MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels and
a loud ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true
to his appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied
by Mrs. Graham. This lady, who could boast of having once been the
bride of an English lord, to say nothing of belonging to the “very
first family of Virginia,” was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone,
who, haughty and overbearing to her equals, was nevertheless cringing
and cowardly in the presence of those whom she considered her
superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas concerning her were
quite elevated, and now when she came unexpectedly, it quite overcame
her. Unfortunately, too, she was this morning suffering from a nervous
headache, the result of the excitement and late hours of the night
before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell
back in her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared her
utter inability to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the
part of hostess until such time as she felt composed enough to
undertake it.
“Oh, I can’t—I _shan’t_—that ends it!” said Carrie, who, though a good
deal dressed on Durward’s account, still felt anxious to give a few
more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if her hair and
complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august presence ef
her “mother-in-law elect,” as she confidently considered Mrs. Graham.
“Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full well
how useless it would be to press Carrie farther. “Anna must go—where is
she? Call her, ’Lena.”
But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk
which had been planned the night previous, and when ’Lena returned with
the intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great
distress exclaimed, “Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think—and Mr.
Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to
entertain her. What shall I do! I can’t go in looking so yellow and
jaded as I now do!”
’Lena’s first thought was to bring her aunt’s powderball, as the surest
way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would be
deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go
herself to the parlor.
“_You_! What could _you_ say to her?” returned Mrs. Livingstone, to
whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
“I can at least answer her questions,” returned ’Lena and after a
moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how ’Lena, in her plain
gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
fashionable Mrs. Graham.
“But then,” thought she, “she has so little sensibility, I don’t s’pose
she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham will of course look upon her
as only a little above a servant”—and with this complimentary
reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her
dressing-room, while ’Lena, with a beating heart and slightly
heightened color, repaired to the parlor.
On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment ’Lena’s eye
fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a
smile at the idea of being afraid of _her_. She was a short, dumpy,
florid looking woman, showily, and as ’Lena thought, _overdressed_ for
morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and
sparkled with every movement. Her forehead was very low, and marked by
a scowl of discontent which was habitual, for with everything to make
her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so. Exceedingly nervous and
fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side, and when her husband
and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments, strove to laugh her
into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as she usually
reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.
Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into
quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone’s apparent lack of courtesy in not
hastening to receive her, and when ’Lena’s light step was heard in the
hall, she turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why
she had not come sooner. Durward, who was present immediately
introduced his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity of
’Lena’s manner as she received the lady’s greeting, apologizing for her
aunt’s non-appearance, saying “she was suffering from a severe
headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or so.”
“Quite excusable,” returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
something in a low tone about it’s not being her wish to stop there so
early, as she knew _she_ was not expected.
“But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,” ’Lena hastened to say, thinking
that for the time being the reputation of her uncle’s house was resting
upon her shoulders.
“I dare say,” was Mrs. Graham’s ungracious answer, and then her little
gray, deep-set eyes rested upon ’Lena, wondering if she were “a
governess or what?” and thinking it strange that she should seem so
perfectly self-possessed.
Insensibly, too, ’Lena’s manner won upon her, for spite of her
fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman. Ill
health and long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she
was. Besides this, she was not quite happy in her domestic relations,
for though Mr. Graham possessed all the requisites of a kind and
affectionate husband, he could not remove from her mind the belief that
he liked others better then he did herself! ’Twas in vain that he
alternately laughed at and reasoned with her on the subject. She was
not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who was really exceedingly
polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly provoking the
green-eyed monster by his attentions to some one of the fair sex. In
spite of his nightly “Caudle” lectures, he _would_ transgress again and
again, until his wife’s patience was exhausted, and now she affected to
have given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward Durward,
who was her special delight, “the very apple of her eye—he was so much
like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year that she lived
with him had never once given her cause for jealousy.”
Just before ’Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment
stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was
introduced to the young lady. It was strange, considering ’Lena’s
uncommon beauty, that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband’s manner,
but for once in her life she felt no fears, and looking from the
window, she failed to note the sudden pallor which overspread his face
when Mr. Livingstone presented to him “Miss Rivers—my niece.”
Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored
face, whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while
his pleasant, affable deportment universally won the friendship of all
who knew him. And ’Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for
the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested
upon her, her heart went toward him as a friend, while she wondered why
he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice repeating her name—“Miss
Rivers—_Rivers_.”
From the first, ’Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to
apologize for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met
before, she referred him to that time, saying “she thought it strange
that he should remember her.”
“Old acquaintances—ah—indeed !” and little Mrs. Graham nodded and
fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl
which was of too long standing to be smoothed.
“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, “I had
entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars
when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a
little girl then”—turning to ’Lena.
“Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward ’Lena, asking “how
long she had lived in Kentucky—where she used to live—and where her
mother was.”
At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone,
suddenly stopped.
“My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena.
“And your father?”
“Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of
’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother’s being so
inquisitive.
Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr.
Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before.
Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated
himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark, and
calling her ’_Lena_. It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his
wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the
effect which that name produced upon him.
Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, “You were
telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
yard—suppose we go and see it.”
The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr.
Graham casually remarked, “Your niece is a fine-looking girl—’Lena, I
think your son called her?”
“Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother’s name.”
“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?”
“No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,”
returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at once.
Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and
keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose
thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were
far back in the past. When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there
were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the
parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
their respects to his lady.
Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie’s and
’Lena’s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and while
he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the
latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his
mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt
a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an
elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels,
which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a fawning
servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in
question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her wealth
and her husband’s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if something were
withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughters
rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
nothing could be more flattering than their attentions. Both mother and
daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs.
Graham asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a
servant, offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham
laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a “dear
little pet,” and asking “where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!”
A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he
was in the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of
her _nose_, made the “bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that even
Durward noticed it, and wondered if ’Lena’s temper had not been
transferred to her cousin.
“That young girl—’Lena, I think you call her—is a relative of yours,”
said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending the stairs.
“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie.
“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—does she belong to
a Virginia family?”
Carrie looked mysterious and answered, “I never knew anything of her
father, and indeed, I reckon no one does”—then after a moment she
added, “Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which
they could willingly dispense.”
“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham, “What a pity we couldn’t all have
been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me now.”
Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her
mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. “Old Milly,”
she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had
got a _collapse_, as she called it.”
“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner
with them should be in style.
“Yes, but she can’t do everything—somebody must superintend her, and as
for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table,
I won’t.”
“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt her to-day more
than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.
“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door she
called ’Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham, who,
the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now
seemed oblivious to all else save her.
There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the
expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well
knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present,
while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so
deeply interested in an entire stranger.
“’Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing at
the door, and ’Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room, while
Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner,
ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his
forehead.
Meantime, ’Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a
word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with
difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising
within her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former
_asked_ instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it
willingly. But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over
pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleasant
voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who had
just returned from her walk, and who on learning how matters stood,
declared her intention of helping too.
“If there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,” said she, and
throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and fastening
back her curls in imitation of ’Lena, she was soon up to her elbows in
cooking—her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and
her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the china
closet. “There’s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,” said
she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line.
But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath the
wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, so it was no
wonder she _salted_ the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one
noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both ’Lena and Hagar
praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
“Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,” said Anna, when
everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but ’Lena,
knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward’s
distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing
at the table.
“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, “and you must
look after her a little, for I shall not come down.”
So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a
great state of fermentation to know “who was below, and what the doin’s
was, I should of gone down,” said she, “but I know’d ’Tilda would be
madder’n a hornet.”
’Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
informing her that Mr. Bellmont’s father and mother were there, she
proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black
silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were
donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started for the
dining-room, ’Lena giving her numerous charges not to talk much, and on
no account to mention her favorite topic—Nancy Scovandyke!
“Nancy’s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live lord,”
was grandma’s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady, rustling in a
heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the
table.
Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband,
through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr.
To be sure, he cared not a fig, on his grandmother’s account, whether
she were introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to
make their acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and
Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, “My grandmother, Mrs.
Nichols—Mr. and Mrs. Graham.”
Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if anything stung
him.”
“Yes—no,” said he, at the same time indicating that it was not worth
while to mind it.
“Got stung, have you?” said Mrs. Nichols. “Mebby ’twas a
bumble-bee—seems ’sef I smelt one; but like enough it’s the scent on
Car’line’s handkercher.”
Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma,
who, after a time, forgetful of ’Lena’s caution, said, “I b’lieve they
say you’re from Virginny!”
“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,” returned Mrs. Graham,
clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols.
“I was born in Richmond, madam.”
“Law, now I who knows but you’re well acquainted with Nancy
Scovandyke’s kin.”
Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she
replied, “I’ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or any
of her relatives.”
“Wall, she’s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s’pose you’d call her,
bein’ she’s just the age of my son.”
Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering ’Lena’s charge, stopped, but
John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking
what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
“’Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein’ you’ve asked a civil
question, ’tain’t more’n fair for me to answer it. Better’n forty year
ago Nancy’s mother’s aunt——”
“Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,” interrupted John Jr.
“Bless the boy,” returned the old lady, “he’s got the Nichols’ head for
figgerin’. Yes, Nancy’s great-aunt though she was six years and two
months younger’n Nancy’s mother. Wall, as I was sayin’, she went off to
Virginny to teach music. She was prouder’n Lucifer, and after a spell
she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never took no
more notice of her folks to hum, than’s ef they hadn’t been. But the
poor critter didn’t live long to enjoy it, for when her first baby was
born, she died. ’Twas a little girl, but her folks in Massachusetts
have never heard a word whether she’s dead or alive. Joel Slocum,
that’s Nancy’s nephew, says he means to go down there some day, and
look her up, but I wouldn’t bother with ’em, for that side of the house
always did feel big, and above Nancy’s folks, thinkin’ Nancy’s mother
married beneath her.”
Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during
grandma’s recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never
once looking up, while her face and neck were literally spotted, either
with heat, excitement or anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs.
Nichols’ attention, causing her to ask the lady “if she warn’t pestered
with erysipelas.”
“I am not aware of it, madam,” answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
replied, “It looks mighty like it to me, and I’ve seen a good deal
on’t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think
on’t,” she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion, “now I
think on’t, you look quite a considerable like Nancy—the same forehead
and complexion—only she’s a head taller. Hain’t you noticed it, John?”
“No, I have not,” answered John, at the same time proposing a change in
the conversation, as he presumed “they had all heard enough of Nancy
Scovandyke.”
At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna’s pie. John Jr.
was the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he
exclaimed, “Horror, mother, who made this pie?”
Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that
something was wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy
at a side-table, she wondered “if there ever was any one who had so
much trouble with servants as herself.”
Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst
on poor Hagar’s head, spoke out, “Hagar is not in the fault, mother—no
one but myself is to blame. _I_ made the pie, and must have put in salt
instead of sugar.”
“You made the pie!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, “What business
had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn’t a few more servants, for then we
should all be obliged to turn drudges.”
Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, “if it
hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did ’Lena, who,”
he said, “worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning herself until
she is ashamed to appear at the table.”
Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone
hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in
her dilemma, ’Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of
compliment, undoubtedly, that “her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to
such work—indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.”
An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face,
and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, “if she thought it
detracted from a young lady’s worth, to be skilled in whatever
pertained to the domestic affairs of a family.”
Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied,
“Not at all—not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn
everything, so that their husbands will find in them every necessary
qualification.”
“Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
other,” said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
interesting, while Anna retorted, “Of course we shall. I wouldn’t be an
old maid for the world—I’d run away first!”
And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company
retired from the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with
a cane, limping even then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual
gallantry, offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a
look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so
well pleased. So thorough had been grandma’s training, that she did not
often venture into the parlor without a special invitation from its
mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there as a matter
of course, and placing her upon the sofa, seated himself by her side,
and commenced questioning her concerning her former home and history.
Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative, and never
before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon
every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty,
her untimely death, and rascally husband.
“Rivers—Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking man was he?”
“The Lord only knows—I never see him,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “But this
much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old woman’s
curses can do him any harm, he’s had mine a plenty of times.”
“You do wrong to talk so,” said Mr. Graham, “for who knows how bitterly
he may have repented of the great wrong done to your daughter.”
“Then why in the name of common sense don’t he hunt up her child, and
own her—he needn’t be ashamed of ’Leny.”
“Very true,” answered Mr. Graham. “No one need be ashamed of her. I
should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps
this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a
secret from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after
the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of what might
follow.”
“Then she’s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he’s a cowardly
puppy! That’s my opinion on ’em, and I’ll tell ’em so, if ever I see
’em!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath waxing warmer and warmer toward
the destroyer of her daughter.
Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite
Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment,
took some, slyly casting it aside when she did not see him. This
emboldened the old lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly
reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a
low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in perfect
admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the
head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
muttered, “How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.”
Here ’Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh
and blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one
between Durward and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter,
she accepted. A peculiar smile flitted over Carrie’s face, which was
noticed by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause. Ere long
Durward, John Jr., ’Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the house,
and from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing themselves by
playing “Graces.” Gradually the sound of their voices increased, and as
’Lena’s clear, musical laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and
Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward holding the struggling
girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward of his having thrown the
“grace hoop” upon her head.
Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, “What kind of a
girl is your cousin?” to which Carrie replied, “You have a fair sample
of her,” at the same time nodding toward ’Lena, who was unmercifully
pulling John Jr.’s ears as a reward for his presumption.
“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat
down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm
Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to
himself, Durward observed this, and when he saw them walk away
together, while ’Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he began to think
that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an
engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.’s
straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
said, “Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other’s
society to ours.”
“Oh, yes,” answered John. “I saw that years ago, when Anna wasn’t
knee-high; and I’m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine fellow.”
’Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain
that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that
of friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton,
the idea was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once
exonerated from these charges, it was strange how fast ’Lena rose in
his estimation, and when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did
not wish he would leave them alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward
replied, “Yes, yes, do.”
“I reckon I will,” said John, shaking down his tight pants, and pulling
at his long coat sleeves. “I never want anybody round when I’m with
Nellie Douglass.”
So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and ’Lena alone. That neither
of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they
remained together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham
proposed to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she found the young
couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed that they neither saw
nor heard her until she stood before them.
’Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride
early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid
her hand on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from ’Lena
instead of her son, she said, “No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can’t go—he
has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna,
whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see ’twill be impossible for
him to ride with you.”
“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. “You would like to
visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?”
“Oh, very much,” was ’Lena’s reply, while Mrs. Graham continued, “I am
sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but our carriage
will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.”
“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and if she will go, I
will take you on my lap, or anywhere.”
Of course ’Lena declined—he knew she would—and determined not to be
outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, “I shan’t
release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start early
and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way
interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.”
Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but
resolving not to leave them to finish their _tete-a-tete_, she threw
herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while
Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, started for the house,
where she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally enraged,
declared her intention of “hereafter watching the vixen pretty
closely.”
“And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well, I
fancy I can prevent that.”
“How?” asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, “You know she
always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she’ll order Cæsar to bring
him up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him
say nothing to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the
morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how it is.”
“Capital! capital!” exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there had
been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the
back parlor.
“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are they? Well, I’ll see how
good I am at counterplotting.”
So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant,
Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the
lower stable instead of the one where she was usually kept; “and then
in the morning, long before the sun is up,” said he, “do you have her
at the door for one of the young ladies to ride.”
“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his old straw hat.
“Now, see how quick you can go,” John Jr. continued, adding as an
incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old
Cæsar, who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten
cents.
Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without
stopping to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run,
returning in the course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar
had not yet got home.
“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver. “And now remember
to keep your tongue between your teeth.”
Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of
tattling about something which to him seemed of no consequence
whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wishing he could earn
one so easily every day.
Meantime John Jr. sought out ’Lena, to whom he said, “And so you are
going to ride to-morrow morning?”
“How did you know ?” she asked, and John, looking very wise, replied,
that “little girls should not ask too many questions,” adding, that as
he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to
have her at the door early in the morning.
“Much obliged,” answered ’Lena. “I was about giving it up when I heard
the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Cæsar is so cross I hated to ask
him to go for her; but now I’ll say nothing to him about it.”
That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his
mistress suddenly appeared, asking, “if he had received any orders to
go for Fleetfoot.”
The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, “No, miss, and
Lord knows I don’t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
to-night.”
“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t you do it,”
returned Mrs. Livingstone.
“Somebody’s playin’ possum, that’s sartin,” thought Bill, who was
present, and began putting things together. “Somebody’s playin’ possum,
but they don’t catch this child leakin’.”
“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the hall.
Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that “she presumed the
ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Cæsar about the pony.”
With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she
commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn,
dwelling upon it as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently
exulting that ’Lena was to be left behind.