CHAPTER XI

A WELCOME GUEST AND MORE FAMILY HISTORY

The busy weeks sped on. Ann Sterling, well and happy, looked forward to the Christmas reunion. Suzanne was planning a trip home at Thanksgiving; but in order to have any visit at home, she also planned to miss two or three days of school. “I’m starting a day early,” said Suzanne, “and if I can persuade Mother to let me, or if she will only forget about sending me back, you’ll not see me till the middle of the next week!”

It was a temptation to Ann, for Suzanne suggested that Ann go, too, and surprise her mother. But Ann well knew how hard it was to make up work. It was much easier to keep right on, especially since Christmas was not so far away. On the other hand, it had been such a long, long time since the fall term opened! So it seemed, at least, in the light of Suzanne’s going home. Many of the girls who lived within easy traveling distance were going. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have Thanksgiving dinner with her mother? So Ann was thinking the first of Thanksgiving week. She could leave with Suzanne a day early without much difficulty, but come back on time. Thursday to Monday with Mother!

Marta came running into the suite with great excitement on Tuesday. “Say, Ann, would you mind if I abandoned you shamelessly and vamosed with some of the girls?”

Ann, who was running ribbon through the top of a slip, raised big dark eyes to give Marta a pretended glare. “What do you mean, varlet,--slave? Desert me in this evil hour?”

“It is a shame, but it is only for a few days, Ann,” laughed Marta. “I was hoping that the girls would invite you, too, and so they would, if they did not know you were going home if anywhere.”

“Who is it, Marta?”

“Ethel and Lucile. I’m to be divided up, it seems, between them.”

“Horrible thought!”

“Silly Ann! I mean, of course, that I am to spend part of the time with Ethel and part with Lucile. They are quarreling over which is to have me for Thanksgiving dinner and which for Sunday dinner!” Marta was pleased and happy over the prospect, Ann could see. How fine it was. Marta had not had many breaks in the long school year. Ann had longed to take her to her grandmother’s, but dared not, largely on account of Suzanne.

“You will have a glorious time! Think of it! In New York at Thanksgiving,--or any other time, for that matter! I’ll get along all rightee. I’ll read up French and Latin ahead, read for my big semester theme,--time will just fly! Besides, I may go to Grandmother’s yet.”

“I wish you would, Ann. It will be lonesome here.”

“With all the girls that have to stay?”

“Yes, it will. I know by sad experience.”

“I guess I could stand it for once, Marta. Don’t think of it. I _could_ go, so it is my own fault if I don’t. See? What clothes are you going to take?” Ann thought that this was the best way to get Marta’s thoughts off her regrets.

“Sure enough; what _would_ you take?”

Marta was immediately concerned about the usual question, what to wear. She began to look out what she would take with her and Ann offered to help mend, if necessary.

Wednesday came and the last recitations, from which Marta and Suzanne were excused. Suzanne, indeed, had left the night before. Ann had one “flighty moment,” as she said afterward, intending a pun, when she ran to her closet and dragged out her suitcase. Should she pack and go or shouldn’t she? Then she laughed at herself, thrust back the suitcase, and hung up her coat, which she had thrown over her arm. “You are a double-minded, unstable creature, Ann Sterling,” said she aloud. “I’ll not let you be so silly!”

Recitations were over. Ann concluded that she would run over to the administration building, to see if there was any mail, and put on her wraps for the walk. There had been a fresh snow early that afternoon, to make lovely the campus and the evergreens, which bent under the weight of the soft, white masses that clung to them. The janitors, who very likely did not appreciate the beauty of the scene as much as Ann, were sweeping the walks and the steps of the different buildings.

Cars and ‘buses were coming and going. Ann felt lonely and decided that she would hunt up some companions in “misery,” as soon as she saw whether or not she had any letters. As she tripped up the steps, in her sky-blue sweater and cap with white trimming, her dress a soft white wool that she had donned with the thought of the approaching dinner-time, somebody “nice” in one of the taxis thought that she was a pretty part of the winter scene. “The Sophomore Hall, please,” said the visitor.

“The new one or the ‘Castle?’” inquired the taxi man, who had brought many and many a girl and visitor to the Forest Hill buildings.

“The Castle, please.”

Ann, unaware of any appraising eyes, went to look after her mail and was disappointed in not hearing from her mother or father. There was a fat letter from Marjorie, however, and Ann sat right down by a warm radiator in the hall, where a cushioned bench looked inviting, and read it through, with all its news of winter days in Montana. Marjorie was spending the winter at home. “Your mountains are beautiful, Ann, to-day,” wrote Marjorie. “There was a big snow last night and everything is dazzling in the sun this morning. Your father was over yesterday. He looks as well as can be and according to Rita, has his grip packed for New England already!”

It was a good letter, Ann thought, and she looked out upon the wintry New York landscape, imagining other scenes back in the Rockies. She had half a mind to go to the library, since she was here, and read until dinner time. No, she would not begin work so soon. Besides, she had forgotten the pin which this frock needed to set it off, and where was her “hanky?”

Slowly Ann strolled along the walks, looking off at the hills, with their white slopes where there were no trees, or the forested portions with their snow-laden trees and bushes. After all, she thought, it would be pleasant to be here a few days, unhurried by lessons and recitations.

At the top of the stairs in the Castle, Ann caught a glimpse of Aline, who had almost reached her own door. “Hoo-hoo, Aline,” she called. “Come on around, can’t you?”

“Not just this minute, Ann,” replied Aline, turning, with her hand on the knob of the door. “You have a caller, though. We saw you coming and she went on in.”

Unsuspectingly, Ann went on to the other corridor and hummed a little tune as she opened the door, expecting to find one of the girls. There, in the rocking chair, facing the door with a smile and loving eyes, sat her mother!

“Mother! Mother!”

Ann rushed across the room and her mother rose, to meet Ann’s enthusiastic greeting with a warm embrace. “Are you glad to see me, then?”

“Glad! Suppose I had started with Suzanne, as I wanted to! Why, Mother, I came the _nearest_ to passing you on the way! Better not risk surprising me, Mums. Suppose I had missed you!”

“I never thought of it, for you wrote that you would not come. I, too, thought that for such a short time it would scarcely pay you, and you wanted to get ahead on your work, you said.”

“You never can tell about girls, though, Mother! But it has turned out all right. Are you going to stay over Sunday and all?”

“Yes. We’ll have one good visit; and when you have to work on your lessons, I will keep as still as a mouse.” Mrs. Sterling dropped her voice to a stage whisper and opened wide eyes, as if awed at the vision of Ann’s lessons.

Ann gave her mother another hug and laughingly reminded her that there were many years of training by the same Mrs. Sterling, when Ann studied many an hour in her mother’s presence. “There isn’t anything so very important, anyhow, Mother, only my lessons for next week as usual. I was planning more, because I could keep from being lonesome that way. But I’d waste a lot of time with the other girls, you know, ‘gossiping’ or playing popular songs for them, or doing this or that. How is Grandmother, by the way?”

“She is herself again, sorry not to see you this time, but she approved of my coming and said that she would spare me this long, since it would be an opportunity for us to have a quiet visit together.”

“It will be wonderful. We’ll have the suite all to ourselves, for Marta has gone to New York with Ethel and Lucile. Why, we’ll be just like two girls. You look like one yourself.”

“Scarcely,” said Mrs. Sterling. “But that reminds me. I must get dressed for dinner. I did not like to start my toilet for fear that you would come before I finished. I thought, by the way, that you would never come. When I saw you strolling along toward this building, I tried to concentrate and will you to hurry, but it did not work! You were going up the steps of the administration building when my taxi rolled in, too far away for me to call, and then I thought that it would be fun to surprise you. You used to like surprises.”

“I do, and I have had a lot of nice ones, too. The last one at home was my cabin in the mountains. But this is a fine one. It’s funny. I took my time to things. You must have been waiting quite a while.”

“I have; but Aline Robson was with me. What were you doing?”

“I was lonesome and went over to see if there were a letter from you or Father. I was disappointed, but had a long letter from Marj. I’ll let you read it. She says that Dad looks fine.”

“That is good to hear. I shall enjoy the letter after I get ready.”

How good it was to have mother around! Ann helped her hang up her wraps and extra garments, brought in one good-sized grip. She flew around to straighten the room, patting up the pillows on the couch, putting the books on the shelves and clearing the table, whisking the cover off from the dresser and putting on a fresh one before her mother should be ready to fix her hair, dusting the table and the rounds of the chairs, neglected for several busy days.

“How do you think you can get along, Mrs. Sterling, without a maid?” asked Ann, when her mother at last began to loosen her long thick hair ready for its combing.

“Never having been without one,” replied Mrs. Sterling, “it _will_ be difficult! Perhaps I can’t quite equal the style of Adeline’s coiffures, but I think that I can manage.”

“How does it seem, Mother? I didn’t dare ask you at Grandmother’s, but does it seem natural there, or have you been away so long that it is hard to fall into the ways again? You seemed perfectly at home, and I would have thought that you had always had Adeline from your manner with her.”

“It was strange at first, Ann, though one naturally knows what to do in the home where she has lived so many years. And since your father and you have been away, I could almost fancy that it had all been a dream. That was one reason that I came. I wanted to see you so much. I don’t want it a dream, you see!”

“I’m no dream, Mother, and I’m glad that you feel that way about us,--though I must say that I have never been worried about losing your affection.”

“That could not happen, my child, under any circumstances.”

“No matter what I did?”

“No matter what you do. But I hope that you will always choose to do right!”

“I ought to, with the mother and father I have. But don’t expect me to be perfect.”

“Take perfection for your ideal, Ann, though you will not find it in either of your parents. When is your dinner hour, Ann? Will I be ready in time?”

“Yes; take your time, Mother. Does Miss Tudor know that you are here?”

“No; I was not sure of coming. That was one reason that I did not write. Then I knew that there was plenty of room in the suite, even if Marta were here.”

* * * * *

Proudly Ann guided her mother through the halls, over to the dining room, and seated her in Marta’s place. Miss Tudor recognized Mrs. Sterling’s presence by a bow and smile. There had not been time for Ann to take her mother to Miss Tudor’s rooms before the gong rang. At the table were Katherine, Dorothy and Aline, the only girls left beside Ann out of the two suites. Permissions were freely given that evening for changes to be made at table, and as they all stood behind chairs a few minutes, while the girls gathered, the three girls had hurried over to Ann and Mrs. Sterling, invited by a gesture from Ann.

“You are a lucky girl, Ann!” Katherine exclaimed, after grace. “If all the mothers could only come!”

“I am lucky, but I’ll share mine a little. All of you come around to our suite after dinner, that is, after we have seen Miss Tudor. There won’t be any study hours, will there?”

“I think that the bell will ring and we’ll be supposed to stay in the buildings, as usual,--that’s all,” said Dorothy. “But isn’t your mother too tired?”

“No, indeed,” declared Mrs. Sterling. “I need a good dose of _girls_ more than anything else!”

“You have come to the right place for it, then, Mrs. Sterling,” said Aline, looking rather wistfully at Ann and her mother. Aline missed her mother more than she ever let any one know.

Ann had a faint idea of this and made sure that, after the meal was over, Aline, who had happened to be the one to greet Mrs. Sterling first, should accompany them from the table. They met Miss Tudor on the way out of the dining-room; rather, she joined them, and cordially welcomed Mrs. Sterling, who said that she would call to see her “tomorrow.”

“Good, Mother!” said Ann, after Miss Tudor had gone on with one of the teachers. “I was so afraid that we would have to waste to-night by calling.”

“Miss Tudor would not feel flattered if she heard that remark,” said Mrs. Sterling.

“I like Miss Tudor, but I can see her every day,” replied Ann. “Do you blame me, Aline?”

“Not a bit.”

The evening would not have been properly begun without music, but the girls passed by the parlors of the administration building and went on to their own building, where Aline secured her violin; and in the Castle’s drawing room, a dozen or more girls gathered around the piano, to sing for Mrs. Sterling, surprised and pleased to have her join in the Forest Hill songs and others. Then Aline, Katherine, Dorothy and Ann escorted her to Ann’s suite for a good visit before bedtime. Mrs. Sterling had not been a girl herself for nothing. In her bag was an immense box of candy and she promised the girls to call them in when another “Thanksgiving box” arrived. “I had to send it,” she said, “but it should be here in the morning at the latest.”

“What is it, Mother?” asked Ann.

“Wait and see, little Ann,” laughed her mother. “It is another surprise.”

“Do we have turkey tomorrow?” asked Ann.

“We always do,” said Katherine, “and I saw some fowls arrive, dressed,--they looked to me too big for chickens.”

“Your mother must have loved you, Ann,” said Dorothy, “to forego the kind of a Thanksgiving dinner that I imagine they will have at your grandmother’s to-morrow.”

“Mother does love me better than turkey or anything, don’t you, Mother?” Ann affected a childish tone which amused the girls, and the smiling Mrs. Sterling nodded an affirmative.

“But goose, Ann, is considered a Christmas bird,” Dorothy suggested.

“Listen to that, now!” cried Ann. “Do you suppose that Dots means anything personal, Katherine?”

“Have a bon-bon, Ann,” said Katherine in soothing tones.

That night, in spite of the bon-bons, Ann sank into a dreamless sleep. Everything was always safe when Mother was around.

* * * * *

Thanksgiving was a perfect day, cold, to be sure, but crisp, sunny, an occasional icicle forming over the porch in the middle of the day. The big turkey dinner was at two o’clock, breakfast at a late hour beforehand. It was so “delicious,” Ann said, “not to have to get up for lessons.” Her mother, too, was tired, and had many things, practical and otherwise, to talk over with her daughter. They were invited to sit at Miss Tudor’s table for dinner. This was an honor, but Ann would have enjoyed it far better with the girls at her own table. However, she had her mother and that was sufficient. The dinner was worthy of the day, the girls in high spirits, for there were to be some winter sports and a sled ride later in the day.

For the sports Ann did not care now. She would have plenty of that sort of thing at Christmas time. These days with Mother were a welcome rest Ann was well, but had not realized how tired she was until the necessity for keeping on was over. She took a long nap in the afternoon, while her mother, after a short one, investigated the condition of Ann’s clothes and was sitting with her thimble on, sewing, when Ann wakened.

“Isn’t that good, to see you with your thimble on ‘as of yore,’” Ann said sleepily, as she still lay on the couch where she had fallen asleep.

Mrs. Sterling looked up and smiled. “You were sleeping so soundly that I did not think I would waken you by looking over things.”

“It is good of you. I neglect my clothes shamefully, I know.”

“I am well aware, daughter, that you have other important things to do.”

“Tell me some more about Grandmother and everybody,” Ann suggested. “Did you say that Maury calls you his ‘long-lost’ aunt?”

“Yes. Maurice and I are great friends. By the way, he is not smoking those miserable cigarettes now, says that he hears they are bad for brains and he has to get his lessons this year.” Mrs. Sterling smiled in amused remembrance. “He was out of sorts about something when he came home, just before I left, but whatever it was seemed to be fixed up with his father.”

“Do you like Maury better than Cliff, Mother?”

“Why the comparison, Ann?”

“Well, Cliff was always around out home, and here it is Maury.”

“I see. It is hard to compare the two boys. They are so different. Clifford is the more reliable, I suppose, but still, Maurice has his strong points. He has been pretty well spoiled in some ways, but seems to be waking up a little. After all, there is good blood in him.”

“Not being proud of our family at all, you will admit that!” joked Ann.

“I think that Maurice is more sincere than Suzanne, though I am fond of Suzanne.”

“Do you think that Maurice has been,--well, what people call ‘wild?’”

“He has been gay and has spent too much money. Your uncle was talking to me one day about Maurice. Maurice was defending himself, it seems, from charges his father made against him, and said to his father that he might be thankful it was not worse,--that anyhow he ‘wasn’t into anything to be a disgrace,’ like ‘Beano’ and some of them. That seemed to comfort your uncle. Your Uncle Tyson is a very sensible man, Ann. I can not believe that he is engaged in any plan to defraud your grandmother.”

“You never can tell, Mother,” wisely commented Ann. “I’ve heard that very good appearing men can carry through some dreadfully crooked things.”

Ann’s worldly wisdom seemed to amuse Mrs. Sterling very much. “That is very true, Ann,” said she, “but one must not be too suspicious.”

“What became of Grandmother’s bonds, then?” asked Ann.

“Perhaps he knew nothing about them.”

“Then you think that Aunt Sue,----”

“Sh-sh,--Ann, we do not know.”

“I know what Grandmother told me. But I’m glad to hear that you think Uncle Tyson may be all right.”

“Your Aunt Sue, you know, always did think that everything at home belonged to her.”

“Yes; isn’t it funny? I couldn’t be that way, even about our dear home. How old is Maurice, Mother?”

“Let me see. You are in your eighteenth year, aren’t you?”

“Yes’m,--your daughter is getting on in years, madam.”

“Very old, indeed! I was thinking of the difference in your ages. I have always understood that there were two years between Maurice and Suzanne, and Suzanne is about six months older than you. Sue had two babies when she came home from abroad. I judge that Maurice is about twenty now, possibly twenty-one by the time he graduates.”

“You were married before Aunt Sue, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and that year Mother and Sue went abroad. Sue was married in Paris and she remained there for some time. Then Mother came home, and Sue went around the world with her husband. Maurice was born, I believe, in some unheard of place,--I declare I have forgotten. Mother wrote me about it after she had forgiven me for marrying your father. Suzanne was born in France, I believe.”

“Did Nancy or any one ever tell you that Aunt Sue was in love with Dad?”

Mrs. Sterling looked up in surprise. “No. What an idea! Of course--your father came out to see Sue in the first place, before he met me there, but,----”

“Listen, Mother; this is what the old gardener told me; rather, he referred to you as the daughter who married ‘the man that the other one wanted.’ I told Dad about it one time, and I supposed that he might tell you.”

“Your father is too modest a man for that. I am surprised; but it would account for many things.” Mrs. Sterling looked off into space and let her sewing drop into her lap.

Ann respected her mother’s thoughts and kept quiet.

“Poor Sue!” her mother said at last. “I wonder if she really were in love with your father!”

“Now, Mother, don’t go to pitying Aunt Sue! Think how awful it would have been for Father if she had married him. How lucky it was that he did meet you before Aunt Sue’s wiles got him!”

Ann was half laughing as she spoke, but she meant what she was saying.

“I see. The inference is, I take it, that he did not do so badly in getting me!”

“You have it, Mother mine. And Aunt Sue had a lot of beaus, I understand. The chances are that she did not care at all for Father, but just hated it that you were the one he fell in love with. Do you really suppose that Aunt Sue has ever loved anybody but herself?”

“Take care, Ann. You are too hard on her.”

“And you, dear Mother, are so good and unselfish that you think everybody else is, too. I have too vivid a memory of how you worried, for _years_, ever to trust anybody’s happiness in the hands of Aunt Sue!”

“It is best to forget it, if you can, Ann. You must not harbor bitter feelings, Ann. It hurts you more than any one.”

“I know that, Mother, because I’ve felt it. All the same, while I am going to be as respectful to Aunt Sue as I can possibly be, I think that it would be foolish ever to give her a chance again to hurt you. When people prove what they are,----”

“Don’t be so fierce, little one. Suppose that our heavenly Father would treat us according to what He has found out we are.”

“Now, Mother,--you know I can’t argue with you about that!”

“When all is said, Ann, Sue is my sister. I’d rather not get worked up over anything again.”

“That is so, Mother. Forgive me for stirring it all up. Say, Mums, was there any of that candy left?”

Mrs. Sterling reached to the bureau for the big box and handed it to Ann. “The girls were quite conservative, I should say,” she replied, “but how you can eat anything after that dinner I can’t see.”

“That was hours ago, Mother! Besides we had no candy for dinner. I love your selection. I will now eat a big fat chocolate with a nut on it, and--yes,--that green bon-bon looks good,--and a yellow one. Please have one with me, Mother.”

Mrs. Sterling shook her head. “No thank you, daughter. I’ll wait a while.”

“It is never safe to wait about candy. But if this goes, we’ll make you some fudge. There is always that possibility, you know.”

“How glad I am to know that. I shall be saved from starvation at least.”

“Now, Mother!”

Ann would not tell her mother, she thought, about the gossip which she had heard at her grandmother’s. She had been half tempted to do so when they were talking about Maurice, but this was not the time.