CHAPTER XIX.

Mrs. Scott's Idea.

Softly humming, Rosalie walked a little apart and pretended to find

great interest in the still water, the scattering row-boats and the few

belated bathers along the shore.

For want of other occupation she took off her hat and swung it till the

daisy-wreath was in peril. Trudy and Collin walked in silence.

But the active brain of Miss Rosalie Scott was by no means idle. She

hummed, but she smiled, too; she swung her hat, but she had a thoughtful

frown--not only that, a determined one.

Trudy was destined to see yet another remarkable instance of the

impulsiveness without which Rosalie Scott would not have been Rosalie

Scott, and which worked for good or ill as the case happened.

When they had covered the pier and had passed up the street as far as

the Bellevue Hotel, had reached its broad entrance, she suddenly turned.

"Come in for a minute," she said--"both of you. Oh, don't look so

scared--just for a minute! Trudy Carr has promised me a visit for a long

time, anyhow, and--well, you'll have to come. _Come!_"

Rosalie was in earnest. She took them each by the hand and pulled them

up the wide piazza steps, reiterating her commands. And Collin Spencer,

who had had no notion of complying, found himself, before he could get

his breath back, standing in one of the fine great parlors of the

Bellevue Hotel, gaping in confusion at a long mirror and blue plush

chairs.

"There, now, sit down," said Rosalie. She ran to a small knob in the

wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said,

"Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here."

She went to the door when he had gone, and stood with her back

against it.

"You shan't get away. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine,

that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it

won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I--I'd like to

have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to

everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to

help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made.

I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got _me_ out of an awful

fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and--"

The door was pushed open.

"Why, Rosalie," said the newcomer, "your father and Uncle Angus are

here. I thought you were to meet them at the boat?"

"I didn't, mamma," Rosalie answered. "This is Trudy Carr again, and--"

"Collin Spencer," added Trudy.

And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear

gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from

neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile--Rosalie's mother

shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them.

And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them.

"Now," she said, imploringly--"now _do!_"

Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an

intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not

to say a word. It was nobody's business but his. It was his own

miserable affair. He neither asked help nor wanted it.

How, then, did the story get itself told? Collin supposed that Trudy

must have started it, for he did not.

He sat bewildered by all this strange and unwelcome situation, while

slowly, drawn out by questions and gentle comments, his trouble was

told.

His first weak mistake, the disaster at Buxton, Trudy's attempt at

righting matters and her failure, and all the dreary facts of the

present condition of things. By degrees, the lady who sat with

thoughtfully-lowered eyes and knit brows heard it all.

"Don't think it was _my_ idea to tell you, ma'am," Collin ended, the

blood mounting in his sturdy face.

"Doesn't mamma know that?" Rosalie cried, impatiently.

She had got her way, and she was highly satisfied.

"And don't think I'm asking you to do anything for me," Collin proudly

persisted. "I don't know what you _could_ do; I don't expect anything--I

didn't want to come in."

"And she knows all that, too," said Rosalie, knocking down his protests

like tenpins.

Her mother sat thinking.

"I wish I knew what to say," she said, sincerely, "or what to do. I

should be glad to do something, believe me. I am deeply sorry for you,

my boy. It seems to me that your case is a peculiarly hard one. I am

glad I have heard your story, for I can give you my sympathy, if nothing

more. You made a mistake; you were thoughtless and weak; yes, you did

wrong. But--I can't help saying it--it seems to me that your punishment

is too great. You have escaped nothing; the worst has come. The worst

fault was not yours, and yet you are suffering most. At least, don't be

ashamed of having told me," said Mrs. Scott, that ready sympathy of

which her face spoke strongly roused.

"I wish I could help you," she declared. "Not only does your case

deserve it, but Trudy Carr here"--she smiled brightly. "I feel as though

I knew Trudy Carr. I have heard nothing but items concerning her since

Rosalie first saw her. And that little adventure on the bay is not to be

forgotten. Yes, I would help you gladly."

"There's only one way for me," said Collin. "If I could go back there to

work, and show Mr. Conover what I _can_ be and do, there'd be some

chance for me; I could 'live it down.' But _that's_ gone up."

"That is the only way, or the best by far," was Mrs. Scott's quiet

agreement. "I wish it might be. I had an idea about it--I wonder--I want

to do what I can. I might send a note to Mr. Conover." And then she

added, with an impulsiveness much like Rosalie's own, "I will go myself.

We'll go together. I have an idea, as I said. Come, it will do no harm

to try."

Collin was getting used to bewilderments, to being hustled and managed

like a baby instead of a tall, seventeen-year-old boy. One thing--he had

not been remarkably successful at managing himself.

And when, ten minutes later, he stood with Mrs. Scott, her bright young

daughter and Trudy in Mr. Conover's livery-stable, he kept a stiff upper

lip and waited for what should come.

Mr. Conover came forward to meet the oddly-assorted four. For Collin

Spencer he had only unsmiling surprise, and his glance at Trudy was

puzzled. But he knew by sight the lady from the Bellevue Hotel, and he

raised his hat with an inquiring face, and drew forward the only chair

the stable boasted. Accepting it, Rosalie's mother wasted no time in

getting to the point, and wasted no words.

"First, Mr. Conover," she began, "I must apologize for being an

interferer, for that is what I am. My business concerns this boy. I have

just now heard his story from the beginning."

"About the trick he played me?" said Mr. Conover, half doubting the

interest of such a lady in such a case.

"That exactly; all about his foolish escapade and the result of it.

About the effort of this little girl, Trudy Carr, to save him, and about

the discovery and discharge. And, Mr. Conover, I want to ask nothing

less than that you take the boy back into your service on a month's

trial. I feel convinced that the consequences of his error are almost

more than he deserves, and perhaps more than you realize, Mr. Conover.

He was led into it by a bad companion, whom he has certainly dropped.

First impressions go for something. I _cannot_ but believe the boy

himself is steady and trustworthy. And then the anxiety of this girl,

who seems to have been such a friend to him--"

Mrs. Scott's voice was a little unsteady.

"And his position now is pitiable. The story has spread through the town

in exaggerated forms. He has tried to get work elsewhere and on that

account failed. I cannot see what is before the boy unless you can

forgive and take him back, for it is here only, it seems both to him and

to me, that he can redeem himself. I ask you to take him on a month's

trial, and I wish to give bonds for his good behavior. I am Mrs. John

Scott."

This, then, was Mrs. Scott's idea of which she had spoken. Surely a

convincing one. She opened her purse, took five ten-dollar bills

therefrom and handed them to the young livery-stable keeper.

Mr. Conover looked at her in astonishment, slowly rubbing his

smooth-shaven head.

"I--Mrs. Scott," he said, with earnestness, "I don't want to take the

money. I begin to see how it is; I see you're right. To tell the truth,

I was afraid I'd been a little hard on the boy. I knew that young cur of

a Freeman was to blame for it, and I was sorry on the girl's account and

all; but I was hasty, I suppose. I shouldn't have done anything, though,

about taking him back; but now that you've made me see it plainer yet,

and if he's in such a bad fix as all that, why, I'll give him another

chance," said the young man. "But never mind the money; I'll try him."

"Keep it," Mrs. Scott answered, "and if he does not do his best, it is

forfeited. I think he will."

Poor Collin! Perhaps in all the course of his troubles he had known no

sharper moment than that. He looked around the group. Several of the

stable-hands had gathered, Sim Miles, with a broadly smiling face, being

among them.

The tears sprung to Collin's honest blue eyes. Nor was he ashamed of

them.

"I _will_ do my best," was all he could say.

"All right; come around to-morrow, Spencer," said Mr. Conover, bluffly,

seeing that the scene threatened to be rather a moving one, and he went

back to his business.