have never slept so soundly before. Our guests have put a charm upon the house.”
From the embroidered work-bag that dangled at her side, she took out the thread lace she was making, and began to count her stitches.
“I think I’ll get my sewing, too,” said Margaret. “I feel like a drone in this hive of industry.”
“One, two, three, chain,” said Aunt Peace. “Iris, do you think the cakes are as good as they were last time?”
“I think they’re even better.”
“Did you take out the oldest port?”
“Yes, the very oldest.”
“I trust he was not hurt,” Aunt Peace went on, “because last week I asked him not to come. The common people sometimes feel those things more keenly than aristocrats, who are accustomed to the disturbance of guests.”
“Of course, he would be disappointed,” said Iris, with a little smile, “but he would understand – I’m sure he would.”
When Margaret came back she had a white, fluffy garment over her arm. “Who would have thought,” she cried, gaily, “that I should ever have the time to make myself a petticoat by hand! The atmosphere of East Lancaster has wrought a wondrous change in me.”
“Iris,” said Miss Field, “let me see your stitches.”
The girl held up her petticoat – a dainty garment of finest cambric, lace-trimmed and exquisitely made, and the old lady examined it critically. “It is not what I could do at your age,” she continued, “but it will answer very well.”
Lynn came in noisily, remembering only at the threshold that one did not whistle in East Lancaster houses. “I had a fine tramp,” he said, “all over West Lancaster and through the woods on both sides of it. I had some flowers for all of you, but I laid them down on a stone and forgot to go back after them. Aunt Peace, you’re looking fine since you had your nap. Still working at that petticoat, mother?”
“We’re all making petticoats,” answered Margaret. “Even Aunt Peace is knitting lace for one and Iris has hers almost done.”
“Let me see it,” said Lynn. He reached over and took it out of the girl’s lap while she was threading her needle. Much to his surprise, it was immediately snatched away from him. Iris paused only long enough to administer a sounding box to the offender’s ear, then marched out of the room with her head high and her work under her arm.
“Well, of all things,” said Lynn, ruefully. “Why wouldn’t she let me look at her petticoat?”
“Because,” answered Aunt Peace, severely, “Iris has been brought up like a lady! Gentlemen did not expect to see ladies’ petticoats when I was young!”
“Oh,” said Lynn, “I see.” His mouth twitched and he glanced sideways at his mother. She was bending over her work, and her lips did not move, but he could see that her eyes smiled.
At exactly half-past seven, the expected guest was ushered into the parlour. “Good evening, Doctor,” said Miss Field, in her stately way; “I assure you this is quite a pleasure.” She presented him to Mrs. Irving and Lynn, and motioned him to an easy-chair.
He was tall, straight, and seventy; almost painfully neat, and evidently a gentleman of the old school.
“I trust you are well, madam?”
“I am always well,” returned Aunt Peace. “If all the other old ladies in East Lancaster were as well as I, you would soon be obliged to take down your sign and seek another location.”
The others took but small part in the conversation, which was never lively, and which, indeed, might have been stilted by the presence of strangers. It was the commonplace talk of little things, which distinguishes the country town, and it lasted for half an hour. As the clock chimed eight, Miss Field smiled at him significantly.
“Shall we play chess?” she asked.
“If the others will excuse us, I shall be charmed,” he responded.
Soon they were deep in their game. Margaret went after a book she had been reading, and the young people went to the library, where they could talk undisturbed.
They played three games. Miss Field won the first and third, her antagonist contenting himself with the second. It had always been so, and for ten years she had taken a childish delight in her skill. “My dear Doctor,” she often said, “it takes a woman of brains to play chess.”
“It does, indeed,” he invariably answered, with an air of gallantry. Once he had been indiscreet and had won all three games, but that was in the beginning and it had never happened since.
When the clock struck ten, he looked at his heavy, old-fashioned silver watch with apparent surprise. “I had no idea it was so late,” he said. “I must be going!”
“Pray wait a moment, Doctor. Let me offer you some refreshment before you begin that long walk. Iris?”
“Yes, Aunt Peace.” The girl knew very well what was expected of her, and dimples came and went around the corners of her mouth.
“Those little cakes that we had for tea – perhaps there may be one or two left, and is there not a little wine?”
“I’ll see.”
Smiling at the pretty comedy, she went out into the kitchen, where Doctor Brinkerhoff’s favourite cakes, freshly made, had been carefully put away. Only one of them had been touched, and that merely to make sure of the quality.
With the Royal Worcester plate, generously piled with cakes, a tray of glasses, and a decanter of Miss Field’s famous port, she went back into the parlour.
“This is very charming,” said the Doctor. He had made the same speech once a week for ten years. Aunt Peace filled the glasses, and when all had been served, she looked at him with a rare smile upon her beautiful old face.
Then the brim of his glass touched hers with the clear ring of crystal. “To your good health, madam!”
“And to your prosperity,” she returned. The old toast still served.
“And now, my dear Miss Iris,” he said, “may we not hope for a song?”
“Which one?”
“‘Annie Laurie,’ if you please.”
She sang the old ballad with a wealth of feeling in her deep voice, and even Lynn, who was listening critically, was forced to admit that she did it well.
At eleven, the guest went away, his hostess cordially inviting him to come again.
“What a charming man,” said Margaret.
“An old brick,” added Lynn, with more force than elegance.
“Yes,” replied Aunt Peace, concealing a yawn behind her fan, “it is a thousand pities that he has no social position.”
V
The Light of Dreams
“How do you get on with the
