"But I don't know yet what she's like," objected Ned.

"Neither do I."

"Oh, but you've seen her."

"Yes; and how? Do you suppose that those two or three meetings were very illuminating? No. I've been told this, however," he added. "It seems that immediately after her return to her mother's home she had the most absurd quixotic notions about sharing all she had with every ragam.u.f.fin in New York. She even carried her distress over their condition to such an extent that her mother really feared for her reason. All her teachers, therefore, were instructed to keep from her all further knowledge of poverty and trouble; and particularly to instil into her mind the fact that there was really in the world a great deal of pleasure and happiness."

Over across the table Mrs. Merideth shivered a little.

"Dear me!" she sighed. "I do hope the child is well over those notions.

I shouldn't want her to mix up here with the mill people. I never did quite like those settlement women, anyway, and only think what might happen with one in one's own family!"

"I don't think I should worry, sister sweet," laughed Frank. "I haven't seen much of the young lady, but I think I have seen enough for that. I fancy the teachers succeeded in their mission. As near as I can judge, Miss Margaret Kendall does not resemble your dreaded 'settlement worker'

in the least. However, we'll wait and see."

CHAPTER XIII

There was something of the precision of clockwork in matters and things at Hilcrest. A large corps of well-trained servants in charge of an excellent housekeeper left Mrs. Merideth free to go, and come, and entertain as she liked. For fifteen years now she had been mistress of Hilcrest, ever since her mother had died, in fact. Widowed herself at twenty-two after a year of married life, and the only daughter in a family of four children, she had been like a second mother to her two younger brothers. Harry, the eldest brother, had early left the home roof to study medicine. Frank, barely twenty when his brother Harry lost his life, had even then pleased his father by electing the mills as his life-work. And now, five years after that father's death, Ned was sharing his brother Frank's care and responsibility in keeping the great wheels turning and the great chimneys smoking in the town below.

Della Merideth was essentially a woman who liked--and who usually obtained--the strawberries and cream of life. Always accustomed to luxury, she demanded as a matter of course rich clothing and dainty food. That there were people in the world whose clothing was coa.r.s.e and whose food was scanty, she well knew; and knowing this she was careful that her donations to the Home Missionary Society and the Woman's Guild were prompt and liberal. Beyond this her duty did not extend, she was sure. As for any personal interest in the recipients of her alms, she had none whatever; and would, indeed, have deemed it both unnecessary and unladylike that she should have had such interest. Her eyes were always on the hills and meadows on the west side of the house, and even her way to and from Hilcrest was carefully planned so that she might avoid so far as was possible, the narrow, ill-smelling streets of the town on the other side of the hill.

Frank Spencer was a hard-headed, far-seeing man of business--inside the office of Spencer & Spencer; outside, he was a delightful gentleman--a little grave, perhaps, for his thirty-three years, but none the less a favorite, particularly with anxious mothers having marriageable, but rather light-headed, daughters on their hands. His eyes were brown, his nose was straight and long, and his mouth firm and clean-cut. His whole appearance was that of a man sure of himself--and of others. To Frank Spencer the vast interests of Spencer & Spencer, as represented by the huge mills that lined the river bank, were merely one big machine; and the hundreds of men, women, and children that dragged their weary way in and out the great doors were but so many cogs in the wheels. That the cogs had hearts that ached and heads that throbbed did not occur to him.

He was interested only in the smooth and silent running of the wheels themselves.

Ned was the baby of the house. In spite of his length of limb and breadth of shoulder he was still looked upon by his brother and sister as little more than a boy. School, college, and a year of travel had trained his brain, toughened his muscles, and browned his skin, and left him full of enthusiasm for his chosen work, which just now meant helping to push Spencer & Spencer to the top notch of power and prosperity.

For five years the two brothers and the widowed sister in the great house that crowned Prospect Hill, had been by themselves save for the servants and the occasional guests--and the Spencers were a clannish family, so people said. However that might have been, there certainly was not one of the three that was not conscious of a vague fear and a well-defined regret, whenever there came the thought of this strange young woman who was so soon to enter their lives.

To be a Spencer was to be hospitable, however, and the preparations for the expected guest were prompt and generous. By Tuesday the entire house, even to its inmates, was ready with a cordial welcome for the orphan girl.

In his big touring car Frank Spencer went to the station to meet his ward. With him was Mrs. Merideth, and her eyes, fully as anxiously as his, swept the crowd of pa.s.sengers alighting from the long train. Almost simultaneously they saw the tall young woman in gray; and Mrs. Merideth sighed with relief as Frank gave a quick exclamation and hurried forward.

"At least she looks like a lady," Mrs. Merideth murmured, as she followed her brother.

"You are Margaret Kendall, I am sure," Frank was saying; and Mrs.

Merideth saw the light leap to the girl's eyes as she gave him her hand.

"And you are Mr. Spencer, my guardian--'Uncle Frank.' Am I still to call you 'Uncle Frank'?" Mrs. Merideth heard a clear voice say. The next moment she found herself looking into what she instantly thought were the most wonderful eyes she had ever seen.

"And I am Mrs. Merideth, my dear--'Aunt Della,' I hope," she said gently, before her brother could speak.

"Thank you; and it will be 'Aunt Della,' I'm sure," smiled the girl; and again Mrs. Merideth marveled at the curious charm of the eyes that met her own.

CHAPTER XIV

The big touring car skirted the edge of the town, avoiding as usual the narrower streets, and turning as soon as possible into a wide, elm-bordered avenue.

"We have to climb to reach Hilcrest," called Frank over his shoulder, as the car began a steep ascent.

"Then you must have a view as a reward," rejoined Margaret.

"We do," declared Mrs. Merideth,--"but not here," she laughed, as the car plunged into the depths of a miniature forest.

It was a silent drive, in the main. The man in front had the car to guide. The two women in the tonneau dropped an occasional word, but for the most part their eyes were fixed on bird or flower, or on the shifting gleams of sunlight through the trees. The very fact that there was no constraint in this silence argued well for the place the orphan girl had already found in the hearts of her two companions.

Not until the top of the hill was reached, and the car swung around the broad curve of the driveway, did the full beauty of the panorama before her burst on Margaret's eyes. She gave a low cry of delight.

"Oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully, wonderfully beautiful!" she exclaimed.

Her eyes were on the silver sheen of the river trailing along the green velvet of the valley far below--she had turned her back on the red-roofed town with its smoking chimneys.

The sun was just setting when a little later she walked across the lawn to where a rustic seat marked the abrupt descent of the hill. Far below the river turned sharply. On the left it flowed through a canon of many-windowed walls, and under a pall of smoke. On the right it washed the sh.o.r.es of flowering meadows, and mirrored the sunset sky in its depths.

So absorbed was Margaret in the beauty of the scene that she did not notice the figure of a man coming up the winding path at her left. Even Ned Spencer himself did not see the girl until he was almost upon her.

Then he stopped short, his lips breaking into a noiseless "Well, by Jove!"

A twig snapped under his foot at his next step, and the girl turned.

"Oh, it's you," she said absorbedly. "I couldn't wait. I came right out to see it," she finished, her eyes once more on the valley below. The brothers, at first glance, looked wonderfully alike, and Margaret had unhesitatingly taken Ned to be Frank.

Ned did not speak. He, too, like his sister an hour before, had fallen under the spell of a pair of wondrous blue eyes.

"It seems to me," said the girl, slowly, "that nothing in the world would ever trouble me if I had that to look at."

"It seems so to me, too," agreed Ned--but he was not looking at the view.

The girl turned sharply. She gave a little cry of dismay. The embarra.s.sed red flew to her cheeks.

"Oh, you--you are not Uncle Frank at all!" she stammered.

A sudden light of comprehension broke over Ned's face. And so this was Margaret. How stupid of him not to have known at once!

He laughed lightly and made a low bow.

"I have not that honor," he confessed. "But you--you must be Miss Kendall."

"And you?"

"I?" Ned smiled quizzically. "I? Oh, I am--your _Uncle_ Ned!" he announced; and his voice and his emphasis told her that he fully appreciated his privilege in being twenty-five--and uncle to a niece of twenty-three.