The Staying Guest

CHAPTER XIX

LADYBIRD vs. LAVINIA

One day, Ladybird, watching from her window, saw a hack drive up to Primrose Hall. A middle-aged gentleman got out.

“Mr. William H. Ward,” she said to herself, serenely.

Next appeared a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of about fourteen.

“Lavinia Flint!” said Ladybird; and putting her little black head down on Cloppy’s fat back, she cried as if her heart would break.

“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, you and I, Clops,” she said, “because, if that isn’t the real Lavinia, there’s no use in our making a fuss; and if it is, why, then she is It, and we’re nothing, and that’s all there is about that!”

A little later Martha came to the door and said, “Miss Ladybird, you’re wanted in the parlor.”

“Martha,” said Ladybird, looking straight at the maid, “you go down and say to my Aunt Priscilla that I want that Lovell girl to come up here. And after I have seen her, we will both go down to the parlor.”

“Yes, miss,” said Martha.

She soon reappeared, bringing the visitor with her.

Ladybird took the new-comer by the hand, drew her into the room, and shut the door.

“I wanted to see you,” she explained, “before I make up my mind what I am going to do. I suppose it’s all true, – of course it must be, – that you’re Lavinia Flint’s daughter, and I’m not, though we are both the children of John Lovell.”

“Goodness,” said the yellow-haired girl, “you talk like a lawyer!”

“I am serious,” said Ladybird, with all her dignity, and she had a good deal, “because I have to be. It’s a pretty big thing to think that you’re not the person you thought you were; especially after you’ve had to fight for your place, anyhow.”

“What are you talking about?” said the other.

“Never you mind what I’m talking about,” said Ladybird; “the question is, What can you talk about? If you’re going to live here with my aunts, – with your aunts, I mean, – and I suppose you are, can you love them and do as much for them as I could?”

At this Ladybird, much to her own disgust, broke down entirely, and wept again on Cloppy’s already soaking back.

“Don’t be silly,” said her visitor. “I think you’re making a great fuss over nothing; probably we’ll both stay here. That would suit me, and I’m sure there’s room enough.”

“Oh, there’s room enough,” said Ladybird, impatiently; “that isn’t the question; there’s room enough in Primrose Hall for a whole army. But right is right, and if you’re Lavinia Lovell, the daughter of Lavinia Flint Lovell, why, you belong here, and I don’t. And of course I’m not going to make any fuss about it; but please be good to my aunts, – your aunts, I mean, – and especially Aunt Priscilla.”

“Why Aunt Priscilla?” said Lavinia Lovell, curiously. “I haven’t seen much of them, but I like Aunt Dorinda better.”

“That’s just the reason,” said Ladybird, nodding her wise head: “it’s because you haven’t seen much of them that you like Aunt Dorinda better. I did, too, when I hadn’t seen much of them.”

“But now?” said Lavinia Lovell.

“But now,” said Ladybird, “I love Aunt Priscilla most. There’s no use talking, I do. You see, Aunt Dorinda is lovely, and sweet, and placid, but Aunt Priscilla is decided, and that’s the thing! Lavinia Lovell, if you’re going to live here in my place, and I suppose you are, just remember that Aunt Priscilla’s decision is worth more than Aunt Dorinda’s sweetness.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lavinia Lovell.

“I’m talking about what I know about, and you don’t seem to know anything,” said Ladybird. “And now, if you please, we’ll go down-stairs.”

They went down the broad staircase hand in hand, – the real Lavinia Lovell, golden-haired and blue-eyed, and the other one, Ladybird, black-haired and dark-eyed, – and together, hand in hand, they entered the drawing-room, where the two Flint ladies sat talking to Mr. Ward.

“It’s all right, my aunties,” said Ladybird, advancing, and almost dragging the other, “it’s all right; and this new girl is Lavinia Lovell, and I’m not. I’m Jack Lovell’s daughter, but I am not the daughter of Lavinia Flint, and so, aunty dear, I’ve no claim on you.”

Ladybird threw herself into Aunt Priscilla’s arms, and for a moment Miss Flint held her close, without saying a word.

Then she said: “Dear, Mr. Ward has told us all about it. Sister Dorinda and I understand it all. You are not our niece; you are in no way related to us.” Here Miss Priscilla’s grasp tightened. “You are in no way related to us. Lavinia Lovell, who has just come, is our niece; but, Ladybird, I love you.”

“That’s all right, aunty,” said Ladybird, cheerfully; “I understand the whole business. Lavinia Lovell, the new girl, who has just arrived, is the daughter of Lavinia Flint, your sister, and I am not. But, Aunt Priscilla, – oh, no, you are not even my aunt. Well, then, Miss Priscilla Flint of Primrose Hall, do you love me?”

“I love you,” said Miss Priscilla, and the embrace in which she held Ladybird left no doubt in the mind of anybody present.

“Quite so,” said Mr. Ward, “quite so. But may I remind you, Miss Flint, that the young lady whom I have brought with me, Miss Lavinia Lovell, has a claim, I may say a previous claim, upon your recognition?”

“You may say a previous claim,” said Miss Dorinda Flint, who had not spoken for some time; “but is a previous claim to take precedence of a claim preferred?”

“Oh, aunty,” cried Ladybird, flying to Aunt Dorinda, and throwing her arms around the old lady’s neck, “that’s just it; relationship can’t come in ahead of me, can it?”

“No,” said Aunt Dorinda, slipping her arm round the excited child.

“But,” said the smooth lawyer voice of Mr. Ward – “but, my dear Miss Flint, and my dear Miss Dorinda Flint, you must realize that my client and protégée, Miss Lavinia Lovell, has a claim upon your interests that this child whom you call Ladybird never can have.”

“Never!” said Ladybird; and dropping her head on Cloppy’s silvery back, she wept as one who could not be comforted.

“That’s not true,” and Miss Priscilla Flint’s voice rang out like a clarion. “You have proved to us, beyond shadow of doubt, that this new little girl, this Lavinia Lovell, is our niece, the daughter of our sister – and yet – you cannot take away from us the fact that Ladybird, our Ladybird, is ours forever and ever!”

At this Ladybird flew back to Miss Priscilla, and was clasped in her arms. But Miss Dorinda, holding Lavinia Lovell by the hand, said:

“Sister, you love Ladybird, and so do I; but this child is Lavinia Lovell, the daughter of our sister Lavinia; and while we can love Ladybird as a friend, and as an outside interest, yet here is our niece, here is our inheritance, and to her is due our affection.”

Miss Priscilla, still holding Ladybird in her arms, said:

“Let her then prove herself worthy of it.”

“No, aunty,” said Ladybird, rousing herself, “no; that is not necessary. If Lavinia Lovell is your niece, and she is, then her place is here and my place is not.”

“What are you going to do, baby?” said Miss Priscilla, kissing Ladybird with unusual tenderness.

“Well,” said Ladybird, judiciously, as one who was thinking out a great problem – “well, I don’t know; but I think I shall go to live with Chester and Stella.”

“You couldn’t do better,” said Aunt Priscilla, laughing.

“Will you come, too?” said Ladybird, patting Miss Priscilla’s apple-cheek.

“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla; but nobody heard her except Ladybird, for Mr. Ward had already begun to speak.

“In the interests of my client,” he said, “I am obliged to press the claims of Lavinia Lovell, the oldest daughter of John Lovell, against the claims of Ladybird, a younger daughter of the same man.”

“But I make no claims,” said Ladybird, who was cuddling in Miss Priscilla’s arms. “If that other Lavinia wants my place, and if she has claims and papers and things to prove she has a right to it, why, let her come and take it, that’s all.”

“That’s all,” said Miss Priscilla.

“Well, she has,” said Mr. Ward,

“Yes,” said Miss Dorinda; “go on.”

“There is only this,” said Mr. Ward: “my papers, which I have shown to you ladies, prove conclusively that Lavinia Lovell, whom I have just brought to you, is your niece; and this other child, whom you have accepted as your niece, is not such, although she is the daughter of your sister’s husband by his second wife.”

“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, holding Ladybird closer.

“Yes,” said Ladybird, in a contented tone.

“And so,” said Mr. Ward, going on with some difficulty – “and so, Lavinia Lovell, the child I have brought to you, is your niece, and consequently dependent upon you.”

“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, still holding Ladybird close.

“Yes,” said Ladybird, still contentedly.

“And of course,” went on Mr. Ward, “you, as her aunts, and her only living relatives, are responsible for her welfare.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Dorinda, who was holding the calm, golden-haired child by the hand.

“Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla, who was holding Ladybird and Cloppy both in her arms.

“Then,” said Mr. Ward, “may I assume that you, the Misses Flint, undertake the maintenance and support of Lavinia Lovell?”

“Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, with great dignity, although she spoke over the shoulder of a turbulent child, and a no less quivering dog – “certainly we undertake the support and maintenance of the child who is, as you have proved to us, the daughter of our sister Lavinia.”

“And what about me, aunty?” said Ladybird.

“You are ours, also, child,” said Miss Priscilla; “and I would just like to see you get away!”

“You’re a nice lady, aunty,” said Ladybird, stroking the withered cheek of Miss Priscilla. “And do you mean that it is settled that I am to live here with this new Lavinia Lovell?”

“It isn’t a new Lavinia Lovell,” said Aunt Dorinda, “for you aren’t Lavinia Lovell at all; you’re only Ladybird Lovell.”

“That’s enough for me,” said the child, chuckling; “for you know perfectly well, Aunt Dorinda, that I never wanted to be anything but Ladybird.”

“Well, then,” said Mr. Ward, “do I understand, Miss Flint, that you will keep both of these children?”

“It seems to me,” said Miss Priscilla, grimly, “that I have no choice. Lavinia Lovell I will keep with pleasure, because she is the daughter of my sister; and Ladybird Lovell I keep because I love her.”

“And because I love you,” said Ladybird, as she flung her arms round Miss Priscilla’s neck.

CHAPTER XX

HALF-SISTERS

The next day Chester Humphreys and Stella Russell sat talking together. They were sitting on the ground under a certain historic apple-tree, and the young man held the girl’s very pretty hand in both his own.

“Stella mine,” he said, “I don’t like the idea of that new Lavinia taking the place of our Ladybird.”

“She doesn’t take her place,” said Stella; “anybody can see that Ladybird has her own place with the Flint ladies, and nobody can put her out of it.”

“I understand all that,” said Chester, in his decided way; “but all the same, this new girl is the Flint heiress, and will eventually be the owner of Primrose Farm – that dear old place that has belonged to the Flints for generations.”

“So she will,” said Stella; “and it’s perfectly horrid! I think Miss Priscilla ought to deed the place to Ladybird. That child loves every nook and corner of it. In the short time she has been here she has made herself a part of it, and I can no more think of Primrose Hall without Ladybird, than without Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda.”

“But in a few years,” said Chester, musingly, “there will be no Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda.”

“Of course,” said Stella, “that’s what I often think. And after they’re gone, that place must belong to Ladybird.”

“But it can’t, dear,” said Chester. “You see, Lavinia is the rightful heir, and of course, after the death of the old ladies, the farm must belong to her. But they aren’t dead yet,” he went on, cheerfully, “and meantime I have troubles of my own. Little girl, when are you going to marry me?”

“Is that one of your troubles?” said Stella, smiling straight into his brown eyes.

“It will be a trouble,” said Chester, “until you tell me the day when my troubles shall end.”

“Then you’ll be troubled for a good while,” said Stella, still smiling, “because I’m not going to marry you for ever and ever so long.”

“You’re not! Well, I just guess you are, miss!”

“Indeed!” said Stella. “And, pray, what have you to say about it?”

“Oh, I haven’t anything to say,” responded young Humphreys, airily; “but I can scream for help; I’ll call in Ladybird.”

“Here she is now,” called Ladybird’s cheery voice. “What do you want of her?”

“Nothing,” called back Stella, quickly; “nothing but your delightful society. Come and sit with us.”

“Thank you, we will,” said Ladybird, who was accompanied by Lavinia; and the two children came and seated themselves on the grass under the old apple-tree.

“We’re getting acquainted with each other,” said Ladybird, as, drawing a long sigh, she settled herself in a comfortable position, and rolled Cloppy into a small ball in her lap.

“How do you like the process?” said Stella, turning to Lavinia with a pleasant smile.

“She doesn’t like it a bit,” said Ladybird; “but she’s too polite to say so. You see,” she went on, “we’re half-sisters, Lavinia and I, and so we only half like each other. She only likes half the things I like. She likes me, but she doesn’t like Cloppy. She likes my aunts, – her aunts, I mean, – but she doesn’t like Primrose Hall.”

“Well, then, what of us?” said Chester, indicating himself and Stella. “I suppose she likes only one.”

“I suppose so,” said Ladybird, her eyes dancing; “but I don’t know which one.”

“Never mind,” said Stella, hastily. “We don’t want to know which one. We’re both vain enough now. But tell me, Lavinia, don’t you like Primrose Hall?”

“No,” said Lavinia, who was of a straightforward, not to say blunt, nature, “I don’t. It’s not like England, and though my aunts are very kind, they’re not like my grandmother.”

“You mean your grandmother Lovell, I suppose?” said Chester.

“Yes,” said Lavinia – “my father’s mother.”

“My father’s mother, too,” said Ladybird. “But I don’t care a cent about her; I’d rather have my aunties, who are no relation to me, than all the mothers my father ever had.”

“Ah, but you don’t know Grandma Lovell!” said Lavinia.

“No, I don’t,” said Ladybird, “and I don’t want to.”

“But she’s such a dear!” said Lavinia, with almost the first spark of enthusiasm she had shown since coming to America.

“Why is she?” said Ladybird. “What does she do?”

“Oh, she has such a jolly place in London, and we go out driving, and shopping, and even calling. I sit in the carriage while she goes in. Oh, we had beautiful times, and it’s very different from this dull, stupid, farmy old place!”

“Yes, it is different,” said Ladybird, seriously, “I know. I know all about shopping, and calling, and all those things. I did it in India, but I didn’t like it one bit; and I think it’s a thousand times nicer to be at Primrose Hall, with orchards and brooks and trees and birds and sunshine, and my aunts.”

“Oh, do you?” said Lavinia. “Well, I’d rather have one year of London life than a thousand years of Primrose Hall.”

“Well, then, you’re all right,” said Ladybird, “for probably you can get one year of London life again before you die.”

“I hope so, I’m sure,” said Lavinia, so earnestly that they all laughed.

“And if I can help you in any way,” said Ladybird, “I shall be very glad to.”

“I never saw anybody you couldn’t help,” said Stella; whereupon, for some reason, Chester kissed Ladybird, and they all went back to Primrose Hall for dinner.

After dinner, the Flint ladies asked Stella and Mr. Humphreys into the drawing-room for a conference, from which Ladybird and Lavinia were excluded.

“I have had a letter,” began Miss Priscilla, “from London – from Mrs. Lovell, the mother of Jack Lovell, who married our sister Lavinia. In it she says that she is old and alone, and that she wants one of her son’s daughters to live with her. She suggests that Ladybird should come, because, she says, we will naturally want to keep our own niece ourselves. She seems so positive of this that she takes the situation quite for granted and says that we are to send Ladybird over to her at the first opportunity. Now, of course, she is quite right in stating, as she does, that Lavinia is our own blood-niece, while Ladybird is no relation to us whatever; but she is not right in assuming that for those reasons we love Lavinia best.”

“Lavinia seems to be a very sweet girl,” said Stella.

And Miss Dorinda said: “She is indeed a sweet, modest, amiable young girl.”

“She is all of that,” said Miss Priscilla; “and, on the other hand, Ladybird is a fiery, mischievous little scamp; and yet I suppose it’s because I’ve known her longer, but somehow I love Ladybird a thousand times the most.”

The portières at the doorway parted and Ladybird came in. Calmly walking toward the open piano, she seated herself on the keyboard of that instrument with her feet on the piano-stool. This position she took and kept in such a serene, gentle way that it seemed, after all, the only correct place for her to sit.

“No, aunty,” she said placidly, resting her chin on her little, thin brown hand, “it isn’t because you’ve known me longer than Lavinia that you love me more; it’s because I suit you better. Lavinia is a dear girl, and I like her – pretty well; but she isn’t our sort; and somehow she hasn’t any gumption about fun.”

Ladybird was not familiar with the phrase “sense of humor,” or she would have used it right here.

“And so,” she went on cheerfully, “I hear you’ve had a letter from old Mrs. Lovell.”

“Your grandmother, Ladybird,” said Miss Priscilla, a little severely. “And how did you hear it?”

“Yes, my grandmother,” said Ladybird. “And I heard it by listening at the hall door.”

“You’re a naughty girl,” said Miss Dorinda.

“I am,” said Ladybird, serenely; “no nice old lady in London would want such a naughty girl as I am, would she?”

“That doesn’t matter, Ladybird,” said Miss Priscilla. “And you must stop your nonsense now; for your grandmother Lovell has really sent for you, and you must go to her.”

“Indeed!” said Ladybird, with a most derisive accent. “Indeed!”

“Be quiet, Ladybird,” went on Miss Flint; “I am in earnest now – very much in earnest. Mrs. Lovell has sent for you; for naturally she wants one of her grandchildren with her, and Lavinia, being our niece, and the rightful heir to the Flint estates, must, of course, stay with us. By the way, where is the child?”

“She’s up in her room,” said Ladybird; “and she’s crying her eyes out because she can’t go back to England and live with her grandmother Lovell. But she’ll get over it. Oh, yes, she’ll get over it! She’ll change her mind, and she’ll love to live with her Primrose aunties; and she’ll forget all about her London grandmother! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes!”

Ladybird had bounded down from the piano-stool, and with her eyes flashing, and her voice rising to a higher pitch at each word, she flew out of the room, and was heard stamping up the stairs.

“Something must be done, Clops!” she said, shaking her dog almost viciously as she reached her own room. “Something must be done, and it must be done right away! Right here and now, and we’re the ones to do it, Cloppy-dog!”

Apparently the thing to be done was to write a letter, for Ladybird, with the force and flutter of a small cyclone, flew to her desk and began to write. She blotted and tore up many sheets of paper. She made Cloppy’s existence an exceedingly uncomfortable one. She reduced her small pocket-handkerchief to a damp string; but she finally achieved a result which seemed to her successful, and this was it:

To my Grandmother Lovell,

My dear Grandmother:

I am Ladybird Lovell, the daughter of your son Jack’s second wife. Perhaps you think I’m a nice child, but I am not, and this letter is to warn you. I am very, very bad; in fact, I am a turmigant of all the vices. Only to-day my Aunt Dorinda, who is sweetness itself, said I was the naughtiest child she ever saw. I think she has never seen any other, except Lavinia Lovell, my lovely and amiable half-sister and your beloved granddaughter. Which is the reason I am writing this to say I am quite sure you would prefer the gentle, charming, and delicious Lavinia, to the bad, naughty, and altogether disreputable Me.

And I am, my dear madam,Your disobedient servant,Ladybird Lovell.

P. S. Lavinia wants to go back to you just fearfully; she’s crying about it.

CHAPTER XXI

AN ORCHARD WEDDING

After Ladybird’s letter was safely on its way to her grandmother, the child told the Flint ladies what she had done, and Miss Priscilla decided to await the outcome of Ladybird’s communication before sending one of her own to Mrs. Lovell.

Matters went on quietly enough at Primrose Hall. The two children got on amiably, though by nature as far apart as the poles.

Chester came down often, and Stella had decided that her wedding should take place the following spring.

About the middle of September the letter for which Ladybird had been looking came. It was addressed to Miss Priscilla Flint, and was a most businesslike proposition, to the effect that Mrs. Lovell very much preferred her grandchild named Lavinia to the one called Ladybird, and if the Misses Flint were willing to renounce legally all claim to Lavinia, Mrs. Lovell would be only too glad to adopt the child and leave the Misses Flint in undisputed possession of her other grandchild, called Ladybird. A condition attached to this arrangement, however, was that, since the will of the child’s grandfather Flint entailed to her the title of the Primrose estate, the Misses Flint should pay to the estate of Lavinia Lovell such a sum of money as should represent her lawful inheritance of Primrose Hall, or such other Flint property as the Misses Flint might possess.

All of this arrangement found great favor in the eyes of those most concerned, except the clause relating to the inheritance; for the Flint ladies, although possessed of Primrose Hall and Farm, had no more money than was sufficient to maintain their home in such manner as they deemed appropriate.

The case was laid before Chester Humphreys, and he promised to think about it, which, in his bright lexicon of youth, meant to discuss it with Stella.

“You see, my dear,” he said as they talked it over, “the Primrose estate is not such a very great affair, after all, and it seems to me that as you and I owe our happiness primarily to Ladybird, there is only one thing to be done.”

“Can you afford it?” said Stella, simply.

“I certainly can,” replied Chester. “I can easily afford to buy Primrose Hall from the Flint ladies and settle it on Ladybird. The money can go to Lavinia, and she can return it to her grandmother Lovell. Then Ladybird will own Primrose Hall. The aunties can stay there as long as they live, and we’ll all be happy.”

“Two of us will, at any rate,” said Stella, as Chester kissed her.

“Not until the two are one,” he responded.

When the plan was submitted to the Flint ladies, they hesitated more than a little. It seemed a fearful thing to have the Flint property pass into other hands. But when those hands were Ladybird’s little brown claws, it altered the matter, and they finally agreed.

Lavinia was calmly pleased, and Ladybird was ecstatic.

“Chester,” she cried, “my own sweet, darling Chester, are you really going to do this for me?”

“I am,” said Chester, “in token of my deep gratitude.”

“Yes,” said Ladybird, nodding her wise little head, “I know, and you ought to be grateful. For nobody but me could ever have got Stella for you.”

“Quite so,” said Chester.

“And now,” said Ladybird, “since you have decided to do this, why can’t it be done at once?”

“It can,” said Miss Priscilla.

“Certainly,” said Chester; “the deeds can be drawn up at once.”

“And can I go to London?” said Lavinia, with more amiability than she had shown at any time since her arrival.