A SURPRISE
On the afternoon when our story begins Mary Louise walked home from
school and found Colonel Weatherby waiting for her in the garden,
leggings strapped to his gaunt legs, the checked walking-cap on his
head, a gold-headed crop in his hand.
"Let us go for a walk, my dear," he proposed. "It is Friday, so you
will have all day to-morrow in which to get your lessons."
"Oh, it won't take all day for that," she replied with a laugh. "I'll
be glad of the walk. Where shall we go, Gran'pa Jim?"
"Perhaps to the mill-race. We haven't visited it for a long time."
She ran to the house to put away her books and get her stout shoes, and
presently rejoined him, when together they strolled up the street and
circled round the little town until they came to the river bank. Then
they followed the stream toward the old mill.
Mary Louise told her grandfather of the recent edict of Miss Stearne
and the indignation it had aroused in her girl boarders.
"And what do you think of it, Gran'pa Jim?" she asked in conclusion.
"What do YOU think of it, Mary Louise?"
"It is rather hard on the girls, who have enjoyed their liberty for so
long; but I think it is Miss Stearne's plan to keep them away from the
picture theatre."
"And so?"
"And so," she said, "it may do the girls more good than harm."
He smiled approvingly. It was his custom to draw out her ideas on all
questions, rather than to assert his own in advance. If he found her
wrong or misinformed he would then correct her and set her right.
"So you do not approve of the pictures, Mary Louise?"
"Not all of them, Gran'pa Jim, although they all seem to have been
'passed by the Board of Censors'--perhaps when their eyes were shut. I
love the good pictures, and I know that you do, but some we have seen
lately gave me the shivers. So, perhaps Miss Stearne is right."
"I am confident she is," he agreed. "Some makers of pictures may
consider it beneficial to emphasize good by exhibiting evil, by way of
contrast, but they are doubtless wrong. I've an old-fashioned notion
that young girls should be shielded, as much as possible, from
knowledge of the world's sins and worries, which is sure to be
impressed upon them in later years. We cannot ignore evil,
unfortunately, but we can often avoid it."
"But why, if these pictures are really harmful, does Mr. Welland
exhibit them at his theatre?" asked the girl.
"Mr. Welland is running his theatre to make money," explained the
Colonel, "and the surest way to make money is to cater to the tastes of
his patrons, the majority of whom demand picture plays of the more
vivid sort, such as you and I complain of. So the fault lies not with
the exhibitor but with the sensation-loving public. If Mr. Welland
showed only such pictures as have good morals he would gain the
patronage of Miss Stearne's twelve young ladies, and a few others, but
the masses would refuse to support him."
"Then," said Mary Louise, "the masses ought to be educated to desire
better things."
"Many philanthropists have tried to do that, and signally failed. I
believe the world is gradually growing better, my dear, but ages will
pass before mankind attains a really wholesome mental atmosphere.
However, we should each do our humble part toward the moral uplift of
our fellows and one way is not to condone what we know to be wrong."
He spoke earnestly, in a conversational tone that robbed his words of
preachment. Mary Louise thought Gran'pa Jim must be an exceptionally
good man and hoped she would grow, in time, to be like him. The only
thing that puzzled her was why he refused to associate with his fellow
men, while at heart he so warmly espoused their uplift and advancement.
They had now reached the mill-race and had seated themselves on the
high embankment where they could watch the water swirl swiftly beneath
them. The mill was not grinding to-day and its neighborhood seemed
quite deserted. Here the old Colonel and his granddaughter sat dreamily
for a long time, conversing casually on various subjects or allowing
themselves to drift into thought. It was a happy hour for them both and
was only interrupted when Jackson the miller passed by on his way home
from the village. The man gave the Colonel a surly nod, but he smiled
on Mary Louise, the girl being as popular in the district as her
grandfather was unpopular.
After Jackson had passed them by Gran'pa Jim rose slowly and proposed
they return home.
"If we go through the village," said he, "we shall reach home, without
hurrying ourselves, in time to dress for dinner. I object to being
hurried, don't you, Mary Louise?"
"Yes, indeed, if it can be avoided."
Going through the village saved them half a mile in distance, but Mary
Louise would not have proposed it herself, on account of the Colonel's
well-known aversion to meeting people. This afternoon, however, he made
the proposal himself, so they strolled away to the main road that led
through the one business street of the little town.
At this hour there was little life in Beverly's main street. The
farmers who drove in to trade had now returned home; the town women
were busy getting supper and most of their men were at home feeding the
stock or doing the evening chores. However, they passed an occasional
group of two or three and around the general store stood a few other
natives, listlessly awaiting the call to the evening meal. These cast
curious glances at the well-known forms of the old man and the young
girl, for his two years' residence had not made the testy old Colonel
any less strange to them. They knew all about him there was to
know--which was nothing at all--and understood they must not venture to
address him as they would have done any other citizen.
Cooper's Hotel, a modest and not very inviting frame building, stood
near the center of the village and as Mary Louise and her grandfather
passed it the door opened and a man stepped out and only avoided
bumping into them by coming to a full stop. They stopped also, of
necessity, and Mary Louise was astonished to find the stranger staring
into the Colonel's face with an expression of mingled amazement and
incredulity on his own.
"James Hathaway, by all the gods!" he exclaimed, adding in wondering
tones: "And after all these years!"
Mary Louise, clinging to her grandfather's arm, cast an upward glance
at his face. It was tensely drawn; the eyelids were half closed and
through their slits the Colonel's eyes glinted fiercely.
"You are mistaken, fellow. Out of my way!" he said, and seizing the
girl's arm, which she had withdrawn in affright, he marched straight
ahead. The man fell back, but stared after them with his former
expression of bewildered surprise. Mary Louise noted this in a glance
over her shoulder and something in the stranger's attitude--was it a
half veiled threat?--caused her to shudder involuntarily.
The Colonel strode on, looking neither to right nor left, saying never
a word. They reached their home grounds, passed up the path in silence
and entered the house. The Colonel went straight to the stairs and
cried in a loud voice:
"Beatrice!"
The tone thrilled Mary Louise with a premonition of evil. A door was
hastily opened and her mother appeared at the head of the stairs,
looking down on them with the customary anxiety on her worn features
doubly accentuated.
"Again, father?" she asked in a voice that slightly trembled.
"Yes. Come with me to the library, Beatrice."