Two days later Mr. Robert Glenowen arrived at Second Westings by the
Hartford coach, alighting to be publicly kissed and embraced with a
heedless fervour which would have been a scandal to the community, had
not the community by this time grown accustomed to Barbara's joyous
flouting of its conventions. Barbara had established for herself a
general privilege, and Second Westings had ceased to do more than lift
its eyebrows.
"It's the same Barbara, the same naughty little baggage of mine I left
two years ago, for all that her petticoats are longer, and her
lovelocks shorter, and she takes the trouble to powder her saucy little
nose!" said Mr. Glenowen, presently, holding her at arms' length, and
eyeing her with critical approval.
Barbara endured the scrutiny for a moment or two, then her dark cheeks
flushed, her lips pouted, and she impetuously thrust herself again into
his arms.
"I have grown up since you saw me, Uncle Bob!" she cried, kissing him
on both cheeks.
"Whose fault is that?" he asked, again pushing her away that he might
search her eyes.
"Aunt Kitty's!" answered Barbara, innocently, her eyes as clear as a
child's.
Mr. Glenowen laughed, held her with his left arm about her slim waist,
and stepped up toward the inn door to greet Doctor John and Doctor Jim,
who had held themselves in the background that Barbara might have the
first greetings uninterrupted.
A few minutes later the four were on the way to Mistress Mehitable's,
walking up the middle of the street. Barbara and her uncle, arm in
arm, walked between, with the great bulks of Doctor John and Doctor Jim
on either side, seeming to overshadow them; while a little way behind
trudged Amos, in his blue duffle shirt and leather breeches, carrying
the baggage.
In this position, framed as it were and set off by Doctor John and
Doctor Jim, the likeness between Barbara and her uncle came out as
never before, so that both the brothers exclaimed at it together.
Glenowen was a shade above middle height, with square, athletic
shoulders, and no suggestion of leanness; but he had the same
indescribable lightness, swiftness, fineness of bearing, which
characterised Barbara. Under his very smart three-cornered hat of
black beaver with its fashionable rosette, his thick, bronze-black,
vigorous hair, which was worn in a queue and tied with an ample ribbon,
had the same rebellious wave in it that Barbara's had. His face, like
Barbara's, was short, with slightly rounded forehead, rounded chin,
firm jaw, cheeks somewhat thin, lips full and passionate. But
Barbara's mouth was sad, while Glenowen's was laughing, daring, tender;
and Barbara's eyes were of a transparent, fathomless, gray-green,
sometimes flaming, sometimes darkly inscrutable, while Glenowen's were
of a sunny, merry brown, darkening and growing keen as steel when he
was intent. As he was carrying his gauntlet gloves of light,
American-made goat-leather, the further likeness to Barbara came out in
his bare hands, which were dark and slender and fine like hers, with
long-oval, polished, aristocratic nails. Barbara herself would never
wear gloves about Second Westings in summer, save at meeting, or when
riding, or in pulling herbs or cutting flowers. She loved nice gloves,
as a dainty and suggestive article of toilet; but she loved the freedom
of her little, sensitive fingers, and felt that Second Westings had no
atmosphere to fit the suggestion of gloved hands. It was manifest that
Barbara was chiefly a Glenowen,--but it was equally manifest that her
eyes were the eyes of the Ladds; for they were profoundly different
from those of her Uncle Bob, and so far as enigmatic gray-green could
resemble untroubled sky-blue, they were like to the deep, transparent
eyes of Mistress Mehitable.
Mr. Glenowen brought to Second Westings a lot of presents for Barbara,
a whiff of freshness from the outside world, and an indefinable sense
of ferment and change. It was as if the far-off tales of strife
between king and colonies ceased on the sudden to be like the affairs
of story-books, and became crystallised, by the visitor's mere
presence, into matters of vital import. A premonition of vast events
flashed through the quiet heart of the village; and from the day of the
arrival of Mr. Robert Glenowen by the Hartford coach, the repose of
Second Westings was never again quite the same.
Yet Glenowen at this time was no partisan. He was merely in active
touch with the troubles of the time, and vexatiously divided within
himself. By sentiment, taste, and tradition a Tory, and by
intellectual conviction a Whig, he shunned rather than courted argument
in which he could heartily support neither side. Nevertheless, before
dinner was over, all the company, save Barbara, were at him,--Mistress
Mehitable and Doctor Jim on the one side, and Doctor John, with
whimsical insinuations and Parthian shafts, on the other. As for
Barbara, she was too happy to care whether kings thwarted colonies or
colonies thwarted kings, so long as she might sit in unwonted and
radiant silence and beam upon her Uncle Bob.
But Mr. Glenowen was not to be entrapped into any serious discussions
so soon after his journey. He showed an unmistakable and determined
desire to play. Barbara's one curl, where he had been wont to see
many, was of concern to him. Her one kitten--now admitted to the
dignified precincts of the dining-room since the other two had been
given away, the day before, to Doctor Jim and Mercy Chapman
respectively--appeared to him of more concern than Mr. Adams or Lord
North. He was brimful of appreciative merriment over the story of
Barbara's adventurous voyage, and troublesomely interrogative as to the
various attributes of Robert. He had attentive inquiries for old
Debby, and Mercy Chapman, and Keep, and the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer,
and Black Prince, and many others whom none would have dreamed he could
remember after two years of well-occupied absence. By the time dinner
was over none had achieved to know whether Uncle Bob would call himself
Tory or Whig. Barbara, of course, felt confident that he was a
joyously established rebel; while Doctor Jim was equally sure he was a
king's man through and through. The others were in doubt.
Nor was Mr. Glenowen more communicative when the meal was done. He was
then too impatient even to smoke his pipe, for haste to get at his
travelling-bags and show Barbara what he had brought for her. As he
pulled out these treasures one by one, Barbara forgot all the dignity
of her lengthened frocks, and screamed with delight, and kissed him
spasmodically, and exhausted her rich vocabulary of endearments in the
vain effort to give her rapture words; till Doctor John and Doctor Jim
vowed they would have to go a journey themselves ere long, if only to
bring Barbara presents and find out in person how sweet she could be.
While Mistress Mehitable remarked demurely that "such knowledge of what
would please a woman could only have been attained by more assiduity in
effort than was quite becoming, surely, in a bachelor!"
"I hope, dear mistress," retorted Uncle Bob, with laughing eyes, "that
the discernment with which you so generously credit me did not fail
when I was selecting this little gift, unmeet as it is to adorn your
charms." And on one knee he presented to her a bundle in green tissue,
tied delicately with gilt cord.
All crowded about Mistress Mehitable while she undid the cord, and
unfolded, with blushes, and with little breathless exclamations not
unworthy of Barbara herself, an elaborately ruffled and laced French
night-rail, embroidered heavily with silk, and lettered in gold thread
with her initials.
It was such a gown as often served to make bedroom receptions popular.
And Mistress Mehitable, though she held those customs in scorn as
indolent and frivolous, had a healthy feminine delight in such sweet
fripperies of apparel as this creation of French art. Amid the clamour
of applause it was some moments before she could word her
acknowledgments. At last she said:
"I shall perhaps thank you less fervently than I do now, Mr. Glenowen,
for this delightful present, when its fascinations keep me from
sleeping. I'm afraid I shall lie awake just to appreciate it!"
"Sleep, rather, I beg you, fair mistress, and honour me with some small
place in your dreams!" cried Uncle Bob, gallantly.
"Fie! Fie! Fie!" said Mistress Mehitable, shaking at him a slim,
reproving finger. "You must not put such gallantries into these young
people's heads. Doctor Jim is steady enough, but such notions are very
upsetting to John and Barbara!"
"Glenowen, you young scoundrel, sir!" roared Doctor Jim, "what do you
mean by coming in here and turning our girls' heads with your bold
compliments and French night-rails? I marvel at your devilish
audacity, sir! You'll have trouble on your hands before you know what
you're about,--eh, what?"
Uncle Bob was darting around the room like a pleased boy, delighted
with the effect he had produced, delighted with his success in pleasing
Mistress Mehitable, and in bringing out the gayer, brighter side of her
conscience-burdened spirit.
"Pistols, Pigeon! Pistols let it be, this very night after moonset,
under Mistress Mehitable's window!" he cried, slapping Doctor Jim's
great shoulders. "I give you fair warning I shall bring the dear lady
a far handsomer one the next time I come!"
Barbara, meanwhile, and Mistress Mehitable, and Doctor John, had their
heads close together over the intricate and beautiful embroidery,
admiring each fine detail in careful succession.
"It is _perfectly beautiful_!" pronounced Barbara, at length, with a
deep breath of satisfaction and a consciousness of duty loyally done.
There were several of her own presents which she admired more
fervently, and she already had five, with the possibility of more yet
to come from Uncle Bob's wonderful bag. But she felt it would not be
playing fair if she failed to give full measure of time and fervour to
sympathising with Aunt Hitty in her good fortune. At the same time,
she felt that in her aunt's frank delight in such a frivolous and quite
unnecessarily beautiful garment she had found a new bond of
understanding with that long-misunderstood lady.
But Mistress Mehitable had yet one more word to say before she was
ready, in turn, to give undivided attention to Barbara's fortunes.
"I am going to confess, Mr. Glenowen," said she, with a smiling,
half-shamefaced glance, as she held up the dainty creation of lawn and
lace and silk, caressing her smooth pink and white cheek with it, "I am
going to confess that this lovely garment is just such a thing as I
have longed to have, yet should have considered it wicked
self-indulgence to purchase. Even so sober and prosy a dame as I may
dearly love the uselessly beautiful. I'm beginning to doubt whether I
really want to be quite so useful and competent as I am thought to be.
You, Mr. Glenowen, a comparative stranger, and with but a casual,
courteous regard for me, have read my heart as these my dearest and
lifelong friends, who would, I believe, give their right hands to serve
me, could not do."
"Glenowen, you die to-night!" roared Doctor Jim, knitting his great
brows.
But Doctor John was on one knee at Mistress Mehitable's
black-satin-shod small feet, one hand upon his breast.
"Nothing more utilitarian than silk stockings, most dear and
unexpectedly frivolous lady," he vowed, "shall be my tributes of
devotion to you henceforth!"
"And mine shall be garters, fickle Mehitable!" cried Doctor Jim,
dropping on his knee beside Doctor John, and swearing with like
solemnity. "Silk garters,--and such buckles for silk garters!"
"And little silk shoes, and such big buckles for little silk shoes!"
said Doctor John.
"And silk petticoats!" went on Doctor Jim, antiphonally. "Brocaded
silk, flowered silk, watered silk, painted silk, corded silk, tabby
silk, paduasoy silk, alamode silk, taffety silk, charrydarry--" till
Mistress Mehitable put her hand over his mouth and stopped the stream
of his eruditions.
"And silk--and silk--" broke in Doctor John, once more, but
stammeringly, because his knowledge of the feminine wardrobe was
failing him. "Tut, tut, silk night-rails, indeed! The scoundrel! The
vagabond Welshman! May I die of Jim Pigeon's physic if I don't make
shift--make silk shift--"
"John!" cried Mistress Mehitable, in tone of rebuke, and pushing them
both away from her. "Get up at once, both of you, and don't be so
silly!"
Her eyes shone, and her cheeks were flushed with mingled pleasure and
embarrassment, and Glenowen realised that she was much younger and
prettier than he had been wont to think.
"O Mehitable-demoralised-by-Barbara!" vowed Doctor John, towering over
her. "Your sweet and now perverted soul shall be satisfied with
gewgaws! I, John Pigeon, swear it!"
[Illustration: "_O Mehitable-demoralised-by-Barbara!" vowed Doctor
John._]
"Then I want a bosom-bottle, of Venice glass and gold filigree, to keep
my nosegays from withering!" retorted Mistress Mehitable, flashing up
at him a look of her blue eyes. "I've never had such a chance as this
in all my life!"
"There now, hussy!" growled Doctor Jim, turning upon Barbara. "See
what you have done. In three days you have demoralised her completely.
And I see the ruin of John and Jim Pigeon, buying her things!"
But Barbara was by this time too absorbed in her own things to heed the
catastrophe thus impending. It was plain that Uncle Bob had been
prosperous these past two years,--and equally plain that he was in full
sympathy with Barbara's tastes. First of all, there were books,--a
handsomely bound copy of Sir Philip Sidney's "Arcadia," an old,
time-stained copy of "England's Helicon," a copy in boards of the
admired "Odes" of Mr. Gray, and a copy of Mr. Thompson's "The Castle of
Indolence." With these, in strange companionship, a white silk
mask,--a black velvet mask with silver buttons on silver cord behind
the mouth, to enable the wearer to hold it in place with her lips, when
both hands might chance to be occupied,--and a small pistol, inlaid
with silver and mother-of-pearl. This seductive little weapon Barbara
hugged rapturously to her breast. Though she would not kill anything
for the world, she loved to feel she could be slaughterous an she
wished!
Then came wonders of the wardrobe. Barbara hungered to try them on all
at once, and in truth made marvellous efforts toward that unachievable
end. There were kerchiefs of sheerest lawn and lace, and of
embroidered silk. There were two pairs of silk garters, three pairs of
silk stockings, and six pairs of fine thread stockings. She loved the
silk stockings as she did the pistol and Sir Philip Sidney. There were
shoes, low, shapely, thin-soled shoes of red morocco, and black
chamois, and black satin, and a pair of daintiest slippers of white
satin, all with buckles satisfyingly resplendent.
"I knew your feet would never be any larger than they are now,"
explained Uncle Bob, "so having the opportunity to get some uncommon
fine shoes at a price uncommon reasonable, I thought it just as well to
embrace occasion boldly!"
"But how _did_ you _ever_ guess the right size, Uncle Bob?" cried
Barbara, in ecstasy, trying on a black satin one with supreme
forgetfulness of company manners, and poking out ingenuously the most
bewitching foot in the thirteen colonies. "Do just look. It fits like
a glove!"
Stooping quickly as if to examine it, Doctor Jim engulfed it in one
large, white hand; and kissed it just above the glittering buckle.
"There, Bob Glenowen," he growled, as he straightened himself, "is that
the proper civility to show a lady when she pokes out her foot at you?
I suppose you would pocket the shoe and carry off the lady! Eh, what?"
"How dare you kiss my niece without my leave?" demanded Mr. Glenowen.
"He shall kiss me just whenever he likes, and no one in the world shall
interfere!" declared Barbara, springing up, and pulling Doctor Jim's
neck down to be swiftly hugged. "But--how _did_ you know the right
size, Uncle Bob?"
A look passed between Mistress Mehitable and Glenowen; and Barbara,
intercepting it, understood in a flash.
"Oh! Oh! Aunt Hitty! _You_ did it!" she shrieked, clapping her
hands. "You sent him my green silk slipper for a pattern! And I've
been thinking I had lost it! And I was ashamed to tell you! Oh, how
dear, and deceitful of you, honey!"
"Here, indeed, is the delinquent slipper!" acknowledged Uncle Bob,
drawing the green silk toy from his bag. He handed it over to Mistress
Mehitable, for Barbara was again absorbed, her glowing face, with one
massive black curl hanging straight past her cheek, bent low over her
spoils, among which were lengths of silk,--a rich brocade, a taffeta,
and a silk Damascus, out of which her quick fancy conjured up a dream
of petticoats, panniers, and bodices that should appear most
sumptuously grown-up. There were gloves, too, and mitts; and a mighty
handsome little "equipage" of silver-gilt, containing scissors,
thimble, nail-trimmer, tweezers, and such small needments, to hang at
the left side of her bodice. There was a flimsy affair of a
"lovehood," silk and gauze and mystery, from which Barbara's vivid,
petulant, dark little face flashed forth with indescribable
bewitchment. This love-hood, swore Doctor John, should never be worn
by Barbara on the streets of Second Westings, for reasons affecting the
public weal, as it would bedevil the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer himself
in the very sanctuary of his pulpit. Barbara suddenly looked forward
with interest to going to meeting on the following Sunday, bedecked in
the disastrous love-hood.
Last, but not least in Barbara's eyes, there was an exceedingly
delicate frivolity in the shape of a carven gilt patch-box, about an
inch and a half in length. In the top was set a painted china
medallion, representing a richly dressed shepherdess enwreathed in
roses, with the appropriate posy:
"My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her!"
On the inside of the cover was a tiny mirror. When Barbara, silent
with delight, peered into this mirror, she caught a vision of herself
in a gay ballroom, patched and powdered and furbelowed, shattering the
hearts of a host of cavaliers, who every one of them looked like a
relative of Robert Gault.