CHAPTER XVIII.
A VISIT FROM MISS PRUE.
It was only a few days after sending this letter that Sara received a proposition from Mrs. Macon which she was not slow to accept; namely, that she should give up her room, store her furniture in the loft of their stable, and keep the Macon house for the summer, while its master and mistress took a long western trip. As they wished to retain their excellent cook as well as the gardener, these were to remain, at the Macons' expense, and assist in caring for the premises.
No need to say the Olmsteads were delighted with the plan,—especially as Sara had begun to feel that their rooms were far too close and stuffy to be healthy in warm weather,—so beautiful June had not yet begun to turn her back upon the young summer, when the Olmstead family found themselves lodged as they had never hoped to be; while the Macons, equally content with the arrangement, took their seats in a Pullman sleeper, unvexed by visions of tramps and fire, moths and carpet-bugs, or precious books ruined by dampness and mice.
The first morning after their arrival Sara woke early, wooed from her light slumbers by a charming bird-matinee in the shrubbery without, and gazed contentedly about her.
It was such a pretty bower. Clean India matting on the floor, and airy cane furniture, dressed up in pink and blue ribbons, scattered about; through the sheer muslin hangings at the windows the early sunshine glinted between the closed shutters, and danced in bars of light upon the delicately-tinted walls.
She nestled her head into the soft pillow with a sigh of intense satisfaction.
"One whole summer of luxury!" she mused. "Is it possible? How wonderfully good our Father has been to us! Friends, comfort, and a beautiful home," and with these serene thoughts, mingling with the Pareppian carols without, she again dropped into her "beauty sleep."
Nor did this content vanish with her second waking, but seemed to grow with every passing day; for, as once all things seemed going against them, now all were in their favor. Morton, who had for some time given desultory help in the college laboratory, was offered a permanent position there at a modest salary for next year, with limited hours, so that he might still keep on with recitations in school; and meanwhile was to act as clerk in a drug-store until the opening in September.
As for Molly, she was as happy as a bird in these pleasant surroundings, and danced about the house all day long; now concocting some delicate dish in the kitchen, under the supervision of Hetty, the cook, who had taken a great fancy to her; now taking an old dress or bonnet of Sara's, and, by a dexterous touch here, or a perked-up bow of fresh ribbon there, giving it an altogether new and elegant appearance; or else feeding the birds, or lounging in the hammock, chattering with a group of girls,—always busy, happy, and useful, if her studies were quite forgotten.
For Molly was as domestic as Sara was bookish, and relieved the latter now of so many little cares, that she found much more time to devote to her writing, especially as her duties at the museum were merely nominal during the professor's absence, chiefly attending to the specimens he occasionally sent on, and forwarding such of his correspondence as she was not empowered to dispose of herself.
To Sara the most attractive room in the house was the library, and she passed some of the happiest hours of her life in its quiet recesses. Here, every bit of wall-space, half way to the ceiling upon three sides, was given over to books; while the fourth, that opposite the door, contained a most artistic fireplace, above which, in lieu of the sometime mirror, the chimney had been divided to insert a window, one perfect sheet of plate glass, almost as clear as the ether itself through which was a delightful vista of green mingled with the vivid glow of blossoms.
The three other windows formed arched niches, apparently cut through the book-shelves; and in one was a comfortable knee-hole desk, containing all the paraphernalia of a literary worker; while in the others were the most seductive of reading-chairs, with book-rests attached.
She had been sitting one day, smiling and crying alternately over "Bleak House," when a sudden thought brought her to an upright position,—why not invite Miss Prue to visit her? When would she ever again be so fortunately situated to entertain her pleasantly?
"I'll do it at once!" she said, rising briskly; "Molly will be as delighted as I with the idea, for she has often wished Miss Prue could see how well off we are;" and not giving her resolution time to cool, she seated herself before the desk and wrote the invitation.
It was promptly accepted; and a week later Morton met at the station, and conveyed home, a rather old little figure, with the traditional band-box and bird-cage in hand.
"Here we are!" she cried merrily to the waiting girls on the piazza. "Both the spinsters, you see, for Polly and I are too old to be separated!" and, setting down the cage, she proceeded to embrace each pretty young creature with motherly warmth, Polly meanwhile remarking hoarsely,—
"How d'ye do? Go 'long! Come again! Oh, you fools!" at which Sam, the gardener, appeared wonderingly around the corner of the house.
"Beg parding, Miss," jerking off his ragged straw hat, "but I thought as how you might be havin' trouble with a tramp," glaring savagely at Miss Prue; "thought I heered a strange voice."
"Oh, it's nothing, Sam, nothing but a bird," laughed Molly.
"A burrd!" he cried, with an amazed look. "A burrd a-talkin' the likes o' thot? May all the saints defend us!"
While the laughing group stood by, Molly introduced the fowl, with proper explanations, at which Polly, probably thinking it necessary to vindicate her powers, broke out with,—
"Hold yer jaw! Get out! Shiver my timbers! What the"—
"You disgraceful old thing!" cried Miss Prue, snatching up the cage and rushing indoors, where she set it down with a thump on the hall-table; and, dragging off her black silk wrap, proceeded to muffle the profane creature in its shiny folds; then, turning to Sara with a distressed look, she implored,—
"Will you tell me what makes her so wicked? I've tried my best to teach her nice little moral axioms from Ben Franklin and Socrates, and bits of poetry from Tupper, but whenever she wants to show off, she goes back to that dreadful old sailor-talk she learned on shipboard, nobody knows how many years ago; it's discouraging!"
"It is, indeed!" laughed Sara, while Molly furtively lifted a corner of the wrap, in hopes to start Polly off again. "But never mind Polly's capers, dear Miss Prue, we know what a respectable old bird she is, in spite of her lapses. Come into the library, where it's nice and cool, and tell me everything you can think of about dear old Killamet. Oh, how good, how good, it is to see you again, you blessed woman!" throwing an arm about her, and hugging her up rapturously, as they passed into the opposite apartment.
"What a paradise!" cried the elder maiden, stopping short on the threshold. "Do you tell me that is a window, in the middle of the chimney, or only some wonderful picture? I didn't know a room could be made so beautiful, could express so perfectly the refinement of work"— then breaking loose from Sara's embrace, she faced the young girl, and, taking her by the shoulders, held her at arm's length, and gazed at her critically. "Let me look at you," she said, sweeping her glance slowly from the proud little head, with its earnest, refined face, down over the lissome figure in its sheer, white gown, even to the daintily-shod feet peeping from beneath it, "let me see whether this is the niche you were intended for. Yes," slowly and reverently, "yes, I see. You fit in here; you are content, satisfied. It isn't the luxury, either, Sara; that you could do without; it is that better part one can hardly name, only feel; and your Maker has been slow in shaping you that you might fit the more perfectly. Kiss me, dear, I am glad you are my daughter!"
Sara kissed her tenderly, her eyes wet with tears of happiness; and Molly and Morton entering just then, with questions as to where Polly should be suspended, turned the talk into lighter channels.
The latter soon found herself chained to a perch of Sam's contriving, out on the deep veranda, and for the rest of her stay had a string of admirers ranged along the sidewalk at nearly all hours of the day, bandying words with her ladyship. As for Sam, he furtively admired her as much as the street-boys, and would be seen to slap his thighs and double over with silent merriment, when she was a little more wicked than usual; not that Sam was an encourager of vice; by no means; but as he confided to Hetty,—
"It do beat all nater to see that pious old gurrl so fond of a haythen creetur that's enough to disgrace a pirate hisself; an' the quareness of it just gets me, it do."
As to the "pious old girl," (according to Sam's disrespectful characterization of Miss Prue) she had quite given up in despair.
"Really, Sara," she remarked with deep melancholy, "it must be the city atmosphere" (Dartmoor was a town of perhaps fifteen thousand inhabitants), "for, you know, she never was so perverse in Killamet. I'm afraid she'll disgrace us all!" Upon which Sara would comfort her by saying that, as most parrots were trained by rough people, nothing better could be expected, and she was sure nobody would blame them; while Molly, the naughty little elf, would shake her curls with a solemn air, and exclaim,—
"It's a mercy the students and faculty are mostly away, Miss Prue; I'm afraid she'd have to be expelled if college was in session, in consideration of the morals of the institution!"
But, in spite of Polly's harrowing performances, it was a delightful visit; yet, as often happens with delightful things, it brought to Sara a new worry and a great temptation. There were several of the young people present one evening; and Miss Prue, enjoying the moonlighted veranda and the music from the gas-lighted drawing-room, as well as anybody, watched the little by-plays with keen, interested eyes. Among the group was Mr. Preston Garth, a tall, shapely young fellow, whose face was redeemed from plainness by a pair of large intelligent gray eyes, and a ready smile, accented by the whitest of teeth.
Miss Prue was attracted by his looks; and, being a close observer, she soon noted that, though he talked about laboratory matters with Morton, and was ready to joke or sing with Molly and the two older young ladies present, yet every time Sara addressed him, he turned to answer with an eagerly respectful air, different from the rather careless manner usual with the others.
The next day, as she sat with her favorite in the cool library, Molly being away on an errand, she asked, apropos of nothing,—
"Who is that Mr. Garth, Sara?"
The young girl smiled.
"Just what you see, Miss Prue; a college student, and seemingly a fine young man."
"But where does he live?"
"I believe in Trenton."
"Know anything about his family?"
"No, except that there are not many of them, I believe. At any rate, he has no parents. He's helping himself through college partly, though I understand he has a small property; that's why he works in the laboratory."
"H'm," Miss Prue bent towards the light to pick up a dropped stitch in her knitting. "He looks like a fine fellow; does he come here often?"
"Yes, rather," Sara answered carelessly, just then engaged in digging about the roots of a palm in the window with one of her hairpins; "he likes to sing with Molly."
Miss Prue did not answer, except by an expressive little grunt, and then, apparently, changed the subject.
"Do you ever hear from Cousin Jane nowadays?" ("Cousin Jane" was Mrs.
Norris, Jasper's mother.)
"I haven't lately. She did write me a few times, and I answered; but the last letter came in cold weather,—I should say, before February." "Yes. Jasper has a schooner of his own now, did you know it?"
"No; has he? That's fine!"
"Yes; Jasper always was forehanded, and he has laid by quite a snug little sum; then of course his father helps him; you never hear from him?"
"No; that is, he did write a postscript in one of his mother's letters."
"Did you answer it?"
"Not directly. I expressed my thanks, etc., to Mrs. Norris when I next wrote."
Sara had resumed her chair and sewing; but at this she laid it in her lap, and looked curiously at her old friend, wondering what categorical fiend possessed her this morning. Miss Prue knitted two or three rounds in silence, then remarked, with elaborate carelessness,—
"You and Jasper have always been good friends?"
As she ended with the rising inflection, Sara answered,—
"Oh, yes, always," and picked up her sewing.
"I've about made up my mind," added Miss Prue, lowering her voice to a more confidential tone, "to make Jasper my heir. His mother has been for years my nearest of kin, and Jasper's a fine lad, honest and trustworthy. But I have some notions about woman's rights in property matters; and if I knew just the girl he would marry, I should leave it to both, share and share alike. I know whom he wants to marry," she finished decisively. "Is it Dolly Lee?" asked Sara, all interest.
"No, it isn't Dolly Lee," dryly; "it's Sara Olmstead."
The sewing dropped again.
"Miss Prue!"
"Well, it is, and you needn't speak as if I'd told a falsehood; for I know!"
Sara's cheeks had crimsoned warmly, and her voice faltered a little, as she asked,—
"Did he tell you himself?"
"Not in so many words; but I've known it, so has his mother, for a long time. He has cared for you ever since he was a little boy. And Sara," earnestly, "where would you find a better husband, a truer heart? I'm an old goose, I suppose, to speak out so plainly; but the fact is, Jasper's a bit afraid of you, and doesn't dare to speak, I imagine."
"Afraid of me?"
"Yes, he thinks you some kind of a goddess probably; most men do till they are married, and then they're too apt to think their wives are kitchen-maids; but I don't think Jasper'll be like that!" she added hastily.
Sara smiled.
"I've no doubt, Miss Prue, that Jasper would be all that is good and noble; ah! there is Molly coming back; I wonder if she succeeded in matching your yarn," and rising with a relieved air, she hurried out to meet her sister.
But the conversation lingered in her memory, and was often brought to mind by trivial events. During all of her visit, Miss Prue had an air of taking possession of Sara, which was, if not new, at least accented greatly, and occasionally would drop such expressions as,—
"If you should ever live in Killamet again," or "When you come back to us, Sara," which gave the girl an uneasy feeling that her future was being settled for her, leaving no alternative. Even her very last day, during the packing, there was an instance of this.
Sara and Molly, revelling in the midst of bags and boxes, while pretending to help, came upon a little morocco case of antique appearance.
"May I look at this, Miss Prue?" cried Molly, holding it up.
"Of course, child; just hand me that bundle, Sara; it's bandages I brought along in case of accidents; I always carry some in my hand-bag, besides my old Indian ointment."
"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Molly, as the cover of the case flew back, discovering a set of coral ornaments of exquisite workmanship, outlined against the faded blue satin lining. "Coral's all out of style now, but it's wonderfully pretty, just the same; and what an odd design; see Sara!"
She held them out towards the latter, then by a sudden impulse took the ear-rings and placed them against her sister's shell-like ears.
"Oh! look Miss Prue. Aren't they becoming?" "Exceedingly," said that lady, looking around with a critical air: "coral always becomes such a complexion and hair. I've always intended those for Jasper's wife."
Her accent and tone were so peculiar as she said this that even Molly noticed it.
"Jap's wife?" she cried gayly. "There's your chance, Sara. Why don't you set your cap for him, and the corals?"
"Molly!"
Sara drew back her head sharply, and thrust the jewels from her, but her face crimsoned as she did so; and though Molly dared say nothing further, her eyes danced with teasing merriment, while Miss Prue, pretending not to notice at all, took in every detail.
"Either she likes him so much she can't bear to have the subject made light of, or else the whole thing is distasteful to her; I wish I knew which it is," was her thought as she bustled about, apparently intent only on getting as many garments as possible into a given space.
She ruminated all the way home next day, making up her mind that she would not be quite happy now until this affair was arranged, and resolved that if Jasper happened to be at home when she reached there, she would have a word to say to him.
Meanwhile, Sara's tranquillity, having been invaded by this new idea, was effectually destroyed. It had been her life-long habit to reverence and obey Miss Prue; if she went against her in this matter it would be an unprecedented event. Then she could not but realize what a fine match it would be in a worldly point of view, allying her with those families she had, all her life, been taught to consider as first in her little world. It would give her dear ones certain comfort and herself rest from care and anxiety; she knew well what a warm nest Jasper's wife would step into, admired, petted, and cousined by relatives innumerable. Last of all, it would ally her to a young man she had always liked, and could thoroughly respect as well; one too, who would, she felt certain, be a tender, loyal mate. What was there against it? Why—as Molly would say— didn't she "jump at the chance"?
She felt really indignant at herself for her own perverseness; but, though she would not tell herself the reason why, she felt this thing to be impossible.
Better struggle along under her burdens as she had been doing, rather than go so reluctantly to that true and tender heart.
"Oh, I wish she had not spoken!" she whispered to herself passionately one day as these thoughts kept tormenting her. "I never knew Miss Prue to do so unkind a thing before! But why do I think about it? It's time enough to worry when Jasper speaks. Perhaps she's mistaken after all!" and she tried to content herself in this belief.
When a letter came from her old friend, giving a lively description of her journey home, and of a disgraceful squabble between Polly and a tiny pug, in which the former blasphemed, and the latter barked bravely from the arms of his mistress, until the wrathful conductor bundled both off into the baggage-car, but saying nothing of Jasper, except a casual remark that his schooner was expected in soon, she felt relieved.
"I have been making too much of nothing!" she said, and blushed all to herself at the thought that her vanity alone had caused her all these pangs.