CHAPTER VI
THE FIRST EVENING
“Oh, what a cool, pleasant place! I shall like it here!” Rena exclaimed, her spirits rising as they drove up to the house with the big maple-trees in front, the honeysuckle climbing up the lattice, which shut off the rear of the house, the few roses still in bloom, with here and there a clump of peonies, which had not fallen to the ground, and tall stalks of tiger-lilies flaunting their gay colors in the sunshine.
Irene said nothing. She was accustomed to old country houses. She was born in one with a slanting roof and she cared nothing for climbing honeysuckle and wild clematis and peonies and tiger-lilies. They were common and old-fashioned. The brick walls of a city suited her better, with the noise and traffic and heat. That was life; that was progress, and made her blood move faster than the finest rural scene. But Rena loved the country and everything pertaining to it. Even the ledge of rocks in the pasture opposite Mrs. Parks’, where the low huckleberry bushes were growing, was lovely in her eyes, which sparkled with excitement, as she sprang from the carriage and looked around. Irene alighted leisurely, assisted by Sam, while through the half-closed blind of my room Lottie and I watched the strangers and made our comments. There was no doubt in our minds that the tall, graceful blonde, carrying herself so proudly, was the Miss Burdick. Everything about her led to that conclusion.
“She’s handsome, isn’t she?” Lottie said in a whisper, “and where in the world did they pick up Sam? and won’t you see him bringing Miss Burdick’s things up the walk just as polite as he can be? I wonder what she thinks of him. He has on his good clothes, anyway.” She was evidently proud of Sam, and proud that he was favored with the honor of waiting upon Miss Burdick. “I wonder where their baggage is?” she continued, and a moment after a truckman drove up with two large Saratoga trunks, marked “I. Burdick,” and a smaller one marked “Burdick.”
Naturally the larger ones belonged to Irene, and without questioning they were ordered to her room, while the smaller one was taken to the room intended for Rena, who had not yet attracted a great share of our notice. We had seen Miss Irene take Mrs. Parks’ hand and hold it very high, reminding me of a picture I once saw of some Congo women shaking their clenched fists in token of their pleasure at meeting each other. What Irene said we could not hear distinctly, except that it was something about “being pleased to see you”; then, without a look at the McPherson coachman, or Sam, who had sprung to his seat with Nixon, after a glance around for a sight of Lottie, she came up the walk, followed by Rena. Unlike her cousin, Rena had stopped a moment to speak to Nixon, and as her voice was of that quality which is readily heard at a distance, we heard her say, “Please tell Mr. McPherson that the Misses Burdick thank him for his kindness in sending his carriage for them;” then to Sam: “Good-by, boy. I don’t remember your name. It was nice in you to help us and tell us the places.”
“Sam, a boy, and he nineteen! I like that!” Lottie said, her lip curling scornfully, while Rena would have fallen in her estimation, if there had been any estimation to fall from.
She was so overshadowed by her stately cousin that we had scarcely thought of her except that she was short and slight and plainly dressed, compared with Irene, who, if she had had Paris, and London, and New York placarded on her back, could not have advertised them better than she did with her attire. They were in the house by this time, coming up the stairs, and were soon in their rooms, where Mrs. Parks, who was with them, hoped they would find themselves comfortable.
“I shall like mine,” Rena said, “and such lovely roses. Did they grow in your garden? I smelled them the moment I came in.”
She had her face close to the fruit-jar in which I had put a cluster of the finest roses from my room.
“No, they came from Mr. McPherson. He sent ’em with his compliments,” Mrs. Parks replied, and instantly Rena’s cheeks were like the flowers whose perfumes she was inhaling.