Evelyn, leaning back among the pillows of the wide couch, called Lucy softly, motioning her to a seat by her side.
Lucy came quickly, pleased by Evelyn's notice. She in her turn had been regarding Evelyn as a monopolist of everybody's attention and had made up her mind not to like her. But now she sank into the place by Evelyn's side, and accepted the delicate touch of Evelyn's hand on hers as recognition at last that here was another girl fit to make friends with.
"Don't they play well?" whispered Evelyn, as the music came to a sudden stop that Celia might criticise the playing of a difficult passage.
"She doesn't think so," called Just, softly, having caught the whisper. He indicated his elder sister. "She won't let me boom things with my viol the way I'd like to. What's the use of playing the biggest instrument if you can't make the biggest noise?"
"Solo, by the double-bass!" cried Andy; and the whole orchestra, except the first violin of the leader, burst into a boisterous rendering of a popular street song, in which Just sawed forth the leading part, while the others kept up a rattling staccato accompaniment. Evelyn and Lucy became breathless with laughter, and Mr. and Mrs. Birch, who had just slipped into the room, joined in the merriment.
"There you are," chuckled Jeff. "That's what you get when you give the donkey the solo part among the farmyard performers."
"He can sing as well as the peacock," retorted Just, with spirit.
"We were right in the middle of the'Hungarian Intermezzo,'" explained Celia to the newcomers. "I stopped them to tell them why they needed to look more carefully to their phrasing, and the children burst into this sort of thing. What shall I do with them?"
"It's a great relief to feel that they're not altogether grown up, after all," said Mr. Birch, helping himself to his favourite easy chair near the fireplace. "There are times when we feel a strong suspicion that we haven't any children any more. Moments like these assure us that we are mistaken. Go on with your 'Intermezzo,' but give us another nursery song before you are through."
"Nursery song! That's pretty good," said Jeff, in Just's ear, and that sixteen-year-old mumbled in reply, "I can throw you over my shoulder just the same."
"Boys, come! We're ready!" called Celia, and the music began again.
"Are you getting tired, dear?" asked Mrs. Birch of Evelyn, when the "Intermezzo" was finished, noting the flush on the delicate cheek. Evelyn looked up brightly.
"Not enough to hurt me. I'm enjoying it so! Aren't large families lovely? I was so much younger than my brothers and sisters that by the time I was old enough to care about having good times like this on winter evenings they were all away at school or married. We never had anything so nice as a family orchestra, either. I wish I could play something."
"How about the piano?" asked Charlotte, who sat near. Evelyn's flush grew pinker.
"I can play a little," she said. "But you don't need the piano."
"Yes, we do. A piano would add ever so much. Next time we'll have our practice at home, and give you a part."
Then she glanced at Lucy, and saw what might have been expected, a look of envy and discontent. "Is there anything you can play, Lucy?" she asked. "It would be very nice to have everybody in. Perhaps Ran could have a triangle."
"I play the piano," said Lucy.
"Oh, give Lucy the piano," Evelyn said, quickly,--also as might have been expected.
"We'll try you both," put in Doctor Churchill, "as they always do aspirants for such positions."
"I've had lessons from the best master in our state," said Lucy to Just.
"That so? Then you may win out," was his opinion. "But you can't be sure. Evelyn's not much of a bragger, but she seems to be a pretty well-educated girl."
"Just, be careful!" warned Charlotte, in his ear, as she drew him gently to one side. "I know you don't like her, but you must be considerate of her."
"I don't feel much like it."
"You know I want your help about Lucy." Charlotte had drawn him still farther away, so that she could speak with safety. "But you know, too, that snubbing isn't a way to get hold of anybody."
"It's the only way with conceited softies," began Just.
But Charlotte caught his hand and squeezed it. "No, it isn't. I'm sure she's worth being friends with, and if she can learn certain things you can teach her in the way of athletics, and reading, and all that, you can do her lots of good."
"Don't feel a bit like being a missionary!" growled Just. "Suppose I've got to try it, to please you. Evelyn's all right, isn't she?"
"Yes, she's a dear. I'm so glad we kept her. That makes me realise she's had quite enough excitement for to-night. I must carry her off to bed. Perhaps you'd all better--"
"No, you don't!" said Just, with a rebellious laugh. "Just because you've set up a sanatorium and a kindergarten you can't send your brothers off to bed at nine o'clock. I want a good visit with you after the infants and invalids are in bed."
"All right, big boy," promised Charlotte, rejoicing in the affectionate look he gave her.
She had been anxious that her marriage should in no way interfere with the old brotherly and sisterly relations, and it was a long time since she had had a confidential talk with her youngest brother. Jeff was always coming to her precisely as in the old days, with demands for interest and advice; but Just had seemed a little farther away.
So when she had seen the "infants and invalids" happily gone to rest, and after a quiet hour of family talk about the fireside had said good-night to all the others, Charlotte turned to Just with a look of welcome as fresh and inviting as if the evening had but now begun. Doctor Churchill had gone to make a bedtime call upon a patient critically ill, and the two were quite alone.
"This is jolly," said Just, settling himself on a couch pillow at her feet, his long legs stretched out to the fire, his head resting against his sister's knee. "Now I'm going to tell you everything that's happened to me since you were married. Not that there's anything wonderful to tell, or that I'm in any scrape, you know, but I'd like to feel I've got my sister and that she cares--just as much as ever." He twisted his head about till he could look up into the warm, sweet face above him. "Doesshe care as much as ever?"
It was an unusual demonstration from the big boy, now at the age when sisterly companionship is often despised, and Charlotte appreciated it. More than Justin Birch could understand was in her voice as her fingers rested upon his hair, but what she said gave him great satisfaction, although it was only a blithe:
"Just as much--and a little more, dear. Tell me the whole story. There's nothing I'd like so much to hear."
"Evelyn! Miss Evelyn Lee! Where are you?"
Jeff's shout rang up the stairs, and in obedience to its imperative summons Evelyn immediately appeared at the head.
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson Birch," she responded. "Is the house on fire?"
"Not a bit, but I'm anxious for your hearing. I've been roaring gently all over the house without a result, except to scare three patients in Andy's office. Won't you come down?"
She descended slowly, but she neither clung to the rail nor sat down to rest half-way, as she had done when she first came under the Churchill roof.
Her face was acquiring the soft bloom of a flower, her eyes were full of light and interest. She still looked slim and frail, but she was beginning to show signs of waxing health very pleasant to see for those who had grown as interested in her as if she were a young sister of their own.
"I've an invitation for you from Carolyn Houghton for an impromptu sleigh-ride to-night. Don't you suppose you can go? I'll take all sorts of care of you and see that you don't get too tired. You've met Carolyn; she's a jolly girl to know, and she told me to bring you if possible."
Evelyn dropped into a chair. "Oh, how I should love to go!" she said. "I never went on a sleigh-ride like that in my life. Do you go all together in a big load?"
"Yes--a regular prairie-schooner of a sleigh. Holds a dozen of us, packed like sardines, so nobody can get cold. We take hot soapstones and rugs and robes, and we go only twelve miles, to a farmhouse where we get a hot supper--oysters and hot biscuit and maple-syrup, and all sorts of good things. You must go."
"If I only could!" sighed Evelyn. "I'm so afraid they won't think I can."
"They will, ifyouthink you can," asserted Jeff. "You're up to it, aren't you? You needn't do a thing. Six of the crowd are going to give a little play. I'll get the load started home early, and we'll come back flying. Be here by midnight at the latest. It'll do you good, I know it will."
"O Mrs. Churchill!" breathed Evelyn, as Charlotte appeared from the hall.
"O Evelyn Lee!" answered Charlotte, smiling back at the eager face. "Yes, I heard most of it, Jeff, for I was coming down-stairs, and you weren't exactly whispering. It's an enticing plan, isn't it?"
"Of course it is. And it's magnificent weather for the affair. Not cold a bit and no wind; moonlight due if no clouds come up. Evelyn can't get cold. I'll keep her done up to the tip of her nose, and be so devoted nobody else will have a chance to worry her. Say she may go. Don't you see the disappointment would be worse for her than the trip?"
"You artful pleader, I'm not sure but it would. If Doctor Churchill agrees, Evelyn, I'll let you try it. On one condition, Jeff--that you really do get back by midnight. For a girl who has been put to bed for weeks at nine that's late enough."
Evelyn went about all day with a lighter step than her friends had yet seen her assume.
"Now remember, I trust her absolutely to your care," Charlotte said to Jeff that evening, as he appeared, his arms full of accessories for making his charge comfortable.
Evelyn, in furs and heavy coat, smiled at her escort. "I'm not a bit afraid," she said. "Oh, what a beautiful night! The moon is out. Is that the sleigh coming up the street now, with all those horns? What fun!"
"I want to put Miss Lee right in the middle of everything!" Jeff called out, as the sleighload stopped. "I'm particularly requested not to let a breath of frost strike her."
"Come on, here's just the spot," answered Carolyn Houghton, holding out a welcoming hand; and then the girl from the South, who had never known the sleighing-party of the North, found herself being whirled away over the road, to an accompaniment of youthful merriment, bursts of songs and tooting of horns.
Before it seemed possible the twelve miles of fine sleighing had been covered, and the old farmhouse, its door flung hospitably open at the sound of the horns, was invaded by the gay band.
Evelyn, in a quaint up-stairs bedroom, lighted by kerosene lamps and warmed by a roaring wood fire in an old-fashioned box stove, was attended by Carolyn Houghton, who was, as Jeff had said, a "jolly girl to know." Herself a blooming maid with black locks and carnation cheeks, Carolyn admired intensely Evelyn's auburn hair and fair complexion.
"Don't you think she's the dearest thing?" she whispered to a friend, as they descended the stairs. "There's something so soft and sweet and ladylike about her, as if nobody could be slangy or loud before her, you know. Yet she isn't a bit dull; she justsparkleswhen you get her interested and happy. I do want her to have a good time to-night."
There could be no doubt that Evelyn was having a good time. Everything pleased her, everybody interested her. It seemed to her that she had never seen such charming young people before.
The little play made her laugh till she was as flushed and gay as a child. Those with whom Evelyn showed herself so delighted became equally delighted with her, and before the evening was over she was feeling that she had always known these young friends, had forgotten that she had ever been an invalid, and was indeed "sparkling," as Carolyn Houghton had said, in a way that drew all eyes toward her in admiration.
Jeff, indeed, stared at her as if he had never seen her before.
"I'm sure this isn't hurting you a bit," he said in her ear, as the evening slipped on. "You must be feeling pretty well, for I've never seen you so jolly. I'm going to do the prescribing after this. I know what's good for little girls."
"I believe you do," Evelyn answered. "No, I'm not a bit tired. Why, is it almost eleven?"
"Yes, and time to go, if we live up to our promises. Seems a pity, doesn't it? But it doesn't pay to break your word, so as soon as you girls can get into your toggery we'll be off."
"Of course, we must keep our promise," agreed Evelyn, with decision, and straightway she went up-stairs for her wraps. The other girls followed more reluctantly.
"'Goodness, girls, look out!" cried somebody from the window. "Did you ever see it so thick? The barns are just down there, where that glimmer is, but you can't see them at all."
"All the more fun," said another girl.
"We're pretty far out in the country, and the road's awfully winding. I hope we get home all right."
"Oh, nonsense!" said some one else, with great positiveness. "I should know the way with my eyes shut. Besides, it was as clear as a bell when we came. It can't have been snowing long enough to block things in the least."
They found it had done so however, when they descended to the sleigh. That vehicle had been brought close to the porch, that the girls might not have to walk through the deep snow. The air was so full of the whirling white particles that from the farther end of the sleigh one could barely see the horses.
"I declare, I don't feel just easy about you folks starting out," said the farmer whose guests they had been. "Better watch the road some careful, you driver. I suppose you know it pretty well."
"He doesn't, but I do!" called a tall youth from the driver's seat. "I'll keep him straight. We'll be all right. We're due home at midnight, and we'll be there, unless the roads are too heavy to keep the pace we came in."
"No, sir, we can't ever keep the pace we come in," presently averred the man from the livery-stable, who was driving. "The road's pretty heavy. I declare, I don't know as I ever see snow so thick. Do I turn a little to the right here or do I keep straight ahead?"
"Straight ahead," answered the boy beside him, confidently. "I've been over this road a thousand times, and it doesn't bend to the right for half a mile yet."
"It's lucky you know," said the driver. "I'm all at sea already. Can't see the fences only now and then. I'd ha' swung off there, sure, if you hadn't said not."
As the rising wind began to whirl snowily about their ears and necks, the party turned up their coat-collars and tucked in their fur robes. The horses were plowing with increasing difficulty through the heavily drifted roads, and more than once their driver found himself obliged to make a long detour around a drift which had not been in the road when they first came over it. Moreover, in spite of the snow, the air seemed to have grown colder and to be acquiring a penetrating, icy quality which at last made Jeff declare to Evelyn:
"You may say you're not cold, but I'm going to insist on your letting me wrap this steamer rug found your shoulders, with the corner over your head, so. Now doesn't that keep off a lot of wind?"
"Indeed it does, thank you," admitted Evelyn, with a little shiver she could not quite conceal.
"Youarecold!" Jeff said, anxiously.
"No colder than anybody else. Please don't worry about me."
But he did worry, and with reason. Indeed, although nobody was willing yet to admit it, the situation was becoming a little unpleasant. In spite of the stout confidence of the boy on the seat with the driver, others who were somewhat familiar with the road were beginning to question his leading.
"That clump of trees doesn't look natural just there," said one, standing up in the sleigh and trying to peer through the wall of snowflakes. "It's too near. It ought to be a hundred feet away."
"No. You're thinking we're farther back than We are," declared Neil Ward, from the front seat. "We're almost at the turn by the railroad."
"Why, we can't be! We haven't passed the Winters farm. I tell you, you're off the road."
"I think we are," agreed the driver, uneasily, pulling his cap farther over his snow-hung eyebrows. "I've been thinking so for quite a spell."
"We're all right. You people just keep cool!" cried Neil.
"No trouble about keeping cool in this blizzard!" growled somebody, and there was a general laugh.
One of the girls started a song, and they all joined cheerily in. A proposition to toot the horns, forgotten in the bottom of the sleigh, with a hope of attracting attention from some one, was adopted, and a hideous din followed, and was kept up till every one was weary--with no result.
All at once, without warning, the horses plunged heavily and solidly to their steaming shoulders into an undreamed-of ditch, and the sleigh stopped, well into the same hole.
"Will you admit now that we're off the road, Neil Ward?" cried some one, fiercely; and Neil, without contention but with evident chagrin, admitted it. There was no ditch that he was aware of within a mile of the highway.
Jeff drew the rugs tighter about Evelyn, then lifted a corner to peer in. "Don't be frightened, little girl. We'll get out of this all right," he said, as cheerfully as he could, although he was alarmed for her safety more than he would have dared to admit, even to himself.
The other girls were all strong, healthy specimens of young womanhood, presumably able to endure a good deal of cold and exposure without danger of serious harm. But this little sensitive plant! Jeff waited in suspense for her answer.
It came in a clear, sweet voice, without a particle of fright in it: "Of course we shall. And won't it be fun to tell about it afterward?"
"You're right, it will!" he responded, with enthusiasm. Inwardly he said, "You're a plucky one, all right." Then, with the other fellows, he leaped out of the sleigh, and went to trampling down the snow around the imprisoned horses.
Alone together, after Randolph and Lucy had gone to bed, Andrew and Charlotte passed the long evening. Charlotte was not willing to let Evelyn come home to a closed and silent house, so the two awaited her arrival.
"Why, Andy, it's snowing furiously!" said Charlotte, from the window, whither she had gone at the stroke of twelve. Doctor Churchill put down the book from which he had been reading aloud, and came to her side.
"So it is. Blowing, too. But it can't have been at it long or we should have noticed."
"I've been noticing the wind now and then for the last hour. I hope it's not grown cold. I wouldn't have anything happen to upset Evelyn's improvement for the world."
"Nothing will. They'll be home before the half-hour. Come back and listen to the rest of this chapter."
Charlotte came back, but as the quarter-hours went slowly by she became restless, and vibrated so continually between fireplace and window that Andy finally put away the book and kept her company.
"It's growing worse every minute." Charlotte's face was pressed close against the frosty pane. "If they don't come by one it will look as if something had happened."
"Oh, they're at the irresponsible age. When they come they'll say, 'Why, we didn't dream it was so late!'"
"Jeff's not irresponsible when he gives a promise. He never breaks one," Charlotte answered, confidently.
"This storm would make the roads heavy. Even if they started on time, they would have to travel twice as slowly as when they went. Stop worrying, dear; it's not in character for you."
Charlotte closed her lips, but when the clock struck one her eyes spoke for her. "Evelyn is so delicate," they said, mutely, and Andy answered as if she had spoken.
"Evelyn is wrapped too heavily to be cold. Besides, they'll all take care of her. She won't come to any harm, I'm sure of it. They'll be here before half-past-one, I'm confident, and then we can antidote any chill she may have got."
But at half-past-one there was still no sign of the sleighing party. Moreover, the storm was steadily increasing; it had become what is known as a "blizzard." Even in the protected suburban street the drifts were beginning to show size, and the arc-light at the corner was almost lost to view through the downfall.
Charlotte turned to her husband with something like imperiousness in her manner, and met the same decision in his look. Before she could speak he said:
"Yes, I'll go to meet them. It does look as if they might be stalled somewhere. It's rather a lonely road till they reach the railroad, and it's possible they've missed the way."
He went to the telephone.
"Andy," cried Charlotte, following him, "order a double sleigh, please! I must go with you."
He turned and looked at her, hesitating. "It isn't necessary, dear. I'll go over and wake up Just, I think. We two will be--"
"I must go," she interrupted. "I couldn't endure to wait here any longer. And if Evelyn should be very much chilled she'll need me to look after her. Besides--"
He smiled at her. "You won't let me get lost in a snow-drift myself without you."
She nodded, and ran away to make ready. By the time the livery-stable had been awakened from its early morning apathy, and had sent round the double sleigh with the best pair of horses in its stalls, the party was ready.
Just, awakened by snowballs thrown in at his open window, had joyfully dressed himself. At the last moment Charlotte had thought of the automobile headlight, and this, hurriedly filled and lighted, streamed out over the snow as the three jumped into the sleigh. All were warmly dressed, and Charlotte had brought many extra wraps, as well as a supply of medicines for a possible emergency of which she did not like to think.
"Julius Caesar, but this is a night!" came from between Just's teeth, as the sleigh reached the end of the suburban streets and made the turn upon the open country road. He clutched at his cap, pulling it still farther down over his ears. "What a change in six hours!"
"This is a straight nor'easter," answered Doctor Churchill, slapping hands already chilled, in spite of his heavy driving gloves. Then he turned his head. "Can't you keep well down behind us, Charlotte?" he called over his shoulder.
"I'm all right!" she called back. One had to shout to be heard in the roar of the wind.
After that nobody talked, except as Just from time to time offered to drive, to give Andrew's hands a chance to warm. That young man, however, would not give over the reins to anybody. It was not for nothing that he had been driving over this country, under all possible conditions of weather, for nearly five years.
When they had crossed the railroad which marked the end of the main highway between two towns and the beginning of the narrow side road which led off across country to the farmhouse of the sleighing party, conviction that the young people had been stalled somewhere on the great plain they were crossing became settled.
It was with the utmost difficulty that Doctor Churchill kept the road. Only the fact that the storm was showing signs of decreasing, and that now and then came moments when he could see more clearly the outlying indications of fence and tree and infrequent habitation assured him that he had not lost the way.
"Hark!" cried Charlotte, suddenly, as they plowed along.
For the instant the wind had lulled. Doctor Churchill stopped his horses, and the three held their breath to listen. After a brief interval came the faint, far toot of a horn. Then, away to the left, a light suddenly flashed, vanished, and flashed again.
"There they are!" cried three exultant voices.
"But how shall we get to them?" shouted Just, instantly alive with excitement. "Why, they're a mile away! There's no road over there, nor any houses. They're right out in the fields."
Then the sifting snow shut down again. The three looked at one another in the yellow glare from the automobile headlight.
"Don't they see our light?" Charlotte asked, eagerly.
"I think perhaps they have seen it," Doctor Churchill answered, "and that's why they were blowing their horns. Probably some of them will start toward us. If they're not stuck, they'll begin to drive this way. I believe the thing to do will be for Charlotte to stay here in the sleigh, keeping the headlight pointed just to the left of that big tree--I noticed that was where the flash of their fire came--and for Just and me to start across the fields. I'll turn the horses with their backs to the wind and blanket them. Then--hold on, I've a better plan. Let's make a fire of our own. That will insure Charlotte's keeping warm."
"Everything's too wet," objected Just. "That crowd must have had a time getting green wood to burn."
"We can do it." Doctor Churchill was feeling among the robes at his feet. "I thought of it before we started, and put in a kerosene-can and some newspapers. Hatchet, too."
Just got out of the sleigh and waded away toward a thick growth of underbrush along the side of the road.
In ten minutes a roaring fire was leaping into the descending snowfall. A pile of brush and some broken fence-rails were left with Charlotte, the horses made as snug as possible, and then the two others jumped the fence and plunged off into the snow.
Guided by glimpses of the apparently fitful fire of the sleighing party, Doctor Churchill and Just made their way. Sometimes the course was comparatively free from drifts; again they had to wallow nearly to their waists.
"Confounded long way!" grunted Just. "Good thing we're both tough and strong. Except for Jeff, there aren't any athletes in the Houghton party."
"Don't I see somebody coming toward us?" Doctor Churchill asked, presently.
The snowfall was lightening again, and the small flame in the distance looked nearer. He put his hands to his mouth and gave a long, clear hail. He was answered by a similar one. Then followed a peculiar musical call, which Just, recognising, answered ecstatically.
"It's Jeff!" he shouted. "Whoop!I'll bet he's glad to hear us!"
He was. He came plunging through the last big drift toward them, a snow-encrusted figure. "Well, well!" he cried, in tones of pleasure and relief. "I knew you'd come. Where are we, anyhow?"
"A mile off the road. Are you all right? I see you've got a fire. How's--"
"Evelyn's all right, I think. Since we managed the fire she's fairly warm again. Plucky as any girl in the crowd, and they're all plucky. How are we to get our load down to the road?"
"I brought ropes, and we've a strong pair back there. We'll go and get them, now that we know where you are. You go back to your party and prepare them to be rescued."
"No, Just can go to the camp, and I'll keep on with you."
Just, being entirely willing to accept the part of rescuer, plowed on through the big holes Jeff had left in his track. Doctor Churchill and Jeff made their way back to Charlotte.
"Yes, we had rather a bad time for a while," admitted Jeff, as he helped Andy make the horses ready to start. "We got pretty cold, and I thought we'd never make the fire go. Found the inside of an old stump at last, and got her started. Yes, all the girls looked after Evelyn--came pretty near smothering her. I don't believe she's taken cold. The snow's letting up. I can see our fire back there. No, we didn't see yours; we were just tooting on general principles. Evelyn insisted she caught a glimmer, and I started out to climb a tree to find out. I saw it then, for a minute, and was sure it was you. Keep this fire going, Charlotte. The storm may close down again, and we want to make straight tracks across the fields."
By the time they reached the camp in the fields both Jeff and Doctor Churchill were pretty well wearied. But they greeted the party there with an enthusiasm which matched the welcome they received.
The spirits of the whole company had risen with a jump the instant they had caught sight of Just, and now, with four horses to pull the ponderous sleigh through the drifts, the boys walking by its side and the girls tucked snugly in among the robes, the whole aspect of things was changed. The situation lost seriousness, and although each was prepared to make a thrilling tale of it for the various family circles when daylight came, nobody except Jeff really regretted the experience of the night. When they reached Charlotte and the smaller sleigh, there was a great chorus of explanations. She swiftly extracted Evelyn and took her in beside herself.
"Indeed, yes, I'm warm, Mrs. Churchill," protested the girl. Her voice showed that she was very tired, but her inflection was as cheerful as ever. With a hot soapstone at her feet, a hot-water bag in her lap and Charlotte's arm about her, she leaned back on the fur-clad shoulder beside her and rejoiced. One thing was certain. She had had a real Northern good time, with an exciting ending, and she was quite willing to be tired.
With the wind at their backs and the fall of snow nearly ceased, the party was not a great while in getting back to town. The clocks were striking five when Charlotte, having put her charge to bed, and fed her with hot food and spicy, steaming drinks, administered the last pat and tuck. "Now you're not to open your eyes and stir until four o'clock this afternoon," she admonished her, with decisive tenderness. "Then if you're very good, you may get up and dress in time for dinner."
"I'll be good, Mrs. Churchill," promised Evelyn, smiling rather faintly. She fell asleep almost before the door closed.
"You must feel a load off your shoulders," Just observed to Jeff, as the two made ready for slumber for the brief time remaining before breakfast and the school and college work which would then claim them both.
"I do. But if Evelyn comes out all right I shall be glad I took her. I tell you that girl's a mighty good sort."
"I wish Lucy was like her. What do you think I'm in for? Our class reception is for Friday night, at the head-master's house. Doctor Agnew's daughters have met Lucy, and I'm sure she gave 'em a hint to invite her to come with me. Anyhow, they've done it, and of course I've got to take her."
"Oh, well, a fellow has to be civil to a lot of girls he doesn't particularly admire. Lucy's not so bad. She's rather pretty--when she's feeling amiable--and she certainly dresses well."
Jeff's assertion in the matter of Lucy's appearance was proved true. When Just, on Friday evening, marched across to the other house, inwardly raging at his fate, he had an agreeable surprise. As he stood by the fireplace with Charlotte, Lucy came down-stairs and floated in at the door. Just stopped in the middle of a sentence and stared.
Being really a very pretty girl, and feeling, at the present moment, the height of fluttering expectation, her face was illumined into an attractiveness that was quite a revelation to her friends. For the first time Lucy felt herself to be in the centre of things, and it made another girl of her. In addition, the evening frock she wore was so charming in style and colouring that it contributed not a little to the general effect.
Altogether, Just experienced quite a revulsion of feeling in regard to the painful duty before him, and came forward to assist Lucy into her long coat with considerable alacrity and cheerfulness.
"Oh, I do love parties so," she declared, as they hurried along the streets. "I'm not used to being so dull as I've been here. It seems to me that you have mighty few doings for young people. I don't call candy-pulls and fudge parties realparties."
"Probably you won't call this to-night a real party, then. There's never much that's exciting at Doctor Agnew's. He always has an orchestra playing, and we walk round and talk, and usually somebody does something to entertain us--a reading or songs. Maybe you won't think it's as festive as you expect."
"Oh, well, I reckon it will be a nice change," said she, with quite unexpected good humour.
In the dressing-room Chester Agnew, the son of the head-master, came up to Just with an expression of mingled pleasure and chagrin.
"Awfully glad to see you, Birch," he said, "I suppose you noticed that we have no music going to-night. It's a shame, isn't it? Lindmann's men have been delayed by a freight wreck on the P. & Q. They were coming home from a wedding down the line somewhere, and telephoned us they couldn't get out here before midnight. We've tried to get some other music, but everything's engaged somewhere."
"Too bad, but it's no great matter," Just replied, comfortably. "We can worry along without the orchestra."
"No, you can't. Mother's plans for to-night were for a series of national dances, in costume, by sixteen of the juniors, and that's all up without the music."
"Why won't the piano do?"
"We haven't a piano in the house. Yes, I know, but it was Helena's, and when she was married in November she took it with her. Father hasn't bought a new one yet, because the other girls don't play. Now do you see? You're in for the stupidest evening you've had this winter, for it's too late to get anybody here to do any sort of entertaining."
"That is too bad," admitted Just, thinking of Lucy, and finding himself caring a good deal that she should not think the affair dull. He walked along the hall with Chester to the point where he should meet Lucy, thinking about the situation. Then an idea popped into his head.
"Isn't your telephone in that little closet off the dining-room?" he asked.
"Yes. Want to use it?"
"Yes. Take Lucy down, will you? You know her. I've just thought of something."
Just slipped down to the dining-room. He carefully closed the door of the closet and called up Doctor Churchill. To him he rapidly explained the situation and the remedy which had occurred to him. Doctor Churchill's voice came back to him in a tone of amused surprise.
"Why, Just, do you think we could carry it through decently? We don't know the music at all. Oh, play our own and make it fit? What sort will do--ordinary waltzes and two-steps? I shouldn't mind helping them out, of course, if I thought we could manage it. Better than nothing? Well--possibly. Better consult Mrs. Agnew before we do anything rash."
Just ran up the rear staircase and down the front one. He found Chester and whispered his plan. Interrupting Chester's eager gratitude, he asked for somebody who could tell him what music would be needed.
"Mother's receiving, and so are the girls. Carolyn Houghton will know, I think. She's been at the rehearsals. I'll get her."
"Well, are you going to leave me to myself much longer?" Lucy inquired, reproachfully, as Just waited silently beside her for Carolyn.
"Why, I'm awfully sorry," he said, remembering his duties, which in the excitement of the moment he realised he was forgetting. "I hope you'll excuse me, but I've got to help the Agnews out if I can." And he hurriedly told her his plan. She stared at him in astonishment.
"You don't mean you would come and take the place of a hired orchestra for a reception?" she cried, under her breath.
It was Just's turn to stare. Then he straightened shoulders which were already pretty square. "Would you mind telling me why not? That is, provided we can do it well enough."
"I think it's a mighty queer thing to do," insisted Lucy, with disapproval.
Carolyn Houghton appeared and beckoned Just and Chester out into the hall. Lucy followed, not liking to be left alone. Everybody seemed to be forgetting her, although Chester had turned, and said cordially, "That's right, Miss Lucy! Come and help us plan."
Carolyn lost no time. "It's fine of you," she said eagerly. "Yes, I'm sure you can do it. Not one person in fifty will know whether the tunes you play are national or not. Something quaint and queer for the Hungarian, and jigsy and gay for the Irish. Castanets in the Spanish dance--have you them?"
"Young Randolph Peyton can work those," began Just, looking at Lucy.
She frowned. "Really, I don't believe you'd better have him in it," she said, with such an air that Carolyn glanced at her in amazement, and Chester coughed and turned away.
"Oh, very well!" Just answered, instantly. "You can do 'em yourself, then, Ches."
"All right," said Chester. "There is a big screen of palms and ferns for the orchestra," he explained, with satisfaction, to Lucy. "Nobody'll know who's performing, anyhow."
"Oh!" said Lucy.
Carolyn had soon convinced Just that the little home orchestra could undertake the music without much fear of failure.
"Of course there's a chance that the change may put the dancers out, yet I don't think so. I noticed it was rather simple music, and they're so well drilled they're not very dependent on the music. Anyhow, people will be too interested in the costumes and the steps to notice whether the music is strictly appropriate. As long as you give them something in precisely the right time, I don't believe the change will bother them. I can coach you on that."
"All right," and Just hurried back to the telephone.
Within three-quarters of an hour he had them all there, a laughing crew, ready for what struck them as a frolic for themselves. Chester Agnew carried the instruments behind the screen, and managed to slip the members of the new orchestra one by one from the dining-room doorway to the shelter of the palms without anybody's being the wiser. In ten minutes more soft music began to steal through the crowded rooms.
"The orchestra has come, after all," said Mrs. Agnew to her husband, in the front room. Her voice breathed relief.
He nodded satisfaction. "So I hear. I don't know how they managed it, but I accept the fact without question."
"Do you think it's always safe to do that?" queried his son Chester, coming up in time to hear.
"Accept facts without question? What else can you do with facts?"
"But if they should turn out not to be facts?"
"In this case I have the evidence of my ears," returned the learned man, comfortably, and Chester walked away again, his eyes dancing.
"Nobody can tell you from Lindmann," he whispered, behind the screen, during an interval.
"That's good. Hope the delusion keeps up. We don't feel much like Lindmann," returned Churchill, hastily turning over a pile of music. "Get your crowd to talking as loud as it can--then we're comparatively safe. Where's the second violin part of 'King Manfred'? Look out, Just--you hit my elbow twice with your bow-arm last time. These quarters are a bit--There you are, Charlotte. Now take this thing slow, and look to your phrasing. All ready!"
The costume dances did not come until after supper. By that time the Churchills and Birches, behind the screen, had settled down to steady work. During supper a violin, with the 'cello and bass, carried on the music, while Doctor Churchill, Celia and Carolyn Houghton planned a substitute programme for the dances.
In two cases they found the original music familiar; in most of the others it proved not very difficult to adapt other music. The leaders of the dances were told that whatever happened they were to carry through their parts without showing signs of distress.
"It's a pretty big bluff," murmured Jeff, leaning back in his chair and mopping a perspiring brow. "Phew-w. but it's hot in here! I expect to see several of those crazy dances go all to pieces on our account. That Highland Fling! Mind you keep up a ripping time on that. It ought to be piped, not stringed."
Nevertheless, in spite of a good deal of perturbation on the part of both dancers and orchestra, the entertainment went off well enough to be applauded heartily. Certain numbers, notably the South Carolina breakdown, the Irish jig, and the minuet of Washington's time, "brought down the house," presumably because the music fitted best and bothered the dancers least.
When it was over, the musicians expected to escape before they were found out, thinking the fun Would be the greater if the Agnews did not learn to whom they were indebted until later. But young Chester Agnew defeated this. He instructed half-a-dozen of his friends, and as the final strains were coming to a close, these boys laid hold of the wall of palms and pulled it to pieces. The musicians, laughing and protesting, were shown to the entire company.
A great murmur of surprise was followed by a burst of applause and laughter, in the midst of which Doctor and Mrs. Agnew hurried to the front, followed by their daughters, who had already discovered the truth, but had been warned by their brother to keep quiet about it.
"My dear friends!" exclaimed the head-master. "Is it possible that it is you who have filled the gap so successfully? Well, really, what shall we say to such kindness?"
"Mrs. Churchill--Doctor Churchill--Miss Birch--all of you," Mrs Agnew was saying, in her surprise, "what a very lovely thing to do! It has been too kind of you. We appreciate it more than we can tell you. You must come out at once and have some supper."
"The evening would have been spoiled without you!" cried Jessica Agnew, and Isabel said the same thing. Chester was loud in his praises, and indeed, the orchestra received an ovation which quite overwhelmed it. It went out to supper presently, escorted by at least twenty young people.
"Here, come and sit by me, Lucy," invited Just, in good humour at the success of his plan. "You can keep handing me food as I consume it. I never was so starved in my life. Well, have you had a good time? Sorry I had to desert you, but I've no doubt the others introduced you round and saw that you weren't neglected."
"I think Chester Agnew is one of the handsomest boys I ever met," whispered Lucy. "Hasn't he the loveliest eyes? He was just devoted to me."
Just turned, his mouth full of chickenpâté, and regarded her with interest. "Yes, his eyes are wonders," he agreed, his own twinkling. "Full of soul, and all that, you mean? Yes, they are, though I never noticed it till you pointed it out."
Lucy looked at him suspiciously.
"He liked my dress," she went on.
"Did, eh? Ches must be coming on. Never knew him to notice a girl's dress before."
"I saw him looking at it,"--Lucy's tone was impressive--"and asked if he liked pink. He said it was his favourite colour."
"H'm! I must take lessons of Ches."
"He looked at me so much I was awfully embarrassed," said Lucy, under her breath, with drooping eyes.
Just favoured her with another curious glance. "Maybe he's never seen just your kind before," he suggested. "Lucy, by the time you're twenty you'll be quite an old hand at this society business, won't you?"
"What makes you think so?" she asked, not sure whether to be gratified or not.
"Oh, your small talk is so--well, so--er--interesting. A fellow always likes to hear about another fellow--about his eyes, and so on."
"Oh, you mustn't be jealous," said Lucy, with a glance which finished Just. He choked in his napkin, and turned his attention to Carolyn Houghton, on his other side.
But when he went to bed that night he once more gave vent to his feelings on the subject of his sister's guest.
"Jeff," said he, "if a girl has absolutely no brains in her head, what do you suppose occupies the cavity?"
"Give it up," returned Jeff, sleepily.
"I think it must be a substance of about the consistency of a marshmallow," mused Just, thoughtfully. "I detest marshmallows," he added, with some resentment.
"Oh, go to bed!" murmured Jeff.
"Nobody at home, eh? Well, I'm sorry. I wanted to see somebody very much. And there's no one at the other house, either. I'm away so much I see altogether too little of these people, Mrs. Fields." Thus spoke Doctor Forester of the city--the old friend and family counselor of both Birches and Churchills.
His son Frederic--who had managed since his return from study abroad to see much more of the Birch household than his father--was watching the conversation on the door-step from his position in the driver's place on Doctor Forester's big automobile, which stood at the curb. It was a cool day in May, and a light breeze was blowing.
"I don't know but Miss Evelyn's in the house somewhere," admitted Mrs. Fields. "But I don't suppose you'd care to see her?"
"Miss Evelyn? Why, certainly I should! Please ask her to come down."
So presently Evelyn was at the door, her slender hand in the big one of the distinguished gentleman of whom she stood a little in awe.
"All alone, Miss Evelyn?" said Doctor Forester. "Then suppose you get your hat and a warm jacket and come with us. Fred and I expected to pick up whomever we found and take them for a little run down to a certain place on the river."
Such an invitation was not to be resisted. Doctor Churchill and Charlotte were at the hospital; Randolph was with them, visiting his friends and protégés among the convalescent boys. Lucy had gone to town with the Birches, and nobody knew where Jeff and Just might be.
"Suppose you sit back in the tonneau with me," Doctor Forester suggested. "Fred likes to be the whole thing on the front seat there."
He put Evelyn in and tucked her up. "Wearing a cap? That's good sense. It spoils my fun to take in a passenger with all sails spread. Hello, son, what are you stopping for? Oh, I see!"
It was Celia Birch beside whom the motor was bringing up with such a sudden check to its speed. She had appeared at the corner of the street and had instantly presented to the quick vision of Mr. Frederic Forester a good and sufficient reason for coming to a stop.
"Please come with us!" urged that young man, jumping out. "We've been to the house for you."
Celia put her hand to her head, "Just as I am?" she asked.
"Just as you are. That littlechapeauwill stay on all right. If it doesn't I'll lend you my cap. Will you keep me company in front? Father has appropriated Miss Evelyn behind there."
Celia mounted to the seat, and they were off through the wide streets, and presently away in the country, spinning along at a rate much faster than either passenger realised. The machine was a fine one, operating with so little fuss and fret that the speed it was capable of attaining was not always appreciated.
"Oh, this is glorious, isn't it, Evelyn?" cried Celia, over her shoulder.
Doctor Forester glanced from her to the young girl on the seat beside him, smiling at both. "I'm glad you put your trust in the chauffeur so implicitly. It took me some time to get used to him, but he proves worthy of confidence. I wouldn't drive my own machine a block--never have. Yes, it's delightful to go whirling along over the country in this way. I suppose you don't know where I'm taking you?"
"I don't think we much care," Celia answered, and Evelyn nodded. Both were pink-cheeked and bright-eyed with the delight of the motion.
The doctor did not explain where they were going until they had nearly reached their destination. They had passed many fine country places all along the way, and had reached a fork in the river. The broad road leading on up the river was left behind as they turned to the left, following the windings of the smaller stream.
The character of the houses along the way had changed at once. They had become comfortable farmhouses, with now and then a place of more modern aspect.
"This is the sort of thing I prefer," Doctor Forester announced, with satisfaction. "I wouldn't give a picayune to own one of those castles, back there. But down here I'm going to show you my ideal of comfort."
Fred turned in at a gateway and drove on through orchards and grove to a house behind the trees on the river bank.
"Doesn't that look like home?" exclaimed the doctor, as they alighted. "Well, it is home! I bought it yesterday, just as it stands. Nothing fine about it, outside or in. I wanted it to run away to when I'm tired. I'm not going to tell anybody about it except---"
"Except every one he meets," Fred said, gaily, to Celia, leading her toward the wide porch overlooking the river, about which the May vines were beginning to cluster profusely. "He can't keep it a secret. I may as well warn you he's going to invite you and the whole family out here for a fortnight in June. So if you don't want to come you have a chance to be thinking up a reasonable excuse."
"As if we could want one! What a charming plan for us! Does he really mean to include all of us?"
"Every one, under both roofs. I assure you it's a jolly plan for us, and I'm holding my breath till I know you'll come."
"What a lovely rest it will be for Charlotte!" murmured Celia, thinking at once, as usual, of somebody else. "She won't own it, but she's really had a pretty hard winter."
"So I should imagine, for the first year of one's married life. I'm afraid I couldn't be as hospitable as she and her husband--not all at once, you know. Do you think it's paid?"
"What? Having the three through the winter?" Celia glanced at Evelyn, who at the other end of the long porch with Doctor Forester was gazing with happy eyes out over the sunlit river. "Oh, I'm sure Charlotte and Andy would both say so. In Evelyn's case I think there's no doubt about it. From being a delicate little invalid she's come to be the healthy girl you see there. Not very vigorous yet, of course, but in a fair way to become so, Andy thinks."
"Yes, I can see," admitted Forester, thoughtfully. "But those other youngsters--"
Celia laughed. It was easy to think well of everybody out here in this delicious air and in the company of people she thoroughly liked. Even Lucy Peyton seemed less of an infliction.
"Little Ran has certainly improved very much," she said, warmly. "And even Lucy--"
"Has Lucy improved?" Forester looked at her with a quizzical smile. "The last time I saw her I thought she was rather going backward. I met her by accident in town one day. Charlotte was shopping, and Lucy was waiting. She rushed up to me as to a long lost friend. She practically invited me to invite herself and Charlotte to lunch with me--she somewhat grudgingly included Charlotte. I was rather taken off my feet for an instant. Charlotte heard, and came up. I wish you could have seen the expression on the face of Mrs. Andrew Churchill! I don't know which felt the more crushed, Lucy or I. I assure you I was anxious to take them both to lunch after that, Mrs. Andrew had made it so clearly impossible."
"The perversity of human desires," laughed Celia. "Poor Lucy! Charlotte won't stand the child's absurd affectations."
"Come here, and listen to my plan!" called Doctor Forester, unable to wait longer to unfold it. So for the next half-hour the plan was discussed in all its bearings.
Celia proposed at once that they keep it a secret from Charlotte until the last possible moment, and this was agreed upon. Then Evelyn suggested, a little shyly, that it also remain unknown to Jeff. He was to be graduated from college about the middle of June, was very busy and hurried, and might appreciate the whole thing better when Commencement was out of the way. It was finally decided that the party should come down to "The Banks" upon the evening of Jeff's Commencement Day, and that to him and Charlotte the whole arrangement should be a complete surprise.
The date was only three weeks ahead, and Celia and Evelyn, Mrs. Birch and the others, found plenty to do in getting ready for the outing, to say nothing of seeing that neither Charlotte nor Jeff made other engagements for the period.
"No, no, let's not get in our camping so early in the season. It'll be all over too soon, then," argued Just with his brother. Upon Just devolved the task of heading Jeff off for those prospective two weeks. "Besides, I've an idea Lanse may prefer July or August."
"If you'd been boning for examinations the way I have," retorted Jeff, "your one idea would be to get off into the wilderness just as soon as your sheepskin was fairly in your hands. I don't see why you argue against going in June. You were eager enough for it a week ago."
"Oh, not so awfully eager. I----"
"You were in a frenzy to go. And I haven't cooled off, if you have."
"He's hopeless," Just confided to Evelyn. "His granite mind is set on going camping in June, and I can't get him off it. If you've any little tricks of persuasiveness all your own now's your time to try 'em on him. He'll spoil the whole thing."
"Write your brother Lansing to tell Jeff to put it off on his account," suggested Evelyn.
"That won't do, unfortunately, for Lanse has been uncertain about going all the time."
"I'll try to think of something," promised Evelyn.
She had a chance before the day was over. Jeff appeared, late in the afternoon, and invited her to take a walk with him.
"I'll tell you what I want," he said, as they went along. "Let's go down by the old bridge at the pond, and if there's nobody about I'd like to have you do me the favour of listening while I spout my class-day oration. Would you mind?"
"I shall be delighted," answered Evelyn, and this program was carried out accordingly. Down behind the willows Jeff mounted a prostrate log and gave vent to a vigorous and sincere discourse.
"Splendid!" cried his audience, as he finished. "If you do it half as well as that it will be a great success."
"Glad you think so." Jeff descended from the log with a flushed brow and an air of relief. "I'm not the fellow for class orator, I know, but I'm it, and I don't want to disgrace the crowd. Pretty down here, isn't it?"
"Beautiful. It makes me very blue to think of leaving it--as if I oughtn't to be simply thankful I could be here so long. It was lovely of your sister and brother to insist on my staying when my brother Thorne had to go to Japan so suddenly."
"You're not going soon?" Jeff looked dismayed.
"Two weeks after your Commencement," said Evelyn. "My brother's ship should be in port by the last of June, and I want to surprise him by being at home when he reaches there. I shall leave here the minute he gets into San Francisco."
"Oh, that's too bad. I'd forgotten there was any such thing as your going away. You seem--why, you seem one of us, you know!" declared Jeff, as if there could be no stronger bond of union.
"Oh, thank you--it's good of you to say so. You've all been so kind I can't half tell you how I appreciate it. We'll have to make the most of June, I think," said Evelyn, smiling rather wistfully, and looking away across the little pond.
"I should say so. We'll have every sort of lark we can think of the minute Commencement's--Oh, I was going camping after that--but I'll put it off. Just was arguing that way only this morning, but I saw no good reason for waiting, then. Now, I do."
"I'm sorry to have you put it off," protested Evelyn, with art. "Hadn't you better go on with your plans, if they're all made? Of course I should be sorry, but--"
"Oh, I'll put it off!" said Jeff, decidedly, with the very human wish to do the thing he need not do.
So it was settled. Commencement came rapidly on, bringing with it the round of festivals peculiar to that season. Jeff insisted on the presence of his entire family at every event, and for a week, as Charlotte said, it seemed as if they all lived in flowered organdies and white gloves.
"I'm really thankful this is the last," sighed Celia, coming over with her mother and Just to join the party assembling for the final great occasion on the Churchill's porch. "Evelyn, how dear you look in that forget-me-not frock! And that hat is a dream."
"Well, people, we must be off. When it's all over, let's come out here on the porch in the dark and luxuriate." Charlotte drew a long breath as she spoke.
"That will be a rest," agreed Celia, with a private pinch of Evelyn's arm, and Lucy and Randolph giggled.
The younger two had been let into the secret only within the last twenty-four hours, fears being entertained that they might not be safe repositories of mystery. Celia gave them a warning look as she passed them, and kept them away from Charlotte during the car ride into the city.
"How well the dear boy looks!" whispered his family, one to another, as the class filed into the University chapel in cap and gown. They were in a front row, where Jeff could look down at them when he should come upon the stage for his diploma.
There was not the slightest possibility of his looking either there or anywhere else. His oration had been delivered on class day, and his remaining part in the exercises of graduation was to listen respectfully to the distinguished gentlemen who took part, and to watch with interested eyes the conferring of many higher degrees before it was time for himself and his class to receive the sonorous Latin address which ended by bestowing upon them the title of Bachelor of Arts.
It was a proud moment, nevertheless, and many hearts beat high when it came. Down in that row near the front father and mother, brothers and sisters and friends, watched a certain erect figure as if there were no others worth looking at--as all over the hall other affectionate eyes watched other youthful, manly forms.
Jeff had worked hard for his degree, being not by nature a student, like his elder brother Lansing, but fonder of active, outdoor life than of books. He had been incited to deeds of valour in the classroom only by the grim determination not to disgrace the family traditions or the scholarly ancestors to whom he had often been pointed back.
"Thank heaven it's over!" exulted Jeff, with his classmates, when, after the last triumphant speech of the evening, the audience was dismissed to the strains of a rejoicing orchestra.
"Say, fellows, I'm going to bolt. Hullo, Just! Ask Evelyn for me if she won't go home flying with me in the Houghton auto--Carolyn's just sent me word."
"That will be just the thing," whispered Celia to Evelyn, when the message came. "Go with him, but don't let him stop at the Houghtons'. Whisper it to Carolyn, and see that he's safely on the porch with you when we get there."
Evelyn nodded and disappeared with Just, who took her to his brother.
"Now we're off," murmured Jeff, as he and Evelyn followed Carolyn and her brother out through a side entrance. "What a night! What a moon! My, but it feels good to be out in the open air after that pow-wow in there!"
They had half an hour to themselves in the quiet of the moonlit porch before the others, coming by electric car, could reach home.
They filled the time by sitting quietly on the top step, Jeff in the subdued mood of the young graduate who sees, after all, much to regret in the coming to an end of the years of getting ready for his life-work. He was, besides, not a little wearied by the final examinations, preparation for his part in Commencement, and the closing round of exercises. Evelyn, herself somewhat fatigued, leaned back against the porch pillar and gladly kept silence.
Before the others came Jeff spoke abruptly. "It isn't everybody who knows when to let a fellow be an oyster," he said, gratefully. "But I'm getting over the oyster mood now, and feel like talking. Do you know, you're going to leave an awful vacancy behind you when you go?"
"Oh, no," Evelyn answered. "There are so many of you, and you have such good times together, you can't mind much when a stranger goes away."
"Call yourself that?" Jeff laughed. "Well I assure you we don't. You're too thoroughly one of us--in the way of liking the things we like and despising the things we despise. Hullo, here come the people! It was rather stealing a march on them to race home in an auto and let them follow by car, wasn't it?' Let's go make 'em some lemonade to cheer their souls."
"All right." Evelyn was wondering if this would give her the necessary chance to change her dress, when the big Forester automobile rounded the corner and rolled up to the curb, just as the party from the car reached the steps. Behind it followed a second car of still more ample dimensions.
"I've come to take the whole party for a moonlight drive down the river!" called Frederic Forester. "Go take off those cobweb frocks and put on something substantial. I'll give you ten minutes. I've the prettiest sight to show you you've seen this year."
"I believe I'm too tired and sleepy to go," said Charlotte to Andy, as he followed her up-stairs. "This week of commencing has about finished me. Can't you excuse me to Fred? You go with them, if you like."
"I don't like, without you." Doctor Churchill was divesting himself of white cravat and collar. "I know you're worn out, dear, but I think the ride will brace you up. It's hot in the house to-night; it will be blissfully cool out on the river road. Besides, Forester would be disappointed. It isn't every night he comes for us with a pair of autos.
"If I were going all alone with you in the runabout--" sighed Charlotte, with a languor unusual to her.
"I know, I'd like that better myself. But you needn't talk on this trip--there are enough to keep things lively without you. You shall sit next your big boy, and he'll hold your hand in the dark," urged Doctor Churchill, artfully.
"On that condition, then," and Charlotte rose from among the pillows, where she had sunk.
There was certainly something very refreshing about the swift motion in the June air. Leaning against her husband's shoulder, Charlotte began to rest.
It had been a busy week, the heat had been of that first unbearable high temperature of mid-June with which some seasons assault us, and young Mrs. Churchill had felt her responsibilities more heavily than ever before. As the car flew down the river road she shut her eyes.
"Why, where are we turning in?" Charlotte opened her eyes. She had been almost asleep, soothed by the cool and quiet.
"Look ahead through the trees," Doctor Churchill said in her ear, and Charlotte sat up.
She saw on the river bank, far ahead, a low house with long porches, hung thickly with Chinese lanterns. Each window glowed with one of the swinging globes, and long lines of them stretched off among the trees. At one side gleamed two white tents, and in front of these burned bonfires.
"What is it? It must be a lawn party. But we're not dressed for it!" murmured Charlotte, her eyes wide open now.
Just then a tremendous shout from the automobile in front rang through the grove. Their own car ran up to the steps, where stood Doctor Forester and John Lansing Birch under the lanterns, both dressed from head to foot in white.
"Welcome to 'The Banks!'" the doctor cried. "Charlotte, my dear, why this expression of amazement? You've only come to my house party, my woods party, my river party--for a fortnight--all of you. Will you stay, or are you going to sit staring down at us with those big black eyes forever?"
"I think I'll stay," said Charlotte, happily, slipping down from the car into her brother's outstretched arms. "O Lanse! O Lanse! It's good to see you.Whata surprise!"