CHAPTER II.
drop-cap
Itwas a bright June morning. The windows were all open; the birds were singing, and the air was sweet with out-of-door smells. Waving grasses, hosts of flowers, rose and honeysuckle out on the porch in the very height of riotous living, each trying to outbloom the other.
We were at breakfast. We never had this meal very early at the Rectory. On summer mornings papa loved to get up and take a stroll, and botanize a little. Mamma rose, looked after Becky, and took a quiet supervision of us all. I helped dress the three younger children, for Fan usually had some lessons on hand, as she was still in school. By the time we were ready papa would be back. Then we sang a verse or two of a hymn, said the Lord’s prayer together, and papa pronounced the greater benedictionover us. It was so short, simple, and enjoyable! Somehow I do not think children take naturally to prayers, unless they are rendered very sweet and attractive. We were allowed sufficient time to get wide awake before coming to breakfast. Mamma was at the head of the table again, looking as sweet as a new pink. Papa’s place was at the foot. Fan and I sat opposite each other, about half way down. She poured the water and the milk. I had the three younger children on my side, and spread their bread or biscuits for them. I used to think of Goethe’s Charlotte, only she had brothers as well as sisters.
It was nearly eight o’clock. Lemmy Collins came up with the mail. There had been a shower the evening before, and none of us had gone for it.
“Ah!” exclaimed papa, “we are bountifully supplied this morning. One for Nelly, two for mamma, and two for me.”
“O, what elegant writing!” said Nell, leaning over to look at papa’s.
“Yes;” slowly. “I cannot think;” and papa fell into a brown study.
“Why don’t you open it?” asked bright-eyed Daisy; “then you won’t have to think.”
“To be sure, little wisdom!” and papa smiled. “I will look over this thin one first, though.”
That was only an invitation to a meeting of the clergy. We were all watching to see him open the letter par excellence. He took out his penknife and cut round the seal, which he handed to Tim.
“W—h—y!” lengthening the word out indefinitely. “From Stephen Duncan!” Then he read on in thoughtful silence, now and then knitting his brows.
Mamma’s letters were from an aunt and a cousin, with some kindly messages for us all.
“Girls,” said father, with a sudden start, “would you like to have some brothers large enough to keep their hands and faces clean, and strong enough to help you garden?”
“Boys are a nuisance!” declared Nell.
“Well, I have an offer of two. One is something of an invalid, though. My wards, I suppose, for that matter; though I have never considered myself much of a guardian, since Stephen was old enough to look after the boys. Then I always thought their uncle, James Duncan,wasannoyed at my being put in at all. It seems hedied very suddenly, a month ago, in London. Stephen has to go over and settle his affairs, and he wants me to keep the boys. Rose, pass this letter up to your mother.”
“How old are they?” asked Fan.
“Well, I can’t say. Louis is ready to enter college, but has studied himself out, and will have to go to the country. Stuart is—a boy, I suppose. I have not seen them since their father died.”
“Poor boys!” said mamma. “And Stephen is coming. Why, he will be here to-morrow afternoon. This letter has been delayed on its way;” and mamma glanced at the date and the postmark.
The children were through, and we rose from the table. There was a perfect hubbub of questions then. Lily swung on father’s arm, while Tim took a leg, and they were all eagerness to know about the brothers.
“Mamma will have to consider the subject,” he said. “Come, let us go out and look at the flower-beds. I dare say the rain brought up a regiment of weeds last night.”
Fanny went to put her room in order; Nelly had some buttons to sew on her school dress,and followed mamma to the nursery. Becky came in and helped take the dishes to the kitchen; while I went to my chambers up stairs.
I hurried a little, I must confess. Then I bundled the youngsters off to school, and ran into the nursery. Mamma was washing and dressing baby.
“What about the boys?” I asked. “Will they really come? Should you like to have them?”
“Perhaps it would be as well for you to read the letter, Rose. You are old enough to be taken into family council. It seems so odd, too! Only last evening papa and I were talking about—”
Mamma made so long a pause that I glanced up from the letter, having only read the preface, as one might say. There was a perplexed look on the sweet face.
“What is it, mamma?” and I knelt beside her, kissing baby’s fat cheek.
“My dear, I resolved long ago never to burden my girls with cares and worries before their time. And yet, it would be so delightful to have you for a friend! A clergyman’s wife has to be doubly discreet on some points. Now, ifI was to say to two or three good friends in the parish, ‘Our circumstances are somewhat straightened by the recent expenses,’ they would, no doubt, seek to make it up in some way. But I have a horror of anything that looks like begging.”
“O, yes, mamma. Aunt Letty Perkins wondered, the day after the baby was born, if there would not be a donation visit.”
Mamma’s sweet face flushed.
“We have managed so far,” she said; “and everything has gone very pleasantly. Papa is well loved, and we have a delightful home. This great old house and garden are worth a good deal. But I am wandering from my text into byways and highways. I feel that I should sometimes like to have a friend to talk to who would be a sort of second self—”
“O, mamma take me!” I cried.
“I have always wanted to be like an elder sister to my girls as they grew to womanhood.”
I wanted to cry, and I was resolved not to. Mamma’s tone was so sweet that it went to my heart. But to stop myself, I laughed, and exclaimed,—
“Fan would say that your hands would bepretty full if you were going to be a sister to each one of us. Or you would have to be divided into infinitesimal pieces.”
“And fourteen girls might not be desirable, if their father was a clergyman,” she answered, smilingly.
“So, let us be the best of friends, mamma, dearest, and you shall tell me your troubles. It is being so poor, for one, I know.”
“Yes, dear. Poverty is not always a delightful guest. Last evening we were resolving ways and means, and papa proposed to give up the magazines, and be very careful about his journeys. But I cannot bear to havehimpinch. And, you see, if we took these boys, the extra living would not cost us anything to speak of. Ten weeks would be—two hundred dollars.”
“O, mamma!”
“It is right that I should consult you about the work. It will make your duties more arduous. Then taking strangers into your family is neverquiteso pleasant. But go on with the letter. We will discuss it afterwards.”
I felt drawn so near to mamma by the talk and the confidence, that at first I could hardly take the sense of what I was reading. But I will tell you the story more briefly.
Papa and Mr. Duncan had been very dear friends for many years; in fact, I believe, since papa’s boyhood. When Mr. Duncan died he left papa a small legacy, and some valuable books and pictures, besides associating him with his brother in the guardianship of his three boys. Mr. James Duncan, who was an exceedingly proud and exclusive man, seemed to resent this, and treated papa rather coolly. Their business was done in writing, and papa had never seen his wards since their father’s funeral.
Stephen had spent one summer at our house when he was quite a boy. It seemed now that he preserved the liveliest recollection of my mother’s kindness and care, and desired very much to see my father. The taking of the boys he asked as a great favor, since he would have to spend all the summer in England; and he appeared to feel the responsibility of his brothers very keenly. It was such a nice, kind, gentlemanly letter, evincing a good deal of thoughtfulness, and respect for papa; and even where he spoke of the terms, he did it with so much delicacy, as if he were fearful that it would not be sufficient compensation, and proposed to come and talk the matter over, as he should, no doubt,need a good deal of advice from papa in the course of the next few years.
“What a good, sweet letter this is, mamma!” I said. “It makes me think of papa.”
“Yes; I liked it exceedingly. Papa is greatly interested with the plan. He thinks it will help us to straighten up matters, so that we can begin next fall quite easy in our minds. The only other thing he could do would be to take some boys to prepare for college. That is very wearing. In this we could all help.”
“I hope the boys will be nice,” I said, with a little misgiving.
“They will be out of doors a great deal, and certainly ought to behave like gentlemen, since they have been at the best of schools. You will have to keep their room in order; there will be rather more in the way of cooking and deserts; but Fanny must help a little during vacation. You see, baby is going to take up much of my time. But if I thought it would be uncomfortable for you girls—”
“O, mamma, it will only last such a little while, after all! And the two hundred dollars—”
“We must not be mercenary, little one.”
Before we had finished, papa came in again. We were all on the boys’ side, I could plainly see.
The next morning I aired the large spare room, brought out fresh towels, and arranged some flowers in the vases. There was matting on the floor, a maple bureau, wash-stand, and bedstead. The curtains were thin white muslin, with green blinds outside, which gave the apartment a pretty, pale tint.
I didn’t mean to put the two boys in this room when they came. There was another, opposite, notquiteso nice, plenty good enough for rollicking boys.
Papa went over to the station for Stephen.—Mr. Duncan, I mean. I wondered why I should have such an inclination to call him by his Christian name—a perfect stranger, too. But when I saw him I was as formal as you please.
As tall as papa, and somewhat stouter, with a grave and rather impressive air, eyes thatcouldlook you through, a firm mouth, that, somehow, seemed to me,mightbe very stern and pitiless. He had a broad forehead, with a good deal of fine, dark hair; but, what I thought very singular, blue eyes, which remindedyou of a lake in the shade. His side-whiskers and mustache gave him a very stylish look, and he was dressed elegantly. Poor papa looked shabby beside him.
Mamma and the baby, Fanny and I, were on the wide porch, while the children were playing croquet on the grassy lawn, though I do so much like the old-fashioned name of “door-yard.” Papa introduced him in his homelike, cordial fashion, and he shook hands in a kind of stately manner that didn’t seem a bit like his letter.
He came to me last. I knew he did not like me. I think you can always tell when any one is pleased with you. He studied me rather sharply, and almost frowned a little. I felt that it was my red hair. And then I colored all over, put out my hand awkwardly, and wished I was anywhere out of sight.
“And all the small crowd out there,” said papa, in so gay a voice that it quite restored me to composure.
“Really, friend Endicott, I was not prepared for this.—Why, Mrs. Endicott, how have you kept your youth and bloom? Why, I am suddenly conscience-smitten that I have proposed to add to your cares.”
“You will feel easy when you see the inside of the house. There is plenty of room, plenty;” and papa laughed.
“You had only a small nest when I visited you before,” Mr. Duncan said to mother. “But how very lovely the whole village is! I am so glad to find such a place for Louis. I hope my boys will not worry you to death, Mrs. Endicott, for, somehow, I do not know as I can give up the idea of sending them here, especially as Mr. Endicott is their guardian. I think it will do them both good to be acquainted intimately with such a man.”
It was all settled then.
“I have wished a great many times that we had a sister for Louis’s sake. Oddly enough, my uncle James’s children were all boys, and Louis is very peculiar in some respects. It is asking a great deal of you. I understand that well, and shall appreciate it.”
I knew that I ought to look after Becky and the supper; so I rose and slipped away.
“Two boys,” I said to myself. “I do not believe that I shall like them;” and I shook my head solemnly.