CHAPTER XX

THE FAIREST LILY

The President was waiting for Henning in his office. The two friends left Roy at the door, and quietly stole out of the corridor into the sunshine, where with subdued voices they discussed the misfortune which was overshadowing their friend.

"I never knew a boy to meet with so many misfortunes in one year as Roy has done," said Beecham.

"It is hard," replied Bracebridge, "but God knows best. I sometimes think he is being tried, as gold is tried in the furnace, for some great purpose."

Beecham was silent. Such thoughts were just a little above Jack's ordinary plane of thinking. Bracebridge continued:

"What do you say if, during his absence, we make a grand effort to find the thief? What a glorious thing it would be if he could come back cleared of all suspicion!"

Beecham was never patient when the words "suspicion" and "Henning" were mentioned in the same connection. This time he said something quite rough, and, to tell the truth, quite unlike himself. Ambrose looked up in surprise.

"You must excuse me. I lose all patience in this affair."

"All right, old fellow. We will make a big effort, eh?"

"You may bet your last little round red cent we will."

Henning reappeared. He had but little time to spare if he would catch the six o'clock train. By traveling all night he would reach home by seven o'clock in the morning. Hurriedly changing his clothes, he shook hands with the two and was driven to the depot. Both promised to write as soon as there was anything important to write about.

While Roy Henning is traveling homeward as fast as a night express can take him, we will explain the reason why the telegram had been sent. This can not be done better than by going to the Henning home, and there tracing the course of events.

* * * * *

"I think it's real mean to rain like this," said Tommy Henning, early in the morning of the day on which Roy, his big brother, had received the alarming telegram. Tommy let his picture book drop to the floor, and swung his fat little legs backward and forward. Soon tiring of this, he flattened his nose against the window pane of the drawing-room where the two children had been trying to amuse themselves.

"What's mean, Tommy?" asked his sister, Ethel.

"Oh, things!" and with this broad generalization he continued to exercise his legs. "What's the use if it's going to rain all the time?"

"But it isn't going to rain all day. It will clear up before long, see if it doesn't."

Tommy was a real boy and, like his big brother, hated above all things to be obliged to remain indoors. It had been raining for twenty-four hours, and he longed to get outside in the free, fresh air, being particularly anxious just now to take Ethel for a ride in the boat on the big pond below the orchard.

Tommy was sturdy, but his sister was a frail girl, of shy and nervous disposition. Her chief characteristic was her passionate love for her brother Tom, who did not show much appreciation of her affection, because he did not realize its depth. He loved his sister, but in a somewhat boisterous manner. Not unfrequently he showed his affection in a way that was rather painful than otherwise to the delicate child. This was because he did not think. He did not intend to be rough, yet he secretly thought that it was a hardship that she was not a boy, for then he could have "lots more fun." They got along well together, however, and loved each other very dearly.

True to Ethel's prediction, it soon ceased raining, the clouds breaking and rolling away in great masses. Tom's vivacity returned with the sunshine.

"Ma! ma! may we go down to the pond now, and get some of those lilies?" begged Tommy, as he rushed into his mother's room.

"I am afraid not for the present, my son," replied his mother, "at least Ethel can not go. It is a little chilly after the rain, and besides, the boat will be full of water."

Ethel did not really care about going just then, but seeing how anxious her brother was to enjoy the ride and get the beautiful flowers, the first lilies of the summer, she also pleaded for permission. At length under the combined pleading of the two, Mrs. Henning consented.

"Now, Tommy," she said, "if I let you go, you must promise me not to go near the mill-race."

"All right, Ma; there's lots of room without going near there," and the handsome little fellow scampered off in high glee, with the full intention of keeping his promise.

The injunction was not an unnecessary one. The mill-race was a dangerous spot. At the sluice there was a considerable current of water which would take a boat caught in it over the bank and dangerously dash it into deep water, if it escaped being broken to pieces on some large boulders which had formerly been a part of the masonry of an old mill.

The pond was noted in the neighborhood for the profusion and beauty of its water-lilies. The children found no greater delight in the summer than in gathering them and adorning their pretty suburban home with them.

The boy found there was not much water in the boat. With Ethel's assistance he bailed it out and they were soon among the water-lilies. They formed a pretty picture--these two children, Tom in his white flannel shirt adorned with a pretty pink tie, a special Christmas gift of Ethel; she in her pink dress and white sunbonnet, her lap almost covered with luxuriant flowers.

"That's enough, Tom; plenty for to-day," said Ethel.

"All right. Now for a good row around the pond while you cut the stalks."

Tommy had a good voice, and as he rowed he began to sing:

"See our oars with feathered spray Sparkle in the beam of day, As along the lake we glide Swiftly o'er the silent tide."

The pond was large enough to afford the boy a good pull with the oars. He enjoyed it immensely. The boat had glided from shore to shore several times, when Master Tommy Henning began to look for fresh excitement. Stealthily he began to pull stronger on one oar than on the other, and so gradually to near the mill-race.

"Oh, Tom! Tommy! look, look, we are getting near the dam!" shouted Ethel, very much frightened.

"That's nothing. There's no danger here," said the boy. He made a turn, then came nearer than before to the dangerous spot.

"I'm so frightened! Tom, please, Tom, don't go so near," pleaded Ethel.

"That's because you are a girl. If you were a boy you wouldn't be frightened a little bit."

He rowed away for a little space, and soon in a spirit of pure bravado he pulled nearer a few feet. Ethel began screaming with fright.

"That's just like girls. They always scream at something or other," said the ungallant Tommy.

Ethel was very much frightened. She trembled violently, but Tom affected not to see. With another stroke he went still nearer to the mill-race. At this Ethel gave a prolonged, agonizing shriek of fear, which made even her madcap brother feel a little uncomfortable, although he still persisted in teasing her, for he knew his strength and as yet had the boat under complete control.

"I'm going nearer yet, Sis," he said to the greatly frightened little girl, and began to turn the prow of the boat a little.

She began one more wild shriek of terror, but stopped suddenly. She could scream no more. The horror of her perilous position rendered her mute. She could do nothing but shiver and tremble violently. Her eyes were wide and staring.

"What do you stop screaming for? You ain't out of danger yet. Girls always scream longer than that in one breath."

There was no reply. Tom looked around to see his sister burst into a very torrent of tears. This was too much for the boy.

"Oh, come, Ethel. I was only fooling. Don't cry. There's no danger. See!"

He headed the boat in the opposite direction and began to row away from the dangerous locality. Ethel continued to sob convulsively, unable to restrain herself. She had been thoroughly frightened, and now she could not speak. Her eyes were staring wildly; the blue veins on her forehead stood out rigidly. She seemed choking as if half stifled with the horror she had felt. Tom was now heartily ashamed of himself, and heartily wished he had not disobeyed.

"Stop crying, Ethie, and I'll give you my new box of paints," said he anxiously.

The magnitude of the inducement was the measure of Tom's anxiety. But with even this tempting offer of his greatest wealth, she could not refrain from weeping and sobbing.

"I never thought you would take on so, or I never would go near the old thing. I just did it for fun," urged the boy persistently. All his coaxing was of no avail and he became alarmed at her hysterical sobbing. To add to his confusion, as he neared the boat-landing he saw his mother standing on the bank. She had heard the screaming, and rushed down to the pond, fearing some accident had happened.

"What have you been doing to your sister?" she asked sternly.

"I thought I would scare her a little bit--only a little, though; that's all, Mama."

"And you went near the dam?"

"Not very close--true if I did. There was no danger."

Ethel's pale face and hysterical weeping told how near he had been.

"Go to the house, sir, and stay there for the rest of the day," said his mother, in a tone Tommy knew from experience was not to be disobeyed.

This was a great punishment for Tommy, for, of all things, he loved to be out of doors in the free air of heaven. There was, however, a certain manliness about the little fellow, so he went to his punishment without a word. He could not understand why his sister had screamed so much, and more especially why she did not now stop crying.

Ethel did not easily recover from her fright. Her mother brought her to the house and laid her on a cushioned lounge, where she remained all the afternoon completely prostrated. Tommy was told to stay in the same room, which he did more or less sulkily. He thought his punishment excessive, and he showed his resentment to his sister by being a little bit cross to her. Early in the afternoon he worked himself into the belief that he was actually the injured one. All this was a proceeding most unusual with Tommy.

The little girl lay on the lounge quite weakened and very sick from her adventure. She did not move, but lay still and quiet, with an occasional hard sob, resembling the last muttering of a storm in the distance. Toward four o'clock of that long afternoon she said faintly to her brother:

"Tommy, I am so thirsty; will you get me a drink?"

Now Master Tom was still quite ill-tempered and, contrary to his usual custom, very much disinclined to oblige her. Seeing a glass of water on the table, he handed it to her, saying:

"Here's some. Drink this."

She touched her feverish lips to it and said: "It's quite warm. It has been here all day. Mama brought it in this morning for the canary."

"Well, it's good water, anyhow," said Master Tommy, and he went back to his seat and sulked.

She sighed and closed her eyes without allaying her thirst. Presently Mrs. Henning came into the room, and saw, with alarm, that Ethel was in a high fever. She telephoned at once for the family physician, who was in his office when the message came. When he came he looked very grave, and declared that the child would not live more than twenty-four hours. The physician knew Ethel's constitution well. She had grown up an extremely delicate child. He gave no hope of her recovery. He declared the attack had been brought on by some unwonted exertion beyond her strength, or by some extraordinary strain caused by great fear or overwhelming grief. When told of what had occurred on the pond he shook his head ominously, and frankly told the mother to expect the worst, recommending, as a conscientious physician, that a priest be called without delay.