"No, I am Homer Forbes. My mother's mother was a Blairsdale. I cannot claim the honor."

"Yo' kin claim de _blood_ dough, an' dat's all yo' hatter claim. Yo'

don' need ter claim nuttin' else ef yo' got some ob _dat_. But I mustn't stan' here talkin' no longer. Yo' kin come an' see my Miss Jinny ef yo' wantter. If yo's kin ob de Blairsdales' she'll be pintedly glad fer ter know yo'," ended Mammy, courtesying to this branch of the blood royal, and turning to lead Baltie up the hill.

"Thank you. I think I'll accept the invitation before very long. I'd like to know Miss Jean a little better. Good-day Mammy _Blairsdale_."

"Good-day, suh! Good-day," answered Mammy, smiling benignly upon the favored being.

As she drew near the house a perplexed expression overspread her old face. She still held the handkerchief with its weight of change; earnest of the morning's good intentions. Yet what a morning it had been for her and the others!

"I clar ter goodness dat chile lak ter drive us all 'stracted. Fust she scare us nigh 'bout ter death, an' we ready fer ter frail her out fer her doin's. Den she come pa'radin' home wid a bagful ob cash kase she tryin' fer ter help we-all. _Den_ what yo' gwine 'do wid her?

Smack her kase she done plague yo', or praise her kase she doin' her bes' fer ter mek t'ings go a little mite easier fer her ma?" ended Mammy, bringing her tongue against her teeth in a sound of irritation.

Meanwhile the cause of all the commotion had gone tearing up the hill and into the house where she ran pell-mell into Eleanor who had just come home, and who knew nothing of the excitement of the past few hours. Constance had gone over to Amy Fletcher's to inquire for the runaway. Jean was on the border land between tears and anger, and Eleanor was greeted with:

"Now I suppose _you_ are going to lecture me too, tell me I'd no business to go off. Well you just needn't do any such a thing, and I don't care if I _did_ scare you. It was all your own fault 'cause you wouldn't let me into your old secret, and I'm _glad_ I scared you. Yes I am!" the words ended in a storm of sobs.

For a moment Eleanor stood dumfounded. Then realizing that something more lay behind the volley of words than she understood, she said:

"Come up to my room with me, Jean. I don't know what you are talking about. If anything is wrong tell me about it, but don't bother mother.

The little Mumsey has a lot to bother her as it is."

Jean instantly stopped crying and looked at this older sister who sometimes seemed very old indeed to her.

"_You_ don't know what all the fuss is about, and why Mammy is waiting to give me Hail Columbia?" she asked incredulously.

"I have just this moment come in. I have been out at Aunt Eleanor's all the morning, as you know quite well if you will stop to think,"

answered Eleanor calmly.

"Then come up-stairs quick before Mammy gets in; I see her coming in the gate now. I did something that made her as mad as hops and scared mother. Come I'll tell you all about it," and Jean flew up the stairs ahead of Eleanor. Rushing into her sister's room she waited only for Eleanor to pa.s.s the threshold before slamming the door together and turning the key.

Eleanor dropped her things upon the bed and sitting down upon a low chair, said:

"Come here, Jean." Jean threw herself upon her sister's lap, and clasping her arms about her, nestled her head upon her shoulder.

Eleanor held her a moment without speaking, feeling that it would be wiser to let her excitement subside a little. Then she said: "Now tell me the whole story, Jean."

Jean told it from beginning to end, and ended by demanding:

"Don't you really, truly, know anything about the candy Constance is making to sell?"

"I know that she is making candy, and that she contrives somehow to sell a good deal of it, but she and Mammy have kept the secret as to _how_ it is sold. They did not tell me, and I wouldn't ask," said Eleanor looking straight into Jean's eyes.

"Oh!" said Jean.

"Mammy has rather high ideas of what we ought or ought not to do, you know, Jean," continued Eleanor, "and she was horrified at the idea of Constance making candy for money. And yet, Jean, both Constance and I _must_ do something to help mother. You say we keep you out of our secrets. We don't keep you _out_ of them, but we see no reason _why_ you should be made to bear them. Constance and I are older, and it is right that we should share some of the burden which mother must bear, but you are only a little girl and ought to be quite care-free."

Jean's head dropped a trifle lower.

"But since you have discovered so much, let _me_ tell you a secret which only mother and I know, and then you will understand why she is so troubled now-a-days. Even Connie knows nothing of it. Can I trust you?"

"I'd _die_ before I'd tell," was the vehement protest.

"Very well then, listen: You know our house was insured for a good deal of money--fifteen thousand dollars. Well, mother felt quite safe and comfortable when she found that Mammy had paid the premium just before the house burned down, and we all thought we would soon have the amount settled up by the company and that the interest would be a big help--"

"What is the interest?" demanded Jean.

"I can't stop to explain it all now, but when people put money in a savings bank a certain sum is paid to them each year. The bank pays the people the smaller sum each year because it--the bank, I mean--has the use of the larger amount for the time being. Do you understand?"

"Yes, it's just as if I gave you my five dollars to use and you gave me ten cents each week for lending you the five dollars till I wanted it, isn't it?"

"Yes, exactly. Well mother thought she would have about six hundred dollars each year, and everything seemed all right, and so we came to live here because it was less expensive. But, oh, Jean, my miserable experiments! My dreadful chemicals! When the insurance company began to look into the cause of the fire and learned that I had gasoline, and those powerful acids in my room, and the box of excelsior in which they had been sent out from the city was in the room where the fire started, they--they would not settle the insurance, and _all_ the money we had paid out was lost, and we could hardly collect anything. And it was _all_ my fault. _All_ my fault. But I did not know it! I did not guess the harm I was doing. I only thought of what I could learn from my experiments. And _see_ what mischief I have done," and poor Eleanor's story ended in a burst of sobs, as she buried her head against the little sister whom she had just been comforting.

Jean was speechless for a moment. Then all her sympathies were alert, and springing from Eleanor's lap she flung her arms about her crying:

"Don't cry, Nornie; don't cry! You didn't _mean_ to. You didn't know.

You were trying to be good and learn a lot. You didn't know about those hateful old companies."

"But I _ought_ to have known! I ought to have understood," sobbed Eleanor.

"How _could_ you? But don't you cry. I'm glad now I _did_ run away with the box, 'cause I've found a way to make some money every single Sat.u.r.day and I'm going to _do it_, Mammy or no Mammy. Baltie is just as much my horse as hers, and if he can't help us work I'd like to know why. Now don't you cry any more, 'cause it isn't your fault, and I'm going right straight down stairs to talk with mother, and tell her I'm sorry I frightened her but _I'm not_ sorry I went," and ending with a tempestuous hug and an echoing kiss upon her sister's cheek, little Miss Determination whisked out of the room.

CHAPTER XVI

United We Stand, Divided We Fall

It need hardly be stated that Mrs. Carruth had pa.s.sed anything but a tranquil morning. Indeed tranquillity of mind was almost unknown to her now-a-days, and her nights were filled with far from pleasant dreams.

From the hour her old home had burned, disasters had crowded upon her.

Her first alarm lest the insurance upon her property had lapsed, owing to her inability to meet the premium punctually, had been allayed by Mammy's prompt action and all seemed well. No one had given a thought to the conditions of the agreement, and, alas! no one had thought of Eleanor's laboratory. Indeed, had she done so, Mrs. Carruth was not sufficiently well informed upon such matters to have attached any importance to it. But one little clause in the policy had expressly prohibited the presence of "gasoline, excelsior or chemicals of any description upon the premises," and all three had been upon it when the house burned; and, fatal circ.u.mstance, had been the _cause_ of the fire.

Such investigations move slowly, and weeks pa.s.sed before these facts were brought to light and poor Mrs. Carruth learned the truth. She strove in every way to realize even a small proportion of the sum she could otherwise have claimed, and influential friends lent their aid to help her. But the terms of the contract had, unquestionably, been broken, even though done in ignorance--and the precautions taken for so many years ended in smoke.

Mrs. Carruth had not meant to let the girls learn of it until, if worse came to worst, all hope of recovering something had to be given up.

But, several days before, Eleanor had found her mother in a state of nervous collapse over the letter which brought the ultimatum, and had insisted upon knowing the truth. Mrs. Carruth confessed it only upon the condition of absolute secrecy on Eleanor's part, for Constance was in the midst of mid-year examinations and her mother would not have an extra care laid upon her just then. Eleanor had kept the secret until this morning when Jean's outbreak seemed to make it wiser to tell the truth, and, if the confession must be made, poor Eleanor could no longer conceal her remorse for the mischief her experiments had brought upon them all.

She had gone that morning to her Aunt Eleanor's home to confess the situation to her, and to ask if she might leave school and seek some position. The interview had been a most unpleasant one, for Mrs.

Eleanor Carruth, Senior, never hesitated to express her mind, and having exceptional business ac.u.men herself, had little patience with those who had less.

"Your mother has no more head for business than a child of ten. Not as much as _some_, I believe. And, your father wasn't much better. Good heavens and earth! the idea of a man in his sane senses agreeing to pay another man's debts. I don't believe he _was_ in his senses,"

stormed Mrs. Eleanor.

"Please, Aunt Eleanor, don't say such things to me about father and mother," said Eleanor, with a little break in her voice. "Perhaps mother doesn't know as much about business matters as she ought, and father's heart got the better of his good sense, but they are father and mother and have always been devoted to us. I don't want to be rude to you, but I _can't_ hear them unkindly spoken of," she ended with a little uprearing of the head, which suddenly recalled to the irate lady a similar mannerism of her late husband who had been a most forebearing man up to a certain point, but when that was reached his wife knew a halt had been called; the same sudden uplifting of the head now gave due warning.