That day of the news was a boundary day. It set sharp limit to
Barbara's years of calm. From that day events came quickly, change
pressed hard on change, and no day, for her, was quite like its
predecessor. A veering of the current had snatched her from her
shining eddy, and swept her forth into the tide of life.
On the morning following the dinner, while still alive to a sense of
menace in the air, Barbara received a letter from her uncle. As she
read it, her eyes sparkled, her heart bounded. Then, as she passed it
to Mistress Mehitable, and Mistress Mehitable took it with cheerful
interest, her heart sank. She felt a pang of self-reproach, because
she found herself willing to go away and leave her aunt uncompanioned
in the solitude of Westings House. Glenowen had undertaken certain
business, in the way of searching records and examining titles, which
was driving him at once to New York, and bade fair, he said, to keep
him there for upwards of a year. He wanted Barbara to go with him.
And Barbara's pulses bounded. There, she thought, were the lights and
the dances, the maskings and the music, the crossing of swords and
wits, the gallants and the compliments and the triumphs, which she was
longing to taste. Mistress Mehitable's face grew grave as she read the
letter. It grew pale as she looked up and saw by Barbara's face the
hunger in her heart. Mistress Mehitable had a vision of what Westings
House would be, emptied of the wilful, flashing, vivid, restless spirit
which for the past few years had been its life. But she was unselfish.
She would not say a word to lessen Barbara's delight.
"It will be lovely for you, dear!" said she, with hearty sympathy.
"You are just at the age, too, when it will mean most to you, and be of
most value to you. I am so glad, dear!"
But Barbara had seen the look in her face, and gave no heed to her
brave words.
"I _can't_ go, honey, and leave you here alone!" she cried,
impetuously, jumping up and hugging the little lady with a vehemence
born of the effort to convince herself that what she said was true.
She felt that she could and must go; but that the joy of going would be
more than damped--drenched, indeed, with tears--at the thought of how
much Mistress Mehitable would miss her, of how empty Westings House
would be without her, of the scar her absence would leave in their
little world. With her intense individuality, her lively
self-concentration, it almost seemed to her as if their little world
could not even attempt to go on without her, but must sleep dully
through her absence.
"Of course you will go, Barbara dear!" said Mistress Mehitable,
decidedly. "It is only natural and right you should want to go, and
go. I cannot pretend that it makes me very happy to think of doing
without you for a whole year. No words can tell you how I shall miss
you, dear child. But I should be a thousand times more unhappy if I
were to feel myself standing in the way of your happiness. No, no,
indeed, don't talk any nonsense about not going. Besides, your Uncle
Bob has the right to have you with him for a while."
"Oh, I wish you could go, too!" sighed Barbara. "_Can't_ you? _Then_
it _would_ be lovely!"
Mistress Mehitable laughed softly. "Not very well just now, child!"
she answered, assuming a gaiety. "Perhaps some other time it might be
managed. Now, we'll have to plan about getting you ready,--and your
uncle has only left us a wretched little week to do it in!"
So it was settled, without any stress or argument whatever, that
Barbara should go to New York with Uncle Bob just eight days from that
day; and so was decreed, with such effort as it might take to order a
breakfast, nothing less than a revolution in Barbara's life.
While the two women were discussing weighty problems of dressmaking,
lingerie, and equipment various,--what should be made at Second
Westings, and what should be left to New York shops and the tried taste
of Uncle Bob,--Doctor Jim came in, less robustious and breezy than his
wont, his eyes big with momentous tidings. He kissed the ladies'
hands, and sat down thoughtfully opposite, scanning their faces from
under bushy, drawn brows. They both looked at him with expectant
inquiry.
"You were most intent on whatever you were talking about!" said he,
presently. "I hope I don't interrupt! May I hear all about it? Or
should I run away, eh, what?"
"You never interrupt,--or if you do, you are forgiven beforehand, Jim!"
said Mistress Mehitable.
"What we were talking about will interest _you_, Doctor Jim, you
naughty old thing!" cried Barbara, saucily. "It was petticoats,
bodices, and silk stockings, and such like feminine frivolities! But
what have _you_ got to tell _us_? You are just _bursting_, you know
you are. Tell us, and we'll tell you something!"
"John Pigeon's going away to-morrow!" said Doctor Jim, and then shut
his mouth hard.
"What? Going away?" cried both women at once, scarce crediting their
ears.
"Going away to Hartford, to-morrow, to take a hand in organising some
of their rebellious militia!" continued Doctor Jim. "I'm ashamed to
tell you. But he was ashamed to tell you himself, thinking you would
not like it, so he sent me ahead to make his peace for him. It doesn't
mean anything, you know. Just a sort of bragging counterblast to those
four regiments of ours at Boston. I wouldn't be down on John for it,
eh, what, Mehitable?"
"When will he return?" asked Mehitable, feeling that her world was
being emptied.
"Down on him!" exclaimed Barbara. "Why, it's _noble_ of him. Think
how it will encourage all the patriots of our township!" Since she was
going away herself, Doctor John's going was easy enough to bear.
"I wasn't talking to you, you saucy rebel!" retorted Doctor Jim.
"We'll have that crazy little black head of yours chopped off for high
treason, one of these days, if you don't mend your naughty manners.
'Patriots,' indeed! Addle-pated bumpkins! But"--and he turned to
Mistress Mehitable, "you asked me, dear lady, when John Pigeon would
return. Within a month, I think. He will tell you more precisely for
himself!"
"Jim," said Mistress Mehitable, gravely, "we are going to be lonely for
awhile, you and I."
"Lonely!" exclaimed Doctor Jim. "That's not what bothers me. It's the
pestilent, low, vulgar business that's taking him!"
"Yes, of course," assented Mistress Mehitable, "but 'tis not Doctor
John only that purposes to forsake us, Jim. Barbara is going to New
York, to stay a year."
Doctor Jim's face fell. He glared at Barbara for half a minute, his
shaggy eyebrows working.
"Nonsense, child!" he cried, wilfully incredulous. "What cock-and-bull
story's this? I won't have my feelings worked upon!"
"It's true, Doctor Jim. I'm to go with Uncle Bob, next week!" said
Barbara, very soberly.
"But you sha'n't go! We can't spare our bad little girl. You're too
young, Barby, for that wicked city down there. We _need_ you here, to
keep us from getting too _good_. You sha'n't go, that's all! You see
what John Pigeon'll have to say about it, eh, what?"
"I must, Doctor Jim!" answered Barbara. "Aunt Hitty and Uncle Bob have
both decided on that. I feel homesick, sort of, already, at the
thought of it. And I know I shall miss you all just horribly. But,
oh, I do want to go, after all. It's all so gay and mysterious to me,
and I know I'll have such fun. And it will be so lovely, when I'm
tired of it, to come back and tell you all about it! Won't it?"
"Well! Well! I suppose we'll have to let her go," sighed Doctor Jim.
"Thank Heaven, _you're_ not going, Mehitable, dear lady!"
"I'm glad _you're_ not going, Jim,--either to New York or to Hartford!"
said Mistress Mehitable, with a little laugh. Then she held out her
hand to him, flushing softly.
"It would be hard indeed for me to go anywhere, Mehitable, were you to
bid me stay!" said Doctor Jim, kissing very reverently the hand she had
held out. Then, without waiting for an answer to this, he hastily
turned again to Barbara, saying:
"By the way, sweetheart, Bobby Gault is in New York, is he not,--eh,
what? He will be glad to see you again, perhaps! It is possible he
may help make things pleasant for you, eh, you baggage?"
But Barbara was not in a mood to repay his raillery in kind.
"I don't know that I'll make things pleasant for Robert," she answered,
thoughtfully, "if he still clings to his ridiculous views about kings
and things!"
"Tell that to the marines, you sly hussy!" exclaimed Doctor Jim,
regaining mysteriously his wonted large good humour. "Don't tell me
this isn't all made up between you and Robert!"
Barbara looked at him soberly for a moment. Then the old audacious
light laughed over her face, her eyes danced perilously,--and Mistress
Mehitable felt a tremor of apprehension. She always felt nervous when
Doctor Jim had the hardihood to draw Barbara's fire.
"Do you know, Doctor Jim, I don't feel quite so badly as I did about
leaving you and Aunt Hitty! I think, you know, you will be quite a
comfort to each other, won't you, even if Doctor John should have to
stay longer than he expects in Hartford!"
At this moment Doctor John himself came in, to Mistress Mehitable's
infinite relief.