Jane Lends A Hand Part 22

"Whoa. Where are you off to?" shouted the voice of some invisible being; there was a scrambling, sc.r.a.ping sound in the branches of a tree that, growing inside of the wall around the Sheridan place, extended its patriarchal boughs across the road; and presently the lord of the manor, hot, and red, with a three foot saw in his hand swung gracefully into view.

"Are you going to have a party without _me_?" he asked in an injured tone. "Can't I come, too?"

"There!" said Jane in a low tone, giving Paul a surrept.i.tious pinch, "what did I tell you?"

"Are you going to begin meddling with that again?" demanded Paul, also in a low tone, remembering bitterly the unhappy part he had been called upon to play at the Webster's party. "Because if so, I'm going home."

"I'll meddle if I think it's necessary," returned Jane, calmly, "but I don't believe it will be."

And, indeed, from the first it seemed quite plain that her valuable services were not required. With the air of one who feels that her small tasks have been well done, she watched Lily and Mr. Sheridan who wandered on ahead, leading the way across the old wooden bridge, and up the hill.

Jane said frankly to Paul that she would "sort of like to hear what they were talking about," but Paul was pained, and undertook to lecture her on the spot for her deplorable habits.

On each side of the road lay the broad fields, where, in the furrows of dark earth, freshly ploughed, young corn was already thrusting upwards its vivid green blades.

"How do you like my scare-crow?" Mr. Sheridan called back, waving gaily toward the grotesque figure which bore an absurd resemblance to Peterson. "I made Peterson dress him up in his winter suit. Isn't he a fine, impressive fellow, though. How do you think he'd strike you if you were a crow?" Then without waiting for an answer, he went on talking to Lily, describing all his late activities in the line of agriculture, his plans for new buildings on his land, and airing, boyishly all his newly acquired-and perhaps not entirely a.s.similated-knowledge of farming. Jane might have found this talk distinctly disappointing, but to Lily everything that he said seemed remarkable.

"And then, perhaps, you are going to live here-a good deal of the time?"

she asked timidly. "I very glad that you have found so much to interest you."

Mr. Sheridan turned to help her over a stile. For some reason, her words, so simply said, and without the slightest tinge of coquetry, seemed to disconcert him.

"I-yes. I-have grown very much attached to Frederickstown-and farming is interesting because-because-" But for the life of him he could not think of any reason _why_.

The little party trailed across the field, all walking together now, laughing and talking. Only Carl hung behind. To begin with, he was not yet on speaking terms with Paul, and he was piqued at Jane, and the sunlight made his over-strained eyes ache, and he was thoroughly tired out already. Lily was walking arm in arm with Elise, and both were talking to Mr. Sheridan, the twins were running ahead, trying to catch the yellow b.u.t.terflies that they frightened away from the early field-flowers; and Paul and Jane strolled along side by side sometimes joining in the talk of the others, sometimes discussing their own affairs. But at last Jane turned around, and noticing for the first time how Carl was lagging, called to him.

"Why don't you come and walk with us, Carl?"

"I'm all right as I am, amn't I?" he returned. Jane shrugged her shoulders.

"What's the matter with him?" she asked Paul. "Have you had another quarrel?"

"Not since Monday,-haven't had a chance. He won't speak to me. I don't know what's the matter with him," Paul shook his head. "I _have_ tried to get along with him, but I can't seem to work it. He says he hates me, and that he's always hated me-and maybe its true, though I don't see why. I mean that I've never given him any cause that I know of. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I seem to make him downright unhappy-he acts as if I had slipped into his shoes, and I've never taken anything he wanted, have I?" and after a short pause, he added, "And I'm sure that I don't want anything he has. It seems to get worse with him all the time. Perhaps, Janey, his feelings may be hurt because you and I get along so well. Maybe I'd feel the same way if I were your brother, and he were a 'swell-head' cousin from nowhere. After a bit, why don't you drop back with him?"

"Why should he hate you?" wondered Jane. "I could understand if you were really-"

"What?"

"If you were like what you _seemed_ to be like the first night you were here," she said frankly. "I didn't like you then either. I didn't like you for quite a long time. I didn't like you until you said that you were going away."

"Maybe Carl would like me better if I told him that," said Paul, laughing, but with a rather sad expression in his eyes. "And I've been thinking lately-"

"What?" asked Jane, quickly, looking up into his face.

"I've been thinking that I-perhaps I ought to, Janey."

"No, no, no, _no_! Not yet, Paul! You said, just the other day-and what a silly little thing to make so much of. Lots of _brothers_ squabble and call each other names-"

"But it doesn't make a particularly happy household, does it? I don't want to go, Janey-not yet. J don't want to go until-it's a hard thing to explain exactly, but this is the way it is. When I first came, I was thinking only of one thing-father was gone, and I didn't care for anyone in the world, and I didn't want to. I wanted to work by myself and for myself, in the way that seemed most to my liking-and when I found that Uncle had other plans for me, and intended to force me into them, it made me furious-and what was worse was the thought that I had to do either as Uncle wanted or-well, _starve_, if I was out of luck. And I was afraid of starving, being an ordinary human being. I started to run away the first night I was here-Carl knows that-and I didn't because I was afraid to. He knows that, too. And so I stayed on, planning to make a break as soon as I could. And I hated everything-I was perfectly miserable-until that night, do you remember, when we had that talk by the fire. After that, I began to look at things differently. It seemed to me that I'd been acting like a donkey, and so I decided to do as you said-make the best of things as I found them, and see what would happen.

And now-I don't know how it is-but you've all been so good to me, and it makes a difference not to be all alone. Now, when I think of the fine things I may do some day, I think of how you all may be proud of me, and how-perhaps-maybe Frederickstown would be proud of-all that seems silly, doesn't it-but anyway that's the reason why I'd hate to go away now-why I'd hate to go away with any hard feeling behind me. That is, unless it simply _had_ to be. Men _have_ lived alone, and worked and done great things with no one to care whether they lived or died-and I could do it, too. But, over and above cake-baking-" he laughed, as if a little ashamed of his own seriousness, "I've learned that-I've learned that it is a better thing not to be all alone."

Jane made no reply, and presently Paul went on,

"I daresay I made myself pretty disagreeable at first, and I don't wonder that Carl hated me then-but I _have_ tried to be decent to him, and to make him like me. If he doesn't, it certainly isn't his fault-it can't be helped. Only, I haven't any right-I mean, if he's going to be miserable while I'm around, if I get on his nerves every minute-it isn't as if we were little kids, we'll soon be men, and two men quarrelling with each other in one family can make an awful mess of things. You were all happy together before I came." As he said this he looked down gravely into the round, sober little face beside him. "Don't you see, Janey?"

Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all turned into the cool shade of the woods, she dropped back until she was walking near Carl. She had too much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately, and she did not talk to him until the twins started to hunt for violets and jacks-in-the-pulpit, when she began to remind him of the places they had explored the summer before, and the grotto they had found the summer before that until he began to feel as if he were receiving the attention which was his brotherly due.

The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For a long time they all sat talking and laughing under the trees, sorting the white and purple violets that they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan thought of what Phil Blackstone and Johnny Everett and Mary and all the rest of them would say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the thought of the expressions they would wear; and he wondered himself at his own enjoyment in the company of these simple young people-but he was having a better time than he had ever had in his life, and even Peterson was beginning to show some interest in his eccentric master's latest occupations.

And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as poor little Janey, inwardly saddened by what Paul had told her so simply, tried to coax him out of his sullen humor.

When, at length they all started homeward, he even linked his arm through hers. Now, she thought, was the time to ask him what was the root of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time to tell him what Paul had said-she hated so for people to be unhappy for no reason, or for silly reasons.

"Carl, listen," she began, "I want to-" but he suddenly interrupted her.

"Look here, Jane-I don't know what's the matter with me. But I-I feel like the d.i.c.kens."

She did not quite understand him.

"What about?" she asked.

"What about? About nothing-my head aches like all get-out, and every now and then everything gets to jiggling in front of my eyes." She looked at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly pale.

"Carl! You mean you're ill? Let me-oh, what's the matter?"

"For heaven's sake, don't kick up a fuss now. No, don't tell Elise," he said, impatiently. "I'll get home all right. And don't scare mother to death when we get there. I guess it's the sun or something. And-don't walk so fast."

Jane, more frightened by the look of his face, than by his words, obediently slackened her pace. The others were eight or ten yards ahead of them.

"Hurry up, Janey-we'll be late for supper," called Elise, glancing back at them. Jane looked pleadingly at Carl.

"I _have_ to tell Elise. Please, Carl, dear, don't be foolish."

"No, you must _not_. I tell you I won't have them all fussing over me, and talking, and asking questions!" he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of temper. "Let 'em go ahead if they want to."

They dropped farther and farther behind, until the others were already crossing the bridge as they were just gaining the road. But Paul, strolling along with his hands in his pockets whistling an accompaniment to his own thoughts was midway between the two divisions of the party.

Suddenly Carl declared that he had to rest until his head stopped throbbing a bit. Just then Paul happened to glance back.

"Hey! Are you going to spend the summer back there?" he shouted, cheerfully, but the next moment he seemed to guess that something was wrong, for after a little hesitation, he turned and started to walk toward them.

"We're coming," said Jane, "only Carl has a little headache, and he wanted to rest a minute."

Paul looked critically at his cousin's white face. He did not waste any time in asking the well-meant questions that Carl found so objectionable, but said simply,

"I guess you'd better let me help you, Carl."

To Jane's surprise there was no hostility in her brother's eyes.