Charlotte swung herself up into the runabout as Doctor Churchill paused for her at the gateway of "The Banks." She had met him here at six o'clock every day since they came, and this was the seventh day.
It was impossible for him to get through his round of work earlier, but he was enjoying his evenings and nights in the country with a zest almost sufficient to make up for the daytime hours he missed.
Charlotte, however, although she joined merrily in all that went on through the day, was never so happy as when this hour arrived, and dressed in cool white for the evening, she could slip away and walk slowly down this winding road through the orchard and the grove to the gateway. Here she waited in a shady nook for the first puff of the coming motor. The moment she heard it she sprang out into the roadway, and stood waving her handkerchief in response to a swinging cap far up the road.
Then came the nearer salutation, the quick climb into the small car, assisted by the grip of Andy's hand, and the eager greeting of two pairs of eyes.
"Do you know this outing is doing you a world of good already?" said Doctor Churchill, noting with approval the fresh colour in Charlotte's face.
"I know it is. I didn't realise that I needed it a bit until I actually found myself here, with nothing to do except rest and play. It's doing everybody good. You should have heard the plans at breakfast to-day. Although it's been so hot, nobody has been idle a minute. I've been fishing all day with Lanse and Fred and Celia. Andy, do you know what I think? I admit I didn't think it till Lanse put it into my head, but I believe he's right. Fred----"
"Is going to want Celia? Of course. That was a foregone conclusion from the start."
"Andy Churchill, you weren't so discerning as all that, when not even I thought it was serious with either of them! Celia's had so many admirers, and turned them all aside so coolly--and Mr. Frederic Forester is such an accomplished person at paying attentions--how could I think it meant anything? But Lanse insists Celia is different from what she ever was before, and I don't know but he's right."
"To be sure he's right. Next to you, I never saw a more attractive young person than Celia. What a charming colour you have, child! To be sure, you have burned the tip of that small Greek nose a very little, but I find even that adorable. Charlotte, stop pinching my arm. If you're half as glad to have me get here as I am to arrive, you're pretty happy. I laid stern commands on Mrs. Fields not to telephone, unless it were a matter of absolute necessity, so I'm pretty sure of not being disturbed."
They found supper laid on the piazza, and enjoyed it with keen appetites. Afterward they spent an hour drifting on the river, followed by a long and delightful evening on the lawn at the river bank. Celia and Lanse picked the strings of violin and viola, and the others sang. Doctor Forester, in his white clothes lay stretched on a rustic seat, and professed himself to be having "the time of his life."
"I don't think the rest of us are far behind you," declared Lanse. "If you people had been digging away at law in a hot old office you'd think this was Paradise."
Evelyn, looking out over the moonlit river, drew a little sigh which she meant nobody to hear, but Jeff divined it, and whispered, under cover of an extravaganza from Just in regard to the night, the company, and the occasion, "You're coming again next summer, you know. And all winter we'll write about it--shall we?"
"Do you think you will have time to write?" she asked.
"Have time! I should say I would make time," he murmured. "Think I'm going to stand having this sort of thing cut off short? I guess not--unless--you're the one who hasn't time. And even then I don't think I could be kept from boring you with letters."
"I shall certainly want to hear what you all are doing," she answered.
She was thinking about this plan when she went up-stairs to bed an hour later. Jeff had stopped her at the foot of the stairs to say, "I'd just like a good secure promise from you about that letter-writing. I'll enjoy the time that's left a lot better if I know it isn't coming to a regular jumping-off place at the end. Will you promise to write regularly?"
She paused on the bottom step, where she was just on a level with the straightforward dark eyes, half boy's, half man's, which met hers with the clear look of good comradeship. There was no sentimentality in the gaze, but undeniably strong liking and respect. She answered in Jeff's own spirit:
"I promise. I really shouldn't know how to do without hearing about your plans and the things that happen to you. I'm not a very good letter-writer, but I'll try to tell you things that will interest you."
"Good! I'm no flowery expert myself, but I fancy we can write as we talk, and that's enough for me. Good-night! Happy dreams."
"Good-night!" she responded, and went on up-stairs, turning to wave at Jeff from the landing, as he stood in the doorway, preparing to go out to the tents where he and Just, Doctor Forester, Frederic and Lanse were spending these dry June nights.
Evelyn went on to the odd old bedroom under the gable, where she and Lucy were quartered together. She found Lucy lying so still that she thought her asleep, and so made ready for bed with speed and quiet, remembering that Lucy had been first to come in, and imagining her tired with the day's sports.
Evelyn herself did not go at once to sleep. There were too many pleasant things to think of for that; and although her eyes began to close at last, she was yet, at the end of half an hour, awake, when Lucy stirred softly beside her and sat up in bed. After a moment the younger girl slipped out to the floor, using such care that Evelyn thought her making unusual and kindly effort not to disturb her bedfellow.
After a little, as Lucy did not return, Evelyn opened her eyes and looked out into the moonlight. Lucy was dressing, so rapidly and noiselessly that Evelyn watched her, amazed.
She was on the point of asking if the girl were ill when she observed that Lucy was putting on the delicate dress and gay ribbons she had worn during the evening, and was even arranging her hair. Something prompted Evelyn to lie still, for in all the winter's association she had never grown quite to trust Lucy or to like her ways.
More than any one else, however, she herself had won the other girl's liking, and had come to feel a certain responsibility for her. So when Lucy, after making wholly ready, had stolen to the door, let herself out, and closed it silently behind her, Evelyn sprang out of bed.
Perhaps Lucy simply could not sleep, she said to herself, and had gone down to sit on the lower porch, or lie in one of the hammocks swinging under the trees. The night was exceedingly warm, even the usual cooling breath from the river being absent.
"That's all there is of it," said Evelyn, reassuringly, to herself, although at the same time she felt uneasiness enough to send her out into the hall to a gable window over the porch, which commanded a view of the camp. Nothing stirring was to be seen, except the dwindling flame of the evening camp-fire, burned every night for cheer, not for warmth. Evelyn crept to a side window. As she reached it a white figure could be seen hurrying away through the orchard.
Back in her room, Evelyn dressed with as much haste as Lucy had done, if with less care. Instead of the white frock of the evening, however, she put on a dark blue linen, for she was sure that she must follow Lucy and discover what this strange departure, stealthily made at midnight, could mean.
She went down to the front door. The moment she opened it a tall figure started up from one of the long lounging chairs there, and Jeff's voice said softly, "Charlotte?"
"No, it's Evelyn," she whispered back. "Don't be surprised. I thought everybody in the camp was asleep."
"I wasn't sleepy, and thought I'd lounge here till I was. What's the matter? Anybody sick?"
"No. I'm just going for a little walk."
"Walk? At this hour? Can't you sleep? But you mustn't go and walk alone, you know. I'll go with you."
She did not want to tell him, but she saw no other way.
"It's Lucy," she explained hurriedly. "She's dressed and gone out somewhere, and I can't think why. It frightened me, and I'm going to follow her."
"No, you stay here and I'll follow. Which way did she go? What can she be up to? That girl's a queer one, and I've thought so from the first."
"No, no! There's some explanation. It may be she walks in her sleep, you know--though I'm sure she's never done it this winter. Let me go, Jeff; she'll get too far. She took the path toward the river. Oh, if itshouldbe sleep-walking----"
"I guess it's not sleep-walking." Jeff's tone was skeptical.
But Evelyn had started away at a run, and Jeff was after her. The two hastened along with light, noiseless steps. At the bottom of the path, on the very brink of the river, was an old summer-house, looking out over the water. It was a favourite retreat, for the boat-house and the landing were but a rod away, and after a row on the river the shaded summer-house was a pleasant place in which to linger.
"Hush!" breathed Evelyn, stopping short as they neared the summer-house.
They advanced with caution, and presently, as they drew within speaking distance of the little structure, they saw a white-clad figure emerge from it and stand just outside. Jeff drew Evelyn quickly and silently into the shelter of a cluster of hemlocks.
After a space the dip of oars lightly broke the stillness of the night, and soon a row-boat pulled quietly into view, with one dark figure outlined against the gleam of the moonlit water. Evelyn caught a smothered sound from Jeff, whether of recognition or of displeasure she could not tell. She felt her own pulses throbbing with excitement and anxiety.
The stranger pulled in to the landing, noiselessly shipped his oars, jumped out and made fast. Lucy came cautiously down to the wharf, and against the radiance of the moonlight on the river the two behind the trees could see the greeting.
The slight, boyish figure which met Lucy had a familiar look to Jeff, but he could not tell with any certainty whose it might be. That it was youthful there could be no question. Even in the dim light the diffidence of both boy and girl could be plainly observed.
"Young idiots!" exploded Jeff, between his teeth, as the two they were watching sat down side by side on the steps of the boat-landing, where only their heads were visible to the watchers--heads decidedly close together. Then he bent close to Evelyn's ear and whispered, "Come farther back with me, and we'll decide what to do."
With the utmost caution the two made their retreat. At a safe distance Jeff halted, and said rapidly, "I think the best thing will be for you to go back to bed and to sleep--if you can. At any rate, don't let her know that you hear her come in. I'll come back here and mount guard. I won't let them see me. I'll take care that Lucy gets safely back to the house, and I won't interfere unless she attempts to go off in the boat with him or do some fool thing like that. You needn't worry. They aren't going to run away and get married. She's just full of sentimental nonsense, and thinks it romantic and grown-up to steal out in the night to meet some idiot of a boy--you can see that's all he is by his build. Probably somebody we know, don't you think that's the best plan?"
"Yes, for to-night," agreed Evelyn, in a troubled whisper. "I feel as if I ought to talk to her when she comes in, though."
"If you do you'll just make her angry. The thing is to let her go uncaught until we can think what to do. Little simpleton!"
"I'll do as you say, but--don't be hard on her, Jeff. She's just silly; she hasn't been brought up like your sisters."
"Or like you," thought Jeff, as he watched the figure before him flit away toward the house. He followed at a distance, till he saw the door close on Evelyn; then he went back to his post.
The next morning, as he and Evelyn walked down the road through the apple-orchard toward the gateway, to open the rural-delivery mail-box, which stood just outside the gate, Jeff told Evelyn what he had found out.
"Nothing more serious than a simple case of spoon," he said, with an expression at which Evelyn might have laughed if she had not felt so disturbed. "The boy turned out to be our next neighbour here. They've made another appointment for to-night. He thinks it a great lark--probably will brag about it to all the boys. He's got to eat his little dish of humble pie, too. Evelyn, I've a plan. Will you trust me to carry it out to-night?"
She looked at him. In her face was written a concern for Lucy so tender that Jeff adored her for it. At the same time he hastened to assure her that it was needless.
"If you merely talk with her I don't think that will do it," he said, decidedly. "She's been with you all winter, has seen just how a girl should behave,"--he did not know what a thrill of happiness this bluntly sincere compliment gave his hearer--"and she hasn't taken it in a bit. She needs something to bring her to her senses. I'd rather not tell you my plan, for if you can assure her afterward that you weren't in it, you can do her more good than if she's as provoked at you as she's sure to be at me. But I give you my word of honour I'll not do a thing to frighten her, or play any fool practical jokes. I'll have to let Just into the secret, I think, but nobody else. Will you trust me?"
"Of course, I will," said the girl, quickly. "On just one condition, Jeff. Think of her as if she were your own sister, and don't--don't----"
"Be 'as funny as I can'? No, I won't."
Evelyn observed Lucy all that day with understanding, and found herself longing to warn the girl that her foolishness was about to meet with its punishment. She noted with sorrow the strangely excited look in the young eyes, the light, half-hysterical laugh, the changing colour in the pretty face. Lucy's promise of beauty had never seemed to her so characterless, or her words so empty of sense.
She found her in a corner of their room, reading a worn novel by a certain author whose very name she had been taught to regard as a synonym for vapidity and sentimentalism of the most highly flavoured sort, and she could not keep back a quick exclamation at sight of it. Lucy looked up with a frown and a flush.
"I suppose you think it's terrible to read novels," she said, pettishly flirting the leaves. "Well, I don't."
"Dear, it's not 'novels' that I've been taught to despise, but the sort of novel that writer writes. I don't know anything about them myself, but I saw my brother Thorne once put that one you're reading in the stove and jam on the cover, as if he were afraid it would get out. Do you wonder I don't like to see Lucy Peyton reading it?" asked Evelyn gently, with her cheek against the other girl's.
"He must be a terrible Miss Nancy, then," said Lucy, defiantly. "There's not a thing in it that couldn't be in a Sunday-school book. The heroine is the sweetest thing."
"If she is she won't mind your putting her down and coming out for a walk with me," answered Evelyn, with a smile which might have captivated Lucy if she had seen it. But the younger girl got up and flung away out of the room, murmuring that she did not feel like walking, and would take herself and her book where they would not bother people.
Evelyn looked after her with a little sigh, and owned that Jeff might be right in thinking that mere gentle argument with Lucy would have scant effect on a head full of nonsense or a heart whose love for the sweet and true had had far too little development.
Half an hour before the time set for the rendezvous at the summer-house that night Jeff and Just walked down the path, shoulder to shoulder, talking under their breath. Just, being younger, was even more deeply interested than his brother in the prospective encounter, and received his final instructions with ill-concealed glee.
"All right!" he gurgled. "I'm to give him a good scare, in the shape of a lecture--with a thrashing promised if he cuts up any more. He's to give his word, on pain of a lot of things, not to give any of this little performance of his away to a soul. Then he's to be forbidden the premises while Miss Peyton is on them. I understand."
"Well, now, look here," warned Jeff. "I give you leave, but, mind you, I trust your discretion, too. You never can tell what these Willie-boys will do. Dignity's your cue. Be stern as an avenging fate, but don't get to cuffing him round and batting him with language just because you're bigger. You----"
"Look here," expostulated Just, aggrieved, "you picked me out for this job; now leave it to me. I'll have the boy saying 'sir' to me before I get through."
Just ran down to the boat-house, got out a slim craft, launched it, and was about rowing away when he bethought himself of something. He pulled in to the landing, made fast his painter, and ran like a deer up to the house. He was back in five minutes.
"Don't believe I'll go by boat, after all," he whispered to Jeff, standing in the summer-house door. "It might be simpler not to have a boat to bother with. I'll just leave theButterflytied there, and put her up when I get back."
He was off before Jeff could reply. Jeff started toward the boat to put it up, but stopped, considering.
Lucy would think it that of her admirer, and would be all the more sure to keep her appointment. He left it as it was, swinging lightly on the water, six feet out. It was a habit of Just's to moor a boat at the length of her painter, to prevent her bumping against the rough old landing.
Lucy, coming swiftly down the path fifteen minutes later, saw the boat and hastened her steps. She did not observe that this was a slimmer, longer craft than the boat George Jarvis was using. She reached the landing and looked about. Of course he was in the summer-house. She went to it, her skirts, which she had of late been surreptitiously lengthening, held daintily in her hand.
As she came close, a figure appeared in the doorway. Before she could be frightened by the realisation that it was not Jarvis's slender young frame which confronted her, Jeff accosted her in the mildest tones imaginable:
"It's only Jefferson Birch. Don't be scared. Fine night, isn't it?"
"Y-yes," stammered Lucy, in dismay. She stood still, her skirts gathered close, as if she were about to run.
"Don't go. Out for a stroll? So am I," said Jeff, pleasantly, as if midnight promenades were the accustomed thing at "The Banks." "Won't you sit down?"
There were seats outside the summer-house as well as within, and he motioned toward one of them.
"No, thank you. I think I'll go back," said Lucy, and her voice trembled.
"Why, you've only just come! Why not stay a while and have a visit with me? You must have been intending to stay."
"Oh, no!" said Lucy, eagerly, and stopped short, listening. What if George Jarvis should come round the corner at any moment? She must get Jeff away with her. "Won't you walk along up to the house with me? I only came down to see if I'd left something in the summer-house."
Jeff had planned what he would say to her, but at this his disgust got the better of him. "Lucy," said he--and his voice had changed from lightness to gravity--"don't you mind a bitsaying what isn't true?"
"What do you mean, Jefferson Birch, by saying such a thing?" Lucy's tone was one of mingled anger and fright.
"I mean," said Jeff, coolly, "that if coming down here to meet George Jarvis were what you were proud of doing, you wouldn't try to cover it up. Do you know, Lu, I'm tremendously sorry you find any fun in a thing like that."
"Dear me,"--Lucy tried hard to assume her usual self-confident manner--"Who appointed you guardian of young ladies?"
"The trouble is--well--you're not a young lady yet. You're only a girl. If you were a real grown-up young lady there'd be nothing I could do about your stealing out at this late hour to meet a young man except to laugh and think my own thoughts. But since you're only a girl--"
"You can insult me!" Lucy was very near tears now--angry, mortified tears.
"I don't mean to insult you, and I think you know that. If anybody has insulted you it's the boy who asked you to meet him here. He must have been the one to propose it, of course, and you thought it would be fun. Lu, when I found this out I should have gone straight to my sister Charlotte and told her to come and meet you here instead of myself, if I hadn't known how it would disappoint her. She would have taken it to heart much more seriously than you can realise. She's entertained you all winter and spring, and the responsibilities of looking after you and Ran have been heavy on her shoulders. She's tried hard to give you a good time, too."
Lucy turned and walked deliberately away down the path toward the boat-landing.
"I'm bungling it," thought Jeff, uncomfortably, and stood still, waiting. "Perhaps I ought to have let Evelyn tackle the business, after all."
Lucy walked out upon the landing, where theButterflyswung lazily in the wash of the current. Suddenly, quite without warning, she ran the length of the little pier and leaped for the boat. It had looked an easy distance, but as she made the jump she realised too late that the interval of water between pier and boat was wider than it had looked in the moonlight. With a scream and a splash she went down, and an instant later Jeff, dashing down the pier, saw only a widening circle gleaming faintly on the water.
He flung off his coat, tore off his low shoes, and waited. The river-bottom shelved suddenly just where the pier ended, and the depth was fully twenty feet. Moment after moment went by while he watched breathlessly for the appearance of the girl at the surface. The current was strong a few feet out, and his gaze swept the water for some distance. When he caught sight of the break in the surface which told him what he wanted, it was even farther down-stream than he had calculated.
"I mustn't risk this alone," he thought, quickly, and gave several ringing shouts for Just, whom he knew to be only two or three hundred yards up-shore. Then he made his plunge, swimming furiously to get below the place where the girl's white-clad form had risen, that he might be at hand when his chance came again.
The current helped him, and so did the moonlight on the water. It was in the very centre of a glinting spot of light that Lucy came to the surface the second time. Before she had sunk out of sight Jeff had her by the skirts, and was working desperately to get her head above water. She was struggling with all her fierce young strength, crazed with fright and suffocation, and she continually dragged him under in her blind attempts to pull herself up by him.
When he could get breath he shouted again, and after what seemed to him an age, there came a response from two directions. Just running along the river bank, and Doctor Churchill, plunging down the hill, saw, and were coming to the rescue.
"Hold on! Hold on! I'm coming!" both shouted as they ran.
Doctor Churchill, having the easier course, reached the bank first. Being clad only in his pajamas, he was unburdened by superfluous clothing. With a long leap he was in the water, and with a half-dozen vigorous strokes he had reached Jeff's elbow.
"Let go! I've got her!" he cried, and Jeff, spluttering and breathing hard, attempted to let go.
But Lucy still fought so desperately that it was no easy matter to get her clutch away from Jeff's clothing. By this time, however, Just was also in the water, and the three soon had the girl under control.
"Keep quiet! You're all right! Let us take you in!" called Doctor Churchill to the struggling, strangling little figure. So in a minute more they had her on the bank.
"Why, it's Lucy!" Doctor Churchill cried in astonishment, as he dropped upon his knees beside her and fell to work.
"Yes, it's Lucy!" panted Jeff.
But there was no chance just then for explanations. For the next ten minutes he and Just were kept busy obeying peremptory orders. As under Andy's directions they silently and anxiously worked over the young form upon the grass, they were feeling intensely grateful that the necessary skill had been so close at hand. But until the doctor's satisfied "She's coming out all right!" gave them leave, neither dared draw a good breath for himself.
Just was wondering what he and Jeff were to say, but his brother was heaping reproaches upon himself, and sternly holding Jeff Birch responsible for the whole unfortunate affair.
By the time Lucy was herself again and able to breathe without distress, Evelyn had come flying down the path---the only other person roused by the distant shouts. It had been a day full of active sports, and everybody was sleeping the sleep of the weary. Even Charlotte had not been roused by Andy's departure.
Just ran to the house for blankets; Evelyn, at Doctor Churchill's direction, followed him to prepare a steaming hot drink for Lucy; and presently they had her in her bed, warm and dry, although much exhausted by her experience in the waters of the river, which were cold even on a June night. Doctor Churchill had insisted on calling Charlotte, but Evelyn had begged him to arouse nobody else, and after one look into her face he had agreed.
At last, Lucy having dropped off to sleep under the soothing influence of the hot beverage, the others gathered quietly in a lower room. The three wet ones had acquired dry if informal garments, and a council had been asked for by Evelyn.
"It's entirely my fault," began Jeff, promptly, and he plunged into a brief but graphic account of the accident.
"It's not in the least your fault," Evelyn interrupted, at last, as Jeff came to a pause with a repetition of his self-condemnation. "It's mine, if anybody's. I should have taken the whole thing to Mrs. Churchill at once, instead of trying to keep it quiet."
"My meeting her down there alone was entirely my plan," began Jeff again; but this time it was his sister Charlotte who interrupted.
"Neither of you is in the least to blame, my dears," she said, smiling on them both. "You had the best of motives, and the plan might have worked out well but for the child's sudden mad idea of jumping into that boat. I suppose she meant to row away."
"She didn't stop to cast off--she couldn't have got away before I should have been in the boat, too," objected Jeff.
"That simply shows how out of her head with excitement she was. But that's all over. She mercifully wasn't drowned"--a little involuntary shiver passed over the speaker--"and we'll hope for no serious consequences. The thing now is to think how to act when she wakes in the morning."
"I should say treat the whole thing for what it is, a childish escapade. Show her the silliness of it, and then let it drop," said Doctor Churchill.
Charlotte looked at him appealingly.
"Lucy and Ran go home next week," she said, slowly. "I hoped--I wanted so much to send Lucy away with--I can't express it--a little bit higher ideals than any she has known before. I thought we were succeeding; she has seemed more considerate and less fault-finding."
"She certainly has," Evelyn agreed quickly, and the two looked at each other. There was an instant's silence; then Just spoke:
"How do you know but you'll find her quite a different proposition when she wakes up? A plunge like that is a sobering sort of experience, I should say, for a girl who can't swim. She may be the meekest thing on earth after this. If it does her as much good as a lively dressing down did George Jarvis, she's likely to be a changed girl."
They could not help smiling at the satisfaction in the boy's voice. "He may be right," admitted Doctor Churchill.
"At any rate, if Lucy isn't ill to-morrow let's tell nobody what has happened. The poor child certainly doesn't need any more humiliation just at present, and I'd like to spare her all I can." Charlotte spoke decidedly.
They agreed to this. Evelyn went to her place beside Lucy, planning an affectionate greeting when the younger girl should wake; and Charlotte, when she fell asleep, dreamed of Lucy until morning.
It was quite a different Lucy who met them all in the morning. She showed no ill effects except a slight languor, and when Charlotte had established her in a hammock on the porch, she lay there with a quiet, sober face, which showed that she had been doing some thinking.
When Jeff approached with his most deferential manner to inquire after her welfare, she astonished him by saying more simply and sweetly than he had dreamed possible:
"I want to tell you I won't forget what you did for me last night. I was foolish, I suppose. I--I didn't think what I was doing was any harm, but I--"
She choked a little and felt for her handkerchief. Jeff grasped her hand. He had a warm heart, and he had not got over the thought of how he should have felt if he had not been able to rescue the girl he had attempted to lecture. His answer to Lucy was very gentle:
"We'll never think of it again. I'm awfully thankful it all ended well. If you'll forgive me for frightening you, I'll say that I'm sure you're really a sensible little girl, and I shan't lie awake nights worrying over your taking midnight strolls."
His tone was not priggish, and his smile was so bright that Lucy took heart of grace, and said, earnestly, "You needn't. I don't want any more," and buried her face in her pillow.
But it was not to cry, for Evelyn came by. Jeff called to her, and between them they soon had Lucy smiling. Before the day was over she had had a little talk with Charlotte, in which the young married woman came nearer to the heart of the girl that she had ever succeeded in doing before, and Lucy had learned one or two simple lessons she never forgot.
"But it's the first and last time I ever attempt the education of the young girl," declared Jeff, solemnly, to Evelyn, that afternoon, as they gathered armfuls of old-fashioned June roses for the decoration of the porch.
"Don't feel too badly. Lucy is going to value your respect very much after this, and I think you'll be able to give it to her. A girl who has no older brother misses a great deal, I think. I don't know what I should have done without mine," answered Evelyn, reaching up to pull at a pink cluster far above her head.
"Let me get that for you," and Jeff's long arm easily grasped the spray and drew it down to her. "Well, I owe a lot to my sisters, that's sure."
With quite a knightly air he cut the fairest bud at hand, and gave it to her, saying quietly, "You wouldn't like it if I said anything soft and sentimental, but you won't mind if I tell you that you seem to me a lot like that bud there--that's going to blossom some day."
He knew it pleased her, for the ready colour told him so. But she answered lightly:
"As yet I'm quite content to be only a bud. Your sister Celia is the opening rose. Isn't she lovely? Here's one just like her. Take it to her and tell her I said so, will you?"
She plucked the rose and motioned to where Celia was coming alone along the orchard road, Frederic Forester having just left her for a hasty trip to town. Jeff laughed, took the rose and the message, and brought back Celia's thanks. Evelyn met him with her full basket, and the rose-picking was over.
"She says to tell you you're a flatterer, but being a woman, she likes it--and you," said Jeff, taking her basket away.
Doctor Forester's party had lasted eight days now, and his guests were planning how to make the most of the time remaining, when Doctor Churchill came spinning out in the middle of a Thursday morning with a letter. Mrs. Peyton had sent word that Randolph and Lucy were to meet her in a distant city, thirty-six hours' ride away. From there the trio were to proceed to their home.
"They will have to leave this evening in order to make it," Doctor Churchill announced. "This letter has barely allowed time--a little characteristic of Cousin Lula which I remember of old. She has an idea that time and tide--if they wait for no man--can sometimes be prevailed upon to change their schedule on account of a woman."
Upon hearing the news Lucy burst into tears. She did not want to go, she did not want to go so soon--more than all, she was afraid to go alone.
"Undoubtedly some one can be found who is going the same way," the letter read, easily, "and in any case, you can put them in charge of the railroad officials, who will see that they make no mistakes. I cannot possibly afford to come so far for them."
"Why can't Evelyn go now, too?" pleaded Lucy, as she and Evelyn, Charlotte and Celia were being conveyed on a rapid run home by Frederic Forester. It had been decided necessary for all feminine hands to fall to work, to accomplish the packing in time to get the young people off at nine that evening.
"Evelyn doesn't go until next Tuesday, and this is only Thursday," Charlotte answered, promptly.
"Five days isn't much difference," urged Lucy mournfully. "And when Evelyn's going right over the same road almost to our home, I should think she'd like to go when we do, if it did cut off a little. She's been here all winter."
"So have you, Lu, and you don't want to go," Charlotte reminded her.
She did not say that nobody could bear to think of Evelyn's departure any sooner than was absolutely necessary, for it was not possible honestly to say the same about Lucy. But when they reached the house, and Charlotte had run up to her room to exchange her dress for a working frock, Evelyn came to her and softly closed the door. Evelyn had persuaded herself that she ought to accompany the others.
"It isn't as if Lucy were a different sort of girl," she argued--against her own wishes, for she longed to stay more than she dared to own. "But nobody knows how she might behave--if anybody tried to get to know her--somebody she oughtn't to know. And besides, she's afraid. It really doesn't matter. I can use the extra time getting things ready for Thorne. Please don't urge me, Mrs. Churchill. It won't be a bit easier next week."
Gentle as she was, Charlotte had learned that when Evelyn made up her mind that she ought to do a thing, it was as good as done. So presently Evelyn, too, was packing, her smiles at the remonstrances of Charlotte and Celia very sweet, her heart very heavy.
"Well, dear, I've telephoned the others at 'The Banks,'" said Charlotte, coming into Evelyn's room, having just left Lucy in an ecstatic condition over the decision. "You should have heard the dismay. Jeff and Just have already started home on their wheels, to prevent your going by main force."
This was literally true. From Doctor Forester down to his youngest guest had come regret and remonstrance. Finally, however, Doctor Forester, having called up Evelyn herself, and been persuaded that she was sure she was right, had fallen to planning what could be done to make the girl's leave-taking a pleasant one for her to remember.
After a little an idea seized him. He chuckled to himself, and fell to telephoning again. He had Doctor Churchill on the wire, then Charlotte, Celia and his son Frederic, who had remained at the Birches', finally the railway-station, the Pullman office, and a certain official of whom he was accustomed to ask favours and get them granted.
"Good-by, Mrs. Fields!" said Evelyn Lee, coming out upon the back porch, where the doctor's housekeeper was resting after a busy days work. "I shall never forget how good you've been to me, and I hope you won't forget me."
"Forget you!" ejaculated Mrs. Fields, her spare, strong hand grasping tight the slender one held out to her. "Well, there ain't much danger of that, nor of anybody else's forgetting you. I've been about as pleased as the doctor and Miss Charlotte to see you pick up. You don't look like the same girl that came here last fall."
"I'm sure I don't feel much like her. Ever so much of it is certainly due to your good cooking, Mrs. Fields."
"It's so hard to take leave of you all," said Evelyn, on the porch, where the others were assembled. "I'd almost like to slip away without a word--only that would look so ungrateful. And I'm the most grateful girl alive."
"You needn't say good-by to me," said Doctor Forester, "for I'm going as far as Washington with you." He smiled at the joy which flashed into her face.
"Oh, are you really?" she cried.
"You needn't say good-by to me, either," said Frederic Forester, as she turned to him, standing next to his father, "for I'm going, too,"
"I think I'll go along," said Doctor Churchill.
"Will you take me?" Charlotte was smiling at Evelyn's bewildered face.
"If Charlotte goes, I shall, too," supplemented Celia.
Evelyn looked at them. Surely enough, although in the hurry she had not noticed it before, they were all in travelling dress. She had known they had meant to go as far as the city station with her; she saw now that they were fully equipped for the journey. And Washington was nearly twenty hours away!
"You dear people!" murmured Evelyn, and rather blindly cast herself into Mrs. Birch's outstretched arms.
There was only one thing lacking to her peace of mind. Jeff had not appeared to bid her good-by. Charlotte observed that Evelyn's voice trembled a little when she said, "Where's Jeff? Will you tell him good-by for me?"
Charlotte answered, "He won't fail, dear. He'll surely be at the station."
But when they reached the station no Jeff was there. Nobody seemed to notice, for the men of the party were busy looking after various details of the trip. Celia was explaining to Evelyn and Lucy how it had all come about.
"Doctor Forester was so upset and sorry over your going," she said, "that he went to thinking up excuses to go along. He remembered an important medical convention in Washington, and persuaded Andy that he could get away for the three days' session. Then he invited Charlotte and me, and convinced Mr. Frederic that he ought to go, too. We were only too willing, so here we are."
"It's the loveliest thing that could happen," said Evelyn, and tried hard not to let her eyes wander to the doors of the station.
She had not seen Jeff since early in the afternoon, when, after hot argument, he had at last given up trying to persuade her that she need not go until the coming Tuesday. To Just only, however, as he carried her little travelling bag on board the train for her, did she say a word.
"Please tell Jeff for me," she said in his ear, as he established her in the designated section of the sleeping-car, "that I felt very badly not to say good-by to him. But give him my best remembrance, and say that I'm sure he must have been kept from coming by something he couldn't help."
"Of course he must have been," agreed Just, heartily, feeling like pitching into his delinquent brother with both fists for bringing that hurt little look into the hazel eyes below him. "He'll probably turn up just as your train gets under headway, and then he'll be the maddest fellow you ever saw. Hullo, I'll bet that messenger boy is looking for you!" as he saw Frederic Forester pointing a blue-capped carrier of a florist's box toward Evelyn. He went forward, claimed the box, and brought it back to Evelyn.
She peeped within, saw a great cluster of roses, and drew out a card. "Of course it's Jeff's?" queried Just, anxiously, and he felt immense relief when Evelyn nodded.
"Well, I'm off!" Just gripped her hand as the train began to move. "Good-by! I'm mighty sorry to have you go," and with lifted hat, and a hasty farewell to Lucy and Randolph, he was gone.
Evelyn smiled at him from the window, as he ran down the platform waving at her, but her heart was still heavy. It was very good of Jeff to send the flowers, but she would rather have had one hearty grasp of his friendly hand than all the roses in his Northern state.
"Well, I consider myself pretty lucky to have secured four sections all together on this train," said Doctor Forester, with satisfaction, as he and Andrew Churchill and Frederic retired to the smoking-room while their berths were being made up.
"Why, what are we slowing down for out here?" Frederic glanced out of the window. "This is West Weston, isn't it? Yes--we're off again. Some official, probably."
A door slammed and a tall figure hurried through the passage, looked in at the smoking-room, and turned back. "Hullo!" said a familiar voice, and Jeff's laughing face beamed in upon them.
"Well, well, did you hold up the train?" they cried.
"Thought you'd come along, too, did you?" asked Doctor Forester. "Good! Glad to have you. I thought it was odd you weren't round to see us off. Go and surprise the girls. They're just back there, waiting for their berths."
Jeff hurried eagerly away. A moment later Evelyn, standing in the aisle beside Charlotte, felt a touch on her arm. She looked up, and met Jeff's eyes smiling down at her.
"Did you think I'd let you go like that?" he said in her ear.
"I'm afraid I thought you had," she admitted, grown happy in an instant.
"You see, I had an appointment with a man in West Weston on some work I've been doing for him. After I heard this plan of Doctor Forester's I had only just time to catch a train and get out there. He kept me so long I missed the train that would have brought me back in time to see you off, so I telephoned Chester Agnew to get the flowers for me and write a card. That was when I was afraid I might not make connections at all. But when this man I went to see--he's a railroad man--heard what train I'd wanted to make, he offered to stop it for me. Then it just came into my mind that I'd join the party, even without an invitation. Tell me you're not sorry--won't you?"
"Of course I'm not." She allowed him one of her frank looks, and he smiled back at her.
"We'll have a great day to-morrow," he prophesied. "They'll put on a Pullman with an observation rear in the morning, and if the weather holds we'll camp out there for the day. We don't get into Washington till three in the afternoon, and the scenery all the way down will be fine. I suppose I'll have to go off now and let you be tucked up. Please get up bright and early in the morning, will you?"
It was a merry party which entered the dining-car the next morning the moment the first summons came. The day had risen bright and clear as a June day could be, and everybody was in a hurry to get out on the observation platform.
Doctor Forester, sitting opposite Charlotte and Andy at one table, glanced across at the rest of the party, on the opposite side of the car, and said in a low voice:
"This is literally a case of speeding the parting guest, isn't it? Captain John Rayburn got you into something of a scrape when he sent you that copper inscription over your fireplace, didn't he? He didn't realise that the 'ornaments' it brought you in November would have to be conveyed away by force in June. It was the only way to give you an interval when you should, for the first time in the history of your married life, have no guests at all."
Charlotte and Andrew were staring at him in amazement.
"Uncle Ray?" cried Charlotte, under her breath. "Was he the one? Did you know it all the time, Doctor Forester?"
"Yes, I knew it all the time" he owned. "In fact, Captain Rayburn wrote to me after he had heard of the fireplace. You sent him a photograph of it, didn't you?"
"So we did," Doctor Churchill answered. "We took it the day the fireplace was finished, I'd forgotten it completely, but I remember now. We thought he'd be interested, because something he once said about the ideal fireplace had put the idea into our heads of collecting the stones ourselves. So he wrote all the way from Denmark to have that made?"
"He had it made there, and wrote me for the measurements. He expressed it to me, and I repacked it and sent it to you," chuckled Doctor Forester. "He was determined to puzzle you completely."
"He certainly succeeded. Did he give you leave to tell at this particular date?"
"It was left to my discretion after the first six months, provided you had had any guests. I thought the time was ripe, and you'd earned your diploma. All that worries me is that you may find a fresh instalment of ornaments when you get back. The motto strikes me as a sort of uncanny provider of them." The others laughed. Charlotte glanced across at Evelyn.
"It has paid," she said softly. Andy nodded. "It certainly has. All the thanks we shall need will be in Thorne Lee's letter, after he has seen his little sister."
"I rather think it's paid with the others, too," Doctor Forester added. "Anyhow, you've certainly done your part."
Out on the back of the train Charlotte found Lucy at her elbow. She looked into the girl's face, and discovered the blue eyes to be full of tears. "Why, Lu, dear!" she said, softly.
"Mrs. Churchill"--Lucy was almost crying--"I just can't bear to think it's the last day! I wish--oh, I wish--I lived with you!"
"Do you, dear? That's very pleasant," and Charlotte drew her close, feeling more warmth toward Lucy than the girl had yet inspired. "But don't be blue."
"I can't help it. It's almost ten o'clock now, and at three we shall be going away from you all."
"No, you won't," Charlotte whispered in her ear. "It was to have been a surprise, but I think you'll enjoy it more to know. Only don't tell Evelyn. Doctor Forester has telegraphed your mother and received her answer. You're not to go till to-morrow night at six, and we're to have twenty-eight hours together in Washington."
"Oh!Oh!" Lucy almost screamed, so that the others looked around at her and smiled. "Oh, I do think Doctor Forester and you are just the nicest people I ever knew!"
Doctor Forester's secret was not very well kept, after all. Lucy whispered the good news to Jeff, and he could not forbear telling it to Evelyn just as the train was drawing out of Baltimore. His own spirits had been drooping as time went on, but the reprieve of a day sent them up with a bound.
"The question is what we shall do with our time," said Doctor Forester, looking round at his party in the hotel parlour, where he had taken them. "Speak up, everybody. We can divide our forces if necessary. Is there anybody here who hasn't been here before?"
Lucy and Randolph seemed to be the only ones not more or less familiar with the capital. On hearing this, Doctor Forester declared that he should himself take them to as many of the most interesting places as possible.
"Whatever we do to-night, I vote for the trip down the Potomac to Mount Vernon in the morning," said Doctor Churchill, promptly. "We'll get back in plenty of time for Evelyn's train, and there certainly isn't a better way to put in the time than that."
This was heartily agreed upon, and the remainder of the day was used in various ways, not more than two of which, it may be remarked, were alike. Charlotte smiled meaningly at her husband as she watched Celia and Fred Forester, having proceeded half-way across Lafayette Park with Jeff and Evelyn, leave the two at a cross-path, and walk briskly off by themselves.
"That's certainly a sure thing, isn't it?" said he.
"No question of it, I think."
"Are you satisfied?"
"Perfectly. I haven't seen very much of Fred since he--and we--grew up, but if he's his father's son----"
"He is, I think," said Doctor Churchill, confidently. "And the doctor likes it, I'm sure. There's satisfaction in his face whenever he looks at them. In fact, I can't help thinking he planned both the house party and this trip with a view of bringing them together all he could."
"Dear Celia--if she's just half as happy as she deserves to be----"
"She will be. She loves to travel, hasn't had half enough of it, and he'll take her round the world. I haven't had a chance to tell you that he's going to India in the fall, in some important capacity. He received the appointment just yesterday."
"Really?" Charlotte looked thoughtful. "Celia--in India! Andy----"
"Does that startle you? I don't imagine it's for any long stay, but as a matter of some scientific investigations. Here, don't go to looking sober. I shall be sorry I told you."
Charlotte smiled and answered brightly that it was not a thing to look sober over. Nevertheless, her thoughts were much with her sister. The next morning, as the party found their places on the little steamer which was to take them down the river to Mount Vernon, she found herself watching Celia more closely than she had meant to do, in the anxiety to discover if the trip to India was really imminent.
"Isn't Mount Vernon a fascinating spot?" asked Evelyn, as she and Jeff walked up the long, ascending road from pier to house together. "I've never forgotten my first visit. I lived in Washington's times in my dreams for weeks afterward. I never saw it at this season of the year. The garden must be in its prime now."
"Let's go and see it first," responded Jeff, quickly. "I don't remember much about it. My two visits here have all been spent in the house."
So while the others rambled through the quaint and interesting rooms, Jeff and Evelyn made their way to the box-bordered paths of Lady Washington's garden, and wandered about there in the warm June sunshine. It grew so hot after a while that they betook themselves to the lawn and banks overlooking the river, and sat there talking, as they watched the waters of the Potomac.
"What are you going to do when you get home?" asked Jeff, somewhat suddenly.
"Put our rooms in order," Evelyn responded, promptly.
"All by yourself?"
"We live in the same house with a lovely little woman, the wife of a former Confederate general. I shall be with her until Thorne comes."
"I suppose you've lots of friends of your own age?" Jeff observed.
"Not as many as I ought to have. You see, I've lived very quietly with my brother for six years now, except for the time I spent at a girls' school in Baltimore. Since I came home from there I've not been very strong, and Thorne has kept me very quiet, until he sent me North to school last fall."
"You're so well now you'll be going about a lot. Any young people in the house with you? It's a boarding-house, isn't it?"
"Yes, a small one. There are no young people in it except Mrs. Livingstone's son."
"How old a fellow?"
"Twenty-one, I believe."
"I suppose you're great friends with him?" said Jeff suspiciously.
Evelyn looked at him quickly and laughed, flushing a little. "Why, we're naturally very good friends," she said.
"Evelyn," said Jeff, sitting up straight again, "I'm absolutely bursting to tell you some news, and I can't seem to lead up to it. I've got to bring it out flat. The only thing I'm anxious about is whether it's going to be as good news to you as it is to me."
She looked at him with a quickening of her pulses, his expression had become so very eager. "Please don't keep me in suspense," she begged.
"Well"--Jeff did his best to speak coolly, as if the matter were really of no great importance, after all--"you know it's been a question with me all along as to just what I was going to do when I got out of college. I wanted tremendously to get to work, and a lot of the usual things didn't seem to appeal to me at all. I haven't enough of a scientific turn to go into any of the engineering courses. I didn't care for a mercantile berth. In fact, while my brother Lanse has had his future cut out for him since he was fourteen, and Just, at sixteen, is body and soul in for electrical engineering, I've been the family problem. Father's had the sense not to assert his wishes for a moment. He saw from the start, I suppose, that the family traditions were not for me--I could never begin by studying law and end by wearing the ermine, as a lot of my grandfathers and uncles have done. So--"
Jeff paused and drew a long breath. He had been looking off down the river as he talked, but now he brought his eyes back to Evelyn's face, and his spirits leaped exultantly as he saw with what eager attention she was listening.
"You really care to hear all this, don't you?" he asked, happily, and went on before she could do more than nod. "Well, the short of it is that through Doctor Forester I got to know a friend of his who is a railroad magnate--the real thing--and to please the doctor he seemed to take an interest in me. He's offered me a position in one of his offices, provided I take a year to study practical railroading first. Of course I'm only too glad to do that. And now I'm coming to the point of the whole thing. When my year is up, that office where I'm to begin to work up in the railroad business is"--he paused dramatically, watching his hearer's face, as his own, in spite of himself, broke into a smile--"in your own city, Evelyn Lee!"
If he had had any lingering doubt that this might not be as good news to Evelyn as he wanted it to be, his fears were put to rout.
"O Jeff!" she said, quite breathlessly, and the happy colour surged into her face. "Why, that's almost too good to be true!"
"Is it? You're a trump for saying so. Jupiter! I feel like standing up and shouting. The thing has been sure since that afternoon I went to Weston, but I didn't mean to tell you of it in this crazy boy fashion, but write it to you quite calmly after you got home. But--it wouldn't keep."
"I shouldn't think it would. Besides, it's so much nicer to hear it now, when it makes it----"
She stopped abruptly, and jumped up. Jeff leaped to his feet also.
"Makes it--what?" he asked, eagerly.
"Why--it's such a pleasant place to hear good news in."
"That wasn't what you were going to say."
"We ought to go back to the house." She began to move slowly away. Jeff followed.
"I'd like to hear the end of that sentence," he urged, as they walked up the grassy slope to the house in the clear sunlight.
She laughed a little, but shook her head. She was looking very sweet in her brown travelling dress, her russet hair shaded by a wide brown hat with captivating curving outlines. Jeff looked at her dainty profile and realised that the hour for separation was coming fast.
"Anyhow, I know what Iwishyou were going to say,"--he was striding close by her side--"and I can certainly say it if you can't. Telling you that I'm coming to work near you next year makes it easier for me to say good-by now. And that's--well--that's going to be a bit tough."
Evelyn walked on a few steps in silence. Then she turned and spoke softly over her shoulder. There was not a touch of coquetry in her simple manner, yet it had an engaging quality all its own.
"That's what I wanted to say, Jeff."
"Thank you," he responded. "I'll not forget that," and his tone told that he appreciated the little concession.
It seemed but the briefest possible space of time before they had gone over the house, had been hurried back to the landing by emphatic toots from the small excursion steamer, and were off for the city again. The trip back up the river was finished also before it seemed hardly begun. All too soon for anybody the three young travellers were on their train, and Doctor Churchill and Fred Forester had taken leave of them and were out on the platform, ready to jump off. Jeff had lingered till the last.
"Good-by, Lucy! Good-by, Ran!" he said, and gave each a hearty grip and smile. Then his hand clasped Evelyn's, his eyes said things his lips would not have ventured to speak, and his hand wrung hers with a fervour which made it sting. Then he went away without a backward look, as if he must get the parting quickly over.
Outside the train, however, he turned with the others, and as the train rolled slowly out of the station, and Evelyn strained her eyes to see the group of her friends waving affectionately to her from the platform, the last face upon which her gaze rested wore the strong, loyal, eloquent look of Jefferson Birch.
"Home again," said Andrew Churchill, as he set his latch-key in the door of the brick house four days later. "Fieldsy must be away, or she would have answered."
They hurried through the house. It was in absolute order, but empty. On the office desk was a note in the housekeeper's awkward hand:
"If you should come to-night, I've had to go to take care of a sick woman, will be back in the morning, you will find everything cooked up."
Doctor Churchill read it with a laugh. "Charlotte, we're actually alone in our own house. Let's run over to the other house and embrace them all round, and then come back and see how it feels over here."
So they went across the lawn.
"We shall be delighted to have you stay with us, my dears," said Mrs. Birch, after the greetings.
"Mother Birch," said her son-in-law, with air affectionate hand on her shoulder, "not even you can charm us out of our own house to-night. Do you know that we're all alone--that not even Fieldsy is over there? Charlotte's going to get dinner, and I'm to help her with the clearing up, and then we're going to sit on our porch. Of course we shall be constantly looking down the street for a messenger boy with a telegram announcing the coming of our next guest, but until he comes--"
Everybody laughed at the expressive breath he drew.
"Go, you dear children," said Mrs. Birch, and the rest joined in warmly.
"I'll sit on our doorstone with a rifle, and pick off the visitors as they come up the street!" cried Just, as the two went off.
"Don't shoot to kill!" Doctor Churchill called back, gaily. Then the door closed on the pair.
When the happy little dinner was over, the dishes put away, and Charlotte had slipped on a cool frock in which to spend the warm summer evening, she went out to find her husband lying comfortably in the hammock behind the vines, his hands clasped under his head. The twilight was just slipping into evening, and the breath of unseen roses was sweet upon the shadows.
Charlotte drew a chair close to her husband's side and sat down.
"After all, Andy," said she, as they fell to talking of the past year, "I wouldn't have had it different. One thing is certain--out of our three guests we entertained at least one angel unawares."
"Yes, and I like to think that perhaps the others are none the worse for staying with us," Andrew Churchill answered, thoughtfully. "I'm glad we did it, glad it's over, and shall be glad to have other people come to see us--by and by. But--I want a good long honeymoon first. Is that your mind?"
"Yes," she answered fervently, smiling.