Teddy: Her Book Part 32

He had been unusually weak, all that day. Even now, there were times when his strength failed him and when, for the pa.s.sing hour, the old pain came back to give him a few twinges, as a reminder that he could not afford to be too careless. He had been lying stretched out on the sofa with Theodora sitting beside him, while the twilight dropped over the room. At her words, he looked up abruptly.

"I can't say that I do."

"No; I suppose not. Still, I owe them a good deal."

"I don't see why," he said vaguely, as his eyes rested on her bright face, just now looking unusually dreamy and thoughtful, while she sat staring at the long rosewood staff in her hand.

"Perhaps it's selfish," she said, with a smile; "but I've an idea that if, when I first knew you, you'd been strong and--just like other boys, I should never have known you half so well. Do you know, Billy Farrington, I'd just like a chance to fight for you, to do something to show I'm not a friend just in talk and nothing else."

He laughed at the sudden fierceness of her tone, little thinking how soon her words would be put to the test.

"I hope you won't have the chance, Ted; but I've an idea that, if ever I were in a tight place, you'd help me out of it sooner than anyone else."

"Try me and see," she answered briefly.

Good news came to them, only the next day. Mrs. McAlister had reached her brother, to find that convalescence had already begun. The attack of fever had been sudden and sharp; but Archie's fresh young strength had held its own, and his recovery was likely to be a rapid one.

"I shall bring him home with me," Mrs. McAlister wrote. "He oughtn't to go back into camp, this fall; and the doctor says that the long rest will be the best tonic he can have, for he's been working altogether too hard. If he is able, we shall start for home, next week, and get there by the twenty-fifth."

Hope sang blithely to herself, all that day, and even Phebe was moved into a more agreeable mood than was her wont. Allyn took a more materialistic view of the situation.

"Uncle Archie's going to get well," he remarked to Billy. "Now he can bring me nonner engine."

For two days, the McAlister household felt that it was living in an atmosphere of perpetual sunshine. Then the clouds fell again. It was one Sat.u.r.day morning. Theodora was at her desk, straightening out the account of Mr. Huntington's weekly sales, Hubert was playing football, and Hope had gone to market, taking Allyn with her. Out on the lawn west of the house, Phebe and Isabel St. John were playing tennis and wrangling loudly over the score. Left to himself in the house, Billy threw aside his book, took up his crutches, and went away to the barn, where Dr. McAlister had given up an old harness closet for his use in developing his pictures. It opened out of the barn not far from the stalls where Vigil and Prince were kept; but it was easily accessible and sufficiently roomy, and Billy had accepted the doctor's offer eagerly.

Once shut up in the dark in company with his ruby lantern, Billy fell to work on a picture of Allyn, taken only the day before. So absorbed was he that it was only vaguely that he heard the voices of Phebe and Isabel in the barn close at hand. The murmur went on for some moments, broken by girlish gigglings and little squeals of merriment. Suddenly there came another squeal, louder, this time, and more earnest; there was an interchange of swift, low words, and then silence fell, and Billy dismissed the incident from his mind.

The picture proved refractory and refused to come out. Then at length Billy gave it up in despair, threw away the developing fluid, cast the plate into a pile of similar failures, took up his crutches, and started for the house again. On the way, he met Phebe and Isabel. They looked at him furtively as he pa.s.sed.

"What's up, Phebe?" he asked.

"Nothing. I only thought you looked tired," she replied, with unusual thoughtfulness.

"So I am, of doing nothing. Come in and play casino with me."

"Can't," Phebe said hastily. "We'd like to, Billy; but there's something else we've got to do."

"All right." And he pa.s.sed on.

They were all seated at the dinner-table, that noon, when the doctor came into the room. His face was white and very stern.

"Vigil is dead," he said abruptly. "Do any of you children know anything about it?"

"I don't," said the twins, in a breath, and Hope echoed them; but Phebe started and cast a swift glance at Billy.

"Do you, Billy?" the doctor asked, for the glance was not lost on him.

"No; of course not. When did she die?"

"This noon, when I came in, I found her. She was groaning pitifully, and very weak. I wonder that you didn't hear her."

"She died?" Billy asked sympathetically, for the doctor's voice broke over the last words. Vigil had been his favorite horse, and together, man and beast, they had pa.s.sed through many a tragic night and day. Such friends cause bitter mourning.

"I shot her, to put her out of her misery," he responded briefly. Then he turned to Phebe.

"Phebe, do you know anything about this?"

She grew white.

"No," she stammered. "At least, not exactly."

"What do you mean? Do you know anything about Vigil?"

"I--I'd rather not tell."

"Answer me," he said sternly.

For her only reply, she burst out crying, and cast another glance at Billy. Her father took her hand and led her away to the office.

"Now, Phebe, I want you to tell me about this," he said.

"Oh, no."

"Did you do anything to Vigil?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"N--no."

"Phebe, this isn't a time to shield the culprit. Tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything," she sobbed.

"Were you at the barn, this morning?"

"No."

"Did you see any one go there?"

"No--only Billy."

"Was Billy there?"

"Yes."

"When?"