XVII
A VISIT TO MISS SOUTH
August, that gay seashore month, promised to give the Barlow family even more than the usual gayeties of the season. The arrival of Agnes, the visit of Mr. Weston, the preparations for the wedding, added to the other happenings of the month, kept Brenda in a whirl of excitement. Nora went up to the mountains the day before the arrival of Agnes. “I should like to stay to welcome the bride that is to be, for Agnes and I are old friends,” she said, as she and Brenda and Julia paced up and down the station platform waiting for the train.
“She ’ll be disappointed not to see you; but you must promise to return for the wedding—the very first day of September.”
“We’ll see,” replied Nora. “If mamma comes down, if there’s room for me—”
“Oh, if you can come only for the day, you must be here. But I want you to keep it in mind. Mamma will arrange it. I am sure that she has some plans now, although I forgot to ask her before she went New York.”
“Well, you ’ll know the day after to-morrow just what her plans are. There, that’s the train, is n’t it? Well, good-bye, Julia, good-bye, Brenda. I ’ve had a perfectly lovely time. Oh, Brenda, don’t forget to let me know if you find your Italian. The gypsy’s prophecy is beginning to come true. Well, good-bye again.”
“Now, don’t forget to write to me as soon as you arrive.”
“Oh, no, I won’t forget; good-bye;” and with a puff and a shriek the train was oft, and Brenda and Julia turned away from the station.
“What was the gypsy’s prophecy?” asked Julia, as the two cousins walked homeward.
For a moment Brenda hesitated. She had never told any one about her visit to the encampment, and on the whole she was disinclined to speak of it. She knew that Nora, too, had kept the secret until this last minute. Why, then, had she been so foolish as to speak of it now?
“I can’t explain very well,” she said to Julia, after a few minutes’ hesitation. “Nora and I had our fortunes told the other day by a gypsy, just by having our hands read, you know, and she said some things that seemed very interesting,—that is, they would be, if they should come true. She did say that she could see a wedding in the family, and that it would come off very soon. But the funny thing is, that I never thought of Agnes. I wondered whose wedding it could be. How do you suppose she knew?”
Julia smiled at the eagerness in her cousin’s tone. “I imagine that a wedding is part of the regulation prophecy of every fortune-teller. It would be strange if they did n’t hit the mark once in a while. But it would n’t do generally to pin one’s faith to what a fortune-teller says. How did you happen to consult one, Brenda? Did Aunt Anna know?”
“Oh, Julia,” cried Brenda, in the old impatient tone, “I don’t have to ask permission for everything I do, as if I were a baby.”
“I did n’t mean that,” replied Julia, quickly, “I was only thinking that no fortune-tellers had come my way this summer. But of course there’s no great harm in consulting them, if you don’t put too much faith in them.”
“Well, at any rate, here’s a wedding going to happen a little more than a month, after the gypsy foretold it,” rejoined Brenda, triumphantly.
Julia said no more, and the conversation turned to other things. But Brenda felt slightly uncomfortable. She hoped that no stray remark of Julia’s would set her mother to inquiring about the gypsy, for she felt pretty sure that Mrs. Barlow would disapprove of the whole affair.
“To change the subject,” she exclaimed, after a moment of silence, “we’d better go over to Marblehead Neck to-morrow to see Miss South. It is the only day we shall have before Agnes arrives, and I know you want to see her.”
“Perhaps you don’t care about going yourself, Brenda.”
Miss South was one of the teachers at Miss Crawdon’s school, and Brenda had never seen as much of her as Julia had; or, as the other girls put it, “Julia was terribly devoted to Miss South.” Brenda, on the other hand, was n’t inclined to be devoted to any one.
“Oh, I’d like very well to see Miss South,” said Brenda, “and I’m curious to see Madame Du Launay. I ’ve never really seen her close to, except, of course, that day at the Bazaar, and I’d like to meet her face to face.”
“We can’t be sure of seeing her, even if we go to call on Miss South; so you must n’t be disappointed.”
“Oh, no, I shall be glad to see Miss South herself. I really do like her, Julia, even though I may not have seemed to appreciate her last winter. She was a perfect brick in the way she helped us with the Rosas, and I suppose that she ’ll have more or less to tell us about them now.”
So the next day, Julia and Brenda went by train to Marblehead Neck; that is, they changed cars for Devereux, and then went out in the barge to the Neck, over the causeway and up the hill, a pleasant drive with fine views of the ocean.
Madame Du Launay had expressed a strong desire to spend August near the sea, and Miss South had been able to find a house out near the light-house on the Point where she and her grandmother were to be the only boarders. Or, perhaps, I ought to have said, her grandmother, herself, Fidessa, the Italian greyhound, and Jane, the maid. In the order of importance, I am not certain but that Fidessa should stand next to Madame Du Launay herself. Miss South, whom Julia had learned to value so highly, had been the centre of a certain amount of romance the preceding spring. At the time when Julia and Brenda and their friends had carried out their plan for a bazaar at Edith’s, the proceeds of which were to benefit the Rosas, a dramatic thing had happened. On the afternoon of the Bazaar, Madame Du Launay, a wealthy and eccentric old lady who had taken a fancy to Julia, had visited it, and had bought liberally of the pretty things displayed there. Suddenly, in the midst of her purchasing, she fainted away. Later it was learned that Miss South had been the innocent cause of this fainting spell. For when the old lady’s eyes fell on her, she was overcome by Miss South’s resemblance to her own dead daughter. To make a long story short, Miss South proved to be old Madame DuLaunay’s granddaughter, of whose presence in Boston she was wholly unaware, until she saw her at the Bazaar.
Miss South, of course, had known for some time that the eccentric Madame Du Launay was her grandmother, but she had hesitated to intrude upon her, because the old lady had acted so unkindly toward her father and mother. But the affair at the Bazaar had brought about a complete reconciliation between grandmother and grandchild, and Miss South had promised Madame Du Launay that while she lived she would make her home with her.
When the barge drew up in front of the cottage. Miss South and Fidessa ran down to the road to meet the girls. Fidessa, indeed, jumped and circled about in the frantic fashion in which she always displayed her joy.
“It’s all for you, Julia,” cried Brenda; “Fidessa never cared much for me. No, keep your paws off me, you little wretch,” she concluded, as the graceful dog, without much discrimination, threw herself first upon one girl then on the other, to the probable destruction of their foulard gowns.
“Down, down, Fidessa,” and, in obedience to Miss South, the greyhound crouched at her feet for a second, then, with a run and a leap, she reached the piazza, where she stood panting with excitement, as they walked up the steps.
“Much ado about nothing,” said Julia, patting Fidessa on the head, and this delicate attention so overcame the little creature that she jumped into Julia’s arms, where she cuddled very contentedly with her head on the young girl’s shoulder.
“Now come out on the side piazza, where we can have a good view of the harbor. Is n’t it lovely?” and Miss South arranged some wicker chairs so that they could look over toward the town. Then she pulled forward a round wicker table, and, excusing herself, went into the house for a moment. When she reappeared, she was followed by Jane, who carried a tray with glasses, plates, and a biscuit jar.
“The lemonade will be here in a minute,” said Miss South, “and in the mean time we can enjoy the æsthetic pleasure of the view. My grandmother is lying down, but she hopes to see you before you go.”
“Does she like it here?” asked Julia, with interest.
“Well, of course she has hardly been here long enough to tell, but she feels sure that she will.”
As Julia glanced about her, she could not help contrasting the very simple surroundings with those to which Madame DuLaunay had been accustomed. Her Boston house was large and imposing, and filled with all kinds of beautiful objects. But the curtains were usually drawn, and the house was so far back from the street that it had little view, and it seemed gloomy, shut in from the ordinary world outside.
Miss South, perhaps, read Julia’s thoughts.
“Come inside for a moment,” she said, “and let me show you our sitting-room.” The little hall into which they stepped from the piazza was covered with plain matting. But inside the sitting-room, what a change from the simple surroundings outside! A large cashmere rug covered the floor almost completely. A tall folding screen with painted sides, across one corner, softened the severity of the angles. A Persian scarf draped the mantelpiece, and near a window was a small table with a handsome afternoon-tea-set of silver and china. The round centre table was laden with books and magazines, and two or three easy-chairs and footstools added to the comfort of the room. Several of the pieces of furniture, and some of the pictures on the wall were familiar to Julia. She had often seen them at Madame Du Launay’s house in town.
“That is it,” she said. “You are trying to make your grandmother feel perfectly at home by having all her own things about her. What a fine idea!”
“It is just the same in her bedroom,” said Miss South, smiling, “and I really believe that this is what makes her so contented. At her age, you know, it is very hard to be moved, even for a few months, far from one’s own familiar belongings. It is because she dreaded this kind of change, I believe, that my grandmother has been so unwilling of late years to go away from the city in the summer. Why, I found that she had not had any change of air for eight years, although her doctor had constantly recommended it.”
“Well, it’s all your doing, no doubt, that she started off this summer,” said Brenda, as they walked back to the piazza.
Miss South smiled in assent, and Julia longed to ask her if she found Madame Du Launay easy to get along with at all times. It had been a matter of general report in Boston that no one could please her, and that those who were under the same roof with her, generally had a rather hard time. Naturally, of course, such a question as this could not be put to the old lady’s granddaughter, and Julia thought that Miss South must, indeed, be a wonderful person, to get on so well with Madame Du Launay—even though the old lady was her grandmother.
“Now, about the Rosas,” said Miss South, “for I know that you both are anxious to hear how they are progressing.”
“We certainly are,” replied Brenda, “in fact, I have been dying to ask about them ever since we came.”
“In the first place, Angelina told me about meeting you and Nora on the train. I did not tell her that I had already heard about this from you. It seemed better to have her make a full confession.”
“Confession?” There was a note of interrogation in Brenda’s voice.
“Yes, you may have thought it strange to find her in Lynn. Indeed, she had no right to be there. It is true that she announced to her mother that she was going, but this was just when she was on the point of starting, and the poor woman had no power to stop her. Angelina took what money there was in the house, and departed in spite of her mother’s anger. She said that she was tired of Shiloh, and that she wished to pay a visit in Lynn. She also announced that she might spend the rest of the summer in Lynn, if she could get a place in a factory. Poor Mrs. Rosa is so easy-going that she did not know how to prevent this; and, with her bundle of clothes under her arm, Angelina had gone to the station before her mother saw any way to stop her. You may be glad to know, however, that your meeting her, and your word of advice, had much to do with bringing about her return to Shiloh. She is a flighty little thing, and the sight of you, Brenda, and Nora (so she afterwards confessed to me) reminded her of all that you and the other girls had done for her and her mother, and so she thought that to show her appreciation of it all she ought to go back to Shiloh, and give it another trial. At least, that was the way she put it to me when I went to look her up after Julia wrote me that she had been in Lynn.”
Julia looked rather sober during this recital.
“I am afraid that we are going to have trouble with Angelina. If she runs off whenever she has the notion, it is going, to be very hard for her mother. Do you think that Mrs. Rosa is improving?”
“It is rather too soon for any decided change to be seen. But the fresh air, and the exercise that she gets every day in the garden, is working wonders. Her color is better, and she seems much brighter.”
“I hope that the other children are more contented than Angelina. They ought to be, after we took so much trouble.”
“Oh, yes, I really think that they are. John is devoting himself to some tomato vines, and he is picking up a good many odd dimes and quarters running errands, and helping the farmers in the neighborhood. Even the little boys work in the garden; only I am afraid that Manuel is in the habit of digging up his crops, to see whether his things are growing well at the roots. Nobody knows just what he expects to find; but his experiments are rather disastrous to his garden.”
“How Nora would laugh to hear that! She considers Manuel her own especial property,” and Brenda waved her handkerchief at Fidessa, who had risen from her cushion in a playful mood.
“The Rosas have made a good beginning,” said Miss South, “and I think that in time Mrs. Rosa will be perfectly contented in Shiloh, even though she has n’t neighbors to run in and gossip with her as at the North End.”
“But Angelina?”
“Oh, well, even Angelina will be less discontented in the autumn, when school re-opens. She has a rather active mind, and with her school-mates to talk to, she will contrive probably to make herself a centre of interest. That is really what she wants,—to be of more consequence in the eyes of her neighbors than she has been. The trip to Lynn will furnish her with subjects of conversation for the rest of the summer.”
“Don’t you think we might go out to Shiloh some time before autumn?” asked Brenda. “You know, Julia, that we will have to spend a day or two in town having our gowns fitted—our wedding gowns; doesn’t that sound romantic?”
As Miss South looked somewhat mystified, the cousins told her about Agnes and her approaching wedding, and Brenda waxed eloquent in her description of the way in which the whole affair would probably be carried out.
“It will be twice as much fun for us as a wedding in town, because the church is so picturesque; and it ’ll be so delightful to have a house full of guests, and all kinds of things going on. I don’t really see where we ’ll put them all.”
To return to Angelina; after Brenda had almost exhausted herself in forecasting the wedding festivities, and after Miss South had expressed the proper amount of interest in her account of things, Julia returned to the subject of Angelina.
“As Brenda has suggested it, I think that we might go up to Shiloh this month or next. I’d like very much to see the Rosas flourishing in the midst of their summer garden.”
“How near that steam yacht looks!” said Brenda; “it almost seems as if we could speak to the people on board.”
“I’m afraid that they would n’t hear you. But here, take this glass, and you ’ll be able to read the name.”
“Why, it’s the ‘Opal’!” cried Brenda. “That is the Anstruthers’ boat. It went on the cruise to Mt. Desert, and its being here means that Philip and Tom will be back soon with the ‘Balloon,’ and cousin Edward, too. Dear me, how gay it will be! The reading club will languish for the present, there will be so many other things to do.”
“The reading class?”
Miss South looked interested, and this time it was Julia who undertook the task of explanation. She told Miss South all about their pilgrimage to Marblehead, and the interesting things that they had heard from Amy about the ancient landmarks, and made it clear that out of this had come their great desire to read rather more serious books than they were in the habit of reading in the summer.
“Why, I thought that you were in the habit of reading rather serious books!” and Miss South smiled appreciatively on Julia.
“Oh, it was n’t started for Julia,” said Brenda, pleasantly, “nor for Amy, who has read nearly everything, it seems to me. But it was for persons like me, whose heads are half empty, that the reading class was started.”
“Oh, Brenda!”
“Yes, Julia, it’s so. Generally, I should n’t care to read in the summer. But this class is n’t so bad, because we ’re not obliged to read the same books, nor the same amount every week. Perhaps, in spite of the wedding, I can make a spurt some day when I feel industrious, and catch up with you and Amy.”
“Amy must be a very intelligent girl, to know so much about Marblehead.”
“Yes, she is, Miss South; she’s only my age, but she knows heaps more, because she’s studied at home, and her mother reads everything, too. I hope she ’ll go with us to Salem. We ’re going there next.”
“Perhaps I can go with you, too, when you go to Salem,” said Miss South; “I should like to, if I can leave my grandmother for the day. I have never been there, and it’s one of the places that I have always wished to visit. I’d like to have been with you on your Marblehead pilgrimage; but I can make up for that by taking frequent little excursions while we ’re here. It’s only a few minutes across in the ferry. Oh, excuse me for a minute!”
And Miss South hastened off as the silvery tinkle of a little bell sounded from the house. In a few minutes she returned.
“My grandmother is very sorry, but this happens to be one of the days when she is very tired, and so she cannot see you; but she hopes that you will come over soon again, and she regrets that she has had to miss you to-day.”
“We are very sorry, too,” responded Julia; “although it has been delightful to have had this hour with you. But it is time for us to be starting toward home.”
“When will the next barge pass?” asked Brenda.
“In just five minutes,” said Miss South, looking at her watch. “It’s nearly half-past four.”
“Dear me! Then we ’ll have barely time to catch the five train. Come, Julia, we must hurry!” and with a hasty good-bye to Miss South, the impetuous Brenda rushed down the steps, while Miss South and Julia followed more slowly. Brenda had time for a farewell frolic with Fidessa before the barge appeared.
“You surely will go with us to Salem,” were Julia’s parting words.
“I surely will,” replied Miss South, “unless—” but the starting off of the barge prevented her completing the sentence.