The Old Stone House by Constance Fenimore Woolson (romantic story to read .TXT) 📖

Aunt Faith! what could she do but murmur an invitation. As they reached the old stone house and Sibyl greeted them with a bright smile, poor Aunt Faith felt very much like the spider in the old song of the spider and the fly.

The tea-table was inviting, and the circle around it as pleasant as six handsome young faces and one handsome old face could make it,—faces handsome with vivacity and good nature as well as artistic beauty. Mr. Leslie was there, and being a general favorite, the conversation was full of life and interest.

“He’s just splendid!” said Gem to Tom after the meal was over, “and I wish we dared to show him the shanty. He’d like it ever so much; I’ve heard him tell such funny stories about what he did when he was a boy.”

“But he would not like our keeping it all from Aunt Faith.”

“That’s true. Well, I suppose, then, we’d better not tell him now. But, oh! Tom, how I wish I could stay up with the B. B.‘s to-night.”

“No; girls must always stay in nights. I’ve always thought it a great pity you could not be a boy, Gem. But it can’t be helped now. Remember, if I fling a stone up, it will mean that we want something, and you must be sure to get it.”

Aunt Faith spent the evening in the sitting-room busily engaged in her fancy work. On the piazza, Sibyl and Mr. Leslie talked in low tones, and now and then she caught a word or two which seemed to indicate the serious character of the conversation. “I fear I am doing wrong to allow it,” she thought; “there is no doubt in my mind as to John Leslie’s liking for Sibyl, and the child is so worldly! Still, what can I do? The way in which he put aside my little endeavors this afternoon and walked boldly into the very danger! It certainly looks as though he was not afraid of anything, and, to tell the truth, I do not think he is. I shall have to let him take care of himself; he looks fully able to do it,” and Aunt Faith smiled at her own discomfiture, as a vision of the clergyman’s resolute face and broad shoulders rose before her eyes.

Later in the evening Bessie came in and slipped into the sofa corner by her aunt’s side.

“How flushed you are,” said Aunt Faith, stroking the young girl’s cheek; “do you feel quite well, dear?”

“Oh yes, auntie,” said Bessie with downcast eyes; “the evening is warm, you know.”

“Do you find it warm also?” asked Aunt Faith, as Hugh entered, fanning himself with his straw hat. Hugh, who had just taken the horses down through the pasture, murmured some inarticulate reply and crossed the hall into the parlor. “Let us have some music, Bessie,” he called out as he opened the piano. Then as his cousin joined him, he said in a low tone, “I cannot bear this deception, Bessie. It makes me feel like a puppy.”

“Oh Hugh, you are not going to tell, and spoil all my fun?”

“You are a second Eve with her apple, Brownie.”

“I am not Eve, and I don’t like apples,” said Bessie indignantly. “Don’t spoil my fun, now, Hugh. The summer will soon be over, and you will be gone. Then I shall be oh!—so good.”

“When you have no longer a chance to be naughty,” said Hugh, laughing.

At eleven o’clock the lights were all extinguished in the old stone house, and every one was soon asleep. After awhile a sharp rap on the closed blinds awoke Gem; at first she was startled, but instantly remembering the night-watch in the underground shanty, she stole to the window and peeped out. There stood Tom! “We want something to eat,” he said in a loud whisper; “the B. B.‘s are awful hungry. Come down and open the back door.”

“Oh, Tom, I don’t dare to do it!” said Gem, trembling.

“Don’t be a baby, Gem! Come down, or I’ll tell, the B. B.‘s you’re afraid of the dark.”

This taunt aroused Gem’s failing courage, she stole down the stairs and slipped back the bolt, regaining her room with the speed of a little pussy cat. She heard nothing more for some time, and was almost asleep when another tap on the blinds aroused her.

“We want more candles,” whispered Tom; “I can’t find ‘em. Of course you know where they are. Hurry up!”

“Oh, Tom! must I come down again?” pleaded Gem.

“Of course you must! hurry up!”

So Gem got the candles and crept back to her bed with a lessening respect for the delights of the underground shanty. In a few moments another tap was heard. “Oh, Tom! what is it now?”

“I want my fiddle; the B. B.‘s are awful sleepy, and they say they’ll all go home if I don’t play for them.”

“Oh, Tom, somebody will hear you!”

“Not under the ground, you silly! Come down and get the fiddle; I can’t go in the sitting-room with my boots on.”

So the violin was handed out, and poor Gem at last fell asleep, with a vague intention of being a good girl, and giving up the society of Tom and the B. B.‘s forever.

About half past twelve Aunt Faith awoke; “I certainly hear music!” she thought. Opening the blinds she heard the faint strains of “Nelly Bly,” with the well known “Hi,” E flat; “Hi,” E natural; “Hi,” F natural, and at the same time saw a light proceeding mysteriously from the ground. Hastily dressing herself, she ran over to Tom’s room; it was empty. Much disturbed, she knocked at Hugh’s door; “Hugh! Hugh!” she called; “something is wrong. Please get up.”

“What is it, Aunt Faith?” said a sleepy voice.

“Get up at once! Tom is gone; there is music somewhere, and the strangest light coming out of the ground in the back garden.”

“The B. B.‘s, I’ll be bound,” said Hugh with a laugh, as he threw on his clothes. “Don’t be frightened, Aunt Faith; it’s Ruin, Riot and Revenge.”

“Dreadful!” murmured Aunt Faith outside the door.

By this time the whole household was awake, and a group of persons stole out of the back door and went down the garden walk. Finding a barricade of boards at the base of the hill, they opened it, and discovered a little den in the earth containing one chair, a table, the three dogs, and Tom; a candle stuck in a bottle gave light to the scene, and the table was covered with the remains of a feast, cake and pies having evidently once filled the empty dishes. Tom was playing dismally upon his violin, and the three dogs sat mournfully at his feet.

“Thomas, what does this mean?” said Aunt Faith severely.

Tom looked up and saw the extent of his audience. “It’s just my underground shanty, Aunt Faith,” he said dejectedly; “I’ve worked like a slave over it all day, and the B. B.‘s agreed to sit up here all night and have lots of fun, so I climbed out of the back window and came down. But first they wanted things to eat, and I had to get ‘em; and then, when they’d eaten up everything, they said if I didn’t play they’d go home, so I had to get my fiddle. And I only knew one tune, and they got tired of it after a while, and a few minutes ago they all skedaddled and left me here alone with the dogs. However, I wasn’t going to give it up, so I was just playing to amuse myself a little before daylight.”

“Before daylight?” said Aunt Faith; “what time do you think it is now?”

“I suppose about four or five,” said Tom.

“It isn’t one yet,” said Hugh laughing. “Come in and go to bed, you young brigand.”

At first Tom objected, but the dogs had already taken advantage of the open door to depart, the candle burned dimly, and the air was damp. He yielded, and the underground shanty was left to its earthy seclusion.

 

CHAPTER III.

THE EDITOR’S SANCTUM.

 

“Justice has never been done to the month of months,” said Hugh, coming in to the breakfast-table one morning, bringing a spray of roses with the dew shining on their fragrant petals. “I propose we celebrate the day, the fifteenth of June; the most perfect day of the most perfect month of this most perfect year of our lives. Who knows where we shall be before another June comes round? ‘We have lived and loved together through many a changing year; we have shared each other’s pleasures and wept each other’s tears.’ But tempus fugit, oh, how fast! and before we know it we shall all be old! Friends, fill your coffee-cups to the brim, and let us resolve to celebrate.”

“A picnic!” said Gem.

“A torch-light procession and fireworks!” said Tom.

“A croquet-party!” said Sibyl.

“A dance!” said Bessie.

“An editor’s sanctum,” said Hugh.

The novelty of this suggestion made a favorable impression. “Explain yourself, Hugh,” said Aunt Faith; “I am afraid your project is too large for the field.”

“Oh, no, Aunt Faith, it is not so large as you fancy. There is a store of hidden genius in this family, and I propose, to bring it out and let it scintillate in the light of day! We will invite a few friends to spend the evening, give them notice that they must bring to the ‘Sanctum’ an original contribution, in prose or verse as they please, and at nine o’clock we, will all assemble in the parlor to hear them read aloud. I will act as editor, receive manuscripts, throw them into a basket, and when the appointed time comes, take them out and read them aloud, as they happen to come.”

“Splendid!” said Tom; “I’ll go right away and begin mine.”

“Oh, I can never think of anything to say!” said Gem in a despairing voice.

“I have never noticed any difficulty of that kind in you, Pussy,” said Hugh, laughing.

“Oh, I mean to write, of course,” said Gem; “I don’t know what I shall do unless you’ll take my last composition?”

“Anything you like as long as it’s original,” said Hugh.

So Gem went upstairs with a lightened heart and the others discussed the list of invitations.

“We will have old Mr. Gay,” began Bessie; “he is always an addition. I wish he would stay here permanently instead of going back to Boston.”

“A Boston man will never forsake the ‘Rub,’” said Hugh; “that is too much to expect. We will have Mr. Leslie, of course.”

“Rose Saxon and Graham Marr,” said Sibyl.

“Now, Sibyl, how can you?” said Hugh. “Graham is not a congenial spirit.”

“He is congenial to me,” replied Sibyl calmly.

“Of course we will have the Marrs,” said Aunt Faith; “and Gideon Fish also.”

“Oh, Aunt Faith! Not Gideon?” said Bessie.

“Poor Gid! If he could hear you say so,” said Hugh, laughing.

“I wish he could,” answered Bessie hotly; “he does not understand a hint.”

“How should he, doubly enrolled as he is in his own self-importance?” said Hugh.

“I am inclined to think there are good points in Gideon Fish,” said gentle Aunt Faith.

“Have you ever seen him eat?” asked Bessie with marked emphasis.

“No, my dear; but we all eat, do we not?” said Aunt Faith, smiling.

“Not like Gideon Fish, I hope, auntie. He never has enough; he is always eyeing the baskets at picnics, and the supper-table at parties. And then he never openly takes what he wants,—as Hugh does for instance,—but he always pretends he does not care for anything, that he is too much absorbed in intellectual conversation to attend to anything so sublunary as eating, while