THE "SPITE HOUSE" OF BAREACRE.
By nightfall it was all over; and Cleena, Hallam, and Amy, with their
self-constituted bodyguard, Fayette, were gathered about a big table in
the kitchen of the "Spite House," to eat a supper of bread and milk, and
to discuss the events of that memorable day. Strangely enough, as Amy
thought, none of them realized anything clearly except the facts of
fatigue and hunger.
"Arrah musha! but the face of that lawyer body, when I tells him I was
takin' the loan of his bit buggy wagon for the master an' mistress to
ride to Burnside the morn, an' how as old Adam would sure send it back
by a farm-hand, which he did that same. An' them two goin' off so quiet,
even smilin', as if--But there, there! Have some more milk, Master Hal.
It's like cream itself, so 'tis; an' that neighbor woman in the cottage
yon is that friendly she'd be givin' me three pints to the quart if I'd
leave her be."
"Well, dear old Adam will be glad to see them on any terms, he is so
fond of father and mother. But knowing they're in such trouble, he'll
have the best of everything for them to-night."
"Yes, Adam Burns is as likely as any man creature can be, which I've
never been bothered with meself, me guardian angel be praised."
"Well, Cleena, I've seen you work hard before, but you did as much as
ten Cleenas in one to-day."
The good woman sighed, then laughed outright. "It's been a hard row for
that wicked body to hoe."
"Who, Cleena?"
"That sweet, decent kinsman o' your own. Was many an odd bit o' stuff
went into the van 't he never meant should go there. The face of him
when I went trampin' up the libr'y stairs, an' caught him watchin'
Master Hallam packing the paint trash that he'd allowed the master might
have. 'Take anything you want here, my boy,' says he. So, seein' Master
Hal was working dainty an' slow, I just sweeps me arm over the whole
business; an' I'm thinkin' there'll be 'tubes' a plenty for all the
pictures master'll ever paint. In a fine heap, though, an' that must be
your job, Master Hal, come to-morrow, to put them all tidy, as 'tis
himself likes."
"I'll be glad to do it, Cleena; but in which of these old rooms am I to
sleep?"
Cleena had taken a rapid survey of the dusty, musty bedchambers, and her
cleanly soul revolted against her "childer" using any of them in their
present condition. So for Amy she had put Mrs. Kaye's own mattress on
the floor of what might be a parlor, and spread it with clean sheets;
for Hallam there was in another place his father's easy lounge; and for
herself and Fayette, who insisted upon staying for the night, there were
"shakedowns" of old, warm "comforts."
"And it's time we were all off to Noddle's Island. It's up in the
mornin' early we must be. So scatter yourselves, all of ye, an' to sleep
right away. Not forgettin' your prayers, as good Christians shouldn't."
"Of course not," answered Amy, drowsily; but Fayette looked as if he did
not understand.
"Sure, _you'll_ have to be taught then, my fine sir, an' I'll tackle
that job with the rest of to-morrow's."
But when daylight broke and roused the active Cleena to begin her
formidable task of scrubbing away the accumulated dirt of years there
was no Fayette to be found. Dreamily, she recalled the sound of musical
instruments, the shouts of voices, and the squealing of the rats that
had hitherto been the tenants of "Spite House"; but which of these, if
any, was answerable for the lad's absence, she could not guess.
"Well, I was mindin' to keep him busy, had he stayed; but since he's
gone, there's one mouth less to feed."
It did not take the observant woman long to discover that the outlook
for the comfort of "her folks" was even less by daylight than it had
seemed the night before. Her heart sank, though she lost no time in
useless regrets, and she did most cordially thank that "guardian angel"
to whom she so constantly referred for having prevented her spending the
last twenty-five dollars she possessed. This would long ago have wasted
away had it not been placed in the care of that true friend of the
family, Adam Burns, with whom her master and mistress had now taken
refuge.
"Alanna, that's luck! I was for usin' it long syne, but the old man
wouldn't leave me do it. 'No, Cleena, thee's not so young as thee was,
an' thee might be wantin' it for doctor's stuff,' says he. Twenty-five
dollars! That'd pay the rent an' buy flour an' tea, an' what not;" and
with cheerful visions of the unlimited power of her small capital, the
old servant stooped to fill her apron with the stray chips and branches
the bare place afforded.
At that moment there fell upon her ears the familiar sound of Pepita and
Balaam braying in concert for their breakfast.
"Now what's to feed _them_ is more nor I know; yet never a doubt I doubt
it would clean break the colleen's heart must she part with her neat
little beast."
The braying roused Hallam and Amy, also, from a night of dreamless
sleep; and as they passed out from the musty house into the crisp air of
a frosty morning, they felt more cheerful than they considered was quite
the proper thing, under the circumstances. Then Amy looked at her
brother and laughed.
"Isn't it splendid after the rain? and isn't it funny to be here?
Yesterday it seemed as if the world had come to an end, and now it seems
as if it had just been made new."
"'Every morn is a fresh beginning,'" quoted Hallam, who loved books
better than his sister did.
"Let's go down to the gate, or place where a gate should be, and take a
good look at our--home."
"All right. Though we've seen it at a distance, I suppose it will appear
differently to us at near hand."
"And uglier. Oh, but it's horrid! _horrid!_" and with a sudden revulsion
of feeling Amy buried her face in her hands and began to cry. "I hate
it. I won't stay here. I will not. I'd rather go home and live in the
old stable than here."
"That wouldn't have been a bad idea, only we shouldn't have been
allowed."
"Who could have hindered that? Who'd want an empty stable?"
"Our cousin Archibald!" answered Hallam, with scornful emphasis. "I
believe he feels as if he had a mortgage on our very souls. Indeed, he
said I might sometime be able to earn enough to buy the place back, as
well as pay all other debts. He said he couldn't live forever, and it
was but fair he should have a few years' possession of 'his own.'
He--Well, there's no use talking. I wish--I wish I were--"
"No, no! you don't! No, you don't either, Hallam Kaye! I know what you
began to say, and you shall not finish. You shall not die. You shall get
well and strong and do all those things he said. I'm ashamed of myself
that I cried. I felt last night as if my old life were all a beautiful
dream, and that I had just waked up into a real world where I had to do
things for myself and for others; not have others do for me any longer."
"That was about the state of the case, I fancy."
"Well, that isn't so bad. It shouldn't be, that is; for I have such
health and strength and everything. Nothing matters so much as long as
we are all together."
"Nobody knows how long we shall be. I don't like these 'attacks' of
father's, Amy. I'm afraid of them. It will kill him to live here."
It needed but the possibility of giving comfort to somebody to arouse
all Amy's natural hopefulness, and she commanded with a shake of her
forefinger:--
"Hallam Kaye, you stop it! I won't have it! If you keep it up, I shall
have to--to cuff you."
"Try it!" cried the brother, already laughing at her fierce show of
spirit; yet to tempt her audacity he thrust his fingers through her
short curls and wagged her head playfully.
She did not resent it; she could resent nothing Hallam ever did save
that morbid talk of his. She had been fighting with this spirit ever
since she could remember, and their brief "tussle" over, she crept
closer to him along the old stone wall and begged:--
"Cleena has tied the burros out to graze in the weeds, and that will be
their breakfast, and while we're waiting for ours, I wish you'd tell me
all you know about 'Spite House.' I've heard it, of course, but it's all
mixed up in my mind, and I don't see just where that cousin Archibald
comes in."
"Oh, he comes in easily enough. He's a descendant of old Jacob Ingraham
as well as of the house of Kaye. I believe it was in this way: our
great-grandfather Thomas Kaye and Jacob were brothers-in-law, and there
was some trouble about money matters."
"Seems to me all the mean, hateful troubles _are_ about money. I don't
see why it was ever made."
"Well, they had such trouble anyway. Great-grandfather had just built
Fairacres, and had spent a great deal to beautify the grounds. He was a
pretty rich man, I fancy, and loved to live in a great whirl of society
and entertain lots of people and all that. He was especially fond of the
view from the front of the house and had cut away some of the trees for
'vistas' and 'outlooks' and 'views.' There were no mills on the Ardsley
then. They came in our own grandfather's time. It was just a beautiful,
shimmering river--"
"Hal, you're a poet!"
"Never," said the boy, with a blush.
"But you are. You tell things so I can just see them. I can see that
shimmering river this instant, in my mind, with my eyes shut. I can see
boats full of people sailing on it, and hear music and laughter and
everything lovely."
"Who's the poet now?"
"I'm not. But go on."
"It seems that old Mr. Ingraham thought he had been cheated by
great-grandfather--"
"Likely enough he had. Else I don't see where he got all that money to
do things."
"But, missy, he was _our_ relative. He was a _Kaye_."
"There might be good Kayes and bad Kayes, mightn't there?"
"Amy, you're too honest for comfort. You may think a spade's a spade,
but you needn't always mention it."
"Go on with the story. In a few minutes Cleena will call us to our
'frugal repast,' like the poor children in stories, and I want to hear
all about this 'ruined castle' I've come to live in, I mean 'dwell,' for
story-book girls--'maidens'--never do anything so commonplace as just
'live.' Hally, boy, there's a lot of humbug in this world."
"How did you find that out, Miss Experience?"
"I didn't trouble to find it, I just read it. I thought it sounded sort
of nice and old, so I said it."
"Humph! Well, do you want to hear, or will you keep interrupting?"
"I do want to hear, and I probably shall interrupt. I am not blind to
my own besetting sins."
"Listen. Just as great-grandfather had everything fixed to his taste and
was enjoying life to the utmost, old Jacob came here to this knoll that
faces Fairacres--Oh, you needn't turn around to see. The trees have
grown again, and the view is hidden. On this knoll, if there was
anything tall, it would spoil the Fairacres' view. So Jacob built this
'Spite House.' He made it as ugly as he could, and he did everything
outrageous to make great-grandfather disgusted. He named this rocky
barren 'Bareacre,' and that little gully yonder he called 'Glenpolly,'
because his enemy had named the beautiful ravine we know as 'Glenellen.'
Polly and Ellen were the wives' names, and I've heard they grieved
greatly over the quarrel. Mr. Ingraham painted huge signs with the names
on them, and hung up scarecrows on poles, because he wouldn't let a tree
grow here, even if it could. There are a few now, though. Look like old
plum trees. My, what a home for our mother!"
Amy's face sobered again, as she regarded the ugly stone structure which
still looked strong enough to defy all time, but which no lapse of years
had done much to beautify. Nothing had ever thrived at Bareacre, which
was, in fact, a hill of apparently solid stone, sparsely covered by the
poorest of soil. The house was big, for the Ingraham family had been
numerous, but it was as square and austere as the builders could make
it. The roof ended exactly at the walls, which made it look, as Amy
said, "like a girl with her eyelashes cut off." There were no blinds or
shutters of any sort, and nothing to break the bleak winds which swept
down between the hills of Ardsley, and which nipped the life of any
brave green thing that tried to make a hold there. A few mullein stalks
were all that flourished, and the stunted fruit trees which Hallam had
noticed seemed but a pitiful parody upon the rich verdure of the
elsewhere favored region.
"Has nobody ever lived here since that wicked old man?"
"Oh, yes. I think so. But nobody for long, nor could anybody make it a
home."
"It looks as if it had been blue, up there by the roof."
"I believe it was. I've heard that every color possible was used in
painting it, so as to make it the more annoying to a person of good
taste, such as great-grandfather was."
"Heigho! Well, _we've_ got to live here."
"Or die. It's hopeless. I can't see a ray of light in the whole
situation."
"You dear old bat, you should wear specs. I can see several rays. I'll
count them off. Ray one: the ugly all-sorts-of-paint has been washed
away by the weather. Ray two: the air up here is as pure as it's sharp,
and there's nothing to obstruct or keep it from blowing your 'hypo'
away. Ray three: there are our own darling burros already helping to
'settle' by mowing the weeds with their mouths. What a blessing is
hunger, rightly utilized! And, finally, there's that
worth-her-weight-in-gold Goodsoul waving her pudding-stick, which in
this new, unique life of ours must mean 'breakfast.' Come along. Heigho!
Who's that? Our esteemed political friend, 'Rep-Dem-Prob.' I'd forgotten
him. Now, by the lofty bearing with which he ascends to our castle of
discontent, I believe he's been out 'marching.'"
It was, indeed, Fayette whom they saw climbing over the rocks. He wore
his oilcloth blouse and his gay helmet, and soon they could hear his
rude voice singing and see the waving of his broom.
"He? Coming back again? Why, we can't keep him. We can't even 'keep'
ourselves."
"Yet never a doubt I doubt he means to tarry," quoted Amy, laughing at
her brother's rueful countenance.