Harper's Round Table, July 2, 1895 Part 4

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 801.

[2] This is the Eskimo method; and I have seen a Norton Sound Eskimo woman obtain fire by this simple means inside of ten seconds.--K.M.

OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

CHAPTER II.

They were all in the "long parlor" after tea. It was a beautiful room, extending the length of the house, and it was large enough to contain four windows and two fire-places. The paper on the walls was old-fashioned--indeed, it had been there when the children's grandmother was a girl, and the furniture was of equally early date.

It was all handsome, but shabby-looking. A few dollars wisely spent would have made a vast difference in its appearance; but, unfortunately, there were never any dollars to spare.

Jack had resumed the argument. "Nonsense, nonsense, Jack!" said Mr.

Franklin. "It is absurd for a boy like you to ask me for so much money.

Incubators are of no good, anyhow. Give me a good old-fashioned hen."

"Perhaps, papa," said Cynthia, demurely, "Jack will give you a good old-fashioned hen if you let him buy an incubator to raise her with."

Mr. Franklin laughed. Then he grew very grave again.

"There's no doubt about my making something of it," persisted Jack. "I _wish_ you would let me try, father! I'll pay back whatever you lend me.

Indeed I will. It's only forty dollars for the machine."

Mr. Franklin was very determined. He could seldom be induced to change his mind, and his prejudices were very strong. Jack's face fell. It was of no use; he would have to give it up.

Presently Aunt Betsey spoke. She had been an attentive listener to the conversation, and now she settled herself anew in her rocking-chair, and folded her hands in the way she always did when she had something of especial importance to say.

"How much money do you need, Jackie? Forty dollars, did you say?"

"Forty for the incubator," said Jack, rather shortly. He felt like crying, though he _was_ a boy, and he wished Aunt Betsey would not question him.

"And then you must buy the eggs," put in Cynthia.

"And what do the chicks live in after they come out?" asked Miss Trinkett, who knew something about farming, and with all her eccentricities was very practical.

"They live in brooders," said Jack, warming to his beloved subject. "If I could buy one brooder for a pattern I could make others like it. I'd have to fence off places for the chicks to run in, and that would take a little money. I suppose I'd have to have fifty-five or sixty dollars to start nicely with and have things in good shape."

"Nephew John," said Miss Betsey, solemnly, turning to Mr. Franklin, "I don't wish to interfere between parent and child, it's not my way; but if you have no other objections to Jackie's hen-making machine--I forget its outlandish name--I am willing, in fact I'd be very pleased, to advance him the money. What do you say to it?"

Jack sprang to his feet, and Cynthia enthusiastically threw her arms about Aunt Betsey's neck.

"You dear thing!" she whispered. "And you look sweet in your new hair."

Upon which Miss Trinkett smiled complacently.

Mr. Franklin expostulated at first, but he was finally persuaded to give his consent. So it was finally settled.

"I will lend you seventy-five dollars," said Miss Trinkett. "You may be obliged to pay more than you think, and it's well to have a little on hand in case of emergencies."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS TRINKETT TOOK AN AFFECTIONATE FAREWELL THE NEXT DAY.]

The next day Miss Trinkett took an affectionate farewell from her nieces and nephews, promising to send Jack the money by an early date.

"And a book on raising poultry that my father used to consult," she added; "I always keep it on the table in the best parlor. I'll send it by mail. It's wonderful what things can go through the post-office nowadays. These are times to live in, I do declare, what with chicks without a mother and everything else."

Aunt Betsey was true to her word. During the following week a package arrived most lightly tied up, and addressed in an old-fashioned, indefinite hand to "Jackie Franklin, Brenton, Ma.s.s." Within was an ancient book which described the methods of raising poultry in the early days of the century, and inside of the book were seventy-five dollars in crisp new bank-notes.

It was a week or two after the installation of the incubator that Edith was seized with what Cynthia called "one of her terribly tidy fits."

"I am going to do some house-cleaning," she announced one beautiful Sat.u.r.day morning, when Cynthia was hurrying through her Monday's lessons in a wild desire to get to the river. "Cynthia, you must help me. We'll clear out all the drawers and closets in the 'north room,' and give away everything we don't need, and then have Martha clean the room."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Cynthia; "everything in this house is as neat as a pin. And we haven't got anything we don't need, Edith. And I can't. I _must_ go on the river."

"You can go afterwards. You can spend all the afternoon on the river.

This is a splendid chance for house-cleaning, with the children off for the morning. Come along, Cynthia--there's a dear."

Cynthia slowly and mournfully followed Edith up the stairs. She might have held out and gone on the river, but she knew Edith would do it alone if she deserted her, and Cynthia was unselfish, much as she detested house-cleaning.

"I am going to be very particular to-day," said Edith, as she wiped the ornaments of the room with her dusting-cloth and laid them on the bed to be covered, and took down some of the pictures.

"More particular than usual?"

"Yes, ever so much. I've been thinking about it a great deal. In all probability I shall always keep house for papa, and I mean to be the very best kind of a house-keeper. I am going to make a study of it. The house shall always be as neat as it can possibly be, and the meals shall be perfect. Then another thing," pursued Edith, from the closet where she was lifting down boxes and pulling out drawers. "I am going to be lovely with the children. They are to be taught to obey me implicitly, the very minute I speak. I am going to train them that way. I shall say one word, very gently, and that will be enough. I have been reading a book on that very subject. The eldest sister made up her mind to do that, and it worked splendidly."

"I hope it will this time, but things are so much easier in a book than out of it. Perhaps the children were not just like our Janet and w.i.l.l.y."

"They were a great deal worse. Our children are perfect angels compared to them."

"Here they come now, speaking of angels," announced Cynthia, as the tramp of small but determined feet was heard on the stairs and the door burst open.

"Dear me, you don't mean to say you are back!" exclaimed Edith. "I thought you were going to play out-of-doors all the morning."

"We're tired of it, and we're terrible hungry."

"An' we want sumpun to do."

"If this isn't the most provoking thing!" cried Edith, wrathfully, emerging from the closet. "I thought you were well out of the way, and here I am in the midst of house-cleaning! You are the most provoking children--don't touch that!"

For Janet had seized upon a box and was investigating its contents.

"Go straight out of this room, and don't come near me till it is done."

"We won't go!" they roared in chorus; "we're going to stay and have some fun."