The Wyndham Girls

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE STRAY UNIT

  While Jessamy and Barbara were tasting the joys of glory and theapplause of the public,--at least, a little section of it,--the "StrayUnit," as her aunt called her, was having rather a harder time thaneven her family suspected. It was not easy to continue in exile,fighting homesickness and longing for all she loved, and know all thewhile that she had but so to determine to return into the little flat,which looked to her from that distance not only like the Canaan theyhad jestingly called it, but like Eden itself. Perhaps, however, theknowledge that she was free to turn back from what she had undertakenhelped Phyllis stand to her guns; it was not only cowardly but ignobleto relinquish a task set her by her own generosity alone.

  Phyllis was so fully occupied all day that there was no time formoping; but at night, when the door to her room was closed and locked,the loneliness became almost unbearable, and the time when Tom'smisguided fancy should veer straight and allow her to return lookeddubiously uncertain and far off. But Phyllis had the gift of sleepcommon to healthy youth, and though her pillow was often wet, she sleptsweetly on it, and arose refreshed to meet the new day.

  Mrs. Dean was as kind as Phyllis's first letter reported her, but shewas an old lady of many interests, and after her little companionwas fairly installed in her household she gradually ceased to feelresponsible for her entertainment. This was rather a matter forcongratulation, for Phyllis was fired with ambition to accomplishsomething worth the doing while she was away, and welcomed theafternoons, which included two or three hours in that glorious librarywhich was to be the center and crown of the city. Nothing less than ahistorical story, dealing with New York in the Dutch days, was the workthe would-be young author aimed to produce, and she devoured everythingrelating to her subject which the obliging assistants in the librarycould furnish. The story, which never saw the light of day served itsend in helping Phyllis through her exile, and incidentally in teachingher much that she had not known of her own city, for whose noise andcheery bustle she hungered.

  One afternoon, when Mrs. Dean omitted her usual after-luncheon drivein favor of the board meeting of a society of which she was president,Phyllis slipped away early to the classic hall, where she had anappointment with Peter Stuyvesant and her beloved Dutch burghers. Thefirst two volumes of the "Memorial History of New York" were broughtfor her use, and she seated herself to search for material, happyfor the time in that delightful feeling of importance born of theconsciousness of great plans and the business-like preparations fortheir fulfilment.

  After nearly an hour of reading, she decided that the "MemorialHistory" was not what she needed just then, but the "DocumentaryHistory of New York State," and she started to her feet to get it.Phyllis at home and about domestic things was one person, and Phyllisamong books was another. The latter Phyllis was a young person of thegreatest impetuosity, acting first, and thinking fully five minutesafterward. It was this Phyllis who gathered up her two large volumesand started toward the desk to exchange them, without waiting for anattendant, in the greatest possible hurry, as if the slow old Dutch oftwo centuries ago were likely to race off before she could capture thevolumes in which they were reposing.

  The result of her haste was that she did not see a young manapproaching from the opposite direction as slowly as she was hurryingforward. His nose was buried in a volume that looked like Browning,and he did not see the slender girl in gray, laden with her heavybooks, bearing down on him like a runaway pack-pony. The collisionwas tremendous. Phyllis dropped both volumes of Mr. Grant Wilson'scareful editing on the unoffending feet of the stranger, who uttereda loud exclamation of mingled surprise and pain, and leaped asidewith a vehemence contrary to all traditions of Bates Hall. But Phyllisdid worse: she sat down with marked emphasis, and without loss of amoment, on the stone pavement, her hat rolling merrily away, and herpocket-book leaping under a chair, as though it, as well as the moneyit was made to contain, had wings.

  Some school children, reading as decorously as the Boston youngstersof the comic papers, yielded to the irresistible, and laughed aloud,even boisterously. An old gentleman of Teutonic build looked up from ablack volume that suggested magic, and exclaimed: "Mein Gott im Himmel!Was f?r eine Backfisch ist das!" And a lady of that too certain agewhich is politely called uncertain, dropped several valuable starredpamphlets which she had been consulting, to hasten forward with offersof sal volatile and court-plaster, while four attendants ran from asmany directions to rescue the library property which the accident hadscattered broadcast.

  The young man whom she had so unwarrantably assaulted helped Phyllis toher feet, the gingerly manner in which he held up his own right footmeanwhile suggesting that his instep had found the "Memorial History" asolid work in more senses than one.

  Phyllis's face was crimson with mortification, and she stammeredincoherent apologies as she accepted the hat her victim handed her, andsmartened the disheartened ribbons as well as she could. The young manwent on all fours, and fished out the truant pocket-book from beneaththe chair, at the same time gathering up a handful of papers which hadescaped from its outer compartment. Among them was a visiting-card;perhaps the impulse that made him glance at the card before returningit was not altogether proper, but it was excusably natural under thecircumstances. As he read the name and address, the expression ofmingled annoyance and pain his face had worn since the encounter gaveway to surprise and amusement.

  "Mrs. Dean!" he said, and his voice was cultivated and agreeable, evenin the low tone necessary to library intercourse. "Let me congratulateyou, ma'am; you have found the Fountain of Youth. When I last saw you,you were forty years older than you are now."

  Phyllis laughed in spite of herself, but she did not see fit to revealher identity.

  "Thank you, and please try to forgive me for my awkwardness," she saidinstead.

  "The awkwardness was entirely mine," said her victim, fibbing politely,ignoring his aching instep, like the hero and squire of dames he was."It was unpardonable of me to dash along, with my head buried in 'TheRing and the Book,' though it really does swamp most heads. I cannotforgive myself for knocking you down."

  There was a merry twinkle in the big blue eyes looking out of thedecidedly handsome face, which was preternaturally grave, and, thistime, Phyllis did not try not to laugh.

  "Well, if you call that rushing!" she said, remembering her own pace,and how her victim had been sauntering as she steamed down on him. "Youare very good, and I am as grateful as I am mortified; I can't saymore."

  Having had enough of study for the day, and not desiring to loiter onthe scene of her discomfiture, Phyllis bowed, and passed out of thelibrary. Her victim gazed after her, thoughtfully. "She's a prettygirl, and a nice one, I'll bet golden guineas to brass buttons," hethought. "Knows Mrs. Dean! I'll consult Rick Dean; he may know who sheis." Rick Dean was Mrs. Dean's nephew. When Alan Armstrong, Phyllis'svictim, consulted him as to the possible identity of the girl who"caromed on him, and went into a pocket herself like mad," as hedescribed the disaster, in billiard terms, Rick laughed till his eyeswere moist. "By Jove, it's my aunt's little companion from New York,Miss Phyllis Wyndham," he said. "She's tremendously nice--pretty,thoroughbred, and all that. They lost their money about a year ago, andshe is earning her little living, while preparing to be a second GeorgeEliot, or something. She goes to the library every chance she gets. Idon't believe she thinks anything else here is worth wasting time on."

  "I haven't been to see your aunt for ages, Rick; don't you think thedear old lady must feel hurt, and want me?" blandly inquired Alan, witha broad wink.

  "I'll take you, but there's no use trying to know Miss Phyllis verywell; she's as friendly as pie, but she doesn't care a snap about one,"said Rick, with profound conviction.

  "About the wrong one! She'll welcome the acquaintance of a trulycharming fellow, with literary talents of his own," said Alan.

  "Literary talents! Newspaper reporting!" said Rick, scornfully. "Hangyour conceit, you bl
ue-eyed Christmas-card! But I'll take you to see myaunt whenever you like, and if Miss Phyllis doesn't knock the vanityout of you, then I'm mistaken."

  "She is good at knocking, I'm ready to admit that," said Alan, dodgingthe sofa pillow Rick aimed at him.

  Two evenings later Rick came dutifully to call on his aunt, and broughtwith him Alan, whose solemnity of expression was a study as he made hisbest bow to Phyllis Wyndham. "I'm thinking of studying law, ma'am,"he replied to Mrs. Dean's inquiry as to his future plans. "I want todefend my own suits when I am assaulted and battered, in case it shouldhappen."

  "No slurs, if you please," laughed Phyllis, seeing Mrs. Dean lookedpuzzled. "I told Mrs. Dean about my mishap in the library, and shethought it rather funny. Mrs. Dean, this is the young man I pelted withNew York history."

  "Is it possible! Why, he's Rick's dearest chum. I am glad you didnot destroy him," said Mrs. Dean.

  "We used to call Rick the 'Prince of Wales' at school, Miss Wyndham,because Rick Dean sounded so much like 'Ich dien.' That's a school-boyjoke that needs considering to appreciate. Have you seen much of Rick'ssisters?" asked Alan.

  "They come here occasionally," replied Mrs. Dean for her; "but MissPhyllis is such a busy little creature they haven't progressed far inintimacy. I want them to be much together this summer when we are atHingham."

  "Still clinging to the south shore, Mrs. Dean?" asked Alan. "Doesn'tthat little cold Boston, as Tom Appleton called Nahant, attract you?"

  "I shall always cling to dear old Hingham while I am able to getthere," replied Mrs. Dean. "I despise fashionable summer places. Youwould do well to visit us often this year, young man. I intend makingit pleasant for this little girl, and she is well worth knowing."

  "One of the most striking young ladies I ever had the pleasure ofmeeting," said Alan, with a deep bow; adding, as though he feared hewas impertinent in jesting on such short acquaintance: "Miss Wyndham'sthe sort of girl that needs no recommending; she's the good wine thatneeds no bush."

  It was a curiously open compliment, but the boyish sincerity with whichit was uttered deprived it of offense. Mrs. Dean looked pleased, andglanced at Rick as if to suggest that he was missing something. She wastoo good a woman not to love match-making, and she had hoped that herfavorite nephew and Phyllis might become something more than friends,for he had money enough for both, and Phyllis was going to be the womanof Proverbs whose price is above rubies. But so far Rick and Phylliswere not even friends; and Rick wondered to see his chum making speedyprogress into favor by the simple method of frank friendliness.

  The transference of Mrs. Dean's household, including Dundee, thecollie, and Phyllis, to Hingham, took place in June; and a pleasantlife, that made exile far easier than it had been in town, beganfor the "Stray Unit." Her duties as reader and amanuensis continuedregularly each morning; but the house was full of young people comingand going, and though no one could take Jessamy's and Bab's place, itwas natural for Phyllis to be happier for their companionship. Mrs.Dean's nieces were, on the whole, pleasant girls, and their friendsfrank and jolly. Only one or two looked askance at Phyllis as Mrs.Dean's companion and their social inferior; but they were obliged toveil their prejudices in deference to Mrs. Dean's affection and theboys' admiration for her.

  For quiet Phyllis, to her own unbounded surprise, was turning outrather a belle. Young men may be silly, and undoubtedly do not alwaysshow supreme wisdom in the sort of girls they select for temporaryamusement, but, as Rick remarked, they "generally know a good thingwhen they see it," and the girl who is lively, pretty, and bright, yetnever forgets for a moment her maidenly ideals, is sure to have plentyof admiration of a sort to be coveted.

  Phyllis was full of fun, obliging, and gay; yet in the frolic andfreedom of summer-time, when the best regulated families relax muchof their vigilance over their younger members, Rick and his comradesrealized that, to quote Alan's expressive figure of speech, "Phyllisstayed on her own side of her fence, though she posted no notices totrespassers."

  Driving parties to Nantasket, Cohasset, and along the beautiful"Jerusalem Road" made those afternoons lively which were not still morepleasantly spent on the yacht which the young Deans had brought downfor the summer. Phyllis had been taken to the sea from her earliestsummers, but it chanced that this one was the first in which shetasted the joys of sailing, and, as she wrote home, she "discoveredthat she had been born web-footed." There were long, beautiful days,in which Mrs. Dean excused her from all her duties, and a party of tento fifteen young folk would start off in the morning, with the youngerMrs. Dean for chaperon, and sail to some definite point, fish, maketheir chowder on board, and come back on the afternoon tide, burned,sticky, salted by the wind and spray, but happy as robins, and sleepywith a peculiarly delicious sleepiness that made cool linen sheetsinexpressibly refreshing.

  Phyllis was the kind of sailor that a skipper loves--never afraid,happiest when the boat was "on her ear" and the waves breaking over thedeck, but contented and cheerful in a calm, and not getting hystericalin thundershowers, and, above all, proof against seasickness, even inthe long "ground swell" and the broiling sun.

  One day, Rick and his sisters, three girls ranging from fifteen tonineteen, Alan Armstrong, Phyllis, Rick's mother, a young Scotchmannamed David Campbell, and two more of Rick's and Alan's college chums,with three girl friends of the Deans, started out on the _Saxon_ for aday's sailing. The plan was to sail down to the Lower Light, fish offthe Brewsters during the turn of the tide, make a chowder of the perchand small cod caught there, and return, with a favorable breeze, justlate enough to catch the young moon not yet ending its first quarter.

  David Campbell was a new element in the party, and one dreaded byall the rest. First of all, he was but just over from the "land ofbannocks," and his speech was not as intelligible as English speechmight be expected to be. Then he was lame, and there were many subjectsengrossing to gay young people, such as sports of all kinds, which mustbe avoided out of consideration for one debarred from them. And, aboveall, nobody had the faintest idea what he cared most about; which,added to his burry speech, made conversation formidable. But he hadbeen committed to the elder Mrs. Dean by an old friend who had beengood to her when she was in Scotland, and she had laid the strictestinjunctions on her kindred to honor to their utmost the draft made uponher.

  There was a strong, southwesterly breeze in starting out, and the_Saxon_ lay over in fine style, the waves curling around her bow, andoccasionally shipping over the fore deck in the way that always madePhyllis long to shout with Viking happiness.

  She begged the privilege of sitting up by the mast--the _Saxon_ was asloop--and Captain Rick gladly accorded it; for Phyllis grew so radiantwhen her blue flannel frock was soaked, and her cheeks got so red, andher hair so curly, that it was a pleasure to look on her. All the partychattered behind her back, but she paid no attention to them till,after a time, she noted that David's long-drawn "Aye" of assent to someproposition was growing less frequent, and she turned to see if thestranger were neglected. Yes, there he sat, rather apart from the rest,a look of loneliness in his blue eyes, gazing eastward.

  "This won't do," she thought, and heroically resigned her gloriousperch to come aft and brave the perils of a Scotch accent so differentin reality from reading Barrie, with the privilege of skipping.

  "I wish we were going to sail all the way over, don't you?" she asked,seating herself beside the stranger, and bringing with her at once anatmosphere of dampness and cordiality.

  "Aye," said David, somewhat startled, but smiling in spite of himselfinto the sweet face surrounded by its halo of curling wet hair.

  "I long for England and Scotland," continued artful Phyllis. "Ofcourse I want to see Italy and its art; but England and Scotland arehome. Long ago my father's family came from England, and a little morerecently my mother's ancestors came from Scotland."

  "It's fine," said David, cautiously.

  "I'm sure it is," cried Phyllis, with honest warmth. "My dearestfriends are Scotch
and English--in Scott and Thackeray, and our belovedbooks, you know. Are you a true Scot, and think Burns the greatest ofpoets?"

  "Burns is a great poet," said David, cannily.

  "If you are a Campbell I suppose you would throw me overboard if Iquoted 'The Bonnie House o' Airlie,' would you?" asked Phyllis.

  "The uprooted spray of heather," as Alan called him, looked surprisedand pleased; he even ventured into a question on his own part. "Howcomes it you have heard that tale over here?" he asked; only hepronounced "heard" as if it were "hard," as indeed it was to hiscompanion.

  "Oh, that's owing to Barrie," she said. "I might never have paid anyattention to the note to the ballad in my 'Border Ballads,' but Ilaughed till I cried at the story of the piper who went piping outof town in a fury because he was a Campbell and some one had sung'The Bonnie House o' Airlie' in his presence. Do you remember, in the'Little Minister'?"

  "Aye, Barrie is humorous," assented David, with an expression so atvariance with the word that Phyllis had to turn her head away to keepfrom laughing. Fearing he had seen her amusement, she hastily asked:"Would you like to be a writer? They say all Scotch--or Scotsmen, asyou would say--love learning. What are you to be?"

  "A merchant. My father sent me over here to get into a New York firm; Ihate it," said David. "I was to have gone into the army."

  "And have you given it up?" asked Phyllis, absent-mindedly, and couldhave bitten her tongue out the moment she had spoken, remembering hismisfortune.

  "Can a cripple enter the army?" demanded David, a dark-red colorrushing up under the freckles his recent sea-voyage had deposited onhis handsome face.

  "Oh, you are so little lame I quite forgot you might be disqualifiedto serve the queen--no, the king. How can you speak of yourselfas a cripple when you are so strong and vigorous?" said Phyllis,reproachfully; though the reproach was for herself.

  "Would you like to be a man who could do nothing but stand in acounting-house?" asked David.

  "I'd like to be a man with your breadth of shoulders and splendidvigor," said Phyllis. "Then, we Americans consider a successfulmerchant a very fortunate and honorable man."

  "Vera likely; but it's no the career for me," said David, getting moreScotch in the vehemence of his feelings. "Consider, if you were to falloverboard the day, I'd have to sit here, while some of these smartyoungsters went after you--I, who could swim with the best of them whenI was a lad."

  "But I promise not to fall overboard," said Phyllis, gently; "and if Idid, and you were disqualified from fishing me out, would that proveyou unmanly? Surely there is more need of saving people on dry land, soto speak; it's the other sort of strength, not physical strength, thatis most needed. Any one would turn to you for help if she had fallenoverboard, in a figurative, not literal sense; there is something soreliable in all of you Scotch. You're a wee bit strange to us all atfirst, but you will like us when you know us; and if I were you, Ishould forget the trifling misfortune to your foot--it is such a verylittle thing. Try to be at home; we Americans are rather kindly, 'not abad sort,' as your English neighbors would say."

  David Campbell looked into Phyllis's smiling eyes, honest and clear asone of his Highland lakes; her sympathy, unspoken, had penetrated hisScotch reserve finding him lonely, and he had spoken to her as he wouldnot have spoken to his own sister. Now gratitude, and a kindling sensethat she had uttered the truth, and that fine opportunities for hisstrong brain and will were left him, lame though he was, sent a thrillover him, and made his voice vibrate as he said: "One of them is.You've been kind enough; you're not like our notions of the recklessAmerican girl. I am certain to like you--Americans." There was a touchof roguery in his tiny pause. "And if ever you want a friend, and I canbe of use to you, on dry land, as you say, count on David Campbell, andyou will find one Scotsman reliable, I'm hoping."

  "Thank you, I will remember, and I'm sure I shall," said Phyllis,heartily; and they shook hands on the bargain.

  "That was fine of you, Miss Phyllis," said Alan Armstrong that night,as the _Saxon_ crept up the bay, sails free of the light easterlybreeze, and the young moon shedding a short track on the ocean. "Youwere mighty good to our friend from the Tweed-side. I couldn't helphearing what you said to him; I was surprised that he spoke out thatway, but it was lucky he did, for he must have been feeling lonely tohave done it, and probably thought we were guying him. You handled himlike an angel, and hasn't he been different ever since? Only look athim now!"

  Sure enough, David was chatting with Rick and Annie Dean, giving thembits of Scottish lore and Scottish songs, not minding that they did notalways understand the speech, which was correct English in form, butvery much like the New England country roads with the raised placesacross them at intervals, which the natives call "thank-you-marms," andwhich are so very bumpy that smooth driving is impossible.

  "Yes, he has decided to trust us, hasn't he?" said Phyllis. "He is afine fellow, and I am glad he is beginning to feel at home. It must bedreadful to get among a lot of hard-hearted young folks, who see onlythe funny side of a new-comer's peculiarities."

  "Do you know, you smooth out all the wrinkles where-ever you go?" askedAlan. "The Heather is not the only blossom that would be proud to beworn as a friend in your buttonhole."

  "And it shall not be the only blossom I gladly claim," smiled Phyllis."The 'Stray Unit,' as they call me at home, is in a fair way to bespoiled, and you are all making her a happy unit, in spite of herlonging to see the nicest family a girl ever had."

  "I bet anything you like they are all ciphers by comparison," saidAlan, with profound conviction; "and that you were the unit that madethem a numeral."

  Phyllis laughed, and shook her head. "Wait till I go home, and you allcome to see me," she said. "Barbara is the brightest, most attractive,dear little scamp you ever knew; and Jessamy--Jessamy is too beautifulto be real, and all pure gold. If you knew them, you would see who wasthe cipher, if ciphers there are."

  The _Saxon_ made her mooring in Hingham harbor rather later than usual,for the breeze was very light; but no day on the yacht was ever toolong for Phyllis.

  David Campbell took a pair of oars, and he and Rick raced to the wharfthe two small boats in which the _Saxon's_ passengers were landed.Phyllis was glad that the big young Scotsman's strong arms out-pulledslender Rick, with his university training, and that David won therace. It had been a beautiful day, and the little "Stray Unit" wenthappily to bed, glad in her own pleasure, glad at having made anotherhappy. But she did not know that her sympathy and tactful kindness hadwon her a friend who was to be a gain to her entire life.