Lucile Triumphant. Elizabeth M. Duffield
16
The girls laughed and Jessie murmured something about, “That’s right; keep ’em under.”
“What’s that?” Phil demanded, but Jessie evaded with another question:
“When are you going to tell us about Jim?”
“Here we are, half the way home, and you haven’t even begun,” Evelyn added.
“Well, he seems more than satisfied with his engineering, and most of his letter is taken up with praises of Mr. Wescott and his wife and how good they are to him. He says the luck he’s had almost makes him believe in fate.”
“Well, there certainly did seem to be a fate in the way young Mr. Wescott just happened up to camp in the nick of time to find our guardian and fall in love with her, worse luck,” and Lucile vindictively kicked a stone from the path as though it were the meddling Mr. Wescott himself. “And then to think he should like Jim, a poor little country boy, well enough to take him along with him to the city, where he could make something of himself.”
“Well, all I have to say is that there’s no one I’d rather see get along than Jim. I liked him the first minute I saw him, and he sure does improve on acquaintance—the longer you know him, the more you like him. He deserves everything he gets,” and Phil’s face glowed with boyish enthusiasm.
“That’s the way we all felt,” said Lucile with equal earnestness, while Evelyn could not repress a chuckle at the memory of their first meeting with Jim. “Has he anything else to say?”
“Only one thing,” answered Phil, mysteriously.
“What is it?” the girls demanded in chorus.
“Hurry up, please, Phil,” Jessie pleaded.
“Certainly, anything for you,” Phil returned gallantly. “Why, he just states that Mr. and Mrs. Wescott——”
“Miss Howland!” cried Evelyn. 17
“Miss Howland that was,” corrected Phil; “Mrs. Wescott that is.”
“What difference does it make?” cried Lucile, impatiently. “What about her—is she sick?”
At the suggestion the girls grew pale.
“Not quite as bad as that,” teased Phil, enjoying the sensation his news was making and bent on prolonging it to the last extreme.
“Not quite? Oh, Phil, what do you mean?” cried Jessie, imploringly.
Anxiety and alarm showed so plainly on the girls’ white faces that Phil suddenly relented.
“Don’t get scared,” he continued, elegantly. “Your guardian isn’t sick. If she were, I guess she wouldn’t be making plans for visiting Burleigh.”
“Is that the truth?” Lucile demanded, seizing her brother’s arm. “Don’t play any more tricks, Phil,” she pleaded. “It means an awful lot to us, you know, if Miss—Mrs. Wescott is coming.”
“Oh, that’s on the level all right,” Phil answered with evident sincerity. “She just made up her mind a little while ago and Jim thinks she will probably write to you girls about it.”
“Oh, just think, we are really going to see her again after six months,” Jessie exclaimed, joyfully.
“And we’ll give her a reception she will never forget,” Lucile decided.
“All right; I’m with you,” Phil shouted, and was off to join a crowd of the fellows on the other side of the street.
“Don’t forget we eat soon,” Lucile called after him.
“Such a chance,” he flung back. “Bet I’ll be there before you will.”
“He thinks we’re going to talk for another couple of hours,” Jessie interpreted. 18
“No, we’d better do our talking to-morrow. Tell you what we’ll do—I have—an idea,” cried Lucile.
“Bright child, tell us about it,” said Evelyn.
“Suppose we call a special camp-fire meeting to-morrow morning to talk over plans for Miss Howland’s—I mean Mrs. Wescott’s reception.”
“Fine—but who will let them know?”
“Come over to-night, both of you, and we can ’phone them from here.”
“All right, we’ll do that, Lucy,” agreed Evelyn. “We’ll see you about eight o’clock, then.”
“Better run, Lucy,” warned Jessie, with a backward glance over her shoulder. “Phil will beat you in if you don’t hurry—he’s coming full tilt.”
“All right, I’ll see you to-night,” said Lucile, as she made a dash for the house.
She stopped for a moment on the doorstep to flash them a merry glance and cry triumphantly, “I won!”
“But not by much,” claimed Phil, taking the steps two at a time.
As they turned away, Jessie sent one parting shot over her shoulder:
“A miss is as good as a mile,” she gibed.
19
CHAPTER III
A LATTER-DAY MIRACLE
Saturday dawned gloriously. The warm rain that had fallen over night had dissolved the last frail bond of winter and had set the spring world free. Trees and bushes and shrubs were frosted with clinging, glistening diamonds that shimmered and gleamed in the sun, while the moist, warm earth sent up a pungent sweetness found only in the early spring.
“Smell it, just smell it!” said Jessie, sniffling rapturously, as she and Evelyn started on their way to Lucile’s.
“Isn’t it great?” Evelyn agreed. “That rain was just what we needed.”
“It reminds me of last spring——”
“That’s strange.”
“What?” said Jessie, puzzled.
“Why, that this spring should remind you of last.”
“Don’t get flippant, young lady,” said Jessie, severely, “or I shall be obliged to give you a ducking,” the river being very convenient just there, as the girls had to walk alongside its shores for some distance before turning into Lucile’s avenue.
“Please don’t; I had enough of a ducking last year in camp when I fell off the rock. Don’t you remember?” said Evelyn, with a rueful smile.
“I should say I do, rather,” laughed Jessie. “No one who was there and saw you could ever possibly forget it.”
“Oh, I know I always make an impression,” said Evelyn, wilfully misunderstanding.
For once Jessie could find no suitable retort. “You hate yourself, don’t you?” was all she could say. 20
“Not so you could notice it,” said Evelyn, enjoying her victory. “It seems to me that you were saying something when I——”
“When you so rudely interrupted,” said Jessie, sweetly. “I’m not so sure that I will tell you now. It was nothing of any importance.”
“Oh, I knew that,” said Evelyn quickly—it was certainly