 CHAPTER XIX Now began for Rebecca Meredith an effort to find her place in her old home, or to make a new place for herself. In truth this last expression is the one which fitted, for Rebecca was not the young woman who had gone away with her heart sore against the newcomer. It took but a few days for Mrs. Meredith to discover the change in her step-daughter, but she marveled over it. What could have come into the girl's life to give her that settled air of peace? Rebecca was in some respects fully as reserved as she had always been. Not even to her father did she consider it necessary to make elaborate explanations. Mr. McKenzie, man of means though he evidently was, had for some reason been induced to receive borders, or at least a border into his family. This was all they knew. Husband and wife speculated over it occasionally. Perhaps she was a particular friend of the dead wife, Mrs. Meredith said. She seems very fond of her. Yesterday when she was speaking about her the tears filled her eyes. Then she is extravagantly fond of Lillian. I suppose the dear little thing reminds her of I. Lee. As the weeks went by it became increasingly apparent to Rebecca that she had made her own discomforts at home, and made them out of very slight material. Mrs. Meredith, being through clear and unprejudiced eyes, proved herself to be a warm-hearted, well-intentioned woman, one who had married her husband for love, and who had a vivid sense of her responsibility as a stepmother, and an earnest determination to do her duty. The kindly way in which she received Lillian to her heart, and the unselfish manner in which she planned for her, gave proof of what she would have done for I. Lee had the older sister given her a chance. I was unjust to her, Rebecca told herself, as she went over the past one evening carefully. I was to blame. The position was hard for her, too. I ought to have thought of that. I never did once. I thought only for myself. She loves my father, and has been his helper and caretaker during the time when his daughter deserted him. And she has received me back, as though I gave her, when I was here before, all the courtesy and attention which her position demanded. It is humiliating to have to own it, but I believe I was altogether to blame. Shall I tell her so? Or will it be better to ignore the past and show her by my daily life that she has her rightful place now? Let me think. The result of the thinking was that she determined to act as though there had been no past which needed writing. It is not as though I could put my hand on any word or act of mine to say to her that was wrong, said Rebecca, to that safe confidant herself. In such a case I should know what ought to be done. But it was the atmosphere in which I wrapped myself that was to blame, and some way one cannot apologize for an atmosphere at least until we are on more intimate terms. There may come a time when I shall want to say to her, I think I was insufferable during those first years of your coming to us, not in any special way but on general principles. But at present, if I were in her place, I think I should want me to keep still. So she kept still so far as any past experiences were concerned. But what an utterly changed atmosphere there was. Dr. Meredith, preoccupied man that he was, felt rather than noticed the change. Much as he had longed to see his only daughter, there had been times when he had thought of her coming with foreboding, remembering how uncomfortable some of the hours had been before she went away. But during these days his face beamed continually with satisfaction. It was one evening, just after Rebecca had intercepted Mrs. Meredith with her arms full of fresh linen to be laid away in the china closet with the words, Let me do that for you, mother, that Dr. Meredith spoke his thoughts. How did we ever get on without you, daughter? We cannot let her go away again, can we, mother? Mrs. Meredith smiled and resigned her pile of napkins. We must contrive some plan for imprisoning both her and Sunny, she said. I am sure I don't know what we would do without them. Sunny was the pet name which both Dr. Meredith and his wife had adopted for Lillian, and it fitted her well. Mercifully for her the baby was too young to have the shadow which had so early shadowed her life make a present deep impression, and no bird once imprisoned was ever more free and glad than she was in being emancipated from her city home, and allowed to roam over the large garden, or even go out of the gate and walk down to the corner all by herself, as she dictated to her father, only Rebbe stood at the gate and watched. Those letters to her father were a daily satisfaction to the little girl. Rebecca, under promise to write by every steamer, had planned that the child should send all the messages she acting merely as scribe, so the afternoon hour which had always been given to Papa was sacred to him still, and not even an invitation to ride to the stable with Dr. Meredith was sufficient to win the faithful baby from the talk with Papa. As for the letters which came to her from across the ocean, they grew more interesting each week. They came always addressed to Miss Lillian Mackenzie, and an evident effort was made to suit the language to her capacity. But the fact remained that very much of the detail, though beyond her grasp, was of absorbing interest to the Meredith household. It grew to be the expected entertainment over the doctor's evening cup of tea to have bits read to him from the European letters. "'It is almost as good as going abroad one's self,' Mrs. Meredith said one evening, where a particularly graphic account of a day's experience had been given. "'But it is really pitiful to see that baby try to understand it all. What a wise look she puts on when they are being read, and she sits as still as a mouse to the very end. I think she is a remarkable child.' "'They are quite a success as children's letters,' said the doctor. "'It surprises me to see how much there is that she can understand. But Mackenzie evidently has in mind the interests of the older children while he writes. He was always thoughtful for others, even when a mere boy. I remember him very well. He was sure to have something of interest to tell father and mother after a day's pleasuring. The rest of the scapegraces never thought of it, but Mackenzie would say, "'Boys, your father will like to hear about that, won't he?' Or, I think your mother would like some of these wild flowers. It seems remarkable that Rebecca, in that great city, should have come in contact with a friend of my boyhood. Oh, he is a dozen years younger than I, but my brother Burt was very fond of him, and we all liked him. Was it on the score of old acquaintance that he took you to board? I wonder you never mentioned the matter in your letters.' "'No, sir,' said Rebecca, with heightened color. I did not know of the old acquaintance until a short time before I came home. It had nothing to do with my being in his family.' Then she somewhat hurriedly turned the conversation. She did not feel ready yet to tell her father that she was in Mr. Mackenzie's house in the capacity of nurse for Lillian. She was not ashamed of it, but her father might be annoyed. She could not be sure whether he would honor her for her independence or feel that she had done a foolish thing. There is no denying that Rebecca liked independence, pleasant as it was to be at home, and it grew daily more so. There was a sense of deep satisfaction in the fact that the ample price which Mr. Mackenzie paid was entirely sufficient to cover the board of two, and that while she was enjoying the privileges of a daughter at home, she was at the same time earning her living. Coupled with this satisfaction, as the days passed, was an uneasy feeling that such a state of things could not last. The summer was speeding away. In the early autumn Mr. Mackenzie would return, and Lillian would be summoned home. Then what would become of her? If she went back to his house in the position which she had occupied before, her father must, of course, fully understand the situation. Of course she could go even though he disapproved, for she remembered, with a shade of sadness, that her youth was gone, and that most people would probably commend her for insisting upon an independent course of life, since it was evident that however much her father might enjoy her company, he was in no real need of her. But did she want to return to the Mackenzie household as a child's nurse? It was all very well for her to accept the situation in the first place, and she should always be glad that she had done so. But did it not behoove her to spend her time in trying to fit herself for some position which she could wisely fill, and she should be considered too old for a nurse-girl? Had she any right to usurp such a place, and thereby stand in the way of some faithful girl, when she was entirely able to earn her living in other ways? Her thoughts went back to Madame's sewing-room, and to the stuffy-room on the fourth floor back in that respectable boarding-house, and she shivered. Could she go back to such a life? But that was not necessary, if her father and mother would not object, she might sew with Mrs. Draper in their own town, learning from her all the necessary points which would make her independent. She winced a little at the thought. Her father, although a poor physician, was a leading man in the town, and she had been accustomed all her life to being looked up to as a leader. How would it seem to become a sewing-woman at Mrs. Draper's, and in the course of time, to serve those ladies who now received with pleasure her formal calls? But what would those same ladies think if they knew that she was now, and had been for some time, a nurse-girl receiving monthly wages? She could not help laughing over the thought of their horror. So kind of you to give your time to the motherless little one. They were in the habit of murmuring to her while they caressed Lillian. Finally, she dismissed the whole subject as much as possible from her thoughts. Her present duty was plain. She would wait until she could see the next step. But when it became probable that each next letter would set the date for Mr. Mackenzie's return, Mrs. Meredith could not keep her thoughts nor her words from the subject. What will the little darling do without you? She exclaimed, rather than asked, one day, just as the little one had whisked away from them to meet Dr. Meredith at the door. It gives me the heartache to think of it, both for her and for ourselves. What will her father do with her in a house full of servants? It does not seem as though she ought to be left in that way. What a pity he hasn't a dear auntie or a niece or someone of his own flesh and blood. Do you know at all what his plans are? Rebecca replied briefly that she did not. She supposed, of course, he would arrange to have Lillian with him, for he was devoted to her. Probably the housekeeper would have the general charge of her, for the rest she did not know. For the rest she will have some worthless nurse-girl, said Mrs. Meredith gloomily. Isn't it a pity? Do you never think, Rebecca, that possibly, if you should offer to do so, he would be glad to have you keep her right here with us all for the winter? If, as you say, he is devoted to her, he will study her best interests, and I am sure he must know that it will not be well for her to be under the care of hirelings. Rebecca smiled. She was herself a hireling, and Mr. McKenzie had entrusted his treasure to her and been glad to do so. But she did not explain this. She merely said that she had almost no hope of the Fathers doing any such thing. She did not believe he would feel that he could get through the winter without Lillian. It had been very hard for him to go abroad on her account. He gave more care and thought to his little child than most Fathers did. The mother, having been an invalid for so long, had made him try to supply the place of both father and mother. Further than that, she kept her own counsel, and Mrs. Meredith and her husband puzzled over the future without her. It was well for Rebecca that she had learned where to carry her anxieties. She prayed much about Lillian's future. Her own did not seem to be important enough to trouble her greatly. But it was of infinite importance that the little one should fall into the right hands. It was blessed to remember that the Lord Jesus knew just whose hands to provide for her. Sometimes this rested Rebecca utterly. At other times she felt as though no hands but her own could have to do with her darling. Late in September, when the foreign mail was watched for with an interest which amounted to nervousness, came a letter which overturned all their attempts at planning. Mr. McKenzie wrote this time to Rebecca. Not that the envelope was addressed to her, it was Mrs. Lillian McKenzie as usual, and the child had her portion. But there was a separate sheet for Rebecca in which the writer detailed their possible plans. His son, though steadily gaining, was far from strong. His mother's death had been a terrible shock to his nervous system, the news coming to him as it did when he was weak from disease and when he was hourly hoping to have her beside him. An eminent physician had been consulted, who gave it as his opinion that for the young man to drop all thought of study for a year and travel abroad would be the simplest and surest way of putting his health upon an assured basis for the future. The father considered him too young to be left in a strange land alone, and there were no friends abroad at present with whom he cared to stay. Moreover, Mr. McKenzie's business partners were writing him that since he was over there it seemed to them it would be well for him to attend to the interests of the firm abroad rather than to send someone else to do so as had been planned. All things considered he had determined to lay the case before Rebecca and let her decision fix theirs. If she was willing to assume the care of Lillian for the winter, and until such time in the spring or early summer as he could come for her, he would spend the winter abroad and travel with his son at the same time giving careful attention to the foreign interests of the firm. If, for any reason, she was unwilling or unable to assume further responsibility in regard to Lillian, he would make arrangements for an immediate return as he would under no circumstances consent to leave her with any other person. If Rebecca's father and mother could and would receive his little daughter as a border for the winter under the management of herself he would see his way plain. There followed certain money arrangements suggested in case she could fall in with his plans, which were even more liberal than the present basis. Rebecca, with her cheeks aglow with pleasure, carried the letter at once to the family's sitting-room, calling out to Mrs. Meredith, who was leaving the room by another door as she entered, oh mother, wait, here is news which you will like. She was too preoccupied to note the look of satisfaction on her father's face the while. It was a great comfort to him to hear his daughter address her stepmother in that tone. He paced the floor thoughtfully after hearing the letter, while the two ladies were expressing their entire satisfaction, even delight over its contents. Presently he made known the cause of his disturbance. He did not feel that to receive such an exorbitant sum for Lillian's board was either honest or comfortable. There was more excuse for it perhaps as a temporary arrangement during the summer months, but to accept such terms for an entire year was not in accordance with his ideas of propriety. Rebecca would better write, explaining this carefully, and naming a sum which would be entirely sufficient to cover all expense, which instruction Rebecca obeyed. Mr. Mackenzie's reply was sent to her father, a genial letter such as one friend might write to another. As regards the money obligation between us, he wrote, I am well aware that I am receiving in your home that for which money cannot pay, and yet I trust you will allow me by it to express so far as money can, my sense of obligation. Let me say just here that what your daughter has been to my child and to the child's mother I can never express in words, and I do not have the slightest idea of trying to make payment for the same, but I have money good friend and it pleases me to use some of it for this purpose. Perhaps you will allow me to express in this way my gratitude to the memory of your father and mother, who opened their home to a motherless boy, and made him feel for a few days as one of them. I have never forgotten their kindness. May I hope to number their son among my friends? He knows how to write letters, said Dr. Meredith, after an interval of silence, and he evidently has a high opinion of you, Rebecca. Then he gave the letter to her to read. In her own note of directions concerning Lillian was a blank check with instructions to fill it out for whatever some the child might need in addition to what had been already sent. There followed an autumn and winter upon which Rebecca afterwards looked back as one of delightful memory. There were very few clouds to mar its brightness. Lillian was well and as happy as a bird, and grew beautiful as the weeks passed. To the doctor and Mrs. Meredith she was a source of unfailing delight. Indeed, the doctor, who had been careful sometimes almost to sternness with his own children, was so nearly inclined to spoil this one that Rebecca had to be on the watch. As for Mrs. Meredith, now that she could be seen with unprejudiced eyes, Rebecca frankly admitted to herself that her stepmother was an unusually wise and judicious woman, especially as regarded children. Sometimes the elder sister sighed over the thought of Ailee and of what her own selfish love had deprived the child. They had long, pleasant talks she and her mother during these days. They consulted in regard to all matters concerning Lillian not only, but as the seas and wane grew more and more intimate until it became natural to Rebecca to see what mother thought about a thing before she decided it. This she found to be good for her in more ways than one. She discovered, though somewhat late in life, that it is possible for even sensible and well-trained girls to be too self-reliant and independent, that it is both natural and wise to lean a little on those who are older and worth leaning upon. Also it was good for her religious life. Some way it was a surprise to discover that her stepmother was something more than a church member, was a humble, consistent, everyday Christian. It was Mrs. Meredith who sought a confidence in this direction. I did not know you as a Christian, Rebecca, she said one day, when some subject had come up for discussion about which the girl had expressed herself warmly. I think I did you injustice. Rebecca's face flushed. Before I left home, do you mean? No, you could not have done me injustice. I was one of those that the Bible describes, I had a name to live and was dead. I think myself that I was not a Christian at all, only a church member. I know religion was not to me what it is now, and I think I believed that all, or at least most professing Christians, had no more than I had myself. I made a mistake, said Mrs. Meredith thoughtfully. I have made a great many such mistakes, I believe. I was brought up with a morbid fear of repelling people by mentioning religious things to them, and I had a fear of driving you farther from me if I attempted to be frank about such matters. But I am growing into the belief that harm is oftener done by silence than by speech. Why is it not perfectly natural for us to show our keen and constant interest in that which is of the utmost importance, not only to ourselves but to all others? Rebecca had no answer ready. She was wondering whether, had Mrs. Meredith tried to win her confidence in those days, she would have accomplished it. What if she had tried to show her Christ as he was revealed to her now? What if she had succeeded? Would the story of her life have been utterly different? Would she then not have gone away from home? In that case, she would not have known Mrs. McKenzie and would have had no Lillian. Oh! Was it all mapped out for her the way which was really the best for her feet to take? Had the Father in Heaven wanted for her just the experience she had had? If so, why? What was she to be and do in the future because of this training? The queries were so bewildering that she turned from them, she must let the future alone, if she were to stay on at home with her father and mother, and do with and for them what she could, and if other hands than hers were to train and care for Lillian, why she must learn that he was planning this also? But at least she need not look forward, present duty was plain enough. Meantime, there was very pleasant work connected with Lillian. Those letters which were daily dictated to the absent Father grew to be as much a part of their life as were any of their regular occupations. Rebecca realized that it was certainly her duty to keep alive in the heart of so young a child, vivid memories of her father, and she strove faithfully to do so with abundant success. The word Papa was as frequently on the little girl's lips as though she had parted from him but that morning. She praddled continually of the things which she would do and say when Papa came home. Of her own pretty little will she had elected to call Dr. and Mrs. Meredith Grandpa and Grandma. Rebecca had struggled with this and tried to teach the child differently, but Lillian, who had a mind of her own and who had heard the names Grandpa and Grandma constantly on the lips of a little next door neighbor, had persisted in claiming grandparents for herself, greatly to the amusement of Dr. Meredith, who wrote to his son Hervey in India that a beautiful little grandchild had at last adopted him. Finally, Rebecca, true to her frank nature, had reported to the Father Lillian's freak and asked for orders from headquarters. He had promptly responded that if it was not disagreeable to Dr. and Mrs. Meredith, he hoped they would indulge the child. She had no grandparents of her own and if she could borrow some for the present no harm could be done. She would learn all too soon probably that death had bereft her of many ties which rightly belonged to others. So Grandma and Dr. Grandpa were names rung through the house in the sweetest of voices and the words were often on her lips when she was dictating her letters. But here Rebecca drew the line. The child might use the names if she would, but her scribe would not write them. She said nothing of this to Lillian, but resorted to many ingenious devices to make her sentences sound natural and childlike without them. There was ever increasing pleasure, not only, but profit as well, to be derived from the replies to these letters which never failed to come. Gradually Mr. McKenzie ceased to write all his items in the name of his little daughter, but after giving her a generous portion he would commence a fresh sheet with Dear Friends which Rebecca judged meant the household, so the letters were enjoyed together and rare letters they were. All too rapidly, for some of the parties concerned, that winter sped away. Looking back upon it, one experience only stood out disagreeably. Rebecca's old acquaintance, Mr. Fred Pearson, took up his residence for apparently an indefinite period in the town, and made persistent and painstaking efforts to establish himself in the Meredith household on the old footing. Dr. Meredith received his advances with due cordiality. In the old days he had been mildly surprised to discover that Mr. Pearson did not in the course of events become his son-in-law, but his daughter seemed not to share that surprise, and he concluded that he had been mistaken and gave it no more thought. Now, as he noted the man's evident effort at friendship, his mind reverted to the old days, and he wondered if some youthful misunderstanding had separated the two, and if the long ago expected was now about to be. The thought was not unpleasant to him. Mr. Pearson was of good family and was a man of means. Moreover, he was a very genial man, and from Dr. Meredith's point of view was the soul of uprightness. If Rebecca was willing to receive his advances, she would meet with no opposition from her father. But it very soon became apparent, even to his preoccupied mind, that Rebecca was not willing. On the contrary, she avoided Mr. Pearson at every turn, and so skillfully did she manage to be invisible during his visits, even after studious planning on his part to take her unawares, that at last, in sheer despair, he made a partial confidant of her father. One morning Dr. Meredith, instead of rushing away the moment his office hours were over, came upstairs to Rebecca's room to ask if she could leave Lillian with her mother and give him a few minutes in the office. Then he came directly to the point. Mr. Pearson had formally asked his permission to win his daughter if he could. He had also confessed to him that years ago there had happened that which had offended, or at least grieved Rebecca, to the degree that now she would not forgive him sufficiently to allow him opportunity to explain the past, which he felt sure he could do if she would but listen. In short, he had secured Dr. Meredith as an ally, and had pled his cause with him so successfully that the father was moved to ask if Rebecca was sure she was doing right to let a boy and girl quarrel stand in the way of the love of a true man. Then Rebecca thought the time had come for plain speaking. She went back to her girlhood and let her father have a glimpse of those weary days which this man who was talking about a misunderstanding had brought upon her. She told him of the interview held in Mr. Mackenzie's parlour and of the detailed explanation in writing with which Mr. Pearson had insulted her, and the father's righteous soul was filled with indignation over it all. I wish I had known it before. He said, speaking with a sort of wistful tenderness, there are some things which I would have understood much better, daughter, if I had known what you had to bear. Of course, you cannot respect the man. I wonder at his lack of sense. What strange friendships his must have been. Do not be troubled about it, Rebecca. I will see to it that he does not intrude upon you again. If I had only understood, I might have made it quite plain, instead of wasting sympathy on him. And Rebecca went away from the interview, feeling that, added to the long list of her mistakes, was this one, that she had not been on more confidential terms with her good father. However Dr. Meredith worded his message, it seemed to be effectual. Very soon thereafter, Mr. Pearson left town, and Rebecca heard no more of him. But the memory of his persistent efforts to renew the old friendship was the one ugly spot in that bright winter. It sped away, and the lovely June days were upon them before the foreign letters began to speak of definite dates for the homeward journey. Carol was now quite restored to health, and eager to get back to his own land. Business, however, would hold the father for a few days yet, possibly for a few weeks. But sometime in July, or certainly early in August, they hoped to sail for home. Over this letter more people than Rebecca looked grave. Of course the father's first thought on reaching his native shores would be for his little daughter. Indeed, he had told her as much in his letter, and it followed that they must very soon be separated from her. Dr. Meredith drew a heavy sigh as he followed the child with his wistful eyes, and tried to think what the house would be like without her. As they sat and sowed that afternoon, while Lillian took her usual rest, mother and daughter discussed the possibilities. He seemed strangely silent about future plans, said Mrs. Meredith. He has seemed to depend so much on your judgment. I wonder he does not advise with you as to his next step. Is he naturally a reserved man? Rebecca considered for a moment before she replied, yes, I think he would be called so. He is one who seems to know what he means to do, but he doesn't mention it until it is necessary. He has some plans formed without doubt. Perhaps he intends soon to marry again? There was not a moment's hesitation this time in the response. Of course that is entirely possible. Both ladies sowed in silence for some minutes after this. Then Mrs. Meredith spoke with a slight hesitancy of manner, as though she was even yet not quite decided whether to speak. Rebecca, did you ever think that you might perhaps save the little girl much future pain, if you were to talk to her frankly about the possibility of her having another mother? She is such a precocious little creature, and so devoted to you, that she would understand, and you could mold her to your way of thinking. I have often thought that if good women would only frankly explain to children about such things, help them to understand that a second mother does not come to push out from their hearts the real mother, but only as a friend who means to try to help them on the way home to her, a world of misery might be saved. Do you think there are any such second mothers? Perhaps not many, but might there not be more if they were met halfway? There are unwise and injudicious and even cruel real fathers and mothers in the world, but yet on the whole we believe in parents. Why should we condemn untried the stepmother merely because she is a stepmother? Then Rebecca felt that that time which she had said would perhaps come had arrived. It is all wrong, she said frankly, and I certainly ought to realize it. I was old enough to know better when my second mother came, but I had drank in from very babyhood the popular impression in regard to such relations. I did not know that I was prejudiced, but I can see now that I was, and I know I put away from me for years that which might have helped me every day of my life, but all the same I find I shrink from having my Lillian under the care of a second mother, unless—she made a sudden pause and laughed lightly, her face rosy the while. Well, said Mrs. Meredith in the gentlest and most sympathetic of tones, unless what, dear, I think I can appreciate your feeling. No, you hardly could. I was about to say a very absurd thing under the circumstances. I cannot think of any woman in the world whom I would like to have mother my Lillian save yourself, and that manifestly is impossible. She ought to have raised her eyes just then to have seen the light in her stepmother's face. It was very bright and very tender. It was not the sort of confidence which she had expected, but evidently it was sweet to her. Thank you! she said in a low, moved tone. Then apparently feeling that it would help them both to treat the subject lightly, Mrs. Meredith added, I confess I should like to have some sort of claim upon the little darling, but there certainly are serious objections to the way you propose. Probably both ladies were glad that at that moment Lillian's voice was heard in the adjoining room, and confidences were over for the present. But Rebecca did not easily get away from the hint which had been given her. She pondered over the question whether she ought to try to talk to Lillian about a future which might come to her. Could she, for instance, tell her about a dear friend which her father might bring to care for and love her? But then, if no such thought should be in the father's mind, would not the child embarrass and annoy him by asking for such a friend? And would not the father consider it unwarrantable interference on her part? She found herself shrinking utterly from such a task, but there were others who were not so sensitive. On the very next afternoon, when Lillian came to her for papa's hour, she shocked her a manuensis by dictating the following. Papa, are you going to give Lillian a new mama pretty soon? The pen dropped from Rebecca's fingers, and her voice expressed her dismay. Why, Lillian darling, you must not ask papa such a question. Why not? asked the baby with very wide open eyes. Marie said so. She said maybe he would. She guessed he would. And she said she might be good, and maybe she would be naughty and with me, new mama's most always did. And I want you to ask him and to tell him that Lillian doesn't want any new mama at all, ever. She just wants her Rebbe and her Dr. Grandma and her Dr. Grandpa. Now Marie was a wise young woman of twelve or thirteen, whose father's grounds joined their own, and who had delighted to spend much time with Lillian. Writing was given over for that afternoon. The little dictator was taken on Rebecca's lap, and if she did not learn some very important lessons during the next hour, it was not the earnest teacher's fault. END OF CHAPTER XXI It was drying toward the sunset of an august afternoon. The Meredith Homestead was in after dinner order, and the guest chamber especially hinted at an unexpected guest. There were fresh flowers in the vases, and the toilet table gave evidence of having been just looked after in the smallest detail. Out on the piazza, fluttering restlessly from hammock to Haswick, or a great easy chair, was a vision in white and gold. Her fresh dress fell in spotless whiteness about her, and the curls of gold lay in careless grace on her neck. There was a pretty flush of expectancy on the little face, and her eyes were bright with excitement. Three times in the space of ten minutes had she asked Rebecca if she was truly sure that Papa would know her the minute he saw her. With the third asking, the sound of wheels could be heard on the carriage drive, and in a moment more Dr. Meredith appeared on the piazza, followed by Mr. McKenzie. Then an uncontrollable fit of shyness came over Lillian, and instead of springing to meet her father, she hid her curls in Rebecca's dress. Life abroad had certainly done wonders for Mr. McKenzie. Rebecca marveled over it in the quiet of her own room that night. She had never seen him before without that look which she used to call sternness and hot tour, but which she had learned to know was born of vigilance and rigid self-control. His face had cleared wonderfully, and under the excitement and delight of meeting Lillian, it had a light in it which made him look almost boyish. The child had very promptly laid aside her shyness, and had been nestled in his arms most of the time until her hour for retiring. Even then she had gone to her room in her father's arms, and he had returned again when she was in her crib, and had sat beside her until the eyelids dropped. I can hardly make myself come away from her, he said smilingly to Rebecca, who waited in the hall to see that her treasure was entirely comfortable. But after that he had returned to the parlor and they had sat late, listening to his animated descriptions of life abroad. Certainly no one could seem less like a stranger on a business errand than did Mr. McKenzie. Rebecca could not remember a guest whom her father had enjoyed so much. Two entire days passed, and still no word of plans had been spoken. Mr. McKenzie had declared that although he had been travelling abroad, he had never given himself more thoroughly to business than he had for the past six months at least, and if they would permit him he was going now to take two or three days of entire vacation and make love to his daughter. Lillian approved the plan. She was set free from all her quaint little duties and lessons which Rebecca had instituted and which were a continued delight and amusement to the child, and became inseparable from her father, whether in his room or in the garden among the flowers or lounging at his ease in the breezy back parlor, the child's clear voice could be heard in almost continuous prattle, interrupted frequently by bursts of laughter from the highly amused father. Rebecca, listening, could not remember that she had ever before heard him laugh, nor could she of all persons wonder at this when she thought of his strange, sad past. On the morning of the third day he had a plan to propose, but only for entertainment. Lillian tells me, he said at the breakfast table, about a wonderful grove where masses and vines, and I don't know what treasures, can be found, and where there is a place to hang a hammock and a place to eat a lunch, and what else, Lillian? She has filled me with the desire to see all these delights. What do you say to piloting us thither and smuggling along a lunch for our benefit? Would not that be a kind thing to do? The question was addressed to Rebecca, and that young woman, who remembered always that she was in this man's employ, gravely signified her readiness to serve him in any way that she could. Plans for horses and carriage were then discussed with Dr. Meredith, while Mrs. Meredith and her daughter decided on what should go into the luncheon basket, and precisely at ten o'clock they were off for the day's pleasuring. He seems to take it for granted that Rebecca will be at his call for any plan which he wants carried out, said Dr. Meredith, looking after the retreating carriage with a slight cloud on his face. His own carriage was waiting for him to make his daily round of calls, and he had only lingered to see the picnic party start. I wonder, he added, after a moment's silence, if he supposes he can keep such a woman as Rebecca in the position of nursery governess. The child is winning enough to steal anybody's heart, but people have to think for themselves a little in this world. I certainly cannot consent to any such arrangement. Mrs. Meredith opened her lips to reply, then closed them again. Why should she undertake to furnish eyes to the blind? But as her husband rode away, she smiled as she thought of how strange it was that even a man like Dr. Meredith could be so obtuse. Nursery governess indeed. For this was Rebecca's own suggestion, which was rankling in her father's heart this perfect August morning. Revolving in her mind various schemes connected with Lillian, there had occurred the idea that with Mrs. Bennett for housekeeper there could be no sensible reason why she should not go back for a while to the Mackenzie home and care for Lillian, at least until the child became acquainted with others who could take her place. Until he brings home the new mother, she said to herself, after that, for Lillian's sake I would better go, then I should have done all I could for her. But this part she had not said to her father. There had not been much opportunity to say anything to him in detail. He had frowned upon the entire scheme. Indeed, he did not think it would be well even for a short time. Mackenzie would be wild to suppose such an arrangement possible. It had been all right and proper for her to bring the child to her own home and care for her as a friend of her mother's, but to go as a paid servant was quite another matter. They were all attached to the little one. It did not seem to him that he could spare her himself, and here the doctor's voice had trembled a little. But he checked the impulse to weakness and drew himself up with dignity as he said. But for all that people must think of themselves a little. If Mackenzie wanted to select a nursery governess and send her to them for a few weeks, or even months, until she could win the child, and Rebecca could teach her her duties, he had no objection, but he was sure she would not enter into any arrangement which would be obnoxious to all his feelings as a father. Then he took occasion to say to Rebecca that as for her thinking about going from home for the sake of relieving him financially, that was entirely unnecessary. Matters were looking up with him decidedly. Two heavy old debts which he had supposed were quite lost had been most unexpectedly paid in full with a crude interest, and bills had been paid for the past year with astonishing promptness. In short, the embarrassments under which he had labored for some time were quite passed away, and nothing would please him better than to have Rebecca remain where she fitted in so exactly in her father's house. He would never be willing to have her leave it again saved to go to one of her own, and if she chose the old home instead of a new one for herself so much the better for them. And Rebecca had decided that that was by no means the time to tell her father that she had been, during the greater part of her absence, in the employ of Mr. Mackenzie. That picnic in the woods was an experience to remember. The place which Lillian had described was a popular resort for small pleasure parties, and apparently more than the usual number had chosen this particular day for their visit to it. But they were all strangers to Rebecca, and did not in any way mar the pleasure of the day. Her satisfaction in it was hardly less than Lillian's. She had not been on a real pleasure excursion before, in years, Lillian's acquaintance with the charmed spot having been made in a somewhat hurried drive, which Dr. Meredith took them, when Lillian and her little playmate Marie amused her by leaving the carriage while the horses were drinking, and eating some biscuits and cookies on the great flat rock which Marie said was a table. For the rest, Marie's glowing descriptions had to be drawn upon. But this was a really truly picnic such as Marie had described, and she was in it. The child was wild with delight, and Rebecca, who had resolved for one day to give over all anxious thought or foreboding of separation, and make her charge as happy as she could, met her halfway, and was apparently as lighthearted as the child. It was after the luncheon had been eaten and enjoyed that Lillian, who had fluttered like a bird from one part of the grounds to another, admitted herself a little tiny speck tired, and submitted to being put into the hammock for a few minutes rest. She need not go to sleep, of course not. She was only to lie quiet without speaking for fifteen minutes by her father's watch, if, at the end of that time, she wanted to run some more, he was to lift her out. The scheme worked like a charm. Before ten of the fifteen minutes were gone, the lids had drooped over two bright eyes, and when Mr. Mackenzie turned with a smile and showed Rebecca his watch to note that the time was up, Lillian was sound asleep. Precisely what I had hoped for, said her father. A half hour's sleep will greatly refresh her. Moreover, Rebecca, I want an opportunity to talk quietly with you. Would you just as soon sit down for a while with me under that tree, where we can keep the hammock in sight? I will not pledge you to stillness for fifteen minutes, but I do want to say something to you, which can be better said if you are not roving about. So Rebecca, laughing a little over this hint at the restlessness which had possessed her while Lillian was quiet, came obediently to the point he had selected and seated herself. He waited to arrange the sun umbrella at just the right angle to shade Lillian from the glimmerings of sunlight through the trees, then came and sat beside her. I wonder if you can imagine what I want to say. He began, and something in his tone made Rebecca's heart beat quickly. He had been very cordial and friendly with her. He evidently reposed great confidence in her. Did he mean to take her entirely into his confidence now, and tell her about the new mother he had secured for Lillian? It seems to me, he continued, after waiting a moment for her reply, that you must be able to guess the nature of what I want to say. I have made it plain in a way in my letters, I think, for some time. But I am a straightforward man, and when the time comes for saying what I have determined must be said, I know only plain and simple words in which to say it. Rebecca, I want to ask you to become my wife and be a mother in name, as you have been indeed, to my little daughter. Am I wrong in thinking that this will not surprise you greatly, that your own heart has told you before now what mine would claim? But there was evidently not going to be a quiet talk under this tree. Rebecca spoke quickly, her face aglow, and her eyes blazing with excitement. Yes, you are wrong, utterly wrong! I had not any such thought for a moment. I believed in you. I was hired for pay as a nurse-girl, but I can neither be hired nor bought for a wife. What have I ever done that you should insult me in this way? She had more to say, but her voice was beginning to tremble, and not for the world would she have let him see any tears, so she suddenly stopped to gain self-control. Mr. Mackenzie regarded her in grave wonder. I do not understand you in the least, he said. How is it possible for you to place any such construction on the simple plain words which I spoke? If there could be any thought of insult between us, would it not rather be I who had received it? Do you think I would attempt to buy a wife? Already, Rebecca was ashamed of her outburst. She would have given much to have been able to recall her words. They were so different from what she had meant to speak. I beg your pardon, she said hurriedly, but in quieter tones. I had no right to speak as I did. But, Mr. Mackenzie, we do not understand each other. What I meant was that while I recognize how you are placed and the necessity for having one whom you can trust to care for Lillian, and while I know that you honor me and that you trust her welfare to me, I recognize the fact that you are thinking of her entirely, and I cannot, even for the privilege of caring for her, except the position you have offered me. I do not believe that marriage means any such business transaction. I know there are those respectable people who think it is justifiable under such circumstances, but I am not one of them. She dropped her eyes before his keen ones, and despite all effort could not keep hers from filling with tears. But his voice was never quieter than when he spoke again. Your conclusions are unjustifiable, Rebecca. I think I have the right to be offended. No father can care for a child more, I think, than I care for Lillian and for my boy. If I know my own heart, no interest of mine would lead me to peril their happiness. But I am something else, as well as a father, and when I seek a wife, I am not in search of a woman to preside over my home, nor a mother for my children. I am in search of a wife. I would ask no one to stand at the marriage altar with me, and hear me pledge before God to love, honour, and cherish her, unless from my soul I was prepared to do all that such words involve. I am amazed that you should think so ill of me. I understand myself so well, that I thought surely you would know all that I meant. But I must have blundered. It does not become me to speak much of the past, but Rebecca, I may say to you that I have been a lonely man, even a desolate one, for many years. If it were necessary, I might add that you are the only woman whom I care to win, the only one to whom I have given a thought. But to say that seems unworthy of me. Of course you are, else I would not be saying to you what I have. Rebecca, you have utterly misunderstood me. Have I also utterly misunderstood you? Is it true that you do not and cannot give me what I ask? Papa, called Lillian, sitting erect in her hammock, a great big flutter-bike came and sat on my hand, and he left a piece of his wing all goldy on it when he flew it away. Was that because he loved me? Possibly, said Mr. McKenzie, with a perfectly grave face. Sit still, Lillian, until I come to lift you out. The ground is damp around the hammock, and I do not wish to have you step on it. Then he lowered his tone. We have been interrupted, Rebecca, and perhaps it is better so. I fear I have been very abrupt. I do not want to force your reply. And believe me, if I have been mistaken, and you cannot give me your heart, I have no wish to secure your hand. My mistake has been in believing that you knew me better than I see you do. He drew from his pocket a plain ring of heavy gold and dropped it lightly in her lap. When I bought that in Florence, he said, I thought only of you. I do not want to hurry your thought or to embarrass you. There is much more I might say to you, but I have evidently chosen an inopportune time. I will make your answer to me as easy as possible. If, on thinking over what I have said, you care to let me prove to you how entirely I mean the words I have spoken, and how surely I would mean the vows which I have asked you to let me make in God's sight, then wear this ring when you come down to the parlour this evening, and I shall understand. If, on the other hand, you feel that you cannot give me your love and your life, that it would be only a pain to you to hear more, put the ring away as a worthless thing, and I will understand, and I will not in any way trouble or embarrass you. Then he went over to Lillian, lifted her from the hammock, and walked with her down the hill to where the flutterbys were the busiest. The remainder of that day was devoted by both of her companions to the child, whether she realized how little they had to say to each other and how willing they were to be led by every whim of hers will not be known. Certainly she was very happy, and disposed to be grieved when her father announced that it was time to order the horses. During the rapid drive home the child kept up a continuous chatter, encouraged there too by both her companions, and within ten minutes after they had reached her father's house Rebecca disappeared, nor did she come down to the family tea table. Lillian is tired and does not wish to be freshly dressed for tea, Mrs. Meredith explained, and Rebecca is disposed to humor her, so they are both going to take their tea upstairs. She begs that you will excuse Lillian to-night. Mr. Mackenzie bowed and continued the conversation which he was carrying on with the doctor. At the usual time he went up to Lillian and found her in her crib waiting for him quite alone as usual, but the flutter-by which had disturbed her afternoon nap had also assisted in making her unusually sleepy. The utmost that she could give him were some choice kisses and a murmured thanksgiving for the perfectly sweet day she had had, and then she was asleep. Mr. Mackenzie went back to the parlor, and the doctor reflected afterwards that he had never heard him talk better than he did that evening, but he interrupted himself in the midst of a sentence to spring to his feet and say, here is a chair, Rebecca, and there was that in his tone which made the doctor turn and look wonderingly at his daughter. He saw nothing in any wise different from usual, but his guest had detected the gleam of gold upon a finger of Rebecca's left hand. CHAPTER XXII A CHANGE OF BASE But I meant never to marry. Yes, I daresay. I decided some time ago that I would devote myself to taking care of my father and mother when they grew old. That is too difficult a task for one. You need me to help you in it. The speaker was Mr. Mackenzie, and of course his companion was Rebecca. He looked the picture of content, lounging in a great easy hammock, while she, who did not like a hammock, occupied a garden chair, and in her white dress and pink cheeks, fitted into the garden very well. She smiled comfortably over his last sentence and continued, I have always said that I did not believe in poor girls marrying rich men and that I wouldn't do it. That was being cruel to me. Unfortunately, I suppose I am rather a rich man, but I am heartless enough not to regret it under present circumstances. Since you have broken your wicked pledge, there are so many things I can make money do for you. She laughed at that, but grew almost instantly grave. Still, there are things to be considered. I have been a nurse girl in your family for a long time, and people know it. They will talk, and it will be very unpleasant for you. That remark is unworthy of you. His calm contentment was evidently in no wise shaken. He even had a superior smile on his face as he answered her. The pink on her cheeks deepened a little, and she answered earnestly. It is very kind in you to speak of it in that way. But seriously, don't you know there is truth in it? Don't you remember what hateful things people can and will say? You are very fond of the truth. He said, still smiling, I have always been impressed by that phase of your character. I will answer you with perfect frankness. I have no doubt that a certain class of people can and will say disagreeable things. What will take off their edge will be that they will not be true. If I had asked an ignorant, undisciplined, uncultured girl to be my wife and the mother of my children, I might blush over the thought of people's tongues. That I have asked one who is by education and true culture in every way fitted for the position is apparent to any eyes interested enough to look. That she occupied for a time, for good and sufficient reasons, a position of trust in my own house has nothing to do with the question. And really and truly I cannot bring myself to care in the least what the aforesaid tongues may say. Is that sufficiently truthful? She answered him with a look which he seemed to understand, but the shadow returned to her face. Still, Mr. Mackenzie, I beg your pardon, I don't think you are at present acquainted with any such person. At this she could only laugh and blush. Her companion waited a moment, then said, with mock gravity. The present incumbent positively refuses to acknowledge such title. Well, then, Dean! That is better, go on, I am all attention. But I want to talk to you very seriously. By all means, you have impressed me as being entirely able to do just that sort of thing. She would not be laughed away from her determination but went on a trifle hurriedly. One thing I have always felt that I would not under any circumstances allow myself to do. That is, to go into a home where there were children, and take the place and name of a mother. And this not for my own sake, but for the sake of children. It used to seem to me a cruel thing to do, and as such things are generally managed I think so still. Mr. Mackenzie turned himself slightly in the hammock, so as to command a full view of her face, and said, gravely enough, Rebecca, would you be willing to have Lillian under the charge of any woman but yourself? No, she said frankly. With Lillian the circumstances are peculiar. I was not thinking of her but of Carol. Mr. Mackenzie, I know whereof I speak. I have a stepmother like unto few I believe, and I have been brought up by persons of sound judgment and excellent common sense. Yet so under the dominion of popular ideas was I that I looked upon my stepmother's coming as a calamity and that only. Moreover I thought of myself and not for a moment of her. I felt that my father, instead of thinking and of planning for me, had forgotten me or grown weary of me, and had brought a stranger to fill his heart and push me out. That I was a simpleton the years have proved. But they have not altered popular opinion in the least. I hear people talking to-day just as I thought then. I am thankful that I was kept from talking it. But all this experience makes me anxious for Carol, and I want to talk with you very earnestly about his, our future. Mr. Mackenzie felt the seriousness of her tone. He must gird up for earnest talk instead of yielding to the wooing influences of the morning, and the spirit of playfulness that was upon him. He arose from his lounging attitude, and, after a moment, deserted the hammock altogether and took a garden chair directly in front of Rebecca. The conversation was long and at times spirited. There were certain plans which Mr. Mackenzie did not mean to be argued out of. But when, two hours later, Lillian, who had been having a lovely morning with Dr. Grandma, came to summon them to dinner, that gentleman said in a half-discontented tone as they walked toward the house, You have overturned all my intentions and given me a dreary winter prospect, not to mention Lillian's. Lillian will be very happy, said Rebecca firmly, and so will you, because we are both persuaded that it is the right thing to be done. I have been long in discovering it, but I believe I know now that the only way to have any happiness worthy the name is to do just right. But the preliminary talk was all which had been held that morning. Many details had to be settled, and much had to be explained to Dr. and Mrs. Meredith. The doctor, whose busy life continued so that he had not much time for explanations, hardly understood it, but his wife did and heartily approved. Mr. Mackenzie had planned for a speedy marriage and a return as a family to the home at Carroll Place as early as December. But Rebecca's plans were of an entirely different character. The boy, Carroll, whom she had never seen, lay heavy on her heart. I would not have him live through such an experience as I have had for anything in the world, she had told Mr. Mackenzie earnestly. He had argued that it was very different with boys. They were much away from home anyway, and did not take things to heart as girls did. But I want to be taken to heart, said Rebecca, and if you will let me try, I believe I can be. I know a good deal about Carroll, although I have never seen him. I have read some of his letters. I know he is devoted to you, that you have been more to each other than father and son often are. And I tell you I will not come a stranger into the home and seem to push him aside. I do not believe that boys are so very different from girls in some things. I know a great deal about boys. I had two brothers. But your scheme would not in most families be in the least degree feasible, complained Mr. Mackenzie, who had been convinced and meant to help carry out the scheme, but who at times felt lonely and disappointed over it, and as if he must enjoy the luxury of grumbling. It is true, Rebecca admitted, but we are not planning for most families only for ourselves. Her plan in brief was this. Mr. Mackenzie had up to this time kept his own counsel, and Carroll was ignorant of Rebecca Meredith's very existence. He knew, of course, where Lillian was, and that she was with her nurse, a woman whom his father trusted. He had shown no interest as to this woman's name, and had asked as few questions as college boys are apt to ask about such matters. Up to a few days before their departure for home, it had been his intention to accompany his father when he went for Lillian, but at the last minute a college friend, who had come out to Liverpool for his vacation, had persuaded him that the thing to be done was to go home with him for a few days and get a glimpse of the mountains. The father had been quite willing to press this plan, for he told himself that it would be time enough to confide his own hopes and plans to his son when he knew what Rebecca would say to them. It was this change of purpose which had made it possible for Rebecca to push her own scheme. She proposed to go herself to the city where Carroll's university was located, take board in the same house with him, and spend the winter in cultivating his friendship. He was not, in the meantime, to know that she had ever heard of his father, or had any interest in him, save that of a human being whose lot was cast for a time in the same house. She had arranged in her own mind every little detail before she had ventured to suggest the subject to Mr. McKenzie. In her girlhood she had been perhaps an exceptionally good performer on the piano, and, could she have been spared from home, her ambition would have been to take lessons of some celebrated teacher. This she had never been able to do, and of late years she had not touched a piano. Her winter at home, however, had done much toward reviving her former tastes, and she had practiced with sufficient regularity to reproduce the old desire to take lessons. This, then, was the very work which could keep her employed during the winter, and of all cities for taking music lessons, the one where Carol was to be would have been chosen had she had her choice. The difficulty to be considered was the expense involved, but Rebecca discovered that with a small amount of help from her father, and with rigid economy in the matter of dress, she could manage a term of lessons. Her work, since she had left the madams, had been liberally paid for, and her expenses had been very few. Dr. Meredith listened, as has been said, in some bewilderment to this scheme. Hardly had he become accustomed to the thought that his daughter was actually to be Mrs. McKenzie, and to be, if that gentleman could bring it to pass, carried away from them in a very few months, then she came with a plan for going alone among strangers to study music. He marveled over the pride which would lead a young woman to desire to turn student for a few months under such circumstances, for Rebecca had not been able to bring herself to explain much about Carol to either father or mother. Almost she felt as though the plan might possibly be looked upon as a tacit rebuke to their very different way of managing. But the few blundering words of explanation which she has said to make to her stepmother were rewarded. I understand, dear, said Mrs. Meredith, interrupting her. I see through the entire scheme. It is worthy of you, and I know God will bless you for it. I wish. No, never mind. Everything has turned out well. We will not mourn over a past that we cannot make better. And henceforth Mrs. Meredith was Rebecca's hearty ally, furthering all her wishes most skillfully, and taking it upon herself to explain as much as was needful to the hurried and sometimes perplexed father. One phase of the project gave unmixed satisfaction to at least two of those concerned. Rebecca, in bringing herself to a state of willingness to be separated from Lillian, had discovered that there was but one woman with whom she was satisfied to leave her, and that was her stepmother. Accordingly it had been arranged that the child should spend the winter with her dear Dr. Grandma and Grandpa, which was the way she always spoke of them collectively. The fact is, said Mr. Mackenzie to Rebecca, when at last every detail was settled, and he was to leave her on the following morning to make her preparations for a winter among strangers. The fact is, everybody's comfort has been more or less thought of but mine. Your father and mother are to have my baby, Carol is to have you, and I am to have nobody. He spoke in a half whimsical tone, and laughed a little when he finished the sentence, but the laugh closed with a sigh that he made an effort to suppress. Poor Papa, said Rebecca, I am really very sorry for you, but you would not like to have Lillian entirely in Mrs. Barnett's care now would you? But she and Nancy will take excellent care of you, and the winter will slip away before we know it. It was because of all these things that the first week in October found Rebecca Meredith settled in another boarding-house in a great city. Not this time a fourth-floor room dingy and desolate, but in fairly comfortable quarters on the second floor. The house itself was very unlike that in which she had made her first experience at boarding. It was situated in a quiet, pleasant part of the city, not a long walk from the university, nor from the professor's room where Rebecca took lessons and practiced. It was a large and well-furnished house with many borders, numbers of them students of art or music, or in the university. A totally different life was this from any which Rebecca had ever known before, and although she shed some tears that first night before going to sleep, because, as she told herself, she missed Lillian so dreadfully, yet on the whole she was interested and excited. She studied the rows of young faces which appeared in the dining-room and listened eagerly for names. In another day the university would open and the students were flocking back. Carol would certainly be there soon. How are you going to manage the matter? Mr. Mackenzie had asked her. I might give you a letter of introduction if you would. I could truthfully say you were the daughter of a friend of my boyhood. People frequently spend months in a large boarding-house without making one another's acquaintance, and especially boys do not get introduced to—too old maids, Rebecca had interrupted him smiling, and then had left at the expression on his face and added, Don't look so hopelessly shocked. That, of course, is what I am to the girls and boys. I used to dislike the name once, but I do not seem to care in the least about it now. No, thank you. I want no letters of introduction. I am not going to be endured by Carol simply for his father's sake. I shall make his acquaintance. I do not know just how. I have no plans. They are expected to evolve by degrees. But if I do not succeed in winning him for a friend, why, I do not deserve to have him for one. So she studied the new faces, and selected, on three different occasions, one which might be Carol's. She had studied his photograph, the same which his mother had showed her, but his father said he had changed a good deal since then. Still, she thought she should know him. The day on which she made her selections was one in which a letter had come from Mr. McKenzie announcing that Carol had started, but he would stop over one train and possibly overnight with a former college friend. There was also in this letter that which gave her food for thought. I do not know, wrote Mr. McKenzie, but it would have been wiser to have talked over with you some matters connected with Carol. But our time was so short and there was so much to settle. Then, too, I hardly knew what I wanted to say and do not now. I have attempted several times to put on paper certain vague fears which I have concerning my boy and have failed. He has some companions who exercise an unfortunate influence over him. In some respects he is easily led, and in other things he is obstinate. These college friends I know more about since coming home than I did before. Two of them have been in town for a week or more, and they have been much with Carol. I do not like their influence over him. I do not think he fully likes them himself, but they affect deep interest in him, possibly flatter him, and he is drawn with them more because they sort of surround him than because he cares for their company. They fill me with vague anxieties, and yet, that just expresses it, they are vague. I do not know but that they are uncalled for. Possibly you know that Carol's father has an intense hatred for tobacco in any form. Possibly you will think why I should fear that Carol might be peculiarly susceptible to any such influence. He knows my dislike of the weed, and up to this time has never used it. The two young men of whom I speak are inveterate smokers, and I overheard them chaffing him as fellow's will about his womanish habits, and I saw his face flush over it. This and their fondness for the theater are the only tangible causes for my discomfort if they are tangible. Perhaps I should not have mentioned it to you, and yet I find myself rather glad that I have done so. The young men in question are named Chester and Williston. One of the three whom Rebecca selected as being possibly Carol she discovered afterwards was named Williston. CHAPTER XXXIII. But the next evening there came to the dining-room and seated himself opposite her, a young man whose appearance almost took Rebecca's breath away. This was none other than Mr. McKenzie as she could readily imagine him to have been twenty years or so ago, save that this one had Mrs. McKenzie's beautifully shaped forehead and wavy hair. There was no question as to who he was. She did not need the murmur which went around the table back of her. There is McKenzie! Nor the delighted greeting which those who came in later accorded to him. Evidently the young man was a favorite. He talked a good deal, and talked well. Moreover he was attentive to his neighbor on the left, supplying her once even before she had time to make them known. And as she was a middle-aged woman with an uninteresting face and a disagreeable manner, Rebecca decided that it evidenced in him the perfection of courtesy, that which is born of real kindness of heart. How did you leave your father, questioned a gentleman from across the table? Very well, sir, but extremely lonely. Other arrangements have been made since he saw you, and my little sister is to remain with friends in the country during the winter. This leaves my father quite alone. I am afraid he will have a dreary time. And the young man had no idea how sincerely the heart of the woman who was seated exactly opposite to him, ached for the lonely father. Two entire days passed before Rebecca discovered any pretext for making acquaintance with her opposite neighbor. Wasted days she called them, although she had listened to every word that he said and made as much of a study of character as she could out of them. He seemed not to have discovered her existence, and she was beginning to plan some way of being regularly introduced when she came upon him in the hall. She had a role of music in her hand, her intention being to steal a few minutes' practice on the piano before the borders began to gather in the parlours. But through some carelessness on the part of servants the rooms had not yet been lighted, although the day was cloudy in the extreme, and the parlour curtains were drawn close, shutting out even the dull twilight. Rebecca was about to return to her room when young Mackenzie entered, quick as thought her resolution was formed. I beg your pardon, she said, but would you be so kind as to turn on the gas in the back parlour for me? It is very rude in me to ask you, I suppose, but I sit opposite you at table, and I thought I might presume. It was an absurd thing to say, and so Rebecca told herself afterwards, but it seemed to amuse Mackenzie. That ought certainly to be sufficient introduction to secure so simple a service, he said politely, in his father's voice, albeit there was a merry twinkle in his eye. He drew a match from his pocket, and in a flash the parlour was a blaze of light. These old houses, where the gas has to be lighted in the old fashioned way, are nuisances. He said, while Rebecca was noting with a sinking heart the place from which the matches came, and wondered if he had begun to smoke. Then she wondered what he would think if he knew that she cared. He caught sight of the roll of music in her hand, and asked if she would like to have the piano opened, going over to it as he spoke, and removing certain books which were in her way. Then he lighted the burner which would give the best light for the piano. It was undoubtedly a very small beginning, but it was a beginning. When they met at the dinner table, half an hour later, the young man recognized her by a slight bow, and a look which said, If you choose to consider us introduced, I am quite willing. She returned the greeting cordially, and he passed her the bread and summoned for her a waiter whose services he saw she needed. After that they exchanged bows when they met at table or in the halls. On the fifth morning Rebecca asked where Weston Hall was, and whether the line of cars which passed the door went anywhere near it. Mackenzie gave the desired information. No, the hall was five blocks away from the cars, but they were short blocks and on a pleasant street. Then he added that there was to be a very choice concert at the hall that evening. Yes, Rebecca said, she knew it, and had thought of attending. At lunch in that same day they too came early and were alone at their table. It seemed absurd not to talk a little about the weather and kindred objects of importance. Once he had occasion to address her directly, shall I help you to some of the salad, miss? And he hesitated. Meredith, she said promptly, it is quite time, I think, that neighbors knew each other's names. I think so, he answered heartily. Mine is Mackenzie, Carol Mackenzie, university student at your service. It is only fair to say that I enjoyed your music last evening. I set my door open that I might hear it. You played a piece of which my father is very fond, and I am afraid I was guilty of being a trifle homesick over it. This was certainly making progress. He must have felt flattered with his neighbor's evident interest in his father's tastes. She questioned and cross-questioned, bent on being sure of the very piece of which he was fond. Very soon afterwards Mackenzie offered his services to see Rebecca safely over those five blocks from the streetcar to Weston Hall. He was going to the concert himself. He always went where he could hear good music, if possible, and it would be no trouble at all to show her the way if she cared to allow him. Rebecca felt afraid afterwards that her acceptance was almost too eager. It was certainly a highly elated woman who went off an hour later to take her music lesson. In a letter she wrote that day, occurred the following sentence. I am going to a concert this evening, the finest one which has been given here this winter, my professor says, and I am going with a young gentleman named Carol Mackenzie. Ah, ah, what do you think of that? He has offered to see me safely from the car to the hall and back, because I am a stranger and do not know the way, and he is a gentleman every inch of him. I don't need that letter of introduction, thank you. In her room that evening before the dinner bell rang, Rebecca overheard a bit of conversation which helped her to some conclusions. It had struck her as a strange circumstance. Was it a hint of the guiding hand helping her in her efforts to win a soul, that young Mackenzie's room had been discovered to be the one next to her own? This might afford, as they became better acquainted, numberless opportunities for casual meetings in the halls and exchanges of kindnesses. On this particular evening it afforded her an opportunity of another kind. The chambermaid had been giving her room an extra cleaning that day, and in rubbing the glass of the transom over the door, which was between the two rooms, had left it ajar, and Mackenzie had company. Rebecca discovered this while changing her dress for dinner, also that she could hear conversation as well as though she were in the room. Oh, come now! said a voice which she recognized as Willis-Dins. Don't be a mule, Mackenzie. Go with us this evening. We had no end of trouble getting another ticket for you in our section. We thought you would be delighted. I am, over your thoughtfulness, of course, but I have another engagement. I'm going to Weston Hall tonight. The concert of the season is to be given there, you know. Oh, bother Weston Hall! Throw that up! Talk about music! Why man alive you ought to hear the little fairy who is to sing tonight in the opera! She beats all creation. You haven't seen her. The fellows are all raving over her. Why, her dress is well worth seeing, even if you don't care for her voice. Come, Carol, old boy, give up your plans tonight and go with us. Go for our sakes if you won't go for your own. Our lark will be spoiled without you. You are very good, Williston, to care so much for company. And Rebecca could feel that the young man was touched by their friendship. I don't really care for that sort of opera, you know. You remember last term I told you that it was not to my taste and that I did not think I should go again. But since you and Chester have planned for it and want me particularly, I would go tonight just to please you if I had not made an engagement. I promised to show the lady who sits opposite me at table the way to the hall. She is a stranger, and as I was going, it seemed friendly to look after her, so I offered. What, that old girl? My eyes! Mackenzie, she isn't fishing for you, is she? Why, she's old enough to be your mother! The answer came quickly, and for a moment Rebecca thought that the father must be there, so much was the son's voice like his, as she had heard it often. Hold up, Williston. Remember you are speaking about a lady. I don't like that sort of talk in my room. Oh, now Mackenzie, don't flair! I mean no harm in life. What did I say, anyhow? Is she your aunt or something? She is nothing to me whatever, but a lady and a stranger, but a young man ought to respect the memory of his mother sufficiently to be courteous to all women for her sake. All right, Mack, I'll go down on my knees to her if you say so. She plays remarkably well for an everyday music teacher, as I suppose she is. I'll say that for her. But I am afraid I shall owe her a grudge if she keeps you away from us tonight. I'll tell you what, Mack, I see a way out. It was just like your amy ability to offer to take care of her. But Jimmy is going to the concert, the bell-boy, you know? That oddity on the first floor who doesn't seem to know what to do with her money has given him a ticket. You can get Jimmy to pilot your party safely to the hall. He'll do anything for you. Why, he'll just be tickled to death to do it, and you can come with us. Thank you, said Mackenzie, and again his voice was like his father's when he found it necessary to reprove Nancy for some blunder. You are very kind and most fertile in suggestions, but I am not in the habit of delegating my duties to Jimmy the bell-boy. I shall keep my promise to the lady in question. Ben Chester, who had kept in the background during the interview, added his word. Look here, Mackenzie, if you persisted not carrying out a plan which we thought you would be delighted with, you will put us in a very embarrassing position. The fact is we sort of promised you. Promised me? There was more than astonishment in the tone. Yes, that is. Why, you see, it's this way. The Stover girls are going with us, and that throws their cousin out, don't you know? So we thought, well, in fact, I said to Annette that— Mackenzie interrupted the somewhat stammering utterance. I understand. You said to Miss Stover that you would bring me along to look after the cousin. You were certainly thoughtful, but you forget one little circumstance. If you had recalled what I said last term that under no conditions that I could conceive of did I care to be seen in public with Miss Stover's cousin again, it would have saved you much trouble. I always tried to keep my own engagements, but fortunately I do not feel bound to keep those which other people make for me. I shall go to Weston Hall tonight. And then Rebecca, who had been dressing with nervous haste, succeeded in pushing the last pin into place and went downstairs, out of hearing of the voices, with what speed she could. As she thought it over, she did not see how she could very well have avoided being a listener, since they persisted in paying no attention to any warning noises which she tried to make, and she could not help being glad that she had heard the conversation. She knew Carol Mackenzie better now than she had before. He might be easily led, but the leading would have to be in the line of honor and chivalry. From this point, her acquaintance with the young man progressed rapidly. Circumstances favored her in what she could not help considering a remarkable manner. For instance, within three weeks from the time of her first advance, Mackenzie had an accident in the college laboratory. He was mounted on a step ladder reaching after an important jar and made a misstep. The fall sprained his ankle so that he was obliged to rest quietly for several days. But this was not, to him, the worst feature of the accident. The jar had broken and some of the inflammable liquid had spattered into his eyes. No serious results were apprehended, but a few days of bandaged eyes were a necessity. Over this the young man groaned. He had no time to spare to bandage eyes. An examination was soon to take place in a very important study, a review of former work, and he, who had dropped out for a year, was by no means ready for the review. This he explained in detail to Williston one morning when the doors of both rooms were open and Rebecca had the benefit. There never was a fellow who had worse luck, he growled. How many times have I mounted that step ladder and come down like a cat? And this time, just because it was important that I should be as careful as possible, I must needs come crashing down like a June bug. I don't know what I am to do, I really don't. There's that detestable review to cram for, and me without my eyes. Then Williston, who was in the class below him, asked some questions, thereby enlightening Rebecca in regard to the review. I tell you what it is. Began Mackenzie again. You fellows with eyes might help me. If I could have some of the stuff read over to me, it would refresh my memory amazingly, and I could think it out pretty well while I lie here in the dark. You and Chester always seem to have more time on your hands than you know what to do with. Why couldn't you let me have an hour or two apiece? My dear fellow, so far as I am concerned nothing would give me greater pleasure if I were able to do it, but I am simply a horrid reader. My father will not even allow me to run over the morning news with him when I am at home, because I rattle it off so, without regard to punctuation, you know, or sense or anything. Rebecca, in the shelter of her own room, curled her lip over the weakness of this sham excuse, and Mackenzie seemed to take it at its true value. Oh! he said, with mock commissuration. What a pity! I did not know you were so afflicted. Of course it wouldn't do at all. A thing of this kind requires very careful reading. Needs an allocutionist indeed. How about Chester? Do you suppose he, too, has an impediment in his speech? Chester, dear boy, is worse off than you are. He has been conditioned as it were. That is, if he doesn't make up some of his failures in recitation and straighten out some little affairs not connected with recitations in a week's time, his governor is going to be made to understand matters, and Chester thinks he has struck some pretty hard places. Now, honor Bright Mackenzie, all nonsense aside, I'd help you through if I could. I am a poor reader. That part is true enough, and I hate it besides. But I'd go in just to please you if I hadn't got to help Chester out. That will take all of my spare time. I haven't much to boast of. Things are looking a little skittish with me, too, since this old bore of a new professor has gotten hold of us. But I've promised to translate something for Chester, and—but hold on, you and he might change work. It would be nothing but play for you to translate his Latin jargon, dictate it, you know, and he could read to you in return. No, thank you, said Mackenzie, speaking very stiffly. Your memory is poor. I don't translate for people under such circumstances. I think I have mentioned it before. I can't even be bribed to do it. Ben was preparing to depart by the time this sentence was concluded. His only answer was a laugh and a, well, bye-bye, old fellow, keep a stiff upper lip. It will be all right a hundred years hence, you know. I always find that a comfort when I get into scrapes. Rebecca heard a long-drawn sigh from the occupant of the next room when he was left alone. Had she known it was evolved by the thought that he seemed to have a worthless and somewhat disreputable class of friends to depend upon, it might have encouraged her. She had her bonadon ready for the street, but after some thoughtful moments she removed it, and had so far practiced her next plan of advance that by the time Mackenzie had been helped by the bell-boy and the elevator-boy to a comfortable position in the border's sitting-room, which was, fortunately, on the same floor with his room, she was ready to call on him.