Chapter XVIII: Mrs. Wentworth Ward Changes Her Opinion

“BEFORE I’d be afraid of a toad!”

“But, Peter, you’re not afraid of anything.”

“And you’re afraid of everything, so there’s the difference. I never saw such a girl. Snakes, and lizards, and toads, and spiders, and wasps—there isn’t a thing you’re not afraid of.”

“Yes, there is, too!” said Sophy, indignantly. “I’m not afraid of flies or butterflies or caterpillars—yes, I am afraid of caterpillars. They’re so fuzzy.”

“There, you see there is hardly anything! As for flies and butterflies, why, of course a baby wouldn’t mind them.”

“But what’s the use of those other things, Peter? What’s the use of wasps?”

“Wasps! Why, they’re _very_ useful. They don’t hurt you unless you bother them, and they eat up slugs, and some kinds of caterpillars.”

“Well, wasps are very frightening, I think, even if they are useful, and so are hop toads, and hop toads are so ugly! Oh, here comes one now! Go away, you horrid, naughty toad!”

Peter and Sophy were on the piazza in the early twilight. Honor and Katherine were with the Madisons on the river, enjoying a picnic tea. Supper at Glen Arden was over, and Mrs. Wentworth Ward had walked to the village for her “constitutional,” which the hot weather had prevented during the day. Victoria had gone in search of Dave Carney, whom she thought she should be apt to find at liberty at this hour. It was the evening of the day upon which the robbery had been discovered.

“There is no use in an ugly toad, Peter,” continued Sophy.

“Indeed there is!” said her brother, in a tone of marked masculine superiority. “That just shows how little you know about things. Toads are regular policemen.”

“Peter! What do you mean? Do they arrest people?”

“No, of course not, you goosie! But they arrest insects. If you put toads into hotbeds or cold-frames, they’ll eat up all the bugs and worms that come after the plants. They keep regular guard, just as policemen do. There, do you hear that tree toad now?”

Sophy listened to the shrill song of the little creature that appeared to be sitting upon the branch of a tree close by.

“They’re as good as hop toads, for they eat caterpillars, and worms, and hateful flies that lay their eggs under the bark of the trees, and would eat up the trees if it were not for the toads.”

“I’m glad they eat caterpillars as well as the wasps,” said Sophy. “They’re so disagreeable. Why do you suppose caterpillars were made, Peter?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure. To eat up something else, I suppose, and to be food for toads. I’ll tell you another funny thing about hop toads. They never will touch a dead insect or bug or anything. They’ll only catch them alive. Isn’t that queer?”

“How much you do know, Peter!” said his sister, admiringly. “I wish I knew as much as you do. I’m going to keep asking questions all my life, and then perhaps some day I shall know as much.”

“You never will, for you are only a girl, and I’m a boy. You’ll never know as much as I do, for I shall always keep ahead of you. First place, I’m nearly five years older than you, and then, I’m a boy.”

“Oh, I know you think it’s very grand to be a boy,” said Sophy, still keeping a watchful eye upon the extremely active hop toad which with other members of its family had come forth from beneath the piazza for a hop in the evening air; “but some girls know a good deal. I was asking Mr. Madison about it the other day, and he said some girls knew as much as boys did, and when they grew up some women knew as much as some men. I think Mr. Madison likes girls better than you do, Peter. I think he likes Honor and Katherine very much indeed. He is always coming here to get them to go somewhere.”

“I know he is,” rejoined Peter. “I like Mr. Madison ever so much, and I think he’s a jolly good fellow, and I like the way he talks, usually, but he’s awfully silly about girls. We were having such an interesting talk the other day about animals and birds when Honor happened to come along, and he stopped right off short and walked off with her up to the house, and never came back to the trees where we were sitting at all! Oh, he’s downright silly about girls, and I don’t think you had better go by what he says about them.”

The dialogue was interrupted at this point by Victoria. She came up across the grass from the barn to the steps at the end of the piazza. There she paused.

“Peter,” said she, “have you seen Dave lately?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since—oh, I can’t think when it was.”

“Try and remember. I want to know particularly.”

“I guess it was before dinner. I saw him go across the garden towards the Ashmont road. I wondered where he was going.”

“I’m going around to the kitchen for a minute,” said Victoria, “and then I’ll come back.”

She was absent for five or ten minutes. When she returned, it was with a very grave face.

“Peter,” she said, “I’m very much afraid Dave has run away.”

“Vic! What do you mean?”

“Blanch says he hasn’t been in the kitchen since breakfast time. After the detective was here she saw him come out of the barn in very old clothes, and she thought he was going out to the farthest field to work. He went over in that direction.”

“Yes,” said Peter, eagerly, “that’s the way I saw him go.”

“He didn’t come in to dinner, and when she asked Wilson, the man who is working here to-day, you know, where he was, Wilson said that Dave said he had to go down to Fordham to get something, and he wouldn’t be home to dinner. Wilson supposed he was just going to take his noon hour to go down there, but he has never come back.”

“Why didn’t they tell us before?” asked Peter, impatiently.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Victoria. “You know what B. Lafferty is. She is dreadfully stupid about such things, and when I said something about it,—that she ought to have told us,—she said she wasn’t going to let on to that proud and haughty person from Beacon Street that her suspicions were correct.”

“Did she mean Aunt Sophia?” asked Sophy, who had forgotten her fear of the toads and was listening with eager attention.

“No; she meant Ellen Higgins, I suppose. Both Ellen and Aunt Sophia think that Dave had something to do with the robbery; and, do you know, Peter, it looks very much like it, now that Dave has gone.”

“Yes,” said Peter, very solemnly, “it really does. Oh, Vic, I never should have believed it of him, should you? I liked him so much. I can’t think so even now. I believe we’ll find out yet that he didn’t have anything to do with it. Maybe he was taken ill somewhere, or something has happened, and he can’t get back. I _can’t_ believe it was he.”

But the other members of the family did not agree with Peter. When they heard the news of Carney’s disappearance, they looked at one another with troubled faces. They had all liked the lad; and the discovery that he had deceived them and had treated them with such base ingratitude, after all that had been done for him, filled them with disappointment and real sorrow.

Mrs. Wentworth Ward was, of course, triumphant. She plumed herself upon her superior cleverness in having suspected the boy from the first; and she soundly berated the detective for having neglected to arrest him at once. Now the thief had escaped, and there was no knowing when he would be found. With this exception, therefore, the Starrs awaited further developments with ill-concealed anxiety.

Honor and Katherine were very busy during these summer days; and even the intense heat which was raging at present did not keep them from their work. As soon as school had come to an end,—early in June,—they began upon their preserving. Glen Arden was famous for its currants and cherries, as well as for its apple and pear trees. As each fruit ripened, the huge kettle was brought out, a quantity of sugar ordered, and every available hand was brought into service.

Miss Madison, coming one morning to ask for Katherine’s assistance with some new music, found all so busy that she forgot her violin and, begging a large apron, sat down at the dining-room table with the others and began to stone cherries with vigor and enthusiasm.

Strawberries, when they came in season, were ordered in large quantities from the market, as not enough were grown upon the place to answer the purpose. In due time, currant jelly was to be put up, and the pears—for this was a pear year—were to be turned to account.

Mrs. Ward had ordered a liberal quantity of all varieties of preserves, and a message came from Mrs. Madison begging that she also might have the privilege of ordering some. All that were left were to be sent to the Woman’s Exchange in Boston, to be sold.

It was hot work, no doubt, and there were pleasanter things to be done in summer time than stirring with a long spoon in a kettle full of steaming fruit; but it was a source of great satisfaction to the girls to feel that they were making money as well now as when school and music pupils occupied their time, and it was certainly a far more entertaining way than that. The preserving days at Glen Arden proved to be the gayest of the summer; and Roger Madison, hearing about them from his sister, deliberately remained away from his law office one morning and, presenting himself at Glen Arden, begged for something to do, upon which they set him to stemming currants, with strict injunctions not to taste.

The week which followed the robbery passed away in this wise, and then one morning came the information that the stolen silver had been traced. Some of the articles had been found in a pawn-shop in Boston, having been left there by a young man—almost a boy, in fact—of slight figure, and with very light tow-colored hair. His eyes were peculiar, and would probably lead to his detection. They had a way of shifting uneasily, and of not meeting those of the person to whom he spoke.

This description fitted Dave exactly, with the exception of the part referring to the eyes. Dave had very good eyes, the Starrs thought, and a perfectly straightforward manner.

“Probably, since he did this dreadful thing,” said Victoria, sadly, “his eyes have changed.”

“I don’t believe he did it,” said Peter, stubbornly. “I shall never believe it unless he tells me so himself.”

Within a very short time, the suspected burglar was arrested, and it was found that his name was Carney! Roger Madison went to the jail to see him, and there, to his astonishment, found that it was James, and not David Carney. This young man closely resembled him, to be sure, but he was older, and his face had a totally different expression. He was David’s brother. His accomplice was also arrested, a much older man than himself, and most of the stolen property was recovered.

The question now was, where was Dave? Was he also implicated, and had he for that reason run away? At all events, he had completely disappeared, and as the summer days passed by, and still there was no word of him, the Starrs gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. They did not wish, however, that any search should be made for him.

The elder Carney confessed that he had entered the house by way of the second-story window, which proved that Sophy had not dreamed that he went through the room, while his close resemblance to his brother easily accounted for the mistake of thinking that it was Dave. The only wonder was, that no one had remembered the brother before, but as he had been seen only by Peter and Sophy, perhaps that was not surprising.

* * * * *

One day, in early September, when the sky was blue, and goldenrod and asters were in bloom, when the birds were preparing for their flight southward, and squirrels were busy with their preparations for the winter, Victoria, Peter, and Sophy were walking home from Ashmont, two miles away. They left the road at a certain point, and striking into the woods, followed a scarcely perceptible path, which would in time bring them to their own pasture land.

It was a glorious day to be out of doors, and in the free woods. The air was cool and crisp, and yet the sun had a certain warmth which was good to feel when they emerged from the woods and found themselves beneath the open sky.

Peter’s leg was entirely well now, and he walked without even the suggestion of a limp. The accident had been a severe trial in many ways, but his sisters had said to one another more than once during the summer, that Peter had borne it manfully, and had proved that he was possessed of plenty of pluck. He was much less impatient of control, than he once had been, and indeed the girls were less exacting. Honor and Katherine discovered, slowly but surely, that there were other ways of influencing Peter, and probably all boys, than by argument or command, and they acknowledged, at last, that Victoria’s method was more efficacious than theirs.

“Suppose we sit on the rock for a while,” said Vic, as they walked along the cart road in the pasture. “It is too lovely to go indoors, or even to go home. Vacation will soon be over, and we had better make the most of our few days. Heigh-ho! I don’t want to go back to school a bit. I did hope that I could stay at home after this, and help the others, but they all seem to think it is more my duty to go for another year.”

They had climbed the huge mass of rock which long ages ago had been piled there in gigantic confusion. Lichen grew over it now, bushes had found root in the crevices, and mosses and grass made soft resting-places upon the top. It was Victoria’s favorite spot upon the place, and she particularly loved it on a golden September day like the present one.

“I shouldn’t think you’d mind your school a bit,” said Peter. “What would you do if you had to go to that hateful one that I go to? Do you know, Vic, I’ve half a mind to accept Aunt Sophia’s offer and go to boarding-school?”

“Peter, you don’t really mean it?”

“Yes, I do. I was talking to Mr. Madison the other day, and he advised me to. He thinks I’ll get a better education. And after all, Vic, it’s pretty good of Aunt Sophia to offer it again after our refusing everything last winter.”

“I know,” said Victoria; “I feel as if we had misjudged Aunt Sophia. She means to be kind to us, and if she has that unfortunate way of acting as if she wanted to run the entire universe, I suppose we ought to make the best of it. It is only her disposition, and as she has had plenty of money all her life, and no one to interfere with her, I suppose there is some excuse for it. She really has been very nice this summer, and it didn’t turn out as badly as I was afraid it would. After all, Peter, I think you are right. We oughtn’t to refuse everything she offers, and it would be of great advantage to you to go to St. Asaph’s. If only she allows the rest of us to continue to earn our living in peace!”

“Look, Vic!” exclaimed Sophy, in an excited whisper. “Who is that peeping up over the river bank? Look, Peter!”

They gazed in the direction that Sophy indicated, but could see nothing.

“I’m sure it was somebody,” continued Sophy, still in the same eager whisper, “and it looked like Dave Carney!”

At this Peter jumped to his feet, and nimbly leaping from rock to rock, ran to the river bank some little distance away. The girls watched him. They saw that he was speaking to some one below the bank. He did not return, and unable to restrain their curiosity further, they too left the rock and followed him. They found him in earnest conversation with a boy in a boat, and that boy was David Carney.

“Why, Dave!” cried Victoria; “have you come back? I am so glad to see you!”

Dave shyly pulled off his cap.

“He says he hasn’t come back to us,” said Peter. “He didn’t mean us to see him. He only came to take a look at the place.”

“Why did you run away, Dave?” asked Victoria.

“I ran away because I knowed it was Jim,” said Carney, looking up at her as she stood above him on the bank. “He always said he was agoing to break into your house sometime. He wanted me to help, but I wouldn’t have nothing to do with it. That made him mad, and we had a quarrel. Jim got into bad company down at Fordham, and I guess they got him into this scrape.”

“I always thought your brother couldn’t be a very nice person,” said Sophy, who had been watching Dave with round and solemn eyes. “He used regular swear words that day I met him with you.”

“I’d have been as bad myself if it hadn’t been for you folks,” said Dave. “I’d have gone straight after him if you hadn’t caught me that time when I was stealing those apples,” he added, looking at Peter. “I only did that because I was hungry. It was the first time, but I guess it wouldn’t have been the last. That morning when they told me there’d been a robbery, I knowed it was Jim, and I couldn’t stay. I knowed you’d think it was me that done it if I ran away, but I couldn’t stay in the place where you folks had been so good to me, and my own brother had broke into the house.”

“And what have you been doing ever since?” asked Peter.

“I hid for a few days. Then I heard Jim was caught, so after that I went to Boston and got some work off and on down on the wharves. I’m out of it now, and I came out to Fordham, and a fellow I know loaned me this here boat, and I couldn’t help coming up to see how it looked here. I didn’t mean you to see me.”

“And will you come back to us now?” asked Peter.

“Come back!” repeated Dave. “You don’t want me to come back, and me running away, and having a brother in jail for robbing you?”

“Why, of course! I never supposed you had anything to do with it. I said so all along.”

Dave’s eyes rested upon the other boy’s face with an expression of dog-like devotion. Then he turned to Victoria.

“No, he never did think so,” said she; “but I must confess, Dave, that when you ran away, the rest of us doubted you. But we must talk to my sisters about it. Will you come up to-night and hear what they think?”

And Carney promised that he would.

The Starrs returned to the house in great excitement, eager to impart their news to the sisters at once, but they found a still greater surprise awaiting them. On the piazza were Aunt Sophia and Mr. Abbott in earnest conversation. Mr. Abbott, whom they had not seen at Glen Arden for so many months! He had been abroad for his health, and although his wards knew that his steamer was in, they had scarcely expected to see him so soon.

“To tell you the truth, Dickinson,” Mrs. Wentworth Ward was saying as Peter and his sisters came around the corner of the house, “even though I so strongly disapproved of their plans at first, I am really quite proud of the girls. They have done well, and they deserve to succeed. If Peter will only do as I wish and go to St. Asaph’s—”

Here she stopped, for Peter himself came into sight, but her remarks proved that in spite of all that had been said to the contrary, Mrs. Wentworth Ward was broad-minded enough to know when she was mistaken, and generous enough to acknowledge the fact.

Honor and Katherine came home from an errand which they had been doing at almost the same moment that Peter and the younger sisters returned, and the welcome which Mr. Abbott received proved that they were indeed glad to see him again.

There was much to be told to him, the history of the summer and of the robbery, and now the account that Peter and Vic had to give of the meeting with Carney. They were so sure of Dave’s innocence of any complicity in the affair that it was impossible for the others not to be impressed by their story, and even Mrs. Wentworth Ward gave an unwilling assent to his being taken back for another trial. Therefore it was decided that when Dave should come for his answer that night he was to be told to stay.

“But what about these Madisons whom I hear quoted so much?” said Mr. Abbott, looking quizzically from one to the other of his wards.

“The nicest people in the world,” said Katherine, eagerly. “We have had such a lovely time with them this summer, Mr. Abbott! Miss Madison is the most charming woman I ever knew. We play together a great deal, she on the violin and I on the piano. There is a brother, Roger, too, who is very nice. We all like them immensely.”

Victoria, Peter, and Sophy joined in the chorus of praise, as did even Mrs. Wentworth Ward, but Honor was noticeably silent.

Mr. Abbott remained to dinner and even to supper also, staying long enough to see Dave Carney and convince himself, as he did the moment he looked at him, that he was an honest fellow. He also desired to meet Miss Madison and her brother, about whom he had heard so much. When he finally returned to Boston, there was a twinkle in his kind eyes and a satisfied expression upon his face.

He had heard now a complete history of the past year, and he felt confident that the coming one would be even more of a success. The Starrs had tried their wings and had proved that they could fly.

That same evening Mrs. Wentworth Ward called Victoria into her room.

“My dear,” she said, “do you remember what I said to you one day in the early summer in regard to Katherine and young Madison?”

“Yes, Aunt Sophia, I do indeed!” replied Vic.

“I want to tell you something else, then,” said her aunt. “I think I was mistaken. In fact, I find that I have made a number of mistakes about you all. I think now that it is friendship, mere friendship, between him and Katherine. It is very rare, but this time I believe it to be the case. Katherine finds the sister more absorbing and interesting than the brother, and the real object of his interest is not Katherine, but Honor. I think you will find that I am right.”

And after events proved, greatly to Mrs. Wentworth Ward’s own satisfaction, and indeed to that of all concerned, that she had indeed guessed correctly.

And when Honor was told by Roger and Victoria together that he was “the man who bought the etching,” she took the news so quietly that Victoria came to the conclusion that much-dreaded events never turn out to be as unpleasant as one fears that they will be,—a conclusion that was frequently proved to be a true one during the remainder of her life.

* * * * *

THE END.

* * * * *

BOOKS BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

MALVERN. A Neighborhood Story. 341 pages.

With five Illustrations by ALICE BARBER STEPHENS.

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A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE. 340 pages.

With five Illustrations by ALICE BARBER STEPHENS.

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