upper end of the first pew, and I couldn't
tell you how many times we have read the Creed and Commandments that are
printed back of the chancel, and the memorials on each side. Then we
look out the hymns for the day, and read them all through. Jack likes to
do this; he has all sorts of odd ideas about them; for instance, he says
that when he sings,
"Christian! dost thou see them
On the holy ground,
How the powers of darkness
Rage thy steps around?
Christian! up and smite them,
Counting gain but loss;
In the strength that cometh
By the holy cross,"
he somehow always thinks of the picture in papa's study of St. Michael
and the Angel. He says he can see, right in his mind, the great
beautiful angel of light triumphant in the strength of God, and under
his feet the stormy evil face of the conquered Lucifer. I've got so now
that I too think of the picture when I sing the hymn, and of the hymn
when I look at the picture.
Then in the other hymn, where it says,
"Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is He sure to bless?
'Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
Answer, Yes,'"
Jack says he sees--just like a picture--a steep hill up which a whole
lot of people are striving, with all their might, to climb; they're poor
and tired and sick and lame, but they struggle bravely on; and by the
beautiful gates at the top of the hill stands One grand and white and
shining, wearing a golden crown. He bends forward and takes hold of each
tired traveller as soon as he is within reach, and helps him safe within
the gates; and in the hands that do this are "wound-prints." Jack always
shuts his eyes and lowers his voice when he tells us about this thought
of his; only Nannie and I know of it, and while I am hearing about it I
always feel quiet.
How he _does_ enjoy singing! His little body seems to expand, and you'd
be astonished at the noise that he can make. This particular Sunday that
I am telling you about my ears were fairly ringing as Jack joined in the
chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and I wasn't sorry when Phil
leaned over from behind and whispered, "Say, Rosebud, you're not
detailed to lead the choir, you know."
Even the choir-master looked at him; but, perfectly regardless of
everything and everybody, Jack sang through the five long verses, and
sat down with the air of having thoroughly enjoyed himself.
I made up my mind, though, that I'd say something about it on our way
home; but just as we were coming down the church steps Jack gave my arm
a nudge. "There are your friends," he said, with a grin,--"the two of
'em; just see Phil and Felix scoot!" And when I turned quickly to see,
who should it be but Mr. Erveng and Hilliard!
Mr. Erveng has been over to call on papa since that horrid afternoon
that he escorted Phil and me home; but Hilliard didn't come with him,
and we weren't sorry,--I mean Phil and I,--for we both felt foolish
about meeting him; we hadn't forgotten that giggle of his when we took
off our bonnets and veils that day in his father's library, and I think
we both felt that we didn't want to know him any better.
Mr. Erveng and papa walked across the park together, talking, and as we
all followed behind,--Felix and Phil were out of sight,--who should come
up beside me and lift his hat but that Hilliard! "May I walk with you
part way home?" he asked, "I want to say something to you."
He speaks slowly, deliberately, and has a way of half-closing his eyes
when he's talking, that gives him a sleepy look,--though he can open
them very wide too, sometimes; and he's sallow, and has lots of
freckles. Altogether, he isn't nearly as good-looking as our boys, or
Murray Unsworth; still he has rather a nice face, and we've found out
that he is just as gentle and nice as a girl to his mother,--I mean in
waiting on her and doing things for her. But all the same, I don't know
whether I like him or not; you see he's never had a sister, never been
much with girls, and he's got such silly, prim ideas about them.
Well, to go back: when he asked that, I said, "Oh, yes, I suppose so;"
but Jack says my tone wasn't very polite. I didn't mean to be impolite,
but seeing him brought that horrid afternoon right to my mind, and I
could just hear him giggle all over again; I assure you Phil and I'll
not try that sort of thing again,--not if the Fetich never gets sold.
And evidently that was in his mind, too; for he said, "I want to
apologise for being so rude as to laugh that day in my father's
office,"--that's the way he talks, so formal, as if he were as old as
papa,--"and for guarding--"
"We didn't think it was at all polite, I must say," I broke in.
But he went right on; that's another of his ways,--if one interrupts
him fifty times in a remark, he'll listen, but make no reply until he's
finished what he started out to say. Now I think that's provoking,--I
wonder how he'd get on if he lived in our family!--and it makes the
person that interrupts feel very small and nettled, too. "And for
guarding you and your brother home, as if I doubted your word,"
he finished.
Well, now, do you know, I hadn't ever thought about that part,--his
going along to guard us,--until he said this; and then, all at once, I
felt very angry. "I think it _was_ very, _very_ rude of you," I said
decidedly, "and I really wish you would go away and walk with your
father, or by yourself--"
"Why, _Betty_!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise; then, leaning across me,
he said politely, "_Please_ don't think that Betty is a rude girl, for
indeed she isn't; but she is awfully quick-tempered, and when she gets
mad she is apt to say lots of things that she doesn't mean. She is
really quite a nice girl. I'm Jack Rose, her brother; so you see I
ought to know."
"So you should; I'm glad to meet you," Hilliard said, shaking hands with
Jack. Then he added to me: "I _do_ hope you and your brother will let us
be friendly. I've told my mother about you both, and she wants so much
to know you and your sisters. Perhaps some of you would come over and
see her? She is very much of an invalid, and is not able to go out,
except for a drive now and then; but when she is well enough to see
them, she enjoys having visitors."
I was ashamed of having spoken so sharply, but I _didn't_ want to go and
see Mrs. Erveng; so all I could say was, in a lame sort of way, "Thank
you; perhaps--if papa says we may."
Instead of letting the matter drop there, he must needs go on: "I have
tried several times to speak to your brother,--at college, and once on
the street,--but he seems to avoid me," he said. "I wanted to explain to
him; I was afraid you might think my father was severe, but he really
didn't beli--he didn't suppose--that is, the young people we've known--"
He stopped, looking awfully red and embarrassed, then ended up with,
"I'm afraid I'm making an awful muddle of it, but I'm really very sorry;
I hope you and your brother will understand that."
By "brother" I think he meant Phil, but Jack took it to himself. "Of
course, oh, certainly," he said, nudging my elbow to say likewise, and
bobbing his head round my shoulder.
But I wouldn't, for I understood, just as well as if Hilliard'd said it,
that he--they all--thought our coming over to his house, as we had done,
to sell the Fetich, was a very queer proceeding. Miss Marston had said
that they must think me very unladylike. She so often tells me people
think that of me that I've got used to it and don't mind; but I felt
_very_ uncomfortable when it occurred to me that perhaps this boy and
his father and mother thought so too. "Why didn't you say right out that
you thought my dressing up and coming over to your house that way was
very queer and unladylike?" I demanded. "I know it's what you think."
He opened his mouth to speak, but I went on quickly: "Pooh! that's
_nothing_ to what I _can_ do. I can slide down three flights of
banisters without one swerve, and make worse faces than any one we
know, and whistle, and brandish Indian clubs, and fence and climb
besides, and, oh! lots of other things that only boys do; why, I'm
strong enough to be able to thrash Jack--there _now_!"
"I'd just like to see you try it!" put in Jack, hastily, ruffling up;
then, in an undertone, with a nudge of his elbow, "Oh, come now, Betty,
_do_ behave yourself."
But Hilliard just looked at me--his eyes were wide enough open now--as
if I were some strange kind of animal; he really looked shocked. I
wondered what he would think of some of my performances at home, and
I couldn't resist saying, "I suppose the girls that you know never do
such things?"
"Not when they are as old or as tall as you are," he answered quietly.
Just then Miss Marston and the little ones and Nannie and Nora came up
to us, so I introduced Hilliard to them, and as soon as we saw that Nora
was talking to him, Jack and I dropped behind and kept there.
"Betty," said Jack, severely, as we turned away, "you are really a most
provoking girl! I told that boy that you were nice, and you turned
right round and acted _abominably_. What possessed you? I didn't hear
him say one thing to make you angry."
"Jack," I answered, "sometimes you're as dense as a London fog. That boy
is a conceited poke because he has no sister; and you'd be just like him
if I weren't here to train you."
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Jack, indignantly. "Talking about
conceit,--where do you put yourself?"
Two hands came suddenly between us; a pleasant voice said, "Let's talk
about the sermon, and see which of us remembers most of it;" and there
was Max. He had been in church, he said, but stopping to speak to some
one had detained him, and he was now going home to have dinner with
us,--which meant a visit with papa after dinner, and then a nice long
talk with us in the schoolroom. Max is so nice about that; he never
slights us. In fact, I think he spends more and more time with us, for
he and Nannie have started in to play violin and piano duets together,
and he comes one week-evening to practise. He has lent her his
violin,--a beauty!--and he takes the piano part. His ward--"the great
Shad," as Phil and Felix call him--has not yet arrived; but Max told us
this Sunday, as we walked along, that he expected him to be in the city
very soon, "and then," he said, "I shall bring him round to be
introduced to you young people."
When we reached our house, Hilliard said good-bye, and ran across to his
own gate; but Max, Mr. Erveng,--Max has been to call on the Ervengs, and
has renewed acquaintance with his college-mate,--and papa stood talking
for a few minutes before they separated. As we entered our door, Nannie
was right behind me, and I heard her say to Felix in a low voice, "Look
at papa as he stands between those two men; don't you think he looks
_very_ old and worn?"
"Well, he's years older than they, isn't he?" asked Fee, turning to
look. I too craned my neck for a glimpse, but barely caught sight of
the top of papa's hat over Phil's shoulder.
"Not so many," Nannie said; "he is eight years older than Mr. Erveng,
and ten years older than Max. Not enough to show such a difference."
"Why, he looks twenty years older than either of them;" then, lowering
his voice,--but I heard him,--Felix added, "Poor old _pater_! He seems
to enjoy talking to Mr. Erveng; but do you know, Nannie, I'm _awfully_
sorry we played that joke about the Fetich. I fancy he hasn't been quite
the same since."
"No, he hasn't, and he's working desperately to get the book finished;
he even works in the evening, when he used to read as a recreation. I
hope he won't get ill." Then the front door closed, and there was a
general rush upstairs to take off coats and hats.
I wasn't very happy the rest of that day; Nannie's remark about papa,
and what that disagreeable boy across the way had said, kept coming back
and coming back to me, so that I really got quite unhappy over it, until
I told Nannie the whole thing that night, and then I began to feel
better. Though Nannie always tells you right out if you've been wrong,
she is also sure to say something to comfort you.
I was in the schoolroom the next afternoon, practising, when suddenly
the door flew open, and in bounced Jack, in a state of wild excitement.
"Oh, think of it! _think_ of it, Betty!" he exclaimed joyously, "I'm
going to sing--to _sing_! just think of it!"
"Why, you've been doing that for a long time, haven't you?" I asked,
with a lively recollection of what I had endured only yesterday.
"Oh, but this is different; it's to be in church,--I mean in the
_choir_,--and I'm to be _paid_ for it!"
"What! really?" I gasped in astonishment. "Why, Jack! _Do_ tell me all
about it!"
[Illustration: "'WHY, YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT FOR A LONG TIME, HAVEN'T
YOU?' I ASKED."]
This he was only too delighted to do; but he was so excited that he
could not sit still, and he kept walking backward and forward before
me while he was speaking. "Well, it was this way," he said; "just now,
while I was playing in the yard, Hannah said papa wanted to see me.
Of course I thought right away that something must be wrong, and I
didn't feel very happy over it, I can tell you; but when I got to the
study, there was papa with a big piece of news for me. Mr. Hawkins from
our church had come to see him to ask if he would let me sing in the
choir, and was waiting in the drawing-room for my answer! Why, I'd have
been glad to sing there for nothing, you know; but when papa went on,
and said I would get fifty cents for each Sunday that I sang, I was so
delighted, Betty, that I really couldn't say a word. But I guess papa
knew by my face how overjoyed I was, for he patted my shoulder and said,
'Well, then, you can go in the drawing-room and tell Mr. Hawkins that
you will accept his offer, and be at rehearsal on Friday evening;' and
then he spoke about what an honour it was to be chosen to sing God's
praises in His own house. I tell you what, Betty, I'm going to try to
be a very, _very_ good boy; now aren't you glad for me?"
Indeed I _was_ glad, and I told him so; and then what do you think he
said? Why, he came close to me, with his clasped hands behind his back,
and rocked himself to and fro on his heels and toes; his eyes were
shining with delight. "Betty," he said, "I'm to get fifty cents a week
at first, and more, Mr. Hawkins says, just as soon as I can read music
readily. Now I'm not going to spend one cent of it,--not a single
penny. I'm going to save it up until I get a lot, and then,--what d'you
think? I'm going to _send Felix to college_! Isn't that a splendid
scheme? now isn't it? You see," he went on eagerly, "I've been praying
for a way for Fee to go,--you have, too, haven't you? and Nannie,--and
I think God has just answered our prayers by letting me get this."
"Yes; but won't it take an awfully long time at that rate to save enough
to send Fee?" I asked.
"Oh, not so _very_ long," Jack replied cheerfully. In the exuberance of
his joy he took hold of the schoolroom table and threw his heels in the
air; he looked so funny that I could have roared with laughter,--Jack is
as clumsy as a cow! Then all at once he remembered something, and coming
over to me said, very impressively, "Now, remember, Betty, you're not to
say one word about this to Fee,--not a word; I sha'n't mention it to any
one beside you, but Nannie, and she wouldn't tell; and then, when we've
got enough, we'll give it to Fee, and tell him what it's for. Hoopla!"
And again he embraced the table and threw his heels in the air.
VIII.
A RESOLUTION.
TOLD BY BETTY.
Two or three days after this--after school hours--Nannie came flying
into the schoolroom, where we all were, and announced that some of us
had been invited to take tea with the Ervengs that afternoon. While we
sat in surprised silence, she went rapidly on to explain: "Such a nice
little note to papa, written by Mrs. Erveng: this is one of her 'good
days,' and she would like so much to make our acquaintance; would four
of us come over and take tea, etc. Hilliard brought the note just now,
and papa told him that some of us would be happy to accept." She paused
and looked mischievous as a groan broke from us. "I know you are all
dying to hear who are to go," she said, "so I'll put you out of your
suspense at once; Phil--"
"No, you don't! I haven't any 'bunnit,'" broke in Phil. "You don't catch
me going over there again in a hurry, I can tell you."
"But you ought to go, Phil, really you ought," Nannie said. "You and
Betty ought to go over and apologise to Mr. and Mrs. Erveng for the way
in which you two Goths invaded their house. Fee, papa says you are to
go, too," she added to her twin.
"Oh, but this is too bad of the _pater_!" exclaimed Felix, colouring up;
"he knows how I hate to go among strange people. I declare, I _won't_
go!"
"Go tell the governor so--go _now_, while you're in the humour for it,"
urged Phil, with suspicious eagerness; "and--um--while you're about it,
you know, just mention incidentally that those are my sentiments, too,
will you?"
"Nonie, you're to lend grace to the entertainment," went on Nannie, with
twinkling eyes.
"Who, me? I?" exclaimed Nora, quickly. "Oh!" Then, recovering herself
the next minute, she said coolly, "Well, I'm perfectly willing to go;
for that matter" (with that superior air that does so provoke us), "some
of us ought to have gone long ago, and called on the Ervengs,--Miss
Marston says so, too,--to apologise for and explain the, to say the
least very peculiar, conduct of some other members of our family."
And here she looked at me,--just as if Phil were not more to blame
than I in that horrid affair of the Fetich!
I made a face, and Phil said: "Oh, come, now, Nora, we've heard that
before; so do spare us the rest. Who else is to be a victim, Nancy?"
"Betty fills up the sum of the 'some,'" answered Nannie; "papa thinks
she certainly ought--"
"I _won't_ go, I won't, I will not," I interrupted. "That boy is too
conceited for anything, and I'm not going over there to be
criticised,--so now! I don't want any of their old tea, and I'd just
like to be ill or to hide away or something, so's not to go."