"Of course, Mr. Middleton is her guardian," remarked Mrs. Moss, who sympathized with Miss Pritchard, but felt she might remember that she had had to part with Elsie a year ago, after having had her from a child.

"He seems like one who would do the right thing," she added, "but of course he was devoted to Elsie's mother."

"No doubt he'll be glad to hand over little Pritchard to me?"

"Well, he seemed attached to her. But of course being a clergyman he may judge her very severely."

"I wish we could all go to Enderby this very moment," cried Miss Pritchard impatiently. "If it weren't for that old movie-show!"

Then the other forgot Enderby. "Oh, Miss Pritchard, tell me, is Elsie very deeply concerned?" she asked anxiously.

Miss Pritchard related the matter in detail. Mrs. Moss was distressed beyond words, though she was cheered when the other repeated Madame Valentini's dictum in regard to the girl's voice, and the yet more authoritative word of Mr. Francis. And then and there the two women who cared deeply for one little girl decided that that night should close her theatrical career, not only for the season but forever. And they added that whatever be the outcome of the conference at Enderby, Elsie must begin in the late summer or early autumn to study with the teacher in Boston recommended by Mr. Francis.

"The child has actually grown rich overnight," observed Miss Pritchard.

"She has saved all she has earned and if need be could pay for her own lessons for a time at least. But I should like nothing better than to retire and take her to live in some quiet place near Boston, and then go abroad with her when the time comes. I've got enough to do that and yet do something for that girl at Enderby."

She paused in her pacing, sat down suddenly and frowned deeply.

"There's no use," she groaned. "That Mr. Middleton will take her away from me, mark my word. What sort of a man is he, anyhow?"

Mrs. Moss didn't confess that she had taken him for a lunatic; but her description was colorless.

"Of course, I should be only too glad to take Elsie back with me," she added wistfully, "though I couldn't give her advantages."

Miss Pritchard gave her a look of sympathy, though she couldn't conceive of her wanting Elsie as she herself did.

"Neither you nor I will have any chance," she returned gloomily. "He'll snap her up--that minister. And I shall be desolate in my old age--for I shall grow old in a night if I lose Elsie."

"But there's the other Elsie," rejoined Mrs. Moss plaintively. "There seems to be one apiece for every one except me."

"Oh, _Elsie Pritchard_! Good heavens!" Miss Pritchard began her pacing again. "I shall have her on my hands. I never thought of that!"

"I suppose you'd hardly expect to have them both," remarked the other mildly.

"I certainly won't have Elsie Pritchard by herself!" Miss Pritchard retorted. Then she laughed at herself, though ruefully.

"Ah, that accounts for the five hundred dollars!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"I don't understand what you mean," murmured Mrs. Moss plaintively. Now even Miss Pritchard had begun to talk like Alice in Wonderland.

Miss Pritchard paused in her walk and explained rapidly and in great detail, leaving Mrs. Moss as much in the dark as before. Again she went the length of the room, pausing before Mrs. Moss to demand: "What sort of a girl is this Elsie Pritchard?"

"To tell the truth, I was so taken aback, I scarcely noticed. She's a pretty girl and ladylike."

Miss Pritchard groaned.

"Well, I think she looks as if she had character," Mrs. Moss added.

"Any ginger?"

"Well, perhaps not," the other admitted. "But you should have heard Mr.

Middleton talk about her--er--work in the parish."

"Good heavens! Visiting the sick and distributing tracts?"

"Not exactly," Mrs. Moss smiled. "He spoke about the library and--well, I'm afraid I didn't take in the rest."

"Never mind, I can guess. And I see my finish when she gets hold of me.

She'll endeavor to reform me. A year ago, now, I was prepared for a superior person. But after Elsie----"

"What mischief they made! And yet, Miss Pritchard, it was all done thoughtlessly."

"I know. And poor Elsie--I'm afraid we came down pretty hard on her. I think I'll just go and see how she is."

Mrs. Moss followed. Miss Pritchard tapped lightly at Elsie's door.

There was no response and she opened it softly. Then she beckoned the other with a look on her plain face that made it very sweet.

Together they stood over the little figure on the big bed. Elsie had cried herself to sleep. She looked young and sweet and innocent, her brown head with its short locks against the pillow, her lips parted, her hand under one cheek, and the shadow of a dimple visible.

They turned away, the eyes of both being filled with tears. And when they were back in Miss Pritchard's sitting-room they seemed somehow nearer one another, almost like old friends.

"She's too sweet and good for the stage," cried Mrs. Moss. "Do you suppose we can get her away? Do you think she'll be willing to give up and cultivate her voice instead?"

"_Willing_? Not Elsie! The child's more crazy about the stage than ever. And as for easily persuading her to settle down to daily drudgery with no excitement in view for years--" She shrugged her shoulders.

"She doesn't look now as if she had a will of her own, does she, with her hand under her cheek and her darling baby lips parted?" cried her step-mother.

Miss Pritchard's eyes filled a second time. Then suddenly an idea flashed into her mind.

"Oh, Mrs. Moss, you'll be awfully shocked, but do you know what your words have put into my head? I feel like a wicked conspirator collecting his pals, but--listen--you and I must attack Elsie at once and get her to forswear the stage and take up music."

Mrs. Moss couldn't see any difference in this proposition from anything previously proposed.

"What I mean is, we must do it this very day," the other went on. "We've got to strike while the iron is hot. The child is in a chastened state; she's sorry and ashamed and unusually meek. We've got to be wolves and prey upon the poor lamb in her moment of defenselessness. She'll agree to anything to-day. Oh, Mrs. Moss, it sounds cruel and hateful, but it's really for her good. If you'll stand by me, I'll attempt it."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

Elsie Marley had let Mrs. Moss out by the side-door, and half an hour later she pa.s.sed out that way herself. She had promised not to say anything until she returned, and so couldn't even leave a note to explain her own going. She would write one to-night to bid them wait for Mrs.

Moss's explanation. And afterward she could tell them that she couldn't bear to see them again. And by that time they would have their own Elsie with the dimples.

And she would be with Miss Pritchard? She supposed so, but she couldn't go there to-night. Eventually, she must; she wasn't sufficiently clever or self-reliant to take care of herself; but she wouldn't go to New York while Mrs. Moss--that terrible Mrs. Moss--was there. What she had said was quite true, but oh, it had been hard and cruel, and Elsie could never forget it!

She had made up her mind to go into Boston to a hotel where she had lunched several times, write Cousin Julia from there, and wait until she should hear from her. She was anxious to get away before Mr. Middleton, who had gone to the library in her place, should return. And yet she took a wide detour that doubled the way to the station; for she could not bear to go near the street on which the library stood.

Forgetting her haste, before she had gone far, she turned and looked back at the parsonage. It was like home to her. Leaving it forever, she realized dimly that it was home to her, the only real home her life had known. And Aunt Milly? Once, not so long ago, Elsie couldn't have imagined herself wanting to go back and throw her arms about her and tell her she wished she had understood and loved her long before. And Katy--dear old Katy!----