IN PORTLAND
What was in Aunt Helen’s mind was made clear the next morning at
breakfast when she asked, “How should you all like camping out in
Maine?”
“Fine! Perfectly splendid. We’d love it above all things. Great!” came
from various quarters. “So that is what you were talking of yesterday,
Aunt Helen. Do tell us all about it.”
“Well, I followed out my intention of going to see Miss Stewart, who
not long ago was telling me of her very pleasant experience last
summer when she went to a camp in Maine. Her report was so good that I
continued the matter by calling on Miss Marshall, who is one of the two
ladies having the camp in charge. Everything appears so favorable that
after talking it over with your mother we have concluded it will be the
best thing for every one concerned to spend some time at this special
camp, and I shall telephone Miss Marshall at once that she may count
upon our party.”
“Exactly where is it?” asked Nan.
“On a lake not far from the border lines of Maine and New Hampshire,
with the White Mountains in sight, and a spur of them near enough for
any one to climb who feels so disposed.”
“Lovely! Go on. What are we to do there?”
“You can have a canoe, two, if you choose, and learn to paddle them.”
“Delicious thought,” cried Mary Lee.
“You will be able to take a walking tour up the mountain, sleeping out
in the open in order to be on hand to see the sunrise.”
“Capital idea!” This from Nan. “What else?”
“Oh, you can roam the woods, read, play games, drive, do anything that
comes to hand.”
“Shall we sleep in tents?” asked Jack.
“You girls will, though I believe there are two or three cabins; your
mother and I will occupy one.”
“Shall we have good things to eat?” asked Jean a little anxiously.
“Miss Stewart says so. Miss Marshall takes a real Southern cook from
here, so we can count on hot bread at least. Plenty of fresh milk and
butter are provided, vegetables from neighboring farms and fruit, too,
so that it sounds most alluring.”
“I should say it did,” returned Mary Lee. “It is the very nicest thing
possible. I am crazy about it, and it will do us all so much good to
live out-of-doors, mother especially. When do we start, Aunt Helen?”
“The camp opens the first of July, but I think we shall start on
somewhat earlier than that and take a week in Portland. It will be a
good centre for some excursions and we shall enjoy a short stay there,
I am sure.”
“’Way up in Maine; think of it,” said Jack. “I never expected to go
there.”
“But we were nearly there when we went to the Wadsworth school,”
objected Jean.
“I don’t call Massachusetts nearly,” returned Jack.
“Do we have to provide anything special?” asked Nan.
“Yes, I believe you are required to have certain things.”
“And what are they?”
“Bloomers, short skirts, flannel shirts or jumpers, blankets and
pillows; if there is anything else I have forgotten, but there is
plenty of time to find out.”
“What fun. May we go right away and get the things we know we shall
need?”
“You may if you like. I think I can go with you this morning. It
behooves us not to be too leisurely about it for June is upon us and
your mother wants to escape the hot weather of Washington. It will be
much pleasanter to wait in Portland for July than here.”
So that very day there was a shopping expedition to the Boston store,
to Kann’s and to various other places which should supply the needs
a camping out would mean. Then speedily as might be, the start for
the North was made; Washington’s broad avenues were exchanged for
the clean, hilly streets of Portland, swept by sea-breezes and quiet
enough after the busy cities of New York and Boston, to each of which
they had given a day. Neither place was unfamiliar, therefore there
was no sightseeing, only a flying visit to see their dear friends Mr.
Pinckney and Miss Dolores in New York, and from Boston a trip out to
the Wadsworth school to visit some of their schoolmates of two years
before. Charlotte Loring had entered college and her face was missed,
but Jo Keyes and Daniella Scott were on hand overjoyed to see the four
Corners.
The idea of camp appealed to both, to Daniella especially, for she had
begun life in the woods and its wildness still suggested the freedom
and unhampered days of her childhood. “I know papa will let me go if I
ask him,” she said when they urged her to be one of the party.
Jo, however, when they put the question to her, shook her
head. “Too expensive a treat for this child. Something like a
pitch-your-tent-on-our-back-lot would suit my purse better, none of
your modern elegancies such as summer camps are. If you had suggested
my packing my tent and my clothes in a canoe, lugging it across country
on my back and dumping it down by Lake Memphramagog or Molechunkemunk
Lake or some such Indian haunted spot, I might consider it, but as it
is, nay, nay, Pauline; Josephine has not the price.”
But here, as often before, Miss Helen came to the rescue, and after
marching Jo up and down the porch for a few minutes, during which there
was earnest conversation, the two returned to the group sitting at the
further end, and Miss Helen announced, “It is settled. Jo is going with
us.”
“If my family consent,” put in Jo as a proviso.
“Of course they will consent,” said Nan. “You know they will. My, but
that is fine, Jo. We consider you a great acquisition to our party.”
“Thanky kindly, marm. I’m ready to dance a jig for sheer joy. After all
these months of separation you Corners seem more desirable than ever.
Next year it’s a greasy grind for Jo if she goes to college, for she
will have to put herself through by sewing on skirt braids or doing
some such menial work for the rest.”
The idea of Jo sewing on skirt braids or anything else was so funny
that they all laughed. “Do try some other stunt than sewing, Jo,”
Nan proposed, “for I am sure your needle will never put you through
anything.”
“You don’t know what I can do till I try. I am like the man who was
asked if he could play the violin, you know; he said he couldn’t tell
for he had never tried.”
“What about you, Danny?” asked Mary Lee. “Of course you will write to
Mr. Scott at once.”
“Of course I shall. Let me see, the first of July is not three weeks
off, and school closes in less than a week; there will be about ten
days in between.”
“Oh, well, we can easily put in that time somewhere; I can go to Aunt
Kit’s; she wants me,” said Jo.
“And you will see Bruce,” exclaimed Jean. “How is he getting along, Jo?”
“Finely. You never saw a cat more made of. What shall you do with your
in-between, Danny?”
“Louise Burnett has been asking me for a visit after school closes,
and so has Effie Glenn.”
“Dear me,” ejaculated Nan, “how this all does remind me of the old
days. Has Blue China another parrot, Jo?”
“No, thank goodness, and this year she has been away a good deal so we
have been spared her prim presence.”
“Reminiscing does so fly away with time,” remarked Mary Lee as she
looked at her watch. “We must go if we are to get back to mother in
time for dinner. Well, girls, it isn’t good-bye, it is only _auf
wiedersehn_.”
“Or _hasta luego_,” put in Mary Lee who preferred Spanish for reasons
of her own.
“You are such a darling, Aunt Helen,” whispered Nan when they were
seated in the train. “It was just dear of you to do that for Jo.”
“I like Jo,” returned Miss Helen, “and I think she ought to be given
every chance. She has improved wonderfully.”
“Yes, I must say that she has. She used to be the slangiest creature I
ever saw; she is not near so boisterous either.”
“It seemed to me that it would be just as well if she didn’t go home
this summer. I don’t think her stepmother is the slightest advantage to
her.”
“Far from it. Well, if she does get through college she will then be
able to make her own way and live her own life. Isn’t Danny a beauty?
but she always was. Talk about improvement, there you have it. You
never hear her say nowadays such things as: ‘she gave it to you and I,’
or ‘those sort of girls.’ Dear me, we had a struggle with her to get
those two things all right. Now she seems like any other nice girl and
she visits the Burnetts and the Glenns constantly. The Glenns are so
very fond of her, and the Burnetts want her to spend the summer with
them at their seashore cottage.”
“She will enjoy the camp far more.”
“I am sure of it; one could see how eager she was.”
Portland reached there were three weeks still before them, but these
were by no means slow in passing. A trip to the beautiful Songo River,
to the various islands in charming Casco Bay, to the old town of
Brunswick to see Bowdoin College and the old Longfellow house; there
was no lack of places to go and at the end of two weeks they had not
exhausted all their resources, then suddenly upon the scene appeared an
entirely unlooked-for figure. The meeting came about in this way: Miss
Helen was making some purchases in one of Portland’s pleasant shops
when a gaunt, weather-beaten woman happened to be standing by her
side. She was peculiarly dressed, wearing men’s boots and a man’s coat
rather the worse for wear; on her head was a nondescript hat and her
bony, gloveless hands gave evidence of rough work. As Miss Helen gave
her name and address the woman looked at her sharply, then followed her
to the next counter before which she stopped.
“Excuse me,” began the stranger, “but I heard you give the name of
Corner. We don’t have that name up here, but my mother had relatives
of that name; she hasn’t heard from ’em for years, but she would be
that pleased if you happened to know any of the family in Virginia. You
speak like a Virginian and that’s why I made bold to mention it.”
“I am from Virginia, and my name is Corner,” returned Miss Helen. “What
is your mother’s name?”
“She’s a Hooper now. My father was Everett Hooper, but her maiden name
was Daingerfield and she was from Albemarle County, Virginia. Maria
Carter Daingerfield was her name before she was married.”
“Why, of course; she was my mother’s first cousin, I suspect.
I’ve often and often heard my mother tell the story of how Maria
Daingerfield was carried off prisoner by a Yankee officer; that is the
way she used to put it.”
“Yes, and that’s the way my mother still puts it. Well, well, well,
won’t she be pleased when I tell her?”
“She is still living?”
“Yes, but pretty feeble, keeps her room winters altogether. I do wish,
Miss Corner, that you could find an opportunity to come to see her. We
live up Sebago way; it’s easy getting there. You could take the train
to Sebago and I’d meet you, and if you could just set the day. Are you
alone here?”
“No, cousin---- Is your name Maria, too?”
“I’m Phebe, Cousin Phebe, if you like. No’m, I’m unmarried; I’m still
Phebe Hooper.”
“And I am still Helen Corner. My brother’s widow and her four girls are
here with me in Portland.”
“Fetch ’em along if they’d like to come. Come all of you and spend the
day. My, my, it’ll be like a breath of summer from the pines to mother.
Dear suz, I’m that excited I dunno as I shan’t miss my train. When did
you say you’d come?”
Miss Helen thought rapidly. “Where did you say it was?”
“About two miles from Sebago.”
“And that’s on the way to Fryeburg, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then we might stop off on our way to camp.”
“Be you going to camp? Well, I declare. I cal’late you’d be just as
well off under a roof, but every one to his taste. When you going?”
“In about a week or ten days.”
“Why can’t you come make us a visit and stay that time? Where you
putting up?”
“At the La Fayette.”
“Dear me, we can’t give you hotel accommodations, but if you can be
content in our two spare rooms we’ll make you as comfortable as we can
in a farmhouse.”
“Oh, my dear Cousin Phebe, you are too kind; we couldn’t think of
bearing down upon you with such a legion, but we shall be delighted to
spend the day.”
Miss Phebe looked a little relieved. She did not wish to seem wanting
in that Southern hospitality whose traditions her mother had struggled
to keep alive, but to take in six strangers with their baggage would
have been an undertaking rather beyond her powers. “Then just name the
day,” she said, “and I’ll meet you. There is a good morning train and
it isn’t much of a trip. The sooner the better, for mother’s feeling
right smart now. She has a spell once in a while but she had one last
week and I cal’late she won’t have another for a while.”
“Then shall we say day after to-morrow?”
“That’ll suit first-rate. Give me time to get mother prepared. I’ll be
at the station sure. Good-bye. I’m so pleased to have met you. I’ll
look for you Thursday if it don’t rain.” She picked up the net bag she
carried and hurried off, Miss Helen looking after with an amused smile.
“Mary,” she said to her sister-in-law when she returned to the hotel,
“did we ever suppose we should pick up a relative here away down east?”
“Why, Helen, who is it? I’m sure I know of no one.”
“Who is it, Aunt Helen?” asked Nan looking up from some post cards she
had bought that day.
“Well, my dear, her name is Phebe Hooper.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Neither did I,” declared Mrs. Corner.
“Wait a minute. Surely you have heard of Maria Daingerfield.”
“Now I begin to see light. She is the one of whom the elder members
of the family speak with bated breath because she married a Yankee
officer. Her father practically disowned her, didn’t he? Cut her off
with a shilling, so to speak?”
“Yes, poor man, if he had so much as a shilling when the war was over.
He was very bitter, I believe, and I have heard mother say that Cousin
Maria had practically no intercourse with her family after she went
North to live. Well, my dear, I have this morning met her daughter
Phebe Hooper, a rough and ready sort of person, but I imagine she is
as good as gold. At any rate she is good to her mother and wanted the
whole party of us to come make them a visit. Of course I knew it was
out of the question to think of quartering six absolute strangers upon
them, but I liked her for asking; it showed that there was a lot of her
mother in her, though she talks like a Yankee, not of the best class,
either, and doesn’t look like any of our family that I ever saw. Well,
we compromised by my promising to take you all to spend the day with
them on Thursday. They live in the country near Sebago and I think
that it will not only be a pleasure to us but one to Cousin Maria, as
well. She is quite an invalid from rheumatism. It will be a great thing
for her to hear of her old home and those relatives we know something
about.”
“Won’t it be a lark?” said Nan. “Poor old dear! Imagine living all your
life away from Virginia when you were born there.” She spoke with such
fervency that Miss Helen laughed.
“You are the most loyal girl, Nan. You lead us to suppose that there is
but one state worth while and that it is our own.”
“Nan is a true Virginian,” said Mrs. Corner. “She probably will admit
that there are advantages elsewhere, but that preëminent above all
other spots is her native state. She feels a little sorry, I think, for
those who were not born in the Old Dominion.”
“I believe I do,” Nan acknowledged thoughtfully.
“Rather conservative and provincial, Nan,” warned Miss Helen. “You’ll
have to learn to be more cosmopolitan than that, else we shall have to
keep you traveling till you do see that each country, each state or
city has its own attractions and can make some claim over the rest. All
are not entirely good.”
“Munich came pretty near it,” said Nan with a thought to the charming
German city where they had spent six months.
“You are making progress if you can admit that much and yield it claims
over Virginia.”
“It has different attractions, of course, but----”
“Exactly. That is what I have been saying. No place on earth has
everything, but to return to Cousin Maria. Shall you all be ready to
take an early train? And, Mary, do rack your brain for reminiscences
for the entertainment of Cousin Maria. I am sure she will want to know
all about every Tom, Dick and Harry who was ever related to her in the
remotest degree.”
“We’ll be ready, won’t we?” Nan turned to Mary Lee who promised that
she would for one, then scenting a romance she said:
“How did it happen that she married a Yankee officer?”
“Quite in the approved way of romances. During a battle which took
place in the neighborhood, Captain Hooper was wounded and was brought
into the house. Cousin Maria’s father was in the Confederate army, so
were her two brothers; both brothers were killed, by the way, and that
was one reason for her father’s great bitterness of spirit. Cousin
Maria, her mother and her old mammy nursed Captain Hooper and in due
course of time the young people fell in love with one another, which
was a perfectly natural sequel. Well, he went away, Maria’s secretly
accepted lover. Later on the invading army burned the house to the
ground, which naturally added to old Colonel Daingerfield’s bitterness,
as it was the home of his forefathers. Maria, her mother and the old
mammy took refuge with a neighbor. The colonel’s rage, distress and
despair made him so violent that he could say nothing but evil of those
who fought on the other side, and once when he learned that Maria had
received a letter from an officer in the Federal army his fury knew no
bounds. So, poor Maria felt that it would be useless ever to expect
his consent to her marriage with her lover, though she managed to get
letters through the lines to him once in a while. After a while when
everything they possessed was swept away, and her mother died, she was
in despair. Her father was either gloomy, severe and forbidding or in
a paroxysm of rage when the future was mentioned, so she decided that
she would go to her lover whenever he could plan for their marriage,
then a little later on, when his company was encamped near the town
where she was staying, he dashed in one night with a couple of horses,
and, as she always maintained, literally carried her off prisoner. They
were married at once by the chaplain of the regiment and she went to
Washington to some friends there to remain till the war was over. She
never saw any of her people again.”
“I think that is a most thrilling tale,” said Mary Lee. “I am fairly
tingling with excitement, and I am so glad we are going to see the
heroine of such a story. Do you believe she will tell us more about it?
I should like to hear all the details.”
“Perhaps she will, though it may be that she will not care to talk of
it.”
“Did her father never forgive her?” asked Jack, who had been listening.
“I don’t know that. I hope so, though he can scarcely be blamed if he
didn’t. She was his only remaining child, and he felt that she had
deserted him, her home and the cause, not to mention her relatives.”
“I couldn’t desert my family for any man,” said Jack positively.
“I expect she was awfully homesick,” remarked Jean.
“I’d like to take her something, Aunt Helen,” said Jack.
“What should you like to take her, Jack?”
“Something from Virginia, if I had it.”
Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen exchanged glances. Jack was the most
warm-hearted child in the world and the thought was quite in character.
“I brought away some snap-shots of the old home and some of the scenery
around,” said Mrs. Corner. “They are some Dr. Woods sent me, but I can
get duplicates, I know. How should you like to get a small album to
put them in and give that to Cousin Maria?”
“The very thing!” exclaimed Jack. “That is a darling idea, mother.”
“I’ll show them to you if you will get them from my room,” said Mrs.
Corner. “They are on the shelf where the clock is, and are in a blue
envelope. We can select whatever seems suitable.”
Jack ran off highly pleased, but leaving all the others busily thinking
what they could carry as gifts to their down-east cousin.
[Illustration: CHAPTER III
COUSIN MARIA]