The Staying Guest Read online

  CHAPTER I PRIMROSE HALL

  Over the hills and far away there was once a quaint little old town whichwas safely beyond the reach of the long, grasping arms of any of thegreat cities.

  The little town nestled up against the side of a big, kind hill, at thetop of which was a beautiful old country-place, called Primrose Hall.

  The house was a great white colonial affair that had belonged to theFlint family for generations; and at present was occupied only by twoelderly maiden ladies who admirably fitted their names of Priscilla andDorinda.

  Now of course you know, without being told, what a lady named PriscillaFlint would look like. Tall, straight, thin, stiff, formal, prim, smug,demure, with a stately, old-fashioned dignity and refinement. And MissDorinda Flint was like unto her, except that she was a little taller,straighter, thinner, stiffer, and a trifle more stately andold-fashioned. And these ladies, whene'er they took their walks abroad,or drives either, for that matter, wore stiff, prim black silk dresses,and black lace mitts, and little point-lace collars pinned with big goldbrooches; and they always carried tiny, black, ruffled parasols thattipped on their handles to any desired angle.

  With such mistresses as these, it is easy to see why Primrose Hall wasthe stiffest, primmest place in the whole world.

  Never a chair dared to move from its exact place against the wall; nevera curtain dared to flutter with joy if a morning breeze came in to tellit the news. Even the clock ticked softly and very regularly; thewell-bred fire never crackled or sputtered, but let its flame glidedecorously up the chimney; and the cat looked as if she had never been akitten.

  Out of doors it was just the same. The carefully trimmed hedges wouldn'tthink of poking out a stray leaf or twig, and every blade of grass on thelawn measured itself against its neighbor that it might be exactly thesame length and breadth.

  One bright May morning the sun was shining all over the place, and, outof sheer curiosity, I suppose, was doing his best to poke himself intothe house. But it was all shut up tighter than a drum, and he could getin only at one little window, and even that was a mistake, and ought notto have been left open, for it was the next window but one to where theice-box stood. But the sun was in a mischievous mood, and he aimed hisbeams again and again at the parlor windows in hopes that he couldsqueeze himself in and fade a sofa or a bit of carpet. And finally he didget in through a tiny space at the side of a shade which was pulled downcrooked, when, to his great disgust, he found newspapers spread all overthat very blue satin sofa he was after. Miss Priscilla had looked out forjust such a trick, and the sun concluded he would have to get up veryearly in the morning to get ahead of Miss Priscilla Flint.

  Always during the summer months Primrose Hall had its doors and windowsthrown open soon after daybreak, to "air" the house, and at eight o'clockprecisely they were all closed again, and the shades drawn to preservethe carpets and furniture from any possible contamination of sun anddust. This caused a sort of artificial night during the middle of theday, but the Primrose ladies were used to it, and went about the darkenedhouse like cats or bats or owls or moles, or any other creatures who cansee in the dark.

  Miss Priscilla Flint was the older of the sisters, and therefore wasnominally mistress of Primrose Hall. But it was her habit in everyhousehold matter to express her opinion at length, and then to ask MissDorinda what she thought about it. And as Miss Dorinda's opinion alwayscoincided with Miss Priscilla's it would be impossible to say what wouldhave happened if it hadn't.

  On this particular morning, then, when the sun was baffled in his attemptto fade even a streak on the blue satin sofa, and was so provoked aboutit that he went behind a cloud to sulk, and stayed there quite a littlewhile, Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda sat in the morning-room holdingtheir after-breakfast conference.

  "It seems to me," Miss Priscilla was saying, "that spring has really comeat last. I saw a fly in the library yesterday morning. I didn't speak ofit to you, for I thought I might have been mistaken, as I had on mynear-glasses, but Martha says she saw it too, so there can be no doubtabout it. And I think, Dorinda, that as we go to the sewing-societyto-morrow, and it may rain the next day, I think that to-day we willclean the attic."

  "Yes, sister," said Miss Dorinda, "it is quite time, and we will setabout it at once."

  Cleaning the attic was a mere figure of speech, for how can any one cleanwhat is already spick and span, and speckless?

  But although frequent periodical sweepings and dustings kept every nookand cranny of Primrose Hall as bright as a new penny, yet a semi-annualhousecleaning occurred as regularly as the spring and fall came; and,indeed, I daresay the Misses Flint thought that spring and fall wereinvented as comfortable seasons for the performance.

  The morning-room at Primrose Hall had a wide bay-window in which were twogreat arm-chairs facing each other, and in these chairs the two ladiessat every morning while they systematically planned the day'soccupations.

  Near Miss Priscilla's hand was a bell, and after she had pressed it,Bridget, the cook, appeared--automatically, it seemed--in the doorway,which, by the way, she nearly filled.

  Miss Priscilla gave her the kitchen orders for the day, then dismissedher and rang for Martha, the waitress.

  Then Martha came and stood in the doorway. She was a pretty young Germangirl, and seemed to be attired principally in starched pieces.

  "Martha," said Miss Priscilla, pleasantly, "to-day we will clean theattic. Send Matthew after Mrs. Dolan and her granddaughter to assist us,and we will start at ten o'clock."

  Martha disappeared with a starchy rustle, and Miss Priscilla and MissDorinda went to make their toilettes for the great event.

  Their housecleaning costumes had been renewed, but never varied, duringmany springs and falls; and when attired for the fray, each good ladywore a black stuff skirt, short and scant, a white muslin sacque with abit of neat embroidery at throat and wrists, and a huge checked ginghamapron. As Miss Priscilla observed, "No one can work if she is consciousof her clothes," and this garb had been chosen as the best possiblecompromise between usefulness and comeliness. On their dignified headsthe sisters wore ruffled sweeping-caps made of shiny muslin, and in theway of accoutrements, each carried a pair of scissors, a ball of string,a paper of pins, some sheets of paper, and a pencil.

  Precisely at ten o'clock the procession formed and solemnly ascended theattic stairs. Miss Priscilla went first, then Miss Dorinda, then Martha,with dusters, hammer and tacks, camphor-balls and moth-powders. Then Mrs.Dolan, with big broom, little broom, and dust-pans. Then Mrs. Dolan'sgranddaughter, with soap, pail, scrub-brush, and floor-cloths, andsedately following all walked Tabby, the cat.

  Having arrived at the scene of action, Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorindaset themselves to work, and at the same time gave orders to theirassistants, which were vigorously carried out, and soon the attic seemedto be in the path of a well-trained cyclone. Quilts and feather beds wereshaken and beaten; trunks and chests were emptied of contents which wereunrolled, inspected, rolled up again, patted and punched, and returned totheir places. Discarded garments were critically examined to see whatshould be given away and what should be packed in tar-balls for thesummer.

  "This gray barege always makes me think of chicken-pie," said MissDorinda, unfolding an old-fashioned skirt.

  "Why?" said Miss Priscilla, in muffled tones, by reason of her head andshoulders being deep in a huge trunk.

  "Because I wore it the day Ann Haskell came to see us. Do you remember?She came in the morning to spend the day, and she stayed a full-fledgedweek. I thought she never would clear herself off. And she wantedchicken-pie made for her."

  "Yes," said Miss Priscilla; "and then when she got it she wouldn't eatit."

  "No; and we couldn't eat it, because she _would_ have onions in it. Andthe cats wouldn't eat it: nothing would eat it, and at last we had tothrow it away."

  "I suppose we're not very hospitable," said Miss Priscilla; "but I
justhate to have company, they upset things so."

  "But sometimes it seems a duty," said her sister.

  "Not at all; that's where you're silly, Dorinda. I believe in charity,and giving of our worldly goods to help our less fortunate neighbors; butthat doesn't mean we're to open our doors and let them all come in andmake themselves at home. Do you remember when Ann Haskell came again, androde up in a hack from the station, bringing a big bag with her?"

  "Yes; and you told the driver to come for her again directly afterdinner."

  "I did, or she would have stayed another week. My, but she wassurprised!"

  "I know it; _I_ couldn't do anything like that!"

  "Then you're a coward, Dorinda. It is certainly cowardly to have companybecause you're afraid to tell them they can't stay. Now here's anothermatter. The Dorcas Circle wants to make up a box of clothing for thosefire-sufferers; so what do you think of giving them some of Lavinia'sthings?"

  "Oh!" gasped Miss Dorinda, in a startled tone.

  "I think we may as well," went on Miss Priscilla. "It's fourteen yearsnow since Lavinia died. They say, keep a thing seven years, and you'llhave use for it again; but we've kept these things twice over sevenyears, and I don't see how they can ever be of use to us, except to giveaway."

  "Well," said Miss Dorinda, still dazed, "perhaps you are right."

  Lavinia Flint, the younger, very much younger sister of these two ladies,had run away from her home fifteen years ago to marry a dashing youngsoldier named Jack Lovell, and had sailed with him to India. A year or solater the Flint ladies heard from Mr. Lovell that his wife had died,leaving a tiny baby named Lavinia. He sent them no address, so they couldnot have answered his letter if they had wanted to. And they had nodesire to answer it, for they looked upon their sister as lost to themfrom the day of her elopement, and they had no wish to see her husband orchild.

  The Flints were a hard-hearted, stiff-necked race, and if one of thefamily did wrong, the others felt no relenting mercy because of ties ofblood.

  And so when Lavinia went away, her pretty dresses and other girlishfinery were packed away in the attic, and had lain there ever since.

  She was so much younger than her sisters that they had petted her as achild, and had taken great pleasure in her girlish enjoyments. But whenshe left them, with only a note to say she had eloped with Jack Lovell,their hearts hardened, and they now rarely mentioned her, even to eachother.

  And so year after year the trunks of Lavinia's clothing had been lookedover and put in order, with no reference to their future disposition,until now Miss Priscilla concluded the time had come.

  But when they shook out the old-fashioned gowns, the lovely taffetas andorgandies and embroidered muslins did seem inappropriate to send topeople who were suffering for plain, substantial clothing.

  "Oh, my!" said Mrs. Dolan's granddaughter, her eyes as big as saucers, asshe looked at the beautiful show, "ain't them just elegant! I wisht I wasa fire-sufferer, or a freshet victim."

  "How well I remember Vinnie in that flowery frock," said Miss Dorinda;"she looked like a spring blossom herself, she was so pretty and fresh."

  Miss Dorinda sighed; but Miss Priscilla shut her teeth together with asnap, and returned the dresses to their trunks and shut down thetrunk-lids with a snap, and the cleaning of the attic went on again.

  Except during an interval for luncheon, the workers worked all day, andat five o'clock the attic was cleaned, and the procession fileddown-stairs again.

  "Deary me," said Miss Dorinda, as she reached her own room, "how tired Iam! I believe I grow older every year. Are you tired, sister?"

  "Yes; but I'm so thankful that the attic is done. When that's over Ialways feel like singing the long-meter doxology."

  "Well, I'm too tired to sing; I'll rest a bit before dinner."