Chapter 2

Cottage, when suddenly Dr. Archard turns round and says that mountain, not sea air was what papa should have, and insisted so on it that at last papa gave in and accepted Max's invitation for Nannie and himself. So then it was arranged that papa, Nannie, and Max were to go to the mountains, and we to the Cottage with Miss Marston,--they going one day, and we the next.

That was the first set-back, and the next one was ten times worse. Just as papa was being helped down the steps to the carriage, what should come but a telegram for Miss Marston from her aunt in Canada, asking her to come right on. Well, that just upset _our_ going in the country! Phil and Felix told papa they could manage things, and get us safely to the Cottage,--and I'm sure they'd have done it as well as ever Miss Marston could, for she's awfully fussy and afraid of things happening; but no, papa wouldn't hear of it, though Max declared he thought 'twould be all right. Felix took it quietly, but Phil got kind of huffy, and said papa must think he was about two years old, from the way he treated him. I tell you, for a little while there Nannie had her hands full,--what with trying to smooth him down, and to keep papa from getting nervous and worked up over the matter.

Well, after a lot of talking, and papa losing one train, it was arranged that we should remain in the city with nurse until we heard from Miss Marston, and knew how long she'd be likely to stay in Canada. If only a short time,--say ten days,--we were to wait for her return and go under her care to the Cottage; but if she'd be gone several weeks, then Phil, Felix, and nurse would take us to the country. As soon as this was settled, papa, Nannie, and Max went off, and a little later Miss Marston started for her train.

Besides being worried about her aunt, Miss Marston felt real sorry at leaving us so hurriedly, and she gave no end of directions to Nora and Betty, to say nothing of nurse. Nora didn't seem to mind this, but nurse sniffed--she always does that when she doesn't like what people are telling her--and Betty got impatient; you see Nannie'd been drilling Betty, too,--telling her to be nice to Nora, and to help with the little ones, and all that,--and I guess she'd got tired of being told things.

"I know just how Phil feels about papa's snubbing," she said to me. "Some people never seem to realise that we're growing up. Why, if papa and Miss Marston should live until we were eighty and ninety years old, I do believe, Jack, that they'd still treat us as if we were infants,--like the story Max told us of the man a hundred and ten years old, who whipped his eighty-year-old son and set him in a corner because he'd been 'naughty'! It's too provoking! And as to being '_nice_' to Nora, I feel it in my bones that she and I will have a falling out the very first thing; she'll put on such airs that I'll not be able to stand her!"

But as it turned out, there was something else in store for Betty; that same evening over came Mr. Erveng and Hilliard with an invitation from Mrs. Erveng for Betty to go to their country home, near Boston, and spend a month with them. Mr. Erveng had met papa in the railroad station that day, and got his consent for Betty to accept the invitation. So all she had to do was to pack a trunk and be ready to leave with them the next morning,--they would call for her.

I felt awfully sorry Betty was going: though there are so many of us, you've no idea what a gap it makes in the family when even one is away; and, with all her roughness and tormenting ways, Betty is real nice, too. I didn't actually know what I'd do with both Nannie and her away. I couldn't help wishing that the Ervengs had asked Nora instead of Betty, and I know Betty wished so, too, for you never saw a madder person than she was when she came upstairs to help nurse pack her trunk: you see she didn't dare make any objections, as long as papa had given his consent, but she didn't want to go one step, and she just let us know it. "I'll have to be on my company manners the whole livelong time, and I simply _loathe_ that," she fumed. "Mrs. Erveng won't let me play with Hilliard, I'm sure she won't, 'that's so unladylike!'"--mimicking Mrs. Erveng's slow, gentle voice,--"and I never know what to talk to _her_ about. I suppose I'll have to sit up and twirl my thumbs, like a regular Miss Prim, from morning to night. Why didn't they ask _you_?" wheeling round on Nora. "You and Mrs. Erveng seem to be such fine friends, and you suit her better than I do. I always feel as if she looked upon me as a clumsy, overgrown hoiden, an uncouth sort of animal."

"I couldn't very well be spared from home just now," answered Nora, calmly, with her little superior air; "and any way, I presume Mrs. Erveng asked the one she wanted,--people generally claim that privilege." So far was all right; but she must needs go on, and, as Phil says, "put her foot in it." "I really hope you'll behave yourself nicely, Betty," she continued, "for only the other day I heard Mrs. Erveng say that she thought you had improved wonderfully lately; _do_ keep up to that reputation."

Betty was furious! "No, _really_? How _very_ kind of her!" she burst out scornfully. "The idea of her criticising me,--and to you! You ought to be ashamed not to stand up for your own sister to strangers! Indeed, I'll do just as I please; _I'm_ not afraid of Mrs. Erveng! I'll slide down every banister, if I feel like it, and swing on the doors, too, and make the most horrible faces; you see if I don't come home before the month is out!"

"Leave their house standing, Elizabeth,--just for decency's sake, you know," advised Phil.

We were all laughing, and what does Nora do but pitch into me for it. "Can't you find anything better to do, Jack, than encouraging Betty to be rude and unladylike?" she commenced sharply; but just then Hannah came, asking for something, and, with a great air of importance, Nora went off with her.

But if Nora didn't understand how Betty felt, I did. Of course the Ervengs meant it kindly asking her; but _I_ wouldn't have wanted to go off alone visiting people that were almost strangers,--for that's what Mr. and Mrs. Erveng are to us, though we do know Hilliard so well,--and I just said so to her, and gave her my best feather-top. As I told her, she might play it times when she was alone in her own room, to keep up her spirits. I'd have given her something nicer, but all my things were packed up, except my locomotive, and I knew she wouldn't care for _that_,--she's always making fun of it.

Betty's one of the kind that just hate to cry where people can see them, so she went away without the least fuss--though I know her heart was full--when the Ervengs called for her the next morning. Hilliard was as merry as a lark. "It's so good of you to come," he said, beaming on Betty when he met her on the steps. "We are going to take the very best care of you, and help you to enjoy yourself immensely; I only wish all the others were coming with us, too,"--with a glance at us (the whole family had crowded out on the stoop to see Betty off).

"We don't want to; we'd rather go to the Cottage," sung out Alan. Nora had to hush him up.

Hilliard was just as nice as he could be, putting Betty into the carriage, and looking after her things,--I hadn't thought he could be so polite; but Betty was very cool and snippy, and the last sight I got of her, as the carriage turned the corner, she was sitting bolt upright, looking as stiff as a poker. I felt sorry for Betty, and I felt sorry for the Ervengs, too,--at least for Hilliard. I can't think why Betty doesn't like him better.

We were awfully lonely and unsettled for a few days,--it seemed so queer to have Nora in Nannie's place, and Phil at the head of the table; to hear Nora giving orders, and for Phil to have to see to shutting up the house nights. Somehow it made us feel grown-up,--it was such a responsibility, you know; and at first we were all very quiet, and so polite to one another that nurse declared she "wouldn't 'a' known we was the same fam'ly." Felix and Phil were as dignified as could be, and the little ones went to bed without a murmur, and obeyed Nora like so many lambs. But it didn't last,--it couldn't, you know, for we weren't really happy, acting that way; and pretty soon we began to be just as we usually were,--only a little more so, as we boys say.

You see nobody was really head, though Nora and Phil both pretended they were,--we didn't count nurse,--and each person just wanted to do as he or she pleased, and of course that made lots of fusses. Phil did a lot of talking, and ordered people around a good deal, but nobody minded him very much. Nora had her hands full with the children; they were awfully hard to manage, particularly Kathie,--her feelings get hurt so easily. Nora said that nurse spoiled them, and in a sort of way took their part against her, while nurse said Nora was too fond of "ordering," and that she nagged them; so there were rumpuses there sometimes. I read over all my favourite books that weren't packed up, and worked on my steam engine, and went about to see what the others were doing; but I tried not to be mixed up in any of the rows. Fee got a fit of painting,--he wanted Nora to pose for him for Antigone, but she wouldn't; and he played his violin any time during the day that he liked,--you see there wasn't anybody there to mind the noise.

That was in the day; in the evenings we--Nora and we three boys--sat on the stoop, it was _so_ warm indoors. The Unsworths and Vassahs and 'most all the people we knew were out of town, and Chad Whitcombe was the only person that came round to see us. When he found we hadn't gone to the country, he'd make his appearance every evening, and sit with us on the stoop. At first he stayed the whole evening, and was so pleasant and chatty I could hardly believe 'twas Chad; of course he was affected,--he always is,--but still he was real interesting, telling about places he'd been to, and some of the queer people he'd met in his travels. After a while, though, he began to stay for about half the evening, then he'd ask Phil to take a walk with him, and away they would go; and sometimes Phil wouldn't get back very early either.

Well, Felix stood it for a few times without saying anything,--he always has precious little to do with Chad; but one evening when Chad stood up and asked, "Take a stroll--aw--will you, Phil?" and Phil rose to go, Fee got quickly on his feet. "Just let me get my cane, and I'll come, too," he said.

I was looking at Chad just then, and I could see he didn't like it; but Phil answered at once, "All right, old fellow; come on!" And Fee went.

I was alone on the stoop when the boys got back,--Chad wasn't with them. Nora was playing the piano in the drawing-room, and Phil went in to speak to her; but Felix sat down on the step beside me with his back against the railing. As the light from the hall lamp fell on him, I could see how white and tired he looked. I couldn't help saying something about it. "You do look awfully used up, Fee," I said; "I guess you've been walking too far. Whatever made you do it? You know you can't stand that sort of thing."

Of course I didn't say this crossly,--Fee isn't at all the sort of person that one would say cross things to,--but you see I knew just how miserable he'd been, and that he wasn't well yet, by any means. He pretended to be quite well, but I noticed that he sat down lots of times, instead of standing, as he used to, and that it was still an effort for him to go up and down stairs. When I said that about his being tired, he pushed his straw hat back off his face, and I could see his hair lying wet and dark on his white forehead. "I _am_ dead tired," he said, wearily. "I tell you, Jack, the ascent to the third floor seems a formidable undertaking to-night." Then he added abruptly, "_Why_ did I do it? Because I'm _determined_"--he brought his clinched hand down on the stoop--"that that scalawag sha'n't get hold of Phil. I suppose my miserable old back'll take its revenge to-morrow; but I don't care,--I'd do it again and again, if I couldn't keep them apart any other way."

Just then Phil's voice came to us through the open drawing-room window. "It's a lovely night," he was saying to Nora; "I don't feel a bit like going to bed,--I think I'll go out again for a little while. You needn't wait up for me, Nonie, and I'll see to the shutting up of the house when I come in; don't let Fee bother about it,--he looks tired."

With a quick exclamation, Felix caught hold of the railing of the stoop, and dragging himself to his feet, limped into the parlour. "It's an age since we've sung any of our duets, Phil," he called; "let's have some now. Nora, play 'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'--that's one of our favourites." And in a minute or two they were singing away with all their might.

But presently Phil came out with his hat on, and behind him Felix. "Still here, Jack? It's getting pretty late!" Fee said. Then to Phil, "I guess it's too late for another tramp to-night, Philippus; come on, let's go upstairs." He was trying to speak off-hand, but I could hear in his voice the eagerness he was trying to keep back.

Perhaps Phil heard it, too, and suspected something, for he answered very shortly, "I'm going out; I'm not an infant to be put to bed at eight o'clock." And with that he jammed his hat tighter on his head, ran down the stoop, and was soon out of sight.

Felix sat down on one of the hall chairs, and leaned his head on his hand in such a sad, tired way that I felt as if I'd have liked to pitch right into Phil. I darted in from the stoop and put my hand on Fee's shoulder. "Fee," I whispered,--I didn't want Nora to hear,--"can I do anything to help? Shall I run after him and _make_ him come back?"

Felix looked up at me; his lips were set tight together, and there was a stern expression on his face that made him look like papa. "'Twould take a bigger man than you are to do that, Jack," he said, with a faint smile, adding slowly, "but I'll tell you what you _can_ do,--you can keep mum about this; and now help me upstairs, like a good boy: I'm almost too tired to put one foot after the other." Then, as he rose and slowly straightened himself up, he said, "After all, Phil's only gone for a walk, you know, Jack; he'll be home pretty soon, you may depend." But I had a feeling that he said this to make himself believe it as well as me.

Fee _was_ awfully used up; I could hardly get him up the steps. Nora would certainly have heard the noise we made if she hadn't been so interested in her music.

Phil did not come in very early; in fact, I think it was late. I room with him, you know, and it seemed as if I'd been asleep a good while when his shutting of our door woke me up. Of course I turned over and looked at him; I'm sure there wasn't anything in that to make a person mad, though perhaps I did stare a little, for Phil had a queer expression on his face,--jolly, and yet sort of ashamed, too. His face was quite red, and his eyes looked glassy.

He leaned against the closed door, with his hat on the back of his head, and just scowled at me. "What're you staring at, I'd like to know?" he said roughly. "Without exception, you're the most inquisitive youngster! you _must_ have your finger in every pie. Just turn yourself right over to the wall and go to sleep this minute; I _won't_ have you spying on me!"

Now I usually give in to Phil, and I do hate to get into rows with people, but I couldn't stand that; I just sat straight up in bed and spoke out. "I'm _not_ inquisitive," I said, "and I'm _not_ spying on you, either. I wouldn't do such a mean thing, and you know it."

"Oh, hush up, and go to sleep! you talk entirely too much," Phil answered back, and taking off his hat, he threw it at me.

The hat didn't touch me,--it barely fell on the edge of the bed,--but it seemed to me as if I couldn't have felt worse if it had struck me; you see my feelings were so hurt. Phil likes to order people, and he's rough, too, sometimes. We know him so well, though, that I don't usually mind; but this evening he was awfully disagreeable,--so bullying that I couldn't help feeling hurt and mad.

I felt just like saying something back,--something sharp,--but I knew that would only make more words, and there was Felix in the next room,--I didn't want him to be waked up and hear how Phil was going on; it wouldn't have done any good, you see, and would only have made Fee unhappy. So I just swallowed down what I was going to say, and bouncing over on my pillow, I turned my face to the wall, away from Phil. But I couldn't go to sleep,--you know one can't at a minute's notice,--and I couldn't help hearing what he was doing about the room.

I heard a clinking noise, as if he were putting silver money down on the bureau; then, while he was unlacing his boots and dropping them with a thud on the floor, he began to whistle softly, "O wert thou in the cauld blast." I suppose that reminded him of something he wanted to say, for presently he called out, "Say, Rosebud--_Rose_bud!"

I just _wouldn't_ answer,--after his treating me that way! What did he do then but lean over the footboard and shake me by the heel. "Turn over," he said; "I want to talk to you,--d'you hear me?" and he shook my heel again.

I jerked my foot away. "I wish you wouldn't bother me," I answered; "I'm trying to go to sleep."

"Oh, I see,--on your dig." Phil laughed and pulled my toe. "Well, you provoked me, staring at me with those owly eyes of yours; but now I want to speak to you about Felix."

I still felt sore over the way he'd acted, but as long as it was Fee he wanted to talk about, I thought I'd better listen; so I turned over again and looked at Phil.

"See here, what's the matter with Felix?" As he spoke, Phil went over and threw himself into a chair, where he could see me. "He's never been very much of a walker, but seems to me that he's worse than ever at it lately. Why, last evening--this evening I mean" (he gave me a funny look)--"we hadn't gone three blocks before he began to drag, and took hold of my arm; he hung on it, too, I can tell you. We didn't go very far, not nearly as far as we used to last winter; and I'd have made it still shorter, for I could see he was most awfully used up, but Fee wouldn't give in,--you know he can be obstinate. And when he came into the drawing-room to sing, he looked wretched,--white as a ghost! Since I've been home, I've noticed, in a good many little ways, that he doesn't do as much as he used to,--in the way of moving around; yet, when I speak to him 'bout it, he either--puts me off, or turns--cranky; I can't get a thing--out--of--him." Phil's voice had been getting slower and slower, and almost before he finished the last word he was _asleep_.

I thought he was making believe at first,--he's such a tease,--but I soon found out that he wasn't. Well, I _was_ astonished; for a minute I couldn't say a word; I just lay there and looked at him. Then I remembered how late it was, and called him,--not loud, though, for fear of waking Felix. "Phil, _Phil_, aren't you coming to bed? it's awfully late."

"Oh, let me _alone_," he muttered sleepily; then presently he roused up and began to talk real crossly, but in the same slow voice, and with his eyes shut: "I'm not a _child_--and I'm not going--to be treated--like one--you needn't--think so--I'm a _man_--all--the fellows--do it--'tisn't--any harm--" His head drooped and he was off again.

I had got awfully nervous when he first began, I mean about Felix; you see Fee hadn't given me back my promise not to speak of his attack when papa was so ill, so I couldn't have told Phil, and I shouldn't have known what to say. Oh, that promise! that _miserable_ promise! if only I had _never_ made it!

Well, as I said, I was thankful I didn't have to answer Phil; but when he acted so queerly, I didn't like that either, and jumping out of bed, I went at him, and just talked and coaxed and pulled at him, until at last I got him to get up and undress and go to bed.

* * * * *

Phil was as cross as a bear the next morning; he said he had a headache, and didn't get up until late. He lay in bed with his face to the wall, and just snapped up everybody that spoke to him; when I took him up some tea and toast,--that was all he'd take,--he turned on me. "I suppose you've told them about last night," he said sharply, "and you've all had a grand pow-wow over me!"

"Indeed, I _haven't_" I answered; "I haven't said one single word about it to anybody; we've got other things to talk of, I can tell you, besides your being such a sleepy-head." Perhaps this was a little snippy, but I couldn't help it,--just as if I couldn't keep a thing to myself. You see I didn't understand then what it all meant.

Phil looked straight at me for a minute, and it seemed to me there was a kind of sorry expression came in his face; then he laughed. "Great head! keep on being mum!" he said, in that teasing way of his, nodding at me. "Now, Mr. Moses Primrose, suppose you set that tray down and vacate the apartment--shut the door."

But I could see that he wasn't sorry I hadn't spoken of it; I've wondered sometimes, since, whether things would have been different if I had told Felix the whole business.

Well, he was a little pleasanter for a while; but when a telegram came later in the day from Miss Marston, saying she'd be back in ten days to take us to the Cottage, Phil got all off again, and scolded like everything. He said it was a burning shame for us to have to stay in the city and just _stew_, waiting for Miss Marston to "escort" us to the Cottage, when he and Felix could have taken us there long ago; that he wanted to go in the country _right away_; that papa'd made a big mistake in keeping us back, and that he'd find it out when 'twas too late,--and all that sort of talk. Felix and Nora did their best to cool him down, but it was no use,--the nicer they were, the more disagreeable he grew; and at last they got provoked and left him to himself.

"I wish Nannie were here," Fee said, as we stood on the landing together, outside Phil's door; "perhaps she could do something with him."

"I just wish she were," I agreed dolefully; and if Nora didn't get miffed because we said that!

I can tell you it wasn't a bit pleasant at home those days. As Fee said, "everybody seemed to be disgruntled," and there wasn't a thing to do but wander around; I missed Betty awfully, she's such a splendid person for keeping up one's spirits.

Toward afternoon, Phil came downstairs, and after dinner we sat on the stoop; he was still rather grumpy, though we pretended not to notice it. Presently Chad came along and took a seat beside us; but at first I don't think anybody, except, perhaps, Nora, paid him much attention. Felix had been very quiet all day, and now he sat with his elbows on his knees, and his hands holding up his face, a far-off look in his eyes, and not saying a word until about half-past eight, when Chad leaned over, and in a low voice asked Phil to go for a walk.

Phil's answer sounded like, "Had enough of it;" and before Chad could say anything more, Fee began to talk to him. I was surprised, for Felix doesn't usually talk to Chad; but to-night, all at once, he seemed to have a friendly fit. He started Chad talking of his travels; then he got Phil into the conversation, and then Nora, and he just kept them all going; he was so bright himself, and funny, and entertaining, that the evening fairly flew by. We were all amazed when ten o'clock struck; soon after that Chad bid good-night, and we shut up the house and went to bed.

'Most always Phil stops in Fee's room for a few minutes: he didn't this evening, though; he just called out,--a little gruffly,--"Good-night, old man!" and marched right into his own room. But I went in.

Fee was sitting on the edge of his bed; he looked almost as tired as he had the night before, though now his eyes were bright and his cheeks red. He turned quickly to me. "Did you think I was wound up to-night?" he asked. Then, before I could answer, "But I kept them--I kept them both, Jack; they didn't go walking to-night,--at least, Phil didn't, and that's the main point. Why, I could go on talking till morning." He got up and limped restlessly about, then stopped near me. "What'll we do to-morrow evening?" he said, "and the next, and the next?--there are _ten_ more, you know. We'll _have_ to think of something, that's all; it'll not be easy, but we'll have to do it. I'm afraid"--Fee spoke slowly, shaking his head--"I'm afraid the _pater_ _has_ made a mistake, a big mistake. Now if Nannie were only here--what an owl you look, Rosebud! Come, off to bed with you!" He threw his arm across my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze, then pushed me out of the room and shut the door.

I have an idea that he didn't sleep very well that night, for the next morning _he_, too, looked like a owl, in the way of eyes.

XVI.

AND A MAJOR.

TOLD BY JACK.

The next day Phil was more like himself,--almost as usual, at least during the first part of the day; after that, everybody got into such a state of excitement that we forgot all about his mood,--I guess he forgot it himself.

As I've told you, Kathie and the little ones weren't behaving at all nicely. You see the trouble was they wanted their own way, and Nora wanted hers, and nurse wanted hers too; and some days things went all wrong in the nursery. Nora'd declare that _she_ was mistress as long as Nannie wasn't at home, and that the children _should_ obey her; then nurse would get huffy and call the little ones her "pets" and her "poor darlin's," and of course that made them feel as if they were being dreadfully abused. I think Nora did nag some, and perhaps she ordered people a little more than she need have done, but that's her way of doing things; she didn't mean in the least to be disagreeable, and the children were certainly _very_ provoking. It seemed to me as if they were forever in mischief, and my! weren't they pert! and sometimes they wouldn't mind at all. Once or twice I tried to see if I could help things, but I just got into trouble both times, and only made matters worse, so I thought I'd better leave 'em alone.

Well, on this particular morning, nurse woke feeling so ill that she couldn't get up at all; so Nora had to see to dressing the children and giving them their breakfast. Mädel was good,--she's a dear little creature!--but the boys were wild for mischief, and just as saucy and self-willed as they could be, and, worst of all, Kathie got into one of her crying moods. She cried all the time she was dressing, and all through breakfast,--a kind of whining cry that just wears on a person. Phil called her Niobe, and declared that if she didn't look out, she'd float away on her tears; Fee threatened to put her in a picture, just as she looked; I coaxed and promised her one or two of my things, and Nora scolded: nothing had any effect, Kathie just wept straight on.

She _is_ awfully trying when she gets in these moods, but I guess she can't always help it,--at least Nannie thinks so,--and perhaps if Nora had been patient just a little while longer, the storm would have blown over. But all at once Nora lost her temper, and catching Kathie by the arm, she walked her wailing from the room.

Well, in just about one minute more, Paul and Mädel and Alan were off too, roaring like everything.

"_O-o-h!_ we _want_ Kathie! we _w-a-n-t_ Kathie! _O-o-o-h!_ bring back _Kath-i-e_!"

Well, you'd have thought they never expected to lay eyes on Kathie again!

I coaxed and talked and talked till my throat fairly ached, telling 'em funny things to divert their attention,--the way I've heard Nannie and Betty do; Fee began just as loud as he could (to drown their noise and make them listen) about the Trojan horse,--they like that story; and Phil offered them everything that there was on the table if they'd _only_ stop yelling; he declared the neighbours would be coming in to see what we were doing to them. But at last they quieted down, and let me take them upstairs to the nursery, where we found Kathie seated upon a chair, and still weeping.

On account of nurse's being ill, there were a good many things for Nora to do,--I could see she had her hands full,--so I stayed in the schoolroom and looked after the children to help her. By and by Kathie stopped crying--I guess there were no more tears left to come--and began to join in the games I started. Usually she's very penitent after one of these fits of temper, but this time she seemed more sulky than anything else; and she was such a sight that I felt sorry for her. Kathie's very fair,--she's a real pretty little girl when she's in a good humour,--and now, from crying so much, and rubbing her eyes, they were all swollen and red; the red marks went 'way down on her cheeks; and her nose was all red and swollen, too: you'd hardly have known her for the same child.

After awhile--I'd set them playing house, and things seemed quiet--I got out one of my books, and, fixing myself comfortably on the sofa, began to read. But presently something--a sort of stillness in the room--made me look up; the children were under the schoolroom table with their heads close together, and they were whispering. Kathie was weeping again, but very softly; Mädel had one arm around her, and was wiping Kathie's tears away with her pinafore; Paul was showing them something which I couldn't see,--he had his back to me,--and Alan sat on his heels, grinning, and gazing at Judge with wide-open, admiring eyes.

Just at this moment Nora opened the door and called me; you should have seen those four jump! and the way Judge hurried what he had in his hand out of sight! But I didn't suspect anything; I didn't dream of what they were up to.

"Jack," said Nora, when I got out in the hall, "Phil has gone out to see to something for me, and I can't send Fee, so I wish you would go round to Dr. Archard's and ask him to call and see nurse as soon as possible. She won't let me do a thing for her, and yet she's groaning, and says she feels _dreadfully_; she may be very ill, for all I know."

There was such an anxious look on Nora's face that I tried to cheer her up. "Don't worry, Nonie," I said; "you know nurse gets scared awfully easy. If she has a finger-ache, she thinks she's dreadfully ill, and wants the doctor."

"Well, perhaps she'll feel better after she has seen him," Nora said. "Between Kathie and her I've had a pretty hard morning; I'm doing my very best, but nobody seems to think so." She gave her head a proud toss, but I could see there were tears in her eyes. I didn't know what to say, so I just patted her hand, and then got my hat and went for the doctor.

It was a lovely day, and I didn't suppose there was any need for me to hurry back, so I took a walk, and didn't get home for a good while after leaving my message at the doctor's.

Before I had time to ring the bell, Nora opened the front door; she looked very much excited, and asked breathlessly, "Did you meet them? Have you seen them?"

Of course I didn't understand. "Meet whom? What d'you mean?" I asked in surprise.

"The children. Then they are _lost!_" answered Nora, and she sat down on a chair in the hall and burst out crying. Then out came Phil and Felix from the drawing-room, where they had been with Nora, and I heard the whole story.

It seems that soon after I left for the doctor's, Judge went down stairs and asked cook for some gingerbread,--"enough for the four of us," he said,--and some time later, when Nora went up to the schoolroom to see what the children were doing, not one of them was there, nor could they be found in the house. Nora flew to tell Felix and Phil, and in the hurried search from garret to cellar which everybody made,--except nurse, she wasn't told anything of it,--it was found that the children's every-day hats were gone.

Of course, as soon as I heard that, I remembered the whispering under the schoolroom table, and I felt at once that the children had run away. I just wished I had told Nora about it, or that I had come right back from the doctor's; I might have prevented their going.

While I was telling Nora and the boys what I thought about the matter, Hannah came flying into the drawing-room,--she was so excited, she forgot to knock. She held a cocked-hat note in her hand,--Kathie is great on cocked-hat notes and paper lamplighters. "Oh, Miss Nora! it's meself that's just found this on the flure mostly under the big Sarytogy thrunk,--the one that's open," she cried, almost out of breath from her rush down the steps.

"Nora" was scrawled in Kathie's handwriting on the outside of the note. In an instant Nora tore it open, but she passed it right over to Phil. "Read it,--I can't," she said in a shaky voice. So he did.

The note was very short and the spelling was funny, though we didn't think of that until afterward; this is what was in it: "We are not goging to stay here to be treted like this so we have run away we are goging to Nannie becaws she tretes us good. I have token my new parrasole for the sun goodby we have Jugs bank with us Kathie."

Poor Nonie! that just broke her all up! She cried and cried! "I _didn't_ ill-treat them; I was trying to do my _very_ best for them. If I _was_ cross, I didn't mean it,--and they _had_ to be made to mind," she kept saying between her sobs. "And now they've gone off in this dreadful way! Oh, _suppose_ some tramp should get hold of them--or they should be run over or hurt--or--we--should--_never_ see them again! Oh--_oh!_ what shall I say to papa and Nannie!"

"Oh, shure, Miss Nora, you don't mane to say the darlints is ralely _lost_!" exclaimed Hannah, and with that _she_ began to bawl; Phil had to send her right down stairs, and warn her against letting nurse know. Then we tried to comfort Nora. "You've done your level best, and nobody can do any more than that," Phil said, drawing Nora to him, and pressing her face down hard on his shoulder, while he patted her cheek. "Cheer up, Nonie, old girl, they are no more lost than I am; you see if we don't walk them home in no time,--young rascals! they ought to be well punished for giving us such a scare."

"Yes, we'll probably find them in the park, regaling themselves with the good things that 'Jugs bank' has afforded," remarked Fee, trying to speak cheerfully. "We're going right out to look for them. Come, Jack, get on your hat and go along too; I'm ready." As he spoke, he stuck his hat on and stood up.

"Shall we go separately?" I asked, dropping Nora's hand,--I'd been patting it.

"Indeed we _will_ go separately," answered Phil, emphatically. "Here, Nora, sit down; and we will have a plan, and stick to it, too," he added, "or we'll all three be sure to think of the same scheme, travel over the same ground, and arrive at the same conclusion. There's been rather an epidemic of that sort of thing in this family lately,--the '_three_ souls with but a single thought, three wills that work as one,' business. Yes, sir, we'll have a plan. Fee, you go to the little parks, and some way down the avenue; Jack, you go up the avenue, and through as many of the cross streets as you can get in; and I'll go east and west, across the _tracks_"--as the word slipped out he gave a quick look at Nora; we knew he was thinking of those dreadful cable cars: but fortunately she didn't seem to have heard.

So off we started, after making Nora promise she'd stay at home and wait for us to bring her news.

We separated at our corner; but I'd only gone a block or two when I thought of something that sent me flying back to the house. I slipped in the basement way, and up the back stairs to the nursery, where I hunted out an old glove of Kathie's; then down I went to the yard and loosed Major, and he and I started out as fast as we could go.

Once or twice in the country, when the children had strayed too far on the beach, by showing Major something they'd worn, and telling him to "Find 'em!" he had led Phil and me right to them. I had remembered this, and now as we walked up the avenue I kept showing Kathie's glove to the dear old doggie, and telling him, "Find Kathie, Major, find her! find her, old boy!" And it did seem as if he understood--Major's an awfully bright dog--by the way he wagged his tail and went with his nose to the ground smelling the pavement.

He went pretty straight for nearly a block up the avenue, then he got bothered by the people passing up and down so continually, and he began to whine and run aimlessly about; I could hardly make him go on; and when I took him in the cross streets, he wasn't any good at all. I felt real discouraged. But just as soon as we turned into Twenty-third Street, I could see that he'd struck something; for though he did a lot of zigzagging over the pavement, he went ahead all the time: I tell you, I was right at his tail at every turn. When we came opposite to where Madison Avenue begins, if Major didn't cross over and strike off into the park. Presently he gave a short, quick bark, and tore down a path. I fairly _flew_ after him; up one path and down another we went like mad, until we came to the fountain, and there, in the shade of a big tree, just as cool and unconcerned as you please, were the runaways!

Kathie was seated off on one end of the bench, with her new parasol open over her head, putting on all sorts of airs, while she gave orders to Paul and Mädel, who were setting out some forlorn-looking fruit on the other end of the bench; Alan was walking backward and forward dragging his express waggon after him.

"Why, it's _Major_!" cried Alan, as the old doggie bounced on him and licked his face.

"And _Jack_! hullo!" sang out Paul, turning round and seeing me.

"Oh, _lawks_!" exclaimed Mädel,--she'd caught that expression from nurse, who always says it when she's frightened or excited,--and with that she scrambled up on the bench and threw her arms round Kathie's neck with such force that she knocked the parasol out of her hand, and it slipped down over their heads and hid their faces.

Of course I was thankful to see them, _very_ thankful; but at the same time I must say I was provoked, too, at the cool way in which they were taking things, when we'd been so frightened about them. "You mean little animals!" I said, giving Paul's shoulder a shake. "There's poor Nonie at home crying her eyes out about you, and here're you all _enjoying_ yourselves! What d'you mean by behaving like this?"

Instead of being sorry, if they didn't get saucy right away,--at least the boys did. Judge jerked himself away from me. "If anybody's going to punish us, _I'm not_ coming home," he drawled, planting his feet wide apart on the asphalt pavement, and looking me square in the eye. "Nor me!" chimed in Alan, defiantly.

The parasol was lifted a little, and Mädel peeped out. "Will Nora make us go to bed right away?" she asked anxiously; "before we get any dinner?"

Up went the parasol altogether, and Kathie slipped to the ground. "Oh, Jack, is everybody awfully mad? and what'll they do to us?" she said, and she looked just ready to begin weeping again. "'Cause if they are, we'd rather stay here; we've got things to eat--"

"Yes, we've got lots of things," broke in Alan; "see," pointing to the miserable-looking fruit on the end of the bench, "all that! Judge bought it; we couldn't get the bank open, but the fruitman took it,--he said he didn't mind,--an' let us have all these things for it; wasn't he kind? We're going to have a party."

Well, for a few minutes I didn't know what to do,--I mean how to get them to go home without a fuss. I could see that Paul and Alan were just ready for mischief; if they started to run in different directions, I couldn't catch both, and there were those dangerous cable cars not very far away. Suppose the boys should rush across Broadway and get run over! I suppose I could have called a policeman, and got him to take us all home, but I knew that'd make a terrible fuss; Kathie and Mädel would howl,--they're awfully afraid of "p'leecemen," as Alan calls them, and I really don't care very much for them myself. At last I got desperate. "See here, children," I said, "I've been sent to find you if I could, and to bring you home, and I've _got_ to do it, you know. If you'd seen how worried everybody was, and how poor Nonie cried for fear some tramp had got hold of you--"

"I just guess not!" broke in Judge, defiantly; but all the same he glanced quickly over his shoulder, and drew a little nearer to me.

"--or for fear you'd get hurt, or have no place to sleep in, you'd want to go straight home this minute. You know this park's all very well for the day-time; but when night comes, and it gets dark, what'll you do? The policemen may turn you out, and where will you all go _then_? Nannie is miles and _miles_ away from here by the cars, and how're children like you ever going to get to her without money or anything? And even if it were so you could get to her, what do you suppose Nannie'd say when she found you had all _run away from home_?"

I said all this very seriously,--I tell you I felt serious,--and the minute I stopped speaking Mädel slipped from the bench and slid her little hand into mine. "_I'm_ going home," she declared.

"Perhaps I will, too, if Nora won't punish us," said Kathie, undecidedly.

"I don't know if she'll punish you or not," I said; "but even if she should, isn't that better than staying here all the time, and having no dinner,--cook's made a lovely shortcake for dessert,--and no beds to sleep in, and never coming home at all again?"

Kathie caught hold of my hand. "I'm ready," she said; "let's go now."

"Coming, boys?" I asked carelessly.

"Oh, I s'pose we'll _have_ to," answered Paul, sulkily, kicking the leg of the bench; "and there's my money all gone!"

I was wild to get them home, but I had to wait as patiently as I could while the boys piled the horrid old fruit into the express wagon--they wouldn't have left it for anything--and harnessed Major to it with pieces of twine they had in their pockets; then we started.

We passed the fruitman that had cheated Judge, and Phil said afterwards that I ought to have stopped and made him give up the bank,--there were nearly two dollars in it, besides the value of the bank itself, and he had given the children about ten or fifteen cents' worth of miserable stuff for it,--but I do hate to fight people, and besides, I was in a hurry to get home, so I didn't notice him at all.

We went along in pretty good spirits--Major at the head of the procession--until we got near home; then Kathie asked once or twice, rather nervously, "What do you suppose Nora'll do to us, Jack?" and the boys began to lag behind a little. As we turned off the avenue, into our street, two people came down our stoop--we live near the corner--and came toward us. One of them was an old lady, and I knew at once that I'd seen her before, though I couldn't remember where. She was a little old lady, and she stooped a good deal; her nose was long and hooked, and she had a turn-up chin like in the pictures of Punch that we have at home. Kathie saw the likeness, too, for she pulled my elbow and whispered: "Oh, Jack, doesn't she look like Punch? Perhaps she's his wife."

The other woman was stout, and she helped the old lady along,--I think she was a maid. As we got near them, the old lady fumbled for her eyeglasses, put them on, and looked sharply at us. "Yes, yes, looks like his father!" we heard her say; then, "Have we time, Sanders? I should like to speak to them."

"Indeed, mum, we haven't time to stop," replied Sanders; "we've barely time to catch the boat." Then they got into the hansom that was standing at the curb, and were driven away.

Hannah opened the door, and the yell of joy that she gave when she saw the children brought Nora flying to meet us. I couldn't help noticing how bright and happy Nora looked, very different from when we had left her, an hour or so before; and the way she met the children was also a surprise to me. I knew she'd be glad to see them safe, but I thought surely she would have given them a good scolding, too, or punished them in some way; they deserved it, and I know they expected it. But she met them as sweetly and affectionately as even Nannie could have; she gave them something to eat,--it was long past our lunch hour,--and then she walked them into the study and gave them a tremendous talking to. I don't know whether it was the unexpected way in which she treated them, or the talking to, or what, but they came out of the study looking very subdued, and they certainly behaved better for the rest of the time before we went in the country. And Nora was different, too, for that time; she scarcely nagged, and she was more gentle,--so perhaps their running away taught her a lesson as well.

In the mean time--while Nora and the children were in the study--Felix came in, all tired out, and a little while later Phil; and weren't they indignant, though, with those youngsters when they found they were safe and sound!

All that afternoon Nora seemed very happy; we could hear her singing as she went up and down stairs and about the house, looking after nurse and the children. It was the same all through dinner-time,--she just bubbled over with fun, and it was the pleasantest meal we'd had since the family broke up. Now Nora isn't often like this,--in fact, very seldom; and to-day we supposed it was because she was so glad the children had been found; as Phil said, 'twas almost worth while losing the youngsters--as long's we'd found them again--to have Nora so bright and pleasant. His ill humour had all disappeared, and he and Nora just kept us laughing with their funny sayings. But Fee was rather quiet; his tramp after the children had tired him, and I guess, too, that he was thinking of the evening, and wondering how he could keep Phil from going off with Chad.

After dinner I went out to feed Major; I tell you, we all think him the wisest old doggie in New York! and I gave him the biggest dinner any dog could eat. Just as I was coming through the hall to go on the stoop where Phil and Felix were sitting, Nora ran down the steps and stood at the open front door. "Come in the drawing-room, boys; I have something particular to tell you," she said. "Come right away; better close the front door,--it's a long story."

Fee got up slowly, but Phil hesitated. "I wonder if Chad will be round?" he said.

"Oh, not to-night," answered Nora, quickly. "Why, didn't you hear him say last evening that he was going out of town for two or three days?"

Fee's face lighted up, and he opened his big eyes at me,--I know he was delighted; and it seemed to me that Phil's surprised "No! is _that_ so?" did not sound very sorry.

"Oh, hurry in, _do_!" Nora said impatiently. "I've kept the secret all the afternoon,--until we had a chance to talk quietly together,--and now it is just burning my lips to get out. Come, Jack, you, too."

XVII.

NORA'S SECRET.

TOLD BY JACK.

Of course that brought us into the drawing-room in double-quick time. Fee threw himself full-length on a lounge; Phil sat on a chair with his face to the back, which he hugged with both arms; I took the next chair,--the biggest in the room; and pulling over the piano stool, Nora seated herself on that, and swung from side to side as she spoke to the different ones.

For a minute she just sat and smiled at us without a word, until Phil said: "Well, fire away! We're all ears."

"Who do you think has been here to-day?" began Nora.

Phil rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and he and Felix both answered very solemnly, and at the same moment:--

"The Tsar!"

"The President!"

"_Don't_ be silly!" said Nora, with dignity; then, "I suppose I might as well tell you at once, for you never could guess,--_aunt Lindsay!_"

"No!" "Jinks!" "We _saw_ her!" exclaimed Felix, Phil, and I.

"Yes," said Nora, swinging herself slowly from side to side, and enjoying our surprise. "And what do you suppose she came for?" Then, interrupting herself, "But there! I'll begin at the very beginning; that will be the best. Well, I had just told Dr. Archard good-bye--by the way, he says nurse will be all right by to-morrow--and come in here for a minute, when the bell rang, and Hannah ushered an old lady into the room. Of course I knew at once that it was aunt Lindsay, though I hadn't seen her for a long time; and I welcomed her as warmly as I could, feeling as I did about the children,--I didn't tell her anything about them, though,--and asked her to take off her things. But she said she could only stay a very short time, and asked to see 'Nancy' and Felix.

"She sat in the chair you are in, Jack,"--Nora turned to me,--"and as she's very small, she looked about as lost in it as you do. When I said that Felix was out, and Nannie away in the Adirondacks with papa, she looked _so_ disappointed. 'I knew your father was there,' she said, 'but he did not mention that Nancy was with him. And so Felix is out! H'm, sorry for that. Good children, good children, both of them!'"

"Doesn't know you, old man, does she?" put in Phil; and then he and Felix grinned.

"Well," continued Nora, "she said she couldn't stay for lunch, but I got her to loosen her bonnet strings and take a cup of tea and some crackers. While she sipped her tea she said: 'I am _en route_ for my usual summer resort, and have come a good deal out of my way to see my godchildren. It is a disappointment not to meet them; but if Nancy is with her sick father, she is doing her duty.' Then she asked about you, Fee; your health particularly. After I had told her that you were as well as usual, and as fond of study as ever, then she told me what she had come on from Boston for. Felix, she knows all about your disappointment in not going to college last fall,--who do you suppose could have told her?--and she says--" Nora stopped and looked at us with a teasing smile.

Fee was sitting up, and we were all leaning forward, eager for the rest of the story.

"Oh, _go_ on!" cried Fee, quickly.

"Yes, out with it!" chimed in Phil.

"She says," went on Nora, slowly, lingering over each word, "that you are to prepare yourself for examination to enter Columbia in the fall, and she will see you through the college course. These are her very words: 'Tell Felix that his father has consented that I shall have the great pleasure and happiness of putting him through college. I wanted to do it last fall, but Jack would not listen to it then. Tell the boy that I shall enjoy doing this, and that he will hear from me about the last of August.' Oh, Felix, isn't it _splendid_?"

"Perfectly immense--_immense!_" exclaimed Phil, landing on his feet in great excitement. "Why, it's the _jolliest_, the _very_ best, the _finest_ piece of good news that I could hear--simply _huge!_ _Blessed_ old dame! She's given me _the_ wish of my heart! Hurrah, old chappie! after all we'll be at college together! _Oo-h-ie!_" And he threw his arms right round Felix and just hugged him.

Fee's eyes were wide open, and so bright! they shone right through his glasses; he leaned forward and looked anxiously from one to the other of us, his hands opening and shutting nervously on his knees as he spoke. "Are you _sure_ about this?" he asked wistfully; "because I've dreamed this sort of thing sometimes, and--and--the awakening always upsets me for a day or two."

"Why, _certainly_ we're sure!" cried Nora. "_Dead sure!_" answered Phil, emphatically; and Nora added reproachfully: "Why, Felix! aren't you glad? I thought you'd be delighted."

"_Glad?_" echoed Fee, "_glad?_ why, I'm--" His voice failed, and turning hurriedly from us, he buried his face in the sofa cushions.

All this time I hadn't said a word; I really couldn't. You see, ever since I've been a choir boy, I've saved all the money that's been paid me for singing, so's to get enough to send Fee to college. Betty didn't think much of my scheme: she said 'twould take such a long while before I could get even half the amount; but still I kept on saving for it,--I haven't spent a penny of my salary,--and you've no idea how full the bank was, and _heavy!_ I've just hugged the little iron box sometimes, when I thought of what that money would do for Fee; and for a few minutes after I heard Nora's story I was so disappointed that I _couldn't_ congratulate him.

Then, all at once, it came over me like a rush how mean I was to want Felix to wait such a long time for me to do this for him, when, through aunt Lindsay's kindness, he could go to college right away. I got awfully ashamed, and going quickly over to Fee's side, I knelt down by him and threw my arm over his shoulder. "Fee," I said,--he still had his face in the cushions,--"I'm _very_, _very_, _very_ glad you are to go to college this fall,--_really_ and _truly_ I am, Fee."

I didn't see anything funny about this, but Phil and Nora began to laugh, and, sitting up, Felix said, smiling, "Why, I know you are, Jacqueminot; I never doubted it for a moment. And by and by, when Phil and I are staid old seniors, your turn will come,--we'll see to that." Then, looking round at us, he went on, speaking rapidly, excitedly: "_At last_ it has come, and when I least expected it--when I had given up all hope. I can hardly believe it! _Now_ I shall go in for the hardest sort of hard work, for I've great things to accomplish. Don't think I'm conceited, but I'm going to try for _all_ the honours that a fellow can; and I'll get them, too--I'll get them; I _must!_ I promised--_her_--" He broke off abruptly and turned away, then presently added in a lighter tone: "I must write to my twinnie to-night,--how delighted she will be! Oh, I tell you, you don't any of you know what this is to me!--but there, I _can't_ talk of it. Let's have some fun. What shall we do to celebrate the occasion? Play something lively, Nora; we'll have a _musicale_."

He stood up, and as Nora ran to the piano and struck up a waltz, Phil caught Fee round the waist and danced off with him.

But before they had turned twice round, Fee was in a chair, holding on to his back, and laughing at Phil's grumbling protest. "I never was much on dancing, you know," he said. "Here, take Rosebud; he'll trip the light fantastic toe with you as long as you like."

So Phil finished the waltz with me, but I didn't enjoy it; Phil is so tall, and he grips a person so tight, that half the time my feet were clear off the floor and sticking straight out; and he went so fast that I got dizzy.

Well, we had a _jolly_ evening. After the dance, Fee didn't move about very much, but he was just as funny and bright as he could be; Nora was nicer, too, than I've ever known her; and as for Phil, he was perfectly wild with good spirits. He danced,--alone when he couldn't get anybody for a partner,--and sang, and talked, and joked, and kept us in a roar of laughter until bedtime.

"Well," said Nora, as we stood together by the drawing-room door for a few minutes before going upstairs, "I thought this morning that this was going to be a black day,--one of the days when everything goes wrong,--and yet see how pleasantly it has ended."

"It has been a great day for me," said Fee, slowly. "I don't mind telling you people, now, that that disappointment in the fall took the heart and interest all out of my studies; but now"--he straightened himself up, and his voice rang out--"_now_ I have hope again, and courage, and you'll see what I can do. Thanks don't express my feelings; I'm more than thankful to aunt Lindsay!"

"So 'm I," I piped up, and I meant that; I was beginning to feel better about it.

"Thankful, more thankful, most thankful," Phil said, pointing his finger at Nora, then at me, then at Felix; "and here am I, the 'thankfullest' of all."

There was a break in his voice that surprised us; and to cover it up, he began some more of his nonsense. "High time for us--the _pater's_ little infants--to be a-bed," he said, laughing. "Come, Mr. Boffin, make your adieux and prepare to leave

"'The gay, the gay and festive scene; The halls, the halls of dazzling light.'"

And suddenly, catching Fee in his arms, he ran lightly up the stairs with him, calling back to us: "'Good-night, ladies! good-night, ladies! good-night, ladies! I'm going to leave you now!'"

XVIII.

EXPERIENCES AT ENDICOTT BEACH.

TOLD BY BETTY.

Nora insisted that it was "exceedingly kind" of the Ervengs, and "a compliment" to me, and all that sort of thing, to invite me to spend a month with them at their country place. Well, perhaps she was right: Nora is _always_ right,--in her own estimation; all the same, I didn't want to go one step, and I am afraid I was rather disagreeable about it.

You see I had been looking forward to going to the Cottage with the others; and having to start off for an entirely different place at only a few hours' notice quite upset me. At the Cottage, Nannie takes charge while Miss Marston is away for her holidays, and she lets us amuse ourselves in our own way, as long as we are punctual at meals,--papa insists on that,--and don't get into mischief. One can wear one's oldest clothes, and just _live_ out of doors; what with driving old Pegasus, and riding G. W. L. Spry, and boating, fishing, crabbing, wading, and playing in the sand, we do have the jolliest times! Now, instead of all this fun and freedom, I was to be packed off to visit people that I didn't know very well, and didn't care a jot about. Of course I knew Hilliard _pretty_ well,--he's been at the house often enough! I didn't mind him much, though he is provokingly slow, and so--well, _queer_, for I could speak my mind right out to him if I felt like it; but it seemed to me that Mr. Erveng must always remember that silly escapade of mine whenever he looked at me, and I was sure that Mrs. Erveng regarded me as a rough, overgrown tomboy. Somehow, when I am with her I feel dreadfully awkward,--all hands, and feet, and voice; though these things don't trouble me in the least with any one else. I did wish that she had invited Nora to visit her instead of me.

When I saw my old blue flannel laid with the things to go to the Cottage, and only my best gowns put into the trunk I was to take to the Ervengs', it suddenly rushed over me that I would have to be on my company manners for a whole month! and I got so mad that it would have been a relief to just _roar_,--the way Kathie does.

Nannie was away, and the others didn't seem to understand how I felt; in fact, Nora aggravated me by scolding, and saying I ought to feel highly delighted, when I knew that deep down in her heart she was only too thankful that _she_ hadn't been asked. Jack was the only person that sympathised with me,--dear old Jackie-boy! I'm beginning to think that there is a good deal to Jack, for all he's so girlie.

The Ervengs called for me the morning after papa and Nannie had gone to the mountains,--right after breakfast,--and I can assure you it was dreadfully hard to keep back the tears when I was telling the family good-bye; and when I was seated in the carriage, right under Mr. and Mrs. Erveng's eyes, I got the most insane desire to scream out loud, or burst the door open and jump out: I had to sit up very straight and set my lips tight together, to keep from doing it.

That feeling wore off, though, by the time we got settled in the drawing-room car, and I was three seats from Mrs. Erveng,--I managed that,--with Mr. Erveng and Hilliard between us. It was a marvel to me the way those two waited on Mrs. Erveng; in watching them do it I forgot about myself. Her chair must be at just such an angle, her footstool in just such a position, and the cushions at her back just so many, and most carefully arranged; and if she stirred, they were all attention immediately. And they were like that the whole month that I was at Endicott Beach, though it seemed to me sometimes that she was very exacting.

Now with us, though we love one another dearly, and, as Phil says, would go through fire and water for one another if need be, particularly if any one were ill, still we're not willing to be imposed on _all_ the time, and we do keep the different ones up to the mark, and stand up for our individual rights,--we've _got_ to where there are so many. But the Ervengs aren't in the least like us; and I think that, in some ways, Hilliard is the very oddest boy I've _ever_ known.

To begin with, he is so literal,--away ahead of Nora; he took so many things seriously that I said in joke that at first I didn't know what to make of him. I used to get _so_ provoked! He doesn't understand the sort of "chaffing" that we do so much at home, and he is slow to get an idea; but once it's fixed in his mind, you needn't think he's going to change,--it's there for the rest of his natural life. He could no more change his opinion about things as I do than he could fly. Perhaps he thinks I'm frivolous and "uncouth,"--as Nora sometimes says I am. Well, let him; who cares? _I_ think _he_ is a regular old poke, though he is better than I thought at first; but you'll hear all about it. Of course Hilliard was polite, and all that, when he came to our house, but I didn't always see him; in fact, I used to keep out of the way on purpose, many a time: so I didn't really know what sort of a boy he was until I went to stay at the beach.

Well, as soon as Mrs. Erveng was comfortably settled, Hilliard came over to me with a big soft cushion in his hand. "May I put this at your back?" he asked. "It's a tiresome journey to Boston, and we've got quite a ride after that to reach Endicott Beach; so let me make you as comfortable as possible."

Now if he had come up and simply put the cushion on the back of my chair, the way Phil, or Felix, or Jack would have done, I wouldn't have minded at all,--I like cushions; but to stand there holding it, waiting for me to give him permission, struck me as being very silly. I knew he expected me to say yes, and instead of that I found myself saying, "No, I thank you,"--I could hear that my tone was snippy,--"I can get on very comfortably without a cushion." Our boys, or Max, or even Murray Unsworth would have said, "Oh, come now, Betty!" and just slipped the cushion behind me, and I'd have enjoyed it, and made no more fuss. But not so this individual. He looked helplessly at me for a minute, then laid the cushion down on his mother's travelling satchel; and there it reclined until we reached Boston.

'Twas the same way with getting me things to eat. With all the excitement that morning, I had very little appetite for breakfast, so by lunch time I was _very_ hungry; and when Mrs. Erveng opened her box of sandwiches, I felt as if I could have eaten every one in it,--but of course I didn't. They were delicious; but, oh, so small and thin!

Mr. Erveng did not take any,--he never takes a mid-day meal. Mrs. Erveng ate two, trifling with the second one as if tired of it. I ate three,--when a _dozen_ would not have been too many! Hilliard disposed of four, and then went out to get his mother a cup of tea,--I suspect he had something more to eat in the restaurant. He asked, in a tone as if he meant it, "Mayn't I bring you a cup of tea?"

But I despise tea, so I answered, "No, I thank you," for the second time. Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were talking to an acquaintance who had come up, and actually Hilliard hadn't the sense to offer me anything else, and I _couldn't_ ask. Having sisters is certainly a great thing for a boy, as I've told Jack scores of times; why, for all that he is so shy, Jack could have taken twice as good care of a girl as Hilliard did of me, just because he has had me to train him.

Presently Mrs. Erveng passed the lunch box over to me. "_Do_ take another sandwich, Betty," she said kindly, "and some cake."

But by this time no one else in the car was eating, and I didn't want to be the only person,--I hate to have people stare at me while I'm eating,--so I refused. The open box remained by me for some time,--'twas all I could do to keep from putting out my hand for a sandwich; then the porter came by, and Mr. Erveng handed it to him to take away.

Hilliard talked to me as we flew along, in his deliberate, grown-up way, but pleasantly; if I had not been so hungry and homesick, I might have been interested. But by and by the hunger wore off, and by the time we reached Endicott Beach I had a raving headache; but I said nothing about it until after dinner, for Mrs. Erveng was so tired out that she had to be looked after and got to bed the very first thing, and that made a little fuss, though her maid Dillon, who had come on the day before, was there to assist her.

The house is very prettily furnished and arranged,--almost as prettily but more simply than Mrs. Erveng's rooms in New York.

After dinner Hilliard showed me a little of the place, which is _very_ pretty, and quite unlike anywhere else that I have been. There's a queer scraggly old garden at the back of the house, and in front a splendid view of the beach, with the ocean rolling up great booming waves. Before very long I got to like Endicott Beach very much; but this first afternoon, though the sunset was most gorgeous, I felt so miserable that I could take interest in nothing. Oh, how I longed for home!

Presently Hilliard said, "I'm afraid you are dreadfully tired,--you look so pale. I should have waited until to-morrow to show you the place; I have been inconsiderate--"

"I have a headache," I broke in shortly; then all at once my lips began to tremble. "I wish I were at home!" I found myself exclaiming; and then the tears came pouring down my face.

"Oh, I am so sorry! so _very_ sorry! What can I do for you?" began Hilliard. "Oh! mayn't I--"

I was so mortified that I got very mad; I hate to cry, any way, and above all before this stiff wooden boy! I threw my hands over my face, and turning my back on him, started for the house, walking as fast as I could, stumbling sometimes on the uneven beach.

But Hilliard followed close behind me. "I'm _so_ sorry!" he repeated. "Why didn't you let me know sooner? May I--"

I got so provoked that I wheeled round suddenly on him,--I think I startled him. "Oh, _do_ stop _asking_ people if you 'may' or 'mayn't do things for them,"--I'm afraid that here I mimicked his tone of voice. "_Do_ the things first, and then ask,--if you must. I declare, you don't know the very first thing about taking care of a girl; why, our Paul could do better."

Hilliard stood stock still and stared at me; his sleepy eyes were wide open, and there was such a bewildered expression on his face that it just set me off laughing, in spite of the tears on my cheeks, and my headache.

"I am exceedingly sorry if I have neglected--" he began stiffly; but before he could say any more I turned and fled.

I fancied I heard his footsteps behind me, and I fairly flew along the beach, into the house, and up to my room, where I began undressing as quickly as I could. But before I was ready for bed, Mrs. Erveng's maid brought a message from her mistress. She was so sorry to hear that I was not well; was there nothing that she could do for me? "Please say that I am going to bed; that will cure my headache quicker than anything else," I called through the keyhole, instead of opening the door. I had a feeling that the Ervengs would think me a crank; but I had got to that pitch that afternoon where I didn't care what anybody thought of me. Then Dillon went away, and I got into bed.

But I couldn't sleep for ever so long: you see the sun had not yet set, and I'm not used to going to sleep in broad daylight; besides, I was very unhappy. As I lay there looking at the brilliant colours of the sky, I thought over what I had said to Hilliard, and the oftener I went over it, the more uncomfortable I got; for I began to see that I'd been very rude--to insult the people I was visiting! I wondered if Hilliard had told his mother what I said; and what she thought of me? Would she send me home? I had declared to Nora that I would behave so badly as to be sent home before the visit was over, but I had not really meant it. I got all worked up over the horrid affair, and if I had had then enough money to pay my expenses to New York, I really think I should have been tempted to climb out of the window, or make my escape in some way or other,--I dreaded so having to face the Ervengs in the morning.

After a long while I fell asleep, and dreamed that Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were holding me fast, while Hilliard stuffed sandwiches down my throat.

But by the next morning my headache was gone, and the sunshine and beautiful view from my window made me feel a new person, though I still dreaded meeting the Ervengs. Usually I dress quickly, but this morning I just dawdled, to put off the evil moment as long as possible. It seemed so strange not to have Nannie, or Miss Marston, or Nora, or any one to tell me what to say or do; I really felt lost without dear old Nannie. I would have been delighted to see her that morning,--we have such nice talks at home while we are dressing!

Before I left home, Nora said particularly, "Now, Betty, _do_ remember that your ginghams are for the mornings and your thinner gowns for the afternoons. Don't put on the first frock that comes to your hand, regardless of whether it is flannel, gingham, or _organdi_. You know you haven't a great many clothes, so _please_, I beg of you, for the reputation of the family, take care of them, or you will not have a decent thing to wear two weeks after you get to the Ervengs'."

I was provoked at her for saying this, but I could not resent it very much, for--though I love pretty things as well as anybody does--somehow accidents _are_ always happening to my clothes. Nurse says it's because I am too heedless to think about what I have on, and perhaps it is: yet, when I remember, and try to be careful, I'm simply _miserable_; and it does seem too silly to make one's self uncomfortable for clothes,--so I generally forget.

But this morning I looked carefully over the ginghams that Dillon had unpacked and hung in the closet in my room, and finally, taking down the one I considered the prettiest, I put it on; I wished afterward that I had chosen the plainest and ugliest.

As I said, I was taking as much time as possible over my dressing, when I happened to think that breakfast might be ready, and the Ervengs waiting for me,--papa says "to be late at meals, particularly when visiting, is _extremely_ ill-bred;" then I rushed through the rest of my toilet, and raced down the stairs, not thinking of Mrs. Erveng's headache until I reached the foot of the steps.

I was relieved to find no one in the parlour, or in the room across the hall, where the table was set for breakfast. But as I stepped out on the broad front piazza, Hilliard rose from the hammock in which he had been lying, and came forward with such a pleasant "Good-morning!" that I felt surprised and ashamed.

"How is your head?" he asked, adding, "It must be better, I fancy,--you look so much brighter than you did yesterday."

I could feel my face getting warm; I hate to apologise to people, but I knew that I ought to do it here. "That headache made me cross, and I was homesick," I answered, speaking as fast as I could to get it all over with quickly. "I am sorry I spoke so rudely--"

But Hilliard broke in quickly,--for him. "Don't say that; please don't ever speak of it again," he said earnestly. "It's for _me_ to apologise; I must have deserved what you said, or I know you would not have said it."

Well, I _was_ taken aback! that was a new view of the case. At first I thought he might be in sarcasm; but no, he was in earnest, saying the words in his slow, deliberate way, with his eyes half shut. I couldn't help wishing that the family had been there to hear; but I decided that I would certainly tell them of it,--you see I don't often get such a compliment.

I would like to have made a polite speech to him, but what was there to say?--it still remained that he _hadn't_ taken good care of me. And while this thought was going through my brain, I heard myself say, "Did you tell your mother what I said to you?"

Now I had no more idea of asking Hilliard that--though I did want to know--than I had of flying; my mouth opened, and the words just came out without the least volition on my part,--in fact, I was perfectly astonished to hear them. More than once this has happened at home; Phil teases me about it, and Fee calls me Mrs. Malaprop, because--that's the trouble--these speeches are almost always just the things I shouldn't have said. I'm sure I don't know what I am to do to prevent it.

My face actually burnt,--it must have been as red as a beet. "I didn't mean to ask you that," I blurted out. While I was speaking, Hilliard was saying, "Why, certainly not; I simply mentioned that you had a headache," in such a surprised voice that I felt more uncomfortable than ever: but wasn't it nice of him not to tell?

I just rushed into talk about the scenery as fast as I could go. From where we stood we could see the wild, rugged coast for miles,--the huge, bare brown rocks standing like so many grim sentinels guarding the spaces of shining white sand, which here and there sloped gently to the water's edge; the sea gulls resting, tiny white specks, against the dark rocks, or circling in flocks above them; the dark blue ocean, dotted with steamers and sailing-vessels and sparkling and dancing in the morning light, rolling up great white-crested waves that dashed on the rocks and threw up a cloud of foaming spray, and broke on the beach with a dull booming noise; and over all was the warm, glorious summer sunshine. As I looked and looked, all the disagreeableness slipped away, and it was _splendid_ just to be alive. I thought of Felix, and how much he would enjoy all this beauty. We all think so much of the scenery at the Cottage, and really it is nothing compared with this. There the beach is smooth and nice, but it hasn't a rock on it; and the water--it's the Sound, you know--just creeps up on it with a soft lapping sound very different to the roar and magnificence of the ocean.

I was so surprised and delighted that first morning that I spoke out warmly. "Oh!" I cried, "isn't it _beautiful_! oh, it is grand! fascinating!--I could watch those waves all day!"

Hilliard's face lighted up. "I thought you would like it," he said. "You should see it in a storm,--it is magnificent! but it is terrible, too,"--he gave a little shudder. "I love the ocean, but I am afraid of it; it is treacherous."

"Afraid!" I looked at him in surprise,--the idea of a big strong boy as he is being _afraid_ of the water! I opened my mouth to exclaim, "Well, _I'm_ not afraid!" then remembered my unlucky remark of a few minutes before and said instead, and in a much milder tone, "After breakfast I'm going to explore those rocks, and get as near to the ocean as I can--"

"Don't attempt to do any climbing alone," broke in Hilliard, more positively than he usually speaks; "the rocks are very slippery, and you know nothing about the tides. People have been caught on those rocks and cut off--drowned--by the incoming tide, before they could reach the shore, or be rescued. I shall be very glad to go with you whenever--"

"Good-morning!" Mr. Erveng said, appearing in the doorway behind us; "will you young people come in and have some breakfast?"

Breakfast was served in a room that looked out on the garden; and everything was very nice, though quite different from our breakfasts at home. Mrs. Erveng was not down,--I found afterward that she always took her breakfast in her own room,--and Hilliard sat in his mother's place and poured the tea. I was thankful that Mr. Erveng hadn't asked me to do it; but it did look so _queer_ to see a boy doing such a thing,--so like a "Miss Nancy," as Phil would say. Mr. Erveng and Hilliard talked a good deal about things that were going on in the world, and about books, and places they had been to. I was perfectly surprised at the way Mr. Erveng asked Hilliard's opinion, and listened to his remarks,--I couldn't imagine papa's doing such a thing with any of us, not even with Felix; and when I said anything, they both acted as if it were really worth listening to,--which is another thing that never happens in our family! And yet, on the other hand, Mr. Erveng goes off to Boston in the mornings without even saying good-bye to Mrs. Erveng or Hilliard,--they never know by what train he is coming home; and in the whole month I visited them I never once saw Hilliard and his mother kiss each other.

Now at home papa always tells some one of us when he is going out, and about when he will return; and if we children go anywhere, the whole family is sure to know of it; and quite often we kiss one another good-bye, and always at night. Nora often tells us that it isn't "good form" to do this; and sometimes, when she's in an airish mood, she calls us "a pack of kissers,"--as if that were something dreadful. Still, all the same, I'm _glad_ that we're that sort of a family; and I am more than ever glad since I've been staying with the Ervengs.

Hilliard and I were just starting for the beach that morning, when Dillon came out on the piazza with a message. "Mr. Hilliard," she said, "your mother would like to speak to you." So off he went with, "Excuse me; I'll be back in a few minutes," to me.

But instead, presently back came Dillon with another message: "Mrs. Erveng asks, Will you please to excuse Mr. Hilliard; she would like him to do something for her for a while."

So off I went for my walk, alone. I strolled down to the beach and sat in the shade of a big rock and looked at the waves,--watching them coming in and going out, and making up all sorts of thoughts about them. But after a while I got tired of that, and began wondering what they were all doing at home without Nannie, or Miss Marston, or papa; and then I felt so lonely and homesick that I just _had_ to get up and walk about. And then I got into trouble,--I don't know another girl that gets into scrapes as I do!

There were lots of little coves about the beach,--the water in them was just as clear as crystal; and as I stepped from rock to rock, bending down to look into the depths, what should I do but slip,--the rocks _are_ slippery,--and land in the middle of a cove, up to my waist in water!

There was nothing to do but to scramble out,--the rocks ran too far out into the ocean to think of walking round them,--and I can assure you it was no easy thing to accomplish with my wet skirts clinging to me. I scratched my hands, and scraped my shoes, and got my sleeves and the whole front of my nice gingham stained with the green slimy moss that covered the rocks.

But at last I got out; then came the walk up the beach to the house,--there was no other way of getting there,--and you may imagine my feelings when, half-way up, I discovered that Mrs. Erveng was seated on the piazza in her invalid's chair. I saw her put her _lorgnette_ to her eyes; I imagined I heard her say to Hilliard, who was arranging a cushion back of her head, "Who _is_ that extraordinary looking creature coming up the beach?" and I _longed_ to just burrow in the sand and get out of her sight.

Hilliard came running to meet me. "You've fallen into the water--you are wet! I hope you're not hurt?" he exclaimed, as he reached me.

It was on the tip of my tongue to answer sharply, "I _have_ fallen into the water; did you expect me to be dry?" It was such a _silly_ speech of his! But I was afraid of Mrs. Erveng, so I just said carelessly,--as if I were in the habit of tumbling into the ocean with all my clothes on every day in the week,--"Oh, I just slipped off one of the rocks; I got my feet wet." And there I was, mind you, wet almost to my waist, and such a figure!

Any one of our boys--even Jack, and he is pretty dense sometimes--would have seen the joke, and we'd have had a hearty laugh, anyway, out of the situation; but not a smile appeared on Hilliard's face. Either he didn't see the fun at all, or else he was too deadly polite to laugh. If he had even said roughly, "Didn't I _tell_ you not to go there!" I wouldn't have minded it as much as his "How unfortunate!" and his helpless look. I was afraid to say anything for fear I'd be rude again, so we walked up to the piazza in solemn silence.

"Good morning!" Mrs. Erveng said pleasantly, as I laboured up the steps. "An accident? I am so glad you are not hurt! Hilliard should have warned you about those slippery rocks--oh, he did--I see. Dillon will help you change your things; ring for her, Hilliard. Too bad, Betty, to spoil that pretty frock."

Well, I changed my wet clothes, and for the rest of that day I was as meek as a lamb. I sat down, and got up, and answered, and talked to the Ervengs as nearly in Nora's manner as I could imitate. Perhaps they liked it, but I didn't; I was having the pokiest kind of a time, and I was so homesick that I cried myself to sleep again that night.

Mind you, I wouldn't have our boys and Nora know this for a kingdom!

The next few days were more agreeable; the people from the other cottages on the beach came to call on Mrs. Erveng, and while she was entertaining them, Hilliard and I went for walks or sat on the sands. As I've told you before, he isn't at all a wonderful sort of boy,--except for queerness,--and he always _will_ be a poke; but sometimes he's rather nice, and he is certainly polite. He knows the beach well,--he ought to, he's been here nearly every summer of his life, and he is eighteen years old,--and he showed me everything there was to see. There were no more accidents under his guidance; and no wonder,--he is caution itself.

There was only one part of the beach that he did not take me, and that was where a tall pointed rock stood, that was separated from the others by a rather wide strip of sand. I thought it looked interesting; I could see what looked in the distance like the arched entrance to a cave in the side of the rock. I would like to have gone to look at it, but every time I proposed it, Hilliard turned the conversation. "Some day we'll investigate it," he said at last; "but don't ever go over there alone,--it is a dangerous place." According to him, the whole beach was dangerous; so I made up my mind that I would "investigate" for myself at the first opportunity that offered.

While we rested on the sands, Hilliard would read aloud to me,--he likes to read aloud. Neither Phil nor I care as much for books as do the others in the family; but to be polite, I did not tell Hilliard that I am not fond of being read to; to me it always seems so slow. At first I used to look at the ocean and make up thoughts about it, so that I hardly heard any of what he was reading; but after a while I began to listen, and then, really, I got quite interested.

We were sitting in the shade of the rocks one very warm afternoon,--Hilliard was reading aloud,--when there came a sudden peal of thunder, and presently a flash of lightning. "Oh, we're going to have a storm!" I exclaimed. "I am so glad! now I can see the ocean in a storm,--you said it was magnificent then. Why, what are you doing?"

"We must get in the house as quickly as possible." Hilliard rose to his feet as he spoke, and began hastily gathering up the books and cushions, and the big sun umbrella.

"But the rain hasn't come yet, and I _do_ want to watch the water,--see, it's beginning to get white-caps," I said. "We can reach the house in a few minutes."

As I spoke there was another flash of lightning and a long roll of thunder, but neither was severe. To my great astonishment Hilliard shrank back against the rock, and shielded his face with the cushion he held in his hand; I could see that he was very pale. "Oh, come, _come_!" he begged; "oh, let us get to the house at once!"

"What!" I flashed out scornfully, "are you _afraid_ of a thunder storm?"

He didn't answer; he just stood there flattening himself against the rock, his face deadly white, his eyes almost closed, and his lips set tight together.

I got _so_ angry! I _despise_ a coward! Had Jack done that, I thought to myself, I'd have been tempted to thrash him to put some spirit and pluck into him; and here was this great big overgrown boy--! "Why don't you run away to the house?" I broke out sharply. "I can take care of myself; _I'm_ not afraid of a little thunder."

He put up his hand in a deprecating way, as if asking me to hush. Then, as a nearer peal reverberated among the rocks, and another flash lighted up the now leaden-coloured sky, he sprang forward and caught hold of my arm, with a sharp cry of "_Come! come!_" Wheeling me round suddenly, he ran toward the house, carrying me along with him with such force and swiftness--though I resisted--that in a few minutes we were on the piazza, and then in the hall, with the heavy outer door swung shut. We were barely under cover when the rain pelted down, and the thunder and lightning grew more loud and vivid.

Hilliard leaned breathlessly against the hat-rack table,--I could see that he was trembling. I stood and looked at him,--I suppose it was rude, but I couldn't help it; you see I had never met such a kind of boy before.

Mrs. Erveng had spent part of the day on the beach, and had come to the house about an hour before to take her afternoon nap. Now we heard her voice from the floor above us. "Hilliard! Hilliard, my son!" she called; there was something in her voice--a sort of tenderness--that I had never noticed before. "Come here to me; come!"

And he went, without a glance at me, lifting his feet heavily from step to step, with drooping head and a shamed, miserable expression on his pale face.

In about an hour's time the storm was all over, and that afternoon we had a gorgeous sunset; but Mr. Erveng and I were the only ones who sat on the piazza to enjoy it. Neither Mrs. Erveng nor Hilliard appeared again that day. Mr. Erveng took me for a walk along the beach, and did his best to entertain me: but I had a feeling that I was in the way--that he would rather have been upstairs with his wife and son, or that perhaps if I had not been there they would have come down.

I thought of them all at home,--Phil and Fee with their fun and merry speeches, and Jack, and the little ones, and Nora; there is always something or other going on, and I would have given almost anything to be back once more among them. I was so unhappy this afternoon that I actually deliberated whether I had the courage to do something desperate,--make faces at Mr. Erveng, or race upstairs and interview Mrs. Erveng, or call Hilliard names out loud,--_anything_, so that they would send me home.

But after a while I concluded I wouldn't try any of these desperate remedies; not that I minded what they'd say at home (teasing, I mean), but papa would want to know the whole affair,--he has got to think a good deal of Mr. Erveng,--and besides, somehow, though she's so gentle and refined, Mrs. Erveng isn't at all the sort of person that one could do those things to. So I said nothing, though I thought a great deal; and I went to bed before nine o'clock thoroughly disgusted with the Ervengs.

Hilliard was at breakfast the next morning, just as stiff and prim and proper as ever,--it almost seemed as if what had happened in the storm must be a dream. But later on, when we were on the piazza, he spoke of it to me.

"I feel that I should explain to you that I have a nervous dread of a thunder storm," he said, in that proper, grown-up way in which he speaks, but getting very red. "It completely upsets me at the time; I am afraid you think me a coward--" He broke off abruptly.

"If it is nervousness, why don't you do something for it?--go to a physician and get cured?" I answered shortly; it seemed to me so silly--"so girlie," as Jack says--to try to turn his behaviour off on _nervousness_.

"I _am_ under a physician's care," he said eagerly; "and he says if I could only once--"

But just then the carriage that had taken Mr. Erveng to the train drove up to the door, and with an exclamation of pleasure Hilliard started forward to meet the lady and young girl who were getting out of it.

They were Mrs. Endicott and her daughter Alice, relatives of the Ervengs, and they had come to stay with them while some repairs were being made to their own house, which was farther along the beach.

It was _such_ a relief to see a girl again; and she turned out to be just as nice as she could be. She and Hilliard are cousins, but she isn't at all like him in any way. In the first place, she is splendid looking,--tall and strong, and the picture of health, with the most beautiful colour in her cheeks; and she is so jolly and full of fun that we got on famously together.

Alice is a little over sixteen,--just one year older than I am,--and she has travelled almost everywhere with her parents (she's the only child, you see), all over America and in Europe. But she doesn't put on any airs about it; in fact, instead of talking of her travels, as I would ask her to do, she'd beg, actually coax me to tell her about my brothers and sisters, and the times we have at home,--it seems Hilliard has written her about us. She said she had never known such a large family, and she wanted me to describe each one, from Phil down to Alan.

On warm mornings we would sit on the beach in the shade of the rocks, and when Hilliard wasn't reading to us, somehow the conversation always got round to the family. Hilliard thinks a good deal of our boys, and he talked to Alice about them; he told her of our entertainment on Nora's birthday, and our "performances," and she seemed to enjoy hearing of it all. She asked questions, too, and said she felt as if she really knew us all.

Mrs. Endicott was almost as nice as Alice, and so _kind_! Why, almost every day she got up some amusement for us,--driving, or walking, or a picnic, or something. I really began to enjoy myself very much,--only that I didn't hear often enough from home. Nora's notes were very short,--just scraps; she said she was too busy to write more; and Jack never has shone as a letter writer. He'd say, "Nora had a circus with the 'kids' to-day,--will tell you about it when you come home;" or, "Something splendid has happened for Fee,--you shall have full particulars when you get back," and other things like that. Provoking boy! when I was longing to hear everything.

After the Endicotts came, I enjoyed myself so well that the time flew by, and almost before I knew it the last day but one of my visit at the beach had come. That afternoon, instead of going with Mrs. Endicott, Alice, and Hilliard, to see how the repairs were getting on at their cottage, I decided to remain at home. Thinking it over afterward, I could not have explained why I did not care to go; I didn't even remember the excuse I made. It could not have been the heat,--though it was extremely warm,--for a little while after they had gone I dressed for dinner, and started for a stroll along the beach.

I walked slowly on and on, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, until I suddenly discovered that I was directly opposite the large rock which Hilliard and I were to have "investigated" some day, but to which he had never taken me. I knew we could not do it the next day, for Mr. Endicott had invited us to spend it on his steam yacht, and the day after that I was to leave for home; so I made up my mind that that afternoon was my opportunity.

Carefully gathering up my skirts,--I had on my best white gown,--I picked my way over the rocks and stepped down on the wide strip of sand which divided this rock from the others. I noticed that the beach sloped downward to the rock; but in my heedlessness I did not notice that the sand was slightly damp.

On reaching the rock, I found that what had looked at a distance like an arched entrance to a cave was really some irregular steps cut out of its surface, and which led to a narrow shelf, or ledge, a little more than half-way up the tall, solid-looking mass of stone. I knew that the view from that height must be fine, and I _love_ to climb; so I determined to get up to that ledge.

It was not very easy,--the steps were slippery and rather far apart, and then, too, my dress bothered me, I was so afraid I would soil or tear it,--so I was a little tired and warm by the time I reached the top. But the view from there was _beautiful!_ One had a clear sweep of the beach, except that smaller portion which lay behind the big rock. The shelf on which I sat, with my feet resting on the step below, was a little rounded, something of a horseshoe shape, and with the rock to lean back against I was quite comfortable. I wondered again and again why Hilliard had avoided showing me this place, and enjoyed every detail of the view to my heart's content,--the grand, rugged outline of the beach, the exquisite colours of the sky and water, and the crafts that went sailing and purring past. I wondered where they were all going, and made up destinations for them. Then I began counting them, so as to tell Alice at dinner; I got up to twenty-eight, and then--I must have fallen asleep.

How long I slept I don't know, but I woke with a great start, conscious of some loud, unusual noise, and that something cool had fallen on my face; and for a moment what I saw turned my heart sick with terror.

Everything was changed since last I had looked at it. The sky, so blue and clear then, was now covered with heavy black clouds, across which shot vivid flashes of lightning, and there were deep, fierce growls of thunder. The shining sands that I had crossed so easily but a while before had disappeared; the ocean, which had then been so far away, now covered them, and was on a level with the step on which my feet rested. The blueness of the water had gone,--it was lead-coloured, to match the sky,--and great angry, white-crested, curling waves came rolling in, tumbling over and over each other in a mad race to dash themselves against the rock on which I sat, throwing up each time a heavy shower of white, foamy spray. It was the touch of this spray on my face that had wakened me; and to my horror, the water was dancing and gurgling at my very feet!

In a flash I realised that I was in great danger,--entirely cut off from the land, and on a rock that was under water at high tide!

"Oh, it can't be! it _can't_ be!" I cried aloud, standing up and looking wildly around; and as I did so, a big wave broke over my feet.

With a scream I scrambled back on the ledge, and stood there, clinging to the jagged points of the rock, while I called for help at the top of my voice. I shouted, and shrieked, and yelled, until I was hoarse, and the cries were driven back into my throat by the wind; but all that answered me was the roar of the storm and the screams of the sea gulls as they flew by.

As the wind lulled for a minute or two, I managed to drag off the skirt of my gown and wave it, hoping to attract the attention of some passing vessel,--a long range of rocks cut off any view of the cottages on the beach,--but the next wild gust tore it out of my grasp.

The water kept rising,--it was bubbling and foaming over my ankles; the waves were lashing themselves higher and higher, the rain coming down in sheets, the wind howling and raging,--I was afraid it would blow me off the ledge! and never in all my life have I heard or seen such thunder and lightning!

At first I was all confused,--I was so startled that I could think of nothing but that I was going to be drowned; but after a while I quieted down, and then I remembered that I could swim. Many a swimming match had Jack and I had at the Cottage,--I should have said that I was a very good swimmer; but that was in still water, not in this terrible, cruel ocean. I made up my mind to throw myself off the ledge and strike out for the shore,--three times I thought I would, and each time shrank back and clung the closer to the rock. At last I had to admit to myself that I was _afraid!_ I, Betty Rose, who had always boasted that I was not afraid of anything, had to own to myself that I had not the courage to even attempt to struggle with those waves! My courage seemed all gone. I was afraid--_deadly_ afraid--of the waves; I screamed as each one struck me higher and higher, and I hid my face from the lightning. Oh, it was awful! _awful!_

By and by I began to think; I still felt the rain and waves, and shrunk from the lightning, but not as I had at first, for I was thinking thoughts that had never come to me before in all my life. I could see right before me the faces of papa, and my dear brothers and sisters,--oh, how I loved them! and I should never be with them again! How they would miss me! and yet how many, _many_ times had I been disagreeable, and commanding, and unkind! I loved them, but I had spoken sharply, and teased, and grumbled when I had had little services to do for them; now there would be no more opportunities. I wished that I had done differently!

Then my thoughts flew off to Mrs. Erveng,--how surly and disagreeable I had behaved to her! Not once had I offered her the slightest attention; instead, I had got out of her way at every chance. I had called this being very sincere, honest, above deceit; but it did not seem like that to me now. And there was Hilliard,--I had laughed at him, been rude to him, despised him for being a coward, I was _so_ sure of my own courage; and what was I _now?_ I was ashamed--_ashamed!_ Oh, how my heart ached!

Then I began saying my prayers. The water was up to my waist now; it came with such force that it swayed me from side to side, and beat me against the rock to which I still clung. My fingers were cramped by my tight grip; the next wave, or perhaps the next to that, would sweep me off--away--to death!

I prayed from my very heart, with all my strength and soul, and it seemed as if the other things--the waves, the storm, the terrible death--grew fainter; a feeling came to me that I was speaking right into God's ear--that He was very near to me.

Somewhere out of the roar and awfulness of the storm came a human voice,--a cry: "_Betty! Betty! hold on! hold on! I can save you--only hold on!_" And when I opened my eyes, there was a boat coming nearer and nearer, dancing on the top of the waves like a cockle shell, and in it was Hilliard!

"I can't--come--too--close," he shouted. "Jump--with--the--next--wave."

I understood; and with the next receding wave I leaped into the water,--a wild plunge, scarcely seeing where I was going.

But Hilliard's hands caught me and hauled me into the boat, where I sank down, and lay huddled up, confused, and trembling so that I couldn't speak. Hilliard threw something over me,--the rain was coming down in torrents,--and then he pulled with all his might for the shore.

Presently my senses began to come back; I knew what a terrible strain it must be to row in such a storm,--though fortunately the tide was with us,--and he had come out in it for me. I felt I ought to take my share of the work. "I--can--row. Let--me--take--an--oar," I said slowly, sitting up.

"Not an oar,--I need both," Hilliard answered decidedly; then he added persuasively, "Be a good girl, Betty, and just keep in the bottom of the boat."

I saw that he was rowing in his shirt sleeves,--his coat was over me,--and his hat was gone; the rain was pouring down on his bare head. His face was very pale and set,--stern looking,--and the veins in his forehead were standing out like cords as he strained every nerve at the oars.

"I'm going for one of the coves," he shouted to me presently, "where I can run her aground."

Again and again we were tossed back by the receding waves; but at last we shot into the cove, and I heard the keel grating on the rocky beach. In an instant Hilliard was overboard, and had pulled the boat up on the sand, out of reach of the highest wave. As he helped me on to the beach, I looked up in his white face, and such a sense of what he had endured for me rushed over me that I couldn't get the words out fast enough.

I threw my hands out and caught hold of his shoulders: "Oh, Hilliard Erveng, you _are_ a brave boy!" I cried out, choking up. "You are no coward; you are brave--_brave!_ and I have been a mean, contemptible, conceited, stuck-up girl." I think I shook him a little; I was in such earnest that I hardly knew what I was doing.

The rain had plastered Hilliard's hair flat to his head, and washed it into funny little points on his forehead, and there were raindrops pouring down his face; but his mouth was smiling, and his eyes were wide open and shining. He laid his hands over mine as they rested on his shoulders. "Thank God for to-day, Betty, _thank_ God!" he said, in a glad, excited way. "He has saved your life, and I am no longer a coward; I am no longer afraid--see!" As the lightning flashed over us he lifted his head and faced it, with lips that quivered a little, but also with unflinching eyes. "Doctor Emmons always said that I would be cured of my dread could I but face one thunder storm throughout," he added, still with that joyous ring in his voice. "And now I've done it! I've done it; I am _free!_"

"Oh! I am so _glad!_ so _very_ thankful!" I began, and then broke down and burst into a violent fit of crying.

I couldn't stop crying, though I _did_ try hard to control my tears; and my knees shook so that I could hardly walk. Hilliard almost carried me along until we met Jim the coachman and Mr. Erveng on the beach. Mr. Erveng had just got home, and heard that Hilliard and I were out in the storm. Then between them they got me to the house, where Mrs. Erveng and Alice and her mother were anxiously waiting for us.

How glad they were to see us! and how they all kissed and hugged me! Mrs. Erveng took me right into her arms.

Everybody began talking at once. I heard Alice say, "As soon as we missed you, and Dillon said she had seen you walking toward that part of the beach, Hilliard declared you were on the rock,--he seemed to guess it. And he was off for the boat like a flash,--he wouldn't even wait for Jim; he said every minute was precious--"

I lost the rest; a horrid rushing noise came in my ears, everything got black before me, and I fainted, for the very first time in my life.

* * * * *

It is now nearly a week since all this happened, and to-morrow I am going home--to the Cottage. I was so stiff and tired from the beating of the waves that Mrs. Erveng kept me in bed for several days, and telegraphed the family not to expect me until Thursday; otherwise neither Hilliard nor I have suffered from our drenching in that awful storm. Mrs. Endicott and Alice are going as far as New York with me, and there Phil will meet me and take me home.

I shall be _very_ glad to be with my own dear ones again,--it seems an age since I saw them; and I long to talk to Nannie, and tell her everything. Still, _now_, I'm not sorry that I came here. I think that I shall never forget my visit to Endicott Beach.

XIX.

HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER.

TOLD BY JACK.

Nora was playing a sweet, wild Hungarian melody on the piano, the boys were on the stoop talking to Chad,--every now and then the sound of their voices came in through the open windows,--and I sat under the drawing-room chandelier reading. Presently Chad came in, and, leaning on the piano, began talking to Nora in a low tone; and without stopping her music, she talked back, in the same tone of voice.

The story I was reading was A 1, and I'd got to a _very_ thrilling place, where the boy comes face to face with an infuriated tiger, when I heard something said outside that just took all the interest out of my book. Phil was speaking sharply,--I wondered Nora and Chad didn't hear him. "What's the _matter_ with you?" he flared out. "I declare, you're getting as fussy as an old cat! I won't stand the way you're watching me, and you've just got to drop it. I'm not a _baby_, to be tied to anybody's apron-strings! I'll go and come as I please."

I didn't hear what Fee said to this, but Phil's answer to it was quite loud: "Yes, I _am_ going,--to-night, and to-morrow night, and any other night I please. The _idea_ of a fellow of my age not being able to go out for a walk without asking your permission!"

"When you talk like that you are downright silly!" broke in Felix. I could tell by his voice he was trying hard to control his temper. "'Tisn't the going out that anybody objects to; it's the person you're going with. You know very well, Phil, that he isn't the sort of fellow to do you any good. I sized him up the very first time we saw him, and I still hold to my opinion,--he's a _b-a-d_ lot."

"_A-c-h!_ you make me tired!" exclaimed Phil,--that's a favourite expression of his when he's cornered,--and leaning in through the window, he called, "See here, Chad; any time to-night!"

"Yes, A'm coming," Chad called back, and bidding Nora good-night, he went out; a minute after I heard their steps as Phil and he ran down the stoop and passed by the drawing-room windows.

Laying my book down quietly and very quickly, I ran out on the stoop. Fee sat there with his elbows on his knees, and his chin resting on his clasped hands, staring at nothing. Dropping down beside him, I slipped my hand in his arm and squeezed it to me. "I heard Phil," I said. "I'm awfully sorry he _would_ go."

"Yes," Fee answered, but in a way that I knew he wasn't thinking of what he was saying.

We sat quiet for a little while, then Felix turned suddenly and laid his hand on my knee. "Jack," he said earnestly, "I've made up my mind about something that's been bothering me since last night. What I'm going to do may turn out right, it may turn out wrong,--God only knows; but it seems right to me, and I'm going to try it. I dread it, though,--just _dread_ it. If I hadn't promised--" He broke off abruptly, and turned his head away. I wanted to say something to him, but I couldn't think of a _thing_.

In a minute Felix began again. "Tell me honestly, Jack," he said, "do you think that Phil cares as much for me as he used to,--I mean before that fellow Chad came?"

"Why, Fee!" I exclaimed, "_of course_ he loves you just as well; I _know_ he does,--we all love you _dearly_!" Do you know, it just hurt me to have him think Phil could let a person like Chad come between them. Of course, as nurse says, we have our ups and downs; we get mad with one another sometimes, and all that, you know; but still we do love one another dearly, and we'd stand up for the different ones like everything, if need be. We've always been very proud of Fee,--he's so clever, you see; but since that night that I'm going to tell you about, I just think my brother Felix is the noblest, bravest, truest boy in the world! I've always loved Fee very dearly; but now,--well, now I have a feeling that I would be willing to give my life for him. Poor old Fee!

When I said that so positively about Phil's caring, I could see Fee was pleased; his face brightened up. "Well, perhaps he does," he said. "He's been very cranky lately, and sharp to me,--in fact to everybody; but I have a feeling that that's because he isn't really satisfied with the way he's acting. I tell you, Jack, Phil's a good fellow,"--Fee pounded his hand down on his knee as he spoke; "it isn't easy for him to do wrong. And he isn't up to Chad's tricks, or the set he's got him into. They've flattered Phil first, and that has turned his head; and then they've laughed at him for not doing the things they do, and that's nettled him,--until they've got him all their way. I know what they are,--I can see through their cunning; but Phil isn't so sharp. There are people in this world, Jack, so contemptible and wicked that they hate to have anybody better than they are themselves, and Chad and his crowd belong to that class. If I'd been able to go about with Phil as I used to, they'd _never_ have had the chance to get hold of him. And as it is, now that I've found out their game, I'm going to stop the whole business, and bring Phil to his senses. He's too fine a fellow for those rascals to spoil. I'll stop it--I'll stop it, no matter _what_ it costs me!"

Oh, how often I've thought of those words since that dreadful night! And yet, I have a feeling that even if he had known, he would have gone--I tell you, there isn't another boy in all the world like our Felix!

Fee's voice was shaking, and he got on his feet as if he were going to start that very minute; but before I could say anything he began again: "I've got a plan,--not a very good one, I must confess, but it's the best I can think of, and it may work; that is, if Phil has as much of the old feeling for me as you think, Jack: I'm building a good deal on that,--I hope I won't get left. He may turn obstinate,--you know he _can_ be a very donkey sometimes; and I suppose he'll get furiously mad. Well, I'll have to stand that,--if only he doesn't blaze out at me before those cads; _that_ would cut me _awfully_. But that I'll have to risk; he's worth it. Now, Jack, I want you to help me,--to go somewhere with me, I mean. I'm sorry to have to ask this, for it's no place for a youngster like you; but I think you're one of the kind that won't be hurt by such things, Rosebud,"--putting his hand on my arm,--"and I'm so unsteady on my feet that I am afraid I really couldn't get along alone. Get your hat--and my cane."

In a minute I had both, and we went down the stoop together. At the foot of the steps Fee stopped, and taking off his hat, began pushing his hair back off his forehead. I could see he was nervous. "Suppose this _shouldn't_ be the right thing that I'm going to do; suppose it should make matters worse," he said undecidedly, almost irritably. "Now, if Nannie were here--I haven't a creature to advise me!"

"_I_ think you're doing right, Fee," I began. I didn't remember until afterward that I really didn't know what his plan was; but I don't think he heard what I said, for he went on in a low tone, as if he were talking to himself: "Suppose he gets furiously angry, and pitches into me before those low fellows,--you never know what Phil's going to say when he gets mad,--and _will not_ come home with me, what'll I do _then_? It's a risk. And if this plan fails, I don't know what else to do. Had I better just let things drift along as they are until we get in the country, and then speak to him? I _dread_ a row before that crowd; they'd just set him up against me. And yet--a week more of nights to come home as he did last night, and the night before that--_ought_ I to let that go on? What would _she_ say to do?"

He stood with his head bent, thinking,--his hat and cane in one hand, and holding on to the stone newel-post with the other. And as we waited the gay strains of Nora's waltz came to us through the windows; since that night I just hate to hear her play that piece.

Presently Felix looked up at me with the faintest little smile. "I came pretty near asking you to write me down a coward, Jack," he said; "but I'm all right again. Now for your part of this affair: If Phil will come back with me, as I hope, you'll have to make your way home alone, without letting him know of your being there. Try and manage it. If he gets ugly, and will _not_ leave that crowd, why, then we--you and I--'ll have to travel back as we went. You must judge for yourself, Rosebud, whether to go, or to stay for me; I'll have enough to do, you know, to manage Phil. Apart from that, have as little to do in the matter as possible; ask no questions, speak to no one, and see and hear no more than you can help. All right?"

"Yes," I answered quickly, "and I only wish I could do more for you, Fee."

Felix put his hand on my shoulder for a rest, as he usually did when we walked together. "You've been a real comfort to me, Jack, since Nannie went away," he said. I tell you that meant _lots_ from him, and I knew it; I just put up my hand and squeezed Fee's fingers as they rested on my coat; then we started off.

On Fee's account we walked very slowly; but after a while we came to a house with a very low stoop,--just a step or two from the ground. There were handsome glass doors to the vestibule, and the rather small hall was brilliantly lighted up. I fancied that the man who opened the door looked at me as if he thought I had no business there; but Felix marched right by him and stepped into the elevator, and of course I followed.

"Mr. Whitcombe," said Fee; and then I knew that we were in the apartment house where Chad has his "bachelor quarters."

"Turn to your left," said the elevator man, as he let us out. We did so, and just as we got opposite the door with the big silver knob and old bronze knocker that Chad had told us he brought from Europe, it opened, and some one came out. Well, truly, he didn't look any older than fifteen,--two years older than I am, mind you,--but if he didn't have on a long-tailed evening coat, an awfully high stand-up collar, and a tall silk hat! You can't think what a queer figure he was,--like a caricature.

Before he could shut the door, Felix lifted his hat, and then put out his hand quickly. "Allow me," he said politely; and the next moment we were in Chad's hall, with his front door closed behind us.

At the other end of this hall was a room very brightly lighted; the portière was pushed almost entirely aside, and we could see some young fellows seated round a table. Nearly all had cigars or cigarettes in their mouths,--Phil, too; the room was just thick with smoke, and they were playing cards.

"Sit where they can't see you," Fee whispered to me; "and if you find Phil will go home with me, just slide out without letting him know of your being here. Oh, Jack, if I can _only_ succeed!" He gave my hand a little squeeze--though it was a warm evening, his fingers were cold--and then walked up the hall and stood in the doorway of Chad's room.

"Hullo! _you!_ Oh--aw--come in--aw--glad to see you! Take a chair," Chad said, in a tone of voice that told he was taken all aback; while Phil was so startled that he dropped his cigarette and called out roughly, "What the mischief are _you_ doing here?"

Of course they all looked at Felix; but he answered carelessly, "Oh, I thought I'd accept a long-standing invitation,"--with a little bow toward Chad,--"and drop in for a while."

"Oh, certainly, certainly--aw--glad to see you!" exclaimed Chad.

"Who's with you?" demanded Phil; but Fee didn't answer him: he just went forward and took the place that one of the fellows made between himself and Phil. And then Chad began introducing Felix to the others.

From where I sat on the hat-rack settle,--it was the most shielded place in the hall, and near the door,--I had a full view of the people sitting on one side of the table, and particularly of Felix and Phil, who were almost directly under the glare of the light. Fee's face was as white as marble, except a red spot on each cheek, and there was a delicate look about his eyes and temples, and round his mouth, that I hadn't noticed before. Somehow his fine, regular features and splendid, broad white forehead made me think of the head of the Young Augustus that the Unsworths have.

But Phil certainly didn't look like any marble statue; his face was very red and cross, and he was scowling until his eyebrows made a thick black line above his eyes. He was disagreeable, too,--rough and quarrelsome, something like that night when he came home so late, and hurt my feelings. When, in reply to an invitation from Chad, Felix said he would join the game, Phil sung out in a kind of ordering tone, "What's the sense of spoiling the fun for everybody? You know nothing about cards; why don't you look on?"

"Because I prefer playing," answered Fee, smiling; "it's the quickest and surest way of learning, I believe,"--with a glance round the company. "What are the stakes?"

He drew a handful of money from his pocket, and laid it before him on the table.

"Don't make an ass of yourself, Felix!" Phil exclaimed angrily, laying a hand right over the little pile of silver. "We're not fooling here; we're playing in dead earnest, and you will lose every cent of your money."

Some of the fellows snickered, and one called out sharply, "Look out what you're saying, Rose."

I saw the red spots on Fee's cheeks grow brighter. "I _am going_ to play," he said quietly, but looking Phil steadily in the eyes; "so please don't interfere."

"Evidently you've never learned that 'consistency is a jewel'!" Phil retorted with a sneer. I suppose he was thinking of what Fee had said that evening on the stoop.

But Felix only answered good-naturedly, "Oh, yes, I have; that used to be one of our copy-book axioms," and then they all began to play.

Well, Phil's face was a study,--it grew blacker and blacker as the game went on, and Fee kept losing; and he got very disagreeable,--trying to chaff Felix, almost as if he wanted to make him mad. But Fee just turned it off as pleasantly as he could. Those fellows made it ever so much harder, though; they got off the _silliest_ speeches, and then roared with laughter over them, as if they were jokes. And, in a sly kind of way, they egged Phil on to quarrel with Fee,--laughing at all his speeches, and pretending that they thought Phil was afraid of Felix. And Chad joined in, I could hear his affected laugh and drawl above all the others; I felt how that must cut Fee!

There were some decanters and glasses on a side table, and every now and then Chad urged his friends to drink, and he would get up and wait on them. Felix refused every time, and Phil did too at first, until those common fellows began to twit him about it,--as much as saying that he was afraid to take anything 'cause Fee would "go home and tell on him." What did Phil do then--the silly fellow! 'twas just what they wanted--but snatch up a glass and swallow down a lot of that vile stuff! Well, I was so _mad_ with Phil! I'd have liked to go right in and punch him. Felix never said a word ('twouldn't have done the least good,--Phil can be like a mule sometimes); he just sat there with his lips pressed tight together, looking down at the cards he held in his hands.

After that Phil's face got awfully red, and how his tongue did run! Real ugly things he said, too, and perfectly regardless who he said them to. And those fellows got _very_ boisterous, and began again trying to tease our boys. I was _so_ afraid there'd be a row; and there surely would have been, if Felix hadn't just worked as he did to prevent it. I tell you now, it was awfully hard to sit out there in that hall and hear those fellows carrying on against my brothers,--you see I was so near I couldn't help it, I just _had_ to hear everything,--and not be able to take their part.

Fee kept getting whiter and whiter, the spots on his cheeks redder and redder; and by and by such a tired look came in his face that I got real worked up. I felt as if I _must_ go in and just pitch right into those fellows. Almost before I knew it, I'd got up and gone a step or two in the hall, when suddenly Phil dashed his cards down on the table, and got on his feet. "I'm going home!" he declared. "Are you coming?" turning to Felix.

"You sha'n't go!" "Oh, _don't_ go!" "You've _got_ to finish the game," several called out. But Phil just repeated doggedly, "I'm going home! Are you coming or not, Felix?"

This was just what Fee wanted,--I knew how glad and thankful he must feel. But all he said was, "Yes, I'll go with you, if our host will excuse us," rising as he spoke and nodding his head toward Chad.

Those unmannerly things burst out laughing, as if this were a great joke; and with a smothered exclamation, Phil started for the door, knocking over a chair as he went.

Well, if you had seen me scoot down that hall and out of the door! I simply _flew_, and barely got round the corner in the shadow, when Phil and Felix came along. Phil looked like a thundercloud, and instead of leaning on his arm, Fee just had hold of a piece of Phil's sleeve. They marched along in dead silence, and got into the elevator.

I hung around a little, until I was sure they were out of the way, then I went down; the elevator man looked harder than ever at me,--I suppose he wondered why I hadn't gone with Fee,--but I pretended I didn't notice.

I'd never been out very late alone before, and at first it seemed queer; but I hurried, so that I soon forgot all about that. You see I wanted to get home before the boys did, and yet I had to look out that I didn't run across them.

I hadn't thought of the time at Chad's; but we must have been there a good while, for when I got to the house the drawing-room windows were closed, and so was the front door. I don't know what I'd have done if cook hadn't come to close the basement door just as I got to our stoop, and I slipped in that way. "Master _Jack_!" she cried out, holding up her hands in horror; "a little b'y like you out late's this! What'd your pa say to such doin's, an' Miss Marston? An' there's Miss Nora gone to bed, thinkin' it's safe an' aslape ye are."

"Oh, hush, cook! it's _all_ right. Don't say anything; please don't," I said softly; then I let her go upstairs ahead of me.

The drawing-room was all dark, and the light in the hall was turned down low. The house was very quiet,--everybody had gone to bed; and after thinking it over, I made up my mind I'd wait downstairs and let the boys in before they could ring,--I forgot that Phil had taken possession of papa's latch-key, and was using it. I sat on the steps listening, and what d'you think? I must have fallen asleep, for the first thing I knew there were Phil and Felix in the hall, and Phil was closing the front door. "Oh, I see,--as usual, our gentle Rosebud's to the front," exclaimed Phil, still keeping his hand on the knob of the door; "all right, then he can help you upstairs," and he turned as if to go out.

"What!" Fee cried out in a sharp, startled voice, "you are _never_ going back to that crowd!"

"That's just what I _am_ going to do," answered Phil; his voice sounded thick and gruff. "Shall I give your love?"

Felix caught him by the arm. "_Don't_ go, Phil," he pleaded; "_don't_ go back to-night, _please_ don't. We've had enough of them for one evening. Come, let's go upstairs. Won't you? I have a good reason for what I'm asking, and I'll explain to-morrow."

Phil came a step or two forward, shaking Fee's hand off. "Look here!" he said sharply, "this thing might's well be settled right here, and once for all. I'm a man, not a child, I'll have you to understand, and I'm not going to be controlled by you. Just remember that, and don't try any more of your little games on me, as you have to-night, for I _will not_ stand 'em! The idea of your coming up there among those fellows and making such an ass of yourself--"

"The asinine part of this evening's performance belongs to you and your friends, not to me," broke in Felix, hotly,--Phil's tone was _so_ insolent. "And there are a few things that _you_ might as well understand, too," he went on more calmly. "If you continue to go to Chad's, I shall go, too; if you make those fellows your boon companions, they shall be mine as well; if you continue to drink and gamble, as you've been doing lately, and to-night, I will drink and gamble, too. I mean every word I am saying, Phil. It may go against the grain at first to associate with such cads as Chad and his crowd; but perhaps that'll wear away in time, and I may come to enjoy what I now abhor. As these low pleasures have fascinated you, so they may fascinate me."

"If you _ever_ put your foot in Chad Whitcombe's house again, I'll make him turn you out," cried Phil, in a rage, shaking his finger at Felix. "Why, you donkey! less than three months of that sort of life'd use you up completely. I'll fix you, if you ever undertake to try it; I'll go straight to the _pater_,--I swear I will."

"No need to do that, old fellow," Fee said, in _such_ a loving voice! "Just drop that set you've got into, and be your own upright, honourable self again, and you shall never hear another word of such talk out of me. But," he added earnestly, "I _cannot_, I will not stand seeing you, my brother, my chum, our mother's son"--Fee's voice shook--"going all wrong, without lifting a finger to save you. Why, Phil, I'd give my very life, if need be, to keep you from becoming a drunkard and a gambler. _Don't_ go back to those fellows to-night, dear old boy; for--for _her_ sake, _don't_ go!" Felix was pleading with his whole heart in his voice, looking eagerly, entreatingly up at Phil, and holding out his hands to him.

My throat was just filling up as Fee spoke,--I could almost have cried; and I'm sure Phil was touched, too, but he tried not to let us see it. He sort of scuffled his feet on the marble tiling of the hall, and cleared his throat in the most indifferent way, looking up at the gas fixture. "Perhaps I will drop them by and by," he said carelessly, "but I can't just yet,--in fact, I don't want to just yet; I have a reason. And that reminds me--I _must_ go back to-night. Now don't get _silly_ over me, Felix; there's no danger whatever of my becoming a drunkard or a gambler,--nice opinion of me you must have!--and I'm quite equal to taking care of myself. As I've told you several times before, I'm a man now, not a child, and I will _not_ have you or anybody running round after me. Just remember that!" As he spoke, he turned deliberately to go out.

Then Fee did a foolish thing; he ought to have known Phil better, but he was so awfully disappointed that I guess he forgot. In about one second--I don't know how he _ever_ got there so quickly--he had limped to the door, and planted himself with his back against it. His face was just as _white_! and his lips were set tight together, and he held his head up in the air, looking Phil square in the eye.

A horrid nervous feeling came over me,--I just _felt_ there was going to be trouble. I stood up on the steps quickly, and called out, "Oh, boys, _don't_ quarrel! Oh, please, _please_ don't quarrel!" But Phil was talking, and I don't believe they even heard me.

"Get away from that door,--I'm going out!" Phil commanded.

Not a word answered Fee; he just stood there, his eyes shining steadily up at Phil through his glasses.

"Do you hear me?" Phil said savagely. "Get--out--of--the--way. I don't want to hurt you, but I am _determined_ to go out. Come,--move!"

He stepped nearer Felix, with a peremptory wave of his hand, and glowered at him. But Fee didn't flinch. "No," he said quietly, but in just as positive a tone as Phil's, "I will _not_ move." Then, suddenly, a sweet, quick smile flashed over his face, and he threw his hands out on Phil's shoulders as he stood before him, saying, in that winning way of his, "I'm not a bit afraid of _your_ ever hurting me, old Lion-heart."

I heard every word distinctly, but Phil didn't; in his rage he only caught the first part of what Fee said, and with a sharp, angry exclamation he shoved Felix violently aside, and, hastily opening the door, stepped into the vestibule.

Fee was so completely taken by surprise--poor old Fee!--that he lost his balance, swung to one side with the force of Phil's elbow, striking his back against the sharp edge of the hall chair, and fell to the floor.

I can't tell you the awful feeling that came over me when I saw Fee lying there; I got _wild_! I dashed down those steps and into the vestibule before Phil had had time to even turn the handle of the outer door, and, locking my hands tight round his arm, I tried to drag him back into the hall. "Come back," I cried out; "come back--oh, come back!"

"Hullo! what's happened to you,--crazy?" demanded Phil, giving his arm a shake; but I hung on with all my weight. And then I said something about Felix; I don't remember now what it was,--I hardly knew what I was saying,--but, with a sharp cry, Phil threw me from him and rushed back into the hall.

When I got to him, Phil was kneeling by Felix, with his hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. "Fee, _Fee_!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "what's the matter? Are you hurt? Are you, Fee? Oh, _tell_ me!" But Fee didn't answer; he just lay there, his face half resting on the arm he had thrown out in falling; his glasses had tumbled off, and his eyes were closed.

In an instant Phil had rolled him over on his back on the hall rug, and I slipped my arm under his head. Fee looked _dreadfully_,--white as death, with big black shadows under his eyes; and such a sad, pitiful expression about his mouth that I burst out crying.

"Oh, hush, hush!" Phil cried eagerly; "he's coming to himself. Oh, thank God! Stop your crying, Jack,--you'll frighten him."

But he was mistaken; Fee wasn't coming to,--he lay there white and perfectly still. Oh, how we worked over him! We took off his necktie and collar, we poured water on his forehead, and fanned him, and rubbed his hands and feet with hands that were as cold as his own, and trembling. And Phil kept saying, "Oh, Jack, he'll soon be better,--don't you think so? _don't_ you, Jack? Oh, surely, such a _little_ fall couldn't be serious! he _couldn't_ have struck himself on that chair,--see, it's entirely out of his way," with such a piteous pleading in his eyes and voice that I hadn't the heart to contradict him.

Nothing that we did had any effect; Fee still lay unconscious, and there was a pinched look about his features, a limp heaviness about his body, that struck terror to our hearts. "Oh, isn't this _awful_!" I sobbed. Then all at once I thought of that day I found Felix lying on the floor,--could this be an attack like that, only worse? His words, "What'll the _next_ one be!" flashed into my mind, and I burst out eagerly, "Oh, Phil, call somebody--go for the doctor--quick, quick, oh, do be _quick_! The doctor will know what to do--he can help him--call nurse--oh, call _somebody_!"

But Phil suddenly dropped Felix's hand that he'd been rubbing, and bending down laid his ear on Fee's chest over his heart. I shall never forget the awful horror that was in his white face when he lifted it and looked at me across Fee's body. "Jack," he said in a slow, shrill whisper, that just went through my ears like a knife, "Jack, it's no use; Fee is--"

But I screamed out before he could say that dreadful word,--a loud scream that rang through the house and woke the people up.

In a confused sort of way--as if I had dreamed it--I remember that Nora came flying down the stairs in her dressing-gown and bare feet, and nurse hurrying behind her, both crying out in a frightened way,--something like, "Oh, _lawkes_! what _have_ them boys been doin'?" and, "Oh, boys, _boys_! what _is_ the matter?"

But Phil's answer stands out clear,--I can hear it every time I let myself think of that awful night. He had pushed me aside, and was sitting on the floor with Fee's body gathered in his arms, Fee's face lying against his shoulder. He looked up at Nora; his dry, white lips could hardly utter the words. "Fee is dead," he said; "I have killed Felix!"

XX.

A SOLEMN PROMISE.

TOLD BY JACK.

For a little while there was a dreadful commotion down there in the hall. Hannah and cook had come, too, by this time, and everybody was crying, and rushing about, and all talking at once,--telling everybody else what to do. Poor Nonie was awfully frightened; at first she couldn't do a thing but cry, and I was just as bad,--I'd got to that pitch that I didn't care who saw my tears.

But nurse kept her head splendidly; generally she gets all worked up over the least little sickness, but this time she kept cool, and told us what to do.

"Don't talk so foolish, Master Phil!" she exclaimed sharply, when Phil said that awful thing about Fee. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself,--frightening your sister that way! He ain't no more dead 'n you are."

Well, if you'd seen the look of hope that flashed into Phil's face! "Oh, nurse!" he gasped, "do you _honestly_ think so? But he isn't breathing,--I can't feel his heart beat."

"That's 'cause he's in a swoond," nurse answered briskly. "Here, lay him down flat. Now rub his feet--_hard_; Hannah, slap his palms,--that'll start up a cirkilation. Here, Miss Nora, fan your brother. Cook, fill them hot-water bottles; if the water in the biler ain't hot 'nough, start your fire _immejiate_. Master Jack, you run for the doctor; an' if he can't come," she added, dropping her voice so that only I heard her, "get another. Don't you come back here without _somebody_. An' be quick's you can."

That told me that she wasn't as sure about Fee as she pretended to be, and the hope that had come up in my heart died right out. My eyes got so blinded with tears that I just had to grope for my hat; but as I was opening the outer door, I heard something that brought me in again in double quick time.

It was a cry from Phil,--a shout of joy: "He _is_ breathing! Oh, he's _breathing_! His eyes are opening!"

Sure enough, they were. Slowly the heavy lids raised, and Fee's near-sighted eyes looked blankly up at Phil.

"Don't you know me, old fellow?" Phil asked with a break in his voice, bending eagerly over Felix.

A sweet little smile flickered over Fee's lips. "Phil," he said faintly; and then, with what we could all see was a great effort, he raised his hand slowly and let it fall heavily on Phil's hand.

Poor Phil! that broke him down completely. Catching Fee's face between his two hands, he kissed him warmly two or three times, and then, dropping his head down on Fee's shoulder, burst into a storm of sobs.

"Oh, come, come! this'll _never_ do!" cried nurse, bustling forward. "Come, Master Phil, this ain't any time for sich behaviour,"--mind you, she was wiping the corners of her own eyes! "Now we must get him up to his own room soon's possible; _then_ we can make him comfort'ble. Can you carry him up? Me and Hannah can help."

"I can do it alone," Phil said quickly, beginning to gather Fee into his arms. But I tell you it was hard work getting him up, he was such a dead weight!

Fee knew Phil was making a desperate effort to lift him, and he tried, poor fellow, to help all he could. When at last Phil stood erect, with him in his arms, nurse raised Fee's hands and joined them back of Phil's neck. "Now clasp your hands tight, Master Felix," she said, "and that'll take some of your weight off your brother."

Fee's hands were actually resting one on the other, and I saw his fingers move feebly, trying to take hold of one another. Then he said in a slow, frightened whisper, "I--can't--make--them--hold!" and his arms slipped down, one of them swinging helplessly by his side, until nurse laid it in his lap.

"Never mind, don't worry about that, Fee; I can get you up," Phil said cheerfully. "Why, don't you remember I took you almost up to your room the other night?"

Nora and I looked at each other. I know we were both thinking of the same thing,--that happy evening when we heard of aunt Lindsay's plan for Fee, and when Phil had picked Felix up and run so gaily up the stairs with him, singing. Was it possible that was only three or four evenings ago! It seemed _years_.

"Run for the doctor, Master Jack--_don't_ loiter," nurse said, as she fell in with the procession that was moving so slowly up the stairs; Phil was going one step at a time, and sometimes sliding himself along against the banister to rest the weight he was carrying.

I rushed out and up to Dr. Archard's as fast as I could go. The streets through which I went were very lonely,--I scarcely met a creature,--but I didn't mind; in fact, the stillness, and the stars shining so clear and bright in the quiet sky, seemed to do me good. I knew Who was up there above those shining stars; I thought of the poor lame man that He had healed long ago, and as I raced along, I just _prayed_ that He would help our Fee.

Dr. Archard was away, out of town, the sleepy boy who answered the bell told me; but Dr. Gordon, his assistant, was in,--would he do?

I didn't know him at all,--he'd come since papa's illness; but of course I said yes, and in a few minutes the doctor was ready and we started.

He had a nice face,--he was years younger than Dr. Archard,--and as we hurried toward home and began talking of Felix, I suddenly made up my mind that I would tell him about the attack Fee had had when papa was so