I should be so sorely tempted, and the idea would enter my head to do
the wrong thing. But so it was. I was studying, I remember, my
philosophy lesson for some days ahead, when suddenly, as plainly as if
letters of light were written down the page, it flashed upon my mind,
'Why don't I go home to-day? I can get back to-night, and no one will
know it; at least, not until I am back again, and no harm done.' And
without waiting to think it out, I clapped to my book, tossed it on the
table, and ran to get my poor little purse out of the bureau drawer."
The girls, in their eagerness not to lose a word, crowded close to Miss
Salisbury's knees, forgetting that she wasn't a girl with them.
"I had quite enough money, I could see, to take me home and back on the
cars, and by the stage."
"The stage?" repeated Alexia faintly.
"Yes; you must remember that this time of which I am telling you was
many, many years back. Besides, in some country places, it is still the
only mode of conveyance used."
Polly Pepper drew a long breath. Dear old Badgertown, and Mr. Tisbett's
stage. She could see it now, as it looked when the Five Little Peppers
would run to the windows of the little brown house to watch it go
lumbering by, and to hear the old stage-driver crack his whip in
greeting!
"The housekeeper had a day off, to go to her daughter's, so that helped
my plan along," Miss Salisbury was saying. "Well would it have been for
me if the conditions had been less easy. But I must hasten. I have told
you that I did not pause to think; that was my trouble in those days: I
acted on impulse often, as schoolgirls are apt perhaps to do, and so I
was not ready to stand this sudden temptation. I tied on my bonnet,
gathered up my little purse tightly in my hand; and although the day was
cold, the sun was shining brightly, and my heart was so full of hope and
anticipation that I scarcely thought of what I was doing, as I took a
thin little jacket instead of the warm cloak my mother had made me for
winter wear. I hurried out of the house, when there was no one to notice
me, for the maids were careless in the housekeeper's absence, and had
slipped off for the moment--at any rate, they said afterward they never
saw me;--so off I went.
"I caught the eight o'clock train just in time; which I considered most
fortunate. How often afterward did I wish I had missed it! And reasoning
within myself as the wheels bore me away, that it was perfectly right to
spend the money to go home, for my father had been quite willing for me
to take the treat with Mrs. Ferguson and the others, I settled back in
my seat, and tried not to feel strange at travelling alone."
"Oh dear me!" exclaimed the girls, huddling up closer to Miss
Salisbury's knees. Miss Anstice paced back and forth; it was too late to
stop the story now, and her nervousness could only be walked off.
"But I noticed the farther I got from the boarding school, little doubts
would come creeping into my mind,--first, was it very wise for me to
have set out in this way? then, was it right? And suddenly in a flash,
it struck me that I was doing a very wrong thing, and that, if my father
and my mother knew it, they would be greatly distressed. And I would
have given worlds, if I had possessed them, to be back at Mrs.
Ferguson's, studying my philosophy lesson. And I laid my head on the
back of the seat before me, and cried as hard as I could."
Amy sniffed into her handkerchief, and two or three other girls coughed
as if they had taken cold, while no one looked into her neighbor's face.
"And a wild idea crossed my mind once, of rushing up to the conductor
and telling him of my trouble, to ask him if I couldn't get off at the
next station and go back; but a minute's reflection told me that this
was foolish. There was only the late afternoon train to take me to the
school. I had started, and must go on."
A long sigh went through the group. Miss Anstice seemed to have it
communicated to her, for she quickened her pace nervously.
"At last, after what seemed an age to me, though it wasn't really but
half an hour since we started, I made up my mind to bear it as well as I
could; father and mother would forgive me, I was sure, and would make
Mrs. Ferguson overlook it--when I glanced out of the car window. Little
flakes of snow were falling fast. It struck dismay to my heart. If it
kept on like this,--and after watching it for some moments, I had no
reason to expect otherwise, for it was of that fine, dry quality that
seems destined to last,--I should not be able to get back to school that
afternoon. Oh dear me! And now I began to open my heart to all sorts of
fears: the train might be delayed, the stagecoach slow in getting
through to Cherryfield. By this time I was in a fine state of nerves,
and did not dare to think further."
One of the girls stole her hand softly up to lay it on that of the
principal, forgetting that she had never before dared to do such a thing
in all her life. Miss Salisbury smiled, and closed it within her own.
There was a smothered chorus of "Oh dears!"
"I sat there, my dears, in a misery that saw nothing of the beauty of
that storm, knew nothing, heard nothing, except the occasional
ejaculations and remarks of the passengers, such as, 'It's going to be
the worst storm of the year,' and 'It's come to stay.'
"Suddenly, without a bit of warning, there was a bumping noise, then the
train dragged slowly on, then stopped. All the passengers jumped up,
except myself. I was too miserable to stir, for I knew now that I was to
pay finely for my wrong-doing in leaving the school without permission."
"Oh--oh!" the girls gave a little scream.
"'What is it--what is it?' the passengers one and all cried, and there
was great rushing to the doors, and hopping outside to ascertain the
trouble. I never knew, for I didn't care to ask. It was enough for me
that something had broken, and the train had stopped; to start again no
one could tell when."
The sympathy and excitement now were intense. One girl sniffed out from
behind her handkerchief, "I--I should have--thought you would--have
died--Miss Salisbury."
"Ah!" said Miss Salisbury, with a sigh, "you will find, Helen, as you
grow older, that the only thing you can do to repair in any way the
mischief you have done, is to keep yourself well under control, and
endure the penalty without wasting time on your suffering. So I just
made up my mind now to this; and I sat up straight, determined not to
give way, whatever happened.
"It was very hard when the impatient passengers would come back into the
car to ask each other, 'How soon do you suppose we will get to
Mayville?' That was where I was to take the stage.
"'Not till night, if we don't start,' one would answer, trying to be
facetious; but I would torture myself into believing it. At last the
conductor came through, and he met a storm of inquiries, all asking the
same question, 'How soon will we get to Mayville?'
"It seemed to me that he was perfectly heartless in tone and manner, as
he pulled out his watch to consult it. I can never see a big silver
watch to this day, girls, without a shiver."
The "Salisbury girls" shivered in sympathy, and tried to creep up closer
to her.
"Well, the conductor went on to say, that there was no telling,--the
railroad officials never commit themselves, you know,--they had
telegraphed back to town for another engine (he didn't mention that,
after that, we should be sidetracked to allow other trains their right
of way), and as soon as they could, why, they would move. Then he
proceeded to move himself down the aisle in great dignity. Well, my
dears, you must remember that this all happened long years ago, when
accidents to the trains were very slowly made good. We didn't get into
Mayville until twelve o'clock. If everything had gone as it should, we
ought to have reached there three hours before."
"Oh my goodness me!" exploded Alexia.
"By this time, the snow had piled up fast. What promised to be a heavy
storm had become a reality, and it was whirling and drifting dreadfully.
You must remember that I had on my little thin jacket, instead--"
"Oh Miss Salisbury!" screamed several girls, "I forgot that."
"Don't tell any more," sobbed another--"don't, Miss Salisbury."
"I want you to hear this story," said Miss Salisbury quietly. "Remember,
I did it all myself. And the saddest part of it is what I made others
suffer; not my own distress."
"Sister, if you only _won't_ proceed!" Miss Anstice abruptly leaned over
the outer fringe of girls.
"I am getting on to the end," said Miss Salisbury, with a smile. "Well,
girls, I won't prolong the misery for you. I climbed into that stage, it
seemed to me, more dead than alive. The old stage-driver, showing as
much of his face as his big fur cap drawn well over his ears would
allow, looked at me compassionately.
"'Sakes alive!' I can hear him now. 'Hain't your folks no sense to let a
young thing come out in that way?'
"I was so stiff, all I could think of was, that I had turned into an
icicle, and that I was liable to break at any minute. But I couldn't let
that criticism pass.
"'They--they didn't let me--I've come from school,' I stammered.
"He looked at me curiously, got up from his seat, opened a box under it,
and twitched out a big cape, moth-eaten, and well-worn otherwise; but
oh, girls, I never loved anything so much in all my life as that
horrible old article, for it saved my life."
A long-drawn breath went around the circle.
"'Here, you just get into this as soon as the next one,' said the
stage-driver gruffly, handing it over to me where I sat on the middle
seat. I needed no command, but fairly huddled myself within it, wrapping
it around and around me. And then I knew by the time it took to warm me
up, how very cold I had been.
"And every few minutes of the toilsome journey, for we had to proceed
very slowly, the stage-driver would look back over his shoulder to say,
'Be you gittin' any warmer now?' And I would say, 'Yes, thank you, a
little.'
"And finally he asked suddenly, 'Do your folks know you're comin'?' And
I answered, 'No,' and I hoped he hadn't heard, and I pulled the cape up
higher around my face, I was so ashamed. But he had heard, for he
whistled; and oh, girls, that made my head sink lower yet. Oh my dears,
the shame of wrong-doing is so terrible to bear!
"Well, after a while we got into Cherryfield, along about half-past
three o'clock."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed the young voices.
"I could just distinguish our church spire amid the whirling snow; and
then a panic seized me. I must get down at some spot where I would not
be recognized, for oh, I did not want any one to tell that old
stage-driver who I was, and thus bring discredit upon my father, the
clergyman, for having a daughter who had come away from school without
permission. So I mumbled out that I was to stop at the Four Corners:
that was a short distance from the centre of the village, the usual
stopping place.
"One of the passengers--for I didn't think it was necessary to prolong
the story to describe the two women who occupied the back seat--leaned
forward and said, 'I hope, Mr. Cheesewell, you ain't goin' to let that
girl get out, half froze as she's been, in this snowstorm. You'd ought
to go out o' your beat, and carry her home.'
"'Oh, no--no,' I cried in terror, unwinding myself from the big cape and
preparing to descend.
"'Stop there!' roared Mr. Cheesewell at me. 'Did ye s'pose I'd desert
that child?' he said to the two women. 'I'd take her home, ef I knew
where in creation 'twas.'
"'She lives at the parsonage--she's th' minister's daughter,' said one
of the women quietly.
"I sank back in my seat--oh, girls, the bitterness of that moment!--and
as well as I could for the gathering mist in my eyes, and the blinding
storm without, realized the approach to my home. But what a home-coming!
"I managed to hand back the big cape, and to thank Mr. Cheesewell, then
stumbled up the little pathway to the parsonage door, feeling every
step a misery, with all those eyes watching me; and lifting the latch, I
was at home!
"Then I fell flat in the entry, and knew nothing more till I found
myself in my own bed, with my mother's face above me; and beyond her,
there was father."
Every girl was sobbing now. No one saw Miss Anstice, with the tears
raining down her cheeks at the memory that the beautiful prosperity of
all these later years could not blot out.
"Girls, if my life was saved in the first place by that old cape, it was
saved again by one person."
"Your mother," gasped Polly Pepper, with wet, shining eyes.
"No; my mother had gone to a sick parishioner's, and father was with
her. There was no one but the children at home; the bigger boys were
away. I owe my life really to my sister Anstice."
"_Don't!_" begged Miss Anstice hoarsely, and trying to shrink away. The
circle of girls whirled around to see her clasping her slender hands
tightly together, while she kept her face turned aside.
"Oh girls," cried Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy, "if you could
only understand what that sister of mine did for me! I never can tell
you. She kept back her own fright, as the small children were so scared
when they found me lying there in the entry, for they had all been in
the woodshed picking up some kindlings, and didn't hear me come in. And
she thought at first I was dead, but she worked over me just as she
thought mother would. You see we hadn't any near neighbors, so she
couldn't call any one. And at last she piled me all over with blankets
just where I lay, for she couldn't lift me, of course, and tucked me in
tightly; and telling the children not to cry, but to watch me, she ran a
mile, or floundered rather--for the snow was now so deep--to the
doctor's house."
"Oh, that was fine!" cried Polly Pepper, with kindling eyes, and turning
her flushed face with pride on Miss Anstice. When Miss Salisbury saw
that, a happy smile spread over her face, and she beamed on Polly.
"And then, you know the rest; for of course, when I came to myself, the
doctor had patched me up. And once within my father's arms, with mother
holding my hand--why, I was forgiven."
Miss Salisbury paused, and glanced off over the young heads, not
trusting herself to speak.
"And how did they know at the school where you were?" Fanny broke in
impulsively.
"Father telegraphed Mrs. Ferguson; and luckily for me, she and her party
were delayed by the storm in returning to the school, so the message was
handed to her as she left the railroad station. Otherwise, my absence
would have plunged her in terrible distress."
"Oh, well, it all came out rightly after all." Louisa Frink dropped her
handkerchief in her lap, and gave a little laugh.
"_Came out rightly!_" repeated Miss Salisbury sternly, and turning such
a glance on Louisa that she wilted at once. "Yes, if you can forget that
for days the doctor was working to keep me from brain fever; that it
took much of my father's hard-earned savings to pay him; that it kept me
from school, and lost me the marks I had almost gained; that, worst of
all, it added lines of care and distress to the faces of my parents; and
that my sister who saved me, barely escaped a long fit of sickness from
her exposure."
"Don't, sister, don't," begged Miss Anstice.
"_Came out rightly_? Girls, nothing can ever come out rightly, unless
the steps leading up to the end are right."
"Ma'am,"--Mr. Kimball suddenly appeared above the fringe of girls
surrounding Miss Salisbury,--"there's a storm brewin'; it looks as if
'twas comin' to stay. I'm all hitched up, 'n' I give ye my 'pinion that
we'd better be movin'."
With that, everybody hopped up, for Mr. Kimball's "'pinion" was law in
such a case. The picnic party was hastily packed into the barges,--Polly
carrying the little green botany case with the ferns for Phronsie's
garden carefully on her lap,--and with many backward glances for the
dear Glen, off they went, as fast as the horses could swing along.
XV THE BROKEN VASE
But drive as they might, Mr. Kimball and his assistants, they couldn't
beat that storm that was brewing. It came up rather slowly, to be sure,
at first, but very persistently. Evidently the old stage-driver was
right. It was "coming to stay."
"Ye see, ma'am, ef we hadn't started when we did, like enough we
couldn't a got home to-night," he vouchsafed over his shoulder to Miss
Salisbury, as they rattled on.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed at thought of her brood. Those young things
were having the best of times. It was "wildly exciting," as Clem
Forsythe said, to be packed in; those on the end seats huddling away
from the rain as much as possible, under cover of the curtains buttoned
down fast. And hilarity ran high. They sang songs; never quite finishing
one, but running shrilly off to others, which were produced on several
different keys maybe, according to the mood of the singers. And as
every girl wanted to sing her favorite song, there were sometimes
various compositions being produced in different quarters of the big
stage, till no one particular melody could be said to have the right of
way. And Miss Salisbury sat in the midst of the babel, and smiled as
much as her anxiety would allow, at the merriment. And as it was in this
stage, so the other stages were counterparts. And the gay tunes and
merry laughter floated back all along the cavalcade, mingling
harmoniously with the rainfall.
Suddenly an awful clap of thunder reverberated in the sky. The songs
ended in squeals of dismay, and the laughter died away.
"Oh--oh--we're going to have a thunder storm!" screamed more than one
girl, huddling up closer to her next neighbor, to clutch her
frantically.
"Oh, I'm so afraid of the thunder!" screamed Amy Garrett.
"You goose, it won't hurt you." Lucy Bennett, whom Amy had crouched
against, gave her a little push.
"It will. It will. My uncle was struck once," said Amy, rebounding from
the push to grasp Lucy frantically around the neck.
"You nearly choked me to death," exclaimed Lucy, untwisting the nervous
hands; "don't get so scared. Your uncle never was struck by the thunder,
and we haven't had any lightning yet; so I wouldn't yell till we do."
"Well, there it is now," cried Amy, covering her eyes. And there it was
now, to be sure, in a blinding flash; to be followed by deeper rolls of
thunder, drowning the screams of the frightened girls, and the plunging
of the horses that didn't like it much better.
Mr. Kimball peered out and squinted to the right and to the left through
the blinding storm; then he turned his horses suddenly off from the
road, into a narrow lane. "Oh, why do you?" began Miss Salisbury. But
this remonstrance wouldn't have done any good had the old stage-driver
heard it. At the end of the lane, he knew in a few moments they would
all arrive at a big old fashioned mansion where shelter could not be
refused them under such circumstances. Although,--and Mr. Kimball shook
within himself at his temerity,--under any other conditions visitors
would not be expected nor welcomed. For Mr. John Clemcy and his sister,
Miss Ophelia, had never exhibited, since they settled down in this
quiet spot after leaving their English home many years ago, any apparent
desire to make friends. They were quite sufficient for themselves; and
what with driving about,--which they did in a big basket phaeton, or
behind their solemn pair of black horses, and the still more solemn
coachman, Isaac, also black,--and in the care of the large estate and
the big brick mansion, they found ample occupation for their time and
thoughts.
Up to this big red brick mansion now plunged Mr. Kimball with as much
assurance as if he were not quaking dreadfully. And the other stages
following suit, the sudden and unusual uproar brought two faces to the
windows, and then to the door.
"May we all git out and go into your barn?" roared Mr. Kimball, peering
at them from beneath his dripping hat.
There was an awful pause. Mr. Kimball clutched his old leather reins
desperately; and Miss Salisbury, to whom had come faint rumors of the
chosen isolation of the brother and sister, felt her heart sink
woefully.
Mr. John Clemcy stepped out,--slender, tall, with white hair and beard,
both closely cropped. He had a pale, aristocratic face, and a pair of
singularly stern eyes, which he now bent upon the old stage-driver.
"Brother," remonstrated his sister,--she looked as much like him as
possible in face and figure,--"do not venture out in this driving
storm."
"No," said Mr. Clemcy, "I cannot consent to your going into my stable.
I--"
"'Taint Christian," blurted out the old stage-driver, "to leave human
bein's out in sech a pickle."
"No, I am aware of that," said Mr. John Clemcy, without a change of
countenance; "and so I invite you all to come into my house." He threw
wide the door. "My sister, Miss Clemcy."
Miss Ophelia stepped forward and received them as if she had specially
prepared for their visit, and with such an air of distinction that it
completely overwhelmed Miss Salisbury, so that her own manners, always
considered quite perfect by parents and friends of her pupils, paled
considerably in contrast. It was quite like entering an old baronial
hall, as the courtly, aristocratic host ushered them in; and the girls,
not easily overawed by any change of circumstance, who had tumbled out
laughingly from the stages despite Miss Salisbury's nervous endeavors to
quiet them, were now instantly subdued.
"Isn't it solemn!" whispered Alexia, hanging to Polly Pepper, her pale
eyes roving over the armor, and old family portraits almost completely
covering the walls of the wide hall.
"Hush," whispered Polly back again.
"But I can't breathe; oh, look at that old horror in the ruff.
Polly--look!" she pinched the arm she grasped.
Meantime, although there were so many girls, the big red brick mansion
seemed quite able to contain them hospitably, as Mr. and Miss Clemcy
opened door after door into apartments that appeared to stretch out into
greater space beyond. When at last the company had been distributed,
Miss Salisbury found her voice. "I am pained to think of all the trouble
we are giving you, Miss Clemcy."
"Do not mention it." Miss Ophelia put up a slender arm, from which fell
off a deep flounce of rare old lace. The hand that thus came into view
was perfect; and Miss Salisbury, who could recognize qualities of
distinction, fell deeply in love with the evidences before her.
"Do you suppose she dresses up like that every day, Silvia?" whispered
Lucy Bennett, in an awe-struck voice.
Silvia, in matters of dress never being willing to show surprise,
preserved her composure. "That's nothing," she managed to say
indifferently: "it can't be real, such a lot of it, and around her neck
too."
Down into the old colonial kitchen, with its corner fireplace, wide and
roomy, and bricked to the ceiling, Mr. Clemcy led the way. It was a big
room, and not used for its original purpose; being filled with cabinets,
and shelves on which reposed some of the most beautiful specimens of
china and various relics and curiosities and mementos of travel, Miss
Salisbury thought she had ever seen. And she had been about the world a
good bit; having utilized many of her vacations, and once or twice
taking a year off from her school work, for that purpose. And being
singularly receptive to information, she was the best of listeners, in
an intelligent way, as Mr. Clemcy moved about from object to object
explaining his collection. He seemed perfectly absorbed in it, and, as
the girls began to notice, in his listener as well.
Lucy Bennett was frightfully romantic, and jumped to conclusions at
once. "Oh, do you suppose he will marry her?" she cried under her breath
to Silvia, as the two kept together.
"Who? What are you talking about?" demanded Silvia, who was very
matter-of-fact.
"Why, that old man--Mr. Whatever his name is," whispered Lucy.
"Mr. Clemcy? do get names into your head, Lu," said Silvia crossly, who
wanted to look at things and not be interrupted every minute.
"I can't ever remember names, if I do hear them," said Lucy, "so what is
the use of my bothering to hear them, Sil?"
"Well, do keep still," said Silvia, trying to twist away her arm, but
Lucy clung to it.
"Well, I can't keep still either, for I'm mortally afraid he is--that
old man, whatever you call him--going to marry her."
"Who?" demanded Silvia sharply.
"Our Miss Salisbury, and--"
"Lu Bennett!" Silvia sat down in the first chair she could find. It was
very fortunate that the other groups were so absorbed that nobody
noticed them.
"Oh, you do say such perfectly silly things!" declared Silvia,
smothering the peal of laughter that nearly escaped her.
"Well, it isn't silly," cried Lucy in an angry whisper, "and it's going
to happen, I know, and she'll give up our school to Miss Anstice, and
come and live here. Oh my!" She looked ready to cry on the spot. "Look
at them!"