“Mother did you go up there to spy upon me? You almost never go into that room. Didn’t you believe me? Did you think I had to be watched? I think that was horrid, horrid of you. You know I didn’t mean to break my word. I just forgot when the boys teased me about my calico plug and you wouldn’t have stood for that if you’d been in my place. You just know you wouldn’t. You used to do crazier things when you were a girl for Uncle Athol has told me just dozens and dozens of them. Why did you spy upon me? Why? Why? I loathe being distrusted.”
The storm had burst with a vengeance.
“Beverly hush and listen to me. If you will pause a moment you will know perfectly well that I had no idea of ‘spying’ upon you. Have I ever done so? You know better. It seems to me you are displaying some doubt also. If I did not know it to be the outcome of your excitement I should decline to make any explanation. As it is I’ll tell you that I went up there to get out your winter things in order to have them remodeled. By chance I looked out of the window—it is a view rather worth looking upon, you’ll admit—and, well I saw a moving picture instead of the usual quiet landscape and it was ‘going some’ as Athol would say.” Mrs. Ashby smiled involuntarily as she recalled the spirited action of that moving picture.
“Yes wasn’t it?” cried Beverly eagerly. “And, oh that little Apache is some horse, mumsey.”
Then her face resumed its defiant expression and she continued: “But I showed them that they couldn’t put it all over me and not pay for it. They got the try-out of their lives and I got two pounds of decent candy if I did get some mud into the bargain. I’d have come home to tell you anyway; you know I would don’t you?”
“Have I intimated a doubt of it, dear?” The tone was very disarming, and warm-hearted, quick tempered just-souled little Beverly succumbed. Throwing her arms about her mother’s neck she buried her head upon her shoulder as she sobbed.
“Oh, do forgive me. I was the horrid one for doubting you and saying such nasty things. Please give me bally hack and send me away to school quick. Then maybe I’ll learn to think twice before I sass once, as Mammy Riah says. I reckon what I need is a good strict schoolmarm to boss me ’round.”
“I hope the ‘bossing’ element will be absent from the school we shall choose. I doubt it would work very well with you, Beverly. Sparks and gunpowder are apt to lead to pretty serious explosions and I dislike pyrotechnics which are likely to spread disaster. Now go change your clothes and make yourself presentable for I hear Uncle Athol calling and I dare say the momentous question is about to be answered. But what am I going to do without my little whirlwind to keep things stirring?” ended Mrs. Ashby, tenderly drawing the penitent into her arms.
“And oh, mumsey, mumsey where shall I ever find any one who will be as patient with the whirlwind? I suspect I’m going to be desperately homesick more days than once. But I’ll truly, truly try not to disgrace you and Woodbine. Yes, we’re coming Uncle Athol,” as the Admiral’s stentorian tones came booming up the broad stairway.
“Mary Beverly, come along quick and hear these letters. Lord save us, I’d rather run a blockade than choose a school for a couple of youngsters. I’ll be gray, dead and buried before it’s done! Come down I say.”