Part 47 (1/2)

But no hospitality, old-time or any other, had a pleasant effect on Rachel.

She gave a glance up and around the big, gloomy gray, stone house, with a wild thought of rus.h.i.+ng down the avenue and home to the parsonage.

”It is a pleasant place, isn't it?” observed Miss Parrott with complacent memory of always living in the grandest homestead for several counties.

”No, ma'am,” said Rachel promptly.

Miss Parrott started, and gave a little gasp. Then, reflecting it was not in accordance with fine manners to notice any such slip on the part of guests, she led the way into the mansion. Simmons, much shocked, actually forgot himself so far as to scratch his head, as he drove off to the stables, and he didn't get over it all day.

”Perhaps you would like a little refreshment,” suggested Miss Parrott, when, the child's bonnet off, she was seated on the edge of a stiff, high-backed chair. She couldn't think of anything else to say, and as she usually offered it to her friends at the end of their long drives when they called upon her, it seemed a happy thing to do now, especially as Rachel's black eyes were fastened upon her in a manner extremely uncomfortable for the person gazed at.

As Rachel didn't know in the least what ”refreshment” meant, she stared on, without a word. And Miss Parrott, pulling with more vigor than was her wont, a long red worsted cord that hung down by the piano, a stately butler made his appearance quicker than usual, took his directions from his mistress, and after regarding the small figure perched on one of the ancestral Parrott chairs with extreme disfavor, he silently withdrew.

Presently, in he came, his head well thrown back, and bearing a huge silver tray. On it were a decanter, two little queer-shaped gla.s.ses, and a plate of very thin seed cakes. He deposited this on a spindle-legged table, which he drew up in front of his mistress, and, with another glance, which he intended to be very withering, cast upon Rachel, but which she didn't see at all, he departed.

”Now, my dear,” said Miss Parrott, in a lighter tone, feeling quite in her element while serving refreshments in such an elegant way, ”you must be very hungry.” She poured out a gla.s.sful from the decanter, and getting out of her chair, she took up the plate of seed cakes, and advanced to the small figure. ”Here, child.”

Rachel took the little queer-shaped gla.s.s, but had no sooner felt it within her hand, than she gave a loud scream.

”Take it away, it smells just like Gran”--pus.h.i.+ng it from her.

It knocked against the plate of seed cakes Miss Parrott was proffering, and together they fell to the floor with a crash. In hurried the butler.

”I don't know what can be the matter,” Miss Parrott was gasping, her hand on her heart, as she leaned against one of the ancient cabinets of which the apartment seemed to be full.

”It smells just like Gran,” Rachel was repeating, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. ”Oh, how dare you give it to me!” She was standing over the wreck of the priceless china and gla.s.s, which, as no such accidents had been recorded in the family, Miss Parrott had continued to use in the entertainment of her guests.

”You bad child, you!” exclaimed the butler, seizing her arm, and gone almost out of his senses at the sight of the ruin of such ancient treasures.

”I'm not bad,” cried Rachel, turning on him and stamping her foot; ”she's bad--that woman there--for giving me what smells just like Gran!”

”I can't make her out,” declared the butler, eyeing her as he released her arm and stepped back toward his mistress.

”And that's what makes people drunk,” went on Rachel, pointing an angry finger at the wet spot where the liquid from the decanter was slowly oozing into the velvet carpet.

The butler turned an outraged countenance, on which a dull red was spreading, over to his mistress.

”You would better go out, Hooper,” said Miss Parrott faintly, and holding fast to the cabinet.

”I'm afraid to leave you, madam,” said Hooper; ”she ain't fit--that creature”--pointing to Rachel, ”to be here; she may fly at you. I'll put her out at once.”

”You may leave the apartment, Hooper,” said Miss Parrott, regaining some of her dignity by a mighty effort. ”I'm not in the least afraid.” But her looks belied her words, or at any rate the old serving-man thought so, and he made bold to remonstrate again.

”Let me put her out, madam,” he begged. ”I'll call the gardeners.”

”Oh, no, no!” protested Miss Parrott, coming rapidly to her self-composure; ”that would never do in all the world. Leave the room, Hooper.” This last was said so exactly like his mistress at her best, that the butler obeyed it, making a wide circuit as he pa.s.sed Rachel, who still stood, the picture of wrath, over the broken china and gla.s.s.

Not a word was said for some minutes. Outside, Polly, the old parrot, was scolding vociferously, and the tall clock was ticking away for clear life.

Hooper, his ear first, and then his eye, glued to the keyhole, was vainly endeavoring to find out what was pa.s.sing in the sitting-room.