The Children of Wilton Chase

Mr. Wilton went straight to Basil's side.

"I misunderstood you, my boy; forgive me," he said.

Ermengarde stood erect and stiff. She had not shed a tear, nor made any response to Marjorie's words. Her whole soul was in her face, however. She was watching her father's greeting of Basil. She waited for its effect.

The few words uttered by Mr. Wilton were magical. Something seemed to flash out of Basil's eyes. They looked straight up into his father's, then dropped to the ground.

"Father," he murmured. His father grasped his hand.

"O Basil," suddenly sobbed Ermie. Her fortitude gave way; she rushed to her brother and almost groveled at his feet.

"Now, what's to be done?" said Mr. Wilton, turning in a perplexed kind of way to his younger daughter. "I confess it, I never felt more confused and put out in all my life. I brought Ermengarde here to punish her most severely."

"Oh, please, father, don't! Let it be a full, complete, jolly kind of forgiveness all round. Look at Basil, father."

Mr. Wilton turned his head. Basil was on his knees, and his arms were round Ermie, her head rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, father, do let us come out and leave them together for a little!"

"Really, Maggie, you don't treat me with a bit of respect," said Mr. Wilton. But his voice was low, the frown had cleared from his brow, and he pinched Marjorie's firm round cheek.

"I suppose I must humor you, little woman," he said, "for after all you are the only member of my family who never gets into scrapes."

"Oh, father, I'm so happy!" They were out side the study door now, and Marjorie, still clinging to her father's hand, was skipping up and down. "Everything will be as right as possible now, and no one, no one in all the world can help Ermie as Basil can."

"I believe you are right there, Maggie," said Mr. Wilton. "My poor lad, he certainly has done a noble, Quixotic sort of thing. I can't forgive myself for being so harsh with him."

"Oh, father, Basil quite understood. He didn't wish to be cleared, you know."

"Yes, yes, I see daylight at last."

"Father, what do you mean by Basil being Quixotic?"

"I'll tell you another time, puss. And so you knew of this all the time?"

"Only since the night before last. I wanted Ermie to tell you herself. Basil wouldn't tell, and he wouldn't let me. Now it's all right. Oh, how happy I am! Now it's all right."

"And you really mean me to let Ermengarde off her punishment, Mag?"

"Well, father?"

Marjorie put her head a little on one side, and adopted her most sagacious and goody-goody manner.

"Wouldn't it be well to see if Ermie hasn't learnt something by this lesson, you know? I expect Ermie has suffered a lot."

"Not she – not she."

"Oh, but, father, I think she has. Couldn't you wait until the next time to punish Ermie, father?"

"Well, you're a dear child," said Mr. Wilton, "and perhaps, for your sake – "

"Oh, no, father, for Basil's sake."

"Well then, for Basil's sake."

Marjorie kissed her father about a dozen times.

"You'll let Ermie just learn by her experience to be better another time, and that will be her only punishment," said Marjorie, in her wisest manner.

"Well, Maggie, I suppose I must yield to you. And now, as this is to be, and I am not to assume the rôle of the severe father – between ourselves, Maggie, I hate rôles – do let us drop the subject. I feel inclined for a game with the young ones. What do you say?"

"I say that the sun has come out, and I am as happy as the day is long," replied Marjorie. "Give me another kiss, please, father. Lucy, is that you? Father is coming to have a romp with us all. Just one minute, please, father. I must go and tell Miss Nelson the good news."

"What a blessed, happy, dear little thing Maggie is!" thought Mr. Wilton as, holding Lucy's hand, he walked slowly to the nursery playground. "She's more like her mother than any of them. Yes, this may be a lesson to Ermengarde. Poor child, I hope so."

It was late that evening when Ermengarde and Basil, standing side by side under their mother's picture, solemnly kissed each other.

"Basil, you will never love me in the old way again."

"I love you better than anyone else in all the world, Ermie. Look up into mother's eyes; they are smiling at you."

"I know what they are saying," answered Ermengarde. She clasped her hands; there was a stronger, better look than Basil had ever noticed before on her pretty face. "Mother's eyes are saying, 'You have been very selfish, Ermie, and very – ' What is it, Basil?"

"Yes," interrupted Basil. "I think selfishness was at the root of all this trouble. I never knew any one so unselfish as Maggie."

"And mother's eyes say," continued Ermengarde, "'Take courage – and – and – '"

"I think mother is telling you to try to copy our dear little Maggie," said Basil.

THE END