The September days were exceptionally warm ones, but no one seemed to mind them because the evenings were cool. The two pilgrims continued their progress, advancing rapidly and in such a rosy atmosphere that the millennium seemed close at hand. Whatever Homer Forbes’ plans were, and as yet only he and Eleanor seemed to know much about them, they evidently met the entire approval of the lady in the question, for she threw herself into the process of perfecting them with an ardor that nearly drove her family frantic. No matter where they turned, they found plans and specifications lying about, and Eleanor’s room resembled an architect’s drafting-office. Not long after that walk up the mountain there had been a closeted hour’s talk with Mrs. Carruth, and when Homer Forbes came out of the library at the end of it he was in such a perturbed state of mind that he nearly fell over Mammy as he rushed through the hall, out of the front door and across the piazza, to vanish down the road and leave the family staring after him; at least, that portion of the family which happened to be seated there. Hard upon his heels followed Mammy, crying:
“Gawd bress ma soul! what Miss Jinny done ter dat man? ’Pears lak he gone plum loony.” Then, turning to Mrs. Carruth, who followed not far behind, Mammy continued: “Miss Jinny, is dat man gone cl’ar crazy?”
Mrs. Carruth smiled as she replied:
“They sometimes call it ‘a very mid-summer madness,’ Mammy, but mid-summer has passed, hasn’t it? It’s not dangerous, however. You would better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie. I am sure she can tell you more about Mr. Forbes than I can. At all events, she has decided to let him guide her through life, so she must have an abiding faith in him, and I have told him he may do so if she wishes it. By the spring you will have to climb to the top of Mt. Parnassus if you wish to see your Miss Nornie, I think.”
“Whar dat place at?” demanded Mammy, while Hadyn gave a low whistle, and Constance cried, “What did I tell you, Mumsey?” as Jean jumped up and down in her excitement.
“You had better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie, Mammy,” and straightway Mammy whirled about and started upstairs to Eleanor’s room, where she found her buried neck-deep in a pile of drafting papers, triangles, compasses and pencils; though just what she was drawing plans for Mammy could not guess. When questioned of late Eleanor had given negative, abstracted replies which more than once nearly convulsed her hearers, and upon one occasion she had brought consternation upon the family by emptying a brimming washbowl of water into her scrap-basket instead of her slop-jar. Evidently the scrap-basket had figured more prominently in her thoughts of late than had her washbowl.
As Mammy appeared at the door Eleanor was bending over a great blueprint plan which she had spread upon the floor. It was a tremendous affair, fully two by four feet, and Eleanor was down upon her knees, hands outspread and locks flying, too absorbed to be aware of Mammy’s presence.
“Peripatos, peristyle penetralia,” murmured the engrossed one, tracing with a slender forefinger the lines upon her plan, then repeating, “Penetralia, penetralia. How interesting.”
“What in de name o’ man is you jabberin’ about, anyway, Miss Nornie?”
Eleanor came to an upright position with a start, crying: