Jane Lends A Hand Part 13

Lambert stopped him peremptorily.

"Leave those things just where they were, please." Paul did as he was told.

"You'll throw them out, uncle?"

"Kindly learn to obey without asking questions!"

All that day, Jane had seen her cousin gay, full of good spirits, utterly unlike the moody, disagreeable boy that he had been for so long; but now the old, hard, obdurate expression came into his face.

"These things are mine, uncle," he said, quietly.

"Indeed? The top of that flour barrel?" inquired Mr. Lambert, pointing to the picture. Paul hesitated for a moment, and then with a slight shrug, put it down again on the chair.

"No, that is yours," he said, and walked out of the room.

Mr. Lambert took the picture, looked at it for a moment or two, as if uncertain whether it too, were guilty of some heinous crime against his rule; then, he took it; but instead of breaking it in two, placed it quite carefully behind his desk.

Paul did not appear at supper; but Mr. Lambert preferred not to notice his absence. Everyone was aware that civil war was brewing in the household, and with varying degrees of curiosity or anxiety, made their private conjectures as to what the future would develop in the way of open hostilities or amicable compromise between uncle and nephew.

It was at about half-past ten that night, that Jane, who was rarely in bed at the prescribed time, happened to remember that Elise had left "Ivanhoe" on the dining room mantel piece; she felt also, that an apple or two was just what she wanted to subdue a certain mild emptiness. The household was perfectly still, and so, taking off her slippers, she stole down-stairs in her stocking feet, to get her book, and rummage in the larder.

There was still a faint glow of firelight in the dining room.

Half-way to the kitchen door she stopped, arrested by a movement in the room, and with her heart beating violently, peered about her. Then she saw that someone was sitting in Granny's chair. For a moment, she could not move a muscle, then, mustering up her courage, she quavered,

"Who-who is that?"

The figure in the chair gave a violent start, then with a little laugh Paul's voice said,

"Is that you, Jane?"

"Oh, _Paul_!" Jane gave a great sigh of relief.

"Did I frighten you?" Paul asked, getting up.

"Well, you _startled_ me," said Jane, who had always maintained that she was not afraid of ghosts or burglars-never having met a sample of either. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," said Paul. "What are _you_ doing?"

"I want some food," said Jane, succinctly. "Do you?"

"I'm not very hungry. What are you going to get?"

"Well, if there's enough wood there to fix up the fire a little, I could make some cocoa. It's awfully cold in here."

Paul picked up a stout log and flung it onto the smouldering ashes, and in a few moments, a bright flame crackled up, sending its ruddy light into every corner of the room.

Everyone is familiar with the exquisite feeling of sympathy, which food, produced at just the right moment, can excite between the most hostile natures, and over their cups of cocoa, Jane and Paul, who had never been really hostile, began to see each other in a new light. For the first time they talked with unguarded friendliness, and gradually Paul became more confiding, and Jane listened with her usual eager interest.

At first he talked about his life with his father, his wanderings, and strange adventures, without however, the least exaggeration or the braggadocio with which he had teased and disgusted Carl. It was not strange that Jane, who had never seen any part of the world save the few square miles of earth, bounded by the hills of Frederickstown, listened to his stories of foreign seas and foreign lands as if she were bewitched.

Never before had Paul talked to any of them about himself or his past life; loquaciousness on any subject was not one of his characteristics and concerning his own affairs he had been particularly reticent; but now it was as if he could no longer smother down all that was pent up within him. In the presence of his sympathetic listener, his words now fairly tumbled over each other, and his face grew tight and weird with earnestness and enthusiasm.

At length Jane asked him,

"You don't want to live here and take over the business after all, do you?"

"Ah, Janey, what kind of a baker would I make?" responded Paul, smiling half-sadly.

"You want to be an artist?"

"Yes. Don't think that I expected to have everything just as I wanted it. Naturally I knew that I would have to work here. I have no money.

You don't imagine that I expected Uncle to plant me comfortably in some art school, and support me while I went through years of study? I planned, do you see, to work at anything that I could make enough to repay Uncle for boarding me, and to save a little so that in five or six years even, I could manage to study. I hadn't any idea of looking for help to anyone but myself, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly went on to the city to look for work instead of plumping myself on uncle. But I didn't.-I _did_ happen to be 'broke,' and the city was thirty miles away, and then I hoped that uncle would advise me. I had no one else to turn to, and it seemed natural to come to him. Then, when I got here, I found that everything had been arranged for me. What I was to do was all mapped out-for my whole life-and I hadn't a word to say about it. And what was more, Uncle won't let me mention having plans of my own. And to-day-well, you were here-he forbade my even playing with paints, 'As long as I am in his house.' Don't think that I am criticizing him, Janey. No doubt he is doing exactly what he thinks is best-but what am I to do? Will you tell me that? I've been sitting here thinking and thinking, and the only answer seems to be for me to get up and go."

Jane was silent.

"Oh, I _do_ understand uncle's point of view perfectly. I was awfully angry to-day, but I've tried to look at it reasonably, and I can see why it seems like rot to him. Thousands of boys of my age have crazy ideas about what they think they want to do, and thousands of them think differently as soon as they've got some sense. And Uncle thinks, I guess, that I'll do the same. If I could only _show_ him how much it means to me! If I could only show him that I've got something in me besides a lot of high-falutin notions! I _have_ tried to learn how to bake cakes. But I'll never learn in this world. Even Aunt Gertrude has given up on me, and she knows that I haven't loafed on the job, either.

I've been pummelling dough every day at five in the morning for the last six weeks, and still not a single roll has turned out decently.

"But Uncle won't hear of my getting any other job, all because of this idiotic tradition about the Winklers. I never heard of-" he broke off and began to pace up and down the room, while Jane sat silently nibbling her thumb-nail.

"Well, what shall I do?" he demanded presently-"_You_ suggest something Janey, you're a wise little worm." This sincere, if rather inelegant tribute brought a pleased smile to Jane's face. "What would you do if you were in my boots?"

Jane meditated a moment; then she said,

"Well, I wouldn't get up and go-yet. I'd wait and see."

"Wait and see what?" Paul rapped out a little impatiently, and frowning as if this piece of advice were not exactly to his taste. But Jane was unmoved.

"I'd wait and see-lots of things. First of all, you _might_ find that you don't care as much about painting pictures as you think you do."

This observation surprised and angered Paul, and his face showed it. His startled, resentful look said plainly, "I thought that _you_ understood me!" But Jane neither retracted nor explained. "And then," she went on, calmly, "Daddy _might_ change his mind a little, if you took good care not to make him angry about unimportant things-especially about squabbling with Carl. And last of all, it's just barely possible that another Winkler _might_ turn up-you never _can_ tell."

Paul stared at her for fully thirty seconds in absolute silence. Then he honored these sage remarks with a contemptuous grunt.

"Well, that helps a lot I must say," he said, sarcastically. "If I waited for any one of those things to happen, I'd be pounding dough until doomsday! Thanks!" and with that he turned away and resumed his restless promenade around the room. Jane shrugged her shoulders. A rather long and chilly pause followed. Paul was disappointed in her; but his silent indignation seemed to trouble her very little, and after a while, he threw a cold glance at her. But she was sitting with her back toward him, and so he felt the need of rousing her attention in another way.

"You think, I may not care about painting as much as I think I do?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I said, _I'd_ wait and see," returned Jane placidly.

"Humph. And you think Uncle might change his mind?"

"He might."

"And what chance is there of another Winkler showing up, I'd like to know? One in ten thousand!"

"It _might_ be better than that." Paul sat down on the edge of the table, and glowered at the back of her head. Then gradually a slow, unwilling grin broke over his face.

"You're a nice one to preach patience!"