Chapter VII: Part 7

"Well, perhaps she'll feel better after she has seen him," Nora said. "Between Kathie and her I've had a pretty hard morning; I'm doing my very best, but nobody seems to think so." She gave her head a proud toss, but I could see there were tears in her eyes. I didn't know what to say, so I just patted her hand, and then got my hat and went for the doctor.

It was a lovely day, and I didn't suppose there was any need for me to hurry back, so I took a walk, and didn't get home for a good while after leaving my message at the doctor's.

Before I had time to ring the bell, Nora opened the front door; she looked very much excited, and asked breathlessly, "Did you meet them? Have you seen them?"

Of course I didn't understand. "Meet whom? What d'you mean?" I asked in surprise.

"The children. Then they are _lost!_" answered Nora, and she sat down on a chair in the hall and burst out crying. Then out came Phil and Felix from the drawing-room, where they had been with Nora, and I heard the whole story.

It seems that soon after I left for the doctor's, Judge went down stairs and asked cook for some gingerbread,--"enough for the four of us," he said,--and some time later, when Nora went up to the schoolroom to see what the children were doing, not one of them was there, nor could they be found in the house. Nora flew to tell Felix and Phil, and in the hurried search from garret to cellar which everybody made,--except nurse, she wasn't told anything of it,--it was found that the children's every-day hats were gone.

Of course, as soon as I heard that, I remembered the whispering under the schoolroom table, and I felt at once that the children had run away. I just wished I had told Nora about it, or that I had come right back from the doctor's; I might have prevented their going.

While I was telling Nora and the boys what I thought about the matter, Hannah came flying into the drawing-room,--she was so excited, she forgot to knock. She held a cocked-hat note in her hand,--Kathie is great on cocked-hat notes and paper lamplighters. "Oh, Miss Nora! it's meself that's just found this on the flure mostly under the big Sarytogy thrunk,--the one that's open," she cried, almost out of breath from her rush down the steps.

"Nora" was scrawled in Kathie's handwriting on the outside of the note. In an instant Nora tore it open, but she passed it right over to Phil. "Read it,--I can't," she said in a shaky voice. So he did.

The note was very short and the spelling was funny, though we didn't think of that until afterward; this is what was in it: "We are not goging to stay here to be treted like this so we have run away we are goging to Nannie becaws she tretes us good. I have token my new parrasole for the sun goodby we have Jugs bank with us Kathie."

Poor Nonie! that just broke her all up! She cried and cried! "I _didn't_ ill-treat them; I was trying to do my _very_ best for them. If I _was_ cross, I didn't mean it,--and they _had_ to be made to mind," she kept saying between her sobs. "And now they've gone off in this dreadful way! Oh, _suppose_ some tramp should get hold of them--or they should be run over or hurt--or--we--should--_never_ see them again! Oh--_oh!_ what shall I say to papa and Nannie!"

"Oh, shure, Miss Nora, you don't mane to say the darlints is ralely _lost_!" exclaimed Hannah, and with that _she_ began to bawl; Phil had to send her right down stairs, and warn her against letting nurse know. Then we tried to comfort Nora. "You've done your level best, and nobody can do any more than that," Phil said, drawing Nora to him, and pressing her face down hard on his shoulder, while he patted her cheek. "Cheer up, Nonie, old girl, they are no more lost than I am; you see if we don't walk them home in no time,--young rascals! they ought to be well punished for giving us such a scare."

"Yes, we'll probably find them in the park, regaling themselves with the good things that 'Jugs bank' has afforded," remarked Fee, trying to speak cheerfully. "We're going right out to look for them. Come, Jack, get on your hat and go along too; I'm ready." As he spoke, he stuck his hat on and stood up.

"Shall we go separately?" I asked, dropping Nora's hand,--I'd been patting it.

"Indeed we _will_ go separately," answered Phil, emphatically. "Here, Nora, sit down; and we will have a plan, and stick to it, too," he added, "or we'll all three be sure to think of the same scheme, travel over the same ground, and arrive at the same conclusion. There's been rather an epidemic of that sort of thing in this family lately,--the '_three_ souls with but a single thought, three wills that work as one,' business. Yes, sir, we'll have a plan. Fee, you go to the little parks, and some way down the avenue; Jack, you go up the avenue, and through as many of the cross streets as you can get in; and I'll go east and west, across the _tracks_"--as the word slipped out he gave a quick look at Nora; we knew he was thinking of those dreadful cable cars: but fortunately she didn't seem to have heard.

So off we started, after making Nora promise she'd stay at home and wait for us to bring her news.

We separated at our corner; but I'd only gone a block or two when I thought of something that sent me flying back to the house. I slipped in the basement way, and up the back stairs to the nursery, where I hunted out an old glove of Kathie's; then down I went to the yard and loosed Major, and he and I started out as fast as we could go.

Once or twice in the country, when the children had strayed too far on the beach, by showing Major something they'd worn, and telling him to "Find 'em!" he had led Phil and me right to them. I had remembered this, and now as we walked up the avenue I kept showing Kathie's glove to the dear old doggie, and telling him, "Find Kathie, Major, find her! find her, old boy!" And it did seem as if he understood--Major's an awfully bright dog--by the way he wagged his tail and went with his nose to the ground smelling the pavement.

He went pretty straight for nearly a block up the avenue, then he got bothered by the people passing up and down so continually, and he began to whine and run aimlessly about; I could hardly make him go on; and when I took him in the cross streets, he wasn't any good at all. I felt real discouraged. But just as soon as we turned into Twenty-third Street, I could see that he'd struck something; for though he did a lot of zigzagging over the pavement, he went ahead all the time: I tell you, I was right at his tail at every turn. When we came opposite to where Madison Avenue begins, if Major didn't cross over and strike off into the park. Presently he gave a short, quick bark, and tore down a path. I fairly _flew_ after him; up one path and down another we went like mad, until we came to the fountain, and there, in the shade of a big tree, just as cool and unconcerned as you please, were the runaways!

Kathie was seated off on one end of the bench, with her new parasol open over her head, putting on all sorts of airs, while she gave orders to Paul and Mädel, who were setting out some forlorn-looking fruit on the other end of the bench; Alan was walking backward and forward dragging his express waggon after him.

"Why, it's _Major_!" cried Alan, as the old doggie bounced on him and licked his face.

"And _Jack_! hullo!" sang out Paul, turning round and seeing me.

"Oh, _lawks_!" exclaimed Mädel,--she'd caught that expression from nurse, who always says it when she's frightened or excited,--and with that she scrambled up on the bench and threw her arms round Kathie's neck with such force that she knocked the parasol out of her hand, and it slipped down over their heads and hid their faces.

Of course I was thankful to see them, _very_ thankful; but at the same time I must say I was provoked, too, at the cool way in which they were taking things, when we'd been so frightened about them. "You mean little animals!" I said, giving Paul's shoulder a shake. "There's poor Nonie at home crying her eyes out about you, and here're you all _enjoying_ yourselves! What d'you mean by behaving like this?"

Instead of being sorry, if they didn't get saucy right away,--at least the boys did. Judge jerked himself away from me. "If anybody's going to punish us, _I'm not_ coming home," he drawled, planting his feet wide apart on the asphalt pavement, and looking me square in the eye. "Nor me!" chimed in Alan, defiantly.

The parasol was lifted a little, and Mädel peeped out. "Will Nora make us go to bed right away?" she asked anxiously; "before we get any dinner?"

Up went the parasol altogether, and Kathie slipped to the ground. "Oh, Jack, is everybody awfully mad? and what'll they do to us?" she said, and she looked just ready to begin weeping again. "'Cause if they are, we'd rather stay here; we've got things to eat--"

"Yes, we've got lots of things," broke in Alan; "see," pointing to the miserable-looking fruit on the end of the bench, "all that! Judge bought it; we couldn't get the bank open, but the fruitman took it,--he said he didn't mind,--an' let us have all these things for it; wasn't he kind? We're going to have a party."

Well, for a few minutes I didn't know what to do,--I mean how to get them to go home without a fuss. I could see that Paul and Alan were just ready for mischief; if they started to run in different directions, I couldn't catch both, and there were those dangerous cable cars not very far away. Suppose the boys should rush across Broadway and get run over! I suppose I could have called a policeman, and got him to take us all home, but I knew that'd make a terrible fuss; Kathie and Mädel would howl,--they're awfully afraid of "p'leecemen," as Alan calls them, and I really don't care very much for them myself. At last I got desperate. "See here, children," I said, "I've been sent to find you if I could, and to bring you home, and I've _got_ to do it, you know. If you'd seen how worried everybody was, and how poor Nonie cried for fear some tramp had got hold of you--"

"I just guess not!" broke in Judge, defiantly; but all the same he glanced quickly over his shoulder, and drew a little nearer to me.

"--or for fear you'd get hurt, or have no place to sleep in, you'd want to go straight home this minute. You know this park's all very well for the day-time; but when night comes, and it gets dark, what'll you do? The policemen may turn you out, and where will you all go _then_? Nannie is miles and _miles_ away from here by the cars, and how're children like you ever going to get to her without money or anything? And even if it were so you could get to her, what do you suppose Nannie'd say when she found you had all _run away from home_?"

I said all this very seriously,--I tell you I felt serious,--and the minute I stopped speaking Mädel slipped from the bench and slid her little hand into mine. "_I'm_ going home," she declared.

"Perhaps I will, too, if Nora won't punish us," said Kathie, undecidedly.

"I don't know if she'll punish you or not," I said; "but even if she should, isn't that better than staying here all the time, and having no dinner,--cook's made a lovely shortcake for dessert,--and no beds to sleep in, and never coming home at all again?"

Kathie caught hold of my hand. "I'm ready," she said; "let's go now."

"Coming, boys?" I asked carelessly.

"Oh, I s'pose we'll _have_ to," answered Paul, sulkily, kicking the leg of the bench; "and there's my money all gone!"

I was wild to get them home, but I had to wait as patiently as I could while the boys piled the horrid old fruit into the express wagon--they wouldn't have left it for anything--and harnessed Major to it with pieces of twine they had in their pockets; then we started.

We passed the fruitman that had cheated Judge, and Phil said afterwards that I ought to have stopped and made him give up the bank,--there were nearly two dollars in it, besides the value of the bank itself, and he had given the children about ten or fifteen cents' worth of miserable stuff for it,--but I do hate to fight people, and besides, I was in a hurry to get home, so I didn't notice him at all.

We went along in pretty good spirits--Major at the head of the procession--until we got near home; then Kathie asked once or twice, rather nervously, "What do you suppose Nora'll do to us, Jack?" and the boys began to lag behind a little. As we turned off the avenue, into our street, two people came down our stoop--we live near the corner--and came toward us. One of them was an old lady, and I knew at once that I'd seen her before, though I couldn't remember where. She was a little old lady, and she stooped a good deal; her nose was long and hooked, and she had a turn-up chin like in the pictures of Punch that we have at home. Kathie saw the likeness, too, for she pulled my elbow and whispered: "Oh, Jack, doesn't she look like Punch? Perhaps she's his wife."

The other woman was stout, and she helped the old lady along,--I think she was a maid. As we got near them, the old lady fumbled for her eyeglasses, put them on, and looked sharply at us. "Yes, yes, looks like his father!" we heard her say; then, "Have we time, Sanders? I should like to speak to them."

"Indeed, mum, we haven't time to stop," replied Sanders; "we've barely time to catch the boat." Then they got into the hansom that was standing at the curb, and were driven away.

Hannah opened the door, and the yell of joy that she gave when she saw the children brought Nora flying to meet us. I couldn't help noticing how bright and happy Nora looked, very different from when we had left her, an hour or so before; and the way she met the children was also a surprise to me. I knew she'd be glad to see them safe, but I thought surely she would have given them a good scolding, too, or punished them in some way; they deserved it, and I know they expected it. But she met them as sweetly and affectionately as even Nannie could have; she gave them something to eat,--it was long past our lunch hour,--and then she walked them into the study and gave them a tremendous talking to. I don't know whether it was the unexpected way in which she treated them, or the talking to, or what, but they came out of the study looking very subdued, and they certainly behaved better for the rest of the time before we went in the country. And Nora was different, too, for that time; she scarcely nagged, and she was more gentle,--so perhaps their running away taught her a lesson as well.

In the mean time--while Nora and the children were in the study--Felix came in, all tired out, and a little while later Phil; and weren't they indignant, though, with those youngsters when they found they were safe and sound!

All that afternoon Nora seemed very happy; we could hear her singing as she went up and down stairs and about the house, looking after nurse and the children. It was the same all through dinner-time,--she just bubbled over with fun, and it was the pleasantest meal we'd had since the family broke up. Now Nora isn't often like this,--in fact, very seldom; and to-day we supposed it was because she was so glad the children had been found; as Phil said, 'twas almost worth while losing the youngsters--as long's we'd found them again--to have Nora so bright and pleasant. His ill humour had all disappeared, and he and Nora just kept us laughing with their funny sayings. But Fee was rather quiet; his tramp after the children had tired him, and I guess, too, that he was thinking of the evening, and wondering how he could keep Phil from going off with Chad.

After dinner I went out to feed Major; I tell you, we all think him the wisest old doggie in New York! and I gave him the biggest dinner any dog could eat. Just as I was coming through the hall to go on the stoop where Phil and Felix were sitting, Nora ran down the steps and stood at the open front door. "Come in the drawing-room, boys; I have something particular to tell you," she said. "Come right away; better close the front door,--it's a long story."

Fee got up slowly, but Phil hesitated. "I wonder if Chad will be round?" he said.

"Oh, not to-night," answered Nora, quickly. "Why, didn't you hear him say last evening that he was going out of town for two or three days?"

Fee's face lighted up, and he opened his big eyes at me,--I know he was delighted; and it seemed to me that Phil's surprised "No! is _that_ so?" did not sound very sorry.

"Oh, hurry in, _do_!" Nora said impatiently. "I've kept the secret all the afternoon,--until we had a chance to talk quietly together,--and now it is just burning my lips to get out. Come, Jack, you, too."

XVII.

NORA'S SECRET.

TOLD BY JACK.

Of course that brought us into the drawing-room in double-quick time. Fee threw himself full-length on a lounge; Phil sat on a chair with his face to the back, which he hugged with both arms; I took the next chair,--the biggest in the room; and pulling over the piano stool, Nora seated herself on that, and swung from side to side as she spoke to the different ones.

For a minute she just sat and smiled at us without a word, until Phil said: "Well, fire away! We're all ears."

"Who do you think has been here to-day?" began Nora.

Phil rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and he and Felix both answered very solemnly, and at the same moment:--

"The Tsar!"

"The President!"

"_Don't_ be silly!" said Nora, with dignity; then, "I suppose I might as well tell you at once, for you never could guess,--_aunt Lindsay!_"

"No!" "Jinks!" "We _saw_ her!" exclaimed Felix, Phil, and I.

"Yes," said Nora, swinging herself slowly from side to side, and enjoying our surprise. "And what do you suppose she came for?" Then, interrupting herself, "But there! I'll begin at the very beginning; that will be the best. Well, I had just told Dr. Archard good-bye--by the way, he says nurse will be all right by to-morrow--and come in here for a minute, when the bell rang, and Hannah ushered an old lady into the room. Of course I knew at once that it was aunt Lindsay, though I hadn't seen her for a long time; and I welcomed her as warmly as I could, feeling as I did about the children,--I didn't tell her anything about them, though,--and asked her to take off her things. But she said she could only stay a very short time, and asked to see 'Nancy' and Felix.

"She sat in the chair you are in, Jack,"--Nora turned to me,--"and as she's very small, she looked about as lost in it as you do. When I said that Felix was out, and Nannie away in the Adirondacks with papa, she looked _so_ disappointed. 'I knew your father was there,' she said, 'but he did not mention that Nancy was with him. And so Felix is out! H'm, sorry for that. Good children, good children, both of them!'"

"Doesn't know you, old man, does she?" put in Phil; and then he and Felix grinned.

"Well," continued Nora, "she said she couldn't stay for lunch, but I got her to loosen her bonnet strings and take a cup of tea and some crackers. While she sipped her tea she said: 'I am _en route_ for my usual summer resort, and have come a good deal out of my way to see my godchildren. It is a disappointment not to meet them; but if Nancy is with her sick father, she is doing her duty.' Then she asked about you, Fee; your health particularly. After I had told her that you were as well as usual, and as fond of study as ever, then she told me what she had come on from Boston for. Felix, she knows all about your disappointment in not going to college last fall,--who do you suppose could have told her?--and she says--" Nora stopped and looked at us with a teasing smile.

Fee was sitting up, and we were all leaning forward, eager for the rest of the story.

"Oh, _go_ on!" cried Fee, quickly.

"Yes, out with it!" chimed in Phil.

"She says," went on Nora, slowly, lingering over each word, "that you are to prepare yourself for examination to enter Columbia in the fall, and she will see you through the college course. These are her very words: 'Tell Felix that his father has consented that I shall have the great pleasure and happiness of putting him through college. I wanted to do it last fall, but Jack would not listen to it then. Tell the boy that I shall enjoy doing this, and that he will hear from me about the last of August.' Oh, Felix, isn't it _splendid_?"

"Perfectly immense--_immense!_" exclaimed Phil, landing on his feet in great excitement. "Why, it's the _jolliest_, the _very_ best, the _finest_ piece of good news that I could hear--simply _huge!_ _Blessed_ old dame! She's given me _the_ wish of my heart! Hurrah, old chappie! after all we'll be at college together! _Oo-h-ie!_" And he threw his arms right round Felix and just hugged him.

Fee's eyes were wide open, and so bright! they shone right through his glasses; he leaned forward and looked anxiously from one to the other of us, his hands opening and shutting nervously on his knees as he spoke. "Are you _sure_ about this?" he asked wistfully; "because I've dreamed this sort of thing sometimes, and--and--the awakening always upsets me for a day or two."

"Why, _certainly_ we're sure!" cried Nora. "_Dead sure!_" answered Phil, emphatically; and Nora added reproachfully: "Why, Felix! aren't you glad? I thought you'd be delighted."

"_Glad?_" echoed Fee, "_glad?_ why, I'm--" His voice failed, and turning hurriedly from us, he buried his face in the sofa cushions.

All this time I hadn't said a word; I really couldn't. You see, ever since I've been a choir boy, I've saved all the money that's been paid me for singing, so's to get enough to send Fee to college. Betty didn't think much of my scheme: she said 'twould take such a long while before I could get even half the amount; but still I kept on saving for it,--I haven't spent a penny of my salary,--and you've no idea how full the bank was, and _heavy!_ I've just hugged the little iron box sometimes, when I thought of what that money would do for Fee; and for a few minutes after I heard Nora's story I was so disappointed that I _couldn't_ congratulate him.

Then, all at once, it came over me like a rush how mean I was to want Felix to wait such a long time for me to do this for him, when, through aunt Lindsay's kindness, he could go to college right away. I got awfully ashamed, and going quickly over to Fee's side, I knelt down by him and threw my arm over his shoulder. "Fee," I said,--he still had his face in the cushions,--"I'm _very_, _very_, _very_ glad you are to go to college this fall,--_really_ and _truly_ I am, Fee."

I didn't see anything funny about this, but Phil and Nora began to laugh, and, sitting up, Felix said, smiling, "Why, I know you are, Jacqueminot; I never doubted it for a moment. And by and by, when Phil and I are staid old seniors, your turn will come,--we'll see to that." Then, looking round at us, he went on, speaking rapidly, excitedly: "_At last_ it has come, and when I least expected it--when I had given up all hope. I can hardly believe it! _Now_ I shall go in for the hardest sort of hard work, for I've great things to accomplish. Don't think I'm conceited, but I'm going to try for _all_ the honours that a fellow can; and I'll get them, too--I'll get them; I _must!_ I promised--_her_--" He broke off abruptly and turned away, then presently added in a lighter tone: "I must write to my twinnie to-night,--how delighted she will be! Oh, I tell you, you don't any of you know what this is to me!--but there, I _can't_ talk of it. Let's have some fun. What shall we do to celebrate the occasion? Play something lively, Nora; we'll have a _musicale_."

He stood up, and as Nora ran to the piano and struck up a waltz, Phil caught Fee round the waist and danced off with him.

But before they had turned twice round, Fee was in a chair, holding on to his back, and laughing at Phil's grumbling protest. "I never was much on dancing, you know," he said. "Here, take Rosebud; he'll trip the light fantastic toe with you as long as you like."

So Phil finished the waltz with me, but I didn't enjoy it; Phil is so tall, and he grips a person so tight, that half the time my feet were clear off the floor and sticking straight out; and he went so fast that I got dizzy.

Well, we had a _jolly_ evening. After the dance, Fee didn't move about very much, but he was just as funny and bright as he could be; Nora was nicer, too, than I've ever known her; and as for Phil, he was perfectly wild with good spirits. He danced,--alone when he couldn't get anybody for a partner,--and sang, and talked, and joked, and kept us in a roar of laughter until bedtime.

"Well," said Nora, as we stood together by the drawing-room door for a few minutes before going upstairs, "I thought this morning that this was going to be a black day,--one of the days when everything goes wrong,--and yet see how pleasantly it has ended."

"It has been a great day for me," said Fee, slowly. "I don't mind telling you people, now, that that disappointment in the fall took the heart and interest all out of my studies; but now"--he straightened himself up, and his voice rang out--"_now_ I have hope again, and courage, and you'll see what I can do. Thanks don't express my feelings; I'm more than thankful to aunt Lindsay!"

"So 'm I," I piped up, and I meant that; I was beginning to feel better about it.

"Thankful, more thankful, most thankful," Phil said, pointing his finger at Nora, then at me, then at Felix; "and here am I, the 'thankfullest' of all."

There was a break in his voice that surprised us; and to cover it up, he began some more of his nonsense. "High time for us--the _pater's_ little infants--to be a-bed," he said, laughing. "Come, Mr. Boffin, make your adieux and prepare to leave

"'The gay, the gay and festive scene;
The halls, the halls of dazzling light.'"

And suddenly, catching Fee in his arms, he ran lightly up the stairs with him, calling back to us: "'Good-night, ladies! good-night, ladies! good-night, ladies! I'm going to leave you now!'"

XVIII.

EXPERIENCES AT ENDICOTT BEACH.

TOLD BY BETTY.

Nora insisted that it was "exceedingly kind" of the Ervengs, and "a compliment" to me, and all that sort of thing, to invite me to spend a month with them at their country place. Well, perhaps she was right: Nora is _always_ right,--in her own estimation; all the same, I didn't want to go one step, and I am afraid I was rather disagreeable about it.

You see I had been looking forward to going to the Cottage with the others; and having to start off for an entirely different place at only a few hours' notice quite upset me. At the Cottage, Nannie takes charge while Miss Marston is away for her holidays, and she lets us amuse ourselves in our own way, as long as we are punctual at meals,--papa insists on that,--and don't get into mischief. One can wear one's oldest clothes, and just _live_ out of doors; what with driving old Pegasus, and riding G. W. L. Spry, and boating, fishing, crabbing, wading, and playing in the sand, we do have the jolliest times! Now, instead of all this fun and freedom, I was to be packed off to visit people that I didn't know very well, and didn't care a jot about. Of course I knew Hilliard _pretty_ well,--he's been at the house often enough! I didn't mind him much, though he is provokingly slow, and so--well, _queer_, for I could speak my mind right out to him if I felt like it; but it seemed to me that Mr. Erveng must always remember that silly escapade of mine whenever he looked at me, and I was sure that Mrs. Erveng regarded me as a rough, overgrown tomboy. Somehow, when I am with her I feel dreadfully awkward,--all hands, and feet, and voice; though these things don't trouble me in the least with any one else. I did wish that she had invited Nora to visit her instead of me.

When I saw my old blue flannel laid with the things to go to the Cottage, and only my best gowns put into the trunk I was to take to the Ervengs', it suddenly rushed over me that I would have to be on my company manners for a whole month! and I got so mad that it would have been a relief to just _roar_,--the way Kathie does.

Nannie was away, and the others didn't seem to understand how I felt; in fact, Nora aggravated me by scolding, and saying I ought to feel highly delighted, when I knew that deep down in her heart she was only too thankful that _she_ hadn't been asked. Jack was the only person that sympathised with me,--dear old Jackie-boy! I'm beginning to think that there is a good deal to Jack, for all he's so girlie.

The Ervengs called for me the morning after papa and Nannie had gone to the mountains,--right after breakfast,--and I can assure you it was dreadfully hard to keep back the tears when I was telling the family good-bye; and when I was seated in the carriage, right under Mr. and Mrs. Erveng's eyes, I got the most insane desire to scream out loud, or burst the door open and jump out: I had to sit up very straight and set my lips tight together, to keep from doing it.

That feeling wore off, though, by the time we got settled in the drawing-room car, and I was three seats from Mrs. Erveng,--I managed that,--with Mr. Erveng and Hilliard between us. It was a marvel to me the way those two waited on Mrs. Erveng; in watching them do it I forgot about myself. Her chair must be at just such an angle, her footstool in just such a position, and the cushions at her back just so many, and most carefully arranged; and if she stirred, they were all attention immediately. And they were like that the whole month that I was at Endicott Beach, though it seemed to me sometimes that she was very exacting.

Now with us, though we love one another dearly, and, as Phil says, would go through fire and water for one another if need be, particularly if any one were ill, still we're not willing to be imposed on _all_ the time, and we do keep the different ones up to the mark, and stand up for our individual rights,--we've _got_ to where there are so many. But the Ervengs aren't in the least like us; and I think that, in some ways, Hilliard is the very oddest boy I've _ever_ known.

To begin with, he is so literal,--away ahead of Nora; he took so many things seriously that I said in joke that at first I didn't know what to make of him. I used to get _so_ provoked! He doesn't understand the sort of "chaffing" that we do so much at home, and he is slow to get an idea; but once it's fixed in his mind, you needn't think he's going to change,--it's there for the rest of his natural life. He could no more change his opinion about things as I do than he could fly. Perhaps he thinks I'm frivolous and "uncouth,"--as Nora sometimes says I am. Well, let him; who cares? _I_ think _he_ is a regular old poke, though he is better than I thought at first; but you'll hear all about it. Of course Hilliard was polite, and all that, when he came to our house, but I didn't always see him; in fact, I used to keep out of the way on purpose, many a time: so I didn't really know what sort of a boy he was until I went to stay at the beach.

Well, as soon as Mrs. Erveng was comfortably settled, Hilliard came over to me with a big soft cushion in his hand. "May I put this at your back?" he asked. "It's a tiresome journey to Boston, and we've got quite a ride after that to reach Endicott Beach; so let me make you as comfortable as possible."

Now if he had come up and simply put the cushion on the back of my chair, the way Phil, or Felix, or Jack would have done, I wouldn't have minded at all,--I like cushions; but to stand there holding it, waiting for me to give him permission, struck me as being very silly. I knew he expected me to say yes, and instead of that I found myself saying, "No, I thank you,"--I could hear that my tone was snippy,--"I can get on very comfortably without a cushion." Our boys, or Max, or even Murray Unsworth would have said, "Oh, come now, Betty!" and just slipped the cushion behind me, and I'd have enjoyed it, and made no more fuss. But not so this individual. He looked helplessly at me for a minute, then laid the cushion down on his mother's travelling satchel; and there it reclined until we reached Boston.

'Twas the same way with getting me things to eat. With all the excitement that morning, I had very little appetite for breakfast, so by lunch time I was _very_ hungry; and when Mrs. Erveng opened her box of sandwiches, I felt as if I could have eaten every one in it,--but of course I didn't. They were delicious; but, oh, so small and thin!

Mr. Erveng did not take any,--he never takes a mid-day meal. Mrs. Erveng ate two, trifling with the second one as if tired of it. I ate three,--when a _dozen_ would not have been too many! Hilliard disposed of four, and then went out to get his mother a cup of tea,--I suspect he had something more to eat in the restaurant. He asked, in a tone as if he meant it, "Mayn't I bring you a cup of tea?"

But I despise tea, so I answered, "No, I thank you," for the second time. Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were talking to an acquaintance who had come up, and actually Hilliard hadn't the sense to offer me anything else, and I _couldn't_ ask. Having sisters is certainly a great thing for a boy, as I've told Jack scores of times; why, for all that he is so shy, Jack could have taken twice as good care of a girl as Hilliard did of me, just because he has had me to train him.

Presently Mrs. Erveng passed the lunch box over to me. "_Do_ take another sandwich, Betty," she said kindly, "and some cake."

But by this time no one else in the car was eating, and I didn't want to be the only person,--I hate to have people stare at me while I'm eating,--so I refused. The open box remained by me for some time,--'twas all I could do to keep from putting out my hand for a sandwich; then the porter came by, and Mr. Erveng handed it to him to take away.

Hilliard talked to me as we flew along, in his deliberate, grown-up way, but pleasantly; if I had not been so hungry and homesick, I might have been interested. But by and by the hunger wore off, and by the time we reached Endicott Beach I had a raving headache; but I said nothing about it until after dinner, for Mrs. Erveng was so tired out that she had to be looked after and got to bed the very first thing, and that made a little fuss, though her maid Dillon, who had come on the day before, was there to assist her.

The house is very prettily furnished and arranged,--almost as prettily but more simply than Mrs. Erveng's rooms in New York.

After dinner Hilliard showed me a little of the place, which is _very_ pretty, and quite unlike anywhere else that I have been. There's a queer scraggly old garden at the back of the house, and in front a splendid view of the beach, with the ocean rolling up great booming waves. Before very long I got to like Endicott Beach very much; but this first afternoon, though the sunset was most gorgeous, I felt so miserable that I could take interest in nothing. Oh, how I longed for home!

Presently Hilliard said, "I'm afraid you are dreadfully tired,--you look so pale. I should have waited until to-morrow to show you the place; I have been inconsiderate--"

"I have a headache," I broke in shortly; then all at once my lips began to tremble. "I wish I were at home!" I found myself exclaiming; and then the tears came pouring down my face.

"Oh, I am so sorry! so _very_ sorry! What can I do for you?" began Hilliard. "Oh! mayn't I--"

I was so mortified that I got very mad; I hate to cry, any way, and above all before this stiff wooden boy! I threw my hands over my face, and turning my back on him, started for the house, walking as fast as I could, stumbling sometimes on the uneven beach.

But Hilliard followed close behind me. "I'm _so_ sorry!" he repeated. "Why didn't you let me know sooner? May I--"

I got so provoked that I wheeled round suddenly on him,--I think I startled him. "Oh, _do_ stop _asking_ people if you 'may' or 'mayn't do things for them,"--I'm afraid that here I mimicked his tone of voice. "_Do_ the things first, and then ask,--if you must. I declare, you don't know the very first thing about taking care of a girl; why, our Paul could do better."

Hilliard stood stock still and stared at me; his sleepy eyes were wide open, and there was such a bewildered expression on his face that it just set me off laughing, in spite of the tears on my cheeks, and my headache.

"I am exceedingly sorry if I have neglected--" he began stiffly; but before he could say any more I turned and fled.

I fancied I heard his footsteps behind me, and I fairly flew along the beach, into the house, and up to my room, where I began undressing as quickly as I could. But before I was ready for bed, Mrs. Erveng's maid brought a message from her mistress. She was so sorry to hear that I was not well; was there nothing that she could do for me? "Please say that I am going to bed; that will cure my headache quicker than anything else," I called through the keyhole, instead of opening the door. I had a feeling that the Ervengs would think me a crank; but I had got to that pitch that afternoon where I didn't care what anybody thought of me. Then Dillon went away, and I got into bed.

But I couldn't sleep for ever so long: you see the sun had not yet set, and I'm not used to going to sleep in broad daylight; besides, I was very unhappy. As I lay there looking at the brilliant colours of the sky, I thought over what I had said to Hilliard, and the oftener I went over it, the more uncomfortable I got; for I began to see that I'd been very rude--to insult the people I was visiting! I wondered if Hilliard had told his mother what I said; and what she thought of me? Would she send me home? I had declared to Nora that I would behave so badly as to be sent home before the visit was over, but I had not really meant it. I got all worked up over the horrid affair, and if I had had then enough money to pay my expenses to New York, I really think I should have been tempted to climb out of the window, or make my escape in some way or other,--I dreaded so having to face the Ervengs in the morning.

After a long while I fell asleep, and dreamed that Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were holding me fast, while Hilliard stuffed sandwiches down my throat.

But by the next morning my headache was gone, and the sunshine and beautiful view from my window made me feel a new person, though I still dreaded meeting the Ervengs. Usually I dress quickly, but this morning I just dawdled, to put off the evil moment as long as possible. It seemed so strange not to have Nannie, or Miss Marston, or Nora, or any one to tell me what to say or do; I really felt lost without dear old Nannie. I would have been delighted to see her that morning,--we have such nice talks at home while we are dressing!

Before I left home, Nora said particularly, "Now, Betty, _do_ remember that your ginghams are for the mornings and your thinner gowns for the afternoons. Don't put on the first frock that comes to your hand, regardless of whether it is flannel, gingham, or _organdi_. You know you haven't a great many clothes, so _please_, I beg of you, for the reputation of the family, take care of them, or you will not have a decent thing to wear two weeks after you get to the Ervengs'."

I was provoked at her for saying this, but I could not resent it very much, for--though I love pretty things as well as anybody does--somehow accidents _are_ always happening to my clothes. Nurse says it's because I am too heedless to think about what I have on, and perhaps it is: yet, when I remember, and try to be careful, I'm simply _miserable_; and it does seem too silly to make one's self uncomfortable for clothes,--so I generally forget.

But this morning I looked carefully over the ginghams that Dillon had unpacked and hung in the closet in my room, and finally, taking down the one I considered the prettiest, I put it on; I wished afterward that I had chosen the plainest and ugliest.

As I said, I was taking as much time as possible over my dressing, when I happened to think that breakfast might be ready, and the Ervengs waiting for me,--papa says "to be late at meals, particularly when visiting, is _extremely_ ill-bred;" then I rushed through the rest of my toilet, and raced down the stairs, not thinking of Mrs. Erveng's headache until I reached the foot of the steps.

I was relieved to find no one in the parlour, or in the room across the hall, where the table was set for breakfast. But as I stepped out on the broad front piazza, Hilliard rose from the hammock in which he had been lying, and came forward with such a pleasant "Good-morning!" that I felt surprised and ashamed.

"How is your head?" he asked, adding, "It must be better, I fancy,--you look so much brighter than you did yesterday."

I could feel my face getting warm; I hate to apologise to people, but I knew that I ought to do it here. "That headache made me cross, and I was homesick," I answered, speaking as fast as I could to get it all over with quickly. "I am sorry I spoke so rudely--"

But Hilliard broke in quickly,--for him. "Don't say that; please don't ever speak of it again," he said earnestly. "It's for _me_ to apologise; I must have deserved what you said, or I know you would not have said it."

Well, I _was_ taken aback! that was a new view of the case. At first I thought he might be in sarcasm; but no, he was in earnest, saying the words in his slow, deliberate way, with his eyes half shut. I couldn't help wishing that the family had been there to hear; but I decided that I would certainly tell them of it,--you see I don't often get such a compliment.

I would like to have made a polite speech to him, but what was there to say?--it still remained that he _hadn't_ taken good care of me. And while this thought was going through my brain, I heard myself say, "Did you tell your mother what I said to you?"

Now I had no more idea of asking Hilliard that--though I did want to know--than I had of flying; my mouth opened, and the words just came out without the least volition on my part,--in fact, I was perfectly astonished to hear them. More than once this has happened at home; Phil teases me about it, and Fee calls me Mrs. Malaprop, because--that's the trouble--these speeches are almost always just the things I shouldn't have said. I'm sure I don't know what I am to do to prevent it.

My face actually burnt,--it must have been as red as a beet. "I didn't mean to ask you that," I blurted out. While I was speaking, Hilliard was saying, "Why, certainly not; I simply mentioned that you had a headache," in such a surprised voice that I felt more uncomfortable than ever: but wasn't it nice of him not to tell?

I just rushed into talk about the scenery as fast as I could go. From where we stood we could see the wild, rugged coast for miles,--the huge, bare brown rocks standing like so many grim sentinels guarding the spaces of shining white sand, which here and there sloped gently to the water's edge; the sea gulls resting, tiny white specks, against the dark rocks, or circling in flocks above them; the dark blue ocean, dotted with steamers and sailing-vessels and sparkling and dancing in the morning light, rolling up great white-crested waves that dashed on the rocks and threw up a cloud of foaming spray, and broke on the beach with a dull booming noise; and over all was the warm, glorious summer sunshine. As I looked and looked, all the disagreeableness slipped away, and it was _splendid_ just to be alive. I thought of Felix, and how much he would enjoy all this beauty. We all think so much of the scenery at the Cottage, and really it is nothing compared with this. There the beach is smooth and nice, but it hasn't a rock on it; and the water--it's the Sound, you know--just creeps up on it with a soft lapping sound very different to the roar and magnificence of the ocean.

I was so surprised and delighted that first morning that I spoke out warmly. "Oh!" I cried, "isn't it _beautiful_! oh, it is grand! fascinating!--I could watch those waves all day!"

Hilliard's face lighted up. "I thought you would like it," he said. "You should see it in a storm,--it is magnificent! but it is terrible, too,"--he gave a little shudder. "I love the ocean, but I am afraid of it; it is treacherous."

"Afraid!" I looked at him in surprise,--the idea of a big strong boy as he is being _afraid_ of the water! I opened my mouth to exclaim, "Well, _I'm_ not afraid!" then remembered my unlucky remark of a few minutes before and said instead, and in a much milder tone, "After breakfast I'm going to explore those rocks, and get as near to the ocean as I can--"

"Don't attempt to do any climbing alone," broke in Hilliard, more positively than he usually speaks; "the rocks are very slippery, and you know nothing about the tides. People have been caught on those rocks and cut off--drowned--by the incoming tide, before they could reach the shore, or be rescued. I shall be very glad to go with you whenever--"

"Good-morning!" Mr. Erveng said, appearing in the doorway behind us; "will you young people come in and have some breakfast?"

Breakfast was served in a room that looked out on the garden; and everything was very nice, though quite different from our breakfasts at home. Mrs. Erveng was not down,--I found afterward that she always took her breakfast in her own room,--and Hilliard sat in his mother's place and poured the tea. I was thankful that Mr. Erveng hadn't asked me to do it; but it did look so _queer_ to see a boy doing such a thing,--so like a "Miss Nancy," as Phil would say. Mr. Erveng and Hilliard talked a good deal about things that were going on in the world, and about books, and places they had been to. I was perfectly surprised at the way Mr. Erveng asked Hilliard's opinion, and listened to his remarks,--I couldn't imagine papa's doing such a thing with any of us, not even with Felix; and when I said anything, they both acted as if it were really worth listening to,--which is another thing that never happens in our family! And yet, on the other hand, Mr. Erveng goes off to Boston in the mornings without even saying good-bye to Mrs. Erveng or Hilliard,--they never know by what train he is coming home; and in the whole month I visited them I never once saw Hilliard and his mother kiss each other.

Now at home papa always tells some one of us when he is going out, and about when he will return; and if we children go anywhere, the whole family is sure to know of it; and quite often we kiss one another good-bye, and always at night. Nora often tells us that it isn't "good form" to do this; and sometimes, when she's in an airish mood, she calls us "a pack of kissers,"--as if that were something dreadful. Still, all the same, I'm _glad_ that we're that sort of a family; and I am more than ever glad since I've been staying with the Ervengs.

Hilliard and I were just starting for the beach that morning, when Dillon came out on the piazza with a message. "Mr. Hilliard," she said, "your mother would like to speak to you." So off he went with, "Excuse me; I'll be back in a few minutes," to me.

But instead, presently back came Dillon with another message: "Mrs. Erveng asks, Will you please to excuse Mr. Hilliard; she would like him to do something for her for a while."

So off I went for my walk, alone. I strolled down to the beach and sat in the shade of a big rock and looked at the waves,--watching them coming in and going out, and making up all sorts of thoughts about them. But after a while I got tired of that, and began wondering what they were all doing at home without Nannie, or Miss Marston, or papa; and then I felt so lonely and homesick that I just _had_ to get up and walk about. And then I got into trouble,--I don't know another girl that gets into scrapes as I do!