CHAPTER XVII.
ROB ASSISTS AT AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW.
Another month had passed, and it was the day after Thanksgiving. The feast day had been a merry one, for Mrs. Atkinson had invited the Carter household. Fuzz and all, to dine with her, and the fun had been prolonged until late in the evening. The next day, as was usually the case after any unwonted dissipation, Fred was ill with a severe nervous headache, the only trace left of his illness of the year before. By carefully regulating his habits, Bess had generally succeeded in avoiding them, but the excitement of the day before had been too much for him; and soon after breakfast, he had gone up to the sofa in his room, where Bess had been busy with him all the morning.
In the early afternoon, Rob had strolled into the house. He found no one in the parlor or library, for, as we have said, Bess was with Fred, and Mrs. Carter was lying down.
“Never mind,” thought Rob. “They will be down pretty soon, so I’ll just sit down and read till they come.”
Accordingly, he took up a book and settled himself comfortably in a vast reclining-chair that stood near one of the library windows, half hidden behind a folding Japanese screen. But the book was rather a dull one, and Rob, if the truth must be told, was decidedly sleepy after his late hours of the night before; so before he had turned many pages, the book fell from his hand, his head dropped back into the depths of his chair, and Master Rob was sound asleep.
Half an hour later the bell rang. As Bridget could never be prevailed on to leave her work and go to the door, Bess gave Fred a bell to ring, in case he needed anything, and went down herself. There on the threshold stood Frank Muir, looking extremely glad to see her, although he seemed a little nervous and excited.
“Oh, Mr. Muir, I am very glad to see you,” said Bessie cordially. “Come right through into the library, won’t you? The parlor seems rather cool.”
He followed her into the room, and they drew their chairs up to the fire, quite unconscious of the boy sleeping away so soundly just the other side of the screen. For some reason, the conversation did not run on very smoothly. Bess was listening with one ear to Mr. Muir, and straining the other to catch any sounds from above; and then, too, the young man’s uneasiness seemed to have extended itself to her, in a strange and uncomfortable fashion. They said all the approved things and in the approved way, but still there did not seem to be quite the easy, pleasant good-fellowship that had always existed between them. At length Mr. Muir rose and stood leaning on the mantel, looking down at Bess.
“Miss Carter,” he was beginning abruptly, and with a sort of effort, “I”—
At that moment a loud, sharp, determined bark was heard at the front door, just the bark to waken Fred, if he chanced to have fallen asleep. Bess sprang up.
“Mr. Muir, excuse me a moment, but Fuzz will disturb Fred, who is ill to-day. I must just let him in.”
Frank Muir dropped down into his chair again, with an expression singularly like that of disgust on his pleasant face. Fuzz came dancing into the room, stopped at sight of a supposed stranger, and growled threateningly. Then, recognizing him as a friend, he leaped to his knee and began scratching at his shoulders and face, in token of friendly welcome.
There was another interval of brief remarks and long pauses. Then Mr. Muir cleared his throat and began anew.
“I was just going to say, when Fuzz”—
Another interruption, this time from Fred, whose bell rang sharply. Bess again excused herself and ran up-stairs. She soon returned.
“Poor Fred,” she said, as she seated herself once more; “he is paying dearly for his Thanksgiving frolic.”
“Am I keeping you from him?” asked Mr. Muir courteously.
“Oh, no. There is nothing I can do for him now.”
Mr. Muir drew his chair a little nearer to hers.
“Miss Carter,” he said, “I have for a long time”—
“M-m-m-h-m-m-m,” remarked Fuzz, in a plaintive falsetto.
Alas for Mr. Muir! Fuzz had brought his ball and laid it at the young man’s feet, and then seated himself at a distance, wagging his tail, and blinking suggestively at his toy.
“What does he want of me?” asked the young man helplessly.
“He wants you to throw it for him,” said Bess. “See,” she added, as the dog rose to a sitting posture, “he is begging you for it.”
“M-m-m-m-m-m-m,” added Fuzz, in an explanatory tone.
Mr. Muir took the ball and threw it from him with an energy that was not entirely caused by his devotion to Fuzz. But this was just what the dog wished, and away he scrambled after it, twisting up the rugs and knocking down the fire-irons with a clatter as he went. Mr. Muir had returned to the charge.
“I have been trying for a long, long time to”—
“M-m-m-h-h-m-m-m-woof?” So spoke Fuzz, who had re-appeared, and again cast his ball at the feet of Mr. Muir. The young man paid no heed to him.
“M-m-m-h-h-h-m-m-m!” In a tone of low warning.
“No, no, Fuzz! Come here!” commanded Bess.
Fuzz disrespectfully turned the white of one eye up to her, as who should say, “Catch me if you can,” and then repeated his former remark.
Mr. Muir shut his teeth tightly together, and again hurled the ball into a remote corner. This time Fuzz collided with the waste-paper basket, and scattered its contents up and down the room.
“I have tried to see you to ask you if”—
“M-m-m-m-h-h-m-m-m?” said Fuzz inquiringly.
“You would”—
“M-m-m-h-h-m-woof!”
“Would be”—
“M-m-m-h-h-m-m-wow!”
“If you would be willing to”—
“Wow-wow-ow-ow! Wow!!!”
This time Bessie rose, took the dog, and shut him up out in the kitchen, from which place of banishment his voice could be heard, rising in bitter remonstrance against this undeserved punishment. Was he not trying to help entertain the company, to be sure? Bess was gone some little time, and when she returned her face was very red and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. They were not tears of sorrow.
Strangely enough, Mr. Muir seemed to have lost the thread of his discourse and could think of no other, so there was another prolonged silence until Bessie, taking pity on his evident discomfort, started an impersonal subject of conversation. But Mr. Muir was thoughtful, and only answered her vaguely and inattentively, so much so that Bess, in her turn, became silent, and the two sat there, staring hard at the fire, and almost wishing for a return of Fuzz to break the awkwardness of the situation. This had lasted for several minutes when Mr. Muir pushed back his chair, rose, and began to pace up and down the room. Then he returned to his old place by the mantel, and once more began to speak.
In the mean time, Rob had been dreaming of his summer visit on the St. Lawrence. He and cousin Bess had been trying to row a large trunk from the hotel to Island Den, with a pair of tennis rackets for oars, and Fred stood on the bank, refusing to let them land. Each time that they came near the shore, he would push the boat off again. Then he seemed to hear Mr. Muir’s voice calling them to row around to the other side of the island,—and at this point, Rob waked up with a sleepy yawn. As soon as he could collect his scattered ideas, he became aware that some one was talking near him, talking low and very earnestly. He recognized the voice at once as Mr. Muir’s, and then he heard Bess speak a word or two, but so faintly that he was unable to hear what she said. What was happening?
Cautiously Rob applied his eye to the crack in the screen. His curiosity was increased. Mr. Muir was bending over Bess, and seemed to be pleading with her, while her face was turned away and looked very white. Rob was sure that he saw that her eyes were wet. It was certainly very strange. What could Mr. Muir be saying to cousin Bessie to make her cry? And what was he doing there anyway? Ah, Rob, much better ask what you are doing there, wonderingly looking on at such a scene!
But a few words from Mr. Muir fell on his ears, and, by throwing some light on the affair, turned his anxiety into another channel. Here was a fine position for an honorable boy, to be caught eavesdropping in this way! Should he stay quietly where he was until they had gone, and then go away and never tell that he had been there? But if he stayed, he must hear every word of the interview, that was bidding fair to be a long one; and then, they might find him in his corner. But, on the other hand, if he emerged then and there, it would lead to an awkward explanation and mutual confusion. Holding his fingers in his ears to keep out the sound of their voices, he meditated on his position. What a stupid he was to go to sleep there, just like a great, overgrown baby! He wondered if he could get out of the window without their hearing him open it. No, that was no use. They were exactly between him and the door, so escape on that side was impossible. But it was all still in the room; could they have gone away, and he not heard them? No, there they sat, their chairs quite close together, and Frank’s hand lying on Bessie’s. Their silence was but a short one, and they were soon talking again. The crisis must be past, for their voices were once more clear and animated. Rob didn’t want to hear what they were saying, for it was no affair of his, and then, it must be confessed, their remarks were not of a nature to be generally interesting. More and more closely the boy held his ears, but it was no use: the words would find their way between his fingers, and he found that he must either show himself, or become a party to all their personal and private plans.
At this point, Rob’s mischief asserted itself. It was a bad matter, at best, but he was resolved to have a little fun out of it. Their backs were towards him, that was one good thing. Silently mounting his chair, he stood up so that his head and shoulders appeared above the top of the tall screen, extended his arms in the air, and shouted with the full strength of his lungs,—
“Bless you, my children!”
The effect was marvellous. Instantly the two chairs were drawn to the opposite corners of the hearth, while Mr. Muir began poking the fire with an unnecessary vigor, and Bessie dropped her head guiltily, as her face became rosy red.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I won’t again. I didn’t hear much,” said Rob incoherently, as he burst from his place of concealment. “I didn’t care to hear anything about it, really; only I went to sleep there all alone, and when I waked up, you were at it. I didn’t s’pose you would do it so soon, anyway. Next time, tell a fellow when it’s coming, and I’ll try to keep out of the way.”
Of course he was forgiven, and kissed, and petted, and made to swear secrecy, before he was sent away. And the boy actually kept his word.
“‘Bless you, my children!’”—Page 306
“I’ll tell you what it is, Bessie. Rob has had so large a share in helping this along, that, when the day comes, he shall be best man,—and Fuzz shall sing the march.”