Apron-Strings | Page 7

already
injured digit. "You donkey!--donkey!"

Breathing hard, Sue managed to keep them apart; to bring them back to
their proper distance. "Look at them!" she said with fine sarcasm. "Oh,
look at Ikey Einstein!--Where's your handkerchief?"
Weeping, he indicated it by a duck of the chin.
At such a point of general melting, it was safe to release combatants.
Sue freed the two, and took from Ikey's pocket a square of cotton once
white, but now characteristically gray, and strangely heavy. "Here, put
up that poor face," she comforted. But at this unpropitious moment, the
handkerchief, clear of the pocket, sagged with its holdings and
deposited upon the carpet several yellowish, black-spotted cubes.
"Dice!" exclaimed Sue, horrified. "Dice!--Ikey Einstein, what do you
call yourself!"
Pride stopped Ikey's tears. He thrust out his underlip and waved a hand
at the scattered cubes. "Momsey," he answered stoutly, "don't you
know? Why, ever since day before yesterdays, I am a t'ree-card-monte
man!"
"You're a three-card-what?"
Unable longer to restrain their mirth, that portion of the choir that was
in the bay-window now whooped with delight. And Sue, turning,
beheld ten figures writhing with joy.
"So!" she began severely. The ten sobered, and their cottas billowed in
a backward step. "So here you are!--where you have no business to be!"
Bobbie, the spokesman, ventured to the rescue of his mates. "But,
Momsey----"
"Now! No excuses! You all know that you do not come into this
drawing-room, to track up the carpet--look at your feet! And to pull
things about, like a lot of red Indians! And finger-print the mahogany!
And, oh, how disappointed I am in you! To disobey!"
"But the minister----" piped up the tow-headed boy.

"That's right!" she retorted sarcastically. "Blame it on Mr. Farvel! As if
you don't know the regulations!"
"But this is Mr. Farvel's house," urged Bobbie.
"A-a-ah!--Now that makes it worse! Now I know you've deliberately
ignored my mother's wishes! And if she finds you out, and, oh, I hope
she does, don't you come to me to save you from punishment? Depend
upon it, I shan't lift my little finger to help you! No! Not if it's bread
and water for a week! Not if you----"
A door slammed. From the library came the sound of quick steps. Then
a voice was upraised: "Susan! Susan!"
The red paled in Sue's cheeks. "Oh!" She threw out both arms as if to
sweep the entire choir to her. "Oh, my darlings!" she whispered
hoarsely. "Oh! Oh, mother mustn't see you! Go! Hurry!" As they
crowded to her, she thrust them backward, through the door to the
passage. "Oh, quick! Bobbie! My dears!"
Eight were crammed into the shelter of the passage. Four pressed
against their fellows but could not get across the sill in time. These Sue
swept into a crouching line at her back--as the library door opened, and
Mrs. Milo came panting into the room.
As mother and daughter faced each other, Hattie, seated quietly in the
bay-window, smiled at the two--so amazingly unlike. It was as if an
aristocratic, velvet-footed feline were bristling before a great,
good-tempered St. Bernard. In a curious way, too, and in a startling
degree, each woman subtracted sharply from the other. In the presence
of Sue, Mrs. Milo's petiteness became weakness, her dainty trimness
accentuated her helplessness, her delicate coloring looked ill-health;
while Sue, by contrast, seemed over-high as to color, almost boisterous
of voice, and careless in dress.
Mrs. Milo's look was all reproval. "Susan Milo," she began, "where
have you been?"

Sue was standing very still--in order not to uncover a vestige of boy.
She smiled, half wistfully, half mischievously. "Just--er--in the Church,
mother." She had her own way of saying "mother." On her lips it was
no mere title, lightly used. Her very prolonging of the "r" gave the word
all the tender meanings--undivided love, and loyalty, protection, yet
dependence. She spoke it like a caress.
Mrs. Milo recognized in her daughter's tone an apology for something.
Quick suspicion took the place of reproval. "And what were you doing
in the Church?"--with a rising inflection.
"Well, I--I was sort of--poking around."
"St!"--an exclamation of impatience. Then, "Churches are not made to
poke in."
Now there came to Sue that look that suggested a little girl, and a
naughty little girl at that. She turned on her mother a beguiling smile.
"I--I was--er--poking in the vestry," she explained.
Mrs. Milo observed that the bay-window held a young person in white
satin, who was sitting very still, and was all attention. She managed a
faint returning smile, therefore, and assumed a playful tone. "The
vestry is not a part of your duties as secretary," she reminded. "And
there's so much to do, my daughter,--the decorations, the caterer,
the----"
"I know, mother. I shan't