“I’m glad it seems short to you,” she answered frankly. “It has been delightful, every moment of it; but I began to be afraid that Hal’s friends would be heartily tired of entertaining me. You’ve certainly done it right royally, and I wish I didn’t have to leave Hilton in the morning.”
There was another little pause. Then she added, as they drew near the gate where Harry and his mother stood waiting for them,—
“One more word I want to say, Mr. Sterne, before we say good night and good by. Leon has told me, and I have seen how kind you have been to him, since he hurt his foot. Let me thank you for it all, please, and say how we appreciate it.” And she put out her hand impulsively.
Alex raised his cap, as he bent over the little hand.
“It was nothing,” he answered simply. “I was glad to do it for him—and for you.” And as he walked back to Old Flemming, he was conscious that the coming weeks would seem long and lonely to him, after the happiness of the last one; and he found himself looking forward to June and Commencement with an interest hitherto unknown.
It had been hard work for the Wilders to settle down to routine again, the day after the Arnolds went home; and, as Alex had said, they had two months of uninterrupted work before them. The new term was, by this time, well on in its course, and the day was fast approaching when Leon was to be allowed to give up his crutches and to use his foot again, though with a little care at first. While athletics were out of the question for the present, it would be such a delight to be able to walk again, that he accepted the rest without a thought of complaint. Lieutenant Wilde, too, had quickly recovered from his injuries and resumed his usual place in the school where he was more than ever idolized by his boys, who knew how near they had come to losing him.
In the meantime, January had drawn to a close, and Leon’s birthday had come. The Wilders, with whom he was a general favorite, had put their heads together to make the day merry enough to atone for any good times he might have lost, as a result of his sprain, and with Alex and Max at their head, the boys had not been slow to plan the jokes and surprises which kept appearing from early morning until late at night. A long drive with the doctor kept Leon out of the way during the whole afternoon; and while he was gone, the lads busied themselves in making ready for the spread which was to be the grand climax of the day. The village store and the local bakery—pie-foundry, as Max called it—had been ransacked, and the servants had received a generous bribe to do a little extra cooking, when, as if in furtherance of their plans, a huge box had arrived from home, and Harry had unpacked a tempting array of goodies, in the midst of the admiring plaudits of the boys.
As seven o’clock struck, Harry appeared at Lieutenant Wilde’s door, to escort his brother to his room, for Leon had not been allowed to return there, after his drive in the afternoon. With due ceremony, he was marched down the hall, between his brother and Lieutenant Wilde, and ushered into the room which was strangely transformed for the reception. The beds had been taken down and piled into Louis’s room across the hall, while additional tables had been brought in and arranged in a row, to form one long one, which was literally covered with the feast that the lads had collected, to do honor to the occasion.
As Leon came inside the door, his guests rose to welcome him, and here the surprise was perfect; for instead of the usual unbroken array of gray uniforms, there were several fine ladies present to grace the feast. This idea had come from Max, who had spent much time and shown considerable ingenuity in devising the costumes from the material at hand. A short curly bang, a great bath-sponge fastened to the top of his head, eyeglasses and a sheet gracefully draped into a robe and enlivened with a crimson portière, by way of court train, transformed Miss Margaret Eliot, as she was introduced, into a very fair type of society girl; while Harold King’s delicate face and slight figure were set off by a red tablespread for a skirt, surmounted by a pale blue dressing-gown belonging to Louis. Louis himself appeared in a trailing blue gown, garnished with as many watch chains and scarf pins as the entire force of the Wilders could afford, while a stuffed owl adorned one shoulder, a huge bunch of red paper roses rested on the other, and his head was covered with Dame Pinney’s second-best cap which Max had in some way managed to coax her into lending. Stanley Campbell’s freckled face and short, straight brown hair were unmistakably boyish; but Max had done his best to disguise the work of nature with a dark green skirt whose cambric breadths were insecurely basted together with long white stitches, a gay orange and blue blazer and a broad straw hat, from which waved a garland of peacock feathers. However gorgeous was the result, when Max had added the finishing touches to his work, he had been moved to confess that Stanley looked far more like an Indian on the war-path, than the pretty girl for whom he was intended. But proud as the boys were of their own costumes, one and all agreed that Baby was the real success of the evening. Jack Howard’s long white cotton gown was tied in at the waist by a broad blue cambric sash, blue bows fluttered airily on his shoulders where a wide hem and the letters F. H. in indelible ink made their appearance, and a blue band caught together the long golden curls of a wig that Lieutenant Wilde had worn in some West Point theatricals.
“The gentlemen will please escort the ladies to the table,” called Harry, who had been chosen floor-manager of the occasion. “The hero of the evening can have first choice.”