In the Way (15 page)

             
Joseph was honest. He did not feel that he could try to persuade any one to do a thing he was not willing to do himself. It wouldn't be fair. He had always been that way. If he wanted to play a prank with a pin on another boy, he would first try it on himself to see if he could bear it; then he would get his fun out of the other boy. Then he felt he had a right to it. He turned to walk on, but he thought of Ruth again, and something too in the miserable little longing face of Ellen Amelia touched him. He looked down at her again.

             
“I'll tell you what it is, Miss Ellen,” he said gravely and slowly, as if he were doing something very hard which he didn't know how to do and yet which he meant to do to the best of his ability, “we'll make a bargain. We won't either of us disappoint her. If you'll do it, I will. I don't know a thing about the business, but I'm willing to learn, if you will. I'll agree to do my best at it.”

             
“All right,” said Ellen Amelia after a pause; “I'll do it.”

             
And then they went home.

             
Joseph, as he walked back to the farm and looked up at the clear face of the moon, wondering what he had done and how he was going to keep his promise. And the Lord was preparing ways all about him for his feet that he knew not of.

LOUISE Clifton stood by the front window of the parsonage, looking out, a discontented curl on her lip. It was plain that she did not like Summerton.

              “Mamma, I'm sure I don't see why you ever consented to come here,” she said for the fortieth time. “It is the dullest, stupidest old place I ever heard of. You are just burying me. Where shall I have any society I'd like to know? You needn't think I'm going to fall in love with that paragon of a Miss Benedict of Rob's. He is ridiculous. He always was. If we had known he had such an admiration here we needn't have moved heaven and earth and spoiled all our own plans to come to this old hole and make a home for him. If he keeps on like this he will soon have one without our assistance.”

             
“Louise!” said her mother severely. She was a quiet, sad little woman with a white, pensive, refined face. Her daughter Louise had always been too much for her. She had never quite understood her.

             
“Well, mamma, indeed I can't help it. I wonder what you would have done shut up in such a place as this at my time of life. You were one of the belles of New York society. Why, there won't be a man worth looking at in this place.”

             
“Louise!” said her mother again in distress. “You shock me! Are you reduced to the state that there is nothing worth living for in the world without a young man? It strikes me that that is a very bold and immodest way of talking for a young girl. If your father were here to hear you say such a thing as that I don't know what he would do.”

             
“Well now, mamma, I didn't mean anything so terrible. I only meant that there isn't much fun in the world without a young man, at least for a girl like me. You would lift up your hands in horror at the thought of my going anywhere without an escort. I can't go skating—I suppose they will condescend to have that much like the rest of the world in this horrid place. You know you wouldn't let me go skating alone, or sledding. As for parties and evening entertainments, it isn't likely there will be any of those, so you need not worry in that line. But really, it will be too stupid for anything.”

             
“Daughter, you talk as if you cared for nothing but parties and the like. Have you forgotten your brother? He surely will be all the escort you will need.”

             
Louise laughed a clear, mocking laugh. “Rob! Fancy Rob, the dignified minister that he has become, going skating with his sister! Why, I presume that paragon of his doesn't believe in skating. I really never heard him say, but I suppose she doesn't from some remarks I've heard him make about her. Mother, you don't know it, but Rob has become as stupid as Summerton. He doesn't believe in doing this, and he thinks that is wicked, until I'm sick of talking to him. I tried to coax him to take me in town next Saturday to the matinee, and don't you believe he told me he did not go to matinees any more, that he felt there was a great deal of harm done to young people by them and he hoped I would give them up; and he furthermore informed me that if I would like to look into the subject he had several books there I might have to study it up and he would help me. He handed one to me, and it was called 'Plain Talks About the Theatre,' and had 'Ruth Benedict' written in a pretty little hand across the top; so you see I am not so far wrong in thinking he got all his ideas from her.”

             
“Louise, I must insist that you do not speak so disrespectfully of your brother. Remember his holy office, if you have no regard for him. He doubtless borrowed the book you speak of from Miss Benedict; but as to his ideas on the subject of theatre-going, he changed them long ago, just about the time of that summer he spent at the seaside, you remember. I know he told me at the time, and I thought it was very fitting for a man who was to be a clergyman to feel as he felt. I was highly gratified and so was your father. Of course it was not necessary for you to be guided by your brother's views so long as you were living in New York and were in your own society and your father's home; but remember that you are under your .brother's roof now and a part of his family, and some deference is due to his views. In his position he could not well afford to feel otherwise than he does. I trust that you will not bring your personal views out for the hearing of other people. It might hurt your brother seriously.”

             
“Indeed, mamma, I have no idea of being muzzled. I did not want to come here at all, and did all I could to prevent it. Rob would have it, and now he may take the consequences. I shall not try to make myself agreeable to his churchful of country boors,” and Louise made her pretty face into a grotesque twist and pirouetted away from the window, returning just in time to look down and meet the gaze of a very stylish young man who was very evidently a college man visiting his native town on a vacation.

             
There was something so patronizing in his air, and his very expression said, “You poor benighted people, here, see! I honor you with my benign presence. Be glad that you see me, for I shall soon be gone from this place again. I would not stay here if it could be helped, but as my parents will live here on account of my father's business interests, I cannot help treading your streets for a little time; but I despise you all. You, of course, arc proud of me, as you should be.” This was Alonzo Brummel. He was loud-voiced, self-assertive, long-haired, walked with the latest English hobble and wore the latest style in baggy overcoat, patent leather shoes, with his trousers turned up, and with stick and tall hat. He stared up at the parsonage window with an undeniably impudent stare, as much as to say, “Well! I declare! A really pretty girl in Summerton, and in the parsonage too! Who in the world can she be?”

             
And Louise, having much the same feeling concerning Summerton and its inhabitants and being fully as astonished to see a well-dressed young man as he had been to see a pretty girl, I am afraid stared back for a moment. Then she dropped her eyes and a pretty flush spread over her cheek as she turned quickly from the window and began playing the piano furiously that her mother might not ask the occasion of her confusion.

             
However, it was not long before Alonzo Brummel contrived to be introduced to .Louise Clifton. He was at home for his Thanksgiving vacation, and by virtue of some petty excuse had managed to have it begin four days earlier than most of the other students, for he was “lazing” through college with as little trouble to himself as possible, and trying to get away with as much money as he could before the time came for him to earn it. His father was a hard-working man, proud of his children and very generous to them, and he looked upon this son as perfection.

             
The fact that a young man of fashionable appearance had come upon the scene somewhat reconciled Louise Clifton to her present position, at least until after Thanksgiving. She consented to be quite gracious toward Ruth Benedict, and went with her brother to return Ruth's call, which had been made one day when Louise was out with her brother on a long ride.

             
But when she saw the lovely home and the sweet girl herself, and found that Ruth was, presumably, rich and certainly charming in every way, her impulsive nature turned straight about and fell in love with her at once. She quite tortured her brother with her expressions of affection all the way home and asked him some pointed questions concerning his friendship for Ruth which he did not care at all to answer.

             
“Mamma, she's lovely!” she said, bursting into the room where her mother sat, on her return from this visit. “I was entirely mistaken. It was all owing to the blue glasses Rob will look at every one through that I thought her such a poke. She has a beautiful home. It is really just a paradise of good taste and artistic ability. I never saw anything so pretty in my life. She and I will be just cronies. And just fancy, mamma, she rides a wheel! I thought she was too straitlaced to live, from what Rob said. She is to ride with me tomorrow, if the weather continues good. I'm just dying to meet those two brothers of hers. They say she has given up a lovely home and lots of friends where she has always lived just to come here and civilize them. I think I will help her. Rob is always at me to do some missionary work, but I don't fancy dirty-faced little girls with sticky fingers always bringing you bunches of dandelions and expecting you to kiss them and get dandelion milk over your new gray kid gloves. I shall never forget the only Sunday I ever tried at the mission in New York, and I don't want to do anything like it again. But this would be perfectly lovely—two young men. Miss Brummel said they were real nice fellows. I could help her I'm sure. I suppose she wants to get them taught manners and be so that they can go into society. I should enjoy it. They wouldn't be like little mission-school girls.”               “No, they would hardly bring you wilted dandelions nor expect you to kiss them,” said her brother, who had been listening with increasing disgust and anger to his sister's gushing words. “Mother, I wish you would try to make Louise understand that such talk is offensive in the extreme from a young woman. I fancy there will be no danger of her undertaking a mission with either David or Joseph Benedict when she has once seen them. They will be much more likely to look upon her as a foolish girl than as a helper if she talks in as silly a vein as she has been talking this afternoon.” The minister's nerves had been tried to their utmost by his sister's flippancy. “And, by the way, mother,” he went on, “young Brummel is no fit companion for Louise. I don't like his look, and wish she would keep away from him.”

             
Then the minister settled to his evening paper, and mother and daughter gave one another a frightened, rather guilty glance, as Louise left the room. The mother spent a sleepless night afterward, wondering if she had done wrong to consent to her daughter's plans, and saying over and over again to herself, “It is too late to change anything now, and there will not be any harm done if he does not know.”

             
The fact about which she was worrying was this: Alonzo Brummel had not been slow in following up his acquaintance with Louise Clifton. He was to be at home not much more than a week, and he meant to have all the fun out of it he could, in that dull town. His sister Georgiana was bribed to assist him, and they had called back and forth several times and planned a walk and a ride. It had also come about that Miss Louise had mentioned her disappointment with regard to the matinee to be held in the city about forty miles distant the day before Thanksgiving. Young Brummel had at once taken up with this and planned a party consisting of his sister and himself and Miss Clifton to attend that matinee. It fell in exactly with his ideas of a good time. He said the play was a “jolly” one and “no end of fun.” Louise, however, having been brought up with strict ideas with regard to chaperones, had insisted that her mother should be one of the party. After much persuasion Mrs. Clifton had consented to accompany them. She did it fearfully and with many compunctions, for she knew her son would object most seriously; but she insisted that it should be kept strictly a secret, telling Louise to explain to the Brummels that her son's position made him feel that he would rather not have his family attend such places of amusement. She felt herself very lenient toward such things. Then too Louise must have some amusement. Robert could not expect her to give up all her girlhood. So she had arranged to go with Louise to the city, ostensibly to do some shopping, and told her son that they would not return until the late train. Of course the minister had no suspicions, and would not have pried into his mother's affairs if he had.

             
Meantime the friendship between Ruth Benedict and Louise Clifton was progressing. The minister had said in a low, troubled tone during one of the few talks he had with Ruth alone, “My sister needs your help, Miss Benedict. She is not a Christian. You will understand her, I feel sure, and see just what she needs,” and then he had gone on his way, and Ruth had studied the bright pretty young girl and understood.

             
They took their bicycle ride together. As they passed the Brummel home Alonzo was lounging in the front window smoking and reading. He sat up very straight and bowed to Louise, but stared interestedly at Ruth. He had not seen her before. He decided that her style was ahead of Miss Clifton's and he would try to get acquainted with her at once. She might be more worth while than the minister's sister. She was well enough for fun, but one liked a variety. Of course he had heard of Ruth Benedict, but had paid little attention to the accounts of her till now.

             
It was also new to him that Miss Clifton rode a wheel. He would have one for himself sent up from the city immediately, as his own was at college, he not having thought it worth while to bring it home with him for so short a time. He would have a ride with Miss Clifton and perhaps with the other girl as well.

             
Summerton stared as it rushed to its doors and windows to behold the minister's sister and the new Benedict girl flying by. They had supposed that the Benedict girl had had lesson enough in the spraining of her ankle never to mount the diabolical machine she called a bicycle again, but here she was sitting up as straight and smiling and composed as could be. Mother Haskins, as she looked, sniffed, in spite of the beautiful new dress which hung upstairs in Ellen Amelia's closet; yes and in spite of the fact that this strange benefactress had evolved a dainty little hat of blue serge with rolled, stitched brim, and soft crown, and no expense except two cheap black wings. It not only was the most becoming and plainest, neatest hat Ellen Amelia ever had, besides being exceedingly stylish (which latter point Mother Haskins did not know), but also saved the expense and trouble of getting Ellen Amelia something new for her head, or arguing her into wearing the old last winter's one. Mother Haskins was very much afraid that Ellen Amelia's next ambition would be a bicycle. As for the minister's sister, Mrs. Haskins was scandalized. The minister ought to be told at once, and she would surely make it her business to do so were it not for the darning that must be finished that afternoon. Besides, she dreaded making the first call on the minister's grand little mother. So she retired to her darning, predicting dire trouble for the two innocent riders before the afternoon was over, and was surprised and truly sorry to see them return perhaps two hours later with smiling rosy faces, looking as if they had but just started out.