Mr. and Mrs. Eldred turned away from the station, from which the through Chicago train had just pulled out, carrying with it two passengers for Winsted, Wisconsin.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” said Mrs. Eldred aloud. “I always feel sorry for Hannah when she has to say good-by. She does suffer so over it, but she recovers quickly.”

“She seems to be acquiring a comfortable philosophy,” remarked Mr. Eldred, as he looked at his watch and then up the street where his car was not in sight. “She told me that the world was fixed wrong, because it ought to be possible to be with all of one’s beloveds at the same time. ‘But,’ she added sagely, ‘that’s probably Heaven.’”

“‘Earth being so good, would Heaven seem best?’” quoted Hannah’s mother, smiling. “We have all had to stay our hearts with that thought, I suppose. I am much more content about both girls, since Karl and Miss Lyndesay took them in hand. For a few days I really feared that the 152 adjustment might be too much for them. But Karl worked some magic spell over Frieda, and Miss Lyndesay charmed Hannah. I must go over to Brookmeadow this very week, and pay my respects to that remarkable woman.”

“Some mothers would be jealous of such an outside influence,” suggested Mr. Eldred, glancing fondly at his pretty little wife.

“Then they are very unwise,” declared that lady decisively. “I remember my own girlhood well enough to know that there were certain crises through which my mother could not help me as well as an outsider, simply because she was my mother. I’m not in the least afraid that any one could be dearer to Hannah than I am, and she is such a bundle of contradictions, of sweet impulses and rebelliousness, that I’m heartily glad of all the help I can get in bringing her up. There’s my car. Do try to come home to luncheon. I’ll be missing my lively children and their German-English patois!”

The two girls on the train had settled themselves cosily with the aid of a porter rendered over-zealous by Mr. Eldred’s generosity, and were watching the flying scenery and the other passengers with interest. Frieda was not eager to arrive at her journey’s end. She already missed Karl and the friendly Eldreds, who had seemed nearer her own parents than any one else in this strange country could. 153 The prospect before her was not wholly pleasant. Hannah had spent so much energy in singing the praises of Dexter College, Alice Prescott and Catherine Smith, that Frieda’s desire to see them was distinctly modified by a jealous feeling that such perfections must be somewhat tiresome. She was much more interested in watching a bride and groom across the aisle, and in making comments on American trains, some of which, according to her compact with Karl, she kept to herself, meaning to unburden her mind in the first letter she should write him. Others of a favorable sort she made aloud to Hannah, who received them graciously, on behalf of the nation. The day wore away not unpleasantly, but when the gas was lighted and the bride frankly rested her head upon the bridegroom’s shoulder, a mighty homesickness swept over Frieda. She could barely choke down her food in the dining-car, and hated a waiter for watching her with a white-toothed smile. The porter was making up berths when they returned and the proceeding scandalized her, accustomed as she was to the decency of compartment trains.

Forgetting her promise, she spoke her disgust:

“Ladies and gentlemen like pots of marmalade on shelves in a cupboard!”

Hannah only laughed and scrambled up to the top shelf with the agility of a squirrel, leaving Frieda to solitude and unsuspected misery.

154The porter and the grinning waiter would not be forgotten. Their blackness combined with the close warm atmosphere to alarm her. She dared not undress, and when she tried to lie down, she felt as though she should choke. The darkness seemed to her sleepy but resisting mind to be taking on human shape. With her eyes closed she saw it develop pink fingernails and gleaming teeth and eyeballs. Her real distrust of anything foreign was made keener by her homesickness. At last she fell into an uneasy sleep, clutching her purse and her gold beads tightly. At each station she woke with a jerk and a horrible conviction that the train had been wrecked and she was the sole survivor. Sometimes she put her hand up and felt of the wooden wall over her head for assurance that the upper berth to which Hannah had blithely committed herself had not treacherously closed. There were subdued rustlings in the aisle now and then, and quick brushings past her curtains which made her sit up, gasping, her eyes staring into the dark and her heart thumping. Frieda Lange crawled out of her tumbled berth next morning, certain that life could have in store for her nothing more hideous than her first night in an American sleeping-car.

Hannah, on the other hand, having “slept like a top, the way you ought to in an upper berth,” as she said with a gleeful laugh, and having made her toilet with the lucky ease which seemed one of 155 her characteristics, was full of good spirits, and joyous anticipations. Winsted seemed very near, and her bubbling joy over the prospect of seeing Catherine added to Frieda’s gloom. They went into the dining-car to breakfast, where Frieda was so unfortunate as to be shot from her seat as the train dashed around a curve, a glass of milk following her, anointing her hair and face in a manner calculated to ruffle the serenest temper. Hannah and the too friendly waiter helped her up with an effort at self-control, but Frieda had mislaid her sense of humor.

The change of cars in Chicago was accomplished simply, Hannah thoroughly enjoying leading the way and Frieda sulkily following. It would have taken more than a fit of sulks on Frieda’s part to have quenched Hannah’s joy in life that day, however, and she rattled on of the pleasures coming, scarcely noticing Frieda’s failure to respond.

“Winsted!”

Hannah was out of the car almost before it stopped. Frieda, delayed by other passengers who pushed in ahead of her, saw the rapturous meeting between her own Hannah and a tall sweet-faced girl with red-gold hair, whose beauty she was obliged to admit, though she did so gloomily. “I hoped she would be homely,” she growled to herself as she stepped down to the platform, and suffered Catherine to kiss her cheek.

156“Let’s walk,” suggested Catherine. “It’s much too beautiful a day to be cooped in a bus. I’ll have your bags sent up. O, Hannah, my darling, I’ve been waiting ages for you! And for you, too, Frieda,” she added shyly.

But Frieda was regarding the wrinkled pleats in her dress, and was conscious that her hair was still wet with milk; therefore she only mumbled something and stalked along beside the others who, in their delight at seeing each other, quickly forgot her, and chattered away in English, with many little bursts of laughter.

Dr. Helen was out when they reached the pretty house on the hillside. Catherine led Frieda to the big rose guest-chamber, and then carried Hannah off across the wide hall to her own room and the little dressing-room opening from it, which Hannah had occupied on her first visit a year and a half before. The trunks arrived at once, and Hannah immediately began to unpack, Catherine sitting on the edge of the bed and exclaiming over every new frock as it came out. Frieda, left alone, because she had only partly understood the invitation the others gave her to join them, and had wilfully refused the part she had understood, was wretched indeed. She sat stiffly on a straight mahogany chair, and wished with all her might that she had never been born, or at least, if that mistake had been inevitable, that she had never left her native land.

157Suddenly there came a quick tap at the door and Hannah, not waiting for a “Come,” ran in and tossed a parcel into her lap.

“What? Aren’t you dressed yet? Do hurry. Karl asked me to give you this as soon as we got here. Did Catherine show you your bath-room? You have one all to yourself; isn’t that lovely? It’s the most beautiful house, anyway. O, what dear roses on the dressing-table! Wasn’t it just like Catherine to put them there? Hurry up. Dr. Helen will be here pretty soon, and Polly Osgood and Dot Winthrop are coming over to see us. I’d put on that white poplin skirt and the waist with the blue butterfly bow at your throat. You look awfully fetching in that. Yes, Catherine, I’m coming,” and she flew out, tossing a kiss to Frieda.

In her excitement she had spoken in English, and the compliment was quite lost on Frieda who had not yet learned the meaning of “fetching.” That young person’s sulks were not dissipated by the call, accordingly, and there is no telling what depths of obstinate misery she might have reached, had not Karl’s parcel fallen to the floor and called attention to itself. With a manner which suggested to her mirror that life was distinctly not worth while, Frieda lifted the object and drearily removed the wrappings.

From a small carved frame Karl’s clear honest 158 face looked out at her, and a card in the corner read–in German–“Remember the compact, Comrade!”

Like a flash brightness came back to Frieda’s face. Good cheer was much more natural to her than moroseness. From the face in the picture she turned her gaze to the tousled reflection in the mirror. “The Fatherland is not much honored by such a representative!” she said, and began taking down her hair with a fine energy.

In the living-room downstairs teacups were clinking, and girls’ voices, subdued and sweet, mingled with laughter. Hannah, her back to the door, was talking merrily to Dot, to whom she had taken an instantaneous liking; Catherine bent anxiously over the tea-tray on the wicker table in the window when Polly, from the comfortable depths of a low chair, looked up and saw on the landing of the stairs a picture that made her catch her breath.

Frieda, in a pale pink mull gown, with roses in her long soft sash, her yellow braids wound into a garland around her head, her cheeks burning with shyness, and her big eyes looking wistful and sweet, stood waiting. Polly sprang up with a soft little “O!” Catherine, looking up, smiled a welcome, but Polly went forward and taking Frieda’s hands in both of hers, said eagerly: “We’ve been waiting and waiting for you, Frieda.”

159Dot was introduced, but her usual self-possession promptly deserted her. “I always feel as though I ought to shout to a foreigner,” she had confessed to Hannah, “and in order not to do that, I just have to keep still.” Catherine, who had felt a little rebuffed by Frieda’s chilly manner at the station, and Hannah, not quite sure what the present mood might indicate, were both willing to leave to Polly the rÔle she had undertaken. Frieda sat quite near her, and watched her pretty bright movements with gentle interest, maintaining a silence meanwhile only surpassed in completeness by Dot’s. Hannah rattled on, but there was a hollowness in the rattle that made Catherine’s hostess heart falter. She was never fluent, herself. Her gentle art consisted in making her guests entertain themselves and each other.

Then Dr. Helen came in, big, strong and competent, socially and in every other way.

Her welcome to Frieda would have warmed an iceberg’s heart. She hugged Hannah, and gave her right hand to Polly and the left to Dot. “Give me a taste of your tea, Daughter,” she said, as she took off her gloves and her hat and seated herself. “It will take something as strong as tea to heal my weary spirit this afternoon. I’ve just had an emergency call.”

Dr. Helen’s eyes smiled reminiscently, and Dot awoke.

160“Do tell us, do, do, Dr. Helen,” she pleaded. “I know it’s something funny, by the twinkle in your eye. And we’ll never, never tell.”

Dr. Helen tasted her tea leisurely, and added a slice of lemon.

“I don’t tell tales about my patients, but there is no sense in a rule that isn’t transgressed once in a while. You wouldn’t know it was a rule! And I do believe you girls will enjoy this and never tell.”

“You ‘give us credit for more discretion than you have, yourself?’” quoted Catherine.

“If you like to put it that way! I was overtaken on my way home to greet these visitors by a messenger from Mrs. Swinburne, saying that Elsmere was very ill. It is a wonder that he has lived as long as he has, with his reckless tendencies and such erratic care. So I hastened over to the house. Mrs. Swinburne was in a mild state of hysterics, and it was some time before I could quiet her enough to learn the difficulty. Then my alarm vanished, changed to wrath, would perhaps be more accurate. Elsmere had eaten all her pills! They were pills that would not have hurt a cat. Mrs. Swinburne’s ailments are of a nature to require very weak remedies.”

“Bread and butter?” asked Dot, with a twinkle as merry as the doctor’s own.

“Something of that sort! But Elsmere did not 161 know that. They might have been morphia or arsenic for all he knew. The principle in his case was the same. His mother said ‘no symptoms had set in as yet,’ but she wanted me to administer an antidote at once. I couldn’t refuse her!”

“Mother! What did you do?”

“First I caused the patient to be removed to his own room and the doors to be closed. Then I gave him a sound scolding and a good smart spanking.”

“O dear Doctor Helen!” sighed Polly softly, while Dot clapped her hands with glee, and even Catherine showed signs of satisfaction.

“Did his mother hear you?”

“If she had, I was prepared to tell her it was necessary to restore the circulation. I was afraid the child might howl, but it was a new experience to him and he took it so very pleasantly that I am now worried for fear he liked it!” Dr Helen set down her teacup and turned to Frieda. “You will think me a barbarous physician, Frieda, but really this boy has needed discipline for a long time, and there is no one to give it to him. His pranks are often dangerous.”

“Like the building of a fire under the barn to keep his cat warm.”

“Yes, and making a ladder of kindling wood and climbing up to the second story on it.”

“He is a pretty naughty boy,” finished Dr. 162 Helen, “and a very sweet attractive one withal. I hope I made it clear to-day, that he is not to go about eating medicine. Now I must hear how Mrs. Eldred is, and what sort of a journey you had. Did Catherine make you properly comfortable?”

Hannah drew close to Dr. Helen and cuddled her hand as she answered. Then she suddenly said: “O, you know, Frieda and I saw Miss Lyndesay just before we came away. Do tell about it, Frieda.”

Frieda’s face lighted at the name. “She is very wonderful,” she said shyly. “She said: ‘Let me greet myself to them.’ She finds herself well, and her house is beautiful.”

“I am so glad. Thank you very much for bringing us direct word from her. See! this is the portrait she painted of Catherine some time ago.” And Dr. Helen took Frieda a little apart to get a good light on the painting of Catherine and Hotspur, almost the only picture the big room with its walls of books contained. It developed that Frieda was very fond of dogs and her rapture over the picture made it necessary to call in the original, who instantly recognized in her a discriminating soul. Frieda dropped down on the leather window-seat and fondled his tawny sides with the deepest feeling of rest she had had in two days. “He understands me,” she thought, with almost passionate gratitude.

163Polly and Dot bade her good-by in a few minutes. “I’m going to ask you to go out on the river with me and talk German to me all alone. I’ve studied it in college,” said Polly, “and I do want to see whether I can understand a real German. We won’t let Catherine or Hannah go. I should be afraid to try before them, but I don’t believe I should be at all afraid of you.”

Frieda caught Polly’s hand in hers, and suddenly carried it to her lips and kissed it. Polly reddened a little, while Dot turned abruptly away and made her adieux to Catherine and Hannah.

“Isn’t she a dear?” sighed Polly, as she and Dot went down the walk. “I do think she’s as charming as a picture in a sweet old-fashioned book, and I want to learn to read the printing that describes the picture.”

“Well, you may for all of me,” replied Dot. “But I don’t believe I’d ever feel safe with her. I felt all hands and feet, and if she should ever kiss my hand!”

“She won’t!” laughed Polly. “You needn’t fear! I wonder how the boys will like her. She is unusually good-looking, and her clothes are delightful. And I like her eyes. There is fun in her somewhere. You mark my words, Dot Winthrop. Once she learns English, there’ll be something doing. There’s nothing colorless or monotonous about Frieda Lange.”