PREPARING FOR THE VISIT.
"Of course he will not, for I shall ask Dr. Morris to go after him in
his carriage," Katy said, as out in the orchard where she was gathering
the early harvest apples she read the letter brought her by Uncle
Ephraim, her face crimsoning all over with happy blushes as she saw
the dear affixed to her name.
Katy had waited so anxiously for a letter, or some message which should
say that she was not forgotten by Wilford Cameron, but as the weeks went
by and it did not come, a shadow had fallen upon her spirits, and the
family missed something from her ringing laugh and frolicsome ways,
while she herself wondered why the household duties given to her should
be so utterly distasteful. She used to enjoy them so much, but now she
liked nothing except to go with Uncle Ephraim out into the fields where
she could sit alone while he worked nearby, or to ride with Morris as
she sometimes did when he made his round of calls. She was not as good
as she used to be, she thought, and with a view of making herself better
she took to teaching in Morris' and Helen's Sunday-school, greatly to
the distress of Aunt Betsy, who groaned bitterly when both her nieces
adopted the "Episcopal quirks," forsaking entirely the house where
Sunday after Sunday her old-fashioned leghorn with its faded ribbon of
green was seen, bending down in the humble worship which God so much
approves. But teaching in Sunday-school, taken by itself, could not make
Katy better, and the old restlessness remained until the morning when,
sitting on the grass beneath the apple tree, she read that Wilford
Cameron was coming. Then, as by magic, everything was changed, and Katy
never forgot the brightness of that day when the robins sang so merrily
above her head and all nature seemed to sympathize with her joy.
Afterward there came to her dark, wretched hours, when in her young
heart's agony she wished that day had never been, but there was no
shadow around her now, nothing but hopeful sunshine, and with a bounding
step she sought out Helen, to tell her the good news. Helen's first
remark, however, was a chill upon her spirits.
"Wilford Cameron coming here? What will he think of us, we are so unlike
him?"
This was the first time Katy had seriously considered the difference
between her surroundings and those of Wilford Cameron, or how it might
affect him. But Aunt Betsy, who had never dreamed of anything like
Wilford's home, and who thought her own quite as good as they would
average, comforted her, telling her how "if he was any kind of a chap he
wouldn't be looking round, and if he did, who cared; she guessed they
was as good as he, and as much thought of by the neighbors."
Wilford's letter had been delayed so that the morrow was the day
appointed for his coming, and never sure was there a busier afternoon
at the farmhouse than the one which followed the receipt of the letter.
Everything that was not spotlessly clean before was made so now. Aunt
Betsy in her petticoat and short gown going down upon her knees to scrub
the door sill of the back room, as if the city guest were expected to
sit in there. On Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox devolved the duty of
preparing for the wants of the inner man, while Helen and Katy bent
their energies to beautifying their humble home and making the most of
their plain furniture.
"If Uncle Ephraim had only let me move the chimney, we could have had
a nice spare sleeping-room instead of this little tucked up hole," Mrs.
Lennox said, coming in with her hands covered with flour, and casting a
rueful look at the small room kept for company, and where Wilford was to
sleep.
It was not very spacious, being only large enough to admit the high post
bed, a single chair, and the old-fashioned washstand with the hole in
the top for the bowl and a drawer beneath for towels, the whole
presenting a most striking contrast to those handsome chambers on Fifth
Avenue, or, indeed, to the one at the Ocean House where Wilford sat
smoking and wishing the time away, while Helen and Katy held a
consultation as to whether it would not be better to dispense with the
parlor altogether and give that room to their visitor. But this was
vetoed by Aunt Betsy, who, having finished the back door sill, had now
come around to the front, and, with her scrubbing brush in one hand and
her saucer of sand in the other, held forth upon the foolishness of the
girls.
"Of course if they had a beau, they'd want a t'other room, else where
would they do their sparkin'."
That settled it. The parlor should remain as it was, Katy said, and Aunt
Betsy went on with her scouring, while Helen and Katy consulted together
how to make the huge feather bed seem more like the mattresses such as
Morris had, and such as Mr. Cameron must be accustomed to. Helen's mind
being the most suggestive solved the problem first, and a large
comfortable was brought from the box in the garret and folded carefully
over the bed, which, thus hardened and flattened, "seemed like a
mattress," Katy said, for she tried it, pronouncing it good, and feeling
quite well satisfied with the room when it was finished. And certainly
it was not wholly uninviting with its snowy bed, whose covering almost
swept the floor, its strip of bright carpeting in front, its vase of
flowers upon the stand and its white fringed curtain sweeping back from
the narrow window.
"I'd like to sleep here myself. It looks real nice," was Katy's comment,
while Helen offered no opinion, but followed her sister into the yard
where they were to sweep the grass and prune the early September
flowers.
This afforded Aunt Betsy a chance to reconnoiter and criticise, which
last she did unsparingly.
"What have they done to that bed to make it look so flat? Put on a
bed-quilt, as I'm alive! What children! It would break my back to lie
there, and this Cannon is none the youngest, accordin' to their
tell--nigh on to thirty, if not turned. It will make his bones ache, of
course. I am glad I know better than to treat visitors that way. The
comforter may stay, but I'll be bound I'll make it softer!" and stealing
up the stairs, Aunt Betsy brought down a second feather bed, much
lighter than the one already on, but still large enough to suggest the
thought of smothering. This she had made herself, intending it as a part
of Katy's "setting out," should she ever marry, and as things now seemed
tending that way, it was only right, she thought, that Mr. Cannon, as
she called him, should begin to have the benefit of it. Accordingly, the
handiwork of the girls was destroyed, and two beds, instead of one, were
placed beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy permitted to remain.
"I'm mighty feared they'll find me out," she said, stroking, and
patting, and coaxing the beds to lie down, taking great pains in the
making, and succeeding so well that when her task was done there was no
perceptible difference between Helen's bed and hers, except that the
latter was a few inches higher than the former, and more nearly
resembled a pincushion in shape.
Carefully shutting the door, Aunt Betsy hurried away, feeling glad that
her nieces were too much engaged in training a vine over a frame to
afford them time for discovering what she had done. Katy, she knew, was
going to Linwood by and by, after various little things which Mrs.
Lennox thought indispensable to the entertaining of so great a man as
Wilford Cameron, and which the farmhouse did not possess, and as Helen
too would be busy, there was not much danger of detection.
It was late when the last thing was accomplished, and the sun was quite
low ere Katy was free to start on her errand, carrying the market basket
in which she was to put the articles borrowed of Morris.
He was sitting out on his piazza enjoying the fine prospect he had of
the sun shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding
the top of the little church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he
arose and greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with
him, for since we last looked upon Morris Grant he had fought a fierce
battle with his selfishness, coming off conqueror, and learning to
listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she often did, of
Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how anxious she was
for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he thought Mr. Cameron
would ever write to her. It was hard at first for Morris to listen, and
harder still to hold back the passionate words of love trembling on his
lips, to keep himself from telling her how improbable it was that one
like Mr. Cameron should cherish thoughts of her after mingling again
with the high-born city belles, and to beg of her to take him in
Cameron's stead--him who had loved her so long, ever since he first knew
what it was to love, and who would cherish her so tenderly, loving her
the more because of the childishness which some men might despise. But
Morris had kept silence, and, as weeks went by, there came insensibly
into his heart a hope, or rather conviction, that Cameron had forgotten
the little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening his home just
as she did every spot where her fairy footsteps trod. Morris did not
fully know that he was hugging this fond dream, until he felt the keen
pang which cut like a dissector's knife as Katy, turning her bright,
eager face up to him, whispered softly: "He's coming to-morrow--he
surely is; I have his letter to tell me so."
Morris did not see the sunshine then upon the distant hills, although it
lay there just as purple as before Katy came, bringing blackness and
pain when heretofore she had only brought him joy and gladness. There
was a moment of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun
setting, and Katy seemed a great ways off to Morris, trying so hard to
be calm, and mentally asking for help to do so. But Katy's hat, which
she swung in her hand, had become entangled in the vines encircling one
of the pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice him until all
traces of his agitation were past, and he could talk with her concerning
Wilford, and then playfully lifting her basket he asked what she had
come to get.
This was not the first time the great house had rendered a like service
to the little house, and so Katy did not blush when she explained how
her mother wanted Morris' forks, and saltcellars, and spoons, and would
he be kind enough to bring the castor over himself, and come to dinner
to-morrow at two o'clock?--and would he go after Mr. Cameron? The forks,
and saltcellars, and spoons, and castor were cheerfully promised, while
Morris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came to the rest of
her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch as it might look like
throwing disrespect upon Uncle Ephraim--honest, unsophisticated Uncle
Ephraim--who would come to the table in his shirt sleeves. This was the
burden of her grief--the one thing she dreaded most, inasmuch as she
knew by experience how such an act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron, who,
never having lived in the country a day in his life, except as he was
either guest or traveler, could not make due allowance for these little
departures from refinement, so obnoxious to people of his training.
"What is it, Katy?" Morris asked, as he saw how she hesitated, and
guessed her errand was not done.
"I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked," Katy began, her eyes
filling with tears, as she felt that she might be doing Uncle Ephraim
a wrong by even admitting that in any way he could be improved. "I
certainly love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and I do not mind his ways, but Mr.
Cameron may--that is, oh, Cousin Morris! did you ever notice how Uncle
Ephraim will persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves."
"Persist is hardly the word to use," Morris replied, smiling comically,
as he readily understood Katy's misgivings. "Persist would imply his
having been often remonstrated with for that breach of etiquette;
whereas I doubt much whether the idea that it was not in strict
accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him."
"Maybe not," Katy answered. "It was never necessary till now, and I feel
so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron to like him, and if he does that I
am sure he won't."
"Why do you think so?" Morris asked, and Katy replied: "He is so
particular, and was so very angry at a little hotel between Lakes
George and Champlain, where we took our dinner before going on the
boat. There was a man along--a real good-natured man, too, so kind to
everybody--and, as the day was warm, he carried his coat on his arm, and
sat down to the table that way, right opposite me. Mr. Cameron was so
indignant, and said such harsh things, which the man heard, I am sure,
for he put on his coat directly; and I saw him afterward on the boat,
sweating like rain, and looking sorry as if he had done something wrong.
I am sure, though, he had not?"
This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris replied: "There is
nothing wrong or wicked in going without one's coat. Everything depends
upon the circumstances under which it is done. For me to appear at table
in my shirt sleeves would be very impolite; but for an old man like
Uncle Ephraim, who has done it all his life and who never gave it a
thought, would, in my estimation, be a very different thing. Still, Mr.
Cameron may see from another standpoint. But I would not distress
myself. That love is not worth much which would think the less of you
for anything _outré_ which Uncle Ephraim may do. If Mr. Cameron cannot
stand the test of seeing your relatives as they are, he is not worth the
long face you are wearing," and Morris pinched her cheek playfully.
"Yes, I know," Katy replied; "but if you only could manage Uncle Eph I
should be so glad."
Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but he promised to
try if an opportunity should occur, and as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper,
had by this time gathered up the articles required for the morrow,
Morris himself took the basket in his own hands and went back with Katy
across the fields, which had never seemed so desolate as to-night, when
he felt how vain were all the hopes he had been cherishing.
"God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron's visit bring you as much
happiness as you anticipate," he said as he set her basket upon the
doorstep and turned back without entering the house.
Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again there swept over
her the same thrill she had felt when Morris first said to her, "And did
Katy like this Mr. Cameron?" but so far was she from guessing the truth
that she only feared she might have displeased him by what she had said
of Uncle Ephraim; and as an unkind word breathed against a dear friend,
even to a mutual friend, always leaves a scar, so Katy, though saying
nothing ill, still felt that in some way she had wronged her uncle; and
the good old man, resting from his hard day's toil, in his accustomed
chair, with not only his coat, but his vest and boots cast aside, little
guessed what prompted the caresses which Katy bestowed upon him, sitting
in his lap and parting lovingly his snowy hair, as if thus she would
make amends for any injury done. Little Katy-did he called her, looking
fondly into her bright, pretty face, and thinking how terrible it would
be to see that face shadowed with pain and care. Somehow, of late, Uncle
Ephraim was always thinking of such a calamity as more than possible for
Katy, and when that night she knelt beside him, his voice was full of
pleading earnestness as he prayed that God would keep them all in
safety, and bring to none of them more grief, more suffering, than was
necessary to purify them for His own. "Purified by suffering" came
involuntarily into Katy's mind as she listened, and then remembered the
talk down in the meadow, when she sat on the rock beneath the butternut
tree. But Katy was far too thoughtless yet for anything serious to abide
with her long; and the world, while it held Wilford Cameron as he seemed
to her now, was too full of joy for her to be sad, and so she arose from
her knees, thinking only how long it would be before to-morrow noon,
wondering if Wilford would surely be there next time their evening
prayers were said, and if he would notice Uncle Ephraim's shocking
grammar!