CHAPTER XIV
A CALL FROM AGATHA LORD
Hillcrest Lodge was perched upon a broad shelf of the wooded mountain,considerably nearer to the bottom than to the top, yet a stiff climbfrom the plain below. Behind it was a steep cliff; in front there was agradual descent covered with scrub but affording a splendid view of thelowlands. At one side was the rocky canyon with its brook strugglingamong the boulders, and on the other side the roadway that wound up themountain in zigzag fashion, selecting the course of least resistance.
Will Morrison was doubtless a mighty hunter and an expert fisherman,for the "den" at the rear of the Lodge was a regular museum of trophiesof the chase. Stag and doe heads, enormous trout mounted on boards,antlers of wild mountain sheep, rods, guns, revolvers andhunting-knives fairly lined the wails, while a cabinet contained reels,books of flies, cartridge belts, creels and many similar articles. Onthe floor were rugs of bear, deer and beaver. A shelf was filled withbooks on sporting subjects. There was a glass door that led onto alittle porch at the rear of the Lodge and a big window that faced thecliff.
This sanctum of the owner rather awed the girls when first theyexamined it, but they found it the most fascinating place in all thehouse and Irene was delighted to be awarded the bedroom that adjoinedit. The other bedrooms were on the upper floor.
"However," said Mr. Conant to Irene, "I shall reserve the privilege ofsmoking my evening pipe in this den, for here is a student lamp, a lowtable and the easiest chairs in all the place. If you keep your bedroomdoor shut you won't mind the fumes of tobacco."
"I don't mind them anyhow, Uncle Peter," she replied.
Bub Grigger helped get in the trunks and boxes. He also filled thewoodbox in the big living room and carried water from the brook forAunt Hannah, but otherwise he was of little use to them. His favoriteoccupation was whittling and he would sit for hours on one of the broadbenches overlooking the valley, aimlessly cutting chips from a stickwithout forming it into any object whatsoever.
"I suppose all this time he is deeply thinking," said Mary Louise asthe girls sat on the porch watching him, the day after their arrival,"but it would be interesting to know what direction Bub's thoughtstake."
"He must be figuring up his earnings and deciding how long it will taketo buy that winter sweater," laughed Irene. "I've had a bit ofconversation with the boy already and his ideas struck me as rathercrude and undeveloped."
"One idea, however, is firmly fixed in his mind," declared Mary Louise."He 'hates gals.'"
"We must try to dispel that notion. Perhaps he has a big sister at homewho pounds him, and therefore he believes all girls are alike."
"Then let us go to him and make friends," suggested Mary Louise. "If weare gentle with the boy we may win him over."
Mr. Conant had already made a runway for the chair, so they left theporch and approached Bub, who saw them coming and slipped into thescrub, where he speedily disappeared from view. At other times, also,he shyly avoided the girls, until they began to fear it would be moredifficult to "make friends" than they had supposed.
Monday morning Mr. Conant went down the mountain road, valise in hand,and met Bill Coombs the stage-driver at the foot of the descent, havingmade this arrangement to save time and expense. Peter had passed mostof his two days' vacation in fishing and had been so successful that hepromised Aunt Hannah he would surely return the following Friday. Hehad instructed Bub to "take good care of the womenfolks" during hisabsence, but no thought of danger occurred to any of them. TheMorrisons had occupied the Lodge for years and had never been molestedin any way. It was a somewhat isolated place but the country people inthe neighborhood were thoroughly honest and trustworthy.
"There isn't much for us to do here," said Mary Louise when the threewere left alone, "except to read, to eat and to sleep--lazy occupationsall. I climbed the mountain a little way yesterday, but the view fromthe Lodge is the best of all and if you leave the road you tear yourdress to shreds in the scrub."
"Well, to read, to eat and to sleep is the very best way to enjoy avacation," asserted Aunt Hannah. "Let us all take it easy and have agood time."
Irene's box of books which Mr. Conant had purchased for her in New Yorkhad been placed in the den, where she could select the volumes as shechose, and the chair-girl found the titles so alluring that shepromised herself many hours of enjoyment while delving among them. Theywere all old and secondhand--perhaps fourth-hand or fifth-hand--as thelawyer had stated, and the covers were many of them worn to tatters;but "books is books," said Irene cheerily, and she believed they wouldnot prove the less interesting in contents because of their condition.Mostly they were old romances, historical essays and novels, with asprinkling of fairy tales and books of verse--just the subjects Irenemost loved.
"Being exiles, if not regular hermits," observed the crippled girl,sunning herself on the small porch outside the den, book in hand, "wemay loaf and dream to our hearts' content, and without danger ofreproach."
But not for long were they to remain wholly secluded. On Thursdayafternoon they were surprised by a visitor, who suddenly appeared fromamong the trees that lined the roadway and approached the two girls whowere occupying a bench at the edge of the bluff.
The new arrival was a lady of singularly striking appearance, beautifuland in the full flush of womanhood, being perhaps thirty years of age.She wore a smart walking-suit that fitted her rounded form perfectly,and a small hat with a single feather was jauntily perched upon herwell-set head. Hair and eyes, almost black, contrasted finely with thebloom on her cheeks. In her ungloved hand she held a smallwalking-stick.
Advancing with grace and perfect self-possession, she smiled and noddedto the two young girls and then, as Mary Louise rose to greet her, shesaid:
"I am your nearest neighbor, and so I have climbed up here to getacquainted. I am Agatha Lord, but of course you do not know me, becauseI came from Boston, whereas you came from--from--"
"Dorfield," said Mary Louise. "Pray be seated. Let me present IreneMacfarlane; and I am Mary Louise Burrows. You are welcome, MissLord--or should I say Mrs. Lord?"
"Miss is correct," replied their visitor with a pleasant laugh, whichbrought an answering smile to the other faces; "but you must notaddress me except as 'Agatha.' For here in the wilderness formalitiesseem ridiculous. Now let us have a cosy chat together."
"Won't you come into the Lodge and meet Mrs. Conant?"
"Not just yet. You may imagine how that climb winded me, although theysay it is only half a mile. I've taken the Bigbee house, just belowyou, you know, and I arrived there last night to get a good rest aftera rather strenuous social career at home. Ever since Easter I've beenon the 'go' every minute and I'm really worn to a frazzle."
She did not look it, thought Mary Louise. Indeed, she seemed the verypicture of health.
"Ah," said she, fixing her eyes on Irene's book, "you are veryfortunate. The one thing I forgot to bring with me was a supply ofbooks, and there is not a volume--not even a prayer-book--in the Bigbeehouse. I shall go mad in these solitudes if I cannot read."
"You may use my library," promised Irene, sympathizing with Miss Lord'sdesire. "Uncle Peter brought a great box of books for me to read andyou are welcome to share their delights with me, I believe there arefifty of them, at the least; but many were published ages ago andperhaps," with a glance at the dainty hands, "you won't care to handlesecondhand books."
"This ozonic air will fumigate them," said Agatha Lord carelessly. "Wedon't absorb bindings, Irene, but merely the thoughts of the authors.Books are the one banquet-table whereat we may feast without destroyingthe delicacy or flavor of the dishes presented. As long as the pageshold together and the type is legible a book is as good as when new."
"I like pretty bindings, though," declared Irene, "for they dresspretty thoughts in fitting attire. An ill-looking book, whatever itscontents, resembles the ugly girl whose only redeeming feature is hergood heart. To be beautiful without and within must have been thedesire of God in a
ll things."
Agatha gave her a quick look of comprehension. There was anunconsciously wistful tone in the girl's voice. Her face, thoughpallid, was lovely to view; her dress was dainty and arranged withcare; she earnestly sought to be as beautiful "without and within" aswas possible, yet the twisted limbs forbade her attaining theperfection she craved.
They sat together for an hour in desultory conversation and Agatha Lordcertainly interested the two younger girls very much. She was decidedlyworldly in much of her gossip but quick to perceive when she infringedthe susceptibilities of her less sophisticated companions and was ableto turn the subject cleverly to more agreeable channels.
"I've brought my automobile with me," she said, "and, unless you have acar of your own, we will take some rides through the valley together. Imean to drive to Millbank every day for mail."
"There's a car here, which belongs to Mr. Morrison," replied MaryLouise, "but as none of us understands driving it we will gladly acceptyour invitations to ride. Do you drive your own car?"
"Yes, indeed; that is the joy of motoring; and I care for my car, too,because the hired chauffeurs are so stupid. I didn't wish the bother ofservants while taking my 'rest cure,' and so my maid and I are allalone at the Bigbee place."
After a time they went into the house, where Miss Lord was presented toAunt Hannah, who welcomed their neighbor with her accustomedcordiality. In the den Agatha pounced upon the books and quicklyselected two which she begged permission to take home with her.
"This is really a well selected collection," she remarked, eyeing thetitles critically. "Where did Mr. Conant find it?"
"At an auction of second-hand junk in New York," explained Irene."Uncle Peter knows that I love the old-fashioned books best but I'msure he didn't realize what a good collection this is."
As she spoke, Irene was listlessly running through the leaves of two orthree volumes she had not before examined, when in one of them her eyewas caught by a yellowed sheet of correspondence paper, tucked amongthe pages at about midway between the covers. Without removing thesheet she leaned over to examine the fine characters written upon itand presently exclaimed in wondering tones:
"Why, Mary Louise! Here is an old letter about your mother--yes, andhere's something about your grandfather, too. How strange that itshould be--"
"Let me see it!" cried Mary Louise, eagerly stretching out her hands.
But over her friend's shoulder Irene caught the expression of AgathaLord--tense, startled, with a gleam of triumph in the dark eyes. Itfrightened her, that look on the face of one she had deemed a stranger,and it warned her. She closed the book with a little slam of decisionand tucked it beside her in her chair.
"No," she said positively, "no one shall see the letter until I've hadtime to read it myself."
"But what was it about?" asked Mary Louise.
"I don't know, yet; and you're not to ask questions until I DO know,"retorted Irene, calmly returning Miss Lord's curious gaze whileaddressing Mary Louise. "These are my books, you must admit, and sowhatever I find in them belongs to me."
"Quite right, my dear," approved Agatha Lord, with her light, easylaugh. She knew that Irene had surprised her unguarded expression andwished to counteract the impression it had caused.
Irene returned the laugh with one equally insincere, saying to herguest:
"Help yourself to whatever books you like, neighbor. Carry them home,read them and return them at your convenience."
"You are exceedingly kind," answered Agatha and resumed her examinationof the titles. Mary Louise had not observed the tell-tale expression onMiss Lord's face but she was shrewd enough to detect an undercurrent ofice in the polite phrases passing between her companions. She wasconsumed with curiosity to know more of the letter which Irene hadfound in the book but did not again refer to it in the presence oftheir visitor.
It was not long before Agatha rose to go, a couple of books tuckedbeneath her arm.
"Will you ride with me to Millbank to-morrow?" she asked, glancing fromone face to another.
Mary Louise looked at Irene and Irene hesitated.
"I am not very comfortable without my chair," she said.
"You shall have the rear seat all to yourself, and it is big and broadand comfortable. Mary Louise will ride with me in front. I can easilydrive the car up here and load you in at this very porch. Please come!"
"Very well, since you are so kind," Irene decided, and after a few morekindly remarks the beautiful Miss Lord left them and walked withgraceful, swinging stride down the path to the road and down the roadtoward the Bigbee house.
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