The Old Gray Homestead | Page 5

Mrs. Cary plunged her hands
in and tossed out an embroidered white satin negligee, a pair of white

satin bed-slippers, and a nightgown that was a mere wisp of sheer silk
and lace; then drew forth three trunk-checks, and a bundle an inch thick
of crisp, new bank-notes, and pulled one out, blushing and hesitating.
"I don't know how to thank you for taking me in to-night," she said;
"some day I'll tell you all about myself, and why it means so much to
me to have a--a refuge like this; but I'm afraid I can't until--I've got
rested a little. Soon we must talk about arrangements and terms and all
that--oh, I'm awfully businesslike! But just let me give you this to-night,
to show you how grateful I am, and pay for the first two weeks or so."
And she folded the bill into a tiny square, and crushed it into Mrs.
Gray's reluctant hand.
Fifteen minutes later, when Howard Gray and Thomas came into the
kitchen for their supper, bringing the last full milk-pails with them,
they found the pork and potatoes burnt to a frazzle, the girls all talking
at once, and Austin bending over his mother, who sat in the big rocker
with the tears rolling down her cheeks, and a hundred-dollar bill spread
out on her lap.

CHAPTER II
For several weeks the Grays did not see much of Mrs. Cary. She
appeared at dinner and supper, eating little and saying less. She rose
very late, having a cup of coffee in bed about ten; the afternoons she
spent rambling through the fields and along the river-bank, but never
going near the highroad on her long walks. She generally read until
nearly midnight, and the book-hungry Grays pounced like tigers on the
newspapers and magazines with which she heaped her scrap-baskets,
and longed for the time to come when she would offer to lend them
some of the books piled high all around her rooms.
Some years before, when vacationists demanded less in the way of
amusement, Hamstead had flourished in a mild way as a summer-resort;
but its brief day of prosperity in this respect had passed, and the advent

of a wealthy and mysterious stranger, whose mail was larger than that
of all the rest of the population put together, but who never appeared in
public, or even spoke, apparently, in private, threw the entire village
into a ferment of excitement. Fred Elliott, who, in his rôle of
prospective son-in-law, might be expected to know much that was
going on at the Grays', was "pumped" in vain; he was obliged to
confess his entire ignorance concerning the history, occupations, and
future intentions of the young widow. Mrs. Gray had to "house-clean"
her parlor a month earlier than she had intended, because she had so
many callers who came hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Cary, and
hear all about her, besides; but they did not see her at all, and Mrs.
Gray could tell them but little.
"She ain't a mite of trouble," the good woman declared to every one,
"an' the simplest, gentlest creature I ever see in my life. The girls are all
just crazy over her. No, she ain't told me yet anything about herself, an'
I don't like to press her none. Poor lamb, with her heart buried in the
grave, at her age! No, I don't know how long she means to stay, neither,
but 'twould be a good while, if I had my way."
To Mrs. Elliott, her best friend and Fred's mother, she was slightly
more communicative, though she disclosed no vital statistics.
"Edith helped her unpack an' she said she never even imagined
anything equal to what come out of them three great trunks; she said it
made her just long to be a widow. The dresses was all black, of course,
but they had an awful expensive look, some way, just the same. An'
underclothes! Edith said there was at least a dozen of everything, an'
two dozen of most, lace an' handwork an' silk, from one end of 'em to
the other. She has a leather box most as big as a suitcase heaped with
jewelry--it was open one morning when I went in with her breakfast,
an' I give you my word, Eliza, that just the little glimpse I got of it was
worth walkin' miles to see! An' yet she never wears so much as the
simplest ring or pin. She has enough flowers for an elegant funeral sent
to her three times a week by express, an' throws 'em away before
they're half-faded--says she likes the little wild ones that are beginnin'
to come up around here better, anyway. Yes, I don't deny she has some

real queer notions--for instance, she