CHAPTER X
A GIFT OF WILDFLOWERS
OF course, Dorothy and Nancy were greatly interested in the letter, and Uncle Harry said that he was glad that Reginald had thought to say that the fish-bone had been removed from Carlo's throat.
He said it would have seemed quite a trip to take to leave the Cleverton, and go to Merrivale to feel Carlo's pulse, and inquire for his health.
"Now that that bone is removed, I breathe easier," said Uncle Harry, "and so does Carlo!"
"Oh, you wouldn't have gone home just to call on Carlo," said Flossie.
"Well, I don't know," he said, trying to look solemn, "I wouldn't like Carlo to feel neglected, and now I think of it, does Reginald speak of the cat?"
"No," said Flossie, "but when I answer the letter, I'll tell Reginald you're anxious about her."
"I am," said Uncle Harry, "because the last time I saw her, Carlo was barking at her very rudely, and her back was up in a hump like a camel's. Reginald ought to have told us if her back is still up, or whether she has taken the kink out of her spine. We might telephone and ask, instead of worrying."
He rose, and walked toward the hall, whistling as he went, an old nursery song that he used to sing to Flossie.
"The cat came fiddling out of the barn,
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm."
"Look!" said Flossie, "he's going right toward the telephone, just to make us think that he's truly going to ring up Reginald, and inquire for the cat."
"Who is Arabella?" Floretta asked.
"She lives near us," said Dorothy, "and she used to go to Aunt Charlotte's private school with us."
"Doesn't she now?" asked Floretta.
"No, she left our class, and went to a large school in the city."
"By what the letter says, I'd think she was rather queer," said Floretta.
"Well—" said Dorothy, hesitating, "Arabella is queer."
"Why don't you like to say so?" was the sharp reply.
"Because Dorothy never likes to say anything that isn't kind about any one, but Arabella is queer, so Dorothy won't say she isn't," said Nancy.
It was a few days later that Dorothy was reminded of what Reginald had said in his letter to Flossie.
She was waiting for Nancy to go for a walk, and stooping to pick some of the pretty wildflowers that blossomed everywhere.
She had walked slowly along toward the clump of white birches where, when they had first arrived, they had called, and listened to the echo.
She looked back toward the hotel, but Nancy was not yet in sight, so she seated herself upon the grass, and began to arrange the flowers in a fine bouquet.
She was trying to mix the white blossoms and pink buds so as to show the beauty of each, when a carriage passed, and before she looked up a shrill little voice shouted:
"Dorothy! Dorothy! We're over at the farmhouse just beyond the Merlington. Aunt Matilda wouldn't let pa take us to a hotel. She doesn't approve of hotels. Aunt Matilda says,—"
She was looking back to shout at Dorothy, and doubtless would have given even more particulars, but a firm hand had hastily forced her to turn around, and sit down.
Nancy ran along the path a few moments later, and her eyes were dancing.
"Did you see Arabella?" she asked. "Did you?"
"Yes, just a few moments ago, and she turned around in the carriage and screamed to me," said Dorothy.
"I can guess what she said," laughed Nancy, "because she screamed at me. She told me she was staying at a farmhouse, and said that her Aunt Matilda didn't approve of hotels."
"That is just what she said," said Dorothy, "and she would have said more but some one, I think it was her Aunt Matilda, pulled her back into the carriage."
"Why, that's just the way it was when I saw her. I ran out on to the piazza, and down the steps, and the carriage rolled by, and she twisted round to shout. There was this difference, though," said Nancy. "You were out here alone, and no one would know if you laughed, but when I ran out, our piazza was full of people, and when Arabella shouted, you'd ought to have seen them look.
"Flossie and her Uncle Harry were on the lawn, and as she rode past, he said with a sigh:
"'Arabella, Arabella,
If I had my new umbrella,'
and I was wild to know the rest of it, but his wife, who was standing near him, said:
"'Hush, Harry, really you mustn't,' and he only laughed, and said:
"'Oh, mustn't I? Why, when I saw Arabella and her Aunt Matilda, I really felt as if I must!'"
"Let's ask him what the rest of the verse is," said Dorothy.
"I'm wild to hear it," Nancy said, "because the very way he looked made me think that the other lines, whatever they were, would be funny."
She stooped to gather more of the little blossoms to add to Dorothy's bouquet, and then commenced to make a bouquet of her own.
"Arabella will be coming over to see you," she said, a moment later, "and I wonder if it is naughty to say, 'I wish she wouldn't?' Do you think it is?"
"I don't know," said Dorothy, "but I do wish it. I wouldn't, only she is so hard to please. Mamma wishes us to be nice to every one, but, Nancy, you do know that when we try the hardest to please Arabella, we don't please her at all."
"I know it," agreed Nancy, "but perhaps she'll come some time when we are out, and then we won't have to amuse her."
"I'm sure I ought not to say it, but I do wish it would happen that way," said Dorothy.
They had reached the birches, and they paused to wake the echo. What fun it was to hear their shouts repeated.
Again and again they called, and then a droll thing happened. They had called this name and that, and each time the echo, like a voice from the mountain, had repeated it with wonderful distinctness. Then Dorothy, leaning forward, called, loudly:
"Dorothy!"
"What?" came the reply.
She turned, and looked at Nancy. "Dorothy!" she cried, again.
"Dainty!" was the answer, and upon looking toward a little path that was nearly opposite where they were standing, they saw the low bushes move, and faintly they heard a smothered laugh.
"Boys!" she cried, and back came the laughing echo:
"Girls!" and then the boys peeped out a bit too far, and Dorothy saw who had been playing echo.
It was Jack Tiverton and a boy whom he had chosen for a "chum." Jack had not intended so soon to be discovered, and he and his friend disappeared in a little grove, while Dorothy and Nancy continued their walk.
There were sunny paths and bits of woodland that were so near the hotel as to be absolutely safe, where all the summer guests, especially the children, loved to roam at will. Along one of these little paths were sweet little yellow blossoms, and these they gathered to brighten their bouquets.
"Let's have some of these little vines to hang from our bouquets," said Dorothy, and the graceful vines proved to be an added beauty.
When they returned to the Cleverton there were but few people upon the piazza.
Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte sat talking with Mrs. Vinton, and farther along, Mrs. Fenton sat with an open book upon her lap, although she was not reading.
She often had a book or magazine, but rarely did she read them.
She would sit looking off at the distant mountain-range, the white clouds, or the sunny valley over which those clouds cast floating shadows.
Did she hear the conversation, or notice what was going on about her? Floretta Paxton said that Mrs. Fenton acted as if she sat there to watch some one; and was Floretta right? Mrs. Fenton's actions certainly seemed strange day after day. She talked little, took slight interest in what was going on about her, and was a mystery to all the other guests.
But what, or whom could she be watching?
Dorothy and Nancy, returning from their walk, saw the group, and also noticed Mrs. Fenton, who always chose to sit apart from the others.
"I'll give my flowers to mamma and Mrs. Vinton," said Dorothy.
"And I'll give mine to Aunt Charlotte and to Mrs. Fenton,—if she wants them," said Nancy, hesitating because it was so hard to guess what might, or might not, please Mrs. Fenton.
Dorothy ran to show her blossoms to her mamma and to Mrs. Vinton, while Nancy, pausing beside Mrs. Fenton's chair, held forth her pretty bouquet, as she said:
"We've just gathered them. Aren't they pretty?"
"Lovely, very lovely," said Mrs. Fenton, with more interest than usual. "I remember picking just such flowers; even the long vines I know are like those I used to see when I was a little girl."
"Would you enjoy some of these? I'd so like to give them to you," Nancy said, and she was surprised at the quick reply.
"I would really prize them, Nancy, and you're a sweet child to give them to me," she said.
Quickly Nancy divided the bouquet, and smiled as she laid the pretty things in Mrs. Fenton's lap.
"I cannot let them wilt, so I will take them at once to my room," said Mrs. Fenton, and Nancy saw her bend to catch their perfume, as she turned toward the hall.
That night, when nearly all the guests had entered the dining-room, Mrs. Fenton came in at the main entrance, and as she sat nearly opposite Mrs. Dainty's party, they noticed that the bodice of her black lace gown was given color by the pretty wildflowers that Nancy had given her. They were the first flowers that she had worn since her arrival.
Nancy smiled with pleasure, and Mrs. Fenton, looking across the table, returned the smile.
Had the gift of simple wildflowers cheered her?
Thus far she had worn only black, but to-night a dull gold slip shimmered through the black lace; and were her eyes brighter?
Nancy thought so, and without knowing why, was glad.
There was a musicale in the evening, and Mrs. Fenton joined Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte, and seemed to enjoy the conversation, between the numbers of the program.
Once, while she was talking, she laid her hand lightly upon Nancy's shoulder, and Nancy looked up to smile. Aunt Charlotte saw that the lady was more cheerful, and also noticed that she wore Nancy's flowers. The evening passed pleasantly, and Nancy's drowsy words, just before she went to sleep, were:
"I do really think I cheered her."
A few days later Mrs. Dainty invited Mrs. Fenton to be her guest during a drive over a lovely road that neither of them had yet seen. It was said to be one of the most picturesque roads in that section of the country.
Mrs. Fenton accepted, and with Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Vinton they formed a pleasant party.
Dorothy and Nancy were to drive in their little phaeton, and they felt quite as important as the four ladies in the barouche.
True, Mrs. Dainty owned a handsome span of bays, but was not the pony, Romeo, a beauty?
The road was some distance from the Cleverton, and there were some charming places to be seen on the way, so it happened that the trip, which proved to be most enjoyable, occupied the afternoon.
Mrs. Paxton had a number of letters to write, and Floretta, feeling very lonely, and wishing that she had some one to play with, climbed into a hammock, and wondered what she might do to amuse herself.
"Every one but me has gone somewhere, and I wish I had," she said, as she gave a smart kick that sent the hammock higher.
"What's the fun of swinging alone?" she grumbled, but there was no one on the piazza to answer her, and she let the hammock sway lazily while she looked down the sunny road, and thought how strange it was that the place seemed so still.
Not a leaf stirred, and Floretta's disgust increased.
"Nothing in sight, not even an old hen," she said, when, way down where the road looked so narrow and distant, a little figure appeared, coming directly toward the Cleverton. She watched the approaching figure, and wondered who it might be.
"'Tisn't any one I know," she thought, "and doesn't she look queer?"
Any one who had ever known Arabella Corryville would also have known that she always looked decidedly odd and strange, and it was Arabella who was marching steadily along the road.
So determined was her tread that one might have thought that there was a band behind her playing martial music to which she was obliged to keep step.
"Well, whoever she is, she's carrying an umbrella, this pleasant day," murmured Floretta; then as she came near, she added:
"And wearing rubbers and a raincoat, as true as I live!"
Arabella was more bundled and wrapped than at first appeared, for, as she came up the gravel walk, Floretta saw that a long veil was closely tied over her hat, and wound about her throat.
From her appearance one might have thought that she expected freezing weather before night.
She walked up on to the piazza, and then stood, for a moment, looking about, as if in search of some one.
It was not politeness that prompted Floretta to speak. It was simply curiosity. She was wild to know who the strange-looking child was, and whom she wished to see.
"Are you looking for some one?" she asked, at the same time slipping from the hammock, and going so close to Arabella that she could peep into the queer little face.