There was no denying the cordiality of this invitation, and Yates, whose natural gallantry was at once aroused, responded with the readiness of a courtier. Mrs. Bartlett led the way into the house; but as Yates passed the farmer the latter cleared his throat with an effort, and, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction his wife had taken, said in a husky whisper:
No call toto mention the Revolution, you know.
Certainly not, answered Yates, with a wink that took in the situation. Shall we sample the jug before or after supper?
After, if its all the same to you; adding, out in the barn.
Yates nodded, and followed his friend into the house.
The young men were shown into a bedroom of more than ordinary size, on the upper floor. Everything about the house was of the most dainty and scrupulous cleanliness, and an air of cheerful comfort pervaded the place. Mrs. Bartlett was evidently a housekeeper to be proud of. Two large pitchers of cool, soft water awaited them, and the wash, as had been predicted, was most refreshing.
I say, cried Yates, its rather cheeky to accept a mans hospitality after knocking him down.
It would be for most people, but I think you underestimate your cheek, as you call it.
Bravo, Stilly! Youre blossoming out. Thats repartee, that is. With the accent on the rap, too. Never you mind; I think old 1812 and I will get on all right after this. It doesnt seem to bother him any, so I dont see why it should worry me. Nice motherly old lady, isnt she?
Who? 1812?
No; Mrs. 1812. Im sorry I complimented you on your repartee. Youll get conceited. Remember that what in the newspaper man is clever, in a grave professor is rank flippancy. Lets go down.
The table was covered with a cloth as white and spotless as good linen can well be. The bread was genuine homemade, a term so often misused in the cities. It was brown as to crust, and flaky and light as to interior. The butter, cool from the rock cellar, was of a refreshing yellow hue. The sight of the well-loaded table was most welcome to the eyes of hungry travelers. There was, as Yates afterward remarked, abundance, and plenty of it.
Come, father! cried Mrs. Bartlett, as the young men appeared; they heard the rocking chair creak on the veranda in prompt answer to the summons.
This is my son, gentlemen, said Mrs. Bartlett, indicating the young man who stood in a noncommittal attitude near a corner of the room. The professor recognized him as the person who had taken charge of the horses when his father came home. There was evidently something of his fathers demeanor about the young man, who awkwardly and silently responded to the recognition of the strangers.
And this is my daughter, continued the good woman. Now, what might your names be?
My name is Yates, and this is my friend Professor Renmark of Tronto, pronouncing the name of the fair city in two syllables, as is, alas! too often done. The professor bowed, and Yates cordially extended his hand to the young woman. How do you do, Miss Bartlett? he said, I am happy to meet you.
The girl smiled very prettily, and said she hoped they had a pleasant trip out from Fort Erie.
Oh, we had, said Yates, looking for a moment at his host, whose eyes were fixed on the tablecloth, and who appeared to be quite content to let his wife run the show. The roads a little rocky in places, but its very pleasant.
Now, you sit down here, and you here, said Mrs. Bartlett; and I do hope you have brought good appetites with you.
The strangers took their places, and Yates had a chance to look at the younger member of the family, which opportunity he did not let slip. It was hard to believe that she was the daughter of so crusty a man as Hiram Bartlett. Her cheeks were rosy, with dimples in them that constantly came and went in her incessant efforts to keep from laughing. Her hair, which hung about her plump shoulders, was a lovely golden brown. Although her dress was of the cheapest material, it was neatly cut and fitted; and her dainty white apron added that touch of wholesome cleanliness which was so noticeable everywhere in the house. A bit of blue ribbon at her white throat, and a pretty spring flower just below it, completed a charming picture, which a more critical and less susceptible man than Yates might have contemplated with pleasure.
Miss Bartlett sat smilingly at one end of the table, and her father grimly at the other. The mother sat at the side, apparently looking on that position as one of vantage for commanding the whole field, and keeping her husband and her daughter both under her eye. The teapot and cups were set before the young woman. She did not pour out the tea at once, but seemed to be waiting instructions from her mother. That good lady was gazing with some sternness at her husband, he vainly endeavoring to look at the ceiling or anywhere but at her. He drew his open hand nervously down his face, which was of unusual gravity even for him. Finally he cast an appealing glance at his wife, who sat with her hands folded on her lap, but her eyes were unrelenting. After a moments hopeless irresolution Bartlett bent his head over his plate and murmured:
For what we are about to receive, oh, make us truly thankful. Amen.
Mrs. Bartlett echoed the last word, having also bowed her head when she saw surrender in the troubled eyes of her husband.
Now, it happened that Yates, who had seen nothing of this silent struggle of the eyes, being exceedingly hungry, was making every preparation for the energetic beginning of the meal. He had spent most of his life in hotels and New York boarding houses, so that if he ever knew the adage, Grace before meat, he had forgotten it. In the midst of his preparations came the devout words, and they came upon him as a stupefying surprise. Although naturally a resourceful man, he was not quick enough this time to cover his confusion. Miss Bartletts golden head was bowed, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Yates look of amazed bewilderment and his sudden halt of surprise. When all heads were raised, the young girls still remained where it was, while her plump shoulders quivered. Then she covered her face with her apron, and the silvery ripple of a laugh came like a smothered musical chime trickling through her fingers.
Why, Kitty! cried her mother in astonishment, whatever is the matter with you?
The girl could no longer restrain her mirth. Youll have to pour out the tea, mother! She exclaimed, as she fled from the room.
For the lands sake! cried the astonished mother, rising to take her frivolous daughters place, what ails the child? I dont see what there is to laugh at.
Hiram scowled down the table, and was evidently also of the opinion that there was no occasion for mirth. The professor was equally in the dark.
I am afraid, Mrs. Bartlett, said Yates, that I am the innocent cause of Miss Kittys mirth. You see, madamits a pathetic thing to say, but really I have had no home life. Although I attend church regularly, of course, he added with jaunty mendacity, I must confess that I havent heard grace at meals for years and years, andwell, I wasnt just prepared for it. I have no doubt I made an exhibition of myself, which your daughter was quick to see.
It wasnt very polite, said Mrs. Bartlett with some asperity.
I know that, pleaded Yates with contrition, but I assure you it was unintentional on my part.
Bless the man! cried his hostess. I dont mean you. I mean Kitty. But that girl never could keep her face straight. She always favored me more than her father.
Bless the man! cried his hostess. I dont mean you. I mean Kitty. But that girl never could keep her face straight. She always favored me more than her father.
This statement was not difficult to believe, for Hiram at that moment looked as if he had never smiled in his life. He sat silent throughout the meal, but Mrs. Bartlett talked quite enough for two.
Well, for my part, she said, I dont know what farmings coming to! Henry Howard and Margaret drove past here this afternoon as proud as Punch in their new covered buggy. Things is very different from what they was when I was a girl. Then a farmers daughter had to work. Now Margarets took her diploma at the ladies college, and Arthur hes begun at the university, and Henrys sporting round in a new buggy. They have a piano there, with the organ moved out into the back room.
The whole Howard lots a stuck-up set, muttered the farmer.
But Mrs. Bartlett wouldnt have that. Any detraction that was necessary she felt competent to supply, without help from the nominal head of the house.
No, I dont go so far as to say that. Neither would you, Hiram, if you hadnt lost your lawsuit about the line fence; and served you right, too, for it wouldnt have been begun if I had been at home at the time. Not but what Margarets a good housekeeper, for she wouldnt be her mothers daughter if she wasnt that; but it does seem to me a queer way to raise farmers children, and I only hope they can keep it up. There were no pianos nor French and German in my young days.
You ought to hear her play! My lands! cried young Bartlett, who spoke for the first time. His admiration for her accomplishment evidently went beyond his powers of expression.
Bartlett himself did not relish the turn the conversation had taken, and he looked somewhat uneasily at the two strangers. The professors countenance was open and frank, and he was listening with respectful interest to Mrs. Bartletts talk. Yates bent over his plate with flushed face, and confined himself strictly to the business in hand.
I am glad, said the professor innocently to Yates, that you made the young ladys acquaintance. I must ask you for an introduction.
For once in his life Yates had nothing to say, but he looked at his friend with an expression that was not kindly. The latter, in answer to Mrs. Bartletts inquiries, told how they had passed Miss Howard on the road, and how Yates, with his usual kindness of heart, had offered the young woman the hospitalities of the hay rack. Two persons at the table were much relieved when the talk turned to the tent. It was young Hiram who brought about this boon. He was interested in the tent, and he wanted to know. Two things seemed to bother the boy: First, he was anxious to learn what diabolical cause had been at work to induce two apparently sane men to give up the comforts of home and live in this exposed manner, if they were not compelled to do so. Second, he desired to find out why people who had the privilege of living in large cities came of their own accord into the uninteresting country, anyhow. Even when explanations were offered, the problem seemed still beyond him.
After the meal they all adjourned to the veranda, where the air was cool and the view extensive. Mrs. Bartlett would not hear of the young men pitching the tent that night. Goodness knows, you will have enough of it, with the rain and the mosquitoes. We have plenty of room here, and you will have one comfortable night on the Ridge, at any rate. Then in the morning you can find a place in the woods to suit you, and my boy will take an ax and cut stakes for you, and help to put up your precious tent. Only remember that when it rains you are to come to the house, or you will catch your deaths with cold and rheumatism. It will be very nice till the novelty wears off; then you are quite welcome to the front rooms upstairs, and Hiram can take the tent back to Erie the first time he goes to town.
Mrs. Bartlett had a way of taking things for granted. It never seemed to occur to her that any of her rulings might be questioned. Hiram sat gazing silently at the road, as if all this was no affair of his.
Yates had refused a chair, and sat on the edge of the veranda, with his back against one of the pillars, in such a position that he might, without turning his head, look through the open doorway into the room. where Miss Bartlett was busily but silently clearing away the tea things. The young man caught fleeting glimpses of her as she moved airily about her work. He drew a cigar from his case, cut off the end with his knife, and lit a match on the sole of his boot, doing this with an easy automatic familiarity that required no attention on his part; all of which aroused the respectful envy of young Hiram, who sat on a wooden chair, leaning forward, eagerly watching the man from New York.
Have a cigar? said Yates, offering the case to young Hiram.
No, no; thank you, gasped the boy, aghast at the reckless audacity of the proposal.
Whats that? cried Mrs. Bartlett. Although she was talking volubly to the professor, her maternal vigilance never even nodded, much less slept. A cigar? Not likely! Ill say this for my husband and my boy: that, whatever else they may have done, they have never smoked nor touched a drop of liquor since Ive known them, and, please God, they never will.
Oh, I guess it wouldnt hurt them, said Yates, with a lack of tact that was not habitual. He fell several degrees in the estimation of his hostess.
Hurt em? cried Mrs. Bartlett indignantly. I guess it wont get a chance to. She turned to the professor, who was a good listenerrespectful and deferential, with little to say for himself. She rocked gently to and fro as she talked.
Her husband sat unbendingly silent, in a sphinxlike attitude that gave no outward indication of his mental uneasiness. He was thinking gloomily that it would be just his luck to meet Mrs. Bartlett unexpectedly in the streets of Fort Erie on one of those rare occasions when he was enjoying the pleasures of sin for a season. He had the most pessimistic forebodings of what the future might have in store for him. Sometimes, when neighbors or customers treated him in the village, and he felt he had taken all the whisky that cloves would conceal, he took a five-cent cigar instead of a drink. He did not particularly like the smoking of it, but there was a certain devil-may-care recklessness in going down the street with a lighted cigar in his teeth, which had all the more fascination for him because of its manifest danger. He felt at these times that he was going the pace, and that it is well our women do not know of all the wickedness there is in this world. He did not fear that any neighbor might tell his wife, for there were depths to which no person could convince Mrs. Bartlett he would descend. But he thought with horror of some combination of circumstances that might bring his wife to town unknown to him on a day when he indulged. He pictured, with a shudder, meeting her unexpectedly on the uncertain plank sidewalk of Fort Erie, he smoking a cigar. When this nightmare presented itself to him, he resolved never to touch a cigar again; but he well knew that the best resolutions fade away if a man is excited with two or three glasses of liquor.
When Mrs. Bartlett resumed conversation with the professor, Yates looked up at young Hiram and winked. The boy flushed with pleasure under the comprehensiveness of that wink. It included him in the attractive halo of crime that enveloped the fascinating personality of the man from New York. It seemed to say:
Thats all right, but we are men of the world. We know.