Part 6

He saw an indefinable change come over Mildred's face. "I suppose Jack must bear his troubles like the rest of the world," she answered with a tinge of hardness. "We thank you very much for everything, Mr. Page," she added, holding out her hand, and the other clasped it warmly.

"I would not have failed to be here for any consideration, Miss Bryant. I hope," looking into the girl's eyes earnestly, "that the time may not be far distant when I shall meet you and Mrs. Van Tassel again."

"Thank you," returned Mildred courteously, and the young man left the house with a distinct sensation of disappointment because she had not echoed his wish. He could not avoid the suspicion that these young women would now expect and wish to walk in a separate way from that of all connections of his dear lost uncle. He himself would henceforth be classed with Jack, and, strange new disloyalty, the prospect was unsatisfactory.

He turned his steps toward the office where he was going to await a cablegram, and on his way undertook to analyze his own unreasonable feelings. "They are nothing to me, those girls," he thought, while memory presented in fresh hues that averted head leaning upon a white hand in Clover's spasm of impotent pity for Jack, and all of a sudden, instead of theorizing, Page found himself dwelling with eager pride, as if it were the climax of achievement in his life, on the fact that he had been of assistance, of use, of comfort, to that fair, pale creature, set in a sacred niche apart from all the other women in the world.

He recalled himself with cold surprise from this Scylla, only to fall into the Charybdis of a reverie in which Miss Bryant's face and bearing were regal, as she declared that Jack must bear his trials like the rest of the world.

Page threw back his head in self-impatience. "She is a fine, bright girl, and I should like to know her better," he thought; "but there is this comfort--in a couple of months I shall have forgotten all about her. I couldn't remember her if I tried."

Before evening he received the expected message from his cousin. Jack sailed from Bremen at once.

*CHAPTER IX.*

*A CHRISTMAS VISITOR.*

The national dispute finished regarding the location of the World's Fair, a local contest at once arose among Chicago's citizens as to which portion of the city was best fitted for the display. The debate was long drawn out. Several sites were energetically lauded by their several partisans, and their respective advantages were hotly maintained and as hotly contradicted. It was very interesting to Chicagoans, but to the public outside it was a matter of indifference whether the North Side, the West Side, or the South Side, should win the day.

Meanwhile a good many people--like Miss Berry, for instance--forgot that such a thing as preparation for a World's Fair was going on. She thought it vastly more interesting that Jack Van Tassel had returned from Europe, and that in his desolation instead of going to his father's deserted house he had begun to read law in his cousin's office.

Miss Lovina's association with Mrs. Van Tassel during the summer had brought much food for thought into her quiet life; thought that haunted her after the young wife had become a widow, and after Jack had come home; his sore heart full of cold anger, so Miss Berry surmised, against a woman whom she devoutly declared to be "one of the sweetest of God's creatures."

It was an exciting time to her when one November day she received the letter from Gorham Page giving her hope that she need not always be passive concerning a matter which, in her uneventful life, she had greatly at heart. She read:--

DEAR AUNT LOVE,--Jack Van Tassel has come back and is with me for the present. Of course he is very much shaken; and when I met him at the dock I felt a good deal disturbed about him; but you know his excitable, gay disposition. He will doubtless soon recover from the shock, and react from his present low state. Naturally he wants to blame somebody for his suffering, and I fear he is inclined to accuse Mrs. Van Tassel of inconsiderateness in not sending for him last summer. I never met her excepting on the occasion of the funeral, so my defense has little weight; but I recall that my sister said you esteemed her highly, and it occurred to me to ask you to do what you can toward exonerating her when you see Jack, which I dare say may be soon, as he has spoken of visiting you in order to learn something of the last weeks of his father's life. Use your own discretion about this. Jack will stay with me for a time, and read law in my office for the sake of occupation. His father's affairs were left in perfect shape. His will divided the fortune into three parts: one third is left to charities and certain relatives; one third goes to Jack, and the other to Mrs. Van Tassel, with the exception of an amount sufficient to make her sister independent, which he has left to Miss Bryant.

Please say nothing of this letter, and believe me, with best wishes always,

Cordially yours, GORHAM PAGE.

These lines had not been penned without some uncomfortable recollections on the part of the writer of a day when he had himself received the announcement of Aunt Love's attachment to her young guest in a spirit of impatient skepticism. Now that he discovered the strength of his desire that Jack should be more yielding and credulous, the memory of his own hardness was especially exasperating.

Miss Berry waited for her expected visitor with much interest, and each day altered a little the form of the statement she intended to make him when he came. She had opportunity to make a variety of changes in her programme, for weeks went by without a sign from him, and finally Miss Lovina's faith in his coming wavered.

Christmas day dawned in ideal fashion at Pearfield that year. The sun fell on swelling drifts of virgin snow. The little town sparkled like the village in a Christmas card, and just as the inevitable church spire ornaments that souvenir, so the Congregationalist meeting-house stood in a field of glistening white, as Miss Berry trudged up the shoveled path to attend a service of song planned by the Sunday-school as a fitting festivity for the morning. There was a good attendance, and Miss Lovina gave her neighbors, old and young, cheerful greeting as she regarded complacently the holly wreaths which she had yesterday helped to place in the church windows.

When the exercises were over she moved slowly down the aisle by the side of Miss Getchell with whom she had promised weeks ago to eat her Christmas dinner. If there was something of the martyr concealed under Lovina's benevolent countenance as Miss Ann clutched her arm, the latter would not be allowed to suspect it, and together they emerged from the wide-open door; but once on the porch Miss Berry, with an exclamation of surprise, shook herself free, and Miss Getchell's astonished eyes beheld her friend hasten down the steps towards some one who ascended to meet her.

"It was a reg'lar young prince of a feller with grand eyes," Ann said afterward, dramatizing the occurrence to her old homekeeping mother, "and he took off his hat as he come up to Loviny as though she was somebody great." Miss Getchell's curious ears could not grasp Jack's low-spoken question:--

"Are you going out to dinner anywhere, Aunt Love?"

Miss Lovina's conscience would have done credit to any Puritan of them all, but Jack had said "are" instead of "were," and she considered that in a flash before responding heartily:

"Indeed I am not, Mr. Jack. You're just comin' home with me and I'm delighted. Wait one second till I speak to one o' my neighbors."

Jack suspected her as she turned back to Miss Getchell, but her evident pleasure in his arrival decided him not to press the question. He turned his back while she hurriedly and emphatically accosted her friend.

"I'm sorry it happens so, Ann, but"--

"Oh now, don't say you won't come, Loviny. Fetch the young man along and welcome."

"Hush, don't say a word. It is Mr. Van Tassel's son. You remember. I'll make it up to you sometime,--I mean you'll make it up to me. You see it can't be helped. Now don't coax me, that's a good girl; I can't possibly come, and don't be mad with me, Ann, you see just how it is," and Miss Getchell allowed herself to be twitched into dumbness by Lovina's anxious grasp upon her arm, and departed on her lonely way in a measure consoled by the consideration of two luscious mince pies which Miss Berry had sent her as a gift the day before.

"I'll bet a cookie she wishes she had 'em back now," she reflected as she looked after the erect, tall form moving away beside Miss Berry's stout figure. "I'm glad 't ain't me caught by a city feller like that on Christmas day without any decent dinner to give him."

But Miss Getchell and Miss Berry were two very different people. The latter, as she walked along trying with some preoccupation to talk to her guest, was filled with felicitation that Jack had chosen for his visit the day when each heart is most inclined to gentleness, and in the same breath she rejoiced that there were two roast chickens in the larder at home prepared in a moment of dubiousness regarding Ann Getchell's cooking. "If I don't relish my dinner, I'll have a good supper," Miss Lovina had thought when she roasted them, and now the most devout thanksgiving of the morning arose from her heart in consequence.

"This is my first glimpse of Pearfield in winter," said Jack, surveying the blue-white shadows on the unspotted fields. "I dreaded Christmas this year, Aunt Love. It occurred to me yesterday that I would come to see you. It is as I expected. 'Peace on earth' doesn't seem such a satire here."

"You couldn't please me better," replied Miss Berry. "I've been some expectin' you, for Mr. Gorham told me you laid out to be in Boston a while."

"Yes. I have thought a great deal about Pearfield lately." There was a brief silence as the two moved on between snowy bulwarks thrown up by the village ox-plow that morning. "Do you never become lonely here, Aunt Love?" asked her visitor at last.

"No, I don't know as I do. Pearfield's a nice safe stiddy place and I'm as busy as a bee all the time. Once in a while there's a tramp, but now Blitzen attends to them in short order. We all have our gifts," continued Aunt Love, desiring for the present to keep the conversation impersonal, "and seems if Blitzen's was appearin' to go mad whenever he wants to."

"Rather a questionable accomplishment, I should suppose."

"It is convenient sometimes, though, there ain't any denyin' it. Blitzen does hate a tramp. I believe if he was off in the woods a mile he'd smell one, if he was comin' towards the house; and no sooner does one o' the shif'less critters knock on the door and ask for a meal o' victuals, than Blitzen's there. Even if I haven't seen him for an hour and haven't the least idea where he is, he'll be there soon's the tramp is, and barkin' so the feller can't hardly make himself heard. Blitzen's tramp-bark is queer," continued Aunt Love thoughtfully. "It's mysterious to me where he gets his breath. It ain't just one bark after another, but he runs 'em all together without any let up, and so loud and long, it's curious to me he don't just choke to death and done with it."

"Rather discomposing to the tramp, I imagine."

"Well, 't is," admitted Miss Berry, one corner of her mouth smiling. "Some stand it longer 'n others; but when one o' the critters sticks to it till I'm wore out with him, I never have to do but just one thing. I just look at Blitzen,--he's always jumpin' and whirlin' around enough to make a clock dizzy,--and I say, 'What's the matter with the dog!' Then I close the door a little and look through it at the tramp and holler, 'You'll have to excuse me, but that dog acts so queer I'--then, slam, I shut the door. It never fails to work. Takes away a tramp's appetite every time."

"I should suppose Blitzen might feel the weight of a boot under those circumstances."

"Bless your heart, Mr. Jack, don't you believe it! A man would have to be built like one o' these centerpedes to have any luck tryin' to kick Blitzen when he's on the rampage. No sir, a tramp don't like the idea of a mad dog, and he needs all the legs he's got to get over the fence with. I always step to the winder pretty certain what I'll see. A man just lightin' out for the road, and Blitzen after him, makin' rosettes of himself, bringin' all four feet together at every bound and hollerin' enough to croozle you."

Jack laughed.

"He's a smart dog," went on Miss Berry in the tone of one who gives the devil his due. "He's been a means o' grace to me more 'n once, but I won't deny he's talented. Now after one o' those whirlwind times, you'd think he'd be so tuckered out he'd just have to lay down a spell and get his wind back; but land, he never turns a hair. All the time he's playin' hydrophoby on that tramp he's rememberin' where he buried his last bone, and he hasn't any more 'n seen him over the fence when he switches around mute as a mole, and digs in the ground just as pert as though he'd never used any energy on anything else. He needs nourishment and he knows it."

"I should suppose he would get it some day," remarked Van Tassel, "in the shape of poisoned meat."

"Law, they've tried that," said Miss Berry contemptuously. "I've had to laugh when I've picked it up in the yard and burned it. It was such a simple idea. Why, if a tramp could come into the house and get one o' ma's white China plates with the gold band, and set some victuals o' mine on it and pizen 'em, he might stand some chance. Blitzen puts on more airs and frills every day about what he will eat and what he won't; but as for pickin' up strange doin's! he and I both rather prefer our own cookin' to other folks's, anyway," finished Aunt Love with a little conscious toss of her head.

The oriole elm was still bedecked with diamonds when the two entered Miss Berry's yard, and the branches of the pine trees were weighed down with a soft, white burden.

In the distance, at the sitting-room window, Blitzen's head could be seen, and it bobbed convulsively as he barked an excited welcome to his adored mistress.

"Such a time as I had to get away from him this mornin'," she said. "He knows Sunday as well as you do, but other days he expects to go to the store with me, and from the first I expected trouble. I thought I'd begin to plan about an hour before service, so's to slip off without his knowin' it; but Mr. Jack, I'm glad Salem days are gone and done with, or that dog would be burned for a witch. As sure as I'm talkin' to you this minute, he always knows what I'm thinkin' about. He acted meachin' from the minute breakfast was over. I was unusually clever to him too; told him Merry Christmas, and snapped my finger to him; but sir, he whined. He just sat down and looked at me pitiful and whined. I really believed the critter was sick, and felt of his nose; but it made me jump; 't was as cold's a frog; and law, when I begun to go to church I found he wa'n't confined to the bed by a long chalk. I say _begun_ to go to church, 'cause that's just what it was. I've been back to this house this mornin' three different times," said Aunt Love impressively. "The first time Blitzen wasn't in sight anywheres, so I just thought I'd seize the chance, and I turned the house-door key and hurried down the path, puttin' my shawl on and pinnin' my veil as I went. I hadn't but just got to the cross-roads when I spied him trottin' slowly along as still and pious as though he'd been sent for in a hurry to tend a dyin' friend. I suspicioned mischief, but still I wasn't sure. You can usually tell somethin' about a dog's notions by his tail; but Blitzen not havin' any he gets the best o' me there, and he knows it. I tipped along when I saw him, for thinks says I perhaps he's settin' out to head me off at the store, and if that was his idea it just suited me; for 'twas the other cross-road that was the shortest way to church. Well, he started that path. Now," said Aunt Love argumentatively, as she mechanically broke a long twig from a lilac bush, "I don't s'pose you believe any more 'n I do that Blitzen's got eyes in his back, though why he shouldn't be equally blind in both ends is another o' the mysteries; but the very minute I set my foot, silent as the dead, mind you, into the church road, that dog stopped and looked over his shoulder. It was a hang-dog look, but set. I stopped too, and he smiled,--there, like that," for Miss Berry had unlocked the house door and Blitzen had flung himself upon her in an ecstasy, his white teeth gleaming once and again as he lifted his lip in a canine grin.

The use of the lilac switch now became apparent as Miss Lovina, holding her silk gown away with one hand, with the other belabored her adorer in a business-like manner until he became penetrated with the idea that his addresses were unwelcome.

"If 't wa'n't for whips, I shouldn't have one frock fit to be seen," she explained calmly, as Blitzen, unabashed, preceded them alertly into the sitting-room, where he had been alternately napping and lamenting all the morning.

"Yes, I had to bring that good-for-nothin' home from the cross-roads,--just drop your coat right off, Mr. Jack,--and I shut him up in the shed and hasped the door. Then I started off again. I told you he was a witch. There must be some hole out o' that shed that he's made himself, for I hadn't got ten rods from the house before I found him stealin' along after me. Yes, sir, you remember it very well;" and Blitzen, whom the switching had not dispirited, now crept abjectly under the sofa. "The second time I tried the barn, but that turned out to be a sieve too, so, though it's against my rule, I was forced when I came back the third time to lock him in the house. He hasn't broke a hole through the house yet. Yes, you better stay under there, you scamp! Now you make yourself at home, Mr. Jack, while I put dinner on the table." Miss Berry, as she spoke, shook down the coal-stove, which she had left to burn as little as possible in her absence. She twitched one damper in the back and one in the front. "It's cold as charity here," she remarked, "but we'll soon heat up. There's some o' those bound Harpers you used to like to look at, with the pictures o' the war in 'em; or there's the Christian Union. I'll call you in a little while. Want a few cookies now, just to stay your stomach?"

Jack smiled at the familiar question. Aunt Love was one of those comfortable folk who are always wanting to stay people's stomachs, especially children's. She had never thought it an odd or inconvenient fact that boys are always hungry. What wonder that she was popular? Her visitor assured her that he would prefer to wait, and she hastened out to the kitchen, her brain seething with plans to prepare a meal which should deceive the visitor as to its impromptu nature.

With great celerity she tied a huge apron over her black silk gown, and went to work. Miss Berry's friends, could they have looked on, would have thought she had lost her wits; for never had she been known to pare potatoes to such a reckless depth. She exulted in her own rule never to let the kitchen fire go out, and flew hither and thither with a practiced deftness which allowed of no false move. Once she stumbled over some object and looked down impatiently. It was Blitzen.

"I thought you was under the settin'-room sofa, you rascal. If you dare to hender me to-day!" she said hotly. Blitzen knew there was danger in her voice, but the chickens were beginning to send forth an appetizing fragrance, and all his discretion could not keep him from joining in such a novel romp as his staid mistress was making of getting dinner. The consequence was that in a minute more Miss Lovina trod on his nimble toe. The yelp he gave exasperated her. She threw open the kitchen door.

"Go out!" she ordered sternly.

Blitzen rolled over on his back and lay there, limp, looking like a gigantic caterpillar. Miss Berry spoke once more in vain; then she swooped upon him in a totally unprecedented manner, and in another moment the terrier was picking himself out of a snowdrift to the tune of the slamming of the kitchen door.

Jack could see him from his window, sitting in the path, scratching the snow out of his ears, and reflecting on the mutations of this life.

*CHAPTER X.*

*AUNT LOVE'S INTERCESSION.*

When Van Tassel saw Blitzen describe an arc which had its beginning at the kitchen door and its vanishing point in a snowdrift, the spontaneous laugh which burst from him sounded strangely in his own ears. It was the first time he had laughed in such fashion since that October day when Page's cable messages had found him in Berlin.

He had been wondering, as he stood there by Miss Berry's small-paned window, whether Aunt Love's prattle on the way home from church had been for the express purpose of diverting him. He could not connect even that extent of diplomacy with this friend of two of his childhood's summers; but supposing her anecdotes to have had that purpose, they had been successful. Jack felt content to be here. The cold pure blankness of this outside world, the absence of all necessity for exertion or assumption of an interest he did not feel, were surpassingly restful.

He had known that a merry Christmas was not for him, and had shrunk from either joining in or appearing to avoid the festivities of his Boston friends; hence the idea of this postponed visit had come to him as a deliverance, and been suddenly acted upon.

When Aunt Love finally presented herself again, smiling, red-cheeked, and minus the apron, Jack found it awoke in him something like the appetite of olden days to be led into the dining-room where a tempting meal was spread.

The hostess heroically refrained from apologies concerning a certain dryness of those twice-heated chickens, since it might be hazardous to open the subject; and the cream gravy generously provided, with the delicate mashed potato, hot biscuit, brandied peaches, and other adjuncts of the impromptu meal, were delicious enough to divert the attention of even the hypercritical from complaint. A couple of mince pies, the mates to those in Miss Getchell's possession, and cups of golden coffee with Alderney cream, finished a dinner calculated to put a misanthrope into good humor, provided his pessimism did not arise from a poor digestion.

It was a pleasure in itself to Jack to see what pleasure his presence gave. He had been most kindly and tactfully treated in the Page home; but they were too conscious there of his sorrow, too comprehensive of his state of mind. Aunt Love was jolly. She was so entirely absorbed in the pleasant responsibility of making her guest materially comfortable, that she seemed to have no room at present for other thought; and her own wholesome appetite was infectious. She talked of summers long past, and evaded all reference to recent events. Jack ate a hearty dinner, and as Miss Berry watched him sitting opposite, leisurely drinking and appreciating her coffee, she felt wrapped in an atmosphere of content.

"You are going to let me help you clear this all away and wash the dishes?" said Jack, as he finished.

His hostess laughed deprecatingly, looking at the hand with which he raised his cup to his lips. She had been admiring the slender links in his immaculate cuffs all through the dinner. There was a facet-like cutting in their gold that gave them a glisten which attracted her.