MARY LOUISE
IN THE COUNTRY
By
Edith Van Dyne
Author of
"Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"
Frontispiece by
J. Allen St. John
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
Copyright, 1916
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.
_Mary Louise in the Country_
CONTENTS
I THE ARRIVAL
II THE KENTON PLACE
III THE FOLKS ACROSS THE RIVER
IV GETTING ACQUAINTED
V MARY LOUISE BECOMS A PEACEMAKER
VI THE AFTERNOON TEA
VII MARY LOUISE CALLS FOR HELP
VIII THE RED-HEADED GIRL
IX JOSIE INVESTIGATES
X INGUA IS CONFIDENTIAL
XI THE FATE OF NED JOSELYN
XII THEORIES ARE DANGEROUS
XIII BLUFF AND REBUFF
XIV MIDNIGHT VIGILS
XV "OLD SHADOWTAIL"
XVI INGUA'S NEW DRESS
XVII A CLEW AT LAST
XVIII DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS
XIX GOOD MONEY FOR BAD
XX AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE
XXI A CASE OF NERVES
XXII INGUA'S MOTHER
XXIII PECULIAR PEOPLE
XXIV FACING DANGER
XXV FATHER AND DAUGHTER
XXVI THE PLOT
XXVII NAN'S TRIUMPH
XXVIII PLANNING THE FUTURE
Mary Louise in the Country
CHAPTER I
THE ARRIVAL
"Is this the station, Gran'pa Jim?" inquired a young girl, as the train
began to slow up.
"I think so, Mary Louise," replied the handsome old gentleman
addressed.
"It does look very promising, does it?" she continued, glancing eagerly
out of the window.
"The station? No, my dear; but the station isn't Cragg's Crossing, you
know; it is merely the nearest railway point to our new home."
The conductor opened their drawing-room door.
"The next stop is Chargrove, Colonel," he said.
"Thank you."
The porter came for their hand baggage and a moment later the long
train stopped and the vestibule steps were let down.
If you will refer to the time-table of the D. R. & G. Railway you will
find that the station of Chargrove is marked with a character dagger
([Picture: Character dagger]), meaning that trains stop there only to
let off passengers or, when properly signaled, to let them on. Mary
Louise, during the journey, had noted this fact with misgivings that
were by no means relieved when she stepped from the sumptuous train and
found before her merely a shed-like structure, open on all sides, that
served as station-house.
Colonel Hathaway and his granddaughter stood silently upon the platform
of this shed, their luggage beside them, and watched their trunks
tumbled out of the baggage car ahead and the train start, gather speed,
and go rumbling on its way. Then the girl looked around her to discover
that the primitive station was really the only barren spot in the
landscape.
For this was no Western prairie country, but one of the oldest settled
and most prosperous sections of a great state that had been one of the
original thirteen to be represented by a star on our national banner.
Chargrove might not be much of a railway station, as it was only eleven
miles from a big city, but the country around it was exceedingly
beautiful. Great oaks and maples stood here and there, some in groups
and some in stately solitude; the land was well fenced and carefully
cultivated; roads--smooth or rutty--led in every direction; flocks and
herds were abundant; half hidden by hills or splendid groves peeped the
roofs of comfortable farmhouses that evidenced the general prosperity
of the community.
"Uncle Eben is late, isn't he, Gran'pa Jim?" asked the girl, as her
eyes wandered over the pretty, peaceful scene.
Colonel Hathaway consulted his watch.
"Our train was exactly on time," he remarked, "which is more than can
be said for old Eben. But I think, Mary Louise, I now see an automobile
coming along the road. If I am right, we have not long to wait."
He proved to be right, for presently a small touring car came bumping
across the tracks and halted at the end of the platform on which they
stood. It was driven by an old colored man whose hair was snow white
but who sprang from his seat with the agility of a boy when Mary Louise
rushed forward with words of greeting.
"My, Uncle Ebe, but it's good to see you again!" she exclaimed, taking
both his dusky hands in her own and shaking them cordially. "How is
Aunt Polly, and how is your 'rheum'tics'?"
"Rheum'tics done gone foh good, Ma'y Weeze," he said, his round face
all smiles. "Dis shuah am one prosterous country foh health. Nobuddy
sick but de invahlids, an' dey jus' 'magines dey's sick, dat's all."
"Glad to see you, Uncle," said the Colonel. "A little late, eh?--as
usual. But perhaps you had a tire change."
"No, seh, Kun'l, no tire change. I was jus' tryin' to hurry 'long dat
lazy Joe Brennan, who's done comin' foh de trunks. Niggehs is slow,
Kun'l, dey ain't no argyment 'bout dat, but when a white man's a
reg'leh loaf eh, seh, dey ain' no niggeh kin keep behind him."
"Joe Brennan is coming, then?"
"Dat's right, Kun'l; he's comin'. Done start befoh daylight, in de
lumbeh-wagin. But when I done ketch up wi' dat Joe--a mile 'n' a half
away--he won't lis'n to no reason. So I dodged on ahead to tell you-uns
dat Joe's on de way."
"How far is it from here to Cragg's Crossing, then?" inquired Mary
Louise.
"They call it ten miles," replied her grandfather, "but I imagine it's
nearer twelve."
"And this is the nearest railway station?"
"Yes, the nearest. But usually the Crossing folks who own motor cars
drive to the city to take the trains. We alighted here because in our
own case it was more convenient and pleasant than running into the city
and out again, and it will save us time."
"We be home in half'n hour, mos' likely," added Uncle Eben, as he
placed the suit cases and satchels in the car. Colonel Hathaway and
Mary Louise followed and took their seats.
"Is it safe to leave our trunks here?" asked the girl.
"Undoubtedly," replied her grandfather. "Joe Brennan will doubtless
arrive before long and, really, there is no person around to steal
them."
"I've an idea I shall like this part of the country," said Mary Louise
musingly, as they drove away.
"I am confident you will, my dear."
"Is Cragg's Crossing as beautiful as this?"
"I think it more beautiful."
"And how did you happen to find it, Gran'pa Jim? It seems as isolated
as can be."
"A friend and I were taking a motor trip and lost our way. A farmer
told us that if we went to Cragg's Crossing we would find a good road
to our destination. We went there, following the man's directions, and
encountered beastly roads but found a perfect gem of a tiny, antiquated
town which seems to have been forgotten or overlooked by map-makers,
automobile guides and tourists. My friend had difficulty in getting me
away from the town, I was so charmed with it. Before I left I had
discovered, by dint of patient inquiry, a furnished house to let, and
you know, of course, that I promptly secured the place for the summer.
That's the whole story, Mary Louise."
"It is interesting," she remarked. "As a result of your famous
discovery you sent down Uncle Eben and Aunt Polly, with our car and a
lot of truck you thought we might need, and now--when all is ready--you
and I have come to take possession."
"Rather neatly arranged, I think," declared the Colonel, with
satisfaction.
"Do you know anything about the history of the place, Gran'pa, or of
the people who live in your tiny, forgotten town?"
"Nothing whatever. I imagine there are folks Cragg's Crossing who have
never been a dozen miles away from it since they were born. The village
boasts a 'hotel'--the funniest little inn you can imagine--where we had
an excellent home-cooked meal; and there is one store and a
blacksmith's shop, one church and one schoolhouse. These, with half a
dozen ancient and curiously assorted residences, constitute the shy and
retiring town of Cragg's Crossing. Ah, think we have found Joe
Brennan."
Uncle Eben drew up beside a rickety wagon drawn by two sorry nags who
just now were engaged in cropping grass from the roadside. On the seat
half reclined a young man who was industriously eating an apple. He
wore a blue checked shirt open at the throat, overalls, suspenders and
a straw hat that had weathered many seasons of sunshine and rain. His
feet were encased in heavy boots and his bronzed face betokened an
out-of-door life. There are a million countrymen in the United States
just like Joe Brennan in outward appearance.
Joe did not stop munching; he merely stared as the automobile stopped
beside him.
"Say, you Joe!" shouted Uncle Eben indignatly, "wha' foh yo' done
sett'n' heah?"
"Rest'n'," said Joe Brennan, taking another bite from his apple.
"Ain't yo' gwine git dem trunks home to-day?" demanded the old darkey.
Joe seemed to consider this question carefully before he ventured to
commit himself. Then he looked at Colonel Hathaway and said:
"What I want t' know, Boss, is whether I'm hired by the hour, er by the
day?"
"Didn't Uncle Eben tell you?"
"Naw, he didn't. He jes' said t' go git the trunks an' he'd gimme a
dollar fer the trip."
"Well, that seems to settle the question, doesn't it!"
"Not quite, Boss. I be'n thinkin' it over, on the way, an' a dollar's
too pesky cheap fer this trip. Sometimes I gits twenty-five cents a
hour fer haulin' things, an' this looks to me like a day's work."
"If you made good time," said Colonel Hathaway, "you might do it easily
in four hours."
Joe shook his head.
"Not me, sir," he replied. "I hain't got the constitution fer it. An'
them hosses won't trot 'less I lick 'em, an' ef I lick 'em I'm guilty
o' cru'lty ter animals--includin' myself. No, Boss, the job's too
cheap, so I guess I'll give it up an' go home."
"But you're nearly at the station now," protested the Colonel.
"I know; but it's half a mile fu'ther an' the hosses is tired. I guess
I'll go home."
"Oh, Gran'pa!" whispered Mary Louise, "it'll never do to leave our
trunks lying there by the railroad tracks."
The Colonel eyed Joe thoughtfully.
"If you were hired by the day," said he, "I suppose you would do a
day's work?"
"I'd hev to," admitted Joe. "That's why I 'asked ye how about it. Jes'
now it looks to me like I ain't hired at all. The black man said he'd
gimme a dollar fer the trunks, that's all."
"How much do you charge a day?" asked the Colonel.
"Dollar 'n' a quarter's my reg'lar price, an' I won't take no less,"
asserted Joe.
Mary Louise nearly laughed outright, but the Colonel frowned and said:
"Joe Brennan, you've got me at your mercy. I'm going to hire you by the
day, at a dollar and a quarter, and as your time now belongs to me I
request you to go at once for those trunks. You will find them just
beyond the station."
The man's face brightened. He tossed away the core of his apple and
jerked the reins to make the horses hold up their heads.
"A bargain's a bargain, Boss," he remarked cheerfully, "so I'll get
them air trunks to yer house if it takes till midnight."
"Very good," said the Colonel. "Drive on, Uncle."
The old servant started the motor.
"Dat's what I calls downright robbery, Kun'l," he exclaimed, highly
incensed. "Didn't I ask de stoahkeepeh what to pay Joe Brennen foh
bringin' oveh dem trunks, an' didn't he say a dolleh is big pay foh
such-like a trip? If we's gwine live in dis town, where day don'
un'stand city prices an' de high cost o' livin' yit, we gotta hol' 'em
down an' keep 'em from speckilatin' with us, or else we'll spile 'em
fer de time when we's gone away."
"Very true, Uncle. Has Joe a competitor?"
Uncle Eben reflected.
"Ef he has, Kun'l, I ain't seen it," he presently replied; "but I guess
all he's got is dat lumbeh-wagin."
Mary Louise had enjoyed the controversy immensely and was relieved by
the promise of the trunks by midnight. For the first time in her life
the young orphaned girl was to play housekeeper for her grandfather and
surely one of her duties was to see that the baggage was safely
deposited in their new home.
This unknown home in an unknown town had an intense fascination for her
just now. Her grandfather had been rather reticent in his description
of the house he had rented at Cragg's Crossing, merely asserting it was
a "pretty place" and ought to make them a comfortable home for the
summer. Nor had the girl questioned him very closely, for she loved to
"discover things" and be surprised--whether pleasurably or not did not
greatly interfere with the thrill.
The motor took them speedily along a winding way to Cragg's Crossing, a
toy town that caused Mary Louise to draw a long breath of delight at
first sight. The "crossing" of two country roads had probably resulted,
at some far-back period, in farmers' building their residences on the
four corners, so as to be neighborly. Farm hands or others built little
dwellings adjoining--not many of them, though--and some unambitious or
misdirected merchant erected a big frame "store" and sold groceries,
dry goods and other necessities of life not only to the community at
the Crossing but to neighboring farmers. Then someone started the
little "hotel," mainly to feed the farmers who came to the store to
trade or the "drummers" who visited it to sell goods. A church and a
schoolhouse naturally followed, in course of time, and then, as if its
destiny were fulfilled, the sleepy little town--ten miles from the
nearest railway--gradually settled into the comatose state in which
Colonel Hathaway and his granddaughter now found it.