Chapter II: Part 2

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!"

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.

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!"

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!"

"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."

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--"

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."