THE SUMMER'S END
One afternoon in late September, Martine sat under the trees in her
mother's corner of the Red Knoll garden. A number of letters lay before
her on a little round table, and beside her, swinging lazily in a
hammock, was Priscilla, the practical, who had often been heard to say
that she despised hammocks.
After a moment Priscilla, bringing herself to a full stop, leaned
forward and gazed intently at Martine.
"I cannot see," she said at length, "that you look so _very_ thin."
"Why should I be _very_ thin?"
"Well, from what I heard I thought you must be. They said you weren't
eating, and you are thinner than you were in the spring. I am sure your
eyes look larger."
"Probably my eyes have grown; I am sure my waistbands have."
There was a twinkle in Martine's brown eyes, as she pushed back a wavy
lock of hair.
"You are just a little paler, too," persisted Priscilla, "but except for
that, no one would believe that you had been so ill."
"I don't believe it myself," replied Martine, "though I am perfectly
willing to take the word of those who say they know. To tell you the
truth, I am rather ashamed to hear that I barely escaped nervous
prostration, just because I tried to stop a horse from running away."
"But you _did_ stop him."
"Then he wasn't running away. It was only that Carlotta had let go the
reins."
"Well, they all say that if you hadn't seized the bridle, he would have
gone straight down the little embankment."
"Nonsense--at any rate I spoilt the effect of it all by fainting, and
yet I shouldn't have fainted if I hadn't been following your example.
The horse had nothing to do with it."
"Oh, Martine!"
"Yes, my dear Prissie. I had been following your old example of
borrowing trouble, and I had been keeping my tribulations to myself,
until I just couldn't bear them. You see it was this way. I was sure
that father wouldn't get well, and that the shock of his death would
kill mother, and Lucian would have to leave college, and I would have to
start out at once to earn my living. Then little things were bothering
me too, like Carlotta's being mean, and Angelina's leaving us with no
one to help, and I was tired of being economical, so the horse was just
the last straw."
Though Martine's explanation was not very lucid, Priscilla certainly
understood her.
"I believe Clare was disappointed," she continued, "that I hadn't at
least one bone broken. She wanted to make a heroine of me, and she isn't
at all pleased when I tell her I wasn't in danger."
"Well, if you were not, Carlotta was. She is very grateful."
"I know, I know," said Martine, hastily. "But when you are not very fond
of people, it is rather disagreeable to have them grateful, especially
for nothing at all. I was really sorry that the person in the carriage
was Carlotta. I suppose this sounds very hateful, for she has written me
a fine letter--says she is sorry she couldn't see me before she went to
the mountains, but still--"
"But still," echoed Priscilla.
"Oh, nothing, except that I like Mrs. Brownville's letter so much
better. She says that I have been a great help to Herbert this
summer--keeping him away from a set of young men the family didn't care
for, and giving him ideals. I shouldn't expect Mrs. Brownville to know
an ideal when she saw it. However, I dare say she's right, only it was
unconscious goodness on my part. I didn't know Herbert had to be kept
away from any set of foolish companions. I simply found him good
company, and I am so used to giving advice to Lucian and Robert that I
naturally favored Herbert in the same way. Then he was tremendously good
in reading Latin with me. Except for this accident I should have been
ahead of you, Prissie dear."
"I should like to have seen Herbert Brownville."
"Yes, it's a pity he had to go back to college before you came. But
you'll see him in Boston some time."
"When do you expect your father?" asked Priscilla.
"Oh, in a week--just think of it--in a week, and he is almost well, and
although he has lost money, things are not going to be so very
dreadful,--not at all as I feared. I looked too far ahead."
"Yes," said Priscilla, mischievously, "jumping at conclusions is almost
as bad as borrowing trouble. They mean much the same thing."
"I am not so sure. I cannot imagine a slow, deliberate person like you
jumping at conclusions, though I have known you to borrow trouble."
"Sometimes I am very hasty," responded Priscilla, slowly, as if
reflecting on something. "There is one thing I ought to tell you. Do you
remember your prize essay last spring?"
"Oh, yes, but I didn't set out to get a prize."
"I know. If you had, I suppose you would have written it all alone."
"What do you mean? I did write it alone."
Then remembering Lucian's help, Martine flushed to the roots of her
hair.
"I did not mean to offend you," continued Priscilla, "for even if Lucian
helped you a little, this was all right; I was only thinking how unfair
I had been. I accidentally saw some notes for your essay in Lucian's
handwriting, and for a little while I felt that you had acted unfairly.
Do you remember one week last spring, when I was stiff and disagreeable
and wouldn't go anywhere with you?"
"_One_ week!" exclaimed Martine, roguishly.
"Oh, I dare say there were others. Only I remember the why of that
particular week."
"But it's so long ago," cried Martine, "Let's not remember it now."
"It's only fair that you should know that I sometimes jump to
conclusions."
"As long as you are ready to jump away from them again, there's no great
harm done."
"That's what I wanted to say. I realized after all that there was no
rule in school against getting help in an essay, and that you didn't
know a prize was to be given when you wrote yours. But I always thought
you ought to know how unfair I had been."
"Then we are friends again," said Martine, laughing, "though I didn't
know we had ever been anything else." Secretly, she thought Priscilla
had made a great ado about nothing. "It's the Puritan way, I suppose,"
she said to herself. Then aloud,--
"As I have forgiven you, we may call it square about those Christmas
photographs. Thus far I have always been able to prevent your paying me
for them. But to-day, when I found your note with this money on my
bureau--really, Priscilla, I was almost offended. So here, child," and
she held out an envelope, "if you will take back this money, I will
forgive you for your unfair thoughts."
Under the circumstances Priscilla could not refuse Martine, and thus
both girls were satisfied.
"There's one thing," said Martine, to change the subject, "I have had
some lovely letters lately. Just think of little Esther's writing me.
Nora must have told her where I was. She hopes I will be able to go on
with the Mansion Class next year--but dear me, Priscilla, she has got
far beyond me; only look at this pen and ink," and she displayed the
last page of the letter, in which Esther had drawn a picture that
Priscilla at once recognized as Martine herself. "Then Alexander Babet
has written me about Yvonne, that she is much stronger, and so happy
with her music lessons,--and would you believe it, they still have some
of that hundred dollars left. It's wonderful how far some people can
make a little money go."
Here Martine sighed, recalling the time when she would not have thought
a hundred dollars too much to spend in gratifying a single small wish.
"Do you know," she continued, "it may be that I can really do something
for Yvonne next year. If papa can't spare the money, why I can give up
something of my own--riding lessons, for example,--and spend what it
would cost for Yvonne. This year I have been so frightfully useless; it
seems as if I hadn't done anything for anybody."
"How foolish you are," exclaimed Priscilla. "If there were nothing else,
you certainly have helped Yvonne and Esther, and just think what Mrs.
Brownville writes about Herbert, and your mother says you have been a
wonderful housekeeper, and that you have taken so much care off her
shoulders, and Angelina--"
"Well, Angelina is rather absurd," interposed Martine; "I was just
coming to myself that evening after--what shall I call it--the Carlotta
incident, when Angelina rushed into the room, and almost threw herself
on my neck. She seemed to think that something awful had happened to me
because she had undertaken to leave us, and that my salvation depended
on her. She said she had had queer feelings all day, and that she just
felt drawn back to Red Knoll, which she never, never, would desert
again. Really it was just as well that she came back, for although
mother was able to get an extra helper, Angelina knew exactly where
things were. Of course she was tremendously proud of what she had
accomplished in her trip to Portsmouth, for she made the house-breaker
admit that he was Miguel Silva, and though she can't recover her money,
she has a kind of wicked satisfaction in knowing that he will be
punished for his other misdeeds."
"She doesn't seem to be quite as Spanish as she was last winter. At
least she doesn't say as much about it."
"No, she gives me the credit for that. She says that I have shown her
that it is wrong to pretend anything. However, on that same Portsmouth
trip, she went down the harbor to look at the island where Cervera's men
were prisoners, and now she likes to speak of the Spaniards in a
patronizing tone as people to be spoken of as inferiors rather than
kinsmen."
"It's astonishing," mused Priscilla, "how many friends you make!"
"Why should it be astonishing? Why shouldn't I make friends?"
"I only meant it was astonishing in comparison with me. No one ever
attaches importance to me. In the past year I have hardly made a new
friend--while you--"
"You have made a friend of me for one thing, and Lucian thinks you are
exactly right, and my mother considers you a perfect model. Oh, yes, and
there's Eunice."
Priscilla, in spite of herself, smiled at Martine's droll tone.
"But think of all the people you have to your credit. Mr. Stacy says he
never saw a young girl talk so intelligently about Plymouth, and the
children are always asking me when you will come again, and in her
secret heart I believe Aunt Tilworth prefers you to me,--and my
mother--"
"What nonsense, Priscilla! It's only because people think me so very
empty-headed when they first meet me, that they are surprised later to
find that there's anything to me, just as I am surprised some times to
discover these quiet dignified girls, like Elinor, and Clare, are really
very good fun when you come to know them better."
"Then," continued Priscilla, "there are Balfour and Mr. Gamut. If you
hadn't been considerate of Balfour's feelings, and invited him to your
house, he wouldn't have met Mr. Gamut, and Eunice says he has made him a
splendid offer, and he will take it as soon as he's through college."
"Oh, well, things may have happened that way; but you know yourself that
I haven't any particular talent for anything, and I never go out of my
way to help people."
"You help them just by being bright and pleasant and making them think
the best of themselves."
"Perhaps; but as to Balfour, I am glad that he's to be helped by Mr.
Gamut, and not by Mr. Blair, or even papa, as I once hoped. For, as it
is, he's much more independent, without feeling that anything has been
done for him, because he's a connection of ours, even though the
cousinship is rather far away. It was so funny, though, to see Mr. Gamut
the evening Carlotta's horse tried to run. He appeared on the scene just
as I fainted, and later, when I came to, he was hopping about, anxious
to do something, but not knowing what to do. Faint as I was, I almost
laughed at him. But that would have been mean, for he had come almost
expressly to bring me news that he had just heard about papa's affairs.
He said he knew I had been worrying, and he wanted to be the first to
tell me. Naturally, he was surprised to find me lying on my back in the
middle of the road. But come, we mustn't waste all the morning here,"
and seizing Priscilla by the arm, Martine fairly dragged her from the
hammock.
"I feel so energetic now," she cried, "that we must do something
exciting--take a long walk to work off my energy--if we could gather a
party, I believe I could climb Agamenticus. What would you say to that,
Prissie?"
The diminutive no longer annoyed Priscilla. She had learned to
understand Martine.
"It isn't necessary for me to say anything. Your mother will tell you
what she thinks about your climbing Agamenticus."
"I suppose it is too far. You always do know better than I. I believe
that next year I shall have to be known as Priscilla's, instead of
Brenda's ward"--and with her hand in Priscilla's, Martine went into the
house.
THE END
HELEN LEAH REED'S "BRENDA" BOOKS
BRENDA, HER SCHOOL AND HER CLUB
Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith.
_The Boston Herald_ says: "Miss Reed's girls have all the impulses and
likes of real girls as their characters are developing, and her record
of their thoughts and actions reads like a chapter snatched from the
page of life. It is bright, genial, merry, wholesome, and full of good
characterizations."
BRENDA'S SUMMER AT ROCKLEY
Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith.
A charming picture of vacation life along the famous North Shore of
Massachusetts.
_The Outlook_ says: "The author is one of the best equipped of our
writers for girls of larger growth. Her stories are strong, intelligent,
and wholesome."
BRENDA'S COUSIN AT RADCLIFFE
Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens.
A remarkably real and fascinating story of a college girl's career,
excelling in interest Miss Reed's first "Brenda" book. The _Providence
News_ says of it: "No better college story has been written." The author
is a graduate of Radcliffe College which she describes.
No better college story has been written.--_Providence News._
Miss Reed is herself a Radcliffe woman, and she has made a sympathetic
and accurate study of the woman's college at Cambridge.--_Chicago
Evening Post._
The author is one of the best equipped of our writers for girls of
larger growth. Her stories are strong, intelligent, and wholesome.--_The
Outlook_, N. Y.
The book has the background of old Cambridge, a little of Harvard, and
Boston in the distance.... The heroine is a fine girl, and the other
characters are girls of many varieties and from many places.--_New York
Commercial Advertiser._
She brings out all sides of the life, and, while making much of the fun
and good fellowship, does not let it be forgotten that work and growth
are the end and object of it all.--_Chicago Tribune._
BRENDA'S BARGAIN
Illustrated.
"The fourth and last of the 'Brenda' books," says _The Bookman_, "deals
with social settlement work, under conditions with which the author is
familiar." The _Boston Transcript_ adds: "This book is by far the best
of the series."
* * * * *
_Another Popular "Brenda" Story_
AMY IN ACADIA
Illustrated by Katharine Pyle.
A delightful scene for a tale that arouses and holds the young reader's
attention and sympathies from the beginning.--_Washington Star._
The entire story is full of life, action, and entertainment, as well as
information.--_Newark Advertiser._
Amy, now a college senior, and some of her friends have various unique
experiences, and incidentally introduce a great many historical details
concerning the descendants of the exiled Acadians in the romantic region
of Clare in Nova Scotia.--_New York Sun._
A splendid tale for girls, carefully written, interesting, and full of
information concerning the romantic region made famous by the
vicissitudes of Evangeline.--_Toronto Globe._
The adventures of Amy and her girl friends among the descendants of the
exiled Acadians have a spice of novelty to them.--_Philadelphia Press._
So well written that it holds the attention of the young reader, and so
well developed in its story as to prove without question another popular
addition to the young folks' library.--_Boston Journal._
* * * * *
_A Story for Younger Girls_
IRMA AND NAP
Illustrated by Clara E. Atwood.
A brightly written story about children from eleven to thirteen years of
age, who live in a suburban town, and attend a public grammar school.
The book is full of incident of school and home life.
The story deals with real life, and is told in the simple and
natural style which characterized Miss Reed's popular "Brenda"
stories.--_Washington Post._
There are little people in this sweetly written story with whom all will
feel at once that they have been long acquainted, so real do they seem,
as well as their plans, their play, and their school and home and
everyday life.--_Boston Courier._
Her children are real; her style also is natural and pleasing.--_The
Outlook_, New York.
Miss Reed's children are perfectly natural and act as real girls would
under the same circumstances. Nap is a lively little dog, who takes an
important part in the development of the story.--_Christian Register_,
Boston.
A clever story, not a bit preachy, but with much influence for right
living in evidence throughout.--_Chicago Evening Post._