THE INVASION OF MILLVILLE
Over the brow of the little hill appeared a three-seated wagon, drawn by
a pair of handsome sorrels, and in a moment the equipage halted beside
the sleeper.
"Oh, Thomas Hucks--you dear, dear Thomas!" cried a clear, eager voice,
and out from the car rushed Miss Patricia Doyle, to throw her arms about
the neck of the old, stoop-shouldered and white-haired driver, whose
face was illumined by a joyous smile.
"Glad to see ye, Miss Patsy; right glad 'ndeed, child," returned the old
man. But others were waiting to greet him; pretty Beth De Graf and
dainty Louise Merrick--not Louise "Merrick" any longer, though, but
bearing a new name she had recently acquired--and demure Mary, Patsy's
little maid and an old friend of Thomas Hucks', and Uncle John with his
merry laugh and cordial handshake and, finally, a tall and rather
dandified young man who remained an interested spectator in the
background until Mr. Merrick seized and dragged him forward.
"Here's another for you to know, Thomas," said the little millionaire.
"This is the other half of our Louise--Mr. Arthur Weldon--and by and by
you can judge whether he's the better half or not."
The aged servant, hat in hand, made a respectful bow to Mr. Weldon. His
frank eyes swept the young man from head to foot but his smile was the
same as before.
"Miss Louise is wiser ner I be," said the old fellow simply; "I'm safe
to trust to her jedgment, I guess."
There was a general laugh, at this, and they began to clamber aboard the
wagon and to stow away beneath the seats the luggage the colored porter
was bringing out.
"Stop at the Junction House, Thomas," said Mr. Merrick as they moved
away.
"Nora has the breakfast all ready at home, sir," replied Thomas.
"Good for Nora! But we can't fast until we reach home--eight good miles
of jolting--so we'll stop at the Junction House for a glass of Mrs.
Todd's famous milk."
"Very good, sir."
"Is anyone coming for our trunks and freight? There's half a car of
truck to be carted over."
"Ned's on the way, sir; and he'll get the liveryman to help if he can't
carry it all."
The Junction House was hidden from the station by the tiny hill, as were
the half dozen other buildings tributary to Chazy Junction. As the wagon
drew up before the long piazza which extended along the front of the
little frame inn they saw a man in shabby gray seated at a small table
with some bread and a glass of milk before him. It was their
unrecognized guest of the night--the uninvited lodger on the rear
platform--but he did not raise his eyes or appear to notice the new
arrivals.
"Mrs. Todd! Hey, Mrs. Todd!" called Uncle John. "Anybody milked the cow
yet?"
A frowsy looking woman came out, all smiles, and nodded pleasantly at
the expectant group in the wagon. Behind her loomed the tall, lean form
of Lucky Todd, the "proprietor," who was serious as a goat, which animal
he closely resembled in feature.
"Breakfas' all 'round, Mr. Merrick?" asked the woman.
"Not this time, Mrs. Todd. Nora has our breakfast waiting for us. But we
want some of your delicious milk to last us to the farm."
"Las' night's milkin's half cream by this time," she rejoined, as she
briskly reentered the house.
The man at the table held out his empty glass.
"Here; fill this up," he said to Lucky Todd.
The somber-faced proprietor turned his gaze from the Merrick group to
the stranger, eyed him pensively a moment and then faced the wagon
again. The man in gray got up, placed the empty glass in Todd's hand,
whirled him around facing the door and said sternly:
"More milk!"
The landlord walked in like an automaton, and a suppressed giggle came
from the girls in the wagon. Uncle John was likewise amused, and despite
the unknown's frazzled apparel the little millionaire addressed him in
the same tone he would have used toward an equal.
"Don't blame you, sir. Nobody ever tasted better milk than they have at
the Junction House."
The man, who had resumed his seat, stood up, took off his hat and bowed.
But he made no reply.
Out came Mrs. Todd, accompanied by another frowsy woman. Between them
they bore a huge jug of milk, a number of thick glasses and a plate of
crackers.
"The crackers come extry, Mr. Merrick," said the landlady, "but seein'
as milk's cheap I thought you might like 'em."
The landlord now came out and placed the stranger's glass, about half
filled with milk, on the table before him. The man looked at it,
frowned, and tossed off the milk in one gulp.
"More!" he said, holding out the glass.
Todd shook his head.
"Ain't no more," he declared.
His wife overheard him and pausing in her task of refilling the glasses
for the rich man's party she looked over her shoulder and said:
"Give him what he wants, Lucky."
The landlord pondered.
"Not fer ten cents, Nancy," he protested. "The feller said he wanted ten
cents wuth o' breakfas', an' by Joe he's had it."
"Milk's cheap," remarked Mrs. Todd. "It's crackers as is expensive these
days. Fill up his glass, Lucky."
"Why is your husband called 'Lucky,' Mrs. Todd?" inquired Patsy, who was
enjoying the cool, creamy milk.
"'Cause he got me to manage him, I guess," was the laughing reply. "Todd
ain't much 'count 'nless I'm on the spot to order him 'round."
The landlord came out with the glass of milk but paused before he set it
down.
"Let's see your money," he said suspiciously.
It seemed to the girls, who were curiously watching the scene, that the
tramp flushed under his bronzed skin; but without reply he searched in
a pocket and drew out four copper cents, which he laid upon the table.
After further exploration he abstracted a nickel from another pocket and
pushed the coins toward the landlord.
"'Nother cent," said Todd.
Continued search seemed for a time hopeless, but at last, in quite an
unexpected way, the man produced the final cent and on receiving it Todd
set down the milk.
"Anything more, yer honor?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yes; you might bring me the morning paper," was the reply.
Everyone except Todd laughed frankly at this retort. Uncle John put two
silver dollars in Mrs. Todd's chubby hand and told Thomas to drive on.
"I dunno," remarked old Hucks, when they were out of earshot, "whether
that feller's jest a common tramp or a workman goin' over to the paper
mill at Royal. Jedgin' from the fact as he had money I guess he's a
workman."
"Wrong, Thomas, quite wrong," said Beth, seated just behind him. "Did
you notice his hands?"
"No, Miss Beth."
"They were not rough and the fingers were slender and delicate."
"That's the mark of a cracksman," said Arthur Weldon, with a laugh. "If
there are any safes out here that are worth cracking, I'd say look out
for the gentleman."
"His face isn't bad at all," remarked Patsy, reflectively. "Isn't there
any grade between a workman and a thief?"
"Of course," asserted Mr. Merrick, in his brisk way. "This fellow,
shabby as he looked, might be anything--from a strolling artist to a
gentleman down on his luck. But what's the news, Thomas? How are Ethel
and Joe?"
"Mr. an' Mrs. Wegg is quite comf't'ble, sir, thank you," replied old
Hucks, with a show of eagerness. "Miss Ethel's gran'ther, ol' Will
Thompson, he's dead, you know, an' the young folks hev fixed up the
Thompson house like a palace. Guess ye'd better speak to 'em about
spendin' so much money, Mr. Merrick; I'm 'fraid they may need it some
day."
"Don't worry. They've a fine income for life, Thomas, and there will be
plenty to leave to their children--if they have any. But tell me about
the mill at Royal. Where _is_ Royal, anyhow?"
"Four mile up the Little Bill Creek, sir, where the Royal Waterfall is.
A feller come an' looked the place over las' year an' said the pine
forest would grind up inter paper an' the waterfall would do the
grindin'. So he bought a mile o' forest an' built a mill, an' they do
say things is hummin' up to the new settlement. There's more'n two
hundred hands a-workin' there, a'ready."
"Goodness me!" cried Patsy; "this thing must have livened up sleepy old
Millville considerably."
"Not yet," said Hucks, shaking his head. "The comp'ny what owns the mill
keeps a store there for the workmen, an' none of 'em come much to
Millville. Our storekeepers is madder'n blazes about it; but fer my part
I'm glad the two places is separated."
"Why?" asked Louise.
"They're a kinder tough lot, I guess. Turnin' pine trees inter paper
mus' be a job thet takes more muscle than brains. I don't see how it's
done, at all."
"It's simple enough," said Mr. Merrick. "First the wood is ground into
pulp, and then the pulp is run through hot rollers, coming out paper.
It's a mighty interesting process, so some day we will all go to Royal
and see the paper made."
"But not just yet, Uncle," remarked Patsy. "Let's have time to settle
down on the farm and enjoy it. Oh, how glad I am to be back in this
restful, sleepy, jumping-off-place of the world again! Isn't it
delightful, Arthur Weldon? Did you ever breathe such ozony, delicious
mountain air? And do you get the fragrance of the pine forests, and
the--the--"
"The bumps?" asked Arthur, as the wagon gave a jolt a bit more emphatic
than usual; "yes, Patsy dear, I get them all; but I won't pass judgment
on Millville and Uncle John's farm just yet. Are we 'most there?"
"We're to have four whole months of it," sighed Beth. "That ought to
enable us to renew our youth, after the strenuous winter."
"Rubbish!" said Uncle John. "You haven't known a strenuous moment, my
dears, and you're all too young to need renewals, anyhow. But if you can
find happiness here, my girls, our old farm will become a paradise."
These three nieces of Mr. Merrick were well worth looking at. Louise,
the eldest, was now twenty--entirely too young to be a bride; but having
decided to marry Arthur Weldon, the girl would brook no interference
and, having a will of her own, overcame all opposition. Her tall,
slender form was exceedingly graceful and willowy, her personality
dainty and refined, her temperament under ordinary conditions
essentially sweet and agreeable. In crises Louise developed considerable
character, in strong contrast with her usual assumption of well-bred
composure. That the girl was insincere in little things and cultivated a
polished manner to conceal her real feelings, is undeniable; but in
spite of this she might be relied upon to prove loyal and true in
emergencies.
Patricia Doyle was more than two years the junior of her cousin Louise
and very unlike her. Patsy's old father, Major Gregory Doyle, said "she
wore her heart on her sleeve," and the girl was frank and outspoken to a
fault. Patsy had no "figure" to speak of, being somewhat dumpy in build,
nor were her piquant features at all beautiful. Her nose tipped at the
end, her mouth was broad and full-lipped and her complexion badly
freckled. But Patsy's hair was of that indescribable shade that hovers
between burnished gold and sunset carmine. "Fiery red" she was wont to
describe it, and most people considered it, very justly, one of her two
claims to distinction. Her other admirable feature was a pair of
magnificent deep blue eyes--merry, mischievous and scintillating as
diamonds. Few could resist those eyes, and certain it is that Patsy
Doyle was a universal favorite and won friends without a particle of
effort.
The younger of the three nieces, Elizabeth De Graf, was as beautiful a
girl as you will often discover, one of those rarely perfect creations
that excite our wonder and compel admiration--as a beautiful picture or
a bit of statuary will. Dreamy and reserved in disposition, she lacked
the graciousness of Louise and Patsy's compelling good humor; yet you
must not think her stupid or disagreeable. Her reserve was really
diffidence; her dreamy, expressionless gaze the result of a serious
nature and a thoughtful temperament. Beth was quite practical and
matter-of-fact, the reverse of Patsy's imaginative instincts or Louise's
affected indifference. Those who knew Beth De Graf best loved her
dearly, but strangers found her hard to approach and were often repulsed
by her unresponsive manner. Underneath all, the girl was a real girl,
with many splendid qualities, and Uncle John relied upon Beth's
stability more than on that of his other two nieces. Her early life had
been a stormy and unhappy one, so she was but now developing her real
nature beneath the warmth of her uncle's protecting love.
Topping the brow of a little hill the wagon came to a smooth downward
grade where the road met the quaint old bridge that spanned Little Bill
Creek, beside which stood the antiquated flour and feed mill that had
given Millville its name. The horses were able to maintain their brisk
trot across the bridge and through the main street of the town, which
was merely a cluster of unimposing frame buildings, that lined either
side of the highway for the space of an ordinary city block. Then they
were in the wilds again and rattling over another cobblestone trail.
"This 'ere country's nuth'n' but pine woods 'n' cobblestones," sighed
old Hucks, as the horses subsided to a walk. "Lor' knows what would 'a'
happened to us without the trees! They saves our grace, so's to speak."
"I think the scenery is beautiful," observed Patsy. "It's so different
from other country places."
"Not much farming around here, I imagine," said Arthur Weldon.
"More than you'd think, sir," replied Thomas. "There's certain crops as
thrives in stony land, an' a few miles north o' here, towards
Huntingdon, the soil's mighty rich 'n' productive. Things ain't never as
bad as they seem in this world, sir," he added, turning his persistently
smiling face toward the young man.
Mr. Merrick sat beside the driver on the front seat. The middle seat was
occupied by Patsy and Beth, between whom squeezed little Mary, the
maid. Louise and Arthur had the back seat.
A quarter of a mile beyond the town they came to a sort of lane running
at right angles with the turnpike, and down this lane old Hucks turned
his team. It seemed like a forbidding prospect, for ahead of them loomed
only a group of tall pines marking the edge of the forest, yet as they
came nearer and made a little bend in the road the Wegg farm suddenly
appeared in view. The house seemed so cozy and homelike, set upon its
green lawn with the tall pines for a background, that the girls, who
knew the place well, exclaimed with delight, and Arthur, who now saw it
for the first time, nodded his head approvingly.
Uncle John was all excitement over the arrival at his country home. An
old fashioned stile was set in a rail fence which separated the grounds
from the lane, and Hucks drew up the wagon so his passengers could all
alight upon the step of the stile. Patsy was out at a bound. Louise
followed more deliberately, assisted by her boy husband, and Beth came
more sedately yet. But Uncle John rode around to the barn with Thomas,
being eager to see the cows and pigs and poultry with which the
establishment was liberally stocked.
The house was of two stories, the lower being built of cobblestones and
the upper of pine slabs; but it had been artistically done and the
effect was delightful. It was a big, rambling dwelling, and Mr. Merrick
had furnished the old place in a lavish manner, so that his nieces would
lack no modern comfort when they came there to spend a summer.
On the porch stood an old woman clothed in a neat gingham dress and
wearing a white apron and cap. Her pleasant face was wreathed in smiles
as she turned it toward the laughing, chattering group that came up the
path. Patsy spied her and rushed up to give old Nora a hug and kiss, and
the other two girls saluted the blind woman with equal cordiality, for
long ago she had won the love and devotion of all three. Arthur, who had
heard of Nora, pressed her hand and told her she must accept him as
another of her children, and then she asked for Mr. Merrick and ran in
to get the breakfast served. For, although blind, old Nora was far from
being helpless, and the breakfast she had prepared in anticipation of
their arrival was as deliciously cooked as if she had been able to use
her eyes as others did.