Talbot's Angles. Blanchard Amy Ella
Courageously as she met the situation, it was a trying morning. If her back was turned for but an instant, there were subdued snickers; if she made a statement, it was questioned; if she censured, there were black looks and whispers of disapproval. At last one offender, sneaking on his hands and knees to the desk of another boy, was captured and marched off to the principal, a last resort, as poor Linda's nerves could stand no more. She was near to crying, her voice trembled and her heart beat fast. She scarcely knew how she went through the rest of the morning, for, though her summary act had quelled open rebellion, she was not at ease and keenly felt the undercurrent of criticism. She did not realize that the boys were trying her spirit, and she went home discouraged and exhausted, a sense of defeat overcoming her.
As she was entering the gate, she met someone coming out, a young man, rather heavily built, with a keen, clever face, rather than a handsome one. "Ah, Miss Linda," he exclaimed, holding out his hand, "I've just been hearing about you."
"From Miss Ri, of course. Well, what has she been telling you?"
"It wouldn't do to say. How is the school going?"
"The school in general seems to be going very well; as to my part of it, the least said, the better."
"Really? What's the trouble?"
"I don't know exactly. I suppose that I am the trouble, perhaps; Miss Patterson seemed to get along well enough."
"Boys or girls do you have?"
"Boys; little wretches from eight to ten, such sinners, not a saint among them."
"Would you have even one saint? I wouldn't, for he couldn't be a truly normal, healthy boy. But I am keeping you standing and I know you are ready for your dinner. I'll walk back to the house with you, and you can tell me the particular kinds of sin that have annoyed you. I was a boy myself once, you know."
He walked by her side to the house. Miss Ri, seeing them coming, was at the door to meet them. "I thought I sent you home once, Berk Matthews," she said.
"So you did, but I took this way of going. Don't imagine for a moment that my return involves an invitation to dinner, Miss Ri."
"That is an excellent thing, for I don't intend to extend one."
"Could you believe that she would so fail in hospitality?" said the young man, turning to Linda. "I am mortified, Miss Ri, not because of the dinner, but that you should go back on the reputation of an Eastern Shore hostess. Isn't it a world-wide theory that we of the Eastern Shore never turn a guest from the door when there is the faintest possibility of his accepting a bid to a meal? Alas, that you should be the first to establish a precedent that will change the world's opinion of us."
Miss Ri laughed. "You would think I was a client for the other side and that he was using his wiles to get me fined, at least. Come along in, if you must; I can guarantee you better fare than you will get at the Jackson House, I am bound to say."
"That sounds alluring, but my feelings are hurt because I had to hint for an invitation."
"Could anything so obvious be dignified by the name of a hint? Very well, go along and cut off your nose to spite your face, if you like; you will be the loser."
"Not very complimentary, is she?" said Mr. Matthews, laughing. "I believe I will come now, just to show you that I am not to be badgered."
"Then don't stand there keeping us from our dinner. It is all ready, and I don't want it spoiled." Thus adjured, the young man followed the others into the dining-room, where Phebe was just setting forth the meal.
"Well, and how did it go to-day, Verlinda?" asked Miss Ri, when they had seated themselves.
"Don't ask her anything till after dinner," put in Mr. Matthews. "Things will assume an entirely different aspect when she has had something to eat. Just now the shooting of the young idea is not a pleasant process to contemplate, in the eyes of Miss Linda. We'll talk about something else. Where did you get these oysters, Miss Ri? I never tasted such a pie."
"Of course you didn't, for you never ate one made by such a cook. The oysters came from the usual place, but I'm in high feather, Berk, for I have the best cook in town. I have Linda's Phebe."
"You don't want another boarder?"
"Not I. Linda is adopted; she is not to be classed with common boarders, and I certainly don't want to spoil my ideal household by taking in a – "
"Mere man," interrupted Berkley. "Very well, I will find an excuse to come in every day about meal time. What are you going to have for supper?"
"Cold cornbread, dried apples and chipped beef," replied Miss Ri with gravity.
"That's mean. Well, I'll come around with the papers to-morrow."
"We're going to have the remains of the chipped beef and dried apples for dinner."
"Then I'll come about supper time; they can't last over three meals."
"You don't know the surviving qualities of those articles of diet; they may last a week with proper care."
"I'll come and find out. I can go in the back way and ask Phebe, or I might bribe her to throw the stuff over the fence to Miss Parthy's chickens."
"Don't you be up to any of your lawyer's tricks, Berk Matthews. I warn you, not a meal in my house shall you eat, if I hear of any shenannyging on your part."
"I'll be good then, but I'd like a piece of that pie, a nice big piece."
While all this nonsense was going on, Linda kept silence. She was really hungry and the light foolish talk was a relief, as the others intended it should be. In consequence, she went back to school in better spirits and the afternoon passed more satisfactorily.
True to his threat, Berkley Matthews did appear with some papers just before supper time, but refused to stay, telling Miss Ri with great glee that Miss Parthy had invited him to her house and that she was going to cook the supper herself, while he and her other guest, Wyatt Jeffreys, were going to help.
"Wyatt Jeffreys, Wyatt Jeffreys," repeated Linda. "That name sounds very familiar. I wonder where I have heard it. Where is he from, Miss Ri?"
"From Connecticut, I believe. Any more light on the case, Berk?"
"No. Nothing can be done till he shows up his papers, and they seem to be lost irrevocably. It's pretty hard on the poor chap, if there is really anything in the claim. Good-by, Miss Linda. I must be going, Miss Ri; you can't wheedle me into staying this time."
"Wheedle you!" cried Miss Ri in pretended indignation. "I can scarcely get rid of such a persistent beggar. Go along and don't come back."
"I'll have to," cried he. "You must sign those papers at once, this very evening."
"I'll bring them to your office to-morrow morning," Miss Ri called after him, but he only waved his hand with a parting "Shan't be there," and Miss Ri turned to Linda, laughing. "We always have it back and forth this way. He attends to my business, you know, and runs in often. Now that his mother and sister have left town, he boards at the hotel, and likes the home feeling of coming here to a meal. Nice boy, Berk is."
Linda had known Berkley Matthews all her life. As a little stocky boy he had come to play with her in Miss Ri's garden on some of the occasions when she was brought from Talbot's Angles to spend the day. Later he had gone to boarding-school, then to college, and she had seen little of him during late years.
"He'll be back," said Miss Ri nodding, "just to get the better of me. But to tell you the truth, Verlinda, he certainly is a comfort, for he looks out for my interest every time. I wouldn't have a house nor a field left by this time, if it had depended upon my kin folks. Don't be an old maid, Verlinda. When their very nearest and dearest are gone, old maids seem to be regarded, by the world in general, as things so detached as to have no rights whatever; their possessions appear to be regarded as so many threads hanging from them; whoever comes along in need of a needleful, makes a grab, possesses himself of such a length and makes off with it, never stopping to see that it leaves a gaping rent behind."
Linda laughed. Miss Ri's grievances were not many, but were generally those caused by her stepbrother's family, who lived not far away and made raids