Boston Neighbours In Town and Out Part 21

"Yes," said Mrs. Blanchard; "I'm very fond of Caroline, but I'm afraid I could never get Bertie up to the point of intimacy with Malcolm Johnson; he thinks him underbred--says his hats show it."

"Is your tea too strong, Harriet, dear? There is no hot water left,"

said Grace, ringing her little silver bell with energy. But no one came.

"I told Marguerite to keep in the sewing-room, in hearing," she went on, ringing it again.

"I thought I heard her at the door just now," said the outermost of the circle.

"_Would_ you mind looking, dear? If she's not there I'll ring the other bell for someone from downstairs."

No Marguerite was at the door, the sounds laid to her charge having been caused by the precipitate retreat of a young lady who had come late and, running quickly upstairs unannounced, had paused at the room door to recover her breath, and had just time to do so and to fly downstairs again and out of the house without encountering anyone.

Caroline--for it was she--hurried round the corner; for her home was so near that she had dismissed her carriage. The house was empty and dark.

Mrs. Neal had gone to spend the evening with one of her married daughters and had not thought it necessary to provide any dinner at home. There was no neglect in this. There were plenty of cousins at whose houses Caroline could have dined and welcome; or if she did not choose to do so, there was abundance in the larder, and if her teas had left her any appet.i.te she had but to give the order herself and sit down alone to her cold meat and bread and b.u.t.ter. As we know, her teas had been feasts of Tantalus; but she did not feel hungry--for food. She hastened up to her room without a word to the maid, lighted her gas, took a key from her watch-chain, opened her writing-desk, and took out a letter which she read, not for the first time, with attention.

"MOUNT VERNON STREET.

"MY DEAR MISS FOSTER:

"You will, I am afraid, be surprised at what I am going to say. Perhaps you will blame me for writing it, and perhaps you will blame me for saying it at all. I know it is an act of presumption in me to ask one so beautiful, so young and untrammelled by care, to link her fortunes with mine: but I do it because I cannot help it. I love you so much that I am unable to turn my thoughts to my most pressing duties till I have at least tried my fate with you; and yet my hopes are so faint that I cannot venture to ask you in any way but this.

"Don't think I love you less because I have so many other claimants for my affections; any more than I love them less because I love you. My poor children have no mother; I could never ask any woman to take that place to them unless we could both feel sure that ours was no mere match of convenience; but I could not love anyone unless she had the tenderness of nature which belongs to a true mother. I never saw any girl in whom it showed so plainly as in you.

Your angelic sweetness and gentleness are to me, who have seen something of the rough side of life, unspeakably beautiful. I know I am not worthy of you in any way; but it sometimes seems to me that appreciating you so thoroughly as I do must make me a little so.

"Your family will very likely object to me on the score of want of means. I am fully aware that I cannot give you such advantages in that respect as you have a right to expect, even if I were much richer than I am ever likely to be; but I am not so poorly off as they may suppose. I own the house in which I live, free of enc.u.mbrance, and I should like to settle it upon you. I do not know whether your property is secured to your separate use or not; but I should wish to have it so in any case. If my life and health are spared, I have no fears that I shall not be able to support my family in comfort. I know you will have to give up a great deal in the way of society; and I cannot promise that you shall have no cares, but I can and do promise that you will make us all very happy.

"I still fear my chances are but small; but do, I entreat you, take time to think over this. No matter what your answer may be, I am and ever shall be

"Your faithful and devoted "MALCOLM JOHNSON.

"_December 8, 189-._"

After Caroline had read this letter twice, she drew out another, spotless and freshly written, and breaking the seal, read:

"BEACON STREET.

"MY DEAR MR. JOHNSON:

"I was very sorry to receive your letter this morning. Pray don't think I blame you for writing--but indeed you think much too highly of me. I am not at all fitted to a.s.sume such serious duties as being at the head of your family would involve, and it would only be a disappointment to you if I did. I have had no experience, and I should feel it wrong to undertake it, even if I could return your generous affection as it deserves. Indeed, I don't value money, or any of those things; but I do not want to give up my friends and all my own ways of life, unless I loved you. I am so sorry I can't--but surely you will not blame me, for I never dreamed of this, or I would have tried to let you know my thoughts sooner.

"I am sure my aunt would disapprove. Highly as she esteems you, she would think me too young, and not at all the right kind of wife for you. I shall not breathe a word to her or to anyone, and I hope you will soon forget this, and find some one who will really be a good wife to you and a devoted mother to your children. No one will be more delighted at this than

"Your sincere friend, "CAROLINE ALICE FOSTER.

"_December 9, 189-._"

This letter, which Caroline had spent three hours in writing, and copied six times, she now tore into small pieces and threw them into the fireplace. The fire was out, and the grate was black, so she lighted a match and watched till every sc.r.a.p was consumed to ashes, when she sat down at her desk and, heedless of the chilly room, wrote with a flying pen:

"BEACON STREET.

"MY DEAR MR. JOHNSON:

"Pray forgive me that I have been so long in answering your letter. I could not decide such an important matter in haste. Indeed you think more highly of me than you ought; but if such a foolish, ignorant girl as I am can make you happy, and you are sure you are not mistaken, I will try to return your love as it deserves. I have not much experience with children; but I will do my best to make yours love me, and it will surely be better for the dear little things than to have no mother at all.

"I dare say my aunt will think me very presumptuous to undertake so responsible a position; but she will not oppose me when she knows my heart is concerned,--and I am of age, and have a right to decide for myself. I shall be so glad of some real duties to make my idle, aimless life really useful to someone. I don't care for wealth, and as for society, I am heartily tired of it. The only fear I have is that you are over-rating me; but it is so pleasant to be loved so much that I will not blame you for it.

"I am ever yours sincerely, "CAROLINE ALICE FOSTER.

"_December 10, 189-._"

If Caroline, by writing this letter, const.i.tuted herself a lunatic in the judgment of all her friends, it must be allowed, as Miss Caldwell had said, that she was not quite lacking in sense. Unlike either a fool or the heroine of a novel, she rang the bell for no servant, sent for no messenger, but when she had sealed and stamped her letter she tripped downstairs with it and, having slipped back the latch as she opened the door, walked as far as the nearest post-box and dropped it in herself.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE TRAMPS' WEDDING

"They know no country, own no lord.

Their home the camp, their law the sword."

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Reed, as her husband entered her sitting-room; with some curiosity, pardonable in view of the fact that a stranger had for some time been holding an interview with him in his study.

"Why," replied the Reverend Richard Reed, looking mildly absent, as was his custom when interrupted of a Sat.u.r.day morning, "it is a Mr. Perley Pickens--the man, you know, who has taken the Maynard place for the summer."

"Indeed! what did he want?" cried the lady, interested at once. The Maynard house was the great house of the place, and the Maynard family the magnates of the First Parish, and the whole town of Rutland. Their going abroad for a year or two had been felt as a public loss, and when, somewhat to the general surprise, it transpired that their house was let, it was at once surmised that it could only be to "nice" people, though the new occupants had never been heard of, and were rarely seen.

"Oh, his daughter is to be married, and he wants the ceremony to take place in our church."

"You don't say so? and he wants you to marry them?"

"Certainly."

"Why, we haven't had a wedding in the church for quite a while! It will be very nice, won't it?"

"Yes, my dear; but excuse me, I am in a hurry just now. Mr. Pickens is waiting. He wants you to give him a few addresses. I gave him the s.e.xton's----"

"It will be a good thing for poor Langford," said Mrs. Reed, benevolently.

"Yes--" drawled the Reverend Richard, still abstractedly, "very good; and he wants a Boston caterer, and a florist. I know nothing about such things, and I told him I'd ask you, though I did not believe you did, either."

"Oh, yes, I do! Mrs. Maynard always has Rossi, and as for a florist, they must have John Wicks, at the corner here. He's just set up, and it will be such a chance for him."

"Do you think he will do? Mr. Pickens said that expense was no object--that everything must be in style, as he phrased it."

"Oh, he'll do! Anyone will do, at this season. Why, they could decorate the church, and house too, from their own place; but I shan't suggest that."

"Very well, my dear--but I am keeping Mr. Pickens waiting."