Kathie's Soldiers. Douglas Amanda M.
you expected to be very poor – or would have to do housework – "
"I might," returned Kathie, pleasantly. "People are sick sometimes, and servants go away."
"Isn't your uncle willing that you should have a chambermaid?"
"I suppose he would be if mamma desired it."
"So you have to keep your own room in order, and dust the parlor, and do all manner of little odds and ends. I believe I saw you wiping some dishes in the kitchen this morning."
"And it did not injure me," returned Kathie, laughingly.
"But all this work makes your hands hard and red. Mine are as soft as satin. I believe no money would tempt me to sweep a room!"
Ada uttered this in a very lofty fashion.
"Mamma thinks it best for me to learn to do everything. She was brought up in a good deal of luxury, but met with reverses afterward."
Kathie smiled inwardly at the picture she remembered of the little room where her mother used to sit and sew, and how she did errands, swept, washed dishes, and sometimes even scrubbed floors. Her hands were not large or coarse, for all the work they had done.
"I think it would be hard enough if one was compelled to do it. I am thankful that I have no taste for such menial employments. I do not believe that I could even toast a piece of bread"; and Ada leaned back in the low rocker, the very picture of complacency.
Kathie was silent, revolving several matters in her mind "all in a jumble," as she would have said. She knew it would be useless to undertake to explain to Ada the great difference between their lives. Mamma, Aunt Ruth, and Uncle Robert believed in the great responsibility of existence. Weeks, months, and years were not given to be squandered away in frivolous amusement. To do for each other was one of the first conditions, not merely the small family circle, but all the wide world outside who needed help or sympathy. And if one did not know how to do anything —
"But when you go to school you cannot do so much," pursued Ada. "There will be all your lessons. I suppose you will study French and Italian. You cannot think how I was complimented on my singing while I was at Saratoga. Several gentlemen said my pronunciation was wonderful in one so young. I hope I shall be able to come out next summer."
"Come out!" repeated Kathie, bewildered.
"Yes, be regularly introduced to society. I am past fifteen, and growing tall rapidly. I hope I shall have an elegant figure. I want to be a belle. Don't you suppose you shall ever go to Saratoga?"
"I don't know," – dubiously.
"It would be a shame for you to grow up here where there is no society. You would surely be an old maid, like your Aunt Ruth."
"She isn't so very old," returned Kathie, warmly.
"But every woman over twenty-five is an old maid. I mean to be married when I am eighteen."
Kathie brushed out her hair, hung up her clothes, and waited for Ada to get into bed so that she might say her prayers in peace. Ada had outgrown "Our Father which art in heaven," and "had no knack of making up prayers," she said.
But it seemed to Kathie that there were always so many things for which to give thanks, so many fresh blessings to ask. She almost wondered a little, sometimes, if God didn't get tired of listening.
CHAPTER II
DRAFTED
MISS JESSIE smiled a little at Ada's assumption of womanhood when the two girls came over to drink tea.
"Ah," said Grandmother Darrell, wiping her glasses, "she's no such a girl as Kathie! The child's worth half a dozen of her. After all, there's no place like the country to bring up boys and girls."
For Grandmother Darrell, like a good many other people, fancied everything that came from the city must be more or less contaminated.
"I think Miss Darrell would make your uncle a very nice wife," Ada said, graciously. "Do you suppose there is anything in it?"
Kathie flushed scarlet, remembering the pain and trouble of last winter. "I don't want to talk about it," she answered, in a low tone.
Ada nodded her head sagaciously. It was quite evident that she had hit upon the truth.
Some of the Brookside girls thought Ada "so splendid," Lottie Thorne among them, who now treated Kathie in a very amiable manner, and always took pains to speak with her as they came out of church. Of course, Lottie was growing older and a little more sensible, as well as worldly wise.
They took Ada to all the pleasant haunts, rowed over the lake, made two or three visits, and Mrs. Alston invited some girls, or rather young ladies, to tea; but Ada showed a decided preference for the young gentlemen. Even unsuspicious Kathie remarked how soon her headaches disappeared, and how ready she was to sing if some of the boys would stand at the piano and turn her music.
"A budding coquette," said Aunt Ruth, with a quiet smile.
"What a pity that girls should be reared to such idle, frivolous lives, and have their minds so filled with vanity and selfishness!" Mrs. Alston replied. "Can such blossoming bring forth good, wholesome fruit?"
Mr. Meredith felt a little annoyed. The visit was not quite the success he had hoped, and he saw more clearly than ever the difference between the two girls; but ah, how unlike their mothers were!
Was he growing more serious, clearer-eyed? What was there about this family that charmed so insensibly? The higher motives, the worthier lives, with a more generous outlook for neighbor and friend!
Kathie was ashamed to confess it even to herself, but she said good by at the station with a sense of relief. For days a horrible thought had been haunting her, – suppose Uncle Robert should be drafted! The abruptly terminated conversation had not been renewed; indeed, there had been so many pleasures at Cedarwood that one hardly wanted to bring in such a subject. But if it did happen, Kathie felt she should want no stranger eyes to witness her grief.
For when the question came directly home, she felt that she could not give him up; yet how brave she had been last winter! If General Mackenzie could look into her heart, he would find that she hardly deserved all his praise.
But all Brookside was much excited over the prospect. Business was very dull and bounties tempting; so numbers enlisted.
"Uncle Robert," Kathie said, as they were riding homeward, "could a drafted man offer a substitute just the same?"
"Why, yes, to be sure."
He uttered the words in such a light-hearted manner that she felt quite relieved, but lacked courage to pursue the subject further. A little quiver would keep rising from her heart to her throat, interfering with the steadiness of her voice.
By Monday night seventy men were still needed to complete the quota. That gave Brookside about forty.
Kathie wondered how they could all go on with their usual routine. Aunt Ruth, even, sat by the window and sang "Bonnie Doon," as she sewed upon Rob's outfit. His uncle had decided upon a school about sixty miles distant, a flourishing collegiate institution, in a healthy locality, – a quaint, quiet, old-fashioned town, with a river where the boys could have boating and swimming.
"It is so far!" Mrs. Alston had said at first.
"Not too far, though. Of course we do not expect him to come home every few weeks. That always unsettles a boy."
So she made no further demur. The principal, Dr. Goldthwaite, was a truly religious man, and the place was held in high esteem. Perhaps this took their thoughts a little from the subject that was so absorbing to Kathie.
Rob went over to the hall and hung about all the morning. He did find a good deal of amusement in it. The crowd was disposed to be rather jolly, and several of the men took their luck with great good-humor. It was as his uncle had said. While they would not willingly leave their homes and families, still, if the country had need of them in her imminent peril, they would go. Others, sure of a substitute, took the news with unconcern. Only a few exhibited any anger, or declared loudly what they would and what they would