CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI.

MARIE LEWIS’ pretty home in West Philadelphia looked very bright and attractive on the afternoon of the lawn party. Mabel and Harold stood looking around at the tables and booths.

“That’s the tea-house,” said Mabel, indicating a gay structure at one end of the grounds. “Ethel is going to help serve the tea, and her sister is the Rebecca at the Well, where the lemonade is. I think we’ll get some lemonade first thing, for I am so thirsty.”

They sauntered over to the well, passing the tea pagoda on their way. Just here Mrs. Lewis stopped them. She had in her hands a plate of Mrs. Knight’s cinnamon-bun. “Come right in here,Mabel,” she said. “I’m taking this to the tea-house; it will be so nice to serve with the tea. Have you seen Marie? Here is Ethel, too.”

The girls looked at each other rather sheepishly as they saw Mabel. Mrs. Lewis went on: “Just think, girls, how Mabel has worked for us. She brought those lovely flowers over on the middle table, and besides those and this delicious bun, she has given three dollars, all herself, to the fund.”

“Oh!” Marie blushed up to the roots of her hair, and looked at Ethel. Mrs. Lewis passed on, leaving the four children standing there, rather embarrassed at the situation.

Harold broke the silence by saying, with a little amused smile: “Come on, Mabel, we were going to get some lemonade, you know.”

“Oh,” Ethel started forward, “don’t go away yet. I—we—you know we didn’t know.”

“But we were horrid,” Marie broke in, “and I’m awfully ashamed of myself, really I am, Mabel, and I think it was sweet of you to come this afternoon, after the way we behaved. Don’t you, Ethel?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Ethel, a little awkwardly. It was harder for her to yield than for Marie. “But why didn’t you say, in the first place, that you were going to give such a lot?” she asked, turning to Mabel. “You didn’t say you’d save up and give more than any of us.”

Mabel looked down. She couldn’t explain.

But Harold was equal to the occasion. “Because she thought she had a debt topay; to make good something that was spoiled, and until she knew about that she thought she oughtn’t to call the money hers, you know.”

“Oh, I think that was right,” Marie exclaimed. She gave Mabel a little squeeze. “I’m so glad,” she said in a low tone. “You’re a dear, just a dear, Mabel, and I’ll never get mad with you and treat you so again. Truly, I wanted to be friends. I have missed you so much, all this time.”

It was not so easy for Ethel to give in, but, finally, she, too, showed her good will by opening a box of caramels she was carrying. She offered them to Mabel and Harold. “I know they are good,” she said, “for my aunt made them. Take a whole lot, Mabel.” And she gave her a generous supply.

However, glad as Mabel was that allwas smooth sailing again, she did not feel quite happy with the girls, and so she and Harold wandered off to seek out their own amusements. After they had eaten all the ice-cream and cake of which they were capable, and had bought more candy and had had more lemonade than was good for them, they found a little corner on one of the piazzas, and here they decided to settle down, for awhile, and watch the people, who were now beginning to gather rapidly.

“I’m awfully tired,” said Mabel. “I just feel as if my feet didn’t belong to me. Harold, I was just thinking that your papa will perhaps know some of the Cuban orphans, if any of his friends get killed.”

Harold’s face took on a serious look as it always did when his father was mentioned. “I wish I knew aboutfather,” he said, after a pause, “I haven’t heard for two weeks, and neither has Drake.”

“Oh,” Mabel wished that she had not said anything about Captain Evans’ friends and their orphans.

“You see,” Harold went on, “the last time we did hear he was still at camp, but he expected to be ordered to Cuba at any time, and I suppose he may be on his way there. Of course, I want him to be as brave as the others, but I get scared sometimes, for fear he will be killed.”

“Oh, then would you be a Cuban orphan?” Mabel asked, in an awe-stricken tone.

“Why, not exactly. I don’t know whether it means those who fight in Cuba, or those who are Cuban people; it might be either way. Don’t let’s talk about it any more. Aren’t there a lot ofpeople here now? It’s not been so crowded since we came.”

Just then two gentlemen sauntered up and stood looking at the gay scene before them. One was Marie’s father, Mabel knew.

“There’s not much chance of our having an occasion like this another year,” Mr. Lewis remarked: “The war won’t last long.”

Mabel nudged her companion, and they listened with all their ears.

“Too bad, though, the way our fellows have had to be sacrificed at camp,” returned Mr. Lewis’ friend. “Every day I hear of someone from here having succumbed to typhoid fever, and the warm weather will not improve the conditions, I am afraid. By the way, you knew Captain Evans. I learned at the club on my way uptown, that he wasgone. Poor fellow, as nice a man as I ever knew. Died of typhoid fever.”

Harold clutched Mabel’s arm and turned very pale. “Did you hear?” he whispered.

Mabel nodded; she understood. “Perhaps there is some mistake,” she whispered, in return. “Wait, I want to ask something.”

She went up to Mr. Lewis, who looked down at her kindly. “If you please, Mr. Lewis,” she said, “That Captain Evans you know, that you were just talking about, did he have any little boy?”

Mr. Lewis glanced inquiringly at his friend, who nodded. “Yes, I think so,” he made answer.

“And is his name Harold?” Mabel’s eyes were getting very moist, and she gave a quick little gasp.

The gentleman seemed to be trying toremember. “Why, let me see; yes, I am pretty sure he has. I think I’ve heard him call his boy Harry. Yes, that’s it; Harry.”

Mabel glanced around, but only caught sight of Harold’s retreating figure. She ran quickly after him; and, taking hold of his hand, she held it tightly. “We’ll go home and tell mamma,” she whispered.

Harold bit his lip, and tried to keep back the tears, but hurried on.

They were not long in reaching home, and then Harold broke away from Mabel, and she saw him disappear into his room.

Her sympathetic little heart was too full for speech as she burst into Mrs. Ford’s room and buried her face in her mother’s lap.

“Why, my little girl,” exclaimed Mrs. Ford; “did the girls treat you badly,after all? I am so sorry; I hoped it would be all right, and that you would have no more trouble.”

“It isn’t the girls,” Mabel sobbed; “they were lovely; it’s Harold.”

“Why, dear me, how has he hurt your feelings; you have been getting along so beautifully together? What has he done?”

“He hasn’t done anything,” Mabel said, between her sobs; “it’s his father.”

“His father! Has he come back?”

No answer, but a shake of the brown locks.

“Oh, I see; he has sent for Harold. Well, dear; we knew that would have to be sometime. Don’t cry about it; but try to make Harold happy while he is here.”

“It isn’t that,” Mabel found voice to say.

“Then, what is it—what has his father done?”

“He’s died, and Harold is a Cuban orphan,” Mabel replied, with a fresh burst of tears.

“My dear, are you sure? Come, tell me about it; I don’t understand. We have not heard a word of it. Look up and tell me, child.”

Mabel managed to convey her news, though in a somewhat disjointed manner.

Mrs. Ford looked grave, and went to Harold’s door; but, receiving no answer to her gentle knock, she went in, and saw that the little fellow had flung himself across the bed, and was crying convulsively. He raised his head as Mrs. Ford entered, and came to the arms she held out to him.

She gathered him closely to her. “Don’t give up hope, dear child,” she said. “Ithink there may be a mistake; and, under any circumstances, you know we love you, and are glad to keep you with us.”

Mabel had crept in softly. “Oh, mamma, always?”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, do say always,” she begged; “and let Harold be my brother; then I’ll not be the middle one any more, and I’ll try—oh, Harold! I will try to be as much like a boy as I can, and as mamma will let me. I’ll play anything you like to have me. I’ll climb trees and all; and I’ll even try not to be afraid of cows.”

Mrs. Ford could but smile; but she added more comforting words till Harold at last lifted his head and said: “Where is Don? I want Don.” And Mabel, delighted to be able to do something, flew to bring the dear dog, and with Donhugged up close to him Harold, after a while, fell asleep.

It was warm, mild May weather, and Mabel, too excited to sleep, crept to the window to watch for her father that night, for she felt that he would, perhaps, be able to decide upon the truth of the report they had heard, and besides, her mother had said, that if it were not too late, he would go down to the club, and gather particulars. But it was very late; a meeting of some kind had kept him at the university, and Mabel grew very weary, before she saw his familiar form coming in at the gate.

She crept softly down stairs, and entered her mother’s room in time to hear Mr. Ford say, as he looked at his watch: “I am afraid it is too late to-night to do anything, but I will inquire into the matter the very first thing in themorning. Poor little fellow. I hope he will sleep soundly. His father was all in all to him.”

“Don’t say was,” said Mrs. Ford, “for I do not quite believe the report.”

Mr. Ford shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too sanguine,” he returned. “You say Harold told you his father generally called him Harry?”

“Yes, that is the part which makes it seem as if there were no mistake.”

“And can’t Harold stay here always?” Mabel asked, as her father lifted her to his knee.

“That will be as his aunt says. We have no right to decide upon that. You will still have to be our boy, I think,” he said, smiling, for it had always been a joke between Mabel and her father, that of her being the boy of the family, and Mabel liked to be called “Phil,” for shealways insisted that she ought to have had her father’s name.

“But what are you doing up this time of night?” Mr. Ford asked. “You should have been in bed and asleep hours ago.”

Mabel gave him a mighty hug, and crept upstairs again, feeling very sorry for Harold, and wishing that she could do something to comfort him.

The re-instatement in the favor of her friends seemed a small thing, compared to this last matter of interest, and after she had cuddled down again by the side of her sister Alice, she got up and went to the door leading to Harold’s room, to whisper to him, through the key hole, “Good-night, Harold, I hope you will sleep well, and I’ll stay awake all night if you think you will feel lonely.”

But Harold did not hear her, for he had cried himself to sleep long before,and, though Mabel’s promise to stay awake was made in all good faith, it was not ten minutes later that she was soundly sleeping too, little dreaming that she would be the first one to bring comfort to the boy’s sorrowful heart.

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