they had composed an epistle which was satisfactory to her though not to
her brother.
"It's nigh onto three o'clock, and I'm awful tired and sleepy," she
remarked, as at last they separated and sought their beds.
The next day Gotobed searched the town for letter paper and bought half
a quire of the best he could find.
During the next week all his leisure moments were spent in making
revised and improved copies of his and Rhoda Jane's joint composition.
He had used his last sheet, and seized with a fit of desperation, he
selected the one which seemed to him the least faulty and sent it by his
sister.
Mrs. Keith, opening the door in answer to Rhoda Jane's knock, was struck
with the peculiar expression of the girl's face--a mixture of pride,
condescension and exultation.
"Good evenin' Mis' Keith. Where's Mildred?" she said, stepping in and
glancing about the room with an air of importance, "I want to see her
pertickler; got somethin' fur her," and a conscious glance at the
missive in her hand enlightened the quick-witted lady as to its nature.
"Mildred is not at home," she said; "will not be until bedtime; but
anything you choose to leave with me will be given her on her return."
Rhoda Jane considered a moment. She felt a strong desire to deliver the
note into Mildred's own hand, and to watch her while reading it; but
should she carry it back Gote might change his mind and put off
indefinitely this business which she was so desirous to have carried
through at once.
She left it, though with evident reluctance.
She presently congratulated herself that she had done so. Gotobed,
eagerly awaiting her return, peering anxiously every other minute
through the smithy door, hailed her in breathless excitement.
"Well, what--what did she--"
"She wasn't there. She's gone out somewheres and won't be back till
bedtime."
"Give it to me then; quick!" and he held out his hand with a peremptory
gesture.
"I ain't got it," Rhoda Jane answered with a sardonic grin.
"Where is it? you ain't gone and left it," he cried aghast.
"Yes, I have; I give it to Mis' Keith."
Gotobed groaned. "I'd thought better of it; I'd throw it in the fire
this minute if I had it here. She'll think me a fool. I know she will!"
"If she does she's one," returned Rhoda Jane shortly, and left him to
his unavailing regrets.
How they tortured him! how could he bear the suspense.
Mildred was merciful and did not keep him in doubt any longer than
necessary. He found a letter next morning, in the post-office, with his
address upon it, written in a lady's delicate graceful hand.
His heart seemed to jump into his mouth at the sight. He almost snatched
it from the postmaster's hand, and without stopping to answer the
jesting remark of that functionary on his sudden accession of color,
hurried away, never stopping till he reached the privacy of his own
room, thankful that he succeeded in doing so without being seen by any
of the family.
But now it was a full minute ere he could summon courage to open the
missive and learn his fate. And even when it lay open before him he
passed his hand several times across his eyes as if to clear his sight.
Yet it was very plainly written;--also plainly expressed; a distinct,
decided, though very kindly rejection of his suit; the only reason given
that she could not love him and a loveless marriage could be fruitful of
nothing but misery to both parties.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Chapter Seventeenth.
"The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me."
--BAYLIE.
"GOTOBED LIGHTCAP, you're the biggest fool that ever was born!"
exclaimed the young blacksmith, between his clenched teeth, throwing
Mildred's dainty note upon the floor and grinding it with his heel,
while the hot blood surged over his swarthy face, which expressed in
every lineament intense mortification and chagrin. "You might 'a knowed
the likes o' her couldn't never fancy sech a ungainly, know nothin'
varmint as you be."
He dropped his face into his hands for a moment, groaning in spirit--for
the wound in his heart was deep as well as that to his pride.
"It does seem as if there warn't nothin' left in this world worth livin'
fur!" he sighed. "But then I'm not the feller to give up and die! I'll
fight it out an' get over it yet."
He picked up the letter and thrust it into his bosom, straightened
himself, went down into the smithy, and fell to work at his anvil,
dealing vigorous blows as if thus he would drive away the demon of
despair.
He ate little at dinner, and conscious that Rhoda Jane's sharp eyes were
upon him, scarcely lifted his from his plate.
He hurried back to his work. She followed him the next minute.
"So she's give you the mitten?"
"Who told you so?" he asked defiantly, standing before her with arms
folded and head erect, but reddening to his very hair.
"Humph! I ain't blind, and anybody could see it with half an eye. Well,
never you mind! you're a sight too good fur her, the--"
"Don't you call her no names now! I ain't agoin' to have it. It's me
that isn't fit to hold a candle to the like o' her, and had ought to had
sense enough to know it.
"Well, I didn't boast like Ransquattle; that's one small bit o' comfort
as things has turned out," he concluded moodily, picking up his hammer.
"How'd he take his mitten?" laughed Rhoda Jane. "Wouldn't I ha' liked to
seen him puttin' it on!"
"Take it! you never see anybody look so cheap as Nick when Mocker asked
him 'tother day when the weddin' was to come off. Then the fellers run
him ('twas at Chetwood and Mocker's store; I'd run in on a arrant fur
mother) and he growed thunderin' mad, and begun callin' her names till
Ormsby was ready to put him out--if he hadn't walked off hisself--and I
could 'a horse-whipped him with a right good will."
"Well, don't you go and break your heart fur her."
"I ain't a goin' to. There now, you'd better leave; fur I've a job on
hand."
The building lot selected by the Keiths was bought and fenced in almost
immediately, and men set to work at digging the cellar, and then putting
up the walls of the new house.
By dint of energetic oversight and urging on of the workmen, Mr. Keith
succeeded in having it roofed in before the first heavy fall of snow; so
that some advance could be made with the laying of floors, lathing,
etc., during the winter.
When spring came things took a fresh start; more men were employed and
every effort put forth by the owner, to have the building hurried on to
completion.
Each member of the family was deeply interested; the children made daily
journeys to the spot and all Rupert's leisure time was devoted to
digging, planting and other improvements of the grounds.
The boy was full of energy and fond of life in the open air. His garden
did him credit, supplying nearly all the vegetables wanted for family
use.
With some assistance from older heads and hands, he terraced the bank
overlooking the river, made steps down to the water's edge, where was a
fine spring, and built a small arbor and a spring-house.
The new dwelling would be hardly so large as the one they were to leave
for it, until an addition should be built, but of more sightly
appearance and far more conveniently arranged. Besides it was their own,
and who does not know the charm that ownership gives?
They were very impatient to get into it; and there was great rejoicing
among the children when at last the announcement was made that it was
fit for occupancy.
It was their father who brought the news into their reading and sewing
circle, one bright warm afternoon early in July.
"When shall we move, wife?" he asked.
"Oh to-night, to-night! please, mother say to-night," cried several
little voices.
Mrs. Keith laughed. "It is no such quick work, children."
"But we might bedin," said Don. "I'll take dis tat and tum back aden for
other tings," hugging up a large white and yellow cat that had been a
petted member of the household for some months past.
"H'm!" said Cyril, "Toy can take his own self; he's got more feet to run
with than any of the rest."
"And he always runs alongside wherever we goes," put in Fan. "Mother can
we help move?"
The question was unheard and remained unanswered; for the reason that
the older people were talking busily among themselves.
"I think we may begin to-morrow," Mrs. Keith was saying; "Celestia Ann
is through with her week's washing and ironing, and I'll set her and
Mrs. Rood both to cleaning the new house, while we pack up things here."
"Oh, goodie, goodie! mother, mayn't we all help!" chorused the children.
"We will see, dears; perhaps there may be some little things that you
can carry; your own toys you shall carry at any-rate, if you wish. Yes,
Stuart, I have had the parlor and one bedroom of the new house cleaned
already."
"O mother, can't we have this carpet taken up immediately--I mean go to
work and take it up--and have it shaken and carried right over there?
and perhaps we could get it down this afternoon, you and auntie and I;
and have the furniture of that room carried right into it to-morrow
morning, the first thing."
"A capital idea," her father said; "then we will have one room
comfortable there before all are torn up here. Come, children, scamper
out of the way! Wife; where's the tack hammer?"
"Oh, can't we help?" pleaded the children, "Where shall we go?"
"No, not with this. Go anywhere out of the way."
The order was obeyed somewhat reluctantly, all going out to the
adjoining room. Zillah and Ada stopped there and each took a book; the
younger three went up stairs.
"Let's pack up our things," said Cyril.
"What'll we pack 'em in?" queried Don.
"We'll see."
The boys got out their stores of marbles, balls, bits of twine, a broken
knife or two, a few fish hooks and a set of Jackstraws their father had
made for them.
Fan brought out her treasures also, which consisted of several dolls
and their wardrobes, a picture book and some badly battered and bruised
dishes; the remains of a once highly prized metal toy tea set.
A packing box in one corner of the large second story room was where the
playthings of the little ones were always kept when not in use. "A place
for everything and everything in its place," being one of the cardinal
rules of the household.
"Can we take 'em over there now?" asked Fan, as she gathered hers pell
mell into her apron.
"No, of course not," said Cyril. "Didn't you hear mother say we couldn't
begin moving till to-morrow?"
"Then what did we get 'em out for?"
"To pack 'em up and have 'em ready to take over in the morning."
"What'll we pack 'em in?" reiterated Don.
"Let's look round for a box 'bout the right size," said Cyril. "Course
we can't carry them in the big board one. It's too heavy."
A good deal of rummaging followed upon that; first in the outer room,
then in the other, occupied by Aunt Wealthy and Mildred.
Finally they came upon a pasteboard box standing on Mildred's writing
table, which Cyril pronounced just the thing.
"But maybe Milly won't like us to take it," objected Fan, as he
unceremoniously emptied the contents upon the table.
"Oh, she won't care; there's nothing in it but old papers and things
writed all over. She's done with them and she'll be puttin' them in the
fire next thing. You know she always likes to burn up old rubbish."
That last statement was certainly according to fact, and Fan made no
further objection.
Don suggested asking leave, but Cyril overruled that also.
"No; they're all too busy down there; we mustn't bother," he said,
walking off with his prize.
One paper had fallen on the floor. Fan stooped, picked it up and looked
at it curiously, as the boys hurried off into the other room with their
prize.
"Milly didn't do that," she remarked; "tain't pretty writin' like hers.
Guess she wouldn't want to keep such an ugly old thing."
"Come Fan," Cyril called, "do you want to put your things in too?"
"Yes;" she said, coming out with the letter still in her hand.
Fan's dolls were put in last and the box was too full to allow the lid
to go on.
"I'll take Bertha and carry her in my arms," she said, lifting out her
largest and favorite child. "I want her to play wis now and I'd raser
not trust her in dere wis dose marbles and balls rollin' round."
"Now the lid fits on all right," said Cyril, adjusting it.
"We're all packed up," observed Don, with satisfaction. "Now let's go
play in the grove."
The others were agreed and Fan decided that she must take with her two
small rag dolls in addition to Bertha.
Puss had come up stairs with the children and was walking round and
round them, as they sat on the carpet, rubbing affectionately against
them and purring loudly.
"Let's give 'em a ride on Toy's back," said Cyril. "Here's a string to
tie 'em on with, and this old letter shall be the saddle," picking up
the one Fan had brought from the other room, and which she had laid down
beside the box.
The others were pleased with the idea; Cyril twisted the letter into
some slight resemblance to a saddle, and in spite of a vigorous
resistance from the cat, tied it and the dolls pretty securely to her
back.
She was of course expected to go with or follow them as usual; but the
instant they released her she flew down the stairs, darted out of the
open kitchen door, tore across the yard and scaled the fence in a
twinkling.
The children pursued at their utmost speed, but Toy was out of sight
before they could descend the stairs.
"Well, I never! that 'ar cat must a gone mad," Celestia Ann was saying,
standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her gaze turned
wonderingly in the direction Toy had taken.
"Where? which way did she go?" asked the children breathlessly.
"Over the fence yonder, tearing like mad. She went like a streak o'
lightnin' through the kitching here, and I didn't see no more of her
after she clum the fence. She's got the hydrophoby bad, you may depend;
and I only hope she won't bite nobody, 'fore somebody knocks her in the
head."
"No, it's my dolls she's got," said Fan, who had not the slightest idea
what "hydrophoby" might be. "O, boys, hurry and catch her 'fore she
loses 'em," she called after her brothers as they renewed the pursuit,
hurrying across the yard and climbing the fence with a speed that did
credit to their ability in that line.
Fan stood beside it, gazing out anxiously through a crack between the
high, rough boards till the boys returned all breathless with running,
to report, "No Toy and no dolls to be seen anywhere."
"But don't cry," added Cyril, seeing Fan's lips tremble ominously;
"she'll come back when she wants her supper; you bet."
"It's wicked to bet," remarked Don virtuously.
"I didn't," said Cyril, "come let's go play in the grove. I'll bend down
a tree and give you a nice ride, Fan."
Gotobed Lightcap had just finished a job, and pausing a moment to rest,
was wiping the perspiration from his brow with a rather dilapidated
specimen of pocket-handkerchief, when a cat darted in at the open door,
ran round the smithy in a frightened way, then lay down on the floor and
rolled and squirmed kicking its feet in the air in the evident effort to
rid itself of something tied to its back.
With a single stride Gotobed was at the side of the struggling animal.
He took it up and in a few seconds had relieved it of its hated
incumbrance.
"It's them Keith children's pet cat," he said half aloud, "and they've
been a tyin' some of their doll babies onto it. There you kin go, puss;
don't take up yer lodgin' here; for we've cats enough o' our own.
"Eh! what's this?" as his eye fell on the letter and he recognized his
own awkward, ill-shaped hieroglyphics.
He felt his face grow very red and hot as he straightened it out upon
his knees, his heart fluttering with the thought of the possibility that
it might have been some little liking for the writer that had prevented
its immediate destruction.
There were some words in pencil along the margin; he held it up to the
light and slowly deciphered them.
He was not much accustomed to reading writing and this had become
slightly blurred: but he made it out clearly at last; a jesting remark
about his mistakes in spelling and grammar, which were many and glaring.
"I wouldn't ha' believed it of her!" he exclaimed, crimsoning with anger
and shame as he flung the torn and crumpled sheet into the fire of his
forge, the dolls after it.
He caught up his hammer and fell to work again, muttering to himself,
"It's her writin'; there can't be no mistake; fur it's just like what
she writ me afore. And I wouldn't a' believed it of her, I wouldn't; I
thought she'd a kind heart and would make allowance fur them that hasn't
had the same chance as her."
He had not been wrong in his estimate of Mildred. She would never have
wounded his feelings intentionally. She had a habit of writing her
thoughts on the margin of what she was reading, and the words had been
carelessly traced there with no expectation that they would ever be seen
by any eye but her own. Nor would they but for the mischievous meddling
of the children.
She set no value upon the letter; did not miss it till months
afterwards, and then supposed she had destroyed it, though she could not
distinctly remember having done so.
In the meantime Gotobed kept his own counsel, concealing his hurt as
well as he could and trying not to hate the hand that had inflicted it.
[Illustration]
Chapter Eighteenth.
"Farewell, a long farewell."
THE Keiths were scarcely more than well settled in their new home when
Miss Stanhope announced her intention of returning to Ohio almost
immediately.
This news was received by the family with something akin to
consternation. "How could they do without her?" they asked; "didn't
everybody need her every day of their lives, from father and mother down
to Annis?"
"Ah," she answered smiling, though her eyes were dim with unshed tears,
"you'll have each other and will soon find that you can get on very well
indeed without your blundering old auntie. But the question is how shall
she do without you? The old Lansdale home will be very lonely with no
little feet pit-patting about it."
"Then what makes you go, Aunt Wealthy?" chorused the children, clinging
to her with many a loving caress.
"I must, my darlings; there's business I have to attend to; and I feel
that the ague is breaking me down."
"I fear that is too true," Mrs. Keith said, with a strong effort to
speak cheerfully, "and therefore I will not entreat you to stay, dear
auntie; but rather urge your departure before the sickly season sets in.
"Though it just breaks my heart to think of the parting!" she added,
hurrying from the room to conceal her emotion.
"But you'll come back soon, won't you, auntie?" pleaded the children.
"Not very, I'm afraid, dears, it's a long and expensive journey."
"Too long for you to take alone, Aunt Wealthy," Mildred said. "I dread
it for you. I don't see how we can let you go without a protector."
"I shall not, child. Is not the promise to me, 'Behold, I am with thee,
and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest?' Yes; to me and to
each one of His children. So I am not afraid, and you need not fear for
me."
"Dear auntie, if the Saviour were here, I think he would say to you, 'O
woman, great is thy faith!'"
"My dear, I deserve no such commendation; my faith is often very weak.
But I want you to remember and try to realize that this almighty Friend
not only goes with me when I leave you, but stays with you also;
according to His gracious promise, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake
thee.'
"Troubles and trials will come and there are dark and stormy days in
every life--but 'as thy days so shall thy strength be.'
"I can not tell you, Mildred, how hard it is for me to leave you all,"
she continued, her voice trembling with emotion, "but it would be ten
times harder were it not that I know 'this God is our God forever and
ever;' and that 'he will be our guide even unto death.'"
"Aunt Wealthy," said Mrs. Keith coming in again, "Stuart and I have been
talking this over--this resolve of yours to return to Ohio--and he says
it will never do for you to attempt it without an escort."
"I shall be very glad of an escort, if there is one to be had," Miss
Stanhope answered; "but if not, I must even go without--trusting in
Providence."
"But you would wait a few weeks rather than go alone?"
"Certainly; God works by means, and we are to use them, while at the
same time we trust only in him."
"Stuart says the merchants will be going on East to buy their fall
goods. He will inquire among them and let you know."
"Ah yes; I think I heard Mr---- what's his name? Mimicker? Sneerer?"
"Mocker?" suggested Mildred with a smile.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Mocker, I heard him say something about it being his turn
this fall to lay in a new supply of goods."
"Ah, I hope it will turn out that you will have him for your escort,
Aunt Wealthy," said Mildred, "for I know that he will take the best
possible care of you. But do try, auntie, to get his name fixed in your
memory."
"That I will," Miss Stanhope answered with a good humored smile; "for he
might not fancy the synonyms of it; the meaning not being the most
complimentary in the world."
Mr. Keith brought home word that Mr. Mocker would leave for the East in
a fortnight and would be happy to take charge of Miss Stanhope.
Aunt Wealthy had always been very dear to these nieces and nephews, but
now that they were about to lose her, it seemed to them that they had
never realized half her worth.
They lingered near her, they hung upon her words and looks, and when the
time for parting came, clung about her with sobs and tears, loading her
with caresses, till she was forced to tear herself from their embraces
and hurry away.
The stage had drawn up before the gate; she hastened down the garden
path, the weeping children running after; Mr. Keith and Mr. Mocker
assisted her into the vehicle, the latter took his place by her side,
and in another moment she was whirled away out of sight, all drowned in
tears, and leaving the others in like condition.
"It seems just like a funeral!" sobbed Ada, "oh, will she never, never
come back any more!"
"Perhaps she may, dear," said the mother, wiping away her own tears, "we
will try to think so at least, and be cheerful and happy in looking
forward to that time. And in the meanwhile we may hope for a letter now
and then."
"Oh," cried Rupert, "that reminds me that there's a letter in the office
for you now, mother! I saw it there, but had no money with me to pay
the postage. If you'll give me the two shillings, I'll run and get it
now."
"Do so, my son," Mrs. Keith said, giving him the money. "I'm sorry you
forgot it and did not get it out in time for Aunt Wealthy to see it."
Letters were rarities in those days, and the older members of the family
awaited Rupert's return from the post-office with a good deal of
eagerness, not unmixed with anxiety.
He was not long gone for he too was curious in regard to it, desirous to
learn its contents and who was the writer.
"It's post marked Detroit," he said, delivering it to his mother. "I
can't think who'd be likely to write to any of us from there.
"Unless it might be Captain or Edward Wells," he added with a quizzical
glance at Mildred.
"The hand looks familiar," remarked Mrs. Keith carefully breaking the
seal; then opening out the sheet, "Horace Dinsmore!" she exclaimed, "And
he is coming to see us! Oh, what a pity that Aunt Wealthy has just
missed him!"
"A pity indeed!" echoed her husband. "But he may stay with us some
weeks, and perhaps take Lansdale on his way home."
"I hope he won't; won't stay here long, I mean," muttered Rupert in an
aside to Mildred. "I didn't like him the other time."
"Nor I, very much, but perhaps he has improved."
"Mother, who is he?" the younger ones were asking.
"My cousin; his mother and mine were sisters."
"Were? Aren't they now?" queried Zillah.
"Yes, dear, but they both went home to heaven many years ago. My mother
first--before Aunt Eva married Mr. Dinsmore and went away down south to
live.
"But wait till I have read the letter and then you may ask all the
questions you wish."
It was not a lengthy epistle. Mrs. Keith glanced over it, then read it
aloud. Its tone was cousinly and affectionate.
The writer stated that he had lately graduated from college and was now
taking a tour to rest and refresh himself after many months of hard
study; that he had arrived in Detroit, would tarry there a week and then
journey on into Indiana to visit his relatives in Pleasant Plains.