A VISITOR
The very next day Dr. Corliss shut himself up in his new study while
Mrs. Corliss and Mary set to work to make the old house as fresh as
new. They brushed up the dust and cobwebs and scrubbed and polished
everything until it shone. They dragged many ugly old things off into
the attic, and pushed others back into the corners until there should
be time to decide what had best be done with them. Meanwhile, John
was helping to tidy up the little garden, snipping off dead leaves,
cheering up the flowers, and punishing the greedy weeds.
The whistles of Crowfield factories shrieked noon before they all
stopped to take breath. Then Mrs. Corliss gasped and said:--
“Oh, Mary! I forgot all about luncheon! What are we going to feed your
poor father with, I wonder, to say nothing of our hungry selves?”
Just at this moment John came running into the house with a very dirty
face. “There’s some one coming down the street,” he called upstairs;
“I think she’s coming in here.” He peeped out of the parlor window
discreetly. “Yes, she’s opening the gate now.”
“Let Mary open the door when she rings,” warned his mother. “It will be
the first time our doorbell rings for a visitor--quite an event, Mary!
I am sure John’s face is dirty.”
“I’m not very tidy myself,” said Mary, taking off her apron and the
dusting-cap which covered her curls, and rolling down her sleeves.
The latch of the little garden gate clicked while they were speaking,
and looking out of the upstairs hall window Mary saw a girl of about
her own age, thirteen or fourteen, coming up the path. She wore a
pretty blue sailor suit and a broad hat, and her hair hung in two long
flaxen braids down her back. Mary wore her own brown curls tied back
with a ribbon. On her arm the visitor carried a large covered basket.
“It’s one of the neighbors, I suppose,” said Mrs. Corliss, attempting a
hasty toilet. “Go to the door, Mary, as soon as she rings, and ask her
to come in. Even if we are not settled yet, it is not too soon to be
hospitable.”
Mary listened eagerly for the bell. Their first caller in Crowfield
looked like a very nice little person. Perhaps she was going to be
Mary’s friend.
But the bell did not ring. Instead, Mary presently heard a little
click; and then a voice in the hall below called, apparently through
the keyhole of the closed door,--“Not at home.”
There was a pause, and again,--“Not at home.” A third time the tired,
monotonous voice declared untruthfully, “Not at home.” Then there was
silence.
“John!” cried Mary, horrified. For she thought her brother was playing
some naughty trick. What did he mean by such treatment of their first
caller? Mary ran down the stairs two steps at a time, and there she
found John in the hall, staring with wide eyes at the front door.
“What made you--?” began Mary.
“I didn’t!” protested John. “It was--Something, I don’t know What, that
spoke. When she pushed the bell-button it didn’t ring, but it made
_that_. And now I guess she’s gone off mad!”
“Oh, John!” Mary threw open the door and ran to the porch. Sure enough,
the visitor was retreating slowly down the path. She turned, however,
when she heard Mary open the door, and hesitated, looking rather
reproachful. She was very pretty, with red cheeks and bright brown
eyes.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” said Mary. “You didn’t ring, did you?”
“Yes, I did,” said the girl, looking puzzled. “But I thought no one was
at home. Somebody said so.” Her eyes twinkled.
Mary liked the twinkle in her eyes.
“I don’t understand it!” said Mary, wrinkling her forehead in
puzzlement. Then an idea flashed into her head, and she showed her
teeth in a broad smile. “Oh, it must have been one of Aunt Nan’s patent
jokes.”
The girl gave an answering smile. “You mean Miss Corliss?” she
suggested. “I know she didn’t like callers. We never ventured to ring
the bell in her day. But Mother thought you new neighbors might be
different. And I saw you going by yesterday, so I thought I’d try--”
She looked at Mary wistfully, with a little cock to her head. “My name
is Katy Summers, and we are your nearest neighbors,” she added.
“Oh, do come in,” urged Mary, holding open the door hospitably. “It is
so nice to see you! I am Mary Corliss.”
Katy Summers beamed at her as she crossed the doorsill. And from that
moment Mary hoped that they were going to be the best of friends.
John appeared just then, much excited and forgetting his dirty face.
“It must be a kind of graphophone,” he said, without introduction. “Let
me punch that button.”
Twisting himself out into the porch, John pushed a dirty thumb against
the bell-button of the Corliss home. Instantly sounded the same
monotonous response,--“Not at home-- Not at home-- Not at home.”
“I say! Isn’t it great!” shouted John, cutting a caper delightedly.
“Aunt Nan must have had that fixed so as to scare away callers. Wasn’t
she cute?”
Mary blushed for her brother, and for the reputation of the house.
“It wasn’t cute!” she said hastily. “We shall have to get that bell
changed. We aren’t like that, really,” she explained to her visitor.
“We love to see people. You were very good to come to this inhospitable
old house.”
“I wanted to,” said Katy simply, “and Mother thought you’d perhaps all
be busy this morning, getting settled. So she sent you over this hot
luncheon.” And she held out to Mary the heavy basket.
“Oh, how kind of you!” cried Mary. “Let me tell Mother. She will be so
pleased! It is so nice to have our nearest neighbor call on us right
away.”
“I can’t stop but a minute this time,” said Katy, “for my own luncheon
is waiting on the table. But I’d like to see your mother. I’ll wait
here in the hall.”
At the end of the hall facing the front door was an armchair with a
back studded with brass nails. Katy sat down in this chair to wait
for Mrs. Corliss. Mary ran up the stairs feeling very happy, because
already she had found this new friend in the town where she was afraid
she was going to be lonesome.
But hardly had she reached the top of the stairs when she heard a funny
little cry from the hall below. It was Katy’s voice that called. “Oh!”
it cried. “Help! Mary Corliss!”
“What is it?” called Mary, leaning over the banisters to see what the
matter was.
And then she saw a queer thing. The chair in which Katy Summers sat was
moving rapidly of its own accord straight toward the front door. Katy
was too startled to move, and there she sat, grasping the arms of the
chair, until it reached the doorsill. When it touched the sill, the
chair stopped and gently tilted itself forward, making Katy slide out,
whether she would or no.
“Well, I never!” said Katy with a gasp. “If that isn’t the impolitest
chair I ever saw!”
“Oh, Katy!” cried Mary, flying down the stairs. “I am so sorry. We
didn’t know it was that kind of chair. We hadn’t cleaned the hall yet,
so we never suspected. It must be another of Aunt Nan’s jokes. She
probably had this made so that peddlers or agents who got inside and
insisted on waiting to see her would be discouraged. Please don’t blame
us!”
Then down came Mrs. Corliss, with Katy’s basket in her hand. “What a
reception to our first caller!” she said with a rueful smile. “And you
came on such a kind errand, too! But you must try to forget, little
neighbor, that this was ever an inhospitable house, and come to see us
often. We are going to change many things.”
“Yes, indeed, I shall come again,” said Katy Summers. “I hope that Mary
and I shall be in the same class at High School.”
“So do I,” said Mary. “I begin to-morrow. Will you call for me so that
I can have some one to introduce me on my first day?”
“Yes,” said Katy, with a roguish look, “if you’ll let me wait for you
in the garden.”
Mary turned red. “You needn’t be afraid,” she said. “We won’t let
those things happen any more, will we, Mother?”
“No,” said Mrs. Corliss. “We will have the carpenter attend to those
‘jokes’ at once.”
But until the carpenter came John had a beautiful time riding down
the front hall on the inhospitable chair, and making the automatic
butler cry, “Not at home.” John thought it a great pity to change these
ingenious devices which made the front hall of Aunt Nan’s house so
interesting. But he was in the minority, and that very afternoon the
carpenter took away an electric device from the old armchair, which
ended its days of wandering forever. And instead of the “bell” he put
an old-fashioned knocker on the front door.