Brenda's Ward

by Oliver Optic

  CHAPTER III

  PRISCILLA'S PRIDE

  "Why, I never lose my temper! What do you mean?"

  "That _is_ what I mean. You seldom lose your temper; I should hardly say'never.' Neither does Priscilla."

  "Well, then, why won't she let me pay for the photographs?" Martinelooked keenly at Amy, who had been spending an hour with her thatafternoon, as if she expected to read the answer in her friend's eyes.

  "I cannot tell you Priscilla's reasons, but her spirit of independence."

  "Spirit of independence! Boys of '76! How tired I am of Americanhistory! Priscilla is just like one of her own Pilgrim Fathers--onlymore so. Probably any one of them would have let a friend pay for one ofthose neat silhouettes, especially if the friend had insisted on havingit made, or taken, or cut, or whatever it was that they did to makesilhouettes; but Priscilla is a great deal harder than Plymouth Rock,and that is saying no little."

  "All the same, you and Priscilla will have to settle this affair foryourselves," and rising from her seat, after a few words of farewell,Amy left Martine to reflect on the matter they had been discussing.

  Now the dispute between Priscilla and Martine, if worth dignifying by soserious a name, was not of a kind likely to make lasting trouble betweenfriends. For some time Martine had been teasing Priscilla to have herphotograph taken, and Priscilla had never given a decided answer. Atlast one day, as they passed a fashionable gallery, Martine had insistedthat the two should go in merely to look at samples of thephotographer's work. On the impulse Martine decided that it would begreat fun for them to be taken together. Vainly Priscilla protested thather costume was not suitable, that she didn't feel in the mood forsitting; Martine carried her point and two or three negatives were madeof Priscilla and Martine sitting or standing, side by side. Then two orthree were made of the two girls, each by herself. When the proofs weresent home, the photographs of Priscilla were exceedingly good. ButPriscilla hesitating about ordering the finished pictures, she did notgive the whole reason to Martine. Her hesitation came from the fact thatthe artist was expensive and that she had already exceeded her allowancefor Christmas presents.

  "I do not think that I can really afford them," she said at last toMartine one day, when the latter asked her if she had made her choiceamong the negatives. "I should simply love," she added, "to have somefor my mother and a few of my relations Christmas, but I shall have towait a little before deciding."

  Yet while she spoke she retained in her hand one proof that seemed tomeet her approval.

  "Then this is the one you prefer?" said Martine, taking it gently in herown hand.

  "Yes, I haven't had a photograph since I was a small girl, but I am surethat mother would be delighted with this one."

  A week later a box came by mail to Priscilla. Opening it she found notonly a half dozen of the photographs in which she and Martine were takentogether, but also a dozen of the single heads, finished in the mostexpensive style. For a moment she was rather upset by the packet. "Ofcourse there's some mistake," she said. "The man must have thought thatI meant to give an order like Martine's, but I can never in the worldafford these, and mother would be displeased with me for ordering them.There is only one thing--I'm sure to have some money given me atChristmas, and I can use some, or all of it, to pay this bill."

  No bill was contained in the package, and after a few days, whenPriscilla went to the photographer's to ask for it, she was told that itwas already paid. Then she sought Martine, who did not deny that she hadpaid the bill.

  "Why, it was the proper thing for me to do," she said. "It was I who hadthe photographs taken, and I who ordered them finished. I can't see thatyou have much to do with the matter now, except to send the photographsas Christmas cards. I can tell you they'll go like hot cakes, for theyare just as good as they can be."

  But Priscilla was firm, and though Martine tried to be firmer, she couldnot get her friend to promise to accept the pictures as a gift.

  "They are really not a gift, either," urged Martine, "for I myselfwanted to be in a group with you, and you stood there only to oblige me;so certainly you've earned something for your trouble, and as to thesingle heads, I wanted a separate picture of you, and while thephotographer was about it, it didn't cost much more for a dozen than forone."

  Again Priscilla presented her side, adding only that she must askMartine to wait until after Christmas for the sum she had spent.

  "If I didn't like the photographs," she concluded, "the whole thingwould be different; but I do like them, and I can send them away asChristmas gifts, and so I must pay the bill."

  "But it came to me."

  "For my photographs?"

  "No, for mine; I had them taken. They wouldn't have been printed if Ihadn't ordered them."

  "Oh, but mine are mine."

  "Why, of course they are yours--at least all that were sent to yourhouse."

  "I can't bear to be obliged to anyone else for them."

  "That's one of your greatest faults, Priscilla; you hate to be obligedto anybody for anything."

  So for the present the discussion was dropped, though each friend wasdetermined that in the end she would carry her own point.

  This steadfast holding to her purpose was what Martine calledPriscilla's "ill-temper," in describing the affair to Amy. Though sheinwardly approved of her friend's independence, she felt that after shehad approved of it Priscilla ought then to be ready to yield to her.

  "It is strange," she said, "that I can never get Priscilla to acceptanything from me. 'Pride goeth before destruction,' and that will be theway with Priscilla. Something will surely happen to her if she keeps onlike this."

  In the early summer, a few months before, Priscilla and Martine hadfirst become really acquainted, when as travelling companions they madea journey with Amy and her mother. For some time the two seemed far fromcongenial; each looked at life from a very different standpoint.Priscilla, brought up rather strictly and economically, prided herself,perhaps unduly, on her unworldliness, and found it hard to understandthe extravagant, fun-loving Martine. But each girl at last accepted theother's good qualities, and before they had left Canadian soil the twohad begun to be good friends. When Martine's plans were finally settled,Priscilla was delighted that she and the young Chicagoan were to be atthe same school.

  Now Priscilla, although for a long time she had spent several weeks ofeach year in Boston with her aunt, Mrs. Tilworth, had made few friendsamong the girls of her own age whose parents her mother or her auntknew. Her natural shyness stood in her way when they came to call onher, and when she returned their calls she progressed no further.

  Often she was invited to their parties, and when she could not escapeit, she accepted their invitations. Though she took part in their gamesin a quiet way, no one paid much attention to the pale little girl whoalways seemed ill at ease.

  One awful day Mrs. Tilworth decided that she must give a party forPriscilla; in vain Priscilla protested that she hated parties. Theinvitations were written and sent out, and on the appointed afternoonPriscilla, in a ruffled muslin gown, had to stand beside her aunt toreceive her guests. When she had safely passed through this ordeal sheslipped away to a corner, where she sat for a while looking on. When shefound that no one tried to draw her out, she managed to slip stillfarther away. "They don't need me," she murmured. Later, when theylooked for her, that she might take her place at the head of thetable--for it was a children's party, with a sit-down supper at sixo'clock--there was a great uproar when she could not be found. At lasttwo or three of the children went to Priscilla's room, and enteringwithout knocking, they saw her seated in an easy-chair by the droplighton the little centre table. She was so engrossed in the book she wasreading that at first she did not hear them, and when one of themsnatched the volume out of her hand to read the title, they discoveredthat it was a little history of Mary Queen of Scots.

  "Those children tired me," she explained later to her aunt. "They playedso hard, and I just thought I'd go up
stairs and read for a while."

  Somehow the story got out. Mrs. Tilworth repeated it to one of the oldergirls, and for a long time Priscilla was called behind her back "MaryQueen of Scots," only someone said, "She will never lose her head, herneck is so stiff."

  Martine, when Brenda told her of this story, could not help laughing, inspite of her desire to be loyal to her friend.

  "Priscilla is still stiff-necked," she said, "but already since she'shad my acquaintance she's been forced to unbend a little, and beforeanother summer comes round her education will be much further advanced."

  Priscilla was conscious of her own shyness, and often envied those girlswho seemed to have so much fun together.

  "I shouldn't expect Priscilla to be very cheerful while she lives withMrs. Tilworth; the house is really gloomy; it has plenty of windows, butthe curtains are always pulled down, and the furniture is so heavy andprimly arranged that it naturally affects Priscilla's disposition."

  What Martine said was true to a great extent. Mrs. Tilworth's house washalfway up the hill, not so very far from the Mansion School, but itswhole aspect, inside and out, was far less attractive than Mrs.DuLaunuy's. It was furnished in the heavy style of about fifty yearsago, lacking the elegance of real antiquity. Priscilla's room was largeand overfurnished, with its great black walnut bedstead and marble-toptable and heavy rocking-chairs. But it wasn't exactly a young girl'sroom, and the gilt-framed steel engravings on the wall gave her noinspiration for study or work. Secretly she envied Martine her cheerfulroom in Brenda's apartment, with its couch covered in pink and whitecretonne, its white enamelled dressing-table and oval mirror, brassbedstead, and rattan chairs cushioned to match the divan. She did notexpress her envy of these pretty belongings, lest she should appearungrateful to Mrs. Tilworth; for she knew that her aunt wished her to becomfortable and happy, according to her own standard of comfort andhappiness. Indeed most people who knew Mrs. Tilworth thought Priscillaexceedingly fortunate in having so good a home offered her at a timewhen her mother was especially burdened with care.

  Although Mrs. Tilworth had never expressed herself on the subject,Martine believed that she did not approve of persons who lived inapartments. The little original prejudice that she had against Martineas an outsider was probably somewhat stronger from this fact.

  "I should think," she had said to Priscilla, "that Mrs. Stratford musthave been greatly disappointed that Mrs. Montgomery could not takeMartine this winter; it would have been so much better for her to livein a house."

  "But an apartment is just as pleasant," Priscilla had responded, "andit's a fine thing that Brenda Weston was able to take her. Brenda livesin a flat because it's more economical."

  "Don't say 'flat'; you've learned that from Martine; in Boston we alwayssay 'apartment.' But an apartment on the Avenue is not economical, mydear child. A whole house on Chestnut Street would cost no more, andthough I would not make anyone else's business my own, I can'tunderstand how anyone who might live in a house can prefer a few roomshigh up in the air."

  "It's very homelike there," sighed Priscilla, casting a glance aroundthe large, gloomy dining-room, where they sat at dinner. "I always enjoymyself at Brenda's--"

  Mrs. Tilworth, noticing the sigh, looked sharply at her niece. "I hopeyou are perfectly happy with me," she said.

  "Oh, yes, indeed I am; you are certainly very kind."

  Yet even as she spoke, Priscilla realized that in some ways she wasn'tbenefiting as she should from her aunt's kindness, and she began towonder if the fault might not lie a little with herself.

  A few days after the discussion about the photographs, Priscilla came toschool with a letter in her hand.

  "It's from Eunice," she said, as she and Martine sat together near awindow, a quarter of an hour before the time for the school to begin.

  "Oh, read me what she says," urged Martine. "Her letters are alwaysentertaining, because they are so old-fashioned."

  Eunice Airton was a young girl near Priscilla's age, whose acquaintanceMrs. Redmond and her party had made during their stay in Annapolis. Shewas especially Priscilla's friend, while her brother Balfour wasMartine's ideal of an independent college boy; and it was rather becauseshe hoped to hear some news of Balfour that Martine urged Priscilla toread the letter.

  "I am sorry to say," wrote Eunice, "that I hardly think it will bepossible for me to go to college. It will be very difficult for me toovercome the prejudices of my mother, who still does not think it isquite proper for a girl to have the same education as a man. But thefact that you are planning to go to college will have much weight withher, for, as you perhaps know, she thinks you quite a model and saysthat she never can realize that you are an American."

  Martine smiled at this expression of Mrs. Airton's opinion, which indeedshe had heard more than once before. "Eunice," she said to Priscilla,"is too polite to repeat all that her mother said in speaking of you.She probably contrasted you with me, whom, I am sure, she considers thetypical Yankee girl."

  "Oh, no, of course not," protested Priscilla, continuing to readEunice's letter.

  "Before I tell you of any of my own personal affairs, I must mentionsomething that will interest you more deeply. There is an Acadian familyliving in Annapolis, and whom do you suppose they have had visiting themlately? Why, the little Yvonne, the blind girl, of whom I have heard youspeak, who is the special protegee, if I remember, of Miss Stratford. Itis indeed due to her kindness, I understand, that Yvonne has been ableto make this journey from Meteghan, and I am told that she is to stayhere three months under the care of a physician who thinks that he canhelp her eyes. She is also to take lessons on the piano, as those whoare interested in her think that it is better for her to let her voicerest for the present, but to play the piano well enough to accompany hersongs will some time be a great advantage to her."

  "There," exclaimed Martine, excitedly, "that's a fine idea! I wonder whosuggested it to the Babets. It isn't likely that the doctor can do sovery much for her eyes, but it will be splendid for her to get a startin music. When I see papa at Christmas I intend to persuade him to haveYvonne brought to Boston for a year."

  "Oh, that would be a great expense," said Priscilla, "and someone wouldhave to take care of her."

  "That could be managed easily enough, if I can only get papa thoroughlyinterested."

  "I think he has already done his part, for it's through the money hegave you for Yvonne that she is able to be in Annapolis now."

  "I wonder how Eunice used her money; did she ever tell you, Priscilla?"

  "No," replied Priscilla; "but she may have helped her mother about themortgage, and perhaps she may have put a little aside for a collegenest-egg. She is so practical."

  "It's wonderful--isn't it, Priscilla?--that you should have met a girlyou approve of so thoroughly in a corner of the world that isn'tPlymouth or even Boston."

  Priscilla, as she folded up her letter, looked questioningly at Martine.There was something that she did not quite understand in Martine'sattitude toward Eunice.

  Whatever question she had in mind remained for the time unspoken. It wastime for school to begin, and they hurried to their places.