Sophy in the meantime had wandered far into the woods. In her desire to escape from the creature, whoever or whatever it might be, that had so frightened her, she paid no heed to her whereabouts. Blindly she ran on, stumbling, falling, and picking herself up again only to run and fall once more. These woods were not very extensive, but the paths in them were many and were confusing, and Sophy without being in the least aware of it went around and around in a complete circle more than once.
At one time she was very near the road, and had a carriage chanced to pass at that moment shewould have heard it and would have discovered where she was, and could then have easily made her way home by the road; but there was no sound but the chirping and twittering of the newly arrived birds among the branches of the tall trees of this little forest.
When she paused from sheer exhaustion, she heard a stealthy rustling among the dead leaves and the underbrush, and presently a snake emerged, raising its head when it saw her, and darting out its forked tongue in anger. It was a harmless little creature, and no doubt was as anxious to escape from this intruder as she could be to avoid the snake, but Sophy did not stop to consider this. She forgot completely that Peter had often told her that the snakes which frequented these woods and meadows were not dangerous, and she fled precipitately from the spot.
At last her aimless wandering brought her to the extreme edge of the wood at the point farthest away from home. To her joy she saw an open space before her, and actually a piece of the sky was visible. It was growing late apparently. The shadows of evening had crept upon her in the woods without her being conscious of them. Nowit seemed as if it must be twilight, although it was yet far from being dark.
As she trudged along, too tired to run, she fancied that she heard the voices of men. She paused for a moment, fearing new dangers. Yes, some men were not far off, and as they were speaking some strange jargon, Sophy suspected that they were Italians. She was very much afraid of Italians, with their dark skins and fiery black eyes. There were many at work upon the railroad, and the child would go a long way around to avoid meeting them even in broad daylight, and when she was with some one else. Now when she was alone, and it was almost dark, she was terrified indeed. The dangers of the forest were as nothing to this. She was about to turn and run back when she heard their voices growing fainter. Apparently they were leaving the spot for the night. If she waited long enough, she could go home.
Sophy thought that she should feel safer if she were to say her prayers, so she knelt down in the dead leaves and repeated “Our Father” very softly, adding before she rose, “And please, God, take me safe home. I’m so frightened. For Jesus Christ’s sake, Amen.” When she had finished shefelt braver. It was all very quiet, and the men had gone. She walked out of the wood and found in the dim light a footpath, which she followed. It led past the base of the embankment of the railroad, a sandy embankment which towered far above her, and she soon reached the carriage road which passed under the railroad at this point.
Sophy knew this road well, and she knew that by following it towards the right she should eventually reach home, although it was a long distance. She wondered where Peter was, if he had come back to look for her, if he was in the forest now, searching for her. And the girls, what were they doing? Were they sitting down to supper now without her? She wondered if her silver mug had been filled with nice rich milk as usual, and if there was toast to-night for supper. Perhaps Honor was cooking something on the chafing-dish, as she did sometimes by way of a great treat. Sophy did wish that she was there. She was so hungry and it was so far! It seemed as if she must keep walking all night in order to reach there.
At last, quite exhausted, she sat down upon a rock by the roadside. She must rest for a fewmoments at the foot of the long hill which loomed up before her. There was a little house at the top, she knew, and a short distance farther on their own place began, although their house was a half-mile beyond. She had just made up her mind to continue her weary march, when she saw two young men or boys emerge from the woods from the other side of the road from those in which she had been. She was sitting in the shadow of some large bushes, and she thought if she kept very still that they might not notice her. She scarcely dared to breathe, but she heard very distinctly the beating of her heart, and the sound frightened her. As the boys approached, she heard one of them say:
“An’ yer won’t tell me nothin’? Well, then, yer don’t git any of the stuff.”
“I don’t want it,” replied the other, as they passed her.
To Sophy’s astonishment, she recognized the voice as that of Dave Carney. Was it—could it possibly be he? She peered after him, and then springing to her feet she ran as fast as she could up the road in pursuit.
“Dave! Dave!” she cried. “Wait for me!I’m lost, and I’m so glad to see you. Oh,soglad!”
And then to Carney’s astonishment a small hand was thrust into his hand, and a small and anxious face was turned up towards his face.
“Why, where’d you come from?” he asked, stopping abruptly in his walk, while his companion uttered an exclamation of anger.
“I went to the woods with Peter, and I got lost. There was a terrible scream, and it frightened me dreadfully, and I’ve been all this time trying to find my way home. Oh, Dave, I’msoglad to see you!” said the child, forgetting her fatigue, and dancing with glee, while she still tightly grasped his hand. “You’ve no idea how dreadful it was. Who is that, Dave? Is it your brother? He looks just like you.”
“No matter who I am,” said the stranger, roughly. “I ain’t got no use for yer, that’s one thing, sure. Now just yer remember, Dave! yer can’t work yer pious notions on me, an’ I’ll do as I like. I’ve been crooked a good long time, now, an’ I’ll stay crooked. Yer was as crooked yerself once, an’ I guess yer are yet, only yer find it don’t pay just at the present time. I’llleave yer here,” he added with an oath, and suddenly disappeared among the trees by the roadside.
“That surely can’t be your brother, Dave,” said Sophy, disapprovingly. “I don’t like the way he talks, at all. I’m glad he went away. Oh, I’m so glad I saw you, though! I don’t feel half as tired now.”
Dave said little,—he was a lad of few words,—but he held the little girl’s hand and helped her over the rough or the steep places in the road; and at last they were in sight of the house, and the light which shone from an upper window seemed like a beacon of hope to the little wanderer.
And presently she was in the house, with Honor’s arms about her, and Katherine taking her hat and coat, while Victoria ran to the barn, calling to Peter that she was found. He and Victoria had been to the place in the woods where he had left her, and then had come back to get lanterns, and to ask some neighbors to join in the search. The brother and sisters had been quite beside themselves with anxiety, and their joy and relief when Sophy appeared was almost too great for words.
As for Sophy herself, she felt amply repaid forher fatigue and fear when she found herself the centre of importance. She was led in state to the supper table, she was helped before any of the others with the choicest viands, including an egg which B. Lafferty cooked in a little dish especially for her, and brought to her with much circumstance, and, crowning feature of the occasion, a vase of wild flowers which Katherine had gathered that afternoon was placed beside her plate.
When her appetite was somewhat appeased, Sophy recounted her adventures, and even Peter refrained from condemning her with cold criticism, when she described her fear of the snake which had “stuck out its tongue at her.” In fact, she was in every sense of the word the heroine of the evening, and it was so unusual an experience that she could not help enjoying it.
“I wonder where Dave had been,” remarked Honor. “It was odd that he should have come along just at the right moment for you, Sophy. I am perfectly thankful that he did. Do you suppose that was his brother, Peter?”
“Don’t know,” replied Peter, as he helped himself to toast, and proceeded to butter it with a lavishhand. “Carney’s got a brother, only he never says much about him.”
“Peter, it is very bad form to spread butter on your bread or your toast like that!” said Katherine. “You ought to put it on just where you are going to eat it.”
“Pshaw! Who cares for form?” demanded Peter, crunching his toast with an air of distinct enjoyment. “What I want is taste, not form, Miss K. R. Starr.”
“It really tastes better Katherine’s way,” remarked Victoria, “if you have never tried it; but don’t change on our account, for the world! By the way, the people are really moving into the house on the hill. I saw some wagon loads of furniture going up there to-day. I do hope we shall like them.”
“I can’t see that it makes any difference whether we like them or not,” said Honor. “We shan’t see anything of them.”
“But why not, Honor?” asked Katherine. “They are going to be very near neighbors, and I can’t see why, if they are nice people, we shouldn’t be neighborly to them.”
“Father always liked us to be neighborly to ourneighbors, even if he didn’t go about much himself,” added Victoria.
“It was very different then,” said Honor. “We weren’t working for our living. Those people, if they are rich and don’t know anything about us, will probably look down upon us, and I shall never expose myself to anything of that sort. No indeed. Let us keep to ourselves as much as we can, and to the old friends who know about us.”
“Well, I am interested in them anyhow,” said Victoria. “There are a father and mother and two children, I believe, and the boy’s name is Roger. I hope it will be some one for Peter. I heard all that from the postmistress, in case you want to know my authority.”
“I wish you wouldn’t gossip with the postmistress, Vic,” said Honor, with some severity. “It seems to me it is a queer thing to do.”
“But why?” asked her sister, imperturbably. “She’s known me and I’ve known her all my life. Why shouldn’t we have a little agreeable conversation together when I go for the letters? She told me this morning when she handed me Aunt Sophia’s postal card saying she was coming to see us next week, that she guessed—thepostmistress guessed, I mean—that my Aunt Ward would be out here before long. Now that shows that she is a clever woman, as well as an honest one, for Aunt Sophia had only signed her initials, S.S.W,’ and yet she knew right away who it was from. And it wasn’t really necessary for her to let me know she had read the postal card, was it? So that was very honest. Oh, I like her, and she tells me a lot I want to know.”
Mrs. Wentworth Ward, true to the word written upon her postal card, appeared at Glen Arden early in the ensuing week. Upon this occasion she made known to her nieces her intention of spending the greater part of the next five months at Glen Arden, and naturally this announcement was received with some dismay.
“You should have some one with you part of the year, at least,” said their aunt, “and it suits me to come here. I had thought of going abroad for the summer, and of taking one of you with me, but there are various matters of importance which must be attended to, and which will suffer frightfully if I am not here to look after them. It is necessary for me to be near town. I shall board with you, of course. I may just as well pay the money to you that I should at a hotel at Magnolia or Nahant, and I don’t care for the sea this year. And I am sure you must be inneed of the money. I can’t imagine how you manage to get along on so little.”
Honor ignored the close of this speech, and politely expressed her pleasure at the prospect of such an extended visit from her aunt, though it is to be feared that her tone was not very hearty. She was the only one of the family who could see her, Katherine being in the schoolroom, and Victoria and Peter at school in Fordham. This was one of Mrs. Wentworth Ward’s customs which her nieces considered most aggravating. She invariably came to Glen Arden during school hours, and expected their undivided attention.
Though she paid close observance to her own engagements, she had small regard for those of other people, and her nieces’ methods of supporting themselves she could never be induced to take seriously.
“The first of May will be next Thursday, a week from to-day,” continued she, “and I shall come on the three o’clock train. You may give me your father’s old room. It was mine when I lived here, you know, and I like it.”
“Yes,” murmured Honor, remembering that Katherine now occupied the room, andwondering what she would say to being turned out. “And is there anything else you would like, Aunt Sophia? I think perhaps I had better get another cook, and let B. Laf—I mean Blanch—do the upstairs work. She is not a very superior cook, and with such a large family we shall need two servants.”
“I will bring my waitress, Ellen Higgins, who has been with me so long,” rejoined Mrs. Ward, briskly. “I intended to suggest it, and she is an excellent cook herself, and can give Blanch—extraordinary name for an Irishwoman, Honor!—she can give Blanch lessons in cooking. I will also, and there are a number of other things that I want to teach you. Therefore you may expect me in the 3P.M.train on Thursday, the first day of May. I shall bring my own desk, and my two canaries, my typewriter, and a number of other little things.”
“We have a typewriter,” said Honor, somewhat appalled by this list. “Perhaps you could use it, and not bring your own.”
“You have a typewriter? Where did you get it, and whose is it?”
“It is Katherine’s.”
“Indeed! And does she use it with ease?”
“Er—not exactly,” faltered Honor, who felt all too surely that she had made a misstep, and perhaps a fatal one. What would their aunt say if she knew that they had owned a typewriter for nearly six months, and that not one of them could make use of it? And she would find it out, she surely would! Why, oh why, had Honor ever given her this superfluous bit of information? Without it she need never have known that there was such a thing in the house.
“Very well, then, I shall not bring my own,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward, rising as she spoke. “On the contrary, I will engage Katherine to be my secretary, and of course she will prefer to use her own machine which she is accustomed to. You tell her, will you, Honor, that I shall pay her an ample salary. And now good-bye, my dear! It will really be very pleasant to be with you all. My love to the others. I am not going to take the train yet. The carriage that is waiting will carry me down to Fordham, where I have a meeting. Good-bye.”
And in a moment she was gone. Honor stood on the piazza, looking at the back of the carriageas it rolled up the avenue. One more week, and then, good-bye, indeed! It would be the end of their careless freedom, their independence, their good times. For although it had been a sad winter in many ways, although they had missed the dear father more than words could express, although the question of money had at times pressed heavily upon them, yet in spite of all they had been happy with one another, they had enjoyed the sense of independence which they had gained from the fact that they were supporting, or trying to support, themselves, and there had been intense satisfaction in the mere feeling that they were earning money. Little though it was, it was theirs by the right of labor, and Honor was proud of it.
To be sure, they should now earn more, for she knew that her aunt would pay them generously; but she saw an endless line of small vexations rising and stretching themselves through the summer, the little trials that are not much in themselves, but which, when they come in rapid succession, are wearing and annoying, to say the least. Katherine, for one, would not brook the interference which was sure to come from heraunt. And what would she say to being obliged to give up her room, and to being engaged as secretary and typewriter?
Depressed and disturbed though she was feeling, Honor laughed aloud at the thought of the wonders which Katherine was expected to perform upon her writing-machine. As far as her present knowledge went she might just as well be required to translate something from the Sanscrit.
And then, Honor, after one more look across the lawn where her father’s dear trees were in full leaf now, and the grass was green, and the robins were hopping about in ecstasy over the coming of spring, left the piazza and went back to the schoolroom. She determined to say nothing of these plans of her Aunt Sophia’s until Victoria should come home. It was curious, said Honor to herself, that they were all growing to lean upon Victoria.
Therefore, it was not until the afternoon, when they had a few moments of leisure before Katherine should go to one of her music pupils, that Honor imparted to them her dire intelligence.
It had precisely the effect which she had feared.Katherine flatly declined to give up her room to her aunt, and declared that it was an imposition to have her come there at all. She, for one, refused to endure it. As to acting as her secretary, it was out of the question. Besides, she could not use the typewriter. Why had Honor ever led Aunt Sophia to suppose that she could? Honor had drawn them into this scrape; now she must get them out of it. She need not have told Aunt Sophia that they owned a typewriter.
Katherine walked up and down the shady end of the piazza, looking very tall and extremely angry. Indignation was written in every line of her beautiful face. She had, oddly enough, the perfectly straight features of the aunt whom she did not particularly love; but her eyes and hair were very dark and her forehead was low and broad. It would have annoyed her extremely to be told that she looked like Mrs. Wentworth Ward, who, nevertheless, was a handsome woman.
“I see no way out of it,” said Honor. She was sitting in the hammock, and swung herself to and fro while she watched Katherine’s rapid movements. Victoria had perched herself upon the railing of the piazza, and was looking out across the lawn.
“And, Katherine, you bought the typewriter. You are responsible for its being in the house, so I really don’t think you ought to blame me for this complication. I know it was foolish of me ever to tell Aunt Sophia, but I was so taken aback when I heard that she was coming for five months, and was going to bring all those things with her, including that patronizing Ellen Higgins, whom I can’t bear, that I said the first thing that came into my head. I thought if she used ours,—yours, I mean,—it would be one thing less to bring with her.”
“I don’t see why you took the news so meekly,” said Katherine. “Why didn’t you tell her right up and down that she couldn’t come?”
“Oh, of course Honor couldn’t do that!” said Victoria. “It would have been very rude, and, besides, Katherine, she is our own aunt.”
“Very well, then, you can give up your room to her, and you can be her secretary. It is easy for you to say we ought to have her here, for you don’t have to do anything. I have to give up my dear room, which I love because it was father’s, and go to that hot third-story one, I suppose. As for the typewriter, it is simply out of the question.I can’t use it, and I won’t learn to use it just to please Aunt Sophia; and if Honor is going to keep flinging it in my face, she can keep on flinging, that is all. And now it is time for me to go.”
She picked up her music case and was soon walking rapidly away from them across the lawn.
“What are we to do about it?” sighed Honor. “I knew Katherine would be frantic, and I suppose it is provoking for her, but I don’t see why she need be so furious with me.”
“Oh, never mind!” said Victoria, looking after Katherine’s hurrying figure. “Katherine’s bark is worse than her bite, you know, and she will probably have gotten over some of it, before she comes back. I am sorry for her scholars, though, this afternoon! But, Honor, I have an idea.”
“What is it, Vic? If it is a cheering one, as I suppose it is, do hurry and tell me, for I feel bowed to the earth with gloom.”
“I will learn to use the typewriter, and I will be Aunt Sophia’s secretary through the summer. I have been wild to try it, but I have had so much to do, I couldn’t. I will learn to use it before she comes and practise on it in secret, after she gets here, and by the time school isover, I shall be ready for work. She can’t expect any of us to do it before June, while we are so busy, and we can make Katherine’s music an excuse for her not to do it at all. She will have to practise very hard through the summer, we can say. You write a nice note to Aunt Sophia and tell her how it is, so that she may be prepared.”
“Oh, Vic, what a dear you are! You do help me out of so many difficulties. Do you really think, though, that you can learn to use it in so short a time?”
“Of course,” replied Victoria. “One can do anything one sets out to do, if one only tries, and I mean to conquer that white elephant of a typewriter, if only for the sake of feeling that the forty dollars wasn’t wasted; and then, too, if Aunt Sophia pays me well, it will be quite a nice sum for us to make. I will go tinker at it now, for I have a little time, and those books of lessons are quite a help. So, cheer up, Honor! We may get some fun out of Aunt Sophia’s visit, after all.
“‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way,’”
“‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way,’”
she hummed, as she went into the house and sought the hitherto neglected writing-machine.
In the meantime, Katherine pursued her way across the fields to the village, where she intended to take an electric car. She was still very angry and greatly irritated by her late conversation, and by the prospect of five months of Aunt Sophia’s uninterrupted society. How hateful it was that they were so poor that they were forced to submit to the imposition, as she termed it. If Aunt Sophia were coming as a visitor, it would be different, but as a boarder she would, no doubt, consider herself privileged to say and do exactly what she wished, and how could she be expected to give up her room to her? And besides all this, as Katherine really felt guilty about the purchase of the typewriter, every word that Honor spoke upon the subject went home.
After a while, however, her better nature prevailed. It was always thus with Katherine, as her sisters knew. If sufficient time were given her, she was sure to come out of her fits of temper in the sweetest possible frame of mind, so repentant for all that she had said, and so desirous to atone for it, that it was impossible to help loving her more than ever. On this occasion, before she had reached Fordham she hadbegun to be sorry, and by the time she had returned to the village, after giving two music lessons, she was ready to do all and more than her sisters required of her.
She left the electric car at the post-office and found there several letters for the family; and then, the afternoon being so beautiful, she concluded to walk home by a somewhat indirect way, one which led her past the entrance to the house on the hill, as the Starrs had been in the habit of calling it. This house was a handsome one which had been vacant for two years. The grounds about it were not extensive, but they had always been well kept until the death of the owner. Since then they had been somewhat neglected; but now the place had been rented, and Katherine was glad to see, as she approached, that men were at work on the lawn and on the avenue which led up a rather steep incline to the house.
She paused for a moment to watch them, and then remembering that the family were probably already there, she hurried on, hoping that she had not been seen. She had not gone more than a few yards, however, before she heard a footstep behind and a voice said:
“Miss Starr, I beg your pardon, but is not this yours?”
Turning, Katherine saw a lady, who held towards her a letter.
“Oh, thank you ever so much!” said Katherine. “I slipped them into my music case at the post-office. I wonder if any more have dropped out?”
“I think not,” said the lady, smiling in a friendly way which won Katherine’s heart upon the spot. “I have been behind you all the way, and this did not fall until just as you reached our place. I couldn’t help seeing the address on it, and so I knew you were one of the Miss Starrs, whom we have heard so much about and are so anxious to meet. I hope you are going to be very neighborly.”
“Yes, indeed!” said Katherine, cordially. She was charmed with the lady’s manner, and quite forgot Honor’s intention to have nothing to do with the newcomers. “We will come and call upon you very soon. You are Mrs. Madison, I suppose.”
“Not Mrs., but Miss,” corrected her new friend, again with the lovely smile that had so attractedthe young girl. She was a beautiful woman, with fair hair and eyes of deep blue, and there was that in her face which won Katherine’s love at first sight. She felt that she had found a friend, and, with all the enthusiasm of her young and ardent nature, she loved her before she knew her.
“My name is Margaret Madison. I think you must be the musical one, as you have a familiar-looking roll in your hand. You must come and see my music-room. I play the violin myself, and I should so much enjoy playing with you.”
Katherine’s dark eyes grew round with excitement and the color deepened in her face.
“The violin!” she exclaimed. “And you want me to accompany you? How perfectly lovely it will be!”
“We shall have some good music,” said Miss Madison; “you on the piano, and I on the violin. And my brother sings a little.”
“Oh, your brother!” said Katherine. “I’m so glad you have a brother, for we were hoping that he would do for Peter.”
Miss Madison looked somewhat astonished at this remark, but she said nothing.
“Peter is my brother,” continued Katherine,“and he doesn’t care for many boys, so I do hope your brother and he will get on together. We were so glad when we heard that another boy was coming. My sisters and I will call upon you very soon. Good-bye!”
She did not notice that Miss Madison laughed outright as she left her, so excited was she at the tempting prospect held out to her of the music which was to be enjoyed. She hurried home to tell her sisters of the meeting, and to beg Honor to reconsider her determination to have nothing to do with the new neighbors, but to go at once to call, and in the same breath she assured them that Aunt Sophia could have her room and she would try to use the typewriter.
She was greatly relieved, however, when her sisters told her that her last offer was unnecessary. Victoria had succeeded so well with her first efforts that she felt quite enthusiastic about it and would on no account give up the position to Katherine.
At first Honor would not listen to the suggestion that they should call upon the Madisons. It was only after much urging from both Katherine and Victoria that she finally consented; and then she took pains to make it very clear to them that shewould go chiefly and solely because she wanted Peter to have a companion, and as there was a brother there who would no doubt be a desirable boy for him to know, it would perhaps prevent awkwardness for them to become acquainted with the other members of the family. The next afternoon, therefore, was set apart for making the visit.
This formality devolved naturally upon Honor and Katherine, but at the last moment Victoria announced that she should accompany them, so anxious was she to see the music-room and the other interesting things which were sure to be there, as well as the beautiful Miss Madison herself, of whom Katherine had talked so enthusiastically ever since she had met her the day before.
The three sisters made ready for their call, and before long were climbing the steep hill. They were about to ring the bell, when the door was opened for them by Miss Madison.
“I saw you coming,” she said, “and I thought I would let you in myself. How good of you to come so soon. I am delighted to see you. Now you must tell me which is Honor and which is Katherine and which Victoria,” she added as sheshook hands with each. “You see I know all your names though I don’t know you apart. Come into the house, and I will send for my mother.”
They went into the parlor, and as they did so a gentleman rose and came forward. He was a good-looking young man with blue eyes like Miss Madison’s, though his hair was darker than hers. Before the girls had time to wonder who he was their hostess introduced him.
“This is my brother Roger,” said she. “Do you think he will ‘do for Peter’?” she added, laughing as she turned to Katherine.
“Oh,” exclaimed Katherine, wanting to laugh herself, but fearing that Honor would be shocked; “what must you have thought of me yesterday! We were told that he was a boy.”
“So I am in a great many respects,” said Roger Madison. “I’m sure that I’ll ‘do for Peter.’”
In the meantime, what had become of Victoria? She had paused for a moment in the doorway and then had turned and disappeared. Her one thought was flight, and like a flash she ran down the avenue and was lost to sight beneath the brow of the hill.
Miss Madison’s brother was the man who had bought the etching! What would Honor say?
Whatwould Honor say? This was Victoria’s chief thought as she rushed headlong down the hill, not pausing until she had reached the safe shelter of their own place. There beneath one of the old trees she found a rustic bench, and sinking down upon it, quite breathless from her run, she tried to consider calmly the situation.
What would Honor say? She who had hoped that they might never see the young man again because in her eyes the affair had been so mortifying! And so it had been, Victoria said to herself. What would Mr. Madison himself think when he learned that one of his new neighbors was actually the girl whom he had encountered in a Boston picture store peddling her wares, and of whom he had bought something purely as an act of charity?
Victoria, looking back at the occurrence, felt perfectly confident that it was chiefly owing to his good nature that he had bought the etching.
“There, beneath one of the old trees, she found a rustic bench”
He was sorry, probably, for a girl who was forced to do such a thing, and had given her an extra five or ten dollars merely out of charity. Victoria writhed in spirit.
She did not regret her expedition to Boston, for they had been in sore need of the money, and to part with the pictures and the jewelry had been a perfectly honorable means of getting it. She did not feel in the least degree ashamed of having sold the etchings, but she was deeply mortified when she remembered that she had allowed herself to accept the higher price from one who was a complete stranger to her, and one who certainly did appear to be sorry for her.
The Starr family pride—of which this daughter of the house had no small share—was up in arms. She felt that she could never look Roger Madison in the face. That he would remember her as clearly as she remembered him, she had not the smallest doubt.
And then again, what would Honor say? She would probably flatly refuse to have anything more to do with the Madisons, which would be unfortunate, for Katherine had set her heart upon the anticipated music that she was to enjoy with MissMadison. Katherine was of an ardent temperament, and her likings were as strong and unchangeable as her dislikes. Already she loved and admired Miss Madison with all the enthusiasm at her command, and it would be a bitter disappointment to her if Honor should decree that the two families were to have no further intercourse. Indeed, Katherine would in all probability decline to listen to Honor, and that would make trouble. What should be done to avert these consequences?
There was but one course to pursue, and that was to keep her family in ignorance of the fact that she had ever seen Roger Madison before. Victoria fairly gasped as this solution of the difficulty presented itself. Could she keep such a secret? The sisters were in the habit of talking freely together and of telling one another all the events both large and small that came into their day. Not to make known to Honor and Katherine the fact that Victoria had met Mr. Madison before, and under the peculiar circumstances which had made the incident a matter of family history, required some determination. It meant far more to her than it would to many another girl. ToVictoria it seemed like an act of deliberate deception, and she hesitated before taking the step.
“I don’t want to deceive them, I am sure,” she said to herself, as she sat under the trees this beautiful afternoon in the last week of April, looking with troubled eyes towards the house on the hill; “but it does seem a pity to deprive Katherine of the music, and if Honor knows about it, she will probably be almost rude to the Madisons, for she will be so anxious to show her pride about it, and that seems a pity, for they are so pleasant and evidently want to be friendly. I can keep out of Mr. Madison’s way, and perhaps it will be a long time before he discovers me. I wish I had some older person to ask. I wish I had a mother. It must be so lovely to have one to go to whenever anything troublesome comes up. I wonder if girls who have mothers realize how terrible it is not to have one.”
Victoria’s mind wandered from her present anxiety to the thought of the mother who had died when Sophy was a baby. She had been only seven years old herself at the time, but she remembered her perfectly, and the change which it had made in her father. He had become sograve and quiet after that, and although he was always devoted to his children, he was different, Honor always said, from what he had been before. Honor had tried so faithfully to be a mother to the younger ones, thought Victoria.
“But then Honor is really so little older than I am, that sometimes it seems as if she didn’t know a great deal more herself. If only Aunt Sophia were different! But she would be no help. No, I must decide for myself and—I decide to keep it a secret!”
Victoria said the last few words aloud, with slow and deliberate emphasis. Then she rose.
“What must they have thought of me, running away in that style? And what shall I say to the girls? I shall just have to tell them that I was overwhelmed with shyness just as we were going into the room. They won’t believe me, because I’m not often shy, but I am sure it was the truth. I was frightened to pieces. What a time I shall have making up excuses for not going there, or seeing Mr. Madison if he comes here—if he comes! Very probably he won’t. And I must be careful about the trains. It would be awkward enough to meet him at our little station. Dear me, what a summer it is going to be! Aunt Sophia at Glen Arden,and the man who bought the etching in the house on the hill!
“‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way,And merrily hent the stile—a!’
“‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way,And merrily hent the stile—a!’
I will divert my mind by working in the garden a little. Or no, I will practise on the typewriter! If I don’t learn to do it easily soon, Aunt Sophia will suspect the plot. How many secrets we’re having now. I don’t mind having them from Aunt Sophia, but I do hate to have anything on my mind that Honor and Katherine are not to know.”
She had not been long at work before she heard footsteps upon the piazza, and the voices of her two sisters.
“Where do you suppose Vic can be?” Honor was saying. “I really feel quite anxious about her. Vic, are you here?” she called, coming into the house. “Why, child, what happened to you? Here she is, Katherine, working on the typewriter. What made you run away, Vic?”
“Shy,” replied Victoria, as she slowly fingered the keys.
“Nonsense!” said Katherine. “It was something else, Vic. You never were shy in your life.”
“Frightened, then,” said Victoria.
“Frightened? What at?”
“Miss Madison’s big brother.” Which was certainly the truth.
“Vic, how absurd!” cried Katherine. “He is just as nice as he can be. Wasn’t it too ridiculous that we should have supposed that he was a small boy of Peter’s age? We had a great laugh over it, and I was really glad that we had made the mistake, for it was such a joke it quite broke the ice. I feel as if I had known them both for years, don’t you, Honor?”
“Yes, they are very nice, both of them,” replied her sister, “and I am very glad, girls, that you made me go there to call. After all, it would have been silly to hold aloof from them just because we are poor. I don’t think they are at all the kind to look down on us because we are—”
“Of course not,” said Katherine with some impatience. “They are true gentle-people, and not in the least snobbish. The mother is lovely, Vic.”
“Is she?”
Victoria bent over her machine, examining the result of her labor. She was indeed glad that she had decided not to divulge her secret, now that sheheard what a pleasant impression the new neighbors had made, especially upon Honor; but she wished that she were at liberty to enjoy their society herself.
“I am doing this quite nicely,” said she, taking out the paper and showing it to her sisters.
“Why, so you are!” exclaimed Katherine. “I had no idea you would learn so quickly, though you have spelled some of these words in a new and rather remarkable way. But, Vic, how funny you are! You were wild to have us call on the Madisons, and apparently most anxious to go there yourself, and now you seem to take so little interest in them, and you rushed away after you were actually in the house. It was a frightfully rude thing to do, and they didn’t know what to make of it. Honor and I had the greatest time explaining to them.”
“What did you tell them?” asked Victoria.
“Oh, we said that you were very busy, as you were still at school, and had probably remembered some lesson, or something that you hadn’t done. We were perfectly at a loss to know what to say, weren’t we, Honor?”
“Yes. It was really rude, Vic. I think youought to apologize to Miss Madison. You had better go there very soon and explain, though I can’t imagine what you are going to tell her. It will be rather peculiar to say that you were frightened. They are coming here very soon and perhaps you can make it right then.”
“All of them?” asked Victoria.
“No; only Miss Madison and her brother. Mrs. Madison is an invalid and doesn’t go anywhere, but they are coming.”
Victoria groaned in spirit, but she made no audible comment, and presently her sisters left her. She would now have a difficult road to travel, she said to herself. She must watch with increasing vigilance and promptly disappear if there was the slightest chance of meeting Roger Madison. She was leaning back in her chair, pondering the situation, her brow puckered by the deep thought in which she was engaged, when Peter entered the room, followed closely by Sophy and Sirius.
Since the day last week when he had deserted Sophy in the woods Peter had been unusually attentive to his small sister. He had said little upon the subject, but he had thought about it, and he undoubtedly felt some remorse for his share inthe events of that afternoon. It was very stupid of Sophy to have allowed herself to lose her way, he thought, but then she was only a girl and a little one at that. What else could one expect of so benighted an individual? And he was fond of Sophy after a fashion, he said to himself with superb condescension, and was sorry that she had been frightened. Therefore he had allowed her to bear him company more constantly than usual during the past few days, and Sophy was in the seventh heaven of delight in consequence.
At the present moment they were engaged in a spirited discussion, which was not uncommon, or, to be more exact, Peter was in the act of laying down the law to Sophy, this being one of his favorite pastimes.
“You are a perfect little goose, Sophy! I can’t imagine what you are thinking of. A wheelwright! I told you the other day what I was going to do. Have you forgotten already? Your memory isn’t worth a cent. But what else can you expect of a girl?”
Sophy became visibly depressed.
“I wish I could remember, Peter,” she said, searching in the depths of her memory for Peter’swords of wisdom too precious to be lost. “Did you tell me long ago?”
“Not long ago, at all. It was the day you got scared in the woods. If you remember, don’t say anything, for Vic is here, and you know it’s a secret. Don’t you know the thing that’s going to have nothing about girls? Well, no matter. All the less chance of the secret’s getting out if you’ve forgotten it. What do you suppose Sophy wants me to be, when I’m grown up, Vic?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Victoria. “A clergyman?”
“No, indeed. The most ridiculous thing you ever heard of: a wheelwright!”
“A wheelwright?” repeated Victoria. “Where in the world did you get that idea, child?”
Sophy looked ready to cry. She felt that it was hard, indeed, that even her beloved Vic should question her sagacity.
“I only meant because it’s so safe,” she faltered. “I do want Peter to do something he won’t be killed in. I didn’t think about the clergyman. He could be that, of course, and not be killed. But my history lesson this morning was all about wars and battles, and I felt so worried about Peter,in case he should be a soldier or a sailor when he grows up. The soldiers get shot, and the sailors get drownded, and I was thinking of the safest thing he could be, and it was a wheelwright. They just have to mend wagons and carriages; and Peter likes to mend things up in the shop, you know. It is safer than a blacksmith, for a horse might kick a blacksmith, you know, and perhaps kill him.”
Peter roared with laughter, and even Victoria had to raise her hand to her mouth to hide a smile; but she saw that Sophy was very much in earnest, and she would not hurt her feelings for the world. Peter’s laugh, however, was the finishing touch. Sophy hid her face in her sister’s lap, and her small shoulders shook with sobs.
“You’re real mean!” she cried. “I only want to save your life. You’re my only brother!”
Victoria frowned fiercely at Peter while she endeavored to soothe Sophy, and Peter himself felt a little remorseful for his unfeeling mirth. He attempted to mend matters.
“I’m laughing at Sirius!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t he too absurd? Sirius, you ridiculous dog, ha! ha! ha! Oh, Sophy—I mean Sirius, how funny you are!”
Upon which Sirius in his turn was sorely offended. With lowered tail and with an appearance of great dejection, he crept under the sofa. Like the rest of his race he disliked being laughed at, and he felt that he had done nothing to subject himself to such an insult. He had been lying at his master’s feet, quite sound asleep, and no doubt enjoying the dream of an entrancing walk in the woods, when he had been recalled to real life by this extravagant burst of laughter mingled with the sound of his own name. Truly he had a right to feel aggrieved. And sitting in the most remote corner beneath the sofa he thought over his wrongs.
“After all, your idea is not such a bad one, Sophy,” said Victoria. “You are quite right about it being better for Peter to do something safe; but I don’t think wheelwrights make a great deal of money, and as Peter is the only man in our family, it is rather necessary that he should earn as much as possible. By the way, Peter, do you know where Dave is this afternoon?”
“No, I can’t find him. He must be off somewhere.”
“Where do you suppose he goes?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Peter, indifferently. “Perhaps he goes down to see his people in Fordham.”
“Perhaps he goes to walk with that brother,” suggested Sophy, who had dried her eyes and quickly recovered from her recent mortification. “He isn’t a nice brother, though, and he talked regular swear-words. I shouldn’t think Dave would like him to do it.”
“Neither should I,” said Victoria, “and I wish he wouldn’t go off so much. I think Honor had better speak to him. Even though we have another man at work, he needs Dave’s help if we are going to make anything out of the vegetables.”
The girls had determined to turn their garden to account this summer, and to send their vegetables and perhaps some of their fruit to the markets for sale. They had engaged a gardener for the purpose, and although his wages took a large slice of their earnings, they had decided after consulting with Mr. Abbott that it would be a wise thing to do. Mr. Abbott had been ill the greater part of the winter and had been unable to come to Glen Arden for several months, but his wards heard from him frequently, and theyseldom undertook any important project without asking his advice.
“I will speak to Honor about it now,” continued Victoria. “Come, Sophy! Come with me, and then we’ll go down to the garden afterwards and see how things are going there. Fortunately it is Friday, so we have no lessons to learn.”
Leaving Peter to conciliate the offended Sirius as best he could, Victoria and Sophy went upstairs.
The following week passed quickly enough, and all too soon came the day before that on which Mrs. Wentworth Ward was to descend upon them. Katherine, in spite of the entreaties of her sisters, had deferred until the last possible moment her removal to another room. At length, however, further delay became out of the question, and on Wednesday evening she announced that she should begin to remove her effects to the third story if her family would assist in the operation.
Peter and Victoria had each offered to take the third-story apartment and give either of theirs on the second floor to Katherine if she desired,but she had finally decided that she preferred to go up herself. There were two rooms there with a square hall between, and she rather fancied the idea of having a whole suite to herself, where she would be quite free from interruption or criticism. It was not probable that her Aunt Sophia would often mount those steep stairs, she thought.
“If we get everything moved up to-night, B. Lafferty can clean my room to-morrow, and it will be all ready for our dear aunt by the time she arrives,” said Katherine. So after supper the four girls ascended and began the task of “moving” Katherine.
Peter took no part in the proceedings, but retired to the “shop,” where he had some work in which he was interested. Very soon they were all actively engaged, one carrying skirts and hats, another staggering under a pile of boxes, still another rummaging in the depths of the closet, bringing to light all sorts of things which Katherine had stowed away there in some remote period of the past, and had apparently forgotten. Occasionally Honor or Victoria would pause in dismay as some new article appeared which they did not know that Katherine possessed.
“Where did you get that, Katherine?” they asked more than once.
“Oh, I bought it a long time ago, when we had more money. Not this winter of course, girls. I really thought I needed it at the time, and it is so pretty.”
Sophy enjoyed the experience to the utmost. She had always longed to investigate Katherine’s possessions, which she knew to be more interesting than those of her other sisters, but she had never hitherto been allowed this privilege. Now that the desired opportunity had come, she determined to make the most of it. Unheeded by her busy sisters, she sat on the floor and explored box after box of ribbons, and odds and ends of finery, feeling that at last the millennium was here.
It occurred to Victoria’s frugal mind, as she glanced from the gallery to the hall below during one of her trips to the third story, that it was scarcely worth while to have so much light downstairs, as there was no one there to make use of it. Surely it was extravagant to burn so much oil unnecessarily, so without mentioning it to the others, who would have been sure toexpostulate, she ran down and put out the lamps, at the same time bolting the front door and attending to the fastenings of the windows. Then she went upstairs again and continued her work.
Ten minutes later the sound of the door-bell was heard through the house. Sirius, who had been lying at the head of the stairs, broke into loud and furious barking and rushed to the front door. The girls looked at one another in consternation.
“Who can it be at this hour?” exclaimed Honor. “It must be very late.”
“It is only a little after eight,” said Victoria, “and all the lights are out downstairs! Hurry and fix yourselves up, girls! Blanch, Blanch, wait!” she exclaimed in an agitated whisper as the maid’s heavy footsteps were heard in the hall below. Victoria flew down the stairs almost as quickly as Sirius had gone.
“Don’t open the door till I light the lamps,” she said.
Itdid not really take long to light the lamps, but to Victoria it seemed an age. Matches broke in her hand as she struck them, her trembling fingers allowed a chimney to slip from their grasp to be dashed in a thousand atoms upon the floor, and in the meantime she heard voices upon the piazza, while Blanch, standing close to the front door, asked her in loud and penetrating tones if she were not yet ready to have it opened.
At last, signalling to her that the time had come to admit the visitors, whoever they might be, Victoria disappeared through the door which led to the back of the house and listened at its crack while Blanch drew back the bolts with a clatter and noisily turned the key in the lock.
“Are the young ladies at home?” she heard a voice ask which she felt sure was Miss Madison’s. She hoped devoutly that Blanch’s reply would be adiscreet one. Unfortunately Blanch was so apt to be loquacious.
“Yes’m, they’re home,” replied B. Lafferty, “but I guess they’ve gone to bed. The lights was all out, but Miss Vic come down an’ lit ’em. I’ll see if the others is up.”
Victoria groaned aloud. All her ingenuity had been of no avail, and Blanch had capped the unfortunate climax by speaking of her as “Miss Vic!”
“Oh, we have come too late!” exclaimed Miss Madison. “I was afraid that we were. We will come another time. Don’t disturb them now.”
“All right,” returned Blanch, affably. “Just as you say, mum.”
Victoria felt ready to dart from her hiding-place and detain the visitors by force, but at that moment Honor’s light step was heard upon the stairs.
“We haven’t gone to bed at all,” said she, “and are delighted to see you. We were upstairs this evening, and some one put out the lamps by mistake.”
And then a man’s voice was heard, and Victoria knew that the dreaded Roger was also there. She hastened up the back stairs as Katherine in herturn went down the front, and proceeded to devote herself to finishing the task of the evening, congratulating herself that she had not been caught.
Sophy meanwhile had disappeared, and Victoria in thinking over the excitement of the last few minutes completely forgot her. In fact, she supposed that she was in bed as she usually was at this hour. The little girl, however, had been engaged in making hay while the sun shone. In other words, she had retired to the room which she shared with Victoria, and had taken with her a large box of treasures which she had abstracted from Katherine’s belongings, in which she proceeded to array herself.
Upon her head she placed a wreath of artificial roses from an old hat of Katherine’s, which, owing to her short hair, it was a difficult matter to adjust. Finally, however, this was arranged to her satisfaction, and she then draped about her shoulders a large white lace scarf, which she fastened at one side with an immense bow of yellow satin. Katherine when she wore colors had been fond of brilliant ones, and was constantly buying all varieties of flowers, ribbons, and what not for her personal adornment. Just as Sophy had finished thusdecking herself had come the flurry which ensued upon the ringing of the door-bell, and then the girls had gone down to receive the visitors.
Sophy had heard so much of these new neighbors during the last few days that she was most desirous of seeing them. She had walked past the house on the hill more than once in the hope that her curiosity might be gratified, but to no avail. Now they were actually in the house. It was too good an opportunity to let slip. Shortly after Victoria came up the back stairs, Sophy crept down by the same route. Softly she opened the door which led to the front of the house and stealthily she took her way into the square hall.
A screen usually stood near the door at the back of the parlor. She hoped that she should find it there now, and that no one would be sitting at that end of the parlor. In that case she could peep from behind the screen or perhaps through its crack. She found to her satisfaction that the screen was there, and that her sisters with their guests were sitting at the farther end of the room,—it was a large one with two doors,—and she immediately placed herself in a position from which she fancied that she could command a view of the roomwithout being perceived herself. She was also pleased to discover that her sisters were sitting with their backs to her, while their visitors faced her. She could thus see exactly what they looked like.
Mr. Madison was telling Katherine a story. It appeared to be an interesting tale as well as an amusing one, for Katherine was laughing heartily, and presently Honor and Miss Madison gave up their conversation and listened also. Sophy, thinking the crack unsatisfactory and growing bolder, peered around the corner of the screen for a second at a time. She found it a fascinating pursuit.
Mr. Madison continued his story. It was a favorite one with him, and he had seldom found more appreciative listeners than the two Miss Starrs. He was approaching his point, leading up to it with the skill of an accomplished storyteller when—what was that? His eye caught something that moved, at the other end of the room. Probably the dog which had barked upon their arrival and had since disappeared. He continued his tale, but there it was again! Surely it was no dog that he saw, but pink roses, yellow ribbon, white lace, appearing, vanishing, and reappearing from behind the screen.
He faltered for a moment in the story, and his sister wondered what was the matter. She looked at him, and then followed his glance. It was resting upon an extraordinary vision. A small pale face, with large brown eyes wide open with wonder at the tale, the face surmounted by a wreath of pink roses, was thrust from behind the screen. Roger controlled his amusement with difficulty, and brought the story to an abrupt termination.
“Is that really true?” asked a voice from the back of the room when the laughter had ceased.
The sisters turned. There stood Sophy in her fantastic costume, emerging boldly from her hiding-place and bent as usual upon probing the truth of the story to the core.
“Is it true?” she repeated.
“Why, Sophy!” exclaimed Honor and Katherine together. “What are you doing there? Whathave yougot on? And why aren’t you in bed?”
“I want to know if that story is true.”
It was always impossible to turn Sophy from the subject which at the moment chanced to absorb her.
“I’m afraid it isn’t,” replied Roger Madison,laughing, “but if you will come over here, I will tell you one that is.”
“Sophy, you ought to be in bed,” said Honor, severely. “I can’t imagine what you mean by coming down to the parlor dressed up in those extraordinary things.”
“I didn’t know they were strordinary, Honor. I thought they were pretty. They’re Kathie’s things,” she continued, for the benefit of the visitors, “out of her boxes. We’re moving Kathie to the third story ’cause Aunt Sophia’s coming to-morrow. Kathie has to give up her room to her, but she doesn’t want to.”
“Sophy!” exclaimed Honor, in a tone of warning, while the Madisons laughed aloud.
“It is perfectly true, Honor. You know Kathie said at first she wouldn’t.”
Honor rose to her feet, but Katherine concluded that the better plan would be to laugh off a situation which was rapidly becoming awkward.
“It is quite true,” she said. “Our small sister has let the cat out of the bag, and we may as well tell you the rest. Our aunt, Mrs. Wentworth Ward, is coming to-morrow to stay all summer, and I didn’t want to give up my room at all, butshe wanted it and—well, Aunt Sophia usually has what she wants.”
“I don’t wonder you were busy to-night, then,” said Miss Madison, who liked Katherine all the better for her frankness. She was about to say more when Sophy’s solemn voice was again heard.
“Kathie, I don’t know what you mean. We haven’t any cat. You know we can’t have one on account of Sirius, and so I couldn’t possibly let it out of a bag. I think you’re making up a story, Kathie.”
This speech was received with such shouts of laughter that Sophy fled from the room and up to Victoria, who was listening at the head of the stairs. She had missed Sophy, and, after looking for her in vain, had finally detected her whereabouts. Now she received her weeping sister, and led her to the safe seclusion of their own room.
“I think you are a very interesting family,” said Miss Madison, when she and her brother finally rose to take leave. “Don’t scold Sophy for coming down, will you? I take it as a great compliment that she wanted to see us. We have yet to meet your brother and the sister whodisappeared so suddenly the other day. Please be very neighborly, for I like you,” she added, “and, Miss Katherine, perhaps you will come up Monday afternoon and bring some of your music. I long to play with you. I should be glad to have your sisters come, too. Good night.”
“What must they think of us?” exclaimed Honor, when the front door was finally shut. “The whole affair was too dreadful.”
“I don’t think so at all,” said Katherine. “It was all very funny from beginning to end, and they are just the kind of people to take it nicely. But did you ever see such a sight as Sophy! Fancy her taking all my precious things!”
“Fancy her coming down and listening in that way,” said Honor. “It was perfectly dreadful.”
“Don’t scold her about it,” said Victoria, who had joined them. “She has been crying so hard, and she is waiting for you to come to bid her good night, Honor. She didn’t know it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I’ve been explaining to her. She was crazy to see the Madisons, and she forgot she had those things on. I was rather curious myself to know what you were talking about when I heard such a jolly time going on down here.”
“Why didn’t you come down?” asked Katherine. “They both asked for you.”
“Too busy,” replied her sister. “I’ve finished moving you. If I hadn’t stayed upstairs, we should have had to be up all night, or you never would have been ready for Aunt Sophia.”
The next afternoon Peter announced his intention of going off to the woods. He was interested in a pair of birds that had made their nest in a certain tree, and whenever he had a spare moment he went to the woods to watch them. He had declined to take Sophy with him to-day, giving as his reason that she talked too much.
“You can’t see a thing in the woods,” he said wisely, “if a girl’s along. They always chatter, chatter, chatter, like a squirrel. When Carney and I go together, we don’t say a word, and pretty soon all the creatures come out and attend to their business just as they would if we weren’t there. Creatures are awfully afraid of people. You know you never see anything about when you just go walking through the woods. They all stay in their holes and nests. But if you just go sit there and watch and don’t make a sound, they begin to come out, and it’s lots of fun. I’ll take Sirius because he mindsme and keeps quiet when I tell him to, but it’s no good to say that to Sophy.”
“Why, Peter,” said Sophy, in an injured tone, “I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to. You tell me things when we are out walking, and then I have to answer, but I won’t if you’ll only let me go.”
“I really think you ought to stay at home this afternoon, Sophy,” interposed Honor. “You know Aunt Sophia is coming, and she will be disappointed if her namesake isn’t here to receive her.”
“I wish I hadn’t been named after her,” remarked Sophy, with an aggrieved air. “It’s an awful bother. When you’re named for people you always have to do things you don’t want to. Now there’s Peter can go to the woods this afternoon. He couldn’t if he was named for Aunt Sophia.”
“What a big goose you are!” said Peter. “As if a boy could have been named Sophia!”
“I wish you would do a little weeding before you go, Peter,” said Honor.
“And if you could only help me move some of the furniture in my new room,” added Katherine. “I can’t get it fixed to suit me at all, and it is so heavy. Can’t you, Peter?”
“Oh, goodness,” said Peter, “what a bother! I suppose I’ve got to move the furniture, but the weeding will have to wait. I tell you, I must go to the woods this afternoon. Hurry up, now, if you want me upstairs.” And he ran off himself two steps at a time.
Katherine was hard to please, and half an hour at least was consumed before the furniture was arranged to her satisfaction. Peter in consequence became more and more ill-tempered, and when she paused in the midst of her directions to tell him that his hands were not particularly clean and that his collar was frayed at the edge, he lost all patience.
“Who cares whether my hands are clean or not for moving your old furniture,” said he; “and if the collar is frayed at the edge, what made you put it in my drawer when it came out of the wash? It’s your own fault, and speaking of washing hands, I wash mine of this old sofa.”
And he departed, leaving the sofa in the middle of the room for Katherine to move alone as best she could.
Peter and Sirius took their way across the woody pasture beyond the barn and the garden.It was indeed good to be out of doors on such a day as this, and there was no knowing what of interest might be in store for them. Katherine’s criticisms were soon forgotten, and master and dog were happy in each other’s company and in the indefinable something which pervaded the atmosphere this afternoon of the first of May and which filled the hearts of both with a sense of elation.
It was an ideal May day, warm and balmy. The songs of the lately arrived birds filled the air; active little chipmunks, awakened from their winter’s sleep, darted here and there with amazing fleetness, while the frogs croaked loudly on the river bank, rejoicing that spring had come.
Suddenly Sirius darted forward in swift pursuit of a little creature which had ventured forth from its home shortly before and had been unmindful of the approach of two such hereditary enemies as a boy and a dog. Quickly though Sirius ran, however, the little animal, having the start, and becoming conscious at once that it was being pursued, darted away and was lost to sight.
“It was a weasel, I verily believe,” exclaimed Peter aloud, running in great excitement to thespot where it had disappeared. “Sirius, why didn’t you catch him? It is the one that has been killing our chickens.”
Sirius was beside himself with rage and disappointment. There was enough of the terrier in his nature to make him feel that a weasel was his lawful prey, and he jumped madly about the stump where the weasel had disappeared, barking, digging in the ground, and nosing in every direction.
“Yes, I do believe it lives here, Sirius,” said Peter. “We’ll get him yet. Here’s a little passage-way among the roots of the stump. We’ll dig out the nest as soon as we get a chance, Sirius. I saw a weasel’s nest once, dug it out, and it was as cosy as possible, lined with dead leaves and grass and feathers and a snake’s skin. We don’t want any more dead chickens lying with holes in their necks, indeed we don’t. Come on now, sir! We’re going to the woods.”