Hunter's Marjory / A Story for Girls

by Margaret Bruce Clarke

Thus ended the girls' search for the Hunters' Brae ghost. The adventure had been an exciting one, though not quite in the way which they had expected.

Her uncle's caress had been a revelation to Marjory, and she thought of it again and again. How true Mrs. Forester's words had been! Had she not said that the doctor would be sure to respond to any advance of Marjory's if only she would try, and had he not kissed her and called her his dear little girl, just as Mrs. Forester had suggested that he might? Her uncle seemed to Marjory to have changed into a different person, but in reality the change was in herself, for she was looking at him in another light—she was trying to see him through love's spectacles.

Mr. and Mrs. Forester were away for a few days only, and the time passed very quickly for the girls, there was so much to see and to do at Hunters' Brae. They summoned courage to ask the doctor about the key of the old chest. He replied that he did not think he had it, and did not suppose that there was anything inside the box, but he promised to look amongst his keys for one that might fit. They were afraid he would forget, but he was as good as his word, and gave them several old keys to try, none of which, however, would open the mysterious box. Dr. Hunter told them that it had been there ever since he could remember, but no one had ever paid any particular attention to it. To him it was merely an old box, valuable by reason of its age; but to the girls it stood for romance and mystery, an oracle that might speak volumes of past history could it only be opened.

They paid many visits to the old wing, and tried all means of opening the chest, but to no purpose, and they were obliged to leave it for the time being. Blanche boldly suggested a locksmith, but the doctor, unable to see any necessity that the box should be opened, pooh-poohed the idea.

"Nonsense," he said, rather sharply. "I won't have any workmen tampering with it. Don't let me hear any more about it."

The doctor wanted to keep things as they had been, and did not approve of any alterations in the house, and he was probably afraid that the box might be injured by any attempts to open it forcibly. After this the girls stopped talking about it, but continued to think about it a good deal.

July slipped away and August came. Mr. Forester had invited some friends for the shooting, and the Twelfth saw quite a large party assembled at Braeside. Dr. Hunter forbade Marjory to go while the strangers were there. He gave no reason for so doing. He did not wish her to go, and that was enough. He expected Marjory's implicit obedience, without question on her part or explanation on his. The truth was that the doctor was afraid that some casual stranger, seeing Marjory, and perhaps hearing her story, might put two and two together, as the saying is, and convey to Mr. Davidson the information which had been so long and so carefully withheld.

Marjory felt rebellion in her heart, and for a day or two returned to her old sullen mood with her uncle. Blanche came and begged that her friend might be allowed to go just once to a picnic luncheon on the moor, but the doctor was firm in his refusal. He himself was invited to dine at Braeside, but he declined the invitation, courteously but firmly. So there was nothing to be done but to submit. Blanche came to Hunters' Brae as often as she could, but Marjory was very glad when the visitors went away, and she was able to go in and out at Braeside as before.

These were the happiest weeks the girl had ever known. The two friends spent long sunshiny days together, but though it was very delightful to ramble about with Blanche, and to show the town-bred girl some of the sights and pleasures of the country, Marjory secretly longed for the eighteenth of September and the commencement of those lessons she so ardently wished for. It was quite certain that Blanche had no such longings, for she constantly expressed her satisfaction in the extra week of holidays, and wished it were longer. Blanche was a good and industrious scholar during lesson times, but she was honestly glad when they were over, and sorry when they began again. She had not that thirst for knowledge which was almost a pain to Marjory, and for her part she was inclined to wish that these lovely summer days might last, if not for ever, at least for a very, very long time. She would be quite content to do nothing but roam with Marjory about the park and gardens, to visit Mrs. Shaw at the Low Farm, and to wander about the house at Hunters' Brae, examining its many treasures. There was the loch, too, and its pleasures of boating and bathing. Every day she went with her mother and Marjory to bathe in the cool, clear water, and Marjory was teaching her to swim. Then, in the evenings, sometimes the doctor would take them for a sail, and she would sit wondering at the clever way in which Marjory carried out his orders, pulling this rope, slackening the other. It all seemed most bewildering to Blanche, and she admired her capable friend the more. These holidays were full of delight. Lesson hours would come again all too soon for Blanche.

September set in wet. Leaden skies and steady rain enveloped Heathermuir in a mantle of gray. Marjory, accustomed to all weathers, went out and about as usual. The first wet morning when she signalled to Blanche, the reply was, "Can't come; you come here." So she went down to Braeside and tried to persuade Mrs. Forester to allow Blanche to come out, for they had looked forward to hearing Peter's story on the first wet day. But Mrs. Forester was just as firm as the doctor had been during the visiting time; she would not allow Blanche to go out in such rain in case she should catch cold. Marjory suggested goloshes and a waterproof, but Mrs. Forester remained unpersuaded. It was not until the rain had continued for several days, and Blanche had grown very weary of her imprisonment, that at last her mother allowed her to go to Hunters' Brae. It was decided that she must drive both ways, and if she went into the garden, it must only be to the wood-shed and back, and she must wear a cloak and goloshes. Blanche felt a little ashamed of all these precautions before Marjory's sturdy independence of the weather, and was rather afraid that her friend might laugh at her for a "mollycoddle." But that spirit of protection, with which Blanche's delicacy had inspired Marjory, prevented any such expression on her part, and made her only anxious that Mrs. Forester's instructions should be carefully carried out.