The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks
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Charles Felton Pidgin >> The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks
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Maude was ready to cry, but she choked down her rising temper.
"I think he's afraid to."
"What has he done that he should fear me?"
Maude made another mistake. "He never borrowed any money of you."
The Hon. Nathaniel disliked any reference to that raised check. "If
he marries you, perhaps he will find it difficult to support you
without borrowing money--but I shall not loan him any."
"He says he can support me as well as I wish, and I am going to marry
him."
This was flat-footed defiance, and the Hon. Nathaniel grew red in the
face at being thus bearded in his den.
"Maude, I am astonished. I command you not to meet this young man
again unless in my presence or that of your mother. When I meet him,
I shall have something to say to him."
He resumed the reading of the document, and Maude, knowing that it
was useless to say more, left the room.
The next day at noon, Maude told her mother she was going to make
some purchases on Winter Street. As no objection was made, Maude felt
sure that her father had not mentioned their conversation to her
mother. She met Harry and they walked down the "Long Path" on the
Common, made famous by the genial "Autocrat," not only of one
breakfast table, but of thousands of others.
"He will never consent," said Maude.
"I thought so."
"He was real mean to me--as sarcastic as he could be."
"Rich fathers are usually indignant when their daughters wish to
marry poor men. He can have no other objection to me."
"Have you any money saved up, Harry?"
"Yes, I've got two thousand dollars in the bank to furnish our flat
with."
"We shall have to go to a justice of the peace, for father will not
let me be married at home. Oh, if Aunt Ella were here."
"Where is she?"
"In England. She's the wife of a baronet, and he is rich and so is
Aunt Ella."
"Maude, let's elope and go to England for our honeymoon."
* * * * * * *
Aunt Ella and Alice had been to Ketchley to make some purchases for
young Quincy's wardrobe. As they entered the house a maid said that a
young lady and gentleman were waiting to see them.
"Both of us?" queried Aunt Ella.
The maid replied: "They said they wished to see Lady Fernborough and
Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer."
"I will see if baby is all right and join you in a few minutes," said
Alice.
Aunt Ella passed her hat and wrap to the maid, and entered the
drawing room.
"Maude Sawyer, what cloud did you drop from? Where did you come from?
Excuse me," said Aunt Ella as she espied Maude's companion, who had
kept in the background.
"This is my husband, Mr. Harry Merry. We're just from London. We've
been doing the town. What a big noisy place."
Alice came in and the introduction was repeated.
"Well, Maude," said Aunt Ella, "we're delighted to see you and your
husband, but your arrival was so unexpected that you must pardon my
evidences of surprise."
"They're very excusable," said Maude. "I can hardly realize, myself,
that we are here. You and Alice are wondering what brought us, and
you are entitled to an explanation. We just eloped because father
would not give his consent."
The presence of Mr. Merry made the situation an awkward one, but Aunt
Ella was a woman with opinions and was not afraid to express them. So
she said:
"I suppose your father will disinherit you. I hope that will not mar
your future happiness."
"I don't think it will. Harry has a good position, we've got some
money in the bank, and we're going to have a nice little flat in
Cambridge or Roxbury. I want to see my little nephew, Quincy's boy,
and then we are going right back to London."
"Come with me," said Alice, "and see the baby, but Aunt Ella and I
will never consent to your leaving us so soon. You must pay us a long
visit."
"I would," replied Maude, "but for one thing father said to me. We
will stay over night, for I have so much to tell both of you."
"Come to the library," said Aunt Ella. "I will introduce your husband
to Sir Stuart, and then we will go to the nursery where we can talk
as long as we wish."
When they reached the nursery, Maude's first wish was gratified--she
held, and hugged and kissed, and praised her brother's boy. Alice's
face beamed with delight.
"Now, Maude," exclaimed Aunt Ella, "why this runaway marriage? Tell
us all about it."
Maude laughed. "It's so funny. I told father I was going to marry Mr.
Merry, and he about the same as said I shouldn't. He told me not to
meet him again unless in his presence or mother's."
"That was reasonable. Why did you object?" asked Aunt Ella.
"It wouldn't have done any good. He's opposed to Harry because he
isn't rich. Was Nathaniel Adams Sawyer rich when he married your
sister, Aunt Ella?"
"I should say not. They began housekeeping in three rooms, but my
brother-in-law is a born money-maker."
"We're going to have five rooms, and I think Harry has it in him to
make money--at any rate I'm going to give him a chance and help him
all I can."
"How did you manage to get away?" asked Alice. She remembered that
Quincy married her without his father's consent. But for the fact
that she became famous by writing a popular book, he would never have
welcomed her into the family. In fact, he had been "cornered" and had
to surrender. So, she was full of sympathy for Maude, for her own
fate might have been similar.
"That's the funny part," said Maude. "I could get away easily enough,
but I wanted my clothes and many things that I prized. I knew it was
wrong, but I deceived my father. I am sorry for that, but I couldn't
give Harry up."
"What did you do?" asked Aunt Ella.
"Why, I told father if he wanted to get me away from Harry that he
must let me come to England and see Florence. I didn't say I was
coming to see you--"
"That wouldn't have appealed to him," interrupted Aunt Ella.
Maude continued: "Then everything was plain sailing. He gave me money
for an outfit, bought my ticket and return, found me a chaperone, a
brother lawyer and his wife were coming over, and gave me five
hundred dollars to spend. I consider that is my dowry, for I don't
expect any more. Florence gets fifteen thousand a year and I get five
hundred all in a lump. But I am not envious of Florence. She needs
the money, and I don't."
"Then your father does not know that you are married?" said Alice.
"Certainly not. Harry was on the same boat, but we never spoke to
each other all the way over. We suspected that father had spoken to
Mr. Harding or his wife about Harry, and so we were very circumspect
and gave no cause for suspicion."
"Well," said Aunt Ella, "I will go with you to see Florence, but Mr.
Merry--"
"Please call him Harry, Aunt Ella. Isn't he your nephew--in-law?"
"Then," Aunt Ella continued, "Harry must stay here. Alice and I will
think out some way of breaking the news to your father. I'm glad you
told me the whole story, for I think I see a way to overcome his
objections."
The visit to Mrs. Captain Hornaby was paid, and Maude Sawyer was
obliged to kiss and be kissed by her brother-in-law.
"You didn't win the canoe race," said Maude, "but you were determined
to have that kiss and so you married Florence;" but her sister was
not present when she made the remark.
"Where is your friend, Colonel Spencer?"
"In India. I have never seen him since I gave him that check."
"That paying teller got twenty years in prison for his penmanship,"
said Maude. "Father thought you were the bad man until Aunt Ella sent
the message that led father to investigate and find out who deposited
the check. I was awful glad that you got out of it so nicely."
"So was I," said Reginald. "I hope some day I can help somebody else
out of a bad box just to show my gratitude."
Maude thought of her "bad box," but Reginald could not help her or
Harry.
"Are you going to India?" she asked. "How is it that you are not with
the army?"
"I have sold my captaincy. Florence did not wish me to leave her, and
my eldest brother decided the matter. He hates farming and accounts.
I love both, so I am in charge of the estate. My brother Paul has
been given a living as they call it in the church, and Geoffrey has
entered the navy. My brother Wilfred will inherit the title, so we
are all provided for."
Aunt Ella and Alice had many long confabs about the young couple, and
how to reinstate Maude in her father's good graces when the truth
became known to him.
"I have an idea," said Alice one morning to Aunt Ella. "Yesterday I
had a letter from Dr. Paul Culver, one of the executors of Quincy's
will. He says his practice is so great that he cannot do justice to
my interests, and asks me to suggest some one to be appointed in his
stead."
"What's your idea? Though perhaps I can guess," said Aunt Ella.
"I am going to suggest Mr. Merry. I had many talks with him while you
were away with Maude, and I am deeply impressed in his favour. Are
you surprised?"
"Not so much as you will be when I tell you that Florence and her
husband are going back with Maude. Harry will have to go too, so
something must be done. Now, you know that I gave Quincy an allowance
of five thousand dollars a year when he was married. I am going to
give it to Harry."
"And why not let them live in the Mount Vernon Street house--until--"
Her voice broke.
"I know what you were going to say, Alice. It is a good idea--all
furnished and ready for occupancy. I shall never see it again--and
you may not for years--for I can't spare you."
"When do they sail?" Alice asked.
"In about a week. I'm going to write a letter to Sarah to-night to
pave the way."
It was midnight when Aunt Ella completed a letter that seemed to fit
the case.
"MY DEAR SISTER SARAH:--I write to let you know that Florence and her
husband will sail for America in about a week. This may not be news
to you, for probably Florence has written you, but it will be news
when I tell you that Maude and her husband, Mr. Merry, will sail on
the same steamer. They have visited Florence and are now here with
me.
"I presume Nathaniel will be very angry, and he may say that I am
responsible, as he did in Quincy's case. I did help Quincy and Alice
and I am going to help Maude and Harry. I am going to allow them five
thousand a year and Alice gives them the free use of the Mount Vernon
Street house. She has written Nathaniel about Mr. Merry taking Dr.
Culver's place as one of Quincy's executors.
"Now, if Nathaniel gets very angry and threatens to disinherit Maude,
just ask him, for me, why it is that all his children have been
married away from home. Has it always been their fault, or is his
home discipline in part, or wholly, the cause? It didn't make so much
difference in Quincy's case, but here in England no girl is married
outside of her father's house, unless it be in church.
"Your children are now all married, and, I think, well married. Let
Nathaniel make the best of it, and, instead of keeping up a family
warfare, change his tactics and become an indulgent, loving father.
"Your sister,
"ELLA.
"P. S. Let Nathaniel read this letter. It will do him good."
Aunt Ella read her letter over before sealing it. There was a quiet
smile on her face as she pressed the seal upon the melted wax. Then
she soliloquized:
"Yes, it will do him good to read that letter. He has no one else to
boss now but Sarah, but she doesn't resist, and ready acquiescence
takes away the pleasure of domineering. The boss wishes to break
stout twigs, not simply press down pliant willows." There came a
sharp rap upon the door--it was thrown open, and Alice entered.
"Oh, Aunt Ella, Quincy is very sick. He is choked up so he can hardly
breathe. I'm afraid it is the croup."
"We must send for Dr. Parshefield at once. But who can go? Henry
injured his foot to-day and cannot walk. Lennon, the butler, cannot
ride a horse, and Simon, the stable boy, would be frightened to death
so late at night."
"Oh, what shall we do?" cried Alice.
"Do?" exclaimed Aunt Ella. "I'll go myself. It's only two miles to
Ketchley and I can ride back with the Doctor. I'll get Harry to help
me harness the horse. Open the windows to give your boy plenty of
air, and fan him."
She took up the oil lamp that stood upon her writing table. "This is
whale oil--a nauseous smelling compound. Rub his neck and chest well
with it."
Alice sought the nursery and followed Aunt Ella's directions. She was
sitting by the crib watching her child's laboured breathing when her
aunt returned.
"Harry is going on horseback. He knows the road to Ketchley and where
the Doctor lives. Give him some more of the oil."
It was administered and the child began to choke--he seemed to be
strangling--then the phlegm that had impeded his breathing was thrown
off, and his face resumed its natural colour. When the Doctor arrived
an hour later, he was sleeping quietly. Aunt Ella told what they had
done by way of emergency treatment.
"Evidently a very effective treatment," said Dr. Parshefield. "I
could not have done better myself."
"It was so good of you, Harry," said Alice. "I shall never forget
your kindness."
Then she threw her arms about Aunt Ella's neck.
"Oh, Auntie, if he had been taken from me, I could not have borne
it."
CHAPTER XVI
YOUNG QUINCY
It had been arranged while Aunt Ella and Maude were at Ellersleigh
that Florence and her husband should come to Fernborough Hall and
make a visit before their departure for the United States. Owing to
Harry's presence at the Hall it became necessary, when they arrived,
to divulge the well-kept secret of Maude's unconventional marriage.
Aunt Ella managed the introduction with her usual
straightforwardness, treating it as a matter of course. Florence and
her husband were naturally surprised, but both of them liked Harry
Merry. Had Florence been married at home, with the usual family
friends and accessories, she would have looked with less tolerance on
Maude's elopement. To be sure she had not eloped, but when she looked
into her own heart she had to confess to herself that she would have
married Reginald even if her parents had refused their consent. So,
as the intent makes the offence, she forgave Maude for her escapade,
and during their stay at the Hall they manifested more sisterly
regard for each other than they had ever before shown.
Reginald and Harry "hitched horses" at once. Men who marry sisters
are united by a stronger tie than the usual brother-in-law bond, and
the Englishman and the American felicitated themselves upon their
capture of the Sawyer sisters. They played billiards on a table where
the balls had not clicked for a generation. They smoked in a room
which had been free from the odour of tobacco for a score of years.
They rode horseback upon steeds whose principal duty, as Harry
expressed it, had been to "heat their 'eads horff." They even fished
in the miniature lake and gave their catch to dogs who knew so little
about real sport that they thought the fish were game. They took long
walks together and knew by name every man, woman, and child on the
estate. The conservative Englishman, if alone, would not have gone so
far, but the democratic American took the lead, and politeness, if
not inclination, forced his companion to follow.
They often passed an evening with Sir Stuart in his library. The
Captain related incidents in his military life, while Harry, who had
been a great reader, drew on both memory and imagination for tales of
the Great West, with an occasional ghost story, supported by
irrefutable witnesses. The day before their departure, Aunt Ella took
Florence to her boudoir and told her what she had written to _her_
sister, Nathaniel's wife, about her children's marriages.
"I hope Sarah will let your father read my letter. I said just what I
thought, and I shall stand by Maude and her husband come what may."
"And so will I," cried Florence. "You helped Reginald by solving the
mystery of that check, and I will do all I can to help Maude and
Harry. I think he is a fine fellow, and Reggie says they have become
like two brothers."
"I am glad to hear," said Aunt Ella, "that they are bound by love as
well as by law."
In about a month there came a long letter from Maude.
"DEAR AUNT ELLA AND SISTER ALICE:--I have so much to tell you that I
hardly know where to begin. We had a fine trip--no storms--and none
of us missed a meal, which was bad for the company. But they made up
their loss on others who ate a supper on leaving England and a
breakfast on reaching America.
"Mother was delighted to see us and father was so nice to us all that
I came near fainting. He is a changed man. I wonder what drug he has
been taking."
* * * * * * *
"Didn't you tell Maude about your letter to her mother?" asked Alice.
"No, I told Florence, but thought Maude would appreciate the change
now, _if_ it took place, if she was ignorant of what influence had
been brought to bear on her father."
Aunt Ella continued the reading.
* * * * * * *
"Harry and I have been to Fernborough. Alice's brother sent us word
that Uncle Isaac Pettingill was dead and we went to the funeral. He
had no complaint. He was tired out, so Mrs. Maxwell told us, and went
to sleep. He left each of Mrs. Maxwell's boys five thousand dollars,
and the same amount to Quincy Adams Pettingill. The remainder of his
fortune, I don't know how much, is bequeathed to build a free
hospital in Fernborough.
"There's another good man dead--Deacon Mason,--and his wife has gone
to live with her daughter, Mrs. Pettingill. That funny little man,
Mr. Stiles, has gone there too.
"I saw Mrs. Hawkins, and she said: 'I mos' cried my eyes out when I
heerd 'bout that collision at sea, an' what it did. I can't see no
sense in them captains bein' so careless and reckless. Tell Miss
Alice I wish she'd come home and bring that boy. I want ter see ef he
looks like his father.'
"I came near forgetting what to me is the most important part of my
letter. Harry has been appointed as Quincy's executor in place of Dr.
Culver, and, this is the wonderful thing, father has induced Harry to
leave Mr. Carter's office and go into his office. He told Harry that
they were all getting old and they needed young blood in the firm--
but Harry's not in the firm yet. No more this time from your loving,
"MAUDE MERRY."
"My letter to Sarah did do some good," said Aunt Ella triumphantly.
"Poor Uncle Ike, I wish I could have been with him. I wonder if I
shall ever see Fernborough again?"
Aunt Ella did not answer the question as she would have liked to, and
Alice went to her room to recall those former happy days which would
never come again.
Nearly nine years had passed since young Quincy's birth, and Alice
was still at Fernborough Hall. She could not leave it now, for Aunt
Ella was again a widow. Her mind was troubled about her boy. He had
recurrent attacks of throat trouble, and was not strong as she wished
him to be.
"It's the damp, foggy weather," said Aunt Ella. "We're too near the
water, and this country, beautiful as it is, is not like our bright
America."
Dr. Parshefield suggested a trip to the South of France, but Alice
declared that was impossible.
"Something must be done--now what shall it be?" was Aunt Ella's
declaration and inquiry. Then Alice remembered what Maude had said in
one of her letters--that young Quincy should be brought up as an
American. She spoke to Aunt Ella about the matter, repeating what
Maude had written.
"Where could we send him?"
"The _where_ is not so important" Aunt Ella remarked, "as the _to
whom_. Florence and Maude are both out of the question for they have
young children of their own who might, or might not, take to an
outsider. Quincy's mother would be delighted to have him for he is
her son's son, but Boston, with its east winds would be no better
than here. Besides, his grandfather would say that he'd raised one
family of disobedient children and he wanted a quiet life."
The question remained unsettled that day, but the next morning Aunt
Ella burst into Alice's room with a loud cry--
"Eureka! I have it! Why didn't we think of it before?"
"You say you have it," said Alice, "but what is it? That pattern that
you were looking for?"
"No, a happy home for this youngster," as she patted his curly head
lovingly.
"Now, can't you guess?"
Alice shook her head.
"Well, I must say, you are not a very thoughtful _sister_," and the
last word was strongly emphasized.
"What, do you mean--'Zekiel?" cried Alice.
"The very man, and Fernborough is the place. You must write to your
brother at once."
As Alice was writing the thought came to her, "Perhaps if my boy goes
to Fernborough, some day I may go to see him, and the old town, and
the people there, once more."
In due time a reply came from 'Zekiel. It was short, but to the
point. "Huldy will be delighted to have him. Our boy Quincy is nearly
fourteen years old now and he'll take good care of his little cousin.
I'll try and be a father to him until you come for him."
The important question, "How was the boy to reach America?" was
answered by one of those happy coincidences which happen often in
books and occasionally in real life, such as is being depicted. The
Rev. Mr. Gay, who had been a constant visitor to Uncle Ike during his
last days, paid a visit to Fernborough Hall on his return from a trip
to the Holy Land.
"Heaven must have sent you," said Alice, and she told him of her
desire to have her boy go to Fernborough.
Mr. Gay consented to take charge of young Quincy. In a few days the
parting came. The mother's heart was sorely tried. But mother-love is
unselfish, and Alice's only consolation came from the conviction that
her temporary loss was for her son's permanent good.
Her nights were sleepless, filled with thoughts of accidents, and
storms and collisions at sea, until a welcome letter dispelled her
imaginings, for it brought the intelligence that young Quincy was
safe with his father's friends.
CHAPTER XVII
HIS FATHER'S FRIENDS
It is the good fortune of some fatherless or motherless children to
be adopted into good families where the natural love and care that
have been denied them are supplied, as it were, by proxy. With young
Quincy it was so, only much more so. It fell to his lot to be adopted
by an entire town. Its residents had been, with few exceptions, his
father's friends. The sad story of his father's loss at sea was known
to all, and the town's heart warmed towards him; the town's arms were
open to embrace him, and care for him.
To his Aunt Huldah Pettingill he seemed as though sent from another
world. He was her husband's nephew, and hers--but there was a closer
tie acknowledged within her own heart, and kept there as a precious
secret. He was Quincy Adams Sawyer's son--the son of the man who had
taught her what love was. It had been a bitter lesson, for when her
heart was awakened, it was but to find that the one who had played
upon its sensitive strings did not love her, and that her duty was to
another who did love her. She had been a true and loving wife with no
unsatisfied heart-longings, but--
"You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still."
So Huldah Mason still kept within a secret corner of her heart a fond
remembrance of happy days gone by. And now Quincy's son was one of
her family; she could be a mother to him and no one would have a
right to question her manifestations of affection. It is often that
the human heart thus finds solace for past sad experiences or
suffering.
It was only natural that Huldah, after her father's death, should
take her mother to her own home. The old Deacon had acquired enough
of this world's goods to avoid the necessity of hard labour during
the last years of his life. Good books had been his constant
companions, and an old-fashioned cane-bottomed rocking chair his
favourite seat upon the piazza or by the kitchen fire. Abner Stiles
had done the necessary farm work and the household chores. When the
Deacon passed away, the town lost one of its broadest-minded, most
honest, most helpful citizens.
Mrs. Mason, still hale and hearty, assisted her daughter in her
household duties, but allowed Abner to put up the clothes line and
take it in.
"And this is his son, and his poor father--" The Deacon's good wife
could say no more, but clasped little Quincy close to her motherly
breast.
"You told me how it happened, Huldy, and I told father, but it don't
seem real even now. His father was such a fine man."
She stopped, for her daughter had turned her head away, and her
mother knew that it was to brush away some tears that could not be
kept back.
To 'Zekiel Pettingill, the boy was Alice's child. His only sister had
been the apple of his eye, and his great, honest heart welcomed the
boy as if he were his own.
His own son, Quincy Adams Pettingill, was in his fourteenth year and
upon him devolved the outdoor education of his young cousin. In this
pleasant task he was aided by his sister Sophie who was a year
younger than the newcomer.
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