University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
PREPARING FOR THE VISIT.

KATY had waited very anxiously for a letter from
Wilford, and as the weeks went by and nothing
came, a shadow had fallen upon her spirits and
the family missed something from her ringing laugh and
frolicsome ways, while she herself wondered at the
change which had come over everything. Even the light
household duties she used to enjoy so much, were irksome
to her, and she enjoyed nothing except going with
Uncle Ephraim into the fields where she could sit alone
while he worked near by, or to ride with Morris as she
sometimes did when he made his round of calls. She
was not as good as she used to be, she thought, and with
a view of making herself better she took to teaching in
Morris and Helen's Sunday School, greatly to the distress
of Aunt Betsy, who groaned bitterly when both her
nieces adopted the “Episcopal quirks,” forsaking entirely
the house where, Sunday after Sunday, her old-fashioned
leghorn, with its faded ribbon of green was seen, bending
down in the humble worship which God so much approves.
But teaching in Sunday-school, taken by itself,
could not make Katy better, and the old restlessness
remained until the morning when, sitting on the grass
beneath the apple-tree, she read that Wilford Cameron
was coming; then everything was changed and Katy never
forgot the brightness of that day when the robins sang
so merrily above her head, and all nature seemed to sympathize
with her joy. There was no shadow around her
now, nothing but hopeful sunshine, and with a bounding
step she sought out Helen to tell her the good news.
Helen's first remark, however, was a chill upon her
spirits.

“Wilford Cameron coming here? What will he think
of us, we are so unlike him?”

This was the first time Katy had seriously considered
the difference between her surroundings and those of
Wilford Cameron, or how it might affect him. But Aunt

Betsy, who had never dreamed of anything like Wilford's
home, comforted her, telling her, “if he was any
kind of a chap he wouldn't be looking round, and if he
did, who cared? She guessed they were as good as he,
and as much thought of by the neighbors.”

Wilford's letter had been delayed so that the morrow
was the day appointed for his coming, and never was
there a busier afternoon at the farm-house than the one
which followed the receipt of the letter. Everything not
spotlessly clean before was made so now, Aunt Betsy, in
her petticoat and short gown, going down upon her
knees to scrub the back door-sill, as if the city guest were
expected to notice that. On Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox
devolved the duty of preparing for the wants of the
inner man, while Helen and Katy bent their energies to
beautifying their home and making the most of their
plain furniture.

The “spare bed-room,” kept for company, was only
large enough to admit the high-post bed, a single chair,
and the old-fashioned wash-stand, with the hole in the
top for the bowl, and a drawer beneath for towels; and
the two girls held a consultation as to whether it would
not be better to dispense with the parlor altogether, and
give that room to their visitor. But this was vetoed by
Aunt Betsy, who, having finished the back door-sill, had
now come round to the front, and with her scrubbing-brush
in one hand and her saucer of sand in the other,
held forth upon the foolishness of the girls.

“Of course, if they had a beau, they'd want a t'other
room, else where would they do their sparkin'?”

That settled it. The parlor must remain as it was,
Katy said, and Aunt Betsy went on with her scouring,
while Helen and Katy consulted together how to make
the huge feather-bed more like the mattresses to which
Wilford must be accustomed. Helen's mind being the
more suggestive, solved the problem first, and a large
comfortable was brought from the box in the garret and
folded carefully over the bed, which, thus hardened and
flattened, “seemed like a mattress,” Katy said, for she
tried it, feeling quite well satisfied with the room when it
was finished. And certainly it was not uninviting, with
its strip of bright carpeting upon the floor, its vase of flowers

upon the stand, and its white-fringed curtain sweeping
back from the narrow window.

“I'd like to sleep here myself,” was Katy's comment,
while Helen offered no opinion, but followed her sister
into the yard, where they were to sweep the grass and
prune the early September flowers.

This afforded Aunt Betsy a chance to reconnoitre and
criticise, which last she did unsparingly.

“What have them children been doin' to that bed?
Put on a quilt, as I'm alive! It would break my back to
lie there, and this Carmon is none of the youngest,
accordin' to their tell; nigh onto thirty, if not turned. It
will make his bones ache, of course. I am glad I know
better than to treat visitors that way. The comforter
may stay, but I'll be bound I'll make it softer!” And
stealing up the stairs, Aunt Betsy brought down a second
feather-bed, much lighter than the one already on, but still
large enough to suggest the thought of smothering. This
she had made herself, intending it as a part of Katy's
“setting out,” should she ever marry; and as things now
seemed tending that way, it was only right, she thought,
that Mr. Carmon, as she called him, should begin to have
the benefit of it. Accordingly two beds, instead of one,
were placed beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy
permitted to remain.

“I'm mighty feared they'll find me out,” she said, taking
great pains in the making of her bed, and succeeding
so well that when her task was done there was no
perceptible difference between Helen's bed and her own,
except that the latter was a few inches higher than the
former, and more nearly resembled a pincushion in shape.

There was but little chance for Aunt Betsy to be detected,
for Helen, supposing the room to be in order, had
dismissed it from her mind, and was training a rose over
a frame, while Katy was on her way to Linwood in quest
of various little things which Mrs. Lennox considered indispensable
to the entertainment of a man like Wilford
Cameron. Morris was out on his piazza, enjoying the
fine prospect he had of the sun shining across the pond,
on the Silverton hill, and just gilding the top of the little
church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he rose
and greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now

habitual with him, for he had learned to listen quite
calmly while Katy talked to him, as she often did, of
Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him
how anxious she was for some word of remembrance,
and often asking if he thought Mr. Cameron would
ever write to her. It was hard at first for Morris to
listen, and harder still to keep back the passionate words
of love trembling on his lips—to refrain from asking her
to take him in Cameron's stead—him who had loved her
so long. But Morris had kept silence, and as the weeks
went by there came insensibly into his heart a hope, or
rather conviction, that Wilford Cameron had forgotten
the little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening
his home just as she did every spot where her fairy footsteps
trod. Morris did not fully know that he was hugging
this fond dream until he felt the keen pang which cut
like a dissector's knife as Katy, turning her bright, eager
face up to him, whispered softly, “He's coming to-morrow—he
surely is; I have his letter to tell me so.”

Morris could not see the sunshine upon the distant
hills, although it lay there just as purple and warm as it
had a moment before. There was an instant of darkness,
in which the hills, the pond, the sun setting, and Katy
seemed a great way off to Morris, trying so hard to be
calm, and mentally asking for help to do so. But Katy's
hat, which she swung in her hand, had become entangled
in the vines encircling one of the pillars of the piazza,
and so she did not notice him until all traces of his agitation
were past, and he could talk with her concerning
Wilford; then playfully lifting her basket he asked what
she had come to get.

This was not the first time the great house had rendered
a like service to the little house, and so Katy did
not blush when she explained that her mother wanted
Morris's forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and would he
be kind enough to bring the caster over himself, and
come to dinner to-morrow at two o'clock, and would he
go for Mr. Cameron? The forks, and salt-cellars, and
spoons, and caster were cheerfully promised, while Morris
consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came to
the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch
as it concerned Uncle Ephraim—honest, unsophisticated

Uncle Ephraim, who would come to the table in his
shirt sleeves! This was the burden of her grief—the
one thing she dreaded most, because she knew how such
an act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron, who, never
having lived in the country a day in his life, except as he
was either guest or traveler, could not make due allowance
for these little departures from refinement, so obnoxious
to people of his training.

“What is it, Katy?” Morris asked, as he saw how she
hesitated, and guessed her errand was not all told.

“I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked,”
Katy began, her eyes filling with tears, as she felt that
she might be doing Uncle Ephraim a wrong by admitting
that in any way he could be improved. “I certainly love
Uncle Ephraim dearly, and I do not mind his ways, but
—but—Mr. Cameron may—that is, oh, Cousin Morris,
did you ever notice how Uncle Ephraim will persist in
coming to the table in his shirt sleeves?”

“Persist is hardly the word to use,” Morris replied,
smiling comically, as he readily understood Katy's misgivings.
“Persist would imply his having been often
remonstrated with for that breach of etiquette; whereas
I doubt whether the idea that it was not in strict accordance
with politeness was ever suggested to him.”

“May be not,” Katy answered. “It was never necessary
till now, and I feel so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron
to like him, and if he does that I am sure he won't.”

“Why do you think so?” Morris asked, and Katy replied,
“He is so particular, and was so very angry at a
little hotel between Lakes George and Champlain, where
we took our dinner before going on the boat. There was
a man along—a real good-natured man, too, so kind to
everybody—and, as the day was warm, he carried his coat
on his arm, and sat down to the table right opposite me.
Mr. Cameron was so indignant, and said such harsh things,
which the man heard I am sure, for he put on his coat
directly, and I saw him afterward on the boat, sweating
like rain, and looking so sorry, as if he had been guilty
of something wrong. I am sure, though, he had not?”

This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris replied:
“There is nothing wrong or wicked in going without
one's coat. Everything depends upon the circumstances

under which it is done. For me to appear at
table in my shirt-sleeves would be very rude, but for an
old man like Uncle Ephraim to do so is a very different
thing. Still, Mr. Cameron may see from another stand-point.
But I would not distress myself. That love is
not worth much which would think the less of you for
anything outré which Uncle Ephraim may do. If Mr.
Cameron cannot stand the test of seeing your relatives
as they are, he is not worth the long face you are wearing,”
and Morris pinched her cheek playfully.

“Yes, I know,” Katy replied, “but if you only could
manage Uncle Eph. I should be so glad.”

Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but
he promised to try if an opportunity should occur, and
as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper, had by this time gathered
up the articles required for the morrow, Morris took the
basket in his own hands and went with Katy across the
fields.

“God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron's visit
bring you as much happiness as you anticipate,” he said,
as he set her basket upon the door-step and turned back
without entering the house.

Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again
there swept over her the same thrill she had felt when
Morris first said to her, “And did Katy like this Mr.
Cameron?” but so far was she from guessing the truth
that she only feared she might have displeased him by
what she had said of Uncle Ephraim. Perhaps she had
wronged him, she thought, and the good old man, resting
from his hard day's toil, in his accustomed chair, with
not only his coat, but his vest and boots cast aside, little
guessed what prompted the caresses which Katy lavished
upon him, sitting in his lap and parting his snowy hair,
as if thus she would make amends for any injury done.
Little Katy-did he called her, looking fondly into her
bright, pretty face, and thinking how terrible it would be
to see that face shadowed with pain and care. Somehow,
of late, Uncle Ephraim was always thinking of such a
calamity as more than possible for Katy, and when that
night she knelt beside him, his voice was full of pleading
earnestness as he prayed that God would keep them all
in safety, and bring to none of them more grief or pain

than was necessary to fit them for himself. And Katy,
listening to him, remembered the talk down in the
meadow, when she sat on the rock beneath the butternut
tree. But the world, while it held Wilford Cameron, as
he seemed to her now, was too full of joy for her to dread
what the future might have in store for her, and so she
arose from her knees, thinking only how long it would be
before to-morrow noon, wondering if Wilford would
surely be there next time their evening prayers were said,
and if he would notice Uncle Ephraim's shocking grammar!