SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES.
The next day was Saturday; the sun did not show itself from behind the clouds till noon, and Quincy put off his trip to the Eastborough Centre post office with the hope that the afternoon would be pleasant. His wish was gratified, and at dinner he said he was going to drive over to Eastborough Centre, and asked Miss Pettengill if she would not like to accompany him. Alice hesitated, but Uncle Ike advised her to go, telling her that she stayed indoors too much and needed outdoor exercise. Ezekiel agreed with his uncle, and Alice finally gave what seemed to Quincy to be a somewhat reluctant consent.
He saw that the sleigh was amply supplied with robes, and Mandy, at his suggestion, heated a large piece of soap-stone, which was wrapped up and placed in the bottom of the sleigh.
Alice appeared at the door equipped for her journey. Always lovely in Quincy's eyes, she appeared still more so in her suit of dark blue cloth. Over her shoulders she wore a fur cape lined with quilted red satin, and on her head a fur cap, which made a strong contract with her light hair which crept out in little curls from underneath.
They started off at a smart speed, for Old Bill was not in the shafts this time. Alice had been familiar with the road to Eastborough before leaving home, and as Quincy described the various points they passed, Alice entered into the spirit of the drive with all the interest and enthusiasm of a child. The sharp winter air brought a rosy bloom to her cheeks, and as Quincy looked at those wonderful large blue eyes, he could hardly make himself believe that they could not see him. He was sure he had never seen a handsomer girl.
As they passed Uncle Ike's little house, Quincy called her attention to it. Alice said:
"Poor Uncle Ike, I wish I could do more for him, he has done so much for me. He paid for my lessons in bookkeeping and music, and also for my board until I had finished my studies and obtained a position. He has been a father to me since my own dear father died."
Quincy felt some inclination to find out the real reason why Uncle Ike had left his family, but he repressed it and called attention to some trees, heavily coated with snow and ice, which looked beautiful in the sunshine, and he described them so graphically, bringing in allusions to pearls and diamonds and strings of glistening jewels, that Alice clapped her hands in delight and said she would take him as her literary partner, to write in the descriptive passages. Quincy for an instant felt impelled to take advantage of the situation, but saying to himself, "The time is not yet," he touched the horse with his whip and for half a minute was obliged to give it his undivided attention.
"Did you think the horse was running away?" said he to Alice, when he had brought him down to a trot. "Were you afraid?"
"I am afraid of nothing nowadays," she replied. "I trust my companions implicitly, knowing that they will tell me if I am in danger and advise me what to do. I had a debate a long time ago with Uncle Ike about blind people and deaf people. He said he would rather be stone deaf than blind. As he argued it, the deaf person could read and write and get along very comfortably by himself. I argued on the other side. I wish to hear the voices of my friends when they talk and sing and read, and then, you know, everybody lends a helping hand to a person who is blind, but the deaf person must look out for himself."
"Either state is to be regretted, if there is no hope of relief," remarked Quincy. He thought he would refer to Dr. Tillotson, but they were approaching the centre of the town, and he knew he would not have time to explain his action before he reached the post office, so he determined to postpone it until they were on the way home.
There were three letters for himself, two for Alice and a lot of papers and magazines for Uncle Ike. He resumed his seat in the sleigh and they started on their journey homeward.
"Would you like to go back the same way that we came?" asked Quincy, "or shall we go by the upper road and come by Deacon Mason's?"
"I should like to stop and see Huldy," said Alice, and Quincy took the upper road.
Conversation lagged on the homeward trip. Alice held her two letters in her hand and looked at them several times, apparently trying to recognize the handwriting. As Quincy glanced at her sidewise, he felt sure that he saw tears in her eyes, and he decided that it would be an inappropriate time to announce the subject of the new doctor. In fact, he was beginning to think, the more his mind dwelt upon the subject, that he had taken an inexcusable liberty in arranging for Dr. Tillotson to come down without first speaking to her, or at least to her brother or uncle. But the deed was done, and he must find some way to have her see the doctor, and get his opinion about her eyes.
Quincy spent so much time revolving this matter in his mind, that he was quite astonished when he looked around and found himself at the exact place where he spoke those words to Huldy Mason that had ended in the accident. This time he gave careful attention to horse and hill and curve, and a moment later he drew up the sleigh at Deacon Mason's front gate.
Mrs. Mason welcomed them at the door and they were shown into the parlor, where Huldy sat at the piano. The young girls greeted each other warmly, and Mrs. Mason and Huldy both wished Quincy and Alice to stay to tea. They declined, saying they had many letters to read before supper and 'Zekiel would think something had happened to them if they did not come home.
"I will send Hiram down to let them know," said Mrs. Mason.
"You must really excuse us this time," protested Quincy. "Some other time perhaps Miss Pettengill will accept your hospitality."
"But when?" asked Mrs. Mason. "We might as well fix a time right now."
"Yes," said Huldy, "and we won't let them go till they promise."
"Well, my plan," said Mrs. Mason, "is this. Have 'Zekiel and Alice and Mr. Sawyer come over next Monday afternoon about five o'clock, and we will have tea at six, and we will have some music in the evening. I have so missed your singing, Mr. Sawyer, since you went away."
"Yes," said Huldy, "I think it is real mean of you, Alice, not to let him come and see us oftener."
Alice flushed and stammered, "I—I—I do not keep him from coming to see you. Why, yes, I have too," said she, as a thought flashed through her mind. "I will tell you the truth, Mrs. Mason. Mr. Sawyer offered to do some writing for me, and I have kept him very busy."
She stopped and Quincy continued:
"I did do a little writing for her, Mrs. Mason, during the great snowstorm, and it was as great a pleasure to me, as I hope it was a help to her, for I had nothing else to do."
"Well," said Mrs. Mason, "you can settle that matter between yer. All that Huldy and me wants to know is, will all three of you come and take tea with us next Monday night?"
"I shall be greatly pleased to do so," said Quincy.
"If 'Zekiel will come, I will," said Alice, and Quincy for an instant felt a slight touch of wounded feeling because Alice had ignored him entirely in accepting the invitation.
As they drove home, Alice said: "Mrs. Mason managed that nicely, didn't she? I didn't wish to appear too eager to come, for Huldy might have suspected."
"What mystery is this?" asked Quincy. "I really don't know what you are talking about."
"What!" said Alice. "Didn't 'Zekiel tell you about the surprise party that Mr. Strout was getting up, and that you, 'Zekiel, and I were not to be invited?"
"Oh! I see," said Quincy. "How stupid I have been! I knew all about it and that it was to be next Monday, but Mrs. Mason asked us so honestly to come to tea, and Huldy joined in so heartily, that for the time being I got things mixed, and besides, to speak frankly, Miss Pettengill, I was thinking of something else."
"And what was it?" asked Alice.
"Well," said Quincy, determined to break the ice, "I will tell you. I was wondering why you said you would come to tea if 'Zekiel would come."
"Oh!" said Alice, laughing. "You thought I was very ungenerous to leave you out of the question entirely."
"Honestly I did think so," remarked Quincy.
"Well, now," said Alice, "I did it from the most generous of motives. I thought you knew about the surprise party as well as I did. I knew 'Zekiel would go with me and I thought that perhaps you had some other young lady in view for your companion."
"What?" asked Quincy. "Whom could I have had in view?"
"Shall I tell you whom I think?" asked Alice.
"I wish you would," Quincy replied.
"Well," said Alice, "I thought it might be Lindy Putnam."
Quincy bit his lip and gave the reins a savage jerk, as he turned up the short road that led to the Pettengill house. "What could make you think that, Miss Pettengill?"
"Well, I have only one reason to give," Alice replied, "for that opinion, but the fact is, when we made our call on Mrs. Putnam she pounded on the floor three times with her crutch before you came upstairs. Am I justified, Mr. Sawyer?"
"I'm afraid you are," said Quincy. "I should have thought so myself if I had been in your place."
But when he reached his room he threw his letters on the table, his coat and hat on the bed, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked rapidly up and down the room, saying to himself in a savage whisper, "Confound that Putnam girl; she is a hoodoo."
Quincy was philosophical, and his excited feelings soon quieted down. It would come out all right in the end. Alice would find that he had not intended to take Miss Putnam to the surprise party. He could not betray Lindy's confidence just at that time, even to justify himself. He must wait until Mrs. Putnam died. It might be years from now before the time came to destroy that letter, and he could not, until then, disclose to Alice the secret that Lindy had confided to him. Yes, it would come out all right in the end, for it might be if Alice thought he was in love with Lindy that she would give more thought to him. He had read somewhere that oftentimes the best way to awaken a dormant love was to appear to fall in love with some one else.
Somewhat reconciled to the situation by his thoughts, he sat down to read his letters. The first one that he took up was from the confectioner. It informed him that his order would receive prompt attention, and the writer thanked him for past favors and solicited a continuance of the same. The second was from Ernst. It was short and to the point, and written in his characteristic style. It said:
"Dear Quincy:—Pseudonym received. Bruce Douglas is a name to conjure with. It smacks of 'Auld Lang Syne.' The Scotch are the only people on the face of the earth who were never conquered. You will remember, if you haven't forgotten your ancient history, that the Roman general sent back word to his emperor that the d—d country wasn't worth conquering. Enclosures also at hand. The shorter ones are more songs than poems. I will turn them over to a music publisher, who is a friend of mine. Will report his decision later.
"I gave the long poem to Francis Lippitt, the well-known composer, and he is delighted with it and wishes to set it to music. He is great on grand choruses, Bach fugues, and such like. If he sets it to music he will have it sung by the Handel and Haydn Society, for he is a great gun among them just now. The eight stories have reached New York by this time, and Jameson is reading 'Her Native Land.'
"With best regards to Mr. Bruce Douglas and yourself.
Leopold Ernst.
The third letter was from the Adjutant-General's office, and Quincy smiled as he finished the first sheet, folded it up and replaced it in the envelope. As he read the second the smile left his face. "Who would have thought it?" he said to himself. "Well, after all, heroes are made out of strange material. He is the man for my money and I'll back him up, and beat that braggart."
On the following Sunday, after dinner, Quincy had a chat with Uncle Ike. He took the opportunity of asking the old gentleman if he was fully satisfied with the progress towards recovery that his niece was making.
"I don't see that she is making any progress," said Uncle Ike frankly. "I don't think she can see a bit better than she could when she came home. In fact, I don't think she can see as well. She had a pair of glasses made of black rubber, with a pinhole in the centre of them, that she could read a little with, but I notice now that she never puts them on."
"Well," remarked Quincy, "perhaps I have taken an unwarrantable liberty, Uncle Ike; but when I was last in Boston I heard of a new doctor who has made some wonderful cures, and I have engaged him to come down here next week and see your niece. Of course, if you object I will write to him not to come, and no harm will be done."
Quincy did not think it necessary to state that he had paid the doctor his fee of one hundred dollars in advance.
"Well," said Uncle Ike, "I certainly sha'n't object, if the doctor can do her any good. But I should like to know something about the course of treatment, the nature of it, I mean, before she gives up her present doctor."
"That's just what I mean," said Quincy. "I want you to be so kind as to take this whole matter off my hands, just as though I had made the arrangement at your suggestion. I am going down for the doctor next Thursday noon. Won't you ride down with me and meet Dr. Tillotson? You can talk to him on the way home, and then you can manage the whole matter yourself, and do as you think best about changing doctors."
"You have been very kind to my niece, Mr. Sawyer, since you have been here," said Uncle Ike, "and very helpful to her. I attribute your interest in her case to your kindness of heart and a generosity which is seldom found in the sons of millionaires. But take my advice, Mr. Sawyer, and let your feelings stop there."
"I do not quite understand you," replied Quincy, though from a sudden sinking of his heart he felt that he did.
"Then I will speak plainer," said Uncle Ike. "Don't fall in love with my niece, Mr. Sawyer. She is a good girl, a sweet girl, and some might call her a beautiful one, but she has her limitations. She is not fitted to sit in a Beacon Street parlor; and your parents and sisters would not be pleased to have you place her there. Excuse an old man, Mr. Sawyer, but you know wisdom cometh with age, although its full value is not usually appreciated by the young."
Quincy, for the first time in his life, was entirely at a loss for a reply. He burned to declare his love then and there; but how could he do so in the face of such a plain statement of facts? He did the best thing possible under the circumstances; he quietly ignored Uncle Ike's advice, and thanking him for his kindness in consenting to meet the new doctor he bade him good afternoon and went to his room.
After Quincy had gone Uncle Ike rubbed his hands together gleefully and shook with laughter.
"The sly rogue!" he said to himself. "Wanted Uncle Ike to help him out." Then he laughed again. "If he don't love her he will take my advice, but if he does, what I told him will drive him on like spurs in the side of a horse. He is a good fellow, a great deal better than his father and the rest of his family, for he isn't stuck up. I like him, but my Alice is good enough for him even if he were a good deal better than he is. How it would tickle me to hear my niece calling the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer papa!" And Uncle Ike laughed until his sides shook.
Monday promised to be a dull day. 'Zekiel told Quincy at breakfast, after the others had left the table, that Alice had spoken to him about Mrs. Mason's invitation to tea, and, of course, he was going. Quincy said that he had accepted the invitation and would be pleased to accompany him and his sister.
After breakfast he heard Alice singing in the parlor, and joining her there told her that he had received a letter from Mr. Ernst, which he would like to read to her. Alice was delighted with the letter, and they both laughed heartily over it, Quincy humorously apologizing for the swear word by saying that being historical it could not be profane.
Alice had in her hand the two letters that she had received on Saturday.
"Have you answered your letters?" he asked.
"No, I have not even heard them read," she replied. "Uncle Ike has grown tired all at once and won't read to me nor write for me. I don't understand him at all. I sent for him yesterday afternoon, after you came down, and told him what I wanted him to do. He sent back word that he was too busy and I must get somebody else, but who can I get? Mandy and 'Zekiel are both too much occupied with their own duties to help me."
"If I can be of any service to you, Miss Pettengill, you know—"
"Oh, I don't think I should dare to let you read these letters," interrupted Alice, laughing. "No doubt they are from two of my lady friends, and I have always heard that men consider letters that women write to each other very silly and childish."
"Perhaps I have not told you," said Quincy, "that I have two sisters and am used to that sort of thing. When I was in college hardly a day passed that I did not get a letter from one or the other of them, and they brightened up my life immensely."
"What are their names and how old are they?" asked Alice.
"The elder," replied Quincy, "is nineteen and her name is Florence Estelle."
"What a sweet name!" said Alice.
"The younger is between fifteen and sixteen, and is named Maude Gertrude."
"Is she as dignified as her name?" asked Alice.
"Far from it," remarked Quincy. "She would be a tomboy if she had an opportunity. Mother and father call them Florence and Maude, for they both abhor nicknames, but among ourselves they are known as Flossie, or Stell, and Gertie."
"What was your nickname?" asked Alice.
"Well," said Quincy, "they used to call me Quinn, but that had a Hibernian sound to it, and Maude nicknamed me Ad, which she said was short for adder. She told me she called me that because I was so deaf that I never heard her when she asked me to take her anywhere."
"Well, Mr. Sawyer, if you will promise not to laugh out loud, I will be pleased to have you read these letters to me. You can smile all you wish to, for of course I can't see you."
"I agree," said Quincy; and he advanced towards her, took the two letters and drew a chair up beside her.
"My dear May," read Quincy. He stopped suddenly, and turning to Alice said, "Is this letter for you?"
"Before we go any further," said Alice, "I must explain my various names and nicknames. I was named Mary Alice, the Mary being my mother's name, while the Alice was a favorite of my father's. Mother always called me Mary and father always called me Alice! and brother 'Zekiel and Uncle Ike seem to like the name Alice best. When I went to Commercial College to study they asked me my name and I said naturally Mary A. Pettengill. Then the girls began to call me May, and the boys, or young men I suppose you call them, nicknamed me Miss Atlas, on account of my initials. Now that I have given you a chart of my names to go by, the reading will no doubt be plain sailing in future."
Quincy laughed and said, "I should call it a M.A.P. instead of a chart."
"Fie! Mr. Sawyer, to make such a joke upon my poor name. No doubt you have thought of one that would please you better than any I have mentioned."
Quincy thought he had, but he wisely refrained from saying so. He could not help thinking, however, that Miss Atlas was a very appropriate name for a girl who was all the world to him. It is evident that Uncle Ike's words of advice the previous afternoon had not taken very deep root in Quincy's heart.
He resumed his reading:
"My dear May:—How are you getting along in that dismal country town, and how are your poor eyes? I know you can't write to me, but I want you to know that I have not forgotten you. Every time I see my sister, Stella, she waves your photograph before my eyes. You know you promised me one before you were sick. Just send it to me, and it will be just as nice as a good, long letter. As somebody else will probably read this to you, in order to keep them from committing a robbery I send you only one kiss.
From your loving,
Emma Farnum."
"Are you smiling, Mr. Sawyer?" asked Alice.
"Not at all," he answered. "I am looking grieved because Miss Farnum has such a poor opinion of me."
Alice laughed merrily. "Emma is a very bright, pretty girl," said Alice. "She boarded at the same house that I did. Her sister Stella is married to a Mr. Dwight. I will answer her letter as she suggests by sending her the promised photograph. On the bureau in my room, Mr. Sawyer, you will find an envelope containing six photographs. I had them taken about a month before I was sick. Underneath you will find some heavy envelopes that the photographer gave me to mail them in."
Quincy went upstairs three steps at a time. He found the package, and impelled by an inexplicable curiosity he counted the pictures and found there were seven. "She said six," he thought to himself. "I am positive she said there were only six." He took one of the pictures and put it in one of the mailing envelopes. He took another picture, and after giving it a long, loving look he placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, and with a guilty flush upon his face he fled from the room.
Just as he reached the open parlor door a second thought, which is said to be the best, came to him, and he was about turning to go upstairs and replace the picture when Alice's acute ear heard him and she asked, "Did you find them?"
Quincy, seeing that retreat was now impossible, said, "Yes," and resumed his seat beside her.
"Did you find six?" said Alice.
"There are five upstairs in the envelope and one here ready to address," replied Quincy.
"Her address," continued Alice, "is Miss Emma Farnum, care Cotton & Co., Real Estate Brokers, Tremont Row."
Quincy went to the table, wrote the address as directed, and tied the envelope with the string attached.
"I am afraid the other letter cannot be so easily answered," said Alice. "Look at the signature, please, and see if it is not from Bessie White."
"It is signed Bessie," said Quincy.
"I thought so," exclaimed Alice. "She works for the same firm that I did."
Quincy read the following:
"My Dear May:—I know that you will be glad to learn what is going on at the great dry goods house of Borden, Waitt, & Fisher. Business is good, and we girls are all tired out when night comes and have to go to a party or the theatre to get rested. Mr. Ringgold, the head bookkeeper, is disconsolate over your absence, and asks done or more of us every morning if we have heard from Miss Pettengill. Then, every afternoon, he says, 'Did I ask you this morning how Miss Pettengill was getting along?' Of course it is this devotion to the interest of the firm that leads him to ask these questions."
Alice flushed slightly, and turning to Quincy said, "Are you smiling, Mr. Sawyer? There is nothing in it, I assure you; Bessie is a great joker and torments the other girls unmercifully."
"I am glad there is nothing in it," said Quincy. "If I were a woman I would be afraid to marry a bookkeeper. My household cash would have to balance to a cent, and at the end of the year he would insist on housekeeping showing a profit."
Alice regained her composure and Quincy continued his reading:
"What do you think! Rita Sanguily has left, and they say she is going to marry a Dr. Culver, who lives up on Beacon Hill somewhere."
Quincy started a little as he read this, but made no comment.
"I was out to see Stella Dwight the other day, and she showed me a picture of you. Can you spare one to your old friend,
Bessie White.
"P.S.—- I don't expect an answer, but I shall expect the picture. I shall write you whenever I get any news, and send you a dozen kisses and two big hugs. B.W."
"She is more liberal than Miss Farnum," remarked Quincy. "She is not afraid that I will commit robbery."
"No," rejoined Alice, "but I cannot share with you. Bessie White is the dearest friend I have in the world."
"Miss White is fortunate," said Quincy, "but who is Rita Sanguily, if I am not presuming in asking the question?"
"She is a Portuguese girl," answered Alice, "with black eyes and beautiful black hair. She is very handsome and can talk Portuguese, French, and Spanish. She held a certain line of custom on this account. Do you know her?"
"No," replied Quincy, "but I think I know Dr. Culver."
"What kind of a looking man is he?" asked Alice.
"Oh! he is tall and heavily built, with large bright blue eyes and tawny hair," said Quincy.
"I like such marked contrasts in husband and wife," remarked Alice.
"So do I," said Quincy, looking at himself in a looking glass which hung opposite, and then at Alice; "but how about Miss White's picture?"
"Can I trouble you to get one?" said Alice.
"No trouble at all," replied Quincy; but he went up the stairs this time one step at a time. He was deliberating whether he should return that picture that was in his coat pocket or keep it until the original should be his own. He entered the room, took another picture and another envelope and came slowly downstairs. His crime at first had been unpremeditated, but his persistence was deliberate felony.
"Now there are four left," said Alice, as Quincy entered the room.
"Just four," he replied. "I counted them to make sure." He sat at the table and wrote. "Will this do?" he asked: "Miss Bessie White, care of Borden, Waitt, & Fisher, Boston, Mass.?"
"Oh, thank you so much," said Alice.
At this moment Mandy appeared at the door and announced dinner, and Quincy had the pleasure of leading Alice to her accustomed seat at the table.
"I took the liberty while upstairs," said Quincy, "to glance at a book that was on your bureau entitled, 'The Love of a Lifetime,' Have you read it?"
"No," replied Alice. "I commenced it the night before I was taken sick."
"I shall be pleased to read it aloud to you," said Quincy.
"I should enjoy listening to it very much," she replied.
So after dinner they returned to the parlor and Quincy read aloud until the descending sun again sent its rays through the parlor windows to fall upon Alice's face and hair, and Quincy thought to himself how happy he should be if the fair girl who sat beside him ever became the love of his lifetime.
Alice finally said she was tired and must have a rest. Quincy called Mandy and she went to her room. A few moments later Quincy was in his own room and after locking his door sat down to inspect his plunder.
Alice did not rest, however; something was on her mind. She found her way to the bureau and took up the pictures.
"Only four," she said to herself, after counting them. "Let me see," she continued, "the photographer gave me thirteen,—a baker's dozen he called it. Now to whom have I given them? 'Zekiel, one; Uncle Ike, two; Mrs. Putnam, three; Stella Dwight, four; Bessie White, five; Emma Farnum, six; Mr. Ringgold, seven; Mr. Fisher, eight. That would leave five and I have only four. Now to whom did I give that other picture?"
And the guilty thief sat on the other side of the partition and exulted in his crime. There came a loud rap at his door, and Quincy started up so suddenly that he dropped the picture and it fell to the floor. He caught it up quickly and placed it in his pocket. As he unlocked the door and opened it he heard loud rapping on the door of Miss Pettengill's room.
Looking into the entry he saw 'Zekiel, who cried out, "Say, you folks, have you forgotten that you have been invited out to tea this evening, and that we are going to give a surprise party to Mr. Strout and his friends? I am all dressed and the sleigh is ready."
Without waiting for a reply he dashed downstairs.
While Quincy was donning his sober suit of black, with a Prince Albert coat and white tie, Alice had put on an equally sober costume of fawn colored silk, with collar and cuffs of dainty lace, with little dashes of pink ribbon, by way of contrast in color.