Chapter III: Part 3

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."

"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!"

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 wouldn't do, as meek as lambs. I don't know if all large families are like this, but it's our way.

Well, to go back to the tea. Nora was very glum on the way over,--she usually is when she's on her high horse,--but the boys seemed to be in great spirits, for they just giggled to the Ervengs' very door, and barely had a straight face when Buttons appeared. I fancied that he looked curiously at me, and I wondered uncomfortably if he knew that Phil and I were the two fat old black-robed ladies he had admitted the other day.

Mr. Erveng was out, for which Phil and I weren't sorry; but Hilliard met us in the hall and took us upstairs to his mother's sitting-room, where she was lying in an invalid's chair with a white shawl round her shoulders. She's very pretty,--Hilliard isn't a bit like her,--but she looks very delicate and fragile; why, her hands are like _mites_, and she's very, _very_ gentle, and speaks in a low voice. She welcomed us very cordially, and said she thought it was so kind of us to come,--here I thought of our remarks at home, and didn't dare look at Phil and Fee,--and she and Nora seemed to get on nicely.

Very soon Hilliard carried the boys off to show them his microscope and his "specimens," and what he called his home-gymnasium. I should have loved dearly to go, too, but nobody asked me; so there I had to sit primly on a chair and listen while Mrs. Erveng and Nora talked of books and pictures and music and all sorts of things. And while they talked I looked around the room; Nora said afterward that I stared at everything, until she was ashamed,--but what else was there for me to do? And it was such a pretty room! furnished in light blue, with touches of yellow here and there; some lovely pictures hung on the walls, a graceful bronze Mercury stood on a pedestal between the curtains of one of the windows, growing plants were scattered about, and everywhere were books and flowers. It was all very sweet and lovely: it matched well with Mrs. Erveng, who looked daintiness itself lying back on her silken cushions, and I ought to have enjoyed it; but in some way or other it made me feel uncomfortably big and clumsy and overgrown, and I couldn't get over the feeling. Nora, however, didn't seem to be troubled in this way; I couldn't but notice how pretty she looked, and how well she talked.

You mustn't think that Mrs. Erveng slighted me, for she didn't,--she was very polite; but I had a feeling all the time that she just looked upon me as a great rough tomboy,--thinking of that horrid Fetich affair! for she certainly didn't treat me as she did Nora, and there are only fourteen months between us, if Nora _is_ so tall, and acts so grown up. At home we make great fun of Nora's airs and graces, and even that night Phil nudged me, when no one was looking, and whispered, "Do see the frills Nonie's putting on!" but all the same I think both Felix and he were very glad that she could carry off things so well.

We had tea in the cosiest little room on the same floor, and we couldn't but notice how Hilliard waited on his mother,--just like a girl would have done; indeed, he was very much more gentle and helpful than I could have been, I am afraid,--though Fee used to be like that with mamma. After tea Nora played; I was asked, too, but I could no more have got through a piece without breaking down than I could have flown. She didn't feel so, though, and did splendidly; she is really a fine pianist, Miss Marston says. After that we sang college songs, and about nine o'clock, or a little after, we four went home.

"Unfortunately, I am not able to return any visits," Mrs. Erveng said, when we were leaving, "but if you or your sisters will take pity on my loneliness, and come over to see me whenever you can spare an afternoon or evening, I shall consider it very friendly, and I shall be very glad to see you."

She looked at Nora, and Nora answered very sweetly, "Thank you for our pleasant evening, Mrs. Erveng; we shall be glad to come again." Now I never would have thought of saying that! Then we all bade good-night and went home.

Hilliard walked to our door with us, and as he shook hands for good-night he said to me, "I'm very glad you came over; mother and I enjoyed it. I hope you'll come again; you see we get very quiet sometimes, just she and father and I."

I was surprised that he didn't say this to Nora, for he had talked almost entirely to her,--very little to me during the evening; but I suppose he did it so I shouldn't feel slighted,--as if I cared!

Phil admits that he likes Hilliard better than he did, and Felix, who had a long talk with him, says "he's bright, and 'way up in the classics." Well, he may be all that, but all the same I think he's a poke. I don't like him very much. I have a feeling that he went home and told his mother what I said about making faces and sliding down banisters, and that--with the Fetich affair--she thinks I'm a great rough girl. I don't really care, you know, for I have other friends who like me and think I am nice,--Murray and Hope Unsworth and Helen Vassah are always glad to have my company,--but still it _isn't_ comfortable, now that I'm growing older, to be treated as if I were a child.

I didn't say much while Nora and the boys were giving Nannie an account of our evening,--they had enjoyed it; but later, when we were alone up in our room, it all came out. She said: "What's wrong, Miss Elizabeth?"--that's one of her pet names for me. "You look as sober as a judge; didn't you enjoy yourself this evening?" And then I told her all about it, though really there wasn't much to tell when we came to it, for Mrs. Erveng had been very polite and nice, and the boy had treated me politely, too. I was afraid Nannie would think I was making a mountain out of a molehill, as nurse says. But that's one of the lovely things about Nannie,--she understands just how things are, and so quickly.

She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and taking one of my hands in hers, kept smoothing it while she talked. "It means this, dear," she said, "that you are getting to be quite grown up, and that the time has come for you to put away rough, hoidenish ways, and to begin to be gentle and dignified, like the true lady that we all know you are at heart. You see we are accustomed to your ways, and while we may tease and scold one another here at home, we also make allowances for the different ones as an outsider would never do, because we love one another--see? Mrs. Erveng and Hilliard simply know you as a tall girl who looks quite a young lady, and naturally they are surprised when you act like a tomboy. You know, Betty, you are nearly as tall as Nora; now just imagine her sliding down the banisters, wrestling with the boys, climbing the fence in the yard, hanging to the tops of the doors, and making the horrible faces that you do!"

But my imagination couldn't picture such an impossibility as Nora and I acting alike. "I couldn't--I _couldn't_ be like Nora," I declared, sitting up in bed. "I know she's got nice manners and all that,"--I had never really thought so till that evening,--"but, oh! I _couldn't_ be as prim and--and--proper as she is--" Here my voice began to shake, and I got so sorry for myself that the tears came.

Then Nannie put her arms round me, and gave me a hug. "You needn't be like anybody but yourself," she said,--"the nicest, gentlest, and best part of yourself. Give up one hoidenish way at a time; that will be easier than trying to do all at once, you know. Suppose you begin by walking down the stairs to-morrow morning to breakfast, instead of sliding down on the banisters, as you usually do."

"Oh, but you don't _know_ how awfully hard that'll be to do," I said tearfully; "our banisters are so broad and smooth, and one goes so swiftly down them,--almost like flying--"

"I don't suppose it will be easy to give up the habit," broke in Nannie, wiping my eyes with her handkerchief; "but all the same, Miss Elizabeth, I am confident that if you really make up your mind to stop sliding, you'll do it. You can't keep up such a tomboyish trick all your life, and now is a good time to begin, _I_ think. Dear mamma used to say that everybody had to have some responsibility or other; why not begin to take up yours now? Helen Vassah is only about six months older than you are, and here she has the responsibility of being little Paul's godmother. And there's Hope Unsworth a little younger than you; you know how she helps her grandmother in her charitable work. They are certainly not 'prim or proper;' they are full of fun, yet they wouldn't either of them ever think of doing the rough things that you do,--now would they?"

I had to admit that I knew they wouldn't.

"Then," said Nannie, "don't you do them either. Take yourself as your responsibility, and show us what you can accomplish in that line. Will you, dearie?" She snuggled her head close up to mine on the pillow as she said this.

"Oh, _dear_!" I sighed, "I do wish Jack had been I, and I'd been Jack!"

"Even then you would have had to stop such childish tricks some time or other before you grew up. With all his larks, Phil doesn't do them; and think of papa's coming down to breakfast on the banisters!" Nannie and I had to laugh at the very thought.

"Well," I said presently, "perhaps I'll try; but that conceited boy'll think he's made me do it."

"Oh, no, he won't!" Nannie said, in a tone of conviction that was very comforting. "If he does think now that you're inclined to be a hoiden, why, he'll soon change his mind, when he finds what a nice, sweet little lady you are from day to day. _Don't_ look so dismal, Miss Elizabeth; there's lots of fun left for you!"

"I'll try; but I _know_ I'll forget, time and again," I said, sighing heavily.

"I don't think there'll be so very many slips," Nannie answered cheerfully; "but if there should be, we'll just do as Rip Van Winkle did,--'we won't count' them."

"And will you promise not to tell anybody that I'm trying--not a single creature--not even Felix or Jack?" I asked anxiously.

"I _will_ promise not to tell anybody--not a single creature--not even Felix or Jack," Nannie replied, laughing. "Does that satisfy you? Now," she added, "I'm going to say my prayers here beside you, and I'm going to ask our Lord to help you keep your word; you'll ask, too, won't you?"

I nodded, and as she knelt down slipped my hand into hers; a few minutes after I was asleep.

IX.

MAX'S WARD.

TOLD BY BETTY.

No less than three birthdays in our family fell in the next week: first Fee's and Nannie's,--which I suppose I ought really to count as one, as they are twins,--and then Nora's. As these birthdays _will_ always come together, and to avoid hurting people's feelings, as Jack would say, we celebrate them alternately,--Fee's and Nannie's one year, and Nora's the next; and this was Nora's year. We had had several performances lately, so Fee said he'd try to think of something else, if we'd all promise to do just as we were told. Of course we promised; then he and Phil invited the Unsworths and Helen Vassah and that boy across the way,--I didn't want _him_, but all the others did, so he was asked. Hope was at her grandma's, so she couldn't come; but Murray and Helen did, and, _of course_, Hilliard.

The birthday fell on a Friday, and as papa is always at home on that evening, we were afraid he wouldn't allow us to celebrate it; but to our great joy he told Nannie to tell us that we might have all the fun we wanted, as long as we behaved ourselves and kept the doors closed, so the noise would not escape. So right after school hours Phil and Felix took possession of the schoolroom, and after having got us to give them all our presents for Nora, they locked themselves in. "We're going to have a bang-up entertainment, now, you'll see," Felix said, just before he closed the door,--"something unique, unprecedented, etc.; and no one is to put even a nose into the banqueting hall"--with a wave of his hand over his shoulder--"until the doors are thrown open and the music strikes up. Now remember--"

"Yes, and no snooping or hanging around either!" put in Phil, standing on tip-toe to rest his chin on Fee's crown and glare at us. Then the door was locked.

Such a hammering and dragging about of furniture you never heard; and when every now and then Phil would come out for something or other, Fee would open the door very cautiously, as if afraid somebody'd see something, and shut and lock it with a bang when he re-entered. As you may imagine, our curiosity was excited to the highest pitch to know what we were going to have. Then just before dinner Jack came running in, in a great state of excitement; he had been to rehearsal, and had done so well in the piece he had to sing that Mr. Hawkins had really engaged him, at fifty cents a week, with the promise of more as he improved. Jack was almost wild with delight. "Isn't it fine! Isn't it just jolly! You should have heard me sing; really, it didn't sound bad!" he exclaimed about twenty times; and the knowing looks and nudges and winks that he bestowed on me couldn't be counted. No amount of snubbing could repress him.

It seemed to us as if dinner would never be over; but at last it came to an end, and Jack and I and the younger children flew upstairs and stood waiting for the signal to enter the "banqueting hall." In a few minutes more up came Nora, with Helen and Murray and Hilliard. I was sure Murray and Helen would enjoy the "festive occasion," for they like the things that we do; but I didn't know how that boy would take it. He was very smiling, however; and I heard him tell Nora, as he presented her with a lovely bunch of roses, that it was "very kind of her to allow him to be of the party." Just then the schoolroom doors were thrown open, and the strains of the wedding march from Lohengrin floated sweetly out to us from violin and piano. At the same moment Phil appeared with a paper flower in his buttonhole, and arranged us in couples,--Nora and he going first,--and so we marched into the schoolroom.

I think perhaps I ought to describe the schoolroom to you, for it is playroom, sitting-room, schoolroom, and everything to us. It's on the top floor,--so that our noise sha'n't disturb papa,--and takes in the whole width of the house and half its length, making an immense room. There are some back rooms on this floor, and the large open space on each side of the stairs is what we call the attic. Though almost everything in it is old and shabby, we do have royal times in the schoolroom, for it is our own, and out of study hours we can do there as we please. Here are Phil's banjo and his boxing-gloves, and a lot of what nurse calls his "rubbish"; Fee's easel is in this corner, and a couple of forlorn, dirty old plaster casts which--unless he has a painting-fit on him--generally serve as hat-rests for Phil and himself. Pictures in various stages of completion stand about. Here, too, are Nannie's and Fee's violins, resting against a pile of old music that Max gave them before he went away. In the next corner, the other side of the low, deep-silled windows, hangs Nora's china-shelf, on which are ranged what the boys call her Lares and Penates,--vases and pretty cups and saucers that have been given to her. Here, too, are her plants, conspicuous among which is a graceful fan-leaved palm, known in the family as Lady Jane.

These are the front corners; and between the windows stand our book-shelves,--they are in a clumsy, unsteady old case, that rocks from side to side if you touch it, and is only held together by the wall against which it leans. The shelves are rather short,--now and then a shelf slips off its notches and spills our library,--and they are so narrow that books constantly fall down behind, and lie there until house-cleaning or a sudden desire for one of those volumes brings them all to light, and they are restored to their places.

One of the other--back--corners is mine; and here I have my "gymnasium,"--my Indian clubs and dumb-bells; here, too, are my tennis racket (I love to play!) and two old walking-canes with which (when I can get him to do it) Jack and I fence,--dear me! I wonder if I shall have to give _that_ up too, now that I have given that promise to Nannie! Then comes our sofa: it's an old-fashioned, chintz-covered affair, with a high back and high arms that stick straight out at each end, and it's dreadfully shabby now; but all the same there isn't one of us--except, perhaps, Nora--that would be willing to exchange it for the handsomest piece of furniture that could be offered us. The times we've played house and shipwreck, and gone journeys on it, and romped and pranced all over it, can't be counted! This is Jack's favourite place to sit and read; and under it, concealed from public view by the deep chintz flounce that runs around the front and sides of the sofa, are stored his treasures,--his books and stamp album, a queer-looking boat that he has been building for ages, and a toy steam engine with which he is always experimenting, but which, so far, absolutely refuses to "go."

I have frequently offered to share my corner with Jack, and I couldn't understand why he always refused, until one day I accidentally over-heard him speaking about it to Nannie.

"You see, Nannie, Betty means well," he said, "but she does hit out so with those clubs! I'd be sure to get hurt some time or other; and then, besides, she'd just own my things more than I would myself." Of course this last part isn't really so, for he hasn't a thing that I'd care for; but still he sticks to the sofa.