Barbara Ladd

"You didn't know you were getting so grown up, did you, you ugly, skinny, little black thing!" she muttered.

Then she flitted back to her own room, poured out a dish of milk for the hungry kittens, and snatched at her breakfast by mouthfuls, while she made her toilet and dressed. Last of all, before going to join Mistress Mehitable, she sat down on the edge of her bed, and took the kittens into her lap. One by one she held up their round, pinky-nosed faces, and gazed seriously into their enigmatic young eyes.

"I want you to remember, now, my babies," said she, insisting upon their unwilling attention, "that your missis is now most grow'd up – she's grow'd up in one night, like old Mr. Jonah's gourd. I want you to remember that we mustn't be silly and childish any more, except just in private, and where we can't help it. And I want you to remember that you mustn't try to coax your missis into mischief any more like you did yesterday, going and helping her run off with the canoe, and such foolishnesses. And I want you to remember that after this, if we can think of it, it isn't going to be 'Aunt Hitty' this, and 'Aunt Hitty' that, all the time, – but 'dear,' and 'honey' (as we used to say in Maryland), and 'blue-eyed lady,' and 'small person,' because we're just as tall as she is, – and we're too big to be punished any more, if we are bad, – and Uncle Bob's coming next week, – and Robert Gault may come any day, if he's impatient!"

With a face of unwonted sobriety, but dancing lights in her eyes, she went to the door. With her hand on the latch she changed her mind. Rushing to her glass, with a few deft touches she changed the arrangement of her hair, heaping it over her ears, and leaving just one crinkly curl to hang down over her left shoulder.

The change added years to her appearance. Then, snatching up a pair of scissors, she swiftly ripped out a deep tuck in her frock, letting the skirt down a good three inches. With vigorous brushings and assiduous pattings she smoothed out the crease so that it was not obtrusive; and severely checking her wonted rush and skip, she went to join Aunt Hitty in the fragrant mysteries of the still-room.

CHAPTER XIII

To both Mistress Mehitable and Barbara the new order of things proved itself, all through that first day, supremely satisfactory; and each vowed most solemnly in her heart that she, at least, would not be the one to blame if it did not last. During the afternoon, when Doctor John and Doctor Jim were drinking a pot of tea with them, and wondering delightedly at the unexpected atmosphere of peace, Barbara asked, suddenly:

"How did you ever manage, Aunt Hitty, to get Doctor John and Doctor Jim off after me so quickly. I thought I had such a good start! And how did you know which way I was going?"

Both men looked meaningly at Mistress Mehitable, but failed to catch her eye. Doctor Jim began to shake his head violently, but stopped in confusion under Barbara's look of questioning astonishment. But Mistress Mehitable, serenely unconscious, answered at once:

"Old Debby Blue," said she, "with whom you breakfasted, rode over as fast as she could to Doctor Jim with the news. The poor old woman was nearly dead from her exertions, I think you told me, Jim. She has a good heart, and truly loves you, Barbara. I am sorry if I have seemed harsh to her at times."

Barbara's eyes grew wide, her face darkened ominously, and her full, bowed lips drew together to a straight line of scarlet. Doctor John sat up straight, with twinkling eyes, expecting the outbreak of a characteristic Barbara storm, such as he always enjoyed in his big, dry way. But Doctor Jim made haste to interpose.

"You mustn't be too hard on Debby, Barbara, because she told what she had promised not to tell. What else could she do? You know well enough she couldn't stop you herself, you headstrong baggage. I won't have you unfair to Debby. She loves you, and nearly killed herself to save you!"

Barbara's look of anger changed to a sort of obstinate sullenness for an instant. Then with an effort she forced herself to smile, while tears sprang into her eyes.

"Of course, Debby was right," she acknowledged. "But I wish she'd done it some other way. She shouldn't have let me trust her. She fooled me when I trusted her. Oh, I'll forgive her, of course," she continued, bitterly, "but never, never, will I trust her again!" Then she sprang up impetuously, and ran and flung both arms around Mistress Mehitable. "Of course I'd forgive her, anyway, because if she hadn't fooled me I might have never found out how lovely you were, – honey!"

Both Doctor John and Doctor Jim were breathless with amazement for a moment. What was this miracle? Whence came this understanding and this sympathy, all in a night? They saw a new glad warmth in Mistress Mehitable's eyes. They exchanged significant glances.

"All I can say, Barbara," growled Doctor Jim, at length, "is that you've been a long while finding out what ought to have been as plain as the nose on your face, – eh, what?"

"For a young lady who was able to discern at first glance the fascinations of Jim Pigeon," chimed in Doctor John, "I think you have been rather undiscriminating, Barbara!"

"She could see two battered old tallow dips, when she couldn't see the moon!" added Doctor Jim, solemnly.

There was always a relish of peril in rallying Barbara, whose audacity in retort was one of the scandals of Second Westings. She flashed her white teeth upon them in a naughty smile, and her eyes danced as she kissed Mistress Mehitable on both cheeks.

"Of course," she cried. "Nobody knows better than you two great big dears what a perfect little fool I've been, not to be in love with Aunt Hitty all this time."

"Barbara!" protested Mistress Mehitable, in a tone of rebuke, – and then again, bethinking herself, "Barbara, child!" in a tone of appeal.

"But now, you can tell a hawk from a handsaw, eh, baggage?" chuckled Doctor John; while Doctor Jim exploded noisily, and then, checking himself, cast upon Mistress Mehitable a glance of apprehension.

But Barbara had heeded neither the rebuke nor the appeal.

"I know, I know," she went on, clapping her hands with delight. "You didn't want me to find her out, – you didn't want me to know how lovely she is! Conspirators! I won't love you any more, either of you. And I'm going to keep Aunt Hitty all to myself here; and not let you even see her; and make you both so jealous you'll wish you had let me run away in the canoe and get drowned in the rapids."

"Barbara, Barbara," murmured Mehitable.

Doctor Jim wagged his great head, and growled inarticulately.

"It's we who are the victims of conspiracy, John," said he. "If Mehitable and Barbara have discovered each other, what becomes of us, I'd like to know! But it sha'n't last. We'll sow seeds of dissension presently, – eh, what?"

"Just let us wait till Bobby Gault comes!" suggested Doctor John, with gentle malice.

Barbara's face grew grave on the instant.

"Of course, Aunt Hitty, they have told you all about Robert," she said, earnestly, "but all they know about his reasons is what he told them himself, you know. And he was determined to shield me, of course. But it was all my fault. How could he know how bad and foolish I was? I just mixed him all up; and it makes me ashamed to think how horrid I was; and I will never forgive myself. But you mustn't let them prejudice you against Robert, honey, – but just wait and see what you think of him yourself, won't you, please?"

Mistress Mehitable smiled, and exchanged looks with Doctor John and Doctor Jim.

"Really, dear," said she, "they have not given me any very bad impressions of Robert. I think both Doctor John and Doctor Jim knew where to put the blame. And I know, too!"

Barbara looked at her doubtfully. Such complete acceptance of her position almost seemed unkind and critical. But her aunt's smile reassured her. This was not criticism, but something as near raillery as Mistress Mehitable would permit herself.

"I believe they have been abusing me behind my back, – and they pretending to love me!" cried Barbara, tossing her head in saucy challenge.

"Never, child; we hug our delusions, Jim Pigeon and I," said Doctor John.

"No, hug me," laughed Barbara, darting around the tea-table and seating herself on his lap.

"You are our worst delusion, baggage!" said Doctor Jim, shaking a large finger at her. "And now I see you're setting out to delude your poor aunt, after making life a burden to her for two years. And poor Bobby Gault, – he'll find you a delusion and a snare!"

"I think you are unkind, even if you are just in fun," protested Barbara, half offended, half amused. But at this moment both men rose to go. Doctor John, as he raised his towering bulk from the chair, lifted Barbara with him as if she had been a baby, held her in his arms for a moment while he peered lovingly and quizzically into her swiftly clearing face, gave her a resounding kiss, and set her on her feet.

"Bless the child!" said Doctor Jim, noticing now for the first time the change in appearance. "What's become of our little Barbara? How she's grown up over night!"

"And how her petticoats have grown down!" added Doctor John, backing off to survey her critically. "Tut, tut, the wanton hussy! How did she dare to kiss me! Goodness gracious! To think I had a young woman like that sitting on my lap!"

"You had better be careful what you say, Doctor John," retorted Barbara, firmly, "or I will be grown up, and never kiss you or let you hold me on your lap any more!"

"I humbly crave your pardon, gracious fair. I am your most devoted, humble servant!" said Doctor John, setting his heels together at a precise right angle, and bowing profoundly over her hand till his brocaded coat-tails stuck out stiffly behind him.

Barbara rather liked this hand-kissing, after Robert's initiation, and took it with composure as her due. Why should she not have her hand kissed, as well as Aunt Hitty? But Doctor Jim made his farewell in different fashion.

"I won't have her grow up this way!" he growled, snatching her up and holding her as if he feared she would be taken away from him. "She's just our little Barby, our little, thorny brier-rose! Eh – what?"

"Our barby brier-rose, you mean!" interjected Doctor John, with a chuckle.

But every one ignored this poor witticism, and Doctor Jim continued, while Barbara softly kicked her toes against his waistcoat. "It would break my heart to have her grown up, and young missish, and prim. What have you done to her, Mehitable?"

Mistress Mehitable gave a clear little ripple of laughter, flute-like and fresh. She was feeling younger and gayer than she had felt for years.

"I have just tried to carry out your own suggestion, Jim!" said she, cheerfully. "I must say, I think it was a very wise suggestion. I have handed Barbara over to her own care, that's all. I am sorry you don't like the results!"

"Don't worry, Doctor Jim!" cried Barbara, purchasing her release by kissing him hard on both cheeks. "Don't worry about me being changed. I was born bad, you know. And I'm afraid I'll be just as bad as ever by to-morrow – except to Aunt Hitty! If I'm bad to you any more, dear," – and she turned impetuously to Mistress Mehitable, "I'll – I'll – " and feeling a sudden imperious threat of tears, she fled away to her own room. It had been a wonderful, wonderful day for her, and she felt that she must have a little cry at once. On her white bed she wept deliciously. Then she thought, and thought, and thought, and made resolves, in sympathetic communion with her pillow.

In the parlour below, Doctor Jim had said, before leaving:

"I think you are going to get a lot of comfort out of her now, Mehitable, eh, what?"

And Doctor John, troubled by a maudlin kind of moisture about his eyes, had said nothing.

And Mistress Mehitable had said, fervently:

"I hope she is going to get a lot of comfort out of me, Jim. I see that I have been greatly in the wrong!"

CHAPTER XIV

All the next morning Mistress Mehitable and Barbara were busy overhauling Barbara's frocks. Such as would admit of it were let down some three or four inches. Of the others, two of rich material were laid away in Mistress Mehitable's huge carved oak chest lined with cedar, a repository of varied treasures of the loom. The rest, three in number and plain of weave, were set aside to be given to Mercy Chapman. There was much important planning, much interesting consultation; and in this feminine intimacy they grew ever closer to each other, throwing off the watchful self-consciousness, the sense of admiring and reciprocal discovery, which made them more happy than at ease in each other's company.

Early in the afternoon Barbara decided she would go out to her favourite apple-tree in the back garden and read. She openly took down the second volume of "Clarissa Harlowe," – having already got through the first volume in surreptitious moments. Mistress Mehitable discreetly, but with difficulty and some soul-questioning, refrained from admonition. Barbara felt in her heart a faint quaver of trepidation, as she thus frankly assumed her independence; but she had the full courage of her convictions, and outwardly she was calm.

"Mr. Richardson does not seem to me a very strong writer," she remarked at the door, – "especially after one has read those wonderful plays of Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Ben Jonson, as I did at home in Maryland! But every one should know 'Clarissa,' shouldn't they, dear?"

Mistress Mehitable gasped. She, too, had read those wonderful plays of Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Ben Jonson. But she was thoroughbred, and gave no sign of her dismay.

"I never liked the lady, myself, dear," she answered, casually. "She always seemed to me rather silly."

This was Barbara's own judgment, and confirmed her new appreciation of her aunt's intelligence. At the same time, this apparently easy acceptance, on Mistress Mehitable's part, of Barbara's emancipation, seemed almost too good to be true. Her heart swelled passionately toward this blue-eyed, calm, patrician little woman, whom she had so long misunderstood. She came back, put a caressing arm around Mistress Mehitable's waist, kissed her fervently, and looked deep into her eyes. Mistress Mehitable actually trembled in the recesses of her soul lest that searching gaze should discover what she had nearly said about young girls and novel-reading! But she kept the blue deeps of her eyes clear and tranquil, and her lips smiled frank response.

"Oh, you are so good and wonderful and wise, honey," Barbara said, at length. "What a foolish, foolish child I've been, – and you, my dear, dear father's sister! Why, just to look at you ought to have brought me to my senses. So many ways you look like him!"

Then a thing very remarkable indeed took place. Mistress Mehitable's fine poise wavered and vanished. She almost clutched Barbara to her breast, then buried her head on the firm young shoulders and cried a little quite unrestrainedly, feeling a great ache in her heart for her dead brother Winthrop, and a great love in her heart for her dead brother's child. Barbara was surprised, but greatly touched by this outburst. She held her close, and patted her hair, and called her soft names suddenly remembered from the soft-voiced endearments of plantation days; till presently Mistress Mehitable recovered, and laughed gently through her tears.

"Don't think me silly, dear," she pleaded, "but I've just realised for the first time that you have your dear father's wonderful eyes. Your colouring, and your hair, and your mouth, are all very different from his. But your eyes, – they are his exactly. Such wonderful, deep, clear, true eyes, Barbara, sometimes sea-gray, sometimes sea-green. Where have my eyes been all this time?"

Barbara sighed happily. "Isn't it lovely we have found each other at last, Aunt Hitty? I don't think it will be so hard now for me to be good!"

Then she picked up "Clarissa" again, and ran gaily out to the garden.

Barbara's apple-tree had three great limbs branching out at about five feet from the ground, forming a most luxurious crotch in which to sit and read. Smaller apple-trees, interspersed with tangled shrubbery and some trellised vines, almost surrounded it, so that on three sides it afforded perfect seclusion. Sweet airs breathed through it, from the neighbouring thyme and mint beds; and sunshine sifted down through its leaves in an intricate and exquisite pattern; and a pair of catbirds, nesting in the shrubs close by, made it their haunt without regard to Barbara's presence. As she looked at this dear nook, with all its memories of intimate hours and dreams, Barbara thought to herself how glad she was that she had not succeeded in running away from Second Westings. She clambered cleverly into the tree, settled herself with a long breath of satisfaction, swung her little scarlet-shod feet idly too and fro, and made a long, absorbing survey of her green realm. Then, locking her ankles lithely as only a slim girl can, she opened her book, and was soon engrossed in the fortunes of Lovelace and Clarissa.

About the time that Barbara was settling herself in the apple-tree, Robert Gault was triumphantly pushing Barbara's canoe to land through the gold-green sedges on the Second Westings shore of the little lake. With pole and paddle he had made the ascent of the stream from Gault House, having been seized that morning with a violent conviction that it was his duty to return the canoe without delay. He had poled through the rapids, and paddled eagerly through the silent solemnities of the woods, too intent upon his purpose to be alive to their mystic influences. The furtive eyes that watched him from pine-tree boll and ironwood bush, from skyey branch or moss-veiled root, touched not his consciousness. To his self-centred mood the peopled stillness was empty as a desert. His eyes, at other times alert and not uninitiated, were turned inward upon his own dreams. He emerged from the great shadows, paddled through the meadowy windings with their iris-beds and lilies, and passed at length old Debby's clamorous dooryard, giving hardly a glance to the green slope with its ducks and fowls, the little red-doored cabin against its trees, or old Debby herself, with the cock-eared yellow pup beside her, sitting on the stoop. He was in a hurry, and had caught glimpses of the open waters of the lake beyond; and he knew from Barbara's description that Mistress Mehitable's landing-place was straight across the lake.

But old Debby, sitting knitting in the sun with the cock-eared yellow pup beside her, saw him, and chuckled at his haste. She had been over to Second Westings the day before, and had got the whole story from Doctor Jim. She had made up her mind to keep well out of the way, till Barbara's indignation should have time to cool; but she was mightily interested in the youth who had been so readily persuaded to the backing of Barbara's mad venture. A moment later she made up her mind that she must have a good look at him, a word with him if possible. She got up and hobbled actively down to the shore; but Robert's haste had carried him already beyond earshot.

Following the path up from the lake-shore, Robert crossed the cow-pasture and climbed the bars back of the barn. Here he was met and challenged by Keep, the mastiff, who, with the discernment of a well-bred dog, appreciated Robert's good clothes, nosed his hand cordially, and let him pass without protest. Keep knew a gentleman at a glance, and was convinced that good manners meant good morals. He had no fear of Robert setting fire to the barn.

Seeking a way to the front of the house, Robert passed through the wicket leading into the back garden. Suddenly, between the tall clumps of hollyhocks, he stopped short, and his heart gave a queer little sliding leap. His breath came quick and light, in a way that greatly perplexed him. What he saw to so disturb him was a pair of little scarlet shoes, two small ankles, and a few inches of slim, shapely silk stockings, lithely intertwined, and vividly in evidence beneath a screen of apple-leaves.

Robert did not need any one to tell him that the rest of the bewildering picture, hidden behind the screen of apple-leaves, was the small, inspiring lady, Mistress Barbara Ladd. He hesitated, and was almost on the point of slipping away, – he knew not why, for the life of him. Then, recovering a part of his composure, he stepped forward in trepidation, hat in hand, forgot the graceful speeches on which he was wont to pride himself, and stammered – "Mistress Barbara! – I beg your pardon!"

The slim ankles unlocked, "Clarissa" fell upon the grass, and lightly as a bird Barbara sprang down from her perch, unconscious, unembarrassed, gracious in her greetings. She smiled him radiant welcome, frankly pleased, and held out her hand to be kissed.

"Why, how did you come?" she cried, gaily, "stealing in this way through the back premises?"

"By water, dear lady," he answered, still stammering. "I brought back the canoe, you know!"

"By my dear river, and through the great, still woods!" she exclaimed, looking him over with clear eyes of approval. "How lovely! I wish I'd been with you!"

"I wish you had!" said Robert, with devout conviction.

"But how tired you must be, all that journey against the current. Really, Robert, it was very nice of you to come so soon!"

Now Robert was in a sad state of bewilderment, dazzled by eyes and lips and scarlet shoes. And he was further shaken from his customary poise by his perception of Barbara's change in the arrangement of her hair, and by what seemed a sudden increase in her stature through the lengthening of her frocks. Otherwise he would not have been so stupid as to imagine that the promptitude of his coming called for any apology in Barbara's eyes, whatever might be the opinion of Doctor John, or Doctor Jim, or Mistress Mehitable Ladd!

"I thought I ought to come at once, you know," he explained, "to bring back the canoe! Otherwise I should have waited, as I ought, for Mr. Glenowen's coming, and an invitation from him."

"Oh!" said Barbara, her face changing slightly, her voice growing a little cooler. "That was very thoughtful of you. I couldn't sleep for thinking of the canoe!"

Robert looked at her doubtfully, wondering if that were sarcasm in her voice.

"It's a dear canoe. I love it!" said he.

"I wonder you did not want to keep it a little longer, then, – at least, till Uncle Bob could come and send you a proper, formal invitation to bring it back!" said Barbara.

"But I wanted to bring it back now, – I thought it was such a good excuse for coming at once, though I knew I ought to have waited for the invitation, of course," persisted Robert, vaguely worried.

"Oh!" exclaimed Barbara, again, allowing herself to be mollified in part, but still feeling a shade of disappointment. She was too inexperienced to appreciate the tribute of Robert's confusion and unexpected awkwardness. She liked him so much better in his grand, elaborate, self-possessed manner, paying stately compliments, making her feel important and grown-up by formal homage. However, he certainly was very nice, and he certainly looked very distinguished; and she realised that, for all his apparent solicitude about returning the canoe, the canoe was not his reason for coming so soon. She would forgive him, – but she would punish him! In fact, she was making progress in the arts of the imperishable feminine.

"Well, we shall all be glad to see you, Robert," she said. "And now you must go straight to Doctor Jim, who did invite you, as you seem to have forgotten! You go through that white gate, over there, and turn to the left, and then the first turn to the right puts you right on the main street. You're almost at Doctor Jim's then, – any one will point it out to you."

"But, – I didn't come to see Doctor Jim," protested Robert, much taken aback. "I came to bring back the canoe, you know!"

"Of course, I understand!" said Barbara, sweetly. "Tell Doctor Jim and Doctor John that I want them to bring you back here presently, in an hour or two, to present you to Aunt Hitty, and have tea with us!"

"But can't I stay a little while now, – while no one knows I am here at all?" pleaded Robert.