The Old Stone House - Constance Fenimore Woolson (each kindness read aloud txt) 📗

“Do you think you can manage them, Hugh?” she whispered, just before they started.

“I hope so,” he replied confidently. But the blacks had had their nerves tried by the flies, the thunder, and the lightning; besides, they had never been driven four-in-hand before, and they had their doubts as to what the bays were doing behind them. For the first mile or two they kept the road, and then they whirled suddenly round to the left, and stood still.

“Oh!” cried Edith Chase, “we shall all be killed!”

However, after some persuasion, the blacks started on again as suddenly as they had stopped, for wonderful are the ways of balky horses. But the increasing darkness brought new terror; black clouds settled down over the earth and the narrow, winding road grew invisible before them. After several more miles a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder startled the party, the leaders veered round again, jumping violently, and carrying the wagon perilously near the gully. William Mount and Walter Hart sprang to the horses’ heads, while the ladies screamed in concert. Aunt Faith was an arrant coward where riding was concerned. “I would rather get out and walk all the way home than sit in this wagon a moment longer,” she said, earnestly.

“Take me with you, aunt,” said Gem, who was crying aloud.

“I will go, too,” said Edith Chase, climbing down with alacrity; “it cannot be very far, now.”

“We are still four miles from Westerton,” said Hugh. “There is no danger, Aunt Faith; do get in again. The horses are only a little balky; they will be quiet soon.”

“Do you call that quiet?” said Rose Saxon, as a flash of lightning revealed the plunging leaders with William Mount and Walter Hart at their heads.

“By all means, let us walk,” said Graham Marr, getting out quickly.

“Of course if the ladies insist upon walking, it is our duty to accompany them,” said Gideon Fish, following his example.

“Mrs. Sheldon,” said Mr. Gay, “if you will walk, pray take my arm.”

“Miss Darrell, I shall be happy to help you down,” said Gideon Fish.

“Thank you, but I shall stay where I am; I am not at all afraid,” replied Bessie.

After a few moments, the horses started again; and the walking party plodded along behind; Hugh drove very slowly so as to keep near them, and, in the darkness, Bessie climbed up on the driver’s seat beside him. “Bravo, little woman! I knew you would not be afraid,” said Hugh.

“Afraid, Hugh! With you!” exclaimed Bessie.

At the other end of the wagon sat Sibyl and Mr. Leslie, who also preferred the wagon to the road. The rain still fell, and the wind had grown cold, but although Sibyl still wore the coat, her companion did not seem to notice his uncovered shoulders. They talked earnestly together in low tones all the way, and when at last the lights of Westerton appeared in the darkness ahead, and the pedestrians, emboldened by these signs of civilization, took their seats in the wagon again, Sibyl’s face was so bright that Aunt Faith noticed it. “You do not look at all cold, my dear,” she said, as the light from the first street lamps fell across the wagon, “and yet the air is very chilly.”

“I fear I shall have an attack of dumb-ague,” said Graham Marr, shivering.

Edith Chase sat on the edge of the seat, ready to spring, watching the leaders with intent gaze; as they approached the old stone house she heaved a deep sigh of relief. “I am so glad it is over,” she said, audibly.

“I hope you will all come in and have a cup of hot coffee after the exposure,” said Aunt Faith, as, one by one, the tired guests climbed down from the circus-wagon.

“We are all so wet, I think we had better go directly home,” said Lida Powers.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sheldon,” said Edith Chase, “but we really must go directly home; come, Annie.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Sheldon,” said Mr. Gay, “but my seventy years require hot flannels. Good-night.”

Mr. Leslie had accompanied Sibyl up the long walk to the piazza in order to take back his coat when she was under shelter. All the other guests made their excuses at the gate, all but Gideon Fish, and when Bessie saw him lingering, she pretended to be very obtuse. “Well, as you won’t any of you come in, I will say ‘good-night’ to all of you,” she said, closing the gate and turning away. “I couldn’t help it, Aunt Faith,” she whispered, as they went up the walk; “Gideon wanted some of your coffee, but we have had enough of him for one day, I think.” Mr. Leslie, however, put on his coat and took his coffee with the cousins as though unconscious of his wet clothes; Hugh made up a bright wood fire on the hearth, and they all talked over the incidents of the day, and laughed over its disasters together. It is always amusing to look back on discomfort when it is well over.

“Where now is your beautiful ‘Monday morning, bright and early,’ Tom?” said Aunt Faith, remembering the conversation at the breakfast-table.

“Sic transit gloria Monday!” said Hugh.

“Incorrigible,” said Mr. Leslie, laughing as he said good-night.

CHAPTER VIII.

RIGHT AT LAST.

“Sibyl,” said Aunt Faith, the day after the picnic, “have you completed all your preparations for Saratoga?”

“You speak as though my going was a matter-of-course, Aunt,” said Sibyl slowly.

“Is it not, dear? I supposed your decision was made several weeks ago,” said Aunt Faith, thinking of the written paper which Sibyl had given her to read.

“I think I shall go,” said Sibyl, after a pause. “Everything is ready but the pearls; I can buy them any time.”

“I hope you will enjoy the summer, my dear,” said Aunt Faith, taking her niece’s hand affectionately.

“Then you approve of my going, Aunt?”

“You must make your own decision, Sibyl. No one can aid you in such a question as this,” replied Aunt Faith gravely.

Sibyl sat awhile in silence; then she rose and left the room.

An hour or two afterwards, Bridget came upstairs to tell Aunt Faith that Mr. Leslie wished to see her; she went down, somewhat surprised at so early a call, and found the young clergyman waiting for her in the parlor.

“Mrs. Sheldon,” he said, after the first words of greeting, “poor Margaret Brown is in great trouble. You remember our conversation about her yesterday? Calling in to tell her of it this morning, I found two of the children stricken down with fever, seriously ill, the doctor says; and I have come directly to you for aid; to you and Miss Warrington.”

“Sibyl has gone out, Mr. Leslie, but I shall be glad to do anything I can. Shall I go there at once, or send a nurse?”

“I hardly know yet; I came to talk the matter over with you. I do not like to ask you to go there, for the fever may be dangerous, and yet Margaret needs sympathy as much as money. Perhaps if they could all be moved into a purer air,—into the country, for instance,—away from that crowded neighborhood, it would be the wisest course.”

“But can the sick children bear a journey now?”

“I think they could go a few miles in an easy carriage, but, as they are growing worse every hour, it must be done at once if done at all. Do you know of any farm-house where they could be received for a time?”

“Mr. Green might take them,” said Aunt Faith; “he would probably expect ample payment, however. Mr. Leslie, I am sorry I cannot give you carte blanche; but owing to outside circumstances, I have but a small sum at my disposal at present.”

“We will put our means together, Mrs. Sheldon. I have something laid by, and perhaps Miss Warrington will assist us.”

“Sibyl has other uses for her money, I fear.”

“Surely none more worthy than this, Mrs. Sheldon.”

Aunt Faith grew somewhat impatient. “Mr. Leslie,” she said emphatically, “you do not understand my niece.”

“I think I understand Miss Warrington’s character, and I think she will help Margaret Brown,” replied the young clergyman gravely.

At this moment a step on the gravel-walk was heard, and Sibyl herself crossed the piazza and entered the hall.

“Have you been down town, Sibyl?” asked Aunt Faith.

“Yes, aunt,” replied Sibyl, coloring slightly, as she returned Mr. Leslie’s greeting.

“Have you made any purchases?” continued Aunt Faith, glancing at an oblong box in her niece’s hand.

Sibyl hesitated; then, as if impelled by a sudden impulse, she took off the wrapping-paper and opened the case. “I have bought my pearls at last, Aunt Faith. Are they not beautiful?” she said.

The fair jewels lay on a velvet bed, white and perfect, and looking from them to Sibyl’s blonde beauty, one could not help noticing their adaptation to each other.

“They are very lovely, my dear,” said Aunt Faith, passing the case to Mr. Leslie. He took the jewels, looked at them a moment, and retaining the case in his hand, said, “I came here this morning to ask your assistance in a case of distress, Miss Warrington. Margaret Brown is in need of instant aid; two of the children are ill, and I wish to have them removed into the country, if possible, before they grow worse. I rely upon you to help us.”

Sibyl sat with downcast eyes a moment. Then she said in a low voice, “I am sorry, Mr. Leslie; but I have just spent all my spare money upon those pearls.”

“The jeweller will take them back; I will arrange it for you, if you wish,” said the clergyman, looking at her intently.

The color deepened painfully in Sibyl’s cheeks, and the tears came into her eyes, but she did not speak. Aunt Faith saw the struggle, and came to her niece’s assistance with her usual kindliness. “You must not expect young ladies to give up their pretty ornaments so easily,” she said to Mr. Leslie, trying to shield Sibyl’s embarrassment.

“I am not speaking to a young lady; I am speaking to a fellow Christian,” said Mr. Leslie, gravely. “Miss Warrington and I have often spoken of the duty of giving. Only last evening we had a very serious conversation on that and kindred subjects. Mrs. Sheldon has said that I do not understand her niece. But I am unwilling to believe myself mistaken. I still think I understand her better even than her own aunt does,—better even than she understands herself.”

Still Sibyl did not speak. Aunt Faith looked at her in surprise. Could it be that her worldliness was conquered after all? “Sibyl,” she said, gently, “you must decide, dear. Shall Mr. Leslie take back the pearls?”

“No,” replied Sibyl, rising and struggling to regain her composure, “I wish the pearls, and there is no justice in asking me to give them up. I shall keep them, and as I have to write to Mrs. Leighton that I will meet her next week as she desired, my time is more than occupied, and I will ask Mr. Leslie to excuse me.”

She left the room, taking the pearls with her, and not a word more did Mr. Leslie say in allusion to her. He turned the conversation back to Margaret Brown, discussed the various arrangements for removing the family into the country, and then took his departure.

“I was very sorry about the money, Aunt Faith,” said Sibyl, after he had gone, standing at the sitting-room window and watching the tall figure disappearing in the distance.

“Sincerity first of all, my dear,” replied Aunt Faith.

“How will he get the money, aunt?”

“He is going to