CHAPTER III
BROTHER AND SISTER
There were other people in and around Thorbury, who very much wanted toknow something about the young man at Cobhurst, but this desire wasinterfered with by the fact that the young man was not yet at Cobhurst,and did not seem to be in a hurry to get there.
Cobhurst was the name of an estate a mile or so from the Witton farm,whose wide fields had lain for a half a dozen years untilled, and whosefine old mansion had been, for nearly a year, uninhabited. Its formerowner, Matthias Butterwood, a bachelor, and during the greater part ofhis life, a man who took great pride in his farm, his stock, and hisfruit trees, had been afflicted in his later years with various kinds ofrheumatism, and had been led to wander about to different climates anddifferent kinds of hot springs for the sake of physical betterment.
When at home in these latter days, old Butterwood had been content tohave his garden cultivated, for he could still hobble about and look atthat, and had left his fields to take care of themselves, until he shouldbe well enough to be his own farmer, as he had always been. But old age,coming to the aid of his other complaints, had carried him off a fewmonths before this story begins.
The only person now living at Cobhurst was a colored man named Mike,who inhabited the gardener's house and held the office of care-taker ofthe place.
Whenever Mike now came to town with his old wagon and horse, or when hewas met on the road, he found people more and more inquisitive about thenew owner of Cobhurst. Mike was not altogether a negro, having a gooddeal of Irish blood in his veins, and this conjunction of the two racesin his individuality had had the effect upon his speech of destroying alltendency to negro dialect or Irish brogue, so that, in fact, he spokelike ordinary white people of his grade in life. The effect upon hischaracter, however, had been somewhat different, and while the vivacityof the African and that of the Hibernian, in a degree, had neutralizedeach other, making him at times almost as phlegmatic as the traditionalDutchman, he would sometimes exhibit the peculiarities of a Sambo, andsometimes those of a Paddy.
Mike could give no satisfaction to his questioners; he knew nothing ofthe newcomer, except that he had received a postal card, directed to theman in charge of Cobhurst, and which stated that Mr. Haverley wouldarrive there on the fourth of April.
"More'n that," Mike would say, "I don't know nothin'. Whether he's old oryoung, and what family he's got, I can't tell ye. All I know is, that hedon't seem in no hurry to see his place, an' he must be a reg'lar cityman, or he'd know that winter's the time to come to work a farm in thespring of the year."
Other people, however, knew more about Mr. Haverley than Mike did, andMiss Panney could have informed any one that he was a young man,unmarried, and a second nephew to old Butterwood. She had faith that Dr.Tolbridge could give her some additional points, provided she could getan opportunity of properly questioning him.
Meanwhile the days passed on; the roads about Thorbury dried up and grewbetter; in low, sheltered places, the grass showed a greenish hue; thewillows turned yellow, and people began to ponder over the catalogues ofseed merchants. At last, it was the third of April, and on that day, ina large bright room of a New York boarding-house, kneeling in front of anopen trunk, were Mr. Ralph Haverley and his sister Miriam.
Presently Miriam, whose years had not yet reached fifteen, vigorouslypushed a pair of slippers into an unoccupied crevice in the trunk, andthen, drawing back, seated herself on a stool.
"The delightful thing about this packing is," she said, "that it willnever have to be done again. I am not going to any school, or any countryplace to board; you are not going to a hotel, not to any house kept byother people; our things do not have to be packed separately; we can putthem in anywhere where they will fit; we are both going to the sameplace; we are going home, and there we shall stay."
"Always?" asked her brother, looking up with a smile.
"Always," answered Miriam. "When one gets a home, one stays there. Atleast I do."
"And you will not even go away to school?" he asked.
"By no means," said his sister, looking at him with much earnestness. "Ihave been to school ever since I was six years old,--nearly nineyears,--and I positively declare that that is long enough for any girl.Others stay later, but then they do not begin so soon. As to finishing myeducation, as they call it, I shall do that at home. What a happythought! It makes me want to skip. And you are to be my teacher, Ralph. Iam sure you know everything that I shall need to know."
Ralph laughed.
"I suppose you will examine me to see what I do know," he said, as hefolded a heavy overcoat and laid it in the trunk.
Miriam sprang up and began to collect more of her effects.
"We shall see about that," she said, and then, suddenly stopping, sheturned toward her brother. "There is one thing, Ralph, about which I neednot examine you at all, and that is goodness of heart. If you had not hada very good heart indeed, you would not have waited and waited andwaited--fairly pinching yourself, I expect--till I could get away fromschool and we could both go together and look at our new home in the verysame instant."
Ralph Haverley was a brown-haired, bright-eyed young fellow under thirty.He had been educated for a profession, but the death of his parents,before he reached his majority, made it necessary for him to go to workat something by which he could immediately earn money enough to supportnot only himself, but his little sister. At his father's death, whichoccurred a month or two after that of his mother, young Haverley foundthat the family resources, which had never been great, had almostentirely disappeared. He could barely scrape together enough money tosend Miriam to a boarding-school and to keep himself alive until he couldget work. He had spent a great part of his boyhood in the country. Histastes and disposition inclined him to an out-door life, and, had he beenable, he would have gone to the West, and established himself upon aranch. But this was impossible; he must do the work that was nearest athand, and as soon as he found it, he set himself at it with a will.
For eight long years he had struggled and labored; changing hisoccupation several times, but always living in the city; always makinghis home in a boardinghouse or a hotel. His pluck and energy had had itsreward, and for the past three years he had held a responsible andwell-paid position in a mercantile house. But his life and his work hadfor him nothing but a passing interest; he had no sympathy with bondedwarehouses, invoices, and ledgers. All he could look forward to was ahigher position, a larger salary, and, when Miriam should graduate, alittle home somewhere where she could keep house for him. In his dreamsof this home, he would sometimes place it in the suburbs, where Sundaysand holidays spent in country air would compensate for hasty breakfasts,early morning trains, and late ones in the afternoon. But when hereflected that it would not do to leave his young sister alone all day ina thinly settled, rural place, at the mercy of tramps, he was forced tothe conclusion that the thing for them to do was to live in a cityapartment. But there was nothing in either of these outlooks to createfervent longings in the soul of Ralph Haverley.
For some legal reason, probably connected with the fact that oldButterwood died at a health resort in Arkansas, Haverley did not learnuntil late in the winter that his mother's uncle had left to him theestate of Cobhurst. The reason for this bequest, as stated in the will,was the old man's belief that the said Ralph Haverley was the only one ofhis blood relations who seemed to be getting on in the world, and to himhe left the house, farm, and all the personal property he might findtherein and thereon, but not one cent of money. Where the testator'smoney was bestowed, Ralph did not know, for he did not see the will.
When Ralph heard of his good fortune, his true life seemed to open beforehim; his Butterwood blood boiled in his veins. He did not hesitate amoment as to his course, for he was of the opinion that if a healthyyoung man could not make a living out of a good farm he did not deserveto live at all. He gave immediate notice of his intention to abandonmercantile life, and set himself to work by day and by nigh
t to wind uphis business affairs, so that he might be free by the beginning of April.It was this work which helped him to control his desire to run off andtake a look at Cobhurst without waiting for his sister.
Of the place which was to be their home, Miriam knew absolutely nothing,but Ralph had heard his mother talk about her visits to her uncle, and,in his mind, the name Cobhurst had always called up visions of wide hallsand lofty chambers, broad piazzas, sunny slopes and lawns, green meadows,and avenues bordered with tall trees--a grand estate in fact, with woodsfull of nuts, streams where a boy could fish, and horses that he mightride. Had these ideas existed in Miriam's mind, the brother and sisterwould have visited Cobhurst the day after he brought her the letter fromthe lawyer; but her conceptions of the place were vague and without form,except when she associated it with the homes of girls she had visited.But as none of these suited her very well, she preferred to fall backupon chaotic anticipation.
"When I think of Cobhurst," she wrote to her brother, "I smell marigolds,and think of rather poor blackberries that you pick from bushes. Pleasedo not put in your letters anything that you know about it, for I wouldrather see everything for myself."
The Girl at Cobhurst Page 3