 CHAPTER 19 of TOM AND SOME OTHER GIRLS by Mrs. George D. Horne-Veysie This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. SCHOOL AGAIN School again and no Tom, the house parlor with no manly figure to lean with its back against the mantelpiece and jingle chains in its pocket, the dining hall with no one to make faces at the critical moment when a girl was swallowing her soup or to nudge her elbow as she lifted a cup to her lips, the cubicle with no magenta dressing jacket whisking to and fro. It was ghastly. The girls could not reconcile themselves to their loss, and the first fortnight of the term was one of unalloyed depression. No one dared to joke, for if she did her companions instantly accused her of aping Tom and snubbed her for the feebleness of the attempt. No one dared to be cheerful, lest she should be charged with fickleness and want of heart. And Irene, the beautiful, reigned in Tom's stead. It would have been a difficult post for any girl to have succeeded. Tom has seen a boulder-stone, but curious, though it may appear, Irene's flaxen locks and regular features wore for the time being so many offenses in the eyes of her companions. They were accustomed to Tom. Tom had been the head girl of their heart, and they resented the finicking ways of her successor as an insult to the dear departed. Irene strove by a gentle mildness of demeanor to soften the prejudice against her, and the girls but abused her the more. Catch Tom, saying it didn't matter. Imagine Tom pretending she didn't hear. A nice head girl she is. We might as well have Hillary Jervis. Irene assumed a pretense of firmness. The girls rolled their eyes at each other and tittered audibly. The idea of Irene Gray ordering others about. Plainly it was time, and time only which could give any authority to Tom Boulderston's supplanter. How keenly wrote a felt her friend's absence no one guessed but herself. Tom's attitude towards the result of the late examinations would have given the keynote to that of her companions and have shielded the poor, smarting victim from much which she now had to endure. The girls were unaffectedly sorry for her, but pity is an offering which a proud spirit finds it hard to accept. It seemed strange to realize that girls cast in such graceful moulds as Dorothy and Irene should be so deficient intact as to gush over the humiliation of another, and check the rhapsodies of successful candidates by such significant coffings and frownings as must have been obvious to the dullest faculties. Oh, for Tom's downright acceptance of the situation, her calm taking for granted that the sufferer was neither selfish nor cowardly enough to grudge success to others, wrote a felt, as we have all felt in our time, that she had never thoroughly appreciated her friend until she had departed, and she was one of the most enthusiastic members of the committee organized to arrange about the tablet to be composed in Tom's honour. Of course. Tom must have a place on the record wall. Blues, reds, greens and yellows were unanimously decided on the point. Contributions poured in, and on Sunday afternoons, the blues sat in consultation over the wording of the inscription. The simpler the better. Tom hated gush, was the general opinion, but it was astonishing how difficult it was to hit on something simple yet telling. A high-flown rhapsody seemed far easier to accomplish, and at last, in despair, each girl was directed to compose an inscription and to read it aloud for general approval. None were universally approved, but rotas received the largest number of votes as being simple yet comprehensive. This tablet is erected to the memory of Thomasina Boulderstone, the most popular head girl whom Hearst Manor has ever known. Her companions affectionately record the kindly justice of her rule and the unfailing cheerfulness which was a stimulus to them in work and play. Yes, it's the best. Decidedly the best, but I should like it to have been better still, said Kathleen thoughtfully. It is so difficult to describe Tom in three or four lines, and it leaves so much unsaid. I should like to describe her a little bit so that future pupils might know what she was like. If they read that, they would imagine her just like anyone else, objected Bertha frowning. I suppose it wouldn't do to say something about her, uh, engaging ugliness, or some expression like that. Howls of indignation greeted this audacious proposition, and Bertha was alternately snubbed, reproached, and abused until she grew sulky and retired from the discussion. Rhoda herself came to the rescue and with the critical spirit of the true artist acknowledged the defect in her own work. Bertha's right. What I have written gives no idea of Tom herself. It's a pity, but I don't see how it can be helped. What words could describe Tom to anyone who had not seen her? Now here's another idea. Why not make a rule that every girl who has had her name inscribed on the record wall must present a framed portrait to the school? All the frames would be alike and they would be hung in rows in the Great Hall, so that future generations of pupils might be able to see what the girls were like and feel more friendly towards them. Rhoda, what a heavenly idea! cried Irene rapturously. How simply lovely! Why in the world have we never thought of that before? I never heard of anything so splendid! cried the girls in chorus, while Rhoda sat beaming with gratified smiles. Well, if her own name would never be printed in that role of honour, at least she had composed the inscription of one of the most important tablets, and had suggested a new idea, which obeyed fair to be as much appreciated as the wall itself. Already the girls were debating eagerly together as to its inauguration, and deciding that the different heads should be deputed to write to those old members of each house who had been honoured with tablets to ask for portraits taken as nearly as possible about the date of leaving school. Irene, of course, would communicate with Tom to inform her of the step about to be taken by her companions, and to direct her to be photographed at the first possible moment. And you might just drop a hint about her attire, said Rhoda, anxiously, as the remembrance of the dress and co-fear of early Chase rose before her. Nothing more likely than that Tom would elect to do honour to her companions by putting on her very best clothes for their benefit and imagine the horror of the blues at seeing their old head decked out in such fashion. We should like best to see her as she used to look here. She must wear the old blue dress and stand with her back to the fireplace, with her hands in her pockets, cried Kathleen firmly. We don't want to see Tom lying in a hammock against a background of palms, or smirking over a fan. Not much. It's the genuine article we want and no make-up. What will she say, I wonder, when she hears? She is going to have a tablet. Will she be pleased or vexed? She must be pleased. Who could help it? But she will pretend she is not. Mark my words. She'll write back and say it's a piece of ridiculous nonsense. So prophesied Irene but the result proved that she was wrong, for Tom, as usual, refused to be anticipated. Instead of protesting that she had done nothing worthy of such an honour and beseeching her companions not to make themselves ridiculous, she dismissed the subject in a couple of lines in which she declared the proposed scheme to be most laudable and calmly volunteered to contribute half a crown. The blues agreed among themselves that such behaviour came perilously near callousness, but Rhoda recalled that last peep through the bars of the station gate and could not join in the decision. She believed that Tom would be profoundly touched by the honour, so touched and so proud, that she dared not trust herself to approach the subject from a serious view. And she was right, for if imagination could have carried her old companions to the study where Tom was then domiciled, they would have seen her chalking an immense red cross on her calendar against the date when Irene's letter had arrived and mentally recording it as the proudest day of her life. No mention was made of the photograph, but in due time it arrived, so lifelike and speaking in its well-known attitude that the more sentimental of the girls shed tears of joy at beholding it. Closely following it came other contributions to the gallery, which the newcomers examined with keenest interest, feeling more able to understand the enthusiasm of their seniors now that the well-known names were attached to definite personalities. About this time, too, arrived a full report of the examination and, as had been expected, Rota was found to have failed in arithmetic. In other subjects she had done well, gaining the longed for distinction in German and French, so that if only, oh, that little if, how much it meant that terrible mountainous if, which made all the difference between failure and success, if it had been a dark morning and she had slept on, if she had given way to temptation and dozed off in the middle of her work, if she had listened to Evie's words of warning, if but one of those possible ifs had been accomplished she would have been among the happy crowd today and not standing miserably apart, the only girl in the house who had failed to pass. The wild grief of the first few days swept back like a wave and threatened to overwhelm her, but she clung to the remembrance of Tom's words and told herself, passionately, that she would not whine. She would not pose as a martyr, even on that great occasion when the certificates were presented in Great Hall and the school burst into ecstatic repetitions of, see the conquering hero comes, as each fresh girl walked up to the platform, even through that dread ordeal did Rota retain her self-possession, attempting, poor child, to add a trembling note to the chorus. She never knew nor guessed that the girls honored her more in that moment than if she had won a dozen distinctions. She did not see the kindly glances bent upon her by the teachers, for they were careful to turn aside when she looked in their direction and if she had seen, she would never have believed it was admiration and not pity, which those looks expressed. In her estimation the occasion was one of pure, unalloyed humiliation, and when she reached the shelter of her cubicle, she seized the hand-glass and examined her ready head anxiously beneath the electric globe. It isn't true, she exclaimed. The ghost stories tell lies. I don't believe now that anyone's head ever turned white in a night. I can't see a single gray hair. CHAPTER XXI After a storm comes a calm, compared with the struggle and anxiety of the summer term, the one which followed seemed stagnation itself. The arrival of the report had been an excitement. It is true, but when that was over the days passed by in uneventful fashion until autumn waned and winter came back, with the attendant discomforts of dark mornings, drafty corridors, and coatings of ice on the water in the ewers. For this was a good old-fashioned winter, when Jack Frost made his appearance at the beginning of December and settled down with a solidity which meant that he had come to stay. The hardy girls declared that it was ripping and laughed at the shivery subjects who hobbled about on chill-blained feet and showed faces mottled blue and red, like the imitation marble in lodging house parlors. The shivery girls huddled in corners and wished they could go to bed and hug hot bottles until May came back, but it was fit for human creatures to go about again. People who possess brisk circulations can never understand the sufferings of those whom no amount of clothing will keep warm and who perform their duties for four months in the year, feeling as though icy water was streaming down their backs. Human sympathy is an elastic virtue, but it seems powerless to reach so far as that. Poor Miss Everett belonged to this latter unhappy class, and perhaps the hardest duty which she had to perform at Hearst Manor was the spending of two hours daily in the grounds with her pupils, be the weather warm or cold. To be sure they always moved about briskly, playing hockey and lacrosse so long as the weather allowed, and then turning to skating and tobogganing. But there were moments of waiting and hanging about when the wind cut through her like a knife and made her pretty face look pinched to half its size. Rhoda, brisk and glowing, would look at her with affectionate superiority, call her a poor dear little frog, and insist upon running races to restore circulation. Evie would declare that she felt warmer after these exertions, but when at the expiration of ten minutes she was found to be shivering and chattering as much as ever, Rhoda would grow anxious and consequently more flattering in her similes. You are a hot-house flower, and not fit to rough it like this, it makes me cold to look at you. I have a great mind to tell Miss Bruce how you suffer, and ask her to forbid you to come out to games in this weather, but at this Miss Everett protested in genuine alarm. Rhoda, you must do nothing of the kind. Don't you see that it would be as much as saying that I am unfit for my work? Miss Bruce thinks it quite as important that I should be with you for games as for work. Perhaps more so, for there is more likelihood of your getting into mischief. I don't like feeling cold, but after all it is only for a few weeks in the year, and I is thoroughly enjoy being out of doors for the rest of the time there is not much to grumble about. It won't kill me to shiver a little bit. Cold cough consumption coffin, quoted Rhoda cheerfully, I hate to see you with a blue nose when I am tingling all over with heat and feeling so fit and jolly. It's unsociable and unbecoming. Now just skate once more round the field with me, and I won't worry you any more. Miss Everett sighed and consented. Her feet were so numb that she had believed them incapable of any feeling, but now the straps of her skates were beginning to cut into her like so many sharp edge to knives. She longed to take them off, but did not like to refuse the girl's kindly invitation, while unselfishly speaking it was a pleasure to see the graceful figure skimming along by her side with such healthful enjoyment in the exercise. The pupils at Hearst Manor were seldom, if ever, allowed to skate on the lake, for it was deep, and the principal preferred to have one of the fields flooded in its stead, where the girls could disport themselves with that sense of security which comes from seeing little tufts of grass showing beneath the surface of the ice. Even nervous subjects grew bold under such conditions, and while the more advanced skaters cut figures or even essayed a game of hockey, the spectators circled round and round looking admiringly at their exploits. At one end of the field was a slight ditch or rather undulation in the ground, which when frozen over afforded a source of unending amusement being as good as the switchback itself. Daring skaters went at it with a dash which brought them safely up the incline on the further side, but by far the greater number collapsed helplessly at the bottom, or rising halfway up the ascent staggered back with waving arms and gasping cries vastly entertaining to the spectators. Evie would never be induced to make this experiment, having as she said, too much respect for her ankles to subject them to so severe a trial, and having also passed that age, went to tumble down in an icy ditch 20 times over in the course of an afternoon seems the height of mortal bliss. The hardy hood of the vast majority of the girls, the imperturbable good nature with which they picked themselves up from their recumbent position and hobbled up the banks on the edge of their skates, spoke volumes for the success of the system on which they were educated. They returned to the house glowing and panting and surged up the staircase, a stream of buoyant young life which seemed to warm the drafty corridors and bring sunshine into the colorless rooms. The piles of bread and scrape which disappeared at tea after such an afternoon as this would have amazed the parents of the daughters whose appetites at home had been so cautious as to excite anxiety in the maternal heart. Of course, as the Crokers had it, as soon as a weak consecutive skating had made everyone proficient enough to enjoy the pastime, the snow descended and fell in a persistent shower which made the ice impossibly rough. The girls looked out from their windows on a wonderful white world whose beauty was for the time hidden from them by disappointment, but in the end even snow seemed to bring with it its own peculiar excitements. Relief gangs of pupils were organized to sweep the principal paths in the grounds, while those not so employed, set to work to manufacture snowman, not the ordinary commoner garden snowman, be it understood, that disreputable shapeless individual with his pipe in his mouth and his hat perched on the back of his head, with whom we are all familiar. The Hearst manner girls would have none of him, but, super intended by the modeling mistress, set to work with no smaller ambition than to erect a gallery of classic figures. Some wise virgins chose to manufacture recumbent figures, which, if a somewhat back-baking process, was at least free from the perils which attended the labours of their companions. What could be more annoying than to have two outstretched arms drop suddenly at the very moment when the bystanders were exclaiming with admiration and to be obliged to convert a flying god into a Venus de Milo as the only escape from the difficulty? Or, again, how was it possible to achieve a classic outline when a nose absolutely refused to adhere to a face for more than two minutes together? The recumbent figures lay meekly on their beds and allowed themselves to be rolled and padded and pinched into shape, until, at a distance, they presented quite a life, or rather deathlike effect. The girls declared that the sight gave them the creeps, whatever that mysterious malady might be, and snowballed the effigies vigorously before returning to the house, so that no straggler through the grounds might be scared by their appearance. All this time an eager outlook was kept on a sloping bank at the end of the cricket-ground, where the snow lay first in patches and then by degrees in an unbroken mass. When it grew deep enough, tobogganing would begin, and that was a sport held in dearest estimation. The course was dubbed Closter's, after the famous run at Davos for the school girl of today is not happy unless she can give a nickname to her haunts, and it was sufficiently steep to be exciting, though not dangerous. Rhoda had been accustomed from childhood to practice this sport at home, and had brought to school her beautiful American toboggan, with the stars and stripes emblazoned on polished wood, ready for use if opportunity should occur. She knew that her experience would stand her in good stead, and was now, as ever, on the outlook for a chance of distinguishing herself in the eyes of her companions. One may be naturally clever and athletic, but it is astonishing how many others, equal, even superior to one self, can be found in an assembly of over two hundred girls. Do what you would, a dozen others appeared to compete with you, and it was ten to one that you came off second best. But wait till we can toboggan, said Rhoda to herself, they will see then who has the most nerve, I'll astonish them before I have done. And she did. Following a fall of snow came a frost, which pressed down and hardened the soft surface, until it was in perfect condition for the desired sport. The game's captains surveyed the course and pronounced it ready, and directly after lunch a procession of girls might have been seen wending their way from the house, dragging toboggins in their wake and chattering merrily together. The wind blew sharp and keen, and many of the number looked quite arctic, waddling along in snowshoes, reefer coats and furry caps with warm straps tied over the ears. It was still a good to address such personages as Nansen. But Rhoda gained for herself the more picturesque title of Hail Columbia, as she strode along straight and alert, her tawny curls peeping from beneath a seal skin cap, her stars and stripes toboggan making a spot of color in the midst of the universal whiteness. No one thought of addressing her except in a more or less successful imitation of an American twang, or without including the words I guess in every sentence, and she smiled in response, well satisfied to represent so honored a nation. The progress of dragging toboggins to the top of an incline is always uninteresting, and never takes place without an accompaniment of grumbling, in which we may be sure the Hearst Manor girls were in no way behind. They groaned and sighed and lamented as in duty bound, while Dorothy went a step further and improved the occasion by moral reflections. If I were a man I could preach a splendid sermon on tobogganing, all about sliding down hill, you know, and how easy it is and how quickly done, and how jolly and lively it feels, and then the long, long drag back when you want to get to the top again. It is a splendid illustration for, of course, sliding down would mean doing wrong things that are nice and easy, and the climb back of the bad time you would have, pulling yourself together again and starting afresh. It's really a splendid idea. I wonder no—but at this moment it occurred to Dorothy to wonder at something else, namely how it was, that her toboggan had grown suddenly so light, and turning round to discover the reason. She found it rapidly sliding down hill. The girl immediately behind had nipped out her knife and deftly cut the leading string as a practical demonstration of the favour in which sermonising was held at Hearst. And the whole band stood and screamed with laughter as the would-be preacher retraced her steps to the bottom of the hill and started afresh on her symbolic climb. Five minutes later, with a rush and a whoop, the first toboggan came flying down the slope. Their course was, perhaps, a trifle erratic, an app to be followed by a spill at the bottom, but these were unimportant details only to be expected in the first run of the season, and the style improved with every fresh start. One girl after another came flying down, drew her toboggan up a little slope facing the run, sat down upon it to recover breath and watch the exploits of her companions. Experience had proved that, however rapid the descent, a toboggan invariably stopped short before this edge was reached, so that it was accepted as a retreat of absolute safety, and as a rule there were as many girls resting there as starting from the brow of the hill. All went on merrily then until, in the very height of the fun, Dorothy was seized with an attack of her usual sickness. It was not a very deadly complaint, nothing more serious than hammerage from the nose, but it was astonishing how much trouble it seemed able to give her. To the gaze of the world that nose was both a pretty and innocent looking feature, but it must surely have been possessed with an evil spirit, since there was no end to the plights in which it landed the unhappy owner. It disdained to bleed in a cubicle or any such convenient place, but delighted in taking advantage of the most awkward and humiliating opportunities. It bled regularly at frolics, when she wore her best clothes and wished to be merry. It bled in the anti-room of the examination hall, so that she went in to tackle the mathematical paper with three pennies and two separate keys poked down her back. It bled at the critical part of a game, or when she went out to tea or forgot to put a handkerchief in her pocket. It is my cross, she would sigh, sadly, and today she was inclined to say so more than ever, since the attack was so severe that she must needs go indoors and leave her favorite sport on the very first day when it had been impossible to enjoy it. Ms. Everett walked with her across the field, cheering and encouraging and directing her to go straight to nurse when she reached the house, then retraced her own steps and hurried back to her charges. She had been away only five minutes, barely five minutes, but in that short time something had happened which was destined to bring about lifelong consequences to more than one member of the party. For it chanced that just as she turned away, Rhoda Chester reached the top of the run on the lookout for fresh opportunities. It was absurd to go over the same course with no change, no excitement, to do what thirty other girls could do as well as herself. She must try to discover some variety this time, and so she gazed about with critical eyes and suddenly had an inspiration for why not drag the toboggan a yard or two farther up the steep bank beyond the path which made the present start. It was a tree-crowned bank, forming the very crest of the hill so short that it measured at the most six or seven yards but of a steepness far eclipsing any other portion of the run. If she could start from this higher point she would accomplish a feat unattempted by any of her companions and descend at a velocity hitherto unknown. No sooner thought than done she began to climb the bank dragging the toboggan behind her while the onlookers stared aghast. In the name of everything that is crazy, Rhoda Chester, what are you doing up there? Rhoda, come down. Don't be absurd. You can't possibly start from there. Why not pray? I can if I choose. I'm tired of rambling down that baby run. I want a little variety. You will have it. With a vengeance if you start from there it's far too steep. Don't be obstinate now and get into trouble. Evie will be furious with you. Why should she be? There's no rule against it. I'm not doing anything wrong. Get out of the way, please. I'm coming. No. No, wait, wait. Wait until Evie comes back and says you may. She will be here in a moment to wait, Rhoda, just one minute. But Rhoda would not wait. Although, as she had argued, there was no rule forbidding what she was about to do, she had an instinctive feeling that Evie was too anxious about the safety of her charges to give consent to anything that involved unnecessary risk. Evie's absence was her opportunity and she must act now or never. So, seeding herself firmly on her toboggan, she called out the last word of warning. I'm coming, I tell you. Stand back. You will break your neck. You will kill yourself if you are so mad. Oh, bother my neck. I'll risk it. I'll not blame you if it is broken, cried Rhoda, recklessly. And even as she spoke the last word, the toboggan shot forward and bounded over the edge. Bounded is the right word to use, for it did not seem to glide but to leap from top to bottom with a lightning-like speed which took away breath, sight, and hearing. That first moment was a terrible blank and then she shot over the path itself and was flying down, down the slope, drawing her breath in painful gasps and staring before her with distended eyes. The girls on the bank were craning forward to watch her approach. She saw the blur of their whitened faces and behind them a little figure running wildly forward, waving his arms and crying aloud. Girls, girls, jump, run, get away, get away. The words rang meaningless in her ears, for she was dazed beyond the power of thought. The running figure drew nearer and nearer, still waving its hands, still calling out that agonized cry. The girls disappeared to right and left, but the figure itself was close at hand, closer, closer at her very side, then came a shock, a jar. Evie's tottering figure fell forward over her own. Evie's shriek of anguish rang in her ears, and then came blackness, a blackness as of death. THE CONSEQUENCES When Rhoda opened her eyes she was lying in a strange bed, and someone was sitting by her side, anxiously watching her face. It was not Nurse Parak's alance but the matron of another house, whose features seemed unfamiliar despite their kindly expression. You were better, you feel rested now, she questioned, and Rhoda struggled wearily to form a reply. My headaches, I feel tired. Yes, yes, of course, don't speak, but like quite still I will stay beside you. A soothing hand was pressed upon her own, and once again her eyes closed, and she floated away into that strange, dreamlike world. Sometimes all was blank. At other times she was dimly conscious of what went on around, as when voices murmured together by her side, and Nurse related how she had spoken and answered a question, and the doctor declared in reply that she was better, decidedly better. She was heavy and weary, and had no desire but to be left alone, while time passed by in a curious dizzy fashion, light and darkness succeeding each other with extraordinary celerity. Then gradually all became clear she was lying in the sick room, where patients suffering from non-infectious complaints were taken. The pressure at her head was giving way, allowing glimmering flashes of memory. What was it? A terrible, terrible nightmare, a horror as of falling from a great height. A sudden, numbing crash. Where has she been? What had she done? And then with another struggling gleam, the toboggan. Her cry of distress brought the nurse to her side, while she gasped out of feeble. I remember. I was tobogganing. I was too quick. I suppose I fell. Yes, you fell, but you are better now. You are getting on finally. Just keep quiet, and you will be up again in a few days. There was a tone of relief in the good woman's voice, as though there had been another remembrance, which she had feared to hear, but Rhoda did not notice it, for a very few words seemed to tire her in those days, and her brain was unable to grasp more than one idea at a time. The next time she woke, her mother was sitting by the bed, it appeared that she had been staying in the house for the past four days, peeping in at the invalid while she slept, but waiting the doctor's permission to appear before her waking eyes. Rhoda was languidly pleased to see her, but puzzled to account for the air of depression, which lay so constantly on the once cheery face. If she were getting better, why did everyone look so doleful? The doctor, her mother, Miss Bruce, everyone whom she saw? She questioned but could get no answer, struggled after a haunting memory, which at one moment seemed at the point of shaping itself into words, and at the next, retreated to a hopeless distance. And then suddenly, by one of those marvelous actions of the brain, which we can never understand, the whole scene flashed upon her as she lay upon her pillow, thinking of something entirely different and not troubling her head about the mystery. She saw herself dragging the toboggan up the bank, felt again the horror of that first mad rush. Saw the girls flying to right and left before Evie's waving arms, and heard Evie's voice shriek aloud in the pain of the sudden collision. Her own agonized exclamation brought mother and nurse hurrying across the room to lay soothing hands upon her and hold her down in bed as she cried out wildly, Oh, I remember, I remember, Evie, the toboggan dashed up the bank, and she was looking after the girls, and I crashed into her, and she shrieked. Oh, Evie, Evie, she was hurt, terribly hurt, she fell down over me. Where is she now? I must go to her, I must go at once. The two watchers exchanged a rapid glance, and even in that moment of agitation, Rhoda realized that this was the awakening which they had been dreading. This the explanation of the universal depression. A new note of fear sounded in her voice as she quavered feebly. Is Evie dead? No, no. Nor likely to die. She's been ill, but she's getting better now. She's in her own room with nurse to look after her. You cannot possibly see her yet, for it would be bad for both. But you're sure she's better? You're sure she will get well? You're not deceiving me just to keep me quiet. No, indeed. It is the truth that she is getting stronger every day. When I say that, you can believe that I am not deceiving you. Can't you, dear? Yes, of course. She was bound to believe it. But in some patience the faculty seemed strangely sharpened in convalescence, and despite her mother's assurance Rhoda felt convinced that something was being kept back, that something had happened to Evie, which she was not to be allowed to know. She asked no more questions, but with sharpened eyes watched the faces of the visitors who were now allowed to see her, and found in each the same shade of depression. She was waiting for an opportunity, and it came at last, on the first day when she was allowed to sit up, and Miss Bruce came in to pay her usual visit. No one else was in the room, and Rhoda looked up into the strong, grave face, and felt her heart beat rapidly. Now was her opportunity. Miss Bruce could be trusted to answer truthfully, however painful might be the news which she had to unfold. She was neither hard nor unsympathetic, but she had the courage of her convictions, and had faced too many disagreeable duties to understand the meaning of shirking. Rhoda clasped her hands tightly together, swallowed nervously once or twice, and began, Miss Bruce, please. I want to ask you. Mother won't tell me. Was it my fault that Evie was hurt? The principal's face hardened involuntarily. What do you think yourself, Rhoda? Your companions, as you know, are never ready to speak against a friend. But I have made the strictest inquiries into this sad affair, and I hear that the girls warned you that you were attempting a dangerous feat, and implored you to wait until Miss Everett returned. You chose to disregard them, and to take no thought of the risk to others, and Rhoda turned, if possible, a shade paler than before. I see, she said slowly. I suppose it's no use saying that I never thought I would hurt anyone but myself. I should have thought. Everyone who knows me knows that I love Evie, and would rather have been smashed to pieces than have harmed her in any way. Yes, Rhoda, Miss Bruce, sighed heavily. That is quite true, but nevertheless it seems to me a little inconsistent that you did not think more of her feelings. She was responsible for your safety, and you can hardly have believed that she would have allowed such a mad trick. However, I don't wish to reproach you for your punishment has been taken out of my hands. Nothing that I could do or say could affect you half so much as the thought of the trouble which you have brought upon your kind, good friend. It was coming now. It was coming at last. Rhoda's heart gave a wild, fluttering leap. She looked up breathlessly into the unbending face. What is the trouble? I thought she was like me, stunned and shaken. I never heard. No. It is not at all the same. You had a slight concussion from which you have now recovered. Her injury is much more lasting. Her right kneecap was broken, and the doctor's fear it will never be quite right again. She will probably be lame for life. Rhoda turned her head aside and said no word, and Miss Bruce stood looking down her in silence also. The curly hair was fastened back by a ribbon tied in the nape of the neck, and the profile was still visible leaning against the pillows. It was motionless, except for one tell-tale pulse above the ear which beat furiously up and down, up and down, beneath the drawn skin. The principal looked on that little pulse and laid her hand pitifully on the girl's head. I will leave you now, Rhoda. You would rather be alone. I am truly sorry for you. But I am powerless to help. One can only pray that some good may come out of all this trouble. She left the room and Rhoda was alone at last to face the nightmare which had come into her life. Evie. Lamed. And by her doing, Evie injured for life by one moment's thoughtlessness, rashness, call it wickedness, if you will. Even then it seemed impossible that it should be allowed to have such lasting consequences. One moment's disobedience and then to suffer for it, all her life, to see Evie, dear, sweet, graceful Evie, limping about, crippled and helpless, to keep ever in one's mind the memory of that last wild run, the last time Evie would ever run, could retribution possibly have taken to itself a more torturing form? She had spoiled Evie's life and brought misery into a happy home. I could have borne it if it had happened to myself. She gasped, but no, I must needs get well and be strong and rich and healthy. I suppose I shall laugh again someday and forget and be happy while Evie, I am a cane upon earth, not fit to live. I wish I could die this minute and not have a chance to do any more mischief. But we cannot die just because we wish to escape the consequences of our own misdoing. We are obliged to live and face them day after day. Crises of suffering, moments of humiliation, stabbing returns of pain, just when we are congratulating ourselves that the worst is over, they must be lived through and though we fly to the ends of the world, they will still follow in our wake. One of the consequences which Rhoda dreaded, and yet longed for in curious, contradictory fashion, was her first interview with Evie herself. What would she say? What would she do? Would she be sweet and self-forgetful as of old, or full of bitter reproaches? She could gather no clue from her companions, and her first request to be allowed to visit the invalid in her room was vetoed on the ground that the excitement would be bad for herself and could do Evie no good. When, however, she was allowed to walk about, and even entertain her companions to tea, the first excuse could no longer be offered, and at last, consent being given, she tapped, tremblingly, at the well-known door. Nurse's voice bade her enter, and she walked forward with her eyes fixed on the bed on which Evie lay. Her face was thin and drawn and had lost its colour, yet it was none of these things which struck a chill to Rhoda's heart. But the expression in the eyes themselves, Evie's sweet brown eyes, which of old, had been a light with kindly humour, they were blank eyes now, listless eyes, which stared and stared, yet seemed hardly to see that at which they gazed. Rhoda stood before her for a full moment, before the light of recognition showed in their depths, and even then it was a flicker more than a light, and died out again with startling rapidity. The girl stood trembling, the carefully rehearsed words fading away from memory, for excuses and protestations seemed alike useless in the presence of that despairing calm. She looked pitifully into the set face and faltered out. Evie, I've come. I wanted to see you. I've thought about you every minute of the time. I could not stay away. No answer. Evie might not have heard her speak for all the signs of emotion which appeared on her face. Rhoda waited another moment, and then with a catch in her voice asked another question. Is your knee very painful, Evie? No. Evie winced at that, and turning towards the other side of the bed, held out her hand appealingly towards the nurse, who took it in her own and frowned a warning to the visitor. You had better go now, Miss. She isn't equal to much yet. You have got your way and seen her, so just give her a kiss and go quietly away. Tears of disappointment rushed to Rhoda's eyes, and as she stooped to give that farewell kiss, the salt drops fell upon Evie's cheeks and roused her momentarily from her lethargy. Poor Rhoda, she sighed softly. Poor little Rhoda, and then her eyes closed, and nurse took hold of the girl's arm and led her resolutely away. You look as if you were going to faint yourself, and I can't have two of you on my hands. She said, as soon as the corridor was reached and the door closed behind them, you'd just come back into your own room, my dear, and lie down on the bed. Nurse, tell me, you've been with her the whole time and know how she feels. Will she ever forgive me? I never, never thought it would be so bad as this. She would not speak to me, would not look at me even. She wasn't thinking of you at all, my dear. She was thinking of her knee. That is all she can find time to think of just now. The doctors kept it from her as long as they could, but she questioned them and would not be put off. So they had to tell her the truth. She knows she will be lame, and it is pretty well broken her heart. It's the bread out of her mouth, poor lamb, and she knows it. It will be many a long day before she is herself again. And this was the end of Rhoda's first meeting with Laura Everett after her accident. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of Tom and Some Other Girls by Mrs. George DeHorne Vasey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Mrs. Chester's Plan It was many days before Rhoda saw Ms. Everett again, but if she was not admitted to the sick room, her mother was a frequent and welcome visitor, and took entire charge of the invalid, while the nurse fulfilled her ordinary duties. There was little actual nursing to be done, but the doctors were anxious to prevent solitary repinings and to do what was possible to raise the spirits of their patient. Evie's own mother had come down for a few days to satisfy herself concerning her daughter's condition, but had been obliged to hurry back to the vicarage where the invalid's sister was growing worse rather than better, so that her presence could badly be spared. She was a worn, faded addition of Evie, and looked so typical of what the girl herself might now become that Rhoda could not bear to look at her. The two mothers, however, became great friends, for they met with a remembrance of kindness on the one side and an overwhelming sympathy on the other, and were drawn together by hours of mutual anxiety. In each case the worst dread was unfulfilled, but what remained to be born required all the fortitude which they could summon. The vicar's wife saw one of the props of the home, disabled for life, and Mrs. Chester's kind heart was rung with anguish at the thought that her child had been the cause of so much suffering. It seemed a strange dispensation of providence that she, the main object of whose life had been to help her fellow creatures, should have this burden laid upon her, but she bore it uncomplainingly, striving to cheer the poor woman whose lot was so much harder than her own. Before they parted she broached a scheme which she had been planning in secret, and, having received a willing consent, bided her opportunity to lay it before the invalid herself. It came at last one chilly afternoon when Evie was laid on the sofa before the fire as a sign that convalescence had really begun. The knee was still bound up, as it was not proposed, that she should attempt to walk until the journey home had been accomplished, and it was on this subject that Evie made her first remark. I suppose, she began, looking at Mrs. Chester with the brown eyes, which had grown so pathetic in their gaze in the last few weeks, I suppose I can travel now as soon as it can be arranged. She'll have to be carried about at each of the changes, and it must be planned ahead in this busy season. I must speak to Miss Bruce and ask her what I had better do. Mrs. Chester bent forward and poked the fire in a flurried, embarrassed manner. She knitted her brows, and her rosy face grew a shade deeper in color. Oh, yes, she assented vaguely. Of course, but Evie dear, I have been waiting to talk to you about something which has been very much on my mind lately. We are leaving Thursday, Rota and I, and are having a through carriage and every possible appliance to make the journey easy, and I thought that it would be so much simpler for you, dear, to travel with us and spend a few weeks at the chase before going home. Evie smiled, with the languid courtesy with which an invalid listens to an impossible proposition. It is very kind of you, she said. Someday I shall be glad to come, but not at present, thank you. I am not well enough to pay visits. But, my child, it would not be like an ordinary visit. You should do exactly as you would in your own home. Stay in bed or get up, as you pleased, and make out your own program for the day. You know me now and can surely understand that you need feel no ceremony in coming to my house. No, indeed, you have been so kind to me all this time that I should be ungrateful if I did not realize that. I would rather be with you than anyone else outside my own family, but—but— The tears gathered and rolled down the pale cheeks. Oh, surely you understand that just now I want to be at home with my own mother and father. Yes, I do understand, poor dear. It would be unnatural if you felt anything else. But listen, Evie, it is for your parents' sake, as well as for your own, that I urge you to come. You need constant care and nursing and cheering up. And it would be very difficult for them to manage all this just now. Your mother is overworked, as it is, and has already one invalid on her hands, but if you come to us, the whole household will be at your service. My kind old Mary shall be your nurse, and wait upon you hand and foot. I will drive you about so that you can get the air without fatigue, and you shall have your couch carried into the conservatory off the drawing-room, and lie there among the flowers which you love so much. Every comfort that money can buy shall be yours, to help to make you strong again. I say it in no spirit of boasting, dear, for we have been poor ourselves, and owe our riches to no merit of our own. We look upon them as a trust from God, to be used for the good of others, even more than ourselves, and surely no one had ever a nearer, stronger claim. Her voice broke off tremblingly, and Evie looked at her, with a troubled glance. Dear Mrs. Chester, you are so good! It all sounds most attractive and luxurious, and I'm sure you would spoil me with kindness, but would it not be rather selfish? You say mother is overworked, and that is quite true. But all the same, she might feel hurt if I chose to go somewhere else. Now I'll tell you all about it, cried Mrs. Chester briskly, senting victory in the air, and beginning to smile again in her old cheery fashion. Your mother and I had a talk about it before she left. She felt grieved not to have you at home for Christmas, but for your own sake was most anxious that you should come to us. She realized that it would be better for you in every way, and the quickest means to the end which we all have in view, to make you well and strong again. She left it to me to make the suggestion, but you will find that she is quite willing, even anxious. Yes, said Evie, and lay silently gazing at the heart of the fire. The downcast face looked very fair and fragile, but for the moment the old sweetness was wanting. The lips were pressed together, the chin was fixed and stubborn, outward signs of the mental fight which was going on, between the impulse to give way, and a sore, sore feeling of injury which made it seem impossible to accept a favor from this quarter of all others. The elder woman saw these signs and read their meaning with painful accuracy, and the exclamation which burst from her lips startled the invalid by its intensity. Oh, my lassie! she cried. Oh, my lassie, be generous! You have been sorely tried, and our hearts are broken to think of your trouble. But don't you see this is the only way in which it has left us to help? Sympathy and regret are abstract things and can do no real good, for though they ease our minds they leave you untouched. My dear girl, can you be generous enough to accept help from the hands that have injured you? It's a hard thing to ask, I know it is, but I am an old woman, and I plead with you to give us this opportunity. Let me be a mother to you, dear, and ease your recovery in every way that I can. Money has great power, and one never realizes it more than in time of sickness. I can spare you many a pain and discomfort if you will give me the opportunity. And my poor girl is fretting herself thin by brooding over the past. It would be new life to her to be allowed to wait upon you. It's hard for you, dear. I know it's hard. You would rather cut yourself a drift from us, and never see us again. But it is in your power to return good for evil, to lighten our trouble as no one else could do. Will you come, Evie? Evie looked into the quivering face, and her eyes shone. Then the kind arms opened wide, and the brown head nestled down on the broad motherly shoulder. There was no need for words, for the answer was given far more eloquently in look and gesture. God bless you, my lassie! murmured Mrs. Chester fondly, and they sat in silence together, gazing into the fire. A few tears rose in Evie's eyes and ran silently down her cheeks, but they were happy tears, with which were wiped away all remains of bitterness. There is no truer way of forgiving our enemies than by consenting to be helped at their hands. And if the effort be great, it brings with it an exceeding great reward. At the end of ten minutes Evie raised her head from its resting place and said, in her old bright voice, Shall we ask Rhoda to tea? It is such a lovely fire, and you brought in such a bountiful supply of cakes and good things, that it seems greedy to keep them all to myself. Ask Rhoda to come in and help to make a cozy little party. Then, as Mrs. Chester stooped to kiss her cheek, she whispered hastily, Tell her, tell her not to mention the past, never to mention it again, we will turn over a new leaf today, and think only of the future. End of chapter twenty-two Chapter twenty-three of Tom and Some Other Girls by Mrs. George D. Horn-Basey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Good-bye to Hearst Manor The morning of the day dawned on which the invalids were to travel to early Chase, and Rhoda lay awake upon her bed, listening to the echo of the girls' voices as they sang the morning hymn in the hall below. Her heart was softened with the feeling at once of thankfulness and dread, thankfulness that Evie's life had been spared, and her friendship renewed, and dread because, she dimly realized, this was the last of the dear school days as they had been. Even if she returned after the holidays, which seemed doubtful, it would be a changed house indeed, with the older girls scattered all over the country and Evie no longer at hand to soothe and lighten every trouble. Her thoughts went back to her first coming to Hearst Manor eighteen months before, and dwelt, sadly, on her own ambitious hopes. It had all seemed so easy, so certain, she had planned her career with such happy assurance, with never a thought, but that success and distinction lay waiting for her grasp. And it had all ended in this, that she was returning home, enfeebled in health, foiled in ambition, with the bitter weight on her conscience, that herself well had inflicted a lifelong injury on the kindest of friends. I have failed, sighed Rhoda, humbly to herself. But why? I never meant to do wrong. I intended only to work hard and get on. Surely, surely there was nothing wicked in that. It can't be possible to be too industrious. And yet Evie evidently thought something was wrong, and the vicar. What can it have been? I wish I wish I knew, I'm tired of going my own way, for it leads to nothing but misery and disappointment. I should like to find out the secret of being happy and contented like other people. Her eyes filled with tears, those blue eyes which had been so full of confidence, and she clasped her fingers upon the counterpane. The roll of the organ sounded through the house, and the girl's clear voices singing a familiar tune. She listened unthinkingly until suddenly one verse struck sharply on her ear, and startled her into vivid attention. The trivial round, the common task, we'll furnish all we ought to ask, room to deny ourselves, a road to bring us daily nearer God. She had heard those words a hundred times before, had repeated them at her mother's knee, had sung them in church, not once, but many times. Yet it seemed that until that moment no conception of their meaning had penetrated her brain. What was it which was all we ought to ask, room to deny ourselves, to put ourselves last, to be careless of our own position? And this path of self-denial was the road that led to God himself? Was this what Evie had meant when she spoke of the secret which each one must find out for herself? Was this the explanation of the contentment which the vicar had found in his ill-paying parish? Room to deny oneself, oh, but this had been far, far from her own ambitions, she had asked for room to distinguish herself, to shine among her fellows, to be first and foremost, praised and applauded? Her own advancement had been the one absorbing aim and life, and to gratify it she had been willing to see others fail and to congratulate herself in the face of their distress. Never once in all the miseries of disappointment which she had undergone had it occurred to her that the explanation of her difficulties lay in the motive underlying her efforts. The point of view from which she had started. Other girls had worked as hard as herself, but with some definite and worthy aims such as to help their parents, or to fit themselves for work in life. Ruda was honest, even when honesty was to her own hurt, and she acknowledged it had been far otherwise in her case when she had failed in her examination. It had not been deficiency in knowledge which she had deplored, but the certificate, the star to her name, the outward and visible signs of success, when she realized the hopelessness of seeing her name on the record wall. Loss of honor and glory had been her regret, not sorrow for the thought that she had passed through school and failed to leave behind a tradition of well-doing whereby future scholars might be strengthened and encouraged. Ruda hid her face and the pillow and lay still, communing with her own heart. How bitter they are, these moments of self-revelation. How mysterious is the way in which the veil seems suddenly to lift, and show us the true figure instead of the mythical vision which we have cherished in our thoughts. They come suddenly at the most unexpected moments, roused by apparently the most trivial of causes, so that the friend by our side has no idea of the crisis through which we are passing. Ruda Chester never forgot that last morning at school. She could never hear that hymn sung without a thrill of painful remembrance. When the years had passed and she had daughters of her own, the sound of the familiar words would still bring a flush to her cheeks, but no human friend ever knew all that it meant to her. Ruda learned her lesson, nonetheless surely for keeping silence concerning it. A few hours later the travelers were ready to depart and Evie was carried down the staircase into the hall. Mrs. Chester had promised that everything that wealth could secure should be done for the comfort of her guest, and royally did she keep her promise. If she had been a princess of the blood, Evie declared she could not have had a more luxuriously comfortable journey. An ambulance drove up to the door to convey the little party to the station, and inside sat a surgical nurse ready to give her skilled attention to any need that might arise. The girls flocked in hall and doorway to wave farewells, edging to the front to cry. Come back soon, in confident trouble, then retiring to the background to gulp back the tears, which rose at the sight of the thin little face, which told such a pathetic story of suffering. Not a single tear did Evie see, however, nor any face that was not wreathed in smiles. And when the strains of, for she's a jolly good fellow, followed the ambulance down the drive, she laughed merrily and waved her handkerchief out of the window, never suspecting with what swelling throats many of the singers joined in the strain. Rhoda laughed, too. But she did not wave her handkerchief. Curiously enough, it never occurred to her to think that she herself was included in that farewell demonstration, or to resent the apparent indifference with which she had been allowed to depart. Her own special friends had embraced her warmly enough, but even they had given the lion's share of attention to Evie, while the majority of the girls had no eyes nor attention for anyone else. The Rhoda of six months or a year ago would have bitterly resented such a slight, but today she found no reason to blame others for following her own example. Evie was the supreme consideration and the girl was so entirely absorbed in looking after her comfort that she had forgotten all about her own portal importance. Love is the gentlest as well as the cleverest of schoolmasters and teaches his lessons so subtly that we are unconscious of our progress until, low, the hill difficulty is overcome and we find ourselves erect on the wide breezy plain. At the station a saloon carriage was waiting, labeled, Engaged, inside which were all manner of provisions for the comfort of the journey. Hot water bottles, cushions, rugs, piles of papers and magazines, and a hamper of dainty eatables from the chase. Evie was wrapped in Mrs. Chester's sable cloak and banked up with cushions by the window, so that she might look out and be amused by the sight of the Christmas traffic of the various stations. She stared about her with the enjoyment of a convalescent, who has had more than enough of her own society, and the lingerers on the platform, stared back at the pretty, fragile-looking invalid who was traveling in such pomp and circumstance. They think I'm a princess, cried Evie. I hope they think I'm a princess. And she laid her little head against the cushions and sniffed at a big silver-mounted bottle of smelling salts with an air of languid complacency which vastly amused her companions. Presently, nurse lighted an etna and warmed some cups of soup, while one good thing after another came out of the hamper to add to the feast. Then followed a stoppage, with the arrival of obsequious porters with fresh foot warmers, then dusk closing in over the wintry landscape, the lighting of electric lamps and the refreshing cup of tea. It was Evie's first experience of luxurious traveling, and she told herself with a sigh that it was very, very comfortable, much more comfortable than shivering in a drafty third clast's carriage, and changing three times over to wait in still more drafty stations. With the arrival at early chase came more pleasant surprises for she was not carried upstairs but into a room on the ground floor, which was ordinarily used as Mrs. Chester's boudoir, and had been transformed into the most cheerful and delightful of bedrooms. There was really little to distinguish it from a sitting room, except the bed with its silk and cover, and even this was hidden behind a screen in the daytime. A couch was drawn up before the fire, and over it lay the daintiest pink silk dressing gown that was ever seen, with the warmest of linings inside and trimmed without, with a profusion of those airy frills and laces dear to the feminine heart. For me, gasped Evie, staring at its splendor with big astonished eyes, a glow of color came into her cheeks as she turned it over and over to inspect its intricacies. I should think I would come into dinner just with such a gown to wear, she cried laughingly. I am longing to put it on and see what it feels like to be a fashionable lady. She would not acknowledge that she was tired, but even after an hour's sleep she still looked so fragile that the two members of the household who had not seen her before were deeply impressed with the change which had taken place since their last meeting. Very charming did she look when the sofa was wheeled into the dining room, and she lay in her pretty pink finaries the center of attraction and attention, but the flush of excitement soon faded and the dark eyes looked pathetic in spite of their smiles. Rhoda watched the faces of father and mother, and her heart sank as she saw the elder man knit his brow, and the younger look away quickly and bite his lip under his moustache, as if the sight were too painful to be endured. Beyond a few loving words at greeting, neither had manifested any concern about herself, and once again she had not noticed the omission. I've had such a happy day, I feel like a princess, such a spoiled princess, said Evie, when she went to bed that night. But there were sad days in store for the poor little princess, from which all the care and love of her friends could not save her. When the decree went forth that she could make her first attempt to walk, Rhoda clapped her hands with joy, and could not understand the reason of the quick grave glance which the nurse cast upon her. She and her mother had decided that the attempt must be made in the drawing room after tea, and nurse made no objection, hoping perhaps that the presence of onlookers would give her patient extra strength for the ordeal. She knew what it meant if the others did not. But, alas, they all learned soon enough, as, at the first slight movement, Evie's white face turned gray, and she groaned in mingled anguish and dismay. I can't, she cried. Oh, I can't! It's like knives going through me. I can't move. Oh, but you must, my dear, it has to be done, and the braver you are, the sooner it will be over. You are bound to suffer the first few times, but it would be ten times worse to allow the joint to stiffen. Now be brave and try to take just two steps with me. I will support you on one side, and nurse looked round questioningly. Mr. Harold will take the other. You can lean all your weight on us. We won't let you fall. Harold stepped forward without a word, and put his strong arm under hers, and as he did so, Evie raised her eyes to his with a look which those who saw it never forgot. A look such as might have been given by an animal caught in a snare, from which it was powerless to escape. Rhoda told herself savagely that Harold was a brute to persist in the face of that dumb appeal, but he did not quail even when the sob rose to a cry, and a trembling plea for mercy. The two steps were taken, and henceforth for weeks to come, the nightmare of repeated effort weighed upon the spirits of the household. At eleven o'clock, after tea, after dinner, three times a day was the inexorable program repeated in spite of prayers and protestations. Mrs. Chester's theory was that it was brutal to torture the child, and that if she were to be lame for pity's sake, let her be lame in peace. Rhoda suffered agonies of remorse and passionate revolts against the mystery of pain, but the nurse and her assistant never showed a sign of wavering. As a rule, Evie made a gallant attempt to control her sufferings, but there were occasions when even her fortitude gave was, as on one afternoon, when, after taking a certain number of steps, she was informed that still more must be attempted. She was powerless in the hands that held her, but when she collapsed into helpless sobbing on the sofa, Rhoda turned on her brother with furious indignation. You are a brute, Harold, you have no heart! How dare you do it! How dare you make her suffer so! He did not answer, but turned his head aside and stared steadily out of the window. Rhoda glared at him with smarting eyes and suddenly saw something which put a check on her excitement. Harold's profile was turned toward her and the light showed great drops of moisture standing upon the brow and rolling slowly down the cheek. She realized with a pang that once again she had been too quick in her judgment. In spite of his firmness, Harold had suffered more than she, more than her mother, perhaps more than Evie herself. CHAPTER XXIV Despite the painful incidents of Evie's convalescence, Christmas was a happy season at early Chase, for it had always been a tradition of the household to make much of this festival, and Mrs. Chester could not bring herself to change her habits as the years advanced. Every 26th of December Mr. Chester would say solemnly, This is the last time I cannot let you wear yourself out like this, when Christmas cards have to be sent off by the hundred and presents by the score, it is time to call a halt, for what has been a pleasure becomes a burden. Next year you drop these outside people and think only of our immediate circle, and Mrs. Chester would murmur meekly, Yes dear, of course, just as you wish, and begin laying in stores for next Christmas at her first visit to the January sales. There was a cupboard in one of the spare rooms, which was dedicated entirely to the keeping of presents, and into it went all manner of knick-knacks which were picked up during the year, bizarre gleaning in the shape of cushions, cosies and tablecloths, relics of travel, and a hundred and one articles, useful and ornamental, which had been bought because they were so cheap, and it really seemed wicked to leave them lying on the shop counter. When a need arose as when a birthday was suddenly remembered the day before it fell due, or an anniversary suggested the propriety of a little offering, it was the easiest thing in the world to poke about in the cupboard until a suitable gift was discovered. Laura Everett was much amused by this novel way of apportioning presents, which was so strangely different from that practiced at her own home. When she was wheeled into the morning room a few days before Christmas, it was to find a small bazaar of fancy articles spread on tables and sofas, while Mrs. Chester sat checking off the names written on a long sheet of paper, and Rhoda cried out, Here's a yellow silk cushion, whom do we know who has got a complexion that can bear being set off against the background of sulfur yellow? Here's a gorgeous table-center quite beautifully worked, whom do we know who was old-fashioned enough to use table-centers still? Here's a piece of Turkish embroidery which would be the very thing to cover that shabby old sofa at the vicarage, it was absolutely in holes the last time I saw it. Turkish embroidery? Mrs. Mason, thank goodness that's one thing settled. Wrap it up at once, Rhoda dear, it will be one thing less to do, cried Mrs. Chester, in a tone of relief, while Evie held up her hands in astonishment. Of all the extraordinary ways of giving presents, to have a roomful of things, and then to puzzle us to whom you can give them? This is indeed a new experience for me. When we talk over our presents at home, it is to wonder how in the world we can contrive to buy twenty things for nineteen shillings. Such a wholesale way of managing things I never imagined in my wildest moments. She gave a little sigh of envy as she looked at the lavish profusion which lay around, yet, after all, there was a pleasure in contriving those simple gifts, in putting in delicate stitches to add to the value of cheap materials, a triumph in manufacturing something out of nothing which Rhoda and her mother could never enjoy. She was not at all sure that that old home fashion was not the sweeter after all. While the apportioning of gifts was going on in the morning room, the cook and her kitchen maids were busy at work in the great nagged kitchen, manufacturing all sorts of dainties to be packed away in the hampers ranged in readiness along the walls. It was a sight to see the good things laid out on the tables, and Evie was carried down on her chair to admire and praise with the rest and to watch the interesting process of packing. Far and wide these hampers went, carrying good cheer into many a home where otherwise there would have been scanty provisions for the day of rejoicing and bringing unexpected gleams of sunshine to many an anxious heart. Needless to say one of the best was addressed to a country personage especially dear to Evie's heart and was accompanied by a parcel of presents which had not been lightly bought but worked by loving fingers during long hours of convalescence. Christmas Day itself was a busy occasion when the home party had little leisure to think of themselves, so unending was the stream of pensioners which came up to the chase to receive their gifts and to be fed and warmed in the gaily decorated rooms. Dinner was served early so that the servants might be free to have their festivities in the evening, and at nine o'clock all the employees on the estate came up dressed in their best and danced with the servants in the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Chester with Harold and Rhoda honored the assembly by joining in the first dance, and Evie sat in her wheeled chair looking on and trying to keep a smiling face the while she fought one of the mental battles which seemed to meet her on every step of the road to recovery. She had been so much occupied grieving over the serious financial loss which her inability to work would involve that she had taken little thought of the pleasures from which she was debarred, but after all she was but a girl and a girl with a keen capacity for enjoyment, and it was a very keen pang which went through her heart as she listened to the seductive strains of the band and watched the couples glide slowly by. The dark brows twitched as if in pain, and she drew aside the folds of the pink teagun to cast a longing glance at the little useless feet stretched before her. A sudden remembrance arose of the day when Rhoda protested in dismay at the thought of wearing the ugly regulation school shoes, and of her own confession of love for pretty slippers, of the satisfaction with which she had dawned of the same on thirsty evenings and danced about the hall as blithely as any one of her pupils. Those days were over, forever over, she would never again know the joy of any rapid exhilarating motion. She lifted her hand to wipe away a tear hoping to escape observation the while, but to her dismay Harold stood by her side and his eyes met hers with an expression of pained understanding, and a reference to her infirmity seemed to distress him so acutely that the first instinct was to comfort him instead of herself, and she smiled through her tears, saying in the sweetest tones of her always sweet voice, Don't, please, don't look so sorry. It was babyish of me, but just for one moment I was so fond of dancing, you know, and I had never realized before. Just so. You realize fresh losses every day, I know what you must feel. You have not been babyish at all, but most brave and heroic. Ye beside. It's nice to be praised, but I feel as if I don't deserve it. I am not in the least brave at heart. Sometimes I almost dread getting strong, for then I shall have to face so much. I'm conceited, too, for I hate the idea of limping and being stiff and ungraceful. I thought I did not care for appearance, but I did. Oh, a great deal! It is a humiliating discovery, and I am trying hard to cure myself, but pride dies slowly. There was a girl at school who was lame. I used to be so sorry for her, and yet, compared with other misfortunes, it is a very little thing. I can still move about and use my faculties. It is not so bad, after all. Yes, said Harold, unexpectedly. It is very bad. It is a mistake to pretend to yourself that it is only a small trial, for it's not true. And the pretense is sure to break down some day and leave you where you were. It is a great affliction for people to be crippled even when they are old and have lost their energy, but for a girl like you it is ten times worse. Don't be too hard on yourself and expect resignation to come all at once. I believe the best plan is to face it fully, and to say to yourself, it's a big test, one of the biggest I could have to bear. I shall feel the pinch not today only, but tomorrow and the next year, and as long as I live. It is going to take a big effort to save myself from growing bitter and discouraged, but it's worth fighting for my whole life hangs on the result. If I can succeed, if I can rise above infirmity and keep a bright, uncomplaining spirit, he broke off suddenly and Evie breathed a quick. Yes, yes I know, I feel that too. Thank you so much. It is good to talk to someone who understands. It helps me on. Don't thank me. It is like my presumption to venture to preach to you. But you have helped me so much that when I saw you in trouble I could not be silent. I was obliged to do what I could. I have helped you, repeated Evie, blankly, and a flush of color rose in her pale cheeks, which made her look for one moment the happy blooming girl of old. In what way have I ever helped you or been anything but an anxiety in care? But Harold did not answer, and that was the last chance of a tete-a-tete conversation for that evening, for presently she was carried off to her own room and helped into bed, where she lay awake for a long, long time, staring before her in the twilight, and recalling the lessons of consolation to which she had just listened. It must surely have been wonderfully wise, wonderfully true, since it did not so much comfort as do away with the very necessity for comfort. She could not delude herself that she felt sad or despondent or anything but mysteriously happy, and at rest as she lay smiling softly to herself in the flickering fire-light. Two days later came a delightful surprise. Evie and her late pupil were sitting in the morning-room writing letters of thanks to the many donors of Christmas presents, when a door opened and shut and someone walked into the room. It was such an ordinary matter-of-fact entrance that neither of the writers troubled to look up, taking it for granted that the newcomer was Mrs. Chester, who had left the room but a few minutes before. Two minutes later, however, Evie finished her sheet and lifted her eyes to make a casual remark. When she promptly fell back in her chair, with a shriek and a hand pressed over her heart, Rhoda jumped up an alarm and then was it a dream or did a well-known figure really lean up against the mantelpiece, in familiar gentlemanly attitude, a roguish smile curling the lips and little eyes alight with mischief. Tom! Tom! Oh, Tom! You angel! Where in the world have you come from? cried Rhoda, rushing forward without stretched arms in a very whirlwind of welcome. How perfectly delicious to see you again! And what a terrific start you gave me! Oh, what a surprise! chanted Tom easily, rubbing her cheeks as if to wipe away the kisses pressed upon it, and advancing to greet Evie with a nonchalance, which for once was a trifle overdone, though neither of her friends within the least danger of mistaking her real feelings. Same to you and many of them, she continued, sitting down without waiting for an invitation and smiling round in genial fashion. It really was as good as a play, standing there and watching you two scribbling away with faces as solemn as judges. What a squeal Evie gave! It made me jump in my skin. Yes, I'm visiting my female relative and determined to pay you a visit even if it were only for an hour. It can't be much longer for we have a tea fight on this afternoon when every spinster in the neighborhood is coming to stare at me and deliver her views on higher education. Such a lark. Some of them strongly approve and others object, and I agree with each in turn, until the poor deers are so bamboozled they don't know what to do. They think I'm an amably disposed young person but defective in brains, and poor Aunt Jim gets quite low in her mind for she wants me to impress them and branch off into Latin and Greek as if they came more naturally to me than English. I wish they did. It takes the conceit out of one to go up to college and compete with women instead of girls. Don't you like it, Tom? Are you happy? Didn't you miss the manner and feel homesick for the girls in the old school parlor? Queried Rhoda eagerly and Tom screwed up her face in meaning fashion. Should have done. If I had not kept a tight hand but you know my principle, never to worry over what can't be cured. Plenty to bother oneself about without that. I thought of you all a great deal and realized that I'd been even happier than I knew, and that I disliked taking a bottom place so abominably that it was plainly the best thing for me to do. I love power. Side Tom, wagging her head in sorrowful confession. And that's just what I see no chance of getting again for a precious long time to come. I haven't much time to grieve, however, for my poor little nose is fairly worn away. It's kept so near to the grindstone. When you look thinner, said Rhoda truthfully enough, poor old Tom, you mustn't let them wear you out. We will take care of you, at least, so I'll go and order lunch earlier than usual, if you really must be off so soon. The three o'clock train, I suppose? Yes, please, don't worry about anything special for me. Half a dozen cutlets or a few pounds of steak is all I could eat, I assure you," said Tom, modestly, and Rhoda went laughing out of the room, leaving her two friends gazing at one another in an embarrassed silence. No reference had so far been made to the accident which was the cause of Evie's presence at the chase. But it was impossible that the visit should end in silence, and both instinctively felt that Rhoda's absence gave the best opportunity for what must be said. The color came into Evie's face as she nerfed herself to open the painful subject. You know, of course, Tom, that I am not going back to Hearst. Miss Bruce has been most kind, but she must consider the good of the greater number, and this accident has shown more plainly than ever the necessity of having a house mistress who can join in the games with the girls. I shall never be any good for a large school again, for even apart from the games, the long stares and corridors would be too trying. So you see, my career is cut off suddenly. Yes, I see a thought of that, it's very interesting," said Tom, in a dreamy voice, which brought a flush of indignation into Evie's eyes. Interesting, she repeated. Is that what you call it? It's not the word I should have used or expected from you, Tom, or from any of my friends. No, perhaps not, but it is interesting all the same, for one is so curious to see what will happen next, when you have planned out your life and fitted in everything towards one end, and then suddenly, by no fault of your own, that end is made impossible. Why, if you believe in a purpose in things, what could be more interesting and exciting? What is to happen next? What is one to do? It is like reading a story in parts and breaking off just at the critical crisis. I should like to turn over the page as Evie and see what is going to happen to you. Evie smiled faintly. Would you, Tom? I am afraid I have been hiding my head like an ostrich, and trying not to look forward, but your view is the healthier and I'll try to adopt it. I don't give up all idea of teaching, though big schools are impossible. Perhaps they would take me at some small old-fashioned seminary, where sports are considered unladylike and the pupils take their exercise in a crocodile up and down the parade. Ugh! said Tom, with a grimace, which twisted every feature out of recognition. No, surely Evie will never condescend to that. You lie low for a bit and get strong and keep up your classics, and I'll see if I can't find you some coaching to do among the girls I meet. If you could get along that way for a few years it would be all right, for I shall be settled by that time and able to look after you. You shall be my secretary, dear, and have a jolly little den to yourself, where I can take refuge when the girls get too much for me. We could be very happy together, you and I, couldn't we, and grow into two nice contented old maids with too much to do to have time to envy our neighbors. She fixed her bright little eyes on Evie's face as she asked the question, and to her horror and dismay Evie felt the color rush to her cheeks and mount higher and higher in a crimson tide which refused to be restrained by the most desperate mental efforts. How idiotic to blush at nothing, how senseless, how humiliating, how quite too ridiculous of Tom to turn aside and stare at the opposite side of the room in that ostentatious manner. Evie felt inclined to shake her, but at that opportune moment Rhoda returned, and during the remainder of Tom's visit there was no opportunity for private confidences. Once more Rhoda accompanied her friend to the station and waited anxiously for the word, which would surely be said concerning the escapade which had cost so dear, but like Evie she was obliged to introduce the subject herself. Have you nothing to say to me, Tom? she asked wistfully. I haven't seen you since, you know, when, but of course you heard how it happened. It was all my fault. What are you going to say to me about it? Why nothing, Fuzz, said Tom, turning her little eyes upon the quivering face with the tenderness of expression which would have been a revelation to casual acquaintances, who believed Miss Boulderson incapable of the softery motions. Why should I? You've said it all yourself a hundred times better than I could have done, and who am I that I should make myself a ruler or judge over you? But she is lame, you know, said Rhoda, sadly. The nurse says the knee is stronger than she expected, but even so she will always limp. Imagine Evie limping. She was such a graceful little thing, and tripped about so lightly, and she was so proud of her little feet. I have spoiled her future, too, for she can never take such a good post again. I've ruined her whole life. We will discuss that point ten years later. It is too early to decide it yet. Many things happen that we do not expect, remarked Tom, sagely. We're at Rhoda's shook her head in hopeless fashion. I cannot imagine anything happening that would make this any better. On the contrary, Tom, it has made me realize how little help one can give, and what a fraud money is when it comes to the test. I used to imagine that I could do pretty nearly everything I wanted, because I was rich, but look at Evie. I would give my life to help her, but beyond a few trumpery presents, and a little lightning of pain, what can I do? She would not accept more, and one dare not offer it, though if she would allow it we would be thankful to pension her off for life. Money can't do everything I see. That's a good thing. Let's be thankful for that, at least. It's worth something to have learned that lesson, cried Tom, cheerfully. And for the rest of the way to the station, she talked resolutely on indifferent subjects, refusing to be drawn back to the one sad topic. Only when the last goodbye was said did she soften into tenderness, actually allowing herself to be kissed without protest, and saying hurriedly in a low, half-shamed voice, Goodbye, Fuzzy. Bless you. Never say die. Sometimes you know it takes a big thing to open one's eyes. Keep straight ahead from where you are now, and you'll have no more troubles. Then the train moved off and road had lost the last glimpse of her friend in a mist of tears. Dear Tom, dear blunt, kindly, honest Tom, what a strength she had been to all who knew her. What a strength she was going to be to generations of girls to come. Rhoda looked forward into the future, and prophesied to herself, that she would know no prouder boasts than that she had been one of Tom Boulderson's girls, and had been brought up under her rule. That evening the occupants of the drawing-room looked up in a maze, as the rustle of silk and garment struck their ears, and a stately young lady came forward, with a fan waving in one hand, and masses of ruddy hair piled high upon her head. Rhoda, of course, and yet could it be Rhoda? For with the short skirts and flowing mane the last traces of childhood had disappeared, and the woman of the future seemed all ready to stand before them. Mr. Chester gave a quick exclamation, and Rhoda turned to him and swept a stately curtsy. At your service, sir, I thought you might like to see your grown-up daughter. My new dress came home to-day, and I looked so fine in it that I was obliged to do up my hair to be in keeping. And I went to mother's room and stole her pearls, and took her very best fan. When girls come out they always help themselves to their parents' finaries, so I thought I had better begin at once. Do you like me, dear? She looked up at him, half shy, half laughing, and there was silence in the room while each of the onlookers felt a thrill of unexpected emotion. It was like looking on at the turning point in a life, and the girl was so beautiful in her fresh young bloom, that it was impossible to behold her unmoved. The coiled-up hair showed the graceful poise of her head. The shoulders were smooth and white as satin. The blue eyes had lost their hard self-confidence, and shone sweet and true. Yes, Rhoda was going to be a beautiful woman. She was one already, as her father realized, with a natural pang of regret mingling with his pride. His eyes softened as he laid his hand on her shoulder. Yes, my daughter, you are grown up indeed. I never realized it before. You had better prepare for the duties of chaperone mother, for I foresee that this young lady will keep us busy. We shall have to take her about and entertain her friends, and yawn in the corners while they dance half through the night. That's it, isn't it, Rhoda? Rhoda looked at him with a start of surprise. By tacit agreement nothing had been said of future arrangements, so that this was the first definite hint which she had received of her parents' intention. Her voice was half regretful, half relieved, as she said. Then I am not to go back to school, Father. You have decided that it is better not? Mr. Chester put his hands on her arms and looked at her fondly, a remembrance rising in his mind as he did so, of that other evening, eighteen months ago, when the prospect of school had been proposed, and the girl had taken up the question and settled it out of hand in arrogant youthful fashion. It was a very different tone in which the present question was asked, and he was quick to note the difference. What do you say, Mother? She doesn't look very much like a schoolgirl tonight, does she? No, Rhoda, I think those days are ended. You have had a year and a half at school, and it has been a valuable experience for you in many ways. But both your nerves and ours have been overstrained lately, and we will not risk any more separations. But try what travel will do to complete your education. It has always been my dream to go abroad for a year, where you were able to come with us, and now that time has arrived. We will plan out a tour that shall be both pleasant and educational, and enlarge our minds by learning something about other countries besides our own. Rome for Easter? The Italian Lakes in Switzerland in summer? The Riviera in Egypt in winter? Oh, Father, how lovely! How I shall enjoy it! How happy we shall be! Traveling about all together, I could not have told you what I wanted, but this is the very thing of all others I should most enjoy. And Mother will like it too? It will not tire you, will it, dear? Or worry you to be away from home? My home is where you are. I shall be perfectly happy, dear. So long as we are together, said the Mother, who had never been known to oppose her own wishes to those of her family, and in this easy fashion the matter was settled. One moment the project was mooted, the next, dates and routes were being eagerly discussed, and the question of wardrobe being taken into account. Presently Mr. Chester must needs consult the Atlas, which was in constant reference in every conversation, and away went the three in happy conclave to turn over the leaves on the library table, while Evie was left to look after them with wistful eyes, and Harold to study her face in his turn. She turned to find his eyes fixed upon her, and struggled hard to speak brightly. They all seemed so happy. It is good to see them, and how pretty Rhoda looks tonight. It is so interesting to see the girls grow up and come out as full-fledged young ladies. I've seen two transformations today, Rhoda and Tom. Miss Boulderston, really? Would you call her a transformation? queried Harold, raising his eyebrows, with an expression which said all that he dare not put into words. If that is a transformation, one is tempted to wonder what she was like before. Don't, Evie looked at him pleadingly. Don't make fun of her, please, because we love her so dearly. Men don't appreciate Tom, and she doesn't show her best side to them, but she is a splendid girl, and the truest of friends. She was so kind to me today. You were talking to her about your work, and worrying, because you could not go back at once, said Harold, shrewdly. And Evie looked at him under raised apologetic eyebrows, quite overcome at being red and so easy a fashion. Well, just a little. I said that I could not go back to Hearst, as I should not be able to take part in games again. And she sympathized with you, and agreed that it was a desperate lot. No, indeed, you don't know Tom. She is far too much of an optimist to see the black side. She only said she was interested to see what would happen next, and that it was like being stopped suddenly in the middle of a story. I thought it was a very cheerful way of looking at it. She paused, not caring for some indefinite reason, to say anything of that later proposition, in the carrying out of which she and Tom were to grow old side by side. But the idea lay on her mind, and presently she added dreamily, But even if I am lame, my mind is not affected. I can teach just as well as ever. There must be an opening for me somewhere. There are plenty of small schools where they don't go in for sports, plenty of girls who have to be educated at home, delicate girls, backwards girls, girls who are perhaps like myself. I could teach them still if they would let me try. It was a very sweet little voice, and the quiver with which it broke off sounded strangely pathetic in the silence. Harold did not speak, and his head was bent forward so that Evie could not see his face. His hands were clasped and pressed so tightly together that the muscle stood out under the skin. But presently one of them was stretched forward and laid pleadingly over her own. Dearest and sweetest, said Harold softly, teach me instead. When Rhoda came rushing into the room ten minutes later it was to find her brother seated by Evie on the sofa, and to meet two pairs of eyes, which tried vainly to look calm and composed, but which were in reality so brimming over with happiness that the news was told without need of a single word. Oh! she cried, stopping short and staring in astonishment. Oh! and then Evie struggled to her feet and held out wide welcoming arms. Oh, Rhoda, I am never going to be unhappy anymore. Harold won't let me. He is going to help me. Oh, my life! She is going to help me. Corrected Harold, firmly. I am the happiest fellow in the world, Rhoda, and you must be happy too. Come and kiss your new sister. Rhoda gave a little sob of joy and flew into Evie's arms. My own sister, and I can take care of you always, I shall have a right, and you will not have to worry anymore or be anxious or troubled. Evie. Evie, you can forgive me now. You can feel that I have not spoiled your life. You'll be happy even if you are lame. Yes, she will be happy. She has found a good man to take care of her, said Mrs. Chester, coming forward from the background and taking Evie into a warm embrace. My dear child, I thought I hoped it might come to this. Once upon a time I was afraid I might be jealous of Harold's wife, but not you, dear. Not you. That would be impossible. We owe you too much. You are welcome. A thousand times welcome. I am a rich woman indeed, for I have two beautiful daughters instead of one. Evie dropped her head on the broad motherly shoulder and shed a tear of pure happiness and thankfulness. Tom was right, she said to herself, softly. Tom was right. It was too early to judge. Good has come out of evil.