"A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive."
--_Coleridge._
The next morning's mail brought a letter from Mr. Dinsmore, announcing
his speedy coming with his wife, father, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Allison,
and several of their children.
"There's an end to our good times!" sighed Violet.
"Shall you be so very sorry to see your grandpa?" her mother asked with
a slight smile, knowing that her father was dearly loved by all her
children, and by none more than by Violet herself.
"Oh no, mamma; nor grandma, nor any of them," was the quick reply; "only
it was so nice to have you so entirely to ourselves."
"Haven't you enjoyed it too, mamma?" asked several voices, while every
face turned eagerly and inquiringly to hers.
"Yes, indeed, my darlings," she said; "and yet so dearly do I love my
father that my heart bounds at the very thought that he will be with me
again in a few hours."
"Then, mamma, we are all glad for you," Elsie said: Violet adding, "and
for ourselves, too; for it is nice to have grandpa and grandma with us;
and Aunt Adelaide also; she is always so kind."
"Very different from Aunt Louise," remarked Edward. "Who would ever
think they were sisters! Isa and Virginia are quite as unlike, too,
though they are sisters. I hope Aunt Louise and her old-maid daughter
won't visit us this summer!"
"Edward!" his mother said in a tone of reproof.
"Excuse me, mother," he said; "but if I dislike them, it is because they
have always treated you so badly."
"They have never done me any injury, my son," she answered, with gentle
gravity, "and I would not have you feel unkindly toward them; much less
am I willing to hear you speak of them as you did just now. Virginia is
not an old maid, and if she were I should be sorry to have you apply
that epithet to her."
"She is several years older than I am, mother," he said, blushing.
"About three; and you are only a boy."
Edward felt this as the most cutting rebuke his gentle mother had ever
administered to him, for he had begun to think of himself as a man, old
enough and strong enough to be his mother's stay and support, and a
guide to his younger brothers and sisters.
But sensible that he had deserved the reproof, he bore it in silence;
yet could not rest until seizing an opportunity to speak to her without
being overheard by others, "Dear mamma," he whispered, looking
beseechingly into her eyes, "will you not forgive my thoughtless,
uncharitable speech of this morning?"
"Certainly, my dear boy," she answered with one of her sweetest smiles,
"and I trust you will try to cultivate more kindly feelings toward your
grandpa's sister and niece, for his sake, and because it is a Christian
duty."
Mr. Dinsmore and his party arrived that afternoon, and the next day were
followed by Mrs. Conly and Virginia.
"We thought we would give you a surprise," was the greeting of the
former: "the heat and threats of yellow fever drove us North. I
scattered the younger children about among other relatives, leaving
several at your house, Adelaide, then came on here with Virgie, knowing
that Elsie would of course have room enough for us two."
"We will find room for you, Aunt Louise," Elsie said with pleasant
cordiality, and trying hard to feel rejoiced at their coming.
A very difficult task, as they never were at the slightest pains to make
themselves agreeable, and the house was already comfortably filled.
Edward waited only to shake hands hastily with his aunt and cousin,
then slipped away for a solitary stroll on the beach while he should
fight down his feelings of disgust and irritation at this unwelcome and
unwarrantable invasion of his mother's dwelling.
He had asked that morning if he might invite his college chum, Charlie
Perrine, to spend a week or two with him, and had received a prompt and
kind permission to do so. It seemed hard enough to have to entertain,
instead, these relatives, between whom and himself there had always been
a cordial dislike; for from early childhood he had perceived and
strongly resented the envy, jealousy and ill-will indulged in by them
toward his mother.
He paced hurriedly to and fro for some minutes, striving, with but
indifferent success, to recover his equanimity, then stood still, gazing
out to sea, half inclined to wish himself on board an outward-bound
vessel in the offing.
Presently a hand took quiet possession of his arm, and turning his head
he found his mother standing by his side.
"I am grieved to see my boy's face so clouded," she said in her sweet
and gentle tones.
"Then, mother, it shall not be so any longer," he answered, resolutely
forcing a smile. "I have been really trying to feel good-natured, but it
is not easy under the circumstances. Not to me, I mean. I wish I had
inherited your sweet disposition."
"Ah, you can judge only from outside appearances," she said with a sigh
and a smile; "no one knows what a battle his neighbor may be fighting in
his own heart, while outwardly calm and serene. I know you are
disappointed because you fear you must give up inviting your friend for
the present, but that will not be necessary, my dear boy. We can still
manage to make room for him by a little crowding which will hurt no one.
My room is so large that I can easily take Walter and all your sisters
in with me, and if necessary we will pitch a tent for the servants."
"Or for Charlie and me, mother," he exclaimed in delight; "we should not
mind it in the least; indeed it would be good fun to live so for a
while."
At this moment they were joined by Elsie and Violet, both full of
sympathy for Edward, and anxious to consult mamma as to the possibility
of still making room for the comfortable accommodation of his friend.
They listened with delight to her proposed arrangement: it would be a
great pleasure to them to share her room, if it would not inconvenience
her, and she assured them it would not.
"I was afraid," said Elsie, "that Aunt Adelaide might hurry away to make
room for the others, but now I hope she will not, for we all enjoy
having her with us."
"No," Mrs. Travilla said, "we will keep her as long as we can. Ah, here
come my father and grandfather. I think we shall astonish them with the
news of the arrival."
"Cousin Donald is with them too," remarked Elsie. "Mamma, I think
Virginia will be rather pleased to see so fine looking a gentleman
haunting the house."
"Her sister's brother-in-law," said Vi. "Perhaps she will claim him as
more nearly related to her than to us."
The young man had found favor with both Mr. Dinsmores, and the three
were just returning from a pretty long tramp together which had caused
them to miss seeing the arrival of Mrs. and Miss Conly.
The news seemed to give more surprise than pleasure.
"It was very thoughtless in Louise," the old gentleman said with some
vexation, "but it is just like her. I think we must find rooms for them
at one of the hotels, Elsie; for I don't see how your house is to
accommodate us all."
"I do, grandpa," was her smiling rejoinder, "so make yourself perfectly
easy on that score."
"I hope our excursion is not to be interfered with, cousin?" Donald said
inquiringly: for arrangements had been made for a long drive that
afternoon, taking in several of the neighboring sea-side resorts, and as
his three lady cousins had promised to be of the party, he was loath to
give it up.
"No," she said, "Aunt Adelaide and Aunt Louise will doubtless be well
pleased to be left alone together for a few hours, after a separation of
several years."
"Besides, both my aunt and cousin will need a long nap to refresh them
after the fatigue of their journey," remarked Edward.
The young people exchanged congratulatory glances. They were all eager
for the drive. It was just the day for it, they had all decided--the
roads in excellent condition after the late rain, a delicious sea-breeze
blowing, and light fleecy clouds tempering the heat of the July sun.
They set off directly after an early dinner--all the Dinsmores and
Travillas, Mr. Allison and his children and Mr. Keith--in two covered
carriages, and well provided with waterproofs for protection against a
possible shower.
They were a pleasant, congenial party, the older people cheerful and
companionable, the children full of life and spirits.
They had visited Seagirt, Spring Lake and Asbury Park, and were passing
through Ocean Beach, when Edward, catching sight of a young couple
sauntering leisurely along on the sidewalk, uttered an exclamation,
"Why, there's Charlie Perrine!" then calling to the driver to stop, he
sprang out and hurried toward them.
"His college chum--and how glad they are to meet," Violet said as the
two were seen shaking hands in the most cordial manner.
Then Perrine introduced Edward to his companion, and the lad's sisters
noticed that his face lighted up with pleased surprise as he grasped her
hand.
"Why, I know her!" cried Donald. "Excuse me one moment, ladies;" and he
too sprang out and hastened to join the little group on the sidewalk.
He and the lady met like very intimate friends, greeting each other as
"Donald" and "Mary:" then he led her to the side of the carriage and
introduced her. "My cousin Mary Keith, Uncle Donald's daughter; our
cousins, Miss Elsie and Miss Violet Travilla."
The girls shook hands and exchanged glances of mutual interest and
admiration. Mary had a very bright, pleasant face, dark eyes and hair,
plenty of color, lady-like manners, and a stylish figure well set off by
inexpensive but tasteful attire.
The other carriage, containing the older people, had now come up and
halted beside the first.
There were more introductions, then Mary was persuaded to take Edward's
place in the carriage with her young cousins, and drive with them to the
Colorado House, where she was staying, while he and his friend followed
on foot.
Here the whole party alighted, seated themselves on the porch and
chatted together for a half hour.
"How long do you stay here, Cousin Mary?" Mrs. Travilla asked.
"Another week, Cousin Elsie; I have engaged my room for that length of
time: and I wish you would let one of your girls stay with me, or both
if they will, though I'm afraid that would crowd them. I should be so
glad if you would. I want to become acquainted with them: and besides I
have just lost my roommate, and don't like to be left alone."
After a little consultation between the elders of the party, it was
decided that Violet should accept the invitation, her mother promising
to send her a trunk in the morning, and Mary agreeing to return the
visit later in the season, when her cousin's cottage would have parted
with some of its present occupants.
Edward, too, would remain and room with Charlie Perrine, on the same
floor with the girls, so that Violet would feel that she had a
protector.
"I hope it will be a pleasant change for you, dear child," the mother
whispered in parting from Violet, "and if you grow tired of it, you know
you can come home at any time. And Edward," she added, turning to him,
"I trust your sister to your care, particularly in bathing: don't let
her go in without you, and don't either of you venture far out or into
any dangerous spot."
"We will be very careful, mamma," they both replied, "so do not feel in
the least uneasy."
"I shall owe you a grudge for this." Donald was saying in a rueful aside
to Mary.
"Why, you needn't," she returned; "you can come too, if you wish, unless
you object to my society."
"That wouldn't mend matters," he answered, with a glance at the younger
Elsie.
"Nonsense! I've found out already that she's engaged. Didn't you know
it?"
"Not I. Well, it takes a woman to find out the secrets of her sex!"
"Then you own that a woman can keep a secret?" was her laughing
rejoinder. "But do tell me," in a still lower tone, "has cousin lost her
husband lately?"
"Within a year, and they were devotedly attached."
"Oh poor thing! But isn't she sweet?"
"Yes, indeed! it didn't take even me long to find that out."
The carriages rolled away amid much waving of handkerchiefs by the
travellers and the little party left behind; then Mary carried Violet
off to her room for a long talk before it should be time to dress for
tea, while the lads strolled away together along the beach, their
tongues quite as busy as the other two: for there were various college
matters to discuss, beside plans for fishing, boating, riding, and
driving.
And Edward must sound his mother's praises and learn whether Charlie did
not think her the very loveliest woman he ever saw.
"Yes," Charlie said with a sigh, "you are a lucky fellow, Ned. I hardly
remember my mother--was only five years old when she died."
"Then I pity you with all my heart!" Edward exclaimed; "for there's
nothing like a mother to love you and stand by you through thick and
thin."
He turned his head away to hide the tears that sprang unbidden to his
eyes, for along with his pity for his friend came a sudden recollection
of that dreadful event in his childhood when by an act of disobedience
he had come very near killing his dearly loved father. Ah, he should
never forget his agony of terror and remorse, his fear that his mother
could never love him again, or the tenderness with which she had
embraced him, assuring him of her forgiveness and continued affection.
Meantime Donald was speaking in glowing terms of Cousin Mary. "One of
the best girls in the world," he pronounced her--"so kind-hearted, so
helpful and industrious. Uncle's circumstances are moderate," he said;
"Aunt's health has been delicate for years, and Mary, as the eldest of
eight or nine children, has had her hands full. I am very glad she is
taking a rest now, for she needs it. A maiden sister of her mother's is
filling her place for a few weeks, she told me: else she could not have
been spared from home."
"You make me glad that I left Violet with her," Mrs. Travilla said, with
a look of pleased content.
Edward and his chum returned from their walk, made themselves neat, and
were waiting on the piazza before the open door, as Mary and Violet came
down at the call to tea.
The dining-room was furnished with small tables each accommodating eight
persons. Our four young friends found seats together. The other four
places at their table were occupied by two couples--a tall, gaunt,
sour-visaged elderly man in green spectacles, and his meek little wife,
and a small, thin, invalid old gentleman, who wore a look of patient
resignation, and his wife, taller than himself by half a head.
A fine head of beautiful grey hair was the only attractive thing about
her, her features were coarse and her countenance was fretful. She
occupied herself in filling and emptying her plate with astonishing
rapidity, and paid little or no attention to her husband, who was so
crippled by rheumatism as to be almost helpless, having entirely lost
the use of one hand, and so nearly that of his lower limbs that he could
not walk without assistance.
He had a nurse, a young German, who was with him constantly day and
night, helped him about and waited upon him, but in a very awkward
fashion. The man's clumsiness was, however, borne with patience by the
sufferer, and did not seem to trouble the wife.
She eyed Violet curiously between her immense mouthfuls, and whispered
to her husband, loud enough for the child to hear, "Isn't that a pretty
girl, William? such a handsome complexion! I reckon she paints."
The sudden crimsoning of Vi's cheek contradicted that suspicion
instantly, and the woman corrected herself. "No, she don't, I see. I
wonder who she is?"
"Hush, hush, Maria!" whispered her husband, "don't you see she hears
you?" and he gave the young girl such a fatherly look, gentle and
tender, that quick tears sprang to her eyes: it was so strong a reminder
of one whose look of parental love she should never meet again on earth.
People at other tables were noticing her too, remarking upon her beauty
and grace, and asking each other who she was.
"We'll soon find out, mamma; don't you see she is with Miss Keith? and
she will be sure to introduce her to us," said a nice looking girl about
Vi's age, addressing a sweet faced lady by whose side she sat.
They all met in the parlor shortly afterward, and Vi, Mrs. Perkins, her
daughter Susie, and her son Fred, a lad of nineteen or twenty, were
formally presented to each other.
"I don't want to get into a crowd; I don't care to make acquaintances,"
Vi had said, half tearfully.
Mary understood and respected the feeling, but answered, "Yes, dear
cousin, I know: but do let me introduce Mrs. Perkins and her children.
She is so sweet and lovely, a real Christian lady; and her son and
daughter are very nice. We have been together a great deal, and I feel
as if they were old friends."
Vi did not wonder at it after talking a little with Mrs. Perkins, who
had made room for her on the sofa by her side; her thought was, "She is
a little like mamma; not quite so sweet nor half so beautiful; though
she is very pretty."
Several other ladies had come in by this time, the invalid gentleman's
wife among the rest. "Mrs. Moses," Vi heard some one call her.
"How do you do, Miss?" she said, drawing forward an arm chair and
seating herself directly in front of Violet. "You're a new-comer,
ain't you?"
"I came this afternoon," Vi answered, and turned to Mrs. Perkins with a
remark about the changing beauty of the sea and clouds; for they were
near an open window that gave them a view of old ocean.
"Where are you from?" asked Mrs. Moses.
"The South, Madame."
"Ah! I should hardly have suspected it: you've such a lovely complexion,
and how beautiful your hair is! like spun gold."
The German servant-man appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Moshes, Herr wants to see you."
"Yes, I hear." Turning to Vi again, "Well, you must have had a long,
tiresome journey; and I suppose you didn't come all alone?"
Vi let the inquiry pass unnoticed, but the woman went on, "I've never
been South, but I'd like to go; perhaps I shall next winter. It might
help William's rheumatism."
"Your husband wants you, Mrs. Moses," remarked Mary Keith.
"Oh yes; he's always wanting me. I'll go presently."
"Cousin," said Mary, "shall we take a stroll on the beach?"
Violet caught at the suggestion with alacrity, and they went at once,
the rest of their party, and Mrs. Perkins and hers, accompanying them.
"That poor man!" sighed Mary. "I thought if we all left her, perhaps she
would go to him."
"Isn't it strange?" said Susie, "he seems to love her dearly, and she to
care nothing about him. And he is so nice and good and patient, and she
so disagreeable."
"A very poor sort of wife, I think," pursued Mary. "She will not even
sleep on the same floor with him, for fear of being disturbed when pain
keeps him awake. Day and night he is left to the care of that awkward,
blundering German. But there! I ought to be ashamed of myself for
talking about an absent neighbor."
"I don't think you are doing any harm, Cousin Mary," said Charlie, "for
we can all see how utterly selfish the woman is."
"What! are you two cousins?" asked Edward in surprise.
"First cousins, sir," returned Charlie, laughing, "sisters' children.
Can't you and I claim kin, seeing she's cousin to both of us?"
A sudden dash of rain prevented Edward's reply, and sent them all
scurrying into the house.