[figure description] Page 328.[end figure description]

At a comparatively early hour Madam Conway arose,
and going to the parlor, found there Arthur Carrollton, who
asked if Margaret were not yet up. “Say that I wish
her to ride with me on horseback,” said he. “The morning
air will do her good;” and quite delighted, Madam Conway
carried the message to her grand-daughter.

“Tell him I shan't do it,” answered the sleepy Maggie,
adjusting herself for another nap. Then, as she thought
how his eyes probably looked as he said, “I wish her to
ride,” she felt impelled to obey, and greatly to her grandmother's
surprise, she commenced dressing.

Theo's riding dress was borrowed, and though it did not
fit her exactly, she looked unusually well, when she met Mr.
Carrollton in the lower hall, and once mounted upon the gay
steed, and galloping away into the country, she felt more
than repaid for the loss of her morning slumber.

“You ride well,” said Mr. Carrollton, when at last they
paused upon the brow of a hill, overlooking the town, “but
you have some faults, which, with your permission I will
correct,” and in the most polite and gentlemanly manner, he
proceded to speak of a few points wherein her riding might
be improved.

Among other things, he said she rode too fast for a lady;

[figure description] Page 329.[end figure description]

and biting her lip, Maggie thought, “If I only had Gritty
here, I'd lead him such a race as would either break his
bones or his neck, I'm not particular which.”

Still, she followed his directions implicitly, and when, ere
they reached home, he told her that she excelled many who
had been for years to riding schools, she felt repaid for his
criticisms, which she knew were just, even if they were not
agreeable. Breakfast being over, he announced his intentention
of going down to Boston, telling Maggie he should
probably return that evening and go with her to Hillsdale
on the morrow.

Scarcely had he gone when Henry Warner appeared, asking
an interview with Madam Conway, who haughtily led
the way into a private room. Very candidly and honorably
Henry made known to her his wishes, whereupon a most
stormy scene ensued, the lady so far forgetting herself as to
raise her voice several notes above its usual pitch, while
Henry, angered by her insulting words, bade her take the
consequences of her refusal, hinting that girls had been
known to marry without their guardian's consent.

“An elopement, hey? He threatens me with an elopement,
does he?” said Madam Conway, as the door closed
after him. “I am glad he warned me in time,” and then
trembling in every limb lest Maggie should be spirited away
before her very eyes, she determined upon going home immediately,
and leaving Arthur Carrollton to follow in the
cars.

Accordingly Maggie was bidden to pack her things at
once, the excited old lady keeping her eye constantly upon
her to see that she did not disappear through the window
or some other improbable place. In silence Maggie obeyed,
pouting the while a very little, partly because she should
not again see Henry, partly because she had confidently

[figure description] Page 330.[end figure description]

expected to ride home with Mr. Carrollton! and partly because
she wished to stay to the firemen's muster, which had
long been talked about, and was to take place on the morrow.
They were ready at last, and then in a very perturbed
state of feeling, Madam Conway waited for her carriage,
which was not forthcoming, and upon inquiry, George Douglas
learned that, having counted upon another day in the
city, Mike was now going through with a series of plunge
baths, by way of sobering himself ere appearing before his
mistress. This, however George kept from Madam Conway,
not wishing to alarm her; and when, after a time, Mike appeared,
sitting bolt upright upon the box, with the lines
grasped firmly in his hands, she did not suspect the truth,
nor know that he, too, was angry for being thus compelled
to go home before he saw the firemen.

Thinking him sober enough to be perfectly safe, George
Douglas felt no fear, and bowing to his new relatives, went
back to comfort Theo, who, as a matter of course cried a
little when the carriage drove away. Worcester was left
behind, and they were far out in the country ere a word
was exchanged between Madam Conway and Maggie; for
while the latter was pouting behind her veil, the former
was wondering what possessed Mike to drive into every rut
and over every stone.

“You, Mike,” she exclaimed at last leaning from the window.
“What ails you?”

“Nothing, as I'm a living man,” answered Mike, halting
so suddenly as to jerk the lady backwards and mash the
crown of her bonnet.

Straightening herself up, and trying in vain to smooth
the jam, Madam Conway continued, “In liquor, I know.
I wish I had staid at home;” but Mike loudly denied the
charge, declaring “he had spent the blessed night at a

[figure description] Page 331.[end figure description]

meeting of the Sons, where they passed round nothing
stronger than lemons and water, and if the horses chose to
run off the track, 'twasn't his fault—he couldn't help it,”
and with the air of one deeply injured, he again started forward,
turning off ere long into a cross road, which, as they
advanced, grew more stony and rough, while the farmhouses,
as a general thing, presented a far less respectable
appearance than those on the Hillsdale route.

“Mike, you villain!” ejaculated the lady, as they ran
down into a ditch, and she sprang to one side to keep the
carriage from going over.

But ere she had time for anything further, one of the axletrees
snapped asunder, and to proceed further in their
present condition was impossible. Alighting from the carriage,
and setting her little feet upon the ground with a
vengeance, Madam Conway first scolded Mike unmercifully
for his carelessness, and next chided Maggie for manifesting
no more concern.

“You'd as lief go to destruction as not, I do believe!”
said she, looking carefully after the bandbox containing her
purple satin.

“I'd rather go there first,” answered Maggie, pointing to
a brown, old-fashioned farmhouse, about a quarter of a
mile away.

At first, Madam Conway objected, saying she preferred
sitting on the bank to intruding herself upon strangers; but
as it was now noon-day, and the warm September sun
poured fiercely down upon her, she finally concluded to follow
Maggie's advice, and gathering up her box and parasol
started for the house, which, with its tansy patch on the
right, and its single poplar tree in front, presented rather
an uninviting appearance.

“Some vulgar creatures live there, I know. Just hear

[figure description] Page 332.[end figure description]

that old tin horn,” she exclaimed, as a blast, loud and shrill,
blown by practised lips, told to the men in a distant field
that dinner was ready.

A nearer approach disclosed to view a slanting roofed
farm-house, such as is often found in New England, with
high, narrow windows, small panes of glass, and the most
indispensable paper curtains of blue, closely shading the windows
of what was probably “the best room.” In the apartment
opposite, however, they were rolled up, so as to show
the old-fashioned drapery of dimity, bordered with a netted
fringe. Half a dozen broken pitchers and pots held geraniums,
verbenas and other plants, while the well kept beds of
hollyhocks, sunflowers and poppies, indicated a taste for
flowers in some one. Everything about the house was
faultlessly neat. The door-sill was scrubbed to a chalky-white,
while the uncovered floor wore the same polished hue.

All this Madam Conway saw at a glance, but it did not
prevent her from holding high her aristocratic skirts, lest
they should be contaminated, and when, in answer to her
knock, an odd-looking, peculiarly dressed woman appeared,
she uttered an exclamation of disgust, and turning to Maggie,
said, “You talk—I can't!”

But the woman did not stand at all upon ceremony.
For the last ten minutes she had been watching the strangers
as they toiled over the sandy road, and when sure they
were coming there, had retreated into her bed-room, donning
a flaming red calico, which, guiltless of hoops, clung to her
tenaciously, showing her form to good advantage, and rousing
at once the risibles of Maggie. A black lace cap, ornamented
with ribbons of the same fanciful color as the dress,
adorned her head; and with a dozen or more pins in her
mouth, she now appeared, hooking her sleeve and smoothing
down the black collar upon her neck.

[figure description] Page 333.[end figure description]

In a few words, Maggie explained to her their misfortune,
and asked permission to tarry there until the carriage was
repaired.

“Certing, certing,” answered the woman, courtesying
almost to the floor. “Walk right in, if you can git in. It's
my cheese day, or I should have been cleared away sooner.
Here Betsey Jane, you have prinked long enough; come
and hist the winders in t'other room, and wing'em off, so
the ladies can set in there out of this dirty place,” then
turning to Madam Conway, who was industriously freeing
her French kids from the sand they had accumulated during
her walk, she continued. “Have some of my shoes to
rest your feet a spell;” and diving into a recess or closet she
brought forth a pair of slippers large enough to hold both of
Madam Conway's feet at once.

With a haughty frown the lady declined the offer, while
Maggie looked on in delight, pleased with an adventure which
promised so much fun. After a moment, Betsey Jane appeared,
attired in a dress similar to that of her mother, for
whose lank appearance she made ample amends in the wonderful
expansion of her robes, which minus gather or fold at
the bottom, set out like a miniature tent, upsetting at once
the band-box which Madam Conway had placed upon a
chair, and which, with its contents, rolled promiscuously
over the floor!

“Betsey Jane! How can you wear them abominable
things!” exclaimed the distressed woman, stooping to pick
up the purple satin which had tumbled out.

A look from the more fashionable daughter, as with a
swinging sweep she passed on into the parlor, silenced the
mother on the subject of hoops, and thinking her guests must
necessarily be thirsty after their walk, she brought them a
pitcher of water, asking if “they'd chuse it clear, or with a

[figure description] Page 334.[end figure description]

little ginger and molasses,” at the same time calling to Betsey
Jane to know if them windows was wung off!

The answer was in the affirmative, whereupon the ladies
were invited to enter, which they did the more willingly, as
through the open door they had caught glimpses of what
proved to be a very handsome Brussels carpet, which in
that room seemed a little out of place, as did the sofa, and
handsome hair-cloth rocking chair. In this last Madam
Conway seated herself, while Maggie reclined upon a lounge,
wondering at the difference in the various articles of furniture,
some of which were quite expensive, while others were
of the most common kind.

“Who can they be? She looks like some one I have
seen,” said Maggie as Betsey Jane left the room. “I mean
to ask their names;” but this her grandmother would not suffer.
“It was too much like familiarity,” she said, “and
she did not believe in putting one's self on a level with such
people.”

Another loud blast from the horn was blown, for the bustling
woman of the house was evidently getting uneasy, and
ere long three or four men appeared, washing themselves
from the spout of the pump, and wiping upon a coarse towel,
which hung upon a roller near the back door.

“I shan't eat at the same table with those creatures,”
said Madam Conway, feeling intuitively that she would be
invited to dinner.

“Why, grandman, yes you will, if she asks you to,” answered
Maggie. “Only think how kind they are to us perfect
strangers!”

What else she might have said was prevented by the entrance
of Betsey Jane, who informed them that “dinner was
ready;” and with a mental groan, as she thought how she
was about to be martyred, Madam Conway followed her to

[figure description] Page 335.[end figure description]

the dining-room, where a plain substantial farmer's meal
was spread. Standing at the head of the table, with her
good-humored face all in a glow, was the hostess, who
pointing Madam Conway to a chair, said, “Now set right
by, and make yourselves to hum. Mebby I orto have set the
table over, and I guess I should if I had anything fit to eat.
Be you fond of biled victuals?” and taking it for granted
they were, she loaded both Madam Conway's and Maggie's
plate with every variety of vegetables used in the preparation
of the dish known everywhere as “boiled victuals.”

By this time the men had ranged themselves in respectful
silence upon the opposite side of the table, each stealing
an admiring though modest glance at Maggie; for the masculine
heart, whether it beat beneath a homespun frock or
coat of finest cloth, is alike susceptible to glowing, youthful
beauty like that of Maggie Miller. The head of the house
was absent—“had gone to town with a load of wood,” so
his spouse informed the ladies, at the same time pouring out
a cup of tea, which she said she had tried to make strong
enough to bear up an egg. “Betsey Jane,” she continued,
casting a deprecating glance, first at the blue sugar bowl
and then at her daughter, “what possessed you to put on
this brown sugar, when I told you to get crush?—Have
some of the apple sass? it's new—made this morning.
Dew have some,” she continued as Madam Conway shook
her head. “Mebby it's better than it looks. Seem's ef you
wasn't goin' to eat nothin'. Betsey Jane, now you're up
after the crush, fetch them china sassers for the cowcumbers.
Like enough she'll eat some of them.”

But affecting a headache, Madam Conway declined everything,
save the green tea and a Boston cracker, which, at
the first mention of headache, the distressed woman had
brought her. Suddenly remembering Mike, who, having

[figure description] Page 336.[end figure description]

fixed the carriage, was fast asleep on a wheelbarrow
under the wood-shed, she exclaimed, “For the land of
massy, if I hain't forgot that young gentleman! Go, William
and call him this minute. Are you sick at your stomach?”
she asked, turning to Madam Conway, who, at the
thoughts of eating with her drunken coachman, had uttered
an exclamation of disgust. “Go, Betsey Jane, and fetch
the camphire, quick!”

But Madam Conway did not need the camphor, and so
she said, adding that Mike was better where he was. Mike
thought so too, and refused to come, whereupon the woman
insisted that he must. “There was room enough,” she
said, “and no kind of sense in Betsey Jane's taking up the
hull side of the table with them ratans. She could set
nearer the young lady.”

“Certainly,” answered Maggie, anxious to see how the
ratans would manage to squeeze in between herself and the
table-leg, as they would have to do if they came an inch
nearer.

This feat could not be done, and in attempting it Betsey
Jane upset Maggie's tea upon her handsome travelling
dress, eliciting from her mother the exclamation, “Betsey
Jane Douglas, you allus was the blunderin'est girl!”

This little accident diverted the woman's mind from Mike,
while Madam Conway, starting at the name of Douglas,
thought to herself, “Douglas!—Douglas! I did not suppose
'twas so common a name. But then it don't hurt
George any, having these creatures bear his name.”

Dinner being over, Madam Conway and Maggie returned
to the parlor, where, while the former resumed her chair,
the latter amused herself by examining the books and odd-looking
daguerreotypes which lay upon the table.

“Oh, grandmother!” she almost screamed, bounding to

[figure description] Page 337.[end figure description]

that lady's side, “as I live, here's a picture of Theo and
George Douglas taken together,” and she held up a handsome
casing before the astonished old lady, who donning her
golden spectacles in a twinkling saw for herself that what
Maggie said was true.

“They stole it,” she gasped. “We are in a den of thieves!
Who knows what they'll take from my bandbox?” and she
was about to leave the room, when Maggie, whose quick
mind saw farther ahead, bade her stop.

“I may discover something more,” said she, and taking a
handsomely bound volume of Lamb, she turned to the flyleaf,
and read, “Jenny Douglas, from her brother George,
Worcester, Jan. 8th.”

It was plain to her now; but any mortification she might
otherwise have experienced was lost in the one absorbing
thought, “What will grandma say?”

“Grandmother,” said she, showing the book, “don't you
remember the mother of that girl called her Betsey Jane
Douglas?”

“Yes, yes,” gasped Madam Conway, raising both hands,
while an expression of deep, intense anxiety was visible
upon her face.

“And don't you know, too,” continued Maggie, “that
George always seemed inclined to say as little as possible
of his parents? Now, in this country, it is not unusual for
the sons of just such people as these to be among the most
wealthy and respectable citizens.”

“Maggie, Maggie,” hoarsely whispered Madam Conway,
grasping Maggie's arm, “do you mean to insinuate—am I
to understand that you believe that odious woman and
hideous girl to be the mother and sister of George Douglas?”

“I haven't a doubt of it,” answered Maggie. “'Twas the

[figure description] Page 338.[end figure description]

resemblance between Betsey Jane and George, which I
observed at first.”

Out of her chair to the floor tumbled Madam Conway,
fainting entirely away, while Maggie, stepping to the door,
called for help.

“I mistrusted she was awful sick at dinner,” said Mrs.
Douglas, taking her hands from the dishwater, and running
to the parlor. “I wish she'd smelt of the camphor, as I
wanted her to. Does she have such spells often?”

By this time Betsey Jane had brought a basin of water,
which she dashed in the face of the unconscious woman, who
soon began to revive.

“Pennyryal tea'll settle her stomach quicker'n anything
else,” said Mrs. Douglas. “I'll clap a little right on the
stove;” and helping Madam Conway to the sofa, she left the
room.

“There may possibly be a mistake, after all,” thought
Maggie. “I'll question the girl,” and turning to Betsey
Jane, she said, taking up the book which had before
attracted her attention, “Is this, Jenny Douglas, intended
for you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” answered the girl, coloring slightly.
“Brother George calls me Jenny, because he thinks Betsey
so old fashioned.”

An audible groan from the sofa, and Maggie continued,
“Where does your brother live?”

“In Worcester, ma'am. He keeps a store there,”
answered Betsey, who was going to say more, when her
mother reëntering the room, took up the conversation by
saying, “Was you tellin' 'em about George Washington?
Wal, he's a boy no mother need to be ashamed on, though
my old man sometimes says he's ashamed of us, we are so
different. But then he orto consider the advantages he's

[figure description] Page 339.[end figure description]

had. We only brung him up till he was ten years old, and
then an uncle he was named after took him, and gin him a
college schoolin', and then put him into his store in Worcester.
Your head aches wus, don't it? Poor thing! The
pennyryal will be steeped directly,” she added, in an aside
to Madam Conway, who had groaned aloud as if in pain.
Then resuming her story, she continued, “Better'n six year
ago, Uncle George, who was a bachelder, died, leaving the
heft of his property, seventy-five thousand dollars, or more,
to my son, who is now top of the heap in the store, and
worth $100,000, I presume; some say, $200,000: but
that's the way some folks have of agitatin' things.”

“Is he married?” asked Maggie, and Mrs. Douglas, mistaking
the motive which prompted the question, answered,
“Yes, dear, he is. If he wan't, I know of no darter-in-law
I'd as soon have as you. I don't believe in finding fault
with my son's wife; but there's a proud look in her face, I
don't like. This is her picter,” and she passed to Maggie
the daguerreotype of Theo.

“I've looked at it before,” said Maggie, and the good
woman proceeded. “I hain't seen her yet; but he's goin'
to bring her to Charlton bimeby. He's a good boy, George
is, free as water;—gave me this carpet, the sofy and chair,
and has paid Betsey Jane's schoolin' one winter at Leicester.
But Betsey don't take to books much. She's more like me,
her father says. They had a big party for George last
night, but I wasn't invited. Shouldn't a' gone if I had been;
but for all that, a body don't wan't to be slighted, even if
they don't belong to the quality. If I'm good enough to be
George's mother I'm good enough to go to a party with his
wife. But she wan't to blame, and I shan't lay it up against
her. I shall see her to-morrow, pretty likely, for Sam
Babbit's wife and I are goin' down to the firemen's muster.

[figure description] Page 340.[end figure description]

You've heard on't, I s'pose. The different engines are goin'
to see which will shute water the highest over a 180 foot
pole. I wouldn't miss goin' for anything, and of course I
shall call on Theodoshy. I calkerlate to like her, and when
they go to housekeepin', I've got a hull chest full of sheets,
and piller-biers, and towels I'm goin' to give her, besides
three or four bed quilts I pieced myself, two in herrin'-bone
pattern, and one in risin' sun. I'll show 'em to you,” and
leaving the room, she soon returned with three patch-work
quilts, wherein were all possible shades of color, red and
yellow predominating, and in one the “rising sun” forming a
huge centre piece.

“Heavens!” faintly articulated Madam Conway, pressing
her hands upon her head, which was supposed to be
aching dreadfully. The thought of Theo reposing beneath
the “risin' sun,” or yet the “herrin'-bone,” was intolerable;
and looking beseechingly at Maggie, she whispered, “Do see
if Mike is ready.”

“If it's the carriage you mean,” chimed in Mrs. Douglas,
“it's been waiting quite a spell, but I thought you warn't
fit to ride yet, so I didn't tell you.”

Starting to her feet, Madam Conway's bonnet went on
in a trice, and taking her shawl in her hand, she walked out
doors, barely expressing her thanks to Mrs. Douglas, who,
greatly distressed at her abrupt departure, ran for the herb
tea, and taking the tin cup in her hand, followed her guest
to the carriage, urging her to “take a swaller just to keep
from vomiting.”

“She's better without it,” said Maggie. “She seldom
takes medicine,” and politely expressing her gratitude to Mrs.
Douglas for her kindness, she bade Mike drive on.

“Some crazy critter just out of the Asylum, I'll bet,” said
Mrs Douglas, walking back to the house with her pennyroyal

[figure description] Page 341.[end figure description]

tea. “How queer she acted! but that girl's a lady, every
inch of her, and so handsome, too, I wonder who she is?”

“Don't you believe the old woman felt a little above us?”
suggested Betsey Jane, who had more discernment than her
mother.

“Like enough she did, though I never thought on't. But
she needn't. I'm as good as she is, and I'll warrant as much
thought on, where I'm known;” and quite satisfied with her
own position, Mrs. Douglas went back to her dishwashing,
while Betsey Jane stole away up stairs to try the experiment
of arranging her hair after the fashion in which Margaret
wore hers.

In the meantime, Mike, perfectly sobered, had turned his
horses' heads in the direction of Hillsdale, when Madame
Conway called out, “To Worcester, Mike—to Worcester,
as fast as you can drive.”

“To Worcester! For what?” asked Maggie, and the excited
woman answered. “To stop it. To forbid the bans. I
should think you'd ask for what?”

“To stop it,” repeated Maggie. “I'd like to see you stop
it, when they've been married two months!”

“So they have, so they have,” said Madam Conway, wringing
her hands in her despair, and crying out, “that a Conway
should be so disgraced. What shall I do? What
shall I do?”

“Make the best of it, of course,” answered Maggie. “I
don't see as George is any worse for his parentage. He is
evidently greatly respected in Worcester, where his family
are undoubtedly known. He is educated and refined, if they
are not. Theo loves him, and that is sufficient, unless I add
that he has money.”

“But not as much as I supposed,” moaned Madam Conway.
“Theo told me $200,000; but that woman said one.

[figure description] Page 342.[end figure description]

Oh what will become of me? Give me the hartshorn, Maggie.
I feel so faint!”

The hartshorn was handed her, but it could not quiet her
distress. Her family pride was sorely wounded, and had
Theo been dead, she would hardly have felt worse than she
did.

“How will she bear it when it comes to her knowledge,
as it necessarily must? It will kill her, I know,” she exclaimed,
after Maggie had exhausted all her powers of reasoning
in vain; then, as she remembered the woman's
avowed intention of visiting her daughter-in-law on the morrow,
she felt that she must turn back; she must see Theo
and break it to her gently, or “the first sight of that odious
creature, claiming her for a daughter, might be of incalculable
injury.”

“Stop, Mike,” she was about to say; but ere the words
passed her lips, she reflected that to take Maggie back to
Worcester, was to throw her again in Henry Warner's way,
and this she could not do. There was then but one alternative.
She could stop at the Charlton depot, not far distant,
and wait for the downward train, while Mike drove Maggie
home, and this she resolved to do. Mike was accordingly
bidden to take her at once to the depot, which he did, while
she explained to Maggie, her reason for returning.

“Theo is much better alone, and George will not thank
you for interfering,” said Maggie, not at all pleased with
her grandmother's proceedings.

But the old lady was determined. “It was her duty,”
she said, “to stand by Theo in trouble, and if a visit from
that horrid creature wasn't trouble, she could not well define
it.”

“When will you come home?” asked Maggie.

“Not before to-morrow night. Now I have undertaken

[figure description] Page 343.[end figure description]

the matter, I intend to see it through,” said Madam Conway,
referring to the expected visit of “Mrs. Douglas, senior.”

But Mike did not thus understand it, and thinking her
only object in turning back was, “to see the doin's,” as he
designated the “Fireman's Muster,” he muttered long and
loud about “being thus sent home, while his madam went to
see the fun.”

In the meantime, on a hard settee, at the rather uncomfortable
depot, Madam Conway awaited the arrival of the
train, which came at last, and in a short time, she found
herself again in Worcester. Once in a carriage, and on her
way to the “Bay State,” she began to feel a little nervous,
half-wishing she had followed Maggie's advice, and left Theo
alone. But it could not now be helped, and while trying to
think what she should say to her astonished grand-daughter,
she was set down at the door of the hotel, slightly bewildered,
and a good deal perplexed, a feeling which was
by no means diminished when she learned that Mr. and
Mrs. Douglas were both out of town.

“Where have they gone, and when will they return?”
she gasped, untying her bonnet strings for an easier respiration.

To these queries the clerk replied, that he believed Mr.
Douglas had gone to Boston on business, that he might be
at home that night; at all events, he would probably return
in the morning; she could find Mr. Warner, who would tell
her all about it. “Shall I send for him?” he continued, as
he saw the scowl upon her face.

“Certainly not,” she answered, and taking the key, which
had been left in his charge, she repaired to Theo's rooms,
and sinking into a large easy-chair, fanned herself furiously,
wondering if they would return that night, and what they
would say when they found her there. “But I don't care,”

[figure description] Page 344.[end figure description]

she continued, speaking aloud and shaking her head very
decidedly at the excited woman whose image was reflected
by the mirror opposite, and who shook her head as decidedly
in return! “George Douglas has deceived us shamefully,
and I'll tell him so, too. I wish he'd come this
minute!”

But George Douglas knew well what he was doing.
Very gradually was he imparting to Theo a knowledge of
his parents, and Theo, who really loved her husband, was
learning to prize him for himself and not for his family.
Feeling certain that the firemen's muster would bring his
mother to town, and knowing that Theo was not yet prepared
to see her, he was greatly relieved at Madam Conway's
sudden departure, and had himself purposely left
home, with the intention of staying away until Friday night.
This, however, Madam Conway did not know, and very
impatiently she awaited his coming, until the lateness of the
hour precluded the possibility of his arrival, and she retired
to bed, but not to sleep, for the city was full of firemen, and
one company, failing of finding lodgings elsewhere, had
taken refuge in an empty carriage shop near by. The hard,
bare floor was not the most comfortable bed imaginable,
and preferring the bright moonlight and open air, they made
the night hideous with their noisy shouts, which the watchmen
tried in vain to hush. To sleep in that neighborhood
was impossible, and all night long Madam Conway vibrated
between her bed and the window, from which latter point
she frowned wrathfully down upon the red coats below, who,
scoffing alike at law and order as dispensed by the police,
kept up their noisy revel, shouting lustily for “Chelsea, No.
4,” and “Washington, No. 2,” until the dawn of day.

“I wish to mercy I'd gone home,!” sighed Madam Conway,
as weak and faint she crept down to the breakfast

[figure description] Page 345.[end figure description]

table, doing but little justice to anything, and returning to
her room, pale, haggard and weary.

Ere long, however, she became interested in watching the
crowds of people, who at an early hour filled the streets;
and when at last the different fire companies of the State
paraded the town in a seemingly never ending procession,
she forgot in a measure her trouble, and drawing her chair
to the window, sat down to enjoy the brilliant scene,
involuntarily nodding her head to the stirring music, as
troop after troop passed by. Up and down the street, as
far as the eye could reach, the sidewalks were crowded with
men, women and children, all eager to see the sight. There
were people from the city and people from the country, the
latter of whom, having anticipated the day for weeks and
months, were now unquestionably enjoying it.

Conspucious among these was a middle aged woman, who
elicited remarks from all who beheld her, both from the
peculiarity of her dress, and the huge, blue cotton umbrella
she persisted in hoisting, to the great annoyance of those in
whose faces it was thrust, and who forgot in a measure their
vexation when they read the novel device it bore. Like
many other people who can sympathize with the good woman,
she was always losing her umbrella, and at last, in self-defence,
had embroidered upon the blue in letters of white:

As the lettering was small and not very distinct, it required
a close observation to decipher it; but the plan was
a successful one, nevertheless, and for four long years the
blue umbrella had done good service to its mistress, shielding
her alike from sunshine and from storm, and now in the

[figure description] Page 346.[end figure description]

crowded city it performed a double part, preventing its
nearest neighbors from seeing, while at the same time it kept
the dust from settling on the thick green veil and leghorn
bonnet of its owner. At Betsey Jane's suggestion she wore
a hoop to-day on Theo's account, and that she was painfully
conscious of the fact, was proved by the many anxious
glances she cast at her chocolate colored muslin, through the
thin folds of which it was plainly visible.

“I wish I had left the pesky thing to hum,” she thought,
feeling greatly relieved when at last, as the crowd became
greater, it was broken in several pieces and ceased to do its
duty.

From her seat near the window, Madam Conway caught
sight of the umbrella as it swayed up and down amid the
multitude, but she had no suspicion that she who bore it
thus aloft had even a better right than herself to sit where
she was sitting. In her excitement she had forgotten Mrs.
Douglas's intended visit, to prepare Theo for which she had
returned to Worcester, but it came to her at length, when
as the last fire company passed, the blue umbrella was
closed, and the leghorn bonnet turned in the direction of the
hotel. There was no mistaking the broad good-humored
face which looked so eagerly up at “George's window,”
and involuntarily Madam Conway glanced under the bed
with the view of fleeing thither for refuge!

“What shall I do?” she cried, as she heard the umbrella
on the stairs. “I'll lock her out,” she continued; and in an
instant the key was in her pocket, while, trembling in every
limb, she awaited the result.

Nearer and nearer the footsteps came; there was a
knock upon the door, succeeded by a louder one, and then, as
both these failed to elicit a response, the handle of the umbrella
was vigorously applied. But all in vain, and Madam

[figure description] Page 347.[end figure description]

Conway heard the discomfited outsider say, “They told me
Theodoshy's grandmarm was here, but I guess she's in the
street. I'll come agin bime-by,” and Mrs. Douglas senior
walked disconsolately down the stairs, while Madam Conway
thought it doubtful whether she gained access to the
room that day, come as often as she might.

Not long after, the gong sounded for dinner, and unlocking
the door, Madam Conway was about descending to the
dining-room, when the thought burst upon, “What if she
should be at the table? It's just like her.”

The very idea was overwhelming, taking from her at once
all desire for dinner; and returning to her room, she tried,
by looking over the books, and examining the carpet, to
forget how hungry and faint she was. Whether she would
have succeeded is doubtful, had not an hour or two later
brought another knock from the umbrella, and driven all
thoughts of eating from her mind. In grim silence she
waited until her tormentor was gone, and then wondering
if it was not time for the train, she consulted her watch.
But alas! 'twas only four; the cars did not leave until six,
and so another weary hour went by. At the end of that
time, however, thinking the depot preferable to being a
prisoner there, she resolved to go; and leaving the key with
the clerk, she called a carriage and was soon on her way to
the cars.

As she approached the depot, she observed an immense
crowd of people, gathered together, among which the red
coats of the firemen were conspicuous. A fight was evidently
in progress, and as the horses began to grow restive, she
begged of the driver to let her alight, saying she could
easily walk the remainder of the way. Scarcely, however,
was she on terra firma, when the yelling crowd made a precipitate
rush towards her, and in much alarm, she climbed

[figure description] Page 348.[end figure description]

for safety into an empty buggy, whereupon the horse,
equally alarmed, began to rear, and without pausing an instant,
the terrified lady sprang out on the side opposite to
that by which she had entered, catching her dress upon the
seat, and tearing half the gathers from the waist.

“Heaven help me!” she cried, picking herself up, and beginning
to wish she had never troubled herself with Theo's
mother-in-law.

To reach the depot was now her great object, and as the
two belligerent parties occupied the front, she thought to
effect an entrance at the rear. But the doors were locked,
and as she turned the corner of the building, she suddenly
found herself in the thickest of the fight. To advance was
impossible, to turn back equally so, and while meditating
some means of escape, she lost her footing and fell across a
wheelbarrow, which stood upon the platform, crumpling her
bonnet, and scratching her face upon a nail which protruded
from the vehicle. Nearer dead than alive, she made her way
at last into the depot, and from thence into the cars, where,
sinking into a seat, and drawing her shawl closely around
her, the better to conceal the sad condition of her dress, she
indulged in meditations not wholly complimentary to firemen
in general, and her late comrades in particular.

For half an hour she waited impatiently, but though the
cars were filling rapidly there were no indications of starting;
and it was almost seven, ere the long and heavily loaded
train moved slowly from the depot. About fifteen minutes
previous to their departure, as Madam Conway was looking
ruefully out upon the multitude, she was horrified at seeing
directly beneath her window, the veritable woman from
whom, through the entire day, she had been hiding. Involuntarily
she glanced at the vacant seat in front of her,
which, as she feared, was soon occupied by Mrs. Douglas

[figure description] Page 349.[end figure description]

and her companion, who, as Madam Conway divined, was
“Sam Babbit's wife.”

Trembling nervously lest she should be discovered, she
drew her veil closely over her face, keeping very quiet, and
looking intently from the window into the gathering darkness
without. But her fears were groundless, for Mrs.
Douglas had no suspicion that the crumpled bonnet and
sorry figure, sitting so disconsolately in the corner, was the
same which but the day before had honored her with a call.
She was in high spirits, having had, as she informed her
neighbor, “a tip-top time.” On one point, however, she was
disappointed. “She meant as much as could be to have
seen Theodoshy, but she wan't to hum. Her grandmarm
was in town,” said she, “but if she was in the room, she
must have been asleep, or dreadful deaf, for I pounded with
all my might. I'm sorry, for I'd like to scrape acquaintance
with her, bein' we're connected.”

An audible groan came from beneath the thick brown
veil, whereupon both ladies turned their heads. But the indignant
woman made no sign, and in a whisper loud enough
for Madam Conway to hear, Mrs. Douglas said, “Some
Irish critter in liquor, I presume. Look at her jammed
bonnet.”

This remark drew from Mrs. Babbit a very close inspection
of the veiled figure, who, smothering her wrath, felt
greatly relieved when the train started, and prevented her
from hearing anything more. At the next station, however,
Mrs. Douglas showed her companion a crochet collar, which
she had purchased for two shillings, and which, she said,
“was almost exactly like the one worn by the woman who
stopped at her house the day before.”

Leaning forward, Madam Conway glanced contemptuously
at the coarse knit thing, which bore about the same

[figure description] Page 350.[end figure description]

resemblance to her own handsome collar, as cambric does to
satin.

“Vulgar, ignorant creatures!” she muttered, while Mrs.
Babbit, after duly praising the collar, proceeded to make
some inquiries concerning the strange lady who had shared
Mrs. Douglas's hospitality.

“I've no idee who she was,” said Mrs. Douglas; “but I
think it's purty likely she was some crazy critter they was
takin' to the hospital.”

Another groan from beneath the brown veil, and turning
around, the kind hearted Mrs. Douglas asked if she was
sick, adding in an aside, as there came no answer, “been
fightin' I'll warrant!”

Fortunately for Madam Conway, the cars moved on, and
when they stopped again, to her great relief, the owner of
the blue umbrella, together with “Sam Babbit's wife,”
alighted, and amid the crowd assembled on the platform she
recognized Betsey Jane, who had come down to meet her
mother. The remainder of the way seemed tedious enough,
for the train moved but slowly, and it was near 10 o'clock
ere they reached the Hillsdale station, where, to her great
delight, Madam Conway found Margaret awaiting her,
together with Arthur Carrollton. The moment she saw the
former, who came eagerly forward to meet her, the weary,
worn-out woman burst into tears; but at the sight of Mr.
Carrollton, she forced them back, saying in reply to Maggie's
inquiries, that Theo was not at home, that she had spent a
dreadful day, and been knocked down in a fight at the
depot, in proof of which she pointed to her torn dress, her
crumpled bonnet, and scratched face. Maggie laughed
aloud in spite of herself, and though Mr. Carrollton's eyes
were several times turned reprovingly upon her, she continued
to laugh at intervals at the sorry, forlorn appearance

[figure description] Page 351.[end figure description]

presented by her grandmother, who for several days was
confined to her bed, from the combined effects of fasting,
fright, firemen's muster, and her late encounter with Mrs.
Douglas, senior!

p594-353

Previous section

Next section