Part 9 (1/2)

Adelaide explained matters, and the case of the Hettermans was discussed, Miss Prillwitz agreeing to take them in if we would a.s.sist in their support. ”I shall leaf zem in my apartement for ze summer,” she said, ”for it is necessaire to me zat I go ze sh.o.r.e of ze sea, and I s'all take Giacomo with me, for I cannot bear to separate myself of him.

Zis is so near to your school zat Mrs. Hetterman can sleep her nights here. But I have not decided to myself where I shall repose myself for ze summer.”

I spoke up quickly, referring her to Miss Sartoris for the beauties of our part of Long Island and for mother's low price for board. Miss Prillwitz was evidently pleasantly impressed. She thought she would like to study the seaweed of that part of the coast, and when she heard of the lighthouse, against which the birds of pa.s.sage dashed themselves, and how the keeper had kept their skins, waiting for some one to come that way and teach him to stuff them, she was quite decided in our favor.

I noticed that Winnie grew suddenly silent. As we left the house she pinched me softly. ”You didn't mean any harm, Tib,” she said, ”but if they go, it will take every bit of pleasure out of my summer.”

CHAPTER VII.

Winnie's confession.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Drawing of Wilhelm Kalbfleisch.}]

Wilhelm Kalbfleisch, the butcher's boy, was one of the most uninteresting specimens of humanity that I have ever seen. That any of us would ever give him even a pa.s.sing glance seemed quite beyond the range of probability, and yet Wilhelm's stolid, good-natured face haunted Winnie's dreams like a very Nemesis, and came to acquire a new and singular interest even in my own mind.

We pa.s.sed a little Catholic church on our way to the boarding-school.

”We are early,” said Winnie. ”Let's go in.”

It was Lent, and the altar was shrouded in black, and only a few candles burning dimly. We stood beside a carved confessional. A m.u.f.fled murmur came from the interior, and the red curtains pulsated as though in time to sobs.

”Let us go out,” whispered Milly; ”I am stifling.”

She looked so white that I was really afraid she was going to faint. ”I feel better,” she gasped, when we reached the open air.

”It was frightfully close,” Winnie said, ”and the air was heavy with incense.”

”It was not that,” said Milly, ”it was the thought of it all; that there was a poor woman in that confessional telling all her sins to a priest.

I never could do it in the world.”

”It would be a comfort to me,” said Winnie, fiercely. ”I only wish there was some one with authority, to whom I could confess my sins, that I might get rid of the responsibility of them.”

”There is,” I said, before I thought; ”'He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.'”

Winnie gave me a quick look. ”You don't usually preach, Tib,” she said, and burst into a merry round of stories and jokes, which convulsed the other girls, but did not in the least deceive me. I could see that she was troubled, and was trying to carry it off by riding her high horse.

”Girls,” she said, ”I want you to come around to the butcher's with me.

They have such funny little beasts in the window. I mean to get one, and the butcher's boy, Wilhelm, is such a princely creature--just my _beau ideal_--I want you to see him.”

The funny little beasts proved to be forms of head-cheese in fancy shapes. Strange roosters and ducks, with plumage of gayly colored sugar icing, and animals of uncouth forms and colors. Winnie bought a small pig with a blue nose and green tail, all the while bombarding the butcher's boy, who was a particularly stupid specimen, with keen questions and witty sallies. He was so very obtuse that he did not even see that she was making sport of him.

As we hurried home to make up for our little escapade, Winnie amused us all by asking us how we thought Wilhelm would grace a princely station.

”Just imagine, for an instant, that he was the lost Prince Paradiso!

What a figure he would cut in chain armor, or in a court costume of velvet and jewels! Did you notice the elegance of his manners and the brilliancy of his wit?”

”Winnie, Winnie, have you gone wild?” Adelaide asked. ”Why do you make such sport of the poor fellow? He is well enough where he is, I am sure.”

”Is he not?” Winnie replied, a little more soberly; ”I was only thinking what a mercy it is that people are so well fitted for their stations in life by nature. Now, think of Jim as a butcher, growing up to chop sausage-meat and skewer roasts!”