"There; be quiet; sit down. I would almost as soon select a small
whirlwind for a companion. Can't you learn to enter a room without
blustering like a March wind or a Texan norther?" asked her uncle.
"Have you all seen a ghost? You look as solemn as grave-diggers.
What ails you, Beulah? Come along to breakfast. How nice you look in
your new clothes!" Her eyes ran over the face and form of the
orphan.
"Pauline, hush! and eat your breakfast. You annoy your uncle," said
her mother severely.
"Oh, do, for gracious' sake, let me talk! I feel sometimes as if I
should suffocate. Everything about this house is so demure, and
silent, and solemn, and Quakerish, and hatefully prim. If ever I
have a house of my own, I mean to paste in great letters over the
doors and windows, 'Laughing and talking freely allowed!' This is my
birthday, and I think I might stay at home. Mother, don't forget to
have the ends of my sash fringed, and the tops of my gloves
trimmed." Draining her small china cup, she sprang up from the
table, but paused beside Beulah.
"By the by, what are you going to wear to-night, Beulah?"
"I shall not go into the parlors at all," answered the latter.
"Why not?" said Dr. Hartwell, looking suddenly up. He met the sad,
suffering expression of the gray eyes, and bit his lip with
vexation. She saw that he understood her feelings, and made no
reply.
"I shall not like it, if you don't come to my party," said Pauline
slowly; and as she spoke she took one of the orphan's hands.
"You are very kind, Pauline; but I do not wish to see strangers."
"But you never will know anybody if you make such a nun of yourself.
Uncle Guy, tell her she must come down into the parlors to-night."
"Not unless she wishes to do so. But, Pauline, I am very glad that
you have shown her you desire her presence." He put his hand on her
curly head, and looked with more than usual affection at the bright,
honest face.
"Beulah, you must get ready for school. Come down as soon as you
can. Pauline will be waiting for you." Mrs. Chilton spoke in the
calm, sweet tone peculiar to her and her brother, but to Beulah
there was something repulsive in that even voice, and she hurried
from the sound of it. Kneeling beside her bed, she again implored
the Father to restore Eugene to her, and, crushing her grief and
apprehension down into her heart, she resolved to veil it from
strangers. As she walked on by Pauline's side, only the excessive
paleness of her face and drooping of her eyelashes betokened her
suffering.