Annabel. Baum Lyman Frank
to me as if the brace-strings were wrong,” said he, resuming his low whistle, which was an indication that he was much interested in the problem. “They don’t balance the kite right, you see. There, that’s better,” he continued, after changing the position of the cords; “let’s try it now. I’ll hold it, Ted, and you run.”
Theodore at once took the cord, which Will had swiftly untangled and rolled into a ball, and stood prepared to run when the kite was released. Next moment he was off, and the kite, now properly balanced, rose gracefully into the air and pulled strong against the cord, which Theodore paid out until the big kite was so high and distant that it looked no bigger than your hand.
Ted could manage the kite now while standing still, and the other children all rushed to his side, with their eyes fastened upon the red speck in the sky.
“Thank you, Will,” said Theodore.
“That’s all right,” answered Will, indifferently; “all it needed was a little fixing. You could have done it yourself, if you’d only thought about it. How’s the sick kitten, Annabel?”
“Fine,” said the girl. “The medicine you gave me made it well right away.”
“Oho!” cried Reginald, joyfully, “he gave Annabel medicine to cure a sick kitten!”
“I’ll give you some for a sick puppy, Reggie,” said Will, grinning.
The kite-flyers were now standing in a group near a large bed of roses at the side of the house, and none of them, so intent were they upon their sport, had noticed that Mrs. Williams had come upon the lawn with a dainty basket and a pair of shears to gather flowers. So her voice, close beside them, presently startled the children and moved the inattentive nurse to spring up and hide her book.
“Isn’t that the vegetable boy?” asked the lady, in a cold tone.
Will swung around and pulled off his cap with a polite bow.
“Yes, ma’am,” said he.
“Then run away, please,” she continued, stooping to clip a rose with her shears.
“Run away?” he repeated, not quite able to understand.
“Yes!” said she, sharply. “I don’t care to have my children play with the vegetable boy.”
The scorn conveyed by the cold, emphatic tones brought a sudden flush of red to Will’s cheeks and brow.
“Good bye,” he said to his companions, and marched proudly across the lawn to where his basket lay. Nor did he pause to look back until he had passed out of the grounds and the back gate closed behind him with a click.
Then a wild chorus of protest arose from the children.
“Why did you do that?” demanded Theodore of his mother.
“He’s as good as we are,” objected Annabel.
“It wasn’t right to hurt his feelings,” said Mary Louise, quietly; “he can’t help being a vegetable boy.”
“Silence, all of you!” returned Mrs. Williams, sternly. “And understand, once for all, that I won’t have you mixing with every low character in the town. If you haven’t any respect for yourselves you must respect your father’s wealth and position – and me.”
There was an ominous silence for a moment. Then said little Gladys:
“Will’s a dood boy; an’ he fixted my dolly’s leg.”
“Fanny! take that rebellious child into the house this minute,” commanded the great lady, pointing a terrible finger at her youngest offspring.
“I don’t want to,” wailed Gladys, resisting the nurse with futile determination.
“Oh, yes you will, dear,” said Mary Louise, softly, as she bent down to the little one. “You must obey mamma, you know. Come, – I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll go with Ma’-Weeze,” said the child, pouting and giving her mother a reproachful glance as she toddled away led by her big sister, with the nurse following close behind.
“A nice, obedient lot of children you are, I must say!” remarked Mrs. Williams, continuing to gather the flowers. “And a credit, also, to your station in life. I sometimes despair of bringing you up properly.”
There was a moment’s silence during which the children glanced half fearfully at each other; then in order to relieve the embarrassment of the situation Annabel cried:
“Come on, boys; let’s go play.”
They started at once to cross the lawn, glad to escape the presence of their mother in her present mood.
“Understand!” called Mrs. Williams, looking after them; “if that boy stops to play with you again I’ll have Peter put him out of the yard.”
But they paid no attention to this threat, nor made any reply; and the poor woman sighed and turned to her flowers, thinking that she had but done her duty.
CHAPTER II
THE DOCTOR TELLS THE TRUTH
Meantime Will Carden walked slowly up the lane, his basket on his arm and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Once out of sight of the Williams’ grounds his proud bearing relaxed, and great tears welled in his gray eyes. The scornful words uttered by Mrs. Williams had struck him like a blow and crushed and humiliated him beyond measure. Yet he could not at first realize the full meaning of his rebuff; it was only after he found time to think, that he appreciated what she had really meant by the words. Her children were rich, and he was poor. There was a gulf between them, and the fine lady did not wish her children to play with the vegetable boy. That was all; and it was simple enough, to be sure. But it brought to Will’s heart a bitterness such as he had never known in all his brief lifetime.
He liked the Williams boys and girls. They had always been good comrades, and not one of them had ever hinted that there was any difference in their positions. But of course they did not know, as their mother did, how far beneath them was the poor “vegetable boy.”
Will glanced down at the worn and clumsy shoes upon his feet. The leather was the same color as the earth upon the path, for he worked in the garden with them, and couldn’t have kept them clean and polished had he so wished. His trousers were too short; he knew that well enough, but hadn’t cared about it until then. And they were patched in places, too, because his mother had an old-fashioned idea that patches were more respectable than rags, while Will knew well enough that both were evidences of a poverty that could not be concealed. He didn’t wear a coat in summer, but his gray shirt, although of coarse material, was clean and above reproach, and lots of the village boys wore the same sort of a cheap straw hat as the one perched upon his own head.
The Williams children didn’t wear such hats, though. Will tried to think what they did wear; but he had never noticed particularly, although it was easy to remember that the boys’ clothes were of fine cloths and velvets, and he had heard Flo speak of the pretty puffs and tucks in the Williams girls’ dresses. Yes, they were rich – very rich, everyone said – and no one knew so well as Will how very poor and needy the Cardens were. Perhaps it was quite right in Mrs. Williams not to want her children to associate with him. But oh! how hard his rejection was to bear.
Bingham wasn’t a very big town. Formerly it had been merely a headquarters for the surrounding farmers, who had brought there their grain to be shipped on the railroad and then purchased their supplies at the stores before going back home again. But now the place was noted for its great steel mills, where the famous Williams Drop Forge Steel was made and shipped to all parts of the world. Three hundred workmen were employed in the low brick buildings that stood on the edge of the town to the north, close to the railway tracks; and most of these workmen lived in pretty new cottages that had been built on grounds adjoining the mills, and which were owned and rented to them by Chester D. Williams, the sole proprietor of the steel works.
The old town, with its humble but comfortable dwellings, lay scattered to the south of the “Main Street,” whereon in a double row