house of yours, and somehow I couldn't imagine Rob anywhere else.
Neither of the other girls ever seemed so much a part of the home as
Rob is," said Bruce.
"To tell the truth I feel just as you do about it; it seems to me more
suitable that Rob should be here with you than that Wythie and Basil
should live with me--of course Prue will not live in Fayre," cried
Mrs. Grey. "Rob was her father's 'son Rob,' you know, and she seems as
much a part of the little grey house as its lichens. Dearest, best and
bravest of daughters! I am glad that you know her as I know her, Bruce.
Rob could be very unhappy in the wrong hands."
"If these prove the wrong ones, or less than wholly pledged to her
welfare, may they wither away!" said Bruce with such entire earnestness
that there was nothing singular in the words, nor in the gesture with
which he held out his firm brown hands.
Rob raised her head from her mother's lap, "Let's get commonplace at
once!" she cried. "I refuse to remain at such an altitude another
moment. Mardy, what's for lunch?"
There was ample, fortunately, for even the newly betrothed proved to
be unromantically hungry. During the course of luncheon it suddenly
flashed upon Mrs. Grey that that night the family, which included the
Baldwins, Dr. Fairbairn, and Myrtle Hasbrook, had been invited to the
little grey house to listen to the reading of Basil's first novel, of
which he had written the final chapter two days before.
"It ought to be good," said Bruce. "He worked on it under the stimulus
of his newly married bliss."
"Like the man in Stockton's story, 'His Wife's Deceased Sister,'" added
Rob. "I hope he won't share that unfortunate author's fate. Wouldn't
it be queer if Basil had written one of the six best selling books
occurring in the list of sales in each city in the country in varying
heights in the column, but always one of the six?"
"O Phaebus, forbid, Rob!" cried Bruce. "Basil isn't forced to write for
money; he can afford to do good work."
"We will have our dearest people here tonight, and we will not only
hear Basil's novel, but let them share our new happiness," suggested
Mrs. Grey with a smiling look for Bruce's implied criticism.
"That will be a good way of announcing it," said Bruce, taking his hat.
"I've got to go now to join the doctor. Mayn't I tell him myself?"
"Yes, and come with me to tell Wythie and Basil; it isn't fair to leave
them to learn about it with the others--nor Cousin Peace. What a pity
Prue is away!" said Rob, jumping up to go with Bruce. "I'll just look
in a moment upon Cousin Peace on my way home from Wythie's, Mardy. And
oughtn't I order a stirrup cup for our friends?"
"A stirrup cup, Rob?" repeated her mother.
"Yes, why not, if I am going to ride away from Green Pastures to Gretna
Green? Only we may not quite elope," said Rob. "I mean nothing more
startling than some refreshments, Mardy."
"Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Mrs. Grey in pretended distress. "The
moment a girl is engaged her memory for details fails. Is it possible,
Roberta, that you have forgotten that you and I made cake all yesterday
afternoon, ordered cream, and prepared for the celebration of Basil's
novel?"
Rob laughed, and hastily ran away; she really had completely forgotten,
and it was embarrassing. She went from Wythie's raptures and Basil's
profound delight, to Cousin Peace's not less genuine though quieter
pleasure, and to little singing Polly's unexplained tears--"Singing
Polly," they called the child often now, for her voice was becoming
daily a more wonderful possession.
The evenings were already growing long, and early that night the
curtains were drawn close around the little grey house, and the lamps
lighted.
Wythie and Basil came down early, to find Bruce already there. The two
brothers, very like in features and colouring, though differing in
expression, and almost the same height, stood beside the fire, looking
happy and handsome in their white linen--they were the sort of men to
whom evening-dress is vastly becoming.
Each thought regretfully of Bartlemy far away, who had missed his prize
out of the treasures the little grey house had to give. But it was good
that the Commodore had arrived that day, and good to see the beaming
satisfaction with which he regarded his two splendid sons, for whom no
father could wish a better fate than to have won the two elder Grey
daughters.
Wythie and Rob had lain down for a little talk, in the old fashion,
on the bed they had shared from childhood. The little talk lengthened
out into a longer one than they realized; Mrs. Grey startled them by
warning them that it lacked but fifteen minutes to eight o'clock, and
that Rob would surely be late.
Wythie helped her to dress in a hurry, just as Rob had always dressed.
It was very like old times. Rob could not realize that this was Mrs.
Rutherford, not Wythie Grey, helping her, and that her own days of
girlhood were numbered.
Frances and Lester came, and Mrs. Baldwin and her husband, to the
sound of whose voice Rob's heart went out as she heard it, for he had
been her father's chum, and she longed for her "Patergrey's" blessing
that night. Hester, Cousin Peace, little Polly, Myrtle, good old Dr.
Fairbairn--the sisters recognized these as the knocker repeatedly
sounded and the guests came in.
"Only Bartlemy and Prue lacking! If only Prudy could have been as
comfortable and conformable as we, Wythie!" said Rob as Wythie dropped
over her beautiful hair the white skirt which she was so late in
donning.
"It will be all right as it is, Rob dear. We won't regret anything
to-night," said Wythie. "But it would have been lovely to have been the
three Mrs. Rutherfords!"
"Well, we each could have been only one of them," said Rob. "Just hook
my collar for me, Wythiekins, and then run down, for it makes me seem
much later when I keep you up here, too."
Wythie did as she was asked, altered a pin in her sister's hair, laid
against its unruly beauty the ferns and buds which Bruce had brought
her, fell back to look at the effect, and found it so satisfactory
that she seized Rob in an ecstatic embrace and then flew down-stairs,
remembering for the first time that this had been intended to be her
triumph through Basil's genius, and that nobody thought of the novel
now.
Rob lingered for some last touches, then looked long and steadily
at herself in the glass, holding up the hand that wore upon it the
diamond which had been Bruce's mother's. Then she kissed the ring, and
leaning forward, kissed the girl in the glass: "Because Bruce loves
you, my dear Rob," she whispered. Then she went slowly down-stairs.
There was no one there who was not familiarly dear to her, yet she
hesitated on the lower step, half shy and frightened. Some one caught
a glimpse of her, and said "Here's Rob!" The conversation ceased, and
Bruce sprang forward to lead her in. They halted in the doorway, and
the loving eyes of her kindred and friends fell on Rob. They saw a tall
young creature, all in white, beautiful colour coming and going in
the oval cheeks, great, flashing brown eyes ready to laugh or to cry,
the sweet, sensitive, coaxing short upper lip quivering, a creature
all compounded of mirth and love and tears. Not Prue in all her regal
beauty could have looked as Rob looked at that moment.
The Grey mother's heart went out to her in a throb that included all
the child's merry, impetuous ways, the young girl's chivalrous courage,
the dead father's reliance and help, and, later, the sweet, cheerful,
brave, high-minded young woman upon whom she herself had leaned since
her day of widowhood, went out in unspeakable love and pride to Rob.
She rose and joined the girl still hesitating a moment's space in the
doorway. Taking her hand she turned back to her guests, and said with a
thrill in her voice:
"Dear people, here is the next mistress of the little grey house."
END