AN INQUISITIVE NEIGHBOR
Miss Ri returned in due time. The girls were at breakfast when she came
in bearing a small package which she laid on the table, a merry twinkle
in her eye. "Well, girls," she exclaimed, "so nobody has carried you
off, I see."
The girls laughed. "No one has, although--" began Linda.
"Don't tell me anything has happened," exclaimed Miss Ri. "Now isn't
that just the way? I might stay at home a thousand years and nothing
would happen. Tell me about it. I'm glad it's Saturday, Verlinda, so
you don't have to hurry. Just touch the bell for Phebe to bring in some
hot coffee. I don't take meals on the boat when I know what I can get
at home. Those rolls look delicious."
"Did you have a good trip, Miss Ri?" asked Bertie.
"Never had such a stupid one. I didn't get a good state-room going up,
and what with the men talking in the cabin outside my door all night,
and the calves bleating in their stalls below, I did not get a wink of
sleep, and there never was such a stupid sale."
"Sale? Oh, you went to a sale? Of what?" Bertie was interested.
"Oh, just things--all kinds of things," returned Miss Ri vaguely. Then,
turning her attention to her breakfast she said, "Go on now, and tell
me all that has been going on."
The girls delivered themselves of the news of their adventure with
supposed burglars to the great entertainment of Miss Ri, and then a
message coming to Bertie from her mother, she departed while Miss Ri
finished her breakfast.
"I've almost as good a tale to tell myself," remarked that lady as she
folded her napkin. "I think I shall have to tell you, Linda, but you
must promise not to repeat it. I couldn't have told it to Bertie for
she would never rest till she had passed it on. However, I can trust
you, and you mustn't hint of it to Bertie of all people."
Linda gave the required promise, Miss Ri picked up her wraps and the
small bundle, and proposed they should go into the sitting-room where
the sun was shining brightly. They settled themselves comfortably and
Miss Ri proceeded to unfold her secret. "Berk was entirely too keen
when he said I had a special purpose in going to town periodically,"
she began. "I have a harmless little fad, Verlinda; it is nothing more
nor less than the buying of "old horse" if you know what that is."
"I'm sure I don't," Linda confessed.
"It's the stuff that collects at the express office; it may have been
sent to a wrong address, or in some way has failed of being delivered.
When it has accumulated for so many months they sell it at auction to
the highest bidder. I have had some rare fun over it for it is much
on the principle of a grab-bag at a fair. Of course I never venture a
large sum and I generally go early enough to look around and make up my
mind just what I will bid on. Once I had a whole barrel of glass ware
knocked down to me; another time I was fortunate enough to get a whole
case of canned goods of all sorts. This time--" she shook her head as
denying her good luck. "I saw this neat little package which looked as
if it might contain something very nice; it had such a compact orderly
appearance, so I bid on it, only up to fifty cents, Verlinda, and
when I came out of the place to take the car I couldn't forbear from
tearing the paper in order to peep in. I saw a nice wooden box, and I
said to myself, 'Here is something worth while.' I had some errands
to do before boat time so didn't examine further until I was in my
state-room, then I opened the box and what do you think I found?"
"I can't imagine." Linda's curiosity was aroused. She looked
interestedly at the small parcel.
"I found a bottle," Miss Ri chuckled, "a bottle of what is evidently
nice, home-made cough syrup, sent by some well-meaning mother to her
son who had left the address to which it was sent. As I haven't an
idea of the ingredients I don't dare pass it along to anyone else. I
was tempted to chuck it in the river, but I thought I would bring it
home to you." She made great form of presenting it to Linda who took it
laughing.
"I'll give it to Phebe," declared the girl. "She'd love to take it when
she has a 'mis'ry in her chist.'"
"Don't you do it," cried Miss Ri in alarm. "It might make her really
ill, and then who would cook for us? Give it right back to me." She
possessed herself of the bottle, trotted back to the dining-room
where she emptied the contents into the slop-bowl, returning to the
sitting-room with the empty bottle in her hand. "You can have the
bottle," she said, "and the nice wooden box. I don't want to keep any
reminder of my folly."
"And you have sworn off?"
Miss Ri laughed. "Not exactly. At least I've sworn off before, but I
am always seized with the craze as soon as I see the advertisement
in the paper. Once I was cheated out of a dollar by getting a box of
decayed fruit, and another time I got a parcel of old clothes that I
gave to Randy after making her boil them to get rid of any lingering
microbes. This is the third time I have been bamboozled, but very
likely next time I will draw a prize. Goodness, Verlinda, if here
doesn't come Grace and her sister. Do you suppose they are off for the
city to-night?"
"I think it is very probable," returned Linda as she followed Miss Ri
to the door.
Even though she did not admire Grace Talbot, Miss Ri could not be
anything but graciously hospitable, and was ready to greet the visitors
heartily as they came up on the porch. "Well, Mrs. Talbot," she
exclaimed, "come right in. This is your sister, isn't it? How are you,
Miss Johnson. It is lucky you chose Saturday when Linda is at home.
You'll stay to dinner, of course. Here, let me take those bags. Are you
on your way to the city?"
"Yes," returned Grace, "we're leaving for the winter. Howdy, Linda."
She viewed her sister-in-law critically, finding her paler and thinner,
but keeping the discovery to herself. Lauretta, however, spoke her
thought. "I don't believe town agrees with you as well as country,
Linda. You look a little peaked."
"That comes from being shut up in a school-room," Miss Ri hastened to
say; "it is trying work."
"She will get used to it in time," Grace replied. "Why, there is
Miss Sally Price about as sturdy and rosy as anyone I know, and she's
been teaching twenty-five years. What lovely old tables you have,
Miss Ri. They remind me of grandmother's, don't they you, Lauretta?
Dear grandmother, she was such a very particular old dame and would
have her mahogany and silver always shining. I remember how she would
say to her butler, 'James, that service is not as bright as it should
be.'" Grace's imitation of her various forbears always conveyed the
idea that they were most haughty and severe personages who never spoke
except with military peremptoriness. She was constantly referring to
grandmother Johnson, or great-uncle Blair or someone utterly irrelevant
to the topic of the moment, and as entirely uninteresting to her
audience.
"Did you leave everything all right at the farm?" asked Linda,
hastening to change the subject. She knew that great-uncle Blair would
be paraded next, if the slightest opportunity was allowed.
"Everything is as it should be," returned Grace high-and-mightily.
"You didn't suppose for an instant, Linda, that I would leave anything
at loose ends. Of course, it has been most arduous work for Lauretta
and I, but we have the satisfaction of knowing that we have not
neglected anything. I am completely fagged out, and feel that a rest is
essential."
Miss Ri's eye travelled from Grace's plump proportions to Linda's
slight figure. "Well," she said bluntly, "work evidently agrees with
you, for I never saw you looking better."
Grace bit her lip and searched her mind for a fitting retort but could
only say piously, "One must bear up for the sake of others. The world
cannot see behind the scenes, my dear Miss Hill, and that a smile may
hide a breaking heart."
"Come up and see my room," proposed Linda, anxious to prevent what
promised to be a passage at arms between Miss Ri and Grace. "Come,
Lauretta, I want you to see the view from my windows." And so she
managed to get them away before there were any hurt feelings.
After this matters passed off well enough, although great-uncle Blair
was dragged in more than once at the dinner table, and grandmother
Johnson's haughty attitude toward underlings was again reproduced for
the benefit of all. Miss Ri chafed under the affectations, but was too
polite to show it, though when the door at last closed upon her guests
she turned to Linda.
"I'm glad enough they are not your blood kin, Verlinda Talbot. I hope
Heaven will give me patience always to behave with politeness when
Grace Talbot is around. A daily dose of her would be too much for my
Christian forbearance. I wonder you stood her so long, and what Martin
was thinking of to be blinded by a superficial, shallow, underbred
creature like that is beyond me."
"Grace has her good points," said Linda with an effort to be loyal. "I
think she was genuinely fond of Martin."
"You mean she was fond of his fondness for her. There is a lot of
difference, my dear. The idea of her trying to parade her ancestors
before me. Why, old John Blair was the plainest of the plain, a decent,
humble sort of man who accumulated a tidy little sum which his sister
Eliza Johnson inherited; the Johnsons hadn't a picayune; I know all
about them. I have heard my grandfather speak of John Blair and his
sister a dozen times. They lived down in East Baltimore and he had a
little carpenter shop. Grandfather used to tell a funny story of how
Blair brought him in a bill in which he had spelled tacks, t-a-x. 'That
isn't the way to spell tacks, John,' said grandfather. John scratched
his head and looked at the bill. 'Well, Mr. Hill,' he said; 'if t-a-x
don't spell tacks, what do it spell?' He was a good honest man enough,
and afterward became a builder, but he never put on any airs, as why
should he? You may talk a great deal about your grandfather, and make
much display of your family silver, my dear, but if you don't speak
correct English the ancestors don't count for much. Evidently Grace
thinks solid silver is vastly more important than correct speech."
"You certainly are put out of humor this time, Miss Ri."
"Oh, such people exasperate me beyond words. 'Major Forbes sent tickets
to Lauretta and I.' To I, forsooth. 'Mrs. General So-and-So invited
Grace and I to tea.' Invited I, did she?"
"It seems there is a necessity for a schoolmarm in the family,"
remarked Linda.
"Yes, but the unfortunate part of it is that they haven't a ghost of an
idea that they do need one. Well, let them go up to the city, to their
Major Forbes and their Mrs. Generals, I say, and I hope to goodness
Grace will marry her major and good luck to him."
"Oh, Miss Ri."
"I can't help it. Let me rave for awhile. I shall feel better
afterward. Did you ever know such a talker as she is? She is as bad as
Becky, and did you hear Lauretta? 'Poor dear Grace does so draw upon
her vitality.' Oh, dear me, what fools we mortals be."
"And you are the one who never gets mad with fools."
"I don't, as a rule, but when a person is as many kinds of a fool as
Grace is I can't grapple with all the varieties at one sitting. There
now, I have finished my tirade. I won't abuse your in-laws any more.
Let us hope they have passed out of our lives. Now let us talk about
something pleasant. How do you like Mr. Jeffreys?"
"Is he something pleasant? I really haven't had a chance to decide. We
met in the dark and we didn't exchange a dozen words. Bertie likes him."
Miss Ri sat looking out of the window, drumming on the arms of her
chair with her strong capable fingers. "I wish I knew," she murmured;
"I wish I knew. Has Berk been here?" she asked presently.
"If you call his nocturnal prowlings visits, he has."
"Oh, I don't mean those, but, of course, he wouldn't come. I must see
him. I think I'd better call him up, although he is pretty sure to look
in upon us this evening."
After the strain consequent upon Grace's visit, Linda felt that even
Miss Ri's cheerful chatter was more than she could stand, so she sought
an opportune moment to escape to the lawn and from there to wander down
the box-bordered walks to the foot of the garden. The chickens in Miss
Parthy's premises on the other side of the fence, were discoursing in
their accustomed manner before going to roost, making contented little
sounds as someone threw them handfuls of grain. Once in a while would
come a discordant "Caw! Caw!" as an over-greedy rooster would set upon
one less aggressive. It all sounded very homelike and Linda wondered
how matters were going with the familiar flocks she had left at home.
Grace's coming, her talk of affairs at the farm had made a great wave
of homesickness come over the girl as she approached the fence to look
at Miss Parthy's chickens. These, she discovered, were being fed with
careful hand by some other than Miss Parthy. A young man with crisp
auburn hair, which was cropped close. He had a good figure, and rather
a serious expression. His eyes, much the color of his hair, were turned
quickly upon Linda as her face appeared above the fence. "Good-evening,
Miss Talbot," he said.
"Good-evening, Mr. Jeffreys," she returned. "How is it you are taking
Miss Parthy's tasks upon yourself?"
"Oh, I begged leave to do it. I like it. Don't you think chickens are
very amusing? They are as different in character as people, and give me
as much amusement as a crowd of human beings. Look at that ridiculous
little hen; she reminds me of a girl scared by a mouse the way she
jumps every time I throw down a handful of food."
"Don't you think," said Linda mockingly, "that it is more reasonable to
be afraid of creepy things like mice than to be frightened out of your
wits by a paper bag?"
"You have me there," returned the young man. "That was certainly one on
us. I hope you have not been disturbed since."
"Oh, no, and now my natural protector has returned, I shall feel
perfectly safe. You know Miss Ri, I believe."
"Oh, yes. She is a most interesting character. She doesn't run from
mice, I fancy."
"No, and neither do I."
"Really? Then you are a rarity whom I am fortunate in meeting. I
understand, Miss Talbot, that your home is some distance from this
town."
"My home was some distance, about seven miles away."
"On Broad Creek? Do the Talbots come from that neighborhood?"
"Yes, they are old settlers. We hold the original land grant from Lord
Baltimore."
"That is interesting. Did you ever happen to know of a Madison Talbot
who lived--let me see--about 1812 or thereabouts?"
"Why, yes. That was the name of my great-grandfather."
"It was?"
"Why do you ask?" inquired Linda curiously.
"Oh, because I have heard the name. My grandfather has mentioned him. I
believe he knew him, and coming down to this unexplored region, I am
naturally reminded of anyone who might have been connected with what I
have heard of it."
"Unexplored? Do you mean by yourself?"
"Well, yes, and by some others. I doubt if the majority of those one
meets could locate this special town, for instance."
"Anyone who knows anything must have heard of it," said Linda with
innocent conviction.
"Oh, I am not disparaging it. In some respects it is the nicest place I
ever saw. Tell me something about your home there on Broad Creek."
Linda's eyes grew wistful. "It is the dearest spot on earth. The house
is old and low and queer, with rambling rooms that go up a step here,
down one there. The water is always in sight, and through the trees you
can see the old church; it is on our ground, you know, and there is
an old windmill on the place. I should hate to have that old windmill
taken away. I used to watch its long arms go around and around when I
was a child, and I made up all sorts of tales about it."
"How many acres are there?" Mr. Jeffreys asked the practical question
suddenly.
"About two or three hundred. There was another farm. It all belonged to
the same estate originally, or at least there were two farms, and ours
is the older. My brother brought it up wonderfully, and it is in very
good condition now. My father was in ill health for years and when he
died his affairs were in a sad state; the farm was not making anything
till my brother took hold of it."
"And it is yours?"
Linda wondered at the question. She colored with both indignation
and confusion. "It is my home," she replied with dignity, "and it is
the dearest spot on earth to me." Having made this answer she turned
from the fence and resumed her walk while Mr. Jeffreys gave one wide
flourish with his pan of screenings and then walked thoughtfully back
to the house where Miss Parthy waited supper.