Heiress of McGregor.
Harry Van Alstine.
"Now, are you afraid to stand here a few minutes while Frank and I put on the trunk?" asked Harry. "And then we shall be ready to set out for home."
Marion stood and looked about her at the odd place in which she found herself.
In all my travelling, I have never seen a place which offered greater facilities for the shipwreck of travellers than the station at the Falls. The train draws up by a narrow platform. On one side is the great, rushing, solemn river, about six feet below the track, with no fence or guard, of any kind between. On the other a wide and deep canal, between which and the train is the narrow platform aforesaid. If you are absent-minded or near-sighted and step off the wrong side of the car, you step into the river. If you go a little too far on the right side, you walk straight into the canal.
A little way below a huge cliff rises apparently to heaven, feathered here and there, where its perpendicular face is broken by a little ledge, with shrubs and plant; wild vines and small evergreens. A little stream falls down the precipice into the river, thus giving a name to the place. The settlement consists of a shabby-looking store or grocery, a still worse-looking tavern and a few more or less forlorn-looking houses.
As Marion looked round her and noticed the appearance of the men who lounged about the place, she did not wonder that the conductor did not like the idea of leaving her there; her gold watch might have changed hands without much ceremony.
"Now, Marion, if you will come this way," said Harry, appearing at the end of the platform.
Marion did so, and soon found herself seated in a roomy, comfortable sort of family carriage; one of her trunks was fastened on a rack behind; the other was being loaded into a large wagon, drawn by four handsome gray mules, profusely decorated with bells and red fringe. Presently one of them opened his mouth, and gave vent to one of those unearthly sounds between a yell and a bray in which mules are used to express their emotions.
Marion started.
"What is that horrid noise?" she exclaimed.
"That is the melodious note of a mule," said Harry, laughing at her astonished face. "I suppose you don't have many of them in your part of the world; I remember hearing mother say she never saw one till she came to the valley."
"I am sure I never did," said Marion. "They are very pretty, I think. What cunning little feet they have!"
"Yes, we drive a pair in the carriage sometimes in dusty weather, because they kick up so much less dust than horses. Van Alstine & Overbeck have the finest mule teams in all the country," said Frank, with evident pride. "They keep six four-mule teams at work all the time."
"How gayly they are trimmed up!"
"That is the doing of the teamsters. They are very proud of their teams, and spend a deal for bells and fringe and silver-plated buckles to make them look pretty. All the mules live in our great barn, and it is curious that while neither father nor Mr. Overbeck dare go into the mule-barn, the children of the teamsters run in and out and attend to the mules quite fearlessly, and no harm comes to them. But come, Frank, start up a little. We are rather late now; mother will be worried, and I am sure Marion must be very tired."
"How is mother?" asked Marion, beginning to feel a little more at her ease.
"Pretty well, only tired. We have had a great deal of company this summer. When Mrs. Andrews is with us, she saves mother a great deal, but she has been away for three or four weeks."
"Of course we all help mother all that we can, but it isn't like having a girl in the family," said Frank, stopping his horses a moment as he reached the top of the long hill. "Don't you want to stand up and look back a little? There is such a fine view."
Marion did so, and beheld a beautiful prospect of river, mountains, and valley, all lighted to a golden glow by the setting sun. She had a keen eye for the picturesque, and admired the view to the young man's content.
"You are used to higher mountains than these," said Harry.
"Yes, but not such a river," said Marion. "How grand it is!"
"Isn't it?" said Frank, delighted. "Some day father will take you down and show you the Wyoming valley; and now if you will sit down, I will hurry up a little, for I want to get through the big woods before it is quite dark."
"Why," asked Marion, who had been rather hoping for an adventure ever since she had left home; "are they dangerous in any way?"
"Oh, no. There are no wolves nor bears, at least not in summer, and no highwaymen, but the road is none of the best in some places," answered Frank. "In fact it is decidedly bad, but you need not be alarmed if we jolt a little. The old ark is very substantial."
Accustomed to mountain roads, Marion did not find the roughness of the present track at all alarming. She was too tired to care about talking, and besides, to her own vexation, she felt rather shy of the tall, handsome driver. She had meant to be very gracious and conciliating to the awkward, overgrown boys she expected to meet, but somehow the awkwardness had been all on her own side. She began to feel that her family picture would need much retouching, if not painting entirely anew. But she did not care to undertake the task at present.
She leaned back in the carriage, tired and sleepy, but yet enjoying the sweetness of the forest air loaded with the scent of the evergreens, and listening to the loud woodland chorus in which crickets, katy-dids, and whip-poor-wills bore the principal part, while an owl occasionally volunteered a solo.
"What thick woods!" said she at last.
"We are just in the edge of the great woods," said Harry. "I will take you through them some day. But we are almost at home now. See, there is the top of our stack just over the hill, and the house is not far away."
"I don't see any stack," said Marion, looking out. "I see the top of what looks like an iron chimney."
"Yes, that is what he means, the smoke-stack of the factory. We shall soon be at the house, and then you will see what a lot of brothers you have," added Frank, laughingly. "Mother would let nobody come but Harry and me, because she said you were not used to boys, and would be frightened. Hallo, there's Hector looking out. Open the gate, will you, old fellow!"
Another black-haired boy, who was evidently on the watch, swung open the gate, and then ran into the house. Frank turned into a carriage road and drew up at the side door of a large house with brightly-lighted windows. The door was open and the hall seemed crowded with people; a tall, dark-bearded man came forward to help her out, and her mother stood on the verandah.
"Gently, boys, don't all speak at once! Let mother have the first chance," said Mr. Van Alstine, shaking Marion by the hand and kissing her cheek. "Marion, my girl, you are welcome home!"
In the course of five minutes Marion had shaken hands with what seemed to her agitated senses at least a dozen of boys, and was carried forward into a large and light dining-room handsomely furnished and with the table spread for supper. But she could eat hardly a mouthful of the dainty meal set before her. It seemed as if she had come away from all her old life into a new world. A sudden feeling of forlorn homesickness came over her, and, greatly to her own disgust, she burst into a fit of hysterical tears.
"You are so tired, poor child!" said her mother tenderly. "You shall go straight to bed and not see another soul to-night. Run up before, Hector; shut the blinds in sister's room and light the lamp. Come, Marie dear—they call you 'Marie,' I suppose. You shall go to bed and have a good long sleep, and you will be all right in the morning. See, this is your room, and I hope you will like it."
Marion tried to check her tears enough to murmur that it was very nice, but she really was tired out and hardly noticed anything save that the bed was delightfully soft and comfortable.
"Don't hurry in the morning; I will call you in time," said her mother, kissing her. "You will hear the whistle at five, but you need not move. Good-night, my love. I hope you will sleep well and be quite refreshed in the morning. Good-night."
CHAPTER XIII.
HEMLOCK VALLEY.
MARION slept late in the morning, and when she waked it was a minute or two before she knew where she was. The house was very still. She could hear birds singing and chickens cackling and crowing as if she were at home, but the room was a very different one from that she had called hers so long in the old McGregor house at Holford. It was much larger and higher, for one thing. There were two windows hung with pretty muslin curtains. The walls were covered with cheerful paper and the floor with fine checked India matting such as Marion had admired on Kitty Tremaine's floor in Holford. The furniture was of solid black walnut, mostly new, but with an old-fashioned bit here and there, such as a large mirror in a gilt frame, over the tall mantel-piece, and a pretty little workstand with brass trimmings. Altogether it was pretty as any room Marion had ever seen, and certainly as different as possible from the lodging which she had imagined herself occupying.
There was no need even of the scrap-bag and mats which she had already begun, for a very pretty bag hung by the side of the dressing-table and the blue and white china on the wash-stand was abundantly supplied with braided mats. Marion felt positively disappointed. She looked at her watch. It was past eight. She hastened to rise and dress herself. She found her dressing-table supplied with a new set of toilet articles, the nicest she had ever possessed.
"Money must be plenty, at any rate," she thought.
She explored the room still further, and discovered a large light closet in which was her trunk, and where she found also a great provision of hooks, shelves and drawers. Certainly she had never in her life been so sumptuously lodged. She dressed herself neatly in one of her new morning dresses, and went down-stairs, all the time more and more surprised at what she saw.
The house was evidently an old one, large and very solidly built. A second staircase led to an upper story. There was a large window in the end of the hall, on each side of which were book-cases filled with books. While Marion was hesitating which way to turn, an outside door opened and a fair, rather stout lady appeared, carrying a little covered dish in one hand and a basket in the other.
"Oh!" said the lady, after a minute's hesitation. "You are Marion, are you not?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Marion, wondering who the lady could be.
"To be sure," said the stranger, setting down her basket and shaking her hand heartily.
"How do you do, dear?"
"Very well, thank you," answered Marion, wondering more and more.
"But I forget: you don't know who I am, of course," said the stranger smiling. "I am Amity—Amity Overbeck—your sister, you know. I am so glad you have come. Have you had your breakfast? But no, of course you haven't; you have just got up. Come this way, dear; I dare say your breakfast is all ready. Ma!" she called, opening a door and ushering Marion into a pretty sitting-room. "Ma, here's Marion."
"What liberties she takes!" thought Marion. "I wonder mother allows it, but I suppose she can't help it, poor thing."
Mrs. Van Alstine did not seem at all distressed by the liberty. She kissed Amity quite as heartily as she did Marion.
"I have been looking for you all the morning," said she. "Marie dear, you will want your breakfast, and Maggy has it all ready in the dining-room. Come this way; you will soon learn the geography of the house."
"Have you had your breakfast?" asked Marion, as she took her seat at the long, handsomely-appointed dining-table.
"Oh yes, hours ago. Tanners keep early hours you will find; quite as early as you have been used to at home. Amity, will you please speak to Maggy?"
Amity obeyed, setting down the covered dish she carried, which proved to contain some beautiful raspberries. A tempting breakfast was soon set before Marion, of which she was quite ready to partake. She drank her coffee and ate her dainty warm rolls, making her observations on the rooms and furniture while Amity took counsel with her mother over certain patterns and materials for children's wear, now and then including Marion in the conversation by some remark or question addressed to her.
"And where are the boys?" asked Amity. "Making the most of their holiday, I suppose, since school begins again on Monday. I shall not be sorry, for one. Where are they all?"
"Harry and Frank are down at the tannery helping their father. Bram is freezing the ice-cream just at this minute, and the little boys have gone over to the saw-mill on an errand. Do you think Helen will come to-day?"
"Unless something very unexpected happens. She hardly ever fails, you know. You have not seen Mrs. Andrews, Marion. I hope you will like her; everybody does."
"Not everybody exactly," said Mrs. Van Alstine smiling.
"Oh, well, everybody but Gertrude, and even she liked Helen at first. I suppose, by the way, we shall see her before long. Asahel's overseer said last week that she had set three different times already."
"And made Asahel go down to the station to meet her every time, I suppose."
"Gertrude has got home," said Marion. "She came down with me yesterday. The conductor introduced me to her when Mr. Randall left me, and we had quite a talk."
"Oh!" said Amity in rather a significant tone. "Then no doubt she told you all about us?"
"Amity, my dear!" said her mother in a tone of remonstrance.
Amity laughed.
"Never fear, mamma dear, I am as meek as a mouse. Well, there, I must go. Come over and see me, Marion. You will want to look about to-day, I suppose."
"I am afraid Marion will find it rather dull," observed her mother. "She is not used to living in the woods."
"And now what will you do till dinner time?" said her mother when Amity had gone. "I suppose you will like to put your things away. I have had James carry up your other trunk, and you will find plenty of places to bestow your clothes and so on. Shall I come up and sit with you while you are busy? I want to hear all the news from home."
"If you please, mother," said Marion. She was feeling every minute more strange, and, as Aunt Baby would have said, "like a cat in a strange garret." Everything was so utterly different from what she had expected.
"I dare say you will like to see the house," continued her mother; "it is a large one, but with our great family we live all over it. Here is another parlour, you see, but we use it more in winter than summer; and here is my room, which was built for a parlour too, but we do not need it, and I find it very convenient to have a bedroom down-stairs; and this is Aunt Eugenia's room; you must come in and be introduced to Aunt Eugenia; she is Mr. Van Alstine's aunt, and has always lived with him."
Mrs. Van Alstine opened a door, and introduced Marion into a pretty room, where sat an old lady dressed with exquisite neatness, and busily engaged in knitting. She turned her head as they entered, but did not move.
"Is that you, Eiley?" she asked, and then Marion saw that she was blind.
"Yes, aunty, and I have brought my daughter to see you. Go close to her, my dear. She will want to feel your face."
"Yes, my eyes are in the ends of my fingers," said the old lady pleasantly. Then after passing her hands over Marion's face, "She is like you in face; I hope she may be so in other ways. What has become of Hector and Rob?"
"They have gone over to the village for your snuff, aunty."
"They should not have done that," said Aunt Eugenia, though she was evidently much pleased.
"Oh, they had other errands enough; this is Saturday, you know. They will be home by dinner time. Poor old lady! She is lost without her snuff-box," said Mrs. Van Alstine as she closed the door.
"I should think you would try to break her of taking snuff," said Marion; "it is such a disagreeable bad habit."
"It is hardly worth while to try and break people of bad habits at eighty-eight," said Mrs. Van Alstine. "I don't think I shall try to reform Aunt Eugenia's till I have quite finished with my own, and by that time I think she will be done with snuff-boxes."
Marion fancied there was a tone of reproof in her mother's words, and dropped the subject. She was busily engaged all the morning in putting away her goods, and answering her mother's questions about home matters. Marion had no intention of telling any untruths, but she certainly gave her mother clearly to understand that she had never had justice done her at home either by her aunt or Miss Oliver.
"I hope you will like Mrs. Andrews—Cousin Helen, as we all call her," said Mrs. Van Alstine rather anxiously. "Our children and Amity's think her perfection, and the boys certainly get on very well. Harry says Abram and Frank know as much Latin now as he did when he entered college."
"Is Harry in college?" asked Marion, surprised.
"Yes; he entered on the Sophomore year at Princeton, and is now a senior. He is only at home for his vacation, and expects to graduate next commencement if all goes well."
"I am glad the boys are learning Latin, because I shall be able to help them with their lessons," said Marion, remembering her part of the model elder sister. "What do they mean to make of themselves?"
"That is hardly decided yet," said her mother, smiling; "both Bram and Frank have a turn for natural science, and Frank is a good botanist already. They may both study medicine, or perhaps take to some professorship. Hector says he means to be a tanner and help father, and Rob will be whatever Hector is; they seem to have but one mind between them."
"I thought Asahel was in business with father," said Marion.
"He is in a fashion—that is, father owns the tannery which Asahel is running over at the Bottom. He used to be concerned in this one," said Mrs. Van Alstine, with a little sigh; "and when he was married, father built him a very pretty little house. But Gerty was not contented here, and on the whole it was thought better to make another arrangement, so he went over to Rock Bottom, where there is quite a village. I was sorry, for father misses Asahel very much. You know—or I suppose you don't know—that tanning is a business that runs very much in families. You will find that the eldest son of a tanner is almost always a tanner himself, and joins his father in business. But there is the twelve o'clock bell, and I must go down and see that Maggy is ready. She is apt to be a little unpunctual, unless somebody hurries her at the last. The bell will ring when dinner is ready, and then you will see the family all together, except Aunt Eugenia. She likes to dine in her own room."
The bell rang before Marion had finished brushing her hair and washing her hands. She hurried down and found the whole family assembled round the table, and her father already beginning to carve the mountain of roast beef before him. Her mother had reserved a chair at her right hand, and Marion stepped into it, vexed at herself as usual, and wondering what they would think of her being so late.
"Good-morning, my girl," said Mr. Van Alstine, kindly; "I hope you are quite rested. You know all your brothers by this time, I suppose?"
"I don't believe she does," said Frank. "Well, then, this tall fellow at mother's left hand is Harry, the collegian, and I am Frank, at your service."
"Professor of roots and yarbs at the University of the Cannibal Islands," said one of the boys.
"Exactly," returned Frank, in perfect good-humour; "and this is Abraham, whom the unlettered and vulgar call Abe, but his family in deference to his feelings name him Abraham, and sometimes Bram; and there is Hector McGregor, and Robert Campbell, commonly called Rob Roy, for what reason I leave you to guess."
"And now that you have finished your introductions, my son, pass your sister's plate and help her to some potatoes," said his mother. "Rob, get Marion a napkin. I see Maggy has forgotten it."
"Where's Sally?" asked Rob, as he brought the napkin.
"She has gone over to the saw-mill to spend the day with her sister, who is sick."
The dinner proceeded with abundance of talking and laughing among the boys, but nothing that could be called rudeness. The boys were particularly attentive to her mother, especially Harry, who seemed to anticipate her every want. Certainly, there was nothing resembling the bear-garden Marion had pictured to herself. The appointments of the table were far more elegant than anything she had ever been accustomed to, and she was provoked at herself for being embarrassed with her large silver fork and for feeling shy before her stepfather.
She could not but own, as she looked around, that they were a handsome family. Mr. Van Alstine was a man of rather more than middle age, with black curling hair streaked with gray, hazel eyes, with a spark of red fire in them, as so often happens with hazel eyes, and a composed, somewhat commanding, but very pleasant manner. The elder boys were all like him, with black curls and dark eyes, and well-tanned faces; Robert alone had red hair and blue eyes—a real McGregor, Marion thought as she looked at him. He was ten years old, and Harry, the eldest, about twenty.
"Who is going over to the village to meet Cousin Helen?" asked Mr. Van Alstine, when dinner was nearly over. "Now, don't all speak at once."
"I think Bram and the Scotchman had better go to-day," said Harry; "Frank and I went yesterday."
"Why don't Mr. Overbeck go?" asked Mrs. Van Alstine. "I thought he would take Amity over."
"He can't be spared," said her husband; "we must work all the afternoon to get the hides ready by Monday."
"Don't you want Frank and me?" asked Harry.
"Of course I shall be glad of your help, but I don't want you to spend your vacation in the factory, my boy. I dare say you and the doctor want to be off bug-hunting."
"Oh, the bugs can wait."
"I hope you like insects, Marion," said Abraham.
"I don't think I do," answered Marion. "I am rather afraid of them."
"And of snakes? Don't say you are afraid of snakes, now."
"I am very much afraid of them," said Marion. "I hope they don't grow here."
"Grow!" said Abraham, in a tone of commiseration. "Alas for you! They swarm here. And Frank has a passion for them. He brings in choice specimens alive and confines them in his room by dozens, and then they creep out and wander about the house, and disport themselves fiendishly in the halls and on the stairs."
"Don't you believe him, Marion; it was only one poor, unlucky black snake, and I did not bring him in, either. It was the cat, I suppose; or perhaps he crawled in himself, but Bram always lays him to me."
"You'll see," said Bram.
"And you'll see when I get you alone, old fellow," said Frank, threateningly. "Just wait till I catch you down-stairs."
"Yes, I expect my distracted family will find my mangled body in a pit some time, all tanned into leather. It is a fate to which I have always been looking forward."
"Because your guilty conscience tells you, you deserve it. Come, Harry, let's go down and trim hides, and leave him to plunge into the wild dissipations of the town and spend all his pocket-money in peppermint drops. That's the magnet that draws him over to Ivanhoe. It isn't Cousin Helen; it's the candy-shop. Please excuse us, mother."
"Mother must excuse all of us if she pleases; for if the boys are going over for Helen, there is no time to lose. There! Be off, youngsters, and don't run away with the horses nor let them run away with you."
"Follow, follow, clansmen all," sang Abram as he left the room. "Come along, Scotchmen."
"Marion looks bewildered," said Mr. Van Alstine as he stopped a moment after the boys were gone. "She isn't used to the company of such 'a raft of boys,' as poor Gerty calls them."
"She will soon get used to them," said Mrs. Van Alstine. "They are good boys, though I say it that shouldn't."
"Mother means to make the best of it," thought Marion.
The afternoon brought Amity again, with two of her children—a tall girl just coming to the awkward and opinionated age of fourteen and a solemn little boy of five, who betook himself to Aunt Eugenia for a story, while Bessy began to put Marion through a catechism as to her school, her studies, and her accomplishments, ending with,—
"Did you learn music?"
"No," answered Marion. "We had no piano. I believe I am to begin now."
"Oh, you are a great deal too old to begin now, I should say," remarked Bessy. "You know people who want to play well should begin before their hands are formed. I would keep on with drawing if I were you. Cousin Helen draws beautifully."
"And do you play well?" asked Marion, trying to turn the fire of questions on her adversary.
"Tolerably, considering," was the cool reply. "I can't play like Harry or Stannie, of course, but perhaps I shall. Stannie is going abroad some day to finish her musical education—to Stuttgart or some of those places, you know, where the advantages are so superior."
Marion did not know anything about it, but she would not have said so for a good deal. She could not even remember at the moment where Stuttgart was.
"And who is Stannie?" she asked, again.
"Oh, she's Cousin Helen's daughter, Stanley Andrews. There wasn't any boy, you see, and so she was named for her father. She is at school in Round Spring, but she always comes here for her vacation. Oh, you'll like Stannie. I assure you I'm quite jealous, the boys think so much of her."
"Bessy, my dear, don't you think you are talking rather more than your share?" asked her mother, smilingly. Such a hint would have sent Marion into the sulks for the whole evening, but Bessy only laughed, blushed a little, and put her finger on her lip.
"Suppose, Bessy and Marion, you put on your hats and go out for a little walk," said Mrs. Van Alstine. "The sun is low and it is very pleasant."
"Oh yes, come, Marion, and we'll go and meet the carriage," said Bessie.
Marion would have liked to excuse herself, but she did not know how. She put on her hat, and the two walked up the road to the top of the hill.
"Now you can see all the village," said Bessie; "a grand place, isn't it?"
"I don't see much village," said Marion. "What is that long, low building with the tall chimney?"
"Oh, that's the factory—the tannery, you know. Grandpa will want to take you over it some day; he always does."
"It must be a horrid dirty place."
"Not a bit. Oh, the beam-house is pretty dirty, of course, and it isn't exactly fragrant, you know. But tanning is very healthy work, after all, and particularly good for consumption, they say. The rest is all clean enough. And that largest house is our house, and the other, with green blinds, is Mr. Breck's, the foreman, and the others are where the hands live. And that great barn over the creek is the mule-barn, and that one across the road is the horse-barn, and there is the store and the blacksmith's and the shoemaker's, and that's all, I believe."
"You have left out the nicest of all," said Marion—"that pretty white building with the green blinds and the little bell. What is that?"
"That? Oh yes, that is our little chapel," said Bessie, with a change of tone. "Isn't it pretty? But we mean to have a nicer one some day, and in a better situation, too. Van Alstine & Overbeck mean to build a nice little stone church up on the hill by our house."
"A chapel! And do you have a minister?" asked Marion.
"Yes, every other Sunday; and when he isn't here, grandfather or father conducts the services. Sometimes Harry does when he is at home. You'll see to-morrow."
"And do you have a Sunday school?"
"Of course," answered Bessy, in a surprised tone. "Don't you? I thought everybody had Sunday schools."
"Everybody don't, by a great deal," said Marion, a good deal offended. "We do, of course, but I didn't expect to find one out here in the woods."
"Oh, we are not owls, though we do live in the woods," said Bessy, laughing, in perfect good-nature. "I suppose you thought you were coming among a set of savages, didn't you? See, there comes the carriage and Cousin Helen, but not Stannie. Now, that is too bad. I suppose her grandmother has kept her again."
Bram, who was driving, pulled up and invited the girls to get into the carriage.
Marion was not sorry to accept the invitation, for she still felt tired with her journey, and she was very curious to see the cousin Helen of whom she had heard so much. Mrs. Andrews was a very pretty woman, dressed, as Gerty had described her, in deep widow's mourning, but by no means woebegone or doleful in her expression; on the contrary, she was very bright and cheerful, and as Marion could not but allow very attractive in manner and expression.
"Oh, Cousin Helen, where is Stannie?" exclaimed Bessy.
"Stannie is in Hobartstown with her grandmother, and will be here next week, as I have already stated as many as seven times," replied Mrs. Andrews. "I think I shall delegate Bram to answer the question henceforth, for I am tired of it. How many feet have you grown since I went away, Betsy?"
"Betsy's mother puts a flatiron on her head for three hours every day," said Bram.
"Now, Bram, don't," said Bessy, pathetically; "what will Marion think of us?"
And so, amid much laughter and good-natured "chaff," the ride was concluded.
Marion went to bed at night with her head in a whirl and her ideas thoroughly disorganized.
"Who would have thought everything would have turned out so different?" she said to herself as she got ready for bed. She could not help feeling a little provoked. Not only did they have family prayers every morning and evening, but they had actually a church and Sunday school.
"Of course; don't you?" that impertinent little Bessy had said.
What had become of her fine castle in the air about influencing her father to get up a Sunday school which was to be held in a barn or shed till she could still further influence him to build a small log school-house? Here was a Sunday school already organized, and nobody had even asked her to take a class.
On the contrary, Bessy had said carelessly, "I suppose you will be in Cousin Helen's Bible class, Marion."
She began to feel a positive dislike to Bessy. Why did not Mrs. Overbeck teach her children to call her, Marion, by the proper title of aunt? She decided to assert herself on this point, as soon as possible. She had come to Hemlock Valley determined to be very gracious, considerate, and condescending, and she could not make up her mind to yield her position without an effort; and thinking over various plans for asserting her dignity, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER XIV.
LIFE IN THE WOODS.
SIX weeks had passed since the date of our last chapter. The woods around Hemlock Valley were beginning to put on here and there a dash of red or a shade of brown, and the autumn-blossoming flowers in the gardens were in all their glory; the boys were making daily excursions to the woods to bring home ferns and mosses for the parlour windows. All the "Agricultural Transactions," "Patent-office Reports," and other books of that nature were filled with gay autumn leaves in process of pressing (the only use, by the way, that I ever found for such volumes), and Mrs. Andrews complained pathetically that she could not open an atlas or a dictionary without being covered by a shower of falling foliage.
Marion McGregor was leaning on the gate in front of the house, looking over the fields toward the pasture, and feeling very disconsolate. She was more utterly discontented and unhappy than she had ever been even at Holford, and that was saying a great deal.
We have seen how baseless were all the castles in the air she had built on Hemlock Valley. Instead of a rude, irreligious, ill-bred household, she had found a polite, well-ordered family, the older children kind and helpful to their parents and each other, the younger well governed and affectionate, and all perfectly obedient and respectful—far more so, indeed, than she had ever learned to be.
She had never forgotten—I may say she had never forgiven—her first lesson on that point after her arrival. Some question was being eagerly discussed at the breakfast-table, and Mrs. Van Alstine had pronounced an opinion, to which Marion replied in a tone of contempt:
"Nonsense, mother! How can you say so? That has nothing to do with the matter. You don't know anything about it."
Marion had not intended to show any special disrespect to her mother, of which, to do her justice, she was incapable. She had spoken to Aunt Baby in the same way dozens of times, and unless grandfather happened to hear, nobody took any notice. But now there was a dead silence. Six pair of indignant dark eyes were turned on her at once, and after a moment, Mr. Van Alstine said gravely, but in a tone that carried more weight than a great many scoldings,—
"Marion, my girl, that is not the way to speak to your mother. Don't ever let me hear such a thing again."
Marion was overwhelmed with shame and confusion, but as usual the shame and confusion were not directed so much to the fault as to the impression it had made on others. What would they think of her? How they would look down on her! They would think she had no breeding at all. She burst into tears, rose, and left the table, but nobody came to call her back or took any notice of her till school time.
Then Mrs. Andrews had come to find her.
"I am not coming down," sobbed Marion.
"Nonsense, my dear!" said Mrs. Andrews, kindly but decidedly. "That would be very silly. There is no use in wasting the whole day because you have begun it badly. The way to manifest repentance is not by crying over your fault, but by owning it and trying to do better."
"I don't think I did anything so very dreadful," said Marion, as usual in arms for her own defence.
"Do you remember how angry you were the other day because Bessy told you she didn't want you interfering with her Latin lessons?" said Mrs. Andrews.
"Well, Bessy was very impertinent to me, and she always is impertinent. She ought to remember that I am her aunt and a great deal older than she."
"Well, which demands most respect, an aunt or a mother? However, there is no time to argue the point. I shall expect you in the school-room in ten minutes."
Marion came down in the required time, but she was very sulky, and went to her own room again the moment school was over. She never spoke a word at the dinner-table, but nobody seemed to notice her silence, and she felt that her offended dignity was all thrown away.
Marion had been disappointed in every way. Idle as she had been in school for the last two years, she had somehow imagined that she should be very much in advance of her brothers, and she had made the most amiable plans for helping them in their studies. But, alas! even little Rob and Hector were better at parsing English than herself. Bram criticised her false quantities in Latin without mercy, and even Mrs. Andrews smiled at some of her translations. Instead of being prepared to help her brothers, she was obliged to strain every nerve in the endeavour to keep up with them. The idle and careless habits of study in which she had lately indulged did not help her at all. It was very mortifying.
Marion had not forgotten her resolution to help her mother in housekeeping, but she was as unfortunate in this as in other directions. She had begun by putting the boys' rooms in order, beginning with Frank's and Abram's, where she had found stored away a great quantity of trash, as she called it. There was a long set of shelves, evidently of domestic manufacture, filled with labelled stones and specimens of various kinds, and all, it must be acknowledged, somewhat dusty, while in a large basket in one corner were piled a quantity of short sticks of wood.
"How silly of Frank to keep this wood up here, when he has no stove!" thought Marion.
She took down all the contents of the shelves, dusted them, and restored them in the order which seemed to her best, and then, piling the wood in the basket, she carried it down and threw it into the kitchen wood-box. She was busy in the school-room not long afterward, when Frank came down, followed by Bram.
"Marion, have you been in my room?" he asked, in measured tones, as if determined not to speak sharply, come what might.
"Yes," answered Marion, all unconscious of the mischief she had done, and as she thought perceiving an opening for one of those moral lessons which seemed likely to be wasted by keeping. "I have put it all in nice order, and I hope you will keep it so. There can be no excuse for such disorder even in a boy. You certainly don't want a great basket of wood in your room this time of year."
"Oh!" said Frank, preserving his enforced composure. "And what have you done with this basket of wood that I didn't want, if I may venture to ask?"
"I took it down and put it in the kitchen, wood-box, where it ought to be," answered Marion. "Why should you speak so, Frank? I don't think that is very kind, after I have just taken so much pains for you."
"Then another time, I wish you would let my room alone," exclaimed Frank, his temper giving way at last. "Pains, indeed! I wish you had been a hundred miles off before you touched it. I should think any idiot would have known better."
"Frank, old boy!" said Bram, warningly.
"Well, I do," said Frank. "It is too bad! After all the pains I had taken, to go and throw away—" Frank's voice broke down, and he evidently had much to do not to burst out crying.
"Frank, my son, what is the matter?" said his mother, entering the room and looking with surprise to see Frank's emotion and Marion's face of anger. "I hope you haven't been getting in a passion again."
Frank tried to speak, but failed and rushed out of the room.
"What is the matter?" said Mrs. Van Alstine, again.
"There is nothing the matter, only Frank has been making a fuss about nothing," said Marion, in her most dignified manner; "but I suppose he will be sustained in it, of course."
"There is a good deal the matter, I think," said Bram, more moved than was at all usual, for he had the most placid temper in the family. "Marion has been putting our room in order, and she has jumbled all our geological specimens together and thrown Frank's native woods into the kitchen wood-box."
"What, not the collection of native woods he has been making so long?" said Mrs. Van Alstine. "Not that he was making for Professor G. of the woods of Pennsylvania? Oh, Marion!"
"Yes, mamma, she has. Frank has had them all seasoned up in the loft at the factory. We have been busy ever so long planing and polishing one side, so as to show the grain when manufactured, and yesterday we brought them all up-stairs to arrange and put the labels on."
"Poor Frank! No wonder he is vexed," said her mother. "He has been a year making that collection, and it was really very complete and valuable. Marion, my dear, don't you know I told you not to meddle with the boys' things?"
"I should like to know how I was to put their rooms in order without meddling," said Marion, injured, as usual.
"But you were not asked to put them in order, only to make the beds and lay clean cloths on the bureaus and stands. I hope you have not been going on so in Harry's room?"
"Harry's room was not in such a state. I only piled up his books and papers in some kind of order."
"And so lost all the references he has been finding for his essay this week past," said Abram. "Well, I declare, sis, you have made a good morning's work."
"It isn't quite so bad as it might be, after all," said Frank, reappearing with a brighter face. "Maggy had sense enough to see that so many pieces of wood, all the same size and all carefully polished on one side, could not be common kindling wood. The dear old soul said she had put two or three in the stove 'afore she noticed.' But when she came to look, she saw that, she said, 'They was some of Mr. Frank's curiosities and nonsense,' and she carefully laid them all on one side. She shall have the nicest calico dress I can find in Ivanhoe."
"Maggy is a sensible, careful woman," said his mother, looking very much relieved. "I am glad your collection is saved, Frank, and I am sure you won't bear malice to poor Marie."
"Poor Marie!" Marion's proud heart swelled. Had it come to that?
"Of course not," said Frank. "Never mind, Marie; what could one expect but that MeGregors should make raids? We shall have to give you black mail, as people used to give to your forbear, Rob Roy. Come, Bram, let's go and put the stones in order."
Marion had read "Rob Roy," but she was too angry to enjoy the joke, even if it had not been against herself. The moment the boys were gone she burst forth:
"Well, mother, I must say I think you are rather too bad to take the part of those rude boys against me."
"Why not? They were right and you were wrong. I told you specially what I wanted of you; and if you had obeyed, it would have been all right."
"It was just so about Rob's going fishing," continued Marion. "I told him he should not go because it looked likely to rain, and you let him go directly. I don't see how I am to manage at all if you do so; and Cousin Helen is just as bad. If I say a word to the little boys or to Betsy or Eiley in the school-room, all the thanks I get is, 'Marion, don't interfere, if you please,' and of course I can't influence them in the least. I came here to be useful and to help you," said Marion, with pathetic dignity; "but if that is the way it is always going to be, I don't see how I can do anything."
"If you want to help people acceptably, you must do it in their way, and not in yours," said her mother. "It is anything but a help to have you contradict my directions or interfere with the other children. You see what a great misfortune nearly happened this morning simply because you did not obey directions. Only for Maggy's having more observation and discretion than yourself, the whole of Frank's valuable collection would have been destroyed."
"Oh, very well!" said Marion, actually trembling with anger. "If Maggy is to be put over my head as well as the children, I think it is time I went away. I should like to go directly, if you please. I see plainly that I am not wanted here."
"You will never be wanted anywhere, Marion, unless you learn a little Christian humility," said her mother, more severely than usual. "You are setting a very bad example to Bessy and the other children. Cousin Helen has complained of you more than once for meddling and interfering. Unless you try to do better, I shall have to speak to your father. I can't think what Barbara was about to spoil you so."
Marion burst into tears.
"There is no use in crying," said her mother, with some sharpness, for she was not well and very busy. "Try to do better another time, that is all."
Marion retreated to her own room to go though her usual fit of crying, and then of mortification and vain regret. But, as usual, her regret was not so much that she had done wrong, as that others would think her wrong, and, above all, that they would think her silly. It was not "How could I be so obstinate and self-conceited as not to follow mother's directions?" but "How silly I was not to see that those were not common sticks of firewood! Even Maggy, that stupid old Irish woman, knew better. And I need not have been so angry and have spoken so to mother. What will they all think of me? Oh dear. There never was anybody pursued by such an evil fate as I am. I meant to be so amiable and set such a good example, and now I have lost all chance of ever influencing those boys."
"Oh, come, sis, never mind any more about the scientific woodpile," said Frank, an hour or two afterward, finding Marion leaning on the verandah railing with a very doleful face. "I am sorry I was so sharp; but you must admit it was rather aggravating to have my fine collection that I had been making so long tumbled into the kitchen wood-box. Come, don't mind anything about it. Don't you want to go up the Cedar Run with us? We are going after ground-pine and ferns to dress up Stannie's room. You know she is coming to-morrow. You have never seen the Cedar Run. There is a dear little waterfall on it; and when Stannie comes, we mean to have a tea-party up there. Come!"
"I'm sure you are very good, Frank," said Marion, her ill-humour fairly overcome by his good-nature.
"Fiddle!" said Frank, boy-fashion. "What is the use of laying up things? Come, put on your oldest and shortest dress, for we are going 'cross lots, and you'll see sights in the way of climbing fences, I can tell you."
And so this matter seemed happily disposed of, but Marion still felt very unhappy. She had made herself laughed at, she had shown less sense than Maggy. The boys would despise her, and her mother would think she was not a Christian.
I once read in a Roman Catholic book of devotion a direction which has always seemed to me full of wisdom:
"When you are convicted of a fault, acknowledge it openly and frankly,
repent of it heartily, and then put it out of your mind entirely."
Marion did none of these things. She would not confess frankly even to herself that she had done wrong in disobeying her mother.
"I suppose I ought to have done as she told me, but then she need not treat me as a child." And this "but then" spoiled the admission. Neither was her repentance hearty; and so far from putting it out of her mind, she kept turning it over and over and imagining a scene in which she was the aggrieved party and her mother and brothers were obliged to make acknowledgments to her.
Stanley Andrews came, and proved to be a pleasant fresh, unaffected girl, ready to please and be pleased, throwing herself into the family life at Hemlock Valley as if she belonged to it, and making it the brighter and pleasanter for her presence. Bessy clung to her like a burr.
Bessy and Marion had not got on well together. She had somewhat resented and a good deal laughed at Marion's attempt to exact the respect due to her age and position.
"You are nobody but a school-girl like myself, and I am sure you don't know so much more than I do," said the uncompromising young woman. "Of course I'll call you 'aunty' if you want me to, but I think it is ridiculous, when we are so nearly of an age. Bram and Frank are six months older than you, so I suppose I ought to call them 'uncles.' I say, 'Uncle Bram'!"
"Uncle!" said Bram. "How long since, Betsy?"
"Well, Marion says she is 'Aunt Marion,' so I suppose what is sauce for the 'aunt' is sauce for the 'uncle,' isn't it?" asked Bessy, demurely.
"There is no danger of any want of sauce where you are," said Bram. "Never mind, Marion; we all know Betsy."
But Marion did mind very much—so much that she carried the matter to her mother.
"I don't think I would mind, dear," said poor Eiley, who began to wish that she had left Marion where she was. "You see the children have come along so near together they have been more like brothers and sisters than anything else. It may not have been the best way, but we can't help it now, and I don't think I would try."
Stanley was a year older than Marion. She was in the Senior class at Round Springs, and would graduate in another year, but she did not stand on her dignity at all. She walked and rode, gathered specimens with the older boys, talked metaphysics and philosophy with Harry, music with Bessy, and dolls with little Eileen Overbeck with equal willingness and apparently equal pleasure. Her mother would not allow her to do any lessons in vacation-time except her music, and Stanley took possession of the piano in school-hours, working hard at exercises and studies of all sorts, and now and then disporting herself in a Strauss waltz or a song. She was fully prepared to find a pleasant companion in Marion, and met her with simple cordiality.
Marion wished to respond, but she was thinking of herself and the impression she was likely to make, and consequently she was at once awkward and condescending.
"Aunt Eugenia doesn't seem as well as usual, I think," remarked Stanley at dinner one day. "She seems nervous and more like being irritable than I have ever seen her. She didn't even care about the snuff that I brought her."
"I have noticed a change for several days," said Mrs. Van Alstine. "She is uneasy all the time, as if she missed something, and she doesn't have a nap in the afternoon, as she used to."
"That won't do," said Mr. Van Alstine. "We must have the doctor over. I'll go in and see her after dinner."
Mr. Van Alstine was as good as his word, but Aunt Eugenia would not hear of the doctor.
"It is nothing, Ezra, only—Well, the fact is, I suppose, I miss my snuff."
"Your snuff!" said her nephew. "And how happens it that you haven't any snuff? The Scotchman will go after some directly."
"No, thank you, Ezra. The truth is, Marion has said so much about its being a bad habit and making me so disagreeable, and that it was inconsistent in a Christian to use tobacco, that I thought I would try to do without it."
The red spark shot from Mr. Van Alstine's eyes, and then he laughed:
"If ever I saw such a girl! I believe she wouldn't hesitate to regulate the solar system if she could only get her hand on the crank. She was talking to Overbeck the other day on the wickedness of selling the men tobacco at the store. But this won't do, Aunt Eugenia. I don't say I think snuff-taking a good habit, and I wouldn't advise young people to use tobacco in any shape, but I don't think eighty-eight is a good time to begin to leave it off, especially when one is blind into the bargain."
"I don't suppose I should have begun it if I hadn't always been blind," said Aunt Eugenia, "though the best and the most elegant people took snuff when I was young."
"To be sure; my mother always did. Come, now, let me fill your snuff-box and make you comfortable."
"But don't find fault with Marion," said the kind-hearted old lady, accepting the long used and sorely missed stimulant. "Marion naturally doesn't know what it is to have no eyes. She means well, I am sure, and she is very kind in reading to me. She is only a little conceited, and time will cure that."
"More than a little, I am afraid," said Mr. Van Alstine. "Never fear, auntie; I shall not be hard upon her, but I have seen for some time that Marion needs taking down a little. She has sense enough, if she did not think she had more than any one else in the world."
Nevertheless, Marion thought Mr. Van Alstine was very hard on her.
"See here, my girl, I want to tell you something," said he as he found her sitting on the verandah with a book. "Did you ever hear how it was that Mr. Abbott Lawrence made his great fortune?"
"No, sir," answered Marion, all unsuspicious.
"Well, I'll tell you: it was by minding his own business. I'm afraid you won't make one in the same way unless you begin pretty soon. I am very glad to have you do all you can for auntie, but don't meddle with her snuff-box again."
This was all he said, but it was enough to make Marion abandon her book and betake herself to melancholy musings leaning over the gate. The prospect was not a very lively one. There was nothing to see but the horse-barn across the road, where old James was impartially dividing a piece of meat among his army of cats; the mule-pasture with the road winding through it which led to the saw-mill; and beyond, unlimited woods clothing the sides of the valley. A mule-wagon heavily loaded with bark was coming up the road, another load was being weighed on the scales opposite the store, and Mr. Overbeck, in his shirt-sleeves, was attending to the process. There was nobody else in sight. Marion leaned on the gate and looked up and down the street.
"Oh dear!" she sighed. "I used to think it was stupid and tiresome at grandfather's, but it is ten times worse here. I might have known better than to interfere with Aunt Eugenia's snuff-box. Of course, with such an old lady, how ridiculous it was! Oh dear! I thought I was going to have so much influence here and do so much good, and now I wish I had not come. I never can make them respect me after this, and there is no use in trying. There's Stanley, now. I don't believe she cares one bit about having an influence or setting an example, and she can do just what she pleases. She has broken Bessy of saying 'Hallo!' and Eiley of drawling and saying 'Yas-m,' and the boys think there is nobody like her. I believe it is because she has been to boarding-school so much. I wish I could go, but I never can have half a chance."
She looked up as she spoke, and saw Gertrude Van Alstine's carriage coming over the hill.
CHAPTER XV.
MRS. GERTRUDE.
GERTRUDE had not been at the valley for a visit since Marion's arrival, notwithstanding her professed intention to visit her immediately. There had been talk of an expedition to Rock Bottom, but it had never come to anything.
Marion had taken a fancy to Gerty on the only occasion of their meeting, and was very glad to see her again. She went into the house to announce the arrival.
The three elder ladies were sitting together in council over some clothes for an unprovided twin among the factory-hands, and Stanley and Bessy were practicing a tremendously classical and scientific duet on the piano, Bessy having arrived at the particular stage of her musical education when she looked upon tunes with great contempt.
"Gerty is coming, mother," said Marion. "I saw the carriage coming over the hill."
The three ladies looked at each other, and Marion thought there was a little dismay in their glances.
"What does she want this time?" said irrepressible Bessy.
"To see her friends, no doubt," replied her mother, with a look which Bessy well understood as a hint that she was to say no more. It was curious to see how entirely the sharp, bright, and somewhat forward girl was "held in hand" by her good-humoured, gentle mother.
"Can I help you, mother?" said Amity, turning to Mrs. Van Alstine.
"No, thank you. I believe everything is in order in the north room. You might just step up and see if you don't mind, Stannie."
It struck Marion that Gertrude's arrival produced more commotion than was to be expected from an event apparently so simple in its character. Her mother was actually nervous, Stanley looked discomposed and uneasy, and even placid Amity was evidently somewhat disturbed. The whole party came to the door to receive the visitor, who now drove up.
"You are a great stranger," said Mrs. Van Alstine when the first greetings were past.
"Yes, I am very much confined," answered Gerty, with an air of fatigued resignation. "We have so much company. There is hardly a day that somebody does not come to dinner. That is the beauty of being a tanner's wife. But I suppose there is no help for it now. I think you are not looking very well, either, mother. I'm sure you ought not to be overburdened, with so many to help you. I see Stanley is here for her vacation, as usual."
"Certainly," answered Mrs. Van Alstine, promptly; "where should she spend it but with her mother? I am sure she is a great comfort."
"Oh, of course! I am glad you should have her, I am sure. Some people might think it rather—However, of course, it is no concern of mine. She is very pretty, certainly."
"Won't you go up-stairs and take your things off?" said Mrs. Van Alstine. "You mean to stay now you have come, do you not? Where is Asahel?"
"Oh, he went on down to the factory to see father about some business. I think I will go up-stairs and rest a little. It is a very tiresome ride, all up and down hill so. What a pretty black silk that is, Amity! Your old one made over, I suppose?"
"No; this is a new one my husband gave me this summer."
"What, another new dress!" said Gerty, in a tone of surprise. "Well, if I ever!"
Amity smiled, but made no reply. Bessy looked indignant; and when Gerty disappeared, her indignation burst forth:
"Well, I do say—"
"Hush, Bessy!" said her mother.
"As if it was any of her business!"
"Bessy, my dear!"
"And about Stanley, too!"
"Bessy, my love! You had better finish your lesson."
"Well, I will, mamma dear. And I won't say it out if it chokes me. Come, Stannie, let's finish our duet, and then she'll say, 'Is that piano always going'?"
"What's the matter?" asked Stanley, who had just come back.
"Never mind; it's only Gerty. Come, I must go at something to ease my mind."
Asahel came up to tea with his father, and Mrs. Gerty came down refreshed with her nap, looking as pretty as possible and very good-natured and agreeable. Marion thought Asahel had a worn, harassed look, and her father's black brows were rather nearer together than common, but he was, as usual, kind and pleasant to every one.
"Henry has gone back to college, I suppose?" said Gertrude.
"Not yet," answered Mr. Van Alstine. "It is his Senior year, you know, and he has some privileges accordingly. He and the boys have gone over to Pocono after some wonderful vegetable or other that Frank has got word of, and won't be home till to-morrow."
"Really! He makes the most of his holidays. And what is he going to do with himself after he leaves college?"
"He means to study for the ministry, I believe."
"What, Henry! Well, I declare! I should never have thought of that. Do you hear, Asahel? Henry is going to be a minister."
"Well, why not?" said Asahel. "I think he will make a very good one. He was always a sober old fellow."
"Well, I must say I am surprised. I met one of Henry's college friends up at B—, and from what he told me, I should have thought the ministry was about the last thing. However, I suppose all boys must sow their wild oats, whether they are to be ministers or not. I am sorry he is away. I have hardly seen him."
"He has been over at the Bottom several times, but I think you were away every time," said Mrs. Van Alstine. "How did you find your cousins?"
Mrs. Gertrude was diverted from family matters for the time to enlarge upon her city visit and relations. She had had a very nice time, it appeared, and had been a person of great consequence.
After supper she joined Marion and Stanley, who were standing on the verandah watching the sunset.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked.
"Listening to the owls," answered Stanley. "'The moping owl does to the moon complain.' The owl is one of our principal singing-birds in Hemlock Valley."
"Doleful, dismal, stupid old hole!" said Gerty. "Don't you think so?"
"Not I, indeed," said Stanley; "I love it dearly, owls and all."
"Of course you do," said Gerty, laughing significantly; "no need to tell us that, Miss Stanley. I was asking Marion, who has not quite the same reasons for liking it that you have."
"I like it very well," said Marion. "I think the valley is beautiful; and I am sure I have as many reasons for liking it as Stanley, if it comes to that. I have as many friends as she has."
Marion spoke with some little warmth. However hardly she might think of her own family, she did not like to have any one else speak ill of them.
"Oh, of course, only not quite. But how any one can like such a hole in the woods as this! You don't have any society."
"Oh yes, we have plenty of company; besides that, we make up a tolerably sized society of our own," said Stanley, as if determined not to be vexed.
"Stanley, my dear, have you a shawl on?" called her mother from within.
"I am coming in, mother," answered Stanley. "Will you come, Marie?"
"Marie and I are going to take a little walk together," said Gerty. "I wish you would bring me a hood or something, Stanley."
Stanley brought the hood, and Marion and Gerty walked down toward the gate.
"Well, and how do you get on?" asked Gertrude.
"Very well," said Marion; but she could not repress a little sigh, which Gerty's quick ear caught directly.
"Stanley makes a long stay, doesn't she?" said Gerty. "I don't know which I wonder at most, her mother's blindness or father's."
"Blindness?" repeated Marion. "What do you mean?"
"Why, can't you see, you little innocent, that she is setting her cap for Harry? I am very much mistaken if they do not understand each other already."
"Well, what if they do? I am sure Stanley would make an excellent minister's wife," said Marion, whose better nature could not help liking Stanley, despite her occasional fits of jealousy.
"Yes, but think what a disadvantage to him to be entangled so young in an engagement to a girl without a cent in the world! I don't believe that her mother will allow that, however. I fancy she has higher views for Stanley than making her a minister's wife. I hear she means to take her abroad."
Marion did not know what to say. To her unsophisticated New England mind, marrying a minister seemed anything but a poor prospect—marrying Harry especially.
"However, it is none of my business, I suppose," continued Gertrude; "I washed my hands of the whole concern long ago. But that was not what I was going to say when I brought you out here by ourselves. Marion, I want you to come and make me a good long visit. It would be a real mercy to me, I know, and I will try to make it pleasant for you. I am so much alone, and with my delicate health it is very depressing. The Bottom is a pretty little place, and we have some very good society there. I am sure you would enjoy yourself."
"I should, I dare say; but there are my lessons, you know," said Marion, doubtfully.
"Oh, your lessons won't suffer; you can bring your books along and I can help you with them, and I have a piano. I suppose you have begun music?"
"No; Cousin Helen advised me not," said Marion. "She said it was late for me to begin, and I would do better to keep on with my drawing, because I had a real talent and had a good start. I am getting on nicely with that, she says."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Gerty, significantly. "I should not suppose she was the one to decide about that. I think every young lady should know something of music, as there is no knowing when she may be called upon to play. However, I know how Mrs. Andrews gets everything under her thumb."
"I have learned a little music," said Marion. "I knew the notes a long time ago, and Lizzy Gates showed me the piano keys and some tunes when I was at home, and Stanley has taught me two or three very pretty pieces since she came. But I am sure I should never play like Stanley, or even Bessy, if I was to practice for ever; and I like drawing a great deal better, after all. Cousin Helen paints beautifully in water-colours."
"Oh, well, no doubt you do well to make the best of it, but I should hardly—However, I never even hint a word of advice about family affairs nowadays. But I really wish you could come and stay with me a few weeks or months. You could do so much to make the house cheerful and you must see that it is very hard for me to be alone all day long, with nobody to speak to but the servant. Come, I know you will. And you might do so much good in our Sunday School. But I suppose you have a class here, of course?"
"No, I am in Cousin Helen's Bible class," said Marion, who was rather sensitive on this point.
"Indeed! Well, I am surprised. However of course, Mrs. Andrews manages that as she does everything else—her own way. I suppose she will want to run the tannery next."
"Have you a Sunday school at Rock Bottom?" asked Marion.
"Oh yes, and a very nice church and minister—at least every one thinks him very nice. I confess his preaching does not come up to my ideas. I like a sermon to be an intellectual feast. Oh how I did enjoy my Sundays in B—! It did seem a little hard to come back and be buried in such a place as Rock Bottom again. I do wish Asahel would move over to Coaltown and engage in some business there. But come, now, say that you will go home with us when we go. I am sure you will like it."
And Marion at last said she would go if mother was willing.
"Oh, mother will be willing if I want you. I always get my way somehow or other," said Gerty. "I have a great deal of will-power. I don't believe in giving up, and I almost invariably carry out my schemes."
"But somebody must give up," said Marion. "All the people in the world can't have their own way. For instance, if you have a plan, and I have another, exactly opposed to it, one of us must give way."
"There comes a leaf out of Mrs. Andrews's book," said Gerty, laughing. "I see she is getting you under her thumb as she does every one else—everybody but me, that is. I did have to give up that time," said Gerty, with a sigh. "I own I am no match for a woman like her. I could not live in the same place with her; and as they were all with her and against me, I gave way for the sake of peace. But about your going with me. I'll tell you what I will do. I have a very nice piano and play very well, though I say it. Indeed, I was called the best pianist in my class at Eaton College, though, thanks to favouritism, I wasn't allowed to play at the class concert. I'll give you lessons on the piano, and you will show Mrs. Andrews that she does not know everything."
"Girls, what are you doing out in this dew?" said Mr. Van Alstine, coming in at the gate. "It is enough to wet you through and through, and give you both rheumatism."
"And to take all the stiffness out of my new piqué," exclaimed Gerty, in alarm. "And I dare say I have soiled the bottom on this horrid tanbark walk. Now, if that is not too bad!"
"You should have had more wit," said Mr. Van Alstine. "Come, never mind; it's only calico, isn't it?"
"Calico, indeed! My beautiful new piqué that I gave a dollar a yard for at Stewart's! I might have known better. Come, Marion, let's go in."