“Now tell me everything you can think of about that blessed mother of yours,” he said. “She’s the dearest woman in the world—I hope you know that?”
“Indeed I do!” cried Jan fervently, and in a few moments was rattling off to her uncle, in response to judicious questions, the simple story of her life.
The half-hour passed too quickly; in it Jan was completely happy, and it was long enough to win her heart to her uncle with an affection that subsequent days could not annul. After he and her aunt, of whom she had a resplendent glimpse in her dinner gown, had driven away there was a dull half-hour of waiting, at the end of which Gwen and Gladys appeared, and they were called to dinner in the big dining-room, which struck a chill as well as awe to Jan’s soul. Here she saw Sydney for the first time, but beyond a nod to her when Gwen introduced her he did not notice Janet throughout the meal, nor speak except once to contradict Gladys flatly, and once to ridicule Jack for a slip of the tongue. Janet’s heart sank lower and lower; it seemed to her that she was stifling, and her loving heart exaggerated the really unfortunate state of affairs in her new surroundings.
After dinner Gladys disappeared, as did Sydney, and Gwen, having been polite to the guest for a while, picked up a book and was soon lost in it. Viva had gone to bed, and Jack was up-stairs struggling with his lessons. Wondering if she was doing an unpardonably rude thing, Janet slipped out of the room and sought the nursery. Here she found Jerry sleeping in her crib; her flushed, baby face brought comfort and the sense of home to the lonely “Miss Lochinvar.” Here, too, was Hummie, darning stockings and humming the Lorelei, a most inappropriate theme to her bulk. And here was Jack, his hair tousled, his cheeks hot over refractory examples that would not come right.
“I won’t wake the baby; may I help him?” whispered Janet, and Hummie nodded hard.
“Let me help you; I love arithmetic, and I always help Bob,” Janet whispered, going over to the afflicted boy. If the sky had fallen, Jack would not have been more amazed. Not only was it inconceivable that any one should like arithmetic, but to offer to help him! He yielded at once, from sheer inability to grasp the situation.
But here was a girl that was a girl—if she wasn’t a good angel.
Jack’s admiration grew as his troubles diminished. With a word here and an illustration there, Jan threw light upon his darkened path, and she actually whispered funny things as she did so. Jack found himself positively giggling under his breath as he worked over the hated sums.
“Gee! You’re a dandy!” he remarked audibly, forgetful of Jerry, as he saw the task completed. “And you can explain as old Ramrod can’t—that’s my name for our teacher, he’s so stiff; ain’t it great? I understand just how you did that, and I don’t believe I ever saw through the stuff before. Thanks, lots, Jan.”
“Not a bit; I have had a nice time with you, Jack. I’ll come every night, if you’ll let me, and I don’t have lessons of my own to do at night,” said Jan heartily. “Even if I do, we can make time. You know I like this sort of thing, because at home we children help each other, and it makes me less lonesome.”