The Girls of Hillcrest Farm; Or, The Secret of the Rocks

by Amy Bell Marlowe

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE BALL KEEPS ROLLING

  The school teacher pressingly invited the Bray girls to accompany him tothe temperance meeting that evening; his buggy would hold the three, hedeclared. But both Lyddy and 'Phemie had good reason for being excused.There was now work for them--and plenty of it.

  They had to disappoint Lucas in this matter, too; but Harris Colesworthlaughingly accepted the teacher's later proposal that _he_ attend, andthe two young men drove off together, leaving the girls in the kitchenand old Mr. Colesworth and Mr. Bray playing cribbage in the dining-room.

  It was while 'Phemie was clearing the supper table that her attention wascaught by something that Mr. Colesworth said.

  "Who is your neighbor that I see so much up yonder among the rocks, atthe back of this farm, Mr. Bray?" he asked.

  "Mr. Pritchett?" suggested Mr. Bray. "Cyrus Pritchett. The long-leggedboy's father. He farms a part of these acres----"

  "No. It is not Cyrus Pritchett I mean. And he is no farmer."

  "I couldn't tell you," said Mr. Bray.

  "A rather peculiar-looking man--long hair, black coat, broad-brimmed hat.I have frequently come upon him during the last few days. He always walksoff as though in haste. I never have got near enough to speak to him."

  "Why," responded Mr. Bray, thoughtfully scanning his hand, and evidentlygiving little attention to Mr. Colesworth's mystery, "why, I'm sure Idon't know what would attract anybody up in that part of the farm."

  "Saving a man interested in breaking open rocks to see what's in them,"chuckled Mr. Colesworth. "But this fellow is no geologist."

  'Phemie, however, decided that she knew who it was. Silas Trent hadmentioned seeing the man, Spink, up that way; and, on more than oneoccasion, 'Phemie was sure the owner of the Diamond Grits breakfast foodhad been lurking about Hillcrest.

  "Lyddy has never asked Cyrus Pritchett about that evening he and Spinkwere up here--two weeks ago this very night. I almost wish she'd do so.This mystery is getting on my nerves!"

  And yet 'Phemie was not at all sure that there was any mystery about it.

  Lyddy, on the strength of getting her first boarders, renewed heradvertisement in the Easthampton papers. At once she received half a dozeninquiries. It was yet too early in the season to expect many people towish to come to the country to board; yet Lyddy painstakingly answeredeach letter, and in full.

  But she really did not see how she would be able to get on over the summerwith the open fire and the brick oven. It would be dreadfully hot in thatkitchen. And she would have been glad to use Mrs. Pritchett's Dutch oventhat Lucas had told her about.

  But since the first Sunday neither Mrs. Pritchett or Sairy had beennear Hillcrest. Now that Mr. Somers had established himself here, theBray girls did not expect to ever be forgiven by "Maw" Pritchett and herdaughter.

  "It's too bad people are so foolish," said Lyddy, wearily. "I haven't doneanything to Sairy."

  "But she and her mother think you have. By your wiles you have inveigledMr. Somers away from Sairy," giggled 'Phemie.

  "'Phemie!" gasped her sister. "If you say such a thing again, I'll sendMr. Somers packing!"

  "Oh, shucks! Can't you see the fun of it!?"

  "There is no fun in it," declared the very proper Lyddy. "It is onlydisgraceful."

  "I'd like to tell that young Mr. Colesworth about it," laughed 'Phemie."He'd just be tickled to death."

  Lyddy looked at her haughtily. "You _dare_ include me in any gossip ofsuch a character, and I--"

  "Well? You'll what?" demanded the younger girl, saucily.

  "I shall feel very much like spanking you!" declared Lyddy. "And that isjust what you would deserve."

  "Oh, now--don't get mad, Lyd," urged 'Phemie. "You take things altogethertoo seriously."

  "Well," responded the older girl, going back to the main subject, "theproblem of how we are to cook when it comes warm weather is a very, veryserious matter."

  "We've just got to have a range--ought to have one with a tank, on theend in which to heat water. I've seen 'em advertised."

  "But how can we? I've gone into debt now for more than thirty dollars'worth of commercial fertilizer. I don't dare get deeper into the mire."

  "But," cried the sanguine 'Phemie, "the crops will more than pay for_that_ outlay."

  "Perhaps."

  "You're a born grump, Lyddy Bray!"

  "Somebody has to look ahead," sighed Lyddy. "The crops may fail. Suchthings happen. Or we may get no more boarders. Or father may get worse."

  "_Don't_ say such things, Lyddy!" cried her sister, stamping her foot."Especially about father."

  The older girl put her arms about 'Phemie and the latter began to weepon her shoulder.

  "Don't let us hide our true beliefs from each other," whispered Lyddy,brokenly. "Father is _not_ mending--not as we hoped he would, at least.And yet the hospital doctor told Aunt Jane that there was absolutelynothing medicine could do for him."

  "I know! I know!" sobbed 'Phemie. "But don't let's talk about it. He is sobrave himself. He talks just as though he was gaining every day; but hisstep is so feeble----"

  "And he has no color," groaned Lyddy.

  "But, anyhow," 'Phemie pursued, wiping her eyes, her flurry of tearsquickly over, as was her nature, "there is one good thing."

  "What is that?"

  "He doesn't lose hope himself. And _we_ mustn't lose it, either. Of coursethings will come out right--even the boarders will come."

  "We don't know that," said Lyddy, shaking her head again.

  "How about the woman who wrote you a second time?" queried 'Phemie. "Mrs.Castle. I bet _she_ comes next week."

  And 'Phemie was right in _that_ prophecy. They had Lucas meet the trainfor Mrs. Castle on Saturday, and 'Phemie went with him. There weresupplies to buy for the house and the young girl made her purchasesbefore train time.

  A little old lady in a Paisley shawl and black, close bonnet, got out ofthe train. The porter lifted down an ancient carpet-bag--something 'Phemiehad never in her life seen before. Even Lucas was amazed by the little oldwoman's outfit.

  "By cracky!" he whispered to 'Phemie. "You reckon _that's_ the party? Why,she's dressed more behind the times than my grandmother useter be. Guessthere must be places on this airth more countrified than Bridleburg."

  But 'Phemie knew that Mrs. Castle's letter had come from an address inEasthampton which the Brays knew to be in a very good neighborhood. Nobodybut wealthy people lived on that street. Yet Mrs. Castle--aside fromthe valuable but old-fashioned shawl--did not look to be worth any greatfortune.

  "Are you the girl who wrote to me?" asked the old lady, briskly, when'Phemie came forward to take the carpet-bag.

  Mrs. Castle's voice was very resonant; she had sharp blue eyes behindher gold-bowed spectacles; and she clipped her words and sentences ina manner that belied her age and appearance.

  "No, ma'am," said 'Phemie, doubtfully. "It was my sister who wrote. _I_am Euphemia Bray."

  "Ha! And what is your sister's name? What does the 'L' stand for?"

  "Lydia."

  "Good!" ejaculated this strange old lady. "Then I'll ride out to thefarm with you. Such good, old-fashioned names promise just what yoursister said: An old-fashioned house and old-time ways. If 'L!' had meant'Lillie,' or 'Luella,' or 'Lilas'--and if _you_, young lady, had beencalled 'Marie'--I'd have taken the very next train back to town."

  'Phemie could only stare and nod. In her secret thoughts she told herselfthat this queer old woman was doubtless a harmless lunatic. She did notknow whether it was quite best to have Lucas drive them to Hillcrest ornot.

  "You got a trunk, ma'am?" asked the long-legged youth, as the old ladyhopped youthfully into the buckboard, and 'Phemie lifted in the heavycarpet-bag.

  "No, I haven't. This is no fashionable boarding house I'm going to, Is'pose?" she added, eyeing 'Phemie sternly.

  "Oh, no, ma'am!" returned the girl.

  "Then I've got enough with me in this bag, and on my
back, to last me afortnight. If I like, I'll send for something more, then."

  She certainly knew her own mind, this old lady. 'Phemie had first thoughther to be near the three-score-and-ten mark; but every moment she seemedto get younger. Her face was wrinkled, but they were fine wrinkles, andher coloring made her look like a withered russet apple. Out of thisgolden-brown countenance the blue eyes sparkled in a really wonderful way.

  "But I don't care," thought 'Phemie, as they clattered out of town. "Crazyor not, if she can pay her board she's so much help. Let the ball keepon rolling. It's getting bigger and bigger. Perhaps we _shall_ have ahouseful at Hillcrest, after all."