POPULAR NOVELS.
BY
_MRS. MARY J. HOLMES_.
TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE.
ENGLISH ORPHANS.
HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE.
'LENA RIVERS.
MEADOW BROOK.
DORA DEANE.
COUSIN MAUDE.
MARIAN GREY.
EDITH LYLE.
DAISY THORNTON.
CHATEAU D'OR.
QUEENIE HETHERTON.
BESSIE'S FORTUNE.
DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT.
HUGH WORTHINGTON.
CAMERON PRIDE.
ROSE MATHER.
ETHELYN'S MISTAKE.
MILBANK.
EDNA BROWNING.
WEST LAWN.
MILDRED.
FORREST HOUSE.
MADELINE.
CHRISTMAS STORIES.
GRETCHEN (_New_).
"Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her
books are always entertaining, and she has the rare faculty of
enlisting the sympathy and affections of her readers, and of holding
their attention to her pages with deep and absorbing interest."
G.W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHER,
SUCCESSOR TO
G.W. CARLETON & Co., New York.
GRETCHEN.
A Novel.
BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES,
AUTHOR OF
TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE.--DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT.--MILBANK.--ENGLISH
ORPHANS.--'LENA RIVERS.--ETHELYN'S MISTAKE.--HUGH
WORTHINGTON.--MADELINE.--WEST LAWN.--EDNA
BROWNING.--MARIAN GREY.--BESSIE'S
FORTUNE, ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
_G.W. Dillingham, Publisher_,
SUCCESSOR TO G.W. CARLETON & CO.
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXXXVII.
COPYRIGHT, 1887,
BY DANIEL HOLMES.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
STEREOTYPED BY
SAMUEL STODDER,
42 DEY STREET, N.Y.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Telegram 9
II. Arthur Tracy 12
III. Mr. and Mrs. Frank Tracy 19
IV. Getting Accustomed to It 24
V. At the Park 32
VI. The Cottage in the Lane 38
VII. The Party 45
VIII. Arthur 48
IX. Who is Gretchen? 60
X. Arthur Settles Himself 72
XI. The Storm 78
XII. The Tramp House 87
XIII. The Woman 94
XIV. Little Jerry 108
XV. Jerry at the Park 114
XVI. The Funeral, and After 122
XVII. "Mr. Crazyman, Do You Want Some Cherries?" 131
XVIII. Arthur and Jerry 139
XIX. Arthur's Plan 158
XX. The Working of Arthur's Plan 164
XXI. Mrs. Tracy's Diamonds 175
XXII. Searching For the Diamonds 184
XXIII. Arthur's Letter 198
XXIV. Ten Years Later 209
XXV. The Two Faces in the Mirror 216
XXVI. Maude's Letter 224
XXVII. "He Cometh Not," She Said 230
XXVIII. In Shannondale 237
XXIX. Why Harold Did Not Go to Vassar 249
XXX. The Walk Home 258
XXXI. At Home 264
XXXII. The Next Day 269
XXXIII. At the Park House 283
XXXIV. Under the Pines with Tom 287
XXXV. The Garden Party 293
XXXVI. Out in the Storm 301
XXXVII. Under the Pines with Dick 307
XXXVIII. At Le Bateau 312
XXXIX. Maude 326
XL. "Do You Know What You Have Done?" 336
XLI. What Jerrie Found under the Floor 341
XLII. Harold and the Diamonds 352
XLIII. Harold and Jerrie 366
XLIV. Jerrie Clears Harold 372
XLV. What Followed 379
XLVI. The Letters 382
XLVII. Arthur 389
XLVIII. What They were Doing and had Done in Shannondale 393
XLIX. Telling Arthur 404
L. The Flower Fadeth 416
LI. Under the Pines with Harold 422
LII. "For Better, For Worse." 427
LIII. After Two Years 441
GRETCHEN.
CHAPTER I.
THE TELEGRAM.
"BREVOORT HOUSE, NEW YORK, Oct. 6th, 18--.
"To Mr. Frank Tracy, of Tracy Park, Shannondale.
"I arrived in the Scotia this morning, and shall take the train for
Shannondale at 3 P.M. Send some one to the station to meet us.
"ARTHUR TRACY."
This was the telegram which the clerk in the Shannondale office received
one October morning, and dispatched to the Hon. Frank Tracy, of Tracy
Park, in the quiet town of Shannondale, where our story opens.
Mr. Frank Tracy, who, since his election to the State Legislature for
two successive terms, had done nothing except to attend political
meetings and make speeches on all public occasions, had an office in
town, where he usually spent his mornings, smoking, reading the papers,
and talking to Mr. Colvin, his business agent and lawyer, for, though
born in one of the humblest New England houses, where the slanting roof
almost touched the ground in the rear, and he could scarcely stand
upright in the chamber where he slept, Mr. Frank Tracy was a man of
leisure now, and as he dashed along the turnpike in his handsome
carriage, with his driver beside him, people looked admiringly after
him, and pointed him out to strangers as the Hon. Mr. Tracy, of Tracy
Park, one of the finest places in the county. It is true it did not
belong to him, but he had lived there so long that he looked upon it as
his, while his neighbors, too, seemed to have forgotten that there was a
Mr. Arthur Tracy, who might at any time come home to claim his own and
demand an account of his brother's stewardship. And it was this Arthur
Tracy, whose telegram announcing his return from Europe was read by his
brother with feelings of surprise and consternation.
"Not that everything isn't fair and above board, and he is welcome to
look into matters as much as he likes," Frank said to himself, as he sat
staring at the telegram, while the cold chills ran up and down his back
and arms. "Yes, he can examine all Colvin's books; he will find them
straight as a string, and didn't he tell me to take what I thought right
as remuneration for looking after his property while he was gallivanting
over the world; and if he objects that I have taken too much, I can at
once transfer those investments in my name to him. No, it is not that
which affects me so; it is the suddenness of the thing, coming without
warning, and to night of all nights, when the house will be full of
carousing and champagne. What will Dolly say? Hysterics, of course, if
not a sick headache. I don't believe I can face her till she has had a
little time to brace up. Here, boy, I want you!" and he rapped on the
window at a young lad who happened to be passing with a basket on his
arm. "I want you to do an errand for me," he continued, as the boy
entered the office and, removing his cap, stood respectfully before him.
"Take this telegram to Mrs. Tracy, and here is a dime for you."
"Thank you; but I don't care for the money," the boy said. "I was going
to the park anyway to tell Mrs. Tracy that grandma is sick and can't go
there to-night."
"Sick! What is the matter?" Mr. Tracy asked, in dismay, feeling that
here was a fresh cause of trouble and worry for his wife.
"She catched cold yesterday fixing up mother's grave," the boy replied;
and, as if the mention of that grave had sent Mr. Tracy's thoughts
straying backward to the past, he looked thoughtfully at the child for a
moment, and then said:
"How old are you, Harold?"
"Ten, last August," was the reply; and Mr. Tracy continued:
"You do not remember your mother?"
"No, sir; only a great crowd, and grandma crying so hard," was Harold's
reply.
"You look like her," Mr. Tracy said.
"Yes, sir," Harold answered; while into his frank, open face there came
an expression of regret for the mother who had died when he was three
years old, and whose life had been so short and sad.
"Now, hurry off with the telegram, and mind you don't lose it. It is
from my brother. He is coming to night."
"Mr. Arthur Tracy, who sent the monument for my mother--is he coming
home? Oh, I am so glad!" Harold exclaimed, his face lighting up with
joy, as he put the telegram in his pocket and started for Tracy Park,
wondering if he should encounter Tom, and thinking that if he did, and
Tom gave him any chaff, he should thresh him, or try to.
"Darn him!" he said to himself, as he recalled the many times when Tom
Tracy, a boy about his own age, had laughed at him for his poverty and
coarse clothes. "He ain't any better than I am, if he does wear velvet
trousers and live in a big house. 'Tain't his'n; it's Mr. Arthur's, and
I'm glad he is coming home. I wonder if he will bring grandma anything.
I wish he'd bring me a pyramid. He's seen 'em, they say."
Meantime, Mr. Frank Tracy had resumed his seat, and, with his hands
clasped over his head, was wondering what effect his brother's return
would have upon him. Would he be obliged to leave the park, and the
luxury he had enjoyed so long, and go back to the old life which he
hated so much?
"No; Arthur will never be so mean," he said. "He has always shown
himself generous, and will continue to do so. Besides that, he will want
somebody to keep the house for him, unless----" And here the
perspiration started from every pore as Frank Tracy thought: "What if he
is married, and the _us_ in his telegram means a wife, instead of a
friend or servant as I imagined!"
That would indeed be a calamity, for then his reign was over at Tracy
Park, and the party he and his wife were to give that night to at least
three hundred people would be their last.
"Confound the party!" he thought, as he arose from his chair and began
to pace the room. "Arthur won't like that as a greeting after eleven
years' absence. He never fancied being cheek by jowl with Tom, Dick, and
Harry; and that is just what the smash is to night. Dolly wants to
please everybody, thinking to get me votes for Congress, and so she has
invited all creation and his wife. There's old Peterkin, the roughest
kind of a canal bummer when Arthur went away. Think of my fastidious
brother shaking hands with him and Widow Shipley, who kept a low tavern
on the tow path! She'll be there, in her silks and long gold chain, for
she has four boys, all voters, who call me _Frank_ and slap me on the
shoulder. Ugh! even I hate it all;" and, in a most perturbed state of
mind, the would be Congressman continued to walk the room, lamenting the
party, and wondering what his aristocratic brother would say to such a
crowd in his house on the night of his return.
And if there should be a Mrs. Arthur Tracy, with possibly some little
Tracys! But that idea was too horrible to contemplate, and he tried to
put it from his mind, and to be as calm and quiet as possible until
lunch time, when, with no very great amount of alacrity and
cheerfulness, he started for home.