Miss Jerusha Flint was not the only one who appreciated the home of Dr.
and Mrs. Lattinger, in Dorton. Not only the villagers, but people of the
surrounding neighborhood had a warm feeling for the genial and
hospitable residents of the old colonial mansion, which had been for
generations in the family of Mrs. Lattinger, and where she had lived all
her life. The Lattingers had also frequent visitors from Baltimore,
where the doctor had spent the early years of his practice, some of them
being former patients who came out for the day for change of air and
scene.
One pleasant morning in June, Dr. Lattinger had the unexpected pleasure
of a visit from a former college chum, a lawyer who had a short time
before bought one of the pretty suburban homes, and, as was the doctor's
custom, he took him upon his round among his patients.
"Yes, doctor," commented the visitor, when about noon they were
returning to the village, on the same drive upon which they had set out,
but in an opposite direction, "you are correct in your opinion of this
region of country; it is prosperous and beautiful. There are so many
picturesque spots. For instance that cottage nearly covered with ivy,
which we are about to pass, is a picture in itself."
"Yes, it is the home of an artist, Norman Ashley, who, with his wife,
came here from Baltimore that he might have natural scenery for his
pictures. They are handsome young people and live an ideal life."
"That lovely little girl amid the roses on the lawn is, I suppose, their
daughter."
"No, she is Hilda Brinsfield, the orphan niece of Mr. Ashley."
"Hilda Brinsfield!" echoed the gentleman in surprise. "My wife and I
were wondering only yesterday what became of that sweet child after the
death of her lovely young mother."
"Then you are acquainted with her parents?" said Dr. Lattinger with
interest.
"Only for the little time I have lived in my present home. Her father,
Rev. Freeman Brinsfield, was pastor of our village church, his first
charge. I heard incidentally that his means had been exhausted in his
college and theological course, and he was very grateful for the call.
My friend also added that he came of a long line of ministers, one or
more of them being pioneer missionaries. Little Hilda is a child of
prayer and has the promise of being cared for."
"She certainly has a happy home with the Ashleys, who come as near
idolizing her as Christian people will allow themselves to worship
anything earthly. The three pass most of this beautiful June weather in
the open, Mr. Ashley taking his artist equipments, Mrs. Ashley a book
and a basket of luncheon, and Hilda her doll and toys, and in the shady
woods or blossoming orchard they encamp."
"Truly an ideal life; and now tell me who lives in that handsome villa
just above it, but on the opposite side of the road?"
"That is the residence of Miss Anna Ashburton, and is called 'My Lady's
Manor,' for as you probably know, most country homes in 'Maryland, My
Maryland' have names, generally pretty well adapted to their appearance.
It was left to her by a widow--Mrs. Joshua Farnsworth--who died a few
months ago. They were not the least related, but loved each other as
mother and daughter."
"Had Mrs. Joshua Farnsworth no relatives to whom she could leave her
property, or who would contend for it?"
"No, her only near relative--her sister--the widow of the late Judge
Lacy, of Springfield, Ohio, is wealthy, has no children, and has no need
of what Mrs. Farnsworth gave to her foster daughter."
"Miss Anna is elderly, I presume?"
"No, scarcely eighteen, is amiable and attractive, finely educated, a
musician and artist; an orphan without a relative in the world, so far
as is known."
"But she does not live alone in that great mansion?"
"Yes, with the exception of a middle-aged woman--Miss Jerusha Flint--who
lived with her brother, Horace, and his family in the brown cottage we
passed this morning, about a mile beyond the other end of the village,
and who was more than gratified when Miss Anna invited her to make her
home at 'My Lady's Manor.'"
"They must live a lonely life there."
"Not at all. Miss Anna is much beloved, and has many visitors, not only
from the neighborhood, but from Baltimore. Moreover, the servants, who
have known and loved her from babyhood, have their comfortable quarters
back of the mansion, and as Miss Anna's library and sleeping-room
windows look directly down upon the doors of their cabins, Lois, Phebe
and Judy are at all hours of the day and night within call."
"It is not likely that Miss Anna, being young and attractive, will
remain long unmarried."
"If the opinion of the neighborhood be correct, she will in the near
future bestow her hand and heart upon Mr. Valentine Courtney--the
brother-in-law of our good pastor Rev. Carl Courtney, of 'Friedenheim,'
the old homestead of the Courtneys. He is a lawyer, has his office in
Baltimore, but makes his home at 'Friedenheim.' He is one of the most
useful and liberal members of his brother-in-law's church, and is in
every respect an estimable young man."
"You say 'brother-in-law'--and yet the Rev. Carl is a Courtney."
"Yes, he is a distant relative of his wife, and of her brother,
Valentine, and his home from childhood has been at 'Friedenheim,' which
was inherited by Mrs. Courtney."
"That walk upon the roof of Miss Anna's villa must give a fine view of
the surrounding country."
"Fine indeed, and it has a history, and a mystery. About twenty-five
years ago, Mr. Joshua Farnsworth died there, it is believed, by an
unknown hand."
"In what manner?" asked his visitor, full of interest.
"As I was informed by my wife and others of the residents of the
neighborhood, Mr. Farnsworth, who was in his usual excellent health the
evening of his death, had gone to the village postoffice, and while
perusing a letter just received, a hand was laid upon his shoulder by a
stranger, who said in a low tone, 'Joshua!'
"Mr. Farnsworth turned very pale, the two went out, and walked to 'My
Lady's Manor,' talking earnestly. Later in the evening they were seen
upon the roof, seated upon the bench that lines the ironwork balustrade,
still engaged in earnest conversation, and a few hours after, the
villagers were shocked to hear that Mr. Farnsworth was found there,
dead, and the stranger gone, no one knew when nor where."
"But was there no investigation as to the cause of his death?"
"Yes, and the verdict at the inquest was death from heart failure; but
those who witnessed the meeting at the postoffice, and the villagers who
saw them on the walk upon the roof believe that the stranger took his
life."
"And you say that no one knew how and when the stranger left the place?"
"No. Judge and Mrs. Lacy were visiting there at the time. They and Mrs.
Farnsworth had retired, as had the servants, all the doors and windows
were locked for the night and the shutters closed; and thus they were
found when about midnight search was made for Mr. Farnsworth. Not a
footfall had been heard, or sound of any kind giving token of the
departure of the stranger. It was, and has remained a mystery."
An elegant suburban home indeed was "My Lady's Manor"--a three-storied
granite building, light gray in color, with sea-green cornice and
shutters and partly screened by maple trees from the road leading to
Dorton.
From the walk upon the roof could be had a charming view of woodlands,
meadows, farmhouses, country-seats, mill properties, the creek that
flowed past them, and villages; among them Dorton, with its one church
spire.
In the distance Baltimore's monuments were clearly discernible, the
harbor with its forest of masts, the Patapsco flecked with sails,
Federal Hill and Fort McHenry; all uniting in a varied and attractive
landscape.
Yes, "My Lady's Manor" was one of the choice places of the neighborhood,
and Jerusha Flint felt it a pleasant change to be the respected
companion of its young lady owner, and, having given up her despised
occupation, was blooming into youth and beauty in the sunlight of a
happy home.
Among Anna's many acquaintances there was no one whose friendship she
prized more than that of Mrs. Ashley. They were congenial in every way,
save that Mrs. Ashley, though but a few months older, cared but little
for society, where she would have been such an ornament with her fine
presence, deep blue eyes, wealth of auburn hair and a complexion of
matchless fairness. The company of her husband, Hilda and Anna was all
she solicited, and had but a speaking acquaintance with the people of
Dorton and its neighborhood, making no calls except to "My Lady's Manor"
and "Friedenheim."
The Civil War was darkening the land, and Norman Ashley laid aside
palette and brush to join in the struggle between the blue and the gray.
He was not willing to leave his wife and Hilda in the cottage without a
caretaker, and as Providence willed it, Diana Strong was indulging in a
respite from hospital work in the home of Mrs. Horace Flint and was
willing to assume the light duty of housekeeper at the Ashley cottage.
Jerusha Flint was the negotiator in the affair, and as she generally
carried to a successful issue whatever she undertook, Diana was duly
installed and Mr. Ashley went to join his regiment with the comforting
thought that his little family was in good hands.
This separation was a terrible trial to the young husband and wife, and
Anna Ashburton was Mrs. Ashley's faithful friend and comforter. She had
also great affection for Hilda and would have her for hours at a time at
the villa, to the secret displeasure of Jerusha, who had no love for any
child, much less for one connected in any way with Mrs. Ashley, looked
upon by Miss Flint as proud, cold and self-sufficient.
Moreover, that grim tyrant, jealousy, had taken possession of Jerusha,
assuring her that it was a blessed relief to the cultivated intellect of
Anna Ashburton to exchange for a time her dull companionship for that of
the cultured and accomplished Mrs. Ashley.
The first time that Anna made an engagement with Mrs. Ashley to gather
wood flowers, she invited Miss Flint to accompany them, but her courtesy
was rewarded by a haughty refusal and a scornful flash of the black
eyes.
Anna knew that this was not intended for her, but for the waiting Mrs.
Ashley down at the cottage, who knew nothing of Jerusha's feeling in
regard to her, nor did Anna think it kindness to enlighten her.
On her part, Jerusha considered that in view of the information
contained in her mother's letter in the ebony box, she had a better
right to be proud than had Mrs. Ashley, and therefore would not take a
step out of her way to be in her company.
"Where did you first meet Mr. Ashley?" Anna asked one summer afternoon
while they were arranging flowers under the shade of an oak tree, while
Hilda, who always accompanied them, was busy gathering more.
"In a hail-storm in Ohio. Shall I tell you of it?" she asked.
"Yes," replied Anna gleefully, "the beginning being so romantic, it
cannot fail in interest."
"Yes, a little romance and a great trial; for it has partly estranged me
from my sister and her husband--Dr. Cyril Warfield--with whom I made my
home after the death of our parents.
"The estrangement is more my fault than theirs. I should not have
treated them with coldness and reserve in return for their lightly
expressed opposition to my marriage," and her beautiful eyes filled with
tears.
"I should not have mentioned the subject; please do not continue it if
it distresses you," pleaded Anna, her eyes filling in sympathy.
"I am glad you mentioned it. I have wished to tell you of myself, but
never felt sufficiently acquainted until this summer, and you cannot
realize what your companionship has been to me since my husband left for
the battlefield.
"While our parents lived, they, with their three children--Sarah,
Herbert and I--resided in our old homestead in Ohio, near the village of
Woodmont, a few miles from Springfield.
"Papa had intrusted the property for his children to the hands of
friends in whom he had confidence; but through their failure we lost
heavily, and when the estate was closed there was but a remnant left of
what he intended for us.
"When Sarah, who is ten years older than I, married Cyril, she went with
him to the Warfield homestead which adjoined our place, and there they
have lived happily. But Cyril is in feeble health and Sarah is very
anxious, fearing he will never be better.
"Herbert, with his share, bought the store of a merchant in Woodmont and
Sarah and Cyril took me to their home where I was treated as tenderly as
are their two boys, Paul and Fred.
"One afternoon in June I had driven to the village postoffice and was
returning as quickly as possible, for the appearance of the clouds
betokened a storm. I had passed a turn in the road when rain came down
in torrents, then hail fell fast, the wind blowing it in my face,
stunning and nearly blinding me.
"The terrified pony ran. Then as the hail storm increased in violence,
she crouched down and I was about to spring from the carriage when a
hand restrained me.
"'You are safer there,' said Mr. Ashley, for it was he who spread the
carriage robe over the pony and encouraged her to rise; then he stepped
into the carriage, took the lines from my trembling hands, and, turning
about, drove to the shelter of a large tree. It was all the work of a
moment, and he had scarcely glanced at me until I spoke, thanking him
for his assistance.
"'The storm will soon be over,' he remarked in response. 'Will you allow
me to see you safely home? My name is Norman Ashley and my home is in a
village near Baltimore with my widowed sister, Mrs. Brinsfield. I am an
artist and, with several of my fellow-artists, am traveling upon a
sketching tour. They have gone further west, I remaining in Woodmont,
having found some picturesque views for sketching and putting later upon
canvas.'
"'I do not wish to keep you so long in damp clothing,' I said.
"'Oh, we tramps do not mind such trifles,' he replied lightly, and as
soon as the hail ceased falling we sped home.
"My sister and brother-in-law had been terribly anxious and were
rejoiced to see me unhurt. They welcomed Mr. Ashley cordially, invited
him to dine with us the following day, and then Cyril's farmer, Ben
Duvall, took him in the phaeton to Woodmont."
"He came next day, I am sure," smiled Anna.
"Yes, and the next and the next; and Dr. Warfield and every member of
the family enjoyed his genial society. He brought his sketch book, and
every day that Cyril had leisure he took him to the prettiest spots in
the neighborhood, and at other times Paul, Fred and I accompanied him in
woodland rambles and watched in surprise the quickness and accuracy with
which the scenes were sketched.
"His companions returned from their tour and his stay in Woodmont was
ended; and the morning he called to say good-bye he presented sister
Sarah with a fine oil painting from one of the sketches she had admired.
"He asked to correspond with me and letters passed between us for more
than a year. Through the meeting in Springfield of a former classmate, a
resident of Baltimore, Cyril learned that Mr. Ashley was a consistent
church member, a Sabbath school teacher and in every way an estimable
young man. Therefore the only objection that he and sister Sarah made to
our marriage lay in what Mr. Ashley had considered it his duty to tell
them, and me, that his only means of maintenance was in the sale of his
paintings, and they feared that it was an uncertain dependence.
"The following autumn we were married and he brought me to his sister's
home near Baltimore. She was the widow of a young minister and the
mother of our loved Hilda. She was in frail health, but lingered until
spring, and oh, Anna, during that winter I learned how a Christian can
meet death. She had not reached her twenty-fifth year and her callers
from the city were principally her former classmates, her church,
Sabbath school, music and art associates, and not one, I am sure,
visited her without being impressed and benefited by the sweet serenity
of her manner and the almost angelic expression upon her lovely
features. She was an embodiment of gratitude to God who had answered her
prayers, that her life might be spared until her brother married, and
that his wife would be one who would be willing to take her only child,
her beloved Hilda, and one to whom she would intrust her. She blessed me
with tears of joy that I proved to be that one. She gave Hilda to me and
I accepted the charge, promising to do the same by her that I would were
she my own child.
"One sweet morning in May she was called to come up higher, and a week
or so later we left the city and came to the cottage."
"Thank you for telling me of yourself and those near to you," said Anna.
"I feel that you and Hilda are dearer to me than ever, and I have
interest in your sister, Mrs. Warfield, and her family. Does she
resemble you?"
"Yes, the description of one would answer for both so far as appearance
is concerned, but Sarah is more practical than I; a noble, energetic,
useful woman; one to depend upon in every circumstance in life and at
the same time a loving wife, mother and sister."
"There comes Mr. Merryman's errand boy, Perry," said Anna, as the boy
came whistling across the field on his way to "Fair Meadow" from Dorton.
"He has a letter; perhaps it is for one of us, as he has come a little
out of his way," and both arose as he came near.
"The postmaster gave me a letter for you, Mrs. Ashley," he said. "It has
a black border and he thought it might be one that you should have as
quickly as possible. I called at your house but you were not in and I
left it with Miss Diana Strong. Was that right?"
"Perfectly right, Perry, and I thank you for your kindness," and the boy
passed on with the mail for the "Fair Meadow" home, whistling and
halting occasionally to pluck a flower.
"Oh, Anna," said Mrs. Ashley anxiously, "I am afraid that letter brings
sad news of Dr. Warfield. Will you stop with me and see?"
"Willingly; and I sincerely hope that your fears will not be realized."
The two ladies, followed by Hilda, hurried through the meadow and up the
road to the cottage, where Anna listened to the reading of the missive
which gave the intelligence that Mrs. Warfield was a widow and Paul and
Fred fatherless.
Mrs. Ashley's tears fell fast in sympathy for her sister's bereavement,
and Anna wept with her and stayed for a time to give what comfort was in
her power.
"I will write to Sarah this evening," said Mrs. Ashley, when Anna arose
to go home; "I wish I had written oftener and less reservedly while
Cyril lived. He was always kind to me and never knew how much I
appreciated his goodness. Oh, Anna, will we never learn to be tender and
considerate with our fellow pilgrims? We never appreciate them as we
should until they are gone; or if we do we never let them know it."