clever for the sake of being pretty--now, wouldyou?"
Charlotte laughed.
"Surely I'm not so ugly as all that," she said. "Do you really think Iam, Jerry?"
She lifted her face and looked across the table at the boy. Ugly shecertainly was not, but though her features were good, her complexion wassome degrees browner than "by rights" it should have been to match thevery blue eyes common to all the Waldrons. And her hair was short aswell as thick and curly, and in consequence rather unmanageable. But itwas a bright and kindly and pleasant face, and Jerry felt vaguely as helooked at it that there were things, even in faces, better than strictbeauty.
"I don't know," he said bluntly. "Your face is you, and so I like it.I don't want it changed, except that in a bit, I suppose, you'll have todo your hair up somehow."
"Yes, I suppose I shall," replied Charlotte, glancing sideways andsomewhat ruefully at the dark brown curly locks in question; "but how Ishall do it, I'm sure I can't tell. I wonder if I should begin to trysoon. I think I'll ask mamma. I wonder how she did hers when she wasmy age--but hers could never have been difficult to do. It's sobeautifully soft and never gets in a mess."
"No--I couldn't fancy anything to do with mamma in a mess," said Jerry."You'll never be anything like as pretty as her, Charlotte."
"You don't suppose I ever thought I should, you stupid boy," retortedhis sister indignantly. "I notice that people generally like to makeout that children never are as pretty or as good or as something astheir parents, and very often I dare say it's rubbish. But in _our_case any one with half an eye can see how lovely mamma is. I doubt ifeven Marion will be anything to compare with her, though she is a verypretty little girl."
Jerry grunted approval and agreement. He had got to a very delicatepoint in his occupation, which was that of taking out some stamps whichTed in a hurry had gummed into a wrong place in his album. All suchdifficult operations, settings right of other people's puttings wrong,were sure to fall to Jerry--his thin dexterous fingers seemed to have agenius for work that baffled every one else. Charlotte went on with herwriting, and for a few minutes there was silence in the room.
Suddenly she looked up again.
"Jerry," she said, "I'm so glad you think that that girl is sure to bestupid."
"Wait a minute," said Jerry, whose mouth was again screwed up inabsorbed anxiety. "There now," he exclaimed, "I've got it off withoutthe least scrap tearing. I'm sure Ted should be very much obliged tome. What were you saying, Charlotte? I never said I was sure--onlythat _perhaps_ she would be."
"No, no, you said more than that. If you didn't say you were sure, yousaid `very likely.' That's more than `perhaps,'" persisted Charlotte."Well, I _hope_ she is, for then I may be able to like her. If not--butI really think she _must_ be, if not stupid, at least not clever. Itwouldn't be fair for her to have everything," she went on, reverting tothe old grievance. "Nobody has, people say."
But Jerry's sympathy on the subject was rather exhausted.
"I wish you'd leave off thinking about her," he said. "You'll workyourself up to fancying all sorts of things, and making yourself dislikea person that perhaps you'll never see. Possibly she won't come afterall."
Charlotte sighed.
"I dare say you're right," she said. "It's only that I tell youeverything, you see, Jerry."
"Hadn't you better tell mamma about it?" he said. "She generally findsout what gives one wrong sorts of feelings. She's put me to rights lotsof times when I'd got horrid about--" and he hesitated.
"About what, Jerry dear?"
In his turn Jerry's face flushed.
"About being lame," he said. "You know we did hope for a good whilethat it was going to get almost quite well, so that it would hardly benoticed. But there's no chance of that now. I shall always be prettymuch the same. And it did make me feel as if everything was wrong for awhile."
"Dear Jerry," said Charlotte. "And you are so good about it. Nobodywould know you minded."
"It's a good deal with getting into the way of not thinking about it,"said Jerry. "It's no use trying not to think of a thing unless you putsomething else into your head to fill up the place. The trying not _is_thinking of it, you see. But mamma taught me what a good plan it was,when I found I was going on thinking of a trouble that _had_ to be, tolook out for some trouble that didn't _need_ to be, and to try to put itright. And you wouldn't believe, unless you get in the way of it, whatlots of those there are that you can at least _help_ to put right."
Charlotte looked a good deal impressed. It was not often that Jerrysaid so much.
"Yes," she agreed, "I can fancy it would be a very good plan. But, yousee, Jerry, I've very seldom had anything that it was better not tothink of. Perhaps it is that my head has been so full of lessons, andthe lots of things that are nice to think of."
"Well," said Jerry, "you can go on keeping your head full of sensiblethings instead of fussing about a stupid girl you've never seen!"
His calm philosophy made Charlotte laugh.
"I'm sure I don't want to think about her," she said, as she jumped upand began to put away her books. "What are you going to do now, Jerry?I'm sure you've been long enough over Arthur's stamps. When one has aholiday, I think one should have some of it at least to oneself."
"Will you play with me, then?" said Jerry. "I really like that betterthan anything, only it isn't much fun for you."
For Jerry was doing his best to learn the violin. He really lovedmusic, and had already mastered the first difficulties, though histeaching had been but some irregular lessons from a friend who had alsolent him his fiddle. And Charlotte, who played the piano well, thoughwith less natural taste for music than her brother, could not please himbetter than by accompanying him. It called for some patience, no doubt,but harder things would have seemed easy to the girl for Jerry's sake.So the two spent the rest of the dull autumn afternoon happily andcontentedly, though the old school-room piano had long ago seen its bestdays, and the sounds that Jerry extracted from his violin were notalways those of the most harmonious sweetness.
At six o'clock Charlotte started up.
"There is the first dinner-bell," she said. "We must get dressed atonce, Jerry. There is to be no school-room tea to-night, for mamma saidit wasn't worth while, as Noble was out. You and I are to dine with herand papa, and dinner is to be half-an-hour earlier than usual."
"Where are the boys?" asked Mr Waldron, putting his head in at the doorat that moment.
"All out, papa, except me," Jerry replied.
"And we two are to dine with you and mamma instead of Arthur and Ted,"added Charlotte.
"All right, my dear, but don't keep us waiting. I have to go outimmediately after dinner," her father replied.
"How tiresome it must be for papa to be sent for like that!" saidCharlotte. "I think a lawyer--at least a lawyer in a little town likeWortherham--is almost as badly off as a doctor. I suppose some oldgentleman fancies he's going to die, and has sent for papa to make hiswill."
"Very likely nothing half so important," Jerry replied.
"I wish Arthur or Ted were back," said Mr Waldron at dinner. "One ofthem might have driven me out to--" but before he said more, Jerryinterrupted him.
"Papa, mightn't I?" he exclaimed. "I really can drive--at least I amsure I could drive old Dolly."
His father looked at him doubtfully.
"It isn't really the driving so much as the waiting for me. I don'tlike to take Sam out on Saturday evening--he makes it an excuse for notgetting things tidied up. But I hardly like to take you alone, Gervais,my boy; you see if any little thing went wrong while you were waitingfor me--it isn't as if you could jump down quickly."
Jerry's face sobered down, but he said nothing.
"Papa," exclaimed Charlotte eagerly, "I'll tell you what. Take me too--we can all three pack in the dog-cart--you'll see, and then if any onehad to jump down, I could. It would be such fun, and Jerry hasn't beenout all the afternoon.
Mamma, do say we may."
Mamma smiled. Her impulse was always on the side of "you may"--perhapsalmost too much so.
"Are you going far, Edward?" she asked her husband.
"Out beyond Gretham--as far as--Silverthorns," he replied, with theslightest possible, not so much hesitation as slackening of speechbefore the last word. "I
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