caused by the precipitate retreat of a young lady who had come late and,
running quickly upstairs unannounced, had paused at the room door to
recover her breath, and had just time to do so and to fly downstairs
again and out of the house without encountering anyone.
Caroline--for it was she--hurried round the corner; for her home was so
near that she had dismissed her carriage. The house was empty and dark.
Mrs. Neal had gone to spend the evening with one of her married
daughters and had not thought it necessary to provide any dinner at
home. There was no neglect in this. There were plenty of cousins at
whose houses Caroline could have dined and welcome; or if she did not
choose to do so, there was abundance in the larder, and if her teas had
left her any appetite she had but to give the order herself and sit
down alone to her cold meat and bread and butter. As we know, her teas
had been feasts of Tantalus; but she did not feel hungry--for food. She
hastened up to her room without a word to the maid, lighted her gas,
took a key from her watch-chain, opened her writing-desk, and took out a
letter which she read, not for the first time, with attention.
"MOUNT VERNON STREET.
"MY DEAR MISS FOSTER:
"You will, I am afraid, be surprised at what I am going to
say. Perhaps you will blame me for writing it, and perhaps
you will blame me for saying it at all. I know it is an act
of presumption in me to ask one so beautiful, so young and
untrammelled by care, to link her fortunes with mine: but I
do it because I cannot help it. I love you so much that I am
unable to turn my thoughts to my most pressing duties till I
have at least tried my fate with you; and yet my hopes are
so faint that I cannot venture to ask you in any way but
this.
"Don't think I love you less because I have so many other
claimants for my affections; any more than I love them less
because I love you. My poor children have no mother; I could
never ask any woman to take that place to them unless we
could both feel sure that ours was no mere match of
convenience; but I could not love anyone unless she had the
tenderness of nature which belongs to a true mother. I
never saw any girl in whom it showed so plainly as in you.
Your angelic sweetness and gentleness are to me, who have
seen something of the rough side of life, unspeakably
beautiful. I know I am not worthy of you in any way; but it
sometimes seems to me that appreciating you so thoroughly as
I do must make me a little so.
"Your family will very likely object to me on the score of
want of means. I am fully aware that I cannot give you such
advantages in that respect as you have a right to expect,
even if I were much richer than I am ever likely to be; but
I am not so poorly off as they may suppose. I own the house
in which I live, free of encumbrance, and I should like to
settle it upon you. I do not know whether your property is
secured to your separate use or not; but I should wish to
have it so in any case. If my life and health are spared, I
have no fears that I shall not be able to support my family
in comfort. I know you will have to give up a great deal in
the way of society; and I cannot promise that you shall have
no cares, but I can and do promise that you will make us all
very happy.
"I still fear my chances are but small; but do, I entreat
you, take time to think over this. No matter what your
answer may be, I am and ever shall be
"Your faithful and devoted
"MALCOLM JOHNSON.
"_December 8, 189-._"
After Caroline had read this letter twice, she drew out another,
spotless and freshly written, and breaking the seal, read:
"BEACON STREET.
"MY DEAR MR. JOHNSON:
"I was very sorry to receive your letter this morning. Pray
don't think I blame you for writing--but indeed you think
much too highly of me. I am not at all fitted to assume such
serious duties as being at the head of your family would
involve, and it would only be a disappointment to you if I
did. I have had no experience, and I should feel it wrong to
undertake it, even if I could return your generous affection
as it deserves. Indeed, I don't value money, or any of those
things; but I do not want to give up my friends and all my
own ways of life, unless I loved you. I am so sorry I
can't--but surely you will not blame me, for I never dreamed
of this, or I would have tried to let you know my thoughts
sooner.
"I am sure my aunt would disapprove. Highly as she esteems
you, she would think me too young, and not at all the right
kind of wife for you. I shall not breathe a word to her or
to anyone, and I hope you will soon forget this, and find
some one who will really be a good wife to you and a devoted
mother to your children. No one will be more delighted at
this than
"Your sincere friend,
"CAROLINE ALICE FOSTER.
"_December 9, 189-._"
This letter, which Caroline had spent three hours in writing, and copied
six times, she now tore into small pieces and threw them into the
fireplace. The fire was out, and the grate was black, so she lighted a
match and watched till every scrap was consumed to ashes, when she sat
down at her desk and, heedless of the chilly room, wrote with a flying
pen:
"BEACON STREET.
"MY DEAR MR. JOHNSON:
"Pray forgive me that I have been so long in answering your
letter. I could not decide such an important matter in
haste. Indeed you think more highly of me than you ought;
but if such a foolish, ignorant girl as I am can make you
happy, and you are sure you are not mistaken, I will try to
return your love as it deserves. I have not much experience
with children; but I will do my best to make yours love me,
and it will surely be better for the dear little things than
to have no mother at all.
"I dare say my aunt will think me very presumptuous to
undertake so responsible a position; but she will not oppose
me when she knows my heart is concerned,--and I am of age,
and have a right to decide for myself. I shall be so glad of
some real duties to make my idle, aimless life really useful
to someone. I don't care for wealth, and as for society, I
am heartily tired of it. The only fear I have is that you
are over-rating me; but it is so pleasant to be loved so
much that I will not blame you for it.
"I am ever yours sincerely,
"CAROLINE ALICE FOSTER.
"_December 10, 189-._"
If Caroline, by writing this letter, constituted herself a lunatic in
the judgment of all her friends, it must be allowed, as Miss Caldwell
had said, that she was not quite lacking in sense. Unlike either a fool
or the heroine of a novel, she rang the bell for no servant, sent for no
messenger, but when she had sealed and stamped her letter she tripped
downstairs with it and, having slipped back the latch as she opened the
door, walked as far as the nearest post-box and dropped it in herself.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE TRAMPS' WEDDING
"They know no country, own no lord.
Their home the camp, their law the sword."
"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Reed, as her husband entered her sitting-room;
with some curiosity, pardonable in view of the fact that a stranger had
for some time been holding an interview with him in his study.
"Why," replied the Reverend Richard Reed, looking mildly absent, as was
his custom when interrupted of a Saturday morning, "it is a Mr. Perley
Pickens--the man, you know, who has taken the Maynard place for the
summer."
"Indeed! what did he want?" cried the lady, interested at once. The
Maynard house was the great house of the place, and the Maynard family
the magnates of the First Parish, and the whole town of Rutland. Their
going abroad for a year or two had been felt as a public loss, and when,
somewhat to the general surprise, it transpired that their house was
let, it was at once surmised that it could only be to "nice" people,
though the new occupants had never been heard of, and were rarely seen.
"Oh, his daughter is to be married, and he wants the ceremony to take
place in our church."
"You don't say so? and he wants you to marry them?"
"Certainly."
"Why, we haven't had a wedding in the church for quite a while! It will
be very nice, won't it?"
"Yes, my dear; but excuse me, I am in a hurry just now. Mr. Pickens is
waiting. He wants you to give him a few addresses. I gave him the
sexton's----"
"It will be a good thing for poor Langford," said Mrs. Reed,
benevolently.
"Yes--" drawled the Reverend Richard, still abstractedly, "very good;
and he wants a Boston caterer, and a florist. I know nothing about such
things, and I told him I'd ask you, though I did not believe you did,
either."
"Oh, yes, I do! Mrs. Maynard always has Rossi, and as for a florist,
they must have John Wicks, at the corner here. He's just set up, and it
will be such a chance for him."
"Do you think he will do? Mr. Pickens said that expense was no
object--that everything must be in style, as he phrased it."
"Oh, he'll do! Anyone will do, at this season. Why, they could decorate
the church, and house too, from their own place; but I shan't suggest
that."
"Very well, my dear--but I am keeping Mr. Pickens waiting."
"I'll go and speak to him myself," said the lady, excitedly; and she
tripped into the study, where the guest was sitting, with his hat on his
knees; a tall, narrow-shouldered man, with a shifty eye. Somehow the
sight of him was disappointing, she could hardly tell why, for he rose
to greet her very politely, and thanked her effusively.
"My wife will be most grateful, I am sure--most grateful for your
kindness. It will save her so much trouble."
"Here are the addresses you want," said Mrs. Reed, hastily scratching
them off at her husband's desk, "and if Mrs. Pickens wants any others, I
shall be happy to be of use to her."
"Thank you! thank you! You see, she's a stranger here, and doesn't know
anything about it."
"You have not been in this part of the country before?"
"No--oh, no, I come from Clarinda, Iowa. At least, I always register
from there, though I haven't any house there now; and my present wife
was a Missouri woman, though she's never lived in the State much. I had
to be in Boston on business this summer, so thought I'd take a place
outside, and Mr. Bowles, the real estate agent, said this was the
handsomest going, and the country first-rate; but my wife's a little
disappointed."
"I suppose, if she has travelled so much, she has seen a great deal of
fine scenery--but this is generally thought a pretty place."
"Yes, certainly--very rustic, though, ain't it?"
"I suppose so," said his hearer, a little puzzled, while for the first
time her husband looked up, alert and amused. "I will call on Mrs.
Pickens," she hastened to say, "if she would like to see me."
"Yes, certainly; delighted, I'm sure; yes, she'd be delighted to see
you, and so would Miss Minnie, too."
"What a very queer man!" thought Mrs. Reed. But she only smiled sweetly,
and made a little move, as if the interview were fairly over. Her
visitor, however, did not seem inclined to depart, and after a moment's
silence began again.
"And there's another thing; if you would be so very kind as to
recommend--I mean, introduce--we know so few people here, and Miss
Minnie wants everything very stylish; perhaps you know some nice young
men who would like to be ushers; I believe that is what they are called.
It would be a good thing for them to be seen at; everything in
first-class style, you know."
The Reverend Richard, whose attention was now thoroughly aroused, beamed
full on the speaker a guileless smile, while his wife thoughtfully
murmured, "Let me see; do you expect a great many people?"
"Oh, no, we don't know many round here; but if you and your family, and
the ushers and their families, would come to the house, it would make
quite a nice little company. As to the church--anyone that liked--it
would be worth seeing."
"I can find some ushers," said Mrs. Reed, still musing; "two at least;
that will be enough, I should think."
"And then," murmured Mr. Pickens, as if checking off a mental list,
"there is a young man to go with the bridegroom, I believe. I never had
one, but Miss Minnie says it's the fashion."
"Oh, yes, a 'best man!'" explained his hostess, "but--the bridegroom
usually selects one of his intimate friends for that."
"I don't believe Mr. MacJacobs has any friends; round here, that is. He
came from Tobyhanna, Pennsylvania, but he's never been there since he
was a boy. He's been in New Orleans, and then in Europe, as travelling
agent for MacVickar & Company. I suppose you've heard of _them_."
"I dare say I can find a best man."
"Thank you. You are very kind; yes, very kind indeed, I'm sure."
"I presume," interposed the host, in bland accents, "you wish to give
away the bride yourself?"
"Yes!" said Mr. Pickens, starting; "oh, yes, I suppose I can, if there's
not too much to do. Should I have to say anything?"
"Scarcely," replied the clergyman, reassuringly. "I ask a question to
which you are supposed to reply, but a nod will be quite sufficient. The
bridegroom is generally audible, and sometimes the bride, but I have
never heard a sound proceed from the bride's father."
"Very good--very good; it will be very pleasant to join in your service,
I am sure. Many thanks to you for your kind advice. I will now take my
leave," and after a jerking bow or two he departed, with a sort of
fluttering, bird-like step. The pastor laughed, but his wife looked
sober.
"Our friend is as amusing a specimen as I ever encountered," he began.
"Amusing! I call him disgusting, with his 'Miss Minnie 'and 'take his
leave.' He can't be a gentleman; there is something very suspicious
about the whole affair."
"Indeed! and what do you suspect?"
"I don't believe there's a wedding at all. Perhaps he's an impostor who
wants to get in here to steal."
"Do you miss anything?"
"No," said the lady, after a peep into her dining-room. "I can't say I
do. But he may come back on this pretended wedding business. Are you
sure that he really is Mr. Perley Pickens?"
"Why, yes. I have never spoken to him before, but I have seen him at the
post-office, opening his box, and again at the station. I cannot be
mistaken in that walk of his."
"Well, he may be the head of a gang of thieves, and have taken the house
and got up this scheme of a wedding for some end of his own."
"Such as what?"
"Why, to cheat somebody, somehow. I am sure you will never get a wedding
fee for it; and he may not pay any of the bills, and the people may
bother us."
"He gave me the name of his Boston bankers, May & Maxwell, to whom he
said I could refer the tradespeople, if they wished it, 'being a
stranger here himself,' as he justly remarked. But whom, my dear, do
you expect to provide for ushers or best man?"
"Oh, for ushers, the Crocker boys will do. They will be glad of
something to amuse them in vacation."
"Are they not rather young? Fred can hardly be eighteen yet."
"Well! he is six feet and over. One needn't tell his age; and as for
best man, I think William Winchester wouldn't mind it--to oblige me."
"But why, my love, since you are so distrustful, are you so anxious to
be of use in this matter?"
"Why!" echoed his wife, triumphantly; "it's the best way to encourage
them to go on, and then, don't you see? if they have any dishonest
designs, they'll be the sooner exposed; and then--I do want to see what
the end of it all will be--don't you?"
In pursuance of these ideas, Mrs. Reed, next afternoon, put on her best
bonnet, and went to call on the ladies of the Pickens family. The
gardens and shrubberies of the Maynard house, always beautiful, yet
showed already the want of the master's eye. The servant who opened the
door was of an inferior grade, and the drawing-room, stripped of Mrs.
Maynard's personal belongings, looked bare and cold. Mrs. Reed sat and
sighed for her old friend full quarter of an hour, before a pale, slim,
pretty girl, much dressed, and with carefully crimped locks, came in
with, "It's very kind in you to call. Aunt Delia's awfully sorry to keep
you waiting, but she'll be down directly."
"I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Reed, looking with some attention
at the probable bride-elect.
"Aunt Delia was sitting in her dressing-sack. She generally does,
day-times. It's so much trouble to dress, she thinks. Now I think it's
something to do; there isn't much else, here."
"This is a lovely place. I always admire it afresh every time I come
here."
"It's lonesome; but then, it's pleasant enough for a little while. I
never care to stay long in any one place. I've lived in about a hundred
since I can recollect; and I wouldn't take a house in any one of 'em for
a gift, if I had to live in it."
"Perhaps you may feel differently when you have a house of your own."
"Well, that's one of the things Mr. MacJacobs and I quarrel about. I
want to board, and he wants to take a flat. I tell him I'll do that, if
he'll get one where we can dine at the table d'hote. That's about as
easy as boarding. As like as not, when we get settled, he'll have to go
off somewhere else; but if he is willing to pay for it himself, why, let
him! Here's Aunt Delia," she suddenly added, as a fresh rustle
announced the entrance of a stout lady, also very handsomely attired,
and carrying a large fan, which she waved to and fro, slowly but
steadily, gazing silently over it at her visitor, whom Minnie introduced
with some explanation, after which she remarked that it was "awfully
hot."
"It is warm; but I have not found it unpleasant. I really enjoyed my
walk here."
"Did you walk?" asked her hostess, with more interest.
"Oh, yes; it is not more than a mile here from the church; and the
parsonage is but a step farther."
"A mile!"
"I am very glad," said Mrs. Reed, well trained, as became her position,
in the art of filling gaps in talk, and striking out on new lines, "to
find you at home, and Miss--I beg your pardon, but I have not heard your
niece's name. Mr. Reed thought she was your daughter."
"Oh, Minnie isn't my niece!" exclaimed the hostess, laughing, as if
roused to some sense of amusement, which Minnie shared; "she's an
adopted daughter of Mr. Webb's second wife!"
"My name's Minnie Webb, though pa never approved of it, and when he
married again, we thought it would be easier to say Aunt Delia, to
distinguish her from ma, you know."
Mrs. Reed paused before these complicated relationships, and skilfully
executed another tack; "I hope you find it pleasant here."
"It's a pretty place here, but it's awful dull," said Mrs. Pickens, "and
it's so much trouble; I never kept house before. I've always boarded,
and mostly in hotels."
"I am afraid it may seem quiet here to a stranger," said Mrs. Reed,
apologetically. "You see when anyone takes a house here for the summer,
people are rather slow to call; they suppose that you have your own
friends visiting you, and that you don't care to make new acquaintances
for so short a time. I am sorry I have not been able to call before. I
was not sure that you went to our church."
"I don't go much to church; it is so much trouble. But Minnie says yours
is the prettiest for a wedding," said Mrs. Pickens, smiling so aimlessly
that it was impossible to suppose any rudeness intended. Mrs. Reed could
only try to draw out the more responsive Minnie. "Is there anything else
that I can do to help you about the wedding?"
"Why, yes--only, you've been so kind. I most hate to ask you for
anything more."
"Don't mention it!"
"Well, then, if you could think of any girl that would do for a
bridesmaid."
"A bridesmaid?"
"Oh, yes, there ought to be _one_ bridesmaid; a pretty one I should
want, of course, and just about my size. You see, I have her dress all
ready, for when I ordered my own gown in Paris, Madame Valerie showed me
the proper bridesmaid's gown to go with it, and it looked so nice I told
her I would take it. I thought, if the worst came to the worst, I could
wear it myself; but it would be a shame not to have it show at the
wedding. Of course," said Minnie, impressively, "I mean to _give_ the
young lady the dress--for her own, to keep!"
Mrs. Reed, at last, was struck fairly speechless, and her resources
failed. "Suppose," said the bride, in coaxing tones, "you just step up
and look at the gowns; if it would not be too much trouble."
The sight of the dresses was a mighty argument. At any rate, people with
such garments could be planning no vulgar burglary. It might be a
Gunpowder Treason, or an Assassination Plot, and that was romantic and
dignified, while at the same time it was a duty to keep it under
observation.
"I think," said Mrs. Reed, slowly, "I know a girl--a very pretty
one--who would just fit this dress."
"What's her name?"
"Muriel Blake."
"Oh, how sweet! I wish it was mine! Who is she?"
"She--she teaches school--but they're of very good family. She's very
pretty--but they're not at all well off. She's a very sweet girl." Mrs.
Reed balanced her phrases carefully, not knowing whether it would be
better to present her young friend in the light of a candidate for pity
or admiration. But Minnie smiled, and said she had no doubt it would do,
and that Mrs. Reed was very good; and even Mrs. Pickens wound herself up
to remark that it was very kind in her to take so much trouble.
Mrs. Reed hastened home overwhelmed with business. The Crocker boys were
easily persuaded to take the parts assigned them, and even her elegant
and experienced friend, William Winchester, though he made a favour of
his services, gave them at last, "wholly to oblige her."
"Any bridesmaids?" asked Reggie Crocker.
"She wants me to ask Muriel Blake."
"What, the little beauty of a school teacher! Well, there will be
sport!" cried his brother, and even William Winchester asked with some
interest, if she supposed Miss Blake would consent. "I think so," said
Mrs. Reed; but her hopes were faint as she bent her way to the little
house where Mrs. Blake, an invalid widow with scarce a penny, scraped
out a livelihood by taking the public-school teachers to board, while
her Muriel did half the housework, and taught, herself, in a primary
school, having neither time nor talents to fit herself for a higher
grade. Never was there a girl who better exemplified the old simile of
the clinging vine than she; only no support had ever offered itself for
her to cling to, and she had none of that instinctive skill which so
many creepers show in striking out for, and appropriating, an eligible
one. Mrs. Blake, a gentlewoman born and bred, gave at first a most
decided refusal to her daughter's appearance in the character proposed.
But Mrs. Reed, warming as she met with obstacles, pressed her point
hard. She said a great deal more in favour of the respectability of the
Pickenses than she could assert from her own knowledge, dwelt with
compassion on their loneliness, and touched, though lightly, on the
favour to herself; both ladies knowing but too well that the claims to
gratitude were past counting. Mrs. Blake faltered, perhaps moved
somewhat by a wistful look, which through all doubts and excuses, would
rise in her daughter's eyes. As for Muriel's own little childish
objections, they were swept away by her patroness like so many cobwebs.
There was a gown ready and waiting for her, and Mrs. Reed would arrange
about her absence from school.
"But, if I am bridesmaid, I ought to make her a present," she said at
last, "and I am afraid----"
"_That_ need not matter," said her mother, loftily, "I will give her one
of my India China plates. That will be present enough for anybody; and I
have several left."
This, Mrs. Reed correctly augured, was the preface to surrender; and she
walked Muriel off to call on Miss Webb, before any more objections
should arise.
"Well!" cried that young lady at the first sight of her bridesmaid,
"Well! I beg your pardon, but you _are_--" and even Mrs. Pickens
regarded the young girl with languid admiration. Muriel Blake's golden
curls, and azure eyes, and roseate bloom flashed on the eye much as does
a cardinal flower in a wayside brook. No one could help noticing her
charms; but no one had ever gone farther than to notice them, and they
were about as useful in her daily duties as diamonds on the handle of a
dustpan. Minnie looked at her rather doubtfully for a moment; but her
good humour returned during the pleasing task of arraying the girl in
her costume, and she even insisted on Miss Blake's assuming the bridal
dress herself.
"Well, I'm sure! What a bride you would make! You aren't engaged, are
you?"
"No."
"You ought to travel. You'd be sure to meet someone. Well, we'll take it
off. I'm glad I'm going to wear it, and not you. You look quite stunning
enough in the other."
"It is lovely--too handsome for me."
"I had a complete outfit made in Paris this spring, though I wasn't
engaged then; but I guessed I should be before the things went out of
fashion."
"You knew Mr. MacJacobs very well then?"