on to a limb above my head, I scrambled up into that blessed tree without stopping to think how it might look to Alexander Abraham if he happened to be watching.
My time for reflection came when I found myself perched half way up the tree with William Adolphus beside me. William Adolphus was quite calm and unruffled. I can hardly say with truthfulness what I was. On the contrary, I admit that I felt considerably upset.
The dog was sitting on his haunches on the ground below, watching us, and it was quite plain to be seen, from his leisurely manner, that it was not his busy day. He bared his teeth and growled when he caught my eye.
“You LOOK like a woman hater’s dog,” I told him. I meant it for an insult; but the beast took it for a compliment.
Then I set myself to solving the question, “How am I to get out of this predicament?”
It did not seem easy to solve it.
“Shall I scream, William Adolphus?” I demanded of that intelligent animal. William Adolphus shook his head. This is a fact. And I agreed with him.
“No, I shall not scream, William Adolphus,” I said. “There is probably no one to hear me except Alexander Abraham, and I have my painful doubts about his tender mercies. Now, it is impossible to go down. Is it, then, William Adolphus, possible to go up?”
I looked up. Just above my head was an open window with a tolerably stout branch extending right across it.
“Shall we try that way, William Adolphus?” I asked.
William Adolphus, wasting no words, began to climb the tree. I followed his example. The dog ran in circles about the tree and looked things not lawful to be uttered. It probably would have been a relief to him to bark if it hadn’t been so against his principles.
I got in by the window easily enough, and found myself in a bedroom the like of which for disorder and dust and general awfulness I had never seen in all my life. But I did not pause to take in details. With William Adolphus under my arm I marched downstairs, fervently hoping I should meet no one on the way.
I did not. The hall below was empty and dusty. I opened the first door I came to and walked boldly in. A man was sitting by the window, looking moodily out. I should have known him for Alexander Abraham anywhere. He had just the same uncared-for, ragged appearance that the house had; and yet, like the house, it seemed that he would not be bad looking if he were trimmed up a little. His hair looked as if it had never been combed, and his whiskers were wild in the extreme.
He looked at me with blank amazement in his countenance.
“Where is Jimmy Spencer?” I demanded. “I have come to see him.”
“How did he ever let you in?” asked the man, staring at me.
“He didn’t let me in,” I retorted. “He chased me all over the lawn, and I only saved myself from being torn piecemeal by scrambling up a tree. You ought to be prosecuted for keeping such a dog! Where is Jimmy?”
Instead of answering Alexander Abraham began to laugh in a most unpleasant fashion.
“Trust a woman for getting into a man’s house if she has made up her mind to,” he said disagreeably.
Seeing that it was his intention to vex me I remained cool and collected.
“Oh, I wasn’t particular about getting into your house, Mr. Bennett,” I said calmly. “I had but little choice in the matter. It was get in lest a worse fate befall me. It was not you or your house I wanted to see — although I admit that it is worth seeing if a person is anxious to find out how dirty a place CAN be. It was Jimmy. For the third and last time — where is Jimmy?”
“Jimmy is not here,” said Mr. Bennett gruffly — but not quite so assuredly. “He left last week and hired with a man over at Newbridge.”
“In that case,” I said, picking up William Adolphus, who had been exploring the room with a disdainful air, “I won’t disturb you any longer. I shall go.”
“Yes, I think it would be the wisest thing,” said Alexander Abraham — not disagreeably this time, but reflectively, as if there was some doubt about the matter. “I’ll let you out by the back door. Then the — ahem! — the dog will not interfere with you. Please go away quietly and quickly.”
I wondered if Alexander Abraham thought I would go away with a whoop. But I said nothing, thinking this the most dignified course of conduct, and I followed him out to the kitchen as quickly and quietly as he could have wished. Such a kitchen!
Alexander Abraham opened the door — which was locked — just as a buggy containing two men drove into the yard.
“Too late!” he exclaimed in a tragic tone. I understood that something dreadful must have happened, but I did not care, since, as I fondly supposed, it did not concern me. I pushed out past Alexander Abraham — who was looking as guilty as if he had been caught burglarizing — and came face to face with the man who had sprung from the buggy. It was old Dr. Blair, from Carmody, and he was looking at me as if he had found me shoplifting.
“My dear Peter,” he said gravely, “I am VERY sorry to see you here — very sorry indeed.”
I admit that this exasperated me. Besides, no man on earth, not even my own family doctor, has any right to “My dear Peter” me!
“There is no loud call for sorrow, doctor,” I said loftily. “If a woman, forty-eight years of age, a member of the Presbyterian church in good and regular standing, cannot call upon one of her Sunday School scholars without wrecking all the proprieties, how old must she be before she can?”
The doctor did not answer my question. Instead, he looked reproachfully at Alexander Abraham.
“Is this how you keep your word, Mr. Bennett?” he said. “I thought that you promised me that you would not let anyone into the house.”
“I didn’t let her in,” growled Mr. Bennett. “Good heavens, man, she climbed in at an upstairs window, despite the presence on my grounds of a policeman and a dog! What is to be done with a woman like that?”
“I do not understand what all this means,” I said addressing myself to the doctor and ignoring Alexander Abraham entirely, “but if my presence here is so extremely inconvenient to all concerned, you can soon be relieved of it. I am going at once.”
“I am very sorry, my dear Peter,” said the doctor impressively, “but that is just what I cannot allow you to do. This house is under quarantine for smallpox. You will have to stay here.”
Smallpox! For the first and last time in my life, I openly lost my temper with a man. I wheeled furiously upon Alexander Abraham.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried.
“Tell you!” he said, glaring at me. “When I first saw you it was too late to tell you. I thought the kindest thing I could do was to hold my tongue and let you get away in happy ignorance. This will teach you to take a man’s house by storm, madam!”
“Now, now, don’t quarrel, my good people,” interposed the doctor seriously — but I saw a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll have to spend some time
