UNEXPECTED GUESTS.
At the delightful country seat of Arthur Carrollton Madam Conway had
passed many pleasant days, and was fully intending to while away
several more, when an unexpected summons from his father made it
necessary for the young man to go immediately to London; and, as an
American steamer was about to leave the port of Liverpool, Madam
Conway determined to start for home at once. Accordingly, she wrote
for Anna Jeffrey, whom she had promised to take with her, to meet her
in Liverpool, and a few days previous to the arrival of George Douglas
and Henry Warner at Hillsdale, the two ladies embarked with an endless
variety of luggage, to say nothing of Miss Anna's guitar-case,
bird-cage, and favorite lap-dog "Lottie."
Once fairly on the sea, Madam Conway became exceedingly impatient and
disagreeable, complaining both of fare and speed, and at length came
on deck one morning with the firm belief that something dreadful had
happened to Maggie! She was dangerously sick, she knew, for never but
once before had she been visited with a like presentiment, and that
was just before her daughter died. Then it came to her just as this
had done, in her sleep, and very nervously the lady paced the vessel's
deck, counting the days as they passed, and almost weeping for joy
when told Boston was in sight. Immediately after landing she made
inquiries as to when the next train passing Hillsdale station would
leave the city, and though it was midnight she resolved at all hazards
to go on, for if Maggie were really ill there was no time to be lost!
Accordingly, when at four o'clock A.M. Maggie, who was partially
awake, heard in the distance the shrill scream of the engine, as the
night express thundered through the town, she little dreamed of the
boxes, bundles, trunks, and bags which lined the platform of Hillsdale
station, nor yet of the resolute woman in brown who persevered until a
rude one-horse wagon was found in which to transport herself and her
baggage to the old stone house. The driver of the vehicle, in which,
under ordinary circumstances, Madam Conway would have scorned to
ride, was a long, lean, half-witted fellow, utterly unfitted for his
business. Still, he managed quite well until they turned into the
grassy by-road, and Madam Conway saw through the darkness the light
which Maggie had inadvertently left within the dining room!
There was no longer a shadow of uncertainty. "Margaret was dead!"
and the lank Tim was ordered to drive faster, or the excited woman,
perched on one of her traveling-trunks, would be obliged to foot it! A
few vigorous strokes of the whip set the sorrel horse into a canter,
and as the night was dark, and the road wound round among the trees,
it is not at all surprising that Madam Conway, with her eye still on
the beacon light, found herself seated rather unceremoniously in the
midst of a brush heap, her goods and chattels rolling promiscuously
around her, while lying across a log, her right hand clutching at the
bird-cage, and her left grasping the shaggy hide of Lottie, who yelled
most furiously, was Anna Jeffrey, half blinded with mud, and bitterly
denouncing American drivers and Yankee roads! To gather themselves
together was not an easy matter, but the ten pieces were at last all
told, and then, holding up her skirts, bedraggled with dew, Madam
Conway resumed her seat in the wagon, which was this time driven in
safety to her door. Giving orders for her numerous boxes to be safely
bestowed, she hastened forward and soon stood upon the threshold.
"Great Heaven!" she exclaimed, starting backward so suddenly that she
trod upon the foot of Lottie, who again sent forth an outcry, which
Anna Jeffrey managed to choke down. "Is this bedlam, or what?" And
stepping out upon the piazza, she looked to see if the blundering
driver had made a mistake. But no; it was the same old gray stone
house she had left some months before; and again pressing boldly
forward, she took the lamp from the sideboard and commenced to
reconnoiter. "My mother's wedding dress, as I live! and her scarlet
broadcloth, too!" she cried, holding to view the garments which
Henry Warner had thrown upon the arm of the long settee. A turban or
cushion, which she recognized as belonging to her grandmother, next
caught her view, together with the smallclothes of her sire.
"The entire contents of the oaken chest," she continued, in a tone far
from calm and cool. "What can have happened! It's some of that crazy
Hagar's work, I know. I'll have her put in the--" But whatever the
evil was which threatened Hagar Warren it was not defined by words,
for at that moment the indignant lady caught sight of an empty bottle,
which she instantly recognized as having held her very oldest,
choicest wine. "The Lord help me!" she cried, "I've been robbed;" and
grasping the bottle by the neck, she leaned up against the banner
which she had not yet descried.
"In the name of wonder, what's this?" she almost screamed, as the full
blaze of the lamp fell upon the flag, revealing the truth at once, and
partially stopping her breath.
Robbery was nothing to insult; and, forgetting the wine, she gasped:
"'Stars and Stripes' in this house! In the house of my grandfather,
as loyal a subject as King George ever boasted! What can Margaret be
doing to suffer a thing like this?"
A few steps further on, and Margaret herself might have been seen
peering out into the darkened upper hall, and listening anxiously
to her grandmother's voice. The sound of the rattling old wagon had
aroused her, and, curious to know who was stirring at this early hour,
she had cautiously opened her window, which overlooked the piazza, and
to her great dismay had recognized her grandmother as she gave orders
concerning her baggage. Flying back to her room, she awoke her sister,
who, springing up in bed, whispered faintly: "Will she kill us dead,
Maggie? Will she kill us dead?"
"Pshaw! no," answered Maggie, her own courage rising with Theo's
fears. "She'll have to scold a spell, I suppose; but I can coax her, I
know!"
By this time the old lady was ascending the stairs, and closing the
door Maggie applied her eye to the keyhole, listening breathlessly for
what might follow. George Douglas and Henry Warner occupied separate
rooms, and their boots were now standing outside their doors, ready
for the chore boy, Jim, who thus earned a quarter every day. Stumbling
first upon the pair belonging to George Douglas, the lady took them
up, ejaculating: "Boots! boots! Yes, men's boots, as I'm a living
woman! The like was never seen by me before in this hall. Another
pair!" she continued, as her eye fell on those of Henry Warner.
"Another pair, and in the best chamber, too! What will come next?" And
setting down her light, she wiped the drops of perspiration from her
face, at the same time looking around in some alarm lest the owners of
said boots should come forth.
Just at that moment Mrs. Jeffrey appeared. Alarmed by the unusual
noise, and fancying the young gentlemen might be robbing the house as
a farewell performance, she had donned a calico wrapper, and tying a
black silk handkerchief over her cap, had taken her scissors, the only
weapon of defense she could find, and thus equipped for battle she had
sallied forth. She was prepared for burglars--nay, she would not
have been disappointed had she found the young men busily engaged in
removing the ponderous furniture from their rooms; but the sight of
Madam Conway, at that unseasonable hour, was wholly unexpected, and in
her fright she dropped the lamp which she had lighted in place of her
candle, and which was broken in fragments, deluging the carpet with
oil and eliciting a fresh groan from Madam Conway.
"Jeffrey, Jeffrey!" she gasped; "what have you done?"
"Great goodness!" ejaculated Mrs. Jeffrey, remembering her adventure
when once before she left her room in the night. "I certainly am the
most unfortunate of mortals. Catch me out of bed again, let what will
happen;" and turning, she was about to leave the hall, when Madam
Conway, anxious to know what had been done, called her back, saying
rather indignantly, "I'd like to know whose house I am in?"
"A body would suppose 'twas Miss Margaret's, the way she's conducted,"
answered Mrs. Jeffrey; and Madam Conway continued, pointing to the
boots: "Who have we here? These are not Margaret's, surely?"
"No, ma'am, they belong to the young men who have turned the house
topsy-turvy with their tableaux, their Revolution celebration, their
banner, and carousing generally," said Mrs. Jeffrey, rather pleased
than otherwise at being the first to tell the news.
"Young men!" repeated Madam Conway--"what young men? Where did they
come from, and why are they here?"
"They are Douglas and Warner," said Mrs. Jeffrey, "two as big
scapegraces as there are this side of Old Bailey--that's what they
are. They came from Worcester, and if I've any discernment they are
after your girls, and your girls are after them."
"After my girls! After Maggie! It can't be possible!" gasped Mrs.
Conway, thinking of Arthur Carrollton.
"It's the very truth, though," returned Mrs. Jeffrey. "Henry Warner,
who, in my opinion, is the worst of the two, got to chasing Margaret
in the woods, as long ago as last April. She jumped Gritty across the
gorge, and he, like a fool, jumped after, breaking his leg--"
"Pity it hadn't been his neck," interrupted Madam Conway; and Mrs.
Jeffrey continued: "Of course he was brought here, and Margaret took
care of him. After a while his comrade Douglas came out, and of all
the carousals you ever thought of, I reckon they had the worst. 'Twas
the Fourth of July, and if you'll believe it they made a banner, and
Maggie planted it herself on the housetop. They went off next morning;
but now they've come again, and last night the row beat all. I never
got a wink of sleep till after two o'clock."
Here, entirely out of breath, the old lady paused, and, going to her
room, brought out a basin of water and a towel, with which she tried
to wipe off the oil. But Madam Conway paid little heed to the spoiled
carpet, so engrossed was she with what she had heard.
"I am astonished at Margaret's want of discretion," said she, "and I
depended so much upon her, too."
"I always knew you were deceived by her," said Mrs. Jeffrey, still
bending over the oil; "but it wasn't for me to say so, for you are
blinded towards that girl. She's got some of the queerest notions, and
then she's so high-strung. She won't listen to reason. But I did my
country good service once. I went up in the dead of night to take down
the flag, and I don't regret it either, even if it did pitch me to the
bottom of the stairs, and sprained my ankle."
"Served you right," interposed Madam Conway, who, not at all pleased
at hearing Margaret thus censured, now turned the full force of her
wrath upon the poor little governess, blaming her for having suffered
such proceedings. "What did Margaret and Theo know, young things as
they were? and what was Mrs. Jeffrey there for if not to keep them
circumspect! But instead of doing this, she had undoubtedly encouraged
them in their folly, and then charged it upon Margaret."
It was in vain that the greatly distressed and astonished lady
protested her innocence, pleading her sleepless nights and lame ankle
as proofs of having done her duty; Madam Conway would not listen.
"Somebody was of course to blame," and as it is a long-established
rule that a part of every teacher's duty is to be responsible for the
faults of the pupils, so Madam Conway now continued to chide Mrs.
Jeffrey as the prime-mover of everything, until that lady, overwhelmed
with the sense of injustice done her, left the oil and retired to her
room, saying as she closed the door: "I was never so injured in all my
life--never. To think that after all my trouble she should charge it
to me! It will break my heart, I know. Where shall I go for comfort or
rest?"
This last word was opportune and suggestive. If rest could not be
found in Baxter's "Saints' Rest," it was not by her to be found at
all; and, sitting down by the window in the gray dawn of the morning,
she strove to draw comfort from the words of the good divine; but in
vain. It had never failed her before; but never before had she been so
deeply injured; and, closing the volume at last, she paced the floor
in a very perturbed state of mind.
Meantime, Madam Conway had sought her granddaughter's chamber, where
Theo in her fright had taken refuge under the bed, while Maggie
feigned a deep, sound sleep. A few vigorous shakes, however, aroused
her, when, greatly to the amazement of her grandmother, she burst into
a merry laugh, and, winding her arms around the highly scandalized
lady's neck, said: "Forgive me, grandma, I've been awake ever since
you came home. I did not mean to leave the dining room in such
disorder, but I was so tired, and we had such fun! Hear me out," she
continued, laying her hand over the mouth of her grandmother, who
attempted to speak; "Mrs. Jeffrey told you how Mr. Warner broke his
leg, and was brought here. He is a real nice young man, and so is Mr.
Douglas, who came out to see him. They are partners in the firm of
Douglas & Co., Worcester."
"Henry Warner is nothing but the Co., though; Mr. Douglas owns the
store, and is worth two hundred thousand dollars!" cried a smothered
voice under the bed; and Theo emerged into view, with a feather or
two ornamenting her hair, and herself looking a little uneasy and
frightened.
The two hundred thousand dollars produced a magical effect upon the
old lady, exonerating George Douglas at once from all blame. But
towards Henry Warner she was not thus lenient; for, coward-like, Theo
charged him with having suggested everything, even to the cutting up
of the ancestral red coat for Freedom's banner!
"What!" fairly screamed Madam Conway, who in her hasty glance at the
flag had not observed the material; "not taken my grandfather's coat
for a banner!"
"Yes, he did," said Theo, "and Maggie cut up your blue satin bodice
for stars, and took one of your fine linen sheets for the foundation."
"The wretch!" exclaimed Madam Conway, stamping her foot in her wrath,
and thinking only of Henry Warner; "I'll turn him from my door
instantly. My blue satin bodice, indeed!"
"'Twas I, grandma--'twas I," interrupted Maggie, looking reproachfully
at Theo. "'Twas I who cut up the bodice. I who brought down the
scarlet coat."
"And I didn't do a thing but look on," said Theo. "I knew you'd be
angry, and I tried to make Maggie behave, but she wouldn't."
"I don't know as it is anything to you what Maggie does, and I think
it would look quite as well in you to take part of the blame yourself,
instead of putting it all upon your sister," was Madam Conway's reply;
and, feeling almost as deeply injured as Mrs. Jeffrey herself, Theo
began to cry, while Maggie, with a few masterly strokes, succeeded
in so far appeasing the anger of her grandmother that the good lady
consented for the young gentlemen to stay to breakfast, saying,
though, that "they should decamp immediately after, and never darken
her doors again."
"But Mr. Douglas is rich," sobbed Theo from behind her pocket
handkerchief--"immensely rich, and of a very aristocratic family, I'm
sure, else where did he get his money?"
This remark was timely, and when fifteen minutes later Madam Conway
was presented to the gentlemen in the hall her manner was far more
gracious towards George Douglas than it was towards Henry Warner, to
whom she merely nodded, deigning no answer whatever to his polite
apology for having made himself so much at home in her house. The
expression of his mouth was as usual against him, and, fancying he
intended adding insult to injury by laughing in her face, she coolly
turned her back upon him ere he had finished speaking, and walked
downstairs, leaving him to wind up his speech with "an old
she-dragon"!
By this time both the sun and the servants had arisen, the former
shining into the disorderly dining room, and disclosing to the latter
the weary, jaded Anna, who, while Madam Conway was exploring the
house, had thrown herself upon the lounge and had fallen asleep.
"Who is she, and where did she come from?" was anxiously inquired,
and they were about going in quest of Margaret when their mistress
appeared suddenly in their midst, and their noisy demonstrations of
joyful surprise awoke the sleeping girl, who, rubbing her red eyelids,
asked for her aunt, and why she did not come to meet her.
"She has been a little excited, and forgot you, perhaps," answered
Madam Conway, at the same time bidding one of the servants to show the
young lady to Mrs. Jeffrey's room.
The good lady had recovered her composure somewhat, and was just
wondering why her niece had not come with Madam Conway, as had
been arranged, when Anna appeared, and in her delight at once more
beholding a child of her only sister, and her husband's brother, she
forgot in a measure how injured she had felt. Ere long the breakfast
bell rang; but Anna declared herself too weary to go down, and as Mrs.
Jeffrey felt that she could not yet meet Madam Conway face to face,
they both remained in their room, Anna again falling away to sleep,
while her aunt, grown more calm, sought, and this time found, comfort
in her favorite volume. Very cool, indeed, was that breakfast,
partaken in almost unbroken silence below. The toast was cold, the
steak was cold, the coffee was cold, and frosty as an icicle was the
lady who sat where the merry Maggie had heretofore presided. Scarcely
a word was spoken by anyone; but in the laughing eyes of Maggie there
was a world of fun, to which the mischievous mouth of Henry Warner
responded by a curl exceedingly annoying to his stately hostess, who,
in passing him his coffee, turned her head in another direction lest
she should be too civil!
Breakfast being over, George Douglas, who began to understand Madam
Conway tolerably well, asked of her a private interview, which was
granted, when he conciliated her first by apologizing for anything
ungentlemanly he might have done in her house, and startled her next
by asking for Theo as his wife.
"You can," said he, "easily ascertain my character and standing in
Worcester, where for the last ten years I have been known first as
clerk, then as junior partner, and finally as proprietor of the large
establishment which I now conduct."
Madam Conway was at first too astonished to speak. Had it been Maggie
for whom he asked, the matter would have been decided at once,
for Maggie was her pet, her pride, the intended bride of Arthur
Carrollton; but Theo was a different creature altogether, and
though the Conway blood flowing in her veins entitled her to much
consideration, she was neither showy nor brilliant, and if she could
marry two hundred thousand dollars, even though it were American coin,
she would perhaps be doing quite as well as could be expected. So
Madam Conway replied at last that she would consider the matter,
and if she found that Theo's feelings were fully enlisted she would
perhaps return a favorable answer. "I know the firm of Douglas & Co.
by reputation," said she, "and I know it to be a wealthy firm; but
with me family is quite as important as money."
"My family, madam, are certainly respectable," interrupted George
Douglas, a deep flush overspreading his face.
He was indignant at her presuming to question his respectability,
Madam Conway thought, and so she hastened to appease him by saying:
"Certainly, I have no doubt of it. There are marks by which I can
always tell."
George Douglas bowed low to the far-seeing lady, while a train of
thought, not altogether complimentary to her discernment in this case,
passed through his mind.
Not thus lenient would Madam Conway have been towards Henry Warner had
he presumed to ask her that morning for Maggie, but he knew better
than to broach the subject then. He would write her, he said,
immediately after his return to Worcester, and in the meantime Maggie,
if she saw proper, was to prepare her grandmother for it by herself
announcing the engagement. This, and much more, he said to Maggie as
they sat together in the library, so much absorbed in each other as
not to observe the approach of Madam Conway, who entered the door just
in time to see Henry Warner with his arm around Maggie's waist. She
was a woman of bitter prejudices, and had conceived a violent dislike
for Henry, not only on account of the "Stars and Stripes," but because
she read to a certain extent the true state of affairs. Her suspicions
were now confirmed, and rapidly crossing the floor she confronted him,
saying, "Let my granddaughter alone, young man, both now and forever."
Something of Hagar's fiery spirit flashed from Maggie's dark eyes, but
forcing down her anger she answered half earnestly, half playfully, "I
am nearly old enough, grandma, to decide that matter for myself."
A fierce expression of scorn passed over Madam Conway's face, and
harsh words might have ensued had not the carriage at that moment been
announced. Wringing Maggie's hand, Henry arose and left the room,
followed by the indignant lady, who would willingly have suffered him
to walk; but thinking two hundred thousand dollars quite too much
money to go on foot, she had ordered her carriage, and both the senior
and junior partner of Douglas & Co. Were ere long riding a second time
away from the old house by the mill.