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“Behind the scenes” is always a place of confusion after amateur theatricals; at least it used to be with us. We ran hither and thither, lost our every-day shoes, washed the paint from our faces, and mislaid any number of towels, and combs, and brushes, ate supper by snatches, congratulated ourselves on a successful evening, and were kissed all around by Granny, who came behind the scenes for the purpose.

All was over, and the guests were gone, when I gave an invitation to the others to come and make lemon-brew over my bedroom fire as an appropriate concluding festivity. (It had been suggested by Bobby.) I had not seen Philip for some time, but we were all astonished to hear that he had gone out. We kept his “brew” hot for him, and Charles and Bobby were both nodding–though they stoutly refused to go to bed,–when his step sounded in the corridor, and he knocked and came hastily in.

Everybody roused up.

“Oh, Philip, we’ve been wondering where you were! Here’s your brew, and we’ve each kept a little drop, to drink your good health.”

(“Mine is all pips,” observed Bobby as a parenthesis.) But Philip was evidently thinking of something else.

“Isobel,” he said, standing by the table, as if he were making a speech, “I shall never forget your coming after me to-day. I told you you had the temper of an angel.”

“So did I,” said Alice.

“Hear! hear!” said Bobby, who was sucking his pips one by one and laying them by–“to plant in a pot,” as he afterwards explained.

“You not only saved the theatricals,” continued Philip, “you saved my life I believe.”

No “situation” in the play had been half so startling as this. We remained open-mouthed and silent, whilst Philip sat down as if he were tired, and rested his head on his hands, which were dirty, and stained with something red.

“Haven’t you heard about the accident?” he asked.

We all said “No.”

“The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know. Isobel, there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in them was killed but one man. They have taken both his legs off, and he’s not expected to live. Oh, poor fellow, he did groan so!”

Bobby burst into passionate tears, and Philip buried his head on his arms.

Neither Alice nor I could speak, but Charles got up and went round and stood by Philip.

“You’ve been helping,” he said emphatically, “I know you have. You’re a good fellow, Philip, and I beg your pardon for saucing you. I am going to forget about the football too. I was going to have eaten raw meat, and dumb-belled, to make myself strong enough to thrash you,” added Charles remorsefully.

“Eat a butcher’s shop full, if you like,” replied Philip with contempt. And I think it showed that Charles was beginning to practise forbearance, that he made no reply.

* * * * *

Some years have passed since those Twelfth Night theatricals. The Dragon has long been dissolved into his component scales, and we never have impromptu performances now. The passing fame which a terrible railway accident gave to our insignificant station has also faded. But it set a seal on our good resolutions which I may honestly say has not been lightly broken.

There, on the very spot where I had almost resolved never to forgive Philip, never to try to heal the miserable wounds of the family peace, I learned the news of the accident in which he might have been killed. Philip says that if anything could make him behave better to me it is the thought that I saved his life, as he calls it. But if anything could help me to be good to him, surely it must be the remembrance of how nearly I did not save him.

I put Alice on an equality in our bedroom that night, and gave her part-ownership of the text and the picture. We are very happy together.

We have all tried to improve, and I think I may say we have been fairly successful.

More than once I have heard (one does hear many things people say behind one’s back) that new acquaintances–people who have only known us lately–have expressed astonishment, not unmixed with a generous indignation, on hearing that we were ever described by our friends as–A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY.