Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER III

  A SURPRISE

  On the afternoon when our story begins Mary Louise walked home fromschool and found Colonel Weatherby waiting for her in the garden,leggings strapped to his gaunt legs, the checked walking-cap on hishead, a gold-headed crop in his hand.

  "Let us go for a walk, my dear," he proposed. "It is Friday, so youwill have all day to-morrow in which to get your lessons."

  "Oh, it won't take all day for that," she replied with a laugh. "I'llbe glad of the walk. Where shall we go, Gran'pa Jim?"

  "Perhaps to the mill-race. We haven't visited it for a long time."

  She ran to the house to put away her books and get her stout shoes, andpresently rejoined him, when together they strolled up the street andcircled round the little town until they came to the river bank. Thenthey followed the stream toward the old mill.

  Mary Louise told her grandfather of the recent edict of Miss Stearneand the indignation it had aroused in her girl boarders.

  "And what do you think of it, Gran'pa Jim?" she asked in conclusion.

  "What do YOU think of it, Mary Louise?"

  "It is rather hard on the girls, who have enjoyed their liberty for solong; but I think it is Miss Stearne's plan to keep them away from thepicture theatre."

  "And so?"

  "And so," she said, "it may do the girls more good than harm."

  He smiled approvingly. It was his custom to draw out her ideas on allquestions, rather than to assert his own in advance. If he found herwrong or misinformed he would then correct her and set her right.

  "So you do not approve of the pictures, Mary Louise?"

  "Not all of them, Gran'pa Jim, although they all seem to have been'passed by the Board of Censors'--perhaps when their eyes were shut. Ilove the good pictures, and I know that you do, but some we have seenlately gave me the shivers. So, perhaps Miss Stearne is right."

  "I am confident she is," he agreed. "Some makers of pictures mayconsider it beneficial to emphasize good by exhibiting evil, by way ofcontrast, but they are doubtless wrong. I've an old-fashioned notionthat young girls should be shielded, as much as possible, fromknowledge of the world's sins and worries, which is sure to beimpressed upon them in later years. We cannot ignore evil,unfortunately, but we can often avoid it."

  "But why, if these pictures are really harmful, does Mr. Wellandexhibit them at his theatre?" asked the girl.

  "Mr. Welland is running his theatre to make money," explained theColonel, "and the surest way to make money is to cater to the tastes ofhis patrons, the majority of whom demand picture plays of the morevivid sort, such as you and I complain of. So the fault lies not withthe exhibitor but with the sensation-loving public. If Mr. Wellandshowed only such pictures as have good morals he would gain thepatronage of Miss Stearne's twelve young ladies, and a few others, butthe masses would refuse to support him."

  "Then," said Mary Louise, "the masses ought to be educated to desirebetter things."

  "Many philanthropists have tried to do that, and signally failed. Ibelieve the world is gradually growing better, my dear, but ages willpass before mankind attains a really wholesome mental atmosphere.However, we should each do our humble part toward the moral uplift ofour fellows and one way is not to condone what we know to be wrong."

  He spoke earnestly, in a conversational tone that robbed his words ofpreachment. Mary Louise thought Gran'pa Jim must be an exceptionallygood man and hoped she would grow, in time, to be like him. The onlything that puzzled her was why he refused to associate with his fellowmen, while at heart he so warmly espoused their uplift and advancement.

  They had now reached the mill-race and had seated themselves on thehigh embankment where they could watch the water swirl swiftly beneaththem. The mill was not grinding to-day and its neighborhood seemedquite deserted. Here the old Colonel and his granddaughter sat dreamilyfor a long time, conversing casually on various subjects or allowingthemselves to drift into thought. It was a happy hour for them both andwas only interrupted when Jackson the miller passed by on his way homefrom the village. The man gave the Colonel a surly nod, but he smiledon Mary Louise, the girl being as popular in the district as hergrandfather was unpopular.

  After Jackson had passed them by Gran'pa Jim rose slowly and proposedthey return home.

  "If we go through the village," said he, "we shall reach home, withouthurrying ourselves, in time to dress for dinner. I object to beinghurried, don't you, Mary Louise?"

  "Yes, indeed, if it can be avoided."

  Going through the village saved them half a mile in distance, but MaryLouise would not have proposed it herself, on account of the Colonel'swell-known aversion to meeting people. This afternoon, however, he madethe proposal himself, so they strolled away to the main road that ledthrough the one business street of the little town.

  At this hour there was little life in Beverly's main street. Thefarmers who drove in to trade had now returned home; the town womenwere busy getting supper and most of their men were at home feeding thestock or doing the evening chores. However, they passed an occasionalgroup of two or three and around the general store stood a few othernatives, listlessly awaiting the call to the evening meal. These castcurious glances at the well-known forms of the old man and the younggirl, for his two years' residence had not made the testy old Colonelany less strange to them. They knew all about him there was toknow--which was nothing at all--and understood they must not venture toaddress him as they would have done any other citizen.

  Cooper's Hotel, a modest and not very inviting frame building, stoodnear the center of the village and as Mary Louise and her grandfatherpassed it the door opened and a man stepped out and only avoidedbumping into them by coming to a full stop. They stopped also, ofnecessity, and Mary Louise was astonished to find the stranger staringinto the Colonel's face with an expression of mingled amazement andincredulity on his own.

  "James Hathaway, by all the gods!" he exclaimed, adding in wonderingtones: "And after all these years!"

  Mary Louise, clinging to her grandfather's arm, cast an upward glanceat his face. It was tensely drawn; the eyelids were half closed andthrough their slits the Colonel's eyes glinted fiercely.

  "You are mistaken, fellow. Out of my way!" he said, and seizing thegirl's arm, which she had withdrawn in affright, he marched straightahead. The man fell back, but stared after them with his formerexpression of bewildered surprise. Mary Louise noted this in a glanceover her shoulder and something in the stranger's attitude--was it ahalf veiled threat?--caused her to shudder involuntarily.

  The Colonel strode on, looking neither to right nor left, saying nevera word. They reached their home grounds, passed up the path in silenceand entered the house. The Colonel went straight to the stairs andcried in a loud voice:

  "Beatrice!"

  The tone thrilled Mary Louise with a premonition of evil. A door washastily opened and her mother appeared at the head of the stairs,looking down on them with the customary anxiety on her worn featuresdoubly accentuated.

  "Again, father?" she asked in a voice that slightly trembled.

  "Yes. Come with me to the library, Beatrice."