"I don't want to be unreasonable," he said presently, "and I don't suppose a young gentleman like you knows how much a boat with all its belongings is worth. I cannot say less than eighty marks; I shall lose at that, but I will not ask more."

Fani stood thunder-struck. Of course, as the boat was lost, he must make it good. But eighty marks! He had never even seen so much money as that. He was speechless. The fisherman looked thoughtfully at him.

Presently he said modestly:--

"I can understand that you cannot pay me the money yourself; you will have to ask your mother for it. I will come again to-morrow."

"No, no!" cried Fani. "I will bring it to you as soon as I get it. I will certainly come," he added, as he saw the man's disappointed look.

"I shall keep my word; only I can't say exactly when."

It seemed as if the man had something more to say; but he swallowed it down, and went away, muttering to himself, "No boat! and no money to buy another!"

Fani ran back into the house. He looked at Emma's door to see whether her boots were still outside, but they had disappeared; so he tapped on the door and said softly:--

"Come out, Emma, I have something to say to you."

"What is the matter? Has Mrs. Stanhope been talking to you?" asked Emma, in a low tone, as she opened the door.

"No," said Fani, "it's not that"; and he drew her into the garden, to an arbor in a far-away corner, and there he told her about the eighty marks that were owing for the lost boat. Emma was greatly excited.

"We can never in the world get together so much as eighty marks! What can we do?" she cried in a tone of anguish.

"I don't know. We can't ask Mrs. Stanhope for a lot of money like that, after all that we have done to displease her. Can't you think of any way? If I only knew some one to borrow of! Oh, don't you know of anybody, Emma?"

Emma had sunk upon a bench, and her eyes looked as if they would start out of her head; she was trying so hard to see some way out of the dilemma.

Fred came running down the walk. He wanted to know what they were about the night before, but they had no time to answer, for just then the bell rang for breakfast.

The meal was not a merry one. The children were all embarra.s.sed, and they knew why; they were all conscious that they had not behaved well to their hostess.

Mrs. Stanhope looked at them inquiringly, but said not a word. Aunt Clarissa nervously b.u.t.tered large slices of bread as fast as she could; the dish was piled high with them, for no one ate much.

As Mrs. Stanhope left the table, she turned to Fani and said:--

"Go into the library and wait for me. I want to speak to you."

Fani grew white; Emma, red. "It's coming now," they said to themselves.

As Mrs. Stanhope opened the door to leave the room, she was knocked against by a house-maid who was entering in great haste.

"Excuse me, madam," she said. "I was in such a hurry. Something else has happened. A servant has just come from the Crown Prince to say that the young gentleman for whom Master Oscar ordered a room there has not been at home all night; and this morning the shoemaker told them at the hotel that he was with the young man himself last evening, and saw him running like a crazy fellow down towards the river."

It was now Oscar's turn to grow pale.

Aunt Clarissa sent the maid away, saying that she would speak to the hotel servant herself. She was afraid that Lina would let out the secret of Fred's untidy room if she were allowed to go on.

Mrs. Stanhope looked very serious.

"I don't understand all this," she said, turning to Clarissa; "but if the young stranger has anything to do with Oscar, I will be responsible for his bill at the hotel." And she left the room.

Emma instantly rushed to the school-room, seized her portfolio, and began to write as fast as her pen could go.

DEAR AUNTY,--For pity's sake, help me now! Something dreadful has happened. I will never make any plans again as long as I live, even if they would be sure to come out right. I will always do just as mamma bids me, and never suggest anything more to Fani. I gave him the book just to encourage him; but he said before he looked at it that what he cared for most was to be an artist. And there was something that he could do that would make Mrs. Stanhope willing to have him one, only he couldn't find any way to do it. So I found a way. I didn't forget that I promised mamma that I wouldn't make any plans; but I thought this was different. Fani knew what he wanted to do; only he couldn't see the way clear to do it, and I was just going to help him. Don't you see? And there was a dreadful thing that happened when we tried that way; but I can't write about it now, it is a long story. I'll tell you by and by. But the trouble now is, we have lost a boat in the river; it is a poor fisherman's, and we must pay him for it. You will understand that we do not dare to tell Mrs. Stanhope anything about it. We can't ask her for so much money. Fani says he would rather go to work in the factory.

But you will help us, I know, dear aunty; you will not let us suffer. We want eighty marks. It is terrible. But it is worth that, for there were two oars and a pole besides the boat. I don't ask you to give it to me, but only to lend it. I will keep thinking day and night how I can earn enough to pay you. I have some things, you know; my G.o.dfather's present. In my drawer in the little writing-table at home are six silver spoons, and a beautiful pincushion, and two old Easter eggs with pictures on them cut out of paper: dragons spitting fire, and flowers, and the sun, moon, and stars. You can sell them for something, I am sure; and after this I will sell directly everything that I get and give you the money. And perhaps I shall contrive to think of some way to earn something too; if I can I will. Oh, dearest aunty, you will help us, I know, for you help everybody.

Write as soon as you can and tell us to come home. How glad we shall be to get there! There we can tell you all our troubles. I wish we could go to-morrow, and get back to you and mamma. Write directly, dear aunty. I send you my love a thousand thousand times.

Your loving niece,

EMMA.

P.S. Aunty, dear, I have thought of another way. In Cologne I saw a girl who went about in the street with a basket and sold roses. Now I think that if Mrs. Stanhope would let me take two roses from each bed in her garden I should get a basket full, and I could earn a lot of money, I am sure. Don't you think so? With a thousand kisses, Your niece,

EMMA.

P.S. I have thought this very moment of the nicest plan of all. In the vineyards here they put horrid looking figures, like men with red beards and arms stretched out, to frighten away the birds. If you will send me some red stuff and some yellow, I can make figures a great deal more frightful, and they will sell for a great deal.

Perhaps in this way I can pay you half the money, and I'm sure I shall find something else to do by and by.

I am again and always,

Your loving niece,

EMMA.

Fani had been sitting for some time in the library, awaiting with a beating heart the coming of Mrs. Stanhope. When the door opened, he sprang to his feet; he had learned that that was the proper thing to do when a lady entered the room. Mrs. Stanhope took a seat on the sofa, and motioned him to take a cricket and sit down by her.

"Now tell me all about it, Fani," she began. "Tell me the exact truth about what happened yesterday. What made you think of going out on the water, and how did you manage it? Tell me the whole story just as it was. Keep nothing back."

Fani obeyed. He went way back to the plans which Emma and he had made before he left home so that he might become an artist. How pleased he had been to take drawing-lessons, and how they made him love drawing more and more. How glad Emma had been at his progress, and how she had urged him to tell Mrs. Stanhope how he felt about his future career. Now came the most important point, and Fani related it very clearly. He wished to make a picture of the old ruin, because if he got a prize for it he thought Mrs. Stanhope would look more favorably on his adoption of art as a business; and Emma had thought out a way of getting a good view of it from the river. Then followed the mishap, which occurred because Emma did not know the strength of the current, nor understand how different the river was from the lake on which she had been in the habit of rowing. Fani told the whole story faithfully. Mrs. Stanhope listened in silence to the end, and then said briefly,--

"Very well; you may go, Fani."

In the hall behind one of the pillars stood Emma, impatient to hear the result of the interview.

"Well? well?" she asked eagerly.

"Well; it's just as it was before; I don't know any more than I did."

"Did she scold you very hard? Did she say anything about me? For I was the one to blame."

"No, indeed; Mrs. Stanhope never scolds; but she is very angry with me, I know, for she did not speak to me when I had told her all about it.

Generally she talks a good deal to me about all sorts of things; even when I have done something to displease her. I am sure there is no help for us."

Emma sighed. She knew too well how much she was to blame for this unfortunate state of things.

Three days pa.s.sed. The house was more quiet than it had been before since the children came. A cloud was over them all. No one laughed or talked freely or cared for amus.e.m.e.nt. All seemed waiting for some unpleasant thing that was going to happen.

Early in the morning of the fourth day, a letter was brought to Mrs.

Stanhope, containing an enclosure for the children. The letter was from their mother. She expressed her grat.i.tude to Mrs. Stanhope for all her kindness, and for the pleasure the children had enjoyed at Rosemount.