Chapter III: The Reception

THE sun was unclouded and the young man soon found the heat intolerable. He leaped the wall into a newly mown field and took a direct line for the stone cottage, becoming every moment more visible. At the distance of two or three hundred rods from the house was the grove of lindens the driver had pointed out. On one side was a patch of delicious green turf, soft and smooth as velvet, where in the shade formed by a cluster of young spruces, lay a couple of Jersey calves, chewing their cuds as they calmly viewed the magnificent prospect.

These creatures were so tame that they did not move when the stranger approached and patted their heads; they only raised their meek eyes wishfully to his face.

Approaching the front door, which stood wide open, not a sign of life was visible about the premises. Even the stranger's loud ring brought no one to answer his summons. Tired of waiting, he ventured into a wide hall which the air from the river rendered deliciously cool. This hall extended through the centre of the house uninterrupted by staircase; and was hung with fine old pictures, and maps. A large mahogany table, with spread leaves, and claw feet, stood near the back door which was of glass and opened upon another plateau of grass, interspersed with small beds of well cultivated flowers.

The table was covered with a handsome woollen cloth; and upon it stood a silver ice pitcher on a huge salver; which also supported two silver goblets.

Laying his bags in one of the heavy leather-covered chairs, our traveller took a long draught of the ice water with which the pitcher had been lately filled; and having smoothed his locks by the small mirror set in the hat-rack made his way into an open room on the left hand of the hall.

Here he found additional evidence of refinement and taste. On one side of the spacious apartment was an elegantly carved book case; and through the glass in front, rows of well bound volumes were visible. Between the windows a long mirror descended from the roof to a marble slab about two feet from the floor, upon which slab lay a child's hat, tied with blue ribbons. On the marble mantel; on the tables; and every where that they could be placed, stood vases of flowers exquisitely arranged. The fragrance of roses, heliotrope, mignionette and other varieties, would have been oppressive but for the air which stole in through the Venetian blinds.

A well pleased smile played about the mouth of the stranger, as he gazed leisurely around. "A fancy nook Ned has here," he said to himself. "If I had another like it, and a wife to welcome me home after the trials of the day, I'd ask nothing more of fortune."

Leaning back in the luxurious chair which held out its arms so invitingly, he began to wonder how it happened that no one was at home. Gradually his thoughts became more indistinct, and he slept.

His dreams were interrupted by a vision so exactly in accordance with them, that for a moment, he supposed himself still the sport of an illusion.

Just in front of him stood a young girl apparently not more than fifteen years whose laughing eyes were gazing into his own, while her sweet rosy mouth was parted in a bewitching smile.

"When did you come? How long have you been here?" exclaimed a clear, ringing voice. "Why didn't you tell me you were growing this?" playfully pulling his beard.

"Am I awake?" murmured Paul, trying to rouse himself, and sitting forward in his chair; his gaze still rivetted on the beautiful vision.

"Hannah! Hannah!" called out the young girl. "Ned has come, and fallen asleep in the parlor."

A middle aged, motherly looking woman, speedily answered the summons, and was hurrying across the hall, when the real Ned appeared at the door.

"Ah, Hannah!" he said cheerily. "You're in good health I see. How's Gerty? I suppose my friend has come, as I see our valises are here."

For one moment Gertrude stood in the centre of the floor bewildered, blushes mantling her cheeks as she realized that she had made a mistake; then with one bound she flew into the outstretched arms of her brother.

"Are you really Ned?" she inquired archly, having nestled her head against his breast.

"Yes, my little sis. Am I so changed that you didn't know me?"

"I feel greatly flattered," explained Paul, coming forward with a smile. "Miss Gertrude, as I suppose this young lady to be, did me the honor to imagine I was her brother. I found the house deserted and fell asleep, and could not at once shake off the idea that the laughing eyes looking into mine and the voice, calling me Ned, did not belong to my vision."

"It was this that deceived me," laughed Gerty pulling her brother's curly whiskers. "I don't think you look at all alike now."

"How pleasant and cool you keep yourselves," exclaimed Edward, turning to Hannah who had seated herself opposite him. "Is every thing prosperous about the farm? I see you have a pair of fancy calves on the lawn."

"Yes, and two more in the pasture. I believe the work is well advanced for the season. I wrote you about the new man I had hired."

"Yes, and I shall want to hear all about it in the morning. My long walk from the landing has heated me terribly."

"Your room is in order if you would like to go to it before tea. I will have the north chamber ready in a few minutes."

"No, Hannah, stay here please," exclaimed Gertrude, "and I'll run up and open the blinds. You know, Ned, she keeps the house in such perfect order there is nothing else to do."

She flew up stairs almost like a bird, her voice breaking out into a strain of warbling, which with a thought of the stranger, was instantly checked. Seizing two tiny silver vases, filled with delicately tinted flowers, from her own room, she carried them to the guest-chamber; then throwing open the blinds on the north side let in the refreshing breeze. One minute more to fill the large china pitcher with fresh water; and then she gayly announced that the rooms were ready.

"Ned," exclaimed Paul, the instant they were alone, "confess at once that you have been deceiving me all these years. How dared you tell me your sister was ignorant, unformed, a Gypsy and so on? She is the most perfect specimen of humanity that it has ever been my fortune to meet. Then what refinement! Only think, Ned, what a home she'd make for a man; think of her arch glances and bewitching smiles."

"She has greatly improved within a year;" was Wallingford's grave reply, "more than I dared to hope. She is not yet sixteen. By the time she is twenty-two or three, I believe she will resemble our mother."

Without another word he turned to his own room, leaving his companion examining the flowers, and wondering whether Gertrude had placed them there, before she knew of his coming.

An hour later they were seated in the hall, around the abundant board. In the centre a huge glass dish of raspberries was well flanked by a pitcher of cream.

"These are delicious," exclaimed Edward, helping himself and his friend to a bountiful supply.

"Hannah and I were out picking them, when Mr. Dudley came," said Gertrude with an arch glance in his direction. "I remembered how fond you used to be of berries."

"We don't often see such cream at our College ordinaire," suggested Paul, pouring the thick, new luxury over his fruit.

"If you wish to get into Miss Goldby's good graces, praise her Alderney's," remarked Ned, laughing. "But seriously Hannah, I must arrange somehow to board at home, when I take an office in New York."

"I thought that would be a matter of course," urged Gerty seriously. "I've been anticipating the pleasure of driving to the landing every afternoon to meet you."

"Ah, Wallingford! you're the luckiest fellow I know," cried his friend with a shrug at his own fate. "Here you will be, in the midst of luxuries, with a lady to greet you on your return from business; with a well ordered household and an estate exactly to your taste; while I must delve among musty old law papers twenty hours out of the twenty-four, in order to have butter with my bread."

"There is no food tastes so sweet as that we have worked for," remarked Hannah sagely; "but Gertrude do you notice how late it is, only ten minutes of seven."

The young girl blushed, as she hurriedly rose from the table, and only saying; "Good night, Ned, good night Mr. Dudley," put on the hat Paul had seen lying on the marble slab, and went out by the front door.

Both the young men started to accompany her; but Hannah said decidedly, "She prefers to walk alone, and Hiram will go for her at nine."

"I protest," began Paul; but Ned interrupted him by asking gravely:

"Where does she go at this hour?"

"She spends three evenings every week with a friend," was the evasive answer. "It is a great privilege for her, and we are both grateful for the opportunity."