SPEND-THE-DAY GUESTS
THERE was a storm that night and next day a heavy fog dropped down like
a thick white veil over town and sea. It was so cold that Jeremy lighted
a fire, not only in the living room but in the guest chamber across the
hall.
A week earlier Tippy had announced, "It'll never do to let Cousin
Mehitable Huntingdon go back to Hyannis without having broken bread with
us. She'd talk about it to the end of her days, if we were the only
relations in town who failed to ask her in to a meal, during her
fortnight's visit. And, of course, if we ask her, all the family she's
staying with ought to be invited, and we've never had the new minister
and his wife here to eat. Might as well do it all up at once while we're
about it."
Spend-the-day guests were rare in Georgina's experience. The grand
preparations for their entertainment which went on that morning put the
new partnership and the treasure-quest far into the background. She
forgot it entirely while the dining-room table, stretched to its limit,
was being set with the best china and silver as if for a Thanksgiving
feast. Mrs. Fayal, the mother of Manuel and Joseph and Rosa, came over
to help in the kitchen, and Tippy whisked around so fast that Georgina,
tagging after, was continually meeting her coming back.
Georgina was following to ask questions about the expected guests. She
liked the gruesome sound of that term "blood relations" as Tippy used
it, and wanted to know all about this recently discovered "in-law," the
widow of her grandfather's cousin, Thomas Huntingdon. Barby could not
tell her and Mrs. Triplett, too busy to be bothered, set her down to
turn the leaves of the family album. But the photograph of Cousin
Mehitable had been taken when she was a boarding-school miss in a
disfiguring hat and basque, and bore little resemblance to the imposing
personage who headed the procession of visitors, arriving promptly at
eleven o'clock.
When Cousin Mehitable came into the room in her widow's bonnet with the
long black veil hanging down behind, she seemed to fill the place as the
massive black walnut wardrobe upstairs filled the alcove. She lifted her
eyeglasses from the hook on her dress to her hooked nose to look at
Georgina before she kissed her. Under that gaze the child felt as awed
as if the big wardrobe had bent over and put a wooden kiss on her
forehead and said in a deep, whispery sort of voice, "So this is the
Judge's granddaughter. How do you do, my dear?"
All the guests were middle aged and most of them portly. There were so
many that they filled all the chairs and the long claw-foot sofa
besides. Georgina sat on a foot-stool, her hands folded in her lap until
the others took out their knitting and embroidery. Then she ran to get
the napkin she was hemming. The husbands who had been invited did not
arrive until time to sit down to dinner and they left immediately after
the feast.
Georgina wished that everybody would keep still and let one guest at a
time do the talking. After the first few minutes of general conversation
the circle broke into little groups, and it wasn't possible to follow
the thread of the story in more than one. Each group kept bringing to
light some bit of family history that she wanted to hear or some old
family joke which they laughed over as if it were the funniest thing
that ever happened. It was tantalizing not to be able to hear them all.
It made her think of times when she rummaged through the chests in the
attic, pulling out fascinating old garments and holding them up for
Tippy to supply their history. But this was as bad as opening all the
chests at once. While she was busy with one she was missing all that was
being hauled out to the light of day from the others.
Several times she moved her foot-stool from one group to another, drawn
by some sentence such as, "Well, she certainly was the prettiest bride I
ever laid my two eyes on, but not many of us would want to stand in her
shoes now." Or from across the room, "They do say it was what happened
the night of the wreck that unbalanced his mind, but I've always thought
it was having things go at sixes and sevens at home as they did."
Georgina would have settled herself permanently near Cousin Mehitable,
she being the most dramatic and voluble of them all, but she had a
tantalizing way of lowering her voice at the most interesting part, and
whispering the last sentence behind her hand. Georgina was nearly
consumed with curiosity each time that happened, and fairly ached to
know these whispered revelations.
It was an entrancing day--the dinner so good, the ancient jokes passing
around the table all so new and witty to Georgina, hearing them now for
the first time. She wished that a storm would come up to keep everybody
at the house overnight and thus prolong the festal feeling. She liked
this "Company" atmosphere in which everyone seemed to grow expansive of
soul and gracious of speech. She loved every relative she had to the
remotest "in-law."
Her heart swelled with a great thankfulness to think that she was not an
orphan. Had she been one there would have been no one to remark that her
eyes were exactly like Justin's and she carried herself like a
Huntingdon, but that she must have inherited her smile from the other
side of the house. Barbara had that same smile and winning way with her.
It was pleasant to be discussed when only pleasant things were said,
and to have her neat stitches exclaimed over and praised as they were
passed around.
She thought about it again after dinner, and felt so sorry for children
who were orphans, that she decided to spend a large part of her share of
the buried treasure in making them happy. She was sure that Richard
would give part of his share, too, when he found it, and when the
picture show which they were going to buy was in good running order,
they would make it a rule that orphans should always be let in free.
She came back from this pleasant day-dream to hear Cousin Mehitable
saying, "Speaking of thieves, does anyone know what ever became of poor
Dan Darcy?"
Nobody knew, and they all shook their heads and said that it was a pity
that he had turned out so badly. It was hard to believe it of him when
he had always been such a kind, pleasant-spoken boy, just like his
father; and if ever there was an honest soul in the whole round world it
was the old Towncrier.
At that Georgina gave such a start that she ran her needle into her
thumb, and a tiny drop of blood spurted out. She did not know that Uncle
Darcy had a son. She had never heard his name mentioned before. She had
been at his house many a time, and there never was anyone there besides
himself except his wife, "Aunt Elspeth" (who was so old and feeble that
she stayed in bed most of the time), and the three cats, "John Darcy and
Mary Darcy and old Yellownose." That's the way the old man always spoke
of them. He called them his family.
Georgina was glad that the minister's wife was a newcomer in the town
and asked to have it explained. Everybody contributed a scrap of the
story, for all side conversations stopped at the mention of Dan Darcy's
name, and the interest of the whole room centered on him.
It was years ago, when he was not more than eighteen that it happened.
He was a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow who couldn't be kept down to
steady work such as a job in the bank or a store. He was always off
a-fishing or on the water, but everybody liked him and said he'd settle
down when he was a bit older. He had a friend much like himself, only a
little older. Emmett Potter was his name. There was a regular David and
Jonathan friendship between those two. They were hand-in-glove in
everything till Dan went wrong. Both even liked the same girl, Belle
Triplett.
Here Georgina's needle gave her another jab. She laid down her hemming
to listen. This was bringing the story close home, for Belle Triplett
was Tippy's niece, or rather her husband's niece. While that did not
make Belle one of the Huntingdon family, Georgina had always looked upon
her as such. She visited at the house oftener than anyone else.
Nobody in the room came right out and said what it was that Dan had
done, but by putting the scraps together Georgina discovered presently
that the trouble was about some stolen money. Lots of people wouldn't
believe that he was guilty at first, but so many things pointed his way
that finally they had to. The case was about to be brought to trial when
one night Dan suddenly disappeared as if the sea had swallowed him, and
nothing had ever been heard from him since. Judge Huntingdon said it was
a pity, for even if he was guilty he thought he could have got him off,
there being nothing but circumstantial evidence.
Well, it nearly killed his father and mother and Emmett Potter, too.
It came out then that Emmett was engaged to Belle. For nearly a year he
grieved about Dan's disappearance. Seems he took it to heart so that he
couldn't bear to do any of the things they'd always done together or go
to the old places. Belle had her wedding dress made and thought if she
could once get him down to Truro to live, he'd brace up and get over it.
They had settled on the day, when one wild, stormy night word came that
a vessel was pounding itself to pieces off Peaked Hill Bar, and the
life-saving crew was starting to the rescue. Emmett lit out to see it,
and when something happened to the breeches buoy so they couldn't use
it, he was the first to answer when the call came for volunteers to man
a boat to put out to them. He would have had a medal if he'd lived to
wear it, for he saved five lives that night. But he lost his own the
last time he climbed up on the vessel. Nobody knew whether it was a rope
gave way or whether his fingers were so nearly frozen he couldn't hold
on, but he dropped into that raging sea, and his body was washed up on
the beach next day.
Georgina listened, horrified.
"And Belle with her wedding dress all ready," said Cousin Mehitable with
a husky sigh.
"What became of her?" asked the minister's wife.
"Oh, she's still living here in town, but it blighted her whole life in
a way, although she was just in her teens when it happened. It helped
her to bear up, knowing he'd died such a hero. Some of the town people
put up a tombstone to his memory, with a beautiful inscription on it
that the summer people go to see, almost as much as the landing place of
the Pilgrims. She'll be true to his memory always, and it's something
beautiful to see her devotion to Emmett's father. She calls him "Father"
Potter, and is always doing things for him. He's that old net-mender who
lives alone out on the edge of town near the cranberry bogs."
Cousin Mehitable took up the tale:
"I'll never forget if I live to be a hundred, what I saw on my way home
the night after Emmett was drowned. I was living here then, you know. I
was passing through Fishburn Court, and I thought I'd go in and speak a
word to Mr. Darcy, knowing how fond he'd always been of Emmett on
account of Dan and him being such friends. I went across that sandy
place they call the Court, to the row of cottages at the end. But I
didn't see anything until I had opened the Darcy's gate and stepped into
the yard. The house sits sideways to the Court, you know.
"The yellow blind was pulled down over the front window, but the lamp
threw a shadow on it, plain as a photograph. It was the shadow of the
old man, sitting there with his arms flung out across the table, and his
head bowed down on them. I was just hesitating, whether to knock or to
slip away, when I heard him groan, and sort of cry out, "Oh, my Danny!
My Danny! If only you could have gone _that_ way.""
Barbara, hearing a muffled sob behind her, turned to see the tears
running down Georgina's face. The next instant she was up, and with her
arms around the child, was gently pushing her ahead of her out of the
room, into the hall. With the door shut behind her she said soothingly:
"Barby didn't know they were going to tell such unhappy stories,
darling. I shouldn't have let you stay."
"But I _want_ to know," sobbed Georgina. "When people you love have
trouble you ought to know, so's to be kinder to them. Oh, Barby, I'm so
sorry I ever was saucy to him. And I wish I hadn't teased his cats. I
tied paper bags on all of John Darcy and Mary Darcy's paws, and he said
I made old Y-yellownose n-nervous, tickling his ears----"
Barbara stopped the sobbing confessions with a kiss and took Georgina's
jacket from the hat-rack.
"Here," she said. "It's bad for you to sit in the house all day and
listen to grown people talk. Slip into this and run outdoors with your
skipping rope a while. Uncle Darcy has had very great trouble, but he's
learned to bear it like a hero, and nothing would make him grieve more
than to know that any shadow of his sorrow was making you unhappy. The
way for you to help him most is to be as bright and jolly as you can,
and to _tease_ his old cats once in a while."
Georgina looked up through her tears, her dimples all showing, and threw
her arms around her adoringly.
"What a funny mother you are, Barby. Not a bit like the ones in books."
A cold wind was blowing the fog away. She raced up and down the beach
for a long time, and when she came back it was with red cheeks and
ruffled curls. Having left the company in tears she did not like to
venture back for fear of the remarks which might be made. So she
crossed the hall and stood in the door of the guest chamber, considering
what to do next. Its usual chill repellance had been changed into
something inviting by the wood fire on the hearth, and on the bed where
the guests had deposited their wraps lay an array of millinery which
drew her irresistibly.
It was a huge four-poster bed which one could mount only by the aid of a
set of bedside steps, and so high that the valance, draped around it
like a skirt, would have reached from her neck to her heels had it been
draped on her. It was a chintz valance with birds of paradise patterned
on its pink background, and there was pink silk quilled into the quaint
tester overhead, reminding her of old Jeremy's favorite quill dahlias.
Usually when she went into this room which was seldom opened, she
mounted the steps to gaze up at that fascinating pink loveliness. Also
she walked around the valance, counting its birds of paradise. She did
not do so to-day. She knew from many previous countings that there were
exactly eighty-seven and a half of those birds. The joining seam cut off
all but the magnificent tail of what would have been the eighty-eighth.
Mounting the steps she leaned over, careful not to touch the crocheted
counterpane, which Tippy always treated as if it were something sacred,
and looked at the hats spread out upon it. Then she laid daring fingers
on Cousin Mehitable's bonnet. It was a temptation to know what she would
look like if she should grow up to be a widow and have to wear an
imposing head-gear like that with a white ruche in front and a long
black veil floating down behind. The next instant she was tying the
strings under her chin.
It made her look like such an odd little dwarf of a woman that she stuck
out her tongue at her reflection in the mirror. The grimace was so
comical, framed by the stately bonnet, that Georgina was delighted. She
twisted her face another way and was still more amused at results.
Wholly forgetful of the fact that it was a mourning bonnet, she went on
making faces at herself until the sound of voices suddenly growing
louder, told her that the door across the hall had opened. Someone was
coming across.
There was no time to take off the bonnet. With a frightened gasp she
dived under the bed, with it still on, her heels disappearing just as
someone came into the room. The bed was so high she could easily sit
upright under it, but she was so afraid that a cough or a sneeze might
betray her, that she drew up her knees and sat with her face pressed
against them hard. The long veil shrouded her shoulders. She felt that
she would surely die if anyone should notice that the bonnet was gone,
or happen to lift the valance and find her sitting there with it on her
head. Then she forgot her fear in listening to what Cousin Mehitable was
saying.
[Illustration]