Aikenside | Page 3

since his arrival in Devonshire, they had
bean quietly lying, books enough to have frightened an older person
than poor little Madeline Clyde, riding slowly home with grandpa, and
wishing so much that she'd had a glimpse of Dr. Holbrook, so as to
know what he was like, and hoping he would give her a chance to
repeat some of the many pages of geography and "Parley's History,"
which she knew by heart. How she would have trembled could she
have seen the formidable volumes heaped upon his table and waiting
for her. There were French and Latin grammars, "Hamilton's
Metaphysics," "Olmstead's Philosophy," "Day's Algebra," "Butler's
Analogy," and many others, into which poor Madeline had never so
much as looked. Arranging them in a row, and half wishing himself
back again to the days when he had studied them, the doctor went out
to visit his patients, of which there were so many that Madeline Clyde
entirely escaped his mind, nor did she trouble him again until the
dreaded Monday came, and the hands of his watch pointed to two.
"One hour more," he said to himself, just as the roll of wheels and a
cloud of dust announced the approach of something.
Could it be Sorrel and the square-boxed wagon? Oh, no; far different
from grandfather Clyde's turnout was the stylish carriage and the
spirited bays dashing down the street, the colored driver reining them
suddenly, not before the office door, but just in front of the white
cottage in the same yard, the house where Dr. Holbrook boarded, and
where, if he ever married in Devonshire, he would most likely bring his
wife.

"Guy Remington, the very chap of all others whom I'd rather see, and,
as I live, there's Agnes, with Jessie. Who knew she was in these parts?"
was the doctor's mental exclamation, as, running his fingers through his
hair and making a feint of pulling up the corners of his rather limp
collar, he hurried out to the carriage, from which a dashing looking
lady of thirty, or thereabouts, was alighting.
"Why, Agnes, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Remington, when did you
come?" he asked, offering his hand to the lady, who, coquettishly
shaking back from her pretty, dollish face a profusion of light brown
curls, gave him the tips of her lavender kids, while she told him she had
come to Aikenside the Saturday before; and hearing, from Guy that the
lady with whom he boarded was an old friend of hers, she had driven
over to call, and brought Jessie with her. "Here, Jessie, speak to the
doctor. He was poor dear papa's friend," and a very proper sigh escaped
Agnes Remington's lips as she pushed a little curly-haired girl toward
Dr. Holbrook.
The lady of the house had spied them by this time, and came running
down the walk to meet her rather distinguished visitor, wondering, it
may be, to what she was indebted for this call from one who, since her
marriage with the supposed wealthy Dr. Remington, had rather cut her
former acquaintances. Agnes was delighted to see her, and, as Guy
declined entering the cottage just then, the two friends disappeared
within the door, while the doctor and Guy repaired to the office, the
latter sitting down in the very chair intended for Madeline Clyde. This
reminded the doctor of his perplexity, and also brought the comforting
thought that Guy, who had never failed him yet, could surely offer
some suggestions. But he would not speak of her just now; he had other
matters to talk about, and so, jamming his penknife into a pine table
covered with similar jams, he said: "Agnes, it seems, has come to
Aikenside, notwithstanding she declared she never would, when she
found that the whole of the Remington property belonged to your
mother, and not your father."
"Oh, yes. She got over her pique as soon as I settled a handsome little
income on Jessie, and, in fact, on her too, until she is foolish enough to

marry again, when it will cease, of course, as I do not feel it my duty to
support any man's wife, unless it be my own, or my father's," was Guy
Remington's reply; whereupon the penknife went again into the table,
and this time with so much force that the point was broken off; but the
doctor did not mind it, and with the jagged end continued to make
jagged marks, while he continued: "She'll hardly marry again, though
she may. She's young--not over twenty-six---
"Twenty-eight, if the family Bible does not lie; but she'd never forgive
me if she knew I told you that. So let it pass that she's twenty-six. She
certainly is not more than three years your senior, a mere nothing, if
you wish