A fire had been laid and was burning cheerfully in the dining-room--that apartment being just across the square side entrance hall from the kitchen. Lyddy was busy over the cooking arrangements when the visitors arrived, and 'Phemie was giving the finishing touches to the table in the dining-room.

But Mr. Bray, leaning on his cane, met the Colesworths as they alighted from the buckboard. Lucas drove away at once, promising to return again with the team in time to catch the four-fifty train back to town.

Lyddy found time to peep out of the kitchen window. Yes! there was that very bold young man who had troubled her so much--at times--while they lived in Trimble Avenue.

He met Mr. Bray with a warm handshake, and he helped his father up the wide stone steps with a delicacy that would have pleased Lyddy in anybody else.

But she had made up her mind that Harris Colesworth was going to be a very objectionable person to have about, and so she would not accept his friendly att.i.tude or thoughtfulness as real virtues. He might attract the rest of the family--already 'Phemie was standing in the door, smiling and with her hand held out; but Lyddy Bray proposed to watch this young man very closely!

CHAPTER XV

ANOTHER BOARDER

Lyddy heard her sister and Harris Colesworth in the hall, and then in the dining-room. The girls had not made a fire in any other room in the house.

It took too much wood, and the dining-room was large enough to be used as a sitting-room "for company," too.

And with the fresh maple branches and arbutus decorating the s.p.a.ce over the mantel, and the great dish of violets on the table, and the odorous plum branches everywhere, that dining-room was certainly an attractive apartment.

The old-fashioned blue-and-white china and the few pieces of heavy silverware "dressed" the table very nicely. The linen was yellow with age, but every gla.s.s and spoon shone.

The sun streamed warmly in at the windows, the view from which was lovely.

Lyddy heard the appreciative remarks of the young man as 'Phemie ushered him in.

But she ran out to greet the old gentleman. The elder Colesworth was sixty or more--a frail, scholarly-looking man, with a winning smile. He, like Mr. Bray, leaned on a cane; but Mr. Bray was at least fifteen years Mr.

Colesworth's junior.

"So _you_ are 'L. Bray'; are you?" asked the old gentleman, shaking hands with her. "You are the elder daughter and head of the household, your father tells me."

"I am older than 'Phemie--yes," admitted Lyddy, blushing. "But we have no 'head' here. I do my part of the work, and she does hers."

"And, please G.o.d," said Mr. Bray, earnestly, "I shall soon be able to do mine."

"Work is the word, then!" cried the old gentleman. "I tell Harris that's all that is the matter with me. I knocked off work too early. 'Retired,'

they call it. But it doesn't pay--it doesn't pay."

"There will be plenty for you to do up here, Mr. Colesworth," suggested Lyddy, laughing. "We'll let you chop your own wood, if you like. But perhaps picking flowers for the table will be more to your taste--at first."

"I don't know--I don't know," returned the old gentleman. "I was brought up on a farm. I used to know how to swing an axe. And I can remember yet how I hated a buck-saw."

They went into the house; but Lyddy slipped back to the kitchen and allowed her father to follow Harris Colesworth and 'Phemie, with the old gentleman, into the dining-room.

'Phemie soon came out to help, leaving their father to entertain the visitors while dinner was being served. Lyddy had prepared a simple meal, of which the staple was the New England standby--baked beans.

She had been up before light, had built a huge fire in the brick oven, had heated it to a high temperature, and had then baked her pies, a huge pan of gingerbread, her white bread, and potatoes for dinner. She had steamed her "brown loaf" in a kettle hanging from the crane, and the sealed beanpot had been all night in the ashes on the hearth, the right "finish" being given in the brick oven as it gradually cooled off.

The girl had had wonderfully good luck with her baking. The bread was neither "all crust" nor was it dough in the middle. The pies were flaky as to crust and the apples which filled them were tender.

When Lyddy brought in the beanpot, wrapped in a blue and white towel to retain the heat, she met Harris Colesworth for the first time. To her surprise he did not attempt to appear amazed to see her.

"Miss Bray!" he cried, coming forward to shake hands with her. "I have been telling your father that we are already acquainted. But I never _did_ expect to see you again when you sold out and went away from Trimble Avenue that morning."

"Shows how small the world is," said Mr. Bray, smiling. "We lived right beside the building in which Mr. Colesworth works, and he saw our advertis.e.m.e.nt in the paper----"

"Oh, I was sure it was Miss Bray," interrupted young Colesworth, openly acknowledging his uncalled-for interest (so Lyddy expressed it to herself) in their affairs.

"You see," said this very frank young man, "I knew your name was Bray.

And I knew you were going into the country for Mr. Bray's health. I--I even asked at the hospital about you several times," he added, flushing a little.

"How very kind!" murmured Lyddy, but without looking at him, as 'Phemie brought in some of the other dishes.

"Not at all; I was interested," said the young man, laughing. "You always were afraid of getting acquainted with me when I used to watch you working about your kitchen. But now, Miss Bray, if father decides to come out here to board with you, you'll just _have_ to be acquainted with me."

Mr. Bray laughed at this, and 'Phemie giggled. Lyddy's face was a study.

It did seem impossible to keep this very presuming young man at a proper distance.

But they gathered around the table then, and Lyddy had another reason for blushing. The visitors praised her cooking highly, and when they learned of the old-fashioned means by which the cooking was done, their wonder grew.

And Lyddy deserved some praise, that was sure. The potatoes came out of their crisp skins as light as feathers. The thickened pork gravy that went with them was something Mr. Colesworth the elder declared he had not tasted since he was a boy.

And when the beans were ladled from the pot--brown, moist, every bean firm in its individual jacket, but seasoned through and through--the Colesworths fairly reveled in them. The fresh bread and good b.u.t.ter, and the flaky wedges of apple pie, each flanked by its pilot of cheese, were likewise enjoyed.

"If you can put us up only half comfortably," declared the elder Colesworth, bowing to Lyddy, "I can tell you right now, young lady, that we will stay. Let us see your rooms, we will come to terms, and then I'll take a nap, if you will allow me. I need it after this heavy dinner.

Why, Harris! I haven't eaten so heartily for months."

"Never saw you sail into the menu with any more enjoyment, Dad," declared his son, in delight.

But Lyddy made her sister show them over the house. They were some time in making up their minds regarding the choice of apartments; but finally they decided upon one of the large rooms the girls proposed making over into bed-chambers on the ground floor. This room was nearest the east wing, had long windows opening upon the side porch, and with the two small beds removed from the half-furnished rooms on the second floor of the east wing, and brought downstairs, together with one or two other pieces of furniture, the Colesworths declared themselves satisfied with the accommodations.

Young Colesworth would come out on Sat.u.r.days and return Monday mornings.

He would arrange with Lucas to drive him back and forth. And the old gentleman would come out, bag and baggage, on the coming Monday to take possession of the room.

To bind the bargain Harris handed Lyddy fifteen dollars, and asked for a receipt. Fifteen dollars a week! Lyddy had scarcely dared ask for it--had done so with fear and trembling, in fact. But the Colesworths seemed to consider it quite within reason.

"Oh, 'Phemie!" gasped Lyddy, hugging her sister tight out in the kitchen.

"Just think of _fifteen dollars_ coming in every week. Why! we can all _live_ on that!"

"M--m; yes," said 'Phemie, ruminatively. "But hasn't he a handsome nose?"

"Who--what---- 'Phemie Bray! haven't you anything else in your head but young men's noses?" cried her sister, in sudden wrath.

But it was a beginning. They had really "got into business," as their father said that night at the supper table.

"I only fear that the work will be too much for us," he observed.

"For 'Phemie and me, you mean, Father," said Lyddy, firmly. "You are not to work. You're to get well. _That_ is your business--and your only business."