Chapter VIII: An Old Song

AT first, Jack wrote very regularly, giving graphic accounts of his surroundings; he had taken charge of a plantation in Florida, and, though he made no complaint, his friends could detect his utter loneliness in the letters he sent.

In one of his early letters, written while it was yet cold weather, he said:

"You cannot imagine, Arch, old fellow, how quiet it seems here of nights, after the noisy, clattering streets of New York. You will think me a silly-billy when I tell you that I make a fire and set my kettle boiling just for company; there is something cosey about the singing of the kettle and the bubbling of the water. When it boils down, I fill it up again, and then I sit down and think of you all, wonder what you are doing, and when I shall see you all again."

But of late the letters came infrequently, and then they were short and unsatisfactory.

"It has been a long time since we heard from Jack," said Miss Janet to Mr. Smith, one evening, as they sat on the porch at Lyndehurst. "I am worried about him."

"I am more worried about Theo," returned Mr. Smith, nodding in the direction of the girl, who, with Felix Parkhurst, was sitting on a rustic seat, listening intently to something her companion was reading to her. The last beams of a setting sun touched her bright hair and lingered on her white gown. She was leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped, her lips gently parted.

Auntie looked fixedly in her direction. "I am not afraid for my girl," she said.

Mr. Smith shook himself impatiently. "Facts are facts," he declared. "You can't get rid of them by ignoring them. It is perfectly natural for young people to think on subjects which we older ones set aside as trifling and mawkish. Now, Miss Nelson, you know perfectly well that half the mothers, and fathers maybe, will say, if a girl begins to talk of lovers, 'You are too young for such things. I don't want to hear any such nonsense,' or else, with a wave of the hand, will put aside the subject with, 'You little goose, you don't know what you are talking about.'

"Of course she doesn't know what she is talking about, and, failing the proper advice and sympathy there, she takes her confidences to some one quite as inexperienced and romantic as herself, and between them, they build up some absurd fancy which, in the end, leads to an unhappy marriage, or to a season of sorrowful days and tearful nights."

"But Theo is in no such danger, I am sure," responded Miss Nelson, yet with some alarm. "She is not such a girl as you describe. She would not talk of such things in the way girls generally do."

"I am not so sure about there being no danger; and the young lady, if she doesn't talk about it, thinks about it, and gets her ideas from some sentimental companion or from some gushing novel."

"I don't know which of Theo's companions you could call sentimental."

Mr. Smith's glance fell significantly upon Felix.

"And," continued Miss Nelson, "she doesn't read 'gushing novels,' as you call them."

Mr. Smith smiled; he was in one of his sarcastically disagreeable moods. "She reads love stories, then," he said; "and, even if they be good ones, they appeal to her sentiment and her imagination. So, no doubt by this time she has woven a fine dream for herself about that young cad."

"You do not approve of Felix Parkhurst, I notice."

Mr. Smith compressed his lips. "I do approve of Theo, and I don't want her thrown away on a self-indulgent, indolent fellow like that. What sort of a prop would he be in time of trouble, I'd like to know, granting he has no special vices? He is the kind that would turn his back on a woman's tears because he 'hated a scene,' and would consider himself much abused if his wife failed to amuse him. He would tire of her in a month, and would hunt up some more entertaining company, neglecting her with a languid indifference which would be intolerable to a girl like Theo. I know just the sort of a butterfly he is. Girls don't see those things; how can they, when they have had no experience? A girl whose only brother is a courteous gentleman expects all men to be like him; and what does she know of the world of men who are different? And suppose he were to lose his money, what sort of support do you suppose he could give her?"

"You remember Theo lived under the same roof with Felix Parkhurst for three months," interposed Miss Nelson.

"And how much did she see him? At meal-time, maybe, and once in a while very casually; he was away half the time."

"I think you are a little severe, Colonel," said Miss Nelson; "and I still feel sure that Theo is in no danger."

The Colonel gave a gruff "Humph!" and walked away, leaving Miss Nelson somewhat disquieted.

"I will talk to Theo," she said to herself; "there is some truth in what he says. I ought not to set aside any subject which may be interesting to my girls. But Theo has always given me her entire confidence, and I may have been too sure that she had none to give."

A little before this, Felix Parkhurst had called. And, finding it convenient to drive over, had come every day, sometimes bringing a book in his pocket, from which he would read aloud to Theo, being entertained by her enjoyment of some new author, and finding it a pleasant diversion to bring the soft color to her cheeks when he emphasized some ardent passage by lifting his eyes and looking at her with tender reproach.

But Theo's blushes were not all for his sake; they were partly from a consciousness that she had been near to loving the man before her, and partly from a fear that he might imagine she still felt so disposed towards him.

"Theo grows good-looking," said Archie. "I never thought she would be so pretty. She has grown up to her nose, and her eyes have grown up to her."

"She was always pretty," insisted Val. "Her eyes always had that sweet, earnest look, and her mouth, nothing ever was lovelier than Theo's mouth and her smile. As for her nose, that was easily passed over."

"Of course," responded Archie; "it always had a bridge to it."

"Silly!" retorted Val, throwing a rose-bud at him. "You'll never grow up, whatever Theo's nose does. I declare, Archie, you ought to be in knickerbockers."

Archie suddenly jumped up and rushed into the house, appearing in a few minutes wearing his bicycle dress. He threw himself down on the grass by Val.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Nowhere."

"I thought you had a bicycle trip on hand, you went off so suddenly."

"You're dreadfully dense. Here, when I try to please you, you completely set aside my little efforts."

"What do you mean? I declare, Archie, you are an exceedingly foolish youth."

"Most sapient maiden, didn't you say I ought to be in knickerbockers? I tried to please you."

Val replied by whacking him over the head with his cap, while he laughed at her simulated rage.

"To return to Theo," said Val. "There, Archie, it's too hot to exercise so violently. I think it is too bad she is not going to the shore with us. But it's just like her. Because Fanny Parkhurst has set her heart on her going there for a visit, and because Jamie wants her, she'll go; and I 'know' she doesn't want to, but she's just that self-sacrificing. I wouldn't do it."

"No, 'you' wouldn't."

"You mean, horrid boy!" and Val again brought the cap into requisition. "You wouldn't, either."

"Of course I wouldn't. A pretty dance I would lead Miss Fan, and I would scare Jamie stiff before I'd been there twenty-four hours. I believe I should like to go, after all. I'd scandalize the whole band, from Papa Parkhurst down."

"We could make them have a lively time if we both went," said Val, falling into the spirit of the thing. "I should love to do it, but we are not invited, as good luck would have it. Some one told Mrs. Parkhurst the way we behaved at the Aldridges that time."

"What time?"

"Don't you know? We drove over from Roseville, you and Jack and Nan and Theo and I, and we tied the napkins together at table, and when one jerked, we all wiped our mouths. Before that, though, we started to go home because Mrs. Aldridge said she had not had time to make any cake, and Theo was so distressed at our actions. They were disgraceful."

"Of course they were. That was years ago; we were on a high horse that day. I remember you and Nan wouldn't let Mr. Aldridge drive his own horse, but insisted on his getting into the buggy with Jack and me. You ought to have been ashamed of yourselves."

"So we ought. You needn't talk, though; you were worse than any of us. No, I believe I was the worst, and I am ashamed of myself now. I wish we could see ahead when it occurs to us to do those things, then we wouldn't have half so much to blush for. School-girls are such silly, 'silly' things. Do you remember how I used to giggle?"

"Used to?"

"I don't near as much as I did. Do I?"

"I trust you will not continue at the present rate until you are fifty."

"I won't. I'll be as sedate as you please. I have less hope of you, though. I know, if you were holding court and anything funny should occur, that you would disgrace your title of judge by going off into a fit of undignified mirth. I just know it."

"Goodness knows I'll have time enough in which to improve before that day comes, Val," and Archie arose and went towards the house.

Fan's entreaties had gained a promise from Theo to pay a visit to her former pupils, and Miss Nelson rather encouraged the plan. Theo as a guest, she reflected, would have a better opportunity of judging of Felix, since she would see him more unrestrainedly.

"You will join us, dear, the last of the week," she said. "Mr. Smith will be coming down on Saturday with Archie, and you can come with them."

"I think it's mean of you," said Val. "I wouldn't desert you in that way."

"You'll have a good time, I promise," replied Theo. "Nan will be there," for Nannie had joined her mother's family a month earlier, and all had gone to the sea-shore together.

"Nan isn't you," pouted Val. "If you get tired, promise you'll come sooner."

Theo promised, and they parted,—Val and Miss Nelson to proceed to the sea-shore, and Theo to take up her abode for a week where three years previously she had gone to teach Mrs. Parkhurst's children.

The first few days passed very pleasantly. Theo kept with Jamie and Fan as much as possible, helping them to a better understanding of each other, and opening to them such out-door pleasures as both could enjoy.

Mr. Felix rather resented this, and reproached Theo for inconstancy.

"You used to be such a good friend," he complained, "and now, when I need you, you go off with those tiresome children; they cannot interest you."

"Can you?" asked Theo, quietly.

For a moment, Felix was disconcerted. "I used to once. I tried to," he said, recovering himself.

Theo felt the color come to her face in a most provoking way. "I came to visit Fan," she said shortly, and turned away.

Toward the latter part of the week, an arrangement was made for the young people of the family, with a few others invited, to drive to a famous spot, from which could be seen an exceptionally fine view, and which resort was a popular one for picnic parties. As it was Fan's idea, she and Jamie were to be of the party.

"We're going to take supper," explained Jamie. "You'll go in the carriage with us, won't you, Miss Theo?"

"If I may," Theo promised.

"We'll have a lovely time," declared Fan. "I love to scramble about those old rocks and explore. There will be so much to show you, Miss Theo. We'll have a fine time, for there will be lots of other girls, and Felix won't want you," she added, naïvely.

At the time of setting out, however, the children's plans were set aside by Felix, who insisted upon driving the buck-board, with Theo as companion.

"There is plenty of room for Jamie," said Theo, seeing his disappointment, and the little fellow's face brightened.

"We don't want to be bothered with the kid," said Felix, crossly, and he frowned threateningly at the child.

"Ah! Miss Nelson," said Mrs. Parkhurst, from the step, "you will spoil Jamie. He cannot expect a man like Felix to give up to him. Let Felix take you."

And Theo, overruled by her hostess, could say nothing, and the drive was begun.

But both Theo and her companion felt a little cross, and it was not long before a new cause of difference arose.

About a mile from the house was a narrow place in the road with a little gully at one side. As they approached this place, they saw a light spring wagon on its way towards them.

"We shall have to turn out," remarked Theo.

"We shall do nothing of the kind," replied Felix, whipping up his horses. "Let the wagon turn out for us," and he kept the middle of the road.

"But there isn't room," insisted Theo. "You will make the man overturn his wagon in that gully."

"That is his lookout," replied Felix. "I'm not going to get out of the way of a clodhopper. You're not afraid?" he asked, altering his tone to one of suavity. "You are perfectly safe with me."

"I'm not afraid. No," replied Theo, sitting up very straight, and feeling a rising resentment at his speech, "but I do not believe in placing a fellow-creature in danger."

Felix smiled with an air of superiority, and at this moment, the wagon came up to them.

"Why, it's Tommy!" exclaimed Theo.

"Who?" inquired Felix.

"Why, Tommy Reed, from Lyndehurst."

"Oh!" And Theo cried out as the wagon gave a lurch.

Then, looking behind her, she saw it had indeed, happened as she feared. The wagon had overturned, but the horse had scrambled to his feet, and was standing perfectly still, though Tommy was not to be seen.

"Stop!" cried Theo, imperiously.

At her tone, Felix checked his horses and looked back. "What is the matter?" he asked.

By this time, Tommy was seen standing by the horse.

"He's all right. Why wasn't he more careful? The awkward lubber! I could have passed easily," said Felix.

Theo gave him a quick look, and could not refrain from smiling scornfully. "I am not so sure it is all right," she returned. "I wish to go and see."

"Nonsense. Why, Miss Theo, you are too Quixotic. We shall be very late. Oh, of course, if you insist," and Felix turned his horses with the air of one giving in to a woman's whim.

Reaching the spot, Theo was out of the buck-board in a moment.

"Tommy! Tommy!" she cried. "I am so sorry. Tell me, are you hurt?"

Tommy was trying to raise the fallen wagon; he turned at the kind voice. "I was thrown out, but it is only a scratch, Miss," he replied.

But Theo saw his face was white and drawn with pain, and the sleeve of his coat badly torn. "He 'is' hurt," she declared, turning to Felix.

By this time, Tommy, by using all the strength he could muster with his left arm, had raised the wagon, which, strange to say, was not injured. But the great drops stood out on the boy's forehead, and he trembled painfully after the effort.

Theo turned determinedly to her companion. "I shall go back to Lyndehurst with Tommy," she announced; "he is not able to go alone."

"What do you mean? Why, Miss Theo, I could not allow that. The boy is all right. Aren't you, my good fellow? He doesn't seem to be much hurt; he couldn't have lifted the wagon if he had been. You can drive back alone, can't you, boy?"

"Yes, sir," said Tommy, bravely.

"And perhaps have him faint on the way," said Theo. "Pray, don't let me detain you, Mr. Parkhurst," and Theo threw up her head haughtily. "I intend to see Tommy safely at Lyndehurst, and, further, to see that he has medical attendance at once."

"Oh, if your determination is taken, allow me to drive you there."

"And Tommy?"

Mr. Felix looked perplexed. "The boy is perfectly able to drive," he repeated.

"I do not agree with you. No, do not trouble yourself further. I prefer to have you leave me," said Theo, now, thoroughly roused. "My intention is to drive the wagon myself."

"Miss Theo!" in accents of astonishment from both Tommy and Mr. Felix.

"You wouldn't be seen driving that wagon, I hope," from Felix.

But Theo gave a silencing wave of the hand, as if dismissing the subject, and without further argument clambered into the wagon. By this time, Tommy was quite faint, and made no further protest, but took his place in the back of the wagon, and Theo gathered up the lines.

"I am very sorry to disappoint the children," she said to Felix, "but Tommy is suffering."

"His suffering is not to be compared to my disappointment," was the response; "but you are not going to give up the trip altogether?" added Mr. Felix, with some chagrin. "We can stop at the first house and send assistance. Come, Miss Theo, consider how unnecessary this is. Do get out and come with me."

Theo looked at him coldly. "I have announced my intention," she said.

"Very well, then," returned Felix, now thoroughly out of patience. "If you prefer that lout's company to mine, I have nothing further to say."

Theo made no reply, but simply bowed and turned the horse towards Lyndehurst, which place was soon reached.

Great was Mrs. Barton's surprise at seeing Miss Theo drive up with Tommy.

"Why, bless my soul, Miss!" she cried, running out. "What's this? What would Mr. Smith say to your driving up here in his wagon?"

"Tommy is hurt," said Theo, cutting short Mrs. Barton's protests. "Please send one of the men for the doctor at once."

And Mrs. Barton bustled off, returning soon with Parsons, the butler, and old David, who took Tommy in charge.

In a short time, the doctor arrived, and pronounced Tommy's accident a dislocation of the shoulder, and a bad one. So the poor boy was put to bed, and Theo was satisfied that she had taken the right course.

"I feel anxious about Tommy, Mrs. Barton," she said. "The doctor said there might possibly be some internal injury, and I do not want to go back to Mrs. Parkhurst's."

"I don't think he's so bad, Miss. I'm sure he'll come all right; he's pretty badly bruised where he was thrown against a pile of stones, but I don't believe there is anything worse. But you stay right here, Miss, if you feel better satisfied; it is good to have you back again, the house seems so empty. Mr. Smith won't be home to-night, but we'll try to make you comfortable; and if you want to send any message to Mrs. Parkhurst, one of the men will be glad to take it. Maybe," she suggested further, "you'd like to have Miss Fanny and Mr. Jamie come over and stay with you."

"What would Mr. Smith say to that?"

"Oh, Miss, he'd be most pleased. I am sure he would; he always says to me that you and Miss Val are to have just what you want. I'm sure he'll be most pleased, Miss. It was so beautiful of you to do all you did for poor Tommy. I don't know another young lady would have done it, and you so proud, too. Oh, Miss, Tommy is so grateful, and Eldorado Ann just worships the ground you walk on. Yes, indeed, Miss, anything you want shall be done."

So Theo despatched the note to Mrs. Parkhurst, asking if Jamie and Fan might come the next day, to remain through the time set for her own visit to them. And then, having satisfied the old housekeeper that she wanted no further errands done, she sat down with her little dog in her arms.

The house did indeed seem lonely and deserted without Val's merry laugh or Archie's quick, springing tread. And Theo finally found vent for her feelings in talking to Posie-Cossie, whom she rocked as if he were a little baby, while he, once in a while, touched her hand with his little red tongue.

"Would I leave poor Tommy, dear?" said Theo. "No, indeed. You wouldn't have done it either, you dear, faithful, little bit. Did the naughty, selfish man want to leave poor Tommy all alone? Jack wouldn't have done it, would he? Why, he wouldn't even leave you all alone in the streets. Jack would have picked Tommy up, and have held him as gently and as tenderly as his own brother. He was so good to him when he came to New York, a little ragged boy. It was all Jack's doing his coming here. How well I remember. And he wouldn't have left us here alone for the world; he would have stayed and helped, wouldn't he, Posie-Cossie? We miss Jack. Oh, Posie-Cossie, we do miss him, and we are too hateful to let him think so; at least I am. Poor Jack! He was so lonely, too, and he hadn't any dear little doggie; he only had a tea-kettle—just think, how pathetic! Nothing but an old tin tea-kettle—to keep him company, and it has been so long since we heard from him."

Theo leaned her head against the back of the rocking-chair. The long summer twilight had begun; through the open window drifted the odor of such summer flowers as could open to a scorching sun and lose none of their sweetness thereby,—petunias and verbenas, clematis and mignonette. Across fields came the scent of new-mown hay, and the pine-trees in the garden lent a spicy quality to the perfume of the indrifting evening breeze.

Theo sat thinking, thinking. The room in which she was opened on the porch, and presently she heard a foot upon the step leading from the walk. Posie-Cossie pricked up his ears and gave a little sharp bark. Theo's hand stilled him, and he lay quiet again.

The door-bell rang, and Theo, listening, heard some one softly whistle an air that came back to her memory almost startlingly,—the air of a German song Jack used to sing, Greig's "Ich liebe dich."

"Jack! Could it be Jack?" she thought, with mixed emotions.

The door was opened, and, after a short parley, Parsons appeared, saying, "I beg your pardon, Miss Theo, but there is a man here would like to see you."

Theo put down Posie-Cossie and went out into the hall, where stood a rather rough-looking individual, who greeted her with,—

"Excuse me, Miss, but I thought you'd do to leave a message with. I'm just up from Texas, and I promised a pal of mine I'd hunt up his folks an' tell 'em why he's been so mum."

"Texas! A pal of yours!"

"Yes'm; Jack Allen, ye know."

A friend of Jack Allen's,—this rough, unshorn, uncouth person.

"Jack Allen!" exclaimed Theo. "Yes, he is our friend; but how—" Then she paused.

"Jack's been down on his luck; he got sickened out o' Floridy—didn't pay—an' he come over to Texas. Me an' him's had a ranch there, leastways he's been a helpin' me; but he took sick of a low kind of fever some months back, an' he ain't been able to write, Jack ain't, an' when I says,—

"'Jack,' I says, 'I'm a goin' up to Albany fur a spell on biz, my granddaddy's lef' me a little cash, an' I've got to go an' see about it.'

"Jack he says, 'I wisht ye'd stop in New York an' tell 'em I ain't been up to the notch, er else I'd writ 'em.'

"An' he give me yer brother's direction. I reckon it's yer brother, A. Nelson."

Theo nodded.

"But yer brother wasn't there, an' I ast 'em where the res' of the fambly was, an' they gimme this here place, right on my way, too, so I stopped to tell ye."

"Oh, do come in and tell me more," said Theo, eagerly.

"Sorry, Miss, I can't stop long. I've got a train to make. Jack's gittin' on right good; he'll be about soon. Says he, 'Tell 'em not to bother.' Strange, as I was a standin' there on them steps, how that tune of his'n kep' a runnin' through my head, and I ketched myself whistlin' it,—that there Dutch song of his'n that he sings so much. He kep' on a singin' it right along all the time he was down, flighty like."

"I heard you," answered Theo.

"And it 'minded ye of Jack, didn't it? Fust-rate fellow, he is. We're good pals, we are. I must be going."

"Wait, give me his address."

The man fumbled in his pocket. "He ain't very near to no pos'-office, but this'll find him when he does go," and he handed Theo an envelope, on which an address was written.

"And your address? Oh, thank you very much for coming to tell us. You were very kind to come out of your way."

"That ain't nothin' to do for a pal. Don't mention it; Jack 'ud do it. I'm a goin' back as soon as I kin, an' I'll stop an' take any word. This'll find me if ye want to let me know anythin'." And the man scratched another address on the envelope, then after a clumsy bow, departed.