“How long he stays! I believe I will go in myself and see to the matter, for my curiosity is quite piqued. Will you come? No—very well, I’ll not be gone a moment,” and Mrs. Parks, her delicate robes trailing behind her, crossed the dandelion-studded sward toward the house, with a swish and swirl of skirts, and a step as elastic as that of a young girl. Laugh, as has been the foolish fashion, at those women who come out of the West to receive the chill of eastern polish; yet they bring us a better gift than they take, that of buoyancy of heel, head, and heart that we greatly need.
Mrs. Van Kleek meantime adjusted her head, heavy with comfortable sleep, and gratefully entered the Land of Forty Winks, evidently for a protracted visit.
Hesitating as to whether front or side door was the legitimate entrance for wayfarers, and deciding upon the latter, Mrs. Parks, rounding the corner hurriedly, came face to face with Brooke, who was coming up from the garden bearing a great bunch of lilies-of-the-valley, while Tatters trotted beside her carrying a basket that held still more.
“Brooke Lawton at last!” and Mrs. Parks put out her arms and, to Johnson’s amazement, clasped Brooke, flowers and all, in a hug of spontaneous pleasure, that made the girl’s heart beat quick for many a day, as she thought of it.
“Is this quaint, delightful place an inn as well, and are you stopping here?” queried Mrs. Parks, holding Brooke off at arm’s length, first looking at her and then sweeping the surroundings with a comprehensive glance.
“No, it isn’t an inn exactly,” replied Brooke, mischief lurking at the corners of her eyes and mouth, “though I’m staying here. I am the Sign of the Fox, and this is my home! Now that you are here, pray come in and see mother, while I make you a bouquet from my very own garden in remembrance of the hothouse lilies you sent us when father was first ill.”
“The Sign of the Fox!—you! how do you mean?” ejaculated Mrs. Parks, knitting her brows as if some one had asked her to guess a conundrum. “Ah, yes, then that was your mother’s fern china and her brand of tea that we all used to rave over! Mrs. Van Kleek was recalling it only an hour ago—by the way she’s out in the carriage (go tell her, Johnson, that Miss Lawton lives here and ask her to come in). But I do not yet quite understand.”
“It is this way,” explained Brooke, with an admirable self-possession, in which diffidence and independence were equally blended. “We had the farm and a bit of money, but not quite enough to keep us; the life agrees with father, and may cure him. If Adam and I went away to earn more money, mother could not stay alone. Then I tried to think what I could do or sell here. People drive a great deal hereabouts; the hill country makes people hungry; therefore why not make and sell good tea and good sandwiches? And I think that you must have found them so,” she added archly, looking at the empty plate upon the tray that Johnson had left on the serving table in the screened porch.
“Good! superlatively so! but why didn’t you write me of your plan and let me exploit it and interest our own set? for you know that they are scattered all over these parts at some time of the year, either for the entire season, or between times, and before and after Newport and Europe. I would have done it with a will, I assure you, as I shall now with a megaphone voice, in spite of you!”
“I know that you would have, Mrs. Parks, and Lucy Dean wished to also; but what has happened, I think you must acknowledge, is best. I wanted people to find out for themselves, as you have done, and if they bought my wares, to do so because they are good and they need them, not because I sell them and desire their money. Otherwise the sun would very soon set on the Sign of the Fox, instead of apparently beginning to rise. You know that it is the way of the world!