The Old Gray Homestead Read online

  CHAPTER V

  Sylvia's sprain, as Austin had suspected, proved much more serious thanshe had admitted, but when the village doctor came about noon to dressher ankle, she insisted that she was none the worse for her longexposure, and that if she must lie still on a lounge for two weeks, theleast the family could do would be to humor her in everything, and spendas much time as possible with her, or she would certainly die ofboredom. She passed the entire day in making and unfolding plans,looking up the sailing dates of steamships, and writing letters ofintroduction for Austin. By night she had the satisfaction of knowingthat Weston's offer for the south meadow had been accepted, that theWallacetown Bank and the insurance money would furnish part of theneeded funds, and that she was to be allowed to loan the rest, and thatthe little brick cottage belonged to her. The fact that Austin had had along talk with his father and brother, and that his passage for Hollandhad been engaged by telegraph, seemed scarcely less of an achievement toher; but Mrs. Gray noticed, as she kissed her little benefactress afterseeing her comfortably settled for the night, that her usually palecheeks were very red and her eyes unnaturally bright, and worried overher all night long.

  The next morning there could be no doubt of the fact that Sylvia wasreally ill, and two days later Dr. Wells shook his head withdissatisfaction after using his thermometer and stethoscope. He was aconscientious man who lacked self-confidence, and the look of things wasdisquieting to him.

  "I think you ought to get a nurse," he said in the hall to Mrs. Gray ashe went out, "and probably she would like to have her own doctor from thecity in consultation, and some member of her family come to her. It looksto me very much as if we were in for bronchial pneumonia, and she's adelicate little thing at best."

  Sylvia was laughing when Mrs. Gray, bent on being both firm and tactful,reentered her room. "Tell Dr. Wells he must make his stage-whisperssofter if he doesn't want me to overhear him," she said, "and don't thinkof ordering the funeral flowers just yet. I'm not delicate--I'm strong asan ox--if I weren't I shouldn't be alive at all. Get a nurse by all meansif it will make things easier for you--that's the only reason I need one.They're usually more bother than they're worth, but I know of two orthree who might do fairly well, if any one of them is free. My doctor isan old fogey, and I won't have him around. As for family, I'm not asgreatly blessed--numerically or otherwise--in that respect as the Grays,but my Uncle Mat would love to come, I feel sure, as he's rather hurt atmy runaway conduct." She gave the necessary addresses, and stillpersisting that they were making a great fuss about nothing, turned overon her pillow in a violent fit of coughing.

  Sylvia was right in one thing: she was much stronger than Dr. Wellsguessed, and though the next week proved an anxious one for every memberof the household except herself, it was not a dismal one. Even if shewere flat on her back, her spirit and her vitality remained contagious.Thomas, whose state of mind was by this time quite apparent to thefamily, though he imagined it to be a well-concealed secret, hung aboutoutside her door, positive that she was going to die, and broughtofferings in the shape of flowers, early apples, and pet animals which hethought might distract her. Austin, who shared his room, insisted that hecould not sleep because Thomas groaned and sighed so all night; Mollypertly asked him why he did not try rabbits, as kittens did not seem toappeal to Sylvia, and his mother bantered him half-seriously for thinkingof "any one so far above him" whose heart, moreover, was buried "in thegrave." Austin's somewhat expurgated version of Sylvia's story put an endto the latter part of the protest, but sent his hearers into a newferment of excitement and sympathy. Sally, who was all ready to startfor a "ball" in Wallacetown with Fred when she heard it, declared shecouldn't go one step, it made her feel "that low in her spirits," andFred replied, by gosh, he didn't blame her one mite; whereat theywandered off and spent the evening at a very comfortable distance fromthe house, but fairly close together, revelling in a wealth of gruesomefacts and suppositions. Katherine said she certainly never would marry atall, men were such dreadful creatures, and Molly said, yes, indeed, butwhat else _could_ a girl marry?--while Edith determined to devote therest of _her_ life to attending and adoring the lovely, sad, droopingwidow, whose existence was to be one long poem of beautiful seclusion;and she was so pleased with her own ideas, and her manner of expressingthem, that she wept scalding tears into the broth she was making forSylvia as she stirred it over the stove.

  The presence of "Uncle Mat," greatly dreaded beforehand, proved anunexpected source of solace and delight. He was a quiet, shrewd littleman, not unlike Sylvia in many ways, but with a merry twinkle in his eye,and a brisk manner of speech which she did not possess. He sized up theGray family quickly, and apparently with satisfaction, for he talkedquite freely of his niece to them, and they saw that they were not alonein their estimate of her.

  "It certainly was a great stroke of luck all round--for her as well asfor you--when she blew in here," he said, "but if you knew what anawful hole we think she's left behind her in New York you'd thinkyourselves doubly lucky to have her all to yourselves. There's morethan one young man, I can tell you"--with a sly look atThomas--"watching out for her return. You should have seen her at aparty I gave for her three years ago or more, dressed in a pink frocklooped up with roses, and with cheeks to match! She wasn't always thispale little shadow, I can tell you. Well, the boys were around her thatnight like bees round a honeysuckle bush--no denying there's somethingalmighty irresistible about these little, soft-looking girls, now, isthere? Ah! her roses didn't last long, poor child. Now you've given hera good, healthful place to live in, and something to think about anddo--she'd have lost her reason without them, after all she's beenthrough. But when you're tired of her, I want her. I'm a poor, forlornlonely old bachelor, and I need her a great deal more than any of you.What do you say to a little walk, Mr. Gray, before we turn in? I wantto have a look at your fine farm. I have a farm myself--no such grandold place as this, of course, but a neat little toy not far from thecity, where I can run down Sundays. Sylvia used to be very fond ofgoing down with me. It's from my foreman, a queer, scientificchap--Jenkins his name is--that she's picked up all these notionsshe's been unloading on you. Pretty good, most of them, aren't they,though? You must run down there some time, boys, and look thingsover--it's well to go about a bit when one's thinking of building andbranching out--Sylvia's idea, exactly, isn't it?"

  Mr. Gray and Thomas did "run down," seizing the opportunity while Austinwas still at home, and while there was practically no farm-work to bedone. Jenkins did the honors of Mr. Stevens's little place handsomely,and they returned with magnificent plans, from the erection of silos andthe laying of concrete floors to the proper feeding of poultry. When"Uncle Mat" was obliged to return to his business, after staying over twoweeks with the Grays, Austin went with him, for he suggested that hewould be glad to have the boy as his guest in New York for a few daysbefore he sailed.

  "You better have a glimpse of the 'neat little toy,' too," he said,"and perhaps see something of a rather neat little city, too! You'llwant to do a little shopping and so on, and I might be of assistance inthat way."

  "I don't see how you can go," said Thomas to Austin the night before heleft, as they were undressing, "while Sylvia is still in bed, and won'tbe around for another week at least. She's responsible for all yourtremendous good fortune, and you'll leave without even saying thank youand good-bye. You're a darned queer ungrateful cuss, and always were."

  "I know it," said Austin, "and such being the 'nature of the beast,'don't bother trying to make me over. You can be grateful and devotedenough for both of us. Now, do shut up and let me go to sleep--I surewill be thankful to get a room to myself, if I'm not for anything else."

  "I don't see how any one can help being crazy over her," continuedThomas, thumping his pillow as if he would like to pummel any one whodisagreed with him.

  "Don't you?" asked Austin.

  The next night he was in New York with Mr. Stevens, trying hard to feelnatural in a tiny flat
which was only one of fifty in the same greathouse. A colored butler served an elaborate dinner at eight o'clock inthe evening, and brought black coffee, liqueurs, and cigars into theliving-room afterwards, and, worst of all, unpacked all his scantybelongings and laid them about his room. Austin really suffered, and thecold perspiration ran down his back, but he watched his host carefullyand waited from one moment to another to see what would be expected ofhim next; he managed, too, before he went to bed, to ask a question whichhad been on his mind for some time.

  "Would you mind telling me, sir, where Sylvia's mother is?"

  Uncle Mat shot one of his keen little glances in Austin's direction."Why, no, not at all, as nearly as I can," he said. "My brother,Austin, made a most unfortunate match; his wife was a mean, mercenary,greedy woman, as hard as nails, and as tough as leather--but handsome,oh, very handsome, as a girl, and clever, I assure you. I have oftenbeen almost glad that my brother did not live long enough to see her inher real colors. She married, very soon after Sylvia herself, aworthless Englishman--discharged from the army, I believe, who hadprobably been her lover for some time. Cary gave her a check for ahundred thousand to get rid of her the day after his wedding to Sylvia,and the pair are probably living in great comfort on that at somesecond-rate French resort."

  "Thank you for telling me; but it's rather awful, isn't it, that any oneshould have to think of her mother as Sylvia must? Why, my mother--" Hestopped, flushing as he thought of how commonplace, how homely andordinary, his mother had often seemed to him, how he had brooded over hisfather's "unfortunate match." "My mother has worked her fingers to thebone for all of us, and I believe she'd let herself be chopped in piecesto help us gladly any day."

  "Yes," assented Mr. Stevens, "I know she would. There are--severaldifferent kinds of mothers in the world. It's a thousand pities Sylviadid not have a fair show at a job of that sort. She would have been oneof the successful kind, I fancy."

  "It would seem so," said Austin.