Part 35 (1/2)

”I'm not going to f.a.n.n.y's, right off,” said Ellen evasively. ”Maybe I'll stop on the way back, though. 'Tisn't very hot; it's clouded up some.”

”Better taken an umbrella,” her mother sent after her. ”We might get a thunder storm along towards four o'clock. My shoulder's been paining me all the morning.”

But Ellen had already pa.s.sed out of hearing, her fresh skirts held well away from the dusty wayside weeds.

She was going, with intentions undefined, to see Lydia Orr. Perhaps (she was thinking) she might see Jim Dodge. Anyway, she wanted to go to Bolton House. She would find out for herself wherein lay the curious fascination of which f.a.n.n.y had spoken. She was surprised at f.a.n.n.y for so easily giving in about the furniture. Secretly, she considered herself to be possibly a bit shrewder than f.a.n.n.y. In reality she was not as easily influenced, and slower at forming conclusions. She possessed a mind of more scope.

Ellen walked along, setting her pointed feet down very carefully so as not to raise the dust and soil her nice skirts. She was a dainty creature. When she reached the hedge which marked the beginning of the Bolton estate, she started, not violently, that was not her way, but anybody is more startled at the sudden glimpse of a figure at complete rest, almost rigidity, than of a figure in motion. Had the old man whom Ellen saw been walking along toward her, she would not have started at all. She might have glanced at him with pa.s.sing curiosity, since he was a stranger in Brookville, then that would have been the end of it. But this old man, standing as firmly fixed as a statue against the hedge, startled the girl. He was rather a handsome old man, but there was something peculiar about him. For one thing he was better dressed than old men in Brookville generally were. He wore a light Palm Beach cloth suit, possibly too young for him, also a Panama hat. He did not look altogether tidy. He did not wear his up-to-date clothes very well. He had a rumpled appearance.

He was very pale almost with the paleness of wax. He did not stand strongly, but rested his weight first on one foot, then on the other.

Ellen recovered her composure, but as she was pa.s.sing, he spoke suddenly. His tone was eager and pitiful. ”Why Ann Eliza Dix,” he said. ”How do you do? You are not going to pa.s.s without speaking to me?”

”My name is Dix, but not Ann Eliza,” said Ellen politely; ”my name is Ellen.”

”You are Cephas Dix's sister, Ann Eliza,” insisted the old man. His eyes looked suddenly tearful. ”I know I am right,” he said. ”You are Ann Eliza Dix.”

The girl felt a sudden pity. Her Aunt Ann Eliza Dix had been lying in her grave for ten years, but she could not contradict the poor man.

”Of course,” she said. ”How do you do?”

The old man's face lit up. ”I knew I was right,” he said. ”I forget, you see, sometimes, but this time I was sure. How are you, Ann Eliza?”

”Very well, thank you.”

”How is Cephas?”

”He is well, too.”

”And your father?”

Ellen s.h.i.+vered a little. It was rather bewildering. This strange old man must mean her grandfather, who had died before her Aunt Ann Eliza. She replied faintly that he was well, and hoped, with a qualm of ghastly mirth, that she was speaking the truth. Ellen's grandfather had not been exactly a G.o.dly man, and the family seldom mentioned him.

”He means well, Ann Eliza, if sometimes you don't exactly like the way he does,” said the living old man, excusing the dead one for the faults of his life.

”I know he does,” said Ellen. The desire to laugh grew upon her.

She was relieved when the stranger changed the subject. She felt that she would become hysterical if this forcible resurrection of her dead relatives continued.

”Do you like an automobile?” asked the old man.

”I don't know, I never had one.”

The stranger looked at her confidingly. ”My daughter has one,” he said, ”and I know she bought it for me, and she has me taken out in it, but I am afraid. It goes too fast. I can't get over being afraid.

But you won't tell her, will you, Ann Eliza?”

”Of course I won't.”

Ellen continued to gaze at him, but she did not speak.

”Let me see, what is your name, my dear?” the man went on. He was leaning on his stick, and Ellen noticed that he trembled slightly, as though with weakness. He breathed hard. The veinous hands folded on top of the stick were almost as white as his ears.