Barbara Ladd Part 9

"She could see two battered old tallow dips, when she couldn't see the moon!" added Doctor Jim, solemnly.

There was always a relish of peril in rallying Barbara, whose audacity in retort was one of the scandals of Second Westings. She flashed her white teeth upon them in a naughty smile, and her eyes danced as she kissed Mistress Mehitable on both cheeks.

"Of _course_," she cried. "n.o.body knows better than you two great big dears what a perfect little fool I've been, not to be in love with Aunt Hitty all this time."

"Barbara!" protested Mistress Mehitable, in a tone of rebuke,--and then again, bethinking herself, "Barbara, child!" in a tone of appeal.

"But now, you can tell a hawk from a handsaw, eh, baggage?" chuckled Doctor John; while Doctor Jim exploded noisily, and then, checking himself, cast upon Mistress Mehitable a glance of apprehension.

But Barbara had heeded neither the rebuke nor the appeal.

"I know, I know," she went on, clapping her hands with delight. "You didn't _want_ me to find her out,--you didn't want me to know how lovely she is! Conspirators! I won't love you any more, either of you. And I'm going to keep Aunt Hitty all to myself here; and not let you even _see_ her; and make you both so jealous you'll wish you had let me run away in the canoe and get drowned in the rapids."

"Barbara, Barbara," murmured Mehitable.

Doctor Jim wagged his great head, and growled inarticulately.

"It's we who are the victims of conspiracy, John," said he. "If Mehitable and Barbara have discovered each other, what becomes of us, I'd like to know! But it sha'n't last. We'll sow seeds of dissension presently,--eh, what?"

"Just let us wait till Bobby Gault comes!" suggested Doctor John, with gentle malice.

Barbara's face grew grave on the instant.

"Of course, Aunt Hitty, they have told you all about Robert," she said, earnestly, "but all they know about his reasons is what he told them himself, you know. And he was determined to shield me, of course. But it was _all_ my fault. How could he know how bad and foolish I was? I just mixed him all up; and it makes me ashamed to think how horrid I was; and I will never forgive myself. But you mustn't let them prejudice you against Robert, honey,--but just wait and see what you think of him yourself, won't you, please?"

Mistress Mehitable smiled, and exchanged looks with Doctor John and Doctor Jim.

"Really, dear," said she, "they have not given me any very bad impressions of Robert. I think both Doctor John and Doctor Jim knew where to put the blame. And _I_ know, too!"

Barbara looked at her doubtfully. Such complete acceptance of her position almost seemed unkind and critical. But her aunt's smile rea.s.sured her. This was not criticism, but something as near raillery as Mistress Mehitable would permit herself.

"I believe they have been abusing me behind my back,--and they pretending to love me!" cried Barbara, tossing her head in saucy challenge.

"Never, child; we hug our delusions, Jim Pigeon and I," said Doctor John.

"No, hug me," laughed Barbara, darting around the tea-table and seating herself on his lap.

"You are our worst delusion, baggage!" said Doctor Jim, shaking a large finger at her. "And now I see you're setting out to delude your poor aunt, after making life a burden to her for two years. And poor Bobby Gault,--he'll find you a delusion and a snare!"

"I think you are unkind, even if you are just in fun," protested Barbara, half offended, half amused. But at this moment both men rose to go. Doctor John, as he raised his towering bulk from the chair, lifted Barbara with him as if she had been a baby, held her in his arms for a moment while he peered lovingly and quizzically into her swiftly clearing face, gave her a resounding kiss, and set her on her feet.

"Bless the child!" said Doctor Jim, noticing now for the first time the change in appearance. "What's become of our little Barbara? How she's grown up over night!"

"And how her petticoats have grown down!" added Doctor John, backing off to survey her critically. "Tut, tut, the wanton hussy! How did she dare to kiss me! Goodness gracious! To think I had a young woman like that sitting on my lap!"

"You had better be careful what you say, Doctor John," retorted Barbara, firmly, "or I _will_ be grown up, and never kiss you or let you hold me on your lap any more!"

"I humbly crave your pardon, gracious fair. I am your most devoted, humble servant!" said Doctor John, setting his heels together at a precise right angle, and bowing profoundly over her hand till his brocaded coat-tails stuck out stiffly behind him.

Barbara rather liked this hand-kissing, after Robert's initiation, and took it with composure as her due. Why should she not have her hand kissed, as well as Aunt Hitty? But Doctor Jim made his farewell in different fashion.

"I won't have her grow up this way!" he growled, s.n.a.t.c.hing her up and holding her as if he feared she would be taken away from him. "She's just our little Barby, our little, th.o.r.n.y brier-rose! Eh--what?"

"Our _barby_ brier-rose, you mean!" interjected Doctor John, with a chuckle.

But every one ignored this poor witticism, and Doctor Jim continued, while Barbara softly kicked her toes against his waistcoat. "It would break my heart to have her grown up, and young missish, and prim. What have you done to her, Mehitable?"

Mistress Mehitable gave a clear little ripple of laughter, flute-like and fresh. She was feeling younger and gayer than she had felt for years.

"I have just tried to carry out your own suggestion, Jim!" said she, cheerfully. "I must say, I think it was a very wise suggestion. I have handed Barbara over to her own care, that's all. I am sorry you don't like the results!"

"Don't worry, Doctor Jim!" cried Barbara, purchasing her release by kissing him hard on both cheeks. "Don't worry about me being changed.

I was _born_ bad, you know. And I'm afraid I'll be just as bad as ever by to-morrow--except to Aunt Hitty! If I'm bad to you any more, dear,"--and she turned impetuously to Mistress Mehitable, "I'll--I'll--" and feeling a sudden imperious threat of tears, she fled away to her own room. It had been a wonderful, wonderful day for her, and she felt that she must have a little cry at once. On her white bed she wept deliciously. Then she thought, and thought, and thought, and made resolves, in sympathetic communion with her pillow.

In the parlour below, Doctor Jim had said, before leaving:

"I think you are going to get a lot of comfort out of her now, Mehitable, eh, what?"

And Doctor John, troubled by a maudlin kind of moisture about his eyes, had said nothing.

And Mistress Mehitable had said, fervently:

"I hope she is going to get a lot of comfort out of me, Jim. I see that I have been greatly in the wrong!"

CHAPTER XIV.

All the next morning Mistress Mehitable and Barbara were busy overhauling Barbara's frocks. Such as would admit of it were let down some three or four inches. Of the others, two of rich material were laid away in Mistress Mehitable's huge carved oak chest lined with cedar, a repository of varied treasures of the loom. The rest, three in number and plain of weave, were set aside to be given to Mercy Chapman. There was much important planning, much interesting consultation; and in this feminine intimacy they grew ever closer to each other, throwing off the watchful self-consciousness, the sense of admiring and reciprocal discovery, which made them more happy than at ease in each other's company.

Early in the afternoon Barbara decided she would go out to her favourite apple-tree in the back garden and read. She openly took down the second volume of "Clarissa Harlowe,"--having already got through the first volume in surrept.i.tious moments. Mistress Mehitable discreetly, but with difficulty and some soul-questioning, refrained from admonition. Barbara felt in her heart a faint quaver of trepidation, as she thus frankly a.s.sumed her independence; but she had the full courage of her convictions, and outwardly she was calm.

"Mr. Richardson does not seem to me a very strong writer," she remarked at the door,--"especially after one has read those wonderful plays of Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Ben Jonson, as I did at home in Maryland! But every one should know 'Clarissa,' shouldn't they, dear?"

Mistress Mehitable gasped. She, too, had read those wonderful plays of Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Ben Jonson. But she was thoroughbred, and gave no sign of her dismay.

"I never liked the lady, myself, dear," she answered, casually. "She always seemed to me rather silly."

This was Barbara's own judgment, and confirmed her new appreciation of her aunt's intelligence. At the same time, this apparently easy acceptance, on Mistress Mehitable's part, of Barbara's emanc.i.p.ation, seemed almost too good to be true. Her heart swelled pa.s.sionately toward this blue-eyed, calm, patrician little woman, whom she had so long misunderstood. She came back, put a caressing arm around Mistress Mehitable's waist, kissed her fervently, and looked deep into her eyes.

Mistress Mehitable actually trembled in the recesses of her soul lest that searching gaze should discover what she had nearly said about young girls and novel-reading! But she kept the blue deeps of her eyes clear and tranquil, and her lips smiled frank response.

"Oh, you are so good and wonderful and wise, honey," Barbara said, at length. "What a foolish, foolish child I've been,--and you, my dear, dear father's sister! Why, just to look at you ought to have brought me to my senses. So _many_ ways you look like him!"

Then a thing very remarkable indeed took place. Mistress Mehitable's fine poise wavered and vanished. She almost clutched Barbara to her breast, then buried her head on the firm young shoulders and cried a little quite unrestrainedly, feeling a great ache in her heart for her dead brother Winthrop, and a great love in her heart for her dead brother's child. Barbara was surprised, but greatly touched by this outburst. She held her close, and patted her hair, and called her soft names suddenly remembered from the soft-voiced endearments of plantation days; till presently Mistress Mehitable recovered, and laughed gently through her tears.

"Don't think me silly, dear," she pleaded, "but I've just realised for the first time that you have your dear father's wonderful eyes. Your colouring, and your hair, and your mouth, are all very different from his. But your eyes,--they are his _exactly_. Such wonderful, deep, clear, _true_ eyes, Barbara, sometimes sea-gray, sometimes sea-green.

Where have my eyes been all this time?"