Four days had passed since the exciting happenings of that eventful day
that had begun with the disappearance of José, and had ended with his
discovery.
"I have much to be thankful for," said the major to Miss Sallie, who was
reclining in a steamer chair on the piazza. She had not left her bed
until the afternoon of the third day, and was still a little shaky and
nervous.
"I can't think what they are, John," she replied severely. "You have had
nothing but misfortunes since we came to stay under your roof. I hope
they may end when we leave."
"The first one," said the major, smiling good-humoredly, "is that I have
had the privilege of knowing how splendid American women can be in time
of danger. I always admired the women of my country, but never so much
as now," he added, looking fondly at his old friend.
"Yes," assented Miss Sallie proudly, "my girls are about as fine as any
to be found in the world, I think. They are wholesome, sensible, and
never cowardly. Undoubtedly they saved Ten Eyck Hall for you, Major, by
their combined efforts, and by Bab's bravery in watering the roof when
the sparks began to fly."
"You were just as wonderful as the girls, Sallie, my dear. They tell me
you superintended the digging of the trench and managed your men with
the coolness of a general; and that when the fire leaped over the trench
you were there with the bucket brigade to put it out. The girls were no
whit less courageous in your day than they are now, Sallie."
"And what is the second blessing you have to be thankful for, John?"
interrupted Miss Sallie.
"That José is the boy I took him to be--a good, honest, noble fellow."
"I must say I liked him from the first moment I set eyes upon him," said
Miss Stuart.
"Yes," continued the major; "his father might well be proud of him. He
deserves the highest commendation for his forbearance and unselfishness
in regard to that brother of his."
"How is the brother, by the way?" asked Miss Sallie.
"You know he was taken to the hospital the day after he was brought
here; well, the boys went over in the car yesterday. Antonio is much
better. His sister is tending him. He is very repentant, she says, and
has consented to go to school and turn over a new leaf. In fact, I
myself have had a long talk with him. I can see that there is great good
in the boy. It has simply been perverted by evil associations."
"Ah, Major," exclaimed his old friend, smiling indulgently as she tapped
his arm with her fan, "you are truly the most optimistic soul in the
world. I hope all your golden dreams about this wretched boy's future
will come true. But what about his sister!"
"José is anxious for her to go to a school in America. He believes she
could not endure the restraint of a European school after her free,
open-air life. She is only too anxious. She wants to cultivate her
voice, and the old grandmother appears really relieved at the turn
affairs have taken. She was willing to concede anything to keep the
grandson out of jail."
"Then my Ruth will not be able to gratify her whim to educate the Gypsy
girl," pursued Miss Sallie.
"Not exactly," replied the major. "José's father is very well-to-do, as
the world goes, but Ruth is to take charge of Zerlina's education and
look after her generally. She has asked José to allow her that
privilege, as she put it."
Just then the girls came around the corner of the piazza, after a stroll
in the garden.
"How fresh and delicious the air is since the rain!" exclaimed Barbara.
"There is still a faint smell of burning. Do you think all the trees in
the forest will die, Major?"
"Old Adam says they will not," answered the major. "A three months'
unbroken drought will dry up almost anything but trees. Now, while the
underbrush and dried fern burned like tinder, the fire hardly touched
the trees. It was those dead bramble hedges dividing the fields and the
dried meadow grass that did the most damage, because the sparks from
them ignited the garage and the roof of the stable."
"I am glad papa and Mrs. Thurston were not uneasy about us," observed
Ruth. "If they had read the papers before you telegraphed, Major, they
would have been frantic, I suppose."
"Make way for the Duke of Granada," called Jimmie's cheerful voice from
the hall, and presently he appeared, pushing José, done up in bandages
and lying flat on his back, on a rolling cot used by some invalid of the
Ten Eyck family long since dead and gone.
"José, my boy," exclaimed the major, going to the foot of the cot to
ease it as it passed over the door sill, "do you think this is safe?"
"The doctor says it will not hurt him," replied Jimmie. "He needs
company, but we won't let him stay long."
José smiled up at the faces leaning over him.
"You have all been so good to me," he said. "I want to thank you for
your kindness and for believing in me when my character looked black
enough to have condemned me without any more proof. And I want to thank
you for my brother, too, and my poor little sister."
His eyes filled with tears.
"There, there," cried the major, pressing the boy's hand. "It's a little
enough we have done, I'm sure. I only wish we could have saved you from
your tumble," he added, gazing sadly toward the right wing of Ten Eyck
Hall.
"And is it really true that our friends are going to leave us this
afternoon?" asked José.
"Yes," answered the major; "all our girls and boys are going. We shall
be lonesome enough when they are gone."
There was the sound of a motor horn down the avenue.
"Ah, here comes Stephen at last. I was afraid he would be late," said
Major Ten Eyck, as his automobile pulled up at the door and Stephen,
Martin and Alfred jumped out.
"I've got them, uncle," cried Stephen. "They arrived this morning." And
he handed his uncle a registered package carefully done up and sealed
with red sealing wax.
The major took the box and disappeared into the house while the boys
exchanged significant looks.
"Stephen," said Bab, as they strolled down to the end of the-piazza
while the others were examining the morning papers and reading their
mail, "did you ever ask José where he was the morning we went to see the
hermit!"
"Oh, yes," replied her friend; "or, rather, he told me without being
asked. He was to meet his brother by appointment at the haunted pool. I
suppose he was there too soon, because Antonio chose to inflict us with
his antics before he went to see José, who heard a great deal of the
nonsense, so he said, and there was a quarrel afterwards, a very bitter
one, and José threatened to give Antonio over to the authorities unless
he consented to give up his lawless life. Zerlina was hovering around
later, and heard the pistol shots after the fight with the tramps. She
thought, of course, it was a duel between her two brothers. That is why
she paid you the mysterious visit and tried to read the note."
"How does Antonio strike you?" asked Bab.
"Just as a mischievous boy might. I think he will outgrow his vicious
tendencies now that he has been taken hold of. For one thing he no
longer hates poor old José. I told him, plainly, what a fine fellow his
brother was, and that it was only on José's account we were not going to
have him arrested. He seemed to be a good deal impressed, I think."
"A note for you, Miss," said John, handing Bab a three-cornered missive
on a tray.
"Will Miss Barbara Thurston grant one last interview to an old admirer?"
the note ran.
"It's from your great-uncle," exclaimed Bab, giving Stephen the note to
read.
Stephen smiled as his eye took in the crabbed, old-fashioned
handwriting.
"The poor old fellow can't quite get the proper focus as to who you
really are," he said. "You appear to represent two Barbaras to him. But
you will go over for a few minutes, won't you, Bab? I doubt if Uncle
Stephen will last much longer, and seeing you may be a great comfort to
him."
"Of course I will," Bab replied. "If seeing me can bring a ray of
pleasure into his life, I am glad enough to be able to do it. I should
like to take him a few flowers. I know he loves them. Suppose we get
some honeysuckle and late roses out of the garden before we go."
Together they strolled toward the major's garden, which the flames had
spared, partly because it was protected by a high brick wall on three
sides, and partly owing to a daily watering it had received from the
gardener.
With Stephen's penknife they clipped a bunch of dewy white roses with
yellow centers, and a few sprays of honeysuckle whose fragrance was
overpoweringly sweet.
The old man was watching for the young people at the window when the
attendant opened the door for them. He came forward with some of the
major's grace and took Barbara's hand in his.
"It was very good of you to come," he said. "I heard you were going, and
I wanted to say a last good-bye. I feel happier than I have felt in many
years. You have forgiven me, have you not, little Barbara?" he went on,
his mind confusing her again with that other Barbara whose tragic death
had bereft him of his reason. "And you have brought me the roses, too?"
She nodded her head.
"Did they come from the bush near the arbor?"
"Yes," she replied, wondering a little.
"Don't you remember that it was our bush, the one we chose when you were
here on a visit? Our white rose bush, Barbara. That you should not have
forgotten, after all these years!" Then his memory came back. "But what
am I saying?" he exclaimed. "My mind often gets confused. It was the
likeness, I suppose. I want you to see this portrait of your
grand-aunt."
He went over to a desk near the window and drew from one of its drawers
an old daguerreotype.
"It is very, very like," he murmured, as he handed it to Barbara.
It was, indeed, even more like the present Bab than the miniature which
the hermit had treasured during his years of solitude.
"I want you to keep this picture, Barbara," said Stephen's uncle. "I
have another one, and it will be a pleasure to me, at the last, to know
that it belongs to another Barbara Thurston. This ring must also be
yours." He drew from the desk a little black velvet case. "It was a ring
I gave to her after we were engaged. Will you wear it for me!"
Barbara opened the case and slipped the ring on her finger. It was a
very old ring of beaten silver with a sapphire setting.
"Thank you," she said and gave him her hand.
"Good-bye, little Barbara!" cried the old man. "You have brought peace
to me at last. You and my dear friend, Richard. I have changed a great
deal, you see," he was lapsing back into the old mania, "but you are as
young and pretty as ever, Barbara."
"It is time to go," whispered Stephen, hurriedly. The attendant had
already opened the door for them and they slipped out together.
"The hermit has promised to come and see him every day," said Stephen,
as they hastened through the passage. "Indeed, Uncle John has invited
the hermit to live at Ten Eyck Hall for the rest of his days, and he has
all but consented. He is a wonderful old man, I think, and whether he
swam off and left 'you' or not, he has atoned for it after all these
years."
"Stephen," replied Barbara, "I shall never believe that he did that, no
matter if he were to tell me so himself."
They reached the piazza just in time to hear Miss Sallie saying:
"Girls, I think we had better go up and get ready for the trip, before
luncheon is announced. We want to start promptly, this time, even if we
shall have such an excellent guard of young men. José, I am sorry you
are not well enough to come in to our last meal," she added, turning to
the sick boy and taking his hand. "But we shall run up and say good-bye
to you before we leave, and if ever you go as far west as Chicago, I
want you to come and see us. Perhaps Ruth and I shall see you and your
father this autumn when we are in Europe."
"Indeed, I hope you will come to Madrid and visit at my home," cried
José. "Will you not arrange it?"
"That would be delightful" said Miss Sallie, "but we shall be over only
for six weeks. We must return in time for Ruth's school, you know."
The last luncheon at Ten Eyck Hall was a very gay one. The dangers of
the previous week were over and the mysteries cleared away.
The major fairly beamed on his guests across the hospitable board.
"It must have been Miss Sallie's fault," thought Mollie, watching his
handsome face with a secret admiration. "He is certainly the dearest old
man alive. I wonder if she isn't sorry now?"
And as if in answer to her unspoken question, she heard Miss Sallie
saying:
"John, I hope this is not the last visit you will let us make to Ten
Eyck Hall. In spite of its fires and tramps I should like to come
again."
"I should be the happiest man in the world if you only would," he
answered. "I am greatly relieved that you haven't got an everlasting
prejudice against it."
"When I settle down for the winter," Jimmie Butler was heard to remark
above the hum of conversation, "I mean to take up a certain study and
not leave off studying it until I have graduated with diploma and
honors."
"What is it, Jimmie?" demanded the others.
"Prize fighting," he replied. "I intend to learn wrestling and boxing,
likewise just plain hair-pulling and scratching. Prize fighting in all
its varieties for me before another year rolls round."
"You will have to go into training, then, Jim," exclaimed Alfred. "You
will not be permitted to eat anything you like and not too much of
anything else."
"No more hot bread for you, Jimmie," continued Stephen. "No more waffles
and Johnnie-cakes. You will have to punch the bag mornings, when you
would rather be sleeping, and give up theatres in the evenings for early
bedtime. It's a fearful life, my boy."
"Be that as it may," persisted Jimmie, "I'm going to learn how to deal a
blow that will give a man a black eye the first time, and if ever I get
hold of that wiry individual who gave me these in the woods, yonder," he
pointed to his red nose and discolored eye, "he'll get such a 'licking'
as he'll remember to his last hour. Even Stephen's giant won't be a
match for me."
There was joyous laughter at this, followed by remarks from Martin and
Alfred of a rather sarcastic character, such as "Give it to him, Jimmie!
Give him a bump in the ribs!"
"I am going to have the woods patrolled, hereafter, in the summer time,"
observed the major, "and all dangerous characters will be excluded. The
next time we have a house party there will be no tramps to threaten my
guests."
"By the way," said Stephen, "the giant tramp is in the hospital now. He
was drunk when the fire started, and fell asleep. He was badly burned
and almost suffocated, but his poor, long-suffering wife managed to save
him somehow. The other two had left him to die."
"Will you have him arrested when he gets well, Major?" asked Ruth.
"No," replied the major, somewhat confused. "I suppose I should, but he
tells me he was despoiled of his living by a dishonest master, and I
have concluded to make it up to him for being richer than he is by
giving him something to do. We have several farms back in the country
and I have put him in charge of the smallest one. It seems that farming
is the very thing he wants to do more than anything else in life. He
will have to travel a good distance before he can get anything to drink,
and his wife is the happiest woman over the prospect you ever saw."
"Major, major!" protested Miss Sallie. "What will you do next?"
"Ah, well," exclaimed the major, "it is good to be able to give a man a
chance to earn an honest living, especially if he wants to take it. And,
when this poor wretch heard about that bit of land and little cottage
back yonder in the hills, he looked as if he had had a glimpse of
heaven. His wife told me that he had really tried, again and again to
find something to do; but indoor life was very irksome to him because he
had been brought up on a farm, and working in factories and foundries
had been his undoing."
"Stephen, how do you feel about it?" asked Alfred. "He was your opponent
in the fight, you know."
"Oh, I don't mind," replied Stephen. "He didn't give me a black eye, and
I am glad for him to earn an honest living. Uncle's a brick."
When the meal was over Major Ten Eyck rose from the table, clearing his
throat as if he were about to make a speech, which indeed he was.
"I have something to say before this party breaks up, for myself and the
boys. We want to express to you, how deeply grateful we feel to you,
Miss Sallie and 'The Automobile Girls,' for what you have done for us.
"You have saved our old home for us, at the risk of your own precious
lives, and there is nothing we can really do or say to show how much we
appreciate it. The place has been in the family ever since there were
any Ten Eycks to live in it. I was born here and I love it, and I hope
to end my days here----"
"Don't speak as if you were on the brink of the grave, Major, I beg of
you," protested Miss Sallie. "You are not many years older than I am,
and I certainly will not allow such mournful thoughts to trouble me so
soon."
"You will always be young, Sallie," replied the gallant major.
"You are nothing but a boy yourself, John," replied Miss Stuart,
blushing in spite of herself, while the young people exchanged stealthy
smiles at these elderly compliments.
"I was saying," continued the major, who remained standing to finish his
speech, "that there was nothing we could do, the boys and I, to show how
we feel in this matter. But when you wear these little ornaments" (here
the major handed Miss Sallie and each of the girls a little jeweler's
box) "we hope you will remember that we are your devoted friends always.
It was Stephen's idea, and there was not much time to get them, but the
jeweler undertook a rush order for us, and I hope they are all right."
"Hurray!" cried Jimmie, rolling his napkin into a ball and tossing it
into the air.
There were cries of pleasure when the boxes gave up their treasures,
small gold firemen's helmets studded with pearls and a row of rubies on
the curve of the brim.
As if this were not enough, John came in with a tray of bouquets, each
one different, as on a former occasion. The major had picked and
arranged the flowers himself for Miss Sallie and "The Automobile Girls,"
as a last reminder of Ten Eyck Hall, he said.
"It is worth while going into the firemen's business, if one is to be so
well repaid," exclaimed Ruth.
Bab felt particularly rich in souvenirs of her visit, with a picture of
a new and hitherto unknown great-aunt, a ring and a beautiful pin.
"We are all much too excited to thank you properly, Major," she said.
"I don't want any thanks, my dear child," replied the major. "I wish to
avoid them."
"Somebody should make a speech," cried Jimmie's voice above the jollity.
"I think I'll be the one." He cleared his throat. "Major John Ten Eyck,"
he said bowing toward the major, "I know these young ladies appreciate
deeply the handsome souvenirs you have bestowed upon them, but youth and
inexperience have tied their tongues. However, mine is loosened and I
wish to thank you a thousand times for the souvenirs which I also am
carrying away from Ten Eyck Hall, namely my beautiful ruby nose and my
blue enameled eyes."
There was more laughter and more exchange of jokes and fun, when Martin
who had slipped out of the room for a moment, returned with a small
bundle which he handed to Jimmie.
"We'll give you a booby prize, Jimmie," he said, "since the ladies have
been awarded the first prize."
Jimmie opened the bundle and drew forth a boxing glove which he put on
immediately and chased Martin out of the room. This was the signal for
the breaking up of the lunch party.
The boxes and suit cases were already piled in their accustomed place on
the back of the car and there was nothing for the girls to do but to pin
on their hats and veils, slip on their silk dusters and go.
The servants had lined up in the hall to say good-bye. José had begged
to be permitted to remain downstairs until after the visitors had gone.
As the automobiles sped down the avenue, the major, standing by the sick
boy's cot, waved good-bye from the piazza.
Only Bab saw another handkerchief waving its pathetic farewell from a
window in the right wing. She gave an answering wave with her own little
handkerchief which she hoped the old man would not miss.
"Good-bye to Ten Eyck Hall," she said to herself as she looked back at
the beautiful old house. "You are full of tragic memories, but I love
you and I would have risked much to have saved you from crumbling to a
heap of ashes."
As they passed over the bridge and came to the crossroads by the woods,
they were stopped by blind Jennie, who silently presented Bab and Ruth
each with a small cross she herself had carved from wood. Then to Bab
she gave a beautiful bunch of yellow roses, which the hermit had begged
the girl to accept with his best wishes.