many (I believe there were six manys) happy returns of Nora's birthday,
and he began to hand her her presents, reading out the inscription on
each as he did so, she opening them. The first was "Nora, with love and
birthday wishes from Max," and when the wrapper was off, it proved to
be a lovely print of Von Bodenhauser's Madonna. Max had given Nannie a
picture on her birthday, and Nora was delighted to get one as well.
Next came smaller gifts from Helen Vassah, Jack, Felix, and Nannie,
and then Felix fished up a large, rather bulky parcel, the inscription
on which he read very distinctly: "Dearest Nora, with love from the
'Twinsies,'"--that's the name we give to Felix and Nannie to
distinguish them from the younger twins.
"Why!" exclaimed Nora, in surprise, as she took the parcel on her lap,
"you have both already given me something, you dear, generous creatures;
I'm afraid you've been extravagant. And so nicely done up, too; thank
you, thank you very much!" and she kissed them warmly.
"Oh, that's all right; don't speak of it," said Felix, modestly, while
Nannie began wonderingly, "Why, I didn't--"
"Ought to be something very fine," hastily interrupted Phil, "_four_
wrappers!" The next minute there was a shout of laughter from us all
as, after carefully unfolding the last paper, Nora drew out nurse's
work-basket, piled high with innumerable pairs of our stockings and
socks which were waiting to be darned!
I expected Nora would have been provoked, but she only laughed as
heartily as the rest of us. It was a fortunate thing she was in such
a good humour, for three more times the boys played that joke on her
before the basket was emptied. One was her own choicest cup and saucer,
"with love from papa;" the next, the drawing-room feather-duster, "a
token of appreciation from the family,"--Nora _hates_ to dust! and the
third, an unfinished sketch which she began months ago, and which was
for Phil when completed; this was "from her affectionate brother,
Philip." And they were so cleverly sandwiched in between the real
birthday gifts that Nora got caught each time, to our great enjoyment.
After this we had games, and refreshments were served early on account
of the little ones. As soon as they had said good-night we played more
games, and then the boys began to get noisy; that's the worst with
boys,--at least our boys,--just as soon as they begin to enjoy
themselves, it seems as if they _must_ make a noise and get rough. Ever
since Nannie and I had that talk, I've been trying my best to act like
a young lady, and this evening I was particularly on my good behaviour;
but, oh, it was tiresome! and I could see that the boys didn't know what
to make of it,--Murray Unsworth asked if I didn't feel well, and Fee
looked very quizzically at me, though I pretended I didn't see him. I
was so afraid he'd say something right before that boy!
Well, as it happened, all my pains went for nothing,--and just through
Fee's nonsense. Murray and I were looking at Phil's boxing-gloves,--Phil
was out of the room,--and as we talked, I slipped on one of the gloves,
when Felix came up behind me and took hold of my arm. "That's Phil
opening the door," he said quickly; "let's play a joke on him." And
before I had the least idea of what he was going to do, Fee had raised
my arm and given the person who was entering such a whack on the
shoulder with the boxing-glove as whirled him completely round, so
that he got in the way of another person who was behind him, and
nearly knocked him over. In a moment more we saw that the two
persons were papa and a stranger,--a young man!
There was an instant's awful pause, broken by a nervous little giggle
from Jack at the sight of Phil--behind papa--with his hands clasped,
his knees bent as if in abject terror, and his eyes rolled up to the
ceiling. Then, settling his glasses--which had been nearly knocked
off--straight on his nose, papa looked around at us and asked, "Is
this the way you welcome your guests, Nora?" adding, to me, "Take
off that glove, Betty!"
I got awfully red, I know; but before I could say anything Felix stepped
forward and explained, and Nora advanced with a smile, saying, "We are
very glad to see you, papa."
Then papa introduced the young man, and who should he be but Max's ward,
"the great Shad," or, to give him his proper name, Chadwick Whitcombe!
He had expected to meet Max at our house, and had waited some time
downstairs for him; then, as the evening wore on and Max did not
appear, papa had thought it best to himself bring him up and introduce
him to us.
Of course we all looked at him,--and the more so that he isn't at all
like what we had any of us expected. In the first place, though Max says
he's just nineteen, he acts as if he were years older than that, and
altogether he is different to any of the boys we've ever known. He's not
quite so tall as Fee, though he wears very high heels on his boots; and
his features are so delicate, his complexion so pink and white, that in
spite of a tiny moustache, which he's very fond of caressing, he looks
a great deal more like a girl than a boy. His hair is as yellow as
Mädel's; it's wavy like a girl's, and he wears it long and parted in
the middle; and his eyes are large and very blue,--Phil says they are
"languishing," and he and Felix have given him another nick-name of
"Lydia Languish." He wore evening clothes, with a white flower in his
buttonhole, and there were diamond studs in the bosom of his shirt, and
a diamond ring on one of his fingers. When papa introduced him, he put
his heels together and made us three very low and graceful bows, saying,
in a voice just like a girl's, and with a smile that showed his white
teeth, "I am _very_ happy to--aw--meet you!"
[Illustration: "'AW!'"]
After looking at the presents, which, minus the jokes, were ranged on a
table, and saying a few words, papa went away. I have an idea that he
noticed the difference between this delicate Dresden-china young man and
our own fun-loving boys, and rather dreaded leaving the stranger to our
devices; for at the door he laid his hand on Phil's shoulder and said,
"Remember, no more jokes to-night, Phil." And with a look of injured
innocence that almost upset Felix and me, Phil answered, "Why, no, sir,
_certainly_ not."
We were rather quiet at first after papa went away; then Phil nudged
Nannie, with the whisper: "Go talk to him; I don't know what to say to
such a dude;" while Felix chimed in, in the same low voice, "Ask him if
he puts his hair up in papers, nights,--or get Betty to ask him."
But I edged away quickly, and joined Murray and Helen at the other side
of the room. I was determined I would get into no more mischief.
But they needn't have troubled themselves,--Chad didn't seem one bit
embarrassed: he just drew a chair to Nora's side and began talking to
her as easily as if he had known her all his life; and in a little while
Nannie got the boys over to the piano and singing songs with rousing
choruses, which they always enjoy. I think she did it this time, though,
to divert their attention from the new-comer, for they were just ready
to bubble over at the way he talked; even Hilliard's sleepy eyes were
twinkling with sly merriment.
When Chad talks he is, as Murray puts it, "too awfully English, you
know, for anything," though he was born and has lived most of his life
in America; and he pronounces his words in the most affected way.
Altogether, he is awfully affected; you should see the air with which
he flirts his handkerchief out of his pocket, his mincing steps, and the
bored, you-can't-teach-me-anything expression of his face.
"I've--aw--really been very busy since my return," he told Nora, in that
high-pitched, affected voice of his. "I've--aw--moved into bachelor
quarters, and been--aw--having my apartments decorated and furnished.
Have my own ideahs, you know, and--aw--'m having 'em carried out--all
in blue--effect will be--aw--really very fine. I've--aw--brought back
pictures and bric-à-brac and--aw--curios of all descriptions, and
now--aw--'ll turn 'em to good account. Awful job, you know--expect to
work like a slave--these--aw--so-called decorators over here have such
abominable taste! but the effect will be unique--of that--aw--'m sure."
"Why, aren't you going to school--I mean college?" Phil turned round in
the middle of a chorus to ask bluntly.
"I--aw--have no intention of it," answered Chad, lounging off in his
chair and stroking his baby moustache.
"Oh, I see: your education's finished," said Phil, with that innocent
expression on his face that we know means mischief; but before he could
say another word, Helen Vassah cried out, "Oh, Phil, here's our
favourite duet; you must sing it with me," and Nannie struck up an
unusually loud accompaniment.
Before the evening was over, we made up our minds that Chad was the
silliest, most conceited creature; he did nothing but talk of himself
and his possessions, and in the most lordly way imaginable. No matter
what subject was introduced, he'd go right back to the one thing that
seemed to interest him,--himself. He lounged back in his chair and made
not the slightest effort to join in the entertainment. In fact, Nora was
the only person he honoured with any notice; and while we all think him
very unmannerly, she--would you believe it!--likes him.
Coming over later in the evening to the corner of the room where Helen,
Fee, Jack and I were, she said to Helen, "Isn't he nice? Did you see the
way he offered me his arm to the piano? so polite, and different from
the generality of boys,--don't you think so?"
"Yes," Helen said, with a smile, "he is quite unlike any of the boys we
know; who _does_ he look like, Nora? We all see a likeness, but can't
think to whom."
"Oh, I know, I've got it, I know," cried Jack, excitedly; "he looks
(except that he hasn't got on knee-breeches and lace ruffles) just like
that picture Max gave you, Felix,--don't you remember?--with a lace
handkerchief in one hand and a snuff-box in the other. Oh, you
_know_,--the French Marquis--"
"You're right, Jack,--so it is; he does look like 'Monsieur le
Marquis,'" Nora said, glancing at Chad. "He _has_ an aristocratic
face,--'Monsieur le Marquis.'"
[Illustration: "HERE IS THE SKETCH."]
"Monsieur le Don_key_ would be a more suitable name," exclaimed Fee,
while Helen, Jack, and I laughed. "If you'd seen how absurd he looked
when he clicked his heels together and offered you his arm, you would
know mine is the title that best suits him. I declare I'll make a sketch
of you both from memory; it was too rich to be lost." Catching up a
blank book, he began to sketch rapidly. Nora turned away, laughing; but
we three remained, looking over Fee's shoulder, criticising and offering
suggestions, until it was finished. Here is the sketch: it's pretty good
of Nora, but of course it's a caricature of Chad.
About a quarter to ten the "party" broke up. Chad was the first to go;
as he rose to say good-night, I heard Nannie whisper to Phil: "Phil,
you'll have to see him out. Fee can't go all the way downstairs and then
up again,--it's too much for him,--and Jack is too young; anyway, it is
your place as the eldest."
"Little snob!" said Phil, savagely. "I'd like to take him down by way of
the banisters,--just give him one shove, and let him fly."
"He _is_ a snob," admitted Nannie, "but he is also Max's ward, and that
entitles him to some consideration from us; and remember, too, what Max
said,--that he has knocked about the world ever since he was a little
fellow: that would account for much. You know, Phil, we've had our home
and one another and dear mamma; and besides, you wouldn't want to spoil
Nonie's birthday. Do treat him civilly! will you?"
"Well, I'll try," Phil answered, making a wry face; "but if he begins
any of his 'aw--aw,' on the way down, I'll not answer for the
consequences."
Bending low over Nora's hand, Chad murmured something of which we only
heard "Chawming evening--pleasure of meeting you--Max again," then,
bowing twice to the rest of the company, he took his departure.
"I've enjoyed myself immensely," Hilliard said, as he bade good-night;
then he added to me, "I never knew before how interesting a large family
could be,--you have such fun among yourselves; and I think it is so kind
of you all to let me come over and share your good times." Then Murray
and Helen made their adieux, and all went away together.
Phil came racing back to the schoolroom after seeing them out. "Well,"
he said breathlessly, taking a seat on the edge of the big table, "well,
everything went off all right; quite a success, wasn't it? barring the
great Shad,--he was no addition to our party. I'm awfully sorry he's
such a cad; for Max's sake I'd have liked to be nice to him."
"You are hard on him, Phil," Nora said. "He may be a little conceited,
but I think he's not at all a bad fellow; now see if you don't like him
better after you get to know him."
"Not at all a bad fellow!" repeated Felix, sharply. "Well, you may think
so, but I don't. I agree with Phil,--he _is_ a cad! Did you see the
expression of his face as he looked around our shabby old schoolroom,
and took in the simple birthday refreshments? he didn't even take the
trouble to hide his contempt for our poverty and childishness. You may
think that's like a gentleman, but I do not."
"He wouldn't touch the cake, and only took a glass of water," I
volunteered at this point.
"You here?" cried Nora, wheeling round on me, "and Jack? It's high time
you two were in bed." Then she went on: "Our appetites are equal to
anything; but not everybody dotes on home-made cookies and tough sponge
cake. _I_ found Max's ward a very polite young gentleman, a pleasant
change from the rough, unmannerly boys one usually has to put up with.
Betty and Jack, _are_ you going to bed, or not? Why don't you speak to
them, Nannie?"
"Don't be cross to them," whispered Nannie to her; "it's your birthday,
you know. Come, Betty; come, Jack, let's go off together. I'm tired and
sleepy, too."
Rather unwillingly we bade good-night and went downstairs with Nannie.
As the schoolroom door closed behind us, I heard Felix say, with a sharp
insistence unusual to him, and bringing his hand down on the table to
emphasise his words, "I _don't_ like that fellow! I _don't_ like him,
and I wish he hadn't come here!"
X.
IN THE SCHOOLROOM.
TOLD BY FELIX.
"Felix," said the _pater_, "your two elder sisters are to go with me on
Thursday afternoon to Mrs. Blackwood's reception, and I should like you
to accompany us; Phil went the last time--" He stopped abruptly, with a
stifled sigh, and began hastily turning over the leaves of the book
which lay open before him on his desk.
I knew why he sighed; I remembered well who had been with him the last
time he attended a reception at Mrs. Blackwood's; the awful, aching
longing that I have so often to fight down has taught me something of
what my father must suffer. If I could only have expressed what was in
my heart! but all I could manage to get out was, "Very well, sir," and
my voice sounded so cold and indifferent that I was ashamed.
I'm not afraid of the _pater_,--I can talk easily enough to him on
ordinary subjects; but when it comes to anything about which I feel
very deeply, Nannie is the only person to whom I can bear to speak, now
that _she_ is gone. And even to Nannie I can't say much; I wish I
could,--it would be a relief sometimes. I envy the others that they can
talk of--mother; it is a comfort to me to listen, but it cuts me to the
heart to even say her name. So this afternoon I sat quietly at Nannie's
table, and went on sorting the references I had been making for the
Fetich, until my father got up from his desk and began pacing up and
down the study floor, with his hands clasped behind his back. His head
was bent forward, and he had evidently entirely forgotten that I was in
the room; for he sighed heavily several times, and then, with a sudden
straightening of his whole body, as if in acute physical pain, he threw
back his head, and a low, quivering "_A-a-h!_" that was like a groan,
broke from his lips.
An iron hand seemed clutching my throat, and I could hardly see for
the blur across my eyes, as I crept out of the room and closed the
door softly.
I sat on the steps for a few moments, then--for I had forgotten my cane
in the study--went slowly upstairs, and that gave me a chance to recover
myself before I reached the schoolroom; though perhaps Nannie noticed
something unusual,--my twinnie's eyes are so sharp, and her heart is so
tender,--for it seemed to me that her voice was very loving as she said,
pushing forward our big old rocker as soon as I entered the room: "You
naughty Fee! you've come up without your cane; you must be tired. Sit
here and get rested."
[Illustration: "ALAN, ON HIS FIERY STEED."]
I _was_ tired,--unusually so,--and was glad to get into the chair. It
was after school hours, and the clan was in full force. Nora was seated
at my easel, humming "A Media Noche," and trying to copy her birthday
picture; Betty and Jack were fencing,--at least, Betty was making
furious lunges at Jack, which he was mainly occupied in dodging, while
every now and then a vehement protest was heard, such as, "Now, Betty,
look out! that was my head," or, "That came within an inch of my nose--I
_do_ wish you'd be careful!" Kathie and the twins were playing house,
holding lively conversations in a high key, while Alan paid them
repeated visits, prancing around the room, and to their door, on a
broomstick, which was his fiery steed, and to control which required
both voice and whip; Nannie was hunting through our pile of violin music
for a certain duet to play with Max when he got home; and in the midst
of all the noise Phil lay on the sofa, his head nearly level with the
seat, and his long legs extended over the arm, reading Virgil aloud.
That's his way of studying,--a most annoying one to a nervous
person!--and, as the noise around him increases or decreases, so he
raises or lowers his voice. As may be easily understood, there are times
when he fairly roars.
The news of the reception had preceded me, and as I came in Phil reared
his head in such a comical way to speak to me that Betty instantly
declared that he looked like a turtle. "So you're booked for the
Blackwood tea-fight," he said. "Well, old man, my sympathy for you is
only equalled by my thankfulness that I am not the victim. Take my
advice,--I've been there several times, you know, and you
haven't,--fortify the inner man before you go. It's a very mild
orgy,--a thimbleful of chocolate and one macaroon are all you'll
get,--and coming between luncheon and dinner, I'm afraid you'll
feel--as I did--as if you'd like to fall on the table and eat up all
that's on it." His head fell back, and he resumed his reading, the
book resting upright on his chest.
"People are not supposed to gorge themselves at an afternoon reception,"
remarked Nora, before I could get a word in. "It is--"
"'A feast of reason and a flow of soul,'" finished Nannie, smiling,
"though I'm sure dear old Mrs. Blackwood would willingly have given you
a pound or two of macaroons and a whole pitcher full of chocolate, had
she known you were hungry."
"Oh, I'm not saying a word against her in particular; she's a first-rate
old party," commenced Phil, but he was instantly interrupted.
"Phil, you are positively vulgar," cried Nora, in a tone of disgust.
"Don't speak of our dear old friend in that way, Phil; it isn't nice,"
said Nannie.
"Well, now, here's a queer thing," remarked Phil, in an argumentative
tone. "If I'd said Mrs. Blackwood was 'a host in herself,' it would
have been considered a delicate compliment; and yet when I call her a
'party,' which certainly means a host, you two jump on me. There's no
accounting for the eccentricities of the feminine character." Then, as
his head sank back, "I do believe somebody's been pulling the feathers
out of this sofa pillow; there can't be two dozen left in it. I suppose
Betty's been making an Indian head-dress for herself. Just poke that
history under my head, will you, Jack? or I'll certainly get rush of
blood to the brain. There, that's better! Why so silent, most noble
Felix?" with a sidelong glance at me after settling himself. "Art
filled with fears for Thursday's function?"
Usually I enjoy Phil's nonsense, and talk as much of it as he does; but
somehow I didn't feel in the mood for it this afternoon. One reason may
have been because of the dreadfully tired feeling that had come over me
since entering the schoolroom: it was really an effort for me to answer
him; I felt as if I wanted only to be let alone, and I realised, without
being able to control it, that my voice was very irritable as I said
briefly, "One has got to be silent when you begin to gabble."
Phil reared his head again, and looked at me. "Whew!" he whistled,
"aren't we spicy this afternoon!" Nannie immediately rushed into
conversation.
"Mrs. Blackwood wrote papa that she and Mr. Blackwood had just received
some very rare old books from Europe," she said, "among them a
Chaucer,--and beside that, a charming Corot; so, Fee, both you and
papa will have something to enjoy, while Nora and I are exchanging
small-talk."
"Oh, that's why papa was so willing to go to the reception," Nora
remarked, with her usual brilliancy. "I might have known there was
something like that about it."
[Illustration: "'FEE, DEAR,' SHE SAID IN AN UNDERTONE, 'DON'T YOU FEEL
WELL? TELL ME.'"]
Willing! I thought of what had happened in the study that
afternoon--poor old _pater_! I felt like saying something sharp to
Miss Nora, but it was actually too much trouble to speak; I was so
tired, and the chair was so comfortable, that I did not want even
to think of any exertion.
By this time Nannie had found her duet, and she came and stood by my
chair, looking anxiously at me. "Fee, dear," she said in an undertone,
"don't you feel well? Tell me." Her fingers stole up and gently stroked
the hair behind my ear. "Tell me, Fee," she pleaded.
"I only want--to be let alone," I said, but not unkindly. I didn't mean
to be disagreeable to her, and I think she understood,--she is so quick
of comprehension!
At this moment there was an outcry from one of the fencers. "If you
aren't the meanest girl I know!" cried Jack. "You don't seem to care
how much you hurt a person. I won't play another minute, now, then!"
and his stick rattled on the floor.
"She's given me a horrid poke in the ribs," he said, coming over to
Nannie, with his hand pressed to his side. "I tell you now, it hurts;
and she doesn't care a rap,--rough thing!"
Betty was laughing immoderately. "Poor wounded warrior!" she mocked;
"he's taken his 'death of danger' ever since we began. What a baby you
are, Jack! I'd just like to give you something to make a fuss about. Ho,
there! defend thyself, Sir Knight."
She bore down on him with upraised stick, but Jack dodged behind Nannie.
"Now stop, I tell you, Betty!" he cried sharply. "Go away! I'm not
playing; you're too disagreeable."
"Oh, come, Miss Elizabeth, do behave yourself," said Nannie.
But Betty kept dancing around Jack, and making thrusts at him. "Hie thee
hither, my squires," she called to the younger boys. "Come on, Sir Paul,
come on, Sir Alan, and we'll capture this recreant knight."
"You ought to be sent to boarding-school, where you'd be _made_ to
behave yourself!" "Fair play, Elizabeth; don't hurt our Rosebud;" and
"I'd just like to see 'em try it," came simultaneously from Nora, Phil,
and Jack.
But the "squires" had no intention of interfering; they had pressing
affairs of their own to look after. One of the dolls having suddenly
developed a complication of diseases,--measles, scarlet fever, and
whooping cough,--the heads of the household were after the doctor in hot
haste. Sir Paul had mounted the "charger," and was urging him on at his
highest speed, while Sir Alan came dashing toward us on his broomstick,
thrashing his steed without mercy, and shouting, "Gee up, horsie,
_g-e-e_ up!" at the top of his voice.
At this juncture the door opened, and in stepped nurse. "Lors-a-me!
Bedlam let loose!" she exclaimed, putting up her hands and looking as
surprised as if this noisy state of things were not of daily occurrence.
"Master Felix, your pa'd like to see you 'bout some referumces,--or
something like that. Come, children, it's time to get ready for your
dinner. Oh, come now,--I ain't got no time to waste; to-morrow you c'n
get the doctor--come!"