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Brenda's Ward
_A Sequel to "Amy in Acadia"_
By Helen Leah Reed
Author of "The Brenda Books," "Irma and Nap," "Amy in Acadia," etc.
Illustrated from Drawings by Frank T. Merrill
Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1906
_Copyright, 1906_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published October, 1906
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
"As Martine courtesied her thanks for this compliment,she backed gracefully."]
CONTENTS
I. A NEW HOME
II. A STRANGE MEETING
III. PRISCILLA'S PRIDE
IV. CHANGES
V. ANOTHER PARTING
VI. ANGELINA'S COUP
VII. A DROP OF INK
VIII. A PRIZE WINNER
IX. WORD FROM BRENDA
X. THE RECITAL
XI. MARTINE'S ALTRUISM
XII. PUZZLES
XIII. AT PLYMOUTH
XIV. TALES AND RELICS
XV. TROUBLES
XVI. THE MISSING TRUNK
XVII. CLASS DAY
XVIII. AT YORK
XIX. SIGHT-SEEING
XX. THE ISLES OF SHOALS
XXI. VARIETY
XXII. EXCITEMENT
XXIII. QUIET LIFE
XXIV. PORTSMOUTH AND AFTERWARD
XXV. THE SUMMER'S END
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"As Martine courtesied her thanks for this compliment, she backedgracefully"
"'The real Memorial is here,' said Elinor, reverently, passing from onetablet to another"
"'This little scarf--it is Roman, too,--is just the thing for JuliusCaesar'"
"Aunt Nabby seemed to be making little dolls of clay"
"The old captain proved very talkative"
"While Martine was sketching, Clare fluttered about"
Brenda's Ward
CHAPTER I
A NEW HOME
"It's simply perfect."
"I thought you would like it, Martine."
"Like it! I should say so, but it isn't 'it,' it's everything,--theroom, the house, you, Boston. Really, you don't know how glad I am to behere, Brenda--I mean Mrs. Weston."
"What nonsense!"
"That I should like things?"
"No, that you should call me 'Mrs. Weston.' It's bad enough to begrowing old, so don't try to make me feel like a grandmother. Truly, Ican't believe that I am a day older than when I was sixteen, and yetwhen I _was_ sixteen, eighteen seemed the end of everything worth while.I could not imagine myself old, and serious, and--twenty."
Martine smiled at Brenda's emphasis of the last word, and as she smiledshe laid her hand on her friend's arm.
"Come," she said, "just look in this mirror. A person who did not knowcould not tell which is the older, you or I."
"Again, nonsense!"
Yet even as she spoke Brenda could but admit to herself that Martine hadan air of dignity suited to one much older than a girl of seventeen. Butif she had thought Martine altogether grown up, she quickly changed heropinion, for at this very moment Martine sank on the floor beside her,and as her laughter re-echoed through the rooms Brenda was driven tosay:
"My dear, don't talk to me about being grown up. You act precisely likea child of ten. What in the world is the matter?"
"Nothing, oh nothing; that is, almost nothing. Only look and you willlaugh too."
Glancing where Martine pointed, Brenda saw something really amusing.Before a pier-glass in the hall a sallow girl with glossy black hairpiled high on her head was standing. She wore a pink satin gown thatheightened her sallowness. It was cut square in the neck, and her elbowsleeves displayed a pair of skinny arms.
"Who is she?" whispered Martine, recovering her breath.
"Why, that, oh that is Angelina."
Martine, fascinated by the vision in the glass, continued to watch thestrange little figure, bowing, gesticulating, turning now to this sidenow to that, while her lips moved as if she were talking to herself.
"Who is Angelina?" asked Martine.
"Oh, Angelina, don't you know her? She is to help me for a week whileMaggie is away taking care of her sick aunt."
"Do you call that 'helping'?" and again Martine pointed toward thepier-glass.
"She did not hear me come in; she thought I would ring," replied Brenda."She thinks I am still downtown. She was to go to the door and has beenwaiting to hear me ring."
"Would she go to the door looking like that?"
"Oh, I hope not. She'd probably call through the tube and hurry on acoat, or do something of that kind. Yet no one is ever surprised atAngelina's doings. Let me tell you about her. Years ago Nora and some ofthe rest of us pulled her little brother Manuel from under the feet of ahorse, and in a few days we went to visit the family at the North End.You can't imagine how poor they were. Then we had a club and worked fora bazaar to raise money to get them out into the country."
"Oh, yes, Amy told me something about that, though it all happenedbefore she knew you, I think she said."
"Well, in the end Angelina became my cousin Julia's protegee. She haslearned a great deal about housework at the Mansion School, but she isalways yearning for something beyond. Lately she has been taking lessonsin elocution."
"That's it, then, she's rehearsing now," cried Martine. "Oh, I hopeMaggie will stay away longer than you expect. I think we might havegreat sport with Angelina."
"My dear," remonstrated Brenda, "remember that for the present you aremy ward. I can't have you trifling with Angelina, although she can bevery funny."
The sound of voices had at last penetrated Angelina's ears, and she fledto her room.
"Oh, my," she thought, "I wonder if Mrs. Weston saw me?" In her secretheart Angelina hoped that she had been observed.
"And Miss Martine, she's almost as stylish as Mrs. Weston. I wonder whatshe thought of this dress--gown," she added, correcting herself. "Ialmost wish I'd been saying that soliloquy out loud. Then I could haveasked them if they thought I used just the right inflections andgestures. Perhaps Miss Brenda would let me recite it all to her sometime. She's more sympathetic than Miss Julia was. Now I know if I shouldask Miss Julia she'd say I mustn't give that recital, and I'm sure shewouldn't approve of this gown. But Miss Brenda, why I shouldn't wonderif she'd go to it herself, and Miss Martine, I've heard how she spendsmoney like water, and she'll probably buy a lot of tickets."
As Angelina fled to her room Martine, rising from the floor, sat down ona divan beside Brenda.
"If you wish to please me, do find another place for Maggie and keepAngelina. She'll be so entertaining, and poor Maggie always looks halfready to cry."
"Oh, I couldn't part with Maggie, and more than a week of Angelina wouldbe too much even for you."
"Well, I will tell you at the end of this week. I am going to work sohard at school that I ought to have as much amusement as possible athome. Still I know I am going to be perfectly happy with you thiswinter, although I can remember the time when I should just have hatedto spend a winter in Boston. Even now if it wasn't for you--"
"But you had decided to spend the winter here before you ran across me."
"No, my dear Mrs. Weston, my parents had decided that a year or two ofBoston school would be the making of me. They had heard, as you know, ofa dragon who had a boarding-house on the hill, who would look after mewithin an inch of my life. Wasn't it
strange, though, that she shouldhave been taken ill this autumn? I suppose you wouldn't let me say'providential.'"
"Certainly not! She was so ill that she had to go South for the winter."
"Then that is providential for her. How much better the South must befor her than this bleak Boston. Besides, if she had been able tocontinue her home for helpless Western schoolgirls, I should not havehad the delight of sharing your charming apartment."
"Nor should I have had the pleasure of the company of a charming ward."
As Martine courtesied her thanks for this compliment, she backedgracefully, and neither she nor Brenda realized that she was approachingtoo near a table of bric-a-brac, until it toppled over with a crash.
"Oh what have I done! No wedding presents smashed, I hope." There was atouch of dismay in Martine's voice.
"Not a thing that could break." Brenda's smile was reassuring. "Silveror brass, everyone of them. That's one thing I have already learned, notto have breakable things, if one values them, within anyone's reach.It's awfully disagreeable to have to blame anyone for what you couldhave prevented by a little care, and I never can let anybody replacewhat she has broken. Maggie is rather a breaker, and so my china andglass ornaments I set on high shelves."
The noise of the falling table brought Angelina upon the scene. She hadmade what Martine called a "lightning change," and appeared in a darkgown and spotless collar and cuffs.
"Why, are you in?" she said innocently, as she entered the room. "Ididn't know but what it might be a burglar or something--" She lookedfrom one to the other anxiously, and then catching sight of theoverturned table, began to busy herself picking up the scatteredornaments.
"Oh, dear," sighed Brenda, "will Angelina ever learn to be perfectlyhonest?" But her only words alone were. "Yes, we have been in some time;I thought you might have heard us." The implied reproof silencedAngelina, and soon the three separated without a word having been saidabout the private rehearsal.
That the volatile Brenda Weston should undertake the charge of MartineStratford for the winter at first surprised many of their friends, andyet this had come about in a perfectly natural way. When Martinereturned from her summer with Amy in Acadia, her mother, who met her inBoston, was so much better that it seemed almost possible for her tospend the winter at home. But at last her physician prescribed a fewmonths of travel, and as Martina's school work had already been undulyinterrupted, it was thought wiser for her to carry out the plans alreadymore than half formed that she should stay in Boston to attend MissCrawdon's school. It was therefore a disappointment to Mrs. Stratfordjust before school opened to hear that Mrs. Montgomery, Martine'sso-called "dragon," was ill. For several years the latter had been inthe habit of having a few girls from a distance board with her whilethey attended school in Boston. When Mrs. Montgomery could not take her,Martine's parents thought that they must altogether give up the Bostonplan. Mrs. Blair, a cousin of Martine's mother, with whom she had stayedin the spring, was now in Europe. Mrs. Redmond, in whose charge theywould have liked to put Martine, had engaged a boarding-place inWellesley, to be near her daughter in college; and had there been noother reason against Martine's living in Wellesley also, her parentsobjected to her going back and forth daily on the trains. The caseseemed hopeless for Martine's staying in Boston until Brenda Weston cameto the rescue.
Brenda was for a few days at the large hotel overlooking the park, wherealso Mr. and Mrs. Stratford and Martine were staying. Martine had heardmuch of Brenda, though she had never met her until one afternoon whenAmy came to call. Delighted to have the opportunity, she immediatelyintroduced Brenda to her Chicago friends. This happened to be the veryday when Martine was feeling most discouraged regarding her schoolplans. For although the young girl sometimes scoffed at Boston, shereally wished to spend the winter there. Her summer's companionship withAmy and Priscilla had increased her ambition, and she was anxious tostudy at Miss Crawdon's.
Very naturally, then, she confided her troubles to Brenda. Brendasympathized with her, but made no suggestion until she had talked thematter over with her own family and with Martine's mother. When Mrs.Stratford told Martine that Brenda had offered to take her under herwing for the winter, Martine, overjoyed, rushed to Brenda's room toexpress her thanks.
"I can't tell you how delighted I am at the thought of living with youin that dear little flat. It will be much more fun than anything else Icould possibly do."
Brenda looked at her keenly, shaking her head in mock reproof.
"You are not coming to me just for fun. Your mother says that this mustbe a very serious year for you, that you did not do so very well inschool last year, and that--"
"There, there, Brenda,--I mean Mrs. Weston, dear,--I can be terriblyserious. You will see for yourself. But still you want me to have a_little_ fun, just a little--"
"Oh, yes; I am not a regular dragon, but I understand the importance ofwork."
With a sudden movement Martine, who had been standing behind Brenda,threw her arms over Brenda's head, placed her hands over Brenda's mouth,thus silencing her for the moment.
"Now listen, listen," she cried; "listen, please! Of course I am onlytoo glad to be your ward, and I will be as good as good can be. I wouldpromise anything rather than go to boarding-school, or live with Mrs.Blair, or board in a house full of girls. Lucian hopes I'll stay inBoston because he is a little lonely sometimes at college, and I wish tostay with you, and you are so sweet to give me the chance that I reallywon't make any trouble for you."
So it was settled, and Mr. and Mrs. Stratford went home, quite satisfiedto leave Martine in Brenda's care. They would have been better pleasedhad Mrs. Redmond been able to take complete charge of their daughter;but as it was, Mrs. Redmond promised to have Martine constantly in mindand to help her when any emergency arose.
It was Martine's one regret, when she took up her abode with Brenda,that she had not become Brenda's ward early enough in the season to helpher furnish.
"It must have been such fun," she said one day soon after her arrival,"to shop for all these pretty things, and decide on wallpapers and rugs,and fit them into their little corners and nooks."
"You know I didn't have to go shopping for all my belongings; you haveno idea what quantities of things were given me."
"Oh, I can imagine, just by looking around. Wedding presents are sofascinating."
"But still," continued Brenda, "there were certain things I had to buy,chairs and tables, for example, and it was hard sometimes to decidebetween Mission styles and mahogany, and whether the bedstead should bebrass or painted iron for the smaller rooms; and then the kitchenfurnishings were puzzling. Of course I'm not perfectly satisfied witheverything, but, on the whole, we must be contented until we have ahouse."
"Oh, how can you speak of a house! This is ever so much better. It's theprettiest flat I ever saw; don't you just love to be up here in the top?You can see over everything, even to the river, and down the avenue andup the avenue; it's more like Paris than anything I've seen since I wasin Europe."
"I do enjoy the view," replied Brenda. "I should hate to be shut in in anarrow street. I don't like it here quite as well as in our old house onthe water side of Beacon street, where my room had such a broadoutlook."
"You must have hated to leave home."
"In a way I did, but though mamma tried to persuade me to stay with herthis winter, I felt that I just must begin to keep house myself."
"You ought to be very happy that you are so near your mother." Martinespoke wistfully; although she wouldn't have admitted it for the world,she was beginning to be homesick. Chicago seemed altogether too faraway.
"It is pleasant," replied Brenda, "to be able to run in and out therewhen I please. Besides, my sister and her children are there, and I amawfully fond of the little girls."
"Naturally. But that reminds me, though there isn't any real connectionwith what we've been talking about, you haven't shown me your kitchen.Can't we go out there now?"
"Why, yes,"
--then Brenda's face clouded,--"if the cook--"
"Oh, Brenda Weston! You are afraid of the cook."
Brenda colored. "Not afraid; only you know cooks are so queer, and ofcourse dinners have to be just so, and she's apt to spoil things ifanything annoys her. But this is her afternoon out."
"Then we can go and look through everything," and Martine thereuponfollowed Brenda through the long narrow hall to the little kitchen atthe very end of the suite.
"You see," explained Brenda, as they entered the cook's domain, "thoughthis is not an old house, the kitchen needed some improvements that Ilearned are necessary when I lived at the Mansion. It's astonishing howmany things men forget when they build houses. Now, out here, there wasan old-fashioned closed-in wooden sink, but I had it replaced with thisopen one at our expense, and this tiling put all around the walls, andhere, this was my idea and this," and one by one she pointed out manylittle things that might have escaped Martine's notice.
"I learned so much," continued Brenda, "that year at the Mansion School.You see a year ago last spring I was very low-spirited. Everythingseemed so gloomy after the war began, so I went for a while to helpJulia with her girls; and hardly anyone, hardly Julia herself, realizedthat I was learning. But I was, and somehow things that I didn't know Ihad noticed sank into my mind, and when we began to get this apartmentready, I was really practical; even my mother said so. Arthur waspleased, and my sister Anna was perfectly astonished. You know she haslived mostly in studios, or in houses where someone else did theplanning, and this year at home with mother she has no responsibility,so she can't understand how I know so much about housekeeping."
"It _is_ strange, it seems strange to me," responded Martine. "No onewould ever expect you to know a thing."
"Why not? Do I appear a perfect ignoramus?" There was indignation inBrenda's tone.
"Oh, no, of course not; only kitchens are so different, so--well, Ishouldn't expect you to know about kitchen work."
"Then, I confess, there's one thing I don't understand very well. Ireally cannot cook. Sometimes I think it's on account of the cookingclass we used to have; it was too much like work, and so I didn't try toremember what I was taught. That's why I'm afraid of the cook, for ifshe should leave suddenly, I don't know what I should do."
"I know what _I'd_ do," responded Martine, quickly. "I'd go to arestaurant; it's ever so much more fun than dining at home. Why, when Iwas visiting my cousin in New York, we went somewhere nearly everyevening. Of course there isn't a Sherry's or a Waldorf-Astoria here--"
"Oh, I don't want to dine at restaurants when I've a house of my own.Besides, I'm going to learn--look!" and Brenda opened the door of asmall closet. "These are all electric things," and she pointed to a rowof silver kettles and chafing-dishes. "We have two plugs in thedining-room wall and can cook almost anything without going into thekitchen. But come, I've something to show you in my own room now." Asthey turned away Martine exclaimed, "If you have a good receipe book,with all those shiny saucepans, I'm sure you needn't care whether youhave a cook or not."
"I'm not so sure," responded Brenda, "and I can't help being just alittle afraid."
"Pshaw! How absurd!--as if you could really be afraid of anything,"retorted Martine with a smile.
Now, interesting though Martine found her life under Brenda's roof, shesoon realized that her winter was not to be one wholly of pleasure. Herstudies had been carried on so irregularly for a year or two that shenow perceived that she must settle down to regular work. School had beenin session a week or two before she returned to Miss Crawdon's; thisfact was not altogether in her favor, and she found herself a littlebehind the girls in her class. But Martine was resolute, and when sheonce set herself at a task in genuine earnest, she was likely to goahead with a will. So, for the first month she studied diligently; itwas to her advantage that she had not many Boston acquaintances.
Brenda, in her new position of guide and philosopher as well as friend,gave Martine much good advice. One day in a serious mood she expressedthe hope that Martine would not think of ending her studies at MissCrawdon's school.
"It's astonishing," she said, "how many girls are beginning to fit forcollege, though when I was in school many of us thought my cousin Juliaqueer because she studied Greek and wished to go to Radcliffe; yetreally she wasn't queer at all, only rather more interesting than mostpeople."
"I should like so much to see her, everyone seems so fond of her,"responded Martine. "When will she come back from Europe?"
"Not before summer, I think. She worked so hard at the Mansion Schoollast year that we all hope she'll get all she can out of this journey.She's studying, of course, for she never can be perfectly idle; but I amglad to say that she has gone back to her music, for that is the thingshe has the most talent for."
"Oh, dear," sighed Martine, "how delightful it must be to know that youhave a talent for anything. It seems to me sometimes that I haven't aparticle of talent. I can do several things passably well, but no onething better than another. Mother thinks that the Boston air is going todevelop some special talent of mine, but which or what, nobody knows.For my own part, as I said before, I am sure that I have no talent."
"Don't be so severe toward yourself," expostulated Brenda. "I am sure ofone thing--you have a talent for being pleasant and amusing."
"I'm not quite sure that that is exactly a compliment."
"But, really, I mean it to be one."