Rathfelder's Hotel

by Annie E. Bosworth

Not liking to encounter Blurdon, I ran rapidly through the garden, meeting our landlord just coming in at the gate. Instantly I gave him an account of the dead dog, begging to know how he thought it had happened.

"Oh, it was that rascally Blurdon's doing," he answered, "The idle fellow has been amusing himself of late shooting every stray dog that was unlucky enough to come sufficiently near to the house to be within his reach. He knew perfectly well I didn't wish them destroyed. But he possessed a gun of his own and went out at night, by which means he could do what he chose: so you see one of the results. However, I have made an end of his impudence here sooner than he either wished or expected, for this afternoon I bundled him off, bag and baggage, and I hope never to set eyes on his face again."

"Then he is really gone, you think?" I said, joyfully.

"Am quite sure of it," said Mr. Rathfelder. "This is no place for him, for besides having nothing to do here, the people hereabouts are too quiet and respectable to suit him and his bad ways. Oh no; he's gone, and no mistake."

"Well, I must say I am glad," rejoined I, "for, to confess the truth, I am quite afraid of him."

Mr. Rathfelder laughed, saying: "His looks are certainly against him, but, though a worthless sort of fellow, he might not be as really bad, after all, as his face proclaims him to be."

"God, who reads the heart, alone knows," I murmured to myself while pursuing my way to the hotel, feeling, nevertheless, exceedingly comforted by our landlord's assurance of his departure.

So time passed on—tranquil, pleasant days—days whose brightness increased to us all as each one told to advantage on the health of dear Aunt Rossiter. Charlotte, too, was quite contented, for not only was the period fast approaching for our return home, but so satisfactorily had I supplied Susan's place (she was still prevented coming to us) that Lotty declared of the two she was inclined to think my attendance preferable, for she could have her own way just as she liked with me, which was not often possible and never easy with that self-willed, unaccommodating Susan.

My lady's-maid duties, however, generally obliged me to curtail my morning walk a good deal in order to be back in time to secure my dear, lazy Lotty's presence at the prayers (which uncle always read while the tea was drawing); but so long as that desirable end was effected, I did not regret my shortened walk. I am quite sure our heavenly Father far oftener than mortals in their blind ingratitude, even among the best of us, take account, directs that such trifling acts of self-sacrifice shall work good to the humble Christian. Little did I anticipate when each morning, checking my eager desire to go farther and seek for other and more beautiful flowers, I turned and hurried back, that this very proceeding would at last prove a merciful means of salvation from I know not what of evil, yet so it was.

One morning—it was the last, according to present arrangement, to be spent at Rathfelder's, previous to the day of our return home—pursuing my way as usual at an early hour across the flowery country, I stopped to look at my watch—a habit I practiced now almost every quarter of an hour at least, fearing to outstay my time. As I did so I partly turned round to see how far I had come, and at that instant caught sight of a dark form slinking behind some bushes in the distance. Imperfect as the view was, it nevertheless showed me the figure of a man. What was he doing there? and what was his motive in thus concealing himself, if concealing himself at all? "But oh no," thought I; "it can only be a poor negro searching on his knees for land-tortoises or negro-figs," as a certain little prickly, disagreeable kind of wild fruit is there called; "it can't be anything more dangerous than that." Whereupon, having ascertained I had a good bit of time yet to spare, on I went, and, absorbed in enjoyment of all around me, soon forgot the mysterious figure.