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Aunt Jane's Nieces
CHAPTER XII.
UNCLE JOHN GETS ACQUAINTED
Beth went out to find Louise, and discovered her standing near the stables, where a boy was rubbing down the sides of a sorrel mare with wisps of straw.
"Something has happened," she said to Louise in a troubled voice.
"What?"
"A man has arrived who says he is Aunt Jane's brother."
"Impossible! Have you seen him?"
"No; he says he's Aunt Jane's brother John."
"Oh; I know. The peddler, or tinker, or something or other who disappeared years ago. But it doesn't matter."
"It may matter a good deal," said practical Beth. "Aunt Jane may leave him her money."
"Why, he's older than she is. I've heard mother say he was the eldest of the family. Aunt Jane wont leave her money to an old man, you may be sure."
Beth felt a little reassured at this, and stood for a moment beside Louise watching the boy. Presently Oscar came to him, and after touching his hat respectfully took the mare and led her into the stable. The boy turned away, with his hands in his pockets, and strolled up a path, unaware that the two dreaded girls had been observing him.
"I wonder who that is," said Beth.
"We'll find out," returned Louise. "I took him for a stable boy, at first. But Oscar seemed to treat him as a superior."
She walked into the stable, followed by her cousin, and found the groom tying the mare.
"Who was the young man?" she asked.
"Which young man, Miss?"
"The one who has just arrived with the horse."
"Oh; that's Master Kenneth, Miss," answered Oscar, with a grin.
"Where did he come from?"
"Master Kenneth? Why, he lives here."
"At the house?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Who is he?"
"Master Tom's nephew – he as used to own Elmhurst, you know."
"Mr. Thomas Bradley?"
"The same, Miss."
"Ah. How long has Master Kenneth lived here?"
"A good many years. I can't just remember how long."
"Thank you, Oscar."
The girls walked away, and when they were alone Louise remarked:
"Here is a more surprising discovery than Uncle John, Beth. The boy has a better right than any of us to inherit Elmhurst."
"Then why did Aunt Jane send for us?"
"It's a mystery, dear. Let us try to solve it."
"Come; we'll ask the housekeeper," said Beth. "I'm sure old Misery will tell us all we want to know."
So they returned to the house and, with little difficulty, found the old housekeeper.
"Master Kenneth?" she exclaimed. "Why, he's just Master Tom's nephew, that's all."
"Is this his home?" asked Beth.
"All the home he's got, my dear. His father and mother are both dead, and Miss Jane took him to care for just because she thought Master Tom would 'a' liked it."
"Is she fond of him?" enquired Louise.
"Fond of the boy? Why, Miss Jane just hates him, for a fact. She won't even see him, or have him near her. So he keeps to his little room in the left wing, and eats and sleeps there."
"It's strange," remarked Beth, thoughtfully. "Isn't he a nice boy?"
"We're all very fond of Master Kenneth," replied the housekeeper, simply. "But I'll admit he's a queer lad, and has a bad temper. It may be due to his lack of bringin' up, you know; for he just runs wild, and old Mr. Chase, who comes from the village to tutor him, is a poor lot, and lets the boy do as he pleases. For that reason he won't study, and he won't work, and I'm sure I don't know whatever will become of him, when Miss Jane dies."
"Thank you," said Beth, much relieved, and the girls walked away with lighter hearts.
"There's no danger in that quarter, after all," said Louise, gaily.
"The boy is a mere hanger-on. You see, Aunt Jane's old sweetheart,
Thomas Bradley, left everything to her when he died, and she can do as she likes with it."
After luncheon, which they ate alone and unattended save by the maid Susan, who was old Misery's daughter, the girls walked away to the rose arbor, where Beth declared they could read or sew quite undisturbed.
But sitting upon the bench they found a little old man, his legs extended, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a look of calm meditation upon his round and placid face. Between his teeth was a black brier pipe, which he puffed lazily.
Beth was for drawing back, but Louise took her arm and drew her forward.
"Isn't this Uncle John?" she asked.
The little man turned his eyes upon them, withdrew his hands from his pockets and his pipe from his mouth, and then bowed profoundly.
"If you are my nieces, then I am Uncle John," he said, affably. "Sit down, my dears, and let us get acquainted."
Louise smiled, and her rapid survey took in the man's crumpled and somewhat soiled shirt-front, the frayed black necktie that seemed to have done years of faithful service, and the thick and dusty cow-hide boots. His clothing was old and much worn, and the thought crossed her mind that Oscar the groom was far neater in appearance than this newly-found relative.
Beth merely noticed that Uncle John was neither dignified nor imposing in appearance. She sat down beside him – leaving a wide space between them – with a feeling of disappointment that he was "like all the rest of the Merricks."
"You have just arrived, we hear," remarked Louise.
"Yes. Walked up from the station this forenoon," said Uncle John.
"Come to see Jane, you know, but hadn't any idea I'd find two nieces.
Hadn't any idea I possessed two nieces, to be honest about it."
"I believe you have three," said Louise, in an, amused tone.
"Three? Who's the other?"
"Why, Patricia Doyle."
"Doyle? Doyle? Don't remember the name."
"I believe your sister Violet married a man named Doyle."
"So she did. Captain Doyle – or Major Doyle – or some such fellow. But what is your name?"
"I am Louise Merrick, your brother Will's daughter."
"Oh! And you?" turning to Beth.
"My mother was Julia Merrick," said Beth, not very graciously. "She married Professor DeGraf. I am Elizabeth DeGraf."
"Yes, yes," observed Uncle John, nodding his head. "I remember Julia very well, as a girl. She used to put on a lot of airs, and jaw father because he wouldn't have the old top-buggy painted every spring. Same now as ever, I s'pose?"
Beth did not reply.
"And Will's dead, and out of his troubles, I hope," continued Uncle John, reflectively. "He wrote me once that his wife had nearly driven him crazy. Perhaps she murdered him in his sleep – eh, Louise?"
"Sir," said Louise, much offended, "you are speaking of my mother."
"Ah, yes. It's the same one your father spoke of," he answered, unmoved. "But that's neither here nor there. The fact is, I've found two nieces," looking shrewdly from one face into the other, "and I seem to be in luck, for you're quite pretty and ladylike, my dears."
"Thank you," said Louise, rather coldly. "You're a competent judge, sir, I suppose."
"Tolerable," he responded, with a chuckle. "So good a judge that I've kep' single all my life."
"Where did you come from?" asked the girl.
"From out on the coast," tossing his grizzled head toward the west.
"What brought you back here, after all these years?"
"Family affection, I guess. Wanted to find out what folks yet belonged to me."
An awkward silence followed this, during which Uncle John relighted his pipe and Beth sat in moody silence. Louise drew a pattern in the gravel with the end of her parasol. This new uncle, she reflected, might become an intolerable bore, if she encouraged his frank familiarity.
"Now that you are here," she said, presently, "what are you going to do?"
"Nothing, my dear."
"Have you any money?"
He looked at her with a droll expression.
"Might have expected that question, my dear," said he; "but it's rather hard to answer. If I say no, you'll be afraid I'll want to borrow a little spendin' money, now an' then; and if I say yes, you'll take me for a Rockyfeller."
"Not exactly," smiled Louise.
"Well, then, if I figure close I won't have to borrow," he responded, gravely. "And here's Jane, my sister, just rolling in wealth that she don't know what to do with. And she's invited me to stay a while. So let's call the money question settled, my dear."
Another silence ensued. Louise had satisfied her curiosity concerning her new uncle, and Beth had never had any. There was nothing more to say, and as Uncle John showed no intention of abandoning the arbored seat, it was evident they must go themselves. Louise was about to rise when the man remarked:
"Jane won't last long".
"You think not?" she asked.
"She says she's half dead a'ready, and I believe it. It's about time, you know. She's let her temper and restless disposition wear her out. Pretty soon she'll blow out, like a candle. All that worries her is to keep alive until she can decide who to leave her money to. That's why you're here, I s'pose, my dears. How do you like being on exhibition, an' goin' through your paces, like a bunch o' trotting hosses, to see which is worth the most?"
"Uncle John," said Beth, "I had hoped I would like you. But if you are going to be so very disagreeable, I'll have nothing more to do with you!"
With this she arose and marched up the path, vastly indignant, and Louise marched beside her. At the bend in the walk they glanced back, and saw Uncle John sitting upon the bench all doubled up and shaking with silent laughter.
"He's a queer old man," said Beth, flushing; "but he's impudent and half a fool."
"Don't judge hastily, Beth," replied Louise, reflectively. "I can't make up my mind, just yet, whether Uncle John is a fool or not."
"Anyhow," snapped Beth, "he's laughing at us."
"And that," said her cousin, softly, "is the strongest evidence of his sanity. Beth, my love, Aunt Jane has placed us in a most ridiculous position."
That evening at dinner they met Uncle John again, seated opposite Aunt Jane in the great dining hall. The mistress of Elmhurst always dressed for this meal and tonight she wore a rich black silk and had her invalid chair wheeled to her place at the head of the table. Uncle John had simply changed his old black necktie for a soiled white one. Otherwise his apparel was the same as before, and his stubby gray hair was in a sad state of disarray. But his round face wore a cheerful smile, nevertheless, and Aunt Jane seemed not to observe anything outre in her brother's appearance. And so the meal passed pleasantly enough.
After it was finished Uncle John strolled into the garden to smoke his pipe under the stars and Louise sang a few songs for Aunt Jane in the dimly-lit drawing room. Beth, who was a music teacher's daughter, could not sing at all.
It was some time later when John Merrick came to his sister's room to bid her good night.
"Well," she asked him, "what do you think of the girls?"
"My nieces?"
"Yes."
"During my lifetime," said the old man, "I've always noticed that girls are just girls – and nothing more. Jane, your sex is a puzzle that ain't worth the trouble solving. You're all alike, and what little I've seen of my nieces convinces me they're regulation females – no better nor worse than their kind."
"Louise seems a capable girl," declared Aunt Jane, musingly. "I didn't care much for her, at first; but she improves on acquaintance. She has been well trained by her mother, and is very ladylike and agreeable."
"She's smarter than the other one, but not so honest," said Uncle
John.
"Beth has no tact at all," replied Aunt Jane. "But then, she's younger than Louise."
"If you're trying to figure out what they are, and what they are not," returned the man, "you've got a hard job on your hands, Jane, and like as not you'll make a mistake in the end. Where's the other niece? Aren't there three of them?"
"Yes. The other's coming. Silas Watson, my lawyer, has just telegraphed from New York that he's bringing Patricia back with him."
"Had to send for her, eh?"
"Yes. She's Irish, and if I remember rightly her father is a disgraceful old reprobate, who caused poor Violet no end of worry. The girl may be like him, for she wrote me a dreadful letter, scolding me because I hadn't kept her parents supplied with money, and refusing to become my guest."
"But she's changed her mind?"
"I sent Watson after her, and he's bringing her. I wanted to see what the girl is like."
Uncle John whistled a few bars of an ancient tune.
"My advice is," he said, finally, "to let 'em draw cuts for Elmhurst. If you want to leave your money to the best o' the lot, you're as sure of striking it right that way as any other."
"Nonsense!" said Jane Merrick, sharply. "I don't want to leave my money to the best of the lot."
"No?"
"By no means. I want to leave it to the one I prefer – whether she's the best or not."
"I see. Jane, I'll repeat my former observation. Your sex is a puzzle that isn't worth solving. Good night, old girl."
"Good night, John."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE OTHER NIECE
Patricia sat down opposite her Aunt Jane. She still wore her hat and the gray wrap.
"Well, here I am," she exclaimed, with a laugh; "but whether I ought to be here or not I have my doubts."
Aunt Jane surveyed her critically.
"You're a queer little thing," she said, bluntly. "I wonder why I took so much trouble to get you."
"So do I," returned Patsy, her eyes twinkling. "You'll probably be sorry for it."
Lawyer Watson, who had remained standing, now broke in nervously.
"I explained to Miss Doyle," said he, "that you were ill, and wanted to see her. And she kindly consented to come to Elmhurst for a few days."
"You see," said Patsy, "I'd just got Daddy away on his vacation, to visit his old colonel. I've wanted him to go this three years back, but he couldn't afford it until I got a raise this Spring. He'll have a glorious old time with the colonel, and they'll fish and hunt and drink whiskey all day, and fight the war all over again every evening. So I was quite by myself when Mr. Watson came to me and wouldn't take no for his answer."
"Why did you object to come here?" asked Aunt Jane.
"Well, I didn't know you; and I didn't especially want to know you. Not that I bear grudges, understand, although you've been little of a friend to my folks these past years. But you are rich and proud – and I suspect you're a little cross, Aunt Jane – while we are poor and proud and like to live our lives in our own way."
"Are you a working girl?" enquired Miss Merrick.
"Surely," said Patsy, "and drawing a big lump of salary every Saturday night. I'm a hair-dresser, you know – and by the way, Aunt Jane, it puzzles me to find a certain kink in your hair that I thought I'd invented myself."
"Louise dressed my hair this way," said Miss Merrick, a bit stiffly.
"Your maid?"
"My niece, Louise Merrick."
Patsy whistled, and then clapped her hand over her mouth and looked grave.
"Is she here?" she asked, a moment later.
"Yes, and your other cousin, Elizabeth De Graf, is here also."
"That's just the trouble," cried Patsy, energetically. "That's why I didn't want to come, you know."
"I don't understand you, Patricia."
"Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face, even if I hadn't pumped Mr. Watson until I got the truth out of him. You want us girls here just to compare us with each other, and pick out the one you like best."
"Well?"
"The others you'll throw over, and the favorite will get your money."
"Haven't I a right to do that?" asked the invalid, in an amazed tone.
"Perhaps you have. But we may as well understand each other right now, Aunt Jane. I won't touch a penny of your money, under any circumstances."
"I don't think you will, Patricia."
The girl laughed, with a joyous, infectious merriment that was hard to resist.
"Stick to that, aunt, and there's no reason we shouldn't be friends," she said, pleasantly. "I don't mind coming to see you, for it will give me a bit of a rest and the country is beautiful just now. More than that, I believe I shall like you. You've had your own way a long time, and you've grown crochetty and harsh and disagreeable; but there are good lines around your mouth and eyes, and your nature's liable to soften and get sunny again. I'm sure I hope so. So, if you'd like me to stay a few days, I'll take off my things and make myself at home. But I'm out of the race for your money, and I'll pay my way from now on just as I have always done."
Silas Watson watched Aunt Jane's face during this speech with an anxious and half-frightened expression upon his own. No one but himself had ever dared to talk to Jane Merrick as plainly as this before, and he wondered how she would accept such frankness from a young girl.
But Patricia's manner was not at all offensive. Her big eyes were as frank as her words, but they glistened with kindliness and good nature, and it was evident the girl had no doubt at all of her aunt's reply, for she straightway begun to take off her hat.
The invalid had kept her eyes sternly fastened upon her young niece ever since the beginning of the interview. Now she reached out a hand and touched her bell.
"Misery," she said to the old housekeeper, "show my niece, Miss
Patricia, to the rose chamber. And see that she is made comfortable."
"Thank you," said Patsy, jumping up to go.
"Make yourself perfectly free of the place," continued Aunt Jane, in an even tone, turning to Patricia, "and have as good a time as you can. I'm afraid it's rather stupid here for girls, but that can't be helped. Stay as long as you please, and go home whenever you like; but while you are here, if you ever feel like chatting with a harsh and disagreeable old woman, come to me at any time and you will be welcome."
Patsy, standing before her, looked down into her worn face with a pitying expression.
"Ah! I've been cruel to you," she exclaimed, impulsively, "and I didn't mean to hurt you at all, Aunt Jane. You must forgive me. It's just my blunt Irish way, you see; but if I hadn't been drawn to you from the first I wouldn't have said a word – good or bad!"
"Go now," replied Aunt Jane, turning in her chair rather wearily. "But come to me again whenever you like."
Patsy nodded, and followed the housekeeper to the rose chamber – the prettiest room old Elmhurst possessed, with broad windows opening directly upon the finest part of the garden.
Lawyer Watson sat opposite his old friend for some moments in thoughtful silence. "The child is impossible." he said, at last.
"You think so?" she enquired, moodily.
"Absolutely. Either of the others would make a better Lady of Elmhurst. Yet I like the little thing, I confess. She quite won my old heart after I had known her for five minutes. But money would ruin her. She's a child of the people, and ought not to be raised from her proper level. Jane, Jane – you're making a grave mistake in all this. Why don't you do the only right thing in your power, and leave Elmhurst to Kenneth?"
"You bore me, Silas," she answered, coldly. "The boy is the most impossible of all."
It was the old protest and the old reply. He had hardly expected anything different.
After a period of thought he asked;
"What is this I hear about John Merrick having returned from the
West?"
"He came yesterday. It was a great surprise to me."
"I never knew this brother, I believe."
"No; he had gone away before I became acquainted with either you or
Tom."
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Honest and simple, hard-headed and experienced."
"Is he independent?"
"I believe so; he has never mentioned his affairs to me. But he has worked hard all his life, he says, and now means to end his days peacefully. John is not especially refined in his manner, nor did he have much of an education; but he seems to be a good deal of a man, for all that. I am very glad he appeared at Elmhurst just at this time."
"You had believed him dead?"
"Yes. He had passed out of my life completely, and I never knew what became of him."
"He must be an eccentric person," said Mr. Watson, with a smile.
"He is." she acknowledged. "But blood is thicker than water, Silas, and I'm glad brother John is here at last."
A little later the lawyer left her and picked his way through the gardens until he came to Kenneth's wing and the stair that led to his room. Here he paused a moment, finding himself surrounded by a profound stillness, broken only by the chirping of the birds in the shrubbery. Perhaps Kenneth was not in. He half decided to retrace his steps, but finally mounted the stair softly and stood within the doorway of the room.
The boy and a little stout man were playing chess at a table, and both were in a deep study of the game. The boy's back was toward him, but the man observed the newcomer and gave a nod. Then he dropped his eyes again to the table.
Kenneth was frowning sullenly.
"You're bound to lose the pawn, whichever way you play," said the little man quietly.
The boy gave an angry cry, and thrust the table from him, sending the chess-men clattering into a corner. Instantly the little man leaned over and grasped the boy by the collar, and with a sudden jerk landed him across his own fat knees. Then, while the prisoner screamed and struggled, the man brought his hand down with a slap that echoed throughout the room, and continued the operation until Master Kenneth had received a sound spanking.
Then he let the boy slip to the floor, from whence he arose slowly and backed toward the door, scowling and muttering angrily.
"You broke the bargain, and I kept my word," said Uncle John, calmly taking his pipe from his pocket and filling it. "The compact was that if you raised a rough-house, like you did yesterday, and got unruly, that I'd give you a good thrashing. Now, wasn't it?"
"Yes," acknowledged the boy.
"Well, that blamed temper o' your'n got away with you again, and you're well spanked for not heading it off. Pick up the board. Ken, my lad, and let's try it again."
The boy hesitated. Then he looked around and saw Lawyer Watson, who had stood motionless by the doorway, and with a cry that was half a sob Kenneth threw himself into his old friend's arms and burst into a flood of tears.
Uncle John struck a match, and lighted his pipe.
"A bargain's a bargain," he observed, composedly.
"He whipped me!" sobbed the boy. "He whipped me like a child."
"Your own fault," said Uncle John. "You wanted me to play a game with you, and I agreed, providin' you behaved yourself. And you didn't. Now, look here. Do you blame me any?"
"No," said the boy.
"No harm's done, is there?"
"No."
"Then stop blubberin', and introduce me to your friend," continued
Uncle John. "Name's Watson, ain't it."
"Silas Watson, sir, at your service," said the lawyer, smiling. "And this must be John Merrick, who I understand has arrived at Elmhurst during my absence."
"Exactly," said Uncle John, and the two men shook hands cordially.
"Glad to welcome you to Elmhurst, sir," continued the lawyer. "I've known it ever since I was a boy, when it belonged to my dear friend Thomas Bradley. And I hope you'll love it as much as I do, when you know it better."
"Bradley must have been a fool to give this place to Jane," said Uncle
John, reflectively.
"He was in love, sir," observed the other, and they both smiled. Then the lawyer turned to Kenneth. "How are things going?" he asked. "Have the girls bothered you much, as yet?"
"No," said the boy. "I keep out of their way."
"That's a good idea. By the bye, sir," turning to John Merrick. "I've just brought you a new niece."
"Patricia?"
"She prefers to be called Patsy. A queer little thing; half Irish, you know."
"And half Merrick. That's an odd combination, but the Irish may be able to stand it," said Uncle John. "These nieces are more than I bargained for. I came to see one relative, and find three more – and all women!"
"I think you'll like Patsy, anyhow. And so will you, Kenneth."
The boy gave an indignant roar.
"I hate all girls!" he said.
"You won't hate this one. She's as wild and impulsive as you are, but better natured. She'll make a good comrade, although she may box your ears once in a while."
The boy turned away sulkily, and began picking up the scattered chess-men. The two men walked down the stair and strolled together through the garden.
"A strange boy," said Uncle John, presently.
"I'm glad to see you've made friends with him," replied the lawyer, earnestly. "Until now he has had no one to befriend him but me, and at times he's so unmanageable that it worries me dreadfully."
"There's considerable character about the lad," said John Merrick; "but he's been spoiled and allowed to grow up wild, like a weed. He's got it in him to make a criminal or a gentleman, whichever way his nature happens to develop."
"He ought to go to a military school," replied Lawyer Watson. "Proper training would make a man of Kenneth; but I can't induce Jane to spend the money on him. She gives him food and clothing and lodging – all of the simplest description – but there her generosity ends. With thousands of dollars lying idle, she won't assist the only nephew of Tom Bradley to secure a proper education."
"Jane's queer, too," said that lady's brother, with a sigh. "In fact, Mr. Watson, it's a queer world, and the longer I live in it the queerer I find it. Once I thought it would be a good idea to regulate things myself and run the world as it ought to be run; but I gave it up long ago. The world's a stage, they say; but the show ain't always amusing, by a long chalk, and sometimes I wish I didn't have a reserved seat."
