Part 30 (1/2)
Ellen's jaw squared itself.
”I 'spect that's about all I'll ever do again,” she returned in a biting tone.
The proposed adventure subsequently resolved itself into a much simpler undertaking than it had promised, for Ellen was light as a feather and Melvina strong, deft, and experienced. Hence without mishap the invalid was transferred to the big chair and rolled to the window, where she could look out on the valley melting into the shadows of evening.
Had she restricted her observations to the scenery she might have returned to her couch refreshed both in mind and body; but unluckily she chanced to let her glance wander to the garden, and there an astonis.h.i.+ng sight met her eyes.
In the seclusion of the lilac hedge stood two figures, that of a man and a woman. The man held in his hand a trowel and was transplanting in the rich brown soil some tender green things which the woman was handing him from a basket. The presence of a stranger who was apparently so much at home within her boundaries was in itself sufficient to arouse Ellen's curiosity; but what whetted curiosity to indignation was the manner in which the pair were performing the simple task. Even a person blind to romance and deaf to sentiment could not help realizing that the planting was a very immaterial part of the pastoral tableau, and there was much more significance in the drama than the setting out of young seedlings.
Fascinated, Ellen gazed, her wrath rising.
”Melviny!” she burst out at last, ”come here!”
”Yes, Miss Webster.”
”Who's that out in the garden?”
”Where?”
”Over there near the lilac hedge,” specified Ellen impatiently.
Melvina rubbed her gla.s.ses then smothered a little gasp; but she quickly recovered her wonted stolidity.
”It's Miss Lucy, I reckon,” she said slowly.
”But the man--the man!” persisted Ellen. ”Who is he?”
”Oh, the man. That's Mr. Howe--the one that lives next door.”
”Martin Howe?”
”Yes, I believe they do call him Martin,” responded Melvina imperturbably, resuming her interrupted task of turning the mattress and plumping its feathers into luxurious billows of softness.
Ellen did not speak immediately. When she did it was to ask:
”What's Martin Howe doin' on my land?”
”Helpin', I s'pose,” Melvina replied with indifference. ”He often does.”
”He comes over here an' works?”
”Yes, marm.”
Ellen brought her fist down on the arm of the chair with an exclamation of anger. Her lips were white, and she trembled. Raising her unsteady finger, she pointed toward the unconscious culprits.
”You go straight out there, Melvina,” she cried, ”an' tell Lucy I want her.”
”Yes, marm.”
”Hurry!”