“It is very brief, my dears; but it contains an invitation for Roland to go up and see Mr. Brook at his own home. He writes that there are some things much better discussed in person than by mail, and unless he hears to the contrary he will send a carriage to meet my son at the railway station nearest his house on Thursday—why, that is to-morrow! He adds that he trusts the meeting will not be fruitless of good to all concerned, else he would not suggest it. Well, well.”
“‘Well’ means ‘yes,’ doesn’t it?” demanded Bonny, eagerly.
“I wonder how much it will cost!” remarked Roland, reflectively.
“No matter, sir. We’ll write another poem on somebody’s medicine and earn the price of the trip, maybe! Anyway, there is the chrysanthemum money which my mother has punished me by refusing to touch; you shall take that. Then Mr. Brook can feel that he has paid your way and will have no scruples about that matter. In his heart of hearts, the dear old gentleman has been worried over it, I know, just as well as if I had heard him say: ‘But, Joanna, they are so poor! What if he goes to the expense for nothing!’ and she has comforted him by saying: ‘Never mind, Chidly dear, we will make it up to them in some way. The young man must come, of course.’ You see how it is, don’t you, Motherkin?”
“I see that, among you, you would wheedle the foolish old Motherkin into letting all of you sacrifice your own best interests because you happen to think a country life is best for her!” answered Mrs. Beckwith, smiling fondly upon them all. “But Roland must go. No matter if we could afford it even less than by Bonny’s exploit we are fortunately able, it would be a rudeness not to accept the invitation. Yet, Roland, remember; it is no light task you are undertaking, and you must not bring back rose-colored reports unless the facts will bear them out; that is, I want you to look at everything with practical eyes.”
“I’ll try, Mother. But my opinion cannot decide the question.”
“Your opinion may soon have to decide all family matters, my son,” answered Mrs. Beckwith, with a gravity that woke a sudden terror in their loving hearts.
But Bonny would have none of this! Trouble—sorrow—should not come to them, not such sorrow as her mother’s tone suggested; and with the swift rebellion of her hopeful nature she turned upon her brother playfully. “Yes, my Laureate. Just take the poetical part of you off and give it to me. I’ll lock it safely up in my own bureau till you return. And, see; here’s the money! Oh, Bob! don’t you wish you were the big brother instead of the little one? Think of seeing your friend Mr. Dolloway again!”
Three days later Roland had made his journey and returned; and the first glance Bonny gave to his face set her heart to beating gayly. “Oh! I see it’s good news you bring, Laureate! You needn’t try to look so solemn, you’re so happy you could dance!” which was the one thing Roland never attempted to do.
“Here he is, Motherkin! And he is rose-colored, though he tries not to be.”