THE GRAYSON HOUSE
On pleasant afternoons the president and his little granddaughter were
frequently to be seen walking down street together. Aunt Charlotte
found it very little trouble in these days to get her brother to take
his constitutional. The sight of Caro looking like an autumn sprite in
her red jacket, was enough.
“Come grandpa, it is time for our walk,” she would announce, and Dr.
Barrows would obediently lay down his pen or his book, and follow.
And the sight of her happy, rosy face, as she frisked about in the
fallen leaves, the sound of her merry voice as she asked innumerable
questions, made him forget his anxiety over seminary affairs, and
before he knew it he was looking up at the blue sky, breathing deeply
the delicious air, with something of the same joyousness.
“Grandpa, don’t you think that is a beautiful house?”
They were walking out Grayson avenue, and as Caro spoke she pointed
to a large old-fashioned mansion of gray stone, with a row of stately
pillars across its front. It stood in the midst of extensive grounds
where were many fine trees and shrubs, in the background hot-houses
were to be seen, and nearer the street a fountain was sending up a
silvery shower.
A cloud crossed the president’s face as he replied; “Yes, dear, it is a
beautiful place. That is where Trolley once lived.”
“Are there any children there?” she asked.
“No; Miss Grayson and her invalid brother live there alone.”
It was a very large house for just two persons, Caro thought. “Did
Trolley belong to the sick brother?” she asked.
“I don’t know; perhaps so.”
“Don’t you suppose he was sorry?”
“Very likely, but it couldn’t be helped you know, Trolley was
determined to live with us.”
“I am glad he did,” said Caro.
She couldn’t ask any more questions for Professor Rice joined them
and began to talk to her grandfather, but she could think, and it
presently occurred to her that this must be the place that adjoined
Marjorie’s orchard. She walked along very soberly, her mind full of the
sick man no one ever saw, and the gate that was never opened.
When she and Marjorie went over on the avenue to mail a letter not long
after this, Caro asked, “Did you know that your gate opened into the
garden of the Grayson house?”
“Why yes, of course. Look Caro! there’s Miss Elizabeth now!”
They were almost at the gate, and as Marjorie spoke a tall, handsome
woman crossed the sidewalk and entered the carriage that was waiting
for her.
“Doesn’t she look cross!” Marjorie exclaimed.
But Caro was too much impressed with her elegance to consider her
expression, which was not cross, by the way, only extremely sad.
“Let’s play dressing up,” she proposed, “and I bid to be Miss Grayson.”
Marjorie was willing and chose to be Mrs. Rice the professor’s wife
who had at present the distinction of being the seminary bride. As a
coachman was needed, little Tom Turner who sat on the curbstone longing
for an invitation, was offered the position, and perched on a piano
stool in front of a steamer chair he drove his spirited horses--two
rocking chairs--with great skill.
Miss Grayson in an old silk gown of Aunt Charlotte’s swept into her
carriage with astonishing dignity any number of times that morning,
followed by Mrs. Rice in a flowered kimono.
When they grew tired of this play they went to the orchard, and there
Caro decided that it would be quite easy to climb the wall if you
didn’t mind the currant bushes.
“You’d better not,” cried Marjorie, shocked at such audacity, but when
she was assured that it was just lovely up there, she could not resist
and she and Tom followed.
It was an old-fashioned garden into which the children looked, already
rather brown and bare except for a few chrysanthemums and asters, but
still with a beauty of its own quite different from the smooth elegance
of the grounds in front of the house.
They sat there full of delight over their adventure, craning their
necks to see as far as possible into this unknown land, when there came
the sound of footsteps on the fallen leaves.
Marjorie was down in an instant, and Tom after her, but Caro waited
till an invalid’s chair appeared, rolled by a tall colored man. In the
midst of the rugs and shawls a handsome, boyish face was to be seen,
and Caro who had expected--she didn’t know what--was so surprised that
instead of slipping down after Marjorie as she had intended she sat
perfectly still.
“Stop just here Thompson, I must have that bit of view through the
trees,” said the occupant of the chair, and Caro saw he had a camera.
She watched with interest till the right position was found and the
picture taken.
“Now turn me around, so I can get that white birch against the stone
wall.”
Close to the birch sat Caro. “Wait a minute and I’ll get down,” she
called, remembering how provoked Brother Arthur was when she got in his
way.
“Stay just where you are,” a decided voice commanded, and Caro staid,
feeling not unlike the convicts at the prison who had to have their
pictures taken whether they liked it or not.
It was over in a second and then down she scrambled and ran after the
other children.
“Caro! what made you so long? what did you see?” Marjorie cried.
“Nothing but two men; but Marjorie they took my picture!”
“Oh Caro, maybe they are going to arrest you!”
“I don’t believe they are,” Caro answered gravely, “for do you know
Marjorie he--the sick man I mean--is very nice looking.”
As they walked back to the house she added, “Just think how dreadful
it must be not to be able to walk.”