Chapter 6

Mrs. Scott's Idea.

Softly humming, Rosalie walked a little apart and pretended to find great interest in the still water, the scattering row-boats and the few belated bathers along the shore.

For want of other occupation she took off her hat and swung it till the daisy-wreath was in peril. Trudy and Collin walked in silence.

But the active brain of Miss Rosalie Scott was by no means idle. She hummed, but she smiled, too; she swung her hat, but she had a thoughtful frown--not only that, a determined one.

Trudy was destined to see yet another remarkable instance of the impulsiveness without which Rosalie Scott would not have been Rosalie Scott, and which worked for good or ill as the case happened.

When they had covered the pier and had passed up the street as far as the Bellevue Hotel, had reached its broad entrance, she suddenly turned.

"Come in for a minute," she said--"both of you. Oh, don't look so scared--just for a minute! Trudy Carr has promised me a visit for a long time, anyhow, and--well, you'll have to come. _Come!_"

Rosalie was in earnest. She took them each by the hand and pulled them up the wide piazza steps, reiterating her commands. And Collin Spencer, who had had no notion of complying, found himself, before he could get his breath back, standing in one of the fine great parlors of the Bellevue Hotel, gaping in confusion at a long mirror and blue plush chairs.

"There, now, sit down," said Rosalie. She ran to a small knob in the wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said, "Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here."

She went to the door when he had gone, and stood with her back against it.

"You shan't get away. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine, that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I--I'd like to have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made. I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got _me_ out of an awful fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and--"

The door was pushed open.

"Why, Rosalie," said the newcomer, "your father and Uncle Angus are here. I thought you were to meet them at the boat?"

"I didn't, mamma," Rosalie answered. "This is Trudy Carr again, and--"

"Collin Spencer," added Trudy.

And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile--Rosalie's mother shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them. And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them.

"Now," she said, imploringly--"now _do!_"

Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not to say a word. It was nobody's business but his. It was his own miserable affair. He neither asked help nor wanted it.

How, then, did the story get itself told? Collin supposed that Trudy must have started it, for he did not.

He sat bewildered by all this strange and unwelcome situation, while slowly, drawn out by questions and gentle comments, his trouble was told.

His first weak mistake, the disaster at Buxton, Trudy's attempt at righting matters and her failure, and all the dreary facts of the present condition of things. By degrees, the lady who sat with thoughtfully-lowered eyes and knit brows heard it all.

"Don't think it was _my_ idea to tell you, ma'am," Collin ended, the blood mounting in his sturdy face.

"Doesn't mamma know that?" Rosalie cried, impatiently.

She had got her way, and she was highly satisfied.

"And don't think I'm asking you to do anything for me," Collin proudly persisted. "I don't know what you _could_ do; I don't expect anything--I didn't want to come in."

"And she knows all that, too," said Rosalie, knocking down his protests like tenpins.

Her mother sat thinking.

"I wish I knew what to say," she said, sincerely, "or what to do. I should be glad to do something, believe me. I am deeply sorry for you, my boy. It seems to me that your case is a peculiarly hard one. I am glad I have heard your story, for I can give you my sympathy, if nothing more. You made a mistake; you were thoughtless and weak; yes, you did wrong. But--I can't help saying it--it seems to me that your punishment is too great. You have escaped nothing; the worst has come. The worst fault was not yours, and yet you are suffering most. At least, don't be ashamed of having told me," said Mrs. Scott, that ready sympathy of which her face spoke strongly roused.

"I wish I could help you," she declared. "Not only does your case deserve it, but Trudy Carr here"--she smiled brightly. "I feel as though I knew Trudy Carr. I have heard nothing but items concerning her since Rosalie first saw her. And that little adventure on the bay is not to be forgotten. Yes, I would help you gladly."

"There's only one way for me," said Collin. "If I could go back there to work, and show Mr. Conover what I _can_ be and do, there'd be some chance for me; I could 'live it down.' But _that's_ gone up."

"That is the only way, or the best by far," was Mrs. Scott's quiet agreement. "I wish it might be. I had an idea about it--I wonder--I want to do what I can. I might send a note to Mr. Conover." And then she added, with an impulsiveness much like Rosalie's own, "I will go myself. We'll go together. I have an idea, as I said. Come, it will do no harm to try."

Collin was getting used to bewilderments, to being hustled and managed like a baby instead of a tall, seventeen-year-old boy. One thing--he had not been remarkably successful at managing himself.

And when, ten minutes later, he stood with Mrs. Scott, her bright young daughter and Trudy in Mr. Conover's livery-stable, he kept a stiff upper lip and waited for what should come.

Mr. Conover came forward to meet the oddly-assorted four. For Collin Spencer he had only unsmiling surprise, and his glance at Trudy was puzzled. But he knew by sight the lady from the Bellevue Hotel, and he raised his hat with an inquiring face, and drew forward the only chair the stable boasted. Accepting it, Rosalie's mother wasted no time in getting to the point, and wasted no words.

"First, Mr. Conover," she began, "I must apologize for being an interferer, for that is what I am. My business concerns this boy. I have just now heard his story from the beginning."

"About the trick he played me?" said Mr. Conover, half doubting the interest of such a lady in such a case.

"That exactly; all about his foolish escapade and the result of it. About the effort of this little girl, Trudy Carr, to save him, and about the discovery and discharge. And, Mr. Conover, I want to ask nothing less than that you take the boy back into your service on a month's trial. I feel convinced that the consequences of his error are almost more than he deserves, and perhaps more than you realize, Mr. Conover. He was led into it by a bad companion, whom he has certainly dropped. First impressions go for something. I _cannot_ but believe the boy himself is steady and trustworthy. And then the anxiety of this girl, who seems to have been such a friend to him--"

Mrs. Scott's voice was a little unsteady.

"And his position now is pitiable. The story has spread through the town in exaggerated forms. He has tried to get work elsewhere and on that account failed. I cannot see what is before the boy unless you can forgive and take him back, for it is here only, it seems both to him and to me, that he can redeem himself. I ask you to take him on a month's trial, and I wish to give bonds for his good behavior. I am Mrs. John Scott."

This, then, was Mrs. Scott's idea of which she had spoken. Surely a convincing one. She opened her purse, took five ten-dollar bills therefrom and handed them to the young livery-stable keeper.

Mr. Conover looked at her in astonishment, slowly rubbing his smooth-shaven head.

"I--Mrs. Scott," he said, with earnestness, "I don't want to take the money. I begin to see how it is; I see you're right. To tell the truth, I was afraid I'd been a little hard on the boy. I knew that young cur of a Freeman was to blame for it, and I was sorry on the girl's account and all; but I was hasty, I suppose. I shouldn't have done anything, though, about taking him back; but now that you've made me see it plainer yet, and if he's in such a bad fix as all that, why, I'll give him another chance," said the young man. "But never mind the money; I'll try him."

"Keep it," Mrs. Scott answered, "and if he does not do his best, it is forfeited. I think he will."

Poor Collin! Perhaps in all the course of his troubles he had known no sharper moment than that. He looked around the group. Several of the stable-hands had gathered, Sim Miles, with a broadly smiling face, being among them.

The tears sprung to Collin's honest blue eyes. Nor was he ashamed of them.

"I _will_ do my best," was all he could say.

"All right; come around to-morrow, Spencer," said Mr. Conover, bluffly, seeing that the scene threatened to be rather a moving one, and he went back to his business.