The boys were always light-hearted and gay, but Mabel often had moods of despondency, which, while they never made her cross or irritable, were so pathetic that it worried Patty’s loving heart.
And so she lay in her hammock, gazing at the beauty all about her, and wondering what was the secret grief that harassed her dear friends. It never occurred to her that it was none of her affair, for Patty was possessed of a healthy curiosity, and moreover she was innately of a helpful nature, and longed to know what the trouble was, in a vague hope that she might be of some assistance.
“I know they’re not rich,” she said to herself, “for the whole place shows neglect and shabbiness; but there’s something besides lack of money that makes Madam Cromarty sad.”
The place was indeed in a state of unrepair. Though there were many servants, there were not enough to do all that should have been done. The two gardeners did their best to keep the flowers in order, but the elaborate conventional gardens, laid out in geometric designs, and intricate paths, called for a complete staff of trained workers, and in the absence of these, became overgrown at their borders and untidy in appearance.
It was the same indoors. The handsome old furniture, covered with silk brocades and tapestries, was worn and sometimes ragged in appearance. Some of the decorations showed need of regilding, and though the magnificent old carved woodwork, and tessellated floors could not be marred by time, yet many of the lesser appointments called for renovation or renewal. The Great Hall, as it was called, had best withstood the ravages of time, as it was wainscoted and ceiled in massive old oak.
It was a noble apartment, with recessed windows and panelled walls, and across one end was a raised platform from the back of which rose a wonderfully carved chimney-piece.
This apartment, in the palmier days of the Manor House, had been the Banqueting Hall, but as there was a smaller and more appropriate dining-room, the Hartleys used the Great Hall as a living room, and had gathered in it their dearest treasures and belongings. Grandma Cromarty had her own corner, with her knitting basket. In another corner was a grand piano, and many other musical instruments. In one north bay window was Mabel’s painting outfit, and so large was the recess that it formed a good-sized studio. On the walls, hobnobbing with the ancient antlers and deers’ heads, trophies of the chase, were the boys’ tennis rackets, and in the outstretched arm of a tall figure in armour, a lot of golfsticks rested against the quartered shield.
“I suppose,” Mabel had said, when they first showed this room to Patty, “a great many people would consider it desecration to fill up this fine old place with all our modern stuff. But we’re modern, and so we make the carving and tapestries give way to us.”
“They like it,” Patty had replied. “They feel sorry for other houses where the carvings and tapestries have to stay back in their own old times. Now hear these old rafters ring to modern music,” and seating herself at the piano, Patty began some rollicking songs that were of decidedly later date than the old rafters.
Opening from the old Banqueting Hall was the library. This had been left just as it was, and the shelves full of old books were a never-failing delight to Patty’s browsing nature. A gallery ran round all four sides, which was reached by spiral iron staircases, and the deep-seated windows, with their old leather cushions, made delightful nooks in which to pore over the old volumes. There were many unused rooms in the Manor House. Many unexpected alcoves and corridors, and in these the old furniture was worn and decayed. The rooms that were lived in were kept in comfortable order, but Patty knew, had there been more house-servants, these other apartments would have been thrown open to light and air.