The Staying Guest

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER II LADYBIRD

  Dinner at Primrose Hall was rather an elaborate meal, and was alwaysserved promptly at six o'clock. Old Josiah Flint had been very particularabout his household appointments and habits, and since his death hisdaughters had made no changes.

  After dinner the ladies always went to the library and read the villagenewspaper, or dozed over their knitting-work until bedtime.

  But one evening in early June this routine was interfered with, by thearrival of a letter bearing a foreign postmark. It was addressed in whatwas evidently a man's hand, and the two good ladies were greatly excited.Miss Dorinda felt a pleasant flutter of anticipation, but Miss Priscillafelt a foreboding that something disagreeable was in the letter, and shehesitated before she opened it.

  "It's postmarked 'London,'" she said. "Do we know any one in London?Maria Peters went there once, but she came back, and anyway, she's dead."

  "Open it, sister," implored Miss Dorinda. And after scrutinizing itthoroughly once more, Miss Priscilla did open it.

  "It is signed 'Thomas J. Bond,'" she exclaimed, looking at the signature."Now, can it be Tom Bond who was old Jonathan Bond's son? His mother wasa Coriell."

  "Read it, sister," said Miss Dorinda.

  So Miss Priscilla read the letter aloud, and this is what it said:

  Miss Priscilla Flint, Dear Madam:

  During a recent visit to India I learned that a friend of mine, JackLovell, was living at Bombay, and I went there to see him. But it was mysad experience to reach his home the day after he had died from a suddenattack of fever. He left a little child, who told me that her mother hadbeen dead many years, and, indeed, the poor child seemed utterly alone inthe world. I tried to find out from Lovell's papers something about hiseffects, but as he was of a roving and careless disposition, everythingwas left at sixes and sevens, and I am afraid there is no provision forthe child. Therefore, since Jack's wife was your sister, I think theright thing to do is to send the little girl to you at once. And if I canfind any money or property belonging to her I will advise you later.

  My wife and I brought her from India to London with us, and I will sendher to you on the next steamer.

  Trusting that this letter will insure her a kindly reception, I am

  Yours very respectfully, Thomas J. Bond.

  To say that after reading this remarkable letter Miss Priscilla appearedsurprised, amazed, astounded, excited, irritated, angry, umbrageous,furious, or even to say that she was in a state of high dudgeon, wouldgive but an inadequate idea of the indignation shown in her face andmanner.

  But she only said, "She cannot come!" and snapped her teeth shut in theway she always did when very decided.

  "But she'll have to come, sister," said Miss Dorinda; "how will youprevent her?"

  "Well, then, she cannot stay," said Miss Priscilla, with another snap; "Iwill send her back just as I did Ann Haskell. Why, think of it, Dorinda!Think of a child living in this house! She'd very likely leave doorsopen, and she'd be sure to chatter when we wished to be quiet, and she'dfairly worry us into our graves."

  "Yes," said Miss Dorinda, "I suppose she would. But I don't see how you_can_ send her away."

  "I don't care whether I can or not, I'm going to do it. This Lawrence J.Bond, or whoever he is, discovered her without our consent; now he canattend to the rest; I shall simply get her a ticket back to his addressin London and pack her off."

  "Of course that is the only thing to do--we _can't_ have her here. Andyet--Priscilla--she is Lavinia's daughter."

  "What of it? Lavinia didn't consider our feelings when she deserted anddisgraced us, so why should we concern ourselves about her child?"

  "True enough; and yet I shall be glad to see the little girl. How old isshe, Priscilla?"

  "I suppose she must be about fourteen. Yes; it was fourteen years agothat Jack Lovell wrote, saying his wife had died, leaving a tiny baby. Hesaid the little one had blue eyes and golden curls, so I daresay she hasgrown up to look like her mother. Lavinia _was_ pretty."

  "Oh, she was. And how sweet she used to look dancing round the house inher bright, pretty frocks."

  "Well, what if she did? Lavinia's daughter is not Lavinia, and I wash myhands of the little nuisance. If you choose to--"

  "Oh, no, no! I wouldn't do anything that you would disapprove of. But Ionly thought--perhaps--if she is a sweet, docile child she might be acomfort to us."

  "Are you losing your mind, Dorinda? What comfort could come of aresponsibility like that? Think of the worrying over her clothes andeducation and accomplishments. And then, after a while, probably shewould treat us as her mother did, and run away with a good-for-nothingscamp."

  "Yes, yes, sister, you are quite right. What is the child's name, do youknow?"

  "Lavinia; don't you remember her father said so in that letter--the onlyletter he ever wrote us? If he had acted more kindly toward us, I mightfeel different toward the child; but as it is, I've no use for her."

  "Do you remember sister Lavinia at fourteen? She was a lovely child,chubby and rosy-cheeked, with eyes like the sky, and beautiful, softgolden curls. She didn't look much like us, Priscilla."

  "No," admitted the older sister; "but beauty is a doubtful good. I'drather be plain and do my duty, than to be handsome and break the heartsof those who love me."

  "Well," said Miss Dorinda, placidly, "we'd better not talk any more aboutit, or we'll get so excited we won't be able to sleep. Let's go to bed,sister, and to-morrow morning, after breakfast, we'll read the letteragain and decide what we can do."

  So, taking their bedroom candles, the two old ladies went up-stairs. Butas Miss Dorinda had feared, they could not get to sleep, and they layawake thinking about their sister and their sister's child.

  And so it happened that they were both awake when at about eleven o'clockthe great brass knocker on the front door sent clattering clangs allthrough the house. Such a thing had never before been known at PrimroseHall, and the sisters, terror-stricken, jumped from their beds and met atthe door of their connecting rooms, where they faced each other withpale, startled faces.

  "What can it be?" whispered Miss Dorinda.

  "The house must be on fire," said Miss Priscilla, decidedly; "let us getour fire-gowns."

  These were commodious robes of thick, dark flannel which hung on thesisters' bed-posts, to be hurried on in case of fire. For years they hadbeen hung there every night and put away every morning, but it seemedthat at last their time had come.

  While the sisters were tremblingly trying to get into them, Marthaappeared in her fire-gown and asked what she should do.

  "Answer the door," said Miss Priscilla. "But stay: it may not be thefiremen; I don't smell any smoke. In that case it must be burglars. Letus call Matthew."

  By this time the great knocker sounded again, and Bridget and Matthewboth appeared in the hall. Each wore a fire-gown, and as all of the partyhad on night-caps, they were an imposing-looking crowd. The Flint ladieswore great be-ruffled caps, tied with wide white strings, suspiciouslyfresh and smooth; and, indeed, these caps had been for years awaitingthis very occasion; for if the Misses Flint were to be heroically rescuedfrom fiery flames, they wanted to look decent at the time.

  Bridget and Martha wore neat, narrow-ruffled caps, as befitted theirstation; and Matthew was crowned with a queer-looking thing of knittedyarn with a long tassel hanging down behind.

  With an old musket in his hands, Matthew led the procession to the frontdoor.

  Bridget and Martha followed, holding candles, and Miss Priscilla and MissDorinda, arm in arm, encouraged each other, and nerved themselves forwhatever might be about to happen.

  Then Matthew flung the great front door wide open, and there was nofire-engine outside, no burglars--only a tiny mite of a girl who fairlyjumped into the hall as the door opened, and stood looking at the strangebeings who surro
unded her. Her face was small and very white, with large,dark eyes that seemed to be dancing with mirth. Her straight black hairhung round her ears like elf-locks, and she wore a long red cloak and awide-brimmed red hat.

  She looked inquiringly from one to the other, as if uncertain which toaddress, and then, with a smiling glance that seemed to include them all,she flung off her hat and cloak, and said, in a sweet, childish voice,"I'm Ladybird, and I've come to stay."