Part 12 (1/2)

”I never noticed how short and crooked he was,” she thought, ”until I saw him standing by the side of Mr. Carrollton, who is such a splendid figure, so tall and straight; but big, overgrown girls like me always get short husbands, they say;” and satisfied with this conclusion she fell asleep.

CHAPTER XIV.

MADAM CONWAY'S DISASTERS.

At a comparatively early hour Madam Conway arose, and going to the parlor found there Arthur Carrollton, who asked if Margaret were not yet up. ”Say that I wish her to ride with me on horseback,” said he.

”The morning air will do her good;” and, quite delighted, Madam Conway carried the message to her granddaughter.

”Tell him I shan't do it,” answered the sleepy Maggie, adjusting herself for another nap. Then, as she thought how his eyes probably looked as he said, ”I wish her to ride,” she felt impelled to obey, and greatly to her grandmother's surprise she commenced dressing.

Theo's riding dress was borrowed, and though it did not fit her exactly she looked unusually well when she met Mr. Carrollton in the lower hall, and once mounted upon the gay steed, and galloping away into the country, she felt more than repaid for the loss of her morning slumber.

”You ride well,” said Mr. Carrollton, when at last they paused upon the brow of a hill overlooking the town, ”but you have some faults which, with your permission, I will correct,” and in the most polite and gentlemanly manner he proceeded to speak of a few points wherein her riding might be improved.

Among other things, he said she rode too fast for a lady; and, biting her lip, Maggie thought, ”If I only had Gritty here, I'd lead him such a race as would either break his bones or his neck, I'm not particular which.”

Still, she followed his directions implicitly, and when, ere they reached home, he told her that she excelled many who had been for years to riding schools, she felt repaid for his criticisms, which she knew were just, even if they were not agreeable. Breakfast being over, he announced his intention of going down to Boston, telling Maggie he should probably return that evening and go with her to Hillsdale on the morrow.

Scarcely had he gone when Henry Warner appeared, asking an interview with Madam Conway, who haughtily led the way into a private room. Very candidly and honorably Henry made known to her his wishes, whereupon a most stormy scene ensued, the lady so far forgetting herself as to raise her voice several notes above its usual pitch, while Henry, angered by her insulting words, bade her take the consequences of her refusal, hinting that girls had been known to marry without their guardian's consent.

”An elopement, hey? He threatens me with an elopement, does he?” said Madam Conway, as the door closed after him. ”I am glad he warned me in time,” and then, trembling in every limb lest Maggie should be spirited away before her very eyes, she determined upon going home immediately and leaving Arthur Carrollton to follow in the cars.

Accordingly, Maggie was bidden to pack her things at once, the excited old lady keeping her eye constantly upon her to see that she did not disappear through the window or some other improbable place. In silence Maggie obeyed, pouting the while a very little, partly because she should not again see Henry, partly because she had confidently expected to ride home with Mr. Carrollton, and partly because she wished to stay to the firemen's muster, which had long been talked about, and was to take place on the morrow. They were ready at last, and then in a very perturbed state of feeling Madam Conway waited for her carriage, which was not forthcoming, and upon inquiry George Douglas learned that, having counted upon another day in the city, Mike was now going through with a series of plunge-baths, by way of sobering himself ere appearing before his mistress. This, however, George kept from Madam Conway, not wis.h.i.+ng to alarm her; and when after a time Mike appeared, sitting bolt upright upon the box, with the lines grasped firmly in his hands, she did not suspect the truth, nor know that he too was angry for being thus compelled to go home before he saw the firemen.

Thinking him sober enough to be perfectly safe, George Douglas felt no fear, and, bowing to his new relatives, went back to comfort Theo, who as a matter of course cried a little when the carriage drove away.

Worcester was left behind, and they were far out in the country ere a word was exchanged between Madam Conway and Maggie; for while the latter was pouting behind her veil, the former was wondering what possessed Mike to drive into every rut and over every stone.

”You, Mike!” she exclaimed at last, leaning from the window. ”What ails you?”

”Nothing, as I'm a living man,” answered Mike, halting so suddenly as to jerk the lady backwards and mash the crown of her bonnet.

Straightening herself up, and trying in vain to smooth the jam, Madam Conway continued: ”In liquor, I know. I wish I had stayed home.” But Mike loudly denied the charge, declaring he had spent the blessed night at a meeting of the ”Sons,” where they pa.s.sed around nothing stronger than lemons and water, and if the horses chose to run off the track it wasn't his fault--he couldn't help it; and with the air of one deeply injured he again started forward, turning off ere long into a cross road, which, as they advanced, grew more stony and rough, while the farmhouses, as a general thing, presented a far less respectable appearance than those on the Hillsdale route.

”Mike, you villain!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lady, as they ran down into a ditch, and she sprang to one side to keep the carriage from going over.

But ere she had time for anything further, one of the axletrees snapped asunder, and to proceed further in their present condition was impossible. Alighting from the carriage, and setting her little feet upon the ground with a vengeance, Madam Conway first scolded Mike unmercifully for his carelessness, and next chided Maggie for manifesting no more concern.

”You'd as lief go to destruction as not, I do believe!” said she, looking carefully after the bandbox containing her purple satin.

”I'd rather go there first,” answered Maggie, pointing to a brown old-fas.h.i.+oned farmhouse about a quarter of a mile away.

At first Madam Conway objected, saying she preferred sitting on the bank to intruding herself upon strangers; but as it was now noonday, and the warm September sun poured fiercely down upon her, she finally concluded to follow Maggie's advice, and gathering up her box and parasol started for the house, which, with its tansy patch on the right, and its single poplar tree in front, presented rather an uninviting appearance.

”Some vulgar creatures live there, I know. Just hear that old tin horn!” she exclaimed, as a blast, loud and shrill, blown by practiced lips, told the men in a distant field that dinner was ready.

A nearer approach disclosed to view a slanting-roofed farmhouse such as is often found in New England, with high, narrow windows, small panes of gla.s.s, and the most indispensable paper curtains of blue closely shading the windows of what was probably the ”best room.” In the apartment opposite, however, they were rolled up, so as to show the old-fas.h.i.+oned drapery of dimity, bordered with a netted fringe.

Half a dozen broken pitchers and pots held geraniums, verbenas, and other plants, while the well-kept beds of hollyhocks, sunflowers, and poppies indicated a taste for flowers in someone. Everything about the house was faultlessly neat. The doorsill was scrubbed to a chalky white, while the uncovered floor wore the same polished hue.

All this Madam Conway saw at a glance, but it did not prevent her from holding high her aristocratic skirts, lest they should be contaminated, and when, in answer to her knock, an odd-looking, peculiarly dressed woman appeared, she uttered an exclamation of disgust, and, turning to Maggie, said, ”You talk--I can't!”