and they ‘ll guy me for staying away! However, there ‘s nothing else to do. I should n’t have the face to go out now and come in at one or two o’clock in the morning.”
Polly entered just then with the letter.
“Edgar is kind enough to stay all night with us, dear, and take you to the Presidio on the pension business in the morning. If you will see that his room is all right, I will say good-night now. Our guest-chamber is downstairs, Edgar; I hope you will be very comfortable. Breakfast at half past eight, please.”
When the door of Mrs. Howe’s bedroom closed on Edgar, Polly ran upstairs, and sank exhausted on her own bed.
“Now, mamma, ‘listen to my tale of woe!’ I got off at the wrong station,—yes, it was stupid; but wait: perhaps I was led to be stupid. I lost my way, could n’t find Professor Salazar’s house, could n’t find anything else. As I was wandering about in a woodsy road, trying to find a house of some kind, I heard a crowd of boys singing vociferously as they came through the trees. I did n ‘t care to meet them, all alone as I was, though of course there was nothing to be afraid of, so I stepped off the road behind some trees and bushes until they should pass. It turned out to be half a dozen university students, and at first I did n’t know that Edgar was among them. They were teasing somebody to go over to San Francisco for a dinner, then to the minstrels, and then to wind up with a game of billiards, and other gayeties which were to be prolonged indefinitely. What dreadful things may have been included I don’t know. A wretch named ‘Tony’ did most of the teasing, and he looked equal to planning any sort of mischief. All at once I thought I recognized a familiar voice. I peeped out, and sure enough it was Edgar Noble whom they were coaxing. He did n’t want to go a bit,—I ‘ll say that for him,—but they were determined that he should. I didn’t mind his going to dinners and minstrels, of course, but when they spoke of being out until after midnight, or to-morrow morning, and when one beetle-browed, vulgar-looking creature offered to lend him a ‘tenner,’ I thought of the mortgage on the Noble ranch, and the trouble there would be if Edgar should get into debt, and I felt I must do something to stop him, especially as he said himself that everything depended on his next examinations.”
“But how did you accomplish it?” asked Mrs. Oliver, sitting up in bed and glowing with interest.
“They sat down by the roadside, smoking and talking it over. There was n’t another well-born, well-bred looking young man in the group. Edgar seemed a prince among them, and I was so ashamed of him for having such friends! I was afraid they would stay there until dark, but they finally got up and walked toward the station. I waited a few moments, went softly along behind them, and when I was near enough I cleared my throat (oh, it was a fearful moment!), and said, ‘I beg your pardon, but can you direct me to Professor Salazar’s house?’ and then in a dramatic tone, ‘Why, it is—is n’t it?—Edgar Noble of Santa Barbara!’ He joined me, of course. Oh, I can’t begin to tell you all the steps of the affair, I am so exhausted. Suffice it to say that he walked to Professor Salazar’s with me to make my excuses, came over to town with me, came up to the house, I trembling for fear he would slip through my fingers at any moment; then, you know, he stayed to dinner, I in terror all the time as the fatal hours approached and departed; and there he is, ‘the captive of my bow and spear,’ tucked up in Mrs. Howe’s best bed, thanks to your ingenuity! I could never have devised that last plot, mamma; it was a masterpiece!”
“You did a kind deed, little daughter,” said Mrs. Oliver, with a kiss. “But poor Mrs. Noble! What can we do for her? We cannot play policemen all the time. We are too far from Edgar to know his plans, and any interference of which he is conscious would be worse than nothing. I cannot believe that he is far wrong yet. He certainly never appeared better; so polite and thoughtful and friendly. Well, we must let the morrow bring counsel.”
“I hope that smirking, odious Tony is disappointed!” said Polly viciously, as she turned out the gas. “I distinctly heard him tell Edgar to throw a handkerchief over my hair if we should pass any wild cattle! How I ‘d like to banish him from this vicinity! Invite Edgar to dinner next week, mamma; not too soon, or he will suspect missionary work. Boys hate to be missionaried, and I ‘m sure I don’t blame them. I hope he is happy downstairs in his little prison! He ought to be, if ignorance is bliss!”
Chapter VIII.
Two Fireside Chats
It was five o’clock Saturday afternoon, and Edgar Noble stood on the Olivers’ steps, Mrs. Oliver waving her hand from an upper window, and Polly standing on the stairs saying good-by.
“Come over to dinner some night, won’t you, Edgar?” she asked carelessly; “any night you like, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.”
“Wednesday, please, as it comes first!” said Edgar roguishly. “May I help cook it?”
“You not only may, but you must. Good-by.”
Polly went upstairs, and, after washing the lunch-dishes in a reflective turn of mind which did away with part of the irksomeness of the task, went into the parlor and sat on a stool at her mother’s feet.
A soft rain had begun to fall; the fire burned brightly; the bamboo cast feathery shadows on the wall; from a house across the street came the sound of a beautiful voice singing,—
“Oh, holy night! the stars are brightly shining.
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth!”
All was peaceful and homelike; if it would only last, thought Polly.
“You are well to-night, mamacita.”
A look of repressed pain crossed Mrs. Oliver’s face as she smoothed the bright head lying in her lap. “Very comfortable, dear, and very happy; as who would not be, with such a darling comfort of a daughter? Always sunny, always helpful, these last dear weeks,—cook, housekeeper, nurse, banker, all in one, with never a complaint as one burden after another is laid on her willing shoulders.”
“Don’t, mamma!” whispered Polly, seeking desperately for her handkerchief. “I can stand scolding, but compliments always make me cry; you know they do. If Ferdinand and Isabella had told Columbus to discover my pocket instead of America, he would n’t have been as famous as he is now; there, I ‘ve found it. Now, mamma, you know your whole duty is to be well, well, well, and I ‘ll take care of everything else.”
“I ‘ve been thinking about Edgar, Polly, and I have a plan, but I shall not think of urging it against your will; you are the mistress of the house nowadays.”
“I know what it is,” sighed Polly. “You think we ought to take another boarder. A desire for boarders is like a taste for strong drink; once acquired, it is almost impossible to eradicate it from the system.”
“I do think we ought to take this boarder. Not because it will make a difference in our income, but I am convinced that if Edgar can have a pleasant home and our companionship just at this juncture, he will break away from his idle habits, and perhaps his bad associations, and take a fresh start. I feel that we owe it to our dear old friends to do this for them, if we can. Of course, if it proves too great a tax upon you, or if I should have another attack of illness, it will be out of the question; but who knows? perhaps two or three months will accomplish our purpose. He can pay me whatever he has been paying in Berkeley, less the amount of his fare to and fro. We might have little Yung Lee again, and Mrs. Howe will be glad to rent
