"Don"t cry, Mary. Listen to me. You were never meant to run a farm and be killed with worry. You ought to be looked after and petted. I want you to marry me and then everything will be all right. I"ve loved you ever since that day I came over here and made you cry. Do you think you can like me a little, Mary?"
It may be that Mrs. Hayden was not very much surprised, because Harrington"s face had been like an open book the day they chased the pig out of the garden together. As for what she said, perhaps Bobbles, who was surrept.i.tiously gorging himself on Harrington"s strawberries, may tell you, but I certainly shall not.
The little brown house among the apple trees is shut up now and the boundary fence belongs to ancient history. Sarah King has gone also and Mrs. John Harrington reigns royally in her place. Bobbles and Ted have a small, blue-eyed, much-spoiled sister, and there is a pig on the estate who may die of old age, but will never meet his doom otherwise. It is Bobbles" pig and one of the famous fourteen.
Mordecai still shambles around and worships Mrs. Harrington. The garden is the same as of yore, but the house is a different place and Harrington is a different man. And Mordecai will tell you with a chuckle, "It was them notorious pigs as did it all."
Why Not Ask Miss Price?
Frances Allen came in from the post office and laid an open letter on the table beside her mother, who was making mincemeat. Alma Allen looked up from the cake she was frosting to ask, "What is the matter?
You look as if your letter contained unwelcome news, Fan."
"So it does. It is from Aunt Clara, to say she cannot come. She has received a telegram that her sister-in-law is very ill and she must go to her at once."
Mrs. Allen looked regretful, and Alma cast her spoon away with a tragic air.
"That is too bad. I feel as if our celebration were spoiled. But I suppose it can"t be helped."
"No," agreed Frances, sitting down and beginning to peel apples. "So there is no use in lamenting, or I would certainly sit down and cry, I feel so disappointed."
"Is Uncle Frank coming?"
"Yes, Aunt Clara says he will come down from Stellarton if Mrs. King does not get worse. So that will leave just one vacant place. We must invite someone to fill it up. Who shall it be?"
Both girls looked rather puzzled. Mrs. Allen smiled a quiet little smile all to herself and went on chopping suet. She had handed the Thanksgiving dinner over to Frances and Alma this year. They were to attend to all the preparations and invite all the guests. But although they had made or planned several innovations in the dinner itself, they had made no change in the usual list of guests.
"It must just be the time-honoured family affair," Frances had declared. "If we begin inviting other folks, there is no knowing when to draw the line. We can"t have more than fourteen, and some of our friends would be sure to feel slighted."
So the same old list it was. But now Aunt Clara--dear, jolly Aunt Clara, whom everybody in the connection loved and admired--could not come, and her place must be filled.
"We can"t invite the new minister, because we would have to have his sister, too," said Frances. "And there is no reason for asking any one of our girl chums more than another."
"Mother, you will have to help us out," said Alma. "Can"t you suggest a subst.i.tute guest?"
Mrs. Allen looked down at the two bright, girlish faces turned up to her and said slowly, "I think I can, but I am not sure my choice will please you. Why not ask Miss Price?"
Miss Price! They had never thought of her! She was the pale, timid-looking little teacher in the primary department of the Hazelwood school.
"Miss Price?" repeated Frances slowly. "Why, Mother, we hardly know her. She is dreadfully dull and quiet, I think."
"And so shy," said Alma. "Why, at the Wards" party the other night she looked startled to death if anyone spoke to her. I believe she would be frightened to come here for Thanksgiving."
"She is a very lonely little creature," said Mrs. Allen gently, "and doesn"t seem to have anyone belonging to her. I think she would be very glad to get an invitation to spend Thanksgiving elsewhere than in that cheerless little boarding-house where she lives."
"Of course, if you would like to have her, Mother, we will ask her,"
said Frances.
"No, girls," said Mrs. Allen seriously. "You must not ask Miss Price on my account, if you do not feel prepared to make her welcome for her own sake. I had hoped that your own kind hearts might have prompted you to extend a little Thanksgiving cheer in a truly Thanksgiving spirit to a lonely, hard-working girl whose life I do not think is a happy one. But there, I shall not preach. This is your dinner, and you must please yourselves as to your guests."
Frances and Alma had both flushed, and they now remained silent for a few minutes. Then Frances sprang up and threw her arms around her mother.
"You"re right, Mother dear, as you always are, and we are very selfish girls. We will ask Miss Price and try to give her a nice time. I"ll go down this very evening and see her."
In the grey twilight of the chilly autumn evening Bertha Price walked home to her boarding-house, her pale little face paler, and her grey eyes sadder than ever, in the fading light. Only two days until Thanksgiving--but there would be no real Thanksgiving for her. Why, she asked herself rebelliously, when there seemed so much love in the world, was she denied her share?
Her landlady met her in the hall.
"Miss Allen is in the parlour, Miss Price. She wants to see you."
Bertha went into the parlour somewhat reluctantly. She had met Frances Allen only once or twice and she was secretly almost afraid of the handsome, vivacious girl who was so different from herself.
"I am sorry you have had to wait, Miss Allen," she said shyly. "I went to see a pupil of mine who is ill and I was kept later than I expected."
"My errand won"t take very long," said Frances brightly. "Mother wants you to spend Thanksgiving Day with us, Miss Price, if you have no other engagement. We will have a few other guests, but n.o.body outside our own family except Mr. Seeley, who is the law partner and intimate friend of my brother Ernest in town. You"ll come, won"t you?"
"Oh, thank you, yes," said Bertha, in pleased surprise. "I shall be very glad to go. Why, it is so nice to think of it. I expected my Thanksgiving Day to be lonely and sad--not a bit Thanksgivingy."
"We shall expect you then," said Frances, with a cordial little hand-squeeze. "Come early in the morning, and we will have a real friendly, pleasant day."
That night Frances said to her mother and sister, "You never saw such a transfigured face as Miss Price"s when I asked her up. She looked positively pretty--such a lovely pink came out on her cheeks and her eyes shone like stars. She reminded me so much of somebody I"ve seen, but I can"t think who it is. I"m so glad we"ve asked her here for Thanksgiving!"
Thanksgiving came, as bright and beautiful as a day could be, and the Allens" guests came with it. Bertha Price was among them, paler and shyer than ever. Ernest Allen and his friend, Maxwell Seeley, came out from town on the morning train.
After all the necessary introductions had been made, Frances flew to the kitchen.
"I"ve found out who it is Miss Price reminds me of," she said, as she bustled about the range. "It"s Max Seeley. You needn"t laugh, Al. It"s a fact. I noticed it the minute I introduced them. He"s plump and prosperous and she"s pinched and pale, but there"s a resemblance nevertheless. Look for yourself and see if it isn"t so."
Back in the big, cheery parlour the Thanksgiving guests were amusing themselves in various ways. Max Seeley had given an odd little start when he was introduced to Miss Price, and as soon as possible he followed her to the corner where she had taken refuge. Ernest Allen was out in the kitchen talking to his sisters, the "uncles and cousins and aunts" were all chattering to each other, and Mr. Seeley and Miss Price were quite unnoticed.
"You will excuse me, won"t you, Miss Price, if I ask you something about yourself?" he said eagerly. "The truth is, you look so strikingly like someone I used to know that I feel sure you must be related to her. I do not think I have any relatives of your name. Have you any of mine?"
Bertha flushed, hesitated for an instant, then said frankly, "No, I do not think so. But I may as well tell you that Price is not my real name and I do not know what it is, although I think it begins with S.
I believe that my parents died when I was about three years old, and I was then taken to an orphan asylum. The next year I was taken from there and adopted by Mrs. Price. She was very kind to me and treated me as her own daughter. I had a happy home with her, although we were poor. Mrs. Price wished me to bear her name, and I did so. She never told me my true surname, perhaps she did not know it. She died when I was sixteen, and since then I have been quite alone in the world. That is all I know about myself."
Max Seeley was plainly excited.
"Why do you think your real name begins with S?" he asked.
"I have a watch which belonged to my mother, with the monogram "B.S."
on the case. It was left with the matron of the asylum and she gave it to Mrs. Price for me. Here it is."