everything was ready for the start, but no one knew how much that meant as well as harold and uncle fritz, for they had thought of nothing else for three whole weeks together. the others would find out by degrees what a delightful thing it was to have had everything so carefully arranged and well thought out beforehand. the start was to be for the english lake country, and the being ready meant that everything that could by any possibility be needed on a month’s driving tour had been carefully stowed away somewhere. it was a select little party of six—uncle fritz and aunt lou, marie-celeste, miss allyn, harold and mr. farwell, a young american artist whom uncle fritz had come to know. mr. farwell was invited, if the truth be told, more to fill up than for any other reason; for three in a row is the invariable rule for an english break, unless you are willing to be shaken about rather more than is by any means agreeable. the back seat was reserved for the two grooms, and a bundle of wraps and rugs strapped to the cushion between them showed that they at any rate recognized the desirability of not having too much room at their disposal. the break that was brought into requisition belonged to theodore, and was simply appropriated by harold, for there was no saying “by your leave” to a fellow who went driving through the country himself without even taking the pains to enlighten you as to his whereabouts.
“who knows but we shall meet him somewhere?” thought harold, knowing that ted’s trip was also to be through the english lakes; “and if we do, i’ll give him another piece of my mind, for he’s been more than rude to aunt lou and uncle fritz, never putting himself out the least bit for them. oh, if ted were only a different sort of fellow! he ought to be the sixth one in this party instead of mr. farwell. but, heigho! it would be a shame to let ted spoil this trip for me, and i’m not going to think of him again—that is, if i can help it—unless we happen to meet.”
harold was indulging in this meditation as he stood waiting by the break for the rest of the party, for thinking comes very easy when one has nothing to do; but wise are the folk, big or little, who, like harold, resolve to banish uncomfortable thoughts from the mind when convinced that thinking is not in the least likely to better them.
of course, as you may imagine, there was one little heart sadly rebellious and envious over the setting out of this happy party. “not quite big enough to fill up,” was the chief excuse given; but the little knight of the garter knew full well that he was considered too small every way to be for one moment taken into the calculation. oh, what would he not have given if only his arrival in this world might have been timed in closer proximity to harold’s and marie-celeste’s—it was such an insupportable thing to be seven long years behind! but, all the same, his time would come, and his little envious heart secretly cherished the revengeful hope that he, in turn, might have the grim satisfaction of informing other young hopefuls that their extreme youth and diminutive proportions excluded them from participating in this or that pleasure to which his riper age entitled him, all of which unknightly and most unchristian sentiments we trust will be put to rout when he comes to years of discretion. but this aside about albert has been merely by way of parenthesis while the party from the little castle are mounting the steps to the break, and stowing themselves away in their places. uncle fritz, who had spent all his boyhood on a new england farm near franconia, and taken many a trip on a white mountain coach by the side of an indulgent driver, had early mastered the secret of competent four-in-hand driving, and was therefore first to take his seat on the driver’s almost perpendicular cushion. next to him sat harold, who could also manage the four-in-hand whenever uncle fritz thought best to resign in his favor, and next to harold, marie-celeste, grateful for the arrangement that accorded to her a seat on the outside edge. on the middle seat aunt lou sat alone in solemn grandeur, but only until they could cover the little distance to the white hart inn to take aboard mr. farwell, and then wheel round to canon allyn’s for dorothy.
dorothy allyn was standing in the doorway ready and expectant, and looking as pretty as a picture in a gray costume and a hat with a wide-rolling brim, that in her case was vastly becoming. albert’s disconsolate face was pressed close to a window-pane, which was as near as he cared to come to such a joyous company. marie-celeste declared she could almost see the lump in the poor little fellow’s throat, and the recollection of the utter hopelessness of the teary brown eyes lingered rather sadly for a while in the memory of all of the party.
but who could long be grave at the outset of so promising an expedition! the idea of a leisurely driving trip through the lovely lake country, stopping here and there, as the spirit moved them, at the comfortable little inns and hotels that abound in the region, had been such a supremely delightful idea, even in mere anticipation, that now that they were actually off enthusiasm knew no bounds, and mirth was literally unconfined. not that any very remarkable things were said, but one can laugh very easily, you know, and at almost nothing, when one’s heart is light as a feather and the “goose hangs high,” as the queer old saying has it.
and yet for all that, to all those happy hearts there might have been added one extra touch still of lightness. mr. farwell was no doubt a most desirable addition, and all were delighted that he could come; but the place belonged by rights to ted—wilful, wandering, selfish ted, who might have added so much to their pleasure if he had not chosen to turn his back upon them all and prefer any company in the world, apparently, to that of kith and kin and old friends at windsor. the thought and half hope that they might meet him somewhere on the trip was in every mind but one. dorothy knew better. dorothy knew a great deal, in fact, for her brother harry had made one surreptitious visit home; that is, he had arrived by night and left again by night, and no one outside of his own family had been a bit the wiser. and during that visit harry, under pledge of perfect secrecy on the part of his mother and dorothy, had told them everything.
“you see, the reason why i want you to keep so dark about it all,” harry had explained, “is because of ted. i believe the fellow’s just as ashamed of this last year at oxford as i am, but you know, dorothy, as well as i do (as, alas! dorothy did know to her sorrow), that ted’s awfully touchy and sensitive, and it takes a very little thing to turn him one way or the other. well, now, let harold, who is pretty well out of the notion of ted already, come to hear of this last scrape, and, youngster as he is, i believe he’d throw him over; and ted, you know, wouldn’t stand any nonsense of that sort and would tell harold ‘to go his own way and welcome,’ and who knows what the upshot of that would be! if ted does not feel he must make an effort to lead a different sort of life for harold’s sake, he may come to the conclusion that the thing’s not worth trying. you see, you can’t feel sure about a fellow’s good resolutions till you have had a chance to test them, and ted’s haven’t had to stand any strain as yet.”
now, to know all this was naturally a great comfort to harry’s mother and sister, for they had of course been not a little anxious on harry’s own account at the way things seemed to be going; but there was one thing they were content not to know for a while—for the reason that harry strongly urged it—and that was where he and ted were staying. there need be no difficulty on this account about their writing, because letters could be forwarded promptly from oxford, whereas if they were able to say where harry was, then ted would have to be accounted for, too, and there was no telling where that would end. now, this narration is simply by way of telling you how dorothy had come to know that there was no sort of use in hoping to come across the two seniors, who, like themselves, were supposed to be enjoying all the delights of driving through the english lake country.
it had been decided that oxford was to be the first stopping-place of the driving party, and quite a stop it was to be. mr. and mrs. harris and mr. farwell had never been there, and they planned to spend at least two days prowling about the dear old colleges. but marie-celeste and harold had a scheme on foot in comparison with which all the colleges put together could not offer the least attraction. they were to be permitted to go down early saturday morning to nuneham, take chris and donald by surprise, and spend the whole day with them.
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why, that plan in itself was worth all the rest of the trip; and when mr. harris, to whom the idea had first occurred, suggested it, marie-celeste had put her two arms round her father’s neck, declaring “he was just a darling and yet, when you come to think of it, he was the very same old curmudgeon of a papa, and not one whit altered either, who had been so soundly berated for insisting that it would be better for donald to have some easy work to do than to idle away the whole summer.”
ah, well! the little queen had deeply repented that sorry episode; and endeavoring ourselves to forget it, let us agree never again so much as to allude to it.
so down to nuneham they went bright and early saturday morning, and, feeling fine as a lark, or as two larks, to speak more correctly, they preferred doing the walking themselves over the mile and a half out from nuneham to engaging a most unpromising horse attached to a little carry-all to do it for them. they would at least seem to be getting over the ground at a faster rate, and be able to work off considerable superfluous energy into the bargain. and it was really marvellous how soon they reached their destination. far too excited to converse by the way, every breath was reserved for the exertion of walking, and so it happened that they made almost the best time on record. and when they reached the cottage, or rather the little lane that runs down between the hedgerows, who did they see at once but chris himself, busy at work in the garden, and donald, hoe in hand, close beside him, cutting vigorously at the weeds round some hop-vines, and both working away with such a will and such a farmer-like air that it looked as though both had mistaken their calling. but working with a will sometimes means nothing more than determination to do one’s duty; and from what we happen to know, chris would much have preferred setting cheerily forth on his round in uncle sam’s far-away city, and donald was probably dreaming of the blue boundless sea and the steamer ploughing its way in the teeth of a driving nor’easter. but wherever their thoughts may have been, they instantly both stopped thinking, for first they heard the familiar bugle-call of the steamer ring out on the air in the clearest sort of a whistle; and then—could they believe their eyes?—there stood marie-celeste and harold right before them on the other side of the hawthorn.
“well, i never!” cried chris, and in one bound was over the hedgerow.
“my eyes!” was donald’s surprised exclamation, and then he took to his heels and ran to the cottage as fast as his legs could carry him.
“mr. harris,” he panted, with what little breath his run had left him, “your brother has come—he’s just out in the lane there with marie-celeste, and they’ll both be right in here in a minute.”
“what stuff you are talking, donald,” for ted could not believe his ears.
“it’s the truth, sir, and you’ve only a minute, unless you want to see him but it was so very plain that ted didn’t want to see him, that donald, who more fully took in the need for haste, pressed ted’s hat and cane into his hand, and then throwing open one of the shutters of the back windows of his room, helped him to make the best possible time getting through it. it was rather heroic treatment for a convalescent, who was barely equal as yet to even commonplace modes of proceeding, but there was nothing else to be done if the secret was still to be kept.
“go down to the big apple-tree in the corner of the meadow,” directed donald, half under his breath, “and, look here! you had better take this with you,” dragging a steamer rug from the couch, and flinging it out after him, “and i’ll come down just as soon as ever i can and let you know how things are going and then donald drew the shutters noiselessly to and sped back to the lane at as tight a run as he had left it. all this was accomplished in less time than it takes to tell it, and donald found the children still chatting with chris in the lane. chris, having instantly surmised the object of donald’s disappearance, determined that he should have all the time needed; and nothing was easier, under conditions that called naturally for so many explanations, than to engage the children in such an absorbing conversation on the spot as to make no move toward the cottage; but the ring of donald’s feet on the path was the signal that it was safe to lead the way in that direction.
“well, you are glad to see a fellow,” said harold, “to take to your heels and run in that fashion the moment you spied us.”
“there was something i suddenly remembered that i had to see to that very minute,” stammered donald, shaking bands with marie-celeste and harold at one and the same moment; “but you may just believe i’m glad to see you and the warmth of donald’s welcome fully atoned for the few moments of unexplained delay.
“did you tell granny they had come, donald?” asked chris, his face fairly beaming at the thought of being able to actually introduce marie-celeste to the dear old grandmother.
“no; i stopped for nothing more than i just had to,” said donald honestly; but mrs. hartley, who had been busy in the kitchen wing of the little cottage, and had not heard the commotion in ted’s room, but had happened to catch sight of donald’s flying heels, had come out to see what the matter was.
“why, you don’t tell me this is marie-celeste?” she said, putting one hand on marie-celeste’s shoulder and looking gladly down at the sunny, upturned face. “why, do you know,” she said, shaking hands with harold as she spoke, “you have succeeded, i am sure, in giving chris the very best surprise in all his life.”
“that they have, granny,” said chris warmly; “and they’re not going back till late this afternoon, and we’re going to make a beautiful day of it.”
and a beautiful day of it they made; and early in the afternoon marie-celeste made something beautiful besides, quite on her own account—nothing else than the discovery which gives its name to this chapter, and which happened to be a beautiful discovery, because it was the means of making somebody take new heart and see things in general in a newer and truer light.
they had been together the entire morning—all the little household, with the exception of the gentleman who, donald had explained, had met with the accident, and who had gone off for the day. donald had previously whispered to mrs. hartley that ted was down under the big apple-tree, not feeling much like talking or caring to meet their unexpected company. you see, donald, having been taken so unreservedly into ted’s confidence, had turned into a thorough diplomat, and had determined to aid and abet his plans in every possible way. indeed, from what he himself knew of harold’s intense nature, he felt very sure that it would be far wiser and safer that he should never know of all that had happened—not, at any rate, unless ted, having had a chance to prove the strength of his new resolutions, chose some day himself to tell him. harold was so proud and ted was so proud they simply mustn’t come together yet awhile if it could in any way be helped. but we must not let this little aside about donald’s attitude toward the whole affair take another moment of our thoughts, for more important and vastly more interesting matters are awaiting our attention.
of course it goes without saying with those of us who have come to know mrs. hartley, that as regal a little dinner was served for the guests from royal windsor as the larder of the cottage could afford; but to martha was due all the praise of actual performance. mrs. hartley simply took her knitting, and sat the entire morning right in the midst of the little party just outside the cottage-door.
“you must manage somehow,” she had said seriously to martha; “i must see all i can of chris’s little marie-celeste to-day, for you know it is hardly likely, martha, that i shall ever see her again.”
“i’m quite sure i can manage, mrs. hartley,” the little maid said proudly, confident that her long apprenticeship had made her fully equal to the occasion, and inwardly rejoicing in the full sense of responsibility.
at the exact hour agreed upon as the best time for dinner, the little maid, turned cook and waitress, announced the meal as ready, and her reward came in the children’s demonstrative approval. “never tasted anything so delicious” was on their lips repeatedly; and marie-celeste having told, to the supreme delight of all who listened, the story of her visit to the queen, even went so far as to declare that she was enjoying it more than the luncheon in the castle. mrs. hartley said, “oh, my dear!” in a most deprecating way; but there was no gainsaying the evident sincerity of the declaration.
“perhaps it’s because i feel a little more at home in a cottage,” marie-celeste explained; “and then, besides,” looking affectionately toward chris, “it’s so fine to be with old friends, you know;” and chris shook his head and glanced toward his grandmother as much as to say, “well, now, granny dear, did you ever see such a darling?”
“granny dear” shook her head as much as to say, “no, chris, i never did;” and marie-celeste, daintily preoccupied with a drum-stick, was fortunately none the wiser for this exchange of open admiration.
at the conclusion of dinner chris took the boys off to a neighboring farm to show them some wonderful jersey cattle that were expected to take the prize at a coming county fair; but marie-celeste, preferring mrs. hartley’s society, decided to remain at home. no sooner were they gone, however, than mrs. hartley, arriving at the decision that she knew better than mr. harris himself what was best for him, and that it would doubtless do him good to meet this bright little girl, entered immediately into a bit of diplomacy on her own account.
“marie-celeste,” she said, “will you do a little favor for me? will you run and ask martha if one of the cup-custards was left over from dinner?”
“martha says yes, mrs. hartley.”
“well, then, will you ask her to give it to you on a little tray, and a piece of sponge-cake besides, well powdered with sugar?”
“here it is, mrs. hartley,” carefully bringing the laden tray, and looking every whit as pretty as the picture of la chocolatière, and not unlike her in her pose and gentle dignity.
“and now do you think you could carry it to somebody way down under the apple-tree that you can just see the top of from here?”
“surely i could,” her pretty face glowing with the pleasure of the errand, “but i should like to know who the somebody is.”
“of course you would. well, it’s the gentleman, mr. morris, who met with the accident, and who’s been staying with us these six weeks.”
“oh, all right, then,” and marie-celeste tripped away, at the same time taking care not to stumble, to the apple-tree down in the meadow. but since this chapter is growing rather long, and you have already surmised what it was that marie-celeste discovered, it may be as well to stop a moment, draw a long breath, and take another chapter to tell about it.