"No go, Wawa; 'tay baby!" she would stop below at Mrs. Hoffstott's door to beg, almost with tears, that she would look after things a little, and not let flighty Molly neglect the child; which the good woman was always ready to do. Those were anxious days, which even the madame's and Mrs. Macon's kindness could not wholly relieve.
And they were very kind. The latter often took the two children to drive, while the former brought baby dainties and toys to brighten his languid eyes.
A doctor was finally called, who said his ill feelings were entirely owing to his teeth, and left some mild powders for him to take. But there came a night when he was so feverish and flighty that Sara dared not leave him in the morning, so sent a note by Morton to the professor, stating the reason for her absence. The latter read it carefully, said a sympathizing word or two to the boy, who plainly showed his concern, then added kindly,—
"Tell her not to worry at all about the work till the little one is quite well enough to be left; there is nothing pressing just now; and supposing you stop at the house as you go by, and let Mrs. Macon read this note. She is fond of the child."
"Yes, sir," said Morton, and was about to start on his return, when the gentleman arrested him.
"Stay," he said, "what are you doing since school closed? Are you working at anything?"
"Not much, sir; I'm helping Mr. Hoffstott in the bakery, carrying home orders on his busy days: it doesn't take all my time though."
"I suppose you are used to the management of boats; you can row or sail one?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" his eyes lighting.
"Very well, I may have a proposition to make you soon, that's all. Be sure and stop at Mrs. Macon's."
Morton obeyed, but only to find her gone into the neighboring city on a shopping excursion, so hurried on to deliver his kindly message from the professor, wondering all the way what that wise gentleman could have meant by his remark about the boat.
But when he reached home all these thoughts fled; for he found Molly just descending the stairs, crying bitterly; and when he asked what was the matter she only gave her hands a desperate wring and sobbed,—
"Oh, the baby! the baby! Where does that doctor live, anyhow?"
Hurrying in he found Sara, her eyes wild with trouble, and Mrs. Hoffstott, fairly purple with consternation, both trying frantically to bring the child out of a spasm.
"Oh, run, run for the doctor, Morton!" cried his sister. "Baby's getting worse, I'm sure; and Molly doesn't know the way."
Morton did run, but alas! it was of no avail. The poor little fellow had one moment of consciousness, in which he feebly tried to pat Sara's colorless cheek and murmur, "Wawa deah!" then the beautiful eyes rolled back, set and glassy, the limp, dimpled hand dropped on his breast, and the sweet baby life was over.
Sara gave a heart-rending cry, which reached Morton and the doctor, now hurrying up the stairs; and when they entered she was calling piteously upon the little one with every loving term her tongue was used to.
The doctor drew her gently away.
"He is gone," he said with solemn emphasis; "his sufferings are over! Madam," to Mrs. Hoffstott, "pray take her away for a time; her nerves are all unstrung."
That good woman led the half-fainting girl below, and at once despatched Grisel for Madame Grandet and the minister of the church the Olmsteads attended, who were shortly there, doing their best for the grief- stricken little household; while in the evening both Professor and Mrs. Macon came, the latter much grieved that she had been away when Morton called.
All was done that could be done; and Sara, even in her grief, which was for the time almost overwhelming, so deeply had this one of her cares and responsibilities taken a hold upon her nature, was surprised at the number of friends who seemed to have sprung up around them. She did not know that the story of her love and her struggles had passed from mouth to mouth, and that for the moment she was a heroine in their estimation. Nor did she know, till days later, that the lovely little blanket of white roses which wrapped the tiny white casket in its soft fragrance, was the gift of some of those very students who had brought the blushes to her cheek by their too pronounced admiration.
It softened her grief to find so much genuine friendliness and good-will in the hearts of even the strangers about her; and when she wailed for baby through the lonely nights, so sadly missing the clasp of his warm, soft arms about her neck, there was no bitterness mingled with her sorrow.
"He has gone to his mother," she wrote Miss Prue. "I sometimes think she must have longed for him even in heaven; and I hope she knows that, if I ever neglected him, it was only because I felt compelled."
To which the good spinster answered,—"You have never neglected him, Sara; to that I am ready to bear witness. If God has seemed to bereave you, it is because he sees it is best; meanwhile, take comfort in this: you have been tenderer than many mothers, and more patient than many sisters, to this dear little brother who loved you so well, so do not let self-reproach add to your sorrow."
The words were a comfort, as they were meant to be; for, with the girl's supreme conscientiousness, she had been torturing herself for fear she had not done all that was possible for her dear one; and, as Miss Prue's word had always been law with her, so now she let it heal this unnecessary smart.
The professor was almost fatherly kind to her when she took her place again at the familiar desk; and, seeing how fragile and weary she looked, gave her but short, light tasks through those long, hot summer days.
Nothing was said about renewing the so soon interrupted lessons for several days, then Sara herself remarked half timidly,—
"I have begun my studies again, sir, it is so lonely, and there is so little to do at home," her voice faltering.
He gave her a pleased look.
"That is right; the best thing for you! Work, my child, is not a curse, but a blessing to sorrowful man. Study,—write too. I happen to know they are ready to accept another article from you inScience Made Popular;I am acquainted with its editor. Why don't you give him some more of your rambles?"
Her sad eyes brightened. After all, there was something within her which no grief, no bereavement, could entirely affect. "I will," she said; "I will pick myself up and begin over again."
"That's right. And try some walks here, Miss Olmstead; you'll find much of interest out on the old road leading west, for instance. You need more fresh air and exercise, I'm thinking."
Sara took his advice, with much benefit to her health, as well as gain to her information and purse; for she found that "knowledge is wealth" in more ways than one.
Morton had been such a good, helpful boy ever since their arrival in Dartmoor, that Sara was almost as glad as he when the professor's thought about the boat was finally unfolded, and proved to be a proposition that the lad should accompany him on a geological expedition down a certain river not far away.
He wanted Morton to help in managing the boat, as well as in foraging for extra game and provisions along the route, and watching the stores, while he studied, sought, and speculated over his stony treasures; for all of which the boy should receive a certain consideration in money, not to mention the fun.
"Just think, Sara, to be paid, actuallypaid, for having the biggest kind of a picnic," he cried rapturously. "Now, who cares for the Mary Jane?"
For the next two days all was hurry and confusion, as he and Molly ran errands, packed and planned, with Sara to advise and help; and the third saw the grand start.
As the river was at some distance, the first stage of the journey must be made by land (a great drawback in Morton's opinion, but still to be borne with patience because of what was to follow), so the boat was mounted on a cart, and packed full of the camping apparatus, amid which the professor and the boy sat in state, while a grinning Hibernian drove the mild animal in front.
The professor, with his glasses, his white helmet and tennis-shirt, and a butterfly-net hung over his shoulder, was quite Oriental and picturesque; while Morton, with a broad straw hat on his cleanly shaven head, and a blue blouse belted with leather, enjoyed the thought that he looked like a cowboy, and perhaps he did: I've seen cowboys who did not look half so well.
At any rate, he felt as free and joyous as one, and rode away with a ringing cheer, echoed shrilly by Molly, who was wild to go herself, and could only be appeased by the promise of a real picnic with the Hoffstotts in the near future.
"Oh, dear!" she said, on the verge of tears, as the long boat-cart swung out of sight around the corner, and was lost to view, "it's dreadful to think I've always got to be a girl, and I may have to live a hundred years."
"Well, my dear, console yourself, then," replied Sara, "for you won't be a girl even ten years longer."
"I won't?"
"No."
"Now, Sara Olmstead, how do you know that? Oh, yes, you're joking me, somehow; I can see by your eyes, for of course nobody knows when I'm going to stop living."
"How old are you, Molly?"
"Why, I'll be thirteen in eleven months."
"That is," with a laugh," you were twelve last month; now in ten years how old will you be?"
"Let's see," bringing her fingers into play, "aught's an aught, and two's two," marking that down with her index finger in her left palm, "then one and one is two, why, that's twenty-two, isn't it?"
"Really, Molly, I'm ashamed of you to be so slow in adding."
"Well, I never did like addition, it's substraction I'm so smart in."
"Yes, it must besubstraction, I think," sarcastically.
"Yes, that's it," with entire oblivion of her sister's accent; "and nowI begin to see, when I'm twenty-two I won't be a girl?"
"Hardly."
"Yes; but I'll be a woman, and that's worse, isn't it? Oh! there's Kathie, and she's got some cookies that are too dry to sell; I'm going to help her eat them," with which laudable purpose away she ran, to forget the limitations of her sex in an operation dear to both.
About a week later came this letter from Morton.
DEAR SARA AND MOLLY,—As I'm all alone, with nothing to do, and the gnats won't let me sleep, and I've got more than we need to eat, so it's no good to hunt or fish, I thought I'd start a letter, and when I get to a post-office again I'll mail it. To begin at the beginning, we launched the Bonny Doon about two o'clock, and at once set sail for the south (we really poled the boat along, for there wasn't a breath of wind, and it was hardly deep enough to keep her afloat; but it sounds better to say "set sail," you know), and were making about four knots an hour, when I saw the professor open a long wooden box I had noticed among the outfit, and take out a gun, all in sections, and begin to put it together. That made me feel better, for I was really afraid he had forgotten how useful a gun is out camping; and I was so taken up watching him fit it together that I almost forgot my poling, till he suddenly sung out, for all the world like a regular sailor, "Hard a-port, lad! Mind your course there, or we'll be swamped," and, sure enough, I had to swing her out into the stream, or we'd have run aground.
But that was the end of the marshes, and then we did rig up our sail, and 'twas a fine old fly, I tell you. My, how I enjoyed it! The breeze had come up a little, and sent us cutting through the water as slick as your big knife cuts through a loaf of bread. We didn't stop at all, till it was time to make camp, and then we had a real good time, for the professor is just like a boy here.
He cut saplings for tent-poles, and showed me how to make the pins, and fasten down the canvas, then we built a nice little fire, and put our camp-stove over it. It is nothing but a big piece of stove-pipe, I should think, with a griddle on top, but works first-rate; and then we got supper together. You ought to see his camp-chest, Sara! It isn't much bigger than that old desk Miss Prue gave you, but it has everything in it, I should think; and there isn't an inch of waste room. I found everything I needed to set the table with, and we had canned things, and biscuit and cheese and coffee, and lots of nice things to eat. Then I washed the dishes (I'm real glad now, that I learned at home, for the professor said I did it as neatly as a girl), and then he went off, poking around with his hammer, and I fished. You don't know much about fishing with a jack-light, do you? It's good fun. I caught enough for breakfast, nice little perch they were, and then we lay down on our blankets, stretched over pine-boughs in the tent, with mosquito-netting over all the openings, and slept like two tops.
Yesterday we had lots of adventures. First thing, I woke up just in time to save our provisions from some hogs which had smelled us out, and came down on us in a regular drove; and they got us so wide awake we concluded to stay up, though it wasn't really morning yet. But you don't know how good our fried fish did taste! I ate till I was ashamed, and then finished the bits in the spider; and I could have eaten as many more, I guess. Then I cleared everything up ready to break camp, while the professor went off again, and then he came back, and we embarked. This was about six bells, I think. We hadn't gone more than two knots when the boat began to slip along so easy and fast I couldn't understand it, till the professor sung out,—
"We're coming to a dam! Put her about, quick!"
Then he grabbed the oars and rowed with all his might for shore. It seemed at first as if we would be swept along in spite of ourselves; but he's got more strength in his arms than I'd thought for, and then, luckily, a great tree had fallen clear out into the stream, which I reached for. I threw myself almost out of the boat, just holding by the toes, and caught hold of a little twig, then a stronger one, and pulled the boat an inch at a time till we were safe alongside in a perfect little haven. Then the professor dropped the oars, took off his helmet, and wiped his face, for he was dreadfully warm; but he only said,—
"That was a little close, Morton; now we'll have to make a portage."
Well, that wasn't so much fun. I hadn't thought, before, we had one thing more than we needed, but now it seemed as if we had a thousand. Sara, it took us four hours to make that portage, and my back hasn't got over aching yet!
We managed to get two men to help us with the boat, but that was only a small lift, it seemed to me; and I was glad enough when the professor said we'd take a rest before we went on. But the dinner braced us up a good deal; one thing we had was some roasted green corn one of the men told us to pick in his field, and it was awfully good, but not up to the fish. Then I stayed to watch camp while the professor went hunting for more stones and things, and then I had the biggest adventure of all. But I'll have to tell you about that in my next letter, if I come across any paper, for this is all I've got.
Yours truly,
Morton. It came in due time, fortunately for Molly's welfare and Sara's comfort, as the child was so consumed with curiosity over the adventure that she gave her no rest from questions and conjectures. Here it is:—
DEAR SARA AND MOLLY,—I think I stopped because I was out of paper, and so didn't tell you about the tramps. There were three of them, and I never saw worse looking men.
I was sitting reading one of the books we brought, when I thought I heard something, and looked around just in time to see them come towards me out of the woods. I felt my heart leap right up, for I was all alone, and they did look wicked. The foremost man had a big stick for a cane, and both the others carried long switches they must have cut in the woods. As I jumped to my feet the first fellow said to sit still, sonny, he wasn't going to disturb anybody, and wanted to know where my pard was.
I said, as careless as I could, that he was just down below, hoping they'd think I meant down on the shore; but they didn't, for another spoke up and said he was far enough away, "and don't stop to palaver, I want some grub!" I'd kept backing towards the tent all the time we were talking; and when he said that, I was right in the opening, and one look inside showed me the gun almost where I could reach it, and I knew it was loaded!
I felt a good deal bolder then, so I told them,—
"You'll have to wait till the professor comes back; these are his things;" but the men only laughed in an awful fierce kind of way, and said they "guessed they didn't care about waiting, sonny, they wasn't making formal calls, and they hadn't brought their cards, but they'd leave suthin' to remember 'em by just the same!"
The way they talked fairly froze me up, though 'twas a real hot day. So I ducked inside and grabbed the gun, but they thought I was so scared I was trying to hide; so they went around kicking things over a good deal, and swearing like everything, but I didn't care, for there wasn't much outside the tent anyhow, except the cooking things and some mouldy bread that they were welcome to if they wanted it. When they saw how it was, one of them came up towards me, and called to the rest to come on, they'd have to explore the tent to find what they wanted.
I let him come to about two feet of the opening, then I stuck my gun in his face real quick, and yelled "Halt!" as loud as I could, and he halted.
I told him then he'd better get back, for this might go off, and he ripped out a big swear word, and told me to stop fooling with that gun or somebody'd get shot; and I said I was afraid they would! He kept backing all the time, and saying, "Oh, put it down, put it down, sonny!" but I kinder thought I wouldn't. Then they all stood off, and threw stones at me, and said they'd set fire to the tent, and for me to come out like a man, and they wouldn't hurt me; but I thought as I was just a boy I'd stay where I was. But I told 'em I'd shoot the first man that came near the tent, and their stones didn't amount to much anyhow, for they didn't reach me. But I really did not feel quite so saucy as I talked, for if they hadn't been regular cowards they could have made me lots of trouble, I guess; and when I saw the professor's big white helmet coming through the trees, I tell you I was glad! I called out, "Don't mind the men, sir, I've got 'em covered with the gun!" and at that they gave one look at him, and ran for the woods. He stood still and looked after them as surprised as anything; but when I told him all about it, he laughed and laughed in that still, funny way he has, and said he guessed he didn't make any mistake when he chose his companion; and I thought perhaps he meant to praise me, but I'm not sure. This is all about the tramps.
Good-by, Morton.
P.S.—I've torn my pants; but the professor says, "Never mind, there's more where they came from," and he looked at me kinder winkey when he said it, for you know they were made out of his old ones. This time it is really
Good-by, Morton.
Sara was so proud of these letters that she could not resist showing them to Madame Grandet and Mrs. Macon, both of whom were greatly amused.
"He has evidently gotten into Henry's good graces, as well as his old clothes!" laughed the latter. "The boy is like you, Sara, he doesn't know how brave he is."
Sara looked up quickly.
"Brave, I brave?" she asked in surprise. "I never did a really brave thing in my life!"
"Didn't you?" smiling, with a meaning look. "I thought you had done a good many."
But she made no explanation of her words, and Sara was too modest to ask what they meant.
Morton came home so brisk and rosy it was good to see him, and regaled Molly for days with the accounts of his wonderful adventures. He seemed to have quite recovered from his longings for a sea-life, and was almost as much interested in certain scientific studies as Sara herself. In fact, their autumn rambles together were pleasures whose memory lingered with both for many a year.
One morning in November, Sara saw, among the letters on the desk, a creamy square with her own name upon it, and nearly had her breath taken away upon opening it, to find it was an invitation to a dinner given by one of the faculty in honor of a distinguished scientist from abroad, who was to deliver a lecture before the students the coming week.
She glanced from it to Professor Macon, who was busy writing, but, seeing no solution of the matter in his face, resolved to consult his wife about it, and stopped in on her way home that noon for the purpose. "Oh, you are invited, then!" cried Mrs. Macon with satisfaction, as Sara explained her errand. "I was sure you would be."
"But how could you think so? I, a fisherman's daughter."
"You, Sara Olmstead, the writer who is already being noticed in the literary world! Why shouldn't you be asked, I'd like to know?"
"But, dear Mrs. Macon, what shall I wear? how shall I act?"
"Ah! now you are talking sense. 'What shall you wear?' Sara, you must have a white dress; something with long, soft folds, and—yes—and trimmed with swan's-down. That will be so becoming."
"Yes, and cost a small fortune!"
"No, not as much as you think. A cashmere will do, and that reminds me, I'm to have a dressmaker here the first of the week; she shall give me an extra day or two, and make your dress, then I can be sure it is all right. And never mind about the swan's-down; for I have some on a dress, I think almost enough, that I have only worn once. She shall rip it off for you to wear on this great occasion."
"O Mrs. Macon, how good you are!"
"Good? Why, this is fun for me. You must go with us, of course. Yes, and we'll ask the Grandets to go in our carriage too; 'twill make five, but no matter; you're little, and can squeeze in between the two gentlemen for that short distance: and, fortunately, cashmere doesn't show mussing badly."
"But, Mrs. Macon, I'm afraid"—
She stopped, coloring daintily.
"Well, of what?"
"Won't you be—ashamed of me? I never went to a dinner-party in my life.There are a great many forks and spoons to manage, aren't there?"
"Simplest thing in the world, that, my dear; begin with whatever is next your plate. If you think you are wrong at any time, dally a little, and watch your hostess. By the way, this invitation is for two weeks ahead, and Thanksgiving is next week, Thursday; you shall practise here! I was going to see you soon, to invite all three of you to dine with us that day; will you come? We shall ask the Grandets also, but no one else."
"You are exceedingly kind, Mrs. Macon; we will be more than happy to come. I had dreaded the day," softly.
"Yes, my dear, anniversaries are sad things; but we will try and enjoy this one. And don't hesitate to ask about anything that puzzles you at our table. These little fads of etiquette are easily learned, after one has acquired that real politeness which must become a part of the character; and that you have, Sara."
"Thank you for your encouragement, dear Mrs. Macon; I shall try not to put you to the blush."
When Morton heard of the two invitations, and something of the foregoing conversation, as they sat over their cosey supper that evening, he kept quite still, while Molly was running on with questions, suggestions, and comments, till there was a lull; then he looked up at his elder sister with a queer expression.
"Supposing, Sara, I had gone with Uncle Jabez Wanamead, and then should come home a rough fisherman, while you were learning how to be polite; would you have been ashamed of me?"
"No, Morton; but I shall be much prouder of you if you will have the bravery and honesty of a fisherman, with the education and manners of a gentleman, and the spirit of a Christian; that ought to make a man for any sister to be proud of."
"Well," he said, drawing in his breath, "I'll say it now, Sara, I'm glad you stuck out so against my going in the Mary Jane. While I was off with the professor we were by the sea a day or two, and I went aboard a smack. It was a better one than that, too; but I was glad I hadn't a berth there, for somehow things did look dreadfully rough to me that day. There was a boy about my age, and the men swore at him nearly every word they said, and he swore too, and chewed and smoked and drank his grog; and he seemed real proud to think he could take it down clear without staggering. I was glad to get back to the professor, Sara, but Iwouldlike to have a yacht of my own, and sail all over the world after specimens for the museum; wouldn't that be fine?"
"Perhaps you may some day; who knows? Stranger things than that have happened."
It was a very nice-looking trio which turned into Mrs. Macon's gate after church Thanksgiving Day. The checks Sara received for her articles were of great assistance in clothing them comfortably for the winter; and she glanced with almost motherly pride from tall Morton, in his neat overcoat and derby, to Molly, pretty as a pink, with her flying curls and scarlet cheeks, in a dark blue serge trimmed with fur.
She forgot herself, but no one else would have done so; for the slender figure in black, with a close-fitting jacket and trig little hat, was so symmetrical, while the face above had such a charm, both of feature and expression, that few could pass her by unnoted.
Mrs. Macon welcomed them with gay cordiality.
"Dear me! How sweet you do look, Sara!" giving her a motherly kiss. "But you'll have to look out for this young lady or she'll eclipse you yet!" pinching Molly's dimpled cheek. "How the child is shooting up! I've a surprise for you, Sara. I hope it will be a happy one."
"I think your surprises are always happy, Mrs. Macon."
"As are your remarks, Sara. Well, come, Madame Grandet is below."
They descended to the beautiful drawing-room, where, in the softened light, Sara was conscious of several figures; the madame, lovely in a Frenchy toilet, with a dash of scarlet here and there, rose to greet them, while the little group of black coats just beyond separated and turned, resolving itself into her host, Professor Grandet, and—Robert Glendenning!
The last named came forward with an eager movement, and Sara's heart stood still a minute, then plunged on with rapid beats, as he took her hand and bent over it with an earnest greeting. He looked well, as she quickly observed, having broadened into proportions better suited to his height, and his eyes seemed more brilliant than ever as they met her own.
"This is my surprise, Sara," laughed Mrs. Macon; "and you know," mischievously, "they are always happy ones. I think you have remarked it yourself."
But Sara only answered by a look: her words did not come readily just then.
"He have come last night," said the madame, beaming upon her nephew, "so that it was to all of us a surprise, for we have not expect him."
"Indeed! As if you could think, Aunt Felicie, that I would eat myThanksgiving turkey in a boarding-house, when"—
"Ah! but that is what you would then do, if our friends had not so kindly invite us here, Robare; are not your uncle and myself also in a boarding-house?" a reply which rather nonplussed the young man for a moment.
But, fortunately for his embarrassment, the domestic just then announced dinner, and Mrs. Macon said,—
"Henry, will you give your arm to madame? And you, Mr. Glendenning, toMiss Olmstead; I will do myself the honor of walking in with ProfessorGrandet; and I'm sure Morton will be happy to escort his better half, asI suppose a twin sister may be called."
As they passed through the hall, Sara's escort said in a low tone,—
"I have heard of your sorrows and your joys through my good aunt. Tell me one thing, is your life any happier, broader, better, amid these new surroundings?"
"Yes," said Sara, "I believe it is; and yet, sometimes my very soul is sick for the sight and sound of the sea, and for the roughest greeting from one of our good old weather-beaten fishermen at home."
"I am glad that is so. You are too loyal to forget easily; but still you would not go back, would you?"
"No, never;" smiling up into his face. "There is no plan for going back in my life; only for going forward."
He smiled in return, but the bustle of taking their seats prevented any answer. When all was quiet again, Sara had time to notice that she had been placed where she could observe every motion of her hostess, and even as the thought crossed her mind, she caught that lady's eye and a telegraphic glance passed between them. Sara's said, "Help me!" Mrs. Macon's replied, "Watch me!" at which both smiled slyly, and turned to the next neighbor with some light remark.
Morton and Molly had been so drilled in their deportment before they came, that each sat now stiff and solemn as martinets awaiting some command; Morton, eying hopelessly the tiny bouillon-cup before him, with the healthy appetite of a boy who had not eaten anything since an early breakfast; while Molly, after a stony rigidity of perhaps two minutes, suddenly gave a little twist and drew a sigh as long and lugubrious as the wail of an autumn blast. Professor Macon looked at her with twinkling eyes.
"Don't be discouraged, Miss Molly," he whispered leaning towards her, "there is a turkey somewhere, I'm sure, for I had a sniff of it myself some time ago." Her eyes brightened, and she whispered back in the same confidential way,—
"You see, I don't like beef-tea very well, and I do love turkey. But, of course, if it's the thing"—and she submissively took up her spoon, prepared to attack the decoction.
Sara's cheeks had grown red at this; but when the professor added,—
"Between you and me, Molly, I think it's only fit for sick folks myself; but I suppose, as the saying is, we must eat by the card;" at which everybody laughed good-naturedly, her worried feeling wore off, and she began to think it would not, perhaps, be an unforgivable offence if one of them did commit a blunder or two.
In fact, by the time the bouillon disappeared to make room for the next course, she had quite forgotten her worries, so deeply was she interested in what Robert was telling her of the wonderful growth and vigor of his city home, Chicago; while the children, unwatched and well occupied, fell into order like well-trained soldiers; Molly now and then flinging out somenaiveremark which sent a ripple of laughter around the table, at which Morton would begin trying to frown her down, in his elder-brotherly way, and end by laughing with the rest.
When the ladies had returned to the drawing-room and coffee, leaving the gentlemen deep in a political discussion in the professor's snuggery, just off the dining-room, Mrs. Macon saw the children happily interested in some beautiful photographs of European scenes, viewed through a powerfully mounted lens, then turned to the others.
"Come," she said, "I want you to go up-stairs with me, and see Sara's dress. My dressmaker has done wonders the past week, and it is nearly ready."
They followed her to the little sewing-room, which Sara so well remembered as the first apartment of this hospitable house into which she had ever been introduced, and there lay the white gown over a chair. After viewing it critically, Sara in a quiet rapture, and madame with all a French woman's enthusiasm and epithets, Mrs. Macon said impulsively,—
"Do try it on, Sara; I'm a little afraid about this skirt; it looks short in front, and you know she has had to go almost entirely by measure, so far; here, let me pin the rest of this swan's-down in place, while you take off your dress."
Sara obeyed without a murmur, feeling all the delight of any young girl in trying on her first evening gown, while her two tire-women stood by, patting, punching, pulling, and commenting, as women will, pronouncing it a perfect fit, and quite long enough. When it was finally adjusted, they stepped back, and the little madame drew a long breath.
"Ah! but she is beautiful!" she said in her own language; "she might be one of the old noblesse," while Mrs. Macon, controlling her delight, remarked,—
"It is becoming, my dear: you have one of those peculiar complexions dead white only enhances. You look taller, too, a full inch, in that train. Really, the children ought to see you; let's go down-stairs and take them by surprise."
Sara, believing them still alone, did not object; and Mrs. Macon, if she had heard a closing door, and steps through the hall below, did not think it necessary to mention the circumstance. So down they went, the two attendants in front, and Sara following, with possibly a little intensification of her usual measured and stately tread. Thus they entered the drawing-room, the two ladies parting to right and left before her, as might two maids of honor attending some royal personage, the stately white-robed figure advancing, with head slightly bent, as if in modest disclaiming of all this parade over one so young.
"Oh!" cried Molly shrilly, "it's Sara, and she looks like a queen!" while the three gentlemen, farther down the room, turned quickly from their talk, and one said, under his breath,—
"A princess, indeed!"
Then they all surrounded her, even dignified Professor Macon showing his enjoyment of the masquerade, while Professor Grandet spread out both hands, and cried, "Beautifool! Beautifool!" in a French rapture.
Only Robert Glendenning said nothing more, unless eyes speak; but Sara did not seem to miss the lack of words on his part.
"It is strange, now," observed the host reflectively, after the first outburst had subsided, "what a transformation dress is! I shall never again quite dare to think of Miss Sara as a little girl; she has crossed the brook, she has entered into woman's kingdom, and all because of a long white gown!"
Sara turned to him.
"Oh, please, sir, I'd rather be the little girl. I"—with a pathetic tremble in her voice, "I'm barely twenty yet, and I've never had much of a girlhood."
The little cry, right from her heart, sent a thrill through every one; and there was not a person in the room, even to careless Molly, who did not, then and there, resolve that whatever was in their power should be done to bring that brightness into her life, in which it had been so greatly lacking. Robert Glendenning sought his aunt's eyes, and in his she saw an indomitable resolution, while in hers he read a sudden yielding, which made his heart leap with joy; for he knew no step could be a happy one for him which did not meet with her full approval.
The rest of the evening passed swiftly and merrily away, Sara once more in her plain black dress, modestly bearing her part in the bright, animated conversation, in which even the children were interested, as well as instructed. When they separated to their homes, Robert said,—
"Miss Sara, with your permission, I will walk home with you; I want to see where you live, and besides, there are a good many lawless students on the street to-night."
"And won't we see you again, Mr. Glendenning?" asked his hostess.
"I fear not, Mrs. Macon; I leave to-morrow at nine o'clock."
"Your stay is short."
"Yes, very; a business trip mostly, which I managed to bring about to take in Thanksgiving Day. Let me thank you for helping to make it one of the happiest I have ever known."
"I think," smiling mischievously, as she gave him her hand, "your thanks are due elsewhere; but as I never refuse anything that is offered me, so I won't these; and allow me to say," with intense meaning, "as far as I am concerned, you aremost welcome!"
"Thank you again! Miss Olmstead, are you ready? I'll be home soon, aunt; good-night, Professor Macon," and Sara was conducted down the steps, her heart beating, and her head whirling with new, strange, unfathomable thoughts.
The dinner-party came off in due course of events, and Sara went through the ordeal with credit to her quartet of guardians. Indeed, she made so favorable an impression upon several that they really longed for a more extended acquaintance, and, for a time, invitations became quite a common affair. But she accepted these most sparingly.
"I can never return them," she said to Mrs. Macon, "and I do not like to be under obligations, except to those I love," with a sweet look into her friend's face.
"Yes, my dear, that is right, only in these cases the people expect no return, knowing fully your circumstances; your acceptance and enjoyment repay them sufficiently."
But Sara shook her head. She had her own ideas of these things, and besides, it was no trial for her, the doing without society. Here, as in Killamet, she preferred books to people; though she was often charmed to find herself deeply interested in some individual, who upon acquaintance developed qualities she had only dreamed of before. But it was simply as individuals that these interested her; takenen massethe world of men and women seemed cold almost to cruelty. After one or two evenings out, she went back to her books with a warm feeling of attachment.
"You cannot disappoint me, dear old friends!" she whispered lovingly, and the next invitation was answered by a formal regret.
So the winter passed quietly and swiftly away; for busy time is always swift time, and all three of our Olmstead household were thoroughly busy: Sara with her writing added to the museum work; Morton with his studies, in which he was growing deeply interested; and Molly in a little of everything. She had no special fondness for books, but a real genius for cookery and housework, most of which now devolved upon her in their modest establishment. But Molly was growing very pretty too, not with Sara's delicate,spirituelleattractions, but with a saucy, piquant, bewitching charm of her own that the students were not slow to notice, and which Molly was not slow to appreciate, and make the most of.
Still, Sara did not for some time take any notice of this; for she could not understand that what to her was a nuisance, and to be gotten rid of at once, was to Molly the source of the greatest amusement and delight, —their street admiration and attentions. It came upon her with a shock, one day, to find herself on the sidewalk behind some tall-hatted young sprig, accompanied by her little sister, rattling on to him with smiles, dimples, and tosses, in her own peculiar way, as if she had known him all her life, and she could scarcely wait to get the child indoors, before she began,—
"Molly, who was that?"
"That? Why, I've forgotten his name," coolly. "He's a 'fresh' though, I believe."
"And you're one, too, I should think!" strongly indignant. "What in the world were you doing?"
"Oh, just talking and laughing."
"When you don't even know who he is? O Molly!"
"Well, what of it? All the girls talk to them, coming home from school, and nobody thinks anything of it but you!" pouting and frowning, in her growing anger.
Sara looked at her with suddenly-awakened eyes. Even in her petulance she was wonderfully pretty, with her great surprised eyes, saucy little nose, and exquisite coloring; and a sudden sense of her helplessness, if this little sister should also prove to be vain, and careless of her good name, came over her with such crushing force that she dropped into a chair, feeling almost faint for the moment. Molly, frightened at her sudden pallor, cried out,—
"What is it, Sara? What have I done? Is it such a sin to walk with a student on the street?"
Sara shook her head helplessly.
"If I could only make you understand, Molly: youmustunderstand! See here," with intense earnestness, "we are all alone in the world, Molly, you and Morton and I, all alone, except for a few friends, whose only interest in us depends upon our worthiness. Don't you see how careful we must be? We have no home, no money, no anything, except our good name: we must keep that! Nothing, nothing, must take it from us. The Bible says it is more precious than rubies, and it is, Molly, it is; indeed, with us it is everything! If you had a father and mother to back you, possibly you could make such acquaintances without harm, though it seems to me a hazardous thing, even then; but now it is absolutely dangerous! Promise me, Molly, that this shall end it."
"If I promise I shall break it," said the honest girl; "for theywillspeak to me, and I shall forget when I'm away from you."
"Then, Molly," with sudden resolution, "I shall resign my position, and take you back to Killamet. I can make enough with my pen to keep us from starving."
Molly looked at her, and knowing she was in deadly earnest burst out,—
"Oh, don't do that, Sara; 'twould be too dreadful! I'll try, I really will; but you must remember I'm not like you. I don't care for books, and I do like people; and it's awfully lonesome with nobody but you and Morton! Other girls have parties and rides, and lots of nice times; and I don't even have girlfriends to come and visit me; it's lonesome, it is!"
Sara felt the force of this as she had never felt it before. Here was a nature as opposite to her own as the two poles. The books, thoughts, and work, which gave her such pleasure were all a weariness to this sunny, companionable creature, longing for life, merriment, and all youthful pleasures. Could she greatly blame the child? And her tones softened as she said,—
"Poor little girl! Have I kept you too close? Believe me it was for your good."
At this Molly weakened instantly, and two arms flew about Sara's neck, while a penitent voice cried,—
"I know I'm just as mean as I can be, and you're the best sister in the world; but oh! I do wish I could ride horse-back, and go to parties and picnics, and have stacks of girls all the time, then those silly students might go to gr—I mean to College, where they belong; for I wouldn't care a cent for the whole lot of them!"
Sara laughed. After all, there was something in this honest, transparent child, from which evil had always seemed to slide, as dust slips from a polished mirror; and she said with conviction,—
"Molly, we'll both do differently. I like people too little, you perhaps too much; but after this I'll cultivate a fondness for them. There is no reason why we shouldn't both go out more, in certain ways, and see something of the life about us. If you will give up these wretched street acquaintances you shall have a party next Saturday."
"A party? O Sara!" her eyes dazzling in their delight.
"What kind of one?"
"A tea-party. Let's see, you might have nine girls, besides yourself; that would about fill our table, and I'll wait on you. I presume Morton will be off, as usual, on a geological ramble, so we needn't count him."
"O Sara! and may I have the table trimmed, and flowers all around? and may I make the cake? And oh!" clasping her hands together, "may I have Mr. Hoffstott freeze some cream?"
"Yes," laughed Sara; "yes, every one, if you'll keep your part of the contract."
"Sara," with intense solemnity, "if a student speaks to me I'll look right through him, like this," with a stare of Gorgonian stoniness; "and if he isn't completely silenced, I'll wither him this way," and she swept her sister with a slow, lofty, contemptuous glance, that would have scathed an agent.
"O Molly! Molly!" was all Sara said, as she laughed in spite of herself; but she felt she could trust the child who, with all her faults, had not a grain of slyness or deception in her nature.
The party came off, "according to contract," as Molly observed, and for a few days kept the child in a flutter of delight. Sara purposely left the preparations to her, only giving advice as it was requested; and even she, though so well acquainted with Molly's housekeeping abilities, was astonished at the result. It gave her real respect for the girl to see the method with which she planned it all, from her list of invited guests to her list of grocer's stores, arranged with the probable cost at the side of each article, that Sara might understand just how much money would be needed.
Then the dishes she compounded, after intense calculations over the cook-book, and frequent racings down-stairs to consult with Mrs. Hoffstott, were really toothsome and delicate; besides being brought about with precision and forethought, so that all might not crowd together at the end.
"Now," she said, Friday night, consulting a much-worn bit of paper, and drawing a long, house-wifely sigh, "now I'm all ready, except the salad, and laying the table, and the decorating. If I only had a screen to put before the range, so that we needn't have the table in here! it will fill up so."
Sara looked up.
"There is one in our cloak-room at the museum. Perhaps the professor would let you take it for this grand occasion, if Morton will bring it home for you."
"Would you, Morton? would you?"
"Oh, I suppose so; anything for peace!" growled the latter, just glancing up from his Burroughs.
"That's a lovely boy! Well, and the flowers—how glad I am they're so cheap, now"—
"Oh, yes, Molly! I forgot to tell you: Mrs. Macon says she has a quantity of early blossoms in her hot-bed, and you can have a picking from them."
"Now, Sara, if you had forgotten that! How good she is! And I'm to have Mrs. Hoffstott's pretty old china, with the blue forget-me-nots, and— well, isn't everybody kind, anyhow?"
Sara put down her book with a laugh.
"Go on, dear; what's the use in trying to read when there's a party going on? Talk to me about it; I want to know all the arrangements;" and happy Molly ran on like a thoroughly well-oiled windmill for at least twenty minutes without a stop.
When, at the end of that time, there was a pause for breath, Sara said,—
"And how about the students?"
Molly gave a merry little laugh.
"It's the greatest fun, Sara! They can't understand at all; they look at me as if I was a Barnum's fat woman, or something, and I sail right by, with my head up, and never see them. I think" (reflectively), "if anything, it's better fun than the other way. That was too much like every girl you see, and this is just me alone: I really enjoy it."
"Molly, you are incorrigible!"
"What's that? I wish you wouldn't use such big words, Sara; I never could understand them; but if you mean I don't keep my promise, it isn't so! I do: you can ask Maud Wheeler if I don't."
"Is she coming to-morrow?"
"Yes; and she's your kind, Sara,—good, you know. You'll like her, and so do I, when I'm in my right moods, but sometimes I don't. You don't know, Sara," with a pathetic shake of her curls, "how hard it is to get along when you have bad streaks through you! Why, sometimes I'll go on for at least three days as smooth as can be, getting all my lessons, and being just as good as anybody; and then there comes a day that upsets it all. I can't study, and I see all the funny things, and how I can make 'em funnier with a touch; and I want to giggle at everything, and—well, it's that naughty streak, and I can't help myself, any more than you can help being good."
"Well, Molly," resignedly, "promise me this, that, whatever you do, you'll be out and out about it: no hiding, no shirking, no lies." "I never told a lie in my life, Sara Olmstead, never!" with a set of her bright head that was like the elder sister in her determined moods. "I'd feel mean forever!"
Sara smiled, and, with a rush of tenderness, bent forward and kissed her.
"No, darling, you won't lie, thank God! Now go to bed like a good girl, and be bright and rosy for to-morrow. Good-night!"
"Good-night, you blessed old sweet thing, you!" and with twenty kisses, and a strangling hug, the merry child ran off to dream,—not of students in elevated hats, but of creams and comfits, and pleased guests around a long table; for she was but a large-hearted, hospitable matron in embryo.
The party was really a brilliant success. Mrs. Macon sent a basketful of bright flowers, and some pretty draperies and decorations; while the professor willingly agreed to let the screen go, and insisted on Sara's taking the whole day off to assist at thefete. The madame came herself, and with deft fingers, and perfect taste, helped the two convert the little flat into a bower.
No one would have known the back room, with bright rugs covering its painted floor, and all the kitcheny suggestions hidden behind the ample screen; while the parlor was really charming in its tasteful dressings.
When the girls began to arrive, Sara watched her little sister with almost a dazed feeling. How rapidly this flower she had so cherished was unfolding before her eyes! And what was its quality to be? No modest daisy or violet certainly, nor yet a gaudy, flaunting tulip, but something bright, sweet, surprising, and enticing, all at once; and she thought of a carnation-pink shooting up from amid its ragged foliage, vivid, brilliant, and of a spicy fragrance. She watched the guests, also, with a critical eye, and was much pleased to note that Molly had shown good taste in their selection. They were all ladylike girls, evidently from good, well-guarded homes, and, though merry and care- free, had not a touch of vulgarity.
Madame Grandet had begged the privilege of remaining to help with the supper; and you may be sure every dish was served with a perfection and daintiness of touch only the French can give. Yes, it was a great success; and when, after the last guest had departed, Molly came and told her sister, almost with tears in her eyes, how happy she had been, Sara felt repaid for the sacrifice of quiet and seclusion she had made.
But she knew one party would not keep Molly. The active, restless, rapidly-unfolding nature must have constant occupations and interests; so for the sister's sake she did what she never would have done for her own.
She began to cultivate the social life of her church; went to Christian Endeavor meetings, socials, and Y.M.C.A. addresses. She made Morton go with them too, half dragging, half coaxing him; and soon the three, so dissimilar, yet all so intelligent and well-bred, came to be looked upon as most necessary factors in entertainments and social events.
When Sarah left Killamet, though she wore her white cross, she did not change her membership into any new circle of King's Daughters, but still remained one of Miss Prue's "Helpful Ten," as they called themselves in that little town. Now she and Molly joined a Dartmoor circle, and were soon known as active working members.
All this took time, thought, and money; and many times it was a puzzle to find the latter, though she had been drawing a slight advance in salary for several months, and Morton, by working in the college laboratory at odd hours, was now earning enough to clothe himself.
Yet, even with an occasional extra cheque for her published articles, the expenses were so increased that she often had difficulty to meet them; though, to Sara's great credit be it said, the girl had never allowed herself a useless debt. She dare not; the very thought frightened her, and Providence having blessed her with health, and simple wants, it had been possible to live within her income.
Summer advanced with her languid days, and the great event of the year in Dartmoor—class day—came and passed.
Last year her only interest in the parade had been that of a stranger seeing for the first time a novel spectacle; but this year things were different. She and Molly now knew many of the students; knew them in an orthodox, well-regulated manner, and met them in both private and church parlors. Morton sometimes brought them home at evening as well, and occasionally the girls went with one of them to a concert or lecture. Mrs. Macon often had the sisters to assist at her receptions, and occasional dinners also; and thus, without being society girls at all, in a certain sense they yet did see a good deal of the social life in Dartmoor in one way and another.
Professor and Madame Grandet meanwhile were far away, the former having joined a governmental party bound for South America, while the latter had gone to Chicago to be with her nephew during her husband's absence.
She and Sara had agreed to keep up an occasional correspondence; and it was impossible that these things could be kept out of the letters, when they occupied so much of her time and attention.
One evening the madame and Robert returned from a drive to Washington Park, by way of beautiful Michigan Avenue and Drexel Boulevard, and as they were re-entering their private sitting-room in the house where they boarded that lady espied a missive slipped into the edge of her door, and gave a little cry of pleasure as she tore off its end and drew forth the closely-written sheet.
Robert, too, knew the bold, graceful chirography, and watched her hungrily as she read.
"I should think," he said at last in an ill-used tone, "you might read it aloud. It isn't very comforting to try and guess at it second-hand from your face, if it is a speaking one!"
She looked up with a laugh.
"But thou art cross, then, my poor boy? Well, listen and I will read, though blame me not if it is not always so pleasant to hear.
"MY DEAR FRIEND,—Time slips by so rapidly in our busy life that I can hardly realize whence it has flown, or recall in just what manner the hours have been spent. I told you in my last about the Bazar, and that an organ-concert was in progress. I'm sure you'll be interested to know it was a success, and the necessary funds are now nearly raised. Molly gave a song, also a recitation, and I was so foolish as to consent to read an original sketch.
"You should have heard and seen Molly! I was surprised at her myself! Her singing is so easy and natural, and her manner so vivacious, that no one seems to notice that she hasn't any voice. At any rate, they recalled her twice, and it was then she gave the recital on, which is half a song, you know, of 'Christmas at the Quarters.'
"They fairly shook the house with applause then, but she would not go back again.
"No," she said to me in her frank way, "it's time for the other girls to show off now—I'm done."
"(I'm sure Molly will never be too highly cultivated to call a spade a spade!)
"Morton is developing a good voice, and sang in the choruses. I think I have spoken to you of the young man he meets so often in the laboratory, and so greatly admires, Mr. Preston Garth. He also sang that night—he has a magnificent baritone—and it was quite funny to hear his and Molly's sparring, when he went home with us afterwards.
"He tells her frankly that she has no method, no voice, no tone, etc.,—I am not used to musical terms,—and she saucily replies by telling him that, where one person will enjoy his studied renderings of the old masters, a score will appreciate and be the happier for her little ballads, simply because she discards all methods and sings from the heart; and usually Molly talks him into silence, I suppose because he is too much of a gentleman to set her down as she deserves—the pert little Miss!
"It is useless for me to interfere, however, as both insist on finishing the argument in their own way. Mrs. Smythe has a party tonight; you remember Mrs. Smythe's parties—'a little gossip, less lemonade, and no cordiality'—to quote Mr. Garth"—
A sudden exclamation from Robert, as he sprang to his feet, interrupted the reading.
"What does that insufferable puppy mean? Who would ever have thought that Sara, little Princess Sara, would stoop to quote, and run around with, some fool of a singing student, an ill-natured one at that! I can't"—
"Robert," said his aunt severely, "how can I then read if you do thus make a jack-that-jumps of yourself? Can you not sit down once again while I continue?"
He sat down, frowning fiercely, and she read on,—
"'which is too severe, but made it easier for me to refuse his kind invitation to accompany me there. I often wish I could learn to like society better, if only for Molly's sake; but it is still too much in the way of a duty that I take what, to a well-regulated mind, should be a pleasure.'"
"Humph!" muttered the nephew, with a relieved look; and his aunt read the remaining page in peace.
It spoke of the Macons, her last article, etc., ending with the modest sentence, "and now, pray remember us all most kindly to your nephew."
Robert's face lighted up at this, though there was a lurking trouble in his eye. "Aunt Felicie," he said abruptly, "what am I waiting for?"
"How can I that thing tell, my nephew? Is it that you have need of me to mend a button, or"—
"Don't tease, auntie! You know I don't mean any such trivial thing. See here," fiercely, "it's been nearly three years, instead of one, and I've never changed, not for a minute. I've kept myself as pure and true as a man could; I've done everything you told me to; and now how do I know but some fellow, with a voice, has stepped in and spoiled it all! I say, what am I waiting for? I've a good salary."
"Good enough for four, Robert? If you do marry Sara, it must be to adopt the twins also."
"Well, I will! We can scrimp along somehow; and Morton will soon look after himself. I wish you were back at Dartmoor this minute so I could"—
"A thousand thanks, my boy, it is a truly kind and filial wish," said his aunt demurely.
"Aunt Felicie, you're enough to make a man wild! Why don't you help me out of this, instead of tormenting me so?"
"Ah, Robare, my too impatient one, could I then help you? No; if she loves you, then what is it to matter if there may be a hundred of fine young men about her now? And if she loves you not, then alas! could I create that love? Do not so foolish be, my son."
He felt the force of her remarks, but inwardly chafed at the way he seemed to be tied up here for the present, both by business and his aunt's presence. He dared not put his happiness to the test of a letter. That would seem abrupt and strange, with so little to lead up to it. No, he must do as he had been doing all along—just wait.
"But not for long!" he muttered, as he bade his aunt a pre-occupied good-night and strode off to his room. "We'll 'bide a wee,' Sara, but only a wee, or my name is not Robert Glendenning!"