"She is sending the boat. And her son----"

"What! is he going to row us? That nice fellow! He rows splendidly, I know. I shall get him to let me take an oar. It's as easy as anything, going down the stream. Oh, we must do it, Joan--we really, really _must_! Grannie will have to put up for once with being alone. Is he coming by himself?"

"Yes--no--I mean, he will drop his sister Mary at The Laurels and come on for us, and then take her up as we go back."

"The Laurels? Oh, just a few minutes off. Mary--she's the eldest. When does he come? Eleven o'clock! No time to waste. We must put on our new frocks. You had better tell Grannie at once that we are going. I shall keep out of her way. You'll manage her best."

"But if she doesn't like to be left?"

"Then she'll have to do without the liking! Yes, I know what you mean, Joan. You want me to stay here, and set you free. And I'm not going to do it. I simply won't--won't--won't! It's no earthly use your trying to make me. I'm asked too, and I mean to go."

"Mittie, you've not seen the note yet. I think you ought to read it. She asks me first--and then she just says, would I like to bring----?"

"It doesn't matter, and I don't want to see! It's enough that I'm invited." Mittie had a quick temper, apt to flare out suddenly. She jumped up, and flounced towards the door. "I shall get ready; and you'd better make haste, or you'll be late."

"And if I find that I can't be spared as well as you?"

Joan's eyes went to Mittie, with a look of grieved appeal. That look went home; and for a moment--only one moment--Mittie wavered. She knew how much more this meant to Joan than it could mean to herself. She knew that she had no right to put herself first, to s.n.a.t.c.h the joy from Joan.

But the habit of self-indulgence was too strong.

[Sidenote: "It is all Nonsense!"]

"If you choose to stay at home, I shall go without you. It is all nonsense about 'can't'! You can go if you like."

Joan remained alone, thinking.

What could she say? Mittie, the spoilt younger sister, always had had her own way, and always insisted on having it. She would insist now, and would have it, as usual.

That Mittie would go was indeed a foregone conclusion, and Joan had known it from the first. The question was--could she go too? Would it be right to leave the old lady, depressed and suffering, all those hours--just for her own pleasure, even though it meant much more than mere pleasure?

The girls owed a great deal to Mrs. Wills. She was not rich, though she had a comfortable little home; and when she took in the two granddaughters, it meant a heavy pull on her purse. It meant, also, parting with a valued companion--a paid companion--whom she had had for years, and on whom she very much depended. This necessary step was taken, with the understanding that the two girls would do all in their power to supply her place. And Joan had done her best. Mittie seldom gave any thought to the matter.

In a general way, Joan would at once have agreed that Mittie should be the one to go, that she herself would be the one to stay behind.

But this was no ordinary case. In the summer before she had seen a good deal of Fred Ferris. He had been at home for three months after an accident, which, for the time, disabled him from work; and he had been unmistakably attracted by Joan. Not only had he made many an opportunity to see her, but his mother had taken pains to bring the two together.

She liked Joan, and made no secret of the fact. Mittie had often been left out of these arrangements, and had resented it.

For a good while Fred Ferris had been away from home; but Joan knew that he was likely to come soon, and she built upon the hope. She had given her heart to Fred, and she indulged in many a secret dream for the future while pursuing her little round of daily duties, and bearing patiently with the spoilt and wayward Mittie.

And now--this had come!--this intimation of Fred's arrival, and the chance of a long delightful day with him--a day on which so much might hang!

And yet, if Mittie insisted on going, it would probably mean that she would have to give it up. That would be hard to bear--all the harder because Mittie knew at least something of the true state of affairs. She knew how persistently Fred Ferris had come after her sister, and she must at least conjecture a little of what her sister felt for Fred.

n.o.body knew all that Joan felt, except Joan herself; but Mittie had seen quite enough to have made her act kindly and unselfishly.

Joan's hopes had grown faint when she left the breakfast-table and went upstairs.

Mrs. Wills spent most of her time in her bedroom, sometimes hobbling across to a small sitting-room on the same floor. She was too infirm to come downstairs.

"Eh? What is it? I don't understand!"

The old lady was growing deaf, and when she objected to what was being said, she would become doubly deaf. Like her younger granddaughter, she had always been accustomed to getting her own way.

[Sidenote: "Your Turn now!"]

"You want to do--what?" as Joan tried to explain. "I wish you would speak more clearly, my dear, and not put your lips together when you talk. Mrs. Ferris! Yes, of course I know Mrs. Ferris. I knew her long before _you_ came here. She wants you for the day? Well, one of you can go, and the other must stay with me. You've got to take turns. That is only reasonable. Mittie went last time, so it is your turn now."

But Mittie never cared about turns.

"I suppose you couldn't for once--just once, Grannie, dear--spare us both together?"

Joan said this with such a sinking of heart that, had the old lady known it, she would surely have yielded. A sick fear had come over the girl lest Fred might think that she was staying away on purpose--because she did not want to see him. But she only looked rather white, and smiled as usual.

"Spare you both! What!--leave me alone the whole day, both of you!" The old lady was scandalised. "I didn't think before that you were a selfish girl, Joan. Well, well, never mind!--you're not generally, I know. But of course it is out of the question, so lame as I am--not able to get anything that I want. That wasn't in the bargain at all, when we settled that you should live with me."

Joan knew that it was not. But it was very hard to bear!

She went to Mittie, and made one more attempt in that direction, ending, as she expected, unsuccessfully.

"It really is my turn, you know, Mittie, dear."

"Your turn? What! because I went to that silly tea last week? As if the two things could be compared!"

Mittie ran to the gla.s.s to inspect herself.

"Why didn't you just tell Grannie that you meant to do it, instead of asking whether she could spare you? So absurd! She would have given in then."

Joan might have answered, "Because I have some sense of duty!" But she said nothing--it was so useless.

She debated whether to write a note for Mittie to take, and then decided that she would run down to the river-edge and would explain to Fred Ferris himself why she might not go, not implying any blame to her sister, but just saying that she could not leave her grandmother.

The thought of this cheered her up, for surely he would understand.

But a few minutes before the time fixed for his arrival a message summoned her to the old lady, and she found that for a good half-hour she would be unable to get away. All she could do was to rush to Mittie and to give a hurried message--which she felt far from certain would be correctly delivered.

Then for a moment she stood outside Mrs. Wills's room, choking back the sobs which swelled in her throat, and feeling very sad and hopeless at the thought of all she would miss, still more at the thought that her absence might be misunderstood.

From the window, as she attended to her grandmother's wants, she had a glimpse of Mittie, running gaily down the garden, in her pretty white frock, carrying an open j.a.panese parasol in one hand, while from the other dangled her hat and a small basket of flowers.

"Oh, Mittie, I wouldn't have done it to you--if you had cared as I do!"

she breathed.

When Mittie reached the stream, Ferris had that moment arrived.

He had made fast the painter, intending to run up to the house, and had stepped back into the boat to put the cushions right.

A straight well-built young fellow, he looked eagerly up at the sound of steps; and when Mittie appeared alone, a momentary look of surprise came. But, of course Joan would follow!