Josephine Harris in Search of Information—A Big Fib for a Good End—Mary Crawford with Her Eyes Shut, and with the Same Eyes Opened—A Bomb-Shell for Colonel Egbert Crawford.
Pleasant though those hours in the little homestead at West Falls may have been, they must be passed rapidly over, except as each bore some event connected with the progress of this story.
When Josephine Harris woke next morning with the birds singing Sunday matins under her window, all the fogs and mists of merriment and country enjoyment seemed for the time to have rolled away from her brain, and the prime object of her visit to West Falls came prominently into her mind. In order to effect it, it was necessary that her aunt and cousin should both be taken somewhat into her confidence; and she had no fear of any evil result from this, as their location at a distance from the city would prevent any ill effects even from an unguarded word. Whatever these confidences were to be, however, there was no occasion to make them with any great suddenness; and in her character of an "amateur detective" she naturally preferred to make what discoveries might be possible, before explaining her motives for making the inquiries.
Accordingly, when breakfast and the Sunday "morning work" had been dispatched, she pulled little Susy away from the house, under the pretence of taking a "swing" in the popular abomination of that name, suspended between two of the trees in the back-yard. Seated side by side on the board seat between the ropes, and with their arms clasping each other's waists, the two girls fell into a conversation which was very soon led by Josephine into the direction she wished. Not, however, until she had propitiated the demon of mischief within her, by making an onslaught upon a daguerreotype which she had found in one of the drawers of the bureau in her room during an imprudent "rummage" before breakfast. A few sly hits at the appearance of the face there depicted, brought a sudden flush to the face of little Susy; and not long elapsed before they elicited the information, given through deeper and warmer blushes, that she was under an engagement of marriage to the young man whose portrait was thus made a hidden treasure—that he was an engineer on a distant railroad, who could only make his visits to West Falls at intervals of a month or two—and that they were to be married sometime during the ensuing year, if life and health would permit. Simple Susy!—what a pity that she could not have been informed of some of the events in the life of her cousin which had occurred during the previous few days—especially of the "friends" who had accompanied her to Utica! In that case it is just possible that the blushes might have been duplicated, though no corresponding confidence could have been elicited, for the best of all reasons. As it was, Susan had nothing to do but to pour out the one life-secret of her innocent heart, receiving nothing in return but a peal or two of merry laughter and a final assurance that "he would do," and that "he was not so very homely and awkward, after all!"
When she had reduced her cousin to that state of defencelessness and subserviency, Pussy Harris (as we have before had occasion to call her) suspended amusement, went into business, and commenced her round of enquiries.
A quarter of a mile away, in full sight of the grounds in the neighborhood of the barn, from its elevated position near the top of a gently-swelling knoll, a little separated from the main chain of hills that stretched away eastward—stood a large two-story farm-house, a little old and Dutch in its appearance, but thrifty-looking and suggesting that the man who made it a residence was the owner of many broad acres. This appearance was very much added to by the size and extent of the barns and out-houses; and the impression of age and stability was enhanced by the fine old trees which surrounded the yards and added so much to the pleasantness of the situation. From her old memory of the place, and of conversations during previous visits when she had no interest whatever in the inmates, Josephine Harris had an impression that this house was the abode of the Crawfords; and it was upon that supposition that she began her enquiries.
"Let me see—I almost forget," she said, pausing in their swing, and with the air of one trying very hard to remember—"Who was it that used to live in the big house yonder on the hill? Thompson? Johnson? What was the name?"
"The big house? oh, Crawford—the Crawfords live there," answered Susan, very innocently.
"Oh, yes, the name was Crawford," said Joe. "Let me see—there was an old man—"
"Yes, old John Crawford," so Susan supplied the missing name.