The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn. Reed Myrtle

afraid to be left alone?"

      "No. I'm not afraid of anything; but where is Cousin Rob?"

      "He's teaching the children. They don't seem to get much time, someway, in the morning, so they begin right after dinner and study till supper time. I'm so glad to have Robert here – he's doing wonders with them."

      "He seems nice," said Beatrice, "and I like him. Can't I go with you, Aunt Eleanor?"

      "No, dear – somebody has to stay with the baby. He's asleep, though, and I don't think he'll trouble you."

      "I'll take care of him, Aunty. Don't fret about us."

      Nevertheless, the house seemed very lonely to Beatrice after Mrs. Mackenzie went away, and she roamed about restlessly. For a time she amused herself by examining the articles on the depleted shelves behind the counters, but the interest soon vanished. She could find nothing to read except a soiled and ragged copy of a paper three months old, which she had already seen at Fort Wayne. The murmur of voices from a distant room, reached her ears with sudden and attractive significance, and her face brightened.

      "I don't know as I should do it," she said to herself, but she went to the door and tapped softly.

      Robert opened it, in surprise, and Beatrice stepped into the room. "I've come to visit the school," she said.

      "Goody!" cried Johnny.

      She seated herself on the window ledge and smiled radiantly at the embarrassed teacher. Discipline had been difficult from the beginning, and the guest made matters worse.

      "Now, then, Johnny," Forsyth said, "what were we studying?"

      "Eight times three."

      "Yes, and how many are eight times three?"

      "Twenty – "

      "Twenty-one," said Beatrice.

      "Twenty-one," repeated Johnny, readily, with the air of one who has accomplished a difficult feat.

      Robert frowned and bit his lips. "Eight times three are twenty-four, Johnny. Write it ten times on your slate – that will help you to remember."

      "What a gift for teaching," murmured Beatrice. Robert flushed, but did not speak, and there was no sound in the room but the pencil scratching on the slate.

      "Cousin Rob?"

      "Yes, Johnny. What is it?"

      "Why, Cousin Bee just said eight times three were twenty-one. Did she tell a lie, or didn't she know?"

      "Never mind, Johnny; just attend to your lesson."

      "Mamma says it's wicked to tell lies," observed Ellen, virtuously, sucking her slate pencil.

      Beatrice was enjoying herself hugely. She flashed a wicked glance at Forsyth as she said, "I'm so glad I came!"

      "Go on with your work, Ellen. I want you to write that sentence five times without a mistake. Maria Indiana, bring me your primer. Begin here."

      "Tan't. Baby's fordot."

      "Oh, no, you haven't. We learned this yesterday, don't you remember? Now, then, – 'I see,' – what's the rest of it?"

      "I see a tat."

      "Where?" asked Beatrice, lightly, and Maria Indiana gazed at her, sadly bewildered.

      "Where is the cat?" she asked again. "I don't see any."

      "Here, Baby," said Robert; "look at the picture."

      "I don't like a picture cat," said Beatrice, with a tempting smile, as she held out her arms to the child.

      "Tuzzin Bee!" crowed the baby, running to her, "me loves oo!"

      "I've got this done now," said Johnny. "Eight times three are twenty-four."

      "That's a mistake," put in Beatrice. "Didn't I tell you it was twenty-one?"

      "Cousin Rob," asked Ellen, in deep trouble, "if Cousin Bee has told a lie, will she go to hell?"

      "No," sobbed the baby; "me doesn't want Tuzzin Bee to go to hell!"

      Robert's face was pale, and there was a dangerous look in the set lines of his mouth. He went to Beatrice, took her by the shoulders, and gently, but firmly, put her out of the room, then locked the door.

      "Well, I never!" she said to herself.

      Beatrice was not given to self-analysis, but she could not keep from wondering why she felt so queer. She knew she had no right to be angry, and yet she was furious. She was certain that she would have done the same thing if she had been in his place, and much earlier at that; but the fact did not lessen the enormity of his crime.

      "He dared to touch me!" she whispered, with her face hidden.

      The long afternoon faded into dusk, and then Mackenzie came home. "Where's mother?" he asked.

      "She went to see Mrs. Burns. She said she was sick."

      "Have you been lonesome, Bee?"

      The girl bit her lips. "Not very," she answered grimly.

      School was dismissed and the children trooped into the living-room. Robert spoke pleasantly to his uncle, but took no notice of Beatrice.

      "Uncle John," she said at length, "what do you think of a person who takes a lady by the shoulders and puts her out of a room?"

      "If you had been a lady," retorted Robert, "I wouldn't have put you out."