Brenda's Ward Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  CHANGES

  The first week in December a strange thing happened. Brenda had receiveda letter with a Washington postmark, yet this in itself was notremarkable. Such letters came to her daily, for Arthur had gone toWashington on business a day or two after the trip to Harvard. But hermanner, as she rapidly scanned this particular letter, was so unusualthat Martine, watching her, knew that it brought news out of theordinary.

  The slight frown on Brenda's face deepened as she read the four or fivepages, and when she had finished she flung the letter down on the floor.

  "Oh--it seems too bad," she sighed, in response to Martine's look ofsurprise. "Just as we are settled, to have to give everything up!"

  "Give up--what?" asked the puzzled Martine.

  "Why this--everything--our apartment--Boston--oh, dear--of course I knewit might come--but I hoped next year."

  As Brenda finished there were tears in her eyes, and still Martine didnot wholly understand.

  "Of course I am sorry," said Martine, "since it's something thattroubles you. But would you please tell me what it is all about?"

  "Well--it's Arthur's business," she explained. "A promotion that he hasexpected has come. It took him some time to find out what he reallycould do after he left college. The office in San Francisco is moreimportant just now than the one in Boston. He is needed there for sixmonths--and we must go at once--yes," she concluded, looking at theletter a second time. "We must be there by the first of January. Well,fortunately, we need not give up this apartment, for we have a twoyears' lease, and it wouldn't be worth while to sublet it, as we mayreturn in six months. So you see, my dear, that things might be worse. Ishall have to pack only my clothes and small belongings, and after all,it will be rather fun to see a new corner of the world."

  "What you say sounds practical--except--you seem to have forgotten_me_."

  "Oh, you poor child, how selfish I am! Why you could just stay on herewith the cook and Maggie, or Angelina, if you prefer her."

  "Brenda Weston! You know that would never do! I mean other people wouldsay it would never do."

  "There, there, child, don't worry," said Brenda, assuming her mostelderly manner. "I will write to your mother, and between us somethingdelightful will be arranged. What a shame you are in school," sheconcluded, forgetting for the moment her position as Martine's temporaryguardian. "Except for that you might go to San Francisco, or even travelwith your mother."

  "I am growing fond of school," replied Martine, as she returned to herbook. "Even to go to California I wouldn't give it up, but if it'sreally settled that you are going, I must write home at once."

  In a few days Brenda and Martine both received answers to their lettersto Mrs. Stratford. To Martine what her mother wrote was even moresurprising than Brenda's change of plans.

  "Your father has to go to South America on very important business. Itis too long a journey for me, although I am much stronger than a yearago. We think the wisest plan would be for me to go to Boston to be nearyou and Lucian, and I am writing Mrs. Weston to see if we may not engageher apartment for the next six months."

  "Hurrah!" cried Martine, turning to Brenda, who had just finishedreading the letter Mrs. Stratford had written her. "Of course you'll say'yes.' Oh, how perfectly happy I shall be to have mother with me."

  "Of course I will say 'yes.' But please spare my feelings; if you aretoo happy you will forget to miss me."

  "Oh, never, never; but then mother must be feeling much stronger, and Ihave seen her so little the past few years. She has been under thedoctor's care or travelling, and our Chicago house has been closed solong, and hotels are so unhomelike. But now, with this apartment toourselves, and Lucian coming in from college--oh! it will bedelightful."

  Again Brenda protested that Martine was unfeeling in counting her out socompletely.

  "But I can't count you in, when you calmly and deliberately plan to turnyour back on Boston and me. You know that I shall miss you, but to havemother here--of course that makes all the difference in the world."

  For the Christmas holidays Lucian and Martine joined Mr. and Mrs.Stratford in New York. A day or two after Christmas, Mr. Stratfordsailed for England, whence he was to embark for South America. Martinecould but notice that the sadness that her father showed during theselast days seemed due to something besides the fact that he was to beabsent from his family for a few months. He had often before gone onlong journeys, but usually he made an effort to have his departureparticularly cheerful.

  "Your father is worried," her mother said; "his business is not goingjust as it should. He hopes that this visit to South America willstraighten out some things. If it does not--well, we needn't talk of thefuture now. I am glad that we are all together this Christmas. You andLucian must do all you can to divert your father, he has so much totrouble him."

  Martine took this advice to heart, and though Mr. Stratford spent somehours each day downtown, after luncheon she always insisted that he mustentertain her. By this she meant that she must entertain him, and inconsequence she thought out all kinds of odd ways of amusing him. Oneday they sailed on the Ferry to Staten Island to visit Sailors' SnugHarbor. Another afternoon they went up to Van Cortland Park to see theold Van Cortland house. One day they wandered for an hour in the Bowery,but Martine admitted that this wasn't as entertaining an expedition asshe had imagined it would be from the accounts she had read of it. Theshops on the whole seemed commonplace, and the crowded cross-streets ofthe East Side looked far more interesting, as she caught glimpses ofthem in passing.

  She had to let these glimpses satisfy her, as she had promised hermother not to explore any out-of-the-way corners of the tenementdistrict; and so obedient was she in this that she would not even goinside a certain Bowery pawnshop in whose windows she saw a fascinatinglittle guitar. Instead she urged her father to price it, and when hecame outside with it under his arm she accepted it with delight.

  "It's neither a violin nor a guitar," Mr. Stratford explained, "but thelittle instrument that the Sandwich Islanders love."

  Martine was delighted by this account of her new treasure, and shecarried it home with great pride. But unconventional expeditions werenot the only pleasures that Martine shared with her father. One day Mrs.Stratford drove with them through the Park up beyond Riverside andGrant's tomb. Two or three afternoons they spent with relatives, of whomMr. Stratford had a number in New York. Lucian was little with hisfather during the holidays. Classmates at Ardsley and Trenton andGermantown claimed short visits from him. But on Christmas Day he joinedhis parents at the small uptown hotel where they were staying.

  "Martine," he said as they sat at breakfast, "Elinor Naylor was at theHarbins' dance night before last in Germantown. She took a lot oftrouble to introduce me to some of her best friends just because I wasyour brother. I tell you what--you made a great impression on her."

  "I certainly did--the first time we met," responded Martine, smiling,and Lucian did not quite understand, because his sister had never reallyexplained the circumstances under which she and Elinor had first met.With slight urging from Martine, however, Lucian plunged into adescription of the Harbins' dance, and though boy-like he could notdescribe what Elinor wore, he declared that whatever it was it justsuited her, and that she certainly was a regular peach, "and thefunniest thing about it is that you don't think about her being prettywhen you first see her. It's only when you begin to remember her thatyou realize how good-looking she is."

  "Poor Priscilla," sighed Martine in mock sorrow, "I fear her nose is outof joint."

  "Oh, no--at least, what do you mean?" asked Lucian, and at this momentthe entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Stratford put an end to their fun.

  The Christmas breakfast, in spite of Martine's efforts, passed offrather quietly. Her parents both seemed sad and disinclined to talk.Even the unobservant Lucian at last noticed this and tried to turn theconversation into cheerful and impersonal channels, with poor success.Their Christmas dinner was at the hou
se of an elderly cousin of theStratfords in Washington Square. The guests were nearly all relatives ofMartine's father, and the young visitor received abundant criticism,favorable or unfavorable, according to the dispositions of the variouscritics.

  But even those who thought Martine a little forward or tooself-possessed for a girl of her age could but admire her frank, cheerymanner and the consideration that she constantly showed for olderpeople. The less conservative found her charming and complimented her onher clever way of telling a story. Some said she looked like her father,some like her mother, and the oldest cousin of them all, taking heraside said, "You are just like your father's mother when she was yourage. She had your coloring and your bright brown eyes. I knew her wellwhen I was a girl. She was said to be the image of her Frenchgrandmother, and I can wish you nothing better than to grow up likeher," and as the old lady kissed her Martine felt her own eyesmoistening.

  "I am glad that I have some French blood in my veins," she said a littlelater; "the Huguenots were so wonderful. I wish that papa and I had timeto go up to New Rochelle, for although I believe there's little leftthere of the Huguenots now except the name, I should like to see theplace because my forefathers lived there."

  Lucian found the Washington-Square dinner rather a bore, although hemanaged to conceal his feelings until with his family he was back at thehotel.

  "They might have asked at least one girl near my age," Lucian said. "Nowonder you were such a belle, Martine, among all those antiquities," acompliment that Martine refused to accept until Lucian admitted that shepossessed qualities that would make her popular even in a younger crowd.

  One of Martine's Christmas gifts did not surprise her,--a complete setof brushes, mirror and little boxes to replace those she had lost in theWindsor fire. This did, however, surprise Lucian, who knew that hisfather had promised Martine a full set of silver.

  "Why, how is this?" he asked, as Martine spread out her new possessionsbefore him on a table. "Is plain black wood more in fashion than silver?It must be, or you wouldn't have it."

  "But this is pretty; don't you think so?" asked Martine, always anxiousfor her brother's approval.

  "It's rather neat, with your initial in silver, but it couldn't havecost as much as the other, and I thought you always preferred the mostexpensive things." For the moment Martine did not explain that herpreference was still for the silver, but that she had chosen the otherbecause of a chance word or two from her mother on her tendency towardextravagance.

  "I know you have generally whatever you wish, Martine, and your fatherand I generally give you what you ask. You are seldom unreasonable,although we may have been overindulgent. For now--"

  Here Mrs. Stratford broke off suddenly.

  "But now, mamma, are things very different? I know we usually stay at alarger hotel, and still--"

  "Oh, no, dear. Things are not very different. Perhaps they will not be.Yet your father has so much care now that you will surely do your bestto relieve him from needless burdens."

  Therefore, when Mr. Stratford took Martine downtown to choose herpresent, she could not be shaken from her determination to havesomething simpler than silver.

  "It will be so much better in case I am caught in another fire, papa.Things that are burnt up are gone forever, and as I seem to be a ratherunlucky person, this plainer set is much better--and besides I like it,papa."

  In the end it seemed to Martine that Mr. Stratford was rather pleased byher choice, for when the matter was decided he patted her hand gently ashe slipped it within his arm, saying,--

  "After all, daughter, you are getting to be a very sensible girl. I havenoticed a great change within the past year."

  "Oh, thank you, papa. Do you really think I've improved? Then it'spartly on account of the company I have kept. I am sure of that."

  "I am pleased that you are on the right track, and when I am far fromyou, as I shall be now for some time, it will be a great satisfaction tothink that you are doing your best."

  A few days later Martine and Lucian, with their mother, stood on thedock watching the receding ocean-liner that was carrying Mr. Stratfordto England. There was a great lump in Martine's throat as she wiped awayher tears with the handkerchief that a moment before she had been wavingfrantically at her father.

  "Goose, goose!" whispered Lucian. "You are too big a girl to cry."

  "Oh, I hate saying good-bye," murmured Martine.

  "Why, we've hardly been together--all four of us--for years."

  "That's just it! It's been so pleasant lately--and now to have father inSouth America!--it's just dreadful."

  "Nonsense, child! South America isn't so very far away. The trouble is,you've had too long a vacation. It's well we're going back to Bostonto-morrow, and that in a day or two you'll be at your books again."

  "'At my books'--as if I were a six-year-old! I can't see why HarvardCollege gives even a day's vacation to its students, since their chiefuse of time seems to be to tease their sisters," and with this littleburst of temper Martine's tears were blown away.