The Old Gray Homestead | Page 4

milking, both somewhat out-of-sorts because of the
non-appearance of Austin, for there were too many cows for them to
manage alone--a long row of dirty, lean animals of uncertain age and
breed. Molly was helping her mother to "get supper," and the red

tablecloth and heavy white china, never removed from the kitchen table
except to be washed, were beginning to be heaped with pickles,
doughnuts, pie, and cake, and there were potatoes and pork frying on
the stove. Katherine was studying, and Edith had gone to hastily
"spread up" the beds that had not been made that morning.
On the whole, however, the inside of the house was more tidy than the
outside, and the girl in black was aware of the homely comfort and
good cheer of the living-room into which she was ushered (since there
was no time to open up the cold "parlor") more than she was of its
shabbiness.
"Come right in an' set down," said Mrs. Gray cheerfully, leading the
way; "awful tryin' weather we're havin', ain't it? An' the mud--my, it's
somethin' fierce! The men-folks track it in so, there's no keepin' it
swept up, an' there's so many of us here! But there's nothin' like a large
family for keepin' things hummin' just the same, now, is there?" Mrs.
Gray had had scant time to prepare her mind either for her unexpected
visitor or the object of her visit; but her mother-wit was ready, for all
that; one glance at the slight, black-robed little figure, and the thin
white face, with its tired, dark-ringed eyes, was enough for her. Here
was need of help; and therefore help of some sort she must certainly
give. "Now, then," she went on quickly, "you look just plum tuckered
out; set down an' rest a spell, an' tell me what I can do for you."
"My name is Sylvia Cary--Mrs. Mortimer Cary, I mean." She shivered,
paused, and went on. "I live in New York--that is, I always have--I'm
never going to any more, if I can help it. My husband died two months
ago, my baby--just before that. I've felt so--so--tired ever since, I just
had to get away somewhere--away from the noise, and the hurry, and
the crowds of people I know. I was in Hamstead once, ten years ago,
and I remembered it, and came back. I want most dreadfully to
stay--could you possibly make room for me here?"
"Oh, you poor lamb! I'd do anything I could for you--but this ain't the
sort of home you've been used to--" began Mrs. Gray; but she was
interrupted.

"No, no, of course it isn't! Don't you understand--I can't bear what I've
been used to another minute! And I'll honestly try not to be a bit of
trouble if you'll only let me stay!"
Mrs. Gray twisted in her chair, fingering her apron. "Well, now, I don't
know! You've come so sudden-like--if I'd only had a little notice!
There's no place fit for a lady like you; but there are two rooms we
never use--the northeast parlor and the parlor-chamber off it. You could
have one of them--after I got it cleaned up a mite--an' try it here for a
while."
"Couldn't I have them both? I'd like a sitting-room as well as a
bedroom."
"Land! You ain't even seen 'em yet! maybe they won't suit you at all!
But, come, I'll show 'em to you an' if you want to stay, you shan't go
back to that filthy hotel. I'll get the bedroom so's you can sleep in it
to-night--just a lick an' a promise; an' to-morrow I'll house-clean 'em
both thorough, if 't is the Sabbath--the 'better the day, the better the
deed,' I've heard some say, an' I believe that's true, don't you, Mrs.
Cary?" She bustled ahead, pulling up the shades, and flinging open the
windows in the unused rooms. "My, but the dust is thick! Don't you
touch a thing--just see if you think they'll do."
Sylvia Cary glanced quickly about the two great square rooms, with
their white wainscotting, and shutters, their large, stopped-up fireplaces,
dingy wall-paper, and beautiful, neglected furniture. "Indeed they will!"
she exclaimed; "they'll be lovely when we get them fixed. And may I
truly stay--right now? I brought my hand-bag with me, you see, hoping
that I might, and my trunks are still at the station--wait, I'll give you the
checks, and perhaps your son will get them after supper."
She put the bag on a chair, and began to open it, hurriedly, as if
unwilling to wait a minute longer before making sure of remaining.
Mrs. Gray, who was standing near her, drew back with a gasp of
surprise. The bag was lined with heavy purple silk, and elaborately
fitted with toilet articles of shining gold.