For several days Basil appeared pre-occupied and went about with an anxious look on his face, while Porter seemed keeping out of the way as much as possible. Persis, with her quick sympathies, saw that something was wrong, and, following Basil’s hint, did keep her eyes open. It was only by accident, however, that she made the discovery of what was affecting the two brothers.
One cold day in January she and Mellicent were sitting in the cosey corner Persis called her very own. This was a tiny place hardly larger than a closet. It had been used by Mrs. Estabrook as a store-room for certain of her belongings, but as it had long been evident to her that Persis had no special quarters, Lisa assuming the proprietorship of the room Persis shared with her, and Mellicent’s room being too small for two, the good grandmother set herself to work to provide a little retreat for her favorite. She busied herself all one morning stowing away sundry bags and boxes, and by the time the girls came home from school, with thehelp of the housemaid, the place had been made as clean as a new pin.
There appeared to be a closer affinity than before between grandma and Persis, these days, and to the former’s question, “How would you like to have a little snuggery of your very own?” Persis looked up in pleased surprise.
“Why, grandma, what do you mean?” she asked.
“Come here, and I will show you,” was the reply, as grandma opened the door leading into the small packing-room. “I cleared this out to-day, for it occurred to me that it was high time you had some sort of a room of your own. You know, dear, I love you all, but I think you and Lisa might be more loving if you were not so constantly together, and this place, tiny as it is, will be a nest to which you can fly when your feathers are ruffled.”
“Oh, you dear, dear grandma!” cried Persis, ecstatically. “If you only knew how I have longed for a spot of my very own. Now that the boys are here, we have less space than ever; and oh, how cunning it will be! That little window is so high up that I shall not be tempted to look out, and yet I shall have plenty of light. How would you furnish it, grandma? It will not hold much.”
“I thought you could have two big boxes, set side by side, along that wall; they will hold some of your books and papers. Some denims or cretonne will do to cover your boxes, and they will form a sort of divan for you. A few pillows piled up on them will make that end of the room quite a comfortable lounging-placeand about fill it up. You will still have space for a small table and a couple of chairs; then some hanging-shelves and a few pictures will look well on your walls, and that will be about all you can crowd in. You know the place can only be entered by going through my room, and you shall have entire right of way. No one else shall be admitted to your sanctum, except by your express invitation.”
Persis looked up gratefully. Perhaps she did not quite appreciate the sacrifice her grandmother was making, for to give up her entire seclusion, not knowing what moment a lively girl might bounce in upon her, meant more than Persis realized. Mrs. Estabrook had thought it all over, however, and with her usual unselfish spirit had told herself that she was getting too self-indulgent and too dependent upon small things. “That is the way we are too apt to do as we grow older,” she thought, “and thereby we encourage old age to take a firm grasp of us. I never used to mind having my room open to the family when my own children were small.” So, sweetly setting aside her own comfort, she gave up one of her most valued privileges. Nevertheless she felt that Persis’s delight was compensation, and before many days the little corner was as pretty a place as need be. Here Mellicent came to be helped with her lessons; here Annis repaired to talk over all sorts of things with her friend. It must be confessed that Persis triumphed rather too visibly over Lisa, who was quite indignant that the room had not been offered to her. She did not admit this, but she carefully avoided thespot, and professed herself greatly relieved that Persis’s possessions no longer crowdedherroom.
The question of the reduction of Mrs. Estabrook’s income, of course, was discussed by the sisters, and they were gradually beginning to adapt themselves to the changed condition of affairs. “It doesn’t make so much difference to us,” Persis said to Mellicent. “Papa still gives us our allowance just the same, and we really can get used to going without the extras. If we want anything very much we can buy it ourselves. I always have some money ahead after the holidays. I still have the five dollars Aunt Esther gave me and last month’s allowance besides. Oh, Mell, I’ll tell you what let’s do! Let’s buy the material for our own bicycle suits. We really need them, and it will save mamma that much. Let’s tell her now that we mean to do it. Go get your money and we’ll give it to her to-day. Don’t you want to?”
Mellicent hung her head. “Yes, I’d like to. I think it is a lovely plan; but—but—I—I haven’t—haven’t got the money just now.”
“Why, Mellicent Holmes! You haven’t spent nine dollars since Christmas?”
“No. I—I haven’t spent any, hardly. I got some peanut taffy one day and some pencils and things.”
“Then where in the world is it?”
“Oh, don’t ask me!” And Mellicent looked troubled.
“If you have given it for charity it’s all right, and you needn’t inform your left hand, if that’s what you mean.”
Mellicent was silent, but she lifted a pair of appealing eyes to her sister. She opened her lips as if to speak, then evidently concluded to keep silence. Persis was watching her narrowly. “I’d like to tell you, but I have promised not to,” said the younger girl, helplessly, shrinking from her sister’s penetrating gaze.
“Does mamma know? Tell me that, Mell, and I’ll not say another word,” ventured Persis.
Mellicent shook her head.
“Then it isn’t all right. You know perfectly well, Melly, that a thing is not right if we cannot tell mamma about it. You know we never, never promise to do anything without saying that mamma must know.”
Mellicent was looking very miserable. “Oh, Perse,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “it isn’t all gone; it’s just loaned. I couldn’t help it; indeed I couldn’t. He was in such a trouble.”
“Who are you talking about, Mell? Tell me,” said Persis. “Was it Porter?”
“Oh, dear,” began Mellicent, breaking down, “I didn’t mean to say that. Oh, what have I done? I’ll be despised for not keeping it to myself.”
“Goodness, child! You have kept it to yourself. I’m firmly convinced that Porter is at the bottom of it, and that is what has been bothering Basil. Never mind, Mell, he’s a mean-spirited little wretch. Don’t worry about it. If you’ve only been loaning money the only harm is in not telling mamma.”
“That isn’t all; and if I’m not found out it will beall right,” wailed Mellicent. “I wish I had minded mamma.”
“Then it isn’t all right,” returned Persis, clearly and decidedly. “It is not the getting found out that makes a thing wrong; it’s the doing something that you’re afraid to tell about.”
Many years before, when these two were scarcely more than babies, a similar experience had taken place, which Mrs. Holmes had recounted to her mother as showing the difference between the characters of Persis and Mellicent. A large and handsome doll had been sent to the little Mellicent, who had viewed it with tenderness and admiration, begging to take the beautiful Geraldine out on the street to walk. But mamma said, “No, you will be very likely to break her, dear.” At last, however, the temptation was too great, and as Persis was waiting at the gate for her little sister, she saw her appear with Geraldine in her arms. In her haste to reach the gate, Mellicent’s uncertain feet tripped and down she went, breaking poor Geraldine’s head beyond repair.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sobbed the child. “I wiss I had minded mamma. I is so sowwy I didn’t mind mamma.”
“No, ’ittle sister,” came in Persis’s earnest voice, listened to by the mother at a window above, “’oo isn’t sowwy ’cause ’oo didn’t mind mamma, ’oo is only sowwy ’cause ’oo bwoke Gewaldine.” And so it was with poor little Mellicent this time: she was grieving because of the prospect of censure.
Persis, after her reproof, felt so sorry for her sisterthat she began to comfort her by saying it might be made all right if she would tell her mother the whole story; and leaving her in penitent tears she sought Basil, whom she heard softly twanging his guitar. In response to her knock he appeared at the door of his room.
“Come down in the library, Basil,” said Persis. “I have something to tell you.”
“What’s up?” he asked as he followed her down-stairs.
“Why, I think I can tell you something about Porter. I hate to be a tell-tale, but I am pretty sure he borrowed some money from Mellicent. She had nine or ten dollars after Christmas, and now she only has a few cents. You know they both looked sort of confused, the other day, when you said wrong was wrong whether any one knew it or not.”
“Yes, I noticed that. My goodness, Persis, I hope Porter hasn’t done a mean thing like that. Of all contemptible things, to borrow from a girl! My father used to say that when a man was willing to borrow money from a woman it was pretty good evidence of where he stood with men, and the very fact of his taking advantage of a woman’s soft-heartedness made him the more censurable; that if men couldn’t trust him, women ought not to.” And Basil looked much perturbed.
“Oh, don’t think that way,” returned Persis, comfortingly. “He is only a little boy, and very likely it was only thoughtlessness.”
“I’ve got to find out about it,” responded Basil.“Don’t say anything more about it till you hear further; not that I would have you keep anything from your mother, but don’t tell any one else. It will be best to get at the root of the matter, and then Porter must make a clean breast of it.”
But the very next day something occurred to throw light on the affair, and to show Mellicent’s part in it as well as Porter’s. An acquaintance calling upon Mrs. Holmes said, sweetly, “I saw your little girl at the theatre not long ago,—the youngest one I think, with the golden hair. What a pretty child she is! And I suppose the nice-looking lad with her was one of the Phillips boys.”
Mrs. Holmes was puzzled, but discreetly managed the subject without showing her ignorance. But when Mellicent was summoned to her mother’s room, a half-hour later, the grave face that met her told that something was wrong.
“Have you nothing to tell me, daughter,” began Mrs. Holmes, “which you should have told me before this?”
Mellicent burst into tears. “Oh, mamma, I have been so miserable. I wanted to tell, but I promised—I promised not to. It was a secret, and you know you have so often told us it was dishonorable to tell a secret.”
Mrs. Holmes drew the weeping child gently to her. “My dearie, are you sure it was a secret you should have kept? I think it would have been better if you had gone to the person who shared the secret with you, saying to him, I must tell my mother. Your conscience,my darling, has been overstrained, and your judgment at fault. I know that you and Porter were at a matinée not long ago. Mrs. Ward saw you there.”
Mellicent’s tears fell afresh.
“Now, you see, dear,” continued Mrs. Holmes, “I know all about it; tell me how it happened.”
“I wanted to go so much,” sobbed Mellicent, “and Porter said if—if I would loan him some money he would take me. It was a very exciting play, and I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go if I asked.”
“No, I should very likely have refused. How did you find out about the play?”
Poor Mellicent felt herself deeper and deeper in the mire. “I read the book it was taken from,” she confessed. “Oh, mamma, I see now how wrong I was.”
“I thought I could trust my girls,” said Mrs. Holmes, sadly. “You know, my child, you are too young to exercise a right judgment in the matter of selecting books or plays.”
“Audrey read the book.”
“With her mother’s approval?”
“I don’t know. She said it was lovely, and she loaned it to me.”
“You knew you were doing wrong not to show it to me before reading it.”
“Yes,” faintly.
“And you knew that you should not have loaned Porter your money without permission.”
“I didn’t think about that, mamma,—I really didn’t,—and I can’t bear to hurt any one’s feelings by refusing to do a favor.”
“My dear little child,” Mrs. Holmes said, “that is one of your greatest dangers, that wanting to have persons think well of you; and in the fear of being censured very often you consent to do what you know to be wrong. Doesn’t it seem to you a much worse thing to disobey and grieve your mother, and to injure yourself by doing wrong, than to yield to the persuasions of any one who is tempting you to do what is not right?”
Mellicent nodded assent.
“A very wise old Roman philosopher has said, ‘He who does wrong does wrong against himself. He who acts unjustly acts unjustly against himself, because he makes himself bad.’ And,” continued Mrs. Holmes, “there is another side of it. You are really hurting a person much more by yielding to his bad suggestion than by bravely standing up for the right, for your good example would probably help him, and your consenting to join in misdoing would injure him.”
Mellicent gave a long sigh.
“This is a real lecture, I know,” said Mrs. Holmes, “but I want you to take it to heart. Compliance can get us into all sorts of trouble, and it is my little daughter’s weakest point. Struggle against it, dear. Make up your mind that to say ‘No,’ when it is right to do so, will win you more respect than a consent which is given because you don’t want to hurt another’s feelings. A much deeper hurt sometimes comes from a yes than a no. Now tell me about the play.”
“It was very sentimental and had all sorts ofthings in it,—villains and murders and, oh, such a lovely heroine!”
Mrs. Holmes smiled. “You saw the romantic side only, I see; but you know your parents are exceedingly particular about the kind of plays you see. We think you too young to go often to the theatre, and there are very few plays suitable for little girls to witness.”
“I know, mamma. I was uncomfortable all the time. I am so sorry—I really am sorry I didn’t mind you. Please give me some punishment to make me remember. I really am sorry.”
“I think you are, dear. Now leave me, for I am ‘so sorry’ too.” And mamma’s sad eyes were almost more than Mellicent could bear.
Persis waited in vain for her little sister that evening. Porter looked very uncomfortable, and Basil was as grave as a judge.
Pleading lessons as an excuse for a hasty flight, Porter left the dinner-table abruptly, and Basil, finding a chance for a word with Persis, told her all that he had discovered.
Having spent his pocket-money very freely, Porter found himself without the means to contribute toward a grand oyster supper some of his school friends had planned to have during the holidays. It was to be a most elaborate affair, and five dollars from each of those who meant to enjoy it was demanded. “I wasn’t going to have those fellows leave me out,” said Porter, in defence of himself. “You’re always so particular and preach so about going in debt that I knew you wouldn’t help me out.”
“I’d rather have given it to you outright than to have had you borrow from a little, gentle, generous-hearted girl.”
Porter flushed up. “I took her to the theatre,” he retorted, “and a silly, stupid sort of a play I saw, too. I didn’t enjoy it a bit.”
Basil frowned. “You’re not helping matters much,” he remarked. “Now look here, you’ve got that little girl into a nice peck of trouble, and you’ve got to do one of two things. You’ve either got to go to Mrs. Holmes and tell her the whole truth and return the money to Mellicent or write to mother about it. If you don’t I’ll tell the professor the whole business.”
“I haven’t got the money,” said Porter, sullenly.
“You shall have it to-morrow. I’ll see to that. You’re not such a cad as to stand by and see that little girl punished while you go scot-free. You were seen at the theatre, anyhow, so you’d better accept my terms.”
“I’ll do it,” consented Porter. He had never seen Basil so angry, and was half afraid of him in this mood.
“He is going to tell your mother,” Basil informed Persis. “I wish you’d put in a word for him. I’d hate to have your father know. I haven’t the money for Mellicent now, but she shall have it to-morrow.”
“Oh, never mind! I can loan it to you,” offered Persis.
Basil turned a reproachful glance upon her. “Do you think I’m going to follow Porter’s example and be such a sponge as to take your money?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that!” Persis hastened to explain.
“I know you didn’t,” returned Basil, in a different tone. “It was just a generous impulse. Thank you for the offer; but I can manage.” And he did, although the twang of a guitar was not heard in his room for many a day, while one of his class-mates wondered why Basil Phillips was so ready to part with his pet instrument at such a moderate price. “He used to be so fond of it, too,” said Rob Van Dyke.
Mrs. Holmes kept the secret; so did Persis. Even Lisa did not hear of it, although she wondered why Mellicent did not go to Audrey Vane’s for a whole month, a punishment the little girl felt sorely, but which she accepted meekly. “I suppose they’ve had some fuss,” Lisa concluded.
Persis brooded in a motherly way over Mellicent in her period of penitence, and Basil dealt so unsparingly with his brother that the younger boy felt ashamed of himself, and began to see, even though dimly, a glimmering of higher principle and finer honor than had yet appeared to him.