"And he has no color," groaned Lyddy.

"But, anyhow," 'Phemie pursued, wiping her eyes, her flurry of tears quickly over, as was her nature, "there is one good thing."

"What is that?"

"He doesn't lose hope himself. And _we_ mustn't lose it, either. Of course things will come out right--even the boarders will come."

"We don't know that," said Lyddy, shaking her head again.

"How about the woman who wrote you a second time?" queried 'Phemie. "Mrs.

Castle. I bet _she_ comes next week."

And 'Phemie was right in _that_ prophecy. They had Lucas meet the train for Mrs. Castle on Sat.u.r.day, and 'Phemie went with him. There were supplies to buy for the house and the young girl made her purchases before train time.

A little old lady in a Paisley shawl and black, close bonnet, got out of the train. The porter lifted down an ancient carpet-bag--something 'Phemie had never in her life seen before. Even Lucas was amazed by the little old woman's outfit.

"By cracky!" he whispered to 'Phemie. "You reckon _that's_ the party? Why, she's dressed more behind the times than my grandmother useter be. Guess there must be places on this airth more countrified than Bridleburg."

But 'Phemie knew that Mrs. Castle's letter had come from an address in Easthampton which the Brays knew to be in a very good neighborhood. n.o.body but wealthy people lived on that street. Yet Mrs. Castle--aside from the valuable but old-fashioned shawl--did not look to be worth any great fortune.

"Are you the girl who wrote to me?" asked the old lady, briskly, when 'Phemie came forward to take the carpet-bag.

Mrs. Castle's voice was very resonant; she had sharp blue eyes behind her gold-bowed spectacles; and she clipped her words and sentences in a manner that belied her age and appearance.

"No, ma'am," said 'Phemie, doubtfully. "It was my sister who wrote. _I_ am Euphemia Bray."

"Ha! And what is your sister's name? What does the 'L' stand for?"

"Lydia."

"Good!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed this strange old lady. "Then I'll ride out to the farm with you. Such good, old-fashioned names promise just what your sister said: An old-fashioned house and old-time ways. If 'L!' had meant 'Lillie,' or 'Luella,' or 'Lilas'--and if _you_, young lady, had been called 'Marie'--I'd have taken the very next train back to town."

'Phemie could only stare and nod. In her secret thoughts she told herself that this queer old woman was doubtless a harmless lunatic. She did not know whether it was quite best to have Lucas drive them to Hillcrest or not.

"You got a trunk, ma'am?" asked the long-legged youth, as the old lady hopped youthfully into the buckboard, and 'Phemie lifted in the heavy carpet-bag.

"No, I haven't. This is no fashionable boarding house I'm going to, I s'pose?" she added, eyeing 'Phemie sternly.

"Oh, no, ma'am!" returned the girl.

"Then I've got enough with me in this bag, and on my back, to last me a fortnight. If I like, I'll send for something more, then."

She certainly knew her own mind, this old lady. 'Phemie had first thought her to be near the three-score-and-ten mark; but every moment she seemed to get younger. Her face was wrinkled, but they were fine wrinkles, and her coloring made her look like a withered russet apple. Out of this golden-brown countenance the blue eyes sparkled in a really wonderful way.

"But I don't care," thought 'Phemie, as they clattered out of town. "Crazy or not, if she can pay her board she's so much help. Let the ball keep on rolling. It's getting bigger and bigger. Perhaps we _shall_ have a houseful at Hillcrest, after all."

CHAPTER XVII

THE RUNAWAY GRANDMOTHER

But 'Phemie was immensely curious about this strange little old lady who was dressed so oddly, yet who apparently came from the wealthiest section of the city of Easthampton. The young girl could not bring herself to ask questions of their visitor--let Lyddy do that, if she thought it necessary. But, as it chanced, up to a certain point Mrs. Castle was quite open of speech and free to communicate information about herself.

As soon as they had got out of town she turned to 'Phemie and said:

"I expect you think I'm as queer as d.i.c.k's hat-band, Euphemia? I am quite sure you never saw a person like me before?"

"Why--Mrs. Castle--not _just_ like you," admitted the embarra.s.sed 'Phemie.

"I expect not! Well, I presume there are other old women, who are grandmothers, and have got all tangled up in these new-fangled notions that women have--Laws' sake! I might as well tell you right off that I've run away!"

"Run away?" gasped 'Phemie, with a vision of keepers from an asylum coming to Hillcrest to take away their new boarder.

"That's exactly what I have done! None of my folks know where I have gone. I just wrote a note, telling them not to look for me, and that I was going back to old-fashioned times, if I could find 'em. Then I got this bag out of the cupboard--I'd kept it all these years--packed it with my very oldest duds, and--well, here I am!" and the old lady's laugh rang out as shrill and clear as a blackbird's call.

"I have astonished you; have I?" she pursued. "And I suppose I have astonished my folks. But they know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I ought to be. Why, I'm a grandmother three times!"

"'Three times?'" repeated the amazed 'Phemie.

"Yes, Miss Euphemia Bray. Three grandchildren--two girls and a boy. And they are always telling folks how up-to-date grandma is! I'm sick of being up-to-date. I'm sick of dressing so that folks behind me on the street can't tell whether I'm a grandmother or my own youngest grandchild!

"We just live in a perfect whirl of excitement. 'Pleasure,' they call it. But it's gotten to be a nuisance. My daughter-in-law has her head full of society matters and club work. The girls and Tom spend all but the little time they are obliged to give to books in the private schools they attend, in dancing and theatre parties, and the like.

"And here a week ago I found my son--their father--a man forty-five years old, and bald, and getting fat, being taught the tango by a French dancing professor in the back drawing-room!" exclaimed Mrs. Castle, in a tone of disgust that almost convulsed 'Phemie.

"That was enough. That was the last straw on the camel's back. I made up my mind when I read your sister's advertis.e.m.e.nt that I would like to live simply and with simple people again. I'd like really to _feel_ like a grandmother, and _dress_ like one, and _be_ one.

"And if I like it up here at your place I shall stay through the summer.

No hunting-lodge in the Adirondacks for me this spring, or Newport, or the Pier later, or anything of that kind. I'm going to sit on your porch and knit socks. My mother did when _she_ was a grandmother. This is her shawl, and mother and father took this old carpet-bag with them when they went on their honeymoon.

"Mother enjoyed her old age. She spent it quietly, and it was _lovely_,"

declared Mrs. Castle, with a note in her voice that made 'Phemie sober at once. "I am going to have quiet, and repose, and a simple life, too, before I have to die.

"It's just killing me keeping up with the times. I don't want to keep up with 'em. I want them to drift by me, and leave me stranded in some pleasant, sunny place, where I only have to look on. And that's what I am going to get at Hillcrest--just that kind of a place--if you've got it to sell," completed this strange old lady, with emphasis.

'Phemie Bray scarcely knew what to say. She was not sure that Mrs. Castle was quite right in her mind; yet what she said, though so surprising, sounded like sense.

"I'll leave it to Lyddy; she'll know what to say and do," thought the younger sister, with faith in the ability of Lyddy to handle any emergency.

And Lyddy handled the old lady as simply as she did everything. She refused to see anything particularly odd in Mrs. Castle's dress, manner, or outlook on life.

The old lady chose one of the larger rooms on the second floor, considered the terms moderate, and approved of everything she saw about the house.

"Make no excuses for giving me a feather bed to sleep on. I believe it will add half a dozen years to my life," she declared. "Feather beds! My!

I never expected to see such a joy again--let alone experience it."