“Brother Alec, you surely don't mean to allow that child to go out such a bitter cold day as this,” said Mrs. Myra, looking into the study, where the Doctor sat reading his paper, one February morning.
“Why not? If a delicate invalid like yourself can bear it, surely my hearty girl can, especially as she is dressed for cold weather,” answered Dr. Alec with provoking confidence.
“But you have no idea how sharp the wind is. I am chilled to the very marrow of my bones,” answered Aunt Myra, chafing the end of her purple nose with her sombre glove.
“I don't doubt it, ma'am, if you will wear crape and silk instead of fur and flannel. Rosy goes out in all weathers, and will be none the worse for an hour's brisk skating.”
“Well, I warn you that you are trifling with the child's health, and depending too much on the seeming improvement she has made this year. She is a delicate creature for all that, and will drop away suddenly at the first serious attack, as her poor mother did,” croaked Aunt Myra, with a despondent wag of the big bonnet.
“I'll risk it,” answered Dr. Alec, knitting his brows, as he always did when any allusion was made to that other Rose.
“Mark my words, you will repent it,” and with that awful prophecy, Aunt Myra departed like a black shadow.
Now it must be confessed that among the Doctor's failings and he had his share was a very masculine dislike of advice which was thrust upon him unasked. He always listened with respect to the great-aunts, and often consulted Mrs. Jessie; but the other three ladies tried his patience sorely, by constant warnings, complaints and counsels. Aunt Myra was an especial trial, and he always turned contrary the moment she began to talk. He could not help it, and often laughed about it with comic frankness. Here now was a sample of it, for he had just been thinking that Rose had better defer her run till the wind went down and the sun was warmer. But Aunt Myra spoke, and he could not resist the temptation to make light of her advice, and let Rose brave the cold. He had no fear of its harming her, for she went out every day, and it was a great satisfaction to him to see her run down the avenue a minute afterward, with her skates on her arm, looking like a rosy-faced Esquimaux in her seal-skin suit, as she smiled at Aunt Myra stalking along as solemnly as a crow.
“I hope the child won't stay out long, for this wind is enough to chill the marrow in younger bones than Myra's,” thought Dr. Alec, half an hour later, as he drove toward the city to see the few patients he had consented to take for old acquaintance' sake.
The thought returned several times that morning, for it was truly a bitter day, and, in spite of his bear-skin coat, the Doctor shivered. But he had great faith in Rose's good sense, and it never occurred to him that she was making a little Casabianca of herself, with the difference of freezing instead of burning at her post.
You see, Mac had made an appointment to meet her at a certain spot, and have a grand skating bout as soon as the few lessons he was allowed were over. She had promised to wait for him, and did so with a faithfulness that cost her dear, because Mac forgot his appointment when the lessons were done, and became absorbed in a chemical experiment, till a general combustion of gases drove him out of his laboratory. Then he suddenly remembered Rose, and would gladly have hurried away to her, but his mother forbade his going out, for the sharp wind would hurt his eyes.
“She will wait and wait, mother, for she always keeps her word, and I told her to hold on till I came,” explained Mac, with visions of a shivering little figure watching on the windy hill-top.
“Of course, your uncle won't let her go out such a day as this. If he does, she will have the sense to come here for you, or to go home again when you don't appear,” said Aunt Jane, returning to her “Watts on the Mind.”
“I wish Steve would just cut up and see if she's there, since I can't go,” began Mac, anxiously.
“Steve won't stir a peg, thank you. He's got his own toes to thaw out, and wants his dinner,” answered Dandy, just in from school, and wrestling impatiently with his boots.
So Mac resigned himself, and Rose waited dutifully till dinner-time assured her that her waiting was in vain. She had done her best to keep warm, had skated till she was tired and hot, then stood watching others till she was chilled; tried to get up a glow again by trotting up and down the road, but failed to do so, and finally cuddled disconsolately under a pine-tree to wait and watch. When she at length started for home, she was benumbed with cold, and could hardly make her way against the wind that buffeted the frost-bitten rose most unmercifully.
Dr. Alec was basking in the warmth of the study fire, after his drive, when the sound of a stifled sob made him hurry to the door and look anxiously into the hall. Rose lay in a shivering bunch near the register, with her things half off, wringing her hands, and trying not to cry with the pain returning warmth brought to her half-frozen fingers.
“My darling, what is it?” and Uncle Alec had her in his arms in a minute.
“Mac didn't come I can't get warm the fire makes me ache!” and with a long shiver Rose burst out crying, while her teeth chattered, and her poor little nose was so blue, it made one's heart ache to see it.
In less time than it takes to tell it, Dr. Alec had her on the sofa rolled up in the bear-skin coat, with Phebe rubbing her cold feet while he rubbed the aching hands, and Aunt Plenty made a comfortable hot drink, and Aunt Peace sent down her own foot-warmer and embroidered blanket “for the dear.”
Full of remorseful tenderness, Uncle Alec worked over his new patient till she declared she was all right again. He would not let her get up to dinner, but fed her himself, and then forgot his own while he sat watching her fall into a drowse, for Aunt Plenty's cordial made her sleepy.
She lay so several hours for the drowse deepened into a heavy sleep, and Uncle Alec, still at his post, saw with growing anxiety that a feverish colour began to burn in her cheeks, that her breathing was quick and uneven, and now and then she gave a little moan, as if in pain. Suddenly she woke up with a start, and seeing Aunt Plenty bending over her, put out her arms like a sick child, saying wearily,
“Please, could I go to bed?”
“The best place for you, deary. Take her right up, Alec; I've got the hot water ready, and after a nice bath, she shall have a cup of my sage tea, and be rolled up in blankets to sleep off her cold,” answered the old lady, cheerily, as she bustled away to give orders.
“Are you in pain, darling?” asked Uncle Alec, as he carried her up.
“My side aches when I breathe, and I feel stiff and queer; but it isn't bad, so don't be troubled, uncle,” whispered Rose, with a little hot hand against his cheek.
But the poor doctor did look troubled, and had cause to do so, for just then Rose tried to laugh at Dolly charging into the room with a warming-pan, but could not, for the sharp pain took her breath away and made her cry out.
“Pleurisy,” sighed Aunt Plenty, from the depths of the bath-tub.
“Pewmonia!” groaned Dolly, burrowing among the bedclothes with the long-handled pan, as if bent on fishing up that treacherous disease.
“Oh, is it bad?” asked Phebe, nearly dropping a pail of hot water in her dismay, for she knew nothing of sickness, and Dolly's suggestion had a peculiarly dreadful sound to her.
“Hush!” ordered the Doctor, in a tone that silenced all further predictions, and made everyone work with a will.
“Make her as comfortable as you can, and when she is in her little bed I'll come and say good-night,” he added, when the bath was ready and the blankets browning nicely before the fire.
Then he went away to talk quite cheerfully to Aunt Peace about its being “only a chill”; after which he tramped up and down the hall, pulling his beard and knitting his brows, sure signs of great inward perturbation.
“I thought it would be too good luck to get through the year without a downfall. Confound my perversity! Why couldn't I take Myra's advice and keep Rose at home. It's not fair that the poor child should suffer for my sinful over-confidence. She shall not suffer for it! Pneumonia, indeed! I defy it,” and he shook his fist in the ugly face of an Indian idol that happened to be before him, as if that particularly hideous god had some spite against his own little goddess.
In spite of his defiance his heart sunk when he saw Rose again, for the pain was worse, and the bath and blankets, the warming-pan and piping-hot sage tea, were all in vain. For several hours there was no rest for the poor child, and all manner of gloomy forebodings haunted the minds of those who hovered about her with faces full of the tenderest anxiety.
In the midst of the worst paroxysm Charlie came to leave a message from his mother, and was met by Phebe coming despondently downstairs with a mustard plaster that had brought no relief.
“What the dickens is the matter? You look as dismal as a tombstone,” he said, as she held up her hand to stop his lively whistling.
“Miss Rose is dreadful sick.”
“The deuce she is!”
“Don't swear, Mr. Charlie; she really is, and it's Mr. Mac's fault,” and Phebe told the sad tale in a few sharp words, for she felt at war with the entire race of boys at that moment.
“I'll give it to him, make your mind easy about that,” said Charlie, with an ominous doubling up of his fist. “But Rose isn't dangerously ill, is she?” he added anxiously, as Aunt Plenty was seen to trot across the upper hall, shaking a bottle violently as she went.
“Oh, but she is though. The Doctor don't say much, but he don't call it a 'chill' any more. It's 'pleurisy' now, and I'm so afraid it will be pewmonia to-morrow,” answered Phebe, with a despairing glance at the plaster.
Charlie exploded into a stifled laugh at the new pronunciation of pneumonia, to Phebe's great indignation.
“How can you have the heart to do it, and she in such horrid pain? Hark to that, and then laugh if you darst,” she said with a tragic gesture, and her black eyes full of fire.
Charlie listened and heard little moans that went to his heart and made his face as sober as Phebe's. “O uncle, please stop the pain, and let me rest a minute! Don't tell the boys I wasn't brave. I try to bear it, but it's so sharp I can't help crying.”
Neither could Charlie, when he heard the broken voice say that; but, boy-like, he wouldn't own it, and said pettishly, as he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes,
“Don't hold that confounded thing right under my nose; the mustard makes my eyes smart.”
“Don't see how it can, when it hasn't any more strength in it than meal. The Doctor said so, and I'm going to get some better,” began Phebe, not a bit ashamed of the great tears that were bedewing the condemned plaster.
“I'll go!” and Charlie was off like a shot, glad of an excuse to get out of sight for a few minutes.
When he came back all inconvenient emotion had been disposed of, and, having delivered a box of the hottest mustard procurable for money, he departed to “blow up” Mac, that being his next duty in his opinion. He did it so energetically and thoroughly that the poor Worm was cast into the depths of remorseful despair, and went to bed that evening feeling that he was an outcast from among men, and bore the mark of Cain upon his brow.
Thanks to the skill of the Doctor, and the devotion of his helpers, Rose grew easier about midnight, and all hoped that the worst was over. Phebe was making tea by the study fire, for the Doctor had forgotten to eat and drink since Rose was ill, and Aunt Plenty insisted on his having a “good cordial dish of tea” after his exertions. A tap on the window startled Phebe, and, looking up, she saw a face peering in. She was not afraid, for a second look showed her that it was neither ghost nor burglar, but Mac, looking pale and wild in the wintry moonlight.
“Come and let a fellow in,” he said in a low tone, and when he stood in the hall he clutched Phebe's arm, whispering gruffly, “How is Rose?”
“Thanks be to goodness, she's better,” answered Phebe, with a smile that was like broad sunshine to the poor lad's anxious heart.
“And she will be all right again to-morrow?”
“Oh, dear no! Dolly says she's sure to have rheumatic fever, if she don't have noo-monia!” answered Phebe, careful to pronounce the word rightly this time.
Down went Mac's face, and remorse began to gnaw at him again as he gave a great sigh and said doubtfully,
“I suppose I couldn't see her?”
“Of course not at this time of night, when we want her to go to sleep!”
Mac opened his mouth to say something more, when a sneeze came upon him unawares, and a loud “Ah rash hoo!” awoke the echoes of the quiet house.
“Why didn't you stop it?” said Phebe reproachfully. “I dare say you've waked her up.”
“Didn't know it was coming. Just my luck!” groaned Mac, turning to go before his unfortunate presence did more harm.
But a voice from the stair-head called softly, “Mac, come up; Rose wants to see you.”
Up he went, and found his uncle waiting for him.
“What brings you here at this hour, my boy?” asked the Doctor in a whisper.
“Charlie said it was all my fault, and if she died I'd killed her. I couldn't sleep, so I came to see how she was, and no one knows it but Steve,” he said with such a troubled face and voice that the Doctor had not the heart to blame him.
Before he could say anything more a feeble voice called “Mac!” and with a hasty “Stay a minute just to please her, and then slip away, for I want her to sleep,” the Doctor led him into the room.
The face on the pillow looked very pale and childish, and the smile that welcomed Mac was very faint, for Rose was spent with pain, yet could not rest till she had said a word of comfort to her cousin.
“I knew your funny sneeze, and I guessed that you came to see how I did, though it is very late. Don't be worried, I'm better now, and it is my fault I was ill, not yours; for I needn't have been so silly as to wait in the cold just because I said I would.”
Mac hastened to explain, to load himself with reproaches, and to beg her not to die on any account, for Charlie's lecture had made a deep impression on the poor boy's mind.
“I didn't know there was any danger of my dying,” and Rose looked up at him with a solemn expression in her great eyes.
“Oh, I hope not; but people do sometimes go suddenly, you know, and I couldn't rest till I'd asked you to forgive me,” faltered Mac, thinking that Rose looked very like an angel already, with the golden hair loose on the pillow, and the meekness of suffering on her little white face.
“I don't think I shall die; uncle won't let me; but if I do, remember I forgave you.”
She looked at him with a tender light in her eyes, and, seeing how pathetic his dumb grief was, she added softly, drawing his head down, “I wouldn't kiss you under the mistletoe, but I will now, for I want you to be sure I do forgive and love you just the same.”
That quite upset poor Mac; he could only murmur his thanks and get out of the room as fast as possible, to grope his way to the couch at the far end of the hall, and lie there till he fell asleep, worn out with trying not to “make a baby” of himself.
Whatever danger there might have been from the effects of that sudden chill, it was soon over, though, of course, Aunt Myra refused to believe it, and Dr. Alec cherished his girl with redoubled vigilance and tenderness for months afterward. Rose quite enjoyed being sick, because as soon as the pain ended the fun began, and for a week or two she led the life of a little princess secluded in the Bower, while every one served, amused, and watched over her in the most delightful manner. But the doctor was called away to see an old friend, who was dangerously ill, and then Rose felt like a young bird deprived of its mother's sheltering wing; especially on one afternoon when the aunts were taking their naps, and the house was very still within while snow fell softly without.
“I'll go and hunt up Phebe, she is always nice and busy, and likes to have me help her. If Dolly is out of the way we can make caramels and surprise the boys when they come,” Rose said to herself, as she threw down her book and felt ready for society of some sort.
She took the precaution to peep through the slide before she entered the kitchen, for Dolly allowed no messing when she was round. But the coast was clear, and no one but Phebe appeared, sitting at the table with her head on her arms apparently asleep. Rose was just about to wake her with a “Boo!” when she lifted her head, dried her wet eyes with her blue apron, and fell to work with a resolute face on something she was evidently much interested in. Rose could not make out what it was, and her curiosity was greatly excited, for Phebe was writing with a sputtering pen on some bits of brown paper, apparently copying something from a little book.
“I must know what the dear thing is about, and why she cried, and then set her lips tight and went to work with all her might,” thought Rose, forgetting all about the caramels, and, going round to the door, she entered the kitchen, saying pleasantly,
“Phebe, I want something to do. Can't you let me help you about anything, or shall I be in the way?”
“Oh, dear no, miss; I always love to have you round when things are tidy. What would you like to do?” answered Phebe, opening a drawer as if about to sweep her own affairs out of sight; but Rose stopped her, exclaiming, like a curious child,
“Let me see! What is it? I won't tell if you'd rather not have Dolly know.”
“I'm only trying to study a bit; but I'm so stupid I don't get on much,” answered the girl reluctantly, permitting her little mistress to examine the poor contrivances she was trying to work with.
A broken slate that had blown off the roof, an inch or two of pencil, an old almanac for a reader, several bits of brown or yellow paper ironed smoothly and sewn together for a copy-book, and the copies sundry receipts written in Aunt Plenty's neat hand. These, with a small bottle of ink and a rusty pen, made up Phebe's outfit, and it was little wonder that she did not “get on” in spite of the patient persistence that dried the desponding tears and drove along the sputtering pen with a will.
“You may laugh if you want to, Miss Rose, I know my things are queer, and that's why I hide 'em; but I don't mind since you've found me out, and I ain't a bit ashamed except of being so backward at my age,” said Phebe humbly, though her cheeks grew redder as she washed out some crooked capitals with a tear or two not yet dried upon the slate.
“Laugh at you! I feel more like crying to think what a selfish girl I am, to have loads of books and things and never remember to give you some. Why didn't you come and ask me, and not go struggling along alone in this way? It was very wrong of you, Phebe, and I'll never forgive you if you do so again,” answered Rose, with one hand on Phebe's shoulder, while the other gently turned the leaves of the poor little copy-book.
“I didn't like to ask for anything more when you are so good to me all the time, miss, dear,” began Phebe, looking up with grateful eyes.
“O you proud thing! just as if it wasn't fun to give away, and I had the best of it. Now, see here, I've got a plan and you mustn't say no, or I shall scold. I want something to do, and I'm going to teach you all I know; it won't take long,” and Rose laughed as she put her arm around Phebe's neck, and patted the smooth dark head with the kind little hand that so loved to give.
“It would be just heavenly!” and Phebe's face shone at the mere idea; but fell again as she added wistfully, “Only I'm afraid I ought not to let you do it, Miss Rose. It will take time, and maybe the Doctor wouldn't like it.”
“He didn't want me to study much, but he never said a word about teaching, and I don't believe he will mind a bit. Anyway, we can try it till he comes, so pack up your things and go right to my room and we'll begin this very day; I'd truly like to do it, and we'll have nice times, see if we don't!” cried Rose eagerly.
It was a pretty sight to see Phebe bundle her humble outfit into her apron, and spring up as if the desire of her heart had suddenly been made a happy fact to her; it was a still prettier sight to see Rose run gaily on before, smiling like a good fairy as she beckoned to the other, singing as she went,
“The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,And many are the curious things I'll show you when you're there.Will you, will you walk in, Phebe dear?”
“Oh, won't I!” answered Phebe fervently, adding, as they entered the Bower, “You are the dearest spider that ever was, and I'm the happiest fly.”
“I'm going to be very strict, so sit down in that chair and don't say a word till school is ready to open,” ordered Rose, delighted with the prospect of such a useful and pleasant “something to do.”
So Phebe sat demurely in her place while her new teacher laid forth books and slates, a pretty inkstand and a little globe; hastily tore a bit off her big sponge, sharpened pencils with more energy than skill, and when all was ready gave a prance of satisfaction that set the pupil laughing.
“Now the school is open, and I shall hear you read, so that I may know in which class to put you, Miss Moore,” began Rose with great dignity, as she laid a book before her scholar, and sat down in the easy chair with a long rule in her hand.
Phebe did pretty well, only tripping now and then over a hard word, and pronouncing identical “identickle,” in a sober way that tickled Rose, though never a smile betrayed her. The spelling lesson which followed was rather discouraging; Phebe's ideas of geography were very vague, and grammar was nowhere, though the pupil protested that she tried so hard to “talk nice like educated folks” that Dolly called her “a stuck-up piece who didn't know her place.”
“Dolly's an old goose, so don't you mind her, for she will say 'nater,' 'vittles,' and 'doos' as long as she lives, and insist that they are right. You do talk very nicely, Phebe, I've observed it, and grammar will help you, and show you some things are right and others ain't are not, I mean,” added Rose, correcting herself, and feeling that she must mind her own parts of speech if she was to serve as an example for Phebe.
When the arithmetic came, the little teacher was surprised to find her scholar quicker in some things than herself, for Phebe had worked away at the columns in the butcher's and baker's books till she could add so quickly and correctly that Rose was amazed, and felt that in this branch the pupil would soon excel the teacher if she kept on at the same pace. Her praise cheered Phebe immensely, and they went bravely on, both getting so interested that time flew unheeded till Aunt Plenty appeared, exclaiming, as she stared at the two heads bent over one slate,
“Bless my heart, what is going on now?”
“School, aunty. I'm teaching Phebe, and it's great fun!” cried Rose, looking up with a bright face.
But Phebe's was brighter, though she added with a wistful look,
“Maybe I ought to have asked leave first; only when Miss Rose proposed this, I was so happy I forgot to. Shall I stop, ma'am?”
“Of course not, child; I'm glad to see you fond of your book, and to find Rose helping you along. My blessed mother used to sit at work with her maids about her, teaching them many a useful thing in the good old fashion that's gone by now. Only don't neglect your work, dear, or let the books interfere with the duties.”
As Aunt Plenty spoke, with her kind old face beaming approvingly upon the girls, Phebe glanced at the clock, saw that it pointed to five, knew that Dolly would soon be down, expecting to find preparations for supper under way, and, hastily dropping her pencil, she jumped up, saying,
“Please, can I go? I'll clear up after I've done my chores.”
“School is dismissed,” answered Rose, and with a grateful “Thank you, heaps and heaps!” Phebe ran away singing the multiplication table as she set the tea ditto.
That was the way it began, and for a week the class of one went on with great pleasure and profit to all concerned; for the pupil proved a bright one, and came to her lessons as to a feast, while the young teacher did her best to be worthy the high opinion held of her, for Phebe firmly believed that Miss Rose knew everything in the way of learning.
Of course the lads found out what was going on, and chaffed the girls about the “Seminary,” as they called the new enterprise; but they thought it a good thing on the whole, kindly offered to give lessons in Greek and Latin gratis, and decided among themselves that “Rose was a little trump to give the Phebe-bird such a capital boost.”
Rose herself had some doubts as to how it would strike her uncle, and concocted a wheedlesome speech which should at once convince him that it was the most useful, wholesome, and delightful plan ever devised. But she got no chance to deliver her address, for Dr. Alec came upon her so unexpectedly that it went out of her head entirely. She was sitting on the floor in the library, poring over a big book laid open in her lap, and knew nothing of the long-desired arrival till two large, warm hands met under her chin and gently turned her head back, so that someone could kiss her heartily on either cheek, while a fatherly voice said, half reproachfully, “Why is my girl brooding over a dusty Encyclopedia when she ought to be running to meet the old gentleman who couldn't get on another minute without her?”
“O uncle! I'm so glad! and so sorry! Why didn't you let us know what time you'd be here, or call out the minute you came? Haven't I been home-sick for you? and now I'm so happy to have you back I could hug your dear old curly head off,” cried Rose, as the Encyclopedia went down with a bang, and she up with a spring that carried her into Dr. Alec's arms, to be kept there in the sort of embrace a man gives to the dearest creature the world holds for him.
Presently he was in his easy chair with Rose upon his knee smiling up in his face and talking as fast as her tongue could go, while he watched her with an expression of supreme content, as he stroked the smooth round cheek, or held the little hand in his, rejoicing to see how rosy was the one, how plump and strong the other.
“Have you had a good time? Did you save the poor lady? Aren't you glad to be home again with your girl to torment you?”
“Yes, to all those questions. Now tell me what you've been at, little sinner? Aunty Plen says you want to consult me about some new and remarkable project which you have dared to start in my absence.”
“She didn't tell you, I hope?”
“Not a word more expect that you were rather doubtful how I'd take it, and so wanted to 'fess' yourself and get round me as you always try to do, though you don't often succeed. Now, then, own up and take the consequences.”
So Rose told about her school in her pretty, earnest way, dwelling on Phebe's hunger for knowledge, and the delight it was to help her, adding, with a wise nod,
“And it helps me too, uncle, for she is so quick and eager I have to do my best or she will get ahead of me in some things. To-day, now, she had the word 'cotton' in a lesson and asked all about it, and I was ashamed to find I really knew so little that I could only say that it was a plant that grew down South in a kind of a pod, and was made into cloth. That's what I was reading up when you came, and to-morrow I shall tell her all about it, and indigo too. So you see it teaches me also, and is as good as a general review of what I've learned, in a pleasanter way than going over it alone.”
“You artful little baggage! that's the way you expect to get round me, is it? That's not studying, I suppose?”
“No, sir, it's teaching; and please, I like it much better than having a good time by myself. Besides, you know, I adopted Phebe and promised to be a sister to her, so I am bound to keep my word, am I not?” answered Rose, looking both anxious and resolute as she waited for her sentence.
Dr. Alec was evidently already won, for Rose had described the old slate and brown paper copy-book with pathetic effect, and the excellent man had not only decided to send Phebe to school long before the story was done, but reproached himself for forgetting his duty to one little girl in his love for another. So when Rose tried to look meek and failed utterly, he laughed and pinched her cheek, and answered in that genial way which adds such warmth and grace to any favour,
“I haven't the slightest objection in the world. In fact, I was beginning to think I might let you go at your books again, moderately, since you are so well; and this is an excellent way to try your powers. Phebe is a brave, bright lass, and shall have a fair chance in the world, if we can give it to her, so that if she ever finds her friends they need not be ashamed of her.”
“I think she has found some already,” began Rose eagerly.
“Hey? what? has anyone turned up since I've been gone?” asked Dr. Alec quickly, for it was a firm belief in the family that Phebe would prove to be “somebody” sooner or later.
“No, her best friend turned up when you came home, uncle,” answered Rose with an approving pat, adding gratefully, “I can't half thank you for being so good to my girl, but she will, because I know she is going to make a woman to be proud of, she's so strong and true, and loving.”
“Bless your dear heart, I haven't begun to do anything yet, more shame to me! But I'm going at it now, and as soon as she gets on a bit, she shall go to school as long as she likes. How will that do for a beginning?”
“It will be 'just heavenly,' as Phebe says, for it is the wish of her life to 'get lots of schooling,' and she will be too happy when I tell her. May I, please? it will be so lovely to see the dear thing open her big eyes and clap her hands at the splendid news.”
“No one shall have a finger in this nice little pie; you shall do it all yourself, only don't go too fast, or make too many castles in the air, my dear; for time and patience must go into this pie of ours if it is to turn out well.”
“Yes, uncle, only when it is opened won't 'the birds begin to sing?”' laughed Rose, taking a turn about the room as a vent for the joyful emotions that made her eyes shine. All of a sudden she stopped and asked soberly,
“If Phebe goes to school who will do her work? I'm willing, if I can.”
“Come here and I'll tell you a secret. Dolly's 'bones' are getting so troublesome, and her dear old temper so bad, that the aunts have decided to pension her off and let her go and live with her daughter, who has married very well. I saw her this week, and she'd like to have her mother come, so in the spring we shall have a grand change, and get a new cook and chamber-girl if any can be found to suit our honoured relatives.”
“Oh, me! how can I ever get on without Phebe? Couldn't she stay, just so I could see her? I'd pay her board rather than have her go, I'm so fond of her.”
How Dr. Alec laughed at that proposal, and how satisfied Rose was when he explained that Phebe was still to be her maid, with no duties except such as she could easily perform between school-hours.
“She is a proud creature, for all her humble ways, and even from us would not take a favour if she did not earn it somewhere. So this arrangement makes it all square and comfortable, you see, and she will pay for the schooling by curling these goldilocks a dozen times a day if you let her.”
“Your plans are always so wise and kind! That's why they work so well, I suppose, and why people let you do what you like with them. I really don't see how other girls get along without an Uncle Alec!” answered Rose, with a sigh of pity for those who had missed so great a blessing.
When Phebe was told the splendid news, she did not “stand on her head with rapture,” as Charlie prophesied she would, but took it quietly, because it was such a happy thing she had no words “big and beautiful enough to thank them in,” she said; but every hour of her day was brightened by this granted wish, and dedicated to the service of those who gave it.
Her heart was so full of content that if overflowed in music, and the sweet voice singing all about the house gave thanks so blithely that no other words were needed. Her willing feet were never tired of taking steps for those who had smoothed her way; her skilful hands were always busy in some labour of love for them, and on the face fast growing in comeliness there was an almost womanly expression of devotion, which proved how well Phebe had already learned one of life's great lessons gratitude.
“Steve, I want you to tell me something,” said Rose to Dandy, who was making faces at himself in the glass, while he waited for an answer to the note he brought from his mother to Aunt Plenty.
“P'raps I will, and p'raps I won't. What is it?”
“Haven't Arch and Charlie quarrelled?”
“Dare say; we fellows are always having little rows, you know. I do believe a sty is coming on my star-board eye,” and Steve affected to be absorbed in a survey of his yellow lashes.
“No, that won't do; I want to know all about it; for I'm sure something more serious than a 'little row' is the matter. Come, please tell me, Stenie, there's a dear.”
“Botheration! you don't want me to turn telltale, do you?” growled Steve, pulling his top-knot, as he always did when perplexed.
“Yes, I do,” was Rose's decided answer for she saw from his manner that she was right, and determined to have the secret out of him if coaxing would do it. “I don't wish you to tell things to everyone, of course, but to me you may, and you must, because I have a right to know. You boys need somebody to look after you, and I'm going to do it, for girls are nice peacemakers, and know how to manage people. Uncle said so, and he is never wrong.”
Steve was about to indulge in a derisive hoot at the idea of her looking after them, but a sudden thought restrained him, and suggested a way in which he could satisfy Rose, and better himself at the same time.
“What will you give me if I'll tell you every bit about it?” he asked, with a sudden red in his cheeks and an uneasy look in his eyes, for he was half ashamed of the proposition.
“What do you want?” and Rose looked up rather surprised at his question.
“I'd like to borrow some money. I shouldn't think of asking you, only Mac never has a cent. since he's set up his old chemical shop, where he'll blow himself to bits some day, and you and uncle will have the fun of putting him together again,” and Steve tried to look as if the idea amused him.
“I'll lend it to you with pleasure, so tell away,” said Rose, bound to get at the secret.
Evidently much relieved by the promise, Steve set his top-knot cheerfully erect again, and briefly stated the case.
“As you say, it's all right to tell you, but don't let the boys know I blabbed, or Prince will take my head off. You see, Archie don't like some of the fellows Charlie goes with, and cuts 'em. That makes Prince mad, and he holds on just to plague Arch, so they don't speak to one another, if they can help it, and that's the row.”
“Are those boys bad?” asked Rose, anxiously.
“Guess not, only rather wild. They are older than our fellows, but they like Prince, he's such a jolly boy; sings so well, dances jigs and breakdowns, you know, and plays any game that's going. He beat Morse at billiards, and that's something to brag of, for Morse thinks he knows everything. I saw the match, and it was great fun!”
Steve got quite excited over the prowess of Charlie, whom he admired immensely, and tried to imitate. Rose did not know half the danger of such gifts and tastes as Charlie's, but felt instinctively that something must be wrong if Archie disapproved.
“If Prince likes any billiard-playing boy better than Archie, I don't think much of his sense,” she said severely.
“Of course he doesn't; but, you see, Charlie and Arch are both as proud as they can be, and won't give in. I suppose Arch is right, but I don't blame Charlie a bit for liking to be with the others sometimes, they are such a jolly set,” and Steve shook his head morally, even while his eye twinkled over the memory of some of the exploits of the “jolly set.”
“Oh, dear me!” sighed Rose, “I don't see what I can do about it, but I wish the boys would make up, for Prince can't come to any harm with Archie, he's so good and sensible.”
“That's the trouble; Arch preaches, and Prince won't stand it. He told Arch he was a prig and a parson, and Arch told him he wasn't a gentleman. My boots! weren't they both mad, though! I thought for a minute they'd pitch into one another and have it out. Wish they had, and not gone stalking round stiff and glum ever since. Mac and I settle our rows with a bat or so over the head, and then we are all right.”
Rose couldn't help laughing as Steve sparred away at a fat sofa-pillow, to illustrate his meaning; and, having given it several scientific whacks, he pulled down his cuffs and smiled upon her with benign pity for her feminine ignorance of this summary way of settling a quarrel.
“What droll things boys are!” she said, with a mixture of admiration and perplexity in her face, which Steve accepted as a compliment to his sex.
“We're a pretty clever invention, miss, and you can't get on without us,” he answered, with his nose in the air. Then, taking a sudden plunge into business, he added, “How about that bit of money you were going to lend me? I've told, now you pay up.”
“Of course I will! How much do you want?” and Rose pulled out her purse.
“Could you spare five dollars? I want to pay a little debt of honour that is rather pressing,” and Steve put on a mannish air that was comical to see.
“Aren't all debts honourable?” asked innocent Rose.
“Yes, of course; but this is a bet I made, and it ought to be settled up at once,” began Steve, finding it awkward to explain.
“Oh, don't bet, it's not right, and I know your father wouldn't like it. Promise you won't do so again; please promise!” and Rose held fast the hand into which she had just put the money.
“Well, I won't. It's worried me a good deal, but I was joked into it. Much obliged, cousin, I'm all right now,” and Steve departed hastily.
Having decided to be a peace-maker, Rose waited for an opportunity, and very soon it came.
She was spending the day with Aunt Clara, who had been entertaining some young guests, and invited Rose to meet them, for she thought it high time her niece conquered her bashfulness and saw a little of society. Dinner was over, and everyone had gone. Aunt Clara was resting before going out to an evening party, and Rose was waiting for Charlie to come and take her home.
She sat alone in the elegant drawing-room, feeling particularly nice and pretty, for she had her best frock on, a pair of gold bands her aunt had just given her, and a tea-rose bud in her sash, like the beautiful Miss Van Tassel, whom everyone admired. She had spread out her little skirts to the best advantage, and, leaning back in a luxurious chair, sat admiring her own feet in new slippers with rosettes almost as big as dahlias. Presently Charlie came lounging in, looking rather sleepy and queer, Rose thought. On seeing her, however, he roused up and said with a smile that ended in a gape,
“I thought you were with mother, so I took forty winks after I got those girls off. Now, I'm at your service, Rosamunda, whenever you like.”
“You look as if your head ached. If it does, don't mind me. I'm not afraid to run home alone, it's so early,” answered Rose, observing the flushed cheeks and heavy eyes of her cousin.
“I think I see myself letting you do it. Champagne always makes my headache, but the air will set me up.”
“Why do you drink it, then?” asked Rose, anxiously.
“Can't help it, when I'm host. Now, don't you begin to lecture; I've had enough of Archie's old-fashioned notions, and I don't want any more.”
Charlie's tone was decidedly cross, and his whole manner so unlike his usual merry good-nature, that Rose felt crushed, and answered meekly,
“I wasn't going to lecture, only when people like other people, they can't bear to see them suffer pain.”
That brought Charlie round at once, for Rose's lips trembled a little, though she tried to hide it by smelling the flower she pulled from her sash.
“I'm a regular bear, and I beg your pardon for being so cross, Rosy,” he said in the old frank way that was so winning.
“I wish you'd beg Archie's too, and be good friends again. You never were cross when he was your chum,” Rose said, looking up at him as he bent toward her from the low chimney-piece, where he had been leaning his elbows.
In an instant he stood as stiff and straight as a ramrod, and the heavy eyes kindled with an angry spark as he said, in his high and mighty manner,
“You'd better not meddle with what you don't understand, cousin.”
“But I do understand, and it troubles me very much to see you so cold and stiff to one another. You always used to be together, and now you hardly speak. You are so ready to beg my pardon I don't see why you can't beg Archie's, if you are in the wrong.”
“I'm not!” this was so short and sharp that Rose started, and Charlie added in a calmer but still very haughty tone: “A gentleman always begs pardon when he has been rude to a lady, but one man doesn't apologize to another man who has insulted him.”
“Oh, my heart, what a pepperpot!” thought Rose, and, hoping to make him laugh, she added slyly: “I was not talking about men, but boys, and one of them a Prince, who ought to set a good example to his subjects.”
But Charlie would not relent, and tried to turn the subject by saying gravely, as he unfastened the little gold ring from his watch-guard,
“I've broken my word, so I want to give this back and free you from the bargain. I'm sorry, but I think it a foolish promise, and don't intend to keep it. Choose a pair of ear-rings to suit yourself, as my forfeit. You have a right to wear them now.”
“No, I can only wear one, and that is no use, for Archie will keep his word I'm sure!” Rose was so mortified and grieved at this downfall of her hopes that she spoke sharply, and would not take the ring the deserter offered her.
He shrugged his shoulders, and threw it into her lap, trying to look cool and careless, but failing entirely, for he was ashamed of himself, and out of sorts generally. Rose wanted to cry, but pride would not let her, and, being very angry, she relieved herself by talk instead of tears. Looking pale and excited, she rose out of her chair, cast away the ring, and said in a voice that she vainly tried to keep steady,
“You are not at all the boy I thought you were, and I don't respect you one bit. I've tried to help you be good, but you won't let me, and I shall not try any more. You talk a great deal about being a gentleman, but you are not, for you've broken your word, and I can never trust you again. I don't wish you to go home with me. I'd rather have Mary. Good-night.”
And with that last dreadful blow, Rose walked out of the room, leaving Charlie as much astonished as if one of his pet pigeons had flown in his face and pecked at him. She was so seldom angry, that when her temper did get the better of her it made a deep impression on the lads, for it was generally a righteous sort of indignation at some injustice or wrong-doing, not childish passion.
Her little thunderstorm cleared off in a sob or two as she put on her things in the entry-closet, and when she emerged she looked the brighter for the shower. A hasty good-night to Aunt Clara now under the hands of the hairdresser and then she crept down to find Mary the maid. But Mary was out, so was the man, and Rose slipped away by the back-door, flattering herself that she had escaped the awkwardness of having Charlie for escort.
There she was mistaken, however, for the gate had hardly closed behind her when a well-known tramp was heard, and the Prince was beside her, saying in a tone of penitent politeness that banished Rose's wrath like magic,
“You needn't speak to me if you don't choose, but I must see you safely home, cousin.”
She turned at once, put out her hand, and answered heartily,
“I was the cross one. Please forgive me, and let's be friends again.”
Now that was better than a dozen sermons on the beauty of forgiveness, and did Charlie more good, for it showed him how sweet humility was, and proved that Rose practised as she preached.
He shook the hand warmly, then drew it through his arm and said, as if anxious to recover the good opinion with the loss of which he had been threatened,
“Look here, Rosy, I've put the ring back, and I'm going to try again. But you don't know how hard it is to stand being laughed at.”
“Yes, I do! Ariadne plagues me every time I see her, because I don't wear ear-rings after all the trouble I had getting ready for them.”
“Ah, but her twaddle isn't half as bad as the chaffing I get. It takes a deal of pluck to hold out when you are told you are tied to an apron string, and all that sort of thing,” sighed Charlie.
“I thought you had a 'deal of pluck,' as you call it. The boys all say you are the bravest of the seven,” said Rose.
“So I am about some things, but I cannot bear to be laughed at.”
“It is hard, but if one is right won't that make it easier?”
“Not to me; it might to a pious parson like Arch.”
“Please don't call him names! I guess he has what is called moral courage, and you physical courage. Uncle explained the difference to me, and moral is the best, though often it doesn't look so,” said Rose thoughtfully.
Charlie didn't like that, and answered quickly, “I don't believe he'd stand it any better than I do, if he had those fellows at him.”
“Perhaps that's why he keeps out of their way, and wants you to.”
Rose had him there, and Charlie felt it, but would not give in just yet, though he was going fast, for somehow, in the dark he seemed to see things clearer than in the light, and found it very easy to be confidential when it was “only Rose.”
“If he was my brother, now, he'd have some right to interfere,” began Charlie, in an injured tone.
“I wish he was!” cried Rose.
“So do I,” answered Charlie, and then they both laughed at his inconsistency.
The laugh did them good, and when Prince spoke again, it was in a different tone pensive, not proud nor perverse.
“You see, it's hard upon me that I have no brothers and sisters. The others are better off and needn't go abroad for chums if they don't like. I am all alone, and I'd be thankful even for a little sister.”
Rose thought that very pathetic, and, overlooking the uncomplimentary word “even” in that last sentence, she said, with a timid sort of earnestness that conquered her cousin at once,
“Play I was a little sister. I know I'm silly, but perhaps I'm better than nothing, and I'd dearly love to do it.”
“So should I! and we will, for you are not silly, my dear, but a very sensible girl, we all think, and I'm proud to have you for a sister. There, now!” and Charlie looked down at the curly head bobbing along beside him with real affection in his face.
Rose gave a skip of pleasure, and laid one seal-skin mitten over the other on his arm, as she said happily,
“That's so nice of you! Now, you needn't be lonely any more, and I'll try to fill Archie's place till he comes back, for I know he will, as soon as you let him.”
“Well, I don't mind telling you that while he was my mate I never missed brothers and sisters, or wanted anyone else; but since he cast me off, I'll be hanged if I don't feel as forlorn as old Crusoe before Friday turned up.”
This burst of confidence confirmed Rose in her purpose of winning Charlie's Mentor back to him, but she said no more, contented to have done so well. They parted excellent friends, and Prince went home, wondering why “a fellow didn't mind saying things to a girl or woman which they would die before they'd own to another fellow.”
Rose also had some sage reflections upon the subject, and fell asleep thinking that there were a great many curious things in this world, and feeling that she was beginning to find out some of them.
Next day she trudged up the hill to see Archie, and having told him as much as she thought best about her talk with Charlie, begged him to forget and forgive.
“I've been thinking that perhaps I ought to, though I am in the right. I'm no end fond of Charlie, and he's the best-hearted lad alive; but he can't say No, and that will play the mischief with him, if he does not take care,” said Archie in his grave, kind way.
“While father was home, I was very busy with him, so Prince got into a set I don't like. They try to be fast, and think it's manly, and they flatter him, and lead him on to do all sorts of things play for money, and bet, and loaf about. I hate to have him do so, and tried to stop it, but went to work the wrong way, so we got into a mess.”
“He is all ready to make up if you don't say much, for he owned to me he was wrong; but I don't think he will own it to you, in words,” began Rose.
“I don't care for that; if he'll just drop those row-dies and come back, I'll hold my tongue and not preach. I wonder if he owes those fellows money, and so doesn't like to break off till he can pay it. I hope not, but don't dare to ask; though, perhaps, Steve knows, he's always after Prince, more's the pity,” and Archie looked anxious.
“I think Steve does know, for he talked about debts of honour the day I gave him—” There Rose stopped short and turned scarlet.
But Archie ordered her to “fess,” and had the whole story in five minutes, for none dared disobey the Chief. He completed her affliction by putting a five-dollar bill into her pocket by main force, looking both indignant and resolute as he said,
“Never do so again; but send Steve to me, if he is afraid to go to his father. Charlie had nothing to do with that; he wouldn't borrow a penny of a girl, don't think it. But that's the harm he does Steve, who adores him, and tries to be like him in all things. Don't say a word; I'll make it all right, and no one shall blame you.”
“Oh me! I always make trouble by trying to help, and then letting out the wrong thing,” sighed Rose, much depressed by her slip of the tongue.
Archie comforted her with the novel remark that it was always best to tell the truth, and made her quite cheerful by promising to heal the breach with Charlie as soon as possible.
He kept his word so well that the very next afternoon, as Rose looked out of the window, she beheld the joyful spectacle of Archie and Prince coming up the avenue, arm-in-arm, as of old, talking away as if to make up for the unhappy silence of the past weeks.
Rose dropped her work, hurried to the door, and, opening it wide, stood there smiling down upon them so happily, that the faces of the lads brightened as they ran up the steps eager to show that all was well with them.
“Here's our little peace-maker!” said Archie, shaking hands with vigour.
But Charlie added, with a look that made Rose very proud and happy, “And my little sister.”