“Oh, yes; to be sure. Mooseer, I think you said. I didn’t quite catch it. Uncommon name. Miss Mooseer, this is Mr. Craig Mason from Boston. Mr. Mason, Miss Mooseer, I hope you’ll be good friends,” and Uncle Zacheus waved his hand in a friendly way from one to the other.
Craig was too much of a gentleman to laugh, but there was a gleam of merriment in his eyes as he bowed to the girl, and an answering gleam in hers as she curtsied and said, “Bon Jour, monsieur,” and hurried away.
“What did she say?” Uncle Zacheus asked, and Craig replied, “She wished me good morning, in French.”
“Oh, yes; wall, I don’t understand French very well. Pretty little filly, but you or’to see t’other one,” was Uncle Zach’s response, as Craig left the office, thinking, “I’ve been introduced to the maid, and now I’d like to see her mistress.”
As he passed the door of the salon he heard the rattling of dishes and murmur of voices, one very sweet and musical and full of laughter, the other so low he could scarcely distinguish it. Going to the north piazza he sat down in his accustomed chair to wait developments. “They will certainly make the tour of the piazzas and come this way after breakfast,” he thought, and by they he had no reference to the one Uncle Zacheus had called a daisy. She was scarcely in his mind at all. He was waiting for t’other one.
CHAPTER X.
ALICE AND JEFF.
Like Craig Mason, Alice was an early riser. The dewy morning in summer was to her the best part of the day. She had slept well, and before the village clock struck five she was up and dressed. Helen, whose room adjoined hers, heard her moving about and called softly to her.
“What is it?” Alice asked, going to her, and Helen answered, sleepily, “Are you up so soon? It seems to me I’ve only just got into bed. Open the blind, please, and let in some air and light. How pretty and fresh you look,” she continued, as Alice opened the blind and came to the bedside. “That gown is so becoming, and I don’t suppose it cost more than fifty cents a yard.”
“Twenty-five,” Alice interposed, and Helen went on, “Well, it is a heap prettier than my Paris gowns, all fuss and feathers. You are going out?”
“Yes; to see what the place is like, and report.”