CHAPTER XVIII
AT YORK
The morning after her arrival at York, Martine stood at the door of thelittle red farm-house. The air was fresh and cool, a delightful contrastto the last day or two of heat in the city that she had just left. Aslight mist from the river softened without hiding the view. Through therolling meadows that stretched before her across the road, she saw thethread of river winding its way toward the sea. The ocean itself was notin sight, though it made itself known in a certain agreeable saltness ofodor that Martine quickly recognized.
Martine gazed across the meadows with a certain pleasant expectancy,such as any young girl in a new place is likely to feel. The houses inthe distance looked attractive.
"I wonder if they are summer cottages, or if people really live there. Iwonder who has this large house just across the road. It is ratherhandsome. I hope there are girls in the family. It must be very pleasantthere, the garden seems to run down to the river. Our garden needsattention," she concluded, taking a few steps toward the flower beds,where a few stray geraniums and untrimmed rose-bushes were the soleadornments. After a few rather futile efforts to improve the appearanceof these beds, Martine turned toward the house.
The red cottage, as she faced it, was far from imposing.
"It's like some of the roadside cottages I have seen in England andWales. It isn't much larger. I'm glad that it is red instead ofwhite--well I should have had to live in it just the same, but I shouldhave hated a white house. A coat of red paint always makes a house seempicturesque," she concluded.
At this moment Angelina, in a pink calico in which she looked moregypsy-like than ever, ran down the little slope to meet Martine.
"Isn't it lovely," she said, "to be so near the road. We can see theelectric cars pass by the corner over there, and hear the train. Didn'tyou notice the whistle this morning? I did, and it made me think of thecity right off."
"I don't often hear an engine whistle in the city."
"Yes, but a steam-engine makes you think of the city. You know that youare not cut off from everything, and that sometime you can go back."
"Why Angelina, I hope that you are not homesick?"
There had been a suspicious quiver in Angelina's voice.
"Not exactly homesick, oh, no, I feel perfectly at home with you andMrs. Stratford, but still--well, you see, Miss Martine, we haven't asmany neighbors as we had in the city. I knew something about everyfamily in the Belhaven, but here I don't see how I'll begin to getacquainted."
"Cheer up, Angelina," said Martine, pleasantly. "Don't let a littlething like that trouble you. A person of your sociable disposition canmake acquaintances anywhere. But it's more dignified to proceed slowly.You and I will be busy enough the next few days getting settled. I havean idea that mother may need us now."
"There," cried Angelina, as they stood inside the little entry. "It'ssmall, Miss Martine, but it's real neat, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's neat," and Martine looked at the steep flight of stairs thatalmost tumbled down into the narrow hall, separating the two frontrooms. "It's neat enough, but I am glad we have a strip of red carpetfor the stairs. Uncarpeted, the paint might soon wear off, and besidesthey would be rather noisy. But are you sure that you have finished yourkitchen-work, Angelina?"
"Well, I just haven't; I'm glad you reminded me." So Angelina hurried tothe back of the house, where soon her voice was heard singing shrillyabove the clatter of dishes.
"Martine," said Mrs. Stratford, as her daughter entered the sitting-roomat the left of the hall, "the wall paper was very successful. What wouldthis room have been without it?"
"These pale yellow roses certainly brighten it up, and the color is notonly cheerful, but increases the size of the room. This little cupboardin the wall is fascinating, and when we get some of our china in, itwill be truly aesthetic."
"If only it opened on a piazza," sighed Mrs. Stratford. "It is singularenough that so many New England houses are built without any pretence ofa porch or piazza."
"Oh, that can be remedied," responded Martine cheerfully. "There's avery attractive nook between those two trees, and we can send to townfor an awning, and if we lay down a rug, and move out a sofa, and somechairs and a table, why we'll have a regular little summer house."
Martine, pausing almost out of breath, noted with regret that her motherdid not smile. A shadow crossed Mrs. Stratford's face.
"Mother does not like it here," thought Martine, "neither do I, but Imust like it."
"Come, mother," she said aloud, taking her mother by the arm. "Wasn't ita good idea to have the walls of this dining-room painted blue? You seeit gets so much sun, and this gives it the effect of coolness."
"I dislike oak furniture." Mrs. Stratford did not answer the questionthat Martine had put indirectly to her. Her attention was now centred onthe ugly extension table and the uncomfortable chairs ranged stifflyaround the wall.
"We'll have to put up with the chairs, I suppose, but I have a lovelyold blue cotton curtain in one of the trunks that will hide the tableand give the room any amount of style."
"You are trying to make the best of everything, my dear, and I dare sayyou are right. But the house is so much smaller and plainer than Iremembered it, that I fear we shall hardly be comfortable."
"Oh, no; come, let me show you, already I have made ever so many plans;"and impressed by Martine's vivacious optimism, Mrs. Stratford at lastbegan to see the pleasanter possibilities of the red cottage.
Martine was not deceiving either her mother or herself in pointing outthe best side of things, and yet in her heart there was a certaindisappointment in her first survey of "Red Knoll."
"We must have a name for the house," she had said the very afternoon oftheir arrival. "'Red Farm,' no, that isn't exactly the thing; 'Red Top,'no, the roof isn't red, and besides, that name has been used by some oneelse. 'Red Knoll'--there, why not, it combines the color of the houseand the situation on a knoll--why not, mamma?" and as Mrs. Stratford hadno adverse answer, Red Knoll it was from the beginning.
A house needs something besides a picturesque name to make it attractiveeven to an optimistic girl anxious to see the bright side of things.
The little farm-house that Mr. and Mrs. Stratford had so impulsivelybought, was barely large enough for the three persons who were now tomake it the summer home. The two square rooms on each side of the frontdoor, if thrown together, would have been smaller than the bedroom whichhad been Martine's in her father's house. Over them, originally, hadbeen two rooms of equal size. One of these was now to be Mrs.Stratford's bedroom. The other had been divided by a partition into tworooms each, resembling the so-called hall bedroom of many city houses.The one nearest her mother Martine appropriated for herself. The secondshe named euphemistically the guest-room; but for the present sheintended to use it as a studio or writing-room, and had removed one ortwo other pieces of furniture to make room for a large deal table.
Beyond this room, connected by a narrow door, were two ell rooms, one ofwhich was assigned to Angelina. Downstairs in the ell were kitchen andwash-room, both with white-washed walls.
"A small house, but our own," said Martine cheerfully, as she firstwalked through it. "I'll try to forget how different it is from theplace we used to have at Oconomowoc. When father first sold it, he saidsome time he would buy a place on the New England coast, but hecertainly hadn't Red Knoll in mind then."
As the first evening in their new home came on, Martine felt lonely. Theshadows gathering around the little cottage seemed to shut her out fromthe world.
"Will things ever come right? I feel so--so miserable. I wonder what itis--mother, where are you?"
Two or three times she called, before her mother's voice came to herfrom a corner of the little garden.
"What are you doing out in the damp?"
"Is it damp, my child? But the sunset was too beautiful to miss. Youshould have been out here with me. Where were you, dear?"
"Helping Angelina."
; "That was right; it will take her some time to get perfectly adjusted.You are going to be a great comfort, Martine."
Her mother's praise sounded sweet to Martine, yet she could not shakeoff a certain strange feeling, that she would have called homesicknesshad her mother not been with her.
When they reached the house, they sat for a moment by the open window.
"Mother," cried Martine, "I have an idea--I mean a special idea.Wouldn't it be better after this to have tea later, just as it begins togrow dark. Then we needn't miss the sunset."
"Wouldn't that make Angelina's dish-washing come rather late?"
"Oh, listen, listen," cried Martine, with something of her oldeagerness. "It is part of my plan to leave the dish-washing untilmorning. There are only three of us, and so we need not followold-fashioned housekeeping rules."
"I am not so sure of that," and Mrs. Stratford shook her head as if indoubt. "But we can try the late tea to-morrow, so that we can go up inthe meadow behind the house for our sunset. It is a better place for aview than my corner of the garden."
It pleased Martine to hear her mother speak so cheerfully.
"I'll try not to mind the melancholy twilights, and all those strangechirping things and the feeling of being shut off in a corner of theworld, if only this place is good for mother."
The later tea hour proved feasible, and Martine at the table with hermother after their little stroll to Sunset Hill forgot the melancholytwilight. Nor had she in their busy first week much time for discontent.The village boy whom Mrs. Stratford engaged to unpack their trunks andboxes was bewildered by their number.
"There are some, Angelina, that are not to be unpacked now, please gethim to put them in the unfinished ell room."
"Yes, Miss Martine, I know just which they are, and I'll hurry back tohelp you hang those pictures."
When all the pictures were hung, when artistic draperies covered some ofthe ugliest chairs, when pretty sofa cushions softened ugly angles, whenbooks and bric-a-brac were distributed in carelessly homelike fashion,and when a number of really valuable rugs were used to tone down thecrudeness of the carpets, Angelina surveyed the result with a pride thatcould not have been greater if she had been the owner of the cottage.
"There," she cried. "It looks just like a city house, only more so, ifanything. Don't you think so, Miss Martine, and I do hope you'll havesome callers right away. Why, I almost feel as if I was back at theBelhaven when I look from this Cashmere rug to that Arts and Craftssilver bowl on the mantle-piece. No one can say that we haven't shownperfect taste, can they, Miss Martine?"
"I am glad we brought all these things," replied Martine, "motherthought I was packing too much, but if we are to be here three or fourmonths, we must make it seem as homelike as possible."
"It certainly is homelike," continued Angelina, "especially that pictureof Miss Brenda. Mrs. Weston, I mean; when I first saw her I alwaysthought she was stylish, and that was years ago. Of course I hadn't beenacquainted with many Back Bay ladies then, excepting one that taught inour Sunday School. But still, after all I've known I just think Mrs.Weston's at the very head of them. You are something like her, too, MissMartine, in fact I should say you're almost as stylish, and to-day whenI rode down to the village I saw a lot of young ladies that are justyour kind, in white muslins and high-heeled shoes, and I hope they'llcall on you soon. As far as I could make out from something I heard someone on the seat behind me say, they were going to a tea, and it's likelyto be a gay summer. I'm glad of this for your sake, Miss Martine, foryou've been too quiet lately for one of your age."
Martine was not altogether pleased with Angelina's familiarity, thoughfor the moment it seemed hardly worth while to rebuke her.
Consequently Angelina, unreproved, continued her monologue:
"I noticed a good many people in bathing when I passed the beach, butwhen I went up I found they were chiefly nurse-maids, employees of thecottagers. There were a lot of pleasant-looking nurses and childrenplaying in the sand, and one that I spoke to, a nurse, I mean, was veryaccommodating, and told me lots about the cottagers. They bathe at noonevery day, and it's a great sight. I presume when I do go in, I'll haveto go in with the employees, for I suppose I'll be classed with thenurses and children that generally bathe in the afternoon."
"You'll be classed with the children, if you babble on in this way,Angelina. But as to the bathing, you must ask mother."
"Well, I wish you had been going to that tea, Miss Martine; the youngladies looked just your style. I asked the nurse about it, and she saidit was given by Miss Peggy Pratt of Philadelphia."
These last words of Angelina's made more impression than all the others."Peggy Pratt." Martine felt on further reflection particularlyaggrieved.
"Elinor must have written Peggy regarding her summer plans, for Elinorwas a person of her word, and she had promised to do this. If Elinor hadnot promised, of course I should have written myself. But now I am gladI did not, for probably I should have been treated just the same. Yet itdoesn't seem just like Peggy."
"Martine," called Mrs. Stratford from her corner a few minutes later,and Martine hurried to her mother's side.
"Sit down, dear," added Mrs. Stratford, then with a shade of anxiety inher voice. "But you look tired. I fear you have been working too hard.Perhaps you did more than your share in preparing this boudoir for me."
"Oh, no, Angelina and Timothy worked much harder than I. But it _is_ acosy corner. Between the awning and the trees, you will be as wellshaded from the sun as you would be indoors, and an open window wouldn'tbegin to give you so much air."
Martine swung herself into the hammock.
"There, I feel like a bird. Mother dear, you called me for somethingspecial, what is it?"
"Only to say that Angelina is anxious to know how we will celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
"Yes, Miss Martine." Angelina had reappeared on the scene with Mrs.Stratford's glass of milk. "Celebrate," she repeated. "Why, MissMartine, you haven't forgotten what day to-morrow is?"
Martine sat upright in the hammock. "I really and truly had, but now youmention it it's the great and glorious Fourth, and what of that?" sheconcluded, waving her hand dramatically.
"Oh, Miss Martine, it wouldn't be right to pass it by unnoticed. Why atthe North End we used to sit up all the night before, and the streetswere as full of noise as if a war was going on."
"We couldn't celebrate in exactly that way," responded Martine smiling."I am almost sure that I won't sit up to-night, and as to fire-crackers,what's the good, unless there's a boy in the house?"
Again the sober expression returned to Martine's face, as this mentionof the Fourth brought vividly to mind the many celebrations in which sheand Lucian had taken a lively interest. Where was Lucian now? Would thewhole family ever be together again?
She came to herself with Angelina's high-pitched voice still ringing inher ears.
"So I felt quite sure that you wouldn't object as the ten weeks is morethan past, and as I've paid all that up, why, I made sure you wouldn'tmind my spending just a little for fireworks. But I'd like you to lookin your little book first."
"I know it's all settled, Angelina, but you can bring me that little redbook from the drawer in my writing-table."
While Angelina was in the house, Martine explained to her mother whatshe had meant by "paying up."
"It is that money Lucian paid for the hall. He told her to give it backto me. So she has been paying a dollar and a half a week. It is Lucian'smoney, though he wished me to keep it, and I agreed not to let Angelinaknow that it was he who helped her."
"It is to Angelina's credit that she has paid so promptly."
"It really is, mamma, and I think it has been rather a good thing as ithas kept her from spending all her money foolishly. Of course, the hallitself was a foolish expense, yet these last few weeks she has been ableto waste only part of her money, but now--"
At this moment Angelina appeared with the little red book, and Mart
ine,quickly turning to the pages with her account, saw to Angelina'ssatisfaction as well as her own, that the indebtedness for the hall hadbeen cancelled.
"There," cried Angelina, folding up the receipt that Martine withbusiness-like exactness gave her. "I am relieved. Now I can celebrateall I want to, for fire-crackers cost a lot."
"Please don't waste your money on fireworks."
"Really, Angelina, you must not," added Martine.
But Angelina, making no reply either to Mrs. Stratford orMartine--unless a nod and three shakes of the head and a broad smilecould be called a reply, flew down the little slope toward the road.
The morning of the Fourth was so quiet that Martine might have forgottenthe great and glorious holiday but for Angelina. Before the breakfastdishes were washed, the latter was outside striking torpedoes againstthe stone that formed the kitchen doorstep.
When Mrs. Stratford went with her books to her retreat under the treesin the garden, she found two small flags standing in the vase that wasusually filled with flowers.
When once her mind was turned toward the Fourth, Martine began to recallIndependence Days of the past. What fun she and Lucian used to have!Why, they often had been up before sunrise to play with theirfire-crackers and torpedoes. Then at night--
"I wonder," mused Martine, "if any other children ever had half thesport we had. Set pieces, and fire balloons, as well as rockets; howindulgent father always was. No wonder I feel blue to-day, and expecttoo much--when it isn't likely that in this town a single person isthinking about us."
The day, as befitted the holiday, proved hot, and Martine, swinginglanguidly in the hammock, at length admitted to herself that she wasglad that she had no troublesome social engagement to keep, and shemaintained this opinion even in face of Angelina's report, after a walkto the village, that there seemed to be a great deal going on.
To oblige Angelina, dinner instead of tea was served at five, and itproved a great success.
"I would like to have served red white and blue ice-cream, but I didn'tknow how to make it blue, so it's red and white," apologized Angelina.
"I might have supplied the blue this morning," said Martine. "It's toolate now." But no one understood her feeble attempt at a pun.
"It seems worse," said Angelina, as they gathered up the dishes, "toleave dinner things to be washed until morning, but if your mother don'tmind--"
"I am sure that I don't," said Martine, "and as for mother--why, ofcourse she won't care."
"Well, I have some very important business to attend to--if you'llexcuse me."
Upon this Angelina disappeared, and in the pleasant twilight Martinewent outside with her mother to the little retreat in the garden.
"I half wish," said Mrs. Stratford, "that we had had a few fireworks.Even if we are shut off from the world, we ought not to forget theFourth. I didn't suppose there would be much celebrating down here, butsee!"
Looking where her mother pointed, Martine saw a great fire balloonsoaring slowly into the air. They watched it until it disappeared and asthe twilight deepened, they counted many rockets and Roman candles goingup in various directions.
Before Martine could decide whether it would be wise to recall theFourth when Lucian almost put his eye out by blowing into a fire-crackerto see if it was still burning, Angelina appeared on the scene with anumber of packages. These she deposited on the slope in front of thehouse with consequential air.
"Angelina," cried Mrs. Stratford.
"Yes'm," responded Angelina.
"Angelina," called Martine, and without waiting for a reply walked downto where the girl was undoing her packages.
"Then you really have fire-crackers here?"
"Yes, Miss Martine, and rockets, and Roman candles, and fire balloons,at least only one balloon. It didn't seem homelike not to have somethingdoing on the Fourth, and now that I can spend my own money, there's noreason why I shouldn't celebrate."
Martine had no reply for this unanswerable argument, and in a secondshe, too, was busy helping.
"I might have bought some myself, if I had thought of it in time."
"That's it, if you'd thought of it in time. My, that's fine," andAngelina clapped her hands, as a rocket shot into the air falling in ashower of golden stars.
"I didn't know I could find pleasure in anything so simple," saidMartine, returning to her mother's side.
"It only shows how limited our life here is," and Mrs. Stratford sankback in her chair with a sigh.
"Oh, fireworks amuse everybody," rejoined Martine, "but now I must runback to Angelina. The last, she says,--is finest of all--a fireballoon."
After two or three ineffectual efforts Martine and Angelina at last hadthe pleasure of sending off the balloon. But alas! Instead of pursuingits upward way, it was borne horizontally by a wandering breeze, and atlast was lost to sight.
"I know," cried Angelina. "It has gone somewhere behind the buildings ofthat estate over the way. I must get it." And in a flash she had runtoward the large house regarding whose occupants Martine had so oftenwondered.
"Our celebration is over, I suppose," said Martine to her mother, "butwe might as well stay outside a little longer, and see! What magnificentrockets are going up from the estate across the way." A change ofintonation carried out Martine's mimicry of Angelina's words.
"Yes, and there's a balloon that puts Angelina's to the blush," andmother and daughter watched the ball of fire dwindling in the upper air,until it was lost apparently among the stars.
It was some time before Angelina returned, breathless.
"Oh, did you see my balloon? Wasn't it magnificent? They said they wereproud to help send it up from their estate, and they only wished theyhad had some of their own. You see it had got kind of twisted after youand I sent it, and went down sideways, right on the lawn in front oftheir house. They seemed the most elegant people, and I told them howlonely it was for you up here, and you used to things so very different.When I mentioned your names it seemed to me they'd heard of you before,and so I asked them to come to see you."
"Oh, how could you, Angelina, how could you!" cried Martine.
"There, there," said Mrs. Stratford, as she laid her hand on Martine'sarm as they turned toward the house. "I have always told you you wouldspoil Angelina. It's useless to reprove her now, for she won'tunderstand what you mean, but in future you can be more careful."