Grace Harlowe\'s Golden Summer

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Grace Harlowe's Golden Summer

By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.

Author of The Grace Harlowe High School Girls Series, The Grace Harlowe
College Girls Series, etc.

PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1917

[Illustration: Grace's Embroidery Dropped From Her Hands.]

CONTENTS

I. A Song of Golden Summer

II. The House Behind the World

III. For Auld Lang Syne

IV. "To Thine Own Self Be True"

V. Flying in the Face of Superstition

VI. The Shadow

VII. The Veiled Prophetess of Destiny

VIII. Unveiling the Prophetess

IX. The Meaning of Semper Fidelis

X. The Shadow Deepens

XI. Postponing Happiness

XII. The Better Part

XIII. An Innocent Meddler

XIV. The Beginning of the End

XV. Merely a Looker-On

XVI. J. Elfreda's Master Stroke

XVII. Fate

XVIII. A Gleam of Hope

XIX. The Letter

XX. The Last Chance

XXI. The Call of the Elf's Horn

XXII. Out of the Valley

XXIII. The Strange Story

XXIV. The Noon of Golden Summer

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Grace's Embroidery Dropped From Her Hands.

Devoted Love Shone in Her Clear Gray Eyes.

"Here You Are, Weary Wanderer," She Said Gayly.

"When You Have Found Tom, Give Him This Letter."

Grace Harlowe's Golden Summer

CHAPTER I

A SONG OF GOLDEN SUMMER

"Now, David, you know that I know that you don't know what I know.
Therefore, if I know that you don't know what I _know_ you don't know,
it's very plain to be seen that either you or I know very little. Now,
which of us is a know-nothing? Don't be afraid to confess. Remember, we
are your friends." Hippy Wingate beamed benevolently upon his victim,
bland expectation written on his plump face.

"No real friend of mine would ever take such cowardly advantage of the
English language," was David Nesbit's scathing retort. "I'll leave it to
Grace if I'm not right."

"There, Grace. At last you have an opportunity to strike for the right.
I believe in striking a valiant blow for the right----"

"So do I," cut in Reddy Brooks decisively. "There is no time like the
present. There couldn't be a better place. Away out here in this
sequestered spot no one will hear your frenzied yells for help." Reddy
rose determinedly from the steps of the old Omnibus House and made a
nimble spring toward the loquacious prattler.

"Never touched me," was wafted defiantly back, as Hippy Wingate
skilfully eluded Reddy's avenging hand and disappeared around the
protecting corner of the one-time hostelry. The old Omnibus House had
ever been his refuge when put to flight by his long-suffering
companions.

"You might have known it," shrugged Nora Wingate with an indifference
which marked long association with the verbose refugee. "In about three
minutes you'll hear a frantic voice calling on me for protection. Don't
say a word, any of you, but just listen."

A sudden silence, broken only by a soft chuckle from the abused David,
descended on the seven young people occupying the worn stone steps.

"No-ra!" From the rear of the old house a plaintive voice sent up this
anguished plea for succor.

"What did I tell you?" Nora's elaborate air of indifference vanished in
a dimpling smile that was reflected on the faces of the group. No one
said a word; neither did Nora rise to the noble duty of rescuer.

"All alone, all alone!
By the wayside she has left me,
And no other's love I'll be;
For to-night I am deserted;
Nora has forgotten me!"

intoned a mournful voice, flagrantly off the key.

"For to-night you are a nuisance, you mean," was Reddy Brooks' shouted
correction. "I'll rescue you."

"Oh, my!" came Hippy's horrified accents, as Reddy Brooks leaped to his
feet and dived toward the sheltering shadow that concealed the self-made
outcast.

"Isn't it a lovely evening, David? Have you noticed it?" A fat, beaming
face was cautiously thrust forth round a corner opposite to that from
which the call for help had so recently emanated. A plump body still
more cautiously followed the face. It was evident that Hippy considered
David the lesser of two evils. "May I sit by you, Anne? I have always
had a great deal of faith in you." Hippy became ingratiating. "I'm sorry
I can't say as much for certain other persons whose names I courteously
refrain from bringing into the discussion." Without waiting for the
requested permission, Hippy crowded himself onto the small space which
Anne, seated at one end of the top step, obligingly made for him, and
calmly awaited the return of his pursuer.

"Oh, what's the use!" jibed the disgruntled avenger, when, strolling
back to the steps, he beheld the nimble object of his pursuit waiting
for him with a wide grin.

"Thus one is always brought to recognize the futility of revenge,"
murmured Hippy with sad gentleness. "Let us agree to forget the bitter
past, Reddy, and turn our faces toward the glorious future. I might also
add that it doesn't pay to take up another's grievances. After all I
didn't actually accuse David of being a know-nothing. I merely asked him
about it. However, I take it all back. David may know a great deal more
than appears on the surface."

"I decline to rise to the bait," laughed David. "I came out here to
enjoy myself; not to squabble. It's our last evening together until we
all gather home again to see Grace and Tom take the highway of
matrimony. Let's make the most of it."

Those who have faithfully followed Grace Harlowe through the eventful
phases of her high school and college life are equally well acquainted
with the other seven members of the Eight Originals. In "Grace
Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School," "Grace Harlowe's
Sophomore Year at High School," "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at
High School," and "Grace Harlowe's Senior Year at High
School," were recorded the countless interesting sayings and doings
of these eight highly congenial friends. Later, when Grace had been
graduated from Oakdale High School to continue her education at Overton
College, accompanied by her friends, Anne Pierson and Miriam Nesbit, the
devoted little band had remained unswerving in their allegiance to one
another.

Once she had become a freshman at Overton College, Grace's equable
disposition and love of fair play had attracted equally loyal allegiance
to her standard. In "Grace Harlowe's First Year at Overton
College," "Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton
College," "Grace Harlowe's Third Year at Overton College,"
"Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year At Overton College," "Grace
Harlowe's Return To Overton Campus" and "Grace Harlowe's
Problem," will be found a minute record of the principal happenings
which made her college years memorable.

Absorbed in what she had firmly believed to be her destined work, Grace
had long and obstinately shut love from her life, only to find at last
that even her beloved work could not forever crowd it out. Seeing
clearly, after months of doubt, she had cheerfully resigned her position
as manager of Harlowe House to prepare for the more important position
in life which early September was to bring her.

"It doesn't seem possible that we've had the blessed chance to be
together for two whole weeks." Grace's eyes had grown dreamy. "I can't
really believe that I've been back in Oakdale that long. It seems not
more than two evenings ago that we held a reunion at our Fairy
Godmother's and--" She paused, a little flush rising to her cheeks.

"And you and Tom told us the good news," supplemented Nora
mischievously.

"I hadn't intended to say _that_, but never mind," laughed Grace. "It
ceased to be a secret on that night. While I am on the subject I might
as well add that until yesterday we couldn't make up our minds regarding
our wedding day. But it's all settled now. Every one of you must be sure
to be with us on the evening of September tenth."

"'Must' is the word," broke in Tom Gray, his eyes resting fondly on the
slender, radiant-faced girl beside him. "We can't start on the great
adventure without the blessing of this happy band."

"Rest assured, Thomas, we'll be there," averred Hippy. "Having comported
myself with dignity at my own and several other weddings, I shall hail
yours with the greatest of joy."

"Which means that I shall be obliged to keep a watchful eye on you every
moment," translated Nora, her blue eyes twinkling.

"I'll help you, Nora," volunteered Reddy. "I haven't yet forgiven your
wayward husband for the unkind remarks he made about my hair on _my_
wedding day."

"I don't remember them," retorted Hippy, unabashed. "I've made so many
remarks at so many different times about those same flaming, crimson
locks that it would take a long while to sort out the dates. But there's
nothing like trying. Let me see. The first occasion on which I chanced
to note----"

"Now see what you've done." David Nesbit fixed the unfortunate Reddy
with a severe eye.

"I see," was Reddy's grim comment. Picking up the idle mandolin that he
had hastily deposited on Jessica's lap when he made his vengeful dash
upon Hippy, he strummed it lightly. "Why lug a mandolin along if no one
intends to sing?" he asked pointedly, ignoring Hippy's disrespectful
reminiscences.

"Oh, very well." Promptly foregoing the will to gather data concerning
Reddy's too-oft maligned Titian locks, Hippy began a lively warbling
which had nothing in common with the tinkling melody of the mandolin. As
a result the patient instrument immediately ceased its complaining
tinkle. Hippy, however, lilted on, undisturbed, for a matter of five
seconds, when a chorus of threatening protests warned him to cease.

"Do be good," admonished Nora, laughing in spite of herself. "Either
sing prettily or don't try to sing at all."

"Madam, it is not necessary for me to _try_ to sing. Song and I are one.
Let me give you an illustration. Name a ditty best suited to my voice
and I will prove myself."

"I can't recall one," discouraged Nora.

"Silent singing would suit _you_ best," grumbled Reddy. "You could make
your lips do the deed without damaging any one else's ear drums."

"I'll try it," amiably agreed the noisy soloist. "Just watch me." He
proceeded to indulge in a series of labial contortions that a dumb man
would have envied, and which had a most hilarious effect upon those whom
he had lately persecuted with raucous sound. Rudely requested to desist
from even this newly discovered pastime, he subsided with a frantic
signalling to the effect that he had actually been stricken dumb.

"It's too good to be true," exclaimed the relieved Reddy, laying fresh
hold on the mandolin. "While we have peace, sing for us, Nora. We ought
to make the most of this unexpected opportunity."

"Give us that song you used to sing about Golden Summer," begged
Jessica. "Don't you remember, that was one of the first pieces Reddy
learned to play on the mandolin? I haven't heard it in ages. I'd love to
hear Nora sing it again."

"Yes, sing it, Nora." Grace added her plea. "I don't believe I've ever
heard it. It will be very appropriate to the occasion."

"Wait a minute until I think how it goes." Reddy began a reflective
strumming, bringing back, bit by bit, a plaintive little air that
carried a subdued heart throb. "I've got it," he nodded. "Go ahead,
Nora."

Her hands loosely clasped, Nora's clear, high voice, which Grace always
declared "had tears in it," took up the song of Jessica's fancy to the
subdued accompaniment of the mandolin.

"Golden Summer's in the land!
Hark! Her call soars high and sweet.
Hedge-rows flow'r at her command;
Roses spring beneath her feet.
Skies grow azure; life beats strong;
Nature listens to adore;
Thrilling at the siren's song,
Yields her wond'rous treasured store.
Precious fabrics of her loom
Clothe her darling of the year;
Wealth of sunshine; breath of bloom;
Cloudless days, so fair, so dear.

"Golden Summer's voice is stilled--
Autumn chants a requiem low.
Gone the days with rapture filled.
Life's a-throbbing, sad and slow.
Skies grow hazy; sunshine wanes,
Vivid green fast turns to brown;
Here and there along the lanes,
Flames the sumac's lonely crown.
Sings the voice of Mem'ry now,
'Cleave to Love--lest it depart;
Bind remembrance on thy brow,
Cherish Summer in thy heart.'"

"I don't like that song at all." As the last haunting cadence died away,
the dumb man came into energetic speech.

"Why not, Hippy? I think it is beautiful." Grace turned surprised eyes
on the stout protestant.

"It gives me the creeps," he declared shortly and with unmistakable
earnestness. "The first verse is all very nice. Summer is a golden time,
etc. But why remind us that fall is coming?" He had now resumed his old,
bantering tone. "I prefer to have summer three hundred and sixty-five
days in the year. I don't like murky skies, worn-out grass, skeleton
hedge-rows, muddy lanes, lonesome sumacs and cold winds. As for winter,
lead me away from it. I absolutely refuse to carry summer about in so
useful an organ as my heart, when it's ten below zero and the water
pipes are all frozen up."

"That is because you have no sentiment," challenged Reddy. Whereupon the
divine power of song was at once swallowed up in a fresh burst of
argument as futile as it was laughable. It was ended by tactful Anne,
who was always supremely useful when called upon to arbitrate such
important matters. The relative merits of "Golden Summer" having been
successfully decided and laid to rest, Nora again lifted up her voice in
a selection infinitely more to her liege lord's liking. Then followed an
old-fashioned song in which every one took part, filling the quiet
moonlit night with sweetest harmony.

"It's half-past ten, children," reminded David, as striking a match he
consulted his watch. "Anne, Jessica, Reddy, and I are due to catch early
trains to-morrow morning. Anne and I mustn't miss ours. We promised
Miriam we'd surely be with her to-morrow night."

"Anne, don't forget to tell Miriam not to dare do any shopping until
Mother and I arrive in New York," reminded Grace. "She promised to wait
for me, so that we could do our shopping together. I've written her
about it, but I wish you'd emphasize the fact for me."

"I will," promised Anne. "I know she will wait for you, though. She told
me she intended to."

With knowledge of the coming parting so near, the little company grew a
trifle less merry as they strolled home across the familiar fields in
the moonlight. Though Hippy had been the only one to confess it, the
plaintive melody of Nora's song of Golden Summer haunted them. With
summer at high tide in each heart, it was, as Hippy had remarked, not
quite pleasant to be reminded even tunefully that life holds the
inevitable autumn.

"I really believe Hippy meant what he said about that song," Tom
remarked meditatively to Grace.

"Were you thinking of that, too?" A faint, almost melancholy smile
flickered about Grace's lips as she asked the question. "It seemed to me
he was in earnest."

"I almost wish Nora hadn't sung it," returned Tom with unexpected
bluntness. "I went through such a long, dreary winter before _my_ Golden
Summer came. Now I wish it to stay with me forever. I'd like our lives
from this moment on always to be one long, continued Golden Summer like
the last two weeks. I can't bear to think that it might ever be
otherwise."

"'Perfect love casteth out fear,'" quoted Grace softly. "It's the only
true safeguard against the ills of life. After all, there's a note of
triumph in the ending of that song. With love to light us on our way, it
can't help but be always Golden Summer in our hearts."

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE BEHIND THE WORLD

"How many letters for me, Bridget?" trilled Grace Harlowe as she raced
across the lawn to the front steps with the reckless enthusiasm of a
small boy. A glimpse of the postman's retreating back had brought her
scurrying from the garden to collect her own.

"Sure and it's a deal of mail ye be always gettin', Miss Grace,"
commented Bridget proudly, as she handed the eager-faced questioner a
small stack of letters that brought a sparkle of pleasant anticipation
to Grace's gray eyes.

"More than I deserve, I am sorry to say. I'm by no means a perfect
correspondent. Thank you, Bridget." With a bright little nod, Grace
skipped joyfully up the steps and made harbor in the big porch swing.
"I'll read them as they come," she decided, "then each one will be a
fresh surprise. Hello! Here's Miriam first of all. That means Anne
delivered my message." Hastily tearing open the envelope, Grace drew
forth a single sheet of thick white paper and read:

"DEAR GRACE:

"How I wish I could suddenly drop in on you this morning for a long
talk. There is so much I should like to tell you which I haven't
time to write. Anne, the faithful, delivered your message. Don't
worry about my not waiting for you. I won't buy even a paper of
pins without your august sanction and approval. I am anxiously
looking forward to seeing you. So are Kathleen, Anne, Arline and
Mabel Ashe.

"Elfreda is with me. She is a never-failing joy, and to quote her
pet phrase, 'I can see' that there will be a vast amount of
celebrating done when you arrive. Please forgive me for not writing
much this time. I am expecting Everett and his sister at any
moment. We are going to motor down to their home on Long Island for
the day. I have decided to put in the time usefully until they have
arrived. Hence this fragmentary epistle. Kindly note my laudable
promptness as a correspondent and fall in line. With much love,

"As always,

"MIRIAM."

"I'll reply this very morning," nobly resolved Grace. "Oh!" She gave a
gleeful chuckle as she recognized a dear, familiar script. "It's from
Emma, good old friend." The chuckle continued as she perused the flowery
salutation:

"MOST GRACIOUS AND ESTIMABLE GRACE:

"Having made a triumphal return to the humble habitation of the
Deans, of whom I am which, I now derive a most excruciating
pleasure in taking up my sadly neglected pen to inform you that I
am well and hope you are the same. By this time you are no doubt
mourning me as hopelessly lost in the wilds of darkest Deanery.
Such is not the case. Though I have wandered disconsolately about
my childhood haunts and camped out despondently under the fruitful
pear-tree in our back yard, which, so far as I can remember, has
never boasted of a single solitary pear, I am by no means lost. In
fact, I am really beginning to feel quite at home. But how I miss
you! Living in a 'Graceless' world is a cross even to a person of
my excellent and amiable qualities.

"There's a grain of comfort in store, thank goodness. Before many
weeks the Sempers will congregate together somewhere for a glorious
reunion. Elfreda has written me that you are soon to be in New York
City. I suppose the momentous question of 'Where shall we reunite?'
will be decided then."

Grace read on through page after page of the long letter, written in
Emma's most humorous vein. Finishing it at last, she gathered the
closely written sheets together with a happy little sigh. Good-natured,
fun-loving Emma Dean occupied a foremost place in her affections. Grace
wondered sometimes if the bond between them did not stretch as tightly
even as that between herself and Anne. Emma had been and always would be
the perfect comrade.

"You're next, Mabel," she murmured as she scanned the third envelope on
the scarcely depleted pile. "I suppose you are going to tell me
that----"

The loud purr of an automobile stopping before the house left Mabel's
message still unread. Depositing her wealth of correspondence on the
seat of the swing, Grace tripped down the steps and on down the walk.

"Good morning, dear Fairy Godmother," she greeted hospitably. "Good
morning, Tom. Something nice is going to happen. I can read it in your
faces."

"That depends on whatever your conception of 'nice' may be," returned
Tom mysteriously. Slipping from the driver's seat, he caught her
outstretched hand in both his own, his gray eyes alive with the light of
a joyful anticipation which Grace had been quick to catch.

"Good morning, my dear," called Mrs. Gray from the car. "Run in the
house and get your hat. We are bound on a most mysterious mission. You
are the third person needed to carry it out."

"I'll be with you in a moment." Turning, Grace hastened up the walk to
the house, wondering mightily what lay in store for her. "Mrs. Gray and
Tom are waiting outside for me in the automobile, Mother," she
announced, appearing suddenly on the shady back porch, where her mother
sat quietly hemstitching a table cloth for Grace's Hope Chest. "Come out
and see them."

Smiling to herself, Mrs. Harlowe laid aside her labor of love and
followed her daughter's impetuous lead. Catching up her broad-brimmed
Panama hat from the hall rack, Grace placed it on her head without
stopping to consult the hall mirror. Linking her arm in her mother's,
she towed her gently along toward the automobile to meet the unexpected
arrivals.

"Won't you come with us, Mrs. Harlowe?" invited Mrs. Gray. The two women
exchanged not only greetings but significant smiles as well.

"Thank you; not this morning. I prefer to leave Grace to you and Tom."
Again her eyes met those of the older woman with the same enigmatic
smile.

"There is mystery in the very air," declared Grace gayly. "I can tell by
the way you two are exchanging eye-signals. Whatever the great secret
is, Mother knows it. Now don't you?" she challenged, her affectionate
gaze resting on Mrs. Harlowe.

"I'll answer that question when you come back," parried her mother.

"I'll hold you to your word," came the retort. Dropping a soft kiss on
her mother's pink cheek, Grace accepted Tom's hand and stepped into the
tonneau of the waiting automobile.

"Whither away, good prince?" she called mischievously to Tom as the
machine glided down the street.

"That's a secret, curious princess. Wait and you will see," flung back
Tom teasingly.

"Of course I'm curious," calmly admitted Grace, as she settled back in
her seat. "Who wouldn't be? I wouldn't have let you tell me, though, if
you had tried. I am quite ready to wait and see what happens."

Nevertheless, as they spun along the smooth road in the summer sunshine,
Grace cast more than one speculative glance about her, trying to glean
some faint hint of their destination. Although conversation went on
briskly between herself and her Fairy Godmother, her keen eyes lost no
detail that might possibly furnish her with a clue.

"We'll have to leave the car here and walk a little way," announced Tom,
when half an hour later, after traveling the highway that skirted Upton
Wood, he slowed down in a shady spot on the other side of the short
stretch of forest.

"Very well," came Mrs. Gray's placid voice from the tonneau. "I shall
not leave the car, Tom. You may do the honors."

"Come on, Grace." Leaving the driver's seat, Tom opened the door of the
tonneau and stretched forth an inviting hand.

"I know where we are going," she cried triumphantly, as she accepted the
proffered assistance. "We are going to take a look at Upton Heights. How
nice! I haven't seen the quaint old place since I came home from
college. You know I've always loved it and wished I owned it. It's such
a wonderful forest retreat. When I was a little girl, I used to love to
play that the world ended there. I always called it the House Behind the
World."

Further mysterious and affectionate eye-signals were flashed between
Mrs. Gray and Tom as Grace made this fervent speech. "Come and look at
it again," said Tom briefly. There was a touch of exultation in his even
tones.

Hand in hand, like two children, the youthful pair swung gayly along the
narrow path that led from the highway to picturesque Upton Heights.
Nearing it, they became suddenly silent in the face of its undeniable
claim to beauty. Dazzlingly white against the magnificent trees which
surrounded it, it stood in the middle of a grassy plateau that rolled
gently down to the woodland path in long sloping green terraces.

"How beautiful it looks!" Grace gazed almost reverently at the rambling
old house with its wide, high-pillared verandas. It was like some
gracious, stately person whose very watchword was hospitality, she
thought. Built more than a century before, by a long-since departed
Upton, it had not been used as a residence by his descendants. Due to a
clause of command in the original owner's will, it had ever afterward
been sedulously kept in repair. To her beauty-loving soul, it now seemed
to have taken on a new lease of life. The house itself rejoiced in a
fresh white luster and the grounds showed recent care.

"It was nice in you to bring me here, Tom," she again said. "You knew I
loved this old place, didn't you?"

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