Chapter Second.
"The mother, in her office, holds the key Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin Of character, and makes the being who would be a savage, But for her gentle cares, a Christian man." --OLD PLAY.
THE striking of the town clock, the ringing of bells, the blowing ofwhistles and "the schoolboy's glad shout" announced the noontide hour.
A sound of coming footsteps, of gay, young voices, an opening of doors,letting in fresh breezes from without, and with them two bright,blooming, merry little girls and a lad between them and Mildred in age,in whose great black eyes lurked a world of fun and mischief.
"Softly, softly, children!" the mother said looking up with a smile asthey came dancing and prancing in. "Rupert, are you not old enough tobegin to act in a rather more gentlemanly way?"
"Yes, mother, I beg your pardon. Yours too, Aunt Wealthy, I didn't knowtill this moment that you were here."
"Mother, he's always teasing," complained the younger of the girls, "hesays we'll have to live in wigwams like the Indians and perhaps grow tobe as black and ugly as they are."
"But they're not black, Ada," exclaimed the other, "my g'ography calls'em red men."
"Well, that's 'most worse, I'd as lief be black as red."
"If you're careful to wear your sunbonnets when you go out, you won'tgrow to be either," remarked Mildred, while Mrs. Keith said with a lookof mild reproof,
"Rupert, my son, was it quite truthful to tell your sisters suchthings?"
"I was only making fun," he answered, trying to turn it off with alaugh, but blushing as he spoke.
"Innocent fun I never object to, but sport is too dearly bought at thesacrifice of truth.
"My boy," she added with energy, "one should go to the stake rather thantell a falsehood; though it were no more than to say that two and two donot make four."
"Mother, I believe you would!" he said, gazing with loving admirationinto her earnest face. "I've never known you to swerve a hair's breadthfrom the truth in any way," and coming close to her side and speakingalmost in a whisper, "I mean to try to be worthy of you in the future."
She looked at him with glistening eyes, and dropping her work took hishands in hers for a moment.
The others were not listening; Zillah and Ada had caught sight of thenew dresses, were admiring them and asking eager questions of their auntand sister.
"My boy," Mrs. Keith said in moved tones, "I would rather be the motherof a poor hard working man of whom it could be said that he had alwaysbeen perfectly honest and true, than of one who had amassed his millionsand attained to the highest worldly honors by fraud or questionabledeeds or words. Remember that all your life."
"Mother, I will; I have my father's example to help me as well asyours," the lad replied with a proud glance at the noble, kindly,intellectual face of a gentleman who came in at that instant with Fan inhis arms and the two little boys gamboling about him.
"Ah, Aunt Wealthy, good morning!" he said in a cheery tone, sitting downbeside her, putting Fan on one knee, and lifting the babe, who waslaughing and crowing with delight at sight of him, to the other. "Isuppose you have heard the news?"
"That you are going to Indiana, Stuart! Yes. You are not contented tolet well enough alone?"
"Can't consider it well enough to be barely making the two ends meetwhile a growing family must be constantly increasing my expenses."
"How is this removal to help you? It will cost a good deal."
"'Nothing venture, nothing have.' I'm going to a new country where landis cheap. I shall invest something in that and hope to see it increaselargely in value as the town grows.
"Then lawyers are not so plenty there but that some more will be neededas people move in, and I hope by being on the spot in good season, tosecure extensive practice.
"It will cost the sundering of some very tender ties," he continued, hisface growing grave almost to sadness, "but we are willing to bear thatfor our children's sake. Is it not so; wife?" and he turned to her witha smile that spoke volumes of love and confidence.
"Yes indeed, Stuart," she answered with cheerful heartiness. "Ishouldn't have hesitated for a moment if I had been quite sure it wouldbe the best thing for them; but, as you know, I'm afraid we can not givethem as good an education there as we might here. However we have nowdecided to go, and I can only hope for the best.
"And do you know," she went on with a smile directed to the corner whereMiss Stanhope sat, "that since you left us this morning something hashappened that takes away more than half the pain of the thought ofleaving Lansdale?"
"No; what may that be?"
"Oh, I know!" shouted Cyril, turning a somersault on the carpet. "AuntWealthy's goin' along! Aunt Wealthy's goin' along!"
And then such raptures of delight as were indulged in by those who hadnot heard the news before!
These were interrupted by a summons to the dinner-table; but when theblessing had been asked and the plates filled, the talk went on again,though in a somewhat more subdued fashion.
"Is there absolutely no danger from the Indians, Stuart?" asked MissStanhope.
"None whatever; most of the tribes have been removed to the far west;all but one, I think, and that will probably be taken soon."
"What tribe is it? the Wottapottamies?"
"Pottawottamies; yes."
"Father, will we have to live in wigwams and dress in skins?" asked Ada,anxiously.
"No; we'll have a house; if it is only a log-cabin, and we'll carryplenty of clothes along."
"P'raps dey might det losted on the way," suggested Fan.
"Well, pussy, I think we'll find some stores out there; and ifeverything else fails we can always fall back on deerskins."
Lansdale was but a small town; everybody in it knew the Keiths or knewof them, and by the next day after their removal had been decided upon,everybody knew that.
Many regrets were expressed and there were some offers of assistancewith their preparations; but these were declined with thanks: "with AuntWealthy's good help, and that of the seamstress already engaged," Mrs.Keith said "she and Mildred would be able to do all that was necessary."
They were very busy cutting, fitting and sewing, day after day, frommorning to night with occasional interruptions from the little ones whowere too young to go to school but old enough to roam over house andgrounds; and being adventurous spirits, full of life and energy, wereconstantly getting into mischief, thus furnishing, gratis, a change ofworks to mother and eldest sister, who, spite of a hearty affection forthe young rogues, was often sorely tried by their pranks.
"Have you any cord, Mrs. Keith?" asked the seamstress, one morning.
"Yes," turning to her work-basket. "Why, what has become of it? I hadtwo or three pieces here. And that paper of needles has disappeared!Mildred did you--"
"The children were here half an hour ago, mother, and I remember seeingDonald peeping into your basket."
"Run out and see what they have done with them."
Going into the hall, Mildred stood a moment listening for some sound totell her where the children were. Little voices were prattling in thegarden near at hand. Stepping to the door she saw the two boys seated onthe grass busied with a kite Rupert had made for them.
"What are you doing?" she asked, going nearer.
"Makin' a longer tail."
"Where did you get that piece of string?"
No answer; only a guilty look on the two chubby faces.
"Oh, I know! it's some cord you took from mother's work-basket. And nowit's wanted; but you've spoilt it entirely; why did you cut and knot itso?"
"Why," said Cyril, "you see Don was my crazy man and I had to tie him;and then I had to cut the string to get it off, 'cause I couldn't untiethe knots."
"Oh, you mischievous fellows. Another time don't you take things withoutleave. Did you take a paper of needles too?"
"No, we didn't; maybe Fan did."
Mildred went
in search of Fan, and found her digging and planting in herlittle garden, the empty needle paper lying near.
"Fan," said Mildred, picking it up, "What have you done with the needlesthat were in this?"
"Sowed 'em in dis bed; and when dey drows up we'll have lots an' lotsfor mother an' you."
"You silly, provoking little puss! needles don't grow. Show me where youput them."
"Tan't dey's all round and round in de gwond."
Mildred took up a bit of stick and poked about in the fresh earth for aminute or two, then remarking to herself that it was as bootless ashunting in a haystack, went into the house with the report of thehapless fate of the missing articles.
The boys were there before her, penitently exhibiting the ruined cordand promising to do so no more.
"We didn't fink, mother," pleaded Don, looking up in her face with sucha droll mixture of fun and entreaty in his roguish blue eyes, that shecould not refrain from giving him a kiss and a smile as she answered,"Ah, my boys must learn to think and not take mother's things withoutleave. Now run away to your plays and try to be good children."
"Mother, I do think you're a little too easy with them," Mildred said ina slightly vexed tone.
"Perhaps; but if I make a mistake, is it not far better to do so on theside of mercy than of severity?"
"I suppose so; I shouldn't like to see them whipped."
Then laughingly she told the story of Fan's doings, and as needles andcord must be replaced, put on her bonnet and sallied forth upon theerrand.
Mildred as one of the prettiest, most accomplished, graceful, andfascinating young ladies of the place, and belonging to one of the firstfamilies, was a good deal admired, and never lacked attention at aparty, picnic or any sort of gathering of the young people of the town.
As she left the store where she had made her purchases, Spencer Hallcrossed the street and joined her.
He was the only son of the wealthiest man in the place and, because ofhis great expectations, looked upon by most of the young girls and theirmammas as a desirable match.
Mildred, however, was of a different opinion, knowing him to be idle,purse-proud, vain and conceited.
She therefore returned his greeting rather coldly; heartily wishing thathe had not happened to see her, or that something would occur to rid herat once of his undesirable company.
Greatly amazed would the young exquisite have been could he have readher thoughts; for he had no doubt that she felt highly gratified andhonored by his notice. Was he not arrayed in broadcloth suit, silk hatand immaculate kids, while she wore calico, cotton gloves and thesimplest of straw bonnets? And could not his father buy hers out tentimes over?
His manner was gracious and patronizing as he remarked--sauntering alongby her side, "Why, Miss Mildred, can it be true that you are going toleave us? I don't see what Lansdale will do without you."
"It is quite true that we are going, Mr. Hall," she answered, with aslight curl of the lip; "and I suppose my father and mother will bemissed; but I can not think that my loss will in any way affect theprosperity of the town or the happiness of the people."
"Some people's it certainly will," he said, with increased graciousness,exerting himself slightly to keep pace with her, as she quickened hersteps to a very rapid walk. "We don't want to lose you; might it not bepossible to persuade you to remain among us?"
"Certainly not; unless my parents should change their plans and decideto stay. Of which there is not the least probability."
"Do you know that you are walking very fast, Miss Mildred?" he said,laughing. "Do let us slacken our pace a little, for who knows when wemay have the pleasure of walking together again."
"You must excuse me; I am in great haste. But there is not the slightestnecessity for your exerting yourself to keep pace with me. It is broaddaylight and I know the way."
"Now don't be sarcastic, my dear young lady. I'd be willing at any timeto make a far greater exertion for the pleasure of your society; but ifwe move so rapidly it will shorten our interview considerably."
"I have already explained that I am in haste; there is much to be donein the few weeks before we leave," the girl answered coldly, pressing onwith accelerated speed.
"Haven't time even for a word with an old friend, eh? Then good-morning,Miss Keith," and turning about in disgust, he sauntered leisurely alongin another direction while she sped on her way as before.
"Is it possible! what does the girl mean!" he ejaculated the nextminute, as on turning his head to look after her, he perceived thatMildred had actually stopped upon the sidewalk--stopped to speak to amutual acquaintance, a lad a year or two younger than himself, who wasworking his own way in the world, getting an education by the hardestand helping a widowed, invalid mother.
For Frank Osborne Mildred had the highest respect, though she lookedupon him as a mere boy and was wholly unconscious that to him she wasthe embodiment of every virtue and grace; that her words, looks andsmiles were treasured up in his very heart of hearts; nor did she dreamhow unhesitatingly he would have laid down his life to save hers had itbeen in danger. It was only a boy's passion, but it was deep and strong.
The news of the intended removal of the Keiths to what, in those days,seemed a far distant region, had been a great shock to him; but with thehopefulness of youth he consoled himself with the resolve to follow andseek her out--when in the course of years he should earn fame andfortune--though she should be carried to the ends of the earth.
His eye brightened and his cheek flushed, as on turning a corner, hecame suddenly upon her in her rapid walk, and she stopped and held outher hand in friendly greeting.
He took it almost reverentially.
"How d'ye do, Frank? and how is your mother to-day?" she was saying, herbright eyes looking straight into his.
"Better, thank you, Miss Mildred. And you are well? and oh, can it betrue that you are all going so far away?" he asked with a wistful,longing look.
"Yes; to the land of the Hoosiers, wild Indians and wolves," she saidgayly. "Don't you envy me?"
"I envy those that go with you," he answered, sighing. "You won't forgetold friends, Miss Mildred?"
"No; no, indeed, Frank," she said, heartily. "But good-bye. I must hurryhome," and with a nod and smile she tripped away; to the satisfaction ofHall who had jealously watched the whole interview.
He was glad it had been no longer, though he could not avoid theunpleasant consciousness that more favor had been shown to "that pauper"than to himself, the prospective heir to a comfortable fortune.
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