things seriously that I said in joke that at first I didn't know what
to make of him. I used to get _so_ provoked! He doesn't understand the
sort of "chaffing" that we do so much at home, and he is slow to get an
idea; but once it's fixed in his mind, you needn't think he's going to
change,--it's there for the rest of his natural life. He could no more
change his opinion about things as I do than he could fly. Perhaps he
thinks I'm frivolous and "uncouth,"--as Nora sometimes says I am. Well,
let him; who cares? _I_ think _he_ is a regular old poke, though he is
better than I thought at first; but you'll hear all about it. Of course
Hilliard was polite, and all that, when he came to our house, but I
didn't always see him; in fact, I used to keep out of the way on
purpose, many a time: so I didn't really know what sort of a boy he
was until I went to stay at the beach.
Well, as soon as Mrs. Erveng was comfortably settled, Hilliard came
over to me with a big soft cushion in his hand. "May I put this at your
back?" he asked. "It's a tiresome journey to Boston, and we've got
quite a ride after that to reach Endicott Beach; so let me make you
as comfortable as possible."
Now if he had come up and simply put the cushion on the back of my
chair, the way Phil, or Felix, or Jack would have done, I wouldn't have
minded at all,--I like cushions; but to stand there holding it, waiting
for me to give him permission, struck me as being very silly. I knew he
expected me to say yes, and instead of that I found myself saying, "No,
I thank you,"--I could hear that my tone was snippy,--"I can get on
very comfortably without a cushion." Our boys, or Max, or even Murray
Unsworth would have said, "Oh, come now, Betty!" and just slipped the
cushion behind me, and I'd have enjoyed it, and made no more fuss. But
not so this individual. He looked helplessly at me for a minute, then
laid the cushion down on his mother's travelling satchel; and there it
reclined until we reached Boston.
'Twas the same way with getting me things to eat. With all the
excitement that morning, I had very little appetite for breakfast, so
by lunch time I was _very_ hungry; and when Mrs. Erveng opened her box
of sandwiches, I felt as if I could have eaten every one in it,--but of
course I didn't. They were delicious; but, oh, so small and thin!
Mr. Erveng did not take any,--he never takes a mid-day meal. Mrs.
Erveng ate two, trifling with the second one as if tired of it. I ate
three,--when a _dozen_ would not have been too many! Hilliard disposed
of four, and then went out to get his mother a cup of tea,--I suspect
he had something more to eat in the restaurant. He asked, in a tone as
if he meant it, "Mayn't I bring you a cup of tea?"
But I despise tea, so I answered, "No, I thank you," for the second
time. Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were talking to an acquaintance who had come
up, and actually Hilliard hadn't the sense to offer me anything else,
and I _couldn't_ ask. Having sisters is certainly a great thing for a
boy, as I've told Jack scores of times; why, for all that he is so shy,
Jack could have taken twice as good care of a girl as Hilliard did of
me, just because he has had me to train him.
Presently Mrs. Erveng passed the lunch box over to me. "_Do_ take
another sandwich, Betty," she said kindly, "and some cake."
But by this time no one else in the car was eating, and I didn't want
to be the only person,--I hate to have people stare at me while I'm
eating,--so I refused. The open box remained by me for some
time,--'twas all I could do to keep from putting out my hand
for a sandwich; then the porter came by, and Mr. Erveng handed
it to him to take away.
Hilliard talked to me as we flew along, in his deliberate, grown-up way,
but pleasantly; if I had not been so hungry and homesick, I might have
been interested. But by and by the hunger wore off, and by the time we
reached Endicott Beach I had a raving headache; but I said nothing about
it until after dinner, for Mrs. Erveng was so tired out that she had to
be looked after and got to bed the very first thing, and that made a
little fuss, though her maid Dillon, who had come on the day before, was
there to assist her.
The house is very prettily furnished and arranged,--almost as prettily
but more simply than Mrs. Erveng's rooms in New York.
After dinner Hilliard showed me a little of the place, which is _very_
pretty, and quite unlike anywhere else that I have been. There's a queer
scraggly old garden at the back of the house, and in front a splendid
view of the beach, with the ocean rolling up great booming waves. Before
very long I got to like Endicott Beach very much; but this first
afternoon, though the sunset was most gorgeous, I felt so miserable
that I could take interest in nothing. Oh, how I longed for home!
Presently Hilliard said, "I'm afraid you are dreadfully tired,--you look
so pale. I should have waited until to-morrow to show you the place; I
have been inconsiderate--"
"I have a headache," I broke in shortly; then all at once my lips began
to tremble. "I wish I were at home!" I found myself exclaiming; and then
the tears came pouring down my face.
"Oh, I am so sorry! so _very_ sorry! What can I do for you?" began
Hilliard. "Oh! mayn't I--"
I was so mortified that I got very mad; I hate to cry, any way, and
above all before this stiff wooden boy! I threw my hands over my face,
and turning my back on him, started for the house, walking as fast as I
could, stumbling sometimes on the uneven beach.
But Hilliard followed close behind me. "I'm _so_ sorry!" he repeated.
"Why didn't you let me know sooner? May I--"
I got so provoked that I wheeled round suddenly on him,--I think I
startled him. "Oh, _do_ stop _asking_ people if you 'may' or 'mayn't do
things for them,"--I'm afraid that here I mimicked his tone of voice.
"_Do_ the things first, and then ask,--if you must. I declare, you don't
know the very first thing about taking care of a girl; why, our Paul
could do better."
Hilliard stood stock still and stared at me; his sleepy eyes were
wide open, and there was such a bewildered expression on his face
that it just set me off laughing, in spite of the tears on my cheeks,
and my headache.
"I am exceedingly sorry if I have neglected--" he began stiffly; but
before he could say any more I turned and fled.
I fancied I heard his footsteps behind me, and I fairly flew along the
beach, into the house, and up to my room, where I began undressing as
quickly as I could. But before I was ready for bed, Mrs. Erveng's maid
brought a message from her mistress. She was so sorry to hear that I
was not well; was there nothing that she could do for me? "Please say
that I am going to bed; that will cure my headache quicker than anything
else," I called through the keyhole, instead of opening the door. I had
a feeling that the Ervengs would think me a crank; but I had got to that
pitch that afternoon where I didn't care what anybody thought of me.
Then Dillon went away, and I got into bed.
But I couldn't sleep for ever so long: you see the sun had not yet set,
and I'm not used to going to sleep in broad daylight; besides, I was
very unhappy. As I lay there looking at the brilliant colours of the
sky, I thought over what I had said to Hilliard, and the oftener I went
over it, the more uncomfortable I got; for I began to see that I'd been
very rude--to insult the people I was visiting! I wondered if Hilliard
had told his mother what I said; and what she thought of me? Would she
send me home? I had declared to Nora that I would behave so badly as to
be sent home before the visit was over, but I had not really meant it. I
got all worked up over the horrid affair, and if I had had then enough
money to pay my expenses to New York, I really think I should have been
tempted to climb out of the window, or make my escape in some way or
other,--I dreaded so having to face the Ervengs in the morning.
After a long while I fell asleep, and dreamed that Mr. and Mrs. Erveng
were holding me fast, while Hilliard stuffed sandwiches down my throat.
But by the next morning my headache was gone, and the sunshine and
beautiful view from my window made me feel a new person, though I still
dreaded meeting the Ervengs. Usually I dress quickly, but this morning I
just dawdled, to put off the evil moment as long as possible. It seemed
so strange not to have Nannie, or Miss Marston, or Nora, or any one to
tell me what to say or do; I really felt lost without dear old Nannie. I
would have been delighted to see her that morning,--we have such nice
talks at home while we are dressing!
Before I left home, Nora said particularly, "Now, Betty, _do_ remember
that your ginghams are for the mornings and your thinner gowns for the
afternoons. Don't put on the first frock that comes to your hand,
regardless of whether it is flannel, gingham, or _organdi_. You know
you haven't a great many clothes, so _please_, I beg of you, for the
reputation of the family, take care of them, or you will not have a
decent thing to wear two weeks after you get to the Ervengs'."
I was provoked at her for saying this, but I could not resent it very
much, for--though I love pretty things as well as anybody does--somehow
accidents _are_ always happening to my clothes. Nurse says it's because
I am too heedless to think about what I have on, and perhaps it is: yet,
when I remember, and try to be careful, I'm simply _miserable_; and it
does seem too silly to make one's self uncomfortable for clothes,--so I
generally forget.
But this morning I looked carefully over the ginghams that Dillon had
unpacked and hung in the closet in my room, and finally, taking down the
one I considered the prettiest, I put it on; I wished afterward that I
had chosen the plainest and ugliest.
As I said, I was taking as much time as possible over my dressing, when
I happened to think that breakfast might be ready, and the Ervengs
waiting for me,--papa says "to be late at meals, particularly when
visiting, is _extremely_ ill-bred;" then I rushed through the rest
of my toilet, and raced down the stairs, not thinking of Mrs. Erveng's
headache until I reached the foot of the steps.
I was relieved to find no one in the parlour, or in the room across the
hall, where the table was set for breakfast. But as I stepped out on the
broad front piazza, Hilliard rose from the hammock in which he had been
lying, and came forward with such a pleasant "Good-morning!" that I felt
surprised and ashamed.
"How is your head?" he asked, adding, "It must be better, I fancy,--you
look so much brighter than you did yesterday."
I could feel my face getting warm; I hate to apologise to people, but I
knew that I ought to do it here. "That headache made me cross, and I was
homesick," I answered, speaking as fast as I could to get it all over
with quickly. "I am sorry I spoke so rudely--"
But Hilliard broke in quickly,--for him. "Don't say that; please
don't ever speak of it again," he said earnestly. "It's for _me_ to
apologise; I must have deserved what you said, or I know you would
not have said it."
[Illustration: "BETTY."]
Well, I _was_ taken aback! that was a new view of the case. At first I
thought he might be in sarcasm; but no, he was in earnest, saying the
words in his slow, deliberate way, with his eyes half shut. I couldn't
help wishing that the family had been there to hear; but I decided
that I would certainly tell them of it,--you see I don't often get
such a compliment.
I would like to have made a polite speech to him, but what was there to
say?--it still remained that he _hadn't_ taken good care of me. And
while this thought was going through my brain, I heard myself say, "Did
you tell your mother what I said to you?"
Now I had no more idea of asking Hilliard that--though I did want to
know--than I had of flying; my mouth opened, and the words just came out
without the least volition on my part,--in fact, I was perfectly
astonished to hear them. More than once this has happened at home; Phil
teases me about it, and Fee calls me Mrs. Malaprop, because--that's the
trouble--these speeches are almost always just the things I shouldn't
have said. I'm sure I don't know what I am to do to prevent it.
My face actually burnt,--it must have been as red as a beet. "I didn't
mean to ask you that," I blurted out. While I was speaking, Hilliard was
saying, "Why, certainly not; I simply mentioned that you had a
headache," in such a surprised voice that I felt more uncomfortable than
ever: but wasn't it nice of him not to tell?
I just rushed into talk about the scenery as fast as I could go. From
where we stood we could see the wild, rugged coast for miles,--the huge,
bare brown rocks standing like so many grim sentinels guarding the
spaces of shining white sand, which here and there sloped gently to the
water's edge; the sea gulls resting, tiny white specks, against the dark
rocks, or circling in flocks above them; the dark blue ocean, dotted
with steamers and sailing-vessels and sparkling and dancing in the
morning light, rolling up great white-crested waves that dashed on the
rocks and threw up a cloud of foaming spray, and broke on the beach with
a dull booming noise; and over all was the warm, glorious summer
sunshine. As I looked and looked, all the disagreeableness slipped away,
and it was _splendid_ just to be alive. I thought of Felix, and how much
he would enjoy all this beauty. We all think so much of the scenery at
the Cottage, and really it is nothing compared with this. There the
beach is smooth and nice, but it hasn't a rock on it; and the
water--it's the Sound, you know--just creeps up on it with a soft
lapping sound very different to the roar and magnificence of the ocean.
I was so surprised and delighted that first morning that I spoke out
warmly. "Oh!" I cried, "isn't it _beautiful_! oh, it is grand!
fascinating!--I could watch those waves all day!"
Hilliard's face lighted up. "I thought you would like it," he said. "You
should see it in a storm,--it is magnificent! but it is terrible,
too,"--he gave a little shudder. "I love the ocean, but I am afraid of
it; it is treacherous."
"Afraid!" I looked at him in surprise,--the idea of a big strong boy as
he is being _afraid_ of the water! I opened my mouth to exclaim, "Well,
_I'm_ not afraid!" then remembered my unlucky remark of a few minutes
before and said instead, and in a much milder tone, "After breakfast I'm
going to explore those rocks, and get as near to the ocean as I can--"
"Don't attempt to do any climbing alone," broke in Hilliard, more
positively than he usually speaks; "the rocks are very slippery, and you
know nothing about the tides. People have been caught on those rocks and
cut off--drowned--by the incoming tide, before they could reach the
shore, or be rescued. I shall be very glad to go with you whenever--"
"Good-morning!" Mr. Erveng said, appearing in the doorway behind us;
"will you young people come in and have some breakfast?"
Breakfast was served in a room that looked out on the garden; and
everything was very nice, though quite different from our breakfasts at
home. Mrs. Erveng was not down,--I found afterward that she always took
her breakfast in her own room,--and Hilliard sat in his mother's place
and poured the tea. I was thankful that Mr. Erveng hadn't asked me to do
it; but it did look so _queer_ to see a boy doing such a thing,--so like
a "Miss Nancy," as Phil would say. Mr. Erveng and Hilliard talked a good
deal about things that were going on in the world, and about books, and
places they had been to. I was perfectly surprised at the way Mr. Erveng
asked Hilliard's opinion, and listened to his remarks,--I couldn't
imagine papa's doing such a thing with any of us, not even with Felix;
and when I said anything, they both acted as if it were really worth
listening to,--which is another thing that never happens in our family!
And yet, on the other hand, Mr. Erveng goes off to Boston in the
mornings without even saying good-bye to Mrs. Erveng or Hilliard,--they
never know by what train he is coming home; and in the whole month I
visited them I never once saw Hilliard and his mother kiss each other.
Now at home papa always tells some one of us when he is going out, and
about when he will return; and if we children go anywhere, the whole
family is sure to know of it; and quite often we kiss one another
good-bye, and always at night. Nora often tells us that it isn't "good
form" to do this; and sometimes, when she's in an airish mood, she calls
us "a pack of kissers,"--as if that were something dreadful. Still, all
the same, I'm _glad_ that we're that sort of a family; and I am more
than ever glad since I've been staying with the Ervengs.
Hilliard and I were just starting for the beach that morning, when
Dillon came out on the piazza with a message. "Mr. Hilliard," she said,
"your mother would like to speak to you." So off he went with, "Excuse
me; I'll be back in a few minutes," to me.
But instead, presently back came Dillon with another message: "Mrs.
Erveng asks, Will you please to excuse Mr. Hilliard; she would like him
to do something for her for a while."
So off I went for my walk, alone. I strolled down to the beach and sat
in the shade of a big rock and looked at the waves,--watching them
coming in and going out, and making up all sorts of thoughts about them.
But after a while I got tired of that, and began wondering what they
were all doing at home without Nannie, or Miss Marston, or papa; and
then I felt so lonely and homesick that I just _had_ to get up and walk
about. And then I got into trouble,--I don't know another girl that gets
into scrapes as I do!
There were lots of little coves about the beach,--the water in them
was just as clear as crystal; and as I stepped from rock to rock,
bending down to look into the depths, what should I do but slip,--the
rocks _are_ slippery,--and land in the middle of a cove, up to my waist
in water!
There was nothing to do but to scramble out,--the rocks ran too far out
into the ocean to think of walking round them,--and I can assure you it
was no easy thing to accomplish with my wet skirts clinging to me. I
scratched my hands, and scraped my shoes, and got my sleeves and the
whole front of my nice gingham stained with the green slimy moss that
covered the rocks.
But at last I got out; then came the walk up the beach to the
house,--there was no other way of getting there,--and you may imagine my
feelings when, half-way up, I discovered that Mrs. Erveng was seated on
the piazza in her invalid's chair. I saw her put her _lorgnette_ to her
eyes; I imagined I heard her say to Hilliard, who was arranging a
cushion back of her head, "Who _is_ that extraordinary looking creature
coming up the beach?" and I _longed_ to just burrow in the sand and get
out of her sight.
Hilliard came running to meet me. "You've fallen into the water--you are
wet! I hope you're not hurt?" he exclaimed, as he reached me.
It was on the tip of my tongue to answer sharply, "I _have_ fallen into
the water; did you expect me to be dry?" It was such a _silly_ speech of
his! But I was afraid of Mrs. Erveng, so I just said carelessly,--as if
I were in the habit of tumbling into the ocean with all my clothes on
every day in the week,--"Oh, I just slipped off one of the rocks; I got
my feet wet." And there I was, mind you, wet almost to my waist, and
such a figure!
Any one of our boys--even Jack, and he is pretty dense sometimes--would
have seen the joke, and we'd have had a hearty laugh, anyway, out of the
situation; but not a smile appeared on Hilliard's face. Either he didn't
see the fun at all, or else he was too deadly polite to laugh. If he had
even said roughly, "Didn't I _tell_ you not to go there!" I wouldn't
have minded it as much as his "How unfortunate!" and his helpless look.
I was afraid to say anything for fear I'd be rude again, so we walked up
to the piazza in solemn silence.
"Good morning!" Mrs. Erveng said pleasantly, as I laboured up the steps.
"An accident? I am so glad you are not hurt! Hilliard should have warned
you about those slippery rocks--oh, he did--I see. Dillon will help you
change your things; ring for her, Hilliard. Too bad, Betty, to spoil
that pretty frock."
Well, I changed my wet clothes, and for the rest of that day I was as
meek as a lamb. I sat down, and got up, and answered, and talked to the
Ervengs as nearly in Nora's manner as I could imitate. Perhaps they
liked it, but I didn't; I was having the pokiest kind of a time, and I
was so homesick that I cried myself to sleep again that night.
Mind you, I wouldn't have our boys and Nora know this for a kingdom!
The next few days were more agreeable; the people from the other
cottages on the beach came to call on Mrs. Erveng, and while she was
entertaining them, Hilliard and I went for walks or sat on the sands. As
I've told you before, he isn't at all a wonderful sort of boy,--except
for queerness,--and he always _will_ be a poke; but sometimes he's
rather nice, and he is certainly polite. He knows the beach well,--he
ought to, he's been here nearly every summer of his life, and he is
eighteen years old,--and he showed me everything there was to see.
There were no more accidents under his guidance; and no wonder,--he
is caution itself.
There was only one part of the beach that he did not take me, and that
was where a tall pointed rock stood, that was separated from the others
by a rather wide strip of sand. I thought it looked interesting; I could
see what looked in the distance like the arched entrance to a cave in
the side of the rock. I would like to have gone to look at it, but every
time I proposed it, Hilliard turned the conversation. "Some day we'll
investigate it," he said at last; "but don't ever go over there
alone,--it is a dangerous place." According to him, the whole beach was
dangerous; so I made up my mind that I would "investigate" for myself at
the first opportunity that offered.
While we rested on the sands, Hilliard would read aloud to me,--he likes
to read aloud. Neither Phil nor I care as much for books as do the
others in the family; but to be polite, I did not tell Hilliard that I
am not fond of being read to; to me it always seems so slow. At first I
used to look at the ocean and make up thoughts about it, so that I
hardly heard any of what he was reading; but after a while I began to
listen, and then, really, I got quite interested.
We were sitting in the shade of the rocks one very warm
afternoon,--Hilliard was reading aloud,--when there came a sudden peal
of thunder, and presently a flash of lightning. "Oh, we're going to have
a storm!" I exclaimed. "I am so glad! now I can see the ocean in a
storm,--you said it was magnificent then. Why, what are you doing?"
"We must get in the house as quickly as possible." Hilliard rose to his
feet as he spoke, and began hastily gathering up the books and cushions,
and the big sun umbrella.
"But the rain hasn't come yet, and I _do_ want to watch the water,--see,
it's beginning to get white-caps," I said. "We can reach the house in a
few minutes."
As I spoke there was another flash of lightning and a long roll of
thunder, but neither was severe. To my great astonishment Hilliard
shrank back against the rock, and shielded his face with the cushion he
held in his hand; I could see that he was very pale. "Oh, come, _come_!"
he begged; "oh, let us get to the house at once!"
"What!" I flashed out scornfully, "are you _afraid_ of a thunder storm?"
He didn't answer; he just stood there flattening himself against the
rock, his face deadly white, his eyes almost closed, and his lips set
tight together.
I got _so_ angry! I _despise_ a coward! Had Jack done that, I thought to
myself, I'd have been tempted to thrash him to put some spirit and pluck
into him; and here was this great big overgrown boy--! "Why don't you
run away to the house?" I broke out sharply. "I can take care of myself;
_I'm_ not afraid of a little thunder."
He put up his hand in a deprecating way, as if asking me to hush. Then,
as a nearer peal reverberated among the rocks, and another flash lighted
up the now leaden-coloured sky, he sprang forward and caught hold of my
arm, with a sharp cry of "_Come! come!_" Wheeling me round suddenly, he
ran toward the house, carrying me along with him with such force and
swiftness--though I resisted--that in a few minutes we were on the
piazza, and then in the hall, with the heavy outer door swung shut. We
were barely under cover when the rain pelted down, and the thunder and
lightning grew more loud and vivid.
Hilliard leaned breathlessly against the hat-rack table,--I could see
that he was trembling. I stood and looked at him,--I suppose it was
rude, but I couldn't help it; you see I had never met such a kind of
boy before.