ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE.
"Give me leave to speak my mind."
There was another garden on the other side of the hedge; not so large, nor so beautifully kept perhaps, but a pleasant garden, for all that. The red brick house to which it belonged was by no means so stately as the one whose doorstep the griffins guarded, yet it had an importance all its own. On week days, when the heavy shutters on the lower front windows were open, The National Bank of Friendship was to be seen in gilt letters on the glass; on Sundays, however, when they were closed, there was little to suggest that it was anything more than a private dwelling. It was a square, roomy house, and the part not in use for bank purposes was occupied by the cashier, Mr. Milton Roberts, and his family.
While Rosalind, curled up on the garden seat, was thinking of home, Maurice Roberts lay in the hammock under the big maple near the side porch, where his mother and Miss Betty Bishop sat talking. He held a book, but instead of reading was allowing himself the lazy entertainment of listening to their conversation.
From his position, a little behind the visitor, he had an excellent view of her as she sat erect in the wicker chair, her parasol across her lap. Miss Betty was plump and short, and had a dimple in her chin. Her hair, which was turning gray, waved prettily back from her forehead into the thickest of braids, and altogether there was a pleasant air of crispness about her; though something in the keenness of her glance, or the firmness with which her lips met, suggested that on occasion she might be unyielding. "The Barnwell stubbornness," she herself would have explained, with the same complacency she manifested when displaying her grandmother's tea-set.
Mrs. Roberts, Maurice's mother, was a gentle person, with large, soft eyes and a quiet manner.
The preliminary conversation had not been interesting, pertaining chiefly to flowers and the weather, and Maurice gave a sigh of satisfaction when, after a moment's pause, Miss Betty straightened herself and remarked, "Well, I hear the will is certain to be sustained."
"Then the property will have to be sold?" questioned Mrs. Roberts.
"Yes, and I may as well say good-by to the cream-jug and sugar-dish that Cousin Anne always said should be mine. Still, I never shall believe Cousin Thomas was out of his mind when he made that last will, it was too much like him. Dear knows it ought to be broken, but not on that ground. It was a case of pure spite."
"Oh, Betty!"
Maurice smiled to himself at his mother's tone.
"I assure you it was. I knew Cousin Thomas. Didn't Cousin Anne tell me dozens of times in his presence, 'Betty, this is your cream-jug and sugar-dish, because they match your teapot'?"
"I should think you had enough silver, Betty; still it was a shame Miss Anne left that list unsigned," said Mrs. Roberts.
"If you knew Cousin Anne at all, Mrs. Roberts, you knew how hesitating she was. She couldn't decide whether to leave the Canton china to Ellen Marshall or to Tom's wife. She changed her mind any number of times, but she was always clear about my cream-jug and sugar-dish. If Cousin Thomas had had any decency, he would have considered her wishes. Think of my own grandmother's things put up at public auction!"
"Most of Mr. Gilpin's money goes to the hospital, I suppose," remarked Mrs. Roberts.
"Pretty much everything but the real estate in and around Friendship, and the contents of the house, all of which will have to be sold and divided among his first cousins or their heirs. The only bequests made besides the money to the hospital are to Celia Fair and Allan Whittredge. Celia is to have the spinet, and Allan that beautiful old ring, if ever it comes to light again. I wish Cousin Thomas had left Celia some money. She was one person for whom he had a little affection."
Maurice wished so too. He admired Miss Celia Fair, and felt it was too bad she should get only an antiquated piano.
"Are the Fairs related to the Gilpins?" his mother asked. Not being a native of Friendship, she had difficulty in mastering the intricacies of its relationships.
It was ground upon which Miss Betty was entirely at home, however. "They were kin to Cousin Thomas's wife," she explained. "Mrs. Fair's grandmother was half-sister to Cousin Emma's mother, and raised Cousin Emma as her own child. Of course it is not very near when it comes to Celia. The spinet belonged to old Mrs. Johnson,—Celia's great-grandmother, you know,—whose name was also Celia. Saint Cecilia, they used to call her, because she was so good and played and sang so sweetly. It is right the spinet should go to Celia, but that would not have influenced Cousin Thomas a minute if he had not wished her to have it."
"And the ring has never been heard of?" Mrs. Roberts asked, as her visitor paused for breath.
"I doubt if it ever comes to light. It is nearly three years now since it disappeared," was the reply. Miss Betty looked up at the vines above her head, and her lips curled into a sort of half smile. "I should like to hear Cousin Ellen Whittredge on the will," she added. "I don't think she cares much about the money, however; it is more that old feeling against Dr. Fair. You remember he testified to Mr. Gilpin's sanity."
"And her son?" asked Mrs. Roberts.
"Allan? It is hard to find out what Allan thinks, but there is no bitterness in him. He is like his father, poor man! What I am curious to know is, what Cousin Thomas meant by saying in his will that Allan knew his wishes in regard to the ring. That strikes me as a little sensational. I asked Allan about it the last time I saw him, but he only laughed and said he'd have to get it before he could dispose of it."
Miss Betty now made some motions preliminary to rising, but as if on second thought, she laid her parasol across her knees again and asked, "Have you heard that Patterson's daughter is here?"
"Yes, I think I saw her in the carriage with her grandmother yesterday," was Mrs. Roberts's reply.
This was news to Maurice, and he listened with interest.
Miss Betty shook her head. "I am surprised," she said. "That marriage of Patterson's was a dreadful blow to Cousin Ellen."
"It seems to me she was unreasonable about it. I am glad she sent for him before his father died." Mrs. Roberts spoke with some hesitation. She did not often array her own opinions against those of her friends.
"I don't blame her as some do. A person of that sort, and Patterson the very light of her eyes! How would you feel if Maurice some day should do a thing like that?"
Maurice laughed softly. His thoughts were not much occupied with marriage. His mother ignored the question, and in her turn asked, "Did Mrs. Whittredge ever see her daughter-in-law?"
"No, indeed. This child was not more than three when she died."
"Poor little thing!" Mrs. Roberts sighed.
"Such a name! I detest fancy names. Rosalind!" Miss Betty rose.
"A good old English name and very pretty, I think. Was it her mother's?"
"I suppose so, but I don't know. Yes, I must go; Sophy will think I am lost. Good-by," and Miss Betty stepped briskly down the path.
The gate had hardly closed when Maurice heard some one calling him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his sister Katherine beckoning.
"Maurice, Maurice, do come here; I want you to see something."
Her tone impressed him as unduly mysterious. "What is it?" he asked indifferently.
"Come, and I'll show you."
"I sha'n't come till you tell me," he persisted.
"Oh, I think you might, because if I stop to tell you she may be gone."
"Who'll be gone? You might have told it twice over in this time."
"The girl I want you to see," explained Katherine, drawing nearer in desperation. "Did you know there was a girl next door?"
"Yes, of course." There was nothing in Maurice's tone to indicate how brief a time had passed since this information had been acquired.
"Truly? I don't believe it," Katherine faltered.
"She is Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter, and her name is Rosalind, so now!"
Privately, Katherine thought her brother's power of finding things out, little short of supernatural. "Don't you want to see her?" she asked meekly. "There is a thin place in the hedge behind the calycanthus bush, and she is walking to and fro studying something." Would Maurice declare he had already seen this girl?
Maurice sat up and reached for a crutch that rested against the tree. He had his share of curiosity. He was a tall, well-grown boy of thirteen, and it was apparent as he swung himself after Katherine, that accident and not disease had caused his lameness.
Rosalind, studying her hymn all unconscious of observation, was a pleasant sight.
"Isn't she pretty?" whispered Katherine, but Maurice silenced her so sternly she concluded he did not agree with her.
In reality he thought very much as she did, although he would not have used the same adjective. There was something unusual about this girl. Why it was, he did not understand, but she seemed somehow to belong in a special way to the sweet old garden with its June roses. Maurice had fancies that would have astonished Katherine beyond measure if she could have known anything about them. But how was she to know when he pinched her arm and looked sternly indifferent?
The tea bell called them back to the house; on the way Katherine's enthusiasm burst forth afresh.
"Isn't she sweet? and such a beautiful name—Rosalind. How old do you think she is? and do you suppose she is going to live there? Oh, Maurice, shouldn't you be afraid of Mrs. Whittredge?"
"I don't know anything about her," Maurice replied, forgetting for the moment that he bad been pretending to know a great deal.
"I should like to have my hair tied on top of my head with a big ribbon bow as hers is," continued Katherine, who would innocently persist in laying herself open to brotherly scorn.
"I suppose you think you will look like her then," was his retort.
"Now, Maurice, I don't. I know I am not pretty." Katharine's round face grew suddenly long, and tears filled her blue eyes.
"Don't be a goose, then. I'll tell you what she made me think of, that statue of Joan of Arc—don't you remember? Where she is listening to the voices? We saw it at the Academy of Fine Arts."
"Why, Maurice, how funny! She is much prettier than that," said Katherine.