Papa did not come down to dinner that evening, and we were a very subdued party, though Nora tried to cheer Phil up by telling him that she knew he had done what he had for the benefit of the whole family,--she didn't tell _me_ that!

"Yes," answered our eldest brother, gloomily, "it was my first attempt at that sort of philanthropy, and it'll be my last--stop staring at me, Jack, or I'll throw a bread-pill at you."

"Is that what you call it, Philip?" said Miss Marston, lifting her eyebrows. "It seems to me more like that love of practical joking and the self-will that your mother was so constantly warning you and Betty against."

"Indeed, then, you're right, ma'am," put in nurse, who happened to be in the room, adding, with a pointed glance at me, "I wonder what the dear lady would 'a' said to this day's conductions!"

And not one of us had a word to say in reply, for we well knew how grieved she would have been.

VII.

NEW FRIENDS.

TOLD BY BETTY.

"Betty! _Bet-ty!_" called Nannie from the foot of the stairs, "tell Jack that he's got just about three minutes more, as papa has started to put on his overcoat, and he does so dislike to have us late for church. Do make him hurry!"

But that, as I knew very well, was easier said than done, for Jack hates to hurry. Almost at the last minute, when we had gathered in the schoolroom to let Miss Marston see us before we started out with papa for church, it was discovered that Jack's boots needed cleaning. So now he was up in the attic, brushing away at them, and singing with all his might,--

"Thy gardens and thy goodly walks Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen.

Right through thy streets, with pleasing sound, The living waters flow; And on the banks on either side, The trees of life do grow."

Jack was just beginning the last line of this verse when Nannie called to me; so I let him finish, then I shouted up the attic stairs, "Jack, you've just got about two minutes and a half; papa has started to put on his overcoat. Are you ready?"

"Most," Jack answered; "I've got one more heel to do,"--as if he'd had a dozen or so! and he actually started on another verse of the hymn.

I flew up the attic steps and gazed indignantly at him through the railings: "You are the most provoking boy I ever knew," I said, "and the biggest poke! I do believe you _love_ to be late. There's everybody down in the hall ready to start, and here you are loitering as if you had hours to spare."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'BETTY! _BET-TY!_' CALLED NANNIE."]

"Are you two coming, or are you not?" cried Phil from the hall below.

"The procession is ready to start, and woe to stragglers! If service began at twelve instead of eleven o'clock, Jack, you'd still be late.

Come on, Betty."

"I declare, if you aren't all the greatest pack of naggers!" exclaimed Jack, impatiently, throwing down the blacking brushes and s.n.a.t.c.hing up his hat; then he raced after us down the stairs and brought up the rear as we filed out of the front door.

There are always so many of us to go to church--all of us children (except Alan, who goes to the children's service in the afternoon), and Miss Marston and papa--that we do make, as Phil says, a regular procession as we walk down the avenue and across the park to the old brown church every Sunday. I don't mind going in the procession, nor does Jack,--unless he's _very_ late; but Nora thinks it's horrid, and Phil and Felix always hang back for the very last, and try to look as if they didn't belong to us at all. Nannie and Madel go with papa, Kathie and Paul with Miss Marston, and the rest of us straggle along as we like until we get to the church. It's brown and very large, and has a good deal of ivy growing all over it. It's the church where Murray Unsworth and Helen Va.s.sah stood sponsors for their little cousin Paul; they go there and their grandfather and grandmother.

Papa likes to sit away up front; so up the middle aisle we go,--oh, how the boys and Nora hate this part!--and file into the first two pews. We are always early, and sometimes it does seem so long before service begins. Jack and I sit at the upper end of the first pew, and I couldn't tell you how many times we have read the Creed and Commandments that are printed back of the chancel, and the memorials on each side. Then we look out the hymns for the day, and read them all through. Jack likes to do this; he has all sorts of odd ideas about them; for instance, he says that when he sings,

"Christian! dost thou see them On the holy ground, How the powers of darkness Rage thy steps around?

Christian! up and smite them, Counting gain but loss; In the strength that cometh By the holy cross,"

he somehow always thinks of the picture in papa's study of St. Michael and the Angel. He says he can see, right in his mind, the great beautiful angel of light triumphant in the strength of G.o.d, and under his feet the stormy evil face of the conquered Lucifer. I've got so now that I too think of the picture when I sing the hymn, and of the hymn when I look at the picture.

Then in the other hymn, where it says,

"Finding, following, keeping, struggling, Is He sure to bless?

'Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs, Answer, Yes,'"

Jack says he sees--just like a picture--a steep hill up which a whole lot of people are striving, with all their might, to climb; they're poor and tired and sick and lame, but they struggle bravely on; and by the beautiful gates at the top of the hill stands One grand and white and shining, wearing a golden crown. He bends forward and takes hold of each tired traveller as soon as he is within reach, and helps him safe within the gates; and in the hands that do this are "wound-prints." Jack always shuts his eyes and lowers his voice when he tells us about this thought of his; only Nannie and I know of it, and while I am hearing about it I always feel quiet.

How he _does_ enjoy singing! His little body seems to expand, and you'd be astonished at the noise that he can make. This particular Sunday that I am telling you about my ears were fairly ringing as Jack joined in the chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and I wasn't sorry when Phil leaned over from behind and whispered, "Say, Rosebud, you're not detailed to lead the choir, you know."

Even the choir-master looked at him; but, perfectly regardless of everything and everybody, Jack sang through the five long verses, and sat down with the air of having thoroughly enjoyed himself.

I made up my mind, though, that I'd say something about it on our way home; but just as we were coming down the church steps Jack gave my arm a nudge. "There are your friends," he said, with a grin,--"the two of 'em; just see Phil and Felix scoot!" And when I turned quickly to see, who should it be but Mr. Erveng and Hilliard!

Mr. Erveng has been over to call on papa since that horrid afternoon that he escorted Phil and me home; but Hilliard didn't come with him, and we weren't sorry,--I mean Phil and I,--for we both felt foolish about meeting him; we hadn't forgotten that giggle of his when we took off our bonnets and veils that day in his father's library, and I think we both felt that we didn't want to know him any better.

Mr. Erveng and papa walked across the park together, talking, and as we all followed behind,--Felix and Phil were out of sight,--who should come up beside me and lift his hat but that Hilliard! "May I walk with you part way home?" he asked, "I want to say something to you."

He speaks slowly, deliberately, and has a way of half-closing his eyes when he's talking, that gives him a sleepy look,--though he can open them very wide too, sometimes; and he's sallow, and has lots of freckles. Altogether, he isn't nearly as good-looking as our boys, or Murray Unsworth; still he has rather a nice face, and we've found out that he is just as gentle and nice as a girl to his mother,--I mean in waiting on her and doing things for her. But all the same, I don't know whether I like him or not; you see he's never had a sister, never been much with girls, and he's got such silly, prim ideas about them.

Well, to go back: when he asked that, I said, "Oh, yes, I suppose so;"

but Jack says my tone wasn't very polite. I didn't mean to be impolite, but seeing him brought that horrid afternoon right to my mind, and I could just hear him giggle all over again; I a.s.sure you Phil and I'll not try that sort of thing again,--not if the Fetich never gets sold.

And evidently that was in his mind, too; for he said, "I want to apologise for being so rude as to laugh that day in my father's office,"--that's the way he talks, so formal, as if he were as old as papa,--"and for guarding--"

"We didn't think it was at all polite, I must say," I broke in.

But he went right on; that's another of his ways,--if one interrupts him fifty times in a remark, he'll listen, but make no reply until he's finished what he started out to say. Now I think that's provoking,--I wonder how he'd get on if he lived in our family!--and it makes the person that interrupts feel very small and nettled, too. "And for guarding you and your brother home, as if I doubted your word,"

he finished.

Well, now, do you know, I hadn't ever thought about that part,--his going along to guard us,--until he said this; and then, all at once, I felt very angry. "I think it _was_ very, _very_ rude of you," I said decidedly, "and I really wish you would go away and walk with your father, or by yourself--"

"Why, _Betty_!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise; then, leaning across me, he said politely, "_Please_ don't think that Betty is a rude girl, for indeed she isn't; but she is awfully quick-tempered, and when she gets mad she is apt to say lots of things that she doesn't mean. She is really quite a nice girl. I'm Jack Rose, her brother; so you see I ought to know."

"So you should; I'm glad to meet you," Hilliard said, shaking hands with Jack. Then he added to me: "I _do_ hope you and your brother will let us be friendly. I've told my mother about you both, and she wants so much to know you and your sisters. Perhaps some of you would come over and see her? She is very much of an invalid, and is not able to go out, except for a drive now and then; but when she is well enough to see them, she enjoys having visitors."

I was ashamed of having spoken so sharply, but I _didn't_ want to go and see Mrs. Erveng; so all I could say was, in a lame sort of way, "Thank you; perhaps--if papa says we may."

Instead of letting the matter drop there, he must needs go on: "I have tried several times to speak to your brother,--at college, and once on the street,--but he seems to avoid me," he said. "I wanted to explain to him; I was afraid you might think my father was severe, but he really didn't beli--he didn't suppose--that is, the young people we've known--"

He stopped, looking awfully red and embarra.s.sed, then ended up with, "I'm afraid I'm making an awful muddle of it, but I'm really very sorry; I hope you and your brother will understand that."

By "brother" I think he meant Phil, but Jack took it to himself. "Of course, oh, certainly," he said, nudging my elbow to say likewise, and bobbing his head round my shoulder.

But I wouldn't, for I understood, just as well as if Hilliard'd said it, that he--they all--thought our coming over to his house, as we had done, to sell the Fetich, was a very queer proceeding. Miss Marston had said that they must think me very unladylike. She so often tells me people think that of me that I've got used to it and don't mind; but I felt _very_ uncomfortable when it occurred to me that perhaps this boy and his father and mother thought so too. "Why didn't you say right out that you thought my dressing up and coming over to your house that way was very queer and unladylike?" I demanded. "I know it's what you think."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I went on quickly: "Pooh! that's _nothing_ to what I _can_ do. I can slide down three flights of banisters without one swerve, and make worse faces than any one we know, and whistle, and brandish Indian clubs, and fence and climb besides, and, oh! lots of other things that only boys do; why, I'm strong enough to be able to thrash Jack--there _now_!"

"I'd just like to see you try it!" put in Jack, hastily, ruffling up; then, in an undertone, with a nudge of his elbow, "Oh, come now, Betty, _do_ behave yourself."

But Hilliard just looked at me--his eyes were wide enough open now--as if I were some strange kind of animal; he really looked shocked. I wondered what he would think of some of my performances at home, and I couldn't resist saying, "I suppose the girls that you know never do such things?"

"Not when they are as old or as tall as you are," he answered quietly.