"Darling Mama:"I'm going away; I can't stay, and oh please don't look for me; for I could not come back. It seems as though my heart was broken, and it nearly made me crazy to think that I was all alone in the world, except a wicked, cruel father. Oh, I never knew how much I loved you all, until I found that I was nothing—neither daughter nor sister. I have taken the twenty dollars in gold, and fifteen dollars that I saved from my teaching, and I will go some where and work for my living. I know it will grieve you, and that is all that has kept me from going before; but I could not stand it any longer; something made me go. Oh, please forgive me, and do not look for me. I love you all so much, and it nearly broke my heart to look at the girls, and think they were all sisters, and you their own mama, while I was nothing. Don't grieve for me, please, but do love me."ERNESTINE."
"Darling Mama:
"I'm going away; I can't stay, and oh please don't look for me; for I could not come back. It seems as though my heart was broken, and it nearly made me crazy to think that I was all alone in the world, except a wicked, cruel father. Oh, I never knew how much I loved you all, until I found that I was nothing—neither daughter nor sister. I have taken the twenty dollars in gold, and fifteen dollars that I saved from my teaching, and I will go some where and work for my living. I know it will grieve you, and that is all that has kept me from going before; but I could not stand it any longer; something made me go. Oh, please forgive me, and do not look for me. I love you all so much, and it nearly broke my heart to look at the girls, and think they were all sisters, and you their own mama, while I was nothing. Don't grieve for me, please, but do love me.
"ERNESTINE."
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Kathleenwas sitting in the swing, and idly pushing a hole in the saw dust, with the toe of her shoe; while Katherine sat on a log hemming a handkerchief, a red rose stuck in her hair, and much thoughtfulness in her face.
"I think it's too horrible to think about," said the former, suddenly, and with a vinegary aspect of countenance.
"He may be nice," returned the latter, consolingly, though with much evident distaste to the fact.
"Who cares, and then besides, I bet he isn't."
"You mustn't bet."
"I will. You may be nice, and proper, and so awfully prim, if you want to, but I sha'n't."
"You're nearly fifteen."
"Suppose I am. Besides I'm not; it's three months yet."
"Well," said Kittie, after a pause, and turning a corner in her handkerchief with great nicety, "I suppose since it's settled, that he will be here in a few days. Bea has fixed his room so pretty."
"Pooh! I bet he'll never notice it, and he'll be an everlasting bother, and we'll never have any more fun; and I'm going to tell him the minute he gets here, that I hate him; and I hope that'll make him happy and want to stay," exclaimed Kat vehemently.
"Besides," continued Kittie, as placidly as though nothing was disturbing the serenity of her sister, "you see, my dear, how it will help mama."
Any remark of a like character, would, at any time, reduce the girls from the most active rebellion to passive acquiescence; and Kat immediately lost her ferocious determination and looked reflective, as she recalled the dear face they loved, with its pale patient sweetness, and the gray hair that had all come into the brown locks within the last year, since Ernestine went away.
"Well," she said in a moment, and beginning to swing, "I suppose it's all right, but I wish he wasn't so old. Twenty! my goodness! He'll be forever lecturing us and reading solemn books, because I know he's solemn; sick people always are, and everything will have to be poky and still to suit him, and I think it's abominable!"
"Exactly," answered Kittie, with a nod of agreement. "But Kat, there's one splendid big thing to offset all those little horrid ones; why don't you think of that?"
"Well, I do, and I'm most tickled to death, that mama won't have to teach any more; poor, dear, blessed mama, she's most tired and worried to death;" and Kat's face grew very tender as she swung and thought over it all.
"Oh Kat!" cried Kittie, with a sudden vehemence, though the question that hung on her lips had been asked countless times in the past year, "Where do you suppose Ernestine is?"
Kat stopped the swing, and faced her sister with a sudden decision.
"I think," she said slowly, "Kittie, I think she's—dead!"
"Oh no! you don't surely! She can't be!" cried Kittie in terror; for no one had ever hazarded that cruel belief before. "Our Ernestine dead! I couldn't believe it, and I think it would kill mama, if she thought we would never find her again."
"But I can't help but feel so," said Kat sadly. "Just think of her getting into New York in the night, and not knowing anything where to go. I just know something dreadful happened, because we never can find one thing about her after she got there."
"But I don't believe she's dead!" exclaimed Kittie firmly. "I wouldn't believe it if I wanted to; and I think some time, or somehow, we will find her, or she will come back to us."
"Well I hope so I'm sure, for it will never seem right without her," said Kat. "Seems to me, we all lived so happy, with no troubles of any kind, until all of a sudden, then everything happens all at once. Home has never seemed the same since papa died."
"When you look back and think how things have changed, don't it seem strange," said Kittie, dropping her sewing and looking pensively off at the wood-pile. "It seems so funny, to think that Miss Howard is married, and that people live in the little old school-house.
"Didn't we used to have fun there?"
"Yes, we did, and we're getting old dreadful fast," said Kat, ruefully.
"I can't imagine anything more dreadful than getting to be young ladies, and having to wear long dresses, and done-up hair, and always be polite and proper. I think it's horrible to be nearly fifteen!"
Kittie loved fun as much as Kat, but she was not quite so frolicsome in her tastes, nor so averse to a graceful train, or a lady-like structure of hair. In fact, she had many ideas of ideal young-ladyhood that would have amazed and dismayed her twin, had they been known. Any one who knew them well was no longer at a loss toknow which was which, for while in childhood they had been too similar to ever be distinguished, the coming years brought different ideas to each, and left their print in looks and manner. Kat was wildly rebellious at the thought of growing up; she wanted to remain in the blissful days of short hair and dresses, when she could race with anybody, jump a fence, climb trees, and in every way be as boyish as she could, to pay up for being a girl. Consequently she always had a fly-away, unsettled look about her, rebelled at the lengthened dresses, insisted on wearing her hair in a flying braid, wouldn't be induced to cultivate ease and grace, and altogether was as wild and unconquerable on the threshold of fifteen as she had been in the freedom of twelve. Kittie, on the contrary, had a decided love for grace, and the ease of a cultivated young lady. She did her hair up in various and complicated fashions, occasionally practiced with a train, and had learned to bow with the latest grace and twist. She remembered Ernestine's little graceful ways, and profited by the remembrance, thereby driving Kat to the verge of desperation, by giving frequent lectures on the necessity of sitting still gracefully, and walking without a skip or jump every third step. With all their little growing differences, they were just as devoted and inseparable as ever. Kittie would sit and sew with a lady-like air, and a posy in her belt, while Kat would lounge in the window-seat, and read aloud, or amuse them with nonsense;or, if they went out on the pond, Kittie would wear her gloves and ply her oar with an eye to grace, while Kat would, perhaps, be encased in a sun-bonnet, or be bareheaded and row as if on a contract to outdo the champion club in existence. In their work was the same little mark of distinction, and so now-a-days it was very easy to tell which was Kittie and which was Kat.
It was just a year since Ernestine had gone, and such a long, sad, hopeless year! Not a clue or trace of any kind could they find except that she had gone to New York. The Canfield ticket agent had had his suspicions when a lady had bought a ticket and gone on the midnight train; but it was none of his business, to be sure; so she had gone on her way unmolested, and farther than that, they knew nothing. Where she went on reaching the city, no one knew, though no mode of search had been left untried, and no expense spared, either by Mrs. Dering, or the relatives and friends who so heartily sympathized in her heart-broken search. There was nothing, from himself to the last dollar he possessed, that Mr. Congreve did not offer; and Jean sent a tear-stained note with a crisp ten dollars—all she had, and saying: "Mama, please spend it to find Ernestine; and I ask God every few minutes, if He won't please let us have her again."
But it had all been in vain. In the long days when Ernestine had sat and thought and grieved, she musthave matured her plans well, or else she had gone blindly forth, on the wild impulse of despair, and been swallowed in the black wickedness of the great city, into which she went. It was a ceaseless question in the anxious hearts of those who loved her, but there never came any answer; and the days and weeks dragged into months until the year had rolled around, and they had heard nothing. The name of the lost became more precious than ever, and many things she had left behind, that all spoke so eloquently of her, they treasured as priceless, and wet them with many a sad tear, while heart and lips pleaded for the return of the dear one. The year of anxiety had told on Mrs. Dering, for the soft brown hair was thickly lined with grey, and there was a never-dying look of prayerful anxiety in her face, as though in some way, her life-work had been remiss and the fault of this one, gone astray, lay at her door. Still she never once gave up hope that at some time God would return this dear one to her, though it required constant prayer to strengthen the faith that trembled on the threshold of this affliction.
Under the strain of mental and physical work, her health was slowly giving way, and for many weeks there had been the anxious question, "what can be done to relieve mama?" and there had been no way discovered, for money was low, and each one already doing her utmost; so Mrs. Dering held her position at the seminary, and was obliged to content herself with one visit home aweek, and sometimes not even that, for the hack drive was so fatiguing, and besides, it cost fifty cents every time.
Well, after all, God never fails to give us something to cheer our flagging steps, never fails to know when a burdened child is falling with its load, and never fails to take the hand outstretched to Him, and help that child along!
In the midst of an anxious controversy one evening, when Mrs. Dering had just arrived home, and was lying exhausted on the lounge; Olive came in from the store and brought a letter with the Boston post mark; it proved to be from Mr. Dering's cousin, a wealthy widow, with an only son whose health was failing, and for whom the doctor prescribed a summer's rest, and relief from study. She had once visited the Dering home, and said she knew of no one, to whom she would so willingly trust her boy, in his delicate health, as to Robert's wife. The price named for his board was lavishly liberal, and filled the long felt want, for it would more than admit of mother's being free and at home to rest, and regain her own health and strength.
So this was what Kat, viewing matters from a personal standpoint, thought was "horrible," and what Kittie tried to reconcile her to by reviewing the good things that would result from it. Bea was to room with Olive, and the sunny front room was fixed for the coming invalid, and it is a pity that all the knick-knacks arrangedby the girls could not have retained all the curious conjectures uttered in their hearing, as to what the coming cousin was apt to be like, and repeated them to that same person.
He came one evening, a tall pale youth, with very black eyes, quiet gentlemanly manners, and a faint suspicion of a mustache, and Kat instantly declared that she didn't like him.
"I told you he'd be solemn, and look like a preacher. I bet he's got consumption too, and I suppose he'll call me Kathleen and ask me if I'm prepared to die?" she exclaimed, after they had met him and he had gone to his room.
"I think he's very polite and nice," said Bea.
"He looks very intelligent," added Olive, with a pleasing idea in her mind, of having some one with whom she could discuss her books, and study Latin.
"Some fun in him I know," laughed Kittie. "And what nice manners he has, and black eyes, I wonder if he appreciates them?"
"Poor fellow, just hear him cough," exclaimed Bea in sympathy. "Girls, what have you nice for supper?"
"Slap-jacks," answered Kat grimly. "I hope he'll enjoy them."
"O Kat, you surely have something else besides cakes," cried Bea in dismay. "It'll never do, he's used to everything nice."
"Suppose he is, we're not, and he mustn't expect it here."
"Dear me," explained Bea, starting for the kitchen; but Kittie interrupted her, with the consoling remark:
"It's all right, I made a nice pudding with sugar sauce, and there is cold meat and hot biscuit, that's enough, mama said so."
"I bet you he'll sit and mope in his room, and cry for his mama, dear little boy, I'll give him a sugar horn," laughed Kat, then caught her breath suddenly, and flushed scarlet, for there in the door stood the new cousin, also rather flushed, but with his eyes twinkling, and his arms full of things.
"Thank you, Cousin Kathleen," he said gravely; "I really hadn't thought of crying, but your promise is tempting, I'll begin in a few moments. In the meantime, here are some messages that mother sent with her love. She selected for each, as she remembered you, and I hope that none of you have so changed in tastes, that these little things will be out of keeping."
His genial tone, and winning smile were very taking, and made every one feel acquainted at once, so Bea pushed an easy chair forward, saying with a smile:
"We'll try hard to be grateful, Cousin Ralph. Come, take this easy chair and deliver your messages, you see we're anxious."
He did so, holding up a splendid copy of Dante.
"For Olive, whom mother remembers as a studious book-loving little girl, and hoped she would enjoy this grand work."
"I shall indeed," cried Olive joyfully. "How kind your mother is."
"She is indeed," answered Ralph. "And very dear to me, I assure you."
"This for Beatrice," he added, holding up a stout package; "I assure you, the interior is more attractive than the exterior," he said with a laugh; and so Bea found it, for there was a box of kid gloves, a dozen beautiful handkerchiefs, with her monogram worked in the corner, and a beautiful set of jet jewelry.
Bea was in ecstasies, and put on her ornaments at once, while Ralph next unfastened two boxes exactly alike and handed them, with their contents exposed, to their owners.
"For Kittie," he said, "and Kathleen."
Kittie gave a little scream of delight, but Kat simply made a bow, and said "Thanks," with the grace of a ramrod, and shut her box with a snap. They were two beautiful chains and lockets, of ebony and gold, with the letters "K. D." in raised letters on the lockets, and a picture of the giver within. Ralph took no notice of Kat's reception of the gift, but complimented Kittie as she put hers on, and then asked for Mrs. Dering.
Her gift was a dress of heavy black silk, with everythingnecessary to its make-up, and yards and yards of beautiful lace and fringe for its trimming. Oh, how happy the girls were over that, and how splendid it would seem to see mama once more in an elegant dress, such as she used to wear.
For Ernestine, were elegantly bound copies of the old composers, and for Jeanie an exquisite little pearl ring. The one of these, Mrs. Dering laid away with tears, and a silent prayer, such as came from her heart every hour of the day for the absent one; the other, she sent with a long, loving letter to the little girl in Virginia, and thought, with a grateful heart, that the bitterest sorrows have a drop of joy somewhere, for the doctors had said that Jeanie could be cured.
In just a little while, it seemed as though Ralph had been with them always, such a comfort as he was to all, and such a genial, jovial companion as he became on all occasions. Mrs. Dering, or Aunt Elizabeth, he very soon lifted to the niche of affection next to his mother's; and she, in turn, loved him as an own son, and in his ambitious moments, gave him long earnest talks, wherein she drew his unremembered Uncle Robert, as an example of truth, manhood and honor, such as she hoped to see him follow.
For Bea, who now revelled in all the bliss of being a young lady nearly eighteen, he exerted all his most courtly politeness and gallant manners, and shewondered how she had ever gotten on without him before.
To Olive, he was confidential, and finally won her to the same state. They studied, read and discussed, disagreed and argued, but he was always so polite, and ready to gracefully yield when a contested point could not be settled, that Olive grew ashamed of her more abrupt manners and hasty speech, and so the intimacy helped her in more ways than one. He confided to her all his ambitious plans of being a great lawyer, and his impatience at having to drop his studies for so many months. She, in turn, confided to him her longing for artistic study, and made him ashamed by the patience with which she had laid aside her cherished plans, and given all her time to the work which necessity demanded. So their friendship prospered.
To Kittie, he was invaluable, and a more devoted brother and sister surely never lived. They boated, walked, sang, played and, in short, were almost constantly together. He was quick to discover the girlish longing to be graceful, refined and accomplished, and he helped her much, both as an example of polished, polite manners, and by rehearsing for her many of the accomplishments and graces of ladies of his acquaintance. And many times had he said to her in their little chats: "You have a constant example before you, Kittie, in your mother. She is so refined,and such a true, noble woman, I would love to see you like her."
To Kat, he was nothing, unless it was a stumbling block in the way of her happiness. She didn't like him, and was furiously jealous of the flourishing friendship between him and Kittie. He had not been solemn and poky, as she had prophesied, and the fact nettled her. She never could make him angry, though she left no way untried, and that was exasperating. He was always catching her at a disadvantage, and what she thought was anger at the fact, was, in truth, wounded pride. She was as rude as she dared be, and never lost an opportunity to sharp-shoot; and while he realized the impoliteness of a return shot, the temptation was too great to resist; so they had some lively skirmishes, in all good humor on his side, but in lively anger on hers.
He came out on the porch one day, and found her sitting on the steps, with her hat tilted over her eyes, and a generally woe-begone look in her whole attitude; and they had just had a wordy battle out at the pond.
"Why, Kathleen," he exclaimed, in mock penitence, "is it possible? Why, I never meant to hurt your feelings. I didn't suppose they could be hurt."
"No; they can't, by you," retorted Kat, knocking off her hat, and showing her eyes scornfully bright and dry. "Whenever you speak, I consider the source, and it never amounts to much."
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed, laughing. "When I speak to you, you are the source of every inspiring word."
"Then I am heartily ashamed of myself."
"I don't wonder; I'm often ashamed of you."
"You're hideous," cried Kat, fiercely. "I wonder if you have the ghost of an idea how horrible you are, Ralph Tremayne?"
"No, indeed, I never found any one impolite enough to tell me; but you will, I'm sure."
"Don't judge my politeness by your own!"
"I can't for you have none," he rejoined coolly.
Kat could have slapped him with a relish, and like as not, if he had been nearer her own age she would have tried it. As it was, she looked into his laughing eyes and knew that she was angry, and he was not, therefore he would win, for a cool head can think a great deal faster than a hot one; so she turned on her heel with a contemptuous spin, and left him.
That afternoon she heard Ralph and Kittie planning a walk to the woods next day, and her jealous heart ached and burned fiercely. How despicable he was to take all of Kittie's time, and make himself such a paragon in her eyes, that she could talk of no one else. Kat shook her head in dire vengeance, and might have cried if she hadn't been too proud. But just then Kittie said:
"I don't know, Ralph, whether I can go or not; I have some sewing that I ought to do; you remember how I tore my dress the last time we went boating? well, I ought to darn it, you see."
"No, I don't happen to see, unless you take it out in the woods and mend it, while I make you a crown and put it on your head as queen of industrious girls. Violets would be very becoming to your brown hair and winsome face."
"What nonsense!" muttered Kat, in disgust, while all the time her heart ached. "Wouldn't it be a joke if he was saying all those things to me instead of Kittie, and didn't know the difference. He wouldn't think I had a winsome face if I was the last girl alive, and yet I'm the moral image of Kittie."
"Perhaps I can find time to darn my dress this afternoon, and if I do, then I'll go to-morrow," Kittie was saying, and then in a few moments Ralph went away. The moment he was gone Kat came around into the arbor, and threw herself on the grass.
"Now then, Kittie."
"Well, my dear."
"I would just like to know a thing or two?"
"What, for instance?"
"Who are you going with to-morrow? That abomination wants you to go with him, and I've set my heart on having you go with me down town. You haven'tbeen with me, since the dear knows when, and upon my word, I feel real bad."
"I'll mend my dress now, go with Ralph in the morning, and you in the afternoon," smiled Kittie sweetly.
"No you don't," cried Kat, sitting up. "I'd like to have you to myself for one day, at least. If he can get you from me so much in six weeks, by the end of summer you'll be beyond speaking to me."
"Oh, Kat," cried Kittie reproachfully. "How can you?"
"Well, will you go with me to-morrow?"
"My dress—"
"I'll darn your old dress right now. Will you?"
"I don't believe you care half as much for me to go, as you do to spite Ralph," said Kittie thoughtfully, and to Kat's amazement she suddenly realized that this was so, not but what she really wanted Kittie, but the predominant desire was to spite Ralph, and she was bound to do it now, so she ran off for the dress, brought it back, and darned it immaculately, whereupon Kittie felt that the thing was settled.
Kat was jubilant all the evening, and seized the first opportunity of announcing the change in the programme. Shortly after they came into the sitting-room, Ralph asked:
"Is the dress darned, Kittie?"
"Yes, it is, and I darned it, and Kittie's going down town with me to-morrow," answered Kat glibly.
Ralph lifted his eye-brows with a smile, instantly detecting the little spite-work.
"Why, did I speak to you?"
"Believe not; I spoke to you."
"Suppose you try the novelty of speaking when you're spoken to."
"I generally do; also at any other time that I take a notion. I've done it all my life, and it'll take more than you to stop me."
"Some people talk to hear themselves."
"So I've heard, and I'm quite convinced that no one has a better right to come under that head than yourself."
"Quite true; I'm amazed at your powers of penetration. Perhaps you also observed that I rank only a little ways below my illustrious cousin, Kathleen."
"I'm not your cousin, thank goodness."
"Don't thank anything with which you have so little acquaintance; it's apt to never be appreciated."
"No acquaintance that I have with anything, or any body troubles me as much as the acquaintance that I have with you."
"You have my sympathy, for I'm troubled with the same feeling."
"Do hush," exclaimed Kittie. "It's perfectly awfulthe way you two do talk. Ralph, come play chess. Kat, I'm astonished."
"I don't wonder; so am I; but I never had such an object to deal with before, so no wonder I do some unusual things," cried Kat, and bounced out of the room to hide the tears that would come; for Kittie's voice was reproof, and she took Ralph's part, and that was altogether too much!
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Olivewas standing at the window, with a thoughtful face. Any one who remembered seeing her on the porch one evening, a little over two years ago, and recalled her face then, compared to what it was now, would have said in incredulous amaze:
"What a change!"
She was now nearly seventeen, though she looked every day of twenty, both in face and figure. There was such a settled, purposeful look in the face, and so much strength and soul looking out from the eyes, that had been used to scowling fiercely, so much determination expressed in the mouth, that had caught the trick of smiling much more readily than it once had. Nor was this all of the change either; she had come to realize that care in personal attire, and a study ofpleasing others, could frame the most unattractive in attractive guise, and indeed, they had done their work for her. Instead of wearing the very things that she knew did not harmonize with her peculiar dark complexion, she studied what was becoming. Her hair, which was luxuriously long and heavy, she wore in such a manner as to soften the severe outline to head and face, and waved it deeply in front, so that curly tendrils of hair lessened the height of her too-high brow, and gave a more girlish look to the thoughtful face. In short, the Olive of two years ago was not much like the Olive of to-day, and in what her character had changed, I leave you to find out for yourself.
She stood there, looking out, and something pleasing, evidently, caught her eye, for it brightened suddenly, then in a moment a look of regret chased the smile from her face.
"What is it, dear?" inquired Mrs. Dering.
"What, mama?"
"The faces of my girls are so dear to me, that I can read them quickly. Something pleased you, then brought an after-thought that was sad. What was it?"
"Nothing. I only saw Bea coming with Dr. Barnett."
"Ah!" The same smile, followed by a look of regret and a little sigh crossed Mrs. Dering's face, and she sewed a little faster than before, as if her thoughts weresuddenly quickened by something. Dr. Walter Barnett had come to Canfield within the past year, rented a modest little office, hung out a neat, pretty sign to indicate that all persons afflicted with any of the ills to which flesh is heir, would always find him ready and anxious to do his best; and after a patient, hopeful struggle, he had now settled in a flourishing practise; for he was courteous and gentle, ready and willing, and always inspired the children with a liking, which old Dr. Potts, with his blue glasses and loud voice, could never do. Dr. Walter also taught the bible-class, and won the flinty hearts of the congregation, and the susceptible ones of the young ladies. He also frequently walked home with Beatrice Dering, and had fallen into the way of occasionally stopping in the evenings, if he happened to be passing and saw them in the yard. The old house, with its shady porches, clambering vines, and sheltering trees, made him think of his own home he said, and then Mrs. Dering, with her sweet, motherly ways, and surrounded by such lovely attractions, seemed to charm him; and Ralph Tremayne possessed a wonderful influence over him some way, which served to bring him there more frequently than he could have found an excuse for coming, if that young gentleman had not formed a part of the household.
Bea came up stairs in a little while, with a lovely color in her cheeks, and looking very bewitching indeed,with her soft bright eyes, a posy in her belt, and a merry smile on her lips.
"I met Dr. Barnett" she said, taking off her hat, and smoothing out the ribbons with a little thoughtful air; "he was just going to see that poor widow's little girl, who broke her back last week, and he stopped while I gathered some flowers for him to take to her. He is going to cure her if he can, and not charge anything. Isn't it good and kind in him, mama?"
"Yes, dear, very. He did not tell you so, did he?"
"Oh no; he's too modest. Mrs. Dane told me. She went to see the little girl, and took some things, for they are very poor, you know; and the mother told her, and just cried when she told how good and kind he was, and how he talked, and told Katie stories, when she was afraid to have her back fixed."
"He is a very estimable young man, and a true Christian, I think," said Mrs. Dering, watching Bea's animated face as she talked, and noticing that there was no touch of embarrassment or any trace of color, as she rehearsed her friend's praise.
"When I gave him the flowers," added Bea, taking the posy from her belt, and sniffing at the fragrant leaves, "he gave me these, and said we would exchange. He has a little window-garden in his office. I think that is so nice,—and these grew in it; they need some water now, poor little things. Hand me that vase, Olive! There!"
Mrs. Dering went on with her sewing, and her heart, ever young, went back to the blissful days of her own life, like these in which Bea now lived, and she thought, with a smile:
"Bless the dear innocent little heart. She doesn't suspect yet how happy she is, nor what precious meaning the little exchange of posies will soon take unto themselves."
Olive was thinking of Bea's happy face and blithe laugh, and after her sister had gone singing from the room, she came over to her mother's side, and sat down on a stool there.
"Mama, are you glad?"
"Yes, dear, both glad and sad. A mother always dreads the time when she must begin to prepare herself to have her children leave her; but it must come, so if she can know that their new choice will bring them happiness, it, of course, lessens the pain which comes with losing them. Dr. Barnett is a good Christian, a perfect gentleman, and I think he loves Beatrice. I also think she is quite unconscious of it as yet, and I am very glad. I hope it will continue so. She is young yet, my dear little girl, and when she becomes aware of the new love, then I must be content with second place, and I do not want it to come yet."
"And, mama—"
"Well, dear."
"I want to speak of something that may be all imagination on my part, and will take your word to settle it. But don't you think Ralph thinks a great deal of Kittie?"
"Yes, he does; but it is all a brotherly feeling, anything else would be nonsense! Why, they're nothing but children!" said Mrs. Dering a little sharply.
"I know Kittie is, and she never thinks of such a thing any more than a genuine kitten; but Ralph is twenty, mama," said Olive.
"I know; and very old for his age in many things, but at heart he is nothing but a boy. He has always been at home with his mother, and has an almost girlish love and preference for ladies' society. He and Kittie are genial in amusements, just as you and he are in books and ambitions. They love each other as brother and sister, but as nothing more. I should be sorely displeased if any other idea should ever reach either."
"It never will through me," said Olive. She then sat silent for a long time, and finally breaking the pause, by saying:
"Mama, do you remember, one night a long time ago, when we were all telling disappointments?"
"Yes, quite well."
"Of course, it was all nonsense; but I have often thought since, that some time, I would tell you what I wanted to do."
"And am I to hear now?"
Olive smiled, and looked a little wistful.
"Yes, I guess I will tell you, though it will be no surprise to you. I want to study, but I can never do it in Canfield. When I was fourteen, I first thought of going to the city and studying in Cooper's Institute and coming home for over Sunday, and I began to save up my money for it. The money that I gave to papa was that, and I was at work on a head to take with me, because I thought perhaps I would have to have a trial picture. I knew I couldn't go then, because I was too young and inexperienced; but I'm older now, and if you would only say that you are willing, so that I could begin to put just a little money away every month—"
Mrs. Dering laid down her sewing, and looked in amaze at Olive's face, which had become so enthusiastic as she put her plea in a voice that trembled in its eagerness.
"My dear child, I had thought of that same thing for you."
"Why, mama!"
"I had, indeed; and is it possible that it has been your own thought and desire for so long? You have so cheerfully given up your own work and done that less tasteful, and so patiently waited for the time to come when you could use your own money, that I had decided on just this thing, and will draw enough money from thebank to send you. I have a dear old friend in the city who would be delighted to have you board with her during the week, and now that Ralph is here, you can and shall be spared from your work, and shall take a rest in doing the work that you love."
Olive looked speechless. Her eyes were full of sparkling tears, and her lips trembling with a smile. She evidently did not know what to say for some moments, then she exclaimed:
"Oh, mama! Is it really so? It seems too good to believe, I had almost given up hope, for it didn't seem as if I ever could go. Oh, how I will study and draw, so as to make money and make my name;" and overcome with joy and a desire to shed some happy tears, Olive jumped up and ran out.
In a day or two, however, something happened that deferred Olive's studies for a while longer. It was from Jean, a long letter, full of love and longings to see them all, and long reports of what the doctors were doing for her, and how she could stand straight now without her crutch, and would soon be able to take a step. And after all that, she began about Uncle Ridley: how kind and good he was, how she had everything she could think of; how they loved each other; and then came this piece of news:
"He wants one of the girls to come and make a visit, mama. He's often said so; but the other day he toldme to write for one of them, which ever one I wanted, and he would pay her expenses. Now you know I never could choose which of the girls I'd love to see most, because I want to see them all so very much. But I think he wants to see Olive; he's often said so; and he's asked me so much about her, and said he'd like to know her because she was so impudent to him. Why was she? Do you know, mama? I think it's so strange, when he's such a dear, darling uncle. Anyhow, I think it would please him very much if she would come, and oh, how very happy I would be. Tell me what you think about it, and I do hope she'll come; and if she can't, please let one of the others, and hurry and let me know. I can hardly wait."
"Of course you'll go," said Kittie, when the letter was finished, and the question open to discussion.
"To be sure," said Kat. "Olive, you're a lucky girl. I wish I had been impudent to him."
"I always have wanted to see Congreve Hall," said Bea, with a little sigh. "How grand it would seem to live in a magnificent place that had a name to it. I suppose you'll stay a long time, Olive?"
"I wish he wanted any of you," said Olive, "and I believe he does. It's all Jeanie's notion, his wanting me. Fix Bea up, mama, and let her go. I have something else on my mind."
But Mrs. Dering shook her head. "I think Jean isright," she said. "Uncle Ridley is a peculiar old man and he thinks Olive is much like the Congreves; he told me so himself, and I think he wants you for that reason."
So great was Olive's consternation, that she sprang right up from her seat in dismay.
"Oh, mama! I want to see Jean; you know I do, but I can't give up my plan any longer; I can't. You don't think I ought to, do you?"
"What do you think about it, Olive?"
"I don't know; I think it's too bad," cried Olive; then fled from the room, as she always did when she found her emotions getting the mastery over her.
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Kat, in sympathy. "It is too bad when her heart is so set on her studies. That's the disadvantage of having a talent. Don't you suppose Uncle Ridley would be satisfied with me? I'd do my level best to be like the Congreves, if that is such an attraction to him."
"He'd go crazy with such a whirligig about as you," said Bea, a little envious of Olive's good luck. "I think I might go. I'm the oldest, and dear me, how I would enjoy it!"
"I would love to have you all go," said Mrs. Dering, thoughtfully creasing the letter in her fingers. "Congreve Hall was papa's home, and I would enjoy having you see it, would love to go myself, in fact, and when I think ofmy dear precious little girl, it seems as though I must go. But that cannot be, so it need not be thought of. As to Olive, Uncle Ridley is peculiar and quick, and he took a fancy to her, and if her going to see them would give him any pleasure, I am only too glad and willing to have her go. I am sorry the invitation came just now for the child has waited so patiently to study and work on her art, that delay will be a sore disappointment to her. But she will see through it rightly I am sure and be willing to wait a little longer."
"Mama," said Kat, reflectively, "don't you think Olive has changed very, very much?"
"Yes, dear."
"And especially since Ernestine went away. Why?" asked Kittie.
Mrs. Dering sighed and looked sad; she always did when Ernestine's name was mentioned.
"Olive's was a very unhappy disposition then, a great deal more so than she is now," she said. "What attractions she possessed, she hid by her faults; she did not try to please any one, but took her time in envying Ernestine's natural beauty and power to please. She made herself bitter, morose, and unattractive, then blamed others for showing any preference for her sisters. I think the lesson poor Ernestine taught was one that she took to heart deeply, and has profited much by."
"I notice she does not dislike Uncle Ridley as muchas she used to," said Bea, smiling and looking very happy all at once as she caught sight of a gentleman coming up the shady walk. "Mama, here comes Dr. Barnett. I promised him some more flowers to take to little Katie Gregg. If he is not in a hurry I shall ask him in; and, Kat, I advise you to put up your hair. It looks like an Indian's that way."
"Who cares for old Barnett?" said Kat, as Bea flitted out. "My hair suits myself, and if he don't like it, he can look at Kittie's. Hers is as proper as ten commandments, with a killing bow fastened right on an angle with her ear. Now here comes Ralph, and I'm off. Kittie come down to the pond, and let's take a row."
"I will in a little while," said Kittie, putting her sewing aside; "but Ralph is going to help me with that example I couldn't get, and I'll do that first, then I'll be down."
"Well, I'll not look for you," said Kat discontentedly. "After you get your old example, there'll be something else, and then it'll be time to get dinner. I just abominate cousins!" and Kat slammed out of one door, just as Ralph came in at the other.
No one saw Olive again during the day, but just before supper she came down stairs and asked for mother.
"I don't know," said Kittie, flying about the kitchen with her big apron on. "She and Bea went down townthis afternoon; I don't know whether they're back or not. If you're going in the sitting-room, tell Ralph to come; he said he'd beat the eggs, if I'd make a puff-cake."
So Olive went into the sitting-room, and sent Ralph out to the feminine employment of egg-beating, then she stood by the window and looked absently out at the shadowy yard. She was going to Virginia; she had decided on that, though the decision had cost some bitter tears and some stern reasoning; for her new plans, long held in check, were doubly precious in the sudden promise of fulfillment, and her whole soul, starved out on book-keeping and dusty offices, begged for a revel in the art she loved so well.
"After all," she mused, deciding grimly to look at the best side of things, "Jean says there is a gallery of grand pictures at Congreve Hall, and I suppose I can study and make copies of the ones that I like; and then"—the thought was a little distasteful to her—"I suppose I was unjust to Mr. Congreve, and ought to make amends if I can. We do owe him more than any amount of gratitude can ever repay, for all he's done for Jean, and I suppose I ought to call him Uncle Ridley, and have the dress made that he sent me; perhaps he'll recognize it;" then she laughed a little, to think what he would say at discovering her just accepting the present made two years ago.
"A laugh sounds encouraging; what brings it Olive?" asked Mrs. Dering, having entered noiselessly.
"Nothing, I was just thinking," answered Olive. "I will go, mama, because I cannot help but think that I ought to, I was just deciding in my mind to call him Uncle Ridley, and have the black dress made. How soon shall I go?"
"I cannot tell yet; there is much that you will need done. I am very glad that you have decided in this way, Olive dear, though I know it was a sacrifice; but your art will become none the less precious through delay, and your decision shows a desire to retract some hasty judgments, and do justice to a peculiar old man, who, with all his faults and vagaries, has a heart as true as gold."
"I guess that's it," said Olive, with a little sigh; and then the supper-bell rang.
At the end of three weeks Olive was ready to go, and it was hard to tell whether she was any more enthusiastic with the idea or not. After the fashion of all young girls, she could not help but be pleased to see the accumulating pile of pretty things; to feel all the time that something, which might prove very pleasant, was going to happen; and that she was the cause of all the little bustle of preparation that filled the house, and engrossed the mind and hands of mother and sisters. There is always something, more or less exciting inthe appearance of a trunk, and when packing time actually came, Olive found that she was beginning to indulge in some very pleasing anticipations.
"I expect Jean has grown very tall," said Bea one afternoon, as the girls were all gathered in Olive's room, and the big trunk stood open in the middle of the floor.
"Probably wears long dresses, and does her hair in a chignogger," said Kat, from a perch on the foot-board of the bed, where she rested in idle moments.
"'Tisn't to be supposed that she can be treated so like a young lady, and not get stuck up. Just to think of having a maid, and being called Miss Dering, when you are only twelve. Hollo, Kittie! hand me that pile of skirts, and I'll fold them."
"Dear me," said Kittie, handing over the snowy starched heap. "You have six white skirts, Olive, and three of them trimmed. I'd feel terribly fixed up, and lady-like with so many."
"Pooh! some girls have six dozen, with tucks, and ruffles and puffles on every blessed one of them," said Kat, making the starched cloth rattle with her vigorous folding.
"All nonsense," assented Kittie, down on her knees before the trunk. "Now hand me the things and I'll pack. Kat, you're knocking everything off the table, the way you whisk those skirts around. Hand methe black dress; that's the heaviest and must go in first."
"Where's the other black tip?" asked Bea, who was trimming the travelling hat. "There it is, you blew it behind the table with your whirlwind of skirts; hand it to me, Kat."
"What fun it is to pack and go away," said Kat, fishing out the desired feather with Olive's parasol. "You pack like a captain, Kittie. I'd most likely have put her best hat in the first thing, shoe polish next, and then tumbled in anything that I happened to lay my hands on. Dear me, I wish I was going."
"I really think it's too bad that you haven't a party dress, Olive," said Kittie, with some disapproval.
"Whatever would she do with a party dress," cried Kat, once more enthroned on the foot-board. "Who'd give a party, I'd like to know? One old man, a little girl, and a pile of servants!"
"Young Mr. Congreve is there," corrected Bea.
"S'pose he is; and anyhow, I hope you'll snub him, Olive; he's going to own Congreve Hall, and it ought to have been papa's. If he was a decent man he wouldn't take it. How are you going to treat him?"
"I don't know;—yes, I like the feather that way; you ought to see how nicely my dress hangs," said Olive, in a little flutter of pleasing excitement. "Really, it's quite nice getting ready to go away. I only wishthe visit was over and done with, and all this preparation was for sending me off to study."
"Don't worry about your studying, you're twice as smart now as any of us," said Bea, surveying her work, from its perch on her finger. "Now try this on, Olive, I've tipped the feather a little more to one side, and it looks more jaunty—just the thing too; isn't that becoming girls?"
"Perfectly mag!" exclaimed Kat, making an eye-glass of her hands, and falling into a rapture of admiration that pretty near upset her from the foot-board.
"I declare, you're going to be very distinguished looking, Olive," said Kittie, resting from her packing to survey, and pass an opinion. "And a cocked hat is very becoming. The next thing we hear, you will be creating a sensation in Staunton that will shake the whole of Virginia."
"Very likely," laughed Olive; but she looked pleased, for there was honest admiration in each sister's voice; and, after all, it is no small thing to be going off alone, with a trunk filled by loving hands, a new cocked hat that is becoming, and the pleasing thought of looking well in all respects, and perhaps "distinguished."
The day for departure came at last; and in the afternoon sunshine, Olive, trunk and satchel stood on the porch, waiting for the express wagon; and the front door stood open, and there was a great deal of laughing andtalking going on within, that sounded very gay and happy. Dr. Barnett had taken advantage of the little excitement to drop in, though he had been around only the evening before, and bid Olive good-bye, with much ceremony and many good wishes; but no one seemed to object to his being on hand again, for Bea looked her unconscious happiness, and Mrs. Dering was cordial and kind, and the young doctor was in a dream of bliss.
"Where's Ralph?" exclaimed Olive, suddenly, when the real good-bye moment had fairly come; if such it could be called, when the whole family were going to the depôt with the young traveller.
"He's gone, sure enough!" said Kittie, after some hasty and lusty calling had taken place. "I suppose he's gone on down to the train; but it's funny the wagon don't come."
"I'll trot down to the gate and see if it is in sight," volunteered Kat, who was obliged to keep moving as a vent to excitement; but just as she started, there rattled up to the gate, in great style, the handsomest of Canfield's two hacks, and out of it sprang Ralph.
"I wanted you to go off in style," he said, well pleased with himself when he saw Olive's delighted look. "Here cabby, is the trunk! Now, ladies—hollo, doctor! you going to the train?"
"Well, really," said Dr. Barnett, hesitating, "I hadn't thought, but, if Miss Olive will allow me, I'll be happy."
He said Miss Olive, but, bless you! he looked right straight at Miss Beatrice, and she smiled; and after that, neither ever knew whether Olive was willing or not.
"This is putting on style with a vengeance," said Kat, as the ladies seated themselves in the back, after the trunk had been tossed aloft. "People will think the whole family is departing for Europe."
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"That'sOlive! that's Olive! Oh I'm so glad; hurry James, there she is!"
It was an eager, childish voice, ringing joyfully through the Staunton depôt, and making every one turn and smile at the speaker, who stood in a large carriage, running her eyes over the crowd that gathered as the train came in and stopped; and suddenly breaking into that joyful cry, as she watched for a face, which appeared among so many strange ones.
"Yes, Miss Jean; the young lady in grey?"
"Yes, and hurry; she doesn't see us yet," cried Jean, almost leaping from the carriage in her eager excitement, but James made his way through the crowd, and Olive suddenly found herself confronted by a tall man who lifted his hat.
"Miss Dering? Miss Jean is in the carriage; may I take your satchel? This way, please."
Olive followed, with her heart fluttering wildly; but almost before her quick eye discovered her little sister, James had paused at the carriage, and Jean was laughing and crying on her neck.
"Oh, Olive, I'm so glad and happy, I don't know what to do! I was so afraid you wouldn't come—and Uncle Ridley told me I mustn't get out of the carriage—and cousin Roger couldn't come with me—and I'm so glad you came—and how is mama and the girls—why don't you say something?"
More than one person in hearing of this incoherent outburst, smiled broadly, and James was obliged to lower his head as he assisted Olive into the carriage, lest the twinkle of amusement in his face, should mar his profound dignity and professed stolidity for anything outside his coachmanship.
"Do tell me everything—quick," cried Jean, as the carriage started onward, and she took her seat on Olive's lap. "Didn't mama send her picture, or something? I'd give twenty million dollars, if I had it, if I could just see her for a few little minutes. I guess I've cried about fifty gallons of tears to see you all since I came here."
"Cried, when you are getting well?" laughed Olive, just beginning to realize how much she had wanted to seethe little sister, who was now clinging to her with such joyous love.
"Yes, indeed I have; and then Bettine gets so sorry for me, and says it isn't right, but then, I think God ought not to make me love mama and you all so much, if He does not want me to cry to see you."
"And are you ever so much better?" asked Olive.
"Oh yes, I never use my crutch now, only a little cane to help me, and the first time I really walk without any thing, I'm going to have my picture taken for mama."
"I will draw it," exclaimed Olive. "If I am here, and have you standing among the flowers."
"How nice," cried Jean; then drew back a little, and looked at her sister, as though just aware that she was really present.
"Why, Olive, you—seems to me—I don't know; but then, aren't you changed a good deal, someway?"
"I don't know; do you think I am?" asked Olive feeling the color creep into her cheeks, at the honest childish question.
"Yes, it seems to me you are;" and Jean looked undecided whether to go on. "You look so nice and pretty, and then you don't seem a bit cross; is it because you are glad to see me?"
"That's just exactly it," cried Olive, moved to hide her face.
"You don't know how glad I am to see you Jeanie,and if I'm cross a single once while I'm here, you may scold me."
"Oh, Olive," and Jean laughed merrily. "The idea of my scolding you, that's too funny. Don't you ever get cross any more?"
"I try not, but then I do a great many times, I expect; I don't think I will now though, for I'm so glad to be with you, and find that you are just the same little Jeanie, that mama and the girls love and want to see so much. Why Kat said she expected you would have on long dresses, and be a young lady."
"What a funny old girl she is," cried Jean. "I'd give anything to hear her laugh once, it always sounds so pretty."
The rest of the drive was taken up in hasty chattering, as though they were going to be separated in just a few moments, and would leave something untold; and Olive never noticed that they had entered some tall gates, and were going up a white gravel road that wound in and out of the velvet-like lawn; and had quite forgotten her trepidation at meeting Mr. Congreve, until they came to a stand still, and James, throwing open the carriage door, revealed the great entrance portico, the open doors and the cool dark interior to Congreve Hall.
"Where is Uncle Ridley?" was Jean's first question, as James lifted her out and handed her cane, while Olive followed.
"I do not know, Miss Jean," James answered; but at that moment, Mr. Congreve became visible, advancing through the wide hall, and with her heart in a little jump, Olive passed Jean, entered the door, and met him, with outstretched hand.
"How do you do, Uncle Ridley?"
"Uncle Ridley! God bless my soul, just listen," cried the old man, the quizzical look on his face changing to one of blank delighted amazement, "Why, how do you do, my dear child; I didn't know but what you'd take my head off the first thing; you've changed a great deal; yes, bless my soul you have, but it's very becoming, it is indeed. Now come right in and sit down, and let me look at you, for I'd like to do so, yes I would. There—hum! ha, I never expected to get this close to you and be safe. And you called me Uncle Ridley too. Do it of your own accord?"
"Yes, sir."
"Going to do it again?"
"If you want me to?"
"Want you to! God bless my soul! Just listen. I never was a downright, unvarnished heathen, but twice in my life; and I guess you know about both of those times, and my first request is that you let them slide from your memory. The Lord knows I'd like to! Yes, child, I want you to call me uncle, I hoped you would, but I wasn't going to ask you to. Before I die, I would like to be a better uncle to Robert's children than I ever was to him."