A
LL Candace's timidity fled at the sight of Georgie's distress. She hurried across the room, knelt down by the sofa, and took her cousin's hand, which was as cold as a stone, between her own warm ones.
"What is it, Georgie? Don't cry so, Georgie, dear, please don't! Oh, what is the matter?" she said, in a voice so soft and affectionate and pleading, that it made its way straight to poor miserable Georgie's heart. She still sobbed; she still hid her face in the pillow; but she let Cannie hold her hand and stroke and kiss it, and seemed to find a little soothing in the kind touch and the tender words.
After a while the sobs grew fainter, and Georgie lay half exhausted, with her eyesshut, only now and then giving Cannie's hand a squeeze. Hers was one of those natures which cannot bear to suffer alone. Whatever was the matter, Georgie instinctively reached out for sympathy to the nearest source from which it could be had. Gertrude, her natural confidante, was away; and Candace, her sweet face full of pity and concern, was close at hand. Her touch felt warm and comforting; her tender voice was irresistible to Georgie's desolate mood. She turned her wet face with a sudden burst of gratitude and trust toward the little cousin whom she had till now held so cheaply, and who, at that moment, seemed the only friend left within reach.
"Cannie," she said, "I've a great mind to tell you—" Then she stopped.
Confidence is like a timid bird, which hops nearer and nearer to the hand that holds out a crumb, but all the while keeps its wings half poised for flight, should a gesture alarm it. Candace had the instinctive wisdom of a loving heart. She did not interrupt Georgiewith a word; only her anxious eyes asked the questions which her tongue did not utter.
"I am in such trouble," said Georgie, thawing more and more under the influence of Cannie's silence and Cannie's look,—"in such a dreadful scrape! Oh, what will become of me?" wringing her hands. "You are so good, Cannie,—so kind. Will you promise not to breathe a word to anybody if I tell you all about it?"
"Yes," said Candace, "I promise."
"I know you can keep a secret," continued Georgie, sighing heavily; "you never said a word about that time at Fort Greene, yet I know you must have wondered what it all meant." A little pause; then she went on: "There really wasn't any harm in it when it began. It was last winter. One day Berry and I had been laughing over some of the 'Personals' in the 'Herald,' and just for fun we wrote one ourselves and sent it to the paper. It was an advertisement. We pretended it came from a lady who wanted to make the acquaintance of an eligible gentlemanwith a view to matrimony. We made it as ridiculous as we could, and we signed it 'Laura,' and said that all the answers could be sent to the Station D Post-office."
"And did you get any answers?"
"Oh, quantities! I never imagined that people could be so foolish. Why, there were a hundred and thirty the very first day, and ever so many afterward. Some of them were sentimental, and some of them were ridiculous, and some were really funny. I think the funny ones came from people who suspected that the advertisement was a hoax; but we got a great deal of amusement out of it, and we never for a moment dreamed that any one would suspect who put it in. Oh, how I wish we never had; for it brought that horrible man down upon us, and since then we have never had any peace of our lives."
"What horrible man?" asked Candace, more and more surprised.
"You saw him at Fort Greene. I don't know who he is myself, really. He says his name is James Alexander, but he tells suchfrightful lies that I don't believe it is his real name at all. He is a dreadful creature, and he has treated us so—" Georgie broke down into another fit of crying.
"But I don't understand," said Candace. "How could he treat you badly? How did he come to know you? What right had he to speak to you at all?"
"Oh, no right!" explained Georgie, quivering with sobs. "It was only that he found out about the advertisement, and then he frightened us. He suspected something, and hung about the post-office and watched, till one time when Berry and I went to get the 'Laura' letters. Then he followed us home, and found out where we both lived, and wrote to say that he had become possessed of our secret, and that he was a poor man in need of money, and if we would at once send him twenty-five dollars he would keep silent about it; but if not, he should feel bound to write to our friends, and let them know what we had been doing. We were both scared to death at this threat, and we made haste tosend him the money, hoping that he would keep his word, and that we should never hear of him again. But we might have known better; for the very next week he wrote again, demanding fifty. And so it has gone on ever since. He never gives us any peace. We have to send him all he asks for, or else he declares he will call on papa, and not only tell him about the advertisement, but all sorts of horrible things which are not true at all. He won't believe that it was only to amuse ourselves that we sent the notice to the paper, and he hints the most dreadful things, and says papa and Mrs. Joy will be sure to believe him! Berry and I have grown so afraid that we would give a million, if we had it, to bribe him to go away and never let us hear from him again. But even that would be no use, for he would come back and demand another million," ended poor Georgie.
"And he actually comes up to Newport, and follows you about, and makes you give him money!" said Candace, horror-strickenat this glimpse of the hidden suffering endured by these two prosperous, cared-for girls, who were supposed to be without a sorrow in the world.
"Indeed, he does. He came that time when you saw him, the middle of August; and he wrote Berry a note to say that he must speak to us, and that if we didn't meet him somewhere, he should appeal to Mrs. Joy. We had to consent, of course, and we gave him all the money we had, and we thought he was gone; but just a few days after he appeared again on the Polo Ground, and handed Berry a note, which he pretended she had dropped out of the carriage. But it was really from himself; and he said that he had lost the money we gave him on a bet which had turned out badly, and he must have a hundred dollars more. You can't think how hard it has been for us to raise all this money, Cannie. Berry has her own income, but her mother likes to know what she does with it; and mamma chooses my things for me, so I don't have much of an allowance.We have been at our wits' end sometimes to know how to manage."
"And how did you?"
"Berry sold a diamond ring which she doesn't often wear, so her mother has not missed it, and I put in thirty dollars, which was all I had; and he went away, for good as we hoped. He promised solemnly not to come to Newport, or ask us for money again this season; and we were so relieved. For a few days I was almost happy," with a miserable little laugh. "But what fools we were to believe him! I can't imagine why we should, for he has deceived us all through. I don't think he has spoken the truth once from the very beginning. Berry came just now to tell me that he is back already. She saw him herself this morning in Thames Street. He didn't see her, for she was in the close coupé, and he was looking in at a shop window; but, of course, he has come for money, and neither of us has any more. We shall have to refuse, and he will go straight to papa, and then—oh, what willbecome of me?" She buried her face again in the pillows.
Candace was trembling with a mixture of sensations,—pity for her cousin, indignation at this mean persecution of which she was the victim, and withal a fine touch of scorn over the weakness which was so easily played upon. With all her country breeding and ignorance of the world and its ways, there was in our little maiden a large share of the strong, self-respecting pride of her ancestry.Shewould never have stooped to buy the silence of a low knave like this Alexander; and her clear truthfulness of soul indicated at once the single, straight, unerring clew which could lead out of this labyrinth of difficulties.
"Georgie," she said, after a moment's thought, "there is just one thing for you to do. You must tell Cousin Kate all about this."
"Oh, Candace, never!" screamed Georgie. "Tell mamma! Have mamma know! I'd rather die at once. You have no idea howshe despises concealments and deceits; and I have had to plot and contrive, almost to tell lies, all through this wretched time. She would never get over it. Even if shesaidshe forgave me, I should always read a sort of contempt in her eyes whenever she looked at me. Oh, mamma, mamma! And I love her so! Candace, I couldn't."
"It is the only way," repeated Candace, firmly.
"You have promised not to tell!" exclaimed her cousin, starting up from her recumbent position. "You promised me solemnly! You'll not forget that, will you, Cannie? You'll not tell mother yourself?"
"Certainly not. What use would it be for me to tell her? It would be only next best to having Alexander do it. But you,—you, Georgie,—that is a different thing."
"Even Gertrude said she couldn't advise me to tell mamma," continued Georgie.
"Gertrude! Does Gertrude know about it then?"
"Yes; I had to tell somebody, I was somiserable. It was only a little while ago that I told her. I kept it to myself for a long time."
"Gertrude!" repeated Candace, unable to hide her amazement. "And what did she say?"
"Oh, she was horrified, of course. Any one would be; and she threw a great deal of blame on Berry. I don't think she has ever liked her since. She always goes out of the room when she comes. She wanted me to do all sorts of impossible things, such as going to the chief of police. But about mamma, she felt just as I did. You see we both think so much of mamma, Cannie; we care so much about having her approve of us. You haven't any mother; so perhaps you can't understand."
"No," said Candace, "I have no mother. Perhaps it makes a difference. But there is another thing I can't understand, and that is how girls whohavea mother—such a mother as yours, Georgie—can be content to keep her love by means of a cheat. If I did have amother, I should want her to know all about me, and approve of me honestly, not because I was hiding things from her. Besides,"—there was a little choke here,—"I think mothers can stand a good deal, and still keep on loving their children. I don't believe Cousin Kate would be hard on you, Georgie, or despise you because you have been foolish."
"You don't half know mamma," repeated Georgie. "She has such high ideas about conduct. It would half kill her to know that I had even spoken to a man like this Alexander."
"Of course she would be sorry," persisted Candace. "Of course she would rather that you had never got into this scrape. But she is so just always, as well as kind. She always sees both sides. She will understand how it began,—that Berry over-persuaded you—"
"What makes you say that?" interrupted Georgie. "I never told you that Berry over-persuaded me."
"No; but I knew it all the same. It's amatter of course," said Candace, too deeply in earnest to pick her words, or realize what a very uncomplimentary thing she was saying, "Berry Joy always makes you do whatever she likes. Cousin Kate will realize how it was in a minute."
"Well, never mind that. I want to talk about mamma. Don't you see that if I did tell her she couldn't do anything unless she told papa? and that is the very thing I want to prevent. Oh, what was that?" as the clock began to strike. "Six! They will be here in ten minutes. Oh, dear! how can I meet her? My eyes are swelled out of my head. She will be sure to notice." And Georgie hurried to the looking-glass, and began tosmooththe tangled fluffs of hair on her forehead.
Cannie's heart was hot within her, but she wisely forbore further remonstrance. She brought a basin of water and a sponge, and helped Georgie to bathe and cool her tear-stained face, and to arrange her dishevelled locks. Then she kissed her softly, and movedacross the room to the window. Georgie stole after her, and stood by her side. It was nearly time for the travellers to arrive from the train. A cool sea-wind was stirring. Through the trees a red glow could be seen in the west, where the sun was nearing the horizon.
There was a sound of wheels, and the Frewens' village-cart drove rapidly in and set Marian down on the porch. As it drove away, another carriage met and passed it at the gate. It was the coupé, and Mrs. Gray and Gertrude were inside. With a shriek of joy Marian shot down the gravel walk to meet them. John stopped his horses, Mrs. Gray jumped out, and Marian sprang into her arms. The lookers-on at the window above could see the whole pretty picture,—the lovely sunny-faced mother, the glad child; they could hear Mrs. Gray's sweet laugh as she bent over and kissed Marian again and again.
"Oh, Georgie, Georgie," cried Candace, her eyes suddenly brimming over with tears, "look at that, look at them! Was there everany one so sweet and loving and dear as Cousin Kate? See how she holds Marian in her arms, how she kisses her! Howcanyou be afraid of her? How can you doubt one minute that she loves you enough to forgive anything? Oh, if I had such a mother, would I stay away from her, and cheat and conceal, and trust a girl like Berry Joy, and a bad man like this Alexander, and not trust her?—not go to her first of all for help and advice? Think how good and kind she is, how glad to help everybody,—poor people, servants; think how lovely she has been to me,—and, of course, she loves you a hundred times more! How can you hesitate one minute? Oh, go straight to her, dear, dear Georgie; tell her all about it, your own self. She will know just what to do. She will make it all right for you. Think how happy you will be not to be afraid of anything any more. Oh, Georgie, do, do!"
"Why, Candace, I hardly know you," faltered Georgie; and she spoke truly, for Candacein her intense eagerness seemed to grow out of and beyond herself, and looked taller, older, quite unlike the shy Candace of every day. Then the passion of her appeal caught hold of Georgie's weakness. Deep feeling is contagious, and there are moments when cowards become temporarily brave. Candace's rush of words, her mother's tender look and attitude as she held Marian close to her, or, it may be, some swift impulse from her good angel, seemed to melt her out of her mood of resistance. How it happened she could not have told, she never could tell; but a sudden strength came to her, and the next moment she was out in the hall. Mrs. Gray, slowly coming upstairs, was clasped in a wild, despairing embrace.
"Oh, mamma! I want you. Oh, mamma! I've something to tell you," cried Georgie. Her mother, whose smile had changed to a look of pale amazement, could not speak. She suffered herself to be swept away. The door of Georgie's room closed behind them; and Gertrude, who was following close behind,was left on the landing to confront the equally surprised Candace.
"What is it? What is Georgie going to say to mamma?" demanded Gertrude, in a frightened whisper.
"She is going to tell her about that horrible man who has been making her so unhappy," replied Candace.
"Going to tell mamma! oh, how did she ever get courage?"
"I begged her—I told her it was the only way."
"You! why, Cannie, how did you dare?" cried Gertrude. "I never would have ventured to do that."
"So Georgie said," replied Candace, simply; "but I was sure the thing to do was for her to go straight to Cousin Kate."
A
LONG hush followed these few words of explanation. Gertrude was too stunned to ask further questions. Mechanically she moved toward her room, and took off her hat and coat; but all the time she was washing her hands and smoothing her hair, her ears were strained for sounds from Georgie's room, which was next her own. There was very little to be heard,—only a low, continuous murmur of conversation, broken now and then by a louder word; but all so subdued that Candace, sitting on the staircase seat, caught nothing. Marian, rushing up after her mother, had been stopped by the explanation that Georgie was not well, and wanted to be alone with mamma. After a little natural outburstof impatience, she too seemed to catch the vague sense of crisis that was in the air, and settled down quietly, with her head on Candace's knee, to wait.
It was a long waiting. The red sunset sky faded into pallor, and the stars came out. Gertrude, restless with suspense, joined the other two. Both she and Candace were too nervous for ordinary talk, and Marian's presence precluded any mention of the subject with which their thoughts were full; so the trio sat mostly in silence. Frederic was heard to pass down the upper entry and announce dinner; but Mrs. Gray only answered by the word "Presently," and did not open the door. The shadows grew darker as the dusk deepened, till after a while the gas in the hall was lighted, when they fled to the remoter corners, and consoled themselves by casting an added blackness wherever they were permitted to fall,—the only consolation possible to shadows.
To the anxious watchers on the window bench the time seemed very long; and in factit was nearly eight o'clock before Georgie's door was heard to open, and Mrs. Gray to pass across the hall to her own room. She only stayed there a few minutes. The girls sprang up to receive her as she came downstairs, and the older ones looked anxiously in her face. She was tired and paler than usual, and her eyes showed that she had been crying; but her smile was brave and clear as she put her arm round Candace, and gave her a long kiss.
"You must be half starved, my dears," she said. "Georgie has a bad headache, and I have sent her to bed. She won't come down again to-night; we will have dinner at once."
They went to dinner, accordingly. Marian held fast to her mother's hand; but Mrs. Gray kept the other arm round Candace, and there was a warmth and tenderness in the touch which thrilled through Cannie's heart. She felt, without asking why, that Cousin Kate loved her more than usual that night, and it made her happy.
Jane had been deeply aggrieved at the long delay of the dinner; but she was a woman of resources as well as principle, and, as a member in good and regular standing of the Second Baptist Church, knew that forgiveness of injuries was a branch of Christian duty. She reminded herself, beside, that "Missis wasn't often that inconsiderate, and most probably there was reasons this time," which made it easier to overlook her offence. So she kept some things back, and took some things off, and managed to send in the food in an eatable condition, instead of letting it calcine into cinders as a less conscientious and capable cook would have done.
Marian went to bed; but still Mrs. Gray said not a word about Georgie and her confession. She looked weary and preoccupied, and Gertrude fancied—but perhaps it was only fancy—that there was a shade of coldness in her mother's manner towards herself. They were all glad when the time came to separate; but before she slept that night, Mrs. Gray sent a telegram to her husband.
Mr. Gray appeared next day on the earliest possible train. There was a long consultation in the library, in which Georgie took a part. She came out with her eyes red with crying, but somehow looking relieved, too, and with a peaceful look in her face which had been absent from it of late. Candace, passing her on the stairs, averted her eyes shyly, and was altogether astonished at being caught in a tight embrace and kissed several times.
"It's all right," Georgie whispered. "Papa has been, oh, so kind! and mamma is like an angel to me. You were just right; and I never can thank you enough, you dear!"
"Oh, how glad I am!" cried Cannie, clasping her hands together in sudden relief.
Georgie said no more; she gave Cannie another kiss, and hurried away.
What steps Mr. Gray took to get rid of Alexander, the girls never knew; but whatever they may have been, they were effectual. He disappeared from Newport the very next day, and neither Berry Joy nor Georgie ever saw or heard of him again. It is only onwomen and girls, and men who are as weak and uninstructed as women, that rascals of his low stamp venture to practise their arts. The moment a man of boldness and resource appears on the scene, one who knows the laws and is not afraid to invoke their protection, black-mailers quail and vanish.
Such an affair cannot, however, be made straight without a good deal of suffering to all concerned. Georgie was forgiven. She was saved from the consequences of her own folly and imprudence; but she could not forgive herself, nor could she forget the deep pain and mortification she had given to the parents she loved, or ignore the fact that she had forfeited something of their good opinion, and that it would take her a long time to regain it. Gertrude, too, had her share to endure. She had a strong sense of honor and a high opinion of her own powers; yet in this the first real test of her life, she had failed miserably, and not only given Georgie no assistance, but had helped to confirm her in her error. Berenice Joy received herportion of punishment in the shape of an interview, which she found most disagreeable, with Mr. Gray. At her urgent entreaty, he gave up his intention of telling the story to her mother, but she felt that she was disgraced in his eyes and in those of Mrs. Gray; and though she cried, and looked very pretty, and was properly grateful and distressed, and assured Mr. Gray that she should never forget how good he had been to her, and that he couldn't imagine how much she and Georgie had suffered just for a moment of thoughtlessness, she was aware all the time that her tears and her gratitude made no impression, and that he did not believe in her. She was sure that all intimacy between herself and Georgie would be discouraged thenceforward; and this was a real punishment, for Berry counted a good deal on the Grays, and had built some social hopes on her position as their friend. Her forebodings proved true. Her little gush of thankfulness and penitence did not touch Mr. Gray's heart in the least. He saw that Berry was a dangerous friend forhis soft-hearted, easily influenced Georgie, and told his wife that he decidedly objected to the girls' having anything more to do with her. Mrs. Gray agreed with him in opinion; and though there was no open rupture between the families, Berry found herself after that placed on the footing of an ordinary acquaintance, and was never able to regain her old position with any of the Gray family.
But before this conversation took place it was finally settled that Candace was to stay always, and be Cousin Kate's fourth daughter, and a sister to her three cousins.
Parents, sisters, home,—this was a rich endowment, indeed, for a lonely, orphaned girl to fall heir to. But Cannie had earned her good fortune, and every member of the family had learned to value and to wish to keep her.
It was Mrs. Gray who broke the happy news to her.
"Shall you like it? Will you be content to stay with us always?" she asked.
"Why, Cousin Kate, what a question! How could I help liking it? I never knew what happy meant, till I came to you," answered Cannie, flushed with emotion and pleasure. "It's only that it seems too good to be true! Why, only yesterday I was counting the days till the fifteenth of October; because, you know, you are going back to town then, and I thought you would send me back to Aunt Myra, and I said, 'I shall only be happy for twenty-four days more, perhaps only twenty-three,'—for, you see, I didn't feel sure that you could keep me till the very last day. And now there is going to be no end to the happy times. I can't see what makes you so good to me, Cousin Kate."
"I think we can understand that better than you can," her cousin replied. "We need you, Cannie, as much as you need us. The benefit will be mutual."
"Needme!when you have Cousin Court and the girls?"
"Cousin Court and the girls need you too.—Don't we, Georgie? Come in andhelp me explain to Candace that all of us want her, and all of us are glad to have her stay."
"Indeed, we do. Cannie, I can't talk about it, for it's like a bad dream from which I have waked up, and I don't like to recall it; but I never shall forget how good you were to me that horrible day. It was you who persuaded me to go to mamma. I never should have gone if you hadn't somehow swept me up and made me. And, oh, if I hadn't!—How could I be afraid of you, dear, darling mamma?—She was just what you said she would be, Cannie. She knew just what to do; she understood in a moment. She was so kind! I feel as if Trinity Church had been rolled off my mind. It was all your doing, and I never can forget it."
"Georgie is right," said Mrs. Gray. "Don't look so bewildered, dear. You did her a real service in persuading her to be brave and frank. I don't know why it is so hard for children to trust their parents. It is the parents' fault somehow, no doubt."
"Oh, mother,no!It was only that I dreaded to have you think ill of me."
"Not quite," said Mrs. Gray, shaking her head. "I must blame myself a little. I must have made some mistake with you all, when even Gertrude could not believe that I would not be harsh and unforgiving. But we have had our lesson, Georgie, and we will not do so badly again, especially as there will be this dear little new sister of yours to help us to keep straight. We need not talk any more about it, but, Cannie, we all feel that to have you with us will be good for us all. There is nothing in the world so rare and so precious as clear truth, and the courage to hold fast by it; and we have proved that you possess both."
"And don't you think that it will be good for me?" said Cannie, her eyes shining with grateful tears.
"Yes; we can help you too. It is one of the good things in this world that help is almost always on both sides.—Marian," as that small person passed the door, "what doyou think of having Cannie permanently for a sister?"
"Really! Will she stay? Oh, how perfectly—daisy!" And Marian threw her arms round Candace's neck, and gave her a squeeze which left no doubt as to her approval of the plan.
Only one cloud now remained on Candace's horizon of happiness. Mrs. Gray had become like a very mother to her. Her bright, perpetual, all-understanding tenderness was like daily food to Candace's hungering heart. Mr. Gray had taken her into the highest favor. He had always liked Cannie and been kind to her, but now he petted her almost as much as he petted Marian. He scarcely ever came back from New York without bringing her some little gift,—a book, a trinket, a box of bonbons,—as a proof that she had been in his thoughts. The latest and prettiest of these was on her finger now,—a pearl ring with the word "Truth" engraved inside its golden circlet. Georgie and Marian had welcomed her heartily; but Gertrude,—Gertrude hadsaid nothing. She was always cordial now, and a sort of added respect and liking had appeared in her manner since the Alexander episode; but about the new arrangement which made Candace one of the family, she had not spoken a word. Till she did, till she was sure that Gertrude too was content to have her stay, Cannie's happiness could not be complete.
The fourteenth of October at length arrived. It was the last day of their Newport season, but Candace no longer dreaded the break-up. It did not mean separation and loneliness now, only the change to a new and different scene, which might be as delightful in its way as the summer had been. Yet Newport was still in full beauty, and it seemed a pity to leave it. No frosts had fallen to dim the glory of the flowers. The honeysuckles were still starred with their white, gold-anthered blossoms; the geranium beds looked as gay, the foliage plants as superb as ever; while the green of the grass was as fresh as in July. Here and there a little drift of yellow leaveslay under the trees, but it was the only sign of autumn. Georgie gathered a great basketful of nasturtiums, heliotrope, and mignonette to carry down to Miss Gisborne, and Marian was sent off in the village-cart with a similar basketful for Mrs. Frewen. The house was all in a confusion of packing. Frederic was wrapping tissue-paper round the picture-frames, Elizabeth counting linen and silver, the gardeners emptying the balcony boxes. Mrs. Gray proposed that Gertrude and Candace should go for a last walk on the Cliffs, and so be out of the way of these discomforts.
"There is nothing for you to do," she said. "Only don't stay too late, and come in before it grows dark. We are to have a 'thick tea' at half-past six, in place of a regular dinner. I thought it would be less trouble on this busy day."
It was to Pulpit Rock that the two cousins bent their way. The Cliffs were even lonelier now than they had been when Candace first visited them. There were no bathers in thesurf; no carriages were drawn up on the higher part of the beach, and the road leading around Easton's Point showed only a few scattered figures and one solitary horseman on its entire length. Here and there along the windings of the Cliff Walk a single walker appeared, dark against the brightness of the sky, or two girls were seen pacing the smooth gravel, with fluttering dresses, and hair blown by the soft October wind. The sea was as beautiful in color as ever, but it had changed with the change of the season. The blue seemed more rarefied, the opalescent tints more intense; deep purple reflections lay in the shadows made by the rocky points, and there was a bright clearness of atmosphere quite unlike the dream-like mistiness of the summer.
The cousins sat side by side on the big rock, just where they had sat on that June day which seemed to Candace so long ago. Gertrude was no longer critical or scornful. She sat a little farther back than Candace, and from time to time glanced at her side-face with a sort of puzzled expression. Cannie,happening to turn, caught the look; it embarrassed her a little, and to hide the embarrassment she began to talk.
"Did you know that Cousin Kate is going to let me live with you always?" she asked.
"Yes; mamma told me."
"Isn't she good?" went on Candace, impulsively. "I can hardly believe yet that it is true. What makes you all so very, very kind to me, I can't think."
"I haven't been particularly kind," said Gertrude, suddenly. "Candace,—I might as well say it at once, for it's been a good deal on my mind lately,—I wish you would forget how nasty I was when you first came to us."
"Were you nasty?" said Candace, trying to speak lightly, but with a flush creeping into her face.
The Cliffs. "I shall always love this rock," said Candace.—Page 281.The Cliffs."I shall always love this rock," said Candace.—Page 281.
"Yes, I was; very nasty. I didn't care to have you come, in the first place; and I thought you seemed awkward and countrified, and I didn't like your clothes, and I was afraid the girls here would laugh at you. It was a meansort of feeling, and the worst thing is that I didn't see that it was mean. I was ashamed of you; but now I am ashamed, dreadfully ashamed, of myself. I felt so much wiser and more knowing than you then; and yet when Georgie, my own sister, got into this dreadful trouble and came to me for help, I had none to give her. I was as much a coward as she was. I gave her bad advice; and it was you, whom I laughed at and was unkind to, who saw what she ought to do, and was brave and really helped. When I think of it all, I feel as if I couldn't forgive myself."
"Why, Gertrude dear, don't!" cried Cannie; for Gertrude was almost crying. "I don't wonder you didn't care for me at first. I was dreadfully awkward and stupid. And you never were nasty to me. Don't say such things! But"—with a shy longing to remove beyond question the doubt which had troubled her—"youdolike me now? You are not sorry that I am to stay and live with you?"
"Sorry! No; I am very, very glad. You are the best girl I know. It will do me heaps of good to have you in the house."
"Oh, how delightful!" cried Cannie. "Now I haven't a thing to wish for. It is all nonsense about my doing you good, but I am so glad you want me to stay."
The two girls nestled closer and kissed each other, with a new sense of friendship and liking. The west wind blew past, making little quick eddies on the surface of the water. The gulls flew lower, their white wings flashing close to the flashing surf; sails far out at sea gleamed golden in the level rays of the sunset; a yellow light enveloped the farther point.
"I shall always love this rock," said Candace.
Gertrude began the downward climb; but Candace paused a moment on the summit, and turned for a last look at the water. Every glittering foam-cap, every glinting sail, seemed to her to wave a signal of glad sympathy and congratulation. "Good-by," she softly whispered. "But I shall come back.You belong to me now." She kissed her hand to the far blue horizon; then with a smile on her face, she turned, and followed Gertrude down the steep rock-face, a happy girl.
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.
Susan Coolidgehas always possessed the affection of her young readers, for it seems as if she had the happy instinct of planning stories that each girl would like to act out in reality.—The Critic.Not even Miss Alcott apprehends child nature with finer sympathy, or pictures its nobler traits with more skill.—Boston Daily Advertiser.
Susan Coolidgehas always possessed the affection of her young readers, for it seems as if she had the happy instinct of planning stories that each girl would like to act out in reality.—The Critic.
Not even Miss Alcott apprehends child nature with finer sympathy, or pictures its nobler traits with more skill.—Boston Daily Advertiser.
THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN.A Christmas Story for Children. With Illustrations byAddie Ledyard. 16mo. $1.25.
WHAT KATY DID.A Story. With Illustrations byAddie Ledyard. 16mo. $1.25.
WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL.Being more about "What Katy Did." With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING, and other Stories. With Illustrations byAddie Ledyard. 16mo. $1.25.
NINE LITTLE GOSLINGS.With Illustrations byJ. A. Mitchell. 16mo. $1.25.
EYEBRIGHT.A Story. With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
CROSS PATCH.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
A ROUND DOZEN.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
A LITTLE COUNTRY GIRL.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
WHAT KATY DID NEXT.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
CLOVER.A Sequel to the Katy Books. With Illustrations byJessie McDermott. 16mo. $1.25.
JUST SIXTEEN.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
IN THE HIGH VALLEY.With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.
A GUERNSEY LILY;or, How the Feud was Healed. A Story of the Channel Islands. Profusely Illustrated. 16mo. $1.25.
THE BARBERRY BUSH, and Seven Other Stories about Girls for Girls. With Illustrations byJessie McDermott. 16mo. $1.25.
NOT QUITE EIGHTEEN.A volume of Stories. With illustrations byJessie McDermott. 16mo. $1.25.
Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers,ROBERTS BROTHERS,Boston
ROBERTS BROTHERS,Boston
IN TEN VOLUMES.
JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
A Story of the Plains. With illustrations byMrs. Allingham16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
SIX TO SIXTEEN.
A Story for Girls. With 10 illustrations byHelen Patterson. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
A GREAT EMERGENCY, and Other Tales.
With illustration. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
WE AND THE WORLD.
A Story for Boys. With 10 illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cts.
MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.
Ten illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cts. A Series of Short Stories which are supposed to be told by a nice old lady to a little girl invalid.
JACKANAPES, and Other Tales.
Comprising "Jackanapes," "Daddy Darwin's Dovecot," and "The Story of a Short Life." With a sketch of Mrs. Ewing's Life, by her sister, Horatia K. F. Gatty. With portrait and illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
MELCHIOR'S DREAM, BROTHERS OF PITY, and Other Tales.
With illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, THE BROWNIES, and Other Tales.
With illustrations by George Cruikshank. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
A FLATIRON FOR A FARTHING.
With illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents.
LAST WORDS.
A Final Collection of Stories. With illustrations byH. D. Murphy. 16mo. 50 cents.
Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households.—H. H.
Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and feelings of children that is conspicuously wanting in most writers who address them; and to this cause, to the consciousness among her readers that they are hearing about people like themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names, the popularity of her books is due.—Mrs. Sarah J. Hale.
Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of thousands of little men and women.—Exchange.
Little Women; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.With illustrations. 16mo$1.50Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories.With illustrations. 16mo1.50An Old-Fashioned Girl.With illustrations. 16mo1.50Little Men: Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys.With illustrations. 16mo1.50Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out.A sequel to "Little Men." With portrait of "Aunt Jo." 16mo1.50Eight Cousins; or, The Aunt-Hill.With illustrations. 16mo1.50Rose in Bloom.A sequel to "Eight Cousins." 16mo1.50Under the Lilacs.With illustrations. 16mo1.50Jack and Jill.A Village Story. With illustrations. 16mo1.50Work:A Story of Experience. With character illustrations by Sol Eytinge. 16mo1.50Moods.A Novel. New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo1.50A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark.16mo1.50Silver Pitchers, and Independence.A Centennial Love Story. 16mo1.25Proverb Stories.New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo1.25Spinning-Wheel Stories.With illustrations. 16mo1.25A Garland for Girls, and Other Stories.With illustrations. 16mo1.25My Boys, &c.First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00Shawl-Straps.Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c.Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00My Girls, &c.Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c.Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c.Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo1.00Little Women.Illustrated. Embellished with nearly 200 characteristic illustrations from original designs drawn expressly for this edition of this noted American Classic. One small quarto, bound in cloth, with emblematic designs2.50Little Women Series.Comprising Little Women; Little Men; Eight Cousins; Under the Lilacs; An Old-Fashioned Girl; Jo's Boys; Rose in Bloom; Jack and Jill. 8 large 16mo volumes in a handsome box12.00Miss Alcott's novels in uniform binding in sets.Moods; Work; Hospital Sketches; A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark. 4 volumes. 16mo6.00Lulu's Library.Vols. I., II., III. A collection of New Stories. 16mo3.00
Little Women; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.With illustrations. 16mo
Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories.With illustrations. 16mo
An Old-Fashioned Girl.With illustrations. 16mo
Little Men: Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys.With illustrations. 16mo
Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out.A sequel to "Little Men." With portrait of "Aunt Jo." 16mo
Eight Cousins; or, The Aunt-Hill.With illustrations. 16mo
Rose in Bloom.A sequel to "Eight Cousins." 16mo
Under the Lilacs.With illustrations. 16mo
Jack and Jill.A Village Story. With illustrations. 16mo
Work:A Story of Experience. With character illustrations by Sol Eytinge. 16mo
Moods.A Novel. New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo
A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark.16mo
Silver Pitchers, and Independence.A Centennial Love Story. 16mo
Proverb Stories.New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo
Spinning-Wheel Stories.With illustrations. 16mo
A Garland for Girls, and Other Stories.With illustrations. 16mo
My Boys, &c.First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
Shawl-Straps.Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c.Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
My Girls, &c.Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c.Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c.Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo
Little Women.Illustrated. Embellished with nearly 200 characteristic illustrations from original designs drawn expressly for this edition of this noted American Classic. One small quarto, bound in cloth, with emblematic designs
Little Women Series.Comprising Little Women; Little Men; Eight Cousins; Under the Lilacs; An Old-Fashioned Girl; Jo's Boys; Rose in Bloom; Jack and Jill. 8 large 16mo volumes in a handsome box
Miss Alcott's novels in uniform binding in sets.Moods; Work; Hospital Sketches; A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark. 4 volumes. 16mo
Lulu's Library.Vols. I., II., III. A collection of New Stories. 16mo