The abandoned farm, and Connie's mistake

by Mary Jane Holmes

It was like a journey round the world, that trip to St. Augustine and New York, and he talked of it for days, his voice trembling as he spoke of Colonel Elliott, and his manner becoming eloquent when he told them of Connie and described Mrs. Hart’s beautiful home and the number of servants employed.

“I didn’t s’pose anybody but the Queen lived that way; did you, Hal?” Kenneth said.

“Pshaw! yes. That’s nothing, and it’s the way I mean to live some time,” Harry answered, with the air of superior knowledge which always made Kenneth feel small and ignorant.

On one point they were agreed, and that was Connie, the little girl who was soon coming to visit them. Mrs. Stannard hoped she would stay a long time, and in her mind were visions of the little room next her own and the little bed she would fit up for her, while Kenneth thought of the sled he had seen in Millville and on which he would take her up and down the long hill and out upon the pond and everywhere. Harry thought of nothing except that it would be rather nice to have a little girl in the house, especially as she belonged to a swell family and had money. He was always thinking of money and swell people, and boasting of the Morrises, who belonged to that class. “Bred in his bone; takes it from his father, the proudest man I ever saw,” was Mrs. Stannard’s explanation, when her husband wondered where Hal got such notions.

For a time he was quite interested in Connie and her expected visit with her aunt. “Mrs. Hart can’t fail to see that I am a kick above the rest of ’em here, and I shall tell her who father was,” he thought, while Kenneth was planning how he could make it pleasant for the little girl.

It was decided at last that she was not to come that winter, and Kenneth, who had bought the sled at a reduced rate, put it away in the garret and began to plan for the summer, when the country would be so pleasant and the pond lilies so thick, and Hal would take her out in his boat and he would make her a swing in the barn and a teater in the fence.

The summer went by and autumn came and Hal went away to Andover and Kenneth to Millville, and Connie did not come, and they had ceased to expect her until a wild day in December, when a western blizzard was careering over the hills. Kenneth, who had been to the office, brought home a letter from Mrs. Hart, saying that, if convenient, she would spend the holidays at the farmhouse. She did not add that she had recently met with some losses, and had given up a trip to the south which she had intended taking, and as the visit to The 4 Corners must be made, she had decided to have it off her mind. That Connie should wish to stay in the country any length of time was preposterous, nor was it at all desirable for herself that she should. She was fond of the child and meant to keep her with her. She had promised her brother to take her to the farmhouse and let her see country life, and she must keep her promise, but would do it in her own way. None knew better than herself the beauties of the country in summer. She could see the fresh green grass and foliage and smell the new-mown hay and the lilies in the pond and the roses in the garden, and hear the hum of happy insect life, and knew these things would appeal to Connie, who might insist upon staying longer than she cared to have her, for if Connie stayed she must stay, too, and see that she did not contract habits hard to be rid of. So she decided to go in the winter, guessing what accommodations she would find, and knowing what the cold would be up there in the hills. She would not take her maid, who would be out of place. Connie must wait upon herself, and if she found it a hardship all the better, as she would sooner tire of the country and never care to visit it again.

Connie was delighted with the prospect of seeing her Guardy, as she called Deacon Stannard, and talked of the trip constantly.

“You will find things quaint and old-fashioned,” her aunt said to her, “but you must be very nice, no matter what you see. Deacon Stannard manages your money, and if you are not nice it may be harder to get all you want. And don’t you tell that I gave twenty-five dollars for your doll-house. He is something of a hunks, and would not like it.”

Connie nodded her little wise head, wiser in some respects than her aunt suspected. She was wondering what the old-fashioned things were she was to see, and what quaint and hunks meant. She liked to know the meaning of things, and hunted for the words in a dictionary. She missed hunks, but found quaint, the multiplicity of whose definitions bewildered her. She fixed, however, upon two, odd and antique. She knew what the latter meant. Her aunt had a craze for antiques, and gave a great price for them. Perhaps she could buy some at the farmhouse out of her pocket money, and give her aunt for a Christmas present. Hers, bought in advance, was the doll-house, for which twenty-five dollars had been paid. She was rather sorry to leave it, but a trip in the cars was always delightful to her, and it was a very happy child who, on the day before Christmas, started for The 4 Corners.