We Ten | Page 9

mother's boy. But I know, all the same,
that he misses her every day of his life, and that as long as he lives he'll
never forget one tone of her voice, or one word she has said to him.
Fee used to have a dreadful temper; he'd say such cutting, sarcastic
things! and when mamma would speak to him about it, he'd declare that
he couldn't help it, and that the sharp ugly words would come. But now,
since she's gone, he is so much better, and I'm sure that he's trying to
control himself, because he remembers how grieved she used to be
when he got into a rage. I don't mean to say that he has entirely gotten
over it,--I don't suppose that will ever be; but he doesn't flash out as he
used to, and sometimes when he is very angry, he sets his lips tight
together, and limps out of the room just as fast as ever he can go, to
keep the ugly words from being spoken.
Once in a great while, if I am alone in the schoolroom, he'll come and
throw himself down on the old sofa beside me, and, putting his head in
my lap, lay my hand over his eyes. I know then, as well as if he had
told me, that he is thinking of dear mamma and longing for her; and
such a rush of love comes into my heart for him that I think he must
feel it in my very finger-tips as they touch him.
He was more with mamma at the last than any of us, because he is so
gentle and helpful in a sick-room; but when the end had come, and we
children were standing about the bed, crying bitterly, with our arms
around one another, I missed Felix. From room to room I hunted, and at
last I found him, huddled up in a heap on the floor of the old

store-room at the top of the house. And never shall I forget the white,
utterly wretched face that he turned on me, as I knelt down by him and
put my arms round his neck. He held my shoulders with his two thin
hands so tight that I could feel his finger-nails through my sleeves. "Oh,
Nannie!" he said, in such a hoarse whisper I'd never have known it for
Fee's sweet voice, "if I could only die this very night!" Then he sank
down, and lay there trembling from head to foot, and sobbing, sobbing!
I pulled a quilt down from one of the shelves and threw it over him;
then I sat on the floor and drew his head into my lap and just smoothed
his forehead and hair for the longest while, without a word, until he
quieted down. I felt, somehow, that he would rather not have me say
anything.
Don't imagine, from what I've said, that Fee is a dismal sort of person,
for indeed he isn't; he's the merriest of us all, and the prime leader in all
the mischief and fun that goes on; and just as soon as it was settled that
we should have a performance, he began to plan what each person
should do, and to arrange the programme. We always have a
programme: it saves confusion and people's feelings getting hurt; for,
of course, then one can only go on in one's turn and for the special part
set down; otherwise, everybody would be on the stage at once, and
there'd be no audience.
The large closet in the schoolroom is our dressing-room on these
occasions, and as we have no way of making a stage, the younger
children, Paul and Mädel and Alan,--Kathie is too big for that
now,--stand on a table near the closet and deliver their parts. Felix
makes up the funniest names for us on the programme, and we answer
to them as readily as if we were in the habit of doing so every day.
We were all very busy that afternoon and evening and the next
afternoon preparing our parts for the performance; but, with all that,
Fee and I got our letters off to our godmother. I felt so truly grateful
both for him and for myself, that I didn't have nearly as much trouble
composing it as I had expected. But all day I was in a perfect fever to
get up to the Conservatory, where aunt Lindsay had entered my name,
and to make arrangements for taking my violin lessons. Miss Marston

and I talked the matter over, and found that when all the little home
duties and my regular studies were finished, there was but one hour that
I could set aside regularly for my new work. For though I should only