CHAPTER VICHRISTMAS DAY
Mrs. Morton's prophecy was fulfilled. It was still black night when Dicky roused from his bed and sent a "Merry Christmas" ringing through the house. There was no response to his first cry, but, undaunted, he uttered a second. To this there came a faint "Merry Christmas" from the top story where the Ethels were snuggled under the roof, and another from Helen's room beside his own. Katharine said nothing and not a word came from Roger, though there was a sound of heavy, regular breathing through his door.
"Let's put on our wrappers and go down stairs into Katharine's room," suggested Ethel Brown.
"It's lots too early. Let's wait a while," replied Ethel Blue, so they lay still for another hour in spite of increasing sounds of ecstasy from Dicky. After all they decided to follow the usual family custom and take their stockings into the living room before breakfast instead of going to Katharine's room. As they passed her door they knocked on it and begged her to hurry so that they could all begin the opening at once. She said that she was up and would soon join them, but it proved to be fully three quarters of an hour before she appeared.
All the Mortons except Dicky had waited for her before opening their bundles.
"We thought you would excuse Dicky for not waiting; it's rather hard on a small boy to have such tantalizing parcels right before him and not attack them," apologized Mrs. Morton.
Katharine looked somewhat embarrassed to find that she had been the cause of so long a delay but she offered no excuse.
"Let's all look at our stockings first," said EthelBrown, and every hand dived in and brought out candy, nuts, raisins, an apple, an orange, dates and figs and candy animals.
There were gifts among the goodies, or instructions where to find them. Roger discovered a pocket book that had been his desire for a long time, and a card that advised him to look under the desk in the library and see what was waiting for him. He dashed off in a high state of curiosity and came back whooping, with a typewriter in his arms.
"Aren't Grandfather and Grandmother the best ever!" he exclaimed rapturously, and he paid no further attention to his other gifts or to those of the rest of the family while he hunted out a small table and arranged the machine for immediate action.
Helen's chief presents were a ring with a small pearl, from her grandmother and a set of Stevenson from her grandfather. The Ethels had each a tennis racquet and each a desk of a size suitable for their bedroom.
"They'll go one on each side of the window," exclaimed Ethel Brown, while Ethel Blue at once began to store away in hers the supply of stationery that came with it.
Katharine's gifts were quite as numerous as the Mortons', for her mother had forwarded to Mrs. Morton's care all those of suitable size that came to Buffalo for her. She opened one after another: books, hair ribbons, a pair of silk stockings for dancing school, a tiny silver watch on a long chain. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson had added to her store a racquet like the Ethels'.
More numerous than those of any of the others were Dicky's presents, and they were varied, indeed. A velocipede was his grandfather's offering and wasreceived with shouts of delight. Blocks of a new sort occupied him when his mother stopped his travels on three wheels. A train of cars made its way under Katharine's feet and nearly threw her down, to her intense disgust, and a pair of roller skates brought Dicky himself in her way so often that she spoke to him more sharply than he had ever been spoken to in his life. He drew away and stared at her solemnly.
"You're a cross girl," he announced after a disconcerting pause, and Katharine flushed deeply at the accusation, realizing that it was not polite to rebuke your hostess's brother and regretting her hasty speech.
"Are you good for a long walk?" Roger asked Katharine after breakfast.
Katharine said she was.
"Then help me do up these things for Grandfather and Grandmother and we'll be off," and he threw down a handful of red paper and green ribbon and ran to get the shears.
Roger and Helen together had given Grandfather Emerson a whole desk set, Roger hammering the metal and Helen providing and making up the pad and roller blotter and ink bottle. It was a handsome set. The blotter was green and the Ethels had made a string basket out of which came the end of a ball of green twine, and a set of filing envelopes, neatly arranged in a portfolio of heavy green cardboard.
All of the family had helped make the Chautauqua scrapbook that was Mrs. Emerson's principal gift from her grandchildren. Helen had written the story of their summer at Chautauqua, Roger had typed it on a typewriter at school, and the others had chosen and pasted the pictures that illustrated it. Ethel Blue had added an occasional drawing ofher own when their kodaks gave out or they were unable to find anything in old magazines that would answer their purpose, and the effect was excellent. Katharine looked it over with the greatest interest.
"Here you are, all of you, going over from Westfield to Chautauqua in the trolley," she exclaimed, for she had made the same trip herself.
"And here are the chief officers of Chautauqua Institution—Bishop Vincent and some of the others."
"And here's the Spelling Match—my, that Amphitheatre is an enormous place!"
"This is the hydro-aeroplane that we flew in, Ethel Brown and I."
"These are different buildings on the grounds—I recognize them. This is a splendid present," complimented Katharine.
"It was heaps of fun making it. Did you notice this picture of Mother's and Grandfather's class on Recognition Day? See, there's Mother herself. She happened to be in the right spot when the photographer snapped."
"How lucky for you! It's perfect. I know Mrs. Emerson will be awfully pleased."
"We hope she will. Are you infants ready?" and Roger swung the parcels on to his back and opened the door for the girls.
"We're going to stop at Dorothy's, aren't we?" asked Ethel Blue.
"Certainly we are. We want to see her presents and to give Elisabeth hers and to say 'Merry Christmas' to Aunt Louise and Miss Merriam."
"You seem very fond of Miss Merriam," said Katharine to Ethel Brown as they turned the corner into Church Street.
"We are. She's splendid. She knows just what to do for Elisabeth and she's lovely any way."
"You act as if she belonged to the family."
"Why shouldn't we?" asked Ethel in amazement.
"Don't you pay her for taking care of the baby?"
"Certainly we pay her. We'd pay a doctor for taking care of her, too, only we happen to have two doctors related to the Club so they give us their services free. Why shouldn't we pay her?"
Ethel Brown was quite breathless. She could not entirely understand Katharine's point of view, but she seemed to be hinting that Miss Merriam was serving in a menial capacity. The idea made loyal Ethel Brown, who had not a snobbish bone in her body, extremely angry. Service she understood—her father and her uncle and Katharine's father, too, for that matter, were serving their country and were under orders. One kind of service might be less responsible than another kind, but that any service that was honest and useful could be unworthy was not in her creed.
"No reason, of course," replied Katharine, who saw that she had offended Ethel. "Any way, her work is more than a nursemaid's work."
"I should say it was," answered Ethel warmly; "she's taken several years' training to fit her for it. But even if she were just a nursemaid I should love her. I love Mary. She was Dicky's nurse and Mother says she saved him from becoming a sick, nervous child by her wisdom and calmness. Mary's skilful, too."
Katharine did not pursue the discussion, and Ethel Brown, when Miss Merriam came into the room to wish them a "Merry Christmas," threw her arms around her neck and kissed her.
"You're a perfectly splendid person," she exclaimed.
Elisabeth was at her very best this morning. Never before had they seen her so beaming. Shehad a special smile for every one of them, so that each felt that he had been singled out for favors. She shook hands with Roger, walked a few steps, clinging to the Ethels' fingers, patted Helen's cheek, rippled all over when Dicky danced before her, and even permitted Katharine to take her on her lap. This was a concession on Katharine's part as well as on Elisabeth's, for Katharine was not much interested in a stray baby. She saw, however, that the Mortons all were in love with the little creature so she did her best to be amiable toward her.
"You're all so good to me," she cried. "I love all these things that you've made for me with your own fingers."
"We'd do more than that if we could," answered Ethel Blue as they all, including Dorothy, swept out of the front door to take up their journey to the Emersons'.
At the Emersons' there was a renewal of greetings and "Thank yous" and laughter, and a rehearsing of all the gifts that had been received. Mrs. Smith had sent Mrs. Emerson an unusual pair of richly decorated wax candles which she had found at an Italian candlemaker's in New York, and Miss Merriam had sent her and Mrs. Morton each a tiny brass censer and a supply of charcoal and Japanese incense to make fragrant the house.
"Mother gave us handkerchiefs all around," said Roger, "and Mary baked us each a cake and the cook made candy enough for an army."
"You're dining at your Aunt Louise's, dear?"
"We're going right from here to carry some bundles for Mother and then to church, and then to Aunt Louise's for an early dinner. After dinner we are to call on the old ladies at the Home for a half hour and then we go back to a tree for Dicky—justa little shiny one; we've had all our presents. After supper the thing we're going to do is a secret."
"That sounds like a program that will keep you busy while it lasts. They're not tiring you out, I hope?" Mr. Emerson asked Katharine, who listened to Roger's list without displaying much enthusiasm.
"I'm enjoying it all very much," responded Katharine politely, but not in a tone that carried conviction.
"How would it please you if the car took you back and helped you carry those parcels for your mother?"
There was a general whoop of satisfaction.
"Your grandmother and I are going to church, but we won't mind starting earlier than we usually do."
"Which means right now, I should say," said Roger, looking at his watch.
At the Mortons' the car added Mrs. Morton and Dicky to its occupants and several large baskets containing Christmas dinners for people in whom the Mortons had an interest. The young Mortons all had had a hand in packing these baskets and in adding a touch of holly and red ribbon at the top to give them a holiday appearance.
"This first one is for old Mrs. Jameson," Mrs. Morton explained to her mother. "Everything in it is already cooked because she is almost blind and cooking is harder for her than it is for most people. There is a roast chicken and the vegetables are all done and put in covered bowls packed around with excelsior so that their heat won't be lost."
"Like a fireless cooker."
"The Ethels and Dorothy made enough individual fruit cakes for all our baskets, and we've put in hard pudding sauce so that they can be eaten as puddings instead of cakes."
"The girls have made candies and cookies for everybody. That basket for the Flynns has enough cookies for eight children besides the father and mother."
"If their appetites are like Roger's there must be a good many dozen cookies stowed away there."
"You can see it's the largest of all," laughed Mrs. Morton.
Roger played Santa Claus at each house and his merry face and pleasant jokes brought smiles to faces that did not look happy when their owners opened their doors. The Flynns' was the last stop and everybody in the car laughed when all the Flynns who could walk, and that meant nine of them, fairly boiled out of the door to receive the visitor. Roger jumped the small fry and joked with the larger ones, and left them all in a high state of excitement.
It was a very merry party that gathered around the Smiths' table, the largest dinner party that Dorothy and her mother had given since they came to Rosemont to live after they had met their unknown Morton relatives at Chautauqua the summer before. To Mrs. Smith it gave the greatest happiness to see the children of her brothers sitting at her table and to know that her sister-in-law was her very dear friend as well as her relative by marriage.
After dinner they all snapped costume crackers and adorned themselves with the caps that they discovered inside them, and they set the new Victrola going and danced the butterfly dance that they had learned at Chautauqua and had given at their entertainment for the Christmas Ship. Dusk was coming on when the Ethels said that they must go to the Old Ladies' Home or they would have to run all the way. Grandfather Emerson offeredto whirl all of them over in the car, and they were glad to accept the offer.
They stopped at home to get the boxes of candy which they had prepared. It was while they were running up stairs to gather them together that Katharine asked Ethel Blue if Mary might press a dress for her.
"I want to wear it this evening," she said.
Ethel Blue gasped. Mary had not yet come back from Mrs. Smith's where she had served dinner for the large party and was still occupied in clearing up after it. Supper at home was yet to come. Mrs. Morton had always urged upon the girls to be very careful about asking to have extra services rendered at inconvenient hours, and a more inconvenient time than this hardly could have been selected.
"Why, I don't know," Ethel Blue hesitated.
"Oh, if you don't care to have her—" replied Katharine stiffly.
"It isn't that," returned Ethel miserably. "Mary's always willing to do things for us, but you see she's had a hard day and it isn't over yet and she won't have any holiday at all if she has to do this."
"Very well," returned Katharine in a tone that made Ethel feel that her friend considered that she was being discourteous to her guest. "I can find something else to wear this evening, I suppose."
She looked so like a martyr that Ethel was most unhappy.
"If you'll let me try it, I can use the stove in our own little kitchen," she offered, referring to the small room where Mrs. Morton allowed the girls to cook so that they should not be in the way of the servants.
"No, indeed, I could not think of letting you," responded Katharine.
"I don't know that I could do it. I never have pressed anything nice—but I'd like to try if you'll trust me."
"No, indeed," repeated Katharine, and the girls entered the automobile each in a state of mental discomfort, Katharine because she felt that she was not being treated with proper consideration, and Ethel Blue because she had been obliged to refuse the request of a friend and guest. The ride to the Home was uncomfortably silent. On Roger's part the cause was turkey, but the girls were quiet for other reasons.
The visit to the old ladies was not long. They distributed their packages and wished everybody a "Merry Christmas" and shook hands with their especial favorites and ran back to the car.
The supper was not really a party meal. It merely served as a gathering place for the U. S. C. before they went to the Christmas tree at the church. It also served as a background for Dick's little shining tree. This small tree had been a part of Dick's Christmas ever since he had had a Christmas, and to him it was quite as important as his dinner, although there never were any presents on it.
It stood now on a small table at the side of the dining room. It was lighted by means of the storage battery and the strings of tiny electric lights that had been used for the Christmas Ship at the Glen Point orphanage. There were all sorts of balls and tinsel wreaths and tiny, glistening cords. It glowed merrily while the supper went on, Dicky, at intervals of five minutes, calling everybody's attention to its beauties. There were favors at each plate, each a joke of some sort on the person who received it. Every one held up his toy for the rest to see and each provoked a peal of laughter.
CHAPTER VIINEW YEAR'S EVE
"Where is Katharine?" asked Mrs. Morton of the Ethels as Mary announced luncheon on the day before New Year's.
"She went over to Dorothy's. Shall I call her?"
"Give her a minute or two. She knows the luncheon hour," replied Katharine's hostess.
But a minute or two and more passed and no Katharine appeared.
"She must be lunching with Dorothy," suggested Ethel Blue.
"I'm sure Dorothy would have telephoned to ask if we had any plans that would interfere."
"It's twenty minutes past the hour; you'd better call and see if she's still there," said Mrs. Morton, "and we may as well sit down."
Helen was still at the telephone and the family was seated when Katharine came in.
"You didn't wait for me," she remarked with apparent surprise.
"Of course you didn't realize that the luncheon hour had struck," Mrs. Morton apologized for her. "Helen is calling Dorothy now to inquire about you."
Katharine made no reply and sat down with the injured air that she was in the habit of wearing when she thought that not sufficient deference had been paid her. She offered no apology or explanation and seemed to think, if any conclusion could be drawn from her manner, that she had a grievance instead of Mrs. Morton, whose family arrangements were continually being upset by her guest's dilatoriness and lack of consideration. The visit which had been looked forward to with such delight was not proving successful. For themselves theEthels did not mind occasional delays, but they knew that all such matters interfered with the smooth running of the house, and they could not help wondering that Katharine should seem to think that her hostess should rearrange the daily routine to suit her.
The evening meal was to be supper and not dinner and it was to be especially early because it was to be cooked entirely by the young people. The Hancocks and the Watkinses were at the Mortons' by five o'clock. Dr. Watkins came out, too, by special invitation, but he asked if he might be permitted to pay a visit to Elisabeth while the rest were preparing the meal, in view of the fact that he was not skilled as a cook, and felt himself to be too old to learn in one lesson. He was allowed to go with strict injunctions to be back at half past six and to bring Miss Merriam with him.
The Ethels had planned beforehand what they were going to have for supper and the part that each was to take in the preparations.
When the aprons had been taken off and the guests were all seated at the table the supper went swimmingly. The oysters were delicious, the salad sufficiently "chunky" to please Roger, the biscuits as light as a feather and the fruit mélange as good to look at as if it was to eat.
The table decorations hinted at the New Year that was upon them. High in a belfry made of small sticks piled on each other criss-cross hung a small bell. Silver cords ran from it to each place so that every guest might in turn "Ring out the old, ring in the new." Beside the tower on one side stood the Old Year bending with the weight of his twelve-month of experience; on the other side was the fresh New Year, too young to know experience. Both were dolls dressed by Dorothy and Ethel Blue.
"I move you, Madam President," said Tom when the meal was nearly over, "that we extend a vote of thanks to the cooks for this delicious nourishment."
"I was just on the point of making that motion," laughed Edward Watkins.
"And I of seconding it," cried Miss Merriam. "It would come more appropriately from us."
"You were far too slow," retorted Tom. "I couldn't wait for you."
"As the president was one of the cooks she ought to place some one else in the chair to put a motion complimentary in part to herself, but as the maker of the motion and the seconder were also cooks we're all in the same box and I don't believe it's necessary. All in favor say 'Aye'."
A shout of "Ayes" followed.
"Contrary minded."
Silence.
"Madam President."
"Mrs. Morton has the floor."
"I don't want to seem inhospitable, but if you're going to reach the Atwoods' on time you'd better be starting."
There was a general scattering and a donning of outer garments. The boys picked up the bags and the Club started for the bridge, Dr. Watkins and Miss Merriam going with them.
When the Ethels had called on Mrs. Atwood and had asked her if the Club might visit her on New Year's Eve the old lady had been not only surprised but somewhat alarmed. She grew more cordial, however, when Ethel Brown explained it to her.
"Would you mind our asking some of our friends?"
"Not at all. We'd be glad to do the few small things that we've planned for just as many people as you can get in here."
"That isn't many," replied Mrs. Atwood, looking about her sitting room. "But there's one of my neighbors hardly ever gets to the stores or to a movie show, and I'd love to ask her in; and there's another one is just getting up from a sickness."
So the room was quite filled with guests when the Club members arrived.
"That's the boy that hung my gate for me last year the day after Hallowe'en," whispered one old woman as Roger made his way through the room, and several of them said, "Those are the young folks that went round after the regular Hallowe'en party this year and put back the signs and things the other people had pulled down."
The audience was so much larger than the Club had expected that Helen, as president, felt called upon to make a short explanation.
"We're very glad to see you here," she said, "but we don't want you to expect anything elaborate from us. We've just come to entertain our friends for a short time in a simple way. So please be kind to us."
Helen was wearing a pale pink dress that was extremely becoming, and her cheeks were flushed when she realized that these people had seen or heard of their more pretentious undertakings and might be expecting something similar from them now.
There was a reassuring nodding all over the room, and then the young people began their performance. Edward Watkins first played on the violin, giving some familiar airs with such spirit that toes went tapping as he drew his bow back and forth.
Dorothy followed him with Kipling's "I Keep Six Honest Serving Men." The music was Edward German's, and Helen played the accompaniment onMrs. Atwood's little organ. The introduction was spirited and then Dorothy sang softly.
Dicky's turn came next on the program. He was introduced as the Honorary Member of the United Service Club, and the name of the poem that he was to recite was given as "Russian and Turk."
"We don't know who wrote these verses," Helen explained.
Dicky was helped to the top of a box which served as a stage and bobbed his bobbed hair at the audience by way of a bow. Every S he pronounced TH, which added to the pleasure of the hearers of the following lines:
There was a Russian came over the sea,Just when the war was growing hot;And his name it was Tjalikavakaree—Karindobrolikanahudarot—Shibkadirova—IvarditztovaSanilikDanevikVaragobhot.
Dicky rattled off these names and two other similar stanzas with astonishing glibness to the amazement of his hearers. His first public appearance with the Club was undeniably a success.
The next number on the program necessitated the disappearance behind a sheet drawn across the end of the room of almost all the members of the Club. Helen, who was making the announcements, stayed outside. A light came into view behind the curtain and the lights in the room were put out.
"This is the last day of the year," began Helen when a muffled whisper had told her that all was ready, "and everybody is eager to know what is going to happen next year. We all would like toknow, how the war is going to turn out, and what is going to be the result of the troubles in Mexico, and whether Rosemont will get its new park—"
She was interrupted by laughter, for Rosemont's new park was still a live subject although it never seemed to approach settlement one way or the other.
"What you are going to see now on the screen we call 'Prophecies.' The poet Campbell said that 'Coming events cast their shadows before,' and we might take that line for our motto. The first prophecy is one of trouble. It comes to almost every person at one time or another of his life."
Silence fell on the darkened room. On the sheet came the figure of Dicky. It was recognized by all and greeted with a round of applause. He looked around him as if hunting for something; then seized what was unmistakably a jam pot and began to eat from it with a spoon. His figure grew larger and larger and faded away as he walked back toward the light and disappeared beyond it. In his place came the figure of Edward Watkins, and those who knew that he was a doctor and those who guessed it from his physician's bag understood that his appearance was prophetic of Dicky's deliverance from the suffering caused by jam.
The light behind the sheet was moved close to the curtain while the table and chairs were set in place. When it went back to its proper spot there were seen the silhouettes of a group of men sitting around the table arguing earnestly.
"This," said Helen, "is the Rosemont Board of Aldermen talking about the park."
The argument grew excited. One man sprang to his feet and another thumped the table with his fist. Suddenly they all threw back their heads and laughed, rose and left the stage arm in arm.
"They're wondering why they never agreed before," Helen decided. "It's the Spring getting into their bones; and here are some of the people who are benefited by the park."
The table and chairs disappeared and a bench took their place. There followed a procession of folk apparently passing through the park. A workman, shovel and pick over his shoulder, stopped to look up at the trees. That was James. A young man and his sweetheart—Roger and Ethel Brown—strolled slowly along. Dicky rolled a hoop. Margaret, carrying a baby borrowed from the audience, sat down on a bench and put it to sleep.
The onlookers approved highly of this prophecy which was of a state of affairs which they all wanted.
"The other day," went on Helen in her gentle voice, "I found a prophecy that was not written for this war but for another, yet it is just as true for the great war that is devastating the homes and hearts of men today. It was written by Miss Bates who wrote 'America the Beautiful,' which we all sing in school, and it is called 'The Great Twin Brethren.' You remember that the Great Twin Brethren were Castor and Pollux. They were regarded as gods by the Romans. They fought for the Romans in the battle of Lake Regillus, and the high priest said about it, according to Macaulay:
Back comes the Chief in triumphWho, in the hour of fight,Hath seen the Great Twin BrethrenIn harness on his right.
These are the divine helpers to whom Miss Bates refers in her poem."
On the screen there came into view the shadowsof Castor and Pollux dressed like Roman knights—with a corselet over a loose shirt, a short plaited skirt, greaves to protect their legs, a helmet on the head and a spear in the hand. While Ethel Brown, who had stepped forward, read the poem, the two figures—really Roger and Tom, who were nearly of a height—stood motionless. As it ended they glided backward and faded from view.
THE GREAT TWIN BRETHREN
The battle will not ceaseTill once again on those white steeds ye rideO Heaven-descended Twins,Before Humanity's bewildered host.Our javelinsFly wide,And idle is our cannon's boast.Lead us, triumphant Brethren, Love and Peace.A fairer Golden FleeceOur more adventurous Argo fain would seek,But save, O Sons of Jove,Your blended light go with us, vain employIt were to roveThis bleakBlind waste. To unimagined joyGuide us, immortal Brethren, Love and Peace.
These beautiful lines were read with great seriousness and their profound meaning went to the hearts of the hearers. Its gravity was counterbalanced by the next prophecy which gave hope of immediate fulfilment. Across the screen passed a procession of Club members, the first carrying a plate full of something that proved to be doughnuts when one was held up so that its hole was visible. The second person in the row bore a basket heaped high with apples, the third a dish of cookies. Thencame more doughnuts, nuts and raisins, corn balls, and oranges. The lights were turned on, and the silhouettes, changed by simple magic into laughing boys and girls, passed among the people distributing their eatables. Every one had a word of praise for them. The Atwoods, for whom the effort had been made, said little, but shook hands almost tearfully with each performer.
At home they found a rousing fire and something to eat awaiting them, with Mrs. Morton smiling a cheerful welcome. They sat before the fire and cracked nuts and ate apples until the chimes rang their notice that 1927 was vanishing into the past and giving way to the New Year of hope and promise. Clasping hands they stood quite still until the chimes stopped and the slow strokes of the town clock fell on their ears. With the last they broke into the hymn:
Now a new year opens,Now we newly turnTo the holy Saviour,Lessons fresh to learn.
CHAPTER VIIIKatharine Leaves
Katharine ended her visit a few days later and returned to Buffalo under the care of Gretchen. She was escorted to the train, but the farewells of the Morton's were not intermixed with expressions of regret at her departure. She had not been a considerate guest and she had not seemed appreciative of efforts that had been made especially to give her pleasure.
It was on the way to the Atwoods' on New Year's Eve. Katharine and Della were walking together.
"It must be rather awful," said Katharine, "to have a family scandal such as the Morton's have."
"A family scandal!" repeated Della. "What do you mean?"
"About Dorothy. Her father was shot, you know."
"I know. But it wasn't a scandal. It was awful for Mrs. Smith and Dorothy but there was nothing scandalous about it—nothing at all. Dorothy has spoken to me about it quite frankly."
"She has?" returned Katharine skeptically. "I shouldn't think she would want to."
"I could see that it was very painful for her; but I think she and the Mortons, too, would be much more pained now if they knew that a guest was discussing their affairs."
Katharine dropped Della's arm and the two girls hardly spoke during the remainder of Katharine's stay.
When weeks passed and no "bread and butter letter" came from Katharine to thank Mrs. Morton and the family, the rudeness set the capstone to her sins against hospitality.
"Any letter from Katharine?" became a dailyquestion from Roger when he came in from school and when he received a negative he sometimes opened his lips as if to say something in condemnation.
"Take care," his mother warned him when this happened; "because a guest makes mistakes is no reason that her host should copy them."
With the coming of the new year the younger people all settled down to serious work. Not only Roger but James and Tom also were to graduate in June, and all of them wanted to do themselves credit. James was going to Harvard and later to the Harvard Medical School. Tom was booked for Yale and then for business.
CHAPTER IXVALENTINE'S DAY
It was the day after Lincoln's birthday, and Saturday. Edward Watkins had come out for his weekly visit to Elisabeth and was sitting in Mrs. Smith's living room surveying her and talking to Miss Merriam. Elisabeth was walking with a fair degree of steadiness now, and made her way about all the rooms of the house without assistance. She still preferred to crawl upstairs and she could do that so fast that the person who was supposed to watch her had to be faithful or she would disappear while an eye lingered too long on the page of an interesting book or on the face of a friend.
Downstairs Edward leaned forward from his chair in front of Gertrude and picked up the ball from which she was knitting a soldier's scarf. He paid out the yarn to her as she needed it.
"You're happy here, aren't you?" he asked softly.
"Happy! I should say so! Next to having your very own home I can't imagine anything lovelier than this, with dear people and a pretty house and a darling baby. It's beautiful."
"You'd hate to leave it, wouldn't you?"
"Leave it? Why should I leave it? I think they like me. I think they want me to stay."
She looked at him piercingly, evidently disturbed at the suggestion.
"Want you to stay! I should think they would!" ejaculated the young physician. "I was just wondering what inducement would make you leave these dear people and this pretty house and this darling baby. If any one should—"
"Hullo," cried Ethel Brown, entering at this instant. "Do you know where Aunt Louise is?"
"She went out," replied Miss Merriam, somewhat nervously.
"Dorothy has gone to Della's this afternoon to help her get ready for tonight," Ethel said.
"She arrived before I left," admitted Edward—a confession that drew a long look from Gertrude.
"Where's Ayleesabet?"
"Playing under the table," answered Gertrude in cheerful ignorance that Ayleesabet had departed to more stimulating regions over the stairs.
Ethel lifted the table cover to investigate.
"She isn't here."
Gertrude jumped up and the doctor followed her into the hall. Ethel Brown ran into the dining room and then upstairs, with Miss Merriam in pursuit.
It was a moment of relief for everybody when Ethel gave a shout of discovery.
"Here she is!" she called, "and O, what will Dorothy say when she comes back and sees her room!"
"What's the modern way of dealing with that situation?" Edward asked when Miss Merriam re-appeared with Elisabeth under one arm.
"Do you mean ought she to be punished? Why should she? She was only following out her instinct to learn. How could she know that that was a time and place where it would inconvenience somebody else if she did? I'm the one to be punished for letting her have the opportunity."
"I suppose that's true. She'd never learn much if she didn't investigate, would she? And, as you say, she isn't yet conscious that she has any especial duty toward any one else's comfort."
"The Misses Clark are always saying 'No, no,' to her. I should think she'd think of their house as 'No, no Castle'."
"They love her, though," defended Ethel Brown.
"That's why I let her go there. A baby knowswhen she's loved and those two old ladies make her feel it even above the 'No, Nos'."
"I went in there yesterday when I saw Elisabeth's carriage outside their door," said Ethel, "and I found the older Miss Clark sitting on the floor clapping her hands and the baby trying to dance and sitting down, bang, every four or five steps."
Elisabeth was in a coquettish mood and played like a kitten with Edward.
"She is the very sweetest thing I ever saw!" exclaimed Ethel Brown. "I do wish I could take her to Washington."
"Take her to Washington! What on earth do you mean?" asked Miss Merriam.
"Nothing, only I hate to go away from her for even a few days. I came over to tell Dorothy that Grandfather Emerson is going to send us all to Washington with Mr. Wheeler's party for Washington's Birthday. Do you think Aunt Louise will let her go?"
"I think it will depend on who are going."
"There'll be lots of older people and teachers from our church and both the other churches, too."
"Any of your mother's particular friends?"
"I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Grandmother and Grandfather went themselves."
"Then your mother won't have any objection."
"That would settle the question for Dorothy, too, I should think," said Edward. "Are you taking outsiders along?"
"Outsiders?"
"New Yorkers. Della and Tom, for instance?"
"Oh, is there any chance of Mrs. Watkins's letting them go?"
"I'll suggest it if you think they'd be welcome."
"I don't see why they wouldn't be. Mr. Wheeler wants to have as many as possible because the morethere are the better rates he can make with the railroad and at the hotel."
"Why don't you stir up the Hancock's?"
"The whole U. S. C.? Why not? It would be just too glorious," and Ethel proceeded to dance her butterfly dance around the room.
"Talk it over this evening," advised Edward, taking up his hat.
"Going?" inquired Ethel.
"I might as well—I mean, I must go, thank you," responded the doctor automatically, for she had said nothing to be thanked for.
It was a charming table around which the Club seated itself at the Watkinses'. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins sat at the head and foot and Della and Tom in the center of the sides.
"I ran in to see the baby a minute before I left," Ethel Blue explained to Mrs. Watkins, "and Dr. Watkins was there and he asked me to tell you that Aunt Louise had invited him to stay to dinner."
"Edward is becoming a very uncertain character, like all doctors," said Edward's mother.
"I think he is," remarked Ethel Brown to Ethel Blue who sat beside her. "He was just saying 'Good-bye' to Miss Gertrude when I left, and he must have stayed on after all."
Everybody had contributed something to the table decorations, but no one had seen them all assembled and they all paid themselves and each other compliments on the prettiness of the various parts and Della and Dorothy on the effectiveness of the whole.
In the center was a glowing centerpiece made of three scarlet paper hearts, each about eight inches high placed with the pointed ends up and the lower corners touching so that they made a three-sided cage over the electric light. From the top a tiny Cupid aimed his arrow at the guests before him.Della and Tom had designed this warm-hearted lantern.
Half way between the centerpiece and the plates a line of dancing figures ran around the table linked to each other by chains made of wee golden hearts. Ethel Blue had drawn and painted these paper dolls, so that each represented one of the Club members and they served as place cards as well as ornaments.
"I seem to see myself in Miles Standish's armor," said James. "Does that mean that I'm to sit here where I can admire my warlike appearance?"
"It does," said Della, "and I've put Priscilla next you so that for once you can cut out John Alden. Here's John Alden—that's you, Roger, and here's a little Russian for you to take home to Dicky."
"Where am I?"
"And I?"
"And I?" cried one after the other.
"Can't you guess? This is the Muse of History," pointing to a white-robed figure holding a scroll.
"Helen, of course," they all shouted. "And isn't this Hallowe'en witch Ethel Brown?"
"It really looks like her!"
"And what do you guess about this songstress?"
"Dorothy, and the young lady knitting is Della."
"Right."
"I hate to think that that's my face looking out of that cabbage," protested Margaret, "but Ethel Blue has a wonderful ability to catch likenesses."
"That's you, Mrs. Stalk of the Cabbage Patch, just as clearly as if it were your photograph."
"One of these two is mine and the other is for Edward," guessed Tom. "Am I one of the Great Twin Brethren and is Edward's the Pied Piper?"
"Right again. And this is Ayleesabet herself, and the Guardian Angel is Miss Merriam."
"Sheisan angel, isn't she!" exclaimed Della."Look at these dozens of tiny hearts. Ethel Brown cut out those and James made them into the chains."
"Paste, paste," groaned James melodramatically. "My future calling is that of bill-poster."
Everything that could be was pink at the dinner. The soup was tomato bisque, the fish was salmon, the roast was beef, rare, the salad, tomato jelly, the dessert, strawberry ice cream, and with it small cakes heart-shaped and covered with pink icing.
In the drawing room a Cupid whirling on a card pointed with his arrow to a number, and the person who took from Mrs. Watkins's hand the envelope marked with the number indicated was instructed where to look for his valentine. Helen found hers inside of the piano. The Ethels turned up diagonal corners of the rug in the northwest corner of the library and discovered two flat packages. Margaret sought out a small bundle tied to the electrolier on the right hand side of the hall. So it went.
Each of them had prepared a valentine for every other member of the Club, so each had nine, for Dicky had sent his in to be distributed with the rest. Each had made all his nine of the same sort though not all alike. James, for instance, had made prettily decorated boxes and filled them with candy. Tom, who had a knack at cutting paper, had cut lacy designs out of lily white barred paper which he mounted on colored cardboard, and out of thin colored sheets whose patterns were thrown into relief by a background of white. Ethel Blue had drawn comical Cupids, each performing an acrobatic act. Ethel Brown had baked heart-shaped cookies and tied them into pretty boxes with pink ribbon. Dorothy's knowledge of basket making led her to experiment with some little heart-shaped trays, useful for countless purposes. She made them of differentmaterials and they proved successful. Della stencilled hearts on to handkerchiefs, decorating some with a border of hearts touching, some with a corner wreath of interlaced hearts, the boys' with a single corner heart large enough for an initial. Each one was different.
Roger's contributions were heart-shaped watch charms of copper, each with a raised initial and mounted on a stray of colored leather and furnished with a bar and snapper of gun metal. Margaret's little heart-shaped pincushions were suitable for boys and girls alike. Some of them were small, for the pocket or the handbag; others were larger and were meant to be placed on the bureau. They were of varied colors, the girls' being of silk to match the colors of their rooms and the boys of darker hues.
Dicky's offerings were woven paper book marks made like Roger's blotter corners and intended to keep the place in a book by slipping over the corner of the leaf. Helen, who had been learning from Dorothy how to model in clay, had attempted paper weights. The family cat had served as a model, and each was a cat in a different position. Some were more successful than others, but, as Roger said, "You'd recognize them as cats."
When the search was over and every one had admired his own and his neighbor's valentines, Ethel Brown recited Hood's sonnet, "For the 14th of February," and Ethel Blue read part of Lamb's essay, "Valentine's Day," and they all felt that Saint Valentine's star was setting and that of the Father of his Country was rising resplendent.