The Tangled Threads Part 31

"Yes, that is a drawback," murmured the man, with a vivid recollection of a certain afternoon under the apple trees.

"Well, I'll tell you"--Mrs. Wentworth leaned forward in sudden animation--"to-morrow you pick out the one you want and ask him--or her--to go into the parlor for a few minutes at nine o'clock in the morning, and I will do the same."

"Well, maybe," he began a little doubtfully, "but--"

"And if there are two, and you are n't real sure which you want, just ask both of them to go, and we 'll settle it together, later," she finished.

To this, with some measure of content, her husband agreed.

The next morning at ten minutes before nine Mrs. Wentworth began her search. With no hesitation she accosted the little cripple.

"Tommy, dear, I want you to go into the parlor for a few minutes. Take your book in there and read, and I 'll come very soon and tell you what I want."

Tommy obeyed at once and Mrs. Wentworth sighed in relief. At that moment Tilly came into the garden.

What a dear little woman those two weeks of happiness had caused Tilly to become! How much she loved Tommy, and what care she took of him!

Really, it was a shame to separate them--they ought to be brought up together--perhaps Mr. Wentworth would n't find any child that he wanted; anyway, she believed she should send Tilly in, at a venture.

A moment later Tilly was following in Tommy's footsteps. On the piazza steps sat Bobby--homely, unattractive Bobby, crying.

"Why, my dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Wentworth.

"Tommy's gone! I can't find him," sobbed the boy.

Mrs. Wentworth's back straightened.

Of course Bobby cried--no one was so good to him as Tommy was--no one seemed to care for him but Tommy. Poor, homely Bobby! He had a hard row to hoe. He--

But she could n't take Bobby! Of course not--she had Tommy and Tilly already. Still--

Mrs. Wentworth stooped and whispered a magic word in Bobby's ear, and the boy sprang to his feet and trotted through the hall to the parlor door.

"I don't care," muttered Mrs. Wentworth recklessly. "I could n't bear to leave him alone out here. I can settle it later."

Twice she had evaded her husband during the last fifteen minutes; now, at nine o'clock, the appointed time, they both reached the parlor door.

Neither one could meet the other's eyes, and with averted faces they entered the room together; then both gave a cry of amazement.

In the corner, stiff, uncomfortable, and with faces that expressed puzzled anxiety, sat five silent children.

Mrs. Wentworth was the first to recover presence of mind.

"There, there, dears, it's all right," she began a little hysterically.

"You can call it a little game we were playing. You may all run outdoors now."

As the last white ap.r.o.n fluttered through the door she dropped limply into a chair.

"James, what in the world are we going to do?" she demanded.

"Give it up!" said the man, his hands in his pockets--James Wentworth's vocabulary had grown twenty years younger in the last two weeks.

"But really, it's serious!"

"It certainly is."

"But what _shall_ we do?"

The man took his hands from his pockets and waved them in a manner that would indicate entire irresponsibility.

"We might end it as we did two weeks ago and keep the whole lot of them," she proposed merrily.

"Well--why don't you?" he asked calmly.

"James!"

His face grew red with a shame-faced laugh.

"Well--there are families with five children in them, and I guess we could manage it," he a.s.serted in self-defense.

She sat up and looked at him with amazement.

"Surely we have money enough--and I don't know how we could spend it better," he continued rapidly; "and with plenty of help for you--there 's nothing to hinder turning ourselves into an orphan asylum if we want to," he added triumphantly.

"Oh, James, could we--do you think?" she cried, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with a growing joy. "Tommy, and Tilly, and all? Oh, we will--we will!

And--and--we'll never have to choose any more, will we, James?" she finished fervently.

The Elephant's Board and Keep

On twelve hundred dollars a year the Wheelers had contrived to live thus far with some comforts and a few luxuries--they had been married two years. Genial, fun-loving, and hospitable, they had even entertained occasionally; but Brainerd was a modest town, and its Four Hundred was not given to lavish display.

In the bank Herbert Wheeler spent long hours handling money that was not his, only to hurry home and spend other long hours over a tiny lawn and a tinier garden, where every blade of gra.s.s and every lettuce-head were marvels of grace and beauty, simply because they were his.

It was June now, and the lawn and the garden were very important; but it was on a June morning that the large blue envelope came. Herbert went home that night and burst into the kitchen like a whirlwind.

"Jessica, we 've got one at last," he cried.

"One what?"

"An automobile."

Jessica sat down helplessly. In each hand she held an egg--she had been selecting two big ones for an omelet.

"Herbert, are you crazy? What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"About our automobile, to be sure," he retorted. "'T was Cousin John's. I heard to-day--he's left it to us."

"To _us_! But we hardly knew him, and he was only a third or fourth cousin, anyway, was n't he? Why, we never even thought of going to the funeral!"