CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he andBilly put the finishing touches to the new song.
It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the firea little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Fridayafternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
"You knew the girl, of course--I think you said you knew the girl,"ventured Arkwright.
"Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first,over a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know _how_ I met her,"smiled Billy.
"Alice Greggory?" Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. "I used toknow an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her motherwas a cripple."
Billy gave a little cry.
"Why, it is--it must be! _My_ Alice Greggory's mother is a cripple. Oh,do you know them, really?"
"Well, it does look like it," rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeperinterest. "I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to livein our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyesand prematurely white hair."
"That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly," cried Billy's eager voice."And the daughter?"
"Alice? Why--as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her." Atouch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keenear was quick to detect. "She was nineteen then and very pretty."
"About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes thatlook steely cold when she's angry?" questioned Billy.
"I reckon that's about it," acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
"Then they _are_ the ones," declared the girl, plainly excited. "Isn'tthat splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something forthem. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should thedaughter--if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't getnear her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't youknow they were here?"
"Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?" asked AuntHannah, turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
"Well, I can try," he offered. "To begin with, they are Judge Greggory'swidow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and theyused to be well off--really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge wasbetter at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came todie his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in badshape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eightyears ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almostnothing left."
"I knew there was some such story as that back of them," declared Billy."But how do you suppose they came here?"
"To get away from--everybody, I suspect," replied Arkwright. "That wouldbe like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to benobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard--to benobody where you've never been anything but nobody."
"I suppose so," sighed Billy. "Still--they must have had friends."
"They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes _too_highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,specially if you don't like the taste of the pity--and there are peoplewho don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were morbidlyso. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own work, theystepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats with headseven more proudly erect than in the old days when their home and theirgowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town. Yousee, they didn't want--that pity."
"I _do_ see," cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;"and I don't believe pity would be--nice!" Her own chin was held high asshe spoke.
"It must have been hard, indeed," murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, asshe set down her teacup.
"It was," nodded Arkwright. "Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippledfoot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. Itall depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she beganto teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and ofcourse she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachersonly twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was--aboutseventeen when she began to teach, I think--she got a few beginnersright away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhilekeeping on with her own studies, herself.
"They might have carried the thing through, maybe," continued Arkwright,"and never _apparently_ known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't beenfor some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's honestyin an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under thislast straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,sold almost all their remaining goods--they had lots of quite valuableheirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in--andwith the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, theyscarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at hometo callers, and they left without telling one soul where they weregoing, so far as we could ever learn."
"Why, the poor dears!" cried Billy. "How they must have suffered! Butthings will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and--"At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
"You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me," demurred the man. And againBilly noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
"But they wouldn't mind _you--here_," argued Billy.
"I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to seeme."
Billy's eyes grew determined.
"But they can't refuse--if I bring about a meeting just casually, youknow," she challenged.
Arkwright laughed.
"Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that," herejoined, rising to his feet; "but they might be disastrous. Wasn't ityou yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold MissAlice's eyes got when she was angry?"
Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did notwish to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made aquick shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
"But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors comeout--about Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?"
"Why, I never knew, exactly," frowned Arkwright, musingly. "Yet itseems, too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris,that some of the accusations had been found to be false, and that therewas a prospect that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all."
"Oh, I wish it might," sighed Billy. "Think what it would mean to thosewomen!"
"'Twould mean everything," cried Arkwright, warmly; "and I'll writeto mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-ifanything. Then you can tell them," he finished a little stiffly.
"Yes--or you," nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once tospeak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed withoutcomment.
The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to AuntHannah a beaming face.
"Aunt Hannah, did you notice?" she cried, "how Mary Jane looked andacted whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something betweenthem--I'm sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably."
"Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual," murmured the elder lady.
"Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightenseverything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow."
"Billy, my dear!" exclaimed the more conservative old lady, "aren'tyou taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wishfor--for a fairy godmother!"
"Oh, _they_ won't know I'm a fairy godmother--not one of them; and ofcourse I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody," laughed Billy. "I'mjust going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all. Onlythink, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the placethey're living in now--gentlewomen like them!"
"Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!" sighed Au
nt Hannah.
"I hope I'll find out that she's really good--at teaching, I mean--thedaughter," resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. "If she is, there'sone thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupilsfor her. I _know_ some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet;and Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sisterwas at all satisfied with the one their girls _have_ taken. They'dchange, I know, in a minute, at my recommendation--that is, of course,if I can _give_ the recommendation," continued Billy, with a troubledfrown. "Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow."