ROLAND’S PROJECT.
“Bonny, are you hurt?”
“Bonny, have you spilled my custards?”
“Bonny, have you broken down the stairs?”
For answer to all these anxious inquiries, which indicated the
particular dread of each inquirer, there presently came up from the
region of darkness below a ripple of hysterical laughter, which rapidly
increased in volume till the hearers were forced to join in it.
This was more than Robert could patiently endure, and, regardless of
Sunday clothes, he bounded down the stairs, and so noisily that he did
not hear Beatrice’s swift remonstrance: “Don’t, Bob! For mercy’s sake,
don’t come down here! There, you’ve finished it!”
Mrs. Beckwith quietly and cautiously followed the headlong flight of
her youngest child, and half-way to the lower floor stopped in utter
dismay. There, at the bottom of the flight, sat Bonny, with Robert in
her lap, whither he had fallen promptly, amidst a pile of broken cups,
and with each of the unfortunates plentifully splashed with some sort
of sticky, yellowish liquid.
“Well, what have you done?”
“Why, spilled the custards!”
“What were you doing with them?” demanded Isabelle, sharply, from the
head of the stairs.
“Nothing--that is, ‘I didn’t go for to do nothing’ with them! When I
went away to work yesterday morning, there were two pans of milk on
that swing-shelf. I could have gone in the dark and found them easily;
so I did!” And away went Beatrice into another peal of laughter as
infectious as it was ridiculous.
“Mother told you to take a light!”
“I didn’t hear her. Besides, it didn’t seem worth while to go to that
trouble. Why did you put custards in the milk’s place? And also, if you
have custards, why don’t you feed them to your family instead of laying
pitfalls with them to catch unwary maidens? When I was housekeeper I--”
“When you were housekeeper you did exactly as you pleased, and nobody
durst interfere!” said Belle, quickly. “You see, Mother! It’s of no use
trying. There I worked extra hard to-night, so that I would not have to
take my precious morning light to-morrow to prepare dessert. I knew
that our dinner was to be a very plain one, and so I thought I would
piece it out with a little second course. All for nothing!”
Mrs. Beckwith made no comment upon this exclamation. The damage which
Bonny’s thoughtlessness had done was, she feared, far greater than the
loss of a little daylight or one day’s dessert. “Gather up your frock
as carefully as you can, so that the stuff will not drip upon these
clean stairs, then go directly out of doors; that is, if you are not
hurt. I will come out on the grass and help you there. Here, Robert!
Put this apron about you and follow Bonny. Your unfortunate Sunday
clothes! They are ruined, I am afraid.”
Isabelle retreated in a flood of tears, and Roland ran away to compose
a sonnet to a “Maiden in Distress;” that being a safety-valve to let
off his mirthfulness over the absurd affair. But Beatrice picked
herself up stiffly and obeyed her mother without a word. Her fun had
quite evaporated, and she felt heartily ashamed of herself.
“It’s that eternal, undying conceit of mine, Motherkin! If I’d had any
sense I’d have taken a lamp, even though I did not hear you. But no!
I--Bonny Beckwith--could go down cellar in the darkest night and do
anything I wished! I wasn’t afraid,--I! But I’m so sorry, so awfully
sorry about your pretty cups, Mother. You have had them so long and
kept them so carefully. I don’t understand yet how it happened.”
“The explanation is simple enough. After Isabelle had made her custard,
she poured it into the cups, and, it being hot, set them in an empty
pan to carry the better downstairs. She had used the milk from the pan
on the swing-shelf, and it was a convenient place to keep her dessert
until to-morrow, safe and high above the reach of the cat or any stray
mice.”
“It was high enough, in all conscience! I had to reach above my head to
take the pan down, and I thought it felt amazing heavy then; but not
until I reached the foot of the stairs and stumbled did I hear the cups
rattle and realize that it wasn’t just milk I carried.”
“There, turn around. The other side is all messed with it, too.”
“Is it spoiled, Mother? Is my new clothes no more good?” wailed Robert,
ruefully regarding the liberal dash of water which his mother gave
those cherished articles.
“They will never look well again, but they will be wearable, I hope.
Bonny’s fresh frock is unfit for further use, however, until after it
is laundered again. What will you wear to-morrow, child?”
“The old winter one, I suppose.”
“But if you are going away with your employer, will it answer?”
“The best one, then. When a body has just one good gown and two
week-day ones, she hasn’t much trouble in making her decisions. I care
only about the cups.”
“Don’t think of them again. I am thankful you were not hurt. But, my
darling, is there nothing else you are sorry for?”
“Oh! I--suppose--so! The quarrel with Belle. But she was as much to
blame as I. She shouldn’t have put the pan there if she didn’t want it
tipped over.”
“Broken cups may be replaced, and soiled frocks made clean. These are
trivialities; but a wounded spirit--I believe I can trust my Beatrice,
can I not? Now come indoors. Roland has, also, a ‘secret’ to tell, or
a statement to explain. He is probably impatient to do so. About the
express wagon. Come, Robert. It is almost your bedtime, anyway.”
“Mother, if anybody isn’t good who lives with you, she ought to be
‘kicked by cripples’! You--”
“Beatrice, where do you learn such expressions?”
“That came from Brother--I mean Mr.--Dolloway’s vocabulary. He has a
choice lot of ‘Sayings’ which he repeats on each and every occasion.
This morning he said something about somebody being as ‘queer as Dick’s
hat-band;’ and when I asked him how queer that was he answered, as
quick as a flash, ‘Went half-way round and tucked under.’ He’s very
original, and ever so funny.”
“He may be; but his expressions on your tongue are not funny, but
silly. Why cannot you pattern after Miss Joanna? You hear only good
English from her careful lips.”
“Natural depravity, Motherkin. But I’ll try. I think myself that
Dollowayisms do not sound as well on ‘Humpty-Dump’s’ lips as they do on
the ‘original Jacob’s.’ There it goes again! Mother, what does make me
so thoughtless?”
“Dearie, I wish I knew!”
“I’ll find out! And I’ll conquer myself if--I can! I will, dear Mother,
if you will keep faith in me.”
“My faith in you will only fail with my life, darling. You must have
faith in yourself, and not settle down to the belief that you cannot
make yourself all that you would be. But--a truce to lectures for
to-night! I want to hear what Roland has to say.”
They went into the “peace-room” again, and Beatrice placed her little
brother beside herself on the rug before the fire “to dry off,” while
Mrs. Beckwith roused Roland from his writing to tell them all about his
new venture.
“Well, you see, Mr. Brook told me that there was no stage running from
this place to Newburgh. There are two, or more, which do go from the
town below us to the city above, but just here there is nothing of the
kind. He proposed that I start a little ‘express route,’ fetching and
delivering parcels for the New Windsorites,--those who either have
no horses of their own, or do not care to trouble to drive regularly
into the city. He will speak to several persons for me, and even a few
families would be a good beginning. He says I can probably buy a small
covered cart at the salesroom in Newburgh, second-hand, but adapted to
my purpose; and that it will not hurt Nan to do the work. He proposes
my making the trips three times a week at first, while I am busy
getting in my crops--”
“Hear! hear!” interrupted Bonny.
“Then later on I can go every day if it seems to be profitable. He also
suggests that I begin right away, and offers to go into town with me
and help me select my vehicle, if you approve. Mr. Dolloway says it
will ruin me; that I’ve ‘undertook more’n a common man’d lay out ter
do, anyhow;’ but I assured the old gentleman that I did not consider
myself a ‘common man’ by any means, but that I was my mother’s son and
meant to be worthy of my parentage.”
“Motherkin, that flattery is intended to wheedle the price of the
‘express wagon’ out of your pocket!” cried Beatrice, again, divining at
once the thought of her mother’s mind.
Not that “wheedling” had any connection with the anxiety of the widow,
but that she reflected, with grave doubts of its wisdom, how deeply she
was dipping into their small sinking fund. She looked up smilingly, but
asked seriously enough, “How much will that cost?”
“From thirty to forty dollars.”
“It will take you many days to get back that much money, even if the
experiment proves a success. The houses are very scattered, and most
of the people about us either very wealthy or very poor,--mill-workers
and farm-employees, Miss Brook told me. How can either class need such
service?”
Roland’s countenance fell. He felt the wide difference between the
caution of maturity and the impulse of youth, and already foresaw
that he would be obliged to relinquish his plan, for the want of that
“paltry sum.” But he hated to give up, and offered a suggestion: “I’m
sure, since he proposed it, that Mr. Brook will lend me the money.”
Mrs. Beckwith’s answer was swift and decided: “Dismiss that notion at
once. With my consent my children shall never run into debt. What we
have of our own, what we can earn, that we may use; but the moment we
begin to use other people’s funds, that moment we not only sacrifice
our own dignity but our freedom. Mr. Brook is a rich man. I do not
doubt that he would give you outright the cart you wish; but you must
be as honorable as he. Poverty need make no difference that way, thank
God. We have sometimes gone pretty hungry, but we have never owed
anybody yet. If you think I seem niggardly about the little left of our
‘insurance money,’ it is because I dare not reduce our rainy-day stock
by any further great amount. However, I will myself see Mr. Brook in
the morning and talk the matter over with him. I have no desire to be
over-prudent, but there are some questions I should like to ask. Now,
Beatrice, if you are ‘dried,’ please open the piano. It is high time a
band of toilers went to rest.”
The devotions of the little family were very simple, and the mother
always led them. It was mostly a service of song, and sent each heart
away into the silence of the night the better and happier for its
sweetness. This time, despite the resolution that it should not last
long, it was prolonged, indeed, until brought to a sudden terminus by
Robert going to sleep in an upright position at his mother’s elbow,
and losing his balance, falling headlong against the piano keys with a
discordant crash!
“Finale! Positively the last appearance, and therefore the last
accident, for the day of ‘Mr. Humpty-Dump’!” cried Roland, and
unceremoniously picked up his small brother and started stairwards with
him.
“Ain’t asleep! Sleep ’self! Lemme ’lone! I want--I want a bee--a
chick--a--a--h-e-n--”
In five minutes the little fellow was in his own cosey “nest,”
unconscious how he arrived there, and dreaming of a poultry-house full
of downy chickens helping him to eat honey from a broken custard-cup.
The last to fall asleep that night under the old-time roof was
Isabelle. Long after the others were at rest she sat by the uncurtained
window of her “studio,” watching the clouds in the sky, and feeling
anything but happy.
“All the others are so busy, and all are earning their own money except
me! Oh! nobody knows how hard it is! To give up everything I liked and
bury myself alive in a horrid country town, which isn’t even a village,
but a collection of scattered tenements, with people living in them who
never call upon their neighbors, except, of course, the Brooks. But
they ought to be kind; they enticed us here! Though I did think this
morning it all was going to be better and easier; to-night I’m utterly
discouraged. If it weren’t for breaking my mother’s heart, I’d run
away!”
Poor Isabelle! She had been the “show pupil” of her class, and the real
talent she did possess had been magnified by injudicious praise into
what was “genius” in her own estimation. She had been the only one who
had disliked the country project, and she found her trials even greater
than she had anticipated.
Presently, by dwelling upon the dark side of her lot, she had worked
herself up into a most unenviable state of mind, and had thrown herself
dramatically upon the floor to sob her grief away. But after a while
she became conscious of some noise outside the building, and timidity
very promptly banished melodrama.
She sat up and strained her ears to hear.
Crunch! crunch! crunch!
“Why--it--sounds--like--like--wheels!” she murmured with chattering
teeth.
“Whack! bang!”
Surely that was a muttered imprecation which she caught!
Thieves? Housebreakers?
She neither dared to move nor cry out; but the five minutes she
remained where she was seemed to her a lifetime. At the end of that
space the echo of retreating footsteps was so plain that she rallied
her courage and ran into Bonny’s room, crying: “Wake up! wake up! We’ve
been robbed! Burglars-- Oh!”
“Yes, dear, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again!” responded Beatrice,
sleepily.