The Wide Awake Girls in Winsted Part 14

"But you are going to Winsted and Catherine. Don't forget that. And I shall be at Brookmeadow still when you come home. Hannah, Hannah, haven't you learned yet that one can't have everything that is delightful all at once?"

"I suppose you mean about sorrows making you appreciate blessings and so on," pouted Hannah. "But I don't believe it. I know I could be happy all the time, if I could have all the things I want just when I want them!"

Miss Lyndesay did not smile. "Perhaps you could!" she said slowly. "You will never have a chance to prove it. It's not within the limits of possibility. But I had an idea, Hannah, that you were one of the people who could manage pretty well to be happy with things as they came."

Hannah flushed and buried her face on Miss Lyndesay's shoulder. Frieda looked restless.

"_Bitte, sprechen Sie mal Deutsch_," she said suddenly. "_Es tut mir furchtbar weh, immer Englisch zu h.o.r.en!_"

Quick as a flash Hannah's head came up, and she laughed a delicious laugh. "Poor Frieda," she said in German, "does it hurt you awfully to hear English all the time? There! There! I know how you feel. Did you talk German to her coming over, Miss Lyndesay?"

Miss Lyndesay looked guilty. "I'm afraid I did. You see, it was such a fine opportunity for me to practise, and I didn't want her to be homesick, as well as--"

"I was not seasick," declared Frieda stoutly, and both the others laughed.

"I have crossed the seas full many times," said Clara Lyndesay smiling, "but never have I known any one who was seasick! But to change the subject, it's almost time for Karl to be back to take you to the train, children; and Frieda has a spot on her coat which I can remove if you will open my suitcase, Hannah, and bring me the little bottle of benzine in the left-hand corner. Mrs. Eldred must not think I have brought her an untidy little _Madchen_!"

They spent a cozy half hour chatting in German or English, as the spirit or their respective inabilities moved them, and when Karl arrived to escort them to the station, they were in a blithe mood, which even the ordeal of parting from Miss Lyndesay did not shake.

"You are coming very soon to visit me," she said, as she kissed them good-by, "and you are both to be good until then, and not belligerent.

Remember you are children no longer."

"Aren't you a child any longer, Frieda?" asked Hannah with interest, as they entered the carriage.

"Indeed, I am not. Did you not see that I make no more _Knixes_?"

"That's so. Isn't it fun not to? Don't you ever forget?"

"Only once. When I met Miss Lyndesay in the churchyard," said Frieda, dwelling on the memory.

"No wonder!" said Karl. "I would salaam before her, myself."

"So would I!" agreed Hannah. "But Frieda, then, if you are no longer a child, at last you have a will?"

Frieda nodded her head emphatically.

"Now," she said, "I have a will."

And Karl, looking into her st.u.r.dy face, into the eyes which he had sometimes seen dancing with mischief, sometimes flas.h.i.+ng anger, and sometimes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with sorrow, murmured a prayer under his breath, for gracious guidance for that new-claimed "will."

CHAPTER TEN

THE MAKING OF A COMPACT

At the end of the short railway journey, Mr. Eldred met the girls and conducted them to the house where Mrs. Eldred waited with a heart-warming welcome for her little guest.

It was a pretty home and Frieda felt the charm of it instantly as she went up stairs with Hannah to the little square room which she was to occupy. At the same time, however, she felt strange and out of place.

She was conscious of a contrast between her own hat and Hannah's, between her heavy wool dress and Hannah's blue linen suit, between her strong, serviceable--and ugly--shoes, and Hannah's pumps, also strong and serviceable, but far from ugly. The six pieces of hand luggage and the queer steamer trunk, when deposited in the center of the little room, with its crisp ruffled curtains, and its plain mahogany furniture, disturbed the harmony that had reigned before from the etching over the bed to the bowl of ferns on the table. Hannah was friendly and beaming, and not at all belligerent. Mrs. Eldred was all sweet, cheery thoughtfulness, but Frieda looking at herself in the oval mirror of the dressing-table, felt a sudden throb of pity for the girl she saw there.

Hannah helped her remove her thick jacket, tucked it and her hat away in the closet, piled up the bags and asked for the trunk key.

"_Mutter hat uns immer gesagt, alles an seinen Ort zu legen_," she said in a kind of chant. Frieda looked up, her eyes brightening with fun.

"Mother always told us to gargle every morning and use plenty of tooth-powder," she said, and Hannah shrieked with glee.

"O, have you been learning English out of that ridiculous Edith and Mary book, too? I hoped you would have it, and we can do beautiful dialogues in German and English. I've always wanted to, but I never knew any one who could do the responses. I'll be Edith and you can be Mary."

Mrs. Eldred came in as Hannah flung the lid of the trunk back. Frieda's fun died away as she reached into a little pocket and took out a letter.

"It's for you, Tante Edith," she said, holding it as though she loved it. "It's from my mother--" and the tears came into her eyes as she said the word. Mrs. Eldred and Hannah exchanged glances of understanding, and Hannah caught up the water pitcher.

"I'll get this full of warm water for you," she said briskly, "and you must hurry and get ready to come down stairs, for we are going to have _Kaffee_ just as you do in Berlin. Won't that be fun?"

"Mamma can comfort her," she thought to herself, as she emptied the pitcher which Sarah had filled a few minutes before, and refilled it with water a shade cooler. "I'll leave them alone a few minutes and go down and see about the coffee. I know she will like those little currant cakes of Sarah's."

Frieda, however, seemed little inclined to ask consolation from Mrs.

Eldred. She stood helplessly looking into her trunk, and Mrs. Eldred, feeling suddenly shy, looked helplessly at her. The clouded, silent face was so different from Hannah's.

"Aren't you rather warm, dear, with that heavy gown on? Let's find something thinner to slip on before we go down stairs."

Frieda stooped, rummaged a minute, and then produced a dress of pink cotton, fussily trimmed with lace and ribbons. "This is thinner," she said, stonily.

"That will do though it is rather fine for home dinner," said Mrs.

Eldred gently. "But put it on, if you will, dear. I'll tell that forgetful Hannah to bring your water at once. O, I see, she left it outside the door. There! If you want any help, just call me. I'll go into my own room across the hall and read your mother's letter." She wanted to kiss the child, but Frieda's manner forbade it.

The pink frock had alarmed Mrs. Eldred. "Clothes make such a difference to girls," she thought in distress. "How can I help her? She will be proud and shy, and sure to think I am criticising her mother's taste.

Dear Marie!" Whereupon she wisely suspended her puzzling and read the letter.

"I am sending Frieda with as few new clothes as possible, my dear Edith, relying upon your taste and kindness to fit her out with what she needs.

I remember how differently you dressed when you came to Heidelberg, and how odd Hannah's clothes looked to Frieda's friends, and I want Frieda to start without a handicap. American girls are less accustomed to seeing foreigners than German girls are, and a little difference in the way of dressing might make a great difference in happiness. I am afraid my Frieda will be peculiar in many ways that cannot be remedied, so once more I ask you, will you choose for her a simple outfit such as Hannah herself would approve, and make me more than ever your grateful debtor?"

Mrs. Eldred sighed with relief. The solution of one difficulty in sight, she felt braver about all others. It was a theory of hers that food and clothes were more important to happiness than most of the subtleties poets and philosophers write about. "Homesickness is very often hunger, and _Weltschmerz_ can frequently be cured by a becoming frock, or brought on by an ill-fitting one," she meditated, as she fastened the pink and lace for Frieda.

Downstairs Hannah was busily setting forth upon a round table an appetizing array of cakes and cookies with a copper pot of coffee. Mr.

Eldred had arranged to be present at this unwonted function, and Hannah chattered to him as she worked.

"Be sure you shake hands with her often, Daddy dear," she admonished him. "She is used to so very many hand-shakings a day, you know, and we mustn't cut her down to none at all, the very first thing. It's little matters like that that make you homesick. And homesickness is agony, Father. I know, for I've been through it."

Mr. Eldred pinched the plump cheek which showed no trace of past anguish, and Hannah seated herself upon his knee, being watchful of the pleats of her skirt as she did so!

"There's one good thing," she philosophized. "She can't miss her father as I should miss you, for he is so absent-minded that he really doesn't know her from the furniture. For all she is such a mischief inside, she acts so quiet-like and well-behaved around the house that she might almost as well be a sofa and done with it. And they have plenty of sofas, so he won't miss her and she won't miss him so very much, either."

"You imply that if you were better behaved, you would not miss me so much when we are separated! It's sufficiently complicated. I suppose you pine for my fearful reprimands?"