“It’s a piece of pure luck that the plate should have turned out so well after the slap-dash way in which it was taken and used. I say, Amy, isn’t this quite an adventure?”

  At last the plate was dry, and I printed two proofs. We wrapped them up carefully and marched down to Mr. Carroll’s.

  You never saw people so overcome with astonishment as the Carrolls were when Cecil, with the air of a statesman unfolding the evidence of some dreadful conspiracy against the peace and welfare of the nation, produced the plate and the proofs, and held them out before them.

  Mr. Carroll and Cecil took the proofs and went over to the Brooke shanty. They found only Ned and his mother at home. At first Ned, when taxed with his guilt, denied it, but when Mr. Carroll confronted him with the proofs, he broke down in a spasm of terror and confessed all. His mother produced the pocketbook and the money — they had not dared to spend a single cent of it — and Mr. Carroll went home in triumph.

  Perhaps Ned Brooke ought not to have been let off so easily as he was, but his mother cried and pleaded, and Mr. Carroll was too kind-hearted to resist. So he did not punish them at all, save by utterly discarding the whole family and their concerns. The place got too hot for them after the story came out, and in less than a month all moved away — much to the benefit of Mapleton.

  In Spite of Myself

  My trunk was packed and I had arranged with my senior partner — I was the junior member of a law firm — for a month’s vacation. Aunt Lucy had written that her husband had gone on a sea trip and she wished me to superintend the business of his farm and mills in his absence, if I could arrange to do so. She added that “Gussie” thought it was a pity to trouble me, and wanted to do the overseeing herself, but that she — Aunt Lucy — preferred to have a man at the head of affairs.

  I had never seen my step-cousin, Augusta Ashley, but I knew, from Aunt Lucy’s remarks concerning her, pretty much what sort of person she was — just the precise kind I disliked immeasurably. I had no idea what her age was, but doubtless she was over thirty, tall, determined, aggressive, with a “faculty” for managing, a sharp, probing nose, and a y-formation between her eyebrows. I knew the type, and I was assured that the period of sojourn with my respected aunt would be one of strife between Miss Ashley and myself.

  I wrote to Aunt Lucy to expect me, made all necessary arrangements, and went to bid Nellie goodbye. I had made up my mind to marry Nellie. I had never openly avowed myself her suitor, but we were cousins, and had grown up together, so that I knew her well enough to be sure of my ground. I liked her so well that it was easy to persuade myself that I was in love with her. She more nearly fulfilled the requirements of my ideal wife than anyone I knew. She was pleasant to look upon, without being distractingly pretty; small and fair and womanly. She dressed nicely, sang and played agreeably, danced well, and had a cheerful, affectionate disposition. She was not alarmingly clever, had no “hobbies,” and looked up to me as heir to all the wisdom of the ages — what man does not like to be thought clever and brilliant? I had no formidable rival, and our families were anxious for the match. I considered myself a lucky fellow. I felt that I would be very lonely without Nellie when I was away, and she admitted frankly that she would miss me awfully. She looked so sweet that I was on the point of asking her then and there to marry me. Well, fate interfered in the guise of a small brother, so I said goodbye and left, mentally comparing her to my idea of Miss Augusta Ashley, much to the latter’s disadvantage.

  When I stepped from the train at a sleepy country station next day I was promptly waylaid by a black-eyed urchin who informed me that Mrs. Ashley had sent him with an express wagon for my luggage, and that “Miss Gussie” was waiting with the carriage at the store, pointing down to a small building before whose door a girl was trying to soothe her frightened horse.

  As I went down the slope towards her I noticed she was tall — quite too tall for my taste. I dislike women who can look into my eyes on a level — but I had to admit that her form was remarkably symmetrical and graceful. She put out her hand — it was ungloved and large, but white and firm, with a cool, pleasant touch — and said, with a composure akin to indifference, “Mr. Carslake, I presume. Mother could not come to meet you, so she sent me. Will you be kind enough to hold my horse for a few minutes? I want to get something in the store.” Whereupon she calmly transferred the reins to me and disappeared.

  At the time she certainly did not impress me as pretty, yet neither could I call her plain. Taken separately, her features were good. Her nose was large and straight, the mouth also a trifle large but firm and red, the brow wide and white, shadowed by a straying dash of brown curl or two. She had a certain cool, statuesque paleness, accentuated by straight, fine, black brows, and her eyes were a bluish grey; but the pupils, as I afterward found out, had a trick of dilating into wells of blackness which, added to a long fringe of very dark lashes, made her eyes quite the most striking feature of her face. Her expression was open and frank, and her voice clear and musical without being sweet. She looked about twenty-two.

  At the time I did not fancy her appearance and made a mental note to the effect that I would never like Miss Ashley. I had no use for cool, businesslike women — women should have no concern with business. Nellie would never have troubled her dear, curly head over it.

  Miss Ashley came out with her arms full of packages, stowed them away in the carriage, got in, told me which road to take, and did not again speak till we were out of the village and driving along a pretty country lane, arched over with crimson maples and golden-brown beeches. The purplish haze of a sunny autumn day mellowed over the fields, and the bunch of golden rod at my companion’s belt was akin to the plumed ranks along the fences. I hazarded the remark that it was a fine day; Miss Ashley gravely admitted that it was. Then a deep smile seemed to rise somewhere in her eyes and creep over her face, discovering a dimple here and there as it proceeded.

  “Don’t let’s talk about the weather — the subject is rather stale,” she said. “I suppose you are wondering why on earth Mother had to drag you away out here. I tried to show her how foolish it was, but I didn’t succeed. Mother thinks there must be a man at the head of affairs or they’ll never go right. I could have taken full charge easily enough; I haven’t been Father’s ‘boy’ all my life for nothing. There was no need to take you away from your business.”

  I protested. I said I was going to take a vacation anyway, and business was not pressing just then. I also hinted that, while I had no doubt of her capacity, she might have found the duties of superintendent rather arduous.

  “Not at all,” she said, with a serenity that made me groan inwardly. “I like it. Father always said I was a born business manager. You’ll find Ashley’s Mills very quiet, I’m afraid. It’s a sort of charmed Sleepy Hollow. See, there’s home,” as we turned a maple-blazoned corner and looked from the crest of one hill across to that of another. “Home” was a big, white, green-shuttered house buried amid a riot of autumn colour, with a big grove of dark green spruces at the back. Below them was a glimpse of a dark blue mill pond and beyond it long sweeps of golden-brown meadow land, sloping up till they dimmed in horizon mists of pearl and purple.

  “How pretty,” I exclaimed admiringly.

  “Isn’t it?” said Gussie proudly. “I love it.” Her pupils dilated into dark pools, and I rather unwillingly admitted that Miss Ashley was a fine-looking girl.

  As we drove up Aunt Lucy was standing on the steps of the verandah, over whose white roof trailed a luxuriant creeper, its leaves tinged by October frosts into lovely wine reds and tawny yellows. Gussie sprang out, barely touching my offered hand with her fingertips.

  “There’s Mother waiting to pounce on you and hear all the family news,” she said, “so go and greet her like a dutiful nephew.”

  “I must take out your horse for you first,” I said politely.

  “Not at all,” said Miss Ashley, taking the reins from my hands in a way not to be disputed. “I always unharness Charley myself. No one understands him half so well. Besides, I’m used to it. Didn’t I tell you I’d always been Father’s boy?”

  “I well believe it,” I thought in disgust, as she led the horse over to the well and I went up to Aunt Lucy. Through the sitting-room windows I kept a watchful eye on Miss Ashley as she watered and deftly unharnessed Charley and led him into his stable with sundry pats on his nose. Then I saw no more of her till she came in to tell us tea was ready, and led the way out to the dining room.

  It was evident Miss Gussie held the reins of household government, and no doubt worthily. Those firm, capable white hands of hers looked as though they might be equal to a good many emergencies. She talked little, leaving the conversation to Aunt Lucy and myself, though she occasionally dropped in an apt word. Toward the end of the meal, however, she caught hold of an unfortunate opinion I had incautiously advanced and tore it into tatters. The result was a spirited argument, in which Miss Gussie held her own with such ability that I was utterly routed and found another grievance against her. It was very humiliating to be worsted by a girl — a country girl at that, who had passed most of her life on a farm! No doubt she was strong-minded and wanted to vote. I was quite prepared to believe anything of her.

  After tea Miss Ashley proposed a walk around the premises, in order to initiate me into my duties. Apart from his farm, Mr. Ashley owned large grist-and saw-mills and did a flourishing business, with the details of which Miss Gussie seemed so conversant that I lost all doubt of her ability to run the whole thing as she had claimed. I felt quite ignorant in the light of her superior knowledge, and our walk was enlivened by some rather too lively discussions between us. We walked about together, however, till the shadows of the firs by the mills stretched nearly across the pond and the white moon began to put on a silvery burnish. Then we wound up by a bitter dispute, during which Gussie’s eyes were very black and each cheek had a round, red stain on it. She had a little air of triumph at having defeated me.

  “I have to go now and see about putting away the milk, and I dare say you’re not sorry to be rid of me,” she said, with a demureness I had not credited her with, “but if you come to the verandah in half an hour I’ll bring you out a glass of new milk and some pound cake I made today by a recipe that’s been in the family for one hundred years, and I hope it will choke you for all the snubs you’ve been giving me.” She walked away after this amiable wish, and I stood by the pond till the salmon tints faded from its waters and stars began to mirror themselves brokenly in its ripples. The mellow air was full of sweet, mingled eventide sounds as I walked back to the house. Aunt Lucy was knitting on the verandah. Gussie brought out cake and milk and chatted to us while we ate, in an inconsequent girlish way, or fed bits of cake to a green-eyed goblin in the likeness of a black cat.

  She appeared in such an amiable light that I was half inclined to reconsider my opinion of her. When I went to my room the vase full of crimson leaves on my table suggested Gussie, and I repented of my unfriendliness for a moment — and only for a moment. Gussie and her mother passed through the hall below, and Aunt Lucy’s soft voice floated up through my half-open door.

  “Well, how do you like your cousin, my dear?”

  Whereat that decided young lady promptly answered, “I think he is the most conceited youth I’ve met for some time.”

  Pleasant, wasn’t it? I thought of Nellie’s meek admiration of all my words and ways, and got her photo out to soothe my vanity. For the first time it struck me that her features were somewhat insipid. The thought seemed like disloyalty, so I banished it and went to bed.

  I expected to dream of that disagreeable Gussie, but I did not, and I slept so soundly that it was ten o’clock the next morning before I woke. I sprang out of bed in dismay, dressed hastily, and ran down, not a little provoked at myself. Through the window I saw Gussie in the garden digging up some geraniums. She was enveloped in a clay-stained brown apron, a big flapping straw hat half hid her face, and she wore a pair of muddy old kid gloves. Her whole appearance was disreputable, and the face she turned to me as I said “Good morning” had a diagonal streak of clay across it. I added slovenliness to my already long list of her demerits.

  “Good afternoon, rather. Don’t you know what time it is? The men were here three hours ago for their orders. I thought it a pity to disturb your peaceful dreams, so I gave them myself and sent them off.”

  I was angrier than ever. A nice beginning I had made. And was that girl laughing at me?

  “I expected to be called in time, certainly,” I said stiffly. “I am not accustomed to oversleep myself. I promise it will not occur again.”

  My dignity was quite lost on Gussie. She peeled off her gloves cheerfully and said, “I suppose you’d like some breakfast. Just wait till I wash my hands and I’ll get you some. Then if you’re pining to be useful you can help me take up these geraniums.”

  There was no help for it. After I had breakfasted I went, with many misgivings. We got on fairly well, however. Gussie was particularly lively and kept me too busy for argument. I quite enjoyed the time and we did not quarrel until nearly the last, when we fell out bitterly over some horticultural problem and went in to dinner in sulky silence. Gussie disappeared after dinner and I saw no more of her. I was glad of this, but after a time I began to find it a little dull. Even a dispute would have been livelier. I visited the mills, looked over the farm, and then carelessly asked Aunt Lucy where Miss Ashley was. Aunt Lucy replied that she had gone to visit a friend and would not be back till the next day.

  This was satisfactory, of course, highly so. What a relief it was to be rid of that girl with her self-assertiveness and independence. I said to myself that I hoped her friend would keep her for a week. I forgot to be disappointed that she had not when, next afternoon, I saw Gussie coming in at the gate with a tolerably large satchel and an armful of golden rod. I sauntered down to relieve her, and we had a sharp argument under way before we were halfway up the lane. As usual Gussie refused to give in that she was wrong.

  Her walk had brought a faint, clear tint to her cheeks and her rippling dusky hair had half slipped down on her neck. She said she had to make some cookies for tea and if I had nothing better to do I might go and talk to her while she mixed them. It was not a gracious invitation but I went, rather than be left to my own company.

  By the end of the week I was as much at home at Ashley Mills as if I had lived there all my life. Gussie and I were thrown together a good deal, for lack of other companions, and I saw no reason to change my opinion of her. She could be lively and entertaining when she chose, and at times she might be called beautiful. Still, I did not approve of her — at least I thought so, most of the time. Once in a while came a state of feeling which I did not quite understand.

  One evening I went to prayer meeting with Aunt Lucy and Gussie. I had not seen the minister of Ashley Mills before, though Gussie and her mother seemed to know him intimately. I had an idea that he was old and silvery-haired and benevolent-looking. So I was rather surprised to find him as young as myself — a tall, pale, intellectual-looking man, with a high, white brow and dark, earnest eyes — decidedly attractive.

  I was still more surprised when, after the service, he joined Gussie at the door and went down the steps with her. I felt distinctly ill-treated as I fell back with Aunt Lucy. There was no reason why I should — none; it ought to have been a relief. Rev. Carroll Martin had every right to see Miss Ashley home if he chose. Doubtless a girl who knew all there was to be known about business, farming, and milling, to say nothing of housekeeping and gardening, could discuss theology also. It was none of my business.

  I don’t know what kept me awake so late that night. As a consequence I overslept myself. I had managed to redeem my reputation on this point, but here it was lost again. I felt cross and foolish and cantankerous when I went out.

  There was some unusual commotion at the well. It was an old-fashioned open one, with a chain and windlass. Aunt Lucy was peering anxiously down its mouth, from which a ladder was sticking. Just as I got there Gussie emerged from its depths with a triumphant face. Her skirt was muddy and draggled, her hair had tumbled down, and she held a dripping black cat.

  “Coco must have fallen into the well last night,” she explained, as I helped her to the ground. “I missed him at milking-time, and when I came to the well this morning I heard the most ear-splitting yowls coming up from it. I couldn’t think where he could possibly be, for the water was quite calm, until I saw he had crept into a little crevice in the stones on the side. So I got a ladder and went down after him.”

  “You should have called me,” I said sourly. “You might have killed yourself, going down there.”

  “And Coco might have tumbled in and drowned while you were getting up,” retorted Gussie. “Besides, what was the need? I could go down as well as you.”

  “No doubt,” I said, more sharply than I had any business to. “I don’t dream of disputing your ability to do anything you may take it into your head to do. Most young ladies are not in the habit of going down wells, however.”

  “Perhaps not,” she rejoined, with freezing calmness. “But, as you may have discovered, I am not ‘most young ladies.’ I am myself, Augusta Ashley, and accountable to nobody but myself if I choose to go down the well every day for pure love of it.”

  She walked off in her wet dress with her muddy cat. Gussie Ashley was the only girl I ever saw who could be dignified under such circumstances.

  I was in a very bad humour with myself as I went off to see about having the well cleaned out. I had offended Gussie and I knew she would not be easily appeased. Nor was she. For a week she kept me politely, studiously, at a distance, in spite of my most humble advances. Rev. Carroll was a frequent caller, ostensibly to make arrangements about a Sunday school they were organizing in a poor part of the community. Gussie and he held long conversations on this enthralling subject. Then Gussie went on another visit to her friend, and when she came back so did Rev. Carroll.

 

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