Aunt Jane's Nieces

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XII.

  UNCLE JOHN GETS ACQUAINTED.

  Beth went out to find Louise, and discovered her standing near thestables, where a boy was rubbing down the sides of a sorrel mare withwisps of straw.

  "Something has happened," she said to Louise in a troubled voice.

  "What?"

  "A man has arrived who says he is Aunt Jane's brother."

  "Impossible! Have you seen him?"

  "No; he says he's Aunt Jane's brother John."

  "Oh; I know. The peddler, or tinker, or something or other whodisappeared years ago. But it doesn't matter."

  "It may matter a good deal," said practical Beth. "Aunt Jane may leavehim her money."

  "Why, he's older than she is. I've heard mother say he was the eldestof the family. Aunt Jane wont leave her money to an old man, you maybe sure."

  Beth felt a little reassured at this, and stood for a moment besideLouise watching the boy. Presently Oscar came to him, and aftertouching his hat respectfully took the mare and led her into thestable. The boy turned away, with his hands in his pockets, andstrolled up a path, unaware that the two dreaded girls had beenobserving him.

  "I wonder who that is," said Beth.

  "We'll find out," returned Louise. "I took him for a stable boy, atfirst. But Oscar seemed to treat him as a superior."

  She walked into the stable, followed by her cousin, and found thegroom tying the mare.

  "Who was the young man?" she asked.

  "Which young man, Miss?"

  "The one who has just arrived with the horse."

  "Oh; that's Master Kenneth, Miss," answered Oscar, with a grin.

  "Where did he come from?"

  "Master Kenneth? Why, he lives here."

  "At the house?"

  "Yes, Miss."

  "Who is he?"

  "Master Tom's nephew--he as used to own Elmhurst, you know."

  "Mr. Thomas Bradley?"

  "The same, Miss."

  "Ah. How long has Master Kenneth lived here?"

  "A good many years. I can't just remember how long."

  "Thank you, Oscar."

  The girls walked away, and when they were alone Louise remarked:

  "Here is a more surprising discovery than Uncle John, Beth. The boyhas a better right than any of us to inherit Elmhurst."

  "Then why did Aunt Jane send for us?"

  "It's a mystery, dear. Let us try to solve it."

  "Come; we'll ask the housekeeper," said Beth. "I'm sure old Miserywill tell us all we want to know."

  So they returned to the house and, with little difficulty, found theold housekeeper.

  "Master Kenneth?" she exclaimed. "Why, he's just Master Tom's nephew,that's all."

  "Is this his home?" asked Beth.

  "All the home he's got, my dear. His father and mother are both dead,and Miss Jane took him to care for just because she thought Master Tomwould 'a' liked it."

  "Is she fond of him?" enquired Louise.

  "Fond of the boy? Why, Miss Jane just hates him, for a fact. She won'teven see him, or have him near her. So he keeps to his little room inthe left wing, and eats and sleeps there."

  "It's strange," remarked Beth, thoughtfully. "Isn't he a nice boy?"

  "We're all very fond of Master Kenneth," replied the housekeeper,simply. "But I'll admit he's a queer lad, and has a bad temper. It maybe due to his lack of bringin' up, you know; for he just runs wild,and old Mr. Chase, who comes from the village to tutor him, is a poorlot, and lets the boy do as he pleases. For that reason he won'tstudy, and he won't work, and I'm sure I don't know whatever willbecome of him, when Miss Jane dies."

  "Thank you," said Beth, much relieved, and the girls walked away withlighter hearts.

  "There's no danger in that quarter, after all," said Louise, gaily."The boy is a mere hanger-on. You see, Aunt Jane's old sweetheart,Thomas Bradley, left everything to her when he died, and she can do asshe likes with it."

  After luncheon, which they ate alone and unattended save by the maidSusan, who was old Misery's daughter, the girls walked away tothe rose arbor, where Beth declared they could read or sew quiteundisturbed.

  But sitting upon the bench they found a little old man, his legsextended, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a look of calmmeditation upon his round and placid face. Between his teeth was ablack brier pipe, which he puffed lazily.

  Beth was for drawing back, but Louise took her arm and drew herforward.

  "Isn't this Uncle John?" she asked.

  The little man turned his eyes upon them, withdrew his hands from hispockets and his pipe from his mouth, and then bowed profoundly.

  "If you are my nieces, then I am Uncle John," he said, affably. "Sitdown, my dears, and let us get acquainted."

  Louise smiled, and her rapid survey took in the man's crumpled andsomewhat soiled shirt-front, the frayed black necktie that seemed tohave done years of faithful service, and the thick and dusty cow-hideboots. His clothing was old and much worn, and the thought crossedher mind that Oscar the groom was far neater in appearance than thisnewly-found relative.

  Beth merely noticed that Uncle John was neither dignified nor imposingin appearance. She sat down beside him--leaving a wide space betweenthem--with a feeling of disappointment that he was "like all the restof the Merricks."

  "You have just arrived, we hear," remarked Louise.

  "Yes. Walked up from the station this forenoon," said Uncle John."Come to see Jane, you know, but hadn't any idea I'd find two nieces.Hadn't any idea I possessed two nieces, to be honest about it."

  "I believe you have three," said Louise, in an, amused tone.

  "Three? Who's the other?"

  "Why, Patricia Doyle."

  "Doyle? Doyle? Don't remember the name."

  "I believe your sister Violet married a man named Doyle."

  "So she did. Captain Doyle--or Major Doyle--or some such fellow. Butwhat is your name?"

  "I am Louise Merrick, your brother Will's daughter."

  "Oh! And you?" turning to Beth.

  "My mother was Julia Merrick," said Beth, not very graciously. "Shemarried Professor DeGraf. I am Elizabeth DeGraf."

  "Yes, yes," observed Uncle John, nodding his head. "I remember Juliavery well, as a girl. She used to put on a lot of airs, and jaw fatherbecause he wouldn't have the old top-buggy painted every spring. Samenow as ever, I s'pose?"

  Beth did not reply.

  "And Will's dead, and out of his troubles, I hope," continued UncleJohn, reflectively. "He wrote me once that his wife had nearly drivenhim crazy. Perhaps she murdered him in his sleep--eh, Louise?"

  "Sir," said Louise, much offended, "you are speaking of my mother."

  "Ah, yes. It's the same one your father spoke of," he answered,unmoved. "But that's neither here nor there. The fact is, I've foundtwo nieces," looking shrewdly from one face into the other, "and Iseem to be in luck, for you're quite pretty and ladylike, my dears."

  "Thank you," said Louise, rather coldly. "You're a competent judge,sir, I suppose."

  "Tolerable," he responded, with a chuckle. "So good a judge that I'vekep' single all my life."

  "Where did you come from?" asked the girl.

  "From out on the coast," tossing his grizzled head toward the west.

  "What brought you back here, after all these years?"

  "Family affection, I guess. Wanted to find out what folks yet belongedto me."

  An awkward silence followed this, during which Uncle John relightedhis pipe and Beth sat in moody silence. Louise drew a pattern in thegravel with the end of her parasol. This new uncle, she reflected,might become an intolerable bore, if she encouraged his frankfamiliarity.

  "Now that you are here," she said, presently, "what are you going todo?"

  "Nothing, my dear."

  "Have you any money?"

  He looked at her with a droll expression.

  "Might have expected that question, my dear," said he; "but it'srather hard to answer. If I say no, you'll
be afraid I'll want toborrow a little spendin' money, now an' then; and if I say yes, you'lltake me for a Rockyfeller."

  "Not exactly," smiled Louise.

  "Well, then, if I figure close I won't have to borrow," he responded,gravely. "And here's Jane, my sister, just rolling in wealth that shedon't know what to do with. And she's invited me to stay a while. Solet's call the money question settled, my dear."

  Another silence ensued. Louise had satisfied her curiosity concerningher new uncle, and Beth had never had any. There was nothing more tosay, and as Uncle John showed no intention of abandoning the arboredseat, it was evident they must go themselves. Louise was about to risewhen the man remarked:

  "Jane won't last long".

  "You think not?" she asked.

  "She says she's half dead a'ready, and I believe it. It's about time,you know. She's let her temper and restless disposition wear her out.Pretty soon she'll blow out, like a candle. All that worries her is tokeep alive until she can decide who to leave her money to. That's whyyou're here, I s'pose, my dears. How do you like being on exhibition,an' goin' through your paces, like a bunch o' trotting hosses, to seewhich is worth the most?"

  "Uncle John," said Beth, "I had hoped I would like you. But if you aregoing to be so very disagreeable, I'll have nothing more to do withyou!"

  With this she arose and marched up the path, vastly indignant, andLouise marched beside her. At the bend in the walk they glanced back,and saw Uncle John sitting upon the bench all doubled up and shakingwith silent laughter.

  "He's a queer old man," said Beth, flushing; "but he's impudent andhalf a fool."

  "Don't judge hastily, Beth," replied Louise, reflectively. "I can'tmake up my mind, just yet, whether Uncle John is a fool or not."

  "Anyhow," snapped Beth, "he's laughing at us."

  "And that," said her cousin, softly, "is the strongest evidence of hissanity. Beth, my love, Aunt Jane has placed us in a most ridiculousposition."

  That evening at dinner they met Uncle John again, seated opposite AuntJane in the great dining hall. The mistress of Elmhurst always dressedfor this meal and tonight she wore a rich black silk and had herinvalid chair wheeled to her place at the head of the table. UncleJohn had simply changed his old black necktie for a soiled white one.Otherwise his apparel was the same as before, and his stubby gray hairwas in a sad state of disarray. But his round face wore a cheerfulsmile, nevertheless, and Aunt Jane seemed not to observe anything_outre_ in her brother's appearance. And so the meal passed pleasantlyenough.

  After it was finished Uncle John strolled into the garden to smoke hispipe under the stars and Louise sang a few songs for Aunt Jane in thedimly-lit drawing room. Beth, who was a music teacher's daughter,could not sing at all.

  It was some time later when John Merrick came to his sister's room tobid her good night.

  "Well," she asked him, "what do you think of the girls?"

  "My nieces?"

  "Yes."

  "During my lifetime," said the old man, "I've always noticed thatgirls are just girls--and nothing more. Jane, your sex is a puzzlethat ain't worth the trouble solving. You're all alike, and whatlittle I've seen of my nieces convinces me they're regulationfemales--no better nor worse than their kind."

  "Louise seems a capable girl," declared Aunt Jane, musingly. "I didn'tcare much for her, at first; but she improves on acquaintance. She hasbeen well trained by her mother, and is very ladylike and agreeable."

  "She's smarter than the other one, but not so honest," said UncleJohn.

  "Beth has no tact at all," replied Aunt Jane. "But then, she's youngerthan Louise."

  "If you're trying to figure out what they are, and what they are not,"returned the man, "you've got a hard job on your hands, Jane, and likeas not you'll make a mistake in the end. Where's the other niece?Aren't there three of them?"

  "Yes. The other's coming. Silas Watson, my lawyer, has justtelegraphed from New York that he's bringing Patricia back with him."

  "Had to send for her, eh?"

  "Yes. She's Irish, and if I remember rightly her father is adisgraceful old reprobate, who caused poor Violet no end of worry. Thegirl may be like him, for she wrote me a dreadful letter, scolding mebecause I hadn't kept her parents supplied with money, and refusing tobecome my guest."

  "But she's changed her mind?"

  "I sent Watson after her, and he's bringing her. I wanted to see whatthe girl is like."

  Uncle John whistled a few bars of an ancient tune.

  "My advice is," he said, finally, "to let 'em draw cuts for Elmhurst.If you want to leave your money to the best o' the lot, you're as sureof striking it right that way as any other."

  "Nonsense!" said Jane Merrick, sharply. "I don't want to leave mymoney to the best of the lot."

  "No?"

  "By no means. I want to leave it to the one I prefer--whether she'sthe best or not."

  "I see. Jane, I'll repeat my former observation. Your sex is a puzzlethat isn't worth solving. Good night, old girl."

  "Good night, John."