Chapter 14

BLIND MAN'S HOLIDAY

Upon Judge Trent's return to town John Dunham did not disappear in a cloud of dust to make his call on Miss Derwent. He took the precaution to telephone, and discovered that she was out of the city.

He felt considerable curiosity regarding his employer's experiences at the farm, but true to his new and safe policy he asked not a single question. Business required the judge's immediate attention upon his arrival, but as soon as affairs in the office quieted he remembered the promise he had made Dunham.

"Now then, boy," he said one morning, "there isn't any reason why you can't run along to-day and call on Miss Derwent."

"The bird has flown. I 'phoned to the house. She has gone to New York to be a bridesmaid. Isn't coming back till time to leave for Maine."

"H'm. Too bad," returned the judge absent-mindedly.

"Thank you. Don't let it depress you."

"Eh?" looking up; Dunham was bending over the morning mail.

"Ever been in that Casco Bay region?" went on the judge.

"Yes, I yachted along the coast from Bar Harbor to Portland one summer."

"It's a fine, unspoiled part of the world," remarked the lawyer with unusual pensiveness, setting his hat farther back from his forehead and looking into space. "When I get a glimpse of it as I did this week, I'm tempted to hasten my retirement, to bid farewell to the squabbling world, and turn fisherman,--begin to spread nets for mackerel instead of my fellow men, and trap only such lobsters as will blush in a pot instead of in court."

"Hear, hear," said Dunham. "You must have had good weather up there,--or else," he added, "fallen in love with your niece."

Judge Trent still looked into space. "Yes," he went on slowly, "move my books to the Mill Farm, leave Hannah the house, but not my address, and begin rising at 4 A.M. for breakfast with Cap'n Lem. Then row out to my pound, take in the fish, and send them to Boston. What retaining fee could compare to the satisfaction of making money that way? Think of the sights and sounds, the peace of mind!"

"Yes," said John, "but consider the obstacles."

"There wouldn't be any. I'd leave the good will of the office to you."

"I'm very grateful, but you forget. What would any well-regulated fish say to afternoon dress at 4 A.M., and wouldn't the wind blow your hat off?"

"John, you're a frivolous youth," responded the judge thoughtfully; "but," in a warmer tone, "there are some things you do very well. I"--still more warmly--"I have a little commission for you this afternoon."

Dunham looked up suspiciously.

"It happens very nicely that you don't wish to go to Boston to-day. I think it is due Miss Lacey that she should receive news of her niece's welfare. She knows I've been up there and"--

"Yes, she does know it," interrupted John with emphasis. "She is waiting with great eagerness to hear your report."

"Precisely," returned the judge mildly. "Now I'll tell you all about it."

"Why do you tell me?" inquired Dunham firmly.

"How can you tell Miss Lacey if I don't?"

"I'm not going to tell her."

"Why not? You've been there once."

"My dear Judge Trent," began John impressively, "I was late in coming to it, I know; but I have lately been turning my talents to minding my own business"--

"Which is mine," put in Judge Trent. "It's what I engaged you for."

"Well and good, but not to attend to your pleasures," retorted John, with a grin; "your family and domestic affairs. You will naturally visit Miss Lacey this afternoon. You couldn't do less."

The judge scowled. "I might call her up on the 'phone," he said gloomily.

"You might," returned John, "if you could send her a mind wave which would draw her to the corner grocery. I have had one appointment made by postcard, to speak to her at the corner grocery."

"Call it up, then, and ask them to send for her," commanded the judge curtly.

"Certainly, if you say so," responded Dunham, "but don't you think if she got you on the wire from there, her conversation might be too entertaining and instructive to the listeners? Her methods at the 'phone are--unusual. The day we talked I heard her distinctly through the window as well as over the wire."

Judge Trent groaned. "I haven't crossed her threshold in ten years, but I suppose I shall have to do it if you're going to be so confoundedly obstinate and disobliging."

"Certainly," returned Dunham smoothly. "It's time such unneighborly habits were broken up. And say, Judge, ask her to feel round and find out if Miss Derwent doesn't want to see me at her island this summer."

"H'm. Trust you among those lobster traps?" returned the judge irascibly. "Never. I feel some responsibility to your family."

As Miss Lacey said afterward, it was the greatest mercy that she wasn't out that evening. She had been inclined to go over to Selina Lane's to get a skirt pattern, but some trifle had prevented her setting forth, so that she sat rocking gently in her sitting-room, enjoying blind man's holiday at about eight o'clock, and reflecting on the contents of a letter from Miss Derwent which she held in her lap, when she saw in the dusk an unmistakable figure turn in at her gate.

"Calvin!" she exclaimed, and surprised color mounted to her forehead as she rose to open the door.

"No lights. I thought you were out," was Judge Trent's greeting.

Now Miss Lacey knew from the etiquette column in "The Ladies' Friend" that it was _de rigueur_ to allow a gentleman caller to take care of his own hat, but, as she reflected in a lightning flash, that authority on manners and morals in "The Ladies' Friend" had never met Judge Trent. The reluctance with which he now yielded up his boon companion vindicated her lack of confidence. She deposited it on the hall table.

"Step right in, Calvin," she went on. "I hardly know how to wait for your news. I'll light the lamp in an instant." She proceeded to do so, conscious of a fleeting wish that the visitor would note the brightness of the chimney and clearness of the flame, and read a lesson to Hannah. She breathed a sigh as she realized the hopelessness of the aspiration.

The judge was standing, waiting in silence for her to be seated. No movement or expression showed that the objects about him bore different associations from those connected with his office furniture, and if she took her seat on the haircloth sofa with an idea that he would join her she was disappointed. He parted his coat-tails and perched upon a straight-backed structure of mahogany, usually avoided by every caller.

"Well, Martha, I haven't much to tell. She's very pretty."

"I told you so, Calvin. I told you that was the trouble."

"Precisely. In addition I must say she has very little use for us,--for you and me."

Miss Lacey shook her head mournfully. "How did she treat you? Did she flash up and snap her eyes?"

"No, she shut them with a sort of a take-it-away expression."

"But she is safe now, isn't she? You will let her stay at the farm, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," returned the judge.

"Does she look so ill and pitiful?"

"No, she's picking up. She seems perfectly contented under Thinkright's wing."

"You don't know what that means," returned Miss Martha fervently. "After that dreadful talk about the stage, and marrying actors, I didn't know as she'd be willing to stay in the country with a plain man like Thinkright."

"She doesn't think he's plain. She considers him a mixture of Adonis and Solomon."

"Very well. Whatever _you_ may see fit to do, Calvin, _I_ shall thank God on my bended knees," declared Miss Martha devoutly. "To think that her immortal soul isn't lost and our two families disgraced through our--_own_--_fault_, is a blessing we don't either of us deserve."

"Rub it in, Martha, rub it in," returned the judge.

"No, I'm not one of the nagging kind. I don't intend to rub it in, but I'll own it, once and for all. Go on, please. What else?"

Judge Trent waved his hands. "Nothing else, practically."

"Why, there must be a lot more to tell. If _I'd_ been the one to go up there I should have a thousand things to tell you."

The lawyer raised one devout glance toward the ceiling. "I'm sure of it, Martha; but you know the limitations of a mere man. Beside, I suppose pretty soon now you will be seeing for yourself. Miss Derwent said she should go early this season."

"Why, yes. Next week. I just received the letter to-day. It comes as a surprise, and I shall have to hurry, getting ready to close my house. Edna hadn't expected to be free so quickly, but her parents' plans have changed, and so hers can. She's been up at the farm, too, and seen Sylvia, you know."

"Yes. We all know Sylvia now," returned the judge with grim humor.

"Oh, I wish you would tell me more," begged Miss Martha. "Did she treat you decently before you came away?"

"Oh, yes. You know Thinkright's peculiar notions. His hell-fire is right here or nowhere, and he's been teaching Sylvia how to keep her toes out of the flames,--how to climb up out of these lowlands of sorrow. She was pretty well stranded after years of vagabond life. Excuse me, Martha, but we all knew Sam; and after our rebuff she was in a fit state to swallow Thinkright's cheerful theories whole. I don't claim much knowledge of what I can't see or touch, but it wouldn't surprise me if the Power that Is let us sidetrack ourselves on purpose to put Sylvia in Thinkright's care. I shouldn't have known how to handle the results of Sam's training, and if you'd had the job I suspect you'd have begun at the outside and tried to teach the girl habits of order and all that. Thinkright and I sat up late one night talking the matter over. Sylvia would have driven you to drink, and you would have driven her to join a traveling circus."

"Calvin!" interrupted Miss Martha, gasping. "I'm a white ribbon"--

"You are, Martha, without a spot or stain; but it wouldn't have been any use to try to veneer Sylvia, as it were. Now these remarks are not opprobrious. They are designed to comfort you for the apparent mistakes of the trip to Hotel Frisbie. Things have come out better than we could have arranged them. Sylvia's guardian angel was holding Thinkright in the background, like a trump card, as you might say"--

"No, I mightn't, Calvin Trent! You're saying the most awful things!" exclaimed Miss Lacey.

"Well, you'll be up there in a few days," remarked the judge, rising. "I just wanted to assure you that Sylvia is doing well, and that you can be perfectly tranquil about her; so good-by, Martha. I hope you will have a satisfactory summer."

"We shall see you at Hawk Island, of course," returned Miss Lacey, as they shook hands. "Edna always counts on it, you know."

"It will perhaps do quite as well if I send Dunham. He is accustomed to representing me."

"Oh, is he coming to the Tide Mill?" asked Miss Martha in pleasant surprise.

"There's no telling. I suppose he'll have to take a vacation somewhere. Young men are so unreasonable nowadays. Imagine me at his age kiting off to the seashore."

"Why, I'm sure," returned Miss Martha with some consciousness, "we used to enjoy those drives to Swampscott very much."

"Another incarnation. That was another incarnation," responded the lawyer quickly, passing into the hall where he pounced eagerly upon the hat from which he had endured such ruthless separation. Saying good-by once more, he departed.

Miss Lacey watched him disappear into the star-lit, fragrant night.

"If _I'd_ married him," she murmured, "he wouldn't wear a coat after it was shiny at the seams."

Her heart was beating a little faster than usual, and her cheeks were warm as she closed the door.