Bee and Butterfly Part 4

An oriole peeped at them saucily from his perch on a near-by tree, then whistled playfully, "Sweet, do you hear? Sweet, sweet, do you hear?" And Bee threw back her head caught his note, and answered joyfully, "I hear.

I hear. Sweet, sweet."

"How much Uncle William thinks of you, Bee," observed Adele presently.

"And he seems to be so pleased with your mind. Scientific people think so much of intellect, don't they?"

"I wonder if they do?" mused Bee. "I don't believe that they are much different from other people. And after all it is not my mind that is bringing him home, but my picture. Oh, I wish that I had sent it long ago."

Adele winced. "He'll find you awfully clever, Bee."

"You dear!" exclaimed Bee leaning forward to kiss her. "You are just as sweet as you are pretty."

"Sue Ford said the other day that I was sweet because I did not have sense enough to be anything else," observed Adele.

"The mean thing!" cried Bee. "Sue says lots of things, although I am glad that she said what she did about father's not knowing me. If she had not said that I would have thought that my picture was not good enough to send, and father wouldn't be coming home. Still, I don't like her saying that you have no sense."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Adele, biting a blade of gra.s.s meditatively.

After all, it did not matter so much about the picture. When her Uncle William came she would tell them that she did it for fun, and they would have a good laugh. Bee wouldn't mind at all when her father was really with her. So, quite restored to her usual complacency, she continued; "I know that I am not clever like you, or Sue, or some of the other girls; and when I see how worried you get over your examinations I am glad that I'm not. Bee, does Uncle William know that you have studied up b.u.t.terflies?"

"No; I was going to tell him when I answered this letter. I expect that he will laugh at my specimens. Dear father!"

She lingered over the word as though she liked to say it. All at once she rose with a little cry. "We must go home, Adele. Aunt Annie ought to know about father at once, so that she can make the necessary arrangements about going to Walnut Grove. To think of being in my own home with my own father so soon!"

"Bee," said Adele slipping her arm through her cousin's as they walked homeward, "will you let me wear your new hat Sunday?"

"Yes;" a.s.sented Bee abstractedly. She was accustomed to having Adele wear her new things, though Adele did not wish to lend her own.

"And your bracelet?" went on Adele, seeing that Bee was too absorbed to care what she promised.

"Anything you wish, Adele," answered Beatrice impatiently. "Only let's hurry. Aunt Annie won't like it if we loiter too long after knowing about father."

Adele complied willingly, and the rest of the distance was accomplished quickly. Bee paused at the orchard gate.

"Listen how the birds are singing," she cried. "Do you suppose that they know that father is coming?"

"You goosey!" laughed her cousin. "They were singing when we went out."

"Not like this, Adele. Just listen!"

A riot of happiness in quivering bursts of song came from the leafy boughs of the trees. Cardinal, oriole, tawny thrush and gold-finch seemed to vie with each other in pouring forth the sweetest melody.

"How happy they are," cried Bee. "Almost as happy as I am. And it was just here that the b.u.t.terfly lighted on my head. I'll always believe that omen after this because I did have good news. Why, there is auntie!"

"What news, children?" called Mrs. Raymond as she came through the trees toward them.

"The best in the world," answered Beatrice waving her letter excitedly.

"Father is coming home! He will be here by the Fifteenth of June, and we are to go over to our house to get things ready for him. Will you go?

Will Uncle Henry be able to leave court, and come too?"

"William coming home?" Mrs. Raymond stopped in her surprise. "Is it possible? What does he say? Let me read the letter."

"Here it is," cried Bee handing it to her. "He is really coming. Oh, aren't you glad, glad?"

"Indeed I am. For all our sakes, but most of all for yours. I have thought for some time that it was his duty, and I am glad that he sees it at last."

"Bee is awfully keen to leave us," spoke Adele reproachfully. "You will have to live with your father now, Bee, and you won't be with me at all."

"You won't lose me quite, Adele." Bee was surprised and touched by the speech. It was not often that her cousin showed so much affection for her as she had done that day. "The only difference will be that we won't be in the same house. Walnut Grove is near enough to see each other often. Won't we have good times together? I am so happy!"

"Henry will be pleased too," smiled her aunt. "I presume he has his letter already. Bee, you will tire yourself if you keep capering about so. You don't remember your father at all, do you?"

"Yes;" answered Bee with pa.s.sionate intentness. "Of course, I know him from his letters, and then I remember how he used to carry me. His eyes are dark, but he doesn't look a bit like me. I know that he is handsome, and distinguished, and oh, I'd know him anywhere!"

"Well, he is all that, but you must have heard us speak of it. You were but five when he left, and could not possibly remember all those things.

We must go over to the Grove tomorrow, I think, to see what is to be done. Henry can come when court adjourns. There won't be any too much time to get everything in readiness. The house has been closed for so long that there will be a great deal to do. Servants must be hired for both house and grounds."

"I don't want any servants, auntie," protested her niece. "I want to keep house for father myself. You know that he wanted me to learn, and I want him to see how well I can do it."

"That is all very well, Beatrice, but you must have a strong capable woman to help you," said Mrs. Raymond decidedly. "William Raymond is a fastidious man, and there must be an experienced cook in the kitchen."

"How much you know about him," murmured Bee half enviously. "Tell me everything you can, auntie."

"Come into the house then. We will have lunch, and devote the whole afternoon to William. We could have no more delightful subject,"

declared the lady, willing for once to indulge Bee's insatiable desire to hear all she could about her father. "I am quite sure that it will be but a repet.i.tion of what I have already told you many times, but you will listen with new interest today."

Chapter IV

A Jest Becomes Earnest

"To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, Is the next way to draw new mischief on."

--_Oth.e.l.lo. Shakespeare._

"Dear, dear! will evening never come!" exclaimed Beatrice, pus.h.i.+ng back her hair impatiently and looking at the clock in the hall for the third time in five minutes.

"Don't you know that the days are longer in June, Bee?" asked Adele in mock surprise.

"Isn't there anything that you can do, Beatrice?" Mrs. Raymond glanced up from her embroidery. "Occupation of some sort is the best remedy for restlessness."

"Everything is done, auntie. I've even set the table for dinner, and it's only five o'clock. Three long hours before he comes! What shall I do?"

"It will take nearly all that time to dress," remarked Adele rising.

"How do you manage it, Adele? I need only fifteen minutes."

"Which explains your usual fly-away look," observed her aunt quietly.