Mrs. Cecil laughed and drew the girl close to her for a moment; then, rising, said:
"Don't worry, Mrs. Chester, nor Dolly dear. These folks haven't come to make trouble but to save it. I see that the women are gathering in that far field that has already been mowed and raked. Herbert Montaigne is there, with his horse-rake, and I'm curious to see if he can manage something useful as easily as he does his own fast horse. Besides, country women are a bit shy, sometimes, and I want you to go among them with me and get acquainted. Get your—Mrs. Chester a hat, my darling, and your own if you need it, Dorothy."
She spoke with a tone of authority, habitual enough, but she had hesitated for an instant over the word "mother," and Martha's tender, jealous heart was quick to notice it and to assure herself that "she has taken a notion to my girl and wants to adopt her from me. I know it. I'm as sure as if she'd said so outright. But she shan't. She shall not. Dorothy is not the kind of child to be handed from pillar to post, that fashion. She's mine. She was sent to me and I shall keep her, even if John did once say that a richer woman could do more for her than we can. I—I begin almost to—to hate Mrs. Cecil! And I'm glad I didn't borrow money of her instead of that nice old Friend."
By which reflections it seemed that poor, jealous mother Martha likened herself to a "pillar" and the mistress of Deerhurst to a "post." It was in that mood she followed the old lady down to that far field in which the group of women, aided by a few lads, seemed so strangely busy.
Busy, indeed! In a community accustomed to "picnics" conveniences for such were a matter of course; so in some of the wagons had been brought wooden tressels, and the long boards that were laid upon these made the necessary tables for the great feast to come.
In one corner of this field, fragrant now with the freshly cut grass which Herbert had raked into windrows, was a cluster of trees, giving a comfortable shade; and beneath these the helpful lads detailed for the task set up the tressels and placed the boards in readiness; then brought from the wagons in the road outside such big baskets and so many, all so heavily laden with the best their owners could provide, that Dorothy could only clasp her hands and cry out in amazement:
"Why, this is far and away beyond anything we ever had at home! Even the Sunday-school excursions down the Bay didn't have so many baskets! I wish—how I wish that father was here!"
"Here he shall be!" cried Herbert, jumping from his seat upon the rake and hurrying toward her. "I've gathered up all that's in this lot and I'll go fetch him. Goodness! If there isn't the little mother herself! Come to see if her precious son has overheated himself by doing something useful! Wait, Dorothy! Here's a lark! My mother wouldn't mix with 'common folks'—I mean she wouldn't be let by Helena—but now she shall. She has let her curiosity and her anxiety over her son and heir"—here the lad swept Dolly a profound bow which she as merrily returned by as profound a courtesy, each laughing as if no disagreement had marked their last interview—"she has come to the 'Bee' and she shall taste of its honey!"
Away he sped, scattering jests and laughter as he went, the farm-wives whom his friendliness had already propitiated looking after him with ready approval, while more than one remarked on the absence of that "insolence" which had been attributed to him.
"The father and daughter may be terrible top-lofty, but there ain't no nonsense in the boy, and the mother looks as if she'd like to be neighborly, if she dared to," said Mrs. Smith, advancing to meet Mrs. Calvert and Martha. "How-do, Mis' Cecil? It's the crownin' top-notch of the whole business, havin' you come, too. But I knowed you would. I said to John, says I, 'Mis' Calvert's sure to be on hand if she can shake a leg, she ain't one to miss no doin's, she ain't,' I says, and I'm tickled to death to see you can, ma'am."