An Unwilling Guest (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ talked so well about her journey to Mr. Grey that he quite forgot his hurry and suddenly looked at his watch to find that he was already five minutes late to a very important committee meeting.

      Allison did not fail to note all these things, nor to admit the beauty and charm of their visitor as she from time to time cast furtive glances, getting used to the dazzling display of white arms. Her face grew grave as the meal drew to a close, and her mother watching, partly understood.

      They had just risen from the table when Mrs. Grey, stepping softly from the hall, folded a white, fleecy shawl about the guest's shoulders saying gently: "Now, dear, you must go out and watch the moon rise over the lawn, and you will need this wrap. It is very cool outside."

      Allison noticed with vexation that the shawl was her mother's carefully guarded best one that her brother had sent last Christmas. Allison herself always declined to wear it that it might be saved for mother. Yet here was this disagreeable, haughty, hateful———

      Allison stopped suddenly and tried to devote herself to clearing off the supper table, realizing that her state of mind was not charitable, to say the least. She went with swift feet and skillful fingers about the work of washing the supper dishes, and her mother, perhaps thinking it was just as well for Allison to have a quiet thinking time, did not offer to help, but sat on the piazza with their guest, talking quietly to her about her aunt, though she must have noticed that the girl did not respond very heartily nor seem much interested. By and by Allison slipped out with another shawl and wrapped it about her mother and the stranger saw in the moonlight the mother's grateful smile and the lingering pressure she gave Allison's hand, and wondering, felt for the first time in her life a strange lack in her own existence.

      "Are the dishes all washed, dear?" said Mrs. Grey a little while later, when Allison came out and settled at her mother's feet on the upper step.

      "Yes, mother, and I have started the oatmeal for breakfast. You wanted oatmeal didn't you?"

      During the few words that followed about domestic arrangements it became evident to Miss Rutherford that the other girl had actually washed the supper dishes and done a good deal of the work of the house that day. She looked at her with curiosity and not a little sympathy. She felt a lofty pity for any girl who did not move amid the pleasures of society, but to be obliged to wash dishes seemed to the New York girl a state not far from actual degradation. And yet here was this girl talking about it as composedly as if it were an every-day occurrence which she did not in the least mind. She wondered what could be the cause of the necessity for this state of things. Probably all the servants had decamped at once, it might be on account of the fear of smallpox. In that case it might be that even she was in danger of contagion. It would be well to investigate. Mrs. Grey had gone into the house and Allison sat on the step quietly looking out at the shadows on the lawn.

      "You said your maid had left you, I think," said Miss Rutherford, trying to speak pleasantly. "Have all your servants gone? What was the matter? Were they afraid of the smallpox?"

      "Oh, dear no!" said Allison, this time surprised out of her gravity into a genuine laugh. "There isn't any smallpox in town, only perhaps that one case you know. No, we never keep more than one servant. I did not say she had left; I said we had none now. She's not a maid in the sense you meant; she's the maid-of-all-work. She has been with mother since we were little children, but she is away on a vacation now. She always goes for a month every fall to visit her brother in Chicago, and during that month mother and I do all the work, all but the washing. She only went to Chicago day before yesterday, so we are just getting broken in, you see."

      "Oh!" said Miss Rutherford slowly, trying to take in such a state of things and the possibility that anybody could accept it calmly. "And you only keep one servant? I'm sure I don't see how ever in the world you manage. Why, we keep four always, and sometimes five, and then things are never half done right. I should think you would just hate to have to do the work. Don't you?"

      "Why, no," said Allison slowly. "I rather like it. Mother and I have such nice times doing it together. I love to make bread. I always do that part now; it's a little too hard for mother."

      "Do you mean to say you can make bread?" The questioner leaned forward and looked curiously at the other girl, as though she had confessed to belonging to some strange tribe of wild people of whom she had heard, but whom she had never expected to look upon.

      "Why, certainly!" said Allison, laughing heartily now. "I can make good bread too, I think. Wasn't that good you had for supper?"

      "Yes, it was fine. I think it was the best I ever ate, but I never dreamed a girl could make it. Don't you get your hands all stuck up? I should think it would ruin them forever. I've always heard work was terrible on the hands," and she looked down at her own white ones sparkling with jewels in the moonlight as if they might have become contaminated by those so lowly nearby.

      "I have not found that my hands suffered," said Allison, in a cold tone, spreading out a pair as small and white and shapely as those adorned with rings. Her guest looked at her curiously again. Sitting there on the step in that graceful attitude, with the white scarf about her head and shoulders which her mother had placed there when she went in, and the moonlight streaming all about her, Miss Rutherford suddenly saw that the other girl was beautiful too. The delicately cut features showed clearly with the pure line of profile against the dark foliage in shadow behind her. Evelyn Rutherford knew that here was a face that her brother would rave over as being "pure Greek." What a pity that such a girl must be shut in by such surroundings, a little quiet village wherein she was buried, and nothing to do but wash dishes and make bread. Curiosity began to grow in her. She would try to find out how this other girl reconciled herself to such surroundings. Did she know no better? or had she never heard of any other world, of life and gayety? What did she do with her time? She decided to find out.

      "What in the earth do you do with yourself the rest of the time? You only have to wash dishes and make bread one month you say. I should think you would die buried away out here? Is there any life at all in this little place?"

      If Allison had been better acquainted with her visitor she would have known that her tone was as near true pity as she had ever yet come in speaking to another girl. As it was, she recognized only a scornful curiosity, and it seemed an indignity put upon her home and her upbringing. She grew suddenly angry and with her habit of self-control waited a moment before she answered. Her questioner studied her meanwhile and wondered at the look that gradually overspread her face. She had lifted her eyes for steadying to the brilliant autumn skies, studded with innumerable stars. Did they speak to her of the Father in heaven whom she recognized, of his wealth and power and all the glories to which she was heir? Did it suddenly come to her how foolish it was that she should mind the pity of this other girl, whose lot was set, indeed, amid earthly pleasures, but whose hope for the future might be so lacking? For suddenly the watcher saw a look almost of triumph mixed with one which seemed like pity, come over the fair young face before her, and then a joyous laugh broke out clear and sweet.

      "Why, Miss Rutherford," she said, turning to look at her straight in the face, "I would not change my lot for that of any other girl in the world. I love Hillcroft with all my heart, and I love my life and my work and my pleasures. Why, I wouldn't be you for anything in the world, much as you may wonder at it. As for life here, there is plenty of it if you only know where to look for it."

      Miss Rutherford about made up her mind that the investigation was not worth pursuing. It was not pleasant to have pity thrust back upon one in this style. She straightened back in the comfortable rocking-chair and asked in an indifferent tone:

      "Then there is something going on? I always thought from aunt's letters that it must be a very poky place. What do you do?"

      "There are plenty of young people here, and we are all interested СКАЧАТЬ