We ten

by Barbara Yechton

We were all laughing, and what does Nora do but pitch into me for it. "Can't you find anything better to do, Jack, than encouraging Betty to be rude and unladylike?" she commenced sharply; but just then Hannah came, asking for something, and, with a great air of importance, Nora went off with her.

But if Nora didn't understand how Betty felt, I did. Of course the Ervengs meant it kindly asking her; but I wouldn't have wanted to go off alone visiting people that were almost strangers,—for that's what Mr. and Mrs. Erveng are to us, though we do know Hilliard so well,—and I just said so to her, and gave her my best feather-top. As I told her, she might play it times when she was alone in her own room, to keep up her spirits. I'd have given her something nicer, but all my things were packed up, except my locomotive, and I knew she wouldn't care for that,—she's always making fun of it.

Betty's one of the kind that just hate to cry where people can see them, so she went away without the least fuss—though I know her heart was full—when the Ervengs called for her the next morning. Hilliard was as merry as a lark. "It's so good of you to come," he said, beaming on Betty when he met her on the steps. "We are going to take the very best care of you, and help you to enjoy yourself immensely; I only wish all the others were coming with us, too,"—with a glance at us (the whole family had crowded out on the stoop to see Betty off).

"We don't want to; we'd rather go to the Cottage," sung out Alan. Nora had to hush him up.

Hilliard was just as nice as he could be, putting Betty into the carriage, and looking after her things,—I hadn't thought he could be so polite; but Betty was very cool and snippy, and the last sight I got of her, as the carriage turned the corner, she was sitting bolt upright, looking as stiff as a poker. I felt sorry for Betty, and I felt sorry for the Ervengs, too,—at least for Hilliard. I can't think why Betty doesn't like him better.

We were awfully lonely and unsettled for a few days,—it seemed so queer to have Nora in Nannie's place, and Phil at the head of the table; to hear Nora giving orders, and for Phil to have to see to shutting up the house nights. Somehow it made us feel grown-up,—it was such a responsibility, you know; and at first we were all very quiet, and so polite to one another that nurse declared she "wouldn't 'a' known we was the same fam'ly." Felix and Phil were as dignified as could be, and the little ones went to bed without a murmur, and obeyed Nora like so many lambs. But it didn't last,—it couldn't, you know, for we weren't really happy, acting that way; and pretty soon we began to be just as we usually were,—only a little more so, as we boys say.

You see nobody was really head, though Nora and Phil both pretended they were,—we didn't count nurse,—and each person just wanted to do as he or she pleased, and of course that made lots of fusses. Phil did a lot of talking, and ordered people around a good deal, but nobody minded him very much. Nora had her hands full with the children; they were awfully hard to manage, particularly Kathie,—her feelings get hurt so easily. Nora said that nurse spoiled them, and in a sort of way took their part against her, while nurse said Nora was too fond of "ordering," and that she nagged them; so there were rumpuses there sometimes. I read over all my favourite books that weren't packed up, and worked on my steam engine, and went about to see what the others were doing; but I tried not to be mixed up in any of the rows. Fee got a fit of painting,—he wanted Nora to pose for him for Antigone, but she wouldn't; and he played his violin any time during the day that he liked,—you see there wasn't anybody there to mind the noise.

That was in the day; in the evenings we—Nora and we three boys—sat on the stoop, it was so warm indoors. The Unsworths and Vassahs and 'most all the people we knew were out of town, and Chad Whitcombe was the only person that came round to see us. When he found we hadn't gone to the country, he'd make his appearance every evening, and sit with us on the stoop. At first he stayed the whole evening, and was so pleasant and chatty I could hardly believe 'twas Chad; of course he was affected,—he always is,—but still he was real interesting, telling about places he'd been to, and some of the queer people he'd met in his travels. After a while, though, he began to stay for about half the evening, then he'd ask Phil to take a walk with him, and away they would go; and sometimes Phil wouldn't get back very early either.

Well, Felix stood it for a few times without saying anything,—he always has precious little to do with Chad; but one evening when Chad stood up and asked, "Take a stroll—aw—will you, Phil?" and Phil rose to go, Fee got quickly on his feet. "Just let me get my cane, and I'll come, too," he said.

I was looking at Chad just then, and I could see he didn't like it; but Phil answered at once, "All right, old fellow; come on!" And Fee went.