Concerning Belinda Part 19

"Am coming," ran the answering dispatch received by Miss Ryder that night; but it was not until morning that Bonita was able to understand the news.

"He's scared, but I know he's glad," she said, and she swallowed without a murmur the broth against which even in her delirium she had fought.

One evening, three days later, a hansom dashed up to the school and out jumped a tall, square-shouldered man in a wide-brimmed hat, and clothes that bore only a family resemblance to the clothing of New York millionaires, though they were good clothes in their own free-and-easy way.

A loud, hearty voice inquiring for "My baby" made itself heard even in the sick-room, and a sudden light flashed into the little patient's eyes--a light that was an illumination and a revelation.

"Daddy!" she said weakly; and the word was a heart-throb.

Mr. Allen wasted no time in a polite interview with Miss Ryder.

Hypnotised by his masterfulness, the servant led him directly up to the sick-room and opened the door.

The man filled the room, a high breeze seemed to come with him, and vitality flowed from him in tangible waves. Belinda smiled, but there were tears in her eyes, for the big man's heart was in his face.

"Baby!"

"Daddy!"

Belinda remembered an errand downstairs.

When she returned the big Texan was sitting on the side of the bed with both the lean little hands in one of his big, brawny ones, while his other hand awkwardly smoothed the straight, black hair.

"When will you take me home, Daddy?" said the child with the s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"As soon as you're strong enough, Honey. The boys wanted me to let them charge New York in a bunch and get you. It's been mighty lonesome on that ranch. I wish to Heaven I'd never been fool enough to let you come away."

He turned to Belinda with a quizzical smile sitting oddly on his anxious face.

"I reckon she might as well go, miss. I sent her to a finis.h.i.+ng school, and, by thunder, she's just about finished."

There was a certain hint of pride in his voice as he added reflectively:

"I might have known if she said she'd have to come home she meant it.

Harder to change her mind than to bust any bronco I ever tackled. Queer little thing, Baby is."

CHAPTER IX

A CONTINUOUS PERFORMANCE

BELINDA paused in the doorway of the Primary School room, which adjoined her bedroom, and stared in amazement at the five scribes.

The girls were absorbed in their writing, but the Youngest Teacher was reasonably certain that a fine frenzy of studiousness was not the explanation of the phenomenon. When had Amelia and her "set" ever devoted recreation hour to voluntary study?

Suddenly Amelia put down her pen, sat back in her chair and spoke.

"I simply will not have Aunt Ellen ride in the third carriage. So there!

She'll think she ought to because she's one of the nearest relatives, but I can't bear her, and I don't care whether she goes to the funeral at all. I'd a good deal rather put May Morton in with cousin Jennie, and cousin Sue, and Uncle Will."

"It'll make an awful fuss in the family," protested Laura May, while all the girls stopped writing to consider the problem.

"I don't care if it does," said Amelia stoutly.

"Well, I don't know," Blanche White put in, nibbling the end of her pen reflectively. "Seems as if everything ought to be sort of sweet and solemn and Christian at a time like that."

"Christian nothing!" Opposition only strengthened Amelia's opinion.

"I'd like to know whose funeral it is anyhow! If you can't have your way about your own funeral it's a funny thing. I never did like Aunt Ellen.

She's always telling tales on me and saying that Mamma lets me have too much freedom, and talking about the way girls were brought up when she was young. Mamma makes me be nice to her because she's papa's sister, but when I'm dead I can be honest about her--and anyway if there's a family fuss about it, I'll be out of it. I'm not going to plan any place at all for Aunt Ellen in the carriages."

"Your father'll put her in with the rest of the family."

"No, he won't--not if I fill every single seat and say that it's my last solemn wish that people should ride just that way."

"For charity's sake, girls, tell me what it all means," urged Belinda, seating herself at one of the small desks and eyeing the sheets of paper covered with schoolgirl hieroglyphics.

"We're writing our wills, Miss Carewe," said Amelia with due solemnity.

"Your wills?"

"Yes; I think everybody ought to do it, don't you? I told the girls we all had things we'd like to leave to certain people, and of course we want our funerals arranged to suit us, and there's no telling when anybody may die. It seems to me it's right to be prepared even if we are young."

The five looked preternaturally solemn, and Belinda wrestled triumphantly with her mirth. Much of her success with the girls was due to the fact that she usually met their vagaries with outward seriousness, if with inward glee.

"Now, there's my diamond ring," Amelia went on. "I want Laura May to have it, and I'm perfectly sure they'd give it to Cousin Sue; so I'm going to say, in my will, that it's for Laura May, and she's going to will me her turquoise bracelet. She'd like to give me her sapphire and diamond ring, but she thinks her sister would expect that, and that all the family would think she ought to have it. Of course she can do as she likes, but, as for me, I think when you are making your will is the time to be perfectly independent. I'm leaving Blanche my chatelaine and my La Valliere, and I don't care what anybody thinks about it."

"Is there anything of mine you'd like to have, Miss Carewe?" Kittie Dayton asked with a benevolent air.

"I'd just love to leave you something nice, but I've given away most everything--that is, I've willed it away. Would you care about my pigskin portfolio? It's awfully swell, and Uncle Jack paid fifteen dollars for it. I know because I went to the shop the next day and priced them--but I upset the ink bottle over it twice, so it isn't so very fresh."

"I'd love to have it," said Belinda.

"I've got you down for my fan with the inlaid pearl sticks," announced Amelia, with a dubious tilt of her curly head, "but I don't know. It came from Paris, but one of the sticks is broken. Of course it can be mended, but I kind of think I'd like to leave you something whole, and I can give the fan to one of my cousins. I've got a perfect raft of cousins and they can't all expect to have whole things. There's my gold bonboniere. I might leave you that. Anyway, I've put you in the second carriage."

"The second carriage?" Belinda looked puzzled.

"Yes, at the funeral, you know. I want you to be right with the family.

You see there's Papa and Mamma and my brother and George Pettingill in the first carriage."

The Youngest Teacher gasped.

"George Pettingill?" she echoed weakly.

"Yes; I know everybody'll be surprised. They don't know we're engaged.

It only happened last week. That's one reason why I had to change my will. You see I was engaged to Harvey Porter before Christmas, and of course I put him in the first carriage. Mamma and Papa'd have been surprised about him too; but when it was my last will and testament, they couldn't have had the heart to object to his riding with them. I couldn't die happy if I thought George wouldn't ride in the first carriage. Poor fellow! He'll be perfectly broken-hearted."