"Slap-jacks," answered Kat grimly. "I hope he'll enjoy them."

"O Kat, you surely have something else besides cakes," cried Bea in dismay. "It'll never do, he's used to everything nice."

"Suppose he is, we're not, and he mustn't expect it here."

"Dear me," explained Bea, starting for the kitchen; but Kittie interrupted her, with the consoling remark:

"It's all right, I made a nice pudding with sugar sauce, and there is cold meat and hot biscuit, that's enough, mama said so."

"I bet you he'll sit and mope in his room, and cry for his mama, dear little boy, I'll give him a sugar horn," laughed Kat, then caught her breath suddenly, and flushed scarlet, for there in the door stood the new cousin, also rather flushed, but with his eyes twinkling, and his arms full of things.

"Thank you, Cousin Kathleen," he said gravely; "I really hadn't thought of crying, but your promise is tempting, I'll begin in a few moments. In the meantime, here are some messages that mother sent with her love. She selected for each, as she remembered you, and I hope that none of you have so changed in tastes, that these little things will be out of keeping."

His genial tone, and winning smile were very taking, and made every one feel acquainted at once, so Bea pushed an easy chair forward, saying with a smile:

"We'll try hard to be grateful, Cousin Ralph. Come, take this easy chair and deliver your messages, you see we're anxious."

He did so, holding up a splendid copy of Dante.

"For Olive, whom mother remembers as a studious book-loving little girl, and hoped she would enjoy this grand work."

"I shall indeed," cried Olive joyfully. "How kind your mother is."

"She is indeed," answered Ralph. "And very dear to me, I a.s.sure you."

"This for Beatrice," he added, holding up a stout package; "I a.s.sure you, the interior is more attractive than the exterior," he said with a laugh; and so Bea found it, for there was a box of kid gloves, a dozen beautiful handkerchiefs, with her monogram worked in the corner, and a beautiful set of jet jewelry.

Bea was in ecstasies, and put on her ornaments at once, while Ralph next unfastened two boxes exactly alike and handed them, with their contents exposed, to their owners.

"For Kittie," he said, "and Kathleen."

Kittie gave a little scream of delight, but Kat simply made a bow, and said "Thanks," with the grace of a ramrod, and shut her box with a snap.

They were two beautiful chains and lockets, of ebony and gold, with the letters "K. D." in raised letters on the lockets, and a picture of the giver within. Ralph took no notice of Kat's reception of the gift, but complimented Kittie as she put hers on, and then asked for Mrs. Dering.

Her gift was a dress of heavy black silk, with everything necessary to its make-up, and yards and yards of beautiful lace and fringe for its tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. Oh, how happy the girls were over that, and how splendid it would seem to see mama once more in an elegant dress, such as she used to wear.

For Ernestine, were elegantly bound copies of the old composers, and for Jeanie an exquisite little pearl ring. The one of these, Mrs. Dering laid away with tears, and a silent prayer, such as came from her heart every hour of the day for the absent one; the other, she sent with a long, loving letter to the little girl in Virginia, and thought, with a grateful heart, that the bitterest sorrows have a drop of joy somewhere, for the doctors had said that Jeanie could be cured.

In just a little while, it seemed as though Ralph had been with them always, such a comfort as he was to all, and such a genial, jovial companion as he became on all occasions. Mrs. Dering, or Aunt Elizabeth, he very soon lifted to the niche of affection next to his mother's; and she, in turn, loved him as an own son, and in his ambitious moments, gave him long earnest talks, wherein she drew his unremembered Uncle Robert, as an example of truth, manhood and honor, such as she hoped to see him follow.

For Bea, who now revelled in all the bliss of being a young lady nearly eighteen, he exerted all his most courtly politeness and gallant manners, and she wondered how she had ever gotten on without him before.

To Olive, he was confidential, and finally won her to the same state.

They studied, read and discussed, disagreed and argued, but he was always so polite, and ready to gracefully yield when a contested point could not be settled, that Olive grew ashamed of her more abrupt manners and hasty speech, and so the intimacy helped her in more ways than one.

He confided to her all his ambitious plans of being a great lawyer, and his impatience at having to drop his studies for so many months. She, in turn, confided to him her longing for artistic study, and made him ashamed by the patience with which she had laid aside her cherished plans, and given all her time to the work which necessity demanded. So their friendship prospered.

To Kittie, he was invaluable, and a more devoted brother and sister surely never lived. They boated, walked, sang, played and, in short, were almost constantly together. He was quick to discover the girlish longing to be graceful, refined and accomplished, and he helped her much, both as an example of polished, polite manners, and by rehearsing for her many of the accomplishments and graces of ladies of his acquaintance. And many times had he said to her in their little chats: "You have a constant example before you, Kittie, in your mother. She is so refined, and such a true, n.o.ble woman, I would love to see you like her."

To Kat, he was nothing, unless it was a stumbling block in the way of her happiness. She didn't like him, and was furiously jealous of the flourishing friendship between him and Kittie. He had not been solemn and poky, as she had prophesied, and the fact nettled her. She never could make him angry, though she left no way untried, and that was exasperating. He was always catching her at a disadvantage, and what she thought was anger at the fact, was, in truth, wounded pride. She was as rude as she dared be, and never lost an opportunity to sharp-shoot; and while he realized the impoliteness of a return shot, the temptation was too great to resist; so they had some lively skirmishes, in all good humor on his side, but in lively anger on hers.

He came out on the porch one day, and found her sitting on the steps, with her hat tilted over her eyes, and a generally woe-begone look in her whole att.i.tude; and they had just had a wordy battle out at the pond.

"Why, Kathleen," he exclaimed, in mock penitence, "is it possible? Why, I never meant to hurt your feelings. I didn't suppose they could be hurt."

"No; they can't, by you," retorted Kat, knocking off her hat, and showing her eyes scornfully bright and dry. "Whenever you speak, I consider the source, and it never amounts to much."

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed, laughing. "When I speak to you, you are the source of every inspiring word."

"Then I am heartily ashamed of myself."

"I don't wonder; I'm often ashamed of you."

"You're hideous," cried Kat, fiercely. "I wonder if you have the ghost of an idea how horrible you are, Ralph Tremayne?"

"No, indeed, I never found any one impolite enough to tell me; but you will, I'm sure."

"Don't judge my politeness by your own!"

"I can't for you have none," he rejoined coolly.

Kat could have slapped him with a relish, and like as not, if he had been nearer her own age she would have tried it. As it was, she looked into his laughing eyes and knew that she was angry, and he was not, therefore he would win, for a cool head can think a great deal faster than a hot one; so she turned on her heel with a contemptuous spin, and left him.

That afternoon she heard Ralph and Kittie planning a walk to the woods next day, and her jealous heart ached and burned fiercely. How despicable he was to take all of Kittie's time, and make himself such a paragon in her eyes, that she could talk of no one else. Kat shook her head in dire vengeance, and might have cried if she hadn't been too proud. But just then Kittie said:

"I don't know, Ralph, whether I can go or not; I have some sewing that I ought to do; you remember how I tore my dress the last time we went boating? well, I ought to darn it, you see."

"No, I don't happen to see, unless you take it out in the woods and mend it, while I make you a crown and put it on your head as queen of industrious girls. Violets would be very becoming to your brown hair and winsome face."

"What nonsense!" muttered Kat, in disgust, while all the time her heart ached. "Wouldn't it be a joke if he was saying all those things to me instead of Kittie, and didn't know the difference. He wouldn't think I had a winsome face if I was the last girl alive, and yet I'm the moral image of Kittie."

"Perhaps I can find time to darn my dress this afternoon, and if I do, then I'll go to-morrow," Kittie was saying, and then in a few moments Ralph went away. The moment he was gone Kat came around into the arbor, and threw herself on the gra.s.s.

"Now then, Kittie."

"Well, my dear."

"I would just like to know a thing or two?"

"What, for instance?"

"Who are you going with to-morrow? That abomination wants you to go with him, and I've set my heart on having you go with me down town. You haven't been with me, since the dear knows when, and upon my word, I feel real bad."

"I'll mend my dress now, go with Ralph in the morning, and you in the afternoon," smiled Kittie sweetly.

"No you don't," cried Kat, sitting up. "I'd like to have you to myself for one day, at least. If he can get you from me so much in six weeks, by the end of summer you'll be beyond speaking to me."

"Oh, Kat," cried Kittie reproachfully. "How can you?"

"Well, will you go with me to-morrow?"