CHAPTER XV
A FLITTING
On an orthodox June morning, rare and radiant, but verging on a heatwhich increased Miss Lacey's appreciation of her happy destiny, sheturned the key of her house.
Her carpets were rolled up, and her curtains rolled down; her thin,worn, solid silver was packed in a neighboring attic. Nothing portableof any value was left for a marauding hand, and, moreover, theneighbors on both sides always willingly kept an eye on Miss Martha'sinterests. They rejoiced generously in that summer work of hers, whichshe assured them was just play. One summer, several years ago, it hadbeen generally known among Miss Lacey's friends that she had beenailing for some time. Judge Trent was abroad that season, and he made asuggestion to Thinkright, which resulted in an invitation to MissMartha to visit the Mill Farm. It was then that she made theacquaintance of Edna Derwent, who, when the girl came to need acompanion in her playhouse, remembered the smart, stirring woman whohad been so happy in the peace and quiet of the locality. The resultwas several summer outings for Miss Martha, and she never knew that sheowed them to the man with whom she had just missed spending her life.
Serene in the safety of her niece, and of her goods, and in theprospect before her, she waited at the station for the train toPortland. Her gray lisle-thread gloves were new, so was her tissue veiland her straw hand-bag. She was conscious that she looked genteel, andher mental sky was as cloudless as the firmament above her while shewatched the train draw into the station. She scanned each platform asthe cars slowly passed, and soon her search was rewarded by the sightof Miss Derwent's brown-clothed figure and the eyes that laughed aresponse to the eager face below. Miss Martha trotted briskly up thesteps.
"Here you are, my dear. What a day! Did you remember to send thatgrocery list to Shaw's? Did Jenny come? Oh, yes. There she is. How doyou do, Jenny?" greeting Edna's cook, whose stolid rosy face gazed fromthe chair opposite the one to which Miss Derwent led her friend.
All the way to Portland Miss Martha's tongue kept pace with thevelocity of the train. The one subject upon which it halted was herniece. She longed to know all that Edna could tell her, but shehesitated to reveal how slight was her own knowledge.
She cleared her throat before speaking tentatively.
"Judge Trent tells me you saw my niece at the farm."
"Yes, indeed," replied Edna. "I begged her to stay long enough for meto have the pleasure of bringing you together, but she felt that shecouldn't do so."
Miss Lacey flushed. "Oh, we've met, you know," she replied.
"Indeed? I didn't understand, then."
"Oh, certainly. Of course I met her in Boston when she came on from theWest. Judge Trent,"--Miss Martha swallowed and moved uneasily,--"itwasn't exactly convenient for him to go into the city that day. He'sjust now been up to the farm to see Sylvia,--and of course _my_ visitwith her was very hurried and--unsatisfactory." Miss Martha swallowedthe obstacle in her throat again, whatever it was. She had a vague ideathat her conscience was rising in revolt against the impression she wasendeavoring to make. She was wont to say that some folks might haveconsciences that spoke in still small voices, but that hers was theyelling kind. On this occasion she repressed it firmly, although theeffort reddened her cheeks still further. Conscience or no consciencethere were moments when consideration for the proprieties should beparamount.
She continued: "Possibly Sylvia told you that she was still convalescingfrom a severe illness when she was called upon to pass through thesorrow of losing her dear father,--a very artistic, unpractical soul,my poor brother,--and really it was a mercy the judge had the farm tosend her to. Thinkright was of course ready to take her, as he is forevery good word and work, and it has turned out so well. He and shehave taken the greatest fancy to one another"--
"Then is she there still?" asked Edna, as Miss Lacey paused for a hastyselection of further detail.
"Yes, indeed. We shouldn't think of allowing her to leave, and," veryconfidentially, "I don't know whether you ever heard of the romance ofThinkright's life?"
Edna shook her head. Miss Martha nodded hers impressively. "Yes.Sylvia's mother. Mh'm. There's something quite touching about thisoutcome. He seems to consider that he has almost adopted Sylvia,--thatshe belongs to him."
Edna gave a little exclamation. "Any girl would be fortunate to belongto Thinkright," she returned.
"Yes, indeed. He's a good man, and the judge and I feel perfectlyeasy"--Miss Martha used that form of speech with subtlesatisfaction--"to leave her with him. Of course we're three lone, lornpeople, and Thinkright's less closely related to the child than we; butneither the judge nor I would feel it right"--here conscience reareduntil it threatened to stop her speech altogether. "Will you wait tillyour advice is asked?" she demanded in fierce, silent parenthesis. Thenwith a vigorous swallow she finished her sentence,--"feel it right totake her away from him."
Miss Martha leaned back in her chair flushed and guiltily content. Shehad made her impression, and she was willing to pay for it with vigilsif necessary.
"The girl certainly couldn't be in a better place for either mind orbody," returned Edna thoughtfully, looking out the window; "but Iwonder, since you tell me this, why the evening I was there she was soinsistent about going away."
Miss Martha recalled vaguely a quotation concerning the swiftness withwhich a start in deceit becomes a tangled web.
"You see, she wasn't real well," she returned, "and I suppose she hadfancies; but I'm expecting to find her settled and happy by this time.She certainly would be excusable if she was a little notional andrestless at first." Then with one deep breath she changed the subject."I wonder, Edna, if we're going to need a new cook stove this summer?"
Miss Derwent rose to the fascinating bait. She considered it enchantingto live in a house where she could be acquainted with the cook stove;and Miss Martha felt that she had sheered off the thin ice upon solidground at last.
Arriving in Portland, they took a carriage and drove about, attendingto their list of errands, in that charmed air which makes theprocession of doctors' signs which lines Congress Street appear anincomprehensible paradox to the exultant, anticipating summer folk.
At last the little party boarded the island steamer, and though a lightfog blew in from the sea, it failed to dampen the spirits of MissDerwent and her chaperon. Even Jenny, the cook, drew a blanket shawlaround her, and remained on deck. There was a certain stalwartfisherman at Hawk Island whose image had not been blotted out by thepale suitors of her winter.
The deep roar of the breakers below Anemone Cottage had been wont tohave a depressing effect on Mrs. Derwent, and was one of the chiefcauses of the devout relief she experienced in bidding a permanentfarewell to Hawk Island. The green field which lay at the back of thehouse, in front billowed across to masses of rock leading sixty feetdownward to the bottle-green water, churned at this point into aconstant unrest by its never ceasing attack upon the gray confusion ofpoints and ledges.
Calm as the sea might be, it never fell entirely quiet here; and as thewind and tide rose, the seething and spouting of foam and spraywhitened the entire coast, the rising and bursting of the breakersbeing accomplished with a thunderous booming which was inspiring musicin Miss Derwent's ears.
To-day Benny Merritt was at the wharf with a carriage to meet thenewcomers, and he drove them to the cottage under a running fire ofquestions from Miss Derwent, to which his slow drawl replied withrelish.
Miss Lacey was a necessary accompaniment to Miss Derwent, and shetherefore dwelt in a reflected light, which made her fussy catechismsand exactions endurable.
"Oh, hear it, hear it!" cried Edna, as the horse pulled up the greenribbon road which led to the cottage. "It's always high tide when Icome. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Hear it, Miss Lacey."
"How can I help hearing it?" returned Miss Martha mildly.
"Isn't it superb!" insisted Edna, looking over the miles of rockingblue as though for the first time.
"Oh, yes, I don't mind it.
That is, yes, indeed, it is splendid, Edna.Benny, why haven't you taken off those back shutters?"
Miss Derwent laughed softly. Miss Martha often told people that thesurf did not affect her at all disagreeably, and Edna's experience hadtaught her to appreciate this. After all, it was a good thing to havesome one about who could think of shutters, even though the fog haddrawn back to a low, smoke-colored fold that softly encircled thehorizon, and the gulls were cresting the waves with their white wings.