Harper's Round Table, August 13, 1895 Part 4

When the party reached home they found Bob shaven and shorn, Neal in his most careless and teasing frame of mind, Edith depressed and silent, and the children in disgrace.

"I knew something was happening while we were away," whispered Cynthia to Jack.

"If only we hadn't missed it!" returned he. "Smashing the buggy and shaving Bob, all in one day! It's a regular shame that we weren't on hand."

"It seems to me that you were neglecting things somewhat to-day, Edith,"

said her father, when he heard the story.

There! it had come. Of course she was to be censured, as she had expected.

"I didn't know I was to be tied hand and foot and look after the children every minute of the day," she answered, crossly; "and it was not _my_ fault that we went to the woods and broke the buggy."

"I don't care in the least about the buggy, but about Neal's dog."

This was too much. Edith felt badly herself about the dog, but surely she was not responsible. She had not been the means of bringing him to Oakleigh, she said to herself. She was about to reply, when Mrs.

Franklin interposed and diverted her husband's mind from the subject.

This still further annoyed Edith.

Why should Mrs. Franklin feel called upon to interfere between her and her father? And she encouraged herself to dislike more than ever the "intruders" at Oakleigh.

The summer went by. More chickens were hatched, until they numbered four hundred, and then "Franklin & Gordon" concluded that they would not fill the machine again this season. The stock must be carefully tended during the winter, and Jack would have his hands full, though one of the men would help him if necessary.

Jack was to go to Boston to school this winter. Neal was going back to boarding-school; it was his last year, and next autumn he hoped to begin college life.

One fine day towards the end of the summer Cynthia and Neal walked out over the pasture to the "far meadow," and sat down in the shade of a huge hay-stack. The air was full of the hum of fall insects, and gra.s.shoppers alighted here, there, and everywhere about them. Neal tried in vain to catch one with his hat. Then he tossed it to one side, and clasping his hands behind his head, leaned back against the hay with a heavy sigh.

"'What is the matter?" asked Cynthia. "I should think you had the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"And so I have. I've a good mind to trot out the whole story to you, Cynth. I wonder if it would do any good?"

"Of course it would," replied Cynthia, promptly. "There is nothing like talking a thing over, and, besides, I've wanted dreadfully to know what has been the matter with you."

"How did you know anything was?"

"I have seen you growing glummer and glummer. You haven't been nearly as jolly lately. And when you got that letter this morning you looked as if you would like to punch somebody."

"You do take in a lot! I never supposed anybody would notice. I wonder if Hessie did?"

"I saw her looking at you."

"I wish she'd look to some purpose, and hand out what I want. She's so taken up with you Franklins nowadays."

"What do you want?"

"Money, of course."

"Why, Neal, mamma gave you a lot the other day!"

"Oh, that was a mere drop in the bucket. Yes, I really think I'll have to tell you what a fix I'm in. Perhaps you'll see some way out of it."

"Do," said Cynthia, sympathetically; "I am sure I will."

"Well, it's just this: I owe a lot of money to a fellow that goes to St.

Asaph's, and I had a letter from him this morning asking me to fork out at once, or he would write to my guardians or speak to the trustees at the school. It's a nasty thing to do, anyhow. I don't think the fellow is a gentleman."

"Then why did you ever have anything to do with him?"

"That's just like a girl! I'm sorry I told you."

"Oh, don't say that! Indeed, it only just struck me that people who are not gentlemen are so horrid. Please go on, Neal, and tell me the rest."

"There's nothing to tell except that I owe him a hundred dollars."

"One hundred dollars! Neal!" To Cynthia this seemed a fortune. "Why, how did you ever spend it all?"

"Spend it! Easily enough. Suppers once in a while, ginger-pop, candy, cigarettes."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Neither I do. I just do it occasionally to show I'm up to it. But it's no go if you're training, and I'm training most of the time. But you have to keep cigarettes on hand for the fellows."

"But, Neal, you told me once how large your allowance is, and I don't see how you ever in the world managed to spend so much more."

"Easily enough, as I said before. You see, I have the name of being a rich fellow, and I have to live up to it, which makes it hard. I have to live up to it, when, after all, I'm practically dependent on Hessie. I haven't a cent of my own until I'm twenty-five. This fellow Bronson offered to lend me a fiver one day, and I got into the habit of asking him. I didn't mean to let it run on so long. He's a queer lot--awfully smooth on the outside, and inside hard as nails. We were good friends at first; then he did something I didn't like, and I cut him; but he didn't seem to mind it, and afterwards when he offered me the fiver I thought I might as well take it. What a mean will that was anyhow of grandmother's!"

Neal moodily tugged at a wisp of straw which he held in his teeth, and looked across the meadow. A herd of cows came down on the opposite side of the river for a drink, and Bob barked at them loudly, running as near to them as he dared.

For a time Cynthia did not speak. Then she said,

"Aren't you going to ask mamma?"

"I suppose I'll have to. I wouldn't mind a bit if she were not married, but I suppose your father will have to know about it."

"I suppose," said Cynthia, sagely, "mamma would have just given it to you without saying anything, while papa will ask questions."

"That's just about the size of it. And he will not only ask the questions, but he won't like the answers. I think I won't tackle them for a hundred all at once. I'll put it at fifty, and try to get Bronson to wait for the rest. I suppose I'll get some tips at Christmas-time."

"I think it would be ever so much better, Neal, to tell the whole truth.

It will save ever so much trouble in the end."

"But it won't save trouble now, and I hate a fuss. The fifty business will be bad enough. I like to take things quietly."

"That's just it, Neal. Do take my advice, and tell mamma the whole thing."

"That's the worst of telling a girl anything. They always want to give advice. I wonder why it is that a woman from her earliest years loves to advise?"

"Much you know about it," said Cynthia; "and you needn't have told me about your sc.r.a.pe if you didn't want me to say anything."

"Well, I've told you now, and you must give me your word of honor that you will never give me away. Now promise, Cynthia."