# Brenda's Summer at Rockley/Chapter 27
### CHAPTER XXVII THE END OF THE SUMMER

While the influence of Brenda on Amy had been less marked than that of Amy on Brenda, it had still been sufficient to make Mrs. Redmond approve highly of the intimacy between the two. She was pleased that this companionship had come to take her daughter out of herself. She noticed with some amusement that Amy’s poetry was taking a more cheerful cast, and that she less often wrote about “sad heart” and “dreary days,” and other melancholy themes. Indeed, she was not at all sorry that Amy spent less time now in verse-writing, for she knew that her daughter’s immature efforts had little value, and that her poetic talent would not be entirely blighted if permitted to rest for a while. She had never suggested to Amy that she should write less, fearing that by so doing she might seem unsympathetic. But since this result had been accomplished in another way, she felt extremely gratified.
As I have said before, the angles of Amy’s disposition were decidedly rounded off by her contact with her new friends. She had become more tolerant of the foibles and frivolities, which formerly she had so strongly disapproved. She had a genuine admiration for Julia, which increased when she learned that she was preparing for ​college. For if she could, if the way should ever open, she intended to go to college herself, and she had planned her High School course with this end in view. Although she admired Julia, she was fonder of Brenda, and the two were drawn together by the mysterious attraction of friendship, which is no respecter of persons, and which often brings together those whom observers think very unlike.
Besides the intangible benefits, others that were more evident had come to Amy from her acquaintance with the family at Rockley. First of all, Julia had sat for a miniature to Mrs. Redmond. When it was finished, Mr. Barlow had been so pleased with it that he had urged Mrs. Barlow to sit.
At one of the sittings at Rockley, Mr. Elston had appeared one morning, and, to Mrs. Barlow’s surprise, he and Mrs. Redmond at once recognized each other.
Before her marriage, when she was Amy Longstreth, Mr. Elston had known Mrs. Redmond, and he had also known her sister-in-law, now dead, Fanny Redmond.
“Amy Redmond” had therefore seemed to him a strangely familiar name when he had first heard it. He had meant at some time to ask Amy about her family; but when he saw Mrs. Redmond the coincidence was explained. Mr. Elston had many questions to ask the latter about people in the distant town that had once been her home. Years before he had been in the habit of visiting it, and it saddened him to hear of the breaking up of families and of the many changes that had come in the families of other friends.
​“Really,” said Mr. Elston, “I have been very stupid; for I can see now that your Amy resembles you and her aunt as well. I was a great admirer of Miss Fanny Redmond, and from things I have heard Brenda say, I am sure that your Amy in many ways is like her aunt. She—that is, Miss Fanny—used to write poetry, did n’t she?”
“Ah, yes,” responded Mrs. Redmond, with a sigh. “Her talent comes to Amy from her father’s family. I have not encouraged it as much as I might, for Amy must lead a practical life, and verse-writing is not exactly practical.”
“Oh, well, now, you can’t tell. There was Mrs. Browning,” said Mr. Elston.
“Amy will never be a Mrs. Browning,” said Mrs. Redmond, smiling. “Indeed, I have not that ambition for her, although I wish her to have as good an education as I can possibly afford her.”
“Amy has been of great assistance to Brenda this summer,” interposed Mrs. Barlow, who had been listening to the conversation. “Brenda herself does not realize how greatly she has been helped by Amy. But her father and I have realized it, and we are glad that the two girls have become warm friends.”
Just then Brenda burst into the room, closely followed by Arthur Weston.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Redmond; good-morning, cousin Edward. Oh, mamma! Arthur has a letter; he must go to New York the first of the week to meet Ralph and ​Agnes. They want him there for a day or two before he returns to Yale.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Barlow, with less surprise than Brenda apparently expected. “Yes, I have just had a letter myself.”
“Well, what I wanted to ask is this; now you won’t say ‘No,’ will you, please? ”
In spite of herself, Mrs. Barlow smiled, “I can tell better, when I have heard your request.”
“Well, it’s the end of everything now; every one is going somewhere, and Philip has to be in Cambridge next week, and—well, we all want to go to the Fair—the County Fair.”
“Oh, Brenda, really I do not see—”
“Oh, yes, we have been talking it over, Arthur and I, and we would like to go on our bicycles. I am crazy to try that new one,—Philip will go, too, and Julia and Amy.”
At this Mrs. Redmond looked up as if to say something, and Mrs. Barlow responded, “Ah, if you have settled it, why do you ask me?”
“Oh, of course we have n’t settled it, mamma. I know that you never care to go to the Fair yourself; but I thought that perhaps you would let us go by ourselves.”
“No, Brenda, really I cannot,—especially on your bicycles. If any older person were with you, I might be willing. But your father is too busy, and I really do not care to go. There are other things that you might do. You might make an excursion to—”
​“Oh, no, mamma, there is really nothing else; of course, if we cannot, we cannot, and Arthur will be so disappointed.”
“There is nothing to prevent Arthur’s going with Philip,” and Mrs. Barlow smiled at Brenda, while laying her hand affectionately on her arm.
At this moment, Mr. Elston, who had been talking with Philip, looked up.
“Cousin Anna, would you approve of me as an escort for the girls?”
“Why, cousin Edward, the very thing!” and Brenda clapped her hands with delight.
“But I tought that you did not care for wheeling,” Mrs. Barlow looked hard at Mr. Elston, to see if he was not planning an unnecessary sacrifice.
“I do not often have a chance to enjoy my wheel in the society of so many young persons. As the yachting season is nearly over, I need some excitement.”
“We ’ll give you all you wish,” said Brenda.
“I trust that your charges will not give you too much care,” responded Mrs. Barlow; “but I can assure you that, so far as I am concerned, I have always found them reasonable.”
“Yes, if you are reasonable, and that means agreeing to everything that we wish, Mr. Elston,” said Arthur, “we’ll promise to be fairly obedient.”
Mrs. Redmond took no part in this conversation. But later, when she was alone with Mrs. Barlow, she said, rather seriously, “I fear that Amy cannot go to the Fair. ​She has never had a wheel, and although I hope that she will have one next year, it has not been expedient to get one this season.”
“That reminds me,” said Mrs. Barlow. But of what she was reminded, perhaps a word or two from Amy will give a clearer idea.
“My dear Nora,” she wrote to Nora, who was now in the mountains.
My dear Nora,—I have had such a delightful surprise. This morning I went downstairs feeling rather forlorn. You see, Brenda and the others—even Fritz and Ben—are going over to the Essex County Fair to-morrow on their wheels. It seemed rather hard that I could not go, too. It was extravagant even to think of hiring a wheel, and, besides, mamma has always been timid about letting me hire a wheel. She thinks that they are not safe. I really did feel rather downcast. For it was going to be about the last excursion of the season. I am pretty busy at school now, but as this was to be on Saturday, why, of course, I could go. But how lucky it is that I have learned to ride a wheel. For when I came down to breakfast this morning (by the way, I’m quite a lady of leisure now, for Maggie Murphy is regular “help” for us now instead of just “assisting”)—
Well, when I came downstairs, mamma asked me to go around to the side of the house, and there was a bicycle—a girl’s bicycle—and mamma said that Mr. and Mrs. Barlow had sent it to me. They think that my acquaintance has been a good thing for Brenda. I don’t see how they persuaded mamma to let me have it. But as long as I have the wheel, I need n’t ask any questions. Was n’t it lovely of them? I fancy that Brenda had a hand in it too. Yet I certainly wonder that they should all be so kind to me.
​The rest of the letter was brief, and intended for Nora’s eye alone. It explained why she had written a certain little poem which she enclosed, for during Nora’s short stay at Rockley she had proved more appreciative of Amy’s literary work than Brenda. Brenda liked almost everything that Amy wrote. After they once knew that she wrote verse, Amy was persuaded to let the girls at Rockley read much that she had written.
Nora was more discriminating. In consequence, Amy heeded Nora’s suggestion, and had sent her one or two poems to read. Incidentally, in the letter, she gave her what news she could of Brenda and the others.
Mrs. Redmond had hesitated at first about accepting the wheel. But Mr. and Mrs. Barlow so pleasantly gave their reasons for wishing Amy to ride with Brenda, that it seemed ungracious to refuse.
“Besides,” said Mrs. Barlow, “we were intending to get Brenda a new bicycle this month, as her own is no longer fit for her to ride. But a strange thing happened yesterday. Brenda had a note from Frances Pounder, saying that she had ordered her own new chainless wheel to be sent over to Brenda from Nahant. She feels grateful to Brenda for her exertions the other day, and she knew that Brenda has desired a chainless wheel. Poor Frances herself will not be able to ride this season, as the injury to her foot is much more serious than the family at first thought. As we have not to buy a wheel for Brenda, I hope that you will let us give this one to Amy instead.”
Mrs. Redmond was too sensible a woman to refuse a ​gift so delicately offered, especially when she knew that its acceptance meant so much to her daughter.
“Amy! Amy!” called cousin Joan, on the morning of the ride to the County Fair. “Come upstairs for a minute.” Then, when Amy stood before her, “There, I just wanted to see how you looked. Turn around so that I can see the back of the skirt. Well, it’s surprising what your mother can do with the needle. She’s fixed that so’s you could n’t tell it from a tailor-made. I don’t believe those Rockley girls will look a bit better than you.”
“Thank you, cousin Joan,” said Amy, turning around, as the invalid wished. Since Amy’s acquaintance with Brenda and Julia had shown itself to be something fairly substantial, cousin Joan had been much more sympathetic than formerly. On the evening of the wedding, for example, she had lain awake until Amy returned, and had urged her to tell her everything that had happened. She asked for details that poor Amy had to admit that she had not noticed,—the length of the bride’s train, the kind of flowers that she carried, the color of Mrs. Barlow’s gown, and the names of many of the guests. Although she was rather tired, Amy sat down on the edge of the bed, and told an interesting story, not even forgetting the cutting of the wedding cake, and the fun that had grown out of that.
Amy could tell a good story when she wished, and she tried to make her descriptions as picturesque as possible, for she realized how narrow the invalid’s outlook was, and ​she saw that it meant a great deal to her to have this glimpse of the doings of more fortunate people. One of the best effects on Amy of her intimacy with Brenda had been the broadening of her sympathy, so that she was much less impatient with the little peculiarities of cousin Joan, that sometimes were rather trying.
“Don’t forget,” said cousin Joan, as she started to go downstairs,—“don’t forget to see if Mrs. Murphy’s tidy gets a prize; it’s real Irish lace, and she ’s been working on it for a long time.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Amy, as she hastened down and out to the side of the house, where Fritz and Ben were already waiting for her.
They were not to ride all the way to the Fair, but at the station were to join Brenda and the others, and go by train to Salem.
“Let me see,” cried Mr. Elston, as they got out of the cars, “are all my charges here?” and he proceeded to count “one, two, three, four, five, six—why, with myself we are seven. That will suit the poetic members of the party,” and, with a smile in Amy’s direction, Mr. Elston mounted his wheel and led the way. They dismounted once or twice only, once merely to take breath, and once to visit the building erected to the memory of the great philanthropist, George Peabody, in which is a gold medal and other testimonials that he received in England. Up the long street from Salem through Peabody they pressed, and at last, before a large brick building, they halted.
“Here we are!” cried Mr. Elston.
​“Why, cousin Edward!” Brenda looked at Mr. Elston in surprise. Once before in her life she had been at a County Fair, and she did n’t remember anything like this. Ben and Fritz laughed loudly at the look of surprise on Amy’s face, as the three girls dismounted.
“We ’ll stay and watch the wheels; we ’re not fond of pumpkins and patchwork,” they cried, as the others went inside.
“I ’ll go with you,” whispered Arthur Weston to Brenda. He had been very attentive to Brenda on the way over, and had ridden by her side, while the other boys had indulged in trials of speed, and had amused themselves in an independent fashion—just as if there were no girls in the party. Brenda felt rather flattered by his attention; and when he told her how he regretted going back to college, she began to be sorry too, and she almost wavered in her allegiance to Harvard in her interest in this Yale undergraduate.
“There’s one thing you could do, if you were really in earnest,” and her eyes beamed with fun,—“you might change your college. You’d be nearer to me,—that is, to us, if you would come to Harvard. You probably would n’t have to drop more than a class.”
“If I could make the exchange, I almost would; I would make almost any sacrifice to be near—Boston. But still it is a great deal for you to ask, sister-in-law,” Arthur Weston looked at Brenda reproachfully.
“Your saying ‘sister-in-law’ reminds me,” said Brenda, “that Agnes and Ralph wrote that they can be in Boston ​for a few days the first week in October. We are going to close the house at Rockley at once, so that we may be at home when they come.”
“Then this is almost the last excursion of the summer.”
“Yes,” responded Brenda; “for after you go off on Monday, Julia and I will have any amount of packing to do, and I shall not have time for wheeling.”
“Then you must remember that I was part of this last party,” said Arthur, so sentimentally that Brenda darted ahead of him to join Amy and Julia. During the conversation between Arthur and Brenda, the others had been looking at the bits of handiwork, from amateur photographs to patchwork quilt, which had been sent in by the wives and daughters of the farmers of Essex County. They glanced rather hastily at these things, for Mr. Elston thought it unwise for them to tire themselves, in view of the walking they must do on the Fair grounds, and the long homeward ride. They made no effort, therefore, to press through the crowd to see the fruits and vegetables which the farmers of Essex displayed with much pride. Turning up a side road, not so very far beyond the Hall, they soon came upon the Fair grounds.
“A circus!” exclaimed Julia, as she stood at the entrance, while the boys checked the bicycles.
“I have seen several circuses; but I had no idea that a County Fair was like this.”
“It’s great fun!” replied Brenda; “we can buy peanuts, or do almost anything that we like, as long as cousin Edward is with us.” And suiting the action to the word, ​she ran over to a stand, where she bought two or three bags of peanuts, and another of popcorn balls. She then patronized the balloon man, and made each of the other girls tie a pink balloon to her belt.
“As a reminder of Philip,” said Julia.
“Well, I was n’t thinking of him,” responded Brenda. At this the others laughed, though why, it would have been hard to tell; and Brenda added,—
“I really am sorry that Philip could not come to-day; he and Tom Hearst are always fine company on excursions.”
Overhearing this remark, Arthur Weston put on an injured air, “Harvard always has to come to the front, even at a County Fair.”
“We ’re always fair,” responded Amy.
“I ’ll try not to consider that a pun,” said the young man; “but if I had a yacht called ‘The Union Jack’ would you wear a flag at your button-hole?”
“Without seeing the boat and the flag it’s hard to tell,” replied Julia, gravely; but Brenda and Amy made no reply, because just at that moment Fritz and Ben came up to urge them to hurry over to the open-air theatre, where a very remarkable man was about to perform a very remarkable feat on the trapeze.
Older persons might have found the County Fair tiresome, after they had admired the sleek animals in their stalls, and the horses that raced or trotted in the ring.
But Mr. Elston’s charges found fun in everything. They even peeped in at some of the side-shows, and shot at a target in a funny little shooting-gallery.
​“Oh, look, Julia, look! is n’t that my gypsy? You saw her the day of the wedding,” and Brenda grasped her cousin’s arm excitedly.
Glancing where Brenda pointed, Julia saw, only a few feet away, the gypsy whom Mr. Barlow had sent from the house. She was gazing at them rather sullenly, and Julia did not like her expression.
“There!” exclaimed Arthur; “before Mr. Elston returns from his last look at the prize cattle, we ’ll just have time to have our fortunes told.”
“Oh, no,” said Julia; “I wouldn’t.”
But the young man was headstrong. “I’m going,” he said, and before they could stop him, he had reached the woman.
“Really, I believe he’s having his fortune told,” said Brenda. “I did n’t suppose he’d be so silly,” forgetting that it was n’t so very long a time since she had been equally foolish.
Presently the young man came back, laughing.
“There, I ’ve had my fortune told; and what do you suppose she said?”
“People do not usually tell what the gypsy prophesies,” said Amy, demurely.
“Oh, I don’t care,” retorted Arthur. “But which of you girls has the gypsy a grudge against?”
“Why?”
“Oh, she told me to beware of a dark-haired young lady who was likely to do me much harm.”
“Brenda’s hair is the darkest,” remarked Julia.
​“Ah, sister-in-law,” said the young man, “I would n’t have thought it of you. What are you plotting against me?”
“Nonsense!” cried Brenda. “Of course I’m not plotting anything.”
Yet, in spite of her protest, on the homeward ride Brenda was rather quiet, and she rode beside Amy most of the way. They had almost reached Rockley, when Brenda, in bidding good-bye to Amy, jumped from her wheel at a turn of the road. Instead of standing it against a tree or fence for support, she rather carelessly left it lying at the edge of the road. Unluckily, just at that moment Arthur came dashing around the corner. Before Brenda could pick up her wheel, he had grazed against it with just force enough to throw himself off. In an instant Mr. Elston came up to him, and assisted him to his feet. The young man gave a sharp cry of pain, as he tried to put his left foot to the ground.
“You ’ve really done it, sister-in-law,” he said, as Brenda looked at him, too much disturbed, really, to speak.
“Run on, Fritz, to Rockley, and have Thomas bring a carriage at once, and telephone for the doctor,” said Mr. Elston, as he made a place on the grassy margin of the road where Arthur could rest comfortably until help came.
Luckily the young man, while his foot was at rest, was not in great pain, and his high spirits did not desert him.
“Really, sister-in-law,” he said, “I would n’t have thought it of you,—to treat me this way, and I a visitor at your father’s house. But there’s one satisfaction; you ​see the gypsy was right. Ugh! but it does hurt,” and he tried not to show his pain.
Luckily, when the doctor examined the injury, he found that though the ankle was really sprained, a few weeks of complete rest would set the young man on his feet again.
Yet although the injury was slight, compared with what it might have been, the doctor strictly ordered Arthur not to use his foot. At New Haven he might have been tempted to disobey,—and so Arthur himself saw that it was wisest to accept Mrs. Barlow’s invitation to remain a week or two with her.
“I’m as happy as a king,” he would murmur, as he reclined in a deep chair with his foot supported on an ottoman which Mrs. Barlow had made just the right height for him.
“I’m as happy as a king, for neither sister-in-law, nor you, Julia, would dare to refuse me anything I ask.”
“You’d better not be too sure,” responded Julia, with a smile. “I am more independent than Brenda, for I had nothing to do with your accident. However, as you’ve been pretty patient this morning, I ’ll play you just one game of hjalma, although I really dislike games.”
“You ’re very good,” said Arthur, as Julia moved away to get the hjalma board, “but is n’t that Brenda’s step?” and he listened intently to a footfall on the piazza.
“Ah, galley-slave!” he exclaimed, as she approached. “Julia is released, and you, sister-in-law, must take her place at the board.”
“Why, I have no objection,” said Brenda; “I’d rather ​play a game than read aloud. I’m awfully tired of that ‘Holy Roman Empire’ that you ’ve been making me read to you this week; I don’t understand a word of it.”
“Of course not,” and the young man shook his head; “that’s your penance for having thrown me off my bicycle. It’s your duty now to help me keep my standing in college.”
“That’s a pretty poor pun!” exclaimed Julia, from the corner where she had seated herself with a book.
“It certainly is,” responded Brenda. But Arthur took no notice of their criticism. Already he had begun to arrange his men on the board, and apparently was planning his campaign.
Thus for Julia and Brenda the last week or two of the summer ended, in the care of a very lively invalid who insisted that one or the other of the two should always be ready to amuse him. We may call these the last weeks of summer, even though the month was really October. For on the North Shore it is “summer” with the cottagers until they return to the city. Arthur left Rockley a week before Mrs. Barlow and her family went up to Boston. He leaned a little on the crutch which his brother had sent him, and which his doctor had insisted on his using; but he was bright and cheerful as ever.
“I forgive you, sister-in-law,” he called to Brenda, as he stepped aboard the car.
“We shall miss him,” said Mrs. Barlow, with a sigh, as she turned away “Arthur certainly has been a great addition to our summer.”
​“He and Amy,” responded Brenda, loyal to the new friend from whom in many ways she had learned so much.
“Arthur and Amy have certainly helped you a great deal,” said Mrs. Barlow.
“Helped me? Arthur?” questioned Brenda.
“Why, yes,” and Mrs. Barlow smiled. “I am sure that Arthur has developed unexpected powers of patience in you, just as Amy has taught you to be more contented. You are sure of that, are you not?”
“I am sure that Amy has taught me many things, and that without her I could hardly enjoy another summer at Rockley.”