A VACATION AT FERNBOROUGH
The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer did not dine at home that evening.
Quincy's mother said that he had gone to Salem but would return later.
After dinner the little company of five repaired to the parlour. Maude
sang negro melodies despite the protests of her mother, and her sister
Florence's assertion that they were only sung at cheap variety shows.
“How do you know that?” cried Maude. “Did Reginald tell you?”
“Who is Reginald?” asked Quincy.
“Oh,” said Maude, tossing her head, “he's Florence's latest. She met him
night before last--”
“Maude!” Her sister's voice was full of angry protest. “Don't say
another word.”
“Such matters,” said her mother mildly, “are not suitable subjects for
general conversation. There is a privacy about them which should be
respected.”
“We'll leave Florence out of it, then,” said Maude. “I met him at Mrs.
Dulton's reception. His name is Capt. Reginald Hornaby, and he's
the fourth son of Sir Wilfred Hornaby, of Hornaby Hook, Hornaby,
England--don't you know,” and she winked spitefully at Florence.
“He told me all that himself,” she continued, “so I know it must be so.
Won't it be nice to have a place in England where we can make ourselves
at home?”
“Aunt Ella will be glad to see you at any time,” remarked Quincy. “Why
don't you go back with her? She'd be delighted.”
“I would but for one thing,” replied Maude. “I'm afraid I might fall in
love with an Englishman, and one title in the family is enough.”
Alice interposed: “Aunt Ella has an English husband with a title.”
“Yes,” said Maude, “but he _has_ his title, while Reggie is four blocks
away from the fire.”
“You're as big a tease as ever,” and Quincy drew his favourite sister
towards him. “Don't plague Flossie any more. Think of your possible
fate. You may marry a Jap.”
“I know a lovely little Jap, now. His name is Hioshato Konuka. Oh,
Alice, won't you stay all night? When are you going on your vacation,
Quincy?”
“In about ten days, if the legislature is prorogued by that time.”
“Where are you going?” asked his mother.
“Alice wishes to go to Fernborough for a week or two, and then we shall
go to Nantucket.”
“Will the Earl and Sir Stuart pay us a visit?” was the next question.
“I invited them in your name, mother, but Linda and Aunt Ella were
anxious to get back to their yacht at Nantucket. They will sail from
there to New York and take the steamer home next week.”
“Is the Countess of Sussex' sister-in-law, the Lady Elfrida, married
yet?” asked Florence.
“I understand she is engaged,” Quincy replied.
Maude was incorrigible. “Reggie told me she was practising deep
breathing, owing to the length of the Episcopal marriage service.”
“Maude,” said her mother sharply, “if you were not of age I should send
you to bed.”
“I'm going. Alice, while Quincy runs up to the house to say that you are
not coming home, you come to my room. I've some pretty things to show
you.”
As Quincy walked up Walnut Street, he saw a bright light in Dr. Culver's
window. He rang the bell, and the doctor himself came to the door.
“Is that you, Quincy? Come in.”
“Paul, how are you?”
“Fine as silk. Business is good, but I'm doing my best to keep the
undertakers out of a job. Have you read the evening papers?”
“I seldom do. I prefer to wait until morning.”
“The papers are rapping you hard for signing that picketing bill, but
the labour men are delighted. You'll run ahead of your ticket sure next
fall.”
“I'm not going to run. One year is enough.”
“Will Evans get the nomination? I won't vote for him. How are your
wife's eyes?”
“All right. She has better vision, now, than I have. We owe you a great
debt of gratitude for sending us to Dr. Tillotson.”
“He's a wonder. He told me the other day that he is going to cure what
is called split retina, which has never been done.”
Quincy bethought himself of the message he had to deliver and made a
hurried departure, first inviting the Doctor to dine with him the next
day. On his return to the Beacon Street house, he found his father at
home reading an evening paper.
“Quincy, I see that you vetoed that railroad bill.”
“Yes, I did. I saw no reason why public property should be given to a
private corporation without compensation.”
“The public would be compensated indirectly. I am a large stockholder
in the railroad, and, to speak plainly, I drew that bill myself. I met
Senator Downing and he says the bill will be passed over your veto.”
“I cannot help that, father. I did my duty as I saw it. If the bill
becomes a law without my signature, I cannot be blamed for future
developments.”
The Hon. Nathaniel dropped the subject. “Quincy, I have purchased a
house in the country and shall go there in a few days. Won't you and
your wife pay us a short visit?”
“Certainly, we will. We are going to Fernborough for a few days and then
will drop in on you, before we go to Nantucket.”
By the look on his father's face Quincy knew that he was disappointed.
The Hon. Nathaniel never liked “to play second fiddle.” Quincy hastened
to rectify his mistake. “We can put it the other way round, just as
well. We'll come and see you before we go to Fernborough.”
“That will please me better, but, of course, you must not do it if your
wife objects.”
“She will not object. She is upstairs, now, with Maude. Of course, the
girls are going.”
“Yes, and I have invited Captain Hornaby, a very fine young man. But, I
must retire. I have a case in court to-morrow.”
Quincy found both commendation and criticism in the morning papers. His
face wore its usual genial expression as he entered the elevator, and
Robert's “good morning” was particularly cheerful.
The Governor's first caller was Mr. Acton.
“You see,” he began, “that your approval of the picketing bill is
receiving universal condemnation.”
“Hardly,” was the reply. “Two papers and the Governor sustain it and the
labour press and unions are yet to be heard from.”
“We shall endeavour to secure a repeal of the bill next year. In the
meantime, we shall carry the matter to the courts.”
“May the cause of truth and justice prevail in the end” was Quincy's
comment, and Mr. Acton took his departure in an uncomfortable state of
mind.
The day wore away. At three o'clock a vote was taken in the Senate and
the so-called Downing bill was passed over the veto. Not so, in the
House, for one newspaper, read by nearly all the working men, had so
strongly pointed out the nature of the “grab” proposed by the bill,
that the State House was besieged by its opponents, and the veto was
sustained by a narrow margin.
About five o'clock, Mr. Evans and Senator Downing were dining in a
private room at a hotel. “So, the Governor won't run again,” said the
Senator.
“He so informed me yesterday. He may change his mind.”
“You're not satisfied with things as they are,” remarked the Senator.
“No,” replied the lieutenant-governor, “I'm disgusted with the Williams
matter. When I'm governor, I'll request his resignation.”
“And when you're governor, we'll put my bill through. Do you know the
Governor's father is one of our heaviest stockholders? We'll have our
way yet.”
Within a week the legislature was prorogued. The House had a mock
session, during which partisanship, and private victories and defeats
were forgotten, for the time at least, and the fun was jolly and hearty.
Ben Ropes, the funny man of the House, but a member of the minority,
convulsed all by announcing his candidacy for the governorship, with the
understanding that no money was to be spent, no speakers engaged, the
question to be settled by joint debates between the opposing candidates.
Every member of the House arose, and amid wild cheers, pledged him their
support.
The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer's estate at Redford comprised some
eighty acres. Within five minutes' walk of the house was a sheet of
water covering fully fifty acres known as Simmons' Pond. On the farther
side of the pond were a few cottages and near them a tent indicating the
presence of a camping party.
“Next year,” said the Hon. Nathaniel to Quincy as they stood on the
shore of the pond, “I am going to buy some twenty acres on the other
side of the pond. Then I shall own all the land surrounding it, and my
estate will be worthy of the name which I have given it--Wideview--for
nobody's else property will obstruct my view in any direction. I shall
name this,” and he pointed to the pond, “Florence Lake after my eldest
daughter. What do you think of Captain Hornaby?”
Quincy hesitated--“He's a typical Englishman--healthy, hearty, but with
that English conceit that always grates on my nerves.”
“Are we Americans free from it?” his father asked. “To my mind, conceit
is often but the indication of self-conscious power. Its possessors
never acknowledge defeat I have always had that feeling in my law
practice.”
Quincy changed the subject, “What have you in the boat house?”
“Canoes--three canoes. I have ordered a large row-boat but it is not
ready yet. When I own the 'lake' and the land beyond, my residence will
stand in the centre of my estate. I shall retire from practice in a few
years, and spend my last days here. We all have to go back to the soil
and I am going to make my progress gradual.”
“Won't you find it rather dull here after so long an active life in the
city?”
“Not dull, but quiet,” was the dignified response. “I shall pass my time
surveying the beauties of Nature to which, to my discredit, I have
been so long oblivious; then, I shall commune with the great minds in
literature, and read the latest law reports.”
Quincy wondered whether Nature, literature, or law would be his father's
most appreciated relaxation, but inclined to the latter.
The next morning Maude exclaimed: “Let's have some fun. What shall we
do?”
“There are three canoes in the boat house,” said Quincy, “why not a row
on the pond?”
“Fine!” cried Maude. “Quincy, you are a man of ideas.”
Captain Hornaby had asked Florence to go with him and she had willingly
consented. This emboldened Harry Merry, who had come down from the State
House with the Governor's correspondence, and he, rather bashfully,
requested Maude's company in the third canoe.
“Can you swim?” she asked.
“I learned when a boy,” said Harry.
“All right. I don't believe the style has changed much since then. I
wouldn't go with you unless you could swim. It would be too great a
responsibility.”
Harry thought to himself that he would be willing to swim ashore with
such a “responsibility” in his arms.
Maude turned to the Captain: “Can you swim, Captain Hornaby?”
“Of course, Miss Maude. We Englishmen are all sea dogs, don't you know?”
“But Englishmen are drowned sometimes,” said Maude. “How about Admiral
Kempenfelt and the Royal George? See Fourth Class Reader for full
particulars in verse.”
The three couples were soon afloat--Quincy and Alice, Captain Hornaby
and Florence, Harry and Maude.
“Let's have a race,” cried Maude. “To that big white rock down there,”
and she pointed to the farther end of the pond. Harry took the lead with
short, swift strokes, but the long, steady paddling of Captain Hornaby
gained on him steadily, and to Maude's disgust the Captain reached the
rock first, Harry being a close second, and Quincy a late third.
Maude was excited. “Let's race back to the boat house. A prize for the
first one who reaches it.”
“What will be the prize?” asked the Captain.
Maude saw that Harry needed encouragement.
“I haven't anything with me but kisses and only one of them to spare.”
Harry shut his teeth with a snap. He was going to win that race.
As they were nearing the boat house Harry was in the lead, the Captain
close behind, with Quincy following leisurely. This was a young people's
race--married men barred. For some unexplainable reason Captain Hornaby
tried to cross Harry's bow. The project was ill-timed and unsuccessful.
Harry had just made a spurt and his canoe went forward so fast that the
Captain's boat, instead of clearing his, struck it full in the side and
Harry and Maude were thrown into the water. Florence, who really loved
her sister despite their many quarrels, gave a loud scream and stood up
in the boat. Her action was fatal to its equilibrium, and the Captain
and she were soon in the water's embrace.
The accident occurred about two hundred feet from the shore where the
water was deep. Captain Hornaby grasped Florence and struck out for the
boat house float. She had fainted and did not impede him by struggling.
Harry had essayed to bear Maude ashore, but she broke away from him and
swam vigorously towards land, Harry in pursuit.
“Don't worry, Alice,” said Quincy. “They are not in danger.”
“But, Quincy, suppose it had been our boat.”
“If it had been,” said he, “you would be as safe in my arms as Florence
is in those of the Captain, providing you did not struggle.”
Harry exerted his full strength and skill to overtake Maude, but she,
flushed with the excitement, her thin costume clinging close to her
form, reached the bank some twenty feet ahead of him.
“I had to do it,” she cried, “and I suppose I must deliver the prize by
kissing myself.”
Then her exuberant nature gave way, and she sank helpless to the ground.
Harry did not envy the Captain who was carrying Florence in his arms,
for was not Maude in his?
In the evening as they sat upon the veranda watching the dying glories
of the sun, Quincy said to Maude, “Why didn't you let Harry bring you
ashore?”
“The idea of it,” she exclaimed. “And be under obligations to him--not
on your life. Think of poor Florence. If that Captain asks her to marry
him she must accept because he saved her life.”
Later, when the sun had set, and the moonbeams silvered the surface of
the pond, Harry mustered up courage to ask Maude what she meant when she
said it was too great a responsibility to go out canoeing with a man who
couldn't swim.
“Why, I meant if you couldn't swim it might be a great job for me to get
you ashore. I knew I could take care of myself all right.”
At the other end of the veranda the Hon. Nathaniel and Captain Hornaby
were engaged in conversation. The Captain was not asking the Hon.
Nathaniel for the hand of his daughter Florence but, instead, for a
loan, giving as his reason that when he threw off his coat his letters
of credit to the value of five hundred pounds went to the bottom of the
pond.
“I shall have to write home to my brother, the Earl, for other letters,
and it will take some time for them to reach me.”
[Illustration: “'IF YOU WILL GIVE ME YOUR NOTE AT THIRTY DAYS I WILL LET
YOU HAVE THE FIVE HUNDRED.'”]
“You are at liberty to remain here until you receive word,” said the
cautious Hon. Nathaniel.
“I appreciate your great kindness,” said the Captain, “but I must visit
New York and Chicago at an early day.”
“How much will supply your present need?” asked the lawyer.
“I had expected my trip would cost me at least five hundred dollars.”
“If you will give me your note at thirty days I will let you have the
five hundred. I will bring it down to-morrow night.”
On the second day following, the Captain took an apparently very
reluctant departure.
A week later Quincy and Alice were in Boston making preparations for
their trip to Fernborough.
“I am going to buy the tickets this morning, Alice--we must have seats
in a parlour car. How shall we go--to Cottonton or Eastborough Centre?”
“To Eastborough surely,” said Alice. “We will drive over the old road.
Do you remember the day that you took me to see Aunt Heppy Putnam after
her husband died?”
“Alice, every day I passed at Mason's Corner near you was like Heaven to
me, and, now, for a week or more I mean to live in Paradise again. What
a joy it will be to see the old scenes and faces, hear the familiar
voices, and remember the happy days we have had there.”
“I'm afraid, Quincy, some of the charm has departed. Things have
changed, and, in spite of our resolves, we change with them.”
When they alighted at Eastborough Centre, Ellis Smith stood there with
his carriage.
“How do you do, Ellis, and how's your brother Abbott? Will you take us
to the Hawkins House?” said Quincy. Turning to his wife, he added,
“Mrs. Rawkins is a good cook--her rooms are large and clean. We can go a
visiting during the day and have quiet times by ourselves when we wish.”
His wife nodded her acquiescence with the plan proposed.
“Ellis, can you handle those two big trunks alone?”
“Yes, Guv'nor. I'm a leetle bit heavier built than Abbott.”
Quincy drew Alice's attention to the Eagle Hotel.
“There's where we hatched the plot that downed Mr. Obadiah Strout, when
he was an enemy of mine. Say, Ellis, drive up by the Poor House, through
the Willows, and then back down the Centre Road to Mason Street. That
will carry us by some of the old landmarks.”
As they passed the Poor House they saw “pussy” Mr. Waters, sitting on
the piazza and Sam standing in the barn doorway.
“There's where my Uncle James died,” said Quincy. “Did I ever tell you,
Alice, that he left some money and it went to found the Sawyer Public
Library? He made me promise not to tell that he left any, and it has
always troubled me to receive a credit that really was not my due.”
“But you could have kept the money, couldn't you?”
“Oh, yes. He gave it to me outright.”
“Then I think you are entitled to full credit for the good use you made
of it.”
“Looking at it that way, perhaps you are right, Alice. Here are the
Willows.”
“What a lonely place.”
“You didn't think so, Alice, when we used to drive through here.”
“I was blind then and couldn't see except with your eyes. You didn't say
it was lonesome.”
“How could I say so, when I was with you?”
Alice squeezed his hand lovingly.
As they turned into Mason Street, Quincy exclaimed: “There's where Uncle
Ike's chicken coop stood until he set it on fire.”
“Did he set it on fire?” cried Alice.
“Now I've let out another promised secret. Can you see 'Zeke's house
ahead?”
“Yes, how inviting the old place looks. I'm glad Hiram Maxwell has it,
for we can sit in the old parlour and sing duets as we used to.”
“Now we're going up Obed's Hill,” said Quincy. “Deacon Mason's house
looks as neat as ever.”
“Do you remember when Huldah Mason broke her arm, Quincy?”
“Do not remind me of that, Alice. I was never in love with her, but no
one could help liking her. There's the grocery store in which I am a
silent partner”--he paused a moment--“and here we are at the Hawkins
House.”
As Ellis Smith reined up, the front door was opened and Mrs. Hawkins
came out to meet her guests. “I got your letter, an' I know'd it was
you. How be ye both? Seems like old times. Come right in the parlour.
I've got the curtains down so as to keep it cool,” and the delighted
woman led the way into the house. In the hallway, she screamed, “Jonas!
Jonas! Hurry up and pick those chickens. Guv'nor Sawyer and Alice are
here.”