Kitabı oku: «Girls of the True Blue», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XVIII. – AUGUSTA’S SIGNATURE

A few days later the four girls went into the country. At first Nan was so delighted with the change that she forgot all her trials and worries; the air was so fresh, and the gardens round the house so beautiful; the woods, which were near by, were so fragrant, so shady, so delicious to roam about in; and last but not least came the walks by the seashore, the long rambles on the yellow sands, the hours when the girls floated away in their little boats on the surface of the blue waters. But still happier hours were those when the yacht carried them like a white bird over the dancing waves. Oh! all day and every hour was perfect with bliss. Nan sometimes wondered what had happened to her. Was she indeed the little girl who had lived a sad and anxious and lonely life in a back-street in London; who had wanted for clothes and for nourishing food; who had been satisfied with the delights of her doll, and who had known no better joys? Indeed, she was very far from being the same. It is true that in the old days she had mother, and mother counted for a good deal in Nan’s loving heart. But mother had suffered sorely, and God and the good angels had taken her away. Yes, Nan was happy now. She did not mind confessing it – she was happy; and the world was good, and all the friends she had made were very kind to her.

Miss Roy accompanied the children into the country, and for the first fortnight all went well. Night after night the marks were put down in the orderly-book, and day after day the Captain’s scheme for the improvement of his little band of soldiers was carried out, and at the end of each week Miss Roy sent to the Captain a report of progress. But the good-natured, kind-hearted governess was going for her holidays, and Mrs. Richmond was coming to the country to take her place. On the day before Miss Roy left Augusta came into the pretty room which was used as a schoolroom at Fairleigh. Miss Roy was just closing the orderly-book; she raised her eyes as Augusta advanced.

“Well, dear,” said the governess, “can I do anything for you?”

“I have been wondering,” Augusta answered, “who will put down our marks in your absence.”

“I believe,” said Miss Roy, “that Mrs. Richmond will undertake that duty.”

“But why trouble Aunt Jessie? I could do it so nicely if you would entrust it to me.”

Miss Roy looked full up at Augusta.

“I think not,” she said slowly; “it would not be fair to the others.”

“But why? I should be absolutely fair to them and to myself.”

“It is not to be thought of,” said Miss Roy a little sharply. “Mrs. Richmond must undertake this responsibility.”

Augusta said no more, and early the next morning the governess went away. A week or so after her departure Uncle Peter was expected. If Nora and Kitty had been wild with delight at the thought of his visit when he came to London, now there were four eager and anxious girls waiting to welcome him. What would he say? How would he look? What expeditions would he plan? In what manner would he add to the fascination and happiness of these long summer days?

Mrs. Richmond raised her eyes from the letter which announced his arrival, and looked at the four eager faces.

“Well, dears,” she said, “it is a great relief to me that your uncle should be coming. You see,” she added, “I call him your uncle indiscriminately, for I am given to understand that Peter has adopted you all as nieces.”

“I love him fifty times better than an ordinary uncle,” cried Nan, with extraordinary fervour.

Augusta gave her a spiteful glance, and Mrs. Richmond, for a wonder, noticed it. She noticed it, and it disturbed her. She had a great affection for her sister’s child, and believed fully in Augusta, having never yet encountered any of that young lady’s acts of deceit; but the look on her face was arresting and disturbing, and she thought about it when the children went out for their “morning walk.

“What could it have meant?” thought the kind-hearted woman; and then she rose and went slowly to the secretaire in her study, and opening a drawer, she took out her sister’s last letter. The sentences which her eyes rested on ran as follows:

“I am very loath, my dear Jessie, to put any suspicious thoughts into your head with regard to my darling and only child, but her father and I both feel that you ought to know that there have been times in her life when she has not been quite straight. Say nothing of this, Jessie, but perhaps in dealing with her character you will be more just to her, more fair to her, and more able to influence her if you get a hint of the truth.”

“Not quite straight,” murmured Mrs. Richmond; and she put the letter back into its envelope and locked the drawer in which she kept it. An hour afterwards she went out. She was walking slowly through a shrubbery which ran at the back of the house when the sound of voices fell on her ears. There was a high-pitched voice which undoubtedly belonged to Augusta, and there were the low and sweet tones of Nan.

Augusta was holding Nan by both her hands. She was a great deal taller than the little girl, and a great deal stronger, and she had drawn the child close to her.

“I would kill you if you told,” she said, with extraordinary passion. “But there! you know you daren’t. Go – I hate you!” and she pushed Nan from her, who ran fast and quickly out of sight.

Mrs. Richmond waited for a moment, too stunned to move or to speak. Then she went quickly round the tall holly which had hidden her from Augusta’s view, and putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder, turned her round.

“My dear,” she said.

“Yes, Aunt Jessie,” said Augusta; “what is it?” She had managed to control herself, and her face looked almost as usual.

“I happened to overhear you just now, Gussie, and I must say that your words displeased me very much. I do not understand what you were talking about, but you used the most cruel and unjustifiable expressions. I wish to say, my dear, that I cannot permit you to bully little Nancy. The child is an orphan, and I should be very angry if any one were unkind to her. As to the meaning of your words, Augusta, I think they demand an explanation.”

“Oh, Aunt Jessie!” said Augusta, “Nan is terribly provoking; she is such a peculiar little thing that she sometimes almost drives me wild. She has been fretting and fidgeting about a trifling matter for days.”

“Something she wants to tell?” interrupted Mrs. Richmond. “And why should she not tell? Why should you be so violent as to terrify the poor child by informing her that you would kill her if she told? How dared you say anything so wicked?”

“I lost my temper, Aunt Jessie, and that is the truth. The whole thing referred to a little matter with regard to myself which I do not want any one to know. You surely would not encourage Nancy to be a tell-tale!”

“I feel it is my duty to speak to her,” said Mrs. Richmond.

“Oh no, no, Aunt Jessie! I beseech you not;” and going close up to her, Augusta raised her hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Please – please, Aunt Jessie, don’t say anything about it. I will make it up with Nan, and I promise never to be so nasty again. You cannot speak to her, you know, for you happened to overhear us; and it would not be fair, would it?”

“No; perhaps not,” said Mrs. Richmond a little doubtfully. “Well, my dear, I don’t want to be hard on you, and you know I have always loved you very much.”

“And I am away from my parents, too,” said Augusta, eager to take advantage of Mrs. Richmond’s softening mood. “And I am really awfully sorry that I lost my temper that time. I will go this very minute to Nan and make it up with her. You won’t speak to her about it, will you, Aunt Jessie?”

“I suppose not; but I hope very much that I am doing right.”

“Why, Aunt Jessie, you have never found me out in any meanness yet, have you? Why should you doubt me now?”

“I will try not to doubt you, dear. I will try to believe in you. Only, one thing, Augusta, your unkindness to Nan will have at least to undergo this punishment – you will receive a bad mark in the orderly-book for your conduct tonight.”

Now, up to the present Augusta’s marks in the orderly-book had been good, and she had done her utmost to fulfil the letter at least of Captain Richmond’s conditions. She had abstained from rudeness or roughness in her manner. She had – to the Richmond girls at least – been good-natured. Her private cruelties and unkindnesses to Nancy were not known to the rest of the party. Nancy herself never told. Augusta had therefore received good marks for conduct as well as for general intelligence and physical discipline. Her great hope was that Captain Richmond would bestow upon her what he called the Victoria Cross of his scheme; for after having received so valuable a proof of her excellent conduct, her father and mother would be abundantly satisfied, and would send her, on their return, to the longed-for school in Paris. But a bad mark for conduct just the day before the Captain’s return would seriously interfere with Augusta’s schemes. She walked down the shrubbery in deep thought and very much disturbed in her mind. Through the shrubbery there was a winding and very pretty path straight to the seashore. On the shore the Richmonds had arranged a tent. The tent was placed above high-water mark, and it was not only used for bathing purposes, but was also a favourite resort of the children’s for all kinds of picnics and pleasure expeditions. They used to sit there with their work and storybooks. They often brought their tea there. It was their favourite place of retirement, too, be the weather wet or fine. Augusta now approached the tent, wondering if Nancy were there. Nan had withdrawn far back into its darkest corner; she was not reading, although a story-book lay at her side. She had evidently been crying very bitterly, for her face was disfigured and her eyes swollen. Augusta looked at her with great dislike; then it occurred to her that Nancy might be very useful to her, and in short that there was no use in making her unhappy. She sank down on a cushion near the little girl’s side, and said in a voice which she tried to make very sad and sympathetic:

“I am awfully angry with myself, Nancy. I know I ought not to have spoken to you as I did. I hope you will forgive me and let bygones be bygones.”

Nancy was naturally of a forgiving temperament; she looked up at Augusta now, and said in a low tone:

“Why do you say such dreadful things to me? Why must I keep my conscience burdened because of you?”

“Now, listen, Nancy,” said Augusta; “I am speaking quite frankly to you. I will be as open to you as you are to me.”

“Well, what are you going to say?” asked Nancy.

“This: it might do me great harm if you were to tell now, but if you will only wait until the holidays are over and we are back in town, why, I will give you leave to say anything you please.”

“Why would my telling now injure you? I need not mention your name. I just want to tell dear, kind Mrs. Richmond about my own part. And of course I want to tell Uncle Peter. It is so dreadful to look into his eyes and to know that I am not what he thinks me! May I not tell my part and leave yours out? Please – please let me, Gussie. You can’t know the pain of the burden I am bearing, and how miserable I am.”

“You couldn’t tell your part without telling mine,” said Augusta, “and I don’t wish mine spoken about at present. You will have to be silent. But never mind, Nancy; you – shall tell, as I promised you, when we get back to London. Won’t you be kind to me and keep the secret until then?”

“And may I positively – certainly – tell when we get back to London?” asked the child.

“Yes; have I not said it? And now, let us talk no more of the matter.”

“But, Augusta,” said Nancy, rising, “will you do something for me – if I agree to this, will you do something definite?”

“Oh, what a queer child you are!” said Augusta. “What am I to do?”

“Will you write it down?”

“I write it down! Why should I do that?”

“Will you give me the words in writing? Nancy may tell when she gets back to town: just those words, and sign them ‘Augusta’.”

Augusta had her own reasons for wishing to please the little girl.

“And here is some paper,” said Nancy, “and here is a pencil. Write the words down, Augusta, and let me keep the paper.”

“You will never show any one?” said Augusta.

“Indeed – indeed I won’t.”

“And if I do this for you, will you do something for me?”

“If I can.”

“Very well.” Augusta spoke in quite a cheerful tone. “I will do what you wish and sign the paper, and you can keep it and show it to me to remind me of my promise when we get back to London. In the meantime you mustn’t talk any more of this nonsense. You mustn’t worry me from morning to night as you have been doing ever since I have had the pleasure of knowing you. And there is still something more.”

“I won’t talk of it; and I’ll be very, very grateful,” said Nancy.

“Well; child, so far so good; but now for my real condition. Do you know, Nancy, that you – you little wretch! – have just got me into a most horrible scrape?”

“How?” asked Nancy, fixing her wondering eyes on Augusta’s face.

“You have, you monkey – you have. This is what you have done. When I was talking to you just now in the shrubbery, and giving you some plain words with regard to your conduct, you put on the airs of a martyr, and, lo and behold, little Miss Martyr! somebody listened, and somebody was very angry.”

“Whom?” asked the child.

“No less a person than my aunt Jessie. You ran away in one of your fits of passion and left me to face the brunt of the storm. Didn’t I get it, too? Oh, Aunt Jessie was in a rage! She spoke of you as if you were a poor, half-murdered angel. I declare it was sickening to hear her. And there is worse to follow. You know what we all think of Uncle Peter and his scheme, and how anxious we are to get the best that he can give us; and I want the Royal Cross that he has promised to the most victorious.”

“Oh no, Augusta,” said Nancy, with a faint and quickly suppressed smile; “you can’t mean that you are going in for that.”

“And why not, miss? I mean to go in for it.”

“Well, but the Royal Cross is for valour and noble conduct, and – Augusta, you can’t mean it.”

“You are a nice child!” said Augusta, her eyes flashing with fury. “How dare you speak to me like that, you poor little charity-girl, kept here by Aunt Jessie – kept here out of kindness” —

“Oh, don’t! You dare not say that! It is not true.”

“Well, I won’t. But really, Nancy, you have the power of nearly driving me mad; a more irritating creature I have never come across. But now, what I want you to do is this. Aunt Jessie is angry, and she is going to give me a bad mark to-night in the orderly-book; and if I get it I am done for, for a bad mark for conduct will be talked about and commented on, and my chances of the great prize will be practically nil. Now, I want you, Nancy, to tell her that I was not to blame this morning, or at least scarcely to blame; that you were very naughty and irritating, and it was no wonder I got cross. You must do everything in your power to prevent her giving me a bad mark. And remember another thing, Nancy; if she asks you what was the matter, you are not to let out anything. Simply say: ‘Augusta is rather quick-tempered, and I worried her and talked nonsense. I was to blame, and not Augusta, and she ought not to have a bad mark.’ Do you promise? Surely you can do nothing else when you have got me into this horrid scrape.”

Nancy thought hard for a minute.

“I do want to get that paper signed!” she said to herself. “It will make things quite right when we get back to London, for Gussie cannot go back from her own written promise; and then, too, I need tell no lie to Mrs. Richmond.” So after a moment she said:

“Very well; I will do my best. Of course, I can’t promise to succeed, but I will do my best.”

“That is all right,” said Augusta. “Here, give me that half-sheet of paper.”

Nan did so.

Augusta wrote quickly, finishing with a dashing signature.

“There!” she said; “keep it carefully. Don’t, for goodness’ sake, let any one see it. And now, run off as fast as you can and find Aunt Jessie.”

CHAPTER XIX. – THE ASPRAYS

Mrs. Richmond had just finished lunch, and was preparing to go out for a drive, when Nancy, her cheeks flushed and her eyes very bright, rushed into the room.

“Well, my dear child,” said the good lady, drawing the little girl towards her, “and what do you want now? I am so glad to see my dear little Nancy with that bright face! I was sorry that you were troubled this morning, my dear. I have promised Augusta not to say anything about it, nor will I; but I conclude from your face now that the trouble, whatever it was, is over.”

“Yes,” said Nancy, “it is quite over.”

“And you are really happy, my darling?”

“I am, Mrs. Richmond. I cannot help it; you are so kind to me.”

“Come close to me, dear; I want to say something to you.” As Mrs. Richmond spoke she drew Nancy to her side, and put her arm round the little girl’s waist and kissed her. “Why do you call me Mrs. Richmond?” she said. “I want to be as a mother to you.”

“Oh!” said Nancy, with a gasp.

“I know, dear, that your own dear and sweet mother is no longer here. But my wish is, as far as possible, to take her place. I cannot really take her place, I know, Nancy, but I can at least be to you a good and kind and loving aunt. Now, Nancy, what I wish is this – I want you to promise to call me Aunt Jessie. Will you, dear?”

“I will if I may,” said Nancy, with her eyes shining; “I’d like to just awfully.”

“That is all right. And will you give your Aunt Jessie a kiss?”

Nancy flung her arms round Mrs. Richmond’s neck.

“How much I love you! How very, very good you are to me?” she said.

“What is it you specially want to say to me, Nancy?”

“It is about Augusta,” said the child. “I think perhaps I made too much fuss this morning. I know Augusta was – I mean that it sounded cruel, but – I don’t know how to express it. If you would not mind, Aunt Jessie, just quite forgiving her.”

“What do you mean by quite forgiving her, little woman?”

“She is in great trouble. She spoke to me about it. We are good friends now, she and I. She spoke to me, and I told her I would come and plead for her. If, Aunt Jessie, you would quite forgive her!”

“Well, dear child, I have quite forgiven her; we will let bygones be bygones.”

“If that is the case, you won’t give her a bad mark in the orderly-book?”

A look of great surprise came over Mrs. Richmond’s face when Nancy said this. She rose and said hurriedly:

“I am going for a drive, and cannot talk any more; but tell Augusta she ought not to have sent you.”

“Are you angry?” asked Nancy.

“Not with you, but with Augusta.”

“Then you won’t do what I ask” —

“I cannot, and Augusta knows the reason why. When you four girls enrolled yourselves as soldiers in Captain Richmond’s battalion you were in earnest; it was not a joke. Augusta behaved badly to-day, and she deserves the punishment which a bad mark in the orderly-book will bestow. Say no more about it, Nancy. Run away and play; you are looking quite pale and ill.”

As Mrs. Richmond uttered the last words she left the room.

Nancy stood still for a moment with her hands clasped; then she went very slowly in the direction of the seashore. The children were to have tea in the tent this afternoon, and Kitty and Nora were busy bringing down baskets of picnic things: cups and saucers, plates, knives and forks, cakes innumerable, jam, bread and butter, &c. When they saw Nancy they shouted to her to come and help them. The three children went quickly down the steep path through the shrubbery, and soon found themselves by the sea. The tide was half out, and the whole place looked perfect. There was a gay town not far from Fairleigh, and at this time of the year the sands were strewn with children and nurses – in short, with the usual holiday folks. But the part of the shore just beside Mrs. Richmond’s place was considered more or less to belong to her young people, and as a rule no other children came there to play. To-day, however, as the girls, heavily laden with the materials for their afternoon picnic, approached, they saw Augusta talking to two rather showily dressed girls, whose long golden hair hung down their backs. Augusta seemed in high spirits, and her gay laughter floated on the breeze.

“Who can she be talking to?” said Kitty. “I never knew such a girl for picking up friends.”

“Well, don’t mind her now,” said Nora, going into the tent and making preparations. “We are going to boil the kettle on the sands and have real, proper tea. – Nancy, if you have nothing better to do, you might go along by the shore and pick up bits of firewood.”

Nancy ran off immediately.

“What can be the matter with her?” Nora said. “Her eyes look as if she had been crying. I wonder if Gussie has been worrying her again.”

Before Kitty had time to reply, Gussie was seen coming towards them. “Kitty,” she said, raising her voice, “I want to introduce Miss Aspray and her sister. They are so anxious to know us, and they seem so very nice! You know, of course, who they are – the Americans who live at the corner of our street.”

“But what would mother say?” asked Nora. “You know, Augusta, she doesn’t want us ever to make acquaintance with people that she herself does not know.”

“Oh! I can’t help that now,” said Augusta. “Here they are coming to meet us. Don’t you think we might ask them to tea?”

The two girls now approached the tent. Flora, the elder, looking prettier and more full of spirit than any one Kitty had seen for a long time, held out her hand.

“How do you do, Miss Richmond?” she said. “Constance and I know you quite well by sight. We have often looked at you four girls with great envy; and just now, when we found Miss Duncan standing by herself on the sands, it seemed almost too good to be true. She seemed to us, in this outlandish, out-of-the-way spot, to be quite an old friend. May we join you; or will you join us? Mother is having a grand picnic on the rocks round the other side of the bay, and I know she will be delighted to see you all. Will you come or not?”

Augusta’s eyes were sparkling, and she evidently longed to accept the Asprays’ invitation. But Nora, drawing herself up, said in her very quiet tone, “We shall be pleased if you will join us. We are just having tea on the sands; it is not a regular picnic.”

“But quite too lovely!” said Constance. “Of course we will stay – only too glad. And is this your tent? How charming!” As she spoke she entered the tent, and flung herself down on a large cushion covered with an Oriental brocade. “Dear, dear!” she said, “you do seem to enjoy things.”

“Of course we do,” said Kitty, viewing her with some disfavour. “Why else should we come to the seashore?”

“Do you live in that nice place which I see through the trees?”

“Yes,” answered Nova. “It is our own place. We come here every year.”

Just then Nancy appeared, holding a lot of brushwood in the skirt of her frock. She coloured and started when she saw the Asprays, who had now both taken possession of the tent.

“Nancy,” said Kitty, going up to the little girl and putting her arm round her waist, “Augusta has met the two Miss Asprays, and has invited them to tea here. – Miss Aspray, may I introduce my great friend, Nancy Esterleigh?”

The elder Miss Aspray coloured brightly when Kitty made this remark. The younger shrugged her shoulders and poked her sister in the side. Augusta’s eyes sparkled, and Nancy turned very white.

“How do you do?” she said in a low voice.

“Why, if it isn’t – Yes, it is, Constance.”

“It is what?” said Constance. “I do wish you would mind your manners, Flora.”

“But it is quite too funny!” said Flora. – “Why, little girl, don’t you remember us? How is your dog? Does he bite as well as ever? Is he as vindictive as he was on a certain day in a florist’s shop? Oh, if you only knew how poor Constance’s ankle ached after his very gentlemanly attentions! And you, my dear, were not quite as sympathetic as might have been expected.”

“Explain – explain!” cried Augusta. “This sounds most interesting.”

“Let me tell,” said Nancy. She turned suddenly, faced the group, and told her little story. “I was sorry,” she said in conclusion, “and I would have said so, only you were both so terribly angry, and you seemed to think – But there! I won’t say any more.”

“No, no,” said Kitty; “of course you won’t say any more. And the Miss Asprays are our guests, remember. – Now then, let us hurry with tea.”

The girls, their party augmented to six, had on the whole a jolly time. Nancy was only too glad to bustle about in order to keep her excited heart quiet. Were these the girls with whom she might have to spend her life? Were these the girls whose father had a right to maintain her and adopt her as his own child? Oh, how thankful she was that Mrs. Richmond had already adopted her!

“I would rather be a charity-child with Mrs. Richmond,” thought the little girl, “than have the greatest right in the world to live with the Asprays, for, oh dear! I don’t like them a bit – no, not a bit. What a comfort it is that I have got that promise in writing from Augusta! – for now I need never leave my darling Aunt Jessie. Yes, she asked me to call her Aunt Jessie; and how much I do love her!”

While these thoughts were passing through Nancy’s head, she was busy spreading bread and butter and opening pots of jam. She was kneeling on the sands to perform these offices, and happened to be a little away from the rest of the party.

Suddenly Augusta approached with the excuse of wanting to borrow a knife from her.

“Well,” she said in a whisper, “and what do you think of them? You would like awfully to live with them, wouldn’t you?”

“No, no,” said Nancy, shaking her head.

“No, no,” echoed Augusta, mimicking her. “And why not, my little beauty?”

“Don’t tease me, Gussie; you know what I mean.”

“No, indeed, I don’t. I like the Asprays immensely. How stylish and handsome they both are, and so well dressed! I trust we shall see a great deal of them. They are going to stay at Fairlight for a month, and they say a great many friends are going to be with them – American friends – gentlemen and ladies also. I know that they mean to see a good deal of us – of me in especial. So, little Nancy, as you are my special friend, you must be extremely nice to Flora and Constance Aspray, and pay them a considerable amount of attention.”

“What do you mean, Gussie?”

“What I say, little woman. Now, for instance, when we are all taking tea in the tent, you are to see that Constance and Flora get the strongest cups of tea, the most cream, and the most richly buttered of the scones, and the thickest pieces of cake. I am rather famous for reading character, and I am positively sure that these two girls are possessed by greediness. You will remember my injunctions, won’t you, Nancy?”

“I don’t mind helping them to the nice things if they really want them, Augusta. But, oh! please, Gussie, you won’t say anything about me – I mean anything special?”

Augusta laughed. “I am not at all sure,” she said; “it all depends on your behaviour. And, oh, by the way, have you seen Aunt Jessie?”

“Yes – yes, I have; and I am ever so sorry!”

“What! you have not succeeded?”

Nancy shook her head.

Augusta’s face grew black with anger; she also looked seriously alarmed.

“You must talk to her again,” she said. “I cannot have that bad mark entered in the orderly-book. Do you hear? I cannot!”

“I am very sorry, Augusta. You had better speak to Aunt Jessie yourself, for I can do nothing.”

“I don’t believe you have pleaded with her. You had got what you wanted, and did not care twopence for me and my fate. It is just like you – just.”

“No; that is not true,” answered Nancy. “I did my very, very best; and I am terribly sorry. I tell you what it is, Gussie, I would take that bad mark for myself – I would gladly – if only you need not have it.”

“Oh! it is all very fine to talk,” said Augusta; “but acts tell more than words.”

“What are you two chattering about?” suddenly burst from Nora’s lips. “The kettle has boiled, and the tea is made, and we are all waiting for the bread and butter.”

Nancy rose at once, and Augusta followed her. The picnic tea commenced, and no one noticed in the general mirth that one girl was looking perturbed, cross, and anxious, and that another was strangely silent and depressed. The Asprays, whatever their faults, were the gayest of the gay, and very merry and witty. Nora was not inclined to be too cordial to girls whom her mother did not know, but Kitty quickly succumbed to their charm. The picnic tea came to an end, and when the Asprays took leave, it was with warm assurances that they would soon come again, and that their mother should call on Mrs. Richmond if Mrs. Richmond did not first call on her – in short, that during their stay at Fairlight, the Richmonds of Fairleigh and they themselves must be bosom friends.