PREPARING FOR THE VISIT.
Katy had waited very anxiously for a letter from Wilford, and as the
weeks went by and nothing came, a shadow had fallen upon her spirits and
the family missed something from her ringing laugh and frolicsome ways,
while she herself wondered at the change which had come over everything.
Even the light household duties she used to enjoy so much, were irksome
to her and she enjoyed nothing except going with Uncle Ephraim into the
fields where she could sit alone while he worked nearby, or to ride with
Morris as she sometimes did when he made his round of calls. She was not
as good as she used to be, she thought, and with a view of making
herself better she took to teaching in Morris and Helen’s Sunday-School,
greatly to the distress of Aunt Betsy, who groaned bitterly when both
her nieces adopted the “Episcopal quirks,” forsaking entirely the house
where, Sunday after Sunday, her old-fashioned leghorn, with its faded
ribbon of green was seen, bending down in the humble worship which God
so much approves. But teaching in Sunday-school, taken by itself, could
not make Katy better, and the old restlessness remained until the
morning when, sitting on the grass beneath the apple-tree, she read that
Wilford Cameron was coming; then everything was changed and Katy never
forgot the brightness of that day when the robins sang so merrily above
her head, and all nature seemed to sympathize with her joy. There was no
shadow around her now, nothing but hopeful sunshine, and with a bounding
step she sought out Helen to tell her the good news. Helen’s first
remark, however, was a chill upon her spirits.
“Wilford Cameron coming here? What will he think of us, we are so unlike
him?”
This was the first time Katy had seriously considered the difference
between her surroundings and those of Wilford Cameron, or how it might
affect him. But Aunt Betsy, who had never dreamed of anything like
Wilford’s home, comforted her, telling her, “if he was any kind of a
chap he wouldn’t be looking round, and if he did, who cared? She guessed
they were as good as he, and as much thought of by the neighbors.”
Wilford’s letter had been delayed so that the morrow was the day
appointed for his coming, and never was there a busier afternoon at the
farm-house than the one which followed the receipt of the letter.
Everything not spotlessly clean before was made so now, Aunt Betsy, in
her petticoat and short gown, going down upon her knees to scrub the
back door-sill, as if the city guest were expected to notice that. On
Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox devolved the duty of preparing for the wants
of the inner man, while Helen and Katy bent their energies to
beautifying their home and making the most of their plain furniture.
The “spare bedroom,” kept for company, was only large enough to admit
the high-post bed, a single chair, and the old-fashioned wash-stand,
with the hole in the top for the bowl, and a drawer beneath for towels;
and the two girls held a consultation as to whether it would not be
better to dispense with the parlor altogether, and give that room to
their visitor. But this was vetoed by Aunt Betsy, who, having finished
the back door-sill, had now come round to the front, and with her
scrubbing-brush in one hand and her saucer of sand in the other, held
forth upon the foolishness of the girls.
“Of course, if they had a beau, they’d want a t’other room, else where
would they do their sparkin’?”
That settled it. The parlor must remain as it was, Katy said, and Aunt
Betsy went on with her scouring, while Helen and Katy consulted together
how to make the huge feather bed more like the mattresses to which
Wilford must be accustomed. Helen’s mind being the more suggestive,
solved the problem first, and a large comfortable was brought from the
box in the garret and folded carefully over the bed, which, thus
hardened and flattened, “seemed like a mattress,” Katy said, for she
tried it, feeling quite well satisfied with the room when it was
finished. And certainly it was not uninviting, with its strip of bright
carpeting upon the floor, its vase of flowers upon the stand, and its
white-fringed curtain sweeping back from the narrow window.
“I’d like to sleep here myself,” was Katy’s comment, while Helen offered
no opinion, but followed her sister into the yard, where they were to
sweep the grass and prune the early September flowers.
This afforded Aunt Betsy a chance to reconnoitre and criticise, which
last she did unsparingly.
“What have them children been doin’ to that bed? Put on a quilt, as I’m
alive! It would break my back to lie there, and this _Carmon_ is none of
the youngest, accordin’ to their tell; nigh onto thirty, if not turned.
It will make his bones ache, of course. I am glad I know better than to
treat visitors that way. The comforter may stay, but I’ll be bound I’ll
make it softer!” And stealing up the stairs, Aunt Betsy brought down a
second feather bed, much lighter than the one already on, but still
large enough to suggest the thought of smothering. This she had made
herself, intending it as a part of Katy’s “setting out,” should she ever
marry; and as things now seemed tending that way, it was only right, she
thought, that Mr. Carmon, as she called him, should begin to have the
benefit of it. Accordingly _two_ beds, instead of one, were placed
beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy permitted to remain.
“I’m mighty feared they’ll find me out,” she said, taking great pains in
the making of her bed, and succeeding so well that when her task was
done there was no perceptible difference between Helen’s bed and her
own, except that the latter was a few inches higher than the former, and
more nearly resembled a pincushion in shape.
There was but little chance for Aunt Betsy to be detected, for Helen,
supposing the room to be in order, had dismissed it from her mind, and
was training a rose over a frame, while Katy was on her way to Linwood
in quest of various little things which Mrs. Lennox considered
indispensable to the entertainment of a man like Wilford Cameron. Morris
was out on his piazza, enjoying the fine prospect he had of the sun
shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding the top
of the little church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he rose and
greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with him, for
he had learned to listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she
often did, of Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how
anxious she was for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he
thought Mr. Cameron would ever write to her. It was hard at first for
Morris to listen, and harder still to keep back the passionate words of
love trembling on his lips—to refrain from asking her to take him in
Cameron’s stead—him who had loved her so long. But Morris had kept
silence, and as the weeks went by there came insensibly into his heart a
hope, or rather conviction, that Wilford Cameron had forgotten the
little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening his home just as
she did every spot where her fairy footsteps trod. Morris did not fully
know that he was hugging this fond dream until he felt the keen pang
which cut like a dissector’s knife as Katy, turning her bright, eager
face up to him, whispered softly, “He’s coming to-morrow—he surely is; I
have his letter to tell me so.”
Morris could not see the sunshine upon the distant hills, although it
lay there just as purple and warm as it had a moment before. There was
an instant of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun-setting,
and Katy seemed a great way off to Morris, trying so hard to be calm,
and mentally asking for help to do so. But Katy’s hat, which she swung
in her hand, had become entangled in the vines encircling one of the
pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice him until all traces of
his agitation were past, and he could talk with her concerning Wilford;
then playfully lifting her basket he asked what she had come to get.
This was not the first time the great house had rendered a like service
to the little house, and so Katy did not blush when she explained that
her mother wanted Morris’s forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and
would he be kind enough to bring the caster over himself, and come to
dinner to-morrow at two o’clock, and would he go for Mr. Cameron? The
forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and caster were cheerfully
promised, while Morris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came
to the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch as it
concerned Uncle Ephraim—honest, unsophisticated Uncle Ephraim, _who
would come to the table in his shirt sleeves_! This was the burden of
her grief—the one thing she dreaded most, because she knew how such an
act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron who, never having lived in the
country a day in his life, except as he was either guest or traveler,
could not make due allowance for these little departures from
refinement, so obnoxious to people of his training.
“What is it, Katy?” Morris asked, as he saw how she hesitated, and
guessed her errand was not all told.
“I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked,” Katy began, her eyes
filling with tears, as she felt that she might be doing Uncle Ephraim a
wrong by admitting that in any way he could be improved. “I certainly
love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and _I_ do not mind his ways, but—but—Mr.
Cameron may—that is, oh, Cousin Morris, _did_ you ever notice how Uncle
Ephraim will persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves?”
“_Persist_ is hardly the word to use,” Morris replied, smiling
comically, as he readily understood Katy’s misgivings. “Persist would
imply his having been often remonstrated with for that breach of
etiquette; whereas I doubt whether the idea that it was not in strict
accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him.”
“Maybe not,” Katy answered. “It was never necessary till now, and I feel
so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron to like him, and if he does that I
am sure he won’t.”
“Why do you think so?” Morris asked, and Katy replied, “He is so
particular, and was so very angry at a little hotel between Lakes George
and Champlain, where we took our dinner before going on the boat. There
was a man along—a real good-natured man, too, so kind to everybody—and,
as the day was warm, he carried his coat on his arm, and sat down to the
table right opposite me. Mr. Cameron was _so_ indignant, and said such
harsh things, which the man heard I am sure, for he put on his coat
directly, and I saw him afterward on the boat, sweating like rain, and
looking so sorry, as if he had been guilty of something wrong. I am
sure, though, he had not?”
This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris replied: “There is
nothing wrong or wicked in going without one’s coat. Everything depends
upon the circumstances under which it is done. For _me_ to appear at
table in my shirt sleeves would be very rude, but for an old man like
Uncle Ephraim to do so is a very different thing. Still, Mr. Cameron may
see from another standpoint. But I would not distress myself. That love
is not worth much which would think the less of you for anything _outré_
which Uncle Ephraim may do. If Mr. Cameron cannot stand the test of
seeing your relatives as they are, he is not worth the long face you are
wearing,” and Morris pinched her cheek playfully.
“Yes, I know,” Katy replied, “but if you only could manage Uncle Eph, I
should be so glad.”
Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but he promised to
try if an opportunity should occur, and as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper,
had by this time gathered up the articles required for the morrow,
Morris took the basket in his own hands and went with Katy across the
fields.
“God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron’s visit bring you as much
happiness as you anticipate,” he said, as he set her basket upon the
doorstep and turned back without entering the house.
Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again there swept over
her the same thrill she had felt when Morris first said to her, “And did
Katy like this Mr. Cameron?” but so far was she from guessing the truth
that she only feared she might have displeased him by what she had said
of Uncle Ephraim. Perhaps she _had_ wronged him, she thought, and the
good old man, resting from his hard day’s toil, in his accustomed chair,
with not only his coat, but his vest and boots cast aside, little
guessed what prompted the caresses which Katy lavished upon him, sitting
in his lap and parting his snowy hair, as if thus she would make amends
for any injury done. Little Katy-did he called her, looking fondly into
her bright, pretty face, and thinking how terrible it would be to see
that face shadowed with pain and care. Somehow, of late, Uncle Ephraim
was always thinking of such a calamity as more than possible for Katy,
and when that night she knelt beside him, his voice was full of pleading
earnestness as he prayed that God would keep them all in safety, and
bring to none of them more grief or pain than was necessary to fit them
for himself. And Katy, listening to him, remembered the talk down in the
meadow, when she sat on the rock beneath the butternut tree. But the
world, while it held Wilford Cameron, as he seemed to her now, was too
full of joy for her to dread what the future might have in store for
her, and so she arose from her knees, thinking only how long it would be
before to-morrow noon, wondering if Wilford would surely be there next
time their evening prayers were said, and if he would notice Uncle
Ephraim’s shocking grammar!