AT THE OFFICE OF A JUSTICE
Fortunately the distance to the blacksmith's was not great, for Mr.
Chester could not be dissuaded from accompanying his wife and daughter
thither, in answer to that astounding "summons." That the document was
legal and not to be ignored, he knew well enough, though mother Martha
protested vigorously against paying any attention to it.
"It's some absurd mistake, John. How in the world could our Dolly be a
witness in any such affair? No, indeed. Not a step will any of us take
toward that shop-office! A pretty justice of the peace a blacksmith must
be, anyway! I never was so insulted in my life. Instead of going there,
I'm going down cellar to clean it up and made ready for our
butter-making."
"First--catch your cow, wife dear! A better one than that old Brindle
who has deserted us already. And as for your going, why, of course,
_you_ needn't. Dorothy C. is the important person in this case, and I'm
as much her guardian as you."
"John, you mustn't! You couldn't walk so far on your crutches----"
"Oh! I must learn to walk long distances, and 'up-mounting' must be
comparatively near. I remember that Alfaretta said it was 'next door to
Cat Hollow,' and Cat Hollow's just beyond Skyrie. Dorothy'd better run
over to Mrs. Smith's, where you get your milk, and ask directions. No
use to waste any strength hobbling over the wrong route----"
"Maybe the grocer's wagon will be up before ten o'clock and he might
carry you," suggested Mrs. Chester.
"He ought not to go out of his way, that clerk; besides, it would be as
difficult for me to climb into his high cart as to trot along on my own
wooden feet. Shall Dolly inquire?"
So Dorothy was dispatched upon the errand, duly warned not to inform the
Smith household of its cause, though there was small danger of that.
The girl had never been so angry in her life. "Arrested," was the way
she put the matter to herself, yet why--why! She had never done anything
wicked in her life! and this man, "Archibald Montaigne," what did she
know about such a person or any dogs which might have run into him? Nor
was she prepared for the evident curiosity with which Mrs. Smith
regarded her; a curiosity greater than that her kidnapping adventures
had provoked, and which angered her still more.
"The way to Seth's shop? Sure. I know it well's I know the road to my
own barnyard. You go out your gate and turn toward the river and walk
till you come to the corner of two roads. Take the upper road, right
into the woods, and there you'll be. Don't you be afraid, Sis. Nobody
can do anything to just a witness, so. The boy'll be the one'll catch
it, and heavy. That Mr. Montaigne looks like a regular pepper-pod, and
is, too. Why, he sent his man down here, t'other day, to warn me to keep
my hens shut up and off his property. _My hens!_ That was never shut up
in their lives, nor found fault with before. But----"
"Good-morning. Thank you," interrupted Dorothy, rather rudely, but too
impatient to be back at home to think about that. Arrived there she
found that, like a good many other people, once given her own way mother
Martha did not care to take it. Instead of ignoring the summons to
court, she arrayed herself in her best street costume and duly appeared
at Seth Winters's home with her crippled husband and indignant child.
There is no need to describe the "trial" which followed. It was almost
farcical in its needlessness, and poor Dorothy's part in it of the
slightest import. She had to tell that she did know the dogs, Peter and
Ponce, and that once she had been run against and knocked down by one of
them. Also, that on the morning of the "assault" these dogs had called
at Skyrie and that she had lost hold of one of them, and that they had
run away with one James Barlow in pursuit. Then she was dismissed; but
at a nod from Mrs. Calvert, crossed the room to where that lady sat and
nestled down beside her, surprised to find her in such a place and,
apparently, so much amused by the scene.
The outcome of the affair was simple. Mr. Montaigne's anger had had time
to cool and he was a snob. It was one thing to prosecute a helpless lad
but quite another to find that the "ferocious" dogs belonged to his
aristocratic neighbor, whose acquaintance he had not heretofore been
permitted to make, although he had endeavored so to do. Mrs. Cecil was,
practically, the very center and queen of that exclusive circle which
had "discovered" the "Heights" and was the most bitterly opposed to
"outsiders" possessing property thereon.
"This man Montaigne, Cousin Seth, may have much more money than brains,
but we don't want him up here on our hill," she had once said to her old
friend, and giving him that title of "Cousin" from real affection rather
than because he had any right to it.
He had laughed at her in his genial, hearty way, which could give no
offence, and had returned:
"My good Betty, you need humanizing. We can't all be old Maryland
Calverts, and I like new people. Don't fancy that a man who has made
millions--_made it_, understand--is brainless, and not well worth
knowing. You know I can _spend_ money----"
"None better, man!"
"But the gift of _making_ it was denied me. I intend that you and I
shall know this Mr. Montaigne and--like him. I shall make it my business
to accomplish that fact even though, at present, he thinks a country
blacksmith beneath his notice. That time will come. I have infinite
patience, I can wait, but I shall hugely enjoy the event when it
arrives."
This conversation had taken place the summer before, when the newcomer
had begun the building of his really palatial residence, and Seth
Winters had waited a whole year, little dreaming that the acquaintance
he had determined upon should begin in his own office, with him as
arbiter in a case between a rich man and a penniless boy.
"The complaint is withdrawn," declared the complainant, as soon as he
had discovered the real state of affairs, and that now was his chance to
become acquainted with Mrs. Cecil. "I--I was offended at the time,
but--it's too trivial to notice. I beg to apologize, Madam Calvert, for
the annoyance I've given you. Of course, the lad----"
"Don't mention it; an amusement rather than an annoyance," replied the
lady, graciously. "So little of moment happens up here on our mountain
that an episode of this kind is quite--quite refreshing. My Great Danes
will not trouble you again. My 'Cousin' Winters, here--allow me to make
you acquainted in a social as well as business way--my 'Cousin' Winters
is almost as much attached to the beautiful animals as I am, and he has
this very morning presented me with a pair of wonderful chains,
warranted not to break. Fortunately, he had them already waiting my
arrival, as a gift, and never gift more opportune."
"My 'Cousin' Winters!"
Archibald Montaigne felt as if the boards beneath his feet were giving
way. That this old gentlewoman whose blood was of the bluest--and he
adored "blue blood"--should claim relationship with an obscure farrier
was a most amazing thing. Well, then, the next best step for himself to
take in this affair was to foster the acquaintance with the smith; and
thereby, it might be, gain entrance for his family and himself into
"Society."
For his family first. That credit was due him. Personally, he loved
better a quiet corner in his own great mansion, where he might study the
fluctuations of the "market" and scheme to increase the wealth he had
already compassed. And with the shrewdness which had enabled him to take
advantage of mere money-making "chances," he now seized upon the social
one presented.
"My dear Madam Calvert, my wife and daughter are without in my carriage.
They have been a little--little lonely up here, for it's quiet, as you
say. Do allow me to present them, call them in, or--if you will be so
kind, so very kind, our precious Helena is an invalid, you know, you
might step out to them with me. If I might appeal to your kindness for
my daughter, who's heard so much about you and will be so delighted."
What could Mrs. Cecil do? Nobody had ever appealed to her "kindness"
without receiving it, and though she positively hated to know these
"new, upstart people," she was too well bred to show it. But as Mr.
Montaigne bowed the way outward she flashed a look toward the smiling
smith, which said as plainly as words:
"You've caught me in this trap! The consequences are yours!"
The glance he telegraphed back meant, as well:
"Good enough! I'm always glad to see a prejudice get its downfall. The
time I waited for came, you see."
Almost unconsciously, Mrs. Cecil still retained in her own soft hand the
clinging one of Dorothy C., which she had taken when she called the girl
to her side; so that she now led her out of the office to the carriage
before its door and to what Dorothy thought was the loveliest person she
had ever seen.
This was Helena Montaigne, a blonde of the purest type, whose great blue
eyes were full of a fine intelligence, but whose perfect features were
marred by an expression of habitual discontent. This little lady made
Dorothy think of the heads of angels painted upon Christmas cards and,
also, for an instant made her stare rather rudely. The next she had
recovered herself and acknowledged Mr. Montaigne's introduction with a
natural grace and ease which delighted Mrs. Cecil beyond words. She was
always gratified when "Johnnie's" adopted daughter proved herself worthy
of the interest she had taken in her; and she now mentally compared the
beauty of the two girls, with no disparagement to Dorothy C.
Indeed, the dark eyes, the tumbled curly head,--where the brown hair was
just recovering from the rough shearing Miranda Stott had given it,
while her young prisoner was ill with the measles,--and the trim, erect
little figure, had already become in the eyes of this childless old lady
a very dear and charming picture.
Helena's manner was that of a grown young lady, which, indeed, she quite
fancied herself to be. Was she not fourteen and, on state occasions,
promoted to the dignity of having her abundant hair "done up" by her
mother's own hairdresser? And as for skirts, they had been lengthened to
the tops of her boots: and by another year she would have her dinner
frocks made _en train_. Her own manner was rather disdainful, as if the
people she met were not her equals; yet this contempt was for their
"general stupidity." She had not her father's love of money nor her
mother's timidity concerning her own behavior; for the fear that she
should not conduct herself according to the "best usages of polite
society" was the bane of gentle Mrs. Montaigne's existence. By nature
extremely simple and sweet, she tormented herself by her efforts to be
haughty and "aristocratic"--not quite understanding the true meaning of
the latter term.
Money had come to her too late in life for her to become accustomed to
the use of, and indifferent to, it; and, though she revered her husband
on account of his ability to make it, their wealth was a burden for her,
at times almost too heavy to bear.
On the other hand, Helena and Herbert, her brother, two years older,
could not remember when they had not more money at their command than
they knew how to use. The boy was not as clever as his sister, but he
was more generally liked, though his insolence, sometimes, was most
offensive. He rode up, at this moment, upon a spirited black horse, and
called out, noisily:
"Well, dad! How'd the trial go? Hope you walloped that lumpkin good;
and the old woman owns the dogs----"
"Herbert! _Herbert!_" warned Mr. Montaigne, in distress. Whereupon his
son came round from the corner of the shop, which had hidden him from
sight of all the party save his father, and found himself in the
presence of the very "old woman" herself. He had none of his parents'
ambition to know her or any other of the "exclusives" of the Heights,
being quite sufficient unto himself; but he had been trained in the best
schools and knew how to conduct himself properly. Besides, he was more
frank by nature than the others of his family and, having found himself
"in a box," escaped from it by the shortest way possible.
"Hello! I've done it now, haven't I? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Calvert,
and dad's and everybody's;" saying which, the lad pulled his hat from
his head, and checked his horse to a standstill beside the carriage
where his mother and sister sat.
He was a handsome boy, of the same fair type as Helena, but much more
rugged in strength; and his blue eyes danced with merriment instead of
frowning with the disdain of hers. He adored her yet quarreled with her
continually, because she had so little interest in "sensible, outdoor
things"; and his gaze now turned upon Dorothy with instant perception
that here was a girl worth knowing and no nonsense about her.
His gay debonair manner and his ready apology for his own blunder
pleased Mrs. Calvert. She liked honesty and did not mind, in the least,
having been termed an "old woman." This boy was worth all the rest of
the Montaignes put together, she decided, and thereupon showed her good
will by admiring his thoroughbred mount.
"That's a fine beast you have there, lad. Needs a little exercise to get
him into shape, but I reckon a few trips up and down this mountain will
fetch him right."
She had herself walked to her old friend's shop and now stepped forward
to examine at closer range the good points of the horse, stroking his
velvet nostrils with an affectionate touch, and patting his shoulder
approvingly.
Herbert stared and exclaimed:
"Why, that's strange! Cephy hates women. Won't let mother nor sister
come near him, or wouldn't if they tried--which only Helena has
done--once! You must like horses, ma'am, and understand 'em a lot."
"I ought to. I was brought up with them. They've been my best company
many and many a time. I was put into a saddle when I was but a year and
a half old. Held there, of course; but took to the business so well that
by the time I was five I could take a fence with my father, any time he
wanted to ride over the plantation. I'm glad to see you like them, too.
But I must be going. I'm sorry, Mr. Chester, that I didn't drive over;
then I could have taken you home, but. I didn't expect to have the
pleasure of meeting you here. I----"
As she paused this straightforward old lady looked at Mrs. Montaigne
with a questioning glance; but receiving no comprehending glance in
return addressed herself to her late opponent in law.
"Won't you let Mr. Chester take your place in your carriage, Mr.
Montaigne, and you walk alongside me? It's such a low, easy vehicle and
it's a good bit of a way back to Skyrie. I'm going there myself, and
there couldn't be a better time than this for all of us to call upon our
new neighbors. I'm sure we're all delighted to have them among us."
There was nothing for it but compliance. Though his face reddened and he
would far rather have walked, or hobbled, twice the distance than become
an enforced recipient of the Montaigne courtesy, John Chester felt that
this old gentlewoman had been and was too true a friend for him to
offend by not falling in with her proposal.
On his own part, Archibald Montaigne winced at the picture of this
crippled ex-postman riding in state beside his wife and daughter, yet
dared not refuse, lest by so doing he would close the door to that
future intimacy which he coveted. He felt that this intimacy with Mrs.
Cecil, personally, might be anything but agreeable; yet in her old white
hands lay the key to the social situation which was his latest ambition.
There ensued but the briefest hesitation, during which there issued from
Seth Winters's lips an amused, reproachful exclamation:
"O Betty, Betty! Never too old for mischief!"
But none heard the words save "Betty," who smiled as she did so. The
others were helping Mr. Chester into the carriage and settling him
comfortably there, with an ostentatious kindness on the part of Mr.
Montaigne which the ex-postman inwardly resented. Then the coachman
started his team forward, and the justice returned to his smithy,
cheerily calling out:
"Well, lad, we've come out of that business with flying colors! It was
the presence of Mrs. Calvert which did the most for us, though the man
has more sense than appeared, yesterday, else he wouldn't--Why, Jim?
James? Jimmy?"
There was no response. None but the office cat answered this summons.
The defendant in this remarkable suit had vanished.