THE MOUNTAIN PARTY
AS the days flew by, the stranger became a bit more friendly, conversing
sometimes with Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte, but often, far more
often, with Mrs. Paxton.
It was not that she sought to become acquainted with Floretta's mother;
it was, rather, that Mrs. Paxton seemed determined to force the
friendship.
"Her name is Fenton, Mrs. Fenton, and isn't it odd, _my_ name was Fenton
before I married. Floretta's middle name is Fenton. I really feel almost
as if I were related to her, because of the name," declared Mrs. Paxton
one morning, whereupon Mrs. Fenton, coming out on to the piazza,
remarked:
"Oh, indeed!"
Mrs. Paxton blushed and hesitated, then recovering herself, she said:
"I was just telling these ladies of my friendly feeling for you."
"Oh, indeed!" Mrs. Fenton repeated, as she sank into a large rocker, and
looked off across the valley to the distant mountains.
After a few moments she seemed to have lost interest in the view, and,
taking up a small embroidery frame, commenced to ply her needle as if
she were eager to finish the pretty doily.
Two little figures came slowly up the path to the piazza. They were
returning from the christening of the little boat.
"What is wrong, Jack? You don't look very happy," said Mrs. Tiverton.
"He wanted me to christen his boat, but he wouldn't give it my name!"
said Floretta, before Jack could reply.
"She thought just because she hemmed the sails I'd name it the
_Floretta_, but I wouldn't, so I shoved it into the water myself, and
shouted _Carlotta_. That's the name of a girl that goes to my school,
and I like her."
"You say Floretta hemmed your sails," said Mrs. Tiverton.
"Well, I thanked her for that, and I let her go to the launching, and I
let her christen it, but I don't see that I need name it for her," said
Jack, stoutly.
Mrs. Fenton had not heeded what the children were saying. One might have
fancied that she did not hear, although both Floretta and Jack stood
quite near her chair.
A large spool that she had wound with colored silk slipped from her lap,
and rolled toward Floretta.
"Pick it up, dear," Mrs. Paxton said.
"Don't want to," said Floretta.
Mrs. Fenton stooped, and recovered the spool, and, taking her embroidery
frame in her hand, left the piazza, and mounted the stairs to her room.
"Why _were_ you so rude?" said Mrs. Paxton, but Floretta, perching upon
the low railing, began softly humming "Yankee Doodle."
Jack Tiverton, espying a boy that he knew, whistled loudly, and then, as
the other boy turned, ran after him, the two whooping and shouting like
savages.
"It is almost lunch time, Jack!" Mrs. Tiverton cried, and the boy
turned, and waved his hand to show that he heard her.
"Boys aren't apt to forget meal time," muttered old Mr. Cunningham
behind his paper.
True enough, Jack returned in ample time, and was the first at the
table.
Early in the afternoon Dorothy and Nancy went out for a drive with
Romeo.
It was one of those sunny days that tempt nearly every one to ride or
walk.
The mountain roads were rather lonely, and Mrs. Dainty insisted that
whether Dorothy were riding Romeo, or driving in the phaeton, the groom
must ride at a little distance behind her.
There were the lovely, slender birches on either side of the roads,
there were patches of bright green moss upon which the sunlight rested,
there were blackberry vines and woodbine wreathing the low stone walls,
and here and there a mullein raised its stately head from its base of
velvet leaves.
Oh, it seemed like an enchanted country, where new beauties were to be
found on either hand!
"Look!" cried Dorothy, "close beside that mullein is an evening
primrose, and their blossoms are the same color."
Then a tiny chipmunk sprang upon the wall, sat erect, and watched them
for a moment, then ran up the trunk of a slender tree, where from a low
branch he watched until they had passed. Then back to the wall he
sprang, where he chattered as if scolding the little girls who had
disturbed his solitude. It may be that, instead, he was talking to
himself, and telling what charming little girls they were.
A long way from the hotel they passed Jack Tiverton, with a number of
other boys who were staying at a hotel a few miles distant from the
Cleverton.
They were all somewhat larger than Jack, and he thought it fine to be
with them.
He had met them at a ball game three weeks before, and he had been very
busy holding their acquaintance ever since.
"We're going to catch the echo, and keep it, too!" shouted Jack.
"It's mocking you now," said Dorothy, with a laugh.
"I know it," said Jack, "but we'll catch it, and fasten it so it can't
get away."
"_How_ will you fasten an echo?" Nancy asked, turning, and looking over
her shoulder as the little phaeton sped past.
"Trust us to find a way!" cried Jack, and the others laughed as if they
already knew exactly how to do it.
They left the road, and, vaulting over the wall, crossed the open
field, singing a gay, rollicking song as they went.
"They just _say_ they're going hunting for the echo," said Dorothy, "and
they say it for fun, but I wonder where they are going, and what they
truly are going to do."
The groom, riding nearer, touched his hat.
"Please, Miss Dorothy, I heard the lads saying that there's an old house
over near that mountain, where a hermit lived years ago, and they're off
to find it if they can."
"Then why didn't they say so, instead of telling such a tale about
catching the echo?" Dorothy asked.
"They were saying that they wanted to find the hut, and hunt in it, and
around it ter find things the old fellow may have hidden. They feared
you or Miss Nancy might tell some other lad. They're wanting it all to
themselves."
Having told this bit of information, the groom allowed the carriage to
pass him, and once more rode behind it.
The two little girls talked of the long tramp that the boys would have
before they would find the hermit's hut.
"And perhaps they won't find it at all, after all their hunting," said
Nancy.
"Well, I hope they will," said Dorothy, "because it's so horrid to hunt
and hunt, for nothing."
"Oh, look!" she cried a moment later. "See the lovely mosses! Let's take
some back to mamma and Aunt Charlotte."
They were, indeed, beautiful. There was green moss that looked like
velvet, and gray moss formed like tiny cups with scarlet edges, and
other moss tipped with red.
On an old stump they found shell-like fungus, some a creamy white,
others white, with soft brown markings.
Oh, a fine collection of rarely beautiful mosses and lichens they
gathered, and heaped on the bottom of the phaeton.
Romeo turned his head to watch them as if he wondered when they would
have gathered enough.
"Oh, we do keep you standing, dear, don't we?" Dorothy said, patting his
neck as she spoke.
"Oh, you needn't look for sugar," she said, laughing, "for I haven't any
with me, but we'll get you some fresh clover."
With Nancy's help she soon had a fine bunch of pink clover for Romeo,
and he seemed quite as pleased as if it had been the cubes that he so
often enjoyed.
* * * * *
When the party of boys had left the road to cross the fields that lay
between them, and the forest at the foot of the mountain, they had
believed that they knew exactly how to go to reach the hermit's hut.
The old hermit had been dead for years, but every season the summer
guests at the hotels and farmhouses searched all around the deserted
hut, expecting to find some relic to take home and label as a bit of the
hermit's property.
The boys supposed that they had the woods to themselves, and that they
would be uninterrupted in their search of the place.
They did not know that the mountain climbers had taken the same
direction, intending, before they enjoyed their lunch beneath the trees,
to stop at the old, deserted house.
Mrs. Paxton and little Floretta had worked more persistently than any
others of the party, and Mrs. Paxton had found a small, brass button.
The others had laughed at the prize, asking her if she intended to keep
it as a souvenir.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Paxton. "I'm sure this brass button must have
belonged on some old coat that the hermit wore!"
"Perhaps in his youth, before he came up here to live, he may have been
a janitor," said a young man, with a saucy laugh.
"Or a brakeman," suggested another.
Mrs. Paxton pretended not to hear their teasing, and though the prize
that she had found had been only a valueless thing, she kept it.
Floretta was very eager to stay, and continue to peep into cracks in the
floor and walls, and to poke with a stick under the doorsill, and in the
soft earth around the hut.
The older members of the party knew that if they were to ascend the
mountain, see the view, and descend before twilight, they must start at
once.
As soon as their picnic lunch had been enjoyed they commenced to climb
the rugged mountain path.
It was very steep and rough, and it had been said that no children
should be allowed in the party.
Mrs. Paxton had insisted that her small daughter was a wonderful little
climber, who was quite equal to the demands of a long tramp.
Floretta had wished to remain at the hut, but as she could not do that,
she proceeded to make herself as unpleasant as possible, by complaining
every step of the way, until one young man voiced the feeling of the
entire party.
"This is a horrid, rough old path, and I'm tired. I wish I'd stayed at
_home_!" said Floretta.
"I wish so, _too_!" said the young man, and several of the party, too
polite to say it, at heart, agreed with him.
Floretta's was the only gloomy face, however. The others tramped gaily
onward, singing snatches of song, and laughing as they stepped upon
rolling stones, or tripped over long, gnarled roots that rose above the
surface, as if especially designed to catch lagging feet.
"All day upon the hills
We've chased the chamois far,
But deeper joy now thrills
Beneath the evening star."
The youth sang gaily, and several of his friends joined him in singing
the old song.
Arrived at the summit they rested, enjoyed the view, laughed and joked
about their weariness, and made many wild guesses as to how long it
would take them to make the descent and drive back to the hotel.
"It will be three o'clock before we reach the Cleverton," said one.
"Nonsense!" cried another, "this is really called a mountain by
courtesy. It's only a big hill. I say we shall be on the piazza, and
wondering what we can do next, as early as half-past two."
"It's more likely to be half-past _three_!" declared another, and when
all felt sufficiently rested, they commenced the descent.
Floretta refused to keep closely beside her mother, insisting upon
clinging to another member of the party, to whom she had taken a fancy.
The party was a large one, much larger, indeed, than had at first been
planned, and while half of the number were guests at the Cleverton, the
others were from the Merlington, a hotel situated nearer the village,
and from several large farmhouses that entertained summer boarders.
The guests from the Cleverton had kept closely together during the trip,
while those from the Merlington had done the same.
They had reached the foot of the mountain, and were tramping along a
path that ran nearly parallel to that on which the hermit's house stood.
Floretta saw the boys, near the house, and also saw that Jack Tiverton
was with them.
Without a word, she left the lady to whose arm she had been clinging,
and making her way along behind bushes and underbrush, she managed to
sneak in at the door of the hut, without having been seen by the party
of boys.
The lady, with whom she had been walking, supposed that she had run back
to join her mother, while Mrs. Paxton felt quite undisturbed, because
she believed that her little girl was still clinging to the arm of the
lady with whom she had chosen to walk.
It had required two barges to convey the party, and now they found them
waiting, the horses a bit impatient to be off.
The guests from the Merlington clambered into the first barge, and they
with a few of the farmhouse party filled it to overflowing, some of the
men being obliged to ride homeward, seated upon the steps. Meanwhile the
Cleverton people were forced to wait until the barge for their party
drove up.
The first barge had started, and was rolling along, and a chorus of
college songs was wafted back on the breeze, while handkerchiefs
fluttered as the gay passengers laughed at the crowd that had not yet
started.
Mrs. Paxton paused with her foot on the step, and looked back.
"Why, where's Floretta?" she asked.
"In the first barge," cried a voice in reply.
"Are you _sure_?" she asked.
"Why, certainly," said the other, "she's with that tall, fine-looking
lady from the Merlington. She'll be home before you are."
The second barge was soon filled and on its way. The horses were less
fresh than those of the first barge, and seemed determined to lag.
Indeed, they required constant urging to keep them from dropping into a
slow walk.
"Those other fellows ahead of us started some lively college songs,"
said a disgusted passenger, "and they're actually out of sight now; but
the way these nags are poking I couldn't think of anything to sing that
would be slow enough to be appropriate."
And while one barge was going over the road at a lively rate of speed,
and the other jogging along at a snail's pace, Floretta, at the hut, was
having a most exciting time.
Once inside the place, she had crouched beneath a window to learn, if
possible, what the boys were talking about.
She had wanted to remain there when the party had started for the
mountain path, and she had been very impatient during the long tramp.
She cared nothing for the view, and determined, on the return, to stop,
if only for a few moments, at the hut.