Part 20 (1/2)

”And this boy that he educated, Arabella--what about him? Didn't he help when his friend needed it so badly?”

”No; he kind of forgot about it, I guess. Young folks is often like that, you know. You see, he jist put him through high school an'

helped him some, at first, in college, an' learnin' doctorin' seems to take an awful long time. But I guess the boy must 'a' forgot about him, or he'd 'a' been able to come back before this. You won't ever tell, Elsie, will you?”

”No, no, Arabella! Never!”

”Mebby I'm foolish, but I can't bear to think o' Susan knowin' I was waitin' all this time, an' Bella would laugh, an' William, too. But I told you, 'cause when I die I want you to have this dress to wear on your wedding day. I intended to give it to you, anyway, jist as soon as I found out I wasn't ever goin' to wear it.”

”Oh, Arabella!” There was a choking lump in Elsie's throat. ”You must not talk like that! You must not! You don't know that he's dead. He may be on the way home now, for all you know. No! no!” she added, pressing the blue silk back into the owner's hands, ”I won't take it!

I just won't! You just cheer up, and wait a little longer, dear, and who knows but you may hear any day that he's coming?” She was growing radiantly hopeful.

Miss Arabella looked up with hopeful eyes, but shook her head. ”No, it's no use, Elsie. It's awful good o' you, and I used to feel like that, too; but I've waited too long. I guess I'm jist tired,” she added pathetically.

”Arabella,” whispered the girl, with heightening color, ”have you--don't you ever pray about it?”

”I used to, but lately--ever since that dress gave way--I--I kind o'

gave way, too. An' it seemed wicked, anyhow--like prayin' for dead folks, the way Catholics does, and I knew Mr. Scott would think it was awful of me.”

The beautiful eyes looked at her despairingly.

”Oh, Arabella! Don't you care about me? Think how lonesome I'll be without you---- What's that?”

She was interrupted by a scrambling, tearing noise in the region of the old apple-tree. For an instant a strange object outside darkened the window, there was a shriek, a splintering crash, and down from the apple boughs, breaking a window-pane in its head-long descent, and landing upon the veranda floor with a terrible bang, came the black-haired twin of the Sawyer orphans!

Miss Arabella sat up with a cry of alarm. Polly gave a long squall, and shouted out that times were very slow indeed, and Elsie sprang up, and, unlocking the door, ran to the rescue.

The black-haired twin was scratched and torn and disheveled, and was howling l.u.s.tily, but the young lady who picked her up showed her small sympathy. ”Lorena Sawyer,” she demanded solemnly, ”where did you drop from?”

”I was sittin' up in the apple-tree,” roared the fallen one, ”an' the mean ole thing busted, an' I--I--tu-m-bled!”

”You were up at the window, listening to what Arabella and I were saying! You know you were!”

The child nodded. ”O' course,” she answered innocently. ”An' say, Elsie”--she began to wipe away her tears--”if Arabella's fellah doesn't come back, will you give me an' Lenny a bit o' the silk for our dolls'

dresses?”

Elsie caught her by the arm and shook her.

”Hus.h.!.+” she cried, glancing toward the open window in dismay.

”Arabella'll hear you, and if you tell--if you breathe a word of it, she'll get sick and die; do you understand?”

”But will y' give us some of the blue silk?” asked the black-haired twin, with orphan-like persistence.

”Elsie!” It was Miss Arabella's voice. ”Elsie, come here quick!”

With a parting warning to the culprit, the girl ran back to the bedroom in deep concern. Surely this shock would be too much for the invalid, and now she certainly would die.

”Arabella!” she cried in amazement, as she reached the bedroom door, ”what are you doing?”