Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville. Baum Lyman Frank
taught school for two years, and might have a life tenure if she cared to retain the position. As he looked at her neat gown and noted the grace and ease of her movements the agent acknowledged that he had really "come to the right shop" to untangle his perplexing difficulties.
"New folks is comin' to the Cap'n Wegg farm," he announced, as a beginning.
She turned and looked at him queerly.
"Has Joe sold the place?" she asked.
"Near a year ago. Some fool rich man has bought it and is comin' down here to spend his summer vacation, he says. Here, read his letters. They'll explain it better 'n I can."
Her hand trembled a little as she took the letters McNutt pulled from his pocket. Then she sat upon a bench and read them all through. By that time she had regained her composure.
"The gentleman is somewhat eccentric," she remarked; "but he will make no mistake in coming to this delightful place, if he wishes quiet and rest."
"Don't know what he's after, I'm sure," replied the man. "But he's sent down enough furniture an' truck to stock a hotel, an' I want to know ef you'll go over an' put it in the rooms, an' straighten things out."
"Me!"
"Why, yes. You've lived in cities some, an' know how citified things go.
Con-twist it, Ethel, there's things in the bunch that neither I ner Nick
Thorne ever hearn tell of, much less knowin' what they're used for."
The girl laughed.
"When are the folks coming?" she asked.
"When I git things in shape. They've sent some money down to pay fer what's done, so you won't have to work fer nuthin'."
"I will, though," responded the girl, in a cheery tone. "It will delight me to handle pretty things. Are Nora and Tom still there?"
"Oh, yes. I had orders to turn the Huckses out, ye see; but I didn't do it."
"I'm glad of that," she returned, brightly "Perhaps we may arrange it so they can stay. Old Nora's a dear."
"But she's blind."
"She knows every inch of the Wegg house, and does her work more thoroughly than many who can see. When do you want me, Peggy?"
"Soon's you kin come."
"Then I'll be over tomorrow morning."
At that moment a wild roar, like that of a beast, came from the house. The sad faced woman ran down a passage; a door slammed, and then all was quiet again.
McNutt hitched uneasily from the wooden foot to the good one.
"How's ol' Will?" he enquired, in a low voice.
"Grandfather's about as usual," replied the girl, with trained composure.
"Still crazy as a bedbug?"
"At times he becomes a bit violent; but those attacks never last long."
"Don't s'pose I could see him?" ventured the agent, still in hesitating tones.
"Oh, no; he has seen no visitor since Captain Wegg died."
"Well, good-bye, Ethel. See you at the farm in the mornin'."
The girl sat for a long time after McNutt had driven away, seemingly lost in revery.
"Poor Joe!" she sighed, at last. "Poor, foolish Joe. I wonder what has become of him?"
CHAPTER IV.
ETHEL MAKES PREPARATION
The Wegg homestead stood near the edge of a thin forest of pines through which Little Bill Creek wound noisily on its way to the lake. At the left was a slope on which grew a neglected orchard of apple and pear trees, their trunks rough and gnarled by the struggle to outlive many severe winters. There was a rude, rocky lane in front, separated from the yard by a fence of split pine rails, but the ground surrounding the house was rich enough to grow a profusion of June grass.
The farm was of very little value. Back of the yard was a fairly good berry patch, but aside from that some two acres of corn and a small strip of timothy represented all that was fertile of the sixty acres the place contained.
But the house itself was the most imposing dwelling for many miles around. Just why that silent old sea-dog, Jonas Wegg, had come into this secluded wilderness to locate was a problem the Millville people had never yet solved. Certainly it was with no idea of successfully farming the land he had acquired, for half of it was stony and half covered by pine forest. But the house he constructed was the wonder of the country-side in its day. It was a big, two-story building, the lower half being "jest cobblestones," as the neighbors sneeringly remarked, while the upper half was "decent pine lumber." The lower floor of this main building consisted of a single room with a great cobble-stone fireplace in the center of the rear wall and narrow, prison-like windows at the front and sides. There was a small porch in front, with a great entrance door of carved dark wood of a foreign look, which the Captain had brought from some port in Massachusetts. A stair in one corner of the big living room led to the second story, where four large bed-chambers were arranged. These had once been plastered and papered, but the wall-paper had all faded into dull, neutral tints and in one of the rooms a big patch of plaster had fallen away from the ceiling, showing the bare lath. Only one of the upstairs rooms had ever been furnished, and it now contained a corded wooden bedstead, a cheap pine table and one broken-legged chair. Indeed, the main building, which I have briefly described, had not been in use for many years. Sometimes, when Captain Wegg was alive, he would build a log fire in the great fireplace on a winter's evening and sit before it in silent mood until far into the night. And once, when his young wife had first occupied the new house, the big room had acquired a fairly cosy and comfortable appearance. But it had always been sparsely furnished, and most of the decadent furniture that now littered it was useless and unlovely.
The big wooden lean-to at the back, and the right wing, were at this time the only really habitable parts of the mansion. The lean-to had an entrance from the living room, but Old Hucks and Nora his wife used the back door entirely. It consisted of a large and cheerful kitchen and two rooms off it, one used as a store room and the other as a sleeping chamber for the aged couple.
The right wing was also constructed of cobble-stone, and had formerly been Captain Wegg's own chamber. After his death his only child, Joe, then a boy of sixteen, had taken possession of his father's room; but after a day or two he had suddenly quitted the house where he was born and plunged into the great outside world – to seek his fortune, it was said. Decidedly there was no future for the boy here; in the cities lurks opportunity.
When Ethel Thompson arrived in the early morning that followed her interview with McNutt she rode her pony through the gap in the rail fence, across the June grass, and around to the back door. On a bench beside the pump an old woman sat shelling peas. Her form was thin but erect and her hair snowy white. She moved with alertness, and as the girl dismounted and approached her she raised her head and turned a pleasant face with deep-set, sightless gray eyes upon her visitor.
"Good morning, Ethel, dear," she said. "I knew the pony's whinney.
You're up early today."
"Good morning, Nora," responded the schoolteacher, advancing to kiss the withered cheek. "Are you pretty well?"
"In body, dear. In mind both Tom 'n' me's pretty bad. I s'pose we couldn't 'a 'spected to stay here in peace forever; but the blow's come suddin-like, an' it hurts us."
"Where is Tom?"
"In the barn, lookin' over all the won'erful things the rich nabob has sent here. He says most things has strips o' wood nailed over 'em; but some hasn't; an' Tom looks 'em over keerful an' then tells me 'bout 'em. He's gone to take another look at a won'erful new cook-stove, so's he kin describe it to me right pertickler."
"Is he worried, Nora?"
"We's both worried, Ethel. Our time's come, an' no mistake. Peggy McNutt says as he had real orders to turn Hucks out if he was a married man; an' there's no disclaimin' he's married, is there? Peggy's a kind man, an' tol' us to keep stayin' 'til the nabobs arrove. Then I guess we'll git our walkin'-papers,