MISS Marston arrived that afternoon, and the next day we started, bag and baggage, for the Cottage. And here we've been for nearly three months; in a week or two more we'll be thinking of going back to the city. Dr. Gordon came up with us, and he and Phil did all they could to make the journey easier for Felix. But he was dreadfully used up by the time we got him to the house, and for days no one but Phil and Nannie were allowed in his room.
Papa came a few days after we did, looking ever so much better than when he went away, and he settled down to work at once. Betty's here, too. From what she lets out now and then, I'm pretty sure she's had a real good time; but, do you know, she won't acknowledge it. Still, I notice she doesn't make such fun of Hilliard as she used to; and I will say Betty's improving. She doesn't romp and tear about so much, nor flare out at people so often, and of course that makes her much more comfortable to live with. I'm ever so glad she's here; if she hadn't been, I'm afraid I'd have had an awfully stupid time this summer. You see Betty and I are in the middle; we come between the big and the little ones in the family, and we 'most always go together on that account.
"OUT OF DOORS."
Nannie's had her hands full, what with helping papa with the Fetich, and doing all sorts of things for her twin. Nora's looked after Phil and cheered him up when he got blue about Felix, and Phil has just devoted himself to Fee. He's with him almost the whole time, and you can't think how gentle and considerate Phil is these days.
Fee is out of doors a great deal; Phil carries him out on fine days, and lays him on his bamboo lounge under the big maples; and there you're sure to find the whole family gathered, some time or other, every day that he is there.
It seems as if we love Fee more and more dearly every day,—he's so bright and merry and sweet, and he tries so hard to be patient and make the best of things. Of course he has times—what he calls his "dark days"—when his courage sinks, and he gets cranky and sarcastic; but they don't come as often as at first. And we all make allowances, for we know there isn't one of us that in his place would be as unselfish and helpful. We go to him with everything,—even papa has got in the way of sitting and talking with Fee; anyway, it seems as if papa were more with us now than he used to be, and he's ever so much nicer,—more like other people's fathers are, you know!
Felix has got back the use of his fingers since we've been in the country; he can paint or play his violin for a little while at a time, but his legs are still useless. The doctor, though, declares he can see a slight improvement in them. He says now that perhaps—after several years—Fee may be able to get around on crutches! Betty and I felt awfully disappointed when we heard this,—we've been so sure Fee would get perfectly well; but Fee himself was very happy over it. "Once let me assume the perpendicular, even on crutches," he said, smiling at Phil, who sat sadly beside him, "and you see if, after a while, these old pegs don't come up to their duty bravely. I may yet dance at your wedding, Philippus."
Max comes up to the Cottage quite often, and stays from Saturday to Monday. He's just as nice and kind as he can be,—why, he doesn't seem to mind one bit going off on jolly long drives in the old depot-wagon, or on larks, with only Nannie and us children; and he's teaching Mädel how to manage G. W. L. Spry and make him go, without being thrown off.
Phil and Felix and Max had a long talk together the first time Max came up, and I have an idea 'twas about Chad, for Max looked very grave. I don't know what he did about it, but the other day I heard him tell Nora that Chad had positively made up his mind to go into business. "He says he has broken loose from a very bad set he was in," Max said, "and seems very much in earnest to make the best of himself,—which is, of course, a great relief to me. I hope his good resolutions will amount to something."