Elsie Marley, Honey Part 21

"Oh, no, Mrs. Moss, she only went into Boston to do some shopping."

"But she was in New York in May?"

"Why, no," he returned with some surprise. "I'm sorry to say she hasn't been away overnight since she came. But we have made up our minds she shall have a change this summer, and now that you are here, we shall surely be able to put it through. Perhaps you will go to the sh.o.r.e with her? Of course you will spend the summer with us? Mrs.

Middleton will insist."

Mrs. Moss was too dazed to reply. Indeed, the only statement she had taken in was that Elsie had not been away since she came. For an instant she wondered if she could have mistaken. But that could not be. Surely there were no two girls in the country who would have selected that particular song and have had peculiar dimples into the bargain. On the other hand, Elsie couldn't have been in two places at once. Neither could she have been away without his knowledge. It wasn't conceivable that he----

It struck her coldly that he was not in his right mind--that this handsome, courteous gentleman was mildly insane. In spite of his fine manner and bearing, his every word had been irrational. She hazarded one last question.

"Has Elsie said anything--shown any interest in the stage?"

As she spoke, there was a curious expression on her face--it seemed to him so watchful as to be almost furtive. He began to suspect that something was wrong. She was certainly overwrought and almost hysterical--beyond anything the journey would bring about. Possibly that was the explanation of the mystery. Elsie had rarely spoken of her stepmother. Perhaps her husband's death had unbalanced her mind?

Whereupon he murmured something soothingly and courteously evasive that confirmed Mrs. Moss in her suspicion with regard to him, his mind was wandering now; he had illusions, without doubt. Quite likely Elsie was now in New York, and he constantly believed her to be in Boston for the day, coming back in time for the library. And Mrs. Moss wondered how she could get the ear of the lady on the porch.

She could see her through the window. Now she saw that she had a ma.s.s of wool, red, white, and blue, in her lap and was knitting a curious-looking article, and it came to her that perhaps she, too, was out of her mind? Perhaps this was a mental sanitarium? True, she had inquired for the _parsonage_. Could it be that in the cultured East that was a new euphemism for insane asylum?

But that idea was too ludicrous, and suddenly struck by the absurdity, she laughed out. Her laugh was so merry and infectious as to lay his suspicion at once, and he couldn't help joining her. And then, somehow, each understood the misapprehension of the other, and they laughed the harder.

Even as they laughed, there was a light step on the veranda outside, and some one cried _Elsie_ in a tone of warm welcome.

Mr. Middleton had risen. "Shall I tell her who it is, or just send her in, saying that it's an old friend?" he asked in a low voice.

Her heart was beating violently. "Don't tell her who it is," she begged weakly and shrank back as he opened the door.

He closed it behind him and she waited breathlessly. She forgot everything except that she was to see Elsie. At the first sound she sprang to her feet, and as the door opened--not with Elsie's characteristic fling--she held out her arms.

"Elsie!" she cried, then started violently.

A total stranger stood before her, a pretty girl with a sweet face and long light-brown curls hanging from her neck.

"And who are you?" she cried wildly. "Am I mad or is this a lunatic asylum?"

For a moment the girl stared at her with sweet perplexed face. Was she another patient, then? thought the distressed woman.

"I am Mrs. Moss," she said in a sort of desperation. "Pray tell me who you are and where I am?"

All the pretty color left the girl's face. She stepped back and leaned against the door.

"This is the parsonage," she faltered. "I am Elsie Pritchard Marley.

Your Elsie is in New York with my cousin. We exchanged."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

On the Sat.u.r.day afternoon following the arrival of Mrs. Moss at Enderby, Miss Pritchard and Elsie had just seated themselves in the former's cool, pleasant room for the purpose of discussing summer clothes for the latter. A maid came to the door and brought in a card.

"Mrs. Richard Moss! I'm sure I don't know any such person; do you, Elsie?" Miss Pritchard exclaimed, frowning as she attempted to recollect whether that could be the married name of any one who had formerly been at Miss Peac.o.c.k's. As she looked up she saw that Elsie was almost ghastly white.

She sprang from her chair and went to her.

"Elsie, darling, are you ill?" she cried.

Elsie almost gasped.

"No, Cousin Julia, only--startled, _scared_," she said in a strange voice that frightened Miss Pritchard still further.

But the maid waited. About to ask her to excuse her to Mrs. Moss, she looked again at Elsie.

"You don't know her, dear?" she said gently, putting the card before her.

"Yes--I do. That's what--fazed me," gasped Elsie. "It's my--stepmother. I'm afraid something awful has happened."

Now Miss Pritchard was white, too.

"My child, are you out of your head?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about? You never had a stepmother. You couldn't have."

Then she half smiled.

"Oh, Elsie!" she cried reproachfully, "it's some of your stage friends come to see you. How you startled me! I'll settle with you later for that and give you a good scolding, but I won't stop now. Will you have her up here or down in the parlor?"

"Please, let's have her up here," said the white-faced girl in the same strained tone. "There's nothing to do now but go through with it. It serves me just right. But----"

Without understanding, her heart beating strangely, Miss Pritchard asked that Mrs. Moss be brought up.

They waited in silence. Presently the caller was ushered in, a slender woman clad in black, with a young-looking, sad face. Seeing Elsie, she too became very white. But the girl rushed upon her, flung her arms about her, and hid her face on her shoulder. And the stranger clasped her close.

Miss Pritchard stared in amazement. She hadn't known of any warm friend of Elsie's except the young girl in Enderby; but this was unmistakably an affection of long standing. For a moment she stood stock-still. Then somehow she got them both over to the sofa, relieved Mrs. Moss of her wraps, and sat down near.

"I don't understand," she said finally. "You are evidently an old friend of my little cousin's. Perhaps you are the lady she stayed with while she was finis.h.i.+ng her school after Mrs. Pritchard's death?"

Mrs. Moss looked hard at Elsie, reproachfully yet lovingly. It was so good to see the girl that the plans she had laid as she came on from Ma.s.sachusetts escaped her. She spoke at random, and might have imparted the same impression of mental irresponsibility that she had given Mr. Middleton.

"She hasn't any grandmother. She never had one. And she isn't----"

"Oh, _Moss_, I have it!" exclaimed Miss Pritchard. "You're the mother of Elsie's friend at Enderby--though I believed her to be an orphan all this time."

"I am Elsie's stepmother, and she isn't your cousin at all," declared Mrs. Moss sadly. "She's only a very naughty girl playing a trick on you."

Then for the first time Miss Pritchard spoke sternly to Elsie.

"If this is a trick, a part of your stage business, won't you please bring it to a close right here!" she demanded. "It has gone too far already."

"My dear Miss Pritchard, will you allow me to explain?" said Mrs. Moss.

Then she turned to the girl. "Or will you do it, Elsie? I went to Enderby to see you and found that other girl and learned the truth from her."