how pleasant the parlour looked on the evening of "flaxy's" birthday. to be sure it was november, and the wind was setting the poor dying leaves in a miserable shiver with some dreadful story of an iceberg he had just been visiting. but what cared dicky and prue, or dudley and flaxy, or all the rest sitting cosily around that charming fire, which glowed as if some kind fairy had filled up the little black grate with carbuncles and rubies? over the mantle-piece were branches of pretty white sperm candles, whose light fell softly on the heavy red curtains and the roses in the carpet, and danced in the eyes of the happy children.
they, the children, had been having a "splendid time." they had played games, and put together dissected maps, and tried puzzles, and read in flaxy's wonderful books; and since tea they had had a grand romp at "fox and geese," even such big boys as bernard and dudley joining in; and now they were resting with pretty red cheeks and parted mouths.
"well, what shall we do now?" cried little prue, who could not bear that a minute of the precious time should be wasted in mere sitting still.
"why, isn't it a good time for some one else to tell his story?" asked flaxy.
"just the thing," was the unanimous response. "another story! a story!" and then a voice cried, "and let dudley wylde tell it."
"well," said dudley, slowly, "if i must tell a true story about myself, i'm afraid it won't be much to my credit, but as flaxy wasn't a coward about it, i'll try to be as brave as a girl. shall i tell you something that happened to bernard and me when we lived over in england?"
"oh, please don't tell that story, dud," pleaded bernard with reddening cheeks, but all the rest cried, "oh, yes, go on, go on," and dudley began.
"you all know that bernard and i were both left orphans when we were almost little babies, and uncle wylde sent for us to come and live with him—me first, and bernard about a year afterwards. i was only six years old when bernard came, but i remember i was very angry about it. old joe, the coachman, and i, had had a quarrel that morning, and he told me uncle 'would never care for me any more after cousin [10]bernard came, for he was a much finer boy than i, and looked like a young english lord, with his blue eyes and white skin, but i was a little, dark, ill-tempered foreigner (my mother was italian, you know), and he wondered how uncle could like me at all.'"
"but uncle did love you dearly, you know," broke in bernard.
"a great deal better than i deserved, that's certain," said dudley, "but i almost worshipped him, and i couldn't bear the thoughts of his loving any one better than me. so all the day that bernard was expected i stood sulkily by the window, and would not play, nor eat, nor even speak when uncle wylde came and took me in his lap.
"'poor child,' said uncle, at last, 'he needs some one of his own age to play with. i hope the little cousins will be fine company for each other.'
"just then the carriage drove up, and uncle ran out and took such a lovely little boy in his arms; but when i heard him say, almost with a sob, 'darling child, you are just the image of your dear, dear mother,' then i thought, 'there, it is all true what joe said, uncle loves him the best already;' and i bit my fingers so that when uncle bade me hold out my hand to my cousin, he was frightened to see it covered with blood, and drew back with a shiver; and then i grew angry about that, too, and called him 'proud,' and went and hid away every plaything i could find.
"well, i won't have time to tell you every little thing, only that as bernard and i grew up together, i did not love him any better. he was almost always kind and good."
"now dud, you must not say so," said bernard, blushing. "i did everything to tease you."
"you must not interrupt," cried dudley. "this is my story, remember. you never teased me much, but the great thing i couldn't forgive you was that uncle loved you best."
"no, i'm sure he didn't," cried bernard.
"no more interruptions," said all the children, and dudley went on.
"well, you see i was very suspicious and miserable, and i always thought bernard wanted to make fun of me. when he first began to call me 'dud,' for short, i thought he meant that i was like the old rags that joe used to clean the carriages with, for he always used to call them 'old duds.' and then sometimes when i came in from riding on lightfoot's bare back, with my hair blown every sort of a way, if he said, 'shall we have our lessons now, uncle? here comes wylde,' i always thought he was trying to make uncle think i was wild like those horrid indians we used to read about, while he, bernard, was always neat and smooth like a little gentleman. so you see there was nothing that bernard could do or say, that i did not twist around to make myself miserable.
"one day, when i had been playing with my dog sambo half the morning, and riding lightfoot the rest of the time, i was called on to recite latin to uncle, and didn't know one word. but bernard recited like a book, and when it was over, uncle did not scold me, he never did, but just gave bernard the pretty picture i had long been wanting, of the boy climbing up over crag and ice, shouting 'excelsior.'
"that very afternoon we had planned to take a walk together to an old ruined castle, but i was so cross and sullen i wonder bernard did not slip away and go alone. i can't begin to tell you how envious and unhappy i felt, and i quarrelled so with him about every little thing, that at last he scarcely opened his mouth."
"i don't believe this story is true," said flaxy indignantly. "i'm sure the dudley wylde we know was never so bad and quarrelsome."
dudley smiled, while bettine whispered softly, "but he's different now, flaxy. do you know his uncle says he is trying to be a christian?"
flaxy looked up with a bright tear of sympathy, as dudley continued.
"at last we reached the castle, where we had often been before, and for a while i was more good-natured, for there was nothing i liked better than climbing up and down the broken stairway, which wound round and round like a great screw, or looking into every queer little room hid away in the thick walls, or climbing to the turrets to wave my handkerchief like the flag of a conquering hero.
"but this afternoon there was something new to see. in the great hall just under [15]the stairs, the floor had lately caved away, and you could see down into a deep vault. bernard and i lay down with our faces just over the edge, and tried to see the bottom, but it was dark as pitch, and we couldn't make out anything.
"'i shouldn't wonder if they buried dead people there, a great while ago,' said bernard, with a little shiver; and when we both got up, feeling very sober, he said, just to raise our spirits,—
"'let's have a race up the steps, and see which will get to the roof first.'
"off we started. i could generally climb like a wild cat, but in some way i stumbled and hurt my knee, and bernard gained very fast. i felt my quick temper rising again. 'shall he beat me in everything?' i said to myself, and with a great spring i caught up to him, and seized his jacket. then began a struggle. bernard cried 'fair play,' and tried to throw me off; but i was very angry, and strong as a young tiger, and all of a sudden—for i didn't know what i was about—i just flung him with all my might right over the edge, where the railing was half broken down!"
"oh dear! oh dear!" cried little prue, bursting into tears, "did it kill him?"
a merry laugh from bernard, followed by a hearty chorus from the rest, restored bewildered little prue to her senses. but dudley went on very soberly.
"bernard screamed as he went over, and with that scream all my anger died in a minute, and i sat down on the stairs, shaking from head to foot. then i listened, but i didn't hear a sound. i don't know how long i sat there, but at last i got up very slowly, and began to come down just like an old man. it was so dreadfully still in the old castle, that i felt in a queer way, as if i must be very careful, too, and i stepped on my tip-toes, and held my breath.[17] when i got to the foot, i felt as if a big hand held my heart tight, and when i tried to walk towards the spot where i thought bernard must have fallen, i could not move a step. but after a great while—it seemed like a year—i managed to drag myself to the place, and, do you know, no one was there!"
"why, where could he be?" cried the astonished children.
"well, i thought he might have fallen, and rolled off under the stairs into that dreadful vault."
"oh, don't have him get in there, please," cried tender little prue.
"then," said dudley slowly, "i leaned over the vault, and called his name, 'bernard! bernard!' and then i jumped back, and almost screamed, for i thought some other boy had spoken. i did not know my own voice; it sounded so strange and solemn. but no one answered, and i dragged myself away, feeling as if that awful hand grew tighter on my heart, and thinking, as i went out of the door, how two of us went in, and why i was coming out alone. then i sat down on the grass, and though it was warm summer weather, i shivered from head to foot, and i remember thinking to myself, 'this queer boy sitting here isn't dudley wylde—this boy couldn't get angry, he's as cold as an icicle—and dudley wylde's heart used to beat, beat, oh! so lively and quick, but this boy's heart is under a great weight, and will never stir again—this boy will never run again, nor laugh, nor care for anything—this boy isn't, he can't be dudley wylde;' and i felt so sorry for him i almost cried. then, all of a sudden, i remember, i began to work very hard. i picked up stones out of the path, and carried them a great way off, and worked till i was just ready to drop. then i took some flowers, and picked them all to pieces—so curious to see how they were put together, and i worked at that till i was nearly wild with headache. then i sat very still, and wondered if that boy who wasn't, couldn't be, dudley wylde—was ever going home; and then i thought that perhaps if he sat there a little while longer he would die, and that was the best thing that could happen to him, for then he would never hear any one say—'where is bernard?' so i sat there in this queer way, waiting for the boy to die, when i heard a noise, and, looking up, saw—"
"oh, what?" cried little prue, clasping her hands, "a griffin, with claws?"
but dudley could not speak, and bernard went on. "it's too bad for 'dud' to tell that story, when he makes himself so much worse than he really was. i was as much to blame as he in that quarrel, and i ought to have had my share of the misery. you see, when he threw me over, my tippet caught on the rough edge of the railing, and held me just a minute, but that minute saved me, for in some way, i hardly know how, i swung in and dropped safely on the steps just under 'dud.' then i hurried into one of those queer little places in the wall, and hid, for i was angry, and meant to give him a good fright; and as i happened to have a little book in my pocket, i began to read, and got so interested that i forgot everything till it began to grow dark. then i hurried down, wondering that everything was so still. but when i saw 'dud,'" said he, turning with an affectionate glance to his cousin, "i was frightened, for he was so changed i hardly knew him, and i was afraid he was dying. so i ran to him, and took him right in my arms, and called him every dear name i could think of; but he only stared at me, with the biggest, wildest eyes, you ever saw. 'dud,' said i, 'dear fellow, what is the matter, don't you know me?' then all of a sudden he burst out crying. o girls! you never cried like that, and i hope you never will,—great big sobs, and i helped him. then he flung his arms tight around my neck, and kissed me for the first time in his life—kissed me over and over, my cheeks and my hair and my hands, and then he laughed, and right in the midst cried as if his heart would break, and i began to understand that poor 'dud' thought he had killed me. no one knows how long we laughed and cried, and kissed each other, but when we grew a little calmer we went back into the old castle, and on the very steps where we had our quarrel, we knelt down, holding each other's hands, and promised always to love each other, and try to keep down our wicked tempers."
"and we asked some one to help us to keep the resolution," said dudley, gently.
"well, how is it!" said little prue with a bewildered air; "was it you and 'dud' that went and knelt on the steps to pray?"
"yes, 'dud' and i."
"well then, what became of that other wicked boy that wasn't dudley wylde at all?"
another shout covered poor prue with confusion, as bernard answered,—
"would you believe it, you dear little prue, we have never seen anything of him from that day to this?"
