CHAPTER V

KATHLEEN TAKES THE HELM

It was a lovely April afternoon, and school was out for the day. Down the steps of the big school building was pouring a stream of little girls--little girls of all ages and all sizes and, almost without exception, every tongue was loosened, and was making the best use of its powers.

“Where’s Nora O’Neil? I want to speak to Nora O’Neil,” stated a tall girl of thirteen, pausing at the foot of the steps, and casting an anxious glance about among the loudly chattering throng.

“I saw her a minute ago,” said another girl, also pausing. “She must have stopped to speak to some one. Oh, here she comes. I say, Nora, I should think you’d be too stuck-up to live after having your composition read out loud before the whole class, and Miss Lane’s saying such grand things about it.”

Nora blushed.

“I’m not stuck-up at all,” she declared. “I love writing. My father wrote plays and poems; perhaps that’s why compositions seem so easy to me, but I’m rather stupid in most of my lessons, so it doesn’t count for much.”

“Well, the composition was fine, anyhow,” said the tall girl, slipping an arm affectionately round Nora’s waist. “If I’d written anything half so good I know I’d be as proud as Punch. Are you going right home?”

“I’ve got to wait for May Judson,” said Nora. “I promised her mother I’d always see her across the avenue. Here she is. Come along, May; I’m in a hurry.”

“I guess I’ll walk a little way with you,” said the big girl, as May, rather breathless from a race down four flights of stairs, joined the group, and slipped a hot little hand into Nora’s. “I want to ask you to do something for me.”

“I will if I can,” said Nora. “What is it?”

Lina Rosenbaum, whose father was the proprietor of the largest department store in the neighborhood, and who was consequently looked upon as a very important young person among her friends, blushed, and hesitated.

“Maybe you’ll think it a little queer,” she said in a rather low voice, as the three turned a corner into a quiet side street; “but you see, I’m awfully stupid about making up things. I never can think what to say, and I always get awful marks for my compositions. I’ve got one to write for next Friday, and I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping me. Of course I’d give you something for doing it.”

Nora flushed indignantly.

“I wouldn’t take anything,” she said, bluntly. “I’d be glad to help you with your composition, but I don’t believe it would be fair. We’re not supposed to have any help, you know.”

“Oh, bother!” said Lina, impatiently. “The teachers needn’t know anything about it, and it would be such a help to me. My father has promised me a present if I get good marks all next week, and I never get anything higher than fifty for my compositions. If you won’t help me I shall think it’s because you don’t want any one else to write as well as you do.”

“It is not!” cried Nora, with flashing eyes. “I wouldn’t be so mean for the world. I’d help you if I could, but it wouldn’t be right. I can’t do mean things even to help people. Mother wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, never mind your mother; she needn’t know. I don’t tell Mamma half the things I do.”

“I tell Mother everything,” said Nora, simply, and May--who had been listening to the conversation with deep interest--broke in virtuously--

“I always tell my mother everything, too, just the same as Nora. Say, Lina, what would you give Nora if she wrote that composition for you?”

“I didn’t ask her to write it; only to help me with it,” protested Lina, “and I would give her something lovely, but I won’t tell what.”

“Maybe she’ll do it if you tell,” suggested May, with pardonable curiosity, but Nora cut her short.

“No, I won’t, and you needn’t tell me, Lina. I’m very sorry, but Miss Lane told expressly that we were not to ask for any help in our compositions. I’m sure you can do it all right if you really try. You’re ever so much cleverer than I am in most things. Now come along, May; I promised Mother to come right home from school.”

“Don’t you like presents, Nora?” inquired May, when Lina had taken a sulky departure, and they were hurrying on in the direction of home.

“I love them,” said Nora; “I guess everybody does; but it wouldn’t be fair to take a present for doing something that wasn’t right.”

May gave the elder girl an admiring glance.

“You’re very good,” she said in a tone of conviction. “I guess you must be ’most as good as Elsie Dinsmore. She’s a girl in a book I brought home from Sunday-school last week, and she was so good she wouldn’t play the piano on Sunday, even when her father ordered her to do it. She never did anything except what she read in the Bible that she ought to do. It’s a lovely book, but some of it’s very sad. Lina has beautiful things. Perhaps she’d have given you a pair of earrings like those she wears herself.”

Nora laughed.

“Mother wouldn’t let me wear them if she did,” she said. “Now we’re going to cross the avenue so keep tight hold of my hand till we’re on the other side.”

“Why, there’s a big automobile in front of our house!” remarked May, as, having safely crossed the avenue, they turned their own corner. “There’s a lady inside, and she looks as if she’s gone to sleep.”

“The chauffeur looks as if he were asleep, too,” said Nora. “They must be waiting for some one.” And, with an indifferent glance at the handsome limousine, she hurried up the steps--which the janitor happened to be cleaning--and in at the open front door of the apartment house. At sight of Nora, the janitor paused in his sweeping.

“I thought I saw you come in before,” he remarked in a tone of some surprise.

“I guess you must have seen my ghost,” said Nora, laughing. “I’m just home from school! Did you happen to see Mother come in?”

“Yes, she came in quite a while ago, and I was that sure--but well, my wife does say I see queer things sometimes.”

“Come in and tell me a story,” pleaded May, as they paused on the second landing. “Jimmy’s gone to the show with Mamma, and they won’t be home for ever so long.”

Nora shook her head.

“I’ve got to go and see Mummy first,” she said. “Maybe I’ll come down by and by. I’m so anxious to tell Mummy about the composition.” And Nora hurried on up the stairs, to the sunny studio, where she was always sure of receiving a joyful greeting from her cheerful, hard-working little mother.

“Here I am, Mummy, and I’ve got something lovely to tell you. I’ve----”

Nora had opened the studio door, but as she crossed the threshold the words suddenly died on her lips, and she stood quite still, rooted to the spot by sheer amazement at the sight which met her view. For there, in the big rocker between the windows, sat her mother, and in her lap--one arm flung affectionately about her neck--was--Kathleen! At the sound of the opening door both faces were turned in her direction, and the next moment Kathleen had sprung from her mother’s lap, and rushed forward to meet her, with the joyful exclamation--

“I’m here, Nora! I came, you see. Oh, isn’t Mother wonderful?”

“Kathleen!” gasped Nora, “oh, Kathleen!” And the twins hugged each other in a rapture of excitement and delight.

But it was of her mother that Nora was thinking most, and as she turned from the eager Kathleen to the little woman in the rocker, her heart gave a great bound, for never, never before had she seen such a look of joy on Mummy’s face. With a little cry, Mrs. O’Neil held out her arms.

“Come here, both of you,” she said. “Oh, my darlings, to think of having you both in my arms together! It seems too beautiful and wonderful to be true.”

“But how--how did you ever manage it?” demanded Nora, when they were all a little calmer, and were sitting on the couch together, Mrs. O’Neil in the middle, with an arm round each twin.

“I’ll tell you,” said Kathleen. “It’s quite a long story, though, and Mother heard it all before you came in.”

“Never mind, darling,” said Mrs. O’Neil; “I can’t hear it too often. Tell Nora all about it.”

“Well,” began Kathleen, “I’ve been thinking and thinking about you and Mother ever since that Sunday afternoon. I couldn’t think of anything else, and I dreamt about you almost every night. The next Sunday I thought I should see you in the park, and I meant to spend the whole afternoon just looking out of the window, but it rained so hard there was hardly anybody out. I was so disappointed that I cried, and Sarah couldn’t imagine what the matter was, and Mrs. Anderson said I must be nervous. I had to let them think I was just missing Daddy, and of course I did miss him, too, but that wasn’t what made me cry. All the week I kept thinking about the next Sunday, but when it came it rained even harder than it did the Sunday before. Then I got to worrying about Mother. I remembered you said she had a bad cold, and I was afraid that she might get pneumonia and die, and I should never see her at all, and that made me dreadfully unhappy. That’s right; hug me again, Mother; I love it.

“Well, I guess I was pretty cross, and I couldn’t seem to pay attention to my lessons. At last Miss Hastings spoke to Mrs. Anderson, and she sent for the doctor. He gave me a nasty tonic, and said he thought I needed a change. I was afraid a change meant going to Atlantic City, and I said I wouldn’t go. I was there last year, and I got so tired of the wheel-chairs, and the concerts on the pier. Besides, I wanted to be at home on Sunday, in case you and Mother came to the park. I made a good deal of fuss, and the doctor said I needn’t go away if I objected so much.

“I wanted to come here--oh, you can’t think how I wanted to--but I didn’t see how I was ever going to manage it. I hardly ever go out without Sarah or Mrs. Anderson, and I’d promised you not to tell any one. But this afternoon such a wonderful thing happened! Sarah came to me after lunch, and said she was going to be very busy, and would I mind going out with Selma instead of with her. Selma is the chambermaid, and she doesn’t understand English very well, and always does just what I tell her. So when Sarah asked me that, my heart just gave a big jump, and I said right away that I wouldn’t mind a bit.

“I didn’t say anything to Selma till we were out in the park, and then I asked her if she would do me a great favor, and she said, ‘Certainly, Miss Katleen,’ just as she always does whenever I ask her to do anything. So I told her I wanted to go and see a lady who used to know me when I was a little baby, and wanted to see me very much. I didn’t want her to come in with me, but just to wait outside in the car. Of course if I had said that to Sarah she would have asked a lot of questions, and insisted on knowing all about it, but Selma just said, ‘Certainly, Miss Katleen,’ again, so I rang the bell, and told Michael to bring us here. Michael is quite a new chauffeur, and doesn’t know where I’m in the habit of going, so he just touched his hat, and said, ‘Very good, Miss,’ and in a few minutes we were here.

“When I saw the house I was so excited that I began to shake all over, and when Michael jumped down to ring the bell, and asked me what name I wanted, I could hardly answer ‘Mrs. O’Neil.’ But nobody noticed, and I came up-stairs all by myself.

“I remembered you said you lived on the top floor, so I kept on going up till there weren’t any more stairs, and then I knocked at this door. I heard somebody say, ‘Come in,’ and I was sure it must be Mother, because it was such a sweet voice. So I opened the door, and Mother was writing on the typewriter, and she just turned her head a little, and said, ‘Why, Nora darling, what made you knock?’ I didn’t say a word, and when she saw me standing there, shaking all over, she knew all of a sudden that I wasn’t Nora, and then---- Oh, I can’t tell the rest; it was all so beautiful and wonderful!” And Kathleen buried her face on her mother’s shoulder with a sob.

“And have you been here long?” inquired Nora, with deep interest.

Mrs. O’Neil gave a sudden start, and a frightened look came into her face.

“Oh, Kathleen darling,” she exclaimed anxiously; “I am afraid we have both forgotten the time. You must go, my precious, or the maid will be coming to look for you. It must be at least an hour since you came.”

“Go!” repeated Kathleen, lifting her face in astonishment. “Oh, I’m not going for ever so long. I’ve only just come.”

Poor little Mrs. O’Neil looked very much distressed.

“My dear little girl,” she said tremulously, “if you knew what it cost me to send you away! I have wanted you for so long, and now you have come to me of your own accord, but I dare not let you stay. Mr. Crawford might be very angry, and I have no right----”

“No, Daddy wouldn’t be angry,” interrupted Kathleen; “I know he wouldn’t. Anyhow, I’m not going, and if people make a fuss I’ll say it was all my fault. I’ve found you, and I’m going to stay with you, I am; I am!” And she flung her arms round her mother’s neck, and clung to her.

Mrs. O’Neil gazed helplessly from Kathleen to Nora.

“What am I to do, Nora?” she faltered; “oh, what can I do?”

Suddenly Nora sprang to her feet, her face aglow with excitement.

“I’ve got an idea!” she cried. “Mother, are we really just exactly alike?”

“So much alike that I don’t believe even I could tell you apart except for your clothes,” her mother answered.

“Then I don’t see why we couldn’t do it. Oh, Mother darling, it’s such a wonderful idea. Kathleen, would you be satisfied if you could spend just one night here with Mother? Would you be willing to go home again in the morning?”

“Nora,” protested Mrs. O’Neil, “what are you talking about? Of course Kathleen couldn’t----”

“Yes, she could. Just wait till you hear my plan. It popped into my head all of a sudden, and it’s wonderful. Why can’t Kathleen and I change clothes? Then she could stay here all night, and you could be so happy together.” There was a catch in Nora’s voice, and she caught her breath in a quickly suppressed sob.

Kathleen clapped her hands.

“You mean you will go home instead of me!” she cried. “Why, of course you can, and it will be the greatest fun. Nobody will ever find out, and I can tell you just what to do, so you won’t make mistakes. Oh, Nora, what a darling you are to think of it!”

“But, my dear children, I never heard of such nonsense,” cried Mrs. O’Neil. “Of course I could never consent to such a deception. Nora, I believe that romantic little brain of yours will run away with you some day.”

Nora’s face tell, but Kathleen had not had her own way for twelve years for nothing.

“I’m not going home to-night,” she announced. “I’m going to stay here whether Nora takes my place or not. If you try to make me go, I shall scream, and maybe I shall have a convulsion. I used to have them when I was little, and the doctor told Daddy I mustn’t be crossed.”

“A convulsion!” gasped Mrs. O’Neil, turning pale. “Oh, my darling, I never heard of that. How very terrible!”

“Well, I haven’t had one since I got my teeth,” Kathleen admitted, “but I might if I were very much upset, and, oh, Mother darling, if you make me go right straight away again, I know it will break my heart.” And Kathleen burst into a perfect tempest of crying, and clung to her mother as if she would never let her go again.

Mrs. O’Neil gazed helplessly at Nora, a world of agony and longing in her eyes.

“Do you think you could possibly do it?” she whispered.

“I’m sure I could, if Kathleen would tell me a few things,” Nora declared. “It would be just like acting a part in a play, and Mrs. Judson says she is sure I could act. Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t gone up-stairs to see Kathleen that Sunday, it could never have happened. But now it has happened, and Kathleen will be so unhappy if we send her away so soon. Won’t you let me try to do something to help?”

“I won’t go!” sobbed Kathleen; “I said before I wouldn’t. I’ll go to-morrow if I have to, but I’m going to spend this one night with Mother. It won’t be a bit hard, Nora, it really won’t. Mrs. Anderson has gone to see her daughter in Brooklyn, and won’t be home to dinner, so the only person who matters is Sarah. Sarah isn’t nearly as clever as she thinks she is, and I’m sure she won’t suspect a thing. You know where the schoolroom is, and my bedroom is right next. You can just throw your things on the bed, and Sarah will put them away. Then you can read, or play the victrola, or do anything you like till dinner-time. Brown will wait on the table, and he never talks, so you can just eat, and go up-stairs again. Nobody will bother you, and you can go to bed whenever you feel like it. Sarah will brush your hair, but you needn’t talk to her; she’ll only think you’re sulky. Perhaps she’ll begin about Joy St. Clair, but you needn’t pay any attention, or you can tell her you’re not interested.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be very polite,” objected Nora. “Don’t you ever talk to people at home?”

“Not very much, except to Daddy. They’re all so stupid, you see, and I don’t think any of them like me.”

Instinctively Mrs. O’Neil’s arms tightened about the little figure in her lap.

“Oh, my darling, don’t say that,” she murmured. “I am sure they all love you dearly.”

Kathleen shook her head.

“No, they don’t,” she maintained. “Nobody loves me but Daddy and you. I know you love me; that’s why I’m going to stay with you. Now listen, Nora, and I’ll explain just what you are going to do. I’ve thought it all out and it’s very easy. To-morrow is Saturday, so there won’t be any lessons to bother about. You’ll have to see Mrs. Anderson at breakfast, I suppose, unless you have it in bed. But she never bothers much about things, and I’m quite sure she’ll never find out. Then right after breakfast you say you want the car, and that you’re going to take out Muriel Trevor. Don’t forget that name, Muriel Trevor. It’s all right, because I did intend to take her, and to bring her home to lunch afterwards. The Trevors live right around the corner from us, and Muriel’s Fräulein always goes with her, so Sarah won’t expect to be taken along. Then, when you get out, just tell Michael to bring you here again, and I’ll be all ready. We can change clothes, and I’ll take your place in the car and go for Muriel. Oh, it’s just the most exciting thing that ever happened! I’m going to stay here to-night, with my own mother, and nobody is going to know a single thing about it but us, only when Daddy comes home I shall have to tell him, because I always tell him everything. He won’t be angry, though, for he’s much too kind, and he loves me so much he wouldn’t let my mother be unhappy for the world.”