CHAPTER X

EXPECTED GUESTS.

On the Hillsdale hills the October sun was shining, and the forest trees were donning their robes of scarlet and brown, when again the old stone house presented an air of joyous expectancy. The large, dark parlors were thrown open, the best chambers were aired, the bright, autumnal flowers were gathered and in tastefully arranged bouquets adorned the mantels, while Theo and Maggie, in their best attire, flitted uneasily from room to room, running sometimes to the gate to look down the gra.s.sy road which led from the highway, and again mounting the tower stairs to obtain a more extended view.

In her pleasant apartment, where last we left her with a sprained ankle, Mrs. Jeffrey, too, fidgeted about, half sympathizing with her pupils in their happiness, and half regretting the cause of that happiness, which was the expected arrival of George Douglas and Henry Warner, who, true to their promise, were coming again to try for a week the Hillsdale air, and retrieve their character as fast young men. So, at least, they told Mrs. Jeffrey, who, mindful of her exploit with the banner, and wishing to make some amends, met them alone on the threshhold, Maggie having at the last moment run away, while Theo sat in a state of dignified perturbation upon the sofa.

A few days prior to their arrival letters had been received from Madam Conway saying she should probably, remain in England two or three weeks longer, and thus the house was again clear to the young men, who, forgetting to retrieve their characters, fairly outdid all they had done before. The weather was remarkably clear and bracing, and the greater part of each day was spent in the open air, either in fishing, riding, or hunting; Maggie teaching Henry Warner how to ride and leap, while he in turn taught her to shoot a bird upon the wing, until the pupil was equal to her master. In these outdoor excursions George Douglas and Theo did not always join, for he had something to say which he would rather tell her in the silent parlor, and which, when told, furnished food for many a quiet conversation; so Henry and Maggie rode oftentimes alone; and old Hagar, when she saw them dashing past her door, Maggie usually taking the lead, would shake her head and mutter to herself: "'Twill never do--that match. He ought to hold her back, instead of leading her on. I wish Madam Conway would, come home and end it."

Mrs. Jeffrey wished so too, as night after night her slumbers were disturbed by the sounds of merriment which came up to her from the parlor below, where the young people were "enjoying themselves," as Maggie said when reproved for the noisy revels. The day previous to the one set for their departure chanced to be Henry Warner's twenty-seventh birthday, and this Maggie resolved to honor with an extra supper, which was served at an unusually late hour in the dining room, the door of which opened out upon a closely latticed piazza.

"I wish we could think of something new to do," said Maggie, as she presided at the table--"something real funny;" then, as her eyes fell upon the dark piazza, where a single light was burning dimly, she exclaimed: "Why can't we get up tableaux? There are heaps of the queerest clothes in the big oaken chest in the garret. The servants can be audience, and they need some recreation!"

The suggestion was at once approved, and in half an hour's time the floor was strewn with garments of every conceivable fashion, from long stockings and small clothes to scarlet cloaks and gored skirts, the latter of which were immediately donned by Henry Warner, to the infinite delight of the servants, who enjoyed seeing the grotesque costumes, even if they did not exactly understand what the tableaux were intended to represent. The banner, too, was brought out, and after bearing a conspicuous part in the performance was placed at the end of the dining room, where it would be the first thing visible to a person opening the door opposite. At a late hour the servants retired, and then George Douglas, who took kindly to the luscious old wine, which Maggie again had brought from her grandmother's choicest store, filled a goblet to the brim, and, pledging first the health of the young girls, drank to "the old lady across the water" with whose goods they were thus making free!

Henry Warner rarely tasted wine, for though miles away from Rose her influence was around him--so, filling his gla.s.s with water, he too drank to the wish that "the lady across the sea" would remain there yet a while, or at all events not "stumble upon us to-night!"

"What if she should!" thought Maggie, glancing around at the different articles scattered all over the floor, and laughing as she saw in fancy her grandmother's look of dismay should she by any possible chance obtain a view of the room, where perfect order and quiet had been wont to reign.

But the good lady was undoubtedly taking her morning nap on the sh.o.r.es of old England. There was no danger to be apprehended from her unexpected arrival, they thought; and just as the clock struck one the young men sought their rooms, greatly to the relief of Mrs. Jeffrey, who, in her long night robe, with streaming candle in hand, had more than a dozen times leaned over the banister, wondering if the "carouse" would ever end.

It did end at last; and, tired and sleepy, Theo went directly to her chamber, while Maggie stayed below, thinking to arrange matters a little, for their guests were to leave on the first train, and she had ordered an early breakfast. But it was a hopeless task, the putting of that room to rights; and trusting much to the good-nature of the housekeeper, she finally gave it up and went to bed, forgetting in her drowsiness to fasten the outer door, or yet to extinguish the lamp which burned upon the sideboard.

CHAPTER XI.

UNEXPECTED GUESTS.

At the delightful country seat of Arthur Carrollton Madam Conway had pa.s.sed many pleasant days, and was fully intending to while away several more, when an unexpected summons from his father made it necessary for the young man to go immediately to London; and, as an American steamer was about to leave the port of Liverpool, Madam Conway determined to start for home at once. Accordingly, she wrote for Anna Jeffrey, whom she had promised to take with her, to meet her in Liverpool, and a few days previous to the arrival of George Douglas and Henry Warner at Hillsdale, the two ladies embarked with an endless variety of luggage, to say nothing of Miss Anna's guitar-case, bird-cage, and favorite lap-dog "Lottie."

Once fairly on the sea, Madam Conway became exceedingly impatient and disagreeable, complaining both of fare and speed, and at length came on deck one morning with the firm belief that something dreadful had happened to Maggie! She was dangerously sick, she knew, for never but once before had she been visited with a like presentiment, and that was just before her daughter died. Then it came to her just as this had done, in her sleep, and very nervously the lady paced the vessel's deck, counting the days as they pa.s.sed, and almost weeping for joy when told Boston was in sight. Immediately after landing she made inquiries as to when the next train pa.s.sing Hillsdale station would leave the city, and though it was midnight she resolved at all hazards to go on, for if Maggie were really ill there was no time to be lost!

Accordingly, when at four o'clock A.M. Maggie, who was partially awake, heard in the distance the shrill scream of the engine, as the night express thundered through the town, she little dreamed of the boxes, bundles, trunks, and bags which lined the platform of Hillsdale station, nor yet of the resolute woman in brown who persevered until a rude one-horse wagon was found in which to transport herself and her baggage to the old stone house. The driver of the vehicle, in which, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, Madam Conway would have scorned to ride, was a long, lean, half-witted fellow, utterly unfitted for his business. Still, he managed quite well until they turned into the gra.s.sy by-road, and Madam Conway saw through the darkness the light which Maggie had inadvertently left within the dining room!

There was no longer a shadow of uncertainty. "Margaret was dead!"

and the lank Tim was ordered to drive faster, or the excited woman, perched on one of her traveling-trunks, would be obliged to foot it! A few vigorous strokes of the whip set the sorrel horse into a canter, and as the night was dark, and the road wound round among the trees, it is not at all surprising that Madam Conway, with her eye still on the beacon light, found herself seated rather unceremoniously in the midst of a brush heap, her goods and chattels rolling promiscuously around her, while lying across a log, her right hand clutching at the bird-cage, and her left grasping the s.h.a.ggy hide of Lottie, who yelled most furiously, was Anna Jeffrey, half blinded with mud, and bitterly denouncing American drivers and Yankee roads! To gather themselves together was not an easy matter, but the ten pieces were at last all told, and then, holding up her skirts, bedraggled with dew, Madam Conway resumed her seat in the wagon, which was this time driven in safety to her door. Giving orders for her numerous boxes to be safely bestowed, she hastened forward and soon stood upon the threshold.

"Great Heaven!" she exclaimed, starting backward so suddenly that she trod upon the foot of Lottie, who again sent forth an outcry, which Anna Jeffrey managed to choke down. "Is this bedlam, or what?" And stepping out upon the piazza, she looked to see if the blundering driver had made a mistake. But no; it was the same old gray stone house she had left some months before; and again pressing boldly forward, she took the lamp from the sideboard and commenced to reconnoiter. "My mother's wedding dress, as I live! and her scarlet broadcloth, too!" she cried, holding to view the garments which Henry Warner had thrown upon the arm of the long settee. A turban or cushion, which she recognized as belonging to her grandmother, next caught her view, together with the smallclothes of her sire.

"The entire contents of the oaken chest," she continued, in a tone far from calm and cool. "What can have happened! It's some of that crazy Hagar's work, I know. I'll have her put in the--" But whatever the evil was which threatened Hagar Warren it was not defined by words, for at that moment the indignant lady caught sight of an empty bottle, which she instantly recognized as having held her very oldest, choicest wine. "The Lord help me!" she cried, "I've been robbed;" and grasping the bottle by the neck, she leaned up against the banner which she had not yet descried.

"In the name of wonder, what's this?" she almost screamed, as the full blaze of the lamp fell upon the flag, revealing the truth at once, and partially stopping her breath.

Robbery was nothing to insult; and, forgetting the wine, she gasped: "'Stars and Stripes' in this house! In the house of my grandfather, as loyal a subject as King George ever boasted! What can Margaret be doing to suffer a thing like this?"

A few steps further on, and Margaret herself might have been seen peering out into the darkened upper hall, and listening anxiously to her grandmother's voice. The sound of the rattling old wagon had aroused her, and, curious to know who was stirring at this early hour, she had cautiously opened her window, which overlooked the piazza, and to her great dismay had recognized her grandmother as she gave orders concerning her baggage. Flying back to her room, she awoke her sister, who, springing up in bed, whispered faintly: "Will she kill us dead, Maggie? Will she kill us dead?"

"Pshaw! no," answered Maggie, her own courage rising with Theo's fears. "She'll have to scold a spell, I suppose; but I can coax her, I know!"

By this time the old lady was ascending the stairs, and closing the door Maggie applied her eye to the keyhole, listening breathlessly for what might follow. George Douglas and Henry Warner occupied separate rooms, and their boots were now standing outside their doors, ready for the ch.o.r.e boy, Jim, who thus earned a quarter every day. Stumbling first upon the pair belonging to George Douglas, the lady took them up, ejaculating: "Boots! boots! Yes, men's boots, as I'm a living woman! The like was never seen by me before in this hall. Another pair!" she continued, as her eye fell on those of Henry Warner.

"Another pair, and in the best chamber, too! What will come next?" And setting down her light, she wiped the drops of perspiration from her face, at the same time looking around in some alarm lest the owners of said boots should come forth.

Just at that moment Mrs. Jeffrey appeared. Alarmed by the unusual noise, and fancying the young gentlemen might be robbing the house as a farewell performance, she had donned a calico wrapper, and tying a black silk handkerchief over her cap, had taken her scissors, the only weapon of defense she could find, and thus equipped for battle she had sallied forth. She was prepared for burglars--nay, she would not have been disappointed had she found the young men busily engaged in removing the ponderous furniture from their rooms; but the sight of Madam Conway, at that unseasonable hour, was wholly unexpected, and in her fright she dropped the lamp which she had lighted in place of her candle, and which was broken in fragments, deluging the carpet with oil and eliciting a fresh groan from Madam Conway.

"Jeffrey, Jeffrey!" she gasped; "what have you done?"

"Great goodness!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Jeffrey, remembering her adventure when once before she left her room in the night. "I certainly am the most unfortunate of mortals. Catch me out of bed again, let what will happen;" and turning, she was about to leave the hall, when Madam Conway, anxious to know what had been done, called her back, saying rather indignantly, "I'd like to know whose house I am in?"

"A body would suppose 'twas Miss Margaret's, the way she's conducted,"

answered Mrs. Jeffrey; and Madam Conway continued, pointing to the boots: "Who have we here? These are not Margaret's, surely?"

"No, ma'am, they belong to the young men who have turned the house topsy-turvy with their tableaux, their Revolution celebration, their banner, and carousing generally," said Mrs. Jeffrey, rather pleased than otherwise at being the first to tell the news.

"Young men!" repeated Madam Conway--"what young men? Where did they come from, and why are they here?"

"They are Douglas and Warner," said Mrs. Jeffrey, "two as big scapegraces as there are this side of Old Bailey--that's what they are. They came from Worcester, and if I've any discernment they are after your girls, and your girls are after them."

"After my girls! After Maggie! It can't be possible!" gasped Mrs.

Conway, thinking of Arthur Carrollton.

"It's the very truth, though," returned Mrs. Jeffrey. "Henry Warner, who, in my opinion, is the worst of the two, got to chasing Margaret in the woods, as long ago as last April. She jumped Gritty across the gorge, and he, like a fool, jumped after, breaking his leg--"

"Pity it hadn't been his neck," interrupted Madam Conway; and Mrs.

Jeffrey continued: "Of course he was brought here, and Margaret took care of him. After a while his comrade Douglas came out, and of all the carousals you ever thought of, I reckon they had the worst. 'Twas the Fourth of July, and if you'll believe it they made a banner, and Maggie planted it herself on the housetop. They went off next morning; but now they've come again, and last night the row beat all. I never got a wink of sleep till after two o'clock."

Here, entirely out of breath, the old lady paused, and, going to her room, brought out a basin of water and a towel, with which she tried to wipe off the oil. But Madam Conway paid little heed to the spoiled carpet, so engrossed was she with what she had heard.

"I am astonished at Margaret's want of discretion," said she, "and I depended so much upon her, too."

"I always knew you were deceived by her," said Mrs. Jeffrey, still bending over the oil; "but it wasn't for me to say so, for you are blinded towards that girl. She's got some of the queerest notions, and then she's so high-strung. She won't listen to reason. But I did my country good service once. I went up in the dead of night to take down the flag, and I don't regret it either, even if it did pitch me to the bottom of the stairs, and sprained my ankle."

"Served you right," interposed Madam Conway, who, not at all pleased at hearing Margaret thus censured, now turned the full force of her wrath upon the poor little governess, blaming her for having suffered such proceedings. "What did Margaret and Theo know, young things as they were? and what was Mrs. Jeffrey there for if not to keep them circ.u.mspect! But instead of doing this, she had undoubtedly encouraged them in their folly, and then charged it upon Margaret."

It was in vain that the greatly distressed and astonished lady protested her innocence, pleading her sleepless nights and lame ankle as proofs of having done her duty; Madam Conway would not listen.

"Somebody was of course to blame," and as it is a long-established rule that a part of every teacher's duty is to be responsible for the faults of the pupils, so Madam Conway now continued to chide Mrs.

Jeffrey as the prime-mover of everything, until that lady, overwhelmed with the sense of injustice done her, left the oil and retired to her room, saying as she closed the door: "I was never so injured in all my life--never. To think that after all my trouble she should charge it to me! It will break my heart, I know. Where shall I go for comfort or rest?"

This last word was opportune and suggestive. If rest could not be found in Baxter's "Saints' Rest," it was not by her to be found at all; and, sitting down by the window in the gray dawn of the morning, she strove to draw comfort from the words of the good divine; but in vain. It had never failed her before; but never before had she been so deeply injured; and, closing the volume at last, she paced the floor in a very perturbed state of mind.

Meantime, Madam Conway had sought her granddaughter's chamber, where Theo in her fright had taken refuge under the bed, while Maggie feigned a deep, sound sleep. A few vigorous shakes, however, aroused her, when, greatly to the amazement of her grandmother, she burst into a merry laugh, and, winding her arms around the highly scandalized lady's neck, said: "Forgive me, grandma, I've been awake ever since you came home. I did not mean to leave the dining room in such disorder, but I was so tired, and we had such fun! Hear me out," she continued, laying her hand over the mouth of her grandmother, who attempted to speak; "Mrs. Jeffrey told you how Mr. Warner broke his leg, and was brought here. He is a real nice young man, and so is Mr.

Douglas, who came out to see him. They are partners in the firm of Douglas & Co., Worcester."

"Henry Warner is nothing but the Co., though; Mr. Douglas owns the store, and is worth two hundred thousand dollars!" cried a smothered voice under the bed; and Theo emerged into view, with a feather or two ornamenting her hair, and herself looking a little uneasy and frightened.