FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS
"I positively refuse," said Mrs. Thayne, "to go out again to-day. And I
wish you wouldn't go either, Wingate," she added to her older son.
"That steamer trip was frightful. What a night we did have! As for you
two," she went on to Frances and Roger, "I suppose you won't be happy
until you are off for an exploring expedition, but I don't see how you
can feel like it."
"Why, Mother, I wasn't seasick," said Roger, a handsome,
mischievous-looking boy about twelve. "I slept like a log till I heard
Win being--hmm--unhappy. That woke me but I turned over and didn't know
anything more till daylight."
"I shouldn't have been sick if you hadn't begun it, Mother," observed
Frances, turning from the window overlooking the esplanade. "I feel all
right now. Mayn't Roger and I go down on the beach or take a car ride?"
she asked, eagerly.
"I don't imagine there are any electric cars on the island," said Mrs.
Thayne.
"But out here is a funny little steam tram marked St. Aubin's,"
interposed Frances. "It's going somewhere. Look at the dinky cars with
a kind of balcony and that speck of an engine."
"That's a pony engine for sure," drawled Win, joining his sister at the
window. Except that he was thin and fragile no one could have known
from Win's clever, merry dark face, how greatly he was handicapped by a
serious heart trouble. But the contrast between his tall, loosely-knit
figure and Fran's compact little person brought a wistful expression
into Mrs. Thayne's observant eyes. Win was seventeen and had never been
able to play as other boys did. Probably all his life would be
different, yet he was so plucky and brave over his limitations.
"There's the _Lydia_ down in the harbor," exclaimed Frances. "My,
didn't she wiggle around last night!"
"Lydia, Lydia, why dost thou tremble?
Answer me true.
Traveler, traveler, I'll not dissemble,
'Tis but the screw.
Lydia, Lydia, why this commotion?
Answer me quick.
Traveler, traveler, 'tis but a notion.
You must be sick!"
drawled Win, following the direction of his sister's glance.
"Win, how bright of you!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could think of
things like that. But, Mother, mayn't we go out and take that little
train wherever it's going?"
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Thayne. "Take care of Fran, Roger, and
don't get separated. You might notice any attractive places offering
lodgings. We don't want to stay in this hotel all winter and the sooner
we are settled the better."
"Come along, Fran," exclaimed Roger. "That infant train is getting a
move on."
The two tore impetuously from the sitting-room. "Such energy!" Mrs.
Thayne remarked with a sigh. "Will you lie down here, Win?"
"No, I think I'll write a bit," replied her son. "I'm not so done up as
you are, Mother."
"Why Roger wasn't ill after the strange combination of food he ate at
Winchester last evening is a miracle," remarked Mrs. Thayne. "Were you
planning to write to Father?"
"I will," replied her son. "Mother, do go and rest. You look like the
latter end of a wasted life. But I hope the kids will light on some
lodgings. I've had enough of hotels. Nothing on earth is so deadly dull
and so deadly respectable as a first-class English hotel."
"Why, of course it is respectable," said Mrs. Thayne, looking rather
puzzled.
"Thunder, yes! But it's so _fearfully_ proper! That head-waiter
down-stairs, with his side-whiskers and his velvet tread and his
confidential voice--why, when he came to take my order, I wanted to
pull his hair or do something to turn him into a human being."
Mrs. Thayne smiled. Much as she loved Win, she did not always
understand him. Shut out from active sports, Win had early taken refuge
in the world of books and his quick perceptions were often those of a
mature mind.
When his mother had gone into her room, Win settled himself by the west
window overlooking the bay where Castle Elizabeth rose on its rock in
the middle distance. Win looked at it approvingly, promising himself
later the fun of finding out its history and present use. Just now, he
would devote himself to getting the family journal up to date for
Father, on duty with the _Philadelphia_, somewhere near Constantinople.
It was to be on the same side of the Atlantic that the Thaynes had come
to England and a slight attack of bronchitis on Win's part had resulted
in this additional trip. Jersey was reported to possess a mild climate
as well as good schools where Roger and Frances might have new and
probably interesting experiences. Win himself was not equal to school
routine, but there would doubtless be some tutor available to give him
an hour or two every day, a pleasant and easy task for some young man,
for Win was always eager to study when health permitted.
Deep in his heart was the ever-present regret that he could not enter
Annapolis nor follow in the footsteps of his father, but if an elder
brother had any influence, Roger was going into the naval service. At
present, Roger showed no inclination to such a future, and was but
mildly interested in his father's career, but Captain Thayne and Win
shared an unspoken hope that a change would come with the passing years.
For some time after finishing his letter, Win sat with eyes on Castle
Elizabeth, idly speculating about the coming winter. This old-world
island, with its differing customs and ancient traditions seemed a
place where most interesting things might happen, a land of romance and
fairy gold, offering possibilities of strange adventure. Just because
Win was debarred from most boyish fun, his mind turned eagerly to deeds
of daring. Visions of pirates, smugglers, and buried hoards often
danced through his brain, and the least suggestion of any mystery was
enough to excite his keen interest. That hoary old castle on its island
proved a source of many romantic ideas to Win, who presently fell into
a day-dream.
The sun set in crimson splendor behind the castle towers and Win's
reverie changed to genuine slumber from which he was roused by the
reappearance of Mrs. Thayne.
"I'm sorry I waked you," she said. "I didn't notice that you were
asleep."
"Why, I didn't know I was," said Win lazily. "I must have been dreaming
and yet I thought I was awake. It was such an odd dream about a young
man or rather a boy, in queer clothes ornamented with silver buttons
and wearing his hair in curls over his shoulders. I was following him
somewhere through a passage, very dark and narrow. Then suddenly we
were in a room with a big fireplace and books around the walls. It was
a beautiful old room but I never remember seeing a place like it. Some
other people came, all men, also in queer clothes and very quiet and
serious. On a table was food of some kind and this boy I had been
following began to eat but the others stood about, apparently
consulting over something. Then I woke. Wasn't it a crazy dream? Oh,
the reason we were in that passage was because something was lost. I
don't know what it was nor how I knew it was lost but we were trying to
find it."
"That was odd. You must have read something that suggested it," Mrs.
Thayne began, just as Fran and Roger came into the room, bursting with
suppressed excitement. For a few moments they talked in a duet.
"Mother, it's lovely over at St. Aubin's, ever so much nicer than
here," Fran began breathlessly, her brown eyes sparkling. "And such a
funny little train running along the esplanade!"
"You couldn't believe there was such a beach," put in Roger. "Why, the
tide goes out forever, clear to the horizon! Fellows were playing
football down there, two games. How much does this tide rise, Win?"
"This book I've been reading says forty feet," replied his brother.
"And the houses!" Fran went on breathlessly, "all colors, cream and
brown and blue and pink."
"Oh, draw it mild, Sis," interrupted Win. "I should admire a pink
house."
"It's out there," said Frances, "and what's more, it's very pretty!"
"That's right," corroborated Roger. "Wouldn't a pink house look
something fierce at home? But here it's swell and kind of--of
appropriate," he ended lamely.
"And flowers, Mother," Frances took up the tale. "_Hedges_ of fuchsia,
real live tall hedges, not measly little potted plants. Geraniums as
tall as I am, and ever so many roses and violets. Oh, and we've found
some lodgings. You're to see them to-morrow."
"Frances!" exclaimed her horrified mother. "You haven't been in strange
houses, inspecting rooms?"
"Why, you told us to look for them, didn't you, Mother?" replied her
astonished and literal daughter. "Roger was with me. It was perfectly
all right."
"I simply meant you to notice from the outside any attractive houses
that advertised lodgings," explained Mrs. Thayne. "Well--" she ended
helplessly, "I suppose there's no harm done."
"Why, no," Frances agreed. "What could happen? Let me tell you about
them. We took the baby cars and got off at St. Aubin's because that
especial train didn't go any farther. It's lovely there, Mother, and
plenty of lodgings to let. We walked along and saw one house that
looked pleasant, so we went up and rang and a maid showed us into a
parlor. We knew right off we didn't want to come there, because the
place was so dark and stuffy and there were fourteen hundred family
photographs and knit woolen mats and such things around. I was going to
sit down but just as I got near the chair,--it was rather dark, you
see,--something said 'Hello!' and there was a horrid great parrot
sitting on the back of the chair. I jumped about a foot."
"You screamed, too," said Roger.
"I may have exclaimed," admitted Frances judicially. "It was not a
scream. If I had yelled, you would have known it. Well, a messy old
woman came who called me 'dear,' but when I said I didn't believe my
mother would care for the rooms, she got huffy and said she was
accustomed to rent her rooms to ladies, only she pronounced it _lydies_.
"We left that place," went on Frances, paying no attention to the look
of silent endurance on her mother's face, "and walked some distance
without seeing anything we liked. But suddenly we came to a tiny street
going down to the sea. There were only six houses and one had a card in
the window. They faced the bay and just big rocks were on the other
side of the street. Now, listen."
Frances went on dramatically. "The house with the card was the dearest
thing, all cream-color and green, with a pink rambler rose perfectly
enormous, growing 'way up to the eaves, and a rough roof of red tiles
and steep gables. The windows were that dinky kind that open outward
and had little bits of panes. Everything was clean as clean, the steps
and the curtains and the glass. While we were looking, the door opened
and a girl came out. She was about my age, Mother, but _so_ pretty,
with gray eyes and yellow hair and _such_ a complexion. I'd give
anything to look like her."
Frances shook her head with disapproval over her own brown hair and
eyes. To be sure the one was curly and the others straightforward and
earnest, while her gipsy little face and figure were considered
attractive by most people and by those who loved her, very satisfactory
indeed.
"Well, this girl came out and we sort of smiled at each other and I
asked if that card meant that there were rooms to let. I told her you
were seasick, and at the hotel, and my brother and I saw the card and
we were looking for lodgings and all the rest, you know. She said yes,
there were rooms and she'd call Sister.
"Sister came and she was a love, tall and sweet and just beautiful,
only she looked sad and wore a black dress. The younger girl went away
but Sister showed us the rooms and they are just what we'd like, I'm
sure. There wasn't any messy wool stuff nor ugly vases,--I forgot to
mention that in the other place there were eight pair of vases on the
mantel, truly, for Roger counted them. These rooms were clean and
rather bare, with painted floors and washable rugs and fresh curtains
and flowers, just one vase in each room and a clear glass vase at that.
The beds had iron frames and good springs and mattresses, for I punched
them to see. Aren't you proud to think I knew enough to do that?" Fran
interrupted her story.
"Two bedrooms had the furniture painted white and the rest had some old
mahogany," she went on.
"How many rooms were there?" inquired Mrs. Thayne, attracted by Fran's
enthusiasm and interested by the pleasant picture she was describing.
"On the first floor is the drawing-room, which will be at our
disposal," began Frances, evidently quoting "Sister." "It's pretty and
sweet, Mother dear, very simple with a little upright piano and quite a
number of books and a fireplace. Just behind is a room where we can
have our meals. We can use as many bedrooms as we like; there are five
and Sister said if we wished, one could be made into an
up-stairs-sitting-room. The bathroom was really up-to-date, and looking
_very_ clean."
"And how much does Sister expect for all this?" inquired her mother.
"Well," admitted Frances, "I asked and she smiled so sweetly and said
it depended upon how much service we required and whether we wanted to
do our own marketing and perhaps it would be better to discuss the
terms after you saw whether you liked the rooms. I told her we were
Americans and she said yes, she had thought so. I don't see why,"
Frances ended reflectively.
Win gave a chuckle. "Easy enough to guess," he remarked. "I imagine
English girls of fourteen don't go around on their own hook, engaging
lodgings for the family."
"I am almost fifteen," said his sister severely. "And I understood that
Mother wanted me to look for rooms, so I did, but of course she will
make the final arrangements. I thanked Sister and said I'd try to bring
my mother in the morning, for I felt sure she would like the rooms. And
Sister said she'd be very glad to have young people in the house and
that if you wanted references, Mother, you could apply to some
clergyman,--I forget his name,--but I know it's all right. You'll think
so, too, the minute you see Sister. I fell in love with her. Oh, her
name is Pearce, Estelle Pearce. She gave me her card."
Frances produced it. "You will come and see the rooms to-morrow, won't
you, Mother? Win can come too, for that tiny train is very comfortable
and the walk to the house is short. Rose Villa, Noirmont Terrace. Isn't
that a sweet name?"
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF ST. AUBIN'S]