“Oh, auntie, tell me now – don’t keep me in suspense!”
“Young ladies,” said Aunt Betty, regarding her great-niece half-severely over her glasses, “should learn to control their curiosity. If allowed to run unbridled, it is apt, sooner or later, to get them into trouble.”
“But, auntie, I want to know!”
Just the suggestion of a pout showed itself on Dorothy’s lips.
“What a pretty mouth! And so you shall know.”
“You’re the best auntie!”
Two white arms went around Mrs. Calvert’s neck and the pouting face was wreathed in smiles.
“But not now,” concluded Aunt Betty.
“Oh!”
The disappointed tone made Aunt Betty smile, and she winked slyly at Jim, as she observed:
“Isn’t it wonderful what a lot of interest a simple little sentence will arouse?”
“I’ve never yet met a girl who wasn’t overburdened with curiosity – and I s’pose I never shall,” was Jim’s response. “It’s the way they’re built. Aunt Betty, and I reckon there’s no help for it. Not changing the subject, but how do I reach my room?”
“Ephy will show you. It’s the big room on the east side. Everything is ready for you. When you have washed and freshened up a bit you may join Dorothy and I on the lawn.”
“Very good; but don’t wait for me. I may decide to take a snooze, and when I snooze I’m very uncertain. Traveling always did tire me out.”
Ephraim, with Jim’s suit case, led the way up the broad stairs of the Calvert mansion, the boy following.
“Heah we is, sah,” said the colored man, after a moment. He paused to throw open the massive door of a room. “Dis yeah room am de very bestest dis place affords. Youse mighty lucky, Mistah Jim, tuh be relegated tuh de guest chambah, en I takes dis ercasion to congratulate yo’.”
“Thank you, Ephy. But, being a guest, why should I not have the guest chamber?” and Jim’s eyes roamed admiringly over the old-fashioned but richly-furnished apartment.
“No reason ’tall, sah – no reason ’tall. I hain’t sayin’ nuffin’. But dis suah am er fine room.”
The suit case was resting on the floor by the wardrobe, and Ephraim was carefully unpacking the boy’s clothes, and putting them in their proper places, while Jim, glad to be rid of his coat, which he termed “excess baggage,” was soon puffing and blowing in a huge bowl of water, from where he went for a plunge in the tub.
“Lordy, Mistah Jim,” the colored man chuckled, following him to the door of the bathroom, “hit suah looks as though yo’ was a darkey, en all de black had washed off.”
“That’s some of the smoke and cinders acquired during our journey from Canada. Don’t forget that you have them on you, too, Ephy, only, being as black as ink, they don’t show up so well.”
“Yas’r, yas’r, I reckon dat’s right.” Old Ephraim continued to chuckle at frequent intervals. “Yo’ suah is er great boy, Mistah Jim!”
“Thank you, Ephy.”
“A-washin’ yo’ face en haid in de wash bowl, den climbin’ intuh de tub fo’ tuh wash de rest. Dat’s w’at I calls extravagantness.” He straightened up suddenly. “Now, sah, yo’ clothes is all laid out nice, sah. Is dar anyt’ing moah I kin do?”
“Nothing, Ephy – nothing. You’ve done everything a gentleman could expect of his valet. So vamoose!”
“Huh?”
“Get out – take your leave – anything you want to call it, so you leave me alone. I’m going to take a nap, and when I wake up I’ll be as hungry as a bear.”
“Well, I reckon we kin jes’ about satisfy dat appetite, chile. If dar’s anyt’ing mah Miss Betty hain’t got in de way ob food, I hain’t nebber diskivered hit yet.”
So Ephraim left Jim to his own devices, and went down to the servants’ quarters, where he literally talked the arms off of both Chloe and Dinah, while Metty stood by with wide-open mouth, as he listened to Ephraim’s tale of his adventures in Canada.
In the meantime, Dorothy and Aunt Betty were in the former’s big front room, and the girl, too, was removing the stains of the journey, keeping up an incessant chatter to Mrs. Calvert, the while.
“I was perfectly delighted with Oak Knowe,” she said, “and most particularly with your friend, the Bishop, who received me with open arms – not figuratively, but literally, Aunt Betty – and gave me such a good send-off to Miss Tross-Kingdon that I’m sure she became slightly prepossessed in my favor.”
Dorothy then told of her examination by Miss Hexam, and how well she had gone through the ordeal, despite the fact that she had been dreadfully nervous; her examination in music, and her introduction to the other scholars; the antipathy, both felt and expressed for her by Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, a member of the British peerage, who led the student body known as the “Peers”; of her introduction to the “Commons,” the largest and wildest set in the school, who were all daughters of good families, but without rank or titles.
“And I can see my mischievous girl entering into the pranks of the ‘Commons,’” smiled Aunt Betty. “I only hope you did not carry things with a high hand and win the disapproval of Miss Tross-Kingdon.”
“Occasionally we did,” Dorothy was forced to admit. “But for the most part the girls were a rollicking lot, going nearly to the extreme limits of behavior when any fun promised, but keeping safely within the rules. There is no doubt, Aunt Betty, but that Miss Tross-Kingdon was secretly fonder of us than of the more dignified ‘Peers.’”
Then Aunt Betty must know the outcome of the dislike expressed for Dorothy by Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, so the girl recounted her subsequent adventures, including her rescue of Gwendolyn from the water, and the English girl’s brave act in saving Dorothy from a frightful slide down a precipice.
“Just think! You were in deadly danger and I knew nothing of it,” said Aunt Betty, a sternly reproving note in her voice.
“But think, dear Aunt Betty, of the worry it would have caused you. It was all over in a few moments, and I was safe and sound again. If I had written you then, you would have felt that I was in constant peril, whereas my escape served as a lesson to me not to be careless, and you would have worried over nothing.”
“Perhaps you are right, Dorothy; at any rate, now I have you with me, I am not going to quarrel. I’m sure your adventure was merely the result of being thoughtless.”
“It was. And Gwendolyn’s rescue was simply magnificent, auntie. Her only thought at that moment seemed for me.”
“We will try to thank her in a substantial manner some day, my dear.”
“I should dearly love to have her visit me at Bellvieu, if only to show the cold, aristocratic young lady the warmth and sincerity of a Southern reception.”
“And perhaps you will have the opportunity. But not this summer. I have other plans for you.”
“Now, you are arousing my curiosity again,” said Dorothy, in a disappointed tone. “Please, Aunt Betty, tell me what is on your mind.”
“All in good time, my dear.”
“Has it – has it anything to do with Uncle Seth?” the girl queried, a slight tremor in her voice. Somehow, she felt that the death of the “Learned Blacksmith,” with whom Aunt Betty had been so intimate for years, had been responsible in a measure for the present poor state of her health.
“Yes; it has to do with your Uncle Seth,