CHAPTER V.
TRIFLES.
Very rapidly the winter passed away, and one morning early in March Maggie went down to the cottage with the news that Madam Conway was intending to start immediately for England, where she had business which would probably detain her until fall.
"Oh, won't I have fun in her absence!" she cried. "I'll visit every family in the neighborhood. Here she's kept Theo and me caged up like two wild animals, and now I am going to see a little of the world. I don't mean to study a bit, and instead of visiting you once a day I shall come at least three times."
"Lord help me!" ejaculated old Hagar, who, much as she loved Maggie, was beginning to dread her daily visits.
"Why do you want help?" asked Maggie laughingly. "Are you tired of me,
Hagar? Don't you like me any more?"
"Like you, Maggie Miller!—like you!" repeated old Hagar, and in the tones of her voice there was a world of tenderness and love. "There is nothing on earth I love as I do you. But you worry me to death sometimes."
"Oh, yes, I know," answered Maggie; "but I'm not going to tease you for a while. I shall have so much else to do when grandma is gone that I shall forget it. I wish she wasn't so proud," she continued, after a moment. "I wish she'd let Theo and me see a little more of the world than she does. I wonder how she ever expects us to get married, or be anybody, if she keeps us here in the woods like young savages. Why, as true as you live, Hagar, I have never been anywhere in my life, except to church Sundays, once to Douglas' store in Worcester, once to Patty Thompson's funeral, and once to a Methodist camp-meeting; and I never spoke to more than a dozen men besides the minister and the school boys! It's too bad!" and Maggie pouted quite becomingly at the injustice done her by her grandmother in keeping her thus secluded. "Theo don't care," she said. "She is prouder than I am, and does not wish to know the Yankees, as grandma calls the folks in this country; but I'm glad I am a Yankee. I wouldn't live in England for anything."
"Why don't your grandmother take you with her?" asked Hagar, who in a measure sympathized with Maggie for being thus isolated.
"She says we are too young to go into society," answered Maggie. "It will be time enough two years hence, when I am eighteen and Theo twenty. Then I believe she intends taking us to London, where we can show off our accomplishments, and practice that wonderful courtesy which Mrs. Jeffrey has taught us. I dare say the queen will be astonished at our qualifications;" and with a merry laugh, as she thought of the appearance she should make at the Court of St. James, Maggie leaped on Gritty's back and bounded away, while Hagar looked wistfully after her, saying as she wiped the tears from her eyes: "Heaven bless the girl! She might sit on the throne of England any day, and Victoria wouldn't disgrace herself at all by doing her reverence, even if she be a child of Hagar Warren."
As Maggie had said, Madam Conway was going to England. At first she thought of taking the young ladies with her, but, thinking they were hardly old enough yet to be emancipated from the schoolroom, she decided to leave them under the supervision of Mrs. Jeffrey, whose niece she promised to bring with her on her return to America. Upon her departure she bade Theo and Maggie a most affectionate adieu, adding:
"Be good girls while I am away, keep in the house, mind Mrs. Jeffrey, and don't fall in love."
This last injunction came involuntarily from the old lady, to whom the idea of their falling in love was quite as preposterous as to themselves.
"Fall in love!" repeated Maggie, when her tears were dried, and she with Theo was driving slowly home. "What could grandma mean! I wonder who there is for us to love, unless it be John the coachman, or Bill the gardener. I almost wish we could get in love though, just to see how 'twould seem, don't you?" she continued.
"Not with anybody here," answered Theo, her nose slightly elevated at the thought of people whom she had been educated to despise.
"Why not here as well as elsewhere?" asked Maggie. "I don't see any difference. But grandma needn't be troubled, for such things as men's boots never come near our house. It's a shame, though," she continued, "that we don't know anybody, either male or female. Let's go down to Worcester some day, and get acquainted. Don't you remember the two handsome young men whom we saw five years ago in Douglas' store, and how they winked at each other when grandma ran down their goods and said there were not any darning needles fit to use this side of the water?"
On most subjects Theo's memory was treacherous, but she remembered perfectly well the two young men, particularly the taller one, who had given her a remnant of blue ribbon which he said was just the color of her eyes. Still, the idea of going to Worcester did not strike her favorably. "She wished Worcester would come to them," she said, "but she should not dare to go there. They would surely get lost. Grandma would not like it, and Mrs. Jeffrey would not let them go, even if they wished."
"A fig for Mrs. Jeffrey," said Maggie. "I shan't mind her much. I'm going to have a real good time, doing as I please, and if you are wise you'll have one too."
"I suppose I shall do what you tell me to—I always do," answered Theo submissively, and there the conversation ceased.
Arrived at home they found dinner awaiting them, and Maggie, when seated, suggested to Mrs. Jeffrey that she should give them a vacation of a few weeks, just long enough for them to get rested and visit the neighbors. But this Mrs. Jeffrey refused to do.
She had her orders to keep them at their books, she said, and "study was healthful"; at the same time she bade them be in the schoolroom on the morrow. There was a wicked look in Maggie's eyes, but her tongue told no tales, and when next morning she went with Theo demurely to the schoolroom she seemed surprised at hearing from Mrs. Jeffrey that every book had disappeared from the desk where they were usually kept; and though the greatly disturbed and astonished lady had sought for them nearly an hour, they were not to be found.
"Maggie has hidden them, I know," said Theo, as she saw the mischievous look on her sister's face.
"Margaret wouldn't do such a thing, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Jeffrey, her voice and manner indicating a little doubt, however, as to the truth of her assertion.
But Maggie had hidden them, and no amount of coaxing could persuade her to bring them back. "You refused me a vacation when I asked for it," she said, "so I'm going to have it perforce;" and, playfully catching up the little dumpy figure of her governess, she carried her out upon the piazza, and, seating her in a large easy-chair, bade her take snuff, and comfort too, as long as she liked.
Mrs. Jeffrey knew perfectly well that Maggie in reality was mistress of the house, that whatever she did Madam Conway would ultimately sanction; and as a rest was by no means disagreeable, she yielded with a good grace, dividing her time between sleeping, snuffing, and dressing, while Theo lounged upon the sofa and devoured some musty old novels which Maggie, in her rummaging, had discovered.
Meanwhile Maggie kept her promise of visiting the neighbors, and almost every family had something to say in praise of the merry, light-hearted girl of whom they had heretofore known but little. Her favorite recreation, however, was riding on horseback, and almost every day she galloped through the woods and over the fields, usually terminating her ride with a call upon old Hagar, whom she still continued to tease unmercifully for the secret, and who was glad when at last an incident occurred which for a time drove all thoughts of the secret from Maggie's mind.
CHAPTER VI.
THE JUNIOR PARTNER.
One afternoon towards the middle of April, when Maggie as usual was flying through the woods, she paused for a moment beneath the shadow of a sycamore while Gritty drank from a small running brook. The pony having quenched his thirst, she gathered up her reins for a fresh gallop, when her ear caught the sound of another horse's hoofs; and, looking back, she saw approaching her at a rapid rate a gentleman whom she knew to be a stranger. Not caring to be overtaken, she chirruped to the spirited Gritty, who, bounding over the velvety turf, left the unknown rider far in the rear.
"Who can she be?" thought the young man, admiring the utter fearlessness with which she rode; then, feeling a little piqued, as he saw how the distance between them was increasing, he exclaimed, "Be she woman, or be she witch, I'll overtake her"; and, whistling to his own fleet animal, he too dashed on at a furious rate.
"Trying to catch me, are you?" thought Maggie. "I'd laugh to see you do it." And entering at once into the spirit of the race, she rode on for a time with headlong speed—then, by way of tantalizing her pursuer, she paused for a moment until he had almost reached her, when at a peculiar whistle Gritty sprang forward, while Maggie's mocking laugh was borne back to the discomfited young man, whose interest in the daring girl increased each moment. It was a long, long chase she led him, over hills, across plains, and through the grassy valley, until she stopped at last within a hundred yards of the deep, narrow gorge through which the mill-stream ran.
"I have you now," thought the stranger, who knew by the dull, roaring sound of the water that a chasm lay between him and the opposite bank.
But Maggie had not yet half displayed her daring feats of horsemanship, and when he came so near that his waving brown locks and handsome dark eyes were plainly discernible, she said to herself: "He rides tolerably well. I'll see how good he is at a leap," and, setting herself more firmly in the saddle, she patted Gritty upon the neck. The well-trained animal understood the signal, and, rearing high in the air, was fast nearing the bank, when the young man, suspecting her design, shrieked out: "Stop, lady, stop! It's madness to attempt it."
"Follow me if you can," was Maggie's defiant answer, and the next moment she hung in mid-air over the dark abyss.
Involuntarily the young man closed his eyes, while his ear listened anxiously for the cry which would come next. But Maggie knew full well what she was doing. She had leaped that narrow gorge often, and now when the stranger's eyes unclosed she stood upon the opposite bank, caressing the noble animal which had borne her safely there.
"It shall never be said that Henry Warner was beaten by a schoolgirl," muttered the stranger. "If she can clear that, I can, bad rider as I am!" and burying his spurs deep in the sides of his horse, he pressed on while Maggie held her breath in fear, for she knew that without practice no one could do what she had done.
There was a partially downward plunge—a fierce struggle on the shelving bank, where the animal had struck a few feet from the top—then the steed stood panting on terra firma, while a piercing shriek broke the deep silence of the wood, and Maggie's cheeks blanched to a marble hue. The rider, either from dizziness or fear, had fallen at the moment the horse first struck the bank, and from the ravine below there came no sound to tell if yet he lived.
"He's dead; he's dead!" cried Maggie. "'Twas my own foolishness which killed him," and springing from Gritty's back she gathered up her long riding skirt and glided swiftly down the bank, until she came to a wide, projecting rock, where the stranger lay, motionless and still, his white face upturned to the sunlight, which came stealing down through the overhanging boughs. In an instant she was at his side, and his head was resting on her lap, while her trembling fingers parted back from his pale brow the damp mass of curling hair.
"The fall alone would not kill him," she said, as her eye measured the distance, and then she looked anxiously round for water with which to bathe his face.
But water there was none, save in the stream below, whose murmuring flow fell mockingly on her ears, for it seemed to say she could not reach it. But Maggie Miller was equal to any emergency, and venturing out to the very edge of the rock she poised herself on one foot, and looked down the dizzy height to see if it were possible to descend.
"I can try at least," she said, and glancing at the pale face of the stranger unhesitatingly resolved to attempt it.
The descent was less difficult than she had anticipated, and in an incredibly short space of time she was dipping her pretty velvet cap in the brook, whose sparkling foam had never before been disturbed by the touch of a hand as soft and fair as hers. To ascend was not so easy a matter; but, chamois-like, Maggie's feet trod safely the dangerous path, and she soon knelt by the unconscious man, bathing his forehead in the clear cold water, until he showed signs of returning life. His lips moved slowly at last, as if he would speak; and Maggie, bending low to catch the faintest sound, heard him utter the name of "Rose." In Maggie's bosom there was no feeling for the stranger save that of pity, and yet that one word "Rose" thrilled her with a strange undefinable emotion, awaking at once a yearning desire to know something of her who bore that beautiful name, and who to the young man was undoubtedly the one in all the world most dear.
"Rose," he said again, "is it you?" and his eyes, which opened slowly, scanned with an eager, questioning look the face of Maggie, who, open-hearted and impulsive as usual, answered somewhat sadly: "I am nobody but Maggie Miller. I am not Rose, though I wish I was, if you would like to see her."
The tones of her voice recalled the stranger's wandering mind, and he answered: "Your voice is like Rose, but I would rather see you, Maggie Miller. I like your fearlessness, so unlike most of your sex. Rose is far more gentle, more feminine than you, and if her very life depended upon it she would never dare leap that gorge."
The young man intended no reproof; but Maggie took his words as such, and for the first time in her life began to think that possibly her manner was not always as womanly as might be. At all events, she was not like the gentle Rose, whom she instantly invested with every possible grace and beauty, wishing that she herself was like her instead of the wild madcap she was. Then, thinking that her conduct required some apology, she answered, as none save one as fresh and ingenuous as Maggie Miller would have answered: "I don't know any better than to behave as I do. I've always lived in the woods—have never been to school a day in my life—never been anywhere except to camp-meeting, and once to Douglas' store in Worcester!"
This was entirely a new phase of character to the man of the world, who laughed aloud, and at the mention of Douglas' store started so quickly that a spasm of pain distorted his features, causing Maggie to ask if he were badly hurt.
"Nothing but a broken leg," he answered; and Maggie, to whose mind broken bones conveyed a world of pain and suffering, replied: "Oh, I am so sorry for you! and it's my fault, too. Will you forgive me?" and her hands clasped his so pleadingly that, raising himself upon his elbow so as to obtain a better view of her bright face, he answered, "I'd willingly break a hundred bones for the sake of meeting a girl like you, Maggie Miller."
Maggie was unused to flattery, save as it came from her grandmother,
Theo, or old Hagar, and now paying no heed to his remark she said:
"Can you stay here alone while I go for help? Our house is not far
away."
"I'd rather you would remain with me," he replied; "but as you cannot do both, I suppose you must go."
"I shan't be gone long, and I'll send old Hagar to keep you company." So saying, Maggie climbed the bank, and, mounting Gritty, who stood quietly awaiting her, seized the other horse by the bridle and rode swiftly away, leaving the young man to meditate upon the novel situation in which he had so suddenly been placed.
"Aint I in a pretty predicament!" said he, as he tried in vain to move his swollen limb, which was broken in two places, but which being partially benumbed did not now pain him much. "But it serves me right for chasing a harum-scarum thing when I ought to have been minding my own business and collecting bills for Douglas & Co. And she says she's been there, too. I wonder who she is, the handsome sprite. I believe I made her more than half jealous talking of my golden-haired Rose; but she is far more beautiful than Rose, more beautiful than anyone I ever saw. I wish she'd come back again," and, shutting his eyes, he tried to recall the bright, animated face which had so lately bent anxiously above him. "She tarries long," he said at last, beginning to grow uneasy. "I wonder how far it is; and where the deuce can this old Hagar be, of whom she spoke?"
"She's here," answered a shrill voice, and looking up he saw before him the bent form of Hagar Warren, at whose door Maggie had paused for a moment while she told of the accident and begged of Hagar to hasten.
Accordingly, equipped with a blanket and pillow, a brandy bottle and camphor, old Hagar had come, but when she offered the latter for the young man's acceptance he pushed it from him, saying that camphor was his detestation, but he shouldn't object particularly to smelling of the other bottle!
"No, you don't," said Hagar, who thought him in not quite so deplorable a condition as she had expected to find him. "My creed is never to give young folks brandy except in cases of emergency." So saying, she made him more comfortable by placing a pillow beneath his head; and then, thinking possibly that this to herself was a "case of emergency," she withdrew to a little distance, and sitting down upon the gnarled roots of an upturned tree drank a swallow of the old Cognac, while the young man, maimed and disabled, looked wistfully at her.
Not that he cared for the brandy, of which he seldom tasted; but he needed something to relieve the deathlike faintness which occasionally came over him, and which old Hagar, looking only at his mischievous eyes, failed to observe. Only those who knew Henry Warner intimately gave him credit for many admirable qualities he really possessed—so full was he of fun. It was in his merry eyes and about his quizzically shaped mouth that the principal difficulty lay; and most persons, seeing him for the first time, fancied that in some way he was making sport of them. This was old Hagar's impression, as she sat there in dignified silence, rather enjoying, than otherwise, the occasional groans which came from his white lips. There were intervals, however, when he was comparatively free from pain, and these he improved by questioning her with regard to Maggie, asking who she was and where she lived.
"She is Maggie Miller, and she lives in a house," answered the old woman rather pettishly.
"Ah, indeed—snappish, are you?" said the young man, attempting to turn himself a little, the better to see his companion. "Confound that leg!" he continued, as a fierce twinge gave him warning not to try many experiments. "I know her name is Maggie Miller, and I supposed she lived in a house; but who is she, anyway, and what is she?"
"If you mean is she anybody, I can answer that question quick," returned Hagar. "She calls Madam Conway her grandmother, and Madam Conway came from one of the best families in England—that's who she is; and as to what she is, she's the finest, handsomest, smartest girl in America; and as long as old Hagar Warren lives no city chap with strapped-down pantaloons and sneering mouth is going to fool with her either!"
"Confound my mouth—it's always getting me into trouble!" thought the stranger, trying in vain to smooth down the corners of the offending organ, which in spite of him would curve with what Hagar called a sneer, and from which there finally broke a merry laugh, sadly at variance with the suffering expression of his face.
"Your leg must hurt you mightily, the way you go on," muttered Hagar; and the young man answered: "It does almost murder me, but when a laugh is in a fellow he can't help letting it out, can he? But where the plague can that witch of a—I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hagar," he added hastily, as he saw the frown settling on the old woman's face, "I mean to say where can Miss Miller be? I shall faint away unless she comes soon, or you give me a taste of the brandy!"
This time there was something in the tone of his voice which prompted Hagar to draw near, and she was about to offer him the brandy when Maggie appeared, together with three men bearing a litter. The sight of her produced a much better effect upon him than Hagar's brandy would have done, and motioning the old woman aside he declared himself ready to be removed.
"Now, John, do pray be careful and not hurt him much!" cried Maggie, as she saw how pale and faint he was, while even Hagar forgot the curled lip, which the young man bit until the blood started through, so intense was his agony when they lifted him upon the litter. "The camphor, Hagar, the camphor!" said Maggie; and the stranger did not push it aside when her hand poured it on his head, but the laughing eyes, now dim with pain, smiled gratefully upon her, and the quivering lips once murmured as she walked beside him, "Heaven bless you, Maggie Miller!"
Arrived at Hagar's cottage, the old woman suggested that he be carried in there, saying as she met Maggie's questioning glance, "I can take care of him better than anyone else."
The pain by this time was intolerable, and scarcely knowing what he said the stranger whispered, "Yes, yes, leave me here."
For a moment the bearers paused, while Maggie, bending over the wounded man, said softly: "Can't you bear it a little longer, until our house is reached? You'll be more comfortable there. Grandma has gone to England, and I'll take care of you myself!"
This last was perfectly in accordance with Maggie's frank, impulsive character, and it had the desired effect. Henry Warner would have borne almost death itself for the sake of being nursed by the young girl beside him, and he signified his willingness to proceed, while at the same time his hand involuntarily grasped that of Maggie, as if in the touch of her snowy fingers there were a mesmeric power to soothe his pain. In the meantime a hurried consultation had been held between Mrs. Jeffrey and Theo as to the room suitable for the stranger to be placed in.
"It's not likely he is much," said Theo; "and if grandma were here I presume she would assign him the chamber over the kitchen. The wall is low on one side, I know, but I dare say he is not accustomed to anything better."
Accordingly several articles of stray lumber were removed from the chamber, which the ladies arranged with care, and which when completed presented quite a respectable appearance. But Maggie had no idea of putting her guest, as she considered him, in the kitchen chamber; and when, as the party entered the house, Mrs. Jeffrey, from the head of the stairs, called out, "This way, Maggie; tell them to come this way," she waved her aside, and led the way to a large airy room over the parlor, where, in a high, old-fashioned bed, surrounded on all sides by heavy damask curtains, they laid the weary stranger. The village surgeon arriving soon after, the fractured bones were set, and then, as perfect quiet seemed necessary, the room was vacated by all save Maggie, who glided noiselessly around the apartment, while the eyes of the sick man followed her with eager, admiring glances, so beautiful she looked to him in her new capacity of nurse.
Henry Warner, as the stranger was called, was the junior partner of the firm of Douglas & Co., Worcester, and his object in visiting the Hillsdale neighborhood was to collect several bills which for a long time had been due. He had left the cars at the depot, and, hiring a livery horse, was taking the shortest route from the east side of town to the west, when he came accidentally upon Maggie Miller, and, as we have seen, brought his ride to a sudden close. All this he told to her on the morning following the accident, retaining until the last the name of the firm of which he was a member.
"And you were once at our store?" he said. "How long ago?"
"Five years," answered Maggie; "when I was eleven, and Theo thirteen;" then, looking earnestly at him, she exclaimed. "And you are the very one, the clerk with the saucy eyes whom grandma disliked so much because she thought he made fun of her; but we didn't think so—Theo and I," she added hastily, as she saw the curious expression on Henry's mouth, and fancied he might be displeased. "We liked them both very much, and knew they must of course be annoyed with grandma's English whims."
For a moment the saucy eyes studied intently the fair girlish face of Maggie Miller, then slowly closed, while a train of thought something like the following passed through the young man's mind: "A woman, and yet a perfect child—innocent and unsuspecting as little Rose herself. In one respect they are alike, knowing no evil and expecting none; and if I, Henry Warner, do aught by thought or deed to injure this young girl may I never again look on the light of day or breathe the air of heaven."
The vow had passed his lips. Henry Warner never broke his word, and henceforth Maggie Miller was as safe with him as if she had been an only and well-beloved sister. Thinking him to be asleep, Maggie started to leave the room, but he called her back, saying, "Don't go; stay with me, won't you?"
"Certainly," she answered, drawing a chair to the bedside. "I supposed you were sleeping."
"I was not," he replied. "I was thinking of you and of Rose. Your voices are much alike. I thought of it yesterday when I lay upon the rock."
"Who is Rose?" trembled on Maggie's lips, while at the sound of that name she was conscious of the same undefinable emotion she had once before experienced. But the question was not asked. "If she were his sister he would tell me," she thought; "and if she is not his sister—"
She did not finish the sentence, neither did she understand that if Rose to him was something dearer than a sister, she, Maggie Miller, did not care to know it.
"Is she beautiful as her name, this Rose?" she asked at last.
"She is beautiful, but not so beautiful as you. There are few who are," answered Henry; and his eyes fixed themselves upon Maggie to see how she would bear the compliment.
But she scarcely heeded it, so intent was she upon knowing something more of the mysterious Rose. "She is beautiful, you say. Will you tell me how she looks?" she continued; and Henry Warner answered, "She is a frail, delicate little creature, almost dwarfish in size, but perfect in form and feature."
Involuntarily Maggie shrunk back in her chair, wishing her own queenly form had been a very trifle shorter, while Mr. Warner continued, "She has a sweet, angel face, Maggie, with eyes of lustrous blue and curls of golden hair."
"You must love her very dearly," said Maggie, the tone of her voice indicating a partial dread of what the answer might be.
"I do indeed love her," was Mr. Warner's reply—"love her better than all the world beside. And she has made me what I am; but for her I should have been a worthless, dissipated fellow. It's my natural disposition; but Rose has saved me, and I almost worship her for it. She is my good angel—my darling—my—"
Here he paused abruptly, and leaning back upon his pillows rather enjoyed than otherwise the look of disappointment plainly visible on Maggie's face. She had fully expected to learn who Rose was; but this knowledge he purposely kept from her. It did not need a very close observer of human nature to read at a glance the ingenuous Maggie, whose speaking face betrayed all she felt. She was unused to the world. He was the first young gentleman whose acquaintance she had ever made, and he knew that she already felt for him a deeper interest than she supposed. To increase this interest was his object, and this he thought to do by withholding from her, for a time, a knowledge of the relation existing between him and the Rose of whom he had talked so much. The ruse was successful, for during the remainder of the day thoughts of the golden-haired Rose were running through Maggie's mind, and it was late that night ere she could compose herself to sleep, so absorbed was she in wondering what Rose was to Henry Warner. Not that she cared particularly, she tried to persuade herself; but she would very much like to be at ease upon the subject.
To Theo she had communicated the fact that their guest was a partner of Douglas & Co., and this tended greatly to raise the young man in the estimation of a young lady like Theo Miller. Next to rank and station, money was with her the one thing necessary to make a person "somebody." Douglas, she had heard, was an immensely wealthy man; possibly the junior partner was wealthy, too; and if so, the parlor chamber to which she had at first objected was none too good for his aristocratic bones. She would go herself and see him in the morning.
Accordingly, on the morning of the second day she went with Maggie to the sickroom, speaking to the stranger for the first time; but keeping still at a respectable distance, until she should know something definite concerning him.
"We have met before, it seems," he said, after the first interchange of civilities was over; "but I did not think our acquaintance would be renewed in this manner."
No answer from Theo, who, like many others, had taken a dislike to his mouth, and felt puzzled to know whether he intended ridiculing her or not.
"I have a distinct recollection of your grandmother," he continued, "and now I think of it I believe Douglas has once or twice mentioned the elder of the two girls. That must be you?" and he looked at Theo, whose face brightened perceptibly.
"Douglas," she repeated. "He is the owner of the store; and the one I saw, with black eyes and black hair, was only a clerk."
"The veritable man himself!" cried Mr. Warner. "George Douglas, the senior partner of the firm, said by some to be worth two hundred thousand dollars, and only twenty-eight years old, and the best fellow in the world, except that he pretends to dislike women."
By this time Theo's proud blue eyes shone with delight, and when, after a little further conversation, Mr. Warner expressed a wish to write to his partner, she brought her own rosewood writing desk for him to use, and then, seating herself by the window, waited until the letter was written.
"What shall I say for you, Miss Theo?" he asked, near the close; and, coloring slightly, she answered, "Invite him to come out and see you."
"Oh, that will be grand!" cried Maggie, who was far more enthusiastic, though not more anxious, than her sister.
Of her Henry Warner did not ask any message. He would not have written it had she sent one; and folding the letter, after adding Theo's invitation, he laid it aside.
"I must write to Rose next," he said; "'tis a whole week since I have written, and she has never been so long without hearing from me."
Instantly there came a shadow over Maggie's face, while Theo, less scrupulous, asked who Rose was.
"A very dear friend of mine," said Henry; and, as Mrs. Jeffrey just then sent for Theo, Maggie was left with him alone.
"Wait one moment," she said, as she saw him about to commence the letter. "Wait till I bring you a sheet of gilt-edged paper. It is more worthy of Rose, I fancy, than the plainer kind."
"Thank you," he said. "I will tell her of your suggestion."
The paper was brought, and then seating herself by the window Maggie looked out abstractedly, seeing nothing, and hearing nothing save the sound of the pen, as it wrote down words of love for the gentle Rose. It was not a long epistle; and, as at the close of the Douglas letter he had asked a message from Theo, so now at the close of this he claimed one from Maggie.
"What shall I say for you?" he asked; and, coming toward him, Margaret answered, "Tell her I love her, though I don't know who she is!"
"Why have you never asked me?" queried Henry; and, coloring crimson, Maggie answered hesitatingly, "I thought you would tell me if you wished me to know."
"Read this letter, and that will explain who she is," the young man continued, offering the letter to Maggie, who, grasping it eagerly, sat down opposite, so that every motion of her face was clearly visible to him.
The letter was as follows:
"MY DARLING LITTLE ROSE: Do you fancy some direful calamity has befallen me, because I have not written to you for more than a week? Away with your fears, then, for nothing worse has come upon me than a badly broken limb, which will probably keep me a prisoner here for two months or more. Now don't be frightened, Rosa. I am not crippled for life, and even if I were I could love you just the same, while you, I'm sure, would love me more.
"As you probably know, I left Worcester on Tuesday morning for the purpose of collecting some bills in this neighborhood. Arrived at Hillsdale I procured a horse, and was sauntering leisurely through the woods, when I came suddenly upon a flying witch in the shape of a beautiful young girl. She was the finest rider I ever saw; and such a chase as she led me, until at last, to my dismay, she leaped across a chasm down which a nervous little creature like you would be afraid to look. Not wishing to be outdone, I followed her, and as a matter of course broke my bones.
"Were it not that the accident will somewhat incommode Douglas, and greatly fidget you, I should not much regret it, for to me there is a peculiar charm about this old stone house and its quaint surroundings. But the greatest charm of all, perhaps, lies in my fair nurse, Maggie Miller, for whom I risked my neck. You two would be fast friends in a moment, and yet you are totally dissimilar, save that your voices are much alike.
"Write to me soon, dear Rose, and believe me ever
"Your affectionate brother,
"HENRY."
"Oh!" said Maggie, catching her breath, which for a time had been partially suspended, "Oh!" and in that single monosyllable there was to the young man watching her a world of meaning. "She's your sister, this little Rose," and the soft dark eyes flashed brightly upon him.
"What did you suppose her to be?" he asked, and Maggie answered, "I thought she might be your wife, though I should rather have her for a sister if I were you."
The young man smiled involuntarily, thinking to himself how his fashionable city friends would be shocked at such perfect frankness, which meant no more than their own studied airs.
"You are a good girl, Maggie," he said at last, "and I wouldn't for the world deceive you; Rose is my step-sister. We are in no way connected save by marriage, still I love her all the same. We were brought up together by a lady who is aunt to both, and Rose seems to me like an own dear sister. She has saved me from almost everything. I once loved the wine cup; but her kindly words and gentle influence won me back, so that now I seldom taste it. And once I thought to run away to sea, but Rose found it out, and, meeting me at the gate, persuaded me to return. It is wonderful, the influence she has over me, keeping my wild spirits in check; and if I am ever anything I shall owe it all to her."
"Does she live in Worcester?" asked Maggie; and Henry answered: "No; in Leominster, which is not far distant. I go home once a month; and I fancy I can see Rose now, just as she looks when she comes tripping down the walk to meet me, her blue eyes shining like stars and her golden curls blowing over her pale forehead. She is very, very frail; and sometimes when I look upon her the dread fear steals over me that there will come a time, ere long, when I shall have no sister."
There were tears in Maggie's eyes, tears for the fair young girl whom she had never seen, and she felt a yearning desire to look on the beautiful face of her whom Henry called his sister. "I wish she would come here; I want to see her," she said at last; and Henry replied: "She does not go often from home. But I have her daguerreotype in Worcester. I'll write to Douglas to bring it," and opening the letter, which was not yet sealed, he added a few lines. "Come, Maggie," he said, when this was finished, "you need exercise. Suppose you ride over to the office with these letters?"
Maggie would rather have remained with him; but she expressed her willingness to go, and in a few moments was seated on Gritty's back with the two letters clasped firmly in her hand. At one of these, the one bearing the name of Rose Warner, she looked often and wistfully; it was a most beautiful name, she thought, and she who bore it was beautiful too. And then there arose within her a wish—shadowy and undefined to herself, it is true; but still a wish—that she, Maggie Miller, might one day call that gentle Rose her sister. "I shall see her sometimes, anyway," she thought, "and this George Douglas, too. I wish they'd visit us together;" and having by this time reached the post-office she deposited the letters and galloped rapidly toward home.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SENIOR PARTNER.
The establishment of Douglas & Co. was closed for the night. The clerks had gone each to his own home; old Safford, the poor relation, the man-of-all-work, who attended faithfully to everything, groaning often and praying oftener over the careless habits of "the boys," as he called the two young men, his employers, had sought his comfortless bachelor attic, where he slept always with one ear open, listening for any burglarious sound which might come from the store below, and which had it come to him listening thus would have frightened him half to death. George Douglas, too, the senior partner of the firm, had retired to his own room, which was far more elegantly furnished than that of the old man in the attic, and now in a velvet easy-chair he sat reading the letter from Hillsdale, which had arrived that evening, and a portion of which we subjoin for the reader's benefit.
After giving an account of his accident, and the manner in which it occurred, Warner continued:
"They say 'tis a mighty bad wind which blows no one any good, and so, though I verily believe I suffer all a man can suffer with a broken bone, yet when I look at the fair face of Maggie Miller I feel that I would not exchange this high old bed, to enter which needs a short ladder, even for a seat by you on that three-legged stool behind the old writing-desk. I never saw anything like her in my life. Everything she thinks, she says, and as to flattering her, it can't be done. I've told her a dozen times at least that she was beautiful, and she didn't mind it any more than Rose does when I flatter her. Still, I fancy if I were to talk to her of love it might make a difference, and perhaps I shall ere I leave the place.
"You know, George, I have always insisted there was but one female in the world fit to be a wife, and as that one was my sister I should probably never have the pleasure of paying any bills for Mrs. Henry Warner; but I've half changed my mind, and I'm terribly afraid this Maggie Miller, not content with breaking my bones, has made sad work with another portion of the body, called by physiologists the heart. I don't know how a man feels when he is in love; but when this Maggie Miller looks me straight in the face with her sunshiny eyes, while her little soft white hand pushes back my hair (which, by the way, I slyly disarrange on purpose), I feel the blood tingle to the ends of my toes, and still I dare not hint such a thing to her. 'Twould frighten her off in a moment, and she'll send in her place either an old hag of a woman called Hagar, or her proud sister Theo, whom I cannot endure.
"By the way, George, this Theo will just suit you, who are fond of aristocracy. She's proud as Lucifer; thinks because she was born in England, and sprang from a high family, that there is no one in America worthy of her ladyship's notice, unless indeed they chance to have money. You ought to have seen how her eyes lighted up when I told her you were said to be worth two hundred thousand dollars! She told me directly to invite you out here, and this, I assure you, was a good deal for her to do. So don your best attire, not forgetting the diamond cross, and come for a day or two. Old Safford will attend to the store. It's what he was made for, and he likes it. But as I am a Warner, so shall I do my duty and warn you not to meddle with Maggie. She is my own exclusive property, and altogether too good for a worldly fellow like you. Theo will suit you better. She's just aristocratic enough in her nature. I don't see how the two girls come to be so wholly unlike as they are. Why, I'd sooner take Maggie for Rose's sister than for Theo's!
"Bless me, I had almost forgotten to ask if you remember that stiff old English woman with the snuff-colored satin who came to our store some five years ago, and found so much fault with Yankee goods, as she called them? If you have forgotten her, you surely remember the two girls in flats, one of whom seemed so much distressed at her grandmother's remarks. She, the distressed one, was Maggie; the other was Theo; and the old lady was Madam Conway, who, luckily for me, chances at this time to be in England, buying up goods, I presume. Maggie says that this trip to Worcester, together with a camp-meeting held in the Hillsdale woods last year, is the extent of her travels, and one would think so to see her. A perfect child of nature, full of fun, beautiful as a Hebe, and possessing the kindest heart in the world. If you wish to know more of her come and see for yourself; but again I warn you, hands off; nobody is to flirt with her but myself, and it is very doubtful whether even I can do it peaceably, for that old Hagar, who, by the way, is a curious specimen, gave me to understand when I lay on the rock, with her sitting by, as a sort of ogress, that so long as she lived no city chap with strapped pants (do pray, bring me a pair, George, without straps!) and sneering mouth was going to fool with Margaret Miller.
"So you see my mouth is at fault again. Hang it all, I can't imagine what ails it, that everybody should think I'm making fun of them. Even old Safford mutters about my making mouths at him when I haven't thought of him in a month! Present my compliments to the old gentleman and tell him one of 'the boys' thinks seriously of following his advice, which you know is 'to sow our wild oats and get a wife.' Do, pray, come, for I am only half myself without you.
"Yours in the brotherhood,
"HENRY WARNER."
For a time after reading the above George Douglas sat wrapped in thought, then bursting into a laugh as he thought how much the letter was like the jovial, light-hearted fellow who wrote it, he put it aside, and leaning back in his chair mused long and silently, not of Theo, but of Maggie, half wishing he were in Warner's place instead of being there in the dusty city. But as this could not be, he contented himself with thinking that at some time not far distant he would visit the old stone house—would see for himself this wonderful Maggie—and, though he had been warned against it, would possibly win her from his friend, who, unconsciously perhaps, had often crossed his path, watching him jealously lest he should look too often and too long upon the fragile Rose, blooming so sweetly in her bird's-nest of a home among the tall old trees of Leominster.
"But he need not fear," he said somewhat bitterly, "he need not fear for her, for it is over now. She has refused me, this Rose Warner, and though it touched my pride to hear her tell me no, I cannot hate her for it. She had given her love to another, she said, and Warner is blind or crazy that he does not see the truth. But it is not for me to enlighten him. He may call her sister if he likes, though there is no tie of blood between them. I'd far rather it would be thus, than something nearer;" and, slowly rising up, George Douglas retired to dream of a calm, almost heavenly face which but the day before had been bathed in tears as he told to Rose Warner the story of his love. Mingled, too, with that dream was another face, a laughing, sparkling, merry face, upon which no man ever yet had looked and escaped with a whole heart.
The morning light dispelled the dream, and when in the store old Safford inquired, "What news from the boy?" the senior partner answered gravely that he was lying among the Hillsdale hills, with a broken leg caused by a fall from his horse.
"Always was a careless rider," muttered old Safford, mentally deploring the increased amount of labor which would necessarily fall upon him, but which he performed without a word of complaint.
The fair May blossoms were faded, and the last June roses were blooming ere George Douglas found time or inclination to accept the invitation indirectly extended to him by Theo Miller. Rose Warner's refusal had affected him more than he chose to confess, and the wound must be slightly healed ere he could find pleasure in the sight of another. Possessed of many excellent qualities, he had unfortunately fallen into the error of thinking that almost anyone whom he should select would take him for his money. And when Rose Warner, sitting by his side in the shadowy twilight, had said, "I cannot be your wife," the shock was sudden and hard to bear. But the first keen bitterness was over now, and remembering "the wild girls of the woods," as he mentally styled both Theo and Maggie, he determined at last to see them for himself.
Accordingly, on the last day of June he started for Hillsdale, where he intended to remain until after the Fourth. To find the old house was an easy matter, for almost everyone in town was familiar with its locality, and towards the close of the afternoon he found himself upon its broad steps applying vigorous strokes to the ponderous brass knocker, and half hoping the summons would be answered by Maggie herself. But it was not, and in the bent, white-haired woman who came with measured footsteps we recognize old Hagar, who spent much of her time at the house, and who came to the door in compliance with the request of the young ladies, both of whom, from an upper window, were curiously watching the stranger.
"Just the old witch one would expect to find in this out-of-the-way place," thought Mr. Douglas, while at the same time he asked if that were Madam Conway's residence, and if a young man by the name of Warner were staying there.
"Another city beau!" muttered Hagar, as she answered in the affirmative, and ushered him into the parlor. "Another city beau—there'll be high carryings-on now, if he's anything like the other one, who's come mighty nigh turning the house upside down."
"What did you say?" asked George Douglas, catching the sound of her muttering, and thinking she was addressing himself.
"I wasn't speaking to you. I was talking to a likelier person," answered old Hagar in an undertone, as she shuffled away in quest of Henry Warner, who by this time was able to walk with the help of a cane.
The meeting between the young men was a joyful one, for though George Douglas was a little sore on the subject of Rose, he would not suffer a matter like that to come between him and Henry Warner, whom he had known and liked from boyhood. Henry's first inquiries were naturally of a business character, and then George Douglas spoke of the young ladies, saying he was only anxious to see Maggie, for he knew of course he should dislike the other.
Such, however, is wayward human nature that the fair, pale face, and quiet, dignified manner of Theo Miller had greater attractions for a person of George Douglas' peculiar temperament than had the dashing, brilliant Maggie. There was a resemblance, he imagined, between Theo and Rose, and this of itself was sufficient to attract him towards her. Theo, too, was equally pleased; and when, that evening, Madam Jeffrey faintly interposed her fast-departing authority, telling her quondam pupils it was time they were asleep, Theo did not, as usual, heed the warning, but sat very still beneath the vine-wreathed portico, listening while George Douglas told her of the world which she had never seen. She was not proud towards him, for he possessed the charm of money, and as he looked down upon her, conversing with him so familiarly, he wondered how Henry could have called her cold and haughty—she was merely dignified, high-bred, he thought; and George Douglas liked anything which savored of aristocracy.
Meanwhile Henry and Maggie had wandered to a little summer-house, where, with the bright moonlight falling upon them, they sat together, but not exactly as of old, for Maggie did not now look up into his face as she was wont to do, and if she thought his eye was resting upon her she moved uneasily, while the rich blood deepened on her cheek. A change has come over Maggie Miller; it is the old story, too—old to hundreds of thousands, but new to her, the blushing maiden. Theo calls her nervous—Mrs. Jeffrey calls her sick—the servants call her mighty queer—while old Hagar, hovering ever near, and watching her with a jealous eye, knows she is in love.
Faithfully and well had Hagar studied Henry Warner, to see if there were aught in him of evil; and though he was not what she would have chosen for the queenly Maggie she was satisfied if Margaret loved him and he loved Margaret. But did he? He had never told her so; and in Hagar Warren's wild black eyes there was a savage gleam, as she thought, "He'll rue the day that he dares trifle with Maggie Miller."
But Henry Warner was not trifling with her. He was only waiting a favorable opportunity for telling her the story of his love; and now, as they sit together in the moonlight, with the musical flow of the mill-stream falling on his ear, he essays to speak—to tell how she has grown into his heart; to ask her to go with him where he goes; to make his home her home, and so be with him always; but ere the first word was uttered Maggie asked if Mr. Douglas had brought the picture of his sister.
"Why, yes," he answered; "I had forgotten it entirely. Here it is;" and taking it from his pocket he passed it to her.
It was a face of almost ethereal loveliness that through the moonlight looked up to Maggie Miller, and again she experienced the same undefinable emotion, a mysterious, invisible something drawing her towards the original of the beautiful likeness.
"It is strange how thoughts of Rose always affect me," she said, gazing earnestly upon the large eyes of blue shadowed forth upon the picture. "It seems as though she must be nearer to me than an unknown friend."
"Seems she like a sister?" asked Henry Warner, coming so near that
Maggie felt his warm breath upon her cheek.
"Yes, yes, that's it," she answered, with something of her olden frankness. "And had I somewhere in the world an unknown sister I should say it was Rose Warner!"
There were a few low, whispered words, and when the full moon, which for a time had hidden itself behind the clouds, again shone forth in all its glory, Henry had asked Maggie Miller to be the sister of Rose Warner, and Maggie had answered "Yes"!
That night in Maggie's dreams there was a strange commingling of thoughts. Thoughts of Henry Warner, as he told her of his love—thoughts of the gentle girl whose eyes of blue had looked so lovingly up to her, as if between them there was indeed a common bond of sympathy—and, stranger far than all, thoughts of the little grave beneath the pine where slept the so-called child of Hester Hamilton—the child defrauded of its birthright, and who, in the misty vagaries of dreamland, seemed to stand between her and the beautiful Rose Warner!
CHAPTER VIII.
STARS AND STRIPES.
On the rude bench by her cabin door sat Hagar Warren, her black eyes peering out into the woods and her quick ear turned to catch the first sound of bounding footsteps, which came at last, and Maggie Miller was sitting by her side.
"What is it, darling?" Hagar asked, and her shriveled hand smoothed caressingly the silken hair, as she looked into the glowing face of the young girl, and half guessed what was written there.
To Theo Maggie had whispered the words, "I am engaged," and Theo had coldly answered: "Pshaw! Grandma will quickly break that up. Why, Henry Warner is comparatively poor! Mr. Douglas told me so, or rather I quizzed him until I found it out. He says, though, that Henry has rare business talents, and he could not do without him."
To the latter part of Theo's remark Maggie paid little heed; but the mention of her grandmother troubled her. She would oppose it, Maggie was sure of that, and it was to talk on this very subject that she had come to Hagar's cottage.
"Just the way I s'posed it would end," said Hagar, when Maggie, with blushing, half-averted face, told the story of her engagement. "Just the way I s'posed 'twould end, but I didn't think 'twould be so quick."
"Two months and a half is a great while, and then we have been together so much," replied Maggie, at the same time asking if Hagar did not approve her choice.
"Henry Warner's well enough," answered Hagar. "I've watched him close and see no evil in him; but he isn't the one for you, nor are you the one for him. You are both too wild, too full of fun, and if yoked together will go to destruction, I know. You need somebody to hold you back, and so does he."
Involuntarily Maggie thought of Rose, mentally resolving to be, if possible, more like her.
"You are not angry with me?" said Hagar, observing Maggie's silence. "You asked my opinion, and I gave it to you. You are too young to know who you like. Henry Warner is the first man you ever knew, and in two years' time you'll tire of him."
"Tire of him, Hagar? Tire of Henry Warner?" cried Maggie a little indignantly. "You do not know me, if you think I'll ever tire of him; and then, too, did I tell you grandma keeps writing to me about a Mr. Carrollton, who she says is wealthy, fine-looking, highly educated, and very aristocratic—and that last makes me hate him! I've heard so much about aristocracy that I'm sick of it, and just for that reason I would not have this Mr. Carrollton if I knew he'd make me queen of England. But grandma's heart is set upon it, I know, and she thinks of course he would marry me—says he is delighted with my daguerreotype—that awful one, too, with the staring eyes. In grandma's last letter he sent me a note. 'Twas beautifully written, and I dare say he is a fine young man, at least he talks common sense, but I shan't answer it; and, if you'll believe me, I used part of it in lighting Henry's cigar, and with the rest I shall light firecrackers on the Fourth of July; Henry has bought a lot of them, and we're going to have fun. How grandma would scold!—but I shall marry Henry Warner, anyway. Do you think she will oppose me, when she sees how determined I am?"
"Of course she will," answered Hagar. "I know those Carrolltons—they are a haughty race; and if your grandmother has one of them in view she'll turn you from her door sooner than see you married to another, and an American, too."
There was a moment's silence, and then, with an unnatural gleam in her eye, old Hagar turned towards Maggie, and, grasping her shoulder, said: "If she does this thing, Maggie Miller,—if she casts you off,—will you take me for your grandmother? Will you let me live with you? I'll be your drudge, your slave; say, Maggie, may I go with you? Will you call me grandmother? I'd willingly die if only once I could hear you speak to me thus, and know it was in love."
For a moment Maggie looked at her in astonishment; then thinking to herself, "She surely is half-crazed," she answered laughingly: "Yes, Hagar, if grandma casts me off, you may go with me. I shall need your care, but I can't promise to call you grandma, because you know you are not."
The corners of Hagar's mouth worked nervously, but her teeth shut firmly over the thin, white lip, forcing back the wild words trembling there, and the secret was not told.
"Go home, Maggie Miller," she said at last, rising slowly to her feet.
"Go home now, and leave me alone. I am willing you should marry Henry
Warner—nay, I wish you to do it; but you must remember your promise."
Maggie was about to answer, when her thoughts were directed to another channel by the sight of George Douglas and Theo coming slowly down the shaded pathway which led past Hagar's door. Old Hagar saw them too, and, whispering to Maggie, said, "There's another marriage brewing, or the signs do not tell true, and madam will sanction this one, too, for there's money there, and gold can purify any blood."
Ere Maggie could reply Theo called out, "You here, Maggie, as usual?" adding, aside, to her companion: "She has the most unaccountable taste, so different from me, who cannot endure anything low and vulgar. Can you? But I need not ask," she continued, "for your associations have been of a refined nature."
George Douglas did not answer, for his thoughts were back in the brown farmhouse at the foot of the hill, where his boyhood was passed, and he wondered what the high-bred lady at his side would say if she could see the sunburned man and plain, old-fashioned woman who called him their son George Washington. He would not confess that he was ashamed of his parentage, for he tried to be a kind and dutiful child, but he would a little rather that Theo Miller should not know how democratic had been his early training. So he made no answer, but, addressing himself to Maggie, asked how she could find it in her heart to leave her patient so long.
"I'm going back directly," she said, and donning her hat she started for home, thinking she had gained but little satisfaction from Hagar, who, as Douglas and Theo passed on, resumed her seat by the door, and, listening to the sound of Margaret's retreating footsteps, muttered: "The old light-heartedness is gone. There are shadows gathering round her; for once in love, she'll never be as free and joyous again. But it can't be helped; it's the destiny of women, and I only hope this Warner is worthy of her. But he aint. He's too wild—too full of what Hagar Warren calls bedevilment. And Maggie does everything he tells her to do. Not content with tearing down his bed-curtains, which have hung there full twenty years, she's set things all cornerwise, because the folks do so in Worcester, and has turned the parlor into a smoking-room, till all the air of Hillsdale can't take away that tobacco scent. Why, it almost knocks me down!" and the old lady groaned aloud, as she recounted to herself the recent innovations upon the time-honored habits of her mistress' house.
Henry Warner was, indeed, rather a fast young man, but it needed the suggestive presence of George Douglas to bring out his true character; and for the four days succeeding the arrival of the latter there were rare doings at the old stone house, where the astonished and rather delighted servants looked on in amazement while the young men sang their jovial songs and drank of the rare old wine which Maggie, utterly fearless of what her grandmother might say, brought from the cellar below. But when, on the morning of the Fourth, Henry Warner suggested that they have a celebration, or at least hang out the American flag by way of showing their patriotism, there were signs of rebellion in the kitchen, while even Mrs. Jeffrey, who had long since ceased to interfere, felt it her duty to remonstrate. Accordingly, she descended to the parlor, where she found George Douglas and Maggie dancing to the tune of "Yankee Doodle," which Theo played upon the piano, while Henry Warner whistled a most stirring accompaniment! To be heard above that din was impossible, and involuntarily patting her own slippered foot to the lively strain the distressed little lady went back to her room, wondering what Madam Conway would say if she knew how her house was being desecrated.
But Madam Conway did not know. She was three thousand miles away, and with this distance between them Maggie dared do anything; so when the flag was again mentioned, she answered apologetically, as if it were something of which they ought to be ashamed: "We never had any, but we can soon make one, I know. 'Twill be fun to see it float from the housetop!" and, flying up the stairs to the dusty garret, she drew from a huge oaken chest a scarlet coat which had belonged to the former owner of the place, who little thought, as he sat in state, that his favorite coat would one day furnish material for the emblem of American freedom!
No such thought as this, however, obtruded itself upon Maggie as she bent over the chest. "The coat is of no use," she said, and gathering it up she ran back to the parlor, where, throwing it across Henry's lap, she told how it had belonged to her great-great-grandfather, who at the time of the Revolution went home to England. The young men exchanged a meaning look, and then burst into a laugh, but the cause of their merriment they did not explain, lest the prejudices of the girls should be aroused.
"This is just the thing," said Henry, entering heart and soul into the spirit of the fun. "This is grand. Can't you find some blue for the groundwork of the stars?"
Maggie thought a moment, and then exclaimed: "Oh, yes—I have it; grandma has a blue satin bodice which she wore when she was a young lady. She once gave me a part of the back for my doll's dress. She won't care if I cut up the rest for a banner."
"Of course not," answered George Douglas. "She'll be glad to have it used for such a laudable purpose," and walking to the window he laughed heartily as he saw in fancy the wrath of the proud Englishwoman when she learned the use to which her satin bodice had been appropriated.
The waist was brought in a twinkling, and then, when Henry asked for some white, Maggie cried, "A sheet will be just the thing—one of grandma's small linen ones. It won't hurt it a bit," she added, as she saw a shadow on Theo's brow, and, mounting to the top of the high chest of drawers, she brought out a sheet of finest linen, which, with rose leaves and fragrant herbs, had been carefully packed away.
It was a long, delightful process, the making of that banner; and Maggie's voice rang out loud and clear as she saw how cleverly Henry Warner managed the shears, cutting the red coat into stripes. The arrangement of the satin fell to Maggie's lot; and while George Douglas made the stars, Theo looked on a little doubtfully—not that her nationality was in any way affected, for what George Douglas sanctioned was by this time right with her; but she felt some misgiving as to what her grandmother might say; and, thinking if she did nothing but look on and laugh the blame would fall on Maggie, she stood aloof, making occasionally a suggestion, and seeming as pleased as anyone when at last the flag was done. A quilting-frame served as a flagstaff, and Maggie was chosen to plant it upon the top of the house, where was a cupola, or miniature tower, overlooking the surrounding country. Leading to this tower was a narrow staircase, and up these stairs Maggie bore the flag, assisted by one of the servant girls, whose birthplace was green Erin, and whose broad, good-humored face shone with delight as she fastened the pole securely in its place, and then shook aloft her checked apron, in answer to the cheer which came up from below, when first the American banner waved over the old stone house.
Attracted by the noise, and wondering what fresh mischief they were doing, Mrs. Jeffrey went out into the yard just in time to see the flag of freedom as it shook itself out in the summer breeze.
"Heaven help me!" she ejaculated; "the 'Stars and Stripes' on Madam Conway's house!" and, resolutely shutting her eyes, lest they should look again on what to her seemed sacrilege, she groped her way back to the house; and, retiring to her room, wrote to Madam Conway an exaggerated account of the proceedings, bidding her hasten home or everything would be ruined.
The letter being written, the good lady felt better—so much better, indeed, that after an hour's deliberation she concluded not to send it, inasmuch as it contained many complaints against the young lady Margaret, who she knew was sure in the end to find favor in her grandmother's eyes. This was the first time Mrs. Jeffrey had attempted a letter to her employer, for Maggie had been the chosen correspondent, Theo affecting to dislike anything like letter-writing. On the day previous to Henry Warner's arrival at the stone house Maggie had written to her grandmother, and ere the time came for her to write again she had concluded to keep his presence there a secret: so Madam Conway was, as yet, ignorant of his existence; and while in the homes of the English nobility she bore herself like a royal duchess, talking to young Arthur Carrollton of her beautiful granddaughter, she little dreamed of the real state of affairs at home.
But it was not for Mrs. Jeffrey to enlighten her, and tearing her letter in pieces the governess sat down in her easy-chair by the window, mentally congratulating herself upon the fact that "the two young savages," as she styled Douglas and Warner, were to leave on the morrow. This last act of theirs, the hoisting of the banner, had been the culminating point; and, too indignant to sit with them at the same table, she resolutely kept her room throughout the entire day, poring intently over Baxter's "Saints' Rest," her favorite volume when at all flurried or excited. Occasionally, too, she would stop her ears with jeweler's cotton, to shut out the sound of "Hail, Columbia!" as it came up to her from the parlor below, where the young men were doing their best to show their patriotism.
Towards evening, alarmed by a whizzing sound, which seemed to be often repeated, and wishing to know the cause, she stole halfway down the stairs, when the mischievous Maggie greeted her with a "serpent," which, hissing beneath her feet, sent her quickly back to her room, from which she did not venture again. Mrs. Jeffrey was very good-natured, and reflecting that "young folks must have fun," she became at last comparatively calm, and at an early hour sought her pillow. But thoughts of "stars and stripes" waving directly over her head, as she knew they were, made her nervous, and the long clock struck the hour of two, and she was yet restless and wakeful, notwithstanding the near approach of dawn.
"Maybe the 'Saints' Rest' will quiet me a trifle," she thought; and, striking a light, she attempted to read; but in vain, for every word was a star, every line a stripe, and every leaf a flag. Shutting the book and hurriedly pacing the floor, she exclaimed: "It's of no use trying to sleep, or meditate either. Baxter himself couldn't do it with that thing over his head, and I mean to take it down. It's a duty I owe to King George's memory, and to Madam Conway;" and, stealing from her room, she groped her way up the dark, narrow stairway, until, emerging into the bright moonlight, she stood directly beneath the American banner, waving so gracefully in the night wind. "It's a clever enough device," she said, gazing rather admiringly at it. "And I'd let it be if I s'posed I could sleep a wink; but I can't. It's worse for my nerves than strong green tea, and I'll not lie awake for all the Yankee flags in Christendom." So saying, the resolute little woman tugged at the quilt-frame until she loosened it from its fastenings, and then started to return.
But, alas! the way was narrow and dark, the banner was large and cumbersome, while the lady that bore it was nervous and weak. It is not strange, then, that Maggie, who slept at no great distance, was awakened by a tremendous crash, as of someone falling the entire length of the tower stairs, while a voice, frightened and faint, called out; "Help me, Margaret, do! I am dead! I know I am!"
Striking a light, Maggie hurried to the spot, while her merry laugh aroused the servants, who came together in a body. Stretched upon the floor, with one foot thrust entirely through the banner, which was folded about her so that the quilt-frame lay directly upon her bosom, was Mrs. Jeffrey, the broad frill of her cap standing up erect, and herself asserting with every breath that "she was dead and buried, she knew she was."
"Wrapped in a winding-sheet, I'll admit," said Maggie, "but not quite dead, I trust;" and, putting down her light, she attempted to extricate her governess, who continued to apologize for what she had done. "Not that I cared so much about your celebrating America; but I couldn't sleep with the thing over my head; I was going to put it back in the morning before you were up. There! there! careful! It's broken short off!" she screamed, as Maggie tried to release her foot from the rent in the linen sheet, a rent which the frightened woman persisted in saying she could darn as good as new, while at the same time she implored of Maggie to handle carefully her ankle, which had been sprained by the fall.
Maggie's recent experience in broken bones had made her quite an adept, and taking the slight form of Mrs. Jeffrey in her arms she carried her back to her room, where, growing more quiet, the old lady told her how she happened to fall, saying she never thought of stumbling, until she fancied that Washington and all his regiment were after her, and when she turned her head to see, she lost her footing and fell.
Forcing back her merriment, which in spite of herself would occasionally burst forth, Maggie made her teacher as comfortable as possible, and then stayed with her until morning, when, leaving her in charge of a servant, she went below to say farewell to her guests. Between George Douglas and Theo there were a few low-spoken words, she granting him permission to write, while he promised to visit her again in the early autumn. He had not yet talked to her of love, for Rose Warner had still a home in his heart, and she must be dislodged ere another could take her place. But his affection for her was growing gradually less. Theo suited him well; her family suited him better, and when at parting he took her hand in his he resolved to ask her for it when next he came to Hillsdale.