CHAPTER XXV
THE FIRST VISITORS
As soon as Mrs. Force opened the door Dr. Ingle stepped rapidly to meet her, with both hands extended.
“Welcome back to us! Dear friend! Only this morning we heard of your arrival through Ned Grandiere, who came to my office early to ask me to call and see one of the colored folks on his farm; but Natalie immediately took a fit, and declared that I must bring her and the babies here before going anywhere else! So here they are, and now I must be off to Oldfields.”
Before the doctor had half finished this speech Natalie herself was in Mrs. Force’s arms, laughing and crying for joy.
“Well, well! I must say good-by, madam!” exclaimed the doctor, rather impatiently, as he held out his hands to the lady of the house.
“I suppose I must not detain you from your patients; but I cannot let you go until you have promised to return to dinner, and to spend the evening with us,” said Mrs. Force.
“I thank you! I promise! Good-morning!” And the doctor bowed himself out of the drawing room.
“Oh, you sweet little thing! You lovely, lovely little thing!” cooed Elva, seated upon a hassock, with the few months old baby across her lap.
“These are your children, Natalie? What fine children they are,” said Mrs. Force, as they all resumed their seats.
“Do you think so? I am glad you think so,” replied the proud young mother. “Come here, Effie, and speak to this lady,” she continued, taking a little, white-robed toddler by the hand and leading her up to Mrs. Force.
The little one stood before the lady, with her chin down on her bosom, and her soft brown eyes turned shyly up to her hostess.
“Make your courtesy now to the lady,” said her mother.
The little creature obeyed and dropped her courtesy, still turning her soft brown eyes, full of reverence and admiration, up to her hostess’ face.
“So this is my little namesake?” said Mrs. Force, lifting the child upon her lap.
“Yes, named Elfrida, for you and Elva; but we call her Effie, and she calls herself Essie,” said the young mother.
“Ah! is that your name, little one?” inquired the lady, stroking the child’s curls.
“Es, ma’am—Essie,” replied the baby.
“And what else besides Essie?”
“Essie—Indy, ma’am.”
“Oh, Essie Ingle—is that it?”
“Es, ma’am; Essie—Indy.”
“And how old are you, Essie?”
“Me—two—doin’ on fee.”
Mrs. Force looked at the mother for a translation of these words.
“She is two years, going on three,” laughed little Mrs. Ingle.
Mrs. Force continued her catechism of the child, who answered in broken baby language, but with rare intelligence, and still with such simple reverence and admiration as touched the lady’s heart.
“Oh, Natalie!” she said, “can there be anything more spirit-searching to a grown-up sinner than the innocent reverence and trust of a child! Lo! they think us so wise and so good, while we know ourselves to be so foolish and evil! Ah me, Natalie!”
Young Mrs. Ingle made no reply, but looked puzzled and distressed while little Essie put up her hand timidly—reverentially, and stroked the fair cheek of the lady, with some vague instinct of tenderness and sympathy.
“Oh, mamma, look at little Wynnie! sweet, little Wynnie! You have not noticed her yet!” said Elva, reproachfully, as she arose, and brought the infant to her mother.
“Wynnie?” inquired Mrs. Force, looking up into Natalie Ingle’s face, as she sat Essie on the carpet and took the babe on her lap.
“Yes, we have named her Wynnette, and we call her Wynnie. She is not christened yet. We waited for you to come home,” Natalie explained.
They were interrupted by other visitors.
The Rev. Dr. Peters and Mrs. Peters came to welcome their old friends to the neighborhood.
“Three years and three months since you left the neighborhood, madam,” said the rector, when the first greetings were over. “And dear, dear, what changes three years have made! Your two younger daughters have grown so much! Wynnette is a young lady. Elva soon will be one. And Odalite, madam? I hope she is well.”
“Odalite is quite well, thank you, Dr. Peters. She has gone over to Greenbushes, but she will be back to dinner. You and Mrs. Peters, I hope, will give us the happiness of your company for the day,” said the lady.
“Thank you, very much; but on this first day after your return home——”
“Now, doctor, I will take no denial. Wynnette, my love, go and tell Jacob to put up the doctor’s carriage and horse. Mrs. Peters, will you lay off your bonnet here, or will you go to a room?”
“I will go upstairs, if you please, dear. You see I have my cap in this little bandbox,” replied the rector’s wife.
So they had come to stay! And, of course, Mrs. Force knew that well enough when she invited them.
An old couple, like the good rector and his wife, could not be expected to come so long a drive only to make a short call.
Mrs. Force conducted her latest guest upstairs to a spare room, where the old lady took off her black Canton crape shawl, and her black silk bonnet, and put on her lace cap with white satin ribbons.
And then they went down together.
When they returned to the drawing room they found the place deserted.
Wynnette had carried off young Mrs. Ingle and the two babies to her own and Elva’s room, which was now converted into a day nursery, where Natalie, seated in a low rocking-chair, was putting her baby to sleep, while Elva, with a picture book, was quietly amusing Essie.
“Now, Natty, dear, as you know you are quite at home, you must excuse me, and let me go down to Dr. Peters, who is alone in the drawing room,” said Wynnette, as she kissed her ex-governess and dear friend and left the chamber.
But when she reached the hall below she found that the good rector was well taken care of.
Through the open hall door she saw him and her father walking up and down the piazza, enjoying the fine spring day, and smoking some of the squire’s fine cigars.
So Wynnette went into the drawing room, where she found her mother and the rector’s wife, who had just entered the place.
More visitors.
The gallop and halt of a horse was heard without, and soon after Mr. Sam Grandiere, escorted by Mr. Force and Dr. Peters, entered the drawing room, and made his bow to the lady of the house and her guest, and then shook hands with Wynnette and sat down, looking as red-headed, freckle-faced, bashful and awkward as ever.
He remarked that it was a fine day, though bad for the wheat crop, which wanted rain; and then he hoped that Mrs. Force and the young ladies felt rested after their journey.
Mrs. Force thanked him, and replied that the whole family were quite recovered from any little fatigue they might have felt.
The rector, to help the bashful young fellow out, inquired how he had enjoyed his trip to Washington, and what he thought of the city.
Young Sam was not to be “improved” in that way. He made a characteristic reply. Ignoring every object of interest within the city’s bounds, he answered that he thought the land about Washington very poor indeed, and very badly farmed, and crops looked very unpromising. He thought the soil had been too hard worked, and too little manured, and that it wanted rest and food, so to speak.
“But the city, my dear boy, the city! What do you think of the city, the great capital of a great nation?” persisted the minister.
“The city!” Well, Mr. Sam Grandiere didn’t think much of the city. There didn’t seem to be much downright, solid, earnest business going on there, like there was in Baltimore; and, for his part, he didn’t see how the people lived, except such as were in the service of the government. No, bad as the country was round about Washington, the city was even worse—even less productive.
The rector took up cudgels in defense of the national seat of government; spoke of the public buildings—the capitol, the departments, the patent office, the navy yard—and so on.
But Mr. Sam Grandiere could not see any profit or “produce” in any of them.
So the rector gave him over to a reprobate spirit.
Presently Mrs. Ingle—having left both her babies asleep upstairs, with Elva lovingly watching over them—came down into the drawing room and greeted the minister and his wife, and also Mr. Force, whom she had not earlier seen.
“You have grown plumper and rosier in the last three years, my dear. I should scarcely recognize in you the pale, delicate young bride whom I gave away to the worthy doctor. Ah! I see how it is! He has enforced the laws of health,” said the squire, as he warmly shook her hand.
“Yes; that is it,” replied Natalie. “He makes my life a burden to me with régime and hygiene.”
At this moment Le and Odalite walked into the room.
Le shook hands with the rector and his wife, while Odalite literally threw herself into the arms of Natalie.
And a few minutes later, when she had greeted all her parents’ guests, she went upstairs with young Mrs. Ingle to feast her eyes on the sleeping babies over which Elva was proudly and tenderly watching.
There the two friends sat down and had a good, long talk—all about the young doctor’s prospects, the young couple’s home, the neighbors, and so forth; but not once did they speak of Odalite’s trials. Odalite herself never alluded to the subject, nor did Natalie dare to do so.
And it may here be said that the reticence which was observed in the seclusion of the bedchamber was practiced in the social circle of the drawing room.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Force mentioned the subject of their family troubles, nor could their guests venture to do so.
Elfrida dreaded the indiscreet tongue of the lady from Wild Cats’; so she was greatly relieved, when she went out to caution Mrs. Anglesea, to hear that honest woman say:
“Let’s try to be jolly this one day, and forget all about my rascal and our troubles! ’Deed, do you know I have told everybody in this county how he treated me, so that they all know it as well as their a b c? And that’s a rhyme come out of time. I didn’t intend it, but I can’t mend it. I say! hold on here! there is something the matter with my headpiece! I never composed no poetry before and didn’t mean to do it now! It come out so itself! But you needn’t be afeard of me talking about Skallawag Anglesea! I’m sick to death of the name of him!” concluded the lady from the mines.
Mrs. Force then turned to receive young Dr. Ingle, who had just driven up in his gig and was now entering the front door, while old Jake took his equipage around to the stables.
Half an hour later dinner was served. And, in spite of all drawbacks, it proved a happy reunion of old friends.
After dinner the carriages were ordered, and the visitors departed.