"Good-night," she said, with a smile so charming that I wanted to stop
and tell her something about Mary Talbot's brother; but she passed on,
and I went into my room.

It seemed perfectly ridiculous to me that people should carry around
bed-room candles in a house lighted from top to bottom by electricity,
but I had no doubt that this was one of the ultra-conventional customs
from which the dapper gentleman would not allow his family to depart.
I did not believe for a moment that his daughter would conform to such
nonsense except to please her parent.

The softly moving and attentive Brownster put the candle on the table,
blew it out, and touched a button, thereby lighting up a very
handsomely furnished room. Then, after performing every possible
service for me, with a bow he left me. Throwing myself into a great
easy chair, I kicked off my embroidered slippers and put my feet upon
another chair gay with satin stripes. Raising my eyes, I saw in front
of me a handsome mirror extending from the floor nearly to the
ceiling, and at the magnificent personage which therein met my gaze I
could not help laughing aloud.

I rose, stood before the mirror, folded my gorgeous gown around me,
spread it out, contrasting the crimson glory of its lining with the
golden yellow of my trousers, and wondered in my soul how that
exceedingly handsome girl with the bright eyes could have controlled
her risibilities as she sat with me on the piazza. I could see that
she had a wonderful command of herself, but this exercise of it seemed
superhuman.

I walked around the sumptuously furnished chamber, looking at the
pictures and bric-Г -brac; I wondered that the master of the house was
willing to put me in a room like this--I had expected a hall bed-room,
at the best; I sat down by an open window, for it was very early yet
and I did not want to go to bed, but I had scarcely seated myself when
I heard a tap at the door. I could not have explained it, but this tap
made me jump, and I went to the door and opened it instead of calling
out. There stood the butler, with a tray in his hand on which was a
decanter of wine, biscuits, cheese, and some cigars.

"It's so early, sir," said Brownster, "that she said--I mean, sir, I
thought that you might like something to eat, and if you want to enjoy
a cigar before retiring, as many gentlemen do, you need not mind
smoking here. These rooms are so well ventilated, sir, that every
particle of odor will be out in no time." Placing the tray upon a
table, he retired.

[Illustration: "IT WOULD BE WELL FOR ME TO SWALLOW A CAPSULE"]

For an hour or more I sat sipping my wine, puffing smoke into rings,
and allowing my mind to dwell pleasingly upon the situation, the most
prominent feature of which seemed to me to be a young lady with bright
eyes and white teeth, and dressed in a perfectly-fitting gown.

When at last I thought I ought to go to bed, I stood and gazed at my
little valise. I had left it on the porch and had totally forgotten
it, but here it was upon a table, where it had been placed, no doubt,
by the thoughtful Brownster. I opened it and took out the box of
capsules. I did not feel that I had taken cold in the night air; this
was not a time to protect myself against morning mists; but still I
thought it would be well for me to swallow a capsule, and I did so.




CHAPTER IV

A BIT OF ADVICE


The next morning I awoke about seven o'clock. My clothes, neatly
brushed and folded, were on a chair near the bed, with my
brightly-blackened shoes near by. I rose, quickly dressed myself, and
went forth into the morning air. I met no one in the house, and the
hall door was open. For an hour or more I walked about the beautiful
grounds. Sometimes I wandered near the house, among the flower-beds
and shrubs; sometimes I followed the winding path to a considerable
distance; occasionally I sat down in a covered arbor; and then I
sought the shade of a little grove, in which there were hammocks and
rustic chairs. But I met no one, and I saw no one except some men
working near the stables. I would have been glad to go down to the
lodge and say "Good-morning" to my kind entertainers there, but for
some reason or other it struck me that that neat little house was too
much out of the way.

When I had had enough walking I retired to the piazza and sat there,
until Brownster, with a bow, came and informed me that breakfast was
served.

The young lady, in the freshest of summer costumes, met me at the door
and bade me "Good-morning," but the greeting of her father was not by
any means cordial, although his manner had lost some of the stiff
condescension which had sat so badly upon him the evening before. The
mother was a very pleasant little lady of few words and a general air
which indicated an intimate acquaintance with back seats.

The breakfast was a remarkably good one. When the meal was over, Mr.
Putney walked with me into the hall. "I must now ask you to excuse me,
sir," said he, "as this is the hour when I receive my manager and
arrange with him for the varied business of the day. Good-morning,
sir. I wish you a very pleasant journey." And, barely giving me a
chance to thank him for his entertainment, he disappeared into the
back part of the house.

The young lady was standing at the front of the hall. "Won't you
please come in," she said, "and see mother? She wants to talk to you
about Walford."

I found the little lady in a small room opening from the parlor, and
also, to my great surprise, I found her extremely talkative and
chatty. She asked me so many questions that I had little chance to
answer them, and she told me a great deal more about Walford and its
people and citizens than I had learned during my nine months'
residence in the village. I was very glad to give her an opportunity
of talking, which was a pleasure, I imagined, she did not often enjoy;
but as I saw no signs of her stopping, I was obliged to rise and take
leave of her.

The young lady accompanied me into the hall. "I must get my valise," I
said, "and then I must be off. And I assure you--"

"No, do not trouble yourself about your valise," she interrupted.
"Brownster will attend to that--he will take it down to the lodge.
And as to your gorgeous raiment, he will see that that is all properly
returned to its owners."

I picked up my cap, and she walked with me out upon the piazza. "I
suppose you saw everything on our place," she asked, "when you were
walking about this morning?"

A little surprised, I answered that I had seen a good deal, but I did
not add that I had not found what I was looking for.

"We have all sorts of hot-houses and green-houses," she said, "but
they are not very interesting at this time of the year, otherwise I
would ask you to walk through them before you go." She then went on to
tell me that a little building which she pointed out was a
mushroom-house. "And you will think it strange that it should be there
when I tell you that not one of our family likes mushrooms or ever
tastes one. But the manager thinks that we ought to grow mushrooms,
and so we do it."

As she was talking, the thought came to me that there were some people
who might consider this young lady a little forward in her method of
entertaining a comparative stranger, but I dismissed this idea. With
such a peculiarly constituted family it was perhaps necessary for her
to put herself forward, in regard, at least, to the expression of
hospitality.

"One thing I must show you," she said, suddenly, "and that is the
orchid-house! Are you fond of orchids?"

"Under certain circumstances," I said, unguardedly, "I could be fond
of apple-cores." As soon as I had spoken these words I would have
been glad to recall them, but they seemed to make no impression
whatever on her.

We walked to the orchid-house, we went through it, and she explained
all its beauties, its singularities, and its rarities. When we came
out again, I asked myself: "Is she in the habit of doing all this to
chance visitors? Would she treat a Brown or a Robinson in the way she
is treating me?" I could not answer my question, but if Brown and
Robinson had appeared at that moment I should have been glad to knock
their heads together.

I did not want to go; I would have been glad to examine every building
on the place, but I knew I must depart; and as I was beginning to
express my sense of the kindness with which I had been treated, she
interrupted by asking me if I expected to come back this way.

"No," said I, "that is not my plan. I expect to ride on to Waterton,
and there I shall stop for a day or two and decide what section of the
country I shall explore next."

"And to-day?" she said. "Where have you planned to spend the night?"

"I have been recommended to stop at a little inn called the 'Holly
Sprig,'" I replied. "It is a leisurely day's journey from Walford, and
I have been told that it is a pleasant place and a pretty country. I
do not care to travel all the time, and I want to stop a little when I
find interesting scenery."

[Illustration: "As soon as I had spoken these words"]

"Oh, I know the Holly Sprig Inn," said she, speaking very quickly,
"and I would advise you not to stop there. We have lunched there two
or three times when we were out on long drives. There is a much better
house about five miles the other side of the Holly Sprig. It is really
a large, handsome hotel, with good service and everything you
want--where people go to spend the summer."

I thanked her for her information and bade her good-bye. She shook my
hand very cordially and I walked away. I had gone but a very few steps
when I wanted to turn around and look back, but I did not.

Before I had reached the lodge, where I had left my bicycle, I met
Brownster, and when I saw him I put my hand into my pocket. He had
certainly been very attentive.

"I carried your valise, sir," he said, "to the lodge, and I took the
liberty of strapping it to your handle-bar. You will find everything
all right, sir, and the--other clothes will be properly attended to."

I thanked him, and then handed him some money. To my surprise, he did
not offer to take it. He smiled a little and bowed.

"Would you mind, sir," he said, "if you did not give me anything? I
assure you, sir, that I'd very much rather that you wouldn't give me
anything." And with this he bowed and rapidly disappeared.

"Well," said I, to myself, as I put my money back into my pocket, "it
is a queer country, this Cathay."

As I approached the lodge, I felt that perhaps I had received a
lesson, but I was not sure. I would wait and let circumstances decide.
The gardener was away attending to his duties; but his wife was there,
and when she came forward, with a frank, cheery greeting, I instantly
decided that I had had a lesson. I thanked her, as earnestly as I knew
how, for what she had done for me, and then I added:

"You and your husband have treated me with such kind hospitality that
I am not going to offer you anything in return for what you have
done."

"You would have hurt us, sir, if you had," said she.

Then, in order to change the subject, I spoke of the honor which had
been bestowed upon me by being allowed to wear the Duke's
dressing-gown. She smiled, and replied:

"Honors would always be easy for you, sir, if you only chose to take
them."

As I rode away I thought that the last remark of the gardener's wife
seemed to show a mental brightness above her station, although I did
not know exactly what she meant. "Can it be," I asked myself, "that
she fancies that good family, six feet of athletic muscle, and no
money would be considered sufficient to make matrimonial honors easy
on that estate?" If such an idea had come into her head, it certainly
was a very foolish one, and I determined to drive it from my mind by
thinking of something else.

Suddenly I slackened my speed. I stopped and put one foot to the
ground. What a hard-hearted wretch I thought myself to be! Here I was
thinking of all sorts of nonsense and speeding away without a thought
of the young girl who had hurt herself the day before and who had been
helped by me to her home! She lived but a few miles back, and I had
determined, the evening before, to run down and see how she was
getting on before starting on my day's journey.

I turned and went bowling back over the road on which I had been so
terribly drenched the previous afternoon. In a very little while my
bicycle was leaning against the fence of the pretty house by the
road-side, and I had entered the front yard. The slender girl was
sitting on the piazza behind some vines. When she saw me she quickly
closed the book she was reading, drew one foot from a little stool,
and rose to meet me. There was more color on her face than I had
supposed would be likely to find its way there, and her bright eyes
showed that she was not only surprised but glad to see me.

"I thought you were ever so far on your journey!" she said. "And how
did you get through that awful storm?"

"I want to know first about your foot," I said--"how is that?"

"My own opinion is," she answered, "that it is nearly well. Mother
knew exactly what to do for it; she wrapped it in wet cloths and dry
cloths, and this morning I scarcely think of it. But there is one
thing I want to tell you before you meet father and mother--for they
want to see you, I know. We talked a great deal about you last night.
You may have thought it strange I told you about the peas, but I had
to do it to explain why I could not ask you to stop. Now I want to
tell you that this accident made everything all right. As soon as
father and mother knew that I was hurt they forgot everything else,
and neither of them remembered that there was such a thing as a
pea-vine in the world. It really seems as if my tumble was a most
lucky thing. And now you must come in. They will never forgive me if I
let you go away without seeing them."

The mother, a pleasant little woman, full of cheerful gratitude to me
for having done so much for her daughter, and the father, tall and
slender, hurrying in from the garden, his face beaming with a friendly
enthusiasm, apologizing for the mud on his clothes, and almost in the
same breath telling me of the obligations under which I had placed
him, both seemed to me at the first glance to be such kind,
simple-hearted, simple-mannered people that I could not help
contrasting this family with the one under whose roof I had passed the
night.

I spent half an hour with these good people, patiently listening to
their gratitude and to their deep regrets that I had been allowed to
go on in the storm; but I succeeded in allaying their friendly regrets
by assuring them that it would have been impossible to keep me from
going on, so certain had I been that I could reach the little town of
Vernon before the storm grew violent. Then I was obliged to tell them
that I did not reach Vernon, and how I had spent the night.

"With the Putneys!" exclaimed the mother. "I am sure you could not
have been entertained in a finer house!"

They asked me many questions and I told them many things, and I soon
discovered that they took a generous interest in the lives of other
people. They spoke of the good this rich family had done in the
neighborhood during the building of their great house and the
improvement of their estate, and not a word did I hear of ridicule or
scandalous comment, although in good truth there was opportunity
enough for it.

The young lady asked me if I had seen Miss Putney, and when I replied
that I had, she inquired if I did not think that she was a very pretty
girl. "I do not know her," she said, "but I have often seen her when
she was out driving. I do not believe there is any one in this part of
the country who dresses better than she does."

I laughed, and told her that I thought I knew somebody who dressed
much finer even than Miss Putney, and then I described the incident
of the Duke's dressing-gown. This delighted them all, and before I
left I was obliged to give every detail of my gorgeous attire.

It was about eleven o'clock when at last I tore myself away from this
most attractive little family. To live as they lived, to be interested
in the things that interested them--for the house seemed filled with
books and pictures--to love nature, to love each other, and to think
well of their fellow-beings, even of the super-rich--seemed to me to
be an object for which a man of my temperament should be willing to
strive and thankful to win. After meeting her parents I did not wonder
that I had thought the slender girl so honest-hearted and so lovable.
It was true that I had thought that.




CHAPTER V

THE LADY AND THE CAVALIER


The day was fine, and the landscape lay clean and sharply defined
under the blue sky and white clouds. I sped along in a cheerful mood,
well pleased with what my good cycle had so far done for me. Again I
passed the open gate of the Putney estate, and glanced through it at
the lodge. I saw no one, and was glad of it--better pleased, perhaps,
than I could have given good reason for. When I had gone on a few
hundred yards I was suddenly startled by a voice--a female voice.

"Well! well!" cried some one on my right, and turning, I saw, above a
low wall, the head and shoulders of the young lady with the dark eyes
with whom I had parted an hour or so before. A broad hat shaded her
face, her eyes were very dark and very wide open, and I saw some of
her beautiful teeth, although she was not smiling or laughing. It
was plain that she had not come down there to see me pass; she was
genuinely astonished; I dismounted and approached the wall.

[Illustration: "I dismounted and approached the wall"]

"I thought you were miles and miles on your way!" said she. It
occurred to me that I had recently heard a remark very like this, and
yet the words, as they came from the slender girl and from this one,
seemed to have entirely different meanings. She was desirous,
earnestly desirous, to know how I came to be passing this place at
this time, when I had left their gate so long before, and, as I was
not unwilling to gratify her curiosity, I told her the whole story of
the accident the day before, and of everything which had followed it.

"And you went all the way back," she said, "to inquire after that
Burton girl?"

"Do you know her?" I asked.

"No," she said, "I do not know her; but I have seen her often, and I
know all about her family. They seem to be of such little consequence,
one way or the other, that I can scarcely understand how things could
so twist themselves that you should consider it necessary to go back
there this morning before you really started on your day's journey."

I do not remember what I said, but it was something commonplace, no
doubt, but I imagined I perceived a little pique in the young lady. Of
course I did not object to this, for nothing could be more flattering
to a young man than the exhibition of such a feeling on an occasion
such as this.

But if she felt any pique she quickly brushed it out of sight, for, as
I have said before, she was a young woman who had great command of
herself. Of course I said to her that I was very glad to have this
chance of seeing her again, and she answered, with a laugh:

"If you really are glad, you ought to thank the Burton girl. This is
one of my favorite walks. The path runs along inside the wall for a
considerable distance and then turns around the little hill over
there, and so leads back to the house. When I happened to look over
the wall and saw you I was truly surprised."

The ground was lower on the outside of the wall than on the inside,
and as I stood and looked almost into the eyes of this girl, as she
leaned with her arms upon the smooth top of the wall, the idea which
the gardener's wife put into my head came into it again. This was a
beautiful face, and the expression upon it was different from
anything I had seen there before. Her surprise had disappeared, her
pique had gone, but a very great interest in the incident of my
passing this spot at the moment of her being there was plainly
evident. As I gazed at her my blood ran warmer through my veins, and
there came upon me a feeling of the olden time--of the days when the
brave cavalier rode up to the spot where, waiting for him, his lady
sat upon her impatient jennet.

Without the least hesitation, I asked:

"Do you ride a wheel?"

She looked wonderingly at me for a moment, and then broke into a
laugh.

"Why on earth do you ask such a question as that? I have a bicycle,
but I am not a very good rider, and I never venture out upon the
public road by myself."

"You shouldn't think of such a thing," said I; and then I stood
silent, and my mind showed me two young people, each mounted, not upon
a swift steed, but upon a far swifter pair of wheels, skimming onward
through the summer air, still rolling on, on, on, through country
lanes and woodland roads, laughing at pursuit if they heard the
trampling of eager hoofs behind them, with never a telegraph wire to
stretch menacingly above them, and so on, on, on, their eyes
sparkling, their hearts beating high with youthful hope.

Again, through the tender mists of the afternoon, I saw them returning
from some secluded Gretna Green to bend their knees and bow their
heads before the lord of the fair bride's home.

When all this had passed through my brain, I wondered how such a pair
would be received. I knew the gardener and his wife would welcome
them, to begin with; Brownster would be very glad to see them; and I
believe the mother would stand with tears of joy and open arms, in
whatever quiet room she might feel free to await them. Moreover, when
the sterner parent heard my tale and read my pedigree, might he not
consider good name on the one side an equivalent for good money on the
other?

I looked up at her; she did not ask me what I had been thinking about
nor remark upon my silence. She, too, had been wrapped in revery; her
face was grave. She raised her arms from the wall and stood up.

It was plainly time for me to do something, and she decided the point
for me by slightly moving away from the wall. "Some time, when you are
riding out from Walford," she said, "we should be glad to have you
stop and take luncheon. Father likes to have people at luncheon."

"I should be delighted to do so," said I; and if she had asked me to
delay my journey and take luncheon with them that day I think I should
have accepted the invitation. But she did not do that, and she was not
a young lady who would stand too long by a public road talking to a
young man. She smiled very sweetly and held out her hand over the
wall. "Good-bye again," she said. As I took her hand I felt very much
inclined to press it warmly, but I refrained. Her grasp was firm and
friendly, and I would have liked very much to know whether or not it
was more so than was her custom.

I was mounting my wheel when she called to me again. "Now, I suppose,"
she said, "you are going straight on?"

"Oh yes," I replied, with emphasis, "straight on."

"And the name of the hotel where you will stay to-night," said she,
"it is the Cheltenham. I forgot it when I spoke to you before. I do
not believe, really, it is more than three miles beyond the other
little place where you thought of stopping."

Then she walked away from the wall and I mounted. I moved very slowly
onward, and as I turned my head I saw that a row of straggling bushes
which grew close to the wall were now between her and me. But I also
saw, or thought I saw, between the leaves and boughs, that her face
was towards me, and that she was waving her handkerchief. If I had
been sure of that, I think I should have jumped over the wall, pushed
through the bushes, and should have asked her to give me that
handkerchief, that I might fasten it on the front of my cap as, in
olden days, a knight going forth to his adventures bound upon his
helmet the glove of his lady-love.

But I was not sure of it, and, seized by a sudden energetic
excitement, I started off at a tremendous rate of speed. The ground
flew backward beneath me as if I had been standing on the platform of
a railroad car. Not far ahead of me there came from a side road into
the main avenue on which I was travelling a Scorcher, scorching. As he
spun away in front of me, his body bent forward until his back was
nearly horizontal, and his green-stockinged legs striking out behind
him with the furious rapidity of a great frog trying to push his head
into the mud, he turned back his little face with a leer of triumphant
derision at every moving thing which might happen to be behind him.

[Illustration: "I THOUGHT FOR A FEW MOMENTS"]

At the sight of this green-legged Scorcher my blood rose, and it was
with me as if I had heard the clang of trumpets and the clash of arms.
I leaned slightly forward; I struck out powerfully, swiftly, and
steadily; I gained upon the Scorcher; I sent into his emerald legs a
thrill of startled fear, as if he had been a terrified hare bounding
madly away from a pursuing foe, and I passed him as if I had been a
swift falcon swooping by a quarry unworthy of his talons.

On, on I sped, not deigning even to look back. The same spirit
possessed me as that which fired the hearts of the olden knights. I
would have been glad to meet with another Scorcher, and yet another,
that for the sake of my fair lady I might engage with each and humble
his pride in the dust.

"It is true," I said to myself, with an inward laugh, "I carry no
glove or delicate handkerchief bound upon my visor--" but at this
point my mind wandered. I went more slowly, and at last I stopped and
sat down under the shade of a way-side tree. I thought for a few
minutes, and then I said to myself, "It seems to me this would be a
good time to take one of those capsules," and I took one. I then
fancied that perhaps I ought to take two, but I contented myself with
one.




CHAPTER VI

THE HOLLY SPRIG INN


In the middle of the day I stopped at Vernon, and the afternoon was
well advanced when I came in sight of a little way-side house with a
broad unfenced green in front of it, and a swinging sign which told
the traveller that this was the "Holly Sprig Inn."

I dismounted on the opposite side of the road and gazed upon the
smoothly shaven greensward in front of the little inn; upon the pretty
upper windows peeping out from their frames of leaves; upon the
queerly-shaped projections of the building; upon the low portico which
shaded the doorway; and upon the gentle stream of blue smoke which
rose from the great gray chimney.

Then I turned and looked over the surrounding country. There were
broad meadows slightly descending to a long line of trees, between
which I could see the glimmering of water. On the other side of the
road, and extending back of the inn, there were low, forest-crowned
hills. Then my eyes, returning to nearer objects, fell upon an
old-fashioned garden, with bright flowers and rows of box, which lay
beyond the house.

"Why on earth," I thought, "should I pass such a place as this and go
on to the Cheltenham, with its waiters in coat tails, its nurse-maids,
and its rows of people on piazzas? She could not know my tastes, and
perhaps she had thought but little on the subject, and had taken her
ideas from her father. He is just the man to be contented with nothing
else than a vast sprawling hotel, with disdainful menials expecting
tips."

I rolled my bicycle along the little path which ran around the green,
and knocked upon the open door of Holly Sprig Inn.

In a few moments a boy came into the hall. He was not dressed like an
ordinary hotel attendant, but his appearance was decent, and he might
have been a sub-clerk or a head hall-boy.

"Can I obtain lodging here for the night?" I asked.

The boy looked at me from head to foot, and an expression such as
might be produced by too much lemon juice came upon his face.

"No," said he; "we don't take cyclers."

This reception was something novel to me, who had cycled over
thousands of miles, and I was not at all inclined to accept it at the
hands of the boy. I stepped into the hall. "Can I see the master of
this house?" said I.

"There ain't none," he answered, gruffly.

"Well, then, I want to see whoever is in charge."

He looked as if he were about to say that he was in charge, but he had
no opportunity for such impertinence. A female figure came into the
hall and advanced towards me. She stopped in an attitude of
interrogation.

"I was just inquiring," I said, with a bow--for I saw that the
new-comer was not a servant--"if I could be accommodated here for the
night, but the boy informed me that cyclers are not received here."

"What!" she exclaimed, and turned as if she would speak to the boy,
but he had vanished. "That is a mistake, sir," she said to me. "Very
few wheelmen do stop here, as they prefer a hotel farther on, but we
are glad to entertain them when they come."

It was not very light in the hall in which we stood, but I could see
that this lady was young, that she was of medium size, and
good-looking.

"Will you walk in, sir, and register?" she said. "I will have your
wheel taken around to the back."

I followed her into a large apartment to the right of the
hall--evidently a room of general assembly. Near the window was a desk
with a great book on it. As I stood before this desk and she handed me
a pen, her face was in the full light of the window, and glancing at
it, the thought struck me that I now knew why Miss Putney did not wish
me to stop at the Holly Sprig Inn. I almost laughed as I turned away
my head to write my name. I was amused, and at the same time I could
not help feeling highly complimented. It cannot but be grateful to the
feelings of a young man to find that a very handsome woman objects to
his making the acquaintance of an extremely pretty one.

When I laid down the pen she stepped up and looked at my name and
address.

"Oh," said she, "you are the schoolmaster at Walford?" She seemed to
be pleased by this discovery, and smiled in a very engaging way as she
said, "I am much interested in that school, for I received a great
part of my education there." "Indeed!" said I, very much surprised.
"But I do not exactly understand. It is a boys' school."

"I know that," she answered, "but both boys and girls used to go
there. Now the girls have a school of their own."

As she spoke I could not help contrasting in my mind what the school
must have been with what it was now.

She stepped to the door and told a woman who was just entering the
room to show me No. 2. The woman said something which I did not hear,
although her tones indicated surprise, and then conducted me to my
room.

This was an exceedingly pleasant chamber on the first floor at the
back of the house. It was furnished far better than the quarters
generally allotted to me in country inns, or, in fact, in hostelries
of any kind. There was great comfort and even simple elegance in its
appointments.

I would have liked to ask the maid some questions, but she was an
elderly woman, who looked as if she might be the mother of the
lemon-juice boy, and as she said not a word to me while she made a few
arrangements in the room, I did not feel emboldened to say anything to
her.

When I left my room and went out on the little porch, I soon came to
the conclusion that this was not a house of great resort. I saw
nobody in front and I heard nobody within. There seemed to be an air
of quiet greenness about the surroundings, and the little porch was a
charming place in which to sit and look upon the evening landscape.

After a time the boy came to tell me that supper was ready. He did so
as if he were informing me that it was time to take medicine and he
had just taken his.

Supper awaited me in a very pleasant room, through the open windows of
which there came a gentle breeze which made me know that there was a
flower-garden not far away. The table was a small one, round, and on
it there was supper for one person. I seated myself, and the elderly
woman waited on me. I was so grateful that the boy was not my
attendant that my heart warmed towards her, and I thought she might
not consider it much out of the way if I said something.

"Did I arrive after the regular supper-time?" I asked. "I am sorry if
I put the establishment to any inconvenience."

"What's inconvenience in your own house isn't anything of the kind in
a tavern," she said. "We're used to that. But it doesn't matter
to-day. You're the only transient; that is, that eats here," she
added.

I wanted very much to ask something about the lady who had gone to
school in Walford, but I thought it would be well to approach that
subject by degrees.

"Apparently," said I, "your house is not full."

"No," said she, "not at this precise moment of time. Do you want some
more tea?"

The tone in which she said this made me feel sure she was the mother
of the boy, and when she had given me the tea, and looked around in a
general way to see that I was provided with what else I needed, she
left the room.

After supper I looked into the large room where I had registered; it
was lighted, and was very comfortably furnished with easy-chairs and a
lounge, but it was an extremely lonely place, and, lighting a cigar, I
went out for a walk. It was truly a beautiful country, and, illumined
by the sunset sky, with all its forms and colors softened by the
growing dusk, it was more charming to me than it had been by daylight.

As I returned to the inn I noticed a man standing at the entrance of a
driveway which appeared to lead back to the stable-yards. "Here is
some one who may talk," I thought, and I stopped.

[Illustration: "WENT OUT FOR A WALK"]

"This ought to be a good country for sport," I said--"fishing, and
that sort of thing."

"You're stoppin' here for the night?" he asked. I presumed from his
voice and appearance that he was a stable-man, and from his tone that
he was disappointed that I had not brought a horse with me.

I assented to his question, and he said:

"I never heard of no fishin'. When people want to fish, they go to a
lake about ten miles furder on."

"Oh, I do not care particularly about fishing," I said, "but there
must be a good many pleasant roads about here."

"There's this one," said he. "The people on wheels keep to it." With
this he turned and walked slowly towards the back of the house.

"A lemon-loving lot!" thought I, and as I approached the porch I saw
that the lady who had gone to school at Walford was standing there. I
did not believe she had been eating lemons, and I stepped forward
quickly for fear that she should depart before I reached her.

"Been taking a walk?" she said, pleasantly. There was something in the
general air of this young woman which indicated that she should have
worn a little apron with pockets, and that her hands should have been
jauntily thrust into those pockets; but her dress included nothing of
the sort.

The hall lamp was now lighted, and I could see that her attire was
extremely neat and becoming. Her face was in shadow, but she had
beautiful hair of a ruddy brown. I asked myself if she were the "lady
clerk" of the establishment, or the daughter of the keeper of the inn.
She was evidently a person in some authority, and one with whom it
would be proper for me to converse, and as she had given me a very
good opportunity to open conversation, I lost no time in doing so.

"And so you used to live in Walford?" I said.

"Oh yes," she replied, and then she began to speak of the pleasant
days she had spent in that village. As she talked I endeavored to
discover from her words who she was and what was her position. I did
not care to discuss Walford. I wanted to talk about the Holly Sprig
Inn, but I could not devise a courteous question which would serve my
purpose.

Presently our attention was attracted by the sound of singing at the
corner of the little lawn most distant from the house. It was growing
dark, and the form of the singer could barely be discerned upon a
bench under a great oak. The voice was that of a man, and his song
was an Italian air from one of Verdi's operas. He sang in a low tone,
as if he were simply amusing himself and did not wish to disturb the
rest of the world.

[Illustration: MRS. CHESTER]

"That must be the Italian who is stopping here for the night," she
said. "We do not generally take such people; but he spoke so civilly,
and said it was so hard to get lodging for his bear--"

"His bear!" I exclaimed.

"Oh yes," she answered, with a little laugh, "he has a bear with him.
I suppose it dances, and so makes a living for its master. Anyway, I
said he might stay and lodge with our stable-man. He would sing very
well if he had a better voice--don't you think so?"

"We do not generally accommodate," "I said he might stay"--these were
phrases which I turned over in my mind. If she were the lady clerk she
might say "we"--even the boy said "we"--but "I said he might stay" was
different. A daughter of a landlord or a landlady might say that.

I made a remark about the difficulty of finding lodging for man and
beast, if the beast happened to be a bear, and I had scarcely finished
it when from the house there came a shrill voice, flavored with lemon
without any sugar, and it said, "Mrs. Chester!"

"Excuse me," said the young lady, and immediately she went in-doors.

Here was a revelation! Mrs. Chester! Strange to say, I had not thought
of her as a married woman; and yet, now that I recalled her manner of
perfect self-possession, she did suggest the idea of a satisfied young
wife. And Mr. Chester--what of him? Could it be possible? Hardly.
There was nothing about her to suggest a widow.




CHAPTER VII

MRS. CHESTER IS TROUBLED


I sat on that porch a good while, but she did not come out again. Why
should she? Nobody came out, and within I could hear no sound of
voices. I might certainly recommend this inn as a quiet place. The
Italian and the crickets continued singing and chirping, but they only
seemed to make the scene more lonely.

I went in-doors. On the left hand of the hall was a door which I had
not noticed before, but which was now open. There was a light within,
and I saw a prettily-furnished parlor. There was a table with a lamp
on it, and by the table sat the lady, Mrs. Chester. I involuntarily
stopped, and, looking up, she invited me to come in. Instantly I
accepted the invitation, but with a sort of an apology for the
intrusion.

"Oh, this is the public parlor," she said, "although everything about
this house seems private at present. We generally have families
staying with us in the summer, but last week nearly all of them went
away to the sea-shore. In a few days, however, we expect to be full
again."

She immediately began to talk about Walford, for evidently the subject
interested her, and I answered all her questions as well as I could.

"You may know that my husband taught that school. I was his scholar
before I became his wife."

I had heard of a Mr. Chester who, before me, had taught the school,
but, although the information had not interested me at the time, now
it did. I wished very much to ask what Mr. Chester was doing at
present, but I waited.

"I went to boarding-school after I left Walford," said she, "and so
for a time lost sight of the village, although I have often visited it
since."

"How long is it since Mr. Chester gave up the school there?" I asked.

This proved to be a very good question indeed. "About six years," she
said. "He gave it up just before we were married. He did not like
teaching school, and as the death of his father put him into the
possession of some money, he was able to change his mode of life. It
was by accident that we settled here as innkeepers. We happened to
pass the place, and Mr. Chester was struck by its beauty. It was not
an inn then, but he thought it would make a charming one, and he also
thought that this sort of life would suit him exactly. He was a
student, a great reader, and a lover of rural sports--such as fishing
and all that."

[Illustration: "SHE BEGAN TO TALK ABOUT WALFORD"]

"Was." Here was a dim light. "Was" must mean that Mr. Chester had
been. If he were living, he would still be a reader and a student.

"Did he find the new life all that he expected?" I said, hesitating a
little at the word did, as it was not impossible that I might be
mistaken.

"Oh yes, and more. I think the two years he spent here were the
happiest of his life."

I was not yet quite sure about the state of affairs; he might be in an
insane asylum, or he might be a hopeless invalid up-stairs.

"If he had lived," she continued, "I suppose this would have been a
wonderfully beautiful place, for he was always making improvements.
But it is four years now since his death, and in that time there has
been very little change in the inn."

I do not remember what answer I made to this remark, but I gazed out
upon the situation as if it were an unrolled map.

"When you wrote your name in the book," she said, "it seemed to me as
if you had brought a note of introduction, and I am sure I am very
glad to be acquainted with you, for, you know, you are my husband's
successor. He did not like teaching, but he was fond of his scholars,
and he always had a great fancy for school-teachers. Whenever one of
them stopped here--which happened two or three times--he insisted that
he should be put into our best room, if it happened to be vacant, and
that is the reason I have put you into it to-day."

This was charming. She was such an extremely agreeable young person
that it was delightful for me to think of myself in any way as her
husband's successor.

There was a step at the door. I turned and saw the elderly servant.

"Mrs. Chester," she said, "I'm goin' up," and every word was flavored
with citric acid.

"Good-night," said Mrs. Chester, taking up her basket and her work.
"You know, you need not retire until you wish to do so. There is a
room opposite, where gentlemen smoke."

I did not enter the big, lonely room. I went to my own chamber,
which, I had just been informed, was the best in the house. I sat down
in an easy-chair by the open window. I looked up to the twinkling
stars.

Reading, studying, fishing, beautiful country, and all that. And he
did not like school-teaching! No wonder he was happier here than he
had ever been before! My eyes wandered around the tastefully furnished
room. "Her husband's successor," I said to myself, pondering. "He did
not like school-teaching, and he was so happy here." Of course he was
happy. "Died and left him some money." There was no one to leave me
any money, but I had saved some for the time when I should devote
myself entirely to my profession. Profession--I thought. After all,
what is there in a profession? Slavery; anxiety. And he chose a life
of reading, studying, fishing, and everything else.

I turned to the window and again looked up into the sky. There was a
great star up there, and it seemed to wink cheerfully at me as the
words came into my mind, "her husband's successor."

When I opened my little valise, before going to bed, I saw the box the
doctor's daughter had given me.

After sitting so long at the open window, thought I, it might be well
to take one of these capsules, and I swallowed one.

When I was called to breakfast the next morning I saw that the table
was laid with covers for two. In a moment my hostess entered and bade
me good-morning. We sat down at the table; and the elderly woman
waited. I could now see that her face was the color of a shop-worn
lemon.

As for the lady who had gone to school at Walford--I wondered what
place in the old school-room she had occupied--she was more charming
than ever. Her manner was so cordial and cheerful that I could not
doubt that she considered the entry of my name in her book as a
regular introduction. She asked me about my plan of travel, how far I
would go in a day, and that sort of thing. The elderly woman was very
grim, and somehow or other I did not take very much interest in my
plan of travel, but the meal was an extremely pleasant one for all
that.

The natural thing for me to do after I finished my breakfast was to
pay my bill and ride away, but I felt no inclination for anything of
the sort. In fact, the naturalness of departure did not strike me. I
went out on the little porch and gazed upon the bright, fresh morning
landscape, and as I did so I asked myself why I should mount my
bicycle and wheel away over hot and dusty roads, leaving all this
cool, delicious beauty behind me.

What could I find more enjoyable than this? Why should I not spend a
few days at this inn, reading, studying, fishing? Here I wondered why
that man told me such a lie about the fishing. If I wanted to exercise
on my wheel I felt sure there were pretty roads hereabout. I had
plenty of time before me--my whole vacation. Why should I be consumed
by this restless desire to get on?

I could not help smiling as I thought of my somewhat absurd fancies of
the night before; but they were pleasant fancies, and I did not wonder
that they had come to me. It certainly is provocative of pleasant
fancies to have an exceedingly attractive young woman talk of you in
any way as her husband's successor.

I could not make up my mind what I ought to do, and I walked back into
the hall. I glanced into the parlor, but it was unoccupied. Then I
went into the large room on the right; no one was there, and I stood
by the window trying to make up my mind in regard to proposing a brief
stay at the inn.

It really did not seem necessary to give the matter much thought. Here
was a place of public entertainment, and, as I was one of the public,
why should I not be entertained? I had stopped at many a road-side
hostelry, and in each one of them I knew I would be welcome to stay as
long as I was willing to pay.

Still, there was something, some sort of an undefined consciousness,
which seemed to rise in the way of an off-hand proposal to stay at
this inn for several days, when I had clearly stated that I wished to
stop only for the night.

While I was still turning over this matter in my mind Mrs. Chester
came into the room. I had expected her. The natural thing for her to
do was to come in and receive the amount I owed her for her
entertainment of me, but as I looked at her I could not ask her for my
bill. It seemed to me that such a thing would shock her sensibilities.
Moreover, I did not want her bill.

It was plain enough, however, that she expected me to depart, for she
asked me where I proposed to stop in the middle of the day, and she
suggested that she should have a light luncheon put up for me. She
thought probably a wheelman would like that sort of thing, for then he
could stop and rest wherever it suited him.

"Speaking of stopping," said I, "I am very glad that I did not do as I
was advised to do and go on to the Cheltenham. I do not know anything
about that hotel, but I am sure it is not so charming as this
delightful little inn with its picturesque surroundings."

"I am glad you did not," she answered. "Who advised you to go on to
the Cheltenham?"

"Miss Putney," said I. "Her father's place is between here and
Walford. I stopped there night before last." And then, as I was glad
of an opportunity to prolong the interview, I told her the history of
my adventures at that place.

Mrs. Chester was amused, and I thought I might as well tell her how I
came to be delayed on the road and so caught in the storm, and I
related my experience with Miss Burton. I would have been glad to go
still farther back and tell her how I came to take the school at
Walford, and anything else she might care to listen to.

When I told her about Miss Burton she sat down in a chair near by and
laughed heartily.

"It is wonderfully funny," she said, "that you should have met those
two young ladies and should then have stopped here."

"You know them?" I said, promptly taking another chair.

"Oh yes," she answered. "I know them both; and, as I have mentioned
that your meeting with them seemed funny to me, I suppose I ought to
tell you the reason. Some time ago a photographer in Walford, who has
taken a portrait of me and also of Miss Putney and Miss Burton, took
it into his head to print the three on one card and expose them for
sale with a ridiculous inscription under them. This created a great
deal of talk, and Miss Putney made the photographer destroy his
negative and all the cards he had on hand. After that we were talked
about as a trio, and, I expect, a good deal of fun was made of us. And
now it seems a little odd--does it not?--that you have become
acquainted with all the members of this trio as soon as you left
Walford. But I must not keep you in this way." And she rose.

Now was my opportunity to make known my desire to be kept, but before
I could do so the boy hurriedly came into the room.

"The Dago wants to see you," he said. "He's in an awful hurry."

"Excuse me," said Mrs. Chester. "It is that Italian who was singing
outside last night. I thought he had gone. Would you mind waiting a
few minutes?"

It was getting harder and harder to enunciate my proposition to make a
sojourn at the inn. I wished that I had spoken sooner. It is so much
easier to do things promptly.

While I was waiting the elderly woman came in. "Do you want the boy to
take your little bag out and strap it on?" said she.

Evidently there was no want of desire to speed the departing guest.
"Oh, I will attend to that myself," said I, but I made no step to do
it. When my hostess came back I wanted to be there.

Presently she did come back. She ran in hurriedly, and her face was
flushed. "Here is a very bad piece of business," she said. "That man's
bear has eaten the tire off one of your wheels!"

"What!" I exclaimed, and my heart bounded within me. Here, perhaps,
was the solution of all my troubles. If by any happy chance my bicycle
had been damaged, of course I could not go on.

"Come and see," she said, and, following her through the back hall
door, we entered a large, enclosed yard. Not far from the house was a
shed, and in front of this lay my bicycle on its side in an apparently
disabled condition. An Italian, greatly agitated, was standing by it.
He was hatless, and his tangled black hair hung over his swarthy face.
At the other end of the yard was a whitish-brown bear, not very large,
and chained to a post.