They continued their walk, Sirius leaving the stump sorely against his will, and going back to it again and again; and finally they reached the thicker woods where Sophy had lost her way on the memorable occasion when the owl had shrieked and had so sorely frightened her.
“I wish I could find that owl to-day, but I don’t believe he lives in these woods,” thought Peter. “I will look for him before I go watch those other birds. I believe that was the big tree where the owl was sitting when it yelled.”
He walked quietly to the spot, and seating himself on a fallen tree he ordered Sirius to be quiet. Nothing living was to be seen. The new leaves upon the trees were not very thick as yet, and the afternoon sun shone warmly through them, resting in patches on the undergrowth. With his hand on the dog’s collar Peter sat and waited.
Presently a gray squirrel moved cautiously along a branch, sitting quite still for a moment to watch them with mingled curiosity and anxiety, and then, finding these strangers so motionless and apparently so harmless, approaching quite near to them. It was hard for Sirius to remain quiet with so entrancing an object of pursuit within easy reach, but he had been well trained and, above all, he loved Peter, and was not Peter’s hand upon his collar?
Very soon the gray squirrel became tired of looking at them and ran away, and in themeantime Peter had discovered something in the tall tree which he had been watching. About forty feet above him was a hole as large as his own head, and standing on the edge of this hole was an owl. At first Peter had not been able to distinguish it, for it was of a mottled brown, and so like the bark of the tree in color that the difference could at first glance be scarcely detected. He was quite sure, however, that it had not been there when he arrived upon the spot. Neither did he think that it was the same owl that had given the strange cry the other day. This seemed like a little screech owl. He made some slight noise, breaking some twigs from the log on which he was sitting, and in a flash the owl disappeared within the hole and was seen no more that afternoon.
Peter sat here until he was tired, watching a snake which twisted its way through the dead leaves, the gray squirrels which ran about now in confidence, fancying themselves perfectly secure, and some birds that had nested in a tree not far away. He hoped that the snake would not reach the birds’ nest and steal the eggs, but it was early in the season yet, and snakes werestill sluggish in their movements. He knew that the owls were secure, for their eggs had been hatched some time since, and the young ones were probably well grown. Indeed, there was a possibility that the other birds, if they escaped the snake, might fall a prey to the owls that lived in such close proximity, and that would be only too ready to pounce upon and devour them at the first opportunity.
At last Peter rose from the log, and releasing Sirius with a commendatory pat for his good behavior, he walked off through the woods. There was a sudden rustle in boughs and underbrush, frightened bird notes sounded from the branches, shrill squirrel warnings came from the trunks of trees. All the creatures, which had supposed themselves safe, were terrified by these unexpected movements on the part of the two hitherto motionless objects that had been there so long, and quickly gave notice to their companions that danger was abroad in the forest.
But Peter and Sirius left them unmolested, and continued their way to the outskirts of the wood. It was later than Peter had supposed, but he determined to take a still longer walk and togo home by a round-about way which could be shortened at the end by coming up the branch railroad which led directly through their place.
He was walking quickly over this railroad, and was crossing a bridge which was above the river, when his foot caught on one of the ties, and he slipped between them. Something seemed to snap in his leg, and then a blackness came over him. Strange surging noises sounded in his ears, and he knew no more.
Onthe same afternoon upon which Mrs. Wentworth Ward was to arrive at Glen Arden, and which Peter spent in the woods, Roger Madison came home on an early train from Boston and invited his sister to go out on the river with him. Although Margaret was fully ten years older than himself, and therefore had been grown up when he was still a small boy, she had always been his dearest companion. They rode and drove and fished together, they played and sang, they read the same books and loved the same pictures, and the pleasure which came to one was deprived of half its value if it were not shared by the other.
On this May day therefore they were both more than content with their lot when, Margaret being comfortably placed in the canoe, Roger stepped in and pushed away from the shore.
“Up or down shall it be, Margaret?” he asked.
“Either. Anything is charming, even if we were to stay exactly where we are.”
“As you are so agreeable to anything, I think we will go up river. There are not apt to be so many people about there as there are in the neighborhood of Waterview and below. The river is wilder, too. What a beautiful winding stream the Charles is!”
He paddled quietly up stream, and they talked or not as they felt inclined, and drank in the sweet-scented air, and watched the turtles sunning themselves on the rocks, and listened to the hoarse croaking of the bullfrogs. Finally, as the sun sank in the west, they turned and floated down with the current.
“Those Starrs are very interesting girls, I think,” remarked Roger after a silence that had lasted for some moments. “Miss Katherine is very handsome, but the elder one’s face is very lovely. She is not as strictly beautiful perhaps, but her expression is such a noble one.”
“Katherine is more interesting to me,” said his sister; “I like Honor immensely, but she is more conventional than Katherine and more self-controlled. Katherine is full of fire and enthusiasm,and I like it. Plenty of faults, no doubt, but whole souled. Honor is charming, though, too.”
“They seem very jolly and have plenty of fun in them. How amusing it was last night.”
“Very; I like both the girls very much, and I am curious to meet the other one, Victoria, or Vic, as they call her. Though she is so young, she seems to be a moving spirit in the family. I wonder why we haven’t met her anywhere.”
“Apparently because she runs away from us. I was sure last evening that I caught a glimpse of some one peeping through the door at the back of the hall when that amiable maid of theirs was telling us that they had gone to bed,” said Roger, laughing at the recollection.
“It must be trying for them to give up so much and work so hard when they have been accustomed to such a different life,” said his sister. “Did you notice the pictures?”.
“Yes. They were chosen by some one with very good judgment. There were one or two water-colors on the wall that were excellent, and some fine etchings. I saw two by the same man who did the one that I gave you at Christmas, Margaret.”
“The one you bought of the girl in the picturestore? I feel a special interest in that picture, Roger. I am forever imagining what kind of a girl she must have been and how she came to do that.”
“Because she had to, I suppose. She was a nice-looking little thing, and she was a lady. Not exactly pretty, but her face was interesting. I saw a photograph at the Starrs’ last night that reminded me of her. I meant to have told you.”
“I have a feeling that we shall see her again some day, because I am so deeply interested in her,” said Miss Madison, musingly. “I don’t think I could feel so about a person whom I am never to see. But what a keen-sighted person you are, Roger! Without appearing to look about, you seem to have absorbed every picture in that room. I daresay you could tell me the titles of all the books in the cases and the music in the music racks!”
“As well as the number of roses in that child’s wreath,” said Roger, laughing; “I wouldn’t have missed that sight for the world. What’s the matter with that dog?” he asked suddenly.
They were about to pass under a railroad bridge not far from their own home. Standing on the bridge, very near the edge and almostfalling over in his efforts to make himself heard, was an ungainly-looking yellow dog. He was barking madly, occasionally varying the sound by piteous whines and yelps of entreaty. Roger paused and looked up.
“What’s the matter, old fellow?” he said kindly. “You had better get off the track. You will be run over, for it is almost time for a train.”
Upon hearing his friendly voice, the dog darted from the bridge and came running and tumbling down the steep bank to the river’s edge, where he renewed his barks and yelping, turning to run up the bank a little way and then looking back to see if Roger were coming.
“Something must be the matter, Roger,” said Miss Madison; “do go and see! A dog wouldn’t behave that way unless there was some trouble.”
Roger pushed up to shore, and then handing the paddle to his sister he jumped out and scrambled up the bank, the dog pausing for a moment to leap about with delight and then running before, stopping at intervals, however, to make sure that his new friend was close behind.
The bank was high and steep, but when thetop was at last reached, Roger Madison saw immediately the cause of the dog’s excitement. Upon the bridge, and lying between the rails with his face down, was the figure of a boy. The dog ran to him and licked his hands and ears, which were the only parts of him that were visible. Then he turned to Roger, whining piteously again, and at that moment was heard the whistle of a train that was leaving Waterview for its trip over the branch road. In less than two minutes it would reach the bridge.
Madison attempted to raise the boy, only to find that his foot was caught between the rail and one of the sleepers in some curious way. He must move him cautiously or he would do him injury. Far below was the river, and the boy was lying half-way across the bridge. There was but a single track here; it would be necessary to carry him to one end or the other, and the train was coming. There was no chance that the engineer would see him in time to stop, for it was growing dark rapidly, and there was a curve in the road shortly before this part of it was reached. Should he never be able to extricate the boy’s foot?
At last it was free. Standing on the narrow bridge through the openings of which the river beneath seemed so far away, and with the puff of the engine drawing nearer and nearer, Roger raised the lad in his arms and then ran with him to the farther bank. As he stepped from one end of the bridge the train reached the other, and in a second more it passed him as he stood by the track, his burden in his arms.
But what was the heart-rending cry which sounded in his ears as the train rolled by? What had happened? Roger Madison, strong man though he was, felt almost faint at the thought. Had the dog saved his master’s life only to lose his own? It could not be.
But it was so. Sirius had not stirred from Peter’s side until he saw him in a place of security; what happened afterwards no one ever knew. Probably in his ecstasy at the boy’s safety he had forgotten his own danger and jumped back upon the track; but whatever the cause, the train passed over him. He lost his life in saving the beloved master who had once rescued him from a cruel death. And who, whether dog or man, can ask for a more glorious end than this?
In the meantime Miss Madison, surmising that something serious was the matter, had left the canoe drawn up upon the bank, and had herself climbed up to the top. She reached it soon after the train had passed and found her brother bending over the still form of the boy, who lay by the side of the railroad.
“Who do you suppose it is, Margaret?” said he. “We had better take him to the Starrs’. It is the nearest house.”
“It may be Peter Starr, Roger!” exclaimed Miss Madison. “I shouldn’t wonder at all if it were, and he looks something like them, as well as I can see in this light. He has a dog, you know.”
“He has one no longer, then,” said Roger, briefly. “The dog is dead.”
“Roger, how terrible! What will the poor boy say? But I had better run before and prepare them. Roger, are you sure the boy is alive?”
But even as she spoke, the lad stirred slightly and opened his eyes.
“Sirius,” he murmured faintly; “come here, sir!” Then he lost consciousness again.
“It is Peter Starr,” said Margaret. “The dog’sname was Sirius. Follow slowly, Roger. You must give me time to prepare them.”
She ran through the woods which bordered on the river bank, and then emerging upon the open lawn, she hastened towards the house. Apparently the family were at supper, for no one was to be seen. Miss Madison opened the front door without ceremony, and greatly to the astonishment of the Starrs—including Mrs. Ward—appeared at the door of the dining-room.
“Is your brother at home?” she asked breathlessly. Though she tried to speak calmly, it was easy to see that something was the matter.
“No,” said Honor, “we were just wondering—Miss Madison, what is it?” She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, as did also Katherine and Victoria. A certainty that something serious had taken place filled the hearts of all.
“What is it?” said they together.
“Don’t look so frightened,” said Miss Madison. “He isn’t dead; he is only hurt a little, and Roger is bringing him. We found him. See; they are coming now.”
They looked across the lawn, and saw Roger Madison moving towards the house with a burdenin his arms. Could it be Peter? Madison, who was tall and very strong, carried him as easily as he would have carried a child of five, although Peter was tall for his age and was no light weight.
“Some one get a bed ready for him,” said Margaret, “and send at once for a doctor. In the meantime I will help you. I know a little about surgery.”
Honor and Katherine had run to meet their brother, but Victoria was ready to do what she was told.
“Aunt Sophia, please send Dave Carney for the doctor,” said she. “He is in the kitchen, I think. I will go upstairs.”
“And I will go with you,” said Miss Madison.
It was much later in the evening, and Peter was now quite comfortable. The doctor had gone after having set the broken leg and having assured the Starrs that, although the injury was serious, there was nothing about it which need alarm them. The Madisons went home after the doctor came, but Roger intended to return to inquire for the patient. As yet, nothing had been said about the fate of Sirius. Peter had been asking for him ever sincehe regained consciousness, and his sisters, supposing the dog to be at the barn, had promised to give him his supper. The doctor had left orders that Peter should be kept very quiet, and that Sirius should not be admitted to his room.
Honor was with her brother now, and Katherine and Victoria were in their aunt’s room. She had arrived by the designated train that afternoon, accompanied by her maid, her canaries, and several trunks. The bustle which her coming had caused had scarcely subsided before supper was announced, and then had ensued the excitement about Peter. Now, at half-past eight, she had requested the attendance of Katherine and Victoria in her room while she unpacked and settled herself for the summer.
“I want to talk over your affairs,” said she. “Now that I am really here I wish to be right in your midst. What have you been living on? How much have you made in that ridiculous school and those senseless violets? Why people should spend their money on violets I can’t imagine. They only fade.”
“Don’t you think we had better wait until to-morrow?” suggested Victoria, mildly, as she watchedher aunt’s energetic movements about the room. Mrs. Ward had made it clear to them in the beginning that she wished no assistance in her unpacking.
“Then you could talk to Honor about it,” continued Victoria, “and to-night we are so worried about Peter.”
“No need for worry,” rejoined Mrs. Wentworth Ward, briskly. “The boy is in no danger, the doctor said. How he ever got into such a predicament I can’t imagine. If your friends the Madisons hadn’t happened along just when they did—”
“Oh, Aunt Sophia, don’t!” cried Victoria. “It is too horrible to put into words. How can we ever thank the Madisons enough!”
“Do you know how they happened to find him?”
“No, we haven’t heard,” said Victoria, while Katherine added:
“Mr. Madison said he would come back later and tell us all about it.”
“Humph!” said her aunt, looking at her shrewdly while she shook out and refolded her garments. “Who are these Madisons?”
“Very nice people,” replied Katherine, with exaggerated indifference.
“So you seem to find them, and they apparently take an active part in your household affairs. I was amused at Miss Madison! Running upstairs without ever saying ‘by your leave’! But if they are related to the Roger Madisons, they are all that one would wish.”
“The brother’s name is Roger,” said Victoria.
“Oh,” remarked Mrs. Wentworth Ward, “then I have nothing to say.”
“After saving Peter’s life I think they are at liberty to do anything they like,” said Katherine, with the asperity which intercourse with her aunt never failed to bring to the surface. “And if they were not the Roger Madisons, what would you have to say, Aunt Sophia?”
Victoria, dreading an argument, abruptly turned the conversation by introducing the matter of the typewriter. It was, perhaps, a case of leaping from the frying-pan into the fire, but she felt that anything would be preferable to a lengthy discussion of the Madisons between her aunt and Katherine, who never, under any circumstances, were known to agree, and who eachpossessed to the last degree the power of irritating the other.
Sophy, meanwhile, had been shut out completely both from Peter’s room and from that of her aunt. She had been told by her sisters to go to bed, but as they had failed to enforce the command, she had not yet obeyed it. Instead, she wandered disconsolately over the house, even seeking Blanch in the kitchen, although she was not a favorite with the child. Sophy was discriminating, and her prejudices were strong.
She found Blanch engaged in a spirited discussion with the lately arrived maid from Beacon Street, and her presence was so completely ignored by them both, that she left the kitchen and returned to the main part of the house.
Glancing from the window at the side of the front door, she saw Mr. Madison approaching, and she opened the door and gladly welcomed him.
“Won’t you come and talk to me?” she said in a forlorn little voice. “I’m all alone. I can’t go to Peter’s room, and I can’t find Sirius, and Aunt Sophia doesn’t want me. Don’t you think if somebody was named for you, you’d like to have ’em in your room when you were unpacking?”
“Indeed I should!” said Madison, seating himself in the parlor, while Sophy took another chair and prepared to entertain him, after the manner, as she thought, of her elder sisters when they had visitors.
“And Aunt Sophia is unpacking,” she continued, “and unpacking is such a very interesting thing to watch. I think she is asking questions, too. Aunt Sophia asks a great many questions. When I do, the girls say I’m curious, but they can’t say that to Aunt Sophia.”
“No, scarcely!” said Mr. Madison, who was greatly amused with his small hostess, but preserved a perfectly straight face.
“She thinks we ought to live with her, but we don’t want to. We would rather work for our living, and so we teach school and give music lessons and sell mushrooms and violets, and once Vic went to Boston and sold some gold things and some—oh, but I forgot! The girls told me not to tell anybody that.”
“No,” said Roger, gravely; “you had better not.”
“Perhaps when we get to know you very well, we’ll tell you all about what the man said to Vic, the young man—”
“Do you think I can see one of your sisters?” asked he, interrupting her. “I want to speak about Peter, and—well, to explain to them how I happened to find him. Will you call one of them? Tell them not to come if it isn’t convenient, though.”
Sophy, going upon this errand, met Victoria on the stairs.
“I am going to look for Sirius, Sophy,” said she, quite unconscious that some one was in the parlor. “It is strange that he isn’t about anywhere. Have you seen him?”
As she spoke, a man’s figure appeared in the doorway of the parlor.
“I want to tell you about the dog,” said Madison. “I didn’t have a chance—”
To his surprise the girl on the stairs turned and ran up again, leaving him with his sentence unfinished and without giving him a word of apology. It was most extraordinary behavior, Roger thought. Unquestionably, charming as the Starr sisters were, there was one among them who was peculiar. It was not the first time that Victoria had acted in the unaccountable fashion. Indeed, that very night, when he had carried Peter to his room, she had disappeared through one door as he came in the other.He should think that after having saved her brother’s life, she might treat him at least politely. However, she was only a little girl of fifteen, he said to himself, and probably knew no better how to behave. It was strange, though, for the others were undoubtedly well bred, and even little Sophy had good manners.
He was about to leave the house, too proud and too indignant to ask again to see any one, when Katherine came down.
“Sophy told me that you were here,” she said, “and I am so glad, for we want to thank you for all you have done. Vic is so upset with Peter’s accident that she couldn’t come down, but Honor will be here in a moment. Indeed, we cannot thank you enough!”
And then Honor came, and with tears in her eyes expressed her gratitude for what he had done for them. Madison described to them how and where he had found Peter, Sophy standing by his chair and drinking in every word.
“Then Sirius really saved Peter’s life,” said she.
“Yes, he was really the one; for if he hadn’t attracted my attention, I should never have known that he was there. Sirius was a brave, good dog.”
“Dear Sirius!” said Honor. “I didn’t like him when he first came here, but now I feel as if I couldn’t do enough for him.”
“I shall buy him a gold collar studded with diamonds the next time I go to Boston,” said Katherine.
“Kathie! Will you really?” asked Sophy. “And what will you buy for Mr. Madison?”
“He wouldn’t care for a gold collar,” laughed Katherine. “We shall have to do something else for him.”
“We cannot thank you enough,” said Honor again, very gravely. It scarcely seemed right to laugh when Peter had been so near death, and she felt that this debt of gratitude to Mr. Madison could never be repaid. There was a moment’s silence.
“Where do you suppose Sirius is?” said Sophy. “We haven’t seen him yet. I want to hug him for saving my only brother Peter.”
“My child, you will never see Sirius again,” said Roger. “He lost his own life when he saved Peter’s. He is dead.”
Sophy gazed at him for a moment in speechless astonishment. Then she buried her face in his arm.
“Sirius is dead!” she wailed. “Oh, what will Peter say?”
Severaldays elapsed before they dared tell Peter of the fate of Sirius. The doctor’s orders that he should be kept very quiet must be obeyed, and that was the excuse which they gave him when the boy begged that Sirius might come to him.
The spring days, so beautiful in themselves, seemed to have brought much care and anxiety to the Starrs. Honor was visibly depressed, but Katherine had her music with Miss Madison to divert her, and Victoria’s feelings, whatever they may have been, she was careful to hide. The presence of Mrs. Wentworth Ward made a great change in the household, and Peter’s accident a still more serious one.
There were many extra steps to be taken, and sometimes he was a difficult patient. He did not mean to be exacting, but he felt it to be a greatertrial than he deserved, to be kept in bed with a broken leg when the days out of doors were so beautiful, when trees and grass were daily growing greener, and the creatures had awakened from their winter’s nap, when “the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”
Peter did not express his feelings in just these words perhaps, but the thought of all that was beautiful out of doors made him restless and his pain hard to bear.
Honor and Katherine divided the teaching hours, one remaining with Peter while the other superintended the school. The spring weather seemed to affect the pupils also, for at times they became quite unmanageable. Sometimes Honor wondered if her own impatience did not react upon herself, influencing the children and making them more or less refractory. Whatever the cause, the school had certainly never been so irksome. She was anxious, too, about Mr. Abbott. He was still very much of an invalid, and they had not seen him for several months.
In addition to all this, Peter’s illness would be a great expense to them, and Honor wonderedhow they should meet the doctor’s bills. She felt almost glad that her aunt was at Glen Arden; for, in spite of the many inconveniences which her presence brought, it also meant an increased income, and in the present state of their finances this was most important. To be sure, Blanch, indignant with the newcomer in the kitchen, had threatened more than once to leave, but that was one of the smaller vexations which, perhaps, could be avoided.
The thought that was now filling the hearts of Peter’s sisters with dread, was the fact that the time was rapidly approaching when they must tell him that Sirius was dead. Each one wondered how and when it was to be done and who should be the one to do it. They finally decided upon Victoria.
And so with an anxious heart, one afternoon Victoria went to her brother’s room. She knew that she should have no difficulty in introducing the subject, for Peter’s first question was always in regard to Sirius, and the sisters had found it almost impossible to answer him without arousing his suspicions. As she supposed would be the case, Victoria had scarcely crossed thethreshold when she heard her brother’s somewhat querulous voice.
“Vic, where is Sirius? It does seem very hard that I can’t see my own dog. He wouldn’t excite me, and he wouldn’t jump on the bed if I told him not to. It excites me a great deal more not to see him, than it would if he were here.”
“I know, Peter dear!” said Victoria, going to the bed and sitting down upon the edge of it. “And there is nothing we would rather do, than bring Sirius to you. But we can’t. Will you try to bear it, Peter, when I tell you something very sad?”
“What is it, Vic?” exclaimed Peter, in a low voice. “I know what you are going to say! Is Sirius dead?”
Victoria nodded. Peter turned his face towards the wall.
“Please go away,” he said, still in the same low voice, and Victoria left him.
She returned in a short time to find him still in the same position. When she spoke to him he did not reply, and though she went again and again, it was always with the same result.
“What are we to do with him?” she said later to her sisters. “He won’t speak, and he just lies there with his face turned away. If he would only cry about it!”
“Peter won’t cry,” said Sophy. “He thinks it’s babyish. He was awful fond of Sirius, though. I’ve seen him kiss him often, on the top of his head, and he never likes to kiss anybody else. Oh dear, I wish I could do something to make him feel better!” The loving little sister’s eyes filled with tears, and she hid her face in Honor’s shoulder.
“The trouble is,” said Victoria, “he thinks we’re only girls and so he won’t talk to us. If father were here, or Mr. Abbott, it would be better. I really believe Peter would speak to them. If we only had somebody!”
It was unusual for Victoria’s courage to desert her, but it had all been very sad and depressing. Peter’s accident had unnerved her, and the subsequent dread of breaking the news to him, and then the disclosure itself, had been more of a strain than she realized.
“I wish we had an older brother!” she said, and then greatly to the surprise of the others she too began to cry. “What a goose I am!” she sobbed.“But I do feel so sorry for Peter and for all of us, and I wish he would speak to us.”
“I wonder if Mr. Madison would come and talk to him,” suggested Katherine.
“We can’t ask him to,” said Honor, quickly. “We must never ask him to do a thing. He would be the very one, I’ve no doubt, for Peter likes him, and he was the one who saved his life and was there when Sirius was killed, but it would never do to ask him. If he were to come of his own accord, it would be different.”
“It seems a great pity, then, that he can’t know how much he is needed,” said Katherine. “He seems to be the kind of man who always knows exactly what to say, and he is so good-natured he wouldn’t mind coming a bit. Do you really think, Honor, that it wouldn’t do to ask him?”
Honor shook her head very decidedly.
“It wouldn’t do at all,” said she.
Sophy, who had been listening attentively, dried her eyes. She was extremely disturbed by Victoria’s emotion, as were they all. It was so unusual to see her cry that Sophy felt that something very serious must be the matter. The little girl was ready to do anything to make her happier or to help Peter.The girls all said that to talk to a grown-up man would be the best thing for Peter, and that Mr. Madison would be the one of all others. Why not get Mr. Madison, then? To be sure, Honor had said that he must not be asked, but perhaps he would come without being asked if he knew that Peter needed him. Sophy felt very confident that Mr. Madison was a kind-hearted man, and if he were once told that he was needed, he would not wait to be asked.
She tried to say something of this to her sisters, but they were talking to each other and endeavoring to comfort Victoria, and she could not make them hear, so she determined to act for herself. She heard the whistle of one of the afternoon trains as it left the junction at Waterview. Perhaps Mr. Madison was on it!
Without further delay, she ran downstairs and out the front door. Like a young squirrel she scampered across the lawn and along the grassy path that led to the little station, arriving there just as the train did. One passenger only left it, and, greatly to her disappointment, it was not Mr. Madison.
There would not be another train for a longtime, she knew, but nevertheless Sophy determined to wait for it. She was afraid that if she went back to the house, something or, more probably, somebody, would prevent her coming again, and she had made up her mind that the only way to secure Mr. Madison was to meet him at the train. She sat down on the edge of the platform,—there was no house here, only a little shed at which the trains stopped,—and waited.
The sun, which was warm to-day, shone down upon her, the soft May breezes played with the daisies that had sprung up about the railroad track, little birds gathered courage from her stillness, and hopped nearer to the small figure, looking at her with inquisitive glances, but Sophy heeded nothing. Many serious thoughts were passing through her childish mind in rapid succession. She wondered why Sirius had to die when they all loved him so, and it made it so hard for Peter. She wondered if there was anything in the world that she could do to make Peter happier.
And Victoria! She was so surprised to see real tears on Vic’s face. Was Vic a baby to cry, as Peter always said that Sophy was? She hadnever seen her do it before except when their father died. Then everybody had cried. Where was her father now, she wondered? Did he know they were all so sad and there was so little money? Where had he gone, and where had they come from? How strange everything was, and how puzzling! Sophy supposed that she should understand it all when she grew up.
In the meantime she wished that the train would come. She was tired of waiting, and perhaps Vic was still crying, and Peter still lying so strangely silent, with his face turned away from them, as they went one by one to express their sympathy. Would the train never come?
And at last it did come, and, to her intense relief, Mr. Madison was on it. He was the only passenger who left it, and he was greatly surprised when a small and hatless figure danced up to him and seized his hand.
“I’m so glad to see you!” cried a lisping voice. “I’ve been waiting ever and ever and ever so long!” Sophy’s face looked almost pretty in her excitement. “I’m not going to ask you to come,” she continued, “for Honor says you must never be asked to do anything; but we want a grown-upman so dreadfully to talk to Peter. Peter won’t say anything, and he knows Sirius is dead. He thinks we’re only girls, and if you were only our brother, you would talk to him. I wish you were our brother!”
“But even if I am not, I can talk to Peter,” said Roger Madison, quickly, “and that is what you would like, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Sophy; “and I haven’t asked you, have I? Honor said, you know, that you must never be asked to do anything. I don’t exactly see why not. I wouldn’t mind asking you a bit, but I haven’t, have I?”
“Oh, no indeed! I’m coming entirely of my own free will. I want to talk to Peter.”
“How lovely!” said Sophy, as, with her hand tightly clasped in his, she skipped along at his side. “You are such a nice man. You would make a lovely brother. You see, everything was dreadful this afternoon, and Vic really cried!”
Sophy said this with the air of imparting a most unheard-of piece of news. That Vic should cry was to her almost as important as Peter’s broken leg.
“Come right upstairs,” said she, when theyreached the house. “Come right up to Peter’s room.”
“I think you had better say that I am here,” said Madison, hesitating.
“Oh, why?” exclaimed Sophy, impatiently; but seeing that he was firm in regard to this, she ran upstairs and peeped into Peter’s room. He was still lying with his face turned away, and she did not look far enough to see that Victoria was sitting behind the door. She ran down again as quickly as she had gone up and once more grasped Mr. Madison by the hand.
“It is all right,” she said. “Come right up.”
They mounted the stairs, and still hand in hand they entered Peter’s room.
“Peter,” said the small sister, “here’s a grown-up man come to see you. Here is Mr. Madison.”
Peter turned his head, and Sophy gave a sigh of relief. He had actually moved and was looking at them. At the same moment an exclamation of surprise came from some one else. Victoria rose to her feet and stood for a moment in silence. She gave one glance at Mr. Madison, and then her eyes fell, while the color came and went in hercheeks. She looked precisely as she had looked in the picture shop and stood in almost the same attitude. Madison recognized her at once, and he held out his hand.
“I’m glad to meet you again,” he said simply.
“Please don’t tell any one,” said Victoria. “No one knows it, and I’ve tried not to meet you. Honor wouldn’t like it.”
“Very well,” said he, gravely, and Victoria could see that he was surprised at her remark. “Just as you say, of course.”
Then she left the room, wondering if she had said the wrong thing. Was it what Honor would call “unconventional”? She wished that she had never tried to hide the fact that she had met Roger Madison before. It was such a little thing in itself, and yet it was constantly leading her to do rude and peculiar things. This was certainly a most trying afternoon, and again Victoria shut herself into her room and cried, and though Sophy came more than once and rattled the handle of the door, she would not let her in.
Sophy, when Mr. Madison was safely shut into Peter’s room, lost no time in making known the fact to her sisters.
“Why, Sophy!” exclaimed Honor. “How did he happen to come?”
“I met him at the station,” said she, “and I told him we wished we had a grown-up man, and so he said he would come. I didn’t ask him to, Honor. Really and truly I didn’t ask him to come. I only said we needed him.”
“But, Sophy dear, that amounted to the same thing, and don’t you remember that I said we mustn’t ask him. I wouldn’t have had you do it for the world.”
“I don’t see why, Honor. You asked Miss Madison to come the other day. Why can’t we ask Mr. Madison?”
“The cases are very different,” said Honor, somewhat severely, “and you ought not to have done what I told you not to.”
“Oh dear me,” cried Sophy, tears again trembling on her lashes, “I only wanted to make Peter better, and I didn’t really ask him to come! I only said I wished he was our brother, for then he’d be here.”
“You didn’t say that, surely, Sophy!” exclaimed Katherine.
“Why, yes!” said Sophy, surprise atKatherine’s vehemence drying her tears. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Never mind,” interposed Honor. “It is too late now, but another time, Sophy, please be more careful to do exactly as I say. Isn’t it time for you to go to your music lesson, Katherine? I am going to Aunt Sophia’s room to see if she wants anything. Come, Sophy.”
But Sophy declined to accompany her. She sat on the top step of the stairs, waiting for Vic to emerge from her locked room or for Mr. Madison to leave Peter. She thought her sisters were all very peculiar to-day. She had heard Victoria’s remark to Mr. Madison and she wondered what she could have meant. She stored it away in the recesses of her memory, intending to ask about it when a convenient opportunity should present itself.
When Roger Madison was left alone with Peter, he quietly closed the door, and drawing up the chair which Victoria had vacated he sat down near the bed.
“I am sure you want to hear all about your brave, good dog,” said he; “and so I have come to tell you. He saved his master’s life if ever adog did. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t be lying here now. Would you like me to tell you about it?”
“Yes,” said Peter.
And then Mr. Madison described to him the scene on the bridge.
“It was a glorious end for Sirius,” said he, when he had finished. “I know you feel badly enough about losing your dog. So should I. Indeed, I went through very much the same experience myself once, when I was a little younger than you—no, perhaps about your age. You are fourteen, aren’t you? I lost a dog that I was very fond of, and if it hadn’t been for my sister I should have been very selfish about it. She showed me how I ought to take it.”
“Oh, it’s easy for girls to talk,” said Peter. “They’ve all been in here this afternoon, telling me I ought to bear it, and make the best of it, and all that. As if I could ever get over losing Sirius, the best dog that ever lived! It is ridiculous for those girls to talk the way they do.”
“My dear fellow,” said Roger Madison, “do you know that you are a very lucky fellow to have those sisters? I’ve often wondered whether youappreciated them. I have one sister, and I wouldn’t give her up for all the money in the world. You have four, so you ought to be four times as grateful.”
“For four sisters?” said Peter, incredulously. “They’re nice enough, of course, but they order a fellow round too much, and they don’t understand. They seem to think I oughtn’t to mind about Sirius a bit.”
“I don’t think they feel that way. They have been very much worried about you, and they have felt pretty badly, I can tell you, about Sirius’s death and the way you would feel it. I happen to know that, and I also know that your sister Victoria has been crying about it this afternoon.”
“Vic crying?” Peter seemed to be as much impressed by this fact as Sophy had been.
“They are about the pluckiest girls that I ever knew,” continued Madison. “If they were my sisters, I should be mighty proud of them, I can tell you. I’ve no doubt that you are too, and are doing all you can to help.”
“There is nothing I can do,” said Peter, gloomily. “Just lying here and looking out at the trees and wishing I was out there. And I’ve beenwanting Sirius so much and wishing he could come to me, and now I’ll never see him again.” He turned his face away as he had done before.
“Peter,” said his friend, “I like you and I think there’s good stuff in you. Here’s a chance for you to show it. You can be a hero just as much as Sirius was, though in a very different way. You have a good deal to bear. A broken leg is no small matter, and the loss of your dog is a great sorrow to you, but if you try to be brave about it all, and try to make things easier for your sisters while you are laid up instead of worrying them in any way, I think you will be doing a good deal. I know it’s hard. We men are not very patient, and we don’t bear pain and discomfort as well as women do. Do you know that?”
“No,” said Peter, scornfully; “that can’t be!”
“Indeed it is so. If one of your sisters had broken her leg and were lying here, she would probably be three times as patient as either you or I should be.”
“Honor or Vic, perhaps,” remarked Peter, “but not Katherine.”
“Well, I’m not able to judge of that, of course,but I wish you would show that our sex occasionally does know how to behave under trying circumstances. I wish you’d do your best to be a hero. I was ill once, and when I got well, they told me I had nearly driven them all crazy,—I was so impatient and exacting,—so you see I don’t exactly practise what I preach. But that was a good while ago.”
“I wish you’d come to see me again,” said Peter, when his new friend rose to take leave. “You may say that girls are so fine, and all that, but I’d like to talk to you once in a while. I want to ask you something. I think I’ll ask you now. Don’t you think it’s pretty mean that I’m so much younger than the others, and that the girls have to work, when if I’d been the eldest I could have taken care of them?”
“My dear boy,” said Roger Madison, “depend upon it, you are placed in the family just where you are most needed. God knows better than we do about such things, as He does about everything else, and He intended you to be of use just where you are. And I think He means you to begin at once to be of use; and you can be so by being as brave as Sirius was. There are several kindsof courage and they are equally good. The courage to be patient and cheerful and kind when you don’t feel like it counts for as much in the eyes of God as the courage which saves a life. I don’t often talk like this, but I’m interested in you, Peter, and I want you to be the man I think you have it in you to be. Good-bye. I’ll come in again to-morrow, if you like.”
“Itseems to me that you are not as proficient as one would expect. There are a number of mistakes in this letter. How long have you been using the typewriter, Victoria?”
“Not very long, Aunt Sophia.”
“But how long?”
“A few—at least, some weeks.”
“Weeks? I supposed that you had owned one for months. In fact, it has never been explained to me where you got it nor how you happened to get it. Who bought the typewriter?”
“Er—we did.”
“But which one of you? I am under the impression that it belongs to Katherine. Am I right? Did she buy it?”
There was no reply. The aunt and niece were in Mrs. Wentworth Ward’s room this afternoon in June, engaged with the correspondence of the latter. It was a beautiful day, and Victoria longedto be out of doors. She had watched Katherine go across the lawn with her music-roll under her arm, and she knew that she was going to the house on the hill to read music with Miss Madison. Honor was sitting under the trees with Sophy and Peter, who was able now to be out of doors, lying stretched out in a steamer chair. Victoria alone was in the house this golden afternoon; and, anxious though she was to finish her task and be off,—no doubt for that very reason,—she had never worked so slowly. Her mistakes were innumerable, and several times she had been obliged to rewrite a note because of her aunt’s dissatisfaction with its appearance.
“Which one of you bought the typewriter?” repeated Mrs. Ward.
“Why do you want to know, Aunt Sophia?”
“I have my reasons. Who bought it?”
“Katherine did.”
“Ah, I thought so! I was sure that Honor told me so. And why does not Katherine use it?”
“She has so much else to do.”
“And yet she seems to have time to go to the Madisons’ almost, if not quite every day. Katherine is selfish.”
“Oh, Aunt Sophia, I don’t think so!”
“You may not think so, but that does not alter the facts. She is both selfish and extravagant—two serious faults. It is well for all of you that she is in a fair way to make a good match, but I am sorry for the young man.”
“Why, Aunt Sophia, what do you mean?” asked Victoria, gazing at her aunt in surprise.
“My dear, you must see for yourself what I mean. I shall say no more, but it is a self-evident fact. I will talk to Honor about it. There is nothing to be said against his family, and he seems to be a very nice young man,—good manners, good-looking, and all that, but Katherine is very young.”
“Young! I should think so,” said Victoria, indignantly. “Katherine hasn’t an idea of anything of the kind, and I don’t see why it should ever have occurred to you, Aunt Sophia. Can’t people, men and women, I mean, be good friends withoutthatbeing thought of?”
“Very seldom, my dear. But why you should be so disturbed by my remarks I cannot imagine. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are like saucers. One would think that I had suggested something quite unusual and very much to bedreaded, instead of an event which would be most desirable in every way.”
“I don’t think it would be desirable at all!” exclaimed Victoria. “Excuse me, Aunt Sophia, for contradicting you, but I can’t help it. It would be perfectly hateful to have either Honor or Katherine married, and to Mr. Madison of all people. Oh, it couldn’t possibly be!”
“But why not, Victoria? Why have you such an aversion for Mr. Madison?”
“Oh, because,” said Victoria, breaking down somewhat lamely. “I don’t want them to marry any one. I wish you hadn’t told me. Not that I think there is anything in it at all, but—but it just makes me think about it.”
“I most sincerely wish I had not,” rejoined Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “It has quite prevented your being of any further assistance to me this afternoon, and we may as well lay aside these other papers. You are usually so sensible that I supposed you would be so in this case. It is quite absurd for you to become so excited. There is another question that I wish to speak about to one of you, but I will wait until I see Honor. She is the proper one.”
“Won’t I do, Aunt Sophia?”
Victoria was sorry that she had allowed her excitement to run away with her. If it had been any one but Roger Madison whom her aunt had suggested as a possible husband for Katherine, she could have borne it better, but try as she would, and much as she really liked the young man, she could not overcome the feeling that she had about him in regard to the sale of the etchings.
That affair had assumed astounding proportions in her mind. From constant brooding over it without imparting the facts of the case to any one else, she had greatly exaggerated their importance. It seemed to her out of the question that Katherine should be allowed to become engaged while in ignorance of it, and in that event, Honor too should be told, and yet after her long silence she dreaded speaking of it. She wished that she could ask the advice of some one else, some older person, but there was no one. If it were upon any other subject, she would go at once to Miss Madison, she thought, who was so kind and friendly, but under the circumstances of course that was out of the question.
Even though Victoria and Roger Madison had met that afternoon in Peter’s room, she had tried since to avoid him. This was not easy, for he came to the house very frequently, ostensibly to see Peter. Was it really to see Katherine? She wondered what other alarming news her Aunt Sophia might have to disclose. Something disagreeable, she had no doubt, and she would try to save Honor from hearing it.
“I hope you will tell me,” she said, as she watched her aunt fold up the unanswered letters, replace them in their envelopes, and lay them away in the proper pigeon-hole in her desk. “I will try not to be so excited over this, but the other was such a surprise.”
“I have no doubt this will be also,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward, “and probably you will take up the cudgels in defence of the young man just as violently as you have scouted the idea of Katherine’s plans.”
“Her plans? And what young man? Are you again speaking of Mr. Madison?”
“Not by any means. I am speaking of the young man who attends to so much of your gardening, and who, as far as I can make out, hasmore confidence reposed in him, than any one else who comes to Glen Arden. I mean David.”
“David? Dave Carney? Why, Aunt Sophia, what is the trouble about him? We have always found him so satisfactory.”
“Exactly so, and therefore you have never taken the trouble to find out anything else about him. Where did you get him in the first place?”
“Peter met him in Fordham, and brought him home.”
“And do you mean to tell me that is all you know about him? Did you look up his references?”
“No-o, I don’t think so—at least, I’m not sure. Honor attends to all such things. But why, Aunt Sophia? What makes you ask?”
“I have reason to suspect him,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “When I was in Boston yesterday I saw him, or some one who closely resembled him, going into a pawnbroker’s shop, and since then I have questioned Ellen Higgins.”
Ellen Higgins was Mrs. Ward’s maid whom she had brought with her to Glen Arden.
“And what does she say?” asked Victoria. She did not fancy Ellen herself, and since heradvent there had been endless trouble in the kitchen.
“She does not like him, and she thinks you trust him entirely too much.”
Victoria felt like replying, “I wish Ellen Higgins would mind her own business,” but she restrained herself. Instead she remarked:
“We all like Dave Carney, and we have found him very satisfactory, but I think, after all, that Honor is the one for you to speak to about him. And now if you will excuse me, I will go—that is, if you have quite finished with the work.”
“I have finished because you were doing it so badly,” said her aunt. “I am ashamed to send such miserable typewriting as you did this afternoon.”
“Why not let me write the letters over with a pen, Aunt Sophia? I write a very clear hand, you know.”
“I prefer the typewriter for many reasons, and as you own one, you should be able to make use of it, even if Katherine was the one to buy it. I am astonished at you all. You are very headstrong. Now you may go.”
And Victoria quickly took her departure.
“She found her eldest sister sitting on a rustic bench under the trees, with her work in her hands”
Her mind was filled with the new ideas presented to her, but she found time to wonder why her aunt was not willing to have her notes and various documents written in a good clear hand with a pen, instead of insisting upon having them typewritten. But such a question was of minor importance, she thought, as she ran downstairs and across the lawn. Even if she could not tell Honor what was troubling her about Katherine, it would be a comfort to be near her.
She had two secrets now to keep from her sisters, and strangely enough, they were both connected with Roger Madison. Victoria felt that life had become very complicated within the last few months.
She found her eldest sister sitting on a rustic bench under the trees, with her work in her hands. She was making a dress for Sophy, who was playing with her doll, but who was so deeply interested in Peter’s occupation that the doll was frequently neglected.
Peter was lying back in his chair while he held an opera-glass to his eyes and gazed up into the branches of the tree above him. No one had spoken for some time, and when Victoria drew near,her brother held up his hand with a gesture of warning.
“Hush!” he whispered.
Victoria sank quietly upon the grass and waited. It gave her time to think over her aunt’s disturbing speeches, and for this she was not sorry.
The silence lasted for some minutes, and then Peter put down his glass.
“It’s a robin’s nest,” said he. “I thought it was, from the shape. I bet if we could see into it, we’d find it was lined with mud. Robins’ nests always are. The young ones are getting quite big, and one is terribly greedy when the old ones come. I daresay it is a cowbird.”
“But you said they were robins, Peter,” said Sophy.
“I know I did, but that doesn’t prevent a cowbird being there too, does it? That is just what those hateful cowbirds do. They are too lazy to build nests of their own, but they go and lay their eggs in other birds’ nests whenever they get a chance, and never go near them again. Then the cowbird’s egg gets hatched with the robin’s or the catbird’s eggs, or whatever nest it happens to have been laid in, and the little cowbird is awfully greedy andsnatches all the food, and grows up to be just like its parents. Oh, they are hateful birds! I was reading about them to-day in a book Mr. Madison lent me on birds. It said there that no self-respecting American bird will have anything to do with cowbirds. English sparrows are the only birds that will go with them. I thought that was pretty good, for every one knows that an English sparrow hasn’t much self-respect. I’m sure that is a cowbird up there, poking its head so far out and snatching, every time the old robins come with the worms.”
“Oh, Peter, I wish you would let me look!” said Sophy, in pleading tones.
Peter hesitated. He was very much interested in the proceedings in the tree; the opera-glass was adjusted to exactly the right point for his eyes, and in all probability Sophy would move it—she always did. Then, again, Sophy would never be able to locate the nest, and much valuable time would be wasted for nothing.
He was about to refuse her request when a new idea occurred to him. After all, it was not much to do for Sophy, who had been so devoted to him ever since his accident. She had run up and downstairs for him forty times a day. In fact, she had gone to the house a short time ago when he had expressed a wish for the opera-glass, and had brought it to him, and again for a book on birds. She never refused to do what he asked; on the contrary, she was eager to please him.
Peter handed her the glass.
“Look right up the trunk of the tree, Soph,” he said kindly, “till you get to the second branch from the top to the right, and a little way along that, leaning up against a small branch that isn’t much more than a twig, is the robin’s nest. Do you see? With all those heads sticking out. They’re getting hungry, I guess, for the old birds haven’t been back for ten minutes at least. They hear us talking, I suppose, and are afraid to come. Keep very quiet, now, if you’ve found the nest, and watch.”
Sophy, greatly pleased, peered up into the tree and waited. She had scarcely dared hope that Peter would allow her to look, and her heart was filled with an overpowering love for the brother who was so good to her.
It was a little thing for him to do, perhaps, but Peter felt happier than if he had declined to point out the nest to Sophy, and even though it did takeher a long time to find it, and though she turned the screw to and fro in her efforts to see better, and retained possession of the glass for at least ten minutes, he was glad on the whole that he had lent it to her.
Victoria sat upon the grass, absent-mindedly poking a hole in the ground with a bit of stick that she had found, and thinking about the very disturbing topic that had been suggested to her by her aunt. She did not pay much attention to the remarks about Dave Carney, for she considered her aunt a very prejudiced person who had objected to the boy’s presence at Glen Arden from the first.
The news about Katherine was far more alarming, and while she thought about it the sound of voices was heard in the distance, and the very persons of whom she was thinking were seen coming down the avenue towards the group under the trees.
“Dear me,” exclaimed Peter, impatiently, “here they all come! Now I shall have no chance at the birds at all. Mr. Madison is an awfully good fellow, but I wish he had stayed away this afternoon.”
Victoria’s glance chanced to rest upon Honor at this moment, and she was surprised to see a peculiar expression cross her face and the color deepen inher cheeks. She wondered if Aunt Sophia’s absurd ideas about Katherine and Roger Madison could possibly have occurred to her as well. In that case, perhaps they were not so absurd. She really thought she must talk to Honor about it that very night. There could be no harm in doing so, and she felt that she was incapable of bearing the burden of two secrets.
In the meantime there was no necessity for staying where she was if Roger Madison were coming, so Victoria rose at their approach, and waving her hand to them walked back to the house.
“Why does your sister, Victoria, always run away from us?” said Miss Madison, as she seated herself beside Honor. “I like her so much, and I wish I could see more of her.”
“She doesn’t run away fromyou,” said Sophy before Honor could reply. Miss Madison as well as her brother was a great favorite with the child, and she would have liked to gaze for hours at the beautiful face had her sisters not admonished her so frequently for staring.
“It’s your brother,” she added.
“But why my brother?” said Miss Madison in surprise.
“I don’t know,” said the truthful Sophy, “but ever since you came I’ve noticed that Vic ran away from your brother, and the other day when she was in Peter’s room and didn’t know he was coming and I brought him in, Vic said: ‘Don’t tell any one. I’ve tried not to meet you. Nobody knows it.’ I asked her afterwards what she meant, and she wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why, Sophy, what are you talking about?” asked Honor.
“Mr. Madison knows, don’t you?” said the child, turning to him. “Will you tell me what Vic meant?”
“Certainly not, if Miss Victoria won’t tell you herself,” said he; “I think you must ask her. Did you see the bird’s nest?”
“Yes, I did,” said Sophy, nodding her head wisely, “but you are only trying to get out of telling me by changing the subject. We weren’t talking about birds.”
“But we will talk about them now, Sophy,” said Honor, quietly, while she wondered what the child could mean. “We have been studying birds all the afternoon, Mr. Madison, and there are several questions that I know Peter wants to ask you.”
But Honor determined to speak to Victoria that very night, for she too had noticed her peculiar conduct, so unlike Vic’s usual open and cordial manner. There must be some reason for it, and Honor would have questioned her about it before this had there not been so many other things to occupy their minds.
It was a beautiful evening, and after supper the family sat on the piazza while the twilight deepened after the long June day, and in time the light of the moon made itself felt, and shone down upon the lawn where the trees cast such strange shadows.
Peter lay in the hammock until his bedtime, and after he and Sophy had gone upstairs and Mrs. Ward into the house to establish herself with her book by the parlor lamp, with the remark that she had no time to waste in moon gazing, the three sisters were left alone.
Victoria, who was anxious to speak with Honor, wished that there was something which would take Katherine into the house or elsewhere, that she might have the desired opportunity, for her words were meant for Honor’s ears alone.
Honor, while equally desirous of speaking toVictoria, was perfectly willing to do so in Katherine’s presence. The three had always been in the habit of talking freely together, and so Honor opened the subject at once.
“Why do you always try to avoid the Madisons, Vic?” said she, suddenly.
Victoria started guiltily. How strange, she thought, that Honor should have pounced upon the very topic that was occupying her mind.
“Do I?” said she. It was a difficult matter for Victoria to attempt evasion.
“Yes. You know you do. There must be some reason for it. We have all noticed it, and Miss Madison spoke of it this afternoon.”
“I don’t try to avoidher,” said Victoria.
“No, we know that,” said Katherine, “but you do avoid Roger, and it is very strange.”
“Roger! Do you call him Roger?” asked Victoria, somewhat icily.
“Oh, no, of course not to his face,” rejoined Katherine, impatiently, “but I hear his sister speak of him so often that I did it then without thinking.”
“I don’t think you ought to,” said Honor. “You might do it without thinking before him.”
“You must think I am very stupid,” laughed Katherine, “and I am not quite so ignorant of the ways of the world as all that! Honor, you are too funny about Roger Mad—I mean, Mr. Madison, begging all your pardons! He is so nice and jolly, and sings so well, but you never will go there much, and Vic is still queerer. Come now, Vicky, and tell us why you run away from him.”
“I can’t tell you anything,” replied Victoria, in a somewhat stifled voice. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me such unnecessary questions.”
“They are not unnecessary, dear,” said Honor, gently. “If you have any reason for doing it, you really ought to tell us. When it reaches such a pass that even little Sophy speaks of it, and repeated before us all this afternoon what you said to Mr. Madison the day you met him in Peter’s room, I really think you ought to explain.”
“Did Sophy do that?” exclaimed Victoria. “What did she say?”