A Little Country Girl Part 15

"You haven't done anything. It's she who ought to be sorry," returned Miss Colishaw, and banged the door behind her as she pa.s.sed through.

"What a horrid old person!" said Mrs. Joy, who looked heated and vexed.

"I never met any one so impertinent. And such a fool, too! Why, she takes in sewing, I am told, or makes cake,--some of those things. She's as poor as Job's turkey; yet there she sits, with those valuable things absolutely wasting in her poky old house, and refuses to sell them. I wish I had spoken more strongly to her! I declare, I've a good mind to go back and do it now. It is such perfect folly. She really ought to be reasoned out of it."

"Oh, I wouldn't," urged Candace,--"I wouldn't go back. She was _so_ angry. I don't know what she would say if you did."

"My dear, I don't care a red cent what she says. All the old women on the Point can't frighten _me_," declared Mrs. Joy. She reflected a little; then she gave up her intention.

"After all, it isn't worth the trouble. She's just that sort of obstinate old creature who will never listen to a word of advice. I knew, the moment I looked at her, that nothing I could say would do any good. Generally I can turn that kind of person round my finger. Why, you'd be surprised if I told you of the bargains I have got out of old garrets over on Conanicut and down the Island. But, really and truly, I'm a little tired of it; and I never did care much for such old duds, except that other people have them and it is the thing to have them. I'd rather go to Howard's any day, and get a lot of nice French china.

Howard has such exquisite things always."

So the carriage was ordered to Coddington's Cove; and as they rolled smoothly past the Maitland Woods, neither Mrs. Joy nor Candace guessed that at that moment Miss Colishaw was sitting in her little back-room, with the old yeast-pitcher in her lap, crying as if her heart would break.

"It's bad enough to be old and poor and alone in the world," she sobbed to herself, "without having fine stuck-up folks coming right in to sauce you out of your senses." She wiped her eyes, and looked for a minute at the pitcher.

"Betsey Colishaw, you're a fool!" she remarked aloud. "You might have kept your temper. The woman didn't hurt you any. And there was that young thing looking so kind of sorry. You might have said a pleasant word to her, anyhow, even if you were all riled up with the other."

On sped the carriage, the lovely Upper Bay always in sight, until on the curve of the long Coddington's Point it turned, and retraced its course so as to strike Was.h.i.+ngton Street at the lower end. It was a delicious afternoon. The tide was flowing freshly in, and the brisk northwest breeze which met it sent little white-caps dancing all over the surface.

Crafts of all kinds were traversing the harbor: yachts and cat-boats were out in numbers; schooners and barges sped up the bay, their sails s.h.i.+ning against the green Island sh.o.r.es; row-boats and steam-tugs were crossing and recrossing between the city and the Fort and Torpedo Station. A sharp double whistle announced the "Eolus" just started on her up trip, with a long wake of creamy foam behind her. Fleets of white clouds were drifting across the sky, which was bluer than the sea, like s.h.i.+ps of heaven, simulating and repeating the movements of those of earth below. Every wharf and dock was full of people, fis.h.i.+ng, idling, or preparing to go out in boats. It was one of the moments when all mankind seems to be a-pleasuring, and to have laid aside all memory of the labors and the pains of this work-a-day world.

Mrs. Joy probably felt that she owed Candace some compensation for the unpleasant quarter of an hour which she had led her into at Miss Colishaw's; for she did her best to be entertaining, and to tell everything that she herself knew about Was.h.i.+ngton Street and its notabilities. She pointed out the two pretty old houses which have been so cleverly modernized into comfort without any sacrifice of their quaint exteriors; and the other and still finer one, once belonging to the Hunter family, whose renovations have gone so far toward spoiling it.

"It used to have a nice old staircase with a broad landing, and windows over the water, and beautiful mahogany bal.u.s.ters," explained Mrs. Joy.

"But they've spoiled all that. They have painted over the elegant satinwood and old cherry wainscotings, and taken out the secret staircase; and now it's no better than any other square house with that kind of roof."

"Was there a secret staircase?" cried Candace. "Oh, what a pity they took it out! I always thought I should like to see one so much."

"I don't believe this would have interested you particularly. It was only a kind of narrow back-stairs, which was not commonly used. They do say, though, that ghosts used to be heard running up and down it quite often."

"Ghosts! How strange! What sort of noise did they make? I suppose no one ever saw them."

"One lady did."

"Really!" Candace's eyes were wide with attention.

"Yes. She was a friend of mine, and she used to board in the house before it was altered. She heard the noises, which were a sort of scratching and rustling, and she resolved to see what the ghost was like; so she took a candle and followed it downstairs."

"How brave! And what was it like?"

"It was like--a rat! When she caught sight of it, it was sitting on the edge of a pot of lard. It was picking its teeth, she said."

"A pot of lard!"

"Yes. The secret staircase led down to a sort of cellar, you see."

"Oh, Mrs. Joy, how disappointing!"

"I'm afraid ghost stories generally do turn out disappointing in the end. Here we are, close to old Fort Greene. Would you like to jump out, and run down to the water's edge and see it?"

"Oh, thank you, I should like it ever so much."

It was but a few steps from the carriage to the gra.s.sy top of the old redoubt; but when Cannie had picked her way down the steep incline toward the sh.o.r.e, she found herself entirely out of sight of the street and the houses, out of sight of everything except the lovely sunlit Bay which stretched before her. There was no sound except the plash of the waves, and for a moment she felt as much alone as if she had been in the depths of a country solitude. Then another sound came vaguely to her ear,--a low murmur of conversation; and she became aware that the Fort held other visitors besides herself. A rock hid the speakers from her, whoever they might be; the voices were too indistinct for recognition, and it was accident rather than intention which led her to diverge from the path, as she returned to the carriage, in a manner which gave her a view of the party.

There were three persons,--a man and two girls. The man was young and good-looking; he was also well dressed, but there was something about him which, even to Candace's inexperience, suggested the idea that he was not quite a gentleman. One of the girls was standing with her back to Candace, talking eagerly in a hushed voice; the other sat on a stone in an att.i.tude of troubled dejection. Her face was in shadow; but she turned a little as Candace pa.s.sed, and to her wondering surprise she saw that it was no other than her cousin Georgie Gray.

CHAPTER IX.

PERPLEXED.

CANDACE paused for a second, surprised and hesitating; then she walked on again. Georgie had not seemed to observe her. The other girl was doubtless Berry Joy, with whom she was less at ease than with anybody else. She felt not the least desire to confront her, and a strange man to boot; besides, Mrs. Joy must not be kept waiting.

"That looks like Berry's village cart," exclaimed Mrs. Joy, as they drove past a side street where a little vehicle stood drawn up in the shade under the care of a natty groom. "Was that James and the cart, Wilkins?"

"Yes, ma'am, I believe it was."

"I wonder where the girls can be," continued Mrs. Joy. "At the Parishes', most likely, taking afternoon tea. That's a very favorite place at sunset with all the young people. There is such a wide piazza, and a splendid view." Having said this, she dismissed the subject from her mind.

They lingered so long in Thames Street, over various errands, that it was nearly dinner-time before Candace reached home. Georgie was there before her; she still had her bonnet on, and was sitting on the piazza with her mother and Gertrude, giving an account of her afternoon.

"And then we drove down to the Old Point, and called on the Parishes,"

she concluded; "and, mamma, as we came away Miss Gisborne saw us from her window, and called out that I was to tell you that Mr.--somebody--Card--Caird--some Englishman, at all events--was coming to-morrow, and would you please be sure to lunch with her on Wednesday and meet him?"

"Caird, the artist? yes, I know. Miss Gisborne was expecting him."

Georgie seemed to have finished her narrative. She had not said a word about Fort Greene.

"Now, Candace, what are your adventures?" demanded Gertrude. "It is quite exciting, after a dull afternoon on the sofa, to have you all come in and tell me what you have been about. I watched you drive away with a face like a frightened kitten."

"You would have seen me looking a great deal more frightened if you had been with us at Miss Colishaw's," said Candace; and she proceeded to relate what had happened, in a quiet, demure way which was particularly funny, throwing in a little unconscious mimicry which made the scene real to her audience. Miss Colishaw's grim indignation, Mrs. Joy's cool audacity, her own compunctious helplessness,--all were indicated in turn. Before she had done, they were in fits of indignant laughter.

"Well, really, I did not think even Mrs. Joy could behave so outrageously as that," remarked Gertrude.

"It is really too bad," said Mrs. Gray. "Miss Colishaw is one of the salt of the earth, always working herself to death for anybody who is sick or in trouble, or poorer than herself. I am afraid her feelings were really hurt. She is sensitive about her poverty, and has a great regard for her old family relics. I feared that there might be some mistake about her wis.h.i.+ng to sell her china when Mrs. Joy spoke about it; but it is a long time since I saw the old lady, and I thought it possible that something had occurred to make her glad of the money. I am really shocked at Mrs. Joy."

"If only I could have seen her at the cupboard, with the yeast-pitcher in her hand, and Miss Colishaw's face!" cried Gertrude, with another burst of laughter. "Well, after this truly awful interview what did you do next, Candace?"

"We drove to Coddington's Cove, and then we came back to Was.h.i.+ngton Street, and Mrs. Joy told me about the old houses; and then she stopped the carriage by old Fort Greene, and I went down to the sh.o.r.e to look at it."

"Did you?" said Georgie with sudden interest; "why--why, Berry and I were there too. We ran down for a moment."

"I thought I saw you," said Candace, simply.

She was looking straight at Georgie as she spoke, and was surprised to see her flush suddenly, and then turn as suddenly pale. Her change of color was so marked that her mother could scarcely have failed to notice it, had her attention not been for the moment occupied by Frederic, who just brought out a note which required an answer. Gertrude was looking another way; only Candace noticed Georgie's unwonted emotion. Nothing more was said about Fort Greene at the time; but a little later, when she was in her room smoothing her hair for dinner, Georgie tapped at the door.

"Cannie," she said, "I'm going to ask you not to say anything more to anybody about having seen Berry and me on Was.h.i.+ngton Street to-day."