There was something of the precision of clockwork in matters and things
at Hilcrest. A large corps of well-trained servants in charge of an
excellent housekeeper left Mrs. Merideth free to go, and come, and
entertain as she liked. For fifteen years now she had been mistress of
Hilcrest, ever since her mother had died, in fact. Widowed herself at
twenty-two after a year of married life, and the only daughter in a
family of four children, she had been like a second mother to her two
younger brothers. Harry, the eldest brother, had early left the home
roof to study medicine. Frank, barely twenty when his brother Harry lost
his life, had even then pleased his father by electing the mills as his
life-work. And now, five years after that father's death, Ned was
sharing his brother Frank's care and responsibility in keeping the great
wheels turning and the great chimneys smoking in the town below.
Della Merideth was essentially a woman who liked--and who usually
obtained--the strawberries and cream of life. Always accustomed to
luxury, she demanded as a matter of course rich clothing and dainty
food. That there were people in the world whose clothing was coarse and
whose food was scanty, she well knew; and knowing this she was careful
that her donations to the Home Missionary Society and the Woman's Guild
were prompt and liberal. Beyond this her duty did not extend, she was
sure. As for any personal interest in the recipients of her alms, she
had none whatever; and would, indeed, have deemed it both unnecessary
and unladylike that she should have had such interest. Her eyes were
always on the hills and meadows on the west side of the house, and even
her way to and from Hilcrest was carefully planned so that she might
avoid so far as was possible, the narrow, ill-smelling streets of the
town on the other side of the hill.
Frank Spencer was a hard-headed, far-seeing man of business--inside the
office of Spencer & Spencer; outside, he was a delightful gentleman--a
little grave, perhaps, for his thirty-three years, but none the less a
favorite, particularly with anxious mothers having marriageable, but
rather light-headed, daughters on their hands. His eyes were brown, his
nose was straight and long, and his mouth firm and clean-cut. His whole
appearance was that of a man sure of himself--and of others. To Frank
Spencer the vast interests of Spencer & Spencer, as represented by the
huge mills that lined the river bank, were merely one big machine; and
the hundreds of men, women, and children that dragged their weary way in
and out the great doors were but so many cogs in the wheels. That the
cogs had hearts that ached and heads that throbbed did not occur to him.
He was interested only in the smooth and silent running of the wheels
themselves.
Ned was the baby of the house. In spite of his length of limb and
breadth of shoulder he was still looked upon by his brother and sister
as little more than a boy. School, college, and a year of travel had
trained his brain, toughened his muscles, and browned his skin, and left
him full of enthusiasm for his chosen work, which just now meant helping
to push Spencer & Spencer to the top notch of power and prosperity.
For five years the two brothers and the widowed sister in the great
house that crowned Prospect Hill, had been by themselves save for the
servants and the occasional guests--and the Spencers were a clannish
family, so people said. However that might have been, there certainly
was not one of the three that was not conscious of a vague fear and a
well-defined regret, whenever there came the thought of this strange
young woman who was so soon to enter their lives.
To be a Spencer was to be hospitable, however, and the preparations for
the expected guest were prompt and generous. By Tuesday the entire
house, even to its inmates, was ready with a cordial welcome for the
orphan girl.
In his big touring car Frank Spencer went to the station to meet his
ward. With him was Mrs. Merideth, and her eyes, fully as anxiously as
his, swept the crowd of passengers alighting from the long train. Almost
simultaneously they saw the tall young woman in gray; and Mrs. Merideth
sighed with relief as Frank gave a quick exclamation and hurried
forward.
"At least she looks like a lady," Mrs. Merideth murmured, as she
followed her brother.
"You are Margaret Kendall, I am sure," Frank was saying; and Mrs.
Merideth saw the light leap to the girl's eyes as she gave him her hand.
"And you are Mr. Spencer, my guardian--'Uncle Frank.' Am I still to call
you 'Uncle Frank'?" Mrs. Merideth heard a clear voice say. The next
moment she found herself looking into what she instantly thought were
the most wonderful eyes she had ever seen.
"And I am Mrs. Merideth, my dear--'Aunt Della,' I hope," she said gently,
before her brother could speak.
"Thank you; and it will be 'Aunt Della,' I'm sure," smiled the girl; and
again Mrs. Merideth marveled at the curious charm of the eyes that met
her own.