CHAPTER TWELVE CAROL'S NEW HOME
It had been a very excited little girl who had driven in between thehigh stone gate-posts and had realized that the imposing whitemansion-like house set far back among fine old trees, and surrounded bywide velvety lawns and gardens, where a few late flowers were stillblooming, was to be her future home. Since the little lass was very likeher mother, it was not strange that Carol truly believed that she wasreceiving only that which it was her right to have.
Little Sylvia Clayburn she knew not at all, and Mrs. Clayburn sheremembered vaguely as being a very richly dressed woman who had stoppedher at the fair to ask whose little girl she might be, and, as usual,Carol's reply had been that she was a Haddington-Allen of Kentucky.Later, when Mrs. Clayburn had heard the story of the four orphans fromher husband, she had said that she believed this little Carol would bethe right child for them to adopt, since they had decided that theirprecious Sylvia was being spoiled growing up alone.
Nor were they wrong, for Sylvia, pale, thin, and fretful, indeed wasvery much spoiled. Whenever she cried, her mother gave her candy, andthen, of course, she had no desire for plain, healthful foods.
"Sylvia has such aristocratic taste," the proud mother would say. "Shescorns such plebeian food as bread, and will eat nothing but cake."
No wonder that the child of such a mother should be spoiled and sickly.
It was late afternoon when Mr. Clayburn led Carol into the luxuriouslyfurnished library, where Mrs. Clayburn, reclining on a divan, propped upwith many silken pillows, was reading aloud to a small girl who wasdressed in the pale pink silk that had so aroused Carol's envy andadmiration.
Languidly the woman lifted her eyes and closed the book when thenewcomer approached. "Wife, here is little Carol who has come to pay usa good long visit, I hope," the kind man said. Then to his own littledaughter he added, "Sylvia, won't you come and shake hands with your newsister?"
Mrs. Clayburn protested. "Samuel," she said, "haven't I told you timeand again that hand-shaking is effete, obsolete? It is not done now inthe best families."
Carol, wishing at once to impress Mrs. Clayburn with the fact that she,at least, was of a "best family," was making a graceful curtsy, andSylvia, having received a prompting push from her mother, did likewise.
"As you wish, my dear," said Mr. Clayburn, smiling as though he weremuch amused.
"As long as this little lady is welcomed into our hearts, I'll not be astickler as to what outward form is observed," he thought. Then toSylvia he said, "Miggins, trot along upstairs and show your new sisterwhere to put her bonnet and things."
"I don't want to," the small girl said, again seating herself by thedivan. "I want Mother to read to me."
"Of course you needn't go if you don't want to," Mrs. Clayburn told her.
Then she said to her husband: "Ring for Fanchon. Poor Sylvia is thinenough as it is without wearing herself out needlessly climbing up anddown that long flight of stairs. We really ought to have a liftinstalled. They are now putting them in the homes of the b--"
But Mr. Clayburn had gone. Good-natured as he was, he was becomingextremely tired of hearing what was done in the best families.
There was a button in each room in the house, which, when touched, ranga bell in the kitchen, and the indicator informed the maid where herpresence was desired, and so it was that a moment later a buxom youngwoman in black and white appeared in the library door. Her rosycountenance suggested that she was Irish, and in fact, when the banker'swife had engaged her, the maid's name had been Norah, but since the bestfamilies were employing French maids whenever they could be procured,the name had been changed to Fanchon. However, Mrs. Clayburn had warnedher not to speak within the hearing of a guest, as her delightful broguecould never be mistaken.
Carol followed the silent Fanchon up the long flight of stairs thatseemed velvety soft, and into a large, beautifully furnished chamberwhere there were twin beds. The small girl clasped her hands in delight.This, to her thought, was the kind of home in which she belonged. Howhappy she was going to be there!
"Will you be after changing yer dress now, colleen?" the Irish maid saidpleasantly. "This here's the one as the mistress said ye were to bewearin' for dinner to-night." As she spoke she took from a closet one ofSylvia's dresses. "That child took a dislikin' to it," the maid went onto inform the small listener, "and not once would she be puttin' it on.Ye're in luck, colleen, changing this quick from gingham to red silk."
The "blue-blooded" little girl looked with horror at the dress. It _was_silk, but how she had always hated bright red. She actually drew herselfup as she said: "I don't wish to wear it. I wish a blue silk dress."
Now it happened that Mrs. Clayburn, on second thought, had decided toclimb the stairs and see just how the little orphan liked her newsurroundings, and so, holding the hand of Sylvia, she had just enteredthe room unseen as this most ungrateful remark was being uttered.
"Indeed, Miss Martin?" she said in a tone of mingled iciness andsarcasm. "What can you, a mere charity orphan, be thinking of to tellwhat you wish to wear? You ought to be humbly grateful that you arebeing taken out of that tumble-down log cabin and permitted to live in ahouse as handsome as any belonging to the best families."
For one brief moment a spark of Martin pride flamed up in the heart ofthe small girl. Their log cabin was not tumble-down. Only that summer anartist from the East had said that it was the most picturesque home thathe had seen in the whole State of Nevada. That was when the crimsonrambler had been a riot of bloom.
Wisely she said nothing, but meekly permitted the maid to put on thehated red dress.
The swish of the silk was something after all.
Poor little Carol had not started out well, and she was to find that,although she was living in a rose-garden, it was not one without thorns.