It was at one of the studios on the day before New Year’s that Ellen noticed a pretty girl looking at her with evident interest. Music was going on; some one was singing. Ellen waited till the song was over before she whispered to Mrs. Austin: “Do you know who that girl is, the one in purple, sitting by Mrs. Everleigh? She has been staring at me as if I were a curiosity.”
“Never saw her before that I know of. We’ll find out directly, when the music is over and we have tea.”
That moment arrived before long. Mrs. Austin arose. “You stay here and I’ll go find out about the purple girl.”
She had no sooner gone than the purple girl herself came and took the chair Mrs. Austin had vacated. “Would you mind telling me your name?” she said. “I came in late, and in such a crowd of course one doesn’t wait for introductions. I am Mabel Wickham, Mrs. Everleigh’s niece.”
“I am Ellen North,” was the prompt reply.
“Not Ellen North from Marshville?” Miss Wickham leaned closer while an amused look crept into her eyes as they travelled from Ellen’s hat to her dress and then to the coat which hung over the back of a chair in front of the two. “Is that your coat?” came the abrupt4 question. “Oh, I beg your pardon for being so rude. I have no right to ask such questions. Did you say you lived in Marshville?”
Ellen hadn’t said so, but she answered: “Yes, I live there. Is that where you have seen me? Do you know the place?”
“Never was there in my life, but——” She was no longer able to keep back her laughter, though presently she bit her lip and tried to look politely serious. “You really must excuse me. I must seem a perfect idiot, but I keep thinking of something so funny that it makes me laugh.”
At this moment she spied a handkerchief lying on the floor, which she picked up and began to examine. Ellen meantime searched for the one she now missed. “I think that must be mine,” she said; “it fell out of my lap, I suppose.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken,” rejoined Miss Wickham. “See, it bears my initials, and, besides, has my private mark, a black dot in the corner, a very tiny one, to be sure, but there it is.”
It was Ellen’s turn to stare; then suddenly came illumination. “You are Mary West!” she cried. “I know you are, and that is why you have been looking at me so hard; it is because of the hat and dress. You recognize them, but why is your name Mabel Wickham, and how did you know about me?”
Miss Wickham was silent for a moment. “You won’t be mad if I tell you? I’ll ’fess up, though I know you will be absolutely convinced that I am the idiot I seem to be.”
“Mad? I’m only delighted that I have a chance to thank the good fairy who sent me that box and made it possible for me not to mortify5 my friends here when I came to visit them. Do please tell me all about it.”
“Well, it was done in the manner of a joke, I was going out of mourning, and had already given away a lot of things to perfectly6 ungrateful, unappreciative persons, so I thought I’d do something unusual. I packed a few things in a box to go off just anywhere, I didn’t care where. Then I thought up a nice ordinary name. Ellen seemed to please me, but Ellen—what? I stood up, shut my eyes, and turned around two or three times. When I opened them I was facing north. Ellen North, said I, a good sensible name, so I wrote that on the box. Then it occurred to me that the name of the sender would be required. I took my own initials; Mary would do for Mabel, and, as points of the compass were in order, West would do for Wickham. The next question was where to send it. I opened a map, shut my eyes again, and plumped my finger down anywhere. It happened to fall on Marshville, so there you are. I know you must think me the silliest, most fanciful person in the world, but I enjoyed the game and sent out my box into the unknown, wondering what would happen to it, and if any one would get it.”
“It is like a real Christmas fairy tale,” declared Ellen, “and a lovely one for me. I don’t see how you thought of doing that way; yes, I do, though, for I just love to use my imagination, and I am pleased to pieces to think the things came my way just as if a fairy godmother had brought them in a pumpkin-shell chariot.”
“Oh, you dear thing! I just love your saying that. I believe we are going to be friends. I don’t have many friends because so many people are stupid; at least, they think my flights of fancy are just crazy foolishness. Perhaps I am as stupid as they because it isn’t yet through my noddle how you happened to guess I was Mary West.”
“Because of the handkerchief, you see. It was such a nice fine one. I found it in the pocket of the coat and so I used it. Don’t you see?”
Miss Wickham opened her bag and produced a handkerchief exactly like the one she had picked up from the floor. “Twins!” she exclaimed. “But, oh, dear, you are minus a handkerchief if I keep this one; that will not do.”
“Please don’t bother. I had several for Christmas, beauties, from Mr. Barstow’s Christmas tree.”
“But you will need this before you can get at the others. You can borrow it.”
“I’ll be glad to, and I’ll send it to you properly laundered7. Shall you be here long, or are you going back to Baltimore?”
“How do you know that Baltimore is my home?”
“It was on the box; ‘Mary West, Baltimore.’”
“Of course; I had forgotten. I shall be at Mrs. Everleigh’s for another week, and I do hope we shall meet again before you leave. May I come to Mrs. Austin’s to see you?”
“Indeed you may, though I am to be here but a couple of days longer; then, ‘back to the mines.’”
“O dear! I do want to know you better and to hear all about you——”
But here Mrs. Everleigh came up. “Time to go, Mabel,” she said. “Didn’t you girls want any tea? I saw you two talking away for dear life, as if you were old and tried friends.”
“Well, we are in a measure,” replied Mabel. “Ellen knows some intimate acquaintances of mine.” The two girls exchanged glances and laughed.
“What’s the joke?” inquired Mrs. Everleigh curiously8.
“Just a little private one. You’ll take me to the Austins’ studio, won’t you, Auntie?”
“Yes, if you’ll come along now. We must be getting home.”
They made their farewells to Ellen and moved away, Mabel losing no time in making inquiries9 about this new acquaintance, but saying no word about the box.
Ellen, too, was prompt in hunting up Mrs. Austin and learning what she might about Mabel.
“I found out about your purple girl,” said Mrs. Austin, “though, from the way you two jabbered10 away like magpies11, I don’t suppose there is much you haven’t learned.”
“I didn’t learn so very much,” declared Ellen, “but we found out that we have many things in common. Tell me about her, please.”
“She is a very wealthy girl, lives in Baltimore with her grandmother. Her mother died when she was but a small child, and her father a few years ago. Mrs. Everleigh is her aunt. I believe the girl is considered rather peculiar12, doesn’t care for society, a grave fault in the grandmother’s eyes, who, like many Baltimoreans, prefers the social whirl and the good things of life rather than the intellectual ones. Mrs. Everleigh says her niece lives in a world of her own to which but few are admitted. You liked her, Ellen?”
“Very much, and she wants to come to see me.”
However, the girls were not destined13 to meet again at this time, for upon Ellen’s arrival at the studio there was a telegram for her which meant an early start for home the next morning. The telegram read: “Have had an accident. Come at once. Orinda Crump.”
It was an unhappy beginning of the new year. The lonely, wearisome railway journey full of apprehension14, the regrets for the good times that the day was to have afforded, the fears for what might be looked for in the future, all these brought a nervous, overwrought girl to Marshville.
As she stepped from the train she looked around for some one to give her news of Miss Rindy, and, to her relief, saw Dr. Rowe, who came up at once. “Well, Ellen,” was his greeting, “I was watching for you. Come right with me; my car is waiting.”
“Cousin Rindy, tell me, Doctor, what has happened to her?”
“Nothing that she won’t recover from, although it makes it pretty bad for the present She fell and broke her hip15 yesterday morning.”
“She is at home of course. Who is with her?”
“It seemed best that she should go to the hospital, in fact she insisted upon it,—said she couldn’t afford trained nurses and all that. I took her myself.”
“But hospitals cost a lot.”
“Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.” The doctor was non-committal. “I am going to take you there now. Rindy wants to see you, I know. I sent the telegram in her name, though she didn’t want to have it sent at all; said she didn’t want to break up your visit.”
“That’s just like her; she never thinks of herself. Will she have to stay at the hospital for a long time?”
“That depends. I told her not to be troubled about you, for you can stay with us. Caro is entranced at the thought. I shall be going over to the hospital every day and can take you along, for she will want to see you that often.”
“And I shall want to see her. How good you are, Doctor. Does she suffer much?”
“She did at first, and will when she begins to exercise again, but she is fairly comfortable now.”
It was a ride of but a few miles to the hospital, and soon Ellen was following the doctor through a long corridor to the room where Miss Rindy was. A white-gowned nurse met them at the door. “How is the patient?” inquired the doctor.
“Doing very well,” was the reply.
The doctor beckoned16 to Ellen, who was soon looking down upon the pale face of her cousin. “Well, Ellen,” was the greeting, “this is a pretty how-do-you-do, isn’t it? I could kick myself for a clumsy old fool. No, I couldn’t either, not with one leg out of commission. I want you to get some of my things that I shall need, for goodness knows how long I may have to stick here. Go over there, Sam Rowe, and talk to the nurse; I have things to say to Ellen.”
The doctor nodded understandingly to the nurse and the two went toward the door while Ellen drew up a chair close to the bed. “Now, listen,” began Miss Rindy. “I’m not going to stay in this expensive room. It is all nonsense. I am no better than lots of others in the free ward17, and not half so good as some. Look at the way our boys had to endure privations and discomforts18 in hurry-up hospitals over there. I reckon I can stand what they did. Sam Rowe won’t listen to me, but I want you to impress upon him that I cannot pay for this room and a private nurse. He has got to understand it. You tell him so. Now, take that bit of paper and write down the list of things I want.”
Ellen did as she was bid, glad that she had made no promise of persuading the doctor to move her cousin. She had no more than finished her list than the doctor came over to the bed. “I think we’ve stayed long enough for this time, Ellen,” he said. “I’ll bring her again to-morrow, Rindy. She is going to stay with us, so you needn’t worry a bit about her.”
“Maybe you think I have nothing else to worry about, Sam Rowe. You’ll be wishing me a happy New Year next, I suppose. A nice year I have ahead of me, haven’t I? The best I can expect is that I shall be able to go around on crutches19, but I am not going to end my days hobbling. When I get into my death bed I mean to walk there.”
“Good sport!” cried the doctor. “That’s the way to talk. You may have to begin with crutches, but I venture to say you won’t end with them. See you to-morrow, Rindy.”
“Ellen hasn’t told me a word about her visit,” complained Miss Rindy.
“Time enough for that,” called back the doctor.
“Don’t you forget what I told you, Ellen,” Miss Rindy charged as her visitors went out the door.
Ellen was almost in tears as they drove away. “It is so pitiful to see her laid up like that,” she said. “She has always been so active and capable. Will she ever walk again, Doctor?”
“To be sure she will, though not for some time, but she has the perseverance20 and courage of a dozen women to see her through. She may not be quite so active, but she is young enough to get back a lot of her powers.”
“She vows21 she is not going to stay in that room, that she must go into the free ward,” said Ellen after a silence.
“That’s all nonsense! The idea of Rindy Crump going into the free ward. She must stay right where she is. To-morrow I shall tell her that she can’t be moved because it will only retard22 her recovery, that there is no room in the free ward, anything at all to keep her satisfied.”
“But she’ll not be satisfied. She has a horror of debt, and will worry over the expense.”
“She mustn’t worry. What about those rich relatives of hers? Can’t they come to the fore3?”
“She’d rather die than appeal to them.”
“What about her brother? It surely is time he was doing something for her, after all she has done for him.”
“She never hears from him. I believe he is in Seattle and doing well.”
“Humph! Somebody ought to let him know the state of affairs and at least give him a chance to wipe out some of his obligations. I notice that most persons are mighty23 eager to accept help, but are ready to give aid to anybody except those who came to their assistance. It is a queer twist in human nature.”
Ellen thought over this statement and immediately took it to heart, determining that she would never be one of that class. She spoke24 her thought openly. “I hope the day will come when I can show Cousin Rindy how much I appreciate all she has done for me. I wish I could do it now.”
“Don’t you worry about the present. We’ll fix it up somehow. Rindy has too many good friends in this town to let her suffer.”
“O dear! But she couldn’t stand being an object of charity.”
“She needn’t be. I suppose it would be allowable to lend her what is required, and let her pay in her own good time.”
Ellen was silent, although she knew that nothing would fret25 her cousin more than the knowledge of a debt hanging over her. They had arrived at the doctor’s by now, and Caro was on the watch for her beloved Ellen.
“I am so thrilled,” she exclaimed, “to think I am to have you right here under the same roof with me. Of course I’m awfully26 sorry for poor Miss Rindy, but at the same time I can’t but be happy that anything has happened to bring you back sooner, and, better still, to bring you to us.”
Ellen could not meet this exuberance27 with like enthusiasm, but she responded as well as she could, and went in to the excellent dinner, Caro’s arm embracing her waist, and Mrs. Rowe ready with a hearty28 welcome.
There were a good many New Year’s callers that afternoon and evening, for Marshville was still old-fashioned enough to keep up this custom, and Ellen found herself called upon to be chief entertainer, as every one demanded a full account of her visit to the city. She must exhibit the miniature of her mother, the crystal beads29, and the rest of her gifts to the satisfaction and admiration30 of her girl friends, so really she quite enjoyed herself, and was not so cast down as she had expected to be.
“What clever, clever friends you have,” sighed Sally Cooper, “painters and musicians and all that. Do any of them compose, Ellen?”
Ellen looked puzzled. “Do you mean write music?”
“No, I meant do they compose stories, novels, and things?”
Ellen bit her lip and glanced across the room at Clyde Fawcett, who grinned an appreciation31 of Sally’s would-be elegance32. “I believe some of those I met do write. I know one or two are journalists and others are contributors to the magazines,” was the answer.
“How wonderful!” sighed Sally. “I expect we seem very commonplace to you. That Christmas Eve party must have been such fun, and wasn’t it romantic to talk all evening to the boy who blacked up, and never find out what he looked like?”
“I’ll bet he looked like an ape,” broke in Frank Ives gruffly. Frank, by the way, had brought Ellen an ornate box of candy, large in size and delectable33 as to contents. She was glad to pass it around, and one may be sure that there was not much left by the time the evening was over.
“You must be worn to a frazzle, you poor darling,” said Caro as the door closed after the last guest. “You haven’t had a moment for rest. Now please sleep as late as you feel like in the morning and I’ll bring up your breakfast.”
“You are a dear, thoughtful thing, Caro,” said Ellen, bestowing34 a kiss upon her friend’s glowing cheek. “I don’t expect to sleep late, for I promised Cousin Rindy that I would go over to the house and get some things to take out to her, and your father says we shall go as soon as his office hours are over.”
“Need you go? Dad could take them.”
“Oh, but I must go. I want to see Cousin Rindy, and she would be so disappointed if I failed to come.”
“Well, I am not going to keep you up. I want you to go right to sleep.” This remark showed great consideration on Caro’s part, for she had been counting on one of those confidential35 talks which girls so love to indulge in at bedtime, but her love rose above her desire, and she left her friend without the prolonged good-night that would have pleased her.
But Ellen did not go right to sleep. In this first quiet moment her thoughts rioted. There was so much to consider, to plan, to execute. Uppermost was the consideration of Miss Rindy’s position. It was all so difficult. For all the doctor had told her not to worry, she knew that she must, for no one could realize so well what debt meant to Miss Rindy. “Of course we can scrimp and save,—we shall have to,—but it will be a long, uphill pull. If only I could think of some way to earn enough.”
She lay with wide-open eyes, staring into the dark; then all at once she sat up, as a brilliant idea came to her. “Of course,” she exclaimed, “that would fix it. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Then she lay down, turned over, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.
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1
luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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jabbered
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的过去式和过去分词 )；急促兴奋地说话 | |
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magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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