The Project Gutenberg eBook, We Ten, by Lyda Farrington Krausé,
Illustrated by Minna Brown


This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org





Title: We Ten
       Or, The Story of the Roses


Author: Lyda Farrington Krausé



Release Date: December 7, 2006  [eBook #20052]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE TEN***


E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Jacqueline Jeremy, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/)



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 20052-h.htm or 20052-h.zip:
      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/0/5/20052/20052-h/20052-h.htm)
      or
      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/0/5/20052/20052-h.zip)





WE TEN

Or

The Story of the Roses

by

BARBARA YECHTON

Author of
"Ingleside," "A Matter of Honor,"
"Gentle-Heart Stories," "Two Knights-Errant,"
"Little Saint Hilary," "Christine's Inspiration"

With Illustrations by Minna Brown







[Illustration: "'OH, PAPA! _PAPA_! SURELY YOU ARE NOT GOING TO _BURN_
THE _FETICH_!'"]



New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1896
Copyright, 1896,
by Dodd, Mead and Co.
All rights reserved.

University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.



TO
MY DEAR ONES.


_"Thou hast done well thy part, if
    Thou hast done thy best;
  As sure as I am God, I answer
    For the rest."_




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                                   PAGE

     I. ROSES AND ROSES                      1

    II. IN THE STUDY                        17

   III. CONCERNING A PERFORMANCE            25

    IV. AND A FETICH                        43

     V. A FRACAS AND AN ARRIVAL             53

    VI. DISPOSING OF A FETICH               72

   VII. NEW FRIENDS                         92

  VIII. A RESOLUTION                       109

    IX. MAX'S WARD                         123

     X. IN THE SCHOOLROOM                  145

    XI. AN AFTERNOON RECEPTION             165

   XII. IN THE SHADOW                      182

  XIII. THROUGH THE SHADOW                 200

   XIV. A MISSION OF THREE                 213

    XV. SOME MINORS                        230

   XVI. AND A MAJOR                        254

  XVII. NORA'S SECRET                      274

 XVIII. EXPERIENCES AT ENDICOTT BEACH      283

   XIX. HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER               322

   XX. A SOLEMN PROMISE                    346

  XXI. THROUGH THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND       367

 XXII. AUF WIEDERSEHEN                     378




WE TEN,
OR THE
STORY OF THE ROSES.




I.

ROSES AND ROSES.

TOLD BY JACK.


When papa said positively that only Phil could go to college, we all
felt so badly for Felix that we held a council in the schoolroom that
very afternoon. At least, six of us did; the other four had been ruled
out by Felix, who declared that "kids were not allowed in council." Paul
and Mädel didn't mind so much,--they're the twins, they're only seven
years old; nor did Alan,--he's the baby; but Kathie was awfully mad: you
see, she's nearly ten, and she does love to hear all that's going on.
When she gets crying, there's no stopping her, and I tell you she made
things pretty lively round that schoolroom for a little while. How she
did howl! We were so afraid she'd start Alan, and that the noise would
reach papa's study; good-bye then to our council. We got provoked with
Kathie; it was so silly of her to stand there crying like a big baby,
and keeping us back that way.

First Phil called out, "You just stop, this minute, Kathie!" and then,
when she kept right on, he threw the old sofa pillow at her, and told
her to go smother herself; Nora said, "Horrid child!" in her most
disgusted tone, and Nannie and Betty coaxed and coaxed, trying to
quiet her.

[Illustration: "THE SCHOOLROOM VIXEN."]

But nothing had any effect until Felix limped over to his easel. Felix
is lame,--dear old Fee!--but my! isn't he clever! Greek and Latin are
just as easy as--as--anything to him, and he writes stories and
poems,--though nobody knows this 'cept us children and Miss Marston, and
we wouldn't tell for the world,--and he paints the most _beautiful_
pictures you ever saw. Well, as I was telling you, he limped over to his
easel, and took up his brush. "Just keep that charming expression on
your face a few minutes longer, Kathie," he said, "until I get it on
canvas; and I'll paint your picture as the 'Schoolroom Vixen,' and send
it to the Academy. That's right, open your mouth _just_ a little
wider--what a wonderful cavern!--hullo! why'd you stop crying? I'm not
half through."

That quieted my lady! You see she was afraid he was in earnest; and
after Nannie had wiped her eyes for her, and given her the last piece of
chocolate in her box, off she went to the other end of the room, and
began playing house with the twins and Alan under the schoolroom table,
as nicely as you please.

Then the council began. Nannie said it was called to discuss "ways and
means." I suppose by that she meant to see if there was any way that
Felix could go to college too; but, as usual, in a very little while
everybody began to take "sides," and then, the first thing we knew, we
were all talking at the same time, and just as loud as ever we could.
That's a way we have,--all talking and nobody listening. What a din
there was, until Felix scrambled up on a chair and pounded on the floor
with his cane, and shouted out louder than anybody else: "Who _am_ I
talking to? I _will_ be heard!" That made everybody laugh, and brought
us back to business; but in a few minutes we were just as bad again.

We're the greatest family for taking sides that you ever heard of, and
we do get so excited over things! Anybody that didn't know would surely
think we were quarrelling, when really we'd just be having a discussion.
I can't see where we got it from, for dear mamma was always just as
sweet and gentle, and goodness knows papa doesn't say ten words in a
day, and those in the very quietest voice. I can't explain it, but it's
a fact all the same that we are a noisy family,--even Nora. Miss
Marston--she's our governess--says it's very vulgar to be noisy, and
that we ought to be ashamed to be so boisterous; but nurse declares--and
I think she's right--that the reason is 'cause "the whole kit an' crew"
(she means us) "come just like steps, one after the other, an' one ain't
got any more right to rule than the other." You see Phil is seventeen
and Alan is five, and between them we eight come in; so we are "just
like steps," as she says.

[Illustration: "PLAYING HOUSE WITH THE TWINS AND ALAN UNDER THE
SCHOOLROOM TABLE."]

Perhaps I'd better tell you a little about each of us, so you'll
understand as I go on: Well, to begin, Phil is a big strong fellow, and
just as full of fun and mischief as he can stick; he just _loves_ to
play practical jokes, but he isn't so fond of study, I can tell you, and
that vexes papa, 'cause he's got it all laid out that Phil's to be a
lawyer. Being the eldest, he seems to think he can order us children
round as he pleases, and of course we won't stand it, and that makes
trouble sometimes. But Phil's generous; he'd give us anything he's got,
particularly to Felix, he thinks so much of him,--though of course he
wouldn't say so,--so we get along pretty well with him.

Next come Felix and Nannie; they're twins too. I've told you 'most
everything about Fee already. He's awfully cross sometimes, when he
isn't well, and, as Nora says, he really orders us about more than Phil
does; but somehow we don't mind it, 'cause, with all his queerness, he's
the life of the house, and he's got some ways that just make us love him
dearly: mamma used to call him her "lovable crank." Nannie is devoted to
Felix; they're always together. They're trying to teach themselves the
violin, and she reads the same books and studies the same lessons as he
does, to keep up with him; she's clever, too, now I tell you,--- I'd
never get my Greek and Latin perfect if she didn't help me,--though she
doesn't make any fuss over it. Nannie is an awfully nice girl,--I don't
know what we'd do without her; since mamma died, she's all the time
looking after us children, and making things go smoothly. She doesn't
"boss" us a bit, and yet, somehow, she gets us to do lots of things.
She is real pretty, too,--her eyes are so brown and shiny. It's queer,
but we don't any of us mind telling Nannie when we get into scrapes;
she talks to us at the time, and makes us feel sorry and ashamed, but
she never makes us feel small while she's doing it, and we never hear
of it again.

But you wouldn't catch us doing that to Nora! She comes next, you know,
and she's really _very_ pretty, though we never tell her so, 'cause
she's so stuck up already. Felix puts her into lots of his pictures, and
I heard Max Derwent say once that she was beautiful. Max is papa's
friend; he is a grown-up man, though he isn't as old as papa. He used to
come here a lot, and we children like him first-rate; but now he's in
Europe. Well, to come back to Nora: she likes to be called Eleanor, but
we don't do it; she is so fussy and so very proper that Felix has
nick-named her Miss Prim, and we _do_ call her that. Miss Marston thinks
Nora is the best behaved of us all; and sometimes, when Nannie is in
papa's study, she lets her go in the drawing-room and entertain people
that call. You should see the airs that Nora puts on when she comes
upstairs after these occasions; it's too killing for anything! We boys
make lots of fun of her, but she doesn't care a jot. And yet, isn't it
queer! with all her primness and fine airs, of us all, Nora cares most
for Phil, and he's so untidy and rough; she almost runs her legs off
waiting on him, and half the time he doesn't even say thank you!

The next after Nora is Betty, our "long-legged tomboy," as Felix calls
her, 'cause she is so tall and so full of mischief. Just to look at her
you'd think she was as mild as a lamb; but in reality she's wilder than
all of us boys put together. I've seen her slide down the banisters of
three flights of stairs, one flight after the other, balancing papa's
breakfast tray on one palm; and for warwhoops and the ability to make
the most hideous faces, she goes ahead of anything I've ever heard or
seen. She is as bad as Phil for playing jokes, and when she gets in one
of her wild moods, the only way Miss Marston can manage her is to
threaten to take her to papa's study; that brings her to terms every
time. For that matter, we none of us like to go there, though I'm sure
papa never scolds, as some people's fathers do,--I almost wish he would
sometimes; he just looks at us; but, all the same, we don't like to go
to the study.

I hope you won't think from what I've said that Betty is a disagreeable
girl, for she isn't at all; I'm really very fond of her, and we're
together a great deal, because I am the next in age to her. She's
awfully quick-tempered, and flies into a rage for almost nothing; but
she's very honest, and she'll own up to a fault like a soldier. Once in
a while we have a falling out, but not often, 'cause I won't quarrel.
Nannie says that I give in sometimes when I oughtn't to,--she means when
it isn't right to; I guess that's my fault, but I do hate to squabble
with any one,--it's such a bother. I don't know what to tell you about
myself, except that I'm not very bright at my books, though I love to
read stories. It does seem so strange that we shouldn't all be smart,
when papa, as everybody knows, is such a wonderfully clever man. I'm
Jack, or, rather,--to give my full name,--John Minot Rose. I think
that's rather a nice name, but you can't think what fun the whole family
make of it; they call me "a Jack rose," and "Jacqueminot," and
"Rosebud," and a "sweet-scented flower," and all sorts of absurd names.
Of course it's very silly of them. Betty gets furious over it; but I
don't really care, so what's the use of being angry.

Kathie comes next to me; she is a nice little girl, only she does love
to tattle things, and that makes trouble sometimes. She's very gentle,
and just as pretty as a picture, with her long light curls and pretty,
big blue eyes; but my! isn't she obstinate! She doesn't fly into rages,
like Betty, but she keeps persisting and persisting till she carries
her point, and when she once starts in crying, you may make up your
mind she isn't going to stop in a hurry. But she doesn't mean to be
naughty, I'm sure; and she's the most polite child, and so willing
to do things for people!

Then come the other twins, Paul and Mädel. Paul is a standing joke with
us, he's so solemn; and yet he says such bright, funny things, in his
slow way, that we have to laugh: we call him the "Judge." Mädel is a
little darling, just as jolly and round and sweet as she can be; nurse
says she's going to be a second Nannie. We all make a great deal of
her,--much more than we do of Alan; for though he's the baby, he's so
independent that he doesn't like to be petted.

So now you know all about the Roses; it does seem as if I'd been a long
time telling about them, but you see there are such a lot of us.

Well, to go back to the council. Fee was awfully cut up over his
disappointment, and cranky too; but nobody minded what he said, until,
all at once, Nora got in a tantrum, and declared he was "acting _very_
mean to Phil," that he needn't always expect to have things his own way,
and that papa was perfectly right to give Phil the first chance. That
set Fee off, and in about two minutes we were all mixed up in the
fuss,--taking "sides," you know; that is, all but Phil,--he just sat
hunched up on the arm of the old sofa, swinging one of his long legs,
and scowling, and chewing away on a piece of straw he'd pulled out of
the whisk-broom, and he didn't say a word until Nora turned on him, and
asked him, very indignantly, how he could sit there and let Felix bully
her in that way. Then all at once he seemed to get very mad and just
pitched into Fee.

I don't remember what he said, and I'm glad that I don't, 'cause I
_know_ Phil didn't mean a word of it; but Felix felt awfully hurt. He
got two bright red spots on his cheeks, and he set his lips tight
together, and when Phil stopped to catch his breath, after an unusually
long speech, he got up and pushed his chair back. "It is so pleasant to
hear one's family's honest opinion of one's self," he remarked, in that
sarcastic way he has. "I shall try to remember all that you've said,"
bowing to Phil and Nora, "and I shall endeavour to profit by it. And as
long as I'm such a contemptible and useless member of the community,
I'll relieve you of my company." His voice shook so he could hardly say
the last words, and he started for the door, stumbling over the
furniture as he went. Between you and me, I think his eyes were full of
tears, and that they blurred his glasses so he couldn't see,--did I tell
you that Felix is near-sighted? Well, he is.

"Oh, Phil, how _could_ you say such mean things to your own brother!"
cried out Nannie; and with that she flew after Felix.

That cooled Phil down, and if he didn't turn on Nora! "It's all your
fault," he said angrily; "you just nagged me on to it. You're never
happy unless you're quarrelling."

This was pretty true, but I don't think it was at all nice of Phil to
say so, and I felt very sorry for Nonie when she burst out crying. Betty
and I were trying to quiet her, when in walked Miss Marston, to know
what all that loud noise and banging of doors meant. We didn't tell her
about the _fracas_, 'cause, though she's pretty good in a way, she isn't
at all the person one would want to tell things to. She carried the
little ones off for their early dinner, and Nora and Betty too,--"to
help," she said. But I stayed in the schoolroom. I knew if I went down
stairs they'd just keep me trotting about waiting on them all, and
that's such a nuisance! so I curled up on the sofa and read for a while.

The fire was so bright, and everything was so cozy, that I did wish some
of the others would come in and enjoy it. I was really pleased when
Major and Whiskers came walking in and settled down near me. They're our
dog and cat, and they're good playfellows with us; but they will fight
with each other now and then. At first I enjoyed my story immensely; it
was about a boy who was having the wildest kind of adventures among the
Indians. I wouldn't go through such exciting times for anything; but I
enjoy reading about 'em, when I'm all safe and comfortable at home.

Well, when it grew too dark to read, I laid my book down and began to
think, and presently it seemed as if a whole pack of Indians were
dancing like wild round me, in full war-paint and feathers, and nipping
little pieces out of my arms and legs. I stood it as long as I could,
and then I began to hit out at 'em. All at once one of the creatures
commenced flourishing his tomahawk at me, getting nearer and nearer all
the time. "I _have_ tried, but I can't get in," he said, grinning
horribly, and the voice sounded just like Phil's; "he's locked his door,
and he won't even answer me,--he's madder than hornets."

[Illustration: "'WHY, _JACK_!' SAID NANNIE."]

"I'm sure you can't blame him: what you said was very unkind, Phil; I
didn't think it of you!" The voice was certainly Nannie's; and yet there
was that horrid old Indian still nipping me.

"I know it, Nan; you needn't rub it in," groaned Phil,--the Indian. "But
really, I didn't mean one word of it, and he ought to have known that.
Why, Fee's got more brains than the whole crowd of us put together, and
if only one of us can go to college, he ought to be that one. I've
screwed up my courage, and I'm going to speak to father about it."

"Oh, Phil, don't, please don't; it'll be no use. You know there is no
changing papa when his mind is made up. Better let things stand as they
are until Max gets home; it won't be very long, you know. And besides,
I'm sure Felix wouldn't let you give up college for him. But you're a
dear, generous boy, to propose it."

"No, I'm not; I'm a great clumsy, cantankerous animal. Now if I could
only talk as Felix can, I wouldn't mind interviewing the _pater_
to-morrow; but just as sure as I undertake to say anything to him, I get
so nervous and confused that I act like a fool, and that provokes him.
He seems to paralyse me. But, all the same, I'm going to talk to him
about this matter to-morrow, Nannie,"--the Indian's voice sank so low
that I could hardly hear it; "I have a feeling that mother would want
Fee to go to college."

I sat up and rubbed my arms that had gone to sleep, and looked around; I
was still on the old sofa, and just a few feet away from me sat Phil, on
the edge of the schoolroom table, and Nannie in a chair beside him.

Confused and only half awake as I was, my one idea was to slip away
quietly and not let 'em know I'd heard what they had been saying, for I
was sure they wouldn't like that. Nannie says I ought to have spoken
right out; but I do hate to make people feel uncomfortable. So I swung
myself softly to my feet, and--landed hard on Whiskers's tail!

Of course, after that, there was no hiding that I was there. Poor
Whiskers gave a howl of pain, and, flying at Major, boxed the solemn old
doggie's ears, much to his surprise and wrath, and they had a free fight
on the spot.

"Why, _Jack_!" said Nannie; and I got hot all over, for I just felt by
her tone that she thought I'd been listening.

"Our Jacqueminot, I declare!" cried Phil. "You are a nice young rosebud,
I must say, to be snooping around this way! Come here, sir!"

He made a dive for me, but I drew back. "I _didn't_ listen!" I called
out. And then I remembered that I really had, only I thought it was the
Indians talking; and, dipping under his arm, I rushed out of the room as
hard as I could go, before he could catch me.




II.

IN THE STUDY.

TOLD BY JACK.


I thought very often of what Phil had said, I couldn't help it; but I
don't suppose I would ever have really understood what he meant if I
hadn't heard something more the next day. Poor me! it just seemed for
those two days as if I did nothing but get into people's way and keep
hearing things that they didn't want me to. This time it was partly
Betty's fault,--at least, she was what Phil calls the "primary cause."
I suppose it was because it was such a lovely day out-of-doors, that I
couldn't seem to put my mind on my books at all, and when Betty pulled
two feather-tops out of her pocket, and offered me one, I took it very
willingly, and we began to play on the sly. Of course we got caught: my
feather-top must needs fly away from the leg of the table, which was our
mark, and stick itself into Kathie's leg. I don't think it hurt her so
very much, but she was startled, and didn't she howl! Miss Marston was
all out of patience with me already, and when, soon after that, I made
a mess of my Latin, she got very angry, and walked me right down to
the study.

Papa listened in dead silence to all she told him; then he just lifted
his eyes from his writing, and pointed to a chair a good way from him:
"Sit there," he said, "and study your lesson, and don't disturb me." So
I took my seat, and Miss Marston shut the door and went away.

My! how quiet it was in that room! Not a sound except a faint scrabbling
noise now and then from the L behind the portière,--where some very old
reference books are kept,--and papa's pen scratching across the paper,
and even that stopped presently, and he began to read a book that lay
open beside him. As he sat there reading, with sheets upon sheets of the
Fetich scattered all round him, I looked and looked at him; I don't know
why it is, but somehow, when I'm anywhere alone with papa, I just have
to keep looking at him instead of anything else. He's a tall man, and
thin, and he stoops round his shoulders; he wears glasses, too, like
Felix, and he always looks as if he were thinking of something 'way off
in his mind. Nurse says she's sure he'd forget to eat, if the things
weren't put right under his nose; you see that's because he's all the
time thinking of books. Oh, papa's awfully clever!

[Illustration: "PLAYING FEATHERTOP."]

After a while I found a lollipop in my pocket, and I began to suck
it,--just for company, you know; and truly the room was so quiet I was
afraid papa'd hear me swallow. Every now and then there was that little
scrabble behind the portière; I made up my mind papa must have some one
there making references for him, and I wondered who. But just then came
a quite loud knock at the study door, and before papa had finished
saying "Come!"--he never does say it right away,--the door flew open,
and in bounced Phil, as if he were in an awful hurry. He marched
straight to papa's desk, and began, very quickly, "Father, I'd like--"
But papa just waved his hand at him, without looking up: "In a few
minutes," he said, and went right on reading.

You should have seen Phil fidget: he stood on one foot, then on the
other; he put his hands in his pockets and jingled the things he had
there, till he remembered that papa doesn't like us to do that, then he
took his hands out. He straightened up, and shook his coat collar into
place, and he cleared his throat; but nothing had any effect until he
accidentally knocked a book off the desk. Then papa started, and peered
up at him in the near-sighted way that Felix does sometimes: "H'm, too
bad!" he said, taking the book from Phil; then he sighed, put his finger
on the page of his book to mark the place, and said, in a resigned sort
of way, "Well, what is it you want?"

And I tell you, Phil didn't take long to come to the point; he pitched
right in, in that quick, headlong way he has when he's awfully in
earnest. "I want to ask you, father, please to let Felix go to college
in my place. As long as we can't both go, I think he ought to be the
one. You know, sir, he's a thousand times cleverer than I am, and he'll
be sure to do you twice the credit that I shall. I do wish you'd
consider the change."

"And what do _you_ propose to do in that case?" papa asked, peering up
at him again.

"Go into business,--lots of fellows do at my age,--if I can get anything
at all," answered Phil, squaring his shoulders.

Papa sat and thought and thought for several minutes, without a word;
then he said, in that quiet tone of voice that we children know always
settles a question, "No, I prefer that the present arrangement should be
carried out." Then he began reading again.

I thought Phil would have gone, after that; but no, he got quite
excited: "It isn't fair to Felix," he cried, thumping his hand down
on the desk with such force that the pages of the Fetich just
danced,--you'll hear more about the Fetich by and by,--"indeed it
isn't! He's got the most brains of the whole lot of us put together,
and he _ought_ to have some advantages. And besides, sir, you know
he was mother's boy." Phil's voice shook so that a big lump came in
my throat. "I'm sure she would want him to go to college; for her
sake, let us change places."

Papa put up his hand quickly, and shielded his eyes from the light, and
he didn't answer right away. "It was--her wish--that you should go," he
said presently, stopping between the words.

"Because she expected there'd be money enough for us both," Phil began
eagerly; but all of a sudden the portière that hung over the L was
pushed aside, and who should come limping up to them but Felix!

His eyes were shining, even through his glasses, and he didn't seem to
mind papa one bit. "So that's what you're up to, is it?" he said to
Phil, "trying to give me your birthright!" By this time he'd reached
Phil's side, and he threw his arm right across Phil's shoulders. "_Dear_
old Lion-heart!" he said,--how his voice did ring out! "And I thought
you didn't care!"

And papa just sat there and looked at them, without a word, from under
his hand.

Now I suppose you think I was a very mean sort of a boy to sit there and
take in all this that wasn't intended for me to hear; but really it
wasn't my fault. You see, I was so surprised when Phil walked in and
began to talk like that, that I never thought of saying anything; but
pretty soon I remembered, and I felt very uncomfortable. I got up then,
and walked a few steps forward, but nobody noticed me. And when Phil got
so excited, I _couldn't_ get a word out. Then Felix came out, and I
really got desperate,--I felt I _must_ let 'em know I was there; so I
just called out twice, quite loud, "Please, I'm here!"

They all jumped, they were so surprised, and Phil wheeled round on me
in a minute. "That ubiquitous 'Jack rose' _again_!" he exclaimed; and
taking me by the collar,--that was really _very_ mean of Phil,--he
walked me very fast over to the door. Then he opened the door, and said,
"_Skip!_" and gave me quite a hard shove into the hall, and shut the
door again. I tell you what now, my feelings were awfully hurt; I just
wished Betty were there; I know she'd have given it to Phil!

"Jack!" somebody called just then, and there was Nannie seated in the
niche at the head of the stairs. I ran up and squeezed in alongside
of her, and she snuggled me up to her, and made me feel ever so much
better. I told her the whole story, and somehow, by the time I got
through, instead of being angry any more, I really felt sorry for the
boys. "Oh, Nannie," I said, "I do wish Fee _could_ go to college!"

Nannie caught my hand tight between her two palms. "Jack," she said
softly, "say our verse for the day, will you?"

So I repeated it: "'I say unto you, that if two of you shall agree on
earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for
them of my Father which is in heaven. For where two or three are
gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.'"

"That has comforted me all day," whispered Nannie. "That's what we can
do for Felix: we can pray--you and I--that God will make a way for him
to go to college. Will you, Jackie-boy?"

"Yes," I said presently; "but--but--perhaps, Nannie, you'd better not
say anything to Betty about it, 'cause--well, you know she _might_ make
fun of me."

"Oh, no, she won't," said Nannie, "because you and I are the 'two,'
Jack, and she's the 'three'; she's praying for Felix, too."

Well, I _was_ dumfounded,--Betty, of all people!

Just then the study door opened, and Phil and Felix came out; Phil had
his arm over Fee's shoulder, and he began helping him up the steps. I
felt they'd want Nannie to themselves,--and, besides, Phil might just
have said something to tease me again; so I ran up stairs alone, and
left them to talk together.

All this happened some weeks ago, and though Phil has commenced college,
no way has come yet for Felix to go; but we "three" still keep on
praying for it.




III.

CONCERNING A PERFORMANCE.

TOLD BY NANNIE.


So many and such unexpected things have happened lately that I scarcely
know where to begin, or how to tell everything.

The very first surprise was two letters that came for Felix and me from
our godmother, aunt Lindsay. She is not really our aunt, though we call
her so, and I'm named Nancy after her; but she knew dear mamma when she
was a girl, and she is the only person except mamma that we ever heard
call papa "Jack." Aunt Lindsay is quite an old lady, and she's very
eccentric. She lives in a big old house in Boston, and very seldom
comes to New York; but twice a year, on our birthday and at Christmas,
she sends us a letter and a present,--generally a book,--and Fee and I
have to write and thank her. How we dread those letters! It was hard
enough when we had mamma to talk them over with before we began them;
but now it's a great deal worse, for Miss Marston does not help us in
the least.

She says we are quite old enough now to do them alone, and I suppose we
are. But we can't express ourselves in the same way time after time, and
it is so difficult to think of new things to say that are interesting
and not frivolous,--for aunt Lindsay wouldn't permit that. Sometimes we
really get low-spirited over our efforts, and I'd be ashamed to tell how
many sheets of paper and envelopes are spoilt in the undertaking. Once,
in a fit of desperation, Felix bought a "Complete Letter-Writer," and
we hunted through it; but there seemed to be nothing in it suitable
for an occasion such as ours, and besides, the language used in the
"Letter-Writer" was so very fine and unlike our former efforts that we
were afraid aunt Lindsay would, as Phil vulgarly puts it, "smell a
mice." So that had to be given up, and finally, after many and great
struggles, with the help of the whole family, we would manage to write
something that Miss Marston allowed us to send. On the principle that
brevity is wit, some of these productions of ours are really remarkable.

And now, though it was neither Christmas nor our birthday, here came two
letters from our godmother which would have to be answered. We groaned
as we received them, and the family, even to Kathie, gave us their
sympathy,--Phil suggesting that perhaps "the old lady" had sent us a
whole library this time, which would of course call for a special
expression of gratitude.

Think, then, how we felt when we opened the letters and found that our
godmother wrote to tell us she had made arrangements for Felix to take
painting lessons for one term, and for me, violin lessons for the same
length of time! To say we were astonished doesn't at all express our
state of mind. The questions that occurred to us when we got over the
first shock were, how could aunt Lindsay have known just what would best
please each of us, and why had she remembered us at this time of the
year, which was no particular occasion? And then we thought of her
kindness, and were _so_ ashamed! Fee and I looked at each other, and
though we didn't say it, the same thought came to us both,--that we
would write her the nicest letter of thanks that we could compose, if
it took every sheet of note-paper we owned.

Of course we read aunt Lindsay's letter aloud,--that and talking them
over is the best part of receiving letters,--and of course we all got
very much excited over our unexpected good fortune. Felix said right
away that he would give Nora lessons in drawing two afternoons in
the week,--she really draws very nicely, and is so anxious to get
on,--provided she'd promise not to "put on any airs or frills;"
and I told Fee I'd help him--in the same way--with his violin
playing. Then Phil proposed, and the whole family approved, that
we should on the following evening--which was papa's night at the
Archæological Society--celebrate the happy event by what we call
"a musical performance."

Though we are very fond of these "performances," we have not had one for
quite a while, because some of us older ones haven't felt up to it; for,
as Fee truly says, "it really requires very good spirits indeed to make
a festive occasion go off successfully." Since that day in papa's study
that Jack has told about, nothing more has been said of Fee's going to
college,--though we all want it just as much as ever, and Jack and I
feel that it _will_ come,--and Felix himself seems to have quite given
up the idea.

He laughs and jokes again in his old merry way, particularly when Phil
is at home; Nora and he have made friends, and Betty and Jack have got
over staring at Fee with big round eyes of sympathy, and dear old Phil
no longer skulks in and out of the house as if he were ashamed of
himself; now he tells us bits of his college experience, and--as of
old--gets Felix to help him with his studies. Things look as if
everybody was satisfied; but, though he never alludes to it, I know
Fee's heart is sore over his disappointment,--you see, he is my own
twin, and, while I love all my brothers and sisters, Felix is more dear
to me than any one else in the whole wide world, and I understand him
better than anybody else does.

Fee is not like the rest of us; in the first place, he is more delicate,
and his lameness makes him very sensitive. Then, too, though we all,
from Phil to Alan, confide in him our troubles and pleasures, he rarely,
if ever, opens his heart to any of us. And when we talk things over
among ourselves, and so in a way help one another along, Fee keeps his
deepest feelings to himself. Very often we children talk of dear mamma,
particularly when we're together in the firelight Sunday afternoons and
evenings,--it's a comfort to us; but Felix simply listens,--he never
speaks of her, though he was mother's boy. But I know, all the same,
that he misses her every day of his life, and that as long as he
lives he'll never forget one tone of her voice, or one word she
has said to him.

Fee used to have a dreadful temper; he'd say such cutting, sarcastic
things! and when mamma would speak to him about it, he'd declare that he
_couldn't_ help it, and that the sharp ugly words _would_ come. But now,
since she's gone, he is so much better, and I'm sure that he's trying to
control himself, because he remembers how grieved she used to be when he
got into a rage. I don't mean to say that he has entirely gotten over
it,--I don't suppose that will ever be; but he doesn't flash out as he
used to, and sometimes when he is very angry, he sets his lips tight
together, and limps out of the room just as fast as ever he can go, to
keep the ugly words from being spoken.

Once in a great while, if I am alone in the schoolroom, he'll come and
throw himself down on the old sofa beside me, and, putting his head in
my lap, lay my hand over his eyes. I know then, as well as if he had
told me, that he is thinking of dear mamma and longing for her; and such
a rush of love comes into my heart for him that I think he must feel it
in my very finger-tips as they touch him.

He was more with mamma at the last than any of us, because he is so
gentle and helpful in a sick-room; but when the end had come, and we
children were standing about the bed, crying bitterly, with our arms
around one another, I missed Felix. From room to room I hunted, and
at last I found him, huddled up in a heap on the floor of the old
store-room at the top of the house. And never shall I forget the
white, utterly wretched face that he turned on me, as I knelt down
by him and put my arms round his neck. He held my shoulders with his
two thin hands so tight that I could feel his finger-nails through my
sleeves. "Oh, Nannie!" he said, in such a hoarse whisper I'd never
have known it for Fee's sweet voice, "if I could only _die_ this
very night!" Then he sank down, and lay there trembling from head
to foot, and sobbing, sobbing!

I pulled a quilt down from one of the shelves and threw it over him;
then I sat on the floor and drew his head into my lap and just
smoothed his forehead and hair for the longest while, without a word,
until he quieted down. I felt, somehow, that he would rather not have
me say anything.

Don't imagine, from what I've said, that Fee is a dismal sort of person,
for indeed he isn't; he's the merriest of us all, and the prime leader
in all the mischief and fun that goes on; and just as soon as it was
settled that we should have a performance, he began to plan what each
person should do, and to arrange the programme. We always have a
programme: it saves confusion and people's feelings getting hurt; for,
of course, then one can only go on in one's turn and for the special
part set down; otherwise, everybody would be on the stage at once, and
there'd be no audience.

The large closet in the schoolroom is our dressing-room on these
occasions, and as we have no way of making a stage, the younger
children, Paul and Mädel and Alan,--Kathie is too big for that
now,--stand on a table near the closet and deliver their parts. Felix
makes up the funniest names for us on the programme, and we answer to
them as readily as if we were in the habit of doing so every day.

We were all very busy that afternoon and evening and the next afternoon
preparing our parts for the performance; but, with all that, Fee and I
got our letters off to our godmother. I felt so truly grateful both for
him and for myself, that I didn't have nearly as much trouble composing
it as I had expected. But all day I was in a perfect fever to get up to
the Conservatory, where aunt Lindsay had entered my name, and to make
arrangements for taking my violin lessons. Miss Marston and I talked
the matter over, and found that when all the little home duties and
my regular studies were finished, there was but one hour that I could
set aside regularly for my new work. For though I should only take two
lessons a week, I should have to have time to practise, or I'd be able
to make no progress at all.

She said I might go up that afternoon; so right after school Nora and I
started out to the Conservatory. I was very nervous, and my violin is
not a very good one; Phil says it's nothing but a fiddle, and that
the old second-hand dealer from whom we bought them--Fee has one,
too,--cheated us. They certainly do squeak dreadfully, at times, when
you least expect it; but then we didn't pay much for them,--you may know
that, when we saved for them out of our allowance!--and, as nurse says,
"If you want a good article, you've got to pay for it;" still, they're a
great deal better than nothing. But to go back to my story: Nora says
that, considering how very nervous I was, and the poor instrument I had,
she thinks I did fairly well. I love violin music! I can't express what
a delight it is to me to play; and the prospect of being able to improve
myself in it made me very happy. The professor that aunt Lindsay wanted
to be my teacher told us his classes were very full, and that the hour I
named for Wednesday and Saturday afternoons was the only time he could
give me; then he said something kind about my playing, that gave me a
little confidence, and sent me home quite radiant.

As I came out of the room which Betty and I share, after putting away my
things, nurse opened the nursery door and beckoned me in: "Miss Nannie,"
she said impressively, "I'm kinder worried 'bout your pa. He's never had
no appetite to brag of; but for a week past he's been eatin' like a
bird. Mornin' after mornin' he ain't touched nothin' but his tea, an'
I'm afraid something's wrong. I don't want to frighten you, my dear, but
I thought by tellin' you, maybe you could find out if anything ails him,
and get him to send for the doctor. I think he looks kinder bad,
and--lors! child, if anything happened to him, what _would_ become o'
you all!"

I got very nervous, until I remembered how easily nurse gets alarmed; if
the children feel the least under the weather, she is apt to imagine
that they are going to be seriously ill. "No," I said, "I haven't
noticed that he looks badly; but thank you, nursie, for telling me. I'll
look closely at him this evening at dinner, and I'll try my best to find
out if he isn't well."

Papa always has his breakfast and lunch in the study, and dines with us.
We older ones think that he does this as a duty, for we are pretty sure
that he doesn't enjoy it; you see, papa does not really care for
children, and there is no grown person now for him to talk to,--except
Miss Marston, and she is not very interesting. Poor papa!

He sits at the head of the table, but Phil does the carving; and though
very often he does not say a dozen words throughout the entire meal, yet
even our daring Betty is subdued into good behaviour by his presence.
There is no reason for it that we know of,--papa has never forbidden our
talking at table,--but somehow, since dear mamma has gone, we have very
little conversation at dinner; though we make up for it at other meals,
I assure you. I sit in mamma's place now, and this evening, as I looked
carefully at papa across the long table, I could see that he did look
thinner: there was a tired expression on his face, too, that troubled
me. As I passed through the hall, about half an hour later, he stood
there in overcoat and hat, putting on his gloves before starting out for
a meeting of the Archæological Society; and when I asked, "Papa, are you
feeling well? really quite well?" he put on that bored expression that
always makes me feel miles away from him.

"Well? Oh, yes!" then he added, with more animation, "Nannie, I wish
you would get me that pamphlet that is lying on my desk. I nearly
forgot it."

[Illustration: "ALAN MADE HIS BOW."]

He took the pamphlet when I brought it, and began fingering it
aimlessly, giving me a disagreeable feeling of being in the way; and as
I turned and ran up the stairs, he went into the drawing-room. He wasn't
there but a minute or two,--before I reached the second floor I heard
the front door close behind him,--and the next morning, when Nora and I
were dusting the drawing-room, we found the pamphlet on the floor before
mamma's picture. After all, he had forgotten it.

I ran on up to the schoolroom, and there everybody was in a great state
of excitement, preparing for the performance, which was to begin and
end early on account of the younger children. There was no attempt
at costume, but we girls wore a ribbon--they belong to our "stage
property"--tied from shoulder to waist, the boys carried a paper rose in
their button-holes, and Kathie and the twins and Alan were decorated
with huge paper-muslin sashes and fancy caps, so that we all presented
quite a festive and unusual appearance. The chairs were ranged in rows;
the invited guests--Murray Unsworth, and his cousin, Helen Vassah (they
always come to our "festive occasions")--arrived; nurse, and Hannah, our
maid, came in and took their places at the back, cook stealing in a
little later; a bell tinkled; Alan walked out of the closet, was
assisted to the table by Felix,--who was master of ceremonies,--and made
his bow to the audience with one hand on his heart and a trumpet in the
other, and the performance began.

[Illustration: "VIOLIN DUO, RENDERED BY THE WORLD-RENOWNED VIOLINISTS,
MLLE. NANINA AND MONS. FELIX."]

The programme was elaborately printed in two or three colours, on heavy
light-brown paper, and it was tacked up on the schoolroom wall in full
view of all, so that each person would know when his or her turn had
come, and could disappear in the dark closet,--no lights were allowed
there for fear of fire,--to reappear immediately before the audience,
amid a storm of applause. This is the way the programme read:--

    "Yankibus Doodlum," trumpet solo by the Infant Prodigy, Master
    Alano Enrico Rosie.

    "Eight White Sheep," vocal duet, rendered with appropriate
    finger-play by the Celebrated Twin Singers, Fräulein Mädel and
    Herr Paulus.

    "Little White Lily," charming vocal solo by the Famous Prima
    Donna, Mlle. Kathé.

    "Charge of the Six Hundred," favourite recitation by the
    Distinguished Elocutionist, Prof. Jacqueminot.

    Extraordinary exhibition with Indian clubs by the Remarkable
    Strong Girl, Signorina Bettina, with piano accompaniment by
    Signorina Eleanora Nonie.

    "Serenade," Gounod, violin duo, rendered by the World-Renowned
    Violinists, Mlle. Nanina and Mons. Felix.

    "Le Soupir," piano solo by the Brilliant Pianist, Signorina
    Eleanora Nonie.

    { "Swanee River."
    { "Feniculi."
    { "Good-night, Ladies," college songs, with banjo accompaniment,
    by the Wonderful Tenor Singer and Banjoist, Prof. Philipo.

    Curtain down! Lights out!

Everything went off beautifully, from Alan's opening bow to Phil's
parting obeisance, with two exceptions,--the small boy fell off the
table and scraped his shin, and so had to be comforted, and Kathie got
so excited when she knew her turn was coming that she jumped up from her
chair and raced round and round the schoolroom table, scuffing her feet
on the floor and making her hand squeak on the wooden surface of the
table, thereby interfering with the effect of Fräulein Mädel and Herr
Paulus's vocal efforts. She was captured, however, and brought to reason
and good behaviour by the threat of having her name crossed off the
programme. With these two trifling exceptions, the performance was most
creditable, the _artistes_ were warmly received and enthusiastically
applauded,--in one or two instances they even applauded themselves.

Hastily manufactured bouquets of newspaper and paper-muslin were
showered upon the stage, and when all was over nurse and cook surprised
us by refreshments of cookies and lemonade, served on the schoolroom
table. How we enjoyed it! Not a cake was left, nor a drop of lemonade.
Nora was shocked, and I was so glad Miss Marston had not accepted our
invitation to be present!

When it was all over, and we were putting away the things, I told
Felix what nurse had said, and asked him if he had noticed that
papa wasn't well.

Fee looked at me with reflective eyes for a moment or two. "Yes," he
said slowly, "come to think of it, the _pater_ _has_ looked rather seedy
lately. And another thing," he added, "he hasn't let me make a single
reference for him this whole week; and yesterday, when I went in
somewhat abruptly, he was sitting at his desk with pages of the Fetich
before him, but not writing or reading, just resting his head on his
hand. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before."

Again that horrid apprehension came over me.

"Oh, Fee," I said nervously, "do you suppose he is ill,--that anything
is going to happen to him? _Do_ tell me frankly what you think!"

Felix bent over the stage property he was doing up, as he answered:
"I've thought for some time past that he misses--mother--more than
ever." Then he walked off with his bundle.

How utterly ashamed I felt! Nurse had noticed how badly he looked; Felix
had, too,--and perhaps he had guessed the trouble truly; Phil, even,
might have seen it, and I, papa's eldest daughter, who had promised
mamma to take care of him, had been too selfishly absorbed in my own
affairs to even think of him! It was no comfort to tell myself that papa
was hard to get at; I felt I had neglected him.

"Don't worry, twinnie," Felix said, kindly, coming back to me. "You know
care once killed a feline, in spite of his nine lives; so don't you go
in for that sort of thing, or you'll get the worst of it. Go to bed
now, and have a good sleep; by daylight things will look very much
brighter; and at any rate you have your violin lessons ahead of you,
and the performance behind you,--two good things. Good-night."




IV.

AND A FETICH.

TOLD BY NANNIE.


BUT my first thought in the morning was of papa, and I wondered what I
ought to do for him; how I longed for dear mamma! If even Max were
home!--for he was a great favourite with papa, and might be able to
persuade him to see Dr. Archard. Though papa is so quiet and gentle, he
is really a very difficult person to get to do things that he doesn't
want to; and he never wants to have a physician for himself. I was
feeling very blue, when something Betty said reminded me of my violin
lessons, and then the very thought made me more cheerful.

Betty and I room together, and Nora and Kathie have the next
apartment; and what did Nora and Betty do but put their heads together
while we were dressing to think of a place in the house where I might
go to practise every afternoon without disturbing papa. One or the
other of the girls practises every afternoon, and the combination of
violin squeaks and piano exercises would, we knew, disturb papa very
much. Miss Marston, we were sure, would not permit them to neglect
their music,--Nora is a fine musician, and Betty would be if she'd
only put the same interest into that that she does into some other
things, such as Indian clubs, and sliding down banisters, and playing
practical jokes,--and we couldn't plan where my violin hour could best
come in, when Nora thought of the old store-room at the top of the
house. That was a good idea, because, by closing the door and hanging
a thick quilt over it, not much of my scraping would escape to mingle
with the piano scale-running, and so annoy papa. The girls' arranging
for me in this way quite cheered me up,--the question of practising
having troubled me a good deal, for I knew a noise of that kind would
seriously interfere with papa's writing, and delay still longer the
completion of the Fetich.

Years and years ago, before Phil was born,--indeed, before mamma and
papa were ever married,--papa began to write a book, and it is not yet
finished, though there are pages and pages of it. Of course it is _very_
deep and _very_ clever, for papa is a great scholar. Max Derwent says
that if papa would only finish the book he thinks he knows of a
publisher who would accept it at once; and that would be a great help
to us, for papa has lost a lot of money this year, and we have to be
_very_ economical. That is the reason Fee can't go to college as well as
Phil; papa explained this to the boys that day in the study, after Jack
had been put out. Dear Jack! he is such a gentle, old-fashioned little
fellow, it really seems as if he ought to have been the girl, and Betty
the boy.

But, for all that Max said, papa can't seem to get to the end of his
work; he writes and re-writes, and keeps making changes all the time.
Sometimes I have wondered if he has worked over it so long that he hates
to part with it. The title of this great piece of work is "The History
of Some Ancient Peoples," or something very like that,--it's about
the Egyptians and Phoenicians and Chaldeans; but among ourselves we
children call it the Fetich. Long ago Fee gave it that name, because he
says it rules the house, and everything and everybody has to give way to
it; and he isn't very far wrong, I'm sorry to say. Ever since we older
ones can remember, the Fetich has engrossed papa's entire attention, and
kept him so occupied that he has had no time for anything else,--not
even for his children. In our own home we have to go quietly and soberly
about as if in a stranger's house,--to creep softly through the halls
and steal up the back stairs, and to subdue our voices when the natural
childish impulse is to run gaily and speak out merrily. It has kept our
father apart from us and made him almost a stranger to his children;
and, as we look back, some of us grudge the hours of dear mamma's time
that were spent each day in the study,--away from us,--reading and
copying off the Fetich, and helping and encouraging papa.

Dear, blessed mother! what a brave, loving spirit hers was! Even to the
last, when she was almost too weak to speak, she would have papa carry
her to the study, and, lying there in the invalid-chair, she'd smile at
him as he kept looking up at her from his writing. The very last talk we
had together,--after she had been taken back to her room,--when we had
spoken about the children and she had told me different little points
about their dispositions, and some ways in which I might be able to help
them after she had gone, she said very earnestly, "And always be very
good to your father, Nannie; he will be in sore need of comfort, for he
will miss me more than any one else."

"Oh, mamma, mamma!" I cried, choking, "no one _could_ miss you more than
we shall!"

Mamma stroked my hand softly as it lay on the bed beside her. "Dear,"
she said presently, "I know my boys and girls will _never_ forget me,
not even the very youngest, for they will hear of me from you older
ones. Oh, if it had been my Father's will, how gladly would I have
remained with you all! But you are all young; life and hope are strong
within you, and you love one another. He--your father--is so different;
he will grieve--alone--and grow farther and farther from human love and
sympathy. Nannie, dear little daughter, remember how very, _very_ happy
he has made me all these years, and oh, be good to him, and very patient
and loving when I am gone!"

Her very last look was given to papa; her last word was "Jack!"

[Illustration: "I GAVE A VERY FAINT KNOCK."]

For a good while I did try to do things for him, and to let him see that
I loved him; but I had a feeling all the time--as in the hall that
night--that he didn't want me near him, and would rather not have me in
the study: so gradually I gave up going there, except for a few minutes
each morning to ask if he needed anything. But this morning dear mamma's
words came back to me, and I felt very guilty as I ran up to the study
after breakfast; I had tried faithfully to look after the brothers and
sisters, but I had neglected papa; and I am afraid, in the lowness of my
spirits, that I gave a very faint knock on the door. After waiting a
minute or two, I opened the door, as no answer came, and stepped into
the study.

Papa's breakfast, which had been sent up more than half an hour before,
lay cold and untasted on his desk, and papa himself knelt on the
hearth; there was no fire, and in the empty grate, laid criss-cross,
were pages and pages of closely written manuscript. On the chair beside
him, and on the floor, were more pages of manuscript in bundles. In my
father's hand was a match, which he had just drawn and was about to
apply to the papers.

My heart gave a tremendous throb that seemed to send it right into my
throat, and I sprang forward, crying out, "Oh, papa! _papa!_ surely you
are not going to _burn_ the _Fetich_!"

The match fell from papa's fingers, and he looked up at me with an
expression that was half bewilderment, half relief. "Eh! burn _what_?"
he said.

"I--I--mean--were you going to burn--your book?" I remembered in time
that he did not know we called it the Fetich. "Oh, papa," I pleaded,
"_why_ are you doing this? Your wonderful book, that mamma was so
proud of!"

Papa got up and sat in his chair, and the sadness of his face made me
think of Fee's that awful night; the tears came rushing to my eyes,
and I knelt down and took his hand in my two and held it fast. He
let me keep it, and peered earnestly at me for a few minutes in his
near-sighted way. "It might as well be destroyed; I shall never finish
it--_now_" he said presently, in a low voice, as if he were speaking to
himself, and looking beyond me at the Fetich in the grate. "She is no
longer here to praise and encourage--my lifelong work,--a failure!"

Then, all at once, a daring idea came to me; and, without giving my
courage time to cool, I said quickly: "Papa! dear, dear papa,"--how my
voice shook!--"_please_ let me help you with your work of an afternoon,
something as mamma used to do!" I thought I saw a refusal in his face,
and went on hastily: "I know quite a good deal of Latin and Greek, and I
write a plain hand; I could copy for you, anyway, and I would be _very_
careful. Will you? Ah, _please_! I know she would like me to do it. And
perhaps"--the words faltered--"perhaps she can see and hear us now; and
if she can, I _know_ she will be glad to have me do this for you."

Papa gave an eager, startled glance around the room; then he drooped his
head, and covered his face with the hand I wasn't holding, and for
several minutes we didn't speak. Presently he said slowly,--and the
unsteadiness of his voice told me more than his words did,--"I suppose I
could let you try; for I do need--some one. You might be useful to me,
my dear, if you could come regularly to help me--every day; on that
condition I will accept your offer, and thank you for it--"

"I can--I will; _indeed_ I will!" I broke in.

A look of relief came over papa's face, a faint little smile stirred his
lips, and he gently patted my shoulder. "You are like your mother," he
said; and turning up my chin he kissed me,--a light little kiss that
just brushed my face, but I knew what it meant from him.

Then, as he stooped over and began to gather up the Fetich, he added, in
his usual voice: "These are some chapters that I've written lately, and
become somewhat discouraged over. Help me put them back in their place
on my desk, Nannie; and be careful to keep every page in its regular
order." I did so, and listened attentively while he explained, with
great care and insistence, what I should have to do, and how much time
he would require me to spend in the study.

It was not until I had left him, and was on my way to the schoolroom,
that I remembered that the hours I had promised papa were those I had
set aside for my violin lessons and practice. And then--I am sorry and
ashamed, but I _couldn't_ help it--I ran swiftly away and hid in a
corner by myself, and cried bitterly. It wasn't that I wished I hadn't
made papa that offer, for I would have done it over again, even while I
felt so badly; but, oh, how hard it was to give up my dear music! And I
really didn't know what to do about my teacher and aunt Lindsay.

[Illustration: "'I CAN--I WILL; _INDEED_ I WILL!'"]

But it all came right after a while; dear old Felix came to the rescue,
as he generally does, and offered to go to the conservatory and take
the lessons for me, and then give them to me in the evenings in the
old store-room,--that is, if aunt Lindsay didn't object. Of course I
was thankful; for while Fee does not love violin music as I do, he is
very thorough, and would, I know, do his best for me. So I wrote and
explained to aunt Lindsay, and she did not object in the least; in fact,
her letter was the nicest she has written us yet. And this is the way
that things stand at present: Papa is still writing the Fetich, and I
am helping him; evenings, Fee and I have great times in the store-room,
with the door closed and heavily muffled, giving and receiving music
lessons, and practising with our squeaky violins,--we really do have
lots of fun!

And now to-day comes the good news from Max that he will soon be home;
he writes that he has a "surprise" for us, and of course we are all
very curious. Dear old fellow! It will be such a comfort to have him
among us again!




V.

A FRACAS AND AN ARRIVAL.

TOLD BY BETTY.


Of all people in the world, _Jack_ has been in a fight! Phil brought him
in, and such a sight as he was! his nose bleeding, his coat torn, and a
lump on his forehead as big as a hen's egg! "Why," said Phil, "I
couldn't believe my eyes at first; but true it was, all the same,--there
was our gentle 'rosebud' pommelling away at a fellow nearly twice his
size! And what's more, when I pulled him off, and separated them, if my
young man didn't fly at the other fellow again like a little cock
sparrow! I could hardly get him home."

"Yes, and I'd do it again!" cried Jack, ferociously, mopping his wounded
nose with his handkerchief, while Nannie rushed to get water and
court-plaster.

"What'd he do?" asked Phil and Fee and I, all together. We knew it must
have been something very dreadful to rouse Jack to such a pitch; for,
as nurse says, he is one of the "most peaceablest children that ever
lived." But he wouldn't tell. "Never you mind," was all he'd say.

By this time Nannie had brought a basin of water and the other things,
and when Fee waved his arm and called out tragically, "Gather round,
gather round, fellow-citizens, and witness the dressing of this bleeding
hero's wounds," we crowded so near that Nannie declared we made her
nervous. Jack did look so funny, with a big bath-towel pinned round his
shoulders, and the basin right up under his chin, so the water shouldn't
get over his clothes! And of course, as we looked on, everybody had
something to say. "Tell you what, Jack," said Phil, "you could paint
the town red now, and no mistake, just from your nose; _what_ an
opportunity lost!"

"And I shouldn't wonder if the bridge of that classic member were
broken. Oh the pity of it!" put in Fee, in mock sympathy.

"You'll be a sight to-morrow,--all black and blue," remarked Nora,
eyeing him critically. "I thought you were too much of a gentleman to
fight on the street, Jack,--just like a common rowdy!"

"I'm glad you didn't get beaten," I said; "but my! won't Miss Marston
give it to you to-morrow!" She was out this afternoon.

"Your nose is all swelling up!" announced Judge, solemnly, and Kathie
murmured sympathetically, "_Poor_ Jack!"

[Illustration: "'GATHER ROUND, GATHER ROUND, FELLOW-CITIZENS, AND
WITNESS THE DRESSING OF THIS BLEEDING HERO'S WOUNDS.'"]

Even Nannie--and she isn't one bit a nagger--said, "Oh, Jackie, I'm _so_
ashamed of you! Mamma wouldn't want her gentle boy to become a fighter."

"Yes, she _would_ so, if she knew what this fellow did," asserted Jack,
as positively as he could with the water pouring down over his mouth.

"_What_ did he do?" we all shouted. "Tell us, what _did_ he do, Jack?"

But Jack got furious. "None of your business!" he roared; and twisting
himself away from us, he dashed out of the room, Nannie following after
him, basin in hand, imploring him to let her finish dressing his nose.

We really didn't mean to make him angry,--it's just a way we have of
speaking out our minds to one another; but Nannie felt very sorry,--she
said we had teased Jack. I felt sorry, too, when he told me all about
it,--Jack generally does tell me things,--after making me promise "truly
and faithfully" that I would not say "one word about it to any single
person we know." Many a time since I've wished that I hadn't
promised,--it isn't fair to Jack himself; but he won't let me off.
Jack is really a _very_ odd boy.

Well, it seems that as Felix passed along the street where Jack and some
of his friends were playing, one of the boys caught up a piece of straw,
and twisting it across his nose like a pair of spectacles, limped after
Fee, mimicking his walk, and singing, "H'm-ha! hipperty hop!" Jack
clinched his hands tight while he was telling me. "Betty," he said, "I
got such a queer feeling inside; I just _swelled_ up, and if he'd been
_three_ times as big, I'd have tackled him. I waited for Fee to turn the
corner,--you see I didn't want him to know what Henderson was doing
behind his back,--and _then_ didn't I just _go_ for him! I _tell_ you,
I whacked him!"

My blood fairly boiled to think that anybody could have been so
contemptibly mean as to mock our dear old Fee,--as if he didn't feel
badly enough about being near-sighted and lame! I would like to have
gone right out and thrashed Henderson all over again; but, as Jack very
truly said, "that would only make a grand row, and then the whole
thing'd be sure to get to Fee's ears, and that's what we don't want." So
I had to cool down. This was the reason Jack wouldn't tell the others
what the trouble was--and there Felix himself had been teasing him! Nor
has he said one word to anybody but me about it, though he has been
blamed and punished for fighting on the street, when, if he had only
told, or let me tell for him, the true reason for his acting so, I'm
sure everybody would have changed their mind at once; but he will not.
This was very nice of Jack,--he has some ways that really make me very
fond of him; but he is also a very queer and provoking boy sometimes,
as you will hear.

The worst was to get through dinner that evening without papa's
noticing. Of course Miss Marston would be sure to tell him as soon as
she knew, and of course Jack would be punished; but he did want to put
off the evil hour as long as possible. His seat at table is quite near
to papa, but I come between, and I promised I'd lean as far forward as I
could, all through the meal, so as to shield him. We got downstairs and
settled in our places safely; but Jack was as nervous as a cat. I really
think he wouldn't have minded taking his dinner _under_ the table for
that one occasion; and no wonder, for everybody, even to Hannah, kept
looking at him, and Phil and Felix kept passing him all sorts of things,
with such unusual politeness as was enough to fluster anybody. Still,
everything went well until we came to dessert; it was cottage
pudding,--Jack's favourite,--and I suppose he got reckless, or forgot,
in his enjoyment of it, and leaned a little too far forward, for
presently papa said, very quietly, "Betty, sit properly in your chair."
Of course I had to obey, and that brought poor Jack into full view.

A broad strip of white court-plaster across one's nose, and a big
bruised lump on one's forehead _are_ rather conspicuous things, and, I
tell you, papa did stare! but he didn't say a word. Neither did Jack
speak, though he knew papa was looking at him; he just kept right on
eating very fast. He said afterward he'd have eaten the whole pudding,
had it been before him, for he was so nervous he didn't really know what
he was doing; but he got redder and redder in the face, and presently he
choked,--a regular snort! I immediately flew up and pounded him on the
back; but papa made me sit down again, and as soon as Jack had stopped
coughing violently, he said, "Leave the table, sir, and come to my study
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."

I think, had we dared, we could all have roared with laughter as Jack
got up and walked out of the room; not because we didn't feel sorry for
him, for we did,--I especially, knowing how it was he got into this
scrape,--but he did look _so_ funny! I don't know why it is, but Jack is
a person that makes one laugh without his intending in the least to be
funny; it's the way he does things.

I can't begin to tell you how I urged Jack to tell papa why it was he
had gotten into that fight. I scolded, and coaxed, and talked, _and_
talked, but I _couldn't_ get him to say he would, nor to let me tell; in
his way, I do believe he is as obstinate as Kathie. Even the next
morning, when he stood at the study door, ready to knock, though his
hands were as cold as ice, and he looked awfully scared, all he'd say to
my repeated, "_Do_ speak out like a man, and tell it, Jack," was,
"_Perhaps_." I would like to have gone right in and told papa the whole
matter myself, but you see I had promised; and besides, we are none of
us very fond of going into the study,--though Nannie is in there pretty
often lately,--I'm sure I can't say why it is, for papa never scolds us
violently: whatever he says is very quietly spoken, but I tell you every
word goes home!

The schoolroom bell rang while I was talking to Jack; so of course I had
to go, and it was fully half an hour before he walked in and took his
place. His face was very red, even his ears, and he didn't look happy;
but it wasn't until after school that I had a chance to ask him
anything, and he wasn't very amiable then. He had a book,--some story of
wild adventure and hair-breadth escape, and he hated to be interrupted.
For all that Jack is such a quiet, gentle sort of a boy, he likes to
read the most exciting books, about fighting and shipwrecks and
savages,--though I'm _sure_ if an Indian should walk into the room, he'd
fly into the remotest corner of the closet and hide,--and the hymns he
loves the best are the ones that bring in about war and soldiers. You
should hear him sing, "The Son of God goes forth to war," in church! he
positively shouts. So when I said, "Well, Jack, how'd you get along this
morning?" he went right on turning over the leaves to find his place,
and answered shortly:--

"Oh, no play out-of-doors for a week, and a double dose of that vile
Latin, and a sound rating for getting into a row on the street,--that's
all."

"But didn't you tell him--" I began indignantly, but Jack interrupted.

"He didn't ask why I did it, and I didn't tell him," he said.

"What a _silly_ you are!" I cried, I was _so_ mad! "That Henderson ought
to be told about and punished--now!"

"Henderson is a beast!" Jack said severely; then, having come to his
place in the story, he added: "Now please go away, and don't bother me,
Betty; I want to read." He settled himself on the schoolroom sofa in his
favourite position, with his back against the arm of the sofa, and his
legs straight out along the seat, and began to read. I knew he'd get
cranky if I said any more, so I went away.

But for all that he called Henderson names, what did Jack do but go
and make _friends_ with him just a day or two after he was allowed
to go out!

I was so provoked when I heard of it, that I fairly stormed at Jack; he
took it all in the meekest way, and when I finished up,--with a fine
attempt at sarcasm,--"If _I'd_ been you, I would have snubbed such a
mean boy for at least a _week_ longer," he grinned and said, "If you'd
been I, you'd have done just as I did." Then he added, in that
old-fashioned, confidential way he has, "I couldn't help it, Betty; you
see the boys wouldn't have a thing to do with him, or let him join in
any of the games, until I had forgiven him, and I just _couldn't_ stand
seeing him hanging around and being snubbed."

"Oh, yes, you're very considerate for him; but _he_ will make fun
of _your_ brother again to-morrow, if he feels like it," I said,
still angry.

"No, he _won't_" asserted Jack, positively; "'cause I told him--not
disagreeably, you know, but so he'd feel I was in earnest--that if he
ever did, I'd just have to thrash him again. And he said, 'A-a-h, what
d'you take me for? D'you s'pose I knew 'twas _your_ brother?' And that's
a good deal from Henderson, for he's an awfully rough boy. You know,
Betty, you've _got_ to make allowances for people, or you'd never get
along with 'em. And, besides, he looks worse than I do," went on Jack,
feeling of his nose and forehead. "I really felt ashamed to think I'd
hit him so hard, and,"--shuffling his feet, and looking very
sheepish,--"well, you know, the Golden Rule is my motto for this year,
and, as I thought to myself, what's the use of a motto, if you don't act
up to it? So I just made friends with Henderson. I knew you'd say I was
silly to do it, but I don't care,--I feel better; I do hate to be mad
with people!" And with that he walked off, before I could think of
anything to say.

A lot of things happened that week. To begin with, some new people moved
into the house opposite us, that has been empty for so long. It's a
small house,--nurse says it used to be a stable, and was turned into a
dwelling-house since she has lived here,--set quite a good way back from
the street, and with a low stoop to one side and a piazza off that. A
tall iron railing, with an ornamental gate, encloses a front yard in
which are some forlorn-looking shrubs, a rosebush or two, and a couple
of scraggy altheas. Workmen had been about the place for some time,
putting everything in order, and of course we took the liveliest
interest in all that went on, from the pruning of the shrubs to the
carrying in of the furniture; and the day the new people moved in, Miss
Marston could hardly keep us younger ones from the windows: indeed, for
that matter, Nora was just as curious as we were, for all she talks
about "vulgar curiosity." They came in a carriage, and there were three
of them,--a tall, black-bearded man, a little, fragile-looking lady, and
a tall, lanky boy, perhaps as old as Felix, with a rather nice face, who
shouldered a satchel and the travelling-rugs, and brought up the rear of
the procession to the house, with the end of a shawl trailing on the
ground behind him.

Jack heard from Henderson--who has become his shadow--that the gentleman
has something to do with a newspaper, and that the boy goes to college,
and Phil saw him there the other day; but it wasn't until the following
Sunday, nearly a week after, that we heard their name and who they
were,--and that came by way of a grand surprise.

We were sitting round the schoolroom fire, talking and singing hymns,
when the door opened, and who should come walking in but--Max Derwent!
We _were_ surprised; for though he'd written to say he was coming, we
didn't expect it would be so soon. Dear old Max! we were delighted to
see him, and I do believe he was just as glad to see us. But just at
first we couldn't any of us say very much; dear mamma was with us when
Max was here last!

After a while, though, that feeling wore away, and I tell you our
tongues did fly! Max measured us all by the closet door, where he took
our measurements before he went away, and he says we have grown
wonderfully,--particularly Nannie. He was so surprised when he first saw
her, that he just held her hands and looked at her, until Nannie said,
"Why, Max, you haven't kissed me; aren't you glad to see me?" I think
she felt a little hurt, for he'd kissed the rest of us,--even to Phil
and Felix,--and Nannie and he used to be such good friends.

"Why, Nancy Lee," Max said, "you have grown such a tall young lady
since I've been away, that I didn't know whether you'd still allow
me the dear old privilege; indeed I will kiss you;" and with that
he stooped,--Max is tall,--and kissed her on her forehead, just
where the parting of her hair begins.

But Max couldn't get over her being so grown, for he kept on gazing
and gazing at Nannie, and she did look sweet, sitting there in the
firelight. Nora is very pretty,--her features are so regular; but Nannie
has a _dear_ face: her brown eyes are big and shining, and her hair is
so thick and pretty; it's light brown, and little locks of it get loose
and curl up round her forehead and ears, and when she talks and laughs I
think she's every bit as pretty as Nora. Somehow there's a look about
Nannie's face that makes you know you can trust her through and through;
I tell you I'm awfully glad she's in the family; in fact, I don't know
what we'd any of us do without her, from papa to Alan.

Well, we told Max every single thing that had happened--good, bad, and
indifferent--since he went away, including, of course, about Phil's
going to college, and Fee's not going, and about aunt Lindsay's present
to Fee and Nannie,--all talking together, and as loud as we pleased (we
always do with Max) until we came to the new people that had moved in
across the way--and what do you suppose? Max knows them!

"They are the Ervengs," he said, "and the boy's name is
Hilliard,--Hilliard Erveng. The father is a partner in a large Boston
publishing house that has just opened an agency here, and I shouldn't
wonder if Erveng were in charge of the agency by his taking a house in
New York. That's the firm I thought would buy your father's book, if
he'd only finish it; but from what he told me this afternoon, it's
still a long way from completion." He glanced at Nannie as he spoke,
and she nodded her head sadly. "I used to know Erveng; he was a
classmate of mine," went on Max, thoughtfully, wrinkling up his
eyebrows at the fire. "I wonder how it would do to rake up the
acquaintance again, and bring him over unexpectedly to call on the
professor,"--papa's friends all call him Professor Rose,--"and
surprise him into showing Erveng the manuscript!"

[Illustration: "'THE BOY'S NAME IS HILLIARD ERVENG.'"]

"Oh, Max, that would never, never do," cried Nannie, quickly. "You know
how averse papa is to showing his work to any one; he couldn't do it,
I'm sure, and it might make him very angry."

"And yet, if he _did_ show it, think what a benefit to you all it might
be; for I am convinced the work is one that would be an acquisition to
the reading public; and Erveng would recognise that at once. Think of
what it means for all of you, Nancy Lee," urged Max,--"college for
Felix, drawing lessons for Nora, a fine violin for you, gymnasium for
Betty, a splendid military school for Jack,"--here Jack broke in rudely
with, "_Don't_ want any military school, this one's bad enough," and
was silenced by Phil's hand being laid suddenly and firmly over his
mouth,--"and all sorts of good things for everybody, if only Erveng
sees the manuscript of the Fetich" (Max knows what we call it).

Nannie still looked dubious, but Nora exclaimed: "I say, do it, Max! It
does seem a shame to have us suffering for things, and that manuscript
just lying down there; and perhaps then papa would stir himself a little
and finish it. I declare I would like to take some of the pages over and
show them to Mr. Erveng myself!"

We all knew that she wouldn't; but as she said the words, an idea
popped into my head, such a splendid idea--at least I thought it was
then--that I nearly giggled outright with delight, and I had positively
to hold myself in to keep from telling it. Happening to look up
suddenly at Phil, I caught him with a broad grin on _his_ face, and
winking violently at Felix, who winked back. That did not surprise
me,--those two are always signalling to each other in that way; but
when they both straightened their faces the instant I saw them, and
assumed a very innocent expression, then I began to suspect that they
were up to some mischief: little did I dream what it was, though! Phil
is a _fearful_ practical joker; you never know where he's going to
break out. I'm pretty bad, but he is ever so much worse; and Felix
helps him every time.

"What sort of a man _is_ Mr. Erveng?" asked Felix, with an appearance of
great interest.

Max laughed. "Well, he used to be considered rather eccentric," he said.
"I remember the fellows at college nick-named him 'Old-Woman Erveng,'
because--so they said--he had a large picture in his room of a fat old
woman in a poke bonnet; and at the social gatherings to which he could
be induced to go, he always devoted himself to the oldest and fattest
ladies in the room, without noticing the young and pretty girls. _I_
thought he was rather a nice sort of fellow; what's the matter, Betty,
want any assistance?"

What Max said fitted in so well with the plan I had in my mind
that--though I tried to keep it back--I had chuckled, and now they were
all looking at me.

"When Elizabeth 'chortles' in that fashion you may be sure there's
mischief in her mind," Felix remarked, eyeing me severely. "Out with
it, miss."

"Or I'll have to garote you," put in Phil, leaning over toward me with
extended thumb and finger; but I skipped away and got beside Max.

"Indeed, it's you and Felix that are up to something," I retorted. "I
can see it in your faces."

"Oh, tell us what your 'surprise' is, Max," put in Nannie, quickly. I
think she wanted to turn the conversation, and so keep us from
wrangling, this very first evening that Max was with us.

"Why, I've brought back a ward," answered Max. "His name is Chadwick
Whitcombe. He went to-day from the steamer to stay a week or two with
an old friend of his father's; then I shall bring him to see you, and
I'm going to ask you _all_"--here Max looked at each one of us--"to be
nice and friendly to him, for poor Chad is singularly alone: he has not
a relative in the world. Though he will come into a good deal of money
by and by, the poor fellow has knocked about from place to place with
his former guardian, who has just died, and he has had no home training
at all. May I count on your being kind to him?"

Of course we all said yes,--couldn't help ourselves,--but I heard Fee
sing, under his breath, so it shouldn't reach Max's ears:--

    "Here comes Shad,
     Looking very sad;
     We'll hit him with a pad,
     And make him glad!"

and when I laughed, Phil scowled at me, and muttered something about
"giving him to Betty to lick into shape." I couldn't say anything, for I
was right close to Max; but I made one of my worst faces at Phil. Soon
after this, Max went down to the study to spend the rest of the evening
with papa.




VI.

DISPOSING OF A FETICH.

TOLD BY BETTY.


I might as well tell you that my plan was to dress up, some afternoon
that week, in one of nurse's gowns, and her bonnet and veil,--if I could
possibly induce her to lend them all to me without having to tell why I
wanted them,--and to go and call on Mr. Erveng in regard to the Fetich.
What I should say when I met him didn't trouble me; you see there was
really only to tell him about the book, so he might make papa an offer
for it; but what _did_ weigh upon me was how to get dressed up and out
of the house without being caught: there are such a lot of us that
somebody or other's sure to be hanging around all the time. For several
days I couldn't get a chance: Monday it rained; Tuesday afternoon Phil
took Paul to the dentist, and nurse went along,--Judge is one of her
pets; Wednesday afternoon Jack and a whole lot of boys played close to
the house, and of course I couldn't walk right out before them,--it
would have been just like Jack to run up and say something, perhaps
offer to assist my tottering steps down the stoop. But at last, on
Thursday, the coast seemed clear: Nannie was in the study with papa,
Nora was practising, Jack was on the schoolroom sofa reading, the
children in the nursery, and Phil and Felix up in Fee's room; I could
hear a murmur of voices from there, and every now and then a burst of
laughter. This was my opportunity.

The door of nurse's room, which was next to the nursery, was open, and
as I stole in, hoping she was there, that I might ask her, I saw her
wardrobe door open, and hanging within easy reach a dress and shawl that
would just serve my purpose. But her bonnet and veil were not in their
usual place, which rather surprised me, for nurse is very particular
with us about those things, and I had to hunt before I found even her
oldest ones, in deadly fear all the time that I'd be caught in the act.
You see, I made up my mind I'd borrow the things, and then tell her
about it when I brought them back.

Flying into my room, I locked the door, and just "jumped" into those
clothes, as the boys would say; and I did look so funny when I was
dressed, that I had to laugh. In the first place, Max had said Mr.
Erveng liked fat old women; so I stuffed myself out to fill nurse's
capacious gown to the best of my ability, with pillows and anything else
I could lay my hands on; I think I must have measured yards and yards
round when I was all finished. Then I pinned my braid on the top of my
head, put on nurse's bonnet, and dividing the veil so that one part hung
down my back and the other part over my face, I was ready to start. I
had slipped on a pair of old black woollen gloves that I found in the
pocket of my new skirt, and, stealing cautiously down the stairs, I got
out of the house without meeting any one.

But I can't tell you how queer I felt in the street,--it seemed as if
everybody looked at me, and as if they must suspect what I was up to. I
forgot all about walking slowly, like an old woman, and fairly flew up
the flagged path to the Ervengs' stoop; and the ring I gave to the bell
brought a small boy in buttons very quickly to the door. "I wish to see
Mr. Erveng on business," I said, disguising my voice as well as I could.
Then, as he murmured something about "card,"--I had entirely forgotten
that,--I pushed my way past him, saying, "It is something _very_
important, that I _know_ your master will be glad to hear."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he ushered me into a room which looked
to be half drawing-room, half study: there were in it a sofa, some fancy
chairs, a set of well-filled Eastlake book-shelves, and a desk almost as
big as papa's. Portières hung at the end of the room. I took a seat
near one of the long windows opening on the balcony, and began to
arrange in my mind what I would say to Mr. Erveng, when suddenly,
glancing toward the gate, I saw some one open it and come slowly up the
walk,--a stout, elderly female, dressed in a black gown, a black shawl,
and a bonnet and veil, _precisely_ like the ones I had on! Her veil was
drawn closely over her face, she wore black woollen gloves, and held in
one hand a black reticule--which I would have declared was nurse's--and
in the other a clumsily folded umbrella. As I sat and stared at the
advancing figure, I wondered if I were dreaming, and actually gave
myself a pinch to assure myself I was awake. But who _could_ she
be,--this double of mine? I wouldn't like to tell Jack or any of the
others, you know, but I would really not have been sorry to have been
at home just then.

At this moment the old lady entered the room. Buttons closed the door,
and we were left alone facing each other,--for I had got up when she
came in,--and I must say the unknown seemed as much surprised as I was.
Then all at once she began to walk round and round me; and as I didn't
want her to get behind me, I kept turning too,--just as if I'd been on
a pivot; I believe I was fascinated by those big eyes glaring at me
through the thick black veil.

"Betty! 'by all that's abominable!'" suddenly exclaimed my double; and
_then_ I knew who it was.

"_Phil!_ you _mean_ thing!" I cried, intensely relieved; and darting
forward I caught hold of his bonnet and veil.

"Hands off!" he called out, wriggling away; "an ye love me, spare me
'bunnit.'" Then, as he got to a safe distance, and threw back his veil:
"Look here, old lady, if you lay violent hands on me again, I'll yell
for help, and bring the house about your ears. _Then_ you'll rue it."

This provoked me. "You're the one will rue it," I said. "You've just
spoilt the whole thing by spying on me and following me here--"

"Well, I like that!" Phil interrupted. "It seems to me the shoe's on the
other foot. What are _you_ doing here, in that outrageous costume, and
in a stranger's house? Whew! wouldn't there be a small circus if the
_pater_ should see you! I'd feel sorry for you, I tell you. And what
excuse do you propose to offer Mr. Erveng when he makes his appearance
here, as he will in a few minutes?" Sidling up to me, he nudged my
elbow, and added persuasively: "'There _is_ a time for _dis_-appearing.'
Say, Betty, my infant, one of us has _got_ to go, so I'd advise you to
fly at once. Buttons is out of the way, and in an excess of brotherly
affection I'll escort you to the door myself. Come--fly!" And he nudged
me again.

"No," I said obstinately, "I won't go; I was here first. I'm here, and
here I'll remain."

"Oh, very well," said Phil, in a resigned sort of tone, seating himself
in a most unladylike attitude on a three-cornered chair. "Then come sit
on the edge of my chair, you little fairy, and we'll pose for the
Siamese twins."

[Illustration: "'COME SIT ON THE EDGE OF MY CHAIR, YOU LITTLE FAIRY.'"]

But I was so disappointed I was afraid I'd cry. I had hoped _so_ much
from this interview with Mr. Erveng, and here was Phil spoiling
everything by his silliness. "I think you are simply _horrid_," I
broke out, very crossly. "I just wish Mr. Erveng would come in and
beat you, or turn you out, or _something_."

"If the old man shows fight, I'll have his blood," cried Phil,
tragically, springing from his chair. "Gore, _gore_! I _will_ have
gore!" He did look _very_ funny, striding up and down the room and
scraping his toes along the floor in our most approved "high tragedy"
style, with nurse's shawl hanging over one shoulder, his bonnet crooked
and almost off his head, and shaking the umbrella, held tight in a
black-woollen-gloved fist, at an imaginary foe.

Angry as I was, I _had_ to laugh, and I don't know what next he mightn't
have done--for Phil never knows when to stop--had we not just then
caught the sound of a distant footstep. Phil didn't seem to mind, but I
got so nervous that I didn't know what to do. "Oh, _won't_ you go?" I
cried in despair. "He'll think we are crazy! Oh, where _am_ I to go?"

"Goodness only knows!" answered Phil, trying to straighten his bonnet;
then, glancing around the room, "There isn't a piece of furniture here
large enough to hide your corpulent form," he said. "There he comes!
_Now_, I hope you're satisfied; you _wouldn't_ go when you could."

Sure enough, the footsteps were almost at the door. I looked frantically
about. I would gladly have escaped through the window, and climbed over
the balcony to the ground; but to put aside the delicate lace curtains
and unlatch the sash would have taken more time than we had to spare.
Suddenly Phil cried, "The _portières_, you dunce!" giving me a push in
that direction, and like a flash I got behind them. I heard Phil say
"Bother!" under his breath, as he stumbled over a footstool in his haste
to get seated, then the door opened, and some one entered the room.

Provoked as I was with Phil, I couldn't help hoping that his bonnet was
straight, and that he had on his shawl, for his figure wasn't as good as
mine. I heard a strange voice--Mr. Erveng's--say: "I'm sorry to have
kept you waiting so long, but I am extremely busy. Will you be kind
enough to state your business as briefly as possible?"

Then Phil began, imitating an old lady's voice to a nicety: "Having
heard that you publish a great many books, I thought you would like to
know of a very clever--really _re_markable--work which is being written
by a well-known scholar who lives in this street, and that perhaps you
would call on him and make him an offer for it." I knew the moment I
heard this speech that Felix had made it up, and just coached Phil; it
was certainly better than what I had thought of.

The portières behind which I had hid only covered a door, and, though I
squeezed up as tight as I could, I was awfully afraid they would part
and show me underneath. But, all the same, I couldn't resist peeping to
see what was going on. Phil had his back to me, but Mr. Erveng sat
facing me in the swing-chair that was by his desk, and I noticed at once
that he was the black-bearded man we'd seen the day the family moved in.

I listened eagerly for Mr. Erveng's answer. He said very coolly: "It is
not our custom to make an offer for a work of which we know nothing.
Manuscripts are generally submitted to us. What is the title of this
'remarkable work'?"

I didn't like the way he said this, and I thought he looked very
suspiciously at Phil; but Phil didn't seem to notice it, for he answered
eagerly: "It's called the Fe--'History of Some Ancient Peoples,' and
I've brought you a chapter or two to look at." Here I heard a rustling,
and peeping between the portières, what should I see but Phil handing
Mr. Erveng some _pages of the Fetich_!

I was so perfectly amazed that I had to stuff the portière into my
mouth to keep from calling out; how _had_ Phil ever got hold of those
chapters without papa's knowledge? I knew Nannie would never have
helped him after what she had said on Sunday to Max, and how had Phil
_dared_ to bring them here! What would papa say if he should know what
he had done,--indeed, what we had both done! Oh, how sorry I was that
I hadn't gone when Phil urged me to.

When I got over my surprise a little, and again looked through the
portières, Mr. Erveng stood holding the Fetich in his hands, and looking
over the pages with a frown on his face. "This is curious," I heard him
say. And then, suddenly, before I could guess what he was going to do,
he crossed the room and drew my portières aside! At first I held on to
them, with a desperate desire to lose myself in the scanty folds; but
they were firmly withdrawn, and there I stood,--a fac-simile of the fat,
black-robed, black-veiled person who sat on the three-cornered chair by
Mr. Erveng's desk!

"_Whew!_" whistled Phil, then tried to look as if he hadn't uttered a
sound, while Mr. Erveng took hold of my arm and walked me over to where
Phil stood. "Now," he said sternly, "I should like an explanation of
this extraordinary behaviour."

But not a word said either of us,--I couldn't, I was so frightened; I
assure you I wished myself home! And while we stood there--Mr. Erveng
waiting for an answer--the door opened, and the boy that Max had said
was Hilliard Erveng came into the room.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, turning back, "I didn't know any
one was with you."

But his father called out to him, "Stay here, Hilliard!" Then turning
to us he said _very_ sternly, "I have reason to think that this
manuscript"--he still held the Fetich in his hand--"has been stolen
from its rightful owner, of whom I have heard, and to whom I shall take
pleasure in restoring his property. Unless you both at once take off
what I am convinced is a disguise, and offer a full and satisfactory
explanation, I shall be under the painful necessity of calling in a
policeman and giving you in charge."

"Oh, no! no! _no!_" I cried out. "We _didn't_ steal it--at least, it
belongs to our father, and--"

[Illustration: "THERE WE STOOD; A FINE PAIR WE MUST HAVE LOOKED!"]

But Phil strode over to my side. "Hush, Betty," he whispered; "I'll
explain." Sweeping off his bonnet and veil, he threw them--nurse's best
Sunday hat!--on a chair, and faced Mr. Erveng. You can't think how
comical he looked, with his handsome boy's face and rumpled hair above
that fat old woman's figure. And in a moment or two, I think, I must
have looked almost as comical too; for before Phil could begin, Mr.
Erveng said, "I insist upon that person removing her bonnet and veil
as well."

So off went mine, and there we stood; a fine pair we must have looked!
That boy Hilliard gave a little giggle,--Phil said afterwards he'd like
to have "punched" him for it, and I felt awfully foolish,--but Mr.
Erveng frowned.

Then Phil began and told who we were, and how something that had been
said by a friend of ours had given him, and me,--though neither knew
about the other,--the idea of coming over and asking him, Mr. Erveng,
to buy the Fetich (of course Phil called the Fetich by its proper
name), and thinking he might like to see some of the manuscript, he
had got hold of two chapters and brought them along to show.

"But why this absurd disguise, if all this is true?" asked Mr. Erveng
of us, looking from one to the other.

I began: "Because Ma--" but Phil gave me a hard nudge of the elbow: "Max
mightn't like us to tell that," he mumbled, which ended my explanation.

But I was determined to get in a few remarks: "Papa doesn't know a thing
about our doing this," I said very fast, for fear Phil would interrupt
again, "and we don't want him to. We just came here and told you about
the Fe--his book, because we were sure he'd never tell you, or let you
see it, himself, and we thought if you knew of it, you would want to
buy it from him, and that would make him finish it up,--papa's been
_years_ writing that book,--and then Felix could go to college and--"

"_Betty!_" broke in Phil, in such a sharp, angry tone, and with such a
red face, that I moved away from him.

"That's where I've seen you,--at college," exclaimed the boy; he talks
in a slow, deliberate way, something like Judge. "They _do_ live across
the way, father; I've seen him"--with a nod of his head at Phil--"going
in there."

"Ah, really, how kind of you to remember me!" cried Phil, with sarcasm.
"Please let me have that manuscript, Mr. Erveng, and we will go home."

"No," remarked Mr. Erveng, very decidedly. "There is something about the
affair that I don't understand, and I shall not feel satisfied until I
have restored this manuscript, which I know is valuable, to its owner,
and found for myself that the story you have told me is true."

"All right, then," Phil cried recklessly. "Come, Betty, let's put on our
'bunnits' and go face the music."

Deeply mortified, we "dressed up" again, and went home under the escort
of Mr. Erveng and his son. Hannah opened the door, and how she did stare
at the two fat, black-robed, closely veiled ladies who waddled past her
into the drawing-room! Hilliard did not come in with us, and when Mr.
Erveng found that neither Phil nor I would answer Hannah's "Please, what
name shall I say?" he took a card out and gave it to her, saying, "Ask
Mr. Rose if he will be kind enough to let me see him for a few minutes."

While we sat waiting, Fee came limping down the stairs and looked in on
us. "Hullo!" he exclaimed in astonishment; "_two_ here? What's up?" Then
he saw the stranger and stopped.

"Oh, we've had a dandy time!" said Phil, throwing back his veil, "and
it isn't over yet. Mr. Erveng, allow me to introduce to you my brother,
Felix Rose."

While the introduction was going on, papa came into the room, and the
expression of his face was something that can't be described when he
found that the two ladies to whom he had bowed when he entered were
indeed Phil and I. Mr. Erveng stated the case as briefly as possible,
making much more light of it than we had expected, and handed to papa
the pages of the Fetich that Phil had brought to him. Papa said very
little, but his face grew quite pale, and he accompanied Mr. Erveng to
the door, where they stood talking for a few minutes; then Mr. Erveng
went away.

Fee had disappeared with our bonnets and veils,--we would willingly have
divested ourselves of the other garments as well, but we knew he was
not equal to the accumulation of pillows, shawls, and gowns which that
would involve,--and we were sitting in dead silence when papa returned,
and, opening the folding doors, motioned us to go into the study.

Nannie sat there writing; but the merry little laugh with which she
greeted our entrance died quickly away as she guessed what we had been
doing, and her low, "Oh, Phil, oh, Betty, how _could_ you!" made me feel
more ashamed than a scolding would have.

Papa put the two chapters of the Fetich carefully away; then he took his
seat at his desk and said, "Now I wish to hear the meaning of this most
extraordinary and unwarrantable behaviour."

For an instant neither of us spoke; then, just as I opened my mouth,
Phil began. He made a very short story of it,--how, through Max, we had
heard of Mr. Erveng's being a publisher, and how the story about his
liking fat old ladies had put the idea into our heads to dress up and
call on him, and interest him in papa's book.

Papa frowned at us over his glasses. "What has Mr. Erveng to do with my
book?" he asked, sternly. "And why did my son put my most cherished work
into a stranger's hands without my knowledge?"

"Because--" began Phil; then he got as red as a beet, and stood
plucking at the skirt of nurse's gown without another word.

I felt sorry for Phil. I knew that, like me, he had done it in the
interest of the whole family; so when papa said a little sharply, "I am
waiting for an answer, Philip," I said very quickly, "Please don't be
angry with Phil, papa; we did it because we thought if Mr. Erveng knew
of the Fet--book, he'd want to buy it, and then perhaps you would finish
it, and sell it for a lot of money, and then Fee--um--eh--we could do
lots of things."

Just then the study door opened, and in came Felix, quite out of
breath from hurrying up and down stairs. He saw Phil's downcast
face, and hastening forward, laid his hand on Phil's shoulder,
saying, "I deserve a full share of Phil's scolding, father. Betty
evidently carried out her scheme without assistance, but I dressed
Phil, and helped him to get off without being seen. So I know, sir,
that I ought to share his punishment."

"I see; then this was a conspiracy to force me to finish my work and
sell it," said papa, slowly, with a grieved, shocked look in his eyes;
then, turning to Nannie, he asked unsteadily: "Are _you_ in it, too?
Margaret--your mother--used to urge me to--write slowly--but--perhaps I
have lingered too long over it. I thank you," with a look at us, "for
recalling me to my duty, though I think it would have been kinder to
have spoken to me, rather than to have gone to a stranger in this way.
I will finish the History--as soon--as I can."

There was no anger in papa's voice, but a hurt tone that went right to
my heart, and made me horribly ashamed, while Nannie flew to his side
and threw her arms around his neck. "Don't take it to heart, dear
papa," she pleaded, pressing her cheek against his face. "It was only
thoughtlessness on their part; they _didn't_ mean to grieve you, I know
they didn't. Oh, boys, Betty, speak up and assure papa of this."

I began to cry out loud. I _despise_ crying, and I know papa hates it,
but I simply _had_ to sob, or I would have choked. The boys felt badly,
too. Fee leaned on the desk and said, low and very earnestly, "I am _so_
ashamed of myself, father. And I know Phil is, too."

"I've made a great ass of myself," growled poor Phil. "I wish, sir, that
you'd give me a thrashing, as if I were a little shaver,--a sound one; I
know I deserve it."

But papa loosed Nannie's arms from about his neck, and put her gently
from him. "My dear," he said wearily, "I--I--wish you would make them
all go; I want to be alone."

       *       *       *       *       *

Papa did not come down to dinner that evening, and we were a very
subdued party, though Nora tried to cheer Phil up by telling him that
she knew he had done what he had for the benefit of the whole
family,--she didn't tell _me_ that!

"Yes," answered our eldest brother, gloomily, "it was my first attempt
at that sort of philanthropy, and it'll be my last--stop staring at me,
Jack, or I'll throw a bread-pill at you."

"Is that what you call it, Philip?" said Miss Marston, lifting her
eyebrows. "It seems to me more like that love of practical joking
and the self-will that your mother was so constantly warning you
and Betty against."

"Indeed, then, you're right, ma'am," put in nurse, who happened to be in
the room, adding, with a pointed glance at me, "I wonder what the dear
lady would 'a' said to this day's conductions!"

And not one of us had a word to say in reply, for we well knew how
grieved she would have been.




VII.

NEW FRIENDS.

TOLD BY BETTY.


"Betty! _Bet-ty!_" called Nannie from the foot of the stairs, "tell Jack
that he's got just about three minutes more, as papa has started to put
on his overcoat, and he does so dislike to have us late for church. Do
make him hurry!"

But that, as I knew very well, was easier said than done, for Jack hates
to hurry. Almost at the last minute, when we had gathered in the
schoolroom to let Miss Marston see us before we started out with papa
for church, it was discovered that Jack's boots needed cleaning. So now
he was up in the attic, brushing away at them, and singing with all his
might,--

    "Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
       Continually are green,
     Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
       As nowhere else are seen.
     Right through thy streets, with pleasing sound,
       The living waters flow;
     And on the banks on either side,
       The trees of life do grow."

Jack was just beginning the last line of this verse when Nannie called
to me; so I let him finish, then I shouted up the attic stairs, "Jack,
you've just got about two minutes and a half; papa has started to put on
his overcoat. Are you ready?"

"Most," Jack answered; "I've got one more heel to do,"--as if he'd had a
dozen or so! and he actually started on another verse of the hymn.

I flew up the attic steps and gazed indignantly at him through the
railings: "You are the most provoking boy I ever knew," I said, "and the
biggest poke! I do believe you _love_ to be late. There's everybody down
in the hall ready to start, and here you are loitering as if you had
hours to spare."

[Illustration: "'BETTY! _BET-TY!_' CALLED NANNIE."]

"Are you two coming, or are you not?" cried Phil from the hall below.
"The procession is ready to start, and woe to stragglers! If service
began at twelve instead of eleven o'clock, Jack, you'd still be late.
Come on, Betty."

"I declare, if you aren't all the greatest pack of naggers!" exclaimed
Jack, impatiently, throwing down the blacking brushes and snatching up
his hat; then he raced after us down the stairs and brought up the rear
as we filed out of the front door.

There are always so many of us to go to church--all of us children
(except Alan, who goes to the children's service in the afternoon),
and Miss Marston and papa--that we do make, as Phil says, a regular
procession as we walk down the avenue and across the park to the old
brown church every Sunday. I don't mind going in the procession, nor
does Jack,--unless he's _very_ late; but Nora thinks it's horrid, and
Phil and Felix always hang back for the very last, and try to look as if
they didn't belong to us at all. Nannie and Mädel go with papa, Kathie
and Paul with Miss Marston, and the rest of us straggle along as we like
until we get to the church. It's brown and very large, and has a good
deal of ivy growing all over it. It's the church where Murray Unsworth
and Helen Vassah stood sponsors for their little cousin Paul; they go
there and their grandfather and grandmother.

Papa likes to sit away up front; so up the middle aisle we go,--oh, how
the boys and Nora hate this part!--and file into the first two pews. We
are always early, and sometimes it does seem so long before service
begins. Jack and I sit at the upper end of the first pew, and I couldn't
tell you how many times we have read the Creed and Commandments that are
printed back of the chancel, and the memorials on each side. Then we
look out the hymns for the day, and read them all through. Jack likes to
do this; he has all sorts of odd ideas about them; for instance, he says
that when he sings,

    "Christian! dost thou see them
       On the holy ground,
     How the powers of darkness
       Rage thy steps around?
     Christian! up and smite them,
       Counting gain but loss;
     In the strength that cometh
       By the holy cross,"

he somehow always thinks of the picture in papa's study of St. Michael
and the Angel. He says he can see, right in his mind, the great
beautiful angel of light triumphant in the strength of God, and under
his feet the stormy evil face of the conquered Lucifer. I've got so now
that I too think of the picture when I sing the hymn, and of the hymn
when I look at the picture.

Then in the other hymn, where it says,

    "Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
       Is He sure to bless?
    'Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
       Answer, Yes,'"

Jack says he sees--just like a picture--a steep hill up which a whole
lot of people are striving, with all their might, to climb; they're poor
and tired and sick and lame, but they struggle bravely on; and by the
beautiful gates at the top of the hill stands One grand and white and
shining, wearing a golden crown. He bends forward and takes hold of each
tired traveller as soon as he is within reach, and helps him safe within
the gates; and in the hands that do this are "wound-prints." Jack always
shuts his eyes and lowers his voice when he tells us about this thought
of his; only Nannie and I know of it, and while I am hearing about it I
always feel quiet.

How he _does_ enjoy singing! His little body seems to expand, and you'd
be astonished at the noise that he can make. This particular Sunday that
I am telling you about my ears were fairly ringing as Jack joined in the
chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and I wasn't sorry when Phil
leaned over from behind and whispered, "Say, Rosebud, you're not
detailed to lead the choir, you know."

Even the choir-master looked at him; but, perfectly regardless of
everything and everybody, Jack sang through the five long verses, and
sat down with the air of having thoroughly enjoyed himself.

I made up my mind, though, that I'd say something about it on our way
home; but just as we were coming down the church steps Jack gave my arm
a nudge. "There are your friends," he said, with a grin,--"the two of
'em; just see Phil and Felix scoot!" And when I turned quickly to see,
who should it be but Mr. Erveng and Hilliard!

Mr. Erveng has been over to call on papa since that horrid afternoon
that he escorted Phil and me home; but Hilliard didn't come with him,
and we weren't sorry,--I mean Phil and I,--for we both felt foolish
about meeting him; we hadn't forgotten that giggle of his when we took
off our bonnets and veils that day in his father's library, and I think
we both felt that we didn't want to know him any better.

Mr. Erveng and papa walked across the park together, talking, and as we
all followed behind,--Felix and Phil were out of sight,--who should come
up beside me and lift his hat but that Hilliard! "May I walk with you
part way home?" he asked, "I want to say something to you."

He speaks slowly, deliberately, and has a way of half-closing his eyes
when he's talking, that gives him a sleepy look,--though he can open
them very wide too, sometimes; and he's sallow, and has lots of
freckles. Altogether, he isn't nearly as good-looking as our boys, or
Murray Unsworth; still he has rather a nice face, and we've found out
that he is just as gentle and nice as a girl to his mother,--I mean in
waiting on her and doing things for her. But all the same, I don't know
whether I like him or not; you see he's never had a sister, never been
much with girls, and he's got such silly, prim ideas about them.

Well, to go back: when he asked that, I said, "Oh, yes, I suppose so;"
but Jack says my tone wasn't very polite. I didn't mean to be impolite,
but seeing him brought that horrid afternoon right to my mind, and I
could just hear him giggle all over again; I assure you Phil and I'll
not try that sort of thing again,--not if the Fetich never gets sold.

And evidently that was in his mind, too; for he said, "I want to
apologise for being so rude as to laugh that day in my father's
office,"--that's the way he talks, so formal, as if he were as old as
papa,--"and for guarding--"

"We didn't think it was at all polite, I must say," I broke in.

But he went right on; that's another of his ways,--if one interrupts
him fifty times in a remark, he'll listen, but make no reply until he's
finished what he started out to say. Now I think that's provoking,--I
wonder how he'd get on if he lived in our family!--and it makes the
person that interrupts feel very small and nettled, too. "And for
guarding you and your brother home, as if I doubted your word,"
he finished.

Well, now, do you know, I hadn't ever thought about that part,--his
going along to guard us,--until he said this; and then, all at once, I
felt very angry. "I think it _was_ very, _very_ rude of you," I said
decidedly, "and I really wish you would go away and walk with your
father, or by yourself--"

"Why, _Betty_!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise; then, leaning across me,
he said politely, "_Please_ don't think that Betty is a rude girl, for
indeed she isn't; but she is awfully quick-tempered, and when she gets
mad she is apt to say lots of things that she doesn't mean. She is
really quite a nice girl. I'm Jack Rose, her brother; so you see I
ought to know."

"So you should; I'm glad to meet you," Hilliard said, shaking hands with
Jack. Then he added to me: "I _do_ hope you and your brother will let us
be friendly. I've told my mother about you both, and she wants so much
to know you and your sisters. Perhaps some of you would come over and
see her? She is very much of an invalid, and is not able to go out,
except for a drive now and then; but when she is well enough to see
them, she enjoys having visitors."

I was ashamed of having spoken so sharply, but I _didn't_ want to go and
see Mrs. Erveng; so all I could say was, in a lame sort of way, "Thank
you; perhaps--if papa says we may."

Instead of letting the matter drop there, he must needs go on: "I have
tried several times to speak to your brother,--at college, and once on
the street,--but he seems to avoid me," he said. "I wanted to explain to
him; I was afraid you might think my father was severe, but he really
didn't beli--he didn't suppose--that is, the young people we've known--"
He stopped, looking awfully red and embarrassed, then ended up with,
"I'm afraid I'm making an awful muddle of it, but I'm really very sorry;
I hope you and your brother will understand that."

By "brother" I think he meant Phil, but Jack took it to himself. "Of
course, oh, certainly," he said, nudging my elbow to say likewise, and
bobbing his head round my shoulder.

But I wouldn't, for I understood, just as well as if Hilliard'd said it,
that he--they all--thought our coming over to his house, as we had done,
to sell the Fetich, was a very queer proceeding. Miss Marston had said
that they must think me very unladylike. She so often tells me people
think that of me that I've got used to it and don't mind; but I felt
_very_ uncomfortable when it occurred to me that perhaps this boy and
his father and mother thought so too. "Why didn't you say right out that
you thought my dressing up and coming over to your house that way was
very queer and unladylike?" I demanded. "I know it's what you think."
He opened his mouth to speak, but I went on quickly: "Pooh! that's
_nothing_ to what I _can_ do. I can slide down three flights of
banisters without one swerve, and make worse faces than any one we
know, and whistle, and brandish Indian clubs, and fence and climb
besides, and, oh! lots of other things that only boys do; why, I'm
strong enough to be able to thrash Jack--there _now_!"

"I'd just like to see you try it!" put in Jack, hastily, ruffling up;
then, in an undertone, with a nudge of his elbow, "Oh, come now, Betty,
_do_ behave yourself."

But Hilliard just looked at me--his eyes were wide enough open now--as
if I were some strange kind of animal; he really looked shocked. I
wondered what he would think of some of my performances at home, and
I couldn't resist saying, "I suppose the girls that you know never do
such things?"

"Not when they are as old or as tall as you are," he answered quietly.

Just then Miss Marston and the little ones and Nannie and Nora came up
to us, so I introduced Hilliard to them, and as soon as we saw that Nora
was talking to him, Jack and I dropped behind and kept there.

"Betty," said Jack, severely, as we turned away, "you are really a most
provoking girl! I told that boy that you were nice, and you turned
right round and acted _abominably_. What possessed you? I didn't hear
him say one thing to make you angry."

"Jack," I answered, "sometimes you're as dense as a London fog. That boy
is a conceited poke because he has no sister; and you'd be just like him
if I weren't here to train you."

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Jack, indignantly. "Talking about
conceit,--where do you put yourself?"

Two hands came suddenly between us; a pleasant voice said, "Let's talk
about the sermon, and see which of us remembers most of it;" and there
was Max. He had been in church, he said, but stopping to speak to some
one had detained him, and he was now going home to have dinner with
us,--which meant a visit with papa after dinner, and then a nice long
talk with us in the schoolroom. Max is so nice about that; he never
slights us. In fact, I think he spends more and more time with us, for
he and Nannie have started in to play violin and piano duets together,
and he comes one week-evening to practise. He has lent her his
violin,--a beauty!--and he takes the piano part. His ward--"the great
Shad," as Phil and Felix call him--has not yet arrived; but Max told us
this Sunday, as we walked along, that he expected him to be in the city
very soon, "and then," he said, "I shall bring him round to be
introduced to you young people."

When we reached our house, Hilliard said good-bye, and ran across to his
own gate; but Max, Mr. Erveng,--Max has been to call on the Ervengs, and
has renewed acquaintance with his college-mate,--and papa stood talking
for a few minutes before they separated. As we entered our door, Nannie
was right behind me, and I heard her say to Felix in a low voice, "Look
at papa as he stands between those two men; don't you think he looks
_very_ old and worn?"

"Well, he's years older than they, isn't he?" asked Fee, turning to
look. I too craned my neck for a glimpse, but barely caught sight of
the top of papa's hat over Phil's shoulder.

"Not so many," Nannie said; "he is eight years older than Mr. Erveng,
and ten years older than Max. Not enough to show such a difference."

"Why, he looks twenty years older than either of them;" then, lowering
his voice,--but I heard him,--Felix added, "Poor old _pater_! He seems
to enjoy talking to Mr. Erveng; but do you know, Nannie, I'm _awfully_
sorry we played that joke about the Fetich. I fancy he hasn't been quite
the same since."

"No, he hasn't, and he's working desperately to get the book finished;
he even works in the evening, when he used to read as a recreation. I
hope he won't get ill." Then the front door closed, and there was a
general rush upstairs to take off coats and hats.

I wasn't very happy the rest of that day; Nannie's remark about papa,
and what that disagreeable boy across the way had said, kept coming back
and coming back to me, so that I really got quite unhappy over it, until
I told Nannie the whole thing that night, and then I began to feel
better. Though Nannie always tells you right out if you've been wrong,
she is also sure to say something to comfort you.

I was in the schoolroom the next afternoon, practising, when suddenly
the door flew open, and in bounced Jack, in a state of wild excitement.
"Oh, think of it! _think_ of it, Betty!" he exclaimed joyously, "I'm
going to sing--to _sing_! just think of it!"

"Why, you've been doing that for a long time, haven't you?" I asked,
with a lively recollection of what I had endured only yesterday.

"Oh, but this is different; it's to be in church,--I mean in the
_choir_,--and I'm to be _paid_ for it!"

"What! really?" I gasped in astonishment. "Why, Jack! _Do_ tell me all
about it!"

[Illustration: "'WHY, YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT FOR A LONG TIME, HAVEN'T
YOU?' I ASKED."]

This he was only too delighted to do; but he was so excited that he
could not sit still, and he kept walking backward and forward before
me while he was speaking. "Well, it was this way," he said; "just now,
while I was playing in the yard, Hannah said papa wanted to see me.
Of course I thought right away that something must be wrong, and I
didn't feel very happy over it, I can tell you; but when I got to the
study, there was papa with a big piece of news for me. Mr. Hawkins from
our church had come to see him to ask if he would let me sing in the
choir, and was waiting in the drawing-room for my answer! Why, I'd have
been glad to sing there for nothing, you know; but when papa went on,
and said I would get fifty cents for each Sunday that I sang, I was so
delighted, Betty, that I really couldn't say a word. But I guess papa
knew by my face how overjoyed I was, for he patted my shoulder and said,
'Well, then, you can go in the drawing-room and tell Mr. Hawkins that
you will accept his offer, and be at rehearsal on Friday evening;' and
then he spoke about what an honour it was to be chosen to sing God's
praises in His own house. I tell you what, Betty, I'm going to try to
be a very, _very_ good boy; now aren't you glad for me?"

Indeed I _was_ glad, and I told him so; and then what do you think he
said? Why, he came close to me, with his clasped hands behind his back,
and rocked himself to and fro on his heels and toes; his eyes were
shining with delight. "Betty," he said, "I'm to get fifty cents a week
at first, and more, Mr. Hawkins says, just as soon as I can read music
readily. Now I'm not going to spend one cent of it,--not a single
penny. I'm going to save it up until I get a lot, and then,--what d'you
think? I'm going to _send Felix to college_! Isn't that a splendid
scheme? now isn't it? You see," he went on eagerly, "I've been praying
for a way for Fee to go,--you have, too, haven't you? and Nannie,--and
I think God has just answered our prayers by letting me get this."

"Yes; but won't it take an awfully long time at that rate to save enough
to send Fee?" I asked.

"Oh, not so _very_ long," Jack replied cheerfully. In the exuberance of
his joy he took hold of the schoolroom table and threw his heels in the
air; he looked so funny that I could have roared with laughter,--Jack is
as clumsy as a cow! Then all at once he remembered something, and coming
over to me said, very impressively, "Now, remember, Betty, you're not to
say one word about this to Fee,--not a word; I sha'n't mention it to any
one beside you, but Nannie, and she wouldn't tell; and then, when we've
got enough, we'll give it to Fee, and tell him what it's for. Hoopla!"
And again he embraced the table and threw his heels in the air.




VIII.

A RESOLUTION.

TOLD BY BETTY.


Two or three days after this--after school hours--Nannie came flying
into the schoolroom, where we all were, and announced that some of us
had been invited to take tea with the Ervengs that afternoon. While we
sat in surprised silence, she went rapidly on to explain: "Such a nice
little note to papa, written by Mrs. Erveng: this is one of her 'good
days,' and she would like so much to make our acquaintance; would four
of us come over and take tea, etc. Hilliard brought the note just now,
and papa told him that some of us would be happy to accept." She paused
and looked mischievous as a groan broke from us. "I know you are all
dying to hear who are to go," she said, "so I'll put you out of your
suspense at once; Phil--"

"No, you don't! I haven't any 'bunnit,'" broke in Phil. "You don't catch
me going over there again in a hurry, I can tell you."

"But you ought to go, Phil, really you ought," Nannie said. "You and
Betty ought to go over and apologise to Mr. and Mrs. Erveng for the way
in which you two Goths invaded their house. Fee, papa says you are to
go, too," she added to her twin.

"Oh, but this is too bad of the _pater_!" exclaimed Felix, colouring up;
"he knows how I hate to go among strange people. I declare, I _won't_
go!"

"Go tell the governor so--go _now_, while you're in the humour for it,"
urged Phil, with suspicious eagerness; "and--um--while you're about it,
you know, just mention incidentally that those are my sentiments, too,
will you?"

"Nonie, you're to lend grace to the entertainment," went on Nannie, with
twinkling eyes.

"Who, me? I?" exclaimed Nora, quickly. "Oh!" Then, recovering herself
the next minute, she said coolly, "Well, I'm perfectly willing to go;
for that matter" (with that superior air that does so provoke us), "some
of us ought to have gone long ago, and called on the Ervengs,--Miss
Marston says so, too,--to apologise for and explain the, to say the
least very peculiar, conduct of some other members of our family."
And here she looked at me,--just as if Phil were not more to blame
than I in that horrid affair of the Fetich!

I made a face, and Phil said: "Oh, come, now, Nora, we've heard that
before; so do spare us the rest. Who else is to be a victim, Nancy?"

"Betty fills up the sum of the 'some,'" answered Nannie; "papa thinks
she certainly ought--"

"I _won't_ go, I won't, I will not," I interrupted. "That boy is too
conceited for anything, and I'm not going over there to be
criticised,--so now! I don't want any of their old tea, and I'd just
like to be ill or to hide away or something, so's not to go."

"Let's you and I run away," suggested Phil, in a stage whisper behind
his hand; then, striking an attitude, he extended his long arms: "Come,
fair damsel, come, we'll fly to other climes,--the attic or the cellar,
_anywhere_, so it be not to the Ervengs'." He made a sudden snatch at
me, but I was prepared,--I know him of old!--and, dodging under his arm,
darted round the table and soon put a wide distance between us.

"Then nobody's going," asserted Jack; he sat on the edge of the
schoolroom table, grinning and hugging his knees, which were drawn
up to his chin.

"Not a one!" "No, _sir_!" "No, _indeed_!" answered Phil, Felix, and I,
in one breath.

"I do think you are all the rudest, most unmannerly creatures!"
exclaimed Nora, indignantly. "These people have been polite enough to
invite us to their house, have taken the trouble to prepare for us, when
really the attention should have come from us to them, and here you all
act as if they had insulted us. Positively, you are a most uncouth set.
_I_ am very much pleased with Mrs. Erveng's invitation, and I am going,
if no one else does. Rude things!"

She started for the door; but Phil got before her, and salaamed to the
floor. "What _would_ we do without you, O most noble and elegant
Eleanora!" he cried, as he bobbed up and down; and limping over, Fee
stared at her through and under and over his glasses. "Friends," he
exclaimed, turning to us and putting on an expression of intense
astonishment, "allow me to call your attention to this remarkably
healthy variety of a well-known plant, Miss"--with a wave of his hand
toward Nora--"Miss Prim Rose."

"You think that's very smart, don't you?" Nora said, getting red, and
tossing her head. Jack flew down from the table, and over to Nora's
side, calling out, "Now you just stop teasing her, Felix!" and Phil
threw an arm round her, and pulled her down on his lap, saying, "Don't
ruffle yourself over such trifles, old lady; keep cool!"

I laughed, and Nannie put in quickly, "Nora is quite right: it _was_ our
place, as old residents, to call first on the Ervengs,--particularly
under the Fetich circumstances; and when they are kind enough to
overlook our remissness, and invite us to visit them, we ought at least
to appreciate the attention, not rail at it. Anyway, it was papa who
decided which of us should go. I would certainly have been included in
the number had I not something to do for him this afternoon and evening;
I would have liked to go. So do behave yourselves!"

"Nancy Lee on etiquette," said Felix, with a grimace, while Nora
struggled away from Phil's encircling arm with a sharp, "Of _course_ I
am right!" and stalked out of the room, her nose in the air.

Now perhaps you think because we said all this that we didn't go to the
Ervengs'; well, we did, the whole four of us, and that very afternoon.
Though we fret and fume over things beforehand, we generally end by
doing just as papa says about them. One reason for this is that, when
it comes to the point, none of us are willing to tell him that we won't
obey. Papa's very gentle, but he expects us to do as he says, and dear
mamma always made us mind; so, as I said, it generally ends by our
following orders. Still, sometimes it is a great satisfaction to "spunk
up" beforehand, as Phil calls it, and just speak out our minds in the
bosom of our family. And after that,--it's the funniest thing! but do
you know, we'll almost always turn right round and do just what we said
we