CHAPTER XVII.

ROLAND’S PROJECT.

“Bonny, are you hurt?”

“Bonny, have you spilled my custards?”

“Bonny, have you broken down the stairs?”

For answer to all these anxious inquiries, which indicated the particular dread of each inquirer, there presently came up from the region of darkness below a ripple of hysterical laughter, which rapidly increased in volume till the hearers were forced to join in it.

This was more than Robert could patiently endure, and, regardless of Sunday clothes, he bounded down the stairs, and so noisily that he did not hear Beatrice’s swift remonstrance: “Don’t, Bob! For mercy’s sake, don’t come down here! There, you’ve finished it!”

Mrs. Beckwith quietly and cautiously followed the headlong flight of her youngest child, and half-way to the lower floor stopped in utter dismay. There, at the bottom of the flight, sat Bonny, with Robert in her lap, whither he had fallen promptly, amidst a pile of broken cups, and with each of the unfortunates plentifully splashed with some sort of sticky, yellowish liquid.

“Well, what have you done?”

“Why, spilled the custards!”

“What were you doing with them?” demanded Isabelle, sharply, from the head of the stairs.

“Nothing--that is, ‘I didn’t go for to do nothing’ with them! When I went away to work yesterday morning, there were two pans of milk on that swing-shelf. I could have gone in the dark and found them easily; so I did!” And away went Beatrice into another peal of laughter as infectious as it was ridiculous.

“Mother told you to take a light!”

“I didn’t hear her. Besides, it didn’t seem worth while to go to that trouble. Why did you put custards in the milk’s place? And also, if you have custards, why don’t you feed them to your family instead of laying pitfalls with them to catch unwary maidens? When I was housekeeper I--”

“When you were housekeeper you did exactly as you pleased, and nobody durst interfere!” said Belle, quickly. “You see, Mother! It’s of no use trying. There I worked extra hard to-night, so that I would not have to take my precious morning light to-morrow to prepare dessert. I knew that our dinner was to be a very plain one, and so I thought I would piece it out with a little second course. All for nothing!”

Mrs. Beckwith made no comment upon this exclamation. The damage which Bonny’s thoughtlessness had done was, she feared, far greater than the loss of a little daylight or one day’s dessert. “Gather up your frock as carefully as you can, so that the stuff will not drip upon these clean stairs, then go directly out of doors; that is, if you are not hurt. I will come out on the grass and help you there. Here, Robert! Put this apron about you and follow Bonny. Your unfortunate Sunday clothes! They are ruined, I am afraid.”

Isabelle retreated in a flood of tears, and Roland ran away to compose a sonnet to a “Maiden in Distress;” that being a safety-valve to let off his mirthfulness over the absurd affair. But Beatrice picked herself up stiffly and obeyed her mother without a word. Her fun had quite evaporated, and she felt heartily ashamed of herself.

“It’s that eternal, undying conceit of mine, Motherkin! If I’d had any sense I’d have taken a lamp, even though I did not hear you. But no! I--Bonny Beckwith--could go down cellar in the darkest night and do anything I wished! I wasn’t afraid,--I! But I’m so sorry, so awfully sorry about your pretty cups, Mother. You have had them so long and kept them so carefully. I don’t understand yet how it happened.”

“The explanation is simple enough. After Isabelle had made her custard, she poured it into the cups, and, it being hot, set them in an empty pan to carry the better downstairs. She had used the milk from the pan on the swing-shelf, and it was a convenient place to keep her dessert until to-morrow, safe and high above the reach of the cat or any stray mice.”

“It was high enough, in all conscience! I had to reach above my head to take the pan down, and I thought it felt amazing heavy then; but not until I reached the foot of the stairs and stumbled did I hear the cups rattle and realize that it wasn’t just milk I carried.”

“There, turn around. The other side is all messed with it, too.”

“Is it spoiled, Mother? Is my new clothes no more good?” wailed Robert, ruefully regarding the liberal dash of water which his mother gave those cherished articles.

“They will never look well again, but they will be wearable, I hope. Bonny’s fresh frock is unfit for further use, however, until after it is laundered again. What will you wear to-morrow, child?”

“The old winter one, I suppose.”

“But if you are going away with your employer, will it answer?”

“The best one, then. When a body has just one good gown and two week-day ones, she hasn’t much trouble in making her decisions. I care only about the cups.”

“Don’t think of them again. I am thankful you were not hurt. But, my darling, is there nothing else you are sorry for?”

“Oh! I--suppose--so! The quarrel with Belle. But she was as much to blame as I. She shouldn’t have put the pan there if she didn’t want it tipped over.”

“Broken cups may be replaced, and soiled frocks made clean. These are trivialities; but a wounded spirit--I believe I can trust my Beatrice, can I not? Now come indoors. Roland has, also, a ‘secret’ to tell, or a statement to explain. He is probably impatient to do so. About the express wagon. Come, Robert. It is almost your bedtime, anyway.”

“Mother, if anybody isn’t good who lives with you, she ought to be ‘kicked by cripples’! You--”

“Beatrice, where do you learn such expressions?”

“That came from Brother--I mean Mr.--Dolloway’s vocabulary. He has a choice lot of ‘Sayings’ which he repeats on each and every occasion. This morning he said something about somebody being as ‘queer as Dick’s hat-band;’ and when I asked him how queer that was he answered, as quick as a flash, ‘Went half-way round and tucked under.’ He’s very original, and ever so funny.”

“He may be; but his expressions on your tongue are not funny, but silly. Why cannot you pattern after Miss Joanna? You hear only good English from her careful lips.”

“Natural depravity, Motherkin. But I’ll try. I think myself that Dollowayisms do not sound as well on ‘Humpty-Dump’s’ lips as they do on the ‘original Jacob’s.’ There it goes again! Mother, what does make me so thoughtless?”

“Dearie, I wish I knew!”

“I’ll find out! And I’ll conquer myself if--I can! I will, dear Mother, if you will keep faith in me.”

“My faith in you will only fail with my life, darling. You must have faith in yourself, and not settle down to the belief that you cannot make yourself all that you would be. But--a truce to lectures for to-night! I want to hear what Roland has to say.”

They went into the “peace-room” again, and Beatrice placed her little brother beside herself on the rug before the fire “to dry off,” while Mrs. Beckwith roused Roland from his writing to tell them all about his new venture.

“Well, you see, Mr. Brook told me that there was no stage running from this place to Newburgh. There are two, or more, which do go from the town below us to the city above, but just here there is nothing of the kind. He proposed that I start a little ‘express route,’ fetching and delivering parcels for the New Windsorites,--those who either have no horses of their own, or do not care to trouble to drive regularly into the city. He will speak to several persons for me, and even a few families would be a good beginning. He says I can probably buy a small covered cart at the salesroom in Newburgh, second-hand, but adapted to my purpose; and that it will not hurt Nan to do the work. He proposes my making the trips three times a week at first, while I am busy getting in my crops--”

“Hear! hear!” interrupted Bonny.

“Then later on I can go every day if it seems to be profitable. He also suggests that I begin right away, and offers to go into town with me and help me select my vehicle, if you approve. Mr. Dolloway says it will ruin me; that I’ve ‘undertook more’n a common man’d lay out ter do, anyhow;’ but I assured the old gentleman that I did not consider myself a ‘common man’ by any means, but that I was my mother’s son and meant to be worthy of my parentage.”

“Motherkin, that flattery is intended to wheedle the price of the ‘express wagon’ out of your pocket!” cried Beatrice, again, divining at once the thought of her mother’s mind.

Not that “wheedling” had any connection with the anxiety of the widow, but that she reflected, with grave doubts of its wisdom, how deeply she was dipping into their small sinking fund. She looked up smilingly, but asked seriously enough, “How much will that cost?”

“From thirty to forty dollars.”

“It will take you many days to get back that much money, even if the experiment proves a success. The houses are very scattered, and most of the people about us either very wealthy or very poor,--mill-workers and farm-employees, Miss Brook told me. How can either class need such service?”

Roland’s countenance fell. He felt the wide difference between the caution of maturity and the impulse of youth, and already foresaw that he would be obliged to relinquish his plan, for the want of that “paltry sum.” But he hated to give up, and offered a suggestion: “I’m sure, since he proposed it, that Mr. Brook will lend me the money.”

Mrs. Beckwith’s answer was swift and decided: “Dismiss that notion at once. With my consent my children shall never run into debt. What we have of our own, what we can earn, that we may use; but the moment we begin to use other people’s funds, that moment we not only sacrifice our own dignity but our freedom. Mr. Brook is a rich man. I do not doubt that he would give you outright the cart you wish; but you must be as honorable as he. Poverty need make no difference that way, thank God. We have sometimes gone pretty hungry, but we have never owed anybody yet. If you think I seem niggardly about the little left of our ‘insurance money,’ it is because I dare not reduce our rainy-day stock by any further great amount. However, I will myself see Mr. Brook in the morning and talk the matter over with him. I have no desire to be over-prudent, but there are some questions I should like to ask. Now, Beatrice, if you are ‘dried,’ please open the piano. It is high time a band of toilers went to rest.”

The devotions of the little family were very simple, and the mother always led them. It was mostly a service of song, and sent each heart away into the silence of the night the better and happier for its sweetness. This time, despite the resolution that it should not last long, it was prolonged, indeed, until brought to a sudden terminus by Robert going to sleep in an upright position at his mother’s elbow, and losing his balance, falling headlong against the piano keys with a discordant crash!

“Finale! Positively the last appearance, and therefore the last accident, for the day of ‘Mr. Humpty-Dump’!” cried Roland, and unceremoniously picked up his small brother and started stairwards with him.

“Ain’t asleep! Sleep ’self! Lemme ’lone! I want--I want a bee--a chick--a--a--h-e-n--”

In five minutes the little fellow was in his own cosey “nest,” unconscious how he arrived there, and dreaming of a poultry-house full of downy chickens helping him to eat honey from a broken custard-cup.

The last to fall asleep that night under the old-time roof was Isabelle. Long after the others were at rest she sat by the uncurtained window of her “studio,” watching the clouds in the sky, and feeling anything but happy.

“All the others are so busy, and all are earning their own money except me! Oh! nobody knows how hard it is! To give up everything I liked and bury myself alive in a horrid country town, which isn’t even a village, but a collection of scattered tenements, with people living in them who never call upon their neighbors, except, of course, the Brooks. But they ought to be kind; they enticed us here! Though I did think this morning it all was going to be better and easier; to-night I’m utterly discouraged. If it weren’t for breaking my mother’s heart, I’d run away!”

Poor Isabelle! She had been the “show pupil” of her class, and the real talent she did possess had been magnified by injudicious praise into what was “genius” in her own estimation. She had been the only one who had disliked the country project, and she found her trials even greater than she had anticipated.

Presently, by dwelling upon the dark side of her lot, she had worked herself up into a most unenviable state of mind, and had thrown herself dramatically upon the floor to sob her grief away. But after a while she became conscious of some noise outside the building, and timidity very promptly banished melodrama.

She sat up and strained her ears to hear.

Crunch! crunch! crunch!

“Why--it--sounds--like--like--wheels!” she murmured with chattering teeth.

“Whack! bang!”

Surely that was a muttered imprecation which she caught!

Thieves? Housebreakers?

She neither dared to move nor cry out; but the five minutes she remained where she was seemed to her a lifetime. At the end of that space the echo of retreating footsteps was so plain that she rallied her courage and ran into Bonny’s room, crying: “Wake up! wake up! We’ve been robbed! Burglars-- Oh!”

“Yes, dear, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again!” responded Beatrice, sleepily.