“What do you study, my dear?”
“Nothing much but music, now. Mother has a friend who is interested in the best Conservatory here, and I have the benefit of instruction there. I have an idea that this lady, this friend, pays my expenses, or advances the money to Mother for that purpose, though I do not know. I asked once, but was not told. Mother is certain I have a fortune in my voice, and she is killing herself to keep me in training. I cannot say I have not. I have no wish to run down my only legitimate stock in trade, but I don’t believe I’m a Patti or a Jenny Lind. I may be, of course. Brother Robert is too little to be anything but the dearest, sweetest small chap in the world. So there you have us. We are not beggars, exactly; for Mother has a little bit of an income which ekes out the embroidery money, and so we manage. But it isn’t as it should be, and what I want to know is: Could such a family as ours make a living in the country somewhere? Do you think our ‘talents’ could be put to any sensible use? And—do you forgive my selling your flowers?”
“My dear, I am glad if they brought you one bit of additional money. I wish you had had double the number—”
“Oh dear! I don’t! That sounds saucy. But I never in the world could make my salt that way. I haven’t the patience, and I have too much pride. But I did get quite a nice little sum for them, and I am sure it will do Motherkin a lot of good. Only her pride will suffer, and her heart ache a little that I could do anything without telling her first. We never have any secrets in our small household; and I have been so low-spirited all day over mine. Only, of course, I shall make a clean breast of the business as soon as I get home.”
“Miss Beckwith, or Beatrice, if you will let me call you so, I thank you for your confidence in me. I want to prove myself to you all that my Conrad would have been to any one dear to me, if I can. But I see very clearly that your mother is proud and self-reliant. She is not of the sort to whom one can offer pecuniary aid without offering a sting as well. I am of the same kind myself. I should not like to receive benefits at all, unless I had a chance of repaying them. I agree with the doctor that Mrs. Beckwith would be better in the country; but I dare not propose my poor knowledge of what is best for you youngsters against a mother’s wish and wisdom. Still, continue to trust me for a little while. Some way will open to help you; and Joanna will advise me. I never take any important step without consulting her.”
Bonny looked her surprise. Mr. Brook was a hale, strong-hearted man of eighty years. How odd that he should need to take counsel of anybody, least of all of a woman! “Is Joanna the sister of whom you spoke?”
“Yes. A wise and dear friend she has been to me all my life. She and I live together at the old homestead in New Windsor with the servants who have been long in our employ. I hope you will know her soon. You are certain to love her if you do.”
Bonny’s quick sympathy sent a momentary moisture to her bright eyes, which Mr. Brook saw clearly enough, even without his glasses, which had fallen from his nose. “Why, what, my dear?”
“Nothing—nothing, sir! Only that is so beautiful! I wonder if my Roland will love me like that when he is old, and I am! We are the ‘closest chums’ now; but—do you suppose it will last?”
“Let us hope it will last, my dear. And it certainly will if you do your sisterly share to make it. Never for one moment allow yourself to forget that you are children of one mother,—the brave little mother who has toiled to keep you in one fold. Then I am as positive it ‘will last’ as that our dinner must be waiting us now!”