“Yes, and stopped two days with me, but stayed over here most of the day time and wrote letters or something in that chamber where there is a chair and table. That was his sleeping-room when he lived here, and he looked sorry when he went through it, and said, ‘The vandals haven’t left me much.’ Wall, there wasn’t much to leave after the auction. You see, he had a vendue before he left and sold a good deal. What he didn’t sell was put up here, and some has been stole, but there are piles left. This chist is too heavy to carry off, and I’ve kept a sharp look out, too, bein’ here every week. He was in here a good deal airin’ things, and when I ast him whose flowered gown that was on the line, he said, ‘Miss Crosby’s, who used to live here.’”

“Crosby,” Alex. repeated; “that’s the man who first owned the farm?”

“Yes, before I was born, I guess,” Bowles said, “and he and his wife are buried acrost the road. There’s a big monument to their memory,—put up by Mr. Marsh. Mabby you didn’t notice it as we drove up,” and then thinking he heard some one below he started down, followed by Alex., glad to escape from the cold garret, which affected him unpleasantly.

The place was certainly frightfully run down. “But it had great capables, and might be made a first-class summer house,” Bowles said, as they drove back to the station. Some such idea was in Alex.’s mind, and kept growing until, by the time he reached home, it was a fixed fact that he would try the “capables.” He was very fond of the country, and would like to live there half his time, and he meant to bring up the farm to what it used to be, and make over and modernize and add to the house, if necessary, until it could accommodate twenty or more people. He would call it “Maplehurst,” because of the maples which skirted the road leading to it, and he would fill it with his friends and his mother’s and Amy’s and Ruth’s for one summer, at least, and see how it worked. Some should be invited for a week, some for two, some for four and some for the entire season. In short, it was to be a grand house party, such as the English had, only it was to last longer. It would cost a great deal, of course, but he guessed he could stand it for once, and he was planning drives and picnics and excursions to Mount Washington when his train stopped at the Central Station, and he hurried home, full of his scheme, of which his mother and Amy did not at first approve. Their preference was for Saratoga and Newport and similar places, rather than a house in the country miles from anywhere. But his enthusiasm conquered their scruples, and they began at last to look forward with a good deal of interest to the summer they were to spend at Maplehurst when Alex.’s plans were perfected.

CHAPTER V
SHERRY

It was the last of May, and more than a year since the cold February day when Alex. went up the mountain road to the tumbledown house, which was now a fine mansion,—the pride of its owner and the wonder of the people in the neighborhood, who were waiting developments. All through the previous summer and autumn the work of repairs and additions had gone on, with Bowles as head carpenter and Alex. there half the time giving directions and hurrying on the work. The roofs and chimneys and cellar walls and cisterns and windows had all been attended to. The piazza had been extended on three sides of the house and a bowling alley and billiard-room added. The barn and stables had been enlarged to accommodate the horses Alex. meant to have, with carriages and tally-ho for the use of his guests. Two grooms had been hired, with a chef and housekeeper and maids for the kitchen, and a head waiter. Invitations had been given to and accepted by people anxious to try this new departure, which promised so much.

“And now there’s nothing but the table waiters,” Alex. said. “I must advertise for these, and I want four to begin with, nice, pretty girls,—salesladies, I suppose, and stenographers and typewriters, and, possibly, teachers, who will be glad of a change.”

“And put on airs, and think they must sit with us when their work is done, and perhaps practise on the piano. I’ve heard of such things,” Amy said, with a toss of her head.

She was prouder than her brother, and did not believe in waitresses who might put on airs and sit with the family. She wanted girls who would keep their places. Alex. laughed, and said he’d advertise any way, and see what came of it. Two days later there appeared in the leading papers an advertisement to the effect that four or five capable young girls were wanted as table waiters during the summer at Maplehurst, among the White Mountains; the work would be light and the highest wages given. Those wishing for the place were to apply to the housekeeper, Mrs. Groves, No. — West Twenty-fourth Street, and, if accepted, were to report at Maplehurst the last week in June.

The morning after the advertisement was inserted a New York paper found its way to Buford, a little inland town in Massachusetts, where there was a very aristocratic look in the one long, broad street, and an air of sleepiness everywhere. There didn’t seem, however, to be anything drowsy about the young girl who had been for the daily mail, finding only the morning paper, which she read as she walked along the elm-skirted street towards home.