Part 4 (1/2)
She was silent for fully two minutes, then burst out, ”I say, wasn't it great, what Mort Elwell said about Stella Saxon's picture?” She chuckled at the remembrance, then added: ”By the way, did it occur to you that he wasn't particularly enthusiastic over the idea of our going to grandfather's? My, but I wish we could go.”
”I don't know what difference our plans make to him,” said Esther, in a tone which indicated that her sleepiness had not reached an acute stage.
”Oh, they make plenty of difference to him; at least yours do,” said Kate, sagely.
”Well, he might spare himself the trouble,” said Esther. ”I must say I think Morton Elwell takes too much for granted, lately.”
Kate stopped braiding her hair and stared at her sister. ”I don't know what he takes for granted, except that old friends don't change,” she said. She continued to stare for a minute, then remarked slowly: ”I know what ails you, Esther. You want to have a lot of romance and all that sort of thing. For my part I never could see that romance amounted to anything but getting all mixed up and having a lot of trouble.” And having delivered herself of this she apparently resigned herself to her own reflections.
On the porch, still sitting in the evening darkness, Mrs. Northmore was saying to her husband at that moment: ”Philip, what do you say to letting the girls go to New England? We've talked about it a good deal; why not settle on it? Now that the wheat has turned out so well, couldn't we afford it?”
”Why, I think 'twould be an excellent plan, Lucia,” said the doctor, cordially. ”I've thought so all along, but I was under the impression that you wanted the wheat money to go another way.”
She gave a little sigh. ”Yes,” she said, ”I did want to reduce that mortgage, but some things can wait better than others. It would do the girls good to go, and I believe Esther really needs a change.”
”You think the child is not well?” queried the doctor, with a note of surprise in his voice.
”Oh, not ill,” said Mrs. Northmore, quickly, ”but”-she hesitated a moment, ”she is rather restless and inclined to be a little morbid and moody. It might be worth a good deal to her to have a change of scene, and get some new ideas.”
”By all means pack her off,” said the doctor. ”It's a prescription I always like to give my patients; and if that is yours for her I'll fill it with all confidence.” He rose and stretched his long arms with a tired gesture. ”I believe it's bedtime for me,” he said, ”and I rather think it ought to be for you too.”
CHAPTER III
BETWEEN TIMES
It was at breakfast the next morning that the great decision was announced.
”Well, young ladies,” said the doctor, looking from one to the other of his older daughters, ”what do you think your mother and I have decided to do with you?” He paused for just an instant, then gave the answer himself without waiting for theirs. ”Nothing short of sending you East for the rest of the summer. We've held a council, and decided that nothing else will do in your case.”
They caught their breath, gasping for a moment at the suddenness of it, then Kate brought her hands together with a clap. ”Glorious!” she cried; ”that's the best news I ever heard. But, do you know, I felt in my bones last night that it was coming.”
The doctor laughed. The idea of this plump young creature deriving any premonitions from her bones amused him. ”And what did yours indicate?”
he asked, turning to Esther.
”Nothing as delightful as that,” she said. Her face was not as bright as Kate's. She wondered, with a sudden misgiving, whether her discontented mood of the evening before had any share in bringing the decision, and the thought was in the glance which she sent at that moment toward her mother.
The latter met it with a smiling clearness. ”Your father has been in favor of it for some time,” she said, ”and now that the wheat has turned out so well there is really nothing in the way.”
The shadow flitted from Esther's eyes. ”Oh, it will be beautiful to go, perfectly beautiful! I only wish Virgie could go, too,” she said, with a glance at the little sister, whose face had grown very sober.
”Now you needn't worry a bit about Virgie,” said the doctor, putting his arm around the child, who sat beside him. ”Your mother and I couldn't stand it without her, and we're going to see that she has a good time.
Just you wait, Virgie,” he added, lowering his voice confidentially, ”I have a plan for this fall, and you're going to be in it. There'll be a fine slice of cake left for us three when the others have eaten theirs all up.”
He was exceedingly fond of his children. With their training, either physical or mental, he had never charged himself,-perhaps because they were girls,-but to gratify their wants, and to s.h.i.+eld them as far as possible from the hards.h.i.+ps of life, was a side of parental privilege to which he was keenly responsive.
”But when are we going?” Kate was already demanding.
”Just as soon as your mother can get you ready,” said the doctor; ”and I shouldn't think that need to take very long. I fancy she has your wardrobe planned already. Something kept her awake last night, and when I asked her, sometime in the small hours, what it was, she said she was contriving a new way to make over one of your old dresses. For your mother,” he added, smiling at that lady, ”is like the wife of John Gilpin. Though bent on pleasure-yours, of course-she has 'a frugal mind.'”