Brenda, Her School and Her Club Page 22

  XXII

  BRENDA'S SECRET

  Julia had not been long in the house after her walk with Miss South,when she heard her aunt at her door. In reply to her "Are you here,Julia?" the young girl ran forward, with a "Yes, indeed, auntie, comeright in."

  "Why, how pretty your room looks," exclaimed Mrs. Barlow; "I had almostforgotten that it could be so pleasant."

  "That sounds as if you had not been up here for some time, and indeed Iwas thinking myself only this morning that you had rather neglected melately--at least in the matter of visiting me."

  "I know it, dear child, but you know that I have been very busy thiswinter. There are many things to occupy me, and the Boston season is soshort. We haven't had one of our pleasant chats here for several weeks.But I hope that you are perfectly comfortable. I am sure that you wouldtell me if you should need anything that I had overlooked."

  "Nothing has ever been overlooked, Aunt Anna, that could add in any wayto my comfort."

  "Then you are perfectly contented. Sometimes I fancy that I see anexpression on your face that seems to indicate--well, not discontent,but something of the kind, as if you were a little unhappy."

  "Oh, no indeed, Aunt Anna. You are all too kind, and I enjoy everymoment in Boston. Of course I miss poor papa, but he had expected toleave me for so long a time, that I was prepared, and he himself alwayssaid that he wished me to think of him as only gone away for a time, yetof course I miss him. But then you and Uncle Thomas have been everythingto me, and so thoughtful. I can't imagine a more delightful room thanthis with the view of the river, and these dainty, artistic things aboutme, and my own piano and books. You have no idea how I have enjoyed it."

  "Well, I am glad that it all pleases you, for perhaps we could not havedone as well for you if Agnes had been at home. You know that this washer studio, and no other room in the house is so large and cheerful. Nowit has always seemed hard that you could not have kept Eliza with youthis winter; she had been a part of your old life, and you would havebeen much happier with some one to talk with about it."

  "Of course I should have been glad to have had her with me, but Icouldn't insist on her staying when her brother needed her so much afterthe death of his wife. I had such an amusing letter from one of herlittle nieces the other day, thanking me for lending them their AuntEliza, and saying that they did not know when they could return her."

  "Then she can't come to spend the summer at Stormbridge?"

  "I do not exactly know, for Eliza has not written to me herself; but Ihalf believe that it is better for me to do without a maid; I feel everso much more independent, although naturally I _do_ miss Eliza."

  Mrs. Barlow smiled at the philosophic tone which

  Julia had assumed, for she had quietly made her own observations on thestate of Julia's mind when at the very beginning of her stay in BostonEliza had been called away.

  "Another year you may need somebody, even if you cannot have Eliza. Theolder a girl grows the more stitches there are to be taken for her, andnext season you will have less time than at present to do things foryourself."

  "But I like this feeling of independence, or rather I like to feel thatI have to depend almost entirely on myself; I am just so much more of aperson than I should be if I had Eliza to wait on me constantly, as Iused to."

  "A certain amount of independence in a young girl is a good thing,"replied Mrs. Barlow, "and I am glad that yours takes a somewhatdifferent form from Brenda's. I wonder, for example, where she is thisafternoon. She had an appointment at her dressmaker's, but when I wentthere to make a suggestion or two about her new coat, they told me thatshe had not been there, and here it is near dinner-time with no sign ofBrenda. Probably she is with Belle or some of the girls, but still I donot like her going off in this way."

  While Mrs. Barlow was speaking Julia hoped that she would not ask her ifshe had seen Brenda, and fortunately she did not do so. To be sure,Julia had nothing special to tell, and indeed had not her aunt spoken ofthe broken appointment at the dressmaker's, she might have mentioned theglimpse of Brenda that she had had down town, but now she began tosuspect that something was wrong, at least it was strange that Brendashould have deceived her mother about the dressmaking appointment. Thedressmaker's rooms were not down town, so that it was not thisappointment that had taken her to the neighborhood of Winter street.

  "But where have you been, yourself, this afternoon, Julia?" asked Mrs.Barlow; and Julia told her of her visit to the Rosas, and of the plansthat Miss South had suggested for raising them out of their presenttrouble. "I am afraid that Brenda won't agree with her," she said, "forshe has the idea that the one thing needful is to give Mrs. Rosa a largesum of money to spend just as she likes."

  "Brenda isn't very practical," replied Mrs. Barlow. "I only wish thatshe had your common sense; or if she were more like Agnes, it would bebetter, for although Agnes is an artist, she is decidedly practical."

  "Oh, Brenda is so much younger," said Julia apologetically.

  "Yes, I know it, that is undoubtedly one reason for her heedlessness,but it sometimes seems as if her wilfulness increases every day. I amafraid, too, that she has not always been considerate of you; I havebeen wishing to speak of this for a long time, though it is not an easything to do. It would pain me very much to have you feel that any ofus--even Brenda had been inhospitable."

  "Oh, no indeed, Aunt Anna, I am not likely to think anything of thatkind. I make allowances for Brenda, and I honestly think that she isgetting to like me better."

  "There ought not to be any question of that kind. If it were not forBelle, Brenda would be inclined to throw herself more upon you, but I amsure that Belle keeps her stirred up all the time. But there--I oughtnot to talk so much about this, at least to you, only I have thoughtthat I ought to tell you that your uncle and I have feared that you havehad several experiences this winter that were not altogether pleasant,and I should fail in my duty if I did not express our appreciation ofyour patience."

  Then rising from her chair, Mrs. Barlow leaned over Julia, and kissedher on the forehead, saying as she turned to leave the room, "We havebarely time now to get ready for dinner."

  Just as Julia opened her door to go down to the library where sheusually talked with her uncle for a few minutes before dinner, she sawBrenda rushing upstairs to the floor above.

  "Where's Brenda?" asked Mr. Barlow, as they took their places at thetable. There was a note of severity in his voice, that Mrs. Barlow andJulia detected at once.

  "Why, she has been out all the afternoon," replied the former; "but Ihave sent word for her to hasten downstairs."

  At this moment the delinquent entered the dining-room, and took herplace at the table. Although she had changed her street dress, she hadapparently dressed in a great hurry, and her hair looked almostdisheveled, as she had evidently not had time to rearrange it.

  Hardly responding to the greetings of her parents and cousin, Brendabegan to talk very rapidly about--well about the subject to which manyof us turn when we are embarrassed,--the weather.

  "Yes," said her father, in a kind of general response to her very vagueremarks. "Yes, I will admit that it has been a fine day, almost thefirst really springlike day that we have had, that it is a delightfulday to have been out in the open air, but all this does not prevent myasking you why you should be so late to dinner; you know my rule, andthat I shall have to punish you in some very decided way if this happensagain."

  "For once Brenda has no excuse ready," added Mrs. Barlow; "now _I_ amanxious to know where you have been this afternoon?"

  Brenda turned very red before replying, "Oh, Belle and I have beentogether."

  "I dare say," said Mr. Barlow, "but that does not tell us where you havebeen?"

  "Any one would think," cried Brenda, almost in tears, "that I was a girlof ten years of age. I do not know any one who has to account foreverything she does; there is not a girl at school who is watched inthis way."

  "Sometimes I think that it would be bet
ter if you were under closerguardianship. Some one has been telling me that you need it."

  Brenda flashed a glance at Julia as if she might be the informant, andJulia rejoiced that she had not even mentioned having seen Brenda downtown.

  "You were not at the dressmaker's this afternoon," said Mrs. Barlowreproachfully.

  "I hope that you were not on the bridge, looking at the crews," said Mr.Barlow.

  "No," said Brenda quickly, "I was not. Why did you think of that?"

  "Because some one has been telling me that a number of foolish girls arein the habit of going where the Harvard Bridge is building on fineafternoons, just as the class crews are out exercising, and that some ofthese girls always wave their handkerchiefs, and even cheer, as theirfavorites come near--and more than this some one has told me that youare often to be seen among these girls; now, Brenda, I tell you franklythat this won't do."

  "Oh, papa, you are so particular; a great many girls think that it isperfectly proper to go there, and no one ever says a word about it. Iwonder who told you; some old maid, I am certain of that."

  "No, indeed, no old maid, but a young man, and a student, too. He feltvery sorry that you should be seen there; he says that there is always agreat mixture of people in the crowds on the bridge, and that it must befar from an agreeable place for a young lady, besides not being a properone."

  "Well I only wish that I could tell who that young man is," criedBrenda. "I should call him a perfect goose."

  "He is far from that," responded Mr. Barlow; "and I ought to say that Iagree with him thoroughly. I only wish that I had heard about thisbefore, and now I hope that you will understand, Brenda, that you areforbidden to go near the Harvard Bridge in the afternoon."

  "Not to the bridge at all!" cried Brenda, in a most doleful voice. "Why,I can't see the harm."

  "Well, I can, and that is enough."

  "You can go to the races themselves, Brenda, when they actually comeoff," interposed Mrs. Barlow, "but if you think it over, you will seegood reasons for not hanging about the bridge, as a boy might, merely tosee the crews pass."

  Brenda made no attempt at further argument, and one result of the littlediscussion that there had been about the bridge and the crews was todivert her father and mother from asking further questions about the wayin which she had spent this particular afternoon. She was ratherrelieved when the evening passed without Julia's referring to havingseen her down town. She was almost sure that Julia and Miss South hadrecognized her, and Belle and she were in dread lest in this way herfather and mother should learn that she and her rather mischievousfriend had gone alone to a matinee.

  For this was now Brenda's secret,--she had not only gone down townalone, but she had gone to the Music Hall without an older personaccompanying her. With parents as indulgent as hers there seemed no needfor her to try to secure forbidden pleasures. Nor would she probablyhave done this but for Belle. It had been the study of Belle's life toget what she wished in a clandestine way. Her stern old grandmother wasconstantly forbidding her to do this thing or that, and her commandswere often really unreasonable. No one was quicker to detect this thanBelle herself, and it was on this ground that she often excused her owndisobedience. "Why even mamma does not expect me to mind everything thatgrandmamma says," and as her mother was rather timid, as well ashalf-ill all the time, she gave her self-possessed daughter very fewcommands of her own.

  "I don't believe that I should be so ready to disobey mamma," Bellewould say to Brenda when the latter on occasions remonstrated with her,"but with grandmamma it is different, for I do not consider that she hasany right to lay down the law as she does."

  Nevertheless when Brenda and Belle sat in the front row in the largeMusic Hall--for Brenda had bought expensive seats--both girls felt thatold Mrs. Gregg was pretty nearly right in saying that places ofamusement were not proper for a young girl. They had both been atsimilar performances before, but always some older person had selectedthe entertainment. This one, which they themselves had chosen from theglaring posters decorating the bill-boards of the city, and from theconversation of the Harvard freshman of their acquaintance wasaltogether different from anything that they had seen. It was advertisedas an exhibition of ventriloquists, but it had a general air ofvulgarity that was extremely displeasing to them. Brenda wished morethan once that she had not joined Belle in this adventure. She did notlike the loud jokes, and the scant costumes of the performers, and shehoped that there was no one in the audience who would recognize her. Ofcourse there were times when she laughed at the funny things on thestage--for who could help it--but many of the jokes and the incidents atwhich the rest of the audience laughed the loudest fell rather flat onthe ears of the two young girls. This was as it should be, for neitherof the two was anything worse than heedless and a little too fond ofhaving her own way. In Belle this wilfulness took the form of awillingness to use subterfuge, both in word or deed to gain her own way.Brenda did not follow her very closely in this direction, although therewas danger that her conscience would be dulled, before she realized it,under Belle's influence. Brenda indeed felt so uncomfortable during theperformance, that if she could have done so without observation, shewould have left the hall. But she did not quite dare to go out in theface of the great audience, and besides when she made the suggestion toBelle, the latter would not hear of her going. "No, indeed," she hadsaid, "why should we go. You are a regular baby, Brenda; it isn't sovery bad, only a little vulgar, and just see what crowds of people thereare here, and some of them seem just as good as we are, and you know Iread you that newspaper clipping that said that this was one of thesuccesses of the year. You and I are not used to this kind of thing, butdear me! we can't expect to stay children all our lives." So Brenda satthere with an uneasy conscience, wondering what her mother would say, orher father--or Julia who never by any chance did anything that she oughtnot to do.

  Stolen sweets are apt to taste a little bitter, and when the performancewas over, Brenda and Belle went out with the crowd. On the way out roughpeople, or people whom Belle called "rough," pushed against them, whileone or two rude boys made saucy remarks to the young girls who seemedconscious of being in the wrong place. It wasn't at all an agreeableexperience, especially as they were both wondering if any of theirfriends were likely to see them.

  Then there was that chance glimpse of Julia and Miss South, and therather silly action on the part of Brenda and Belle of hiding in thedoorway. Really they needed all the consolation they could get fromtheir visit to the confectioner's around the corner. There they drankgreat glasses of chocolate, sipping the whipped cream at the top, as ifthey were young ladies of twenty loitering in the shops after thesymphony. As they stirred the chocolate with their long spoons, andlingered on the settee at the end of the shop to watch the lively youngmen and women who were constantly coming in and out to buy bonbons, orto get refreshment, they forgot all that had been disagreeable at themusic hall, and for the time being imagined that they were young ladiesthemselves. Yet when Brenda reached home with hardly time to dress fordinner, conscience began to prick again.