Glenloch Girls Part 21

It was with the feeling of being guilty conspirators that the girls stole down-stairs and tiptoed softly across the hall, and they both jumped violently, when, even as Dorothy had her hand on the door-k.n.o.b, Mrs. Marshall's voice called:

"Dorothy, is that you, dear?"

"Yes, mother," answered Dorothy in a voice expressive of resigned despair. Then she added in a tragic whisper, "We are lost! There is no escape from our unhappy fate!"

"Dorothy, Miss Cynthia is here, and I want you to see that she gets safely home," said her mother.

"Yes, mother," answered Dorothy again, looking at Ruth with an I-told-you-so expression. "Don't you dare to leave me, Ruth s.h.i.+rley,"

she went on fiercely. "You'll have plenty of time to go with me.

Come on in now and be introduced to her."

Ruth hardly knew what picture she had formed of Miss Cynthia, but she certainly hadn't expected to meet the pretty, pink-cheeked old lady to whom Mrs. Marshall presented her. She was the smallest, most delicate of creatures, with snowy hair and bright blue eyes, which in darting glances seemed to absorb in minutest detail the person to whom she was talking.

"And so this is Ruth s.h.i.+rley," she said, holding one of Ruth's hands in both her tiny ones. "I'm very glad to know you, my dear.

It seems as if Mrs. Hamilton might have brought you over to call on me before this. But then I'm used to being forgotten. How are Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, and how is that dear boy, Arthur?" Miss Cynthia paused for breath and Ruth gladly released her hand.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton are very well," she answered, "and Arthur is much--"

"I always said he would be better if he would only make an effort,"

interrupted Miss Cynthia triumphantly. "But I began to be afraid he never would, and I thought it most likely that he would go off into a decline, I've often told Mary Hamilton that I should be worried to death if he were my boy. Do you hear from your father often? It must be pretty bad to have him so far away; so many things can happen nowadays that you can't tell from one day to the next where you'll be or how you'll be. Of course you know that, though, having lost your mother, poor child."

"She hears very often from her father," said Mrs. Marshall, noticing Ruth's flushed cheeks, "and he makes the distance seem very short by sending cablegrams every once in a while. Now, Miss Cynthia, let me help you on with your cape, and then you can start out with an escort on each side of you."

"Now, girls, you'll have to excuse me if I don't talk much," said Miss Cynthia apologetically, as they were leaving the house; "this icy wind makes my throat feel sore. But I shall be delighted to hear you talk. Girls always have such a lot to say to each other."

"Please come in and rest yourselves," said Miss Cynthia with urgent hospitality, as they reached the door of the small old-fas.h.i.+oned looking house which Ruth had often noticed before.

Dorothy began hasty explanations about being in a hurry to get home, but Miss Cynthia laid an imploring hand on Ruth's arm and, looking at her with real appeal in her blue eyes, almost drew her into the house.

"We'll let Dorothy go if she must," she said decidedly, "but I want to get acquainted with you, child, and I'm terribly lonesome, too, these winter afternoons."

Even with every desire to escape Ruth couldn't resist the pleading old eyes which were looking at her almost tearfully.

"Do come in, Dolly," she begged; "I shall have time before I need to study to stay a little while." But almost as she spoke Dorothy vanished unaccountably, and there was nothing left for Ruth but to follow Miss Cynthia.

"Come right into the parlor and sit down, while I find Luella and have her light a lamp," said the old lady, hurrying out of the room with surprising agility.

The room was so dark that at first Ruth hardly dared to move, then as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she found her way to a chair and sat down on the edge of it. She didn't enjoy the situation in which she found herself, and she wished she were out of it. Even the algebra which she must study as soon as she got home possessed a charm for her in comparison with the present moment. She half smiled as she thought of the suddenness with which Dorothy had faded from sight.

"She might have waited after getting me into this," she said to herself impatiently.

Just then with a suddenness which sent her flying out of her chair a harsh voice said almost in her ear:

"Cheer up! Cheer up! Don't you cry!" and then followed an unintelligible variety of sounds ending with a cackling laugh.

Ruth knew almost at once that it must be a parrot, but the surprise had been so great that she stood shaking in the middle of the room, not daring to move for fear of stepping on the uncanny bird.

She remembered that once when she was a very little girl she had confidingly held out her finger to a parrot and that the unfriendly creature had immediately taken a bite out of it. She wished that the light would come; it made her nervous to be in a dark room with only a voice for company.

"Who's afraid?" asked the parrot with surprising distinctness.

"I am, Polly," answered Ruth with great truthfulness, and just then the maid brought in a lamp and her mistress followed.

"Oh, you bad bird," said Miss Cynthia reproachfully, as the friendly gleam of the lamp disclosed the parrot perched on the back of the chair next to the one on which Ruth had been sitting. "You bad Ebenezer, you've opened your cage again. Isn't it clever of him.

to do it?"

"Very clever," answered Ruth politely, but she still kept a safe distance from Ebenezer, who c.o.c.ked his head on one side to look at her. and then burst into a hoa.r.s.e, chuckling laugh as though he had seen something very funny.

"That bird is such a comfort to me," sighed Miss Cynthia, smoothing the gay plumage. "I named him Ebenezer because it's so nice to have a man's name that you can call naturally in case you think some one's in the house. I got a man that worked for us to teach him what to answer when I call his name. Just listen, my dear."

Miss Cynthia stepped into the hall. "Ebenezer! Ebenezer!" she called loudly, and to Ruth's amus.e.m.e.nt Ebenezer answered promptly in a voice that sounded surprisingly like that of a man, "Yes, I'm coming."

"I guess that would scare a burglar some," remarked Miss Cynthia, complacently, "particularly as you never could tell but that Ebenezer might be right close to the man's ear when he answered. I taught him to say 'Cheer up, cheer up; don't you cry,' because sometimes I'm dreadfully lonesome. It helps out even to have a bird to talk to."

She looked very sober as she ended, but Ebenezer, fixing a solemn eye on her, barked loudly and then mewed like a cat, evidently desiring to make his mistress feel that she had a large family to comfort her.

"He thinks he's a whole menagerie," laughed Ruth.

"Shake hands with her, Ebenezer, and settle it," commanded Miss Cynthia, and at the word the bird stretched out his funny claw, which Ruth took in gingerly fas.h.i.+on.

"Ebenezer likes young folks as well as I do," said his mistress soberly, "but somehow they don't care much about coming to see us. Aren't you the girl who likes lace and embroidery?" she asked suddenly. "I've heard about your going over to see that Swiss girl make lace. I've been looking over a chest this morning and I've left all the old dresses out to air. Would you like to see them?"

Ruth a.s.sented eagerly. This would be an easy way for her to finish her call, and she loved to see old-fas.h.i.+oned things. Miss Cynthia was pleased at her enthusiasm, and after returning Ebenezer to his despised cage, an attention which he acknowledged by pecking gently at her white hair and screaming "Bad bird, bad bird," led the way up the short, steep flight of stairs.

"What a dear room!" exclaimed Ruth giving a quick glance about her. Then as her eyes fell upon the treasures spread upon the bed she cried out with pleasure.

"What a beautiful blue gown! Did somebody really ever wear it?"

"That was my great-aunt's wedding gown, my Great-aunt Cynthia. It was given to the niece who was named for her, and then to me on account of the name."

Ruth gazed admiringly at the s.h.i.+ning satin, blue as a summer sky, and made in the quaint fas.h.i.+on of years long past.

"Here are the shoes and the gloves which went with it," continued Miss Cynthia, "and a fan which she carried. These little lace tuckers were hers, too. She never lived to wear out all her pretty fineries, poor little soul, but I've been told that her short life was a happy one and a very sweet memory to all who knew her."

Miss Cynthia's voice and eyes were strangely gentle as she talked about the youthful great-aunt whose s.h.i.+ning gown had been one of her choicest treasures for so many years, and Ruth began to like her.

"Do you know how she looked?" she asked with real interest in her voice. "I should like to imagine her in this lovely dress."

"My aunt," answered Miss Cynthia musingly, "was too young when she died to remember her; but she has told me many times that her father, who was the first Cynthia's brother, often said she was the prettiest creature the sun ever shone on, with black hair and rosy cheeks and blue eyes that were like violets. I like to talk about her," added Miss Cynthia. "Here are more things my Aunt Cynthia left me."

Ruth, who had an instinctive liking for delicate fabrics and fine embroideries, reveled in the beautiful pieces of hand-work which Miss Cynthia showed her. There was a muslin gown embroidered so profusely that one wondered if the patient needlewoman had any eyes left when her artistic work was completed. There were fichus, small and large, with patterns simple and elaborate, looking as though a breath might blow them out of existence, so fragile was their substance. Ruth laughed gleefully at the face which looked out at her from the mirror when Miss Cynthia told her to put on a queer, old bonnet which she called a calash. There was a ribbon hanging under her chin which the old lady called a bridle, and when Ruth pulled it the bonnet stretched like the top of an old-fas.h.i.+oned chaise.

"How funny," laughed Ruth. "Did you. really ever wear one like this?"

"That was my dear mother's," answered Miss Cynthia, "but I can just remember having one when I was a little girl."

"Oh, dear. I hate to leave all these interesting things, but I must go home," said Ruth, reluctantly laying the calash on the bed, and taking a last look at the beautiful things displayed there. "I've had a lovely call, Miss Cynthia, and I thank you so much for letting me see these wonderful old dresses."

"My dear, if you would prize it I should like you to have this handkerchief which was my Great-aunt Cynthia's."