Part 37 (1/2)
Even then, Katharine's self-control did not leave her. Pausing before her aunt, she said quietly, as she held out the letter,--
”Do you remember our talk last fall, auntie? My call has come, and I must answer: 'ready.'”
”Katharine!”
Mrs. Hapgood s.n.a.t.c.hed the note, read it, and turned impulsively to the young girl before her.
”You poor child!” she began; but Katharine interrupted her, as she had done Alan.
”Don't worry about me, auntie. But can you tell Jessie now, please? I am afraid I can't.” And she turned away and went into the house.
When Mrs. Hapgood came down-stairs, an hour later, it seemed as if a shadow had always rested on the house, the sorrow it contained had so soon become a part of their lives. Up-stairs, Jessie had cried until she was tired, stopped to listen vaguely to her aunt's comforting words, then cried again, but all without any real understanding of the trouble which had come upon her. Down-stairs, Alan and Molly were walking the room, arm in arm, with a settled look of sadness which was strangely out of place on their young faces. Alan had told his sister the news as gently as he could, and she could only cling to him and cry, as she took in all the meaning of the shame and disgrace, all the consequences of the father's sin upon the coming life of his children.
”But where is Katharine?” asked Mrs. Hapgood anxiously.
”Isn't she up-stairs?” said Molly.
”I haven't seen her,” answered her mother.
”Why, we supposed she was with you!” And Alan hurried away to look for his cousin.
At last he found her. Up in the familiar old garret that she had loved so well, close by the great gray chimney which seemed to be s.h.i.+elding her with its giant strength, there lay Katharine on the shabby old sofa, sobbing as if her heart must break. To the young lad, these unrestrained tears were much more alarming than her former quiet, and he dared not speak, as he sat down on the floor by her side, and put his brown hand against her cheek.
”Oh, Alan!”
”Yes, Kit; I know.”
”Let me have my cry out now,” she said brokenly. ”It must come sometime; then I can be brave for mamma and Jessie.”
Alan stole away to tell his mother where Katharine was, and then went back to her side. All the morning he remained there, saying little, but keeping near her with a simple, boyish devotion of which, in after years, she never lost the memory.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”THERE LAY KATHARINE ON THE SHABBY OLD SOFA, SOBBING AS IF HER HEART MUST BREAK.”--Page 350.]
When Katharine went down-stairs again, she appeared to have grown years older during that one morning. It was not that she was less beautiful than she had been; but she seemed to have gained a new, gentle dignity which suddenly changed her from a child into a woman. As she entered the room, with her hand on Alan's shoulder, she met them with a perfect composure which gave no hint of her trouble; but they all felt instinctively that it was as she had said to her aunt, her call had come, and she had answered ”ready.”
The day wore slowly away. They were to start on their journey, late the next afternoon, accompanied by Mrs. Hapgood, who had made up her mind to go to her sister for a few weeks, to help her through the sad changes which must inevitably follow. Late in the day, Mrs. Adams and Polly came in, for Molly had told them of the letter. Mrs. Adams took both the girls into her motherly arms, and her few whispered words were very tender, while Polly threw her arms around Katharine, as she said,--
”Alan has told me what you said, Kit, about your call's coming, and I think it was grand; but it isn't one bit more so than we expected, only it makes us proud to be your friends.”
At length it was bedtime, and for the last time the girls went up to their pleasant room in the old Hapgood house. The whole place was in confusion, and trunks stood in the middle of the floor, with piles of clothing, books, and pictures heaped about them, just as they had been left in the morning. At sight of them, Jessie threw herself down on the bed.
”Oh, Kit!” she cried; ”what are we going to do?” ”Please don't cry so, Jessie,” said Katharine wearily. ”We must try not to be babyish about it.”
”Babyis.h.!.+” And Jessie turned on her petulantly. ”I do believe you don't care, Katharine. Oh, poor papa!” Then, as she saw the pain in her sister's face, she added, ”Forgive me, Kit! I know you do care; but how can you keep so quiet? It's all so dreadful, and we shall be poor and alone, and n.o.body will care for us.”
”Hush, Jessie!”
Her sister spoke almost sharply, for she felt her own courage fast giving way. Then, sitting down on the side of the bed, with her beautiful brown hair waving loose about her shoulders, she took her sister's hand in hers.