THE STILLFORD HOUSE
They drove along and along the beautiful Marsden Road, past many fine
houses sitting complacently in their well-kept grounds; and at last the
carriage turned in at an entrance to a tree-shaded avenue that was
really very much like the approach to the Van Court mansion.
“Here we are, Betty,” said Miss Grace. “Do you think you could be happy
here?”
Betty said nothing, but smiled up into her friend’s eyes, for, despite
their short acquaintance, there was much sympathy between them.
The driveway wound around and up a slope, encircled a great glassy plot,
and then down and out to the gate again. At the top of the slope it
passed the Stillford house, and here the carriage stopped. They all got
out and went up the steps of a broad veranda that spread itself across
the front of the house and disappeared around the corners. The house was
by no means a modern one, but was built on the plan which boasts of two
front doors, with large rooms between them, and wings on each side. Mr.
Brewster rang the bell at one of the doors,—the western one,—and in a
few moments the other door opened, and a voice said briskly:
“Want to see the house? Have to come in this way if you do.”
They crossed to the other door, and found a pleasant-faced woman, who
announced herself as Mrs. Ryan, the caretaker of the place.
Mr. Brewster explained that they did want to see the house, with a view
to a possible purchase of it; and Mrs. Ryan, producing a bunch of keys,
piloted the party from one room to another, dilating as she went upon
the advantages of the dwelling and upon the glory of the departed
Stillfords.
“These is the parlures,” said she, ushering them into the two rooms that
filled the central portion of the house. “Front one looks down to town,
as you see. Back one commands a view of the river and mountings in the
distance. My! The ball-dances Mrs. Stillford used to give in these here
parlures! I tell you, them was the grand days of this house.”
The large, high-ceilinged rooms were utterly bare of furniture; but
Betty’s accommodating imagination ignored all beneath the level of her
own eyes, and as she looked at the frescoed garlands on the walls and
ceilings, the shining, flickering glass prisms on the chandeliers, and
the carved scrolls of the tall mantels, she fancied she could hear the
rustle of silks and the sounds of music and merriment that must have
marked Mrs. Stillford’s “ball-dances.”
From the front parlor, double doors led into the west hall, and as Mrs.
Ryan unlocked them a wail of anger greeted the party:
“Dit out o’ here! I’m p’ayin’ sojer!”
A glance at the “sojer’s” surroundings explained at once why entrance to
the house had to be made by the other door; for a fort built of bricks
occupied the front of the hall.
This was surmounted by a fair-sized cannon, presided over by a
warlike-looking individual of perhaps five years. He brandished a tin
sword, and repeated:
“Dit out o’ here, or I’ll shoot you down dead!”
“Don’t mind him,” said Mrs. Ryan, apologetically; “he’s gettin’ well of
the measles, and he didn’t feel very scrumptious to-day, so I let him
play in here. It makes things sort o’ hoopsy-topsy, but he don’t hurt
nothin’. Keep still, Michael Edward; nobody’s goin’ to interfere with
you. Don’t raise such a hubbubble.”
But the valiant warrior continued to yell until the invaders, after
admiring the wide hall with its great door at each end, went on to
further explorations.
West of the west hall was the dining-room, in the front of the house,
and back of it the kitchen.
“This here dinin’-room is considered great,” said Mrs. Ryan. “This
handsome sideboard is built to the wall, you see, and the mantel has
carvin’ on it that spells a motto.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Morris; “and the carving is beautiful—really
beautiful! Brewster, this is a fine old house.”
“It is, indeed,” replied Mr. Brewster; “and if Miss McGuire doesn’t buy
it, I think I should like it myself.” And he looked hopefully toward
Miss Grace, who quickly looked another way.
To reach the second floor they must needs pass the fort again. They
saluted the captain, but received in return only a few irate growls.
“You wouldn’t think it,” said Mrs. Ryan, as they all went up the broad
staircase, “but Michael Edward is a real good boy gen’rally. Only, when
he’s been sick, it seems to jest go through all his temper. Oh, well,
some cake _does_ bake that way!”
Then she paused on the landing to call her guests’ attention to the view
of the river and “mountings” again.
Miss Grace admired the view, but seemed even more impressed with the
possibilities of the landing. It was as large as a small room, and with
the great window and the lovely outlook might be furnished so as to
become a perfect nook of comfort.
“Yes, ’m,” said Betty, as her friend detailed these suggestions, “an’ a
singin’ æolian harp in the window.”
“Why, that’s just the finishing touch,” cried Miss Grace. “What do you
know about an æolian harp, Betty?”
“They had one at Miss Christabel’s, ma’am, an’ I used to listen to its
music until my heart was in my throat. Oh, Miss Grace, _am_ I going to
live here?”
“If you like it, Betty. The choice rests with you. But this is only the
first house you’ve looked at, you know. You ought to see some others
before you decide upon this as satisfactory.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Betty.
Then they went on, through the rooms and halls of the second floor and
the third floor, and finally they came down the other stairs into the
east hall.
In the east wing were two rooms which, Mrs. Ryan informed them, the
Stillfords had used for a library and a music-room.
“A music-room!” said Betty, her eyes dancing. “What is that?”
“Why, a room for music, for music only,” said Mr. Morris. “It should
contain a piano,—a piano, you know,—and other instruments, and be
devoted solely to the production and enjoyment of music.”
“What did you think it was?” asked Miss Grace, noticing the
disappointment on Betty’s countenance.
“I thought,” she answered, bravely confessing her ignorance, “that it
was like a music-box, only as big as a room, an’ if you wound it up it
would play tunes.”
“You can have a music-box in it if you like,” said Mr. Brewster.
“Then I will buy the house,” said Betty, with sudden decision.
“Bless my soul!” said Mr. Morris. “We must see—we must talk this over.
It strikes me,—yes, it certainly strikes me,—it is a very large house
for you.”
They were in the music-room now. Mrs. Ryan had heard alarming sounds
from the fort, and had gone to investigate, leaving the visitors to sum
up their opinions of the house.
Miss Grace and Mr. Brewster were seated on the low seat which ran around
the bay-window; Mr. Morris was pacing the room in his quick, nervous
way; and Betty was standing leaning against one of the fluted pillars
which divided the music-room from the library back of it.
“No,” she said decidedly; “it’s not too large for me an’ my family. I’ve
been makin’ plans as I went through the rooms, an’ I don’t want to look
at any other house. If the fortune is my own, an’ if I am to have the
spendin’ of it, I will buy this house, I will, an’ then I will buy my
furniture an’ my family.”
There was an old wooden box in Mr. Morris’s path; first he stumbled over
it, then he sat down upon it, and blessed his soul with emphasis, while
he drummed out strange measures on the sides of the box with his
fingers.
“Buy a family?” he said, “a family? What do you mean?”
“I know of a market,” said Mr. Brewster, recalling a very old joke,
“where there is a sign which reads, ‘Families Supplied.’ Perhaps you
could get one there.”
Betty looked at Mr. Morris’s amazed countenance, and then at Mr.
Brewster’s quizzical one, and she felt suddenly as if she was a very
foolish little girl.
But Miss Grace smiled at her with loving sympathy, and in an instant she
flew across the room and nestled at the lady’s side.
Miss Grace put her arm round Betty, and said kindly: “Now, tell us,
dear, about the family you want to buy.”
“Well, you see, ma’am,” began Betty, feeling once more the courage of
her own convictions, “it’s just this way. An’ maybe I’m plannin’ too
fast; maybe it’s not for the likes of me to live in a beautiful house
like this. But the gentleman said the money is my own, an’ by the same
token that must be true, though I can’t quite believe it; an’ so I want
to buy me a house to make my home in. An’ how can it be a home without a
family? An’ where would I get a family but to buy one? So if I’ve money
enough I’ll buy me a grandmother, an’ a baby sister, an’ a brother. But
bein’ as I’ll take Lame Jack for my brother, I’m thinkin’ I’ll get him
for nothin’.”
“And where will you buy your other relatives?” asked Mr. Brewster,
trying hard not to laugh.
But Betty answered as seriously as if he had inquired which was the best
place to buy white parasols:
“I’m thinkin’ I can get my grandmother at the Old Ladies’ Home, an’ my
baby at the Orphan Asylum; an’ if Miss Grace would go with me to pick
’em out, I’m sure we’d get nice ones.”
“I’m sure you would,” said Mr. Brewster, heartily.
Mr. Morris rose from his soap-box and paced round in his track again.
“She’s all right,” said he, pounding one palm with the other fist. “The
child’s all right. Betty, you shall have your home and your family. Yes,
yes; you shall have your home and your family. And you must have a
housekeeper and servants.”
“My grandmother will keep house for me, sir, until I can learn to do it
myself. An’ I will have servants enough to keep the place tidy, an’—an’
I will be very good to ’em.”
Betty’s thoughts suddenly flew back to her own servitude at Mrs.
Tucker’s, and she resolved that her domestic rule should be just and
kind.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Morris, “the way to do some things is to _do_
them. Yes, yes; that is the way to do some things. This whole affair is
unique, so far as I know, but we have to deal with it as it is. And,
Miss McGuire, as you are my client, I shall obey orders, and with the
help of these kind friends we’ll carry this through; yes, yes, we’ll
carry it through.”
“Indeed, I’ll help all I can,” said Miss Grace. “I think it is lovely,
and I’m glad to assist.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brewster.
“Well, how do you like the house?” asked Mrs. Ryan, who had quelled the
military uprising, and was beaming on them from the doorway.
“It is a very attractive place,” said Miss Van Court, pleasantly; “and
we thank you for showing us about. We are going home now to talk it
over, and I think it is likely we shall buy the house. In that case,
what will become of you?”
[Illustration: “‘HALLO, POPINJAY! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I TURNED THE
HOSE ON YOUR FINE PINK FROCK?’”]
“Oh, I’ll go back to where I used to live before I came to work for the
Stillfords. And I’ll be glad to go, too. I was mighty fond of Mrs.
Stillford, but now she’s gone I ain’t got no call to stay here. Good
day, miss; good day, sirs.”
The party drove back to the Van Court home, and were met on the veranda
by the other ladies of the family, and by Mr. Richard Van Court, who had
returned from the city.
Betty’s face turned scarlet at sight of him; for she remembered their
last meeting, and wondered how he would treat her now.
But Mr. Richard, being a careless and easy-going young man, and being
amused by the story of Betty’s change of fortunes, was quite willing to
make friends with the small heiress. So he greeted her with a smile, and
said:
“Hallo, Popinjay! How would you like it if I turned the hose on your
fine pink frock?”
Betty blushed harder than ever, and was at a loss for a reply.
But her tormentor would not let her off so easily.
“How would you like it, eh, Popinjay?”
Then Betty looked at him with her honest blue eyes, and answered
bravely: “If you didn’t _mean_ to do it, sir, I’d thank you for your
kind _intentions_.”
The Irishness of this speech pleased the young man wonderfully, and he
went off into a peal of laughter. “You would, would you?” said he.
“Betty, we’ll let bygones be bygones, and be friends. Would you like
that?”
“Yes, sir,” said Betty.
“Then shake hands on it. There! Now remember, whenever you want a
friend, Dicky Van Court is it. And now tell me all about this happy home
you’re going to buy.”
But Miss Grace interfered. “Not now,” she said. “Come with me, Betty,
and get ready for dinner, and you can talk to my brother afterward.”
They went away together, and Mr. Dick called after them:
“Put on your red necktie, Popinjay. I shall never be really happy until
I see that necktie exhibited in all its glory again!”