But ’Phemie was immensely curious about this strange little old lady who was dressed so oddly, yet who apparently came from the wealthiest section of the city of Easthampton. The young girl could not bring herself to ask questions of their visitor–let Lyddy do that, if she thought it necessary. But, as it chanced, up to a certain point Mrs. Castle was quite open of speech and free to communicate information about herself.
As soon as they had got out of town she turned to ’Phemie and said:
“I expect you think I’m as queer as Dick’s hat-band, Euphemia? I am quite sure you never saw a person like me before?”
“Why–Mrs. Castle–notjustlike you,” admitted the embarrassed ’Phemie.
“I expect not! Well, I presume there are other old women, who are grandmothers, and have got all tangled up in these new-fangled notions that women have–Laws’ sake! I might as well tell you right off that I’ve run away!”
“Run away?” gasped ’Phemie, with a vision of keepers from an asylum coming to Hillcrest to take away their new boarder.
“That’s exactly what I have done! None of my folks know where I have gone. I just wrote a note, telling them not to look for me, and that I was going back to old-fashioned times, if I could find ’em. Then I got this bag out of the cupboard–I’d kept it all these years–packed it with my very oldest duds, and–well, here I am!” and the old lady’s laugh rang out as shrill and clear as a blackbird’s call.
“I have astonished you; have I?” she pursued. “And I suppose I have astonished my folks. But they know I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I ought to be. Why, I’m a grandmother three times!”
“‘Three times?’” repeated the amazed ’Phemie.
“Yes, Miss Euphemia Bray. Three grandchildren–two girls and a boy. And they are always telling folks how up-to-date grandma is! I’m sick of being up-to-date. I’m sick of dressing so that folks behind me on the street can’t tell whether I’m a grandmother or my own youngest grandchild!
“We just live in a perfect whirl of excitement. ‘Pleasure,’ they call it. But it’s gotten to be anuisance. My daughter-in-law has her head full of society matters and club work. The girls and Tom spend all but the little time they are obliged to give to books in the private schools they attend, in dancing and theatre parties, and the like.
“And here a week ago I found my son–their father–a man forty-five years old, and bald, and getting fat, being taught the tango by a French dancing professor in the back drawing-room!” exclaimed Mrs. Castle, in a tone of disgust that almost convulsed ’Phemie.
“That was enough. That was the last straw on the camel’s back. I made up my mind when I read your sister’s advertisement that I would like to live simply and with simple people again. I’d like really tofeellike a grandmother, anddresslike one, andbeone.
“And if I like it up here at your place I shall stay through the summer. No hunting-lodge in the Adirondacks for me this spring, or Newport, or the Pier later, or anything of that kind. I’m going to sit on your porch and knit socks. My mother did whenshewas a grandmother. This is her shawl, and mother and father took this old carpet-bag with them when they went on their honeymoon.
“Mother enjoyed her old age. She spent it quietly, and it waslovely,” declared Mrs. Castle,with a note in her voice that made ’Phemie sober at once. “I am going to have quiet, and repose, and a simple life, too, before I have to die.
“It’s just killing me keeping up with the times. I don’t want to keep up with ’em. I want them to drift by me, and leave me stranded in some pleasant, sunny place, where I only have to look on. And that’s what I am going to get at Hillcrest–just that kind of a place–if you’ve got it to sell,” completed this strange old lady, with emphasis.
’Phemie Bray scarcely knew what to say. She was not sure that Mrs. Castle was quite right in her mind; yet what she said, though so surprising, sounded like sense.
“I’ll leave it to Lyddy; she’ll know what to say and do,” thought the younger sister, with faith in the ability of Lyddy to handle any emergency.
And Lyddy handled the old lady as simply as she did everything. She refused to see anything particularly odd in Mrs. Castle’s dress, manner, or outlook on life.
The old lady chose one of the larger rooms on the second floor, considered the terms moderate, and approved of everything she saw about the house.
“Make no excuses for giving me a feather bed to sleep on. I believe it will add half a dozenyears to my life,” she declared. “Feather beds! My! I never expected to see such a joy again–let alone experience it.”
“Our circle is broadening,” said old Mr. Colesworth, at supper that evening. “Come! I have a three-handed counter for cribbage. Shall we take Mrs. Castle into our game, Mr. Bray?”
“If she will so honor us,” agreed the girls’ father, bowing to the little old lady.
“Well! that’s hearty of you,” said the brisk Mrs. Castle. “I’ll postpone beginning knitting my son a pair of socks that he’d never wear, until to-morrow.”
For she had actually brought along with her knitting needles and a hank of grey yarn. It grew into a nightly occurrence, this three-handed cribbage game. When Mr. Somers had no lessons to “get up,” or no examination papers to mark, he spent the evening with Lyddy and ’Phemie. He even helped with the dish-wiping and helped to bring in the wood for the morning fires.
Fire was laid in the three chambers, as well as the dining-room, to light on cold mornings, or on damp days; Lucas had spent a couple more days in chopping wood. But as the season advanced there was less and less need of these in the sleeping rooms.
There were, of course, wet and gloomy days, when the old folks were glad to sit over the dining-room fire, the elements forbidding outdoors to them. But they kept cheerful. And not a little of this cheerfulness was spread by Lyddy and ’Phemie. The older girl’s thoughtfulness for others made her much beloved, while ’Phemie’s high spirits were contagious.
On Saturday, when Harris Colesworth arrived from town to remain over Sunday, Hillcrest was indeed a lively place. This very self-possessed young man took a pleasant interest in everything that went on about the house and farm. Lyddy was still inclined to snub him–only, he wouldn’t be snubbed. He did not force his attentions upon her; but while he was at Hillcrest it seemed to Lyddy as though he was right at her elbow all the time.
“He pervades the whole place,” she complained to ’Phemie. “Why–he’s under foot, like a kitten!”
“Huh!” exclaimed the younger sister. “He’s hanging about you no more than the school teacher–and Mr. Somers has the best chance, too.”
“’Phemie!”
“Oh, don’t be a grump! Mr. Colesworth isever so nice. He’s worth anytwoof your Somerses, too!”
And at that Lyddy became so indignant that she would not speak to her sister for the rest of the day. Butthatdid not solve the problem. There was Harris Colesworth, always doing something for her, ready to do her bidding at any time, his words cheerful, his looks smiling, and, as Lyddy declared in her own mind, “utterly unable to keep his place.”
There neverwasso bold a young man, she verily believed!
Spring marched on apace those days. The garden at Hillcrest began to take form, and the green things sprouted beautifully. Lucas Pritchett was working very hard, for his father did not allow him to neglect any of his regular work to keep the contract the young man had made with Lyddy Bray.
In another line the prospect for a crop was anxiously canvassed, too. The eggs Lyddy had sent for had arrived and, after running the incubator for a couple of days to make sure that they understood it, the girls put the hundred eggs into the trays.
The eggs were guaranteed sixty per cent. fertile and after eight days they tested them as Trent had advised. They left eighty-seven eggs in the incubator after the test.
But the incubator took an enormous amount of attention–at least, the girls thought it did.
This was not so bad by day; but they went to bed tired enough at night, and Lyddy was sure the lamp should be looked to at midnight.
It was three o’clock the first night before ’Phemie awoke with a start, and lay with throbbing pulse and with some sound ringing in her ears which she could not explain immediately. But almost at once she recalled another night–their first one at Hillcrest–when she had gone rambling about the lower floor of the old house.
But she thought of the incubator and leaped out of bed. The lamp might have flared up and cooked all those eggs. Or it might have expired and left them to freeze out there in the washhouse.
She did not arouse Lyddy, but slipped into her wrapper and slippers and crept downstairs with her candle. Therehadbeen a sound that aroused her. She heard somebody moving about the kitchen.
“Surely father hasn’t got up–he promised he wouldn’t,” thought ’Phemie.
She was not afraid of outside marauders now. Both Mr. Somers and young Mr. Colesworth were in the house. ’Phemie went boldly into the kitchen from the hall.
The porch door opened and a wavering light appeared–another candle. There was Harris Colesworth, inhisrobe and slippers, coming from the direction of the washhouse.
’Phemie shrank back and hid by the foot ofthe stairs. But she was not quick enough in putting her light out–or else he heard her giggle.
“Halt! who goes there?” demanded Colesworth, in a sepulchral voice.
“A–a fr-r-riend,” chattered ’Phemie.
“Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” commanded the young man.
“Chickens!” gasped ’Phemie, convulsed with laughter.
“You’d have had fried eggs, maybe, for all your interest in the incubator,” said Harris, with a chuckle. “So ‘Chickens’ is no longer the password.”
“Oh, they didn’t get too hot?” pleaded the girl, in despair.
“Nope. This is the second time I’ve been out. To tell you the truth,” said Harris, laughing, “I think the incubator is all right and will work like a charm; but I understand they’re a good deal like ships–likely to develop some crotchet at almost any time.”
“But it’s good of you to take the trouble to look at it for us.”
“Sure it is!” he laughed. “But that’s what I’m on earth for–to do good–didn’t you know that, Miss ’Phemie?”
She told her sister about Harris Colesworth’skindness in the morning. But Lyddy took it the other way about.
“I declare! he can’t keep his fingers out of our pie at any stage of the game; can he?” she snapped.
“Why, Lyd!”
“Oh–don’t talk to me!” returned her older sister, who seemed to be rather snappish this morning. “That young man is getting on my nerves.”
It was Sunday and the Colesworths had engaged a two-seated carriage in town to take Mrs. Castle and Mr. Bray with them to church. There was a seat beside Mr. Somers, behind Old Molly, for one of the girls. The teacher plainly wanted to take Lyddy, but that young lady had not recovered from her ill-temper of the early morning.
“Lyd got out of bed on the wrong side this morning,” said ’Phemie. However, she went with Mr. Somers in her sister’s stead.
And Lyddy Bray was glad to be left alone. No one could honestly call Hillcrest Farm a lonesome place these days!
“I’m not sure that I wouldn’t be glad to be alone here again, with just ’Phemie and father,” the young girl told herself. “There is one drawback to keeping a boarding house–one has no privacy. In trying to make it homelike for theboarders, we lose all our own home life. Ah, dear, well! at least we are earning our support.”
For Lyddy Bray kept her books carefully, and she had been engaged in this new business long enough to enable her to strike a balance. From her present boarders she was receiving thirty-one and a half dollars weekly. At least ten of it represented her profit.
But the two young girls were working very hard. The cooking was becoming a greater burden because of the makeshifts necessary at the open fire. And the washing of bed and table linen was a task that was becoming too heavy for them.
“If we had a couple of other good paying boarders,” mused Lyddy, as she sat resting on the side porch, “we might afford to take somebody into the kitchen to help us. It would have to be somebody who would work cheap, of course; we could pay no fancy wages. But we need help.”
As she thus ruminated she was startled by seeing a figure cross the field from behind the barn. It was not Cyrus Pritchett, although the farmer spent most of his Sabbaths wandering about the fields examining the crops. Corn had not yet been planted, anyway–not here on the Hillcrest Farm.
But this was a man fully as large as CyrusPritchett. As he drew nearer, Lyddy thought that he was a man she had never seen before.
He wore a broad-brimmed felt hat–of the kind affected by Western statesmen. His black hair–rather oily-looking it was, like an Indian’s–flowed to the collar of his coat.
That coat was a frock, but it was unbuttoned, displaying a pearl gray vest and trousers of the same shade. He even wore gray spats over his shoes and was altogether more elaborately dressed than any native Lyddy had heretofore seen.
He came across the yard at a swinging stride, and took off his hat with a flourish. She saw then that his countenance was deeply tanned, that he had a large nose, thick, smoothly-shaven lips, and heavy-lidded eyes.
“Miss Bray, I have no doubt?” he began, recovering from his bow.
Lyddy had risen rather quickly, and only nodded. She scarcely knew what to make of this stranger–and she was alone.
“Pray sit down again,” he urged, with a wave of his hand. “And allow me to sit here at your feet. It is a lovely day–but warm.”
“It is, indeed,” admitted Lyddy, faintly.
“You have a beautiful view of the valley here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am told below,” said the man, with a freegesture taking in Bridleburg and several square miles of surrounding country, “that you take boarders here at Hillcrest?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lyddy again.
“Good! Your rooms are not yet all engaged, my dear young lady?” said the man, who seemed unable to discuss the simplest subject without using what later she learned to call “his platform manner.”
“Oh, no; we haven’t many guests as yet.”
“Good!” he exclaimed again. Then, after a moment’s pursing of his lips, he added: “This is not strictly speaking a legal day for making bargains. But we maytalkof an arrangement; mayn’t we?”
“I do not understand you, sir,” said Lyddy.
“Ah! No! I am referring to the possibility of my taking board with you, Miss Bray.”
“I see,” responded the girl, with sudden interest. “Do you think you would be suited with the accommodations we have to offer?”
“Ah, my dear miss!” he exclaimed, with a broad smile. “I am an old campaigner. I have slept gypsy-fashion under the stars many and many a night. A straw pallet has often been my lot. Indeed, I am naturally simple of taste and habit.”
He said all this with an air as though entirelydifferent demands might reasonably be expected of such as he. He evidently had a very good opinion of himself.
Lyddy did not much care for his appearance; but he was respectably–if strikingly–dressed, and he was perfectly respectful.
“I will show you what we have,” said Lyddy, and rose and accompanied him through the house.
“You do not let any of the rooms in the east wing?” he asked, finally.
“No, sir. Neither upstairs nor down. We probably shall not disturb those rooms at all.”
Finally they talked terms. The stranger seemed to forget all his scruples about doing business on Sunday, for he was a hard bargainer. As a result he obtained from Lyddy quite as good accommodations as Mrs. Castle had–and for two dollars less per week.
Not until they had come downstairs did Lyddy think to ask him his name.
“And one not unknown to fame, my dear young lady,” he said, drawing out his cardcase. “Famous in more than one field of effort, too–as you may see.
“Your terms are quite satisfactory, I will have my trunk brought up in the morning, and I will do myself the honor to sup with you to-morrow evening. Good-day, Miss Bray,” and he liftedhis hat and went away whistling, leaving Lyddy staring in surprise at the card in her hand:
Prof. Lemuel Judson Spink, M.D.Proprietor: Stonehedge BittersLikewise of the World FamousDIAMOND GRITS“The Breakfast of the Million”
Prof. Lemuel Judson Spink, M.D.Proprietor: Stonehedge BittersLikewise of the World FamousDIAMOND GRITS“The Breakfast of the Million”
“Why! it’s the Spink man we’ve heard so much about–the boy who was taken out of the poorhouse by grandfather. I–I wonder if I have done right to take him as a boarder?” murmured Lyddy at last.
Later Lyddy Bray had more than “two minds” about taking Professor Lemuel Judson Spink to board. And ’Phemie’s “You never took him!” when she first heard the news on her return from church, was not the least of the reasons for Lyddy’s doubts.
But ’Phemie denied flatly–the next minute–that she had any real and sensible reason for opposing Mr. Spink’s coming to Hillcrest to board. Indeed, she said emphatically that she had never yet expressed any dislike for the proprietor of Diamond Grits–the breakfast of the million.
“My goodness me! whynottake him?” she said. “As long as we don’t have to eat his breakfast food, I see no reason for objecting.”
But in her secret heart ’Phemie was puzzled by what “Jud Spink,” as he was called by his old associates, was up to!
She believed Cyrus Pritchett knew; but ’Phemie stood rather in fear of the stern farmer, as did his whole household.
Only Lyddy had faced the bullying old man and seemed perfectly fearless of him; but ’Phemie shrank from adding to the burden on Lyddy’s mind by explaining to her all the suspicionssheheld of this Spink.
The man had tried to purchase Hillcrest of Aunt Jane for a nominal sum. He had been lurking about the old house–especially about the old doctor’s offices in the east wing–more than once, to ’Phemie’s actual knowledge.
And Spink was interested in something at the back of Hillcrest Farm. He had been hunting among the rocks there until old Mr. Colesworth’s presence had driven him away.
What was he after on the old farm where he had lived for some years as a boy? What was the secret of the rocks? And had the mystery finally brought Professor Lemuel Judson Spink to the house itself as a boarder?
These questions puzzled ’Phemie greatly. But she wouldn’t put them before her sister. If Lyddy was not suspicious, let her remain so.
It was their duty to take all the boarders they could get. Mr. Spink added his quota to their profits. ’Phemie was just as eager as Lyddy to keep father on the farm and out of the shop that had so nearly proved fatal to him.
“So there’s no use in refusing to swallow thebreakfast food magnate,” decided ’Phemie. “We’ll down him, and if we have to make a face at the bitter dose, all right!”
Professor Spink came the very next evening. He was a distinct addition to the party at supper. Indeed, his booming voice, his well rounded periods, his unctuous manner, his frock coat, and his entire physical and mental make-up seemed to dominate the dining-room.
Mr. Colesworth listened to his supposedly scientific jargon with a quiet smile; the geologist plainly sized up Professor Spink for the quack he was. Mr. Bray tried to be a polite listener to all the big man said.
The girls were utterly silenced by the ever-flowing voice of the ex-medicine show lecturer; but Mr. Somers was inclined to argue on a point or two with Professor Spink. This, however, only made the man “boom” the louder.
Mrs. Castle seemed willing to listen to the Professor’s verbosity and agreed with all he said. She was willing after supper to withdraw from the usual cribbage game and play “enthralled audience” for the ex-lecturer’s harangues.
He boomed away at her upon a number of subjects, while she placidly nodded acquiescence and made her knitting needles flash–and he talked, and talked, and talked.
When the little old lady retired to bed Lyddy went to her room, as she usually did, to see if she was comfortable for the night.
“I am afraid our new guest rather bored you, Mrs. Castle?” Lyddy ventured.
“On the contrary, Lydia,” replied the old lady, promptly, “his talk is very soothing; and I can knit with perfect assurance that I shall not miss count while he is talking–for I don’t really listen to a word he says!”
Professor Spink did not, however, make himself offensive. He only seemed likely to become a dreadful bore.
During the day he wandered about the farm–a good deal like Mr. Colesworth. Only he did not carry with him a little hammer and bag.
’Phemie wondered if the professor had not come here to board for the express purpose of continuing his mysterious search at the back of the farm without arousing either objection or comment.
He watched Mr. Colesworth, too. There could be no doubt of that. When the old geologist started out with his hammer and bag, the professor trailed him. But the two never went together.
Mr. Colesworth often brought in curious specimens of rock; but he said frankly that he hadcome across no mineral of value on the farm in sufficient quantities to promise the owner returns for mining the ore.
Aunt Jane, too, had said that the rocks back of Hillcrest had been examined by geologists time and again. There was no mineral treasure on the farm.Thatwas surely not the secret of the rocks–and it wasn’t mineral Professor Spink was after.
But the week passed without ’Phemie’s having studied out a single sensible idea about the matter. Friday was a very hard and busy day for the girls. It was the big baking day of the week. They made a fire twice in the big brick oven, and left two pots of beans in it over night.
“But there’s enough in the larder to last over Sunday, thanks be!” sighed ’Phemie, when she and Lyddy crept to bed.
“I hope so. What a lot they do eat!” said Lyddy, sleepily.
“A double baking of bread. A dozen apple pies; four squash pies; and an extra lemon-meringue for Sunday dinner. Oh, dear, Lyd! I wish you’d let me go and ask Maw Pritchett for her Dutch oven.”
“No,” replied the older sister, drowsily. “We will not risk a refusal. Besides, Mr. Somers said something about an old lady overthe ridge–beyond the chapel–who is selling out–or being sold out–Mrs. Harrison. Maybe she has something of the kind that she will sell cheap.”
“Well–that–old–brick–oven–is–kill–ing–me!” yawned ’Phemie, and then was sound asleep in half a minute.
The next morning, however, the girls hustled about as rapidly as possible and when Lucas drove up with young Mr. Colesworth they were ready to take a drive with the young farmer over the ridge.
“We want to see what this Mrs. Harrison has to sell,” explained Lyddy to Lucas. “You see, we need some things.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll take ye. But whether the poor old critter is let to sell anything private, or not, I dunno. They sold her real estate last week, and this sale of household goods is to satisfy the judgment. The farm wasn’t much, and it went for a song. Poor old critter! She is certainly getting the worst end of it, and after putting up with Bob Harrison’s crotchets so many years.”
’Phemie was interested in Mrs. Harrison and wanted to ask Lucas about her; but just as they started Harris Colesworth darted out of the house again, having seen his father.
“Hold on! don’t be stingy!” he cried. “There’s a seat empty beside you, Miss Lyddy. Can’t I go, too?”
Now, how could you refuse a person as bold as that? Besides, Harris was a “paying guest” and she did not want to offend him! So Lyddy bowed demurely and young Colesworth hopped in.
“Let ’em go, Lucas!” he cried. “Now, this is whatIcall a mighty nice little family party–I don’t see Somers in it.”
At that Lucas laughed so he could scarcely hold the reins. But Lyddy only looked offended.
“Stop your silly giggling, Lucas,” commanded ’Phemie, fearful that her sister would become angry and “speak out in meeting.” “I want to know all about this Mrs. Harrison.”
“Is that where you’re bound–to the Widow Harrison’s?” asked Harris. “I have been told that our new friend, Professor Spink, has sold her out–stock, lock, and barrel.”
“Isthatwho is making her trouble?” demanded ’Phemie, hotly. “Iknewhe was a mean man.”
“Well, he was a bad man to go to for money, I reckon,” agreed Harris.
“Bob Harrison didn’t mortgage his place to Jud Spink,” explained Lucas. “No sir! Hegot the money of Reuben Smiles, years ago. And he and his widder allus paid the intrust prompt.”
“Well–how did it come into Spink’s hands?”
“Why–I dunno. Guess Spink offered Smiles a bonus. At any rate, the original mortgage had long since run out, and was bein’ renewed from year to year. When it come time for renewal, Jud Spink showed his hand and foreclosed. They had a sale, and it didn’t begin to pay the face of the mortgage. You see, the place had all run down. Bob hadn’t turned a stroke of work on it for years before he died, and the widder’d only made shift to make a garden.
“Wal, there was a clause covering all personal property–and the widder had subscribed to it. So now the sheriff is going to have a vendue an’ see if he kin satisfy Jud Spink’s claim in full. Dunno whatwillbecome of Mis’ Harrison,” added Lucas, shaking his head. “She’s quite spry, if she is old; but she ain’t got a soul beholden to her, an’ I reckon she’ll be took to the poor farm.”
The boys sat in the buckboard and talked earnestly while Lyddy and ’Phemie Bray “visited” with the Widow Harrison. She was a tall, gaunt, sad woman–quite “spry,” as Lucas had said; but she was evidently troubled about her future.
Her poor sticks of furniture could not bring any great sum at the auction, which was slated for the next Monday. She admitted to the Bray girls that she expected the money raised would all have to go to the mortgagee.
“Idid’spect I’d be ’lowed to live here in Bob’s place till I died,” she sighed. “Bob was hard to git along with. I paid dear for my home, I did. And now it’s goin’ to be took away from me.”
“And you have no relatives, Mrs. Harrison? Nobody whose home you would be welcome in?” asked Lyddy, thoughtfully.
“Not a soul belongin’ to me,” declared Mrs. Harrison. “An’ I wouldn’t ask charity of nobody–give me my way.”
“You think you could work yet?” ventured Lyddy.
“Why, bless ye! I’ve gone out washin’ an’ scrubbin’ when I could. But folks on this ridge ain’t able to have much help. Still, them I’ve worked for will give me a good word. Noyoungwoman can ekal me, I’m proud to say. I was brought up to work, I was, an’ I ain’t never got rusty.”
Lyddy looked at ’Phemie with shining eyes. At first the younger sister didn’t comprehend what Lyddy was driving at. But suddenly a light flooded her mind.
“Goody! that’s just the thing!” cried ’Phemie, clasping her hands.
“What might ye be meanin’?” demanded the puzzled Mrs. Harrison, looking at the girls alternately.
“You are just the person we want, Mrs. Harrison,” Lyddy declared, “and we are just the personsyouwant. It is a mutual need, and for once the two needs have come together.”
“I don’t make out what ye mean, child,” returned the old woman.
“Why, you want work and a home. We need somebody to help us, and we have plenty of space so that you can have a nice big room to yourself at Hillcrest, and Iknowwe shall getalong famously. Do,do, Mrs. Harrison! Let’s try it!”
A blush rose slowly into the old woman’s face. Her eyes shone with sudden unshed tears as she continued to look at Lyddy.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, child!” she finally declared, hoarsely.
“Yes, dear Mrs. Harrison! We need you–and perhaps you need us.”
“Need ye!” The stern New England nature of the woman could not break up easily. Her face worked as she simply repeated the words, in a tone that brought a choking feeling into ’Phemie’s throat: “Need ye!”
But Lyddy went on to explain details, and bye-and-bye Mrs. Harrison gained control of her emotions. Lyddy told her what she felt she could afford to pay.
“It isn’t great pay, I know; but we’re not making much money out of the boarders yet; if we fill the house, you shall have more. And we will be sure to treat you nicely, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Stop, child! don’t say another word!” gasped the old woman. “Of course, I’ll come. Why–you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”
“No; we’re doing for ourselves,” laughed Lyddy.
“You’re givin’ me a chance to be independent,” cried Mrs. Harrison. “That’s the greatest thing in the world.”
“Isn’t it?” returned Lyddy, sweetly. “I think so. That’s what we are trying to do ourselves. So you’ll come?”
“Sure as I’m alive, Miss,” declared the old woman. “Ye need have no fear I won’t. I’ll be over in time to help ye with supper Monday night. And wait till Tuesday with your washin’. I’m a good washer, if Idosay it as shouldn’t.”
The young folks drove back to Hillcrest much more gaily than they had come. At least, ’Phemie and Lucas were very gay on the front seat. Harris Colesworth said to Lyddy:
“Lucas has been giving me the full history of the Widow Harrison’s troubles. And her being sold out of house and home isn’t the worst she’s been through.”
“No?”
“The man she married–late in life–was a Tartar, I tell you! Just as cranky and mean as he could be. Everybody thought he was an old soldier. He was away from here all during the Civil War–from ’61 to ’65–and folks supposed he’d get a pension, and that his widow would havesomethingfor her trouble of marrying and living with the old grouch.
“But it seems he never enlisted at all. He was just a sutler, or camp follower, or something. He couldn’t get a pension. And he let folks think that he had brought home a lot of money, and had hidden it; but when he died two years ago Mrs. Harrison didn’t find a penny. He’d just mortgaged the old place, and they’d been living on the money he got that way.”
“It seems too bad she should lose everything,” agreed Lyddy.
“I am going to stay over Monday and go to the vendue,” said Harris. “Lucas says she has a few pieces of furniture that maybe I’d like to have–a chest of drawers, and a desk—”
“Oh, yes! I saw them,” responded Lyddy, “And she’s got some kitchen things I’d like to have, too. Ineedher Dutch oven.”
“Oh, I say, Miss Lyddy!” he exclaimed, eagerly, yet bashfully, “you’re not going to try to cook over that open fire all this summer? It will kill you.”
“Idoneed a stove–a big range,” admitted the young girl. “But I don’t see how—”
“Let me lend you the money!” exclaimed Harris. “See! I’ll pay you ahead for father and me as many weeks as you like—”
“I most certainly shall not accept your offer, Mr. Colesworth!” declared Lyddy, immediatelyon guard again with this too friendly young man. “Of course, I am obliged to you; but I could not think of it.”
She chilled his ardor on this point so successfully that Harris scarcely dared suggest that they four go to the Temperance Club meeting at the schoolhouse that night. Evidently Lucas and he had talked it over, and were anxious to have the girls go. ’Phemie welcomed the suggestion gladly, too. And feeling that she had too sharply refused Mr. Colesworth’s kindly suggestion regarding the kitchen range, Lyddy graciously agreed to go.
Mr. Somers, the school teacher, was possibly somewhat offended because Lyddy had refused to accompanyhimto the club meeting; but for once Lyddy took her own way without so much regard for the possible “feelings” of other people. The teacher could not comfortably take both her and ’Phemie in his buggy; and why offend Lucas Pritchett, who was certainly their loyal friend and helper?
So when the ponies and buckboard appeared after supper the two girls were in some little flutter of preparation. Old Mr. Colesworth and Grandma Castle (as she loved to have the girls call her) were on the porch to see the party off.
The girls had worked so very hard these pastfew weeks that they were both eager for a little fun. Even Lyddy admitted that desire now. Since their first venture to the schoolhouse and to the chapel, Lyddy had met very few of the young people. And ’Phemie had not been about much.
Since Sairy Pritchett and her mother had put their social veto on the Bray girls the young people of the community–the girls, at least–acted very coldly toward Lyddy and ’Phemie. The latter saw this more clearly than her sister, for she had occasion to meet some of them both at chapel and in Bridleburg, where she had gone with Lucas several times for provisions.
Indeed she had heard from Lucas that quite a number of the neighbors considered ’Phemie and her sister “rather odd,” to put it mildly. The Larribees were angry because Mr. Somers, the school teacher, had left them to board at Hillcrest. “Measles,” they said, “was only an excuse.”
And there were other taxpayers in the district who thought Mr. Somers ought to have boarded withthem, if he had to leave Sam Larribee’s!
And of course, the way that oldest Bray girl had taken the school teacher right away from Sairy Pritchett—
’Phemie thought all this was funny. Yet shewas glad Lyddy had not heard much of it, for Lyddy’s idea of fun did not coincide with such gossip and ill-natured criticisms.
’Phemie was not, however, surprised by the cold looks and lack of friendly greeting that met them when they came to the schoolhouse this evening. Mr. Somers had got there ahead of them. There was much whispering when the Bray girls came in with Harris Colesworth, and ’Phemie overheard one girl whisper:
“Guess Mr. Somers got throwed down, too. I see she’s got a new string to her bow!”
“Now, if Lyddy hears such talk as that she’ll be really hurt,” thought ’Phemie. “I really wish we hadn’t come.”
But they were in their seats then, with Harris beside Lyddy and Lucas beside herself. There didn’t seem to be any easy way of getting out of the place.
Nettie Meyers was there–Joe Badger’s buxom friend. She stared hard at ’Phemie and her sister, and then tossed her head. But Mr. Badger came over particularly to speak to the girls.
Sairy Pritchett was very much in evidence. She sat with half a dozen other young women and by their looks and laughter they were evidently commenting unfavorably upon the Bray girls’ appearance and character.
Lyddy bowed pleasantly to Mr. Badger and the other young men who spoke to her; but she gave her main attention to Harris. But ’Phemie noted all the sidelong glances, the secret whispering, the bold and harsh words. She was very sorry they had come.
Alone, ’Phemie could have given these girls “as good as they sent.” Young as she was, her experience among common-minded girls like these had prepared her to hold her own with them. There had been many unpleasant happenings inthe millinery shop where she had worked, of which she had told Lyddy nothing.
Mr. Somers came down from the desk to speak to the party from Hillcrest before the meeting opened. But everybody turned around to stare when he did so, and the teacher grew red to his very ears and remained but a moment under fire.
“Hul-lo!” exclaimed Harris Colesworth, under his breath, and ’Phemie knew that he immediately realized the situation. The whole membership–at least, the female portion of it–was hostile to the party from Hillcrest.
While the entertainment was proceeding, however, the Bray girls and their escorts were left in peace. Sairy Pritchett sat where she could stare at Lyddy and ’Phemie, and they were conscious of her antagonistic gaze all the time.
But Lucas was quite undisturbed by his sister’s ogling and when there came a break in the program he leaned over and demanded of her in a perfectly audible voice:
“I say, Sairy! You keep on starin’ like that and you’ll git suthin’ wuss’n a squint–you’ll git cross-eyed, and it’ll stay fixed! Anything aboutmeyou don’t like the look of? Is my necktie crooked?”
Some of the others laughed–and at Sairy. It made the spinster furious.
“You’re a perfect fool, Lucas Pritchett!” she snapped. “If you everdidhave any brains, you’ve addled ’em now over certain folks that I might mention.”
“Go it, old gal!” said the slangy Lucas. “Ev’ry knock’s a boost–don’t forgit that!”
“Hush!” commanded ’Phemie, in a whisper.
“Huh! that cat’s goin’ to do somethin’ mean. I can see it,” growled Lucas.
“She is your sister,” admonished ’Phemie.
“That’s how I come to know her so well,” returned Lucas, calmly. “If she’d only been a boy I’d licked her aout o’ this afore naow!”
“Aboutwhat?” asked the troubled ’Phemie.
“Oh, just over her ’tarnal meanness. And maw’s so foolish, too;shecould stop her.”
“I’m sorry we came here to-night, Lucas,” ’Phemie whispered.
And at the same moment Lyddy was saying exactly the same thing to Harris Colesworth.
“Pshaw!” said the young chemist, in return, “don’t give ’em the satisfaction of seeing we’re disturbed. They know no better. I can’t understand why they should be so nasty to us.”
“It’s Lucas’s sister,” sighed Lyddy. “She thinks she has reason for being offended with me. But Ididhope that feeling had died out by this time.”
“You say the word and we’ll get out of here, Miss Lydia,” urged Harris.
“Sh! No,” she whispered, for somebody was painfully playing a march on the tin-panny old piano, and Mr. Somers was scowling directly down upon the Hillcrest party to obtain silence.
“Say! what’s the matter with that Somers chap, too?” muttered Harris.
But Lyddy feared that the teacher felt he had cause for offence, and she certainlywasuncomfortable.
The recess–or intermission–between the two halves of the literary and musical program, was announced. This was a time always given to social intercourse. The company broke up into groups and chattered and laughed in a friendly–if somewhat boisterous–way.
Newcomers and visitors were made welcome at this time. Nobody now came near the Bray girls–not even Mr. Somers. Whether this was intentional neglect on his part or not they did not know, for the teacher seemed busy at the desk with first one and then another.
Sairy Pritchett and the club historian had their heads together, and the latter, Mayme Lowry, was evidently adding several items to her “Club Chronicles,” which amused the two immensely. And there was a deal of nudging and titteringover this among the other girls who gathered about the arch-plotters.
“I’m glad they’ve got something besides us to giggle about,” Lyddy confided to her sister.
But ’Phemie was not sure that the ill-natured girls were not hatching up some scheme to offend the Hillcrest party.
“I believe I’d like to go home,” ventured ’Phemie.
“Aw! don’t let ’em chase you away,” exclaimed the young farmer.
“Oh, I know: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!’ But being called names–or, even having nameslookedat one–isn’t pleasant.”
Lyddy heard her and said quickly, her expression very decided indeed:
“We’re not going–yet. Let us stay until the finish.”
“Yes, by jove!” muttered Harris. “I’d just like to see what these Rubes would dare do!”
But girls are not like boys–at least, some girls are not. They won’t fight fair.
The Hillcrest party need not have expected an attack in any way that could be openly answered–no, indeed. But they did not escape.
Mr. Somers rang his desk bell at last and called the company to order. After a song from theschool song-book, in which everybody joined, the “Club Chronicles” were announced.
This “history”–being mainly hits on what had happened in the community since the last meeting of the Temperance Club–was very popular. Mayme Lowry was a more than ordinarily bright girl, and had a gift for composition. It was whispered that she wrote the “Pounder’s Brook Items” for the BridleburgWeekly Clarion.
Miss Lowry rose and unfolded her manuscript. It was written in a somewhat irreverent imitation of the scriptural “Chronicles;” but that seemed to please the young folks here gathered all the more. She began:
“And it came to pass in the reign of King Westerville Somers, who was likewise a seer and a prophet, and in the fourth month of the second year of his reign over the Pounder’s School District, that a certain youth whose name rhymes with ‘hitch it,’ hitched himself to the apron-strings of a maid, who was at that time sojourning at the top of the hill–and was hitched so tight that you couldn’t have pried the two apart with a crowbar!”
“Oh, by cracky!” gasped the suddenly ruddy-faced Lucas. “What a wallop!”
The paragraph was punctuated with a generaltitter from the girls all over the room, while some of the boys hooted at Lucas in vast joy.
Lyddy turned pale; ’Phemie’s countenance for once rivalled Lucas’s own in hue. But Miss Lowry went on to the next paragraph, which was quite as severe a slap at somebody else.
“Don’t get mad withme, Miss ’Phemie,” begged Lucas, in a whisper.
“Oh, you can’t help it, Lucas,” she said. “But I’ll never come to this place with you again. Don’t expect it!”
The amusing but sometimes merely foolish paragraphs were reeled off, one after the other. Sometimes the crowd shouted with laughter; sometimes there was almost dead silence as Miss Lowry delivered a particularly hard hit, or one that was not entirely understood at first.
“And it came to pass in those days that certain damsels of the Pounder’s Brook Temperance Club gathered themselves together in one place, and saith, the one to the other:
“Is it not so that the young men of Pounder’s Brook are no longer attracted by our girls? They no longer care to listen to our songs, or when we play upon the harp or psaltery. They pass us by with unseeing vision. Verily an Easter bonnet no longer catcheth the eye of the wayward youth, and holdeth his attention. Selah.
“Therefore spake one damsel to the others gathered together, and sayeth: ‘Surely we are not wise. The young men of our tribe goeth after strange gods. Therefore, let us awake, and go forth, and show the wisdom of serpents and–each and every one of us–start a boarding house!’”
The young men, who had begun to look exceedingly foolish during this harangue, suddenly broke into a chorus of laughter. Even Lucas and Harris Colesworth could not hide a grin, and the school teacher hid his face from the company.
The whole room was a-roar. Lyddy and ’Phemie suffered under the indignity–and yet ’Phemie could scarcely forbear a grin. It was a coarse joke, but laughter is contagious–even when the joke is against oneself.
Miss Lowry gave them no time to recover from thisbon mot. She went on with:
“And it was said of a certain young man, as he rode on the way to Bridleburg, that he was met by another youth, who halted and asked a question of the traveler. But the traveler was strangely smitten at that moment, and all he could do was tobray.”
There were no more shots at the Hillcrest folk after that–at least, if there were, the Bray girls did not hear them. The “Chronicles” came toan end at last. Somehow the sisters got away from the hateful place with their escorts.
“But don’t ever ask me to go to that schoolhouse again,” said Lyddy, who was infrequently angry and so, when she displayed wrath, was the more impressive. “I think, Lucas, the people around here are the most ill-mannered and brutal folk who ever lived. They are in the stone age. They should be living in caves in the hillside and be wearing skins of wild animals instead of civilized clothing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Lucas, gently. “I reckon it looks so to you. But they have all got used to Mayme Lowry’s shots–it’s give an’ take with most of ’em.”
“There is no excuse–therecanbe no excuse for such cruelty,” reiterated Lyddy. “And we never have done a single thing knowingly to hurt them.”
Harris Colesworth was silent, but ’Phemie saw that his eyes danced. He only said, soothingly:
“They are a different class from your own, Miss Lydia. They look on life differently. You cannot understand them any more than they can understand you. Forget it!”
But that was more easily said than done. Forget it, indeed! Lydia declared when she went to bed with ’Phemie that she still “burned allover” at the recollection of the impudence of that Lowry girl!
Of course, common sense should have come to the aid of the Bray sisters and aided them to scorn the matter. “Overlook it” was the wise thing to do. But a tiny thorn in the thumb may irritate more than a much more serious injury.
Lyddy considered Mr. Somers quite as much at fault for what had happened at the meeting as anybody else. He was nominally in charge of the temperance meeting. On the other hand ’Phemie decided that she would not be seen so much in Lucas’s company–although Lucas was a loyal friend.
The morrow was the first Sunday of the month of May, and its dawn promised as perfect a day as the month ever produced. Now the girls’ flower gardens were made, the vines ’Phemie had planted were growing, the old lawns about the big farmhouse were a vernal green and the garden displayed many promising rows of spring vegetables.
The girls were up early and swept the great porch all the way around the house, and set several comfortable old chairs out where they would catch the morning sun for the early risers.
The earliest of the boarders to appear was Harris Colesworth, wrapped in a long raincoat and carrying a couple of bath towels over his arm.
“I found a fine swimming hole up yonder in the brook where it comes through the back of the farm,” he declared to the sisters. “It’s going to be pretty cold, I know; but nothing like a beginning. I hope to get a plunge in that brook every morning that I am up here.”
And he went away cheerfully whistling. A moment later ’Phemie saw Professor Spink dart out of the side door and peer after the departing Harris, around a corner of the house. The professor did not know that he was observed. He shook his head, scowled, stamped his foot, and finally ran in for his hat and followed upon Harris’s track.
“He’s suspicious of everybody who goes up there to the rocks,” thought ’Phemie. “What under the sun is it Spink’s got up there?”
Later in the day–it was an hour or more before their usual Sunday dinner time–something else happened which quite chased the professor’s odd actions out of ’Phemie’s mind–and it gave the rest of the household plenty to talk about, too.
The procession of carriages going to Cornell Chapel had passed some time since when another vehicle was spied far down the road toward Bridleburg. A faint throbbing in the air soon assured the watchers on Hillcrest that this was an automobile.
Not many autos climbed this stiff hill to Adams; there was a longer and better road which did not touch Bridleburg and the Pounder’s Brook District at all. But this big touring car came pluckily up the hill, and it did not slow down until it reached the bottom of the Hillcrest lane.
There were several people in the car, and one, a lithe and active youth, leaped out and ran up the lane. Plainly he came to ask a question, for he dashed across the front yard toward where the family party were sitting on the porch.
“Oh, I say,” he began, doffing his cap to the girls, “can you tell a fellow—”
His gaze had wandered, and now his speech trailed off into silence and his eyes grew as large as saucers. He was staring at the placidly-knitting Mrs. Castle, who sat listening to the Professor’s booming voice.
“Grandma! Great–jumping–horse–chestnuts!” the youth yelled.
Mrs. Castle dropped her ball of yarn, and it went rolling down the steps into the grass. She laid down her knitting, took off the spectacles and wiped them, and them put them on again the better to see the amazed youth below her.
“Well,” she said, at length, “I guess I’m caught.”
“I’m going to call up the governor–and mom–and Lucy–and Jinny,” gasped the young fellow, who had so suddenly laid claim to being Mrs. Castle’s grandson. “I just want them toseeyou, Grandma. Why–why,wheredid you ever get those duds? And for all the world!–you’re knitting!”
“You can call ’em up, Tommy,” said the old lady, placidly. “I’ve got the bit in my teeth now, and I’m going to stay.”
“Can we drive in here?” asked Master Tom, quickly, of the girls, whom he instinctively knew were in charge.
“Yes,” said Lyddy. “Of course any friends of Mrs. Castle’s will be welcome.”
Tom sang out for the chauffeur to turn into the lane, and in a minute or two the motor party stopped in the grass-grown driveway within plain view of the people on the porch.
“Will you look at who’s here?” demanded Master Tom, standing with his legs wide apart and waving his arms excitedly.
The rather stout, ruddy-faced man reading the Sunday paper dropped the sheet and gazed across at the bridling old lady.
“Why, Mother!” he cried.
“Grandma–if it isn’t!” exclaimed one young lady, who was about nineteen.
“Mother Castle!” gasped the lady who sat beside Mr. Castle on the rear seat.
“Hullo, Grandma!” shouted the other girl, who was younger than Tom.
“I hope you all know me,” said Grandmother Castle, rising and leaving her knitting in her chair, as she approached the automobile. “I thought some of sending for some more clothing to-morrow; but you can take my order in to-day.”
“Mother Castle! whatisthe meaning of this masquerade?” demanded her daughter-in-law, raising a gold-handled lorgnette through which to stare at the old lady.
“Thank you, Daughter Sarah,” returned Mrs. Castle, tartly. “I consider that fromyoua compliment. I expect that a gown, fitted to my age and position in life,doeslook like a fancy dress to you.”
“Ho, ho!” roared her son, suddenly doubled up with laughter. “She’s got you there, Sadie, I swear! Mother, you look just as your ownmother used to look. I remember grandma well enough.”
“Thank you, Rufus,” said the old lady, and there were tears in her eyes. “Your grandmother was a fine woman.”
“’Deed she was,” admitted Mr. Castle, who was getting out of the car heavily. He now came forward and kissed his mother warmly. “Well, if you like this, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it,” he added, standing off and looking at her plain dress, and her cap, and the little shawl over her shoulders.
The girls and Master Tom had already kissed her; now Mrs. Castle the younger got down and pecked at her mother-in-law’s cheek.
“I’m sure,” she said, “I’ve always done everything to make you feel at home with us, Mother Castle. I’ve tried to make you one of the family right along. And you belong to the same clubs I do. Surely—”
“That’s just exactly it!” cried the little old lady, shaking her head. “I don’t belong in the same clubs with you. I don’t want to belong to any club–unless it’s a grandmothers’ club. And I want simple living–and country air—”
“And all these Rubes?” chuckled Mr. Castle, waving his hand to take in the surrounding country.
“Quite so, Rufus. But you would better postpone your criticisms until— Ah, let me introduce my son, Mr. Colesworth,” she added, as the old gentleman and Harris appeared from the side yard. “And young Mr. Harris Colesworth, of the Commonwealth Chemical Company. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Colesworths, Rufus?”
“Bless us and save us!” murmured Mr. Castle. “You’re from Easthampton, too?”
The old lady continued to introduce her family to the Brays, to Mr. Somers, and even to Professor Spink. The latter came forward with a flourish.
“Spink–Lemuel Judson Spink, M.D., proprietor of Stonehedge Bitters, and Diamond Grits, the breakfast of the million,” the professor explained, bowing low before Mrs. Rufus Castle.
“And these two smart girls I have adopted as grandchildren, too,” declared the older Mrs. Castle, drawing Lyddy and ’Phemie forward. “These are the hard-working, cheerful, kind-hearted girls who make this delightful home at Hillcrest for us all.”
“Oh, Mrs. Castle makes too much of what we do,” said Lyddy, softly. “You see, ’Phemie and I are only too glad to have a grandmother; we do not remember ours.”
“And, God forgive me! I’d almost forgottenwhat mine was like,” said Mr. Castle, softly, eyeing his old mother with misty vision.
“Well, now!” spoke the old lady, briskly, “do you suppose you could find enough in that pantry of yours to feed this hungry mob of people in addition to your regular guests, Lyddy?”
“Why–if they’ll take ‘pot luck,’” laughed Lyddy. “Literally ‘pot luck,’ I mean, for the piece de resistance will be two huge pots of baked beans.”
“And such beans!” exclaimed Grandmother Castle.
“And such ‘brown loaf’ to go with them,” suggested Harris Colesworth.
“And old-fashioned ‘Injun pudding’ baked in a brick oven,” added Mr. Bray, smiling. “There is a huge one, I know.”
“I am not sure that there wasn’t method in your madness, Mother,” declared Mr. Castle. “All this sounds mighty tempting.”
“And it will taste even more tempting,” declared the elder Mrs. Castle.
“Let the hamper stay where it is,” commanded her son, to the chauffeur. “We’ll partake of the Misses Bray’s hospitality.”
The younger Castles, and the gentleman’s wife, might have been in some doubt at first; but when they were set down to the long dining table, withLyddy’s hot viands steaming on the cloth–with the flowers, and beautiful old damask, and blue-and-white china of a by-gone day, and the heavy silver, and the brightness and cheerfulness of it all, they, too, became enthusiastic.
“It’s the most delightful place to visit we’ve ever found,” declared Miss Virginia Castle.
“It’s too sweet for anything,” agreed Miss Lucy. “I hope you’ll come this way in the car again, Dad.”
“I reckon we will if Grandma is going to make this her headquarters–and she declares she’s going to stay,” said Master Tom.
“Do you blame her?” returned his father, with a sigh of plenitude, as he pushed back from the table.
“Well! I can’t convince myself that she ought to stay here; but you’re all against me, I see,” said their mother. “And, it reallyisa delightful place.”
The Bray girls were proud of their success in satisfying such a party; and Lyddy was particularly pleased when Mr. Castle drew her aside and put a ten-dollar note in her hand.
“Don’t say a word! It was worth it. I only hope you won’t be over-run by auto parties and your place be spoiled. If you have any others, however, charge them enough. It is better entertainmentthan we could possibly get at any road house for the same money.”
And so Lyddy got ten dollars toward her kitchen range.
While the ladies were getting into the tonneau, however, Miss Bray overheard a few words ’twixt Harris Colesworth and young Tom Castle that made her suspicious. She came out upon the side porch to wave them good-bye with the dish-cloth, and there were Harris and Tom directly beneath her.
And they did not observe Lyddy.
“All right, old man,” Master Tom was saying, as he wrung the young chemist’s hand. “The governor and Iwerea bit worried about grandma, and your tip came in the nick of time.
“But,” he added, with a chuckle, “I had no end of trouble getting Mom and the girls to let James come up this way. You see, they’d never been this way over the hill before.”
“Now,” said Lyddy to herself, when the boys had passed out of hearing, “here is another case where this Harris Colesworth deliberately put his–hisnoseinto other people’s business!
“He knew these Castles. At least, he knew that they belonged to grandma. And he took it upon himself to be a talebearer. I don’t like him! I declare I nevershallreally like him.
“Of course, perhaps grandma’s son and the rest of the family might be getting anxious about her. But suppose they’d been nasty about it and tried to make her go home with them?
“No. ’Phemie is always saying Harris Colesworth has ‘such a nice nose.’ It is nothing of the kind! It is too much in other people’s business to suit me,” quoth Lyddy, with decision.
Her opinion of him, however, did not feaze Harris in the least. Mr. Somers was inclined to be stiff and “offish” since the previous evening, but Harris was jolly, and kept everybody cheered up–even grandma, who was undoubtedly a little woe-begone after her family had departed–for a while, at least.
It was a little too cool yet to sit out of doors after sunset, and that evening after supper they gathered about a clear, brisk fire on the dining-room hearth, and Harris Colesworth led the conversation.
And perhaps he had an ulterior design in leading the talk to the Widow Harrison’s troubles. He said nothing at which Jud Spink could take offense, but it seemed that Harris had informed himself regarding the old woman’s life with her peculiar husband, and he knew much about Bob Harrison himself.
“Say–he was a caution–he was!” cried Harris.“And he kept folks guessing all about here for years. The Pritchetts say Bob was a ne’er-do-well when he was a boy—”
“And that is quite so,” put in Professor Spink. “I can remember the way the old folks talked about him when I was a boy about here.”
“Just so,” agreed Harris. “He made out he was entitled to a pension from the government, for years. And he always told folks he had brought a fortune home from the war with him. Let on that he had hidden it about the house, too.”
Professor Spink’s eyes snapped, and he leaned forward.
“You don’t reckon there is anything in that story; do you, Mr. Colesworth?” he asked.
“Why–I don’t–know,” said Harris, slowly, but with a perfectly grave face. “As I make it out, when the old fellow died the widow made search for this hidden treasure he had hinted at so often; but when the lawyers found out that he was entitled to no pension–that he’d lied aboutthat–and that about all he had left her was a mortgage on the place, Mrs. Harrison gave up the search for money in disgust. She said as he’d lied about the pension, and about other things, why, of course he’d lied about the hidden treasure.”
“And don’t you think he did?” asked Spink, with so much interest that the others were amused.
“Humph!” responded Harris, gravely. “I don’t know. Hemighthave hidden bonds–or deeds–or even bank notes.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Mr. Bray, laughing. “That’s imagination.”
“You need not mind, Professor,” said old Mr. Colesworth, sharply. “If there is money, or treasure, hidden there in the house, or on the place, and you have bid the place in, as I understand you have, it will be ‘treasure trove’–it will belong to you–if you find it.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Professor Spink, darting the old gentleman rather an angry glance.