Patty's Friends Part 24

Even the quaint old yew-tree walk, with its strangely misshapen shrubbery, was bright and cheerful in the morning sunlight, and the lake rippled like silver, and gave no hint of dark or gloomy depths.

And yet, Patty couldn't help feeling that there was some shadow hanging over the Hartley family. They were never sad or low-spirited, but sometimes Mrs. Hartley would sigh, or Grandma Cromarty would look anxious, as if at some unrelievable sorrow.

The boys were always light-hearted and gay, but Mabel often had moods of despondency, which, while they never made her cross or irritable, were so pathetic that it worried Patty's loving heart.

And so she lay in her hammock, gazing at the beauty all about her, and wondering what was the secret grief that hara.s.sed her dear friends. It never occurred to her that it was none of her affair, for Patty was possessed of a healthy curiosity, and moreover she was innately of a helpful nature, and longed to know what the trouble was, in a vague hope that she might be of some a.s.sistance.

"I know they're not rich," she said to herself, "for the whole place shows neglect and shabbiness; but there's something besides lack of money that makes Madam Cromarty sad."

The place was indeed in a state of unrepair. Though there were many servants, there were not enough to do all that should have been done. The two gardeners did their best to keep the flowers in order, but the elaborate conventional gardens, laid out in geometric designs, and intricate paths, called for a complete staff of trained workers, and in the absence of these, became overgrown at their borders and untidy in appearance.

It was the same indoors. The handsome old furniture, covered with silk brocades and tapestries, was worn and sometimes ragged in appearance.

Some of the decorations showed need of regilding, and though the magnificent old carved woodwork, and tessellated floors could not be marred by time, yet many of the lesser appointments called for renovation or renewal. The Great Hall, as it was called, had best withstood the ravages of time, as it was wainscoted and ceiled in ma.s.sive old oak.

It was a n.o.ble apartment, with recessed windows and panelled walls, and across one end was a raised platform from the back of which rose a wonderfully carved chimney-piece.

This apartment, in the palmier days of the Manor House, had been the Banqueting Hall, but as there was a smaller and more appropriate dining-room, the Hartleys used the Great Hall as a living room, and had gathered in it their dearest treasures and belongings. Grandma Cromarty had her own corner, with her knitting basket. In another corner was a grand piano, and many other musical instruments. In one north bay window was Mabel's painting outfit, and so large was the recess that it formed a good-sized studio. On the walls, hobn.o.bbing with the ancient antlers and deers' heads, trophies of the chase, were the boys' tennis rackets, and in the outstretched arm of a tall figure in armour, a lot of golfsticks rested against the quartered s.h.i.+eld.

"I suppose," Mabel had said, when they first showed this room to Patty, "a great many people would consider it desecration to fill up this fine old place with all our modern stuff. But we're modern, and so we make the carving and tapestries give way to us."

"They like it," Patty had replied. "They feel sorry for other houses where the carvings and tapestries have to stay back in their own old times. Now hear these old rafters ring to modern music," and seating herself at the piano, Patty began some rollicking songs that were of decidedly later date than the old rafters.

Opening from the old Banqueting Hall was the library. This had been left just as it was, and the shelves full of old books were a never-failing delight to Patty's browsing nature. A gallery ran round all four sides, which was reached by spiral iron staircases, and the deep-seated windows, with their old leather cus.h.i.+ons, made delightful nooks in which to pore over the old volumes. There were many unused rooms in the Manor House.

Many unexpected alcoves and corridors, and in these the old furniture was worn and decayed. The rooms that were lived in were kept in comfortable order, but Patty knew, had there been more house-servants, these other apartments would have been thrown open to light and air.

Surely, Patty decided, the Hartleys were pinched for money, but just as surely, she thought, that could not have the effect of casting that indefinite gloom over them which was now and then observable. And as she idly swung in her hammock, she made up her mind to ask about it.

"If they don't want to tell me, they needn't," she said to herself, "but they surely know me well enough now to know that I'm honestly interested in their life, and not merely trying to pry into their secrets."

But she could not quite decide which one of the family to ask about it.

She would have preferred to ask Grandma Cromarty, but the old lady had a certain reserve, which, at times, was forbidding, and Patty stood a little in awe of her.

Mrs. Hartley was kindly and responsive, but Patty rarely saw her except when the whole family was present. In the morning Mrs. Hartley was busy with household duties, and afternoons Patty and Mabel were usually together. Patty felt sure she could never ask Mabel, for though the two girls were confidential friends, there was a sensitiveness in Mabel's disposition that made Patty shrink from touching on what she felt might be a painful subject. Then there were the boys. Bob, at home on his vacation from college was Patty's chum and merry comrade, but she imagined he would cleverly evade a serious question. He was always chaffing, and while Patty was always glad to meet him on this ground, she almost knew he wouldn't talk seriously on family subjects. This left only Sinclair. Patty really liked Sinclair Hartley. A young man of about twenty, he was studying law in a nearby town, where he went every morning, returning in mid-afternoon.

He was kindly and courteous, and though often grave, was always appreciative of a joke, and quite ready to join in any fun. But he had a serious side, and Patty had enjoyed many long talks with him on subjects that never would interest Mabel or Bob.

And so she concluded that at the first opportunity, she would ask Sinclair what was the nature of the mystery that seemed to hang over the House of Hartley.

"Ah, there, Pitty-Pat!" called a gay voice, and looking around, Patty saw Bob strolling toward her across the lawn. "Want to go out on the lake and fish for pond-lilies?"

"Yes, indeed," said Patty, twisting herself out of the hammock. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Oh, just for the lunch table. Mabel's so everlastingly fond of them, you know."

Patty thought it was nice of Bob to remember his sister's tastes, and she willingly went with him toward the lake.

"How beautiful it all is!" she said as they went down the terrace steps and along the lake path which led through a pergola and around a curved corner called "The Alcove."

This delightful nook was a small open court of marble, adorned with pillars and statues, and partly surrounding a fountain.

"Yes, isn't it?" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically. "You know, Patty, this old place is my joy and my despair. I love every stick and stone of it, but I wish we could keep it up in decent order. Heigh-ho! Just wait until I'm out of college. I'll do something then to turn an honest s.h.i.+lling, and every penny of it shall go to fix up the dear old place."

"What are you going to be, Bob?"

"An engineer. There's more chance for a fellow in that than in any other profession. Old Sinclair's for being a lawyer, and he'll be a good one, too, but it's slow work."

"You ought to go to America, Bob, if you want to get rich."

"I would, like a shot, if I could take the old house with me. But I'm afraid it's too big to uproot."

"I'm afraid it is. I suppose you wouldn't like to live in a brown-stone front on Fifth Avenue?"

"Never having seen your brown-stone Avenue, ma'am, I can't say; but I suppose a deer park and lake and several thousand acres of meadow land are not included with each house."

"No; not unless you take the whole of Manhattan Island."

"Even that wouldn't do; unless I had taken it a few hundred years ago, and started the trees growing then."

"No, America wouldn't suit you," said Patty, thoughtfully, "any more than English country life would suit most of our American boys."

"But you like this life of ours?"

"I love it; for a time. And just now I am enjoying it immensely. Oh, what gorgeous lilies!"

They had reached the lake, and the quiet, well-behaved water was placidly rippling against the stone coping.

Bob untied the boat.

"It's an old thing," he said, regretfully; "but it's water-tight, so don't be afraid."

Patty went down the broad marble steps, and seated herself in the stern of the boat, while Bob took the rowing seat.

A few of his strong pulls, and they were out among the lily pads.

"Row around a bit before we gather them," suggested Patty, and Bob with long, slow strokes sent the boat softly and steadily along.

"Isn't it perfect?" said Patty, dreamily. "It seems as if nothing could stir me up on a day like this."

"Is that so?" said Bob, and with mischief in his eyes, he began to rock the boat from side to side.

"You villain!" cried Patty, rudely stirred from her calm enjoyment; "take that!"

She dashed light sprays of water at him from over the side of the boat, and he returned by cleverly sprinkling a few drops on her from the blade of his oar.

"Why did you want to kick up a bobbery, when everything was so nice and peaceful?" she said, reproachfully.

"I shall always kick up a bobbery," he returned, calmly, "when you put on that romantic, sentimental air."