At the very moment when the angry crab closed his nippers on the bare
big toe of Dick Lee, and his shrill note of discomfort rang across the
inlet, the shrill whistle of the engine announced the arrival of the
morning train at the little station in the village.
A minute or so later, a very pretty young lady was standing beside a
trunk on the platform, trying to get some information of the flag-man.
"Can you tell me where Mr. Foster lives?"
"That's the gimlet-eyed laryer from Yark?"
"Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face.
"Where does he live?"
"He's got the sapiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"
"I think likely it is. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Thim Kinzers is foine people. The widdy married one of the gurrels to
Misther Morris."
"But how can I get to the house?"
"Is it there ye're afther goin'? Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer owld
rattlethrap an' take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the Kinzer
place. Sharp, now!"
"I should say it was!" muttered the young lady, as the remains of what
had been a carry-all were pulled up beside the platform by the skinny
skeleton of what might once have been a horse. "It's a rattletrap!"
There was no choice, however, for that was the only public conveyance at
the station, and the young lady's trunk was already whisked in behind
the dashboard, and the driver was waiting for her.
[Illustration: "THE ONLY PUBLIC CONVEYANCE AT THE STATION."]
He could afford to wait, as it would be hours before another train would
be in.
There was no door to open in that "carriage." It was all door except the
top and bottom, and the pretty passenger was neither helped nor hindered
in finding her place on the back seat.
If the flag-man was more disposed to ask questions than to answer them,
"Michael" said few words of any kind except to his horse. To him,
indeed, he kept up a constant stream of encouraging remarks, the greater
part of which would have been hard for an ordinary hearer to understand.
Very likely the horse knew what they meant, for he came very near
breaking from a limp into a trot several times, under the stimulus of
all that clucking and "g'lang now."
The distance was by no means great, and Michael seemed to know the way
perfectly. At least, he answered, "Yes'm, indade," to several inquiries
from his passenger, and she was compelled to be satisfied with that.
"What a big house it is! And painters at work on it, too!" she
exclaimed, just as Michael added a vigorous jerk of the reins to the
"Whoa!" with which he stopped his nag in front of an open gate.
"Are you sure this is the place?"
"Yes'm, indade. Fifty cints, mum."
By the time the trunk was out and swung inside the gate, the young lady
had followed; but for some reason Michael sprang back to his place and
whipped up his limping steed. It may have been the fear of being asked
to take that trunk into the house, for it was not a very small one. The
young lady stood for a moment irresolute, and then left it where it was
and walked straight up to the door.
No bell; no knocker. The workmen had not reached that part of their
improvements yet. But the door was open, and a very neatly furnished
parlor at the left of the hall seemed to say, "Come right in, please,"
and so in she went.
Such an arrival could not possibly have escaped the notice of the
inmates of the house, and, as the young lady from the railway came in at
the front, another and a very different looking lady marched through to
the parlor from the rear.
Each one would have been a puzzle to the other, if the elder of the two
had not been Mrs. Kinzer, and the widow had never been very much puzzled
in all her life. At all events, she put out her hand with a cordial
smile, saying:
"Miss Foster, is it not? I am Mrs. Kinzer. How could he have made such a
mistake?"
"Yes, Miss Annie Foster. But do please explain. Where am I, and how do
you know me?"
The widow laughed cheerily.
"How do I know you, my dear? Why, you resemble your mother almost as
much as your brother Ford resembles his father. You are only one door
from home here, and I'll have your trunk taken right over to the house.
Please, sit down a moment. Ah! my daughter Samantha, Miss Foster. Excuse
me a moment, while I call one of the men."
By the time their mother was fairly out of the room, however, Keziah and
Pamela were also in it, and Annie thought she had rarely seen three
girls whose appearance testified so strongly to the healthiness of the
place they lived in.
The flag-man's questions and Annie's answers were related quickly
enough, and the cause of Michael's blunder was plain at once.
The parlor rang again with peals of laughter, for Dab Kinzer's sisters
were ready at any time to look at the funny side of things, and their
accidental guest saw no reason for not joining them.
"Your brother Ford is out on the bay, crabbing, with our Dabney,"
remarked Samantha, as the widow returned. But Annie's eyes had been
furtively watching her baggage, through the window, and saw it swinging
up on a pair of broad, red-shirted shoulders just then, and, before she
could bring her mind to the crab question, Keziah exclaimed: "If there
isn't Mrs. Foster coming through the farm gate!"
"My mother?" And Annie was up and out of the parlor in a twinkling,
followed by all the ladies of the Kinzer family. It was really quite a
procession.
Now, if Mrs. Foster was in the least degree surprised by her daughter's
sudden appearance, or by her getting to the Kinzer house first instead
of to her own, it was a curious fact that she did not say so by a word
or a look.
Not a breath of it. But, for all the thoroughbred self-control of the
city lady, Mrs. Kinzer knew perfectly well there was something odd and
unexpected about it all. If Samantha had noticed this fact, there might
have been some questions asked; but one of the widow's most rigid rules
in life was to "mind her own business."
The girls, indeed, were quite jubilant over an occurrence which made
them at once so well acquainted with their very attractive new neighbor;
and they might have followed her even beyond the gate in the north fence
if it had not been for their mother. All they were allowed to do was to
go back to their own parlor and hold a "council of war," in which Annie
Foster was discussed from her bonnet to her shoes.
Mrs. Foster had been abundantly affectionate in greeting her daughter;
but when once they were alone in the wee sitting-room of the old Kinzer
homestead, she put her arms around her, saying:
"Now, my darling, tell me what it all means."
"Why, mother, it was partly my mistake and partly the flag-man's and the
driver's, and I'm sure Mrs. Kinzer was kind. She knew me, before I said
a word, by my resemblance to you."
"Oh, I don't mean that! How is it you are here so soon? I thought you
meant to make a long visit at your Uncle Hart's."
"I would but for those boys."
"Your cousins, Annie!"
"Cousins, mother! You never saw such young bears in all your life. They
tormented me from morning till night."
"But, Annie, I hope you have not offended--"
"Offended, mother! Aunt Maria thinks they're perfect, and so does Uncle
Joe. They'd let them pull the house down over their heads, you'd think."
"But, Annie, what did they do and what did you say?"
"Do! I couldn't tell you in all day; but when they poured ink over my
cuffs and collars, I said I would come home. I had just one pair left
white to wear home, and I traveled all night."
Poor Mrs. Foster! A cold shudder went over her at the idea of that ink
among the spotless contents of her own collar-box.
"What boys they must be! But, Annie, what did they say?"
"Uncle Joe laughed till he cried, and Aunt Maria said boys will be boys,
and I half believe they were sorry; but that was only a sort of a
winding-up. I wouldn't stay there another hour."
Annie had other things to tell, and, long before she had finished her
story, there was no further fault to be found with her for losing her
temper. Still, her mother said, mildly:
"I must write to Maria at once, for it wont do to let those boys make
trouble between us."