The girls looked at each other in amazement.
"What did you do in Arthur's room, Irving?" asked Betty soothingly.
"I talked to him and he gave me thith." The purple cherub raised his head and opening one fat hand displayed a small carved bear of Swiss manufacture. "He thaid it could be my bear for alwayth," he declared triumphantly.
"What did Arthur say when you walked into his room?" asked Dorothy.
"He laughed so hard I wath going to come away, but he called me back."
"Girls, he laughed," repeated Charlotte impressively. "Irving,I ought to scold you, but this time you are an angel in disguise.Perhaps this is the first step in the Restoration of A. H., Esq."
"Let's take another, then, by sending him a plate of fudge," suggested Ruth.
"Just the thing," exclaimed Betty and Dorothy together, and they immediately hooked little fingers and proceeded to wish.
"Irving, can you carry some fudge to Arthur?" continued Ruth, heaping up one of her daintiest saucers. "If you will take this without spilling any, you shall have some to take home with you."
"I gueth tho," said Irving with an angelic smile, feeling himself the hero of the occasion.
"Just give the dish to Arthur and come right back," said Charlotte decidedly. "It's time to go anyway," she continued, "and I must take the Infant home as soon as possible, or mother will worry."
"He thayth 'thankth,'" said Irving in aloud voice, strolling down the hall and leaving Arthur's door wide open behind him.
"Shut the door, Irving," said Charlotte in a loud whisper.
"I think he better have it open," answered Irving, who did not feel disposed to take any extra steps.
"Irving," began Charlotte sternly, then stopped in amazement at the unexpected sound of Arthur's voice.
"Never mind the door, Irving," he said, "The fudge is out of sight, girls, or will be in a few moments. Much obliged."
It was about time for news of the steamer's arrival to reach Ruth, and in spite of her many new experiences the thought of her father was always uppermost in her mind. The morning and evening newspapers meant to her simply the shipping news, and, several days before the steamer could possibly arrive, she began her daily study of the shipping lists. Eight days had seemed long to wait for news of one's best-beloved chum, but Ruth had to confess that the time had been filled so full that it had passed quickly. Starting in school had not been so great an ordeal as she had expected. To her joy she was to be allowed to see what she could do in the class with Betty and Charlotte, and she was determined to succeed, though she knew it meant harder work than she had ever done in her life.
The Glenloch Academy was the pride of Glenloch and the envy of the surrounding towns. The money for its establishment and maintenance had been left the town by a public-spirited citizen, and the fund had been so generous that the best in the way of teachers and equipaient had been made possible. It took the place of a high school in its methods of study, gave a thorough preparation for college, and offered six years of the most liberal training to those whose school education must of necessity stop there. Ruth felt an interest at once in her new teachers, was charmed with the idea of doing regular gymnasium work in the fine gymnasium which had lately been added to the school, and altogether felt that her lines had fallen in pleasant places.
"Don't be in such a rush," called Dorothy, as Ruth ran down the school steps. "I want to talk to you."
"I'm in a hurry every day now," confessed Ruth, "to get home and see if I have any news from papa. Mr. Hamilton thinks that by to-night surely the ship's arrival will be cabled, and I have a faint hope that I may have a cablegram from papa almost any minute."
"I'll walk around your way," said Dorothy. "Doesn't it make you feel terribly important to be expecting a cablegram?"
"Why, I don't know," laughed Ruth, "perhaps it does, a little.It's been such a long time to wait to hear that papa is safe thatI can't think of anything else."
As she finished speaking a long, low call made them both turn to see Charlotte and Betty running after them.
"What are you going to do this afternoon, Ruth?" called Charlotte as they got within speaking distance. "We want you to go to walk with the 'Social Six.'"
Dorothy raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Ruth asked curiously,"The Social Six? Who under the sun are the Social Six?"
"It's all right, Dolly," said Betty reassuringly. "You see," she added, turning to Ruth, "we couldn't tell you about them at first, because we had all agreed never to have more than six in the club and our number was full. But just to-day one of the girls has told us that she is going to resign at this meeting, so we want you to join right away if you will." "Why, of course I will," said Ruth, with perfect faith that whatever the three wanted her to do would be worth doing. "But what is the club for and what do you do?"
"It's a walking club in spring and fall," answered Betty.
"And a skating club when we have ice," added Dorothy. "That's the best part of it all, for we have bonfires on the edge of the pond, and go to some house for supper when we get through skating."
"Well, it all sounds lovely, and I shall be delighted to join.What time do you start?" asked Ruth.
"At two sharp, and we are to meet at the schoolhouse," answered Charlotte. "Miss Burton is going with us this afternoon, and she's to be made an honorary member of the club." "All right. I'll be there," said Ruth, as the girls left her at Mr. Hamilton's door.
Once in the house she looked first to see if there were letters or the much-desired cablegram, and finding nothing ran up-stairs to get ready for lunch. The house was strangely still, and she missed Mrs. Hamilton's cordial welcome, which she had found vastly comforting in these first days of feeling so much alone.
On her desk was a note which she hastened to open.
"MY DEAR RUTH" (it began):
"I am sorry you will find neither a cablegram nor me writing for you this noon. Mr. Hamilton has telephoned me that friends of ours are in town who will not have time to come out to us. So we are all to dine together in Boston to-night. I am sorry that you will have two lonely meals, and hope some of the girls will dine with you. Invite them for me, and forgive me for leaving you in such unexpected solitude.
"Yours lovingly,
"How sweet of her to sign herself that way," thought Ruth, as she folded the note. "I do miss her, and I'm glad there's something pleasant ahead for this afternoon."
The Social Six to a girl were prompt at the meeting-place, and as Miss Burton appeared just as the clock was striking two, the expedition started with no delay. "It's a perfect day for Bear Hill," said Dorothy enthusiastically, as she led the way with Miss Burton, and unconsciously tried to imitate her swinging gait. Since Miss Burton had taken charge of the gymnasium, Dorothy, who was always to the fore in out-of-door life, had been more than ever devoted to everything pertaining to physical culture.
"See Dolly walk," said Charlotte, who was ambling along in the extreme rear; "she walks as though she positively enjoyed the mere motion of it, while I am so lazy that I shouldn't even belong to the club if it weren't for being with the girls, and for the fun we have at our parties."
As they crossed the railroad and entered the narrow wood-path on the other side, the girls fell into single file and walked on steadily, talking gaily. It was one of those brilliant October days when all the warmth of the fleeting summer is in the air; when the sky is a radiant blue, and the red and gold of the foliage casts a glory over the sombre woods.
Ruth was enchanted. "I've never seen anything so beautiful," she said breathlessly, as, after a long walk through the winding, shaded path, they came out into the open, and almost at the top of the hill.
"Wait till you get to the tip-top," said Dorothy, her eyes sparkling from the exercise. "Can you stand it to climb for five minutes more?"
"Of course," answered Ruth stoutly, "though I'm not sorry that we're almost there," she added in a low tone to Katharine French who, with Alice Stevens and Louise Cobb, made up the membership of the club.
The climb of the last five minutes was harder than ail the rest, and Ruth groaned as she sank on the ground at the very top. "My Chicago training hasn't prepared me for this," she said plaintively. "You'll have to take me in hand, Miss Burton, and help me to get my muscles in condition."
"Don't sit too long on the ground now," laughed Miss Burton, "or we shall have to carry you home."
"Miss Burton, would you and Ruth mind going over behind that big rock for a few minutes?" asked Dorothy. "The club always has its business meeting the first thing, and as we are to admit a new member it will take longer than usual."
Over behind the big rock proved to be a very agreeable place to sit, for the girls had covered some smaller rocks with pine boughs and a golf cape, and the view of the surrounding country was glorious.
"Rather different from Chicago, isn't it, Ruth?" asked Miss Burton."I'm a Western girl myself, and I taught in Chicago for ayear, soI know how this must seem to you."
"Are you really a Western girl?" cried Ruth interested at once. "Then you won't mind if I talk Chicago to you once in a while, will you? This is quite the most beautiful place I've ever lived in, but," she added honestly, "I'm dreadfully homesick for Chicago sometimes, and I don't like to confess it because they are all so lovely to me."
"Come and talk to me when you feel like that," said Miss Burton, with one of her radiant smiles; "it will do us both good."
"I'd love to," said Ruth fervently, "and——"
She was interrupted by a call from the girls, and with Miss Burton hastened to join the others, only to stop short in amazement as they rounded the rock against which they had been sitting. The girls had worked fast and with no noise, and it was so undeniably a gypsy camp into which Ruth had walked that she could hardly believe her eyes. A small fire was built on some rocks, and over it hung in the crotch of a branch an odd-looking kettle. Three of the girls had unbraided their hair and made themselves gay with artificial flowers, bright ribbons and brilliant scarfs. Alice Stevens, who was dark enough to look really like a gypsy, was reading Louise Cobb's hand, while Betty looked on and occasionally stirred an imaginary something in the kettle. Charlotte, Dorothy and Katharine French, who were all tall and preferred masculine parts, sat on the other side of the fire dressed in colored paper caps, and bright sashes draped over one shoulder.
Miss Burton broke the silence by clapping her hands. "It's fine, girls," she cried with enthusiasm. "I didn't know we were to see anything really artistic."
"We only do this when we admit a new member," said Betty.
"And not then unless the weather happens to be just right," addedDorothy. "But we must hurry and make Ruth a member. Go on, Betty."
"Kneel here, Ruth," said Betty, who was presiding officer for the day. Then looking as solemn as her dimples and twinkling eyes would permit, she added, "Being about to lose a well-beloved member of our club," here ail looked at Louise Cobb, "we are at liberty to admit another. Do you desire to become a member of this club?"
"I do," answered Ruth, much impressed.
"Do you promise to further our interests in all possible ways and to keep our secrets?"
"I do."
"Then I pronounce you a fully initiated member," said Betty, striking her on the shoulder with a twig tipped with scarlet leaves. "We really haven't any secrets," she added unofficially, "except that we don't want the other boys and girls to know where we go or that we dress up like this. We don't make our honorary members promise anything, but we know Miss Burton won't tell."
"Of course not," said Miss Burton. "I feel too much honored to be admitted to the club to betray their secrets."
"Now, Ruth," continued Betty, "the next thing is that the new member must do something; sing or dance or tell a story."
"Oh!" gasped Ruth. "I'll resign at once. Imagine me singing or dancing when I'm so tired I can hardly move; and as for story-telling, I simply can't."
"Perhaps you'd rather recite a poem," said Charlotte.
"May I have it as short as I please?" asked Ruth as if an idea had struck her, and as Betty nodded assent, she added, "Give me five minutes by myself and I'll do it."
The girls chatted while Ruth went just out of hearing and communed with herself.
"Time's up, Ruth," called Dorothy.
"All right," answered Ruth, walking into the circle and sitting down, while she met the expectant eyes with a roguish twinkle in her own. Then she recited:
"There was a young girl from the West,Who very much needed a rest.When asked, 'Can you sing?'She replied, 'Not a thing:'And felt very sadly depressed."
Ruth suited her expression to her last words in so comical a fashion that the girls shouted with laughter.
"However did you do it, Ruth?" asked Betty. "I couldn't make a rhyme to save me."
"Oh, father and I got into the habit of making up those five-liners, and I often do it just for fun."
"We're proud to have such a poetess in the Social Six," saidCharlotte, making her a sweeping bow with her hand on her heart.
"Miss Burton, we don't insist that our honorary member shall perform, but we'd like it if you would," said Betty.
Miss Burton smiled good-naturedly. "I would tell you a story, only I am afraid our Western member would be too stiff to move if she sat through it. How would you like to postpone my part of the program until after school some day, and then come and have a cup of chocolate with me?"
"Oh, lovely!" cried Dorothy, always ready for anything that MissBurton proposed.
As she spoke a sound as of some one sliding came from behind the big rock, and then a low but unmistakable chuckle.
"It's some of those horrid boys," said Dorothy tragically.
The girls tore off caps and sashes, but before they could wholly divest themselves of their gypsy appearance two heads peered around the rock and a pleading voice said, "Please, may we come in?"
"Indeed you may not," cried Dorothy, quite white with anger. "I think you're the meanest boy I ever saw, Frank Marshall, and you're not one bit better, Bert. Between you, you always spoil all my good times. I think it's the most despicable thing to spy on people, and——"
There was such a sudden stillness about her that Dorothy became conscious of Miss Burton's troubled expression and Ruth's surprised face.
"Well, I don't care; it was a mean trick," she muttered as she turned her back on the boys and walked away.
"Honestly, girls, we didn't mean to make you mad," said Frank as his sister finished. "We came up for a walk and didn't know any one was here till we saw the smoke from your fire. We came over to find out about that, and heard the young lady from the West recite her poem. We should have gone off without letting you know if Bert hadn't slipped on the rock."
"Of course," added Bert with an extremely virtuous air, "if we had guessed that this was the famous club we should have put our fingers in our ears and have run away."
"You sinner," said Betty, who couldn't help laughing, "you know you have tried ever since we have had the club to make me tell you about it."
"I propose," said Miss Burton, "that we put the boys on their honor not to tell what they have seen and heard."
"Second the motion," said Charlotte with great promptness. "We have them there, for boys never tell when they're on honor."
"Good for you, Charlotte," said Frank gratefully. "We'll promise, won't we, Bert?"
"Of course," agreed Bert. "And, girls," he continued, "we've got some potatoes roasting in the ashes near here that'll be just the thing to brace you up for the walk home. Come along and help us eat 'em."
"I should say we would," accepted Charlotte. "Did you ever know us to refuse anything to eat?"
The little feast and the walk home became the jolliest things possible. Tired as she was, no one was merrier than Ruth. for in her inmost heart she was sure that she should find news of her father waiting for her.
As she entered the house, Ruth's first glance was at the hall table, but there was no important-looking yellow envelope to suggest that her cablegram had arrived. Then her eye fell on the evening paper; perhaps that might tell that the "Utopia" was safely in port. She started to turn to the shipping news, but her gaze was caught by a headline on the first page, and she stood rigid, holding the paper in her shaking hands and trying to make sense of what she was reading.
"The 'Utopia' storm-sweptA passenger injured."
That was what she seemed to read, and below it an inch of fine type announced that during the severe storm which had hampered all ocean travel for the last few days the "Utopia" had been swept by heavy waves, and one of the passengers injured.
One of the passengers injured! That, of course, meant father! Ruth read it time after time until the printed words swam before her eyes, and she groped blindly for a chair so that she need not fall. There she sat feeling that limbs and tongue were in chains, and that she could neither move nor speak.
Katie, passing through the hall, was startled by the sight of the rigid little figure in the big hall chair, and frightened out of her wits when her sympathetic questions failed to bring forth any response. She flew out into the kitchen to Ellen, who came hurrying in with a face full of anxiety, and, kneeling before Ruth, took both the cold hands in her own warm clasp.
"What is it, Miss Ruth, darlin'? Tell me," she said coaxingly. At the friendly, human touch, Ruth's face relaxed. "Oh, Ellen," she cried, clinging to her closely, "some one on papa's steamer has been injured in the storm, and I know it must be papa."
Ellen looked dazed, and Ruth gave her the paper, pointing out the paragraph as she did so.
"Sure, Miss Ruth, I can't read it quickly when my mind is so unaisy.Just read it to me, honey."
So Ruth read it over for the twentieth time and was surprised to find Ellen still looking cheerful as she finished.
"They don't give any names," said Ellen thoughtfully, "and wasn't it you yourself was telling me that there was over a hundred cabin passengers on that boat, to say nothing of the steerage?"
"Why, yes," answered Ruth, "but—"
"Well, then," interrupted Ellen, "there's at laste ninety-nine chances out of a hundred that your blessed father never had a hair of his head touched, and that's sayin' a good deal, darlin'."
"It is indeed, Miss Ruth," added Katie, who had been hovering around anxious to do something to help.
Ruth began to look a bit comforted, and Ellen went on, "I do belave from me soul, Miss Ruth, dear, that before you go to bed tonight you'll have word from your father. At any rate, you can't bring it any faster, nor help it one bit by worryin' about it. So now, darlin', go upstairs and bathe your face and smooth your pretty curls, and we'll put such a nice dinner on the table for you that you can't help eatin'."
"It's a shame the poor little thing has got to eat her dinner all alone," said Ellen, as she and Katie went back to the kitchen. "I've a great mind—" But what she had a mind to do wasn't told, for she vanished from the kitchen and Katie heard her climbing the back stairs.
She went straight to Arthur's room, knocked, and hardly waiting for an answer walked in. Arthur, who was absorbed in a book, looked up surprised at her sudden entrance.
"It's only meself, Mr. Arthur," said Ellen, quite out of breath, "and it's a great favor I've come up to ask of you. You see," she went on hurriedly, "poor little Miss Ruth has got word in tonight's paper that there's been an accident on her father's boat, and she's that frightened and worried that she doesn't know what to do with herself. It's too bad for her to have to eat her dinner with nothing but her own sad thoughts for company, and I thought perhaps you—"
"Oh, no, Ellen, I can't," interrupted Arthur decidedly; "why, I don't really know her yet."
"The more shame to you that you don't when she's been livin' in your house for two weeks," answered Ellen, as much surprised at her own boldness as Arthur was. "I've been livin' with your mother ever since you was a wee baby, Mr. Arthur, and there ain't any one outside your own family who loves you more than I do, but I must say I'm disappointed in you."
Arthur looked at her in amazement, but Ellen went on without giving him a chance to speak.
"Don't you know that life is just made up of knock-downs and get-ups," she said quaintly, "and whatever will you do if you stay down the first time you're hit?"
Something in the homely little sermon touched a responsive chord in Arthur as nothing else had done. "You're a good fellow, Ellen," he said affectionately, "and to prove that I think so I'm going down to dinner tonight."
"Oh, Mr. Arthur," cried Ellen, almost on the point of tears, and saving herself from it only by wringing her apron convulsively in both hands. "It's the angel boy you are to take all the hard things I said so sweetly. And it's that glad I am that you're going down, for I don't belave Miss Ruth could eat a mite of dinner without some man or other to encourage her about her father."
"I'll get down before she does if I can," said Arthur, reaching for his crutches, "and see what the paper says about the steamer."
"That'a right, Mr. Arthur, do," answered Ellen, "and I'll hurry down and see to the dinner." But she stopped on her way to knock on Ruth's door and say coaxingly, "You won't change your mind, Miss Ruth, dear; you'll surely come down."
Ruth, who was sitting in the big chair with the black kitten in her arms, looked up soberly. "I don't believe I'll come down after all, Ellen; I'm not a bit hungry, and I'm sure I couldn't eat a mouthful."
"Oh, but Miss Ruth," cried Ellen in despair, "you'll spoil all my plans if you don't. I've just persuaded Mr. Arthur to come down so that you needn't be alone, and perhaps if he comes the once he will every day. Just think how happy it will make his father and mother!"
Ruth's forehead puckered into a frown. She felt much more like sitting in front of her fire and thinking sad, lonely thoughts. But it was such a small thing to do for Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, who had been so kind to her, and it would mean so much to them if it did help Arthur to conquer his dread of taking up the old life again. Then, too, it would be a triumph to tell the girls that one member of the society for the restoration of Arthur Hamilton to the world had already begun the good work.
It was with a little smile that she looked up at Ellen, who was anxiously waiting for her answer, and said, "I'll go down, of course; I should be a selfish pig not to when you are all so good to me."
"That's a darlin," cried Ellen much relieved. "And would you please try to make him feel that it's a great favor to you for him to come down? You know the men have to be managed a bit," she added slyly.
Ruth made a hasty dinner toilet by running a comb through her waving locks, patting the big bow at the back of her head, and putting on a fresh collar. Then she went slowly downstairs, wishing she knew just what to say to Arthur.
To her relief he looked up from the paper he was reading and said just as if they had been meeting every day for the past two weeks, "I'm sure this report makes it seem worse than it is, Ruth. I don't believe there is any real reason for you to worry about your father."
"Do you really think so? I suppose it's foolish to worry, but it's pretty hard when he's so far away and I haven't heard for so long."
There was a suspicious quaver in her voice that made Arthur's thoughts turn longingly to the safe shelter of his own room. What if he should have a weeping girl on his hands! He turned cold at the thought. "Oh, I'm sure you'll get some word from your father before morning," he said with such anxious haste that quick-witted Ruth guessed at once what he was dreading.
"You think I'm going to cry, but I'm not," she announced with great dignity. "I hate to cry before people anyway, and I specially wouldn't before a boy."
"Good for you! I wouldn't cry before a boy either," answered Arthur with a twinkle in his eye, and then they both laughed and felt better.
"It was good of you to come down to dinner tonight," said Ruth as they began on their soup. "If I'd been alone I shouldn't have been able to keep my mind off that awful newspaper heading for a minute."
"We can telephone in town after a while and find out what they know at the steamship company's office. I can't help feeling, though, that the newspaper report is very likely exaggerated."
Ruth felt much comforted by this masculine view of the situation, and racked her brain to think up some interesting subjects for conversation, for she wanted to show him that girls could be calm and self-possessed even under the most trying circumstances.
"Are you fond of football?" she asked suddenly, when the long silence was getting on her nerves, and she felt that she must say something. Before he could answer, it flashed across her mind with painful distinctness that it was at football that Arthur had been injured. The color flashed into her cheeks, and she unconsciously looked so appealingly at Arthur that he came to the rescue at once.
"Of course I am," he asserted stoutly. "It's a great old game, and we've got some ripping good players in Glenloch. You ought to see some of the Saturday games."
"I should love to," she responded with a fervor that showed her relief, and then silence fell again. Ruth was in despair. With athletics cut out, what could she talk about to a boy, particularly when she was anxious to avoid any reference to anything which would make her think of her father?
"I'm reading a great book now," said Arthur, whose thoughts for the last few minutes had been much the same as Ruth's, and who felt that if he didn't say something soon he never should.
"Oh, what is it? Tell me about it," said Ruth, with such touching anxiety to help the conversation along that Arthur chuckled silently.
"It's one of Clark Russell's sea stories, and I've just left my hero in such an exciting situation that I can hardly wait to see how he is coming out."
It was Ruth's turn to feel amused now. "Too bad that you had to stop to eat dinner with a mere girl, isn't it?" she said saucily.
Arthur laughed. "I was getting so hungry and thirsty out there in mid-ocean with my hero, waiting for a sail to turn up, that I really needed my dinner. Jiminy! it must be awful to have anything happen to you on the ocean," he continued absent-mindedly; "you must feel so awfully far away from every one and so helpless."
"Oh, please don't," cried Ruth with such real terror in her voice that Arthur woke suddenly to a realization of what he'd been saying.
"Of all stupid numskulls!" he said impatiently. "Look here, Ruth, you can cry if you want to after that, and I won't say a word. I deserve some punishment for being such a forgetful idiot."
Ruth couldn't help laughing at his penitent expression. "I don't want to cry any more than you want me to. And you're not a forgetful idiot any more than I am. Let's call it square," she ended significantly.
"All right, and I'll stand up for girls from now on."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything, fair lady, that you may see fit to ask," replied Arthur dramatically.
"Then come down to your meals every day," demanded Ruth, inwardly quaking, but outwardly calm and innocent looking.
Arthur looked as if he were about to protest, but changed his mind and said firmly, "I never go back on my word, so I'll do it."
Fearing to spoil her victory by saying anything more, Ruth rose from the table and walked into the hall, leaving Arthur to follow more slowly. Just as she did so, the bell rang, a sharp, clear peal, and Katie hurried to the door to return in a second with a yellow envelope, and a small book for Ruth to sign.
Ruth's hands shook with excitement as she tried to use the stub of a pencil, and she felt grateful when Arthur took book and all from her saying gently, "You open your cablegram; I'll sign the book."
Ruth was actually pale as she tore open the envelope, but the color came back to her cheeks as she read the one word written there. "It says 'sound,'" she cried exultantly, "and papa said that one word could mean everything I wanted it to mean. That he is well, and has had a pleasant voyage, and has arrived safely. Oh, I am so happy. It's good news! The best of news, Ellen," she added, as the good soul's beaming face appeared in the doorway. "Oh, I can't keep still," and catching Ellen around her massive waist, Ruth almost whirled her off her feet in a wild dance of joy.
"Miss Ruth, Miss Ruth, darlin', behave yourself," protested Ellen, who like other unwieldy objects went on from sheer momentum when once started. "How can you expect a fat old thing like me to dance?"
"Oh, Ellen, that did me heaps of good," and Ruth sank panting into a chair, while Arthur laughed as he had never expected to laugh again, and Ellen tried to look cross, but failed in the attempt.
There was a quick rattle of a key in the lock, and the door opened suddenly to admit Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. Their surprise as they surveyed the jolly group was funny to see, and Ruth and Arthur went off into a fresh fit of mirth, while Ellen slipped shamefacedly into the kitchen.
"We gave up our dinner party, and came home," said Mrs. Hamilton, "because we were afraid that Ruth would be worried about—" She stopped suddenly, realizing too late that there was no need of telling Ruth why she should be worried, since evidently she didn't know.
"Oh, I am dreadfully—I mean I was," cried Ruth incoherently, "and I don't know what I should have done if Ellen hadn't comforted me, and Arthur hadn't come down to dinner. But it's all right now, for my cablegram says 'sound,' and that means everything good."
"So it does, so it does, little girl," said Mr. Hamilton, much relieved. "It makes you as happy as it makes me feel to see this tall boy of mine down here. Got back to us for keeps now, Arthur?" he asked, as he put his arm around his son's shoulder with a smile that went straight to the boy's heart.
"Yes, sir, I think so," mumbled Arthur, who found it hard to live up to his standard of manliness, as he felt the quick clasp of his mother's hand and saw the look in her eyes.
For a moment the three stood there, a little world in themselves.Then Mrs. Hamilton stretched out a welcoming hand to Ruth.
"You belong too, little daughter," she said lovingly. "We're going to have good times together, we four. You shall see."
"Now, young ladies, please come to order," said Dorothy, rapping on the table with a wooden spoon, which seemed the most appropriate symbol of office for the president of a cooking club.
It was a day in late November, and the afternoon sun streaming in at the windows of the Ellsworth kitchen smiled broadly at the sight of six cooks in caps and aprons. This was the first working meeting of the club, and as the girls had thought it better to make six the membership, Katharine French and Alice Stevens had been invited to join.
"Usually," continued Dorothy, in an official manner which she flattered herself was in close imitation of the president of the Glenloch Fortnightly Club, "Usually we shall choose our dishes beforehand and bring the materials for making them. As this is the first meeting, Mrs. Ellsworth is going to let us use her materials, and she thinks that we'd better get up a simple supper for our first attempt. I thought that popovers, scalloped oysters, baked apples, cake, chocolate and some simple dessert would be nice, and after this you can make things as elaborate as you like."
Dorothy looked so dignified and important as she finished her little speech that irrepressible Charlotte longed to tickle her or rumple her hair, two things that the neat Dorothy loathed. As she couldn't she only said meekly, "Please, ma'am, are we to choose which we'd rather cook? If we are, I prefer the apples."
"So do I," laughed Katharine; "you're not any lazier than I am,Charlotte."
"We'll have to write the names of things on slips of paper and draw for them," said Dorothy, "and no matter what you get you must do the best you can with it."
"My, but you are stern, Dolly," said Betty admiringly. "I should probably have let them spend the next half hour wrangling about what they'll do."
Charlotte, who had been made secretary, wrote the names of the various dishes on slips of paper and put them in the hat which Betty brought her. Then with a low bow she presented the hat to Dorothy, who drew the slip on which was written "scalloped oysters."
"How noble of you, Dolly, to draw the one we should all have hated," cried Ruth. "Oh, I'm not sure but this is just as bad," she added, as the slip marked "dessert" fell to her lot. Betty found herself staring at the word "popovers," while Katharine and Alice drew cake and chocolate respectively.
"Girls, I don't need to tell you that 'the lame and the lazy are always provided for,'" cried Charlotte, as she triumphantly flourished the "baked apple" slip. "I will prepare my portion of the feast and then read a while."
"Oh, I forgot to say," said Betty, "that mother suggested that the one who baked the apples might even up things by building the fire. She said one of the first duties of a cook was to know how to manage the stove."
"I wouldn't have believed it of you, Betty," groaned Charlotte, as she made up a face. "I don't know anything about building a fire. How under the sun shall I begin?"
"Read this and grow wise," answered Betty, thrusting an open cookbook under Charlotte's nose. "That tells you just how to do it."
Each of the other girls having brought a cookbook buried herself in it for the time being, while Charlotte, left to her own resources, proceeded to build the fire. First she read with great care the directions in the cookbook, and then looked rather helplessly at the stove.
"This is the front draught, of course," she murmured, "but where's the oven draught? Betty, do tell me where the oven draught is on this stove."
Betty flew over from the further side of the big kitchen, and pointed out the oven draught. Then she absorbed herself again in her book so completely that Charlotte hadn't the courage to ask for further instructions. She noticed a damper in the stovepipe, and wanted to ask about that, but pride forbade. "I'll do this alone or perish in the attempt," she said to herself with noble courage, and proceeding on the principle that she ought to change the existing condition of everything, she turned the one in the stovepipe and speedily forgot all about it. Then she put in a layer of twisted papers, laid the kindlings artistically, with air-spaces between the sticks, and before putting on the covers stood off to admire her work. She looked around for sympathy, but the girls were ail absorbed in their books, and no one gave her a glanee. Then with the sigh of unappreciated genius, she covered the stove, and touched a match to the papers through the front grate.
The kitchen was very still except for the crackle of the fire. The sunshine came like a shower of gold through the west window, glorifying everything it touched. Charlotte, feeling extremely capable, began with great energy to add an extra polish to the apples which she was to bake.
Suddenly Dorothy raised her head and sniffed the air. "I smell smoke. Oh, Charlotte, look at your stove," she cried.
Even as she spoke the smoke poured out around the covers in great volume. Clouds of smoke forced their way through hitherto unsuspected cracks.
"Open the windows," gasped Betty, whom the stinging wood smoke almost blinded.
"Perhaps I turned the dampers wrong," cried Charlotte, making a dash for the stove, and turning the oven draught. The result was disastrous, for the smoke rolled out with still greater violence, only to be met and beaten back into the room by the air from the windows. Charlotte turned the oven draught again, and then stood helpless.
Suddenly Betty bethought herself of what her mother had told her. "There's a damper in the stovepipe," she choked, covering her streaming eyes with one hand, and waving the other wildly in the air. "Did you touch that?"
"Yes," gasped Charlotte.
"Well, turn it the way it isn't, quick," and while Charlotte reached for the damper, Betty groped her way to the sink to soothe her afflicted eyes with cold water.
Coughing, and with smarting eyes, the girls stood around, while as if by magic the clouds of smoke diminished to tiny streams and then died away altogether.
"How beautifully simple," said Charlotte grimly. "That makes me feel small."
"It wasn't your fault," said Betty. "Mother told me to be sure to remember that that damper in the pipe wasn't to be changed, and of course I had to forget."
Charlotte lifted the cover, and surveyed the fire with a critical though somewhat humbled air. Then after letting it burn up a little she put in a goodly supply of coal and went back to her apples.
"The cake and the apples must go in as soon as the oven is hot," said Dorothy, emerging from her cook-book. "That will leave the oven free for my oysters and Betty's popovers."
Ruth gave a squeal of delight. "I've found a recipe for a pudding that sounds perfectly fascinating, and the cooking can be done on the top of the stove, which is an advantage."
"I can't decide between a chocolate cream cake and a cake with caramel filling," wailed Katharine, who loved rich, mushy, sweet things.
"Goodness, child," said Dorothy, with that superior air which she so often affected, "don't try anything so hard the first time. Find something simple."
"Crushed again," muttered Katharine, only loud enough for Ruth to hear. "Dolly loves to manage everything. You mustn't even breathe hard, girls, for ten minutes, and don't walk so heavily," she said as she carried her cake pan across the kitchen and deposited it in the oven. "This cake is going to be simply dandy, and my heart will be broken if it falls."
"Better not leave the oven door open so long then," said Betty, who having nothing to do for the moment was interesting herself in her neighbor's affairs.
Katharine, who had been absorbed in gazing proudly at her creation, started guiltily, and the oven door slipping from her fingers shut itself with a crash that filled her with horror.
"Do you suppose that old door's spoiled it?" she said in a despairing voice. "I don't see how it can fall, though, till it has begun to rise," she added hopefully to Betty as she went back to the table to clear away her cooking dishes.
"Just give a look at my apples when you're looking at your cake, will you, Kit?" asked Charlotte, who had produced a small book from some mysterious hiding-place, and was slipping off into a comer with it.
"That isn't fair," called Dorothy sharply, but Charlotte pretended not to hear, and Dorothy with a shrug of the shoulders gave her up as a hopeless case. Dorothy and Charlotte were apt to turn their sharp edges toward each other, though either would have defended the other had an outsider interfered.
"Dear me, things look too good to be true," said Ruth a little later as Katharine took her cake, golden-brown and deliciously light, from the oven. "It seems as though some one would have to make a failure of something."
"It won't be my apples," proclaimed Charlotte with great pride. "Now I call that an artistic piece of cookery; they're not all mushy and cooked to death, but they've split open just enough to show that they're done."
"Small credit to you," laughed Alice. "If it hadn't been for Katharine you wouldn't have come out of your book for the next hour."
"Don't be envious, Al," answered Charlotte sweetly. "Perhaps your chocolate will be as good as my apples."
"There," said Ruth with a sigh of relief, "now that can cool, andI'll put the finishing touches on later."
Suddenly the door-bell rang sharply. "You'll have to go to the door, girls," said Betty, poking her head into the dining-room, "for there's no one besides us in the house."
There was a murmur of conversation at the door, and then Ruth came flying into the kitchen with shining eyes and flushed cheeks. "There's the dearest little old woman at the door, girls," she said, "with soap and pins and needles to sell, and I'm so sorry for her because she says she hasn't sold a thing today. And she's the cleanest-looking old dear you ever saw, and don't you think we might ask her to stay to supper?"
Ruth stopped for lack of breath, and her face fell as she saw plainly that both Dorothy and Betty disapproved of her plan. She started slowly toward the door, wondering how much money she had in her purse, and whether it would be enough to get the old woman her supper, when help came from an unexpected quarter. Charlotte, who at that moment was so completely a Knight of the Round Table that she could hardly refrain from using the language of chivalry, and who saw in this instance a chance to bring chivalric ideas into practical use, said excitedly, "Why not, girls, if she's clean? She certainly can't run off with the silver with six of us to watch her."
"She's very respectable looking," pleaded Ruth; "her clothes are neat, and she looks as though—as though she'd seen better days."
"Mother said she wished we could make our club helpful to some one besides ourselves," said Betty slowly; "perhaps this is one of the ways."
"Of course it is," answered Ruth, and was about to make a wild dash for the door when she remembered that Dorothy was president and ought to have the deciding voice. "What do you say, Dolly?" she asked coaxingly. Dorothy frowned. "I don't approve of it a bit," she said, "but as you all seem to be against me I won't say anything more about it." Ruth walked slowly toward the front door, feeling very undecided, but Charlotte, who had followed her, helped her to a decision by saying softly, "Go ahead and invite her, Ruth; Dolly will come round ail right."
Seated in the kitchen the old woman didn't look at all dangerous even to Dorothy's suspicious eyes. She was dressed neatly in black, and, though politely urged, refused to take off either bonnet or shawl. Much conversation with her was impossible, for she was very deaf and mumbled so in talking that it was hard to understand her. The girls couldn't help liking the rosy face with its crown of snowy hair under a black veil, and they felt, too, that gentle glow of pride which comes of exceeding virtue. The old lady's bright eyes traveled from one to the other of them as they worked, and occasionally her whole frame trembled as though with emotion.
"Poor old soul! Perhaps she had daughters of her own," said Alice in a low voice.
It was impossible for the old woman to have heard, but it seemed almost as though she had, for just at that moment she sighed deeply, and drawing from her bag a neatly folded handkerchief wiped her eyes. Then she settled her spectacles on her nose and looked up at Ruth with a brave smile. The girls were touched by her courage, and each resolved privately to buy some of her pins and needles before she left the house.
At last everything was ready and the girls looked at the table with pardonable pride. "My, but I'm hungry," sighed Ruth, "and everything looks so good."
"I don't see why my popovers aren't poppier," said Betty anxiously. "I thought I followed—Oh, goose! Idiot! What do you think I did?" she wailed. "I wanted to be sure to have enough, so I doubled the recipe—but I forgot to double the eggs!"
Betty's despair was so comical that the girls couldn't help laughing, in spite of the fact that the popovers had not fulfilled the end and aim of their existence.
"Oh, Betty, to leave out the poppiest part of them," laughed Charlotte; "now just look at my apples; not a thing left out in cooking those."
The girls shouted again, and the old woman looked around the table as though wondering what the fun was about.
The supper progressed merrily, and everything, even the unambitious popovers, tasted good to the hungry cooke. Their guest paid the highest possible compliment to her hostesses by devouring with great eagerness everything that was offered to her. After she had been served three times to scalloped oysters, and had eaten five popovers and two baked apples, the girls looked at each other in amazement.
"The poor old thing probably hasn't had a square meal in years," said Charlotte softly.
"She'll never be able to walk if she eats ail that cake and pudding she has on her plate," said Dorothy anxiously, "and that's her second cup of chocolate. Why, she's got an appetite like—like a boy."
There was a subdued chuckle from the other end of the table followed by a laugh which ail the girls recognized. Then the old woman, very red in the face and very much hampered by her skirts, pushed back her chair and started for the door.
Quick as a flash Dorothy, looking very determined, stood with her back against the door. "Guard the other door, girls, and some one help me here!" she cried. "Now, Joe Bancroft, who helped you get up this trick?"
Joe, to whom laughter and eating were the main objects of life, threw back his head and laughed until he choked, and grew so red in the face that the girls were actually frightened.
"Oh, oh," he gasped at last, "that's done me lots of good. I thinkI could eat a little more supper now."
He looked so funny standing there in the neat, black skirt topped by the respectable bonnet and shawl, the spectacles and white hair, that the girls went off into shrieks of merriment. Even Dorothy, who was really angry, couldn't wholly resist the fun of the situation, but she was sober again in a moment and said sternly, "You haven't told us yet who are the others. You never got this up all by yourself, I know."
"Honor forbids me to mention the names of my partners in crime," answered Joe with great solemnity. "They will all be glad to know that you were so kind to a poor old woman—who may have had daughters of her own," he added with a naughty twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, this is too much. Do let him go, Dolly," begged Charlotte."We know well enough that Frank and Bert are in it, and probablyPhil Canfield and Jack."
"No, not Phil and Jack," said Joe quickly, and then groaned inwardly over his stupidity.
"Thanks. That's all we wanted to know," answered Charlotte with triumph in her voice.
"That's one for you, Charlotte. You had me there ail right. Now, ladies, with your kind permission I'll go, leaving you in part payment for my gorgeous supper my stock in trade."
He drew from his bag and laid solemnly on the table one paper of pins, one of needles, and a cake of soap. Then, seeing that the girls at the other door had relaxed their watchfulness, he slipped past them, through the kitchen and out the back door.
A shout of boyish laughter greeted him, and Dorothy groaned as she heard it. "Why didn't you keep him, girls? I was going to make him wash the dishes," she said mournfully.
"It's much nicer to have him out of the way," answered Ruth. "Besides, I want to taste my pudding and Katharine's cake if that greedy boy has left any of it."
"Betty's mother will be so pleased to hear that we've begun so soon to make our club helpful to some one else," observed Charlotte pensively, as they finished washing the dishes, and the club ended its first meeting with a burst of laughter.
There was a cold rain, freezing as it fell, and the outdoor world looked cheerless and forsaken. In Ruth's room the fire was evidently doing its best to make one forget that it was winter and almost Christmas. Ruth was absorbed in the tying of a gorgeous lavender bow which was to adorn a sweet-grass basket standing on the table near her. So intent was she on her work that she heard no footsteps in the hall, and she jumped violently when a voice at the door said, "Well, this is the cheerfulest place I've found. May I come in and stay a little while?"
"Why, Charlotte, of course you may. I'm delighted to see you," and Ruth's glance swept the table and bed to see if any gift were in sight which ought to be concealed.
"Don't stop your work; just let me lie here and look at the fire. Meanwhile you can say nice, soothing things to me, for I'm tired and cross." Charlotte stretched herself on the rug and even laid her cheek for an instant on the black kitten, a concession that would have filled Betty's soul with joy.
"What's the matter?" asked Ruth a bit absently, as she held the basket out at arm's length and gazed critically at the bow.
"Oh, we're in several different shades of dark-blue over at our house," answered Charlotte. "Mother has shut herself up with a raging headache, Molly has quarreled with her best chum and refuses to be comforted, and one of the twins has the earache. To crown it ail, Melina, who is usually cheerful, is going around the kitchen looking as though she'd lost her last friend, and I actually haven't had the courage yet to find out what's the matter with her. Fortunately for every one, Cousin Josie blew in, and when she saw how things were going she made me go out for an hour, and said she'd stay with the children."
"It must be hard to manage so many," said Ruth who longed to help but didn't know how. "I'm sure I think you're awfully brave to be so cheerful all the time."
"Oh, but I'm not; I'm the most doleful thing you ever knew at home sometimes. And every little while I have to play baby and fuss it all out to some one. You happen to be the victim this time, but if it hadn't been you it would have been Mrs. Hamilton, or Betty." Charlotte's voice quavered, and there was a long silence while she stared gloomily into the fire and Ruth searched her mind for something comforting to say. At last she said hesitatingly, "I wish there was something I could do to help."
"I know you do," answered Charlotte with a smile. "But you can't except just by understanding, and letting me tell my woes to you occasionally. After I've really been in the dumps I'm the most courageous thing you ever saw, and feel that I can accomplish wonders. I suppose the reason I feel blue just now is because Christmas is so near."
"Christmas! Why, don't you just love Christmas?"
"Love it! I should say not. I usually hate it."
Ruth's eyes opened very wide as she stared at Charlotte. That any sane girl should hate Christmas was incomprehensible.
"Christmas won't seem the same to me this year," she said soberly, "but I love it and I'm going to have as good a time as I can. Why do you hate it, Charlotte?"
"Oh, for various reasons. Mother always seems sicker at this season, and father looks anxious and more tired. I always feel that he's trying to squeeze out a little more money to give us a good time, and doesn't see how he possibly can. As for me, I'm so hopelessly in debt to other people in the way of presents that I shall never swim out." Charlotte tried to speak lightly, but it was a dismal failure.
"I never felt about it in just that way,—I mean about being in debt to people. I dare say I've missed giving sometimes when I should have given, if that's the way of it. I love to choose and make presents for the people I'm fond of, and that's what Christmas means to me."
"Well, that's very lovely and quite the proper way to think of it, I know, but it wouldn't seem quite so easy to you if you didn't have any money to spend."
"Why not make things?" asked Ruth innocently.
Charlotte laughed. "Bless your heart, child, doesn't it cost money to buy materials? And I do all the sewing I can possibly make up my mind to in helping to keep the twins from falling out of their clothes. You never saw such holes."
There was a long silence while Charlotte lay still, apparently trying to go to sleep, and Ruth's forehead puckered itself into wrinkles as she wrestled with a weighty problem.
Suddenly Charlotte opened her eyes. "Look here, Ruth," she said bluntly, "I didn't mean to come over here and tell a tale of woe about not having any money, and I'm ashamed because I have. Please forget all about it."
"Oh, Charlotte," cried Ruth, dropping scissors, thimble and spool with a clatter as she got up from her chair. "Oh, Charlotte, I wish you would let me do something I want very much to do."
As she spoke Ruth threw herself on the couch beside Charlotte and put her arms about her. Charlotte, who was most undemonstrative, was vaguely comforted by the friendly embrace, and to her own surprise found herself returning it.
"Charlotte," pleaded Ruth, "I've really more money than I need for Christmas presents this year, for Uncle Jerry sent me a check to use just as I please. Now won't you let me give you your present now, and give it to you in money, so that you may have the fun of using it before Christmas? Oh, oh, don't you dare say a word yet if you can't say yes," she said fiercely, putting her hand over Charlotte's mouth, and in her anxiety pressing so hard that Charlotte gasped for breath.
"Don't you see what a pleasure you'd be giving me?" Ruth went on."I do so love to give people what they really want, and it's sohard to know. And there won't a soul know about it except us, andI'm dying to have a secret with some one."
Charlotte couldn't help laughing, Ruth's manner was so funny and anxious. "Thank you very much, Ruth, but I really couldn't," she said at last decidedly. "They wouldn't be my presents if I used your money for them; and besides, it makes me feel as though I'd no business to complain to you as I've done."
"Oh, Charlotte, they will be. It won't be my money, for I shall give it to you to use just as you please, and what's the good of having a friend if you don't tell her your troubles once in a while?"
Charlotte was silent and troubled, but she smiled a little at Ruth's mixed-up sentences. Ruth thought this was a good sign and rushed on without giving her a chance for a positive refusal.
"Don't you suppose I know how hard it is for a proud old thing like you to do it? But I'm just selfish enough to try to tease you into it because it's going to be such a favor to me. Do, Charlotte, that's a dear."
With Ruth's arms tightly around her, and Ruth's brown eyes looking at her with mischievous pleading, Charlotte found it difficult to be disappointing. "Well—" she said at last.
"You will!" cried Ruth in a tone of rapture. "Oh, Charlotte, you're a darling, and I'll do as much for you some day."
"I feel as though I'd been in a hold-up," murmured Charlotte, as Ruth released her after another violent squeeze, and went to her desk.
"I don't wonder," laughed Ruth coming back with an envelope in her hand. "Now, Charlotte, I don't want to hurry you, but your hour is up, and I think you'd better go. I have a premonition that the twins have fallen into something or other."
Charlotte rose lazily and held out her arms for the coat whichRuth was holding and into the pocket of which she had slipped theenvelope. "You're a sly thing," she said. "You're afraid if I stayI'll go back on my bargain."
"Never," laughed Ruth. "You're not that kind. Can't you go into Boston with me to-morrow and do some shopping? It will be almost the last chance before Christmas."
"Why, yes. I think so. I'm almost sure I can." Charlotte started to go, but turned and gripped Ruth's hand. "You're a trump, Ruth, and you've helped me lots," she said with an effort, "but I must say I don't feel quite right about taking that money."
"Oh, but I do. I shall enjoy it more than any other present I'm giving. We'll have a great time to-morrow spending it."
Once out of the house Charlotte couldn't resist the temptation to take a peep at the contents of the envelope. As she caught a glimpse of a crisp five dollar bill her first impulse was to go immediately and make Ruth take it back. She half turned, and waited irresolutely until the cold sting of the rain forced her to realize that the middle of the street was no place for deciding a weighty question. Then she went slowly toward home, uncomfortable because she had taken the money, happy because of the affection and sympathy Ruth had shown her.
At home a more cheerful atmosphere reigned, and Charlotte felt her spirits rise as she walked into the up-stairs sitting-room where the children were. "You're an angel of peace, Cousin Josie," said Charlotte gratefully. "I'll try to keep them happy until bedtime, though I'm no such genius at it as you are."
Charlotte felt so cheered and comforted that she thought of poor Melina, whose sorrows she had not yet investigated, and turned toward the kitchen. Melina was one of those rare maids-of-all-work whose services cannot be estimated, nor can they be paid for in mere money. Coming into the family when Charlotte was a small child, she had taken each successive baby into her heart, and had worked for them all as faithfully and lovingly as if they belonged to her.
As she walked into the room she was startled to find Melina rocking hard with her apron thrown over her face and audible sniffs going on behind it. The chair was making such a noise that at first she didn't hear Charlotte, and the latter had time to wonder whether it wouldn't be better to steal away softly and come in later. She knew she should hate to be found crying and she supposed Melina would. Before she could decide Melina threw down the apron and jumped up.
"Land, how you scared me," she said huskily. "I guess I was just having a kind of a little nap."
"Oh, was that it?" answered Charlotte. She felt the delicacy of the situation, and hated to pry into things that others didn't want her to know.
"Any cookies, Melina?" she continued carelessly. "I thought I'd take some up to the children. My, but these are good! Who was it in your family used to like them so much? Oh, I know, it was your nephew down in Maine. How is he now, Melina? Does he get any better?"
Melina's answer was so indistinct that Charlotte looked at her in amazement to see two great tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. "Oh, Melina, is he worse, and is that what makes you feel so bad?" she cried sympathetically.
"No, he ain't worse. If anything he's a little mite better."
"What is the matter then? Don't you want to tell me? Perhaps father or some of us could help."
Melina shook her head. "It's only that I ain't got quite enough money to make him the Christmas present I'd planned for him, and what's worse I've been fool enough to write him it was coming. It's one of those new-fangled beds so that he can be wheeled around, and the end raises so that he can sit up a little. He's counting on it so that I can't bear to disappoint him. All I need is five dollars, and I thought sure I should have it because some one owes me just that much. But I got a letter to-day saying she couldn't pay it until after the first of January, so there 'tis."
"If father was only home he could fix it ail right, but I'm afraid mother hasn't five dollars she could spare just now," said Charlotte doubtfully.
"If she had I wouldn't take it," answered Melina, whose business principles were founded on a rock. "Your father paid me up to yesterday, and it ain't time for me to have any more."
"Oh, Melina, wait!" cried Charlotte, and she flashed out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Melina to wonder what had come over the girl. She was back in a moment, hiding both hands behind her as she came into the kitchen. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, and she was so different from the ordinarily languid Charlotte that Melina looked at her in astonishment.
"Melina," she said earnestly, "do you remember when I was a little girl and I used to beg you over and over again to say which hand you'd take? Now, please, please choose now."
Melina hesitated, but Charlotte's manner was so persuasive that she couldn't resist, and murmuring, "left hand nearest the heart," touched that one.
Charlotte pushed something crisp and crackling into her hand. "It's mine to do just what I please with," she cried exultantly, "and I never wanted to do anything more than I want to do this."
Melina stared at the five dollar bill in her hand. Then she held it out to Charlotte again. "I can't take your money," she said. "I ain't saying that I wouldn't like to have it, but I can't take it."
Charlotte looked at her pleadingly. Then she remembered how Ruth had won her over. "But, Melina, it's a favor to me. You've always been doing me favors, I know, but you might do just this one more."
Melina shook her head. "It's no use," she began, and then stopped aghast, for Charlotte, the self-controlled, the hater of tears, startled Melina and fell forever in her own estimation by bursting into sobs. "For the land's sake, child, don't do that," ejaculated Melina, almost whirling herself off her feet in her frantic efforts to decide whether to throw water on her or burn feathers under her nose.
Those who rarely cry are likely to do so with great violence when they once give themselves up to it, and Charlotte's rending sobs drove poor Melina to the verge of distraction. At last she gathered the girl's slender figure into her arms and sat down in the big rocker.
"There, there, lamb," she said, "put your head on Melina's shoulder and cry all you want to," and she held her tenderly until the gasping sobs grew less frequent.
"Oh, Melina, if you could only make up your mind to take that money," said Charlotte at last, getting up and trying hard to keep back the persistent tears. "I do want that poor boy to have his bed right away. I think I could stop crying if you only would."
Melina's thin lips tightened.
"Well," she said at last, grudgingly, "I'll take it and call it a loan. I must say, though, that I think you took an unfair advantage of me. I ain't seen you cry since you was little more than a baby."
"I didn't do it to get my own way. I've been holding on to myself all day, and that was just the last straw that made me let go. Don't call it a loan, for I never want to see it again. Keep it till you find some one who needs it as much as you do just now, and then pass it along. Wouldn't it be interesting to see how far five dollars could travel if it was passed from one to another that way?"
"Talk about goodness," muttered Melina as Charlotte disappeared, "that child's a wonder,—sometimes."