The Camp Fire Girls Across the Seas Part 11

But Mistress Polly did not stir from her stool nor cease from rocking herself after the other two women had disappeared. Nor did she even repent sufficiently to help Betty out to her carriage, in spite of her friend's temporary lameness and need of her. The maid and Margaret could this time fill her place. But it was not only bad temper nor was it exactly repentance for her impertinence that kept Polly so steadfast in her childish position. It was ridiculous of her, certainly, and yet she could not keep back her tears. She had been fearful that her beloved Betty was beginning to care for this young foreigner; now she felt absolutely a.s.sured of it. For Betty would not even deny her accusation nor quarrel with her effrontery. How grown-up she had become, her dear Princess! And what a gracious, high-bred manner she had! It was too dreadful to have to think of leaving her behind in a foreign country forever and ever, married to a man whose ideas of life must be so different from theirs. Well, for her part she should fight against such a marriage taking place to the bitter end!

Nevertheless this resolution did not keep Polly from feeling like a very rude and much-snubbed little girl for the rest of that afternoon and evening. Miss Adams did not refrain from a.s.suring her that she had behaved like a bad-mannered child. For whether or not the Princess was beginning to care for the young lieutenant, it was both unjust and unkind in Polly to try to tear away the delicate veil of romance which in the beginning should cover all young eyes.

As for Betty herself, she of course made no comment on the day's experiences to her family, except to say that she had had a pleasant enough time, but was tired. No one of them paid her as much attention as usual, for they were too deeply interested in some news which d.i.c.k Ashton had just received in an American letter. Anthony Graham had written saying that old Judge Maynard had recently died and that Betty had been mentioned in the old man's will. The will had not yet been probated, but would be within the month, when full particulars would be furnished them. At the time of his death Anthony had been with the old Judge, who had asked that the Ashton family be advised of his intention.

It was odd that under the circ.u.mstances Betty should appear to be the least interested of the four persons about their small dinner table in the news of her own good fortune.

"I wonder how much the legacy will amount to, mother--only a few hundred dollars, I presume," d.i.c.k Ashton suggested. "It is an amazing thing to me, however, why Judge Maynard should have left Betty a cent. Of course he is an old bachelor with no heirs, but he seemed to have taken a great fancy to this Graham fellow. And moreover, Betty was entirely an outsider."

Mrs. Ashton would not entirely agree to her son's line of argument. For Judge Maynard and her husband had been great friends, and interested in a number of business ventures together in earlier days, when Mr. Ashton had helped make the Judge's fortune as well as his own. And the older man had not had the misfortune to lose his. Moreover, he had been devoted to Betty when she was a small girl and later had shown much interest in her effort to hold on to the old Ashton place.

"I should not be in the least surprised, dear, if the old Judge has left you as much as a thousand dollars," Mrs. Ashton insisted as she helped Betty undress and kissed her good-night.

CHAPTER XVII

The Day Before Esther's Debut

Three weeks had pa.s.sed and Betty Ashton had fully recovered from her accident. Today she had been doing a hundred small tasks in the house, marching up and down their little garden, sometimes alone and sometimes with Polly, yet never getting beyond calling distance of home. Now and then she would tiptoe softly to a small bedroom and stand outside for a moment listening silently. If a voice called her she went inside for a little while, but if not she would go quietly away. For a solemn edict had been issued in the family the evening before, that on the following day no matter what should take place Esther must have absolute rest. At four o'clock, however, she was to be aroused, dressed and given a light tea, since at five they were to start for Berlin, where Esther was to make her _debut_ as a singer at Professor Hecksher's celebrated autumn concert.

And curiously enough, Esther had been able to sleep the greater part of the morning. For weeks before it had seemed to her that she had slept neither day nor night, so intense had been her nervousness and dread.

Suppose she should make a ghastly failure of her songs; suppose as she stepped out on the stage, facing an audience largely composed of German critics and musicians,--that one of her old attacks of shyness should seize her? Her own disgrace she might be able to bear, but not Betty's, nor her father's, who was writing such eager, excited letters from Woodford with the sailing of each ship to their port; and not Richard Ashton's, who had always been her good friend. Through his kindness had she not first been allowed to play the grand piano at the old Ashton homestead, in those early days when her hunger for music had been almost as strong as her hunger for love?

But after her breakfast, which Betty brought to her sitting beside her on the bed while she ate, Esther for the time at least forgot her fears. There was nothing more that she could do--no further thought or study or preparation of any kind that she could give to her evening's work. So a feeling of gentle la.s.situde stole over her with the conviction that she was now in the hands of fate, and that it was useless to struggle further.

But if Esther was spared this final nervous tension before her _debut_, Betty Ashton experienced a double portion of it. Indeed, in after years she often used to say that never at another time in her life had she suffered anything like it--not even on her own wedding day when every girl supposedly reaches the climax of excitement.

It was not because Betty had any lack of faith in her sister's talent, for no one who had heard Esther sing in the past few months could have doubted her ability. Even Miss Adams, who had heard most of the world's great singers, had a.s.sured them that they need have no fear for her future. Yet Betty knew her sister's disposition so well, knew how little self-esteem Esther had, how little of the vanity that sometimes seems necessary to success, and there was a harrowing possibility that she might suddenly be made ill from stage fright. Yet of course the younger girl recognized her own foolishness in allowing her imagination to dwell on such remote chances. Hardly was she able to explain even to herself the exact reasons for her feeling of stress and strain on that day which seemed so interminably long. Of course she and Polly had made up their difficulty long before--they had been having quarrels and making up ever since they were tiny girls--but today even Polly's society had failed to offer her any consolation, until at last Polly had gone back home to rest for an hour or two before dressing for their journey into Berlin.

And Mrs. Ashton had insisted upon Betty's doing the same thing. The girl could not make up her mind to stay shut up in the house, for although it was early October, the day was delightfully warm, so she lay down in a steamer chair under a tree in the yard, and covering herself with a light-blue shawl, fell at once into her former train of thought.

For in some way it was not just this thought of Esther's concert alone that had so filled her mind, but the idea that this concert in a measure was to be a turning point in their lives. Soon after it was over Polly and Miss Adams intended returning to America and d.i.c.k Ashton was to go with them. For not long after his talk with Esther on the train he had also discussed the same matter with his mother, and though she and Betty were both deeply grieved over giving him up, it was plain enough to them that d.i.c.k's future now lay in the United States. There he must make his reputation and establish himself in his profession. Nevertheless Betty could not now leave Esther to fight her battles alone, and just as surely Mrs. Ashton must remain with Betty. So d.i.c.k was to begin his struggle without his family. He had received a fine opening with a prominent physician in Boston, an old friend of his father's who had always known of his devotion and success in his chosen work, so that except for his loneliness there was no special reason for troubling about his immediate future. Notwithstanding, Betty was troubled. For d.i.c.k was not in the least like himself, had not been all summer, and now was becoming more and more solemn and stern as the time of his leave-taking approached. Of course she had always remembered him as more serious than most other young men; yet he had never before been morose or unhappy. All their lives had they not been having wonderfully good times together? And now--well, for one thing, Betty knew perfectly that her brother was feeling uneasy over her friendship with Lieutenant von Reuter and had not hesitated in telling her so, expressing his own disapproval of any further intimacy between them. And a.s.suredly she had failed in giving him any satisfaction in return. For Betty had made no clearer revelation of her feeling toward the young foreigner to her brother than she had to Polly O'Neill. She had positively declined having their friendship interfered with, and as Richard Ashton knew nothing against him he was forced to yield to his sister's wish. Mrs.

Ashton entirely sympathized with Betty, and made no effort to hide her pleasure in Carl von Reuter's attentions.

As the girl lay almost as if she were asleep in her big chair, now and then opening her eyes to glance up at the deeply blue October sky, it did not seem to her that her own obstinacy in this one particular was a sufficient reason for d.i.c.k's dejection. And yet what other reason could there be? He had promised to come home from Berlin earlier this afternoon in order to escort them back again. And probably if Esther's _debut_ was a tremendous success he might be made more cheerful.

And then in all probability Betty must have fallen asleep for about ten minutes, because when next she opened her eyes, d.i.c.k was standing within a few feet of her and some one else was beside him.

"Betty," she heard her brother's voice saying, "wake up, please, won't you and speak to an old friend? For otherwise you would never guess in half a lifetime who has arrived and come to me in Berlin today."

Making a tremendous effort to attain her usual dignity, Betty opened wide her gray eyes, stared, tried to get up out of her chair, and then finding her feet tangled in the blue shawl, stumbled and would have fallen except for the newcomer's outstretched arm.

Yet even when he had restored her to her usual equilibrium she did not immediately recognize their visitor, although she found herself looking up into a pair of clear hazel eyes and at the strong, clean outline of a typical American face. The young man must have been about twenty-three or four years old. He had dark hair, resolutely forbidden to curl, and curiously brilliant skin; but the contour of his face was almost too lean and the expression of his lips and chin too set and firm for so young a fellow.

"Miss Ashton," he began unsmilingly, "am I always to have to tell you who I am each time we meet?"

And then, just as she had once several years before, Betty held out both hands in a surprised and happy greeting.

"Why, it is Anthony Graham! But you must please forgive me, because how in the world could I ever have dreamed of seeing you here? What in the wide world has brought you to Germany?"

And as Anthony did not answer at once, d.i.c.k Ashton walked away, coming back a moment later with two porch chairs, which he placed near his sister's larger one.

"Sit down again, please, Betty," he asked. "I realize that we have very little time, but I think it better that you should hear at once what Mr.

Graham has come all the way across the ocean to tell you." And d.i.c.k's face was so queer that it was quite impossible to tell what his emotions might be, so that Betty clutched the sides of her chair, white and frightened.

"Yes, please, if it is bad news, tell me at once," she whispered.

Anthony Graham's smile, appearing now for the first time, was immediately rea.s.suring.

"But it is not bad news and we should not have frightened you," he began at once. "It is news that almost anybody in the world would be more than happy to hear. Judge Maynard has left you the greatest part of his fortune, which will amount to about fifty thousand dollars, I believe, and as he made me his executor, I have come over to try and make matters clear to you and your mother and brother."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO ME!"]

"Fifty thousand dollars to me!" Betty Ashton heard the tones of her own voice distinctly and yet was hardly conscious of what she was saying.

"Why, what could have influenced Judge Maynard to leave me so much money? I simply can't understand it."

"You don't have to understand it, Miss Betty; you just have to accept and enjoy it," Anthony argued. "But some day when we have more time I should like to tell you some of the things Judge Maynard said to me at about the time he was writing his last will. He was a peculiar, childless old man and he had always been more fond of you than you or any member of your family dreamed. And after your father's death, when you went on so cheerfully with your life in spite of the change in your fortune, he made up his mind to look after your future."

"But you, Anthony. Polly told me that it was to you the Judge had taken such a great fancy that most of the people in Woodford expected him to make _you_ his heir. I cannot take your inheritance."

Anthony Graham laughed, at the same moment getting up from his chair. "I have to take the next train back to Berlin, but I mean to see you tonight at Miss Esther's concert. And please, Dr. Ashton, won't you explain to your sister that she cannot take from me an inheritance which I never had nor dreamed of having. Judge Maynard believed that a man should make his own way in the world. So he has left me the chance to go on with his law practice if I am big enough to hold on to it, and besides that a legacy of five thousand dollars."

"But how could you have come away from home at such a time, running the risk of losing so much?" Betty queried thoughtfully. "I suppose you might have written us all the details of my inheritance if you had chosen."

Richard Ashton appeared a little annoyed at what seemed to him a lack of appreciation and of proper friendliness in his sister's speech. Their guest, however, showed no hurt or concern. He merely looked steadfastly at Betty, saying with a directness and honesty that was to distinguish him for the rest of his life, "I don't wonder at your being surprised.

But I have never been out of the state of New Hampshire before in my life. And it seemed to me about time that I should learn something more of the outside world. And besides I was not willing to have many more months go by without seeing you once again."

CHAPTER XVIII

That Night

Although six persons left the little station at Waldheim to attend the concert in Berlin by special arrangement, Esther and Betty were allowed to occupy a coach in the train together without any one else being with them. Esther had particularly asked that this might be arranged. The two sisters did not speak very often during the trip, but sat quietly looking out the window holding each other's hands. Judging from the two faces, one might reasonably have supposed that it was Betty Ashton who was about to make her _debut_ that evening instead of Esther. For the older girl's eyes shone with a new happiness and content. Just while she was dressing for her concert her sister had managed to tell her the news of Judge Maynard's surprising will. And from that moment Esther had almost forgotten the trying ordeal ahead of her in her joy over Betty's good fortune. For now she need no longer worry over her little sister's future, no longer grieve over the change in her fortune. Why, she might even fail tonight and Betty would not suffer.

She gave a sigh, and the Princess drew closer to her.

"You are not to think about a single thing that has any connection with the concert tonight, Esther," the younger girl reminded her. "Professor Hecksher says that you know your song perfectly and your encore is to be a surprise even to me. Let us talk about our old Camp Fire days in the woods. Don't you remember when we thought poor little Nan Graham must have stolen that wretched money of mine, when I had only lost it in the woods and Polly had discovered it. d.i.c.k says that Anthony Graham told him Nan has a fine position as a teacher of domestic science in a high school in Dartmouth. And it seems that his father has reformed and gone to work and the whole family now is quite different. Anthony gives all the credit of the changes to Nan and Nan ascribes them to what she learned in our Camp Fire club at Sunrise Hill. It is lovely to think that may be true, isn't it?"

"Yes, and even better to reflect that Betty Ashton originated the club,"

Esther returned.

"Yes, and that Esther suggested the idea to her by singing an exquisite song and then with her own hands starting a fire," Betty added.