CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
[Illustration: Cathalina carefully turned the boat and started
shoreward. Lilian, who had her guitar, strummed a few chords.]
CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
By HARRIET PYNE GROVE
Author of
“The Girls of Greycliff,” “The Greycliff Girls in Camp,”
“Greycliff Heroines,” “Greycliff Wings.”
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
THE
GREYCLIFF GIRLS SERIES
A Series of Stories for Girls
By HARRIET PYNE GROVE
CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
THE GIRLS OF GREYCLIFF
THE GREYCLIFF GIRLS IN CAMP
GREYCLIFF HEROINES
GREYCLIFF WINGS
Copyright, 1923
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
Made in “U. S. A.”
FOREWORD
In these chapters the author has used her own family names,
to which she fancies she has a right. There are, however,
some changes; it was, for instance, a Katherine
Knickerbocker who married a Van Buskirk. The “Aunt
Katherine” of the story is really the author’s grandmother,
Harriet Cathalina Van Buskirk, a granddaughter of the
original Martin Van Buskirk. She taught in the Emma Willard
school at Troy, New York, and married William Lee, nephew of
Madam Willard and son of her oldest sister, Mary Hart.
To present a happy, normal school life and real girls in the
midst of life’s most delightful opportunities is the object
of this series.
CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
CHAPTER I
CATHALINA VAN BUSKIRK
The maid was doing Cathalina Van Buskirk’s sunny brown hair.
“Do it up high, Etta; it is so hot today! I hope Mother will decide to
go to the mountains soon!”
“Just as soon as your brother comes home, Miss Cathalina. I heard her
say so yesterday.”
“Last year he met us there!” Cathalina replied, somewhat fretfully.
“Yes, but he is not going back next Fall, you know, and there’s all his
things to come here. And then your mother said that she isn’t sure where
she will go until she sees him and finds out what he needs and where he
wants to go.”
“O, Phil’s always well,—I wish I were!” Cathalina looked mournfully and
pityingly in the mirror, where she saw a pretty, delicate face with
shadowy, dark blue eyes. A tear threatened to splash over as Cathalina
thought what a dull, disagreeable world it was. A miserable piano lesson
at ten o’clock, and she supposed she’d have to practice a while before;
a party the next day, or was it this afternoon?—and the girls would be
offended if she did not go. Always the same old thing anyhow!
Etta quietly took the blue silk kimono that Cathalina had slipped off
and brought in exchange a dainty morning dress of fine, sheer lawn.
Cathalina’s bedroom was a beautiful setting for the fair little maid of
fourteen years. When the new home was being finished a year before,
Cathalina herself, with some direction from her mother, had chosen the
blue, white and silver decorations and selected the furnishings. What
pride she had taken at first in the delicate effects, the simple, though
expensive, fittings. But she was tired of it all now.
As Etta fastened the dress, Cathalina said, with the shy little smile
that she always had when she spoke intimately, “I was so cross, Etta,
this morning when you brought up my breakfast,—please forgive me!”
“O, Miss Cathie,—if you call that cross! What would you think if you
heard what I’ve had to put up with?”
“Better not tell me, Etta,” replied Cathalina, who had been taught not
to encourage tales of former service. “I might get hints on how to
manage you,” she added, with a laugh. “How loose this dress is getting!
Just pin over the girdle a little—or get me that other sash that
matches, please.” Then both girls turned to listen to sounds of
commotion down stairs.
“What is that? Hurry, Etta,—I do believe it’s Phil! Yes, I hear his
voice!”
Gone was Cathalina’s languor. She ran to the door, stood a moment by the
bannister, looking over, then flew down the broad stairs as fast as a
pair of twinkling feet could carry her.
“O, Phil!”
“Hullo, Kathleen Mavourneen!” And a tall, slim youngster who stood in
the hall turned and caught the flying figure on the last stair. He gave
her a whirl and then held her off after a brotherly hug. “Why, what’s
the matter with you, kitten” for Cathalina was sobbing a little.
“I don’t know—just so glad to see you—I cry at everything lately.”
“Well, come now!” Philip boyishly patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s
find Mothery. O, _Mother_!”
“Is that my boy?” Another graceful figure came down stairs, not quite so
fast, but with face eager and smiling. Philip embraced his mother and
tipped up her chin that he might get a good look, with “How’s Madam
Sylvia Van Ness Van Buskirk?”
“Beautiful as a dream,” answered Cathalina, who had recovered from her
tears and was almost feeling frisky, inspired by Philip’s arrival.
“She actually blushes!” laughed Philip. “Now if it were Dad! Still the
same pair of lovers, Mothery?”
“Nonsense, Philip. How good it is to have you again! How did you happen
to come so unexpectedly?”
“I was all through, lessons and quizzes, and took a notion to come.
Packed in an awful hurry and forgot to telegraph. The bunch was along.
But let me clean up, Mother, before I answer questions,—I’m so dingy and
hot! You see I’m here, husky as ever, and wasn’t fired! Home looks
pretty good to me!”
“Very well, saucy boy!” Sylvia Van Buskirk shook her head, in smiling
reproof of her son, who turned to give direction to the butler standing
near, unhearing, unseeing, a suitcase in each hand. “There’ll be a big
bag, a couple of trunks and some boxes of books later, Watts. Don’t know
where I did get all the junk. Have Louis bring up the suit-cases right
away. And how are you yourself?”
“Watts’” dignity gave way to a warm smile, for all the servants liked
Philip Junior, or “Mr. Philip”, as they called him. Three or four at a
time, Philip took the low steps, whistling as he went.
“Handsome and full of fun as ever!”
“Now we’ll have a little life in the house!”
So exclaimed Cathalina and her mother together.
“How are you this morning, Cathalina?”
“O, I was simply cross when I waked up with a headache again, but it was
gone after breakfast.”
Mrs. Van Buskirk’s brow contracted anxiously as she looked at Cathalina.
Then, arm in arm, they crossed the hall and entered the library, where
shades and shutters kept out the glare of the morning sun, an electric
fan supplied a breeze and the mail lay upon the table.
The Van Buskirk library was what Philip Junior called it, “a thing of
beauty” and “a joy forever”. Philip Van Buskirk Senior was a merchant
and importer who dealt in all things beautiful of a material sort. Books
were his recreation; and as the producing world brought him silks,
ivories, jewels and quaint treasures of all kinds, so this world of
books brought riches of thought and a quiet companionship away from
business cares. The low shelves in the alcoves were filled with
reference books galore, with the standard literature and, best of all,
the precious copies of the authors dear to the fine man who selected,
read and put them upon his shelves, according to his own fancy of
arrangement.
Here, in the broad, well-cushioned window seat, Cathalina loved to curl
up with a box of candy and a book or favorite magazine. No wonder that
meals did not taste well and that there was a headache in the morning!
This morning’s headache, however, could not be charged to candy, for of
late that had been forbidden. Some months before this June morning,
Cathalina had been seriously ill. Under careful watching and with a
return to the program of more childish days, she had been coming slowly
back to health and had even taken up a few studies again. But she had no
real interest in anything and in spite of a disposition naturally sweet,
bid fair to become fretful and spoiled.
The Van Buskirks were wealthy, enjoying the usual luxuries that money
can buy. To a certain extent and among their special friends they
entertained, but were not given to display. In the midst of the
activities that modern life almost thrusts upon men and women of means,
they kept as far as possible to the family traditions and domestic
realities. Sylvia was one of several sisters noted for their grace and
charm; and when Philip Van Buskirk, young, handsome, somewhat timid in
these days, first saw Sylvia Van Ness and met a glance from her grave,
sympathetic eyes, his choice was made. A wholesome family life,
consideration for others, great interest in their children, soft-voiced
women and quiet, efficient men were characteristic of these people and
their friends.
After finishing her own letters, Cathalina sat quietly and watched her
mother as she rapidly read one after another. Mrs. Van Buskirk’s dark
hair, perfectly arranged, made a frame for her sweet, thoughtful face.
Little rings of hair, curling from the moist heat, strayed about her
brow and ears. “Such a pretty mother,” said Cathalina, reaching over to
pat the slender hand resting on the table. Her mother drew Cathalina’s
fingers within her own and read on down the last page of the last
letter.
Cathalina had always wanted to look like her mother. Often as a little
child she had stood before the mirror, anxiously looking to see if her
hair were not a trifle darker, her nose a trifle longer! Some one had
mentioned pug noses with scorn. Could it be that hers was one? For
several months she worried over the matter, until one day one of her
aunts had said, “I think Cathalina is going to have the Van Buskirk
nose.” That was anything but a pug, she knew, and then she feared that
she might have a nose as long as Uncle Martin Van Buskirk’s,—which would
never do on a girl! Alas the secret fears of childhood, so real, yet so
easily forgotten.
“Well, Cathalina, have you any news?”
Cathalina handed her mother an open letter, asking in her turn,
“Anything important in your mail?”
“Three requests for money, a funny letter of thanks from your old Irish
admirer, Mrs. Sullivan,—look at it;—a letter from our secretary of
foreign missions and a note from Aunt Katherine, saying that she will be
over some time after lunch. It must have been left by the chauffeur, as
there is no sign of its having been through the mails. It should have
been brought directly to me.”
“Why didn’t she telephone?”
“She is sending this catalogue for us to look over. Part of her note is
about you. How would you like to go to a school like this?” and Mrs. Van
Buskirk pushed across the table the neat catalogue of a girls’ school.
Cathalina picked it up without much interest, turning the pages
carelessly to look at pictures of fine buildings, beautiful grounds, and
girls playing tennis, rowing, or winding in pretty May Day pageant.
“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “It makes me tired just to look at it! I like to
read, but I just hate to really study hard! And if I go rowing I’d
rather have some nice young man do the work!”
Mrs. Van Buskirk compressed her lips and gave Cathalina a searching
look. “Why, my child, that does not sound like you! And since when have
you grown sentimental?”
“O, I don’t mean anything silly, Mother, but you get so hot rowing! I’m
not athletic, like that horrid Gladys Morrow that ran around with Ann
Maria last summer.”
“I wish you had her health,” said Mrs. Van Buskirk.
“And her manners?”
Mrs. Van Buskirk only smiled wisely and drew the telephone apparatus
toward her. “I must telephone to Aunt Katharine now.”
“Just a moment, Mother. Do you care if I telephone to Professor Glenn
not to come this morning? It is so hot and I want to see Phil. Then
we’ll be going away pretty soon anyway, won’t we? I haven’t practiced
much and I don’t like the things he gives me. I don’t like him very well
either.”
“What a list of excuses!” Mrs. Van Buskirk paused to consider. “If you
are feeling ill, Cathalina, I will telephone to him myself. But it
hardly seems courteous to be so irregular in the work, to say nothing of
your own good. I think we might let the lessons go on until we go away.”
“O, dear!” sighed Cathalina.
“I must talk to your father about it, then.”
“He will only say for you to ‘follow your own judgment.’”
Mrs. Van Buskirk laughed. “Well, I’ll think about it and see your
teacher when he comes this morning. Remember that it is bread and butter
to him.”
Cathalina puckered up her face at the prospect of the coming lesson, but
seeing her mother’s disturbed look, she said, “All right, Mamma, I’ll
try to be decent!” With her fingers she pretended to smooth out the
frown and turn up the corners of her mouth. “Here is Philly’s happy
grin! Is that all right?”
But her mother had called Mrs. Knickerbocker’s telephone number and only
gave Cathalina a kindly smile.
“Is this Mrs. Knickerbocker’s residence? Yes;—O, is this Aunt Katherine?
This is Sylvia. I have just received your note. Yes; I see. By some
mistake it was put with the mail. I am quite interested in your ideas.
No, I have not had time to look it over carefully, but will do so.
Cathalina is looking at it now. I hardly know. She does not seem to be
exactly wild at the prospect.” Mrs. Van Buskirk’s eyes wandered to
Cathalina, who was languidly turning the pages of the catalogue again.
“We must talk it over. Are any of Cathalina’s friends going there? Not a
soul? Well! What I want to suggest, Aunt Katherine, is that you all come
over to dinner tonight. ‘Little Phil’ came home unexpectedly about half
an hour ago. No, nothing wrong, finished his examinations and did not
care, I suppose, to stay through the Commencement exercises. I’ve hardly
seen him yet; he went right to his room for clean attire. O, is Uncle
away? I’m sorry. But bring Ann Maria, anyway. Goodbye. Yes, thank you,
goodbye.”