SCHOOL commences Monday," groaned Theodore dismally, from his favourite position on the couch. "How I am to modulate my tones to Virgil's verse after shouting at Mr. Hennesy's mules for two months, I can't see. As for a geometrical theorem, I haven't a single lucid idea on the subject. It's been a great summer, come to look back on it."

"Dear me," said Miss Billy, throwing down the book she was reading,—"I don't see how I am going to break loose from everything and go back to school. The Canary birdlings will be just as dirty and ill-cared for as ever,—and little Mike, and Isaac Levi, and a half dozen others are too young for the public kindergarten. Then there's the Street Improvement Club, and the mothers' meetings,—why, I don't see what I am to do."

Beatrice looked up from the lunch cloth she was hemstitching for a church fair. "If you can trust the smaller children to me," she said timidly, "I think I can take care of them. I was talking to Mrs. Canary to-day. I told her she could send the twins and Mikey over every morning for two hours, as usual. She seemed so relieved and happy over it, and promised that Holly Belle should go to school."

"Oh," cried Miss Billy, with shining eyes, "it's lovely of you, Bea, and Holly Belle will be wild with delight. But those babies are the slipp'riest things when they're wet!"

"I shall not drop them," said Beatrice firmly. "I shall think of Holly Belle all the time, and that her chances depend upon my success. All the rest of the little brood shall have as conscientious care as I can give them for two hours every day,—but I don't expect it to be easy for me, as it is for you."

"Oh, they'll love you, Bea," said Miss Billy enthusiastically. "You don't know what dear little things they are, especially just after they've been washed. Well, that's settled, then. Margaret will be glad to relieve you at any time, I know,—and she will continue to look after Holly Belle's music, too. The way the child takes to it is simply wonderful. Francis, of course, will continue at the head of the Street Improvement Club."

"Five long days between this and school, and nothing to do!" murmured Theodore luxuriously from the couch. "I shall drive no mules,—I shall instruct no growing intellects. Fads may continue to lead Miss Billy round by the nose, up to the very last minute,—but I shall do nothing at all!"

"It has been a busy summer," said Mrs. Lee, with a half arrested sigh.

"Is it good news, papa?" asked Beatrice of her father, who in the soft glow of the study lamp had been perusing the illegibly scrawled sheets of a special delivery letter.

"It is more!" said the minister impressively. "It is a vindication of human nature under the worst circumstances. Nearly twenty years ago a young fellow came to me for assistance. He had been in a hospital with a fever, and had neither money, work or friends. He wanted to go out West, where he thought he might be able to find employment. I drew him out about his past life, and found he knew what it was to sleep in a haystack and be lodged in a jail: but I lent him twenty-five dollars——"

"And he has died a millionaire and bequeathed you a fortune," wound up Theodore dramatically, sitting upright.

"No," said the minister, smiling, "those things happen only in books. What the fellow has really done is to return me the amount I lent him, with a half-manly sort of a letter showing he has cherished a sense of gratitude all these years. That is much more than I expected."

"Conscience money!" groaned Beatrice. "I suppose it will go to the poor."

"Let us hope to the deserving poor, like me!" observed Theodore, dismally echoing the groan, and collapsing on the couch again.

"Or like father," said Miss Billy severely. "It would buy him lots of things he needs."

The minister sat tapping his glasses with smiling introspection. "When I was a lad," he said slowly, "I desired with all my heart and soul a certain steam toy. It was rather a clever contrivance, and of course, was expensive. But I wanted it more than I've wanted anything since. Sometimes I dream I am a boy again, and always I see standing in the black shadow of disappointment that steam toy."

"And father's going to buy it now," said Theodore breathlessly.

"No," said the minister, shaking his head: "It's too late! that's the worst of it. But that was a distinct disappointment in my life that no amount of reasoning could reason me out of."

"It makes me think of an incident of my own childhood," said Mrs. Lee. "When I was about five years old, I attended my first party, given by a neighbour's child. All I can remember is that a black-eyed lady with dark curly hair passed a platter of tarts, and with an indistinct idea that it was a well-bred thing to do, I said, 'No, thank you,—I don't eat tarts.' Then I sat with welling eyes watching the other little guests eat theirs. It was a very real grief. I cried for that tart in the loneliness of many nights,—and I haven't forgotten it in thirty years."

"It is my belief that every one has ungratified whims," said the minister. "Some are grown-up whims, but none the less whimsical. I propose that we use this money for the gratification of purely personal pleasure. There will be five dollars for each of us. We'll have one glorious day of vacation,—with the world before us, and five dollars for spending money!"

"I know what I should like to buy with mine," said Beatrice, "but I know you would all think it silly."

"And I've had an ungratified whim for years!" said Miss Billy, rising and overthrowing a pile of books in her excitement. "But you'll call it preposterous when you find out what it is!"

"Now watch her bring home a bear cub with a silver chain round its neck, and want me to build it a little pagoda to live in," said Theodore disdainfully. "But I know what I am going to do. I shall be the Count of Monte Cristo for one day only. Remember the date,—September the first,—to-morrow!"

"But it does seem a little wasteful," began Mrs. Lee, smiling in spite of herself at the exuberance of spirit in the air, "especially when——"

The minister interrupted, a mischievous ring in his voice. "I beg to remind you, Mrs. Lee, that 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.' We intend to have a lark. To relieve your mind let me add that I myself shall go on an eminently respectable lark,—one that shall not estrange me from my flock, for instance. We intend for one day to divide our ages by two, and no remainder. You shall be one of us, or forfeit your money. Though poor in pocket, we shall be rich in experiences. Do you agree?"

There was much bustling commotion at Number 12 Cherry Street the next morning. "I've sent word to the children not to come to-day," said Miss Billy, putting on her hat and tucking her rain coat under her arm. "Poor little things,—they'll be disappointed. Well,—good-bye, Bea,—I shall not see you again till night."

"Now do be careful, Wilhelmina," warned Beatrice. "Don't buy anything you don't want, or make yourself conspicuous in any way, or——"

"Why," said Miss Billy, "I am going to gratify a heretofore ungratified whim. There are no conditions whatever. I have divided my age by two, the world is before me, and I have five dollars for spending money. Well, good-bye again; take care of yourself, dear," and Miss Billy sailed off down the street.

Theodore went next. He was attired in his very best clothes, and presented a fashionable appearance in a fearfully high collar and a white tie. Then the minister departed. Beatrice could hear him say to her mother in the hall, "I haven't had such delightful chills of anticipation since I took part in cane rushes at college twenty-five years ago. And I haven't the slightest idea what I'm going to do, either!"

Next Beatrice heard the door close after her mother's retreating form. She peeped out of the window and noted she carried a shopping bag. "The dear," she said. "She will buy us all stockings or gloves, and declare it was a purely personal whim. But it won't be keeping to the contract if she does!"

It was quite ten o'clock when Beatrice left the house. She was dressed in her best street gown, with dainty hat and gloves to match. As she closed the door behind her, Francis Lindsay was just coming out of his uncle's gate. He lifted his hat to her, and then crossed the street. "I hope Miss Billy isn't ill?" he inquired, with a shade of constraint in his manner. "I've heard, you see, of the child garden being discontinued to-day."

"No, she is not ill," answered Beatrice, feeling with embarrassment the colour creeping into her cheeks. "If I could only get over this silly habit of blushing every time a stranger speaks to me," she thought angrily,—and then blushed more furiously than ever.

There was nothing to do but walk along, and Francis, who evidently also was on his way down town, walked with her. He talked pleasantly, but Beatrice's replies were sadly disconnected.

"He noticed me blush," she kept thinking hotly. "No doubt he is conceited enough to attribute it to his own personal charms!"

She welcomed the first store as an avenue of escape, and bade him good-morning. "He has just spoiled my day," she thought, as she tossed over silk stockings and lace handkerchiefs in a flurry. "I'm always making myself ridiculous!"

But the zest of shopping came back to her, and she visited store after store, looking at pretty, dainty, feminine things, feeling her money always safe in her pocket, and knowing exactly what she should be weak enough to buy in the end. But it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was feeling tired and a little dishevelled and very hungry, before she came to the Mecca of her wanderings.

It was a fashionable shoe-store, and in the very centre of the show window hung a fascinating pair of little red satin slippers, with Louis Quinze heels. Beatrice shut her eyes and grappled with temptation. "I haven't a thing that's suitable to go with them," she argued to herself. "In fact, I believe they would be out of place anywhere but in a French dressing room. But they are so sweet and dainty with their beautiful little gilt heels——"

She opened the door and went in. The place was filled with customers, but a bustling salesman came forward and smiled into Beatrice's pretty flushed face. Yes, certainly, he would take them out of the show window. They were the only pair in stock,—a sample pair. He tried one of the satin slippers on Beatrice's dainty foot, and stepped back to admire the effect. "They are a perfect fit," he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Beatrice. They pinched her toes a little, but she would not wear them often. "Five dollars, did you say?" Then she should have to wait for the silk hose to match. She had hoped they would not be more than four. She pondered a moment, and then decided aloud, "I'll take them."

The salesman hurried away to put them in their box, and Beatrice, looking around for the first time, encountered the keen glance of a pair of dark eyes at the opposite counter. It was Francis Lindsay.

There was one dismayed moment,—then she hastily averted her glance without bowing in recognition. "He has watched me buy those silly slippers," she thought, growing red and white by turns. "He has stood there watching me admire myself in them. His eyes were full of unutterable things. Oh, I just—hate him!"

She glanced into the long mirror opposite, and it reflected back a figure from which all the morning daintiness had fled. Her boots were dusty, her gloves gaping at the fingers. The jaunty hat was awry;—her face was flushed, and burned with fatigue and heat.

The salesman returned with the package, and Beatrice gave him the five-dollar bill. She hastily left the store, and, still with averted eyes, bumped into the very person she was seeking to avoid.

"I beg your pardon," he said, raising his hat. "It was my awkwardness. I stopped to raise my umbrella. You see it rains a little." Then noticing that she carried no umbrella, and that she was looking very tired, he asked kindly, "Are you going home?"

"I think I am ready for home," answered Beatrice, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. "I've been down town since ten o'clock——" She stopped suddenly, the absurdity of the statement coupled with the single package of which he had relieved her, appealing to her with full force.

"But you've had luncheon?"

"I am not at all hungry," declared Beatrice perversely. She was very near to tears, and she felt that another question on his part might precipitate them.

"This is the very time to have you taste the German cake they call 'puffer,' and which can be had only in this shop," said Francis,—and almost before she knew it he had led the way into a caterer's, and a neat little maid was taking an order for iced chocolate and the German sweet-bread.

"What would father say?" she thought despairingly. "What will Miss Billy say? What shall I say to myself, to-morrow?" But for the present she was strangely content to sit in restful retirement opposite this grave dark-eyed young fellow, Mr. Schultzsky's grand-nephew, and satisfy her hunger with the iced chocolate and delicious German cake.

illustration

She was telling him the history of the day.

Strangely, too, in a few moments she was telling him the history of the day, and Francis was laughing heartily. "That accounts for the oddity of Miss Billy's actions," he declared. "I saw her riding on the top of an empty omnibus, clad in the sombre disguise of a raincoat. But she evidently didn't care if I knew her, for she waved her hand to me from her elevated perch."

Beatrice was too tired to be horrified. "I knew she would do something dreadful," she said, "but I, certainly, shall offer no criticism."

It was a tired little family group that gathered in the minister's study that night.

"I had no idea," said Theodore, from the couch, "that it used a fellow up so to have a gay time. I took dinner at the 'Alhambra,' ordering the best the place afforded, only cutting out the wines. That cost me two dollars, and I tipped the waiter with a quarter. Then I took a cab to the horse show, and took in the matinee on the way back. It cost me a dollar for a seat in the parquet. I didn't have enough money left for supper, so I ate two mince pies at a restaurant and I've got a nickel left."

"Well," said Miss Billy, "it comes easier to tell my story since I've heard Theodore's. I've always had the greatest desire to ride on the top of an omnibus and look at things from that point of view. I knew for appearance's sake I couldn't trundle back and forth from the trains, so I hired a whole omnibus for myself, with a driver, to take me out into the country. It was grand! It seemed as though the whole world was unrolled before me! It gave me a feeling of being some great bird flying through the air——"

"A wild goose, for instance!" put in Theodore disgustedly.

"Well I'm not an ostrich, anyhow, to eat all a hotel affords and two mince pies on top of it!" retorted Miss Billy, with spirit. "That omnibus ride cost me four dollars, but it was worth it. Then I bought a box of chocolates and came home."

"Now I suppose it's my turn," said the minister. "The first thing I saw when I left the house this morning was a load of watermelons. They were unusually fine melons, and the boy offered me the whole wagon load dirt cheap."

"Father!" broke in Miss Billy tragically, "what can I do with the rinds of a wagon load of watermelons, to say nothing of the seeds? We couldn't clean it up in weeks!"

"I had an idea your mother pickled the rinds," said the minister mildly.

"Consider pickling a wagon load of watermelon rinds," groaned Beatrice. "Beside, papa, we don't pickle the shell!"

"Cease your lamentations," said Theodore, with a wave of his hand. "I see in this the nucleus of a great business enterprise, that shall live, flourish and spread,—and shall be known in the future as the 'Lee Pickle Works.' I shall be president, father can be buyer, and Miss Billy and Bea can do the pickling."

"Well," went on the minister, "I'm glad now I didn't buy the melons,—but it was certainly a temptation, they were such fine ones. The next thing I seemed to fancy was a buggy robe,—just five dollars,—so warm, and handsome, too, in the brown and gold colours your mother likes. But I happened to remember we didn't have a buggy, so I gave that up."

"This seems to be all about the things father didn't buy," said Theodore astutely. "He's giving us mild shocks, so we can bear the climax of what he did buy."

"I assure you I ran the gamut of temptations," said the minister. "At two o'clock I had about decided on a bull terrier pup. At three I was discussing the merits of a newfangled washing machine. But I finally ended it all by wandering into a fashionable photograph gallery and sitting for a picture, in the latest style. It will not be finished till next week, though."

There was great clapping of hands as this recital was finished. "Motherie next," called Miss Billy.

"I have no story to relate," protested Mrs. Lee. "Knowing exactly what I wanted, I went straight and bought it. Five dollars' worth of pots, kettles and pans. I haven't had any new kitchen utensils since our tenth wedding anniversary, and Maggie and I were at our wits' end with leaky vessels."

"You broke the contract!" said Theodore, pointing an accusing finger. "Kitchen utensils cannot be classed as a personal whim."

"Indeed they can! You will think so when you see them!" returned his mother laughingly. "They are of every shape, size and description. At first I thought of buying you all pretty silver pins, and having the date inscribed as a memento of a day of experiences. But thinking you might not consider that fair, I took the pans."

"Last but not least," announced Theodore oratorically, "Beatrice will tell us the experiences that befell a beautiful damsel in search of a personal whim."

Beatrice coloured slightly, but did not raise her eyes from her hemstitching.

"There is very little to tell, and it is very foolish. I've fancied a pair of satin slippers in Frothingham's show window for a long time. Such gay little things, with the dearest heels,—so I went and bought them."

"Oh," said Miss Billy disappointedly, "is that all? Didn't you meet with any experiences quite unlike other days,—see new people, and get other views? Didn't anything new come into your life?"

Beatrice bent her head lower over her work. "No," she answered, "nothing new."