CHAPTER XXII
A TRESPASS
Having received permission to stop work at four o'clock on a beautifulsummer afternoon, Cicely Drane put away her papers and walked rapidlyhome. She found her mother on Mrs. Brinkly's front piazza, fanningherself vigorously and watching some children, who, on the other side ofthe narrow street, were feeding a tethered goat with clippings from anewspaper.
After a few words to explain her early return, Cicely went up to her ownroom, and took from a drawer a little pocketbook, and opening it,examined the money contained therein. Apparently satisfied with theresult, she went downstairs, wallet in hand.
"Mother," said she, "you must find it dreadfully hot and stupid here, andas this is a bit of a holiday, I intend we shall take a drive."
Mrs. Drane was about to offer some sort of economic objection, but beforeshe could do so, Cicely was out of the little front yard, and hurryingtoward the station, where there were always vehicles to be hired.
She engaged the man who had the best-looking horse, and in a little openphaeton, a good deal the worse for wear, she returned to her mother.
Andy Griffing, the driver, was a grizzled little man with twinkling eyesand a cheery air that seemed to indicate that an afternoon drive was asmuch a novelty and pleasure to him as it could possibly be to any twoladies; which was odd, considering that for the last forty years Andy hadbeen almost constantly engaged in taking morning, afternoon, evening, andnight drives.
The only direction given him by Cicely was to take them along theprettiest country roads that he knew of, and this suited him well, for henot only considered himself a good judge of scenery, but he knew whichroads were easiest for his horse.
As they travelled leisurely along, the ladies enjoying the air, thefields, the sweet summer smells, the stretches of woods, the blue andwhite sky, and everything that goes to make a perfect summer afternoon.Andy endeavored to add to their pleasure by giving them informationregarding the inhabitants of the various dwellings they passed.
"That whitish house back there among the trees," said he, "with the greenblinds, is called the Witton place. The Wittons themselves are nuthin'out o' the common; but there's an old lady lives there with 'em, who ifyou ever meet, you'll know agin, if you see her agin. Her name'sPanney,--Miss Panney,--and she's a one-er. What she don't know about me,I don't know, and what she won't know about you, three days after shegits acquainted with you, you don't know. That's the kind of a personMiss Panney is. There's a lot of very nice people, some rich and somepoor, and some queer and some not quite so queer, that lives in andaround Thorbury, and if you like it at Mrs. Brinkly's and conclude tostay there any length of time, I don't doubt you'll git acquainted with agood many of 'em; but take my word for it, you'll never meet anybody whocan go ahead of Miss Panney in the way of turnin' up unexpected. I oncehad a sick hoss, who couldn't do much more than stand up, but I had todrive him one day, 'cause my other one was hired out. 'Now' says I, as Idrew out the stable, 'if I can get around town this mornin' withoutmeetin' Miss Panney, I think old Bob can do my work, and to-morrow I'llturn him out to grass.' And as I went around the first corner, there wasMiss Panney a drivin' her roan mare. She pulled up when she seed me, andshe calls out, 'Andy, what's the matter with that hoss?' I told her hewas a little under the weather, but I had to use him that day, 'cause myother hoss was out. Then she got straight out of that phaeton she drivesin, and come up to my hoss, and says she, 'Andy, you ought to be ashamedof yourself to make a hoss work when he is in a condition like that. Takehim right back to your stable, or I'll have you up before a justice.''Now look here, Miss Panney,' says I, 'which is the best, for a hoss tojog a little round town when he ain't feeling quite well, or for a man tosit idle on his front doorstep and see his family starve?' 'Now, Andy,'says she, 'is that the case with you?' and havin' brought up the pintmyself, I was obliged to say that it was. 'Very good, then,' said she,and she took her roan mare by the head and led it up to the curbstone.'Now then,' said she, 'you can take your hoss out of the cab and put thishoss in, and you can drive her till your hoss gets well, and durin' thattime I'll walk.'
"Well, of course I didn't do that, and I took my hoss back to the stable,and my family didn't starve nuther; but I just tell you this to show youwhat sort of a woman Miss Panney is."
"I should think she was a very estimable person," said Mrs. Drane.
"Oh, there's nothin' the matter with her estimation," said Andy. "That'slevel enough. I only told you that to show you how you can always expecther to turn up unexpected."
"Mrs. Brinkly spoke of Miss Panney," said Cicely; "she said that she wasthe first one to come and see her about rooms for us."
"That was certainly very kind," said Mrs. Drane, "considering that shedoes not know us at all, except through Dr. Tolbridge. I remember hisspeaking of her."
"That place over there," said Andy, "you can jest see the tops of thechimneys, that's called Cobhurst; that's where old Matthias Butterwoodused to live. It was an awful big house for one man, but he was queer.There's nobody livin' there now but two young people, sort of temporary,I guess, though the place belongs to 'em. I don't think they are any toowell off. They don't give us hack-drivers much custom, never havin' anyfriends comin' or goin', or trunks or anything. He's got no otherbusiness, they say, and don't know no more about farmin' than a potatoknows about preachin'. There's nothin' on the place that amounts toanything except the barn. There's a wonderful barn there, that oldButterwood spent nobody knows how much money on, and he a bachelor. Youcan't see the barn from here, but I'll drive you where you can get a goodlook at it."
In a few minutes, he made a turn, and whipped up his horse to a betterspeed, and before Mrs. Drane and her daughter could comprehend the stateof affairs, they were rolling over a not very well kept private road, andapproaching the front of a house.
"Where are you going, driver?" exclaimed Mrs. Drane, leaning forward inastonishment.
Andy turned his beaming countenance upon her, and flourished his whip.
"Oh, I'm just goin' to drive round the side of the house," he said; "atthe back there's a little knoll where we can stop, and you can see thewhole of the barn with the three ways of gittin' into it, one for eachstory." At that moment they rolled past the front piazza on which wereMiriam and Ralph, gazing at them in surprise. The latter had risen whenhe had heard the approaching carriage, supposing they were to havevisitors. But as the vehicle passed the door he looked at his sister inamazement.
"It can't be," said he, "that those people have come to visit Mike?"
"Or Molly Tooney?" said Miriam.
As for Mrs. Drane and Cicely, they were shocked. They had never beenin the habit of driving into private grounds for the sake of seeingwhat might be there to see, and Mrs. Drane sharply ordered thedriver to stop.
"What do you mean," said she, "by bringing us in here?"
"Oh, that's nuthin'," said Andy, with a genial grin; "they won't mindyour comin' in to look at the barn. I've druv lots of people in here tolook at that barn, though, to be sure, not since these young people hasbeen livin' here, but they won't mind it an eighth of an inch."
"I shall get out and apologize," said Mrs. Drane, "for this shamefulintrusion, and then you must drive us out of the grounds immediately. Wedo not wish to stop to look at anything," and with this she stepped fromthe little phaeton and walked back to the piazza.
Stopping at the bottom of the steps, she saluted the brother and sister,whose faces showed that they were in need of some sort of explanation ofher arrival at their domestic threshold.
In a few words she explained how the carriage had happened to enter thegrounds, and hoped that they would consider that the impropriety was dueentirely to the driver, and not to any desire on their part to intrudethemselves on private property for the sake of sight-seeing. Ralph andMiriam were both pleased with the words and manner of this exceedinglypleasant-looking lady.
"I beg that you will not consider at all that you have intruded," saidRalph. "If ther
e is anything on our place that you would care to look at,I hope that you will do so."
"It was only the barn," said Mrs. Drane, with a smile. "The man told usit was a peculiar building, but I supposed we could see it withoutentering your place. We will trespass no longer."
Ralph went down the steps, and Miriam followed.
"Oh, you are perfectly welcome to look at the barn as much as you wishto," he said. "In fact, we are rather proud to find that this is anythingof a show place. If the other lady will alight, I will be pleased to haveyou walk into the barn. The door of the upper floor is open, and there isa very fine view from the back."
Mrs. Drane smiled.
"You are very good indeed," she said, "to treat intrusive strangers withsuch kindness, but I shall be glad to have you know that we are not meretourists. We are, at present, residents of Thorbury. I am Mrs. Drane, andmy daughter is engaged in assisting Dr. Tolbridge in some literary work."
"If you are friends of Dr. Tolbridge," said Ralph, "you are more thanwelcome to see whatever there is to see on this place. The doctor is oneof our best friends. If you like, I will show you the barn, and perhapsmy sister will come with us."
Miriam, who for a week or more had been beset by the very unusual desirethat she would like to see somebody and speak to somebody who did notlive at Cobhurst, willingly agreed to assist in escorting the strangers,and Cicely having joined the group, they all walked toward the barn.
There were no self-introductions, Ralph merely acting as cicerone, andMiriam bringing up the rear in the character of occasional commentator.Mrs. Drane had accepted the young gentleman's invitation because she feltthat the most polite thing to do under the circumstances was to gratifyhis courteous desire to put them at their ease, and, being a lover offine scenery, she was well rewarded by the view from the great window.
The pride of possession began to glow a little within Ralph as he pointedout the features of this castle-like barn. Mrs. Drane agreed to hisproposition to descend to the second floor. But as these two were goingdown the broad stairway, Cicely drew back, and suddenly turning,addressed Miriam.
"I have been wanting to ask a great many questions," she said, "but Ihave felt ashamed to do it. I have nearly always lived in the country,but I know hardly anything about barns and cows and stables and hay andall that. Do the hens lay their eggs up there in your hay?"
Miriam smiled gravely.
"It is very hard to find out," she said, "where they do lay their eggs.Some days we do not get any at all, though I suppose they lay them, justthe same. There is a henhouse, but they never go in there."
Cicely moved toward the stairway, and then she stopped; she cast hereyes toward the mass of hay in the mow above, and then she gave a littlesigh. Miriam looked at her and understood her perfectly, moreover shepitied her.
"How is it," said she as they went down the stairs, "that you lived inthe country, and do not know about country things?"
"We lived in suburbs," she said. "I think suburbs are horrible; they areneither one thing nor the other. We had a lawn and shade trees, and acroquet ground, and a tennis court, but we bought our milk and eggs andmost of our vegetables. There isn't any real country in all that, youknow. I was never in a haymow in my life. All I know about that sort ofthing is from books."
When, with many thanks for the courtesies offered them, Mrs. Drane andher daughter had driven away, Miriam sat by herself on the piazza andthought. She had a good deal of time, now, to think, for Molly Tooney wasa far more efficient servant than Phoebe had been, and although herbrother gave her as much of his time as he could, she was of necessityleft a good deal to herself.
She began by thinking what an exceedingly gentlemanly man her brotherwas; in his ordinary working clothes he had been as much at his ease withthose ladies as though he had been dressed in a city costume, which,however, would not have been nearly so becoming to him as his looseflannel shirt and broad straw hat. She then began to regret that her mindworked so slowly. If it had been quicker to act, she would have askedthat young lady to come some day and go up in the haymow with her. Itwould be a positive charity to give a girl with longings, such as she sawthat one had, a chance of knowing what real country life was. It wouldbe pleasant to show things to a girl who really wanted to know aboutthem. From this she began to think of Dora Bannister. Dora was a nicegirl, but Miriam could not think of her as one to whom she could show ortell very much; Dora liked to do the showing and telling herself.
"I truly believe," said Miriam to herself, and a slight flush came on herface, "that if she could have done it, she would have liked to stay herea week, and wear the teaberry gown all the time and directeverything,--although, of course, I would never have allowed that." Witha little contraction of the brows, she went into the hall, where sheheard her brother's step.
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