Brenda's Ward Part 25

"A true Puritan maiden," commented Mr. Stacy, approaching the girls.

"But come, you cannot linger too long over any one thing, however interesting. I will not blame you if you pa.s.s quickly by the Florida bones, and the Indian relics, and other so-called curiosities that hardly belong in Pilgrim Hall. But there are a number of autographs and old books that I wish to explain to you, and you must study carefully Weir's beautiful painting, 'The Embarkation of the Pilgrims,' and Charles Lucy's magnificent 'Departure of the Pilgrims.'"

The pictures held Martine's attention for a long time, and when at last she left the hall, she had a new and tenderer feeling for Plymouth.

"If ever I have time," she murmured in a laughing aside to Mr. Stacy, "I will try to hunt up some Mayflower ancestors, for I can't let Priscilla continue to be so superior to me in this respect."

"Indeed, I don't feel superior," said Priscilla, "but I can't tell you how pleased I am, Martine, that you have stopped making fun of Plymouth and the Pilgrims."

"Dear Prissie, you should not take things so seriously. My fun was only fun, and you were too ready to take it in as earnest."

Martine from the first had no trouble in winning the affection of all the Danforths. George and Marcus struggled for the first place in her affections, and Lucy admitted that she loved her next to her mother and Priscilla. Martine made other friends in Plymouth besides the members of the Danforth family. A number of Mrs. Danforth's special friends called on her, and at an informal tea-party she met all the young people whom Priscilla cared for especially.

"Every one seems to have heard of me, I am awfully pleased that you should have talked to people about me, but why am I called a 'heroine'?

Three people have said to me, 'We are so pleased to meet the young heroine we have heard so much about.' What do they mean?"

"It's the fire," cried Lucy. "Priscilla told us not to say too much to you about it, because you were so modest, but everybody knows how brave you were to pull Priscilla out of the burning house."

"The burning house? Oh, at Windsor; but I didn't pull her out. There wasn't the least danger, and I only tapped at the door. Why, I had almost forgotten about it. It was nothing at all, so far as I was concerned."

But Lucy only shook her head, as she repeated shyly, "But we think you a heroine all the same." Nor could any words of Martine's have made her change her mind. Had she not always been taught that the truly great were modest? Martine's very denials were a strong evidence that she was truly great.

There was nothing, therefore, for Martine to do but accept the place on the pedestal where they put her.

In spite of this idealizing, however, Priscilla's younger friends were not afraid of Martine. If they had felt any awe before they saw her it immediately pa.s.sed away when they had looked into her frank brown eyes, and had heard the clear notes of her ringing laugh.

Pleasanter even than the tea-party to Martine was the second evening that Mr. Stacy spent with her and Priscilla.

"Everything that you haven't told me before about Plymouth and its early days you must tell me now," Martine had said. "When I go back to Boston I wish to astonish my brother by my display of historical knowledge. I am sure that he doesn't know the difference between a Puritan and a Pilgrim, which you have so carefully explained to me, Mr. Stacy; and there are fifty other things that I shall spring on him, and mortify him to death, for Lucian thinks that he knows a lot of history, but as far as I can make out he hasn't got far beyond Charlemagne in his two years at Harvard."

"Yet he went to school first?" asked Mr. Stacy, quizzically.

"Yes, but everyone knows that boys in the fitting schools remember as little as they can of American history--although," with an afterthought, "I will admit that Lucian did take an interest last summer in the English and Acadian history of Nova Scotia."

This mention of Acadia suggested various questions to Mr. Stacy, and soon Martine had plunged into a vivid account of their experiences of the preceding summer.

"I have heard part of this before from the lips of Priscilla," said Mr.

Stacy, "and her description of the various protegees gathered in by your party interested me greatly. I know that she has not forgotten Eunice, and, indeed, we all expect to see the little Annapolis girl in Plymouth before many summers have pa.s.sed. But what about Yvonne and Pierre, who on the whole interest me rather more than Eunice--as much, perhaps, because of their infirmities as on account of their foreign blood?"

"As to Pierre," responded Martine, "Amy hears from him regularly, and he is very happy this winter in his work. A little money that was given him last autumn (Martine did not mention that this was her father's generous gift) has enabled him to have regular drawing lessons from a good teacher to whom he goes twice a week at Yarmouth. He insisted in using part of the money for his mother, and, like all Acadians, she seems to have spent it very thriftily."

"But what of Yvonne? she, I believe, is your especial pet."

"Oh, Yvonne, too, has had a little money to spend, and so the Babets have let her board with friends at Annapolis. Her eyes have had some attention from a good doctor, and she has been taking music lessons. I was hoping to arrange to have Alexander Babet bring Yvonne to Boston for treatment by a specialist, but for the present I have to wait."

Here Martine sighed a deep sigh. This allusion to Yvonne reminded her of her father and his caution about economy. "I wonder if we shall always have to economize and give up the things we wish to do. Mother talked about economy when I spoke of inviting Priscilla to go to New York. I wonder--" and then a question from Mr. Stacy recalled Martine's wandering thoughts.

"You scold me sometimes for being absent-minded," said Priscilla, "but we spoke to you three times before you heard."

"I was only thinking, Prissie," responded Martine; "and I can't do two things at the same time--listen and think."

Martine at last said good-bye to Plymouth with genuine regret--for Plymouth people at least, and for the Danforth family in particular.

"New York wouldn't have been half as much fun," she said as the train steamed out of the station, "because I know it so well."

Priscilla, who had not heard of Martine's New York plan, did not understand her friend's allusion; and as Martine made no further explanation, she had no opportunity for discontent--if the loss of a trip to New York would have made her discontented.

CHAPTER XV

TROUBLES

The weeks after the Easter visit pa.s.sed rapidly away. April was melting into May. People called it an early spring.

"It doesn't make much difference to me whether the season is early or late," said Martine one Sunday afternoon, when Lucian and Robert had walked home with her from the afternoon service. "I have to work so hard to keep up with Priscilla that I haven't time to think about anything so commonplace as weather. If I'm not careful, I shall find myself fitting for college."

"Don't," said Robert Pringle.

"Do," cried Lucian. "As I may have said before, if you make half as much of yourself as Amy, nothing could be better for you than college."

"Be yourself," said Robert with an air of wisdom. "Not Amy nor Priscilla, nor any one else. You have the artistic temperament."

"Nonsense," replied Martine, with difficulty repressing a smile. "That's a very soph.o.m.orific speech. You've got it out of some of your philosophy courses."

"Or one of the college magazines," growled Lucian. "People who are just beginning to write always love to talk about temperament."

"Well," persisted Robert, "Fritz Tomkins says that Mrs. Redmond says that you have great talent."

"Oh, yes," responded Martine, laughing, "my cla.s.s at the Mansion considers me a true artist, because I can paint trees and gra.s.s that look real; but to tell you the truth, Robert, and to show you that you're not wholly wrong, I will admit that if I hadn't been so busy at school, I should have studied with Mrs. Redmond this spring. I just wish I had time for a sketching cla.s.s, but fond as I am of riding, I can barely manage an hour's ride twice a week. That reminds me, Lucian," and Martine turned to her brother, "if you can afford a new auto, I surely can afford a new riding-horse. Wherever we go this summer, I mean to ride."

"No, no," cried Lucian, "that is, I probably shall not have the auto, much as I want it."

"Don't worry," said Robert, "you'll get it in season; if it isn't out by June, they'll have it for you in July."

"Oh, that wasn't what I meant," rejoined Lucian, "only--" but at this moment he did not explain what he really had intended to say.

The next evening Lucian came home to dinner.

"What an unexpected honor," said Martine. "I've never known you to favor us with a Monday visit. You look rather glum, too," she added with sisterly frankness. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, no," he said, "nothing special. You shouldn't be so curious."

"I can read you like a book," replied Martine. "You are worrying over your finals and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If I were a Harvard Soph.o.m.ore, with all my time to use as I liked, I wouldn't be in such a state of mind over a few questions, for that's all an examination amounts to."

"There, there, Martine, don't worry your brother," interposed Mrs.

Stratford, joining them.