HALCYON DAYS.
A course of days, composing happy weeks,
And they as happy months; the day is still
So like the last, as all so firm a pledge
Of a congenial future, that the wheels
Of pleasure move without the aid of hope.—WORDSWORTH.
Very early on Monday morning Jacob Junior was dispatched to Saulsburg to
meet the mail and fetch the papers. The messenger was so diligent that
he brought in the bag and delivered it to his master while the family
sat at breakfast.
There were no letters for anybody, but all the last Saturday’s papers
had come.
General Lyon distributed them. A New York evening journal fell to Anna’s
share. She turned immediately to look for the news of the outward bound
steamers. She soon found what she was in search of. And as Alick’s name
was still a tacitly dropped word in the presence of her grandfather, she
silently passed the paper to Drusilla, and pointed to the list of
passengers for Liverpool who sailed by the Erie, from New York, on the
Saturday previous.
Drusilla looked and read among them:
“_Mr. Alexander Lyon and two servants._”
Drusilla nodded and smiled, saying in a low voice:
“It is better so, for the present. I hope that he will enjoy himself and
come home in a happier frame of mind.”
“Of whom are you speaking, my child?” inquired the General, raising his
eyes from a report of the last great debate in the Senate.
“Of Alick. He sailed in the Erie for Liverpool on last Saturday,”
answered Drusilla, quite calmly.
“Ah! he did? Well, I think it about the best thing he could have done. I
hope he will stay there until he comes to his senses. Joy go with him!”
heartily exclaimed the old gentleman.
“Dear uncle!” pleaded Drusilla.
“Well, my dear, what now?” I said, “Joy go with him. That was a
benediction, was it not?”
“I thought it was a sarcasm,” said Drusilla, archly.
The General coughed slightly and returned to the perusal of the debate.
So Mr. Alexander had betaken himself to parts unknown, and Drusilla was
by no means broken-hearted on that account.
All the tears she was ever destined to shed for him seemed already to
have fallen; all the heart-aches she was ever to feel for him seemed
already to have been suffered and forgotten.
Understand once for all that, though she loved him as faithfully and
hoped in him as trustfully as ever, she no longer mourned his absence.
I repeat it—she could love forever and hope forever, but she could not
grieve forever—not with her beautiful bright boy before her eyes.
It was delightful to see the young mother at this time of her life. She
was the sunshine of that sweet old home. All the joyousness, hopefulness
and truthfulness of childhood seemed to have returned to her; or,
rather, as her own childhood had not been a particularly happy one, to
have come to her for the first time with her child.
She sang in her nursing chair, or at her needle-work, all the morning;
she sang at the piano, or the harp, or sang duets with Anna or Dick in
the evening. She had a clear, sweet, elastic voice, a pure soprano,
perfectly adapted to the bird-like carols that she most favored.
General Lyon, whose passion for music had survived all other
enthusiasms, and had even increased with his declining years, seemed
never to grow weary of her delicious notes.
This pleased Anna.
“Dear grandpa,” she would often repeat, “I am so glad you have her here;
and will have her with you when Dick takes me away. It will be such a
comfort to me to feel you are not lonesome.”
“I don’t know how that may be, my dear. The more I see of our darling,
the more inclined I am to think that fellow will come to his senses and
claim her from us before we are willing to resign her. And _then_ what
shall I do?” the old man once inquired, with a sigh.
And then Drusilla put her hand in his, and looked up in his eyes with
all a daughter’s devotion, and answered:
“Dear uncle, you sheltered me when I had not a friend in the world. You
saved my life and my boy’s life. You gave him your name, and gave us
both a home. And I will never leave you alone, never—not even for _him_
will I leave you, until Anna and Dick come home from their bridal tour
to leave you no more.”
“I know it, my child, I know it; I need no assurance from you to teach
me how unselfish you are. But, my dear girl, do you think I would permit
you to sacrifice your happiness for my sake? No, dear Drusilla, when our
prodigal comes to himself and seeks your love again, you will be ready
and eager to be reunited to him and you must go with him, although I
should be left alone. And this for _your_ happiness, which must not be
sacrificed for me.”
“Happiness? sacrificed? Oh, uncle! father, dear, dear friend! you do not
know my heart. The happiness would be in staying with you to solace your
solitude; the sacrifice would be in leaving you alone. I _could_ not and
_would_ not do it, no, not even for my dear Alick. Nor would he wish it;
for when he ‘comes to himself,’ as you say, he will come to his better,
nobler self,—his just and true self.”
“Ah! my darling, you have great faith in that man.”
“Because I judge him by the whole tenor of his past life, and not by the
last few months of moral insanity!”
“May Heaven justify your faith, my dear,” replied the veteran.
Soon after the Christmas and New Year’s festivities were over, Richard
Hammond made a move towards terminating his visit. But poor Dick’s
nature was so perfectly transparent that every one knew it was a most
reluctant move. General Lyon, Anna and Drusilla all knew that Dick was
very desirous of staying at Old Lyon Hall, and they all felt that the
“unlucky dog,” would be much safer with his relations in the country
than among his “friends” in the city. So when Dick at length named an
early day in February for his departure, the General said:
“Nonsense, boy, stay where you are.”
“I should be glad enough to stay,” Dick frankly answered, “but you see I
feel I am trespassing. Bless my soul and life, sir, I have been here
nearly three months.”
“What of that? Stay three years. Stay three centuries if you live so
long. My boy, all counted, we are but four; not enough to crowd this big
old house; not enough to fill it, or half fill it. So, if you find
yourself at ease among us, remain with us.”
“But you see, dear grandpa,” said Anna, wickedly, “he is _not_ at ease
among us. He is very restless with us. He is longing to get back to the
city. He is pining for the society of his esteemed friends—the gallant
Captain Reding and the brave Lieutenant Harpe.”
“Oh, Anna, Anna! that was bloodthirsty!” said Dick in a grieved and
outraged manner.
“Then if that is not so, what is the attraction to the city, Dick?”
laughed Anna.
“Nothing at all. You know that as well as I do.” Anna did know it, but
for all that she answered maliciously:
“Then I can’t think why you wish to leave us.”
“I _don’t_ wish to leave you. I would much rather stay. I have been here
so long, I might well suppose that I had worn out my welcome. But as you
and uncle are kind enough to tell me that I have not, I _will_ stay, and
‘thank you too,’ as the girl said to the boy that asked her to have
him.”
“And don’t take it into your head again, Dick, that you are wearing out
your welcome. When we get tired of you, Dick, I will take it upon myself
to send you about your business.”
“Very well, Anna. I hope you will do so.”
In truth, Dick had enough to keep him in the neighborhood. Hammond House
and Hammondville, forming the greater portion of the landed estate he
had recently inherited, lay within a few miles of Old Lyon Hall.
The whole place was now in charge of a resident bailiff who was
instructed to put it in thorough repair for the reception of its new
master. And these repairs were going on as fast as circumstances would
permit.
The outdoor work was of course frequently suspended during the
inclemency of the weather. But the house was filled with carpenters,
plasterers, painters and paperhangers.
And it was well that Dick should occasionally ride there to overlook
these workmen. The most careful instructions are not often carried out,
under these circumstances, without the frequent presence of the master.
It was thought expedient also that Anna, whose home it would sometime
be, should be taken into the counsels and accompany Dick in his visits
of inspection to Hammond House. And whenever the weather permitted she
went there with him.
Hammond House was not to be their permanent home, however. During the
life of General Lyon, they were to live at Old Lyon Hall.
Three times a week, when the mail came into Saulsburg and the letters
and papers were brought to Old Lyon Hall, Drusilla turned to the
ship-news. At length she saw announced the safe arrival of the Erie at
Liverpool. And then she knew that was the last of even indirect news she
might hope to hear of Alexander.
But she was not depressed on that account. Her faith, hope and love were
strong. Everybody was very good to her. Her baby boy was growing in
strength, beauty and intelligence.
The spring was to be early this year. The latter days of February were
bright and lovely harbingers of its quick approach.
In the finest hours of the finest days Drusilla took her baby out for
short drives around the park—the nurse dragging the little carriage and
the mother walking by its side, and Leo often following to open gates or
remove obstacles.
There was not unfrequently a high dispute between the brother and sister
as to who should take care of the baby.
Leo insisted that as the baby was a boy, it was _his_ right to have
charge of him, and declared that he could see no fitness at all in a
girl setting herself up to nurse a boy.
Pina retorted that such a thing as a male nurse never was heard of
either for male or female child.
Leo would then bring forward his mistress’s promise that he himself
should have a good time with little Master Leonard, riding him about on
his shoulder.
Pina would request him to give that piece of information to the
“horse-marines,” who might be credulous enough to believe his story. As
for herself, she rejected it totally and held fast by her own rights as
sole nurse by appointment of her mistress.
Through all these quarrels one fact was evident—the devotion of the
brother and sister to the young child and his mother, of whom it might
almost be said that their servants were ready to lay down their lives in
their service.
Drusilla had not given up her favorite project of purchasing Cedarwood.
She had written and instructed her attorneys to make overtures to the
present proprietors of the place, for that purchase. She told them that
she knew of course the people who had so recently purchased the property
would want a very handsome bonus before they would consent to part with
it again so soon; and that she was prepared to satisfy their demands, as
she preferred to pay an exorbitant price for the place rather than miss
its possession.
Her attorneys, who were long-headed men of business, in no way given to
sentiment or extravagance, wrote in reply that they hoped with a little
patience and good management to buy the estate at something like a fair
valuation.
So Drusilla agreed to wait.
Meanwhile General Lyon had not forgotten that he had promised to
purchase Cedarwood, and bestow it upon Drusilla as a New Year’s present.
And he also set about negotiating for his purpose.
This reached the ears of Drusilla’s lawyers, who immediately wrote to
ask her if she was aware that her uncle, also, was after the place.
Drusilla was not aware of the fact; but now that she heard of it, she of
course understood that the General could only be seeking it for her
sake.
So she went to the old gentleman and assured him that as much as she
loved him, she could not possibly receive so magnificent a present from
his hands, but very much desired to purchase the estate with her own
funds.
General Lyon laughed, and assured her that his only motive in trying to
buy Cedarwood was to keep his word to her; but that, if she released him
from it, he was ready to give up the project. “For he was well aware,”
he said, “that to bestow property on a lady who owned warehouses piled
with merchandise in Baltimore and San Francisco, and merchant ships at
sea trading to all parts of the world, besides bank stock and railway
shares in almost every State, and gold mines in California, to bestow a
little bit of property on such a billionaire would simply be to send
coals to Newcastle.”
So the General wrote and stopped the proceedings of _his_ lawyers.
And Drusilla wrote and told _hers_ to go ahead as fast as they saw fit.
But it was April before any measure of importance was taken. Then
Messrs. Heneage & Kent, who had been as active and as artful as
detectives in the business, wrote to inform their client that they had
discovered that the present proprietor of Cedarwood, who was a person of
very restless disposition and unsettled habits, had become dissatisfied
with the place and was anxious to dispose of it, and would do so
immediately if he could sell it for as much as he gave for it. Now, as
Alexander Lyon had sold the estate at some sacrifice during his fit of
fury, it was therefore supposed to be a good bargain. The lawyers wrote
to ask further instructions from their client.
Drusilla by return mail directed them to buy Cedarwood immediately, as
her great desire was to possess it as soon as possible, on any terms.
She also requested them to buy as much of the wooded land around
Cedarwood as they could get at a reasonable, or even at a slightly
unreasonable price, as she intended to improve the place as much as it
would admit of, and wished, among other things, to have a little home
park.
It was well for this young Fortunata that her attorneys had much more
prudence than herself. They were not disposed to pay fancy prices for
fancy places, even when they were spending their client’s money instead
of their own, and getting a good percentage on it. So they managed
matters so well that, by the first of May, the whole business was
successfully completed.
Cedarwood, with its original twenty-five acres of partially cleared
land, was purchased for twenty thousand dollars, and one hundred acres
of wild forest land lying all around it was purchased for thirty
thousand—the whole property costing fifty thousand.
“A very excellent investment,” wrote Heneage & Kent, “even as a mere
country seat; but the land so near the city is rapidly rising in value;
and when you may wish to do so in future years, you may divide it into
half a hundred villa sites, and sell each part for as much money as you
now pay for the whole.”
But Drusilla was not thinking of land speculations, so she ran to her
friends and, after telling them of the completion of the purchase of
Cedarwood, she exclaimed:
“And now we shall have such a beautiful home near the city to receive us
all when we go to Washington to spend the winter. It will be so much
better than a hotel or boarding-house in the city. It is only half an
hour’s drive from the Capitol. We can live there so comfortable, and as
quiet as we please when we wish to be so, and enter into all the
amusements of the city we like when we wish to do so. It will only be to
start half an hour earlier when we go to a party or a play, half an hour
earlier from Cedarwood than we should from a hotel in the city, I mean.
And then when we leave a brilliant ball-room or opera-house, it will be
so pleasant to come to a sweet, quiet home in the woods, instead of a
noisy, unwholesome hotel—don’t you think so, dear uncle?” she said,
appealing to the General.
“Yes, my darling, I do,” answered the old gentleman.
“And shall you like the plan?”
“Very much, my dear child. I never could sleep well at any of the hotels
in Washington or in any other city, for that matter. The noise of the
carriages in the streets always kept me awake nearly all night.”
“And you, Anna—shall you like it?”
“Of course I shall. I detest hotels. The clean face towels always smell
sour or fetid, for one thing. And boarding houses and furnished lodgings
are almost as bad.”
“I am delighted! So in future I and my baby shall be _your_ guests at
Old Lyon Hall or at Hammond House during the summer, and you all shall
be my guests at Cedarwood all the winter. And I shall write to “mammy,”
and offer her and her husband the situations of housekeeper and head
gardener there, at liberal wages. And they would keep the house and
grounds always in good order, and ready to receive us. Will not that be
pleasant, Dick?”
“Pleasant!” exclaimed Mr. Hammond enthusiastically; “it will be
perfectly delightful.”