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THE STAYING GUEST
by
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "The Story of Betty," "Eight Girls and a Dog," etc.
With Illustrations by W. Granville Smith
New York
The Century Co.
1904
Copyright, 1904, by
The Century Co.
Published October, 1904
The DeVinne Press
TO
DEAR DOROTHY ESTERBROOK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Primrose Hall 3
II Ladybird 17
III A Guest for the Night 28
IV A Few Questions 35
V Another Attempt 54
VI Up a Tree 68
VII Civil War 81
VIII Stella Russell 93
IX Doing Right 106
X A Self-made Burglar 120
XI A Matrimonial Bureau 137
XII A Scriptural Command 152
XIII A Ridiculous Party 165
XIV Some Letters 180
XV The Arrival of the Earl 191
XVI Ladybird Triumphant 203
XVII In the Apple-tree 218
XVIII Lavinia Lovell 235
XIX Ladybird _vs._ Lavinia 247
XX Half-sisters 260
XXI An Orchard Wedding 272
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"I'm Ladybird, and I've come to stay" _Frontispiece_
Precisely at ten o'clock the procession formed 10
It's postmarked "London" 18
"Should _auld_ acquaintance _be_ forgot?" 43
Suddenly Matthew's face appeared 57
"Come down, little lady" 71
She worked diligently and rapidly 91
Ladybird at school 108
"You see, Cloppy-dog, it's a crisis" 115
"Come on, Matthew" 132
The two firemen 159
Ladybird marshaling her guests 169
Writing the letter 183
After dinner they all sat on the veranda 209
Across the line of stepping-stones 221
Ladybird's flying figure 225
"You talk like a lawyer" 249
The wedding under the trees 279
THE STAYING GUEST
CHAPTER I
PRIMROSE HALL
Over the hills and far away there was once a quaint little old town which
was safely beyond the reach of the long, grasping arms of any of the
great cities.
The little town nestled up against the side of a big, kind hill, at the
top of which was a beautiful old country-place, called Primrose Hall.
The house was a great white colonial affair that had belonged to the
Flint family for generations; and at present was occupied only by two
elderly maiden ladies who admirably fitted their names of Priscilla and
Dorinda.
Now of course you know, without being told, what a lady named Priscilla
Flint would look like. Tall, straight, thin, stiff, formal, prim, smug,
demure, with a stately, old-fashioned dignity and refinement. And Miss
Dorinda Flint was like unto her, except that she was a little taller,
straighter, thinner, stiffer, and a trifle more stately and
old-fashioned. And these ladies, whene'er they took their walks abroad,
or drives either, for that matter, wore stiff, prim black silk dresses,
and black lace mitts, and little point-lace collars pinned with big gold
brooches; and they always carried tiny, black, ruffled parasols that
tipped on their handles to any desired angle.
With such mistresses as these, it is easy to see why Primrose Hall was
the stiffest, primmest place in the whole world.
Never a chair dared to move from its exact place against the wall; never
a curtain dared to flutter with joy if a morning breeze came in to tell
it the news. Even the clock ticked softly and very regularly; the
well-bred fire never crackled or sputtered, but let its flame glide
decorously up the chimney; and the cat looked as if she had never been a
kitten.
Out of doors it was just the same. The carefully trimmed hedges wouldn't
think of poking out a stray leaf or twig, and every blade of grass on the
lawn measured itself against its neighbor that it might be exactly the
same length and breadth.
One bright May morning the sun was shining all over the place, and, out
of sheer curiosity, I suppose, was doing his best to poke himself into
the house. But it was all shut up tighter than a drum, and he could get
in only at one little window, and even that was a mistake, and ought not
to have been left open, for it was the next window but one to where the
ice-box stood. But the sun was in a mischievous mood, and he aimed his
beams again and again at the parlor windows in hopes that he could
squeeze himself in and fade a sofa or a bit of carpet. And finally he did
get in through a tiny space at the side of a shade which was pulled down
crooked, when, to his great disgust, he found newspapers spread all over
that very blue satin sofa he was after. Miss Priscilla had looked out for
just such a trick, and the sun concluded he would have to get up very
early in the morning to get ahead of Miss Priscilla Flint.
Always during the summer months Primrose Hall had its doors and windows
thrown open soon after daybreak, to "air" the house, and at eight o'clock
precisely they were all closed again, and the shades drawn to preserve
the carpets and furniture from any possible contamination of sun and
dust. This caused a sort of artificial night during the middle of the
day, but the Primrose ladies were used to it, and went about the darkened
house like cats or bats or owls or moles, or any other creatures who can
see in the dark.
Miss Priscilla Flint was the older of the sisters, and therefore was
nominally mistress of Primrose Hall. But it was her habit in every
household matter to express her opinion at length, and then to ask Miss
Dorinda what she thought about it. And as Miss Dorinda's opinion always
coincided with Miss Priscilla's it would be impossible to say what would
have happened if it hadn't.
On this particular morning, then, when the sun was baffled in his attempt
to fade even a streak on the blue satin sofa, and was so provoked about
it that he went behind a cloud to sulk, and stayed there quite a little
while, Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda sat in the morning-room holding
their after-breakfast conference.
"It seems to me," Miss Priscilla was saying, "that spring has really come
at last. I saw a fly in the library yesterday morning. I didn't speak of
it to you, for I thought I might have been mistaken, as I had on my
near-glasses, but Martha says she saw it too, so there can be no doubt
about it. And I think, Dorinda, that as we go to the sewing-society
to-morrow, and it may rain the next day, I think that to-day we will
clean the attic."
"Yes, sister," said Miss Dorinda, "it is quite time, and we will set
about it at once."
Cleaning the attic was a mere figure of speech, for how can any one clean
what is already spick and span, and speckless?
But although frequent periodical sweepings and dustings kept every nook
and cranny of Primrose Hall as bright as a new penny, yet a semi-annual
housecleaning occurred as regularly as the spring and fall came; and,
indeed, I daresay the Misses Flint thought that spring and fall were
invented as comfortable seasons for the performance.
The morning-room at Primrose Hall had a wide bay-window in which were two
great arm-chairs facing each other, and in these chairs the two ladies
sat every morning while they systematically planned the day's
occupations.
Near Miss Priscilla's hand was a bell, and after she had pressed it,
Bridget, the cook, appeared--automatically, it seemed--in the doorway,
which, by the way, she nearly filled.
Miss Priscilla gave her the kitchen orders for the day, then dismissed
her and rang for Martha, the waitress.
Then Martha came and stood in the doorway. She was a pretty young German
girl, and seemed to be attired principally in starched pieces.
"Martha," said Miss Priscilla, pleasantly, "to-day we will clean the
attic. Send Matthew after Mrs. Dolan and her granddaughter to assist us,
and we will start at ten o'clock."
Martha disappeared with a starchy rustle, and Miss Priscilla and Miss
Dorinda went to make their toilettes for the great event.
Their housecleaning costumes had been renewed, but never varied, during
many springs and falls; and when attired for the fray, each good lady
wore a black stuff skirt, short and scant, a white muslin sacque with a
bit of neat embroidery at throat and wrists, and a huge checked gingham
apron. As Miss Priscilla observed, "No one can work if she is conscious
of her clothes," and this garb had been chosen as the best possible
compromise between usefulness and comeliness. On their dignified heads
the sisters wore ruffled sweeping-caps made of shiny muslin, and in the
way of accoutrements, each carried a pair of scissors, a ball of string,
a paper of pins, some sheets of paper, and a pencil.
Precisely at ten o'clock the procession formed and solemnly ascended the
attic stairs. Miss Priscilla went first, then Miss Dorinda, then Martha,
with dusters, hammer and tacks, camphor-balls and moth-powders. Then Mrs.
Dolan, with big broom, little broom, and dust-pans. Then Mrs. Dolan's
granddaughter, with soap, pail, scrub-brush, and floor-cloths, and
sedately following all walked Tabby, the cat.
Having arrived at the scene of action, Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda
set themselves to work, and at the same time gave orders to their
assistants, which were vigorously carried out, and soon the attic seemed
to be in the path of a well-trained cyclone. Quilts and feather beds were
shaken and beaten; trunks and chests were emptied of contents which were
unrolled, inspected, rolled up again, patted and punched, and returned to
their places. Discarded garments were critically examined to see what
should be given away and what should be packed in tar-balls for the
summer.
"This gray barege always makes me think of chicken-pie," said Miss
Dorinda, unfolding an old-fashioned skirt.
"Why?" said Miss Priscilla, in muffled tones, by reason of her head and
shoulders being deep in a huge trunk.
"Because I wore it the day Ann Haskell came to see us. Do you remember?
She came in the morning to spend the day, and she stayed a full-fledged
week. I thought she never would clear herself off. And she wanted
chicken-pie made for her."
"Yes," said Miss Priscilla; "and then when she got it she wouldn't eat
it."
"No; and we couldn't eat it, because she _would_ have onions in it. And
the cats wouldn't eat it: nothing would eat it, and at last we had to
throw it away."
"I suppose we're not very hospitable," said Miss Priscilla; "but I just
hate to have company, they upset things so."
"But sometimes it seems a duty," said her sister.
"Not at all; that's where you're silly, Dorinda. I believe in charity,
and giving of our worldly goods to help our less fortunate neighbors; but
that doesn't mean we're to open our doors and let them all come in and
make themselves at home. Do you remember when Ann Haskell came again, and
rode up in a hack from the station, bringing a big bag with her?"
"Yes; and you told the driver to come for her again directly after
dinner."
"I did, or she would have stayed another week. My, but she was
surprised!"
"I know it; _I_ couldn't do anything like that!"
"Then you're a coward, Dorinda. It is certainly cowardly to have company
because you're afraid to tell them they can't stay. Now here's another
matter. The Dorcas Circle wants to make up a box of clothing for those
fire-sufferers; so what do you think of giving them some of Lavinia's
things?"
"Oh!" gasped Miss Dorinda, in a startled tone.
"I think we may as well," went on Miss Priscilla. "It's fourteen years
now since Lavinia died. They say, keep a thing seven years, and you'll
have use for it again; but we've kept these things twice over seven
years, and I don't see how they can ever be of use to us, except to give
away."
"Well," said Miss Dorinda, still dazed, "perhaps you are right."
Lavinia Flint, the younger, very much younger sister of these two ladies,
had run away from her home fifteen years ago to marry a dashing young
soldier named Jack Lovell, and had sailed with him to India. A year or so
later the Flint ladies heard from Mr. Lovell that his wife had died,
leaving a tiny baby named Lavinia. He sent them no address, so they could
not have answered his letter if they had wanted to. And they had no
desire to answer it, for they looked upon their sister as lost to them
from the day of her elopement, and they had no wish to see her husband or
child.
The Flints were a hard-hearted, stiff-necked race, and if one of the
family did wrong, the others felt no relenting mercy because of ties of
blood.
And so when Lavinia went away, her pretty dresses and other girlish
finery were packed away in the attic, and had lain there ever since.
She was so much younger than her sisters that they had petted her as a
child, and had taken great pleasure in her girlish enjoyments. But when
she left them, with only a note to say she had eloped with Jack Lovell,
their hearts hardened, and they now rarely mentioned her, even to each
other.
And so year after year the trunks of Lavinia's clothing had been looked
over and put in order, with no reference to their future disposition,
until now Miss Priscilla concluded the time had come.
But when they shook out the old-fashioned gowns, the lovely taffetas and
organdies and embroidered muslins did seem inappropriate to send to
people who were suffering for plain, substantial clothing.
"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Dolan's granddaughter, her eyes as big as saucers, as
she looked at the beautiful show, "ain't them just elegant! I wisht I was
a fire-sufferer, or a freshet victim."
"How well I remember Vinnie in that flowery frock," said Miss Dorinda;
"she looked like a spring blossom herself, she was so pretty and fresh."
Miss Dorinda sighed; but Miss Priscilla shut her teeth together with a
snap, and returned the dresses to their trunks and shut down the
trunk-lids with a snap, and the cleaning of the attic went on again.
Except during an interval for luncheon, the workers worked all day, and
at five o'clock the attic was cleaned, and the procession filed
down-stairs again.
"Deary me," said Miss Dorinda, as she reached her own room, "how tired I
am! I believe I grow older every year. Are you tired, sister?"
"Yes; but I'm so thankful that the attic is done. When that's over I
always feel like singing the long-meter doxology."
"Well, I'm too tired to sing; I'll rest a bit before dinner."