"Oh, it must drink; we must make it drink," said Miriam. "If I open its
mouth, will you put in the end of that tube? If it gets a taste of the
milk, it may want more. We must not let it die. But you must be careful,"
she continued. "That bottle leaks all round the cork. Spread part of my
skirt over you."

Dora followed this advice, for she had not considered a milk-stained lap
among the contingent circumstances of the afternoon. Holding the bottle
over the listless animal, she managed to get some drops on its tongue.

"Now," said Miriam, "we will put that in its mouth, and shut its
jaws, and perhaps it may begin to suck. It will be perfectly dreadful
if it dies."

The two girls sat close together, their eyes fixed upon the apparently
lifeless head of the bovine infant.

"See!" cried Miriam, presently, "its throat moves; I believe it is
sucking the milk."

Dora leaned over and gazed. It was indeed true; the calf was beginning to
take an interest in food. The interest increased; the girls could see the
milk slowly diminishing in the bottle. Before long the creature gave its
head a little wobble. Miriam was delighted.

"That is the way it always does, when its appetite is good. We must let
it drink every drop, if it will."

There they sat on the hard, hay-strewn floor, one entirely, and the other
almost entirely covered with purple silk, their eyes fixed upon the
bottle and the feeding calf. After a time the latter declined to take any
more milk, and raised its head from Miriam's lap.

"There," she cried; "see, it can hold up its own head. I expect it was
only faint from want of food. After this I will feed it oftener. It was
the bread-making that made me forget it this time."

"Let us wait a minute," said Dora, who was now taking an earnest and
womanly interest in the welfare of this weakling. "Perhaps after a while
it may want some more." And so they continued to sit. Every motion of the
calf's head, and every effort it made to bend its legs, or change its
position, sent sparkles of delight into Miriam's eyes, and brightened
Dora's beautiful face with sympathetic smiles.

Dora had taken up the bottle, and was about to give the calf an
opportunity to continue its repast, when suddenly she stopped and sat
motionless. Outside the barn, approaching footsteps could be plainly
heard. They were heavy, apparently those of a man. Dora dropped the
bottle, letting it roll unheeded upon the floor; then pushing Miriam's
skirt from her lap, she sprang to her feet, and stepped backwards and
away from the little group so quickly, that she nearly stumbled over some
inequalities in the floor. Miriam looked up in astonishment.

"You needn't be frightened," she said. "How red you are! I suppose it is
only Ralph."

"I was afraid it was," said Dora, in a low voice, as she shook out her
skirts. "I wouldn't have had him see me that way for anything."

Now Miriam was angry. There was nothing to be ashamed of, that she could
see, and it was certainly very rude in Miss Bannister to drop her
bottle, and nearly push her over in her haste to get away from her and
her poor calf.

The person who had been approaching the barn now entered, but it was
not Ralph Haverley. It was a shorter and a stouter young man, with
side whiskers.

"Why, Herbert!" exclaimed Dora, in a tone of surprise and disappointment,
"have you got back already?"

Her brother smiled. "I haven't got back," he said, "for I haven't been
anywhere yet. I had not gone a mile before one of the springs of the
buggy broke, and it keeled over so far that I came near tumbling out. It
happened at a place where there were no houses near, so I drew the buggy
to the roadside, took out the horse, and led him back. I heard voices in
here, and I came in. I must go and look for Mr. Haverley, and ask him to
lend me a vehicle in which we may return home."

Dora stood annoyed; she did not want to return home; at least, not so
soon. She had calculated on Herbert making a long stay with Mrs. Dudley.

"I suppose so," she replied, in an injured tone; "but before we say
anything else, Herbert, let me introduce you to Miss Haverley."

She turned, but in the corner to which she directed her eyes, she saw
only a calf; there was no young person in silk attire. The moment that
Miriam perceived that the man who came in was not her brother, but the
brother of some one else, her face had crimsoned, she had pushed away the
unfortunate calf, and, springing to her feet, had darted into the shadows
of an adjoining stall. From this, before Dora had recovered from her
surprise at not seeing her, Miriam emerged in the costume of a neatly
dressed school-girl, with her skirts just reaching to the tops of her
boots. It had been an easy matter to slip off that expansive silk gown.
She advanced with the air of defensive gravity with which she generally
greeted strangers, and made the acquaintance of Mr. Bannister.

"I am sure," she said, when she had heard what had happened, "that my
brother will be very glad to lend you the gig. That is the only thing we
have at present which runs properly."

"A gig will do very well, indeed," said Mr. Bannister. "We could not want
anything better than that; although," he continued, "I am not sure that
my harness will suit a two-wheeled vehicle."

"Oh, we have gig harness," said Miriam, "and we will lend you a horse,
too, if you like."

Dora now thought it was time to say something. She was irritated because
Herbert had returned so soon, and because he was going to take her away
before she was ready to go; and although she would have been delighted to
have a drive in the Cobhurst gig, provided the proper person drove her,
she did not at all wish to return to Thorbury in that ridiculous old
vehicle with Herbert. In the one case, she could imagine a delightful
excursion in she knew not what romantic by-roads and shaded lanes; but in
the other, she saw only the jogging old gig, and all the neighbors asking
what had happened to them.

"I think," she said, "it will be well to see Mr. Haverley as soon as
possible. Perhaps he knows of a blacksmith's shop, where the buggy can
be mended."

Herbert smiled. "Repairs of that sort," he said, "require a good deal of
time. If we waited for the buggy to be put in travelling condition, we
would certainly have to stay here all night, and probably the greater
part of tomorrow."

In the sudden emotions which had caused her to act almost exactly as Dora
had acted, Miriam had entirely forgotten her resentment toward her
companion.

"Why can't you stay?" she asked. "We have plenty of room, you know."

The man of business shook his head.

"Thank you very much," he replied, "but I must be in my office this
evening. I think I shall be obliged to borrow your gig. I will walk over
to the field--"

"Oh, you need not take the trouble to do that," said Miriam. "They are
way over there at the end of the meadow beyond the hill. The gig is here
in the barn, and I can lend it to you just as well as he can."

"You are very kind," said Herbert, "and I will accept your amendment. It
will be the better plan, because if I saw your brother, I should
certainly interfere with his work. He might insist upon coming to help
me, which is not at all necessary. Where can I find the gig, Miss
Haverley?"

Miriam led her visitors to the second floor.

"There it is," she said, "but of course you must have the harness
belonging to it, for your buggy harness will not hold up the shafts
properly. It is in the harness room, but I do not know which it is. There
is a lot of harness there, but it is mostly old and worn out."

"I will go and look," said Herbert. "I think it is only part of it that I
shall need."

During this conversation Dora had said nothing. Now as she stood by the
old gig, toppling forward with its shafts resting upon the floor, she
thought she had never seen such a horrible, antediluvian old trap in her
life. Nothing could add so much to her disappointment in going so soon,
as going in that thing. If there had been anything to say which might
prevent her brother from carrying out his intention, she would have said
it, but so far there had been nothing.

She followed the others into the harness room, and as her eyes glanced
around the walls, they rested upon a saddle hanging on its peg. Instantly
she thought of something to say.

"Herbert," she remarked, not too earnestly, "I think we shall be putting
our friends to a great inconvenience by borrowing the gig. You will never
be able to find the right harness and put it on so that there will not be
an accident on the road, and Mr. Haverley or the man will have to be
sent for. And, besides, there will be the trouble of getting the gig back
again. Now, don't you think it will be a great deal better for you to put
that saddle on the horse, and ride him home, and then send the carriage
for me? That would be very simple, and no trouble at all."

Mr. Bannister turned his admiring eyes upon his sister.

"I declare, Dora," he said, "that is a good practical suggestion. If Miss
Haverley will allow me, I will borrow the saddle and the bridle and ride
home; I shall like that."

"Of course you are welcome to the saddle, if you wish it," said Miriam;
"but you need not send for your sister. Why can't she stay with me
to-night? I think it would be splendid to have a girl spend the night
with me. Perhaps I oughtn't to call you a girl, Miss Bannister."

Dora's eyes sparkled. "But I am a girl, just as you are," she exclaimed,
"and I should be delighted to stay. You are very good to propose it.
Herbert is an awfully slow rider (I believe he always walks his horse),
and I am sure it would be after dark before the carriage would get here."

"Do let her stay," cried Miriam, seizing Dora's arm, as if they had been
old friends; "I shall be so glad to have her."

Mr. Bannister laughed.

"It is not for me to say what Dora shall do," he replied. "You two must
decide that, and if I go home to report our safety, it will be all
right. It is now too late for me to go to Mrs. Dudley's, especially as I
ride so slowly; but I will drive there to-morrow, and stop for Dora on
my return."

"Settled!" cried Miriam; and Dora gazed at her with radiant face. It was
delightful to be able to bestow such pleasure.

In two minutes Mr. Bannister had brought in his horse. In the next minute
all three of the party were busy unbuckling his harness; in ten minutes
more it had been taken off, the saddle and bridle substituted, and Mr.
Bannister was riding to Thorbury.

Dora of the sparkling eyes drew close to Miriam.

"Would you mind my kissing you?" she asked.

There was nothing in the warm young soul of the other girl which in the
least objected to this token of a new-born friendship.

As Dora and Miriam, each with an arm around the waist of the other,
walked out of the barn and passed the lower story, the calf, who had been
the main instrument in bringing about the cordial relations between the
two, raised his head and gazed at them with his good eye. Then perceiving
that they had forgotten him, and were going away without even arranging
his mosquito net for the night, he slowly turned his clouded visual organ
in their direction, and composed himself to rest.




CHAPTER XII

TO EAT WITH THE FAMILY


As the two girls entered the house, Miriam clapped her hands.

"What a surprise this will be for Ralph!" she exclaimed. "He hasn't the
slightest idea that you are here, or that anybody is going to spend the
night with us. If Mike said anything about you and your brother,--which I
doubt, for he is awfully anxious to get in that hay,--Ralph thought, of
course, that you were both gone long ago."

The situation suited Dora's fancy admirably.

"Let us make it a regular surprise," she said. "I am going to help you to
get supper, and to do whatever you have to do. Suppose you don't tell
your brother that I am here, and let him find it out by degrees. Don't
you think that will be fun?"

"Indeed it will," cried the other; "and if you don't mind helping a
little about the cooking, I think that will be fun too. Perhaps you can
tell me some things I don't know."

"Let us begin," exclaimed Dora, "for everything ought to be ready before
he comes in. Can you lend me a big apron?"

"I have only one," said Miriam, "and it is not very big; I intended to
make some more, but I haven't had time. But you needn't do anything, you
know. You can just give me advice and keep me company."

"Oh, I want to do things. I want to work," cried Dora; "it would be cruel
to keep me from the fun of helping you get supper. Haven't you something
I can slip on instead of this dress? It is not very fine, but I don't
want to spatter or burn it."

"None of my clothes are long enough for you," said Miriam; "but perhaps I
might find something in the garret. There are all sorts of clothes up
there. If you choose, we can go up and look."

In the next minute the two girls were in the great garret, kneeling in
front of a trunk, in which Miriam had found the silk robe, which now lay
tumbled up in a corner of a stall in the cow-stable. Article after
article of female attire was drawn out and tossed on the floor. Dora was
delighted; she was fond of old-fashioned things, and here were clothes of
various eras. Some colonial, perhaps, and none that had been worn since
these two girls had come into the world. There was a calico dress with
large pink figures in it which caught Dora's eye; she sprang to her feet,
shook it out, and held it up before her.

"This will do," she said. "The length is all right, and it does not
matter about the rest of the fit."

"Of course not," said Miriam; "and now let us go down. We need not wait
to put the rest of the things back."

As Dora was about to go, her eyes fell on an old-fashioned pink
sunbonnet.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I will take that, too. I shall be
awfully awkward, and I don't want to get cinders or flour in my hair."

When Dora had arrayed herself in the calico dress with pink flowers, she
stood for a moment before the large mirror in Miriam's room. The dress
was very short as to waist, and very perpendicular as to skirt, and the
sleeves were puffy at the elbows and tight about the wrists, but pink was
a color that became her, the quaint cut of the gown was well suited to
her blooming face, and altogether she was pleased with the picture in the
glass. As for the sunbonnet, that was simply hideous, but it could be
taken off when she chose, and the wearing of it would help her very much
in making herself known to Mr. Ralph Haverley.

For half an hour the girls worked bravely in the kitchen. Dora had some
knowledge of the principles of cookery, though her practice had been
small, and Miriam possessed an undaunted courage in culinary enterprises.
However, they planned nothing difficult, and got on very well. Dora made
up some of Miriam's dough into little rolls.

"I wish I could make these as the Tolbridges' new cook makes them. They
say that every morning she sends in a plate of breakfast rolls, each one
a different shape, and some of them ever so pretty."

"I don't suppose they taste any better for that," remarked Miriam.

"Perhaps not," said the other, "but I like to see things to eat look
pretty." And she did her best to shape the little rolls into such
forms that they might please the eye of Mr. Ralph as well as satisfy
his palate.

Miriam went up to the dining-room to arrange the table. While doing this
she saw Ralph approaching from the barn. In the kitchen, below, Dora,
glancing out of the window, also saw him coming, and pulling her
sunbonnet well forward, she applied herself more earnestly to her work.
Ralph came in, tired and warm, and threw himself down on a long
horse-hair sofa in the hall.

"Heigh ho, Miriam," he cried; "hay-making is a jolly thing, all the world
over, but I have had enough of it for to-day. How are you getting on,
little one? Don't put yourself to too much trouble about my supper. Only
give me enough of whatever you have; that is all I ask."

"Ralph," said Miriam, standing gravely by him, "I did not have to get
supper all by myself; there is a new girl in the kitchen."

"Good," cried Ralph; "I am very glad to hear that. When did she come?"

"This afternoon," said Miriam, "and she is cooking supper now. But,
Ralph," she continued, "there is hardly any wood in the kitchen. We
have--she has used up nearly all that was brought in this morning."

"Well," said Ralph, "there is plenty of it cut, in the woodhouse."

"But, Ralph," said Miriam, "I don't like to ask her to go after the wood,
herself, and some is needed now."

"Mike is just as busy as he can be down at the barn," said her brother,
"and I cannot call him now. If you show her the woodhouse, she can get
what she wants with very little trouble, and Mike will bring in a lot of
it to-night."

"But, Ralph," persisted his sister, "I don't want to ask her to stop her
cooking and go out and get wood. It does not look like good management,
for one thing, and for other reasons I do not want to do it. Don't you
think you could bring her some wood? Just a little basketful of short
sticks will do."

Ralph sat up and knitted his brows. "Miriam," said he, "if your new cook
is the right sort of a woman, she ought to be able to help herself in
emergencies of this kind, with the woodhouse not a dozen yards from the
kitchen. But as she is a stranger to the place, and I don't want to
discourage anybody who comes to help you, I will get some wood for her,
but I must say that it does not look very well for the lord of the manor
to be carrying fuel to the cook."

"It isn't the lord of the manor," cried Miriam; "it is the head
hay-maker, and when you dress yourself for supper, she will never think
of you as the man who brought in the wood."

Dora, from the kitchen window, saw Ralph go out to the woodhouse, and she
saw him returning with an arm-load of small sticks. Then she turned her
back to the kitchen door, and bent her head over a beefsteak she was
preparing for the gridiron.

Ralph came in with the wood, and put it down by the side of the great
stove. As he glanced at the slight form in the pink gown, it struck him
that this woman would not be equal to the hard work which would be
sometimes necessary here.

"I suppose this wood will be as much as you will want for the present,"
he said, as he turned toward the door, "and the man will fill this box
to-night, but if you need any more before he does so, there is the
woodhouse just across the yard, where you can easily get a few sticks."

Dora half turned herself in the direction of the woodhouse, and murmured,
"Yes, sir."

"Miriam," said Ralph, as he went into the dining-room, where his sister
was putting the knives and forks upon the supper table, "do you think
that woman is strong enough to wash, iron, and do all the things that
Phoebe used to do when she was here? How old is she?"

"I don't know, exactly," answered Miriam, going to a cupboard for some
glasses; "and as to rough work, I can't tell what she can do, until
she tries."

When Ralph had made his toilet and come downstairs, attired in a very
becoming summer suit, his sister complimented him.

"Hay-making makes you ever so much handsomer," she said; "you look as if
you had been on a yachting cruise. There is one thing I forgot to say to
you, but I do not suppose it will make any difference, as we are real
country people now: our new cook is accustomed to eating at the table
with the family."

Ralph's face flushed. "Upon my word!" he exclaimed, staring at his
sister. "Well," he continued, "I don't care what she is accustomed to,
but she cannot eat at our table. I may carry wood for cooks, but I do
not eat with them."

"But, Ralph," said Miriam, "you ought to consider the circumstances. She
is not a common Irishwoman, or German. She is an American, and has always
taken her meals with the family in which she lived. I could not ask her
to eat in the kitchen. You know, Mike takes his meals there since Phoebe
has gone. Indeed, Ralph, I cannot expect her to do a thing that she has
never done in her life, before. Do you really think you would mind it?
You work with Mike in the field, and you don't mind that, and this girl
is very respectable, I assure you."

Ralph stood silent. He had supposed his sister, young as she was, knew
more of the world than to make an arrangement with a servant which would
put her, in many respects, on an equality with themselves. He was very
much annoyed, but he would not be angry with Miriam, if he could help it,
nor would he put her in the embarrassing position of revoking the
agreement with this American woman, probably a farmer's daughter, and, in
her own opinion, as good as anybody. But, although he might yield at
present, he determined to take the important matter of engaging domestic
servants into his own hands. His sister had not yet the necessary
judgment for that sort of thing.

"Miriam," said he, "for how long have you engaged this woman?"

"Nothing at all has been said about time," she answered.

"Very well, then," said he, "she can come to the table to-night and
to-morrow morning, for, I suppose, if I object, she will go off and leave
you again without anybody, but to-morrow she must be told that she cannot
eat with us; and if she does not like that, she must leave, and I will go
to the city and get you a proper servant. The hay is in now, and there is
no more important work to which I could give a day. Now do not be angry,
little one, because I object to your domestic arrangements. We all have
to make mistakes, you know, when we begin."

"Thank you, Ralph," said Miriam. "I really am ever so much obliged to
you," and going up to her brother, she lifted her face to his. Ralph
stooped to kiss her, but suddenly stopped.

"Who, in the name of common sense, is that!" he exclaimed. The sound of
wheels was plainly heard upon the driveway, and turning, they saw a buggy
stop at the door.

"It is Dr. Tolbridge!" cried Miriam.

Through the open front door Ralph saw that it was the doctor, preparing
to alight.

"Miriam," said he, quickly, "we must ask the doctor to stay to supper,
and if he does, that cook must not come to the table. It will not do at
all, as you can see for yourself. We cannot ask our friends and neighbors
to sit down with servants."

"I will see," said Miriam. "I think that can be made all right," and they
both went to the door to meet their visitor.

The doctor shook hands with them most cordially.

"Glad to see you both so ruddy; Cobhurst air must agree with you. And
now, before we say anything else, let me ask you a question: Have you had
your supper?"

"No," answered Ralph, "and I hope you have not."

"Your hopes are realized. I have not, and if you do not mind letting me
sup with you, I will do it."

The brother and sister, who both liked the hearty doctor, assured him
that they would be delighted to have him stay.

"The reason of my extending an invitation to myself is this: I have been
making a visit in the country, where I was detained much longer than I
expected, and as I drove homeward, I said to myself, 'Good sir, you are
hungry, and where are you going to get your evening meal? You cannot
reach home until long after the dinner hour, and moreover you have a
patient beyond Cobhurst, whom you ought to see this evening. It would be
a great pity to drive all the way to Thorbury, and then back again,
to-night. Now there are those young Cobhurst people, who, you know, have
supper at the end of the day, instead of dinner, like the regular farmers
that they are, and as you want to see them, anyway, and find out how they
are getting on, it will be well to stop there, and ten to one, you will
find that they have not yet sat down to the table.'"

"A most excellent conclusion," said Ralph, "and I will call Mike, and
have him take your horse."

Having left the doctor in the charge of her brother, Miriam hurried
downstairs to apprise Dora of the state of affairs.

"I am sorry," she said, "but we will have to give up the trick we were
going to play on Ralph, for Dr. Tolbridge has come, and will stay to
supper, and so, while you go upstairs and put on your own dress, I will
finish getting these things ready. I will see Ralph before we sit down,
and tell him all about it."

Dora made no movement toward the stairs.

"I knew it was the doctor," she said, "for I went out and looked around
the corner of the house, and saw his horse. But I do not see why we
should give up our trick. Let us play it on the doctor as well as on
your brother."

Miriam stood silent a few moments.

"I do not know how that would do," she said. "That is a very different
thing. And besides, I do not believe Ralph would let you come to the
table. You ought to have seen how angry he was when I told him the new
cook must eat with us."

"Oh, that was splendid!" cried Dora. "I will not come to the table. That
will make it all the funnier when we tell him. I can eat my supper
anywhere, and I will go upstairs and wait on you, which will be better
sport than sitting down at the table with you."

"But I do not like that," said Miriam. "I will not have you go without
your supper until we have finished."

"My dear Miriam!" exclaimed Dora, "what is a supper in comparison with
such a jolly bit of fun as this? Let me go on as the new cook. And now
we must hurry and get these things on the table. It will make things a
great deal easier for me, if they can eat before it is time to light
the lamps."

When Miriam went to call the gentlemen to supper, the doctor said to
her:--

"Your brother has told me that you have a new servant, and that she is so
preposterous as to wish to take her meals with you, but that he does not
intend to allow it. Now, I say to you, as I said to him, that if she
expected to sit at the table before I came, she must do it now. I am used
to that sort of thing, and do not mind it a bit. In the families of the
farmers about here, with whom I often take a meal, it is the custom for
the daughter of the family to cook, to wait on the table, and then sit
down with whomever may be there, kings or cobblers. I beg that you will
not let my coming make trouble in your household."

Miriam looked at her brother.

"All right," said Ralph, with a smile, "if the doctor does not mind, I
shall not. And now, do let us have something to eat."




CHAPTER XIII

DORA'S NEW MIND


When Ralph Haverley made up his mind to agree to anything, he did it with
his whole soul, and if he had had any previous prejudices against it, he
dismissed them; so as he sat at supper with the doctor and his sister he
was very much amused at being waited upon by a woman in a pink sunbonnet.
That she should wear such a head-covering in the house was funny enough
in itself, but the rest of her dress was also extremely odd, and she kept
the front of her dark projecting bonnet turned downward or away, as if
she had never served gentlemen before, and was very much overpowered by
bashfulness. But for all that she waited very well, and with a light
quickness of movement unusual in a servant.

"I am afraid, doctor," said Miriam, when the pink figure had gone
downstairs to replenish the plate of rolls, "that you will miss your
dinner. I have heard that you have a most wonderful cook."

"She is indeed a mistress of her art," replied the doctor; "but you do
very well here, I am sure. That new cook of yours beats Phoebe utterly. I
know Phoebe's cooking."

"But you must not give her all the credit," exclaimed Miriam; "I made
that bread, although she shaped it into rolls. And I helped with the
beefsteak, the potatoes, and the coffee."

"Which latter," said Ralph, "is as strong as if six or seven women had
made it, although it is very good."

The meal went on until the two hungry men were satisfied, Miriam being so
absorbed in Dora's skilful management of herself that she scarcely
thought about eating. There was a place for the woman in pink, if she
chose to take it, but she evidently did not wish to sit down. Whenever
she was not occupied in waiting upon those at the table, she bethought
herself of some errand in the kitchen.

"Well," said Ralph, "those rolls are made up so prettily, and look so
tempting, that I wish I had not finished my supper."

"You are right," said the doctor, "they are aesthetic enough for La
Fleur," and then pushing back his chair a little, he looked steadfastly,
with a slight smile on his face, at the figure, with bowed sunbonnet,
which was standing on the other side of the table.

"Well, young woman," he said, "how is your mind by this time?"

For a moment there was silence, and then from out of the sunbonnet there
came, clearly and distinctly, the words:--

"That is very well. How is your kitten?"

At this interchange of remarks, Ralph sat up straight in his chair,
amazement in his countenance, while Miriam, ready to burst into a roar of
laughter, waited convulsively to see what would happen next. Turning
suddenly toward Ralph, Dora tore off her sunbonnet and dashed it to the
floor. Standing there with her dishevelled hair, her flushed cheeks, her
sparkling eyes and her quaint gown, Ralph thought her the most beautiful
creature he had ever gazed upon.

"How do you do, Mr. Haverley?" said Dora, advancing and extending her
hand; "I know you are not willing to eat with cooks, but I do not believe
you will object to shaking hands with one, now and then."

Ralph arose, and took her hand, but she gave him no opportunity to
say anything.

"Your sister and I got up this little bit of deception for you, Mr.
Haverley," she continued, "and we intended to carry it on a good deal
further, but that gentleman has spoiled it all, and I want you to know
that I stopped here to see your sister, and finding she had not a soul to
help her, I would not leave her in such a plight, and we had a royal good
time, getting the supper, and were going to do ever so many more
things--I should like to know, doctor, how you knew me. I am sure I did
not look a bit like myself."

"You did not look like yourself, but you walked like yourself," replied
Dr. Tolbridge. "I watched you when you first tried to toddle alone, and I
have seen you nearly every day since, and I know your way of stepping
about as well as I know anything. But I must really apologize for having
spoiled the fun. I discovered you, Dora, before we had half finished
supper, but I thought the trick was being played on me alone. I had no
idea that Mr. Haverley thought you were the new cook."

"I certainly did think so," cried Ralph, "and what is more, I intended to
discharge you to-morrow morning."

There was a lively time for a few minutes, after which Dora explained
what had been said about her mind and a kitten.

"He was just twitting me with having once changed my mind--every one
does that," she said; "and then I gave him a kitten. That is all. And
now, before I change my dress, I will go and get some wood for the
kitchen fire. I think you said, Mr. Haverley, that the woodhouse was not
far away."

"Wood!" cried Ralph; "don't you think of it!"

Miriam burst into a laugh.

"Oh, you ought to have heard the lord of the manor declare that he would
not carry fuel for the cook," she cried.

Ralph joined in the laugh that rose against him, but insisted that Dora
should not change her dress.

"You could not wear anything more becoming," he said, "and you do not
know how much I want to treat the new cook as one of the family."

"I will wear whatever the lord of the manor chooses," said Dora,
demurely, and was about to make reference to his concluding remark, but
checked herself.

When the two girls joined the gentlemen on the porch, which they did with
much promptness, having delegated the greater part of their household
duties to Mike, who could take a hand at almost any kind of work, Dr.
Tolbridge announced that he must proceed to visit his patient.

"Are you coming back this way, doctor?" asked Dora. "Because if you are,
would it be too much trouble for you to look for our buggy on the side of
the road, and to bring back the cushions and the whip with you? Herbert
may think that in this part of the country the people are so honest that
they would not steal anything out of a deserted buggy, but I do not
believe it is safe to put too much trust in people."

"A fine, practicable mind," said the doctor; "cuts clean and sharp. I
will bring the cushions and the whip, if they have not been stolen before
I reach them. And now I will go to the barn and get my horse. We need
not disturb the industrious Mike."

"If you are going to the barn, doctor," cried Miriam, seizing her hat, "I
will go with you and put the mosquito net over my calf, which I entirely
forgot to do. Perhaps, if it is light enough, you will look at its eye."

The doctor laughed, and the two went off together, leaving Dora and Ralph
on the piazza.

Dora could not help thinking of herself as a very lucky girl. When she
had started that afternoon to make a little visit at Cobhurst, she had
had no imaginable reason to suppose that in the course of a very few
hours she would be sitting alone with Mr. Haverley in the early
moonlight, without even his sister with them. She had expected to see
Ralph and to have a chat with him, but she had counted on Miriam's
presence as a matter of course; so this tГЄte-Г -tГЄte in the quiet beauty
of the night was as delightful as it was unanticipated. More than that,
it was an opportunity that ought not to be disregarded.

The new mind of Miss Dora Bannister was clear and quick in its
perceptions, and prompt and independent in action. It not only showed
what she wanted, but indicated pretty clearly how she might get it. Since
she had been making use of this fresh intellect, she had been impressed
very strongly by the belief that in the matter of matrimonial alliance, a
girl should not neglect her interest by depending too much upon the
option of other people. Her own right of option she looked upon as a
sacred right, and one that it was her duty to herself to exercise, and
that promptly. She had just come from the seaside, where she had met some
earnest young men, one or two of whom she expected to see shortly at
Thorbury. Also Mr. Ames, their young rector, was a very persevering
person, and a great friend of her brother.

Of course it behooved her to act with tact, but for all that she must be
prompt. It was easy to see that Ralph Haverley could not be expected to
go very soon into the society of Thorbury, to visit ladies there, and as
she wanted him to learn to know her as rapidly as possible, she resolved
to give him every opportunity.

Miriam was gone a long time, because when she reached the barn, the calf
was not to be found where she had left it, and she had been obliged to go
for Mike and a lantern. After anxious search the little fellow had been
found reclining under an apple tree, having gained sufficient strength
from the ministrations of its fair attendants to go through the open
stable door and to find out what sort of a world it had been born into.
It required time to get the truant back, secure it in its stall, and make
all the arrangements for its comfort which Miriam thought necessary.
Therefore, before she returned to the piazza, Miss Bannister and Ralph
had had a long conversation, in which the latter had learned a great deal
about the disposition and tastes of his fair companion, and had been much
interested in what he learned.




CHAPTER XIV

GOOD-NIGHT


When the three young people had been sitting for half an hour on the wide
piazza of Cobhurst, enjoying the moonlight effects and waiting for the
return of Dr. Tolbridge, Miriam, who was reclining in a steamer chair,
ceased making remarks, but very soon after she became silent she was
heard again, not speaking, however, but breathing audibly and with great
regularity. Ralph and Dora turned toward her and smiled.

"Poor little thing," said the latter in a low voice; "she must be
tired out."

"Yes," said Ralph, also speaking in an undertone, "she was up very early
this morning, and has been at some sort of work ever since. I do not
intend that this shall happen again. You must excuse her, Miss
Bannister,--she is a girl yet, you know."

"And a sweet one, too," said Dora, "with a perfect right to go to sleep
if she chooses. I should be ashamed of myself if I felt in the least
degree offended. Do not let us disturb her until the doctor comes; the
nap will do her good."

"Suppose, then," said Ralph, "that we take a little turn in the
moonlight. Then we need not trouble ourselves to lower our voices."

"That will be very well," said Dora, "but I am afraid she may take cold,
although the night air is so soft. I think I saw a lap robe on a table
in the hall; I will spread that over her."

Ralph whispered that he would get the robe, but motioning him back, and
having tiptoed into the hall and back again, Dora laid the light covering
over the sleeping girl so gently that the regular breathing was not in
the least interrupted. Then they both went quietly down the steps, and
out upon the lawn.

"She is such a dear girl," said Dora, as they slowly moved away, "and
although we only met to-day, I am really growing very fond of her, and I
like her the better because there is still so much of the child left in
her. Do not you like her the better for that, Mr. Haverley?"

Ralph did agree most heartily, and it made him happy to agree on any
subject with a girl who was even more beautiful by moonlight than by
day; who was so kind, and tended to his sister, and whose generous
disposition could overlook little breaches of etiquette when there was
reason to do so.

As they walked backward and forward, not very far away from the piazza,
and sometimes stopping to admire bits of the silver-tinted landscape,
Dora, with most interesting deftness, gave Ralph further opportunity of
knowing her. With his sister as a suggesting subject, she talked about
herself; she told him how she, too, had lost her parents early in life,
and had been obliged to be a very independent girl, for her stepmother,
although just as good as she could be, was not a person on whom she could
rely very much. As for her brother, the dearest man on earth, she had
always felt that she was more capable of taking care of him, at least in
all matters in home life, than he of her.

"But I have been very happy," she went on to say, "for I am so fond of
country life, and everything that belongs to it, that the more I have to
do with it, the better I like it, and I really begrudge the time that I
spend in the city. You do not know with what pleasure I look forward to
helping Miriam get breakfast to-morrow morning. I consider it a positive
lark. By the way, Mr. Haverley, do you like rolled omelets?"

Ralph declared that he liked everything that was good, and had no doubt
that rolled omelets were delicious.

"Then I shall make some," said Dora, "for I know how to do it. And I
think you said, Mr. Haverley, that the coffee to-night was too strong."

"A little so, perhaps," said Ralph, "but it was excellent."

"Oh, it shall be better in the morning. I am sure it will be well for one
of us to do one thing, and the other another. I will make the coffee."

"You are wonderfully kind to do anything at all," said Ralph, and as he
spoke he heard the clock in the house strike ten. It was agreeable in the
highest degree to walk in the moonlight with this charming girl, but he
felt that it was getting late; it was long past Miriam's bedtime, and he
wondered why the doctor did not come.

Dora perceived the perturbations of his mind; she knew that he thought it
was time for the little party to break up, but did not like to suggest
it. She knew that the natural and proper thing for her to do was to wake
up Miriam, and that the two should bid Ralph good-night, and leave him to
sit up and wait for the doctor as long as he felt himself called upon to
do so, but she was perfectly contented with the present circumstances,
and did not wish to change them just yet. It was a pleasure to her to
walk by this tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, who was so handsome and
so strong, and in so many ways the sort of man she liked, and to let him
know, not so much by her words, as by the incited action of his own
intelligence, that she was fond of the things he was fond of, and that
she loved the life he led.

As they still walked and talked, the thought came to Dora, and it was a
very pleasing one, that she might act another part with this young
gentleman; she had played the cook, now for a while she could play the
mistress, and she knew she could do it so gently and so wisely that he
would like it without perceiving it. She turned away her face for a
moment; she felt that her pleasure in acting the part of mistress of
Cobhurst, even for a little time, was flushing it.

"Suppose," she said, "we walk down to the road, and if we see or hear the
doctor coming, we can wait there and save him the trouble of driving in."

They went out of the Cobhurst gateway, but along the moonlighted highway
they saw no approaching spot, nor could they hear the sounds of wheels.

"I really think, Mr. Haverley," said Dora, turning toward the house,
"that I ought to go and arouse Miriam, and then we will retire. It is a
positive shame to keep her out of her bed any longer."

This suggestion much relieved Ralph, and they walked rapidly to the
porch, but when they reached it they found an empty steamer chair and no
Miriam anywhere. They looked at each other in much surprise, and
entering the house they looked in several of the rooms on the lower
floor. Ralph was about to call out for his sister, but Dora quickly
touched him on the arm.

"Hush," she said, smiling, "do not call her. Do you see that lap robe on
the table? I will tell you exactly what has happened; while we were down
at the road she awoke, at least enough to know that she ought to go to
bed, and I really believe that she was not sufficiently awake to remember
that I am here, and that she simply got up, brought the robe in with her,
and went to her room. Isn't it funny?"

Ralph was quite sure that Dora's deductions were correct, for when Miriam
happened to drop asleep in a chair in the evening, it was her habit, when
aroused, to get up and go to bed, too sleepy to think about anything
else; but he did not think it was funny now. He was mortified that Miss
Bannister should have been treated with such apparent disrespect, and he
began to apologize for his sister.

"Now, please stop, Mr. Haverley," interrupted Dora. "I am so glad to have
her act so freely and unconventionally with me, as if we had always been
friends. It makes me feel almost as if we had known each other always,
and it does not make the slightest difference to me. Miriam wanted to
give me another room, but I implored her to let me sleep with her in that
splendid high-posted bedstead, and so all that I have to do is to slip up
to her room, and, if I can possibly help it, I shall not waken her. In
the morning I do not believe she will remember a thing about having gone
to bed without me. So good-night, Mr. Haverley. I am going to be up very
early, and you shall see what a breakfast the new cook will give you. I
will light this candle, for no doubt poor Miriam has put out her lamp, if
she did not depend entirely on the moonlight. By the way, Mr. Haverley,"
she said, turning toward him, "is there anything I can do to help you in
shutting up the house? You know I am maid of all work as well as cook.
Perhaps I should go down and see if the kitchen fire is safe."

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Ralph; "I attend to all those things,--at least,
when we have no servant."

"But doesn't Miriam help you?" asked Dora, taking up the candle which she
had lighted.

"No," said he; "Miriam generally bids me good-night and goes upstairs an
hour before I do."

"Very well," said Dora; "I will say only one more thing, and that is that
if I were the lord of the manor, who had been working in the hay-field
all day, I would not sit up very long, waiting for a wandering doctor."

Ralph laughed, and as she approached the door of the stairway, he opened
it for her.

"Suppose," she said, stopping for a moment in the doorway, and shielding
the flame of the candle from a current of air with a little hand that
was so beautifully lighted that for a moment it attracted Ralph's eyes
from its owner's face, "you wait here for a minute, and I will go up and
see if she is really safe in her own room. I am sure you will be better
satisfied if you know that."

Ralph looked his thanks, and softly, but quickly, she went up the stairs.
At a little landing she stopped.

"Do you know," she whispered, looking back, with the candle throwing her
head and hair into the prettiest lights and shadows, "I think this
stairway is lovely;" and then she went on and disappeared.

In a few minutes she leaned over the upper part of the banisters and
softly spoke to him.

"She is sleeping as sweetly and as quietly as the dearest of angels. I do
not believe I shall disturb her in the least. Good-night, Mr. Haverley."
And with her face thrown into a new light,--this time by the hall lamp
below,--she smiled ever so sweetly, and then drew back her head. In half
a minute it reappeared. She was right; he was still looking up.

"I forgot to say," she whispered, "that all the windows in Miriam's room
are open. Do you think she was too sleepy to notice that, or is she
accustomed to so much night air?"

"I really do not know," said Ralph, in reply.

"Very well, then," said Dora; "I will attend to all that in my own way.
Good-night again, Mr. Haverley;" and with a little nod and a smile, she
withdrew her face from his view.

If she had come back within the next minute, she would have found him
still looking up. She felt quite sure of this, but she could think of no
good reason for another reappearance.

Ralph lighted a pipe and sat down on the piazza. He looked steadily in
front of him, but he saw no grass, no trees, no moonlighted landscape, no
sky of summer night. He saw only the face of a young girl, leaning over
and looking down at him from the top of a stairway. It was the face of a
girl who was so gentle, so thoughtful for others, so quick to perceive,
so quick to do; who was so fond of his sister, and so beautiful. He sat
and thought of the wondrous good fortune that had brought this girl
beneath his roof, and had given him these charming hours with her.

And when his pipe was out, he arose, declared to himself that, no matter
what the doctor might think of it, he would not wait another minute for
him, and went to bed,--his mind very busy with the anticipation of the
charming hours which were to come on the morrow.




CHAPTER XV

MISS PANNEY IS AROUSED TO HELP AND HINDER


When Dr. Tolbridge returned from the visit to the patient who lived
beyond Cobhurst, he did not drive into the latter place, for seeing
Mike by the gate near the barn, he gave the cushions and whip to him
and went on.

As it was yet early in the evening, and bright moonlight, he concluded
to go around by the Wittons'. It was not far out of his way, and he
wanted to see Miss Panney. What he wanted to say to the old lady was not
exactly evident to his own mind, but in a general way he wished her to
know that Dora was at Cobhurst.

Dora was a great favorite with the doctor. He had known her all her life,
and considered that he knew, not only her good points, of which there
were many, but also those that were not altogether desirable, and, of
which, he believed, there were few. One of the latter was her disposition
to sometimes do as she pleased, without reference to tradition or
ordinary custom. He had seen her acting the part of cook, disguised by a
pink sunbonnet and an old-fashioned calico gown. And what pranks she and
the Haverleys--two estimable young people, but also lively and
independent--might play, no one could tell. The duration of Dora's visit
would depend on her brother Herbert, and he was a man of business, whose
time was not at all at his own disposal, and so, the doctor thought, it
would not be a bad thing if Miss Panney would call at Cobhurst the next
day, and see what those three youngsters were about.

The Wittons had gone to bed, but Miss Panney was in the parlor, reading.
"Early to bed and early to rise," was not one of her rules.

"Well, really!" she exclaimed, as she rose to greet her visitor, "this is
amazing. How many years has it been since you came to see me without
being sent for?"

"I do not keep account of years," said the doctor, "and if I choose to
stop in and have a chat with you, I shall do it without reference to
precedent. This is a purely social call, and I shall not even ask you
how you are."

"I beg you will not," said the old lady, "and that will give me a good
reason for sending for you when you ought to be informed on that point."

"This is not my first social call this evening," said he. "I took supper
at Cobhurst, where Dora Bannister waited on the table."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Miss Panney, and then the doctor told his
tale. As the old lady listened, her spirits rose higher and higher. What
extraordinary good luck! She had never planned a match that moved with
such smoothness, such celerity, such astonishing directness as this. She
did not look upon Dora's disregard of tradition and ordinary custom as an
undesirable point in her character. She liked that sort of thing. It was
one of the points in her own character.

"I wish I could have seen her!" she exclaimed. "She must have been
charming."

"Don't you think there is danger that she may be too charming?" the
doctor asked.

"No, I don't," promptly answered Miss Panney.

The doctor looked at her in some surprise.

"We should remember," said he, "that Dora is a girl of wealth; that
one-third of the Bannister estate belongs to her, besides the sixty
thousand dollars that came to her from her mother."

"That does not hurt her," said Miss Panney.

"And Ralph Haverley was a poor young man when he came here, and Cobhurst
will probably make him a good deal poorer."