I shook my head. “You said you’d take me to the league games,” I answered. “I’m not going to run any risks!” And then we both laughed. He did some more urgings, but I did not give in, for I knew that it was my battle, and I meant to fight it out. I didn’t think I could ever hold up my head if I evaded it, and then--I couldn’t bear the idea of its hurting Mr. Kempwood. I told him so. “And not entirely because of those games,” I admitted honestly, “but because I like you, a great deal.”
He answered me quickly. “Natalie,” he said (I had told him my name as I related the story of the bracelet), “let’s be friends. For I like you too, and,” he added after a pause, “a great deal.”
That began my friendship with Mr. Kempwood, which helped me in so many ways and came to mean so much.
Chapter IX--A Strange Happening
A week went by and not much happened. And, while I was not actively unhappy, I was never once happy. Amy had lots to do, and I didn’t see her often, and of course Evelyn was hardly in at all, and, when she rarely was, she was too cross to talk to. I wondered about her, as I had about Uncle Archie--whether the return paid for what they both gave up? For Evelyn was tired and strained and losing all her sweetness, and Uncle Archie had lost all his talk. I came to feel that it wasn’t worth while in either case.
I thought a great deal those days. Thought is almost forced upon you, if you aren’t a social success, or can’t play baseball. You see, in such case, there is nothing to divert you and keep you from reflection. So, I thought. I also wrote home often and sent Willy Jepson post-cards, because he sent me one of the gaol, on which he had written: “My room is marked with a cross.” (There was a cross over the only window that is barred.) And he also sent me a picture of Miss Hooker, taken, I imagine, in 1892, on which he had written: “She has consented to be mine! Sweet love has bloomed within my heart at last!” But I knew he got that out of a book, because it didn’t sound like Willy. Those, with a letter from Uncle Frank, which contained much information about the larvæ of the bee, cheered me greatly. The letter sounded so like Uncle Frank that all I had to do was to shut my eyes, and then I could hear him “Ho hum.” And I did that quite a good deal as I re-read his letter.
That week was, I found afterward, a normal week for my aunt and cousins and uncle, but it seemed frightfully hurried to me. Everyone had decided that I had been choked and chloroformed by a sneak thief, and after uncle muttered about speaking to the building’s owner about the fire-escapes, and aunt’s warning Ito and Jane about the pantry window, and one of mine (which opens on an iron balcony, as does one of Amy’s), everyone forgot the episode. It seemed Evelyn once lost a fur coat that way, and that upstairs thieving was not uncommon. But I knew they were wrong. However, nothing strengthened my belief until the event which came in the first part of the following week. But that comes later.
As I said, the week dragged by. I lived through it very slowly (it is strange how time is affected by the way YOU feel, isn’t it?), and at last it was Friday.
My aunt was going out to a luncheon, and because I had been alone all morning and wanted company, I followed her to the hall, and there we found Mr. Kempwood’s letter.
“My dear,” said Aunt Penelope, “what a stunning hand, and what a charming shade for letter paper. . . . For you. Do let’s see whom it’s from.”