II

On his way home Octavius Buzzby found himself wondering, as he had

wondered many times before on occasion, how he could checkmate this

latest and most unexpected move on the part of the mistress of

Champ-au-Haut. His mind was perturbed and he realized, while making an

effort to concentrate his attention on ways and means, that he had been

giving much of his mental strength during the last twenty years to the

search for ulterior motives on the part of Mrs. Louis Champney, a woman

of sixty now, a Googe by birth (the Googes, through some genealogical

necromancy, traced their descent from Sir Ferdinando Gorges. The name

alone, not the blood, had, according to family tradition, suffered

corruption with time), and the widow of Louis Champney, the late Judge

Champney's only son.

The Champneys had a double strain of French blood in their veins, Breton

and Flemish; the latter furnished the collateral branch of the Van

Ostends. This intermixture, flowing in the veins of men and women who

were Americans by the birthright of more than two centuries' enjoyment

of our country's institutions, had produced for several generations as

fine a strain of brains and breeding as America can show.

Louis Champney, the last of the line in direct descent, was looked upon

from his boyhood up as the culmination of these centuries' flowering.

When, at forty, he died without having fulfilled in any wise the great

expectations of his townspeople and relations, the interest of the

community, as well as of the family, centred in the prospects of Louis

Champney Googe, his namesake, and nephew on his wife's side. Here,

again, numerous family interests as well as communal speculations were

disappointed. The Champney estate was left entire to the widow, Almeda

Googe Champney, to dispose of as she might deem fit. Her powers of

administratrix were untrammelled save in one respect: Octavius Buzzby

was to remain in his position as factotum on the Champney estate and

adviser for its interests.

It was at this juncture, when Louis Champney died without remembering

his nephew-in-law by so much as a book from his library and the boy was

ten years old, that a crisis was discovered to be imminent in the

fortunes of the Googe-Champney families, the many ramifications of which

were intricately interwoven in the communal life of Flamsted. This

crisis had not been averted; for Aurora Googe, the sister-in-law of Mrs.

Champney and mother of young Champney, sold a part of her land in The

Gore for the first granite quarry, and in so doing changed for all time

the character and fortunes of the town of Flamsted.

For many years Octavius Buzzby had championed openly and in secret the

cause of Aurora Googe and her only son. To-night, while walking slowly

homewards, he was pondering what attitude of mind he must assume, before

he could deal adequately with the momentous event which had been

foreshadowed from the moment he learned from the priest's lips that Mr.

Van Ostend was implicated in the coming of this orphan child. He

recalled that little Alice Van Ostend prattled much about this same

child during the week she had spent recently with her father at

Champ-au-Haut.

Was the mistress of Champ-au-Haut going to adopt her?

Almeda Champney had never wanted the blessing of a child, and, contrary

to her young husband's wishes--he was her junior by twelve years--she

had had her way. Her nature was so absorbingly tenacious of whatever

held her narrow interests, that a child at Champ-au-Haut would have

broken, in a measure, her domination of her weaker-willed husband,

because it would have centred in itself his love and ambition to "keep

up the name." That now, eleven years after Louis Champney's death, she

should contemplate the introduction into her perfectly ordered household

of a child, an alien, was a revelation of appalling moment to Octavius.

He scouted the idea that she would enter the house as an assistant. None

was needed; and, moreover, those small hands could accomplish little in

the next ten years. She meant to adopt her then! An alien was to inherit

the Champney property! Octavius actually shivered at the thought.

Was it, could it be an act of spite against Aurora Googe? Was it a final

answer to any expectations of her nephew, Champney Googe, her husband's

namesake and favorite? Was this little alien waif to be made a catspaw

for her revenge? She was capable of such a thing, was Almeda Champney.

_He_ knew her; none better! Had not her will, thus far in her life, bent

everything with which it had come in contact; crushed whatever had

opposed it; broken irrevocably whosoever for a while had successfully

resisted it?

His thin lips drew to a straight line. All his manhood's strength of

desire for fair play, a desire he had been fated to see unfulfilled

during the last twenty years, rose in rebellion to champion the cause of

the little newcomer who smiled on him so brightly in the office of The

Greenbush. Nor did he falter in his resolution when he presented himself

at the library door with the telegram in his hand.

"Come in, Octavius; was there any mail?"

"Only a telegram from New York." He handed it to her.

She opened and read it; then laid it on the table. She removed her

eyeglasses, for she had grown far-sighted with advancing years, in order

to look at the back of the small man who was leaving the room. If he had

seen the smile that accompanied the action, he might well have faltered

in his resolution to champion any righteous cause on earth.

"Wait a moment, Octavius."

"Now it's coming!" he thought and faced her again; he was bracing

himself mentally to meet the announcement.

"Did you see the junk man at The Corners to-day about those shingle

nails?"

In the second of hesitation before replying, he had time inwardly to

curse her. She was always letting him down in this way. It was a trick

of hers when, to use his own expression, she had "something up her

sleeve."

"Yes; but he won't take them off our hands."

"Why not?" She spoke sharply as was her way when she suspected any

thwarting of her will or desire.

"He says he won't give you your price for they ain't worth it. They

ain't particular good for old iron anyway; most on 'em's rusty and

crooked. You know they've been on the old coach house for good thirty

years, and the Judge used to say--"

"What will he give?"

"A quarter of a cent a pound."

"How many pounds are there?"

"Fifty-two."

"Fifty-two--hm-m; he sha'n't have them. They're worth a half a cent a

pound if they're worth anything. You can store them in the workshop till

somebody comes along that does want them, and will pay." He turned again

to leave her.

"Just a moment, Octavius." Once more he came back over the threshold.

"Were there any arrivals at The Greenbush to-night?"

"I judged so from the register."

"Did you happen to see a girl there?"

"I saw a child, a little girl, smallish and thin; a priest was with

her."

"A priest?" Mrs. Champney looked nonplussed for a moment and put on her

glasses to cover her surprise. "Did you learn her name, the girl's?"

"It was in the register, Aileen Armagh, from an orphan asylum in New

York."

"Then she's the one," she said in a musing tone but without the least

expression of interest. She removed her glasses. Octavius took a step

backwards. "A moment more, Octavius. I may as well speak of it now; I am

only anticipating by a week or two, at the most, what, in any case, I

should have told you. While Mr. Van Ostend was here, he enlisted my

sympathy in this girl to such an extent that I decided to keep her for a

few months on trial before making any permanent arrangement in regard to

her. I want to judge of her capability to assist Ann and Hannah in the

housework; Hannah is getting on in years. What do you think of her? How

did she impress you? Now that I have decided to give her a trial, you

may speak freely. You know I am guided many times by your judgment in

such matters."

Octavius Buzzby could have ground his teeth in impotent rage at this

speech which, to his accustomed ears, rang false from beginning to end,

yet was cloaked in terms intended to convey a compliment to himself.

But, instead, he smiled the equivocal smile with which many a speech of

like tenor had been greeted, and replied with marked earnestness:

"I wouldn't advise you, Mrs. Champney, to count on much assistance from

a slip of a thing like that. She's small, and don't look more 'n nine,

and--"

"She's over twelve," Mrs. Champney spoke decidedly; "and a girl of

twelve ought to be able to help Ann and Hannah in some of their work."

"Well, I ain't no judge of children as there's never been any of late

years at Champo." He knew his speech was barbed. Mrs. Champney carefully

adjusted her glasses to the thin bridge of her straight white nose. "And

if there had been, I shouldn't want to say what they could do or what

they couldn't at that age. Take Romanzo, now, he's old enough to work if

you watch him; and now he's here I don't deny but what you had the

rights of it 'bout my needing an assistant. He takes hold handy if you

show him how, and is willing and steady. But two on 'em--I don't know;"

he shook his head dubiously; "a growing boy and girl to feed and train

and clothe--seems as if--" Octavius paused in the middle of his

sentence. He knew his ground, or thought he knew it.

"You said yourself she was small and thin, and I can give her work

enough to offset her board. Of course, she will have to go to school,

but the tuition is free; and if I pay school taxes, that are increasing

every year, I might as well have the benefit of them, if I can, in my

own household."

There seemed no refutation needed to meet such an argument, and Octavius

retreated another step towards the door.

"A moment more, Octavius," she said blandly, for she knew he was longing

to rid her of his presence; "Mr. Emlie has been here this evening and

drawn up the deeds conveying my north shore property to the New York

syndicate. Mr. Van Ostend has conducted all the negotiations at that

end, and I have agreed to the erection of the granite sheds on those

particular sites and to the extension of a railroad for the quarries

around the head of the lake to The Corners. The syndicate are to control

all the quarry interests, and Mr. Van Ostend says in a few years they

will assume vast proportions, entailing an outlay of at least three

millions. They say there is to be a large electric plant at The Corners,

for the mill company have sold them the entire water power at the

falls.--I hope Aurora is satisfied with what she has accomplished in so

short a time. Champney, I suppose, comes home next month?"

Octavius merely nodded, and withdrew in haste lest his indignation get

the upper hand of his discretion. It behooved him to be discreet at this

juncture; he must not injure Aurora Googe's cause, which he deemed as

righteous a one as ever the sun shone upon, by any injudicious word that

might avow his partisanship.

Mrs. Champney smiled again when she saw his precipitous retreat. She had

freighted every word with ill will, and knew how to raise his silent

resentment to the boiling point. She rose and stepped quickly into the

hall.

"Tavy," she called after him as he was closing the door into the back

passage. He turned to look at her; she stood in the full light of the

hall-lamp. "Just a moment before you go. Did you happen to hear who the

priest is who came with the girl?"

"His name was in the ledger. The Colonel said he was a father--Father

Honore, I can't pronounce it, from New York."

"Is he stopping at The Greenbush?"

"He's put up there for to-night anyway."

"I think I must see this priest; perhaps he can give me more detailed

information about the girl. That's all."

She went back into the library, closing the door after her. Octavius

shut his; then, standing there in the dimly lighted passageway, he

relieved himself by doubling both fists and shaking them vigorously at

the panels of that same door, the while he simulated, first with one

foot then with the other, a lively kick against the baseboard, muttering

between his set teeth:

"The devil if it's all, you devilly, divelly, screwy old--"

The door opened suddenly. Simultaneously with its opening Octavius had

sufficient presence of mind to blow out the light. He drew his breath

short and fumbled in his pocket for matches.

"Why, Tavy, you here!" (How well she knew that the familiar name "Tavy"

was the last turn of the thumbscrew for this factotum of the Champneys!

She never applied it unless she knew he was thoroughly worsted in the

game between them.) "I was coming to find you; I forgot to say that you

may go down to-morrow at nine and bring her up. I want to look her

over."

She closed the door. Octavius, without stopping to relight the lamp,

hurried up to his room in the ell, fearful lest he be recalled a fifth

time--a test of his powers of mental endurance to which he dared not

submit in his present perturbed state.

Mrs. Champney walked swiftly down the broad main hall, that ran through

the house, to the door opening on the north terrace whence there was an

unobstructed view up the three miles' length of Lake Mesantic to the

Flamsted Hills; and just there, through a deep depression in their

midst, the Rothel, a rushing brook, makes its way to the calm waters at

their gates. At this point, where the hills separate like the opening

sepals of a gigantic calyx, the rugged might of Katahdin heaves head and

shoulder into the blue.

The irregular margin of the lake is fringed with pines of magnificent

growth. Here and there the shores rise into cliffs, seamed at the top

and inset on the face with slim white lady birches, or jut far into the

waters as rocky promontories sparsely wooded with fir and balsam spruce.

Mrs. Champney stepped out upon the terrace. Her accustomed eyes looked

upon this incomparable, native scene that was set in the full beauty of

mid-summer's moonlight. She advanced to the broad stone steps, that

descend to the level of the lake, and, folding her arms, her hands

resting lightly upon them, stood immovable, looking northwards to the

Flamsted Hills--looking, but not seeing; for her thoughts were leaping

upwards to The Gore and its undeveloped resources; to Aurora Googe and

the part she was playing in this transitional period of Flamsted's life;

to the future years of industrial development and, in consequence, her

own increasing revenues from the quarries. She had stipulated that

evening that a clause, which would secure to her the rights of a first

stockholder, should be inserted in the articles of conveyance.

The income of eight thousand from the estate, as willed to her, had

increased under her management, aided by her ability to drive a sharp

bargain and the penuriousness which, according to Octavius, was capable

of "making a cent squeal", to twelve thousand. The sale of her north

shore lands would increase it another five thousand. Within a few years,

according to Mr. Van Ostend--and she trusted him--her dividends from her

stock would net her several thousands more. She was calculating, as she

stood there gazing northwards, unseeing, into the serene night and the

hill-peace that lay within it, how she could invest this increment for

the coming years, and casting about in her mathematically inclined mind

for means to make the most of it in interest per cent. She felt sure the

future would show satisfactory results.--And after?

That did not appeal to her.

She unfolded her arms, and gathering her skirt in both hands went down

the steps and took her stand on the lowest. She was still looking

northwards. Her skirt slipped from her left hand which she raised half

mechanically to let a single magnificent jewel, that guarded the plain

circlet of gold on her fourth finger, flash in the moonlight. She held

it raised so for a moment, watching the play of light from the facets.

Suddenly she clinched her delicate fist spasmodically; shook it forcibly

upwards towards the supreme strength of those silent hills, which, in

comparison with the human three score and ten, may well be termed

"everlasting", and, muttering fiercely under her breath, "_You_ shall

never have a penny of it!", turned, went swiftly up the steps, and

entered the house.