A Fancy of Hers

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  "If you desire it. What is your taste?"

  "Do you know any operatic airs?"

  "A few; and Mabel began with an air from La Sonnambula." She played with a dash and execution which Mr. Chester recognized, though he only pretended to like opera because it was fashionable.

  "Bravo!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in affected ecstasy. "Really you are an excellent player. I suppose you have attended the opera?"

  "Occasionally," said Mabel.

  "And you like music? But I need not ask."

  "Oh, yes, I like music. It is one of my greatest pleasures."

  "You would make a very successful music teacher, I should judge. I should think you would prefer it to teaching a country school."

  "I like music too well to teach it. I am afraid that I should find it drudgery to initiate beginners."

  "There may be something in that."

  "Do you sing, Miss Frost?" asked Mrs. Pratt.

  "Sometimes."

  "Will you sing something, to oblige me?"

  "Certainly, Mrs. Pratt. What would you like?"

  "I like ballad music. I am afraid my ear is not sufficiently trained to like operatic airs, such as Mr. Randolph Chester admires."

  After a brief prelude Mabel sang an old ballad. Her voice was very flexible, and was not wanting in strength. It was very easy to see that it had been carefully cultivated.

  Mr. Chester was more and more surprised and charmed. "That girl is quite out of place here," he said to himself. "Any commonplace girl would do for the Granville school mistress. She deserves a more brilliant position."

  He surveyed Mabel critically, but could find no fault with her appearance. She was beautiful, accomplished, and had a distinguished air. Even if she were related to the baker's family on Sixth Avenue, as he thought quite probable, she was fitted to adorn the "saloons of fashion," as he called them.

  "I rather think I will marry her," he thought. "I don't believe I can do better. She is poor, to be sure, but I have enough for both, and can raise her to my own position in society."

  Fortunately Mabel did not know what was passing through the mind of the antiquated beau, as, she regarded him, who amused her by his complacent consciousness of his superiority. When it was ten o'clock, she rose to go.

  "It won't do to be dissipated, Mrs. Pratt," she said. "I must be going home."

  "Permit me to escort you, Miss Frost," said Mr. Chester, rising with alacrity.

  She hesitated, but could think of no reason for declining, and they walked together to Mrs. Kent's. The distance was' short -- too short, Mr. Chester thought, but there was no way of lengthening it.

  "I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again soon, Miss Frost," said the bachelor at parting.

  Mabel responded in suitable terms, and Mr. Randolph Chester went back to the hotel in quite a flutter of excitement. The staid bachelor was as nearly in love as such a well regulated person could be.

  The next evening Mabel spent in writing a letter to Mary Bridgman, part of which it may be well to quote.

  "You," she said, "are the only person in my confidence, the only one who knows of my present whereabouts. You will, I feel sure, be glad to know that my experiment is proving to be a success. I believe I have inspired in my pupils a real and earnest interest in study. It gives me genuine pleasure to see their minds unfolding and expanding, day by day, and to feel that I am doing an important part in guiding them in this intellectual growth. I can assure you that I get more satisfaction and exhilaration from the life I am leading now than I found in my last summer's round of amusements at Newport.

  "When will it end? How long will this fit of enthusiasm last? If you ask these questions, I cannot tell you. Let time decide.

  "You have heard, I suppose, of Mr. Randolph Chester, the elderly bachelor who favors Granville with his presence every summer. I made his acquaintance yesterday, while calling upon Mrs. Pratt. His air of condescension on being introduced to the school teacher was very amusing. He was evidently disappointed by my indifference, and seemed piqued by it. When I was asked to play I determined to produce an impression upon him, and I did my best. Mr. Chester seemed surprised to find a country school mistress so accomplished. He recommended me to become a music teacher and offered to assist me to obtain a position in the city, professing to regard me worthy of a larger field than Granville affords. He offered his escort home, and I accepted.

  "Today Mr. Chester did me the great honor of visiting my school. He professed a great interest in the subject of education, but I learn, on inquiry, that he has never before visited the school. I suggested to him that Miss Bassett would be glad to receive a call; but he shrugged his shoulders and did not welcome the proposal. I felt a malicious satisfaction in introducing him publicly to my scholars as one who took a strong interest in them, and announced that he would address them. My visitor started, blushed, and looked embarrassed, but retreat was impossible. He made a halting speech, chiefly consisting of congratulations to the scholars upon having so accomplished and capable a teacher. On the whole he rather turned the tables upon me.

  "It is quite in the line of possibility that I may have a chance to become Mrs. Randolph Chester before the season is over. If I accept him I shall insist on your being one of my bridesmaids."

  Chapter 8

  Granville was not on the great highway of travel. It was off the track of the ordinary tourist. Yet now and then a pilgrim in search of a quiet nook, where there was nothing to suggest the great Babel of fashion, came to anchor in its modest hostelry, and dreamed away tranquil hours under the shadow of its leafy elms. Occasionally, in her walks to and from school, Mabel noticed a face which seemed less at home in village lanes than in city streets, but none that she had seen before.

  "I shall finish my summer experiment without recognition," she said to herself in a tone of gratulation. But she was mistaken.

  Within a few rods from the school house, one afternoon, she met a young man armed with a fishing rod. He was of medium height, broad shouldered, wore a brown beard, and had a pleasant, manly face lighted up by clear and expressive eyes. To Mabel's casual glance his features looked strangely familiar, but she could not recall the circumstances under which they had met.

  The stranger looked doubtfully in her face for an instant, then his countenance brightened up.

  "If I am not mistaken," he said eagerly, "it is Miss Mabel Fairfax."

  Mabel, at the sound of her real name, looked around uneasily, but luckily none of her scholars was within hearing,

  "Mabel Frost," she said hurriedly.

  "I beg pardon," replied the young man, puzzled; "but can I be mistaken?"

  "No, you are right; but please forget the name you have called me by. Here I am Mabel Frost, and I teach the village school."

  There was a look of wonder, mingled with sympathy, in the young man's face.

  "I understand," he said gently. "You have been unfortunate; you have lost your fortune, and you have buried yourself in this out of the way village."

  Mabel preferred that he should accept the explanation that he himself had suggested.

  "Do not pity me," she said. "I have no cause to complain. I am happy here."

  "How well you bear your reverses!" he replied admiringly.

  Mabel felt like a humbug; but it was a necessary consequence of the false position in which she had placed herself.

  "I do not deserve your praise," she said honestly. "I am sure I ought to know you," she added. "Your face is familiar, but I cannot recall where we have met."

  "That is not surprising," he returned. "I am a painter, and you met me at the artists' reception. My name is Allan Thorpe."

  "Allan Thorpe!" repeated Mabel with a glow of pleasure. "Yes, I remember, you painted that beautiful 'Sunset in Bethlehem.'"

  "Do you remember it?" asked the artist in gratified surprise.

  "It was one of the pictures I liked best. I remember you too, Mr. Thorpe."

  "I am very glad to her
it, Miss -- "

  "Frost," prompted Mabel, holding up her finger.

  "I will try to remember."

  "Are you spending the summer in Granville, Mr. Thorpe?"

  "Yes," replied Allan unhesitatingly. He had just made up his mind.

  "Are you engaged upon any new work?"

  "Not yet. I have been painting busily during the spring, and am idling for a time. You see how profitably I have been employed today," and he pointed to his fishing rod. "I hope to get at something by and by. May I ask where you are boarding?"

  "At Mrs. Kent's."

  "I congratulate you, for I know her. I am at the hotel and am sometimes solitary. May I venture to call upon you?"

  "If you call upon your friend, Mrs. Kent, you will probably see me," said Mabel, smiling.

  "Then I shall certainly call upon Mrs. Kent," said the young man, lifting his hat respectfully.

  "Please bear in mind my change of name, Mr. Thorpe."

  "You shall be obeyed."

  "How much she is improved by adversity," thought the young man, as he sauntered towards the hotel. "I can hardly realize the change. The society belle has become a staid -- no, not staid, but hard working country school mistress, and takes' the change gayly and cheerfully. I thought her beautiful when I saw her in New York. Now she is charming."

  What were Mabel's reflections?

  "He is certainly very handsome and very manly," she said to herself. "He has genius, too. I remember that painting of his. He thinks me poor, and I felt like a humbug when he was admiring me for my resignation to circumstances. If it were as he thinks, I think I might find a friend in him."

  "I just met an old acquaintance, Mrs. Kent," she said on entering the house.

  "Is he staying here?" asked the widow.

  "Yes, for a time. He tells me he knows you."

  "Who can it be?" asked Mrs. Kent with interest.

  "A young artist -- Allan Thorpe," replied Mabel.

  "He is a fine young man," said Mrs. Kent warmly.

  "His appearance is in his favor."

  "You know, I suppose, that he is Mrs. Wilson's nephew?"

  "No," said Mabel with surprise.

  "His mother, who died last year, was Mrs. Wilson's sister. He was a good son to her. A year before her death a wealthy friend offered to defray his expenses for twelve months in Italy, but he refused for her sake, though it has always been his dearest wish to go."

  "No wonder you praise him. He deserves it," said Mabel warmly.

  Chapter 9

  Three months before, a new minister had been appointed to take charge of the Methodist Society in Granville. The Rev. Adoniram Fry, in spite of an unprepossessing name, was a man of liberal mind and genial temper, who could neither originate nor keep up a quarrel. In consequence the relations between the two parishes became much more friendly. Mr. Fry took the initiative in calling upon Mr. Wilson.

  "Brother Wilson," he said cordially, "we are both laborers in the Lord's vineyard. Is there any reason why we should stand apart?"

  "None whatever, Brother Fry, said the other clergyman, his face lighting up with pleasure. "Let us be friends."

  "Agreed. If we set the example we can draw our people together. How is it that they have been estranged in years past?"

  "I can hardly tell you. Probably there has been fault on both sides."

  The two pastors had a pleasant chat, and walked together down the village street, attracting considerable attention. Some were pleased, others seemed undecided how to regard the new alliance, while Deacon Uriah Peabody openly disapproved.

  "I don't believe in countenancin' error," said he, shaking his head. "We should be stern and uncompromisin' in upholding the right."

  "Why shouldn't our minister be friendly with the Methodist parson, deacon?" questioned Squire Hadley, who was less bigoted than the deacon. "I've met Mr. Fry, and I think him a whole souled man."

  "He may have a whole soul," retorted the deacon, with grim humor; "but it's a question whether he'll save it if he holds to his Methodist doctrines."

  "Don't the Methodists and Congregationalists believe very much alike?" asked the Squire.

  "How can you ask such a question, Squire?" asked the deacon, scandalized.

  "But how do they differ? I wish you'd tell me that."

  "The Methodists have bishops."

  "That isn't a matter of doctrine."

  "Yes, it is; they say it's accordin' to Scripture to have bishops."

  "Is that all the difference?"

  "It's enough."

  "Enough to prevent their being saved?"

  "It's an error, and all error is dangerous."

  "Then you disapprove of friendship between our people and the Methodists?

  "Yes," said the deacon emphatically.

  "Wouldn't you sell a cow to a Methodist if you could get a good profit?"

  "That's different," said Deacon Peabody, who was fond of a trade. "Tradin' is one thing and spiritual intercourse is another."

  "I can't agree with you, deacon. I like what I've seen of Mr. Fry, and I hope he'll draw us together in friendly feeling without regard to our attendance at different churches."

  When Fast Day came Mr. Wilson proposed that there should be a union service in the Methodist church, Mr. Fry to preach the sermon.

  "In the two societies," he urged, there will not be enough people desirous of attending church to make more than a fair sized congregation. Nothing sectarian need be preached. There are doctrines enough in which we jointly believe to afford the preacher all the scope he needs."

  Mr. Fry cordially accepted the suggestion, and the union service was held; but Deacon Uriah Peabody was conspicuous by his absence.

  "I don't like to lose my gospel privileges," he said; "but I can't consort with Methodists or enter a Methodist church. It's agin' my principles."

  Old Mrs. Slocum sympathized with the deacon; but curiosity got the better of principle, and she attended the service, listening with keen eared and vigilant attention for something with which she could disagree. In this she was disappointed; there was nothing to startle or shock the most exacting Congregationalist.

  "What did you think of the sermon?" asked Squire Hadley, as he fell in with the old lady on the way home.

  "It sounded well enough," she replied, shaking her head but appearances are deceitful."

  "Would you have been satisfied if you had heard the same sermon from Mr. Wilson?"

  "I would have known it was all right then," said Mrs. Slocum. "You can't never tell about these Methodists."

  But Deacon Peabody and Mrs. Slocum were exceptions. Most of the people were satisfied, and the union service led to a more social and harmonious feeling. For the first time in three years Mrs. John Keith, Congregationalist, took tea at the house of Mrs. Henry Keith, Methodist. The two families, though the husbands were brothers, had been kept apart by sectarian differences, each being prominent in his church. The two ministers rejoiced in the more cordial feeling which had grown out of their own pleasant personal relations, and they frequently called upon each other.

  One result of the restored harmony between the two religious societies was a union picnic of the Sunday schools connected with each. It became a general affair, and it was understood that not only the children, but the older people, would participate in it. The place selected was a grove on the summit of a little hill sloping down to Thurber's Pond, a sheet of water sometimes designated as a lake, though scarcely a mile in circumference.

  From the first, Mr. Randolph Chester intended to invite Mabel to accompany him. The attention would look pointed, he admitted to himself; but he was quite prepared for that. So far as his heart was capable of being touched Mabel had touched it. He was not the man to entertain a grand passion, and never had been; but his admiration of the new school teacher was such that a refusal would have entailed upon him serious disappointment. Of rivalry -- that is, of serious rivalry -- Mr. Chester had no apprehension. One afternoon he encountered Allan T
horpe walking with Mabel, and he was not quite pleased, for he had mentally monopolized her. But he would have laughed at the idea of Mabel's preferring Mr. Thorpe. He was handsome, and younger by twenty five years; but he was, to use Mr. Chester's own term, "a beggarly artist."

  If she should marry Thorpe she would have to live on romance and moonshine. Artists rave about the true and the beautiful, but they do not pay cash," Randolph said to himself, rather disdainfully.

  Two days before the picnic Mr. Chester called at Mrs. Kent's and inquired, in a tone of some importance, for Miss Frost. Mabel made her appearance in the parlor without unnecessary delay.

  "I hope I see you well, Miss Frost," said Mr. Chester, with a smile that was meant to be captivating.

  "Thank you, Mr. Chester; I have seldom been better."

  "I hope you are enjoying your summer in Granville."

  "Indeed I am," answered Mabel heartily.

  "Where were you last summer, Miss Frost?"

  Mabel hesitated. She did not like to say that she spent the greater part of the season at Newport, since this would probably lead to further questions on the subject, and possibly expose her secret.

  "I was in the city part of the time," she answered evasively.

  "It must have been very uncomfortable," said Mr. Chester, adding complacently: "I have never passed the summer in New York. I should find it quite intolerable."

  "A rich man can consult his own wishes," said Mabel. "If you were a poor school teacher it would be different."

  Randolph Chester always enjoyed allusions to his wealth, It gratified him that Mabel seemed aware of his easy circumstances.

  "Quite true, Miss Frost," he answered. "I often feel how fortunate I am in my worldly circumstances. You ought to be rich," he continued. "You have accomplishments which would grace a high social position."

  "I am afraid you flatter me, Mr. Chester."

  "Upon my word I do not," said the bachelor warmly. He was dangerously near declaring himself, but stopped upon the brink. He did not wish to be precipitate.

  "Are you going to the picnic on Saturday, Miss Frost?"