From the Valley of the Missing Part 24

Ann had seated herself, and now spoke of her errand:

"You've heard of our little charges who came so strangely to us not long ago?"

Mrs. Vandecar nodded.

"Horace and I wish to do something for them. It seems as if they had been sent to us by Providence. The lad is very ill, and the girl ought to go to school. We were wondering if you could have her admitted for special lessons to Madame Duval's. The school a.s.sociations would do such a lot for her." As Ann continued, she marked Mrs. Vandecar's hesitation.

"I know very well, Dear, that I am asking you a serious thing; but Brother and I think that it would do her a world of good."

Mrs. Vandecar thoughtfully received the shawl Katherine brought her.

Then she looked straight at Ann and said:

"Everett doesn't approve of your work, does he, Ann?"

Miss Sh.e.l.lington colored, and fingered her engagement ring.

"No," she replied frankly; "but it's because he refuses to know them.

They're little dears! I've explained to him our views, and have promised that they shall not interfere with any plans he and I may make. I've never seen Horace vitally interested before, or at least so much so.

Now, do you think that you would be willing to do this for us? Mildred's going to the school, and you being a patroness will make Madame Duval listen to such a proposal from you."

Mrs. Vandecar turned upon her visitor searchingly.

"Are you doing right, Ann, in taking these children into your home life?

I appreciate your good-heartedness; but--"

"Horace and I have talked it all over," interjected Ann, "and we are both a.s.sured that we are doing what is right. Won't you think it over, and let us know what you decide? If you find you can't do it--why, we'll arrange some other way."

The plan of naming the children came into her mind; but she hesitated before broaching it. Mrs. Vandecar was a type of everything high-bred and refined. Would it offend her aristocratic sense to have the children named after her and her husband? Ann overcame her timidity and spoke:

"Fledra, there's another thing I wanted to speak of. The children came to us without proper names, and Horace suggested that we call them Floyd and Fledra. Would you mind?"

Mrs. Vandecar drew back a little, a shade pa.s.sing over her face. A painful memory ever present seized her. Long ago two babies had been called after their father and mother--after her and her strong husband.

Could she admit that she did not care? Could she consent to Ann's request? Ann noted her struggle, and said quickly:

"I'm sorry--forgive me, Dear!"

Mrs. Vandecar's face brightened, and she smiled.

"I thought at first that I didn't want you to; but I won't be foolish.

Of course, call them whatever you wish. Floyd won't mind, either."

Horace met his sister expectantly.

"Did you ask her about the names, Ann?"

"Yes. At first she was not inclined to either of our plans; but she has such a tender heart."

"So she has," responded Horace.

"She consented about the names; but said that she would send me word about the school."

"And she didn't give a ready consent?"

"No; but I'm almost sure that she will do it. And now about Flea. Did you talk with her?"

"Yes. She consented to go to school, and said--that I was the best old duffer in New York State."

"Oh, Horace! She must be taught not to use such language. It's dreadful!

Poor little dear!"

"It'll take sometime to alter that," replied Horace, shaking his head.

"They've had a fearful time, and she's been used to talking that way always; she's heard nothing else. You can't alter life's habits in a day."

"But Madame Duval won't have her if she's impudent," said Ann.

"Oh, but she's scarcely that," expostulated Horace; "she doesn't understand. I'll try to correct her sometime."

But he felt the blood come up to his hair as he promised; for it seemed almost impossible to approach the girl with a matter so personal. For the present, he dismissed the thought.

"What about the names, Ann?" he asked.

"As you wish, Dear; Fledra doesn't care."

From that moment, the boy, struggling with fever, and the gray-eyed girl, so like him, were called Floyd and Fledra Cronk.

One morning in January, the day before Flea was to begin her school work, she was pa.s.sing through the hall that led to the front door. Her face was grave with timidity; although for hours Ann had been trying to fortify the young spirit against the ordeal that was to confront her the following day. Only once had Flea faltered a request that she be allowed to stay at home; but Horace had melted her objections without expelling her fear. To Ann's instructions concerning conduct she had listened with a heavy heart.

Everett Brimbecomb opened the front door as Flea approached it. She stopped short before him, and he drew in a sharp, quick breath. Flea was uncertain just what to do. She knew that he was going to marry Ann, and was also aware that he hated her brother and herself. Ann, however, had taught her to bow, and she now came forward with hesitant grace, and inclined her head slightly. The beauty of Flea made Everett regret that his objections to the twins had been so strenuous; but he would immediately establish a friendship with her that would please both Ann and Horace. He vowed that at the same time he would get some amus.e.m.e.nt out of it.

"Well! You've blossomed into a girl at last," he said banteringly, "and a mighty pretty one, too! I swear I shouldn't have known that you were one of those boys!"

Flea threw her peculiar eyes over him; but did not speak.

"You're going to school tomorrow, I hear. How do you like that?"

Flea shook her head.

"I don't want to go," she admitted; "but my Prince says as how I have to."

"Your what?"

"My Prince!"

"Your Prince! Who's your Prince?" demanded Brimbecomb.