Part 22 (2/2)
”Why, there comes Chester, in Mr. Kerchey's buggy! He is beckoning for Sam to go and open the gate, I guess.”
Mrs. Royden was interested. She had a liking for wealthy young men, and was not displeased to see Mr. Kerchey drive into the yard. Hastily taking off an old tire, a.s.sumed to protect her dress, she bustled about to prepare herself to do credit to the family.
”Take him right into the parlor, Sarah,” said she. ”Willie, you may keep on your new clothes, if you will stay in the house. If you get into the dirt, I shall box your ears.”
”I wonder what Chester invited that disagreeable old bach to stop for?”
murmured Sarah, not so well pleased.
She received him politely, however. Mr. Kerchey, in her presence, was painfully stiff and incapable of words. His position would have been most embarra.s.sing, had not Chester come to his relief. Afterwards Father Brighthopes made his appearance, and Sarah, begging to be excused, was seen no more until supper was announced.
Hepsy, Sam and the two younger children, stayed away from the table; the first from choice, the others from compulsion. The little boys especially were hungry, and made a great clamor because they could not sit down.
”Do let them come, wife!” said Mr. Royden. ”There is plenty of room.”
”May we?” asked Willie, with big grief in his voice, and big tears in his pleading eyes.
”No; you can wait just as well,” replied Mrs. Royden. ”If you tease or cry, remember what we do with little boys that will not be good. Hush, now!”
Notwithstanding this dark hint of the closet, Willie burst into tears, and lifted up his voice in lamentation.
”Hepsy!” cried Mrs. Royden, ”take him into the kitchen.”
Extreme severity transformed Willie's grief into rage. The cake which had been given him as a slight compensation and comfort for the martyrdom of waiting he threw upon the floor, and crushed beneath his feet.
Mrs. Royden started up, with fire in her eyes; but her husband stayed her.
”Who blames the boy?” he said. ”He is hungry and cross. Come, Willie, bring your chair, and sit here by me.”
The idea had, by this time, insinuated itself into Mr. Kerchey's brain that the children were made to wait out of deference to him. Mrs. Royden might consider him as one of the calumniated cla.s.s of bachelors who detest the light of little blue eyes, and hate the prattle of innocent tongues. After one or two attempts to speak, he succeeded in articulating, ”I--I think it would be--would be--ah--pleasant to have the children at the table.”
”It is so annoying to be troubled with them when we have company!”
murmured Mrs. Royden, relenting. ”Well, Hepsy, bring their plates.”
To see the happiness s.h.i.+ning in the little fellow's eyes, which were as yet hardly dry, must have been sufficient to soften any grim old bachelor's heart. Mr. Kerchey struggled to express his gratification, in order not to be outdone by the cheerful and talkative clergyman; but he could only smile in an embarra.s.sed manner upon the boys, and coin these tough and leaden syllables:
”I--rather--ah--like young people of this description.”
Mrs. Royden was glad to have peace, for she saw how much the few unpleasant words which had been spoken vexed the proud and sensitive Chester, and was not desirous to have a family scene enacted in presence of the stranger.
The meal was a very cheerful one; Father Brighthopes being in one of his most delightful moods, and the family in good humor generally. Sarah manifested a large talent for quiet fun, in her mischievous endeavors to draw Mr. Kerchey into conversation.
The poor bachelor did his best, but he had never found the expression of ideas a more difficult and laborious task. In vain the kind-hearted Mr.
Royden winked for Sarah to desist; in vain the good clergyman delicately filled up the painful pauses in Mr. Kerchey's remarks with natural observations, suggestive and helpful: Sarah persisted, and the guest was forced to talk.
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