CHAPTER XXXVIII
ALL ON A SUMMER AFTERNOON
Dr. Graydon in Los Angeles sent Judge Holden a telegram, brimful ofdental technicalities, that convinced the Judge (Aunt Martha needed noconvincing!) that it was indeed Jacqueline Gildersleeve who had posedall summer as Caroline Tait. So Jacqueline, secure in the thought thattwo people in Longmeadow knew that she was the little girl she claimedto be, waited at the Conway farm for the coming of Aunt Edith and UncleJimmie, who should set her entirely right in the eyes of all the rest ofthe whispering village. You can easily believe that she was now countingthe days until the day, some time in September, when they should come.
Caroline, too, at Monk's Bay was counting the days, only whereJacqueline told herself joyously: "One day nearer!" Caroline wassighing: "One day less!"
She hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry when Cousin Penelope, in hersudden fashion, told her one afternoon that they were going back toLongmeadow day after to-morrow. Caroline hated to leave the downs, whereshe had had such walks and shy talks with Cousin Penelope, and the whitebeach, and the ocean that made music like cathedral organs. But it wouldbe blissful to have a few days more at The Chimnies, to sit with Mildredand Aunt Eunice in the summer house, and play for Cousin Penelope on thesinging piano, and sleep in her own lovely room--no, Jacqueline'sroom!--before she went away into the Meadows forever.
All the long ride home--no, it wasn't home to her, as it was to CousinPenelope and Aunt Eunice!--Caroline sat silent in her corner of thecushioned limousine. She held Mildred in her arms and was sorry for her.Mildred was going to miss the limousine.
Much of the time they drove along country roads, and in the pastures oneither side there were cattle grazing, black and white Holstein cows,and Jersey cows, and cows that were just plain old red mooley. WhenCaroline looked at them, for all that they were only mildly feeding, sheheld Mildred tighter, and wished that she dared to whisper her not to beafraid, for maybe the cows at half-aunt Martha's farm were kind cows.
And maybe the Conway cousins weren't like the fearsome boys they passedon the road: middle-sized boys with air rifles and fishing rods, intenton killing harmless things; big boys, clattering in home-madeautomobiles; little boys banging on drums and blowing tin trumpets witha racket that split the ears. Oh, boys were terrible beings, noisy, andfull of mischief and strange cruelties! Some boys, just for the fun ofit, liked to break and rend a little girl's dolls. Caroline held Mildredvery close and almost fancied she could feel her tremble.
"But there'll be lots of days yet," Caroline told herself eagerly."There'll be ten days at least--maybe twelve--before I have to go to theMeadows."
It was the middle of the afternoon when they rolled at last, almost asnoiseless as a shadow, down the sunlight-checkered street of Longmeadow,and turned in at the iron gate of The Chimnies. How lovely the gardenlooked, with its rows of gladioli, like lances in rest, its tallsentinel hollyhocks, its masses of gillyflowers, and of bouncingzinnias! The pears were ripening on the trees, and a purple blush was onthe plums. Caroline's tongue unloosed itself, and she was talking fastas she pattered up the porch steps at Aunt Eunice's side, but CousinPenelope was moodily silent as she had been, Caroline now remembered,all through the long journey.
Sallie met them, beaming, at the door, and spoke at once of the tea thatHannah had all ready for them. Just a hasty freshening the travelerspermitted themselves--time enough for Caroline to make sure that hergreen and golden room was as perfect as it was the day she left it--andthen they were seated round the tea table by the open window in the longparlor that looked upon the garden.
Aunt Eunice poured the tea carefully into the shallow, fragile old chinacups, and Sallie fetched in the mahogany curate's assistant, with aplate of fresh cinnamon toast, a plate of olive and cheese sandwiches,and a plate of small, rich, chocolate cakes with a frosting thick withnut-meats--cakes such as Hannah alone could make.
"This is like old times," Aunt Eunice sighed with content. "The oldchina, and the old silver!"
She looked fondly at the thin, old-fashioned spoon that she held.
"Oh, Mis' Gildersleeve," Sallie broke out, contrary to all decorum, butdoesn't a home-coming justify a breaking of rules? "Such a scare as wehad over them spoons!"
Cousin Penelope lifted her eyebrows never so slightly. She really wasmost unsocial to-day! But Aunt Eunice was all friendly interest.
"Why, Sallie," she said, "don't tell me you mislaid one of thesespoons!"
"Oh, worse than that!" Sallie explained with relish. "I went and mislaidthe whole kit an' bilin' of 'em. Mis' Gildersleeve, I'd taken myBible-oath I put 'em under the dinner napkins in the back of theside-board drawer, but if you'll believe me, I went to get 'em, and Icouldn't find hide nor hair of 'em. You could have knocked me down witha feather."
"But you found them, didn't you?" asked Aunt Eunice, a little anxiously,even though she held one of the precious spoons in her hand that veryminute.
"I couldn't have looked you in the face otherwise," Sallie assured her."I ran right over an' told Mis' Trowbridge, an' she told Mis' Holden,an' she told the Judge--and oh! Mis' Gildersleeve, he wants to call onyou, soon's you get back--most particular."
Sallie bridled as she said the words, and looked mysterious. Whyshouldn't she? Didn't she know--or think she knew!--the whole story ofJacqueline's gold beads, which she was not to mention to Aunt Eunice?
"But what about the spoons?" cried Aunt Eunice, not in the leastsurprised that her old friend, the Judge, should wish to bid her aprompt welcome home.
"Well, if you'll believe me," Sallie gave a sheepish giggle. "I found'em that self-same night, tucked away under the best towels in the linencloset, where I'd hid 'em for better safety. I knew I'd tucked themunder something--somewheres!"
"Well, well," said Aunt Eunice, much relieved. "It's fortunate, Sallie,that the Judge hadn't called in the constable."
"Ah, but there's more to it than that," Sallie went on mysteriously."There's a lot of things gone from this room and never been found yet. Iwouldn't have called it to your mind, like the Judge told me not to,only you're bound to miss 'em. The silver things are gone from the desk,an' the old snuff-box, an'----"
"Don't worry, Mother," Cousin Penelope spoke, in the cool, aloof voicethat no one knew better how to use. "I put a lot of knick-knacks awayfor safe keeping in that deep drawer in the hall closet. It was themorning we left, when the car was at the door. And Sallie neverdiscovered they were missing, until the house was re-opened." CousinPenelope smiled wintrily. "Really, Sallie, you must have done the parlorvery hastily on the morning when we left for the beach."
What a way Cousin Penelope had of catching you in your own avowals andputting you in the wrong! And if she could look like judgment seats,just because poor Sallie had hurried her work on the day when she, too,was going on a vacation, what would she look like, when she found out,as so soon she must find out, that Caroline was really a littleimpostor? At the mere thought Caroline put down her strip of crumblytoast untasted.
She was glad that the knocker at the front door went clang that veryminute--glad for Sallie, who could cover her flushed embarrassment byhurrying to the door--glad for herself, because her sudden loss ofappetite went unnoticed in the excitement that the prospect of a visitorseemed most surprisingly to create.
"Oh," cried Aunt Eunice, in genuine agitation. "It can't possibly be--sosoon!"
"Probably it's Judge Holden," Cousin Penelope spoke calmly. "A mostunseasonable time to call."
"They're not coming in!" said Aunt Eunice, with marked relief. Sheactually had turned in her chair, and sat with her anxious face towardthe wide doorway that led into the hall. "It was foolish of me to bestartled--of course it couldn't be----"
"Perhaps it's Jackie!" Caroline's heart beat fast, and a littleguiltily, as she said the words to herself. "Perhaps she's come to askme to change--right now."
She didn't dare follow the thought to its conclusion
. To lose theprecious, hoarded days that she was counting, as a miser counts histreasure--oh, how could she bear it!
The outside door closed with unnecessary noise. After all, Sallie washuman and must vent her feelings somehow! Cousin Penelope frowned. Wasit with mere annoyance--or anxiety? For Sallie had come back into theroom, and in her hand she carried a special delivery letter.
"It's for you, Miss Penelope," she said, rather grumpily.
"Wait a minute!" bade Cousin Penelope. She tore the bestamped envelopeclumsily--and to be clumsy and in haste was not like Cousin Penelope.She gave one glance at the sheet that lay within. "We'll not dineto-night until seven o'clock, tell Hannah," she said, without liftingher eyes. "And you can lay two more places at table."
She tore the letter into four pieces, with a quick, angered movement, asif she would have liked to tear something that could feel.
Sallie went out of the room. Caroline watched her go, in a kind of daze.She didn't want to look at Aunt Eunice or Cousin Penelope. She didn'twant to ask questions. She almost knew what was coming.
"I thought it better not to tell you, Jacqueline," said Cousin Penelope,in a voice of hard misery.
"There might have been some change of plans," Aunt Eunice interrupted,gently and rather wearily. "We didn't want you to be--disappointed. Ofcourse you have looked forward to their coming."
Caroline looked from Aunt Eunice's distressed old face to CousinPenelope's averted, angry face. She knew that one was as sorry as theother. And she herself--where had her voice gone to? Was it like thiswhen people died?
"I suppose," she managed to whisper, after what seemed ages ofheart-broken silence, "you mean--that they----"
"Your uncle and aunt," Cousin Penelope spoke in a crisp voice, "aremotoring up from Connecticut. They've just written that they'll be withus--late this afternoon."