What They Found
Don drew his horses up with a jerk and sprang to the ground.
“The other lot from over the Ridge have not got here yet, so we are
first,” he remarked cheerfully, and then he held out his arms to Pam, so
that she might descend with safety. But she drew back with a sudden
shyness.
“You go first, please, and show me the way,” she said to Sophy, who
laughed, and then dropped into the strong arms of her brother, which was
certainly the easiest mode of descent.
“Come, Miss Walsh, I promise not to drop you, and I don’t expect that
you are heavier than Sophy.” Don had turned to the wagon again, and now
Pam had no excuse for holding back; so, dropping as she had seen Sophy
do, she was speedily standing on the ground by her side and looking at
the blank windows of the house that was to be her home. She could not
repress a shiver as she thought how angry her grandfather would probably
be when he found the sort of company in which she had arrived.
“Let us go and knock at the door while the others are unloading,”
suggested Sophy, who seemed to understand Pam’s secret fear, and was
anxious to reassure her.
Pam moved forward on unsteady feet. There was a queer sensation all
about her that she was walking in a dream; nothing seemed real, least of
all the girl with the kindly face and the quiet voice who stood at her
side, gently encouraging and wholly sympathetic. The outlines of the
house were vaguely familiar. Mrs. Walsh had talked so often to her
children of her childhood’s home that Pam would never feel strange at
Ripple; she had known it at second-hand for so long.
“I wish you would knock,” she said in a low voice, shrinking back behind
Sophy as they stood before the heavy door. They were quite alone now,
for all the others were busy about the wagons, taking out the supper
baskets, and talking excitedly about something that was missing.
“What are you afraid of?” asked Sophy, when she had beat upon the door
with her fists and they stood waiting for it to be opened.
Pam shivered, for she was genuinely scared. In the background a dog was
barking in angry protest, but the house itself was absolutely deserted,
to all appearance. She did not answer Sophy, but remembering that she
was in a manner at home, whilst these others were only outsiders, she
laid her hand on the door and tried to open it. Of course it was fast,
and after a little more time spent in knocking at the door she turned to
Sophy, asking: “What will you do? There does not seem to be anyone at
home.”
“The men will find a way to get in, they always do,” replied Sophy
laughing softly. Then she called to her brother: “Don, come here. There
seems to be no one at home. How will you get in?”
“I will go and see if I can find a way. Don’t let the others start
beating the door in until I have tried what I can do,” he said with a
backward wag of his head in the direction of the noisy group by the
wagon, who were still wrangling over the problem of a missing basket.
Then came quite a long wait, or so it seemed to Pam, who was trying to
form little sentences of explanation so that she might appease her
grandfather if he should suddenly arrive upon the scene to demand the
reason of her arrival with such a turbulent company.
“Here comes Don!” cried Sophy, as a step sounded inside the house, and
there was a noise of a bolt being dragged back. “How did you get in?”
she asked, as the heavy door came open, and Don with a lantern in his
hand appeared on the threshold.
“The old fellow went away in a hurry, and forgot to shut the pantry
window,” said Don, laughing as he stood back to let the others enter the
house. Then he held the lantern high above his head to show them the
way.
Pam went in first. A sudden sense of proprietorship had come to her; it
was as if this were her own house and all that turbulent company outside
were her guests. They might not be quite all that she would wish them to
be, but she would make the best of them. There was a lamp standing on a
small table near the stove, and she turned at once to light it.
“Don’t you think we ought to go over the house to see if he is at home?”
she asked. “He might be ill, you see. I am sure we ought to do that
first, before the others come in.”
“So am I,” Sophy agreed quickly. “Don, do you light the fire in the
stove while we are gone; there are kindlings lying in that corner. Come
along, Miss Walsh; the others will be here directly, so we must make
haste!”
Sophy had taken the lantern from Don, and she handed it to Pam,
instinctively taking her place in the rear, for this girl who was a
stranger in a strange country moved with the assured air of one who was
at home.
Pam held the lantern high, looking about her with absorbed interest.
This was the living-room, and the outer door opened right into it, and
that door in the corner would lead into the kitchen. She knew it well,
for her mother had shown Jack how to draw a plan of the house. The door
on the other side led to a sitting-room, the best room, which was only
used on state occasions; a dreary place, so her mother had said. Beyond
it was the bedroom where her grandfather slept, the very room in which
her mother had been born. That was where she expected to find her
grandfather if he was in the house. The best room had an unwholesome
smell, as of a place never used and never aired. There was no carpet on
the floor, but there was a couch, a cabinet, some chairs, and a table.
Even in walking across the room with the lantern in her hand, Pam
noticed that the stove was red with rust, and she wondered if there had
been a fire there in all the years since her mother had run away from
home to get married.
At the inner door she paused and knocked; then, as there was no reply,
and the door stood ajar, she pushed it open and went in. It was a wide
chamber, like the others, and being a corner room it had windows on two
sides. It was even more airless and stuffy than the sitting-room. A heap
of rugs and a mattress on the bed were a sign that someone slept there,
while there was a heap of ashes before the stove which showed that,
early in the autumn as it was, the old man had begun having a fire at
nights. He was not there. Pam made quite sure of that, even pausing to
lift the heap of tumbled rugs on the bed as if she expected to find him
tucked away underneath. Sophy came to help her, and they peered under
the bed, and in the old press which stood in the corner.
“He is not here, we must go upstairs,” said Pam, who was breathing hard,
as if she had been running.
“Is there any upstairs to the house?” asked the other. She had not
observed the outlines of the house particularly when they arrived, and
it was the first time she had ever been to Ripple.
“Yes, there are three rooms,” Pam replied, and turning, she led the way
back across the dreary sitting-room, and out to the living-room, where
by this time Don had a fire roaring in the stove. Galena Gittins, the
woman named Sissy, and one or two others were busy bringing in the
supper baskets, but she took no notice of them. Crossing the floor, she
went out by the door on the other side of the stove to the wide kitchen,
or out-place, whence a narrow wooden stair led to the three bedrooms in
the roof. These also were wide chambers, but only one of them had any
furniture. This had been her mother’s old bedroom, as Pam recognized at
the very first glance. There was a big press of red pine, which smelled
like cedar, and was just as good at keeping away moths. There was the
little bed with the carved head-board, the work of her
great-grandfather, and the table that her great-uncle Zach had carved.
There were even some old garments hanging on pegs behind the door, and
she wondered if they had hung there ever since her mother went away.
What a Rip-van-Winkle kind of business it was! Perhaps the room had
hardly been entered for twenty years; it smelled stuffy enough.
“There is no one here,” said Sophy softly. She stood just behind Pam and
looked about her in wonder. She did not understand how it was that this
stranger from across the sea was so at home in this deserted house.
“No, he is not here,” said Pam. “He is not in the house, unless he is in
the cellar. We ought to look there at once, before that lot downstairs
start making a noise. Oh, pardon me, I forgot they are your friends, and
of course they mean well.”
Sophy made a wry face, for the unconscious reproach in the voice of Pam
made her wince.
“Yes, they—we mean all right,” she answered. She hesitated a moment,
and then burst out: “It would have been rather horrid for you if you had
come straight here, and found no one at all.”
“Indeed it would, and I am properly grateful down underneath,” replied
Pam, and then she led the way towards the cellar, while Sophy followed
behind. The cellar stretched right under the whole length of the house,
as is common in New Brunswick, the severity of the winters making it
essential to have a good storage that frost cannot touch.
But downstairs the merry crowd had been augmented by the other wagonload
of people from over the Ridge; these were all presented to Pam in due
course, and she found herself thrust, whether she would or no, into the
position of hostess. It was in her to rise to the occasion, and she did
it right royally, only there was all the time that feeling in her heart
that she must search in the cellar before she allowed herself to be
drawn into any merry-making. She slipped away with Sophy while the
others were all busy trying to make the supper-table bigger by the
addition of boards laid across the backs of chairs, and holding her
lantern high above her head, she went carefully down the ladder-like
stairs, while Sophy came close behind.
“Take care, there should be a very bad place about half-way down,” said
Pam, who was breathing in little gasps again, for she was tremendously
excited. “Ah, here it is! Mother has told me that she sprained her ankle
over that step at three different times. Don’t you wonder what some
people are made of, to leave necessary things neglected for so long?”
Sophy stumbled, nearly fell, and recovered herself with an effort; and
steadying herself with a hand on Pam’s shoulder she answered with a
laugh:
“Wait until you have lived at Ripple for a year before you pass
judgment. Our summers are a fierce rush to do the things that must be
done, and in the winter we are more or less torpid.”
“I shall not be torpid,” cried Pam in merry defiance. Then she paused
and cried out in rapturous delight, as, reaching the bottom step, she
came in sight of shelves piled with apples—bushels and bushels of them,
some quite enormous in size, some so rosy and tempting to look at that
she wanted to stretch out her hand and start eating then and there.
Others were green and hard, as if they would not be mellow enough to eat
for months to come. “What can my grandfather do with so much fruit?” she
asked in surprise, as the flashing light of her lantern showed shelf
after shelf piled with apples, while of pumpkins, squashes, and the
harder sort of melons there was a goodly array.
“One needs a good lot of provisions to face a winter that is seven
months long,” replied Sophy, who was also peering about with great
interest, for she was of a housewifely turn. “But really, for an old man
living alone, your grandfather has stored a considerable lot of apples.
I suppose he has not lifted his potatoes yet, or we should smell them.”
“The potatoes always went into the inner cellar, so Mother said. Here
they are, and what a lot! I shall live on roasted apples and potatoes
this winter, I think. They will be easy to cook, and that will give me
time for other things. Do you think I ought to take some of these apples
up for the surprise party, or would Grandfather object to my making free
with his property?”
“We have brought apples in plenty,” said Sophy. “If you are asked out to
a surprise party yourself this fall (autumn), you might bring along some
of those yellow ones over there; I don’t think there is another tree of
that variety in the district. Mother has sent over here to buy some
every winter since I can remember, and ever so many folks have asked to
have scions from the tree, but Mr. Peveril would neither give nor sell
them.”
“Poor Grandfather; I am afraid he is rather disobliging sometimes!” Pam
murmured with wistful regret in her tone.
When they had thoroughly inspected the cellar, as they had done the rest
of the house, they went back to the living-room, where the fun was now
uproarious. The young men were making coffee, while the girls set the
table, and the older women unpacked the food. There were even one or two
middle-aged men, but Pam noticed that these withdrew into a corner,
where they sat talking, quite heedless of the confusion all around them.
They were much too tired to care for anything in the way of festivity
which entailed any labour, but a chance to exchange opinions with a
neighbour, and to hear a little gossip, was inducement sufficient to
bring them long distances, and make them willing to be all night out of
bed.
Old Wrack Peveril’s supply of lamps was limited, but the resourceful
surprise party had succeeded in getting a fine illumination
notwithstanding. A generous supply of pine knots had been brought along
in a basket, and these, tossed on the fire a few at a time, lighted the
big room with a vivid, flashing glare. There were also several lanterns,
and these were hung in the outer kitchen, in the dreary best
sitting-room, and even in the old man’s bedroom. This surprise party was
not going to do things by halves, and they wanted room in which to
spread themselves. A supply of candles eked out the lanterns, but these,
being home-made, were not very brilliant, and they guttered fearfully in
the liberal draughts.
Pam was not allowed to lift a finger to do anything. She was of the
family, they told her, even though she had arrived with the company.
Failing her grandfather, she was hostess. Entering into the spirit of
the thing, some of the girls rushed out of doors and gathered great
boughs of foliage by moonlight; these they wreathed in the back of a
ponderous arm-chair, and dragging it to the head of the supper-table,
installed Pam there in regal state.
“Oh, I cannot take the head of the table; it is not my house!” she
cried. “My grandfather might be angry with me if he came back and found
that I was taking his place in such a fashion, and it would be dreadful
to start with him in that way.”
“I don’t fancy he will be back before to-morrow,” said Mrs. Morse, the
stout woman who had known Pam’s mother. “It is awkward travelling the
forest trails at night, and the moon will soon be down. We mostly stay
where sundown finds us, and let travelling wait until daylight comes
again. That is what your grandfather is going to do, I expect, so you
might as well get all the fun you can. We are only young once, and there
is no sense in being dismal when you can have the time of your life.”
“If the old man happens along we will square him somehow, Miss Walsh,
don’t you be afraid,” put in Don Grierson, who, having undertaken the
work of head coffee-maker, was busy at the stove.
Pam yielded then, and really it would have been silly to protest. She
was excited, too, and the whole affair had taken on the character of an
adventure. She permitted herself to be placed in the great chair, she
let the girls take her hat off and twine a wreath of yellow maple leaves
for her hair, and she sat at the head of the long table, a veritable
queen of the ceremonies. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining,
and she entered into the fun with an abandon that surprised even
herself.
The supper was very good, and she was so hungry that she could have
devoured almost anything. Never, never had she tasted such chicken pie,
or such delicious cake. They had given her an earthenware plate—cracked
it is true, and browned with having been put in the oven, but it was a
plate—and as there were only about three others this was a distinction
indeed. Mrs. Morse, sitting at her side, was placidly eating from an old
baking-tin, while Galena Gittins, farther down the table, had a saucepan
lid by way of plate. These small drawbacks did but add to the fun,
however, and gales of laughter resounded through the wide room, which
must have been silent for so many years.
Suddenly Pam felt something pressing against her, and looking down she
saw the shaggy head of a big dog pressed against her knee, while two
wistful eyes looked into hers, and an eager tail thumped the floor.
“A dog, and such a dear! Where did it come from?” she asked, stooping to
pat the shaggy head, and then sharing a liberal bit of pie with the
hungry animal.
“It is old Wrack’s dog, and was going to eat us all when we took our
horses into the barn; but a mouthful of food soon brought it to a better
frame of mind,” said a young man, edging a little nearer for a chance of
talking to Pam. She was having a triumph in a small way, and the
surprise party were feeling that they themselves had had a very charming
surprise at Ripple that night, for it is always the unexpected that
appeals to people.
“If it is Grandfather’s dog, then it belongs to me in a way, and we must
be friends, of course.” Pam stooped over the animal again, feeding it
with morsels from her plate, and doing her very best to win the
creature’s liking. Perhaps if the dog loved her, the old man would also
find it easy to care for her. That was how she argued the matter to
herself, as she sat at the head of the table playing hostess in a house
she had never before entered, to a company of people she had never
before seen.
“Funny the old man did not take his dog along with him where he has
gone. Folks say that he is never seen without the beast,” remarked the
young man who had just been talking to Pam, and for want of some one
better he addressed his remark to Mrs. Morse.
“The old man knew his own business best, I guess,” rejoined the stout
woman tartly. “It is likely he left the critter here to guard the place
a bit. But it does seem a bit strange to me that the old fellow should
have gone out for the night, and he expecting his granddaughter at any
time, as you might say. Now you suppose what the situation would have
been for that poor girl, if we had not taken it into our heads to
surprise old Wrack to-night! I declare it fairly makes my flesh creep to
think about it.”
“Then don’t think about it, Mrs. Morse,” said Pam, who had overheard the
remark. “Grandfather would not have meant to treat me badly, I am sure;
perhaps he has even gone some part of the way to meet me, and by ill
fortune we missed each other.”
The company looked at each other, as much as to say that was about the
most unlikely thing to have happened, but no one ventured to say so.
There was not one present in the room who would have said or done
anything to sadden Pam or put any foreboding as to her future into her
heart. When supper was over, the food remaining—a goodly pile—was
carefully stacked out of the way, the table was dragged to one side of
the room, and then the fun began. One of the party had brought a fiddle,
and one had a melodeon, and with these for orchestra, dancing went on
with great spirit. Sir Roger de Coverley was first favourite, and they
danced it over and over again until they were fairly tired out, and
subsided on to chairs and forms to play General Post. This entailed so
many forfeits, and so much hilarity in the paying of them, that midnight
was long past before anyone even thought of wanting any fresh amusement.
Singing was called for then, and chorus after chorus rang round the
heavy timbers of the ceiling. Pam noticed that it was all sacred music,
chorales, anthems, and sonorous fugues which had been learned at church,
and which matched with the sombre grandeur of the leagues on leagues of
forest surrounding Ripple on every side.
“Won’t you sing something?” Sophy asked, coming over to Pam, whose face
was wearing a rather awed expression.
“I can’t sing—not by myself, I mean. I am not accomplished really,
though I can play the piano enough to teach young children,” Pam
answered, thinking of the governess life which she had left so far
behind.
“Ah, the piano is rather out of it here. The useful instrument is one
that can be carried about, like the violin or the melodeon,” Sophy said.
She went on to tell Pam that so far as she knew there was only one piano
in the township, and that was broken.
“I shall learn to play the jews’ harp; I am sure that I could manage it,
for I could perform quite creditably with a comb and a piece of paper.”
Pam laughed at her own small wit, then suddenly grew serious, for the
night was wearing, and with the first streaks of dawn to light the
forest trails these lively people would be gone, and she would be left
alone to face whatever might come.
“Could you stay with me, just until my grandfather comes back? Would it
be asking too much?” There was such a wistful look in the eyes she
turned to Sophy as betrayed the heart-shrinking that was behind.
“I think so, but I will ask Don what he thinks. Mother is not very
strong, but I know she will do her best to let me help you,” Sophy said.
She made her way across to Don, who was just going to start making
coffee again: a minute of consultation and she was back by the side of
Pam. “Don says he is sure that I ought to stay, and that he will drive
over for me this afternoon, unless Father happens to have a round in
this direction. Father is the township doctor, you know, so he is all
over the place, and we never know where he will have to go next. If I
stay here with you we will do the clearing up after the company are
gone. That will please them all, because, you see, it is proper for them
to do it.”