The House Beautiful
THE dawn, streaming in through the window, awakened me, and, incapable
of lying still a moment longer, I climbed down softly from the
four-poster, without awakening mother. I hurried into my clothes,
and down the stairs to the lower hall, which seemed alarmingly grim
and gloomy in the dim light. I paused an instant to give the big
grandfather’s clock a little friendly pat--it seemed so kind and
fatherly ticking leisurely away there in the gloom, a sober survival of
that stately period when time walked instead of ran.
I had a hard struggle with the big wrought-iron bolt of the front door,
but finally it yielded, and I swung the door open and stepped out upon
the porch.
How fresh and bright and green everything appeared! Every blade of
grass was spangled with dew, which the sun, just rising gloriously over
the far eastern treetops, was eagerly drinking for his morning draught.
It reminded me of Cleopatra--only the sun was drinking diamonds instead
of pearls! And how sweet the air was, breathing gently over the
orchard, as though loth to leave the scent of the apple-blossoms!
I crossed the lawn and made a little tour of the garden and orchard,
discovering a hundred beauties which had escaped me the afternoon
before. I found a hedge of lilacs which was just putting forth its
first green leaves, and a moment’s inspection showed me that nearly
every one of the pretty clusters sheltered a bud. What a gorgeous thing
that hedge would be in a few weeks--but perhaps I should never see it!
The thought sobered me for an instant; but nothing could long cast a
shadow over a morning so glorious, and the cloud soon passed.
Then a bustle of life near the barn attracted me, and I found Abner
and Jane busily engaged in milking two cows before turning them out to
pasture. They gave me a pleasant good-morning, and I stood for a time
watching the milk foaming into the pails.
“Would you like a drink, miss?” asked Jane, and when I nodded a
delighted assent, handed me up a foaming tin cup full. How good it
tasted, and how sweet it smelled! One would fancy it the nectar of the
gods!
“Thank you,” I said, as I handed it back to her. “Some day you must
teach me how to milk,” I added. “It must be very difficult.”
“Oh, no, miss,” said Jane, smiling; “there’s jest a knack about it--a
kind o’ turn o’ the wrist. I’ll be glad t’ show you whenever you like.”
But I didn’t want to be shown then--there were too many other things to
do. I started away on a little tour of discovery, and was surprised to
find how large and well-kept the barn, stable, and other out-buildings
were. It was here, evidently, that Abner had concentrated such energy
as advancing age had left him. I didn’t know then, but I found out
afterwards, that the especial pride of every true farmer is his barn
and stable, just as the especial pride of every good housewife is her
kitchen. And Jane and Abner certainly had reason to be proud of theirs.
Two horses were standing sedately in the stable-yard, their heads over
the gate. Behind this was a hen-house, with a large yard surrounded by
wire-fencing, and already the cackling from the house indicated that
the day’s work had begun. I decided that I would make the chickens my
especial care if--
There was always that “if,” everywhere I turned; and I am afraid it
did finally succeed in taking some of the brightness out of the sky
for me, as I turned back toward the house. Of course, as mother had
pointed out, we had no claim on grandaunt; and yet she herself had said
that blood is thicker than water and that we were her only relatives.
Perhaps we hadn’t treated her as nicely as we might have done; perhaps
we had been a little thoughtless, a little too self-centred; but how is
one to live with a dragon? And, surely, whatever our faults, we seemed
by way of paying dearly enough for them! Was I getting mercenary,
I asked myself; was I getting covetous? Was I going to regret that
decision that mother had made eight years before? Was the legacy going
to prove a curse, instead of a blessing?
The question troubled me for a moment; but I did not have time to find
an answer to it, for, as I turned the corner of the house, I saw Dick
strolling along one of the paths of the garden.
“Oh, there you are, Biffkins!” he cried. “Come here a minute, will you?”
“Oh, Dick, isn’t it a beautiful old place?” I asked, as I came panting
up.
“Scrumptious!” he answered, and stood with his hands in his pockets
looking all around.
I may say here that I have never been able to discover the derivation
of this word; but it was Dick’s superlative, and I was satisfied.
“By the way,” he went on, after a moment, “where was it you were
digging yesterday afternoon, Biffkins?”
“Over here by the wall,” I said, and led him to the rockery, and
explained to him my method of procedure. He listened closely and
seemingly with considerable interest.
“You’ve got a great head, Biffkins,” he said, approvingly, when I had
finished. “I don’t believe that I should ever have figured all that
out.”
“Of course it didn’t come to anything,” I said, apologetically.
“That’s got nothing to do with it. Besides, maybe you’ll have better
luck next time. If at first you don’t succeed, you know.”
“What was it you and Tom were talking about in the library last night,
Dick?” I asked, seeing his benevolent mood and judging it a favorable
moment to return to the attack.
“Now, don’t you worry your head about that,” he answered, sharply. “We
were planning an expedition. But there’s a bell, and I know it means
breakfast. Come on,” and he was off toward the house before I could
say another word. I thought it cowardly in him to run away--I know I
should have had his secret out of him, if he had only given me a fair
show. Dick never was any hand at keeping secrets, especially from his
sister.
* * * * *
“Dick,” said mother, when we were seated at the table, “there are a few
more things we’ll need from home, if we’re going to stay here a month.
If I gave you a list of them, and told you where to find them, do you
suppose you could pack them in a trunk and bring them back with you?”
“Yes’m,” said Dick, promptly, for he never really doubted his ability
to do things.
“There’s only one thing that worries me,” added mother, “that’s about
your studies. Neither you nor Cecil ought to lose a whole month--you,
especially, when you have so little--”
I couldn’t bear to hear her talk so, just as though it were certain
that we should have to take up the old life again, with its manifold
perplexities and narrow outlook.
“Oh, mother,” I cried, “we’re going to find the treasure, you know, and
then Dick shall go to college!”
Mother smiled a wistful little smile.
“That would be fine, wouldn’t it?” she said.
“I hope it may come true, for both your sakes; but we mustn’t be too
sure--we mustn’t set our hearts on it too much. Besides, whatever
happens, I don’t think you ought to lose a whole month.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do, mother,” said Dick. “I’ll bring
our school-books over, and Cecil and I can put in a couple of hours
every morning, so we won’t fall so very far behind. Tom Chester’s got
a tutor,” he added, with some irrelevance, “who’s coaching him for the
June exams. He comes over from Fanwood every morning.”
“What college is he going to, Dick?” I asked.
“Oh, to Princeton,” said Dick, as though there wasn’t any other.
I knew that it was to Princeton Dick had dreamed of going. He had never
confided that dream to anyone but me. And a bold project leaped into my
head, which I determined to carry out that very day.
“Well,” said mother, “you’ll never get to college, or anywhere else,
if you don’t study, no matter how lucky you are in other ways. So it’s
agreed that you and Cecil will put in two hours at your books every
morning.”
“Yes, mother,” promised Dick; “that’s agreed.”
“Then I’ll make out a list of what we need,” mother added.
“Will to-morrow do to go after them?” asked Dick, with a note of
anxiety in his voice, “because to-day Tom and I were going to--to--”
“Oh, yes; to-morrow will do very well,” said mother, as he stopped in
some confusion.
“What is it you’re going to do, Dick?” I questioned, putting my pride
in my pocket.
“Never you mind,” he retorted, and fell distractedly silent, only
smiling to himself from time to time in a most tantalizing way.
As soon as the meal was finished, having assured himself that mother
did not need him for anything, he disappeared as entirely as though
the earth had opened and swallowed him; but I suspected that he was
somewhere on the other side of that high wall which separated our
garden from the Chester place.
Yet, after all, I did not miss him greatly, for mother and I spent
the morning in a tour of the house--and such a house! I have already
spoken of its exterior; of its interior I know I can give only the
most inadequate idea. As I have already said, a wide hall divided
the lower floor into two halves. The hall itself reminded me of the
pictures I have seen of the great halls in feudal castles, with its
beamed ceiling, its waxed floor, its great fireplace and its impressive
furniture. On one side were the state apartments, the parlours,
connected by a double door. They had apparently been hermetically
closed for years, and were very musty and dusty. They were furnished in
hideous horsehair, and we closed the door behind us after the merest
glance into them. On the other side of the hall were the living rooms,
of heroic proportions and furnished with lovely old mahogany of a style
which I have since learned is called Hepplewhite. The chairs, the
tables, the sideboard, were all things of beauty; graceful, substantial
and right in every way. How those old cabinet-makers must have loved
their work, and what pains they took with it!
Up-stairs were the bed-rooms, sewing-rooms, servants’ rooms, what not.
We went on and on, through room after room, peering into innumerable
closets, opening windows and shutters; stopping here and there to
exclaim over some beautiful piece of walnut or mahogany, and standing
fairly speechless at last among the chaotic heap of treasures in the
attic. It was evident enough that the parlours had not always been
furnished in horsehair! There was a pair of slender-legged card-tables,
inlaid in satin-wood, with entrancing curves--but there; if I stopped
to describe one-half the treasures in that attic there would never be
an end!
“The Nelson family has lived here for five or six generations, so Mr.
Chester told me last night,” said mother, at last. “They’ve always been
well-to-do, and that accounts for all this beautiful old furniture.
Besides, in those days as in these, the best was always the cheapest.
Just see how strong and well-made it all is, built honestly to last
many lifetimes. Aunt Nelson seems to have taken fairly good care of it;
all it needs is a little upholstering and refinishing. However, it’s no
use to talk of that!” and she turned sharply to go down again.
“But, mother, wait a minute,” I protested. “You remember what Mr.
Chester said--that he believed the treasure was concealed somewhere in
the house? Isn’t this the most likely place of all?”
“No more likely than any one of those scores of chests and drawers and
clothes-presses down-stairs,” and she started resolutely to descend.
I followed her despondently. What she said was true, of course; the
treasure might be in any one of the closets, or in any one of the
innumerable drawers of dressers, cupboards, and bureaus, all of
which seemed crammed to overflowing with the accumulations of those
six generations. In the beginning, I had had some wild notion of
ransacking the house from top to bottom, but I saw now what a physical
impossibility that would be in the month allotted us. Alas, six days of
that month were already gone!
I went out and sat down on one of the front steps to think it over.
After all, I told myself, it would be foolish to go blindly about the
search, hoping to look _everywhere_, and consequently looking nowhere
thoroughly. The wise way would be to begin with the more likely places,
search them carefully, and so proceed gradually to the less likely
ones. And what was the most likely of all? Mr. Chester had said that
grandaunt would naturally wish to keep her securities where they would
be constantly under her eye and easy of access. The next instant, I
sprang to my feet, fairly burning with excitement--to keep them under
her eye--to keep them where she could look them over without fear of
interruption--it was obvious enough! They must be concealed somewhere
in her own room! How stupid I had been!
I fairly flew up the stair and to the room which had been grandaunt’s.
It was situated at the front end of the upper hall, right over the
front entrance, and overlooking the drive. I hesitated a moment with my
hand on the knob, and a little shiver of my old fear of grandaunt swept
over me; but I shook it away, opened the door and closed it resolutely
behind me. This was no time for foolish sentiment. Besides, I didn’t
believe in ghosts.
It was very dark in the room, but I opened one of the shutters and let
in a stream of sunlight. Then I sat down to take a careful survey of my
surroundings.
The room was not a very large one and was furnished in the simplest
fashion. One corner was occupied by a four-poster of moderate
size--a mere baby beside the huge one in the guest-chamber. The
hangings were rather old and faded, but the bed had on it a quilt,
intricately embroidered, which, at another time, would have awakened
my enthusiasm. Preoccupied as I was, I paused for an instant to look
at it and to wonder at the patience of its maker, for it evidently
represented long weeks of labour.
Opposite the bed was a small dressing-table, a very gem of a thing,
and in a kind of alcove between the two front windows was a desk,
which riveted my attention. It was a very large one, of black walnut,
and when I let down the top, innumerable drawers and pigeon-holes
were disclosed. There was also a row of drawers down either side to
the floor, and in the sides, opening outward behind the drawers, were
partitioned receptacles for account-books. All this I took in at a
glance, as it were, and my heart was beating wildly, for I knew that
this desk was the natural hiding-place of grandaunt’s papers. It was
just here that she would keep them!
But the rose of Sharon!
I confess that baffled me for a moment; and yet, I told myself, what
was more natural than that the whole hocus-pocus about the rose of
Sharon should have been devised merely to throw us off the track. At
any rate, I would examine the desk as closely as I could.
There were loose papers and a number of account-books in the
pigeon-holes, but a glance at them was sufficient to show me that none
of them could be the documents I sought, even had it been probable
that grandaunt would have kept such valuable papers so carelessly. The
drawers, too, were filled with a litter of papers of various kinds
and in the compartments at the sides of the desk, old account-books
had been crowded until they would hold no more; but there was nothing
which, by any stretch of the imagination, could be made to resemble
“stocks, bonds and other securities.” How that phrase mocked me!
The search completed, I sat down again in the chair before the desk
and regarded it despondently. The desk itself had been open and not
one of the drawers had been locked. The keys, strung upon a wire ring,
hung from a tack inside the desk. If grandaunt had kept her securities
there, it would, most certainly, have been under lock and key.
There was a wardrobe in the room, but a glance into it had shown me
that it contained nothing but an array of grandaunt’s old clothes, hung
against the wall. If the papers were not in this desk, where could they
be? The room seemed to offer no other reasonable hiding-place--
A dash of colour at the back of the desk caught my eye, and I leaned
forward to descry hanging there a little calendar, bearing a picture of
a dark girl in a picturesque red costume, standing beside an old well,
evidently intended to be Arabian or Egyptian or something Oriental.
There was a little line of print under the picture, and my heart leaped
with a sudden suffocating rapture as I deciphered it--“The Rose of
Sharon!”
I was so a-tremble for a moment that I clutched the arms of the chair
to steady myself--to keep myself from failing forward; but the weakness
passed, and left behind it a kind of high excitement. My brain seemed
somehow wonderfully clear. Without an instant’s hesitation, I counted
four pigeon-holes to the right and then three diagonally. The last
one was stuffed with papers, which I had already examined. I did not
so much as glance at them, as I took them out, but laying them on the
desk, I put my hand into the hole and pressed steadily against the
back. I half-expected to see the front of the desk swing outward toward
me, but apparently nothing happened, though I was certain that I had
felt the back of the pigeon-hole move a little. Examining it more
carefully with my fingers, I felt a slight projection, and almost at
the instant I touched it, a little door at the side of the desk flew
open.
I sprang from my seat and peered into the opening. It was a kind of
cubby-hole between the pigeon-holes at the front and the back of the
desk, its door cunningly concealed by a strip of molding--a secret
compartment, if there ever was one--and in it lay a black tin box, the
very counterpart of the one Mr. Chester had shown us the night before!
I took but a glance at it, and then, snapping the little door shut,
ran frantically for mother. I wanted her to share the joy of the
discovery--to be present when the lid was raised.
I found her in the dining-room down-stairs, putting the final touches
to the dinner-table.
“Why, Cecil!” she cried, as I burst in upon her. “What has happened?
You look--”
“Never mind, mother,” I said, in a kind of hoarse whisper. “Come along.
And oh, hurry! I’ve found it!”
Her face whitened suddenly, and she put one hand on the table to steady
herself.
“You’ve found it?” she repeated.
I nodded. I was past words. Then I turned to the door, and she followed
me--out into the hall, up the stair, into grandaunt’s room. I stopped
before the desk.
“See,” I said, my composure partially regained, “this is grandaunt’s
desk--the natural place for her to keep her papers--and here is the
rose of Sharon,” I went on, showing her the calendar with its Oriental
picture and the line beneath. “Here are four pigeon-holes to the right
and three diagonally; I press this little spring at the back, and that
little door flies open. What do you see inside, mother?”
“A tin box,” answered mother, almost in a whisper.
“And in the box,” I said, “are the papers.” And I drew it forth.
As I did so, a sickening fear fell upon me, for the box was very light.
In an agony of terror, I threw up the lid. The box was empty, except
for a single sheet of paper. I snatched it out and read it:
“MY DEAR NIECE:--You will, of course, find this box. Any fool could
do that. I kept my papers in it for many years, and they seemed
safe enough; but such a hiding-place was too obvious for such a
test as I proposed to set you. I therefore removed them to another
hiding-place, to which the key which you have been given also applies.
Since you have come thus far on the journey, I may say that I hope
you will be successful; but I doubt it. I fear neither you nor your
children have the industry and patience and perseverance necessary to
achieve success in any difficult thing. I may be mistaken--I hope I
am.
“Your Aunt,
“ELIZA NELSON.”