ALI BABA
Margaret went over duly that evening, meaning to be very friendly to the
strange young woman; but it happened to be one of Mrs. Peyton's bad
times, and she sent down word that she needed Miss Wolfe, and could not
possibly spare her. Margaret left a civil message, and went home
disappointed, and yet the least bit relieved: she had rather dreaded a
long tete-a-tete with her new neighbor.
"How absurd you are, Margaret Montfort," she said, severely, as she
walked across the park. "Here you have been longing for a girl to talk
to, and the moment one comes, you are seized with what Peggy calls 'the
shyies,' just because she happens to be cut from a different pattern
from your own."
Hugh was on the verandah, waiting for her, and seemed really
disappointed when he heard that she had not seen Miss Wolfe; that
showed how wide and cordial his interest was, and how much thought he
took for others, Margaret told herself. What could he care about the
meeting of a cousin he had just begun to know with a girl whom he never
had seen?
Next day, however, she forgot all about Miss Wolfe, for the time being.
Gerald and Philip Merryweather had accepted Mr. Montfort's invitation
with amazing alacrity, and Jean had telegraphed her rapture of
anticipation from Ohio. Uncle John and Hugh were left to their own
devices, while she plunged, with Elizabeth and Frances and Polly, into
intricacies of hospitable preparation. Stores must be ordered, linen
examined, silver and china looked out. In regard to the silver, Margaret
had an experience that showed her that, even after two years, she did
not know all the resources of Fernley House. Her uncle called her into
his study after breakfast, and handed her a key of curious pattern.
"This is the key of the iron cupboard, Margaret," he said. Seeing her
look of surprise, he added, "You surely know about the iron cupboard, my
dear?"
"No, Uncle John. I remember hearing Aunt Faith speak of something of the
kind once, but I did not rightly understand, and, being shy then,--it
was before I knew our Dear so well,--I did not like to ask."
"Oh, there is no mystery, my child. No secret staircase this time, no
ghosts in velvet jackets. But in a house like Fernley, that has been
inhabited for many generations, there is necessarily an accumulation of
certain kinds of things, above all, silver. We keep out all that an
ordinary family would be likely to use, and the rest is stored in this
safe cupboard, in case of fire or robbery. Very stupid of me not to have
told my careful little housekeeper of this before. To tell the truth, I
forget all about this hoard most of the time, and might not have thought
of it now, if Elizabeth had not come to me with an important face and
asked me if I did not think Miss Margaret ought to have the opportunity
of putting out The Silver if she wished to do so, being as the house was
to be full of company. That meant that Elizabeth herself wanted to
display to the astonished eyes of Hugh and the Merryweather boys the
resources of the house that she and Frances rule (on the whole, wisely),
through you and me, their deputies and servants. I see no reason why the
good souls should not be gratified do you?"
"On the contrary, I see every reason why they, and I too, should be
gratified. Uncle John, I am glad I did not know about it before. It is
the most delightful thing about Fernley, that one never seems to come to
the end of it. I thought I knew everything by this time, and here is
another enchanting mystery; for say what you will, Uncle John, an iron
cupboard full of old silver, that nobody knows about,--or hardly
anybody,--_is_ a mystery. Now I am sure there are others, too; I shall
never feel again that I know all about the house. Some day, when I am
old and gray, I shall come upon another secret staircase, or a
trap-door, or a hidden jewel-casket, or a lost will."
"Why, as to jewel-caskets," said Mr. Montfort, smiling, "there is
perhaps something that might be said; but as you say, it would never do
to find out everything at once, May Margaret. Run away now, and examine
your tea-kettles; there are about forty, if I remember rightly."
"Uncle John! is there really a jewel-casket? What do you mean? There
cannot be any more than those Aunt Faith had, surely."
"Can't there?" said Mr. Montfort, with a provoking smile. "Doubtless you
know best, my dear." And not another word would he say on the subject;
but he told Margaret where to find the iron cupboard, and she ran off in
such a flutter that Peggy would hardly have known her model and mentor.
Old silver was one of Margaret's weak points; indeed, she had a strong
feeling about heirlooms of every kind, and treasured carefully every
scrap of paper even that had any association with past times.
Seeing Hugh in the library, she called to him. "Hugh! come with me and
see the Treasure Chamber of the Montforts. Don't you want to see the
ancestral silver?"
"Of course I do!" said Hugh, laying down his book and coming to join
her. "Ancestral silver? My mother went to housekeeping with six
teaspoons and a butter-knife, and thought herself rich. Uncle John
wanted to send a trunkful of family silver, I have been told, but the
Pater refused to be bothered with it. Poor Mother would have been glad
enough of it, I fancy, but in those days he was masterful, and bent on
roughing it, and would not hear of anything approaching luxury, or even
convenience. Where is this wonderful treasury?"
"Come, and you shall see. Uncle John has told me how to find it. Come
through this door; here we are in his own study, you see. Now--let me
see! I will light this lamp--for the cupboard is dark--while you look
and find Inigo Jones."
"Inigo Jones?"
"Yes. A tall blue morocco quarto, about the middle of the fourth shelf
of the bookcase behind Uncle John's desk. Ah! I see him!"
Springing forward, Margaret drew the stately volume from its place.
"Look!" she cried. "A keyhole. Hugh, isn't this exactly like the
'Mysteries of Udolpho?' 'Inigo Jones' is his joke, you see, or
somebody's joke. Do you mind if I turn the key, Hugh?"
"Turn away!" said Hugh, much amused at the excitement of his staid
little cousin.
With a trembling hand Margaret turned the key, and gave a pull, as she
had been told. A section of the bookcase, with its load of books, swung
slowly forward, revealing a dark opening. Margaret stepped in, and Hugh
followed, holding the lamp aloft.
"Well, upon my word!" he said. "I never heard of anything like this, out
of the 'Arabian Nights.'"
Margaret was looking about her, too much absorbed for words. The Iron
Cupboard was a recess some ten feet deep and seven or eight wide, lined
with shelves. These shelves were literally packed with silver, some in
boxes, much in bags, glimmering in the half-light like dwarfish ghosts;
but the greater part uncovered, glittering in tarnished splendor
wherever the lamplight fell. Rows upon rows of teapots, tall and squat,
round and oval, chased, hammered, and plain; behind them, coffee-pots
looking down, in every possible device. There were silver pitchers and
silver bowls; porringers and fruit-dishes, salvers and platters. Such an
array as might dazzle the eyes of any silversmith of moderate ambition.
"Well, Margaret," said Hugh, somewhat impressed, but more amused, at
sight of all this hoarded treasure, "what do you say? I shall leave the
expression of emotion to you."
But Margaret was in no jesting mood. With clasped hands she turned to
her cousin. "Oh, Hugh," she cried, "isn't it wonderful? to think of all
those beautiful things living here alone,--I don't mean alone, but all
by themselves--year after year, with no one to see them, or take them
out and polish them. Oh, I never saw such things! Look at this perfect
pitcher, will you? did you ever see anything so graceful? This must come
in, if nothing else does. The milk shall be poured from it from this day
forward, as long as I am the Mistress of Fernley. That is just a
play-name, of course," she hastened to explain, blushing as she did so.
"Uncle John gave it to me in sport, when I first began to try to keep
house."
"It seems to me a most appropriate name," said Hugh. "There has never
been another, has there? in this generation, I mean. Uncle John was
never married, was he?"
"No; isn't it a pity? I have so often wondered why. I asked Aunt Faith
once,--well, Hugh, of course she was Mistress of Fernley as long as she
lived, though she would always speak of herself as a visitor,--and she
only sighed and shook her head, and said, 'Poor John! poor dear lad!'
and then changed the subject. But--do you suppose any one can hear us
here, Hugh?"
"I do not, Margaret. I should say that you might safely tell me
anything, of however fearful a nature, in this iron-bound retreat."
"Oh, it really isn't anything--or perhaps it is not--but my own fancy. I
have built up a kind of air-castle of the past, that is all. You know
Uncle John's passion for roses? Well, and sometimes, when he is sitting
quietly and has forgotten that any one is near, he will say to himself,
'Rose! Rose!' softly, just like that, and as if it were something he
loved to say. I have wondered whether he once cared a great deal for
some one whose name was Rose.--What do you think, Hugh? and she died,
and that is why he has never married. There! I have never spoken of this
before, not even to Peggy. Don't tell any one, will you?"
She looked anxiously in her cousin's face, and met the grave, sweet look
that always made her feel safe and quiet; she did not know how else to
express it.
"Tell any one? No indeed, my dear little cousin. It is a young girl's
fancy, and a very sweet and graceful one."
"Then you don't think it may be true?" asked Margaret, disappointed.
"Certainly it may be true; I should think it highly probable that
something of the sort had happened, to keep a man like Uncle John single
all his days; but--well, I don't see that anything can be done about it
now, do you?"
"Hugh, I am afraid you are practical, after all!" said Margaret. "And I
was hoping you would turn out romantic."
Hugh only laughed, and asked her if she had chosen all the silver she
wanted. This question put a stop at once to Margaret's romantic visions.
Enough? but, she had only just begun, she said. Did he think she was
going to take one pitcher and leave all the rest of these enchanting
treasures?
"And we have not explored the boxes yet!" she cried. "See, they all
have dear little ivory labels. Do reach me down that fat square box,
please! 'Col. Montfort's Tankard, 1814.' Oh, that was our
great-great-grandfather, Hugh! Do let us open this!"
The black leathern box, being opened, revealed a stately glass-bottomed
tankard, with a dragon's curling tail for a handle. On the front was an
inscription, "Presented to Col. Peter Montfort, in token of respect and
affection, by the officers of his mess, July, 1814."
"His portrait is up in the long gallery," said Margaret. "Don't you
remember, with the high ruffled stock? I don't see how he could speak,
with his chin so very high in the air. Now I must have that oval green
case; I am sure that is something interesting. 'General Washington's
Gift.' Oh, Hugh!"
This time Hugh was as much interested as she, and both bent eagerly over
the box as Margaret opened it. The case was of faded green morocco,
lined with crimson satin. Within was an oval cup or bowl, of exquisite
workmanship; it was what is called a loving-cup, and Margaret looked in
vain for an inscription.
"There must be one!" said Hugh. "_Papa Patriae_ would not have been so
unkind as to leave such a thing unmarked. Look on the bottom, Margaret!"
Margaret looked, and there, to be sure, was a tolerably long
inscription, in minute script.
"Hold the light nearer, please; I can hardly read this, it is so fine.
Oh, listen to this, Hugh! 'For my worthy Friend and Host, Roger Montfort
Esquire, and his estimable Lady, in grateful Recollection of my
agreeable Stay beneath their hospitable Roof. From their obliged Friend
and Servant, G. Washington. 1776.'"
"That _is_ a treasure!" said Hugh, handling the bowl with reverent care.
"I knew that General Washington had spent some days at Fernley, but I
never heard of this relic of his stay. Margaret, this is really
extremely interesting. Go on, and open more of them. Perhaps we shall
find tokens of all the Continental Congress. I shall look for at least a
model of a kite in silver, with the compliments of B. Franklin. Suppose
we try this next. It looks very inviting."
He took down an oblong box of curious pattern, and opened it. "What
upon earth--Margaret, what are these? Grape-scissors? Asparagus-tongs?
They don't look like either."
"I should think not!" said Margaret, taking the object from his hand.
"Why, it is a pair of curling-tongs. What queer things! No inscription
on these; there isn't room for one. Here is a piece of paper in the box,
though."
She took up a yellowish scrap, and read: "'My niece Jemima's
curling-tongs, with which she, being impatient to make a Show above her
Sisters, did burn off one Side of her Hair. Preserved as a Warning to
young Women by me, Tabitha Montfort. 1803.' Poor Jemima! She was
punished enough, without being held up to posterity in this way."
"She was an extravagant young lady," said Hugh, "with her silver tongs;
I think it may have been good for her soul, if not her hair, to suffer
this infliction. Are you going to keep these out, Margaret, for use? I
do hope you will be more careful than Aunt Jemima was. Your hair--excuse
me!--looks as if you had not used the irons for some time."
Margaret laughed, and patted the smooth waves of her hair. "It _is_
some time!" she said. "Yours, on the other hand, Hugh, has more curl
than may be altogether natural. I may have suspected you of the tongs,
but at least I have had the charity to keep my suspicions to myself."
"You are extremely good, Miss Montfort. What have you got hold of now?"
"'Dear Johnny's Rattle!'" said Margaret, reading the label on a small
box. "I wonder if that was Uncle John. See! silver bells; what a sweet
tone!"
She shook a merry peal from the tiny bells. Hugh, who had been rummaging
at the other end of the cupboard, replied with a clear blast blown on a
small silver trumpet, which he now held up in triumph. "Here we are!" he
cried. "This is the instrument for me. This was presented to Captain
Hugh Montfort of the navy. What on earth could the gallant commander do
with this at sea?"
"Whistle for a wind, of course," said Margaret, merrily. "What else?
Come here and look at Grandfather Montfort's gold-bowed spectacles; they
are big enough for an ox."
So the talk went on merrily, and box after box, bag after bag, was
opened, sometimes with astonishing results. The bygone Montforts seemed
to have been fond of silver, and to have vied with one another in their
ingenious applications of it to domestic uses.
Many of the objects had historic or personal interest, and the two
cousins might have spent the day there, if Mr. Montfort had not suddenly
appeared, asking whether he was to have any dinner or not. Margaret had
her arms full by this time, while Hugh was trying his best to carry a
splendid fruit-bowl, a salver, two pitchers, and three vases, all at
once. Mr. Montfort burst out laughing at sight of the pair. "Cassim and
Ali Baba!" he cried. "And I, the Robber Captain, with not a single one
of all the Forty Thieves at my back. Margaret, for charity's sake! you
are not going to bring all that rubbish into the house? Isn't there
enough already? I'm sorry I told you anything about it."
Margaret looked up, guilty but happy, from her effort at capturing a
fourth vase with her little finger, the only one left unencumbered.
"Dear Uncle, you never would be so cruel!" she said. "See! I have only
taken one chocolate-pot, and there are five, such beauties! Yes, I know
we don't drink chocolate, but some of our guests might, and you would
not have me neglect the guests, would you, Uncle John?"
"Sooner than have a guest take his chocolate from a china pot," said Mr.
Montfort, gravely, "I would go to the stake. At present, if you will
pardon a very old joke, my dear Margaret, I should prefer to go to the
beefsteak, which I have reason to think is on the table at this moment.
Come out, both of you young thieves, and let Inigo Jones go in again!"