CHAPTER VIII

KATHLEEN RECEIVES A SHOCK

When Kathleen awoke that morning in her strange surroundings, it was with somewhat mixed sensations. She lay, with eyes still half closed, recalling the events of the previous evening. They all seemed much more like things one remembers in a dream than any waking reality. It had all been wonderful, and she had been happier than she could ever remember being in her life, but at the same time it all seemed very strange and unreal. There was the dinner, for instance, so different from dinner at home. When she innocently inquired if it were the cook’s day out, her mother had smiled, and told her that there wasn’t any cook, and that she and Nora did all the housework themselves. She had always supposed that every one had at least one maid, unless they were people of the servant class, like Sarah and Selma. The thought that her mother and sister might belong to that class was not altogether agreeable, but a glance at Mrs. O’Neil’s sweet, refined face, reassured her on that point, and she resolved to tell Daddy about it, and ask him to send a servant at once to her mother and Nora. Daddy had never refused her anything, and she was sure he would not refuse her this.

She had sat in her mother’s lap for a long time after dinner, and although they had neither of them talked very much, it had been very beautiful. Later, when she was in bed, her mother had knelt by her bedside, with such a strange, wonderful look in her eyes.

“I believe you love me as much as Daddy does!” Kathleen had said, wonderingly, and her mother had answered very softly, “Indeed, indeed I do, my darling.” And when she had fallen asleep at last, her mother’s hand was fast clasped in hers.

But now it was morning, and things were beginning to look a little more commonplace. She remembered that there was no bathroom connected with the studio, for one thing. It would not be comfortable to dress without her morning bath. The thought of a cold sponge in a tin foot-tub did not appeal to her, and she decided to omit her usual ablutions that morning, even if her mother should object, as Sarah frequently did. Then there was the question of breakfast. She did not like the idea of not only eating but cooking breakfast in the room where one had slept all night. To be sure, the studio was large and airy, and when Nora had described the life there, it had sounded quite fascinating. But Kathleen had been accustomed to every luxury since she could remember, and somehow the reality did not seem as attractive as she had pictured it in her imagination.

It was very quiet, and Kathleen wondered if her mother were still asleep. She was just opening her eyes, with the intention of finding out, when the door opened, and Mrs. O’Neil, already dressed, even to a hat and a long ulster, came in, laden with parcels.

“Why, Mother,” gasped Kathleen in astonishment, “you haven’t been out already, have you?”

“Yes, indeed I have,” said her mother, smiling. “I went to buy some things for breakfast. I hoped you wouldn’t wake until I got back.”

“What sort of things?” inquired Kathleen in a tone of deep interest.

“Rolls and fresh eggs, and a jar of marmalade.”

Kathleen was sitting up in bed now, looking a good deal puzzled.

“I didn’t know people went out to buy things like that,” she said. “I thought men always brought them to the basement door.”

Mrs. O’Neil laughed.

“Well, you see, we haven’t any basement door,” she said, “so we have to do our marketing ourselves. We don’t always have eggs and marmalade for breakfast, but this is a very particular occasion. I don’t have my little Kathleen with me every morning, you know.” Mrs. O’Neil’s voice trembled, and although she was still smiling, there were tears in her eyes.

Kathleen was deeply impressed.

“It seems very queer,” she said, slowly. “I never thought of eggs and marmalade as being a treat. We have them every morning at home.”

“I know you do, darling. Now would you like to get up, and dress, while I get breakfast, or shall I bring it to you in bed?”

Kathleen said she would rather get up. She did not even object to the tin tub, when her mother filled it from the tap in the hall. She was very quiet all the time she washed and dressed. Something was troubling her, and Kathleen was not used to being troubled.

“I suppose Nora dresses herself without any help,” she remarked, when, after several unsuccessful attempts to button her boots, she was forced to apply to her mother for assistance.

Mrs. O’Neil was forced to admit that Nora did.

“I’m afraid I’m a very stupid person,” said Kathleen, with a sigh. “Sarah says I’m the most helpless girl of my age that she ever saw. I think I’ll ask her to teach me to do more for myself. Perhaps she’ll like me better then.”

There was a quiver in Kathleen’s voice, and her mother bent forward impulsively, and kissed the sober little face.

“Oh, my darling!” was all she said, but Kathleen felt suddenly that she was being understood as no one had ever seemed to understand her before.

It all seemed much like a picnic to Kathleen, but it was a very pleasant picnic. It was very interesting to watch her mother’s manipulations with the tiny gas stove, on which the eggs were boiled, and the coffee made, and when breakfast was over, she requested to be permitted to aid in the dish-washing, which the evening before she had only watched from a distance.

“It’s really great fun,” she announced, rubbing a cup so vigorously with the dish-towel that her cheeks tingled from exertion. “I think I shall go down to the kitchen sometimes and help Ellen. You know it was Ellen who brought Nora into the house that Sunday. She never found out it wasn’t me. I met her on the stairs the other day, and she laughed, and whispered that she hoped I appreciated her not telling any one about my going out alone. I never supposed any two people, even if they were twins, could look quite so much alike. Why, even Nora’s clothes fit me just as well as if they were made for me. I don’t like them much, though; the boots are so thick, and I hate darns in my stockings. Are all Nora’s stockings darned?”

“I am afraid they are,” said Mrs. O’Neil, sadly. “I am sorry to say Nora is rather hard on her clothes.”

“So am I,” said Kathleen. “Sarah says she never saw any one so careless about her clothes as I am. And just as soon as they begin to need mending Mrs. Anderson gives them away, and buys me new things. Aunt Kitty hates old clothes, too. Do you know Aunt Kitty?”

“No, dear.”

“She’s Daddy’s sister, but she’s ever so much younger than Daddy, and awfully pretty. She used to live with us, and lots of young gentlemen wanted to marry her. I’ve heard people say she was a great belle. She’s married to Uncle Stephen Carew now, and they have a house on Seventy-second Street. Aunt Kitty and Uncle Stephen are going to Bermuda to-day. I wish they would take me with them, for Daddy is there, you know, and I do miss him so dreadfully.”

“You love your daddy very dearly, don’t you, Kathleen?” Mrs. O’Neil said, softly.

“Of course I do, and he loves me, too, better than any one else in the world. There, I think that cup must be dry. Shall I put it away on the shelf with the others? O dear! I’ve knocked down a plate. I hope it isn’t broken. It is, though. Oh, I’m so sorry!”

[Illustration: “YOU LOVE YOUR DADDY VERY DEARLY, DON’T YOU, KATHLEEN?”

_Page 112._]

“Never mind, darling; I’ll pick up the pieces. You might cut your fingers. Now, suppose you go and look at Nora’s books. You may find something you will enjoy reading while I make the beds and tidy up the studio.”

Kathleen retired somewhat crestfallen, but she was destined to still further humiliation.

“Why, Mother,” she cried, after a short examination of the pile of school-books on the table, “does Nora study algebra and Latin?”

“Yes, dear, she began Latin in the autumn, and she has just commenced algebra.”

“She must be very clever,” said Kathleen, reflectively. “I hate arithmetic, and I don’t know a word of Latin. I can speak French, though, and play the piano a little, too,” she added more hopefully.

“I am so glad, dear; I wish I could hear you play. Your father and I were both so fond of music, and he had a glorious voice.”

Kathleen’s cheeks grew suddenly hot.

“Daddy is my father,” she said, decidedly; “I don’t want to hear about the other one.”

She was sorry the moment the words were uttered, for the look of pain on her mother’s face touched a chord of sympathy, which nothing had ever touched before. She was not by any means a hard-hearted child, but it had simply never occurred to her to consider any one’s feelings but her own. Mrs. O’Neil said nothing, however, but went quietly on with her work, and Kathleen wisely decided that it would be better not to continue the subject.

“I wish I hadn’t said that about my other father,” she told herself regretfully. “I wouldn’t have hurt my mother’s feelings for the world, but of course nobody could ever take Daddy’s place. It’s very interesting here, and Mother is a darling, but I don’t think I should like to live in one room, and do housework all the time. I wonder how soon Nora will come.”

That was a question destined to be asked many times during the next two hours. It was asked not only by Kathleen, but by Mrs. O’Neil as well, and as the morning wore away, and still no Nora appeared, the mother’s face grew very grave and anxious.

“I cannot understand it at all,” she said at last, when the hands of the clock pointed to half-past eleven, and nothing had happened. “Nora is so conscientious, and she knows how anxious I must be.”

“Perhaps there was something the matter with the car,” suggested Kathleen, “or perhaps Sarah wouldn’t let her go out alone. O dear! I do wish she’d come! I was going to take Muriel to the theatre this afternoon, to see ‘The Little Princess.’ You don’t suppose Nora is staying away on purpose, do you? It’s very nice at my house, and perhaps she thinks she would like to stay longer.”

“I am quite sure Nora is doing nothing wrong,” said Mrs. O’Neil, and there was so much sharpness in her tone that Kathleen regarded her mother in astonishment.

“Why, I believe you can be cross, too,” she said innocently, at which remark Mrs. O’Neil pulled herself together with an effort and tried to laugh.

“I am afraid I am a cross little mother,” she said, apologetically, “but I am so worried about Nora. I did very wrong in consenting to the plan. If anything happens, it will be all my fault.”

“No, it won’t,” protested Kathleen, “it will be all mine. I said I wouldn’t go, and you were afraid I had convulsions when I cried. I don’t think I ought to have said that about convulsions. I did have them when I was teething, Daddy says, but I’ve never had any since. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but you see, I never had a mother before, and it seemed as if I just couldn’t go away so soon.”

There was a catch in Kathleen’s voice, which ended in a sob, and, with a pang of remorse, Mrs. O’Neil gathered the little girl in her arms and hugged her.

At one o’clock Kathleen announced that she was hungry, and her mother--who, in her growing anxiety, had forgotten all about luncheon--hastened to prepare a simple meal of bread and milk. Kathleen was not fond of bread and milk, but was too polite to say so, so she swallowed the food in silence. Mrs. O’Neil herself was, by this time, far too anxious to eat a mouthful.

“Kathleen darling,” she said suddenly, “would you mind very much being left alone for a little while? I must go and find out what is keeping Nora.”

“I won’t mind,” said Kathleen, readily. “I’m used to staying by myself, when Mrs. Anderson and Sarah are out, but don’t stay any longer than you can help, and be sure to bring Nora back. I want my own clothes, and I think I’d like to go home.”

“I will do what I can,” her mother promised, and five minutes later she was hurrying down-stairs, her heart heavy with anxiety and remorse.

It was very quiet in the studio after Mrs. O’Neil had gone out. Kathleen tried to read, but in a few minutes she threw down her book, and gave herself up to reflections. She wished she had not insisted on spending the night with her mother, and changing places with Nora. Mother was very sweet and dear, but she did not look happy, and it did seem strange what could have become of Nora. After all, it might have been wiser to have gone home, and said nothing to any one till Daddy came back from Bermuda. Daddy was so good, she was sure he would not have refused to let her see her own mother, when he knew how much they wanted each other. Dear, dear Daddy! how she missed him! Nobody in the world could ever take his place; not even her newly found mother. As for that other father, who loved music, and had a glorious voice, she would not even think about him.

Kathleen’s reflections were cut short by a knock at the door, and in answer to her “Come in,” a girl of about her own age presented herself. The girl wore a red dress, and a hat of the same color, while a large pair of gold earrings hung from her ears. Kathleen stared at this unexpected intruder in undisguised astonishment, but the intruder herself did not appear at all disturbed.

“Hello!” she remarked cheerfully. “I met May Judson on the stairs, and she told me you were in, and your mamma was out.”

“How do you do?” said Kathleen, not knowing what else to say. “Won’t you sit down?” she added, with a sudden recollection of the laws of hospitality.

The girl complied, after having first removed her hat and jacket.

“O dear!” thought Kathleen in dismay, “she’s going to stay, and I haven’t any idea who she is, or what I ought to say to her. What shall I do?”

“I guess you know what I’ve come to talk about,” said the visitor, when she had established herself comfortably on the sofa.

“No, I don’t,” answered Kathleen, bluntly.

The girl flushed, and bit her lip with annoyance.

“Oh, yes, you know all right,” she said; “it’s about that composition. I think you’re real mean about it, and so does Papa. I told him last night, and he says if you’ll fix it so I win a prize, he’ll let you choose anything you want in the store.”

“What is it you want me to do?” inquired Kathleen, curiously.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so silly. You know perfectly well. All I ask is that you’ll help me write that horrid composition, and I really think you might.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t; I couldn’t really!” cried Kathleen, quite forgetting her character for the moment. “I hate compositions.”

“You hate composition!” repeated the visitor in a tone of withering scorn. “That’s a nice way to talk, isn’t it? You’ve written the best composition in school this year, and you know it, too. I’d be ashamed of myself to tell such fibs. I shall tell Papa about you, and I guess he won’t let you have any presents out of his store.”

“I don’t want any presents out of your father’s old store,” cried Kathleen, indignantly. “My daddy gives me all the presents I want. I can’t help you with your composition; I don’t know how, and I wish you’d go away, and leave me alone.”

At that moment the door opened for the second time, but without the ceremony of knocking, and two children--a little girl and a little boy--walked into the room with the air of being very much at home there.

“Oh, Nora,” began the new girl, “Jimmy and I came to see if we could stay with you for a while. Mrs. Flinn’s cleaning our flat, and she told us to keep out of the way. Papa and Mamma are at the show, and we thought perhaps you’d tell us stories.”

“Tell you stories!” gasped poor Kathleen, in growing bewilderment. “Why, I can’t; I never told anybody a story in my life. Oh, I do wish you’d all go away and not bother.”

May Judson’s blue eyes opened wide in amazement, and her brother Jimmy gave vent to his feelings in a long whistle, but Lina Rosenbaum was the most indignant of the party.

“Just listen to her!” she scoffed, turning to the Judsons. “That’s the way she’s been talking to me. She says she hates writing compositions, when everybody knows she just loves it. She’s the biggest story-teller in New York, that’s what she is.”

“She is not a story-teller,” declared Jimmy, his little face reddening with anger. “If you say that again, Lina Rosenbaum, I’ll--I’ll hit you.”

Jimmy doubled his small little fist as he spoke, and shook it menacingly at Lina. Kathleen was conscious of a sudden little thrill of admiration. This was the first time in her life that she had ever been championed by any one. For the moment she quite forgot that it was Nora and not herself for whom the boy was standing up. Lina turned towards the door.

“I’m going,” she announced, haughtily. “I don’t intend to stay in a place where I’m treated like this. You just wait and see when I ever ask you to do anything for me again, Miss Nora O’Neil. And as for you, you two little----” Anger choked her, and she flounced out of the studio, banging the door behind her.

Kathleen gave a sigh of relief, but her troubles were not yet over, for the two other visitors still remained standing in the middle of the room, staring at her in round-eyed astonishment.

“You didn’t really say it, did you, Nora?” inquired May, incredulously.

“Say what?” faltered Kathleen.

“That you hated writing composition. You told her you wouldn’t help her write one yesterday, but that wasn’t the reason.”

“I--I don’t know what I said,” stammered poor Kathleen. “I didn’t tell a story, anyway, and I’m glad that boy said I didn’t. Oh, won’t you please go away? Mother’s out, and I don’t know what to say to you.”

And, to the great astonishment of the Judsons, the supposed Nora burst into tears.

To have their friend in tears was more than the devoted Judsons could endure. They were both at her side in a moment, and May’s small, impetuous arms were round her neck.

“Oh, Nora dear, please don’t cry,” she implored. “We won’t bother you; we’ll go right away, but--but you never acted like this before. Are you sick? Oh, I hope it isn’t scarlet fever. Mamma says scarlet fever’s much worse than measles.”

“Please don’t squeeze me so tight,” expostulated Kathleen, with difficulty extricating herself from May’s embrace. “You’re very kind, but I’m afraid you don’t understand, and I can’t explain. May be Mother’ll tell you. Oh, here she comes! I’m so glad. Mother, won’t you please explain? They think I’m Nora, and---- Why, Mother, what is the matter?”

Mrs. O’Neil had dropped into the chair by the door, and was shaking from head to foot. She was very pale, and there was a strange, frightened look in her eyes. Kathleen sprang to her mother’s side, and caught one of the cold hands in hers.

“Mother, oh, Mother dear, what is it?” she cried in sudden terror. “Has something awful happened? Is Nora dead?”

Then Mrs. O’Neil found her voice, but it was in a very low, tremulous voice that she answered.

“No, no, darling, nothing so terrible as that, but I have had a great shock. They have carried Nora off to Bermuda. The ship sailed this morning.”

“To Bermuda!” shrieked Kathleen, everything else forgotten in the shock of this news. “To Daddy! They took her instead of me, and she let them--she didn’t tell! And I wanted to go to Bermuda more than anything else in the world!” And Kathleen cast herself upon the floor, and wailed as loudly as if she had been two years old instead of twelve.

Mrs. O’Neil sank back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands. She was a rather helpless little woman at times, and the present crisis was more than she felt herself capable of meeting. Jimmy and May continued to stare in speechless amazement. It was Jimmy, however, who was the first to recover from the shock. Jimmy, like all boys, hated scenes.

“Get up, Nora,” he commanded, approaching the prostrate Kathleen; “don’t howl like that. You’re making an awful noise, and your mother’s crying, too. Oh, I say, Nora, what is it all about, anyhow?”

Then Kathleen lifted her head, and proclaimed the truth to her astonished companions.

“I’m not Nora,” she cried, indignantly. “Nora’s gone to Bermuda, to my daddy. He doesn’t want her; he wants me. Oh! Oh! Oh!” Another prolonged wail completed the sentence.

“You’re not Nora!” gasped Jimmy. “Then--then, who are you?”

“I’m Kathleen Crawford,” cried the little impostor; “I’m Nora’s twin sister.”