Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
[Illustration: MRS. HAMMOND LOOKED PRETTIER THAN EVER, DILLY THOUGHT.]
MONTEAGLE
BY
PANSY
[Isabella Alden]
AUTHOR OF
Man of the House
Christie's Christmas
Little Fishers: and their nets
Ester Ried
Eighty-seven
Chautauqua Girls
Ruth Erskine's Crosses
An Endless Chain
Interrupted
and others
BOSTON
D LOTHROP COMPANY
FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS
COPYRIGHT, 1888
BY
D. LOTHROP COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER I.
A MORNING DRIVE
CHAPTER II.
A FORTUNATE THING
CHAPTER III.
THE START
CHAPTER IV.
A SUCCESSFUL EXPERIMENT
CHAPTER V.
A MORNING MEETING
CHAPTER VI.
A LECTURE AND A SERMON
CHAPTER VII.
A LITTLE LOGICIAN
CHAPTER VIII.
TRUE TO HER PLEDGE
CHAPTER IX.
SETTLING THE PUZZLE
CHAPTER X.
SILENT FORCES
CHAPTER XI.
A SURPRISE
CHAPTER XII.
A HAPPY TRANSFER
MONTEAGLE.
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CHAPTER I.
A MORNING DRIVE.
"YES," said Mrs. Hammond, a little sigh in her voice as she spoke, "Mr.
Hart is going with us; I don't know how long he will stay. I'm afraid
there is very little on Monteagle to hold him."
Two children sat on the extreme end of the broken steps; one was pale,
thin, hollow-eyed and sorrowful. The other was rosy-cheeked, chubby,
and dirty. The pale one was perhaps twelve years old; the other,
somewhat younger.
"Only hear that name!" said the hollow-eyed girl. "Monteagle! Doesn't
it make you feel cool just to think it over?"
"I didn't think it over," said Rosy Cheek. "What is it, and where is
it?"
"I don't know where it is," spoken very wearily, as though it was an
effort to speak at all. "In Heaven, maybe; the word sounds like it.
Monteagle! It must be high, and cool, and still. I wonder what it feels
like to be cool and still? Oh! How 'hot' it is! O dear me!"
There was such a world of longing and weariness in the sentence, that
Mrs. Hammond turned and looked curiously at the girl; then uttered a
little exclamation of surprise, and perhaps dismay.
"Who is that girl, and what is the matter with her?"
The man who was busy with a troublesome strap which had to do with Mrs.
Hammond's phaeton, glanced up for a moment, then said:
"That is my girl, ma'am, if you mean the pale one. There ain't anything
the matter with her now, only weakness, the doctor says. She's had the
fever—been dreadful sick. There was a spell when I thought she wouldn't
pull through, nohow, but she did, up to a certain p'int, there she
stopped, and there she hangs—jest crawls about all day; doesn't eat
nothing, and doesn't sleep nights, only off and on, you know. I dunno
what to do with her."
Mrs. Hammond looked again at the girl who had dropped into a listless
attitude, a very photograph of discouraged weakness. The rosy-cheeked
younger one in a much soiled dress had slipped away. Mrs. Hammond
looked from the girl to the low, small, tumble-down building on the
steps of which she sat, imagined the room in which she must spend
her nights, imagined the table at which she must sit down to eat her
"nothing," and murmured, "Poor thing!" with another long-drawn sigh.
How could one be expected to gain strength in such a home as that must
be!
"Who takes care of you and your daughter?"
She had turned again to the man at the carriage.
He gave a short half-laugh as he answered slowly: "Well, as to that,
what care we get we have to give to ourselves. Her and me live alone;
since the boy went to work for his board, at the meat market, I've took
care of her the best I could, since she got on her feet again; and when
she was sick, the neighbors was kind. The doctor was, too—uncommon
kind; stayed the most of two nights himself, and brought his woman once
or twice to see her; but she's gone now; up to Monteagle, along with
the rest of the world. I suppose it is cool up there ma'am?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Hammond, with another sigh. "It is cool there; poor
thing! I don't see how she is ever to get well in such a place."
This last, in undertone; then louder: "She is Northern born, too, I
think you said?"
"Who, ma'am, the girl? O yes; we're from the North."
It was the man's turn to sigh now. "We come down here to try the
climate for her mother—but it didn't do; we came too late, or
something. The mother died the very next summer, and we've had to pull
along alone. There, ma'am, I think that buckle is all right now; it
won't come out again of itself in a hurry. It's lucky I happened to be
around; it might have made you trouble. Why, no, ma'am, I don't want no
pay for a job like that; it didn't take ten minutes, and it ain't in my
line anyhow."
"What can she do when she is well?" asked Mrs. Hammond, holding out the
shining silver.
"What, my girl? Why, as to that, I dunno as she can be said to know how
to do anything. She works along as well as she can; and we make out to
live, but you see it is pretty nigh four years since her mother died;
and she was a young thing then. She ain't had no chance. I ain't got no
change, Mis' Hammond, and I don't want no pay, neither."
"I don't want change, Mr. West; it is worth a dollar to me to know that
all the buckles and straps are in order. I shall leave that matter
of hauling the dirt in your hands, then. It can be done just as well
while I am away; Mr. Hart will be back and forth, I presume, and he can
direct you if you need any directions; good-morning!" And the little
pony phaeton drove away.
As the fat little white pony carefully drew the carriage around the
curve, his mistress heard a weak, petulant voice say: "O father, it is
'so' hot; I don't know what to do."
"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Hammond for the third time. "I don't know what
she will do. It is very warm indeed. She thinks Monteagle sounds like
Heaven. I presume it would seem almost like Heaven to her. If there was
anything she could do—" And then Mrs. Hammond looked at her watch, and
spoke sharply to the fat pony, and they went home at a brisk trot.
It was a lovely home. Before even the pony turned in at the tree-lined
carriage drive which wound quite around the house, you would have known
by the air of quiet elegance which hung gracefully over everything in
sight, that you were coming to a home that commanded money and culture.
In the wide handsome hall everything was in order, and the rooms
opening from them were cool, and dark, and elegant. Yet Mrs. Hammond as
she dropped sun hat and umbrella on a white sofa, and trailed her white
morning shawl over the soft carpet toward an easy chair, said:
"O dear! It is warm everywhere. I wish we were on the mountain this
minute." Even as she spoke, she thought of that hollow-eyed West girl
again. When, after a few minutes of rest, she mounted the long winding
flight of stairs to the nursery, the sight which met her eyes was not
calculated to cool her.
Miss Ethel Hammond was on an investigating tour. At this particular
minute she belonged in a wide white crib rolled into the coolest,
shadiest corner of the northwestern veranda, eyes closed, lovely face
shaded from intruding bugs and flies by a network of delicate creamy
lace, and Jeannette, the nurse, within easy range of the treasure.
Where Jeannette was just now, was not apparent, but Miss Ethel was
certainly not in her crib. Her eyes were very wide open, and she had
the room to herself.
[Illustration: BABY ETHEL.]
By dint of much energy, she had succeeded in pulling one of the heavy
chairs before the object of her most intense desire, and, climbing in,
was in the act of leaning forward to grasp it, when Mrs. Hammond opened
the door. "It" was a rare and wonderfully mounted clock, heavy enough
to put Ethel's busy inquiring brain at rest forever, should the strong
little hands succeed in pulling it over on her; or, failing in that,
should she lose her balance and pitch head-first against the corner of
the cruel marble.
No time for exclamations; rather, enough presence of mind to avoid
them. With swift, silent steps she moved across the room; a long room,
and seeming to the startled mother miles long, just then. A moment more
and she had the wide-awake, energetic, struggling, disappointed baby in
her arms. So near to its life-purpose only to be thwarted!
The first thing the mother did, was to kiss Ethel; though her mouth was
wide open, and from it were issuing loud, disappointed yells.
The next thing was to think aloud: "That is as much confidence as I
was afraid I could place in Jeannette. She is good for ruffling, and
tucking, and ironing the baby's dresses, but not for watching her."
The next was to say within her heart, "I should think 'she' might be
able to help keep a baby out of mischief."
But this last thought was not about Jeannette.