The Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary | Page 8

incarnate to Jack,
and he was feeling frowningly what a clog Aunt Mary's latest epistle

was upon his joys, when his friend came to the rescue with an
invitation to spend the double holiday (it doubled that year--Sunday,
you know) at the brand-new ancestral castle which Burnett père had
just finished building for his descendants. It may be imagined that Jack
accepted the invitation with alacrity, and that his never-very-downcast
heart bounded gleefully higher than usual over the prospect of two days
of pleasure in the country.
It is not necessary to state where the castle of the Burnetts was erected,
but it was in a beautiful region, and the monthly magazines had written
it up and called it an architectural triumph. The owner fully agreed with
the monthly magazines, and his pride found vent in a house-warming
which filled every guest chamber in the place.
The festivities were in full swing before the youngest son and his friend
arrived; and when the dog-cart, which brought them from the station,
drew up under the mighty porte-cochère with its four stone lions,
rampant in four different directions, Jack felt one of those delicious
thrills which run through one under particularly hopeful and buoyant
circumstances.
"It's like walking in a novel," his friend said; as they entered under
some heavy draperies which the footman pushed aside and found a tiny
spiral staircase, which wound its way aloft in a style that Jack liked
immensely and the latter agreed with all his heart.
The staircase led them to the third floor and when they emerged
therefrom they found themselves in a big semi-circular billiard room,
with a fireplace at each end large enough to put one of the tables in, and
cues and counters and stools and divans and smoking utensils sufficient
for a regiment.
"I tell you, this is the way to do things," exclaimed Burnett; "isn't it
jolly? Time of your life, old man, time of your life!--And, oh, by the
way," he said, suddenly interrupting himself, "I wonder if my sister's
got here yet!"
"Which sister?" Jack inquired; for his friend was one of a very large

family, and he had met several of them on their various visits to town.
"Betty--the one who beats all the others hollow,"--but just there the
conversation was broken off by the servants coming up with the
luggage and setting two doors open that showed them two big rooms,
both exquisitely furnished, and both with windows that looked out, first
on to a stone balustrade, and secondly on to a superb view over the
river and the mountains beyond.
The men unstrapped the things and went away, leaving such a plenitude
of comfort behind them as led Jack to fling himself into the most
luxurious chair in the room and stretch his arms and legs far and wide
in utter contentment.
Burnett was fishing for his key ring.
"It's a great old place, isn't it?" he remarked parenthetically. "Great
Scott! but I'll bet we have fun these two days! And if my sister Betty is
here--" He paused expressively.
"Doesn't she live at home?" Jack asked.
"She's just come home; she's been in England for three years. Oh, but I
tell you she's a corker!"
"I should think--"
The sentence was never completed because a voice without the
not-altogether-closed door cried:
"No, don't think, please; let me come in instead." And in the same
instant Burnett made one leap and flung the door open, crying as he did
so:
"Betty!"
Then Jack, bunching somewhat his starfish attitude, looked across the
room and realized instantly that it was all up with him forever after.

Because--
Because she who stood there in the door was quite the sweetest, the
loveliest, the most interesting looking girl whom he had ever laid eyes
on; and when she was seized in her brother's arms, and kissed by her
brother's lips, and dragged by her brother's hands well into the room,
she proved to be a thousand times more irresistible than at first.
"I say, Betty, you're absolutely prettier than ever," her brother
exclaimed, holding her a little off from him and surveying her critically;
and then he seemed to remember his friend's existence, and, turning
toward him, announced proudly:
"My sister Bertha."
Jack was standing up now and thinking how lovely her eyes were just
at that instant when they were meeting his for the first time, thinking
much else too. Thinking that Monday was only two days away (hang
it!); thinking that such a smile was never known before; thinking that
he had years ahead at college; thinking that the curl on her forehead
was simply distracting (whereas all other like curls were horrid);
thinking that he might cut college and--
"My chum, Jack Denham," Burnett continued, proving in the same