The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA successful ventureThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: A successful ventureAuthor: Ellen Douglas DelandIllustrator: Alice Barber StephensRelease date: August 21, 2022 [eBook #68799]Most recently updated: October 19, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: A successful ventureAuthor: Ellen Douglas DelandIllustrator: Alice Barber StephensRelease date: August 21, 2022 [eBook #68799]Most recently updated: October 19, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler
Title: A successful venture
Author: Ellen Douglas DelandIllustrator: Alice Barber Stephens
Author: Ellen Douglas Deland
Illustrator: Alice Barber Stephens
Release date: August 21, 2022 [eBook #68799]Most recently updated: October 19, 2024
Language: English
Credits: This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE ***
This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler
“I always keep my engagements”
BYELLEN DOUGLAS DELANDAUTHOR OF “MALVERN,” “OAKLEIGH,” ETC.
“Jog on, jog on the footpath way,And merrily hent the stile-a.A merry heart goes all the day,Your sad tires in a mile-a.”SHAKESPEARE
“Jog on, jog on the footpath way,And merrily hent the stile-a.A merry heart goes all the day,Your sad tires in a mile-a.”
SHAKESPEARE
ILLUSTRATED BYALICE BARBER STEPHENS
Decorative graphic
BOSTON
W. A. WILDE & COMPANY
25Bromfield Street
Copyright, 1897,BY W. A.Wilde&Company.All rights reserved.
A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE.
CHAPTER
PAGE
I.
Mrs. Wentworth Ward visits Glen Arden
9
II.
The Starrs hold a Family Council
26
III.
A Declaration of Independence
44
IV.
Katherine as a Financier
61
V.
Peter seeks Information
81
VI.
Peter’s New Acquaintances
99
VII.
Victoria goes in Search of Funds
117
VIII.
Unexpected Generosity
134
IX.
Sophy has an Adventure
153
X.
The New Neighbors on the Hill
171
XI.
Victoria decides to keep it Secret
188
XII.
Roger Madison tells a Story
206
XIII.
Peter meets with a Serious Accident
224
XIV.
Sophy waylays Roger Madison
242
XV.
Victoria meets with Difficulties
261
XVI.
Midnight Marauders
281
XVII.
On the River
301
XVIII.
Mrs. Wentworth Ward changes her Opinion
320
PAGE
“‘I always keep my engagements’”
F’piece
“The girls and Peter could see Katherine, who sat in the hall below”
79
“‘It is a gem’”
136
“There, beneath one of the old trees, she found a rustic bench”
188
“She found her eldest sister sitting on a rustic bench, under the trees, with her work in her hands”
269
Itwas raining heavily, and a strong wind from the northeast blew the drops with relentless force against the dining-room windows. The few leaves that remained upon the trees were fast dropping, falling in sodden unloveliness upon the drenched lawn. It was a day for all those who could do so to remain within doors.
The four girls were in the dining-room. It was the most cheerful place in which to sit on a rainy day, and the fire that burned on the hearth lighted up the room, and gave it an aspect of cosiness that was very pleasant.
Honor Starr, the eldest of the family, was lying upon the sofa, which had been drawn forward from its usual corner and placed within reach of the warmth. She had a book in her hand,although she was not reading at the moment. She also held a bottle of camphor, which she applied frequently to her nose.
Sophy, the youngest sister, who was only eight years old, sat at a table near the side window, brandishing first a large pair of shears, and then a paint or a paste brush, while sheets of tissue paper, of every hue known to a maker of paper dolls, lay about her on the floor, and were mingled with the contents of an overflowing waste-basket which had just been upset.
Katherine, who was eighteen, and who came next in age to Honor, had been showing to her sisters a very handsome silver-backed handglass, which she had bought the day before in Boston, and apparently there had been some argument on the subject, for Katherine’s pretty face wore a perturbed expression, and she glanced somewhat resentfully at Honor, who was then devoting herself to the camphor bottle with conspicuous attention.
Victoria, the third sister, a girl of fifteen, knelt before the fire, to which she energetically applied the poker. Victoria was apt to use energy in the smallest affairs of life. The girls were all dressedin black, which perhaps added to the effect of dreariness caused by the weather.
“Surely, she won’t come to-day!” said Katherine, laying down the mirror and going to the window, whence a view of the drive was to be had. The house was set low, and was at some distance from the main road. The avenue leading to the house wound in and out among the trees, but there was one portion of it which was open, and could be seen easily from the windows. This open space Katherine was watching with scrupulous care.
“A dog wouldn’t put his nose out of doors to-day, if he could help it,” she continued.
“Aunt Sophia is no dog,” observed Victoria, coming behind her and peering over her shoulder; “she is a Woman, spelt with a capital W; therefore wind and weather will never keep her at home. I heard the whistle of the train, ages ago. And—yes, there she is!”
“Oh!” exclaimed the four sisters together, as a depot carriage came rapidly into sight and was then lost again among the trees.
“Sophy, do straighten up that table! Your chips are everywhere! And pick up thewaste-basket!” cried Katherine, turning hastily from the window. “Why did you choose to-day of all others to make paper-doll dresses?”
“Why, Kathie, you know Ialwaysplay paper dolls on Saturday, especially if it is a rainy one!” exclaimed Sophy, with reproachful emphasis; “and you told me yourself—”
“Children, don’t waste the time in useless arguments,” interrupted Victoria. “Aunt Sophia is here, and we ought to have been ready for her, for we might have known she would come. Honor, it will give her fifty fits on the spot if she finds you on the sofa reading a novel at this hour.Doget up and look brisk, even if you don’t feel so!”
Victoria was flying about the room, as she spoke, moving a chair here, and straightening a rug there, beating up a down pillow which still bore the indentation left by the last person who had leaned against it, and whisking out of the way the large box which was standing open upon the table.
“Here is your bargain of a silver handglass, Katherine. I advise you to keep that well out of Aunt Sophia’s sight,” she said; and then stepswere heard upon the piazza, the front door was opened, and there came in at the same time and with equal force, Mrs. Wentworth Ward of Boston and a strong gust of wind from the northeast.
“Why, Aunt Sophia!” exclaimed Honor, rising slowly from her sofa, which was in full view of the hall. “Is it really you?”
“It is really I,” replied her aunt; “and who else should it be, or why should it not be I? How do you all do? Honor, what is the matter that you are lying down at this hour of the day? Victoria, take my waterproof to the kitchen to be dried, if you please. Katherine, your hand, while I take off my overshoes! Sophia, come here, child, and give me a kiss! You smell of flour paste and are very sticky. What have you been doing? There, now I am ready to sit down.”
She walked into the dining-room and placed herself in a large chair at a discreet distance from the fire. She was a tall woman—all the Starrs were tall—and of proportionate width. Her forehead was broad and high, and above it the gray hair was parted and brushed smoothly back oneither side of her face. Her nose was rather large and was perfectly straight, her teeth were exceptionally good, and her complexion might have been called “high colored.” She was president, or vice-president, or at least director, of no one knows how many charitable, literary, and musical societies in Boston, and she was noted for her rare executive ability. Among the other things which she tried to manage were her nieces the Starrs, and she found them by no means the least difficult.
“You are brave to come to the country on such a day as this,” murmured Honor, sinking again upon the sofa, but not actually lying down. She was conscious that she was inviting censure both by speech and action.
“I always keep my engagements,” replied Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “If women did not keep their engagements, what would become of mankind? Ten days ago I wrote on my memorandum calendar for November third, ‘Glen Arden, 9A.M.train.’ A woman should be as exact as a railroad time-table, whatever the weather. It is the only way to accomplish anything in this world. The 9A.M.train has arrived, and so have I.”
She paused, but no one spoke. It was apparent that she intended to enforce a lesson, and she gave her nieces a moment in which to digest it. In the meantime Victoria returned from her expedition to the kitchen with her aunt’s waterproof, and as she entered the room she glanced hastily about.
Victoria, though only fifteen, was keenly sensitive, and it seemed to her that the intellectual atmosphere was surcharged with a high explosive, ready to go off with a loud report should a match be applied to it. She was quite sure that her aunt held the match and had come to Glen Arden this rainy day for the express purpose of striking it.
“And now to business,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward—she preferred that the two names should be mentioned in conjunction. “As you may suppose, I had an especial purpose in coming out here to-day. I have come to the conclusion, and I think your guardian will fully agree with me, that you cannot live here any longer.”
Yes, it was just as Victoria had suspected. Aunt Sophia had struck her match, and an explosion had promptly followed.
“And why not, may I ask?” demanded Honor, sitting upright upon the sofa.
“How perfectly absurd!” exclaimed Katherine, with a vehemence that was scarcely respectful.
“Oh, Aunt Sophia, you are trying to frighten us!” remarked Victoria, assuming an air of gaiety that appeared forced.
“But we don’t want to live anywhere else,” added Sophy, as if that reason were conclusive. Sophy, being only eight, had not yet fully realized the aunt for whom she was named.
Mrs. Wentworth Ward looked from one to the other of her four nieces. She appeared to be quite unmoved by their excitement. There can be no surprise for the one who strikes the match on occasions of this kind, and Mrs. Wentworth Ward prided herself always upon being equal to an occasion.
“I felt so at the time that your father died,” she continued, “but I said nothing. There was no one who could come here then to live with you, and it was not convenient for me to ask you to live with me; but in the three months which have elapsed since then, I have reached a decision. It is my way, as you know, to think over my plans carefully before making them known to others.I have thought them over, and now I tell you. It is neither seemly nor proper—and there are other reasons, too, which make it impossible—that my nieces and nephew should continue to live here alone. By the way, where is Peter?”
Peter’s sisters did not seem inclined to reply, until Victoria, fearing lest the silence should exasperate her aunt, volunteered the information that he was down at the barn.
“He went an hour ago to attend to his rabbits,” she said. “I suppose he is there still.”
“Did he not know that I was coming?” asked her aunt. “Why rabbits when I am expected? But, after all, that is neither here nor there. You are all to come and live with me. In other words, my house shall be your home henceforth. Honor shall act as my secretary. Honor, you have the ability, and there is no reason why you should not turn it to account, instead of spending your time on a sofa. Indeed, I have not yet been told why you are on the sofa. Are you ill?”
“I have a cold. But, Aunt Sophia, suppose I don’t care to be your secretary?”
“I cannot suppose anything so impossible,” returned Mrs. Wentworth Ward, imperturbably; “forof course you will be only too glad to do something for me in return for the many advantages which life in town will give you. Katherine can perfect herself in music, at the same time taking charge of thebric-á-brac. That shall be her duty. I have decided it all.”
“So it appears,” observed Katherine. “I invariably breakbric-á-bracwhen I handle it. I should advise you to make a different arrangement.”
“Victoria shall continue to go to school,” continued her aunt, ignoring this suggestion. “In fact, she and Sophy and Peter are to go to boarding-school. I have already written and made the necessary arrangements. They can spend their holidays with me on Beacon Street. I shall take you into society, when our period of mourning is over. Next winter you can begin to go out a little. In fact, you can go to concerts this winter, and to lectures. It will be quite proper. I intend that your minds shall be improved. Honor, what is that book which I see peeping from beneath your pillow?”
The awkward pause which followed was broken by Victoria, who hastened to divert her aunt’s mind.
“Poor Honor has such a cold,” said she. “Igave her some of your remedy, Aunt Sophia, and it has worked wonders. Did you tell us to take it every three or every four hours?”
“Every three hours, until the cold begins to mend, and after that, every four. You did quite right, Victoria. There is nothing like it. I cured your uncle once in less than a day and a half. And what did you say was the name of the book, Honor?”
“I doubt if you have ever heard of it, Aunt Sophia,” said Honor, as she drew it forth from its hiding-place. “The name of it—”
“Oh, please don’t stop to discuss books!” cried Katherine. “There is something else far more important to be talked about. We don’t want to go to Boston to live, Aunt Sophia. We don’t want to be your secretary and dust yourbric-á-brac. We don’t want to go to boarding-school.”
Mrs. Wentworth Ward looked at her calmly.
“My dear, that makes no particular difference,” said she. “We cannot always do what we wish. I am your father’s sister, and it is proper that you should live with me. It was very much like your father to omit making meyour legal guardian. Why he should have appointed Dickinson Abbott instead of me, I cannot imagine, but he did, and what is done cannot be undone. However, that is neither here nor there. I offer you a home with me. You are too young to live here alone, and there are other reasons against it also. It is quite out of the question.”
A profound silence followed this speech. The plan proposed by their aunt was so appalling that the girls were unable to collect their ideas sufficiently to reply. Mrs. Wentworth Ward took out her watch.
“I must return in the next train,” said she. “I have a charity association meeting at half after eleven. I preferred to see you all together and tell you this, rather than send for one of you to come to me, or rather than write to you. This room looks rather disorderly, I think. Honor, that is a wretched waitress of yours. When you come to Beacon Street, I will give you lessons in housekeeping. This place had better be rented; you cannot keep it up otherwise. Katherine, what have you been buying?”
The lady had risen and had been walkingabout the room on a tour of inspection, while she thus criticised. She was standing now in a little recess formed by the window curtain. On a table within it was the silversmith’s box, the lid half off, and in the paper which had wrapped it, the address “Miss Katherine Starr” being in full view. The tissue papers which covered the contents were ruthlessly drawn aside by Mrs. Wentworth Ward, and the silver mirror exposed to view.
“Surely you have not been buying this!” she exclaimed, holding it up and looking first at her own countenance reflected in the one side and then at the large monogram of “K. R. S.” engraved upon the frosted surface of the other.
“Why yes, Aunt Sophia! Why not?” returned her niece.
“How much did you give for it?”
“That is an awfully odd question, Aunt Sophia, but fortunately I don’t mind telling you. It was only fifteen dollars. It is a gem, isn’t it, for the price? And it matches the rest of my silver beautifully.”
“But where did you get the money to buy such a thing as this with?”
“Aunt Sophia! My own money, of course.”
“Your own money! Then let me tell you, Katherine, that there is very little money for you to call your own, and none to throw away on silver handglasses. I really don’t know what you are thinking of, nor Dickinson Abbott, either! When you come to live with me I shall teach you economy.”
“When we do!” murmured Katherine, as she replaced the glass in its wrappings and put it back in the box. Fortunately the rustle of the paper rendered her remark inaudible.
“Honor, it is absurd!” continued Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “What do you mean by allowing Katherine to spend money in this way? You are simply a parcel of children, and it is more than time that there was some one to keep you in order.”
“Katherine has a perfect right to spend her money as she pleases, Aunt Sophia,” said Honor. She had been remonstrating sharply with her sister upon this very subject before the arrival of their aunt, but now she warmly espoused her cause in the presence of their common enemy. “It is her money. I have nothing to say about it.”
And she again removed the stopper of the camphor bottle.
“Nonsense! you are the eldest of the family, and the responsibility lies with you. That eternal application of camphor is bad for you, Honor. It does not really cure you, either. The relief is only temporary.”
“It may be temporary, but is very pleasant,” said Honor; “as pleasant as anything can be when one has a bad cold.”
“You will come to me the first of December,” continued Mrs. Ward, paying no further attention to these matters of minor importance, but reverting to her chief topic. “Peter and the younger girls will go next week to school, as the term has begun, and no time should be lost. It will be just as well to have them out of the way when you are closing up here.”
“But, Aunt Sophia,” cried Honor, “you can’t really mean all this! Why should we do it? Why should we leave our home? Why can’t we stay on here as our dear father intended we should? I am twenty-one, and quite capable of looking after the others, and the children are well placed at school. You are very kind to make allthese arrangements for us, but though we thank you very much, we don’t want to accept them. We prefer to stay as we are.”
“Victoria, kindly see if the carriage has come back for me. I told the man to be here without fail,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward, snapping the lid of her watch as she spoke. “Katherine, help me with my cloak, if you please. Is it dry? Ah, yes, Honor, when you see Dickinson Abbott, you will be made to understand why these arrangements have become necessary. It is easy to talk of living on here, but it requires money to do that—money, and you have scarcely a cent. The carriage has come, Victoria? Very well, then, good-bye! Tell Peter he should have come in to see me. You will hear from me again next week. In the meantime you had better begin your packing. I will come out and help you to put the house in order to let. I am sorry I have not time to stay longer, but after all, further discussion is unnecessary.”
And again the front door was opened, again the northeast wind blew in, and Mrs. Wentworth Ward of Boston went out.
The door had scarcely closed behind her whenthat leading from the back of the house to the hall was carefully opened, and a boy’s face appeared at the crack.
“Has she gone?” inquired the owner of the face in a loud whisper. “I say, Vic, has she gone?”
But Victoria did not reply. She had hastened to rejoin her sisters in the dining-room after bidding her aunt good-bye, and they were now looking at one another in consternation. What did Aunt Sophia mean?
Peter, seeing for himself that the coast was clear, sauntered into the room.
Peter Starrwas the only boy among four sisters. Had he been questioned closely upon the subject, he probably would have replied, “Yes, and there are four too many!” This is what he would have said, perhaps, but it is doubtful if such a reply would have been altogether truthful. Peter’s sisters were very useful to him, at times, although there were occasions when it would have been pleasant to do exactly that which he, and he alone, wished to do, instead of being dragged in four different directions by the conflicting opinions of his four sisters.
Sophy he could manage, it was true, and Victoria he thought he managed, though sometimes it occurred to him to wonder if Vic were not in reality managing him, unknown to himself. But Honor and Katherine openly defied him, and were fond of ordering him about in a manner which was annoying, to say the least. Peter spentthe greater part of his time in endeavoring to frustrate the plans made by Honor and Katherine in his behalf.
To-day, fortunately for him, Honor’s cold prevented her from being aware of the odor of the barn which accompanied him into the room, and Katherine was too much absorbed in the conversation to remark upon it. Victoria and Sophy did not notice those things.
“Has the ancient war-horse gone?” asked Peter.
“My dear boy, you oughtn’t!” remonstrated Honor; “indeed you shouldn’t call her that.”
“Why not? I am sure she is ancient, and she is a war-horse, for she loves a battle and the sound of prancings. She’s always arguing about something or other. What was it to-day? I heard her talking, so I stayed in the kitchen till she had gone.”
Honor tried to look shocked, but the others laughed audibly and then quickly became silent.
“We had better send for Mr. Abbott,” said Victoria, “and find out just what Aunt Sophia means. If she only could have taken time to explain to us a little!”
“That is a good idea,” said Honor and Katherine together.
“We will telegraph him this morning and ask him to come out as soon as possible,” added Honor. “Perhaps he will come this afternoon.”
“In all this storm?” asked Victoria, glancing at the weather.
The rain was descending in torrents, pattering on the tin roof of the piazza, and pouring in a steady stream from the water-spout.
“Why not?” said Honor. “Aunt Sophia came, and Mr. Abbott doesn’t mind weather. You know he told us to send for him whenever we needed him, and I am sure we need him now. Probably he will come out this afternoon. Peter, put on your rubber coat, please, and be sure to wear your rubber boots.”
“What for?” asked Peter, calmly. “I am very comfortable as I am.”
“To go to the station with a telegram, child, of course! Vic, give me a pencil and paper, please, and I will write it. I wish you would get some telegraph blanks, Peter. Do bring some home with you, for they are such a convenience. Now, let me see. ‘Mr. Dickinson Abbott,—StateStreet, Boston. Aunt Sophia has been here and has told us’—dear me, that is nine words before I began to tell him what she has told us,” said Honor, biting the end of her pencil.
“Oh, there is ever so much you can scratch out,” said Katherine, taking the paper. “‘Sophia,’ for one. He knows we have only one aunt—for which blessing let us be thankful! ‘Aunt has been here and says—’ no, ‘Aunt here and says we must go there to live because—’”
“Will it do to put all that in a telegram?” queried Victoria. “Why not just say, ‘Please come and see us; we want to talk to you on matters of importance.’”
“That will do very well,” said Katherine, writing it, “and only fifteen words. Those extra five won’t cost much more.”
“We could leave out ‘please,’” said Victoria.
“That wouldn’t be polite.”
“It isn’t necessary to be so very polite in a telegram,” remarked Honor, as she erased the word, “and if it is true that we have no money, we had better begin at once to be economical. And we could say ‘important matters,’ instead of ‘matters of importance.’ That would bring it down.”
“And save five cents, I suppose,” laughed Katherine, derisively. “However, far be it from me to frustrate your good intentions.”
“There,” said Honor, laying down her pencil and reading the amended message; “‘Come see us. We want to talk on important matters.’ Exactly ten words, and now my name—‘Honor Starr.’ Peter, are you ready? Why, you haven’t stirred! Peter!”
And all his sisters with one voice exclaimed reproachfully, “Peter!”
“Well, what’s the matter with Peter?” inquired that youth as he extended first one foot and then the other to the genial warmth of the blaze. He was sitting in an arm-chair before the fire. He was leaning back, and his hands were in his pockets. Peter was tall for his age, which was thirteen, and well developed. His hair and eyes were brown, as were those of all the family but Victoria, and he looked very much like Katherine.
“Why are you not ready? You know we want you to go to the telegraph office. There is no time to be lost, for Mr. Abbott will have gone home. It is Saturday, and you know he alwaysleaves the office early on Saturday.Dohurry, Peter!”
All the sisters were talking at once, even Sophy adding her voice to the clamor.
“Keep cool! keep cool!” remarked Peter, continuing to warm his feet; “who’s the telegram to?”
“Mr. Abbott, youknow, Peter!”
“What for?”
“To ask him to come. You have heard us talking, Peter! Surely you are not deaf. Do hurry!”
“What’s the use? You needn’t telegraph him.”
“Why not? Oh, don’t stop to argue, you dreadful boy!” cried Katherine. “Just go at once. We want Mr. Abbott.”
“Well, you’re going to get him, and I’m not going out in this storm when there’s no reason for it. Mr. Abbott is coming this afternoon.”
“Why, Peter, how do you know?”
“A telegram came from him this morning. I was at the station when it came, and the operator read it off to me while it was coming, as he said it was to us. I’m going to learn telegraphy some day. It must be lots of fun to read all the messages and know what everybody is telegraphing about.”
He was searching in his pockets as he spoke.
“I must have left it down at the barn, but it was only to say he was coming on the two-twenty train. I’ll get it when I go down to give the rabbits their dinner.”
“I don’t think there ever was such a provoking boy as you!” exclaimed Honor, lying back upon the sofa, quite exhausted by her brief moment of activity in writing the telegram. “If you only could have told us this before!”
“You didn’t ask me, and you didn’t give me a chance, either,” responded Peter. “And now I wish you’d tell me something. What is all this fuss about, and what do you want Mr. Abbott for? What kind of a shindy has the war-horse been cutting up?”
“She says that you children are to go to boarding-school, and that Honor and I are to go live with her,” replied Katherine.
Peter gave a long, low whistle and stared at the fire.
“Are you going to?” asked he.
“Not if we can help it,” was the reply.
“Good for you! Neither am I. Go to boarding-school! Live with Aunt Sophia! Whew!”
And the five sat there in silence for a few moments, while the wind blew and the rain poured down without, and their Aunt Sophia was being borne rapidly back to Boston in the train, satisfied that she had accomplished her object and had done her duty, and that even now her nieces had begun to make ready for their flight from the old home.
The Starrs had lived at Glen Arden all their lives. They were all born in the old house, as had been also their father and their grandfather. So had their Aunt Sophia, as to that matter; but apparently her early marriage had counteracted the effect of old associations. She had no time to give to sentiment, and she considered that a home on Beacon Street would amply compensate her brother’s children for whatever they should be forced to forego.
She was sorry for them, it is true, but her sympathy was somewhat diluted by the reflection that she had always said that her brother and her brother’s wife were extravagant. The state of the family finances at present only went to prove the truth of this statement, and she was more than convinced that Katherine had inherited theexpensive tastes of her parents. Fifteen dollars for a handglass! Mrs. Wentworth Ward bristled with indignation at the thought of it.
It was three months now since Mr. Peter Starr had died. His wife had been dead for some years, and the children might be said to have brought themselves up. There had been no one to go there to take charge when their mother died, and though there had been an occasional governess, she had been granted but little authority, and affairs went more smoothly when there was no one.
The girls adored their father, and his slightest word was law when he chose to speak it; but as a rule he refrained from directing his family in the smaller matters of life. He was an indolent, dreamy man, who since his wife’s death had spent the greater part of his time among his books. Mrs. Wentworth Ward had frequently remonstrated with him upon the laxity of his management of his children, but he had acquired the habit of thinking that Sophia was unduly particular, and therefore he paid but little attention to her criticisms. Honor kept house very well, he always said, and the children never gave him any trouble. He liked them to be natural.
It was in August that Mr. Starr died, so suddenly that it was many weeks before his family could realize the fact that the gentle, kindly presence was no longer among them. They missed their father sadly, and Honor sometimes felt overburdened with a sense of the responsibility which was now hers. To be sure, she had kept house for years, and had practically brought up the younger children; but there had always been her father to turn to in matters of importance, there had always been his smile to encourage her, his few words of appreciation to cheer her when the children had been troublesome, or household affairs had gone wrong.
Mr. Dickinson Abbott, an old friend of Mr. Starr’s, had, according to his will, been appointed guardian of the family and trustee of the estate. There had always been plenty of money, and Honor had supposed that there always would be. She could not imagine what her Aunt Sophia had meant by her remarks that morning.
Katherine had finished school, but intended to devote herself to her music this winter, going to Boston several times a week for the purpose, and practising with great regularity and industry.Katherine, though inclined to be flighty and unmanageable at times, was wholly devoted to music. Victoria, Sophy, and Peter went to private schools in Fordham, upon the outskirts of which suburban town Glen Arden was situated.
Glen Arden itself was a beautiful old place on the banks of the Charles River. A pine grove hid the view of the river from the house, but the gentle, winding stream was there within a stone’s throw of the barn, and at the foot of the steep bank with which the grove terminated. A small branch railroad crossed the river at the Starrs’ place, and a tiny station was situated near the entrance to their grounds. The main station was half a mile away in “the village,” as the Starrs continued to designate it, although it had long ago been incorporated into the city of Fordham.
Shortly after twelve o’clock of this eventful Saturday in November the rain abated somewhat, and at three, when the train arrived upon which Mr. Abbott was expected, it had actually ceased for the time being at least.
The girls were in the parlor, Katherine at the piano, and Honor with a bit of work in her hands. She had revived somewhat, and sat curled up in acorner of the divan which occupied the western window. There was never much light in the parlor of Glen Arden even on a clear day, for the trees grew so thick near the house. Mr. Starr and his father before him had loved each individual tree, and many of them had been planted with their own hands, usually upon some occasion for family rejoicing. The love of their trees was a family heritage.
Victoria was on her knees before the hearth, coaxing into a blaze the logs which had been heaped there. With each puff of the bellows a small flame leaped up, lighting her face and dancing before her intently gazing brown eyes. Vic was not considered to be as pretty as Honor or Katherine, but already a fair amount of character was depicted in her face. Her features were too irregular for beauty, but her hair was pretty. There was not much of it, for it was so curly that it had never grown beyond her shoulders, but its color of reddish gold was very striking, and in the firelight this afternoon it looked like a golden halo which framed her flushed face.
No one knew yet in just which direction Victoria’s character would develop, but her family hada latent conviction that she would “be something,” for in many ways she was so unlike other people.
Peter and Sophy had gone to the train to meet Mr. Abbott, who was a prime favorite with them all, and presently they were seen coming along the grassy path, which led under the trees across the lawn directly from the little station, and was a much shorter course than to follow the road.
“Well, here you all are!” said Mr. Abbott, when he had divested himself of his mackintosh in the hall and had come into the parlor. “Every one of you; and Vic has made a grand fire to cheer the wanderer and the wayfarer this rainy day. Nasty weather, this! Honor, how did you get such a cold? You must take care of it, child. I don’t like those pale cheeks.”
“How good you are to come out such a day, Mr. Abbott!” said Honor, as she drew forward an arm-chair for her guest. “Just as good as you can be. We want to see you so much, and were on the point of telegraphing to you when we heard of your message to us.”
“Ah, that is good!” said he, leaning forward and warming his hands at the blaze. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of about sixty-five,with gray hair and beard, and kindly eyes. The Starrs all loved him dearly, and he had been their father’s most valued friend.
“I like to come where I am wanted,” he continued, “and I am always glad to come here. Dear me, though, I can’t get used to it without your father.”
“Neither can we,” said Honor, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke. “Everything is changed without him, and Aunt Sophia has been here to-day and wants to make more changes.”
“Ah, your aunt has been here, has she?” exclaimed Mr. Abbott, quickly. “And what plan did she suggest?”
“Why, do you know about it, and is it really true, then?” asked Honor, wonderingly. “And have you come to tell us the same thing?”
“How do I know, my dear, until I hear what she has told you?” said he, with an attempt at lightness.
“The most absurd thing you ever heard of,” said Katherine. “She says we must go there to live. Just fancy us living with Aunt Sophia!”
“And that we are to go to boarding-school,” put in Sophy, who had seated herself on the arm of her guardian’s chair.
“And that we must rent the place,” continued Honor. “Rent this place where no one has ever lived but Starrs! Just imagine what father’s feelings would have been if it had ever been suggested to him that strangers should have Glen Arden!”
“Catch me going to Boston to live,” remarked Peter. “I could stand boarding-school on a pinch, but Boston, never!”
Victoria said nothing, but she watched Mr. Abbott’s face. She noticed that it had become very grave.
“And you wouldn’t like it?” said he.
“Like it! Why, Mr. Abbott, why should we do it? Of course we don’t like it. The very idea is absurd.” They were all talking together.
“Why should Aunt Sophia suggest such a preposterous arrangement?” continued Honor. “We are very much alone, it is true; but we can’t help that. I have always been in the habit of keeping house; father really had very little to do with it. Of course it is very hard to be without him, but we must make up our minds to that, and get along as best we can. We can do that better here, where every corner of the house and place is associated with him, and which he loved, than we could if wewent to live with Aunt Sophia. Why, Mr. Abbott, it would simply kill us all to live with Aunt Sophia.”
“Indeed it would,” added the others, with conviction.
“For all that,” said their guardian, gravely, “your Aunt Sophia is very good to offer to do all this for you. I didn’t know whether she would or not. But I have known her for forty years or more, and I have always found that she did what she considered to be her duty. Trust a New England woman for that.”
“But what do you mean?” asked Honor, in alarm. “Why is it her duty, Mr. Abbott? Father intended that we should live here. He left it so in his will, didn’t he? Why should Aunt Sophia suggest anything different?”
“My dear,” said Mr. Abbott, rising as he spoke, and standing with his back to the fire, “I may as well tell you plainly. It is what I came this afternoon to do. There is very little money for you to live on. Your father’s affairs were—well, were somewhat involved. An investment which he thought very highly of, and in which he put about all he owned, has gone to pieces since his death.I am glad he never knew it. There is all this real estate, to be sure; but that means nothing in the present state of the market. You have,—I must speak plainly, my dear children,—you have practically nothing to live upon at present. Your aunt is very good to offer you a home and your education. I went to see her a week ago, to tell her the state of affairs, and since then I have been thinking over how it was best to tell you, and what had better be done. I could not put it off any longer.”
“Do you mean that we are really poor?” asked Honor, in a quiet voice, when he had finished speaking.
“Very poor, indeed. You have scarcely anything.”
“Exactly what do you mean by ‘scarcely anything’?”
“You have the place, which is an expensive one to keep up, and a very few hundred dollars a year, upon which to live and be educated and clothed. Your aunt’s offer is a relief to me. I am glad she made it, but, as I say, I thought she would. Sophia Ward may be peculiar, and perhaps a trifle aggravating, but she is certainly conscientious.”
The Starrs gazed at one another blankly. An unkind fate appeared to be descending upon them, in a great black cloud. They did not realize yet the fact that they were poor. This knowledge was entirely swallowed up by the deplorable prospect of carrying out the views of their Aunt Sophia, by going to live with her. They had counted upon their guardian’s support in declining her invitation, and now to their surprise he declared that they were fortunate to have received it. They were too ignorant of poverty to know what other significance his words might have.
It was Victoria who reverted to this part of the subject.
“Do you really mean,” said she, “that we haven’t got enough money to live on? That if we stay here, we—it really seems absurd to say it, but I want to know exactly, Mr. Abbott—we shan’t have enough to eat, perhaps?”
“I really mean it,” replied her guardian.
He did not tell them that there was actually no money which they could call their own. The “few hundreds” of which he had vaguely spoken, he intended to give them from his own income, and he was far from being a rich man.
Itwas evening, and Mr. Abbott had returned to Boston. He had declined staying to dinner, but had promised to come again early in the week. By that time the Starrs would have more fully realized the situation, and would be able to talk more rationally, he thought. He must give them time to accustom themselves to the great change in their prospects. At present they seemed to be stunned, and no wonder.
“It is terrible, terrible!” said Mr. Abbott as he left Glen Arden. “Poor children! I am sorry for them. I am only thankful that my old friend was spared the knowledge of it all. Peter never was a business man, and if he had taken my advice, his money would never have gone into such a worthless concern as that railroad has proved to be. Poor children, I am sorry enough!”
Mr. Abbott had no children of his own, but he had a father’s heart, and it ached as he thoughtof the sad-faced group which he had just left. They knew so little of life, and it seemed to be beginning badly for them.
Dinner was eaten almost in silence, but afterwards, when the family had returned to the parlor and the lamps were lighted, and the room looked just as they had always known it since they could remember,—except that the dear father was no longer there,—Honor’s self-control, which she had bravely kept until now, deserted her for an instant. She covered her face with her handkerchief and gave a little sob. Then she quickly dried her eyes.
“Iwill notgive way!” she said. “If I once do, it will be the end of everything; and we must keep calm and try to think clearly. I see no way out of it, girls. It really seems as if we must give up, and go live-with Aunt Sophia.”
Katherine started from her chair and began to walk rapidly up and down the room. Katherine was tall and very slender, and her eyes and hair were the darkest of the family. She was an excitable person, and this remark of Honor’s, although it entirely coincided with what she feared, had a most exasperating effect upon her.
“Never!” she said. “Honor, how can you say such a thing? Are you going to meekly give in and do just what Aunt Sophia says, after all? I should think you would have more spirit. I—I would rather do anything than that. Scrubbing floors would be better than dusting Aunt Sophia’s ugly china, and writing her endless notes about stupid meetings. Really, Honor, I am surprised that you can sit there and calmly say you are willing to do it!”
“I didn’t say that I was willing,” said Honor; “and, Katherine, you know I am not. And, as for being calm—but what is the use of discussing that? We have got to live, and we have no money; therefore, if some one offers us homes and educations, I suppose there is nothing for us to do but say, ‘thank you,’ and meekly take them.”
“You may, but I never will.”
“What will you do?”
“Give music lessons.”
“But where will you live?”
“Board somewhere alone, I suppose. Lots of women do that who have to support themselves.”
“But not women that are as young as you are, and who have been brought up as you have been.”
“I can’t help my bringing up, and I shall rapidly grow older, and Iwill notgo to Aunt Sophia’s.”
“I have an idea,” said Victoria. “I have been thinking about it since before dinner, and what Katherine says about supporting herself just fits in with it.”
“What is it?” asked Honor and Katherine together. They had a great respect for Victoria’s “ideas.”
“Why shouldn’t we all do something to support ourselves? Lots of girls do.”
“Of course they do!” cried Katherine. “Vic, you’re a girl after my own heart.You’renot going to sit quietly down on Beacon Street and be ordered about by Aunt Sophia!” This with a glance at Honor, who was too much interested in Victoria’s proposition, however, to notice it.
“Do you really think we could?” she asked. “What could we do? Katherine has her music, I know, but there is no particular talent that I have, and you haven’t finished school, and there are Peter and Sophy. They couldn’t do anything. And I suppose we should have to leave the place just the same.”
“That is just what I am coming to,” repliedVictoria. “It popped into my head before Mr. Abbott went, and I have been thinking about it ever since, and Peter could help a lot if we carry it out, and Sophy too. Why can’t we stay on here, and turn the place to some account?”
“Child, what do you mean?” cried Honor; and even Peter, who had been sitting moodily by a distant table, taking no apparent interest in the conversation, but absorbed in his own gloomy reflections, dropped the paper-cutter which he had been handling and drew nearer.
“What do you mean, Vic?” he asked; “and what can I do to help? It has been bothering me that I can’t do anything as long as I am the only boy in the family.”
Victoria looked at him lovingly. She wished that she might venture to give him a hug for that speech, but she knew that Peter would not like it, so she refrained.
“I mean,” said she, “that we might live on here and make the place pay. We could sell the farm produce, sell the milk—you know we have all those cows. Surely we can’t use all the milk and cream they must give, and there must be horrible waste. Then we could raise other things.I have a thousand ideas. Or hens! We might keep hens and sell the eggs. Or violets! Or mushrooms! I heard of some one not long ago who made a fortune and went abroad on mushrooms and violets.”
Victoria’s voice rose with her rapidly increasing enthusiasm. She could see that she had made a point. Her sisters were distinctly impressed.
“And we shouldn’t have to give up the place, after all!” cried Honor. “Victoria, you are brilliant! Come here, child, and let me kiss you.”
“Or we could have a school,” continued Victoria. “Katherine could teach the music, and I the small children, while you, Honor, would be the principal. It might even be a boarding-school. We have lots of room. Indeed, girls, there are ever so many things we can do if we only put our minds to it. The farming project seems really the best plan, though, for Peter could be of such use there. He loves out-of-door things so much.”
“But about the children’s schooling?” suggested Honor. “If we had a school here, we could teach Sophy.”
“I know,” said Victoria, “I thought of that.We have got to talk the whole thing over and consult with Mr. Abbott. It requires a lot of thought. But I am glad you see some good in the idea. I was almost afraid to suggest it for fear you would frown it down.”
“Frown down anything that would save us from a life at No.—Beacon Street?” cried Katherine. “Never! Victoria, my child, you have preserved my reason. I verily believe I should have become quite insane if we had been made to go to Aunt Sophia’s, after all. I must give vent to my feelings.”
And she seated herself at the piano and played so madly and yet so brilliantly that the others were forced to listen to her, partly because they wanted to and partly because they could not hear one another’s voices above the din of the crashing chords. When she had finished, she twirled around on the piano stool.
“There!” she exclaimed. “Now I feel better and can discuss it calmly. I already see myself sailing for Germany to study under foreign masters, my pockets stuffed with the proceeds of music lessons and violets. How shall we sell them? Shall we send Sophy in to stand at thecorner of Tremont Street and Temple Place with little bunches?”
“Kathie!” cried Sophy, reproachfully. “Must I really, Honor?”
“No, of course not,” said Honor, reassuringly. “Katherine is only teasing you. The idea of our letting our baby do that!” While Katherine laughed immoderately at Sophy’s startled face. “Now we must talk it over calmly and get our ideas into shape before we see Mr. Abbott again, so that we can convince him at once,” continued Honor. “Suppose we discuss it to-night, and then think it over to ourselves to-morrow, and to-morrow night, at this time, we will each say what we think we had better do. Then we can see which will be the best plan. Oh, Vicky dear, you are a perfect treasure!”
“My sister Vic is a perfect brick!” cried Katherine, hugging her as she spoke.
Peter said nothing, but walked slowly out of the room, with his hands in his pockets.
“Peter has gone up to the workshop to think about it,” remarked Sophy, sagely.
“Yes; he reminds me of father in that,” said Honor. “He always went there after he hadhad a disagreeable business letter, or something troublesome. Dearest father! I am glad he never knew that we were going to be poor, he would have felt so badly. But do you know, girls, I really don’t mind it a bit, now. I feel as if it were going to be interesting. Just think of the satisfaction it will be to support ourselves!”
“I am going to see about my Symphony concert tickets right away,” said Katherine. “I didn’t know whether I had better go this winter when I heard that we had no money, but now that we are going to make so much I shall be able to, and I really ought to do everything to improve my music if I am going to give lessons.”
“Yes,” said Honor, though somewhat doubtfully, Katherine thought. “I—I think, though, that we shall have to be very economical even though we are going to make so much. I won’t order the jacket at Hollander’s I was thinking of. I’ll try at some cheaper place. If you think it will be very extravagant to have one made to order, I will try to find one ready made. What do you think?”
She looked at Victoria as she spoke. Victoria hesitated.
“I hate to say it, Honor,” she said at last, “for you are so generous and good, but it really seems as if we ought to get on with as few clothes as possible if we are so very poor. Do you—don’t you think—at least, is your last winter’s coat really hopeless? Wouldn’t it do this year?”
“Why of course it woulddo,” said Honor. “It isn’t much worn, and it is plain black, but it is frightfully old-fashioned. It has immense sleeves, and they have gone down so this year; but I could have them altered at a cheap tailor’s. You are right, Vic. I won’t get a new one.”
“And there are other things we might be economical in besides clothes,” continued Victoria, staring pensively at the fire. “The table, for instance.”
“My dear child!” cried Honor and Katherine with one voice. “Surely you don’t think we ought to starve ourselves?”
“No, of course not, but we really needn’t have quite so many things. Salad every day at dinner, for instance, and olives. And we don’t need preserves always for lunch, nor such a lot of cake made, and—oh, a great many things. When I was staying at the Carsons’ last year I noticedthat they didn’t have nearly so many things as we do, and yet there was always enough, and everything was very good.”
“I hate the idea of a skimpy table,” said Honor. “You know father always liked everything to be very nice. Oh no, my dear! Most of your ideas are good ones, but I really don’t think we ought to starve ourselves.”
“Nor I either,” said Katherine. “I think Honor is right there. Nothing is more horrible than the idea of not having enough food on the table.”
“But I don’t mean that,” persisted Victoria. “I only mean that we don’t need olives and salad and preserves to keep us from being hungry.”
“The preserves don’t cost us a cent but the sugar,” said Honor. “We raise the currants and the pears and the cherries on the place, and even some of the strawberries, so there is no extravagance in turning them into preserves and eating them.”
“That suggests another idea!” exclaimed Victoria. “We might sell preserves at the Woman’s Exchange or somewhere. To be sure, we have always paid a woman to do ours, but we mightlearn to do them ourselves, and make some money that way.”
The girls discussed long and earnestly the new aspect of affairs, and their many plans for bettering their fortune, and Sophy sat up unnoticed until past her usual bedtime, so absorbed were they all in the unlooked-for problem which had been presented to them that afternoon.
Peter did not appear again, but they heard him whistling in the workshop when they at last went upstairs to bed. Victoria went to the door and found him idly sharpening some tools, apparently giving little thought to the work. She wanted him to go to bed, but she knew that if she told him so, he would probably prolong his labors until far into the night.
“We have been talking it all over, Peter,” said she gaily, “and we are going to think it out by ourselves over Sunday; and then Monday night we are going to tell each other how we want most to set about it,—making our fortunes, I mean. I am going to bed, for I can think better in the dark. I don’t suppose I shall go to sleep for ages. You needn’t hurry, but please put out the light in the back hall when you do come.”
And the mere assurance that he need not hurry sent Peter to his room within five minutes.
The next day was Sunday. When the Starr family awoke, the clouds were still thick, and the air was heavy with dampness; but by nine o’clock the sun was out, and at service time the day was clear. Peter and his four sisters went to church, as usual, and took their places in the family pew,—Peter at the end where his father had always sat, even on the very Sunday before he died. If the minds of the little group in black were occupied with other thoughts than those suggested by the service, they gave no outward sign of it. In the afternoon they all went to Sunday school as usual,—Honor and Katherine to teach, and the others to be taught; and after it was over Katherine and Victoria stayed to the afternoon service. Honor’s cold forced her to go home, and Peter and Sophy accompanied her.
No one mentioned the subject in which they were all so vitally interested, until the next evening, when they were once more gathered about the parlor fire.
“Now,” said Honor, drawing up a chair, and settling herself as if for the evening, “the time hasat last come! I have scarcely been able to wait for night, for every one of you have looked as if you were bristling with ideas all day; but I thought I had better not begin the subject by asking for anything. Suppose we all take turns, beginning with the youngest, and each say what we think will be the quickest and the surest way of making our fortunes.”
But Sophy felt shy at being called upon, and they all insisted that Honor should state her own views first, as she was the eldest. Her idea was to open a boarding-school during the winter, and to take boarders in summer.
“When the place looks so lovely,” said she, “and there would be no necessity if we did that for us to alter our way of living, as regards the table. We should be obliged to have everything very nice if people were boarding here, and that would be such a comfort.”
Katherine approved of a school, though perhaps not a boarding-school, and she thought it would be well for them to have a little time to themselves in summer.
“We shall want to go away for a while to get rested,” she remarked; “to the seashore or themountains, you know, so we had better not have a houseful of boarders. The school would be better, and I can teach other things in it besides music.”
Victoria inclined towards working the farm in some way, in which Peter agreed with her. She pointed out that boarders in summer would perhaps be hard to procure, and also that it would be impossible to go to the mountains or the sea, as Katherine suggested, and leave the place to take care of itself, even if there were no boarders, and even if they had made enough money to warrant such an expense. On the other hand, the working of the farm presented endless possibilities. There was much good sense in what she said, as Honor and Katherine were forced to admit. They determined to wait, however, before actually deciding upon their future course, until they should see Mr. Abbott; and Honor wrote to him that night, begging him to come to Glen Arden again as soon as it should be convenient, as they wished his advice.
“We have some new ideas,” she wrote, “and we cannot rest until we hear you say they are good ones.”
Mr. Abbott replied in person to the note; forhe was sincerely anxious about the welfare of his wards, and was also curious to know what they had thought of as a means of escape from the grasp of their Aunt Sophia. He came, therefore, on Tuesday afternoon.
At first he was sceptical. The mere idea that five young persons, all under twenty-two, and four of them girls, should set out to support themselves, with no experience to call upon, and in absolute ignorance of the magnitude of that which they were about to undertake, seemed to him preposterous, and he did not hesitate to tell them so.
But in spite of himself, he was soon impressed by their earnestness. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and there was certainly a fair amount of common sense in their remarks. Mr. Abbott allowed himself to be persuaded to stay to dinner, and before the evening was over, he was discussing as eagerly as any one of them the possibilities of selling butter and of teaching children their alphabet; while the idea of raising violets appealed strongly to his flower-loving soul.