Chapter 11

"Dear me!" she exclaimed at thought of her brood. Those young things were having the best of times. It was "wildly exciting," as Clem Forsythe said, to be packed in; those on the end seats huddling away from the rain as much as possible, under cover of the curtains buttoned down fast. And hilarity ran high. They sang songs; never quite finishing one, but running shrilly off to others, which were produced on several different keys maybe, according to the mood of the singers. And as every girl wanted to sing her favorite song, there were sometimes various compositions being produced in different quarters of the big stage, till no one particular melody could be said to have the right of way. And Miss Salisbury sat in the midst of the babel, and smiled as much as her anxiety would allow, at the merriment. And as it was in this stage, so the other stages were counterparts. And the gay tunes and merry laughter floated back all along the cavalcade, mingling harmoniously with the rainfall.

Suddenly an awful clap of thunder reverberated in the sky. The songs ended in squeals of dismay, and the laughter died away.

"Oh--oh--we're going to have a thunder storm!" screamed more than one girl, huddling up closer to her next neighbor, to clutch her frantically.

"Oh, I'm so afraid of the thunder!" screamed Amy Garrett.

"You goose, it won't hurt you." Lucy Bennett, whom Amy had crouched against, gave her a little push.

"It will. It will. My uncle was struck once," said Amy, rebounding from the push to grasp Lucy frantically around the neck.

"You nearly choked me to death," exclaimed Lucy, untwisting the nervous hands; "don't get so scared. Your uncle never was struck by the thunder, and we haven't had any lightning yet; so I wouldn't yell till we do."

"Well, there it is now," cried Amy, covering her eyes. And there it was now, to be sure, in a blinding flash; to be followed by deeper rolls of thunder, drowning the screams of the frightened girls, and the plunging of the horses that didn't like it much better.

Mr. Kimball peered out and squinted to the right and to the left through the blinding storm; then he turned his horses suddenly off from the road, into a narrow lane. "Oh, why do you?" began Miss Salisbury. But this remonstrance wouldn't have done any good had the old stage-driver heard it. At the end of the lane, he knew in a few moments they would all arrive at a big old fashioned mansion where shelter could not be refused them under such circumstances. Although,--and Mr. Kimball shook within himself at his temerity,--under any other conditions visitors would not be expected nor welcomed. For Mr. John Clemcy and his sister, Miss Ophelia, had never exhibited, since they settled down in this quiet spot after leaving their English home many years ago, any apparent desire to make friends. They were quite sufficient for themselves; and what with driving about,--which they did in a big basket phaeton, or behind their solemn pair of black horses, and the still more solemn coachman, Isaac, also black,--and in the care of the large estate and the big brick mansion, they found ample occupation for their time and thoughts.

Up to this big red brick mansion now plunged Mr. Kimball with as much assurance as if he were not quaking dreadfully. And the other stages following suit, the sudden and unusual uproar brought two faces to the windows, and then to the door.

"May we all git out and go into your barn?" roared Mr. Kimball, peering at them from beneath his dripping hat.

There was an awful pause. Mr. Kimball clutched his old leather reins desperately; and Miss Salisbury, to whom had come faint rumors of the chosen isolation of the brother and sister, felt her heart sink woefully.

Mr. John Clemcy stepped out,--slender, tall, with white hair and beard, both closely cropped. He had a pale, aristocratic face, and a pair of singularly stern eyes, which he now bent upon the old stage-driver.

"Brother," remonstrated his sister,--she looked as much like him as possible in face and figure,--"do not venture out in this driving storm."

"No," said Mr. Clemcy, "I cannot consent to your going into my stable. I--"

"'Taint Christian," blurted out the old stage-driver, "to leave human bein's out in sech a pickle."

"No, I am aware of that," said Mr. John Clemcy, without a change of countenance; "and so I invite you all to come into my house." He threw wide the door. "My sister, Miss Clemcy."

Miss Ophelia stepped forward and received them as if she had specially prepared for their visit, and with such an air of distinction that it completely overwhelmed Miss Salisbury, so that her own manners, always considered quite perfect by parents and friends of her pupils, paled considerably in contrast. It was quite like entering an old baronial hall, as the courtly, aristocratic host ushered them in; and the girls, not easily overawed by any change of circumstance, who had tumbled out laughingly from the stages despite Miss Salisbury's nervous endeavors to quiet them, were now instantly subdued.

"Isn't it solemn!" whispered Alexia, hanging to Polly Pepper, her pale eyes roving over the armor, and old family portraits almost completely covering the walls of the wide hall.

"Hush," whispered Polly back again.

"But I can't breathe; oh, look at that old horror in the ruff. Polly--look!" she pinched the arm she grasped.

Meantime, although there were so many girls, the big red brick mansion seemed quite able to contain them hospitably, as Mr. and Miss Clemcy opened door after door into apartments that appeared to stretch out into greater space beyond. When at last the company had been distributed, Miss Salisbury found her voice. "I am pained to think of all the trouble we are giving you, Miss Clemcy."

"Do not mention it." Miss Ophelia put up a slender arm, from which fell off a deep flounce of rare old lace. The hand that thus came into view was perfect; and Miss Salisbury, who could recognize qualities of distinction, fell deeply in love with the evidences before her.

"Do you suppose she dresses up like that every day, Silvia?" whispered Lucy Bennett, in an awe-struck voice.

Silvia, in matters of dress never being willing to show surprise, preserved her composure. "That's nothing," she managed to say indifferently: "it can't be real, such a lot of it, and around her neck too."

Down into the old colonial kitchen, with its corner fireplace, wide and roomy, and bricked to the ceiling, Mr. Clemcy led the way. It was a big room, and not used for its original purpose; being filled with cabinets, and shelves on which reposed some of the most beautiful specimens of china and various relics and curiosities and mementos of travel, Miss Salisbury thought she had ever seen. And she had been about the world a good bit; having utilized many of her vacations, and once or twice taking a year off from her school work, for that purpose. And being singularly receptive to information, she was the best of listeners, in an intelligent way, as Mr. Clemcy moved about from object to object explaining his collection. He seemed perfectly absorbed in it, and, as the girls began to notice, in his listener as well.

Lucy Bennett was frightfully romantic, and jumped to conclusions at once. "Oh, do you suppose he will marry her?" she cried under her breath to Silvia, as the two kept together.

"Who? What are you talking about?" demanded Silvia, who was very matter-of-fact.

"Why, that old man--Mr. Whatever his name is," whispered Lucy.

"Mr. Clemcy? do get names into your head, Lu," said Silvia crossly, who wanted to look at things and not be interrupted every minute.

"I can't ever remember names, if I do hear them," said Lucy, "so what is the use of my bothering to hear them, Sil?"

"Well, do keep still," said Silvia, trying to twist away her arm, but Lucy clung to it.

"Well, I can't keep still either, for I'm mortally afraid he is--that old man, whatever you call him--going to marry her."

"Who?" demanded Silvia sharply.

"Our Miss Salisbury, and--"

"Lu Bennett!" Silvia sat down in the first chair she could find. It was very fortunate that the other groups were so absorbed that nobody noticed them.

"Oh, you do say such perfectly silly things!" declared Silvia, smothering the peal of laughter that nearly escaped her.

"Well, it isn't silly," cried Lucy in an angry whisper, "and it's going to happen, I know, and she'll give up our school to Miss Anstice, and come and live here. Oh my!" She looked ready to cry on the spot. "Look at them!"

Now, Silvia had called Lucy Bennett "silly" hundreds of times, but now as she looked at Mr. Clemcy and Miss Salisbury, she began to have an uneasy feeling at her heart. "I won't go to school to Miss Anstice," she declared passionately. Then she began to plan immediately. "I'll get mother to let me go to boarding school."

"And I'll go with you," exclaimed Lucy radiantly. All this was in stage whispers, such a buzz going on around them that no one else could possibly catch a word. And so in just about two minutes, they had their immediate future all planned.

"Well, you better get up out of that chair," said Lucy presently, and picking at Silvia's sleeve.

"I guess I'm not hurting the chair," said Silvia, squinting sideways at the high, carved back. "They asked us in here,--at least _he_ did."

"Well, he didn't ask us to sit down," said Lucy triumphantly.

"And if he's going to marry her," said Silvia, in a convincing whisper, "I guess I can sit in all the chairs if I want to."

"Hush!" warned Lucy, "here comes Miss Anstice."

Miss Anstice, with her front breadth all stained with jelly cake and marmalade, was wandering around, quite subdued. It was pitiful to see how she always got into the thickest of the groups to hide her gown, trying to be sociable with the girls. But the girls not reciprocating, she was at last taken in tow by Miss Ophelia, who set about showing her some rare old china, as a special attention.

Now, Miss Anstice cared nothing for rare old china, or indeed, for relics or curiosities of any sort; but she was very meek on this occasion, and so she allowed herself to be led about from shelf to shelf; and though she said nothing, Miss Ophelia was so enchanted by her own words and memories, as she described in a fluent and loving manner their various claims to admiration, that she thought the younger Miss Salisbury quite a remarkable person.

"Show her the Lowestoft collection, sister," called Mr. John Clemcy, from across the apartment, and breaking off from his animated discussion over an old Egyptian vase, in which Miss Salisbury had carried herself brilliantly.

"I will, Brother John," assented Miss Clemcy, with great affability. "Now here," and she opened the door to its cabinet, "is what will interest you greatly, I think."

Suddenly, a crash as of breaking porcelain struck upon the ear. Every one in the old room jumped, save the persons who might be supposed to be the most interested--Mr. Clemcy and his sister. Their faces did not change.

Miss Salisbury deserted the Egyptian vase. "Who," she demanded, hurrying to the centre of the apartment, a red spot on either cheek, "has done this?"

Mr. John Clemcy followed her. "Do not, I beg," he said quietly, "notice it."

"Notice it! after your extreme hospitality--oh! which one of my scholars can have forgotten herself enough to touch a thing?"

The groups parted a little, just enough to disclose a shrinking figure. It was Lily, whose curious fingers were clasped in distress.

"She is very young," said Miss Clemcy softly, as Miss Salisbury detached her from the group, and passed into another room, crying as if her heart would break.

Mr. John Clemcy then came up to his sister and her visitor. "Your sister must not take it so to heart," he said.

Miss Anstice was worn out by this time, what with her gown, and now by this terrible thing that would bring such discredit upon their school; and besides, it might take ever so much from their savings to replace, for Lily was poor, and was a connection, so they perhaps would have to help her out. She therefore could find no words at her command, except, "Oh dear me!" and raised her poor eyes.

Mr. John Clemcy searched her face intently, and actually smiled to reassure her. She thought he was looking at her gown; so she mumbled faintly, to draw off his attention, "I am afraid it was very valuable."

He didn't tell her it was one of the oldest bits in his collection; but while Miss Clemcy slipped off, and quietly picked up every piece of the broken treasure, he turned the conversation, and talked rapidly and charmingly upon something,--for the life of her, Miss Anstice never could tell what.

And he was still talking when Miss Salisbury brought back Lily by the hand, red-eyed and still sniffling, to stumble over her pleas for pardon. And then, the storm having abated, there were instant preparations for departure set in motion. And Mr. Kimball and his associates helped them into their vehicles, Miss Clemcy's beautiful old lace showing off finely on the great porch as she bade them good-bye.

"It is real, I guess," declared Silvia, looking closely from her seat next to Lucy. "And, oh dear me, isn't this too horrible, what Lily Cushing has done?"

Mr. John Clemcy helped the ladies in, Miss Anstice putting forth all her powers to enable her to ascend the steep steps without disclosing the front breadth of her gown. Despite her best endeavors, she felt quite sure that the keen eyes of both brother and sister had discovered every blemish.

Miss Salisbury sank back in her seat, as the barge rolled off, quite in despair; for she knew quite well that the broken vase was one of the gems of the collection.

"Oh, see the lovely rainbow!" The girls' spirits rose, now that they were once more on the move. What was one broken vase, after all? And they began to laugh and talk once more.

"Oh dear!" Polly Pepper glanced back. "Alexia, this will just about kill our dear Miss Salisbury!" she exclaimed.

"Well, I'm clear beat," Mr. Kimball was saying to himself, as nobody paid attention. "You might knock me over with a feather! To think o' that old _ree_cluse that won't know nobody, him nor his sister, an' is so hifalutin' smart, a-bustin' out so _po_lite all of a suddint."

XVI NEW PLANS

"Polly," said Jasper, "could you come into the den?"

"Why, yes, Jasper," she cried, in surprise at his face. "Oh, has anything happened?"

"No," he said, but the gloomy look did not disappear. "Oh Polly, it's too bad to ask,--were you going to study?" with a glance at her armful of books.

"No--that is, I can do them just as well after dinner." Polly dropped her books on the hall chair. "Oh, what is it, Jasper?" running after him into the den.

"It's just this, Polly, I hate to tell you--" He paused, and gloom settled worse than ever over his face.

"Jasper," said Polly quite firmly, and she laid her hand on his arm, "I really think you ought to tell me right away what is on your mind."

"Do you really, Polly?" Jasper asked eagerly.

"Yes, I do," said Polly, "unless you had rather tell Mamsie. Perhaps that would be best, Jasper."

"No, I don't really think it would in this case, Polly. I will tell you." So he drew up a chair, and Polly settled into it, and he perched on the end of the table.

"You see, Polly," he began, "I hate to tell you, but if I don't, why of course you can't in the least understand how to help."

"No, of course I can't," said Polly, clasping her hands together tightly, and trying to wait patiently for the recital. Oh, what could it be!

"Well, Pickering isn't doing well at school," said Jasper, in a burst. It was so much better to have it out at once.

"Oh dear me!" exclaimed Polly, in sorrow.

"No, he isn't," said Jasper decidedly; "it grows worse and worse."

"Dear me!" said Polly again.

"And now Mr. Faber says there isn't much hope for him, unless he picks up in the last half. He called me into his study to tell me that to-day--wants me to influence him and all that."

All the hateful story was out at last. Polly sprang out of her chair.

"You don't mean--you can't mean, that Pickering will be dropped, Jasper?" she cried as she faced him.

"Worse than that," answered Jasper gloomily.

"Worse than dropped!" exclaimed Polly with wide eyes.

"To be dropped a class wouldn't kill Pick; so many boys have had that happen, although it is quite bad enough."

"I should think so," breathed Polly.

"But Pick will simply be shot out of the school," said Jasper desperately; "there's no use in mincing matters. Mr. Faber has utterly lost patience; and the other teachers as well."

"You don't mean that Pickering Dodge will be expelled?" cried Polly in a little scream.

"Yes." Jasper nodded his head, unable to utter another word. Then he sprang off from the table-end, and walked up and down the room, as Polly sank back in her chair.

"You see, it's just this way, Polly," he cried. "Pick has had warning after warning--you know the teachers have a system of sending written warnings around to the boys when they fall behind in their work--and he hasn't paid any attention to them."

"Won't he pay attention to what the teachers write to him, Jasper?" asked Polly, leaning forward in her big chair to watch him anxiously as he paced back and forth.

"No, calls them rubbish, and tears them up; and sometimes he won't even read them," said Jasper. "Oh, it's awful, Polly."

"I should say it was," said Polly slowly. "Very awful indeed, Jasper."

"And the last time he had one from Herr Frincke about his German, Pick brought it into the room where a lot of us boys were, and read it out, with no end of fun over it, and it went into the scrap-basket; and he hasn't tackled his grammar a bit better since; only the translations he's up a trifle on."

"Oh, now I know why you wouldn't go to ride with me for the last week," cried Polly, springing out of her chair to rush up to him, "you've been helping Pickering," she declared, with kindling eyes.

"Never mind," said Jasper uneasily.

"And it was splendid of you," cried Polly, the color flying over her cheeks. "Oh Jasper, I do believe you can pull him through."

"No, I can't, Polly." Jasper stood quite still. "No one can pull him through, but you, Polly."

"I!" exclaimed Polly in amazement. "Why, Jasper King!" and she tumbled back a few steps to stare at him. "What _do_ you mean?"

"It's just this way." Jasper threw back his hair from his hot forehead. "Pick doesn't care a bit for what I say: it's an old story; goes in at one ear, and out at the other."

"Oh, he does care for what you say," contradicted Polly stoutly, "ever and ever so much, Jasper."

"Well, he's heard it so much; perhaps I've pounded at him too hard. And then again--" Jasper paused, turned away a bit, and rushed back hastily, with vexation written all over his face. "I must speak it: I can't help him any more, for somehow Mr. Faber has found it out, and forbids it; that's one reason of the talk this morning in his study--says I must influence him, and all that. That's rubbish; I can't influence him." Jasper dashed over to lay his head on the table on his folded arms.

"Polly, if Pick is expelled, I--" he couldn't finish it, his voice breaking all up.

Polly ran over to lay a hand on his shaking shoulders.

"What can I do, Jasper?" she cried brokenly. "Tell me, and I'll do it, every single thing."

"You must talk to him," said Jasper, raising his head. It filled Polly with dismay to see his face. "Get him in here; I'll bring him over and then clear out of the den."

"Oh Jasper!" exclaimed Polly, quite aghast. "I couldn't talk to Pickering Dodge. Why, he wouldn't listen to me."

"Yes, he would," declared Jasper eagerly; "he thinks everything of you, Polly, and if you'll say the word, it will do more good than anything else. Do, Polly," he begged.

"But, Jasper," began Polly, a little white line coming around her mouth, "what would he think to have me talk to him about his lessons?"

"Think?" repeated Jasper, "why, he'd like it, Polly, and it will be the very thing that will help him."

"Oh, I can't!" cried Polly, twisting her fingers. Then she broke out passionately, "Oh, he ought to be ashamed of himself not to study; and there's that nice Mr. Cabot, and his aunt--"

"Aunt!" exclaimed Jasper explosively. "Polly, I do believe if he hadn't her picking at him all the time, he would try harder."

"Well, his uncle is different," said Polly, her indignation by no means dying out.

"Yes, but it's his aunt who makes the mischief. Honestly, Polly, I don't believe I could stand her," said Jasper, in a loyal burst.

"No, I don't believe I could either," confessed Polly.

"And you see, when a boy has such a home, no matter what they give him, why, he doesn't have the ambition that he would if things were different. Just think, Polly, not to have one's own father or mother."

"Oh Jasper!" cried Polly, quite overcome. "I'll do it, I will."

"Polly!" Jasper seized her hands, and held them fast, his dark eyes glowing. "Oh Polly, that's so awfully good of you!"

"And you better run right over, and get him now," said Polly, speaking very fast, "or I may run away, I shall get so scared."

"You won't run away, I'll be bound," cried Jasper, bursting into a merry laugh, and rushing off with a light heart. And presently, in less time than one could imagine, though to Polly it seemed an age, back he came, Pickering with him, all alive with curiosity to know what Polly Pepper wanted of him.

"It's about the play, I suppose," he began, lolling into an easy-chair; "Jasper wouldn't tell me what it's all about; only seized me by the ear, and told me to come on. Draw up your chair, Jasper, and--why, hullo! where is the chap?" swinging his long figure around to stare.

"Pickering," began Polly; and the den, usually the pleasantest place in all the house, was now like a prison, whose walls wouldn't let her breathe, "I don't know what to say. Oh dear me!" Poor Polly could get no further, but sat there in hopeless misery, looking at him.

"Eh--what? Oh, beg pardon," exclaimed Pickering, whirling back in his chair, "but things are so very queer; first Jasper rushes off like a lunatic--"

"And I am worse," said Polly, at last finding her tongue. "I don't wonder you think it's queer, Pickering, but Jasper does so love you, and it will just kill him if you don't study." It was all out now, and in the most dreadful way. And feeling that she had quite destroyed all hope, Polly sat up pale and stiff in her chair.

Pickering threw his long figure out of the easy-chair, rushed up and down the den with immense strides, and came back to stand directly in front of her.

"Do you mean it, Polly?" His long face was working badly, and his hands were clenched, but as they were thrust deep within his pockets, Polly couldn't see them.

"Yes," said Polly, "I do, Pickering."

He stalked off again, but was back once more, Polly wondering how she could possibly bear to tell Jasper of her failure, for of course Pickering was very angry; when he said, "Polly, I want to tell you something."

"What is it?" Polly looked at him sharply, and caught her breath.

"I won't drag Jasper down, I tell you, with me. I'll get through somehow at school. I promise you that. Here!" He twitched out his right hand from its pocket, and thrust it out at her.

"Oh Pickering Dodge!" exclaimed Polly in a transport, and seizing his hand, it was shaken vigorously.

"There, that's a bargain," declared Pickering solemnly. "I'll get through someway. And say, Polly, it was awfully good of you to speak."

"It was awfully hard," said Polly, drawing a long breath. "Oh, are you sure you are not vexed, Pickering? Very sure?" And Polly's face drooped anxiously.

"Vexed?" cried Pickering. "I should rather say not! Polly, I'm lazy and selfish, and good for nothing; but I couldn't be vexed, for 'twas awfully hard for you to do."