Читать книгу Pansy's Sunday Book - Группа авторов - Страница 29

Table of Contents

EDWARD STEADMAN was at home for the Christmas holidays. Everybody was glad to see him, of course, particularly his mother; because in the first place mothers always are a little bit more glad over the home-coming of their boys than anybody else in the world can be, and secondly because she needed some help very much, and knew that he could give it. She explained matters to him that morning: “I want to get Grandma’s room all in order, Edward, and her new carpet down, and every thing, before Christmas, you know; and we shall have to work like bees. I’m so glad you came home this week, instead of stopping at your uncle’s first. To-day we can hang all her pictures, and put up the curtains and the wall-pockets, and do things of that kind; they will not make a speck of dust in putting down the carpet—it is new, you know. I want to get all those things done to-day, they are so puttering—take a great deal of time and judgment. I’m so glad to have you to depend upon; you are such a tall boy that you can reach where mother can’t; and Dick is so clumsy I hate to have him stumping about Grandma’s room. Your father was going to help me, though he did not know how to spare the time; he was as pleased as could be when I told him that you could do it all. ‘Sure enough!’ he said; ‘we have got a boy to depend upon once more; how good it seems!’”

The sentence closed with a fond smile, and such a look in the mother’s eyes as ought to have made a boy happy. Edward was happy; he whistled as he went down the stairs, and thought to himself that there were not many fellows who had such a mother as his, and that he would show her just how tall, and how handy and how wise he was.

She called after him as she heard the street door open.

“Where are you going, Edward? We ought to get right to work; it will be an all-day job, do the best we can, and the light is good in Grandma’s room now for hanging the pictures. Must you go to the post-office first? O, well! that is but a short distance; run along, and get back as soon as you can.”

“Halloo!” said Mr. Arkwright, the postmaster, who had known Edward ever since he was a little fellow in kilts and curls, “back again, are you? How you do shoot up, to be sure! I believe you are about a foot taller than you were in the fall. Here’s your mail; nothing but papers this time, but enough of them to snow you under!” And he pitched them through the little window so fast that they fell to the right and left.

“CERTAINLY, SIR,” SAID EDWARD.

“Catalogues, some of them,” said Edward, smiling; “I asked them to send me a number of the new ones; and the reports of our commencement and society exercises are in these papers.”

“Like enough,” said Mr. Arkwright; “had a grand time, I suppose? You carried off a first prize, I hear? Glad of it. I always knew it was in you. Do you happen to be going directly home? If you are, would you mind taking this letter and handing it in at Westlake’s as you pass? I see it is marked ‘Important,’ and it may save him some trouble to get it right away. He’s all alone in the office to-day; his boy is sick.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Edward, reaching for the letter, and dropping it into his jacket pocket. Then he walked away, looking steadily at one of the papers, which he had already opened.

“I do not see what in the world can have detained Edward!” said Mrs. Steadman, speaking as well as she could with her mouth full of tacks. She was mounted on a box which in its turn was mounted on a chair, and was trying to reach to fasten the curtain in Grandma’s room.

“I should think you would wait for him,” said her daughter Fannie anxiously. “You ought not to climb up like that, mother; father would not like it at all, and I’m afraid you will fall. You are not high enough yet to get it right.”

“I know it; and I can’t drive a nail away up here, either. I cannot understand why Edward doesn’t come; it seems as though something must have happened to him. I explained to him particularly what a hurry we were in, and how much there was in which he could help me.”

“What has happened to him is that he has found something to read, I suppose, and has seated himself somewhere to enjoy it.” Fannie spoke a little irritably; she was worried about her mother, and they had been waiting for Edward for more than two hours. The short December day was hurrying toward its noon, and nothing had been done of the many things in which he was to have been a central figure. Fannie was very fond of her brother, but she realized his besetments better than the others did, or at least she said more about them.

“O, no!” said the mother decidedly, taking a tack out of her mouth to enable her to speak plainly; “Edward wouldn’t do that, after all I said to him this morning. He knew how anxious we were to have everything ready for Grandma by Christmas. Something unusual has happened, I feel sure. I don’t know but Tommy would better run out and see if he can find him, only it seems rather absurd to be sending out in search of a big boy like Edward.”

“I should think so!” Fannie said, and they waited another half-hour. Then a sharp ring at the door-bell startled Mrs. Steadman so that she nearly lost her balance. Fannie screamed a little, and ran toward her.

“I didn’t fall,” she said, leaning against the window-casing for support; “but I think I shall have to get down. I don’t see what makes me so nervous. It seems all the time as though something was going to happen; I suppose it is because Edward doesn’t come. Did Jane go to the door?”

Yes, Jane had; and now they listened and heard Mr. Westlake’s, their neighbor’s, voice.

“Is Edward here?”

No, Jane said, somewhat shortly, he was not; and as to where he was, that was more than they knew. Jane had been called from her work three times that morning to help with something which Edward could have done, and she did not feel sweet-natured.

“Well, I wish you would ask your folks if they have any idea where I might find him,” Mr. Westlake said anxiously; “I have just come from the office—it was the first chance I had for going this morning—and Arkwright says he sent a letter to me marked ‘Important’—sent it by Edward nearly three hours ago, he should think. I have some business matters that are very important, and I thought this might be a summons to me to go away on the express, and there is but a half-hour or less before it goes.”

Before this long sentence was finished Mrs. Steadman was at the door; but she had no information to give, and could only tell the annoyed man that she was sorry, and that she could not imagine what had detained Edward.

“I can,” muttered Jane, as he turned hurriedly away; “his own sweet notion is detaining him; he’s enjoying himself somewhere, readin’ a book or paper, and letting others get along the best way they can.” But Jane was only talking to herself.

The Steadman dinner bell was sounding through the house when Edward, flushed and embarrassed, came bounding up the stairs two steps at a time, to assure his mother how sorry he was.

“I hadn’t the least idea how time was going,” he explained; “never was so astonished in my life as I was to hear the bell ring for noon! Why, you see,” in answer to her anxious questions, “I got a lot of papers at the office—all about our closing days, you know; of course I was anxious to see what they said about the examinations, and essays, and things, so I stepped into Dr. Mason’s office just to glance them over. The doctor was out, and I sat and read first one thing and then another, and talked a little with folks who kept coming in search of the doctor, until, to my utter astonishment, as I tell you, I heard the bell.”

“Then nothing detained you, Edward?”

“Why, no, ma’am; nothing but the papers, as I tell you. I had not the faintest idea”—

She interrupted him. “Have you seen Mr. Westlake?”

“Yes’m,” and now Edward’s face crimsoned; “I met him on the street and gave him his letter. I’m dreadfully sorry about that; almost as sorry as I am about keeping you waiting, mother.”

“He said it might want him to take the train; do you know if it did?”

“Yes’m, it did.”

“And he missed it?”

“Why, of course, mother dear; the train goes at eleven, you know. I’m awfully sorry. It is perfectly unaccountable what has become of this forenoon!”

Mrs. Steadman made no comment; she did not want to trust herself to do so just then. She turned away with a sigh so deep that it would have cut Edward’s heart, had he heard it.

And Jane nodded her gray head and muttered, “I told you so!”

Myra Spafford.