“Shall I come to your rescue?” was the laughing question.
“Not yet; I’m still able to handle her, though there is no telling how soon she will get beyond me. I’ll call you if I see signs,” was called back. “Now go on, you incorrigible woman, and tell your long-suffering child what bee you have buzzing in your bonnet now. A brand new fall bonnet, too! It’s outrageous to so misuse it after all the trouble I’ve been put to to induce you to indulge in it at all, and not sneak off to Madame Elsie with a lot of old finery to be made over into a creation warranted (by her) to deceive the keenest eye. Oh, I know your sly ways, and have to lie awake nights to think how to thwart them. You sly, wicked woman, to deprive me of my sorely needed rest and beauty sleep. Why, I’m growing thin—”
“Alas for consistency!” interrupted Mrs. Carruth, derisively. “A moment ago you assured me you were growing fat. That scores me one, and entitles me to have my little say-so and hold my own against this conspiracy of—how many shall I say? Six. Yes, think of the outrageous odds brought against one weak woman.”
“Weak! Weak! Why, it requires all the energy and shrewdness the combined force can bring to bear upon her to keep her within bounds, doesn’t it, Mary?”
“And we don’t always do it then,” was the bantering reply.
“No, we do not,” was the emphatic agreement. “Neither Mammy, Charles, Eleanor, Jean, Hadyn, you, nor I can feel sure that we have settled her vaulting ambitions at once and for all time. Is your candy ready for me yet?—Don’t need me? Very well, I’ll keep at this job, then; it’s a co-operative job, and the hardest part of it is to hold down my rival. There, those boxes are all packed, and now, Madame busy-body, I’m ready to listen. No, you are not going to tie bows while you talk, it gives you too great an advantage. Look right straight into my eyes, and while you confess your desires to transgress you shall keep up a sub-conscious train of thought along this line: ‘This is my second daughter, Constance Blairsdale Carruth. She is past nineteen years of age. She weighs one hundred and eighteen pounds. She still possesses all her faculties unimpaired. Is endowed (I hope!) with the average degree of intelligence and common sense. She has never been ill a day in her life (whistle and knock wood when you think that), and she is taking mighty good care of the health she enjoys. She has been at work four years transmuting syrups and sugars into dollars and cents, in which undertaking she has met with rather amazing success, and is going to meet with even greater. Her plan is to make one dear, blessed little mother quite independent, and—please God—(these words were spoken in a mere whisper)—she will compass it. Now, are you going to let her do all this quite untrammeled, or are you going to worry her by suggesting all manner of wild plans for doing things for yourself?”
Constance had risen from her chair while speaking, and dropped upon her knees before her mother to clasp her arms about her waist and look into the face she loved best on earth. The girl’s expression was half grave, half merry, though wholly sweet and winning.
Mrs. Carruth took the upraised face in both her hands, bent toward it, rested her lips upon the soft, silky hair, and said gently:
“Dear heart, dear heart; my dauntless little daughter. Yes, you are doing all and far more than you have said, and that is exactly the reason I wish to contribute my share. Can’t you see, dear, that I feel such a dull, dull drone in this busy hive?”
“Dull?—when you keep the hive in such running order that we never even suspect where the machinery which runs it is located. Dull?—when you keep our home as charming in every detail as it was when you had ample means at your command to conduct it. Dull?—when you are here every moment as its sweet and gracious head to make it such a home as few know in this northern world, where homes for the most part mean simply a roof to cover one, and under which food is served three times daily. Mother, can’t you see and feel what you are doing for us girls? How you are surrounding us with an atmosphere so beautiful, so exceptional in these days of hurry and bustle that its influence must bide with us all our days and remain a dear memory all our lives? We may leave it sooner or later, other duties may call us away, but nothing, nothing can ever deprive us of all this—” Constance raised one arm to sweep it comprehensively over the room in which they sat and all-embracingly beyond. “So please let all rest as it is. Let Nonnie work away at college, and later—” here a merry twinkle filled the girl’s eyes—“let her, well, let her take up the co-ed plan, if she likes. Things seem shaping that way if the signs can be trusted. Let me boil a way to fame and fortune. Let Jean—if Fate so decrees—though by the same token I’ve a notion she won’t, follow in Nonnie’s footsteps. Alack! Jean’s energies do not point toward the campus of —— college. I misdoubt,” and Constance smiled. Then, turning serious again, she resumed: “Will you promise me something?”