FINDING COUSINS
In the end it had been much better for Priscilla if she had at once
retraced her steps. Instead, while Amy still had her back to her, while
Martine stood with her finger on her lips, Priscilla, with a rapid step
that was almost a stride, walked farther away from them. Turning first
one corner and then another, she indulged herself in her unreasonable
annoyance with Amy and Martine. For a minute or two she continued to
walk briskly, wondering all the time if the others would catch up with
her. At length, when her curiosity overcame her pride, she did turn
around, only to discover that her friends were nowhere in sight.
"I shouldn't think Amy would have acted so," she said to herself. "Of
course I can't expect much from Martine, but Amy is different."
Yet if any one else had put the question to Priscilla she would have
found it hard to say wherein Martine was at fault. It was only that in
that fleeting glance she had gained the impression that the two were
trying to hold some secret from her.
Priscilla had not walked very far when another turn brought her in front
of a small wooden building that reminded her at once of a child's toy.
"Is it a school, or a church?" she wondered, and she glanced up at the
little steeple.
"Hello, Miss Denman;" and Priscilla, lowering her gaze from the steeple,
saw in front of her Martine's brother, Lucian Stratford.
"I didn't expect to see you here by yourself," continued Lucian. "I
thought that you girls were off somewhere together."
"We were," replied Priscilla, "but I just thought I would--do a little
sightseeing alone."
"Well, I don't blame you," rejoined Lucian; "it's sometimes so hard to
get Martine to take an interest in things. It used to be just so in
Europe. We could never depend on her, so I don't blame you for keeping
by yourself."
Priscilla made no reply. She really had no explanation.
"This is a funny little church, isn't it?" continued Lucian. "Fritz and
I were over here the other day. Some one had told him about it. It's a
little Dutch church, and almost as old as the city itself. It was built
for the Lutherans, for in the beginning there were a lot of German
settlers here in Halifax."
"Thank you," said Priscilla. "You are as good as a guide-book; one never
expects a boy to take an interest in such things."
"I can't say that I do generally, only you remember that foggy afternoon
when you girls were all so busy writing letters? Well, Fritz and I got
tired of staying indoors browsing over books, so we started out. We went
down to the great dry dock--though I don't suppose that you girls would
care for that,--and we had a chance to go into old St. Paul's,--that's
about as old as the city too, and makes you think of one of the queer,
dingy London churches. It has any number of interesting tablets and
memorials, and we planned to take you girls there before we go, and then
walking about we just chanced on this little toy building. But I've got
a suggestion for to-day," concluded Lucian. "You see, it's Saturday, and
one of the market days, so if you'd like to go, I'd be happy to take you
down there. What do you say?"
"Why, yes, of course I'd like it. You are very kind to think of it."
Priscilla remembered that Amy had spoken of going to the market, and for
a moment she regretted her absence.
Lucian Stratford, however, proved a surprisingly agreeable guide, and
even before they had reached the Green Market Priscilla was quite
ashamed of the little prejudice that she had once held against him.
"It's an old custom," Lucian explained, as the two stood in the middle
of the street, "for the country people to drive in with their produce."
The market was in Post Office Square, and almost every foot of space was
occupied by some man or woman with something to sell. Indians, negroes,
country people--it was a motley crowd and well worth seeing. The Indians
for the most part sat on the sidewalk, bent over their wares, though
here and there one or two leaned back against a building.
"We saw Indians like these at Bear River," said Priscilla, "only a
little better dressed,--perhaps because it was a holiday. But these
baskets are the best I've seen this summer."
Baskets and sweet grass were the stock in trade of these Indians, and
some of the baskets were of odd designs and really artistic shapes.
"Do you really like them?" asked Lucian, and almost in the next breath
he had laid three or four of the prettiest in Priscilla's arms.
"For Martine?" asked Priscilla.
"No, no, for you,--if you'll take them. There, let me carry them. I did
not mean to load you down. Only I thought I might see something else."
"Oh, nothing more now, thank you. You are very kind, but these are
really almost too much, and I can carry them myself--"
An old negro at this moment crossed their path, swinging a cane. They
realized his nearness only when a sudden flourish of the stick sent
Priscilla's baskets flying into the street. The negro, apologizing
profusely, hastened to help Lucian collect the baskets, and Priscilla
was pleased that Lucian showed no anger at the man's carelessness.
Instead, he began an animated conversation with the old fellow, and
returned to Priscilla's side smiling broadly.
"The old man has been praising his son's wife's vegetables so warmly
that we'll just have to go over there to see them. She is the fat darkey
sitting in that cart yonder, and I hope we'll get off without buying her
out."
The next moment Lucian was laughing and chaffering with the old negro's
son's wife, and Priscilla gasped as she saw him pointing out turnips,
carrots, and even summer squashes. She did not know him well enough to
protest, and she only wondered how he meant to get the things home.
"They're all mine," he called to Priscilla, as she waited for him a
short distance from the cart. Then he leaned over toward the old man and
said something, and the negro hobbled off, smiling. In a moment he
returned with a large pail, into which his son's wife heaped Lucian's
purchases.
"There," said Lucian, as he returned to Priscilla's side, "won't Mrs.
Redmond and the others stare when they behold this load?" and he lifted
the pail that Priscilla might the more readily admire its contents.
"But you don't intend to carry it through the streets?" There was a
question in Priscilla's tone. Lucian glanced at her curiously. He had
just been thinking how companionable she was, and now this Plymouth girl
was going to show herself as narrow and conventional as others.
"I needn't carry it," he responded. "Perhaps Sambo here--is your name
Sambo?"
"No, sir, my name's Mr. Malachai Robertson."
"Oh, excuse me, Sambo--I mean, Mr. Malachai Robertson--could you find me
a good smart boy to carry this pail?"
Malachai looked at his stick--symbol of dignity--then at the young man,
but at the same time he probably reflected that a fair fee was in sight;
so he straightened himself up, reached over toward the pail, and with an
"I'll carry it, sah," fell into line behind Lucian and Priscilla. Before
the two, however, were quite ready to turn homeward, they lingered to
watch the shoppers patronizing the Green Market, and buying supplies of
vegetables and fruit.
"I only wish that Mrs. Redmond had come. It will be too bad if she
misses it altogether--and Amy; the sun has come out so bright that she
ought to be here to photograph some of these groups of colored people."
"Oh, the chance is that you will all be here in Halifax next Wednesday
morning. The Market is here twice a week," responded Lucian. "Just now I
suppose we ought to be turning home, as they are horribly prompt about
meals at The Mayflower."
As the two walked up Hollis Street Priscilla noticed that some whom they
met looked at them curiously. But only after she herself had thrown a
backward glance over her shoulder did she realize the cause, for
straight behind Lucian stalked Malachai, flourishing his cane after the
fashion of a drum-major with his baton, while with the other hand he
supported on his shoulder the pail of vegetables, balancing it with such
a nicety that the carrots and squash and the large bunch of radishes
kept their place on the top, though to the casual observer they seemed
on the point of falling to the ground.
[Illustration: "Behind Lucian stalked Malachai, flourishing his cane
after the fashion of a drum-major."]
Had Priscilla been able to see herself she would have discovered that
she, too, added to the gaiety of the group, for her baskets were even
more brilliant in coloring than the vegetables, and as she had to carry
them in her arms they made a rather startling display. Lucian had
offered to take her load, but she had waved him away.
"No, a boy always finds it much harder to manage clumsy packages. These
are not heavy; it's merely that they look awkward."
So Lucian had contented himself with buying three or four bouquets of
the brightest flowers,--dahlias and garden asters chiefly,--and with
both hands thus filled he made the procession more brilliant.
When they reached the house none of their party happened to be in sight,
so, at Lucian's suggestions, Priscilla left her baskets on the
sitting-room table while she went upstairs to find Mrs. Redmond. Amy's
room adjoined her mother's, and as Priscilla stood there at Mrs.
Redmond's half-open door the sound of voices in the inner room floated
out to her. For a moment she stood there listening, quite unconscious
that she was eavesdropping, until a sentence in Martine's clear voice
came to her.
"She certainly is a terrible trial, narrow minded and priggish, and I
don't wonder, Amy, that you dislike her."
When Priscilla grasped this sentence in its entirety she turned about
instantly.
"Did you find them? Are they coming down?" asked Lucian, cheerfully, as
she rejoined him.
"I--I didn't; that is, I'm not sure," stammered Priscilla. "If you don't
mind, I'll leave the baskets here. Perhaps you would give them to the
others;" and before Lucian could stop her she had run upstairs again.
At the dinner-table Lucian looked anxiously at Priscilla. When she
thought that no one was observing her, he caught her wiping away a
surreptitious drop of moisture. What could be the matter? Lucian racked
his brains to decide if by any mischance he had in word or act offended
Priscilla; but his conscience reassured him. He could not recall
anything that might have annoyed her. On the contrary, up to the moment
of their return to the house they had got along swimmingly--the latter
phrase was his way of putting it.
"There's no accounting for girls," he said to himself. "I've known
Martine to get dreadfully excited about nothing; but Priscilla Denman
seemed such a sensible girl that I don't quite understand what the
trouble is."
Before dinner had ended, however, Lucian decided that whatever it was
that had disturbed Priscilla she did not blame him; for she turned to
him with the utmost friendliness when he made some allusion to their
morning walk, and between them they soon had the others at table
laughing at their account of Malachai and the Green Market.
"I hope you paid the old man well for his trouble," said Martine; "for
it probably was a great favor on his part to walk up Hollis Street
toting a pail."
"Probably he paid him too well," rejoined Fritz, "unless he has changed
his habits within the week. On our way from Yarmouth I tried to make
Lucian see how demoralizing it would be to the natives to introduce the
habit of tipping here."
"Oh, but one ought to pay for benefits received," said Lucian, "and I
really do try to be prudent."
When dinner was over Lucian noticed that, as they left the room,
Priscilla seemed to be trying to avoid Martine. She hardly replied to
some question that the latter addressed her, and he saw other evidences
that Priscilla did not care to speak to her.
After dinner Martine ran up to her brother.
"Oh, Lucian," she cried, "here's the most exciting letter from papa! I
can't tell you all that's in it now, for it must be kept secret a little
longer. But aren't you glad that mamma is better? I know you had a
letter from her this morning. To think they'll be home in September! Oh,
Lucian, I'd like to hug you, I'm so happy!"
"Please, please, not now," begged Lucian; "we couldn't explain to people
that I'm your brother;" and he pointed to several passers-by on the
sidewalk just outside the garden.
"Then sit here with me in this little arbor. I have several questions,
and this is the first good chance I've had. Did you ever hear the name
'Balfour' in our family--in mother's family, I mean?"
Lucian shook his head. "'Balfour'?" he repeated. "I've certainly heard
the name somewhere--lately, too, I should think."
"Yes, of course, dear stupid. Balfour Airton; that's the nice boy we met
at Annapolis. Mr. Knight's friend, you know, the one we've talked
about."
"Oh, yes, of course; do you mean to ask if he is in our family? Strange
I never heard of it."
"There, listen, Lucian; this is what I mean. Mrs. Blair is mother's
cousin, and her name, you know, is Audrey Balfour Blair."
"Has she a first name, and one so frivolous as 'Audrey'? How did that
happen?"
"That's just what I wish to know. I thought that perhaps you would
remember whether her name was Balfour before her marriage."
For a few minutes Lucian seemed lost in reflection, then looking up he
exclaimed,--
"Yes, Martine, I am sure; Mrs. Blair's name was _not_ 'Balfour,' it was
'Tuck.' I once met a brother of hers. He was visiting Chicago. But, I'll
tell you what--I am pretty sure that her grandmother was a Balfour.
That's where the relationship to mamma comes in. You know that _her_
grandmother was a Balfour, and that's what makes them cousins; their
grandmothers were sisters."
"Why, Lucian," cried Martine, jumping to her feet in her excitement,
"that's just what I wanted to know. I don't care anything about Mrs.
Blair's grandmother, but if there's a Balfour in mamma's family, don't
you see how splendid it would be?"
"Can't say that I do," responded Lucian; "but if it pleases you, it's
probably all right." Lucian had often said confidentially to his friends
that the ways of girls were past finding out, and he did not except his
sister from the general rule.
"Oh, but can't you see, Lucian, that if I could prove that Balfour
Airton is a cousin to Mrs. Blair, and if mamma is a cousin of Mrs.
Blair's, which--"
"Which she is, without doubt," said Lucian.
"Why, then, don't you see--"
"Oh, yes, I see," cried Lucian. "Why, then, you would be cousin to
Balfour Airton and his sister. Well, perhaps there's no harm in that, if
it pleases you; but what is there in it for me? I might not like either
of your prodigies, and so I am not ready to be made a cousin to people I
have never seen."
Yet a good-humored twinkle in Lucian's eye seemed to say, "If I would I
could tell you something that would please you mightily--and perhaps I
will."
Now Martine, understanding her brother pretty well, saw that he was
really more sympathetic than he professed to be, so she wisely decided
to wait until he was quite reedy to tell her what she wished to know;
and to change the subject she pulled a letter from her pocket.
"If you hadn't had a letter from mamma by the same mail I would show
this to you," she said. "It's the most delightful letter papa has ever
written me, though I won't tell why--at least not just now," and she
waved the closely written sheet rather tantalizingly before him.
"Oh, ho, child, you cannot tease me at this late day; and besides, I
know why you try. Put your letter away, little sister; I can wait until
you choose to read it to me. But I know what you want, and I am willing
to gratify your curiosity. Yes, there was an Audrey Balfour in mother's
family; but you may be less interested in her when I tell you about her.
She was a Tory."
Lucian uttered the last word with all the scorn of one who has studied
American history built on the most thoroughgoing anti-British basis.
"Oh, that's nothing," responded Martine; "at least, Priscilla would call
it nothing. Each of us likes both Acadians and Tories, though I am
supposed to care only for Acadians, and Priscilla for Tories. But how do
you happen to know about this Audrey Balfour?"
"Through the Colonial Dames, my dear. You see, mamma had to have some
papers filled out last spring. It was while you were at school, and she
asked me to get a genealogist to copy certain things for her. Well, I
found that mother's great-grandfather was a Tory, who was driven from
his home and went to England or to Canada to live. One or two of his
elder children were married before the Revolution, and their husbands
were on the patriot side. One of these was Audrey, who was the
grandmother of Mrs. Blair; another was our great-grandmother Edmonds.
She was Martha Balfour."
"I see," interrupted Martine. "Our great-grandmother! Then it isn't so
strange that I didn't remember the Balfour in our family; it is so far
away. I think it's just wonderful that you remember it."
"Oh, it only happened so because I had had to have it looked up. I had
the whole line typewritten for my own benefit, and I looked at it
several times this year. I noticed the Tory Thomas and Audrey
especially, and I wondered if they would effect my eligibility to a
patriotic society that I am anxious to join. But I believe that I am all
right because I am the loyal descendant of a Tory ancestor."
"Dear me!" cried Martine, when Lucian had finished this long speech.
"You really sound quite learned! I believe that college has done you
some good after all."
"After all! If you look up my record you'll find that I took all the
history last year that Harvard allows a Freshman, and it's because I
have a bent that way that I can remember these things."
"Well, Lucian, you've proved yourself a brick. I hope Priscilla won't
object to this. Sometimes she is a little jealous--but there, don't
repeat it--perhaps jealous is not just the word; but somehow, she
doesn't always approve of me."
"She's fighting rather shy of you to-day," responded Lucian, "and I
can't help wondering what you've been up to. Miss Denman doesn't seem to
me an unreasonable girl. She and I had a fine time to-day at the market.
I'm afraid that you have been teasing her, Martine."
But Martine continued to insist that her conscience was quite clear, so
far as Priscilla was concerned, and that Lucian must imagine any traces
of ill-feeling.
Nevertheless, she could but observe that Priscilla seemed to be avoiding
her; for, in the afternoon, when Amy and Fritz went off on their
bicycles for a spin through the Park, Priscilla declined Martine's
invitation to go with her and Lucian to the Public Gardens to hear the
band play.
"I have letters to write," she said, "and--well, on the whole, I really
can't go."
"Very well," rejoined Martine, rather shortly, as she left Priscilla's
room to report to Lucian that her invitation had been so scorned.
"You must have done something to offend her; think it over carefully,
Martine, and then confess," urged Lucian. Priscilla had made so good an
impression on him that he was unable to consider her wholly in the
wrong.