Professor and Madame Grandet meanwhile were far away, the former having joined a governmental party bound for South America, while the latter had gone to Chicago to be with her nephew during her husband's absence.

She and Sara had agreed to keep up an occasional correspondence; and it was impossible that these things could be kept out of the letters, when they occupied so much of her time and attention.

One evening the madame and Robert returned from a drive to Washington Park, by way of beautiful Michigan Avenue and Drexel Boulevard, and as they were re-entering their private sitting-room in the house where they boarded that lady espied a missive slipped into the edge of her door, and gave a little cry of pleasure as she tore off its end and drew forth the closely-written sheet.

Robert, too, knew the bold, graceful chirography, and watched her hungrily as she read.

"I should think," he said at last in an ill-used tone, "you might read it aloud. It isn't very comforting to try and guess at it second-hand from your face, if it is a speaking one!"

She looked up with a laugh.

"But thou art cross, then, my poor boy? Well, listen and I will read, though blame me not if it is not always so pleasant to hear.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--Time slips by so rapidly in our busy life that I can hardly realize whence it has flown, or recall in just what manner the hours have been spent. I told you in my last about the Bazar, and that an organ-concert was in progress. I'm sure you'll be interested to know it was a success, and the necessary funds are now nearly raised. Molly gave a song, also a recitation, and I was so foolish as to consent to read an original sketch.

"You should have heard and seen Molly! I was surprised at her myself! Her singing is so easy and natural, and her manner so vivacious, that no one seems to notice that she hasn't any voice. At any rate, they recalled her twice, and it was then she gave the recital on, which is half a song, you know, of 'Christmas at the Quarters.'

"They fairly shook the house with applause then, but she would not go back again.

"No," she said to me in her frank way, "it's time for the other girls to show off now--I'm done."

"(I'm sure Molly will never be too highly cultivated to call a spade a spade!)

"Morton is developing a good voice, and sang in the choruses. I think I have spoken to you of the young man he meets so often in the laboratory, and so greatly admires, Mr. Preston Garth. He also sang that night--he has a magnificent baritone--and it was quite funny to hear his and Molly's sparring, when he went home with us afterwards.

"He tells her frankly that she has no method, no voice, no tone, etc.,--I am not used to musical terms,--and she saucily replies by telling him that, where one person will enjoy his studied renderings of the old masters, a score will appreciate and be the happier for her little ballads, simply because she discards all methods and sings from the heart; and usually Molly talks him into silence, I suppose because he is too much of a gentleman to set her down as she deserves--the pert little Miss!

"It is useless for me to interfere, however, as both insist on finishing the argument in their own way. Mrs. Smythe has a party tonight; you remember Mrs. Smythe's parties--'a little gossip, less lemonade, and no cordiality'--to quote Mr. Garth"--

A sudden exclamation from Robert, as he sprang to his feet, interrupted the reading.

"What does that insufferable puppy mean? Who would ever have thought that Sara, little Princess Sara, would stoop to quote, and run around with, some fool of a singing student, an ill-natured one at that! I can't"--

"Robert," said his aunt severely, "how can I then read if you do thus make a jack-that-jumps of yourself? Can you not sit down once again while I continue?"

He sat down, frowning fiercely, and she read on,--

"'which is too severe, but made it easier for me to refuse his kind invitation to accompany me there. I often wish I could learn to like society better, if only for Molly's sake; but it is still too much in the way of a duty that I take what, to a well-regulated mind, should be a pleasure.'"

"Humph!" muttered the nephew, with a relieved look; and his aunt read the remaining page in peace.

It spoke of the Macons, her last article, etc., ending with the modest sentence, "and now, pray remember us all most kindly to your nephew."

Robert's face lighted up at this, though there was a lurking trouble in his eye. "Aunt Felicie," he said abruptly, "what am I waiting for?"

"How can I that thing tell, my nephew? Is it that you have need of me to mend a b.u.t.ton, or"--

"Don't tease, auntie! You know I don't mean any such trivial thing. See here," fiercely, "it's been nearly three years, instead of one, and I've never changed, not for a minute. I've kept myself as pure and true as a man could; I've done everything you told me to; and now how do I know but some fellow, with a voice, has stepped in and spoiled it all! I say, what am I waiting for? I've a good salary."

"Good enough for four, Robert? If you do marry Sara, it must be to adopt the twins also."

"Well, I will! We can scrimp along somehow; and Morton will soon look after himself. I wish you were back at Dartmoor this minute so I could"--

"A thousand thanks, my boy, it is a truly kind and filial wish," said his aunt demurely.

"Aunt Felicie, you're enough to make a man wild! Why don't you help me out of this, instead of tormenting me so?"

"Ah, Robare, my too impatient one, could I then help you? No; if she loves you, then what is it to matter if there may be a hundred of fine young men about her now? And if she loves you not, then alas! could I create that love? Do not so foolish be, my son."

He felt the force of her remarks, but inwardly chafed at the way he seemed to be tied up here for the present, both by business and his aunt's presence. He dared not put his happiness to the test of a letter.

That would seem abrupt and strange, with so little to lead up to it. No, he must do as he had been doing all along--just wait.

"But not for long!" he muttered, as he bade his aunt a pre-occupied good-night and strode off to his room. "We'll 'bide a wee,' Sara, but only a wee, or my name is not Robert Glendenning!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

A VISIT FROM MISS PRUE.

It was only a few days after sending this letter that Sara received a proposition from Mrs. Macon which she was not slow to accept; namely, that she should give up her room, store her furniture in the loft of their stable, and keep the Macon house for the summer, while its master and mistress took a long western trip. As they wished to retain their excellent cook as well as the gardener, these were to remain, at the Macons' expense, and a.s.sist in caring for the premises.

No need to say the Olmsteads were delighted with the plan,--especially as Sara had begun to feel that their rooms were far too close and stuffy to be healthy in warm weather,--so beautiful June had not yet begun to turn her back upon the young summer, when the Olmstead family found themselves lodged as they had never hoped to be; while the Macons, equally content with the arrangement, took their seats in a Pullman sleeper, unvexed by visions of tramps and fire, moths and carpet-bugs, or precious books ruined by dampness and mice.

The first morning after their arrival Sara woke early, wooed from her light slumbers by a charming bird-matinee in the shrubbery without, and gazed contentedly about her.

It was such a pretty bower. Clean India matting on the floor, and airy cane furniture, dressed up in pink and blue ribbons, scattered about; through the sheer muslin hangings at the windows the early sunshine glinted between the closed shutters, and danced in bars of light upon the delicately-tinted walls.

She nestled her head into the soft pillow with a sigh of intense satisfaction.

"One whole summer of luxury!" she mused. "Is it possible? How wonderfully good our Father has been to us! Friends, comfort, and a beautiful home," and with these serene thoughts, mingling with the Pareppian carols without, she again dropped into her "beauty sleep."

Nor did this content vanish with her second waking, but seemed to grow with every pa.s.sing day; for, as once all things seemed going against them, now all were in their favor. Morton, who had for some time given desultory help in the college laboratory, was offered a permanent position there at a modest salary for next year, with limited hours, so that he might still keep on with recitations in school; and meanwhile was to act as clerk in a drug-store until the opening in September.

As for Molly, she was as happy as a bird in these pleasant surroundings, and danced about the house all day long; now concocting some delicate dish in the kitchen, under the supervision of Hetty, the cook, who had taken a great fancy to her; now taking an old dress or bonnet of Sara's, and, by a dexterous touch here, or a perked-up bow of fresh ribbon there, giving it an altogether new and elegant appearance; or else feeding the birds, or lounging in the hammock, chattering with a group of girls,--always busy, happy, and useful, if her studies were quite forgotten.

For Molly was as domestic as Sara was bookish, and relieved the latter now of so many little cares, that she found much more time to devote to her writing, especially as her duties at the museum were merely nominal during the professor's absence, chiefly attending to the specimens he occasionally sent on, and forwarding such of his correspondence as she was not empowered to dispose of herself.

To Sara the most attractive room in the house was the library, and she pa.s.sed some of the happiest hours of her life in its quiet recesses.

Here, every bit of wall-s.p.a.ce, half way to the ceiling upon three sides, was given over to books; while the fourth, that opposite the door, contained a most artistic fireplace, above which, in lieu of the sometime mirror, the chimney had been divided to insert a window, one perfect sheet of plate gla.s.s, almost as clear as the ether itself through which was a delightful vista of green mingled with the vivid glow of blossoms.

The three other windows formed arched niches, apparently cut through the book-shelves; and in one was a comfortable knee-hole desk, containing all the paraphernalia of a literary worker; while in the others were the most seductive of reading-chairs, with book-rests attached.

She had been sitting one day, smiling and crying alternately over "Bleak House," when a sudden thought brought her to an upright position,--why not invite Miss Prue to visit her? When would she ever again be so fortunately situated to entertain her pleasantly?

"I'll do it at once!" she said, rising briskly; "Molly will be as delighted as I with the idea, for she has often wished Miss Prue could see how well off we are;" and not giving her resolution time to cool, she seated herself before the desk and wrote the invitation.