Part 50 (2/2)

Jerrie was crying outright now; but Mrs. Crawford, who was a little deaf and did not hear her, went on:

'If you were a hundred times his sister he could not love you more than he does, or wish to make you happier. He would have gone for you last night, only he was so tired, and I persuaded him to go to bed. I knew somebody would come home with you, d.i.c.k, wasn't it? I thought I heard his voice.'

'Yes, it was d.i.c.k,' Jerrie answered, very low, returning again to her breakfast, while her grandmother rambled on:

'Harold slept so soundly that he never heard the storm or knew there was one till this morning. Lucky you didn't start home till it was over.

You'd have been wet to the skin.'

Jerrie made no answer, for she could not tell of that interview under the pines, or that she had been wet to the skin, and felt chilly even now from the effects of it. It seemed that Mrs. Crawford would never tire talking of Harold, for she continued:

'He was up this morning about daylight, I do believe, and had his own breakfast eaten and that table laid for you when I came down. He wanted to see you before he went, and know if you were pleased; but I told him you were probably asleep, as it was late when you came in, and so he wrote something for you, and went whistling off as merrily as if he had been in his carriage, instead of on foot in his working-dress.'

'And he shall have his carriage, too, some day, and a pair of the finest horses the country affords, and you shall ride beside him, in a satin gown and India shawl. You'll see!' Jerrie said, impetuously, as she arose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.

The spell was upon her strongly now, and as her grandmother talked, the objects around her gradually faded away; the cottage, so out of proportion, and so humble in all its surroundings, was gone, and in its place a house, fair to look upon, fair as Tracy Park and much like it, and Harold was the master, looking a very prince, instead of the tired, shabbily dressed man he was now.

'And I shall be there, too,' Jerrie whispered, or rather nodded to herself. 'I know I shall, and I do not believe one word of the Maude affair, and never will until he tells me himself, or she; and then--well, then, I will be glad for them, until I come to be really glad myself.'

She was moving rapidly around the kitchen, for there was a great deal to be done--the Sat.u.r.day's work and all the clothes to be ironed, and then she meant to get up some little surprise for Harold, to show him that she appreciated his thoughtfulness for her.

About half-past ten a servant from Le Bateau brought her a note from Ann Eliza, who wrote as follows.

'Dear Jerrie:--Have pity on a poor cripple, and come as soon as you can and see her. I sprained my ankle last night in that awful storm, and Tom had to bring me home in his arms. Think of it, and what my feelings must have been. I am hardly over it yet--the queer feelings I mean--for, of course, my ankle is dreadful, and so swollen, and pains me so that I cannot step, but must stay in my room all day. So come as soon as possible. You have never seen the inside of our house, or my rooms. Come to lunch, please. We will have it up here.

Good-bye.

'From your loving friend,

'ANN ELIZA.

'P.S.--I wonder if Tom will inquire for me.'

'Tell her I will be there by lunch time,' Jerrie said to the man, while to her grandmother she continued: 'The baking and cleaning are all done, and I can finish the ironing when I get back; it will be cooler then, and I do want to see the inside of that show-house which Harold says cost a hundred thousand dollars. Pity somebody besides the Peterkins did not live there.'

And so, about twelve o'clock Jerrie walked up to the grand house of gray stone, which, with its turrets, and towers, and immense arch over the carriage drive in front of a side door, looked like some old feudal castle, and flaunted upon its walls the money it had cost. Even the loud bell which echoed through the hall like a town clock told of wealth and show, as did the colored man who answered the summons, and bowing low to Jerrie, held out a silver tray for her card.

'Nonsense, Leo!' Jerrie said, laughingly, for she had known the negro all her life and played with him, too, at times, when they both went to the district school. 'I have no card with me. Miss Ann Eliza has invited me to lunch, and I have come. Tell her I am here.'

With another profound bow, Leo waved Jerrie into the reception-room, and then started to deliver her message.

Seated upon one of the carved chairs, Jerrie looked about her curiously, with a feeling that the half had not been told her, everything was so much more gorgeous and magnificent than she had supposed. But what impressed and at the same time oppressed her most was the height of the walls from the richly inlaid floor to the gayly decorated ceiling overhead. It made her neck ache staring up fourteen feet and a half to the costly center ornament from which the heavy chandelier depended. All the rooms of the old house had been low, and when Peterkin built the new one, he made ample amends.

”I mean to lick the crowd,” he said; and a man was sent to Collingwood, and Gra.s.sy Spring, and Brier Hill, and lastly to Tracy Park, to take the height of the lower rooms. Those at Tracy Park were found to be the highest, and measured just twelve feet, so Peterkin's orders were to ”run 'em up--run 'em up fourteen feet, for I swan I'll get ahead of 'em.”

So they were run up fourteen feet, and by some mistake, half a foot higher, looking when finished so cold and cheerless and bare that the ambitious man ransacked New York and Boston and even sent to London for ornaments for his walls. Books were bought by the square yard, pictures by the wholesale, mirrors by the dozen, with bronzes and brackets and sconces and tapestry and banners and screens and clocks and cabinets and statuary, with every kind of furniture imaginable, from the costliest rugs and carpets to the most exquisite inlaid tables to be found in Florence or Venice. For Peterkin sent there for them by a gentleman to whom he said:

'Git the best there is if it costs a fortune. I'm bound to lick the crowd.'

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