explain, even to herself, why she had done this, Dixie called excitedly,
“Carol, skip to the door and see who’s coming. Ken’s waving his cap and
shouting to some one coming down the cañon trail.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
Dixie, a mixing-spoon in her hand, and Carol, still holding the flowers,
darted to the open door and peered up the trail that led toward the
highway.
Ken had placed the pail of milk on the ground and was racing toward the
newcomer, shouting his joy. Jimmy, not to be outdone, was hopping up and
down, uttering shrill cries of glee, though he had not the least idea
who might be coming.
Miss Bayley stood by the table, her hand pressed to her heart. All day
there had been within her a prophetic feeling of some joy in store for
her. She listened breathlessly until she heard the name that Dixie
announced. “It’s Mr. Edrington, as sure as anything!” she called in
delight. Although the young engineer was Ken’s particular friend, the
other three Martins loved him dearly.
The young man threw his knapsack to the ground and held out both arms to
receive all four of them. Even Dixie, unconscious of the mixing-spoon
that she held, ran down the trail to meet him. The young teacher alone
stayed within the cabin.
“Oh-ee, Uncle Ed, but we’re glad you’ve come home,” Carol said. That was
the name the young man had suggested that they call him.
“Home,” he thought. “What a wonderful word that is!” He had never really
had a home, for, although his aunt had seemed to care for him, she had
been too nervous to have children around, and so he had been sent to a
military academy, and from then, until he became a full-fledged
engineer, nine months of every year he had been in a school of some
sort, and even the three months of vacation had been spent in hotels at
fashionable resorts. This log cabin in the Nevada mountains had been
more of a home than he had ever before known.
“Where’s Miss Bayley?” Carol asked, looking back at the open door in
surprise. “Why didn’t she come out?”
The girl-teacher heard. She couldn’t have explained to herself why she
had remained in hiding when she so longed to greet her good friend.
“Here I am,” she called gayly, appearing at that moment on the porch.
With a glad exclamation the young engineer leaped forward, both hands
outstretched. “Josephine,” he said in a low voice, “have you decided?
Did you miss me?”
Miss Bayley had become mistress of her emotions. “Of course we all
missed you,” she said, looking frankly into the fine, gray eyes that
told her so much. Then she added, turning to the older Martin girl,
“Dear, hadn’t we better have supper now?” Then, to the younger, “You
see, Carol, I did well to set out a sixth plate.”
The young man smiled as he followed the young woman indoors, and began
to wash at the kitchen pump, as he had been wont to do in the days when
he was one of the family, for, try as she might to appear indifferent,
Josephine Bayley’s manner and expression had assured him that his love
was returned.
Such a merry supper followed. Mr. Edrington had many an adventure to
relate. He had met interesting and queer characters in the Rockies,
where he had been inspecting the putting-through of a tunnel.
The meal was half over when Dixie suddenly thought of something. “Mr.
Edrington,” she exclaimed, “there was a very fine-looking old lady on
the stage-coach to-night. I forgot to mention, it. Your coming sort of
drove all my other thoughts away. Do you think that maybe it might be
your aunt?”
To the surprise of the two older Martin children, the young man beamed
happily upon them. “I hope it is!” he declared. Then, reaching out his
strong brown hand, he placed it on the slender white one that was lying
on the table near him. “If it is my aunt, then without delay I shall be
able to introduce to her my future wife, Josephine Bayley.”
Children take wonderful things quite as a matter of course. Why not,
since they can believe in fairies?
“Oh! Oh! I am so glad! Then we can call our dear teacher Aunt Josephine,
can’t we?” eagerly asked glowing-eyed Dixie.
That night as the young couple walked up the cañon road together,
Frederick Edrington for the first time told of the fortune that his
father had left him.
“I am glad that I have it, for your sake,” he said to the girl at his
side, “for it will enable me to give you many luxuries. Whatever things
you have desired through the years, now you shall have.”
“Thank you Frederick,” the girl replied, realizing fully for the first
time that her fiancé believed her to be a poor young person who had to
work for a living. As they passed the inn, they could look into the
brightly-lighted parlor. There they saw several people, but only one was
near enough to the window to be recognized.
“It is my aunt,” the young man said, “and I suspect that Marlita Arden
is with her.”
At the doorstep of the cabin they paused. The young man held out his
hand. “Josephine,” he said, “will you go with me in the morning to the
inn, that I may introduce to my aunt and her friends the sweetest little
woman in the world, who is soon to be my wife?”
The girl-teacher could not have told why she replied, “But, Frederick,
your aunt will be so disappointed because you are to marry some one who
does not belong to her world, some one who is obscure and—”
Earnestly the young man interrupted: “It is for me to say what manner of
maid I shall marry; but, dear, if you would rather not go,—if it will
place you in an unpleasant position,—I will not ask you to accompany me.
I will go alone.”
The girl looked up at him radiantly, and there was an amused expression
in her lovely eyes that he could not understand.
“I shall be glad to go, Frederick,” she said. “I’ll be ready early.
Good-night.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CLEARING UP MYSTERIES
While Josephine Bayley prepared her breakfast the next morning, every
now and then she paused to laugh gleefully. Was she doing wrong to
deceive the fine man who loved her so dearly? And yet, after all, she
had not deceived him. He had never once asked her who her father had
been. He had merely jumped to the conclusion that she was poor because
she was teaching school in Woodford’s Cañon. After all, that was a
natural inference.
He had completely forgotten, or so it seemed, that on the first day of
their acquaintance Josephine had mentioned that she had known Marlita
Arden. The truth was that Frederick had not forgotten. He had, however,
satisfied his own curiosity as to the manner in which the two girls had
met. Marlita had a younger sister, Gladys Louise, and, as he thought of
her, he recalled that she had a governess named Josephine. He had never
seen her, but since his Josephine knew Marlita intimately, she probably
had lived in their home as governess to the younger Arden girl.
As the young engineer walked toward the cabin beyond the inn at nine
that morning, with each stride his decision grew stronger. His aunt, he
knew, would scorn any girl who earned her own living, but she would be
especially rude, he was convinced, to a young woman who had been
governess in the home of one of her friends.
After all, perhaps it would be kinder not to take Josephine Bayley with
him when he went to see his aunt at the inn. He could announce his
intention to marry whom he would, and let the matter rest there, but, to
his surprise, when he told the girl he loved that he wished to spare her
possible humiliation, she looked so truly disappointed that he
exclaimed: “Why, Josephine, you don’t _want_ to go, do you? I thought
you were merely accompanying me because I had requested it.”
She smiled at him, and in her expression there was no trace of timidity.
“I’m not the least bit afraid of dragoness aunts,” she assured him. Then
she added, “If you’ll be seated a moment, I’ll don my best spring hat
and coat.”
Five minutes later the girl emerged from her porch room, and the young
man leaped to his feet, gazing as though at a vision.
“How beautiful you are in that silvery gray,” he said.
The small hat was wreathed with crushed roses, and the cloak, of soft
clinging material, was cut in the latest fashion.
At another time the young man might have been puzzled, but his mind was
too full of one thing just then to admit of questionings.
“I’m glad you look so nicely,” he confided as they started out, “for
even though mine aunt will, of course, spurn me for not wedding the girl
of her choice, in her heart of hearts she will have to agree that I have
chosen the more beautiful one for my bride.”
The color in Josephine’s cheeks deepened, although it may have been a
reflection of the rose-tulle lining of her hat.
In the meantime the strangers at the inn had inquired if Frederick
Edrington were staying there.
Although Mr. Enterprise Twiggly well knew the young man whom Ken called
Uncle Ed, he did not associate the two names, and replied that he knew
“no such person.”
Mrs. Edrington and her companions were in the parlor of the inn,
awaiting the coming of the stage, when the two young people arrived.
Josephine requested that she be permitted to remain in the outer office
while Frederick went alone to meet his aunt.
The four occupants of the plainly furnished room turned as the door
opened, and the young engineer was somewhat surprised to see that one of
them was no other than Lord Dunsbury. The two girls were Marlita Arden
and her younger sister, Gladys Louise. Frederick regretted this, since
his Josephine undoubtedly had been her governess. Perhaps the girl he
loved ought to be told to slip back to her cabin home, that she might
escape whatever humiliation would be in store for her, were she to meet
the snobbish Ardens.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” said Marlita.
“More than pleased I assure you,” rather coldly added the young
Englishman.
Frederick crossed the room to where his aunt was standing, and spoke
with her for several moments. The others, watching, could see the angry
flush mounting to the face of the older woman. Then, unable to listen
longer in silence, she turned toward the curious group and exclaimed:
“My nephew informs me that he is engaged to marry some girl he has met
here in the mountains. A woodcutter’s daughter, I suppose. Being well
acquainted with his stubbornness, I know that he will do as he wishes in
the matter.”
Marlita shrugged her silk-clad shoulders as she said, “Do you know, Aunt
Delia, I really would like to see the mountain maid who has won the
heart of friend Frederick.” Then, turning to the young man, she added
with a tantalizing smile, “However, I doubt if he would care to exhibit
his rural fiancée.” This remark had the effect desired.
“You are wrong Marlita,” Frederick declared vehemently. “I should be
proud to present my future wife to the queen of England, were that
possible. If you will be seated, I will soon return with the young woman
about whom we are speaking.”
It was a tense moment for the two who were most interested. The aunt
moved to the window and looked out. Marlita leaned against the mantle,
tapping her fingers nervously thereon.
It was not very complimentary to her that Frederick Edrington should
prefer a mountaineer’s daughter to the heiress of Colonel Arden’s
millions.
They all glanced toward the closed door when they heard Frederick
returning. Gladys Louise was the only one pleased with the little drama
that was being enacted. How she did hope that Fred’s fiancée would prove
to be the picturesque type of mountain maid that she had read about in
romantic stories! Perhaps, though, they were only to be found in
Switzerland.
However, there was no further time for speculating. The door was
opening, and in another moment they would know.
Josephine Bayley had never looked lovelier than she did when she entered
the parlor of the inn, her head held high. Although her lips were not
smiling, surely an amused expression was lurking in the depths of her
clear hazel eyes.
Before Frederick Edrington could introduce his fiancée to his aunt,
Gladys Louise, with a glad cry of recognition, leaped forward, both
hands outstretched. “Oh, you dear, darling Josephine!” she exclaimed.
“Why didn’t you tell us where you disappeared to when you left so
suddenly?”
And so the young engineer’s surmise had been correct. His fiancée had
been this impulsive girl’s governess. What would his aunt say? He
glanced at Marlita, to see how she would welcome one who had lived in
her home in a paid capacity. The proud girl’s expression was hard to
understand.
Then, to his surprise, Josephine made the first advance. Crossing the
room, she held out her hand as she said: “Marlita, dear, please try to
be glad for my happiness. You and I were room-mates at boarding-school,
and now—”
She said no more, for the girl to whom she had spoken drew herself away
coldly. “You are not honest, Josephine Bayley,” she said, “posing as a
woodcutter’s daughter when—”
The young teacher shook her head. “I have not posed,” she replied
quietly. “Frederick has asked no questions concerning my family.” Then,
again holding out her hand, she pleaded, “Marlita, won’t you be my
friend?”
But the girl whom she addressed tossed her head and left the room,
beckoning her sister and Lord Dunsbury to follow, which they did.
When the three were alone, Frederick, whose astonishment had seemed to
render him speechless, apologized. “Pardon me, Aunt Delia,” he said,
“permit me to introduce to you my fiancée.”
“We’ll waive the formality of an introduction,” replied the woman, who,
through half-closed eyes, had been watching the little drama.
Then, turning to the girl in gray, she asked, “Are you the daughter of
William Wallace Bayley whose summer home is in the Orange Hills, and
whose winter home is in New York on the Hudson?”
“I am,” was the quiet reply.
It was Frederick Edrington’s turn to be amazed, but his aunt was
continuing: “I thought so. With my former husband, Mr. James
Haddington-Allen, I frequently visited your home when you were a very
small child.”
The young school-teacher stepped forward, as she asked eagerly: “You—are
you Mrs. James Haddington-Allen? Frederick has always spoken of you as
Mrs. Edrington.”
“Naturally, since that is my present name. Mr. Allen died long ago, and
two years later I married Frederick’s uncle. But pray, Miss Bayley, why
has the discovery of my former name occasioned you so much concern?”
“Because you are also the aunt of the four children named Martin who are
our protégés here in the mountains,” Frederick began. But the face of
the older woman hardened. “You are mistaken,” she said. “The children of
whom you speak are related to my first husband, but in no way to me;
and, since he is dead, I see no reason why I should look up his poor
relatives, and, what is more, I shall not do so.”
The young man’s voice was almost severe when he asked, “You knew of
their need, then?”
“Some banker wrote me last year concerning these children, and I replied
that I was not at all interested in hearing about them. However, I
thought the name of their town was Genoa.” Then, turning to the
school-teacher, who was finding it very hard to listen quietly, the
older woman said, “Miss Bayley, if you will give up this ridiculous
notion of teaching school and will come with me, I will forgive you both
and take you into my home, but mind, I wish never again to hear the name
of Martin.”
“I thank you for your offer, but I have made other plans,” was
Josephine’s reply. “When the spring term is finished, I shall return to
my New York home and take with me the four Martin children.”
“Then, as there is nothing more to be said, I will bid you
good-morning.” Haughtily saying this, the aunt left the room, and did
not even glance at her second husband’s nephew.
“Shall we tell the children?” was Josephine’s first question as they
left the inn.
“No,” Frederick replied. “Mrs. Edrington is their aunt only by marriage,
as she is mine.” Then he added, “Dearest, what a wonderful home you and
I are to have with such nice kiddies in it.”
“Aren’t we?” the girl smiled up at him. “We shall be happy just because
we are all together.” Then she continued, “I want to make those four
little Martins the happiest children in all the world.”
THE END
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Transcriber’s Notes
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