Part 2

"I don't doubt it for a minute. Mr. Stillwater, I strongly advise this trip without your family. With your family I am as strongly against it. To be confined for three months on a sailing vessel with a wife, a daughter, and a mother-in-law, would be enough to derange any man's nerves, allowing he is perfectly normal when he starts. Now, the consequences in your condition--"

"Now, doctor, you're not sure of your ground. You don't know my family. They're devoted to me."

"Of course," said the Noted Authority, smiling blandly. "That is the trouble."

"Say now. They're not going to do me any harm."

"Intentionally, I hope not."

"Of course they have their little squabbles, but I can manage them all right."

"We might effect a compromise. How old is your daughter?"

"Eighteen. A perfect child. We can do whatever we like with her." Stillwater smiled involuntarily as he uttered this unblushing falsehood, thinking "I mean she can do whatever she likes with us. My words got twisted, that's all."

"Well, suppose we leave your mother-in-law behind, and take your wife and daughter. The latter, I gather, is tractable and easily managed."

"Leave my mother-in-law behind! Oh, I couldn't do that. She's making a great sacrifice for my sake. She's awful seasick but I promised her a good time, once we get to Japan, and I mean to keep my word."

The Noted Authority sighed. "You're quite decided on that point?"

"Quite. Couldn't leave _her_ behind. Wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world."

"There is no more to be said, Mr. Stillwater."

"The sailing trip's off, then?"

"Except you resolve to go alone. In case of nervous derangement I always advise separation. No family."

"Of course, I couldn't presume to argue with you, Doctor. But I'll talk it over with the ladies. They'll never allow me to go alone, though, I'm quite sure of it."

"Is there any necessity to precipitate matters so far?" said the Noted Authority. "Would it not be easier to announce at once quietly and firmly your intention to go, avoiding all preliminary discussion?"

"Oh, you don't know my family; they would not allow that sort of thing. Doctor, are you married?"

"I have been a widower for some years."

"That explains--you've forgotten how it is. You see, my family are a very touchy lot--but I know just how to handle them. We get along swimmingly."

"As these domestic conditions seem inevitable, further discussions seem useless. _Talk it over with the ladies_. Perhaps with the assistance of your wife, your daughter and your mother-in-law you may arrive at some decision which will be agreeable to all concerned."

"Certainly! Certainly! I'll do as you say--we'll talk it over and we'll hit on something between the lot of us. See you again, Doctor. Good-by."

"He's pretty far gone already, I fear," thought the Noted Authority after Stillwater had departed. "Absolutely afraid to act on his own responsibility."

"What do you think?" cried Stillwater, bursting in on his family about dinner hour. "He won't allow you to go with me on that sailing trip. He says I must go alone."

"Well, pa, you go right back and tell him that we wouldn't think of allowing you to do anything of the kind."

"His office hours are over now, Indiana," said Stillwater, smiling placidly. "Will to-morrow morning do?"

"Oh, father, it would just break my heart to see you going off alone and sick, too."

"Not to be thought of for a minute," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I told him you wouldn't hear of it." Stillwater leaned back in his chair, watching with evident enjoyment the effect of his words. "He said that to confine a perfectly normal person on a sailing vessel for three months with his wife, his daughter, and his mother-in-law, would make him a nervous wreck for life."

"Did he say that, pa?"

"Practically, Indiana."

"Brute," said Mrs. Bunker. "If he once had the privilege of making my acquaintance he might change his views on the matter."

"He might fall all over himself to become one of the sailing party himself then," remarked Stillwater chuckling. "Well, he said I should talk it over with the ladies."

"It's a wonder he gave us that much consideration," said Indiana loftily.

"I reckon he thought he was humoring me. I guess he thinks I'm a gone case." Stillwater slapped his knee. "Well, I've been doing some tall thinking on my own account and it's come to this." He rose and looked at his wife. "In the old days when I was coaxing the ground, I never had these feelings, mother."

"Oh, no!"

"I'm going back to nature. I'm going to buy a farm. I know just where to lay my hands on one in Indiana. Spring is coming. I'm going to live on it and work on it, till I'm a new man again."

"I second that motion," said Mrs. Bunker, bringing her hand down on the table.

"And I," cried Indiana. "We'll all go farming."

"Well, mother, you're not saying a word."

She smiled up at him. Her eyes were full of tears.

"It--it will be like the old days," she said.

"Here are the hats!" cried Indiana, as Kitty, the maid, entered staggering under the weight of a number of boxes. They all became immediately interested in the absorbing question of spring headgear.

"How do you like this?" inquired Mrs. Bunker, perching a black net concoction on her carefully dressed head.

"Very becoming!" answered Indiana, after a critical inspection.

"Suits you fine, grandma!" said Stillwater.

"Shows what you all know!" remarked Mrs. Bunker, looking in the glass. "It's entirely too old for me." She placed it on her daughter's smooth brown coils.

"Ah!" cried Stillwater admiringly. His wife, sitting under inspection, looked inquiringly at Indiana. A mirror held no significance for Mrs. Stillwater. She was always supremely satisfied with whatever her family approved of, for her, in the way of personal adornment.

"I'll take that hat for ma," said Indiana. "It's all right."

"Yes, Mary can afford to wear it," said Mrs. Bunker. "I'm not young enough for a hat like that."

"Ladies," exclaimed Mr. Stillwater, looking at his watch. "This is a pretty interesting show, but excuse me for the liberty of reminding you that there's another, starting at a quarter past eight, at which we've made a solemn resolution to be present."

"Hear! Hear!" cried Indiana.

"It is now seven o'clock. Of course you don't take as long to dress as I do." He made quickly for the door.

"Not a bit longer than other women," cried Indiana.

"Well, we'll leave that question open," said Mr. Stillwater, disappearing.

That evening, as they were stepping from the elevator in their wraps, ready for the theatre, Mrs. Bunker uttered an exclamation of intense surprise.

"Lord Canning!"

"Mrs. Bunker; I am delighted!"

"And Lord Stafford, too!" She shook hands with an elderly gentleman, slightly foppish in appearance. "Well, of all people in the world, to meet you here to-night. I'm just ready to faint."

"Don't! Don't! Mrs. Bunker," said Lord Stafford, with a laugh of intense enjoyment.

"Lord Stafford; Lord Canning; my son-in-law, Mr. Stillwater; my daughter, Mrs. Stillwater, and my grand-daughter, Miss Stillwater."

"Indiana," thought Lord Canning, as he bowed ceremoniously.

"These gentlemen were my constant companions at Cannes last year," said Mrs. Bunker. "We and the Jennings' were together most of the time."

"I'm glad to know you, gentlemen! My mother-in-law's often talked about your kind attention to her abroad."

"Kind attention is no name for it," said Mrs. Bunker. "They gave me the best time I ever had. And now that I've caught them on American ground, I intend to repay it with interest."

"I assure you, Mrs. Bunker, you need feel no sense of obligation," said Lord Canning. "Your companionship was a source of unfailing pleasure."

"What do you think of this big town, Lord Canning?" said Mr. Stillwater, indicating his surroundings by a comprehensive wave of the hand.

"Extraordinary!" answered Lord Canning.

"How long are you going to be here?" inquired Mrs. Bunker of Lord Stafford, while her son-in-law was probing Lord Canning's recently acquired views of America.

"Oh, we're only birds of passage, Mrs. Bunker."

"So are we; but isn't it delightful to meet on the wing?"

"On the wing; ha, ha! Delightful, Mrs. Bunker! Delightful!"

"We start to-morrow for California," said Lord Canning.

"And the day after we return to Indiana," added Mrs. Bunker.

"In the summer we intend to investigate Colorado."

"I have a ranch up in the Rockies," said Stillwater. "Why, this little girl," he brought his hand down on Indiana's shoulders, "learned to shoot up there."

"Indeed!" said Lord Canning.

"Well, you just ought to have seen her once cornering a grizzly. She shot him, too--sure as I stand here."

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Lord Canning.

"Oh, that's a small matter," remarked Indiana modestly.

"Indeed!" said Lord Canning.

"We shoot bears every day in America," she added airily.

At these words Lord Canning looked about him as though he fully expected one to appear that moment, for the purpose of allowing him to see Miss Stillwater dispatch it with all possible speed, and just as she stood there in her long white opera cloak, holding a bunch of hyacinths.

"Not here!" exclaimed Indiana.

"No?" answered Lord Canning, looking absently at her blonde pompadour, every hair of which seemed to quiver with a distinct life and individuality of its own.

Indiana gave vent to a long peal of merriment.

"No--of course not!" Lord Canning hastened to add. "Not _here_."

"We used to spend most part of our summers in the Rockies," said Stillwater, "but the last two or three years the ladies have preferred the Adirondacks."

"We thought of giving ourselves a month there in the autumn, before we return to England," said Lord Canning.

"Now's my chance," exclaimed Mrs. Bunker; "you must stay with us, and we'll give you fine hunting."

"Plenty of deer in the North Woods," added Stillwater. "You'll be heartily welcome if you care to rough it with us. Camp life, you know."

"I should be only too delighted," said Lord Canning. "What do you say, Uncle?"

"Charmed!"

"I'm sure we'll make you feel at home," said Mrs. Stillwater.

At these words, uttered with such heartfelt sincerity, the two Englishmen felt at home that very moment. There was a soft domesticity about Mrs. Stillwater, which made itself perceptible even in the brilliant crowded corridor of the Waldorf.

"Now, Lord Stafford," said Mrs. Bunker, "take out your note book; and I'll give you all necessary instructions to reach us."

"I generally manage to get up there in September," said Mr. Stillwater. "But, if anything detains me for a short while--you'll be in good hands."

"Yes, we'll take care of you," said Indiana.

Lord Canning smiled. Indiana immediately decided that his face, though stern in repose, was not unattractive.

"Well, good-bye till the fall," said Mrs. Bunker. "Lord Stafford, do you remember that odd trick you had abroad, of turning up unexpectedly, wherever I happened to be?" She tapped him playfully with a carnation from her bouquet.

"Ha, ha, ha! You see, I haven't lost that trick yet, Mrs. Bunker!" He took the carnation and fastened it in his buttonhole.

"Good-bye, Lord Canning," said Indiana. "Don't forget to look us up, when you come to the woods. I'll show you the sights."

Lord Canning bowed, blushing with embarrassment. No young lady, of the tender age of Indiana, had ever before spoken to him with such freedom, or looked at him with such unconscious, unabashed eyes.

"Lively woman, Mrs. Bunker," remarked Lord Stafford, looking after the party, and inhaling the fragrance of the carnation.

He met with no response.

"Lively woman, eh?" he repeated in a louder tone.

"Yes," answered Lord Canning absently, "very, very young; little more than a child, in spite of her self-assurance--and there's something about her--something--quite--er--different!"

*CHAPTER III.*

*On a Model Farm*

"The peas are sprouting pretty lively. The tomatoes are as perky as the young generation. The strawberries--well, they're saying, 'To-day we're here, to-morrow we're gone.' You shall have strawberries and cream for supper this evening."

After delivering this report in his own neat style, Stillwater rolled down his shirt sleeves, threw aside his big straw wide awake, and sank into a rocker.

"What are you making, mother?"

"A little dimity dress for Indiana to wear about the farm."

"Well, history repeats itself on this place. Are you commencing to make dresses for Indiana again? I suppose you're imagining she's a little fat tot, and we've always been just here."

"Not when I look at all this goods," said Mrs. Stillwater laughing, "though she's small, compared to what I was at her age."

"Why don't you send to town for some dresses," asked Stillwater.

"Oh, because it's a pleasure to make it myself, father, and the child loves to see me do it."

"Bye the bye." Stillwater took a handkerchief from his pocket, and unfolding it, carefully disclosed what to ignorant eyes was simply an ordinary potato. "I'll have something to show at the next county fair, that'll make neighbor Masters feel like very _small potatoes_."

Mrs. Bunker, who was embroidering red roses on white linen, handled the potato with the air of a connoisseur.

"Father, you're working as hard on this farm as if your living depended on it," said Mrs. Stillwater.

"My living does depend on it; I'd have been under the ground before long, if I hadn't taken to this. I consider every potato which costs me ten dollars, is equivalent to a doctor's pill."

Mrs. Bunker laughed.

"My dear grandmother, a man who works as hard as I'm working on my farm, makes a living and nothing more. I sat in my office and doubled my capital without turning a hand, but that's the pace that kills. Halloa, Glen," as a young, good-looking fellow in knickerbockers opened the gate. "Leave your wheel right there."

"Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater."

"Good morning, Glen; how's your mother?"

"Well, thanks. Sends her love, and father's quite his old self."

"Who cured him?" said Stillwater.

"He was getting to be a regular hypochondriac. We compared our symptoms; they were about alike. I constitute myself my own doctor. I buy a farm, and a pretty thing it is, too. I'll be wabashed, if he don't go and do the same."

"Ah, but father happened to have his farm, Mr. Stillwater," said the young fellow, laughing. "It's been neglected for years. It's not a model farm like this, but we're getting it into shape." He looked around, as though he missed something or someone.

"Say, Glen, what do you think of this?" Stillwater proudly exhibited his potato. Glen examined it with professional interest. "You couldn't do any better than that, could you?"

"We don't try. You know what father says, 'Farmin' ain't no fad with my neighbor, Stillwater.'--I'll just fetch a drink from the well."

He went off with a long, swinging stride, and, returning in a moment with a tin cup in his hand, seated himself at Mrs. Stillwater's feet, on the step of the farm-house porch.

"Fine tasting water, eh?" said Stillwater watching him. "Cold as ice; it's a fine thing to have a spring like that, right on your ground."

Glen nodded, drinking slowly, and fingering the dainty, pink and white, flowered material on which Mrs. Stillwater was working. He finally rose, restored the tin cup to the well, sauntered back and into the kitchen, and out again, with a disappointed expression.

"What's the matter, Glen? Lost anything?" inquired Mr. Stillwater, winking at the others.

Glen smiled. "Where's Indiana?"

"Oh, Indiana. She went off on Circus nearly three hours ago."

"Why didn't she stop for me?"

"I suppose she thought one's company, two's a crowd," answered Stillwater.

"You never know when Circus is going to cut up his games," remarked Glen, gloomily.

"Tell me about Circus now," said Mr. Stillwater scornfully, "don't I know Circus by this time?"

"Do you think anything could have happened?" asked Mrs. Stillwater in alarm.

"I've yet to see the horse that Indiana couldn't manage. I never saw two people understand each other better than she and Circus. He fretted and fumed when she jumped on his back this morning, then he did his great act. Stood right up on his hind legs, and looked around for applause. But she sat him like a rock. The two of them made the prettiest picture you ever saw. Well, she got him so, that he trotted off with her like Mary's little lamb. Indiana has a way with a horse."

"I think I hear her now," said Glen, walking down to the gate, and flinging it open.

"Look at that boy!" said Stillwater. "See, how his face lights up!"

"It's only natural," answered Mrs. Stillwater. "They all feel like that towards Indiana."

"No," said Stillwater, watching Glen, "not just like that."

"Yes," interpolated Mrs. Bunker, "he's the same as the rest."

"No," persisted Mr. Stillwater. "Not quite the same. Look at him out there! He's a fine lad."

They glanced at him, standing bare-headed, holding the gate and watching. His small, finely shaped head, with its well-modeled features, showing in relief against the sycamore tree near the gate.

"He fought well for his country," continued Stillwater.

"There are others," said Mrs. Bunker tersely.

"That's all right," responded Stillwater, while the clatter of horses hoofs came nearer. "Not all of them went like him--willing to give their heart's blood."

"Hurrah!" cried Indiana, entering the gate at full gallop, riding straddle, breathless, hatless, her yellow hair streaming behind her. Sitting aloft Circus, who was a tall horse, she looked like a little boy, a very young, tender, pretty boy, whose hair his mother could not yet bring herself to cut. She circled the mound in the centre of the garden, and pulled Circus up tightly at the steps. He reared at the suddenness of the check. Indiana sank forward on his neck, spent with her ride, and circled his head with her arms.

"No more tricks, Circus," she murmured. "The show's over; we're just beat out, Circus." Glen took her in his arms, and lifted her bodily off the horse. A stable boy led him away. His shining black coat was covered with flecks of foam.

"Give me a drink, someone!" said Indiana.

"Not now, Indiana," pleaded Mrs. Stillwater, "you're so warm."

"I'm parched, I tell you," said Indiana, stamping her foot, and pressing her hand to her throat.

Glen ran quickly to the well, and returned with the tin cup, which he held to Indiana's lips.

"Slowly," he said, holding the cup.

"It's warm," she said, snatching the cup, and spilling the remainder of the water.

"Why didn't you stop for me?" asked Glen.

"I wanted to ride alone," answered Indiana, sinking down on the step. "I wanted to think--"

"Think," echoed Stillwater.

"Think," repeated Mrs. Bunker. "Writing a book, Indiana?"

"Think!" said Glen. "If Indiana's taking these notions, I guess I'd better say good bye." He put on his cap.

"Don't mind them, darling," said Mrs. Stillwater. She drew Indiana's head down on her shoulder, feeling her hot cheeks and forehead solicitously.

"She's so warm--"

"What's the use of riding yourself out like that, Indiana?" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Grandma Chazy," cried Indiana, starting up. "I'd rather have one mad gallop like that if it were the death of me, than take a slow gait for the rest of my life."

"Indiana!" exclaimed Mrs. Stillwater.

"That's only the sporting spirit in her, mother," said Stillwater. "She comes by it honestly." He smiled as he recalled a few venturesome dealings of his own within the last year, which had not culminated as he would have wished. Stillwater was one of the men who could enjoy a laugh at his own expense.

"There was a devil in me, this morning," said Indiana, fiercely, "and I just rode it down."

"Indiana!"

"That's only young blood, mother. You can't expect her to be the same as we old-timers." He glanced slyly at Mrs. Bunker, who poked him with her needle.

"I was on the war path," said Indiana. "If I hadn't gone out with Circus, I--I--well, you'd have just scattered, that's all."

"Bet yer life," chuckled Stillwater.

"Is my dress finished?" asked Indiana, burying her face in the pink and white folds on Mrs. Stillwater's lap.

"Just a stitch or two more, dear. I've been working on it all morning."

"It looks so nice and cool. I want to put it on."

"So you shall, dear," said Mrs. Stillwater, in the tone one uses to a fractious baby.

"Just leave my hair alone, Glen," exclaimed Indiana, turning suddenly around on him, with flashing eyes.

"All right, Indiana," he said, meekly.

"Come now, darling; come up stairs and when you've had your bath, I'll dress you up and brush your hair nicely. It's all tangled."

"I didn't mean to be cross, Glen," said Indiana, with a sudden change of mood, as Mrs. Stillwater took her hand and led her through the kitchen.

"Oh, that's all right, Indiana!"

Glen Masters had known Indiana all her life. When she was born, the six-year old Glen came to see the baby, and stood by her cradle, sucking his thumb in solemn-eyed wonder. Not having any brothers or sisters of his own, he adopted her immediately; and he loved to be tyrannized over by the petted baby girl, who kicked and scratched him one minute, and the next caressed him with her little, soft, fat palms. His father had risen in the world very much the same way as Stillwater. They had been ranchmen together.

Stillwater lit a meerschaum pipe and puffed it slowly. Glen followed his example.

"There's two birds building a nest up in that sycamore," said Stillwater. "Hear them twitter? They're just as happy as can be."

Glen lounged on the step, looking dreamily up at the sky.

"Well, how are things going on over at the farm?" inquired Stillwater.

"Oh, we'll show some livestock at the County Fair that can't be beat." His eyes smiled a challenge at Stillwater.

"No competition," chuckled Stillwater, "but just you come over to the barn. I want to show you something. 'Farming ain't no fad with Friend Masters,' but I'll meet him at Phillipi."

"When you men once get with the livestock, that's the last we see of you. Dinner's ready as soon as Indiana's dressed," said Mrs. Bunker, as they sauntered off laughing.

It was the custom of the family to partake of dinner farm style, in the large kitchen. The first bell, which Kitty rang daily, was for the family, the second summoned the farm hands.

Glen and Stillwater, by chance, not by any intention of punctuality, emerged from the farm, just as the first bell resounded from the house. It was then that Glen thought fit to stop and utter a very vital question.

"Mr. Stillwater, I want to ask you what you think of my chances with--with Indiana?"

Glen was oblivious to the fact that he had not chosen a very propitious time or spot, to broach such a subject. The dinner bell had just sounded and Mr. Stillwater had been working since five o'clock that morning, to gain an appetite. Then, the mid-day sun poured down on them where they stood, and an Indiana sun is hot in May.

"Your chances with Indiana?" The repetition was merely a subterfuge to gain time, as Indiana's father had not the remotest idea how to answer her young suitor. Glen's preference had been an open secret for a long time; but he had never openly broached the subject, not even to Indiana.

"Yes!"

"Oh--oh, I think they're all right, my boy--why shouldn't they be?" Stillwater looked about him as though challenging earth and heaven to contradict.

"That's exactly what I think," said Glen, grasping the other's hand. "Why shouldn't they be?"

Stillwater's heart sank as he looked into the young fellow's glowing, hopeful eyes. He strongly suspected that Indiana would not accept her old playmate in the character of a lover. But he could not bring himself to tell Glen this. He felt deeply for the son of his oldest friend.