AUNT BETTY TAKES A HAND
That picnic-supper! The fun of it must be imagined, not described.
Sufficient to say that it was the merriest meal yet served in that
great mansion; that all, including Mrs. Calvert, brought to it
appetites which did not hesitate at "failures," and found even
Helena's angel cake palatable, though Herbert did remark to his next
neighbor:
"If they'd had that kind of leathery stuff instead of canvas to cover
that circus tent it would never have broken through, never in the
world!"
Not the least delighted of that company were the servants, who
returned late from their outing, and had had to walk up the mountain
from the Landing; they having lingered in the hill-city till the last
possible train, which there were no local stages to meet.
"And to think that our Miss Dorothy had the kindness to get supper for
us, too! Sure, she's the bonniest, dearest lass ever lived out of old
Ireland. Hungry, say you? Sure I could have et the two shoes off my
feet, I was that starved! And to think of her and them others just
waitin' on us same's if we was the family! Bless her! And now I'm
that filled I feel at peace with all the world and patience enough to
chase them naughty spalpeens to their bed! See at 'em! As wide awake
now as the morn and it past nine of the night!" cried Norah, coming
into the room where the twins were having a delightful battle with the
best sofa cushions; Mrs. Calvert looking on with much amusement and as
yet not informed who they were and why so at home at Deerhurst.
The chatter of tongues halted a little when, as the clock struck the
half-hour, Mr. Seth came in. He looked very weary, but infinitely
relieved at the unexpected return of the mistress of the house, and
his greeting was most cordial. Indeed, there was something about it
which suggested to the young guests that their elders might wish to be
alone; so, one after another, they bade Mrs. Betty good-night and
disappeared.
Dorothy, also, was for slipping quietly away, but Aunt Betty bade her
remain; saying gently:
"We won't sleep, my child, till we have cleared away all the clouds
between us. As for you, Cousin Seth, what has so wearied you?
Something more than chaperoning a lot of young folks to a circus, I
fancy."
"You're right. The afternoon performance was a pleasure; the ride home
a trial."
"With whom did you ride?"
"Oliver Sands."
"Indeed? How came----"
"It's a long story, Cousin Betty. Wouldn't we better wait till
morning?"
"Don't you know how much curiosity I have? Do you want to keep me
awake all night?" demanded the lady. But she believed that her old
friend had some deep perplexity on his mind and that it would be a
comfort to him to share it with her. "Is it something Dorothy may
hear?"
"Certainly, if you wish. Already she knows part. Has she told you how
the twins came here?"
"Somebody told, I forget who. All of the young folks talked at once,
but I learned that they had been dropped on our premises, like a
couple of kittens somebody wished to lose."
"Exactly; and though he did not personally 'drop' them, the man who
most heartily wishes to lose them is miller Oliver Sands. They are his
most unwelcome grandchildren."
"Why, Cousin Seth!" "Why, Master!" cried the hearers, amazed.
"True. Their mother was Rose Sands, whom her father always
believed--or said--was ruined by the foolish name her mother gave her.
His sons were like himself and are, I believe, good men enough, though
tainted with their father's hardness."
"Hardness. That suave old Quaker! But you're right, and I never liked
him."
"Nor I, I'm sorry to say, but I don't wish to let that fact stand in
the way of fair judgment. The man is in trouble, deep trouble. I'm not
the only one who has noticed it. His behavior for awhile back has been
most peculiar. He neglects his business, leaves the fruit in his
vineyards and orchards to go to waste, and to his workmen's question:
'What shall we do next,' returns no answer. He has taken to roaming
about the country, calling at every house and inspecting each one and
its surroundings as if he were looking for something he can't find.
His face has lost its perpetual smile--or smirk--and betrays the fact
that he is an old man and a most unhappy one."
"Huh! I've no great sympathy for Oliver Sands. He has wronged too many
people," said Mrs. Calvert, coldly. "But if those children are his
grandchildren, what are they doing here?"
"I'm coming to that. His daughter, Rose, 'married out of meeting,' and
against her father's will. He turned her out of doors, forbade her
mother ever to see or speak to her again, and though--being a
Friend--he took no oath, his resolution to cast her off was equivalent
to one. That part of my tale is common neighborhood gossip."
"I never heard it," said Mrs. Betty.
"No; such would scarcely be retailed to you. Well, Rose took refuge
with her husband's people, and all misfortune followed her flight from
her father's house. Her mother-in-law, her consumptive husband, and
herself are dead; she passing away as the twins came into the world.
The father-in-law, who was only a country-cobbler, but a profoundly
religious man, became half-crazed by his troubles, and though I
believe he honestly did his best by the babies left on his hands, they
must have suffered much. They have never been so happy as now and I
hope----"
"Please, Mr. Seth, let me tell! Aunt Betty, if you'll let me, I want
to adopt Sapphira!"
"Adopt--Sapphira! You? A child yourself?"
"Yes, please. I'll go without everything myself and I'd work, if I
could, to earn money to do it. Molly is going to adopt Ananias. It
will be lovely to have some object in life, and some the Seniors at
the Rhinelander adopted some Chinese babies. True. They pay money each
month, part of their allowance, to do it; so we thought----"
But Aunt Betty was leaning back in her chair and laughing in a most
disconcerting manner. It's not easy to be enthusiastic on a subject
that is ridiculed and Dorothy said no more. But if she were hurt by
having her unselfish project thus lightly treated, she was made
instantly glad by the tender way her guardian drew her close, and the
gentle pat of the soft old hand on her own cheek.
"Oh! you child, you children! And I made the mistake of thinking you
were as wise as a grown-up! We'll attend to the 'adoption' case, by
and by. Let Cousin Seth say his say now."
"Well, finally, the old man, Hiram Bowen, forsook his old home, sold
his few belongings and came here to our mountain. He must have had
some sense left, and realized that he was not long for this world,
because though until lately he has been unforgiving to Oliver Sands
for the treatment of Rose, he now sought to interest her father on the
little ones' behalf. I've learned he made frequent visits to
Heartsease, the Sands' farm, but only once saw its owner. But he often
saw Dorcas, the wife, and found her powerless to help him; besides, he
did not mend matters, even with her, by explaining that he had named
the twins as he had--'_after her husband, and herself!_' He told her
that she and Oliver were living liars, because the Scripture commanded
Christians to look after their own households and they did not do so."
"But how could her heart, the heart of any woman, remain hard against
the sight of her orphan grandchildren?" demanded Mrs. Calvert,
impatiently. "I've met that Dorcas Sands on the road, going to meeting
with the miller, and she looked the very soul of meekness and
gentleness."
"So, I believe she is; but she never saw the children. I told you he
was crazed, partially; and despite the fact that he felt their
mother's family should care for the orphans he did not want to give
them up, permanently. He felt that in doing so he would be consigning
them to a life of deceit and unscrupulousness."
"How strange! And, Seth, how strange that you should know all this.
It's not many days since that old man 'passed them on' to us. You must
have been busy gathering news," commented Mrs. Betty.
"I have; but the most of it I learned this afternoon, when I was
taking the fanatic to the Hospital. Dolly, you tell her about his
harangue in the tent and what the twins did there. It will give a
diversion to my thoughts, for it _was_ funny!"
So Dolly told and they all laughed over the recital, and in the
laughter both Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy lost the last bit of constraint
that had remained in their manner whenever either chanced to remember
the missing one hundred dollars and the sharpness of the telegram.
Mrs. Calvert resumed:
"You say, taking him to the Hospital. Have you done that, then? And
how came you with Oliver Sands? The last man in the world to be drawn
to Newburgh to see a circus."
"Not the circus, of course, but the county fair. He got up enough
interest in ordinary affairs to drive to the fair grounds to see his
cattle safely housed. He will have, I presume, the finest exhibit of
Holstein-Friesians on the grounds. He always has had, and has carried
off many first premiums. He's on the board of managers, too, and they
had a business meeting at the Chairman's, which is next door to St.
Michael's--the semi-private establishment where I took Bowen. He was
just unhitching George Fox, to come home, as I stepped out of the
Hospital grounds and met him."
"So you asked him for a lift down?" asked Aunt Betty, smiling.
"No, I didn't ask. He was so preoccupied, and I so full of what poor
old Hiram had told me, that I just 'natchally' stepped into the rear
seat without the formality of a request. Truly, I don't think he even
noticed me till we were well out of the city limits and on to the
quiet back road. Then I asked: 'How much will you pay, Friend Oliver,
toward the support of Hiram Bowen at St. Michael's Hospital?'
"Then he heard and noticed. Also, he tried to get rid of his
passenger; but I wouldn't be set down. He gave me a rather strong bit
of his opinion on meddlers in general and myself in particular, and
finding he had me on his hands for all the distance here he said not
another word. It was 'Quaker Meeting' in good earnest; but I felt as
if I were riding with a man of iron and--it tired me!"
"Oh, you dear Master! Did you have any supper?" suddenly demanded
Dorothy, with compunction that she hadn't thought of this earlier.
"Oh! yes. Some little girls were holding a sidewalk 'fair' for the
benefit of the children's ward and, while the authorities inside were
arranging for Hiram's bestowal, I bought out their stock in trade and
we ate it all together. I do love children!"
Aunt Betty rose and turning to Dorothy, remarked:
"That should be a much better use for your money when you find it than
adopting the grandchildren of a rich old Hardheart! Come, child, we
must to bed; and to-morrow, we'll take home the twins. 'Pass them on'
to Heartsease."
"Oh! must we? But, maybe, they won't keep them there. Then, course,
you wouldn't leave them just anywhere, out of doors, would you?
Besides, I don't know what Molly will say. She's perfectly devoted to
her 'son,' 'Nias."
"Do you not? Then I know very well what her Aunt Lucretia and his
honor, the Judge, will say; I fancy that their remarks will have some
weight! But I'm not hard-hearted, as you suggest, and we shall see
what we shall see!" answered Aunt Betty, in her bright, whimsical way;
adding as she bade Mr. Winters good-night and kissed Dorothy just as
if no "cloud" had ever been between them:
"I am glad to be at home. I am so glad to come, even thus late to the
House Party."
And though she had said the misunderstanding that had made both
herself and Dolly so unhappy "should be set right that very night,"
maybe this was her way of "setting" it so.
Thus ended another Day of that Wonderful Week, but the morning proved
rainy and dark.
"No day for going to the County Fair," remarked Mrs. Calvert as she
appeared among the young folks, just as they came trooping in to
breakfast. "We must think of something else. What shall it be? Since
I've invited myself to your Party I want to get some fun out of it!"
Helena thought she had never seen anything lovelier than this charming
old lady, who moved as briskly as a girl and entered into their
amusements like one; and when nobody answered her question she
volunteered the suggestion:
"Charades? Or a little play in the big barn?"
"Just the thing; the charades, I mean. There would hardly be time for
getting ready for a play, with parts to study and so on. We might plan
that for Friday evening, our last one together. But do you, my dear,
gather part of your friends about you and arrange the charades. Enough
of us must be left for audience, you know. Well, Dorothy, what is it?
You seem so anxious to speak?"
"Why not 'character' studies and make everybody guess. There's that
attic full of trunks I discovered one day. Surely they must be full of
lovely things; and oh! it's so jolly to 'dress up'! Afterward, we
might have a little dance in the barn--May we, may we?"
"Surely, we may! Dinah has the keys to the trunks, only I warn you--no
carelessness. It's one of my notions to preserve the costumes of the
passing years and I wouldn't like them injured. You may use anything
you find, on the condition of being careful."
That rainy day promised to be the merriest of all; and Dorothy had
quite forgotten some unpleasant things, till, breakfast being over and
most of the company disappearing in pursuit of Dinah and her keys to
the treasure-trunks, Aunt Betty laid a detaining touch upon her arm
and said:
"But you and I, my dear, will have a little talk in my room."
Down went her happiness in a flash. The "misunderstanding" had not
been passed by, then; and as yet there had been no "setting right."
Mrs. Calvert's face was not stern, saying this, but the girl so
thought. Indeed, had she known it, Aunt Betty shrank more from the
interview and the reproof she must give than did the culprit herself.
However, shrinking did no good, and immediately the Mistress had
seated herself she began:
"What grieved me most was your suspicion of Ephraim. Dorothy, that
man's skin may be black but his soul is as white as a soul can be. He
has served me ever since he was able to toddle and I have yet to find
the first serious fault in him. The loss of the money was bad enough,
and your scant value of it bad. Why, child, do you know whose money
that was?"
"I--I thought it was--mine."
"It was--God's."
"Aunt--Betty!" almost screamed Dorothy in the shock of this statement.
"Yes, my dear, I mean it. He has given me a great deal of wealth but
it was His gift, only. Or, His loan, I might better call it. I have to
give an account of my stewardship, and as you will inherit after me,
so have you."
For a moment the girl could not reply, she was so amazed by what she
heard. Then she ventured to urge:
"You said you gave it to me for my House Party. How could it be like
that, then?"
"So I did. I 'passed it on,' as poor Hiram Bowen did the twins. Then
it became your responsibility. It was a trust fund for the happiness
of others, and for their benefit. Why, just think, if you hadn't been
so careless of it, how much good it would have done even yesterday,
for that very old man! Then dear Seth wouldn't have had to tax his
small income to pay for a stranger's keep. Ah! believe me, my Cousin
Seth spends money lavishly, but never unwisely, and always for others.
When I said 'dangerously angry' I meant it. I am, in some respects,
always in danger, physically. I shall pass out of your life quite
suddenly, some day, my darling, but I do not wish to do so by your
fault.
"Now, enough of lectures. Kiss me and tell me that hereafter you will
hold your inheritance as a 'trust,' and I shall trust you again to the
uttermost. Next I want you to go over every incident of that night
when you mislaid the money and maybe I can hit upon some clue to its
recovery."
It was a very sober Dorothy who complied. It didn't seem a very
pleasant thing to be an heiress. She had found that out before, but
this grave interview confirmed the knowledge; and though they
discussed the subject long and critically, they were no nearer any
solution of the mystery than when they began.
"Well, it is a strange and most uncomfortable thing. However, we can
do no more at present, and I'd like you to take a little drive with
me."
"This morning, Aunt Betty, in all this rain? Ought you? Won't you get
that bronchitis again? Dinah----"
"Dinah is an old fuss! She never has believed that I'm not soluble in
water, like salt or sugar. Besides, I'm not going 'in the rain,' I'm
going in the close carriage, along with you and the babies with the
dreadful names. I'm going to have them renamed, if I can. Run along
and put on your jacket. I think I've solved the riddle of my neighbor
Oliver's unhappiness and I'll let no rain hinder me from making him
glad again."
"Dear Aunt Betty, will you do this for a man you do not like?"
"Of course. I'd do it for my worst enemy, if I knew--and maybe this
poor miller is that. What ails that man is--remorse. He hasn't done
right but I'm going to give him the chance now, and see his round face
fall into its old curves again."
But good and unselfish as her mission was, for once the lady of
Deerhurst's judgment was mistaken.