THE CODA.
If Barbara had been at home when her letter arrived, she would have
been quite content with the excitement it caused. At first Frances and
Donald were inclined to think it a huge joke, but having read to the
end of Barbara's letter they felt rather differently. Aunt Anne had
acted more wisely than she knew in allowing her niece to be the one to
write and tell of her engagement.
"Of course," Donald said in his decided way, "we must do the proper
thing by her and treat her nicely--for after all, Frances, she's been
rather a brick about Barbara--and the last time she stayed she was much
improved."
"It'll be interesting having a new uncle too," Frances remarked
complacently. "We're rather badly off for uncles, Don, and from what
Barbara says this Mr. Morton must be very--nice, though, of course,
Barbara isn't quite to be trusted, seeing she's such a friend of
Denys'. Let me see, now, what relation will _he_ be to us?"
"Oh, don't bother about relationships at present--you may just have to
rearrange them again," Donald said impatiently. "Let's go and be
thinking of something to welcome Barbara back."
On that matter they held a long consultation, Donald being in favour of
taking the horse out of the fly and drawing it home themselves, and
Frances inclining more to wreaths and decoration.
She got her way in the end, as she pointed out to her brother that the
cabman would probably not allow them to take the horse out, and that
they would have to pay for it all the same, and worst of all, that they
would be so much out of breath with pulling that they would not be able
to ask any questions when they got home. It was probably the last
reason that weighed the most with Donald, who agreed to devote his
energies to making an archway over the garden path and setting off some
fireworks in the evening.
On the whole, the arch was quite a success, and looked very pretty,
though it was not so secure as it might have been, and its makers felt
it safer to fasten to it a large label with the inscription, "Not to be
handled."
The travellers were not to arrive till late in the afternoon, and poor
Mrs. Britton was driven nearly distracted by the intense excitement
pervading among the children during the morning. One of the twins had
actually suggested putting on her best frock the night before so as to
be quite ready on the following day.
It is seldom that such an eagerly-expected event is not disappointing
in some detail of its fulfilment, but there was not a shade upon the
happiness on this occasion. Barbara and Miss Britton arrived at the
right time, _with_ their luggage; the archway remained firm until both
the travellers had passed underneath (though it collapsed shortly
afterwards); and the fireworks were as successful as such things
usually are. It is true that Donald was a trifle hurried over
displaying them, for Barbara was as anxious to unpack the treasures she
had brought home as the children were to see them.
"You are still a _little_ thin, dear," Mrs. Britton said, as she
watched her daughter; but Barbara declared it was imagination, and
Donald and Frances gave it as their opinion that it was only the
"Frenchy kind of look she had."
"You have dressed her in such jolly things, aunt," Frances said
admiringly. "I like a person to come home looking like the country
she's come from, and it'll be a great advantage to her teaching--she'll
get heaps of pupils, I'm sure."
"Oh, we'll not talk about the teaching just yet," Mrs. Britton said
quickly. "She must have a week or two free first, and then it will be
time enough for us to think about it;" and to that there was no
dissentient voice--except Barbara's.
Aunt Anne had brought home some treasures too; but was quite willing to
keep hers till later, and the children declared, with round eyes of
delight, that Barbara had brought enough to last for a very long time.
"You really were a brick to bring so many lovely things, Barbara," said
Frances, trying to fix in a brooch with one hand while she stroked a
silk blouse with the other. "This brooch is so pretty, I'm really not
going to lose it, though I can't think how you got enough money to buy
so much."
Miss Britton looked across at her niece, who hastily dived into her
trunk again; but the former confided to her sister-in-law afterwards,
that Barbara had distributed the remainder of the money she had given
her for riding lessons between the bath-boy and presents for the
home-people, which news made Mrs. Britton prize _her_ share of the
treasures more than ever.
The only thing that a little disappointed the children was that "Uncle
Morton" had not arrived too.
"It's a pity he didn't come with you, we're all so anxious to see him,"
Frances remarked, looking at her aunt, whom Barbara relieved by
answering in her stead.
"Both Mr. Morton and his nephew are coming soon to the inn," she said,
"so you haven't long to wait."
But their curiosity rose to almost unbearable heights before the
fortnight was over, and Barbara had a little difficulty in making them
solemnly promise that they would not bother their aunt with questions
meanwhile.
Frances and Donald both wished to go to the station to meet the train,
but this their mother forbade.
"You will see them here to-night," she said; "they are coming up to
dinner. Meanwhile, content yourselves with Barbara."
"Yes," remarked Donald; "we really didn't realise how much we missed
Barbara until she was back. It's just jolly having her."
Nevertheless, they disappeared suddenly during the afternoon, and did
not return until about an hour before dinner, when they both wore the
half sheepish, half triumphant expression that Barbara knew of old
meant some escapade successfully carried through. Knowing they would
probably tell her what it was, she went on arranging the flowers on the
dinner-table while they fidgeted round the room.
"I say," Donald said at last, "I really think Uncle Morton is one of
the nicest elderly men I've met for some time, perhaps ever."
"Yes," Frances agreed; "I think so too. He'll be quite an exquisition
as an uncle. But we didn't go to the station," she hastened to add, as
Barbara turned round to listen. "Donald wanted to go up to the inn
this afternoon--at least we both did--to see Mr. Bates about the rabbit
he promised us, and we were talking to him quite comfortably when a
gentleman came and stood at the door looking into the passage."
"'That's an American gentleman as has come to-day with his nephew,' Mr.
Bates remarked, and, of course, we knew it must be Uncle Morton, and we
thought since we _were_ there it would be rather unkind to go away
without ever giving him a welcoming word. Mr. Bates thought so too
when we asked his opinion, so we just went and introduced ourselves,
and told him we were glad to see him, and so on. We saw the nephew
too."
"Yes," Donald went on, without giving Barbara a chance to speak, "and
as he seemed very glad to see us, and said it was kind of us to look in
on him, of course we stayed a little longer. He's an interesting man."
"I'm glad you like him," Barbara said, bubbling over with laughter.
"I'm sure it must be a relief to him."
"Yes," Donald nodded, "and to the nephew too. I think we'll be quite
good friends with him. You see, Barbara," he went on, fearing lest she
should feel disapproval about their visit, "it really was better for
them not to have to face us _all_ in a mass. Now they've got _us_
over--they've only to get mother's approval."
But this remark was altogether too much for Barbara's gravity, and she
drove her brother and sister off to make themselves presentable.
But when their visitors had gone that evening and she was talking in
her mother's room, she told the story of the afternoon again, and they
laughed over it together.
"Conceited little creatures," Mrs. Britton said. "But my judgment
coincides with theirs, Barbara--and yours. I think he is one of the
nicest men I have met, and it is splendid to see them so happy."
"Yes," Barbara replied contentedly; "it was really rather a happy thing
that I was chased by that cyclist and met the 'American pretender,'
wasn't it, mother?"
"I dare say it was," said Mrs. Britton; but she eyed her daughter
rather wistfully, then kissed her and bade her go to bed, though long
after the girl had left her she sit thinking. It was clear to her, as
it had been to Aunt Anne for some time, that Denys Morton was anxious
to make his uncle Barbara's, by a less round-about method than through
his connection with Aunt Anne; and before a week had passed he had
spoken of his desire, astonishing no one so much as Barbara herself.
"Of course," said Donald, who had gone to his mother for information on
the matter, and was now discussing it in the privacy of the apple-tree
with Frances, "I felt, as eldest son, I ought to be told about it,
though I knew as soon as I saw Denys Morton that he wanted to marry
Barbara."
"He would have been very foolish if he hadn't," Frances remarked.
"But, of course, Barbara is such an unself-conscious kind of person
that it was quite natural _she_ should be surprised. Aunt Anne says
she would choose Denys above every one for Barbara--only, naturally,
she's got a leaning to the family."
Donald nodded.
"So have I, though that's no good if Barbara doesn't want to make up
her mind, and she seems not to. In any case, mother thinks she's too
young, though I should have thought that Aunt Anne kind of balanced
it--being fairly old, you know; and besides, Denys is a lot older than
she is."
"Well," said Frances, "_I_ shall give him all the encouragement I can,
for I think he's very nice. I believe, Donald, that he didn't go to
Rouen just because it's an infectious kind of thing, and he didn't want
to ask Barbara before he had told mother and us----"
"There he is," interrupted Donald. "He looks rather down; let's go and
cheer him up," and the two dropped over the wall into the field that
bordered the garden. They sauntered towards the path leading to the
river, and surprised Denys not a little by suddenly joining him.
[Illustration: "They surprised Denys by suddenly joining him."]
"I say," Donald began, without giving him time to speak, "I don't think
you need be worried,--I've known Barbara a good long time, and I've
never known her to be so absent-minded before."
To say that Denys was startled is keeping strictly within the limits of
truth, and at first he was not sure whether he felt angry or amused.
But he had grown pretty well accustomed to Donald and Frances by this
time, and after a moment of embarrassment accepted the situation.
"Thank you," he said, "it is kind of you to take an interest in--me."
"Not at all," Frances said graciously, "we think it's really rather
hard lines on you, as, of course we knew all along you wanted to marry
Barbara."
"By jove!" muttered Denys a little helplessly.
"Yes, of course," Donald put in. "Anybody sensible would want to do
that. If I hadn't been her brother _I_ should have. But though it's
rather rough on you, I think two months' absence in America will just
be the thing for Barbara."
The young man gazed at his youthful adviser, and was so overpowered
that he could think of nothing to say.
"When do you go?" Donald continued.
"Next week. I'm coming back in six weeks--not two months--for my
uncle's wedding," said Denys, finding his voice.
There was a pause, and Frances, seeing from her brother's expression
that he was deep in thought, forbore to make any remark until she saw
him smile, then she said--
"Well, Donald?"
But her brother addressed himself to Denys--
"Considering you've been here a good time now," he said, "you haven't
seen much of the country really. Suppose you came for a long walk on
the moor to-morrow with Frances and me--and Barbara?"
Denys' eyes lighted up. "If Barbara will, I shall be charmed," he said.
"I think she'll come," Donald said cheerfully; and moved by some
persuasion or force Barbara consented, and the four started off across
the moors.
They started together--that was certain--but did not return in the same
manner, for Donald and Frances had got most thoroughly lost, although
as Donald said, with a grin, "he had walked that moor, man and boy, for
the past six years."
But when the two truants returned they did not seem at all cast down by
their misfortune, while Denys certainly came back in a more cheerful
mood than that in which he had set out.
"I think you'll find things all right when you come back again," Donald
whispered on the morning the visitors were to go, and Denys, nodding,
gripped his hand so tightly that the boy winced.
"I think," said Frances, as she watched the carriage disappearing--"I
think, Donald, Aunt Anne ought to be very thankful she was so generous.
She has been rewarded, hasn't she, in finding Uncle Morton?"
"Yes, virtue has had its reward. But you know, Frances, I think we're
being rather generous too."
"Yes?" Frances said interrogatively.
"Well, the end will be that we lose Barbara, and we haven't raised a
finger to prevent it--on the contrary we've helped--and you know we're
never likely to find another sister like her."
"No, of course not. But all the same a wedding--and I suppose there'll
be two--will make a grand finale like the 'Codas' you have in marches."
"Yes. You're really rather poetical, Frances. And perhaps by the time
you're ready for France another aunt will turn up to take you there."
"I hope so, though they can't always expect to find Uncle Mortons as a
reward. But there's time enough to think of that; and at any rate,
Don, I'm going to be bride's-maid at the wedding."
"Yes," said Donald. "And there'll be two wedding cakes running,
Fran--think of that!"