A JOLLY HOME-COMING
“My! What great big boys! You can’t possibly be my little baby brother
Roger. And Joe! Why he is like a real young gentleman in his tennis
suit!” And Dorothy kissed her brothers over and over again, as they rode
from the depot in the pony cart to the home of Aunt Winnie, “The Cedars,”
at North Birchland.
“Oh, I don’t know,” drawled Joe, in his good-natured way. “You can’t
complain. You’ve been doing some growing on your own account.”
“And you have got awfully pretty,” lisped Roger, as he “snuggled” up
closer to his sister.
“I think you are just as perfectly handsome as any big lady.”
“My, you little flatterbox!” and Dorothy gave him an oldtime squeeze.
“You have learned more than your A, B, Cs. at kindergarten. I received
all your letters but could not answer the last two as we had such an
awful lot of writing to do at the close when examinations came.”
“Did you pass?” asked the younger brother, by way of showing his
understanding of the scholastic season.
“Oh, yes. I guess Tavia and I did about as well as the others.”
“Why didn’t Tavia come?” went on Roger.
“She is coming, later. You know she had to go home to Dalton first. Oh,
how lovely The Cedars look! And there is daddy on the porch!”
Dorothy could scarcely remain in the cart as it rumbled along the shady
drive that led to the broad veranda of Mrs. White’s handsome summer
residence. Major Dale was waiting to greet his daughter, and Aunt Winnie
came down the steps as the cart drove up.
“Isn’t she big!” exclaimed Roger, as the major folded Dorothy close in
his arms in a most affectionate manner.
“My dear,” whispered Mrs. White, pressing upon Dorothy’s cheek a kiss of
welcome. “You _have_ grown!” and the glance that accompanied this simple
remark spoke in more than words Mrs. White’s admiration for her pretty
niece, and told Dorothy at once, that her Aunt Winnie was entirely
satisfied with the particular lines that “her growth” had taken on.
“You all look so well, and I am so glad to be home again at last,” said
Dorothy as soon as she had a chance to express her opinion. “It is
perfectly fine here.”
“Here come the boys!” called Joe, who was just turning around on the long
drive, preparatory to taking the cart to the stables, and presently Nat
and Ned came bouncing up the steps.
Before Dorothy had a chance to protest both cousins were kissing her at
once—Nat declaring he hadn’t kissed a girl since he left Dorothy after
the automobile ride at Glenwood, and the while Ned was insisting that his
“little brother” should await his turn and allow the head of the house
the rights of his lawful inheritance.
Such jolly big boys as were Ned and Nat always have a way of making
things both lively and interesting, especially when a pretty girl cousin
is “up for entertaining” and, for the remainder of the afternoon, they
entirely monopolized Dorothy, while Joe and Roger looked on, satisfied to
hear their sister’s voice again. As for the major, he sat there perfectly
content to see all his children about him once more, although it was a
trifle odd to find Dorothy so grown up—almost a young lady. And it was so
short a time ago that she would “climb all over him” when a little
homecoming occurred. How she would fuss with his hair, and complain that
no one had attended to his brushes or kept his neck-ties pressed during
her absence.
“But children must grow up,” said the major with a sigh, “and Dorothy is
a fine girl—a Dale—every inch of her!”
That Dorothy was indeed growing to be very handsome was a matter that
Mrs. White contemplated with pardonable pride. Dorothy was now her
especial charge; she would enter society under her safe chaperonage. Of
course she would first finish her education; and the aunt hoped that her
niece would not decide to take the higher branches, inasmuch as this
would keep her longer separated from her relatives. There is plenty of
time Mrs. White decided to learn in our own little world without spending
precious time buried in colleges, forming ideas that are sure to conflict
with the regular home life, and perhaps, depriving one’s family of the
most precious years of a girl’s career—the time between morning and noon
in the life of mortals.
That evening, while Dorothy was dressing for dinner, her aunt mentioned
the matter to her.
“Of course, Dorothy dear,” she said as she watched the girl arrange her
beautiful hair, “it is all very well to take a college course if you
think you would not be satisfied to live in the home-world always. But
your brothers are growing up, and a sister’s influence is of so much
account to growing lads. I hope you will be satisfied to stay home with
us, after you have finished at Glenwood.”
“I’m sure I’m very lonely away from you all,” answered Dorothy, “and, as
you say, it is not likely I will ever want to take up a profession.
Therefore I can best finish my education along the lines I will be
required to be most proficient in.”
“That’s my own Dorothy,” said her aunt.
It was a merry party that sat down to the bountifully supplied table.
Major Dale was, of course, at the head, and Mrs. White occupied the seat
of honor at the other end, while Dorothy and Ned, then Nat and Joe, with
Roger next his father, made up the family party.
Roger insisted on knowing just what Dorothy usually had for dinner at
Glenwood, and upon learning how extremely simple the school menu was he
decided at once he would never go to boarding school.
“When’s Tavia coming?” asked Nat, endeavoring to hide his particular
interest in that question by trying, prematurely to swallow an unusually
large mouthful of food.
“She promised to come in a few weeks,” answered Dorothy. “She expects to
visit Buffalo first.”
“Buffalo?” repeated Nat, vaguely.
“Any objections?” asked Ned pointedly, to tease his younger brother.
“Well,” replied Nat, lamely, “Buffalo is a big city and Tavia
is—is—merely a little girl.”
This remark only made matters worse for Nat, as the others joined in the
“jollying” and he was obliged to admit that he did miss Tavia, and was
very sorry she had decided not to visit Birchland first.
“I don’t blame you, little brother,” declared Ned. “Tavia certainly is a
winner, and when it comes to an all-round jolly,
good-natured—er—ah—um—help me out, Dorothy! Any new adjectives at
Glenwood?”
“Try ‘dandy,’” suggested Joe.
“Oh, great!” put in little Roger, to whom ‘dandy’ always meant something
great.
“Thanks! Thanks!” acknowledged Ned. “I think if Lady Tavia stands for all
of that she surely will be well done.”
“Oh, she can stand for more than that,” insisted her champion. “She once
confided to me that she ‘stood’ for a colored baby. It was christened in
the Dalton canal I believe, and no one, in the crowd of spectators, had
the nerve to stand for the little one but Tavia.”
“And did she give him his name?” asked Roger, all at once interested in
the black baby in the canal.
“She did for a fact,” Nat replied. “Yes, Tavia called that coon Moses,
and, if you don’t believe it she still has an active interest in the
modern human frog; let me tell you she sent him a goat cart on his last
birthday.”
“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Ned significantly. “So that was the goat cart you
bought down at Tim’s, eh? Now, I call that real romantic! Mother, you
must include Mosey when next you invite folks from Dalton.”
“Oh, yes, Aunty, please do,” begged Roger, clapping his hands. “I just
love little colored boys. They talk so funny and warble their eyes so.”
“‘Warble,’” repeated Nat. “Why not ‘scramble’? Scrambled eyes would look
real pretty, I think.”
“Well,” retorted Roger, “I watched a coon boy look that way one day and
the—yolk of his eye stuck away up behind the—the cover. Yes it
did—really,” for the others were laughing at him. “And I told him it was
a good thing that the looker didn’t rub off.”
Everyone agreed with Roger that it was a very good thing that “lookers”
didn’t rub off, and so the small talk drifted from “Mose” to more
substantial topics.
Directly after dinner Dorothy went to the library to sing and play for
the major. She had, of course, improved considerably in her music, and
when the usual favorites were given, including some war songs, besides
“Two Little Boys in Blue” for Roger’s special benefit, the boys kept her
busy the remainder of the evening playing college songs, one after the
other, for, as fast as they discovered they did not know one they would
“make a try” at the next.
“Now they miss Tavia,” whispered Mrs. White in an aside to the major.
“She is a genius at funny songs. What she doesn’t know she has a faculty
for guessing at with splendid results.”
“Yes indeed. It’s a pity she didn’t come along with Dorothy. They have
always been inseparable, and I rather miss the little imp myself
tonight,” admitted the major.
But when the singers came to the old classics, “Seeing Nellie Home” Ned
cut “Nellie” out and substituted Tavia’s name whereat Nat insisted that
he could not stand any more of the “obsequies,” and so broke up the
performance with a heart-rending and ear-splitting discordant yell.
“Well, you’ll feel better after that, old boy,” remarked Ned. “It must be
something awful to have a thing like that in your system.”
But Nat was not altogether joking. In fact he had more reason than was
apparent for wishing Tavia was with the little party. Tavia had written
one or two letters to Nat—just friendly notes of course—but the tone of
them caused the youth to think that Tavia Travers when with Dorothy Dale
was one girl, and Tavia Travers with others—the Buffalo people for
example—might be quite a different person.
“She’s like an hour glass,” thought Nat, as he stood on the side porch
and tried to laugh at himself for being “spoony.” Then he went on: “She’s
full of ‘sand’ all right, but too easily influenced. Now with Dorothy—”
But at that Nat turned suddenly and went to join the others in the
library. It was nonsense for him to worry about a girl—probably she would
not thank him for his trouble, could she know that he had the audacity to
question her conduct.
But, in spite of this, thoughts of Tavia persisted in thrusting
themselves upon him. After all, sincerity of purpose is a power that,
once aroused, is not easily cast aside. It is, without question, one of
the greatest factors for good in all this big and complicated system of
endeavor—in reality the tie that binds.
So that Nat had taken Tavia’s affairs “to heart” as he admitted to
himself, when thinking the entire matter over very late that night, and,
from that time on, whether he willed or not, it seemed to him that these
affairs of Tavia’s had a queer way of “following him up,” although he
little realized that this was the price he would be called upon to pay
for his sincerity of purpose—the live factor that exists in spite of all
obstacles of indifference.