We enclose our check for forty-five dollarsWe enclose our check for forty-five dollars
"We have something to read to you," said Carol beaming paternally at Connie. "Listen attentively. Put down your paper, father. It's important. Go on, Larkie."
"My dear Miss Starr," read Lark. "We are very much pleased with your story,"—Conniesprang suddenly from her chair—"your story, 'When the Rule worked Backwards.' We are placing it in one of our early numbers, and shall be glad at any time to have the pleasure of examining more of your work. We enclose our check for forty-five dollars. Thanking you, and assuring you of the satisfaction with which we have read your story, I am,"Very cordially yours,"—
"My dear Miss Starr," read Lark. "We are very much pleased with your story,"—Conniesprang suddenly from her chair—"your story, 'When the Rule worked Backwards.' We are placing it in one of our early numbers, and shall be glad at any time to have the pleasure of examining more of your work. We enclose our check for forty-five dollars. Thanking you, and assuring you of the satisfaction with which we have read your story, I am,
"Very cordially yours,"—
"Tra, lalalalala!" sang the twins, dancing around the room, waving, one the letter, the other the check.
Connie's face was pale, and she caught her head with both hands, laughingly nervously. "I'm going round," she gasped. "Stop me."
Carol promptly pushed her down in a chair and sat upon her lap.
"Pretty good,—eh, what?"
"Oh, Carol, don't say that, it sounds awful," cautioned Lark.
"What do you think about it, Connie? Pretty fair boost for a struggling young author, don't youthink? Family, arise! The Chautauqua salute! We have arrived. Connie is an author. Forty-five dollars!"
"But however did you do it?" wondered Connie breathlessly.
"Why, we sent it out, and—"
"Just once?"
"Alas, no,—we sent it seven times."
"Oh, girls, how could you! Think of the stamps! I'm surprised you had the money."
"Remember that last quarter we borrowed of you? Well!"
Connie laughed excitedly. "Oh, oh!—forty-five dollars! Think of it. Oh, father!"
"Where's the story," he asked, a little jealously. "Why didn't you let me look it over, Connie?"
"Oh, father, I—couldn't. I—I—I felt shy about it. You don't know how it is father, but—we want to keep them hidden. We don't get proud of them until they've been accepted."
"Forty-five dollars." Aunt Grace kissed her warmly. "And the letter is worth a hundred times more to us than that. And when we see the story—"
"We'll go thirds on the money, twins," said Connie.
The twins looked eager, but conscientious. "No," they said, "it's just a boost, you know. We can't take the money."
"Oh, you've got to go thirds. You ought to have it all. I would have burned it."
"No, Connie," said Carol, "we know you aren't worth devotion like ours, but we donate it just the same—it's gratis."
"All right," smiled Connie. "I know what you want, anyhow. Come on, auntie, let's go down town. I'm afraid that silver silk mull will be sold before we get there."
The twins fell upon her ecstatically. "Oh, Connie, youmustn't. We can't allow it. Oh, of course if you insist, dearest, only—" And then they rushed to find hats and gloves for their generous sister and devoted aunt.
The second story came back in due time, but with the boost still strong in her memory, and with the fifteen dollars in the bank, Connie bore it bravely and started it traveling once more. Most of the stories never did find a permanent lodging place, andConnie carried an old box to the attic for a repository for her mental fruits that couldn't make friends away from home. But she never despaired again.
And the twins, after their own manner, calmly took to themselves full credit for the career which they believed lay not far before her. They even boasted of the way they had raised her and told fatuous and exaggerated stories of their pride in her, and their gentle sisterly solicitude for her from the time of her early babyhood. And Connie gave assent to every word. In her heart she admitted that the twins' discipline of her, though exceedingly drastic at times, had been splendid literary experience.
"IF Jim doesn't ask for a date for the concert next week, Lark, let's snub him good."
"But we both have dates," protested Lark.
"What difference does that make? We mustn't let him get independent. He always has asked one of us, and he needn't think we shall let him off now."
"Oh, don't worry," interrupted Connie. "He always asks. You have that same discussion every time there's anything going on. It's just a waste of time."
Mr. Starr looked up from his mail. "Soup of boys, and salad of boys,—they're beginning to pall on my palate."
"Very classy expression father," approved Carol. "Maybe you can work it into a sermon."
"Complexion and boys with Carol, books and boys with Lark, Connie, if you begin that nonsenseyou'll get spanked. One member of my family shall rise above it if I have to do it with force."
Connie blushed.
The twins broke into open derision. "Connie! Oh, yes, Connie's above that nonsense."
"Connie's the worst in the family, father, only she's one of these reserved, supercilious souls who doesn't tell everything she knows."
"'Nonsense.' I wish father could have heard Lee Hanson last night. It would have been a revelation to him. 'Aw, go on, Connie, give us a kiss.'"
Connie caught her lips between her teeth. Her face was scarlet.
"Twins!"
"It's a fact, father. He kept us awake. 'Aw, go on, Connie, be good to a fellow.'"
"That's what makes us so pale to-day,—he kept us awake hours!"
"Carol!"
"Well, quite a while anyhow."
"I—I—" began Connie defensively.
"Well, we know it. Don't interrupt when we're telling things. You always spoil a good story bycutting in. 'Aw, go on, Connie, go on now!' And Connie said—" The twins rocked off in a paroxysm of laughter, and Connie flashed a murderous look at them.
"Prudence says listening is—"
"Sure she does, and she's right about it, too. But what can a body do when folks plant themselves right beneath your window to pull off their little Romeo concerto. We can't smother on nights like these. 'Aw, go on, Connie.'"
"I wanted to drop a pillow on his head, but Carol was afraid he'd run off with the pillow, so we just sacrificed ourselves and let it proceed."
"Well, I—"
"Give us time, Connie. We're coming to that. And Connie said, 'I'm going in now, I'm sleepy.'"
"I didn't—father, I didn't!"
"Well, you might have said a worse thing than that," he told her sadly.
"I mean—I—"
"She did say it," cried the twins. "'I'm sleepy.' Just like that."
"Oh, Connie's the girl for sentiment," exclaimed Lark. "Sleepy is not a romantic word and it's nota sentimental feeling, but it can be drawled out so it sounds a little mushy at least. 'I sleep, my love, to dream of thee,'—for instance. But Connie didn't do it that way. Nix. Just plain sleep, and it sounded like 'Get out, and have a little sense.'"
"Well, it would make you sick," declared Connie, wrinkling up her nose to express her disgust. "Are boys always like that father?"
"Don't ask me," he hedged promptly. "How should I know?"
"Oh, Connie, how can you! There's father—now, he never cared to kiss the girls even in his bad and balmy days, did you, daddy? Oh, no, father was all for the strictly orthodox even in his youth!"
Mr. Starr returned precipitately to his mail, and the twins calmly resumed the discussion where it had been interrupted.
A little later a quick exclamation from their father made them turn to him inquiringly.
"It's a shame," he said, and again: "What a shame!"
The girls waited expectantly. When he only continued frowning at the letter in his hand, Carol spoke up brightly, "Yes, isn't it?"
Even then he did not look up, and real concern settled over their expressive faces. "Father! Can't you see we're listening?"
He looked up, vaguely at first, then smiling. "Ah, roused your curiosity, did I? Well, it's just another phase of this eternal boy question."
Carol leaned forward ingratiatingly. "Now indeed, we are all absorption."
"Why, it's a letter from Andrew Hedges,—an old college chum of mine. His son is going west and Andy is sending him around this way to see me and meet my family. He'll be here this afternoon. Isn't it a shame?"
"Isn't it lovely?" exclaimed Carol. "We can use him to make Jim Forrest jealous if he doesn't ask for that date?" And she rose up and kissed her father.
"Will you kindly get back to your seat, young lady, and not interfere with my thoughts?" he reproved her sternly but with twinkling eyes. "The trouble is I have to go to Fort Madison on the noon train for that Epworth League convention. I'd like to see that boy. Andy's done well, I guess. I've always heard so. He's a millionaire, they say."
For a long second his daughters gazed at him speechlessly.
Then, "A millionaire's son," Lark faltered feebly.
"Yes."
"Why on earth didn't you say so in the first place?" demanded Carol.
"What difference does that make?"
"It makes all the difference in the world! Ah! A millionaire's son." She looked at Lark with keen speculative eyes. "Good-looking, I suppose, young, of course, and impressionable. A millionaire's son."
"But I have to go to Fort Madison. I am on the program to-night. There's the puzzle."
"Oh, father, you can leave him to us," volunteered Lark.
"I'm afraid you mightn't carry it off well. You're so likely to run by fits and jumps, you know. I should hate it if things went badly."
"Oh, father, things couldn't go badly," protested Carol. "We'll be lovely, just lovely. A millionaire's son! Oh, yes, daddy, you can trust him to us all right."
At last he caught the drift of their enthusiasm."Ah! I see! That fatal charm. You're sure you'll treat him nicely?"
"Oh, yes, father, so sure. A millionaire's son. We've never even seen one yet."
"Now look here, girls, fix the house up and carry it off the best you can. I have a lot of old friends in Cleveland, and I want them to think I've got the dandiest little family on earth."
"'Dandiest'! Father, you will forget yourself in the pulpit some day,—you surely will. And when we take such pains with you, too, I can't understand where you get it! The people you associate with, I suppose."
"Do your best, girls. I'm hoping for a good report. I'll be gone until the end of the week, since I'm on for the last night, too. Will you do your best?"
After his departure, Carol gathered the family forces about her without a moment's delay.
"A millionaire's son," she prefaced her remarks, and as she had expected, was rewarded with immediate attention. "Now, for darling father's sake, we've got to manage this thing the very best we can. We have to make this Andy Hedges,Millionaire's Son, think we're just about all right, for father's sake. We must have a gorgeous dinner, to start with. We'll plan that a little later. Now I think, Aunt Grace, lovely, it would be nice for you to wear your lavender lace gown, and look delicate, don't you? A chaperoning auntie in poor health is so aristocratic. You must wear the lavender satin slippers and have a bottle of cologne to lift frequently to your sensitive nostrils."
"Why, Carol, William wouldn't like it!"
"Wouldn't like it!" ejaculated the schemer in surprise. "Wouldn't like it! Why wouldn't he like it? Didn't he tell us to create a good impression? Well, this is it. You'll make a lovely semi-invalid auntie. You must have a faintly perfumed handkerchief to press to your eyes now and then. It isn't hot enough for you slowly to wield a graceful fan, but we can get along without it."
"But, Carol—"
"Think how pleased dear father will be if his old college chum's son is properly impressed," interrupted Carol hurriedly, and proceeded at once with her plans.
"Connie must be a precocious younger sister, allin white,—she must come in late with a tennis racquet, as though she had just returned from a game. That will be stagey, won't it? Lark must be the sweet young daughter of the home. She must wear her silver mull, her gray slippers, and—"
"I can't," said Lark. "I spilt grape juice on it. And I kicked the toe out of one of my slippers."
"You'll have to wear mine then. Fortunately that silver mull was always too tight for me and I never comported myself in it with freedom and destructive ease. As a consequence, it is fresh and charming. You must arrange your hair in the mostLadies' Home Journalstyle, and—"
"What are you going to wear?"
"Who, me? Oh, I have other plans for myself." Carol looked rather uneasily at her aunt. "I'll come to me a little later."
"Yes, indeed," said Connie. "Carol has something extra up her sleeve. She's had the millionaire's son in her mind's eye ever since father introduced his pocketbook into the conversation."
Carol was unabashed. "My interest is solely from a family view-point. I have no ulterior motive."
Her eyes sparkled eagerly. "You know, auntie darling—"
"Now, Carol, don't you suggest anything—"
"Oh, no indeed, dearest, how could you think of such a thing?" disclaimed Carol instantly. "It's such a very tiny thing, but it will mean a whole lot on the general impression of a millionaire's son. We've simply got to have a maid! To open the door, and curtesy, and take his hat, and serve the dinner, and—He's used to it, you know, and if we haven't one, he'll go back to Cleveland and say, 'Ah, bah Jove, I had to hang up my own hat, don't you know?'"
"That's supposed to be English, but I don't believe it. Anyhow, it isn't Cleveland," said Connie flatly.
"Well, he'd think we were awfully cheap and hard up, and Andy Hedges, Senior, would pity father, and maybe send him ten dollars, and—no, we've got to have a maid!"
"We might get Mamie Sickey," suggested Lark.
"She's so ugly."
"Or Fay Greer," interposed Aunt Grace.
"She'd spill the soup."
"Then there's nobody but Ada Lone," decided Connie.
"She hasn't anything fit to wear," objected Carol.
"Of whom were you thinking, Carol?" asked her aunt, moving uneasily in her chair.
Carol flung herself at her aunt's knees. "Me!" she cried.
"As usual?" Connie ejaculated dryly.
"Oh, Carol," wailed Lark, "we can't think of things to talk about when you aren't there to keep us stirred up."
"I'm beginning to see daylight," said Connie. She looked speculatively at Lark. "Well, it's not half bad, Carol, and I apologize."
"Don't you think it is a glorious idea, Connie?" cried Carol rapturously.
"Yes, I think it is."
Carol caught her sister's hand. Here was an ally worth having. "You know how sensible Connie is, auntie. She sees how utterly preposterous it would be to think of entertaining a millionaire's son without a maid."
"You're too pretty," protested Lark. "He'd try to kiss you."
"'Oh, no, sir, oh, please, sir,'" simpered Carol, with an adorable curtesy, "'you'd better wait for the ladies, sir.'"
"Oh, Carol, I think you're awful," said their aunt unhappily. "I know your father won't like it."
"Like it? He'll love it. Won't he, Connie?"
"Well, I'm not sure he'll be crazy about it, but it'll be all over when he gets home," said Connie.
"And you're very much in favor of it, aren't you, Connie precious?"
"Yes, I am." Connie looked at Lark critically again. "We must get Lark some bright flowers to wear with the silver dress—sweet peas would be good. But I won't pay for them, and you can put that down right now."
"But what's the idea?" mourned Lark. "What's the sense in it? Father said to be good to him, and you know I can't think of things to say to a millionaire's son. Oh, Carol, don't be so mean."
"You must practise up. You must be girlish, and light-hearted, and ingenuous, you know. That'll be very effective."
"You do it, Carol. Let me be the maid. You're lots more effective than I am."
But Carol stood firm, and the others yielded to her persuasions. They didn't approve, they didn't sanction, but they did get enthusiastic, and a merrier houseful of masqueraders was never found than that. Even Aunt Grace allowed her qualms to be quieted and entered into her part as semi-invalid auntie with genuine zest.
At three they were all arrayed, ready for the presentation. They assembled socially in the parlor, the dainty maid ready to fly to her post at a second's warning. At four o'clock, they were a little fagged and near the point of exasperation, but they still held their characters admirably. At half past four a telegraph message was phoned out from the station.
"Delayed in coming. Will write you later. Very sorry. Andy Hedges, Jr."
"Delayed in coming. Will write you later. Very sorry. Andy Hedges, Jr."
Only the absolute ludicrousness of it saved Carol from a rage. She looked from the girlish tennis girl to the semi-invalid auntie, and then to the sweet young daughter of the home, and burst out laughing. The others, though tired, nervous anddisappointed, joined her merrily, and the vexation was swept away.
The next morning, Aunt Grace went as usual to the all-day meeting of the Ladies' Aid in the church parlors. Carol and Lark, with a light lunch, went out for a few hours of spring-time happiness beside the creek two miles from town.
"We'll come back right after luncheon," Carol promised, "so if Andy the Second should come, we'll be on hand."
"Oh, he won't come to-day."
"Well, he just better get here before father comes home. I know father will like our plan after it's over, but I also know he'll veto it if he gets home in time. Wish you could go with us, Connie."
"Thanks. But I've got to sew on forty buttons. And—if I pick the cherries on the little tree, will you make a pie for dinner?"
"Yes. If I'm too tired Larkie will. Do pick them, Con, the birds have had more than their share now."
After her sisters had disappeared, Connie considered the day's program.
"I'll pick the cherries while it's cool. Then I'llsew on the buttons. Then I'll call on the Piersons, and they'll probably invite me to stay for luncheon." And she went up-stairs to don a garment suitable for cherry-tree service. For cherry trees, though lovely to behold when laden with bright red clusters showing among the bright green leaves, are not at all lovely to climb into. Connie knew that by experience. Belonging to a family that wore its clothes as long as they possessed any wearing virtue, she found nothing in her immediate wardrobe fitted for the venture. But from a rag-bag in the closet at the head of the stairs, she resurrected some remains of last summer's apparel. First she put on a blue calico, but the skirt was so badly torn in places that it proved insufficiently protecting. Further searchbroughtto light another skirt, pink, in a still worse state of delapidation. However, since the holes did not occur simultaneously in the two garments, by wearing both she was amply covered. For a waist she wore a red crape dressing sacque, and about her hair she tied a broad, ragged ribbon of red to protect the soft waves from the ruthless twigs. She looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing daunted by the sight of her ownunsightliness, she took a bucket and went into the back yard.
Gingerly she climbed into the tree, gingerly because Connie was not fond of scratches on her anatomy, and then began her task. It was a glorious morning. The birds, frightened away by the living scare-crow in the tree, perched in other, cherry-less trees around her and burst into derisive song. And Connie, light-hearted, free from care, in love with the whole wide world, sang, too, pausing only now and then to thrust a ripe cherry between her teeth.
She did not hear the prolonged ringing of the front-door bell. She did not observe the young man in the most immaculate of white spring suits who came inquiringly around the house. But when the chattering of a saucy robin became annoying, she flung a cherry at him crossly.
"Oh, chase yourself!" she cried. And nearly fell from her perch in dismay when a low voice from beneath said pleasantly:
"I beg your pardon! Miss Starr?"
Connie swallowed hard, to get the last cherry and the mortification out of her throat.
"Yes," she said, noting the immaculate white spring suit, and the handsome shoes, and the costly Panama held so lightly in his hand. She knew the Panama was costly because they had wanted to buy one for her father's birthday, but decided not to.
"I am Andrew Hedges," he explained, smiling sociably.
Connie wilted completely at that. "Good night," she muttered with a vanishing mental picture of their lovely preparations the day previous. "I—mean good morning. I'm so glad to meet you. You—you're late, aren't you? I mean, aren't you ahead of yourself? At least, you didn't write, did you?"
"No, I was not detained so long as I had anticipated, so I came right on. But I'm afraid I'm inconveniencing you."
"Oh, not a bit, I'm quite comfortable," she assured him. "Auntie is gone just now, and the twins are away, too, but they'll all be back presently." She looked longingly at the house. "I'll have to come down, I suppose."
"Let me help you," he offered eagerly. Connie in the incongruous clothes, with the little curlsstraying beneath the ragged ribbon, and with stains of cherry on her lips, looked more presentable than Connie knew.
"Oh, I—" she hesitated, flushing. "Mr. Hedges," she cried imploringly, "will you just go around the corner until I get down. I look fearful."
"Not a bit of it," he said. "Let me take the cherries."
Connie helplessly passed them down to him, and saw him carefully depositing them on the ground. "Just give me your hand."
And what could Connie do? She couldn't sternly order a millionaire's son to mosy around the house and mind his own business until she got some decent clothes on, though that was what she yearned to do. Instead she held out a slender hand, grimy and red, with a few ugly scratches here and there, and allowed herself to be helped ignominiously out from the sheltering branches into the garish light of day.
She looked at him reproachfully. He never so much as smiled.
"Laugh if you like," she said bitterly. "I looked in the mirror. I know all about it."
"Run along," he said, "but don't be gone long, will you? Can you trust me with the cherries?"
Connie walked into the house with great decorum, afraid the ragged skirts might swing revealingly, but the young man bent over the cherries while she made her escape.
It was another Connie who appeared a little later, a typical tennis girl, all in white from the velvet band in her hair to the canvas shoes on her dainty feet. She held out the slender hand, no longer grimy and stained, but its whiteness still marred with sorry scratches.
"I am glad to see you," she said gracefully, "though I can only pray you won't carry a mental picture of me very long."
"I'm afraid I will though," he said teasingly.
"Then please don't paint me verbally for my sisters' ears; they are always so clever where I am concerned. It is too bad they are out. You'll stay for luncheon with me, won't you? I'm all alone,—we'll have it in the yard."
"It sounds very tempting, but—perhaps I had better come again later in the afternoon."
"You may do that, too," said Connie. "But sinceyou are here, I'm afraid I must insist that you help amuse me." And she added ruefully, "Since I have done so well amusing you this morning."
"Why, he's just like anybody else," she was thinking with relief. "It's no trouble to talk to him, at all. He's nice in spite of the millions. Prudence says millionaires aren't half so dollar-marked as they are cartooned, anyhow."
He stayed for luncheon, he even helped carry the folding table out beneath the cherry tree, and trotted docilely back and forth with plates and glasses, as Connie decreed.
"Oh, father," she chuckled to herself, as she stood at the kitchen window, twinkling at the sight of the millionaire's son spreading sandwiches according to her instructions. "Oh, father, the boy question is complicated, sure enough."
It was not until they were at luncheon that the grand idea visited Connie. Carol would have offered it harborage long before. Carol's mind worked best along that very line. It came to Connie slowly, but she gave it royal welcome. Back to her remembrance flashed the thousand witty sallies of Carol and Lark, the hundreds of times she hadsuffered at their hands. And for the first time in her life, she saw a clear way of getting even. And a millionaire's son! Never was such a revenge fairly crying to be perpetrated.
"Will you do something for me, Mr. Hedges?" she asked. Connie was only sixteen, but something that is born in woman told her to lower her eyes shyly, and then look up at him quickly beneath her lashes. She was no flirt, but she believed in utilizing her resources. And she saw in a flash that the ruse worked.
Then she told him softly, very prettily.
"But won't she dislike me if I do?" he asked.
"No, she won't," said Connie. "We're a family of good laughers. We enjoy a joke nearly as much when it's on us, as when we are on top."
So it was arranged, and shortly after luncheon the young man in the immaculate spring suit took his departure. Then Connie summoned her aunt by phone, and told her she must hasten home to help "get ready for the millionaire's son." It was after two when the twins arrived, and Connie and their aunt hurried them so violently that they hadn't time to ask how Connie got her information.
"But I hope I'm slick enough to get out of it without lying if they do ask," she told herself. "Prudence says it's not really wicked to get out of telling things if we can manage it."
He had arrived! A millionaire's son! Instantly their enthusiasm returned to them. The cushions on the couch were carefully arranged for the reclining of the semi-invalid aunt, who, with the sweet young daughter of the home, was up-stairs waiting to be summoned. Connie, with the tennis racquet, was in the shed, waiting to arrive theatrically. Carol, in her trim black gown with a white cap and apron, was a dream.
And when he came she ushered him in, curtesying in a way known only on the stage, and took his hat and stick, and said softly:
"Yes, sir,—please come in, sir,—I'll call the ladies."
She knew she was bewitching, of course, since she had done it on purpose, and she lifted her eyes just far enough beneath the lashes to give the properly coquettish effect. He caught her hand, and drew her slowly toward him, admiration in his eyes, but trepidation in his heart, as he followed Connie'scoaching. But Carol was panic-seized, she broke away from him roughly and ran up-stairs, forgetting her carefully rehearsed. "Oh, no, sir,—oh, please, sir,—you'd better wait for the ladies."
But once out of reach she regained her composure. The semi-invalid aunt trailed down the stairs, closely followed by the attentive maid to arrange her chair and adjust the silken shawl. Mr. Hedges introduced himself, feeling horribly foolish in the presence of the lovely serving girl, and wishing she would take herself off. But she lingered effectively,whisperinglysoftly:
"Shall I lower the window, madame? Is it too cool? Your bottle, madame!"
And the guest rubbed his hand swiftly across his face to hide the slight twitching of his lips.
Then the model maid disappeared, and presently the sweet daughter of the house, charming in the gray silk mull and satin slippers, appeared, smiling, talking, full of vivacity and life. And after a while the dashing tennis girl strolled in, smiling inscrutably into the eyes that turned so quizzically toward her. For a time all went well. The chaperoning aunt occasionally lifted a daintycologne bottle to her sensitive nostrils, and the daughter of the house carried out her girlish vivacity to the point of utter weariness. Connie said little, but her soul expanded with the foretaste of triumph.
"Dinner is served, madame," said the soft voice at the door, and they all walked out sedately. Carol adjusted the invalid auntie's shawl once more, and was ready to go to the kitchen when a quiet:
"Won't Miss Carol sit down with us?" made her stop dead in her tracks.
He had pulled a chair from the corner up to the table for her, and she dropped into it. She put her elbows on the table, and leaning her dainty chin in her hands, gazed thoughtfully at Connie, whose eyes were bright with the fires of victory.
"Ah, Connie, I have hopes of you yet,—you are improving," she said gently. "Will you run out to the kitchen and bring me a bowl of soup, my child?"
And then came laughter, full and free,—and in the midst of it Carol looked up, wiping her eyes, and said:
"I'm sorry now I didn't let you kiss me, just to shock father!"
But the visit was a great success. Even Mr. Starr realized that. The millionaire's son remained in Mount Mark four days, the cynosure of all eyes, for as Carol said, "What's the use of bothering with a millionaire's son if you can't brag about him."
And his devotion to his father's college chum was such that he wrote to him regularly for a long time after, and came westward now and again to renew the friendship so auspiciously begun.
"But you can't call him a problem, father," said Carol keenly. "They aren't problematic until they discriminate. And he doesn't. He's as fond of Connie's conscience as he is of my complexion, as far as I can see." She rubbed her velvet skin regretfully. She had two pimples yesterday and he never even noticed them. Then she leaned forward and smiled. "Father, you keep an eye on Connie. There's something in there that we aren't on to yet." And with this cryptic remark, Carol turned her attention to a small jar of cold cream the druggist had given her to sample.
IT was half past three on a delightful summer afternoon. The twins stood at the gate with two hatless youths, performing what seemed to be the serious operation of separating their various tennis racquets and shoes from the conglomerate jumble. Finally, laughing and calling back over their shoulders, they sauntered lazily up the walk toward the house, and the young men set off in the direction from which they had come. They were hardly out of hearing distance when the front door opened, and Aunt Grace beckoned hurriedly to the twins.
"Come on, quick," she said. "Where in the world have you been all day? Did you have any luncheon? Mrs. Forrest and Jim were here, and they invited you to go home with them for a week in the country. I said I knew you'd want to go,and they promised to come for you at four, but I couldn't find you any place. I suppose it is too late now. It's—"
"A week!"
"At Forrests'?"
"Come on, Lark, sure we have time enough. We'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
"Come on up, auntie, we'll tell you where we've been."
The twins flew up the stairs, their aunt as close behind as she deemed safe. Inside their own room they promptly, and ungracefully, kicked off their loose pumps, tossed their tennis shoes and racquets on the bed, and began tugging at the cords of their middy blouses.
"You go and wash, Carol," said Lark, "while I comb. Then I can have the bathroom to myself. And hurry up! You haven't any time to primp."
"Pack the suit-case and the bag, will you, auntie, and—"
"I already have," she answered, laughing at their frantic energy. "And I put out these white dresses for you to wear, and—"
"Gracious, auntie! They button in the backand have sixty buttons apiece. We'll never have time to fasten them," expostulated Carol, without diminishing her speed.
"I'll button while you powder, that'll be time enough."
"I won't have time to powder," called back Carol from the bathroom, where she was splashing the water at a reckless rate. "I'll wear a veil and powder when I get there. Did you pack any clean handkerchiefs, auntie? I'm clear out. If you didn't put any in, you'd better go and borrow Connie's. Lucky thing she's not here."
Shining with zeal and soap, Carol dashed out, and Lark dashed in.
"Are there any holes in these stockings?" Carol turned around, lifting her skirts for inspection. "Well, I'm sorry, I won't have time to change them.—Did they come in the auto? Good!" She was brushing her hair as she talked. "Yes, we had a luncheon, all pie, though. We played tennis this morning; we were intending to come home right along, or we'd have phoned you. We were playing with George Castle and Fritzie Zale.—Is it sticking out any place?" She lowered her head backwardfor her aunt to see. "Stick a pin in it, will you? Thanks. They dared us to go to the pie counter and see which couple could eat the most pieces of lemon pie, the couple which lost paying for all the pie. It's not like betting, you know, it's a kind of reward of merit, like a Sunday-school prize. No, I won't put on my slippers till the last thing, my heel's sore, my tennis shoe rubbed the skin off. My feet seem to be getting tender. Think it's old age?"
Lark now emerged from the bathroom, and both twins performed a flying exchange of dresses.
"Who won?"
"Lark and George ate eleven pieces, and Fritzie and I only nine. So Fritzie paid. Then we went on the campus and played mumble-te-peg, or whatever you call it. It is French, auntie."
"Did they ask us to stay a whole week, auntie?" inquired Lark.
"Yes. Jim was wearing his new gray suit and looked very nice. I've never been out to their home. Is it very nice?"
"Um, swell!" This was from Carol, Lark being less slangily inclined. "They have about sixteen rooms, and two maids—they call them 'girls'—andelectric lights, and a private water supply, and—and—horses, and cows—oh, it's great! We've always been awfully fond of Jim. The nicest thing about him is that he always takes a girl home when he goes to class things and socials. I can't endure a fellow who walks home by himself. Jim always asks Larkie and me first, and if we are taken he gets some one else. Most boys, if they can't get first choice, pike off alone."
"Here, Carol, you have my petticoat. This is yours. You broke the drawstring, and forgot—"
"Oh, mercy, so I did. Here, auntie, pin it over for me, will you? I'll take the string along and put it in to-night."
"Now, Carol," said Aunt Grace, smiling. "Be easy on him. He's so nice it would be a shame to—"
Carol threw up her eyes in horror. "I am shocked," she cried. Then she dimpled. "But I wouldn't hurt Jim for anything. I'm very fond of him. Do you really think there are any—er—indications—"
"Oh, I don't know anything about it. I'm just judging by the rest of the community."
Lark was performing the really difficult feat of putting on and buttoning her slippers standing on one foot for the purpose and stooping low. Her face was flushed from the exertion.
"Do you think he's crazy about you, Carol?" she inquired, rather seriously, and without looking up from the shoe she was so laboriously buttoning.
"Oh, I don't know. There are a few circumstances which seem to point that way. Take that new gray suit for instance. Now you know yourself, Lark, he didn't need a new gray suit, and when a man gets a brand-new suit for no apparent reason, you can generally put it down that he's waxing romantic. Then there's his mother—she's begun telling me all his good points, and how cute he was when he was born, and she showed me one of his curls and a lot of his baby pictures—it made Jim wild when he came in and caught her at it, and she tells me how good he is and how much money he's got. That's pointed, very. But I must confess," she concluded candidly, "that Jim himself doesn't act very loverly."
"He thinks lots of you, I know," said Lark, stillseriously. "Whenever he's alone with me he praises you every minute of the time."
"That's nothing. When he's alone with me he praises you all the time, too. Where's my hat, Lark? I'll bet Connie wore it, the little sinner! Now what shall I do?"
"You left it in the barn yesterday,—don't you remember you hung it on the harness hook when we went out for eggs, and—"
"Oh, so I did. There comes Connie now." Carol thrust her head out of the window. "Connie, run out to the barn and bring my hat, will you? It's on the harness hook. And hurry! Don't stop to ask questions, just trot along and do as you're told."
Carol returned again to her toilet. "Well, I guess I have time to powder after all. I don't suppose we'll need to take any money, auntie, do you? We won't be able to spend it in the country."
"I think you'd better take a little. They might drive to town, or go to a social, or something."
"Can't do it. Haven't a cent."
"Well, I guess I can lend you a little," was thesmiling reply. It was a standing joke in the family that Carol had been financially hard pressed ever since she began using powder several years previous.
"Are you fond of Jim, Carol?" Lark jumped away backward in the conversation, asking the question gravely, her eyes upon her sister's face.
"Hum! Yes, I am," was the light retort. "Didn't Prudence teach us to love everybody?"
"Don't be silly. I mean if he proposes to you, are you going to turn him down, or not?"
"What would you advise, Lark?" Carol's brows were painfully knitted. "He's got five hundred acres of land, worth at least a hundred an acre, and a lot of money in the bank,—his mother didn't say how much, but I imagine several thousand anyhow. And he has that nice big house, and an auto, and—oh, everything nice! Think of the fruit trees, Larkie! And he's good-looking, too. And his mother says he is always good natured even before breakfast, and that's very exceptional, you know! Very! I don't know that I could do much better, do you, auntie? I'm sure I'd look cute in a sun-bonnet and apron, milking the cows! So, boss, so, there, now! So, boss!"
"Why, Carol!"
"But there are objections, too. They have pigs. I can't bear pigs! Pooooey, pooooey! The filthy little things! I don't know,—Jim and the gray suit and the auto and the cows are very nice, but when I think of Jim and overalls and pigs and onions and freckles I have goose flesh. Here they come! Where's that other slipper? Oh, it's clear under the bed!" She wriggled after it, coming out again breathless. "Did I rub the powder all off?" she asked anxiously.
The low honk of the car sounded outside, and the twins dumped a miscellaneous assortment of toilet articles into the battered suit-case and the tattered hand-bag. Carol grabbed her hat from Connie, leisurely strolling through the hall with it, and sent her flying after her gloves. "If you can't find mine, bring your own," she called after her.
Aunt Grace and Connie escorted them triumphantly down the walk to the waiting car where the young man in the new sentimental gray suit stood beside the open door. His face was boyishly eager, and his eyes were full of a satisfaction that had a sort of excitement in it, too. Aunt Gracelooked at him and sighed. "Poor boy," she thought. "He is nice! Carol is a mean little thing!"
He smiled at the twins impartially. "Shall we flip a coin to see who I get in front?" he asked them, laughing.
His mother leaned out from the back seat, and smiled at the girls very cordially. "Hurry, twinnies," she said, "we must start, or we'll be late for supper. Come in with me, won't you, Larkie?"
"What a greasy schemer she is," thought Carol, climbing into her place without delay.
Jim placed the battered suit-case and the tattered bag beneath the seat, and drew the rug over his mother's knees. Then he went to Lark's side, and tucked it carefully about her feet.
"It's awfully dusty," he said. "You shouldn't have dolled up so. Shall I put your purse in my pocket? Don't forget you promised to feed the chickens—I'm counting on you to do it for me."
Then he stepped in beside Carol, laughing into her bright face, and the good-bys rang back and forth as the car rolled away beneath the heavy arch of oak leaves that roofed in Maple Avenue.
The twins fairly reveled in the glories of thecountry through the golden days that followed, and enjoyed every minute of every day, and begrudged the hours they spent in sleep. The time slipped by "like banana skins," declared Carol crossly, and refused to explain her comparison. And the last day of their visit came. Supper was over at seven o'clock, and Lark said, with something of wistfulness in her voice, "I'm going out to the orchard for a farewell weep all by myself. And don't any of you disturb me,—I'm so ugly when I cry."
So she set out alone, and Jim, a little awkwardly, suggested that Carol take a turn or so up and down the lane with him. Mrs. Forrest stood at the window and watched them, tearful-eyed, but with tenderness.
"My little boy," she said to herself, "my little boy. But she's a dear, sweet, pretty girl."
In the meantime, Jim was acquitting himself badly. His face was pale. He was nervous, ill at ease. He stammered when he spoke. Self-consciousness was not habitual to this young man of the Iowa farm. He was not the awkward, ignorant, gangling farm-hand we meet in books and see on stages. He had attended the high school in MountMark, and had been graduated from the state agricultural college with high honors. He was a farmer, as his father had been before him, but he was a farmer of the new era, one of those men who takes plain farming and makes it a profession, almost a fine art. Usually he was self-possessed, assertive, confident, but, in the presence of this sparkling twin, for once he was abashed.
Carol was in an ecstasy of delight. She was not a man-eater, perhaps, but she was nearly romance-mad. She thought only of the wild excitement of having a sure-enough lover, the hurt of it was yet a little beyond her grasp. "Oh, Carol, don't be so sweet," Lark had begged her once. "How can the boys help being crazy about you, and it hurts them." "It doesn't hurt anything but their pride when they get snubbed," had been the laughing answer. "Do you want to break men's hearts?" "Well,—it's not at all bad for a man to have a broken heart," the irrepressible Carol had insisted. "They never amount to anything until they have a real good disappointment. Then they brace up and amount to something. See? I really think it's akindness to give them a heart-break, and get them started."
The callow youths of Mount Mark, of the Epworth League, and the college, were almost unanimous in laying their adoration at Carol's feet. But Carol saw the elasticity, the buoyancy, of loves like these, and she couldn't really count them. She felt that she was ripe for a bit of solid experience now, and there was nothing callow about Jim—he was solid enough. And now, although she could see that his feelings stirred, she felt nothing but excitement and curiosity. A proposal, a real one! It was imminent, she felt it.
"Carol," he began abruptly, "I am in love."
"A-are you?" Carol had not expected him to begin in just that way.
"Yes,—I have been for a long time, with the sweetest and dearest girl in the world. I know I am not half good enough for her, but—I love her so much that—I believe I could make her happy."
"D-do you?" Carol was frightened. She reflected that it wasn't so much fun as she had expected. There was something wonderful in hiseyes, and in his voice. Maybe Lark was right,—maybe it did hurt! Oh, she really shouldn't have been quite so nice to him!
"She is young—so am I—but I know what I want, and if I can only have her, I'll do anything I—" His voice broke a little. He looked very handsome, very grown-up, very manly. Carol quivered. She wanted to run away and cry. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him she was very, very sorry and she would never do it again as long as she lived and breathed.
"Of course," he went on, "I am not a fool. I know there isn't a girl like her in ten thousand, but—she's the one I want, and—Carol, do you reckon there is any chance for me? You ought to know. Lark doesn't have secrets from you, does she? Do you think she'll have me?"
Certainly this was the surprise of Carol's life. If it was romance she wanted, here it was in plenty. She stopped short in the daisy-bright lane and stared at him.
"Jim Forrest," she demanded, "is it Lark you want to marry, or me?"
"Lark, of course!"
Carol opened her lips and closed them. She did it again. Finally she spoke. "Well, of all the idiots! If you want to marry Lark, what in the world are you out here proposing to me for?"
"I'm not proposing to you," he objected. "I'm just telling you about it."
"But what for? What's the object? Why don't you go and rave to her?"
He smiled a little. "Well, I guess I thought telling you first was one way of breaking it to her gently."
"I'm perfectly disgusted with you," Carol went on, "perfectly. Here I've been expecting you to propose to me all week, and—"
"Propose to you! My stars!"
"Don't interrupt me," Carol snapped. "Last night I lay awake for hours,—look at the rings beneath my eyes—"
"I don't see 'em," he interrupted again, smiling more broadly.
"Just thinking out a good flowery rejection for you, and then you trot me out here and propose to Lark! Well, if that isn't nerve!"
Jim laughed loudly at this. He was used toCarol, and enjoyed her little outbursts. "I can't think what on earth made you imagine I'd want to propose to you," he said, shaking his head as though appalled at the idea.
Carol's eyes twinkled at that, but she did not permit him to see it. "Why shouldn't I think so? Didn't you get a new gray suit? And haven't I the best complexion in Mount Mark? Don't all the men want to propose to a complexion like mine?"
"Shows their bum taste," he muttered.
Carol twinkled again. "Of course," she agreed, "all men have bum taste, if it comes to that."
He laughed again, then he sobered. "Do you think Lark will—"
"I think Lark will turn you down," said Carol promptly, "and I hope she does. You aren't good enough for her. No one in the world is good enough for Lark except myself. If she should accept you—I don't think she will, but if she has a mental aberration and does—I'll give you my blessing, and come and live with you six months in the year, and Lark shall come and live with me the other six months, and you can run the farm andsend us an allowance. But I don't think she'll have you; I'll be disappointed in her if she does."
Carol was silent a moment then. She was remembering many things,—Lark's grave face that day in the parsonage when they had discussed the love of Jim, her unwonted gentleness and her quiet manners during this visit, and one night when Carol, suddenly awakening, had found her weeping bitterly into her pillow. Lark had said it was a headache, and was better now, and Carol had gone to sleep again, but she remembered now that Lark never had headaches! And she remembered how very often lately Lark had put her arms around her shoulders and looked searchingly into her face, and Lark was always wistful, too, of late! She sighed. Yes, she caught on at last, "had been pushed on to it," she thought angrily. She had been a wicked, blind, hateful little simpleton or she would have seen it long ago. But she said nothing of this to Jim.
"You'd better run along then, and switch your proposal over to her, or I'm likely to accept you on my own account, just for a joke. And be sureand tell her I'm good and sore that I didn't get a chance to use my flowery rejection. But I'm almost sure she'll turn you down."
Then Carol stood in the path, and watched Jim as he leaped lightly over fences and ran through the sweet meadow. She saw Lark spring to her feet and step out from the shade of an apple tree, and then Jim took her in his arms.
After that, Carol rushed into the house and up the stairs. She flung herself on her knees beside her bed and buried her face in the white spread.
"Lark," she whispered, "Lark!" She clenched her hands, and her shoulders shook. "My little twin," she cried again, "my nice old Lark." Then she got up and walked back and forth across the floor. Sometimes she shook her fist. Sometimes a little crooked smile softened her lips. Once she stamped her foot, and then laughed at herself. For an hour she paced up and down. Then she turned on the light, and went to the mirror, where she smoothed her hair and powdered her face as carefully as ever.
"It's a good joke on me," she said, smiling, "but it's just as good a one on Mrs. Forrest. I thinkI'll go and have a laugh at her. And I'll pretend I knew it all along."
She found the woman lying in a hammock on the broad piazza where a broad shaft of light from the open door fell upon her. Carol stood beside her, smiling brightly.
"Mrs. Forrest," she said, "I know a perfectly delicious secret. Shall I tell you?"
The woman sat up, holding out her arms. Carol dropped on her knees beside her, smiling mischievously at the expression on her face.
"Cupid has been at work," she said softly, "and your own son has fallen a victim."
Mrs. Forrest sniffed slightly, but she looked lovingly at the fair sweet face. "I am sure I can not wonder," she answered in a gentle voice. "Is it all settled?"
"I suppose so.Atany rate, he is proposing to her in the orchard, and I am pretty sure she's going to accept him."
Mrs. Forrest's arms fell away from Carol's shoulders. "Lark!" she ejaculated.
"Yes,—didn't you know it?" Carol's voice was mildly and innocently surprised.
"Lark!" Mrs. Forrest was plainly dumfounded. "I—I thought it was you!"
"Me!" Carol was intensely astonished. "Me? Oh, dear Mrs. Forrest, whatever in the world made you think that?"
"Why—I don't know," she faltered weakly, "I just naturally supposed it was you. I asked him once where he left his heart, and he said, 'At the parsonage,' and so of course I thought it was you."
Carol laughed gaily. "What a joke," she cried. "But you are more fortunate than you expected, for it is my precious old Larkie. But don't be too glad about it, or you may hurt my feelings."
"Well, I am surprised, I confess, but I believe I like Lark as well as I do you, and of course Jim's the one to decide. People say Lark is more sensible than you are, but it takes a good bit of a man to get beyond a face as pretty as yours. I'm kind o' proud of Jim!"
IT took a long time for Carol to recover from the effect of Lark's disloyalty, as she persisted in calling it. For several weeks she didn't twinkle at all. But when at last the smiles came easy again, she wrote to Mr. Duke, her p'fessor no longer, but now a full-fledged young minister. She apologized sweetly for her long delay.