And then she ran back into the house, her eyes wet and shining, her
face flushed to her forehead. She sat down by the table and put her
hands over her eyes; she laughed, in a sort of sob, and her breath came
quickly.
"I hadn't thought of it--that way," she whispered to herself. And
somehow, as she sat there by her kitchen table, she began to think of
it that way--Miss Lydia was very young! ... Oh, she would try and make
him happy; she would try and be more orderly; she would try to be good,
since her Heavenly Father had given back to her the old happiness.
And that night she did not bid the picture good-night.
Mr. Rives was himself not without emotion. It was many years, he
reflected, since his lips had touched those of a female, and the
experience was agreeable--so agreeable that he wished to repeat it as
soon as possible; and, furthermore, he felt anxious to know that Lydia
had put the gold in a safe place. But when he called the next day he
was a little late, because, as he explained to Miss Lydia, he had had
to wait for the mail. She met him with a new look in her innocent,
eager eyes, and her face was shy and red. As she sat sewing, listening
vaguely, she would glance at him now and then, as if, until now, she
had not seen him since that day of parting, thirty-one years ago--the
thirty-one years which had blotted Amanda's field from her memory. The
old happiness, like a tide long withdrawn, was creeping back, rising
and rising, until it was overflowing in her eyes. This puffy
gentleman, with his tight, smiling mouth, was the William of her
youth--and she had never known it until last night! She had thought of
him during the last month or two only as an old friend who needed the
care which her kind heart prompted her to give; and lo! suddenly he was
the lover who would care for her.
"I was sorry, my dear Lydia, to be late," said Mr. Rives, in his soft
voice; "I was detained by waiting for the mail."
Miss Lydia said, brightly, that it didn't matter.
"But it was worth waiting for," William assured her. "I have done a
good piece of business. (Not that it will make me richer; I have so
many obligations to meet!) But it was a fortunate stroke."
"That is good," said Miss Lydia.
"A female in a distant city, where I own a poor little bit of real
estate--nothing of any value, Lydia; I am a poor man--"
"That's no difference," she told him, softly.
"--this female, a widow, and foolish (as widows always are)," William
said, with a little giggle, "asked me to sell her a house I owned. She
wished, for some reason, to purchase in that locality. I named the
market price. I did so, by letter, a fortnight ago. I believe she
thought it high; but that was her affair. She would have to sell
certain securities to purchase it, she said. But as I wrote her--'my
dear madam, that's your business.'" Mr. Rives laughed a little. Miss
Lydia looked up, smiling and interested. "Yes," said Mr. Rives--"I
didn't urge it. I never urge, because then I can't be blamed if things
go wrong. But I held my price. That is always good policy--not to
drop a dollar on price. So she's bought it. She made a payment
yesterday to bind the sale. Not that I feel any richer, for I must
immediately apply the money to the purchase of other things."
"That's nice," Miss Lydia said.
"I guess it is," William agreed; "I happen to know that a boiler
factory is to be erected on the rear lot."
"But will she like that--the poor widow?" Miss Lydia said.
Mr. Rives laughed comfortably. "Ah, Lydy, my dear, in business we do
not ask such questions before making a sale. _I_ like it. In three
months that bit of property will have shrunk to an eighth of its
selling price to-day." Mr. Rives's eyes twinkled with satisfaction.
"But--_William!_" said Miss Lydia. Suddenly she grew pale. "William,"
she said, "it seems to me you ought to have told the poor widow."
"Lydia, a lady cannot understand business," William said, with kindly
condescension, but with a slight impatience. "Don't you see, if I had
told her, she would not have made the purchase?"
Miss Lydia was silent, stroking the gathers of her cambric with a
shaking needle. Then she said, in a low voice, "I suppose she
wouldn't."
William nodded encouragingly. "You'll learn, Lydia. A married lady
learns much of business methods through her husband. Though they don't
profit by it, I notice; widows are always foolish. Not that--that you
will be likely to be--to be foolish," he ended, hastily, frowning very
much.
Lydia went on sewing in silence. The color did not come back into her
face, which caused William to ask her anxiously how she was.
"You are sure you are healthy, Lydia, aren't you?" he said.
Miss Lydia, without looking at him, said she was. When he had gone,
she stopped sewing and glanced about her in a frightened way; then she
put her hands over her eyes and drew in her breath, and once she
shivered. She sat there for a long time. After a while she got up and
went over to the picture of Mr. William Rives and stood looking at it;
and as she looked her poor, terrified eyes quieted into tears and she
straightened the bit of box with a tender hand, and then she suddenly
bent down and kissed the slim gentleman behind the misty glass.
The next day when she met her lover she was cheerful enough. It was at
the front door of the Tavern; Dr. Lavendar was there, too, waiting for
the morning stage for Mercer.
"Well! well! So I am going to have company, am I?" he said, for Miss
Lydia was waiting for it, too. Her bonnet was on one side, her shabby
jacket, fading from black to green on the shoulders, was split at the
elbow seams, and the middle finger of each glove was worn through; but
her eyes were shining with pleasure.
"Yes," she said, nodding; "I'm going."
Her presence seemed to be a surprise to Mr. Rives, who had strayed
forth from the breakfast-room to see the stage start.
"You are going to Mercer?" he said, his small smile fading into an
astonished question.
"Yes," Miss Lydia said, laughing, and suddenly she gave a little jump
of happiness. "I haven't been to Mercer for nine years. Oh, dear!
isn't it just delightful!"
"But, why?" William persisted, in an amazed aside.
"Oh, that's the secret!" cried Miss Lydia, clambering into the stage;
"you'll know sometime."
"I suppose you wish to arrange for the alterations of your house?"
William said; "but considering the stage fares back and forth-- Oh,
there is Dr. Lavendar."
He came round to the other side of the stage, smiling very much.
"Well, sir, good-morning! good-morning, sir!"
"Hello," Dr. Lavendar said.
Mr. Rives rubbed his hands. "I--I was about to say, Dr. Lavendar--that
little matter between us--it's of no importance, of course; quite at
your convenience, sir; I don't mean to press you--but at your
convenience, sir."
"What are you talking about?" Dr. Lavendar said, with a puzzled blink.
"Well," William said, smiling, "there's no haste, only I thought I'd
just remind you. I'm always business-like myself; and that little
matter of accommodation--"
Dr. Lavendar stared at him. "I am afraid I'm a stupid old fellow; I
don't understand."
The stage-driver gathered up his reins; Miss Lydia nodded joyously on
the back seat, the two other passengers frowned at the delay; so
William Rives made haste to explain: "Merely, sir, the stamp I had the
pleasure of lending you. But pray don't incommode yourself; I merely
remind you; it's of no--"
Dr. Lavendar pulled out his shabby leather pocket-book, his hands
fairly trembling with haste, and produced the stamp; then he pulled the
door to, and as the stage sagged forward and went tugging up the hill,
he turned his astonished eyes on Miss Lydia. She had grown very pale,
but she said nothing, only looking out of the window and rubbing her
little cotton gloves hard together.
"Would you have asked him for a receipt?" Dr. Lavendar said, under his
breath, chuckling. But when she tried to answer him, there was
something in her face that turned Dr. Lavendar grave.
The stage jolted on; the two other passengers chatted, then one fell
asleep and the other read an almanac. Suddenly Miss Lydia turned
sharply round. "It just kills me!" she said.
"Nonsense!" Dr. Lavendar told her. "He is a man of business, and I'm a
forgetful old codger. I knew William, and I ought to have remembered."
But Miss Lydia's face had fallen into such drawn and anxious lines that
Dr. Lavendar had to do his best to cheer her. He began to ask
questions: How long was it since she had been in Mercer? Was she going
to call on friends? Was she going to shop? "I believe you ladies
always want to shop?" said Dr. Lavendar, kindly. And somehow Miss
Lydia brightened up. Yes; she was going to shop! It was a secret: she
couldn't tell Dr. Lavendar yet, but he should know about it first of
all. She was so happy, so important, so excited, that her pain at
William's business-like ways seemed forgotten; and when in Mercer they
separated at the Stage House, she went bustling off into the sunshine,
waving a shabby cotton glove at him, and crying, "I haven't a minute to
lose!"
Dr. Lavendar stood still and shook his head. "Pity," he said--"pity,
pity. But I suppose it can't be helped. There's no use telling
William about her; he must see it. And there's no use telling her
about William; she must see it. No--no use. But it's a pity--a pity."
Which shows that Dr. Lavendar had reached that degree of wisdom which
knows that successful interference in love affairs must come from the
inside, not from the outside.
He did not see Miss Lydia again until they met in the afternoon at the
Stage House, and for a minute he did not recognize her. She came
running and panting, laden with bundles, to the coach door. Indeed,
she was so hurried that one of her innumerable packages, a long, slim
bundle, slipped from her happy, weary arms, and, hitting the iron
drop-step, crashed into fragments and splashed her dress with its
contents. "Oh! that's one of my bottles of Catawba," said Miss Lydia.
"Dear, dear! Well, never mind; I'll order another."
The fragrance of the wine soaking her gloves and the front of her faded
dress, filled the stage (in which they were the only passengers), and
Miss Lydia joyously licked the two bare finger-tips. "Too bad!" she
said; "but accidents will happen."
Dr. Lavendar helped her pile her bundles on the front seat, and then he
unhooked the swinging strap so that certain parcels could be put on the
middle bench. Miss Lydia leaned back with a happy sigh. "The rest
will come down to-morrow," she said.
"The _rest_?" said Dr. Lavendar.
"Oh, I've just got to tell somebody!" she said. "Promise you won't
tell?"
"I won't tell," he assured her.
"Well," said Miss Lydia, "look here--do you see that?" She tore a
little hole in a long, flat package, and Dr. Lavendar saw a gleam of
blue. "That's a dress. Yes, a blue silk dress--for myself. I'm
afraid it was selfish to get a thing just for myself, but that and a
pair of white kid gloves and some lace are all I did get; and I've
wanted a silk dress, a blue silk dress, ever since I got poor."
Dr. Lavendar looked at her and at the hole in the package, and at her
again. "Lydia!" he said, "is it possible that you--? _Lydia!_" he
ended, speechless with consternation.
"The other things are all for the party."
"The--party?"
"Presents!" she said, rubbing her hands. "Oh, dear! I'm so tired!
And I'm so happy! Oh, nobody was ever so happy. The party (that's the
secret) is to be next Thursday a week; that gives me time to make my
dress. I ordered the cake in Mercer. All pink-and-white
icing--perfectly lovely! And I have a present for everybody. Here's a
work-basket for Martha King. And I have a bird-cage and a canary for
dear Willy (that is to come down to-morrow; I really couldn't carry
everything). And I've got a knitted shawl for Maria Welwood, and a
cloak for her dear Rose--that was rather expensive, but it's always
cheap to get the best. And a cornelian breast-pin for Alice Gray. And
a Roman sash for poor little Mary Gordon; she seems to me such a
forlorn child--no mother, and that rough Alex for a brother.
And--well; oh, dear! I'm so excited I can hardly remember--a book for
Mr. Ezra; a book for Mrs. Dale. Books are safe presents, don't you
think?"
Dr. Lavendar groaned.
"And a picture for Rachel King--that's it; that square bundle. So
pretty!--a little girl saying her prayers; sweet!--it's like her Anna.
And a box of candy for Sally Smith's little brothers; and a pair of
agate cuff-buttons for Sally--" She was moving her packages about as
she checked them off, and she looked round at Dr. Lavendar with a sigh
of pure joy. He could not speak his distracted thought.
"Oh, you mustn't see that," she cried, suddenly pushing a certain
package under the others with great show of secrecy; and Dr. Lavendar
groaned again. "I think a party with presents for everybody will be
very unusual, don't you?" she asked, heaping her bundles up carefully;
two more fingers had burst through her cotton gloves, and as she leaned
forward a button snapped off her jacket. "I don't want to brag," she
said, "but I think it will be as nice a party as we have ever had in
Old Chester."
"But, Lydia, my dear," Dr. Lavendar said, gently, "I am afraid it is
extravagant, isn't it, to try to give us all so much pleasure? And is
a blue silk frock very--well, serviceable, I believe, you ladies call
it?"
"No, indeed it isn't," she said, with sudden, pathetic passion.
"_That's why I got it_. I never, since I was a girl, have had anything
that wasn't serviceable."
"But," Dr. Lavendar said, "I rather hoped you would see your way clear
to making your house a little more comfortable?"
"Why, but I'm perfectly comfortable," she assured him; "and even if I
was not, I'd rather, just for once in my life, have my party and give
my presents. Oh, just once in a lifetime! I'd rather," she said, and
her eyes snapped with joy--"I'd rather have next Thursday night, and my
house as it is, than just comfort all the rest of my days. Comfort!
What's comfort?"
"Well, Lydia, it's a good deal to some of us," Dr. Lavendar said. And
then his eyes narrowed. "Lydia, my dear--does Mr. Rives know about
this?"
Miss Lydia, counting her packages over, said, absently, "No; it is to
be a surprise to William."
"If I am not mistaken," said Dr. Lavendar, "it will be a very great
surprise to William."
And then he fell into troubled thought; but as he thought his face
brightened. It brightened so much that by the time they reached Old
Chester he was as joyously excited about the party as was Miss Lydia
herself, who made him a thousand confidences about her dress and her
presents and the food which would be offered to her guests. His
joyousness had not abated when, the next morning, Mrs. Barkley
presented herself, breathless, at the Rectory.
"I think," said she, in an awful bass, sitting up very straight and
glaring at Dr. Lavendar, "that this is the most terrible thing that
ever happened."
"There are worse things," said Dr. Lavendar.
"_I_ know of nothing worse," Mrs. Barkley said, with dreadful
composure. "You may. You know what the unregenerate human heart may
do. I do not. This is the worst. What will people say? What will
Mrs. Dale say? It must be stopped! She ran in this morning and told
me in confidence. She came, she said, to know if she could borrow my
teaspoons next Thursday week. I said she could, of course; but I
suppose I looked puzzled; I couldn't imagine--then she confessed. She
said you knew, but no one else. Then, before I came to my senses, she
ran out. I came here at once to say that you must stop it."
"In the first place," said Dr. Lavendar, thrusting his hands down into
his dressing-gown pockets, "I couldn't stop it. In the second place, I
haven't the right to stop it. And in the third place, I wouldn't stop
it if I could."
"Dr. Lavendar!"
"I am delighted with the plan. We need gayety in Old Chester; _I think
we'll get it_. I hope she'll have Uncle Davy in, with his fiddle, and
we'll have a reel. Mrs. Barkley, will you do me the honor?"
It came over Mrs. Barkley, with a sudden chill, that there was
something the matter with Dr. Lavendar.
"I have calculated," said the old minister, chuckling, "that Miss Lydia
has in hand, at present, about $1.75 of our $100. This sum I trust she
will give to Foreign Missions. The need is great. I shall bring it to
her attention."
"Dr. Lavendar," said Mrs. Barkley; and paused.
"Ma'am?"
"I don't understand you, sir."
Dr. Lavendar looked at her and smiled.