MR. HOWBRIDGE IS PERPLEXED
Tess and Dot went out that morning, when the sun had dried the grass,
to play with the lonely little Creamer girl, and they did not invite
Lillie Treble to go with them.
Nobody could blame them for that breach of politeness. Dot could not
overlook the dreadful thing Lillie had done to the Alice-doll.
Fortunately, the doll was not wholly ruined—but “no thanks to
Lillie,” as Agnes said.
She never _would_ look like the same doll again. “She is so pale now,”
said Dot, hugging the doll tightly; “she looks as though she had been
through a dreadful illness. Doesn’t she, Tess?”
“And her beautiful dress and cap all ruined,” groaned Tess. “It was
awfully mean of Lillie.”
“I don’t care so much about the dress,” murmured Dot. “But the color
ran so in her cheeks, and one of her eyes is ever so much lighter blue
than the other.”
“We’ll play she _has_ been sick,” said Tess. “She’s had the measles,
like Mabel’s sisters.”
“Oh, no!” cried Dot, who believed in the verities of play-life. “Oh,
no! it would not be nice to have all the other dolls quarantined, like
Mabel is.”
Mabel was not very happy on this morning, it proved. Her face was
flushed when she came to the fence, and she spoke to the Kenway girls
hoarsely, as though she suffered from a cold.
“Come on over here and play. I’m tired of playing so at arm’s length
like we’ve been doing.”
“Oh, we couldn’t,” said Tess, shaking her head vigorously.
“Why not? _You_ haven’t quarantine at your house,” said Mabel,
pouting.
“Mrs. McCall says we mustn’t—nor you mustn’t come over here.”
“I don’t care,” began Mabel, but Tess broke in cheerfully, with:
“Oh, let’s keep on using the make-believe telephone. And let’s make
believe the river’s in a flood between us, and the bridges are all
carried away, and——”
“No! I won’t play that way,” cried Mabel, passionately, and with a
stamp of her foot. “I want you to come over here.”
“We can’t,” said Tess, quite as firmly.
“You’re mean things—there now! I never did like you, anyway. I want
you to play in my yard——”
“_I’ll_ come over and play with you,” interposed a cool, sweet voice,
and there was Lillie Treble, looking just as angelic as she could
look.
“Oh, Lillie!” gasped Tess. But Mabel broke in with:
“Come on. There’s a loose picket yonder. You can push it aside. Come
on over here, little girl, and we’ll have a good time. I never did
like those stuck-up Kenway girls, anyway.”
Lillie turned once to give Tess and Dot the full benefit of one of the
worst grimaces she could possibly make. Then she joined the Creamer
girl in the other yard. She remained over there all the morning, and
for some reason Mabel and Lillie got along very nicely together.
Lillie could be real nice, if she wanted to be.
That afternoon Mabel did not appear in her yard and Lillie wandered
about alone, having sworn eternal enmity against Tess and Dot. The
next morning Mrs. Creamer put her head out of an upstairs window of
the cottage and told Mrs. McCall, who chanced to be near the
line-fence between the two places, that Mabel had “come down” with the
measles, after all the precautions they had taken with her.
“It’s lucky those two little girls over there didn’t come into our
yard to play with her,” said Mrs. Creamer. “The other young ones are
just beginning to get around, and now Mabel will have to have a spell.
She always was an obstinate child; she couldn’t even have measles at a
proper and convenient time.”
Mrs. Treble, meantime, was feeling herself more and more at home in
the old Corner House. She did not offer to help in the general
housework in the least, and did nothing but “rid up” her own room.
There could be nothing done, or nothing talked of in the family, that
Mrs. Treble was not right there to interfere, or advise, or change, or
in some way “put her oar in,” as Agnes disrespectfully said, to the
complete vexation of the person most concerned.
In addition, morning, noon and night she was forever dinning the fact
into the ears of the girls, or Mrs. McCall, or Aunt Sarah, or Uncle
Rufus, that her husband’s mother was Uncle Peter Stower’s own sister.
“John Augustus Treble talked a lot about Uncle Peter—always,” she
said. “I had a little property, when I married John Augustus. It was
cash money left from my father’s life insurance.
“He wasn’t a very good business man, John Augustus. But he meant
well,” she continued. “He took my money and started a little store
with it. He took a lease of the store for three years. There was a
shoe factory right across the street, and a box shop on one hand and a
knitting mill on the other. Looked like a variety store ought to pay
in such a neighborhood.
“But what happened?” demanded Mrs. Treble, in her most complaining
tone. “Why, the shoe factory moved to Chicago. The box shop burned
down. The knitting mill was closed up by the sheriff. Then the
landlord took all John Augustus’ stock for payment of the rent.
“So he had to go to work in the powder mill, and that finally blew him
up. But he always said to me: ‘Now, don’t you fuss, Emily, don’t you
fuss. When Uncle Peter Stower dies, there’ll be plenty coming to us,
and you’ll live like a lady the rest of _your_ life.’ Poor fellow! If
I hadn’t seen him go to work that morning, I’d never have believed it
was the same man they put into his coffin.”
When she told this version of the tale to Aunt Sarah, and many more
details, Aunt Sarah never said a word, or even looked as though she
heard Mrs. Treble. The old lady’s silence and grimness finally riled
Mrs. Treble’s temper.
“Say!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t you say something? John Augustus’
mother came from Milton when she was a girl. You must have known her.
Why don’t you say something?”
At last Aunt Sarah opened her lips. It was the second time in their
lives that the Kenway girls had ever heard the old lady say more than
two sentences consecutively.
“You want me to say something? Then I will!” declared Aunt Sarah,
grimly, and her eyes flashing. “You say your husband’s mother was
Peter Stower’s sister, do ye? Well! old Mr. Stower never had but one
child by his first wife, before he married my mother, and that child
was Peter. Peter didn’t have any sister but these gals’ mother, and
myself. You ain’t got no more right in this house than you would have
in the palace of the King of England—and if Ruth Kenway wasn’t
foolish, she’d put you out.”
Agnes was delighted at this outbreak. It seemed that Aunt Sarah must
speak with authority. Ruth was doubtful; she did not know which lady
to believe. Mrs. Treble merely tossed her head, and said it was no
more than she had expected. Of course, Aunt Sarah would back up these
Kenway girls in their ridiculous claim to the estate.
“Oh, dear me! I do wish Mr. Howbridge would return home,” groaned
Ruth.
“I’d put them both out,” declared Agnes, who could scarcely control
her dislike for the lady from Ypsilanti and her bothersome little
girl.
The neighbors and those acquaintances whom the girls had made before
began to take sides in the matter. Of course, Miss Titus had spread
the tidings of the coming of Mrs. Treble, and what she had come for.
The lady herself was not at all backward in putting her story before
any person who might chance to call upon the Corner House girls.
Some of these people evidently thought Mrs. Treble had the better
right to Uncle Peter’s property. It was well known by now, that no
will had been offered for probate. Others were sure, like Aunt Sarah,
that Uncle Peter had had no sister save the girls’ mother.
The minister’s wife came to call—heard both sides of the
argument—and told Ruth she was doing just right. “It was a kindly
thing to do, Ruth,” she said, kissing the girl, warmly. “I do not
believe she has any claim upon the estate. There is a mistake
somewhere. But you are a good girl, and Mr. Howbridge will straighten
the matter out, when he comes—never fear.”
But before the lawyer came, something occurred which seemed to make it
quite impossible for Ruth to ask Mrs. Treble to go, even had she so
desired. Lillie came down with the measles!
She had caught the disease that morning she had played with Mabel
Creamer, and to Dot’s horror, “quarantine” came into the old Corner
House. Ruth was dreadfully afraid that Dot and Tess might catch the
disease, too, for neither of them had had it. Although the doctor said
that Lillie had the disease in a light form, Ruth kept the younger
girls as far away from the Trebles’ apartment as she could, and even
insisted upon Mrs. Treble taking her meals up stairs.
Mr. Howbridge came home at last. Ruth had left a note at his office
explaining her trouble, and the lawyer came over to the old Corner
House the day following his return.
He listened to Ruth’s story without comment. Then he went up stairs
and talked with Mrs. Treble. From the sound of Mrs. Treble’s
high-pitched voice, that must have been rather a stormy interview. Mr.
Howbridge was quite calm when he came down to the girls again.
“Oh, sir!” Agnes cried, unable to restrain herself any longer. “You
are not going to let her put us out of this dear old house, are you!”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear. Not yet, at least,” returned
Mr. Howbridge, kindly. But to Ruth he said: “It is an utterly
unexpected situation. I am not prepared to give an opinion upon the
woman’s claim.
“However, I think you are a brave girl, Miss Kenway, and I approve of
all you have done. You have made a good impression upon the people
here in Milton, I am sure. Yes; you did quite right. Don’t worry about
money matters. All the bills shall be paid.
“But, my dear, I wish more than ever that we could find that will.
That would settle affairs immediately, and unless she tried to break
the will in the courts, she would have no standing at all. Of course,
it is for the little girl she claims a part of Mr. Peter Stower’s
property. She, personally, has no rights herself, even if her tale is
true.”
Ruth knew that he was perplexed, however, so her own heart was but
little relieved by the lawyer’s visit.