We ten

by Barbara Yechton

We had tea in the cosiest little room on the same floor, and we couldn't but notice how Hilliard waited on his mother,—just like a girl would have done; indeed, he was very much more gentle and helpful than I could have been, I am afraid,—though Fee used to be like that with mamma. After tea Nora played; I was asked, too, but I could no more have got through a piece without breaking down than I could have flown. She didn't feel so, though, and did splendidly; she is really a fine pianist, Miss Marston says. After that we sang college songs, and about nine o'clock, or a little after, we four went home.

"Unfortunately, I am not able to return any visits," Mrs. Erveng said, when we were leaving, "but if you or your sisters will take pity on my loneliness, and come over to see me whenever you can spare an afternoon or evening, I shall consider it very friendly, and I shall be very glad to see you."

She looked at Nora, and Nora answered very sweetly, "Thank you for our pleasant evening, Mrs. Erveng; we shall be glad to come again." Now I never would have thought of saying that! Then we all bade good-night and went home.

Hilliard walked to our door with us, and as he shook hands for good-night he said to me, "I'm very glad you came over; mother and I enjoyed it. I hope you'll come again; you see we get very quiet sometimes, just she and father and I."

I was surprised that he didn't say this to Nora, for he had talked almost entirely to her,—very little to me during the evening; but I suppose he did it so I shouldn't feel slighted,—as if I cared!

Phil admits that he likes Hilliard better than he did, and Felix, who had a long talk with him, says "he's bright, and 'way up in the classics." Well, he may be all that, but all the same I think he's a poke. I don't like him very much. I have a feeling that he went home and told his mother what I said about making faces and sliding down banisters, and that—with the Fetich affair—she thinks I'm a great rough girl. I don't really care, you know, for I have other friends who like me and think I am nice,—Murray and Hope Unsworth and Helen Vassah are always glad to have my company,—but still it isn't comfortable, now that I'm growing older, to be treated as if I were a child.

I didn't say much while Nora and the boys were giving Nannie an account of our evening,—they had enjoyed it; but later, when we were alone up in our room, it all came out. She said: "What's wrong, Miss Elizabeth?"—that's one of her pet names for me. "You look as sober as a judge; didn't you enjoy yourself this evening?" And then I told her all about it, though really there wasn't much to tell when we came to it, for Mrs. Erveng had been very polite and nice, and the boy had treated me politely, too. I was afraid Nannie would think I was making a mountain out of a molehill, as nurse says. But that's one of the lovely things about Nannie,—she understands just how things are, and so quickly.

She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and taking one of my hands in hers, kept smoothing it while she talked. "It means this, dear," she said, "that you are getting to be quite grown up, and that the time has come for you to put away rough, hoidenish ways, and to begin to be gentle and dignified, like the true lady that we all know you are at heart. You see we are accustomed to your ways, and while we may tease and scold one another here at home, we also make allowances for the different ones as an outsider would never do, because we love one another—see? Mrs. Erveng and Hilliard simply know you as a tall girl who looks quite a young lady, and naturally they are surprised when you act like a tomboy. You know, Betty, you are nearly as tall as Nora; now just imagine her sliding down the banisters, wrestling with the boys, climbing the fence in the yard, hanging to the tops of the doors, and making the horrible faces that you do!"

But my imagination couldn't picture such an impossibility as Nora and I acting alike. "I couldn't—I couldn't be like Nora," I declared, sitting up in bed. "I know she's got nice manners and all that,"—I had never really thought so till that evening,—"but, oh! I couldn't be as prim and—and—proper as she is—" Here my voice began to shake, and I got so sorry for myself that the tears came.

Then Nannie put her arms round me, and gave me a hug. "You needn't be like anybody but yourself," she said,—"the nicest, gentlest, and best part of yourself. Give up one hoidenish way at a time; that will be easier than trying to do all at once, you know. Suppose you begin by walking down the stairs to-morrow morning to breakfast, instead of sliding down on the banisters, as you usually do."