CHAPTER IX
EDNA DERWENT
The supper was good, and for many weeks Sylvia had not eaten sohungrily. Minty's eyes continued to devour her as the guest devouredthe biscuit and honey; and it required an occasional warning, "Eat yoursupper, Minty," from Mrs. Lem, to deliver Sylvia periodically from theround, expressionless stare.
"What delicious milk!" said the girl, as she set down her empty glass;"and this cream would make city people open their eyes."
"It don't seem to me it's quite as rich as common," returned Mrs. Lem."We often have it so thick it has to be dilated with water."
Sylvia met Thinkright's eyes and laughed. "That is a frequent necessityin the city," she said. "I wish it weren't."
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Lem raised her eyebrows, "I know it. Of course it takessuch legions o' milk to supply the cities you can't trust 'em around apump. Have some more o' the lobsters, Miss Lacey."
"Oh, no, thank you."
"Then," said Thinkright, "perhaps you'd like to go and help Minty bringhome her Daisy."
"Who is Daisy?" asked Sylvia of the solemnly staring child, who hadbeen mute throughout the meal.
"My cow," drawled Minty.
"I'm mortally afraid of cows," declared Sylvia.
"Daisy ain't ugly," returned Minty.
"Then if you'll promise to take care of me"--
"I will," declared the child, her cheeks flushing with the pleasurethat her drawl could not convey.
"She usually gits the cow afore supper," explained Mrs. Lem, "butto-day she couldn't very well." She looked complacently at her child'stoilet. "You needn't mind the dishes, Minty."
At the permission the child fled from the room and clattered up theback stairs. The others rose from the table, and Mrs. Lem assumed alarge apron and began gathering up the dishes.
"You may help if you like, Sylvia," said Thinkright. "We want you tofeel at home."
The girl hesitated. She disliked wrecks of meals, and the way for herto feel at home was to do nothing at all. She began awkwardly to takeup the silver.
"No, no, don't do it, Miss Lacey." Mrs. Lem perceived at once theunaccustomed touch, and her New York hypothesis was strengthened. "Youhain't any apern, and I do think," with an airy laugh, "you might gitunpacked afore they set you to work."
"Oh, yes, let her help till Minty comes," said Thinkright, with themanner of conferring a favor upon the guest, who echoed a faintagreement and went on gathering up the knives and forks, while her hostleft the house. Her ordeal did not last long, for Minty, still flushedof cheeks from the excitement of the occasion, soon reappeared, thesplendors of her recent costume as completely vanished as wereCinderella's at the stroke of twelve.
Her dark calico clung around her slim little body, and the white stringthat tied her braid was in evidence.
"Put on your sweater, Minty, and run up and git Miss Lacey's jacket forher. It's real fresh," said her mother.
The sun had ceased casting sparkles across the sea when they went outof doors, and the shadows were lengthening. The loveliness of theincreasing rose-light in the west caused Sylvia to forget all annoyingdoubts as to where to pour the water from the half-empty glasses, andall objections to the remains of lobster.
"What a pretty place you live in, Minty!" she exclaimed, as they walkedback of the house through an orchard of small apple trees, gnarly andstunted enough from their struggle with the elements through thewinter, but with all bumps and twists veiled now in rose-tinted cloudsof white bloom.
"Yes, 'tis. I like it a whole lot better'n Hawk Island."
"Where is that?"
"Oh, off there." Minty pointed a vague finger behind them seaward. "Welived there when father went fishin' afore he was drownded. I was realsmall, and I didn't have no cow. Daisy was born the year we come here,and Thinkright gave her to me."
"Oh, she's a pet, then; so I needn't be afraid of her."
"No-o, she wouldn't hook nobody! Beside, didn't you know if you'reskeered o' things they're likely to happen?"
"Oh, are they? Well, luckily I'm not scared of many things."
"Where do you live?" asked Minty, renewing her grave stare at theadmired guest.
"I,"--Sylvia's mind flew back over a panorama of abiding places. "A--Ithink I shall have to say nowhere," she replied after a pause. "I'm atramp, Minty."
The child regarded her, unsatisfied and skeptical. "Why, where's yermother and father?" she drawled.
"I,"--again the mutability and doubtfulness of all things were broughthome to Sylvia. "I don't know," she replied. "They are dead."
"There ain't any such thing," returned Minty. "When folks seem to bedead they're goin' on livin' jest the same. Thinkright says so."
"Does my cousin Thinkright know everything?" inquired Sylvia smiling.
"Of course he does." There was a brief pause, and then the catechismcontinued.
"How old be you?"
"Guess?"
"I don't know. You've got on long dresses and yer tall, but yer hair'sshorter'n mine."
"Yes, I've been very ill and my hair all came out. It used to bestraight as yours. I went to bed with my long hair braided smoothly,and got up with these new little kinks."
"I wish I knew where I could ketch that kind o' sickness," returnedMinty, regarding the bright auburn rings enviously, "but don't tellThinkright I said so," she added, with an afterthought. "He thinksbein' sick's as wrong as lyin'."
"My cousin Thinkright has some very odd ideas," returned Sylvia.
"There's Daisy a-mooin'," exclaimed Minty, her face lighting. "Shehears us talkin'."
"Well, don't forget to tell her how charming I am, will you? It givesme the shivers to think I'm walking straight up to a pair of horns andnot a fence in sight."
"She won't do nawthin';" the child smiled at the comical grimace hercompanion made, and a turn in the path revealed a white cow at the endof her tether looking eagerly toward them. A clump of evergreens rosebeyond her.
"I think I'll climb one of those trees," said Sylvia. "She looks tooglad to see me."
Minty laughed aloud, and running to the white cow threw her arms aroundher neck.
"Now then, introduce us," said Sylvia. "This is Miss Daisy Foster, Ibelieve. So happy not to meet you, my dear! Please don't look as if youwere going to rush into my arms the minute Minty lets go."
Minty laughed delightedly.
"I guess you'd better git back of her, Miss Lacey. When I untie her shemight fall foul of yer and never mean to, she's so anxious for thebarn."
Sylvia skipped toward the pines with alacrity. The sea wind and thesituation had brought color into her cheeks.
"Why, the cow is anchored!" she exclaimed; for she perceived an ancientanchor at her feet to which that end of the rope was fastened.
"Yes. Daisy can't drag _her_ anchor," returned Minty, her fingers busywith the knot at the cow's neck, "though she'd like to lots o' times.There now, Bossy, don't act so drove. I know it's later'n common, but Ihad a good reason, and 'tain't thinkin' right to be impatient." Withthe last word the rope fell free, and as the cow gave a bound Mintyclung to its horns, and was carried forward, her feet scarcely touchingthe grass. Sylvia's heart leaped to her throat for a moment, butMinty's delighted laugh came back to her, and the guest laughed, too,at the child's antics.
Minty, glowing with superiority, could not resist this primeopportunity to make an impression, so went on with the romp as familiarto her as a more sedate method of locomotion, and finally the cow'sgyrations carried her out of sight, leaving Sylvia alone and happyunder the pine trees.
"Isn't it the strangest thing in the world that I should be here?" shethought, looking about. A memory returned to her of the cheapboarding-house in Springfield where her father breathed his last; ofthe worries that followed his decease; of her hurried journey; of theshock dealt her in Boston; of the stranger-cousin descending, as itwere, out of the clouds to bear her up from the lowlands ofmortification and hurt, to where the sea winds chased dull care away.The future trou
bled Sylvia very little. The thorn in the present wasthat Judge Trent owned this soft, grassy knoll on which she stood,owned that straight, symmetrical balsam fir yonder whose bright greentips full of the new life of spring were breathing balm on the air;owned the gambrel roof under which was her inviting chamber. Did heknow she was here? She could not remember what her cousin had saidabout that. Mr. Dunham had sent for Thinkright. Yes, now sheremembered: Judge Trent had told him to send, doubtless to ease hisconscience; to get her out of sight, and yet to know that his sister'schild was safe.
Well, his sister's child would show him---- At the revengeful impulseThinkright's face suddenly rose before her with the words he had usedabout slapping back.
"The evening is perfect," exclaimed Sylvia aloud. The rose-light hadbegun to crimson the water. It drew her. She ran down the slope to thebelt of birch and evergreen which surrounded the basin. Rays from thesinking sun were kissing the sightless upper windows of the Tide Milluntil the weather-beaten shutters grew pink.
Sylvia entered the fragrant path she had traversed with her host thatafternoon, and followed it toward the point of land beyond the mill.Suddenly a voice clear, bright, yet low-pitched fell on her ears, andalmost simultaneously she caught a glimpse of the speaker between thetrees.
The girl stood on the brink of the water, talking to some one in asmall boat whose sail was flapping. Sylvia could not proceed withoutcoming into sight, so she waited in order not to disturb the adieux.The boat had evidently just landed this passenger, who carried a bagand was dressed in a dark tailor suit.
The skipper, a sun-burned young fellow, was showing a row of strongwhite teeth at some sally from the lady when Sylvia's eyes fell uponhim.
"I wish ye'd let me carry the bag up fer ye," he said.
"No, I'm going to punish myself for not being ready in time for you tosail into the Basin. I ought to know by this time that it's no usearguing with the tide."
"Always seems more sot here than anywhars," agreed the boy.
"Besides, I want you to have time to telephone for that carriage. Don'tlet them make any mistake. I must catch the one o'clock train."
"Yes. When are ye comin' fer good, Miss Edna?"
"Oh, in just a few weeks. June, some time. It'll be pulling me, pullingme, from now on, Benny."
She smiled, and Sylvia could see her face. Black hair that shone with afine silken lustre grew thickly about a white forehead. Brows that laylike smooth touches of satin swept in two fine lines above gay, kindbrown eyes. Her smile merited the adjective "sweet" more than anySylvia had ever seen; but the boatman's next words startled thelistener.
"Miss Lacey comin', too, I s'pose?"
"Of course. What a question to ask a lone, lorn girl?"
"She didn't stop long last season."
"No; for I was in Switzerland. Why should she? But I can't spare hernow, and she's written me that she'll come just as usual, so AnemoneCottage will be itself again."
"Well"--the boy hesitated for words to express his pleasure--"we canstand it if you can," he finished.
"All right, Benny," she laughed. "Get to Gull Point as quick as youcan. I've just one idea now, and that's the telephone. Good-by." Shewaved her hand as he set the sail and took his oars to pull into thewind.
Sylvia saw him nod and smile back. Then that happened on which she hadcounted. The stranger came up into the path, and without seeing thewatcher, walked swiftly away.
Sylvia had seen no home in the vicinity beside the farmhouse, and thefamiliar mention of Miss Lacey made it doubly certain that thislow-voiced stranger, this girl whose broad _a_'s and lack of _r_'ssounded oddly upon Sylvia's Western ears, was going fast as her trimfeet could carry her to Thinkright's home. A strange feeling besetSylvia. The newcomer's perfect costume, the assurance and refinement ofher manner, even the unconscious adoration in Benny's sea-blue eyes,all pointed to a superiority which made Sylvia vaguely resentful ofher.
What Miss Lacey had she been talking about? Aunt Martha, of course.Hadn't Cap'n Lem spoken of her also? What was she to this girl,--thisraven-haired, charming girl who was nobody's despised niece?
Sylvia's heart beat hotly, and she began to run. Why was she wastingtime when she wished to see what sort of reception would be accordedthis stranger? Possibly, even, she was a favorite with Judge Trent. Thethought gave Sylvia a forlorn pang, but she hurried on. Soon she againcaught sight of the newcomer, who was passing out of the woods andstarting up the incline that led to the house. Sylvia at once began tomove slowly, her feet noiseless on the grass.
Cap'n Lem and Thinkright now came in view, returning from the barn, andSylvia's eyes grew large as she heard the stranger's gay cry and themen's response.
They hastened down the hill to meet her. Cap'n Lem took her bag whileshe laughingly received their surprised welcome, and she threw her armsaround Thinkright's neck and kissed him. Neither of the three observedSylvia, who followed at a distance until they went inside and the housedoor closed upon them.
Pausing, to wonder and speculate, the chill of the evening made thegirl shiver. The door had shut her out. She felt lonely and forlorn.