And Harry, really I don't want to go to the Seminary.I don't think I should like it.I KNOW I shouldn't.""But why not live here, Helen?" he asked.
"Because I'm TIRED of it!" she cried; "sick to the soul of the stuffiness, and the glass cases, and the--the GOODNESS of it!"Thorpe remembered his vision of the wild, wind-tossed pines, and sighed.He wanted very, very much to act in accordance with his sister's desires, although he winced under the sharp hurt pang of the sensitive man whose intended kindness is not appreciated.The impossibility of complying, however, reacted to shut his real ideas and emotions the more inscrutably within him.
"I'm afraid you would not find the girls' boarding-club scheme a good one, Helen," said he."You'd find it would work better in theory than in practice.""But it has worked with the other girls!" she cried.
"I think you would be better off here."
Helen bravely choked back her disappointment.
"I might live here, but let the Seminary drop, anyway.That would save a good deal," she begged."I'd get quite as much good out of my work outside, and then we'd have all that money besides.""I don't know; I'll see," replied Thorpe."The mental discipline of class-room work might be a good thing."He had already thought of this modification himself, but with his characteristic caution, threw cold water on the scheme until he could ascertain definitely whether or not it was practicable.He had already paid the tuition for the year, and was in doubt as to its repayment.As a matter of fact, the negotiation took about two weeks.
During that time Helen Thorpe went through her disappointment and emerged on the other side.Her nature was at once strong and adaptable.One by one she grappled with the different aspects of the case, and turned them the other way.By a tour de force she actually persuaded herself that her own plan was not really attractive to her.But what heart-breaks and tears this cost her, only those who in their youth have encountered such absolute negations of cherished ideas can guess.
Then Thorpe told her.
"I've fixed it, Helen," said he."You can attend the High School and the classes, if you please.I have put the two hundred and fifty dollars out at interest for you.""Oh, Harry!" she cried reproachfully."Why didn't you tell me before!"He did not understand; but the pleasure of it had all faded.She no longer felt enthusiasm, nor gratitude, nor anything except a dull feeling that she had been unnecessarily discouraged.And on his side, Thorpe was vaguely wounded.
The days, however, passed in the main pleasurably for them both.
They were fond of one another.The barrier slowly rising between them was not yet cemented by lack of affection on either side, but rather by lack of belief in the other's affection.Helen imagined Thorpe's interest in her becoming daily more perfunctory.Thorpe fancied his sister cold, unreasoning, and ungrateful.As yet this was but the vague dust of a cloud.They could not forget that, but for each other, they were alone in the world.Thorpe delayed his departure from day to day, making all the preparations he possibly could at home.
Finally Helen came on him busily unpacking a box which a dray had left at the door.He unwound and laid one side a Winchester rifle, a variety of fishing tackle, and some other miscellanies of the woodsman.Helen was struck by the beauty of the sporting implements.
"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "aren't they fine! What are you going to do with them?""Going camping," replied Thorpe, his head in the excelsior.
"When?"
"This summer."
Helen's eyes lit up with a fire of delight."How nice! May I go with you?" she cried.
Thorpe shook his head.
"I'm afraid not, little girl.It's going to be a hard trip a long ways from anywhere.You couldn't stand it.""I'm sure I could.Try me."
"No," replied Thorpe."I know you couldn't.We'll be sleeping on the ground and going on foot through much extremely difficult country.""I wish you'd take me somewhere," pursued Helen."I can't get away this summer unless you do.Why don't you camp somewhere nearer home, so I can go?"Thorpe arose and kissed her tenderly.He was extremely sorry that he could not spend the summer with his sister, but he believed likewise that their future depended to a great extent on this very trip.But he did not say so.
"I can't, little girl; that's all.We've got our way to make."She understood that he considered the trip too expensive for them both.At this moment a paper fluttered from the excelsior.She picked it up.A glance showed her a total of figures that made her gasp.
"Here is your bill," she said with a strange choke in her voice, and left the room.
"He can spend sixty dollars on his old guns; but he can't afford to let me leave this hateful house," she complained to the apple tree."He can go 'way off camping somewhere to have a good time, but he leaves me sweltering in this miserable little town all summer.I don't care if he IS supporting me.He ought to.He's my brother.Oh, I wish I were a man; I wish I were dead!"Three days later Thorpe left for the north.He was reluctant to go.
When the time came, he attempted to kiss Helen good-by.She caught sight of the rifle in its new leather and canvas case, and on a sudden impulse which she could not explain to herself, she turned away her face and ran into the house.Thorpe, vaguely hurt, a little resentful, as the genuinely misunderstood are apt to be, hesitated a moment, then trudged down the street.Helen too paused at the door, choking back her grief.
"Harry! Harry!" she cried wildly; but it was too late.
Both felt themselves to be in the right.Each realized this fact in the other.Each recognized the impossibility of imposing his own point of view over the other's.
