Chapter XII: Roger Madison Tells a Story

IT did not really take long to light the lamps, but to Victoria it seemed an age. Matches broke in her hand as she struck them, her trembling fingers allowed a chimney to slip from their grasp to be dashed in a thousand atoms upon the floor, and in the meantime she heard voices upon the piazza, while Blanch, standing close to the front door, asked her in loud and penetrating tones if she were not yet ready to have it opened.

At last, signalling to her that the time had come to admit the visitors, whoever they might be, Victoria disappeared through the door which led to the back of the house and listened at its crack while Blanch drew back the bolts with a clatter and noisily turned the key in the lock.

“Are the young ladies at home?” she heard a voice ask which she felt sure was Miss Madison’s. She hoped devoutly that Blanch’s reply would be a discreet one. Unfortunately Blanch was so apt to be loquacious.

“Yes’m, they’re home,” replied B. Lafferty, “but I guess they’ve gone to bed. The lights was all out, but Miss Vic come down an’ lit ’em. I’ll see if the others is up.”

Victoria groaned aloud. All her ingenuity had been of no avail, and Blanch had capped the unfortunate climax by speaking of her as “Miss Vic!”

“Oh, we have come too late!” exclaimed Miss Madison. “I was afraid that we were. We will come another time. Don’t disturb them now.”

“All right,” returned Blanch, affably. “Just as you say, mum.”

Victoria felt ready to dart from her hiding-place and detain the visitors by force, but at that moment Honor’s light step was heard upon the stairs.

“We haven’t gone to bed at all,” said she, “and are delighted to see you. We were upstairs this evening, and some one put out the lamps by mistake.”

And then a man’s voice was heard, and Victoria knew that the dreaded Roger was also there. She hastened up the back stairs as Katherine in her turn went down the front, and proceeded to devote herself to finishing the task of the evening, congratulating herself that she had not been caught.

Sophy meanwhile had disappeared, and Victoria in thinking over the excitement of the last few minutes completely forgot her. In fact, she supposed that she was in bed as she usually was at this hour. The little girl, however, had been engaged in making hay while the sun shone. In other words, she had retired to the room which she shared with Victoria, and had taken with her a large box of treasures which she had abstracted from Katherine’s belongings, in which she proceeded to array herself.

Upon her head she placed a wreath of artificial roses from an old hat of Katherine’s, which, owing to her short hair, it was a difficult matter to adjust. Finally, however, this was arranged to her satisfaction, and she then draped about her shoulders a large white lace scarf, which she fastened at one side with an immense bow of yellow satin. Katherine when she wore colors had been fond of brilliant ones, and was constantly buying all varieties of flowers, ribbons, and what not for her personal adornment. Just as Sophy had finished thus decking herself had come the flurry which ensued upon the ringing of the door-bell, and then the girls had gone down to receive the visitors.

Sophy had heard so much of these new neighbors during the last few days that she was most desirous of seeing them. She had walked past the house on the hill more than once in the hope that her curiosity might be gratified, but to no avail. Now they were actually in the house. It was too good an opportunity to let slip. Shortly after Victoria came up the back stairs, Sophy crept down by the same route. Softly she opened the door which led to the front of the house and stealthily she took her way into the square hall.

A screen usually stood near the door at the back of the parlor. She hoped that she should find it there now, and that no one would be sitting at that end of the parlor. In that case she could peep from behind the screen or perhaps through its crack. She found to her satisfaction that the screen was there, and that her sisters with their guests were sitting at the farther end of the room,—it was a large one with two doors,—and she immediately placed herself in a position from which she fancied that she could command a view of the room without being perceived herself. She was also pleased to discover that her sisters were sitting with their backs to her, while their visitors faced her. She could thus see exactly what they looked like.

Mr. Madison was telling Katherine a story. It appeared to be an interesting tale as well as an amusing one, for Katherine was laughing heartily, and presently Honor and Miss Madison gave up their conversation and listened also. Sophy, thinking the crack unsatisfactory and growing bolder, peered around the corner of the screen for a second at a time. She found it a fascinating pursuit.

Mr. Madison continued his story. It was a favorite one with him, and he had seldom found more appreciative listeners than the two Miss Starrs. He was approaching his point, leading up to it with the skill of an accomplished storyteller when—what was that? His eye caught something that moved, at the other end of the room. Probably the dog which had barked upon their arrival and had since disappeared. He continued his tale, but there it was again! Surely it was no dog that he saw, but pink roses, yellow ribbon, white lace, appearing, vanishing, and reappearing from behind the screen.

He faltered for a moment in the story, and his sister wondered what was the matter. She looked at him, and then followed his glance. It was resting upon an extraordinary vision. A small pale face, with large brown eyes wide open with wonder at the tale, the face surmounted by a wreath of pink roses, was thrust from behind the screen. Roger controlled his amusement with difficulty, and brought the story to an abrupt termination.

“Is that really true?” asked a voice from the back of the room when the laughter had ceased.

The sisters turned. There stood Sophy in her fantastic costume, emerging boldly from her hiding-place and bent as usual upon probing the truth of the story to the core.

“Is it true?” she repeated.

“Why, Sophy!” exclaimed Honor and Katherine together. “What are you doing there? What _have you_ got on? And why aren’t you in bed?”

“I want to know if that story is true.”

It was always impossible to turn Sophy from the subject which at the moment chanced to absorb her.

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” replied Roger Madison, laughing, “but if you will come over here, I will tell you one that is.”

“Sophy, you ought to be in bed,” said Honor, severely. “I can’t imagine what you mean by coming down to the parlor dressed up in those extraordinary things.”

“I didn’t know they were strordinary, Honor. I thought they were pretty. They’re Kathie’s things,” she continued, for the benefit of the visitors, “out of her boxes. We’re moving Kathie to the third story ’cause Aunt Sophia’s coming to-morrow. Kathie has to give up her room to her, but she doesn’t want to.”

“Sophy!” exclaimed Honor, in a tone of warning, while the Madisons laughed aloud.

“It is perfectly true, Honor. You know Kathie said at first she wouldn’t.”

Honor rose to her feet, but Katherine concluded that the better plan would be to laugh off a situation which was rapidly becoming awkward.

“It is quite true,” she said. “Our small sister has let the cat out of the bag, and we may as well tell you the rest. Our aunt, Mrs. Wentworth Ward, is coming to-morrow to stay all summer, and I didn’t want to give up my room at all, but she wanted it and—well, Aunt Sophia usually has what she wants.”

“I don’t wonder you were busy to-night, then,” said Miss Madison, who liked Katherine all the better for her frankness. She was about to say more when Sophy’s solemn voice was again heard.

“Kathie, I don’t know what you mean. We haven’t any cat. You know we can’t have one on account of Sirius, and so I couldn’t possibly let it out of a bag. I think you’re making up a story, Kathie.”

This speech was received with such shouts of laughter that Sophy fled from the room and up to Victoria, who was listening at the head of the stairs. She had missed Sophy, and, after looking for her in vain, had finally detected her whereabouts. Now she received her weeping sister, and led her to the safe seclusion of their own room.

“I think you are a very interesting family,” said Miss Madison, when she and her brother finally rose to take leave. “Don’t scold Sophy for coming down, will you? I take it as a great compliment that she wanted to see us. We have yet to meet your brother and the sister who disappeared so suddenly the other day. Please be very neighborly, for I like you,” she added, “and, Miss Katherine, perhaps you will come up Monday afternoon and bring some of your music. I long to play with you. I should be glad to have your sisters come, too. Good night.”

“What must they think of us?” exclaimed Honor, when the front door was finally shut. “The whole affair was too dreadful.”

“I don’t think so at all,” said Katherine. “It was all very funny from beginning to end, and they are just the kind of people to take it nicely. But did you ever see such a sight as Sophy! Fancy her taking all my precious things!”

“Fancy her coming down and listening in that way,” said Honor. “It was perfectly dreadful.”

“Don’t scold her about it,” said Victoria, who had joined them. “She has been crying so hard, and she is waiting for you to come to bid her good night, Honor. She didn’t know it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I’ve been explaining to her. She was crazy to see the Madisons, and she forgot she had those things on. I was rather curious myself to know what you were talking about when I heard such a jolly time going on down here.”

“Why didn’t you come down?” asked Katherine. “They both asked for you.”

“Too busy,” replied her sister. “I’ve finished moving you. If I hadn’t stayed upstairs, we should have had to be up all night, or you never would have been ready for Aunt Sophia.”

The next afternoon Peter announced his intention of going off to the woods. He was interested in a pair of birds that had made their nest in a certain tree, and whenever he had a spare moment he went to the woods to watch them. He had declined to take Sophy with him to-day, giving as his reason that she talked too much.

“You can’t see a thing in the woods,” he said wisely, “if a girl’s along. They always chatter, chatter, chatter, like a squirrel. When Carney and I go together, we don’t say a word, and pretty soon all the creatures come out and attend to their business just as they would if we weren’t there. Creatures are awfully afraid of people. You know you never see anything about when you just go walking through the woods. They all stay in their holes and nests. But if you just go sit there and watch and don’t make a sound, they begin to come out, and it’s lots of fun. I’ll take Sirius because he minds me and keeps quiet when I tell him to, but it’s no good to say that to Sophy.”

“Why, Peter,” said Sophy, in an injured tone, “I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to. You tell me things when we are out walking, and then I have to answer, but I won’t if you’ll only let me go.”

“I really think you ought to stay at home this afternoon, Sophy,” interposed Honor. “You know Aunt Sophia is coming, and she will be disappointed if her namesake isn’t here to receive her.”

“I wish I hadn’t been named after her,” remarked Sophy, with an aggrieved air. “It’s an awful bother. When you’re named for people you always have to do things you don’t want to. Now there’s Peter can go to the woods this afternoon. He couldn’t if he was named for Aunt Sophia.”

“What a big goose you are!” said Peter. “As if a boy could have been named Sophia!”

“I wish you would do a little weeding before you go, Peter,” said Honor.

“And if you could only help me move some of the furniture in my new room,” added Katherine. “I can’t get it fixed to suit me at all, and it is so heavy. Can’t you, Peter?”

“Oh, goodness,” said Peter, “what a bother! I suppose I’ve got to move the furniture, but the weeding will have to wait. I tell you, I must go to the woods this afternoon. Hurry up, now, if you want me upstairs.” And he ran off himself two steps at a time.

Katherine was hard to please, and half an hour at least was consumed before the furniture was arranged to her satisfaction. Peter in consequence became more and more ill-tempered, and when she paused in the midst of her directions to tell him that his hands were not particularly clean and that his collar was frayed at the edge, he lost all patience.

“Who cares whether my hands are clean or not for moving your old furniture,” said he; “and if the collar is frayed at the edge, what made you put it in my drawer when it came out of the wash? It’s your own fault, and speaking of washing hands, I wash mine of this old sofa.”

And he departed, leaving the sofa in the middle of the room for Katherine to move alone as best she could.

Peter and Sirius took their way across the woody pasture beyond the barn and the garden. It was indeed good to be out of doors on such a day as this, and there was no knowing what of interest might be in store for them. Katherine’s criticisms were soon forgotten, and master and dog were happy in each other’s company and in the indefinable something which pervaded the atmosphere this afternoon of the first of May and which filled the hearts of both with a sense of elation.

It was an ideal May day, warm and balmy. The songs of the lately arrived birds filled the air; active little chipmunks, awakened from their winter’s sleep, darted here and there with amazing fleetness, while the frogs croaked loudly on the river bank, rejoicing that spring had come.

Suddenly Sirius darted forward in swift pursuit of a little creature which had ventured forth from its home shortly before and had been unmindful of the approach of two such hereditary enemies as a boy and a dog. Quickly though Sirius ran, however, the little animal, having the start, and becoming conscious at once that it was being pursued, darted away and was lost to sight.

“It was a weasel, I verily believe,” exclaimed Peter aloud, running in great excitement to the spot where it had disappeared. “Sirius, why didn’t you catch him? It is the one that has been killing our chickens.”

Sirius was beside himself with rage and disappointment. There was enough of the terrier in his nature to make him feel that a weasel was his lawful prey, and he jumped madly about the stump where the weasel had disappeared, barking, digging in the ground, and nosing in every direction.

“Yes, I do believe it lives here, Sirius,” said Peter. “We’ll get him yet. Here’s a little passage-way among the roots of the stump. We’ll dig out the nest as soon as we get a chance, Sirius. I saw a weasel’s nest once, dug it out, and it was as cosy as possible, lined with dead leaves and grass and feathers and a snake’s skin. We don’t want any more dead chickens lying with holes in their necks, indeed we don’t. Come on now, sir! We’re going to the woods.”

They continued their walk, Sirius leaving the stump sorely against his will, and going back to it again and again; and finally they reached the thicker woods where Sophy had lost her way on the memorable occasion when the owl had shrieked and had so sorely frightened her.

“I wish I could find that owl to-day, but I don’t believe he lives in these woods,” thought Peter. “I will look for him before I go watch those other birds. I believe that was the big tree where the owl was sitting when it yelled.”

He walked quietly to the spot, and seating himself on a fallen tree he ordered Sirius to be quiet. Nothing living was to be seen. The new leaves upon the trees were not very thick as yet, and the afternoon sun shone warmly through them, resting in patches on the undergrowth. With his hand on the dog’s collar Peter sat and waited.

Presently a gray squirrel moved cautiously along a branch, sitting quite still for a moment to watch them with mingled curiosity and anxiety, and then, finding these strangers so motionless and apparently so harmless, approaching quite near to them. It was hard for Sirius to remain quiet with so entrancing an object of pursuit within easy reach, but he had been well trained and, above all, he loved Peter, and was not Peter’s hand upon his collar?

Very soon the gray squirrel became tired of looking at them and ran away, and in the meantime Peter had discovered something in the tall tree which he had been watching. About forty feet above him was a hole as large as his own head, and standing on the edge of this hole was an owl. At first Peter had not been able to distinguish it, for it was of a mottled brown, and so like the bark of the tree in color that the difference could at first glance be scarcely detected. He was quite sure, however, that it had not been there when he arrived upon the spot. Neither did he think that it was the same owl that had given the strange cry the other day. This seemed like a little screech owl. He made some slight noise, breaking some twigs from the log on which he was sitting, and in a flash the owl disappeared within the hole and was seen no more that afternoon.

Peter sat here until he was tired, watching a snake which twisted its way through the dead leaves, the gray squirrels which ran about now in confidence, fancying themselves perfectly secure, and some birds that had nested in a tree not far away. He hoped that the snake would not reach the birds’ nest and steal the eggs, but it was early in the season yet, and snakes were still sluggish in their movements. He knew that the owls were secure, for their eggs had been hatched some time since, and the young ones were probably well grown. Indeed, there was a possibility that the other birds, if they escaped the snake, might fall a prey to the owls that lived in such close proximity, and that would be only too ready to pounce upon and devour them at the first opportunity.

At last Peter rose from the log, and releasing Sirius with a commendatory pat for his good behavior, he walked off through the woods. There was a sudden rustle in boughs and underbrush, frightened bird notes sounded from the branches, shrill squirrel warnings came from the trunks of trees. All the creatures, which had supposed themselves safe, were terrified by these unexpected movements on the part of the two hitherto motionless objects that had been there so long, and quickly gave notice to their companions that danger was abroad in the forest.

But Peter and Sirius left them unmolested, and continued their way to the outskirts of the wood. It was later than Peter had supposed, but he determined to take a still longer walk and to go home by a round-about way which could be shortened at the end by coming up the branch railroad which led directly through their place.

He was walking quickly over this railroad, and was crossing a bridge which was above the river, when his foot caught on one of the ties, and he slipped between them. Something seemed to snap in his leg, and then a blackness came over him. Strange surging noises sounded in his ears, and he knew no more.