A NEW COMRADE.
"I know you are a gentleman of good conceit."
Rosalind and Maurice sat on the garden bench discussing "The Young Marooners," one of the story books found in the garret.
"I shouldn't like to be carried off by a big fish as they were, but I do think some sort of an adventure would be interesting. Don't you?" asked Rosalind.
"We'll have to do something," Maurice agreed, "Don't you wish we could get inside the Gilpin house? Mr. Wells, the teller in our bank, sleeps there. I wish he would drop the key."
"Grandmamma says it will be open for people to go through before the sale, but then it will be too late to look for the ring. Belle is so good at thinking of things, I wish she would find a way for us to get in," Rosalind added.
A bell was heard ringing on the other side of the hedge, and Maurice rose. "Dinner is ready," he said.
Rosalind walked to the gate with him. "Uncle Allan is coming to-morrow," she remarked, "and I just wonder what he is like."
Turning toward the house again, she became aware of a stranger standing beside the griffins. He was not waiting to get in, for the door was open behind him, and furthermore he had the air of being at home. Something in his height and the breadth of his shoulders suggested her father, and as she drew nearer a certain resemblance to Aunt Genevieve developed.
He watched her approach with a look of puzzled interest. "Surely, this isn't Rosalind," he said.
Rosalind paused on the bottom step. "Why, yes, it is. Are you Uncle Allan?"
"A great tall girl like you my niece? Pat's daughter? Impossible!" There was a twinkle in his eye. Clearly, Uncle Allan was a tease.
"I suppose I shall have to be identified," said Rosalind, merrily.
"I begin to see a look of Pat about you." He came down the steps now and took her hand. "Let's sit here and get acquainted," he said, leading the way to the bench under the birch tree.
Two pairs of eyes, the brown and the gray, looked into each other steadily and soberly for a few seconds, then a dimple began to make itself visible in Rosalind's check, whereat the brown eyes twinkled again. "Well, what do you think of me?" they asked.
"You aren't much like Great-uncle Allan," said Rosalind, laughing.
"Heavens! was that your idea of me? And I expected you to be a child of tender age, although I should have known better. It is nearly fourteen years since Pat went away."
"Uncle Allan, did you know my mother?" It was the first time Rosalind had mentioned her mother since she had been in Friendship. She could not have explained her silence any more than she could this sudden question.
"I did not know her, Rosalind. I wish I might have. I saw her once, and I have never forgotten her face."
"I can remember her just a little, but father and Cousin Louis have told me about her, and I have her picture."
"I think," said Uncle Allan, confidently, "that we are going to be friends. Tell me how you like Friendship."
"I like it now. I was dreadfully lonely at first, till things began to happen. Then there was Cousin Betty's tea party, where I met Belle and Jack and the rest, and now—oh, I like it very much! It is a funny place. Aunt Genevieve says you don't like it any better than she does." Rosalind's tone was questioning.
"I believe it does seem rather a stupid old town," he acknowledged. "What do you find interesting about it?"
"There is the magician and his shop; and the out of doors is so beautiful—almost like the country; and the houses are different from those in the city; and there is the will, and the lost ring." Rosalind suddenly remembered her uncle's connection with the ring.
He did not seem to understand, for he asked, "What ring?" then added, "Oh, you mean the Gilpin will. Who has told you about that?"
"Cousin Betty; and she told us the story of Patricia's ring, Uncle Allan, don't you wish we could find it?"
Allan Whittredge smiled at the eager face. "I can't say I care much about it," he replied; then seeing her disappointment, he added, "It was a handsome old ring. Should you like to have it?"
"I'd like to see it; but of course it wasn't meant for me. Cousin Betty said—" Rosalind paused, for the expression on her uncle's face was more than ever like Aunt Genevieve, and he exclaimed impatiently, "Stuff!"
She felt rather hurt. She had expected him to be as interested in the ring as she was. What did he mean by "stuff"? And why didn't he like Friendship? Rosalind fell to pondering all this, sitting in the corner of the bench, looking down at her hands, crossed in her lap.
After some minutes' silence she felt her chin lifted until her eyes met the gaze of the merriest brown ones, from which all trace of disdain or impatience was gone.
"What are you thinking about so soberly? Are you disappointed in me, after all?"
Rosalind laughed. "I am just sorry you don't like Friendship."
"Perhaps it is because I have been away so long. I used to like it when I was a boy."
"Can't you turn into a boy again?"
"Perhaps I might, if you will show me how."
Rosalind clapped her hands. "I don't think I am a bit disappointed in you, and I am almost sure you will like the Forest."
"What forest?"
"I'll show you the book and tell you about it sometime; and then maybe you will join our society."
"This sounds interesting; I believe I shall like Friendship."
Rosalind surveyed him thoughtfully. "I think I'll begin by taking you to see the magician," she said.
By what witchery did she divine that the shortest path to his boyhood was by way of the magician's?
"The magician? Oh, that is Morgan, I suppose." Allan's eyes rested absently on the drooping hydrangea a few feet away.
Presently a soft hand stole beneath his chin, and Rosalind demanded merrily, as she tried to turn his face to hers, "What are you thinking about? Are you disappointed in me?"
"Not terribly," her uncle replied, and seizing the hand he drew her to him and gave her the kiss of friendship and good-fellowship.
Rosalind was fastidious about kisses. She reserved them for those she loved, and received them shrinkingly from those she did not care for; but in this short interview she had found a friend, and she returned the caress with an ardor of affection pretty to see.
Martin, announcing lunch, interrupted their talk, and, hand in hand, Rosalind and her new comrade walked to the house. In the exuberance of her content, she patted one of the griffins as she passed. Her uncle observed it.
"Have you ever noticed the resemblance between Uncle Allan Barnwell and the griffins?" he asked.
The idea amused Rosalind greatly, and as she took her seat at the table, the sight of the haughtily poised head and eagle eyes of the portrait made her laugh. Things were indeed taking a turn when that stern face caused amusement.
With Uncle Allan at the foot of the table, luncheon was transformed into a festive occasion. Masculine tones were almost startling from their novelty; Rosalind found herself forgetting to eat. Grandmamma was wonderfully bright, and Aunt Genevieve showed a languid animation most unusual.
"It was like you, Allan, after putting us off so long, to end by surprising us," his sister said.
"I trust you intend to stay for a while," his mother added, almost wistfully.
Genevieve laughed half scornfully, as if she considered this a forlorn hope.
Allan looked at her a moment before he replied, "I don't know; I shall probably be here some time." He had more than half promised his friend Blanchard to join him in a trip over the Canadian Pacific in August. At present he felt inclined to give it up and remain in Friendship. He would not commit himself.
He thought it over lazily after lunch, resting in the sleepy-hollow chair by the east window in the room that had been his ever since he graduated from the nursery. All about him were devices for comfort and adornment that spoke of his mother's hand. She knew the sort of thing he liked,—his handsome, unhappy mother. It was a shame to leave her so much alone; yet she never complained, but seemed always self-sufficient and independent.
And then Allan began to reflect on the singular fact that he was seldom quite at ease with his mother, although he admired her, and at one time had been very much under her influence. If he had ceased to care for his home, it was her fault for sending him away for so long. "Poor mother!" he thought. "We have all disappointed her; but she was never quite fair to any of us. She wanted us to go her way, and, being her children, we preferred our own."
The sound of Rosalind's voice floated in at the window. He looked out. She was crossing the lawn, after an interview with Katherine through the hedge.
"When are we to begin?" he called.
"Whenever you like," she answered.
He went down and joined her in the garden, thinking what a difference she made in the place. He had not supposed a girl of twelve could be so charming; but then, she was his brother's daughter, with something of her father about her, and he had felt a little boy's admiration for this older brother.
Rosalind told him it was almost like having father or Cousin Louis to talk to; and as they wandered about the garden Allan found himself feeling flattered at her evident pleasure in his society.
She brought out her treasured book to show him, and explained about the Forest; and Allan listened absently, noting the soft curve of her cheek and the length of the dark lashes, his memory going back to that one occasion when he had seen the gentle and lovely girl who was afterward his brother's wife.
"And now we must go to the magician's," said Rosalind.
Not many of the inhabitants of Friendship were abroad in the middle of a summer afternoon, and they had the street almost to themselves when they set out. The quiet, the bowed shutters, the deserted porches, suggested a universal nap. Allan looked up at the tall maples, whose branches met across the road just as they had done in his childhood. Truly, there was a charm about the old town, with its homelike dwellings and generous gardens, he acknowledged to himself. "I believe we are the only people awake," he remarked.
"The magician will be awake," Rosalind replied; and so he was, rubbing down the clock case to-day, but by no means too much occupied for company, and he welcomed his visitors cordially, saying Allan was one of his boys.
Rosalind was amazed at the ease and rapidity with which her uncle talked with the cabinet-maker.
"Have you come home to stay this time, Mr. Allan?" Morgan asked.
Allan laughed, and said he did not know about that.
"Two—four—eight years—" the magician told them off on his fingers, shaking his head. "Too long. Take root somewhere, Mr. Allan; too much travel spoils you. Your father loved Friendship."
"Yes," said Allan, gravely.
"You make him join the society," Morgan said, turning to Rosalind.
"He means our secret society," she explained. "He belongs, and he has our motto on the wall," and she drew her uncle to the door of the back room and pointed it out.
"Oh, I remember Morgan's motto, 'Good in everything.' Does one have to subscribe to that in order to join this society?"
"That is one thing."
"If there are many such requirements, I fear I shall prove not eligible."
"Does that mean you can't join?" Rosalind asked, looking disappointed.
"Well, I'll consider it. I'll try to be broad-minded and practise believing impossible things, like Alice."
"'Six impossible things before breakfast,'" quoted Rosalind. "I am so glad you know Alice; but it was the White Queen, wasn't it?"
"I shouldn't wonder if it was," Allan answered, laughing.
They went out to the little garden to see the sweet peas and nasturtiums, and the magician insisted upon gathering some. While they waited Rosalind told her uncle about the time she took tea with him.
When at last they left the shop, Miss Betty was standing in her door, and they crossed over to speak to her.
"THEY CROSSED OVER TO SPEAK TO HER."
"Well, Allan, I am glad to see you at last," she said, coming down the walk to meet them.
"You do not appear to have pined away in my absence," he replied, shaking hands.
Miss Betty shrugged her shoulders. "I was never much on pining, but my curiosity has been sadly strained."
"What about?"
"You know very well. That ring."
"Now, if that isn't like Friendship," said Allan, laughing, as he followed her to the porch and made himself comfortable in one of the big rocking chairs. Rosalind sat on the step arranging her flowers and listening.
"I would have you know I have something else to think about besides foolish and unreasonable wills and lost jewels," Allan continued. "I regret I cannot relieve the strain, but so far as I know, the ring has not been heard of and is not likely to be."
"But if it should be found?" said Miss Betty. "Stranger things have happened."
"Yes," said Allan.
"Then the question is, do you know what you are going to do with it?"
"That is a question with which I shall not trouble myself until it is found. I am a lazy person, as you know, Cousin Betty."
"I know nothing of the sort, Allan. Now, there is one thing you might tell me. Do you know what Cousin Thomas meant, or was it one of his jokes? Yes or no."
"No," answered Allan, promptly.
Miss Betty looked puzzled; then she laughed. "It is like playing tit, tat, toe, to talk to you," she exclaimed. "I might have known you'd get ahead of me."
"I have answered your question as you desired; now let's change the subject," he suggested gravely.
Rosalind gave a gentle little chuckle. Miss Betty looked at her. "What do you think of your uncle, Rosalind?" she asked.
"You certainly have the gift for asking pointed questions," Allan remarked, before Rosalind could speak. "I can tell you what she expected. She had an idea that I resembled Uncle Allan Barnwell."
"Gracious! You must be relieved. I could have told you better than that."
"I didn't really think it; I only wondered," said Rosalind.
Miss Betty laughed in a reminiscent sort of way. "Do you remember him, Allan? But no, I fancy you were too little. He used to visit at our house when I was a child, and I was never so afraid of any one. I suppose you have heard the story of his wedding?"
"I have a dim recollection of the story. Tell it to Rosalind."
"Well," she began, "Uncle Allan was a minister, you know. A Presbyterian of the sternest stuff, rich in eloquence and power of argument, but poor in this world's goods. However, he judiciously fell in love with Matilda Greene, the only daughter of a wealthy Baltimore merchant. As was natural, Matilda chose for her wedding-gown a gorgeous robe of white satin, and all the preparations for the event were on a lavish scale. When the day came and the guests had assembled, and the bride in her beautiful gown and lace veil appeared before the eyes of the bridegroom, Uncle Allan created a sensation by sternly declaring that such a dress was inappropriate for the bride of a humble minister of the Gospel.
"And the meek Matilda, instead of telling him he could marry her as she was or not at all, took off her satin, put on a simple muslin, and the ceremony was performed. Uncle Allan always referred to his wife as 'My Matilda'; and if the truth were known, I fancy she couldn't call her soul her own."
"I remember the story," said Allan, laughing. "We come of a stubborn family. What would have happened if Matilda had asserted herself?"
"He had her at a disadvantage,—the guests waiting,—but she missed the chance of a lifetime," said Miss Betty.
"Was Matilda fond of him?" asked Rosalind.
"Let us hope so; at any rate she always spoke of him as 'My Allan.'"