The Key Note. Burnham Clara Louise

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СКАЧАТЬ Just Uncle Nick."

      "Does he give you studies to learn?" Mrs. Lowell's catechism was given in such gentle, interested tones that the answers had come easily up to now.

      Now the boy hesitated, and she began to expect the stereotyped answer which he had learned was most pleasing, and the easiest way out with his uncle.

      "I – " he began, and caught her look. "Sometimes," he added. "But Uncle Nick says it isn't any use – and I don't care anyway, because – she isn't here."

      Again Mrs. Lowell could see the spasm in his throat and face. It passed and left the usual dull listlessness of expression.

      "Your mother was very sweet," said Mrs. Lowell quietly, and some acknowledgment lighted his eyes as he suddenly looked up at her. "I know that because she made such a deep impression on the little boy she left. How old were you, Bertie, in that happy time when she was here?"

      "I – it was Christmas, and there have been – five Christmases since. I remember them on my fingers, and one hand is gone."

      Mrs. Lowell met his shifting look with the steady, kind gaze which was so fraught with sympathy that his forlorn, neglected soul turned towards its warmth like a struggling flower to the sun.

      "I'll tell you what I think would be beautiful, Bertie," she said. "And it is for you to do everything you do for her, just as if she were here, or as if you were going to see her to-morrow. Did she ever talk to you about God?"

      "Yes. I said prayers that Christmas – and I got a sled."

      "Do you ever say prayers now?"

      "No. It – it doesn't do any good if you – if you live with Uncle Nick. He – he won't let God give you – anything."

      "Let me tell you something wonderful, Bertie. Nobody – not even Uncle Nick – can stand between you and God. You know the way your mother loved you? God loves you that way, too. Like a Father and Mother both. So, whenever you think of your mother's love, think of God's love, too. It is just as real. In fact, it was God, you know, who made her love you."

      The boy looked up at this.

      "Yes. So, whenever you think of God, remember that 'I don't know' must never come into your thought. You do know, and you can know better every day."

      "Uncle Nick won't like it if I know anything."

      "Dear child!" burst from Mrs. Lowell at this unconscious revelation of blight. "We will have a secret from Uncle Nick. I am so glad you have told me about your dear mother, and now you are going to start doing everything in the way you think would make her happy if she were here. I am sure she loved everything beautiful. She loved flowers and birds and this splendid ocean that is going to catch us in a minute if we don't move back. What do you say to letting it catch us! Supposing we take off our shoes and stockings and wade. Doesn't that foam look tempting?"

      Color rose in the speaker's cheeks as she finished, and the vitality in her voice was infectious.

      "It's – it'll be cold," said the boy.

      "Let it. Come on, it will be fun."

      She was already taking off her shoes and he followed suit. It gave her a pang to see the holes in his faded socks, but she caught up her skirts and he pulled up his trousers and shrinkingly followed her. The June water was still reminiscent of ice, and she squealed as the foam curled around her ankles, and Bertie hopped up and down until color came into his face, too. The incoming tide, noisier and noisier, drove them farther and farther up the beach, until finally they sat down together on a rock at a safe distance from the water, and the sunlight fell hotly on their glistening feet.

      "That was fun!" said Mrs. Lowell, laughing and breathing fast. "Do you know how to swim, Bertie?"

      "I – no, I don't."

      "That would be a nice thing to learn while you are here. You learn and then teach me."

      "Me? Teach you?"

      "Of course. Why not? There's a cove in the island where they all swim."

      Bertie looked off on the billows. "Would my mother like that?" he asked.

      "I'm sure she would, and she would like the collection of stones we are going to make, and she would like you to help Miss Burridge by weeding the garden that they have started. There are so many delightful things to do in the world, and you are going to do them all – for her."

      "All for her," echoed Bertie. "And not tell Uncle Nick," he added.

      "No. You and I will keep the secret."

      Mrs. Lowell looked at him with a smile, and the neglected boy, his dull wits stimulated by this amazing experience of comradeship, smiled back at her, the smile of the little child who in that far-away happy Christmas had received a sled.

      CHAPTER IV

      BIOGRAPHY

      "Well, good-bye, Miss Priscilla," said Philip, coming into the kitchen a few mornings afterward. "This landlubber life won't do for me any longer."

      Small Genevieve was at the sink washing dishes and Veronica was drying them.

      Miss Burridge slid her last loaf of bread into the oven and then stood up and faced him.

      "Philip Barrison," she said emphatically, "you have been a blessing for these weeks. I hate to see you go. Now, how much do I owe you for all the good things you've done for me?"

      Philip laughed and, throwing his arms around her, gave her a hearty smack on the cheek.

      "What do I owe you for popovers and corn fritters?" he rejoined. "Just don't let Veronica chew gum, nor let Genevieve flirt with Marley Hughes and we'll call it square."

      Genevieve turned up her little nose and giggled, and Veronica looked scornful.

      "Now, don't you tell me that Puppa liked it," he continued to her. "Besides, anybody that lives with your Aunt Pris has so many nicer things to chew there is no excuse. Oh, Miss Priscilla, how I hate to say adieu to the waffles!"

      "Well, you must come real often, Phil. I heard you was goin' to give us a concert at the hall sometime this summer. Is that so? I do hope you will."

      "I shouldn't wonder. My accompanist is coming to-day and we shall do a little work and a lot of fishing."

      "Is he a young feller? You must bring him up to play croquet with the girls."

      "Well, I don't know whether he has any experience as an Alpine climber or not."

      "Why, I don't think it's such an awful bad ground. Do you, Veronica?"

      "Not if he's real nice and hasn't any whiskers," replied the girl. "Heaven knows he'll be better than nothing. Such a place as this and not a beau! It's a crime."

      "How about me?" inquired Philip modestly.

      Veronica lifted her upper lip disdainfully. "Oh, you, with your lectures and your goddesses! What earthly good are you?"

      "Cr-rushed!" exclaimed Philip.

      "Talked to Mrs. Lowell all last evening on the piazza in that lovely moonlight. The idea of wasting it on a Mrs. СКАЧАТЬ