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Rose in Bloom

Louisa May Alcott

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A Sequel to "Eight Cousins"

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Title: Rose in Bloom

Author: Louisa May Alcott

September, 2001 [Etext #2804]

[Date last updated: August 11, 2003]

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Prepared by David Reed h[email protected] or [email protected]

Rose in Bloom

by Louisa May Alcott

A Sequel to "Eight Cousins"

Preface

As authors may be supposed to know better than anyone else what

they intended to do when writing a book, I beg leave to say that

there is no moral to this story. Rose is not designed for a model

girl, and the Sequel was simply written in fulfillment of a promise,

hoping to afford some amusement, and perhaps here and there a

helpful hint, to other roses getting ready to bloom.

L. M. Alcott

September 1876

Contents

Chapter 1. Coming Home

Chapter 2. Old Friends with New Faces

Chapter 3. Miss Campbell

Chapter 4. Thorns Among the Roses

Chapter 5. Prince Charming

Chapter 6. Polishing Mac

Chapter 7. Phebe

Chapter 8. Breakers Ahead

Chapter 9. New Year's Calls

Chapter 10. The Sad and Sober Part

Chapter 11. Small Temptations

Chapter 12. At Kitty's Ball

Chapter 13. Both Sides

Chapter 14. Aunt Clara's Plan

Chapter 15. Alas for Charlie!

Chapter 16. Good Works

Chapter 17. Among the Haycocks

Chapter 18. Which Was It?

Chapter 19. Behind the Fountain

Chapter 20. What Mac Did

Chapter 21. How Phebe Earned Her Welcome

Chapter 22. Short and Sweet

Chapter 1 COMING HOME

Three young men stood together on a wharf one bright October

day awaiting the arrival of an ocean steamer with an impatience

which found a vent in lively skirmishes with a small lad, who

pervaded the premises like a will-o'-the-wisp and afforded much

amusement to the other groups assembled there.

"They are the Campbells, waiting for their cousin, who has been

abroad several years with her uncle, the doctor," whispered one

lady to another as the handsomest of the young men touched his

hat to her as he passed, lugging the boy, whom he had just rescued

from a little expedition down among the piles.

"Which is that?" asked the stranger.

"Prince Charlie, as he's called a fine fellow, the most promising of

the seven, but a little fast, people say," answered the first speaker

with a shake of the head.

"Are the others his brothers?"

"No, cousins. The elder is Archie, a most exemplary young man.

He has just gone into business with the merchant uncle and bids

fair to be an honor to his family. The other, with the eyeglasses

and no gloves, is Mac, the odd one, just out of college."

"And the boy?"

"Oh, he is Jamie, the youngest brother of Archibald, and the pet of

the whole family. Mercy on us he'll be in if they don't hold on to

him!"

The ladies' chat came to a sudden end just there, for by the time

Jamie had been fished out of a hogshead, the steamer hove in sight

and everything else was forgotten. As it swung slowly around to

enter the dock, a boyish voice shouted, "There she is! I see her and

Uncle and Phebe! Hooray for Cousin Rose!" And three small

cheers were given with a will by Jamie as he stood on a post

waving his arms like a windmill while his brother held onto the

tail of his jacket.

Yes, there they were Uncle Alec swinging his hat like a boy, with

Phebe smiling and nodding on one side and Rose kissing both

hands delightedly on the other as she recognized familiar faces and

heard familiar voices welcoming her home.

"Bless her dear heart, she's bonnier than ever! Looks like a

Madonna doesn't she? with that blue cloak round her, and her

bright hair flying in the wind!" said Charlie excitedly as they

watched the group upon the deck with eager eyes.

"Madonnas don't wear hats like that. Rose hasn't changed much,

but Phebe has. Why, she's a regular beauty!" answered Archie,

staring with all his might at the dark-eyed young woman with the

brilliant color and glossy black braids shining in the sun.

"Dear old Uncle! Doesn't it seem good to have him back?" was all

Mac said, but he was not looking at "dear old uncle" as he made

the fervent remark, for he saw only the slender blond girl nearby

and stretched out his hands to meet hers, forgetful of the green

water tumbling between them.

During the confusion that reigned for a moment as the steamer

settled to her moorings, Rose looked down into the four faces

upturned to hers and seemed to read in them something that both

pleased and pained her. It was only a glance, and her own eyes

were full, but through the mist of happy tears she received the

impression that Archie was about the same, that Mac had

decidedly improved, and that something was amiss with Charlie.

There was no time for observation, however, for in a moment the

shoreward rush began, and before she could grasp her traveling

bag, Jamie was clinging to her like an ecstatic young bear. She was

with difficulty released from his embrace to fall into the gentler

ones of the elder cousins, who took advantage of the general

excitement to welcome both blooming girls with affectionate

impartiality. Then the wanderers were borne ashore in a triumphal

procession, while Jamie danced rapturous jigs before them even on

the gangway.

Archie remained to help his uncle get the luggage through the

Custom House, and the others escorted the damsels home. No

sooner were they shut up in a carriage, however, than a new and

curious constraint seemed to fall upon the young people, for they

realized, all at once, that their former playmates were men and

women now. Fortunately, Jamie was quite free from this feeling of

restraint and, sitting bodkinwise between the ladies, took all sorts

of liberties with them and their belongings.

"Well, my mannikin, what do you think of us?" asked Rose, to

break an awkward pause.

"You've both grown so pretty, I can't decide which I like best.

Phebe is the biggest and brightest-looking, and I was always fond

of Phebe, but somehow you are so kind of sweet and precious, I

really think I must hug you again," and the small youth did it

tempestuously.

"If you love me best, I shall not mind a bit about your thinking

Phebe the handsomest, because she is. Isn't she, boys?" asked

Rose, with a mischievous look at the gentlemen opposite, whose

faces expressed a respectful admiration which much amused her.

"I'm so dazzled by the brilliancy and beauty that has suddenly burst

upon me, I have no words to express my emotions," answered

Charlie, gallantly dodging the dangerous question.

"I can't say yet, for I have not had time to look at anyone. I will

now, if you don't mind." And, to the great amusement of the rest,

Mac gravely adjusted his eyeglasses and took an observation.

"Well?" said Phebe, smiling and blushing under his honest stare,

yet seeming not to resent it as she did the lordly sort of approval

which made her answer the glance of Charlie's audacious blue eyes

with a flash of her black ones.

"I think if you were my sister, I should be very proud of you,

because your face shows what I admire more than its beauty truth

and courage, Phebe," answered Mac with a little bow full of such

genuine respect that surprise and pleasure brought a sudden dew to

quench the fire of the girl's eyes and soothe the sensitive pride of

the girl's heart.

Rose clapped her hands just as she used to do when anything

delighted her, and beamed at Mac approvingly as she said: "Now

that's a criticism worth having, and we are much obliged. I was

sure you'd admire my Phebe when you knew her, but I didn't

believe you would be wise enough to see it at once, and you have

gone up many pegs in my estimation, I assure you."

"I was always fond of mineralogy you remember, and I've been

tapping round a good deal lately, so I've learned to know precious

metals when I see them," Mac said with his shrewd smile.

"That is the latest hobby, then? Your letters have amused us

immensely, for each one had a new theory or experiment, and the

latest was always the best. I thought Uncle would have died of

laughter over the vegetarian mania it was so funny to imagine you

living on bread and milk, baked apples, and potatoes roasted in

your own fire," continued Rose, changing the subject again.

"This old chap was the laughingstock of his class. They called him

Don Quixote, and the way he went at windmills of all sorts was a

sight to see," put in Charlie, evidently feeling that Mac had been

patted on the head quite as much as was good for him.

"But in spite of that the Don got through college with all the

honors. Oh, wasn't I proud when Aunt Jane wrote to us about it and

didn't she rejoice that her boy kept at the head of his class and won

the medal!" cried Rose, shaking Mac by both hands in a way that

caused Charlie to wish "the old chap" had been left behind with

Dr. Alec.

"Oh, come, that's all Mother's nonsense. I began earlier than the

other fellows and liked it better, so I don't deserve any praise.

Prince is right, though. I did make a regular jack of myself, but on

the whole I'm not sure that my wild oats weren't better than some

I've seen sowed. Anyway, they didn't cost much, and I'm none the

worse for them," said Mac placidly.

"I know what 'wild oats' means. I heard Uncle Mac say Charlie was

sowing 'em too fast, and I asked Mama, so she told me. And I

know that he was suspelled or expended, I don't remember which,

but it was something bad, and Aunt Clara cried," added Jamie all

in one breath, for he possessed a fatal gift of making malapropos

remarks, which caused him to be a terror to his family.

"Do you want to go on the box again?" demanded Prince with a

warning frown.

"No, I don't."

"Then hold your tongue."

"Well, Mac needn't kick me, for I was only..." began the culprit,

innocently trying to make a bad matter worse.

"That will do," interrupted Charlie sternly, and James subsided, a

crushed boy, consoling himself with Rose's new watch for the

indignities he suffered at the hands of the "old fellows" as he

vengefully called his elders.

Mac and Charlie immediately began to talk as hard as their

tongues could wag, bringing up all sorts of pleasant subjects so

successfully that peals of laughter made passersby look after the

merry load with sympathetic smiles.

An avalanche of aunts fell upon Rose as soon as she reached

home, and for the rest of the day the old house buzzed like a

beehive. Evening found the whole tribe collected in the drawing

rooms, with the exception of Aunt Peace, whose place was empty

now.

Naturally enough, the elders settled into one group after a while,

and the young fellows clustered about the girls like butterflies

around two attractive flowers. Dr. Alec was the central figure in

one room and Rose in the other, for the little girl, whom they had

all loved and petted, had bloomed into a woman, and two years of

absence had wrought a curious change in the relative positions of

the cousins, especially the three elder ones, who eyed her with a

mixture of boyish affection and manly admiration that was both

new and pleasant.

Something sweet yet spirited about her charmed them and piqued

their curiosity, for she was not quite like other girls, and rather

startled them now and then by some independent little speech or

act which made them look at one another with a sly smile, as if

reminded that Rose was "Uncle's girl."

Let us listen, as in duty bound, to what the elders are saying first,

for they are already building castles in air for the boys and girls to

inhabit.

"Dear child how nice it is to see her safely back, so well and happy

and like her sweet little self!" said Aunt Plenty, folding her hands

as if giving thanks for a great happiness.

"I shouldn't wonder if you found that you'd brought a firebrand into

the family, Alec. Two, in fact, for Phebe is a fine girl, and the lads

have found it out already if I'm not mistaken," added Uncle Mac,

with a nod toward the other room.

All eyes followed his, and a highly suggestive tableau presented

itself to the paternal and maternal audience in the back parlor.

Rose and Phebe, sitting side by side on the sofa, had evidently

assumed at once the places which they were destined to fill by

right of youth, sex, and beauty, for Phebe had long since ceased to

be the maid and become the friend, and Rose meant to have that

fact established at once.

Jamie occupied the rug, on which Will and Geordie stood at ease,

showing their uniforms to the best advantage, for they were now in

a great school, where military drill was the delight of their souls.

Steve posed gracefully in an armchair, with Mac lounging over the

back of it, while Archie leaned on one corner of the low

chimneypiece, looking down at Phebe as she listened to his chat

with smiling lips and cheeks almost as rich in color as the

carnations in her belt.

But Charlie was particularly effective, although he sat upon a

music stool, that most trying position for any man not gifted with

grace in the management of his legs. Fortunately Prince was, and

had fallen into an easy attitude, with one arm over the back of the

sofa, his handsome head bent a little, as he monopolized Rose,

with a devoted air and a very becoming expression of contentment

on his face.

Aunt Clara smiled as if well pleased; Aunt Jessie looked

thoughtful; Aunt Jane's keen eyes went from dapper Steve to

broad-shouldered Mac with an anxious glance; Mrs. Myra

murmured something about her "blessed Caroline"; and Aunt

Plenty said warmly, "Bless the dears! Anyone might be proud of

such a bonny flock of bairns as that."

"I am all ready to play chaperon as soon as you please, Alec, for I

suppose the dear girl will come out at once, as she did not before

you went away. My services won't be wanted long, I fancy, for

with her many advantages she will be carried off in her first season

or I'm much mistaken," said Mrs. Clara, with significant nods and

smiles.

"You must settle all those matters with Rose. I am no longer

captain, only first mate now, you know," answered Dr. Alec,

adding soberly, half to himself, half to his brother, "I wonder

people are in such haste to 'bring out' their daughters, as it's called.

To me there is something almost pathetic in the sight of a young

girl standing on the threshold of the world, so innocent and

hopeful, so ignorant of all that lies before her, and usually so ill

prepared to meet the ups and downs of life. We do our duty better

by the boys, but the poor little women are seldom provided with

any armor worth having, and sooner or later they are sure to need

it, for every one must fight her own battle, and only the brave and

strong can win."

"You can't reproach yourself with neglect of that sort, Alec, for

you have done your duty faithfully by George's girl, and I envy you

the pride and happiness of having such a daughter, for she is that

to you," answered old Mac, unexpectedly betraying the paternal

sort of tenderness men seldom feel for their sons.

"I've tried, Mac, and I am both proud and happy, but with every

year my anxiety seems to increase. I've done my best to fit Rose

for what may come, as far as I can foresee it, but now she must

stand alone, and all my care is powerless to keep her heart from

aching, her life from being saddened by mistakes, or thwarted by

the acts of others. I can only stand ready to share her joy and

sorrow and watch her shape her life."

"Why, Alec, what is the child going to do that you need look so

solemn?" exclaimed Mrs. Clara, who seemed to have assumed a

sort of right to Rose already.

"Hark! And let her tell you herself," answered Dr. Alec, as Rose's

voice was heard saying very earnestly, "Now, you have all told

your plans for the future, why don't you ask us ours?"

"Because we know that there is only one thing for a pretty girl to

do break a dozen or so hearts before she finds one to suit, then

marry and settle," answered Charlie, as if no other reply was

possible.

"That may be the case with many, but not with us, for Phebe and I

believe that it is as much a right and a duty for women to do

something with their lives as for men, and we are not going to be

satisfied with such frivolous parts as you give us," cried Rose with

kindling eyes. "I mean what I say, and you cannot laugh me down.

Would you be contented to be told to enjoy yourself for a little

while, then marry and do nothing more till you die?" she added,

turning to Archie.

"Of course not that is only a part of a man's life," he answered

decidedly.

"A very precious and lovely part, but not all," continued Rose.

"Neither should it be for a woman, for we've got minds and souls

as well as hearts; ambition and talents as well as beauty and

accomplishments; and we want to live and learn as well as love

and be loved. I'm sick of being told that is all a woman is fit for! I

won't have anything to do with love till I prove that I am

something besides a housekeeper and baby-tender!"

"Heaven preserve us! Here's woman's rights with a vengeance!"

cried Charlie, starting up with mock horror, while the others

regarded Rose with mingled surprise and amusement, evidently

fancying it all a girlish outbreak.

"Ah, you needn't pretend to be shocked you will be in earnest

presently, for this is only the beginning of my strong-mindedness,"

continued Rose, nothing daunted by the smiles of good-natured

incredulity or derision on the faces of her cousins. "I have made up

my mind not to be cheated out of the real things that make one

good and happy and, just because I'm a rich girl, fold my hands

and drift as so many do. I haven't lived with Phebe all these years

in vain. I know what courage and self-reliance can do for one, and

I sometimes wish I hadn't a penny in the world so that I could go

and earn my bread with her, and be as brave and independent as

she will be pretty soon."

It was evident that Rose was in earnest now, for as she spoke she

turned to her friend with such respect as well as love in her face

that the look told better than any words how heartily the rich girl

appreciated the virtues hard experience had given the poor girl,

and how eagerly she desired to earn what all her fortune could not

buy for her.

Something in the glance exchanged between the friends impressed

the young men in spite of their prejudices, and it was in a perfectly

serious tone that Archie said, "I fancy you'll find your hands full,

Cousin, if you want work, for I've heard people say that wealth has

its troubles and trials as well as poverty."

"I know it, and I'm going to try and fill my place well. I've got

some capital little plans all made, and have begun to study my

profession already," answered Rose with an energetic nod.

"Could I ask what it is to be?" inquired Charlie in a tone of awe.

"Guess!" and Rose looked up at him with an expression

half-earnest, half-merry.

"Well, I should say that you were fitted for a beauty and a belle,

but as that is evidently not to your taste, I am afraid you are going

to study medicine and be a doctor. Won't your patients have a

heavenly time though? It will be easy dying with an angel to

poison them."

"Now, Charlie, that's base of you, when you know how well

women have succeeded in this profession and what a comfort Dr.

Mary Kirk was to dear Aunt Peace. I did want to study medicine,

but Uncle thought it wouldn't do to have so many M.D.'s in one

family, since Mac thinks of trying it. Besides, I seem to have other

work put into my hands that I am better fitted for."

"You are fitted for anything that is generous and good, and I'll

stand by you, no matter what you've chosen," cried Mac heartily,

for this was a new style of talk from a girl's lips, and he liked it

immensely.

"Philanthropy is a generous, good, and beautiful profession, and

I've chosen it for mine because I have much to give. I'm only the

steward of the fortune Papa left me, and I think, if I use it wisely

for the happiness of others, it will be more blest than if I keep it all

for myself."

Very sweetly and simply was this said, but it was curious to see

how differently the various hearers received it.

Charlie shot a quick look at his mother, who exclaimed, as if in

spite of herself, "Now, Alec, are you going to let that girl squander

a fine fortune on all sorts of charitable nonsense and wild schemes

for the prevention of pauperism and crime?"

"'They who give to the poor lend to the Lord,' and practical

Christianity is the kind He loves the best," was all Dr. Alec

answered, but it silenced the aunts and caused even prudent Uncle

Mac to think with sudden satisfaction of certain secret investments

he had made which paid him no interest but the thanks of the poor.

Archie and Mac looked well pleased and promised their advice

and assistance with the enthusiasm of generous young hearts.

Steve shook his head, but said nothing, and the lads on the rug at

once proposed founding a hospital for invalid dogs and horses,

white mice, and wounded heroes.

"Don't you think that will be a better way for a woman to spend her

life than in dancing, dressing, and husband-hunting, Charlie?"

asked Rose, observing his silence and anxious for his approval.

"Very pretty for a little while, and very effective too, for I don't

know anything more captivating than a sweet girl in a meek little

bonnet going on charitable errands and glorifying poor people's

houses with a delightful mixture of beauty and benevolence.

Fortunately, the dear souls soon tire of it, but it's heavenly while it

lasts."

Charlie spoke in a tone of mingled admiration and contempt, and

smiled a superior sort of smile, as if he understood all the innocent

delusions as well as the artful devices of the sex and expected

nothing more from them. It both surprised and grieved Rose, for it

did not sound like the Charlie she had left two years ago. But she

only said, with a reproachful look and a proud little gesture of

head and hand, as if she put the subject aside since it was not

treated with respect: "I am sorry you have so low an opinion of

women. There was a time when you believed in them sincerely."

"I do still, upon my word I do! They haven't a more devoted

admirer and slave in the world than I am. Just try me and see,"

cried Charlie, gallantly kissing his hand to the sex in general.

But Rose was not appeased, and gave a disdainful shrug as she

answered with a look in her eyes that his lordship did not like,

"Thank you. I don't want admirers or slaves, but friends and

helpers. I've lived so long with a wise, good man that I am rather

hard to suit, perhaps, but I don't intend to lower my standard, and

anyone who cares for my regard must at least try to live up to it."

"Whew! Here's a wrathful dove! Come and smooth her ruffled

plumage, Mac. I'll dodge before I do further mischief," and Charlie

strolled away into the other room, privately lamenting that Uncle

Alec had spoiled a fine girl by making her strong-minded.

He wished himself back again in five minutes, for Mac said

something that produced a gale of laughter, and when he took a

look over his shoulder the "wrathful dove" was cooing so

peacefully and pleasantly he was sorely tempted to return and

share the fun. But Charlie had been spoiled by too much

indulgence, and it was hard for him to own himself in the wrong

even when he knew it. He always got what he wanted sooner or

later, and having long ago made up his mind that Rose and her

fortune were to be his, he was secretly displeased at the new plans

and beliefs of the young lady, but flattered himself that they would

soon be changed when she saw how unfashionable and

inconvenient they were.

Musing over the delightful future he had laid out, he made himself

comfortable in the sofa corner near his mother till the appearance

of a slight refection caused both groups to melt into one. Aunt

Plenty believed in eating and drinking, so the slightest excuse for

festivity delighted her hospitable soul, and on this joyful occasion

she surpassed herself.

It was during this informal banquet that Rose, roaming about from

one admiring relative to another, came upon the three younger

lads, who were having a quiet little scuffle in a secluded corner.

"Come out here and let me have a look at you," she said enticingly,

for she predicted an explosion and public disgrace if peace was not

speedily restored.

Hastily smoothing themselves down, the young gentlemen

presented three flushed and merry countenances for inspection,

feeling highly honored by the command.

"Dear me, how you two have grown! You big things how dare you

get head of me in this way!" she said, standing on tiptoe to pat the

curly pates before her, for Will and Geordie had shot up like

weeds, and now grinned cheerfully down upon her as she surveyed

them in comic amazement.

"The Campbells are all fine, tall fellows, and we mean to be the

best of the lot. Shouldn't wonder if we were six-footers like

Grandpa," observed Will proudly, looking so like a young

Shanghai rooster, all legs and an insignificant head, that Rose kept

her countenance with difficulty.

"We shall broaden out when we get our growth. We are taller than

Steve now, a half a head, both of us," added Geordie, with his nose

in the air.

Rose turned to look at Steve and, with a sudden smile, beckoned to

him. He dropped his napkin and flew to obey the summons, for she

was queen of the hour, and he had openly announced his deathless

loyalty.

"Tell the other boys to come here. I've a fancy to stand you all in a

row and look you over, as you did me that dreadful day when you

nearly frightened me out of my wits," she said, laughing at the

memory of it as she spoke.

They came in a body and, standing shoulder to shoulder, made

such an imposing array that the young commander was rather

daunted for a moment. But she had seen too much of the world

lately to be abashed by a trifle, and the desire to see a girlish test

gave her courage to face the line of smiling cousins with dignity

and spirit.

"Now, I'm going to stare at you as you stared at me. It is my

revenge on you seven bad boys for entrapping one poor little girl

and enjoying her alarm. I'm not a bit afraid of you now, so tremble

and beware!"

As she spoke, Rose looked up into Archie's face and nodded

approvingly, for the steady gray eyes met hers fairly and softened

as they did so a becoming change, for naturally they were rather

keen than kind.

"A true Campbell, bless you!" she said, and shook his hand heartily

as she passed on.

Charlie came next, and here she felt less satisfied, though scarcely

conscious why, for, as she looked, there came a defiant sort of

flash, changing suddenly to something warmer than anger, stronger

than pride, making her shrink a little and say, hastily, "I don't find

the Charlie I left, but the Prince is there still, I see."

Turning to Mac with a sense of relief, she gently took off his

"winkers," as Jamie called them, and looked straight into the

honest blue eyes that looked straight back at her, full of a frank

and friendly affection that warmed her heart and made her own

eyes brighten as she gave back the glasses, saying, with a look and

tone of cordial satisfaction, "You are not changed, my dear old

Mac, and I'm so glad of that!"

"Now say something extra sweet to me, because I'm the flower of

the family," said Steve, twirling the blond moustache, which was

evidently the pride of his life.

Rose saw at a glance that Dandy deserved his name more than

ever, and promptly quenched his vanities by answering, with a

provoking laugh, "Then the name of the flower of the family is

Cockscomb."

"Ah, ha! who's got it now?" jeered Will.

"Let us off easy, please," whispered Geordie, mindful that their

turn came next.

"You blessed beanstalks! I'm proud of you only don't grow quite

out of sight, or even be ashamed to look a woman in the face,"

answered Rose, with a gentle pat on the cheek of either bashful

young giant, for both were red as peonies, though their boyish eyes

were as clear and calm as summer lakes.

"Now me!" and Jamie assumed his manliest air, feeling that he did

not appear to advantage among his tall kinsmen. But he went to

the head of the class in everyone's opinion when Rose put her arms

around him, saying, with a kiss, "You must be my boy now, for all

the others are too old, and I want a faithful little page to do my

errands for me."

"I will, I will I'll marry you too, if you'll just hold on till I grow

up!" cried Jamie, rather losing his head at this sudden promotion.

"Bless the baby, what is he talking about?" laughed Rose, looking

down at her little knight as he clung about her with grateful ardor.

"Oh, I heard the aunts say that you'd better marry one of us, and

keep the property in the family, so I speak first, because you are

very fond of me, and I do love curls."

Alas for Jamie! This awful speech had hardly left his innocent lips

when Will and Geordie swept him out of the room like a

whirlwind, and the howls of that hapless boy were heard from the

torture hall, where being shut into the skeleton case was one of the

mildest punishments inflicted upon him.

Dismay fell upon the unfortunates who remained, but their

confusion was soon ended, for Rose, with a look which they had

never seen upon her face before, dismissed them with the brief

command, "Break ranks the review is over," and walked away to

Phebe.

"Confound that boy! You ought to shut him up or gag him!" fumed

Charlie irritably.

"He shall be attended to," answered poor Archie, who was trying to

bring up the little marplot with the success of most parents and

guardians.

"The whole thing was deuced disagreeable," growled Steve, who

felt that he had not distinguished himself in the late engagement.

"Truth generally is," observed Mac dryly as he strolled away with

his odd smile.

As if he suspected discord somewhere, Dr. Alec proposed music at

this crisis, and the young people felt that it was a happy thought.

"I want you to hear both my birds, for they have improved

immensely, and I am very proud of them," said the doctor, twirling

up the stool and pulling out the old music books.

"I had better come first, for after you have heard the nightingale

you won't care for the canary," added Rose, wishing to put Phebe

at her ease, for she sat among them looking like a picture, but

rather shy and silent, remembering the days when her place was in

the kitchen.

"I'll give you some of the dear old songs you used to like so much.

This was a favorite, I think," and sitting down she sang the first

familiar air that came, and sang it well in a pleasant, but by no

means finished, manner.

It chanced to be "The Birks of Aberfeldie," and vividly recalled the

time when Mac was ill and she took care of him. The memory was

sweet to her, and involuntarily her eye wandered in search of him.

He was not far away, sitting just as he used to sit when she soothed

his most despondent moods astride of a chair with his head down

on his arms, as if the song suggested the attitude. Her heart quite

softened to him as she looked, and she decided to forgive him if no

one else, for she was sure that he had no mercenary plans about

her tiresome money.

Charlie had assumed a pensive air and fixed his fine eyes upon her

with an expression of tender admiration, which made her laugh in

spite of all her efforts to seem unconscious of it. She was both

amused and annoyed at his very evident desire to remind her of

certain sentimental passages in the last year of their girl- and

boy-hood, and to change what she had considered a childish joke

into romantic earnest. Rose had very serious ideas of love and had

no intention of being beguiled into even a flirtation with her

handsome cousin.

So Charlie attitudinized unnoticed and was getting rather out of

temper when Phebe began to sing, and he forgot all about himself

in admiration of her. It took everyone by surprise, for two years of

foreign training added to several at home had worked wonders,

and the beautiful voice that used to warble cheerily over pots and

kettles now rang out melodiously or melted to a mellow music that

woke a sympathetic thrill in those who listened. Rose glowed with

pride as she accompanied her friend, for Phebe was in her own

world now a lovely world where no depressing memory of

poorhouse or kitchen, ignorance or loneliness, came to trouble her,

a happy world where she could be herself and rule others by the

magic of her sweet gift.

Yes, Phebe was herself now, and showed it in the change that

came over her at the first note of music. No longer shy and silent,

no longer the image of a handsome girl but a blooming woman,

alive and full of the eloquence her art gave her, as she laid her

hands softly together, fixed her eye on the light, and just poured

out her song as simply and joyfully as the lark does soaring toward

the sun.

"My faith, Alec that's the sort of voice that wins a man's heart out

of his breast!" exclaimed Uncle Mac, wiping his eyes after one of

the plaintive ballads that never grow old.

"So it would!" answered Dr. Alec delightedly.

"So it has," added Archie to himself; and he was right, for just at

that moment he fell in love with Phebe. He actually did, and could

fix the time almost to a second, for at a quarter past nine, he

merely thought her a very charming young person; at twenty

minutes past, he considered her the loveliest woman he ever

beheld; at five and twenty minutes past, she was an angel singing

his soul away; and at half after nine he was a lost man, floating

over a delicious sea to that temporary heaven on earth where

lovers usually land after the first rapturous plunge.

If anyone had mentioned this astonishing fact, nobody would have

believed it; nevertheless, it was quite true, and sober, businesslike

Archie suddenly discovered a fund of romance at the bottom of his

hitherto well-conducted heart that amazed him. He was not quite

clear what had happened to him at first, and sat about in a dazed

sort of way, seeing, hearing, knowing nothing but Phebe, while the

unconscious idol found something wanting in the cordial praise so

modestly received because Mr. Archie never said a word.

This was one of the remarkable things which occurred that

evening. Another was that Mac paid Rose a compliment, which

was such an unprecedented fact, it produced a great sensation,

though only one person heard it.

Everybody had gone but Mac and his father, who was busy with

the doctor. Aunt Plenty was counting the teaspoons in the dining

room, and Phebe was helping her as of old. Mac and Rose were

alone he apparently in a brown study, leaning his elbows on the

chimneypiece, and she lying back in a low chair looking

thoughtfully at the fire. She was tired, and the quiet was grateful to

her, so she kept silence and Mac respectfully held his tongue.

Presently, however, she became conscious that he was looking at

her as intently as eyes and glasses could do it, and without stirring

from her comfortable attitude, she said, smiling up at him, "He

looks as wise as an owl I wonder what he's thinking about?"

"You, Cousin."

"Something good, I hope?"

"I was thinking Leigh Hunt was about right when he said, 'A girl is

the sweetest thing God ever made.'"

"Why, Mac!" and Rose sat bolt upright with an astonished face this

was such an entirely unexpected sort of remark for the philosopher

to make.

Evidently interested in the new discovery, Mac placidly continued,

"Do you know, it seems as if I never really saw a girl before, or

had any idea what agreeable creatures they could be. I fancy you

are a remarkably good specimen, Rose."

"No, indeed! I'm only hearty and happy, and being safe at home

again may make me look better than usual perhaps, but I'm no

beauty except to Uncle."

"'Hearty and happy' that must be it," echoed Mac, soberly

investigating the problem. "Most girls are sickly or silly, I think I

have observed, and that is probably why I am so struck with you."

"Of all the queer boys you are the queerest! Do you really mean

that you don't like or notice girls?" asked Rose, much amused at

this new peculiarity of her studious cousin.

"Well, no, I am only conscious of two sorts noisy and quiet ones. I

prefer the latter, but, as a general thing, I don't notice any of them

much more than I do flies, unless they bother me, then I'd like to

flap them away, but as that won't do, I hide."

Rose leaned back and laughed until her eyes were full. It was so

comical to hear Mac sink his voice to a confidential whisper at the

last words and see him smile with sinful satisfaction at the

memory of the tormentors he had eluded.

"You needn't laugh it's a fact, I assure you. Charlie likes the

creatures, and they spoil him. Steve follows suit, of course. Archie

is a respectful slave when he can't help himself. As for me, I don't

often give them a chance, and when I get caught I talk science and

dead languages till they run for their lives. Now and then I find a

sensible one, and then we get on excellently."

"A sad prospect for Phebe and me," sighed Rose, trying to keep

sober.

"Phebe is evidently a quiet one. I know she is sensible, or you

wouldn't care for her. I can see that she is pleasant to look at, so I

fancy I shall like her. As for you, I helped bring you up, therefore I

am a little anxious to see how you turn out. I was afraid your

foreign polish might spoil you, but I think it has not. In fact, I find

you quite satisfactory so far, if you don't mind my saying it. I don't

quite know what the charm is, though. Must be the power of

inward graces, since you insist that you have no outer ones."

Mac was peering at her with a shrewd smile on his lips, but such a

kindly look behind the glasses that she found both words and

glance very pleasant and answered merrily, "I am glad you approve

of me, and much obliged for your care of my early youth. I hope to

be a credit to you and depend on your keeping me straight, for I'm

afraid I shall be spoilt among you all."

"I'll keep my eye on you upon one condition," replied the youthful

mentor.

"Name it."

"If you are going to have a lot of lovers around, I wash my hands

of you. If not, I'm your man."

"You must be sheep dog and help keep them away, for I don't want

any yet awhile and, between ourselves, I don't believe I shall have

any if it is known that I am strong-minded. That fact will scare

most men away like a yellow flag," said Rose, for, thanks to Dr.

Alec's guardianship, she had wasted neither heart nor time in the

foolish flirtations so many girls fritter away their youth upon.

"Hum! I rather doubt that," muttered Mac as he surveyed the

damsel before him.

She certainly did not look unpleasantly strong-minded, and she

was beautiful in spite of her modest denials. Beautiful with the

truest sort of beauty, for nobility of character lent its subtle charm

to the bloom of youth, the freshness of health, the innocence of a

nature whose sweet maidenliness Mac felt but could not describe.

Gentle yet full of spirit, and all aglow with the earnestness that

suggests lovely possibilities and makes one hope that such human

flowers may have heaven's purest air and warmest sunshine to

blossom in.

"Wait and see," answered Rose; then, as her uncle's voice was

heard in the hall, she held out her hand, adding pleasantly, "The

old times are to begin again, so come soon and tell me all your

doings and help me with mine just as you used to do."

"You really mean it?" And Mac looked much pleased.

"I really do. You are so little altered, except to grow big, that I

don't feel at all strange with you and want to begin where we left

off."

"That will be capital. Good night, Cousin," and to her great

amazement, he gave her a hearty kiss.

"Oh, but that is not the old way at all!" cried Rose, stepping back

in merry confusion while the audacious youth assumed an air of

mild surprise as he innocently asked: "Didn't we always say good

night in that way? I had an impression that we did and were to

begin just as we left off."

"Of course not. No power on earth would have bribed you to do it,

as you know well enough. I don't mind the first night, but we are

too old for that sort of thing now."

"I'll remember. It was the force of habit, I suppose, for I'm sure I

must have done it in former times, it seemed so natural. Coming,

Father!" and Mac retired, evidently convinced he was right.

"Dear old thing! He is as much a boy as ever, and that is such a

comfort, for some of the others have grown up very fast," said

Rose to herself, recalling Charlie's sentimental airs and Archie's

beatified expression while Phebe sang.

Chapter 2 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES

"It is so good to be home again! I wonder how we ever made up

our minds to go away!" exclaimed Rose as she went roaming about

the old house next morning, full of the satisfaction one feels at

revisiting familiar nooks and corners and finding them unchanged.

"That we might have the pleasure of coming back again,"

answered Phebe, walking down the hall beside her little mistress,

as happy as she.

"Everything seems just as we left it, even to the rose leaves we

used to tuck in here," continued the younger girl, peeping into one

of the tall India jars that stood about the hall.

"Don't you remember how Jamie and Pokey used to play Forty

Thieves with them, and how you tried to get into that blue one and

got stuck, and the other boys found us before I could pull you out?"

asked Phebe, laughing.

"Yes, indeed, and speaking of angels, one is apt to hear the rustling

of their wings," added Rose, as a shrill whistle came up the avenue

accompanied by the clatter of hoofs.

"It is the circus!" cried Phebe gaily as they both recalled the red

cart and the charge of the clan.

There was only one boy now, alas, but he made noise enough for

half a dozen, and before Rose could run to the door, Jamie came

bouncing in with a "shining morning face," a bat over his shoulder,

a red and white jockey cap on his head, one pocket bulging with a

big ball, the other overflowing with cookies, and his mouth full of

the apple he was just finishing off in hot haste.

"Morning! I just looked in to make sure you'd really come and see

that you were all right," he observed, saluting with bat and doffing

the gay cap with one effective twitch.

"Good morning, dear. Yes, we really are here, and getting to rights

as fast as possible. But it seems to me you are rather gorgeous,

Jamie. What do you belong to a fire company or a jockey club?"

asked Rose, turning up the once chubby face, which now was

getting brown and square about the chin.

"No, ma'am! Why, don't you know? I'm captain of the Base Ball

Star Club. Look at that, will you?" And, as if the fact were one of

national importance, Jamie flung open his jacket to display upon

his proudly swelling chest an heart-shaped red flannel shield

decorated with a white cotton star the size of a tea plate.

"Superb! I've been away so long I forgot there was such a game.

And you the captain?" cried Rose, deeply impressed by the high

honor to which her kinsman had arrived.

"I just am, and it's no joke you'd better believe, for we knock our

teeth out, black our eyes, and split our fingers almost as well as the

big fellows. You come down to the Common between one and two

and see us play a match, then you'll understand what hard work it

is. I'll teach you to bat now if you'll come out on the lawn," added

Jamie, fired with a wish to exhibit his prowess.

"No, thank you, captain. The grass is wet, and you'll be late at

school if you stay for us."

"I'm not afraid. Girls are not good for much generally, but you

never used to mind a little wet and played cricket like a good one.

Can't you ever do that sort of thing now?" asked the boy, with a

pitying look at these hapless creatures debarred from the joys and

perils of manly sports.

"I can run still and I'll get to the gate before you, see if I don't."

And, yielding to the impulse of the moment, Rose darted down the

steps before astonished Jamie could mount and follow.

He was off in a moment, but Rose had the start, and though old

Sheltie did his best, she reached the goal just ahead, and stood

there laughing and panting, all rosy with fresh October air, a pretty

picture for several gentlemen who were driving by.

"Good for you, Rose!" said Archie, jumping out to shake hands

while Will and Geordie saluted and Uncle Mac laughed at Jamie,

who looked as if girls had risen slightly in his opinion.

"I'm glad it is you, because you won't be shocked. But I'm so happy

to be back I forgot I was not little Rose still," said Atalanta,

smoothing down her flying hair.

"You look very like her, with the curls on your shoulders in the old

way. I missed them last night and wondered what it was. How are

Uncle and Phebe?" asked Archie, whose eyes had been looking

over Rose's head while he spoke toward the piazza, where a female

figure was visible among the reddening woodbines.

"All well, thanks. Won't you come up and see for yourselves?"

"Can't, my dear, can't possibly. Business, you know, business. This

fellow is my right-hand man, and I can't spare him a minute.

Come, Arch, we must be off, or these boys will miss their train,"

answered Uncle Mac, pulling out his watch.

With a last look from the light-haired figure at the gate to the

dark-haired one among the vines, Archie drove away and Jamie

cantered after, consoling himself for his defeat with apple number

two.

Rose lingered a moment, feeling much inclined to continue her run

and pop in upon all the aunts in succession, but, remembering her

uncovered head, was about to turn back when a cheerful "Ahoy!

ahoy!" made her look up to see Mac approaching at a great pace,

waving his hat as he came.

"The Campbells are coming, thick and fast this morning, and the

more the merrier," she said, running to meet him. "You look like a

good boy going to school, and virtuously conning your lesson by

the way," she added, smiling to see him take his finger out of the

book he had evidently been reading, and tuck it under his arm, just

as he used to do years ago.

"I am a schoolboy, going to the school I like best," he answered,

waving a plumy spray of asters as if pointing out the lovely autumn

world about them, full of gay hues, fresh airs, and mellow

sunshine.

"That reminds me that I didn't get a chance to hear much about

your plans last night the other boys all talked at once, and you only

got a word now and then. What have you decided to be, Mac?"

asked Rose as they went up the avenue side by side.

"A man first, and a good one if possible. After that, what God

pleases."

Something in the tone, as well as the words, made Rose look up

quickly into Mac's face to see a new expression there. It was

indescribable, but she felt as she had often done when watching

the mists part suddenly, giving glimpses of some mountaintop,

shining serene and high against the blue.

"I think you will be something splendid, for you really look quite

glorified, walking under this arch of yellow leaves with the

sunshine on your face," she exclaimed, conscious of a sudden

admiration never felt before, for Mac was the plainest of all the

cousins.

"I don't know about that, but I have my dreams and aspirations,

and some of them are pretty high ones. Aim at the best, you know,

and keep climbing if you want to get on," he said, looking at the

asters with an inward sort of smile, as if he and they had some

sweet secret between them.

"You are queerer than ever. But I like your ambition, and hope you

will get on. Only mustn't you begin at something soon? I fancied

you would study medicine with Uncle that used to be our plan, you

know."

"I shall, for the present at least, because I quite agree with you that

it is necessary to have an anchor somewhere and not go floating

off into the world of imagination without ballast of the right sort.

Uncle and I had some talk about it last night and I'm going to begin

as soon as possible, for I've mooned long enough," and giving

himself a shake, Mac threw down the pretty spray, adding half

aloud:

"Chide me not, laborious band,

For the idle flowers I brought:

Every aster in my hand

Goes home laden with a thought."

Rose caught the words and smiled, thinking to herself, "Oh, that's

it he is getting into the sentimental age and Aunt Jane has been

lecturing him. Dear me, how we are growing up!"

"You look as if you didn't like the prospect very well," she said

aloud, for Mac had rammed the volume of Shelley into his pocket

and the glorified expression was so entirely gone, Rose fancied she

had been mistaken about the mountaintop behind the mists.

"Yes, well enough I always thought the profession a grand one,

and where could I find a better teacher than Uncle? I've got into

lazy ways lately, and it is high time I went at something useful, so

here I go," and Mac abruptly vanished into the study while Rose

joined Phebe in Aunt Plenty's room.

The dear old lady had just decided, after long and earnest

discussion, which of six favorite puddings should be served for

dinner, and thus had a few moments to devote to sentiment, so

when Rose came in she held out her arms, saying fondly: "I shall

not feel as if I'd got my child back again until I have her in my lap

a minute. No, you're not a bit too heavy, my rheumatism doesn't

begin much before November, so sit here, darling, and put your

two arms round my neck."

Rose obeyed, and neither spoke for a moment as the old woman

held the young one close and appeased the two years' longing of a

motherly heart by the caresses women give the creatures dearest to

them. Right in the middle of a kiss, however, she stopped suddenly

and, holding out one arm, caught Phebe, who was trying to steal

away unobserved.

"Don't go there's room for both in my love, though there isn't in my

lap. I'm so grateful to get my dear girls safely home again that I

hardly know what I'm about," said Aunt Plenty, embracing Phebe

so heartily that she could not feel left out in the cold and stood

there with her black eyes shining through the happiest tears.

"There, now I've had a good hug, and feel as if I was all right

again. I wish you'd set that cap in order, Rose I went to bed in such

a hurry, I pulled the strings off it and left it all in a heap. Phebe,

dear, you shall dust round a mite, just as you used to, for I haven't

had anyone to do it as I like since you've been gone, and it will do

me good to see all my knickknacks straightened out in your tidy

way," said the elder lady, getting up with a refreshed expression on

her rosy old face.

"Shall I dust in here too?" asked Phebe, glancing toward an inner

room which used to be her care.

"No, dear, I'd rather do that myself. Go in if you like, nothing is

changed. I must go and see to my pudding." And Aunt Plenty

trotted abruptly away with a quiver of emotion in her voice which

made even her last words pathetic.

Pausing on the threshold as if it was a sacred place, the girls

looked in with eyes soon dimmed by tender tears, for it seemed as

if the gentle occupant was still there. Sunshine shone on the old

geraniums by the window; the cushioned chair stood in its

accustomed place, with the white wrapper hung across it and the

faded slippers lying ready. Books and basket, knitting and

spectacles, were all just as she had left them, and the beautiful

tranquility that always filled the room seemed so natural, both

lookers turned involuntarily toward the bed, where Aunt Peace

used to greet them with a smile. There was no sweet old face upon

the pillow now, yet the tears that wet the blooming cheeks were

not for her who had gone, but for her who was left, because they

saw something which spoke eloquently of the love which outlives

death and makes the humblest things beautiful and sacred.

A well-worn footstool stood beside the bed, and in the high-piled

whiteness of the empty couch there was a little hollow where a

gray head nightly rested while Aunt Plenty said the prayers her

mother taught her seventy years ago.

Without a word, the girls softly shut the door. And while Phebe put

the room in the most exquisite order, Rose retrimmed the plain

white cap, where pink and yellow ribbons never rustled now, both

feeling honored by their tasks and better for their knowledge of the

faithful love and piety which sanctified a good old woman's life.

"You darling creature, I'm so glad to get you back! I know it's

shamefully early, but I really couldn't keep away another minute.

Let me help you I'm dying to see all your splendid things. I saw the

trunks pass and I know you've quantities of treasures," cried

Annabel Bliss all in one breath as she embraced Rose an hour later

and glanced about the room bestrewn with a variety of agreeable

objects.

"How well you are looking! Sit down and I'll show you my lovely

photographs. Uncle chose all the best for me, and it's a treat to see

them," answered Rose, putting a roll on the table and looking

about for more.

"Oh, thanks! I haven't time now one needs hours to study such

things. Show me your Paris dresses, there's a dear I'm perfectly

aching to see the last styles," and Annabel cast a hungry eye

toward certain large boxes delightfully suggestive of French finery.

"I haven't got any," said Rose, fondly surveying the fine

photographs as she laid them away.

"Rose Campbell! You don't mean to say that you didn't get one

Paris dress at least?" cried Annabel, scandalized at the bare idea of

such neglect.

"Not one for myself. Aunt Clara ordered several, and will be

charmed to show them when her box comes."

"Such a chance! Right there and plenty of money! How could you

love your uncle after such cruelty?" sighed Annabel, with a face

full of sympathy.

Rose looked puzzled for a minute, then seemed to understand, and

assumed a superior air which became her very well as she said,

good-naturedly opening a box of laces, "Uncle did not forbid my

doing it, and I had money enough, but I chose not to spend it on

things of that sort."

"Could and didn't! I can't believe it!" And Annabel sank into a

chair, as if the thought was too much for her.

"I did rather want to at first, just for the fun of the thing. In fact, I

went and looked at some amazing gowns. But they were very

expensive, very much trimmed, and not my style at all, so I gave

them up and kept what I valued more than all the gowns Worth

every made."

"What in the world was it?" cried Annabel, hoping she would say

diamonds.

"Uncle's good opinion," answered Rose, looking thoughtfully into

the depths of a packing case, where lay the lovely picture that

would always remind her of the little triumph over girlish vanity,

which not only kept but increased "Uncle's good opinion."

"Oh, indeed!" said Annabel blankly, and fell to examining Aunt

Plenty's lace while Rose went on with a happy smile in her eyes as

she dived into another trunk.

"Uncle thinks one has no right to waste money on such things, but

he is very generous and loves to give useful, beautiful, or curious

gifts. See, all these pretty ornaments are for presents, and you shall

choose first whatever you like."

"He's a perfect dear!" cried Annabel, reveling in the crystal,

filigree, coral, and mosaic trinkets spread before her while Rose

completed her rapture by adding sundry tasteful trifles fresh from

Paris.

"Now tell me, when do you mean to have your coming-out party? I

ask because I've nothing ready and want plenty of time, for I

suppose it will be the event of the season," asked Annabel a few

minutes later as she wavered between a pink coral and a blue lava

set.

"I came out when I went to Europe, but I suppose Aunty Plen will

want to have some sort of merry-making to celebrate our return. I

shall begin as I mean to go on, and have a simple, sociable sort of

party and invite everyone whom I like, no matter in what 'set' they

happen to belong. No one shall ever say I am aristocratic and

exclusive so prepare yourself to be shocked, for old friends and

young, rich and poor, will be asked to all my parties."

"Oh, my heart! You are going to be odd, just as Mama predicted!"

sighed Annabel, clasping her hands in despair and studying the

effect of three bracelets on her chubby arm in the midst of her

woe.

"In my own house I'm going to do as I think best, and if people call

me odd, I can't help it. I shall endeavor not to do anything very

dreadful, but I seem to inherit Uncle's love for experiments and

mean to try some. I daresay they will fail and I shall get laughed at.

I intend to do it nevertheless, so you had better drop me now

before I begin," said Rose with an air of resolution that was rather

alarming.

"What shall you wear at this new sort of party of yours?" asked

Annabel, wisely turning a deaf ear to all delicate or dangerous

topics and keeping to matters she understood.

"That white thing over there. It is fresh and pretty, and Phebe has

one like it. I never want to dress more than she does, and gowns of

that sort are always most becoming and appropriate to girls of our

age."

"Phebe! You don't mean to say you are going to make a lady of

her!" gasped Annabel, upsetting her treasures as she fell back with

a gesture that made the little chair creak again, for Miss Bliss was

as plump as a partridge.

"She is one already, and anybody who slights her slights me, for

she is the best girl I know and the dearest," cried Rose warmly.

"Yes, of course I was only surprised you are quite right, for she

may turn out to be somebody, and then how glad you'll feel that

you were so good to her!" said Annabel, veering around at once,

seeing which way the wind blew.

Before Rose could speak again, a cheery voice called from the

hall, "Little mistress, where are you?"

"In my room, Phebe, dear," and up came the girl Rose was going to

"make a lady of," looking so like one that Annabel opened her

china-blue eyes and smiled involuntarily as Phebe dropped a little

curtsey in playful imitation of her old manner and said quietly:

"How do you do, Miss Bliss?"

"Glad to see you back, Miss Moore," answered Annabel, shaking

hands in a way that settled the question of Phebe's place in her

mind forever, for the stout damsel had a kind heart in spite of a

weak head and was really fond of Rose. It was evidently "Love me,

love my Phebe," so she made up her mind on the spot that Phebe

was somebody, and that gave an air of romance even to the

poorhouse.

She could not help staring a little as she watched the two friends

work together and listened to their happy talk over each new

treasure as it came to light, for every look and word plainly

showed that years of close companionship had made them very

dear to one another. It was pretty to see Rose try to do the hardest

part of any little job herself still prettier to see Phebe circumvent

her and untie the hard knots, fold the stiff papers, or lift the heavy

trays with her own strong hands, and prettiest of all to hear her say

in a motherly tone, as she put Rose into an easy chair: "Now, my

deary, sit and rest, for you will have to see company all day, and I

can't let you get tired out so early."

"That is no reason why I should let you either. Call Jane to help or

I'll bob up again directly," answered Rose, with a very bad

assumption of authority.

"Jane may take my place downstairs, but no one shall wait on you

here except me, as long as I'm with you," said stately Phebe,

stooping to put a hassock under the feet of her little mistress.

"It is very nice and pretty to see, but I don't know what people will

say when she goes into society with the rest of us. I do hope Rose

won't be very odd," said Annabel to herself as she went away to

circulate the depressing news that there was to be no grand ball

and, saddest disappointment of all, that Rose had not a single Paris

costume with which to refresh the eyes and rouse the envy of her

amiable friends.

"Now I've seen or heard from all the boys but Charlie, and I

suppose he is too busy. I wonder what he is about," thought Rose,

turning from the hall door, whither she had courteously

accompanied her guest.

The wish was granted a moment after, for, going into the parlor to

decide where some of her pictures should hang, she saw a pair of

brown boots at one end of the sofa, a tawny-brown head at the

other, and discovered that Charlie was busily occupied in doing

nothing.

"The voice of the Bliss was heard in the land, so I dodged till she

went upstairs, and then took a brief siesta while waiting to pay my

respects to the distinguished traveler, Lady Hester Stanhope," he

said, leaping up to make his best bow.

"The voice of the sluggard would be a more appropriate quotation,

I think. Does Annabel still pine for you?" asked Rose, recalling

certain youthful jokes upon the subject of unrequited affections.

"Not a bit of it. Fun has cut me out, and the fair Annabella will be

Mrs. Tokio before the winter is over if I'm not much mistaken."

"What, little Fun See? How droll it seems to think of him grown up

and married to Annabel of all people! She never said a word about

him, but this accounts for her admiring my pretty Chinese things

and being so interested in Canton."

"Little Fun is a great swell now, and much enamored of our fat

friend, who will take to chopsticks whenever he says the word. I

needn't ask how you do, Cousin, for you beat that Aurora all

hollow in the way of color. I should have been up before, but I

thought you'd like a good rest after your voyage."

"I was running a race with Jamie before nine o'clock. What were

you doing, young man?"

"'Sleeping I dreamed, love, dreamed, love, of thee,'" began

Charlie, but Rose cut him short by saying as reproachfully as she

could, while the culprit stood regarding her with placid

satisfaction: "You ought to have been up and at work like the rest

of the boys. I felt like a drone in a hive of very busy bees when I

saw them all hurrying off to their business."

"But, my dear girl, I've got no business. I'm making up my mind,

you see, and do the ornamental while I'm deciding. There always

ought to be one gentleman in a family, and that seems to be rather

my line," answered Charlie, posing for the character with an

assumption of languid elegance which would have been very

effective if his twinkling eyes had not spoilt it.

"There are none but gentlemen in our family, I hope," answered

Rose, with the proud air she always wore when anything was said

derogatory to the name of Campbell.

"Of course, of course. I should have said gentleman of leisure. You

see it is against my principles to slave as Archie does. What's the

use? Don't need the money, got plenty, so why not enjoy it and

keep jolly as long as possible? I'm sure cheerful people are public

benefactors in this world of woe."

It was not easy to object to this proposition, especially when made

by a comely young man who looked the picture of health and

happiness as he sat on the arm of the sofa smiling at his cousin in

the most engaging manner. Rose knew very well that the

Epicurean philosophy was not the true one to begin life upon, but

it was difficult to reason with Charlie because he always dodged

sober subjects and was so full of cheery spirits, one hated to lessen

the sort of sunshine which certainly is a public benefactor.

"You have such a clever way of putting things that I don't know

how to contradict you, though I still think I'm right," she said

gravely. "Mac likes to idle as well as you, but he is not going to do

it because he knows it's bad for him to fritter away his time. He is

going to study a profession like a wise boy, though he would much

prefer to live among his beloved books or ride his hobbies in

peace."

"That's all very well for him, because he doesn't care for society

and may as well be studying medicine as philandering about the

woods with his pockets full of musty philosophers and

old-fashioned poets," answered Charlie with a shrug which plainly

expressed his opinion of Mac.

"I wonder if musty philosophers, like Socrates and Aristotle, and

old-fashioned poets, like Shakespeare and Milton, are not safer

company for him to keep than some of the more modern friends

you have?" said Rose, remembering Jamie's hints about wild oats,

for she could be a little sharp sometimes and had not lectured "the

boys" for so long it seemed unusually pleasant.

But Charlie changed the subject skillfully by exclaiming with an

anxious expression: "I do believe you are going to be like Aunt

Jane, for that's just the way she comes down on me whenever she

gets the chance! Don't take her for a model, I beg she is a good

woman but a mighty disagreeable one in my humble opinion."

The fear of being disagreeable is a great bugbear to a girl, as this

artful young man well knew, and Rose fell into the trap at once,

for Aunt Jane was far from being her model, though she could not

help respecting her worth.

"Have you given up your painting?" she asked rather abruptly,

turning to a gilded Fra Angelico angel which leaned in the sofa

corner.

"Sweetest face I ever saw, and very like you about the eyes, isn't

it?" said Charlie, who seemed to have a Yankee trick of replying to

one question with another.

"I want an answer, not a compliment," and Rose tried to look

severe as she put away the picture more quickly than she had taken

it up.

"Have I given up painting? Oh, no! I daub a little in oils, slop a

little in watercolors, sketch now and then, and poke about the

studios when the artistic fit comes on."

"How is the music?"

"More flourishing. I don't practice much, but sing a good deal in

company. Set up a guitar last summer and went troubadouring

round in great style. The girls like it, and it's jolly among the

fellows."

"Are you studying anything?"

"Well, I have some lawbooks on my table good, big, wise-looking

chaps and I take a turn at them semioccasionally when pleasure

palls or parents chide. But I doubt if I do more than learn what 'a

allybi' is this year," and a sly laugh in Charlie's eye suggested that

he sometimes availed himself of this bit of legal knowledge.

"What do you do then?"

"Fair catechist, I enjoy myself. Private theatricals have been the

rage of late, and I have won such laurels that I seriously think of

adopting the stage as my profession."

"Really!" cried Rose, alarmed.

"Why not? If I must go to work, isn't that as good as anything?"

"Not without more talent than I think you possess. With genius one

can do anything without it one had better let the stage alone."

"There's a quencher for the 'star of the goodlie companie' to which

I belong. Mac hasn't a ray of genius for anything, yet you admire

him for trying to be an M.D.," cried Charlie, rather nettled at her

words.

"It is respectable, at all events, and I'd rather be a second-rate

doctor than a second-rate actor. But I know you don't mean it, and

only say so to frighten me."

"Exactly. I always bring it up when anyone begins to lecture and it

works wonders. Uncle Mac turns pale, the aunts hold up their

hands in holy horror, and a general panic ensues. Then I

magnanimously promise not to disgrace the family and in the first

burst of gratitude the dear souls agree to everything I ask, so peace

is restored and I go on my way rejoicing."

"Just the way you used to threaten to run off to sea if your mother

objected to any of your whims. You are not changed in that

respect, though you are in others. You had great plans and projects

once, Charlie, and now you seem to be contented with being a

'jack of all trades and master of none'".

"Boyish nonsense! Time has brought wisdom, and I don't see the

sense of tying myself down to one particular thing and grinding

away at it year after year. People of one idea get so deucedly

narrow and tame, I've no patience with them. Culture is the thing,

and the sort one gets by ranging over a wide field is the easiest to

acquire, the handiest to have, and the most successful in the end.

At any rate, it is the kind I like and the only kind I intend to bother

myself about."

With this declaration, Charlie smoothed his brow, clasped his

hands over his head, and, leaning back, gently warbled the chorus

of a college song as if it expressed his views of life better than he

could:

"While our rosy fillets shed

Blushes o'er each fervid head,

With many a cup and many a smile

The festal moments we beguile."

"Some of my saints here were people of one idea, and though they

were not very successful from a worldly point of view while alive,

they were loved and canonized when dead," said Rose, who had

been turning over a pile of photographs on the table and just then

found her favorite, St. Francis, among them.

"This is more to my taste. Those worn-out, cadaverous fellows

give me the blues, but here's a gentlemanly saint who takes things

easy and does good as he goes along without howling over his own

sins or making other people miserable by telling them of theirs."

And Charlie laid a handsome St. Martin beside the brown-frocked

monk.

Rose looked at both and understood why her cousin preferred the

soldierly figure with the sword to the ascetic with his crucifix. One

was riding bravely through the world in purple and fine linen, with

horse and hound and squires at his back; and the other was in a

lazar-house, praying over the dead and dying. The contrast was a

strong one, and the girl's eyes lingered longest on the knight,

though she said thoughtfully, "Yours is certainly the pleasantest

and yet I never heard of any good deed he did, except divide his

cloak with a beggar, while St. Francis gave himself to charity just

when life was most tempting and spent years working for God

without reward. He's old and poor, and in a dreadful place, but I

won't give him up, and you may have your gay St. Martin if you

want him."

"No, thank you, saints are not in my line but I'd like the

golden-haired angel in the blue gown if you'll let me have her. She

shall be my little Madonna, and I'll pray to her like a good

Catholic," answered Charlie, turning to the delicate, deep-eyed

figure with the lilies in its hand.

"With all my heart, and any others that you like. Choose some for

your mother and give them to her with my love."

So Charlie sat down beside Rose to turn and talk over the pictures

for a long and pleasant hour. But when they went away to lunch, if

there had been anyone to observe so small but significant a trifle,

good St. Francis lay face downward behind the sofa, while gallant

St. Martin stood erect upon the chimneypiece.

Chapter 3 MISS CAMPBELL

While the travelers unpack their trunks, we will pick up, as briefly

as possible, the dropped stitches in the little romance we are

weaving.

Rose's life had been a very busy and quiet one for the four years

following the May day when she made her choice. Study, exercise,

housework, and many wholesome pleasures kept her a happy,

hearty creature, yearly growing in womanly graces, yet always

preserving the innocent freshness girls lose so soon when too early

set upon the world's stage and given a part to play.

Not a remarkably gifted girl in any way, and far from perfect; full

of all manner of youthful whims and fancies; a little spoiled by

much love; rather apt to think all lives as safe and sweet as her

own; and, when want or pain appealed to her, the tender heart

overflowed with a remorseful charity which gave of its abundance

recklessly. Yet, with all her human imperfections, the upright

nature of the child kept her desires climbing toward the just and

pure and true, as flowers struggle to the light; and the woman's

soul was budding beautifully under the green leaves behind the

little thorns.

At seventeen, Dr. Alec pronounced her ready for the voyage

around the world, which he considered a better finishing off than

any school could give her. But just then Aunt Peace began to fail

and soon slipped quietly away to rejoin the lover she had waited

for so long. Youth seemed to come back in a mysterious way to

touch the dead face with lost loveliness, and all the romance of her

past to gather around her memory. Unlike most aged women, her

friends were among the young, and at her funeral the grayheads

gave place to the band of loving girls who made the sweet old

maiden ready for her rest, bore her pall, and covered her grave

with the white flowers she had never worn.

When this was over poor Aunt Plenty seemed so lost without her

lifelong charge that Dr. Alec would not leave her, and Rose gladly

paid the debt she owed by the tender service which comforts

without words. But Aunt Plenty, having lived for others all her

days, soon rebelled against this willing sacrifice, soon found

strength in her own sincere piety, solace in cheerful occupation,

and amusement in nursing Aunt Myra, who was a capital patient,

as she never died and never got well.

So at last the moment came when, with free minds, the travelers

could set out, and on Rose's eighteenth birthday, with Uncle Alec

and the faithful Phebe, she sailed away to see and study the big,

beautiful world which lies ready for us all if we only know how to

use and enjoy it.

Phebe was set to studying music in the best schools, and while she

trained her lovely voice with happy industry, Rose and her uncle

roamed about in the most delightful way till two years were gone

like a dream and those at home clamored for their return.

Back they came, and now the heiress must make ready to take her

place, for at twenty-one she came into possession of the fortune

she had been trying to learn how to use well. Great plans

fermented in her brain, for, though the heart was as generous as

ever, time had taught her prudence and observation shown her that

the wisest charity is that which helps the poor to help themselves.

Dr. Alec found it a little difficult to restrain the ardor of this young

philanthropist who wanted to begin at once to endow hospitals,

build homes, adopt children, and befriend all mankind.

"Take a little time to look about you and get your bearings, child.

The world you have been living in is a much simpler, honester one

than that you are now to enter. Test yourself a bit and see if the old

ways seem best after all, for you are old enough to decide, and

wise enough to discover, what is for your truest good, I hope," he

said, trying to feel ready to let the bird escape from under his wing

and make little flights alone.

"Now, Uncle, I'm very much afraid you are going to be

disappointed in me," answered Rose with unusual hesitation yet a

very strong desire visible in her eyes. "You like to have me quite

honest, and I've learned to tell you all my foolish thoughts so I'll

speak out, and if you find my wish very wrong and silly, please say

so, for I don't want you to cast me off entirely, though I am grown

up. You say, wait a little, test myself, and try if the old ways are

best. I should like to do that, and can I in a better way than leading

the life other girls lead? Just for a little while," she added, as her

uncle's face grew grave.

He was disappointed, yet acknowledged that the desire was natural

and in a moment saw that a trial of this sort might have its

advantages. Nevertheless, he dreaded it, for he had intended to

choose her society carefully and try to keep her unspoiled by the

world as long as possible, like many another fond parent and

guardian. But the spirit of Eve is strong in all her daughters

forbidden fruit will look rosier to them than any in their own

orchards, and the temptation to take just one little bite proves

irresistible to the wisest. So Rose, looking out from the safe

seclusion of her girlhood into the woman's kingdom which she was

about to take possession of, felt a sudden wish to try its pleasures

before assuming its responsibilities, and was too sincere to hide

the longing.

"Very well, my dear, try it if you like, only take care of your health

be temperate in your gaiety and don't lose more than you gain, if

that is possible," he added under his breath, endeavoring to speak

cheerfully and not look anxious.

"I know it is foolish, but I do want to be a regular butterfly for a

little while and see what it is like. You know I couldn't help seeing

a good deal of fashionable life abroad, though we were not in it,

and here at home the girls tell me about all sorts of pleasant things

that are to happen this winter, so if you won't despise me very

much, I should like to try it."

"For how long?"

"Would three months be too long? New Year is a good time to take

a fresh start. Everyone is going to welcome me, so I must be gay in

spite of myself, unless I'm willing to seem very ungrateful and

morose," said Rose, glad to have so good a reason to offer for her

new experiment.

"You may like it so well that the three months may become years.

Pleasure is very sweet when we are young."

"Do you think it will intoxicate me?"

"We shall see, my dear."

"We shall!" And Rose marched away, looking as if she had taken a

pledge of some sort, and meant to keep it.

It was a great relief to the public mind when it became known that

Miss Campbell was really coming out at last, and invitations to

Aunt Plenty's party were promptly accepted. Aunt Clara was much

disappointed about the grand ball she had planned, but Rose stood

firm, and the dear old lady had her way about everything.

The consequence was a delightfully informal gathering of friends

to welcome the travelers home. Just a good, old-fashioned,

hospitable housewarming, so simple, cordial, and genuine that

those who came to criticize remained to enjoy, and many owned

the charm they could neither describe nor imitate.

Much curiosity was felt about Phebe, and much gossip went on

behind fans that evening, for those who had known her years ago

found it hard to recognize the little housemaid in the handsome

young woman who bore herself with such quiet dignity and

charmed them all with her fine voice. "Cinderella has turned out a

princess," was the general verdict, and Rose enjoyed the little

sensation immensely, for she had had many battles to fight for her

Phebe since she came among them, and now her faith was

vindicated.

Miss Campbell herself was in great demand and did the honors so

prettily that even Miss Bliss forgave her for her sad neglect of

Worth, though she shook her head over the white gowns, just alike

except that Phebe wore crimson and Rose, blue trimmings.

The girls swarmed eagerly around their recovered friend, for Rose

had been a favorite before she went away and found her throne

waiting for her now. The young men privately pronounced Phebe

the handsomest "But then you know there's neither family nor

money, so it's no use." Phebe, therefore, was admired as one of the

ornamental properties belonging to the house and left respectfully

alone.

But bonny Rose was "all right," as these amiable youths expressed

it, and many a wistful eye followed the bright head as it flitted

about the rooms as if it were a second Golden Fleece to be won

with difficulty, for stalwart kinsmen hedged it round, and watchful

aunts kept guard.

Little wonder that the girl found her new world an enchanting one

and that her first sip of pleasure rather went to her head, for

everybody welcomed and smiled on her, flattered and praised,

whispered agreeable prophecies in her ear, and looked the

compliments and congratulations they dared not utter till she felt

as if she must have left her old self somewhere abroad and

suddenly become a new and wonderfully gifted being.

"It is very nice, Uncle, and I'm not sure I mayn't want another three

months of it when the first are gone," she whispered to Dr. Alec as

he stood watching the dance she was leading with Charlie in the

long hall after supper.

"Steady, my lass, steady, and remember that you are not really a

butterfly but a mortal girl with a head that will ache tomorrow," he

answered, watching the flushed and smiling face before him.

"I almost wish there wasn't any tomorrow, but that tonight would

last forever it is so pleasant, and everyone so kind," she said with a

little sigh of happiness as she gathered up her fleecy skirts like a

white bird pluming itself for flight.

"I'll ask your opinion about that at two A.M.," began her uncle with

a warning nod.

"I'll give it honestly," was all Rose had time to say before Charlie

swept her away into the particolored cloud before them.

"It's no use, Alec train a girl as wisely as you choose, she will

break loose when the time comes and go in for pleasure as eagerly

as the most frivolous, for ''tis their nature to,'" said Uncle Mac,

keeping time to the music as if he would not mind "going in" for a

bit of pleasure himself.

"My girl shall taste and try, but unless I'm much mistaken, a little

bit of it will satisfy her. I want to see if she will stand the test,

because if not, all my work is a failure and I'd like to know it,"

answered the doctor with a hopeful smile on his lips but an

anxious look in his eyes.

"She will come out all right bless her heart! so let her sow her

innocent wild oats and enjoy herself till she is ready to settle down.

I wish all our young folks were likely to have as small a crop and

get through as safely as she will," added Uncle Mac with a shake

of the head as he glanced at some of the young men revolving

before him.

"Nothing amiss with your lads, I hope?"

"No, thank heaven! So far I've had little trouble with either, though

Mac is an odd stick and Steve a puppy. I don't complain, for both

will outgrow that sort of thing and are good fellows at heart,

thanks to their mother. But Clara's boy is in a bad way, and she

will spoil him as a man as she has as a boy if his father doesn't

interfere."

"I told brother Stephen all about him when I was in Calcutta last

year, and he wrote to the boy, but Clara has got no end of plans in

her head and so she insisted on keeping Charlie a year longer when

his father ordered him off to India," replied the doctor as they

walked away.

"It is too late to 'order' Charlie is a man now, and Stephen will find

he has been too easy with him all these years. Poor fellow, it has

been hard lines for him, and is likely to be harder, I fancy, unless

he comes home and straightens things out."

"He won't do that if he can help it. He has lost all his energy living

in that climate and hates worry more than ever, so you can imagine

what an effort it would be to manage a foolish woman and a

headstrong boy. We must lend a hand, Mac, and do our best for

poor old Steve."

"The best we can do for the lad is to marry and settle him as soon

as possible."

"My dear fellow, he is only three and twenty," began the doctor, as

if the idea was preposterous. Then a sudden change came over him

as he added with a melancholy smile, "I forget how much one can

hope and suffer, even at twenty-three."

"And be all the better for, if bravely outlived," said Uncle Mac,

with his hand on his brother's shoulder and the sincerest approval

in his voice. Then, kindly returning to the younger people, he went

on inquiringly, "You don't incline to Clara's view of a certain

matter, I fancy?"

"Decidedly not. My girl must have the best, and Clara's training

would spoil an angel," answered Dr. Alec quickly.

"But we shall find it hard to let our little Rose go out of the family.

How would Archie do? He has been well brought up and is a

thoroughly excellent lad."

The brothers had retired to the study by this time and were alone,

yet Dr. Alec lowered his voice as he said with a tender sort of

anxiety pleasant to see: "You know I do not approve of cousins

marrying, so I'm in a quandary, Mac, for I love the child as if she

were my own and feel as if I could not give her up to any man

whom I did not know and trust entirely. It is of no use for us to

plan, for she must choose for herself yet I do wish we could keep

her among us and give one of our boys a wife worth having."

"We must, so never mind your theories but devote yourself to

testing our elder lads and making one of them a happy fellow. All

are heart-whole, I believe, and, though young still for this sort of

thing, we can be gently shaping matters for them, since no one

knows how soon the moment may come. My faith it is like living

in a powder mill to be among a lot of young folks nowadays! All

looks as calm as possible till a sudden spark produces an

explosion, and heaven only knows where we find ourselves after it

is over."

And Uncle Mac sat himself comfortably down to settle Rose's fate

while the doctor paced the room, plucking at his beard and knitting

his brows as if he found it hard to see his way.

"Yes, Archie is a good fellow," he said, answering the question he

had ignored before. "An upright, steady, intelligent lad who will

make an excellent husband if he ever finds out that he has a heart.

I suppose I'm an old fool, but I do like a little more romance in a

young man than he seems to have more warmth and enthusiasm,

you know. Bless the boy! He might be forty instead of three or four

and twenty, he's so sober, calm, and cool. I'm younger than he is,

and could go a-wooing like a Romeo if I had any heart to offer a

woman."

The doctor looked rather shamefaced as he spoke, and his brother

burst out laughing. "See here, Alec, it's a pity so much romance

and excellence as yours should be lost, so why don't you set these

young fellows an example and go a-wooing yourself? Jessie has

been wondering how you have managed to keep from falling in

love with Phebe all this time, and Clara is quite sure that you

waited only till she was safe under Aunt Plenty's wing to offer

yourself in the good old-fashioned style."

"I!" And the doctor stood aghast at the mere idea, then he gave a

resigned sort of sigh and added like a martyr, "If those dear women

would let me alone, I'd thank them forever. Put the idea out of

their minds for heaven's sake, Mac, or I shall be having that poor

girl flung at my head and her comfort destroyed. She is a fine

creature and I'm proud of her, but she deserves a better lot than to

be tied to an old fellow like me whose only merit is his fidelity."

"As you please, I was only joking," and Uncle Mac dropped the

subject with secret relief. The excellent man thought a good deal

of family and had been rather worried at the hints of the ladies.

After a moment's silence he returned to a former topic, which was

rather a pet plan of his. "I don't think you do Archie justice, Alec.

You don't know him as well as I do, but you'll find that he has

heart enough under his cool, quiet manner. I've grown very fond of

him, think highly of him, and don't see how you could do better for

Rose than to give her to him."

"If she will go," said the doctor, smiling at his brother's

businesslike way of disposing of the young people.

"She'll do anything to please you," began Uncle Mac in perfect

good faith, for twenty-five years in the society of a very prosaic

wife had taken nearly all the romance out of him.

"It is of no use for us to plan, and I shall never interfere except to

advise, and if I were to choose one of the boys, I should incline to

my godson," answered the doctor gravely.

"What, my Ugly Duckling!" exclaimed Uncle Mac in great

surprise.

"The Ugly Duckling turned out a swan, you remember. I've always

been fond of the boy because he's so genuine and original. Crude

as a green apple now, but sound at the core, and only needs time to

ripen. I'm sure he'll turn out a capital specimen of the Campbell

variety."

"Much obliged, Alec, but it will never do at all. He's a good fellow,

and may do something to be proud of by and by, but he's not the

mate for our Rose. She needs someone who can manage her

property when we are gone, and Archie is the man for that, depend

upon it."

"Confound the property!" cried Dr. Alec impetuously. "I want her

to be happy, and I don't care how soon she gets rid of her money if

it is going to be a millstone round her neck. I declare to you, I

dreaded the thought of this time so much that I've kept her away as

long as I could and trembled whenever a young fellow joined us

while we were abroad. Had one or two narrow escapes, and now

I'm in for it, as you can see by tonight's 'success' as Clara calls it.

Thank heaven I haven't many daughters to look after!"

"Come, come, don't be anxious take Archie and settle it right up

safely and happily. That's my advice, and you'll find it sound,"

replied the elder conspirator, like one having experience.

"I'll think of it, but mind you, Mac, not a word of this to the sisters.

We are a couple of old fools to be matchmaking so soon but I see

what is before me and it's a comfort to free my mind to someone."

"So it is. Depend on me not a breath even to Jane," answered

Uncle Mac, with a hearty shake and a sympathetic slap on the

shoulder.

"Why, what dark and awful secrets are going on here? Is it a

Freemason's Lodge and those the mystic signs?" asked a gay voice

at the door; and there stood Rose, full of smiling wonder at the

sight of her two uncles hand in hand, whispering and nodding to

one another mysteriously.

They stared like schoolboys caught plotting mischief and looked

so guilty that she took pity on them, innocently imagining the

brothers were indulging in a little sentiment on this joyful

occasion, so she added quickly, as she beckoned, without crossing

the threshold, "Women not allowed, of course, but both of you

dear Odd Fellows are wanted, for Aunt Plenty begs we will have

an old-fashioned contra dance, and I'm to lead off with Uncle Mac.

I chose you, sir, because you do it in style, pigeon wings and all.

So, please come and Phebe is waiting for you, Uncle Alec. She is

rather shy you know, but will enjoy it with you to take care of her."

"Thank you, thank you!" cried both gentlemen, following with

great alacrity.

Unconscious, Rose enjoyed that Virginia reel immensely, for the

pigeon wings were superb, and her partner conducted her through

the convolutions of the dance without a fault, going down the

middle in his most gallant style. Landing safely at the bottom, she

stood aside to let him get his breath, for stout Uncle Mac was

bound to do or die on that occasion and would have danced his

pumps through without a murmur if she had desired it.

Leaning against the wall with his hair in his eyes, and a decidedly

bored expression of countenance, was Mac, Jr., who had been

surveying the gymnastics of his parent with respectful

astonishment.

"Come and take a turn, my lad. Rose is fresh as a daisy, but we old

fellows soon get enough of it, so you shall have my place," said his

father, wiping his face, which glowed like a cheerful peony.

"No, thank you, sir I can't stand that sort of thing. I'll race you

round the piazza with pleasure, Cousin, but his oven is too much

for me," was Mac's uncivil reply as he backed toward the open

window, as if glad of an excuse to escape.

"Fragile creature, don't stay on my account, I beg. I can't leave my

guests for a moonlight run, even if I dared to take it on a frosty

night in a thin dress," said Rose, fanning herself and not a bit

ruffled by Mac's refusal, for she knew his ways and they amused

her.

"Not half so bad as all this dust, gas, heat, and noise. What do you

suppose lungs are made of?" demanded Mac, ready for a

discussion then and there.

"I used to know, but I've forgotten now. Been so busy with other

things that I've neglected the hobbies I used to ride five or six years

ago," she said, laughing.

"Ah, those were times worth having! Are you going in for much of

this sort of thing, Rose?" he asked with a disapproving glance at

the dancers.

"About three months of it, I think."

"Then good-bye till New Year." And Mac vanished behind the

curtains.

"Rose, my dear, you really must take that fellow in hand before he

gets to be quite a bear. Since you have been gone he has lived in

his books and got on so finely that we have let him alone, though

his mother groans over his manners. Polish him up a bit, I beg of

you, for it is high time he mended his odd ways and did justice to

the fine gifts he hides behind them," said Uncle Mac, scandalized

at the bluntness of his son.

"I know my chestnut burr too well to mind his prickles. But others

do not, so I will take him in hand and make him a credit to his

family," answered Rose readily.

"Take Archie for your model he's one of a thousand, and the girl

who gets him gets a prize, I do assure you," added Uncle Mac, who

found matchmaking to his taste and thought that closing remark a

deep one.

"Oh, me, how tired I am!" cried Rose, dropping into a chair as the

last carriage rolled away somewhere between one and two.

"What is your opinion now, Miss Campbell?" asked the doctor,

addressing her for the first time by the name which had been

uttered so often that night.

"My opinion is that Miss Campbell is likely to have a gay life if

she goes on as she has begun, and that she finds it very delightful

so far," answered the girl, with lips still smiling from their first

taste of what the world calls pleasure.

Chapter 4 THORNS AMONG THE ROSES

For a time everything went smoothly, and Rose was a happy girl.

The world seemed a beautiful and friendly place, and fulfillment

of her brightest dreams appeared to be a possibility. Of course this

could not last, and disappointment was inevitable, because young

eyes look for a Paradise and weep when they find a workaday

world which seems full of care and trouble till one learns to

gladden and glorify it with high thoughts and holy living.

Those who loved her waited anxiously for the disillusion which

must come in spite of all their cherishing, for till now Rose had

been so busy with her studies, travels, and home duties that she

knew very little of the triumphs, trials, and temptations of

fashionable life. Birth and fortune placed her where she could not

well escape some of them, and Dr. Alec, knowing that experience

is the best teacher, wisely left her to learn this lesson as she must

many another, devoutly hoping that it would not be a hard one.

October and November passed rapidly, and Christmas was at hand,

with all its merry mysteries, home gatherings, and good wishes.

Rose sat in her own little sanctum, opening from the parlor, busily

preparing gifts for the dear five hundred friends who seemed to

grow fonder and fonder as the holidays drew near. The drawers of

her commode stood open, giving glimpses of dainty trifles, which

she was tying up with bright ribbons.

A young girl's face at such moments is apt to be a happy one, but

Rose's was very grave as she worked, and now and then she threw

a parcel into the drawer with a careless toss, as if no love made the

gift precious. So unusual was this expression that it struck Dr. Alec

as he came in and brought an anxious look to his eyes, for any

cloud on that other countenance dropped its shadow over his.

"Can you spare a minute from your pretty work to take a stitch in

my old glove?" he asked, coming up to the table strewn with

ribbon, lace, and colored papers.

"Yes, Uncle, as many as you please."

The face brightened with sudden sunshine; both hands were put

out to receive the shabby driving glove, and the voice was full of

that affectionate alacrity which makes the smallest service sweet.

"My Lady Bountiful is hard at work, I see. Can I help in any way?"

he asked, glancing at the display before him.

"No, thank you, unless you can make me as full of interest and

pleasure in these things as I used to be. Don't you think preparing

presents a great bore, except for those you love and who love

you?" she added in a tone which had a slight tremor in it as she

uttered the last words.

"I don't give to people whom I care nothing for. Can't do it,

especially at Christmas, when goodwill should go into everything

one does. If all these 'pretties' are for dear friends, you must have a

great many."

"I thought they were friends, but I find many of them are not, and

that's the trouble, sir."

"Tell me all about it, dear, and let the old glove go," he said, sitting

down beside her with his most sympathetic air.

But she held the glove fast, saying eagerly, "No, no, I love to do

this! I don't feel as if I could look at you while I tell what a bad,

suspicious girl I am," she added, keeping her eyes on her work.

"Very well, I'm ready for confessions of any iniquity and glad to

get them, for sometimes lately I've seen a cloud in my girl's eyes

and caught a worried tone in her voice. Is there a bitter drop in the

cup that promised to be so sweet, Rose?"

"Yes, Uncle. I've tried to think there was not, but it is there, and I

don't like it. I'm ashamed to tell, and yet I want to, because you

will show me how to make it sweet or assure me that I shall be the

better for it, as you used to do when I took medicine."

She paused a minute, sewing swiftly; then out came the trouble all

in one burst of girlish grief and chagrin.

"Uncle, half the people who are so kind to me don't care a bit for

me, but for what I can give them, and that makes me unhappy,

because I was so glad and proud to be liked. I do wish I hadn't a

penny in the world, then I should know who my true friends were."

"Poor little lass! She has found out that all that glitters is not gold,

and the disillusion has begun," said the doctor to himself, adding

aloud, smiling yet pitiful, "And so all the pleasure is gone out of

the pretty gifts and Christmas is a failure?"

"Oh, no not for those whom nothing can make me doubt! It is

sweeter than ever to make these things, because my heart is in

every stitch and I know that, poor as they are, they will be dear to

you, Aunty Plen, Aunt Jessie, Phebe, and the boys."

She opened a drawer where lay a pile of pretty gifts, wrought with

loving care by her own hands, touching them tenderly as she spoke

and patting the sailor's knot of blue ribbon on one fat parcel with a

smile that told how unshakable her faith in someone was. "But

these," she said, pulling open another drawer and tossing over its

gay contents with an air half sad, half scornful, "these I bought and

give because they are expected. These people care only for a rich

gift, not one bit for the giver, whom they will secretly abuse if she

is not as generous as they expect. How can I enjoy that sort of

thing, Uncle?"

"You cannot, but perhaps you do some of them injustice, my dear.

Don't let the envy or selfishness of a few poison your faith in all.

Are you sure that none of these girls care for you?" he asked,

reading a name here and there on the parcels scattered about.

"I'm afraid I am. You see I heard several talking together the other

evening at Annabel's, only a few words, but it hurt me very much,

for nearly everyone was speculating on what I would give them

and hoping it would be something fine. 'She's so rich she ought to

be generous,' said one. 'I've been perfectly devoted to her for weeks

and hope she won't forget it,' said another. 'If she doesn't give me

some of her gloves, I shall think she's very mean, for she has

heaps, and I tried on a pair in fun so she could see they fitted and

take a hint,' added a third. I did take the hint, you see." And Rose

opened a handsome box in which lay several pairs of her best

gloves, with buttons enough to satisfy the heart of the most

covetous.

"Plenty of silver paper and perfume, but not much love went into

that bundle, I fancy?" And Dr. Alec could not help smiling at the

disdainful little gesture with which Rose pushed away the box.

"Not a particle, nor in most of these. I have given them what they

wanted and taken back the confidence and respect they didn't care

for. It is wrong, I know, but I can't bear to think all the seeming

goodwill and friendliness I've been enjoying was insincere and for

a purpose. That's not the way I treat people."

"I am sure of it. Take things for what they are worth, dear, and try

to find the wheat among the tares, for there is plenty if one knows

how to look. Is that all the trouble?"

"No, sir, that is the lightest part of it. I shall soon get over my

disappointment in those girls and take them for what they are

worth as you advise, but being deceived in them makes me

suspicious of others, and that is hateful. If I cannot trust people I'd

rather keep by myself and be happy. I do detest maneuvering and

underhanded plots and plans!"

Rose spoke petulantly and twitched her silk till it broke, while

regret seemed to give place to anger as she spoke.

"There is evidently another thorn pricking. Let us have it out, and

then I'll kiss the place to make it well as I used to do when I took

the splinters from the fingers you are pricking so unmercifully,"

said the doctor, anxious to relieve his pet patient as soon as

possible.

Rose laughed, but the color deepened in her cheeks as she

answered with a pretty mixture of maidenly shyness and natural

candor.

"Aunt Clara worries me by warning me against half the young men

I meet and insisting that they want only my money. Now that is

dreadful, and I won't listen, but I can't help thinking of it

sometimes, for they are very kind to me and I'm not vain enough to

think it is my beauty. I suppose I am foolish, but I do like to feel

that I am something besides an heiress."

The little quiver was in Rose's voice again as she ended, and Dr.

Alec gave a quick sigh as he looked at the downcast face so full of

the perplexity ingenuous spirits feel when doubt first mars their

faith and dims the innocent beliefs still left from childhood. He

had been expecting this and knew that what the girl just began to

perceive and try modestly to tell had long ago been plain to

worldlier eyes. The heiress was the attraction to most of the young

men whom she met. Good fellows enough, but educated, as nearly

all are nowadays, to believe that girls with beauty or money are

brought to market to sell or buy as the case may be.

Rose could purchase anything she liked, as she combined both

advantages, and was soon surrounded by many admirers, each

striving to secure the prize. Not being trained to believe that the

only end and aim of a woman's life was a good match, she was a

little disturbed, when the first pleasing excitement was over, to

discover that her fortune was her chief attraction.

It was impossible for her to help seeing, hearing, guessing this

from a significant glance, a stray word, a slight hint here and there,

and the quick instinct of a woman felt even before it understood

the self-interest which chilled for her so many opening friendships.

In her eyes love was a very sacred thing, hardly to be thought of till

it came, reverently received and cherished faithfully to the end.

Therefore, it is not strange that she shrank from hearing it

flippantly discussed and marriage treated as a bargain to be

haggled over, with little thought of its high duties, great

responsibilities, and tender joys. Many things perplexed her, and

sometimes a doubt of all that till now she had believed and trusted

made her feel as if at sea without a compass, for the new world

was so unlike the one she had been living in that it bewildered

while it charmed the novice.

Dr. Alec understood the mood in which he found her and did his

best to warn without saddening by too much worldly wisdom.

"You are something besides an heiress to those who know and love

you, so take heart, my girl, and hold fast to the faith that is in you.

There is a touchstone for all these things, and whatever does not

ring true, doubt and avoid. Test and try men and women as they

come along, and I am sure conscience, instinct, and experience

will keep you from any dire mistake," he said, with a protecting

arm about her and a trustful look that was very comforting.

After a moment's pause she answered, while a sudden smile

dimpled around her mouth and the big glove went up to hide her

telltale cheeks: "Uncle, if I must have lovers, I do wish they'd be

more interesting. How can I like or respect men who go on as

some of them do and then imagine women can feel honored by the

offer of their hands? Hearts are out of fashion, so they don't say

much about them."

"Ah, ha! That is the trouble, is it? And we begin to have delicate

distresses, do we?" said Dr. Alec, glad to see her brightening and

full of interest in the new topic, for he was a romantic old fellow,

as he had confessed to his brother.

Rose put down the glove and looked up with a droll mixture of

amusement and disgust in her face. "Uncle, it is perfectly

disgraceful! I've wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed, because I

never could boast of such things as some girls do, and they were so

absurd I couldn't feel as if they were worth repeating even to you.

Perhaps I ought, though, for you may think it proper to command

me to make a good match, and of course I should have to obey,"

she added, trying to look meek.

"Tell, by all means. Don't I always keep your secrets and give you

the best advice, like a model guardian? You must have a confidant,

and where find a better one than here?" he asked, tapping his

waistcoat with an inviting gesture.

"Nowhere so I'll tell all but the names. I'd best be prudent, for I'm

afraid you may get a little fierce you do sometimes when people

vex me," began Rose, rather liking the prospect of a confidential

chat with Uncle, for he had kept himself a good deal in the

background lately.

"You know our ideas are old-fashioned, so I was not prepared to

have men propose at all times and places with no warning but a

few smiles and soft speeches. I expected things of that sort would

be very interesting and proper, not to say thrilling, on my part but

they are not, and I find myself laughing instead of crying, feeling

angry instead of glad, and forgetting all about it very soon. Why,

Uncle, one absurd boy proposed when we'd met only half a dozen

times. But he was dreadfully in debt, so that accounted for it

perhaps." And Rose dusted her fingers, as if she had soiled them.

"I know him, and I thought he'd do it," observed the doctor with a

shrug.

"You see and know everything, so there's no need of going on, is

there?"

"Do, do! Who else? I won't even guess."

"Well, another went down upon his knees in Mrs. Van's

greenhouse and poured forth his passion manfully, with a great

cactus pricking his poor legs all the while. Kitty found him there,

and it was impossible to keep sober, so he has hated me ever

since."

The doctor's "Ha! Ha!" was good to hear, and Rose joined him, for

it was impossible to regard these episodes seriously, since no true

sentiment redeemed them from absurdity.

"Another sent me reams of poetry and went on so Byronically that

I began to wish I had red hair and my name was Betsy Ann. I burnt

all the verses, so don't expect to see them, and he, poor fellow, is

consoling himself with Emma. But the worst of all was the one

who would make love in public and insisted on proposing in the

middle of a dance. I seldom dance round dances except with our

boys, but that night I did because the girls laughed at me for being

so 'prudish,' as they called it. I don't mind them now, for I found I

was right, and felt that I deserved my fate."

"Is that all?" asked her uncle, looking "fierce," as she predicted, at

the idea of his beloved girl obliged to listen to a declaration,

twirling on the arm of a lover.

"One more but him I shall not tell about, for I know he was in

earnest and really suffered, though I was as kind as I knew how to

be. I'm young in these things yet, so I grieved for him, and treat his

love with the tenderest respect."

Rose's voice sank almost to a whisper as she ended, and Dr. Alec

bent his head, as if involuntarily saluting a comrade in misfortune.

Then he got up, saying with a keen look into the face he lifted by a

finger under the chin: "Do you want another three months of this?"

"I'll tell you on New Year's Day, Uncle."

"Very well. Try to keep a straight course, my little captain, and if

you see dirty weather ahead, call on your first mate."

"Aye, aye, sir. I'll remember."

Chapter 5 PRINCE CHARMING

The old glove lay upon the floor forgotten while Rose sat musing,

till a quick step sounded in the hall and a voice drew near,

tunefully humming.

"As he was walkin' doun the street

The city for to view,

Oh, there he spied a bonny lass,

The window lookin' through."

"Sae licht he jump d up the stair,

And tirled at the pin;

Oh, wha sae ready as hersel'

To let the laddie in?"

sang Rose as the voice paused and a tap came at the door.

"Good morning, Rosamunda, here are your letters, and your most

devoted ready to execute any commissions you may have for him,"

was Charlie's greeting as he came in looking comely, gay, and

debonair as usual.

"Thanks. I've no errands unless you mail my replies, if these need

answering, so by your leave, Prince," and Rose began to open the

handful of notes he threw into her lap.

"Ha! What sight is this to blast mine eyes?" ejaculated Charlie, as

he pointed to the glove with a melodramatic start, for, like most

accomplished amateur actors, he was fond of introducing private

theatricals into his daily talk and conversation.

"Uncle left it."

"'Tis well. Methought perchance a rival had been here," and,

picking it up, Charlie amused himself with putting it on the head

of a little Psyche which ornamented the mantelpiece, softly singing

as he did so, another verse of the old song:

"He set his Jenny on his knee,

All in his Highland dress;

For brawly well he kenned the way

To please a bonny lass."

Rose went on reading her letters, but all the while was thinking of

her conversation with her uncle as well as something else

suggested by the newcomer and his ditty.

During the three months since her return she had seen more of this

cousin than any of the others, for he seemed to be the only one

who had leisure to "play with Rose," as they used to say years ago.

The other boys were all at work, even little Jamie, many of whose

play hours were devoted to manful struggles with Latin grammar,

the evil genius of his boyish life. Dr. Alec had many affairs to

arrange after his long absence; Phebe was busy with her music;

and Aunt Plenty still actively superintended her housekeeping.

Thus it fell out, quite naturally, that Charlie should form the habit

of lounging in at all hours with letters, messages, bits of news, and

agreeable plans for Rose. He helped her with her sketching, rode

with her, sang with her, and took her to parties as a matter of

course, for Aunt Clara, being the gaiest of the sisters, played

chaperon on all occasions.

For a time it was very pleasant, but, by and by, Rose began to wish

Charlie would find something to do like the rest and not make

dawdling after her the business of his life. The family was used to

his self-indulgent ways, and there was an amiable delusion in the

minds of the boys that he had a right to the best of everything, for

to them he was still the Prince, the flower of the flock, and in time

to be an honor to the name. No one exactly knew how, for, though

full of talent, he seemed to have no especial gift or bias, and the

elders began to shake their heads because, in spite of many grand

promises and projects, the moment for decisive action never came.

Rose saw all this and longed to inspire her brilliant cousin with

some manful purpose which should win for him respect as well as

admiration. But she found it very hard, for though he listened with

imperturbable good humor, and owned his shortcomings with

delightful frankness, he always had some argument, reason, or

excuse to offer and out-talked her in five minutes, leaving her

silenced but unconvinced.

Of late she had observed that he seemed to feel as if her time and

thoughts belonged exclusively to him and rather resented the

approach of any other claimant. This annoyed her and suggested

the idea that her affectionate interest and efforts were

misunderstood by him, misrepresented and taken advantage of by

Aunt Clara, who had been most urgent that she should "use her

influence with the dear boy," though the fond mother resented all

other interference. This troubled Rose and made her feel as if

caught in a snare, for, while she owned to herself that Charlie was

the most attractive of her cousins, she was not ready to be taken

possession of in this masterful way, especially since other and

sometimes better men sought her favor more humbly.

These thoughts were floating vaguely in her mind as she read her

letters and unconsciously influenced her in the chat that followed.

"Only invitations, and I can't stop to answer them now or I shall

never get through this job," she said, returning to her work.

"Let me help. You do up, and I'll direct. Have a secretary, do now,

and see what a comfort it will be," proposed Charlie, who could

turn his hand to anything and had made himself quite at home in

the sanctum.

"I'd rather finish this myself, but you may answer the notes if you

will. Just regrets to all but two or three. Read the names as you go

along and I'll tell you which."

"To hear is to obey. Who says I'm a 'frivolous idler' now?" And

Charlie sat down at the writing table with alacrity, for these hours

in the little room were his best and happiest.

"Order is heaven's first law, and the view a lovely one, but I don't

see any notepaper," he added, opening the desk and surveying its

contents with interest.

"Right-hand drawer violet monogram for the notes, plain paper for

the business letter. I'll see to that, though," answered Rose, trying

to decide whether Annabel or Emma should have the laced

handkerchief.

"Confiding creature! Suppose I open the wrong drawer and come

upon the tender secrets of your soul?" continued the new secretary,

rummaging out the delicate notepaper with masculine disregard of

order.

"I haven't got any," answered Rose demurely.

"What, not one despairing scrawl, one cherished miniature, one

faded floweret, etc., etc.? I can't believe it, Cousin," and he shook

his head incredulously.

"If I had, I certainly should not show them to you, impertinent

person! There are a few little souvenirs in that desk, but nothing

very sentimental or interesting."

"How I'd like to see 'em! But I should never dare to ask," observed

Charlie, peering over the top of the half-open lid with a most

persuasive pair of eyes.

"You may if you want to, but you'll be disappointed, Paul Pry.

Lower left-hand drawer with the key in it."

"'Angel of goodness, how shall I requite thee? Interesting moment,

with what palpitating emotions art thou fraught!'" And, quoting

from the "Mysteries of Udolpho," he unlocked and opened the

drawer with a tragic gesture.

"Seven locks of hair in a box, all light, for 'here's your straw color,

your orange tawny, your French crown color, and your perfect

yellow' Shakespeare. They look very familiar, and I fancy I know

the heads they thatched."

"Yes, you all gave me one when I went away, you know, and I

carried them round the world with me in that very box."

"I wish the heads had gone too. Here's a jolly little amber god with

a gold ring in his back and a most balmy breath," continued

Charlie, taking a long sniff at the scent bottle.

"Uncle brought me that long ago, and I'm very fond of it."

"This now looks suspicious man's ring with a lotus cut on the stone

and a note attached. I tremble as I ask, who, when, and where?"

"A gentleman, on my birthday, in Calcutta."

"I breathe again it was my sire?"

"Don't be absurd. Of course it was, and he did everything to make

my visit pleasant. I wish you'd go and see him like a dutiful son,

instead of idling here."

"That's what Uncle Mac is eternally telling me, but I don't intend to

be lectured into the treadmill till I've had my fling first," muttered

Charlie rebelliously.

"If you fling yourself in the wrong direction, you may find it hard

to get back again," began Rose gravely.

"No fear, if you look after me as you seem to have promised to do,

judging by the thanks you get in this note. Poor old governor! I

should like to see him, for it's almost four years since he came

home last and he must be getting on."

Charlie was the only one of the boys who ever called his father

"governor," perhaps because the others knew and loved their

fathers, while he had seen so little of his that the less respectful

name came more readily to his lips, since the elder man in truth

seemed a governor issuing requests or commands, which the

younger too often neglected or resented.

Long ago Rose had discovered that Uncle Stephen found home

made so distasteful by his wife's devotion to society that he

preferred to exile himself, taking business as an excuse for his

protracted absences.

The girl was thinking of this as she watched her cousin turn the

ring about with a sudden sobriety which became him well; and,

believing that the moment was propitious, she said earnestly: "He

is getting on. Dear Charlie, do think of duty more than pleasure in

this case and I'm sure you never will regret it."

"Do you want me to go?" he asked quickly.

"I think you ought."

"And I think you'd be much more charming if you wouldn't always

be worrying about right and wrong! Uncle Alec taught you that

along with the rest of his queer notions."

"I'm glad he did!" cried Rose warmly, then checked herself and

said with a patient sort of sigh, "You know women always want

the men they care for to be good and can't help trying to make

them so."

"So they do, and we ought to be a set of angels, but I've a strong

conviction that, if we were, the dear souls wouldn't like us half as

well. Would they now?" asked Charlie with an insinuating smile.

"Perhaps not, but that is dodging the point. Will you go?" persisted

Rose unwisely.

"No, I will not."

That was sufficiently decided and an uncomfortable pause

followed, during which Rose tied a knot unnecessarily tight and

Charlie went on exploring the drawer with more energy than

interest.

"Why, here's an old thing I gave you ages ago!" he suddenly

exclaimed in a pleased tone, holding up a little agate heart on a

faded blue ribbon. "Will you let me take away the heart of stone

and give you a heart of flesh?" he asked, half in earnest, half in

jest, touched by the little trinket and the recollections it awakened.

"No, I will not," answered Rose bluntly, much displeased by the

irreverent and audacious question.

Charlie looked rather abashed for a moment, but his natural

lightheartedness made it easy for him to get the better of his own

brief fits of waywardness and put others in good humor with him

and themselves.

"Now we are even let's drop the subject and start afresh," he said

with irresistible affability as he coolly put the little heart in his

pocket and prepared to shut the drawer. But something caught his

eye, and exclaiming, "What's this? What's this?" he snatched up a

photograph which lay half under a pile of letters with foreign

postmarks.

"Oh! I forgot that was there," said Rose hastily.

"Who is the man?" demanded Charlie, eyeing the good-looking

countenance before him with a frown.

"That is the Honorable Gilbert Murray, who went up the Nile with

us and shot crocodiles and other small game, being a mighty

hunter, as I told you in my letters," answered Rose gaily, though ill

pleased at the little discovery just then, for this had been one of the

narrow escapes her uncle spoke of.

"And they haven't eaten him yet, I infer from the pile of letters?"

said Charlie jealously.

"I hope not. His sister did not mention it when she wrote last."

"Ah! Then she is your correspondent? Sisters are dangerous things

sometimes." And Charlie eyed the packet suspiciously.

"In this case, a very convenient thing, for she tells me all about her

brother's wedding, as no one else would take the trouble to do."

"Oh! Well, if he's married, I don't care a straw about him. I fancied

I'd found out why you are such a hard-hearted charmer. But if there

is no secret idol, I'm all at sea again." And Charlie tossed the

photograph into the drawer as if it no longer interested him.

"I'm hard-hearted because I'm particular and, as yet, do not find

anyone at all to my taste."

"No one?" with a tender glance.

"No one" with a rebellious blush, and the truthful addition "I see

much to admire and like in many persons, but none quite strong

and good enough to suit me. My heroes are old-fashioned, you

know."

"Prigs, like Guy Carleton, Count Altenberg, and John Halifax I

know the pattern you goody girls like," sneered Charlie, who

preferred the Guy Livingston, Beauclerc, and Rochester style.

"Then I'm not a 'goody girl,' for I don't like prigs. I want a

gentleman in the best sense of the word, and I can wait, for I've

seen one, and know there are more in the world."

"The deuce you have! Do I know him?" asked Charlie, much

alarmed.

"You think you do," answered Rose with a mischievous sparkle in

her eye.

"If it isn't Pem, I give it up. He's the best-bred fellow I know."

"Oh, dear, no! Far superior to Mr. Pemberton and many years

older," said Rose, with so much respect that Charlie looked

perplexed as well as anxious.

"Some apostolic minister, I fancy. You pious creatures always like

to adore a parson. But all we know are married."

"He isn't."

"Give a name, for pity's sake I'm suffering tortures of suspense,"

begged Charlie.

"Alexander Campbell."

"Uncle? Well, upon my word, that's a relief, but mighty absurd all

the same. So, when you find a young saint of that sort, you intend

to marry him, do you?" demanded Charlie much amused and rather

disappointed.

"When I find any man half as honest, good, and noble as Uncle, I

shall be proud to marry him if he asks me," answered Rose

decidedly.

"What odd tastes women have!" And Charlie leaned his chin on his

hand to muse pensively for a moment over the blindness of one

woman who could admire an excellent old uncle more than a

dashing young cousin.

Rose, meanwhile, tied up her parcels industriously, hoping she had

not been too severe, for it was very hard to lecture Charlie, though

he seemed to like it sometimes and came to confession voluntarily,

knowing that women love to forgive when the sinners are of his

sort.

"It will be mail time before you are done," she said presently, for

silence was less pleasant than his rattle.

Charlie took the hint and dashed off several notes in his best

manner. Coming to the business letter, he glanced at it and asked,

with a puzzled expression: "What is all this? Cost of repairs, etc.,

from a man named Buffum?"

"Never mind that I'll see to it by and by."

"But I do mind, for I'm interested in all your affairs, and though

you think I've no head for business, you'll find I have if you'll try

me."

"This is only about my two old houses in the city, which are being

repaired and altered so that the rooms can be let singly."

"Going to make tenement houses of them? Well, that's not a bad

idea such places pay well, I've heard."

"That is just what I'm not going to do. I wouldn't have a tenement

house on my conscience for a million dollars not as they are now,"

said Rose decidedly.

"Why, what do you know about it, except that people live in them

and the owners turn a pretty penny on the rents?"

"I know a good deal about them, for I've seen many such, both here

and abroad. It was not all pleasure with us, I assure you. Uncle was

interested in hospitals and prisons, and I sometimes went with

him, but they made me sad so he suggested other charities that I

could be of help about when we came home. I visited infant

schools, working women's homes, orphan asylums, and places of

that sort. You don't know how much good it did me and how glad I

am that I have the means of lightening a little some of the misery

in the world."

"But, my dear girl, you needn't make ducks and drakes of your

fortune trying to feed and cure and clothe all the poor wretches

you see. Give, of course everyone should do something in that line

and no one likes it better than I. But don't, for mercy's sake, go at it

as some women do and get so desperately earnest, practical, and

charity-mad that there is no living in peace with you," protested

Charlie, looking alarmed at the prospect.

"You can do as you please. I intend to do all the good I can by

asking the advice and following the example of the most 'earnest,'

'practical,' and 'charitable' people I know so, if you don't approve,

you can drop my acquaintance," answered Rose, emphasizing the

obnoxious words and assuming the resolute air she always wore

when defending her hobbies.

"You'll be laughed at."

"I'm used to that."

"And criticized and shunned."

"Not by people whose opinion I value."

"Women shouldn't go poking into such places."

"I've been taught that they should."

"Well, you'll get some dreadful disease and lose your beauty, and

then where are you?" added Charlie, thinking that might daunt the

young philanthropist.

But it did not, for Rose answered, with a sudden kindling of the

eyes as she remembered her talk with Uncle Alec: "I shouldn't like

it. But there would be one satisfaction in it, for when I'd lost my

beauty and given away my money, I should know who really cared

for me."

Charlie nibbled his pen in silence for a moment, then asked,

meekly, "Could I respectfully inquire what great reform is to be

carried on in the old houses which their amiable owner is

repairing?"

"I am merely going to make them comfortable homes for poor but

respectable women to live in. There is a class who cannot afford to

pay much, yet suffer a great deal from being obliged to stay in

noisy, dirty, crowded places like tenement houses and cheap

lodgings. I can help a few of them and I'm going to try."

"May I humbly ask if these decayed gentlewomen are to inhabit

their palatial retreat rent-free?"

"That was my first plan, but Uncle showed me that it was wiser not

make genteel paupers of them, but let them pay a small rent and

feel independent. I don't want the money, of course, and shall use

it in keeping the houses tidy or helping other women in like case,"

said Rose, entirely ignoring her cousin's covert ridicule.

"Don't expect any gratitude, for you won't get it; nor much comfort

with a lot of forlornities on your hands, and be sure that when it is

too late you will tire of it all and wish you had done as other

people do."

"Thanks for your cheerful prophecies, but I think I'll venture."

She looked so undaunted that Charlie was a little nettled and fired

his last shot rather recklessly: "Well, one thing I do know you'll

never get a husband if you go on in this absurd way, and by Jove!

you need one to take care of you and keep the property together!"

Rose had a temper, but seldom let it get the better of her; now,

however, it flashed up for a moment. Those last words were

peculiarly unfortunate, because Aunt Clara had used them more

than once when warning her against impecunious suitors and

generous projects. She was disappointed in her cousin, annoyed at

having her little plans laughed at, and indignant with him for his

final suggestion.

"I'll never have one, if I must give up the liberty of doing what I

know is right, and I'd rather go into the poorhouse tomorrow than

'keep the property together' in the selfish way you mean!"

That was all but Charlie saw that he had gone too far and hastened

to make his peace with the skill of a lover, for, turning to the little

cabinet piano behind him, he sang in his best style the sweet old

song:

"Oh were thou in the cauld blast,"

dwelling with great effect, not only upon the tender assurance that

"My plaid should shelter thee,"

but also that, even if a king,

"The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."

It was very evident that Prince Charming had not gone

troubadouring in vain, for Orpheus himself could not have restored

harmony more successfully. The tuneful apology was accepted

with a forgiving smile and a frank "I'm sorry I was cross, but you

haven't forgotten how to tease, and I'm rather out of sorts today.

Late hours don't agree with me."

"Then you won't feel like going to Mrs. Hope's tomorrow, I'm

afraid," and Charlie took up the last note with an expression of

regret which was very flattering.

"I must go, because it is made for me, but I can come away early

and make up lost sleep. I do hate to be so fractious," and Rose

rubbed the forehead that ached with too much racketing.

"But the German does not begin till late I'm to lead and depend

upon you. Just stay this once to oblige me," pleaded Charlie, for he

had set his heart on distinguishing himself.

"No I promised Uncle to be temperate in my pleasures and I must

keep my word. I'm so well now, it would be very foolish to get ill

and make him anxious not to mention losing my beauty, as you are

good enough to call it, for that depends on health, you know."

"But the fun doesn't begin till after supper. Everything will be

delightful, I assure you, and we'll have a gay old time as we did

last week at Emma's."

"Then I certainly will not, for I'm ashamed of myself when I

remember what a romp that was and how sober Uncle looked as he

let me in at three in the morning, all fagged out my dress in rags,

my head aching, my feet so tired that I could hardly stand, and

nothing to show for five hours' hard work but a pocketful of

bonbons, artificial flowers, and tissue-paper fool's caps. Uncle said

I'd better put one on and go to bed, for I looked as though I'd been

to a French bal masque. I never want to hear him say so again, and

I'll never let dawn catch me out in such a plight anymore."

"You were all right enough, for mother didn't object and I got you

both home before daylight. Uncle is notional about such things, so

I shouldn't mind, for we had a jolly time and we were none the

worse for it."

"Indeed we were, every one of us! Aunt Clara hasn't gotten over

her cold yet. I slept all the next day, and you looked like a ghost,

for you'd been out every night for weeks, I think."

"Oh, nonsense! Everyone does it during the season, and you'll get

used to the pace very soon," began Charlie, bent on making her go,

for he was in his element in a ballroom and never happier than

when he had his pretty cousin on his arm.

"Ah! But I don't want to get used to it, for it costs too much in the

end. I don't wish to get used to being whisked about a hot room by

men who have taken too much wine, to turn day into night,

wasting time that might be better spent, and grow into a

fashionable fast girl who can't get along without excitement. I don't

deny that much of it is pleasant, but don't try to make me too fond

of gaiety. Help me to resist what I know is hurtful, and please don't

laugh me out of the good habits Uncle has tried so hard to give

me."

Rose was quite sincere in her appeal, and Charlie knew she was

right, but he always found it hard to give up anything he had set his

heart on, no matter how trivial, for the maternal indulgence which

had harmed the boy had fostered the habit of self-indulgence,

which was ruining the man. So when Rose looked up at him, with

a very honest desire to save him as well as herself from being

swept into the giddy vortex which keeps so many young people

revolving aimlessly, till they go down or are cast upon the shore,

wrecks of what they might have been, he gave a shrug and

answered briefly: "As you please. I'll bring you home as early as

you like, and Effie Waring shall take your place in the German.

What flowers shall I send you?"

Now, that was an artful speech of Charlie's, for Miss Waring was a

fast and fashionable damsel who openly admired Prince Charming

and had given him the name. Rose disliked her and was sure her

influence was bad, for youth made frivolity forgivable, wit hid

want of refinement, and beauty always covers a multitude of sins

in a man's eyes. At the sound of Effie's name, Rose wavered, and

would have yielded but for the memory of the "first mate's" last

words. She did desire to "keep a straight course"; so, though the

current of impulse set strongly in a southerly direction, principle,

the only compass worth having, pointed due north, and she tried to

obey it like a wise young navigator, saying steadily, while she

directed to Annabel the parcel containing a capacious pair of

slippers intended for Uncle Mac: "Don't trouble yourself about me.

I can go with Uncle and slip away without disturbing anybody."

"I don't believe you'll have the heart to do it," said Charlie

incredulously as he sealed the last note.

"Wait and see."

"I will, but I shall hope to the last." And kissing his hand to her, he

departed to post her letters, quite sure that Miss Waring would not

lead the German.

It certainly looked for a moment as if Miss Campbell would,

because she ran to the door with the words "I'll go" upon her lips.

But she did not open it till she had stood a minute staring hard at

the old glove on Psyche's head; then like one who had suddenly

gotten a bright idea, she gave a decided nod and walked slowly out

of the room.

Chapter 6 POLISHING MAC

"Please could I say one word?" was the question three times

repeated before a rough head bobbed out from the grotto of books

in which Mac usually sat when he studied.

"Did anyone speak?" he asked, blinking in the flood of sunshine

that entered with Rose.

"Only three times, thank you. Don't disturb yourself, I beg, for I

merely want to say a word," answered Rose as she prevented him

from offering the easy chair in which he sat.

"I was rather deep in a compound fracture and didn't hear. What

can I do for you, Cousin?" And Mac shoved a stack of pamphlets

off the chair near him with a hospitable wave of the hand that sent

his papers flying in all directions.

Rose sat down, but did not seem to find her "word" an easy one to

utter, for she twisted her handkerchief about her fingers in

embarrassed silence till Mac put on his glasses and, after a keen

look, asked soberly: "Is it a splinter, a cut, or a whitlow, ma'am?"

"It is neither. Do forget your tiresome surgery for a minute and be

the kindest cousin that ever was," answered Rose, beginning rather

sharply and ending with her most engaging smile.

"Can't promise in the dark," said the wary youth.

"It is a favor, a great favor, and one I don't choose to ask any of the

other boys," answered the artful damsel.

Mac looked pleased and leaned forward, saying more affably,

"Name it, and be sure I'll grant it if I can."

"Go with me to Mrs. Hope's party tomorrow night."

"What!" And Mac recoiled as if she had put a pistol to his head.

"I've left you in peace a long time, but it is your turn now, so do

your duty like a man and a cousin."

"But I never go to parties!" cried the unhappy victim in great

dismay.

"High time you began, sir."

"But I don't dance fit to be seen."

"I'll teach you."

"My dress coat isn't decent, I know."

"Archie will lend you one he isn't going."

"I'm afraid there's a lecture that I ought not to cut."

"No, there isn't I asked Uncle."

"I'm always so tired and dull in the evening."

"This sort of thing is just what you want to rest and freshen up your

spirits."

Mac gave a groan and fell back vanquished, for it was evident that

escape was impossible.

"What put such a perfectly wild idea into your head?" he

demanded, rather roughly, for hitherto he had been left in peace

and this sudden attack decidedly amazed him.

"Sheer necessity, but don't do it if it is so very dreadful to you. I

must go to several more parties, because they are made for me, but

after that I'll refuse, and then no one need be troubled with me."

Something in Rose's voice made Mac answer penitently, even

while he knit his brows in perplexity. "I don't mean to be rude, and

of course I'll go anywhere if I'm really needed. But I don't

understand where the sudden necessity is, with three other fellows

at command, all better dancers and beaus than I am."

"I don't want them, and I do want you, for I haven't the heart to

drag Uncle out anymore, and you know I never go with any

gentleman but those of my own family."

"Now look here, Rose if Steve has been doing anything to tease

you, just mention it and I'll attend to him," cried Mac, plainly

seeing that something was amiss and fancying that Dandy was at

the bottom of it, as he had done escort duty several times lately.

"No, Steve has been very good, but I know he had rather be with

Kitty Van, so of course I feel like a marplot, though he is too polite

to hint it."

"What a noodle that boy is! But there's Archie he's steady as a

church and has no sweetheart to interfere," continued Mac, bound

to get at the truth and half suspecting what it was.

"He is on his feet all day, and Aunt Jessie wants him in the

evening. He does not care for dancing as he used, and I suppose he

really does prefer to rest and read." Rose might have added, "And

hear Phebe sing," for Phebe did not go out as much as Rose did,

and Aunt Jessie often came to sit with the old lady when the young

folks were away and, of course, dutiful Archie came with her, so

willingly of late!

"What's amiss with Charlie? I thought he was the prince of

cavaliers. Annabel says he dances 'like an angel,' and I know a

dozen mothers couldn't keep him at home of an evening. Have you

had a tiff with Adonis and so fall back on poor me?" asked Mac,

coming last to the person of whom he thought first but did not

mention, feeling shy about alluding to a subject often discussed

behind her back.

"Yes, I have, and I don't intend to go with him any more for some

time. His ways do not suit me, and mine do not suit him, so I want

to be quite independent, and you can help me if you will," said

Rose, rather nervously spinning the big globe close by.

Mac gave a low whistle, looking wide awake all in a minute as he

said with a gesture, as if he brushed a cobweb off his face: "Now,

see here, Cousin, I'm not good at mysteries and shall only blunder

if you put me blindfold into any nice maneuver. Just tell me

straight out what you want and I'll do it if I can. Play I'm Uncle and

free your mind come now."

He spoke so kindly, and the honest eyes were so full of merry

goodwill, that Rose thought she might confide in him and

answered as frankly as he could desire: "You are right, Mac, and I

don't mind talking to you almost as freely as to Uncle, because you

are such a reliable fellow and won't think me silly for trying to do

what I believe to be right. Charlie does, and so makes it hard for

me to hold to my resolutions. I want to keep early hours, dress

simply, and behave properly no matter what fashionable people do.

You will agree to that, I'm sure, and stand by me through thick and

thin for principle's sake."

"I will, and begin by showing you that I understand the case. I don't

wonder you are not pleased, for Charlie is too presuming, and you

do need someone to help you head him off a bit. Hey, Cousin?"

"What a way to put it!" And Rose laughed in spite of herself,

adding with an air of relief, "That is it, and I do want someone to

help me make him understand that I don't choose to be taken

possession of in that lordly way, as if I belonged to him more than

to the rest of the family. I don't like it, for people begin to talk, and

Charlie won't see how disagreeable it is to me."

"Tell him so," was Mac's blunt advice.

"I have, but he only laughs and promises to behave, and then he

does it again when I am so placed that I can't say anything. You

will never understand, and I cannot explain, for it is only a look, or

a word, or some little thing but I won't have it, and the best way to

cure him is to put it out of his power to annoy me so."

"He is a great flirt and wants to teach you how, I suppose. I'll speak

to him if you like and tell him you don't want to learn. Shall I?"

asked Mac, finding the case rather an interesting one.

"No, thank you that would only make trouble. If you will kindly

play escort a few times, it will show Charlie that I am in earnest

without more words and put a stop to the gossip," said Rose,

coloring like a poppy at the recollection of what she heard one

young man whisper to another as Charlie led her through a

crowded supper room with his most devoted air, "Lucky dog! He is

sure to get the heiress, and we are nowhere."

"There's no danger of people gossiping about us, is there?" And

Mac looked up with the oddest of all his odd expressions.

"Of course not you're only a boy."

"I'm twenty-one, thank you, and Prince is but a couple of years

older," said Mac, promptly resenting the slight put upon his

manhood.

"Yes, but he is like other young men, while you are a dear old

bookworm. No one would ever mind what you did, so you may go

to parties with me every night and not a word would be said or, if

there was, I shouldn't mind since it is 'only Mac,'" answered Rose,

smiling as she quoted a household phrase often used to excuse his

vagaries.

"Then I am nobody?" he said, lifting his brows as if the discovery

surprised and rather nettled him.

"Nobody in society as yet, but my very best cousin in private, and

I've just proved my regard by making you my confidant and

choosing you for my knight," said Rose, hastening to soothe the

feelings her careless words seemed to have ruffled slightly.

"Much good that is likely to do me," grumbled Mac.

"You ungrateful boy, not to appreciate the honor I've conferred

upon you! I know a dozen who would be proud of the place, but

you only care for compound fractures, so I won't detain you any

longer, except to ask if I may consider myself provided with an

escort for tomorrow night?" said Rose, a trifle hurt at his

indifference, for she was not used to refusals.

"If I may hope for the honor." And, rising, he made her a bow

which was such a capital imitation of Charlie's grand manner that

she forgave him at once, exclaiming with amused surprise: "Why,

Mac! I didn't know you could be so elegant!"

"A fellow can be almost anything he likes if he tries hard enough,"

he answered, standing very straight and looking so tall and

dignified that Rose was quite impressed, and with a stately

courtesy she retired, saying graciously: "I accept with thanks. Good

morning, Dr. Alexander Mackenzie Campbell."

When Friday evening came and word was sent up that her escort

had arrived, Rose ran down, devoutly hoping that he had not come

in a velveteen jacket, top-boots, black gloves, or made any trifling

mistake of that sort. A young gentleman was standing before the

long mirror, apparently intent upon the arrangement of his hair,

and Rose paused suddenly as her eye went from the glossy

broadcloth to the white-gloved hands, busy with an unruly lock

that would not stay in place.

"Why, Charlie, I thought " she began with an accent of surprise in

her voice, but got no further, for the gentleman turned and she

beheld Mac in immaculate evening costume, with his hair parted

sweetly on his brow, a superior posy at his buttonhole, and the

expression of a martyr on his face.

"Ah, don't you wish it was? No one but yourself to thank that it

isn't he. Am I right? Dandy got me up, and he ought to know what

is what," demanded Mac, folding his hands and standing as stiff as

a ramrod.

"You are so regularly splendid that I don't know you."

"Neither do I."

"I really had no idea you could look so like a gentleman," added

Rose, surveying him with great approval.

"Nor that I could feel so like a fool."

"Poor boy! He does look rather miserable. What can I do to cheer

him up in return for the sacrifice he is making?"

"Stop calling me a boy. It will soothe my agony immensely and

give me courage to appear in a low-necked coat and curl on my

forehead, for I'm not used to such elegancies and I find them no

end of a trial."

Mac spoke in such a pathetic tone, and gave such a gloomy glare at

the aforesaid curl, that Rose laughed in his face and added to his

woe by handing him her cloak. He surveyed it gravely for a

minute, then carefully put it on wrong side out and gave the

swan's-down hood a good pull over the head, to the utter

destruction of all smoothness to the curls inside.

Rose uttered a cry and cast off the cloak, bidding him learn to do it

properly, which he meekly did and then led her down the hall

without walking on her skirts more than three times on the way.

But at the door she discovered that she had forgotten her furred

overshoes and bade Mac get them.

"Never mind it's not wet," he said, pulling his cap over his eyes and

plunging into his coat, regardless of the "elegancies" that afflicted

him.

"But I can't walk on cold stones with thin slippers, can I?" began

Rose, showing him a little white foot.

"You needn't, for there you are, my lady." And, unceremoniously

picking her up, Mac landed her in the carriage before she could say

a word.

"What an escort!" she exclaimed in comic dismay, as she rescued

her delicate dress from a rug in which he was about to tuck her up

like a mummy.

"It's 'only Mac,' so don't mind," and he cast himself into an

opposite corner with the air of a man who had nerved himself to

the accomplishment of many painful duties and was bound to do

them or die.

"But gentlemen don't catch up ladies like bags of meal and poke

them into carriages in this way. It is evident that you need looking

after, and it is high time I undertook your society manners. Now,

do mind what you are about and don't get yourself or me into a

scrape if you can help it," besought Rose, feeling that on many

accounts she had gone further and fared worse.

"I'll behave like a Turveydrop see if I don't."

Mac's idea of the immortal Turveydrop's behavior seemed to be a

peculiar one; for, after dancing once with his cousin, he left her to

her own devices and soon forgot all about her in a long

conversation with Professor Stumph, the learned geologist. Rose

did not care, for one dance proved to her that that branch of Mac's

education had been sadly neglected, and she was glad to glide

smoothly about with Steve, though he was only an inch or two

taller than herself. She had plenty of partners, however, and plenty

of chaperons, for all the young men were her most devoted, and all

the matrons beamed upon her with maternal benignity.

Charlie was not there, for when he found that Rose stood firm, and

had moreover engaged Mac as a permanency, he would not go at

all and retired in high dudgeon to console himself with more

dangerous pastimes. Rose feared it would be so, and even in the

midst of the gaiety about her an anxious mood came over her now

and then and made her thoughtful for a moment. She felt her

power and wanted to use it wisely, but did not know how to be

kind to Charlie without being untrue to herself and giving him

false hopes.

"I wish we were all children again, with no hearts to perplex us

and no great temptations to try us," she said to herself as she rested

a minute in a quiet nook while her partner went to get a glass of

water. Right in the midst of this half-sad, half-sentimental reverie,

she heard a familiar voice behind her say earnestly: "And allophite

is the new hydrous silicate of alumina and magnesia, much

resembling pseudophite, which Websky found in Silesia."

"What is Mac talking about!" she thought, and, peeping behind a

great azalea in full bloom, she saw her cousin in deep conversation

with the professor, evidently having a capital time, for his face had

lost its melancholy expression and was all alive with interest,

while the elder man was listening as if his remarks were both

intelligent and agreeable.

"What is it?" asked Steve, coming up with the water and seeing a

smile on Rose's face.

She pointed out the scientific tete-a-tete going on behind the

azalea, and Steve grinned as he peeped, then grew sober and said

in a tone of despair: "If you had seen the pains I took with that

fellow, the patience with which I brushed his wig, the time I spent

trying to convince him that he must wear thin boots, and the fight I

had to get him into that coat, you'd understand my feelings when I

see him now."

"Why, what's the matter with him?" asked Rose.

"Will you take a look and see what a spectacle he has made of

himself. He'd better be sent home at once or he will disgrace the

family by looking as if he'd been in a row."

Steve spoke in such a tragic tone that Rose took another peep and

did sympathize with Dandy, for Mac's elegance was quite gone.

His tie was under one ear, his posy hung upside down, his gloves

were rolled into a ball, which he absently squeezed and pounded as

he talked, and his hair looked as if a whirlwind had passed over it,

for his ten fingers set it on end now and then, as they had a habit of

doing when he studied or talked earnestly. But he looked so happy

and wide awake, in spite of his dishevelment, that Rose gave an

approving nod and said behind her fan: "It is a trying spectacle,

Steve yet, on the whole, I think his own odd ways suit him best and

I fancy we shall be proud of him, for he knows more than all the

rest of us put together. Hear that now." And Rose paused that they

might listen to the following burst of eloquence from Mac's lips:

"You know Frenzal has shown that the globular forms of silicate of

bismuth at Schneeburg and Johanngeorgenstadt are not isometric,

but monoclinic in crystalline form, and consequently he separates

them from the old eulytite and gives them the new name

Agricolite."

"Isn't it awful? Let us get out of this before there's another

avalanche or we shall be globular silicates and isometric crystals

in spite of ourselves," whispered Steve with a panic-stricken air,

and they fled from the hailstorm of hard words that rattled about

their ears, leaving Mac to enjoy himself in his own way.

But when Rose was ready to go home and looked about for her

escort, he was nowhere to be seen, for the professor had departed,

and Mac with him, so absorbed in some new topic that he entirely

forgot his cousin and went placidly home, still pondering on the

charms of geology. When this pleasing fact dawned upon Rose her

feelings may be imagined. She was both angry and amused it was

so like Mac to go mooning off and leave her to her fate. Not a hard

one, however; for, though Steve was gone with Kitty before her

plight was discovered, Mrs. Bliss was only too glad to take the

deserted damsel under her wing and bear her safely home.

Rose was warming her feet and sipping the chocolate which Phebe

always had ready for her, as she never ate supper, when a hurried

tap came at the long window whence the light streamed and Mac's

voice was heard softly asking to be let in "just for one minute."

Curious to know what had befallen him, Rose bade Phebe obey his

call and the delinquent cavalier appeared, breathless, anxious, and

more dilapidated than ever, for he had forgotten his overcoat; his

tie was at the back of his neck now; and his hair as rampantly erect

as if all the winds of heaven had been blowing freely through it, as

they had, for he had been tearing to and fro the last half hour,

trying to undo the dreadful deed he had so innocently committed.

"Don't take any notice of me, for I don't deserve it. I only came to

see that you were safe, Cousin, and then go hang myself, as Steve

advised," he began in a remorseful tone that would have been very

effective if he had not been obliged to catch his breath with a

comical gasp now and then.

"I never thought you would be the one to desert me," said Rose

with a reproachful look, thinking it best not to relent too soon,

though she was quite ready to do it when she saw how sincerely

distressed he was.

"It was that confounded man! He was a regular walking

encyclopedia, and, finding I could get a good deal out of him, I

went in for general information, as the time was short. You know I

always forget everything else when I get hold of such a fellow."

"That is evident. I wonder how you came to remember me at all,"

answered Rose, on the brink of a laugh it was so absurd.

"I didn't till Steve said something that reminded me then it burst

upon me, in one awful shock, that I'd gone and left you, and you

might have knocked me down with a feather," said honest Mac,

hiding none of his iniquity.

"What did you do then?"

"Do! I went off like a shot and never stopped till I reached the

Hopes'"

"You didn't walk all the way?" cried Rose.

"Bless you, no I ran. But you were gone with Mrs. Bliss, so I pelted

back again to see with my own eyes that you were safe at home,"

answered Mac with a sigh of relief, wiping his hot forehead.

"But it is three miles at least each way, and twelve o'clock, and

dark and cold. Oh, Mac! How could you!" exclaimed Rose,

suddenly realizing what he had done as she heard his labored

breathing, saw the state of the thin boots, and detected the absence

of an overcoat.

"Couldn't do less, could I?" asked Mac, leaning up against the door

and trying not to pant.

"There was no need of half killing yourself for such a trifle. You

might have known I could take care of myself for once, at least,

with so many friends about. Sit down this minute. Bring another

cup, please, Phebe this boy isn't going home till he is rested and

refreshed after such a run as that," commanded Rose.

"Don't be good to me I'd rather take a scolding than a chair, and

drink hemlock instead of chocolate if you happen to have any

ready," answered Mac with a pathetic puff as he subsided onto the

sofa and meekly took the draft Phebe brought him.

"If you had anything the matter with your heart, sir, a race of this

sort might be the death of you so never do it again," said Rose,

offering her fan to cool his heated countenance.

"Haven't got any heart."

"Yes, you have, for I hear it beating like a trip-hammer, and it is

my fault I ought to have stopped as we went by and told you I was

all right."

"It's the mortification, not the miles, that upsets me. I often take

that run for exercise and think nothing of it but tonight I was so

mad I made extra-good time, I fancy. Now don't you worry, but

compose your mind and 'sip your dish of tea,' as Evelina says,"

answered Mac, artfully turning the conversation from himself.

"What do you know about Evelina?" asked Rose in great surprise.

"All about her. Do you suppose I never read a novel?"

"I thought you read nothing but Greek and Latin, with an

occasional glance at Websky's pseudophites and the monoclinics

of Johanngeorgenstadt."

Mac opened his eyes wide at this reply, then seemed to see the

joke and joined in the laugh with such heartiness that Aunt Plenty's

voice was heard demanding from above with sleepy anxiety: "Is

the house afire?"

"No, ma'am, everything is safe, and I'm only saying good night,"

answered Mac, diving for his cap.

"Then go at once and let that child have her sleep," added the old

lady, retiring to her bed.

Rose ran into the hall, and catching up her uncle's fur coat, met

Mac as he came out of the study, absently looking about for his

own.

"You haven't any, you benighted boy! So take this, and have your

wits about you next time or I won't let you off so easily," she said,

holding up the heavy garment and peeping over it, with no sign of

displeasure in her laughing eyes.

"Next time! Then you do forgive me? You will try me again, and

give me a chance to prove that I'm not a fool?" cried Mac,

embracing the big coat with emotion.

"Of course I will, and, so far from thinking you a fool, I was much

impressed with your learning tonight and told Steve that we ought

to be proud of our philosopher."

"Learning be hanged! I'll show you that I'm not a bookworm but as

much a man as any of them, and then you may be proud or not, as

you like!" cried Mac with a defiant nod that caused the glasses to

leap wildly off his nose as he caught up his hat and departed as he

came.

A day or two later Rose went to call upon Aunt Jane, as she

dutifully did once or twice a week. On her way upstairs she heard a

singular sound in the drawing room and involuntarily stopped to

listen.

"One, two, three, slide! One, two, three, turn! Now, then, come

on!" said one voice impatiently.

"It's very easy to say 'come on,' but what the dickens do I do with

my left leg while I'm turning and sliding with my right?"

demanded another voice in a breathless and mournful tone.

Then the whistling and thumping went on more vigorously than

before, and Rose, recognizing the voices, peeped through the

half-open door to behold a sight which made her shake with

suppressed laughter. Steve, with a red tablecloth tied around his

waist, languished upon Mac's shoulder, dancing in perfect time to

the air he whistled, for Dandy was proficient in the graceful art

and plumed himself upon his skill. Mac, with a flushed face and

dizzy eye, clutched his brother by the small of his back, vainly

endeavoring to steer him down the long room without entangling

his own legs in the tablecloth, treading on his partner's toes, or

colliding with the furniture. It was very droll, and Rose enjoyed the

spectacle till Mac, in a frantic attempt to swing around, dashed

himself against the wall and landed Steve upon the floor. Then it

was impossible to restrain her laughter any longer and she walked

in upon them, saying merrily: "It was splendid! Do it again, and I'll

play for you."

Steve sprang up and tore off the tablecloth in great confusion,

while Mac, still rubbing his head, dropped into a chair, trying to

look quite calm and cheerful as he gasped out: "How are you,

Cousin? When did you come? John should have told us."

"I'm glad he didn't, for then I should have missed this touching

tableau of cousinly devotion and brotherly love. Getting ready for

our next party, I see."

"Trying to, but there are so many things to remember all at once

keep time, steer straight, dodge the petticoats, and manage my

confounded legs that it isn't easy to get on at first," answered Mac

with a sigh of exhaustion, wiping his hot forehead.

"Hardest job I ever undertook and, as I'm not a battering ram, I

decline to be knocked round any longer," growled Steve, dusting

his knees and ruefully surveying the feet that had been trampled on

till they tingled, for his boots and broadcloth were dear to the heart

of the dapper youth.

"Very good of you, and I'm much obliged. I've got the pace, I think,

and can practice with a chair to keep my hand in," said Mac with

such a comic mixture of gratitude and resignation that Rose went

off again so irresistibly that her cousins joined her with a hearty

roar.

"As you are making a martyr of yourself in my service, the least I

can do is lend a hand. Play for us, Steve, and I'll give Mac a lesson,

unless he prefers the chair." And, throwing off her hat and cloak,

Rose beckoned so invitingly that the gravest philosopher would

have yielded.

"A thousand thanks, but I'm afraid I shall hurt you," began Mac,

much gratified, but mindful of past mishaps.

"I'm not. Steve didn't manage his train well, for good dancers

always loop theirs up. I have none at all, so that trouble is gone and

the music will make it much easier to keep step. Just do as I tell

you, and you'll go beautifully after a few turns."

"I will, I will! Pipe up, Steve! Now, Rose!" And, brushing his hair

out of his eyes with an air of stern determination, Mac grasped

Rose and returned to the charge bent on distinguishing himself if

he died in the attempt.

The second lesson prospered, for Steve marked the time by a series

of emphatic bangs; Mac obeyed orders as promptly as if his life

depended on it; and, after several narrow escapes at exciting

moments, Rose had the satisfaction of being steered safely down

the room and landed with a grand pirouette at the bottom. Steve

applauded, and Mac, much elated, exclaimed with artless candor:

"There really is a sort of inspiration about you, Rose. I always

detested dancing before, but now, do you know, I rather like it."

"I knew you would, only you mustn't stand with your arm round

your partner in this way when you are done. You must seat and fan

her, if she likes it," said Rose, anxious to perfect a pupil who

seemed so lamentably in need of a teacher.

"Yes, of course, I know how they do it." And, releasing his cousin,

Mac raised a small whirlwind around her with a folded newspaper,

so full of zeal that she had not the heart to chide him again.

"Well done, old fellow. I begin to have hopes of you and will order

you a new dress coat at once, since you are really going in for the

proprieties of life," said Steve from the music stool, with the

approving nod of one who was a judge of said proprieties. "Now,

Rose, if you will just coach him a little in his small talk, he won't

make a laughingstock of himself as he did the other night," added

Steve. "I don't mean his geological gabble that was bad enough,

but his chat with Emma Curtis was much worse. Tell her, Mac,

and see if she doesn't think poor Emma had a right to think you a

first-class bore."

"I don't see why, when I merely tried to have a little sensible

conversation," began Mac with reluctance, for he had been

unmercifully chaffed by his cousins, to whom his brother had

betrayed him.

"What did you say? I won't laugh if I can help it," said Rose,

curious to hear, for Steve's eyes were twinkling with fun.

"Well, I knew she was fond of theaters, so I tried that first and got

on pretty well till I began to tell her how they managed those

things in Greece. Most interesting subject, you know?"

"Very. Did you give her one of the choruses or a bit of

Agamemnon, as you did when you described it to me?" asked

Rose, keeping sober with difficulty as she recalled that serio-comic

scene.

"Of course not, but I was advising her to read Prometheus when

she gaped behind her fan and began to talk about Phebe. What a

'nice creature' she was, 'kept her place,' dressed according to her

station, and that sort of twaddle. I suppose it was rather rude, but

being pulled up so short confused me a bit, and I said the first

thing that came into my head, which was that I thought Phebe the

best-dressed woman in the room because she wasn't all fuss and

feathers like most of the girls."

"Oh, Mac! That to Emma, who makes it the labor of her life to be

always in the height of fashion and was particularly splendid that

night. What did she say?" cried Rose, full of sympathy for both

parties.

"She bridled and looked daggers at me."

"And what did you do?"

"I bit my tongue and tumbled out of one scrape into another.

Following her example, I changed the subject by talking about the

charity concert for the orphans, and when she gushed about the

'little darlings,' I advised her to adopt one and wondered why

young ladies didn't do that sort of thing, instead of cuddling cats

and lapdogs."

"Unhappy boy! Her pug is the idol of her life, and she hates

babies," said Rose.

"More fool she! Well, she got my opinion on the subject, anyway,

and she's very welcome, for I went on to say that I thought it would

not only be a lovely charity, but excellent training for the time

when they had little darlings of their own. No end of poor things

die through the ignorance of mothers, you know," added Mac, so

seriously that Rose dared not smile at what went before.

"Imagine Emma trotting round with a pauper baby under her arm

instead of her cherished Toto," said Steve with an ecstatic twirl on

the stool.

"Did she seem to like your advice, Monsieur Malapropos?" asked

Rose, wishing she had been there.

"No, she gave a little shriek and said, 'Good gracious, Mr.

Campbell, how droll you are! Take me to Mama, please,' which I

did with a thankful heart. Catch me setting her pug's leg again,"

ended Mac with a grim shake of the head.

"Never mind. You were unfortunate in your listener that time.

Don't think all girls are so foolish. I can show you a dozen sensible

ones who would discuss dress reform and charity with you and

enjoy Greek tragedy if you did the chorus for them as you did for

me," said Rose consolingly, for Steve would only jeer.

"Give me a list of them, please, and I'll cultivate their

acquaintance. A fellow must have some reward for making a

teetotum of himself."

"I will with pleasure; and if you dance well they will make it very

pleasant for you, and you'll enjoy parties in spite of yourself."

"I cannot be a 'glass of fashion and a mold of form' like Dandy

here, but I'll do my best: only, if I had my choice, I'd much rather

go round the streets with an organ and a monkey," answered Mac

despondently.

"Thank you kindly for the compliment," and Rose made him a low

courtesy, while Steve cried, "Now you have done it!" in a tone of

reproach which reminded the culprit, all too late, that he was

Rose's chosen escort.

"By the gods, so I have!" And casting away the newspaper with a

gesture of comic despair, Mac strode from the room, chanting

tragically the words of Cassandra, "'Woe! woe! O Earth! O

Apollo! I will dare to die; I will accost the gates of Hades, and

make my prayer that I may receive a mortal blow!'"

Chapter 7 PHEBE

While Rose was making discoveries and having experiences,

Phebe was doing the same in a quieter way, but though they

usually compared notes during the bedtime tete-a-tete which

always ended their day, certain topics were never mentioned, so

each had a little world of her own into which even the eye of

friendship did not peep.

Rose's life just now was the gaiest but Phebe's the happiest. Both

went out a good deal, for the beautiful voice was welcomed

everywhere, and many were ready to patronize the singer who

would have been slow to recognize the woman. Phebe knew this

and made no attempt to assert herself, content to know that those

whose regard she valued felt her worth and hopeful of a time when

she could gracefully take the place she was meant to fill.

Proud as a princess was Phebe about some things, though in most

as humble as a child; therefore, when each year lessened the

service she loved to give and increased the obligations she would

have refused from any other source, dependence became a burden

which even the most fervent gratitude could not lighten. Hitherto

the children had gone on together, finding no obstacles to their

companionship in the secluded world in which they lived. Now

that they were women their paths inevitably diverged, and both

reluctantly felt that they must part before long.

It had been settled, when they were abroad, that on their return

Phebe should take her one gift in her hand and try her fortunes. On

no other terms would she accept the teaching which was to fit her

for the independence she desired. Faithfully had she used the

facilities so generously afforded both at home and abroad and now

was ready to prove that they had not been in vain. Much

encouraged by the small successes she won in drawing rooms, and

the praise bestowed by interested friends, she began to feel that she

might venture on a larger field and begin her career as a concert

singer, for she aimed no higher.

Just at this time much interest was felt in a new asylum for orphan

girls, which could not be completed for want of funds. The

Campbells well had borne their part and still labored to

accomplish the much-needed charity. Several fairs had been given

for this purpose, followed by a series of concerts. Rose had thrown

herself into the work with all her heart and now proposed that

Phebe should make her debut at the last concert, which was to be a

peculiarly interesting one, as all the orphans were to be present and

were expected to plead their own cause by the sight of their

innocent helplessness as well as touch hearts by the simple airs

they were to sing.

Some of the family thought Phebe would object to so humble a

beginning, but Rose knew her better and was not disappointed, for

when she made her proposal Phebe answered readily: "Where

could I find a fitter time and place to come before the public than

here among my little sisters in misfortune? I'll sing for them with

all my heart only I must be one of them and have no flourish made

about me."

"You shall arrange it as you like, and as there is to be little vocal

music but yours and the children's, I'll see that you have everything

as you please," promised Rose.

It was well she did, for the family got much excited over the

prospect of "our Phebe's debut" and would have made a flourish if

the girls had not resisted. Aunt Clara was in despair about the

dress because Phebe decided to wear a plain claret-colored merino

with frills at neck and wrists so that she might look, as much as

possible, like the other orphans in their stuff gowns and white

aprons. Aunt Plenty wanted to have a little supper afterward in

honor of the occasion, but Phebe begged her to change it to a

Christmas dinner for the poor children. The boys planned to throw

bushels of flowers, and Charlie claimed the honor of leading the

singer in. But Phebe, with tears in her eyes, declined their kindly

offers, saying earnestly: "I had better begin as I am to go on and

depend upon myself entirely. Indeed, Mr. Charlie, I'd rather walk

in alone, for you'd be out of place among us and spoil the pathetic

effect we wish to produce." And a smile sparkled through the tears

as Phebe looked at the piece of elegance before her and thought of

the brown gowns and pinafores.

So, after much discussion, it was decided that she should have her

way in all things and the family content themselves with

applauding from the front.

"We'll blister our hands every man of us, and carry you home in a

chariot and four see if we don't, you perverse prima donna!"

threatened Steve, not at all satisfied with the simplicity of the

affair.

"A chariot and two will be very acceptable as soon as I'm done. I

shall be quite steady till my part is all over, and then I may feel a

little upset, so I'd like to get away before the confusion begins.

Indeed, I don't mean to be perverse, but you are all so kind to me,

my heart is full whenever I think of it, and that wouldn't do if I'm

to sing," said Phebe, dropping one of the tears on the little frill she

was making.

"No diamond could have adorned it better," Archie thought as he

watched it shine there for a moment, and felt like shaking Steve

for daring to pat the dark head with an encouraging "All right. I'll

be on hand and whisk you away while the rest are splitting their

gloves. No fear of your breaking down. If you feel the least bit like

it, though, just look at me and I'll glare at you and shake my fist,

since kindness upsets you."

"I wish you would, because one of my ballads is rather touching

and I always want to cry when I sing it. The sight of you trying to

glare will make me want to laugh and that will steady me nicely,

so sit in front, please, ready to slip out when I come off the last

time."

"Depend upon me!" And the little man departed, taking great

credit to himself for his influence over tall, handsome Phebe.

If he had known what was going on in the mind of the silent young

gentleman behind the newspaper, Steve would have been much

astonished, for Archie, though apparently engrossed by business,

was fathoms deep in love by this time. No one suspected this but

Rose, for he did his wooing with his eyes, and only Phebe knew

how eloquent they could be. He had discovered what the matter

was long ago had made many attempts to reason himself out of it,

but, finding it a hopeless task, had given up trying and let himself

drift deliciously. The knowledge that the family would not approve

only seemed to add ardor to his love and strength to his purpose,

for the same energy and persistence which he brought to business

went into everything he did, and having once made up his mind to

marry Phebe, nothing could change this plan except a word from

her.

He watched and waited for three months, so that he might not be

accused of precipitation, though it did not take him one to decide

that this was the woman to make him happy. Her steadfast nature,

quiet, busy ways, and the reserved power and passion betrayed

sometimes by a flash of the black eyes, a quiver of the firm lips,

suited Archie, who possessed many of the same attributes himself.

The obscurity of her birth and isolation of her lot, which would

have deterred some lovers, not only appealed to his kindly heart,

but touched the hidden romance which ran like a vein of gold

through his strong common sense and made practical, steady-going

Archie a poet when he fell in love. If Uncle Mac had guessed what

dreams and fancies went on in the head bent over his ledgers, and

what emotions were fermenting in the bosom of his staid

"right-hand man," he would have tapped his forehead and

suggested a lunatic asylum. The boys thought Archie had sobered

down too soon. His mother began to fear that the air of the

counting room did not suit him, and Dr. Alec was deluded into the

belief that the fellow really began to "think of Rose," he came so

often in the evening, seeming quite content to sit beside her

worktable and snip tape or draw patterns while they chatted.

No one observed that, though he talked to Rose on these occasions,

he looked at Phebe, in her low chair close by, busy but silent, for

she always tried to efface herself when Rose was near and often

mourned that she was too big to keep out of sight. No matter what

he talked about, Archie always saw the glossy black braids on the

other side of the table, the damask cheek curving down into the

firm white throat, and the dark lashes, lifted now and then,

showing eyes so deep and soft he dared not look into them long.

Even the swift needle charmed him, the little brooch which rose

and fell with her quiet breath, the plain work she did, and the tidy

way she gathered her bits of thread into a tiny bag. He seldom

spoke to her; never touched her basket, though he ravaged Rose's if

he wanted string or scissors; very rarely ventured to bring her some

curious or pretty thing when ships came in from China only sat and

thought of her, imagined that this was his parlor, this her

worktable, and they two sitting there alone a happy man and wife.

At this stage of the little evening drama he would be conscious of

such a strong desire to do something rash that he took refuge in a

new form of intoxication and proposed music, sometimes so

abruptly that Rose would pause in the middle of a sentence and

look at him, surprised to meet a curiously excited look in the

usually cool gray eyes.

Then Phebe, folding up her work, would go to the piano, as if glad

to find a vent for the inner life which she seemed to have no power

of expressing except in song. Rose would follow to accompany

her, and Archie, moving to a certain shady corner whence he could

see Phebe's face as she sang, would give himself up to unmitigated

rapture for half an hour. Phebe never sang so well as at such times,

for the kindly atmosphere was like sunshine to a bird, criticisms

were few and gentle, praises hearty and abundant, and she poured

out her soul as freely as a spring gushes up when its hidden source

is full.

In moments such as these Phebe was beautiful with the beauty that

makes a man's eye brighten with honest admiration and fills his

heart with a sense of womanly nobility and sweetness. Little

wonder, then, that the chief spectator of this agreeable tableau

grew nightly more enamored, and while the elders were deep in

whist, the young people were playing that still more absorbing

game in which hearts are always trumps.

Rose, having Dummy for a partner, soon discovered the fact and

lately had begun to feel as she fancied Wall must have done when

Pyramus wooed Thisbe through its chinks. She was a little startled

at first, then amused, then anxious, then heartily interested, as

every woman is in such affairs, and willingly continued to be a

medium, though sometimes she quite tingled with the electricity

which seemed to pervade the air. She said nothing, waiting for

Phebe to speak, but Phebe was silent, seeming to doubt the truth

till doubt became impossible, then to shrink as if suddenly

conscious of wrongdoing and seize every possible pretext for

absenting herself from the "girls' corner," as the pretty recess was

called.

The concert plan afforded excellent opportunities for doing this,

and evening after evening she slipped away to practice her songs

upstairs while Archie sat staring disconsolately at the neglected

work basket and mute piano. Rose pitied him and longed to say a

word of comfort, but felt shy he was such a reserved fellow so left

him to conduct his quiet wooing in his own way, feeling that the

crisis would soon arrive.

She was sure of this as she sat beside him on the evening of the

concert, for while the rest of the family nodded and smiled, chatted

and laughed in great spirits, Archie was as mute as a fish and sat

with his arms tightly folded, as if to keep in any unruly emotions

which might attempt to escape. He never looked at the program,

but Rose knew when Phebe's turn came by the quick breath he

drew and the intent look, so absent before, that came into his eyes.

But her own excitement prevented much notice of his, for Rose

was in a flutter of hope and fear, sympathy and delight, about

Phebe and her success. The house was crowded; the audience

sufficiently mixed to make the general opinion impartial; and the

stage full of little orphans with shining faces, a most effective

reminder of the object in view.

"Little dears, how nice they look!" "Poor things, so young to be

fatherless and motherless." "It will be a disgrace to the city if those

girls are not taken proper care of." "Subscriptions are always in

order, you know, and pretty Miss Campbell will give you her

sweetest smile if you hand her a handsome check." "I've heard this

Phebe Moore, and she really has a delicious voice such a pity she

won't fit herself for opera!" "Only sings three times tonight; that's

modest, I'm sure, when she's the chief attraction, so we must give

her an encore after the Italian piece." "The orphans lead off, I see.

Stop your ears if you like, but don't fail to applaud or the ladies

will never forgive you."

Chat of this sort went on briskly while fans waved, programs

rustled, and ushers flew about distractedly, till an important

gentleman appeared, made his bow, skipped upon the leader's

stand, and with a wave of his baton caused a general uprising of

white pinafores as the orphans led off with that much-enduring

melody "America" in shrill small voices, but with creditable

attention to time and tune. Pity and patriotism produced a generous

round of applause, and the little girls sat down, beaming with

innocent satisfaction.

An instrumental piece followed, and then a youthful gentleman,

with his hair in picturesque confusion, and what his friends called

a "musical brow," bounded up the steps and, clutching a roll of

music with a pair of tightly gloved hands, proceed to inform the

audience, in a husky tenor voice, that "It was a lovely violet."

What else the song contained in the way of sense or sentiment it

was impossible to discover as the three pages of music appeared to

consist of variations upon that one line, ending with a prolonged

quaver which flushed the musical brow and left the youth quite

breathless when he made his bow.

"Now she's coming! Oh, Uncle, my heart beats as if it were

myself!" whispered Rose, clutching Dr. Alec's arm with a little

gasp as the piano was rolled forward, the leader's stand pushed

back, and all eyes turned toward the anteroom door.

She forgot to glance at Archie, and it was as well perhaps, for his

heart was thumping almost audibly as he waited for his Phebe. Not

from the anteroom, but out among the children, where she had sat

unseen in the shadow of the organ, came stately Phebe in her

wine-colored dress, with no ornament but her fine hair and a white

flower at her throat. Very pale, but quite composed, apparently, for

she stepped slowly through the narrow lane of upturned faces,

holding back her skirts lest they should rudely brush against some

little head. Straight to the front she went, bowed hastily, and, with

a gesture to the accompanist, stood waiting to begin, her eyes fixed

on the great gilt clock at the opposite end of the hall.

They never wandered from that point while she sang, but as she

ended they dropped for an instant on an eager, girlish countenance

bending from a front seat; then, with her hasty little bow, she went

quickly back among the children, who clapped and nodded as she

passed, well pleased with the ballad she had sung.

Everyone courteously followed their example, but there was no

enthusiasm, and it was evident that Phebe had not produced a

particularly favorable impression.

"Never sang so badly in her life," muttered Charlie irefully.

"She was frightened, poor thing. Give her time, give her time,"

said Uncle Mac kindly.

"I know she was, and I glared like a gorgon, but she never looked

at me," added Steve, smoothing his gloves and his brows at the

same time.

"That first song was the hardest, and she got through much better

than I expected," put in Dr. Alec, bound not to show the

disappointment he felt.

"Don't be troubled. Phebe has courage enough for anything, and

she'll astonish you before the evening's over," prophesied Mac with

unabated confidence, for he knew something the rest did not.

Rose said nothing, but under cover of her burnous gave Archie's

hand a sympathetic squeeze, for his arms were unfolded now, as if

the strain was over, and one lay on his knee while with the other he

wiped his hot forehead with an air of relief.

Friends about them murmured complimentary fibs and affected

great delight and surprise at Miss Moore's "charming style,"

"exquisite simplicity," and "undoubted talent." But strangers freely

criticized, and Rose was so indignant at some of their remarks, she

could not listen to anything on the stage, though a fine overture

was played, a man with a remarkable bass voice growled and

roared melodiously, and the orphans sang a lively air with a chorus

of "Tra, la, la," which was a great relief to little tongues unused to

long silence.

"I've often heard that women's tongues were hung in the middle

and went at both ends now I'm sure of it," whispered Charlie,

trying to cheer her up by pointing out the comical effect of some

seventy-five open mouths in each of which the unruly member was

wagging briskly.

Rose laughed and let him fan her, leaning from his seat behind

with the devoted air he always assumed in public, but her wounded

feelings were not soothed and she continued to frown at the stout

man on the left who had dared to say with a shrug and a glance at

Phebe's next piece, "That young woman can no more sing this

Italian thing than she can fly, and they ought not to let her attempt

it."

Phebe did, however, and suddenly changed the stout man's opinion

by singing it grandly, for the consciousness of her first failure

pricked her pride and spurred her to do her best with the calm sort

of determination which conquers fear, fires ambition, and changes

defeat to success. She looked steadily at Rose now, or the flushed,

intent face beside her, and throwing all her soul into the task, let

her voice ring out like a silver clarion, filling the great hall and

setting the hearers' blood a-tingle with the exulting strain.

That settled Phebe's fate as a cantatrice. The applause was genuine

and spontaneous this time and broke out again and again with the

generous desire to atone for former coldness. But she would not

return, and the shadow of the great organ seemed to have

swallowed her up, for no eye could find her, no pleasant clamor

win her back.

"Now I can die content," said Rose, beaming with heartfelt

satisfaction while Archie looked steadfastly at his program, trying

to keep his face in order, and the rest of the family assumed a

triumphant air, as if they had never doubted from the first.

"Very well, indeed," said the stout man with an approving nod.

"Quite promising for a beginner. Shouldn't wonder if in time they

made a second Cary or Kellogg of her."

"Now you'll forgive him, won't you?" murmured Charlie in his

cousin's ear.

"Yes, and I'd like to pat him on the head. But take warning and

never judge by first appearances again," whispered Rose, at peace

now with all mankind.

Phebe's last song was another ballad; she meant to devote her

talent to that much neglected but always attractive branch of her

art. It was a great surprise, therefore, to all but one person in the

hall when, instead of singing "Auld Robin Grey," she placed

herself at the piano, and, with a smiling glance over her shoulder

at the children, broke out in the old bird song which first won

Rose. But the chirping, twittering, and cooing were now the

burden to three verses of a charming little song, full of springtime

and the awakening life that makes it lovely. A rippling

accompaniment flowed through it all, and a burst of delighted

laughter from the children filled up the first pause with a fitting

answer to the voices that seemed calling to them from the vernal

woods.

It was very beautiful, and novelty lent its charm to the surprise, for

art and nature worked a pretty miracle and the clever imitation,

first heard from a kitchen hearth, now became the favorite in a

crowded concert room. Phebe was quite herself again; color in the

cheeks now; eyes that wandered smiling to and fro; and lips that

sang as gaily and far more sweetly than when she kept time to her

blithe music with a scrubbing brush.

This song was evidently intended for the children, and they

appreciated the kindly thought, for as Phebe went back among

them, they clapped ecstatically, flapped their pinafores, and some

caught her by the skirts with audible requests to "Do it again,

please; do it again."

But Phebe shook her head and vanished, for it was getting late for

such small people, several of whom "lay sweetly slumbering there"

till roused by the clamor round them. The elders, however, were

not to be denied and applauded persistently, especially Aunt

Plenty, who seized Uncle Mac's cane and pounded with it as

vigorously as "Mrs. Nubbles" at the play.

"Never mind your gloves, Steve; keep it up till she comes," cried

Charlie, enjoying the fun like a boy while Jamie lost his head with

excitement and, standing up, called "Phebe! Phebe!" in spite of his

mother's attempts to silence him.

Even the stout man clapped, and Rose could only laugh

delightedly as she turned to look at Archie, who seemed to have let

himself loose at last and was stamping with a dogged energy funny

to see.

So Phebe had to come, and stood there meekly bowing, with a

moved look on her face that showed how glad and grateful she

was, till a sudden hush came; then, as if inspired by the memory of

the cause that brought her there, she looked down into the sea of

friendly faces before her, with no trace of fear in her own, and

sang the song that never will grow old.

That went straight to the hearts of those who heard her, for there

was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of this

sweet-voiced woman singing of home for the little creatures who

were homeless, and Phebe made her tuneful plea irresistible by an

almost involuntary gesture of the hands which had hung loosely

clasped before her till, with the last echo of the beloved word, they

fell apart and were half outstretched, as if pleading to be filled.

It was the touch of nature that works wonders, for it made full

purses suddenly weigh heavily in pockets slow to open, brought

tears to eyes unused to weep, and caused that group of red-gowned

girls to grow very pathetic in the sight of fathers and mothers who

had left little daughters safe asleep at home. This was evident from

the stillness that remained unbroken for an instant after Phebe

ended; and before people could get rid of their handkerchiefs she

would have been gone if the sudden appearance of a mite in a

pinafore, climbing up the stairs from the anteroom with a great

bouquet grasped in both hands, had not arrested her.

Up came the little creature, intent on performing the mission for

which rich bribes of sugarplums had been promised, and trotting

bravely across the stage, she held up the lovely nosegay, saying in

her baby voice, "Dis for you, ma'am." Then, startled by the sudden

outburst of applause, she hid her face in Phebe's gown and began

to sob with fright.

An awkward minute for poor Phebe, but she showed unexpected

presence of mind and left behind her a pretty picture of the oldest

and youngest orphan as she went quickly down the step, smiling

over the great bouquet with the baby on her arm.

Nobody minded the closing piece, for people began to go, sleepy

children to be carried off, and whispers grew into a buzz of

conversation. In the general confusion Rose looked to see if Steve

had remembered his promise to help Phebe slip away before the

rush began. No, there he was putting on Kitty's cloak, quite

oblivious to any other duty. Turning to ask Archie to hurry out,

Rose found that he had already vanished, leaving his gloves behind

him.

"Have you lost anything?" asked Dr. Alec, catching a glimpse of

her face.

"No, sir, I've found something," she whispered back, giving him

the gloves to pocket along with her fan and glass, adding hastily as

the concert ended, "Please, Uncle, tell them all not to come with

us. Phebe has had enough excitement and ought to rest."

Rose's word was law to the family in all things concerning Phebe.

So word was passed that there were to be no congratulations until

tomorrow, and Dr. Alec got his party off as soon as possible. But

all the way home, while he and Aunt Plenty were prophesying a

brilliant future for the singer, Rose sat rejoicing over the happy

present of the woman. She was sure that Archie had spoken and

imagined the whole scene with feminine delight how tenderly he

had asked the momentous question, how gratefully Phebe had

given the desired reply, and now how both were enjoying that

delicious hour which Rose had been given to understand never

came but once. Such a pity to shorten it, she thought, and begged

her uncle to go home the longest way the night was so mild, the

moonlight so clear, and herself so in need of fresh air after the

excitement of the evening.

"I thought you would want to rush into Phebe's arms the instant she

got done," said Aunt Plenty, innocently wondering at the whims

girls took into their heads.

"So I should if I consulted my own wishes, but as Phebe asked to

be let alone I want to gratify her," answered Rose, making the best

excuse she could.

"A little piqued," thought the doctor, fancying he understood the

case.

As the old lady's rheumatism forbade their driving about till

midnight, home was reached much too soon, Rose thought, and

tripped away to warn the lovers the instant she entered the house.

But study, parlor, and boudoir were empty; and, when Jane

appeared with cake and wine, she reported that "Miss Phebe went

right upstairs and wished to be excused, please, being very tired."

"That isn't at all like Phebe I hope she isn't ill," began Aunt Plenty,

sitting down to toast her feet.

"She may be a little hysterical, for she is a proud thing and

represses her emotions as long as she can. I'll step up and see if she

doesn't need a soothing draft of some sort." And Dr. Alec threw off

his coat as he spoke.

"No, no, she's only tired. I'll run up to her she won't mind me and

I'll report if anything is amiss."

Away went Rose, quite trembling with suspense, but Phebe's door

was shut, no light shone underneath, and no sound came from the

room within. She tapped and receiving no answer, went on to her

own chamber, thinking to herself: "Love always makes people

queer, I've heard, so I suppose they settled it all in the carriage and

the dear thing ran away to think about her happiness alone. I'll not

disturb her. Why, Phebe!" said Rose, surprised, for, entering her

room, there was the cantatrice, busy about the nightly services she

always rendered her little mistress.

"I'm waiting for you, dear. Where have you been so long?" asked

Phebe, poking the fire as if anxious to get some color into cheeks

that were unnaturally pale.

The instant she spoke Rose knew that something was wrong, and a

glance at her face confirmed the fear. It was like a dash of cold

water and quenched her happy fancies in a moment; but being a

delicate-minded girl, she respected Phebe's mood and asked no

questions, made no comments, and left her friend to speak or be

silent as she chose.

"I was so excited I would take a turn in the moonlight to calm my

nerves. Oh, dearest Phebe, I am so glad, so proud, so full of

wonder at your courage and skill and sweet ways altogether that I

cannot half tell you how I love and honor you!" she cried, kissing

the white cheeks with such tender warmth they could not help

glowing faintly as Phebe held her little mistress close, sure that

nothing could disturb this innocent affection.

"It is all your work, dear, because but for you I might still be

scrubbing floors and hardly dare to dream of anything like this,"

she said in her old grateful way, but in her voice there was a thrill

of something deeper than gratitude, and at the last two words her

head went up with a gesture of soft pride as if it had been newly

crowned.

Rose heard and saw and guessed at the meaning of both tone and

gesture, feeling that her Phebe deserved both the singer's laurel and

the bride's myrtle wreath. But she only looked up, saying very

wistfully: "Then it has been a happy night for you as well as for

us."

"The happiest of my life, and the hardest," answered Phebe briefly

as she looked away from the questioning eyes.

"You should have let us come nearer and help you through. I'm

afraid you are very proud, my Jenny Lind."

"I have to be, for sometimes I feel as if I had nothing else to keep

me up." She stopped short there, fearing that her voice would

prove traitorous if she went on. In a moment she asked in a tone

that was almost hard: "You think I did well tonight?"

"They all think so, and were so delighted they wanted to come in a

body and tell you so, but I sent them home because I knew you'd

be tired out. Perhaps I ought not to have done it and you'd rather

have had a crowd about you than just me?"

"It was the kindest thing you ever did, and what could I like better

than 'just you,' my darling?"

Phebe seldom called her that, and when she did her heart was in

the little word, making it so tender that Rose thought it the

sweetest in the world, next to Uncle Alec's "my little girl." Now it

was almost passionate, and Phebe's face grew rather tragical as she

looked down at Rose. It was impossible to seem unconscious any

longer, and Rose said, caressing Phebe's cheek, which burned with

a feverish color now: "Then don't shut me out if you have a

trouble, but let me share it as I let you share all mine."

"I will! Little mistress, I've got to go away, sooner even than we

planned."

"Why, Phebe?"

"Because Archie loves me."

"That's the very reason you should stay and make him happy."

"Not if it caused dissension in the family, and you know it would."

Rose opened her lips to deny this impetuously, but checked herself

and answered honestly: "Uncle and I would be heartily glad, and

I'm sure Aunt Jessie never could object if you loved Archie as he

does you."

"She has other hopes, I think, and kind as she is, it would be a

disappointment if he brought me home. She is right, they all are,

and I alone am to blame. I should have gone long ago I knew I

should, but it was so pleasant, I couldn't bear to go away alone."

"I kept you, and I am to blame if anyone, but indeed, dear Phebe, I

cannot see why you should care even if Aunt Myra croaks and

Aunt Clara exclaims or Aunt Jane makes disagreeable remarks. Be

happy, and never mind them," cried Rose, so much excited by all

this that she felt the spirit of revolt rise up within her and was

ready to defy even that awe-inspiring institution "the family" for

her friend's sake.

But Phebe shook her head with a sad smile and answered, still

with the hard tone in her voice as if forcing back all emotion that

she might see her duty clearly: "You could do that, but I never can.

Answer me this, Rose, and answer truly as you love me. If you had

been taken into a house, a friendless, penniless, forlorn girl, and

for years been heaped with benefits, trusted, taught, loved, and

made, oh, so happy! could you think it right to steal away

something that these good people valued very much? To have

them feel that you had been ungrateful, had deceived them, and

meant to thrust yourself into a high place not fit for you when they

had been generously helping you in other ways, far more than you

deserved. Could you then say as you do now, 'Be happy, and never

mind them'?"

Phebe held Rose by the shoulders now and searched her face so

keenly that the other shrank a little, for the black eyes were full of

fire and there was something almost grand about this girl who

seemed suddenly to have become a woman. There was no need for

words to answer the question so swiftly asked, for Rose put herself

in Phebe's place in the drawing of a breath, and her own pride

made her truthfully reply: "No I could not!"

"I knew you'd say that, and help me do my duty." And all the

coldness melted out of Phebe's manner as she hugged her little

mistress close, feeling the comfort of sympathy even through the

blunt sincerity of Rose's words.

"I will if I know how. Now, come and tell me all about it." And,

seating herself in the great chair which had often held them both,

Rose stretched out her hands as if glad and ready to give help of

any sort.

But Phebe would not take her accustomed place, for, as if coming

to confession, she knelt down upon the rug and, leaning on the arm

of the chair, told her love story in the simplest words.

"I never thought he cared for me until a little while ago. I fancied it

was you, and even when I knew he liked to hear me sing I

supposed it was because you helped, and so I did my best and was

glad you were to be a happy girl. But his eyes told the truth. Then I

saw what I had been doing and was frightened. He did not speak,

so I believed, what is quite true, that he felt I was not a fit wife for

him and would never ask me. It was right I was glad of it, yet I was

proud and, though I did not ask or hope for anything, I did want

him to see that I respected myself, remembered my duty, and could

do right as well as he. I kept away. I planned to go as soon as

possible and resolved that at this concert I would do so well, he

should not be ashamed of poor Phebe and her one gift."

"It was this that made you so strange, then, preferring to go alone

and refusing every little favor at our hands?" asked Rose, feeling

very sure now about the state of Phebe's heart.

"Yes, I wanted to do everything myself and not owe one jot of my

success, if I had any, to even the dearest friend I've got. It was bad

and foolish of me, and I was punished by the first dreadful failure.

I was so frightened, Rose! My breath was all gone, my eyes so

dizzy I could hardly see, and that great crowd of faces seemed so

near, I dared not look. If it had not been for the clock I never

should have gotten through, and when I did, not knowing in the

least how I'd sung, one look at your distressed face told me I'd

failed."

"But I smiled, Phebe indeed I did as sweetly as I could, for I was

sure it was only fright," protested Rose eagerly.

"So you did, but the smile was full of pity, not of pride, as I wanted

it to be, and I rushed into a dark place behind the organ, feeling

ready to kill myself. How angry and miserable I was! I set my

teeth, clenched my hands, and vowed that I would do well next

time or never sing another note. I was quite desperate when my

turn came, and felt as if I could do almost anything, for I

remembered that he was there. I'm not sure how it was, but it

seemed as if I was all voice, for I let myself go, trying to forget

everything except that two people must not be disappointed,

though I died when the song was done."

"Oh, Phebe, it was splendid! I nearly cried, I was so proud and glad

to see you do yourself justice at last."

"And he?" whispered Phebe, with her face half hidden on the arm

of the chair.

"Said not a word, but I saw his lips tremble and his eyes shine and

I knew he was the happiest creature there, because I was sure he

did think you fit to be his wife and did mean to speak very soon."

Phebe made no answer for a moment, seeming to forget the small

success in the greater one which followed and to comfort her sore

heart with the knowledge that Rose was right.

"He sent the flowers, he came for me, and, on the way home,

showed me how wrong I had been to doubt him for an hour. Don't

ask me to tell that part, but be sure I was the happiest creature in

the world then."

And Phebe hid her face again, all wet with tender tears that fell

soft and sudden as a summer shower.

Rose let them flow undisturbed while she silently caressed the bent

head, wondering, with a wistful look in her own wet eyes, what

this mysterious passion was which could so move, ennoble, and

beautify the beings whom it blessed.

An impertinent little clock upon the chimneypiece striking eleven

broke the silence and reminded Phebe that she could not indulge in

love dreams there. She started up, brushed off her tears, and said

resolutely: "That is enough for tonight. Go happily to bed, and

leave the troubles for tomorrow."

"But, Phebe, I must know what you said," cried Rose, like a child

defrauded of half its bedtime story.

"I said, 'No.'"

"Ah! But it will change to 'yes' by and by, I'm sure of that so I'll let

you go to dream of him. The Campbells are rather proud of being

descendants of Robert the Bruce, but they have common sense and

love you dearly, as you'll see tomorrow."

"Perhaps." And with a good night kiss, poor Phebe went away, to

lie awake till dawn.

Chapter 8 BREAKERS AHEAD

Anxious to smooth the way for Phebe, Rose was up betimes and

slipped into Aunt Plenty's room before the old lady had gotten her

cap on.

"Aunty, I've something pleasant to tell you, and while you listen,

I'll brush your hair, as you like to have me," she began, well aware

that the proposed process was a very soothing one.

"Yes, dear only don't be too particular, because I'm late and must

hurry down or Jane won't get things straight, and it does fidget me

to have the saltcellars uneven, the tea strainer forgotten, and your

uncle's paper not aired," returned Miss Plenty, briskly unrolling the

two gray curls she wore at her temples.

Then Rose, brushing away at the scanty back hair, led skillfully up

to the crisis of her tale by describing Phebe's panic and brave

efforts to conquer it; all about the flowers Archie sent her; and

how Steve forgot, and dear, thoughtful Archie took his place. So

far it went well and Aunt Plenty was full of interest, sympathy, and

approbation, but when Rose added, as if it was quite a matter of

course, "So, on the way home, he told her he loved her," a great

start twitched the gray locks out of her hands as the old lady turned

around, with the little curls standing erect, exclaiming, in

undisguised dismay: "Not seriously, Rose?"

"Yes, Aunty, very seriously. He never jokes about such things."

"Mercy on us! What shall we do about it?"

"Nothing, ma'am, but be as glad as we ought and congratulate him

as soon as she says 'yes.'?

"Do you mean to say she didn't accept at once?"

"She never will if we don't welcome her as kindly as if she

belonged to one of our best families, and I don't blame her."

"I'm glad the girl has so much sense. Of course we can't do

anything of the sort, and I'm surprised at Archie's forgetting what

he owes to the family in this rash manner. Give me my cap, child I

must speak to Alec at once." And Aunt Plenty twisted her hair into

a button at the back of her head with one energetic twirl.

"Do speak kindly, Aunty, and remember that it was not Phebe's

fault. She never thought of this till very lately and began at once to

prepare for going away," said Rose pleadingly.

"She ought to have gone long ago. I told Myra we should have

trouble somewhere as soon as I saw what a good-looking creature

she was, and here it is as bad as can be. Dear, dear! Why can't

young people have a little prudence?"

"I don't see that anyone need object if Uncle Jem and Aunt Jessie

approve, and I do think it will be very, very unkind to scold poor

Phebe for being well-bred, pretty, and good, after doing all we

could to make her so."

"Child, you don't understand these things yet, but you ought to feel

your duty toward your family and do all you can to keep the name

as honorable as it always has been. What do you suppose our

blessed ancestress Lady Marget would say to our oldest boy taking

a wife from the poorhouse?"

As she spoke, Miss Plenty looked up, almost apprehensively, at

one of the wooden-faced old portraits with which her room was

hung, as if asking pardon of the severe-nosed matron who stared

back at her from under the sort of blue dish cover which formed

her headgear.

"As Lady Marget died about two hundred years ago, I don't care a

pin what she would say, especially as she looks like a very

narrow-minded, haughty woman. But I do care very much what

Miss Plenty Campbell says, for she is a very sensible, generous,

discreet, and dear old lady who wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a

good and faithful girl who has been a sister to me. Would she?"

entreated Rose, knowing well that the elder aunt led all the rest

more or less.

But Miss Plenty had her cap on now and consequently felt herself

twice the woman she was without it, so she not only gave it a

somewhat belligerent air by setting it well up, but she shook her

head decidedly, smoothed down her stiff white apron, and stood up

as if ready for battle.

"I shall do my duty, Rose, and expect the same of others. Don't say

any more now I must turn the matter over in my mind, for it has

come upon me suddenly and needs serious consideration."

With which unusually solemn address she took up her keys and

trotted away, leaving her niece to follow with an anxious

countenance, uncertain whether her championship had done good

or ill to the cause she had at heart.

She was much cheered by the sound of Phebe's voice in the study,

for Rose was sure that if Uncle Alec was on their side all would be

well. But the clouds lowered again when they came in to breakfast,

for Phebe's heavy eyes and pale cheeks did not look encouraging,

while Dr. Alec was as sober as a judge and sent an inquiring

glance toward Rose now and then as if curious to discover how she

bore the news.

An uncomfortable meal, though all tried to seem as usual and

talked over last night's events with all the interest they could. But

the old peace was disturbed by a word, as a pebble thrown into a

quiet pool sends telltale circles rippling its surface far and wide.

Aunt Plenty, while "turning the subject over in her mind," also

seemed intent on upsetting everything she touched and made sad

havoc in her tea tray; Dr. Alec unsociably read his paper; Rose,

having salted instead of sugared her oatmeal, absently ate it,

feeling that the sweetness had gone out of everything; and Phebe,

after choking down a cup of tea and crumbling a roll, excused

herself and went away, sternly resolving not to be a bone of

contention to this beloved family.

As soon as the door was shut Rose pushed away her plate and,

going to Dr. Alec, she peeped over the paper with such an anxious

face that he put it down at once.

"Uncle, this is a serious matter, and we must take our stand at

once, for you are Phebe's guardian and I am her sister," began Rose

with pretty solemnity. "You have often been disappointed in me,"

she continued, "but I know I never shall be in you because you are

too wise and good to let any worldly pride or prudence spoil your

sympathy with Archie and our Phebe. You won't desert them, will

you?"

"Never!" answered Dr. Alec with gratifying energy.

"Thank you! Thank you!" cried Rose. "Now, if I have you and

Aunty on my side, I'm not afraid of anybody."

"Gently, gently, child. I don't intend to desert the lovers, but I

certainly shall advise them to consider well what they are about.

I'll own I am rather disappointed, because Archie is young to

decide his life in this way and Phebe's career seemed settled in

another fashion. Old people don't like to have their plans upset,

you know," he added more lightly, for Rose's face fell as he went

on.

"Old people shouldn't plan too much for the young ones, then. We

are very grateful, I'm sure, but we cannot always be disposed of in

the most prudent and sensible way, so don't set your hearts on little

arrangements of that sort, I beg," And Rose looked wondrous wise,

for she could not help suspecting even her best uncle of "plans" in

her behalf.

"You are quite right-we shouldn't, yet it is very hard to help it,"

confessed Dr. Alec with a conscious air, and, returning hastily to

the lovers, he added kindly: "I was much pleased with the

straightforward way in which Phebe came to me this morning and

told me all about it, as if I really was her guardian. She did not

own it in words, but it was perfectly evident that she loves Archie

with all her heart, yet, knowing the objections which will be made,

very sensibly and bravely proposes to go away at once and end the

matter as if that were possible, poor child." And the tenderhearted

man gave a sigh of sympathy that did Rose good to hear and

mollified her rising indignation at the bare idea of ending Phebe's

love affairs in such a summary way.

"You don't think she ought to go, I hope?"

"I think she will go."

"We must not let her."

"We have no right to keep her."

"Oh, Uncle, surely we have! Our Phebe, whom we all love so

much."

"You forget that she is a woman now, and we have no claim on

her. Because we've befriended her for years is the very reason we

should not make our benefits a burden, but leave her free, and if

she chooses to do this in spite of Archie, we must let her with a

Godspeed."

Before Rose could answer, Aunt Plenty spoke out like one having

authority, for old-fashioned ways were dear to her soul and she

thought even love affairs should be conducted with a proper regard

to the powers that be.

"The family must talk the matter over and decide what is best for

the children, who of course will listen to reason and do nothing ill

advised. For my part, I am quite upset by the news, but shall not

commit myself till I've seen Jessie and the boy. Jane, clear away,

and bring me the hot water."

That ended the morning conference. And, leaving the old lady to

soothe her mind by polishing spoons and washing cups, Rose went

away to find Phebe while the doctor retired to laugh over the

downfall of brother Mac's matchmaking schemes.

The Campbells did not gossip about their concerns in public, but

being a very united family, it had long been the custom to "talk

over" any interesting event which occurred to any member thereof,

and everyone gave his or her opinion, advice, or censure with the

utmost candor. Therefore the first engagement, if such it could be

called, created a great sensation, among the aunts especially, and

they were in as much of a flutter as a flock of maternal birds when

their young begin to hop out of the nest. So at all hours the

excellent ladies were seen excitedly nodding their caps together as

they discussed the affair in all its bearings, without ever arriving at

any unanimous decision.

The boys took it much more calmly. Mac was the only one who

came out strongly in Archie's favor. Charlie thought the Chief

ought to do better and called Phebe "a siren who had bewitched

the sage youth." Steve was scandalized and delivered long orations

upon one's duty to society, keeping the old name up, and the

danger of m salliances, while all the time he secretly sympathized

with Archie, being much smitten with Kitty Van himself. Will and

Geordie, unfortunately home for the holidays, considered it "a jolly

lark," and little Jamie nearly drove his elder brother distracted by

curious inquiries as to "how folks felt when they were in love."

Uncle Mac's dismay was so comical that it kept Dr. Alec in good

spirits, for he alone knew how deep was the deluded man's chagrin

at the failure of the little plot which he fancied was prospering

finely.

"I'll never set my heart on anything of the sort again, and the young

rascals may marry whom they like. I'm prepared for anything now--

so if Steve brings home the washerwoman's daughter, and Mac

runs away with our pretty chambermaid, I shall say, 'Bless you my

children,' with mournful resignation, for, upon my soul, that is all

that's left for a modern parent to do."

With which tragic burst, poor Uncle Mac washed his hands of the

whole affair and buried himself in the countinghouse while the

storm raged.

About this time Archie might have echoed Rose's childish wish,

that she had not quite so many aunts, for the tongues of those

interested relatives made sad havoc with his little romance and

caused him to long fervently for a desert island where he could

woo and win his love in delicious peace. That nothing of the sort

was possible soon became evident, since every word uttered only

confirmed Phebe's resolution to go away and proved to Rose how

mistaken she had been in believing that she could bring everyone

to her way of thinking.

Prejudices are unmanageable things, and the good aunts, like most

women, possessed a plentiful supply, so Rose found it like beating

her head against a wall to try and convince them that Archie was

wise in loving poor Phebe. His mother, who had hoped to have

Rose for her daughter not because of her fortune, but the tender

affection she felt for her put away her disappointment without a

word and welcomed Phebe as kindly as she could for her boy's

sake. But the girl felt the truth with the quickness of a nature made

sensitive by love and clung to her resolve all the more tenaciously,

though grateful for the motherly words that would have been so

sweet if genuine happiness had prompted them.

Aunt Jane called it romantic nonsense and advised strong

measures "kind, but firm, Jessie." Aunt Clara was sadly distressed

about "what people would say" if one of "our boys" married a

nobody's daughter. And Aunt Myra not only seconded her views by

painting portraits of Phebe's unknown relations in the darkest

colors but uttered direful prophecies regarding the disreputable

beings who would start up in swarms the moment the girl made a

good match.

These suggestions so wrought upon Aunt Plenty that she turned a

deaf ear to the benevolent emotions native to her breast and, taking

refuge behind "our blessed ancestress, Lady Marget," refused to

sanction any engagement which could bring discredit upon the

stainless name which was her pride.

So it all ended where it began, for Archie steadily refused to listen

to anyone but Phebe, and she as steadily reiterated her bitter "No!"

fortifying herself half unconsciously with the hope that, by and by,

when she had won a name, fate might be kinder.

While the rest talked, she had been working, for every hour

showed her that her instinct had been a true one and pride would

not let her stay, though love pleaded eloquently. So, after a

Christmas anything but merry, Phebe packed her trunks, rich in

gifts from those who generously gave her all but the one thing she

desired, and, with a pocketful of letters to people who could

further her plans, she went away to seek her fortune, with a brave

face and a very heavy heart.

"Write often, and let me know all you do, my Phebe, and

remember I shall never be contented till you come back again,"

whispered Rose, clinging to her till the last.

"She will come back, for in a year I'm going to bring her home,

please God," said Archie, pale with the pain of parting but as

resolute as she.

"I'll earn my welcome then perhaps it will be easier for them to

give and me to receive it," answered Phebe, with a backward

glance at the group of caps in the hall as she went down the steps

on Dr. Alec's arm.

"You earned it long ago, and it is always waiting for you while I

am here. Remember that, and God bless you, my good girl," he

said, with a paternal kiss that warmed her heart.

"I never shall forget it!" And Phebe never did.

Chapter 9 NEW YEAR'S CALLS

"Now I'm going to turn over a new leaf, as I promised. I wonder

what I shall find on the next page?" said Rose, coming down on

New Year's morning with a serious face and a thick letter in her

hand.

"Tired of frivolity, my dear?" asked her uncle, pausing in his walk

up and down the hall to glance at her with a quick, bright look she

liked to bring into his eyes.

"No, sir, and that's the sad part of it, but I've made up my mind to

stop while I can because I'm sure it is not good for me. I've had

some very sober thoughts lately, for since my Phebe went away

I've had no heart for gaiety, so it is a good place to stop and make a

fresh start," answered Rose, taking his arm and walking on with

him.

"An excellent time! Now, how are you going to fill the aching

void?" he asked, well pleased.

"By trying to be as unselfish, brave, and good as she is." And Rose

held the letter against her bosom with a tender touch, for Phebe's

strength had inspired her with a desire to be as self-reliant. "I'm

going to set about living in earnest, as she has; though I think it

will be harder for me than for her, because she stands alone and

has a career marked out for her. I'm nothing but a commonplace

sort of girl, with no end of relations to be consulted every time I

wink and a dreadful fortune hanging like a millstone round my

neck to weigh me down if I try to fly. It is a hard case, Uncle, and I

get low in my mind when I think about it," sighed Rose, oppressed

with her blessings.

"Afflicted child! How can I relieve you?" And there was

amusement as well as sympathy in Dr. Alec's face as he patted the

hand upon his arm.

"Please don't laugh, for I really am trying to be good. In the first

place, help me to wean myself from foolish pleasures and show me

how to occupy my thoughts and time so that I may not idle about

and dream instead of doing great things."

"Good! We'll begin at once. Come to town with me this morning

and see your houses. They are all ready, and Mrs. Gardner has half

a dozen poor souls waiting to go in as soon as you give the word,"

answered the doctor promptly, glad to get his girl back again,

though not surprised that she still looked with regretful eyes at the

Vanity Fair, always so enticing when we are young.

"I'll give it today, and make the new year a happy one to those poor

souls at least. I'm so sorry that it's impossible for me to go with

you, but you know I must help Aunty Plen receive. We haven't

been here for so long that she had set her heart on having a grand

time today, and I particularly want to please her because I have not

been as amiable as I ought lately. I really couldn't forgive her for

siding against Phebe."

"She did what she thought was right, so we must not blame her. I

am going to make my New Year's calls today and, as my friends

live down that way, I'll get the list of names from Mrs. G. and tell

the poor ladies, with Miss Campbell's compliments, that their new

home is ready. Shall I?"

"Yes, Uncle, but take all the credit to yourself, for I never should

have thought of it if you had not proposed the plan."

"Bless your heart! I'm only your agent, and suggest now and then.

I've nothing to offer but advice, so I lavish that on all occasions."

"You have nothing because you've given your substance all away

as generously as you do your advice. Never mind you shall never

come to want while I live. I'll save enough for us two, though I do

make 'ducks and drakes of my fortune.'"

Dr. Alec laughed at the toss of the head with which she quoted

Charlie's offensive words, then offered to take the letter, saying, as

he looked at his watch: "I'll post that for you in time for the early

mail. I like a run before breakfast."

But Rose held her letter fast, dimpling with sudden smiles, half

merry and half shy.

"No thank you, sir. Archie likes to do that, and never fails to call

for all I write. He gets a peep at Phebe's in return and I cheer him

up a bit, for, though he says nothing, he has a hard time of it, poor

fellow."

"How many letters in five days?"

"Four, sir, to me. She doesn't write to him, Uncle."

"As yet. Well, you show hers, so it's all right and you are a set of

sentimental youngsters." And the doctor walked away, looking as

if he enjoyed the sentiment as much as any of them.

Old Miss Campbell was nearly as great a favorite as young Miss

Campbell, so a succession of black coats and white gloves flowed

in and out of the hospitable mansion pretty steadily all day. The

clan was out in great force, and came by in installments to pay

their duty to Aunt Plenty and wish the compliments of the season

to "our cousin." Archie appeared first, looking sad but steadfast,

and went away with Phebe's letter in his left breast pocket feeling

that life was still endurable, though his love was torn from him, for

Rose had many comfortable things to say and read him delicious

bits from the voluminous correspondence lately begun.

Hardly was he gone when Will and Geordie came marching in,

looking as fine as gray uniforms with much scarlet piping could

make them and feeling peculiarly important, as this was their first

essay in New Year's call-making. Brief was their stay, for they

planned to visit every friend they had, and Rose could not help

laughing at the droll mixture of manly dignity and boyish delight

with which they drove off in their own carriage, both as erect as

ramrods, arms folded, and caps stuck at exactly the same angle on

each blond head.

"Here comes the other couple Steve, in full feather, with a big

bouquet for Kitty, and poor Mac, looking like a gentleman and

feeling like a martyr, I'm sure," said Rose, watching one carriage

turn in as the other turned out of the great gate, with its arch of

holly, ivy, and evergreen.

"Here he is. I've got him in tow for the day and want you to cheer

him up with a word of praise, for he came without a struggle

though planning to bolt somewhere with Uncle," cried Steve,

falling back to display his brother, who came in looking

remarkably well in his state and festival array, for polishing had

begun to tell.

"A happy New Year, Aunty, same to you, Cousin, and best wishes

for as many more as you deserve," said Mac, heeding Steve no

more than if he had been a fly as he gave the old lady a hearty kiss

and offered Rose a quaint little nosegay of pansies.

"Heart's-ease do you think I need it?" she asked, looking up with

sudden sobriety.

"We all do. Could I give you anything better on a day like this?"

"No thank you very much." And a sudden dew came to Rose's

eyes, for, though often blunt in speech, when Mac did do a tender

thing, it always touched her because he seemed to understand her

moods so well.

"Has Archie been here? He said he shouldn't go anywhere else, but

I hope you talked that nonsense out of his head," said Steve,

settling his tie before the mirror.

"Yes, dear, he came but looked so out of spirits I really felt

reproached. Rose cheered him up a little, but I don't believe he will

feel equal to making calls and I hope he won't, for his face tells the

whole story much too plainly," answered Aunty Plenty, rustling

about her bountiful table in her richest black silk with all her old

lace on.

"Oh, he'll get over it in a month or two, and Phebe will soon find

another lover, so don't be worried about him, Aunty," said Steve,

with the air of a man who knew all about that sort of thing.

"If Archie does forget, I shall despise him, and I know Phebe won't

try to find another lover, though she'll probably have them she is so

sweet and good!" cried Rose indignantly, for, having taken the pair

under her protection, she defended them valiantly.

"Then you'd have Arch hope against hope and never give up,

would you?" asked Mac, putting on his glasses to survey the thin

boots which were his especial abomination.

"Yes, I would, for a lover is not worth having if he's not in

earnest!"

"Exactly. So you'd like them to wait and work and keep on loving

till they made you relent or plainly proved that it was no use."

"If they were good as well as constant, I think I should relent in

time."

"I'll mention that to Pemberton, for he seemed to be hit the hardest,

and a ray of hope will do him good, whether he is equal to the ten

years' wait or not," put in Steve, who liked to rally Rose about her

lovers.

"I'll never forgive you if you say a word to anyone. It is only Mac's

odd way of asking questions, and I ought not to answer them. You

will talk about such things and I can't stop you, but I don't like it,"

said Rose, much annoyed.

"Poor little Penelope! She shall not be teased about her suitors but

left in peace till her Ulysses comes home," said Mac, sitting down

to read the mottoes sticking out of certain fanciful bonbons on the

table.

"It is this fuss about Archie which has demoralized us all. Even the

owl waked up and hasn't got over the excitement yet, you see. He's

had no experience, poor fellow, so he doesn't know how to

behave," observed Steve, regarding his bouquet with tender

interest.

"That's true, and I asked for information because I may be in love

myself someday and all this will be useful, don't you see?"

"You in love!" And Steve could not restrain a laugh at the idea of

the bookworm a slave to the tender passion.

Quite unruffled, Mac leaned his chin in both hands, regarding

them with a meditative eye as he answered in his whimsical way:

"Why not? I intend to study love as well as medicine, for it is one

of the most mysterious and remarkable diseases that afflict

mankind, and the best way to understand it is to have it. I may

catch it someday, and then I should like to know how to treat and

cure it."

"If you take it as badly as you did measles and whooping cough, it

will go hard with you, old fellow," said Steve, much amused with

the fancy.

"I want it to. No great experience comes or goes easily, and this is

the greatest we can know, I believe, except death."

Something in Mac's quiet tone and thoughtful eyes made Rose

look at him in surprise, for she had never heard him speak in that

way before. Steve also stared for an instant, equally amazed, then

said below his breath, with an air of mock anxiety: "He's been

catching something at the hospital, typhoid probably, and is

beginning to wander. I'll take him quietly away before he gets any

wilder. Come, old lunatic, we must be off."

"Don't be alarmed. I'm all right and much obliged for your advice,

for I fancy I shall be a desperate lover when my time comes, if it

ever does. You don't think it impossible, do you?" And Mac put the

question so soberly that there was a general smile.

"Certainly not you'll be a regular Douglas, tender and true,"

answered Rose, wondering what queer question would come next.

"Thank you. The fact is, I've been with Archie so much in his

trouble lately that I've gotten interested in this matter and very

naturally want to investigate the subject as every rational man

must, sooner or later, that's all. Now, Steve, I'm ready." And Mac

got up as if the lesson was over.

"My dear, that boy is either a fool or a genius, and I'm sure I should

be glad to know which," said Aunt Plenty, putting her bonbons to

rights with a puzzled shake of her best cap.

"Time will show, but I incline to think that he is not a fool by any

means," answered the girl, pulling a cluster of white roses out of

her bosom to make room for the pansies, though they did not suit

the blue gown half so well.

Just then Aunt Jessie came in to help them receive, with Jamie to

make himself generally useful, which he proceeded to do by

hovering around the table like a fly about a honey pot when not

flattening his nose against the windowpanes to announce excitedly,

"Here's another man coming up the drive!"

Charlie arrived next in his most sunshiny humor, for anything

social and festive was his delight, and when in this mood the

Prince was quite irresistible. He brought a pretty bracelet for Rose

and was graciously allowed to put it on while she chid him gently

for his extravagance.

"I am only following your example, for you know 'nothing is too

good for those we love, and giving away is the best thing one can

do,'" he retorted, quoting words of her own.

"I wish you would follow my example in some other things as well

as you do in this," said Rose soberly as Aunt Plenty called him to

come and see if the punch was right.

"Must conform to the customs of society. Aunty's heart would be

broken if we did not drink her health in the good old fashion. But

don't be alarmed I've a strong head of my own, and that's lucky, for

I shall need it before I get through," laughed Charlie, showing a

long list as he turned away to gratify the old lady with all sorts of

merry and affectionate compliments as the glasses touched.

Rose did feel rather alarmed, for if he drank the health of all the

owners of those names, she felt sure that Charlie would need a

very strong head indeed. It was hard to say anything then and there

without seeming disrespect to Aunt Plenty, yet she longed to

remind her cousin of the example she tried to set him in this

respect, for Rose never touched wine, and the boys knew it. She

was thoughtfully turning the bracelet, with its pretty device of

turquoise forget-me-nots, when the giver came back to her, still

bubbling over with good spirits.

"Dear little saint, you look as if you'd like to smash all the punch

bowls in the city, and save us jolly young fellows from tomorrow's

headache."

"I should, for such headaches sometimes end in heartaches, I'm

afraid. Dear Charlie, don't be angry, but you know better than I that

this is a dangerous day for such as you so do be careful for my

sake," she added, with an unwonted touch of tenderness in her

voice, for, looking at the gallant figure before her, it was

impossible to repress the womanly longing to keep it always as

brave and blithe as now.

Charlie saw that new softness in the eyes that never looked

unkindly on him, fancied that it meant more than it did, and, with a

sudden fervor in his own voice, answered quickly: "My darling, I

will!"

The glow which had risen to his face was reflected in hers, for at

that moment it seemed as if it would be possible to love this

cousin who was so willing to be led by her and so much needed

some helpful influence to make a noble man of him. The thought

came and went like a flash, but gave her a quick heartthrob, as if

the old affection was trembling on the verge of some warmer

sentiment, and left her with a sense of responsibility never felt

before. Obeying the impulse, she said, with a pretty blending of

earnestness and playfulness, "If I wear the bracelet to remember

you by, you must wear this to remind you of your promise."

"And you," whispered Charlie, bending his head to kiss the hands

that put a little white rose in his buttonhole.

Just at that most interesting moment they became aware of an

arrival in the front drawing room, whither Aunt Plenty had

discreetly retired. Rose felt grateful for the interruption, because,

not being at all sure of the state of her heart as yet, she was afraid

of letting a sudden impulse lead her too far. But Charlie, conscious

that a very propitious instant had been spoiled, regarded the

newcomer with anything but a benignant expression of

countenance and, whispering, "Good-bye, my Rose, I shall look in

this evening to see how you are after the fatigues of the day," he

went away, with such a cool nod to poor Fun See that the amiable

Asiatic thought he must have mortally offended him.

Rose had little leisure to analyze the new emotions of which she

was conscious, for Mr. Tokio came up at once to make his

compliments with a comical mingling of Chinese courtesy and

American awkwardness, and before he had got his hat on Jamie

shouted with admiring energy: "Here's another! Oh, such a swell!"

They now came thick and fast for many hours, and the ladies stood

bravely at their posts till late into the evening. Then Aunt Jessie

went home, escorted by a very sleepy little son, and Aunt Plenty

retired to bed, used up. Dr. Alec had returned in good season, for

his friends were not fashionable ones, but Aunt Myra had sent up

for him in hot haste and he had good-naturedly obeyed the

summons. In fact, he was quite used to them now, for Mrs. Myra,

having tried a variety of dangerous diseases, had finally decided

upon heart complaint as the one most likely to keep her friends in

a chronic state of anxiety and was continually sending word that

she was dying. One gets used to palpitations as well as everything

else, so the doctor felt no alarm but always went and prescribed

some harmless remedy with the most amiable sobriety and

patience.

Rose was tired but not sleepy and wanted to think over several

things, so instead of going to bed she sat down before the open fire

in the study to wait for her uncle and perhaps Charlie, though she

did not expect him so late.

Aunt Myra's palpitations must have been unusually severe, for the

clock struck twelve before Dr. Alec came, and Rose was preparing

to end her reverie when the sound of someone fumbling at the hall

door made her jump up, saying to herself: "Poor man! His hands

are so cold he can't get his latchkey in. Is that you, Uncle?" she

added, running to admit him, for Jane was slow and the night as

bitter as it was brilliant.

A voice answered, "Yes." And as the door swung open, in walked,

not Dr. Alec, but Charlie, who immediately took one of the hall

chairs and sat there with his hat on, rubbing his gloveless hands

and blinking as if the light dazzled him, as he said in a rapid,

abrupt sort of tone, "I told you I'd come left the fellows keeping it

up gloriously going to see the old year out, you know. But I

promised never break my word and here I am. Angel in blue, did

you slay your thousands?"

"Hush! The waiters are still about. Come to the study fire and

warm yourself, you must be frozen," said Rose, going before to roll

up the easy chair.

"Not at all never warmer looks very comfortable, though. Where's

Uncle?" asked Charlie, following with his hat still on, his hands in

his pockets, and his eye fixed steadily on the bright head in front of

him.

"Aunt Myra sent for him, and I was waiting up to see how she

was," answered Rose, busily mending the fire.

Charlie laughed and sat down upon a corner of the library table.

"Poor old soul! What a pity she doesn't die before he is quite worn

out. A little too much ether some of these times would send her off

quite comfortably, you know."

"Don't speak in that way. Uncle says imaginary troubles are often

as hard to bear as real ones," said Rose, turning around displeased.

Till now she had not fairly looked at him, for recollections of the

morning made her a little shy. His attitude and appearance

surprised her as much as his words, and the quick change in her

face seemed to remind him of his manners. Getting up, he hastily

took off his hat and stood looking at her with a curiously fixed yet

absent look as he said in the same rapid, abrupt way, as if, when

once started, he found it hard to stop, "I beg pardon only joking

very bad taste I know, and won't do it again. The heat of the room

makes me a little dizzy, and I think I got a chill coming out. It is

cold I am frozen, I daresay though I drove like the devil."

"Not that bad horse of yours, I hope? I know it is dangerous, so late

and alone," said Rose, shrinking behind the big chair as Charlie

approached the fire, carefully avoiding a footstool in his way.

"Danger is exciting that's why I like it. No man ever called me a

coward let him try it once. I never give in and that horse shall not

conquer me. I'll break his neck, if he breaks my spirit doing it. No I

don't mean that never mind it's all right," and Charlie laughed in a

way that troubled her, because there was no mirth in it.

"Have you had a pleasant day?" asked Rose, looking at him

intently as he stood pondering over the cigar and match which he

held, as if doubtful which to strike and which to smoke.

"Day? Oh, yes, capital. About two thousand calls, and a nice little

supper at the Club. Randal can't sing any more than a crow, but I

left him with a glass of champagne upside down, trying to give

them my old favorite:

"'Tis better to laugh than be sighing,"

and Charlie burst forth in that bacchanalian melody at the top of

his voice, waving an allumette holder over his head to represent

Randal's inverted wineglass.

"Hush! You'll wake Aunty," cried Rose in a tone so commanding

that he broke off in the middle of a roulade to stare at her with a

blank look as he said apologetically, "I was merely showing how it

should be done. Don't be angry, dearest look at me as you did this

morning, and I'll swear never to sing another note if you say so. I'm

only a little gay we drank your health handsomely, and they all

congratulated me. Told 'em it wasn't out yet. Stop, though I didn't

mean to mention that. No matter I'm always in a scrape, but you

always forgive me in the sweetest way. Do it now, and don't be

angry, little darling." And, dropping the vase, he went toward her

with a sudden excitement that made her shrink behind the chair.

She was not angry, but shocked and frightened, for she knew now

what the matter was and grew so pale, he saw it and asked pardon

before she could utter a rebuke.

"We'll talk of that tomorrow. It is very late. Go home now, please,

before Uncle comes," she said, trying to speak naturally yet

betraying her distress by the tremor of her voice and the sad

anxiety in her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I will go you are tired I'll make it all right tomorrow."

And as if the sound of his uncle's name steadied him for an instant,

Charlie made for the door with an unevenness of gait which would

have told the shameful truth if his words had not already done so.

Before he reached it, however, the sound of wheels arrested him

and, leaning against the wall, he listened with a look of dismay

mingled with amusement creeping over his face. "Brutus has

bolted now I am in a fix. Can't walk home with this horrid

dizziness in my head. It's the cold, Rose, nothing else, I do assure

you, and a chill yes, a chill. See here! Let one of those fellows

there lend me an arm no use to go after that brute. Won't Mother

be frightened though when he gets home?" And with that empty

laugh again, he fumbled for the door handle.

"No, no don't let them see you! Don't let anyone know! Stay here

till Uncle comes, and he'll take care of you. Oh, Charlie! How

could you do it! How could you when you promised?" And,

forgetting fear in the sudden sense of shame and anguish that came

over her, Rose ran to him, caught his hand from the lock, and

turned the key; then, as if she could not bear to see him standing

there with that vacant smile on his lips, she dropped into a chair

and covered up her face.

The cry, the act, and, more than all, the sight of the bowed head

would have sobered poor Charlie if it had not been too late. He

looked about the room with a vague, despairing look, as if to find

reason fast slipping from his control, but heat and cold, excitement

and reckless pledging of many healths had done their work too

well to make instant sobriety possible, and owning his defeat with

a groan, he turned away and threw himself face-downward on the

sofa, one of the saddest sights the new year looked upon as it came

in.

As she sat there with hidden eyes, Rose felt that something dear to

her was dead forever. The ideal, which all women cherish, look

for, and too often think they have found when love glorifies a

mortal man, is hard to give up, especially when it comes in the

likeness of the first lover who touches a young girl's heart. Rose

had just begun to feel that perhaps this cousin, despite his faults,

might yet become the hero that he sometimes looked, and the

thought that she might be his inspiration was growing sweet to her,

although she had not entertained it until very lately. Alas, how

short the tender dream had been, how rude the awakening! How

impossible it would be ever again to surround that fallen figure

with all the romance of an innocent fancy or gift it with the high

attributes beloved by a noble nature!

Breathing heavily in the sudden sleep that kindly brought a brief

oblivion of himself, he lay with flushed cheeks, disordered hair,

and at his feet the little rose that never would be fresh and fair

again a pitiful contrast now to the brave, blithe young man who

went so gaily out that morning to be so ignominiously overthrown

at night.

Many girls would have made light of a trespass so readily forgiven

by the world, but Rose had not yet learned to offer temptation with

a smile and shut her eyes to the weakness that makes a man a

brute. It always grieved or disgusted her to see it in others, and

now it was very terrible to have it brought so near not in its worst

form, by any means, but bad enough to wring her heart with shame

and sorrow and fill her mind with dark forebodings for the future.

So she could only sit mourning for the Charlie that might have

been while watching the Charlie that was with an ache in her heart

which found no relief till, putting her hands there as if to ease the

pain, they touched the pansies, faded but still showing gold among

the somber purple, and then two great tears dropped on them as

she sighed: "Ah, me! I do need heart's-ease sooner than I thought!"

Her uncle's step made her spring up and unlock the door, showing

him such an altered face that he stopped short, ejaculating in

dismay, "Good heavens, child! What's the matter?" adding, as she

pointed to the sofa in pathetic silence, "Is he hurt? ill? dead?"

"No, Uncle, he is--" She could not utter the ugly word but

whispered with a sob in her throat, "Be kind to him," and fled

away to her own room, feeling as if a great disgrace had fallen on

the house.

Chapter 10 THE SAD AND SOBER PART

"How will he look? What will he say? Can anything make us

forget and be happy again?" were the first questions Rose asked

herself as soon as she woke from the brief sleep which followed a

long, sad vigil. It seemed as if the whole world must be changed

because a trouble darkened it for her. She was too young yet to

know how possible it is to forgive much greater sins than this,

forget far heavier disappointments, outlive higher hopes, and bury

loves compared to which hers was but a girlish fancy. She wished

it had not been so bright a day, wondered how her birds could sing

with such shrill gaiety, put no ribbon in her hair, and said, as she

looked at the reflection of her own tired face in the glass, "Poor

thing! You thought the new leaf would have something pleasant on

it. The story has been very sweet and easy to read so far, but the

sad and sober part is coming now."

A tap at the door reminded her that, in spite of her afflictions,

breakfast must be eaten, and the sudden thought that Charlie might

still be in the house made her hurry to the door, to find Dr. Alec

waiting for her with his morning smile. She drew him in and

whispered anxiously, as if someone lay dangerously ill nearby, "Is

he better, Uncle? Tell me all about it I can bear it now."

Some men would have smiled at her innocent distress and told her

this was only what was to be expected and endured, but Dr. Alec

believed in the pure instincts that make youth beautiful, desired to

keep them true, and hoped his girl would never learn to look

unmoved by pain and pity upon any human being vanquished by a

vice, no matter how trivial it seemed, how venial it was held. So

his face grew grave, though his voice was cheerful as he answered:

"All right, I daresay, by this time, for sleep is the best medicine in

such cases. I took him home last night, and no one knows he came

but you and I."

"No one ever shall. How did you do it, Uncle?"

"Just slipped out of the long study window and got him cannily off,

for the air and motion, after a dash of cold water, brought him

around, and he was glad to be safely landed at home. His rooms

are below, you know, so no one was disturbed, and I left him

sleeping nicely."

"Thank you so much," sighed Rose. "And Brutus? Weren't they

frightened when he got back alone?"

"Not at all. The sagacious beast went quietly to the stable, and the

sleepy groom asked no questions, for Charlie often sends the horse

round by himself when it is late or stormy. Rest easy, dear no eye

but ours saw the poor lad come and go, and we'll forgive it for

love's sake."

"Yes, but not forget it. I never can, and he will never be again to

me the Charlie I've been so proud and fond of all these years. Oh,

Uncle, such a pity! Such a pity!"

"Don't break your tender heart about it, child, for it is not

incurable, thank God! I don't make light of it, but I am sure that

under better influences Charlie will redeem himself because his

impulses are good and this his only vice. I can hardly blame him

for what he is, because his mother did the harm. I declare to you,

Rose, I sometimes feel as if I must break out against that woman

and thunder in her ears that she is ruining the immortal soul for

which she is responsible to heaven!"

Dr. Alec seldom spoke in this way, and when he did it was rather

awful, for his indignation was of the righteous sort and such

thunder often rouses up a drowsy soul when sunshine has no

effect. Rose liked it, and sincerely wished Aunt Clara had been

there to get the benefit of the outbreak, for she needed just such an

awakening from the self-indulgent dream in which she lived.

"Do it, and save Charlie before it is too late!" she cried, kindling

herself as she watched him, for he looked like a roused lion as he

walked about the room with his hand clenched and a spark in his

eye, evidently in desperate earnest and ready to do almost

anything.

"Will you help?" he asked, stopping suddenly with a look that

made her stand up straight and strong as she answered with an

eager voice: "I will."

"Then don't love him yet."

That startled her, but she asked steadily, though her heart began to

beat and her color to come: "Why not?"

"Firstly, because no woman should give her happiness into the

keeping of a man without fixed principles; secondly, because the

hope of being worthy of you will help him more than any prayers

or preaching of mine. Thirdly, because it will need all our wit and

patience to undo the work of nearly four and twenty years. You

understand what I mean?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you say 'no' when he asks you to say 'yes' and wait a little for

your happiness?"

"I can."

"And will you?"

"I will."

"Then I'm satisfied, and a great weight taken off my heart. I can't

help seeing what goes on, or trembling when I think of you setting

sail with no better pilot than poor Charlie. Now you answer as I

hoped you would, and I am proud of my girl!"

They had been standing with the width of the room between them,

Dr. Alec looking very much like a commander issuing orders,

Rose like a well-drilled private obediently receiving them, and

both wore the air of soldiers getting ready for a battle, with the

bracing of nerves and quickening of the blood brave souls feel as

they put on their armor. At the last words he went to her, brushed

back the hair, and kissed her on the forehead with a tender sort of

gravity and a look that made her feel as if he had endowed her

with the Victoria Cross for courage on the field.

No more was said then, for Aunt Plenty called them down and the

day's duties began. But that brief talk showed Rose what to do and

fitted her to do it, for it set her to thinking of the duty one owes

one's self in loving as in all the other great passions or experiences

which make or mar a life.

She had plenty of time for quiet meditation that day because

everyone was resting after yesterday's festivity, and she sat in her

little room planning out a new year so full of good works, grand

successes, and beautiful romances that if it could have been

realized, the Millennium would have begun. It was a great comfort

to her, however, and lightened the long hours haunted by a secret

desire to know when Charlie would come and a secret fear of the

first meeting. She was sure he would be bowed down with

humiliation and repentance, and a struggle took place in her mind

between the pity she could not help feeling and the disapprobation

she ought to show. She decided to be gentle, but very frank; to

reprove, but also to console; and to try to improve the softened

moment by inspiring the culprit with a wish for all the virtues

which make a perfect man.

The fond delusion grew quite absorbing, and her mind was full of

it as she sat watching the sun set from her western window and

admiring with dreamy eyes the fine effect of the distant hills clear

and dark against a daffodil sky when the bang of a door made her

sit suddenly erect in her low chair and say with a catch in her

breath: "He's coming! I must remember what I promised Uncle and

be very firm."

Usually Charlie announced his approach with music of some sort.

Now he neither whistled, hummed, nor sang, but came so quietly

Rose was sure that he dreaded this meeting as much as she did

and, compassionating his natural confusion, did not look around as

the steps drew near. She thought perhaps he would go down upon

his knees, as he used to after a boyish offense, but hoped not, for

too much humility distressed her, so she waited for the first

demonstration anxiously.

It was rather a shock when it came, however, for a great nosegay

dropped into her lap and a voice, bold and gay as usual, said

lightly: "Here she is, as pretty and pensive as you please. Is the

world hollow, our doll stuffed with sawdust, and do we want to go

into a nunnery today, Cousin?"

Rose was so taken aback by this unexpected coolness that the

flowers lay unnoticed as she looked up with a face so full of

surprise, reproach, and something like shame that it was

impossible to mistake its meaning. Charlie did not, and had the

grace to redden deeply, and his eyes fell as he said quickly, though

in the same light tone: "I humbly apologize for coming so late last

night. Don't be hard upon me, Cousin. You know America expects

every man to do his duty on New Year's Day."

"I am tired of forgiving! You make and break promises as easily as

you did years ago, and I shall never ask you for another," answered

Rose, putting the bouquet away, for the apology did not satisfy her

and she would not be bribed to silence.

"But, my dear girl, you are so very exacting, so peculiar in your

notions, and so angry about trifles that a poor fellow can't please

you, try as he will," began Charlie, ill at ease, but too proud to

show half the penitence he felt, not so much for the fault as for her

discovery of it.

"I am not angry I am grieved and disappointed, for I expect every

man to do his duty in another way and keep his word to the

uttermost, as I try to do. If that is exacting, I'm sorry, and won't

trouble you with my old-fashioned notions anymore."

"Bless my soul! What a rout about nothing! I own that I forgot I

know I acted like a fool and I beg pardon. What more can I do?"

"Act like a man, and never let me be so terribly ashamed of you

again as I was last night." And Rose gave a little shiver as she

thought of it.

That involuntary act hurt Charlie more than her words, and it was

his turn now to feel "terribly ashamed," for the events of the

previous evening were very hazy in his mind and fear magnified

them greatly. Turning sharply away, he went and stood by the fire,

quite at a loss how to make his peace this time, because Rose was

so unlike herself. Usually a word of excuse sufficed, and she

seemed glad to pardon and forget; now, though very quiet, there

was something almost stern about her that surprised and daunted

him, for how could he know that all the while her pitiful heart was

pleading for him and the very effort to control it made her a little

hard and cold?

As he stood there, restlessly fingering the ornaments upon the

chimneypiece, his eye brightened suddenly and, taking up the

pretty bracelet lying there, he went slowly back to her, saying in a

tone that was humble and serious enough now: "I will act like a

man, and you shall never be ashamed again. Only be kind to me.

Let me put this on, and promise afresh this time I swear I'll keep it.

Won't you trust me, Rose?"

It was very hard to resist the pleading voice and eyes, for this

humility was dangerous; and, but for Uncle Alec, Rose would have

answered "yes." The blue forget-me-nots reminded her of her own

promise, and she kept it with difficulty now, to be glad always

afterward. Putting back the offered trinket with a gentle touch, she

said firmly, though she dared not look up into the anxious face

bending toward her: "No, Charlie I can't wear it. My hands must be

free if I'm to help you as I ought. I will be kind, I will trust you, but

don't swear anything, only try to resist temptation, and we'll all

stand by you."

Charlie did not like that and lost the ground he had gained by

saying impetuously: "I don't want anyone but you to stand by me,

and I must be sure you won't desert me, else, while I'm mortifying

soul and body to please you, some stranger will come and steal

your heart away from me. I couldn't bear that, so I give you fair

warning, in such a case I'll break the bargain, and go straight to the

devil."

The last sentence spoiled it all, for it was both masterful and

defiant. Rose had the Campbell spirit in her, though it seldom

showed; as yet she valued her liberty more than any love offered

her, and she resented the authority he assumed too soon resented it

all the more warmly because of the effort she was making to

reinstate her hero, who would insist on being a very faulty and

ungrateful man. She rose straight out of her chair, saying with a

look and tone which rather startled her hearer and convinced him

that she was no longer a tenderhearted child but a woman with a

will of her own and a spirit as proud and fiery as any of her race:

"My heart is my own, to dispose of as I please. Don't shut yourself

out of it by presuming too much, for you have no claim on me but

that of cousinship, and you never will have unless you earn it.

Remember that, and neither threaten nor defy me anymore."

For a minute it was doubtful whether Charlie would answer this

flash with another, and a general explosion ensue, or wisely

quench the flame with the mild answer which turneth away wrath.

He chose the latter course and made it very effective by throwing

himself down before his offended goddess, as he had often done in

jest. This time it was not acting, but serious, earnest, and there was

real passion in his voice as he caught Rose's dress in both hands,

saying eagerly: "No, no! Don't shut your heart against me or I shall

turn desperate. I'm not half good enough for such a saint as you,

but you can do what you will with me. I only need a motive to

make a man of me, and where can I find a stronger one than in

trying to keep your love?"

"It is not yours yet," began Rose, much moved, though all the

while she felt as if she were on a stage and had a part to play, for

Charlie had made life so like a melodrama that it was hard for him

to be quite simple even when most sincere.

"Let me earn it, then. Show me how, and I'll do anything, for you

are my good angel, Rose, and if you cast me off, I feel as if I

shouldn't care how soon there was an end of me," cried Charlie,

getting tragic in his earnestness and putting both arms around her,

as if his only safety lay in clinging to this beloved fellow creature.

Behind footlights it would have been irresistible, but somehow it

did not touch the one spectator, though she had neither time nor

skill to discover why. For all their ardor the words did not ring

quite true. Despite the grace of the attitude, she would have liked

him better manfully erect upon his feet, and though the gesture

was full of tenderness, a subtle instinct made her shrink away as

she said with a composure that surprised herself even more than it

did him: "Please don't. No, I will promise nothing yet, for I must

respect the man I love."

That brought Charlie to his feet, pale with something deeper than

anger, for the recoil told him more plainly than the words how

much he had fallen in her regard since yesterday. The memory of

the happy moment when she gave the rose with that new softness

in her eyes, the shy color, the sweet "for my sake" came back with

sudden vividness, contrasting sharply with the now averted face,

the hand outstretched to put him back, the shrinking figure, and in

that instant's silence, poor Charlie realized what he had lost, for a

girl's first thought of love is as delicate a thing as the rosy morning

glory, which a breath of air can shatter. Only a hint of evil, only an

hour's debasement for him, a moment's glimpse for her of the

coarser pleasures men know, and the innocent heart, just opening

to bless and to be blessed, closed again like a sensitive plant and

shut him out perhaps forever.

The consciousness of this turned him pale with fear, for his love

was deeper than she knew, and he proved this when he said in a

tone so full of mingled pain and patience that it touched her to the

heart: "You shall respect me if I can make you, and when I've

earned it, may I hope for something more?"

She looked up then, saw in his face the noble shame, the humble

sort of courage that shows repentance to be genuine and gives

promise of success, and, with a hopeful smile that was a cordial to

him, answered heartily: "You may."

"Bless you for that! I'll make no promises, I'll ask for none only

trust me, Rose, and while you treat me like a cousin, remember

that no matter how many lovers you may have you'll never be to

any of them as dear as you are to me."

A traitorous break in his voice warned Charlie to stop there, and

with no other good-bye, he very wisely went away, leaving Rose to

put the neglected flowers into water with remorseful care and lay

away the bracelet, saying to herself: "I'll never wear it till I

feel as I did before. Then he shall put it on and I'll say 'yes.'"

Chapter 11 SMALL TEMPTATIONS

"Oh, Rose, I've got something so exciting to tell you!" cried Kitty

Van Tassel, skipping into the carriage next morning when her

friend called for her to go shopping.

Kitty always did have some "perfectly thrilling" communication to

make and Rose had learned to take them quietly, but the next

demonstration was a new one, for, regardless alike of curious

observers outside and disordered hats within, Kitty caught Rose

around the neck, exclaiming in a rapturous whisper: "My dearest

creature, I'm engaged!"

"I'm so glad! Of course it is Steve?"

"Dear fellow, he did it last night in the nicest way, and Mama is so

delighted. Now what shall I be married in?" And Kitty composed

herself with a face full of the deepest anxiety.

"How can you talk of that so soon? Why, Kit, you unromantic girl,

you ought to be thinking of your lover and not your clothes," said

Rose, amused yet rather scandalized at such want of sentiment.

"I am thinking of my lover, for he says he will not have a long

engagement, so I must begin to think about the most important

things at once, mustn't I?"

"Ah, he wants to be sure of you, for you are such a slippery

creature he is afraid you'll treat him as you did poor Jackson and

the rest," interrupted Rose, shaking her finger at her prospective

cousin, who had tried this pastime twice before and was rather

proud than otherwise of her brief engagements.

"You needn't scold, for I know I'm right, and when you've been in

society as long as I have you'll find that the only way to really

know a man is to be engaged to him. While they want you they are

all devotion, but when they think they've got you, then you find out

what wretches they are," answered Kitty with an air of worldly

wisdom which contrasted oddly with her youthful face and giddy

manners.

"A sad prospect for poor Steve, unless I give him a hint to look

well to his ways."

"Oh, my dear child, I'm sure of him, for my experience has made

me very sharp and I'm convinced I can manage him without a bit

of trouble. We've known each other for ages" Steve was twenty

and Kitty eighteen "and always been the best of friends. Besides,

he is quite my ideal man. I never could bear big hands and feet,

and his are simply adorable. Then he's the best dancer I know and

dresses in perfect taste. I really do believe I fell in love with his

pocket handkerchiefs first, they were so enchanting I couldn't

resist," laughed Kitty, pulling a large one out of her pocket and

burying her little nose in the folds, which shed a delicious

fragrance upon the air.

"Now, that looks promising, and I begin to think you have got a

little sentiment after all," said Rose, well pleased, for the merry

brown eyes had softened suddenly and a quick color came up in

Kitty's cheek as she answered, still half hiding her face in the

beloved handkerchief: "Of course I have, lots of it, only I'm

ashamed to show it to most people, because it's the style to take

everything in the most nonchalant way. My gracious, Rose, you'd

have thought me a romantic goose last night while Steve proposed

in the back parlor, for I actually cried, he was so dreadfully in

earnest when I pretended that I didn't care for him, and so very

dear and nice when I told the truth. I didn't know he had it in him,

but he came out delightfully and never cared a particle, though I

dropped tears all over his lovely shirtfront. Wasn't that good of

him? For you know he hates his things to be mussed."

"He's a true Campbell, and has got a good warm heart of his own

under those fine fronts of his. Aunt Jane doesn't believe in

sentiment, so he has been trained never to show any, but it is there,

and you must encourage him to let it out, not foolishly, but in a

way to make him more manly and serious."

"I will if I can, for though I wouldn't own this to everybody, I like

it in him very much and feel as if Steve and I should get on

beautifully. Here we are now, be sure not to breathe a word if we

meet anyone. I want it to be a profound secret for a week at least,"

added Kitty, whisking her handkerchief out of sight as the carriage

stopped before the fashionable store they were about to visit.

Rose promised with a smile, for Kitty's face betrayed her without

words, so full was it of the happiness which few eyes fail to

understand whenever they see it.

"Just a glance at the silks. You ask my opinion about white ones,

and I'll look at the colors. Mama says satin, but that is out now,

and I've set my heart on the heaviest corded thing I can find,"

whispered Kitty as they went rustling by the long counters strewn

with all that could delight the feminine eye and tempt the feminine

pocket.

"Isn't that opal the loveliest thing you ever saw? I'm afraid I'm too

dark to wear it, but it would just suit you. You'll need a variety,

you know," added Kitty in a significant aside as Rose stood among

the white silks while her companion affected great interest in the

delicate hues laid before her.

"But I have a variety now, and don't need a new dress of any sort."

"No matter, get it, else it will be gone. You've worn all yours

several times already and must have a new one whether you need it

or not. Dear me! If I had as much pocket money as you have, I'd

come out in a fresh toilet at every party I went to," answered Kitty,

casting an envious eye upon the rainbow piles before her.

The quick-witted shopman saw that a wedding was afoot, for when

two pretty girls whisper, smile, and blush over their shopping,

clerks scent bridal finery and a transient gleam of interest

brightens their imperturbable countenances and lends a brief

energy to languid voices weary with crying, "Cash!" Gathering

both silks with a practiced turn of the hand, he held them up for

inspection, detecting at a glance which was the bride-elect and

which the friend, for Kitty fell back to study the effect of silvery

white folds with an absorbing interest impossible to mistake while

Rose sat looking at the opal as if she scarcely heard a bland voice

saying, with the rustle of silk so dear to girlish ears: "A superb

thing, just opened; all the rage in Paris; very rare shade; trying to

most, as the lady says, but quite perfect for a blonde."

Rose was not listening to those words but to others which Aunt

Clara had lately uttered, laughed at then, but thought over more

than once since.

"I'm tired of hearing people wonder why Miss Campbell does not

dress more. Simplicity is all very well for schoolgirls and women

who can't afford anything better, but you can, and you really ought.

Your things are pretty enough in their way, and I rather like you to

have a style of your own, but it looks odd and people will think

you are mean if you don't make more show. Besides, you don't do

justice to your beauty, which would be both peculiar and striking if

you'd devote your mind to getting up ravishing costumes."

Much more to the same effect did her aunt say, discussing the

subject quite artistically and unconsciously appealing to several of

Rose's ruling passions. One was a love for the delicate fabrics,

colors, and ornaments which refined tastes enjoy and whose

costliness keeps them from ever growing common; another, her

strong desire to please the eyes of those she cared for and gratify

their wishes in the smallest matter if she could. And last, but not

least, the natural desire of a young and pretty woman to enhance

the beauty which she so soon discovers to be her most potent

charm for the other sex, her passport to a high place among her

maiden peers.

She had thought seriously of surprising and delighting everyone by

appearing in a costume which should do justice to the loveliness

which was so modest that it was apt to forget itself in admiring

others what girls call a "ravishing" dress, such as she could

imagine and easily procure by the magic of the Fortunatus' purse in

her pocket. She had planned it all, the shimmer of pale silk

through lace like woven frostwork, ornaments of some classic

pattern, and all the dainty accessories as perfect as time, taste, and

money could make them.

She knew that Uncle Alec's healthful training had given her a

figure that could venture on any fashion and Nature blessed her

with a complexion that defied all hues. So it was little wonder that

she felt a strong desire to use these gifts, not for the pleasure of

display, but to seem fair in the eyes that seldom looked at her

without a tender sort of admiration, all the more winning when no

words marred the involuntary homage women love.

These thoughts were busy in Rose's mind as she sat looking at the

lovely silk and wondering what Charlie would say if she should

some night burst upon him in a pale rosy cloud, like the Aurora to

whom he often likened her. She knew it would please him very

much and she longed to do all she honestly could to gratify the

poor fellow, for her tender heart already felt some remorseful

pangs, remembering how severe she had been the night before. She

could not revoke her words, because she meant them every one,

but she might be kind and show that she did not wholly shut him

out from her regard by asking him to go with her to Kitty's ball and

gratify his artistic taste by a lovely costume. A very girlish but

kindly plan, for that ball was to be the last of her frivolities, so she

wanted it to be a pleasant one and felt that "being friends" with

Charlie would add much to her enjoyment.

This idea made her fingers tighten on the gleaming fabric so

temptingly upheld, and she was about to take it when, "If ye

please, sir, would ye kindly tell me where I'd be finding the flannel

place?" said a voice behind her, and, glancing up, she saw a meek

little Irishwoman looking quite lost and out of place among the

luxuries around her.

"Downstairs, turn to the left," was the clerk's hasty reply, with a

vague wave of the hand which left the inquirer more in the dark

than ever.

Rose saw the woman's perplexity and said kindly, "I'll show you

this way."

"I'm ashamed to be throublin' ye, miss, but it's strange I am in it,

and wouldn't be comin' here at all, at all, barrin' they tould me I'd

get the bit I'm wantin' chaper in this big shop than the little ones

more becomin' the like o' me," explained the little woman humbly.

Rose looked again as she led the way through a well-dressed

crowd of busy shoppers, and something in the anxious, tired face

under the old woolen hood the bare, purple hands holding fast a

meager wallet and a faded scrap of the dotted flannel little

children's frocks are so often made of touched the generous heart

that never could see want without an impulse to relieve it. She had

meant only to point the way, but, following a new impulse, she

went on, listening to the poor soul's motherly prattle about "me

baby" and the "throuble" it was to "find clothes for the growin'

childer when me man is out av work and the bit and sup

inconvaynient these hard times" as they descended to that

darksome lower world where necessities take refuge when luxuries

crowd them out from the gayer place above.

The presence of a lady made Mrs. Sullivan's shopping very easy

now, and her one poor "bit" of flannel grew miraculously into

yards of several colors, since the shabby purse was no lighter when

she went away, wiping her eyes on the corner of a big, brown

bundle. A very little thing, and no one saw it but a wooden-faced

clerk, who never told, yet it did Rose good and sent her up into the

light again with a sober face, thinking self-reproachfully, "What

right have I to more gay gowns when some poor babies have none,

or to spend time making myself fine while there is so much bitter

want in the world?"

Nevertheless the pretty things were just as tempting as ever, and

she yearned for the opal silk with a renewed yearning when she got

back. It is not certain that it would not have been bought in spite of

her better self if a good angel in the likeness of a stout lady with

silvery curls about the benevolent face, enshrined in a plain

bonnet, had not accosted her as she joined Kitty, still brooding

over the wedding gowns.

"I waited a moment for you, my dear, because I'm in haste, and

very glad to save myself a journey or a note," began the newcomer

in a low tone as Rose shook hands with the most affectionate

respect. "You know the great box factory was burned a day or two

ago and over a hundred girls thrown out of work. Some were hurt

and are in the hospital, many have no homes to go to, and nearly

all need temporary help of some sort. We've had so many calls this

winter I hardly know which way to turn, for want is pressing, and

I've had my finger in so many purses I'm almost ashamed to ask

again. Any little contribution ah, thank you, I was sure you

wouldn't fail me, my good child," and Mrs. Gardener warmly

pressed the hand that went so quickly into the little porte-monnaie

and came out so generously filled.

"Let me know how else I can help, and thank you very much for

allowing me to have a share in your good works," said Rose,

forgetting all about gay gowns as she watched the black bonnet go

briskly away with an approving smile on the fine old face inside it.

"You extravagant thing! How could you give so much?" whispered

Kitty, whose curious eye had seen three figures on the single bill

which had so rapidly changed hands.

"I believe if Mrs. Gardener asked me for my head I should give it

to her," answered Rose lightly, then, turning to the silks, she asked,

"Which have you decided upon, the yellow white or the blue, the

corded or the striped?"

"I've decided nothing; except that you are to have the pink and

wear it at my ahem! ball," said Kitty, who had made up her mind,

but could not give her orders till Mama had been consulted.

"No, I can't afford it just yet. I never overstep my allowance, and I

shall have to if I get any more finery. Come, we ought not to waste

time here if you have all the patterns you want." And Rose walked

quickly away, glad that it was out of her power to break through

two resolutions which hitherto had been faithfully kept one to

dress simply for example's sake, the other not to be extravagant for

charity's sake.

As Rosamond had her day of misfortunes, so this seemed to be one

of small temptations to Rose. After she had set Kitty down at home

and been to see her new houses, she drove about doing various

errands for the aunts and, while waiting in the carriage for the

execution of an order, young Pemberton came by.

As Steve said, this gentleman had been "hard hit" and still hovered

mothlike about the forbidden light. Being the most eligible parti of

the season, his regard was considered a distinction to be proud of,

and Rose had been well scolded by Aunt Clara for refusing so

honorable a mate. The girl liked him, and he was the suitor of

whom she had spoken so respectfully to Dr. Alec because he had

no need of the heiress and had sincerely loved Rose. He had been

away, and she hoped had gotten over his disappointment as happily

as the rest, but now when he saw her, and came hurrying up so

hungry for a word, she felt that he had not forgotten and was too

kind to chill him with the bow which plainly says "Don't stop."

A personable youth was Pemberton, and had brought with him

from the wilds of Canada a sable-lined overcoat which was the

envy of every masculine and the admiration of every feminine

friend he had, and as he stood at her carriage window Rose knew

that this luxurious garment and its stalwart wearer were objects of

interest to the passersby. It chanced that the tide of shoppers

flowed in that direction and, as she chatted, familiar faces often

passed with glances, smiles, and nods of varying curiosity,

significance, and wonder.

She could not help feeling a certain satisfaction in giving him a

moment's pleasure, since she could do no more, but it was not that

amiable desire alone which made her ignore the neat white parcels

which the druggist's boy deposited on the front seat and kept her

lingering a little longer to enjoy one of the small triumphs which

girls often risk more than a cold in the head to display. The sight

of several snowflakes on the broad shoulders which partially

obstructed her view, as well as the rapidly increasing animation of

Pemberton's chat, reminded her that it was high time to go.

"I mustn't keep you it is beginning to storm," she said, taking up

her muff, much to old Jacob's satisfaction, for small talk is not

exciting to a hungry man whose nose feels like an icicle.

"Is it? I thought the sun was shining." And the absorbed gentleman

turned to the outer world with visible reluctance, for it looked very

warm and cozy in the red-lined carriage.

"Wise people say we must carry our sunshine with us," answered

Rose, taking refuge in commonplaces, for the face at the window

grew pensive suddenly as he answered, with a longing look, "I

wish I could." Then, smiling gratefully, he added, "Thank you for

giving me a little of yours."

"You are very welcome." And Rose offered him her hand while

her eyes mutely asked pardon for withholding her leave to keep it.

He pressed it silently and, shouldering the umbrella which he

forgot to open, turned away with an "up again and take another"

expression, which caused the soft eyes to follow him admiringly.

"I ought not to have kept him a minute longer than I could help, for

it wasn't all pity; it was my foolish wish to show off and do as I

liked for a minute, to pay for being good about the gown. Oh, me!

How weak and silly I am in spite of all my trying!" And Miss

Campbell fell into a remorseful reverie, which lasted till she got

home.

"Now, young man, what brought you out in this driving storm?"

asked Rose as Jamie came stamping in that same afternoon.

"Mama sent you a new book thought you'd like it. I don't mind

your old storms!" replied the boy, wrestling his way out of his coat

and presenting a face as round and red and shiny as a well-polished

Baldwin apple.

"Much obliged it is just the day to enjoy it and I was longing for

something nice to read," said Rose as Jamie sat down upon the

lower stair for a protracted struggle with his rubber boots.

"Here you are, then no yes I do believe I've forgotten it, after all!"

cried Jamie, slapping his pockets one after the other with a

dismayed expression of countenance.

"Never mind, I'll hunt up something else. Let me help you with

those your hands are so cold." And Rose good-naturedly gave a tug

at the boots while Jamie clutched the banisters, murmuring

somewhat incoherently as his legs flew up and down: "I'll go back

if you want me to. I'm so sorry! It's very good of you, I'm sure.

Getting these horrid things on made me forget. Mother would

make me wear 'em, though I told her they'd stick like like

gumdrops," he added, inspired by recollections of certain dire

disappointments when the above-mentioned sweetmeat melted in

his pockets and refused to come out.

"Now what shall we do?" asked Rose when he was finally

extricated. "Since I've nothing to read, I may as well play."

"I'll teach you to pitch and toss. You catch very well for a girl, but

you can't throw worth a cent," replied Jamie, gamboling down the

hall in his slippers and producing a ball from some of the

mysterious receptacles in which boys have the art of storing

rubbish enough to fill a peck measure.

Of course Rose agreed and cheerfully risked getting her eyes

blackened and her fingers bruised till her young receptor gratefully

observed that "it was no fun playing where you had to look out for

windows and jars and things, so I'd like that jolly book about

Captain Nemo and the Nautilus, please."

Being gratified, he spread himself upon the couch, crossed his legs

in the air, and without another word dived Twenty Thousand

Leagues Under the Sea, where he remained for two mortal hours,

to the general satisfaction of his relatives.

Bereft both of her unexpected playfellow and the much desired

book, Rose went into the parlor, there to discover a French novel

which Kitty had taken from a library and left in the carriage among

the bundles. Settling herself in her favorite lounging chair, she

read as diligently as Jamie while the wind howled and snow fell

fast without.

For an hour nothing disturbed the cozy quiet of the house for Aunt

Plenty was napping upstairs and Dr. Alec writing in his own

sanctum; at least Rose thought so, till his step made her hastily

drop the book and look up with very much the expression she used

to wear when caught in mischief years ago.

"Did I startle you? Have a screen you are burning your face before

this hot fire." And Dr. Alec pulled one forward.

"Thank you, Uncle. I didn't feel it." And the color seemed to

deepen in spite of the screen while the uneasy eyes fell upon the

book in her lap.

"Have you got the Quarterly there? I want to glance at an article in

it if you can spare it for a moment," he said, leaning toward her

with an inquiring glance.

"No, sir, I am reading." And, without mentioning the name, Rose

put the book into his hand.

The instant his eye fell on the title he understood the look she wore

and knew what "mischief" she had been in. He knit his brows, then

smiled, because it was impossible to help it Rose looked so

conscience-stricken in spite of her twenty years.

"How do you find it? Interesting?"

"Oh, very! I felt as if I was in another world and forgot all about

this."

"Not a very good world, I fancy, if you were afraid or ashamed to

be found in it. Where did this come from?" asked Dr. Alec,

surveying the book with great disfavor. Rose told him, and added

slowly, "I particularly wanted to read it, and fancied I might,

because you did when it was so much talked about the winter we

were in Rome."

"I did read it to see if it was fit for you."

"And decided that it was not, I suppose, since you never gave it to

me!"

"Yes."

"Then I won't finish it. But, Uncle, I don't see why I should not,"

added Rose wistfully, for she had reached the heart of the romance

and found it wonderfully fascinating.

"You may not see, but don't you feel why not?" asked Dr. Alec

gravely.

Rose leaned her flushed cheek on her hand and thought a minute,

then looked up and answered honestly, "Yes, I do, but can't explain

it, except that I know something must be wrong, because I blushed

and started when you came in."

"Exactly." And the doctor gave an emphatic nod, as if the

symptoms pleased him.

"But I really don't see any harm in the book so far. It is by a

famous author, wonderfully well written, as you know, and the

characters so lifelike that I feel as if I should really meet them

somewhere."

"I hope not!" ejaculated the doctor, shutting the book quickly, as if

to keep the objectionable beings from escaping.

Rose laughed, but persisted in her defense, for she did want to

finish the absorbing story, yet would not without leave.

"I have read French novels before, and you gave them to me. Not

many, to be sure, but the best, so I think I know what is good and

shouldn't like this if it was harmful."

Her uncle's answer was to reopen the volume and turn the leaves

an instant as if to find a particular place. Then he put it into her

hand, saying quietly: "Read a page or two aloud, translating as you

go. You used to like that try it again."

Rose obeyed and went glibly down a page, doing her best to give

the sense in her purest English. Presently she went more slowly,

then skipped a sentence here and there, and finally stopped short,

looking as if she needed a screen again.

"What's the matter?" asked her uncle, who had been watching her

with a serious eye.

"Some phrases are untranslatable, and it only spoils them to try.

They are not amiss in French, but sound coarse and bad in our

blunt English," she said a little pettishly, for she felt annoyed by

her failure to prove the contested point.

"Ah, my dear, if the fine phrases won't bear putting into honest

English, the thoughts they express won't bear putting into your

innocent mind! That chapter is the key to the whole book, and if

you had been led up, or rather down, to it artfully and artistically,

you might have read it to yourself without seeing how bad it is. All

the worse for the undeniable talent which hides the evil so subtly

and makes the danger so delightful."

He paused a moment, then added with an anxious glance at the

book, over which she was still bending, "Finish it if you choose

only remember, my girl, that one may read at forty what is unsafe

at twenty, and that we never can be too careful what food we give

that precious yet perilous thing called imagination."

And taking his Review, he went away to look over a learned article

which interested him much less than the workings of a young mind

nearby.

Another long silence, broken only by an occasional excited bounce

from Jamie when the sociable cuttlefish looked in at the windows

or the Nautilus scuttled a ship or two in its terrific course. A bell

rang, and the doctor popped his head out to see if he was wanted.

It was only a message for Aunt Plenty, and he was about to pop in

again when his eye was caught by a square parcel on the slab.

"What's this?" he asked, taking it up.

"Rose wants me to leave it at Kitty Van's when I go. I forgot to

bring her book from Mama, so I shall go and get it as soon as ever

I've done this," replied Jamie from his nest.

As the volume in his hands was a corpulent one, and Jamie only a

third of the way through, Dr. Alec thought Rose's prospect rather

doubtful and, slipping the parcel into his pocket, he walked away,

saying with a satisfied air: "Virtue doesn't always get rewarded, but

it shall be this time if I can do it."

More than half an hour afterward, Rose woke from a little nap and

found the various old favorites with which she had tried to solace

herself replaced by the simple, wholesome story promised by Aunt

Jessie.

"Good boy! I'll go and thank him," she said half aloud, jumping up,

wide awake and much pleased.

But she did not go, for just then she spied her uncle standing on the

rug warming his hands with a generally fresh and breezy look

about him which suggested a recent struggle with the elements.

"How did this come?" she asked suspiciously.

"A man brought it."

"This man? Oh, Uncle! Why did you take so much trouble just to

gratify a wish of mine?" she cried, taking both the cold hands in

hers with a tenderly reproachful glance from the storm without to

the ruddy face above her.

"Because, having taken away your French bonbons with the

poisonous color on them, I wanted to get you something better.

Here it is, all pure sugar, the sort that sweetens the heart as well as

the tongue and leaves no bad taste behind."

"How good you are to me! I don't deserve it, for I didn't resist

temptation, though I tried. Uncle, after I'd put the book away, I

thought I must just see how it ended, and I'm afraid I should have

read it all if it had not been gone," said Rose, laying her face down

on the hands she held as humbly as a repentant child.

But Uncle Alec lifted up the bent head and, looking into the eyes

that met his frankly, though either held a tear, he said, with the

energy that always made his words remembered: "My little girl, I

would face a dozen storms far worse than this to keep your soul as

stainless as snow, for it is the small temptations which undermine

integrity unless we watch and pray and never think them too trivial

to be resisted."

Some people would consider Dr. Alec an overcareful man, but

Rose felt that he was right, and when she said her prayers that

night, added a meek petition to be kept from yielding to three of

the small temptations which beset a rich, pretty, and romantic girl

extravagance, coquetry, and novel reading.

Chapter 12 AT KITTY'S BALL

Rose had no new gown to wear on this festive occasion, and gave

one little sigh of regret as she put on the pale blue silk refreshed

with clouds of gaze de Chamb ry. But a smile followed, very

bright and sweet, as she added the clusters of forget-me-not which

Charlie had conjured up through the agency of an old German

florist, for one part of her plan had been carried out, and Prince

was invited to be her escort, much to his delight, though he wisely

made no protestations of any sort and showed his gratitude by

being a model gentleman. This pleased Rose, for the late

humiliation and a very sincere desire to atone for it gave him an air

of pensive dignity which was very effective.

Aunt Clara could not go, for a certain new cosmetic, privately used

to improve the once fine complexion, which had been her pride till

late hours impaired it, had brought out an unsightly eruption,

reducing her to the depths of woe and leaving her no solace for her

disappointment but the sight of the elegant velvet dress spread

forth upon her bed in melancholy state.

So Aunt Jessie was chaperon, to Rose's great satisfaction, and

looked as "pretty as a pink," Archie thought, in her matronly

pearl-colored gown with a dainty trifle of rich lace on her still

abundant hair. He was very proud of his little mama, and as

devoted as a lover, "to keep his hand in against Phebe's return," she

said laughingly when he brought her a nosegay of blush roses to

light up her quiet costume.

A happier mother did not live than Mrs. Jessie as she sat

contentedly beside Sister Jane (who graced the frivolous scene in a

serious black gown with a diadem of purple asters nodding above

her severe brow), both watching their boys with the maternal

conviction that no other parent could show such remarkable

specimens as these. Each had done her best according to her light,

and years of faithful care were now beginning to bear fruit in the

promise of goodly men, so dear to the hearts of true mothers.

Mrs. Jessie watched her three tall sons with something like

wonder, for Archie was a fine fellow, grave and rather stately, but

full of the cordial courtesy and respect we see so little of nowadays

and which is the sure sign of good home training. "The cadets," as

Will and Geordie called themselves, were there as gorgeous as you

please, and the agonies they suffered that night with tight boots

and stiff collars no pen can fitly tell. But only to one another did

they confide these sufferings and the rare moments of repose when

they could stand on one aching foot with heads comfortably

sunken inside the excruciating collars, which rasped their ears and

made the lobes thereof a pleasing scarlet. Brief were these

moments, however, and the Spartan boys danced on with smiling

faces, undaunted by the hidden anguish which preyed upon them

"fore and aft," as Will expressed it.

Mrs. Jane's pair were an odd contrast, and even the stern

disciplinarian herself could not help smiling as she watched them.

Steve was superb, and might have been married on the spot, so

superfine was his broad-cloth, glossy his linen, and perfect the fit

of his gloves. While pride and happiness so fermented in his

youthful bosom, there would have been danger of spontaneous

combustion if dancing had not proved a safety valve, for his strong

sense of the proprieties would not permit him to vent his emotions

in any other way.

Kitty felt no such restraint, and looked like a blissful little gypsy,

with her brunet prettiness set off by a dashing costume of cardinal

and cream color and every hair on her head curled in a Merry

Pecksniffian crop, for youth was her strong point, and she much

enjoyed the fact that she had been engaged three times before she

was nineteen.

To see her and Steve spin around the room was a sight to bring a

smile to the lips of the crustiest bachelor or saddest spinster, for

happy lovers are always a pleasing spectacle, and two such merry

little grigs as these are seldom seen.

Mac, meantime, with glasses astride his nose, surveyed his

brother's performances "on the light fantastic" very much as a

benevolent Newfoundland would the gambols of a toy terrier,

receiving with thanks the hasty hints for his guidance which Steve

breathed into his ear as he passed and forgetting all about them the

next minute. When not thus engaged Mac stood about with his

thumbs in his vest pockets, regarding the lively crowd like a

meditative philosopher of a cheerful aspect, often smiling to

himself at some whimsical fancy of his own, knitting his brows as

some bit of ill-natured gossip met his ear, or staring with

undisguised admiration as a beautiful face or figure caught his eye.

"I hope that girl knows what a treasure she has got. But I doubt if

she ever fully appreciates it," said Mrs. Jane, bringing her

spectacles to bear upon Kitty as she whisked by, causing quite a

gale with her flying skirts.

"I think she will, for Steve has been so well brought up, she cannot

but see and feel the worth of what she has never had, and being so

young she will profit by it," answered Mrs. Jessie softly, thinking

of the days when she and her Jem danced together, just betrothed.

"I've done my duty by both the boys, and done it thoroughly, or

their father would have spoilt them, for he's no more idea of

discipline than a child." And Aunt Jane gave her own palm a smart

rap with her closed fan, emphasizing the word "thoroughly" in a

most suggestive manner.

"I've often wished I had your firmness, Jane but after all, I'm not

sure that I don't like my own way best, at least with my boys, for

plenty of love, and plenty of patience, seem to have succeeded

pretty well." And Aunt Jessie lifted the nosegay from her lap,

feeling as if that unfailing love and patience were already

blooming into her life as beautifully as the sweet-breathed roses

given by her boy refreshed and brightened these long hours of

patient waiting in a corner.

"I don't deny that you've done well, Jessie, but you've been let

alone and had no one to hold your hand or interfere. If my Mac had

gone to sea as your Jem did, I never should have been as severe as

I am. Men are so perverse and shortsighted, they don't trouble

about the future as long as things are quiet and comfortable in the

present," continued Mrs. Jane, quite forgetting that the

shortsighted partner of the firm, physically speaking at least, was

herself.

"Ah, yes! We mothers love to foresee and foretell our children's

lives even before they are born, and are very apt to be disappointed

if they do not turn out as we planned. I know I am yet I really have

no cause to complain and am learning to see that all we can do is

to give the dear boys good principles and the best training we may,

then leave them to finish what we have begun." And Mrs. Jessie's

eye wandered away to Archie, dancing with Rose, quite

unconscious what a pretty little castle in the air tumbled down

when he fell in love with Phebe.

"Right, quite right on that point we agree exactly. I have spared

nothing to give my boys good principles and good habits, and I am

willing to trust them anywhere. Nine times did I whip my Steve to

cure him of fibbing, and over and over again did Mac go without

his dinner rather than wash his hands. But I whipped and starved

them both into obedience, and now I have my reward," concluded

the "stern parent" with a proud wave of the fan, which looked very

like a ferule, being as big, hard, and uncompromising as such an

article could be.

Mrs. Jessie gave a mild murmur of assent, but could not help

thinking, with a smile, that in spite of their early tribulations the

sins for which the boys suffered had gotten a little mixed in their

result, for fibbing Steve was now the tidy one, and careless Mac

the truth teller. But such small contradictions will happen in the

best-regulated families, and all perplexed parents can do is to keep

up a steadfast preaching and practicing in the hope that it will bear

fruit sometime, for according to an old proverb,

Children pick up words as pigeons pease,

To utter them again as God shall please.

"I hope they won't dance the child to death among them, for each

one seems bound to have his turn, even your sober Mac," said Mrs.

Jessie a few minutes later as she saw Archie hand Rose over to his

cousin, who carried her off with an air of triumph from several

other claimants.

"She's very good to him, and her influence is excellent, for he is of

an age now when a young woman's opinion has more weight than

an old one's. Though he is always good to his mother, and I feel as

if I should take great comfort in him. He's one of the sort who will

not marry till late, if ever, being fond of books and a quiet life,"

responded Mrs. Jane, remembering how often her son had

expressed his belief that philosophers should not marry and

brought up Plato as an example of the serene wisdom to be

attained only by a single man while her husband sided with

Socrates, for whom he felt a profound sympathy, though he didn't

dare to own it.

"Well, I don't know about that. Since my Archie surprised me by

losing his heart as he did, I'm prepared for anything, and advise

you to do likewise. I really shouldn't wonder if Mac did something

remarkable in that line, though he shows no sign of it yet, I

confess," answered Mrs. Jessie, laughing.

"It won't be in that direction, you may be sure, for her fate is

sealed. Dear me, how sad it is to see a superior girl like that about

to throw herself away on a handsome scapegrace. I won't mention

names, but you understand me." And Mrs. Jane shook her head, as

if she could mention the name of one superior girl who had thrown

herself away and now saw the folly of it.

"I'm very anxious, of course, and so is Alec, but it may be the

saving of one party and the happiness of the other, for some

women love to give more than they receive," said Mrs. Jessie,

privately wondering, for the thousandth time, why brother Mac

ever married the learned Miss Humphries.

"You'll see that it won't prosper, and I shall always maintain that a

wife cannot entirely undo a mother's work. Rose will have her

hands full if she tries to set all Clara's mistakes right," answered

Aunt Jane grimly, then began to fan violently as their hostess

approached to have a dish of chat about "our dear young people."

Rose was in a merry mood that night, and found Mac quite ready

for fun, which was fortunate, since her first remark set them off on

a droll subject.

"Oh, Mac! Annabel has just confided to me that she is engaged to

Fun See! Think of her going to housekeeping in Canton someday

and having to order rats, puppies, and bird's-nest soup for dinner,"

whispered Rose, too much amused to keep the news to herself.

"By Confucius! Isn't that a sweet prospect?" And Mac burst out

laughing, to the great surprise of his neighbors, who wondered

what there was amusing about the Chinese sage. "It is rather

alarming, though, to have these infants going on at this rate. Seems

to be catching, a new sort of scarlet fever, to judge by Annabel's

cheeks and Kitty's gown," he added, regarding the aforesaid ladies

with eyes still twinkling with merriment.

"Don't be ungallant, but go and do likewise, for it is all the fashion.

I heard Mrs. Van tell old Mrs. Joy that it was going to be a

marrying year, so you'll be sure to catch it," answered Rose,

reefing her skirts, for, with all his training, Mac still found it

difficult to keep his long legs out of the man-traps.

"It doesn't look like a painful disease, but I must be careful, for I've

no time to be ill now. What are the symptoms?" asked Mac, trying

to combine business with pleasure and improve his mind while

doing his duty.

"If you ever come back I'll tell you," laughed Rose as he danced

away into the wrong corner, bumped smartly against another

gentleman, and returned as soberly as if that was the proper figure.

"Well, tell me 'how not to do it,'" he said, subsiding for a

moment's talk when Rose had floated to and fro in her turn.

"Oh! You see some young girl who strikes you as particularly

charming whether she really is or not doesn't matter a bit and you

begin to think about her a great deal, to want to see her, and to get

generally sentimental and absurd," began Rose, finding it difficult

to give a diagnosis of the most mysterious disease under the sun.

"Don't think it sounds enticing. Can't I find an antidote somewhere,

for if it is in the air this year I'm sure to get it, and it may be fatal,"

said Mac, who felt pretty lively and liked to make Rose merry, for

he suspected that she had a little trouble from a hint Dr. Alec had

given him.

"I hope you will catch it, because you'll be so funny."

"Will you take care of me as you did before, or have you got your

hands full?"

"I'll help, but really with Archie and Steve and Charlie, I shall have

enough to do. You'd better take it lightly the first time, and so

won't need much care."

"Very well, how shall I begin? Enlighten my ignorance and start

me right, I beg."

"Go about and see people, make yourself agreeable, and not sit in

corners observing other people as if they were puppets dancing for

your amusement. I heard Mrs. Van once say that propinquity

works wonders, and she ought to know, having married off two

daughters, and just engaged a third to 'a most charming young

man.'?

"Good lack! The cure sounds worse than the disease. Propinquity,

hey? Why, I may be in danger this identical moment and can't flee

for my life," said Mac, gently catching her round the waist for a

general waltz.

"Don't be alarmed, but mind your steps, for Charlie is looking at

us, and I want you to do your best. That's perfect take me quite

round, for I love to waltz and seldom get a good turn except with

you boys," said Rose, smiling up at him approvingly as his strong

arm guided her among the revolving couples and his feet kept time

without a fault.

"This certainly is a great improvement on the chair business, to

which I have devoted myself with such energy that I've broken the

backs of two partners and dislocated the arm of the old rocker. I

took an occasional turn with that heavy party, thinking it good

practice in case I ever happen to dance with stout ladies." And

Mac nodded toward Annabel, pounding gaily with Mr. Tokio,

whose yellow countenance beamed as his beady eyes rested on his

plump fiance .

Pausing in the midst of her merriment at the image of Mac and the

old rocking chair, Rose said reprovingly, "Though a heathen

Chinee, Fun puts you to shame, for he did not ask foolish questions

but went a-wooing like a sensible little man, and I've no doubt

Annabel will be very happy."

"Choose me a suitable divinity and I will try to adore. Can I do

more than that to retrieve my character?" answered Mac, safely

landing his partner and plying the fan according to instructions.

"How would Emma do?" inquired Rose, whose sense of the

ludicrous was strong and who could not resist the temptation of

horrifying Mac by the suggestion.

"Never! It sets my teeth on edge to look at her tonight. I suppose

that dress is 'a sweet thing just out,' but upon my word she reminds

me of nothing but a Harlequin ice," and Mac turned his back on

her with a shudder, for he was sensitive to discords of all kinds.

"She certainly does, and that mixture of chocolate, pea green, and

pink is simply detestable, though many people would consider it

decidedly 'chic,' to use her favorite word. I suppose you will dress

your wife like a Spartan matron of the time of Lycurgus," added

Rose, much tickled by his new conceit.

"I'll wait till I get her before I decide. But one thing I'm sure of she

shall not dress like a Greek dancer of the time of Pericles,"

answered Mac, regarding with great disfavor a young lady who,

having a statuesque figure, affected drapery of the scanty and

clinging description.

"Then it is of no use to suggest that classic creature, so as you

reject my first attempts, I won't go on but look about me quietly,

and you had better do the same. Seriously, Mac, more gaiety and

less study would do you good, for you will grow old before your

time if you shut yourself up and pore over books so much."

"I don't believe there is a younger or a jollier-feeling fellow in the

room than I am, though I may not conduct myself like a dancing

dervish. But I own you may be right about the books, for there are

many sorts of intemperance, and a library is as irresistible to me as

a barroom to a toper. I shall have to sign a pledge and cork up the

only bottle that tempts me my ink-stand."

"I'll tell you how to make it easier to abstain. Stop studying and

write a novel into which you can put all your wise things, and so

clear your brains for a new start by and by. Do I should so like to

read it," cried Rose, delighted with the project, for she was sure

Mac could do anything he liked in that line.

"First live, then write. How can I go to romancing till I know what

romance means?" he asked soberly, feeling that so far he had had

very little in his life.

"Then you must find out, and nothing will help you more than to

love someone very much. Do as I've advised and be a modern

Diogenes going about with spectacles instead of a lantern in

search, not of an honest man, but a perfect woman. I do hope you

will be successful." And Rose made her curtsey as the dance

ended.

"I don't expect perfection, but I should like one as good as they

ever make them nowadays. If you are looking for the honest man, I

wish you success in return," said Mac, relinquishing her fan with a

glance of such sympathetic significance that a quick flush of

feeling rose to the girl's face as she answered very low, "If honesty

was all I wanted, I certainly have found it in you."

Then she went away with Charlie, who was waiting for his turn,

and Mac roamed about, wondering if anywhere in all that crowd

his future wife was hidden, saying to himself, as he glanced from

face to face, quite unresponsive to the various allurements

displayed,

"What care I how fair she be,

If she be not fair for me?"

Just before supper several young ladies met in the dressing room to

repair damages and, being friends, they fell into discourse as they

smoothed their locks and had their tattered furbelows sewed or

pinned up by the neat-handed Phillis-in-waiting.

When each had asked the other, "How do I look tonight, dear?"

and been answered with reciprocal enthusiasm, "Perfectly lovely,

darling!" Kitty said to Rose, who was helping her to restore order

out of the chaos to which much exercise had reduced her curls:

"By the way, young Randal is dying to be presented to you. May I

after supper?"

"No, thank you," answered Rose very decidedly.

"Well, I'm sure I don't see why not," began Kitty, looking

displeased but not surprised.

"I think you do, else why didn't you present him when he asked?

You seldom stop to think of etiquette why did you now?"

"I didn't like to do it till I had you are so particular I thought you'd

say 'no,' but I couldn't tell him so," stammered Kitty, feeling that

she had better have settled the matter herself, for Rose was very

particular and had especial reason to dislike this person because he

was not only a dissipated young reprobate himself but seemed

possessed of Satan to lead others astray likewise.

"I don't wish to be rude, dear, but I really must decline, for I cannot

know such people, even though I meet them here," said Rose,

remembering Charlie's revelations on New Year's night and

hardening her heart against the man who had been his undoing on

that as well as on other occasions, she had reason to believe.

"I couldn't help it! Old Mr. Randal and Papa are friends, and

though I spoke of it, brother Alf wouldn't hear of passing that bad

boy over," explained Kitty eagerly.

"Yet Alf forbade you driving or skating with him, for he knows

better than we how unfit he is to come among us."

"I'd drop him tomorrow if I could, but I must be civil in my own

house. His mother brought him, and he won't dare to behave here

as he does at their bachelor parties."

"She ought not to have brought him till he had shown some desire

to mend his ways. It is none of my business, I know, but I do wish

people wouldn't be so inconsistent, letting boys go to destruction

and then expecting us girls to receive them like decent people."

Rose spoke in an energetic whisper, but Annabel heard her and

exclaimed, as she turned round with a powder puff in her hand:

"My goodness, Rose! What is all that about going to destruction?"

"She is being strong-minded, and I don't very much blame her in

this case. But it leaves me in a dreadful scrape," said Kitty,

supporting her spirits with a sniff of aromatic vinegar.

"I appeal to you, since you heard me, and there's no one here but

ourselves do you consider young Randal a nice person to know?"

And Rose turned to Annabel and Emma with an anxious eye, for

she did not find it easy to abide by her principles when so doing

annoyed friends.

"No, indeed, he's perfectly horrid! Papa says he and Gorham are

the wildest young men he knows, and enough to spoil the whole

set. I'm so glad I've got no brothers," responded Annabel, placidly

powdering her pink arms, quite undeterred by the memory of

sundry white streaks left on sundry coat sleeves.

"I think that sort of scrupulousness is very ill-bred, if you'll excuse

my saying so, Rose. We are not supposed to know anything about

fastness, and wildness, and so on, but to treat every man alike and

not be fussy and prudish," said Emma, settling her many-colored

streamers with the superior air of a woman of the world, aged

twenty.

"Ah! But we do know, and if our silence and civility have no

effect, we ought to try something else and not encourage

wickedness of any kind. We needn't scold and preach, but we can

refuse to know such people and that will do some good, for they

don't like to be shunned and shut out from respectable society.

Uncle Alec told me not to know that man, and I won't." Rose

spoke with unusual warmth, forgetting that she could not tell the

real reason for her strong prejudice against "that man."

"Well, I know him. I think him very jolly, and I'm engaged to

dance the German with him after supper. He leads quite as well as

your cousin Charlie and is quite as fascinating, some people

think," returned Emma, tossing her head disdainfully, for Prince

Charming did not worship at her shrine and it piqued her vanity.

In spite of her quandary, Rose could not help smiling as she

recalled Mac's comparison, for Emma turned so red with spiteful

chagrin, she seemed to have added strawberry ice to the other

varieties composing the Harlequin.

"Each must judge for herself. I shall follow Aunt Jessie's advice

and try to keep my atmosphere as pure as I can, for she says every

woman has her own little circle and in it can use her influence for

good, if she will. I do will heartily, and I'll prove that I'm neither

proud nor fussy by receiving, here or at home, any respectable man

you like to present to me, no matter how poor or plain or

insignificant he may be."

With which declaration Rose ended her protest, and the four

damsels streamed downstairs together like a wandering rainbow.

But Kitty laid to heart what she had said; Annabel took credit

herself for siding with her; and Emma owned that she was not

trying to keep her atmosphere pure when she came to dance with

the objectionable Randal. So Rose's "little circle" was the better

for the influence she tried to exert, although she never knew it.

At suppertime Charlie kept near her, and she was quite content

with him, for he drank only coffee, and she saw him shake his

head with a frown when young Van beckoned him toward an

anteroom, from whence the sound of popping corks had issued

with increasing frequency as the evening wore on.

"Dear fellow, he does try," thought Rose, longing to show how she

admired his self-denial, but she could only say, as they left the

supper room with the aunts, who were going early: "If I had not

promised Uncle to get home as soon after midnight as possible, I'd

stay and dance the German with you, for you deserve a reward

tonight."

"A thousand thanks, but I am going when you do," answered

Charlie, understanding both her look and words and very grateful

for them.

"Really?" cried Rose, delighted.

"Really. I'll be in the hall when you come down." And Charlie

thought the Fra Angelico angel was not half so bright and beautiful

as the one who looked back at him out of a pale blue cloud as Rose

went upstairs as if on wings.

When she came down again Charlie was not in the hall, however,

and, after waiting a few minutes, Mac offered to go and find him,

for Aunt Jane was still hunting a lost rubber above.

"Please say I'm ready, but he needn't come if he doesn't want to,"

said Rose, not wishing to demand too much of her promising

penitent.

"If he has gone into that barroom, I'll have him out, no matter who

is there!" growled Mac to himself as he made his way to the small

apartment whither the gentlemen retired for a little private

refreshment when the spirit moved, as it often did.

The door was ajar, and Charlie seemed to have just entered, for

Mac heard a familiar voice call out in a jovial tone: "Come,

Prince! You're just in time to help us drink Steve's health with all

the honors."

"Can't stop, only ran in to say good night, Van. Had a capital time,

but I'm on duty and must go."

"That's a new dodge. Take a stirrup cup anyway, and come back in

time for a merry-go-rounder when you've disposed of the ladies,"

answered the young host, diving into the wine cooler for another

bottle.

"Charlie's going in for sanctity, and it doesn't seem to agree with

him," laughed one of the two other young men who occupied

several chairs apiece, resting their soles in every sense of the word.

"Apron strings are coming into fashion the bluer the better hey,

Prince?" added the other, trying to be witty, with the usual success.

"You'd better go home early yourself, Barrow, or that tongue of

yours will get you into trouble," retorted Charlie, conscious that he

ought to take his own advice, yet lingering, nervously putting on

his gloves while the glasses were being filled.

"Now, brother-in-law, fire away! Here you are, Prince." And Steve

handed a glass across the table to his cousin, feeling too much

elated with various pleasurable emotions to think what he was

doing, for the boys all knew Charlie's weakness and usually tried

to defend him from it.

Before the glass could be taken, however, Mac entered in a great

hurry, delivering his message in an abbreviated and rather

peremptory form: "Rose is waiting for you. Hurry up!"

"All right. Good night, old fellows!" And Charlie was off, as if the

name had power to stop him in the very act of breaking the

promise made to himself.

"Come, Solon, take a social drop, and give us an epithalamium in

your best Greek. Here's to you!" And Steve was lifting the wine to

his own lips when Mac knocked the glass out of his hand with a

flash of the eye that caused his brother to stare at him with his

mouth open in an imbecile sort of way, which seemed to excite

Mac still more, for, turning to his young host, he said, in a low

voice, and with a look that made the gentlemen on the chairs sit up

suddenly: "I beg pardon, Van, for making a mess, but I can't stand

by and see my own brother tempt another man beyond his strength

or make a brute of himself. That's plain English, but I can't help

speaking out, for I know not one of you would willingly hurt

Charlie, and you will if you don't let him alone."

"What do you pitch into me for? I've done nothing. A fellow must

be civil in his own house, mustn't he?" asked Van good-humoredly

as he faced about, corkscrew in hand.

"Yes, but it is not civil to urge or joke a guest into doing what you

know and he knows is bad for him. That's only a glass of wine to

you, but it is perdition to Charlie, and if Steve knew what he was

about, he'd cut his right hand off before he'd offer it."

"Do you mean to say I'm tipsy?" demanded Steve, ruffling up like a

little gamecock, for though he saw now what he had done and was

ashamed of it, he hated to have Mac air his peculiar notions before

other people.

"With excitement, not champagne, I hope, for I wouldn't own you

if you were," answered Mac, in whom indignation was

effervescing like the wine in the forgotten bottle, for the men were

all young, friends of Steve's and admirers of Charlie's. "Look here,

boys," he went on more quietly, "I know I ought not to explode in

this violent sort of way, but upon my life I couldn't help it when I

heard what you were saying and saw what Steve was doing. Since I

have begun, I may as well finish and tell you straight out that

Prince can't stand this sort of thing. He is trying to flee temptation,

and whoever leads him into it does a cowardly and sinful act, for

the loss of one's own self-respect is bad enough, without losing the

more precious things that make life worth having. Don't tell him

I've said this, but lend a hand if you can, and never have to

reproach yourselves with the knowledge that you helped to ruin a

fellow creature, soul and body."

It was well for the success of Mac's first crusade that his hearers

were gentlemen and sober, so his outburst was not received with

jeers or laughter but listened to in silence, while the expression of

the faces changed from one of surprise to regret and respect, for

earnestness is always effective and championship of this sort

seldom fails to touch hearts as yet unspoiled. As he paused with an

eloquent little quiver in his eager voice, Van corked the bottle at a

blow, threw down the corkscrew, and offered Mac his hand, saying

heartily, in spite of his slang: "You are a first-class old brick! I'll

lend a hand for one, and do my best to back up Charlie, for he's the

finest fellow I know, and shan't go to the devil like poor Randal if I

can help it."

Murmurs of applause from the others seemed to express a general

assent to this vigorous statement, and, giving the hand a grateful

shake, Mac retreated to the door, anxious to be off now that he had

freed his mind with such unusual impetuosity.

"Count on me for anything I can do in return for this, Van. I'm

sorry to be such a marplot, but you can take it out in quizzing me

after I'm gone. I'm fair game, and Steve can set you going."

With that, Mac departed as abruptly as he had come, feeling that

he had "made a mess" of it, but comforting himself with the

thought that perhaps he had secured help for Charlie at his own

expense and thinking with a droll smile as he went back to his

mother: "My romance begins by looking after other girls' lovers

instead of finding a sweetheart for myself, but I can't tell Rose, so

she won't laugh at me."

Chapter 13 BOTH SIDES

Steve's engagement made a great stir in the family a pleasant one

this time, for nobody objected, everything seemed felicitous, and

the course of true love ran very smoothly for the young couple,

who promised to remove the only obstacle to their union by

growing old and wise as soon as possible. If he had not been so

genuinely happy, the little lover's airs would have been unbearable,

for he patronized all mankind in general, his brother and elder

cousins in particular.

"Now, that is the way to manage matters," he declared, standing

before the fire in Aunt Clara's billiard room a day or two after the

ball, with his hands behind his back. "No nonsense, no delay, no

domestic rows or tragic separations. Just choose with taste and

judgment, make yourself agreeable through thick and thin, and

when it is perfectly evident that the dear creature adores the

ground you walk on, say the word like a man, and there you are."

"All very easy to do that with a girl like Kitty, who has no

confounded notions to spoil her and trip you up every time you

don't exactly toe the mark," muttered Charlie, knocking the balls

about as if it were a relief to hit something, for he was in a

gloriously bad humor that evening, because time hung heavy on

his hands since he had forsworn the company he could not keep

without danger to himself.

"You should humor those little notions, for all women have them,

and it needs tact to steer clear of them. Kitty's got dozens, but I

treat them with respect, have my own way when I can, give in

without growling when I can't, and we get on like a couple of--"

"Spoons," put in Charlie, who felt that he had not steered clear and

so suffered shipwreck in sight of land.

Steve meant to have said "doves," but his cousin's levity caused

him to add with calm dignity, "reasonable beings," and then

revenged himself by making a good shot which won him the game.

"You always were a lucky little dog, Steve. I don't begrudge you a

particle of your happiness, but it does seem as if things weren't

quite fair sometimes," said Archie, suppressing an envious sigh,

for, though he seldom complained, it was impossible to contrast

his own and his cousin's prospects with perfect equanimity.

"His worth shines forth the brightest who in hope

Always confides: the Abject soul despairs,"

observed Mac, quoting Euripides in a conversational tone as he lay

upon a divan reposing after a hard day's work.

"Thank you," said Archie, brightening a little, for a hopeful word

from any source was very comfortable.

"That's your favorite Rip, isn't it? He was a wise old boy, but you

could find advice as good as that nearer home," put in Steve, who

just then felt equal to slapping Plato on the shoulder, so elated was

he at being engaged "first of all the lot," as he gracefully expressed

it.

"Don't halloo till you are out of the wood, Dandy Mrs. Kit has

jilted two men, and may a third, so you'd better not brag of your

wisdom too soon, for she may make a fool of you yet," said

Charlie, cynically, his views of life being very gloomy about this

time.

"No, she won't, Steve, if you do your part honestly. There's the

making of a good little woman in Kitty, and she has proved it by

taking you instead of those other fellows. You are not a Solomon,

but you're not spoilt yet, and she had the sense to see it," said Mac

encouragingly from his corner, for he and his brother were better

friends than even since the little scene at the Van Tassels'.

"Hear! Hear!" cried Steve, looking more than ever like a cheerful

young cockerel trying to crow as he stood upon the hearth rug with

his hands under his coat tails, rising and falling alternately upon

the toes and heels of his neat little boots.

"Come, you've given them each a pat on the head haven't you got

one for me? I need it enough, for if ever there was a poor devil

born under an evil star, it is C. C. Campbell," exclaimed Charlie,

leaning his chin on his cue with a discontented expression of

countenance, for trying to be good is often very hard work till one

gets used to it.

"Oh, yes! I can accommodate you." And, as if his words suggested

the selection, Mac, still lying flat upon his back, repeated one of

his favorite bits from Beaumont and Fletcher, for he had a

wonderful memory and could reel off poetry by the hour together.

"Man is his own star; and the soul that can

Render an honest and a perfect man

Commands all light, all influence, all fate.

Nothing to him falls early or too late.

Our acts our angels are; or good or ill,

Our fatal shadows that walk by us still."

"Confoundedly bad angels they are too," muttered Charlie ruefully,

remembering the one that undid him.

His cousins never knew exactly what occurred on New Year's

night, but suspected that something was amiss, for Charlie had the

blues, and Rose, though as kind as ever, expressed no surprise at

his long absences. They had all observed and wondered at this

state of things, yet discreetly made no remark till Steve, who was

as inquisitive as a magpie, seized this opportunity to say in a

friendly tone, which showed that he bore no malice for the dark

prophecy regarding his Kitty's faithfulness: "What's the trouble,

Prince? You are so seldom in a bad humor that we don't know

what to make of it and all feel out of spirits when you have the

blues. Had a tiff with Rose?"

"Never you mind, little boy, but this I will say the better women

are, the more unreasonable they are. They don't require us to be

saints like themselves, which is lucky, but they do expect us to

render an 'honest and a perfect man' sometimes, and that is asking

rather too much in a fallen world like this," said Charlie, glad to

get a little sympathy, though he had no intention of confessing his

transgressions.

"No, it isn't," said Mac, decidedly.

"Much you know about it," began Charlie, ill pleased to be so

flatly contradicted.

"Well, I know this much," added Mac, suddenly sitting up with his

hair in a highly disheveled condition. "It is very unreasonable in us

to ask women to be saints and then expect them to feel honored

when we offer them our damaged hearts or, at best, one not half as

good as theirs. If they weren't blinded by love, they'd see what a

mean advantage we take of them and not make such bad bargains."

"Upon my word, the philosopher is coming out strong upon the

subject! We shall have him preaching 'Women's Rights' directly,"

said Steve, much amazed at this outburst.

"I've begun, you see, and much good may it do you," answered

Mac, laying himself placidly down again.

"Well, but look here, man you are arguing on the wrong side," put

in Archie, quite agreeing with him, but feeling that he must stand

by his order at all costs.

"Never mind sides, uphold the right wherever you find it. You

needn't stare, Steve I told you I was going to look into this matter,

and I am. You think I'm wrapped up in books, but I see a great deal

more of what is going on around me than you imagine, and I'm

getting on in this new branch, let me tell you, quite as fast as is

good for me, I daresay."

"Going in for perfection, are you?" asked Charlie, both amused and

interested, for he respected Mac more than he owned even to

himself, and though he had never alluded to the timely warning,

neither forgot.

"Yes, I think of it."

"How will you begin?"

"Do my best all-round keep good company, read good books, love

good things, and cultivate soul and body as faithfully and wisely as

I can."

"And you expect to succeed, do you?"

"Please God, I will."

The quiet energy of Mac's last words produced a momentary

silence. Charlie thoughtfully studied the carpet; Archie, who had

been absently poking the fire, looked over at Mac as if he thanked

him again, and Steve, forgetting his self-conceit, began to wonder

if it was not possible to improve himself a little for Kitty's sake.

Only a minute, for young men do not give much time to thoughts

of this kind, even when love stirs up the noblest impulses within

them. To act rather than to talk is more natural to most of them, as

Charlie's next question showed, for, having the matter much at

heart, he ventured to ask in an offhand way as he laughed and

twirled his cue: "Do you intend to reach the highest point of

perfection before you address one of the fair saints, or shall you

ask her to lend a hand somewhere short of that?"

"As it takes a long lifetime to do what I plan, I think I shall ask

some good woman 'to lend a hand' when I've got anything worth

offering her. Not a saint, for I never shall be one myself, but a

gentle creature who will help me, as I shall try to help her, so that

we can go on together and finish our work hereafter, if we haven't

time to do it here."

If Mac had been a lover, he would not have discussed the subject

in this simple and sincere fashion, though he might have felt it far

more deeply, but being quite heart-free, he frankly showed his

interest and, curiously enough, out of his wise young head

unconsciously gave the three lovers before him counsel which they

valued, because he practiced what he preached.

"Well, I hope you'll find her!" said Charlie heartily as he went back

to his game.

"I think I shall." And while the others played, Mac lay staring at

the window curtain as contentedly as if, through it, he beheld "a

dream of fair women" from which to choose his future mate.

A few days after this talk in the billiard room, Kitty went to call

upon Rose, for as she was about to enter the family she felt it her

duty to become acquainted with all its branches. This branch,

however, she cultivated more assiduously than any other and was

continually running in to confer with "Cousin Rose," whom she

considered the wisest, dearest, kindest girl ever created. And Rose,

finding that, in spite of her flighty head, Kitty had a good heart of

her own, did her best to encourage all the new hopes and

aspirations springing up in it under the warmth of the first genuine

affection she had ever known.

"My dear, I want to have some serious conversation with you upon

a subject in which I take an interest for the first time in my life,"

began Miss Kitty, seating herself and pulling off her gloves as if

the subject was one which needed a firm grasp.

"Tell away, and don't mind if I go on working, as I want to finish

this job today," answered Rose, with a long-handled paintbrush in

her hand and a great pair of shears at her side.

"You are always so busy! What is it now? Let me help I can talk

faster when I'm doing something," which seemed hardly possible,

for Kitty's tongue went like a mill clapper at all hours.

"Making picture books for my sick babies at the hospital. Pretty

work, isn't it? You cut out, and I'll paste them on these squares of

gay cambric then we just tie up a few pages with a ribbon and

there is a nice, light, durable book for the poor dears to look at as

they lie in their little beds."

"A capital idea. Do you go there often? How ever do you find the

time for such things?" asked Kitty, busily cutting from a big sheet

the touching picture of a parent bird with a red head and a blue tail

offering what looked like a small boa constrictor to one of its

nestlings, a fat young squab with a green head, yellow body, and

no tail at all.

"I have plenty of time now I don't go out so much, for a party uses

up two days generally one to prepare for it and one to get over it,

you know."

"People think it is so odd of you to give up society all of a sudden.

They say you have 'turned pious' and it is owing to your peculiar

bringing-up. I always take your part and say it is a pity other girls

haven't as sensible an education, for I don't know one who is as

satisfactory on the whole as you are."

"Much obliged. You may also tell people I gave up gaiety because

I value health more. But I haven't forsworn everything of the kind,

Kit. I go to concerts and lectures, and all sorts of early things, and

have nice times at home, as you know. I like fun as well as ever,

but I'm getting on, you see, and must be preparing a little for the

serious part of life. One never knows when it may come," said

Rose, thoughtfully as she pasted a squirrel upside down on the

pink cotton page before her.

"That reminds me of what I wanted to say. If you'll believe me, my

dear, Steve has got that very idea into his head! Did you or Mac

put it there?" asked Kitty, industriously clashing her shears.

"No, I've given up lecturing the boys lately they are so big now

they don't like it, and I fancy I'd got into a way that was rather

tiresome."

"Well, then, he is 'turning pious' too. And what is very singular, I

like it. Now don't smile I really do and I want to be getting ready

for the 'serious part of life,' as you call it. That is, I want to grow

better as fast as I can, for Steve says he isn't half good enough for

me. Just think of that!"

Kitty looked so surprised and pleased and proud that Rose felt no

desire to laugh at her sudden fancy for sobriety but said in her

most sympathetic tone: "I'm very glad to hear it, for it shows that

he loves you in the right way."

"Is there more than one way?"

"Yes, I fancy so, because some people improve so much after they

fall in love, and others do not at all. Have you never observed

that?"

"I never learned how to observe. Of course I know that some

matches turn out well and some don't, but I never thought much

about it."

"Well, I have, for I was rather interested in the subject lately and

had a talk with Aunt Jessie and Uncle about it."

"Gracious! You don't talk to them about such things, do you?"

"Yes, indeed. I ask any questions I like, and always get a good

answer. It is such a nice way to learn, Kitty, for you don't have to

pore over books, but as things come along you talk about them and

remember, and when they are spoken of afterward you understand

and are interested, though you don't say a word," explained Rose.

"It must be nice, but I haven't anyone to do so for me. Papa is too

busy, and Mama always says when I ask question, 'Don't trouble

your head with such things, child,' so I don't. What did you learn

about matches turning out well? I'm interested in that, because I

want mine to be quite perfect in all respects."

"After thinking it over, I came to the conclusion that Uncle was

right, and it is not always safe to marry a person just because you

love him," began Rose, trying to enlighten Kitty without betraying

herself.

"Of course not if they haven't money or are bad. But otherwise I

don't see what more is needed," said Kitty wonderingly.

"One should stop and see if it is a wise love, likely to help both

parties and wear well, for you know it ought to last all one's

lifetime, and it is very sad if it doesn't."

"I declare it quite scares me to think of it, for I don't usually go

beyond my wedding day in making plans. I remember, though, that

when I was engaged the first time you don't know the man; it was

just after you went away, and I was only sixteen someone very

ill-naturedly said I should 'marry in haste and repent at leisure,' and

that made me try to imagine how it would seem to go on year after

year with Gustavus who had a dreadful temper, by the way and it

worried me so to think of it that I broke the engagement, and was

so glad ever afterward."

"You were a wise girl and I hope you'll do it again if you find, after

a time, that you and Steve do not truly trust and respect as well as

love one another. If you don't, you'll be miserable when it is too

late, as so many people are who do marry in haste and have a

lifetime to repent it. Aunt Jessie says so, and she knows."

"Don't be solemn, Rose. It fidgets me to think about life-times, and

respecting, and all those responsible things. I'm not used to it, and I

don't know how to do it."

"But you must think, and you must learn how before you take the

responsibility upon yourself. That is what your life is for, and you

mustn't spoil it by doing a very solemn thing without seeing if you

are ready for it."

"Do you think about all this?" asked Kitty, shrugging up her

shoulders as if responsibility of any sort did not sit comfortably on

them.

"One has to sometimes, you know. But is that all you wanted to

tell me?" added Rose, anxious to turn the conversation from

herself.

"Oh, dear, no! The most serious thing of all is this. Steve is putting

himself in order generally, and so I want to do my part, and I must

begin right away before my thoughts get distracted with clothes

and all sorts of dear, delightful, frivolous things that I can't help

liking. Now I wish you'd tell me where to begin. Shouldn't I

improve my mind by reading something solid?" And Kitty looked

over at the well-filled bookcase as if to see if it contained anything

large and dry enough to be considered "solid."

"It would be an excellent plan, and we'll look up something. What

do you feel as if you needed most?"

"A little of everything I should say, for when I look into my mind

there really doesn't seem to be much there but odds and ends, and

yet I'm sure I've read a great deal more than some girls do. I

suppose novels don't count, though, and are of no use, for,

goodness knows, the people and things they describe aren't a bit

like the real ones."

"Some novels are very useful and do as much good as sermons,

I've heard Uncle say, because they not only describe truly, but

teach so pleasantly that people like to learn in that way," said

Rose, who knew the sort of books Kitty had read and did not

wonder that she felt rather astray when she tried to guide herself by

their teaching.

"You pick me out some of the right kind, and I'll apply my mind to

them. Then I ought to have some 'serious views' and 'methods' and

'principles.' Steve said 'principles,' good firm ones, you know." And

Kitty gave a little pull at the bit of cambric she was cutting as

housewives pull cotton or calico when they want "a good firm

article."

Rose could not help laughing now, though much pleased, for Kitty

was so prettily in earnest, and yet so perfectly ignorant how to

begin on the self-improvement she very much needed, that it was

pathetic as well as comical to see and hear her.

"You certainly want some of those, and must begin at once to get

them, but Aunt Jessie can help you there better than I can, or Aunt

Jane, for she has very 'firm' ones, I assure you," said Rose, sobering

down as quickly as possible.

"Mercy on us! I should never dare to say a word about it to Mrs.

Mac, for I'm dreadfully afraid of her, she is so stern, and how I'm

ever to get on when she is my mother-in-law I don't know!" cried

Kitty, clasping her hands in dismay at the idea.

"She isn't half as stern as she looks, and if you go to her without

fear, you've no idea how sensible and helpful she is. I used to be

frightened out of my wits with her, but now I'm not a bit, and we

get on nicely. Indeed, I'm fond of her, she is so reliable and upright

in all things."

"She certainly is the straightest woman I ever saw, and the most

precise. I never shall forget how scared I was when Steve took me

up to see her that first time. I put on all my plainest things, did my

hair in a meek knob, and tried to act like a sober, sedate young

woman. Steve would laugh at me and say I looked like a pretty

nun, so I couldn't be as proper as I wished. Mrs. Mac was very

kind, of course, but her eye was so sharp I felt as if she saw right

through me, and knew that I'd pinned on my bonnet strings, lost a

button off my boot, and didn't brush my hair for ten minutes every

night," said Kitty in an awe-stricken tone.

"She likes you, though, and so does Uncle, and he's set his heart on

having you live with them by and by, so don't mind her eyes but

look straight up at her, and you'll see how kind they can grow."

"Mac likes me, too, and that did please me, for he doesn't like girls

generally. Steve told me he said I had the 'making of a capital little

woman in me.' Wasn't it nice of him? Steve was so proud, though

he does laugh at Mac sometimes."

"Don't disappoint them, dear. Encourage Steve in all the good

things he likes or wants, make friends with Mac, love Aunt Jane,

and be a daughter to Uncle, and you'll find yourself a very happy

girl."

"I truly will, and thank you very much for not making fun of me. I

know I'm a little goose, but lately I've felt as if I might come to

something if I had the right sort of help. I'll go up and see Aunt

Jessie tomorrow. I'm not a bit afraid of her, and then if you'll just

quietly find out from Uncle Doctor what I must read, I'll work as

hard as I can. Don't tell anyone, please, they'll think it odd and

affected, and I can't bear to be laughed at, though I daresay it is

good discipline."

Rose promised, and both worked in silence for a moment, then

Kitty asked rather timidly: "Are you and Charlie trying this plan

too? Since you've left off going out so much, he keeps away also,

and we don't know what to make of it."

"He has had what he calls an 'artistic fit' lately, set up a studio, and

is doing some crayon sketches of us all. If he'd only finish his

things, they would be excellent, but he likes to try a great variety at

once. I'll take you in sometime, and perhaps he will do a portrait of

you for Steve. He likes girls' faces and gets the likenesses

wonderfully well."

"People say you are engaged but I contradict it, because, of course,

I should know if you were."

"We are not."

"I'm glad of it, for really, Rose, I'm afraid Charlie hasn't got 'firm

principles,' though he is a fascinating fellow and one can't scold

him. You don't mind my saying so, do you, dear?" added Kitty, for

Rose did not answer at once.

"Not in the least, for you are one of us now, and I can speak

frankly and I will, for I think in one way you can help Steve very

much. You are right about Charlie, both as to the principles and

the fascination. Steve admires him exceedingly, and always from a

boy liked to imitate his pleasant ways. Some of them are very

harmless and do Steve good, but some are not. I needn't talk about

it, only you must show your boy that you depend on him to keep

out of harm and help him do it."

"I will, I will! And then perhaps, when he is a perfect model,

Charlie will imitate him. I really begin to feel as if I had a great

deal to do." And Kitty looked as if she was beginning to like it

also.

"We all have and the sooner we go to work the better for us and

those we love. You wouldn't think now that Phebe was doing

anything for Archie, but she is, and writes such splendid letters,

they stir him up wonderfully and make us all love and admire her

more than ever."

"How is she getting on?" asked Kitty, who, though she called

herself a "little goose," had tact enough to see that Rose did not

care to talk about Charlie.

"Nicely, for you know she used to sing in our choir, so that was a

good recommendation for another. She got a fine place in the new

church at L----, and that gives her a comfortable salary, though she

has something put away. She was always a saving creature and

kept her wages carefully. Uncle invested them, and she begins to

feel quite independent already. No fear but my Phebe will get on

she has such energy and manages so well. I sometimes wish I

could run away and work with her."

"Ah, my dear! We rich girls have our trials as well as poor ones,

though we don't get as much pity as they do," sighed Kitty.

"Nobody knows what I suffer sometimes from worries that I can't

talk about, and I shouldn't get much sympathy if I did, just because

I live in a big house, wear good gowns, and have lots of lovers.

Annabel used to say she envied me above all created beings, but

she doesn't now, and is perfectly absorbed in her dear little

Chinaman. Do you see how she ever could like him?"

So they began to gossip, and the sober talk was over for that time,

but when Kitty departed, after criticizing all her dear friends and

their respective sweethearts, she had a helpful little book in her

muff, a resolute expression on her bright face, and so many

excellent plans for self-improvement in her busy brain that she and

Steve bid fair to turn out the model couple of the century.

Chapter 14 AUNT CLARA'S PLAN

Being seriously alarmed by the fear of losing the desire of his

heart, Charlie had gone resolutely to work and, like many another

young reformer, he rather overdid the matter, for in trying to keep

out of the way of temptation, he denied himself much innocent

enjoyment. The "artistic fit" was a good excuse for the seclusion

which he fancied would be a proper penance, and he sat listlessly

plying crayon or paintbrush, with daily wild rides on black Brutus,

which seemed to do him good, for danger of that sort was his

delight.

People were used to his whims and made light of what they

considered a new one, but when it lasted week after week and all

attempts to draw him out were vain, his jolly comrades gave him

up and the family began to say approvingly, "Now he really is

going to settle down and do something." Fortunately, his mother

let him alone, for though Dr. Alec had not "thundered in her ear"

as he threatened, he had talked with her in a way which first made

her very angry, then anxious, and, lastly, quite submissive, for her

heart was set on the boy's winning Rose and she would have had

him put on sackcloth and ashes if that would have secured the

prize. She made light of the cause of Rose's displeasure,

considering her extremely foolish and straitlaced, "for all young

men of any spirit had their little vices, and came out well enough

when the wild oats were sowed." So she indulged Charlie in his

new vagary, as she had in all his others, and treated him like an

ill-used being, which was neither an inspiring nor helpful course

on her part. Poor soul! She saw her mistake by and by, and when

too late repented of it bitterly.

Rose wanted to be kind, and tried in various ways to help her

cousin, feeling very sure she should succeed as many another

hopeful woman has done, quite unconscious how much stronger an

undisciplined will is than the truest love, and what a difficult task

the wisest find it to undo the mistakes of a bad education. But it

was a hard thing to do, for at the least hint of commendation or

encouragement, he looked so hopeful that she was afraid of

seeming to promise too much, and, of all things, she desired to

escape the accusation of having trifled with him.

So life was not very comfortable to either just then; and while

Charlie was "mortifying soul and body" to please her, she was

studying how to serve him best. Aunt Jessie helped her very much,

and no one guessed, when they saw pretty Miss Campbell going up

and down the hill with such a serious face, that she was intent

upon anything except taking, with praiseworthy regularity, the

constitutionals which gave her such a charming color.

Matters were in this state when one day a note came to Rose from

Mrs. Clara.

MY SWEET CHILD, Do take pity on my poor boy and cheer him

up with a sight of you, for he is so triste it breaks my heart

to see him. He has a new plan in his head, which strikes me as an

excellent one, if you will only favor it. Let him come and take you

for a drive this fine afternoon and talk things over. It will do him a

world of good and deeply oblige

Your ever loving

AUNT CLARA.

Rose read the note twice and stood a moment pondering, with her

eyes absently fixed on the little bay before her window. The sight

of several black figures moving briskly to and fro across its frozen

surface seemed to suggest a mode of escape from the drive she

dreaded in more ways than one. "That will be safer and

pleasanter," she said, and going to her desk wrote her answer.

DEAR AUNTY, I'm afraid of Brutus, but if Charlie will go skating

with me, I should enjoy it very much and it would do us both good.

I can listen to the new plan with an undivided mind there, so give

him my love, please, and say I shall expect him at three.

Affectionately,

ROSE.

Punctually at three Charlie appeared with his skates over his arm

and with a very contented face, which brightened wonderfully as

Rose came downstairs in a sealskin suit and scarlet skirt, so like

the one she wore years ago that he involuntarily exclaimed as he

took her skates: "You look so like little Rose I hardly know you,

and it seems so like old times I feel sixteen again."

"That is just the way one ought to feel on such a day as this. Now

let us be off and have a good spin before anyone comes. There are

only a few children there now, but it is Saturday, you know, and

everybody will be out before long," answered Rose, carefully

putting on her mittens as she talked, for her heart was not as light

as the one little Rose carried under the brown jacket, and the boy

of sixteen never looked at her with the love and longing she read in

the eyes of the young man before her.

Away they went, and were soon almost as merry and warm as the

children around them, for the ice was in good condition, the

February sunshine brilliant, and the keen wind set their blood

a-tingle with a healthful glow.

"Now tell me the plan your mother spoke of," began Rose as they

went gliding across the wide expanse before them, for Charlie

seemed to have forgotten everything but the bliss of having her all

to himself for a little while.

"Plan? Oh, yes! It is simply this. I'm going out to Father next

month."

"Really?" and Rose looked both surprised and incredulous, for this

plan was not a new one.

"Really. You don't believe it, but I am, and mother means to go

with me. We've had another letter from the governor, and he says

if she can't part from her big baby to come along too, and all be

happy together. What do you think of that?" he asked, eyeing her

intently, for they were face to face as she went backward and he

held both of her hands to steer and steady her.

"I like it immensely, and do believe it now only it rather takes my

breath away to think of Aunty's going, when she never would hear

of it before."

"She doesn't like the plan very well now and consents to go only

on one condition."

"What is that?" asked Rose, trying to free her hands, for a look at

Charlie made her suspect what was coming.

"That you go with us." And, holding the hands fast, he added

rapidly, "Let me finish before you speak. I don't mean that

anything is to be changed till you are ready, but if you go, I am

willing to give up everything else and live anywhere as long as you

like. Why shouldn't you come to us for a year or two? We've never

had our share. Father would be delighted, mother contented, and I

the happiest man alive."

"Who made this plan?" asked Rose as soon as she got the breath

which certainly had been rather taken away by this entirely new

and by no means agreeable scheme.

"Mother suggested it I shouldn't have dared even to dream of such

richness. I'd made up my mind to go alone, and when I told her,

she was in despair till this superb idea came into her head. After

that, of course, it was easy enough for me to stick to the resolution

I'd made."

"Why did you decide to go, Charlie?" And Rose looked up into the

eyes that were fixed beseechingly on hers.

They wavered and glanced aside, then met hers honestly yet full of

humility, which made her own fall as he answered very low:

"Because I don't dare to stay."

"Is it so hard?" she said pitifully.

"Very hard. I haven't the moral courage to own up and face

ridicule, and it seems so mean to hide for fear of breaking my

word. I will keep it this time, Rose, if I go to the ends of the earth

to do it."

"It is not cowardly to flee temptation, and nobody whose opinion is

worth having will ridicule any brave attempt to conquer one's self.

Don't mind it, Charlie, but stand fast, and I am sure you will

succeed."

"You don't know what it is, and I can't tell you, for till I tried to

give it up I never guessed what a grip it had on me. I thought it was

only a habit, easy to drop when I liked, but it is stronger than I, and

sometimes I feel as if possessed of a devil that will get the better

of me, try as I may."

He dropped her hands abruptly as he said that, with the energy of

despair; and, as if afraid of saying too much, he left her for a

minute, striking away at full speed, as if in truth he would "go to

the ends of the earth" to escape the enemy within himself.

Rose stood still, appalled by this sudden knowledge of how much

greater the evil was than she had dreamed. What ought she to do?

Go with her cousin, and by so doing tacitly pledge herself as his

companion on that longer journey for which he was as yet so

poorly equipped? Both heart and conscience protested against this

so strongly that she put the thought away. But compassion pleaded

for him tenderly, and the spirit of self-sacrifice, which makes

women love to give more than they receive, caused her to feel as if

in a measure this man's fate lay in her hands, to be decided for

good or ill through her. How should she be true both to him and to

herself?

Before this question could be answered, he was back again,

looking as if he had left his care behind him, for his moods varied

like the wind. Her attitude, as she stood motionless and alone with

downcast face, was so unlike the cheerful creature who came to

meet him an hour ago, it filled him with self-reproach, and,

coming up, he drew one hand through his arm, saying, as she

involuntarily followed him, "You must not stand still. Forget my

heroics and answer my question. Will you go with us, Rose?"

"Not now that is asking too much, Charlie, and I will promise

nothing, because I cannot do it honestly," she answered, so firmly

that he knew appeal was useless.

"Am I to go alone, then, leaving all I care for behind me?"

"No, take your mother with you, and do your best to reunite your

parents. You could not give yourself to a better task."

"She won't go without you."

"I think she will if you hold fast to your resolution. You won't give

that up, I hope?"

"No I must go somewhere, for I can't stay here, and it may as well

be India, since that pleases Father," answered Charlie doggedly.

"It will more than you can imagine. Tell him all the truth, and see

how glad he will be to help you, and how sincerely he will respect

you for what you've done."

"If you respect me, I don't care much about the opinion of anyone

else," answered Charlie, clinging with a lover's pertinacity to the

hope that was dearest.

"I shall, if you go manfully away and do the duty you owe your

father and yourself."

"And when I've done it, may I come back to be rewarded, Rose?"

he asked, taking possession of the hand on his arm as if it was

already his.

"I wish I could say what you want me to. But how can I promise

when I am not sure of anything? I don't love you as I ought, and

perhaps I never shall so why persist in making me bind myself in

this way? Be generous, Charlie, and don't ask it," implored Rose,

much afflicted by his persistence.

"I thought you did love me it looked very like it a month ago,

unless you have turned coquette, and I can't quite believe that," he

answered bitterly.

"I was beginning to love you, but you made me afraid to go on,"

murmured Rose, trying to tell the truth kindly.

"That cursed custom! What can a man do when his hostess asks

him to drink wine with her?" And Charlie looked as if he could

have cursed himself even more heartily.

"He can say 'no.'"

"I can't."

"Ah, that's the trouble! You never learned to say it even to

yourself, and now it is so hard, you want me to help you."

"And you won't."

"Yes, I will, by showing you that I can say it to myself, for your

sake." And Rose looked up with a face so full of tender sorrow he

could not doubt the words which both reproached and comforted

him.

"My little saint! I don't deserve one half your goodness to me, but I

will, and go away without one complaint to do my best, for your

sake," he cried, touched by her grief and stirred to emulation by

the example of courage and integrity she tried to set him.

Here Kitty and Steve bore down upon them; and, obeying the

impulse to put care behind them, which makes it possible for

young hearts to ache one minute and dance the next, Rose and

Charlie banished their troubles, joined in the sport that soon turned

the lonely little bay into a ballroom, and enjoyed the splendors of a

winter sunset forgetful of separation and Calcutta.

Chapter 15 ALAS FOR CHARLIE!

In spite of much internal rebellion, Charlie held fast to his

resolution, and Aunt Clara, finding all persuasions vain, gave in

and in a state of chronic indignation against the world in general

and Rose in particular, prepared to accompany him. The poor girl

had a hard time of it and, but for her uncle, would have fared still

worse. He was a sort of shield upon which Mrs. Clara's

lamentations, reproaches, and irate glances fell unavailingly

instead of wounding the heart against which they were aimed.

The days passed very quickly now, for everyone seemed anxious to

have the parting over and preparations went on rapidly. The big

house was made ready to shut up for a year at least, comforts for

the long voyage laid in, and farewell visits paid. The general

activity and excitement rendered it impossible for Charlie to lead

the life of an artistic hermit any longer and he fell into a restless

condition which caused Rose to long for the departure of the Rajah

when she felt that he would be safe, for these farewell festivities

were dangerous to one who was just learning to say "no."

"Half the month safely gone. If we can only get well over these last

weeks, a great weight will be off my mind," thought Rose as she

went down one wild, wet morning toward the end of February.

Opening the study door to greet her uncle, she exclaimed, "Why,

Archie!" then paused upon the threshold, transfixed by fear, for in

her cousin's white face she read the tidings of some great

affliction.

"Hush! Don't be frightened. Come in and I'll tell you," he

whispered, putting down the bottle he had just taken from the

doctor's medicine closet.

Rose understood and obeyed, for Aunt Plenty was poorly with her

rheumatism and depended on her morning doze.

"What is it?" she said, looking about the room with a shiver, as if

expecting to see again what she saw there New Year's night.

Archie was alone, however, and, drawing her toward the closet,

answered with an evident effort to be quite calm and steady

"Charlie is hurt! Uncle wants more ether and the wide bandages in

some drawer or other. He told me, but I forget. You keep this place

in order find them for me. Quick!"

Before he had done, Rose was at the drawer, turning over the

bandages with hands that trembled as they searched.

"All narrow! I must make some. Can you wait?" And, catching up

a piece of old linen, she tore it into wide strips, adding, in the same

quick tone, as she began to roll them, "Now, tell me."

"I can wait those are not needed just yet. I didn't mean anyone

should know, you least of all," began Archie, smoothing out the

strips as they lay across the table and evidently surprised at the

girl's nerve and skill.

"I can bear it make haste! Is he much hurt?"

"I'm afraid he is. Uncle looks sober, and the poor boy suffers so, I

couldn't stay," answered Archie, turning still whiter about the lips

that never had so hard a tale to tell before.

"You see, he went to town last evening to meet the man who is

going to buy Brutus."

"And Brutus did it? I knew he would!" cried Rose, dropping her

work to wring her hands, as if she guessed the ending of the story

now.

"Yes, and if he wasn't shot already I'd do it myself with pleasure,

for he's done his best to kill Charlie," muttered Charlie's mate with

a grim look, then gave a great sigh and added with averted face, "I

shouldn't blame the brute, it wasn't his fault. He needed a firm

hand and--" He stopped there, but Rose said quickly: "Go on. I must

know."

"Charlie met some of his old cronies, quite by accident; there was

a dinner party, and they made him go, just for a good-bye, they

said. He couldn't refuse, and it was too much for him. He would

come home alone in the storm, though they tried to keep him, as

he wasn't fit. Down by the new bridge that high embankment, you

know the wind had put the lantern out he forgot or something

scared Brutus, and all went down together."

Archie had spoken fast and brokenly but Rose understood and at

the last word hid her face with a little moan, as if she saw it all.

"Drink this and never mind the rest," he said, dashing into the next

room and coming back with a glass of water, longing to be done

and away, for this sort of pain seemed almost as bad as that he had

left.

Rose drank, but held his arm tightly, as he would have turned

away, saying in a tone of command he could not disobey: "Don't

keep anything back tell me the worst at once."

"We knew nothing of it," he went on obediently. "Aunt Clara

thought he was with me, and no one found him till early this

morning. A workman recognized him and he was brought home,

dead they thought. I came for Uncle an hour ago. Charlie is

conscious now, but awfully hurt, and I'm afraid from the way Mac

and Uncle looked at one another that Oh! Think of it, Rose!

Crushed and helpless, alone in the rain all night, and I never knew,

I never knew!"

With that, poor Archie broke down entirely and, flinging himself

into a chair, laid his face on the table, sobbing like a girl. Rose had

never seen a man cry before, and it was so unlike a woman's

gentler grief that it moved her very much. Putting by her own

anguish, she tried to comfort his and, going to him, lifted up his

head and made him lean on her, for in such hours as this women

are the stronger. It was a very little to do, but it did comfort

Archie, for the poor fellow felt as if fate was very hard upon him

just then, and in this faithful bosom he could pour his brief but

pathetic plaint.

"Phebe's gone, and now if Charlie's taken, I don't see how I can

bear it!"

"Phebe will come back, dear, and let us hope poor Charlie isn't

going to be taken yet. Such things always seem worst at first, I've

heard people say, so cheer up and hope for the best," answered

Rose, seeking for some comfortable words to say and finding very

few.

They took effect, however, for Archie did cheer up like a man.

Wiping away the tears which he so seldom shed that they did not

know where to go, he got up, gave himself a little shake, and said

with a long breath, as if he had been underwater: "Now I'm all

right, thank you. I couldn't help it the shock of being waked

suddenly to find the dear old fellow in such a pitiful state upset

me. I ought to go are these ready?"

"In a minute. Tell Uncle to send for me if I can be of any use. Oh,

poor Aunt Clara! How does she bear it?"

"Almost distracted. I took Mother to her, and she will do all that

anybody can. Heaven only knows what Aunt will do if--"

"And only heaven can help her," added Rose as Archie stopped at

the words he could not utter. "Now take them, and let me know

often."

"You brave little soul, I will." And Archie went away through the

rain with his sad burden, wondering how Rose could be so calm

when the beloved Prince might be dying.

A long dark day followed, with nothing to break its melancholy

monotony except the bulletins that came from hour to hour

reporting little change either for better or for worse. Rose broke

the news gently to Aunt Plenty and set herself to the task of

keeping up the old lady's spirits, for, being helpless, the good soul

felt as if everything would go wrong without her. At dusk she fell

asleep, and Rose went down to order lights and fire in the parlor,

with tea ready to serve at any moment, for she felt sure some of the

men would come and that a cheerful greeting and creature

comforts would suit them better than tears, darkness, and

desolation.

Presently Mac arrived, saying the instant he entered the room:

"More comfortable, Cousin."

"Thank heaven!" cried Rose, unclasping her hands. Then seeing

how worn out, wet, and weary Mac looked as he came into the

light, she added in a tone that was a cordial in itself, "Poor boy,

how tired you are! Come here, and let me make you comfortable."

"I was going home to freshen up a bit, for I must be back in an

hour. Mother took my place, so I could be spared, and came off, as

Uncle refused to stir."

"Don't go home, for if Aunty isn't there it will be very dismal. Step

into Uncle's room and refresh, then come back and I'll give you

your tea. Let me, let me! I can't help in any other way, and I must

do something, this waiting is so dreadful."

Her last words betrayed how much suspense was trying her, and

Mac yielded at once, glad to comfort and be comforted. When he

came back, looking much revived, a tempting little tea table stood

before the fire and Rose went to meet him, saying with a faint

smile, as she liberally bedewed him with the contents of a cologne

flask: "I can't bear the smell of ether it suggests such dreadful

things."

"What curious creatures women are! Archie told us you bore the

news like a hero, and now you turn pale at a whiff of bad air. I

can't explain it," mused Mac as he meekly endured the fragrant

shower bath.

"Neither can I, but I've been imagining horrors all day and made

myself nervous. Don't let us talk about it, but come and have some

tea."

"That's another queer thing. Tea is your panacea for all human ills

yet there isn't any nourishment in it. I'd rather have a glass of milk,

thank you," said Mac, taking an easy chair and stretching his feet

to the fire.

She brought it to him and made him eat something; then, as he

shut his eyes wearily, she went away to the piano and, having no

heart to sing, played softly till he seemed asleep. But at the stroke

of six he was up and ready to be off again.

"He gave me that. Take it with you and put some on his hair. He

likes it, and I do so want to help a little," she said, slipping the

pretty flagon into his pocket with such a wistful look Mac never

thought of smiling at this very feminine request.

"I'll tell him. Is there anything else I can do for you, Cousin?" he

asked, holding the cold hand that had been serving him so

helpfully.

"Only this if there is any sudden change, promise to send for me,

no matter at what hour it is. I must say 'good-bye'".

"I will come for you. But, Rose, I am sure you may sleep in peace

tonight, and I hope to have good news for you in the morning."

"Bless you for that! Come early, and let me see him soon. I will be

very good, and I know it will not do him any harm."

"No fear of that. The first thing he said when he could speak was

'Tell Rose carefully,' and as I came away he guessed where I was

going and tried to kiss his hand in the old way, you know."

Mac thought it would cheer her to hear that Charlie remembered

her, but the sudden thought that she might never see the familiar

little gesture anymore was the last drop that made her full heart

overflow, and Mac saw the "hero" of the morning sink down at his

feet in a passion of tears that frightened him. He took her to the

sofa and tried to comfort her, but as soon as the bitter sobbing

quieted she looked up and said quite steadily, great drops rolling

down her cheeks the while: "Let me cry it is what I need, and I

shall be all the better for it by and by. Go to Charlie now and tell

him I said with all my heart, 'Good night!'?

"I will!" And Mac trudged away, marveling in his turn at the

curiously blended strength and weakness of womankind.

That was the longest night Rose ever spent, but joy came in the

morning with the early message: "He is better. You are to come by

and by." Then Aunt Plenty forgot her lumbago and arose; Aunt

Myra, who had come to have a social croak, took off her black

bonnet as if it would not be needed at present, and the girl made

ready to go and say "Welcome back," not the hard "Good-bye."

It seemed very long to wait, for no summons came till afternoon,

then her uncle arrived, and at the first sight of his face Rose began

to tremble.

"I came for my little girl myself, because we must go back at

once," he said as she hurried toward him hat in hand.

"I'm ready, sir." But her hands shook as she tried to tie the ribbons,

and her eyes never left the face that was full of tender pity for her.

He took her quickly into the carriage and, as they rolled away, said

with the quiet directness which soothes such agitation better than

any sympathetic demonstration: "Charlie is worse. I feared it when

the pain went so suddenly this morning, but the chief injuries are

internal and one can never tell what the chances are. He insists that

he is better, but he will soon begin to fail, I fear, become

unconscious, and slip away without more suffering. This is the

time for you to see him, for he has set his heart on it, and nothing

can hurt him now. My child, it is very hard, but we must help each

other bear it."

Rose tried to say, "Yes, Uncle" bravely, but the words would not

come, and she could only slip her hand into his with a look of

mute submission. He laid her head on his shoulder and went on

talking so quietly that anyone who did not see how worn and

haggard his face had grown with two days and a night of sharp

anxiety might have thought him cold.

"Jessie has gone home to rest, and Jane is with poor Clara, who

has dropped asleep at last. I've sent for Steve and the other boys.

There will be time for them later, but he so begged to see you now,

I thought it best to come while this temporary strength keeps him

up. I have told him how it is, but he will not believe me. If he asks

you, answer honestly and try to fit him a little for this sudden

ending of so many hopes."

"How soon, Uncle?"

"A few hours, probably. This tranquil moment is yours make the

most of it and, when we can do no more for him, we'll comfort one

another."

Mac met them in the hall, but Rose hardly saw him. She was

conscious only of the task before her and, when her uncle led her

to the door, she said quietly, "Let me go in alone, please."

Archie, who had been hanging over the bed, slipped away into the

inner room as she appeared, and Rose found Charlie waiting for

her with such a happy face, she could not believe what she had

heard and found it easy to say almost cheerfully as she took his

eager hand in both of hers: "Dear Charlie, I'm so glad you sent for

me. I longed to come, but waited till you were better. You surely

are?" she added, as a second glance showed to her the

indescribable change which had come upon the face which at first

seemed to have both light and color in it.

"Uncle says not, but I think he is mistaken, because the agony is all

gone, and except for this odd sinking now and then, I don't feel so

much amiss," he answered feebly but with something of the old

lightness in his voice.

"You will hardly be able to sail in the Rajah, I fear, but you won't

mind waiting a little while we nurse you," said poor Rose, trying to

talk on quietly, with her heart growing heavier every minute.

"I shall go if I'm carried! I'll keep that promise, though it costs me

my life. Oh, Rose! You know? They've told you?" And, with a

sudden memory of what brought him there, he hid his face in the

pillow.

"You broke no promise, for I would not let you make one, you

remember. Forget all that, and let us talk about the better time that

may be coming for you."

"Always so generous, so kind!" he murmured, with her hand

against his feverish cheek; then, looking up, he went on in a tone

so humbly contrite it made her eyes fill with slow, hot tears.

"I tried to flee temptation I tried to say 'no,' but I am so pitiably

weak, I couldn't. You must despise me. But don't give me up

entirely, for if I live, I'll do better. I'll go away to Father and begin

again."

Rose tried to keep back the bitter drops, but they would fall, to

hear him still speak hopefully when there was no hope. Something

in the mute anguish of her face seemed to tell him what she could

not speak, and a quick change came over him as he grasped her

hand tighter, saying in a sharp whisper: "Have I really got to die,

Rose?"

Her only answer was to kneel down and put her arms about him, as

if she tried to keep death away a little longer. He believed it then,

and lay so still, she looked up in a moment, fearing she knew not

what.

But Charlie bore it manfully, for he had the courage which can

face a great danger bravely, though not the strength to fight a

bosom sin and conquer it. His eyes were fixed, as if trying to look

into the unseen world whither he was going, and his lips firmly set

that no word of complaint should spoil the proof he meant to give

that, though he had not known how to live, he did know how to

die. It seemed to Rose as if for one brief instant she saw the man

that might have been if early training had taught him how to rule

himself; and the first words he uttered with a long sigh, as his eye

came back to her, showed that he felt the failure and owned it with

pathetic candor.

"Better so, perhaps; better go before I bring any more sorrow to

you and shame to myself. I'd like to stay a little longer and try to

redeem the past; it seems so wasted now, but if I can't, don't grieve,

Rose. I'm no loss to anyone, and perhaps it is too late to mend."

"Oh, don't say that! No one will find your place among us we never

can forget how much we loved you, and you must believe how

freely we forgive as we would be forgiven," cried Rose, steadied

by the pale despair that had fallen on Charlie's face with those

bitter words.

"'Forgive us our trespasses!' Yes, I should say that. Rose, I'm not

ready, it is so sudden. What can I do?" he whispered, clinging to

her as if he had no anchor except the creature whom he loved so

much.

"Uncle will tell you I am not good enough I can only pray for you."

And she moved as if to call in the help so sorely needed.

"No, no, not yet! Stay by me, darling read something there, in

Grandfather's old book, some prayer for such as I. It will do me

more good from you than any minister alive."

She got the venerable book given to Charlie because he bore the

good man's name and, turning to the "Prayer for the Dying," read it

brokenly while the voice beside her echoed now and then some

word that reproved or comforted.

"The testimony of a good conscience." "By the sadness of his

countenance may his heart be made better." "Christian patience

and fortitude." "Leave the world in peace." "Amen."

There was silence for a little; then Rose, seeing how wan he

looked, said softly, "Shall I call Uncle now?"

"If you will. But first don't smile at my foolishness, dear I want my

little heart. They took it off please give it back and let me keep it

always," he answered with the old fondness strong as ever, even

when he could show it only by holding fast the childish trinket

which she found and had given him the old agate heart with the

faded ribbon. "Put it on, and never let them take it off," he said,

and when she asked if there was anything else she could do for

him, he tried to stretch out his arms to her with a look which asked

for more.

She kissed him very tenderly on lips and forehead, tried to say

"good-bye," but could not speak, and groped her way to the door.

Turning for a last look, Charlie's hopeful spirit rose for a moment,

as if anxious to send her away more cheerful, and he said with a

shadow of the old blithe smile, a feeble attempt at the familiar

farewell gesture: "Till tomorrow, Rose."

Alas for Charlie! His tomorrow never came, and when she saw

him next, he lay there looking so serene and noble, it seemed as if

it must be well with him, for all the pain was past; temptation

ended; doubt and fear, hope and love, could no more stir his quiet

heart, and in solemn truth he had gone to meet his Father, and

begin again.

Chapter 16 GOOD WORKS

The Rajah was delayed awhile, and when it sailed poor Mrs. Clara

was on board, for everything was ready. All thought she had better

go to comfort her husband, and since her boy died she seemed to

care very little what became of her. So, with friends to cheer the

long voyage, she sailed away, a heavyhearted woman, yet not quite

disconsolate, for she knew her mourning was excessively

becoming and felt sure that Stephen would not find her altered by

her trials as much as might have been expected.

Then nothing was left of that gay household but the empty rooms,

silence never broken by a blithe voice anymore, and pictures full

of promise, but all unfinished, like poor Charlie's life.

There was much mourning for the bonny Prince, but no need to tell

of it except as it affected Rose, for it is with her we have most to

do, the other characters being of secondary importance.

When time had soothed the first shock of sudden loss, she was

surprised to find the memory of his faults and failings, short life

and piteous death, grew dim, as if a kindly hand had wiped out the

record and given him back to her in the likeness of the brave,

bright boy she had loved, not as the wayward, passionate young

man who had loved her.

This comforted her very much, and folding down the last blotted

leaf where his name was written, she gladly turned back to reopen

and reread the happier chapters which painted the youthful knight

before he went out to fall in his first battle. None of the bitterness

of love bereaved marred this memory for Rose, because she found

that the warmer sentiment, just budding in her heart, had died with

Charlie and lay cold and quiet in his grave. She wondered, yet was

glad, though sometimes a remorseful pang smote her when she

discovered how possible it was to go on without him, feeling

almost as if a burden had been lifted off, since his happiness was

taken out of her hands. The time had not yet come when the

knowledge that a man's heart was in her keeping would make the

pride and joy of her life, and while she waited for that moment she

enjoyed the liberty she seemed to have recovered.

Such being her inward state, it much annoyed her to be regarded as

a brokenhearted girl and pitied for the loss of her young lover. She

could not explain to all the world, so let it pass, and occupied her

mind with the good works which always lie ready to be taken up

and carried on. Having chosen philanthropy as her profession, she

felt that it was high time to begin the task too long neglected.

Her projects were excellent, but did not prosper as rapidly as she

hoped, for, having to deal with people, not things, unexpected

obstacles were constantly arising. The "Home for Decayed

Gentlewomen," as the boys insisted on calling her two newly

repaired houses, started finely and it was a pleasant sight to see the

comfortable rooms filled with respectable women busy at their

various tasks, surrounded by the decencies and many of the

comforts which make life endurable. But, presently, Rose was

disturbed to find that the good people expected her to take care of

them in a way she had not bargained for. Buffum, her agent, was

constantly reporting complaints, new wants, and general discontent

if they were not attended to. Things were very neglected, water

pipes froze and burst, drains got out of order, yards were in a mess,

and rents behind-hand. Worst of all, outsiders, instead of

sympathizing, only laughed and said, "We told you so," which is a

most discouraging remark to older and wiser workers than Rose.

Uncle Alec, however, stood by her staunchly and helped her out of

many of her woes by good advice and an occasional visit of

inspection, which did much to impress upon the dwellers there the

fact that, if they did not do their part, their leases would be short

ones.

"I didn't expect to make anything out of it, but I did think they

would be grateful," said Rose on one occasion when several

complaints had come in at once and Buffum had reported great

difficulty in collecting the low rents.

"If you do this thing for the sake of the gratitude, then it is a failure

but if it is done for the love of helping those who need help, it is a

success, for in spite of their worry every one of these women feel

what privileges they enjoy and value them highly," said Dr. Alec as

they went home after one of these unsatisfactory calls.

"Then the least they can do is to say 'thank you.' I'm afraid I have

thought more of the gratitude than the work, but if there isn't any, I

must make up my mind to go without," answered Rose, feeling

defrauded of her due.

"Favors often separate instead of attracting people nearer to one

another, and I've seen many a friendship spoilt by the obligation

being all on one side. Can't explain it, but it is so, and I've come to

the conclusion that it is as hard to give in the right spirit as it is to

receive. Puzzle it out, my dear, while you are learning to do good

for its own sake."

"I know one sort of people who are grateful and I'm going to

devote my mind to them. They thank me in many ways, and

helping them is all pleasure and no worry. Come into the hospital

and see the dear babies, or the Asylum, and carry oranges to

Phebe's orphans they don't complain and fidget one's life out, bless

their hearts!" cried Rose, cheering up suddenly.

After that she left Buffum to manage the "Retreat," and devoted

her energies to the little folks, always so ready to receive the

smallest gift and repay the giver with their artless thanks. Here she

found plenty to do, and did it with such sweet goodwill that she

won her way like sunshine, making many a little heart dance over

splendid dolls, gay picture books, and pots of flowers, as well as

food, fire, and clothes for the small bodies pinched with want and

pain.

As spring came new plans sprang up as naturally as dandelions.

The poor children longed for the country; and, as the green fields

could not come to them, Rose carried them to the green fields.

Down on the Point stood an old farmhouse, often used by the

Campbell tribe for summer holidays. That spring it was set to

rights unusually early, several women installed as housekeeper,

cook, and nurses, and when the May days grew bright and warm,

squads of pale children came to toddle in the grass, run over the

rocks, and play upon the smooth sands of the beach. A pretty sight,

and one that well repaid those who brought it to pass.

Everyone took an interest in the "Rose Garden," as Mac named it,

and the womenfolk were continually driving over to the Point for

something for the "poor dears." Aunt Plenty sowed gingerbread

broadcast; Aunt Jessie made pinafores by the dozen while Aunt

Jane "kept her eye" on the nurses, and Aunt Myra supplied

medicines so liberally that the mortality would have been awful if

Dr. Alec had not taken them in charge. To him this was the most

delightful spot in the world and well it might be, for he suggested

the idea and gave Rose all the credit of it. He was often there, and

his appearance was always greeted with shrieks of rapture, as the

children gathered from all quarters creeping, running, hopping on

crutches, or carried in arms which they gladly left to sit on "Uncle

Doctor's" knee, for that was the title by which he went among

them.

He seemed as young as any of his comrades, though the curly head

was getting gray, and the frolics that went on when he arrived were

better than any medicine to children who had never learned to

play. It was a standing joke among the friends that the bachelor

brother had the largest family and was the most domestic man of

the remaining four, though Uncle Mac did his part manfully and

kept Aunt Jane in a constant fidget by his rash propositions to

adopt the heartiest boys and prettiest girls to amuse him and

employ her.

On one occasion Aunt Jane had a very narrow escape, and the

culprit being her son, not her husband, she felt free to repay herself

for many scares of this sort by a good scolding, which, unlike

many, produced excellent results.

One bright June day, as Rose came cantering home from the Point

on her pretty bay pony, she saw a man sitting on a fallen tree

beside the road and something in his despondent attitude arrested

her attention. As she drew nearer he turned his head, and she

stopped short, exclaiming in great surprise: "Why, Mac! What are

you doing here?"

"Trying to solve a problem," he answered, looking up with a

whimsical expression of perplexity and amusement in his face

which made Rose smile till his next words turned her sober in a

twinkling: "I've eloped with a young lady, and don't know what to

do with her. I took her home, of course, but mother turned her out

of the house, and I'm in a quandary."

"Is that her baggage?" asked Rose, pointing with her whip to the

large bundle which he held while the wild idea flashed through her

head that perhaps he really had done some rash deed of this sort.

"No, this is the young lady herself." And, opening a corner of the

brown shawl, he displayed a child of three so pale, so thin and tiny

that she looked like a small scared bird just fallen from the nest as

she shrank away from the light with great frightened eyes and a

hand like a little claw tightly clutched a button of Mac's coat.

"Poor baby! Where did it come from?" cried Rose, leaning down to

look.

"I'll tell you the story, and then you shall advise me what to do. At

our hospital we've had a poor woman who got hurt and died two

days ago. I had nothing to do with her, only took her a bit of fruit

once or twice, for she had big, wistful sort of eyes that haunted me.

The day she died I stopped a minute, and the nurse said she'd been

wanting to speak to me but didn't dare. So I asked if I could do

anything for her and, though she could hardly breathe for pain

being almost gone she implored me to take care of baby. I found

out where the child was, and promised I'd see after her for the poor

soul couldn't seem to die till I'd given her that comfort. I never can

forget the look in her eyes as I held her hand and said, 'Baby shall

be taken care of.' She tried to thank me, and died soon after quite

peacefully. Well, I went today and hunted up the poor little wretch.

Found her in a miserable place, left in the care of an old hag who

had shut her up alone to keep her out of the way, and there this

mite was, huddled in a corner, crying 'Marmar, marmar!' fit to

touch a heart of stone. I blew up at the woman and took the baby

straightaway, for she had been abused. It was high time. Look

there, will you?"

Mac turned the little skinny arm and showed a blue mark which

made Rose drop her reins and stretch out both hands, crying with a

tender sort of indignation: "How dared they do it? Give her to me,

poor little motherless thing!"

Mac laid the bundle in her arms, and Rose began to cuddle it in the

fond, foolish way women have a most comfortable and effective

way, nevertheless and baby evidently felt that things were

changing for the better when warm lips touched her cheeks, a soft

hand smoothed her tumbled hair, and a womanly face bent over

her with the inarticulate cooings and purrings mothers make. The

frightened eyes went up to this gentle countenance and rested there

as if reassured; the little claw crept to the girl's neck, and poor

baby nestled to her with a long sigh and a plaintive murmur of

"Marmar, marmar" that certainly would have touched a stony

heart.

"Now, go on. No, Rosa, not you," said the new nurse as the

intelligent animal looked around to see if things were all right

before she proceeded.

"I took the child home to mother, not knowing what else to do, but

she wouldn't have it at any price, even for a night. She doesn't like

children, you know, and Father has joked so much about 'the

Pointers' that she is quite rampant at the mere idea of a child in the

house. She told me to take it to the Rose Garden. I said it was

running over now, and no room even for a mite like this. 'Go to the

Hospital,' says she. 'Baby isn't ill, ma'am,' says I. 'Orphan Asylum,'

says she. 'Not an orphan got a father who can't take care of her,'

says I. 'Take her to the Foundling place, or Mrs. Gardener, or

someone whose business it is. I will not have the creature here,

sick and dirty and noisy. Carry it back, and ask Rose to tell you

what to do with it.' So my cruel parent cast me forth but relented as

I shouldered baby, gave me a shawl to put her in, a jumble to feed

her with, and money to pay her board in some good place.

Mother's bark is always worse than her bite, you know."

"And you were trying to think of the 'good place' as you sat here?"

asked Rose, looking down at him with great approval as he stood

patting Rosa's glossy neck.

"Exactly. I didn't want to trouble you, for you have your house full

already, and I really couldn't lay my hand on any good soul who

would be bothered with this little forlornity. She has nothing to

recommend her, you see not pretty; feeble; shy as a mouse; no end

of care, I daresay yet she needs every bit she can get to keep soul

and body together, if I'm any judge."

Rose opened her lips impulsively, but closed them without

speaking and sat a minute looking straight between Rosa's ears, as

if forcing herself to think twice before she spoke. Mac watched her

out of the corner of his eyes as he said, in a musing tone, tucking

the shawl around a pair of shabby little feet the while, "This seems

to be one of the charities that no one wants to undertake, yet I can't

help feeling that my promise to the mother binds me to something

more than merely handing baby over to some busy matron or

careless nurse in any of our overcrowded institutions. She is such a

frail creature she won't trouble anyone long, perhaps, and I should

like to give her just a taste of comfort, if not love, before she finds

her 'Marmar' again."

"Lead Rosa I'm going to take this child home, and if Uncle is

willing, I'll adopt her, and she shall be happy!" cried Rose, with the

sudden glow of feeling that always made her lovely. And gathering

poor baby close, she went on her way like a modern Britomart,

ready to redress the wrongs of any who had need of her.

As he led the slowly stepping horse along the quiet road, Mac

could not help thinking that they looked a little like the Flight into

Egypt, but he did not say so, being a reverent youth only glanced

back now and then at the figure above him, for Rose had taken off

her hat to keep the light from baby's eyes and sat with the sunshine

turning her uncovered hair to gold as she looked down at the little

creature resting on the saddle before her with the sweet

thoughtfulness one sees in some of Correggio's young Madonnas.

No one else saw the picture, but Mac long remembered it, and ever

after there was a touch of reverence added to the warm affection

he had always borne his cousin Rose.

"What is the child's name?" was the sudden question which

disturbed a brief silence, broken only by the sound of pacing hoofs,

the rustle of green boughs overhead, and the blithe caroling of

birds.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Mac, suddenly aware that he had

fallen out of one quandary into another.

"Didn't you ask?"

"No, the mother called her 'Baby,' and the old woman, 'Brat.' And

that is all I know of the first name the last is Kennedy. You may

christen her what you like."

"Then I shall name her Dulcinea, as you are her knight, and call

her Dulce for short. That is a sweet diminutive, I'm sure," laughed

Rose, much amused at the idea.

Don Quixote looked pleased and vowed to defend his little lady

stoutly, beginning his services on the spot by filling the small

hands with buttercups, thereby winning for himself the first smile

baby's face had known for weeks.

When they got home Aunt Plenty received her new guest with her

accustomed hospitality and, on learning the story, was as warmly

interested as even enthusiastic Rose could desire, bustling about to

make the child comfortable with an energy pleasant to see, for the

grandmotherly instincts were strong in the old lady and of late had

been beautifully developed.

In less than half an hour from the time baby went upstairs, she

came down again on Rose's arm, freshly washed and brushed, in a

pink gown much too large and a white apron decidedly too small;

an immaculate pair of socks, but no shoes; a neat bandage on the

bruised arm, and a string of spools for a plaything hanging on the

other. A resigned expression sat upon her little face, but the

frightened eyes were only shy now, and the forlorn heart evidently

much comforted.

"There! How do you like your Dulce now?" said Rose, proudly

displaying the work of her hands as she came in with her habit

pinned up and carrying a silver porringer of bread and milk.

Mac knelt down, took the small, reluctant hand, and kissed it as

devoutly as ever good Alonzo Quixada did that of the Duchess

while he said, merrily quoting from the immortal story: "'High and

Sovereign Lady, thine till death, the Knight of the Rueful

Countenance.'"

But baby had no heart for play and, withdrawing her hand, pointed

to the porringer with the suggestive remark: "Din-din, now."

So Rose sat down and fed the Duchess while the Don stood by and

watched the feast with much satisfaction.

"How nice she looks! Do you consider shoes unhealthy?" he asked,

surveying the socks with respectful interest.

"No, her shoes are drying. You must have let her go in the mud."

"I only put her down for a minute when she howled, and she made

for a puddle, like a duck. I'll buy her some new ones clothes too.

Where do I go, what do I ask for, and how much do I get?" he said,

diving for his pocketbook, amiably anxious but pitiably ignorant.

"I'll see to that. We always have things on hand for the Pointers as

they come along and can soon fit Dulce out. You may make some

inquiries about the father if you will, for I don't want to have her

taken away just as I get fond of her. Do you know anything about

him?"

"Only that he is in State Prison for twenty-one years, and not likely

to trouble you."

"How dreadful! I really think Phebe was better off to have none at

all. I'll go to work at once, then, and try to bring up the convict's

little daughter to be a good woman so that she will have an honest

name of her own, since he has nothing but disgrace to give her."

"Uncle can show you how to do that if you need any help. He has

been so successful in his first attempt, I fancy you won't require

much," said Mac, picking up the spools for the sixth time.

"Yes, I shall, for it is a great responsibility, and I do not undertake

it lightly," answered Rose soberly, though the double-barreled

compliment pleased her very much.

"I'm sure Phebe has turned out splendidly, and you began very

early with her."

"So I did! That's encouraging. Dear thing, how bewildered she

looked when I proposed adopting her. I remember all about it, for

Uncle had just come and I was quite crazy over a box of presents

and rushed at Phebe as she was cleaning brasses. How little I

thought my childish offer would end so well!" And Rose fell

a-musing with a happy smile on her face while baby picked the last

morsels out of the porringer with her own busy fingers.

It certainly had ended well, for Phebe at the end of six months not

only had a good place as choir singer but several young pupils and

excellent prospects for the next winter.

"Accept the blessing of a poor young man,

Whose lucky steps have led him to your door,

and let me help as much as I can.

Good-bye, my Dulcinea."

And, with a farewell stroke of the smooth head, Mac went away to

report his success to his mother, who, in spite of her seeming

harshness, was already planning how she could best befriend this

inconvenient baby.

Chapter 17 AMONG THE HAYCOCKS

Uncle Alec did not object and, finding that no one had any claim

upon the child, permitted Rose to keep it for a time at least. So

little Dulce, newly equipped even to a name, took her place among

them and slowly began to thrive. But she did not grow pretty and

never was a gay, attractive child, for she seemed to have been born

in sorrow and brought up in misery. A pale, pensive little creature,

always creeping into corners and looking timidly out, as if asking

leave to live, and, when offered playthings, taking them with a

meek surprise that was very touching.

Rose soon won her heart, and then almost wished she had not, for

baby clung to her with inconvenient fondness, changing her former

wail of "Marmar" into a lament for "Aunty Wose" if separated

long. Nevertheless, there was great satisfaction in cherishing the

little waif, for she learned more than she could teach and felt a

sense of responsibility which was excellent ballast for her

enthusiastic nature.

Kitty Van, who made Rose her model in all things, was

immediately inspired to go and do likewise, to the great

amusement as well as annoyance of her family. Selecting the

prettiest, liveliest child in the Asylum, she took it home on trial for

a week. "A perfect cherub" she pronounced it the first day, but an

"enfant terrible" before the week was over, for the young hero

rioted by day, howled by night, ravaged the house from top to

bottom, and kept his guardians in a series of panics by his

hairbreadth escapes. So early on Saturday, poor exhausted Kitty

restored the "cherub" with many thanks, and decided to wait until

her views of education were rather more advanced.

As the warm weather came on, Rose announced that Dulce needed

mountain air, for she dutifully repeated as many of Dr. Alec's

prescriptions as possible and, remembering how much good Cozy

Corner did her long ago, resolved to try it on her baby. Aunt Jessie

and Jamie went with her, and Mother Atkinson received them as

cordially as ever. The pretty daughters were all married and gone,

but a stout damsel took their place, and nothing seemed changed

except that the old heads were grayer and the young ones a good

deal taller than six years ago.

Jamie immediately fraternized with neighboring boys and devoted

himself to fishing with an ardor which deserved greater success.

Aunt Jessie reveled in reading, for which she had no time at home,

and lay in her hammock a happy woman, with no socks to darn,

buttons to sew, or housekeeping cares to vex her soul.

Rose went about with Dulce like a very devoted hen with one

rather feeble chicken, for she was anxious to have this treatment

work well and tended her little patient with daily increasing

satisfaction. Dr. Alec came up to pass a few days and pronounced

the child in a most promising condition. But the grand event of the

season was the unexpected arrival of Phebe.

Two of her pupils had invited her to join them in a trip to the

mountains, and she ran away from the great hotel to surprise her

little mistress with a sight of her, so well and happy that Rose had

no anxiety left on her account.

Three delightful days they spent, roaming about together, talking

as only girls can talk after a long separation, and enjoying one

another like a pair of lovers. As if to make it quite perfect, by one

of those remarkable coincidences which sometimes occur, Archie

happened to run up for the Sunday, so Phebe had her surprise, and

Aunt Jessie and the telegraph kept their secret so well, no one ever

knew what maternal machinations brought the happy accident to

pass.

Then Rose saw a very pretty, pastoral bit of lovemaking, and long

after it was over, and Phebe gone one way, Archie another, the

echo of sweet words seemed to linger in the air, tender ghosts to

haunt the pine grove, and even the big coffeepot had a halo of

romance about it, for its burnished sides reflected the soft glances

the lovers interchanged as one filled the other's cup at that last

breakfast.

Rose found these reminiscences more interesting than any novel

she had read, and often beguiled her long leisure by planning a

splendid future for her Phebe as she trotted about after her baby in

the lovely July weather.

On one of the most perfect days she sat under an old apple tree on

the slope behind the house where they used to play. Before her

opened the wide intervale, dotted with haymakers at their

picturesque work. On the left flowed the swift river fringed with

graceful elms in their bravest greenery; on the right rose the purple

hills serene and grand; and overhead glowed the midsummer sky,

which glorified it all.

Little Dulce, tired of play, lay fast asleep in the nest she had made

in one of the haycocks close by, and Rose leaned against the

gnarled old tree, dreaming daydreams with her work at her feet.

Happy and absorbing fancies they seemed to be, for her face was

beautifully tranquil, and she took no heed of the train which

suddenly went speeding down the valley, leaving a white cloud

behind. Its rumble concealed the sound of approaching steps, and

her eyes never turned from the distant hills till the abrupt

appearance of a very sunburned but smiling young man made her

jump up, exclaiming joyfully: "Why, Mac! Where did you drop

from?"

"The top of Mount Washington. How do you do?"

"Never better. Won't you go in? You must be tired after such a

fall."

"No, thank you. I've seen the old lady. She told me Aunt Jessie and

the boy had gone to town and that you were 'settin' round' in the

old place. I came on at once and will take a lounge here if you

don't mind," answered Mac, unstrapping his knapsack and taking a

haycock as if it were a chair.

Rose subsided into her former seat, surveying her cousin with

much satisfaction as she said: "This is the third surprise I've had

since I came. Uncle popped in upon us first, then Phebe, and now

you. Have you had a pleasant tramp? Uncle said you were off."

"Delightful! I feel as if I'd been in heaven, or near it, for about

three weeks, and thought I'd break the shock of coming down to

the earth by calling here on my way home."

"You look as if heaven suited you. Brown as a berry, but so fresh

and happy I should never guess you had been scrambling down a

mountain," said Rose, trying to discover why he looked so well in

spite of the blue flannel suit and dusty shoes, for there was a

certain sylvan freshness about him as he sat there full of reposeful

strength the hills seemed to have given, the wholesome cheerful

days of air and sunshine put into a man, and the clear, bright look

of one who had caught glimpses of a new world from the

mountaintop.

"Tramping agrees with me. I took a dip in the river as I came along

and made my toilet in a place where Milton's Sabrina might have

lived," he said, shaking back his damp hair and settling the knot of

scarlet bunchberries stuck in his buttonhole.

"You look as if you found the nymph at home," said Rose,

knowing how much he liked the "Comus."

"I found her here," and he made a little bow.

"That's very pretty, and I'll give you one in return. You grow more

like Uncle Alec every day, and I think I'll call you Alec, Jr."

"Alexander the Great wouldn't thank you for that," and Mac did

not look as grateful as she had expected.

"Very like, indeed, except the forehead. His is broad and

benevolent, yours high and arched. Do you know if you had no

beard, and wore your hair long, I really think you'd look like

Milton," added Rose, sure that would please him.

It certainly did amuse him, for he lay back on the hay and laughed

so heartily that his merriment scared the squirrel on the wall and

woke Dulce.

"You ungrateful boy! Will nothing suit you? When I say you look

like the best man I know, you gave a shrug, and when I liken you

to a great poet, you shout. I'm afraid you are very conceited, Mac."

And Rose laughed, too, glad to see him so gay.

"If I am, it is your fault. Nothing I can do will ever make a Milton

of me, unless I go blind someday," he said, sobering at the thought.

"You once said a man could be what he liked if he tried hard

enough, so why shouldn't you be a poet?" asked Rose, liking to trip

him up with his own words, as he often did her.

"I thought I was to be an M.D."

"You might be both. There have been poetical doctors, you know."

"Would you like me to be such a one?" asked Mac, looking at her

as seriously as if he really thought of trying it.

"No. I'd rather have you one or the other. I don't care which, only

you must be famous in either you choose. I'm very ambitious for

you, because, I insist upon it, you are a genius of some sort. I think

it is beginning to simmer already, and I've got a great curiosity to

know what it will turn out to be."

Mac's eyes shone as she said that, but before he could speak a little

voice said, "Aunty Wose!" and he turned to find Dulce sitting up in

her nest staring at the broad blue back before her with round eyes.

"Do you know your Don?" he asked, offering his hand with

respectful gentleness, for she seemed a little doubtful whether he

was a friend or stranger.

"It is 'Mat,'" said Rose, and that familiar word seemed to reassure

the child at once, for, leaning forward, she kissed him as if quite

used to doing it.

"I picked up some toys for her, by the way, and she shall have

them at once to pay for that. I didn't expect to be so graciously

received by this shy mouse," said Mac, much gratified, for Dulce

was very chary of her favors.

"She knew you, for I always carry my home album with me, and

when she comes to your picture she always kisses it, because I

never want her to forget her first friend," explained Rose, pleased

with her pupil.

"First, but not best," answered Mac, rummaging in his knapsack

for the promised toys, which he set forth upon the hay before

delighted Dulce.

Neither picture books nor sweeties, but berries strung on long

stems of grass, acorns, and pretty cones, bits of rock shining with

mica, several bluebirds' feathers, and a nest of moss with white

pebbles for eggs.

"Dearest Nature, strong and kind" knows what children love, and

has plenty of such playthings ready for them all, if one only knows

how to find them. These were received with rapture. And leaving

the little creature to enjoy them in her own quiet way, Mac began

to tumble the things back into his knapsack again. Two or three

books lay near Rose, and she took up one which opened at a place

marked by a scribbled paper.

"Keats? I didn't know you condescended to read anything so

modern," she said, moving the paper to see the page beneath.

Mac looked up, snatched the book out of her hand, and shook

down several more scraps, then returned it with a curiously

shamefaced expression, saying, as he crammed the papers into his

pocket, "I beg pardon, but it was full of rubbish. Oh, yes! I'm fond

of Keats. Don't you know him?"

"I used to read him a good deal, but Uncle found me crying over

the 'Pot of Basil' and advised me to read less poetry for a while or I

should get too sentimental," answered Rose, turning the pages

without seeing them, for a new idea had just popped into her head.

"'The Eve of St. Agnes' is the most perfect love story in the world,

I think," said Mac, enthusiastically.

"Read it to me. I feel just like hearing poetry, and you will do it

justice if you are fond of it," said Rose, handing him the book with

an innocent air.

"Nothing I'd like better, but it is rather long."

"I'll tell you to stop if I get tired. Baby won't interrupt; she will be

contented for an hour with those pretty things."

As if well pleased with his task, Mac laid himself comfortably on

the grass and, leaning his head on his hand, read the lovely story as

only one could who entered fully into the spirit of it. Rose watched

him closely and saw how his face brightened over some quaint

fancy, delicate description, or delicious word; heard how smoothly

the melodious measures fell from his lips, and read something

more than admiration in his eyes as he looked up now and then to

mark if she enjoyed it as much as he.

She could not help enjoying it, for the poet's pen painted as well as

wrote, and the little romance lived before her, but she was not

thinking of John Keats as she listened; she was wondering if this

cousin was a kindred spirit, born to make such music and leave as

sweet an echo behind him. It seemed as if it might be; and, after

going through the rough caterpillar and the pent-up chrysalis

changes, the beautiful butterfly would appear to astonish and

delight them all. So full of this fancy was she that she never

thanked him when the story ended but, leaning forward, asked in a

tone that made him start and look as if he had fallen from the

clouds: "Mac, do you ever write poetry?"

"Never."

"What do you call the song Phebe sang with her bird chorus?"

"That was nothing till she put the music to it. But she promised not

to tell."

"She didn't. I suspected, and now I know," laughed Rose, delighted

to have caught him.

Much discomfited, Mac gave poor Keats a fling and, leaning on

both elbows, tried to hide his face for it had reddened like that of a

modest girl when teased about her lover.

"You needn't look so guilty; it is no sin to write poetry," said Rose,

amused at his confession.

"It's a sin to call that rubbish poetry," muttered Mac with great

scorn.

"It is a greater sin to tell a fib and say you never write it."

"Reading so much sets one thinking about such things, and every

fellow scribbles a little jingle when he is lazy or in love, you

know," explained Mac, looking very guilty.

Rose could not quite understand the change she saw in him till his

last words suggested a cause which she knew by experience was

apt to inspire young men. Leaning forward again, she asked

solemnly, though her eyes danced with fun, "Mac, are you in

love?"

"Do I look like it?" And he sat up with such an injured and

indignant face that she apologized at once, for he certainly did not

look loverlike with hayseed in his hair, several lively crickets

playing leapfrog over his back, and a pair of long legs stretching

from tree to haycock.

"No, you don't, and I humbly beg your pardon for making such an

unwarrantable insinuation. It merely occurred to me that the

general upliftedness I observe in you might be owing to that, since

it wasn't poetry."

"It is the good company I've been keeping, if anything. A fellow

can't spend 'A Week' with Thoreau and not be the better for it. I'm

glad I show it, because in the scramble life is to most of us, even

an hour with such a sane, simple, and sagacious soul as his must

help one," said Mac, taking a much worn book out of his pocket

with the air of introducing a dear and honored friend.

"I've read bits, and like them they are so original and fresh and

sometimes droll," said Rose, smiling to see what natural and

appropriate marks of approbation the elements seemed to set upon

the pages Mac was turning eagerly, for one had evidently been

rained on, a crushed berry stained another, some appreciative

field-mouse or squirrel had nibbled one corner, and the cover was

faded with the sunshine, which seemed to have filtered through to

the thoughts within.

"Here's a characteristic bit for you: 'I would rather sit on a

pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet

cushion. I would rather ride on earth in an oxcart, with free

circulation, than go to heaven in the fancy car of an excursion

train, and breathe malaria all the way.'

"I've tried both and quite agree with him," laughed Mac, and

skimming down another page, gave her a paragraph here and there.

"'Read the best books first, or you may not have a chance to read

them at all.'

"'We do not learn much from learned books, but from sincere

human books: frank, honest biographies.'

"'At least let us have healthy books. Let the poet be as vigorous as

the sugar maple, with sap enough to maintain his own verdure,

besides what runs into the trough; and not like a vine which, being

cut in the spring, bears no fruit, but bleeds to death in the endeavor

to heal its wounds.'"

"That will do for you," said Rose, still thinking of the new

suspicion which pleased her by its very improbability.

Mac flashed a quick look at her and shut the book, saying quietly,

although his eyes shone, and a conscious smile lurked about his

mouth: "We shall see, and no one need meddle, for, as my Thoreau

says,

"Whate'er we leave to God, God does

And blesses us: The work we choose should be our own

God lets alone."

Rose sat silent, as if conscious that she deserved his poetical

reproof.

"Come, you have catechized me pretty well; now I'll take my turn

and ask you why you look 'uplifted,' as you call it. What have you

been doing to make yourself more like your namesake than ever?"

asked Mac, carrying war into the enemy's camp with the sudden

question.

"Nothing but live, and enjoy doing it. I actually sit here, day after

day, as happy and contented with little things as Dulce is and feel

as if I wasn't much older than she," answered the girl, feeling as if

some change was going on in that pleasant sort of pause but unable

to describe it.

"As if a rose should shut and be a bud again," murmured Mac,

borrowing from his beloved Keats.

"Ah, but I can't do that! I must go on blooming whether I like it or

not, and the only trouble I have is to know what leaf I ought to

unfold next," said Rose, playfully smoothing out the white gown,

in which she looked very like a daisy among the green.

"How far have you got?" asked Mac, continuing his catechism as if

the fancy suited him.

"Let me see. Since I came home last year, I've been gay, then sad,

then busy, and now I am simply happy. I don't know why, but seem

to be waiting for what is to come next and getting ready for it,

perhaps unconsciously," she said, looking dreamily away to the

hills again, is if the new experience was coming to her from afar.

Mac watched her thoughtfully for a minute, wondering how many

more leaves must unfold before the golden heart of this human

flower would lie open to the sun. He felt a curious desire to help in

some way, and could think of none better than to offer her what he

had found most helpful to himself. Picking up another book, he

opened it at a place where an oak leaf lay and, handing it to her,

said, as if presenting something very excellent and precious: "If

you want to be ready to take whatever comes in a brave and noble

way, read that, and the one where the page is turned down."

Rose took it, saw the words "Self-Reliance," and turning the

leaves, read here and there a passage which was marked: "'My life

is for itself, and not for a spectacle.'

"'Insist on yourself: never imitate. That which each can do best,

none but his Maker can teach him.'

"'Do that which is assigned to you, and you cannot hope or dare

too much.'"

Then, coming to the folded page, whose title was "Heroism," she

read, and brightened as she read:

"'Let the maiden, with erect soul, walk serenely on her way;

accept the hint of each new experience; search in turn all the

objects that solicit her eye, that she may learn the power and the

charm of her newborn being.'

"'The fair girl who repels interference by a decided and proud

choice of influences inspires every beholder with something of her

own nobleness; and the silent heart encourages her. O friend, never

strike sail to a fear! Come into port greatly, or sail with God the

seas.'"

"You understand that, don't you?" asked Mac as she glanced up

with the look of one who had found something suited to her taste

and need.

"Yes, but I never dared to read these Essays, because I thought

they were too wise for me."

"The wisest things are sometimes the simplest, I think. Everyone

welcomes light and air, and cannot do without them, yet very few

could explain them truly. I don't ask you to read or understand all

of that don't myself but I do recommend the two essays I've

marked, as well as 'Love' and 'Friendship.' Try them, and let me

know how they suit. I'll leave you the book."

"Thanks. I wanted something fine to read up here and, judging by

what I see, I fancy this will suit. Only Aunt Jessie may think I'm

putting on airs if I try Emerson."

"Why should she? He has done more to set young men and women

thinking than any man in this century at least. Don't you be afraid

if it is what you want, take it, and go ahead as he tells you

"Without halting, without rest,

Lifting Better up to Best."

"I'll try," said Rose meekly, feeling that Mac had been going ahead

himself much faster than she had any suspicion.

Here a voice exclaimed "Hallo!" and, looking around, Jamie was

discovered surveying them critically as he stood in an independent

attitude, like a small Colossus of Rhodes in brown linen, with a

bundle of molasses candy in one hand, several new fishhooks

cherished carefully in the other, and his hat well on the back of his

head, displaying as many freckles as one somewhat limited nose

could reasonably accommodate.

"How are you, young one?" said Mac, nodding.

"Tip-top. Glad it's you. Thought Archie might have turned up

again, and he's no fun. Where did you come from? What did you

come for? How long are you going to stay? Want a bit? It's jolly

good."

With which varied remarks Jamie approached, shook hands in a

manly way, and, sitting down beside his long cousin, hospitably

offered sticks of candy all around.

"Did you get any letters?" asked Rose, declining the sticky treat.

"Lots, but Mama forgot to give 'em to me, and I was rather in a

hurry, for Mrs. Atkinson said somebody had come and I couldn't

wait," explained Jamie, reposing luxuriously with his head on

Mac's legs and his mouth full.

"I'll step and get them. Aunty must be tired, and we should enjoy

reading the news together."

"She is the most convenient girl that ever was," observed Jamie as

Rose departed, thinking Mac might like some more substantial

refreshment than sweetmeats.

"I should think so, if you let her run your errands, you lazy little

scamp," answered Mac, looking after her as she went up the green

slope, for there was something very attractive to him about the

slender figure in a plain white gown with a black sash about the

waist and all the wavy hair gathered to the top of the head with a

little black bow.

"Sort of pre-Raphaelite, and quite refreshing after the furbelowed

creatures at the hotels," he said to himself as she vanished under

the arch of scarlet runners over the garden gate.

"Oh, well! She likes it. Rose is fond of me, and I'm very good to

her when I have time," continued Jamie, calmly explaining. "I let

her cut out a fishhook, when it caught in my leg, with a sharp

penknife, and you'd better believe it hurt, but I never squirmed a

bit, and she said I was a brave boy. And then, one day I got left on

my desert island out in the pond, you know the boat floated off,

and there I was for as much as an hour before I could make anyone

hear. But Rose thought I might be there, and down she came, and

told me to swim ashore. It wasn't far, but the water was horrid

cold, and I didn't like it. I started though, just as she said, and got

on all right, till about halfway, then cramp or something made me

shut up and howl, and she came after me slapdash, and pulled me

ashore. Yes, sir, as wet as a turtle, and looked so funny, I laughed,

and that cured the cramp. Wasn't I good to mind when she said,

'Come on'?"

"She was, to dive after such a scapegrace. I guess you lead her a

life of it, and I'd better take you home with me in the morning,"

suggested Mac, rolling the boy over and giving him a good-natured

pummeling on the haycock while Dulce applauded from her nest.

When Rose returned with ice-cold milk, gingerbread, and letters,

she found the reader of Emerson up in the tree, pelting and being

pelted with green apples as Jamie vainly endeavored to get at him.

The siege ended when Aunt Jessie appeared, and the rest of the

afternoon was spent in chat about home affairs.

Early the next morning Mac was off, and Rose went as far as the

old church with him.

"Shall you walk all the way?" she asked as he strode along beside

her in the dewy freshness of the young day.

"Only about twenty miles, then take car and whisk back to my

work," he answered, breaking a delicate fern for her.

"Are you never lonely?"

"Never. I take my best friends along, you know," and he gave a

slap to the pocket from which peeped the volume of Thoreau.

"I'm afraid you leave your very best behind you," said Rose,

alluding to the book he had lent her yesterday.

"I'm glad to share it with you. I have much of it here, and a little

goes a great way, as you will soon discover," he answered, tapping

his head.

"I hope the reading will do as much for me as it seems to have

done for you. I'm happy, but you are wise and good I want to be

also."

"Read away, and digest it well, then write and tell me what you

think of it. Will you?" he asked as they paused where the four

roads met.

"If you will answer. Shall you have time with all your other work?

Poetry I beg pardon medicine is very absorbing, you know,"

answered Rose mischievously, for just then, as he stood

bareheaded in the shadows of the leaves playing over his fine

forehead, she remembered the chat among the haycocks, and he

did not look at all like an M.D.

"I'll make time."

"Good-bye, Milton."

"Good-bye, Sabrina."

Chapter 18 WHICH WAS IT?

Rose did read and digest, and found her days much richer for the

good company she kept, for an introduction to so much that was

wise, beautiful, and true could not but make that month a

memorable one. It is not strange that while the young man most

admired "Heroism" and "Self-Reliance," the girl preferred "Love"

and "Friendship," reading them over and over like prose poems, as

they are, to the fitting accompaniment of sunshine, solitude, and

sympathy, for letters went to and fro with praiseworthy regularity.

Rose much enjoyed this correspondence, and found herself

regretting that it was at an end when she went home in September,

for Mac wrote better than he talked, though he could do that

remarkably well when he chose. But she had no chance to express

either pleasure or regret, for the first time she saw him after her

return the great change in his appearance made her forget

everything else. Some whim had seized him to be shaven and

shorn, and when he presented himself to welcome Rose, she hardly

knew him. The shaggy hair was nicely trimmed and brushed, the

cherished brown beard entirely gone, showing a well-cut mouth

and handsome chin and giving a new expression to the whole face.

"Are you trying to look like Keats?" she asked, after a critical

glance, which left her undecided whether the change was an

improvement or not.

"I am trying not to look like Uncle," answered Mac coolly.

"And why, if you please?" demanded Rose in great surprise.

"Because I prefer to look like myself, and not resemble any other

man, no matter how good or great he may be."

"You haven't succeeded then, for you look now very much like the

young Augustus," returned Rose, rather pleased on the whole to

see what a finely shaped head appeared after the rough thatch was

off.

"Trust a woman to find a comparison for everything under the

sun!" laughed Mac, not at all flattered by the one just made. "What

do you think of me, on the whole?" he asked a minute later, as he

found Rose still scrutinizing him with a meditative air.

"Haven't made up my mind. It is such an entire change, I don't

know you, and feel as if I ought to be introduced. You certainly

look much more tidy, and I fancy I shall like it when I'm used to

seeing a somewhat distinguished-looking man about the house

instead of my old friend Orson," answered Rose, with her head on

one side to get a profile view.

"Don't tell Uncle why I did it, please he thinks it was for the sake

of coolness and likes it, so take no notice. They are all used to me

now, and don't mind," said Mac, roving about the room as if rather

ashamed of his whim after all.

"No, I won't, but you mustn't mind if I'm not as sociable as usual

for a while. I never can be with strangers, and you really do seem

like one. That will be a punishment for your want of taste and love

of originality," returned Rose, resolved to punish him for the slight

put upon her beloved uncle.

"As you like. I won't trouble you much anyway, for I'm going to be

very busy. May go to L this winter, if Uncle thinks best, and then

my 'originality' can't annoy you."

"I hope you won't go. Why, Mac, I'm just getting to know and

enjoy you, and thought we'd have a nice time this winter reading

something together. Must you go?" And Rose seemed to forget his

strangeness, as she held him still by one button while she talked.

"That would be nice. But I feel as if I must go my plans are all

made, and I've set my heart on it," answered Mac, looking so eager

that Rose released him, saying sadly: "I suppose it is natural for

you all to get restless and push off, but it is hard for me to let you

go one after the other and stay here alone. Charlie is gone, Archie

and Steve are wrapped up in their sweethearts, the boys away, and

only Jamie left to 'play with Rose.'?

"But I'll come back, and you'll be glad I went if I bring you my--"

began Mac with sudden animation, then stopped abruptly to bite

his lips, as if he had nearly said too much.

"Your what?" asked Rose curiously, for he neither looked nor

acted like himself.

"I forgot how long it takes to get a diploma," he said, walking

away again.

"There will be one comfort if you go you'll see Phebe and can tell

me all about her, for she is so modest, she doesn't half do it. I shall

want to know how she gets on, if she is engaged to sing ballads in

the concerts they talk of for next winter. You will write, won't

you?"

"Oh, yes! No doubt of that," and Mac laughed low to himself as he

stooped to look at the little Psyche on the mantelpiece. "What a

pretty thing it is!" he added soberly as he took it up.

"Be careful. Uncle gave it to me last New Year, and I'm very fond

of it. She is just lifting her lamp to see what Cupid is like, for she

hasn't seen him yet," said Rose, busy putting her worktable in

order.

"You ought to have a Cupid for her to look at. She has been

waiting patiently a whole year, with nothing but a bronze lizard in

sight," said Mac with the half-shy, half-daring look which was so

new and puzzling.

"Cupid fled away as soon as she woke him, you know, and she had

a bad time of it. She must wait longer till she can find and keep

him."

"Do you know she looks like you? Hair tied up in a knot, and a

spiritual sort of face. Don't you see it?" asked Mac, turning the

graceful little figure toward her.

"Not a bit of it. I wonder whom I shall resemble next! I've been

compared to a Fra Angelico angel, Saint Agnes, and now 'Syke,' as

Annabel once called her."

"You'd see what I mean, if you'd ever watched your own face when

you were listening to music, talking earnestly, or much moved,

then your soul gets into your eyes and you are like Psyche."

"Tell me the next time you see me in a 'soulful' state, and I'll look

in the glass, for I'd like to see if it is becoming," said Rose merrily

as she sorted her gay worsteds.

"Your feet in the full-grown grasses,

Moved soft as a soft wind blows;

You passed me as April passes,

With a face made out of a rose,"

murmured Mac under his breath, thinking of the white figure going

up a green slope one summer day; then, as if chiding himself for

sentimentality, he set Psyche down with great care and began to

talk about a course of solid reading for the winter.

After that, Rose saw very little of him for several weeks, as he

seemed to be making up for lost time and was more odd and

absent than ever when he did appear.

As she became accustomed to the change in his external

appearance, she discovered that he was altering fast in other ways

and watched the "distinguished-looking gentleman" with much

interest, saying to herself, when she saw a new sort of dignity

about him alternating with an unusual restlessness of manner, and

now and then a touch of sentiment, "Genius is simmering, just as I

predicted."

As the family were in mourning, there were no festivities on Rose's

twenty-first birthday, though the boys had planned all sorts of

rejoicings. Everyone felt particularly tender toward their girl on

that day, remembering how "poor Charlie" had loved her, and they

tried to show it in the gifts and good wishes they sent her. She

found her sanctum all aglow with autumn leaves, and on her table

so many rare and pretty things, she quite forgot she was an heiress

and only felt how rich she was in loving friends.

One gift greatly pleased her, though she could not help smiling at

the source from whence it came, for Mac sent her a Cupid not the

chubby child with a face of naughty merriment, but a slender,

winged youth leaning on his unstrung bow, with a broken arrow at

his feet. A poem, "To Psyche," came with it, and Rose was much

surprised at the beauty of the lines, for, instead of being witty,

complimentary, or gay, there was something nobler than mere

sentiment in them, and the sweet old fable lived again in language

which fitly painted the maiden Soul looking for a Love worthy to

possess it.

Rose read them over and over as she sat among the gold and

scarlet leaves which glorified her little room, and each time found

new depth and beauty in them, looking from the words that made

music in her ear to the lovely shapes that spoke with their mute

grace to her eye. The whole thing suited her exactly, it was so

delicate and perfect in its way, for she was tired of costly gifts and

valued very much this proof of her cousin's taste and talent, seeing

nothing in it but an affectionate desire to please her.

All the rest dropped in at intervals through the day to say a loving

word, and last of all came Mac. Rose happened to be alone with

Dulce, enjoying a splendid sunset from her western window, for

October gave her child a beautiful good night.

Rose turned around as he entered and, putting down the little girl,

went to him with the evening red shining on her happy face as she

said gratefully: "Dear Mac, it was so lovely! I don't know how to

thank you for it in any way but this." And, drawing down his tall

head, she gave him the birthday kiss she had given all the others.

But this time it produced a singular effect, for Mac turned scarlet,

then grew pale, and when Rose added playfully, thinking to relieve

the shyness of so young a poet, "Never again say you don't write

poetry, or call your verses rubbish I knew you were a genius, and

now I'm sure of it," he broke out, as if against his will: "No. It isn't

genius, it is love!" Then, as she shrank a little, startled at his

energy, he added, with an effort at self-control which made his

voice sound strange: "I didn't mean to speak, but I can't suffer you

to deceive yourself so. I must tell the truth, and not let you kiss me

like a cousin when I love you with all my heart and soul!"

"Oh, Mac, don't joke!" cried Rose, bewildered by this sudden

glimpse into a heart she thought she knew so well.

"I'm in solemn earnest," he answered steadily, in such a quiet tone

that, but for the pale excitement of his face, she might have

doubted his words. "Be angry, if you will. I expect it, for I know it

is too soon to speak. I ought to wait for years, perhaps, but you

seemed so happy I dared to hope you had forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" asked Rose sharply.

"Charlie."

"Ah! You all will insist on believing that I loved him better than I

did!" she cried, with both pain and impatience in her voice, for the

family delusion tried her very much at times.

"How could we help it, when he was everything women most

admire?" said Mac, not bitterly, but as if he sometimes wondered

at their want of insight.

"I do not admire weakness of any sort I could never love without

either confidence or respect. Do me the justice to believe that, for

I'm tired of being pitied."

She spoke almost passionately, being more excited by Mac's

repressed emotion than she had ever been by Charlie's most

touching demonstration, though she did not know why.

"But he loved you so!" began Mac, feeling as if a barrier had

suddenly gone down but not daring to venture in as yet.

"That was the hard part of it! That was why I tried to love him,

why I hoped he would stand fast for my sake, if not for his own,

and why I found it so sad sometimes not to be able to help

despising him for his want of courage. I don't know how others

feel, but, to me, love isn't all. I must look up, not down, trust and

honor with my whole heart, and find strength and integrity to lean

on. I have had it so far, and I know I could not live without it."

"Your ideal is a high one. Do you hope to find it, Rose?" Mac

asked, feeling, with the humility of a genuine love, that he could

not give her all she desired.

"Yes," she answered, with a face full of the beautiful confidence in

virtue, the instinctive desire for the best which so many of us lose

too soon, to find again after life's great lessons are well learned. "I

do hope to find it, because I try not to be unreasonable and expect

perfection. Smile if you will, but I won't give up my hero yet," and

she tried to speak lightly, hoping to lead him away from a more

dangerous topic.

"You'll have to look a long while, I'm afraid," and all the glow was

gone out of Mac's face, for he understood her wish and knew his

answer had been given.

"I have Uncle to help me, and I think my ideal grew out of my

knowledge of him. How can I fail to believe in goodness, when he

shows me what it can be and do?"

"It's no use for me to say any more, for I have very little to offer. I

did not mean to say a word till I earned a right to hope for

something in return. I cannot take it back, but I can wish you

success, and I do, because you deserve the very best." And Mac

moved as if he was going away without more words, accepting the

inevitable as manfully as he could.

"Thank you that makes me feel very ungrateful and unkind. I wish

I could answer you as you want me to for, indeed, dear Mac, I'm

very fond of you in my own way," and Rose looked up with such

tender pity and frank affection in her face, it was no wonder the

poor fellow caught at a ray of hope and, brightening suddenly, said

in his own odd way: "Couldn't you take me on trial while you are

waiting for a true hero? It may be years before you find him;

meantime, you could be practicing on me in ways that would be

useful when you get him."

"Oh, Mac! What shall I do with you?" exclaimed Rose, so

curiously affected by this very characteristic wooing that she did

not know whether to laugh or cry, for he was looking at her with

his heart in his eyes, though his proposition was the queerest ever

made at such a time.

"Just go on being fond of me in your own way, and let me love you

as much as I like in mine. I'll try to be satisfied with that." And he

took both her hands so beseechingly that she felt more ungrateful

than ever.

"No, it would not be fair, for you would love the most and, if the

hero did appear, what would become of you?"

"I should resemble Uncle Alec in one thing at least fidelity, for my

first love would be my last."

That went straight to Rose's heart, and for a minute she stood

silent, looking down at the two strong hands that held hers so

firmly yet so gently, and the thought went through her mind, "Must

he, too, be solitary all his life? I have no dear lover as my mother

had, why cannot I make him happy and forget myself?"

It did not seem very hard, and she owned that, even while she told

herself that compassion was no equivalent for love. She wanted to

give all she could, and keep as much of Mac's affection as she

honestly might, because it seemed to grow more sweet and

precious when she thought of putting it away.

"You will be like Uncle in happier ways than that, I hope, for you,

too, must have a high ideal and find her and be happy," she said,

resolving to be true to the voice of conscience, not be swayed by

the impulse of the moment.

"I have found her, but I don't see any prospect of happiness, do

you?" he asked wistfully.

"Dear Mac, I cannot give you the love you want, but I do trust and

respect you from the bottom of my heart, if that is any comfort,"

began Rose, looking up with eyes full of contrition for the pain her

reply must give.

She got no further, however, for those last words wrought a

marvelous change in Mac. Dropping her hands, he stood erect, as

if inspired with sudden energy and hope, while over his face there

came a brave, bright look, which for the moment made him a

nobler and comelier man than ever handsome Prince had been.

"It is a comfort!" he said, in a tone of gratitude that touched her

very much. "You said your love must be founded on respect, and

that you have given me why can I not earn the rest? I'm nothing

now, but everything is possible when one loves with all his heart

and soul and strength. Rose, I will be your hero if a mortal man

can, even though I have to work and wait for years. I'll make you

love me, and be glad to do it. Don't be frightened. I've not lost my

wits I've just found them. I don't ask anything I'll never speak of

my hope, but it is no use to stop me. I must try it, and I will

succeed!"

With the last words, uttered in a ringing voice while his face

glowed, his eyes shone, and he looked as if carried out of himself

by the passion that possessed him, Mac abruptly left the room, like

one eager to change words to deeds and begin his task at once.

Rose was so amazed by all this that she sat down trembling a little,

not with fear or anger, but a feeling half pleasure, half pain, and a

sense of some new power subtle, strong, and sweet that had come

into her life. It seemed as if another Mac had taken the place of the

one she had known so long an ardent, ambitious man, ready for

any work now that the magical moment had come when everything

seems possible to love. If hope could work such a marvelous

change for a moment, could not happiness do it for a lifetime? It

would be an exciting experiment to try, she thought, remembering

the sudden illumination which made that familiar face both

beautiful and strange.

She could not help wondering how long this unsuspected

sentiment had been growing in his heart and felt perplexed by its

peculiar demonstration, for she had never had a lover like this

before. It touched and flattered her, nevertheless and she could not

but feel honored by a love so genuine and generous, for it seemed

to make a man of Mac all at once, and a manly man, too, who was

not daunted by disappointment but could "hope against hope" and

resolve to make her love him if it took years to do it.

There was the charm of novelty about this sort of wooing, and she

tried to guess how he would set about it, felt curious to see how he

would behave when next they met, and was half angry with herself

for not being able to decide how she ought to act. The more she

thought, the more bewildered she grew, for having made up her

mind that Mac was a genius, it disturbed all her plans to find him a

lover, and such an ardent one. As it was impossible to predict what

would come next, she gave up trying to prepare for it and, tired

with vain speculations, carried Dulce off to bed, wishing she could

tuck away her love troubles as quietly and comfortably as she did

her sleepy little charge.

Simple and sincere in all things, Mac gave Rose a new surprise by

keeping his promise to the letter asked nothing of her, said nothing

of his hope, and went on as if nothing had happened, quite in the

old friendly way. No, not quite, for now and then, when she least

expected it, she saw again the indescribable expression on his face,

a look that seemed to shed a sudden sunshine over her, making her

eyes fall involuntarily, her color rise, and her heart beat quicker for

a moment. Not a word did he say, but she felt that a new

atmosphere surrounded her when he was by, and although he used

none of the little devices most lovers employ to keep the flame

alight, it was impossible to forget that underneath his quietude

there was a hidden world of fire and force ready to appear at a

touch, a word from her.

This was rather dangerous knowledge for Rose, and she soon

began to feel that there were more subtle temptations than she had

expected, for it was impossible to be unconscious of her power, or

always to resist the trials of it which daily came unsought. She had

never felt this desire before, for Charlie was the only one who had

touched her heart, and he was constantly asking as well as giving,

and wearied her by demanding too much or oppressed her by

offering more than she could accept.

Mac did neither; he only loved her, silently, patiently, hopefully,

and this generous sort of fidelity was very eloquent to a nature like

hers. She could not refuse or chide, since nothing was asked or

urged; there was no need of coldness, for he never presumed; no

call for pity, since he never complained. All that could be done

was to try and be as just and true as he was, and to wait as

trustfully for the end, whatever it was to be.

For a time she liked the new interest it put into her life, yet did

nothing to encourage it and thought that if she gave this love no

food it would soon starve to death. But it seemed to thrive on air,

and presently she began to feel as if a very strong will was slowly

but steadily influencing her in many ways. If Mac had never told

her that he meant to "make her love him," she might have yielded

unconsciously, but now she mistook the impulse to obey this

undercurrent for compassion and resisted stoutly, not

comprehending yet the reason for the unrest which took possession

of her about this time.

She had as many moods as an April day, and would have much

surprised Dr. Alec by her vagaries had he known them all. He saw

enough, however, to guess what was the matter, but took no notice,

for he knew this fever must run its course, and much medicine

only does harm. The others were busy about their own affairs, and

Aunt Plenty was too much absorbed in her rheumatism to think of

love, for the cold weather set in early, and the poor lady kept her

room for days at a time with Rose as nurse.

Mac had spoken of going away in November, and Rose began to

hope he would, for she decided that this silent sort of adoration

was bad for her, as it prevented her from steadily pursuing the

employments she had marked out for that year. What was the use

of trying to read useful books when her thoughts continually

wandered to those charming essays on "Love" and "Friendship"?

To copy antique casts, when all the masculine heads looked like

Cupid and the feminine ones like the Psyche on her mantelpiece?

To practice the best music if it ended in singing over and over the

pretty spring song without Phebe's bird chorus? Dulce's company

was pleasantest now, for Dulce seldom talked, so much meditation

was possible. Even Aunt Plenty's red flannel, camphor, and Pond's

Extract were preferable to general society, and long solitary rides

on Rosa seemed the only thing to put her in tune after one of her

attempts to find out what she ought to do or leave undone.

She made up her mind at last, and arming herself with an unmade

pen, like Fanny Squeers, she boldly went into the study to confer

with Dr. Alec at an hour when Mac was usually absent.

"I want a pen for marking can you make me one, Uncle?" she

asked, popping her head in to be sure he was alone.

"Yes, my dear," answered a voice so like the doctor's that she

entered without delay.

But before she had taken three steps she stopped, looking rather

annoyed, for the head that rose from behind the tall desk was not

rough and gray, but brown and smooth, and Mac, not Uncle Alec,

sat there writing. Late experience had taught her that she had

nothing to fear from a tete-a-tete and, having with difficulty taken

a resolution, she did not like to fail of carrying it out.

"Don't get up, I won't trouble you if you are busy, there is no

hurry," she said, not quite sure whether it were wiser to stay or run

away.

Mac settled the point by taking the pen out of her hand and

beginning to cut it, as quietly as Nicholas did on that "thrilling"

occasion. Perhaps he was thinking of that, for he smiled as he

asked, "Hard or soft?"

Rose evidently had forgotten that the family of Squeers ever

existed, for she answered: "Hard, please," in a voice to match. "I'm

glad to see you doing that," she added, taking courage from his

composure and going as straight to her point as could be expected

of a woman.

"And I am very glad to do it."

"I don't mean making pens, but the romance I advised," and she

touched the closely written page before him, looking as if she

would like to read it.

"That is my abstract on a lecture on the circulation of the blood,"

he answered, kindly turning it so that she could see. "I don't write

romances I'm living one," and he glanced up with the happy,

hopeful expression which always made her feel as if he was

heaping coals of fire on her head.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me in that way it fidgets me," she said

a little petulantly, for she had been out riding, and knew that she

did not present a "spiritual" appearance after the frosty air had

reddened nose as well as cheeks.

"I'll try to remember. It does itself before I know it. Perhaps this

may mend matters." And, taking out the blue glasses he sometimes

wore in the wind, he gravely put them on.

Rose could not help laughing, but his obedience only aggravated

her, for she knew he could observe her all the better behind his

ugly screen.

"No, it won't they are not becoming, and I don't want to look blue

when I do not feel so," she said, finding it impossible to guess

what he would do next or to help enjoying his peculiarities.

"But you don't to me, for in spite of the goggles everything is

rose-colored now." And he pocketed the glasses without a murmur

at the charming inconsistency of his idol.

"Really, Mac, I'm tired of this nonsense, it worries me and wastes

your time."

"Never worked harder. But does it really trouble you to know I

love you?" he asked anxiously.

"Don't you see how cross it makes me?" And she walked away,

feeling that things were not going as she intended to have them at

all.

"I don't mind the thorns if I get the rose at last, and I still hope I

may, some ten years hence," said this persistent suitor, quite

undaunted by the prospect of a "long wait."

"I think it is rather hard to be loved whether I like it or not,"

objected Rose, at a loss how to make any headway against such

indomitable hopefulness.

"But you can't help it, nor can I so I must go on doing it with all

my heart till you marry, and then well, then I'm afraid I may hate

somebody instead," and Mac spoilt the pen by an involuntary slash

of his knife.

"Please don't, Mac!"

"Do which, love or hate?"

"Don't do either go and care for someone else; there are plenty of

nice girls who will be glad to make you happy," said Rose, intent

upon ending her disquiet in some way.

"That is too easy. I enjoy working for my blessings, and the harder

I have to work, the more I value them when they come."

"Then if I suddenly grew very kind, would you stop caring about

me?" asked Rose, wondering if that treatment would free her from

a passion which both touched and tormented her.

"Try and see." But there was a traitorous glimmer in Mac's eyes

which plainly showed what a failure it would be.

"No, I'll get something to do, so absorbing I shall forget all about

you."

"Don't think about me if it troubles you," he said tenderly.

"I can't help it." Rose tried to catch back the words, but it was too

late, and she added hastily, "That is, I cannot help wishing you

would forget me. It is a great disappointment to find I was

mistaken when I hoped such fine things of you."

"Yes, you were very sure that it was love when it was poetry, and

now you want poetry when I've nothing on hand but love. Will

both together please you?"

"Try and see."

"I'll do my best. Anything else?" he asked, forgetting the small task

she had given him in his eagerness to attempt the greater.

"Tell me one thing. I've often wanted to know, and now you speak

of it I'll venture to ask. Did you care about me when you read

Keats to me last summer?"

"No."

"When did you begin?" asked Rose, smiling in spite of herself at

his unflattering honesty.

"How can I tell? Perhaps it did begin up there, though, for that talk

set us writing, and the letters showed me what a beautiful soul you

had. I loved that first it was so quick to recognize good things, to

use them when they came, and give them out again as

unconsciously as a flower does its breath. I longed for you to come

home, and wanted you to find me altered for the better in some

way as I had found you. And when you came it was very easy to

see why I needed you to love you entirely, and to tell you so. That's

all, Rose."

A short story, but it was enough the voice that told it with such

simple truth made the few words so eloquent, Rose felt strongly

tempted to add the sequel Mac desired. But her eyes had fallen as

he spoke, for she knew his were fixed upon her, dark and dilated,

with the same repressed emotion that put such fervor into his quiet

tones, and just as she was about to look up, they fell on a shabby

little footstool. Trifles affect women curiously, and often most

irresistibly when some agitation sways them. The sight of the old

hassock vividly recalled Charlie, for he had kicked it on the night

she never liked to remember. Like a spark it fired a long train of

recollections, and the thought went through her mind: "I fancied I

loved him, and let him see it, but I deceived myself, and he

reproached me for a single look that said too much. This feeling is

very different, but too new and sudden to be trusted. I'll neither

look nor speak till I am quite sure, for Mac's love is far deeper than

poor Charlie's, and I must be very true."

Not in words did the resolve shape itself, but in a quick impulse,

which she obeyed certain that it was right, since it was hard to

yield to it. Only an instant's silence followed Mac's answer as she

stood looking down with fingers intertwined and color varying in

her cheeks. A foolish attitude, but Mac thought it a sweet picture

of maiden hesitation and began to hope that a month's wooing was

about to end in winning for a lifetime. He deceived himself,

however, and cold water fell upon his flame, subduing but by no

means quenching it, when Rose looked up with an air of

determination which could not escape eyes that were growing

wonderfully farsighted lately.

"I came in here to beg Uncle to advise you to go away soon. You

are very patient and forbearing, and I feel it more than I can tell.

But it is not good for you to depend on anyone so much for your

happiness, I think, and I know it is bad for me to feel that I have so

much power over a fellow creature. Go away, Mac, and see if this

isn't all a mistake. Don't let a fancy for me change or delay your

work, because it may end as suddenly as it began, and then we

should both reproach ourselves and each other. Please do! I respect

and care for you so much, I can't be happy to take all and give

nothing. I try to, but I'm not sure I want to think it is too soon to

know yet."

Rose began bravely, but ended in a fluttered sort of way as she

moved toward the door, for Mac's face though it fell at first,

brightened as she went on, and at the last word, uttered almost

involuntarily, he actually laughed low to himself, as if this order

into exile pleased him much.

"Don't say that you give nothing, when you've just shown me that

I'm getting on. I'll go; I'll go at once, and see if absence won't help

you 'to think, to know, and to be sure' as it did me. I wish I could

do something more for you. As I can't, good-bye."

"Are you going now?" And Rose paused in her retreat to look back

with a startled face as he offered her a badly made pen and opened

the door for her just as Dr. Alec always did; for, in spite of

himself, Mac did resemble the best of uncles.

"Not yet, but you seem to be."

Rose turned as red as a poppy, snatched the pen, and flew upstairs,

to call herself hard names as she industriously spoiled all Aunt

Plenty's new pocket handkerchiefs by marking them "A.M.C."

Three days later Mac said "good-bye" in earnest, and no one was

surprised that he left somewhat abruptly, such being his way, and a

course of lectures by a famous physician the ostensible reason for

a trip to L----. Uncle Alec deserted most shamefully at the last

moment by sending word that he would be at the station to see the

traveler off, Aunt Plenty was still in her room, so when Mac came

down from his farewell to her, Rose met him in the hall, as if

anxious not to delay him. She was a little afraid of another

tete-a-tete, as she fared so badly at the last, and had assumed a

calm and cousinly air which she flattered herself would plainly

show on what terms she wished to part.

Mac apparently understood, and not only took the hint, but

surpassed her in cheerful composure, for, merely saying

"Good-bye, Cousin; write when you feel like it," he shook hands

and walked out of the house as tranquilly as if only a day instead

of three months were to pass before they met again. Rose felt as if

a sudden shower bath had chilled her and was about to retire,

saying to herself with disdainful decision: "There's no love about it

after all, only one of the eccentricities of genius," when a rush of

cold air made her turn to find herself in what appeared to be the

embrace of an impetuous overcoat, which wrapped her close for an

instant, then vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving her to

hide in the sanctum and confide to Psyche with a tender sort of

triumph in her breathless voice: "No, no, it isn't genius that must

be love!"

Chapter 19 BEHIND THE FOUNTAIN

Two days after Christmas a young man of serious aspect might

have been seen entering one of the large churches at L----. Being

shown to a seat, he joined in the services with praiseworthy

devotion, especially the music, to which he listened with such

evident pleasure that a gentleman who sat nearby felt moved to

address this appreciative stranger after church.

"Fine sermon today. Ever heard our minister before, sir?" he

began, as they went down the aisle together among the last, for the

young man had lingered as if admiring the ancient building.

"Very fine. No, sir, I have never had that pleasure. I've often

wished to see this old place, and am not at all disappointed. Your

choir, too, is unusually good," answered the stranger, glancing up

at several bonnets bobbing about behind the half-drawn curtains

above.

"Finest in the city, sir. We pride ourselves on our music, and

always have the best. People often come for that alone." And the

old gentleman looked as satisfied as if a choir of cherubim and

seraphim "continually did cry" in his organ loft.

"Who is the contralto? That solo was beautifully sung," observed

the younger man, pausing to read a tablet on the wall.

"That is Miss Moore. Been here about a year, and is universally

admired. Excellent young lady couldn't do without her. Sings

superbly in oratorios. Ever heard her?"

"Never. She came from X, I believe?

"Yes, highly recommended. She was brought up by one of the first

families there. Campbell is the name. If you come from X , you

doubtless know them."

"I have met them. Good morning." And with bows the gentlemen

parted, for at that instant the young man caught sight of a tall lady

going down the church steps with a devout expression in her fine

eyes and a prayer-book in her hand.

Hastening after her, the serious-minded young man accosted her

just as she turned into a quiet street.

"Phebe!"

Only a word, but it wrought a marvelous change, for the devout

expression vanished in the drawing of a breath, and the quiet face

blossomed suddenly with color, warmth, and "the light that never

was on sea or land" as she turned to meet her lover with an

answering word as eloquent as his.

"Archie!"

"The year is out today. I told you I should come. Have you

forgotten?"

"No I knew you'd come."

"And are you glad?"

"How can I help it?"

"You can't don't try. Come into this little park and let us talk." And

drawing her hand through his arm, Archie led her into what to

other eyes was a very dismal square, with a boarded-up fountain in

the middle, sodden grass plots, and dead leaves dancing in the

wintry wind.

But to them it was a summery Paradise, and they walked to and fro

in the pale sunshine, quite unconscious that they were objects of

interest to several ladies and gentlemen waiting anxiously for their

dinner or yawning over the dull books kept for Sunday reading.

"Are you ready to come home now, Phebe?" asked Archie tenderly

as he looked at the downcast face beside him and wondered why

all women did not wear delightful little black velvet bonnets with

one deep red flower against their hair.

"Not yet. I haven't done enough," began Phebe, finding it very hard

to keep the resolution made a year ago.

"You have proved that you can support yourself, make friends, and

earn a name, if you choose. No one can deny that, and we are all

getting proud of you. What more can you ask, my dearest?"

"I don't quite know, but I am very ambitious. I want to be famous,

to do something for you all, to make some sacrifice for Rose, and,

if I can, to have something to give up for your sake. Let me wait

and work longer I know I haven't earned my welcome yet,"

pleaded Phebe so earnestly that her lover knew it would be in vain

to try and turn her, so wisely contented himself with half, since he

could not have the whole.

"Such a proud woman! Yet I love you all the better for it, and

understand your feeling. Rose made me see how it seems to you,

and I don't wonder that you cannot forget the unkind things that

were looked, if not said, by some of my amiable aunts. I'll try to be

patient on one condition, Phebe."

"And what is that?"

"You are to let me come sometimes while I wait, and wear this lest

you should forget me," he said, pulling a ring from his pocket and

gently drawing a warm, bare hand out of the muff where it lay

hidden.

"Yes, Archie, but not here not now!" cried Phebe, glancing about

her as if suddenly aware that they were not alone.

"No one can see us here I thought of that. Give me one happy

minute, after this long, long year of waiting," answered Archie,

pausing just where the fountain hid them from all eyes, for there

were houses only on one side.

Phebe submitted and never did a plain gold ring slip more easily to

its place than the one he put on in such a hurry that cold December

day. Then one hand went back into the muff red with the grasp he

gave it, and the other to its old place on his arm with a confiding

gesture, as if it had a right there.

"Now I feel sure of you," said Archie as they went on again, and no

one the wiser for that tender transaction behind the ugly pyramid

of boards. "Mac wrote me that you were much admired by your

church people, and that certain wealthy bachelors evidently had

designs on the retiring Miss Moore. I was horribly jealous, but now

I defy every man of them."

Phebe smiled with the air of proud humility that was so becoming

and answered briefly: "There was no danger kings could not

change me, whether you ever came or not. But Mac should not

have told you."

"You shall be revenged on him, then, for, as he told secrets about

you, I'll tell you one about him. Phebe, he loves Rose!" And Archie

looked as if he expected to make a great sensation with his news.

"I know it." And Phebe laughed at his sudden change of

countenance as he added inquiringly, "She told you, then?"

"Not a word. I guessed it from her letters, for lately she says

nothing about Mac, and before there was a good deal, so I

suspected what the silence meant and asked no questions."

"Wise girl! Then you think she does care for the dear old fellow?"

"Of course she does. Didn't he tell you so?"

"No, he only said when he went away, 'Take care of my Rose, and

I'll take care of your Phebe,' and not another thing could I get out

of him, for I did ask questions. He stood by me like a hero, and

kept Aunt Jane from driving me stark mad with her 'advice.' I don't

forget that, and burned to lend him a hand somewhere, but he

begged me to let him manage his wooing in his own way. And

from what I see, I should say he knew how to do it," added Archie,

finding it very delightful to gossip about love affairs with his

sweetheart.

"Dear little mistress! How does she behave?" asked Phebe, longing

for news, but too grateful to ask at headquarters, remembering how

generously Rose had tried to help her, even by silence, the greatest

sacrifice a woman can make at such interesting periods.

"Very sweet and shy and charming. I try not to watch but upon my

word I cannot help it sometimes, she is so 'cunning,' as you girls

say. When I carry her a letter from Mac she tries so hard not to

show how glad she is that I want to laugh and tell her I know all

about it. But I look as sober as a judge and as stupid as an owl by

daylight, and she enjoys her letters in peace and thinks I'm so

absorbed in my own passion that I'm blind to hers."

"But why did Mac come away? He says lectures brought him, and

he goes, but I am sure something else is in his mind, he looks so

happy at times. I don't see him very often, but when I do I'm

conscious that he isn't the Mac I left a year ago," said Phebe,

leading Archie away, for inexorable propriety forbade a longer

stay, even if prudence and duty had not given her a reminding

nudge, as it was very cold, and afternoon church came in an hour.

"Well, you see Mac was always peculiar, and he cannot even grow

up like other fellows. I don't understand him yet, and am sure he's

got some plan in his head that no one suspects, unless it is Uncle

Alec. Love makes us all cut queer capers, and I've an idea that the

Don will distinguish himself in some uncommon way. So be

prepared to applaud whatever it is. We owe him that, you know."

"Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall

see that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my

Archie."

That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe

very naturally turned the conversation into a more personal

channel, and Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air

so successfully that they passed the material mansion without

either being aware of it.

"Will you come in?" asked Phebe when the mistake was rectified

and she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who

had discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five

heads to pop up at five different windows.

"No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the oratorio

this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the

most of precious time and come home with you tonight as I did

before," answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of

consent.

"You may." And Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she

found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the

heart of the sedate young gentleman who went briskly down the

street humming a verse of old "Clyde" like a tuneful bass viol:

"Oh, let our mingling voices rise

In grateful rapture to the skies,

Where love has had its birth.

Let songs of joy this day declare

That spirits come their bliss to share

With all the sons of earth."

That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that

evening quite electrified even her best friends by the skill and

power with which she rendered "Inflammatus" in the oratorio.

"If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?" said one

young man to another as they went out just before the general

crush at the end.

"Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and,

when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the

great race," answered the second young man with the look of one

inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.

"Daresay you are right. Can't stop now she's waiting for me. Don't

sit up, Mac."

"The gods go with you, Archie."

And the cousins separated one to write till midnight, the other to

bid his Phebe good-bye, little dreaming how unexpectedly and

successfully she was to earn her welcome home.

Chapter 20 WHAT MAC DID

Rose, meantime, was trying to find out what the sentiment was

with which she regarded her cousin Mac. She could not seem to

reconcile the character she had known so long with the new one

lately shown her, and the idea of loving the droll, bookish,

absentminded Mac of former times appeared quite impossible and

absurd, but the new Mac, wide awake, full of talent, ardent and

high-handed, was such a surprise to her, she felt as if her heart was

being won by a stranger, and it became her to study him well

before yielding to a charm which she could not deny.

Affection came naturally, and had always been strong for the boy;

regard for the studious youth easily deepened to respect for the

integrity of the young man, and now something warmer was

growing up within her; but at first she could not decide whether it

was admiration for the rapid unfolding of talent of some sort or

love answering to love.

As if to settle that point, Mac sent her on New Year's Day a little

book plainly bound and modestly entitled Songs and Sonnets.

After reading this with ever-growing surprise and delight, Rose

never had another doubt about the writer's being a poet, for though

she was no critic, she had read the best authors and knew what was

good. Unpretentious as it was, this had the true ring, and its very

simplicity showed conscious power for, unlike so many first

attempts, the book was not full of "My Lady," neither did it indulge

in Swinburnian convulsions about

"The lilies and languors of peace,

The roses and raptures of love.";

or contain any of the highly colored medieval word pictures so

much in vogue. "My book should smell of pines, and resound with

the hum of insects," might have been its motto, so sweet and

wholesome was it with a springlike sort of freshness which plainly

betrayed that the author had learned some of Nature's deepest

secrets and possessed the skill to tell them in tuneful words. The

songs went ringing through one's memory long after they were

read, and the sonnets were full of the subtle beauty, insight, and

half-unconscious wisdom, which seem to prove that "genius is

divine when young."

Many faults it had, but was so full of promise that it was evident

Mac had not "kept good company, read good books, loved good

things, and cultivated soul and body as faithfully as he could" in

vain. It all told now, for truth and virtue had blossomed into

character and had a language of their own more eloquent than the

poetry to which they were what the fragrance is to the flower.

Wiser critics than Rose felt and admired this; less partial ones

could not deny their praise to a first effort, which seemed as

spontaneous and aspiring as a lark's song; and, when one or two of

these Jupiters had given a nod of approval, Mac found himself, not

exactly famous, but much talked about. One set abused, the other

set praised, and the little book was sadly mauled among them, for

it was too original to be ignored, and too robust to be killed by

hard usage, so it came out of the fray none the worse but rather

brighter, if anything, for the friction which proved the gold

genuine.

This took time, however, and Rose could only sit at home reading

all the notices she could get, as well as the literary gossip Phebe

sent her, for Mac seldom wrote, and never a word about himself,

so Phebe skillfully extracted from him in their occasional meetings

all the personal news her feminine wit could collect and faithfully

reported it.

It was a little singular that without a word of inquiry on either side,

the letters of the girls were principally filled with tidings of their

respective lovers. Phebe wrote about Mac; Rose answered with

minute particulars about Archie; and both added hasty items

concerning their own affairs, as if these were of little consequence.

Phebe got the most satisfaction out of the correspondence, for soon

after the book appeared Rose began to want Mac home again and

to be rather jealous of the new duties and delights that kept him.

She was immensely proud of her poet, and had little jubilees over

the beautiful fulfillment of her prophecies, for even Aunt Plenty

owned now with contrition that "the boy was not a fool." Every

word of praise was read aloud on the housetops, so to speak, by

happy Rose; every adverse criticism was hotly disputed; and the

whole family was in a great state of pleasant excitement over this

unexpectedly successful first flight of the Ugly Duckling, now

generally considered by his relatives as the most promising young

swan of the flock.

Aunt Jane was particularly funny in her new position of mother to

a callow poet and conducted herself like a proud but bewildered

hen when one of her brood takes to the water. She pored over the

poems, trying to appreciate them but quite failing to do so, for life

was all prose to her, and she vainly tried to discover where Mac

got his talent from. It was pretty to see the new respect with which

she treated his possessions now; the old books were dusted with a

sort of reverence; scraps of paper were laid carefully by lest some

immortal verse be lost; and a certain shabby velvet jacket fondly

smoothed when no one was by to smile at the maternal pride with

filled her heart and caused her once severe countenance to shine

with unwonted benignity.

Uncle Mac talked about "my son" with ill-concealed satisfaction,

and evidently began to feel as if his boy was going to confer

distinction upon the whole race of Campbell, which had already

possessed one poet. Steve exulted with irrepressible delight and

went about quoting Songs and Sonnets till he bored his friends

dreadfully by his fraternal raptures.

Archie took it more quietly, and even suggested that it was too

soon to crow yet, for the dear old fellow's first burst might be his

last, since it was impossible to predict what he would do next.

Having proved that he could write poetry, he might drop it for

some new world to conquer, quoting his favorite Thoreau, who,

having made a perfect pencil, gave up the business and took to

writing books with the sort of indelible ink which grows clearer

with time.

The aunts of course had their "views," and enjoyed much prophetic

gossip as they wagged their caps over many social cups of tea. The

younger boys thought it "very jolly," and hoped the Don would "go

ahead and come to glory as soon as possible," which was all that

could by expected of "Young America," with whom poetry is not

usually a passion.

But Dr. Alec was a sight for "sair een," so full of concentrated

contentment was he. No one but Rose, perhaps, knew how proud

and pleased the good man felt at this first small success of his

godson, for he had always had high hopes of the boy, because in

spite of his oddities he had such an upright nature, and promising

little, did much, with the quiet persistence which foretells a manly

character. All the romance of the doctor's heart was stirred by this

poetic bud of promise and the love that made it bloom so early, for

Mac had confided his hopes to Uncle, finding great consolation

and support in his sympathy and advice. Like a wise man, Dr. Alec

left the young people to learn the great lesson in their own way,

counseling Mac to work and Rose to wait till both were quite

certain that their love was built on a surer foundation than

admiration or youthful romance.

Meantime he went about with a well-worn little book in his

pocket, humming bits from a new set of songs and repeating with

great fervor certain sonnets which seemed to him quite equal, if

not superior, to any that Shakespeare ever wrote. As Rose was

doing the same thing, they often met for a private "read and

warble," as they called it, and while discussing the safe subject of

Mac's poetry, both arrived at a pretty clear idea of what Mac's

reward was to be when he came home.

He seemed in no hurry to do this, however, and continued to

astonish his family by going into society and coming out brilliantly

in that line. It takes very little to make a lion, as everyone knows

who has seen what poor specimens are patted and petted every

year, in spite of their bad manners, foolish vagaries, and very

feeble roaring. Mac did not want to be lionized and took it rather

scornfully, which only added to the charm that people suddenly

discovered about the nineteenth cousin of Thomas Campbell, the

poet. He desired to be distinguished in the best sense of the word,

as well as to look so, and thought a little of the polish society gives

would not be amiss, remembering Rose's efforts in that line. For

her sake he came out of his shell and went about seeing and testing

all sorts of people with those observing eyes of his, which saw so

much in spite of their nearsightedness. What use he meant to make

of these new experiences no one knew, for he wrote short letters

and, when questioned, answered with imperturbable patience:

"Wait till I get through; then I'll come home and talk about it."

So everyone waited for the poet, till something happened which

produced a greater sensation in the family than if all the boys had

simultaneously taken to rhyming.

Dr. Alec got very impatient and suddenly announced that he was

going to L to see after those young people, for Phebe was rapidly

singing herself into public favor with the sweet old ballads which

she rendered so beautifully that hearers were touched as well as

ears delighted, and her prospects brightened every month.

"Will you come with me, Rose, and surprise this ambitious pair

who are getting famous so fast they'll forget their homekeeping

friends if we don't remind them of us now and then?" he said when

he proposed the trip one wild March morning.

"No, thank you, sir I'll stay with Aunty; that is all I'm fit for and I

should only be in the way among those fine people," answered

Rose, snipping away at the plants blooming in the study window.

There was a slight bitterness in her voice and a cloud on her face,

which her uncle heard and saw at once, half guessed the meaning

of, and could not rest till he had found out.

"Do you think Phebe and Mac would not care to see you?" he

asked, putting down a letter in which Mac gave a glowing account

of a concert at which Phebe surpassed herself.

"No, but they must be very busy," began Rose, wishing she had

held her tongue.

"Then what is the matter?" persisted Dr. Alec.

Rose did not speak for a moment, and decapitated two fine

geraniums with a reckless slash of her scissors, as if pent-up

vexation of some kind must find a vent. It did in words also, for, as

if quite against her will, she exclaimed impetuously: "The truth is,

I'm jealous of them both!"

"Bless my soul! What now?" ejaculated the doctor in great

surprise.

Rose put down her water pot and shears, came and stood before

him with her hands nervously twisted together, and said, just as

she used to do when she was a little girl confessing some misdeed:

"Uncle, I must tell you, for I've been getting very envious,

discontented, and bad lately. No, don't be good to me yet, for you

don't know how little I deserve it. Scold me well, and make me see

how wicked I am."

"I will as soon as I know what I am to scold about. Unburden

yourself, child, and let me see all your iniquity, for if you begin by

being jealous of Mac and Phebe, I'm prepared for anything," said

Dr. Alec, leaning back as if nothing could surprise him now.

"But I am not jealous in that way, sir. I mean I want to be or do

something splendid as well as they. I can't write poetry or sing like

a bird, but I should think I might have my share of glory in some

way. I thought perhaps I could paint, and I've tried, but I can only

copy I've no power to invent lovely things, and I'm so discouraged,

for that is my one accomplishment. Do you think I have any gift

that could be cultivated and do me credit like theirs?" she asked so

wistfully that her uncle felt for a moment as if he never could

forgive the fairies who endow babies in their cradles for being so

niggardly to his girl. But one look into the sweet, open face before

him reminded him that the good elves had been very generous and

he answered cheerfully: "Yes, I do, for you have one of the best

and noblest gifts a woman can possess. Music and poetry are fine

things, and I don't wonder you want them, or that you envy the

pleasant fame they bring. I've felt just so, and been ready to ask

why it didn't please heaven to be more generous to some people, so

you needn't be ashamed to tell me all about it."

"I know I ought to be contented, but I'm not. My life is very

comfortable, but so quiet and uneventful, I get tired of it and want

to launch out as the others have, and do something, or at least try.

I'm glad you think it isn't very bad of me, and I'd like to know what

my gift is," said Rose, looking less despondent already.

"The art of living for others so patiently and sweetly that we enjoy

it as we do the sunshine, and are not half grateful enough for the

great blessing."

"It is very kind of you to say so, but I think I'd like a little fun and

fame nevertheless." And Rose did not look as thankful as she

ought.

"Very natural, dear, but the fun and the fame do not last, while the

memory of a real helper is kept green long after poetry is forgotten

and music silent. Can't you believe that, and be happy?"

"But I do so little, nobody sees or cares, and I don't feel as if I was

really of any use," sighed Rose, thinking of the long, dull winter,

full of efforts that seemed fruitless.

"Sit here, and let us see if you really do very little and if no one

cares." And, drawing her to his knee, Dr. Alec went on, telling off

each item on one of the fingers of the soft hand he held.

"First, an infirm old aunt is kept very happy by the patient, cheerful

care of this good-for-nothing niece. Secondly, a crotchety uncle,

for whom she reads, runs, writes, and sews so willingly that he

cannot get on without her. Thirdly, various relations who are

helped in various ways. Fourthly, one dear friend never forgotten,

and a certain cousin cheered by praise which is more to him than

the loudest blast Fame could blow. Fifthly, several young girls find

her an example of many good works and ways. Sixthly, a

motherless baby is cared for as tenderly as if she were a little

sister. Seventhly, half a dozen poor ladies made comfortable; and,

lastly, some struggling boys and girls with artistic longings are put

into a pleasant room furnished with casts, studies, easels, and all

manner of helpful things, not to mention free lessons given by this

same idle girl, who now sits upon my knee owning to herself that

her gift is worth having after all."

"Indeed, I am! Uncle, I'd no idea I had done so many things to

please you, or that anyone guessed how hard I try to fill my place

usefully. I've learned to do without gratitude now I'll learn not to

care for praise, but to be contented to do my best, and have only

God know."

"He knows, and He rewards in His own good time. I think a quiet

life like this often makes itself felt in better ways than one that the

world sees and applauds, and some of the noblest are never known

till they end, leaving a void in many hearts. Yours may be one of

these if you choose to make it so, and no one will be prouder of

this success than I, unless it be Mac."

The clouds were quite gone now, and Rose was looking straight

into her uncle's face with a much happier expression when that last

word made it color brightly and the eyes glance away for a second.

Then they came back full of a tender sort of resolution as she said:

"That will be the reward I work for," and rose, as if ready to be up

and doing with renewed courage.

But her uncle held her long enough to ask quite soberly, though his

eyes laughed: "Shall I tell him that?"

"No, sir, please don't! When he is tired of other people's praise, he

will come home, and then I'll see what I can do for him," answered

Rose, slipping away to her work with the shy, happy look that

sometimes came to give to her face the charm it needed.

"He is such a thorough fellow, he never is in a hurry to go from

one thing to another. An excellent habit, but a trifle trying to

impatient people like me," said the doctor and, picking up Dulce,

who sat upon the rug with her dolly, he composed his feelings by

tossing her till she crowed with delight.

Rose heartily echoed that last remark, but said nothing aloud, only

helped her uncle off with dutiful alacrity and, when he was gone,

began to count the days till his return, wishing she had decided to

go too.

He wrote often, giving excellent accounts of the "great creatures,"

as Steve called Phebe and Mac, and seemed to find so much to do

in various ways that the second week of absence was nearly over

before he set a day for his return, promising to astonish them with

the account of his adventures.

Rose felt as if something splendid was going to happen and set her

affairs in order so that the approaching crisis might find her fully

prepared. She had "found out" now, was quite sure, and put away

all doubts and fears to be ready to welcome home the cousin

whom she was sure Uncle would bring as her reward. She was

thinking of this one day as she got out her paper to write a long

letter to poor Aunt Clara, who pined for news far away there in

Calcutta.

Something in the task reminded her of that other lover whose

wooing ended so tragically, and opening a little drawer of

keepsakes, she took out the blue bracelet, feeling that she owed

Charlie a tender thought in the midst of her new happiness, for of

late she had forgotten him.

She had worn the trinket hidden under her black sleeve for a long

time after his death, with the regretful constancy one sometimes

shows in doing some little kindness all too late. But her arm had

grown too round to hide the ornament, the forget-me-nots had

fallen one by one, the clasp had broken, and that autumn she laid

the bracelet away, acknowledging that she had outgrown the

souvenir as well as the sentiment that gave it.

She looked at it in silence for a moment, then put it softly back

and, shutting the drawer, took up the little gray book which was

her pride, thinking as she contrasted the two men and their

influence on her life the one sad and disturbing, the other sweet

and inspiring "Charlie's was passion Mac's is love."

"Rose! Rose!" called a shrill voice, rudely breaking the pensive

reverie, and with a start, she shut the desk, exclaiming as she ran

to the door: "They have come! They have come!"

Chapter 21 HOW PHEBE EARNED HER WELCOME

Dr. Alec had not arrived, but bad tidings had, as Rose guessed the

instant her eyes fell upon Aunt Plenty, hobbling downstairs with

her cap awry, her face pale, and a letter flapping wildly in her hand

as she cried distractedly: "Oh, my boy! My boy! Sick, and I not

there to nurse him! Malignant fever, so far away. What can those

children do? Why did I let Alec go?"

Rose got her into the parlor, and while the poor old lady lamented,

she read the letter which Phebe had sent to her that she might

"break the news carefully to Rose."

DEAR MISS PLENTY, Please read this to yourself first, and tell

my little mistress as you think best. The dear doctor is very ill, but

I am with him, and shall not leave him day or night till he is safe.

So trust me, and do not be anxious, for everything shall be done

that care and skill and entire devotion can do. He would not let us

tell you before, fearing you would try to come at the risk of your

health. Indeed it would be useless, for only one nurse is needed,

and I came first, so do not let Rose or anybody else rob me of my

right to the danger and the duty. Mac has written to his father, for

Dr. Alec is now too ill to know what we do, and we both felt that

you ought to be told without further delay. He has a bad malignant

fever, caught no one can tell how, unless among some poor

emigrants whom he met wandering about quite forlorn in a strange

city. He understood Portuguese and sent them to a proper place

when they had told their story. But I fear he has suffered for his

kindness, for this fever came on rapidly, and before he knew what

it was I was there, and it was too late to send me away.

Now I can show you how grateful I am, and if need be give my life

so gladly for this friend who has been a father to me. Tell Rose his

last conscious word and thought were for her. "Don't let her come;

keep my darling safe." Oh, do obey him! Stay safely at home and,

God helping me, I'll bring Uncle Alec back in time. Mac does all I

will let him. We have the best physicians, and everything is going

as well as can be hoped till the fever turns.

Dear Miss Plenty, pray for him and for me, that I may do this one

happy thing for those who have done so much for

Your ever dutiful and loving

PHEBE

As Rose looked up from the letter, half stunned by the sudden

news and the great danger, she found that the old lady had already

stopped useless bewailing and was praying heartily, like one who

knew well where help was to be found. Rose went and knelt down

at her knee, laying her face on the clasped hands in her lap, and for

a few minutes neither wept nor spoke. Then a stifled sob broke

from the girl, and Aunt Plenty gathered the young head in her

arms, saying, with the slow tears of age trickling down her own

withered cheeks: "Bear up, my lamb, bear up. The good Lord won't

take him from us I am sure and that brave child will be allowed to

pay her debt to him. I feel she will."

"But I want to help. I must go, Aunty, I must no matter what the

danger is," cried Rose, full of a tender jealousy of Phebe for being

first to brave peril for the sake of him who had been a father to

them both.

"You can't go, dear, it's no use now, and she is right to say, 'Keep

away.' I know those fevers, and the ones who nurse often take it,

and fare worse for the strain they've been through. Good girl to

stand by so bravely, to be so sensible, and not let Mac go too near!

She's a grand nurse Alec couldn't have a better, and she'll never

leave him till he's safe," said Miss Plenty excitedly.

"Ah, you begin to know her now, and value her as you ought. I

think few would have done as she has, and if she does get ill and

die, it will be our fault partly, because she'd go through fire and

water to make us do her justice and receive her as we ought," cried

Rose, proud of an example which she longed to follow.

"If she brings my boy home, I'll never say another word. She may

marry every nephew I've got, if she likes, and I'll give her my

blessing," exclaimed Aunt Plenty, feeling that no price would be

too much to pay for such a deed.

Rose was going to clap her hands, but wrung them instead,

remembering with a sudden pang that the battle was not over yet,

and it was much too soon to award the honors.

Before she could speak Uncle Mac and Aunt Jane hurried in, for

Mac's letter had come with the other, and dismay fell upon the

family at the thought of danger to the well-beloved Uncle Alec.

His brother decided to go at once, and Aunt Jane insisted on

accompanying him, though all agreed that nothing could be done

but wait, and leave Phebe at her post as long as she held out, since

it was too late to save her from danger now and Mac reported her

quite equal to the task.

Great was the hurry and confusion till the relief party was off.

Aunt Plenty was heartbroken that she could not go with them, but

felt that she was too infirm to be useful and, like a sensible old

soul, tried to content herself with preparing all sorts of comforts

for the invalid. Rose was less patient, and at first had wild ideas of

setting off alone and forcing her way to the spot where all her

thoughts now centered. But before she could carry out any rash

project, Aunt Myra's palpitations set in so alarmingly that they did

good service for once and kept Rose busy taking her last directions

and trying to soothe her dying bed, for each attack was declared

fatal till the patient demanded toast and tea, when hope was again

allowable and the rally began.

The news flew fast, as such tidings always do, and Aunt Plenty

was constantly employed in answering inquiries, for her knocker

kept up a steady tattoo for several days. All sorts of people came:

gentlefolk and paupers, children with anxious little faces, old

people full of sympathy, pretty girls sobbing as they went away,

and young men who relieved their feelings by swearing at all

emigrants in general and Portuguese in particular. It was touching

and comforting to see how many loved the good man who was

known only by his benefactions and now lay suffering far away,

quite unconscious how many unsuspected charities were brought

to light by this grateful solicitude as hidden flowers spring up

when warm rains fall.

If Rose had ever felt that the gift of living for others was a poor

one, she saw now how beautiful and blessed it was how rich the

returns, how wide the influence, how much more precious the

tender tie which knit so many hearts together than any breath of

fame or brilliant talent that dazzled but did not win and warm. In

after years she found how true her uncle's words had been and,

listening to eulogies of great men, felt less moved and inspired by

praises of their splendid gifts than by the sight of some good man's

patient labor for the poorest of his kind. Her heroes ceased to be

the world's favorites and became such as Garrison fighting for his

chosen people; Howe restoring lost senses to the deaf, the dumb,

and blind; Sumner unbribable, when other men were bought and

sold and many a large-hearted woman working as quietly as Abby

Gibbons, who for thirty years had made Christmas merry for two

hundred little paupers in a city almshouse, besides saving

Magdalens and teaching convicts.

The lesson came to Rose when she was ready for it, and showed

her what a noble profession philanthropy is, made her glad of her

choice, and helped fit her for a long life full of the loving labor and

sweet satisfaction unostentatious charity brings to those who ask

no reward and are content if "only God knows."

Several anxious weeks went by with wearing fluctuations of hope

and fear, for Life and Death fought over the prize each wanted, and

more than once Death seemed to have won. But Phebe stood at her

post, defying both danger and Death with the courage and devotion

women often show. All her soul and strength were in her work,

and when it seemed most hopeless, she cried out with the

passionate energy which seems to send such appeals straight up to

heaven: "Grant me this one boon, dear Lord, and I will never ask

another for myself!"

Such prayers avail much, and such entire devotion often seems to

work miracles when other aids are in vain. Phebe's cry was

answered, her self-forgetful task accomplished, and her long vigil

rewarded with a happy dawn. Dr. Alec always said that she kept

him alive by the force of her will, and that, during the hours when

he seemed to lie unconscious, he felt a strong, warm hand holding

his, as if keeping him away from the swift current trying to sweep

him away. The happiest hour of all her life was that in which he

knew her, looked up with the shadow of a smile in his hollow eyes,

and tried to say in his old cheery way: "Tell Rose I've turned the

corner, thanks to you, my child."

She answered very quietly, smoothed the pillow, and saw him drop

asleep again before she stole away into the other room, meaning to

write the good news, but could only throw herself down and find

relief for a full heart in the first tears she had shed for weeks. Mac

found her there, and took such care of her that she was ready to go

back to her place now indeed a post of honor while he ran off to

send home a telegram which made many hearts sing for joy and

caused Jamie, in his first burst of delight, to propose to ring all the

city bells and order out the cannon: "Saved thanks to God and

Phebe."

That was all, but everyone was satisfied, and everyone fell

a-crying, as if hope needed much salty water to strengthen it. That

was soon over, however, and then people went about smiling and

saying to one another, with handshakes or embraces, "He is better

no doubt of it now!" A general desire to rush away and assure

themselves of the truth pervaded the family for some days, and

nothing but awful threats from Mac, stern mandates from the

doctor, and entreaties from Phebe not to undo her work kept Miss

Plenty, Rose, and Aunt Jessie at home.

As the only way in which they could ease their minds and bear the

delay, they set about spring cleaning with an energy which scared

the spiders and drove charwomen distracted. If the old house had

been infected with smallpox, it could not have been more

vigorously scrubbed, aired, and refreshed. Early as it was, every

carpet was routed up, curtains pulled down, cushions banged, and

glory holes turned out till not a speck of dust, a last year's fly, or

stray straw could be found. Then they all sat down and rested in

such an immaculate mansion that one hardly dared to move for

fear of destroying the shining order everywhere visible.

It was late in April before this was accomplished, and the

necessary quarantine of the absentees well over. The first mild

days seemed to come early, so that Dr. Alec might return with

safety from the journey which had so nearly been his last. It was

perfectly impossible to keep any member of the family away on

that great occasion. They came from all quarters in spite of express

directions to the contrary, for the invalid was still very feeble and

no excitement must be allowed. As if the wind carried the glad

news, Uncle Jem came into port the night before; Will and

Geordie got a leave on their own responsibility; Steve would have

defied the entire faculty, had it been necessary; and Uncle Mac and

Archie said simultaneously, "Business be hanged today."

Of course the aunts arrived in all their best, all cautioning

everybody else to keep quiet and all gabbling excitedly at the least

provocation. Jamie suffered the most during that day, so divided

was he between the desire to behave well and the frantic impulse

to shout at the top of his voice, turn somersaults, and race all over

the house. Occasional bolts into the barn, where he let off steam by

roaring and dancing jigs, to the great dismay of the fat old horses

and two sedate cows, helped him to get through that trying period.

But the heart that was fullest beat and fluttered in Rose's bosom as

she went about putting spring flowers everywhere; very silent, but

so radiant with happiness that the aunts watched her, saying softly

to one another, "Could an angel look sweeter?"

If angels ever wore pale green gowns and snowdrops in their hair,

had countenances full of serenest joy, and large eyes shining with

an inward light that made them very lovely, then Rose did look

like one. But she felt like a woman and well she might, for was not

life very rich that day, when Uncle, friend, and lover were coming

back to her together? Could she ask anything more, except the

power to be to all of them the creature they believed her, and to

return the love they gave her with one as faithful, pure, and deep?

Among the portraits in the hall hung one of Dr. Alec, done soon

after his return by Charlie in one of his brief fits of inspiration.

Only a crayon, but wonderfully lifelike and carefully finished, as

few of the others were. This had been handsomely framed and now

held the place of honor, garlanded with green wreaths, while the

great Indian jar below blazed with a pyramid of hothouse flowers

sent by Kitty. Rose was giving these a last touch, with Dulce close

by, cooing over a handful of sweet "daffydowndillies," when the

sound of wheels sent her flying to the door. She meant to have

spoken the first welcome and had the first embrace, but when she

saw the altered face in the carriage, the feeble figure being borne

up the steps by all the boys, she stood motionless till Phebe caught

her in her arms, whispering with a laugh and a cry struggling in her

voice: "I did it for you, my darling, all for you!"

"Oh, Phebe, never say again you owe me anything! I never can

repay you for this," was all Rose had time to answer as they stood

one instant cheek to cheek, heart to heart, both too full of

happiness for many words.

Aunt Plenty had heard the wheels also and, as everybody rose en

masse, had said as impressively as extreme agitation would allow,

while she put her glasses on upside down and seized a lace tidy

instead of her handkerchief: "Stop! All stay here, and let me

receive Alec. Remember his weak state, and be calm, quite calm,

as I am.'

"Yes, Aunt, certainly," was the general murmur of assent, but it

was as impossible to obey as it would have been to keep feathers

still in a gale, and one irresistible impulse carried the whole

roomful into the hall to behold Aunt Plenty beautifully illustrating

her own theory of composure by waving the tidy wildly, rushing

into Dr. Alec's arms, and laughing and crying with a hysterical

abandonment which even Aunt Myra could not have surpassed.

The tearful jubilee was soon over, however, and no one seemed

the worse for it, for the instant his arms were at liberty, Dr. Alec

forgot himself and began to make other people happy by saying

seriously, though his thin face beamed paternally, as he drew

Phebe forward: "Aunt Plenty, but for this good daughter I never

should have come back to be so welcomed. Love her for my sake."

Then the old lady came out splendidly and showed her mettle, for,

turning to Phebe, she bowed her gray head as if saluting an equal

and, offering her hand, answered with repentance, admiration, and

tenderness trembling in her voice: "I'm proud to do it for her own

sake. I ask pardon for my silly prejudices, and I'll prove that I'm

sincere by where's that boy?"

There were six boys present, but the right one was in exactly the

right place at the right moment, and, seizing Archie's hand, Aunt

Plenty put Phebe's into it, trying to say something appropriately

solemn, but could not, so hugged them both and sobbed out: "If I

had a dozen nephews, I'd give them all to you, my dear, and dance

at the wedding, though I had rheumatism in every limb."

That was better than any oration, for it set them all to laughing,

and Dr. Alec was floated to the sofa on a gentle wave of

merriment. Once there, everyone but Rose and Aunt Plenty was

ordered off by Mac, who was in command now and seemed to

have sunk the poet in the physician.

"The house must be perfectly quiet, and he must go to sleep as

soon as possible after the journey, so all say 'good-bye' now and

call again tomorrow," he said, watching his uncle anxiously as he

leaned in the sofa corner, with four women taking off his wraps,

three boys contending for his overshoes, two brothers shaking

hands at short intervals, and Aunt Myra holding a bottle of strong

salts under his devoted nose every time there was an opening

anywhere.

With difficulty the house was partially cleared, and then, while

Aunt Plenty mounted guard over her boy, Rose stole away to see if

Mac had gone with the rest, for as yet they had hardly spoken in

the joyful flurry, though eyes and hands had met.

Chapter 22 SHORT AND SWEET

In the hall she found Steve and Kitty, for he had hidden his little

sweetheart behind the big couch, feeling that she had a right there,

having supported his spirits during the late anxiety with great

constancy and courage. They seemed so cozy, billing and cooing in

the shadow of the gay vase, that Rose would have slipped silently

away if they had not seen and called to her.

"He's not gone I guess you'll find him in the parlor," said Steve,

divining with a lover's instinct the meaning of the quick look she

had cast at the hat rack as she shut the study door behind her.

"Mercy, no! Archie and Phebe are there, so he'd have the sense to

pop into the sanctum and wait, unless you'd like me to go and

bring him out?" added Kitty, smoothing Rose's ruffled hair and

settling the flowers on the bosom where Uncle Alec's head had lain

until he fell asleep.

"No, thank you, I'll go to him when I've seen my Phebe. She won't

mind me," answered Rose, moving on to the parlor.

"Look here," called Steve, "do advise them to hurry up and all be

married at once. We were just ready when Uncle fell ill, and now

we cannot wait a day later than the first of May."

"Rather short notice," laughed Rose, looking back with the

doorknob in her hand.

"We'll give up all our splendor, and do it as simply as you like, if

you will only come too. Think how lovely! Three weddings at

once! Do fly round and settle things there's a dear," implored Kitty,

whose imagination was fired with this romantic idea.

"How can I, when I have no bridegroom yet?" began Rose, with

conscious color in her telltale face.

"Sly creature! You know you've only got to say a word and have a

famous one. Una and her lion will be nothing to it," cried Steve,

bent on hastening his brother's affair, which was much too dilatory

and peculiar for his taste.

"He has been in no haste to come home, and I am in no haste to

leave it. Don't wait for me, 'Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr.,' I

shall be a year at least making up my mind, so you may lead off as

splendidly as you like and I'll profit by your experience." And Rose

vanished into the parlor, leaving Steve to groan over the perversity

of superior women and Kitty to comfort him by promising to

marry him on May Day "all alone."

A very different couple occupied the drawing room, but a happier

one, for they had known the pain of separation and were now

enjoying the bliss of a reunion which was to last unbroken for their

lives. Phebe sat in an easy chair, resting from her labors, pale and

thin and worn, but lovelier in Archie's eyes than ever before. It was

very evident that he was adoring his divinity, for, after placing a

footstool at her feet, he had forgotten to get up and knelt there with

his elbow on the arm of her chair, looking like a thirsty man

drinking long drafts of the purest water.

"Shall I disturb you if I pass through?" asked Rose, loath to spoil

the pretty tableau.

"Not if you stop a minute on the way and congratulate me, Cousin,

for she says 'yes' at last!" cried Archie, springing up to go and bring

her to the arms Phebe opened as she appeared.

"I knew she would reward your patience and put away her pride

when both had been duly tried," said Rose, laying the tired head on

her bosom with such tender admiration in her eyes that Phebe had

to shake some bright drops from her own before she could reply in

a tone of grateful humility that showed how much her heart was

touched: "How can I help it, when they are all so kind to me? Any

pride would melt away under such praise and thanks and loving

wishes as I've had today, for every member of the family has taken

pains to welcome me, to express far too much gratitude, and to beg

me to be one of you. I needed very little urging, but when Archie's

father and mother came and called me 'daughter,' I would have

promised anything to show my love for them."

"And him," added Rose, but Archie seemed quite satisfied and

kissed the hand he held as if it had been that of a beloved princess

while he said with all the pride Phebe seemed to have lost: "Think

what she gives up for me fame and fortune and the admiration of

many a better man. You don't know what a splendid prospect she

has of becoming one of the sweet singers who are loved and

honored everywhere, and all this she puts away for my sake,

content to sing for me alone, with no reward but love."

"I am so glad to make a little sacrifice for a great happiness I never

shall regret it or think my music lost if it makes home cheerful for

my mate. Birds sing sweetest in their own nests, you know." And

Phebe bent toward him with a look and gesture which plainly

showed how willingly she offered up all ambitious hopes upon the

altar of a woman's happy love.

Both seemed to forget that they were not alone, and in a moment

they were, for a sudden impulse carried Rose to the door of her

sanctum, as if the south wind which seemed to have set in was

wafting this little ship also toward the Islands of the Blessed,

where the others were safely anchored now.

The room was a blaze of sunshine and a bower of spring freshness

and fragrance, for here Rose had let her fancy have free play, and

each garland, fern, and flower had its meaning. Mac seemed to

have been reading this sweet language of symbols, to have guessed

why Charlie's little picture was framed in white roses, why pansies

hung about his own, why Psyche was half hidden among feathery

sprays of maidenhair, and a purple passion flower lay at Cupid's

feet. The last fancy evidently pleased him, for he was smiling over

it, and humming to himself as if to beguile his patient waiting, the

burden of the air Rose had so often sung to him:

"Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang

To the birks of Aberfeldie?"

"Yes, Mac, anywhere!"

He had not heard her enter, and wheeling around, looked at her

with a radiant face as he said, drawing a long breath, "At last! You

were so busy over the dear man, I got no word. But I can wait I'm

used to it."

Rose stood quite still, surveying him with a new sort of reverence

in her eyes, as she answered with a sweet solemnity that made him

laugh and redden with the sensitive joy of one to whom praise

from her lips was very precious: "You forget that you are not the

Mac who went away. I should have run to meet my cousin, but I

did not dare to be familiar with the poet whom all begin to honor."

"You like the mixture, then? You know I said I'd try to give you

love and poetry together."

"Like it! I'm so glad, so proud, I haven't any words strong and

beautiful enough to half express my wonder and my admiration.

How could you do it, Mac?" And a whole face full of smiles broke

loose as Rose clapped her hands, looking as if she could dance

with sheer delight.

"It did itself, up there among the hills, and here with you, or out

alone upon the sea. I could write a heavenly poem this very

minute, and put you in as Spring you look like her in that green

gown with snowdrops in your bonny hair. Rose, am I getting on a

little? Does a hint of fame help me nearer to the prize I'm working

for? Is your heart more willing to be won?"

He did not stir a step, but looked at her with such intense longing

that his glance seemed to draw her nearer like an irresistible

appeal, for she went and stood before him, holding out both hands,

as if she offered all her little store, as she said with simplest

sincerity: "It is not worth so much beautiful endeavor, but if you

still want so poor a thing, it is yours."

He caught her hands in his and seemed about to take the rest of

her, but hesitated for an instant, unable to believe that so much

happiness was true.

"Are you sure, Rose very sure? Don't let a momentary admiration

blind you I'm not a poet yet, and the best are but mortal men, you

know."

"It is not admiration, Mac."

"Nor gratitude for the small share I've taken in saving Uncle? I had

my debt to pay, as well as Phebe, and was as glad to risk my life."

"No it is not gratitude."

"Nor pity for my patience? I've only done a little yet, and I am as

far as ever from being like your hero. I can work and wait still

longer if you are not sure, for I must have all or nothing."

"Oh, Mac! Why will you be so doubtful? You said you'd make me

love you, and you've done it. Will you believe me now?" And, with

a sort of desperation, she threw herself into his arms, clinging

there in eloquent silence while he held her close; feeling, with a

thrill of tender triumph, that this was no longer little Rose, but a

loving woman, ready to live and die for him.

"Now I'm satisfied!" he said presently, when she lifted up her face,

full of maidenly shame at the sudden passion which had carried

her out of herself for a moment. "No don't slip away so soon. Let

me keep you for one blessed minute and feel that I have really

found my Psyche."

"And I my Cupid," answered Rose, laughing, in spite of her

emotion, at the idea of Mac in that sentimental character.

He laughed, too, as only a happy lover could, then said, with

sudden seriousness: "Sweet soul! Lift up your lamp and look well

before it is too late, for I'm no god, only a very faulty man."

"Dear love! I will. But I have no fear, except that you will fly too

high for me to follow, because I have no wings."

"You shall live the poetry, and I will write it, so my little gift will

celebrate your greater one."

"No you shall have all the fame, and I'll be content to be known

only as the poet's wife."

"And I'll be proud to own that my best inspiration comes from the

beneficent life of a sweet and noble woman."

"Oh, Mac! We'll work together and try to make the world better by

the music and the love we leave behind us when we go."

"Please God, we will!" he answered fervently and, looking at her

as she stood there in the spring sunshine, glowing with the tender

happiness, high hopes, and earnest purposes that make life

beautiful and sacred, he felt that now the last leaf had folded back,

the golden heart lay open to the light, and his Rose had bloomed.

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