"Joel—where are you?" Frick Mason raced in, to encounter Polly in the wide hall. "Oh, dear me!"—not pausing for an answer—"all the boys are waiting for him outside. Please tell him to hurry, Polly," for Joel's friends always felt if they could only get Polly on their side, they were sure of success, and he shifted his feet in impatience.
"I don't know in the least where Joel is," said Polly, pausing in her run through the hall. She had promised Alexia to be over at her house at nine o'clock, and there it was, the big clock in the corner stated plainly, five minutes of that hour. "Oh, dear me! I wish I could help you," and she wrinkled up her brows in distress.
Frick sat down on one of the big, carved chairs and fairly whined:
"I've chased and chased all about here, and no one knows where Joel is.Polly, do find him for me," and he began to sniffle.
"Oh, I can't," began Polly impatiently, then she finished, "Dear me! Why, I don't know in the very least where Joel is, Frick!—not the leastest bit in the world."
"Oh, yes, you can find him," said Frick, sniffling dreadfully, and beginning to wheedle and beg. "Do, Polly." He seized her gown. "The boys can't do anything without Joel, and they've sent me for him."
"And I'm sure I can't do anything"—Polly shook her gown free—"so there's no use in asking me to stand here and talk about it, Frick Mason. And just look at that clock—two minutes of nine." She pointed tragically up to the big clock. "And I promised to be at Alexia's—" The last words came back to him as she disappeared out to the veranda and down the steps, racing off as hard as she could.
Frick got off from his chair, took three or four steps hopelessly, then stiffened up.
"I'm going to find him," he announced to himself, and turning down the angle, he knocked at the first door on the left.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Joel, unlocking the door and opening it.
"Oh, you're here." Frick seized him on both sides, wishing he had twice the number of hands to employ; then he tried to run in, but Joel shook off the grasp, pushed to the door, only leaving the scantiest space to allow of conversation.
"You can't come in," he said steadily.
"Hold on! don't shut the door," cried Frick, pressing up closely and still endeavoring to get a good grasp on some of Joel's clothing. "Ow! you 'most smashed my nose, Joel Pepper."
"You must take your nose away then," said Joel decidedly, "for I'm going to shut the door if you scrouge so."
"Well, let me come in," said Frick, struggling violently. "Say, Joel, don't shut the door."
For answer Joel slammed to the door, and the key clicked in the lock.
"I said I'd do it, if you scrouged and pushed, and I must," he answered, with the air of a man performing his duty. "This is my Grandpapa's writing-room, and you mustn't come in, Frick Mason."
Frick slid down to the floor and laid his mouth alongside the crack, with the feeling that his message would be more impressive delivered in that way, since he was not to be admitted to the apartment to give it in due form.
"The boys want you, Joel; they're all waiting for us outside. Hurry up." Having delivered it, Frick got up to his feet in a hurry, confident that the door would be flung wide, to let Joel come hopping out in delight, and not choosing to be run over in the process.
"Can't go," said Joel, in muffled accents, on the other side of the door.
"What?" roared Frick, not believing his ears.
"Can't go," repeated Joel. "Go right away from this door."
"What did you say?" Frick slid to the floor again and beat his hands on the polished surface. "Say, Joel, we want you to come. We're all waiting for you, don't you understand?" He kept saying it over and over, under the impression that if he only repeated it enough, the door would open.
"And I say I can't go," declared Joel, in a high, wrathful key. "If you don't go away and let this door alone, I'll come out and pound you."
"We're going to the pond," said Frick, exactly as if responding to the most cordial request to furnish the plan. "We've got Larry's boat, and Webb is going to take his father's, and——"
"Ow—go away!" roared Joel, in an awful voice.
"And we're going to take our luncheon and stop at Egg Rock, and——"
The door flew open wildly, and Joel leaped out over Frick, flattened on the floor.
"Didn't I tell you to let me alone?" cried Joel, on top of the messenger, and pommeling away briskly, "Say, didn't I tell? Say, didn't I tell you?"
The noise all this made was sufficient to bring Jane, who didn't stop to drop her broom.
"My goodness me, Master Joel!" she said, running down from the stair-landing, "what are you doing?"
"Pommeling him," said Joel cheerfully, and not looking up.
"Well, you stop it this minute," commanded Jane, waving her broom over the two figures, for by this time Frick had managed to roll over and was now putting up quite a vigorous little fight in his own defense.
"I can't," said Joel; "I promised him."
"Oh, dear me!" cried Jane, bringing her broom down smartly on as much of the surface of either boy as was possible. "I'll scream for Mrs. Fisher if you don't stop, you two boys. I will, as true as anything!"
"Oh, no, you mustn't, Jane," said Joel. His brown fists wavered in the air and described several circles before they fell at his side; seeing which, Frick slipped out from underneath him and began to belabor Joel to his heart's content. "You mustn't, Jane," howled Joel.
"Now will you come." he cried. "Say, hurry up, Joe, we're all waiting. Come on!" His nose was quite bloody, and a dab here and there on his countenance gave him anything but a pleasing expression.
"Ugh!" cried Jane, with a little shiver. "You boys get right straight up from this floor, or I'll tell Mrs. Fisher."
Joel seized her apron string and howled:
"Jane, don't!"
"Yes, I will, too, Master Joel," declared Jane, twitching away the string; "for such carryings on, I never see. Oh, here's Mr. King; now he'll take care of you both," and she skipped upstairs, broom and all.
It was useless to try to slip away unperceived, for old Mr. King bore down upon them along the hall in his stateliest fashion.
"Dear me! what have we here?" as both boys slunk down as small as possible. "Why, Joel!"—it was impossible to convey greater astonishment in his tone—"I thought you were steady at work."
"So I was," cried Joel, stung to the quick; and jumping to his feet, he fairly beat the old gentleman's arm with two distressed little palms, "and he made me come out. I said I would pound him, and I had to. Oh, Grandpapa, I had to," and he pranced wildly around the tall, stately figure.
"Keep quiet, Joe," said the old gentleman, with a restraining hand; "and, Frick, get up. Oh, dear me!"—as Frick obeyed, bringing his interesting countenance to view, by no means improved by his efforts to wipe off the smears. "What have you boys been about?"
"He wouldn't come out," said Frick, rubbing violently all over his round cheeks, "and the boys sent me for him, and they're waiting now," he finished, with a very injured air.
"Eh—oh! and so they sent you for Joel?" said the old gentleman, a light breaking over his face.
"Yes, sir," said Frick, with a final polish to his countenance on the cuff of his jacket sleeve, "and won't you please make Joel hurry up and come out, sir? We've waited so long."
"And is that the way you respond to your invitations, my boy?" said Grandpapa, with a grim smile. "I shouldn't think you'd receive many at this rate. So you fell upon him because he asked you to go somewhere, eh?"—with a keen glance into the black eyes.
"No, sir." said Joel, "but he wouldn't go away, and I told him if he didn't, I'd come out and pound him. So I had to."
"Um—now let us see," said the old gentleman, reflecting a bit. "So you kept on at the door, eh, Frick?"
"Yes, sir," said Frick, giving up his countenance as a bad job. "I had to, 'cause the boys are waiting, you see, sir. Won't you please make Joe hurry up and come?"
"Well, now, Frick, I really believe you better go out and tell those boys that when Joel gets ready to join them, he'll make his appearance. Good-bye, Frick." Grandpapa waved him off sociably, and Frick, not exactly understanding how, or why, found himself on the other side of the big front door, in the midst of the waiting company from which he had been picked out as messenger.
"I wouldn't make such a promise again, if I were you, Joel," observed old Mr. King, gathering up the small, brown hand in one of his own; "it might be a little awkward to keep it, you know. Now, then, here we are,"—turning in at the writing-room. "Well, say no more, but fly at your task," and he seated himself in the big chair before the writing-table and took up his pen.
Thus left to himself, Joel went slowly over to the set of shelves in the alcove, from which Frick's summons at the door had called him. There were several volumes on the floor, and a blank book and some sheets of paper, showing clearly Joe's favorite method of setting to work on making lists, while sprawled on the carpet with all his paraphernalia around him. He threw himself down amongst it all, prowled around for his pencil, which, suddenly dropped when he had deserted his task, had taken the opportunity to roll off by itself. Now it added to his discomfiture by hiding.
"Plague take it!" He scowled, a black little frown settling on his brow. "Where is it?"—prowling around frantically on the carpet, with hasty hands.
"What is it, Joe?" Old Mr. King, though apparently very busy over at the writing-table, seemed to be quite well aware of everything that went on in the alcove.
"I've lost my pencil," announced Joe, in a dismal voice.
"Oh, well, that's not so bad as it might be," said the old gentleman; "come over and get another, and by and by you can find your own."
Joel advanced to the writing-table and put out a hand for the pencil, which the old gentleman laid within it, but not before he had taken a good look at the chubby face above it.
"So Frick and the boys wanted you, eh?" asked Grandpapa carelessly. "Going somewhere, maybe?"
"Yes," said Joel, not looking up, "they are going to the pond."
"Oh, really?" said old Mr. King. "And you said no, eh, Joel?"
"Yes," said Joel.
"I suppose you didn't want to go, eh, Joel?" said the old gentleman carelessly, and playing with his paper knife.
Joel's black eyes flew wide open, and he raised his head to stare intoGrandpapa's face.
"Oh, yes, I did, awfully."
"Then why didn't you go?" asked Grandpapa, just as carelessly, and giving the paper knife an extra twirl or two.
Joel took his gaze off, to regard the pile of books over on the alcove floor.
"Oh, your work?—is that it, Joel?" asked the old gentleman. "So you thought you'd rather stay and finish your hour on it, eh, my boy?"
Joel squirmed uneasily. "I hadn't rather," he said at last, "but I'd got to."
"Eh?" said old Mr. King.
"I said I'd work an hour and not stop," said Joel, as something seemed to be required of him, the old gentleman waiting for him to finish.
"You mean you'd made the bargain to do this work and you couldn't back out?" said Grandpapa.
Joel looked up and nodded quickly.
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, yes. Well, now, I mustn't hinder you from your work"—old Mr. King turned briskly to his writing again—"or I shall be as bad as Frick—eh, Joel?" and he laughed gayly. "Now trot back and go at your task again."
So Joel, fortified with his pencil, marched back to sit on the floor in the alcove and take up his interrupted work, and Grandpapa's pen went scratching busily over the paper, and nothing else was heard except the buzzing of a big fly outside the window, venting his vexation at his inability to get in.
Meanwhile Frick and the knot of boys had drawn off in astonishment and dismay at the failure of their plan to get Joel Pepper into the delightful expedition.
"What was he doing?" demanded more than one boy.
"I don't know," said Frick; "I couldn't get in."
"Oh, now I know; he's got some secret," said Larry Keep, and he whirled around in vexation and snapped his fingers.
"Maybe it's a flying-machine," suggested another boy.
"Phoo! he couldn't make that in his grandfather's writing-room," said Larry, in derision, yet he looked anxious. Suppose Joel Pepper were really busy over such a splendid thing as that and hadn't told him. "Guess something else."
"I can't think what it is," said Frick, sitting down on the curbstone to become lost in thought—an example to be speedily followed by all the boys, till finally there was a dismal row of them, without a thought remaining of having the expedition on the pond, since Joel Pepper wouldn't come with them.
Polly was having a bad half-hour with herself, despite all the attractions up in Alexia's pretty room.
"It's no use," she cried, throwing down the little brush with which she was whisking off the dainty bureau-cover. The girls were "setting up" the various adornments that were plentifully strewn about, an occupation that Polly dearly loved, and that Alexia as dearly hated. "I must go home."
Alexia, down on her knees, with her head in the closet, grumbling over the shoe bag, whose contents were in a chronic state of overflow, pulled it out suddenly.
"Why, Polly Pepper!" she exclaimed, in an injured tone. One eye was draped by a cobweb, gained by diving into the closet's extreme corner after a missing slipper, gone for some weeks; and in other ways Alexia's face presented a very unprepossessing appearance. "You said you'd help me with my room this morning."
"Oh, yes, I know," said Polly hurriedly, and running over to Alexia; "but you'll let me off, won't you?—for I've something on my mind. Oh, dear me!"
Alexia hopped up to her feet, the slipper flying off at a tangent, and ran all around Polly Pepper, gazing at her anxiously.
"I don't see anything. Oh, what is it?" she cried.
"You see, the boys wanted to find Joel, and I—" began Polly, twisting her fingers.
"Bother the boys!" exclaimed Alexia, interrupting. "Is that all? They are everlastingly wanting to find Joel. Well"—with a sigh of relief—"we can go back to work again. Why, I must say, Polly, you scared me 'most to death. Oh, dear me! I wish I had let Norah sweep this old closet when she does the room. It's dirty as can be. If Aunt knew it—" The rest of it was lost, as Alexia was down on her knees again, her head back in the closet, with the hope of unearthing more slippers and shoes.
"Alexia, do come out," cried Polly, pulling her gown smartly; "I must speak to you."
"Can't," said Alexia, rummaging away. "There, I've gone and knocked down my blue silk waist! Do pick it up, Polly; it 'll get all dirt, and then won't Aunt scold!"
As if to make matters worse, a voice out in the hall was heard:
"Alexia?"
"Misery me!" cried Alexia, scuffling out backward from the closet, the blue silk waist on her head where it had fallen, and in her sudden exit nearly overthrowing Polly Pepper. "Here comes Aunt. Shut the door, Polly—shut it"—scrambling with both hands to get the waist off, while a hook caught in her light, fluffy hair. And Miss Rhys being too near the door for any such protection as Alexia suggested, in she walked.
"What in the world!" She lifted both hands. "Alexia Rhys, is it possible! I concluded not to go down-town, and came back, and to think of this—playing with your best silk waist!"
"I'm not playing," declared Alexia, in a sharp key, tossing back from her head as much of the waist as she could, "and it hurts awfully"—twitching angrily at the hook.
Polly sprang to her assistance.
"Wait a minute, and I'll get you out," she said.
"And I won't wait," cried Alexia loudly; "it's bad enough to be hooked to death with a horrid old ugly waist, without being scolded to pieces by your aunt."
"Oh, Alexia!" exclaimed Miss Rhys, "to call that beautiful waist an ugly thing!"
"And I'll pull every spear of hair out of my head, but I'll get the thing off. Ow!"—as she began to put her threat into execution.
"Do be still, Alexia," begged Polly, trying to push aside the nervous fingers.
"I won't be still," cried Alexia, casting up a pale eye full of wrath on the side next to Polly, and giving another twitch. "I guess if you'd been hooked up by a horrible old thing, and your aunt came in and scolded you terribly, you wouldn't wait. Ow! Oh, dear me!"
"Then," said Polly, standing quite still, "since you won't let me help you,I'm going home, Alexia."
"Oh, don't," cried Alexia, and she dropped her hands to her side in a flash, the blue silk waist dangling to her head by its hook. "I'll let you help whatever you want to, Polly," she mumbled meekly.
So Polly set to work, Miss Rhys slipping out of the room. Although Alexia's nervous fingers were now not in the way, still, it wasn't easy to disentangle the hook from the thick, fluffy hair, wound in as it was.
"You've tangled it all up," said Polly, bending over it with flushed face, her fingers working busily, "and it's all in a snarl. Dear me! do I hurt?"
"No, never mind," said Alexia; "'tisn't any matter. Don't go home, Polly."She held her fast by the gown.
"No, of course not," said Polly; "at least not until I get this hook out of your hair. There—oh, dear me! I thought it was quite free. Well, anyway, now it is!" She held up the blue silk waist with a triumphant little flourish, over her own head. "It must be awful to have something fastened to you like that," she said, sympathetically, as she placed the waist on the bed with a sigh of relief.
"Well, I guess you'd think so," assented Alexia decidedly; "it's too perfectly awful for anything. It pulls like a big vulture with his talons holding your hair." She hopped to her feet and shook herself in delight, her long, light braids flying out gayly. "Well, I am glad that Aunt has gone"—looking around the room, and drawing a long breath.
Polly Pepper stood quite still over by the bed.
"Well—heigh-ho—come on," cried Alexia, dancing over to seize her arm; "let's have a spin." But Polly didn't move.
"Come on, Polly," cried Alexia, with another tug at her arm.
"No," said Polly, "I can't, Alexia."
"What in the world is the matter?" cried Alexia, dropping her arm to stare at her.
"I think your aunt—" began Polly.
"Oh, Aunt!" interrupted Alexia impatiently. "You're always talking about her, Polly Pepper, and she's everlastingly picking at me, so I have a perfectly dreadful time, between you two."
"Well, she is your aunt," said Polly, not offering to stir.
"I can't help it." Alexia, for the want of something better to do, ran over and twitched the table cover straight. "And I know she's my aunt, but she needn't pick at me all the time," she added defiantly. She looked uncomfortable all the same, and ran about here and there trying to get things in their places, but knocking down more than were tidied up. "Why don't you say something?" she cried impatiently, whirling around.
"Because I've nothing to say," replied Polly, not moving.
"Oh, dear me!" Alexia sent her long arms out with a despairing gesture. "I suppose I've just got to go and tell Aunt I'm sorry." She drew a long breath. "But I hadn't been playing; I was tired to death over that dirty old closet and that tiresome shoe bag, and my hair all hooked up. Well, do come on." She ran over and held out her hand. "Come with me," she begged.
So Polly put her hand in Alexia's, and together they ran out into the hall, to the maiden aunt's room.
"It's perfectly dreadful to board," said Alexia, on the way. "I wouldn't care how little the house was, if Aunt and I could only have one," and she gave a great sigh.
Polly turned suddenly and gave her a big hug.
"Mamsie says you are to come over to our house just as often as possible.So does Grandpapa," she cried hastily; "you know that, Alexia."
"Yes, I know," said Alexia, but she was highly gratified at every repetition of the invitation. "Well, oh, dear me!"—as they stood before Miss Rhys' door.
That lady sat in her bay window, her fingers busy with her embroidery, and her mind completely filled with plans for another piece when that particular one should be completed.
"I'm sorry, Aunt," said Alexia, plunging up to the chair and keeping tight hold of Polly Pepper's hand.
"Oh!" said Miss Rhys, looking up. "Why, how your hair does look, Alexia!"
Up flew Alexia's other hand to her head.
"Well, it's been all hooked up," she said.
"And I'll brush it for you," said Polly, at her shoulder.
"That'll be fine," cried Alexia, with a comfortable wriggle of her long figure. "Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt."
"Very well," said Miss Rhys, turning back to her embroidery again. "And, Alexia, your room looks very badly. I'm astonished that you are so untidy, when I talk to you about it so much."
"Well, Polly is helping me fix it up," said Alexia, drawing off and pullingPolly along.
"Now, you see, Polly"—as the two girls were safe once more in the little room, this time with the door shut—"I only got some more pickings by going to Aunt."
"Hush," said Polly, "she will hear you.'
"How is she going to hear with the door shut, pray tell?" cried Alexia, with a giggle. "Well, it's over with now. Let's fly at this horrid old room. Dear me!"—as she ran by the window—"do just see those dreadful boys."
At the word "boys" Polly ran too, and peeped over her shoulder.
"Oh, I must speak to Frick," and without more warning, she raced out of the room, and down the front stairs.
"Polly, Polly Pepper!" But Polly being out in the street and nearly up to the knot of boys, Alexia gave up calling and speedily ran after her, to hear her say:
"Oh, Frick, I'll go and try to find Joel for you."
Frick disentangled himself from the group.
"I found Joel myself," he said, "and he wouldn't come."
"Wouldn't come where?" demanded Alexia breathlessly, plunging up.
"Out on the pond." It was Larry Keep who answered.
"And so we've given it all up," said another boy, very dismally.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, "how tiresome of Joel!"
"Oh, no, no," protested Polly, shaking her head. "I know Joel couldn't go, or else he would. You know that, boys," she said, looking anxiously at them all.
"He's always been before," said Larry, in a dudgeon, "and I don't see what makes him act so now."
"Well, you haven't any right to abuse him, just because he doesn't want to go out with you on the pond," said Alexia warmly, veering round at the first word of blame of Joel from anybody else. "That's a great way to do, I must say."
"And, boys, you know Joel would have gone if he could, don't you?" saidPolly again, the little anxious pucker deepening on her forehead.
"Ye—es," said Larry slowly, digging the toe of his tennis shoe into the ground, as no one else said anything.
"Oh, he would, he would," said Polly, clasping her hands tightly together, the color flying over her cheek. "Something must have happened to keep him back"—as the boys, having nothing more to say, moved off. "Alexia, now Imustgo home, for I'm afraid—" of what, she didn't say.
"I'll go, too," said Alexia, springing after her, wild to find out what the matter could be with Joel Pepper, to keep him from one of his favorite sports on the pond.
"There isn't anything the matter with him," shouted back Frick, over his shoulder, who had caught Polly's last words. "And he could have gone as easy as not; he was in Mr. King's writing-room with the door locked."
"Grandpapa's writing-room, with the door locked!" repeated Polly, turning around in a puzzled way. "Why—I don't see—oh!" Then she gave such a squeal that Alexia hopped across the road in astonishment. "I know now. Dear, splendid, old Joel! Boys!" She was up by them again, and talking so fast that nobody understood for a moment or two what the whole thing was about.
"For pity's sake, Polly Pepper!" Alexia was shaking her arm, the boys crowding around Polly and hanging on every word.
"Don't you understand? Oh, how stupid I've been not to think of it before!—though I didn't know he was to begin this very morning," cried Polly, hurrying on, all in a glow. "Grandpapa has engaged Joel to do some work for him on his books"—Polly didn't think she ought to explain any further about the ten-dollar note—"and so Joel thought he couldn't stop till the hour was up, and——"
"Has he got to work an hour on 'em at a time?" interrupted Larry in amazement, pushing his way nearer to Polly.
"Yes," said Polly, turning her rosy face on him, so glad that she was really making them see that Joel couldn't go with them when he was asked, "he must work a whole hour at a time on them, so you see he really had to stay back." But this part was lost on the whole group.
"Hi—hi!" they shouted, and Larry flung up his cap. "Well, if that's so, we'll go back and get him now; the hour must be up," and off they raced, flinging up a cloud of dust from their heels.
"Whew!" exclaimed Alexia. "Did you ever see such perfectly dreadful boys to kick up such a dust? Oh, dear me, Polly Pepper. Ker-choo!"
When she came out of her sneezing fit, Polly was saying again:
"Oh, how perfectly stupid I am, Alexia!"
But her eyes shone, for it was now all right for Joel with the boys.
But the boys didn't get back after Joel—not just then. A big tallyho coach, in swinging around a corner, bore down upon the struggling crowd, the driver halloing and the horn blowing lustily, by way of a signal to clear the road. This would have been all well enough and easy to avoid, if a string of bicyclists had not selected that very identical moment to appear from the opposite direction. And Larry, whose uncle was in the last-mentioned procession, having a laudable desire to see him and make his relation aware of the fact, turned, waved his cap and his arms with a, "Hi, there, Uncle Jack!" and in another second was under the big wheels, the whole merry party going over him and the laughter and chat still filling the air.
Miss Mary Taylor, having an outside seat, looked over quickly. HamiltonDyce, sitting next, clambered down.
"Don't be frightened," he said into her pale face.
Half a dozen men were on the ground with him, and the boys swarmed around wildly, getting in everybody's way. The bicyclists, not catching the idea of any accident, were swiftly coasting down the hill, for after all their leader had suddenly changed his mind and veered off just before reaching the scene of the accident.
"Help me down," said Miss Taylor hoarsely.
"Ugh, don't!" said Beth Cameron, with a shiver, poking her parasol well down over her eyes. "I wouldn't see it for all the world"—shivering.
"You can't do any good; better not," said Mr. Dyce, looking up at MissTaylor.
But Miss Mary continued to say, "Help me down," and she so evidently displayed the intention of getting down without any assistance if it weren't forthcoming, that Mr. Dyce did as he was bidden, and she was on the spot by the time that Larry was drawn out from under the wheels and laid on the roadside grass.
"I'm afraid he's done for, poor beggar," said one of the men.
Mr. Dyce turned Miss Mary completely around and marched her off to the middle of the road before she knew that such summary treatment was to be accorded her. Then she caught her breath.
"You needn't think to save me," she said, with a little gasp: "I'm—I'm quite strong. I must go. Oh, don't stop me. Think of poor Mrs. Keep!" and she was back in among the group of men and the frantic boys. "Send for Doctor Fisher," she cried, kneeling down by Larry's side.
"No use—" began another man, but Hamilton Dyce cried, "Which one can run the fastest for Doctor Fisher?"
Little Porter Knapp could, there was no doubt of that. All arms and legs was he, and able to get over more ground a minute than any other boy of their set, not excepting Joel Pepper. So, before Mr. Dyce had finished speaking, he was off like a shot, leaving Miss Taylor sitting on the grass holding Larry's poor head, while the whole crowd of men revolved around her, nervous to do something, but not seeing their way clear to find out what would be expedient.
"If those chaps would stop howling!" exclaimed one of the men, in desperation, stalking off a bit to cram his hands in his pocket, and ejaculate this to a companion.
"It's pretty hard on the kids," remarked the friend, with a glance over his shoulder at Frick and the rest of the boys, who added to the misery by crowding up to the scene and impeding the progress of all would-be helpers.
"He's dead, it's easy to see," observed the first man, nodding over to the group.
"That's a fact, it looks like it," nodded the friend. "Well, it's a bad thing, but no one's at fault. Mac couldn't help it. The little beggar ran right under the horses."
"Oh, Mac's not to blame," said the first speaker hastily, "but it's an awful calamity just the same, to run down a kid. Well, we must pacify the ladies." So the two walked back and up to the side of the coach, when the big hats under the parasols leaned over and allowed their fair owners to be diverted with all sorts of comforting things. And presently little Doctor Fisher came rushing along in his gig, out of which sprang Porter Knapp before the horse could be persuaded to stop.
[Illustration: "Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.]
No one said a word, least of all Miss Taylor, except the Doctor, who ordered them to right and to left, as assistants. And before long, Larry opened his blue eyes.
"Why—where?" he began. He didn't even know he had been hurt—not till afterward when the pain and suffering set in.
"Easy—easy there," said little Doctor Fisher.
"Great Scott!" The young man who had pronounced him dead crammed those hands of his deeper yet in their pockets and gave a whistle.
"Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.
"What is it?" Larry tried to move, and felt a strong hand laid on him just where it made any motion impossible. Beside, a great wave of pain swept him suddenly into such astonishment as well as suffering that all he could do was to shut his eyes and let his head sink back.
"Now, then!" Doctor Fisher glanced up to the coach-load. "All of you get down," he said curtly, and before the women quite knew how, the pretty gowns and hats and parasols were all descending, a gay, fluttering bevy all chattering together.
"Miss Mary, I'll trouble you to hop up there," and a dozen hands helped her into position on the coach. "Now, then, Mr. Dyce, and you"; he nodded over to Harry Delafield, the little doctor did, then rapidly picked out two more men. "Up with you, please," and quicker than it takes to tell it all, they were in position, and Larry had been lifted gently into their laps, his head on Miss Taylor's arm.
"Ugh!" Betty Cameron gave a worse shiver than before. "How Mary Taylor can!" she exclaimed, with a grimace. "Oh, dear me! I'm as faint as I can be, just to think of it. I should die outright to be up there with him."
"Well, we've got to walk home, I suppose," observed one of the other girls disconsolately, who, now that Larry could really speak, thought it quite time to turn attention to her own discomfort, and she thrust out her dainty shoe.
The boys, when they saw that Larry was really alive, stopped howling, especially as each and all had felt the glare of the eyes back of Doctor Fisher's big spectacles. And they set off on a run by the side of the coach, and as far ahead of that vehicle as possible, as Mac handled the ribbons with his best style, trying to drive as gently as possible for the patient.
"To his home, of course," said the little doctor, turning his spectacles up to Mac. Then he got into his gig, whipped up, and took the lead.
Porter Knapp went across streets and got there first and was leaning over the stone gateway when the little doctor's gig drove up.
"Eh!" exclaimed Doctor Fisher, looking at him over his glasses. "Well, you have a pair of legs! Joel was right; he says you beat everything in running."
Porter looked much pleased and glanced down at his legs affectionately.Then he remembered Larry and sobered at once.
Doctor Fisher, while going up the steps, said in passing:
"Larry'll pull through all right, I think."
"She's here," cried Porter suddenly. He had heard the words, but something had abruptly come in between, and he wildly dashed at the little doctor. Doctor Fisher turned around and saw, flourishing up to the gateway, a gay little runabout, and in it Larry's mother and sister.
"My goodness!" He was down by its side. And off in the distance, but coming surely and steadily on, was the coach bearing Larry to his home.
"Yes, yes, how do you do? Don't stop," cried the little doctor, waving his hand that was free from his bag of instruments; "go on to the stable."
"Oh, no, I'll stop here." Mrs. Keep had her foot on the step, and put out the hand not occupied with her flowing draperies. "Eleanor is going on to see a friend. Well, how do you do?"
"You had better drive on to the stable," said the little doctor, "both of you."
This time he had such an imperative manner that, thoroughly bewildered,Mrs. Keep stepped back into her seat and motioned Eleanor to obey.
"Isn't he awfully funny!" said Eleanor, turning in at the driveway, more puzzled, if possible, than her mother.
"Yes," said Mrs. Keep, "he is, but then I suppose he has a good deal on his mind. You know they say his practice is getting to be tremendous. Well, we must run in and see him," as they drove down to the stable. "And you can go afterward to see Mary Taylor."
[Illustration: "Yes, sir," called Joel back, from the alcove.]
"All right," said Eleanor, and one of the stable boys coming out to meet the pony, they both jumped out of the runabout and ran up the back veranda steps.
"It's funny he didn't come down this way, if he wanted us to drive to the stable," cried Eleanor. "Mamma, do say you think it's queer. It would be some comfort if you would."
"Well, I will, then," laughed Mrs. Keep, and there stood Doctor Fisher at the dining-room door, and the minute she saw his face she knew that something dreadful had happened.
"Well, Joel, my boy." Old Mr. King, who had been consulting his watch every five minutes, whirled around in his big chair. "Time to lay down the work," he called cheerily.
"Yes, sir," called Joel back, from the alcove.
"And I'm sure if ever an hour was long, this last one has been," the old gentleman was saying to himself. Joel, who was rather stiff in the joints when first getting up from his work on the carpet, now came out feeling his arms, and then indulging in a good long stretch.
"It seems rather good—eh, Joe?—to swing your arms," cried Grandpapa with a laugh, and a keen glance into the black eyes.
"Yes,sir," declared Joel, with another stretch, and wondering if ever anything was so good in this world as to be told the hour was up.
"Take care," warned the old gentleman; "those long arms of yours will have things off from my table. My goodness, Joe! you must really go out of doors and stretch, you make such a sweep," and he laughed again.
"I can reach so far." Joel ran all around the table and stretched out his brown arms. "See, Grandpapa," he cried; then he got on his tiptoes and leaned over to achieve greater and more astonishing results.
"You'll be over on your nose, if I don't rescue you and the things on my table," said Mr. King, bursting into a heartier laugh than ever. "Come on, Joey, my boy, let's get out of doors, in a larger place." So he gathered up one of the sprawling sets of fingers, and summarily marched him out.
"Now I suppose the next thing in order is to race after Frick and those boys," observed old Mr. King, when the garden walk was attained.
"Yes, sir," cried Joel, his black eyes alight and his feet dancing.
"Well, be off with you."
No need to say more; Joel's heels beat the hastiest of retreats, as he scuttled off at the liveliest pace of which he was capable.
Old Mr. King, left alone, nodded to himself two or three times, and smiled in a pleased way. "The very thing," he said at last, and in as great satisfaction as if he had been talking to a good listener.
Joel rushed along at a breakneck pace to make up for lost time. How good it was to sniff the fresh air, and to be free, and then to think of that hour put into solid work over the book-list! Why, he glowed all over with delight at the very thought.
"Whoopity-la!" Down the bank of Spy Pond into one of the curves most frequented by the boys of his set, he ran. "My! but I'm glad to get here, though! Hey, there?"
There was no response as Joel dashed into what the boys called their camp, a rough enclosure the wealthy men who owned the pond on the outskirts of the town had allowed to be built. As some of the boys were their own sons, every indulgence in the way of using the pond had been granted, and Mr. Horatio King being the largest owner and the most indulgent, Joel's set, to a boy, decided to call it the "King Camp." It was in a knot of pines, and in the summer was a most attractive place, overrun with vines and creepers and gay with the colored boat-cushions that were always thrown about.
"Hey there!" shouted Joel again, running about within and without the little wooden structure. "Are you all deaf? Hey—whoopity-la!" but nobody answered, save a little bird from the tip of the tallest tree.
Joel stood transfixed with amazement; then he dashed off suddenly down a descent to the little cove. "It must be that they are out on the pond," he said to himself, in vexation, and he craned his neck and peered up and down the shining water as well as he was able for the many curves. "But I don't see how they can be, for Larry's boat is here"—he had dashed up again to the camp—"and Mr. Hersey's, that's the one they would take"—surveying the collection of rowboats and dories drawn up on the beach—"and Webb's father's and Porter Knapp's." Besides, there was a goodly number of others, all in such situations as by no means suggested a party expected to be on the pond at short notice that morning.
"Well, I'm going out, anyway," declared Joel, snapping his fingers, "and catch up with them. Most likely they've taken the fishing-tackle; I won't stop for that." So, pushing off his row-boat, he picked up the oars and headed down the pond in the direction most likely in his mind to overtake them.
But although he pulled lustily at his oars and ran his boat in and out the curves and hallooed and shouted, he didn't catch a glimpse of them; and the pine groves and wooded glens that ran down to the curving bank only echoed his own calls, or sent a bird note out to him. There wasn't the first suggestion of a boy anywhere about.
"Where in the world are they?" cried Joel in vexation, resting on his oars. "Hi—there they are!" He turned suddenly, knocked against one of the oars, it slipped, and before he knew what it was about, there it was in the water. And to make matters worse, the sound that had filled him with delight proved to be a big, black dog, scrambling through a thicket of underbrush, and coming out to stare at him from the edge of the pond.
"Oh, you beggar!" exclaimed Joel, not to the dog, but to the oar drifting off quickly. It was an easy thing, however, so he thought, to recover it, and he made no special haste to paddle along as best he might after it. Just at this moment another boat came suddenly in sight around a curve. It didn't hold Joel's friends, but a wholly different set, some city boys who had no rights on the pond. And having stolen their opportunity, and helped themselves to a boat down below, they meant to have as good a time as possible, knowing it would probably be their last. So here was a grand chance, a boy alone in a rowboat, and at their mercy, one of his oars drifting off.
"Hi—fellows!" When they saw it, they yelled with glee.
The black dog on the bank, who belonged to them and was following, as best he might, their course, danced about and gnashed his teeth in his rage that he couldn't join actively in the excitement, sniffing at the water and drawing back as it lapped his feet.
"Now then, look alive," cried the one who appeared to be the leader, and the whole crew bent to their oars with a right good will; and grinning all over their faces with the prospect of fun ahead, they made straight for Joel in his boat.
Joel drew himself up, his black eyes flashing, and paddled with all his might. But it was no use; his boat went round and round, or zigzagged along, and in a trice the unlucky oar was seized by the triumphant crew, as it was drifting off into some lily pads, and drawn with a worse yell than ever into their boat. Good luck! here would be easy game!
"Now then!" There was no limit to their delight as they saluted Joel in every conceivable way best fitted to get him worked up. "How are you, snob? Don't you want your oar?" and such things, every boy contributing at least a few selections to the general hubbub, the black dog on the bank emitting shrill, ear-splitting barks of distress.
"Give me back my oar," roared Joel, sitting very straight and unconsciously rolling up his sleeves.
"Hi there! Come on and fight, if you want to," cried several of the crew, with sneers and catcalls, and they brandished the oar at him over their heads, yelling, "Why don't you come on and fight?"
[Illustration: The unlucky oar was seized by the triumphant crew]
"If you don't give me back my oar," cried Joel angrily, and paddling for dear life toward them, "it 'll be worse for you, I can tell you. My Grandpapa——"
He was drowned in a storm of yells: "Your granddaddy? Fellows, this baby is talking of his granddaddy," and they screamed in derision, snapping their fingers and swinging the oar as high as they could tantalizingly at him.
Round and round went Joel's boat, describing a series of curves, that despite all his efforts only carried him away from his tormentors. What he would have done, had he reached them, hadn't entered his head, his only thought being to get up to them. In the midst of this interesting proceeding, a sharp clap of thunder reverberated over their heads, to be almost immediately followed by a piercing gleam of lightning. It produced the greatest consternation in the boat-load, and a sudden jump on the part of nearly every boy in it, made it careen, then turn completely over, and before they were fully aware, every single one was in the water, screaming and struggling wildly.
In the upset Joel's oar had been carried out, too; and as it happened to drift toward him, he leaned over the side of his boat, managing to reach it with the other one.
"Don't catch hold of each other," he yelled, his mind intent on helping some of them into his boat. But as well talk to the wind. The boys who couldn't swim—and most of them were in that plight—were grabbing this way and that, to seize upon anything that would give them a support.
"Catch hold of your boat," roared Joel at them. But instead of that, some of them preferred to catch hold of his, the consequence being that it would soon have been upset, had he not screamed at them (and they knew he meant it), "I'll bang you across the head if you try it"—lifting his oar sturdily.
"You fellows who can swim, hold up the others, and I'll take you all off to the bank, if you won't crowd."
And seeing that this was all they could get, and that Joel was as good as his word, one after another was helped in, the others wisely catching hold of the overturned boat—an example speedily followed, till all were either in Joel's boat and rowing quickly off to shore, or hanging to their own craft.
The leader of the crew huddled sheepishly down over his oar, which Joel handed him to do some of the rowing, and he didn't look at the owner of the boat, till, just as they neared the bank, he glanced up suddenly and said:
"Say, you, I s'pose you'll tell on us."
"What do you take me for?" cried Joel, in extreme disgust, and plying his oar briskly. All this time the rain had come down in torrents, till there wasn't much difference between the boys who had been in the water and the one who had kept out, and the lightning played over their heads in unpleasant zigzag streaks, and the thunder rolled and rumbled.
The leader shivered and ducked till he couldn't by any possibility be said to look at Joel.
"Well, I would if I was you." The words came in a burst from a boy supposed to be in such a half-drowned condition that he wouldn't care to take part in any conversation, who was crouched down in the bottom of the boat. "I'd tell every single thing about it." He raised himself and shook his fist at the leader's very face. "If it hadn't been for you, Mike," he said, "we wouldn't have come."
"Don't fight," said Joel, in consternation at any such settling of their differences in his boat; "you'll upset us all."
"Humph!" the boy in the bottom of the boat sneered. "He won't fight, Mike won't," he said.
And really Mike didn't look as if he would, for he crouched and cowered lower yet, till Joel began to say, "Give me the oar," for it wabbled so that it played a small part only in getting the craft to the shore.
"Some other fellow take it," said the boy who had done all the talking. "I would"—he lifted a red and ashamed face—"only my arm——"
"Is it hurt?" asked Joel, rescuing the other oar from Mike, whose nerves seemed to have all gone to pieces.
"D'no; never mind," said the other boy, looking more ashamed still. "Here, Jimmy, you take the oar, and row lively now." So, with Jimmy's help, the boat ran up to the bank.
"There you are," cried Joel, as they were dumped out, to keep company with the big, black dog, who sniffed them contemptuously and walked around their dripping bodies as they sank on the bank. This wasn't the kind of fun he had meant when he followed his master out, and not at all to his taste.
But Joel was just in his element, and when he brought the rest off from the overturned boat, he couldn't conceal his satisfaction.
"Some one has got to tell about that boat." He pointed to the overturned one.
"I knew you would blab." Mike turned, his shame disappearing, to grow red with passion.
"Shut up." It was the other boy that roared at him, who, injured arm or not, could somehow inspire the former leader with fear. "I'm going to tell myself; an' if any of you fellows has got spunk, he'll tell, too." It was such a battle cry that Mike's head went down. He knew as well as afterward that his leadership was gone, and that every one of the crew had gone over to the other boy.
"Hi—yes, we'll tell." If Jack, their new leader, could decide to, they would follow him, and they yelled it out much better than any one would suppose possible after their fright, turning their backs on Mike.
"That's good," said Joel, bobbing his black curls, from which the rain was streaming, at the whole bunch of boys in approval, and taking up his oars he prepared to move off. "If you'll only tell about the boat."
"Oh, I say"—Jack seeing that he was now the recognized leader, was going to do the whole thing up in good shape—"we're much obliged, and who are you, anyway?" he broke off awkwardly.
"I'm Mr. King's grandson," said Joel "Well, good-bye."
"Mr. King's!" Jack gave a roll over and groveled in the wet moss. "Oh, it's all up with us, fellows," he groaned. The black dog, who belonged to him, came and licked him all over, glaring between whiles at Joel, as if he were the cause of the whole trouble. The bunch of boys said nothing, but shivered in silence.
"Well, good-bye," said Joel, as he pushed off, feeling it necessary for some one to speak, "and I hope you haven't hurt your arm much," to the recumbent figure.
"Don't let him hurt these chaps—your grandfather I mean." Jack threw up his head and pointed to the boys. "Only get Mike licked. We'd all of us like that."
"What?" cried Joel over his shoulder, stopping his busy oars.
"Why, when you tell him how mean we used you, don't let him get those chaps into trouble, 'cause——"
"When I tell him!" cried Joel. "What do you mean?"
"Why, of course you'll tell him," blurted Jack. Mike had taken to his heels and was making quick tracks with his sodden shoes through the undergrowth. Things were not going to his taste now.
"See here." Joel made quick passes now with the oars, and brought his boat up alongside the bank. "I'm not going to tell my Grandpapa about what you've done, 'Tisn't any matter."
"You ain't?" cried Jack, getting up so quickly he upset the next boy, who rolled over the big, black dog. "Great Scott! You ain't going to tell the old gentleman?"
"No," said Joel, "I don't care anything about it; you didn't hurt me any."
"Well, if I ever!" It was all that Jack, the leader, could get out. And Joel, seeing there was nothing to wait for, set to work again, and presently amid the rain and the lightning gleams, his boat was only a little speck on the surface of the pond, as viewed by the group of boys on the bank.
"Oh, Mary!" Eleanor Keep seized Miss Taylor's arm and burst into tears.When she could speak she gasped, "What is it, Mary?"
"Hush!" warned Mary Taylor, drawing her off into the little reception-room."Your mother—we must think of her, Nell."
"Mr. Delafield is telling her something. I know it is dreadful." Eleanor sank upon the sofa, dragging Mary Taylor with her. "Oh, I shall die if you don't tell me right off whathashappened, Mary."
"Not a word shall you hear until you can control yourself," declared Miss Taylor, wresting herself away from the nervous grasp, and running over to the door she closed it. "Now then, Nell, are you a sensible girl?"—coming back.
Eleanor flung herself down on the sofa, and sobbed:
"Oh, I know Larry is dead and you are trying to keep it from me."
"Larry is not dead," said Mary Taylor.
"Well, he is terribly hurt," said Eleanor, between her sobs. "Oh dear, my only brother, Larry!"
Mary Taylor got down on her knees by the sofa, and took the poor head up to let her own tears fall over it.
"Why, you are crying yourself," exclaimed Eleanor, feeling the drops trickle down her neck. "And you told me not to. Why, Mary Taylor!"
"Of course I am," said Mary. "Now see here: we are both of us very wrong to give way in this fashion; we ought to be seeing to your mother. Get up, Eleanor," and she sprang to her feet. "There, that's right. Come on."
Some one rapped at the side door, and the confusion in the house calling the maids from their duty, the butler belonging to the establishment of the next neighbor, Mrs. Sterling, popped in his head.
"Excuse me, Miss," he said to Mary Taylor, Eleanor being beyond a reply. "Mrs. Sterling has sent for you ladies to come in there and stay until the doctors are through."
At the word "doctors" Eleanor shivered and covered her eyes.
"The very thing," said Mary Taylor; "we'll get your mother in there"; and with a message back to Mrs. Sterling the two young ladies hurried off, and before Larry's mother quite knew how, she was in the beautiful upper room of the stately brownstone mansion, and face to face with its invalid mistress, condemned for years to lie on her sofa.
"I do believe," said Mrs. Sterling, putting out a soft hand, "that everything will be much better than you think. We shall soon have cheering news, I feel quite sure. Gibson, draw up the easy-chair, so—that's right."
Gibson quietly did as bidden, and Mrs. Keep sank into it, and laid down her head with the air of one quite done with the world. To add to the gloom, a terrible thunderstorm broke suddenly.
"Now give me your hand." Mrs. Sterling leaned over and drew it within her own. Seeing all things going on so well, Mary Taylor and Eleanor drew off into the hall.
"Young ladies," said Gibson, coming out softly, "wouldn't you wish to go down into the drawing-room? Mistress would like to have you make yourselves comfortable. The storm is pretty heavy, and I'll light the gas."
"Oh, no, no," said Eleanor, shrinking at the invitation. "Mary, don't let's go," she whispered; "I should die there in that big, stiff room."
"We'll sit just here," said Mary Taylor. "Come on, Nell," and down they both got on the top stair, huddling up together, while the storm raged outside in its fury.
"Oh, young ladies!" exclaimed Gibson, starting, "I'll get you some chairs if you want to sit in the hall."
"We like this," said Mary Taylor; "please, Gibson, don't feel troubled." SoGibson went back to her mistress' room, and Mary put her arm aroundEleanor, and patted her hair as she cuddled up to her neck.
"Mary, I like you so much," sobbed Eleanor, in a muffled voice, "because you don't try to say something to comfort me."
Mary kept on patting the pretty hair, with anxious ears for the messenger to come from the Keep household. Presently out came Gibson again.
"I'm going out to bring in those boys," she said; "Mistress wants it."
"What boys?" asked Mary quickly.
"The whole of them," said Gibson; "they've been hanging around ever sinceMaster Larry was brought home, and——"
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Eleanor faintly.
"And Mrs. Sterling wants them invited in here to wait?" exclaimed Mary. "How kind of her! Now, then, Nell, that's work for you and for me: we must help those boys to get a little comfort"—as Gibson went quickly down the long stairs on her errand.
"Oh, I can't," cried Eleanor, burrowing into the soft neck.
"Yes, you can."
"I'm his sister. And you can't expect me to see them."
"Yes, I do," said Mary firmly; "it's exactly what you ought to do. I'm going down to welcome them, and you must come too. Come on, Eleanor; we've simply got to do it."
Eleanor, seeing nothing for it unless she were to be left alone on her stair, which would have been the last thing to be endured, got up and followed slowly, to be met at the big door leading to the side porch by the company of gloomy-faced boys.
"Well boys," said Mary cheerfully, "I'm glad you've come to help Eleanor and me."
Every boy looked up in great surprise, for they all supposed they were left to comfort themselves.
"Can't we sit in the dining-room?" asked Mary, with a thought for the cheerful red carpet and curtains.
"Mistress wants them to come up into her sitting-room," said Gibson.
"Her sitting-room!" exclaimed Mary.
"Yes, Miss. She says they can help Mrs. Keep and her," said Gibson, standing with folded hands deferentially, but yet quite expecting the command to be carried out.
The boys stood up a little taller yet. Evidently they were thought worthy of consideration in the way of administering consolation instead of hanging around, useless creatures in everybody's way.
"In that case," said Mary Taylor, "we'll all go upstairs at once."
So they all filed up the long flight, and Gibson held open the door, and Mrs. Sterling from her sofa called out, "Boys, yon don't know how glad I am to see you all." And just as they began to feel a little bit of hope down in their hearts, it was so much easier all bearing the suspense together, a light tripping step came up the staircase, and little Doctor Fisher's big spectacles were thrust in the doorway.
"Just right. Very sensible." He beamed at them all, and darted over and took the poor mother's hand.
"Your boy is all right," he said. "His collar bone is broken, to be sure, but it is a beautiful fracture. And he has some bruises. Thank the Lord it is no worse."
There was a rustle back of him. Then two or three boys broke from the group and fell upon him in the rear.
"Is that true?" the foremost one shouted.
"Eh?"—little Doctor Fisher whirled around—"yes indeed, true as gospel. Oh, see here now," as the whole bunch made a mad plunge for the hall. "Come back here, boys."
Every single one came slowly back, except Frick; he had cleared the space to the top of the stairs, and was now making his quickest time on record down the flight.
"You are not to cheer; I see you want to," and Doctor Fisher gave a little laugh.
"Yes, sir," Curtis Park answered for the rest.
"Well, you——"
"Doctor Fisher"—it was Mrs. Sterling who interrupted, and she smiled—"I should very much like to hear that cheer now."
"Ma'am!"exclaimed the little doctor, gazing at her over his spectacles.
"Oh, it would do me good, I assure you," said Mrs. Sterling, leaning back in a satisfied way against her pillows. "So, if you please, boys, let me hear it at once"—smiling at them.
And they gave it then and there, the poor mother in all this confusion getting time to recover herself.
And then three more for the little doctor. And then one of the boys, the least likely to have courage to propose it, piped out:
"Let's give her three"—pointing to the hostess.
How pleased the poor invalid was, and how she beamed at them all! And when Doctor Fisher saw that, he was so well satisfied that he shook hands with them all quite around the circle.
"Now I must go. I'll look in again on your boy in an hour. Madam"—to Mrs. Keep. "Meantime, I'd stay over here, for I've sent for a nurse from the hospital; he must be kept quiet a spell. Good-day," and he was off.
"Now, boys"—there was a pretty pink spot in either cheek, as Mrs. Sterling turned to them—"do you know, I've thought of a plan by which you might do something for Lawrence?"
"What—oh, what?" They crowded up to her sofa. Gibson, from the doorway where she had retreated, to be within call, looked a little anxious, but catching a glance from her mistress, smoothed out her face again.
"What is your plan?" asked Curtis. It really seemed as if the boys had been accustomed to gather in that room, by the way in which they now crowded up as comrades entering into anything that might be proposed.
"You know that before long Lawrence will be able to see you, we hope," began Mrs. Sterling, in her cheeriest way. "Gibson, push up that pillow a little more."
"Oh, I will," cried Curtis, springing forward.
Gibson, in great trepidation at any one performing the office for her mistress, started to do it, but Curtis was already most gallantly, if a trifle awkwardly, pushing up the pillow, giving it a rousing thump that got on the nerves of the maid.
"You should have waited for me," she said tartly.
"Never mind; that is all right." Mrs. Sterling smiled up at him where he stood, the hot blood in his face, and his eyes downcast. "I'm very much obliged to you, Curtis. I guess you are accustomed to do it for your mother," she said encouragingly.
"I do—I am," he said incoherently, beginning to feel better. It was only Gibson who was cross, he reflected; Mrs. Sterling herself was as nice as she could be.
"Well now, if I were you," said Mrs. Sterling, turning on her pillow to get a good look at them all, "I'd form a committee, a comfort committee, to think up things that will interest Lawrence. And by and by the doctor is going to let you go to see him, and——"
"What things?" The small boy who had proposed the cheers for Mrs. Sterling, now pushed to the front, so as to get a good look at her. "Tell me, please, what things?"
"Well, you can cut out funny things from the magazines and papers for one thing," said Mrs. Sterling, quite delighted at the success of her plan so far, "and the nurse can read them to him."
"I've got a lot ofPunchnumbers," cried one boy.
"AndLife," said another.
"And oceans of magazines." They all shouted one thing, and another. Gibson, who by this time was tired of popping her head in and out, had withdrawn to a little room opening out of her mistress' apartment, and taken up her sewing, quite convinced that far from its being a cause for alarm, everything was going on finely.
"Well now, just see how much pleasure that will give him," Mrs. Sterling was saying.