"Give me leave to speak my mind."
There was another garden on the other side of the hedge; not so large, nor
so beautifully kept perhaps, but a pleasant garden, for all that. The red
brick house to which it belonged was by no means so stately as the one
whose doorstep the griffins guarded, yet it had an importance all its own.
On week days, when the heavy shutters on the lower front windows were
open, _The National Bank of Friendship_ was to be seen in gilt letters on
the glass; on Sundays, however, when they were closed, there was little to
suggest that it was anything more than a private dwelling. It was a
square, roomy house, and the part not in use for bank purposes was
occupied by the cashier, Mr. Milton Roberts, and his family.
While Rosalind, curled up on the garden seat, was thinking of home,
Maurice Roberts lay in the hammock under the big maple near the side
porch, where his mother and Miss Betty Bishop sat talking. He held a book,
but instead of reading was allowing himself the lazy entertainment of
listening to their conversation.
From his position, a little behind the visitor, he had an excellent view
of her as she sat erect in the wicker chair, her parasol across her lap.
Miss Betty was plump and short, and had a dimple in her chin. Her hair,
which was turning gray, waved prettily back from her forehead into the
thickest of braids, and altogether there was a pleasant air of crispness
about her; though something in the keenness of her glance, or the firmness
with which her lips met, suggested that on occasion she might be
unyielding. "The Barnwell stubbornness," she herself would have explained,
with the same complacency she manifested when displaying her grandmother's
tea-set.
Mrs. Roberts, Maurice's mother, was a gentle person, with large, soft eyes
and a quiet manner.
The preliminary conversation had not been interesting, pertaining chiefly
to flowers and the weather, and Maurice gave a sigh of satisfaction when,
after a moment's pause, Miss Betty straightened herself and remarked,
"Well, I hear the will is certain to be sustained."
"Then the property will have to be sold?" questioned Mrs. Roberts.
"Yes, and I may as well say good-by to the cream-jug and sugar-dish that
Cousin Anne always said should be mine. Still, I never shall believe
Cousin Thomas was out of his mind when he made that last will, it was too
much like him. Dear knows it ought to be broken, but not on that ground.
It was a case of pure spite."
"Oh, Betty!"
Maurice smiled to himself at his mother's tone.
"I assure you it was. I knew Cousin Thomas. Didn't Cousin Anne tell me
dozens of times in his presence, 'Betty, this is your cream-jug and
sugar-dish, because they match your teapot'?"
"I should think you had enough silver, Betty; still it was a shame Miss
Anne left that list unsigned," said Mrs. Roberts.
"If you knew Cousin Anne at all, Mrs. Roberts, you knew how hesitating
she was. She couldn't decide whether to leave the Canton china to Ellen
Marshall or to Tom's wife. She changed her mind any number of times, but
she was always clear about my cream-jug and sugar-dish. If Cousin Thomas
had had any decency, he would have considered her wishes. Think of my own
grandmother's things put up at public auction!"
"Most of Mr. Gilpin's money goes to the hospital, I suppose," remarked
Mrs. Roberts.
"Pretty much everything but the real estate in and around Friendship, and
the contents of the house, all of which will have to be sold and divided
among his first cousins or their heirs. The only bequests made besides the
money to the hospital are to Celia Fair and Allan Whittredge. Celia is to
have the spinet, and Allan that beautiful old ring, if ever it comes to
light again. I wish Cousin Thomas had left Celia some money. She was one
person for whom he had a little affection."
Maurice wished so too. He admired Miss Celia Fair, and felt it was too bad
she should get only an antiquated piano.
"Are the Fairs related to the Gilpins?" his mother asked. Not being a
native of Friendship, she had difficulty in mastering the intricacies of
its relationships.
It was ground upon which Miss Betty was entirely at home, however. "They
were kin to Cousin Thomas's wife," she explained. "Mrs. Fair's grandmother
was half-sister to Cousin Emma's mother, and raised Cousin Emma as her own
child. Of course it is not very near when it comes to Celia. The spinet
belonged to old Mrs. Johnson,--Celia's great-grandmother, you know,--whose
name was also Celia. Saint Cecilia, they used to call her, because she was
so good and played and sang so sweetly. It is right the spinet should go
to Celia, but that would not have influenced Cousin Thomas a minute if he
had not wished her to have it."
"And the ring has never been heard of?" Mrs. Roberts asked, as her visitor
paused for breath.
"I doubt if it ever comes to light. It is nearly three years now since it
disappeared," was the reply. Miss Betty looked up at the vines above her
head, and her lips curled into a sort of half smile. "I should like to
hear Cousin Ellen Whittredge on the will," she added. "I don't think she
cares much about the money, however; it is more that old feeling against
Dr. Fair. You remember he testified to Mr. Gilpin's sanity."
"And her son?" asked Mrs. Roberts.
"Allan? It is hard to find out what Allan thinks, but there is no
bitterness in him. He is like his father, poor man! What I am curious to
know is, what Cousin Thomas meant by saying in his will that Allan knew
his wishes in regard to the ring. That strikes me as a little sensational.
I asked Allan about it the last time I saw him, but he only laughed and
said he'd have to get it before he could dispose of it."
Miss Betty now made some motions preliminary to rising, but as if on
second thought, she laid her parasol across her knees again and asked,
"Have you heard that Patterson's daughter is here?"
"Yes, I think I saw her in the carriage with her grandmother yesterday,"
was Mrs. Roberts's reply.
This was news to Maurice, and he listened with interest.
Miss Betty shook her head. "I am surprised," she said. "That marriage of
Patterson's was a dreadful blow to Cousin Ellen."
"It seems to me she was unreasonable about it. I am glad she sent for him
before his father died." Mrs. Roberts spoke with some hesitation. She did
not often array her own opinions against those of her friends.
"I don't blame her as some do. A person of that sort, and Patterson the
very light of her eyes! How would you feel if Maurice some day should do a
thing like that?"
Maurice laughed softly. His thoughts were not much occupied with marriage.
His mother ignored the question, and in her turn asked, "Did Mrs.
Whittredge ever see her daughter-in-law?"
"No, indeed. This child was not more than three when she died."
"Poor little thing!" Mrs. Roberts sighed.
"Such a name! I detest fancy names. Rosalind!" Miss Betty rose.
"A good old English name and very pretty, I think. Was it her mother's?"
"I suppose so, but I don't know. Yes, I must go; Sophy will think I am
lost. Good-by," and Miss Betty stepped briskly down the path.
The gate had hardly closed when Maurice heard some one calling him.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw his sister Katherine beckoning.
"Maurice, Maurice, do come here; I want you to see something."
Her tone impressed him as unduly mysterious. "What is it?" he asked
indifferently.
"Come, and I'll show you."
"I sha'n't come till you tell me," he persisted.
"Oh, I think you might, because if I stop to tell you she may be gone."
"Who'll be gone? You might have told it twice over in this time."
"The girl I want you to see," explained Katherine, drawing nearer in
desperation. "Did you know there was a girl next door?"
"Yes, of course." There was nothing in Maurice's tone to indicate how
brief a time had passed since this information had been acquired.
"Truly? I don't believe it," Katherine faltered.
"She is Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter, and her name is Rosalind, so
now!"
Privately, Katherine thought her brother's power of finding things out,
little short of supernatural. "Don't you want to see her?" she asked
meekly. "There is a thin place in the hedge behind the calycanthus bush,
and she is walking to and fro studying something." Would Maurice declare
he had already seen this girl?
Maurice sat up and reached for a crutch that rested against the tree. He
had his share of curiosity. He was a tall, well-grown boy of thirteen, and
it was apparent as he swung himself after Katherine, that accident and not
disease had caused his lameness.
Rosalind, studying her hymn all unconscious of observation, was a pleasant
sight.
"Isn't she pretty?" whispered Katherine, but Maurice silenced her so
sternly she concluded he did not agree with her.
In reality he thought very much as she did, although he would not have
used the same adjective. There was something unusual about this girl. Why
it was, he did not understand, but she seemed somehow to belong in a
special way to the sweet old garden with its June roses. Maurice had
fancies that would have astonished Katherine beyond measure if she could
have known anything about them. But how was she to know when he pinched
her arm and looked sternly indifferent?
The tea bell called them back to the house; on the way Katherine's
enthusiasm burst forth afresh.
"Isn't she sweet? and such a beautiful name--Rosalind. How old do you
think she is? and do you suppose she is going to live there? Oh, Maurice,
shouldn't you be afraid of Mrs. Whittredge?"
"I don't know anything about her," Maurice replied, forgetting for the
moment that he bad been pretending to know a great deal.
"I should like to have my hair tied on top of my head with a big ribbon
bow as hers is," continued Katherine, who would innocently persist in
laying herself open to brotherly scorn.
"I suppose you think you will look like her then," was his retort.
"Now, Maurice, I don't. I know I am not pretty." Katharine's round face
grew suddenly long, and tears filled her blue eyes.
"Don't be a goose, then. I'll tell you what she made me think of, that
statue of Joan of Arc--don't you remember? Where she is listening to the
voices? We saw it at the Academy of Fine Arts."
"Why, Maurice, how funny! She is much prettier than that," said
Katherine.