Over at the old Maitland place matters were moving along at a very satisfactory pace for the little boys who were temporarily parked there.
"Well, boys, we've received our orders from headquarters, and now we've got to get to work," said Lane Maitland as he came back from his brief interview with Maris. "There are two more beds to be put in shape before dark, and the commissary department has got to rustle some food for supper. Tomorrow our old cook and her husband are arriving and we'll have more leisure for amusement, but tonight we've got to get busy. How about jumping in the car and going down to the store with me? I need to lay in a supply of good things. What do you like best to eat?"
"Ice cream!" said Alec promptly.
"Aw, shucks! You can eat ice cream anytime if you get a nickel. How about hot dogs and cook 'em outdoors? That's more like camping."
"Well, how about both?" said Lane.
"Okay!" shouted both boys at once.
"Or how about strawberries? Does anybody like strawberries?"
"We sure do!" shouted Alec.
"Well, there used to be strawberries down in the garden. Let's go see if they have been choked out by weeds. There might be a few, you know, and then we could save the ice cream till tomorrow."
So they tramped down to the old overgrown garden and discovered a few late berries here and there, tasting more like wild ones than the old rare varieties that used to be cultivated in the years when the Maitlands were living there. The host went into the house and brought out a dish, and eager young fingers managed to fill a bowl in spite of the many surreptitious journeys they made to eager young mouths.
"Pretty nice work, old man," said Maitland when Alec brought him the bowl. "All right, now we have our dessert, we'll go down to the store and get our supplies. We'll need soap, and bread, and marshmallows to toast, and bacon for breakfast, and eggs. You like bacon and eggs, don't you, boys? And cream on your strawberries?"
"Oh sure!"
"And toasted marshmallows?"
"I should say! Oh boy! This is going to be great!"
"Sure! We're going to have the time of our lives!"
"We sure are!" said Eric.
"Oh boy, don't I wish our new brother-in-law was going to be like you!" said Alec wistfully. "Then I wouldn't mind Maris getting married so much."
"Oh, do you mind her getting married?" asked the young man, busying himself about putting the strawberries in the window where they would be cool.
"Why, sure we mind. Wouldn't you?" said Eric with a frown. "Wouldn't you mind having your best sister taken away from you entirely?"
"Oh, maybe it won't be like that," said Maitland, trying to be matter-of-fact. "Maybe your new brother-in-law will be great. Perhaps you don't know him. Wait till you know him," he added hopefully.
"Who, Tilford? Not he!" sighed Eric hopelessly. "He's a snob. He's some swell! He can't take a joke, nor see one. He hates kids, and anyway, we never would get to know him. He doesn't like us. He always acts as if we didn't exist."
"Well, let's forget it for tonight and have a good time, what do you say?"
"Okay!" said the boys, and they climbed eagerly into the car and were off to the store. And how they did enjoy going around the store picking out things they thought might be needed.
They made a fire out in the backyard and cooked their sausages, made some cocoa there, too, and when they had eaten their strawberries with plenty of cream and sugar, they were really too full to hold another crumb of anything.
"And now," said Maitland cheerfully, "we'll wash up the dishes and go up and get our beds in order. After that, it will be time to turn in."
"So soon?" said the boys, who hated to lose a minute of this grand picnic.
"Oh, people always go to bed early when they are at camp. It's one of the rules, you know."
So they submitted and hurried back and forth to the house, bringing supplies and dishes and washing up.
Merrick came over with a suitcase of garments while they were making their beds, and grinned as they both tried to talk at once, telling him about their supper out of doors.
"That's all right, kids, but if I hear of you making any trouble over here, I'll come over and lam you one you won't forget, and I don't mean maybe."
They promised good behavior and dived into the suitcase, arraying themselves for the night.
Merrick reported that there was little or no change in the sick ones and looked gravely troubled as he said it, and when he was gone, Maitland ordered lights out and everybody kneeling for prayers. He suggested that they pray for their mother and little sister. And then suddenly serious boys knelt and were very quiet for a long minute, beside their cots, till Maitland's voice broke in upon their devotions.
"Dear Lord, we want to thank You for being with us all day and keeping guard over us and those we love. Keep guard over us during the night, both here and at the home house, and especially be with the sick ones. If it's Your will, make them better in the morning. And help these boys to be strong and courageous and to conquer themselves so that they will be ready to help in this time of stress. Teach them to trust themselves to Thee. We ask it in Christ's name."
Subdued and quiet, they got into bed, and it was all still about them. They lay for a while thinking of their mother and the terrible possibilities that life held, life that had been so bright and engaging before this. They realized that God had bent down and was taking account of them, that they were, perhaps, in His eye more than they had thought. It was barely possible that He expected something of even them--just boys. They hadn't thought of that before.
But long after they fell asleep, Lane Maitland lay across the room from them and thought of the girl in the next house who was bearing so many burdens just now. The girl he used to know so well and who had grown even lovelier than she had been when they were in school together!
He thought of what the little boys had said about her fiancé. Was that just children's chatter? Was the man her equal? Was he worthy of so lovely a girl? He sighed as he thought about it. Well, it was not for him to think about. He would like to help her somehow, but that was not his job of course. Only it would be nice to know that someone was taking it over and doing it well. She needed comforting, he was sure, for she had looked terribly troubled that afternoon, and she had been grateful that he was looking after the boys. Well, he could at least do that. They were lively youngsters, and there was no place for such eager, thoughtless vitality around sick people. Now, he must just stop thinking about that girl. She belonged to another man.
But it was not easy to turn his thoughts away from the affairs of these dear old friends of his boyhood days. The more perhaps because he had so recently lost his parents and was practically alone in the world. For hours he lay thinking and finally got up to look out the window toward the house next door and observe the lighted windows. They were not getting much rest over there, he was sure, for he could see shadows of moving forms now and again. He longed to know how the battle with death in one room, and with disease in another, was going. How would the others stand up under this hard time?
And while all this was going on, up in the Thorpe mansion on the side of the town always designated as "the Hill," the family was having a counsel of war.
Tilford had not gone to his sister's dinner. Since his fiancée for whom the dinner was given could not be there, it would certainly look better for him to stay away, too. So he stayed at home with his father and mother in a gloomy silence and ate in an offended way through an excellent dinner.
"Well, really, Tilford, what happy circumstance has made you a guest in your home after your many and continued absences?" the father asked facetiously as Tilford walked into the dining room and took his seat.
"Don't try to be funny, Dad!" said Tilford heavily. "It's anything but a happy circumstance. I'm on the verge of insanity with all that has happened, and it seems impossible to work anything out that will better matters."
"Ah, indeed! I haven't heard of an impending disaster. Am I to be favored with a recital, or would you prefer to suffer in secret?"
"You're so trifling, Dad, no wonder you don't hear the news. But of course you'll have to know," sighed Tilford heavily. "The whole trouble is with Maris's family. They have seen fit to throw a panic into the camp. I haven't been able as yet to ascertain whether it is something they planned in order to annoy us and assert their own importance, or whether it is just upset nerves, or what. But the long and short of it is that Maris's mother had some sort of a nervous upset this morning, fainted away or something, and they are making a mountain out of it. Maris declares she can't go to Irma's dinner, given tonight solely to introduce Maris to our friends. She has got hystericky and declares her mother is at the point of death and she can't leave her. I have tried my best to reason with her, but all to no avail, and then as if that wasn't enough, her baby sister comes home from kindergarten with the measles! Imagine it! Such a plebian, common little childish ailment! And Maris insists she has to care for her. And she wouldn't be moved even when I secured a special child's nurse and offered to pay her myself."
The father watched his son seriously.
"Well, now, that's too bad. Her mother sick! That's hard on a girl, I imagine. I don't see that that's anything to be so disturbed about, her not going to a dinner. Anybody would understand that. I thought she was a very nice, sweet little girl myself when she was here last night. I thought you had made a very wise choice, and we are going to like her a lot. She'll fit right in with our family beautifully. Didn't you think so, Mama?"
"You don't understand, Mr. Thorpe," said his wife. She always called him Mr. Thorpe before the servants. "It's just her family trying to get in the public eye. They are very plain people and not in our class at all, and they're taking this opportunity, just at the most inconvenient time, to try to force themselves into the foreground. That mother has kept up all through the weeks perfectly well. She has seemed pleased enough at the way things were going, and she hasn't broken down. People don't break down all at once like that. If she has kept up so long and perfectly healthy, why should she suddenly start up and faint away? And what's a little faint anyway? I've had more than one myself, but I never let it interfere with my social duties nor embarrass my family. But she, just the very day those invitations should have gone out, she chooses to collapse and scare the bride out of her wits. I say it's premeditated. She's just trying to force us to recognize her and show how important she is by putting a stop to all the festivities. Imagine daring to do that to Tilford's family, after all we've done for her."
"Why, now, Mama! What have we done for her?" Mr. Thorpe looked over his glasses and regarded his wife leniently.
"Done for her! Do you have to ask? Haven't we taken her up and made much of her, put her right on a pedestal, just as if she belonged in our set, and got her all these invitations among our social equals?"
"Social equals? Why, Mama, what kind of an idea have you got of the Mayberrys? Don't you know I looked them up and they really belong to one of the fine old families?"
"Well, that may all be very well, Mr. Thorpe. Old families, yes. But old families without money degenerate. They live on the lower side of town, don't they? They live in an old rack-a-bones of a house that needs painting terribly, and they go to a strange little church without a particle of style to it and then insist on having the wedding, our wedding, in their own church, when I had gone to the trouble of asking our rector if they might have the use of our great beautiful church edifice, with its stately arches and lovely chancel. It lends itself so gracefully to a formal wedding. I even offered to superintend the decorations myself. But no, they had to have their own ugly little church and minister. I declare it's too vexing. And then she insists she is going to wear some little frowsy dress that her mother has made, instead of a perfectly exquisite imported one that I suggested. She is certainly being too trying for anything. Do you know, Mr. Thorpe, that those wedding invitations haven't gone out yet? And this is the day they should have been mailed! Of course, she is utterly ignorant of all social customs. But Tilford exerted his utmost influence and can't make her give them to him. She declares her mother is at the point of death and she can't send them out at present. And here are we all disgraced by having the invitations go out a day late."
"What difference does it make when the invitations go out?" asked Mr. Thorpe amusedly.
"There! That's just like you, Mr. Thorpe! As if you didn't know manners and customs and understand that we'll be the laughingstock of all people who know what is the right thing to do."
"Well, I think you're all wrong, Mama. I think you ought to let that little girl manage her own affairs at least until she's married to Tilford."
"Oh, you would, of course," sighed Tilford's mother. "I ought to have known better than to mention it before you. I wish you wouldn't say any more about it. My nerves are simply at the limit. I'm going down there tomorrow morning the first thing and have some words with that hystericky mother and make her understand that she can't upset all our plans by a little gesture of illness! Tilford, if you will come up to my room after you have finished your coffee, I'll be glad to discuss this matter with you and see what we can work out together about those invitations, but I simply can't stand your father's stupid remarks any longer. He knows better, but he likes to annoy me. You'll have to excuse me!" And Mrs. Thorpe swept from the room.
Later Tilford went to his mother's room, and they continued their discussion.
"Listen, Tilford," said his mother as they settled down to talk, "has that child really got the measles, or did it turn out to be scarlet fever?"
"I'm sure I don't remember," said Tilford gloomily. "What difference does it make?"
"Well, one is supposed to be a little more deadly than the other, that's all," said his mother frigidly. "And I've been thinking back. It wasn't real measles you had when you were a child, it was German measles, and it seems to me that I've heard that you can have all three. The other is French, isn't it? I can't remember, but if it's regular measles, you'd better stay away from that house. You might get them, you know, and it seems to me I've heard it goes very hard with grown people when they get them. It's either measles or mumps, I'm not sure which. But you'd better be on the safe side and stay away. It would be simply dreadful if you should get the measles. It certainly would bring that family into the limelight with a vengeance. It would make you ridiculous, Tilford. People would never forget it that you couldn't get married because you had the measles!"
"For heaven's sake, Mother! Haven't I trouble enough now without you bringing up an idea like that! You can't get measles unless you come into contact with the patient, and you can make sure I'll never do that."
"No, but seriously, Tilford, you'll just have to tell Maris that she should come here if she wants to see you, that we don't approve of your running into danger! You'll simply have to make that girl give up her headstrong notions and let her precious family look out for themselves, or give you up! I fancy that will bring her to her senses!" The mother finished with a triumphant gleam in her eyes, but Tilford continued to march gloomily back and forth across the room.
"You don't know Maris," he said bitterly. "It wouldn't faze her in the least. When she gets started on something, she has to finish it, no matter what she upsets."
"Well, but I thought you said she was pliable, so easy to mold, so ready to yield to whatever you wanted. Those are your very words, my son."
"Yes, I know. I thought so. But I've found out it isn't so. She's got to have her own way if the heavens fall!"
"But you can't appeal to her love for you?"
"I don't know whether she has any. I thought she was crazy about me, but now she is simply blind. She's mad to have her own way and sacrifice herself for her poor ailing family."
"But Tilford! She must realize what a different station in life you are giving her. She must understand the enormous value of being your wife and having everything that money can buy. She cannot look at the gorgeous diamond you gave her without realizing that. You can't tell me she'd give all that up just for sentiment."
"Wouldn't she? What would you say if I told you that she gave me back my ring tonight? Look there!" And Tilford paused beside his mother and held out the flashing stone in the palm of his hand.
"Tilford!" His mother stared at the ring, hardly able to believe her eyes. "You don't mean you quarreled!"
"Call it what you please. There's the ring!" said the young man in a hard tone.
"The little ingrate!" said his mother indignantly. "And after all we've done for her! And just now at the last minute when the eyes of the whole town are upon us and the wedding almost at the door! It would certainly serve her right if you were to take her at her word and let that end it. You know, I always told you that you were in too great haste, especially when she was not in your social set. I told you no good would come of this engagement and you would find it out after it was too late. But I certainly didn't expect it to end at this stage of the game. Have those invitations gone out yet? Perhaps it's just as well."
"Don't be a fool!" Tilford flung out at her. "You don't suppose I'm going to let her make a laughingstock of me after things have gone this far, do you? No! Certainly not. Rather than that, I'll marry her and divorce her! Let her see that I'm her master! No girl can make a fool of me like that!"
"Well, that's true, too, of course," sighed the mother. "Well, I suppose we've got to work out some plan. I think I'll appeal to the mother. That's a good line, you know. Tell the mother how she is spoiling her daughter's life and clouding it forever."
"I doubt if they'll let you see her," gloomed the son. "They have her entirely surrounded by a nurse."
"You leave it to me!" said Mrs. Thorpe capably. "I'll soon quell the nurse. I never saw a nurse I couldn't command. Nor a mother I couldn't reach by some kind of an appeal. I wonder what time of day I'd better go. Doctors usually receive their patients in their offices in the morning, don't they? I'd better go before the doctor gets around. You'd better not appear in this at all. I'll speak as woman to woman, mother to mother, and all that, you know. It's probably the only way Maris can be managed, to get her mother roused up to the situation so that she'll tell her to snap out of this idea that she's got to be a sacrifice to them all. You leave it to me, Tilly dear. I'll bring it all out right. And about those invitations, if we can get them off in the morning, I'm sure I can get the postmaster to fix the date on the postmark. That's a little thing to do, and nobody will be the wiser. People will just think their invitations were delayed on the way. Now, Tilford, I'll tell you what you do! You run over to your sister's. They're about through with dinner now. You needn't stay long. Just look very serious and say that Maris is so disappointed but you felt she ought to stay by her mother tonight, but that you're quite sure she will be all right in a day or two. Don't say anything about this measles. That's too grotesque. A bride having to stay away from a dinner especially made for her because her baby sister has the measles. Now, Tilford, cheer up, and take this thing sensibly. Don't give way to the idea that Maris is going to get away with a thing like this, or you'll have it to deal with all your life, and you'd better just take it in hand at the start and get it over with. You must be master of your own house, master of this situation. She's probably just trying to see how much she can get away with. But Mother will stand by her boy, and we'll bring things into shape tomorrow all right. Only I do wish you had heeded my warnings and got to know Ethel Framer well. She is so smart, and so correct, and has so much money. You would never have caught her giving back a magnificent ring like that even in a joke."
"There, Mother, don't begin on that. I'm fed up on that line. I may have made a mistake in choosing Maris, but I don't intend to let anybody know it, and I certainly don't regret Ethel Framer. I had all I wanted of her the winter you tried to stuff her down my throat."
"Well, Tilford, I suppose you'll have to learn your lessons by experience just as we all do."
"Don't tell me you ever learned one that way, Mother," sneered the spoiled youth. "If you had, you wouldn't spend your time trying to force things upon me."
"Now, Tilford! What do you mean? Haven't I just offered to go and appeal to this girl's mother and straighten everything out for you, when you know she wasn't my choice in the first place?" The mother spoke in a high, aggrieved tone.
"I wasn't referring to that, Mother. I was thinking of that impossible Ethel person that you tried your best to make me marry. And you knew I never could bear a person with that kind of hay-colored hair and light lashes."
Mrs. Thorpe retired behind an expensive handkerchief and wiped a sketchy tear or two.
"Well, I'm sure I don't want to go and invade this impossible person's home and try to teach her her duty to her child," she complained pensively. "If you don't want me to do it, just say so."
"Oh, it won't do any harm to try it," said Tilford loftily. "Personally, I don't think you'll get anywhere with it. She's a small woman, but she's very much set in her way, and she doesn't like people to tell her what her duty is any better than you do, Mother."
"Well, she shall hear it from me for once, anyway, whether she likes it or not," said Tilford's mother firmly. "Now, darling, go to Irma's first, and then why don't you run over to your club for a little while. You are looking awfully haggard, and it really isn't good for you to dwell on your disappointments. You trust me! I'll work this thing all out for you. And Tilford, dear, just to be on the safe side, better talk to Maris over the phone instead of going to the house. I wouldn't run any risks at all of getting measles at your age!"
"Nonsense!" said Tilford sharply as he took himself out of his mother's room and shut the door firmly.
"Tilford," called his father, as he passed the library door on his way out, "how about a little game of chess with your old dad? We haven't played in a long time."
"Nothing doing!" drawled Tilford disrespectfully. "I'm going over to the club and play pool! I've got too much on my mind to play chess. Besides, that's an old man's game!" And Tilford went out the front door and gave it a decided slam.
The father sighed and went back to his paper. He did not really want to play chess. But it seemed to him that it had been a very long time since Tilford was a little boy.