"By no means," cried Ralph, and down they sat, Ralph at one end of the
long table, and Miriam at the other. It was a good supper; beefsteak, an
omelet, hot rolls, fried potatoes, coffee, tea, preserved fruit, and all
on the scale suited to a family of eight.

When Phoebe had retired to the kitchen, presumably for additional
supplies, Miriam stretched her arms over the table.

"Think of it, Ralph," she said, "this is our supper. The first meal we
ever truly owned."

They had not been long at the table when they were startled by the loud
ringing of the door-bell.

"'Pon my word," ejaculated Phoebe, "it's a long time since that bell's
been rung," and getting down a plate of hotter biscuit, with which she
had been offering temptations, she left the room. Presently she returned,
ushering in Dr. Tolbridge.

Briefly introducing himself, the doctor welcomed the brother and sister
to the neighborhood of Thorbury, and apologized for the extreme
promptness of his call.

"I heard you had arrived," he said, "from a hackman I met on the road,
and having made a visit near by I thought I would look in on you. It
might be days before I should again have a chance. But don't let me
disturb your supper; I beg that you will sit down again."

"And I beg you, sir," said Ralph, "to sit down with us."

"Well," said the doctor, smiling, "I am hungry, and my own supper-time is
passed. You seem to have plenty of room for a guest."

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir," said Miriam, who had already taken a fancy to the
doctor's genial face. "Phoebe thought we were a large family, and you can
take the seat of one of the grown-up sons, or the daughter's chair, or
the place that was intended for either the little boy or little girl, or
perhaps you would like the governess' seat."

At this Phoebe turned her face to the wall and giggled.

"A fine imagination," said the doctor, "and what is better, a bountiful
meal. Please consider me, for the present, the smallest boy, who might
naturally be supposed to have the biggest appetite."

"It would have been funnier," said Miriam, gravely, "if you had been the
governess."

The supper was a lively one; the three appetites were excellent; the
doctor was in his jolliest mood, and Ralph and Miriam were delighted with
him. On his part, he could not help looking upon it in the light of a
joke--an agreeable one, however--that these two young people, one of them
a mere child, should constitute the new Cobhurst family. He had known
that the property had gone to an unmarried man who was in business, and
had not thought of his coming here to live.

"And now," said the doctor, as they rose from the table, "I must go. My
wife will call on you very soon, and in the meantime, what is there that
I can do for you?"

"I think," answered Miriam, looking about her to see that Phoebe was not
in the room, "that it would be very nice if you could get us a new man.
We like the woman well enough, but the man is awful."

The doctor looked at her, astonished.

"Do you mean Mike?" he asked, "the faithful Mike, who has been in charge
here ever since Mr. Butterwood took to travelling about for the good of
his rheumatisms? Why, my dear young lady, the whole country looks upon
Mike as a pattern man-of-all-work. He may be getting a little cranky and
independent in his notions, for he has been pretty much his own master
for years, but I am sure you could find no one to take his place who
would be more trustworthy or so generally useful."

Ralph was about to explain that it was only the appearance of the man to
which his sister objected, but she spoke for herself.

"Of course, we oughtn't always to judge people by their looks," she said,
"but in my thoughts about our home, I never connected it with such a very
shabby person. But then, if he is an old family servant, he may be the
very kind of a man the place needs."

"Oh, I advise you to stick to Mike, by all means," said the doctor, "and
to Phoebe, too, if she will stay with you. But I think she prefers the
town to this somewhat secluded place."

"A good omen," said Ralph, as he closed the door after the doctor. "As a
neighbor, I believe that man is at the head of his class, and I am very
glad that he happened to be the first one who came to see us."

"Well," said Miriam, "we haven't seen the others yet, and I am glad that
we don't know whether this doctor is homeopathic or allopathic, so that
we can get started in liking him before we know whether we approve of his
medicines or not."

"Upon my word," cried Ralph, "I never knew that you had opinions about
the different medical schools. Did they teach you that sort of thing at
Mrs. Stone's?"

"I suppose I can have opinions without having them taught to me, can't
I?" she answered. "I saw a lot of sickness among the girls, and I am
homeopathic."

"Stuff," exclaimed Ralph, "I don't believe you ever took any medicine in
your life."

"I have not taken much," answered Miriam, "but I have taken enough to
settle it in my mind that I am never going to take any more of the
same sort."

"And they were not little sugar pills?"

"No, indeed they were not," said Miriam, very decidedly.

"I've made a fire in the parlor," said Phoebe, coming in, "if you all
want to sit there afore you go to bed."

"I don't want to sit anywhere," cried Miriam, "and I am crazy to get a
peep out of doors. Come on, Ralph, just for a minute."

Ralph followed her out on the piazza.

"It's awfully dark," said Miriam, "but if we walk carefully, I think we
can get far enough away from the house to look up at it, and find out a
little what it looks like."

They groped their way across the driveway, and on to the grass beyond.

"We can see a good deal of it against the sky!" exclaimed Miriam. "What
tall pillars! It looks like a Greek temple in front. And from what I can
make out, it's pretty much all front."

"I suppose it is a regular old-fashioned house," said her brother,
"with a Grecian portico front, and perhaps another at the back. But you
must come in now, for you have on neither hat nor wrap." And he took
her by the hand.

"It isn't cold," said Miriam, "and oh, Ralph, look up at the stars. Those
are our stars, every one of them."

Ralph laughed, as he led her into the house.

"Yes, indeed," she insisted, "we own all the way down, and all the way
up."

"Now then," said Miriam, when they had closed the door behind them, "how
shall we explore the house? Shall we each take a lamp, or will candles
be better?"

"Little girl!" exclaimed her brother, "I had no idea that you were such a
bunch of watch springs. It is nearly nine o'clock, and after the day's
work that you have done, it is time you were in bed. House exploring can
be done to-morrow."

"Yes, indeed, Miss," said Phoebe, who stood by, anxious to shut up the
house and retire to her own domicile, "and I will go up into your room
with you and show you about things."

Half an hour after this, Miriam came out of her bedroom, holding a bit of
lighted candle in her hand. She was dressed, with the exception of her
shoes. Softly she advanced to the foot of the stairs which led to the
floor above.

"They are partly my stairs," she said to herself, as she paused for a
moment at the bottom of the step. "Ralph told me that he considered the
place as much mine as his, and I have a right to go up. I cannot go to
sleep without seeing what is up here. I never imagined such a third floor
as this one."

In less than a minute, Miriam was slowly creeping along the next floor of
the house, which was indeed an odd one. For it was nothing more than a
gallery, broader at the ends than the sides, with a railed open space,
through which one could look down to the floor below. Some of the doors
were open and she peeped into the rooms, but saw nothing which induced
her to enter them. Having made the circuit of the gallery, she reached a
narrow staircase which wound still higher upward.

"I must go up," she said; "I cannot help it."

Arrived at the top of these stairs, Miriam held up her candle and looked
about her. She was in a great, wide, magnificent, glorious garret! Her
soul swelled. To own such a garret was almost too much joy! It was the
realization of a thousand dreams.

Slowly advancing, she beheld fascinations on every side. Here were old
trunks, doubtless filled with family antiquities; there was a door
fastened with a chain and a padlock--there must be a key to that, or the
lock could be broken; in the dim light at the other end of the garret,
she could see what appeared to be a piled-up collection of boxes, chests,
cases, little and big, and all sorts of old-fashioned articles of use and
ornament, doubtless every one of them a treasure. A long musket, its
stock upon the floor, reclined against a little trunk covered with
horse-hair, from under the lid of which protruded the ends of some dusty
folded papers.

"Oh, how I wish Ralph were here, and that we had a lamp. I could spend
the night here, looking at everything; but I can't do it now with this
little candle end."

At her feet was a wooden box, the lid of which was evidently unfastened,
for it lay at an angle across the top.

"I will look into this one box," she said, "and then I will go down."

She knelt down, and with the candle in her right hand, pushed aside the
lid with her left. From the box there grinned at her a human skull,
surrounded by its bones. She started back.

"Uncle Butterwood," she gasped and tried to rise, but her strength and
senses left her, and she fell over unconscious, upon the floor. The
candle dropped from her hand, and, fortunately, went out.




CHAPTER V

PANNEYOPATHY


About ten o'clock the next morning, Mike, in his little wagon, rattled up
to the door of Dr. Tolbridge.

The doctor was not at home, but his wife came out.

"That young girl!" she exclaimed. "Why, what can be the matter with her?"

"I dunno, ma'am," answered Mike. "Phoebe told me just as the wagon got
there with the boxes an' trunks, an' nobody but me to help the man
upstairs with 'em, an' said I must get away to the doctor's jes' as fast
as I could drive. She said somethin' about her sleepin' in the garret and
ketchin' cold, but she wouldn't let me stop to ax no questions. She said
the doctor was wanted straight off."

"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Tolbridge, "that he is not here, but he
said he was going to stop and see Miss Panney. I can't tell you any
other place to which he was going. If you drive back by the Witton road,
you may find him, or, if he has not yet arrived, it might be well to
wait for him."

Arrived at the Witton house, Mike saw Miss Panney, wrapped in a heavy
shawl and wearing a hood, taking her morning exercise on the piazza.

"They want the doctor already!" she exclaimed in answer to Mike's
inquiries. "Who could have thought that? And he left here nearly half
an hour ago. His wife will send him when he gets home, but there is no
knowing when that will be. However, she must have somebody to attend
to her. Mike, I will go myself. I will go with you in your wagon. Wait
one minute."

Into the house popped Miss Panney, and in a very short time returned,
carrying with her an umbrella and a large reticule made of brown plush,
and adorned with her monogram in yellow. One of the Witton girls came
with her, and assisted her to the seat, by the side of Mike.

"Now then," said she, "get along as fast as you can. I shall not mind
the jolts."

"Phoebe," said Miss Panney, as she entered the Cobhurst door, "it's a
long time since I have seen you, and I have not been in this house for
eight years. I hope you will be able to tell me something about this
sudden sickness, for Mike is as stupid as a stone post, and knows
nothing at all."

"Now, Miss Panney," said Phoebe, speaking very earnestly, but in a low
voice, "I can't say that I can really give you the true head and tail of
it, for it's mighty hard to find out what did happen to that young gal.
All I know is that she didn't come down to breakfast, and that Mr.
Haverley went up to her room hisself, and he knocked and he knocked, and
then he pushed the door open and went in, and, bless my soul, Miss
Panney, she wasn't there. Then he hollered, and me and him, we sarched
and sarched the house. He went up into the garret by hisself, for you may
be sure I wouldn't go there, but he was just wild, and didn't care where
he went, and there he found her dead asleep on the floor, and a livin'
skeleton a sittin' watchin' her."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Panney; "he never told you that."

"That's the pint of what I got out of him, and you know, Miss Panney,
that that garret's hanted."

Miss Panney wasted no words in attempting to disprove this assertion.

"He found her asleep on the floor?" said she.

"Yes, Miss Panney," answered Phoebe, "dead asleep, or more likely, to my
mind, in a dead faint, among all the drafts and chills of that garret,
and in her stockin' feet. She had tuk up a candle with her, but I'spect
the skeleton blowed it out. And now she's got an awful cold, so she can
scarcely breathe, and a fever hot enough to roast an egg."

At this moment Ralph appeared in the hall. The visitor immediately went
up to him.

"Mr. Haverley, I suppose. I am Miss Panney. I am a neighbor, and I came
to see if I could do anything for your sister before the doctor arrives.
I am a good nurse, and know all about sicknesses;" and she explained why
she had come and the doctor had not.

When Miriam turned her head and saw the black eyes of Miss Panney gazing
down upon her, she pushed herself back in the bed, and exclaimed,--

"Are you his wife?"

"No, indeed," said Miss Panney, "I wouldn't marry him for a thousand
pounds. I am your nurse. I am going to give you something nice to make
you feel better. Put your hand in mine. There, that will do. Keep
yourself covered up, even if you are a little warm, and I will come back
presently with the nicest kind of a cup of tea."

"It's a cold and a fever," she said to Ralph, outside the chamber door.
"The commonest thing in the world. But I'll make her a hot drink that
will do her more good than anything else that could be given her, and
when the doctor comes, he'll tell you so. He knows me, and what I can do
for sick people. I brought everything that's needed in my bag, and I am
going down to the kitchen myself. But how in the world did she come to
stay on the garret floor all night? She couldn't have been in a swoon all
that time."

"No," answered Ralph; "she told me she came to her senses, she didn't
know when, but that everything was pitch dark about her, and feeling
dreadfully tired and weak, she put her head down on her arm, and tried
to think why she was lying on such a hard floor, and then she must
have dropped into the heavy sleep in which I found her. She was tired
out with her journey and the excitement. Do you think she is in danger,
Miss Panney?"

"Don't believe it," said the old lady. "She looks strong, and these young
things get well before you know it."

"Now, my young lady," said Miss Panney, as she stood by Miriam's bedside,
with a steaming bowl, "you may drink the whole of this, but you mustn't
ask me for any more, and then you may go to sleep, and to-morrow morning
you can get up and skip around and see what sort of a place Cobhurst is
by daylight."

"I can't wait until to-morrow for that," said Miriam, "and is that tea or
medicine?"

"It's both, my dear; sit up and drink it off."

Miriam still eyed the bowl. "Is it homeopathic or allopathic?" she asked.

"Neither the one or the other," was the discreet reply; "it is
Panneyopathic, and just the thing for a girl who wants to get out of bed
as soon as she can."

Miriam looked full into the bright black eyes, and then took the bowl,
and drank every drop of the contents.

"Thank you," she said. "It is perfectly horrid, but I must get up."

"Now you take a good long nap, and then I hope you will feel quite able
to go down and begin to keep house for your brother."

"The first thing to do," said Miriam, as Miss Panney carefully adjusted
the bedclothes about her shoulders, "is to see what sort a house we have
got, and then I will know how I am to keep it."

When her young patient had dropped asleep, Miss Panney went downstairs.
In the lower hall she found Ralph walking up and down.

"There is no earthly need of your worrying yourself about your sister. I
am sure the doctor would say she is in no danger at all," said the old
lady. "And now, if you don't mind, I would like very much to go up into
the garret and see what frightened your sister."

"It was apparently a box of human bones," he said, "but I barely glanced
at it. You are perfectly welcome to go up and examine."

It was a quarter of an hour before Miss Panney came down from the
garret, laughing.

"I studied anatomy on those bones," she said. "Every one of them is
marked in ink with its name. I had forgotten all about them. Mathias'
brother Reuben was a scientific man, and he used the skeleton. That is,
he studied all sorts of things, though he never did anything worth
notice. I took a look round the garret," she continued, "and I tell you,
sir, that if you care anything for family relics and records, you have
them to your heart's content. I expect there are things up there that
have not been touched for fifty years."

"I should suppose," said Ralph, "that the servants of the house would
have had some curiosity about such objects, if no one else had."

Miss Panney laughed.

"There hasn't been a servant in that garret for many a long year," said
she. "You evidently don't know that this house is considered haunted,
particularly the garret; and I suppose that box of bones had a good deal
to do with the notion."

"Well," said Ralph, "no doubt the ghosts have been a great protection to
our family treasures."

"And to your whole house," said the old lady; "watch-dogs would be
nothing to them."

Miss Panney and Ralph ate dinner together. The old lady would not leave
until the doctor had come; and the conversation was an education to young
Haverley in regard to the Butterwood family and the Thorbury
neighborhood. At the conclusion of the meal, Phoebe came into the room.

"I went upstairs to see how she was gettin' on, sir," she said; "an' she
was awake, an' she made me get a pencil an' paper out of her bag, an' she
sent you this note."

On a half-sheet of note-paper, he read the following: "Dear Ralph, I went
upstairs and looked at the third floor and a good deal of the garret,
without you being with me. I really want to be perfectly fair, and so you
must not stop altogether from looking at things until I am able to go
with you. I think good things to look at by yourself would be stables and
barnyards, and the lower part of barns. Please do not go into haylofts,
nor into the chicken-yard, if there is one. You might keep your eyes on
the ground until you get to these places and then look up. If there are
horses and cows, don't tell me anything about them when you see me.
Don't tell me anything. I think I shall be well to-morrow, perhaps
to-night. Miriam."

Ralph laughed heartily, and read the note aloud.

"I should say," said Miss Panney, "that that girl has a good deal more
conscience than fever. She ought to have slept longer, but as she is
awake I will go up and take a look at her; while you can blindfold
yourself, if you like, and go out to the barns."

The doctor did not arrive until late in the afternoon, and it was
nearly half an hour after he had gone up to his patient before he
reported to Ralph.

"She is all right," said he, "but I am not."

The young man looked puzzled.

"By which I mean," continued the other, "that Miss Panney's concoction
and the girl's vigorous young nature have thrown off the effects of her
nap in the haunted garret, and that I am an allopathist, whereas I ought
to be a homeopathist. The young lady and I have had a long conversation
on that subject and others. I find that she is a Nonconformist."

"What?" asked Ralph.

"I use the word in its political and social, as well as its religious
meaning. That is a sister worth taking care of, sir. Lock her up in her
room, if she inclines to any more midnight wanderings."

"And now, having finished with the young patient," said Miss Panney, who
was waiting with her bonnet and shawl on, "you can take up an old one,
and I will get you to drive me home on your way back to Thorbury."

The doctor had been very much interested in Miriam, and talked about
her to Miss Panney as he drove her to the Witton house, which, by the
way, was a mile and a half out of his direct road. The old lady
listened with interest, but did not wish to listen very much; she
wished to talk of Ralph.

"I like him," she said; "he has pluck. I have had a good deal of talk
with him, and he told me frankly that he could not afford to put money
into the place and farm it as it ought to be farmed. But he was born a
country man, and he has the heart of a country man; and he is going to
see if he can make a living out of it for himself and his sister."

"Which may result," said the doctor, "in his becoming a mere farm laborer
and putting an end to his sister's education."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the old lady. "Young fellows--college men--go out
on ranches in the West and do that sort of thing, and it lowers them in
nobody's estimation. Let young Haverley call his farm a ranch and rough
it. It would be the same thing. I've backed him up strongly. It's a manly
choice of a manly life. As for his sister, she has been so long at school
that it will do her more good to stop than to go on."

"It will be hard scratching," said the doctor, "to get a living out of
Cobhurst, and I hope these young people will not come to grief while they
are making the experiment."

Miss Panney smiled without looking at her companion.

"Don't be afraid of that," she said presently; "I have pretty good
reason to think that he will get on well enough."

That evening Miriam sat up in bed with a shawl about her shoulders and
discoursed to her brother.

"Now, Ralph," said she, "you must have seen a lot of things about our
place, because, when I came to think of it, it was plain enough that you
couldn't help it. I am crazy to see what you saw, but you mustn't tell me
anything except what I ask you. Please be particular about that."

"Go on," said Ralph. "You shall not have a word more or less than
you want."

"Well, then, is your bed comfortable?"

"Perfectly," he answered.

"And have you pillows enough?"

"More than I want," said Ralph.

"And are the doors and windows all fastened and locked downstairs?"

He laughed. "You needn't bother yourself about that sort of thing. I will
attend to the locking up."

She slightly knitted her brows in reflection. "Now then, Ralph," said
she, "I am coming to it, and mind, not a word more than I ask for. Have
we any horses?"

"We have," he replied.

"How many?"

"Four."

Miriam clasped her hands and looked at her brother with sparkling eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "four horses!"

"Two of them," he began, but she stopped him in an instant.

"Don't tell me another thing," she cried; "I don't want to know what
color they are, or anything about them. To-morrow I shall see them for
myself. Oh, Ralph, isn't it perfectly wonderful that we should have four
horses? I can't stand anything more just now, so please kiss me
good-night."

About an hour afterwards Ralph was awakened by a knock at his door.

"Who is there?" he cried.

The door opened a very little way.

"Ralph," said Miriam, through the crack, "is there one of our horses
which can be ridden by a lady?"

Ralph's first impulse was to throw a pillow at the door, but he
remembered that sisters were different from fellows at school.

"Can't say anything about that until we try," said he; "and now, Miriam,
please go to bed and to sleep."

Miriam shut the door and went away, but in her dreams she rode a prancing
charger into Miss Stone's schoolyard, and afterwards drove all the girls
in a tally-ho.




CHAPTER VI

MRS. TOLBRIDGE'S CALLERS


The next day was a very fine one, and as the roads were now good, and the
air mild, Miss Panney thought it was quite time that she should begin to
go about and see her friends without depending on the vehicles of other
people, so she ordered her little phaeton and her old roan mare, and
drove herself to Thorbury to see Mrs. Tolbridge.

"The doctor tells me," said that good lady, "that you take great interest
in those young people at Cobhurst."

"Indeed I do," said Miss Panney, sitting up as straight in her easy chair
as if it had been a wooden bench with no back; "I have been thinking
about him all the morning. He ought to be married."

Mrs. Tolbridge laughed.

"Dear me, Miss Panney," said she, "it is too soon to begin thinking of a
wife for the poor fellow. He has not had time to feel himself at home."

"My motto is that it is never too soon to begin, but we won't talk about
that. Kitty, you are the worst matchmaker I ever saw."

"I think I made a pretty good match for myself," said the other.

"No, you didn't. The doctor made that, and I helped. You had nothing to
do with the preliminary work, which is really the most important."

Mrs. Tolbridge smiled. "I am sure I am very much obliged," she said.

"You ought to be. And now while we are on the subject, let me ask you:
Have you a new cook?"

"I have," replied the other, "but she is worse than the last one."

Miss Panney rose to her feet, and walked across the room.

"Kitty Tolbridge!" she exclaimed, "this is too bad. You're trifling
with the greatest treasure a woman can have on this earth--the life of a
good husband."

"But what am I to do?" asked Mrs. Tolbridge. "I have tried everywhere,
and I can get no one better."

"Everywhere," repeated Miss Panney. "You mean everywhere in Thorbury. You
oughtn't to expect to get a decent cook in this little town. You should
go to the city and get one. What you want is to keep the doctor well, no
matter what it costs. He doesn't look well, and I don't see how he can be
well, on the kind of cooking you can get in Thorbury."

Mrs. Tolbridge flushed a little.

"I am sure," she said, "that Thorbury people, for generations and
generations, have lived on Thorbury cooking, and they have been just as
healthy as any other people."

"Ah, Kitty, Kitty!" exclaimed the old lady, "you forget how things have
changed. In times gone by the ladies of the household superintended all
the cooking, and did a good deal of it besides; and they brought
something into the kitchen that seldom gets into it now, and that is
brains. A cook with a complete set of brains might be pretty hard to get,
and would cost a good deal of money. But it is your duty, Kitty, to get
as good a one as you can. If she has only a tea-cup full of brains, it
will be better than none at all. Don't mind the cost. If you have to do
it, spend more on cooking, and less on raw material."

This was all Miss Panney had to say on the subject, and shortly
she departed.

After brief stops at the post-office and one or two shops, she drove to
the abode of the Bannisters. Miss Panney tied her roan to the
hitching-post by the sidewalk, and went up the smooth gravel path to the
handsome old house, which she had so often visited, to confer on her own
affairs and those of the world at large with the father and the
grandfather of the present Bannister, attorney-at-law.

She and the house were all that were left of those old days. Even the
widow was the second wife, who had come into the family while Miss Panney
was away from Thorbury.

Mrs. Bannister was not at home, but Miss Dora was, and that entirely
satisfied the visitor. When the blooming daughter of the house came
hurrying into the parlor, Miss Panney, who had previously raised two of
the window shades, gazed at her earnestly as she saluted her, and nodded
her head approvingly. Then the two sat down to talk.

They talked of several things, and very soon of the Cobhurst people.

"Oh, have you seen them?" exclaimed Dora. "I have, but only for a minute
at the station, and then I didn't know who they were, though I was told
afterward. They seemed to be very nice."

"They are," said Miss Panney. "The girl is bright, and young Mr. Haverley
is an exceedingly agreeable gentleman, just the sort of man who should be
the owner of Cobhurst. He is handsome, well educated, and spirited. I saw
a good deal of him, for I spent the best part of yesterday there. I
should say that your brother would find him a most congenial neighbor.
There are so few young men hereabout who are worth anything."

"That is true," replied Dora, with a degree of earnestness, "and I know
Herbert will be delighted. I am sure he would call if he were here, but
he is away, and doesn't expect to be back for a week."

It crossed Miss Panney's mind that a week's delay in a matter of
this sort would not be considered a breach of courtesy, but she did
not say so.

"It would be friendly if Mrs. Bannister and you were to call on the
sister, before long," she remarked.

"Of course we will do it," said Dora, with animation. "I should think a
young lady would be dreadfully lonely in that great house, at least at
first, and perhaps we can do something for her."

Although Miss Panney had seen Miriam only in bed, she had a strong
conviction that she was not yet a young lady, but this, like the other
reflection, was not put into words.

It was not noon when Miss Panney left the Bannister house, and the mind
of Miss Dora, which had been renewing itself within her with all the
vigor and freshness which Dr. Tolbridge had predicted, was at a loss how
to occupy itself until dinner-time, which, with the Bannisters and most
of the gentlefolk of Thorbury, was at two o'clock.

Dora put on her prettiest hat and her wrap and went out. She wanted to
call on somebody and to talk, and suddenly it struck her that she would
go and inquire about the kitten she had given Dr. Tolbridge, and carry
it a fresh ribbon. She bought the ribbon, and found Mrs. Tolbridge and
the kitten at home.

When the ornament had been properly adjusted, Miss Dora put the kitten
upon the floor and remarked: "Now there is some comfort in doing a thing
like that for Dr. Tolbridge, because he will be sure to notice it. There
are some gentlemen who hardly ever notice things you do for them. Herbert
is often that way."

"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Tolbridge, who had turned toward a desk at
which she had been writing. "The doctor is a man I can recommend, and I
hope you may get a husband as good as he is. And by the way, if you ever
do get such a one, I also hope you will be able to find some one who will
cook his meals properly. I find that I cannot do that in Thorbury, and I
am going to try to get one in the city. I am now writing an advertisement
which I shall put into several of the papers, and day after to-morrow I
shall go down to see the people who answer."

"Oh, that will be fun," cried Dora; "I wish I could go with you."

"And why not?"

"Why not, indeed?" replied the young lady, and the matter was
immediately arranged.

"And while we are talking about servants," said Dora, whose ebullient
mind now found a chance to bring in the subject which was most prominent
within it, "I should think that the new people at Cobhurst would find it
troublesome to get the right sort of service."

"Perhaps so," replied Mrs. Tolbridge, "although I have a fancy they are
going to have a very independent household, at least for a time. It is a
great pity that the young girl was taken sick just as she entered into
her new home."

"Sick!" exclaimed Dora; "I never heard of that."

"Oh, it wasn't anything serious," said the other, her thoughts turning
to the advertisement, which she wished to get into the post-office
before dinner, "and I have no doubt she is quite well now, but still it
was a pity."

"Indeed it was!" exclaimed Dora, in tones of the most earnest sympathy
and commiseration. "It was the greatest kind of a pity, and I think I
really ought to call on her very soon." And in this mood she went home
to dinner.




CHAPTER VII

DORA BANNISTER TAKES TIME AND A MARE BY THE FORELOCK


Very early that afternoon Miss Dora Bannister was driven to Cobhurst to
call upon the young lady who had been taken sick, and who ought not to be
neglected by the ladies of Thorbury. Dora had asked her stepmother to
accompany her, but as that good lady seldom made calls, and disliked long
drives, and could not see why it was at all necessary for her to go, Dora
went alone.

When the open carriage with its pair of handsome grays had bumped over
the rough entrance to the Cobhurst estate, and had drawn up to the front
of the house, Miss Dora skipped lightly out, and rang the door-bell. She
rang twice, and as no one came, and as the front door was wide open, she
stepped inside to see if she could find any one. She had never been in
that great wide hall before, and she was delighted with it, although it
appeared to be in some disorder. Two boxes and a trunk were still
standing where they had been placed when they were brought from the
station. She looked through the open door of the parlor, but there was no
one there, and then she knocked on the door of a closed room.

No answer came, and she went to the back door of the long hall and looked
out, but not a soul could she see. This was discouraging, but she was not
a girl who would willingly turn back, after having set out on an errand
of mercy. There was a door which seemed to lead to the basement, and on
this she knocked, but to no purpose.

"This is an awfully funny house," she said to herself. "If I could see
any stairs, I might go up a little way and call. Surely there must be
somebody alive somewhere." Then the thought suddenly came into her mind
that perhaps want of life in the particular person she had come to see
might be the reason of this dreadful stillness and desertion, and without
a moment's hesitation she stepped out of the back door into the open air.
She could not stay in that house another second until she knew. Surely
there must be some one on the place who could tell her what had happened.

Approaching the gardener's house, she met Phoebe just coming out
of the door.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the woman of color. "Is that you, Miss Dora?
Mike hollered to me that a kirridge had come, and I was a-hurryin' up to
the house to see who it was."

"I came to call on Miss Haverley," said Dora. "How is she, Phoebe, and
can I see her?"

"Oh, she's well enough, and you can see her if you can find her; but to
save my soul, Miss Dora, I couldn't tell you where she is at this minute.
You never did in all your life see anybody like that Miss Miriam is. Why,
true as I speak, the very sparrers in the trees isn't as wild as she is.
From sunrise this morning she has been on the steady go. You'd think, to
see her, that the hens and the cows and the colts and even the old apple
trees was all silver and gold and diamonds in her eyes, she takes on so
about 'em. I can't keep up with her, I can't. The last time I see her,
she was goin' into the barn, and I reckon she's thar yit, huntin' hens'
nests. If you like, I'll go look for her, Miss Dora."

Phoebe had often worked for the Bannister family, and Dora knew her to be
one of the slowest movers among mankind; besides, the idea of calling
upon a young lady who was engaged in looking for hens' nests in a barn
was an exceedingly attractive one. It had not been long since Dora had
taken much delight in that sort of thing herself.

"You needn't trouble yourself, Phoebe," she said; "I will walk over to
the barn. I would a great deal rather do that than wait in the house. If
I don't see her there, I will come back and leave our cards."

"You might as well do that," said Phoebe, laughing, "for if she isn't
thar, she's as like as not at the other end of the farm in the field
where the colts is."

The Cobhurst barn was an unusual, and, indeed, a remarkable structure. It
was not as old as the house, although it had been built many years ago by
Mathias Butterwood, in a fashion to suit his own ideas of what a barn
should be.

It was an enormous structure, a great deal larger than the house, and
built of stone. It stood against a high bluff, and there was an entrance
on the level to the vast lower story, planned to accommodate Mr.
Butterwood's herd of fine cattle. A little higher up, a wide causeway,
supported by an arch, led into the second story, devoted to horses and
all kinds of vehicles, and still higher, almost on a level with the
house, there was a road, walled on each side, by which the loaded
haywagons could be driven in upon the great third floor of the barn.

When Dora Bannister reached this barn, having followed a path which led
to the lower story, she looked in at an open door, and received the
impression of vast extent, emptiness, and the scent of hay. She entered,
looking about from side to side. At the opposite end of the great room,
was an open door through which the sun shone, and as she approached it,
she heard a voice and the cracking of cornstalks outside.

Standing in the doorway, she looked out, and saw a large barnyard, the
ground near the door covered with fresh straw which seemed to have been
recently strewn there. The yard beyond was a neglected and bad-looking
expanse, into which no young lady would be likely to penetrate, and from
which Dora would have turned away instantly, had she not seen, crossing
it, a young man and a horse.

The young man was leading the horse by its forelock, and was walking
in a sidewise fashion, with his back toward Dora. The horse, a
rough-looking creature, seemed reluctant to approach the barn, and its
leader frequently spoke to it encouragingly, and patted its neck, as
he moved on.

This young man was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore a light soft hat,
which well suited his somewhat curling brown hair. A corduroy suit and
high top boots, in which he strode fearlessly through the debris and
dirt of the yard, gave him, in Dora's eyes, a manly air, and she longed
for him to turn his face toward her, that she might speak to him, and
ask him where she would be apt to find his sister--for of course this
must be Mr. Haverley.

But he did not turn; instead of that he now backed himself toward the
stable door, pulling the horse after him. Dora was pleased to stand and
look at him; his movements struck her as athletic and graceful. He was
now so near that she felt she ought to make her presence known. She
stepped out upon the fresh straw, intending to move a little out of his
way and then accost him, but he spoke first.

"Good," he said; "don't you want to take hold of this mare by the
forelock, as I am doing, and keep her here until I get a halter?" And as
he spoke he turned toward Miss Bannister.

His face was a handsome one, fully equal in quality to his height, his
shoulders, and his grace of movement. His blue eyes opened wide at the
sight of the young lady in gray hat and ostrich plumes, fashionable
driving costume edged with fur, for the spring air was yet cool, and
bright silk parasol, for the spring sun was beginning to be warm. With
almost a stammer, he said:--

"I beg your pardon, I thought it was my sister I heard behind me."

"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least," said Dora, with a charming smile;
"I am Miss Bannister. I live in Thorbury, and I came to call on your
sister. Phoebe told me she thought she was out here, and so I came to
look for her myself. A barn is so charming to me, especially a great one
like this, that I would rather make a call in it than in the house."

"I will go and look for her," said Ralph. "She cannot be far away." And
then he glanced at the horse, as if he were in doubt what to do with it
at this juncture.

"Oh, let me hold your horse," cried Dora, putting down the parasol by the
side of the barn and approaching; "I mean while you go and get its
halter. I am ever so fond of horses, and like to hold them and feed them
and pet them. Is this one gentle?"

"I don't know much about her," said Ralph, laughing, "for we have just
taken possession of the place, and are only beginning to find out what
animals we own, and what they are like. This old mare seems gentle
enough, though rather obstinate. I have just brought her in out of the
fields, where she has been grazing ever since the season opened."

"She looks like a very good horse, indeed," said Dora, patting the
tangled hair on the creature's neck.

"I brought her in," said Ralph, "thinking I might rub her down, and get
her into proper trim for use. My sister is much disappointed to find that
out of our four horses, two are unbroken colts, and one is in constant
use by the man. I think if I can give her a drive, even if it is behind a
jogging old mare, it will set up her spirits again."

"You must let me hold her," said Dora, "while you get the halter, and
then you can tie her, while we go and look for your sister. Don't
think of such a thing as letting her go, after all your trouble in
catching her."

"If I could get her into these stables," said Ralph, "I might shut her
in, but I don't think that I shall be able to pull her through that
doorway in this fashion."

Without further ado, Miss Dora put out her right hand, in its neatly
fitting kid glove, and took hold of the mare's forelock, just above
Ralph's hand. The young man demurred an instant, and then, laughing, ran
into the stable to find a halter. His ownership of everything was so
fresh that he forgot that the lower part of the barn was occupied by the
cow stables--which the old mare did not wish to enter, or even approach.
He hurriedly rummaged here and there among the stalls, finding nothing
but some chains and rope's ends fastened to the mangers, but in his hasty
search he could not help thinking how extremely ingenuous and neighborly
was that handsome girl outside.

Dora held firmly the forelock of the mare, and patted the good animal's
head with the other hand; but, strange to say, the animal did not like
being held by the young lady, and gradually she backed, first toward the
side of the barn, and then out toward the open yard. Dora attempted to
restrain her, but in spite of all her efforts was obliged to follow the
retrogressive animal.

"It's my gloves she doesn't like," she said to herself; "I know some
horses can't bear the smell of kid, but I can't take them off now, and I
will not let go. I wish he would hurry with the halter."

Little by little poor Dora was pulled forward, until she reached a spot
which was at the very end of the clean straw, and yet not very far from
the wall of the barn. Here she vigorously endeavored to make a stand,
for if she went another step forward her dainty boots would sink into
mud and dirt.

"Whoa!" she called out to the mare; "whoa, now!"

At the sound of these words, plainly uttered in trouble, Ralph, who
happened to be in a stall next to the barn wall looking over some ropes,
glanced through a little window about four feet from the ground, and saw
Miss Bannister very close to him, tottering on the edge of the straw, and
just about to let go of the mare, or step into the mire. Before he could
shape words to tell her to release her dangerous hold, or make up his
mind to rush around to the door to go to her assistance, she saw him, and
throwing out her left hand in his direction, she exclaimed:--

"Oh, hold me, please."

Instantly Ralph put out his long arm, and caught her by the hand.

"Thank you," said Miss Dora. "In another moment she would have pulled me
into the dirt. Perhaps now I can make her walk up on the clean straw.
Come, come," she continued persuasively to the mare, which, however,
obstinately declined to advance.

"Let go of her, I beg of you, Miss Bannister," cried Ralph. "It will hurt
you to be pulled on two sides in this way."

Dora was a strong young girl, and so far the pulling had not hurt her at
all. In fact, she liked it, at least on one side.

"Oh, I couldn't think of letting her go," she replied, "after all the
trouble you have had in catching her. The gate is open, and in a minute
she would be out in the field again. If she will only make a few steps
forward, I am sure I can hold her until you come out. If you would draw
me in a little bit, Mr. Haverley, perhaps she would follow."

Ralph did not in the least object to hold the smoothly gloved little hand
in his own, but he was really afraid that the girl would be hurt, if she
persisted in this attempt to make a halter of herself. If he released his
hold, he was sure she would be jerked face forward into the mire, or at
least be obliged to step into it; and as for the mare, it was plain to be
seen that she did not intend to come any nearer the shed. He therefore
doubled his entreaties that she would let the beast go, as it made no
difference whether she ran into the fields or not. He could easily catch
her again, or the man could.

"I don't want to let her go," said Dora. "Your sister would have a pretty
opinion of me when she is ready to take her drive, and finds that I have
let her horse run away; and, besides, I don't like to give up things. Do
you like to give up things? I am sure you don't, for I saw you bringing
this horse into the yard, and you were very determined about it. If I let
her go, all your determination and trouble will have been for nothing. I
should not like that. Come, come, you obstinate creature, just two steps
forward. I have some lumps of sugar in my pocket which I keep to give to
our horses, but of course I can't get it with both my hands occupied. I
wish I had thought of the sugar. By the way, the sugar is not in my
pocket; after all, it is in this little bag on my belt; I don't suppose
you could reach it."

Ralph stretched out his other hand, but he could not reach the little
leather bag with its silver clasp. If he could have jumped out of the
window, he would have done so without hesitation, but the aperture was
not large enough. He could not help being amused by the dilemma in which
he was placed by this young lady's inflexibility. He did not know a girl,
his sister not excepted, whom, under the circumstances, he would not have
left to the consequences of what he would have called her obstinacy. But
there was something about Dora--some sort of a lump of sugar--which
prevented him from letting go of her hand.

"I never saw a horse," said she, "nor, indeed, any sort of a living
thing, which was so unwilling to come to me. You are very good to hold me
so strongly, and I am sure I don't mind waiting a little longer, until
some one comes by."

"There is no one to come by," exclaimed Ralph, "and I most earnestly
beg of you--"

At this moment the horse began to back; Miss Dora's fingers nervously
clasped themselves about Ralph's hand, which pressed hers more closely
and vigorously than before. There was a strong pull, a little jerk, and
the forelock of the mare slipped out of Miss Dora's hand.

"There!" she cried; "that is exactly what I knew would happen. The wicked
creature has galloped out of the gate."

The young lady now made a step or two nearer the barn, Ralph still
holding her hand, as if to assist her to a better footing.

She did not need the assistance at all, but she looked up gratefully, as
Ralph loosened his grasp, and she gently withdrew her hand.

"Thank you ever so much," she said. "If it had not been for you, I do not
know where I should have been pulled to; but it is too bad that the horse
got off, after all."

"Don't mention it," said Ralph. "I'll have her again in no time," and
then he ran outside to join her.

"Now, sir," said she, and giving him no time to make any proposition, "I
should like very much to find your sister, and see her, for at least a
few moments before I go. Do you think she is anywhere in this glorious
old barn? Phoebe told me she was."

"Is this a girl or a woman?" thought Ralph to himself. The charming and
fashionable costume would have settled this question in the mind of a
lady, but Ralph felt a little puzzled. But be the case what it might, it
would be charming to go with her through the barn or anywhere else. As
they walked over the lower floor of the edifice toward the stairway in
the corner, Dora remarked:--

"How happy your cows ought to be, Mr. Haverley, to have such a wide, cool
place as this to live in. What kind of cows have you?"

"Indeed, I don't know," said Ralph, laughing. "I haven't had time to make
their acquaintance. I have seen them, only from a distance. They are but
a very small herd, and I am sure there are no fancy breeds among them."

"Do you know," said Dora, as they went up the broad steps, sprinkled with
straw and hayseed, "that what are called common cows are often really
better than Alderneys, or Ayrshires, and those sorts? And this is the
second story! How splendid and vast! What do you have here?"

"On the right are the horse stables," said Ralph, "and in those stalls
there should be a row of prancing chargers and ambling steeds; and on the
great empty floor, which you see over here, there should be the
carriages,--the coupe, the family carriage, the light wagon, the pony
phaeton, the top buggy, and all the other vehicles which people in the
country need. But, alas! you only see that old hay-wagon, which I am sure
would fall to pieces if horses attempted to pull it, and that affair
with two big wheels and a top. I think they call it a gig, and I believe
old Mr. Butterwood used to drive about in it."

"Indeed he did," said Dora. "I remember seeing him when I was a little
girl. It must be very comfortable. I should think your sister and you
would enjoy driving in that. In a gig, you know, you can go
anywhere--into wood-roads, and all sorts of places where you couldn't
turn around with anything with four wheels. And how nice it is that it
has a top. I've heard it said that Mr. Butterwood would always have
everything comfortable for himself. Perhaps your sister is in some of
these smaller rooms. What are they?"

"Oh, harness rooms, and I know not what," answered Ralph, and then he
called out:--

"Miriam!" His voice was of a full, rich tone, and it was echoed from the
bare walls and floors.