The Roseveldts were coming down the steps, and Milly heard it too, and waved her handkerchief, and Stacey opened the carriage door and waved his hat to her—though the drum corps thought it was in acknowledgment of their salute, and closing round Woodpecker and his wheelbarrow escorted him down the Avenue.
There were tears in Mrs. Fitz Simmons’s eyes as she pressed her husband’s hand, and the Commodore, not wishing to show his satisfaction too plainly, asked who that pretty girl was who waved her handkerchief so enthusiastically.
“You don’t deserve it, you young dog,” he asserted. “Now if she had smiled in that way at me I would have cared more for it than for all the hullabaloo those young rascals are making.”
“Perhaps I do,” was the reply on Stacey’s lips, but it was uttered so quietly that only his mother heard it, and understood as mothers always do.
And then through the days that followed, Stacey buckled down to hard work again, and won, as such work is sure to win, its reward.
“Passed his examinations, admitted to Harvard! Why, of course,” said the Commodore. “There never was any doubt of it.” But Stacey knew that there had been great doubt, and that the expression of esteem by which he was held by his classmates, which had pleased his father so much, was a very slight thing compared to this quiet victory, gained through hours of unregarded toil and for which no cheers were shouted or flowers borne after him in noisy triumph.
The opening of the college gates was the entering of a better race for Stacey. He felt that he was now indeed a man, and must put away childish things.
We of the Amen Corner had been chatting together, the evening before our commencement, of what we intended to do during vacation. “First of all,” said Adelaide, “I want some home life. I want to get acquainted with my own mother. I feel now that we can be companionable. I am not very learned, it is true, but I am certainly more mature than when we were together last. I ought to be not only a help to her, but a sort of comrade. She has kept herself young at heart, and her society will recompense me in part for the loss of yours. We are going to study music seriously together. She plays my accompaniments very nicely. Indeed, I think she has more talent than I have, only she is out of practice, and her repertoire is a little old-fashioned, but it will be very easy for her to put herself in touch with modern requirements. Then father has planned a delightful occupation for me. You know how fond I am of practical architecture. Well, he has purchased a delightful old colonial mansion in Deerfield, a charming village in western Massachusetts. It is an old homestead which has fallen into disrepair from having been long unoccupied, for the family which once inhabited it have all died. The one distant relative who owns the place lives in the West, and has sold it to father. I am to have the direction of all the repairs and restorations, and I mean to truly restore the old house to its original condition. We will board in the village while the changes are being made. It will be just the place for Jim to grow strong in. Father writes that it has the loveliest elm-shaded street, and a hundred different drives over the hills and along its three rivers.”
“You need not tell us anything about Deerfield,” Winnie interrupted. “Tib and I drove through the old town on our coaching trip. It is the most charming spot that I ever saw. I congratulate you on having such a delightful prospect before you.”
“And I hereby invite you all to come to the hanging of the crane when my restorations are finished,” Adelaide continued cordially. “That will be in September, I think, for they will take all summer at least, and you’ve no idea how I shall enjoy planning everything and directing the workmen. Jim and I are going to carve some of the woodwork ourselves. We will have a portico like that at Mount Vernon, with Ionic columns, and the windows will have tiny panes and broad seats, and there are to be china closets with glass doors, and fan work carved over the mantelpieces, and a raftered ceiling with a great ‘summer-tree’ in the ‘keeping room.’ I shall enjoy it more than I can make you understand. I don’t mean so much the possession of the house when it is done, as altering it, for I love architecture, and wish I could be an architect. So much for my plans. What are yours, Tib?”