Having shaken hands politely, Mrs. Taylor proceeded to take off her bonnet, talking all the while in a casually conversational manner.
“Nice and neat, isn’t it?” she said, viewing with satisfaction the tiny bonnet which only served as a starting-point for the long black crape veil and a resting-place for the full white crape ruche. “I don’t often get a chance to wear it; but I’m so fond of it; it’s my greatest consolation since Mr. Taylor died. I call it my cloud with the silver lining.”
Stella took the precious bonnet from Mrs. Taylor’s hands, promising to put it safely away, and by that time Ladybird was presenting the elder Mr. Harris.
Though the old soldier was disabled and poor, he was a courtly gentleman of the old school and greeted the ladies with a quiet comprehension of his own dignity and theirs. Moreover, Richard Harris had been a friend of the Flint ladies in their youth, and though circumstances had pushed them far apart, a few slender threads of memory still held.
Ignoring their squirming left-armfuls, Major Harris shook hands with the Primrose ladies, and then, with the aid of his crutches, limped away.
It seemed a pathetic coincidence that his grandson Dick, who followed him, should also be on crutches, especially as his lameness lacked the patriotic glory of his grandfather’s.
Dick Harris was frankly delighted with the whole occasion, and did not hesitate to say so. He shook hands vigorously with the Misses Flint, and his face beamed as he expressed his gratitude for their invitation.
“But you ladies oughtn’t to be holdin’ them heavy kids,” he said. “I wish I could take ’em, but I can’t. Here, Jim Blake and Tom Tuckerman, you take these infants away from the ladies, so’s they can shake hands decent.”
Apparently the lame boy’s word was law, for the two boys he had called, though looking a little embarrassed, darted up and secured the twins with an awkward but efficacious clutch.
Miss Leech and Sam Scott were then presented together.
Ladybird didn’t do this for the logical reason that two half-witted people ought to count as one, but because she was impatient to get the introductions over with and begin the party.
Miss Leech wandered a little, confused the ladies’ names, and asked Miss Priscilla if she had paid off her mortgage yet. Sam Scott wandered a great deal, and grasping Miss Priscilla’s hand, shook it up and down continuously, while he babbled, “Beautiful day, beautiful day, beautiful, beautiful day, beautiful day, beautiful—”
He was still expressing his opinion of the weather when Stella led him away and seated him in a corner with a picture-book to look at.
By this time Miss Priscilla had reached that state of mind which can only be described as the obstupefaction of the tumultuous. Her brain was benumbed by rapid and successive emotions, and as the climax of each had proved absurdly inadequate to the situation, Miss Priscilla was perforce in a condition of helpless docility, and Ladybird recognized this, and was not slow to take advantage of it.
Realizing that her aunt had interests, or at least memory, in common with Major Harris, she contrived to establish the two on a comfortable old sofa, where, despite the differences of the present, they were soon lost in the past.
Then Ladybird, with her natural talent for generalship, but with a tact and ability really beyond her years, arranged her other guests to the happy satisfaction of each.
Miss Dorinda found herself entertaining, or rather being entertained by, Mrs. Taylor, and each of these ladies held one of the romping twins, and actually seemed to enjoy it.
Miss Leech required no entertaining save to be allowed to wander about at will, touching with timid, delicate fingers the ornaments or curios about the room, and making happy, though inarticulate, comments upon them.
Then Ladybird and Stella devoted themselves to the amusement of the rest of the guests, who were all children and easily pleased by playing games or listening to Stella while she sang funny songs to her banjo accompaniment.
During one of these songs, Ladybird slipped out to the kitchen in search of Martha and Bridget, who were as yet unacquainted with the character of the Primrose Hall guests.
“I expect they’ll raise Cain,” she said to herself; “but I feel like Alexander to-day, and I’d just as soon conquer a few more worlds as not.
“Martha,” she began in a conciliatory tone, though determination lurked beneath her eyelashes, “the people who have come to my party are not the ones I expected to invite at first. They’re—they’re different.”
“Yes, miss,” said Martha, impassively.
“And two of them are lame, Martha, and two of them are babies, and two of them are not quite right in their heads.”
“Luny, miss?”
“Well, yes; I think you might call it that,” said Ladybird, gravely considering the case. Then after a pause she added, “And Martha, we’ll have to fix high chairs for the babies; put cushions in the chairs, you know, or dictionaries, or something.”
“Did your aunts invite these people, miss?” said Martha, suspecting, more from Ladybird’s manner than her words, that there was something toward.
“I invited them,” said Ladybird, with one of her sudden, but often useful, accessions of dignity, “and my aunts are at present entertaining them. You’ll see about the high chairs, won’t you Martha?”
In reality, Ladybird’s strong friend and ally, Martha, was always vanquished by the child’s dazzling smile, and she answered heartily, “Indeed I will, miss; you’ll find everything in the dining-room all right.”
Reassured, Ladybird went back to the parlor, to find her party still going on beautifully. Stella’s graceful tact and ready ingenuity were the best assistance Ladybird could have had, and the child gave a sigh of relief as she thought to herself she had certainly succeeded in inviting the ones who would enjoy it the most.
At five o’clock supper was served. Although the technical details of the table proved a trying ordeal to most of the guests (indeed, only the half-witted ones were wholly at ease), yet the delicious viands, and the kind-hearted dispensers of them, went far toward establishing a general harmony.
The guests took their leave punctually at six o’clock, as they had been invited to do, and Miss Priscilla’s parting words to each evinced a mental attitude entirely satisfactory to Ladybird.
“Though I wish, Lavinia,” she said much later, after they had discussed the affair in its every particular—“Idowish that when you are about to cut up these fearfully unexpected performances of yours you would warn us beforehand.”
“I will, aunty,” said Ladybird, with a most lamb-like docility of manner, “if you’ll promise to agree to them as amiably beforehand as you do afterward.”
As the weeks and months went on, life at Primrose Hall adjusted itself to the new conditions made necessary by the addition of a child and a dog to its hitherto unrippled routine.
Miss Priscilla lived with her usual energy; Miss Dorinda existed a little more calmly, and Ladybird lived and moved and had her excited being with all sorts of variations, from grave to gay, from lively to severe,ad libitum.
The winter passed much in its usual way, and after that the spring came, laughing. April tumbled into May, and May danced into June, bringing ecstasy to one little heart, for with late June days came the summer vacation from school.
“My aunties,” said Ladybird, looking up from a lesson she was studying, “who is the governor of this State?”
“Hyde,” replied her Aunt Priscilla. “Governor Horace E. Hyde.”
“Is he a nice man?” asked Ladybird, drumming on the table with both hands, and on the floor with both feet.
“Do stop that fearful noise, Lavinia. Yes, he is a fine, capable governor, and a true gentleman. Why?”
“Are you studying your history lesson, dear?” asked Aunt Dorinda. “Is it about the governor?”
“I’m studying my history lesson, but it isn’t about the governor,” answered Ladybird, truthfully. “I only asked because I wanted to know.”
“That is right, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, approvingly. “It is wise to inquire often concerning such matters of general information; by such means one may acquire much valuable knowledge.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Ladybird. “Where is his office?”
“Whose, the governor’s? Oh, in the State House, I suppose, though he would doubtless have a private office at home.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Ladybird.
That same afternoon Ladybird collected some apples and cookies, and with a pad of paper and a pencil in her hand, and Cloppy hanging over her arm, she remarked that she was going down to the orchard, and went.
“You see, Cloppy,” she said as they walked along, “we’ve just got to help Stella,—my pretty Stella; she has no one to help her but you and me. She’s a damsel in distress, and we’re a brave knight. Of course we can’t fight for her with spears and lancets; but we can do better than that. The pen is mightier than the sword, and, Cloppy, I’ve got the very elegantest scheme. I’m going to write to the governor—the governor of the State, you know. He can do anything, and if I write him a nice letter, I’m sure he’ll send a duke, or a belted earl, or something that’s nicer than Charley Hayes, anyway. But oh, Cloppy-dog, how I do hate to write a letter! I can’t write very good, and I can’t spell very good, and I’m scared to death of the governor. You know he’s an awful big man, Cloppy, a great man, with a white wig and a cocked hat; but I’m going to do it, and I won’t tell my aunties, because I’m ’most sure they wouldn’t let me. But I must do something to rescue my beautiful Stella from dire dismay.”
“Writing the letter”“Writing the letter”
“Writing the letter”
Ladybird climbed one of her favorite apple-trees, settled Cloppy comfortably in her lap, and placing her paper pad on him as on a desk, prepared to write. A puckered brow was for a long time the only outward and visible sign of her inward and spiritual resolve to help her friend.
“Oh,” she said at last, “it is harder even than I thought it would be; but I’ll do it for my Stella.”
“Of course,” she thought, “‘Dear Mr. Governor’ must be the way to begin it, because there isn’t any other way.”
After writing the three words, she paused again, trying to remember what her language lessons had taught her. “I only remember one rule,” she said to herself, talking aloud, as she was in the habit of doing, “and that is: ‘Never use a preposition to end a sentence with.’ But goodness me! if I can’t begin a sentence, it doesn’t make much difference what I use to end it with; does it, Clops?”
She poked the dog with her pencil, to which he responded by a series of wriggles.
“Do keep still, Cloppy, or I’ll never get my letter done. Now let me see. I think another rule was something like, ‘If you have a story to tell, state it clearly, and in as few words as you can’t get along without.’ Now I’m not going to tell any story; it’s the solemn truth; but I suppose the rule’s the same for that.”
After long and hard work, and much scratching out and putting in again, Ladybird succeeded in producing the following epistle:
Dear Mr. Governor:It is a traggedy! Stella is a lovly girl, and that silly Charley Hayes is not good enough; but I don’t know of any other men in Plainville, except married ones, and the ragman, so what can I do? But you are noble, brave, and powerful, so please send by return mail a nice, handsum, good, young man. I mean send a letter about him, with blue eyes if possible, and anyway, an earl. Don’t tell Stella right off. Send the earl to me, and I will see if he will do. Please write toLadybird Lovell,Primrose Hall,Plainville.P. S. And I am much obliged. I would have said more thanks but this is a business letter.Ladybird.
Dear Mr. Governor:
It is a traggedy! Stella is a lovly girl, and that silly Charley Hayes is not good enough; but I don’t know of any other men in Plainville, except married ones, and the ragman, so what can I do? But you are noble, brave, and powerful, so please send by return mail a nice, handsum, good, young man. I mean send a letter about him, with blue eyes if possible, and anyway, an earl. Don’t tell Stella right off. Send the earl to me, and I will see if he will do. Please write to
Ladybird Lovell,Primrose Hall,Plainville.
P. S. And I am much obliged. I would have said more thanks but this is a business letter.
Ladybird.
“Now, Cloppy,” said Ladybird, as she finished reading her work of art, “I do really think that’s a very nice letter, and I do really believe the governor will send a perfectly lovely young man for my Stella, and then Charley Hayes can go and marry somebody else.”
Cloppy wagged his tail, and blinked his eyes in his usual bored fashion, and Ladybird scrambled down from the apple-tree and trotted off to the post-office to mail the important letter. She stamped it carefully, and addressed it to “Governor Hyde, State House.”
“Now,” she said, as she walked home in great satisfaction, “I just guess I’ve done something for my friend, and I wish the answer would come quick.”
It is not remarkable that Ladybird’s letter should have safely reached its destination. It was opened among the other mail by Gilbert Knox, the governor’s private secretary. As letters of a similar type had been received before, and found no favor in the governor’s eyes, not even as interesting curiosities, young Knox was about to toss it into the waste-basket, when his chum Chester Humphreys came into the office.
“Hello, Chester,” he said; “you like odd tricks. Here’s a letter that may interest you. Want to read it?”
Chester Humphreys read Ladybird’s letter.
“You might go down to Plainville,” said Gilbert Knox, “and personate the earl.”
“I don’t think I care for the lovely Stella,” returned Humphreys; “besides, I’m not an earl. But I’d like to see the kid that wrote that letter. I think I’ll write and make an appointment with her just for fun.”
“Do,” said the secretary; “that is, if you see any fun in hunting up a little freckle-faced child, who will probably be too shy to speak to you after you get there.”
“I don’t see anything in this letter,” said Humphreys, scanning it again, “to make me inevitably deduce freckles, nor yet shyness. In fact, the more I look at it, the more I think that baby’s a genius; and anyway, I’ve nothing to do, and it’s lovely country down there, and I’m going to chance it.”
“All right,” said Knox. “You’d better write her that you’re coming.”
“I will. Give us a pen.”
And that’s how it happened that in due time Ladybird received a letter which set her eyes and heart dancing. It caused no comment when old Matthew handed her the precious document, for the child often had letters—often, too, from distant cities, where she exchanged souvenir-cards with other young collectors.
Stopping only to catch up Cloppy, she ran to the orchard and tore open the envelope.
Over and over again she read these lines:
Miss Ladybird Lovell,Dear Madam:Without committing myself definitely to an offer to aid you in your project, I may say I would be glad to have an interview with you regarding the matter, and will be pleased to keep any appointment that you may make.Yours obediently,Chester Humphreys.
Miss Ladybird Lovell,
Dear Madam:
Without committing myself definitely to an offer to aid you in your project, I may say I would be glad to have an interview with you regarding the matter, and will be pleased to keep any appointment that you may make.
Yours obediently,Chester Humphreys.
“Oh,” said Ladybird, with a sigh of rapturous delight, “isn’t it grand! I can’t understand hardly a word of his letter, but he says he’ll come to see me about it, and that’s all I want to know. Now I suppose I’ll have to write him again. It’s awful hard work, but to think what it may mean to Stella!” With a little sigh, she went to fetch paper and pencil, and, returning, composed the third document in the case.
Mr. Chester Humphreys [she began],Dear Earl:I am glad you’re coming [the letter went on] Hurry, oh, hurry, the day draws near. I hope you are the right one, but I can tell the minute I look at you. I will be in the plum-orchard, at half-past three Thursday afternoon. Come, oh, come.Ladybird Lovell,Primrose Hall.
Mr. Chester Humphreys [she began],
Mr. Chester Humphreys [she began],
Dear Earl:
Dear Earl:
I am glad you’re coming [the letter went on] Hurry, oh, hurry, the day draws near. I hope you are the right one, but I can tell the minute I look at you. I will be in the plum-orchard, at half-past three Thursday afternoon. Come, oh, come.
Ladybird Lovell,Primrose Hall.
“He may not be an earl,” she thought, “but then he may; and if he is, it will be dreadful if I don’t tell him so.”
At half-past three Thursday afternoon Ladybird was in the plum-orchard. It had never occurred to her to doubt the arrival of Chester Humphreys, or that he could experience any difficulty in finding her at her somewhat indefinite address.
And being a fairly clever and up-to-date young man, Chester Humphreys did not experience any difficulties, or, if he did, he overcame them; for promptly at the appointed hour he stood before Ladybird, and bowed politely, saying, “Miss Ladybird Lovell?”
“Yes,” said Ladybird, rising from her seat on the grass, and suddenly acquiring a new dignity as she heard her name pronounced in such a formal tone. Then she looked at him steadily, without a touch of impertinence, but with an air of gravest criticism.
She saw a tall, well-built young man with broad, strong shoulders, and a frank, honest face which showed both perception and responsiveness.
“You’re not an earl,” she said; and though her tone showed disappointment, it was more in sorrow than in anger.
“How do you know I’m not?” he said, smiling a little.
“By your clothes,” said Ladybird, simply. “Of course I know you wouldn’t wear your coronet and robes; but you’d wear something prettier than blue serge.”
“I am not an earl,” said her visitor; “but if I were, I would wear on this occasion these very same clothes. And now, tell me all about it.”
With a smile that seemed to compel a comfortable confidence, he motioned Ladybird back to her grassy seat under the plum-tree, and then sat down by her side.
“First of all, who are you?” he said.
“No; first of all, who are you?” said Ladybird.
“Quite right,” said the young man; “I accept the rebuke. My name you already know; my home is New York. Just now I’m on my vacation, and in vagrant mood I’m enjoying this part of our country.”
“Are you a good man?” said Ladybird.
“I am a good man,” said Humphreys, “though very few people know it; still, I’m prepared to prove it whenever it may be necessary.”
“Are you accomplished?” said Ladybird.
“I can play a few things, work at a few more, and I can sing.”
“I’m glad you can sing,” said Ladybird; “Stella is very fond of music.”
“But, my dear child,” said Humphreys, “I told you I didn’t come down here in the interest of that philanthropic scheme of yours; I came only to see you. And now it’s your turn to tell me whoyouare.”
“Me? Oh, I’m just Ladybird.”
“Is that your real name?”
“No, I suppose not,” with a slight frown; “my aunties say it is Lavinia; but I never knew that till I came here. They say, too, I’m fourteen years old; but I know I’m twelve. And they say I used to have yellow hair and blue eyes; but I can’t think I ever did, can you?”
“It is hard to think so,” said Humphreys, looking at the little brown face with its big dark eyes and elfish wisps of straight black hair. “At the same time, I dislike to doubt your aunts’ word. Why do they have such apparently contradictory notions?”
“I don’t know,” said Ladybird; “I’ve only lived here a little while, you know. My mama was my aunts’ younger sister, and she ran away with my papa, and they lived in India. And I lived there, too, until papa died; and then I was sent here to aunties’. And at first my aunties didn’t like me a bit, and didn’t want me to stay; but I had to stay, so of course they had to like me. You can’t live with people without liking them, you know.”
“Can’t you?” said Humphreys. “And do you like them?”
“Yes,” said Ladybird, “Ilovethem. I love Aunt Dorinda best; but I love Aunt Priscilla most.”
“I should like to know them,” said Humphreys. “Can’t you take me in and introduce me to them?”
“I will pretty soon,” said Ladybird; “but first I want to settle about Stella.”
“What is this Stella story, anyhow, you ridiculous child? Do your aunts know you wrote that letter to Governor Hyde?”
“No,” said Ladybird, seriously, “they don’t. If they had they wouldn’t have let me write it. You see, everything I’ve tried to do to help Stella they scolded me about it, and told me I mustn’t do it, and that it was none of my affair. Now itismy affair, for Stella is my friend; and what can be more your affair than your friend?”
“Nothing,” said Humphreys, seeing that an answer was demanded of him.
“No, of course not. And so I thought, and I thought; and I decided this was the only way to do it; and I was sure the governor would send somebody nice, because my aunties say he is such a nice man.”
“But tell me about Stella; I don’t understand it all yet.”
“Well, you see,” said Ladybird, “Stella is the beautifulest, loveliest, angelest girl in the whole world, and she has a horrid old grandfather and grandmother who want her to marry Charley Hayes, and Charley Hayes is horrid too. And Stella doesn’t love him, but she doesn’t hate him as much as I do.”
“I should hope not, if she’s going to marry him,” said Humphreys.
“But she thinks she’s got to marry him,” went on Ladybird, “because her grandparents say she must, and because there isn’t anybody else in Plainville that would be any better.”
“And must she marry somebody?”
“Well, she doesn’t want to marry anybody; but old Mr. and Mrs. Marshall say she’s got to. And I mean that I can’t find anybody better for her in Plainville, and so that’s why I wrote to the governor; and I’m glad he sent you, for you’re ever so much handsomer than Charley Hayes, and I really think you’ll do very nicely.”
“My dear little girl,” said Humphreys, “you must get that notion out of your head. I told you in my letter that I did not come down in the interests of the fair Stella, but to see you.”
“Why did you want to see me?” said Ladybird, her big eyes wide with bewilderment.
“Because I wanted to know what kind of a child it was who wrote that letter.”
“And the governor didn’t send you?” cried Ladybird.
“No, of course the governor didn’t send me.”
“Oh, well, it’s all the same,” she said airily; “you came because I wrote that letter to the governor, so it doesn’t make any difference. And you’ll have to marry Stella, you know, because that’s what I sent for you for. You aren’t married to anybody else, are you?”
“No, of course not,” said the young man.
“Then that’s all right; and Stella is so sweet and beautiful you won’t mind it a bit.”
“You said she was beautiful, before,” observed Humphreys. “And now I think, if you please, we will go up to the house and see your aunts. I would like to pay my respects to them. You have a nice dog there.”
“Cloppy?” said Ladybird. “Yes; he is the beautifulest dog in the world.” She was kneading him like a mass of dough as she spoke. “He’s such a comfort! He never minds what I do to him.”
“And Stella, doesn’t she mind what you do to her, either?”
“Stella! Oh, she doesn’t know what I do for her. Of course when you do things for your friends you don’t tell them about it.”
“And doesn’t Stella know that you wrote to the governor in her behalf?”
“Of coursenot!” said Ladybird, with great dignity; and rising, she gathered up Cloppy, hung him over her arm and said: “Now, if you please, we will go to the house.”
Remarking to himself that this was certainly a jolly go, Chester Humphreys followed the picturesque figure of Ladybird as she flew through the orchards.
Crossing the great sweep of lawn, they came to Primrose Hall, where, on the front veranda, sat the Misses Flint, placidly knitting.
“My aunties,” cried Ladybird, as she came near them, “this is a friend of mine I have brought to see you. His name is Mr. Chester Humphreys, and he lives in New York, and he came here to see me.”
“Chester Humphreys!” exclaimed Aunt Priscilla, rising and dropping her knitting. “Excuse me, sir, but was your mother a Stedman?”
“She was,” said the young man; “and my father was Chester Humphreys of Newburyport.”
“Then you are the son of one of my dearest girlhood friends,” said Miss Priscilla, “and I am very glad to see you.”
Miss Dorinda fluttered about, brought a piazza chair and cushions to make their guest comfortable, while Ladybird seated herself on a cricket, took her chin in her hands, and sat gazing at the young man.
“Do you know,” Humphreys observed, “that, notwithstanding my interview with your small niece here, and my subsequent introduction to you, I don’t even yet know the name of my hostesses?”
“Flint,” said Miss Priscilla. “We are the daughters of Josiah Flint.”
“Then,” said young Humphreys, “I have always known of you; for I have heard of the Flints all my life.”
“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla, “Esther Stedman was not one to forget her old friends. And though I have not seen her for many years, I am more than glad to welcome her son to my house.”
“And I,” said Miss Dorinda. “But may I ask how it came about? Were you passing through Plainville? And how did you chance to meet Ladybird?”
“Perhaps Ladybird would prefer to tell you that herself,” said Chester Humphreys, his grave eyes looking quizzically at the child.
“Why, you know, aunties,” said Ladybird, “you know very well, for I’ve told you a hundred million times, that I wanted to find a nice, handsome young man for Stella; and so you see I wrote to the governor for one, and—and Mr. Humphreys came.”
“Lavinia Lovell,” exclaimed Miss Priscilla Flint, “do you mean to tell me—”
“One moment, Miss Flint,” said Chester Humphreys. “Let me assure you that Ladybird’s letter was quite decorous and proper. Every citizen is privileged to write to his governor; that’s what governors are for. And it was a very nice, ladylike letter. But let me also assure you that I did not come down here in response to what the letter asked for, but merely to meet the plucky and loyal friend who wrote it.”
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Humphreys,” said Miss Priscilla. “I beg you will dismiss entirely from your mind this ridiculous performance of my niece, and I will promise you that Lavinia shall not be allowed to think of it again, or to mention it to that very estimable young lady, Miss Stella Russell.”
“Oh, no, aunty,” said Ladybird; “I wouldn’t say a word to Stella for anything; but won’t Mr. Humphreys be gorgeous for her?”
“Go to your room, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly; and picking up Cloppy, Ladybird went.
“Mr. Humphreys,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that my niece should have been guilty of this escapade; but I beg you to believe that we regret it sincerely, and that she shall be appropriately punished.”
“Oh, don’t punish her!” said the young man, impetuously. “I’m very sure she had no other thought than a kind interest in her friend’s welfare.”
“That makes no difference,” said Miss Priscilla; “she is old enough to know better, and she should have come to us for advice, and then this ridiculous piece of business would not have happened.”
“And we should never have met Mr. Humphreys,” said Miss Dorinda, smiling at the pleasant-faced young man.
“That would have been my misfortune,” he replied. “But truly, dear ladies, you take this affair too seriously. Your niece is apparently full of wild and erratic schemes; but she is a dear little girl, and most true-hearted, and loyal to her friend. How old is she?”
“She is fourteen,” said Miss Flint, decidedly, “but she insists that she is only twelve. It is very strange,” she went on musingly; “but her whole history is strange. She is the daughter of my dead sister, but in no way does she resemble her, nor is she at all like her father. Although we knew him but slightly, he was a firm, well-balanced character, while Lavinia is wilful, mischievous and erratic.”
“But she is a clever child,” put in Miss Dorinda, “and most loving and affectionate.”
“She seems to be,” said Mr. Humphreys. “And I beg, dear ladies, that you will dismiss entirely from your mind this incident of her letter to Governor Hyde; for you may rest assured that no one else shall ever hear of it; and personally, I am very glad that it has given me the pleasure of knowing some of my mother’s friends.”
“I, too, am glad of that part of it,” said Miss Priscilla Flint. “And we shall be most happy to have you dine with us and remain overnight.”
Chester Humphreys gladly accepted the invitation, privately wondering if Ladybird were allowed to sit up to dinner. A few moments later, light footsteps crossed the veranda, and a flushed and smiling young woman entered the room quickly.
“How do you do, Miss Dorinda?” she said. “How do you do, Miss Flint? Is Ladybird ill?”
“No,” said Miss Priscilla, rising, and looking severe. “What nonsense has that child been up to now? But first, Stella, may I present Mr. Humphreys? Miss Russell, Mr. Chester Humphreys.”
Ladybird’s description of her friend had been inadequate. Chester Humphreys, though a man of no little experience, felt sure he had never before seen such a beautiful girl. Tall and graceful, with soft, dark hair and eyes, Stella had, moreover, a wonderful charm of her own, and her perfect features were merely a setting for an exquisite and individual beauty which young Humphreys had never seen equaled.
“Ladybird sent for me,” said Stella; “she sent a note by Jackson saying she was not well, and nothing would help her but for me to come over to dinner. So I came.”
“Where did she see Jackson?” said Miss Priscilla.
“That’s the funny part of it,” said Stella. “He was passing the house, and she called to him from her window; so I hurried over at once. May I see her?”
“She is not ill at all,” said Miss Priscilla.
“Oh, yes I am, aunty,” cried a roguish voice, and Ladybird flew into the room.
She was dressed in her new red frock, her eyes were starry and dancing, and Cloppy was perched on her shoulder. He wore a red neck-ribbon, and a festive air generally.
“I’m awful miserable, aunty,” Ladybird went on: “I have a misery in my foot; but I’m so glad to see Stella that it may cure it. She may stay to dinner, mayn’t she, aunty?”
Taken thus by storm, Miss Flint could only say yes. So Stella stayed.
Such a merry dinner as it was! Ladybird was in her element. She made such droll remarks, and her gaiety was so infectious, that Chester Humphreys appeared quite at his best; and his best was very good indeed.
Stella looked radiant, and met Mr. Humphreys’s banter with a pretty, graceful wit of her own.
The Flint ladies, though a little bewildered, were affected by the general joyousness of the atmosphere, and beamed most amiably.
After dinner they all sat on the veranda.
“Stella might sing for us,” suggested Ladybird, in an insinuating tone.
“I might,” said Stella, calmly, “if I thought any one would listen to me; but I fear you would all run away, except Ladybird; she, I believe, really enjoys my songs.”
“I can sing a little, too,” said Mr. Humphreys; “we might warble together.”
“No,” said Stella, “I can’t sing, really; but if I had my banjo here, I could play accompaniments for you to sing, Mr. Humphreys.”
“Your banjoishere,” said Ladybird; “you left it here day before yesterday.”
“Did I?” said Stella. “Well, I shall be glad to pick at it, if Mr. Humphreys will sing.”
“After dinner they all sat on the veranda”“After dinner they all sat on the veranda”
“After dinner they all sat on the veranda”
Mr. Humphreys was most willing to sing, so Ladybird brought the banjo, and Stella began to play. The girl had a real talent for music, and not only played well, but sang with a beautiful, though untrained voice.
Together they sang many of the popular airs of the day; and then, at the request of the older ladies, they sang old-time songs, catches, and glees. Ladybird could sing these too, and though her voice was shrill and light, it rang clear and true.
Stella, in her white gown, looked very fair and sweet as she sat in a veranda rocker swaying to and fro to the time of her banjo; and when, promptly at ten o’clock, Miss Flint announced that she must send her home, Chester Humphreys half hoped that he might be allowed to escort her. But Miss Priscilla ordered that Martha should take charge of the young lady, and Humphreys disappointedly refrained from offering his services.
“Your Stella is very beautiful,” he said to Ladybird after Miss Russell had gone.
“Yes,” said Ladybird, calmly; “I told you so.”
“And she looks amiable as well.”
“She is,” said Ladybird, earnestly; “she is the amiablest girl on the face of the great round world. She can’t refuse anybody anything. That’s why it’s so hard for her to say she won’t marry Charley Hayes. But now she won’t have to, so it’s all right.”
“Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, with her sternest and most decided air, “once for all, now, you are to stop that wicked nonsense. Unless you do, I shall lock you in your room and keep you there until you are ready to obey me.”
“Goodness gracious me!” said Ladybird, laughing, “whatever could I do—staying in my room so long? I do so like to play out of doors. Now it seems to me that you and Aunt Dorinda ought to be locked in your rooms until this matter is all settled, for you certainly do interfere with my plans.”
“Go to bed at once, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, in cold, level tones; “at once, I say! Not another word!”
“Yes, aunty, certainly,” said Ladybird, making no move to go, however.
“Miss Flint,” said Humphreys, “as I am, in a way, a part of this situation, couldn’t I be permitted to discuss it with little Miss Lovell?”
“I should be very glad, Mr. Humphreys,” said Miss Flint, “if you could say anything to my niece that would cause her to behave like a rational human being.”
“Then, child,” said Chester Humphreys, turning to Ladybird, “I will ask you a few straightforward questions.”
“Do,” said Ladybird, looking at him with an air of such intense interest that the young man felt a little discomfited.
“First,” he said, “do you realize that a child of twelve—”
“Fourteen,” corrected Miss Priscilla.
“Very well—that a child of fourteen has no right to meddle with the love-affairs of a young lady of twenty-one?”
“I realize,” said Ladybird, putting on her wise-owl expression, and shaking her thin brown forefinger at Chester Humphreys—“I realize that a child of twelve—or fourteen—has a right to do anything to help a friend, unless it’s against the law and she’ll get arrested.”
“But you must know,” went on young Humphreys, warming to his task, “that if Miss Russell knew what you had done, she would not be your friend any longer.”
“Wouldn’tshe!” exclaimed Ladybird. “Wouldn’tshe! That’s all you know about Stella! She would be my friend though the heavens fall: because she understands friends,shedoes, and she would know that whatever I did, I did single to her glory! But never mind about me now: the thing is, Mr. Humphreys, will you marry Stella, and so save her from the awful jaws of Charley Hayes? Will you?”
Miss Priscilla Flint, almost choking with wrath and indignation, undertook to speak, but Chester Humphreys stopped her.
“Wait, Miss Flint,” he said; “please let me answer for myself.”
“Will you?” said Ladybird.
“Ladybird,” he said, “you are indeed a true, loyal, and warm-hearted friend; and you are sinning through ignorance, and not through any wrong intent.”
“Will you?” said Ladybird.
“When you are older you will learn that people do not marry, or allow themselves to be given in marriage, at the whim of a wayward child. But as you cannot seem to grasp that fact now, you must accept the wisdom of your elders, and drop at once and forever this well-meant but impossible plan of yours.”
“Will you?” said Ladybird.
She had not seemed to hear anything Mr. Humphreys had said, but sat with her sharp elbows on her knees, and her chin in her little brown hands, while her great dark eyes looked at him wistfully, pleadingly, and insistently.
“Ladybird,” said Aunt Dorinda’s gentle voice, “you don’t seem to comprehend what Mr. Humphreys has been saying, and perhaps it is because you are not capable of understanding it; but I want to say this to you: you know that your aunts, who love you very dearly, would not advise you except for your own good and the good of your friend. And so, dearie, because we love you, and because you love us, won’t you give up this foolishness and do as we tell you?”
“Aunt Dorinda,” said Ladybird, “you and Aunt Priscilla do love me, and I love you both; but you see you’ve never been married, either of you, and so you don’t know anything about it; but if you would do a little realizing yourself, and just think of the difference whether my sweet, beautiful, angel Stella marries that horrid, awkward, ignorant Charley Hayes, or this handsome, refined, and nobly educated Mr. Humphreys!”