Chapter 2 SUCH A DEAR LITTLE MONKEY!

But there were weightier matters in the lawyer's mind than the choice of a school for incorrigible girls, and he was soon pondering deeply over a compensation case, as he strode along the stretch of almost countrified road which connected the residential district of Mydenham with the parent town of Osmington.

He was nearing the latter, and had just consulted his watch, in view of an important appointment, when, turning a corner sharply, he collided with a young lady of nineteen or thereabouts, who, with a small brother and sister, was coming in the opposite direction.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Bertram."

"My dear Miss Franklyn, I beg your pardon," the lawyer ejaculated, as he straightened his hat and readjusted his spectacles, which had nearly fallen off in the contretemps. "I hope I didn't hurt you?" and he looked apologetically into the bright smiling eyes of the girl, who found it difficult to refrain from laughing outright.

"Not a bit, thank you," was Kathleen Franklyn's reply. "It was quite as much my fault as yours. I am afraid I was not looking where I was going; these chicks were drawing my attention to an organ-grinder, with a little monkey, across the road."

As she spoke, she looked round, expecting to find the children close at hand. But alas! they had seized the opportunity--far too delightful to lose--of sister Kath's attention being distracted for a moment, and with wonderful noiselessness and rapidity had crossed the wide road, on which the traffic was somewhat heavy, and were already some little distance away, following with a small crowd of children in the wake of the wonderful monkey.

"Oh! those naughty children," she cried, "they are always up to mischief. You and Mrs. Bertram are saved no end of anxiety by having none."

"At any rate, they would have got past the monkey-admiring age by now," was Mr. Bertram's reply, albeit there was a gleam of sadness in his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips. "But we must go after these young miscreants speedily."

"Oh! please don't trouble," said Kathleen as she walked on quickly beside him; "I shall soon pick them up, and I know you are in a hurry."

"Because I tried to knock you down," he replied, with an amused laugh. "The mischief I have done to-day is accumulating terribly."

"If you have done no one any more harm than you have done me, I think you need not begin to clothe yourself in sackcloth and ashes on account of your sins at present," was Kathleen's saucily given reply, as she shook hands hastily upon reaching Mr. Bertram's office, and hurried after the children, whom she had kept well in view.

"A charming girl," soliloquised the little lawyer as he entered his dull-looking office, and felt as if he had left all the brightness outside. "Franklyn is to be envied having such a troop of young people about him. But I daresay he looks at it in quite another light: probably that of ￡ s. d. Well, well, the best of us are never satisfied, but I must say life would be very different for Mary and me if we had a bright young thing like Kathleen Franklyn about the house." And then he turned his attention to legal affairs.

Meanwhile, Kathleen had succeeded in catching up to the little truants, and was giving them a lecture on their misbehaviour, in what was intended to be a very severe tone.

"It was really very naughty, Joan, very naughty indeed. You are older than Paddy, and should not have taken him into mischief." And she looked reproachfully into the dark grey eyes of the little girl, whose hand she now held tightly. "You might have been knocked down, and run over, or even lost. All sorts of things might have happened to you," she added, piling on the agony, for she thought she might as well do it thoroughly while she was about it.

"Oh, Kathie, we didn't mean to be naughty, truly we didn't," said little Joan, somewhat awed by the calamities which her big sister was enumerating so glibly; "did we, Paddy?"

"No, didn't mean to be naughty," repeated five-year-old Paddy solemnly, a simply seraphic look on his sweet little face, which was surrounded by a halo of golden curls. "But it was such a dear little monkey!" And he half turned his head, with a longing look after the object of his affections, now almost out of sight in the distance.

But Kathleen drew him on. "Well, promise me never to run off like that alone, again," she said, "or poor mother would be dreadfully upset. Just fancy if I had gone home without you, what would she have said?"

"Spect she'd have said 'good riddance'!" was Master Pat's saucy rejoinder, as he looked roguishly up at his tall sister.

"Oh! Pat, you are well called 'The Pickle,'" she cried, as she held the little chubby hand even more tightly, for this baby brother was the pet and plaything of the whole family, albeit he kept them continually on thorns with the endless mischief he managed to get into.

"Must you tell mother we ran away from you, Kathie?" whispered Joan, beseechingly, as they neared home. She was a very tender-hearted little maiden, who would seldom have given any trouble but for Paddy's mischievous suggestions, and the thought of her mother being grieved troubled her.

"No, dearie, I don't think we will tell her this time; but you won't do it again, will you?" said kind-hearted Kathleen, as she pushed open the heavy iron gate, and the trio walked up the somewhat weed-covered path, leading to a substantial red brick house, well known in Osmington as Dr. Franklyn's.

As they entered the door, a girl of fourteen or so, a younger edition of Kathleen, rushed out into the hall.

"What an age you've been, Kath!" she cried impetuously. "Elsa and I thought you were never coming. Did you get what we wanted?"

"Yes, yes, Olive, I have it all right, but give me time to breathe," said Kathleen, as her younger sister began scrimmaging in her pocket. "Mind you don't upset it!"

"You dear old granny, how can it be upset if it isn't opened yet?" was the laughing reply, as Olive succeeded in securing a large tin of enamel. "But, oh! Kath, what shall we do for a brush?" And her face fell considerably at the thought.

"Well, I may be a 'granny,' but even they can be useful, for I had the sense to bring not only one, but two brushes!" And Kathleen produced them with a merry laugh.

"Well, you are a dear old darling"; and Olive hugged her sister rapturously. "Now Elsa and I can both paint at the same time. Send the children to Nanny, Kath, and then come up quickly to the 'den.' We've only half an hour before tea."

She flew up the shabbily carpeted stairs, two steps at a time, and finally arrived at the top story, breathless. Bursting into one of the roomy attics, Olive sank down upon the first chair she came to from sheer want of breath; but she quickly got up again with an exclamation of dismay, for she remembered now it was too late that that was where she had hastily stood the saucer of turpentine she had been using when she rushed off downstairs to meet Kathleen.

"What's the matter, couldn't Kath get the paint?" queried a voice from the other end of the quaint, odd-shaped room, and her twin-sister came slowly forward.

Strangers never knew Olive and Elsa Franklyn apart, so much alike were they in outward appearance, the dark hair and eyes, full rosy lips and slightly upturned nose of the one being a perfect replica of the other. But the similarity was only external; in habits and character they were as widely diverse as the poles. Elsa was as quiet and methodical as Olive was noisy and impetuous in her actions; indeed their mother sometimes said she wished they could have been a little less alike outwardly, and a little more alike inwardly. It would have been better in every way, she thought; only it was two Elsas, not two Olives, that she would have chosen.

"Oh, I say, mother will be frantic!" cried Olive, as she vainly endeavoured to see the extent of the damage done to her light grey dress. Fortunately, the saucer did not contain much more than the dregs of the turpentine cook had given them, somewhat gingerly; but alas! the old bookcase and table that Olive had been seized with a desire to rejuvenate, had been scarlet during the last phase of their existence, so that the turpentine they had been cleaning them with had become decidedly reddish! Consequently the skirt had taken that tone.

"You have made yourself in a mess," was all Elsa could say, as she stood helplessly looking at the ugly stain which was growing visibly larger, for the material had soaked up all the mixture.

"If that's all you can do to help, you may just as well go on with your old hammering," blurted out Olive, her vexation at the mishap fast turning into anger, for she knew punishment would inevitably follow upon discovery. "I never did know such a stupid thing as you are, Elsa." And Olive blinked desperately hard to keep back the tears, which seemed as if they would choke, as well as blind her.

"I don't see what you can do," said poor Elsa, bravely refraining from an angry retort. There were those among her acquaintances who were wont to declare that she had not sufficient spirit to hold her own with her somewhat tyrannical twin sister. But Elsa Franklyn had lately learnt that it is "the soft answer that turneth away wrath;" and although she was often sorely tempted to return evil for evil, she remembered Him who never answered back, and day by day the quiet, unobtrusive girl was growing more like the Saviour whom she humbly sought to please.

"Hadn't you better change your dress, Olive," she suggested, as her sister twisted the skirt, first this way, and then that, to get a better idea of the extent of the damage.

"Quite a brilliant idea, Miss Elsa," was Olive's sarcastic reply; "just what I was going to do." And the girl, who knew she had only her own carelessness to thank for the catastrophe, gave the unoffending chair such a kick with her foot as she was going out of the door, that the saucer, which was still upon it, slid off the shiny seat, and falling on the linoleum-covered floor, was smashed into little bits.

"Oh, Olive!"

"Horrid, aggravating thing!" cried the hot-tempered girl. "Won't old Cookey be mad, though? She wanted to find an odd one, but she couldn't, so she gave me one of the kitchen set. I shall catch it, when she knows. But there's no hurry about that, the frock's the worst."

Meanwhile, Elsa had been carefully collecting all the broken bits of china into an old box-lid, and was wiping up the floor with some rag they had been using to clean their woodwork with. For a minute she was inclined to let Olive bear the brunt of the cook's wrath, as a punishment for her silly outburst of temper, but the next she said quietly: "I will take this down to the kitchen, Ollie, and explain to cook, while you go and change your frock. And if I can find Kathleen anywhere, I will send her up to you. She will know what had better be done to it."

With an incomprehensive look at Elsa, as if such conduct were beyond her ken, Olive burst out, "Well, you are a dear good creature, Elsa; I'm sorry now I was cross to you," and she looked affectionately into the quiet face Elsa lifted to hers, as she rose from her stooping posture. They were never at variance for long, this pair of twins, for if Olive was careless and hot-tempered she was also generous and affectionate.

"I know you didn't mean it," was all Elsa said, but the smile which irradiated her face at the words of commendation was good to see.

Elsa soon put matters right with cook (who had been for many years a faithful servant in the doctor's busy household) and was on her way to find Kathleen, when she heard her name called.

"Elsa, dear!"

Gently pushing open the door of a room that was half bedroom and half boudoir, she found the object of her search sitting beside a couch on which reclined a delicate looking lady, who, from the resemblance her daughter bore her, was unmistakably their mother.

"Did you want me, mamma?" she said, as she bent over the invalid.

"Yes, darling, I heard a noise like something falling upstairs a little while ago, and I was afraid one of you was hurt."

Elsa had to stoop quite low to hear the whispered words, for it had been one of the fragile mother's bad days, and she was very weak.

In a few words Elsa explained the catastrophe, taking care not to make the worst of Olive's temper; but both the mother and Kathleen read between the lines.

The latter rose hastily, a look of annoyance on her girlish face.

"Really, Olive is too careless," she said indignantly. "She is always spoiling something; only last week she tore a long zig-zag slit in her blue serge dress, and now this grey one will be ruined, and she will have nothing fit to go back to school in. I must go and see what can be done, I suppose, but I shall give her a good scolding."

"Don't be too harsh with her, Kathie," pleaded her mother. "It was very thoughtless of her, I know, but she will soon grow older now and be more careful. Girls will be girls." And she looked at her tall, handsome daughter, who had never given her a quarter of the trouble that Olive had, with admiring and yet wistful eyes. How she wished for the sake of her eight robust sons and daughters that she had not been compelled, since Paddy's babyhood, to spend the greater part of her life in her own room. But yet she could not regret the imprisonment, for it was only since she had been forced to give up her busy active life in the large household, where the doctor's income never seemed sufficient to meet the huge demands made upon it, that she had learnt that bringing up her boys and girls to be healthy and happy was not all that was necessary. God had taken the busy mother aside, and had shown her that her children were only lent to her, to be trained for Him. And she had heard His loving voice, and was seeking now to do what she could to make amends for the years of lost opportunities. Her eldest daughter Lois (who, as far as she could, had taken her mother's place in the household) and Elsa had already chosen "that good part which shall never be taken away." But the mother-heart yearned over her two big sons, Roger and Dick, winsome Kathleen and careless Olive.

She held Elsa's warm young hand in her nerveless grasp, as Kathleen closed the door behind her, and drew the girlish face, aglow with health, down to hers, until their lips met in a long, lingering caress; this quiet, thoughtful little daughter was a great comfort to her mother.

"I am afraid poor Olive was in a temper again, Elsa, for I do not see how the saucer could have fallen by itself. But do not tell me, dear; I will speak to her myself when she comes in to see me later on."

"She doesn't get into a temper quite so often as she used to, mamma," said Elsa, eager to defend the absentee. "At least, we don't have so many quarrels now."

"I can guess why that is," whispered Mrs. Franklyn, tenderly, as she stroked the dark hair with her soft white fingers; "it takes two to make a quarrel, I used to be told in my childhood, and my Elsa tries very hard nowadays not to be one of the two, doesn't she?"

"Yes, mamma, generally, but I don't always succeed," and the girlish head was half hidden in the rug which covered her mother's slight form, so that her words were only just audible. "Sometimes I fail; I did yesterday when we were having a game, but oh! mamma, I was so sorry afterwards." And she raised her tear-dimmed eyes to her mother's face.

"Did you tell Jesus, darling?"

"Oh! yes, mamma. I always do, directly, and----"

"He has forgiven you, then, Elsa?"

"Yes, mamma, I know He has; but oh! I do wish I could remember quicker, so as not to let the hasty words slip out. It must grieve Him so!"

"So it does, my childie, but I am sure He is pleased, too, when He sees how hard you fight against this enemy of yours, and He is only too ready to help you. Keep looking to Him for strength, Elsa, and go on persevering, and pray for Olive, dear; her enemy is stronger far than yours, and she does not try to conquer it."

"I do, mamma, I do," murmured her little daughter.

And then the tea-bell sounded through the house, summoning all the young folk to the large, plainly furnished dining-room where Lois Franklyn presided over the tea-tray. "Just her mother over again," was Dr. Franklyn's description of his eldest daughter, but there seemed little resemblance, nowadays, between the fragile invalid and this tall, capable young woman of three-and-twenty. Lois was not so handsome as Kathleen, but there was a certain indescribable charm about her, a nameless something which was wont to retain the admiration that Kathleen's more youthful beauty at first sight attracted.

From furtive glances at Kathleen and Olive, Elsa gathered that no serious trouble had arisen between the sisters; indeed, Olive seemed on her best behaviour. So Elsa breathed freely, and concluded that the turpentine incident had blown over, as no mention was made of it. The meal passed merrily enough; Kathleen's racy account of her contretemps with Mr. Bertram amusing them very much. Paddy and Joan were just being reprimanded by Lois for running away, when Dr. Franklyn appeared on the scene, tired out after a long round of visits, and his children vied with each other in making him comfortable.

"How is your mother, Lois?" was his first query, as she poured out a cup of tea, and begged him to drink it at once, assuring him that the invalid had rested a little, and felt a trifle better.

He drank it hastily, and then set the cup down, saying: "I will have some more when I come back: only one of you girls need wait for me."

And Lois, seeing that he was physically worn out, despatched the younger ones in various directions, as soon as they had finished their tea, and thus secured a quiet room for her father in which to have his long-waited-for meal in peace.