AT OLD BELLVIEU AGAIN
"Oh, Aunt Betty, Aunt Betty!" cried Dorothy, as she leaped from the
carriage and dashed across the lawn toward the steps, followed more
leisurely by Jim. "I just can't wait to get to you!"
Aunt Betty gave an hysterical little laugh and folded the girl in her
arms with such a warmth of affection that tears sprang into Dorothy's
eyes.
"My dear, dear child!" was all the old lady could say. Then her lip
began to tremble and she seemed on the verge of crying.
Dorothy took the aged face between her two hands and kissed it
repeatedly. She forgot that Jim was standing near, waiting for a
greeting--forgot everything except that she was home again, with Mrs.
Elisabeth Cecil Somerset-Calvert, the best and dearest aunt in the
world, to love and pet her.
"Break away! Break away!" cried Jim, after a moment, forcing a note
of gayety into his voice for Aunt Betty's sake. "Give a fellow a
chance for a kiss, won't you, Dorothy?"
"Certainly, Jim; I'd forgotten you were with me," was the girl's
response.
"You, as well as Dorothy, are a sight for sore eyes," cried Aunt
Betty, pleased at the warm embrace and hearty kiss of her one-time
protege.
"And we're glad to be here, you bet!" Jim replied. "A long, tiresome
journey, that, Aunt Betty, I tell you! The sight of old Bellvieu is
almost as refreshing as a good night's sleep, and that's something I
stand pretty badly in need of about now. And just gaze at Dorothy,
Aunt Betty! Isn't she looking well?"
"A perfect picture of health, Jim. Had I met her in a crowd in a
strange city, I doubt if I should have known her."
"Oh, Aunt Betty, surely I haven't changed as much as that," the girl
protested.
"You don't realize how you've grown and broadened, and--"
"Broadened? Oh, Aunt Betty!"
"Broadened, not physically, but mentally, my dear. I can see that my
old friend, the Bishop, took good care of you, and that Miss
Tross-Kingdon has borne out her well-established reputation of
returning young ladies to their relatives greatly improved both in
learning and culture."
"Well, auntie, dear, I'm satisfied if you are, and now, let me take
off my things. I'm so tired of railroad trains, I don't care to see
another for months."
"Well, you've had your work, and now you shall have your play. I do
not mean that you shall be shut up in this hot city all summer
without a bit of an outing. What would you say to a--oh, but I'm
ahead of my story! I'll tell you all this when you are rested and can
better decide whether my plans for your vacation will please you."
"Oh, auntie, tell me now--don't keep me in suspense!"
"Young ladies," said Aunt Betty, regarding her great-niece
half-severely over her glasses, "should learn to control their
curiosity. If allowed to run unbridled, it is apt, sooner or later,
to get them into trouble."
"But, auntie, I want to know!"
Just the suggestion of a pout showed itself on Dorothy's lips.
"What a pretty mouth! And so you shall know."
"You're the best auntie!"
Two white arms went around Mrs. Calvert's neck and the pouting face
was wreathed in smiles.
"But not now," concluded Aunt Betty.
"Oh!"
The disappointed tone made Aunt Betty smile, and she winked slyly at
Jim, as she observed:
"Isn't it wonderful what a lot of interest a simple little sentence
will arouse?"
"I've never yet met a girl who wasn't overburdened with
curiosity--and I s'pose I never shall," was Jim's response. "It's the
way they're built. Aunt Betty, and I reckon there's no help for it.
Not changing the subject, but how do I reach my room?"
"Ephy will show you. It's the big room on the east side. Everything
is ready for you. When you have washed and freshened up a bit you may
join Dorothy and I on the lawn."
"Very good; but don't wait for me. I may decide to take a snooze, and
when I snooze I'm very uncertain. Traveling always did tire me out."
Ephraim, with Jim's suit case, led the way up the broad stairs of the
Calvert mansion, the boy following.
"Heah we is, sah," said the colored man, after a moment. He paused to
throw open the massive door of a room. "Dis yeah room am de very
bestest dis place affords. Youse mighty lucky, Mistah Jim, tuh be
relegated tuh de guest chambah, en I takes dis ercasion to
congratulate yo'."
"Thank you, Ephy. But, being a guest, why should I not have the guest
chamber?" and Jim's eyes roamed admiringly over the old-fashioned but
richly-furnished apartment.
"No reason 'tall, sah--no reason 'tall. I hain't sayin' nuffin'. But
dis suah am er fine room."
The suit case was resting on the floor by the wardrobe, and Ephraim
was carefully unpacking the boy's clothes, and putting them in their
proper places, while Jim, glad to be rid of his coat, which he termed
"excess baggage," was soon puffing and blowing in a huge bowl of
water, from where he went for a plunge in the tub.
"Lordy, Mistah Jim," the colored man chuckled, following him to the
door of the bathroom, "hit suah looks as though yo' was a darkey, en
all de black had washed off."
"That's some of the smoke and cinders acquired during our journey
from Canada. Don't forget that you have them on you, too, Ephy, only,
being as black as ink, they don't show up so well."
"Yas'r, yas'r, I reckon dat's right." Old Ephraim continued to
chuckle at frequent intervals. "Yo' suah is er great boy, Mistah
Jim!"
"Thank you, Ephy."
"A-washin' yo' face en haid in de wash bowl, den climbin' intuh de
tub fo' tuh wash de rest. Dat's w'at I calls extravagantness." He
straightened up suddenly. "Now, sah, yo' clothes is all laid out
nice, sah. Is dar anyt'ing moah I kin do?"
"Nothing, Ephy--nothing. You've done everything a gentleman could
expect of his valet. So vamoose!"
"Huh?"
"Get out--take your leave--anything you want to call it, so you leave
me alone. I'm going to take a nap, and when I wake up I'll be as
hungry as a bear."
"Well, I reckon we kin jes' about satisfy dat appetite, chile. If
dar's anyt'ing mah Miss Betty hain't got in de way ob food, I hain't
nebber diskivered hit yet."
So Ephraim left Jim to his own devices, and went down to the
servants' quarters, where he literally talked the arms off of both
Chloe and Dinah, while Metty stood by with wide-open mouth, as he
listened to Ephraim's tale of his adventures in Canada.
In the meantime, Dorothy and Aunt Betty were in the former's big
front room, and the girl, too, was removing the stains of the
journey, keeping up an incessant chatter to Mrs. Calvert, the while.
"I was perfectly delighted with Oak Knowe," she said, "and most
particularly with your friend, the Bishop, who received me with open
arms--not figuratively, but literally, Aunt Betty--and gave me such a
good send-off to Miss Tross-Kingdon that I'm sure she became slightly
prepossessed in my favor."
Dorothy then told of her examination by Miss Hexam, and how well she
had gone through the ordeal, despite the fact that she had been
dreadfully nervous; her examination in music, and her introduction to
the other scholars; the antipathy, both felt and expressed for her by
Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, a member of the British peerage, who led the
student body known as the "Peers"; of her introduction to the
"Commons," the largest and wildest set in the school, who were all
daughters of good families, but without rank or titles.
"And I can see my mischievous girl entering into the pranks of the
'Commons,'" smiled Aunt Betty. "I only hope you did not carry things
with a high hand and win the disapproval of Miss Tross-Kingdon."
"Occasionally we did," Dorothy was forced to admit. "But for the
most part the girls were a rollicking lot, going nearly to the
extreme limits of behavior when any fun promised, but keeping safely
within the rules. There is no doubt, Aunt Betty, but that Miss
Tross-Kingdon was secretly fonder of us than of the more dignified
'Peers.'"
Then Aunt Betty must know the outcome of the dislike expressed for
Dorothy by Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, so the girl recounted her
subsequent adventures, including her rescue of Gwendolyn from the
water, and the English girl's brave act in saving Dorothy from a
frightful slide down a precipice.
"Just think! You were in deadly danger and I knew nothing of it,"
said Aunt Betty, a sternly reproving note in her voice.
"But think, dear Aunt Betty, of the worry it would have caused you.
It was all over in a few moments, and I was safe and sound again. If
I had written you then, you would have felt that I was in constant
peril, whereas my escape served as a lesson to me not to be careless,
and you would have worried over nothing."
"Perhaps you are right, Dorothy; at any rate, now I have you with me,
I am not going to quarrel. I'm sure your adventure was merely the
result of being thoughtless."
"It was. And Gwendolyn's rescue was simply magnificent, auntie. Her
only thought at that moment seemed for me."
"We will try to thank her in a substantial manner some day, my dear."
"I should dearly love to have her visit me at Bellvieu, if only to
show the cold, aristocratic young lady the warmth and sincerity of a
Southern reception."
"And perhaps you will have the opportunity. But not this summer. I
have other plans for you."
"Now, you are arousing my curiosity again," said Dorothy, in a
disappointed tone. "Please, Aunt Betty, tell me what is on your
mind."
"All in good time, my dear."
"Has it--has it anything to do with Uncle Seth?" the girl queried, a
slight tremor in her voice. Somehow, she felt that the death of the
"Learned Blacksmith," with whom Aunt Betty had been so intimate for
years, had been responsible in a measure for the present poor state
of her health.
"Yes; it has to do with your Uncle Seth, poor man. His death, as you
have probably imagined, was a great shock to me. I felt as though I
had lost a brother. And then, the news of his demise came so
suddenly. It was his dearest wish that you become a great musician.
You will remember how he encouraged and developed your talent while
we were at Deerhurst, arranging with Mr. Wilmot to give you lessons?
He has frequently expressed himself as not being satisfied with your
progress. Shortly before his death I had a letter from him, in which
he urged me to employ one of the best violin teachers in Baltimore
for you at the end of your course at Oak Knowe. I feel it is a small
favor, to grant, dear, so if you are still of the notion that you
were intended for a great violinist, I have decided to give you a
chance to show your mettle."
"Dear Aunt Betty," said the girl, earnestly, putting an arm
affectionately around the neck of her relative, "it is the dearest
wish of my life, but one."
"What is the other wish, Dorothy?"
"That you be thoroughly restored to health. Then, if I can become
perfect on my violin, I shall be delighted beyond measure."
"Oh, my health is all right, child, except that I am beginning to
feel my age. It was partly through a selfish motive that I planned
this outing in Western Maryland."
"An outing in Western Maryland! Oh, and was that the secret you had
to tell me?"
"Yes; the South Mountains, a spur of the famous Blue Ridge range,
will make an ideal spot in which to spend a few weeks during the
summer months."
"It must be a beautiful spot," said the girl. "I love the mountains,
and always have. The Catskills especially, will always be dear to me.
When do we start, auntie?"
"As soon as you have perfected your arrangements with Herr
Deichenberg, and have rested sufficiently from your journey."
"Herr Deichenberg? Oh, then you have already found my teacher?"
"Yes; and a perfect treasure he is, or I miss my guess. Do you
remember David Warfield in 'The Music Master,' which we saw at the
theater a year ago?"
"Indeed, yes, auntie. How could one ever forget?"
"Herr Deichenberg is a musician of the Anton Von Barwig type--kind,
gentle, courteous--withal, possessing those sterling qualities so
ably portrayed in the play by Mr. Warfield. The Herr has the most
delightful brogue, and a shy manner, which I am sure will not be in
evidence during lesson hours."
"And I am to be taught by a real musician?"
"Yes."
"What a lucky girl I am!"
"If you think so, dear, I am pleased. I have tried to make you
happy."
"And you have succeeded beyond my fondest expectations. There is
nothing any girl could have that I have wanted for, since coming to
live with you. You are the finest, best and bravest auntie in the
whole, wide world!"
"Oh, Dorothy!"
"It's true, and you know it. It's too bad other girls are not so
fortunate. To think of your having my vacation all planned before I
reached home. I said I am tired of railroad trains, but I've changed
my mind; I am perfectly willing to ride as far as the South Mountains
and return."
"But in this instance we are not going on a train, my dear."
"Not going on a train?" queried Dorothy, a blank expression on her
face. Aunt Betty shook her head and smiled.
"Now, I've mystified you, haven't I?"
"You surely have. The trolleys do not run that far, so how--?"
Dorothy paused, perplexed.
"There are other means of locomotion," said Aunt Betty in her most
tantalizing tone.
"Yes; we might walk," laughed the girl, "but I dare say we shall
not."
"No; we are going in an automobile."
"In an automobile? Oh, I'm so glad, auntie. I--I--" Dorothy paused
and assumed a serious expression. "Why, auntie, dear, wherever are we
to get an automobile? You surely cannot afford so expensive a
luxury?"
"You are quite right; I cannot."
"Then--?"
"But Gerald and Aurora Blank have a nice new car, and they have
offered to pilot our little party across the state."
"Then I forgive them all their sins!" cried Dorothy. "Somehow, I
disliked them when we first met; and you know, dear auntie, they
_were_ rude and overbearing during the early days on the houseboat."
"But before the end of the trip, through a series of incidents which
go a long way toward making good men and women out of our boys and
girls, they learned to be gentle to everybody," Aunt Betty responded,
a reminiscent note in her voice. "I remember, we discussed it at the
time."
"I must say they got over their priggishness quickly when they once
saw the error of their ways," said Dorothy.
"Yes. Gerald is growing into a fine young man, now. You know his
father failed in business, so that he was forced to sell the
houseboat, and that Uncle Seth bought it for you? Well, Gerald has
entered into his father's affairs with an indomitable spirit, and
has, I am told, become quite an assistance to him, as well as an
inspiration to him to retrieve his lost fortunes. The Blanks have
grown quite prosperous again, and Mr. Blank gave the auto to Gerald
and Aurora a few weeks since to do with as they please."
"I'm glad to hear of Gerald's success. No doubt he and Jim will get
along better this time--for, of course, Jim is to be included in our
party?"
"Indeed we should never go a mile out of Baltimore without him!"
sniffed Aunt Betty. "It was expressly stipulated that he was to go.
Besides Jim, Gerald, Aurora, and ourselves, there will be no one but
Ephraim, unless you care to invite your old chum, Molly
Breckenridge?"
"Oh, auntie, why do you suggest the impossible?" Dorothy's face went
again from gay to grave. "Dear Molly is in California with her
father, who is ill, and they may not return for months."
"I'd forgotten you had not heard. Molly returned east with her father
some two weeks since, hence may be reached any time at her old
address."
"That's the best news I have heard since you told me I was to study
under Herr Deichenberg," Dorothy declared. "I'll write Molly to-day,
and if she comes, she shall have a reception at Bellvieu fit for a
queen."
Molly and Dorothy had first met during Dorothy's schooldays at the
Misses Rhinelanders' boarding academy in Newburgh, where they had
been the life of the school. Their acquaintance had ripened into more
than friendship when, together, they traveled through Nova Scotia,
and later met for another good time on the western ranch of the
railroad king, Daniel Ford. More than any of her other girl friends
Dorothy liked Molly, hence the news that she had returned east, and
that she might invite her to share the outing in the South Mountains,
caused Dorothy's eyes to glow with a deep satisfaction.
"And now that we have discussed so thoroughly our prospective
outing," said Aunt Betty, "we may change the subject. It remains for
me to arrange an early meeting for you with Herr Deichenberg. The
Herr has a little studio in a quiet part of the city which he rarely
leaves. It is quite possible, however, that I can induce him to come
to Bellvieu for your first meeting, though I am sure he will insist
that all your labors be performed in his own comfortable domicile,
where he, naturally, feels perfectly at home.
"I visited the studio some weeks ago--shortly after I received your
Uncle Seth's letter, in fact. The Herr received me cordially, and
said he would be delighted to take a pupil so highly recommended as
Miss Dorothy Elisabeth Somerset-Calvert."
"To which I duly make my little bow," replied the girl, dropping a
graceful curtsey she had learned from Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon.
"My dear Dorothy, that is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen
you do. As Ephraim would express it, it is 'puffectly harmonious.'
Indeed, you _have_ improved since going to Canada, and it pleases me
immensely."
Aunt Betty's admiration for her great-niece was so thoroughly genuine
that Dorothy could not refrain from giving her another hug.
"There, there, dear; you overwhelm me. I am glad to be able to pay
you an honest compliment. I have no doubt you have acquired other
virtues of which I am at present in ignorance."
"Aunt Betty, you're getting to be a perfect flatterer. And what about
the vices I may have acquired?"
Aunt Betty smiled.
"They are, I am sure, greatly in the minority--in fact, nothing but
what any healthy, mischievous girl acquires at a modern boarding
school. Now, in my younger days, the schoolmasters and mistresses
were very strict. Disobedience to the slightest rule meant severe
punishment, and was really the means of keeping pent up within one
certain things from which the system were better rid. But I must go
now and dress. When you have rested and completed your toilet, pass
by my room and we'll go on the lawn together."
With a final kiss Aunt Betty disappeared down the hall, leaving
Dorothy alone with her thoughts.
"Dear old auntie," she murmured. "Her chief desire, apparently, is
for my welfare. I can never in this world repay her kindness--never!"
Then, seized with a sudden inspiration, she sat down at her writing
desk by the big window, overlooking the arbor and side garden, and
indicted the following letter to her chum:
"_My Darling Molly:_
"Heavy, heavy hangs over your head! You are severely
penalized for not writing me of your return. But to surprise
your friends was always one of your greatest delights, you
sly little minx! So I am not holding it up against you. I'll
even the score with you some day in a way you little
imagine.
"Well, well, well, you just can't guess what I have to tell
you! And I'm glad you can't, for that would take away the
pleasure of the telling. Aunt Betty has planned a fine
outing for me in the South Mountains, which, as you know,
form a spur of the Blue Ridge range in Western Maryland. We
are to be gone several weeks, during which time who can say
what glorious adventures we will have?
"You are going with us. I want your acceptance of the
invitation by return mail, Lady Breckenridge, and I shall
take pleasure in providing a brave knight for your escort in
the person of one Gerald Blank, in whose automobile we are
to make the trip. He has a new seven-passenger car given him
by his father, and, in the vulgar parlance of the day, we
are going to 'make things hum.' It is only some sixty miles
to the mountains, and we expect to be out only one night
between Baltimore and our destination. Besides yourself,
Aunt Betty and I, there will be only Gerald, Aurora, his
sister, Jim Barlow, and Ephraim, who will be camp cook, and
general man-of-all-work.
"Now write me, dear girlie, and say that you will arrive
immediately, for I am just dying with anxiety to see you,
and to clasp you in my arms. Jim is already here, having
traveled to Canada with Ephy to bring me safely home. As if
a girl of my mature age couldn't travel alone! However, it
was one of Aunt Betty's whims, she being in too ill health
to come herself, so I suppose it is all right. Dear auntie
will improve I feel sure--now that I am back. That may sound
conceited, but I assure you it was not meant to. We are just
wrapped up in each other--that's all. The outing will do her
good, and will, I am sure, restore in a measure her
shattered health.
"And oh, I forgot to tell you! I am to have violin lessons
after my vacation from the famous Herr Deichenberg,
Baltimore's finest musician, whom Aunt Betty had especially
engaged before my return. No one can better appreciate than
you just what this means to me. My greatest ambition has
been to become a fine violinist, and now my hopes bid fair
to be realized. I know it rests with me to a great extent
just how far up the ladder I go, and am resolved that Herr
Deichenberg, before he is through with me, shall declare me
the greatest pupil he has ever had. It takes courage to
write that--and _mean_ it--Molly, dear; but if we don't make
such resolves and stick to them, we will never amount to
much, I fear.
"My first meeting with the Herr Professor will be within the
next few days, and I am looking eagerly forward to the time.
Aunt Betty says he has the dearest sort of a studio in a
quiet part of the city, where he puts his pupils through a
course of sprouts and brings out all the latent energy--or,
temperament, I suppose you would call it.
"Well, Molly, dear, you must admit that this is a long
letter for my first day home, especially when I am tired
from the journey, and have stopped my dressing to write you.
So don't disappoint me, but write--or wire--that you are
starting at once. Tell the dear Judge we hope his health has
improved to such an extent that you will be free from all
worry in the future. Remember us to your aunt, and don't
forget that your welcome at old Bellvieu is as everlasting
as the days are long.
"Ever your affectionate
"DOROTHY."
"There! I guess if that don't bring Miss Molly Breckenridge to time,
nothing will."
Dorothy put the letter in a dainty, scented envelope, stamped and
addressed it, and laid it on her dresser where she would be sure to
carry it down to Ephraim when she had dressed.
An hour later, when the declining sun had disappeared behind the big
hedge to the west of Bellvieu, and the lawn was filled with cool,
deep shadows, Dorothy and Aunt Betty settled themselves in the open
air for another chat.