Harper's Round Table, October 29, 1895 Part 6

"It's Aunt Betsey," was Janet's next piece of information.

"Oh!" came from Cynthia, in disappointed tones.

"Why, who did you think it was?" asked her young sister, turning and surveying her calmly and critically. "Aren't you glad to see Aunt Betsey? And why is your face so very red? Are you expecting any one else?"

"No, only the boys," said Cynthia, busying herself with the scattered silverware.

"The boys! I don't see why your face should look so queer for them."

Mrs. Franklin glanced at Cynthia quickly.

"Come," said she, much to her daughter's relief, "we must go and welcome Aunt Betsey."

The little old lady was as agile as ever. She had come for Christmas and for the wedding, which was to take place on the twenty-sixth.

"I am glad you didn't put it off," she said to Edith when she had kissed her and kissed Dennis, and patted them both on the shoulder. "Never put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day, as I learned to my cost late in life--though not so very late, either. And now I want to see the wedding-presents."

And she trotted upstairs in front of them just as nimbly as she did years ago, when she went up to show her nieces her new false front.

Jack arrived in the afternoon. He was a Soph.o.m.ore at Harvard now--very elegant in appearance, very superior as to knowledge of the world, but underneath the same old Jack, good-natured, plodding, persevering. He still ran the poultry farm, though he paid a man to look after it while he was away.

The day wore on, night came down upon them, and still Neal did not appear. He was to have left Philadelphia that morning, where he had been living during the past four years. He had grown more accustomed to the confinement of business, he had made a number of friends outside of the Quaker element, and he expected Philadelphia to be his permanent home.

His cousin was apparently satisfied with his success, for Neal had risen steadily since the beginning, and would one day be a partner. He had come home to Oakleigh every summer for two weeks' vacation, but he had not spent the Christmas holidays there since the year that his sister was married.

This Christmas eve, Cynthia, in her prettiest gown, donned for the occasion, grew visibly more and more impatient, in which feeling her step-mother shared. Mr. Franklin laughed at them as he sat by the lamp reading the evening paper as usual.

"Watching won't bring him," he said when they opened the front door a crack for the twentieth time and then shut it hastily because of the snow that blew in; "and in the mean time you're freezing me!"

"Papa, how can you be so prosaic as to read a stupid old newspaper Christmas eve?" cried Cynthia, as she caught the paper out of his hand, tossed it aside, and seated herself on his knee.

"Seems to me my little daughter looks very nice to-night," he said, looking at her affectionately. "She has on a very fine frock and some very superior color in her cheeks."

"Well, it is Christmas eve, and the fire is hot," explained Cynthia.

"Ho!" laughed Janet, "that isn't it! You began to get blushy when you thought the boys were coming this morning. You thought--"

"Janet," interposed Mrs. Franklin, "run up stairs quickly and get the little white package on my dressing-table, dear. I forgot to put it in the basket. You can slip it in."

For the old Oakleigh custom still obtained, and the presents were deposited in the basket in the hall.

Janet, her explanations nipped in the bud, departed obediently, her love of teasing overcome by her desire to see, feel, and even shake the "little white package," which had an attractive sound.

And at last Neal arrived. The storm had begun at the south, and there had been much detention; but he had finally reached his journey's end, and here he was, cold and hungry, and very glad to reach the friendly shelter of Oakleigh.

From the moment he came in Cynthia found a great deal to do in other parts of the house--things which seemed to require her immediate and closest attention. She left her mother and sister to attend to the wants of the traveller, and beyond the first shy greeting she had very little to say to him. When there was nothing left to be done she devoted herself to Aunt Betsey. But as soon as Neal had appeased his appet.i.te the excitement of opening the presents began, and the a.s.sumption of indifference to his coming was no longer necessary.

On Christmas afternoon Neal asked Cynthia to go out with him. The day was clear, the sleighing fine, and he antic.i.p.ated having an opportunity for a long talk with her, uninterrupted by the claims of relatives. It seemed to him that there were more people than ever who received a share of Cynthia's attention. He would like to have her all to himself just once.

Very much to his chagrin, however, Cynthia, who accepted his invitation with apparent cordiality, insisted that they should go in the double sleigh, and that Aunt Betsey and some one else should go too.

"It would be very selfish and quite unnecessary for us to go in the cutter when Aunt Betsey is so fond of a sleigh-ride," she said, severely.

Neal grumbled under his breath, but could say nothing aloud, as Miss Trinkett was in the room. To be sure, when they drove off, Cynthia sat in front with him, while his sister entertained her aunt on the back seat; but it was not by any means the same thing as going with Cynthia alone would have been.

That young woman, with apparent unconsciousness of his dissatisfaction, chatted gayly about the wedding, the various bits of Brenton gossip, and everything that she could think of to keep the ball of conversation rolling. Somehow it had never before been so difficult to talk to Neal.

She wished that he would exert himself a little more.

"How do you like the idea of being usher," she asked--"you and Jack and four others, you know? Tom Morgan is to be best man, Gertrude and Kitty Morgan are to be bridesmaids, and I maid of honor. But, Neal, did you hear the story about Tony Bronson?"

"No; what?"

"Oh, he did some terrible thing not very long ago. He forged his uncle's name, I believe. It got into the papers at first, and then it was all hushed up, and his father paid the money. But wasn't it dreadful?"

"I should say so! But it is just what one might have expected Bronson to do, Cynth."

And then Neal relapsed into silence again, and Cynthia determined that she would make no further effort at conversation. If Neal would not talk he need not, but neither would she. And after this, with the exception of Miss Betsey's voice from behind, nothing was heard but the jingle of the sleigh-bells until the drive was over and they were at home again.

The wedding the next day pa.s.sed off well. The bride looked lovely, as all brides should, and Cynthia was as pretty as, if not more so than, her sister. After the ceremony at the church there was a reception at the house, which, notwithstanding the winter aspect without, looked warm and gay in its dress of Christmas-greens and wedding-flowers.

Edith was upstairs in her old room, and her mother and Cynthia were putting the last touches to her toilet when she had changed her dress to go away.

"Mamma, I want to say something to you," she said, putting her arms around Mrs. Franklin's neck. "You know how I love you now, and you know only too well how hateful I was to you when you first came to us. I look back on it now with horror, especially the day you heard me say it was so dreadful to have the Gordons come. I want to tell you, mamma, that next to Dennis the coming of the Gordons was the very best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life!"

Mrs. Franklin could not speak; she could only kiss her and hold her tenderly.

Cynthia said nothing aloud, but she thought that the coming of the Gordons was the very best thing that had ever happened to her, without any exception whatever. Dennis, in her eyes, was of minor importance.

The bride and groom went off amid a shower of old shoes, and then the guests slowly betook themselves to their homes. It was the first wedding at Oakleigh for many years, and it was celebrated in a manner befitting such an important occasion. Some of the intimate friends staid during the evening, and when they left, the family, tired and worn with excitement, separated early.

The next day Neal went to see some of his former friends. He was absent several days, for he had been granted extended leave, and was not due in Philadelphia until the 2d of January.

It seemed very lonely and strange at Oakleigh after the wedding was over. It was the first break in the family of that kind, and Cynthia could not become accustomed to it. She thought that accounted for the unusual fit of depression which seized her the morning Neal went away, and which she could not shake off, try as she would.

Edith and Dennis were to return the last day of the year, and spend a short time at the old homestead before going to their new house. Neal also was to come back that day, and Cynthia found herself longing for New-year's eve. She did want to see Edith so much, she said to herself a dozen times a day.

And at last New-year's eve came, and with it the absent members of the household. A merry party sat about the supper-table that night. Cynthia was the gayest of the gay. Her contagious laugh rang out on all occasions, but, indeed, everybody laughed at every one else's joke, and particularly one's own joke, apparently without regard to the amount of wit contained therein.

As the evening lengthened Cynthia grew more quiet. The last night of the year always impressed her with its solemnity, young though she was. She left the others where they were sitting about the fire waiting for the clock to strike, and wandered off to the dining-room, to the library, up stairs--anywhere. She could not sit still.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE WAS JUST COMING DOWN THE BROAD OLD STAIRCASE.]

She was just coming down the broad old staircase when Neal suddenly appeared at the foot. He had been waiting for her. He was to go back to-morrow, and he had determined to speak to her before he left.

She paused a moment in surprise, and the light from the Venetian lantern which hung in the hall shone down on her soft curly hair and young face as she stood with her hand resting on the bannister. Neal thought he had never seen so lovely a picture.

"I want to speak to you, Cynth," he said, leaning against the carved post at the foot of the stairs and effectually barring the way. There was nothing for her to do but to listen. "I have tried for ages, ever since I came, and you never will give me a chance."

"Nonsense! You have been away. How could you expect to talk to me if you went away?"