Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 8

When she reached home Miss Herbert stood at the gate, and in the door was Mrs. Whittredge. Rosalind's face was full of brightness as she ran up the path.

"Grandmamma, I meant only to stay a minute, and then I forgot."

"I have been worried about you, Rosalind," Mrs. Whittredge said gravely.

"Why did you not come to me and tell me where you wished to go? Where have you been?"

"To see the magician--Morgan, I mean. I wanted so much to see him I did not think of anything else."

"Why did you wish to see him?" continued her grandmother.

The glow was fading from Rosalind's face. "Because--" she hesitated, "because--"

"Well?"

"Because I was lonely, grandmamma, and I was afraid I was going to cry. I promised father I would be brave, and--well--Morgan knows about the Forest, and is very good to cheer you up. He made tea in the dearest little teapot, and it was so amusing, I forgot. I am sorry."

"Do you mean you took supper with Morgan? Well, Rosalind, you are amazing!" Aunt Genevieve spoke from the hall.

"Never mind, Genevieve," said her mother. "I am sorry you were lonely, Rosalind, but I do not understand why you should go to Morgan. And what do you mean by the 'forest'?"

Rosalind's face was grave again. "I don't know, grandmamma," she faltered, and indeed she could not have told if her life had depended on it.

"I think you were very easy on her, mamma. It was certainly naughty of her to run away," Genevieve remarked, after Rosalind, worn out by the conflicting experiences of the day, had gone to bed.

Mrs. Whittredge did not reply at once. On her lap lay her granddaughter's little volume of "As You Like It," and she had been reading the words about the Forest. It had a way of opening to that page.

"She is a peculiar, fanciful child, and quite old enough to know better.

Professor Sargent may be a brilliant man, but it seems to me he has filled the child's head full of nonsense. I can't see what Patterson has been thinking of," Genevieve continued.

"I am not inclined to find much fault with her. I did not expect her to be perfect. She seems naturally sweet and happy," her mother replied.

"Losing by the way the sacred gift of happiness," Mrs. Whittredge's eyes went back to the book. Surely happiness had slipped from her grasp, leaving nothing but regret. It was sad to realize that her children found all their pleasure apart from her. Somewhere she had failed, but pride told her it was fate; that sorrow and disappointment were the common lot, that grat.i.tude was not to be looked for.

After her bitter disappointment in her oldest son she had been the more determined to have her way with Allan. With what result? The extended tour abroad, planned with a purpose just as his college course was ended, had weaned him completely from his home. His interests were elsewhere, and although as joint executor with her of his father's estate he was often in Friends.h.i.+p, his visits were usually brief. Between herself and her daughter there was little sympathy. Genevieve, calm and inflexible, had early declared her independence. But more than all else put together was her haunting sorrow for her husband. Words of Dr. Fair, spoken long ago in cruel bluntness, still rang in her ears: "Madam, you are killing your husband by your obstinacy." Her mind dwelt with morbid persistency upon them. Had the reconciliation with her son come too late?

At a time of utter weariness with herself she acceded to Patterson's proposal to send his daughter to her. Genevieve had expostulated, insisting she would be impossible, a child with no bringing up. Rosalind had come, and even Genevieve had to admit, so far as manners and appearance were concerned, she was not impossible.

In the fair young face, with its serious eyes, in whose glance there was often a singular radiance, Mrs. Whittredge found something that touched her heart. Her granddaughter had not the Whittredge beauty, she was nothing of a Whittredge, and yet--One day she had taken up the miniature on Rosalind's table, with a glance over her shoulder; and when she put it down and turned away, it was with the reluctant feeling that perhaps there had been some excuse for her son when he left father and mother and kindred and home for this young girl.

CHAPTER EIGHTH.

TO MEET ROSALIND.

"Put you in your best array."

Miss Betty Bishop lived in a small white house with brown tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, which she herself likened to a white cake with chocolate filling. Everything about it was snug and neat and seemed to the observer a pleasant expression of that kindly, busy, cheery lady; but Miss Betty was in the habit of declaring it had taken her twenty years to get settled in those small, low-ceiled rooms, and that she didn't feel quite in yet.

There had been a great sacrifice of fine old furniture when the big house on Main Street had to be exchanged for the little one in Church Lane, and it was no wonder Miss Betty sighed at the thought. None the less she had accepted courageously the reverses which at twenty brought her gay girlhood to an end, and for fifteen years was a cheerful, devoted nurse to her invalid father. Since his death she lived alone with only Sophy, her old mammy, to cook and care for her.

When it became known that Miss Betty had invited certain of her young friends to tea to meet Rosalind Whittredge, a wave of excitement swept over Friends.h.i.+p.

All the children of the town had heard stories of Miss Betty's beauty and belles.h.i.+p, but those Was.h.i.+ngton winters belonged to twenty years ago and had no connection with her present popularity. Sophy's skill as a cook no doubt had something to do with the fame of her mistress's tea parties, but besides this Miss Betty knew how to make her guests, whether young or old, have a good time.

When asked if she was fend of children, she was sure to reply, "Some children. I don't like disagreeable children any better than I do disagreeable grown persons." And for this reason, perhaps, it had come to be esteemed something of an honor to be asked to her house.

Miss Betty had at first felt a prejudice against Patterson Whittredge's daughter, deciding in her own mind that she was probably a spoiled little thing; but the sight of Rosalind taking tea with Morgan, and more than this, the frank gaze of those disarming gray eyes, had touched her kindly heart. She knew as well as anybody that it must be lonely in the Whittredge house; and so she had thought of the tea party.

The interest felt in Patterson Whittredge's daughter was very general.

Patterson belonged to those old times when peace had reigned in Friends.h.i.+p. He had been a favorite in the village, and to many it seemed only the other day that he had gone away. It was incredible that this tall girl seen walking by Mrs. Whittredge's side could be his daughter. There were those like Mrs. Graham's pupils, who were inclined to invest her with a halo of romance; others criticised her as not at all the Whittredge style, not what one had a right to expect in Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter. Some pitied Mrs. Whittredge for the responsibility thrust upon her, others pitied Rosalind, and still more, envied her.

In view of all the discussion, it was not possible to regard an invitation to meet her as quite an everyday matter.

"I do wish you had not soiled your embroidered muslin, Belle. You will have to wear your summer silk," said Mrs. Parton, addressing her daughter, who sat on the dining-room floor entertaining a Maltese kitten with a string and spool.

"I forgot to tell you, mother, Jack dropped some wax candle on it last Sunday night, when we were looking for a penny in the gra.s.s," Belle replied, lifting her merry black eyes for a moment. "Anyway, it isn't a dress-up party--only to supper."

"Bring that dress to me at once. I am astonished at you. The only decent thing you have!" Mrs. Parton sat down and clasped her hands in an att.i.tude of desperation.

Followed by the kitten, Belle departed, returning directly with the blue and white checked silk over her arm.

"Whatever it is," her mother continued, I want you to look nice; Betty says Rosalind Whittredge has beautiful clothes."

"I just know she is a prig," remarked Belle, caressing the kitten.

"No, she isn't!" A tumbled head and a pair of eyes very like Belle's own peered out suddenly from beneath the table cover. "If she was, she wouldn't have run away to take supper with Morgan."

"Mercy upon us, Jack! you are enough to startle the sphinx. Come out from under that table at once," commanded his mother.

"Did she do that?" asked Belle, with some interest, adding, "Is it very bad, mother? Can you clean it? How do you know she did, Jack?"

Mrs. Parton shook her head; "I'll try French chalk," she said.

"Miss Betty said so. She saw her," put in Jack.

Mrs. Parton rose. "Another time when you lose a penny, I will make it good rather than have your best dress spoiled," she remarked.

"But you see, mother, it was a church penny," Belle explained, as if she were mentioning some rare and peculiar coin. "Arthur brought the collection home because Uncle Ranney wasn't there, and when he untied his handkerchief on the porch a penny dropped out and rolled into the gra.s.s."

"Who is going to Miss Betty's?" Jack asked, as his mother left the room.

"Maurice and Katherine and you and me, and the Ellises, and--I don't know who."

"I know it will be stupid; I don't think I'll go."

"If it is stupid, you will make it so," retorted his sister, adding, "and you will go, too, for mother will make you; besides, you know you wouldn't miss Sophy's waffles." Belle departed with the kitten, leaving Jack to return to the latest Henty book and his retreat under the table.