A Girl of To-day

BROTHER AND SISTER.

“Here you are, then, Sis! Here you are--at last!”

The final words, spoken in a tone of complete satisfaction, accompanied a daring dive of hand and arm through the open window of the still moving railway-carriage.

“You ridiculous boy! We are only five minutes behind time!” Frances seized the intruding hand in a firm grip; and, as the train stopped, leaned out of the window to bestow a sisterly hug. “Its good to see you, dear! How brown and jolly you look! The country agrees with you, Austin; I thought it would.”

“Well, I don’t know. It was fearfully slow here at first, after Allerton. Of course, now--. Oh, come along, Frances! I’ve heaps to tell you, once we’re on the road. I wouldn’t bring the trap, because I wanted time for a good talk all to ourselves; and I knew the mile walk from the station to Woodend wouldn’t frighten you. Toss out the parcels! I suppose you’ve a few dozen. What, only one? Hallo! they’ve taught you something at school.”

Frances nodded her head reflectively. “Much you know about that yet, my son. Wait awhile, and I’ll enlighten you!”

Delivering herself of this promise,--which was received by the boy with an impudent little shrug,--the girl sprang to the platform in a style strongly suggestive of past triumphs in her school gymnasium, and then proceeded to catch her brother by the shoulders and give him what she called “a proper look-over”.

Austin stood the examination well. Though slightly built, he was broad of chest and straight of limb; his blue eyes were bright and clear; and the weakness of his mouth was usually discounted by the sunny smile which readily parted his lips. Nearly three years younger than his sister, and accustomed to look to her for companionship, guidance, and encouragement, Austin had found the months of their separation so real a trial that his joy in their present meeting was particularly demonstrative. He remembered in a flash of thought half a score of promising projects which had been allowed to lapse until Frances should come home from Haversfield College. And now Frances was here in front of him, and surveying him with the steady gray eyes he knew and truly loved--Frances herself, no whit spoiled by her two terms at the famous school for girls, though in Austin’s mind there had lurked some fears of long skirts, hair “done up”, and--worse than all!--airs of condescending superiority and adult wisdom.

Frances did not look at all grown-up. She was just a healthy, happy lass of barely fourteen years; frankly preferring short frocks to long ones, and in no haste for the time when hair-dressing should become a troublesome solemnity. So far, life had made small demands on her individuality. At home, she had known no special duty except the care of Austin, who had been rather delicate in early childhood; at school, she had been one of many, fairly successful in her work, more than fairly successful at games and bodily exercises, and perhaps showing promise chiefly in a susceptibility to all those influences which tend to widen a young girl’s sympathies and draw out her intelligence. Frances had been fortunate in her recent experience--Haversfield is an excellent nursery for the best kind of girlhood. Its many house-mistresses are chosen by the Principal with extreme care; and Frances had been under the charge of Miss Cliveden, a clever, cultivated, and liberal-minded woman, whose training was quite as valuable for heart as for head. The brightest-witted, most thoughtful, and most generous pupils of Haversfield were proud to call themselves “Miss Cliveden’s girls”.

“Is Mamma all right?” inquired Frances, releasing her brother after a little satisfied shake.

“Right as she can be. Ten deep in tea-drinkings, and particular friends with all the world. No, not with all the world--with the most particular world of Woodend. She’s ‘At Home’ this afternoon, you know. First and third Thursdays, and all that twaddle--”

“Austin!” laughed Frances, faintly reproachful.

“Well, it is! Fancy a lot of women staring at each other over tea-cups and cake, and two odd men tripping about among the crew and wishing themselves at Kamschatka!”

“Who are the two?”

“Any tame sparrows caught in the trap.”

“You ought to watch them, and learn what you’ve to grow up to.”

“Catch me!”

“But Mamma is well?” persisted Frances. “And she likes Woodend, and her new house--you’re sure?”

“Oh, I suppose so!” exclaimed Austin, showing signs of impatience.

“She left Allerton for your sake, and I think you ought to remember that.”

“Don’t preach!”

“Don’t you be ridiculous,” said Frances sharply. “I’ve no patience with boys who call every sensible word ‘preaching’.”

“I’ve no patience with girls who are everlastingly ‘sensible’.”

Frances’s frowns vanished, and smiles came instead. Her sisterly prerogative of “preaching” was so seldom exercised that Austin usually took her mild rebukes like a lamb. His laugh echoed hers just now, and he gave an affectionate hug to the arm he clung to. Brother and sister were walking at a good pace along the straggling white road to the village.

“Never mind, Sis. You shall preach as much as you like--to-day. And Mater is really all right--she must be. She has loads of friends already.”

“Loads! In a tiny place like this!” commented Frances, gazing about her. On either hand stretched the green meadows, watered by brooks filled with recent rain; in front, the country spread smiling and serene under the brilliant sun of late July. Immediately before them, the road dipped into a shallow wooded valley, studded on both sides with houses of every degree. Farther off, above the trees of Fencourt Park (the home of Woodend’s chief landlord), could be descried the broken ridges of Rowdon Common. All these interesting facts were duly pointed out by Austin, with the justifiable airs and pride of a resident; while Frances, as a new-comer, merely listened or asked sagacious questions.

“That’s where we hang out,” remarked the boy elegantly, while waving his hand towards a long, picturesquely-built house on the opposite side of the valley. “It’s a tidy crib, with lots of room.”

“A crib--with lots of room! A pretty confusion of terms, young man.”

“I’ve bagged a jolly place for larks,” continued Austin eagerly. “There’s a stove in it and a splendid big table, and a bath-room next door, which will just do for our photography.”

The boy’s face, uplifted to his sister’s, was full of the happy enthusiasm which feels itself secure of sympathy; and Frances’s heart beat high with pleasure because her welcome home was of this joyful sort. For the absent school-girl, like her brother, had known some fears--lest the six months’ parting should have taught Austin to do without her. The boy had proved a poor correspondent; and it was not easy for Frances with her warm, unselfish temperament, to realize that unanswered letters did not necessarily signify failing affection.

“That’s the church--it’s splendid for photographing, if only one could get the lines of the tower straight. And there’s the rectory alongside. The Rector’s very old; but a good sort, like the curate.”

“The curate is Mr. Carlyon, your tutor, isn’t he? Oh, Austin, do you like having lessons with him?” asked Frances, with intense interest. Her reverence for knowledge had grown of late, and she wanted, not unnaturally, to find out whether in this direction Austin’s steps had progressed with her own.

“I like it well enough. You see,” he added awkwardly, “I’m not exactly a grind; one must use one’s wits, but I think mine go best with my hands. Only, Carlyon was a swell at Oxford, and he’s got a way of making one think one wouldn’t mind being a swell too.”

Frances looked relieved and quite contented.

“Then he knows a straight ball when he sees one,” Austin continued, “and he’s a crack with his bat. Then when lessons are on, he doesn’t drone away everlastingly about dead-and-gone chaps. There’s one of his cranks we all approve of, somehow.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve half an hour every day for what he chooses to call ‘current events’. Carlyon tells us what’s going on in the world, reads bits out of papers and talks them over, and gives marks to the fellows who remember best.”

“Oh, Austin! I hope you get most marks!” interrupted Frances, with the utterly unreasonable ambition of a sister. Austin felt that he was wanting, and replied grumpily:

“Hang it, I’d like to know what chance I have! The other chaps hear things at home. Mater won’t let me look at a paper, and never talks to me about what she reads herself.”

“Never mind,” said Frances, “I’ll hunt out the news for you, and read the things up, and send you off all ready crammed. I shall like doing it.”