"Quite. Couldn't leave _her_ behind. Wouldn't hurt her feelings for the
world."
"There is no more to be said, Mr. Stillwater."
"The sailing trip's off, then?"
"Except you resolve to go alone. In case of nervous derangement I
always advise separation. No family."
"Of course, I couldn't presume to argue with you, Doctor. But I'll talk
it over with the ladies. They'll never allow me to go alone, though,
I'm quite sure of it."
"Is there any necessity to precipitate matters so far?" said the Noted
Authority. "Would it not be easier to announce at once quietly and
firmly your intention to go, avoiding all preliminary discussion?"
"Oh, you don't know my family; they would not allow that sort of thing.
Doctor, are you married?"
"I have been a widower for some years."
"That explains--you've forgotten how it is. You see, my family are a
very touchy lot--but I know just how to handle them. We get along
swimmingly."
"As these domestic conditions seem inevitable, further discussions seem
useless. _Talk it over with the ladies_. Perhaps with the assistance of
your wife, your daughter and your mother-in-law you may arrive at some
decision which will be agreeable to all concerned."
"Certainly! Certainly! I'll do as you say--we'll talk it over and
we'll hit on something between the lot of us. See you again, Doctor.
Good-by."
"He's pretty far gone already, I fear," thought the Noted Authority
after Stillwater had departed. "Absolutely afraid to act on his own
responsibility."
"What do you think?" cried Stillwater, bursting in on his family about
dinner hour. "He won't allow you to go with me on that sailing trip.
He says I must go alone."
"Well, pa, you go right back and tell him that we wouldn't think of
allowing you to do anything of the kind."
"His office hours are over now, Indiana," said Stillwater, smiling
placidly. "Will to-morrow morning do?"
"Oh, father, it would just break my heart to see you going off alone and
sick, too."
"Not to be thought of for a minute," said Mrs. Bunker.
"I told him you wouldn't hear of it." Stillwater leaned back in his
chair, watching with evident enjoyment the effect of his words. "He
said that to confine a perfectly normal person on a sailing vessel for
three months with his wife, his daughter, and his mother-in-law, would
make him a nervous wreck for life."
"Did he say that, pa?"
"Practically, Indiana."
"Brute," said Mrs. Bunker. "If he once had the privilege of making my
acquaintance he might change his views on the matter."
"He might fall all over himself to become one of the sailing party
himself then," remarked Stillwater chuckling. "Well, he said I should
talk it over with the ladies."
"It's a wonder he gave us that much consideration," said Indiana
loftily.
"I reckon he thought he was humoring me. I guess he thinks I'm a gone
case." Stillwater slapped his knee. "Well, I've been doing some tall
thinking on my own account and it's come to this." He rose and looked
at his wife. "In the old days when I was coaxing the ground, I never had
these feelings, mother."
"Oh, no!"
"I'm going back to nature. I'm going to buy a farm. I know just where
to lay my hands on one in Indiana. Spring is coming. I'm going to live
on it and work on it, till I'm a new man again."
"I second that motion," said Mrs. Bunker, bringing her hand down on the
table.
"And I," cried Indiana. "We'll all go farming."
"Well, mother, you're not saying a word."
She smiled up at him. Her eyes were full of tears.
"It--it will be like the old days," she said.
"Here are the hats!" cried Indiana, as Kitty, the maid, entered
staggering under the weight of a number of boxes. They all became
immediately interested in the absorbing question of spring headgear.
"How do you like this?" inquired Mrs. Bunker, perching a black net
concoction on her carefully dressed head.
"Very becoming!" answered Indiana, after a critical inspection.
"Suits you fine, grandma!" said Stillwater.
"Shows what you all know!" remarked Mrs. Bunker, looking in the glass.
"It's entirely too old for me." She placed it on her daughter's smooth
brown coils.
"Ah!" cried Stillwater admiringly. His wife, sitting under inspection,
looked inquiringly at Indiana. A mirror held no significance for Mrs.
Stillwater. She was always supremely satisfied with whatever her family
approved of, for her, in the way of personal adornment.
"I'll take that hat for ma," said Indiana. "It's all right."
"Yes, Mary can afford to wear it," said Mrs. Bunker. "I'm not young
enough for a hat like that."
"Ladies," exclaimed Mr. Stillwater, looking at his watch. "This is a
pretty interesting show, but excuse me for the liberty of reminding you
that there's another, starting at a quarter past eight, at which we've
made a solemn resolution to be present."
"Hear! Hear!" cried Indiana.
"It is now seven o'clock. Of course you don't take as long to dress as
I do." He made quickly for the door.
"Not a bit longer than other women," cried Indiana.
"Well, we'll leave that question open," said Mr. Stillwater,
disappearing.
That evening, as they were stepping from the elevator in their wraps,
ready for the theatre, Mrs. Bunker uttered an exclamation of intense
surprise.
"Lord Canning!"
"Mrs. Bunker; I am delighted!"
"And Lord Stafford, too!" She shook hands with an elderly gentleman,
slightly foppish in appearance. "Well, of all people in the world, to
meet you here to-night. I'm just ready to faint."
"Don't! Don't! Mrs. Bunker," said Lord Stafford, with a laugh of
intense enjoyment.
"Lord Stafford; Lord Canning; my son-in-law, Mr. Stillwater; my
daughter, Mrs. Stillwater, and my grand-daughter, Miss Stillwater."
"Indiana," thought Lord Canning, as he bowed ceremoniously.
"These gentlemen were my constant companions at Cannes last year," said
Mrs. Bunker. "We and the Jennings' were together most of the time."
"I'm glad to know you, gentlemen! My mother-in-law's often talked about
your kind attention to her abroad."
"Kind attention is no name for it," said Mrs. Bunker. "They gave me the
best time I ever had. And now that I've caught them on American ground,
I intend to repay it with interest."
"I assure you, Mrs. Bunker, you need feel no sense of obligation," said
Lord Canning. "Your companionship was a source of unfailing pleasure."
"What do you think of this big town, Lord Canning?" said Mr. Stillwater,
indicating his surroundings by a comprehensive wave of the hand.
"Extraordinary!" answered Lord Canning.
"How long are you going to be here?" inquired Mrs. Bunker of Lord
Stafford, while her son-in-law was probing Lord Canning's recently
acquired views of America.
"Oh, we're only birds of passage, Mrs. Bunker."
"So are we; but isn't it delightful to meet on the wing?"
"On the wing; ha, ha! Delightful, Mrs. Bunker! Delightful!"
"We start to-morrow for California," said Lord Canning.
"And the day after we return to Indiana," added Mrs. Bunker.
"In the summer we intend to investigate Colorado."
"I have a ranch up in the Rockies," said Stillwater. "Why, this little
girl," he brought his hand down on Indiana's shoulders, "learned to
shoot up there."
"Indeed!" said Lord Canning.
"Well, you just ought to have seen her once cornering a grizzly. She
shot him, too--sure as I stand here."
"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Lord Canning.
"Oh, that's a small matter," remarked Indiana modestly.
"Indeed!" said Lord Canning.
"We shoot bears every day in America," she added airily.
At these words Lord Canning looked about him as though he fully expected
one to appear that moment, for the purpose of allowing him to see Miss
Stillwater dispatch it with all possible speed, and just as she stood
there in her long white opera cloak, holding a bunch of hyacinths.
"Not here!" exclaimed Indiana.
"No?" answered Lord Canning, looking absently at her blonde pompadour,
every hair of which seemed to quiver with a distinct life and
individuality of its own.
Indiana gave vent to a long peal of merriment.
"No--of course not!" Lord Canning hastened to add. "Not _here_."
"We used to spend most part of our summers in the Rockies," said
Stillwater, "but the last two or three years the ladies have preferred
the Adirondacks."
"We thought of giving ourselves a month there in the autumn, before we
return to England," said Lord Canning.
"Now's my chance," exclaimed Mrs. Bunker; "you must stay with us, and
we'll give you fine hunting."
"Plenty of deer in the North Woods," added Stillwater. "You'll be
heartily welcome if you care to rough it with us. Camp life, you know."
"I should be only too delighted," said Lord Canning. "What do you say,
Uncle?"
"Charmed!"
"I'm sure we'll make you feel at home," said Mrs. Stillwater.
At these words, uttered with such heartfelt sincerity, the two
Englishmen felt at home that very moment. There was a soft domesticity
about Mrs. Stillwater, which made itself perceptible even in the
brilliant crowded corridor of the Waldorf.
"Now, Lord Stafford," said Mrs. Bunker, "take out your note book; and
I'll give you all necessary instructions to reach us."
"I generally manage to get up there in September," said Mr. Stillwater.
"But, if anything detains me for a short while--you'll be in good
hands."
"Yes, we'll take care of you," said Indiana.
Lord Canning smiled. Indiana immediately decided that his face, though
stern in repose, was not unattractive.
"Well, good-bye till the fall," said Mrs. Bunker. "Lord Stafford, do
you remember that odd trick you had abroad, of turning up unexpectedly,
wherever I happened to be?" She tapped him playfully with a carnation
from her bouquet.
"Ha, ha, ha! You see, I haven't lost that trick yet, Mrs. Bunker!" He
took the carnation and fastened it in his buttonhole.
"Good-bye, Lord Canning," said Indiana. "Don't forget to look us up,
when you come to the woods. I'll show you the sights."
Lord Canning bowed, blushing with embarrassment. No young lady, of the
tender age of Indiana, had ever before spoken to him with such freedom,
or looked at him with such unconscious, unabashed eyes.
"Lively woman, Mrs. Bunker," remarked Lord Stafford, looking after the
party, and inhaling the fragrance of the carnation.
He met with no response.
"Lively woman, eh?" he repeated in a louder tone.
"Yes," answered Lord Canning absently, "very, very young; little more
than a child, in spite of her self-assurance--and there's something
about her--something--quite--er--different!"
*CHAPTER III.*
*On a Model Farm*
"The peas are sprouting pretty lively. The tomatoes are as perky as the
young generation. The strawberries--well, they're saying, 'To-day we're
here, to-morrow we're gone.' You shall have strawberries and cream for
supper this evening."
After delivering this report in his own neat style, Stillwater rolled
down his shirt sleeves, threw aside his big straw wide awake, and sank
into a rocker.
"What are you making, mother?"
"A little dimity dress for Indiana to wear about the farm."
"Well, history repeats itself on this place. Are you commencing to make
dresses for Indiana again? I suppose you're imagining she's a little
fat tot, and we've always been just here."
"Not when I look at all this goods," said Mrs. Stillwater laughing,
"though she's small, compared to what I was at her age."
"Why don't you send to town for some dresses," asked Stillwater.
"Oh, because it's a pleasure to make it myself, father, and the child
loves to see me do it."
"Bye the bye." Stillwater took a handkerchief from his pocket, and
unfolding it, carefully disclosed what to ignorant eyes was simply an
ordinary potato. "I'll have something to show at the next county fair,
that'll make neighbor Masters feel like very _small potatoes_."
Mrs. Bunker, who was embroidering red roses on white linen, handled the
potato with the air of a connoisseur.
"Father, you're working as hard on this farm as if your living depended
on it," said Mrs. Stillwater.
"My living does depend on it; I'd have been under the ground before
long, if I hadn't taken to this. I consider every potato which costs me
ten dollars, is equivalent to a doctor's pill."
Mrs. Bunker laughed.
"My dear grandmother, a man who works as hard as I'm working on my farm,
makes a living and nothing more. I sat in my office and doubled my
capital without turning a hand, but that's the pace that kills. Halloa,
Glen," as a young, good-looking fellow in knickerbockers opened the
gate. "Leave your wheel right there."
"Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater."
"Good morning, Glen; how's your mother?"
"Well, thanks. Sends her love, and father's quite his old self."
"Who cured him?" said Stillwater.
"He was getting to be a regular hypochondriac. We compared our
symptoms; they were about alike. I constitute myself my own doctor. I
buy a farm, and a pretty thing it is, too. I'll be wabashed, if he
don't go and do the same."
"Ah, but father happened to have his farm, Mr. Stillwater," said the
young fellow, laughing. "It's been neglected for years. It's not a
model farm like this, but we're getting it into shape." He looked
around, as though he missed something or someone.
"Say, Glen, what do you think of this?" Stillwater proudly exhibited
his potato. Glen examined it with professional interest. "You couldn't
do any better than that, could you?"
"We don't try. You know what father says, 'Farmin' ain't no fad with my
neighbor, Stillwater.'--I'll just fetch a drink from the well."
He went off with a long, swinging stride, and, returning in a moment
with a tin cup in his hand, seated himself at Mrs. Stillwater's feet, on
the step of the farm-house porch.
"Fine tasting water, eh?" said Stillwater watching him. "Cold as ice;
it's a fine thing to have a spring like that, right on your ground."
Glen nodded, drinking slowly, and fingering the dainty, pink and white,
flowered material on which Mrs. Stillwater was working. He finally
rose, restored the tin cup to the well, sauntered back and into the
kitchen, and out again, with a disappointed expression.
"What's the matter, Glen? Lost anything?" inquired Mr. Stillwater,
winking at the others.