Apples, Ripe and Rosy, Sir Part 19

The next morning Mrs. Farrell went about her work in a more hopeful mood.

Bernard started for the office in better spirits than usual, humming s.n.a.t.c.hes of a song, a few words of which kept running in his mind all day:

"G.o.d rules, and thou shall have more sun When clouds their perfect work have done."

That afternoon Mr. Crosswell, the head of the firm, who seemed suddenly to have become aware that something was wrong, said to him:

"My lad, how is it that your mother has not been doing the extra type-writing lately? I find a great deal of it has been given to some one else."

"She has been sick with rheumatism, sir," answered the boy; "and her fingers are so stiff that she cannot work the machine."

"Tut! tut!" cried the lawyer, half annoyed. "You should have told me this before. If she is ill, she must need many little luxuries" (he refrained from saying _necessaries_). "She must let me pay her in advance. Here are twenty-five dollars. Tell her not to hesitate to use the money, for she can make up for it in work later. I was, you know, a martyr to rheumatism last winter, but young Dr. Sullivan cured me. I'll send him round to see her; and, remember, there will be no expense to you about it."

"I don't know how to thank you, sir!" stammered Bernard, gratefully.

Then he hurried home to tell his mother all that had happened, and to put into her hands the bank-notes, for which she could find such ready use.

Doctor Sullivan called to see Mrs. Farrell the following day,

"Why," said he, "this is a very simple case! You would not have been troubled so long but for want of the proper remedies."

He left her a prescription, which wrought such wonders that in a fortnight she was able to resume her occupation.

From this time also Mr. Crosswell gave Bernard many opportunities by which he earned a small sum in addition to his weekly salary, and soon the Farrells were in comfortable circ.u.mstances again.

By degrees they became better acquainted with old Willis; but it was not till he began to be regarded, and to consider himself, as an intimate friend of the family that Bernard's mother ventured to tell him they knew of his kind deed done in secret,--a revelation which caused him much confusion. Bernard had discovered long before that their eccentric neighbor, far from being a parsimonious h.o.a.rder of untold wealth, was, in fact, almost a poor man. He possessed a life-interest in the house in which he dwelt, and the income of a certain investment left to him by the will of a former employer in acknowledgment of faithful service. It was a small amount, intended merely to insure his support; but, in spite of his age, he still worked for a livelihood, distributing the annuity in charity. The n.o.ble-hearted old man stinted himself that he might be generous to the sick, the suffering, the needy; for the "miser's gold"

was only a treasure of golden deeds.

THAT RED SILK FROCK.

I.

You could not help liking little Annie Conwell; she was so gentle, and had a half shy, half roguish manner, which was very winning. And, then, she was so pretty to look at, with her pink cheeks, soft blue eyes, and light, wavy hair. Though held up as a model child, like most people, including even good little girls, she was fond of her own way; and if she set her heart upon having anything, she wanted it without delay--right then and there. And she usually got it as soon as possible; for Mr. Conwell was one of the kindest of fathers, and if Annie had cried for the moon he would have been distressed because he could not obtain it for her; while, as the two older children, Walter and Josephine, were away at boarding-school, Mrs. Conwell, in her loneliness at their absence, was perhaps more indulgent toward her little daughter than she would otherwise have been.

Annie's great friend was Lucy Caryl. Lucy lived upon the next block; and every day when going to school Annie called for her, or Lucy ran down to see if Annie was ready. Regularly Mrs. Conwell said: "Remember, Annie, I want you to come straight from school, and not stop at the Caryls'. If you want to go and play with Lucy afterward, I have no objection, but you _must_ come home first."

"Yes, um," was the docile answer she invariably made.

But, strange as it may seem, although Annie Conwell was considered clever and bright enough in general, and often stood head of her cla.s.s, she seemed to have a wretched memory in regard to this parting injunction of her mother, or else there were ostensibly many good reasons for making exceptions to the rule. When, as sometimes happened, she entered the house some two hours after school was dismissed, and threw down her books upon the sitting-room table, Mrs.

Conwell reproachfully looked up from her sewing and asked: "What time is it, dear?"

And Annie, after a startled glance at the clock, either stammered, "O mother, I forgot!" or else rattled off an unsatisfactory excuse.

"Very well!" was the frequent warning. "If you stay at Lucy Caryl's without permission, you must remain indoors on Sat.u.r.day as a punishment for your disobedience."

Nevertheless, when the end of the week came, Annie usually managed to escape the threatened penalty. For Sat.u.r.day is a busy day in the domestic world; and Mrs. Conwell was one of the fine, old-fas.h.i.+oned housekeepers--now, unfortunately, somewhat out of date--who looked well after the ways of her household, which was in consequence pervaded by an atmosphere of comfort and prosperity.

One especial holiday, however, she surprised the little maid by saying,

"Annie, I have told you over and over again that you must come directly home from school, and yet for several days you have not made your appearance until nearly dusk. I am going down town now, and I forbid you to go out to play until I return. For a great girl, going on ten years of age, you are too heedless. Something must be done about it."

Annie reddened, buried her cheeks in the fur of her mother's sable m.u.f.f with which she was toying, and gave a sidelong glance at Mrs. Conwell's face. The study of it a.s.sured her that there was no use in "begging off" this time; so she silently laid down the m.u.f.f and walked to the window.

Mrs. Conwell, after clasping her handsome fur collar--or tippet, as it was called--over the velvet mantle which was the fas.h.i.+on in those days, and surveying in the mirror the nodding plumes of her bonnet of royal purple hue, took up the m.u.f.f and went away.

"A great girl!" grumbled Annie, as she watched the lady out of sight.

"She always says that when she is displeased. 'Going on ten years of age!' It is true, of course; but, then, I was only nine last month.

At other times, when persons ask me how old I am, if I answer 'Most ten,' mother is sure to laugh and say, 'Annie's just past nine.' It makes me so mad!"

There was no use in standing idly thinking about it though, especially as nothing of interest was occurring in the street just then; so Annie turned away and began to wonder what she should do to amuse herself.

In the "best china closet" was a delicious cake. She had discovered that the key of the inner cupboard, where it was locked up, was kept in the blue vase on the dining-room mantel. She had been several times "just to take a peep at the cake," she said to herself. Mrs. Conwell had also looked at it occasionally, and it had no appearance of having been interfered with. Yet, somehow, there was a big hole scooped in the middle of it from the under side. The discovery must be made some day, and then matters would not be so pleasant for the meddler; but, in the meantime, this morning Annie concluded to try "just a crumb" of the cake, to make sure it was not getting stale.

Having satisfied herself upon that point, and being at a loss for occupation, she thought she would see what was going on out of doors now. (If some little girls kept account of the minutes they spend in looking out of the window, how astonished they would be at the result!) At present the first person Annie saw was Lucy Caryl, who from the opposite sidewalk was making frantic efforts to attract her attention.

"Come into my house and play with me," Lucy spelled with her fingers in the deaf and dumb alphabet.

Annie raised the sash. "I can't, Lucy!" she called. "Mother said I must stay in the house."

"Oh, do come--just for a little while!" teased naughty Lucy. "Your mother will never know. She has gone away down town: I saw her take the car. We'll watch the corner; when we see her coming, you can run around by the yard and slip in at the gate before she reaches the front door."

The inducement was strong. Annie pretended to herself that she did not understand the uneasy feeling in her heart, which told her she was not doing right. The servants were down in the kitchen, and would not miss her. She ran for her cloak and hood--little girls wore good, warm hoods in those days,--and in a few moments was scurrying along the sidewalk with Lucy.

The Caryls lived in a s.p.a.cious brown stone house, which exteriorly was precisely like the residence of the Conwells. The interior, however, was very different. Contrasted with the brightness of Annie's home, it presented an appearance of cheerless and somewhat dingy grandeur. The parlors, now seldom used, were furnished in snuff-colored damask, a trifle faded; the curtains, of the same heavy material, had a stuffy look, and made one long to throw open the window to get a breath of fresh air. The walls were adorned with remarkable tapestries in great gilt frames, testimonials to the industry of Mrs. Caryl during her girlhood. Here and there, too, hung elaborate souvenirs of departed members of the family, in the shape of memorial crosses and wreaths of waxed flowers, also ma.s.sively framed. They were very imposing; but Annie had a nervous horror of them, and invariably hurried past that parlor door.

The little girls usually played together in a small room adjoining the sitting-room. They had by no means the run of the house. Annie, indeed, felt a certain awe of Lucy's mother, who was stern and severe with children.

"I'm sure I shouldn't care to go to the Caryls', except that Lucy is so seldom allowed to come to see me," she often declared.

On this particular afternoon Mrs. Caryl had also gone out.

"My Aunt Mollie sent me some lovely clothes for my doll," said Lucy.

"The box is up on the top story. Come with me to get it."

Remembering the "funeral flowers," as Annie called them, she had an idea that Lucy's mother kept similar or even more uncanny treasures stored away "on the top story," which her imagination invested with an air of mystery. So she hesitated.

"Come!" repeated Lucy, who forthwith tripped on ahead, and looked over the bal.u.s.ter to see why she did not follow.

Annie hesitated no longer, but started up the steps. Just at that moment a peculiar sound, like the clanging of a chain, followed by a strange, rustling noise, came from one of the rooms above. A foolish terror seized upon her.

"O gracious! what's that?" she panted; and, turning, would have fled down the stairs again, had not Lucy sprung toward her and caught her dress.

"It's nothing, goosie!" said she, "except Jim. He's been a naughty boy, and is tied up in the front room. Ma thought she'd try that plan so he could not slip out to go skating. I suppose I ought to have told you, though. Maybe you thought we had a crazy person up here."

Annie forced herself to laugh. Rea.s.sured in a measure, and still more curious, she ventured to go on. When she reached the upper hall, she saw that the door of the front room was open, and, looking in, beheld a comical spectacle. Fastened by a stout rope to one of the high posts of an old-fas.h.i.+oned bedstead was a rollicking urchin of about eight years of age, who seemed to be having a very good time, notwithstanding his captivity. Upon his shoes were a pair of iron clamps resembling spurs, such as were used for skates. It was the clank of these against the bra.s.s b.a.l.l.s, of which there was one at the top of each post, which made the sound that had so frightened Annie.

"h.e.l.lo!" he called out as he caught sight of her. And, fascinated by the novelty of the situation, she stood a moment watching his antics, which were similar to those of a monkey upon a pole. Again and again he climbed the post, indulged in various acrobatic performances upon the foot-board, and then turned a double somersault right into the centre of the great feather-bed. And all the while his villainous little iron-bound heels made woful work, leaving countless dents and scratches upon the fine old mahogany, and catching in the meshes of the handsome knitted counterpane.

"You'd better stop that!" Lucy called to him.