Jack laughed, and looked at his shoes.

"Well, come to the kitchen, where there's no carpet on the floor, and I'll give you what I call the 'Ca.n.a.l Driver's Hornpipe.' Bring your flute, Forrest."

So they went to the kitchen; and all stood, while Jack, with wild grace of att.i.tude and wonderful ease and precision of movement, performed one of his most difficult and spirited dances.

When it was ended, in the midst of the laughter and applause, he caught up a hat, and gayly pa.s.sed it around for pennies. But while the men were feeling in their pockets, he appeared suddenly to remember where he was.

"Beg pardon," he cried, sailing his hat into a corner, and whirling on his heel,--"I forgot myself; I thought I was on the deck of the steamboat!"

This closed the evening's entertainment.

When Vinnie, retiring to her room, laid her head on the pillow, she thought of the night before and of this night, and asked her heart if it could ever again know two evenings so purely happy.

Then a great wave of anxiety swept over her mind, as she thought of the other home, to which she must hasten on the morrow.

CHAPTER XII.

VINNIE'S FUTURE HOME.

A lively sensation was produced, the next forenoon, when a youth and a girl, in a one-horse wagon, with a big dog and a small trunk, arrived at Lord Betterson's "castle."

Link dashed into the house, screaming, "They've come! they've come!"

"Who has come?" gasped poor Mrs. Betterson, with a start of alarm, glancing her eye about the disordered room.

"Jack What's-his-name! the fellow that shot the deer and lost his horse.

It's Aunt Lavinny with him, I bet!"

And out the boy rushed again, to greet the new-comers.

Lill, who was once more washing dishes at the table, stepped down from her stool, and ran out too, drying her fingers on her ap.r.o.n by the way.

Five-year-old Chokie got up from his holes in the earth by the doorstep, and stood with dangling hands and sprawling fingers, grinning, dirty-faced.

Vinnie, springing to the ground with Jack's help, at the side door caught Lill in her arms, and gave her an ardent kiss.

"I have heard of you!" she said; for she had recognized the bright, wistful face.

"Dear auntie!" said the child, with tears and smiles of joy, "I'm so glad you've come!"

"Here is Link--my friend Link," said Jack. "Don't overlook him."

"I've heard a good deal about you too, Link!" said Vinnie, embracing him also, but not quite so impulsively.

"Ye needn't mind kissing me!" said Link, bashfully turning his face.

"And as for him,"--as she pa.s.sed on to the five-year-old,--"that's Chokie; he's a reg'lar prairie gopher for digging holes; you won't find a spot on him big as a sixpence clean enough to kiss, I bet ye two million dollars!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: LINK DOESN'T CARE TO BE KISSED.]

Vinnie did not accept the wager, convinced, probably, that she would lose it if she did. As she bent over the child, however, the report of a kiss was heard,--a sort of shot in the air, not designed to come very near the mark.

"I'm didding a well," said Chokie, in a solemn voice, "so the boys won't have to go to the spring for water."

Mrs. Betterson tottered to the door, convulsively wrapping her red shawl about her.

"Lavinia! Is it sister Lavinia?"

At sight of her, so pale and feeble, Vinnie was much affected. She could hardly speak; but, supporting the emaciated form in her strong, embracing arms, she led her back into the house.

"You are so good to come!" said Mrs. Betterson, weeping, as she sank in her chair. "I am worse than when I wrote to you; and the baby is no better; and Cecie--poor Cecie! though she can sit up but little, she does more than any of us for the sick little thing."

Vinnie turned to the lounge, where Cecie, with the baby in her arms, lay smiling with bright, moist eyes upon the new-comer. She bent over and kissed them both; and, at sight of the puny infant,--so pitiful a contrast to Mrs. Lanman's fair and healthy child,--she felt her heart contract with grief and her eyes fill.

Then, as she turned away with an effort at self-control, and looked about the room, she must have noticed, too, the painful contrast between Jack's home and this, which was to be hers; and have felt a sinking of the heart, which it required all her strength and courage to overcome.

"We are not looking fit to be seen; I know it, Lavinia!" sighed Mrs.

Betterson. "But you'll excuse it--you've already excused so many things in the past! It seems a dreadful, unnatural thing for _our_ family to be so--so very--yet don't think we are absolutely reduced, Lavinia. Mr.

Betterson's connections, as everybody knows, are very wealthy and aristocratic, and they are sure to do something for him soon. This is my husband, sister Lavinia." And, with a faint simper of satisfaction, she looked up at a person who just then entered from an adjoining room.

He was a tall, well-made man, who looked (Vinnie could not help thinking) quite capable of doing something for himself. He might have been called fine-looking, but that his fine looks, like his gentility, of which he made a faded show in his dress and manners, appeared to have gone somewhat to seed. He greeted Vinnie with polite condescension, said a few commonplace words, settled his dignified chin in his limp d.i.c.ky, which was supported by a high, tight stock (much frayed about the edges), and went on out of the house.

"Now you have seen him!" whispered Mrs. Betterson, as if it had been a great event in Vinnie's life. "Very handsome, and perfectly well-bred, as you observe. Not at all the kind of man to be neglected by his family, aristocratic as they are; do you think he is? Yes, my dear Lavinia," she added, with a sickly smile, "you have seen a real, live Betterson!"

These evidences of a foolish pride surviving affliction made poor Vinnie more heartsick than anything else; and for a moment the brave girl was almost overcome with discouragement.

In the meanwhile the real, live Betterson walked out into the yard, where Jack--who had not cared to follow Vinnie into the house--was talking with Link.

"Will you walk in, sir?" And the stately Betterson neck bent slightly in its stiff stock.

"No, I thank you," replied Jack. "But I suppose this trunk goes in."

"Ah! to be sure. Lincoln,"--with a wave of the aristocratic Betterson hand,--"show the young man where to put the trunk. He can take it to Cecie's room."

"I can, can I? That's a privilege!" thought Jack. He was perfectly willing to be a porter, or anything else, in a good cause; and it was a delight for him to do Vinnie a service; but why did the n.o.ble Betterson stand there and give directions about the trunk, in that pompous way, instead of taking hold of one end of it? Jack, who had a lively spirit, and a tongue of his own, was prompted to say something sarcastic, but he wisely forbore.

"I'll place it here for the present," he said, and set the trunk down by the doorstep. He thought it would be better for him to see Vinnie and bid her good-by a little later, after the meeting between the sisters should be well over; so he turned to Link, and asked where his big brothers were.

"I d'n' know," said Link; "guess they're down in the lot hunting prairie hens."

"Let's go and find 'em," said Jack.

Both Link and Lion were delighted with this proposal, and they set off in high glee, boy and dog capering at each side of the more steady-going Jack.