“I think I’ll give a house party at Deerhurst. A regular old-fashioned ‘infair,’ though it’ll be no bride for whom the festivity is given. After the assembly—what seems best! Those Breckenridges and their camping friends; including the old ‘boys’ and young ones. The foster parents, of course; and Johnnie must be written to about bringing that sealed letter of mine, that I entrusted to his care. I marked it not to be opened till after my death; but I think I’ll postpone dying—if God wills!—for I’m not nearly so dumpish as I was the day I sealed that packet and set my directions upon it. I may open it and I may not. I may oblige Lu Breckenridge by letting her think she’s a wonderful clever woman, and I may take the wind out of her sails by telling her—the truth. What do you say? Will you go along?”
“Will I not? I should go anyway, whether your house-warming-infair materializes or not. I hope, though, you won’t change your mind, because I long for the mountain and my peaceful life upon it. I hope you’ll stick to this notion longer than some others.”
“Then come in and help me write the invitations and set things in trim for such a big entertaining. After they’re written I can’t change my mind, you know, though I rarely do. I scorn the imputation. Only, ought I to do it? Will it be for the best?”
“Oh! make haste, Betty Calvert! If I don’t get those invitations off in the first mail I’ll never be allowed to send them at all!”
He spoke jestingly, yet not without deep sympathy. The “change of mind” she intimated meant much, very much to little Dorothy; whose best interests nobody had so much in mind as these two old people with the young hearts. But his own desire was now for the clearing of all that “mystery” which had enveloped the child from her infancy and which only they two could solve.
The notes were written and most promptly posted. Then other matters were put in line to make the reopening of Deerhurst the most memorable event in its history. Servants were ordered thither, disused rooms were aired and fitted for occupancy, every scrap of fallen leaf or intrusive weed removed from its driveways and paths, and in all the glory of its early-autumn beauty the fine old place awaited the coming of its mistress and her guests.
First of all to arrive was one James Barlow, with two kindly happy dogs, leaping and barking and doing their canine best to express their happiness at seeing “home” once more. “Home” it was to the lad, also, as he felt it now; tugging stoutly upon the chains of the Great Danes, lest in their exuberant joy they should break away from him to gambol in the geranium beds that glorified the lawn.
Around from the vine-draped back porch came old Ephraim and Dinah; Hans and Griselda Roemer, who greeted Jim in their hearty German fashion, as if he were their own son come home. And bless me! If out of that great kitchen didn’t issue Ma Babcock herself, and all her daughters a-trail behind!
“Why, Mrs. Babcock, you here? Surely, this is indeed a surprise!” cried Jim, releasing the Danes to Ephraim’s care and clasping the hands she extended toward him.
“Well, then, it needn’t be. Me and Mis’ Calvert has been neighbors this long while, years indeed. So what more natural than, when all the company was comin’ and help so hard to get—capable help, you know—up-mounting, but that old Seth, the farrier, should write me the invite to come and take a hold of things and see that they was the rightest kind of right for such grand doings? So I come; and I had to fetch the girls along, ’cause I never do leave them out of any the good times I have myself. Baretta stop holdin’ onto my skirt! You’ll pull it clean out the gathers and it’s just fresh-washed and ironed. Claretta, will you never, never quit suckin’ your thumb? Make your manners pretty, darlin’, to this fine gentleman! Who, after all said, is nobody but Jim Barlow, makin’ the most of his chance. Why, Alfy! You bashful? Come and shake hands with your old friend and don’t act simple!”