“George Washington! G-e-o-r-g-e W-a-s-h-i-n-g-t-o-n!”

“Ma’am?”

“Why don’t you answer the first time I call you? Come here and go hunt the Colonel and tell him I want him directly. He is around the house somewhere.”

George Washington, aged ten, his woolly head full of sticks, his blue-jeans sadly perforated and the lower portion of his ebony limbs guiltless of covering, came out from behind the kitchen quarters and shambled off in search of his master.

“That boy shows old Rachel’s blood,” soliloquized the mistress of Wavertree Hall; “he would not run if there were a bomb under him!”

It was one of those balmy days in Virginia, when the sly, deceptive October sun kisses one into the belief that summer will remain always. Mrs. Driscoe sat down on the back steps of the verandah and watched two cocks fighting in the yard, as she awaited the appearance of her husband. She looked, herself, not unlike a bird of ruffled plumage, for the bit of lace and pink ribbon with which she ornamented her scanty locks was awry, while her crocheted shawl—pink to match the ribbon—hung off one shoulder, and her whole aspect presented a disheveled appearance which in her indicated a perturbed state of mind. Now and then she glanced at an open letter in her hand, the contents of which seemed to displease her, for she shook the paper as if it were a live thing she were chastising and tapped her foot impatiently.

Presently a voice behind her said mildly: “Did you want me, my dear?”

“Want you? Certainly I wanted you! What do you suppose I sent for you for if I didn’t want you?” Mrs. Driscoe drew up her pink shawl with a gesture that spoke volumes.

“Won’t you get a headache, Nancy, sitting out there in the sun?” asked the Colonel solicitously.

Concern for her physical welfare touched his wife’s vanity and appealed to her heart. She softened perceptibly.

“Maybe I had better come up and sit in a chair,” she said. “It’s those girls that have upset me. I believe they’re clean daft.”

He helped her up and pulled a chair into a shady part of the verandah, waiting until she was comfortably ensconced before seating himself.

He was a gallant, the Colonel, full of little courtesies which endeared him to the hearts of women. That was why the Widow Chisholme married him, the County said. She wanted—but does it matter after all these years what the County said?

He sat down now beside her and waited for her to begin. She usually did begin and end everything.

“The girls refuse to come—I’ve just had a letter from Julie; she is the most independent, ungrateful young minx I ever heard of!”

“Oh—ah—not that, Nancy, not that, I am sure—ahem—you must be mistaken. She impressed me as a very gentle, sweet young creature.”

“Gentle fiddlesticks! Do you call that gentle?” flaunting the letter in his face.

“Possibly, my dear, if I were to know the contents of the letter I might be better able to form an opinion.”

She handed it over and watched him read it.

“Ah,” he commented at the end, “what remarkably original girls!”

“Give that letter to me, Driscoe,” (she had always called him Driscoe from the beginning) “I don’t believe you half understand it—you are always way off in the clouds somewhere when you haven’t got your nose buried in a book. Those girls are going to work—to cook! They actually prefer to cook for a living when they might come down here and live like ladies the rest of their lives. They have moved into rooms their Doctor found for them—I expect it is one of those nasty little places they call flats, in some horrid neighborhood and I am sure no one will go near them and they’ll die of loneliness with their crazy notions.” “Cook!” she repeated scornfully, “who ever heard of a lady doing a servant’s work!” The little pink bow on the top of her head fairly quivered in outraged sympathy.

“I am sure the girls appreciate your offer to give them a home,” Colonel Driscoe said when he was allowed to speak, “Julie’s letter speaks very feelingly about it. If they think it wise to try and be independent I must say I can’t help but admire their spirit.”

“That is all you know about it! In my day girls did not do odd, independent things—they did as they were told!”

It occurred to the Colonel that her day was past, but he wisely refrained from giving the thought utterance.

“A lot of your foolish Northern notions still cling to you Driscoe,” she said resentfully. “It is my opinion that those Dale girls have disgraced the family—there is too much of their father in them—a true Fairleigh would never stoop to menial labor; and yet their mother and I had the same Fairleigh grandmother. Oh, it is too trying—their behavior—too trying for anything! It terrifies me to think what they may come to!” She stopped rocking in her chair and sniffed audibly.

“There, there, Nancy, don’t take it so to heart,” comforted her husband, “it may be best as it is—we’ll see if we can’t raise a little money somewhere to send them—the poor young things must be in sore straits these days with poverty to face and an invalid father to take care of.”

“Umph! they don’t act like it—and as for money, I don’t see it lying round loose on the plantation.”

This was a sore point with the Colonel, who was known since his marriage to have swallowed up a considerable portion of his small income patenting farming implements that were impracticable. He had been a bachelor with an inventive turn of mind and only one lung when he met the Widow Chisholme at the Springs. Upon marrying her it seemed most desirable for her convenience (for she would never have tolerated life outside of Virginia) and his health, that they should live on the Chisholme property, which was somewhat extensive and kept them land poor. Mr. Driscoe, New Hampshire born and bred, settled down into a country gentleman and turned his attention to agriculture; but his mind, half inventive, half scholarly, wholly visionary, had made rather a sorry mess of it, and his wife, who had never relinquished the reins of government, now held them with a firmer hand. He was Colonel only by courtesy, the servants having dubbed him that immediately. It was impossible for them to recognize a real gentleman without a title.

He said no more about money, but shaded his eyes and looked down the long avenue leading out to the road. In the distance he could see a small darky open a gate, while down the road came a horse with a swift gallop.

“Here comes Nannie, my dear. She will not be pleased with your news, will she?” the Colonel said regretfully.

The girl brought the horse up with a sharp turn at the steps, thereby causing consternation to a brood of chickens, which scattered in every direction. Then she threw the bridle to George Washington and slipped to the ground.

“My,” she exclaimed, fanning herself with her hat, “it is pretty warm riding.”

“Now don’t sit down there and take cold,” expostulated her mother; “here, put my shawl around you.”

Nannie, who had dropped down on the steps, laughed and shook her head. “A shawl in October! who ever heard of such a thing. I am all right, mummie; don’t take it off—it looks so pretty on you.” She smiled at her mother, who was not proof against this bit of flattery, though her only manifestation was a closer drawing of the shawl around her shoulders. “Don’t you feel very well, mummie?” the girl asked, conscious that the atmosphere was not altogether salubrious.

“Well enough,” replied the older woman, flipping a letter nervously between her fingers as she rocked to and fro.

“Your mother has heard from your cousin Julie,” volunteered the Colonel.

“Let me see the letter, quick, mummie. When are they coming?”

“They are not coming at all,” replied Mrs. Driscoe, with a resentful toss of her head, meanwhile thrusting the obnoxious letter into her pocket.

Nan’s face fell. “Oh, mummie, can’t I see the letter, please?”

“Certainly not. It is full of crazy ideas that are most unbecoming in a young girl, and I don’t consider such things proper for you to read.”

Colonel Driscoe gave an apologetic cough and opened his lips as if to speak, but apparently thought better of it and studied his finger nails with unwonted interest. Nan drew cabalistic signs on the steps with her riding crop, and for some moments the silence was unbroken save for the half chuckling singing of George Washington, who was turning somersaults near by. Then Nannie said wistfully:

“May I know why the girls are not coming, please?”

The Colonel started to explain, but was overruled by his wife, who preferred to give her own interpretation of the case. Accordingly she poured out a torrent of abuse, in which her own individual woes over what she called their “disobedience” were so involved with a mixed statement of facts that Nan might have been led to believe that her cousins were lost to all sense of propriety had she not thoroughly understood her mother. As it was she listened quietly, sympathized with and petted her, and told her not to bother her head any more about two naughty girls in the North. She was a girl of considerable tact, this Nannie, for all that the whole establishment “babied” her, and she knew just how to smooth down her mother’s ruffled plumage; so that Mrs. Driscoe, after a good, comfortable cry, which was a great relief to her overwrought feelings, was persuaded to go indoors and lie down to recover from the shock of the morning.

Nannie remained on the verandah with her father. “Will you tell me about it now?” she said, when her mother was well out of hearing.

The Colonel’s version, as he understood it from Julie’s letter was expressed in five minutes.

“Oh, dear!” Nannie exclaimed, when he had finished, “I wish they did not feel that way about things. I did so hope they were going to bring their father here and let us nurse him, and live with us, and be just like my own sisters—I’ve always wanted a sister so! I can’t seem to make it out exactly, pa, how girls like that who have always had every mortal thing on earth, can work just like poor girls.”

“No, you can’t understand, kitten,” stroking her head affectionately; “it’s against all the traditions of your bringing up that you should, for your mother takes such extreme views. But for my part, I think they are very noble and deserve tremendous credit for taking the stand they have.”

“Oh! so do I,” echoed the girl enthusiastically. “I just love them for it. I think it is grand to be so heroic and brave. Why, just think, pa, they are not very much older than I, and yet all of a sudden it seems as if they were women and I only a baby.”

“We want to keep our little girl a while yet,” he said. “I have no fear but she will be womanly enough when the time comes.”

“We did have the loveliest times when the girls were here, didn’t we?” she said reminiscently. “They could ride as well as any girl in the county, and Julie was the prettiest thing I ever saw. Do you remember the funny tricks Hester did—springing on a horse bareback, and riding backward, and things she’d learned from the cowboys? Oh! I did miss them terribly when they went away.”

“They were unusually companionable to us all, I think, Nannie. I am sure I missed them unspeakably.”

The girl sat down on the arm of his chair and as she leaned her head against his, two tears trickled down the end of her nose and into his neck. He put his arms about her and drew her into his lap, where she lay, a dejected little heap, sobbing bitterly.

“There, there, kitten, don’t cry; Mr. Dale may get better, and the girls may be able to bring him down for a long visit some time—who knows?” said the kindly Colonel, who was already planning in his mind how he could defray the expenses, should such a journey be possible. “We will all have some happy times together again, Nannie; you’ll see, little girl.”

Nan heaved a sigh and was comforted. It is easy to be sanguine at seventeen.

Suddenly she exclaimed: “Do you know what?” sitting up and revealing a tear-stained face and two brimming brown eyes which she rubbed with the Colonel’s handkerchief, her own having long since been reduced to a damp little ball; “I’m going to write to the girls not to mind a thing mummie writes them, for she really loves them just the same, and you and I love them heaps more—if such a thing is possible—and think about them and just hope with all our might and main that Cousin Dale will be better, and they won’t have to work themselves to death. Oh, don’t I just wish I could help them!” “Pa!” she cried in a sudden inspiration, “you know the new saddle you were going to give me for my birthday?”

“Yes, Nannie.”

“Well, you have not bought it, have you? and I don’t want it—I want you to send the money to the girls instead.”

“But, Nannie, child, you have talked of that saddle for months. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Oh! yes,” she cried, rapturously with a childish clap of her hands; “I’d love to do it more than anything. Can you see about it to-day?” Her soft brown eyes were not brimming now, but full of eagerness.

“I am almost afraid,” said the Colonel, shaking his head, “that your mother will not consent and that the girls might refuse to let you do it if they knew.”

“Oh, they must not know,” said Nannie with an air of importance borne of the project in hand. “No one must know, not even mummie; it is a secret between you and me. We will send an anonymous letter the way they do in books. Oh! won’t it be fun?”

“Who ever would have suspected we had an arch-conspirator in our midst,” said the Colonel slyly, “and that she would victimize an old man like me?” In his heart he was rejoicing over her pretty exhibition of girlish love and unselfishness. Then more seriously, he added: “I am afraid we shall have to wait until your birthday really comes round, Puss. I have not the money just now.”

“But you are going to let me do it, aren’t you? No matter if we do have to wait, come and begin the letter now. We must make it very mysterious, and manage to get it to them somehow so they will never suspect. How do you suppose we can?” She looked at him, confident that he would suggest something.

And he did. But what he said was whispered so low that even we cannot hear. The effect on her was instantaneous, and caused her to dance about delightedly. Then suddenly remembering that her mother was sleeping in an adjacent room, she became subdued and catching her father by the arm drew him quietly into the house.