Bee and Butterfly Part 30

"I don't know," answered Bee slowly. "Are you thinking of going soon?"

"I suppose that I'll have to go when school begins," said Adele. "I don't want to go a bit. It's poky at home without you. I'd rather stay here."

"You would?" questioned Bee wonderingly. "I should think that you would rather be with your father and mother. Now, why doesn't she go home now?" she asked herself as her cousin went into the study. "Uncle Henry is better, and I should think that she would want to see him. I would not want to be away from father if he were ill."

So it came about that each morning Beatrice carefully arranged the flowers, and Adele took them into the study from which Bee was barred.

The girl's eyes always grew wistful whenever her father disappeared into the room, and she was obliged to busy herself about the house in order not to dwell too much upon the fact of her exclusion.

The summer was drawing to a close. There was a cool crispness in the air that heralded the approach of Autumn. To Bee it seemed at times as though a blight had fallen upon everything. There were no longer Percival and his mother to visit, and while Doctor Raymond continued to walk with her and Adele he seemed to withdraw more and more into his own pursuits. The evenings were still devoted to music, but here Adele was pre-eminent. Bee, however, retained her place in the management of the household, jealously guarding the privilege of looking after her father's comfort. Remembering that he had spoken of her attention to neatness she became punctilious in her dress, and about the appointments of the house. Her character was deepening and developing; and from a merry-hearted, careless maiden she was growing into a thoughtful and broad-minded girl.

"Adele," she said one morning rather sharply to her cousin who dawdled on the couch with a book and a box of chocolates, "have you been down to Rachel's today?"

"No," yawned Adele. "I haven't."

"Aren't you ready to go? The basket is fixed, and it is nearly eleven o'clock. If we go for a walk with father after lunch there will be no other time. You ought to go now."

"There's no hurry," protested Adele. "Do you know, Bee, I don't think it is necessary to go every day?"

"It does not matter what you think, Adele. Father said to do it." Bee's manner showed plainly that in her opinion that left nothing further to be said.

"I'll manage Uncle William," remarked Adele with a conscious little laugh, but nevertheless she rose from her reclining position. "It's a perfect nuisance."

"I'll go. It is my place to do it after all. I should have gone long ago, but I thought that you liked to do it."

"Well," hesitated Adele, "I promised Uncle William, you know, and the old woman likes me to come. You need not go, Bee. I'll do it myself."

She took the basket of food from Bee's hand, and left the room. Bee saw her go out the gate walking very slowly.

"She doesn't like to go for some reason," mused the girl. "I must take it upon myself to go down every morning. I must find the time somehow.

Oh, dear!" She gave an impatient shake to her shoulders.

Just as the mid-day meal was placed upon the table Adele returned, looking cool and as daintily immaculate as though she had not been out of the house.

"How you must have hurried," cried Bee. "Did you run every step of the way?"

"Not every step, Bee. How warm you look!"

"It is more than you do," answered Bee looking at her with wonder.

"You've been out in the hot sun yet you seem as cool as a cuc.u.mber."

"I don't show heat," replied Adele lightly. "Shall I tell Uncle William that lunch is ready?"

"If you please."

Dr. Raymond responded to the summons slowly. Bee knew from his grave manner that something was wrong, and all through the meal she cast apprehensive glances in his direction. Adele did not notice his preoccupation, and chatted gaily seemingly unaware that his replies were monosyllabic.

"Girls," said the scientist when the repast was finished, "come into the library with me. I wish to speak with you."

Bee followed him with uneasiness. What had gone amiss she wondered. She could not think of anything that she had done or left undone that could cause such gravity. Her cousin, oblivious to signs of storm, or secure, perhaps, in the knowledge of his affection, caught hold of his arm exclaiming merrily:

"'Come into the garden, Maude, I am here at the gate alone.'"

"Only in this case the garden is the library. What are you going to say to us, Uncle William? Something nice?"

"I fear not, Adele. What I have to say, however, will not be more unpleasant for you to hear than it will be for me to say."

"Dear me!" cried she looking up at him with pretended dismay. "That sounds formidable, doesn't it, Bee?"

Dr. Raymond held the library door open for them to enter, then closed it, and faced them.

"When have either of you been to see old Rachel?" he asked abruptly.

"Adele went this morning," spoke Bee quickly, glad now that she had insisted upon the visit being made.

"Indeed? How was the old woman, Adele?"

"Why, why, all right! That is--about as she always is," stammered Adele changing color.

"Adele! Adele!" Her uncle spoke more in sorrow than in anger. "If you went to Rachel's, how came this to be hidden in the hedge?"

He crossed to his desk, and uncovered the identical basket that Bee had fixed for her cousin to take to Rachel. Adele gave an exclamation, but recovered herself almost instantly.

"You see, uncle," she said, trying to speak carelessly, "it was this way: It was so hot when I started and so near noon that I thought I would not have time to get back for lunch, so I put the basket there intending to run down with it when it was cooler."

"Were you there yesterday?" demanded her uncle receiving the explanation without comment.

Adele hesitated.

"I want the truth, Adele."

"No;" confessed she faintly. "But I'll go right now, Uncle William."

"Were you there the day before?"

Adele covered her face with her hands without replying.

"I want to know when you were there," said Dr. Raymond sternly.

"I--I don't remember," said the girl with a sob. "Oh, Uncle William, it was so hot, and I--I got tired of it; but I will go. I'll go right now."

She started for the basket as she spoke, but a gesture from her uncle arrested her.

"Wait," he said. "Beatrice, why did you not see that Rachel's needs were attended to?"

"I thought they were," answered Bee, growing pale. "Adele was to look after the matter."

"Adele has been careless and negligent," observed her father severely, "but that does not ease you of responsibility. It was your place to have seen that my wishes in the matter were carried out."