THE DECISION.
The reception of Agnes’s note produced quite a commotion at the red
cottage, where various opinions were expressed as to the prime mover of
the plan; grandpa thinking that as Mrs. Agnes wrote the note, and was
most interested in it, she of course had suggested it; grandma insisting
that it was Jessie’s doings, while Maddy, when she said anything, agreed
with her grandmother, though away down in her heart was a half belief
that Mr. Guy himself had first thought of having her at Aikenside, where
she would rather go than to any other spot in the wide world; to
Aikenside, with its beautiful lawn almost large enough to be called a
park, with its shaded paths and winding walks, its flowers and vines,
its fountains and statuary, its fish-pond and grove, its airy rooms, its
wide hall, its winding stairs, with banisters of rosewood, its cupola at
the top, from which so many miles of hill and meadow land could be
discerned, its bay-windows and long piazzas, its sweet-faced,
dark-haired Jessie, and its manly, noble Guy. Only the image of Agnes,
flashing in silk and diamonds, was a flaw in the picture. From thoughts
of her Maddy had insensibly shrank, until she met her in the carriage,
and then received the note asking her services. These events wrought in
her a change, and dread of Mrs. Agnes passed away. She should like her,
and she should be so happy at Aikenside, for of course she was going,
and she began to wish the doctor would come, so as to tell her how long
before she would be strong enough to enter upon her duties as teacher to
little Jessie.
At first Grandpa Markham hesitated. It might do Maddy a deal of hurt to
go to Aikenside, he said; her humble home would look mean to her after
all that finery, while the temptations to vanity and ambition would be
greater there than at home; but Maddy put all his objections aside, and
long before the doctor came she had written to Mrs. Agnes that she would
go. The doctor could not understand why it was that in Maddy’s home he
did not think as well of her going to Aikenside as he had done the
evening previous. She looked so bright, so pure, so artless, sitting by
her grandfather’s knee, that it seemed a pity to transplant her to
another soil, while, hidden in his heart, was a fear of what might be
the effect of daily intercourse with Guy. Still he said it was the best
thing for her to do, and laughingly remarked that it was far better than
teaching the district school; and then he asked if she would ride again
that day, but to this Mrs. Markham objected. It was too soon, she said,
Maddy had hardly recovered from yesterday’s fatigue—suggesting that as
the doctor was desirous of doing good to his convalescent patients, he
should take poor old deaf Mary Barnes, who complained that he staid so
long with the child at “Gran’ther Markham’s” as to have but a moment to
spare for her.
Instantly the eyes of Mrs. Markham and the doctor met, the latter
feeling very uncomfortable, while the former was confirmed in the
suspicion raised by what Maddy told her the day before.
It was the doctor who carried Maddy’s answer to Agnes, the doctor who
made all the succeeding arrangements, deciding that Maddy would not be
wholly strong until the very day fixed upon by Agnes for her departure
for Saratoga. For this Guy was sorry. It would have been an easy matter
for him to have ridden down to the cottage and seen the girl in whom he
was beginning to feel so much interested that in his last letter to Lucy
he had mentioned her as about to become his sister’s governess; but he
did not care to see her there. It seemed to him that the surroundings of
the slanting-roofed house did not belong to her, and he would rather
meet her in his own more luxurious home. But the doctor’s word was law,
and so, on the first day of August he followed Agnes and her three huge
traveling trunks to the carriage, and was driven from the house to which
Maddy was coming that afternoon.