University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.

Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of
carriage wheels and a loud ring at the door, announced
the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true to his appointment
with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied
by Mrs. Graham. This lady, who could boast of having
once been the bride of an English lord, to say nothing of
belonging to the “very first family of Virginia,” was a
sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone, who, haughty and
overbearing to her equals, was nevertheless cringing and
cowardly in the presence of those whom she considered
her superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her
ideas concerning her were quite elevated, and now when
she came unexpectedly, it quite overcame her. Unfortunately,
too, she was this morning suffering from a nervous
headache, the result of the excitement and late hours
of the night before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham
was in the parlor, she fell back in her rocking-chair, and
between a groan and a sigh, declared her utter inability
to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the

part of hostess until such time as she felt composed enough
to undertake it.

“Oh, I can't—I shan't—that ends it!” said Carrie,
who, though a good deal dressed on Durward's account,
still felt anxious to give a few more finishing touches to
her toilet, and to see if her hair and complexion were all
right, ere she ventured into the august presence of her
“mother-in-law elect,” as she confidently considered Mrs.
Graham.

“Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who
knew full well how useless it would be to press Carrie
farther. “Anna must go—where is she? Call her,
'Lena.”

But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr.
Everett a walk which had been planned the night previvious,
and when 'Lena returned with the intelligence that
she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great distress
exclaimed, “Mercy me! what will Mrs Graham think—
and Mr. Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth
for somebody to entertain her. What shall I do! I can't
go in looking so yellow and jaded as I now do!”

'Lena's first thought was to bring her aunt's powder-ball,
as the surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but
knowing that such an act would be deeply resented, she
quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go herself
to the parlor.

“You! What could you say to her?” returned Mrs.
Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether
displeasing.

“I can at least answer her questions,” returned 'Lena,
and after a moment her aunt consented, wondering the
while how 'Lena, in her plain gingham wrapper and linen
collar, could be willing to meet the fashionable Mrs.
Graham.

“But then,” thought she, “she has so little sensibility,
I don't s'pose she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham
will of course look upon her as only a little above a
servant”—and with this complimentary reflection upon
her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her dressing-room,
while 'Lena, with a beating heart and slightly heightened
color, repaired to the parlor.

On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment
'Lena's eye fell upon her, her fears vanished, while
she could hardly repress a smile at the idea of being
afraid of her. She was a short, dumpy, florid looking
woman, showily, and as 'Lena thought, over dressed for
morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which
flashed and sparkled with every movement. Her forehead
was very low, and marked by a scowl of discontent which
was habitual, for with everything to make her happy,
Mrs. Graham was far from being so. Exceedingly nervous
and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side,
and when her husband and son, who were of exactly
opposite temperaments, strove to laugh her into good
spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as she usually
reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy
for her.

Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted
herself into quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone's apparent
lack of courtesy in not hastening to receive her, and
when 'Lena's light step was heard in the hall, she turned
toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why
she had not come sooner. Durward, who was present,
immediately introduced his mother, at the same time admiring
the extreme dignity of 'Lena's manner as she received
the lady's greeting, apologizing for her aunt's non-appearance,
saying “she was suffering from a severe headache,
and begged to be excused for an hour or so.”

“Quite excusable,” returned Mrs. Graham, at the same
time saying something in a low tone about it's not being
her wish to stop there so early, as she knew she was not
expected.

“But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,” 'Lena hastened
to say, thinking that for the time being the reputation of
her uncle's house was resting upon her shoulders.

“I dare say,” was Mrs. Graham's ungracious answer,
and then her little gray, deep-set eyes rested upon 'Lena,
wondering if she were “a governess or what?” and thinking
it strange that she should seem so perfectly self-possessed.

Insensibly, too, 'Lena's manner won upon her, for spite
of her fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed
woman. Ill health and long years of dissipation
had helped to make her what she was. Besides this, she
was not quite happy in her domestic relations, for though
Mr. Graham possessed all the requisites of a kind and affectionate
husband, he could not remove from her mind
the belief that he liked others better than he did herself!
'T was in vain that he alternately laughed at and reasoned
with her on the subject. She was not to be convinced,
and so poor Mr. Graham, who was really exceedingly polite
and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly provoking
the green-eyed monster by his attentions to some
one of the fair sex. In spite of his nightly “Caudle” lectures,
he would transgress again and again, until his wife's
patience was exhausted, and now she affected to have
given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward
Durward, who was her special delight, “the very apple
of her eye—he was so much like his father, Sir Arthur,
who during the whole year that she lived with him had
never once given her cause for jealousy.”

Just before 'Lena entered the parlor, Mr. Graham, had

for a moment stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon
returning, he, too, was introduced to the young lady. It
was strange, considering 'Lena's uncommon beauty, that
Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband's manner, but
for once in her life she felt no fears, and looking from the
window, she failed to note the sudden pallor which overspread
his face when Mr. Livingstone presented to him
“Miss Rivers—my niece.”

Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad,
good-humored face, whose expression instantly demanded
respect from strangers, while his pleasant, affable deportment
universally won the friendship of all who knew him.
And 'Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for
the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly
beaming eye rested upon her, her heart went toward him
as a friend, while she wondered why he looked at her so
long and earnestly, twice repeating her name—“Miss
Rivers—Rivers.”

From the first, 'Lena had recognized him as the same
gentleman whom Durward had called father in the cars
years ago, and when, as if to apologize for his singular
conduct, he asked if they had never met before, she referred
him to that time, saying “she thought it strange
that he should remember her.”

“Old acquaintances—ah—indeed!” and little Mrs.
Graham nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face
grew more florid, and her linen cambric went up to her
forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl which was
of too long standing to be smoothed.

“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his
wife, “I had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it
seems I saw her in the cars when we took our eastern tour
six or seven years ago. You were quite a little girl
then”—turning to 'Lena.

“Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed
of herself and anxious to make amends, softened considerable
toward 'Lena, asking “how long she had lived
in Kentucky—where she used to live—and where her
mother was.”

At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with
Mr. Livingstone, suddenly stopped.

“My mother is dead,” answered 'Lena.

“And your father?”

“Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had
heard vague rumors of 'Lena's parentage, and who did
not quite like his mother's being so inquisitive.

Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward
said; while Mr. Graham replied to a remark made
by Mr. Livingstone some time before. Here John Jr. appeared,
and after being formally introduced, he seated
himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark,
and calling her 'Lena. It was well for Mr. Graham's
after peace that his wife was just then too much engrossed
with Durward to observe the effect which that
name produced upon him.

Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying,
“You were telling me about a fine species of cactus
which you have in your yard—suppose we go and see it.”

The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and
commented upon, Mr. Graham casually remarked, “Your
niece is a fine-looking girl—'Lena, I think your son called
her?”

“Yes, or Helena, which was her mother's name.”

“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?”

“No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a
fancy of my wife,” returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it
better to tell the truth at once.

Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it

minutely, and keeping his face for a long time concealed
from his friend, whose thoughts, as was usually the case
when his sister was mentioned, were far back in the past.
When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head, there were no
traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked
back to the parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone
and Carrie just paying their respects to his lady.

Nothing could be more marked than the difference between
Carrie's and 'Lena's manner toward Mrs. Graham.
Even Durward noticed it, and while he could not sufficiently
admire the quiet self-possession of the latter, who
in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met
his mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in
his life felt a kind of contempt, (pity he called it,) for
Carrie, who, in an elegantly embroidered double-gown
confined by a rich cord and tassels, which almost swept
the floor, treated his mother with a fawning servility as
disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in question.
Accustomed to the utmost deference on account
of her wealth and her husband's station, Mrs. Graham
had felt as if something were withheld from her, when
neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughters rushed to receive
and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
nothing could be more flattering than their attentions.
Both mother and daughter having the son in view, did
their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham asked to be
shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a servant,
offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon
Mrs. Graham laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders,
calling her a “dear little pet,” and asking “where she
stole those bright, naughty eyes!”

A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low
nasal sound which he was in the habit of producing when

desirous of reminding his sister of her nose, made the
“bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that even Durward
noticed it, and wondered if 'Lena's temper had not
been transferred to her cousin.

“That young girl—'Lena, I think you call her—is a relative
of yours,” said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were
ascending the stairs.

“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie.

“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—
does she belong to a Virginia family?”

Carrie looked mysterious and answered, “I never knew
anything of her father, and indeed, I reckon no one does”—
then after a moment she added, “Almost every family
has some objectionable relative, with which they could
willingly dispense.”

“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham. “What a pity
we couldn't all have been born in England. There, dear,
you can leave me now.”

Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in
the hall her mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning
the dinner. “Old Milly,” she said, “had gone to bed
out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a collapse,
as she called it.”

“Can't Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham's
first dinner with them should be in style.

“Yes, but she can't do everything—somebody must
superintend her, and as for burning myself brown over the
dishes and then coming to the table, I won't.”

“Why not make 'Lena go into the kitchen—'t won't
hurt her to-day more than it did yesterday,” suggested
Carrie.

“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to
the parlor door she called 'Lena from a most interesting
conversation with Mr. Graham, who, the moment his wife
was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now seemed
oblivious to all else save her.

There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice
and in the expression of his eyes as they rested upon her,
and Durward, who well knew his mother's peculiarities,
felt glad that she was not present, while at the same time
he wondered that his father should appear so deeply interested
in an entire stranger.

“'Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone,
appearing at the door, and 'Lena, gracefully excusing
herself, left the room, while Mr. Graham commenced
pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner, ever and
anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly
on his forehead.

Meantime, 'Lena, having learned for what she was
wanted, went without a word to the kitchen, though her
proud nature rebelled, and it was with difficulty she could
force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising within
her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the
former asked instead of commanded her to go, she would
have done it willingly. But now in quite a perturbed
state of mind she bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely
knowing which was which, until a pleasant voice at her
side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who
had just returned from her walk, and who on learning
how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.

“If there's anything I like, it's being in a muss,” said
she, and throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her
sleeves, and fastening back her curls in imitation of 'Lena,
she was soon up to her elbows in cooking—her dress literally
covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and her face as

red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the
china closet. “There's a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham
either,” said she, depositing in the huge oven her first
attempt in the pie line.

But alas! Malcolm Everett's words of love spoken beneath
the wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in
Anna's ears, so 't was no wonder she salted the custard
instead of sweetening it. But no one noticed the mistake,
and when the pie was done, both 'Lena and Hagar praised
its white, uncurdled appearance.

“Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,”
said Anna, when everything pertaining to the dinner was
in readiness, but 'Lena, knowing how flushed and heated
she was, and remembering Durward's distaste of high
colors, announced her determination of not appearing at
the table.

“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she,
“and you must look after her a little, for I shall not come
down.

So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs.
Nichols in a great state of fermentation to know “who
was below, and what the doin's was. I should of gone
down,” said she, “but I know'd 'Tilda would be madder'n
a hornet.”

'Lena commended her discretion in remaining where
she was, and then informing her that Mr. Bellmont's
father and mother were there, she proceeded to make
some alterations in her dress. The handsome black silk
and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr.,
were donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started
for the dining-room, 'Lena giving her numerous charges
not to talk much, and on no account to mention her favorite
topic—Nancy Scovandyke!

“Nancy's as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did

marry a live lord,” was grandma's mental comment, as
the last mentioned lady, rustling in a heavy brocade and
loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the table.

Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction,
which her husband, through fear of her, perhaps, failed
to give. But not so with John Jr. To be sure, he
cared not a fig, on his grandmother's account, whether
she were introduced or not, for he well knew she
would not hesitate to make their acquaintance; but knowing
how it would annoy his mother and Carrie, he called
out, in a loud tone, “My grandmother, Mrs. Nichols—
Mr. and Mrs. Graham.”

Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if
anything stung him.”

“Yes—no,” said he, at the same time indicating that
't was not worth while to mind it.

“Got stung, have you?” said Mrs. Nichols. “Mebby
't was a bumble-bee—seems 's ef I smelt one; but like
enough it's the scent on Car'line's handkercher.”

Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely
lost on grandma, who, after a time, forgetful of 'Lena's
caution, said, “I b'lieve they say you're from Virginny!”

“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,” returned
Mrs. Graham, clipping off each word as if it were burning
her tongue.

“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols.

“I was born in Richmond, madam.”

“Law, now! who knows but you're well acquainted
with Nancy Scovandyke's kin.”

Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon
her plate, as she replied, “I've not the honor of knowing
either Miss Scovandyke or any of her relatives.”

“Wall, she's a smart, likely gal, or woman I s'pose you'd
call her, bein' she's just the age of my son.”

Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering 'Lena's
charge, stopped, but John Jr., who loved to see the fun
go on, started her again, by asking what relatives Miss
Scovandyke had in Virginia.

“'Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein' you've
asked a civil question, 'tain't more'n fair for me to answer
it. Better'n forty year ago Nancy's mother's aunt—”

“Which would be Miss Nancy's great-aunt,” interrupted
John Jr.

“Bless the boy,” returned the old lady, “he's got the
Nichols' head for figgerin'. Yes, Nancy's great-aunt,
though she was six years and two months younger'n Nancy's
mother. Wall, as I was sayin', she went off to Virginny
to teach music. She was prouder'n Lucifer, and
after a spell she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and
then she never took no more notice of her folks to hum,
than 's ef they hadn't been. But the poor critter didn't
live long to enjoy it, for when her first baby was born,
she died. 'T was a little girl, but her folks in Massachusetts
have never heard a word whether she's dead or
alive. Joel Slocum, that's Nancy's nephew, says he
means to go down there some day, and look her up, but
I wouldn't bother with 'em, for that side of the house always
did feel big, and above Nancy's folks, thinkin' Nancy's
mother married beneath her.”

Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much,
for during grandma's recital she applied herself assiduously
to her plate, never once looking up, while her face and
neck were literally spotted, either with heat, excitement,
or anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs. Nichols' attention,
causing her to ask the lady “if she warn't pestered
with erysipelas.”

“I am not aware of it, madam,” answered Mrs. Graham;
and grandma replied, “It looks mighty like it to

me, and I've seen a good deal on't, for Nancy Scovandyke
has allers had it more or less. Now I think on't,”
she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion,
“now I think on't, you look quite a considerable like
Nancy—the same forehead and complexion—only she's a
head taller. Hain't you noticed it, John?”

“No, I have not,” answered John, at the same time
proposing a change in the conversation, as he presumed
“they had all heard enough of Nancy Scovandyke.”

At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna's
pie. John Jr. was the first to taste it, and with an expression
of disgust he exclaimed, “Horror, mother, who
made this pie?”

Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests
to know that something was wrong, and darting an angry
frown at Hagar, who was busy at a side-table, she wondered
“if there ever was any one who had so much
trouble with servants as herself.”

Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well
that it would burst on poor Hagar's head, spoke out,
“Hagar is not in the fault, mother—no one but myself is
to blame. I made the pie, and must have put in salt instead
of sugar.”

“You made the pie!” repeated Mrs. Livingston angrily.
“What business had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn't
a few more servants, for then we should all be obliged to
turn drudges.”

Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her,
by asking, “if it hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any
more than it did 'Lena, who,” he said, “worked there
both yesterday and to-day, burning herself until she is
ashamed to appear at the table.”

Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs.
Livingstone hastened to explain that her servants were

nearly all sick, and that in her dilemma, 'Lena had volunteered
her services, adding by way of compliment, undoubtedly,
that “her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to
such work—indeed, that her forte lay among pots and
kettles.”

An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed
over his face, and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone,
“if she thought it detracted from a young lady's
worth, to be skilled in whatever pertained to the domestic
affairs of a family.”

Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone
replied, “Not at all—not at all. I mean that my
daughters shall learn everything, so that their husbands
will find in them every necessary qualification.”

“Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands
sometime or other,” said John Jr., whereupon Carrie
blushed, and looked very interesting, while Anna retorted,
“Of course we shall. I wouldn't be an old maid for
the world—I'd run away first!”

And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth,
the company retired from the table. For some time past,
Mrs. Nichols had walked with a cane, limping even then.
Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual gallantry,
offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted, casting
a look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently
was not so well pleased. So thorough had been
grandma's training, that she did not often venture into
the parlor without a special invitation from its mistress,
but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there as a
matter of course, and placing her upon the sofa, seated
himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concerning
her former home and history. Never in her life
had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative, and never before
had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he

hang upon every word, when she told him of her Helena,
of her exceeding beauty, her untimely death, and rascally
husband.

“Rivers—Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking
man was he?”

“The Lord only knows—I never see him,” returned
Mrs. Nichols. “But this much I do know, he was one
scandalous villain, and if an old woman's curses can do
him any harm, he's had mine a plenty of times.”

“You do wrong to talk so,” said Mr. Graham, “for
who knows how bitterly he may have repented of the
great wrong done to your daughter.”

“Then why in the name of common sense don't he
hunt up her child, and own her—he needn't be ashamed
of 'Leny.”

“Very true,” answered Mr. Graham. “No one need
be ashamed of her. I should be proud to call her my
daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps this Rivers has
married a second time, keeping his first marriage a secret
from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now,
after the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of
what might follow.”

“Then she's a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and
he's a cowardly puppy! That's my opinion on 'em, and
I'll tell 'em so, if ever I see 'em!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols,
her wrath waxing warmer and warmer toward the
destroyer of her daughter.

Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her
favorite Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham,
who, to her astonishment, took some, slily casting it aside
when she did not see him. This emboldened the old
lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly reclining
upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a
low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in

perfect admiration. Without deigning other reply than
a haughty shake of the head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating
glance toward Carrie, who muttered, “How disgusting!
But for pa's sake we tolerate it.”

Here 'Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and
looking fresh and blooming as a rose. There was no vacant
seat near except one between Durward and John
Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter, she accepted. A
peculiar smile flitted over Carrie's face, which was noticed
by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause. Erelong
Durward, John Jr., 'Lena, and Anna, who had joined
them, left the house, and from the window Carrie saw
that they were amusing themselves by playing “Graces.”'
Gradually the sound of their voices increased, and as
'Lena's clear, musical laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs.
Graham and Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward
holding the struggling girl, while John Jr. claimed
the reward of his having thrown the “grace hoop” upon
her head.

Inexpressibly shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked,
“What kind of a girl is your cousin;” to which Carrie
replied, “You have a fair sample of her,” at the same
time nodding toward 'Lena, who was unmercifully pulling
John Jr's ears as a reward for his presumption.

“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” returned Mrs.
Graham, secretly hoping Durward would not become enamored
of her.

At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the
garden, sat down in one of the arbor bridges, where they
were joined by Malcolm Everett, who naturally, and as
a matter of course, appropriated Anna to himself. Durward
observed this, and when he saw them walk away
together, while 'Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he
began to think that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken

when she hinted of an engagement between her niece
and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.'s straight-forward
way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he said,
“Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other's
society to ours.”

“Oh, yes,” answered John. “I saw that years ago,
when Anna wasn't knee-high; and I'm glad of it, for Everett
is a mighty fine fellow.”

'Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward
felt certain that she had never entertained for him
any feeling stronger than that of friendship; and as to
her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton, the idea was
too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment.
Once exonerated from these charges, it was strange how
fast 'Lena rose in his estimation, and when John Jr., with
a loud yawn, asked if they did not wish he would leave
them alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward replied,
“Yes, yes, do.”

“I reckon I will,” said John, shaking down his tight
pants, and pulling at his long coat sleeves. “I never
want anybody round when I'm with Nellie Douglass.”

So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and 'Lena
alone. That neither of them felt at all sorry, was proved
by the length of time which they remained together, for
when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham proposed
to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she found the
young couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed
that they neither saw nor heard her until she stood before
them.

'Lena was an excellent horseman, and Durward had
just proposed a ride early the next morning, when his
mother, forcing down her wrath, laid her hand on his
shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from 'Lena instead
of her son, she said, “No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward

can't go—he has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together
with Carrie and Anna, whom I have asked to accompany
me; so you see 'twill be impossible for him to
ride with you.”

“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward.
“You would like to visit Woodlawn, would you not,
Miss Rivers?”

“Oh, very much,” was 'Lena's reply, while Mrs. Graham
continued, “I am sorry I cannot extend my invitation
to Miss Rivers, but our carriage will be full, and I
cannot endure to be crowded.”

“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and
if she will go, I will take you on my lap, or any where.”

Of course 'Lena declined—he knew she would—and
determined not to be outwitted by his mother, whose aim
he saw, he continued, “I shan't release you from your
engagement to ride with me. We will start early and
get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no
way interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after
breakfast.”

Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection,
but resolving not to leave them to finish their
tete-a-tete, she threw herself upon one of the seats, and
commenced talking to her son, while Carrie, burning
with jealousy and vexation, started for the house, where
she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally
enraged, declared her intention of “hereafter watching
the vixen pretty closely.”

“And she's going to ride with him to-morrow morning,
you say. Well, I fancy I can prevent that.”

“How?” asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied,
“You know she always rides Fleetfoot, which now,
with the other horses, is in the Grattan woods, two miles
away. Of course she'll order Cæsar to bring him up to

the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding
him say nothing to her about it. He dare not disobey
me, and when in the morning she asks for the pony, he can
tell her just how it is.”

“Capital! capital!” exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting
that there had been a listener, even John Jr., who all the
while was sitting in the back parlor.

“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are
they? Well, I'll see how good I am at counterplotting.”

So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest
of his servant, Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom
he was to put in the lower stable instead of the one where
she was usually kept; “and then in the morning, long
before the sun is up,” said he, “do you have her at the
door for one of the young ladies to ride.”

“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his
old straw hat.

“Now, see how quick you can go,” John Jr. continued,
adding as an incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the
pony stabled before old Cæsar, who had gone to Versailles,
should return, he would give him ten cents.

Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of
money, and without stopping to find his hat, he started
off bare-headed, upon the run, returning in the course of
an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar had not yet
got home.

“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver.
“And now remember to keep your tongue between your
teeth.”

Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master
to think of tattling about something which to him seemed
of no consequence whatever, and he walked off, eyeing
his dime, and wishing he could earn one so easily every
day.

Meantime John Jr. sought out 'Lena, to whom he said,
“And so you are going to ride to-morrow morning?”

“How did you know?” she asked, and John, looking
very wise, replied, that “little girls should not ask too
many questions,” adding, that as he supposed she would
of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to have her
at the door early in the morning.

“Much obliged,” answered 'Lena. “I was about giving
it up when I heard the pony was in the Grattan woods,
for Cæsar is so cross I hated to ask him to go for her; but
now I'll say nothing to him about it.”

That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the
kitchen, his mistress suddenly appeared, asking “if he had
received any orders to go for Fleetfoot.”

The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl.
“No, miss, and Lord knows I don't want to tote clar off
to the Grattan woods to-night.”

“You needn't, either, and if any one tells you to go,
don't you do it,” returned Mrs. Livingstone.

“Somebody's playin' possum, that's sartin,” thought
Bill, who was present, and began putting things together.
“Somebody's playin' possum, but they don't catch this
child leakin'.”

“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her
mother in the hall.

Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an understone, that
“she presumed the ride was given up, as 'Lena had said
nothing to Cæsar about the pony.”

With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the
parlor, where she commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of
their projected visit to Woodlawn, dwelling upon it as if
it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently exulting that
'Lena was to be left behind.