THE JOURNEY.
MARION had a very pleasant journey to New York, and spent an agreeable
day in seeing the wonders of the city. It might have been still more
agreeable but for one drawback. That was her dread of being taken for a
country girl; an absurd fear lest of all these thousands of people whom
she had never seen, and would never see again, somebody should think
that she—Marion McGregor—had not lived in the city all her life.
Now it is evident that of the thirty odd millions who inhabit these
United States, but a very small part can live in the city, nor is it
easy to see how any disgrace should attach to not living in the city;
but Marion could not help feeling that it would be a great misfortune
should she be suspected of coming from the country. Consequently she
was distressed every time her aunt looked into a shop window, and could
not enjoy her walk through Stewart's grand establishment, because she
was trying so hard to look as though she had seen it all before.
And after all, she had the mortification of overhearing her uncle say
to her aunt:
"Poor child, how terribly stiff and awkward she is! Cannot you give her
a hint not to look so like a wooden image?"
"I believe it would only make matters worse," said her aunt.
"Well, I can't help thinking it is well she is going to have a change."
"I am sure it is, for more reasons than one. It is Marion's
self-consciousness and sense of her own importance which makes her so
awkward and constrained. Therese Beaubien has had no more advantages
than Marion, and she would appear well anywhere."
So, that was all she got by being dignified, to be called stiff and
awkward! At dinner she went to the other extreme, and talked so much
and so loudly that Christian was obliged to check her. The check was
very gentle, but it sent Marion into a state of offended silence for
the rest of the evening, and a fit of crying when she went to bed.
The next morning Doctor Campbell found an acquaintance in a
Philadelphia gentleman, who was going for a part of the way by the
same road as Marion, and put her under his care. Before breakfast,
Aunt Christian entered Marion's room, carrying a very pretty leather
travelling-bag, and a writing-case which Marion had admired the day
before.
"I have brought you a little keepsake from uncle and myself," said she;
"see, can you put this in your trunk."
"Oh, Aunt Christian, how very pretty!" exclaimed Marion. "And what a
beautiful travelling-bag! Just exactly what I wanted. But what shall I
do with the old one? I don't see how I can carry them both; I believe I
will leave it."
"By no means; you will find it very convenient if you want to go away
for a night."
"But what will people think to see me with two travelling-bags?"
"Why, they will think you have two travelling-bags; what should they
think? Or who do you suppose will trouble themselves about the matter?
But if you are distressed about it, I will take possession of the old
bag myself. I am by far too old a traveller to be troubled by any kind
or amount of baggage. Dear me! When you have gone on a journey or two
with your own tents, portable cooking apparatus, bedsteads, and all
other conceivable furniture following you on the back of two or three
mules, and convoyed by a half a dozen rather more than half naked
muleteers, you will trouble yourself very little about an extra parcel
or two.
"So let me have the bag if you are afraid of it. I dare say I shall
find a use for it; but I advise you instead to keep it, and I will
have a nice lunch put up for you. Come now, it is time you were ready
for breakfast. Good-bye, Marion. Tell your father and mother we shall
come and make them a visit as soon as we get back from the West. And,
Marie dear, let me whisper one last word in your ear. Try not to think
of yourself and your own dignity; forget yourself in other people, and
don't be always looking out for Marion McGregor, and you will do very
well."
The Philadelphia gentleman proved to be a pleasant elderly clergyman,
who found Marion a seat on the right side of the car, gave her a
new magazine to amuse herself with, and then betook himself to his
newspaper. The day wore away very agreeably. Mr. Randall was a
pleasant, cultivated man, very polite, and treated Marion with the
sort of half-gallant half-paternal kindness which elderly gentlemen
are apt to assume towards young girls. He talked enough to keep Marion
from feeling lonely and embarrassed, pointed out objects of interest
along the road, told her odd and interesting anecdotes of his travels
in Europe and the East, and when lunch-time came presented her with
an orange and two bananas, which latter fruit Marion had never before
tasted.
Marion asked him to share the delicate lunch which Aunt Christian's
care had provided.
"No, thank you, my dear," replied Mr. Randall. "I shall be at home
before long, and I should only spoil my dinner. Luncheon is a meal only
thoroughly enjoyed by young folks. I see somebody I want to speak to,
so I will leave you to your repast."
And away went Mr. Randall, leaving Marion disturbed by the idea that
he considered her young, which as he was towards seventy, it is very
likely he did.
"I have been talking to the conductor about you, my dear," said Mr.
Randall when, he came back. "He is acquainted with your family, and
he tells me there is a lady on board who is going to the next station
to yours, so you will have company. You are sure you know where your
checks are—that's right. Don't lose them or your purse, and do just as
the conductor tells you, and you will be all right. Good-bye, and God
bless you."
Marion had no time to feel lonely, for at the moment they started, the
conductor came up with a pretty, delicate-looking woman.
"This is the young lady," said he.
"To be sure," said the stranger, pleasantly. "You are Marion McGregor,
my father-in-law's step-daughter. I knew you were expected. But you
don't know who I am, of course, I am Asahel Van Alstine's wife, and my
name is Gertrude. So I hope you will think of me as your sister."
Mrs. Gertrude's manner was very sweet, and she was both pretty and
elegant in appearance. Marion liked her at once.
"I suppose they will meet you at the Falls," continued Gertrude. "I
wonder they should let you come from New York alone."
"I did not come alone," said Marion. "Uncle Duncan put me under the
care of Doctor Randall."
"Yes, I know for part of the way, but I should have thought Harry might
have run up to New York. He goes often enough on his own errands. If
Asahel were not expecting me, I would go on to the Falls with you
myself. If the boys are not down, I don't know what you will do, for
there is no place to stay."
"Don't you think they will come to meet me?" asked Marion, rather
alarmed. "Uncle Duncan telegraphed from New York yesterday, and they
knew besides when I was coming."
"Oh yes, I dare say they will if the horses are not too busy. Father
Van Alstine doesn't like to have them taken away from their work. I
found that out when I lived there. You have never seen him, have you?"
"Never—but I have his picture in my book. He is a very handsome man, I
think."
"Handsome, oh yes, all the family are handsome except Amity, who isn't
really one of the family either, though I believe Father Van Alstine
thinks more of her than of all the rest put together. Oh yes, I think
Father Van Alstine means to do right, only he has a good deal to
contend with, and he is naturally overbearing—all the family have that
kind of temper. Amity is no exception there. But I dare say you will
get on very well, only you must be a little careful not to cross him.
I am glad you are come, I am sure, and I hope you will be a comfort to
mother, poor thing."
"Why do you say 'poor thing'?" asked Marion.
"Did I say so? Well, I didn't mean anything particular, only you
know she has a hard time of it of course, with all those rough noisy
boys—and perhaps she is not as good a manager as some. I used to try to
help her when I lived in the Valley, but it didn't answer very well. A
second wife you know is apt to be jealous of interference, and there
was Amity always at hand. But I dare say it will be different with you,
being her own daughter."
And so Mrs. Gertrude ran on, always speaking in the most friendly
tone of the whole of her husband's family, but managing to insinuate
something to the disadvantage of every one. Presently Marion asked some
question about the governess.
"The governess? Oh yes, I understand, you mean Mrs. Andrews. So they
call her a governess, do they? Well, that is a genteel way of putting
it."
"I don't know that any one used the word governess but myself," said
Marion, who began to be a little annoyed. "Mother said they had a
little family school and a very good teacher. I don't think they
mentioned her name at all."
"No, I dare say not. Well, her name is Mrs. Andrews, and she is a
widow, a cousin of the Overbecks, and has been a missionary somewhere."
"A missionary!" repeated Marion. "I wonder where! I wonder if Aunt
Christian knows her."
"Very likely. All that kind of people seem to know one another more or
less," said Mrs. Gertrude. "Well, Mrs. Andrews is a widow, as I said.
You will know that the first minute you see her, for she never appears
without being dressed in character. She is very handsome, very demure,
and I suppose an excellent teacher: every one says so. I know she has
all those boys under her thumbs from the oldest to the youngest in a
way that I shouldn't like if I were their mother. However, Father Van
Alstine sustains her through thick and thin, and perhaps it is just as
well that somebody should govern them."
"Does mother have good servants?" asked Marion, when she had a chance
to speak. "Or don't she keep any?"
"Oh, yes, she has two excellent girls, and old James is always
pottering about helping here and there. Between ourselves, though
I don't want to hurt your feelings, mother is no great things as a
housekeeper. She doesn't seem to notice things that would drive me half
crazy. Now, though I am sick a great deal and have nobody that compares
with Maggy, you don't see many cobwebs hanging about my house. But I
hope you will be a great help to her, only you must not be surprised
if you don't find things as you are used to seeing them. The boys have
the run of the house, and such places as they make of their rooms and
the sitting-room with bringing in all sorts of rubbish! To be sure Mrs.
Andrews puts them up to it, and mother is nobody against her. Well,
here is my station, so good-bye my dear. I see my husband is waiting
for me. We shall be over to see you in a few days."
Marion had just time to catch a bow from a tall man in linen clothes
before the train whirled on. They had half an hour's ride to the next
station, and in that time Marion had rearranged most all her ideas in
relation to the family she was going to see. Mr. Van Alstine was a
hard, severe man ruling his family with a rod of iron, but governed
by an artful, scheming widow. Amity was an interfering overbearing
woman, always meddling and making trouble. The boys were rude, lawless,
untaught savages, and her poor, gentle, weak-minded, mother was preyed
upon and tyrannized over by all in turn. It did not trouble Marion that
the different parts of this picture were as much out of drawing as
if her father had painted it. She would be the good angel who should
bring peace, and cast oil on the troubled waters. She would sustain and
strengthen her poor mother, and supply all her deficiencies by her own
ready tact; she would soften and conciliate the hard, severe father;
in short, all was to be made right and sweet and good, and she, Marion
McGregor, would do it all.
"We are coming to the station, miss," said the conductor presently.
"You had better be all ready, for we only stop a minute, and it is an
awkward place to get off. I hope your brother or some one will be on
hand; the Falls isn't just the place where I should like to leave a
young lady alone. Oh, yes, there he is; take care and step out on the
right side."
It was only a minute or two before the train swept on and left Marion
standing on a narrow platform, in company with her trunks and a tall,
dark young gentleman in a gray business-suit, who had helped her out.
"You are late; I began to think something had happened," said the
tall young man, not at all in the manner of a cub or a savage; "but
I must introduce myself. I am Harry Van Alstine, and you, I suppose,
are Marion. This is my brother Frank Van Alstine, and—hallo, old
fellow, don't be so demonstrative." The last words were addressed to an
immense dog of the mastiff persuasion, who, evidently thinking himself
neglected, pushed his way into the group and thrust his dark brindled
muzzle into Marion's hand.
"He wants to be introduced as well as the rest," said Frank. "This,
sister Marion, is Dog Van Alstine, commonly known as Trump, and one of
the most respectable and influential members of the family. And now,
Harry, I think we had better be going, for we shall hardly be home
before dark as it is."
"True," said Harry. "Marion, which trunk would you rather have first?
We can take one on the carriage, and the other will come with the team."
Marion found her voice and pointed out the trunk. She was vexed at
herself for feeling stiff, embarrassed and shy, when she meant to be
affable and amiable. The heiress of the McGregors had been so, and had
soon succeeded in setting the boys quite at their ease. But these boys
were quite at their ease already, and they were very different from
what she expected and from Mrs. Gertrude's description. Harry was fully
as elegant a young gentleman as Doctor Prince, who was the model young
man of Holford society, and she was obliged to own that Frank seemed as
nice a boy as she had ever seen.
[Illustration: _Heiress of McGregor._
Harry Van Alstine.]
"Now, are you afraid to stand here a few minutes while Frank and I put
on the trunk?" asked Harry. "And then we shall be ready to set out for
home."
Marion stood and looked about her at the odd place in which she found
herself.
In all my travelling, I have never seen a place which offered greater
facilities for the shipwreck of travellers than the station at the
Falls. The train draws up by a narrow platform. On one side is the
great, rushing, solemn river, about six feet below the track, with
no fence or guard, of any kind between. On the other a wide and deep
canal, between which and the train is the narrow platform aforesaid.
If you are absent-minded or near-sighted and step off the wrong side
of the car, you step into the river. If you go a little too far on the
right side, you walk straight into the canal.
A little way below a huge cliff rises apparently to heaven, feathered
here and there, where its perpendicular face is broken by a little
ledge, with shrubs and plant; wild vines and small evergreens. A
little stream falls down the precipice into the river, thus giving
a name to the place. The settlement consists of a shabby-looking
store or grocery, a still worse-looking tavern and a few more or less
forlorn-looking houses.
As Marion looked round her and noticed the appearance of the men who
lounged about the place, she did not wonder that the conductor did not
like the idea of leaving her there; her gold watch might have changed
hands without much ceremony.
"Now, Marion, if you will come this way," said Harry, appearing at the
end of the platform.
Marion did so, and soon found herself seated in a roomy, comfortable
sort of family carriage; one of her trunks was fastened on a rack
behind; the other was being loaded into a large wagon, drawn by four
handsome gray mules, profusely decorated with bells and red fringe.
Presently one of them opened his mouth, and gave vent to one of those
unearthly sounds between a yell and a bray in which mules are used to
express their emotions.
Marion started.
"What is that horrid noise?" she exclaimed.
"That is the melodious note of a mule," said Harry, laughing at her
astonished face. "I suppose you don't have many of them in your part
of the world; I remember hearing mother say she never saw one till she
came to the valley."
"I am sure I never did," said Marion. "They are very pretty, I think.
What cunning little feet they have!"
"Yes, we drive a pair in the carriage sometimes in dusty weather,
because they kick up so much less dust than horses. Van Alstine &
Overbeck have the finest mule teams in all the country," said Frank,
with evident pride. "They keep six four-mule teams at work all the
time."
"How gayly they are trimmed up!"
"That is the doing of the teamsters. They are very proud of their
teams, and spend a deal for bells and fringe and silver-plated buckles
to make them look pretty. All the mules live in our great barn, and it
is curious that while neither father nor Mr. Overbeck dare go into the
mule-barn, the children of the teamsters run in and out and attend to
the mules quite fearlessly, and no harm comes to them. But come, Frank,
start up a little. We are rather late now; mother will be worried, and
I am sure Marion must be very tired."
"How is mother?" asked Marion, beginning to feel a little more at her
ease.
"Pretty well, only tired. We have had a great deal of company this
summer. When Mrs. Andrews is with us, she saves mother a great deal,
but she has been away for three or four weeks."
"Of course we all help mother all that we can, but it isn't like having
a girl in the family," said Frank, stopping his horses a moment as he
reached the top of the long hill. "Don't you want to stand up and look
back a little? There is such a fine view."
Marion did so, and beheld a beautiful prospect of river, mountains,
and valley, all lighted to a golden glow by the setting sun. She had a
keen eye for the picturesque, and admired the view to the young man's
content.
"You are used to higher mountains than these," said Harry.
"Yes, but not such a river," said Marion. "How grand it is!"
"Isn't it?" said Frank, delighted. "Some day father will take you down
and show you the Wyoming valley; and now if you will sit down, I will
hurry up a little, for I want to get through the big woods before it is
quite dark."
"Why," asked Marion, who had been rather hoping for an adventure ever
since she had left home; "are they dangerous in any way?"
"Oh, no. There are no wolves nor bears, at least not in summer, and no
highwaymen, but the road is none of the best in some places," answered
Frank. "In fact it is decidedly bad, but you need not be alarmed if we
jolt a little. The old ark is very substantial."
Accustomed to mountain roads, Marion did not find the roughness of the
present track at all alarming. She was too tired to care about talking,
and besides, to her own vexation, she felt rather shy of the tall,
handsome driver. She had meant to be very gracious and conciliating
to the awkward, overgrown boys she expected to meet, but somehow the
awkwardness had been all on her own side. She began to feel that her
family picture would need much retouching, if not painting entirely
anew. But she did not care to undertake the task at present.
She leaned back in the carriage, tired and sleepy, but yet enjoying the
sweetness of the forest air loaded with the scent of the evergreens,
and listening to the loud woodland chorus in which crickets, katy-dids,
and whip-poor-wills bore the principal part, while an owl occasionally
volunteered a solo.
"What thick woods!" said she at last.
"We are just in the edge of the great woods," said Harry. "I will take
you through them some day. But we are almost at home now. See, there is
the top of our stack just over the hill, and the house is not far away."
"I don't see any stack," said Marion, looking out. "I see the top of
what looks like an iron chimney."
"Yes, that is what he means, the smoke-stack of the factory. We shall
soon be at the house, and then you will see what a lot of brothers
you have," added Frank, laughingly. "Mother would let nobody come but
Harry and me, because she said you were not used to boys, and would be
frightened. Hallo, there's Hector looking out. Open the gate, will you,
old fellow!"
Another black-haired boy, who was evidently on the watch, swung
open the gate, and then ran into the house. Frank turned into a
carriage road and drew up at the side door of a large house with
brightly-lighted windows. The door was open and the hall seemed crowded
with people; a tall, dark-bearded man came forward to help her out, and
her mother stood on the verandah.
"Gently, boys, don't all speak at once! Let mother have the first
chance," said Mr. Van Alstine, shaking Marion by the hand and kissing
her cheek. "Marion, my girl, you are welcome home!"
In the course of five minutes Marion had shaken hands with what seemed
to her agitated senses at least a dozen of boys, and was carried
forward into a large and light dining-room handsomely furnished and
with the table spread for supper. But she could eat hardly a mouthful
of the dainty meal set before her. It seemed as if she had come away
from all her old life into a new world. A sudden feeling of forlorn
homesickness came over her, and, greatly to her own disgust, she burst
into a fit of hysterical tears.
"You are so tired, poor child!" said her mother tenderly. "You shall
go straight to bed and not see another soul to-night. Run up before,
Hector; shut the blinds in sister's room and light the lamp. Come,
Marie dear—they call you 'Marie,' I suppose. You shall go to bed and
have a good long sleep, and you will be all right in the morning. See,
this is your room, and I hope you will like it."
Marion tried to check her tears enough to murmur that it was very nice,
but she really was tired out and hardly noticed anything save that the
bed was delightfully soft and comfortable.
"Don't hurry in the morning; I will call you in time," said her mother,
kissing her. "You will hear the whistle at five, but you need not move.
Good-night, my love. I hope you will sleep well and be quite refreshed
in the morning. Good-night."