MORE GUESTS
When with shining eyes Ted told his father about Mr. Fernald's visit to
the shack, Mr. Turner simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled
indulgently.
"Likely Mr. Clarence's curiosity got the better of him," said he, "and
he wanted to look your place over and see that it warn't too good; or
mebbe he just happened to be going by. He never would have taken the
trouble to go that far out of his way if he hadn't had something up his
sleeve. When men like him are too pleasant, I'm afraid of 'em. And as
for Mr. Laurie _dropping in_--why, his father and grandfather would no
more let him associate with folks like us than they'd let him jump
headfirst into the river. We ain't good enough for the Fernalds.
Probably almost nobody on earth is. And when it comes to Mr. Laurie,
why, in their opinion the boy doesn't live who is fit to sit in the
same room with him."
Ted's bright face clouded with disappointment.
"I never thought of Mr. Laurie feeling like that," answered he.
"Oh, I ain't saying Mr. Laurie himself is so high and mighty. He ain't.
The poor chap has nothing to be high and mighty about and he knows it.
Anybody who is as dependent on others as he is can't afford to tilt his
nose up in the air and put on lugs. For all I know to the contrary he
may be simple as a baby. It's his folks that think he's the king-pin
and keep him in cotton wool." Mr. Turner paused, his lip curling with
scorn. "You'll never see Mr. Laurie at your shack, mark my words. His
people would not let him come even if he wanted to."
The light of eagerness in his son's countenance died entirely.
"I suppose you're right," admitted he slowly and with evident
reluctance.
Although he would not have confessed it, he had been anticipating, far
more than he would have been willing to own, the coming of Mr. Laurie.
Over and over again he had lived in imagination his meeting with this
fairy prince whose grave, wistful face and pleasant smile had so
strongly attracted him. He had speculated to himself as to what the
other boy was like and had coveted the chance to speak to him, never
realizing that they were not on an equal plane. Mr. Fernald's
suggestion of Laurie visiting the shack seemed the most natural thing
in the world, and immediately after it had been made Ted's fancy had
run riot, and he had leaped beyond the first formal preliminaries to a
time when he and Laurie Fernald would really know one another, even
come to be genuine friends, perhaps. What sport two lads, interested in
the same things, could have together!
Ted had few companions who followed the bent of thought that he did.
The fellows he knew either at school or in the town were ready enough
to play football and baseball but almost none of them, for example,
wanted to sacrifice a pleasant Saturday to constructing a wireless
outfit. One or two of them, it is true, had begun the job but they soon
tired of it and either sat down to watch him work or had deserted him
altogether. The only congenial companion he had been able to count on
had been the young assistant in the laboratory at school who, although
he was not at all aged, was nevertheless years older than Ted.
But with the mention of Mr. Laurie myriad dreams had flashed into his
mind. Here was no prim old scholar but a lad like himself, who probably
did not know much more about electrical matters than he. You wouldn't
feel ashamed to admit your ignorance before such a person, or own that
you either did not know, or did not understand. You could blunder along
with such a companion to your heart's content. Such had been his belief
until now, with a dozen words, Ted saw his father shatter the illusion.
No, of course Mr. Laurie would never come to the shack. It had been
absurd to think it for a moment. And even if he did, it would only be
as a lofty and unapproachable spectator. Mr. Fernald's words were a
subtly designed flattery intended to put him in good humor because he
wanted something of him.
What could it be?
Perhaps he meant to oust him out of the boathouse and rebuild it, or
possibly tear it down; or maybe he had taken a fancy to use it as it
was and desired to be rid of Ted in some sort of pleasant fashion.
Unquestionably the building belonged to Mr. Fernald and if he chose to
reclaim it he had a perfect right to do so.
Poor Ted! With a crash his air castles tumbled about his ears and the
ecstasy of his mood gave way to apprehension and unhappiness. Each day
he waited, expecting to hear through Mr. Wharton that Mr. Clarence
Fernald had decided to use the shack for other purposes. Time slipped
along, however, and no such tidings came. In the meanwhile Mr. Wharton
made no further mention of the Fernalds and gradually Ted's fears
calmed down sufficiently for him to gain confidence enough to unpack
his boxes of wire, his tools, and instruments. Nevertheless, in spite
of this, his first enthusiasm had seeped away and he did not attempt to
go farther than to take the things out and look at them.
Before his father had withered his ambitions by his pessimism, a score
of ideas had danced through his brain. He had thought of running a
buzzer over to the Stevens's bungalow in order that Mrs. Stevens might
ring for him when she wanted him; and he had thought of connecting Mr.
Wharton's office with the shack by telephone. He felt sure he could do
both these things and would have liked nothing better than try them.
But now what was the use? If a little later on Mr. Fernald intended to
take the shack away from him, it would be foolish to waste toil and
material for nothing. For the present, at least, he much better hold
off and see what happened.
Yet notwithstanding this resolve, he did continue to improve the
appearance of the boathouse. Just why, he could not have told. Perhaps
it was a vent for his disquietude. At any rate, having some scraps of
board left and hearing the gardener say there were more geraniums in
the greenhouse than he knew what to do with, Ted made some windowboxes
for the Stevens's and himself, painted them green, and filled them with
flowering plants. They really were very pretty and added a surprising
touch of beauty to the dull, weather-stained little dwelling in the
woods. Mr. Wharton was delighted and said so frankly.
"Your camp looks as attractive as a teahouse," said he. "You have no
idea how gay the red flowers look among these dark pine trees. How came
you to think of window-boxes?"
"Oh, I don't know," was Ted's reply. "The bits of board suggested it, I
guess. Then Collins said the greenhouses were overstocked, and he
seemed only too glad to get rid of his plants."
"I'll bet he was," responded Mr. Wharton. "If there is anything he
hates, it is to raise plants and not have them used. He always has to
start more slips than he needs in case some of them do not root; when
they do, he is swamped. Evidently you have helped him solve his problem
for no sooner did the owners of the other bungalows see Stevens's boxes
than everybody wanted them. They all are pestering the carpenter for
boards. It made old Mr. Fernald chuckle, for he likes flowers and is
delighted to have the cottages on the place made attractive. He asked
who started the notion; and when I told him it was you he said he had
heard about you and wanted to see you some time."
This time Ted was less thrilled by the remark than he would have been a
few days before. A faint degree of his father's scepticism had crept
into him and the only reply he vouchsafed was a polite smile. It was
absurd to fancy for an instant that the senior member of the Fernald
company, the head of the firm, the owner of Aldercliffe, the great and
rich Mr. Lawrence Fernald, would ever trouble himself to hunt up a boy
who worked on the place. Ridiculous!
Yet it was on the very day that he made these positive and scornful
assertions to himself that he found this same mighty Mr. Lawrence
Fernald on his doorstep.
It was early Saturday afternoon, a time Ted always had for a holiday.
He had not been to see his family for some time and he had made up his
mind to start out directly after luncheon and go to Freeman's Falls,
where he would, perhaps, remain overnight. Therefore he came swinging
through the trees, latchkey in hand, and hurriedly rounding the corner
of the shack, he almost jostled into the river Mr. Lawrence Fernald who
was loitering on the platform before the door.
"I beg your pardon, sir!" he gasped. "I did not know any one was here."
"Nor did I, young man," replied the ruffled millionaire. "You came like
a thief in the night."
"It is the pine needles, sir," explained the boy simply. "Unless you
happen to step on a twig that cracks you don't hear a sound."
The directness of the lad evidently pleased the elder man for he
answered more kindly:
"It is quiet here, isn't it? I did not know there was a spot within a
radius of five miles that was so still. I was almost imagining myself
in the heart of the Maine woods before you came."
"I never was in the Maine woods," ventured Ted timidly, "but if it is
finer than this I'd like to see it."
"You like your quarters then?"
"Indeed I do, sir."
"And you're not afraid to stay way off here by yourself?"
"Oh, no!"
Mr. Fernald peered over the top of his glasses at the boy before him.
"Would you--would you care to come inside the shack?" Ted inquired
after an interval of silence, during which Mr. Fernald had not taken
his eyes from his face. "It is very cosy indoors--at least I think so."
"Since I am here I suppose I might just glance into the house," was the
capitalist's rather magnificent retort. "I don't often get around to
this part of the estate. To-day I followed the river and came farther
away from Aldercliffe than I intended. When I got to this point the sun
was so pleasant here on the float that I lingered."
Nodding, Ted fitted the key into the padlock, turned it, and rolled the
doors apart, allowing Mr. Fernald to pass within. The mill owner was a
large man and as he stalked about, peering at the fireplace with its
andirons of wrought metal, examining the chintz hangings, and casting
his eye over the books on the shelf, he seemed to fill the entire room.
Then suddenly, having completed his circuit of the interior, he failed
to bow himself out as Ted expected and instead dropped into the big
leather armchair and proceeded to draw out a cigar.
"I suppose you don't mind if I smoke," said he, at the same instant
lighting a match.
"Oh, no. Dad always smokes," replied the boy.
"Your father is in our shipping room, they tell me."
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you live before you came here?"
"Vermont."
"Vermont, eh?" commented the older man with interest. "I was born in
Vermont."
"Were you?" Ted ejaculated. "I didn't know that."
"Yes, I was born in Vermont," mused Mr. Fernald slowly. "Born on a
farm, as you no doubt were, and helped with the haying, milking, and
other chores."
"There were plenty of them," put in the boy, forgetting for the moment
whom he was addressing.
"That's right!" was the instant and hearty response. "There was
precious little time left afterward for playing marbles or flying
kites."
The lad standing opposite chuckled understandingly and the capitalist
continued to puff at his cigar.
"Spring was the best time," observed he after a moment, "to steal off
after the plowing and planting were done and wade up some brook----"
"Where the water foamed over the rocks," interrupted the boy, with
sparkling eyes. "We had a brook behind our house. There were great flat
rocks in it and further up in the woods some fine, deep trout holes.
All you had to do was to toss a line in there and the next you
knew----"
"Something would jump for it," cried the millionaire, breaking in turn
into the conversation and rubbing his hands. "I remember hauling a
two-pounder out of just such a spot. Jove, but he was a fighter! I can
see him now, thrashing about in the water. I wasn't equipped with a rod
of split bamboo, a reel, and scores of flies in those days. A hook, a
worm, and a stick you'd cut yourself was your outfit. Nevertheless I
managed to land my fish for all that."
Lured by the subject Ted came nearer.
"Any pickerel holes where you lived?" inquired Mr. Fernald boyishly.
"You bet there were!" replied the lad. "We had a black, scraggy pond
two miles away, dotted with stumps and rotting tree trunks. About
sundown we fellows would steal a leaky old punt anchored there and pole
along the water's edge until we reached a place where the water was
deep, and then we'd toss a line in among the roots. It wasn't long
before there would be something doing," concluded he, with a merry
laugh.
"How gamey those fish are!" observed Mr. Fernald reminiscently. "And
bass are sporty, too."
"I'd rather fish for bass than anything else!" asserted Ted.
"Ever tried landlocked salmon?"
"N--o. We didn't get those."
"That's what you get in Maine and New Brunswick," explained Mr.
Fernald. "I don't know, though, that they are any more fun to land than
a good, spirited bass. I often think that all these fashionable camps
with their guides, and canoes, and fishing tackles of the latest
variety can't touch a Vermont brook just after the ice has thawed. I'd
give all I own to live one of those days of my boyhood over again!"
"So would I!" echoed Ted.
"Pooh, nonsense!" objected Mr. Fernald. "You are young and will
probably scramble over the rocks for years to come. But I'm an old
chap, too stiff in the joints now to wade a brook. Still it is a
pleasure to go back to it in your mind."
His face became grave, then lighted with a quick smile.
"I'll wager the material for those curtains of yours never was bought
round here. Didn't that come from Vermont? And the andirons, too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, I knew it! We had some of that old shiny chintz at home for
curtains round my mother's four-poster bed."
He rose and began to pace the room thoughtfully.
"Some day my son is going to bring his boy over here," he remarked. "He
is interested in electricity and knows quite a bit about it. I was
always attracted to science when I was a youngster. I----"
He got no further for there was a stir outside, a sound of voices, and
a snapping of dry twigs; and as Ted glanced through the broad frame of
the doorway he saw to his amazement Mr. Clarence Fernald wheel up the
incline just outside a rubber-tired chair in which sat Laurie.
"I declare if here isn't my grandson now!" exclaimed Mr. Fernald,
bustling toward the entrance of the shack.
Ah, it needed no great perception on Ted's part to interpret the pride,
affection, and eagerness of the words; in the tones of the elder man's
voice rang echoes of adoration, hope, fear, and disappointment. The
millowner, however, speedily put them all to rout by crying heartily:
"Well, well! This seems to be a Fernald reunion!"
"Grandfather! Are you here?" cried the boy in the chair, extending his
thin hand with the vivid smile Ted so well remembered.
"Indeed I am! Young Turner and I were just speaking of you. I told him
you were coming to see him some day."
Laurie glanced toward Ted.
"It is nice of you to let me come and visit you," he said, with easy
friendliness. "What a pretty place you have and how gay the flowers
are! And the river is beautiful! Our view of it from Pine Lea is not
half so lovely as this."
"Perhaps you might like to sit here on the platform for a while,"
suggested Ted, coming forward rather shyly and smiling down into the
lad's eyes. Laurie returned the smile with delightful candor.
"You're Ted Turner, aren't you?" inquired he. "They've told me about
you and how many things you can do. I could not rest until I had seen
the shack. Besides, Dad says you have some books on electricity; I want
to see them. And I've brought you some of mine. They're in a package
somewhere under my feet."
"That was mighty kind of you," answered Ted, as he stooped to secure
the volumes.
"Not a bit. My tutor, Mr. Hazen, got them for me and some of them are
corking--not at all dry and stupid as books often are. If you haven't
seen them already, I know you'll like them."
How easily and naturally it all came about! Before they knew it, Mr.
Fernald was talking, Mr. Clarence Fernald was talking, Laurie was
talking, and Ted himself was talking. Sitting there so idly in the
sunshine they joked, told stories, and watched the river as it crept
lazily along, reflecting on its smooth surface the gold and azure of
the June day. During the pauses they listened to the whispering music
of the pines and drank in their sleepy fragrance. More than once Ted
pinched himself to make certain that he was really awake. It all seemed
so unbelievable; and yet, withal, there was something so simple and
suitable about it.
By and by Mr. Clarence rose, stretched his arms, and began boyishly to
skip stones across the stream; then Ted tried his skill; and presently,
not to be outdone by the others, Grandfather Fernald cast aside his
dignity and peeling off his coat joined in the sport.
How Laurie laughed, and how he clapped his hands when one of his
grandfather's pebbles skimmed the surface of the water six times before
it disappeared amid a series of widening ripples. After this they all
were simply boys together, calling, shouting, and jesting with one
another in good-humored rivalry. What use was it then ever again to
attempt to be austere and unapproachable Fernalds? No use in the world!
Although Mr. Fernald, senior, mopped his brow and slipped back into his
coat with a shadow of surprise when he came to and realized what he had
been doing, he did not seem to mind greatly having lapsed from seventy
years to seven. The fact that he had furnished Laurie with amusement
was worth a certain loss of dignity.
Ah, it would have taken an outsider days, weeks, months, perhaps years
to have broken through the conventionalities and beheld the Fernalds as
Ted saw them that day. It was the magic of the sunshine, the sparkle of
the creeping river, the mysterious spell of the pines that had wrought
the enchantment. Perhaps, too, the memory of his Vermont boyhood had
risen freshly to Grandfather Fernald's mind.
When the shadows lengthened and the glint of gold faded from the river,
they went indoors and Mr. Laurie was wheeled about that he might
inspect every corner of the little house of which he had heard so much.
This he did with the keenest delight and it was only after both his
father and his grandfather had promised to bring him again that he
could be persuaded to be carried back to Pine Lea. As he disappeared
among the windings of the trees, he waved his hand to Ted and called:
"I'll see you some day next week, Ted. Mr. Hazen, my tutor, shall bring
me round here some afternoon when you have finished work. I suppose you
don't get through much before five, do you?"
"No, I don't."
"Oh, any time you want to see Ted I guess he can be let off early,"
cried both Mr. Fernald and Mr. Clarence in one breath.
Then as Mr. Clarence pushed the wheel-chair farther into the dusk of
the pines, Mr. Fernald turned toward Ted and added in an undertone:
"It's done the lad good to come. I haven't seen him in such high
spirits for days. We'll fix things up with Wharton so that whenever he
fancies to come here you can be on hand. The poor boy hasn't many
pleasures and he sees few persons of his own age."