CLASS DAY
Early in June Billy announced her intention of not going away at all that summer.
"I don't need it," she declared. "I have this cool, beautiful house, this air, this sunshine, this adorable view. Besides, I've got a scheme I mean to carry out."There was some consternation among Billy's friends when they found out what this "scheme" was: sundry of Billy's humbler acquaintances were to share the house, the air, the sunshine, and the adorable view with her.
"But, my dear Billy," Bertram cried, aghast, "you don't mean to say that you are going to turn your beautiful little house into a fresh-air place for Boston's slum children!""Not a bit of it," smiled the girl, "though I'd like to, really, if I could," she added, perversely. "But this is quite another thing.
It's no slum work, no charity. In the first place my guests aren't quite so poor as that, and they're much too proud to be reached by the avowed charity worker. But they need it just the same.""But you haven't much spare room; have you?" questioned Bertram.
"No, unfortunately; so I shall have to take only two or three at a time, and keep them maybe a week or ten days. It's just a sugar plum, Bertram. Truly it is," she added whimsically, but with a tender light in her eyes.
"But who are these people?" Bertram's face had lost its look of shocked surprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest.
"Well, to begin with, there's Marie. She'll stay all summer and help me entertain my guests; at the same time her duties won't be arduous, and she'll get a little playtime herself. One week I'm going to have a little old maid who keeps a lodging house in the West End. For uncounted years she's been practically tied to a doorbell, with never a whole day to breathe free. I've made arrangements there for a sister to keep house a whole week, and I'm going to show this little old maid things she hasn't seen for years: the ocean, the green fields, and a summer play or two, perhaps.
"Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story flat in South Boston. They're young and like good times; but the man is on a small salary, and they have had lots of sickness. He's been out so much he can't take any vacation, and they wouldn't have any money to go anywhere if he could. Well, I'm going to have them a week. She'll be here all the time, and he'll come out at night, of course.
"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take, and--and give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to cook herself. Another one is a woman who is not so very poor, but who has lost her baby, and is blue and discouraged.
There are some children, too, one crippled, and a boy who says he's 'just lonesome.' And there are--really, Bertram, there is no end to them.""I can well believe that," declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far as your generous heart is concerned."Billy colored and looked distressed.
"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram," she protested.
"You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy every bit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps.""But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes.""What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city," argued Billy, "with all these trees and lawns about one. And another thing," she added, leaning forward confidentially, "I might as well confess, Bertram, you couldn't hire me to leave the place this summer--not while all these things I planted are coming up!"Bertram laughed; but for some reason he looked wonderfully happy as he turned away.
On the fifteenth of June Kate and her husband arrived from the West. A young brother of Mr. Hartwell's was to be graduated from Harvard, and Kate said they had come on to represent the family, as the elder Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell were not strong enough to undertake the journey. Kate was looking well and happy. She greeted Billy with effusive cordiality, and openly expressed her admiration of Hillside. She looked very keenly into her brothers' face, and seemed well pleased with the appearance of Cyril and Bertram, but not so much so with William's countenance.
"William does NOT look well," she declared one day when she and Billy were alone together.
"Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!" cried the girl.
"I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not," returned Mrs. Hartwell.
"But it's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him.
He's worried over something; and he's grown terribly thin.""But he's always thin," reasoned Billy.
"I know, but not like this--ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or realize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know something troubles him.""Oh, I hope not," murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. "We don't want Uncle William troubled: we all love him too well."Mrs. Hartwell did not at once reply; but for a long minute she thoughtfully studied Billy's face as it was bent above the sewing in Billy's hand. When she did speak she had changed the subject.
Young Hartwell was to deliver the Ivy Oration in the Stadium on Class Day, and all the Henshaws were looking eagerly forward to the occasion.
"You have seen the Stadium, of course," said Bertram to Billy, a few days before the anticipated Friday.
"Only from across the river."
