The Old Gray Homestead | Page 9

all these things were special favors to her! The garden an' the horse is all very well, but what do you think she lit into me to-day for? 'You'll let me stay all summer, won't you, Mrs. Gray?' she said, comin' into the kitchen, where I was ironin' away for dear life, liftin' a pile of sheets off a chair, an' settlin' down, comfortable-like. 'Bless your heart, you can stay forever, as far as I'm concerned,' says I. 'Well, perhaps I will,' says she, leanin' back an' laughin'--she's got a sweet-pretty laugh, hev you noticed, Howard?--'and so you won't think I'm fault-findin' or discontented if I suggest a few little changes I'd like to make around, will you? I know it's awfully bold, in another person's house--an' such a lovely house, too, but--'"
"Well?" demanded her husband, as she paused for breath.
"Well, Howard Gray, the first of them little changes is to be a great big piazza, to go across the whole front of the house! 'The kitchen porch is so small an' crowded,' says she, 'an' you can't see the river from there; I want a place to sit out evenings. Can't I have the fireplaces in my rooms unbricked,' she went on, 'an' the rooms re-papered an' painted? An', oh,--I've never lived in a house where there wasn't a bathroom before, an' I want to make that big closet with a window off my bedroom into one. We'll have a door cut through it into the hall, too,' says she, 'an' isn't there a closet just like it overhead? If we can get a plumber here--they're such slippery customers--he might as well put in two bathrooms as one, while he's about it, an' you shan't do my great washin's any more without some good set-tubs. An' Mrs. Gray, kerosene lamps do heat up the rooms so in summer,--if there's an electrician anywhere around here--' 'Mrs. Cary,' says I, 'you're an angel right out of Heaven, but we can't accept all this from you. It means two thousand dollars, straight.' 'About what I should pay in two months for my living expenses anywhere else,' says she. 'Favors! It's you who are kind to let me stay here, an' not mind my tearin' your house all to pieces. Thomas is goin' to drive me up to Wallacetown this evenin' to see if we can find some mechanics'; an' she got up, an' kissed me, an' strolled off."
"Thomas thinks she's the eighth wonder of the world," said his father; "she can just wind him around her little finger."
"She's windin' us all," replied his wife, "an' we're standin' grateful-like, waitin' to be wound."
"That's so--all except Austin. Austin's mad as a hatter at what she got him to do Sunday morning; he doesn't like her, Mary."
"Humph!" said his wife.

CHAPTER III
"Good-bye, Mrs. Gray, I'm going for a ride."
"Good-bye, dearie; sure it ain't too hot?"
"Not a bit; it's rained so hard all this week that I haven't had a bit of exercise, and I'm getting cross."
"Cross! I'd like to see you once! It still looks kinder thunderous to me off in the West, so don't go far."
"I won't, I promise; I'll be back by supper-time. There's Austin, just up from the hayfield--I'll get him to saddle for me." And Sylvia ran quickly towards the barn.
"You don't mean to say you're going out this torrid day?" he demanded, lifting his head from the tin bucket in which he had submerged it as she voiced her request, and eyeing her black linen habit with disfavor.
"It's no hotter on the highroad than in the hayfield."
"Very true; but I have to go, and you don't. Being one of the favored few of this earth, there's no reason why you shouldn't sit on a shady porch all day, dressed in cool, pale-green muslin, and sipping iced drinks."
"Did you ever see me in a green muslin? I'll saddle Dolly myself, if you don't feel like it."
She spoke very quietly, but the immediate consciousness of his stupid break did not improve Austin's bad temper.
"Oh, I'll saddle for you, but the heat aside, I think you ought to understand that it isn't best for a woman to ride about on these lonely roads by herself. It was different a few years ago; but now, with all these Italian and Portuguese laborers around, it's a different story. I think you'd better stay at home."
The unwarranted and dictatorial tone of the last sentence spoiled the speech, which might otherwise, in spite of the surly manner in which it was uttered, have passed for an expression of solicitude. Sylvia, who was as headstrong as she was amiable, gathered up her reins quickly.
"By what right do you consider yourself in a position to dictate to me?" she demanded.
"By none at all; but it's only decent to tell you