CHAPTER III
"Good-bye, Mrs. Gray, I'm going for a ride."
"Good-bye, dearie; sure it ain't too hot?"
"Not a bit; it's rained so hard all this week that I haven't had a bit ofexercise, and I'm getting cross."
"Cross! I'd like to see you once! It still looks kinder thunderous to meoff in the West, so don't go far."
"I won't, I promise; I'll be back by supper-time. There's Austin, just upfrom the hayfield--I'll get him to saddle for me." And Sylvia ran quicklytowards the barn.
"You don't mean to say you're going out this torrid day?" he demanded,lifting his head from the tin bucket in which he had submerged it as shevoiced her request, and eyeing her black linen habit with disfavor.
"It's no hotter on the highroad than in the hayfield."
"Very true; but I have to go, and you don't. Being one of the favored fewof this earth, there's no reason why you shouldn't sit on a shady porchall day, dressed in cool, pale-green muslin, and sipping iced drinks."
"Did you ever see me in a green muslin? I'll saddle Dolly myself, if youdon't feel like it."
She spoke very quietly, but the immediate consciousness of his stupidbreak did not improve Austin's bad temper.
"Oh, I'll saddle for you, but the heat aside, I think you ought tounderstand that it isn't best for a woman to ride about on these lonelyroads by herself. It was different a few years ago; but now, with allthese Italian and Portuguese laborers around, it's a different story. Ithink you'd better stay at home."
The unwarranted and dictatorial tone of the last sentence spoiled thespeech, which might otherwise, in spite of the surly manner in which itwas uttered, have passed for an expression of solicitude. Sylvia, who wasas headstrong as she was amiable, gathered up her reins quickly.
"By what right do you consider yourself in a position to dictate to me?"she demanded.
"By none at all; but it's only decent to tell you the risk you'rerunning; now if you come to grief, I certainly shan't feel sorry."
"From your usual behavior, I shouldn't have supposed you would, anyway.Good-bye, Austin."
"Good-bye, Mrs. Cary."
"Why don't you call me Sylvia, as all the rest do?"
"It's not fitting."
"More dictation as to propriety! Well, as you please."
He watched her ride up the hill, almost with a feeling of satisfaction athaving antagonized and hurt her, then turned to unharness and water hishorses. He knew very well that his own behavior was the only blot on asummer, which but for that would have been almost perfect for every othermember of the family, and yet he made no effort to alter it. In fact,only a few days before, his sullen resentment of the manner in whichtheir long-prayed-for change of fortune had come had very nearly resulteddisastrously for them all, and the more he brooded over it, the more soreand bitter he became.
* * * * *
By the first of August, the "Gray Homestead" had regained the prouddistinction, which it had enjoyed in the days of its builder, of beingone of the finest in the county. The house, with its wide and hospitablepiazza, shone with white paint; the disorderly yard had become a smoothlawn; a flower-garden, riotous with color, stretched out towards theriver, and the "back porch" was concealed with growing vines. Only thebarns, which afforded Sylvia no reasonable excuse for meddling, remainedas before, unsightly and dilapidated. Thomas, the practical farmer, hadlamented this as he and Austin sat smoking their pipes one sultry eveningafter supper.
"Perhaps our credit has improved enough now so that we could borrow somemoney at the Wallacetown Bank," he said earnestly, "and if you and fatherweren't so averse to taking that good offer Weston made you last week forthe south meadow, we'd have almost enough to rebuild, anyway. It's allvery well to have this pride in 'keeping the whole farm just asgrandfather left it to us,' but if we could sell part and take care ofthe rest properly, it would be a darned sight better business."
"Why don't you ask your precious Mrs. Cary for the money? She'd probablygive it to you outright, same as she has for the house, and save you allthat bother."
"Look here!" Thomas swung around sharply, laying a heavy hand on hisbrother's arm; "when you talk about her, you won't use that tone, ifI know it."
Austin shrugged his shoulders. "Why shouldn't I? What do you know abouther that justifies you in resenting it? Nothing, absolutely nothing!She's been here four months, and none of us have any idea to this daywhere she comes from, or where all this money comes from. Ask her, ifyou dare to."
He got no further, for Thomas, always the mildest of lads, struck him onthe mouth so violently that he tottered backwards, and in doing so, fellstraight under the feet of Sylvia, who stood in the doorway watchingthem, as if rooted to the spot, her blue eyes full of tears, and her faceas white as when she had first come to them.
"Thomas, how _could_ you?" she cried. "Can't you understand Austinat all, and make allowances? And, oh, Austin, how could _you_? Bothof you? please forgive me for overhearing--I couldn't help it!" Andshe was gone.
Thomas was on his feet and after her in a second, but she was too quickfor him; her sitting-room door was locked before he reached it, andrepeated knocking and calling brought no answer. Mr. and Mrs. Gray, whoslept in the chamber opening from the dining-room, and back of Sylvia's,reported the next morning that something must be troubling the "blessedgirl," for they had heard soft sobbing far into the night; but, afterall, that had happened before, and was to be expected from one "whoseheart was buried in the grave." Their sons made no comment, but both wereimmeasurably relieved when, after an entire day spent in her room, duringwhich each, in his own way, had suffered intensely, she reappeared atsupper as if nothing had happened. It was a glorious night, and shesuggested, as she left the table, that Thomas might take her for a shortpaddle, a canoe being among the many things which had been graduallyarriving for her all summer. Molly and Edith went with them, and Austinsmoked alone with his bitter reflections.
* * * * *
The thunder was rumbling in good earnest when Howard Gray and Thomas cameclattering up with their last load of hay for the night, and the threemen pitched it hastily into place together, and hurried into the house.Mrs. Gray was bustling about slamming windows, and the girls werebringing in the red-cushioned hammocks and piazza, chairs, but the firstgreat drops began to fall before they had finished, and the wind, seldomroused in the quiet valley, was blowing violently; Edith, stopping toolong for a last pillow and a precious book, was drenched to the skin inan instant; the house was pitch dark before there was time to grope forlights, but was almost immediately illumined by a brilliant flash oflightning, followed by a loud report.
"My, but this storm is near! Usually, I don't mind 'em a bit, but, Ideclare, this is a regular rip-snorter! Edith, bring me--"
But Mrs. Gray was interrupted by the elements, and for fifteen minutesno one made any further effort to talk; the rain fell in sheets, thewind gathered greater and greater force, the lightning became constantand blinding, while each clap of thunder seemed nearer and moreterrific than the one before it, when finally a deafening roar broughtthem all suddenly together, shouting frantically, "That certainly hasstruck here!"
It was true; before they could even reach it, the great north barn was inflames. There was no way of summoning outside help, even if any one couldhave reached them in such a storm, and the wind was blowing the firestraight in the direction of the house; in less than an hour, most ofthe old and rotten outbuildings had burnt like tinder, and the rest hadcollapsed under the fury of the sweeping gale; but by eight o'clock thestricken Grays, almost too exhausted and overcome to speak, werebeginning to realize that though all their hay and most of their stockwere destroyed, a change of wind, combined with their own mighty efforts,had saved the beloved old house; its window-panes were shattered, and itsblinds were torn off, and its fresh paint smoked and defaced withwind-blown sand; but it was essentially unharmed. The hurricane changedto a steady downpo
ur, the lightning grew dimmer and more distant, andvanished altogether; and Mrs. Gray, with a firm expression ofcountenance, in spite of the tears rolling down her cheeks, set about tofinish the preparations for supper which the storm had so rudelyinterrupted three hours earlier.
"Eat an' keep up your strength, an' that'll help to keep up yourcourage," she said, patting her husband on the shoulder as she passedhim. "Here, Katherine, take them biscuits out of the oven; an' Molly, goan' call the boys in; there ain't a mite of use in their stayin' outthere any longer."
Austin was the last to appear; he opened the kitchen door, and stood fora moment leaning against the frame, a huge, gaunt figure, blackened withdirt and smoke, and so wet that the water dropped in little pools allabout him. He glanced up and down the room, and gave a sharp exclamation.
"What's the matter, Austin?" asked his mother, stopping in the act ofpouring out a steaming cup of tea. "Come an' get some supper; you'll feelbetter directly. It ain't so bad but what it might be a sight worse."
"_Come and get some supper_!" he cried, striding towards her, and oncemore looking wildly around. "The thunderstorm has been over nearly twohours, plenty of time for her to get home--she never minds rain--or totelephone if she had taken shelter anywhere; and can any one tellme--has any one even thought--I didn't, till five minutes ago--_whereis Sylvia_?"
The Old Gray Homestead Page 3
