Fernley House Part 3

"But you swept it yesterday, Elizabeth, and I dusted all the ornaments myself, and put them back in place. It only needs a few fresh flowers, I am sure," said Margaret.

Elizabeth turned on her a face of affectionate reproach. "Miss Margaret, you don't mean that. Mr. Montfort's own nephew, and the room not touched to-day! I'll go this minute and see to it. But if you would pick out the towels you think he would like best, Miss, please; gentlemen do be that fussy about towels, as there's no pleasing some of them, though being Mr. Montfort's nephew, likely he'll be different. Give him the finest huckaback, and Mr. Montfort is easy satisfied, so long as there's no fringes. He never could abide fringe to his towels, and there's no person with sense as wouldn't agree with him. And if you would see to the bureau-scarf and the flowers, Miss Margaret--there! she's gone, and not a word about what table-napkins I am to use! I like to see them young, so I do, but they're terrible heedless. I expect I'd best put the finest out, for Mr. Montfort's nephew."

CHAPTER IV.

UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA

"Margaret, I have an idea!"

"I am so glad, Uncle John; your ideas are always pleasant ones, especially when they make your eyes twinkle. Is this about more dogs?"

"No, no, child. Do you think I have no soul except for dogs? I was thinking--why, you see,--this is a delightful fellow, this nephew of mine."

"Isn't he, Uncle? I never saw a more interesting person, I think. How well he talks, and how much he knows!"

"Yes, and right-minded, too; singularly right-minded. Jim has done well, certainly, by his children, and is very fortunate in them. H'm! yes. Who would have thought, thirty years ago, that things would have turned out in this way? Old Jim!"

Here Mr. Montfort fell into a brown study, and only roused himself after some time, to ask Margaret what were her orders for the day.

"Why, Uncle John! And you have never told me your idea."

"Bless me! so I haven't. Age, my dear child, age! Such a fine idea as it is, too. Listen, then! as I was saying, Hugh Montfort is a charming fellow."

"Yes, Uncle John."

"And Peggy Montfort is a charming girl."

"Certainly she is. Dear Peggy!"

"We may not unreasonably infer, therefore, that other members of the family may be charming also. Now, my idea is this. Peggy is not going home this summer; why would it not be a good plan to send for her nearest sister--Jean, isn't she?--to come here and meet her brother and sister, and all have a good time together? What do you say?"

"Uncle John! I say that you are the very cleverest person in the world, as well as the dearest."

"A little house-party, you see," Mr. Montfort went on, beaming with pleasure at the delight that shone in Margaret's face. "And--we shall want another lad, it seems to me, possibly two lads. Why not ask young Merryweather and his brother for a couple of weeks? You liked the young fellow?"

"Oh, certainly, Uncle John!" Margaret suddenly became interested in tying up the Crimson Rambler that was straying over the verandah-rail.

"Yes, indeed, I thought him very nice."

"And you like the idea? You don't think it would make too much work, too much responsibility, my dear little niece?"

Margaret was still busy with the rose, which proved quite refractory, but it was clear that she thought nothing of the sort. It would be altogether delightful, she said; and as for care--why, she had been longing for something to take her mind off missing the children, and--

"And to see Jean, too!" she cried, suddenly emerging from the rose-vine, with an unusual flush on her delicate cheek, and her gray eyes shining; "I have always wanted so to know the other Peggypods, as you call them, Uncle John; and now to have Hugh here, and Jean coming--oh, Uncle John, you are _so_ dear!"

"Then that is all right," said Uncle John; "and I will go and telegraph to old Jim and tell him to send the little girl along. Shall we tell Peggy, or leave it for a surprise, eh? What do you say?"

"The surprise, by all means; Peggy loves a surprise, you know. Oh, how can I wait a whole week to see her?"

Mr. Montfort looked with pleasure at Margaret's sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. He had hit on the right thing, evidently. Young people wanted young people; didn't he remember well enough--here he fell into a muse again, and said "Rose!" to himself two or three times. Perhaps he was thinking of the Crimson Rambler.

"Now, about rooms!" he said, waking up after a few minutes. "And we must get more help, Margaret. Frances--"

"I'll tell Elizabeth first, I think," said Margaret, thoughtfully. "She has a way of breaking things gradually to Frances, and taking the edge off them; she is really very clever about it."

"Elizabeth is a treasure," said Mr. Montfort. "So is Frances, of course, a treasure--only with dragon attachment."

"And as for the room, Uncle John--let me see! Peggy's own room is big enough for her and Jean, and I am quite sure they would like to be together. Then there are the two little east rooms that are very pleasant--or we could give the two Mr. Merryweathers the big nursery."

"That's it!" said Mr. Montfort, decidedly. "Boys like the nursery; it was made for boys. Nothing breakable in it except the crockery, and plenty of room for skylarking. Yes, my dear, get the nursery ready for them--if they come!" he added. "We are counting our chickens in fine style, Margaret. Suppose we find that Jean is in San Francisco and the Merryweathers in Alaska."

"Oh, they won't be!" cried Margaret. "They wouldn't have the heart to spoil our party. I have read about house-parties all my life, and to think that I am going to have one! Why, it is a fairy tale, Uncle John."

"So it is, my dear; so it is. You are the fairy princess, and I am the old magician--or the bear, if you like better, that used to be a prince when he was young."

"The king that used to be a bear would be more like it," said Margaret, gaily. "How about John Strong, Mr. Montfort?"

"John Strong was a useful fellow!" said her uncle, gravely. "I had a regard for John; he is getting lazy now, and rheumatic besides, and he neglects his roses shamefully, but there are still points about John.

Bring me my old hat, and the pruning-shears, and you shall see him in the flesh, Miss Margaret."

Margaret enjoyed nothing more than what she called a "rose-potter" with her uncle. He was never weary of tending his favorite flowers, and handled and spoke of them as if they were real persons. Coming now to join him, with the great shears, and the faithful old straw hat in which, as John Strong the gardener, she had first seen the beloved uncle, she found him bending over a beautiful "La France" with anxious looks.

"My dear, this lovely person is not looking well to-day. Something is wrong with her."

"Oh, Uncle, I am sorry. She had her bath last night, I know, for I gave it to her myself. What do you think is the matter? To me, she looks as silvery-lovely as usual; but you have a special pair of eyes, I know, for roses."

"I fear--I think--ah! here he is, the beast! Yes, Margaret; a caterpillar, curled up--see him! Right in the heart of this exquisite bud. No wonder the whole plant has sickened; she is very sensitive, La France. There, Madame, he is gone. Now, a little shower of qua.s.sia, just to freshen you up; eh? See, Margaret, how gratefully the beautiful creature responds. Now, Jack here,"--he pa.s.sed on to a Jacqueminot rose, covered with splendid crimson blossoms,--"Jack is thick-skinned, quite a rhinoceros by contrast with La France or the Bride. Here are--one--two--five--my patience! here are seven aphides on his poor leaves, and yet he has not curled up so much as the edge of one. Take him for all in all, Jack is as good a fellow as I know. Responsive, cordial, ready for anything--not expecting to have the whole world waiting on him, as some of these people do--ah, Hugh! Finished your letters? That's right!"

Hugh Montfort, who had come in un.o.bserved, was leaning on his stick, watching them with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Who is this Jack, if I may ask, Uncle John? He seems to be a rather remarkable sort of chap."

Mr. Montfort looked slightly confused. "Only my fantastic way of speaking of my roses," he said. "They seem like real people to me, and I am apt to call them by their names. A shame, to be sure, to take such liberties with the General. Permit me to present you in due form! M. le General Jacqueminot, I have the honor to present to you Mr. Hugh Montfort, my nephew, and--may I say admirer? The General is sensitive to admiration."

"You may indeed!" said Hugh, bowing gravely to the splendid plant.

"General, your most obedient servant! I have known others of your family, some of them, I may say, intimately, and I can truly say that I never saw a finer specimen of the race."

The General glowed responsive, and Mr. Montfort glowed too, with pleasure. "Fond of roses?" he said; "that's good! that's good! why, boy, you seem to have a great many of my tastes. How's that, hey? your father never knew one flower from another."

There was a very tender light in Hugh's eyes as he returned his uncle's look. "When I was a little chap, sir," he said, "my father used to tell me a good deal about you and Uncle Roger, the two best fellows he ever knew. I used to think--and I think still--that if I could be like them in anything I should do well; so I took to flowers because you loved them, and to books because they were Uncle Roger's delight. The big things seemed pretty big, but I thought the little ones would be better than nothing."

The glow deepened on John Montfort's cheek, and the light in his eyes; in Margaret's eyes the quick tears sprang; and with one impulse she and her uncle held out their hands. Hugh grasped them both, and there was a moment of silence that was better than speech. Hugh was the first to break it. "I have two new friends!" he said, in his sweet, cordial voice. "This day is better than I dreamed, and that is saying a good deal. But now, go on with the roses, Uncle John, please; there are several kinds here that I do not know. What is this cream-colored beauty?"

"Why, that, Hugh, is my special pride. That is a sport of my own raising; Victoria, I call her. She took a first prize at the flower show last year. We were proud, weren't we, Margaret?"