The Story of a Summer Part 18

"Then I saved pennies until I had collected a sufficient number to send to Erie and purchase a copy of Comstock's Natural Philosophy--the first one by the way that had ever been brought into our towns.h.i.+p--and these two books, together with my self-acquired knowledge, and my own experience of two years as a teacher, sufficed to fit me to enter the Fredonia Academy, and to compete fairly with the other girls whose instruction had not been so dearly bought.

"I spent four of the happiest years of my life in school at Fredonia, and only regretted that sister Margaret could not have shared my advantages.

"Meantime, Margaret commenced to teach school at the age of fifteen, and continued to do so, until she was married, when twenty years old, giving great satisfaction to every one. She has, you know, three children. Her two boys, Eugene and Arthur, are promising young men, and are both employed in _The Tribune_ office. Arthur is married, and has several children. We all know how pretty his sister Evangeline is; she, you know, is to become Mrs. Dr. Ross this winter."

[1] Here a line is missing.

CHAPTER XX.

A Quiet Household--Absence of Marguerite and Gabrielle--Amusing Letters from them--A Gypsy Fortune-teller--Marguerite returns with a Visitor--The Harvest Moon--Preparing for Company--Arranging the Blue Room--Intense Antic.i.p.ation--"'He Cometh Not,' She Said."

_August 14_.

Our little household has been unusually quiet for the past week, owing to the absence of the two lively members of the family, Marguerite and Gabrielle, who are visiting friends by the seaside and upon the sh.o.r.es of Seneca Lake. Their absence makes a great change in the ways of the household, for Ida and I have not the high spirits and constant flow of words that distinguish our sisters, and we spend our time as quietly and busily as two little nuns, not even dreaming of asking any one to come up from the city and pa.s.s Sat.u.r.day with us. We miss them very much, especially at the table, and in the half hour after tea, when we always gather about mamma's sofa for a little chat, before separating for our evening's work--writing, practising, or whatever it may be.

Ida and I usually form the audience upon these occasions, and listen with great interest to Marguerite's entertaining stories of adventures at home and abroad, or Gabrielle's droll mimicry of the strongly marked characteristics of some one she has met or dreamed of. Sometimes the candles are extinguished, and a ghost story is told, for Gabrielle is fond of the supernatural, and her dramatic style of narration adds much to our enjoyment; indeed, chancing the other day to read in a magazine one of her pet stories, I was astonished to find how tame it sounded.

Ida and I find, however, some compensation for our sisters' absence in their sprightly letters, which arrive while we are at the tea-table.

Marguerite writes every day, and her letters are inimitable in their humor and _esprit_, for she writes exactly as she talks. She is visiting some friends whose acquaintance we made in Paris, and who have a beautiful country-seat upon Long Island. Her letters are filled with accounts of drives, fis.h.i.+ng-parties, and excursions in yachts and row-boats, and, lastly, of meeting a _real_ gypsy encampment (not the time-honored one in "Trovatore") and having her fortune told.

A gypsy woman, it seems, stopped the carriage as Marguerite was driving past, and expressed so strong a desire to "unveil the future for the young lady," that Marguerite consented, and held out her hand. Quite scornfully the gypsy said that her _own_ palm must first be crossed with money. Marguerite accordingly gave her a dollar bill, thinking that would be the full value of any fortune she would receive from a wandering gypsy, but the money was indignantly returned--the oracle did not tell one-dollar fortunes.

Somewhat astonished at so extensive a demand upon her purse, Marguerite gave her another dollar, whereupon the gypsy at once declared that the young lady had a lucky face, and would never want for anything during her life. The usual dark and fair gentlemen figured largely in her fortune, and--with a glance at Marguerite's blonde complexion--she was to beware the treachery of a brunette rival; however, she was destined to triumph in the end, and would indeed succeed in all her undertakings. I am sure the gypsy could have promised no less, considering the high price she placed upon her predictions.

Gabrielle's experience is very different. She is visiting a former schoolmate, a young girl of her own age. Bessie is now a pupil of Va.s.sar College, and enthusiastic over her studies: consequently the amus.e.m.e.nts of the two girls are of a very sedate nature: in Gabrielle's words, "A hermit in his cell, my dear Cecilia, never had a more quiet life than I at present enjoy."

She and Bessie had commenced, Gabrielle told me, to write a story together. The _debut_ was most brilliant, and for a time they worked very harmoniously, but unluckily the two little auth.o.r.esses had different views respecting the _proposal_ (not drawn from life, I imagine, considering their years), and in Gabrielle's letter of yesterday no mention was made of the progress of the story.

The letter, which was very vivacious, was chiefly devoted to the girls'

exploits while taking a buggy drive. Gabrielle, who is so fearless with her own ponies, quite scorned the lamb-like animal that was sent up from the livery stable, but she appears to have had much diversion, nevertheless, to judge from her letter. She says:

"Yesterday I tried to break the monotony of life at Seneca Lake by hiring a buggy and horse for Bessie and me to drive. You should have heard the shriek of horror that rent the air at the approach of the peaceful old nag. Miss Carpenter exclaimed:

"'Oh mercy, he points his ears!'

"Poor beast, his ears were pointed by nature, and _he_ could not help it. Mrs. Brown burst forth to the astonished stableman:

"'Does he kick, roll, rear, bite, or shy? Tell me quick, for I know he must do some of them.'

"We did have our drive though, and an adventure too, for we were caught in the rain, and entered a barn where a handsome young man acted the part of host, and generously bestowed hay upon our horse."

_August 16_.

A telegram last night from Marguerite, saying, "Will come on the early train with the Honorable Francis"--a very pleasant surprise, for, knowing the habits of that gentleman, we had supposed him to be, if not at the Antipodes, at least in Europe; accordingly, we went down to meet the train in quite a flutter of excitement.

Mr. Colton is "honorable" from having represented his government for four years at Venice. In appearance he is tall and swarthy, with a foreign and picturesque cast of features not unlike the Italian type: a "lovely brigand" we sometimes call him. Notwithstanding his easy and somewhat nonchalant air, he is a true American in his active and restless disposition and his love for travelling. I would be afraid to state the number of miles he has travelled since we made his acquaintance in Paris four years ago, and I have known him to start at forty-eight hours' notice to make a tour of the world.

Mr. Colton made us a visit of two days, and was sufficiently enthusiastic over dear Chappaqua to satisfy even our exacting demands.

We had some sport over the probable speculations of the telegraph operators concerning our visitor. Out of mischief, Marguerite had mentioned him in her telegram merely as "the Honorable Francis;" for so deep an interest is taken in the messages we receive and send, that we enjoy puzzling the operators a little; indeed, we may say that our telegrams are common property here, for seldom do we receive them until they have been carefully read by the telegraph and railroad officials, and then handed to any interested outsider who may chance to be in the office. I will give a little scene that occurred not long ago, by way of ill.u.s.tration.

Our friend Mr. A---- alights from the morning train, and is welcomed by a friend of his who is stopping for a week or so in Chappaqua.

"Delighted to see you, A----. Knew you were coming up this morning, so thought I would run down to the train and meet you."

"How in the world did you know I was coming, my dear fellow?" inquires the astonished A----. "You don't know Mrs. Cleveland or her niece, do you?"

"No, I don't know them," is the prompt reply, "but I was in the telegraph office yesterday, and saw your acceptance when it arrived."

TABLEAU.

_August 19_.

I am not partial to Friday, as it is often an unlucky day for me--a superst.i.tion that has come down to me from grandmamma; but, although I try to think it absurd, our experience of yesterday proved a singular confirmation.

Ida and I had thought to celebrate the return of Marguerite and Gabrielle by inviting several friends from the city to enjoy the delicious moonlight with us. Mamma accordingly wrote the invitations, and we at once commenced our preparations. The _fete_ we decided should last three days, and was to commence Friday afternoon--ominous day! We were to have moonlight walks and drives; we were to kindle a fire of pine cones and charcoal upon the beach at Rye Lake, and boil the kettle and make tea; a boat was to be placed upon our own little pond, and a tent pitched near by; and, last and most brilliant, Ida's lovely Southern friend, Miss Worthington, and Gabrielle, were to occupy the tent, dressed as gypsies, and tell the fortunes of the company.

We could scarcely wait for Friday to arrive, but there were many preparations to be made, so we curbed our impatience and worked very industriously. As we were now seven in the household, not counting the servants, and had invited quite a number of guests, the resources of our house were not extensive enough to stow them all away, consequently we spent a lively morning at the side-hill house fitting up three rooms, with Minna's a.s.sistance.

The blue room, with its pretty outlook upon the meadows, was our favorite, and upon it we bestowed the most attention. The carpet was gray and blue, of an especially pretty pattern, and the handsome marble-topped bureau, exhumed from the never-failing resources of the house in the woods, looked as fresh as though purchased yesterday. We made the bed with our own hands, touching with reverent care the superb blankets with their inscription:

"To Horace Greeley, the Protector of American Industry."

Then, when the blue silk eider-down counterpane was adjusted to our satisfaction, and one or two little ornaments added to the bureau and chimney-piece--"Cupid" in the Naples Gallery, and my dear Lela's portrait, both framed in blue velvet, and a beautiful Sevres vase which mamma calls "the one that Pickie _didn't_ break" (his little hands destroyed its mate)--we congratulated ourselves upon the effect of the room.

_Apropos_ of the Cupid, Ida sent it last winter with Annibal Caracci's "Magdalen" and one or two other religious pictures to be framed at Schaus'. When they were sent home, to our surprise, the frames were all surmounted by crosses--an emblem that, although quite _en regle_ for the Holy Magdalen, was, we thought, singularly inappropriate for Cupid. Stopping in at Schaus' a day or two later, I inquired of young Mr. Schaus, to whose taste we had left the selection of the frames, his reason for this extraordinary innovation. His reply was as nave as unexpected:

"But, mademoiselle, does Cupid, then, never meet with crosses?"

Having done our best for the blue room, we walked over the grounds to see that they were all in order, and when we had admired the pretty blue boat, the white tent, and the water-lilies in full bloom (planted that morning), and gone down to the express office to receive a package due by the ten o'clock train--a copy of the poems of one of the expected guests, which was to be left carelessly in his room with a mark at one of the ballads,--we congratulated ourselves that we had done all in our power to make the rooms look tasteful and pretty.

Lina was in her glory, having had an unrestricted order to do her best.

I had a slight foreboding of disappointment, as it was Friday, remembering, too, that the dining-room was lighted by three candles the previous night (a French superst.i.tion); but we all dressed in good spirits.

The somewhat spectral appearance of five ladies in mourning was somewhat relieved by the recent addition to our little circle, Miss Worthington, whose dress, though black, was enlivened by a little dash of pale blue--a most becoming match for her fair complexion and golden curls.

We did not wish to ruffle our hair unnecessarily by playing croquet or walking, so we all sat very sedately in the music-room watching for the 5.15 train to arrive. It came at last. We rushed out on the piazza, but recognized no one among the few pa.s.sengers who alighted.

Disappointment number one. However, they will surely come at half-past six, we argued, and taking up some books and work, we waited patiently until the next train arrived. Again we ran out upon the piazza. Papa was upon the platform at the depot, but we saw no other figure that looked familiar.

"What did I tell you, Ida," said I solemnly, "when, against my entreaties, three candles were lighted last night?"