THE GIRL SAT DOWN ON THE ARM OF HIS CHAIRTHE GIRL SAT DOWN ON THE ARM OF HIS CHAIR
Nan heaved a sigh and was comforted. It is easy to be sanguine at seventeen.
Suddenly she exclaimed: “Do you know what?” sitting up and revealing a tear-stained face and two brimming brown eyes which she rubbed with the Colonel’s handkerchief, her own having long since been reduced to a damp little ball; “I’m going to write to the girls not to mind a thing mummie writes them, for she really loves them just the same, and you and I love them heaps more—if such a thing is possible—and think about them and just hope with all our might and main that Cousin Dale will be better, and they won’t have to work themselves to death. Oh, don’t I just wish I could help them!” “Pa!” she cried in a sudden inspiration, “you know the new saddle you were going to give me for my birthday?”
“Yes, Nannie.”
“Well, you have not bought it, have you? and I don’t want it—I want you to send the money to the girls instead.”
“But, Nannie, child, you have talked of that saddle for months. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Oh! yes,” she cried, rapturously with a childish clap of her hands; “I’d love to do it more than anything. Can you see about it to-day?” Hersoft brown eyes were not brimming now, but full of eagerness.
“I am almost afraid,” said the Colonel, shaking his head, “that your mother will not consent and that the girls might refuse to let you do it if they knew.”
“Oh, they must not know,” said Nannie with an air of importance borne of the project in hand. “No one must know, not even mummie; it is a secret between you and me. We will send an anonymous letter the way they do in books. Oh! won’t it be fun?”
“Who ever would have suspected we had an arch-conspirator in our midst,” said the Colonel slyly, “and that she would victimize an old man like me?” In his heart he was rejoicing over her pretty exhibition of girlish love and unselfishness. Then more seriously, he added: “I am afraid we shall have to wait until your birthday really comes round, Puss. I have not the money just now.”
“But you are going to let me do it, aren’t you? No matter if we do have to wait, come and begin the letter now. We must make it very mysterious, and manage to get it to them somehow so they will never suspect. How do you suppose we can?” She looked at him, confident that he would suggest something.
And he did. But what he said was whisperedso low that even we cannot hear. The effect on her was instantaneous, and caused her to dance about delightedly. Then suddenly remembering that her mother was sleeping in an adjacent room, she became subdued and catching her father by the arm drew him quietly into the house.
It is not until a great crisis is past that one comprehends with any clearness of vision the multitudinous events that whirl about the one supreme fact. Stunned by the first shock, one wakes to learn that close on the heels of disaster come the consequences—pell-mell, helter-skelter, pushing, crowding with a grim insistence from which there is no escape. It was small wonder, then, that to the Dale girls the world seemed topsy-turvy.
A change being inevitable, their one desire was to get it over quickly, the first of October, therefore, saw them moved into new quarters. The arrangements had been made by Dr. Ware, who effected a compromise with the girls—he offering them a vacant apartment in a house he owned, they gladly accepting this home if he would allow them to pay rent when they became successful wage-earners. The good Doctor sighed and consented; he recognized there was no thwarting their earnest purpose. In the first discussion of plans, he had suggested a little house in the suburbs; but Hester, with her practical naturefast developing, had said that to do business they must be within reach of people—in the midst of things. She did not quite know how she knew this—perhaps it was more that she felt it instinctively; but it met with Dr. Ware’s approval and had great weight with Julie, who secretly longed for the country, but put aside all personal inclination and voted with her sister. The result was a flat in a quiet, unpretentious neighborhood, which yet took on a semblance of gentility from its proximity to Crana Street.
By methods known only to himself, Dr. Ware saved furniture enough to make the place comfortable, while Bridget, who assumed mysterious airs for days before their departure, saw to it that there was no lack of household necessities. Bridget was no small factor in those days. She came to the front with tremendous energy, backed up her young mistresses in all their plans, and vowed she would never leave them. So the little family held together, which was the main thing, and the girls settled themselves in the new quarters with brave spirits—was not this, after all, the real meaning of “making a home for Dad”?
All the choicest things were brought to the furnishing of his room; the gayest pictures to relieve the tedium of the weary hours, his best loved books near at hand, though he could nolonger read or even reach out his hand to touch them. In the window-sill Julie had set up a miniature conservatory of potted plants that promised to bloom gayly, for down upon them poured the morning sun, filling the room with golden light. This was their resting-place in the new life—their father the center about whom they gathered in every spare moment—the room a little shrine from which in the midst of their attendance upon him many a silent prayer for strength and courage went up to God.
The other sleeping-rooms were bedrooms by courtesy—mere closets, one of which was given to Bridget and in the other the girls managed to squeeze a double bed. Hester suggested that berths would be much more convenient, and only the lack of money prevented her having that sort of sleeping arrangement constructed.
“Julie!” she exclaimed, in the first days of squeezing themselves in, “it is something like living in the car again, isn’t it? only it is so—so different. I believe I’ll call the flat ‘The Hustle’—only instead ofitshustling like the car, we’ll be the ones. Oh, Julie dear, to think of never racing around the country like that again!”
“Don’t Hester; I can’t bear to think of it.” In spite of her good resolutions Julie’s courage sometimes failed her.
A few days later Hester came into the kitchenone morning, her arms full of paper bags strongly suggestive of the corner grocery. “There!” she cried, “I’ve invested my last dollar in things for the cake.”
“Is it to-day you are going to see Miss Ware?” Julie asked.
“Yes, if the cake comes out all right. Roll up your sleeve, old girl, and we’ll begin.” Hester suited the action to the words by weighing the ingredients and turning the butter into a bowl. But ah! how hard it was to put her pretty hand into it—how greasy the butter felt and how sandy the sugar, and how unpleasant the general stickiness! But she worked it through her fingers energetically, while Julie beat the eggs.
“It is going to be death on our hands, my dear,” remarked Hester, picking up a knife with which she scraped the dough from her fingers.
“I wish you would always let me do that part, Hester. I know how you will feel it to hurt your hands.”
“Well, as if I’d be likely to! No one part is worse than another. We’ll get used to it after a while, though I know our hands will spread out to twice their natural size.”
“Perhaps even if they do get big and not quite so fine as they are now,perhapswe won’t mind, Hester, if we just think of it as scars in the battle,you know. Don’t you know how Daddy has often talked of the honorable scars in the battle of life? We’re just finding out what that means, old girl.”
“Well, if you haven’t a most blessed faculty for putting a comfortable construction on everything!” Hester emphasized her words by a last vigorous beat of the dough and held out the spoon to her sister. “Just taste this, will you, Julie? I think it’s fine.”
“Umph, it is,” agreed Julie, who had disdained the spoon, and dabbed her finger in the mixture after the manner of cooks. “But, my dear, if we create a demand for cake like that which requires only the whites of eggs, what shall we do with the yolks? Eat them, I suppose,” making up a wry face.
“They are better than nothing and I do not see chickens hopping in the window, do you?”
“No,” reluctantly. “We have fifteen dollars in the house,” she announced solemnly. “How long do you suppose we can live on that?”
“I am sure I don’t know, Julie. We must learn to eat less, and that is no joke. I’ll tell you what, one of the hardest things is learning to do without what has always seemed absolutely necessary.” There was a husky sound in Hester’s voice which Julie did not like to hear.
“No matter, dear, we are young and strong,and we will accomplish something before we get through. Why, if you stop to think of it, nearly every one who has made a success of life has started in the smallest kind of way.”
Hester nodded.
“Did you say you were going to see Miss Ware to-day?”
“Yes, I think I had better take her this loaf if it bakes properly. Will you come with me, Julie?”
“No, dear, I think you will manage better alone, though I’ll go of course, if you want me.”
“No, I had rather go alone,” said Hester.
But no expedition to Miss Ware’s took place that day, for the cake was spoiled in the baking and four succeeding attempts shared the same tragic fate. Toward night, when the failures of the day had reduced them to the verge of despondency, Dr. Ware came in and carried them off for a long drive which wonderfully freshened up their spirits. On the way home he asked their assistance in sending out a thousand circulars in regard to some medical matters, telling them it would be a tremendous help to him if they would write them. They acquiesced delightedly and accordingly that evening a huge bundle of stationery was left at their door. Inside, stuck in a package of envelopes, was a slip on which was written: “Here’s the paperand the form to be copied. Don’t keep at this too persistently, little girls, or you’ll bring down the wrath of your faithful friend, Philip Ware.”
More than glad to have an opportunity of being of use to the Doctor, the girls set to work early the next morning writing industriously. Julie, after a few smirched and blotted copies, got well under way; she had considerable precision in her character, which made a task like this simple. But Hester during the first day or two spoiled so many sheets that she viewed her rapidly filling waste-basket with dismay. Finally, in supreme disgust she threw down her pen.
“I believe I could build a house easier!” was her impatient exclamation. “Who ever saw such daubs as I’m making!”
Julie looked up and smiled. Her wrist ached, and she shook her hand to limber the muscles. “If you did not dig your pen in the ink with such a high-tragedy, Scott-Siddons air, maybe you’d get on better,” she suggested.
“High-tragedy fiddlesticks! Ilikea lot of ink. I am sure you’re a sight,” she commented, with sisterly frankness; “all doubled up and your forehead screwed into knots. How many have you done?”
“I don’t know; there they are,” pointing to a box-cover piled high.
Hester surveyed them with lofty scorn. “Mercy! That is nothing! I’ve done heaps!”
“Where are they, you airy young person?”
“In the waste-basket, mostly.”
“Go to work, you ridiculous infant, or you will be stuck to that chair the rest of your natural days.”
When Dr. Ware attempted to pay them for the work they remonstrated, telling him in the most convincing language at their command that it was a pleasure to feel they could do even so small a thing for him. To this he refused to agree, finally persuading them to take the money if on no other ground than to convince him of their business principles; while he refrained from mentioning that he had himself deviated somewhat from business methods when he ordered the circulars written instead of printed in the usual way.
A week later the almond cake for Miss Ware was baked successfully and an admiring group stood about the kitchen table taking a last look at it before Hester did it up in a box preparatory to setting forth.
“Faith, it’s a beauty,” cried Bridget, arms akimbo. “Any lady’d be proud to eat it. Shure it’s your mother’s own fingers ye’ve got, the both of yez. Ther’ warn’t nothin’ she couldn’t make when she put her hand to it, before shegot so ailin’, an’ the Major, God bless him, got so well off she didn’t have ter.”
“Poor, dear mamma!” said Julie, wistfully. “I only remember her ill and not able to bear us noisy children about.”
“Sufferin’ made her a changed woman, the Saints preserve her! But I seen the day, Miss Julie, when she slaved for the Major before you was born an’ there warn’t nobody could beat her at anythin’. It looks like her knack was croppin’ out in yez, shure as my name’s Bridget Maloney.”
“Perhaps it is, Bridget,” said Hester, who had heard this conversation from the next room, where she was putting on her coat and hat. “We have often heard Daddy tell people mamma was a practical genius, that would mean nimble fingers, wouldn’t it? Maybe she has left them to us as a legacy.”
“I’m not after understandin’ your words exactly, dearie, but the meanin’s clear an’ it’s right yez are.”
As Hester picked up the box, Peter Snooks sprang down from the window-sill jumping wildly about, the sight of her hat being conclusive evidence to him that she was going out.
“Poor little Snooks, not this time,” the girl said, stooping to pat him. “I am going in the car to-day.”
His stump of a tail drooped dejectedly as he looked at her with big reproachful eyes.
“It does seem mean not to take him, doesn’t it, Julie?—but it is not worth while, for it is so stormy I thought I had better ride both ways.” It was only dire extremity that permitted the extravagance of car-fares these days.
“Of course you must ride,” said Julie. “Peter Snooks,” to the still hopeful little fellow, “you must not tease. Go find your ball and we’ll have a play.”
He trotted off and Hester picked up the box and started.
“Tell Miss Ware that is only a hundredth part of the nice things you can make, you clever girl,” Julie called after her.
“An’ good luck to you, dearie,” from Bridget.
The wind and rain blew about Hester unpleasantly when she reached the street, but a car soon overtook her and afforded her a welcome shelter from the storm. She found all the seats occupied, but some of the passengers moved up to make room for her, and being a trifle tired from the nervousness of the cake-making, she thankfully squeezed into the bit of space allotted her, and laid the box in her lap.
Her thoughts as the car sped along were not of the most cheerful, for she dreaded this visit to Miss Ware. That individual, who kept housefor her brother, had expressed herself in terms of strong disapproval of the girls when he had told her their plans. She considered cooking greatly beneath them and would have thoroughly agreed with the views of their Cousin Nancy in Virginia, had she known that person. As it was, she thought her brother should interest himself in finding suitable positions for them, and she refused to recognize the fact that these were not to be had for the asking. “There were plenty of ladylike things girls could do,” she said, but did not give herself the trouble to specify.
To the girls themselves she had talked at some length, endeavoring to explain to them that they were laying out for themselves a path of social ostracism by their extraordinary choice of work, never doubting that this argument alone would convince them. But when Julie gently put it aside with the assurance that she and Hester were sufficient to themselves if the world chose to look askance at them; and when Hester flushed angrily, and said the people whose friendship was worth anything would not fail them, Miss Ware shrugged her shoulders and gave them up as social heretics. She was not, however, allowed to wash her hands of them, for her brother sang their praises perpetually. Shetherefore forced herself to take a negative interest in them which carried her so far as to order from them a loaf of cake.
Hester, gazing abstractedly out of the car window, felt it a momentous errand on which she was going that day; it involved so much. If the cake met with the critical approval of Miss Ware she intended to ask her to solicit orders for it. It would not be easy to approach her on this subject, but she should do it—oh! yes, she did not intend to be frightened out of her purpose. A curious little ache came into her heart as she braced herself for the coming ordeal. It was all so new and so strange, to be put in the position of asking favors—to be looked down upon from frigid heights—she and Julie, whose world hitherto had been all sunshine and approval. For a second something came between her and the window, blurring her vision. Then she brought herself up with a sharp mental rebuke for allowing her thoughts for one moment to revert to the past, and forced herself to look down with satisfaction on the neatly wrapped box she was carrying.
By this time the car had become crowded, and directly in front of Hester stood a woman of amazing breadth, clinging in a limp, swaying fashion to the strap. Just as the girl observedher and was wondering if she could squeeze into her seat should she offer it to her, the car jerked round a corner, the stout woman screamed and landed with a thud on the box in Hester’s lap!
Comfortably ensconced in a victoria, two men were bowling out through the suburbs of Radnor in the rapidly approaching dusk of a winter afternoon. One, wrapped to the chin in furs, sat well back in the corner of the carriage as if desirous of all possible protection from the cold; the other leaned forward in a somewhat restive attitude and looked like a man occupying his position under protest. Each was immersed in his own thoughts, but from time to time the younger man took a surreptitious glance in the direction of the older as if he were endeavoring to make some important discovery. He was, in truth, trying to decide if the moment were propitious for laying before his father a project which he had been for some time considering, but the impassive face of Mr. Landor told him nothing, and they continued to ride on in silence. Finally, in a tone of annoyance the older man said: “I wish, Kenneth, you would oblige me by leaning back and appearing as if you were enjoying yourself. I must confess it is no particular pleasure to me to drivewith a man who looks as if he might leap from the carriage at any moment.”
“Then why do you insist on my going, father? You know I detest this sort of thing—it is only fit for women. If you would come out with me now in my trap, it would be very different.”
“Your breakneck method of driving does not suit me at all. I suppose I may be allowed to take my pleasures in my own way, and it occurs to me that it is not altogether unreasonable to request you to accompany me occasionally.”
To this Kenneth made no reply, while he decided that the moment was not propitious for introducing the subject uppermost in his mind.
He conceded, however, to his father’s wishes in so far as to relax from his objectionable posture, though there was about him a suggestion of martyrdom that was irritating.
“What have you been doing to-day?” asked the senior Landor, abruptly.
“Nothing special, sir.”
“Do you ever do anything special?” turning two penetrating eyes upon him.
“Why, yes; I suppose so. I was thinking of something special just now.” After all, it might as well come out.
“If it is of any importance, I should like to hear about it.”
This was encouraging.
“I was thinking of a trip around the world, sir. To start in a month, say, and be gone two or three years.”
Mr. Landor received this proposition with a quick drawing down of his shaggy eyebrows and a closer upturning of his fur collar about his chin. His face now was almost hidden from view.
“Do you propose to go alone?” he asked.
“No; two fellows at the Aldine Club have talked me into joining them. Of course, sir, I realize you may object to so long an absence,” said Kenneth, who felt that a storm was brewing, “and I might be able to make it a year or so if you preferred.”
“Inasmuch as you have scarcely been at home a month in the past year or so, I should prefer that you dismiss the project altogether.”
“That seems rather surprising, sir,” said Kenneth, with a laugh his father did not like, “when I have been going and coming without comment ever since I left college.”
“All the more reason why you should begin to think of settling down,” replied his father testily.
“Settling down?” repeated the son; “what do you want me to do?”
“We will come to that later. The main thingis, that you are to give up this notion and remain here with me. If you force me to it I shall refuse to give you the money for such an expedition.”
“I have some property of my own,” Kenneth said, his whole nature rising in rebellion.
“You wouldn’t be such a fool as to squander that pittance on a pleasure trip! Be careful, Kenneth! I am in no mood to be thwarted to-day!”
“Then why do you thwart me? It is not a remarkable thing for a man to want to travel,” trying to speak calmly, “and I don’t see why you should take it in this unexpected way—it is unreasonable.”
But Mr. Landor, being a quick-tempered man, was beyond reason and had too little comprehension of his son to realize that his opposition tended to fan into a fixed resolve what had up to this time been only a pleasing possibility. There was a stern look about his mouth as he said to Kenneth, “You will do as I say, and remain for the present in Radnor. I have other plans for you.”
As he had never been dictated to in his life, this emphatic order fell with considerable astonishment upon Kenneth’s ears, even though he knew his father to be in an irascible frame of mind. He thought, however, that the thingmight blow over, as many a quarrel between them had blown over, after which, in all these contests of will, the younger man had invariably gained the day.
Kenneth was not of an ugly disposition; indeed, his nature was most lovable, while his peculiar exemption from responsibility had produced an inconsequential, happy-go-lucky attitude toward life that was one of his greatest charms. And the selfishness that sometimes cropped out in his character was not viciousness, but the natural outcome of over-indulgence. It had never occurred to him that his father would make any demands upon him, though in a vague, unformed sort of way he intended ultimately to make demands upon himself. Just how he should do this gave him occasional delightfully introspective moments in which he played with possibilities. In his father’s eyes that was Kenneth’s great weakness—that he played with all the abandon of a vagabond; but to blame the man for this was a great injustice, since his father had not suggested or encouraged his taking up any business or profession, and had supplied him with a liberal income dating back to the beginning of his college career.
To this indolent, pleasure-loving son, nothing could be in greater contrast than the father. Caleb Landor took life hard, but life had beenhard on him. Born of poor parents in a Maine village, he had been inured to poverty from his infancy. His schooling had been meager, and sandwiched in between long periods when he was required to lend a hand in the saw-mill where his father was employed. But the habit of industry thus acquired proved useful, and stimulated his desire to get into the world of business, so that he made his way eventually to Radnor, the goal of his ambition. Then followed years of hard work and small pay, during which the greater part of his earnings went down to the large family in the Maine village. At thirty he was looked upon as a man of ability; at forty he was a prosperous merchant, with Fortune beckoning him on. By all the laws of compensation this should have been his turning point to happiness, but he had the misfortune to be married for his money at this period of his career, by a frivolous Radnor girl of good position, whose beauty turned his head. As after the first months of marriage she took no pains to conceal her indifference to him, he received a bitter blow, from which he was many years recovering. He was spared, however, the anguish of protracted disappointment, for she had died in the second year of their marriage, leaving him a baby son. And so Caleb, giving all, lost what he had never won.
This episode in his life did not tend to softena nature somewhat morose and caused him to draw more and more within himself, devoting his energies to his business, and almost forgetting at times that he was a father.
When he did think of Kenneth, it was to realize that he had his mother’s beauty; but even at an early age there was no indication that he had inherited her smallness of mind, for which his father felt devoutly grateful, though there were times when he could scarcely bear the boy about, so forcibly did his likeness to his mother bring back the past. So he left him to grow up among the servants in the dreary house, sent him at fourteen to a preparatory school and then to college. He intended that Kenneth should have everything he himself had missed. In the matter of money it pleased him to provide generously for the lad, who grew to manhood the envy and favorite of all his associates, but almost a stranger to his father, who was equally a stranger to him. It did not occur to Caleb Landor that this was because he had given to the boy lavishly of everything except himself.
When the carriage drew up before their door on the evening with which this chapter opens, Kenneth sprang out with a feeling of relief and turned to help his father. It struck him suddenly that he looked old and feeble, which would not be strange, inasmuch as he was fast approachinghis seventieth birthday, but Kenneth had never been impressed by this before.
“You had better take my arm, sir,” he said, pleasantly, “the sidewalk is slippery to-night.”
Mr. Landor refused the proffered aid and went on ahead into the house. He had yet to learn that Kenneth could be leaned upon.
Through dinner there was little conversation between them, not from any constraint arising out of the recent disagreement, but because each was in the habit of carrying on his own inward train of thought without so much as a suspicion that the outward expression of it would have been of interest to the other. But it would have been of interest. Kenneth often wondered what his father’s opinions were on the topics of the day and many times would have broken the oppressive silence if the idea had not become fixed in his mind that his father built up this barrier of reserve from choice. It was a natural impression, but a wrong one, and led to many misunderstandings, for though he gave his son no encouragement to be communicative he secretly longed for his companionship and was beginning to feel a need of his presence in the house.
Kenneth went to a couple of receptions that evening and looked in at a dance later on; but did not remain long, for things of this sort boredhim, albeit he was very popular in Radnor society.
As he entered the house after midnight he noticed a bright light in his father’s room. This was so unusual an occurrence that he feared something might be wrong and ventured to knock at the door. There was no response, which was not reassuring, so he opened the door and walked in. In a big chintz-covered chair sat Mr. Landor asleep before the fire. He had undressed and was enveloped in a heavy dressing-gown that fell away at the neck, disclosing the throat upon which Time lays such relentless fingers. He stirred a little and Kenneth was about to leave the room satisfied that his father was all right and would probably resent this intrusion, when the older man woke with a start, and accosting him in a tone more curious than resentful, said, “What are you doing in here?”
“I noticed your light, and thought you might be ill. Is there anything I can do for you before I turn in?” replied Kenneth, looking down from the height of his six feet upon the shrunken figure of his father.
“Nothing at all, nothing at all,” waving him off; “I am reading.” He picked up the newspaper that had fallen to the floor, and becamesuddenly absorbed in it, after the manner of persons who object to being caught napping.
A smile flickered about Kenneth’s well-shaped mouth but was properly suppressed. There was something pathetic, almost appealing to him to-night about his father.
“If you are not in any particular hurry to finish your paper may I stop a moment?” he said.
“There is a chair—make yourself comfortable.”
“I would like to talk about those plans you spoke of this afternoon,” began Kenneth as soon as he was seated. “I wish very much you would tell me more about them—what your idea is for my immediate future.”
“Where are your own ideas? At twenty-eight a man must have a few.” Mr. Landor kicked a log impatiently, sending up a shower of sparks.
“We were speaking of your ideas, were we not, sir? Mine can come later.”
“So you have some, have you? Good! After all, with your education and advantages it is to be expected. But as your ideas are to be kept to yourself, so are mine. We will talk no further on this subject.”
“Wewilltalk on this subject,” said Kenneth, rising and standing with head erect and flashingeyes. “I am not a boy, father, as you very well know, and I shall not consent to this sort of thing for a moment. If you have anything in your mind regarding me it is my right to know it, and your duty to tell me. You spoke to-day of my settling down. I have been thinking of it a good deal since, and I am inclined to think you are right about it; but I would like to know just what you mean—just what it is you want me to do.”
“Kenneth, I want you around.” The words came in a muffled tone that was scarcely audible.
“Want me around?” repeated Kenneth incredulously; “why, I thought I drove you to desperation with my lazy ways and erratic hours and general worthlessness.”
“So you do, so you do,” gruffly, “but I like it. I like to know you are in the house. Stay around, Kenneth and you can have things pretty much your own way. We will say no more about settling down to business.”
“Oh! that is all right, father; I’ll stay.” It was a new sensation to find that he was wanted. Moved by a sudden impulse he drew near meaning to grip his father’s hand—the desire was strong within him to get close to the old man. But when he neared the chair he turned sharply on his heel and crossed to the door, withheld by the habit of years.
Mr. Landor was watching him through half-closed lids, and made no sign.
“Good night, father; glad I found you up. I have something in mind I would like to discuss with you later if I am to stay on here.”
“Any time, any time. I have leisure enough for anything of importance. Come in again some time—good night.” His head was turned away as he spoke.
“Poor old governor,” thought Kenneth, as he went to his room; “I believe he is lonely.”
When the door had closed, Caleb Landor sat some moments in deep meditation. Then he rose and slowly crossed the room to a table on which stood a box-shaped rosewood writing-desk curiously inlaid with pearl—the most treasured possession of his mother long since dead. This he unlocked, and lifting the lid pressed a small knob by means of which a secret drawer flew open. In this shallow receptacle lay an oval miniature which the man took out and held under the strong light of the gas jet. It was the face of a woman, young and very beautiful, and for a long while the image held the man transfixed. Once he lifted his head suddenly, as if he thought some one was approaching but it was only the noise of Kenneth’s boots flung upon the floor in an adjoining room. On the mantel a clock ticked solemnly, warning him ofthe flight of time, and at last he sighed wearily, and with unsteady hands dropped the miniature into its hiding place and locked the desk. For a moment he leaned heavily on the table and appeared to be listening, but all was still in Kenneth’s room. Over the stern impassive features of Caleb Landor came a look of yearning tenderness. Then he put out the gas and went to bed.
Hester never remembered leaving the car or how she got home after the fatal catastrophe, but indelibly printed on Julie’s mind would always be the picture of a wide-eyed breathless girl who rushed in upon her and threw a mangled package on the table.
“Oh, my dear! what is the matter?” cried Julie.
But Hester could not speak.
Julie picked up the battered box, disclosing the cake within crushed to a pancake. She turned to find Hester’s head buried in her arms; the girl was sobbing convulsively.
“Never mind, dear,” said Julie, stroking her head sympathetically, “it would be much worse if you were hurt too.”
“I am not crying,” the younger girl asserted stoutly; “not crying at all.” She spoke in short gasps that were strangely like sobs, but Julie ignored them. “I am all out of breath from running, that is all, and I did not fall, you goose! A woman sat on me!” She broke into a peal of hysterical laughter.
It was Julie’s turn to be speechless now.
“If she had just sat onmeit wouldn’t have mattered but she tumbled in the car before I knew it and there is the result!” She waved her hand tragically toward the table and wiped her eyes.
“We’ll make another one right away, dear.”
“Of course we will,” responded Hester, pulling off her hat and coat and flinging them down impatiently; “but it breaks my heart to see such a ruin of all our work not to mention the waste of materials!”
Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall;Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—
sang Julie, suggestively, but was not allowed to finish the ditty, for Hester said, with a thump on the table:
“We will put this together again double quick and I will get it to Miss Ware before dark, you see if I don’t.”
“You had better let me go next time, Hester,” said Julie, getting out the cooking utensils, “you will be tired to death.”
“No, I won’t; I have undertaken to do this thing, and I’ll put it through if it takes forever,” with which characteristic remark she set to work again.
The second effort in the culinary line was, ifpossible, more successful than the first and immediately after their simple lunch of bread and milk, Hester set forth again. The storm had ceased, and to the immense delight of Peter Snooks, Hester confided to him that she should walk and a certain good little dog that she knew should go too. Julie laughed at this determination to avoid the car and called her superstitious. She laughed, too, but refused to analyze her sensations.
She found Miss Ware, when she was ushered into her presence, in rather an aggressive mood, which caused the girl to look on with some nervousness as she opened the box and surveyed the loaf critically.
“Umph!” she said, examining it through her lorgnette, “did you do that, or Bridget?”
“We did it, Miss Ware. Bridget knows nothing of fancy cooking.”
“And you do, it seems. It was an odd trick for a girl to pick up in Virginia, and an undesirable one.”
“We look at things differently, Miss Ware,” Hester said, with considerable asperity. “I don’t call it undesirable if it proves a way of supporting ourselves. I would not choose it—to cook for a living—but we’ve no choice in the matter whatever.”
“Your father is very much to blame, Hester.He should have looked after your interests better when he saw the crash coming. There was no need that you should be left absolutely penniless.”
Hester sprang to her feet and confronted Miss Ware like a young tigress. “You shall not say such things about Dad. I will not listen—I—”
“Hoighty toighty!” broke in Miss Ware, “what a temper! You will have to curb that, my dear Hester, if you expect to get on in the world—as cooks!”
The girl flushed crimson, and bit her lip in an effort to regain her self-control.
“I—I beg your pardon,” she faltered. “I—I never knew I had a temper before. It’s—it’s one of the new things I am learning.” A sudden mist came before her, and drawing near she laid her hand on the older woman with an appealing touch. “Don’t say unkind things about Daddy, please, Miss Ware; they are not true, and I—I can’t bear it.”
“Let’s get to business,” said Miss Ware, who dreaded a scene above everything. “What do you mean to charge for your cake?”
“Fifty cents.” Hester was now quite herself again, and went on rapidly, “I want to ask you if you will speak about our work to your friends. I know it is asking a great deal under the circumstances, but we are such strangers here in Radnor we reallydo not know any one to ask such a favor of but you and Dr. Ware.”
“At least you have a champion in him.”
Hester’s eyes shone. “Next to Dad we love him better than any one in the world.”
“Then why don’t you behave sensibly, and come here and live, and let me take you about in society, as I meant to do this winter? I really looked forward to chaperoning you and Julie—you’re very unusual girls. Now give up this nonsense of yours and behave properly.”
“Oh, Miss Ware, must we go all over that again? Won’t you try to see it our way, as—as your brother does? He never even talked of our coming here to live, he understands so well that we want to be independent. I know we must be a great disappointment to you. Cousin Nancy in Virginia feels just as you do, too. Ever so many persons have offered us a home. You can’t think what beautiful letters we’ve had from Dad’s friends through the west. If it were possible to move him we’d go out there to try our fortune; there are so many splendid out-of-door kinds of work a girl can do in that big country. But Dad can’t be moved, and we’ve got to do the best we can right here in Radnor.” She spoke convincingly and with a certain submissiveness that sat oddly on her young shoulders.
Miss Ware, twisting her rings round on her fingers with a contemplative air was wondering where the child got that dignity and poise.
“I’ve no patience with you whatever,” she said finally, after a long pause, in which Hester imagined she had been waging an inward conflict. “I am wholly out of sympathy with your ideas, but you cannot be allowed to starve to death, and if cooking is the height of your ambition—”
“It isn’t the height of our ambition,” interrupted Hester, for youth is impatient of being misunderstood; “it is only the thing that is nearest at hand.”
“Your education must be sadly deficient,” regarding the girl critically. “I always told Philip the harum-scarum way you were being brought up was perfectly ruinous. If you had gone to school like other girls, you would be qualified for some lady-like position.”
This was too much for Hester. “You need not trouble to do anything about the cake, Miss Ware,” she said, proudly, “and I shan’t come here again to hear my father insulted. And we are not going to starve either,” she cried, her girlish wrath rising. “We are going to succeed and be a credit to the best education in the world!”
She threw back her head and gazed straightinto the older woman’s eyes with a fearless look that was hard to meet. Only the fingers curled tight into the palms of her hands, betrayed the mighty effort she was making to hold herself in check, and this Miss Ware did not see, for Hester’s unflinching eyes held her with a strange fascination. In another moment the girl had turned and left the room.
For a while after her departure Miss Ware sat motionless like a person who has received a shock. Presently she began to toy with her lorgnette, dangling it back and forth on its chain with a swinging movement as if keeping time to a rhythmic train of thought. This was not, indeed, the case, and the action arose from nervousness, for the usual calm placidity of her mind was sadly ruffled. She was not in the habit of being contradicted, particularly by what she was pleased to call “a young person”; but she was one of those women who having said their worst, proceed to contradict themselves by an interest in that which they have most condemned, and she was now speculating as to whether it would not be expedient to take Hester’s cake to the meeting of her sewing class the following day, and possibly get an order or two there for it.
Only a true Radnorite could realize the possibilities that opened up to one who was introduced as a subjectof discussion attheSewing Class of Radnor. For in the fashionable and exclusive set in which Miss Ware had her being it was a function of tremendous importance, with sacred rites known only to the initiated. In one another’s drawing-rooms, on two mornings of the month, forty chosen spirits met to sew for the poor—that great, clamorous, all-devouring body from which there is no escape. This was ostensibly the purpose; in reality sewing was a minor consideration, albeit much work was accomplished. The chief end of its existence was to discuss, direct and control the movements of that exclusive portion of Radnor society of which it was a part and upon which it sat in fortnightly judgment. Following this arduous but important morning duty came the luncheon, and it was of that Miss Ware was thinking in connection with the cake.
When Hester left Miss Ware she ran down the stairs to the lower hall, where she had left Peter Snooks with strict orders to remain until her return. There she found him waiting to greet her with joyous caperings of delight.
Dr. Ware and a tall, clean-shaven, athletic-looking man came out from the office and encountered her.
“Ah, you, Hester?” said the Doctor. “Wait a moment, my dear. I have a book herethat I want you to take round to read to your father.”
He vanished, and the stranger glanced at the girl, hesitated, and then stooping patted the dog. “You’ve a fine fox-terrier,” he said in a deep, rich voice, looking up.
“We think so,” replied Hester, who couldn’t for the life of her conceal her pleasure at hearing Peter Snooks praised.
At that moment the Doctor came out again.
“Why, Landor,” he said, “I beg your pardon; I forgot all about you when I saw Hester. That is a way the minx has—of driving everything else out of my head. Hester, my dear, this is Kenneth Landor, just up from Texas to have a look at effete civilization—you have heard me speak of him often—Mr. Landor, Miss Dale.”
The young people bowed.
“Don’t let him pose as a cowboy or anything interesting like that,” continued the Doctor, “for he isn’t really—he only plays at things. Takes a peep here and there over the continent, and pretends he is this and that and the other, as the mood seizes him. A rolling stone, eh, Landor?” turning with an affectionate, quizzical look at the man beside him.
“Oh! go on, Doctor; pile it on—don’t leave me a shred of character. His veracity is absolutely unquestioned, of course, Miss Dale?”
“Of course! He has made you interesting already.”
The Doctor laughed. “How one’s motives are mistaken. That was the last thing I meant to do!”
Hester looked up at the Doctor, gleams of mischief in her eyes. “You being you,” she said, “it couldn’t be otherwise.” With which ambiguous remark she went out the door.
Landor followed her down the steps. “Miss Dale,” he asked, “may I walk along with you? I fancy I am going your way.” Landor’s way was usually where he chose to make it.
Hester acquiesced simply. She had been accustomed to the society of men since she could toddle, and felt no embarrassment in the presence of a stranger. Landor noted the free, swinging motion with which she kept step with him as they went down the street.
“You are not a true Radnorite,” he said abruptly.
“No, I am not. Why?”
“Radnor girls do not walk as you do.”
“I am half inclined to believe you are a cowboy, after all, Mr. Landor.”
“Why?”
“Are we playing twenty questions? You have bad manners, a habit of dealing in personalities—we call it impertinence.”
“Twenty questions,” he repeated, ignoring her rebuke. “Why, I have not heard that mentioned for years. It is a favorite game in Radnor, isn’t it?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” she said wearily; “I know very little about Radnor.”
“And I less,” he said. “I’ve been away so much of the time. But there were certain things taken into my innermost being in my youth, along with the air I breathed, I suppose, that no amount of absence will eradicate.”
“For instance?” she said, with feigned interest, for her mind kept wandering off to her recent interview with Miss Ware, and she wished she had not allowed him to accompany her.
“Well, the question of residence, you know. The few acres of sacred soil in Radnor on which it is permissible to live. I remember as a little boy how my nurse only allowed me to play with children whose parents lived on the water side of Crana Street or the sunny side of Belton Avenue. Any other than those and the streets immediately intersecting was beyond the pale of civilization, even to her. It is odd, isn’t it?” smiling down at her.
“What is odd, the fact or your acceptance of it?” There was a little ring in her voice which struck the man’s alert ear.
A look of surprise came into his handsome dark face. “Am I walking too fast for you, Miss Dale?” he asked, pleasantly.
That was the second time he had put aside a thrust of hers with some trifling, irrelevant remark, and it tended to heighten rather than soothe her growing irritation.
“I think,” she said, stopping abruptly on the corner, “that I shall say good morning to you here. I do not happen to live in that sacred locality you mention, and I would not for worlds take you beyond the pale.”
“Miss Dale,” he gasped, “you don’t think I abide by any such nonsense—you are doing me a great injustice. Surely you are not going to dismiss me!”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, and showing her dimples in a sudden access of pleasure at the thought of getting rid of him, “I really believe I am.”
He lifted his hat, and stood for some moments on the corner watching her vanish from sight. How slender she was, and graceful, and what a sweet little smile had accompanied her nod of farewell! Now he thought of it, her eyes had queer lights in them, baffling, as if she were laughing at him all the time. And her tone was half mocking, too, though he had taken itseriously enough in all conscience. Was she serious, or had he made an idiot of himself? This latter contingency was not one which presented itself with marked frequency to the mind of Kenneth Landor, and therefore gave him much food for reflection as the day wore on.
“Whom in the world do we know in New Hampshire?” asked Julie one morning, glancing askance at an envelope in her hand.
“Suppose you open it and find out,” meekly suggested Hester, peeping over her shoulder.
“Why, see, it is addressed to us both—it’s probably an invitation or something.”
“It is not,” asserted Julie; “I can tell by the look of it. It’s—why, Hester Dale, it’s a fifty dollar bill.”
“What?” ejaculated Hester.
“It is, and a note. Think of daring to trust such a thing by mail! Look at it yourself.”
Hester seized both the bill and the letter, and unfolding the latter found the following mysterious communication in typewriting:
“From one some love to those one loves, Greetings:
“A conspiracy having been formed for the purpose of circumventing fate, the initial step is herewith taken in the form of the enclosed paltry bill, intending it to be the forerunner of many a happy hour in which, though absent, will be ever present
“The Arch-Conspirator.”
“Whoever could have done such a thing?” queried Hester in astonishment, “Dr. Ware?”
“No, I don’t think so, though he might—is capable of doing anything. But, Hester, just think of it—fifty dollars! Why, it is almost a fortune!”
“I should think it was, and it is the kindest, most generous thing I ever heard of. It couldn’t be from Virginia, could it?”
“I don’t believe so, Hester. Cousin Nancy disapproves of us too much to do such a thing. I think it is from some one who loves Daddy and feels sorry for us all, and takes this way of showing it. Oh, how good people are!”
“Some people,” corrected Hester.
“If it had come from almost any other place than New Hampshire it wouldn’t be quite so puzzling,” said Julie. “I am sure we don’t know a soul in the whole state.”
“Well, I say let’s stop guessing and be thankful we have it,” advised Hester. “It is some one who does not want to be known, and I don’t suppose we really ought to try to guess, but I just hope we will get a chance sometime to do something for that somebody, whoever he is. You can see the person has had great fun doing it, by the way it is written, Julie.”
“Yes.” softly, still puzzling over the unexpected windfall.
“You’ve got another letter in your lap, Julie.Have you forgotten its existence? It looks like Nannie’s writing—do read it aloud.”
Julie took up the forgotten letter, and opening it began:
“My Sweetest, Preciousest Girls” (Isn’t that just like Nan?) “You owe me a letter, both of you; but it’s such ages since we’ve heard that I just can’t wait any longer. I’msoafraid mummie’s last letter hurt you, though I wrote you at the time just not to mind anything she said. She was awfully cross and put out for several days, but father and I played backgammon with her until we actually played her into a good humor—you know how she’d play backgammon until she couldn’t sit up another minute; and I know she loves you girls nearly as much as she does me, though she sputters away about you now and then; but that is just mummie’s way.
“How I do wish you were here! I say that a dozen times a day, and whenever father hears me he says you will be, sometime. He’s got just the loveliest scheme for bringing you all down here on a visit, since you’re so proud and haughty and won’t come and live with us! I shan’t tell you a thing about it but you just wait until dear Cousin Dale gets better, and then you’ll see!”
Julie’s voice got suspiciously husky here, and it was a moment before she went on:
“We’ll have the grandest old times that ever happened, just like we did when you were here before.
“Do you know I’d almost forgotten to tell you the thing I began this letter for—my birthday party. I know you want to hear about it! It was a surprise party, and such fun! To begin with, it was such a pretty day that I wanted to be out every minute, so I took a long ride with father in the morning, and spent most of the afternoon in the pasture with George Washington, he and I trying to do tricks on Gypsie the way you did, Hester. I said we wereonGypsie,but it was mostlyoff, for she didn’t take to our circus performance at all and threw me twice, way over her head, and George Washington no end of times. He just loved it, and capered around and grinned and made absurd remarks until my sides ached with laughing. Just as I was actually succeeding in standing upon Gyp bareback, mummie spied me from her window, and of course that put an end to everything. She said she saw no reason why I should celebrate my eighteenth birthday by breaking my neck, and I expect she was right—but oh, it was fun!
“When I came in to dress for supper, father called me one side and told me to put on my pink organdie (the one you liked so much, you know), because it would please mummie; so I did and mummie wore her claret-colored velvet and I picked two of my pet pink roses—one for Mummie’s hair and the other for father’s buttonhole, and we all looked very gay and festive and I thought it was lovely to be eighteen, especially as mummie had given me that beautiful pearl ring of hers which she always said I should have when I was a young lady.
“Well, about nine o’clock, when mummie and I were in the midst of a game of backgammon, there was a crunching noise out in the driveway and I thought some one was coming to call. Then I heard laughter and a lot of people talking, and father went to the door, and let in a whole crowd calling for me. I was too surprised to understand, even when father explained that the neighborhood was giving me a surprise party. (I found out afterward, girls, that he got up the whole thing—he vowed them all to secrecy, because he didn’t want me to know he had a hand in it, but Lillie Blake told me—Lil never has secrets from me.)
“Well, we danced in the big hall most of the evening, while the older people played cards, and we did have a jolly time, and there was a stranger here—he was staying with the Blakes and you’d never guess where he’s from—Radnor! He’s very fascinating, but he’s old—he must be at least thirty! I know that wouldn’t seem old to you, but it does to me, and I felt very shy with him at first until I found out hecame from Radnor, and then I just pelted him with questions about you, and he didn’t know you at all! I could have wept! But I talked on about you just the same, and I was dying to tell him about your work, for I think it’s so noble of you, but mummie has forbidden my mentioning it to any one, and, of course, I wouldn’t disobey her. He got the ring in my birthday cake, girls; wasn’t that the funniest thing? Lillie Blake teased him to give it to her, but he wouldn’t, and slipped it in his pocket out of sight. I know he enjoyed hearing me talk about you, because he stayed with me a good part of the evening, and Teddie Carroll got cross and sulked in the corner. Isn’t he the silliest thing?
“Good-by, you old darlings, and don’t forget your little cousin,
“Nannie.”
Julie smiled as she put down the letter. “Isn’t she a darling, Hester? I don’t wonder they call her ‘Kitten,’ she purrs so. And she’s so ingenuous! Imagine her thinking that a man stayed about with her because she talked about us. He evidently took a fancy to her—the dear little thing! I wonder who he was.”
“She has forgotten to mention his name,” said Hester, “but it does not much matter. Come, Julie, we must switch our thoughts up from Virginia, or we’ll never get to work to-day.”
Julie went over to a shelf and stuck the two letters behind a clock. “It is an inspiration to work,” she said, “when we know people are thinking of us and loving us. That money, dear, is a godsend. We had scarcely enough left to market another day.”
Julie, who was self-appointed buyer, had beenracking her brains to know how they should get through another day without running into debt—a contingency of which they had a horror. They had stopped all their father’s accounts and were unanimous in agreeing that they would go without that for which they could not pay cash. Accordingly they went without a great deal.
In her first experience of marketing Julie was aghast to find that meats which she regarded as a common necessity cost so much that she was forced to act upon the butcher’s suggestion that it was “stew meat” she wanted. It wasnotwhat she wanted, but she took it meekly and ate it with pretended relish, for Bridget took pride in serving a genuine Irish stew.
It was characteristic of the Dales that they never did things by halves, and they threw themselves with tremendous energy into their work, which was developing, though still slowly. Orders for wine jelly and cake came in from people unknown to them, and they knew that Dr. Ware’s influence was working for their good. Miss Ware, too, though outwardly antagonistic, had carried out her intention of taking Hester’s cake to the Sewing Class, with the result that the hostess of the next meeting had ordered all her cake from them for that occasion.
This order they were getting to work on now, and Julie remarked that she wished white cakewere not so much in demand, for the continued increase of left-over yolks was appalling.
“Bridget has made them into omelette at least twice a day lately, until it seems to me I can’t stand the sight of them, Hester. And the more we have to make frosting the worse it gets. Either we’ve got to throw them away in rank extravagance or keep on eating them and die. I wish we could think of something to do with them!”
“If we only could afford to buy oil, Bridget would make us some salad-dressing.”
“But we can’t afford it. Poor Bridget, that is her one accomplishment. She says she learned it from mamma, who was famous for it.”
“Good gracious, Julie!” the practical Hester ejaculated, “don’t take to ‘reminiscing’ with that far-away look in your eyes. You’ll be weighing salt instead of sugar.”
“I am not ‘reminiscing’—I am thinking. Why can’t we make mayonnaise and sell it?”
“What!”
“Don’t drop dead with astonishment, you chief cook and bottle-washer, becauseIhave an idea. What do you think of it?”
“Ye gods, but wouldn’t that be a scheme! Bridget could teach us—you know how Daddy’s friends always said they never got such salads at any other table!”
“Don’t ‘reminisce,’ my dear.”
“We’ll get the grocers to sell it,” disdaining to notice the pretended rebuke, “just as they do pickles and things. We’ll put it up in nice bottles, and——”
“Wouldn’t it be rather clever to learn how to make it first?” interrupting this flight into future possibilities.
“Bridget, Bridget, come here!” called Hester.
Bridget, who was brushing up the sick-room, came down the little hall and entered the kitchen.
“Do you see all those?” cried Hester, pointing to a bowl full of yolks standing on the table. “Now if you had your own way, what would you do with them?’
“Make ’em into mayonnaise, miss.”
“Of course you would, you extravagant creature! Well, that is just what we want you to do. Tell her, Julie—it is your scheme.”
An amazed and delighted Bridget heard the girl unfold her plan.
“Shure it’s a wonder yez are, Miss Julie, the two of yez, an’ my dressin’ can’t be beat. Could I be after showin’ yez how this mornin’?”
“I’ll go straight into the grocery now and get a bottle of oil,” exclaimed Julie, and calling Peter Snooks, she was off in five minutes.
She noticed as she went down the stairs thatthe door of the apartment underneath them was ajar, and to her astonishment Peter Snooks, that most well-behaved of dogs, thrust his nose into the crack and vanished.
She stood a moment irresolute; then called peremptorily: “Snooks, Peter Snooks! come here this minute!”
No dog appeared, and she was about to raise her voice for the second time when from the darkness of the inner hall she heard some one say—“Do you mind coming in just a minute? Your little dog is making friends with me, and I can’t come to you.”
She followed the voice to the front room, where a boy lay in a wheeled chair, while beside him sat Peter Snooks on his hind legs, putting out his paw to shake hands in his most approved manner. At sight of his mistress he curled his tail under and crawled to her guiltily. “Don’t scold him, please,” said the boy; “it’s my fault. I’ve been wanting to know him this ever so long.”
There was something so appealing in the boy’s voice and so penitent in the way Peter Snooks looked up at her that she patted the little rascal, and said brightly:
“I never knew him to play truant before; but if you and he have made friends I shan’t apologize for his intrusion or mine.”
“Oh no! don’t,” said the boy. “I’ve watched you from the window ever since you came here to live, and I feel somehow as if I sort of knew you.”
“Are you ill?” she asked, gently.
“Broke my hip two months ago,” he said. “It’s a long time mending.”
“Oh! I am so sorry—I know how hard it must be—my father is—is ill, too.” She never could bring herself to put into words her father’s actual condition.
“I wish you would sit down,” the boy said. “Mother may be in any moment. You can’t think how it cheers a fellow up to see somebody.” He spoke hesitatingly, as if he feared to show too great pleasure lest he give her offense.
“I can’t stop, thank you,” said Julie, suddenly remembering her errand, “but if you are lonely and would like to have me, I will leave Peter Snooks awhile with you—he’s no end of company.”
“Oh! would you, really?” The boy’s eyes glistened. “I wish mother were here; she’d know how to—to thank you.”
At that moment a small, frail woman, gowned in black, entered the room.
“Why, mother,” exclaimed the boy, turning to her a flushed, eager face, “I was just wishingfor you. This is the young lady that lives upstairs, you know.”
“How do you do?” the woman said, holding out her hand with quaint simplicity, neither face nor manner betraying any surprise at finding Julie there. “You are Miss Dale, are you not? I am Mrs. Grahame. It was kind of you to come in and see Jack.”
“My little dog ran in here, and I followed in search of him and found your son,” Julie explained. “I really did not intend to be intrusive.”
“It is a great pleasure to see you.” The older woman smiled at her. “You must pardon the seeming liberty, but Jack and I have long been acquainted with you. You see I am at work down-town most of the day, and the boy spends long hours by the window watching his neighbors go in and out, and he amuses himself by weaving little stories about them until he comes to regard them as personal friends.”
Jack dropped his eyes. “You’ll think I’m the one who’s intrusive,” he said.
“I do not think anything of the kind,” replied Julie; “I think it is a very clever, happy idea.” She went over to the chair and called the dog up in his lap. “Mrs. Grahame,” she said, “if you are not too busy, will you come up some evening and see us? We are working girls, and we havean invalid father, and we don’t expect to pay visits, but I would like to come down here again, if I may, and bring my sister. Your son would weave the most beautiful stories in the world if he really knew Hester.”