LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

and all my happy surprises and even my troubles. And when I'm blue, he does my howling for me. Truly he does. He can't bear to see me sad."

      "He's a wise dog. No one should be sad. I'm glad I'm alive! Right now I want to dance and shout, I'm so happy!"

      "Go to it, Joy!" laughed Bet. "No one will stop you!"

      The girl worked off her enthusiasm with a few well executed handsprings and cartwheels. "I'd better get rid of some of this energy or I may wreck the Manor!"

      As they came in sight of the Manor, Auntie Gibbs, the housekeeper, was looking anxiously from the kitchen door, for the cloud that had been threatening, now opened with a deluge of rain and peal after peal of thunder sent the girls scurrying toward the side entrance.

      Smiley Jim was already on the veranda, having deposited his burden, he was now barking excitedly, demanding the attention that he felt he merited.

      CHAPTER III

      THE MERRIWEATHER MANOR

      Merriweather Manor dominated the hill, it occupied the very highest point of the estate and from its walls the ground sloped away, at one side, straight down to the high bank above the river. Century-old elms overshadowed the house and half hid the fine lines of the famous Colonial structure.

      The Manor had been built by Lord Cecil Merriweather before the Revolution and had been kept up without being remodelled. It almost seemed as if its old timbers had retained the gay atmosphere that Lord Cecil and his lady had bequeathed it.

      The front of the house stood out boldly with its great pillars. Along the side, double verandas ran the length of the house. These were the delight of Bet, for they had been her playground since babyhood.

      The interior was no less attractive. Colonel Baxter was a collector of Colonial antiques and knick-knacks and the house was furnished with genuine old furniture that delighted his heart and kept the spirit of Colonial times in the mansion.

      If Bet had been given her way she might have chosen for her own suite of rooms, something more modern, but even she had never dared to mention such a thing to the Colonel.

      But if Colonel Baxter leaned toward the old fashions in his furnishing of a home, his methods in training a daughter were modern to an extreme. Auntie Gibbs declared it was without "rhyme or reason." "Letting a girl do as she pleases isn't bringing up at all. That child should have a strong hand to guide her. Every child should. And me, who could do it, ain't allowed no say-so."

      "Well, Bet's all right, isn't she?" replied Uncle Nat to his wife's complaints. "She's a wise little thing and never goes far wrong." Uncle Nat had been gardener on the estate before Bet was born. He and his wife had known and loved the young wife of Colonel Baxter, and after her death had taken charge of the household, caring for and loving the motherless little girl as if she were their own.

      "You're always taking her part," exclaimed Auntie Gibbs. "It isn't his training that makes Bet do the right thing. It's just because she's so much like her father. As I've told him lots of times, with any other girl it would be all wrong."

      "So as it doesn't change Bet, I have nothing to say." The old man rubbed his hands together over the kitchen stove. Although autumn had hardly begun, there was a hint of chill in the air.

      "Now, what are you doing, Nat Gibbs? Making a fire at this time of year! You aren't cold, are you? Lots of time to shiver and shake over a fire when the first snow comes."

      "I'm just burning a few papers and trash to get them out of the way," said Uncle Nat quietly, with an elaborate wink at the ceiling.

      Auntie Gibbs was a manager by nature, and to rule over a house and yet not have the final word in everything was very trying to her soul. She began to scold again:

      "And now she's brought a new girl home with her today. And heaven only knows who or what she is!"

      "She looks all right," said Nat.

      "Looks are very deceiving, as you ought to know at your time of life. Bet says she comes from Arizona, one of them half-civilized places like they have in the movies. She doesn't like houses and yards and towns. Who ever heard of such a thing? Bet found her crying because she didn't have room enough to breathe. Mark my words, she's not very bright. Something very queer about a girl who thinks like that. 'Tisn't natural. I really shouldn't allow her to stay and associate with Bet."

      "We'll leave that to Colonel Baxter, he'll know what to do."

      "Him? He'll shake hands with that girl as if she were the Queen of Sheba or that Mary Antynetty he talks about. And after that she can have the run of the house."

      "That's so, that's so!" agreed Nat Gibbs from long habit of agreeing with his wife. But while Auntie Gibbs stormed, and at times, raged over the way the Colonel was training his daughter, she never did try to take matters into her own hands, as she often threatened to do.

      "'Tain't his system that's working, let me tell you. It just happens."

      Then after having had her say, the old woman dropped the subject to bustle about her kitchen and prepare a special supper for Bet and her chums, a thing she loved to do.

      When Kit was led into the great entrance hall, she could only stare in amazement. It was as grand as she had imagined the palace of a king might be. The stained-glass windows that usually sent shafts of colored light across the floor, now gave a somber effect as of a dimly-lighted cathedral. A broad, winding stairway led to the floor above.

      Kit stood in the center of the hall transfixed by what she saw. It was not the statue of Youth that held her attention. From a golden frame on the wall a face smiled down upon her and it was hard for the girl to believe that it was only a portrait. A fleeting smile seemed to play about the mouth, the delicately curved lips almost quivered and the brown eyes sparkled with joy.

      Kit's hands instinctively went out toward the beautiful woman. She stood there smiling up at the portrait, and forgot the girls as they chattered about her.

      Bet, who had been watching her closely, ran impulsively to her and threw both arms around the girl's neck.

      "Oh you dear, darling thing! I knew you would! You love her already just the same as Shirley and Joy and I do."

      "Who is she?" Kit's voice was hardly more than a whisper, she acted as if she had suddenly been brought back to earth after a flight in the clouds.

      "It's our Lady of the Manor, Lady Betty Merriweather!"

      "O – oh!" gasped Kit, without taking her eyes from the smiling eyes in the picture.

      "Come along upstairs, Kit," called Joy as she took the steps two at a time. But the stranger felt that she was on sacred ground and could not have romped as Joy did. She lingered, looking up into the beautiful face.

      "I feel just as if she wanted to say something to me," Kit said, as she reluctantly followed Bet.

      "I think she does, probably. I know she tells me things sometimes," replied Bet seriously. "I love to lie on that divan in the hall and watch her. And she tells me all about the good times they used to have in these very rooms." Bet had dreamed so often beneath the vivacious, smiling face that she had come to believe that Lady Betty really did talk to her.

      "It almost seems wicked to live in these rooms after her," murmured Kit, as the two girls went up the stairs slowly, their arms around each others' waists.

      "I used to think that, too, until she laughed at me and said, 'Don't be silly, Bet.'"

      Shirley and Joy's laughter floated down the stairway. "She really believes all that, Kit. She thinks that Lady Betty comes alive and talks to her."

      "Well, I used to think that when I was a little, little girl," laughed Bet.

      "And do you remember the day you told me she had called you Betty, and you didn't know whether to be angry or not?" asked Joy.

      Bet turned to Kit. "You see I don't like to be called Betty. That name doesn't suit me at all. It's a lovely name for her, but for me it's ridiculous."

      "And you'd better remember that, Kit Patten, for she gets angry if anyone calls her that," said the quiet Shirley.

      "There's

Скачать книгу