Half a dozen boys

by Anna Chapin Ray

My Dear Bess,—I know you always have been a good, kind-hearted little soul, and now I am going to throw myself on your benevolence and ask a favor of you. Say yes, that's a dear little sister! It is just this that I want,—a two weeks' visit from you. "Island Den" was never half so cosy as this summer, and there were never half so many pleasant people over at the hotel. The change will do you good, and I have already heard from mother, saying that she can spare you as well as not. Jack and the children want to see you as badly as I do.

But as long as I know you'll never consent to drop all care—you've had too much these last months for a young thing like you—and leave that boy of yours at home, as would be ever so much better for you, bring him with you, if you think he will be contented here. Jack says two boys take up no more room than one, and Rob had better come too, to be company for him after we have talked each other to death. Isn't he impertinent? But it is a good idea, for they will amuse each other and leave us more time. Rob has never been here, and I am quite curious to see your other charge. Do hurry to come, for I am impatient to see you. I should think you might start by the first of next week.

Jack wishes me to enclose these tickets for the journey, as a last inducement. He says I am to tell you that they will be wasted unless you use them, and that will be sure to bring you, as your frugal soul cannot bear to waste anything.

I won't say any more, for you will be here so soon; and then how we will talk!

Your loving sister,
ALICE.

This was the letter which had caused a sensation in the Carter household. Alice Carter, ten years older than Bess, had married a wealthy New York banker, and was now the mother of two little girls. "Island Den," their luxurious summer home, was on one of the Thousand Islands, whither for years they had gone to spend the months of July and August, and keep open house for their friends.

It was now three years since Bess had been able to accept her annual invitation to go there, for it was an expensive little trip, and of late some treacherous Western loans had decidedly lessened her father's income, and reduced the family from the comfortable position of doing just about as their rather simple inclinations led them, to the need of carefully counting the smaller expenses that so quickly absorb money,—no marked change, only they did not travel quite as much, nor keep a horse and carriage, nor have quite so many gowns, while those they had they made themselves. The more than liberal sum that Mr. Allen was paying them for the board and care of Fred was far more helpful than he had realized when he had made them the offer, although the money bargain had been by no means a determining cause in their taking Fred into their home. And, this year, Bess had felt that it would be more than ever impossible for her to go away to leave Fred, both on her mother's account and the boy's own, for the child clung to her more and more closely, with a devotion touching to see.

But Alice and Jack had smoothed away every difficulty, and Bess, with her conscience at rest, could now accept their threefold invitation. Now there was a prospect of change, the girl admitted to herself that she was a little tired, and well she might be, for, in addition to her other duties, she had given constant thought and care, as well as much time and countless steps, to the boy who had so grown to depend upon her. But if, at the close of a long day, the thought of her own weariness ever crossed her mind, the memory of all that the child had lost, and of the brave fight he was making against the burden of his blindness, made her scorn the thought of self, as unworthy of the courage and patient endurance she was daily preaching to the child, and gave her new strength to go on.

Rob was in raptures over the prospective journey, and, during the week before they were to start, he made almost hourly calls on Bess, to see how her preparations were coming on. The morning after he was told of his invitation and its acceptance, he was up early, and, before breakfast, had gone into the attic, scattered over the floor the usual contents of a small trunk, long past its days of active service and now only used for storage, and secretly conveyed the trunk to his own room. By dinner-time, many of his possessions were stowed away in its depths; books, games, his air-rifle, several yards of mosquito netting for butterfly-nets, a choice collection of fish-hooks, and an odd assortment of strings and small articles of hardware that filled it to the brim, leaving room for not so much as a single handkerchief. Each day he added to his hoard, to the amusement of his mother, who let him have his way until the final packing, when she should bring order out of chaos.

Fred scarcely looked forward to their going with as much pleasure as Rob, for at the idea of the journey and of meeting so many strangers, his shy sensitiveness returned in all its force, and he would gladly have spent the time alone with the servants at his father's house, rather than run the gauntlet of the curious and thoughtless, though not unkind comments that always met him when he went among strangers.