"You are not half as rapid as Jack," she said, laughingly; and then she told him of the practice she had had writing nursery rhymes.

He seemed so interested that she went on to tell him more about the child, and his great desire to be in the office with her.

"I told him I would ask you," she said, finally; "but that it was a very unusual thing to do, and that I doubted very much if any business firm would allow it."

He saw how hard it had been for her to prefer such a request, and smiled rea.s.suringly.

"It would be a very small thing for me to do for Richard Hallam's boy,"

he said. "Tell the little fellow to come, and welcome. He need not be in any one's way. We have three rooms in this suite, and you will occupy the one at the far end."

It was hard for Bethany to keep back the tears.

"I can never thank you enough, Mr. Edmunds," she said. "The legacy papa thought he had secured to us was swept away, but he has left us one thing that more than compensates--the heritage of his friendships. I have been finding out lately what a great thing it is to be rich in friends."

Bethany went home jubilant. "Now if my twin tenants turn out to be half as nice," she thought, "this will be a very satisfactory day."

She tried to picture them, as she walked rapidly on, wondering whether they would be prim and dignified, or nervous and fussy. Mrs. Marion had said they were fine housekeepers. That might mean they were exacting and hard to please.

"What's the use of borrowing trouble?" she concluded, finally. "I'll take Uncle Doctor's advice, and not try to count to-morrow's milestones."

She found them sitting on the side piazza, being abundantly entertained by Jack.

"Sister!" he called, excitedly, as she came up the steps to meet them; "this one is Aunt Harry--that's what she told me to call her--and the other one is Aunt Carrie; and they've both been around the world together, and both ridden on elephants."

There was a general laugh at the unceremonious introduction.

Miss Caroline took Bethany's hands in her own little plump ones, and stood on tiptoe to give her a hearty kiss. Miss Harriet did the same, holding her a moment longer to look at her with fond scrutiny.

"Such a striking resemblance to your dear mother," she said. "Sister and I hoped you would look like her."

"They are homely little bodies, and dreadfully old-fashioned," was Bethany's first impression, as she looked at them in their plain dresses of Quaker gray. "But their voices are so musical, and they have such good, motherly faces, I believe they will prove to be real restful kind of people."

"Sister and I have been such birds of pa.s.sage, that it will seem good to settle down in a real home-nest for a while," said Miss Harriet, as they were going over the house together.

"When one has lived in a trunk for a decade, one appreciates big, roomy closets and wardrobes like these."

They went all over the place, from garret to cellar, and sat down to rest beside an open window, where a climbing rose shook its fragrance in with every pa.s.sing breeze.

"Mrs. Marion thought you might not be ready for us before next week,"

sighed Miss Caroline; "but these cool, airy rooms do tempt me so. I wish we could come this very afternoon." She smiled insinuatingly at Bethany.

"We have nothing to move but our trunks."

"Well, why not?" answered Bethany. "I shall be glad to surrender the reins any time you want to a.s.sume the responsibility."

"Then it's settled!" cried Miss Caroline, exultingly. "O, I'm so glad!"

and, catching Miss Harriet around her capacious waist, she whirled her around the room, regardless of her protestations, until their spectacles slid down their noses, and they were out of breath.

Bethany watched them in speechless amazement. Miss Caroline turned in time to catch her expression of alarm.

"Did you think we had lost our senses, dear?" she asked. "We do not often forget our dignity so; but we have been so long like Noah's dove, with no rest for the sole of our foot, that the thought of having at last found an abiding-place is really overwhelming."

"I wish you wouldn't always say 'we,'" remarked Miss Harriet, with dignity. "I am very sure I have outgrown such ridiculous exhibitions of enthusiasm, and it is fully time that you had too."

"O, come now, Harry," responded Miss Caroline, soothingly. "You're just as glad as I am, and there's no use in trying to hide our real selves from people we are going to live with."

Then she turned to Bethany with an apologetic air.

"Sister thinks because we have arrived at a certain date on our calendar, we must conform to that date. But, try as hard as I can, I fail to feel any older sometimes than I used to at Forest Seminary, when we made midnight raids on the pantry, and had all sorts of larks. I suppose it does look ridiculous, and I'm sorry; but I can't grow old gracefully, so long as I am just as ready to effervesce as I ever was."

Bethany was amused at the half-reproachful, half-indulgent look that Miss Harriet bestowed on her sister.

"They'll be a constant source of entertainment," she thought. "I wonder how we ever happened to drift together."

Something of the last thought she expressed in a remark to the sisters as they went down stairs together.

"Indeed, we did not drift!" exclaimed Miss Caroline, decidedly. "You needed us, and we needed you, and the great Weaver crossed our life-threads for some purpose of his own."

By nightfall the sisters had taken their places in the old house, as quietly and naturally as twin turtle-doves tuck their heads under their wings in the shelter of a nest. Their presence in the house gave Bethany such a care-free, restful feeling, and a sense of security that she had not had since she had been left at the head of affairs.

After Jack had gone to bed, she drew a rocking-chair out into the wide hall, and sat down to enjoy the cool breeze that swept through it.

Miss Caroline was down in the kitchen, interviewing Mena about breakfast. How delightful it was to be freed from all responsibility of the meals and the marketing! After the next week she would not have even the rooms to attend to, for Miss Caroline had engaged a stout maid to do the housework, that Bethany's inexperienced hands had found so irksome.

Up-stairs, Miss Harriet was stepping briskly around, unpacking one of the trunks. Bethany could hear her singing to herself in a thin, sweet voice, full of old-fashioned quavers and turns. Some of the notes were m.u.f.fled as she disappeared from time to time in the big closet, and some came with jerky force as she tugged at a refractory bureau drawer.

"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head."

CHAPTER VIII.

A KINDLING INTEREST.

FRANK Marion, on his way to the store one morning, stopped at the office where Bethany had been installed just a week.

"You will find me dropping in here quite often," he said to Mr. Edmunds, whom he met coming out of the door. "Since that little cousin of mine is never to be found at home in the day-time any more, I shall have to call on him here. He is my right-hand man in Junior League work."

"Who? Jack?" inquired Mr. Edmunds. "He's the most original little piece I ever saw. Sorry I'm called out just now, Frank. You're always welcome, you know."

Bethany was seated at her typewriter, so intent on her ma.n.u.script that she did not notice Mr. Marion's entrance. Jack, in his chair by the window, was working vigorously with slate and pencil at an arithmetic lesson. As Bethany paused to take the finished page from the machine, Jack looked up and saw Mr. Marion's tall form in the doorway.

"O, come in!" he cried, joyfully. "I want you to see how nice everything is here. We have the best times."

Mr. Marion looked across at Bethany, and smiled at the child's delight.

"Tell me about it," he said, drawing a chair up to the window, and entering into the boy's pleasure with that ready sympathy that was the secret of his success with all children.