WILFORD'S VISIT.
Much surprise was expressed by all the Cameron family, save the mother,
when told that instead of accompanying them to New York, Wilford would
take another route, and one directly out of his way; while, what was
stranger than all, he did not know when he should be home; it would
depend upon circumstances, he said, evincing so much annoyance at being
questioned with regard to his movements, that the quick-witted Juno
readily divined that there was some girl in the matter, teasing him
unmercifully to tell her who she was, and what the fair one was like.
"Don't, for pity's sake, bring us a verdant specimen," she said, as she
at last bade him good-by, and turned her attention to Mark Ray, her
brother's partner, who had been with them at Newport, and whom she was
bending all her energies to captivate.
With his sister's bantering words ringing in his ears, Wilford kept on
his way until the last change was made, and when he stopped again it
would be at Silverton. He did not expect any one to meet him, but as he
remembered the man whom he had seen greeting Katy, he thought it not
unlikely that he might be there now, laughing to himself as he pictured
Juno's horror, could she see him driving along in the corn-colored
vehicle which Uncle Ephraim drove. But that vehicle was safe at home
beneath the shed, while Uncle Ephraim was laying a stone wall upon the
huckleberry hill, and the handsome carriage waiting at Silverton depot
was certainly unexceptionable; while in the young man who, as the train
stopped and Wilford stepped out upon the platform, came to meet him,
bowing politely, and asking if he were Mr. Cameron, Wilford recognized
the true gentleman, and his spirits arose as Morris said to him: "I am
Miss Lennox's cousin, deputed by her to meet and take charge of you for
a time."
Wilford had heard of Dr. Morris Grant, for his name was often on
Jamie's lips, while his proud Sister Juno, he suspected, had tried her
powers of fascination in vain upon the grave American, met in the
saloons of Paris; but he had no suspicion that his new acquaintance
was the one until they were driving toward the farmhouse and Morris
mentioned having met his family in France, inquiring after them all, and
especially for Jamie. Involuntarily then Wilford grasped again the hand
of Morris Grant, exclaiming: "And are you the doctor who was so kind to
Jamie? I did not expect this pleasure?"
After that the ride seemed very short, and Wilford was surprised when as
they turned a corner in the sandy road, Morris pointed to the farmhouse,
saying: "We are almost there--that is the place."
"That!" and Wilford's voice indicated his disappointment, for in all his
mental pictures of Katy Lennox's home he had never imagined anything
like this:
Large, rambling and weird-like, with something lofty and imposing, just
because it was so ancient, was the house he had in his mind, and he
could not conceal his chagrin as his eye took in the small, low
building, with its high windows and tiny panes of glass, paintless and
blindless, standing there alone among the hills, Morris understood it
perfectly; but, without seeming to notice it, remarked: "It is the
oldest house probably in the country, and should be invaluable on that
account. I think we Americans are too fond of change and too much
inclined to throw aside all that reminds us of the past. Now I like
the farmhouse just because it is old and unpretentious."
"Yes, certainly," Wilford answered, looking ruefully around him at the
old stone wall, half tumbled down, the tall well-sweep, and the patch of
sunflowers in the garden, with Aunt Betsy bending behind them, picking
tomatoes for dinner, and shading her eyes with her hand to look at him
as he drove up.
It was all very rural, no doubt, and very charming to people who liked
it, but Wilford did not like it, and he was wishing himself safely in
New York when a golden head flashed for an instant before the window and
then disappeared as Katy emerged into view, waiting at the door to
receive him and looking so sweetly in her dress of white with the
scarlet geranium blossoms in her hair, that Wilford forgot the
homeliness of her surroundings, thinking only of her and how soft and
warm was the little hand he held as she led him into the parlor. He did
not know she was so beautiful, he said to himself, and he feasted his
eyes upon her, forgetful for a time of all else. But afterward when
Katy left him for a moment he noticed the well-worn carpet, the six
cane-seated chairs, the large stuffed rocking chair, the fall-leaf
table, with its plain wool spread, and, lastly, the really expensive
piano, the only handsome piece of furniture the room contained, and
which he rightly guessed must have come from Morris.
"What would Juno or Mark say?" he kept repeating to himself, half
shuddering as he recalled the bantering proposition to accompany him
made by Mark Ray, the only young man whom he considered fully his equal
in New York.
Wilford knew these feelings were unworthy of him and he tried to shake
them off, listlessly turning over the books upon the table, books which
betokened in some one both taste and talent of no low order.
"Mark's favorite," he said, lifting up a volume of Schiller, and turning
to the fly-leaf he read, "Helen Lennox, from Cousin Morris," just as
Katy returned and with her Helen, whom she presented to the stranger.
Helen was prepared to like him just because Katy did, and her first
thought was that he was splendid-looking, but when she met fully his
cold glance and knew how closely he was scrutinizing her, there arose
in her heart a feeling of dislike for Wilford Cameron, which she could
never wholly conquer. He was very polite to her, but something in his
manner annoyed and provoked her, it was so cool, so condescending, as
if he endured her merely because she was Katy's sister, nothing more.
"Rather pretty, more character than Katy, but odd, and self-willed, with
no kind of style."
This was Wilford's running comment on Helen as he took her in from the
plain arrangement of her dark hair to the fit of her French calico and
the cut of her linen Collar.
Fashionable dress would improve her very much, he thought, turning from
her with a feeling of relief to Katy, whom nothing could disfigure, and
who was now watching the door eagerly for the entrance of her mother.
That lady had spent a good deal of time at her toilet, and she came in
at last, flurried, fidgety, and very red, both from exercise and the
bright-hued ribbons streaming from her cap and sadly at variance with
the color of her dress. Wilford noticed the discrepancy at once, and
noticed too how little style there was about the nervous woman greeting
him so deferentially and evidently regarding him as something infinitely
superior to herself. Wilford had looked with indifference upon Helen,
but it would take a stronger word to express his opinion of the mother.
Had he come accidentally upon her without ever having met with Katy, he
would have regarded her as a plain, common country woman, who meant well
if nothing more; but now, alas! with Katy in the foreground, he was
weighing her in a far different balance and finding her sadly wanting.
He had not seen Aunt Hannah, nor yet Aunt Betsy, for they were in the
kitchen, making the last preparations for the dinner to which Morris was
to remain. He was in the parlor now and in his presence Wilford felt
more at ease, more as if he had found an affinity. Uncle Ephraim was not
there, having eaten his bowl of milk and gone back to his stone wall, so
that upon Morris devolved the duties of host, and he courteously led the
way to the little dining-room, which Wilford confessed was not
uninviting, with its clean floor and walls, and the table so loaded with
the good things Aunt Hannah had prepared, burning and browning her
wrinkled face, which nevertheless smiled pleasantly upon the stranger
presented as Mr. Cameron.
About Aunt Hannah there was something naturally ladylike, and Wilford
saw it; but when it came to Aunt Betsy, of whom he had never heard, he
felt for a moment as if by being there in such promiscuous company he
had somehow fallen from the Cameron's high estate. By way of pleasing
the girls and doing honor to their "beau," as she called Wilford, Aunt
Betsy had donned her very best attire, wearing the slate-colored pongee
dress, bought twenty years before, and actually sporting a set of
Helen's cast off hoops, which being quite too large for the dimensions
of her scanty skirt, gave her anything but the stylish appearance she
intended.
"Oh, auntie!" was Katy's involuntary exclamation, while Helen bit her
lip with vexation, for the hoop had been an after thought to Aunt Betsy
just before going in to dinner.
But the good old lady never dreamed of shocking any one with her
attempts at fashion; and curtseying very low to Mr. Cameron, she hoped
for a better acquaintance, and then took her seat at the table, just
where each movement could be distinctly seen by Wilford, scanning her so
intently as scarcely to hear the reverent words with which Morris asked
a blessing upon themselves and the food so abundantly prepared. They
could hardly have gotten through that first dinner without Morris, who
adroitly tried to divert Wilford's mind from what was passing around
him. But with all his vigilance he could not prevent his hearing Aunt
Betsy as, in an aside to Helen, she denounced the heavy fork she was
awkwardly trying to use, first expressing her surprise at finding it by
her plate instead of the smaller one to which she was accustomed.
"The land! if you didn't borry Morris' forks! I'd as soon eat with the
toastin' iron," she said, in a tone of distress, but Helen's foot
touching hers warned her to keep silence, which she did after that, and
the dinner proceeded quietly, Wilford discovering ere its close that
Mrs. Lennox, now that she was more composed, had really some pretensions
to a lady, while Helen's dress and collar ceased to be obnoxious, as he
watched the play of her fine features and saw her eyes kindle as she
took a modest part in the conversation when it turned on books and
literature.
Meanwhile Katy kept very still, her cheeks flushing and her eyes cast
down whenever she met Wilford's gaze; but when, after dinner was over
and Morris had gone, she went with him down to the shore of the pond,
her tongue was loosed, and Wilford found again the little fairy who had
so bewitched him a few weeks before. And yet there was a load upon his
mind--a shadow made by the actual knowledge that between Katy's family
and his there was a gulf which never could be crossed by either party.
He might bear Katy over, it was true, but would she not look longingly
back to the humble home, and might he not sometimes be greatly chagrined
by the sudden appearing of some one of this old-bred family who did not
seem to realize how ignorant they were, how far below him in the social
scale? Poor Wilford! he winced and shivered when he thought of Aunt
Betsy, in her antiquated pongee, and remembered that she was a near
relative of the little maiden sporting so playfully around him, stealing
his heart away in spite of family pride, and making him more deeply in
love than ever. It was very pleasant down by the pond, and Wilford, who
liked staying there better than at the house, kept Katy with him until
the sun was going down and they heard in the distance the tinkle of a
bell as the deacon's cows plodded slowly homeward. Supper was waiting
for them, and with his appetite sharpened by his walk, Wilford found no
cause of complaint against Aunt Hannah's viands, though he smiled
mentally as he accepted the piece of apple pie Aunt Betsy offered him,
saying by way of recommendation that "she made the crust but Catherine
peeled and sliced the apples."
The deacon had not returned from his work, and so Wilford did not see
him until he came suddenly upon him, seated in the woodshed door,
washing his feet after the labor of the day. Ephraim Barlow was a man to
command respect, and to a certain extent Wilford recognized the true
worth embodied in that unpolished exterior. He did not, however, see
much of him that night, for, as the deacon said, apologetically: "The
cows is to milk and the chores all to do, for I never keep no boy," and
when at last the chores were done the clock pointed to half-past eight,
the hour for family worship. Unaccustomed as Wilford was to such things,
he felt the influence of the deacon's voice as he read from the Word of
God, and involuntarily found himself kneeling when Katy knelt, noticing
the deacon's grammar, it is true, but still listening patiently to the
rather lengthy prayer which included him as well as the rest of mankind.
There was no chance of seeing Katy alone, and so full two hours before
his usual custom Wilford retired to the little room to which the deacon
conducted him, saying as he put down the lamp: "You'll find it pretty
snug quarters, I guess, for such a close, muggy night as this, but if
you can't stand it you must lie on the floor."
And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought; but there was no
alternative, and a few moments found him in the center of two feather
beds, neither Helen nor Katy having discovered the addition made by Aunt
Betsy, and which came near being the death of the New York guest, who,
wholly unaccustomed to feathers, was almost smothered in them, besides
being nearly melted. To sleep was impossible, as the September night
was hot and sultry, and never for a moment did Wilford lose his
consciousness or forget to accuse himself of being an idiot for coming
into that heathenish neighborhood after a wife when at home there were
so many girls ready and waiting for him.
"I'll go back to-morrow morning," he said, and, striking a match, he
read in his Railway Guide when the first train passed Silverton, feeling
comforted to think that only a few hours intervened between him and
freedom.
But alas! for Wilford. He was but a man, subject to man's caprices, and
when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as
pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his
resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in
Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not
take the first train as he had intended doing; and so he stayed, eating
fried apples and beefsteak, but forgetting to criticise, in his
appreciation of the rich thick cream poured into his coffee, and the
sweet, golden butter, which melted in soft waves upon the flakey rolls.
Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to the mill before Wilford
left his room, nor was he visible to the young man until after dinner,
for Wilford did not go home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage
which Morris sent around, excusing himself from coming on the plea of
being too busy, but saying he would join them at tea, if possible.
Wilford's mind was not yet fully made up, so he concluded to remain
another day and see more of Katy's family. Accordingly, after dinner, he
bent his energies to read them all, from Helen down to Aunt Betsy, the
latter of whom proved the most transparent of the four. Arrayed again
in the pongee, but this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor,
bringing her calico patchwork, which she informed him was pieced in the
"herrin' bone pattern" and intended for Katy; telling him, further, that
the feather bed on which he slept was also a part of "Catherine's
setting out," and was made from feathers she picked herself, showing him
as proof a mark upon her arm, left there by the gray goose, which had
proved a little refractory when she tried to draw a stocking over its
head.
Wilford groaned, and Katy's chance for being Mrs. Cameron was growing
constantly less and less as he saw more and more how vast was the
difference between the Barlows and himself. Helen, he acknowledged, was
passable, though she was not one whom he could ever introduce into New
York society; and he was wondering how Katy came to be so unlike the
rest, when Uncle Ephraim came up from the meadow, and announced himself
as ready now to visit, apologizing for his apparent neglect, and seeming
so absolutely to believe that his company was, of course, desirable,
that Wilford felt amused, wondering again what Juno, or even Mark Ray,
would think of the rough old man, sitting with his chair tipped back
against the wall, and going occasionally to the outside door to relieve
himself of his tobacco juice, for chewing was one of the deacon's
weaknesses. His pants were faultlessly clean, and his vest was buttoned
nearly up to his throat, but his coat was hanging on a nail out by the
kitchen door, and, to Katy's distress and Wilford's horror, he sat among
them in his shirt sleeves, all unconscious of harm or of the disquiet
awakened in the bosom of the young man, who on that point was foolishly
fastidious, and who showed by his face how much he was annoyed. Not even
the presence of Morris, who came in about tea time, was of any avail to
lift the cloud from his brow, and he seemed moody and silent until
supper was announced. This was the first opportunity Morris had had of
trying his powers of persuasion upon the deacon, and now, at a hint
from Katy, he said to him in an aside, as they were passing into the
dining-room: "Suppose, Uncle Ephraim, you put on your coat for once. It
is better than coming to the table so."
"Pooh," was Uncle Ephraim's innocent rejoinder, spoken loudly enough
for Wilford to hear, "I don't need it an atom. I shan't catch cold, for
I am used to it; besides that, I never could stand the racket this hot
weather."
In his simplicity he did not even suspect Morris' motive, but imputed it
wholly to his concern lest he should take cold. And so Wilford Cameron
found himself seated next to a man who willfully trampled upon all rules
of etiquette, shocking him in his most sensitive parts, and making him
thoroughly disgusted with the country and country people generally. All
but Morris and Katy--he did make an exception in their favor, leaning
most to Morris, whom he admired more and more as he became better
acquainted with him, wondering how he could content himself to settle
down quietly in Silverton, when he would surety die if compelled to live
there for a week. Something like this he said to Dr. Grant when that
evening they sat together in the handsome parlor at Linwood, for Morris
kindly invited him to spend the night with him:
"I stay at Silverton, first, because I think I can do more good here
than elsewhere, and, secondly, because I really like the country and the
country people, for, strange and uncouth as they may seem to you, who
never lived among them, they have kinder, truer hearts beating beneath
their rough exteriors, than are often found in the city."
This was Morris' reply, and in the conversation which ensued Wilford
Cameron caught glimpses of a nobler, higher phase of manhood than he had
thought existed, feeling an unbounded respect for one who, because he
believed it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to him, wasting his life
among people who could not appreciate his character, though they might
idolize the man. But this did not reconcile Wilford one whit the more to
Silverton. Uncle Ephraim had completed the work commenced by the two
feather beds, and at the breakfast, spread next morning in the coziest
of breakfast-rooms, he announced his intention of returning to New York
that day. To this Morris offered no objection, but asked to be
remembered to the mother, the sisters, and little Jamie, and then
invited Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he came again to
Silverton.
"Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be here very soon,"
Wilford replied, adding, as he met the peculiar glance of Morris' eye:
"I found Miss Katy a delightful traveling acquaintance, and on my way
from Newport thought I would renew it and see a little of rustic life."
Poor Katy! how her heart would have ached could she have heard those
words and understood their meaning, just as Morris did, feeling a rising
indignation for the man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he
was so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentlemanly, while better than
all, was he not virtually giving Katy up? and if he did, might she not
turn at last to him?
These were Morris' thoughts as he walked with Wilford across the fields
to the farmhouse, where Katy met them with her sunniest smile, singing
to them, at Wilford's request, her sweetest song, and making him half
wish he could revoke his hasty decision and tarry a little longer. But
it was now too late for that; the carriage which would take him to the
depot was already on its way from Linwood; and when the song was ended
he told her of his intentions to leave on the next train, feeling a pang
when he saw how the blood left her cheek and lip, and then came surging
back as she said timidly: "Why need you leave so soon?"
"Oh, I have already outstayed my time. I thought of going yesterday,
and my partner, Mr. Ray, will be expecting me," Wilford replied,
involuntarily laying his hand upon Katy's shining hair, while Morris
and Helen stole quietly from the room.
Thus left to himself, Wilford continued:
"Maybe I'll come again some time. Would you like to have me?"
"Yes," and Katy's blue eyes were lifted pleadingly to the young man, who
had never loved her so well as that very moment when resolving to cast
her off.
And as for Katy, she mentally called herself a fool for suffering
Wilford Cameron to see what was in her heart; but she could not help it,
for she loved him with all the strength of her impulsive nature, and to
have him leave her so suddenly hurt her cruelly.
For a moment Wilford was strongly tempted to throw all family pride
aside, and ask that young girl to be his; but thoughts of his mother,
of Juno and Bell, and more than all, thoughts of Uncle Ephraim and his
Sister Betsy, arose in time to prevent it, and so he only kissed her
forehead caressingly as he said good-by, telling her that he should not
soon forget his visit to Silverton, and then as the carriage drove up,
going out to where the remainder of the family were standing together
and commenting upon his sudden departure.
It was not sudden, he said, trying to explain. He really had thought
seriously of going yesterday, and feeling that he had something to atone
for, he tried to be unusually gracious as he shook their hands, thanking
them for their kindness, but seeming wholly oblivious to Aunt Betsy's
remark that "she hoped to see him again, if not at Silverton, in New
York, where she wanted dreadfully to visit, but never had on account
of the 'bominable prices charged to the taverns, and she hadn't no
acquaintances there."
This was Aunt Betsy's parting remark, and after Katy, simple-hearted
Aunt Betsy liked Wilford Cameron better than any one of the group which
watched him as he drove rapidly from their door. Aunt Hannah thought him
too much stuck up for farmer's folks, while Mrs. Lennox, whose ambition
would have accounted him a most desirable match for her daughter, could
not deny that his manner toward them, though polite in the extreme, was
that of a superior to people greatly beneath him; while Helen, who saw
clearer than the rest, read him tolerably aright, and detected the
struggle between his pride and his love for poor little Katy, whom she
found sitting on the floor, just where Wilford left her standing, her
head resting on the chair and her face hidden in her hands as she sobbed
quietly, hardly knowing why she cried or what to answer when Helen asked
what was the matter.
"It was so queer in him to go so soon," she said; "just as if he were
offended about something."
"Never mind, Katy," Helen said, soothingly. "If he's for you he will come
back again. He could not stay here always, of course; and I must say I
respect him for attending to his business, if he has any. He has been
gone from home for weeks, you know."
This was Helen's reasoning; but it did not comfort Katy, whose face
looked white and sad, as she moved listlessly about the house, almost
crying again when she beard in the distance the whistle of the train
which was to carry Wilford Cameron away, and end his first visit to
Silverton.