Part 37 (2/2)
”Miss Elsworth, I hate to leave town, for I'm afraid I'll never find my boy.”
”Perhaps we will find him where we are going.”
”If we could I'd jump for joy. It is more than five years since I seen him, and oh, he was the prettiest boy I ever did see.”
Miss Elsworth looked at the sweet face that grew so sad every time she spoke of her son, and in her heart she pitied her. She had known sorrow herself, but she was too brave to sit down and brood over useless troubles. She tried to bury the unpleasant past, and live for the work that was before her. She worked so vigorously that she hardly stopped to think that she had ever seen a sorrowful day, and not an idle moment did she spend. Her books and her pen were her most intimate friends, though she had a pleasant smile for all with whom she came in contact. She was very benevolent, and in her kindness of heart she had resolved to help Mrs. Morris out of her trouble if she could. She had decided to leave the city for a time, taking Mrs.
Morris with her to attend to her household affairs as usual.
”Is it real pleasant where you are going?” Mrs. Morris asked.
”Yes, pleasant, but very lonely, and I am afraid you will find it too quiet, but we shall probably not stay there very long.”
”What makes you go to such an out-of-the-way place?”
”I have several reasons; one is that I wish to be entirely alone for a few months, as I have a great amount of work to do, and can work much better where it is quiet.”
”I'll have to be pretty much alone, won't I?” Mrs. Morris asked.
”Yes, but you will certainly have no intruders.”
”Oh, well, I ain't no coward, anyway. How long will you stay there?”
”I really cannot tell, perhaps all winter.”
”And we must be all ready to start the day after to-morrow, must we?”
”Yes,” said Blanche, as she left the room.
”I don't jest like the idea of goin',” said Mrs. Morris to herself, as the door closed after Miss Elsworth, ”for breakin' that air gla.s.s ain't no sign o' good luck, and I know it. It jest seems to me as though something was goin' to happen, and I believe I'll have the blues till another gla.s.s comes into the house.”
The house which Blanche Elsworth had chosen was one which very few having fine taste would select. It was a large old-fas.h.i.+oned Gothic building that looked as though it could not stand a hard rain, or a strong wind. It stood near a rocky slope, and beside its pebbly walks were the remains of quaint looking flower beds. It had once been the home of a wealthy farmer, who, as prosperity continued, built a new and more commodious residence a mile away on the hill. His home there was lovely, and nothing that wealth could purchase was lacking. The old house had not been used for a number of years. Some of the blinds were swinging loosely while others were firmly closed, and the fastenings rusted in their sockets. The well curb was covered with bright green moss, and along the half leaning porch clung ma.s.ses of rose bushes, which looked as though they had never known the pruner's knife, each branch running hither and thither at will. The house stood at the foot of a high, sloping hill, and but a few yards away in the ravine ran a clear little brook that danced down over the rocks, making music as it went.
”Well, it does beat all, Miss Elsworth, what funny taste you've got,”
said Mrs. Morris, the day after their arrival at Roxbury, ”to get such an old spooky lookin' place as this. Why, it looks as though it was built on purpose for rats and ghosts, and I'll bet a cent we'll find both here afore we leave. Mercy, jest look at that air blind; it jest hangs by one hinge.”
”That will be easily remedied. I brought hinges and locks along, for repairing.”
”Yes, but who'll do the job?”
”I will.”
”You?”
”Certainly.”
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