The Twin Cousins Part 14

"No," replied Preston, trying to be witty, "the name doesn't _fit_."

Mrs. Proudfit was changing Sammy's pillow-cases when she heard the children knock, and came to the door with a pillow between her teeth.

She was "proper glad of the jelly," as Preston thought she ought to be.

There was a smell of hot gingerbread in the air, which reminded Flaxie of the time ever so long ago, when she had taken supper in that house without leave; and there was Patty at the window this minute making faces. It is strange how things change to you as you grow older! Flaxie never cared to visit at that house now, for Patty wasn't a nice little girl at all; she not only teased away your playthings, but told wrong stories.

"Our baby's two months old, and he's got two teeth!" cried she, as Flaxie turned away; but n.o.body believed her.

The twin cousins and their little friends had a gay time that afternoon on the bank, and Christie Gretchen "received" with great dignity; but I have no time to talk of that now, I want to tell you something about Preston.

When they reached Mr. Garland's house, the little girls left him, and he walked up the gravel path to Mr. Garland's front door and rang the bell with a sober face.

"I don't believe I can say my lesson, and Mr. Garland will think I'm a dunce," said he to himself, with a quivering lip.

Now Preston Gray was remarkably handsome, and one of the dearest boys that ever lived, but not a great scholar. He could whittle chairs and sofas and churns for Flaxie with a jackknife, and I don't know how many s.h.i.+ps and steam-engines he had made; but he did not learn his lessons very well.

To-day, after the recitation was over, Mr. Garland walked with him along the bank of the river.

"Preston, my fine little fellow," said he, kindly, "I can't bear to scold a boy I love so dearly; but I've been afraid for some time that you don't study this term as hard as usual; what's the matter?"

Tears sprang to Preston's eyes, but he brushed them off and pretended to be looking the other way.

"Now, seriously, what _do_ you suppose boys were made for?" went on Mr.

Garland, without the least idea Preston was crying; "you don't suppose they were made on purpose to play and have a good time?"

"I don' know, sir," replied Preston, clearing his throat, and trying to laugh; "perhaps they were made to play a good deal, you know, because they can't play when they grow to be men."

"Ah, Preston, Preston, I am not joking with you at all. If you were a small child like your sister Flaxie it would not matter so much whether you studied or not, but your father expects a great deal of his oldest son, and it grieves me to have to say to him--"

"Oh, don't, don't," wailed poor little Preston, "I'll do anything in the world if you won't talk to my father; I'll take my books home, I'll--I'll--"

"There, there, never mind it," said soft-hearted Mr. Garland, moved by the boy's distress, "if you really mean to do better--Why, look out, child, you'd have fallen over that stump if I hadn't pulled you back.

Where in the world were your eyes?"

"I was looking at that big woman across the street," stammered Preston; "how funny she walks!"

"Woman? What woman? Why, that's a boy with a wheelbarrow," exclaimed Mr. Garland, in great surprise.

Preston blushed with all his might and dropped his chin.

"Please, don't tell anybody I took a wheelbarrow for a woman! They'd laugh at me. Of course I knew better as soon as I came to think."

Mr. Garland stopped suddenly and stared at Preston.

"Look up here into my face, my boy."

Preston raised his beautiful brown eyes,--those _good_ eyes, which won everybody's love and trust; and his teacher gazed at them earnestly.

But Mr. Garland was not admiring their beauty or their gentle expression. He saw something else in Preston's eyes which startled him and gave him a pang. Not tears, for those had been dashed away, but a sort of thin mist lay over them, like that which veils the sun in cloudy weather.

"Can it be possible? Why, Preston, why, Preston, my boy," said Mr.

Garland, taking the young face gently between his hands, "when did things begin to blur so and look dim to you?"

Preston did not answer.

"Tell me; don't be afraid."

"It's been," replied Preston, choking, "it's been a long while. The sun isn't so bright somehow as it was; and oh, Mr. Garland, the print in my books isn't so black as it used to be! But I didn't want to make a fuss about it, and have father know it."

"Why not?"

"Oh, he'd give me medicine, I suppose."

"My boy, my poor boy, you ought to have told him."

"Do you think so? Well, I hoped I'd get better, you know."

"Preston, is this the reason you don't learn your lessons any better?"

"I don't know. Yes, sir, I think so. I can't read the words in my books very well."

"You poor, blessed child! Growing blind," thought Mr. Garland; but did not say the words aloud.

"And I have to sit in the sun to see."

"I wish I had known this before, and I wouldn't have complained when you had bad lessons. Why didn't you tell me, you patient soul!"

"Oh, I don't know, sir; you didn't ask me."

"Good night," said Mr. Garland, in an unsteady voice. "And don't you study to-morrow one word. You may sit and draw pictures all day long if you like."

Preston smiled. He did not know what made his dear teacher say this, and place his hand on his shoulder so tenderly; but he was glad of it, very glad; for now it was certain that Mr. Garland would not blame him any more; and he ran home with a light heart.

CHAPTER X.

BLACKDROP.

"Oh, we had such an elegant time up there on the bank! only the boys came and plagued us," cried Flaxie, bursting into the house, followed by Milly.

She said it to her papa, but he did not appear to listen. He sat holding Preston on his knee, and looking at him sadly.

Then Flaxie turned to her mother.

"Why, mamma, w.i.l.l.y Patten threw kisses to me when he was a boy, and wasn't my cousin!"