CHAPTER XVII.

THE SQUIRE RECEIVES A SHOCK.

Maria Kimberly was made very proud and happy one morning upon Squire Talford’s return from the post-office by the reception of the long-promised invitation to attend the commencement exercises at Harvard.

With a beaming face she read it through several times, handling it with great care lest she should mar the satin-smooth paper by a single wrinkle or blemish.

Then with an air of pride, as if some great personal honor had been conferred upon her—as, indeed, she felt there had been—she carried it to the squire, who was in his customary seat upon the veranda reading his morning paper.

“There!” she exclaimed triumphantly, “I always knew that boy’d come out at the top of the heap!”

“What boy?” inquired the man, without a suspicion that she was referring to Clifford, while he held out his hand for the heavy cream-tinted sheet which she was regarding so fondly.

“Read and see for yourself,” said Maria, with a satisfied smile, as she left it with him and went back to her work in the kitchen, while she began to con over in her mind the necessary preparations she would have to make for the important event.

“If I’m goin’, I’m goin’ in shipshape,” she asserted, with an air of decision. “For one thing, I’ll have that new black silk that I’ve be’n savin’ up for, for the last five years, and I’ll just ask Alice Eldridge to tell me how to have it made, and what I need to go with it.”

Alice Eldridge, by the way, was the minister’s daughter, a pretty, refined girl, and noted in Cedar Hill for her excellent taste.

While Maria was planning for this most important event, Squire Talford, having carefully read the communication which she had handed to him, sat with bowed head and clouded brow, absorbed in thought, while it was evident that his reflections were not of a very pleasing nature.

“Humph!” he finally ejaculated, “that proud-spirited youngster has proved himself smart, and no mistake! So he has won the salutatory! I never believed he’d get through—and he has worked his own way mostly! I confess I’m a trifle curious to know how he’ll acquit himself as an orator. I’ve half a mind to drop down to Cambridge on the sly and see what he can do; he’d never be able to pick me out in the crowd.”

He was somewhat taken aback, however, when, upon handing back the invitation and inquiring, with a sarcastic inflection, if she intended to “honor the occasion with her presence,” Maria spiritedly informed him:

“Of course I’m goin’. You don’t suppose I’d stay away, much as I think of that boy, and ’specially when he hasn’t either kith or kin to show a bit of interest in him on the proudest day of his life. And, squire”—with a little settling of her determined chin—“I’m goin’ to New Haven to do some shoppin’, and I’d like to be paid up to date, if you please.”

“Very well,” said the man shortly, and with a frown, for it always hurt him sorely to pay out any of his money unless it was for his own needs or gratification.

And Maria did go to New Haven the following week, carrying a well-filled purse with her, and accompanied by Alice Eldridge, who was to assist in the selection of the gown and other fixings that were to do honor to the “proudest day of Clifford’s life.”

And the result of this expedition was most gratifying, for, when the kind-hearted and happy woman presented her at Cambridge on the morning of Commencement Day, and which was almost as great an event to her as to Clifford, she astonished the young man by a most genteel and quietly fashionable appearance.

Her really nice black silk was made in the prevailing style, fitted her nicely, and, with some “real lace” ruffles at the neck and wrists, was very becoming.

Her black lace bonnet, with its nice ties and a few modest sprays of mignonette, had been made by a New Haven milliner, who evidently knew her business and studied effects, while a pretty handkerchief of linen lawn, also bordered with “real lace,” and a pair of well-fitting, pearl-gray kid gloves—all selected under the careful supervision of Miss Eldridge—completed a tout ensemble that was very gratifying.

“Why, Maria, how very, very nice you look!” Clifford exclaimed, with beaming eyes, as he warmly grasped her hand, after assisting her to alight from the carriage which he had sent to her lodging-house to convey her to the college.

“I’m glad you like it,” she quietly returned, but bestowing a shy glance of satisfaction upon the lustrous folds of her gown as she spoke.

“Like it! why, I am proud of you!” Clifford responded, with a sincerity that sent a warm thrill through the woman’s heart and a bright spot of color to either cheek.

Mrs. Kimberly, being conscious, in a measure, of shortcomings in her use of the English language, preserved a discreet silence for the most part, except when she was alone with Clifford, and thus did not once offend his sensitive ears in the presence of his friends.

He found her a good seat where she could both hear and see well, and was then obliged to leave her by herself until the exercises should be over.

A few moments later a tall, spare, gray-haired man might have been seen slipping into the auditorium, where he sought an obscure corner, and appeared as if he was desirous of escaping observation. He was Squire Talford.

Maria had left New Haven on the two-forty-five train for Boston, the day previous, and he had followed her on the five o’clock express.

It was his intention to steal in just in season to hear Clifford’s oration, then out again as soon as it was delivered, so that no one might know of his surreptitious trip. He missed his calculations, although he was not aware of the fact, for Clifford’s keen eyes had espied him, almost immediately after he took his own seat upon the platform, and instantly he knew that the man, actuated by curiosity, had come to ascertain how he would acquit himself in the trying ordeal before him.

It was really the best thing that could have happened for Clifford, for it at once inspired him with a sense of absolute self-possession and the determination to do himself honor.

“He has come to criticize me,” was his mental comment, “and now I will prove what I once told him—that I would some time win honor and respect for the name I bear.”

A great calm settled over him, although until that moment he had been conscious of a feeling of nervousness in view of facing that great audience, and when he at length arose and went forward, there was not a quiver of even a muscle—he lost all thought of fear in the determination to prove to the man who had once expressed the utmost contempt for him, that he had conquered every obstacle, and attained the goal he had sought.

And even this motive was soon swallowed up in his all-absorbing theme, which he handled with remarkable skill and originality. His production not only showed careful research and a thorough knowledge of his subject, but sound logic, clear and brilliant reasoning, and the power to gain and hold the attention of his audience by his graceful diction, and a fluency that was absolutely irresistible.

His presence also was a great point in his favor, for he certainly was a fine appearing young man. He had grown some inches during the last four years; his figure had developed, and he was now strong and stalwart; broad-shouldered and straight as an arrow, while one could not look into his frank, honest, intelligent face without at once becoming conscious that the character of the young orator was as manly, clean, and attractive as his person.

When the exercises were over nothing was to be seen of the squire, and Clifford made no attempt to find him. He judged that the man did not care to meet him, or he would not have sought so obscure a place in the auditorium. He felt sure that he had been impelled to come to Harvard only by motives of curiosity and criticism, therefore he immediately sought Maria, as soon as he was at liberty, and devoted himself exclusively to her entertainment.

He conducted her over the beautiful grounds, and through some of the dormitories, to let her see how college students lived, and finally took her to the University Museum to see the wonderful “glass flowers” and the valuable geological and zoological collections.

There was not time to show her all that he would have liked her to see, for she insisted that she must return on a certain train, for the next day was “churning day, and the cream must not be neglected.”

Clifford accompanied her to the station, and saw her comfortably settled in a parlor-car—for Maria, who had determined to do nothing by halves on this great occasion, already had the ticket for her seat—then sat and chatted with her for the little time that remained before the train would start.

“What are you goin’ to do now you’re through college?” Maria inquired, after she had thanked him for the pleasure he had given her, and told him how proud she was of the distinction he had won.

“Oh, I have not made up my mind yet what I shall settle down to for a permanent business,” Clifford thoughtfully responded. “You know I have my own way to make in the world, the same as I have had to do in order to get through my course; and, as yet, there has seemed to be no promising opening for me, although I have had my eye out for some time. I have done pretty well, however, during the last three summers, with Mr. Hamilton at his mountain hotel.”

“Yes, I know; but—I hope you ain’t goin’ to settle down to keep a hotel after spendin’ four long years gettin’ your education, and comin’ out at the top of the heap,” said Maria, with visible anxiety.

Clifford laughed at the characteristic speech.

“I assure you, Maria, there are some well-educated men who have made a great success at keeping hotel,” he said. “But I do not think that I should be quite satisfied with that kind of a life. At the same time, I am going back to Mr. Hamilton for this summer also, since nothing better has offered. He is contemplating opening a fine new house in Washington in the fall, and I have agreed to go with him and act as clerk until I can find something more to my mind. I must do something, you know, to keep even with the world until the right thing offers.”

“Well,” said Maria gravely, after a minute of thoughtful silence, “I’ve saved up some money, and if ever you need a few hundred to give you a lift, you’re more’n welcome to them.”

Clifford was deeply touched by this evidence of her regard for him. He flushed, and a suspicious moisture gathered in his eyes as he returned a trifle huskily:

“You were always good to me, Maria, during my boyhood, and I have always felt more grateful to you than I could ever express, and now this kind offer is in keeping with all your previous kindness. But, my friend, I am not in need of any financial help just at present.”

“Well, but if you ever should—I haven’t a soul in the world to care for, or who feels any special interest in me—if ever you do need it you’ll take it, won’t you, Clifford?” said the woman eagerly.

“Yes, Maria,” he answered gently, and seeing she would be deeply wounded if he refused, “if I ever find myself in a strait where it becomes necessary for me to borrow, I will come to you for help, and, believe me, I shall never forget your goodness in offering it. But there is the bell, and I must go, or I shall soon find myself on the way to New Haven with you,” he smilingly concluded, as he arose to leave.

“I’m sure ’twouldn’t be the worst cross I’ve ever had to bear if you did,” said the woman, trying to speak lightly, but with an unmistakable quaver in her tones.

“I can’t inflict it upon you this time,” the young man returned in the same strain, as he extended his hand to her in farewell, and, after promising that he would write her from time to time regarding his movements, he hurried from the train.

It was nearly midnight when Maria Kimberly reached home, where she found the squire still up and quietly reading his evening paper by the student-lamp in the dining-room.

He had arrived from his stolen trip only about an hour previous. He merely glanced up as Maria came in and expressed her surprise at finding him up so late; but he asked no questions regarding her journey, and she was determined to volunteer no information.

She had not a suspicion that he, also, had attended the commencement at Harvard, for Clifford, surmising that she knew nothing of his presence, and feeling sure that the man did not wish it known, had kept his own counsel.

But Squire Talford, although he imagined that he had been so shrewd in his movements that neither Clifford nor his housekeeper would ever learn where he had been that day, had, nevertheless, had an unexpected experience which had given him quite a shaking up in a way.

As he was hurrying away from the college grounds to catch an electric-car to take him to the railway-station, he suddenly came upon a group of people standing upon the sidewalk beside an elegant carriage to which a magnificent pair of black horses in silver-mounted harness were attached, and attended by a driver and coachman in handsome livery.

The group comprised a middle-aged gentleman of distinguished appearance, a beautiful woman richly clad, a lovely child of eight or nine years, and a young man of about twenty-two or twenty-three.

“Oh, papa, please take me to see the birds,” the squire heard the child say in a pleading tone. “You know, you promised me that you would.”

“Yes, Minnie, darling, I did; but mama says there will not be time to-day. You know we are expecting guests, and she must get home to receive them,” the gentleman replied, while he fondly patted the small hand that rested upon his arm.

“But I want to see them so much,” said the child, with quivering lips.

“And you shall, dear. I will come again with you to-morrow morning, and that is the very best that I can do,” her father returned.

“Ah! pardon me,” he added politely, as he found he was standing in the way of some one who wished to pass. “Ha——!”

The startled exclamation burst from him, and was echoed by Squire Talford as the two men found themselves face to face and recognized each other.

They stood for a full minute and gazed, as if fascinated, into each other’s eyes, the squire’s face growing gray and rigid as he looked, his lips twitching convulsively from some violent, inward emotion.

“Pardon me,” he finally observed, and pulling himself together with a visible effort. Then, with a sweeping glance at the other faces of the group, he lifted his hat and walked briskly away down the street.