Granny was very much surprised when they trooped in to tell her that a
tennis ball had just found Joan's father, and that he was not a German
but a good Luxembourger. The width of a river had kept him from being a
German. Granny knew little more of Luxembourg than Rebecca Mary, but she
"oh'd" and "ah'd" before she looked at Frederick Befort and said slowly:
"You are quite sure you are from the Luxembourg side of that river?"
Frederick Befort's eyes never wavered as he looked at her. "Quite sure.
There was a time when I regretted that I did not belong on the other
side of the river. You know I went to school in Germany, in Bonn, and I
had many German friends. The old emperor was a friend of my
grandfather's. I was named for him; and the present emperor has visited
us at Echternach."
"That is why he made you an eagle, isn't it?" Joan broke in, eager to
have a share in these interesting explanations.
"Indirectly, yes." He smiled at her as she stood beside him. "I was able
to arrange a very successful wild boar hunt and the kaiser was so
pleased that he decorated me. He was with us for several days and made
excursions all over the duchy. It was as if he wished to learn every
road and mountain path. We thought nothing of it then, fools that we
were! I even put on the Prussian uniform of one of the officers and wore
it at the costume ball that my wife gave in his honor." So that was why
he had been photographed in a Prussian uniform. Rebecca Mary's eyes
crinkled. "There always has been a close relation between Luxembourg and
Germany," he went on, and a frown chased the smile from his face.
"Before our present grand duchess came to the throne German influence
was supreme, most of our trade was with Germany, our railroads were
developed with German money and by Germans, but in our hearts we had no
love for Germany. And then came the day when the German army would have
marched through the duchy and our grand duchess, brave little Marie
Louise Adelheid, motored out to forbid them to use her country as a
thoroughfare. She had her car turned across the road to bar their
entrance, and the German officers laughed at her. Laughed at her,
madame! They told her to go home. What could Marie Louise Adelheid do?
We had an army of three hundred, only a palace guard and a military
band," he laughed bitterly. "We were not soldiers, we were farmers.
Germany knew that. And our little grand duchess had to go home. It would
have been useless to resist. Germany would have devastated Luxembourg as
she devastated Belgium. But I have it in my heart to wish that we had
resisted, that we had fought and died as the Belgians did. The Germans
have used Luxembourg as they pleased. For fifty years our capital was
garrisoned by German troops. They left an odious memory and the German
soldiers who have swarmed over the duchy since 1914 are even more
odious. No, madame, you need not ask. No people hate Germany as do we of
Luxembourg."
His words sounded brave and true, and his face looked brave and true.
His eyes flashed fire. It was easy to believe that he would rather have
fought and died than to have yielded to the German hordes.
"We are small," he said more quietly, "but we are rich. Germany wanted
us, she wanted our iron, our factories, but she did not get them. No!
You see, madame, I have changed my mind. I no longer believe that I was
born on the wrong side of the Sure. I thank God now that there is no
German blood in my veins!"
"You should," nodded Granny, "Men of German blood, and women, too, will
have to pay a fearful price for their nationality, the price of a world
hatred. That is a dreadful thing, to be hated by a whole world." She
shivered as she thought what a dreadful thing it would be.
"How can it be otherwise?" Frederick Befort shrugged his shoulders. "If
you had seen what I have seen----" He broke off with a shudder.
Granny leaned forward and put her hand on his. "It is strange that we
should find you here," she said after a moment. "Providence has queer
ways of bringing people together. It would have seemed easier to have
introduced us that afternoon we were all in the Viking room at the
Waloo."
"On my birthday," Joan whispered to her father, "Miss Wyman was there
and Granny Simmons and young Mr. Simmons, and, oh, everybody."
"It might have been easier but would it have been as thrilling?" Rebecca
Mary was almost faint from the thrills of the afternoon. "We might never
have had such wonderful times if we had met that day at the Waloo." She
drew a long breath as she thought of the wonderful times which had
followed that tea hour.
Granny smiled at her, so did young Peter and Frederick Befort, and
unconsciously they all promised Rebecca Mary more wonderful times.
Enthusiasm does make people so much more generous than quiet acceptance.
"Then, perhaps Joan is right and you are really Count Ernach de Befort?"
laughed Granny. "We thought the child was romancing."
"Yes, in Luxembourg I am a count but in America I like best to be just
Mr. Befort." And Mr. Befort looked almost apologetic.
For the first time in her life Rebecca Mary knew what it was to be a
popular girl. As she had told Granny, since she had been in Waloo she
had known no men over eight years of age and while the boys in her third
grade were interesting and dear they were young. Here at Riverside,
where she was a prisoner, Rebecca Mary found three most attractive men
of exactly the right age, Peter Simmons, Wallace Marshall and George
Barton, and one very fascinating older man, Frederick Befort, who was a
count in his own country, a country which Rebecca Mary scarcely knew by
name.
Busy as the men were over the experiment which was to be such a boon to
the world, they found many hours in which to walk with Rebecca Mary, to
play tennis with her, to talk with her, to dance with her while the
victrola played a new fox trot, or to ride with her around the farm on
the fat horses which Peter borrowed from the farmer. Each one of them
showed Rebecca Mary very plainly that there was no other girl in his
world, as indeed there wasn't just then, and Rebecca Mary, to her
undying astonishment, discovered that she could flirt and play one man
against another as well as any woman. She scarcely had time to record
the payments on her memory insurance policy she was so busy making them.
And if the three younger men admired her for her youth and sex and gay
enthusiasm, Frederick Befort revered her for her kindness to Joan. When
he was not absorbed in the experiment or at the shop, where he worked
with a detached interest to the world around him, which would have made
Granny and Rebecca Mary understand many things about Joan which they had
not understood, he had to think of what might have happened if Rebecca
Mary had not accepted the loan of Joan. His gratitude was sometimes
embarrassing and always thrilling to Rebecca Mary, who often had to
pinch herself to make sure that she really was Rebecca Mary Wyman. She
told herself a dozen times a day that, of course, it was because she was
the only girl at Riverside that every one was so perfectly wonderful to
her, but she liked to pretend that it was because she was so beautiful
and fascinating. At heart Rebecca Mary was not a bit conceited. Her life
never had let her accumulate enough vanity to balance on the point of a
pin. And if you had told her that really she was very pretty and very
charming she would have laughed at you.
She liked them all, even old Major Martingale, whom she had identified
as the short, stout, red-faced man who had consumed such quantities of
hot buttered toast that afternoon at the Waloo. She discovered that
Wallie Marshall and George Barton had been in the tea room on that
memorable afternoon also and it did seem strange, as Granny had said
that Fate should bring them together again in this fashion. Never for a
moment did Rebecca Mary suspect that Major Martingale had slipped the
four-leaf clover into her hand, but she did wonder if one of the others
had. She did not want to ask them outright, that would have ended,
perhaps spoiled, the delightful mystery. She would have to wait and the
waiting was proving very enjoyable. Once Rebecca Mary had hoped that it
was Peter who had given her the talisman but now she wished it was
Frederick Befort. It would be so romantic when she was sixty to remember
that it had been Count Ernach de Befort. Dear me, but Rebecca Mary was
glad that Cousin Susan had been so foolish as to spend her kitchen
curtains for two cups of tea.
And while Rebecca Mary was the belle of Riverside, Granny took the rest
cure.
"It's a heaven sent chance," she told Rebecca Mary and Peter. "I was in
such a whirl all through the war that I'm still wound up in a hard knot.
I'm sorry we didn't get to Seven Pines but I'll just rest here for a few
days and perhaps I'll be in a good condition to enjoy my golden
wedding."
"Grandfather----" began Peter, but she cut him short.
"Don't say grandfather to me, Peter Simmons. When you've been married
fifty years less a few weeks you'll understand more than your
grandfather ever understood if I know anything of the modern girl. Won't
he, Rebecca Mary?"
"I don't know how much his grandfather understands." Rebecca Mary was
proving every day what a help she would be to a diplomatic corps.
"He doesn't understand anything about women," grumbled Granny.
She did not come down to breakfast but let Rebecca Mary take a tray to
her room and after she had eaten her berries and toast and drunk her
coffee she exchanged her bed for a couch in the sun room, where she
dozed until luncheon, when she appeared in the dining room to be
received like a queen. A nap over a novel filled the afternoon, and
after dinner she always played three games of double Canfield with Major
Martingale, who frowned blackly over the first game, was puzzled at the
second and smiled broadly at the third, which Granny always let him win.
"That keeps him in a good humor," she explained to Rebecca Mary. "Men
have to be managed even over a game of cards."
She took Rebecca Mary over the house and showed her the original part
which had been built by the great grandfather of Richard and Joshua
Cabot.
"He was one of the big pioneers of the northwest," she said. "He came
from Pennsylvania in the early forties as an Indian trader. Later he
went into the transportation business. He used wagons first, those queer
Red River carts. You've seen them at state celebrations?" Rebecca Mary
nodded. She remembered the quaint two-wheeled squeaky carts if she
didn't remember the Cabots. "Old Mr. Cabot built here when the state was
still a territory, and from an historical standpoint I suppose there
isn't a more interesting house in the northwest. Councils of war,
political rallies, balls, celebrations of every sort were held in these
rooms. He entertained all the important people who came to the
northwest. His wife was the daughter of a rival French trader, and
Joshua Cabot's grandfather was prouder of his French blood than he was
of what his father had done to open up a new country. I think Richard is
like the old Pennsylvanian," she went on thoughtfully. "More so than
Joshua or any of the others. I expect he will do something big some
day."
"I should say he has done something big already," exclaimed Rebecca
Mary, rather surprised to find herself championing Richard Cabot. "There
aren't many men of his age who are vice-presidents of a bank like the
First National. And Peter told me how splendid he was at selling Liberty
bonds."
"That's true," admitted Granny soberly, and she carefully hid the
twinkle in her eyes from Rebecca Mary. "And banks and bonds are not the
only things that interest Richard. I used to think they were. But
they're not."
"Yes?" questioned Rebecca Mary politely, but she was too polite, and too
unconcerned. Granny refused to tell her what, with stocks and bonds,
shared Richard's interest. Rebecca Mary had to guess what Granny meant.
It was astonishing how often they talked of Richard, or would have been
astonishing if they had not been prisoners in Richard's
great-grandfather's old house.
No one came to Riverside as one day ran after another. They were quiet
and restful days for Granny, but far from quiet or restful to Rebecca
Mary and Joan. Joan made friends with the farmer's wife and the farmer's
eight months' old baby and a maltese cat, and she deserted Rebecca Mary
for the farmhouse. There were chickens at the farmhouse which Joan was
allowed to feed if Mrs. Erickson did not have to say "don't" too many
times, and a shaggy dog and a flock of young turkeys as well as the
baby, which Joan was permitted to hold if she was sure that her hands
were clean.
Bread and milk may be a healthy change from lobster à la Newburg and
chiffonade salad, but to a palate accustomed to the rich food a simple
fare soon palls. Before many days Granny began to feel so rested that
she was not satisfied to lie in the sun room and doze. She began to
wonder what old Peter Simmons was doing, what he had said when Pierson
delivered her message the night he came home on the eleven fifty-five
and found her gone, and to wonder last of all if she had been wise to
run away. Her conscience began to prick and prick hard. At last she went
to Sallie Cabot's pretty writing table.
"My dear old Peter," she began, "of course Pierson told you that I
had left for Seven Pines with a couple of young friends. I did not
wait to see you for several reasons. If you take time to think you
will know why I felt that I had to go to Seven Pines just now. Do
take care of yourself. I shall die if anything should happen to
spoil our golden wedding. I've looked forward to it for over fifty
years."
She signed herself "Your affectionate wife," with a little grunt and
sigh and then she carefully tore the "Riverside" mark from the paper.
She folded her letter and put it in a plain envelop, which she inclosed
in a second envelop, which was addressed to the housekeeper at Seven
Pines. She gave the letter to Peter and told him that as he had
bothered her so unceasingly she had written to his grandfather and the
letter could be sent if it could go by way of Seven Pines.
Peter seemed quite sure he could have it sent that way. "Good work,
Granny!" He patted her shoulder approvingly. "You won't be sorry," he
promised.
"I hope I shan't," sighed Granny.
"She's a good old sport," Peter told Rebecca Mary when he had his turn
for a dance or a walk and they chose a walk down by the river. "I
honestly didn't think she'd do it, but she did. Of course----" He
stopped suddenly and called her attention to the hollyhocks, like pink
and white sentinels.
Rebecca Mary was not to be diverted by pink or white hollyhocks. "Yes?
You were saying----"
"Nothing, that is, nothing of any consequence," he told her hurriedly.
"I say what was old Wallie telling you before dinner that made you both
howl? I haven't heard a good joke for some time and that must have been
a scream from the way you two chortled."
But if Peter wouldn't tell her she wouldn't tell him. "I don't feel at
liberty to repeat Mr. Marshall's jokes," she said very loftily.
"Now you're testy and it isn't my fault. I say, you know, you're not
the girl you were in Waloo," reproachfully. "You wouldn't have exploded
at nothing in Waloo," he complained.
It was only the truth. Rebecca Mary was not the same girl she had been
in Waloo. She knew it as well as he did and laughed triumphantly. She
was so glad she was not that old scowling shabby Waloo girl. The soft
low laugh rather went to Peter's head. He put out his hand and took
Rebecca Mary's fingers in his warm palm.
"I say," he began a bit huskily, "you shouldn't look at a fellow like
that. You--you----"
"Yes?" Rebecca Mary dared him with a racing heart.
"Hi there, Simmons! Miss Wyman!" shouted a voice behind them and there
was Wallie Marshall, all indignation. "You think a fat lot of yourself,
don't you?" he said to Peter with some heat, "to run off with all the
partners at this dance. What do you think you are? Come this way, Miss
Wyman. I found a corking place among the willows this afternoon when I
was fishing. Let us see how it looks by moonlight."
"It looks beautiful," Rebecca Mary told him when they had found the
corking place. She had been rather glad to run away with him from Peter.
As soon as she had dared Peter she was sorry, afraid, for a girl never
knows what will happen when she dares a man. "All shined up with the
best silver polish. It should be inhabited by fairies."
"I guess there isn't any fairy that has anything on you," stammered
Wallie. "You make a fellow like me feel so clumsy and rough."
"Clumsy! Rough! You!" The three exclamations told his scarlet ears that
Rebecca Mary did not think he was either the one or the other.
He drew closer. "I say, you're a wonder, all right. My word!" He drew a
deep breath. "But I'm glad you dropped in here. Just imagine if we had
never met!" He couldn't imagine it. It was too horrible.
"We might have run across each other somewhere else," suggested Rebecca
Mary. "The Waloo tea room perhaps. Strange things have happened there."
She giggled as she remembered one of the strange things.
He shook his head. "No other place would be like this, where I can see
such a lot of you. I hope you don't think it's too much?" He was seized
with a sudden fear. "I don't bore you, do I?"
She assured him that he didn't. He hadn't bored her for a second. He
beamed, but he could not leave well enough alone.
"Then you like to be with me as much as with Simmons?" he asked
jealously.
"Don't incriminate yourself, Miss Wyman," advised George Barton, who had
come up behind them. "Cut along, Wallie. You're through."
"Through!" shouted the indignant Wallie.
George turned away from him. "Strange effect the moonlight has, Miss
Wyman. See that bush over there? Doesn't it cast a shadow like a
fool's-cap on the head of our friend, Wallie?"
She laughed, she couldn't help it, and when he heard her Wallie groaned
and walked away.
"This is better." George twisted himself on the garden seat so that he
could look up into Rebecca Mary's dimpling face. "Gee, but we have had a
day!"
"Didn't things go well?" Rebecca Mary knew no more about the work which
took the men over to the shop and sent them back to her than she did the
day she had come to Riverside, but she always was interested to hear
them mention it.
"Oh, yes, well enough, but don't let's talk about that now that I have
found the girl and the time and the place. Moonlight is awfully becoming
to you, Miss Wyman, you should always wear it. It makes you shimmer and
sparkle."
"Too bad I can't buy a few yards to put away."
"You don't really need it. I've seen you sparkle quite fetchingly in the
sunlight. You know you're different from any girl I ever knew," he went
on with a curious wonder that he had found Rebecca Mary so different.
"In what way?" Rebecca Mary always had thought that she was different
and, oh, how she wanted to be like other girls.
"In what way?" he repeated as if it should be as plain to her as it was
to him. "Why, other girls--other girls are just nowhere beside you!"
"Oh!" Rebecca Mary was quite willing to be unlike other girls in the way
described by his deep drawn breath and flushed face, but she looked at
him provokingly and murmured sadly: "That might be taken in two ways."
Before he could tell her that it most certainly could be taken in but
one way, Joan pushed through the shrubbery to announce excitedly that
Ben had made some ice cold lemonade and if they wanted any they had
better run, for Mr. Marshall said he was thirsty from his head to his
heels, and Mr. Marshall was six feet three inches tall and the lemonade
pitcher wasn't more than eighteen inches. Mr. Marshall had said so. A
scant eighteen inches, he had said.
"Mercy, mercy, Joan!" Rebecca Mary caught her hand. "Let's fly!"
And away they dashed by the snapdragons, by the foxgloves and the
hollyhocks, by the pool to the rose tangled terrace where the
six-foot-three Mr. Marshall waited triumphantly beside the scant
eighteen-inch lemonade pitcher.
Frederick Befort waited there, too, and when Rebecca Mary, pink and
breathless, murmured something about the roses, he drew her into a
fragrant corner to tell her of the wonderful roses which have made
Luxembourg famous, for there are roses everywhere, climbing the garden
walls, the houses, the battlements and the towers. It made her flush and
sigh to hear of the beauty of that rose garlanded city, and suddenly he
flushed, too, and began hurriedly to talk of the eight hundred primary
schools in which education is compulsory, for education is much thought
of in the little duchy. And later, oh, much later, as Rebecca Mary
brushed her hair before the mirror, she told her smiling reflection that
she never had realized what a fascinating subject education could be.