person that one would say cross things to,--but you see I knew just how
miserable he'd been, and that he wasn't well yet, by any means. He
pretended to be quite well, but I noticed that he sat down lots of
times, instead of standing, as he used to, and that it was still an
effort for him to go up and down stairs. When I said that about his
being tired, he pushed his straw hat back off his face, and I could see
his hair lying wet and dark on his white forehead. "I _am_ dead tired,"
he said, wearily. "I tell you, Jack, the ascent to the third floor seems
a formidable undertaking to-night." Then he added abruptly, "_Why_ did I
do it? Because I'm _determined_"--he brought his clinched hand down on
the stoop--"that that scalawag sha'n't get hold of Phil. I suppose my
miserable old back'll take its revenge to-morrow; but I don't care,--I'd
do it again and again, if I couldn't keep them apart any other way."
Just then Phil's voice came to us through the open drawing-room window.
"It's a lovely night," he was saying to Nora; "I don't feel a bit like
going to bed,--I think I'll go out again for a little while. You needn't
wait up for me, Nonie, and I'll see to the shutting up of the house when
I come in; don't let Fee bother about it,--he looks tired."
With a quick exclamation, Felix caught hold of the railing of the stoop,
and dragging himself to his feet, limped into the parlour. "It's an age
since we've sung any of our duets, Phil," he called; "let's have some
now. Nora, play 'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'--that's one of our
favourites." And in a minute or two they were singing away with all
their might.
But presently Phil came out with his hat on, and behind him Felix.
"Still here, Jack? It's getting pretty late!" Fee said. Then to Phil,
"I guess it's too late for another tramp to-night, Philippus; come on,
let's go upstairs." He was trying to speak off-hand, but I could hear
in his voice the eagerness he was trying to keep back.
Perhaps Phil heard it, too, and suspected something, for he answered
very shortly, "I'm going out; I'm not an infant to be put to bed at
eight o'clock." And with that he jammed his hat tighter on his head,
ran down the stoop, and was soon out of sight.
Felix sat down on one of the hall chairs, and leaned his head on his
hand in such a sad, tired way that I felt as if I'd have liked to pitch
right into Phil. I darted in from the stoop and put my hand on Fee's
shoulder. "Fee," I whispered,--I didn't want Nora to hear,--"can I do
anything to help? Shall I run after him and _make_ him come back?"
Felix looked up at me; his lips were set tight together, and there was a
stern expression on his face that made him look like papa. "'Twould take
a bigger man than you are to do that, Jack," he said, with a faint
smile, adding slowly, "but I'll tell you what you _can_ do,--you can
keep mum about this; and now help me upstairs, like a good boy: I'm
almost too tired to put one foot after the other." Then, as he rose and
slowly straightened himself up, he said, "After all, Phil's only gone
for a walk, you know, Jack; he'll be home pretty soon, you may depend."
But I had a feeling that he said this to make himself believe it as well
as me.
Fee _was_ awfully used up; I could hardly get him up the steps. Nora
would certainly have heard the noise we made if she hadn't been so
interested in her music.
Phil did not come in very early; in fact, I think it was late. I room
with him, you know, and it seemed as if I'd been asleep a good while
when his shutting of our door woke me up. Of course I turned over and
looked at him; I'm sure there wasn't anything in that to make a person
mad, though perhaps I did stare a little, for Phil had a queer
expression on his face,--jolly, and yet sort of ashamed, too. His
face was quite red, and his eyes looked glassy.
He leaned against the closed door, with his hat on the back of his
head, and just scowled at me. "What're you staring at, I'd like to
know?" he said roughly. "Without exception, you're the most inquisitive
youngster! you _must_ have your finger in every pie. Just turn yourself
right over to the wall and go to sleep this minute; I _won't_ have you
spying on me!"
Now I usually give in to Phil, and I do hate to get into rows with
people, but I couldn't stand that; I just sat straight up in bed and
spoke out. "I'm _not_ inquisitive," I said, "and I'm _not_ spying on
you, either. I wouldn't do such a mean thing, and you know it."
"Oh, hush up, and go to sleep! you talk entirely too much," Phil
answered back, and taking off his hat, he threw it at me.
The hat didn't touch me,--it barely fell on the edge of the bed,--but it
seemed to me as if I couldn't have felt worse if it had struck me; you
see my feelings were so hurt. Phil likes to order people, and he's
rough, too, sometimes. We know him so well, though, that I don't usually
mind; but this evening he was awfully disagreeable,--so bullying that I
couldn't help feeling hurt and mad.
I felt just like saying something back,--something sharp,--but I knew
that would only make more words, and there was Felix in the next
room,--I didn't want him to be waked up and hear how Phil was going on;
it wouldn't have done any good, you see, and would only have made Fee
unhappy. So I just swallowed down what I was going to say, and bouncing
over on my pillow, I turned my face to the wall, away from Phil. But I
couldn't go to sleep,--you know one can't at a minute's notice,--and I
couldn't help hearing what he was doing about the room.
I heard a clinking noise, as if he were putting silver money down on the
bureau; then, while he was unlacing his boots and dropping them with a
thud on the floor, he began to whistle softly, "O wert thou in the cauld
blast." I suppose that reminded him of something he wanted to say, for
presently he called out, "Say, Rosebud--_Rose_bud!"
I just _wouldn't_ answer,--after his treating me that way! What did he
do then but lean over the footboard and shake me by the heel. "Turn
over," he said; "I want to talk to you,--d'you hear me?" and he shook
my heel again.
I jerked my foot away. "I wish you wouldn't bother me," I answered; "I'm
trying to go to sleep."
"Oh, I see,--on your dig." Phil laughed and pulled my toe. "Well, you
provoked me, staring at me with those owly eyes of yours; but now I want
to speak to you about Felix."
I still felt sore over the way he'd acted, but as long as it was Fee he
wanted to talk about, I thought I'd better listen; so I turned over
again and looked at Phil.
"See here, what's the matter with Felix?" As he spoke, Phil went over
and threw himself into a chair, where he could see me. "He's never been
very much of a walker, but seems to me that he's worse than ever at it
lately. Why, last evening--this evening I mean" (he gave me a funny
look)--"we hadn't gone three blocks before he began to drag, and took
hold of my arm; he hung on it, too, I can tell you. We didn't go very
far, not nearly as far as we used to last winter; and I'd have made it
still shorter, for I could see he was most awfully used up, but Fee
wouldn't give in,--you know he can be obstinate. And when he came into
the drawing-room to sing, he looked wretched,--white as a ghost! Since
I've been home, I've noticed, in a good many little ways, that he
doesn't do as much as he used to,--in the way of moving around; yet,
when I speak to him 'bout it, he either--puts me off, or turns--cranky;
I can't get a thing--out--of--him." Phil's voice had been getting slower
and slower, and almost before he finished the last word he was _asleep_.
I thought he was making believe at first,--he's such a tease,--but I
soon found out that he wasn't. Well, I _was_ astonished; for a minute
I couldn't say a word; I just lay there and looked at him. Then I
remembered how late it was, and called him,--not loud, though, for
fear of waking Felix. "Phil, _Phil_, aren't you coming to bed? it's
awfully late."
"Oh, let me _alone_," he muttered sleepily; then presently he roused up
and began to talk real crossly, but in the same slow voice, and with his
eyes shut: "I'm not a _child_--and I'm not going--to be treated--like
one--you needn't--think so--I'm a _man_--all--the fellows--do
it--'tisn't--any harm--" His head drooped and he was off again.
I had got awfully nervous when he first began, I mean about Felix; you
see Fee hadn't given me back my promise not to speak of his attack when
papa was so ill, so I couldn't have told Phil, and I shouldn't have
known what to say. Oh, that promise! that _miserable_ promise! if only I
had _never_ made it!
Well, as I said, I was thankful I didn't have to answer Phil; but when
he acted so queerly, I didn't like that either, and jumping out of bed,
I went at him, and just talked and coaxed and pulled at him, until at
last I got him to get up and undress and go to bed.
* * * * *
Phil was as cross as a bear the next morning; he said he had a headache,
and didn't get up until late. He lay in bed with his face to the wall,
and just snapped up everybody that spoke to him; when I took him up some
tea and toast,--that was all he'd take,--he turned on me. "I suppose
you've told them about last night," he said sharply, "and you've all had
a grand pow-wow over me!"
"Indeed, I _haven't_" I answered; "I haven't said one single word about
it to anybody; we've got other things to talk of, I can tell you,
besides your being such a sleepy-head." Perhaps this was a little
snippy, but I couldn't help it,--just as if I couldn't keep a thing to
myself. You see I didn't understand then what it all meant.
Phil looked straight at me for a minute, and it seemed to me there was a
kind of sorry expression came in his face; then he laughed. "Great head!
keep on being mum!" he said, in that teasing way of his, nodding at me.
"Now, Mr. Moses Primrose, suppose you set that tray down and vacate the
apartment--shut the door."
But I could see that he wasn't sorry I hadn't spoken of it; I've
wondered sometimes, since, whether things would have been different if I
had told Felix the whole business.
Well, he was a little pleasanter for a while; but when a telegram came
later in the day from Miss Marston, saying she'd be back in ten days to
take us to the Cottage, Phil got all off again, and scolded like
everything. He said it was a burning shame for us to have to stay in the
city and just _stew_, waiting for Miss Marston to "escort" us to the
Cottage, when he and Felix could have taken us there long ago; that he
wanted to go in the country _right away_; that papa'd made a big mistake
in keeping us back, and that he'd find it out when 'twas too late,--and
all that sort of talk. Felix and Nora did their best to cool him down,
but it was no use,--the nicer they were, the more disagreeable he grew;
and at last they got provoked and left him to himself.
"I wish Nannie were here," Fee said, as we stood on the landing
together, outside Phil's door; "perhaps she could do something
with him."
"I just wish she were," I agreed dolefully; and if Nora didn't get
miffed because we said that!
I can tell you it wasn't a bit pleasant at home those days. As Fee said,
"everybody seemed to be disgruntled," and there wasn't a thing to do but
wander around; I missed Betty awfully, she's such a splendid person for
keeping up one's spirits.
Toward afternoon, Phil came downstairs, and after dinner we sat on the
stoop; he was still rather grumpy, though we pretended not to notice it.
Presently Chad came along and took a seat beside us; but at first I
don't think anybody, except, perhaps, Nora, paid him much attention.
Felix had been very quiet all day, and now he sat with his elbows on his
knees, and his hands holding up his face, a far-off look in his eyes,
and not saying a word until about half-past eight, when Chad leaned
over, and in a low voice asked Phil to go for a walk.
Phil's answer sounded like, "Had enough of it;" and before Chad could
say anything more, Fee began to talk to him. I was surprised, for Felix
doesn't usually talk to Chad; but to-night, all at once, he seemed to
have a friendly fit. He started Chad talking of his travels; then he got
Phil into the conversation, and then Nora, and he just kept them all
going; he was so bright himself, and funny, and entertaining, that the
evening fairly flew by. We were all amazed when ten o'clock struck;
soon after that Chad bid good-night, and we shut up the house and
went to bed.
'Most always Phil stops in Fee's room for a few minutes: he didn't this
evening, though; he just called out,--a little gruffly,--"Good-night,
old man!" and marched right into his own room. But I went in.
Fee was sitting on the edge of his bed; he looked almost as tired as he
had the night before, though now his eyes were bright and his cheeks
red. He turned quickly to me. "Did you think I was wound up to-night?"
he asked. Then, before I could answer, "But I kept them--I kept them
both, Jack; they didn't go walking to-night,--at least, Phil didn't, and
that's the main point. Why, I could go on talking till morning." He got
up and limped restlessly about, then stopped near me. "What'll we do
to-morrow evening?" he said, "and the next, and the next?--there are
_ten_ more, you know. We'll _have_ to think of something, that's all;
it'll not be easy, but we'll have to do it. I'm afraid"--Fee spoke
slowly, shaking his head--"I'm afraid the _pater_ _has_ made a mistake,
a big mistake. Now if Nannie were only here--what an owl you look,
Rosebud! Come, off to bed with you!" He threw his arm across my shoulder
and gave me a little squeeze, then pushed me out of the room and shut
the door.
I have an idea that he didn't sleep very well that night, for the next
morning _he_, too, looked like a owl, in the way of eyes.
XVI.
AND A MAJOR.
TOLD BY JACK.
The next day Phil was more like himself,--almost as usual, at least
during the first part of the day; after that, everybody got into such
a state of excitement that we forgot all about his mood,--I guess he
forgot it himself.
As I've told you, Kathie and the little ones weren't behaving at all
nicely. You see the trouble was they wanted their own way, and Nora
wanted hers, and nurse wanted hers too; and some days things went all
wrong in the nursery. Nora'd declare that _she_ was mistress as long as
Nannie wasn't at home, and that the children _should_ obey her; then
nurse would get huffy and call the little ones her "pets" and her "poor
darlin's," and of course that made them feel as if they were being
dreadfully abused. I think Nora did nag some, and perhaps she ordered
people a little more than she need have done, but that's her way of
doing things; she didn't mean in the least to be disagreeable, and the
children were certainly _very_ provoking. It seemed to me as if they
were forever in mischief, and my! weren't they pert! and sometimes they
wouldn't mind at all. Once or twice I tried to see if I could help
things, but I just got into trouble both times, and only made matters
worse, so I thought I'd better leave 'em alone.
Well, on this particular morning, nurse woke feeling so ill that she
couldn't get up at all; so Nora had to see to dressing the children and
giving them their breakfast. Mädel was good,--she's a dear little
creature!--but the boys were wild for mischief, and just as saucy and
self-willed as they could be, and, worst of all, Kathie got into one of
her crying moods. She cried all the time she was dressing, and all
through breakfast,--a kind of whining cry that just wears on a person.
Phil called her Niobe, and declared that if she didn't look out, she'd
float away on her tears; Fee threatened to put her in a picture, just as
she looked; I coaxed and promised her one or two of my things, and Nora
scolded: nothing had any effect, Kathie just wept straight on.
She _is_ awfully trying when she gets in these moods, but I guess she
can't always help it,--at least Nannie thinks so,--and perhaps if Nora
had been patient just a little while longer, the storm would have blown
over. But all at once Nora lost her temper, and catching Kathie by the
arm, she walked her wailing from the room.
Well, in just about one minute more, Paul and Mädel and Alan were off
too, roaring like everything.
"_O-o-h!_ we _want_ Kathie! we _w-a-n-t_ Kathie! _O-o-o-h!_ bring back
_Kath-i-e_!"
Well, you'd have thought they never expected to lay eyes on Kathie
again!
[Illustration: "WHERE WE FOUND KATHIE."]
I coaxed and talked and talked till my throat fairly ached, telling 'em
funny things to divert their attention,--the way I've heard Nannie and
Betty do; Fee began just as loud as he could (to drown their noise and
make them listen) about the Trojan horse,--they like that story; and
Phil offered them everything that there was on the table if they'd
_only_ stop yelling; he declared the neighbours would be coming in to
see what we were doing to them. But at last they quieted down, and let
me take them upstairs to the nursery, where we found Kathie seated upon
a chair, and still weeping.
On account of nurse's being ill, there were a good many things for
Nora to do,--I could see she had her hands full,--so I stayed in the
schoolroom and looked after the children to help her. By and by Kathie
stopped crying--I guess there were no more tears left to come--and began
to join in the games I started. Usually she's very penitent after one of
these fits of temper, but this time she seemed more sulky than anything
else; and she was such a sight that I felt sorry for her. Kathie's very
fair,--she's a real pretty little girl when she's in a good humour,--and
now, from crying so much, and rubbing her eyes, they were all swollen
and red; the red marks went 'way down on her cheeks; and her nose was
all red and swollen, too: you'd hardly have known her for the same
child.
After awhile--I'd set them playing house, and things seemed quiet--I got
out one of my books, and, fixing myself comfortably on the sofa, began
to read. But presently something--a sort of stillness in the room--made
me look up; the children were under the schoolroom table with their
heads close together, and they were whispering. Kathie was weeping
again, but very softly; Mädel had one arm around her, and was wiping
Kathie's tears away with her pinafore; Paul was showing them something
which I couldn't see,--he had his back to me,--and Alan sat on his
heels, grinning, and gazing at Judge with wide-open, admiring eyes.
Just at this moment Nora opened the door and called me; you should have
seen those four jump! and the way Judge hurried what he had in his hand
out of sight! But I didn't suspect anything; I didn't dream of what they
were up to.
"Jack," said Nora, when I got out in the hall, "Phil has gone out to see
to something for me, and I can't send Fee, so I wish you would go round
to Dr. Archard's and ask him to call and see nurse as soon as possible.
She won't let me do a thing for her, and yet she's groaning, and says
she feels _dreadfully_; she may be very ill, for all I know."
There was such an anxious look on Nora's face that I tried to cheer her
up. "Don't worry, Nonie," I said; "you know nurse gets scared awfully
easy. If she has a finger-ache, she thinks she's dreadfully ill, and
wants the doctor."
"Well, perhaps she'll feel better after she has seen him," Nora said.
"Between Kathie and her I've had a pretty hard morning; I'm doing my
very best, but nobody seems to think so." She gave her head a proud
toss, but I could see there were tears in her eyes. I didn't know what
to say, so I just patted her hand, and then got my hat and went for
the doctor.
It was a lovely day, and I didn't suppose there was any need for me to
hurry back, so I took a walk, and didn't get home for a good while after
leaving my message at the doctor's.
Before I had time to ring the bell, Nora opened the front door; she
looked very much excited, and asked breathlessly, "Did you meet them?
Have you seen them?"
Of course I didn't understand. "Meet whom? What d'you mean?" I asked
in surprise.
"The children. Then they are _lost!_" answered Nora, and she sat down on
a chair in the hall and burst out crying. Then out came Phil and Felix
from the drawing-room, where they had been with Nora, and I heard the
whole story.
It seems that soon after I left for the doctor's, Judge went down stairs
and asked cook for some gingerbread,--"enough for the four of us," he
said,--and some time later, when Nora went up to the schoolroom to see
what the children were doing, not one of them was there, nor could they
be found in the house. Nora flew to tell Felix and Phil, and in the
hurried search from garret to cellar which everybody made,--except
nurse, she wasn't told anything of it,--it was found that the children's
every-day hats were gone.
Of course, as soon as I heard that, I remembered the whispering under
the schoolroom table, and I felt at once that the children had run away.
I just wished I had told Nora about it, or that I had come right back
from the doctor's; I might have prevented their going.
[Illustration: "NORA TORE IT OPEN."]
While I was telling Nora and the boys what I thought about the matter,
Hannah came flying into the drawing-room,--she was so excited, she
forgot to knock. She held a cocked-hat note in her hand,--Kathie is
great on cocked-hat notes and paper lamplighters. "Oh, Miss Nora! it's
meself that's just found this on the flure mostly under the big Sarytogy
thrunk,--the one that's open," she cried, almost out of breath from her
rush down the steps.
"Nora" was scrawled in Kathie's handwriting on the outside of the note.
In an instant Nora tore it open, but she passed it right over to Phil.
"Read it,--I can't," she said in a shaky voice. So he did.
The note was very short and the spelling was funny, though we didn't
think of that until afterward; this is what was in it: "We are not
goging to stay here to be treted like this so we have run away we are
goging to Nannie becaws she tretes us good. I have token my new
parrasole for the sun goodby we have Jugs bank with us Kathie."
Poor Nonie! that just broke her all up! She cried and cried! "I _didn't_
ill-treat them; I was trying to do my _very_ best for them. If I _was_
cross, I didn't mean it,--and they _had_ to be made to mind," she kept
saying between her sobs. "And now they've gone off in this dreadful way!
Oh, _suppose_ some tramp should get hold of them--or they should be run
over or hurt--or--we--should--_never_ see them again! Oh--_oh!_ what
shall I say to papa and Nannie!"
"Oh, shure, Miss Nora, you don't mane to say the darlints is ralely
_lost_!" exclaimed Hannah, and with that _she_ began to bawl; Phil had
to send her right down stairs, and warn her against letting nurse know.
Then we tried to comfort Nora. "You've done your level best, and nobody
can do any more than that," Phil said, drawing Nora to him, and pressing
her face down hard on his shoulder, while he patted her cheek. "Cheer
up, Nonie, old girl, they are no more lost than I am; you see if we
don't walk them home in no time,--young rascals! they ought to be well
punished for giving us such a scare."
"Yes, we'll probably find them in the park, regaling themselves with the
good things that 'Jugs bank' has afforded," remarked Fee, trying to
speak cheerfully. "We're going right out to look for them. Come, Jack,
get on your hat and go along too; I'm ready." As he spoke, he stuck his
hat on and stood up.
"Shall we go separately?" I asked, dropping Nora's hand,--I'd been
patting it.
"Indeed we _will_ go separately," answered Phil, emphatically. "Here,
Nora, sit down; and we will have a plan, and stick to it, too," he
added, "or we'll all three be sure to think of the same scheme, travel
over the same ground, and arrive at the same conclusion. There's been
rather an epidemic of that sort of thing in this family lately,--the
'_three_ souls with but a single thought, three wills that work as one,'
business. Yes, sir, we'll have a plan. Fee, you go to the little parks,
and some way down the avenue; Jack, you go up the avenue, and through as
many of the cross streets as you can get in; and I'll go east and west,
across the _tracks_"--as the word slipped out he gave a quick look at
Nora; we knew he was thinking of those dreadful cable cars: but
fortunately she didn't seem to have heard.
So off we started, after making Nora promise she'd stay at home and
wait for us to bring her news.
We separated at our corner; but I'd only gone a block or two when I
thought of something that sent me flying back to the house. I slipped in
the basement way, and up the back stairs to the nursery, where I hunted
out an old glove of Kathie's; then down I went to the yard and loosed
Major, and he and I started out as fast as we could go.
Once or twice in the country, when the children had strayed too far on
the beach, by showing Major something they'd worn, and telling him to
"Find 'em!" he had led Phil and me right to them. I had remembered this,
and now as we walked up the avenue I kept showing Kathie's glove to the
dear old doggie, and telling him, "Find Kathie, Major, find her! find
her, old boy!" And it did seem as if he understood--Major's an awfully
bright dog--by the way he wagged his tail and went with his nose to the
ground smelling the pavement.