KATHLEEN RECEIVES A SHOCK
When Kathleen awoke that morning in her strange surroundings, it was
with somewhat mixed sensations. She lay, with eyes still half closed,
recalling the events of the previous evening. They all seemed much
more like things one remembers in a dream than any waking reality. It
had all been wonderful, and she had been happier than she could ever
remember being in her life, but at the same time it all seemed very
strange and unreal. There was the dinner, for instance, so different
from dinner at home. When she innocently inquired if it were the cook’s
day out, her mother had smiled, and told her that there wasn’t any
cook, and that she and Nora did all the housework themselves. She had
always supposed that every one had at least one maid, unless they were
people of the servant class, like Sarah and Selma. The thought that
her mother and sister might belong to that class was not altogether
agreeable, but a glance at Mrs. O’Neil’s sweet, refined face, reassured
her on that point, and she resolved to tell Daddy about it, and ask
him to send a servant at once to her mother and Nora. Daddy had never
refused her anything, and she was sure he would not refuse her this.
She had sat in her mother’s lap for a long time after dinner, and
although they had neither of them talked very much, it had been very
beautiful. Later, when she was in bed, her mother had knelt by her
bedside, with such a strange, wonderful look in her eyes.
“I believe you love me as much as Daddy does!” Kathleen had said,
wonderingly, and her mother had answered very softly, “Indeed, indeed I
do, my darling.” And when she had fallen asleep at last, her mother’s
hand was fast clasped in hers.
But now it was morning, and things were beginning to look a little more
commonplace. She remembered that there was no bathroom connected with
the studio, for one thing. It would not be comfortable to dress without
her morning bath. The thought of a cold sponge in a tin foot-tub did
not appeal to her, and she decided to omit her usual ablutions that
morning, even if her mother should object, as Sarah frequently did.
Then there was the question of breakfast. She did not like the idea of
not only eating but cooking breakfast in the room where one had slept
all night. To be sure, the studio was large and airy, and when Nora
had described the life there, it had sounded quite fascinating. But
Kathleen had been accustomed to every luxury since she could remember,
and somehow the reality did not seem as attractive as she had pictured
it in her imagination.
It was very quiet, and Kathleen wondered if her mother were still
asleep. She was just opening her eyes, with the intention of finding
out, when the door opened, and Mrs. O’Neil, already dressed, even to a
hat and a long ulster, came in, laden with parcels.
“Why, Mother,” gasped Kathleen in astonishment, “you haven’t been out
already, have you?”
“Yes, indeed I have,” said her mother, smiling. “I went to buy some
things for breakfast. I hoped you wouldn’t wake until I got back.”
“What sort of things?” inquired Kathleen in a tone of deep interest.
“Rolls and fresh eggs, and a jar of marmalade.”
Kathleen was sitting up in bed now, looking a good deal puzzled.
“I didn’t know people went out to buy things like that,” she said. “I
thought men always brought them to the basement door.”
Mrs. O’Neil laughed.
“Well, you see, we haven’t any basement door,” she said, “so we have to
do our marketing ourselves. We don’t always have eggs and marmalade
for breakfast, but this is a very particular occasion. I don’t have my
little Kathleen with me every morning, you know.” Mrs. O’Neil’s voice
trembled, and although she was still smiling, there were tears in her
eyes.
Kathleen was deeply impressed.
“It seems very queer,” she said, slowly. “I never thought of eggs and
marmalade as being a treat. We have them every morning at home.”
“I know you do, darling. Now would you like to get up, and dress, while
I get breakfast, or shall I bring it to you in bed?”
Kathleen said she would rather get up. She did not even object to the
tin tub, when her mother filled it from the tap in the hall. She was
very quiet all the time she washed and dressed. Something was troubling
her, and Kathleen was not used to being troubled.
“I suppose Nora dresses herself without any help,” she remarked, when,
after several unsuccessful attempts to button her boots, she was forced
to apply to her mother for assistance.
Mrs. O’Neil was forced to admit that Nora did.
“I’m afraid I’m a very stupid person,” said Kathleen, with a sigh.
“Sarah says I’m the most helpless girl of my age that she ever saw. I
think I’ll ask her to teach me to do more for myself. Perhaps she’ll
like me better then.”
There was a quiver in Kathleen’s voice, and her mother bent forward
impulsively, and kissed the sober little face.
“Oh, my darling!” was all she said, but Kathleen felt suddenly that she
was being understood as no one had ever seemed to understand her before.
It all seemed much like a picnic to Kathleen, but it was a very
pleasant picnic. It was very interesting to watch her mother’s
manipulations with the tiny gas stove, on which the eggs were boiled,
and the coffee made, and when breakfast was over, she requested to be
permitted to aid in the dish-washing, which the evening before she had
only watched from a distance.
“It’s really great fun,” she announced, rubbing a cup so vigorously
with the dish-towel that her cheeks tingled from exertion. “I think
I shall go down to the kitchen sometimes and help Ellen. You know
it was Ellen who brought Nora into the house that Sunday. She never
found out it wasn’t me. I met her on the stairs the other day, and she
laughed, and whispered that she hoped I appreciated her not telling any
one about my going out alone. I never supposed any two people, even
if they were twins, could look quite so much alike. Why, even Nora’s
clothes fit me just as well as if they were made for me. I don’t like
them much, though; the boots are so thick, and I hate darns in my
stockings. Are all Nora’s stockings darned?”
“I am afraid they are,” said Mrs. O’Neil, sadly. “I am sorry to say
Nora is rather hard on her clothes.”
“So am I,” said Kathleen. “Sarah says she never saw any one so careless
about her clothes as I am. And just as soon as they begin to need
mending Mrs. Anderson gives them away, and buys me new things. Aunt
Kitty hates old clothes, too. Do you know Aunt Kitty?”
“No, dear.”
“She’s Daddy’s sister, but she’s ever so much younger than Daddy, and
awfully pretty. She used to live with us, and lots of young gentlemen
wanted to marry her. I’ve heard people say she was a great belle.
She’s married to Uncle Stephen Carew now, and they have a house on
Seventy-second Street. Aunt Kitty and Uncle Stephen are going to
Bermuda to-day. I wish they would take me with them, for Daddy is
there, you know, and I do miss him so dreadfully.”
“You love your daddy very dearly, don’t you, Kathleen?” Mrs. O’Neil
said, softly.
“Of course I do, and he loves me, too, better than any one else in the
world. There, I think that cup must be dry. Shall I put it away on the
shelf with the others? O dear! I’ve knocked down a plate. I hope it
isn’t broken. It is, though. Oh, I’m so sorry!”
[Illustration: “YOU LOVE YOUR DADDY VERY DEARLY, DON’T YOU, KATHLEEN?”
_Page 112._]
“Never mind, darling; I’ll pick up the pieces. You might cut your
fingers. Now, suppose you go and look at Nora’s books. You may find
something you will enjoy reading while I make the beds and tidy up the
studio.”
Kathleen retired somewhat crestfallen, but she was destined to still
further humiliation.
“Why, Mother,” she cried, after a short examination of the pile of
school-books on the table, “does Nora study algebra and Latin?”
“Yes, dear, she began Latin in the autumn, and she has just commenced
algebra.”
“She must be very clever,” said Kathleen, reflectively. “I hate
arithmetic, and I don’t know a word of Latin. I can speak French,
though, and play the piano a little, too,” she added more hopefully.
“I am so glad, dear; I wish I could hear you play. Your father and I
were both so fond of music, and he had a glorious voice.”
Kathleen’s cheeks grew suddenly hot.
“Daddy is my father,” she said, decidedly; “I don’t want to hear about
the other one.”
She was sorry the moment the words were uttered, for the look of pain
on her mother’s face touched a chord of sympathy, which nothing had
ever touched before. She was not by any means a hard-hearted child,
but it had simply never occurred to her to consider any one’s feelings
but her own. Mrs. O’Neil said nothing, however, but went quietly on
with her work, and Kathleen wisely decided that it would be better not
to continue the subject.
“I wish I hadn’t said that about my other father,” she told herself
regretfully. “I wouldn’t have hurt my mother’s feelings for the
world, but of course nobody could ever take Daddy’s place. It’s very
interesting here, and Mother is a darling, but I don’t think I should
like to live in one room, and do housework all the time. I wonder how
soon Nora will come.”
That was a question destined to be asked many times during the next two
hours. It was asked not only by Kathleen, but by Mrs. O’Neil as well,
and as the morning wore away, and still no Nora appeared, the mother’s
face grew very grave and anxious.
“I cannot understand it at all,” she said at last, when the hands of
the clock pointed to half-past eleven, and nothing had happened. “Nora
is so conscientious, and she knows how anxious I must be.”
“Perhaps there was something the matter with the car,” suggested
Kathleen, “or perhaps Sarah wouldn’t let her go out alone. O dear! I
do wish she’d come! I was going to take Muriel to the theatre this
afternoon, to see ‘The Little Princess.’ You don’t suppose Nora is
staying away on purpose, do you? It’s very nice at my house, and
perhaps she thinks she would like to stay longer.”
“I am quite sure Nora is doing nothing wrong,” said Mrs. O’Neil, and
there was so much sharpness in her tone that Kathleen regarded her
mother in astonishment.
“Why, I believe you can be cross, too,” she said innocently, at which
remark Mrs. O’Neil pulled herself together with an effort and tried to
laugh.
“I am afraid I am a cross little mother,” she said, apologetically,
“but I am so worried about Nora. I did very wrong in consenting to the
plan. If anything happens, it will be all my fault.”
“No, it won’t,” protested Kathleen, “it will be all mine. I said I
wouldn’t go, and you were afraid I had convulsions when I cried. I
don’t think I ought to have said that about convulsions. I did have
them when I was teething, Daddy says, but I’ve never had any since. I
didn’t mean to frighten you, but you see, I never had a mother before,
and it seemed as if I just couldn’t go away so soon.”
There was a catch in Kathleen’s voice, which ended in a sob, and, with
a pang of remorse, Mrs. O’Neil gathered the little girl in her arms
and hugged her.
At one o’clock Kathleen announced that she was hungry, and her
mother--who, in her growing anxiety, had forgotten all about
luncheon--hastened to prepare a simple meal of bread and milk. Kathleen
was not fond of bread and milk, but was too polite to say so, so she
swallowed the food in silence. Mrs. O’Neil herself was, by this time,
far too anxious to eat a mouthful.
“Kathleen darling,” she said suddenly, “would you mind very much being
left alone for a little while? I must go and find out what is keeping
Nora.”
“I won’t mind,” said Kathleen, readily. “I’m used to staying by myself,
when Mrs. Anderson and Sarah are out, but don’t stay any longer than
you can help, and be sure to bring Nora back. I want my own clothes,
and I think I’d like to go home.”
“I will do what I can,” her mother promised, and five minutes later she
was hurrying down-stairs, her heart heavy with anxiety and remorse.
It was very quiet in the studio after Mrs. O’Neil had gone out.
Kathleen tried to read, but in a few minutes she threw down her book,
and gave herself up to reflections. She wished she had not insisted on
spending the night with her mother, and changing places with Nora.
Mother was very sweet and dear, but she did not look happy, and it did
seem strange what could have become of Nora. After all, it might have
been wiser to have gone home, and said nothing to any one till Daddy
came back from Bermuda. Daddy was so good, she was sure he would not
have refused to let her see her own mother, when he knew how much they
wanted each other. Dear, dear Daddy! how she missed him! Nobody in the
world could ever take his place; not even her newly found mother. As
for that other father, who loved music, and had a glorious voice, she
would not even think about him.
Kathleen’s reflections were cut short by a knock at the door, and
in answer to her “Come in,” a girl of about her own age presented
herself. The girl wore a red dress, and a hat of the same color, while
a large pair of gold earrings hung from her ears. Kathleen stared at
this unexpected intruder in undisguised astonishment, but the intruder
herself did not appear at all disturbed.
“Hello!” she remarked cheerfully. “I met May Judson on the stairs, and
she told me you were in, and your mamma was out.”
“How do you do?” said Kathleen, not knowing what else to say. “Won’t
you sit down?” she added, with a sudden recollection of the laws of
hospitality.
The girl complied, after having first removed her hat and jacket.
“O dear!” thought Kathleen in dismay, “she’s going to stay, and I
haven’t any idea who she is, or what I ought to say to her. What shall
I do?”
“I guess you know what I’ve come to talk about,” said the visitor, when
she had established herself comfortably on the sofa.
“No, I don’t,” answered Kathleen, bluntly.
The girl flushed, and bit her lip with annoyance.
“Oh, yes, you know all right,” she said; “it’s about that composition.
I think you’re real mean about it, and so does Papa. I told him last
night, and he says if you’ll fix it so I win a prize, he’ll let you
choose anything you want in the store.”
“What is it you want me to do?” inquired Kathleen, curiously.
“Oh, don’t pretend to be so silly. You know perfectly well. All I ask
is that you’ll help me write that horrid composition, and I really
think you might.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t; I couldn’t really!” cried Kathleen, quite
forgetting her character for the moment. “I hate compositions.”
“You hate composition!” repeated the visitor in a tone of withering
scorn. “That’s a nice way to talk, isn’t it? You’ve written the best
composition in school this year, and you know it, too. I’d be ashamed
of myself to tell such fibs. I shall tell Papa about you, and I guess
he won’t let you have any presents out of his store.”
“I don’t want any presents out of your father’s old store,” cried
Kathleen, indignantly. “My daddy gives me all the presents I want. I
can’t help you with your composition; I don’t know how, and I wish
you’d go away, and leave me alone.”
At that moment the door opened for the second time, but without the
ceremony of knocking, and two children--a little girl and a little
boy--walked into the room with the air of being very much at home there.
“Oh, Nora,” began the new girl, “Jimmy and I came to see if we could
stay with you for a while. Mrs. Flinn’s cleaning our flat, and she
told us to keep out of the way. Papa and Mamma are at the show, and we
thought perhaps you’d tell us stories.”
“Tell you stories!” gasped poor Kathleen, in growing bewilderment.
“Why, I can’t; I never told anybody a story in my life. Oh, I do wish
you’d all go away and not bother.”
May Judson’s blue eyes opened wide in amazement, and her brother Jimmy
gave vent to his feelings in a long whistle, but Lina Rosenbaum was the
most indignant of the party.
“Just listen to her!” she scoffed, turning to the Judsons. “That’s the
way she’s been talking to me. She says she hates writing compositions,
when everybody knows she just loves it. She’s the biggest story-teller
in New York, that’s what she is.”
“She is not a story-teller,” declared Jimmy, his little face reddening
with anger. “If you say that again, Lina Rosenbaum, I’ll--I’ll hit you.”
Jimmy doubled his small little fist as he spoke, and shook it
menacingly at Lina. Kathleen was conscious of a sudden little thrill of
admiration. This was the first time in her life that she had ever been
championed by any one. For the moment she quite forgot that it was Nora
and not herself for whom the boy was standing up. Lina turned towards
the door.
“I’m going,” she announced, haughtily. “I don’t intend to stay in a
place where I’m treated like this. You just wait and see when I ever
ask you to do anything for me again, Miss Nora O’Neil. And as for you,
you two little----” Anger choked her, and she flounced out of the
studio, banging the door behind her.
Kathleen gave a sigh of relief, but her troubles were not yet over, for
the two other visitors still remained standing in the middle of the
room, staring at her in round-eyed astonishment.
“You didn’t really say it, did you, Nora?” inquired May, incredulously.
“Say what?” faltered Kathleen.
“That you hated writing composition. You told her you wouldn’t help her
write one yesterday, but that wasn’t the reason.”
“I--I don’t know what I said,” stammered poor Kathleen. “I didn’t tell
a story, anyway, and I’m glad that boy said I didn’t. Oh, won’t you
please go away? Mother’s out, and I don’t know what to say to you.”
And, to the great astonishment of the Judsons, the supposed Nora burst
into tears.
To have their friend in tears was more than the devoted Judsons could
endure. They were both at her side in a moment, and May’s small,
impetuous arms were round her neck.
“Oh, Nora dear, please don’t cry,” she implored. “We won’t bother you;
we’ll go right away, but--but you never acted like this before. Are you
sick? Oh, I hope it isn’t scarlet fever. Mamma says scarlet fever’s
much worse than measles.”
“Please don’t squeeze me so tight,” expostulated Kathleen, with
difficulty extricating herself from May’s embrace. “You’re very kind,
but I’m afraid you don’t understand, and I can’t explain. May be
Mother’ll tell you. Oh, here she comes! I’m so glad. Mother, won’t you
please explain? They think I’m Nora, and---- Why, Mother, what is the
matter?”
Mrs. O’Neil had dropped into the chair by the door, and was shaking
from head to foot. She was very pale, and there was a strange,
frightened look in her eyes. Kathleen sprang to her mother’s side, and
caught one of the cold hands in hers.
“Mother, oh, Mother dear, what is it?” she cried in sudden terror. “Has
something awful happened? Is Nora dead?”
Then Mrs. O’Neil found her voice, but it was in a very low, tremulous
voice that she answered.
“No, no, darling, nothing so terrible as that, but I have had a great
shock. They have carried Nora off to Bermuda. The ship sailed this
morning.”
“To Bermuda!” shrieked Kathleen, everything else forgotten in the shock
of this news. “To Daddy! They took her instead of me, and she let
them--she didn’t tell! And I wanted to go to Bermuda more than anything
else in the world!” And Kathleen cast herself upon the floor, and
wailed as loudly as if she had been two years old instead of twelve.
Mrs. O’Neil sank back in her chair, and covered her face with her
hands. She was a rather helpless little woman at times, and the present
crisis was more than she felt herself capable of meeting. Jimmy and May
continued to stare in speechless amazement. It was Jimmy, however, who
was the first to recover from the shock. Jimmy, like all boys, hated
scenes.
“Get up, Nora,” he commanded, approaching the prostrate Kathleen;
“don’t howl like that. You’re making an awful noise, and your mother’s
crying, too. Oh, I say, Nora, what is it all about, anyhow?”
Then Kathleen lifted her head, and proclaimed the truth to her
astonished companions.
“I’m not Nora,” she cried, indignantly. “Nora’s gone to Bermuda, to my
daddy. He doesn’t want her; he wants me. Oh! Oh! Oh!” Another prolonged
wail completed the sentence.
“You’re not Nora!” gasped Jimmy. “Then--then, who are you?”
“I’m Kathleen Crawford,” cried the little impostor; “I’m Nora’s twin
sister.”