CHAPTER XXI
PREPARING TO LEAVE
Mr. Force went at once to his writing desk to write letters—one to the New York agent of the Cunard line of ocean steamers; another to his overseer at Mondreer, and a third to Miss Grandiere.
When all these were dispatched he joined his family circle in the parlor.
The talk ran on events of the day.
“The proceedings were much less formal than I had supposed they would be,” Mrs. Force remarked.
Mr. Force laughed, and said:
“This reminds me of the first habeas corpus case I ever witnessed. In my youth I was traveling in the far West, and stopped, to get over an attack of chills, at the first house that would take me in. It was a better sort of log cabin, on the farm of Judge Starr, one of the judges of the Supreme Court of the State; and it was occupied by the judge, his wife and a hired boy. I had to sleep in the loft with the hired boy. The judge and his wife occupied the room below as parlor, bedroom, dining room and kitchen——”
“Oh, what living for civilized and enlightened human beings!” exclaimed Mrs. Force.
“He lives in a five-hundred-thousand-dollar house now, my dear, and if it were not irreverent to say so, I might almost add that his ‘cattle’ are ‘upon a thousand hills.’ But that is not the point now. On the morning after my arrival I heard the judge say to his wife—for you could hear through the gaping planks of the loft floor every word that was spoken in the room below—I heard him say:
“‘That case of little Valley Henley will come up to-day.’
“‘Will it?’ she replied. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what to do, Nick! You leave it to the child herself.’
“‘I will,’ said the judge.”
“And yet they say women have no power! And here was the wife of one of the judges of the supreme court of the State, ordering him what to do!” exclaimed Wynnette.
“Well,” continued Mr. Force, “about ten o’clock, having taken a warm cup of coffee, brought up to me by Mrs. Judge, and having got over the fever that followed the chill, I arose and dressed and went downstairs. But Mrs. Judge was ‘in the suds,’ and the room was full of hot steam; so I walked out into the back yard, where I found the judge in his red shirt sleeves, sawing wood. Almost before I could say good-morning, came the hired boy and proclaimed:
“‘They’re come.’
“‘Bring them right in here,’ said the judge, and he threw down his saw and seated himself astraddle the log on the wood horse.
“And then came half a dozen or more of men with a pale, scared little girl among them. An orphan child, she was, with plenty of money, and she was claimed by two uncles, one of whom had taken out a writ of habeas corpus, to compel the other to bring her before the judge, to decide who should have her.
“Well, there was a lawyer on each side, and witnesses on each side, and plenty of hard swearing and bold lying on both sides. And the judge sat in his red flannel shirt sleeves, astride the log on the wood horse, and stroked his stubble beard of a week’s growth, and listened patiently. The poor little object of dispute stood and trembled, until the judge noticed her and lifted her upon his knees, put his arm around her waist and held her there, saying:
“‘Don’t be afraid, little woman. No one shall hurt you in any way.’
“And the child plucked up her little spirits, and the judge listened first to one lawyer and then to the other, while they each exhausted all their law on the case, without affecting the issue in the least degree—for the result lay in the will of that helpless, orphan child, whose little head lay against the judge’s red shirt. While they all talked themselves hoarse, the judge listened gravely, but spoke never a word.
“And Mrs. Judge came in and out of the yard, hanging her clothes on the line.
“When they could talk no longer they were obliged to be silent, and then the judge lifted the child’s head from his bosom, sat her up straight, and asked her:
“‘Now, my little woman, let us hear what you have got to say, as you are the most interested party. Which uncle had you rather go and live with?’
“It was some time before the frightened child found courage to open her lips, but when, reassured by the manner of the judge, she did speak, it was to the purpose.
“‘Oh, sir, please, I want to go back to dear Uncle Ben! Mamma did leave me to Uncle Ben; indeed, indeed, the Lord knows that she did! And I don’t know Mr. Holloway! And no more did she! I never saw Mr. Holloway till he came here after me to take me away off to Portland.’
“‘Very well, you shall go back to Uncle Ben,’ said the judge, and raising his voice, he continued: ‘Mr. Benjamin Truman, here is your niece and ward. Take her, and take care of her.’
“A rough backwoodsman came forward and took the little maiden in his arms and kissed her, and then touched his hat to the judge on the wood horse and led the happy child away.
“And then a polished gentleman threw himself into a passion, and used objectionable language that might have subjected him to fine and imprisonment, had the law been administered to him in its severity. But the good judge only said:
“‘If you are not satisfied, there’s the orphans’ court—though, I have no doubt, that also would leave the child in the custody of her present guardian.’
“And with this the judge got off his ‘bench,’ took up his saw and resumed his work.
“And half the crowd went off swearing and threatening, and the other half laughing and cheering. That was my first experience in habeas corpus. Judge Starr has risen to wealth, power and position since then; children came to him among other good gifts, and his eldest daughter has lately married an English nobleman, who is quite as noble ‘in nature as in rank.’”
“Oh, I like that judge! I am glad he rose in the world!” exclaimed little Elva.
“I would like to see him,” murmured poor Odalite, won for the moment from the contemplation of her own woes.
“My love, for the last three years you have met him many, many times,” said her father.
“Met him!—here, in Washington? But I don’t remember any Judge Starr.”
“That was a fictitious name. I could not use his real name in telling such a story—though I don’t know why, either. But, my dear, he is now one of the judges of the Supreme Court of the United States. You cannot fail to identify him.”
“Oh, I know! I know!” exclaimed Odalite, with a bright smile.
“Who was it? Which was it? What was his name?” came in a dozen tones from the young people present.
“No; since papa has not named him, I must not,” said Odalite.
And then the sound of the supper bell summoned them to the table.
Two days after that Mr. Force received a letter from the New York agent of the Cunard line of steamers, telling him that the first steamer on which they could accommodate so large a party as the Forces’ would be the Persia, which would sail on the twenty-eighth of May. There were not so many ocean steamers then as now, and people had to secure their passages a long way beforehand.
“The twenty-eighth of may! Nearly two months! What a nuisance! But it is because there are so many of us! Seven cabin passengers for the first, and two for the second cabin! However, wife, I will tell you what we will do: We will go down to Mondreer to spend the intervening time; and we will give up this house at once. You know our lease expired on the first of April—two days ago—and we are only staying here a few days on sufferance, because the house is not wanted at this season. Yes; we will go down to Mondreer. What do you say?” inquired Abel Force of his wife, to whom he had just read the agent’s letter.
“We will go down to Mondreer as soon as the Grandieres have finished their visit. We invited them for a week, you know, and they have been here but three days, and have seen but little of the city. And as to the house, I suppose we will pay at the same rate at which we leased it, so long as we shall stay,” replied Mrs. Force.
The evening mail brought a letter from Beever, the overseer at Mondreer, giving good accounts of the estate; and also a letter from Miss Grandiere, acquiescing in Mr. Force’s plans, and begging on the part of her sister, Mrs. Hedge, as well as on her own, that Mr. and Mrs. Force would use their own judgment in all matters connected with Rosemary and the voyage; only stipulating that the child should be sent home to visit her friends before going abroad.
Mr. Force wrote and mailed three letters that afternoon. One to the New York agent of the Cunard steamships, engaging accommodations for his whole party for the Persia, on the twenty-eighth of May; another to Beever, expressing satisfaction at the report of affairs at Mondreer, and announcing his speedy return with his family to their country home; and a third to Miss Grandiere, telling her that Rosemary would be with her in a few days.
Then Mr. Force turned his attention to the young guests of the family, and put himself out a little to show them around Washington City and its suburbs.
Mrs. Force, meanwhile, at the head of her household, was busy with her packing and other preparations for their removal to Mondreer and their after voyage to Europe.
Every day she sent off boxes by express to Mondreer.
And so the week passed.
Nothing, meantime, had been heard of Col. Anglesea, until Mr. Force put a private detective upon his track, who reported, at the end of the week, that the colonel had left Washington for Quebec.
That was a relief, at least.
It was the tenth of April before the Grandieres finally concluded to return home, and then Mrs. Force, supported by her own girls, begged that they would remain until the whole family were ready to go to Mondreer, that all might travel together; for the lady did not wish that the news of Odalite’s second interrupted wedding should reach the neighborhood and get distorted by gossip before their own return to their country home.
It was, therefore, on a fine day, the twelfth of April, that the large party of family and guests left the city home in the care of the janitor sent by the landlord, and took the train en route for Mondreer.