CHAPTER VII

The first of October found a very quiet household at the old Gray Homestead. Austin was in Europe; Thomas had gone to college at Burlington, Molly to the Conservatory of Music in Boston. Sally had prudently decided to teach for another year before getting married, and now that she could keep all her earnings, was happily saving them for her modest trousseau; she "boarded" in Wallacetown, where she taught, coming home only for Sat.u.r.days and Sundays, while Katherine and Edith were in high school, and gone all day. Mrs. Gray declared that she hardly knew what to do with herself, she had so much spare time on her hands with so many "modern improvements," and such a small family in the house.

"Go with Mr. Gray on the 'fall excursion' to Boston," said Sylvia. "He told me that you hadn't been off together since you took your wedding trip. That will give you a chance to look in on Molly, too, and see how she's behaving--and you'll have a nice little spree besides. I'll look after the family, and Peter can look after the cows."

Sylvia had recovered rapidly from her illness, and her former shyness and aversion to seeing people were rapidly leaving her. She no longer lay in bed until noon, but was up with the rest of the family, insisting on doing her share in the housework, and proving a very apt pupil in learning that useful and wrongly despised art; when callers came she always dropped in to chat with them a little while, and even the mail-carrier of the "rural delivery, route number two," the errand-boy on the wagon from Harrington's General Store, and all the agents for flavoring extracts and celluloid toilet sets and Bibles for miles around, were not infrequently found lingering on the "back porch" pa.s.sing the time of day with her, whether they had any excuse of mail or merchandise or not. Not infrequently she went to spend the day with Mrs. Elliott or with Ruth, and to church on Sunday with all the family; and although perhaps she was not sorry at heart that her deep mourning gave her an excuse for not attending the village "parties" and "socials," she never said so. The Library, the Grange, and the Village Improvement Society all found her ready and eager to help them in their struggles to raise money, provide better quarters for themselves, or get up entertainments; and the Methodist minister was the first person to meet with a flat refusal to his demands upon her purse. He was far-famed as a successful "solicitor,"

and conceived the brilliant idea that Sylvia was probably sent by Providence to provide the needed repairs upon the church and parsonage and the increase in his own salary. He called upon her, and graciously informed her of his plan.

"The Lord has been pleased to make you the steward of great riches," he said unctuously, "and I feel sure there is no way you could spend them which would be more pleasing in his sight than that which I have just suggested."

"I agree with you perfectly that the church is in a disgraceful state of disrepair," said Sylvia calmly, "and that your salary is quite inadequate to live on properly. I have often wondered how your congregation could worship reverently in such a place, or allow their pastor to be so poorly housed. I believe the Bible commands us somewhere to do things decently and in order."

"You are quite right, Mrs. Cary, quite right. Then may I understand--"

"Wait just a minute. I have also wondered at the lack of proper pride your congregation seemed to show in such matters. It does not seem to me that it would really help matters very much if I, a complete outsider, not even a member of your communion, furnished all the necessary funds to do what you wish. Your flock would sit back harder than ever, and wait for some one else to turn up and do likewise when I have gone--and probably that second millionaire would never materialize, and you would be left worse off than before, even."

"My dear lady!" exclaimed the divine, amazed and distressed at the turn the conversation had taken, "most of the members of my congregation are in very moderate circ.u.mstances."

"I know--but they should do _their share_. And there are some, who, for a small village, are rich, and just plain stingy--why don't you go to them?"

"Unfortunately that would only result in the entire withdrawal of their support, I fear."

"And those are the worthy, struggling Christians whom you wish me to supply with everything to make their church beautiful and their minister comfortable--you want me to put a premium on stinginess! I shan't give you one cent under those conditions! Go to the three richest men in your church, and say to them, 'Whatever sum you will give, Mrs. Cary will double.' Appeal to your congregation as a whole, and tell it the same thing. Ask those who you know have no cash to spare to give some of their time, at whatever it is worth by the hour or the day. Set the children to arranging for a concert--I suppose you wouldn't approve of a little play--and see how the relatives and friends will flock to hear it. I'll gladly drill them. When you've tried all this, and the response has been generous and hearty, if still you haven't all you need, I'll gladly lend you the remainder of the sum without interest, and you may take your own time in discharging the debt."

"That is a young lady who gives a man much food for thought," remarked the minister to Mr. Gray, as, somewhat abashed, but greatly impressed, he was leaving the house a few minutes later.

"Very true--in more ways than one."

"Her person is not unpleasing and she seems to have an agile mind,"

continued Mr. Jessup.

Mr. Gray turned away to hide a smile. Later he teased Sylvia about her new conquest. "I am afraid," he said, his mouth twitching, "that you would flirt with a stone post."

"I didn't flirt with _him_" said Sylvia indignantly; "he ended the call by dropping on his knees, right there in my sitting-room, and saying, 'Let us pray--for new hearts!' Well, I've had lots of calls end with a prayer for a change of heart--"

"You little wretch! What did you do?"

"Do! I always strive to please! I knelt down beside him, of course, and then he took my hand, so I--Honestly, I don't care much what men _say_--if they only say it _right_--but I draw the line at being _stroked_! If that's your idea of a flirtation, it isn't mine!"

"Look out, my dear," warned Howard; "he's a widower and a famous beggar."

And Sylvia laughed with him. During the first months she had never laughed. "I am getting to love that child as if she were my own," he said to his wife later. "Whatever shall we do when she goes away? It won't be long now, you'll see."

"Mercy! Don't you even speak of it!" rejoined Mrs. Gray. But she, too, was brooding over the possibility in secret. "Are you sure you're quite contented here, Sylvia?" she asked anxiously the next time they were alone.

Sylvia laid down the dish she was wiping, and came and laid her cheek, now growing softly pink again, against Mrs. Gray's. "Contented," she echoed; "why, I'm--I'm happy--I never was happy in my whole life before.

But I shall freeze to death here this winter, unless you'll let me put a furnace in this great house; and I want to gla.s.s in part of the big piazza, and have a tiny little conservatory for your plants built off the dining-room. Do you mind if I tear up the place that much more--you've been so patient about it so far."

Mrs. Gray could only throw up her hands.

The "spree" to Boston took place, and proved wonderfully delightful, and then they all settled down quietly for the winter, looking forward to Christmas as the time that was to bring the entire family together again.

For even James, the eldest son, had written that he was about to be married, and should come home with his bride for the holidays for his wedding trip; and as Sylvia still firmly refused to leave the farm, Mr.

Stevens asked for permission to join Austin when he landed, and be with his niece over the great day. As the time drew near, the house was hung with garlands, and every window proudly displayed a great laurel wreath tied with a huge red bow. Sylvia moved all her belongings into her parlor, and decorated her bedroom for the bride and groom, and went about the house singing as she unpacked great boxes and trimmed a mammoth Christmas tree.

Four days before Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. James Gray arrived, and Mrs.

James was promptly p.r.o.nounced to be "all right" by her husband's family, though the poor girl, of course, underwent tortures before she was sure of their decision. Fred, who with his father and mother was to join in the great feast, brought Sally home from Wallacetown that same night, and took advantage of the mistletoe which Sylvia had hung up, right before them all. Thomas and Molly, both wonderfully citified already, appeared during the course of the next afternoon from opposite directions, and Molly played, and Thomas expounded scientific farming, to the wonder of them all. And finally Mr. Gray went to meet the midnight train from New York at Wallacetown the night before Christmas Eve, and found himself being squeezed half to pieces by the bear hugs of Austin and the hearty handshakes of Mr. Stevens.

"Pile right into the sleigh," he managed to say at last when he was partially released, but still gasping for breath; "we mustn't stand fooling around here, with the thermometer at twenty below zero, and a whole houseful waiting to treat you the same way you've treated me.

Austin, seems as if you were bigger than ever, and you've got a different look, same as Thomas and Molly have, only yours is more different."

"There was more room for improvement in my case," his son laughed back, throwing his arm around him again. "My, but it's good to see you! Talk about changes! You look ten years younger, doesn't he, Mr. Stevens? How's mother? And--and Thomas, and the girls? And--and Peter?"

"Yes, how is _Peter_?" said Mr. Stevens.

"Why, Peter's all right," returned Mr. Gray soberly; "what makes you ask?

That sort is never sick and he's as good and steady a boy as I ever saw."

"I'm so glad to hear it," murmured Mr. Stevens in an interested voice.

"And we had the biggest creamery check this month, Austin," went on his father, "that we _ever_ had--with just those few cows you sent! Peter tends them as if they were young girls being dressed up for their sweethearts. The hens are laying well, too, right through this cold weather--the poultry house is so clean and warm, they don't seem to know that it's winter. We have enough eggs for our own use, and some to sell besides--I guess there won't be any to sell _this_ week, will there?

You'll like James's wife, I'm sure, Austin, and you, too, Mr.

Stevens--she's a nice, healthy, jolly girl with good sense, I'm sure.

She's not as pretty as my girls, but, then, few are, of course, in my eyes. It's plain to see they just set their eye-teeth by each other--Sadie and James, I mean--and, of course, Fred is about most of the time; so with two pairs of lovers, it keeps things lively, I can tell you."

"Has Thomas recovered?" inquired Austin.

"Indeed, he hasn't! It's mean of us all to make fun of him--he's very much in earnest."

"How does Sylvia take it?" asked Sylvia's uncle.

"I don't think she notices."

"Oh, don't you?" said Mr. Stevens, in the same interested tone he had used before.

Mrs. Gray was standing in the door to receive them, even if it was twenty below zero, and was laughing and crying with her great boy in her arms before he was half out of the sleigh. The kissing that had taken place at the Fessendens' was nothing to that which now occurred at the Grays'; for when he had finished with his mother, Austin found all his sisters waiting for him, clamoring for the same welcome, and he ended with his new sister-in-law, and then began all over again. Meanwhile Mr.

Stevens stood looking vainly about, and finally interrupted with "Where's _my_ girl?"

"Oh, _there_, Mr. Stevens!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, wiping her eyes, and settling her hair, "it was downright careless of me not to tell you right away, but I was so excited over Austin that I forgot all about it for a minute; of course, it's a dreadful disappointment to you, but it just couldn't seem to be helped. Frank--my son-in-law, you know, that lives in White Water--telephoned down this morning that the trained nurse had left, an' little Elsie was ailin', an' the hired girl so green, an'

nothin' would do but that Sylvia must traipse up there to help Ruth before I could say 'Jack Robinson.'"

"What do you mean?" thundered Uncle Mat and Austin in the same breath; so Mrs. Gray tried again.

"Why, Ruth had a new baby a month ago, another little girl, an' the dearest child! They're all comin' home to-morrow, sure's the world, an'

you'll see her then--they've named her Mary, for me, an' of course I'm real pleased. But as I was sayin'--it did seem as if some one had got to take hold an' help them get straightened out if they was goin' to put it through, an' of course, there's no one like Sylvia for jobs like that.

Land! I don't know how we ever got along before she come! Anyway, she's up there now. Rode up with Hiram on the Rural Free Delivery--he was tickled most to death. She left her love, an' said maybe one of the boys would take the pair an' her big double sleigh, an' start up to get 'em all in real good season to-morrow mornin'."