Flamsted quarries Part 8

"Did you see the junk man at The Corners to-day about those shingle nails?"

In the second of hesitation before replying, he had time inwardly to curse her. She was always letting him down in this way. It was a trick of hers when, to use his own expression, she had "something up her sleeve."

"Yes; but he won't take them off our hands."

"Why not?" She spoke sharply as was her way when she suspected any thwarting of her will or desire.

"He says he won't give you your price for they ain't worth it. They ain't particular good for old iron anyway; most on 'em's rusty and crooked. You know they've been on the old coach house for good thirty years, and the Judge used to say--"

"What will he give?"

"A quarter of a cent a pound."

"How many pounds are there?"

"Fifty-two."

"Fifty-two--hm-m; he sha'n't have them. They're worth a half a cent a pound if they're worth anything. You can store them in the workshop till somebody comes along that does want them, and will pay." He turned again to leave her.

"Just a moment, Octavius." Once more he came back over the threshold.

"Were there any arrivals at The Greenbush to-night?"

"I judged so from the register."

"Did you happen to see a girl there?"

"I saw a child, a little girl, smallish and thin; a priest was with her."

"A priest?" Mrs. Champney looked nonplussed for a moment and put on her gla.s.ses to cover her surprise. "Did you learn her name, the girl's?"

"It was in the register, Aileen Armagh, from an orphan asylum in New York."

"Then she's the one," she said in a musing tone but without the least expression of interest. She removed her gla.s.ses. Octavius took a step backwards. "A moment more, Octavius. I may as well speak of it now; I am only antic.i.p.ating by a week or two, at the most, what, in any case, I should have told you. While Mr. Van Ostend was here, he enlisted my sympathy in this girl to such an extent that I decided to keep her for a few months on trial before making any permanent arrangement in regard to her. I want to judge of her capability to a.s.sist Ann and Hannah in the housework; Hannah is getting on in years. What do you think of her? How did she impress you? Now that I have decided to give her a trial, you may speak freely. You know I am guided many times by your judgment in such matters."

Octavius Buzzby could have ground his teeth in impotent rage at this speech which, to his accustomed ears, rang false from beginning to end, yet was cloaked in terms intended to convey a compliment to himself.

But, instead, he smiled the equivocal smile with which many a speech of like tenor had been greeted, and replied with marked earnestness:

"I wouldn't advise you, Mrs. Champney, to count on much a.s.sistance from a slip of a thing like that. She's small, and don't look more 'n nine, and--"

"She's over twelve," Mrs. Champney spoke decidedly; "and a girl of twelve ought to be able to help Ann and Hannah in some of their work."

"Well, I ain't no judge of children as there's never been any of late years at Champo." He knew his speech was barbed. Mrs. Champney carefully adjusted her gla.s.ses to the thin bridge of her straight white nose. "And if there had been, I shouldn't want to say what they could do or what they couldn't at that age. Take Romanzo, now, he's old enough to work if you watch him; and now he's here I don't deny but what you had the rights of it 'bout my needing an a.s.sistant. He takes hold handy if you show him how, and is willing and steady. But two on 'em--I don't know;"

he shook his head dubiously; "a growing boy and girl to feed and train and clothe--seems as if--" Octavius paused in the middle of his sentence. He knew his ground, or thought he knew it.

"You said yourself she was small and thin, and I can give her work enough to offset her board. Of course, she will have to go to school, but the tuition is free; and if I pay school taxes, that are increasing every year, I might as well have the benefit of them, if I can, in my own household."

There seemed no refutation needed to meet such an argument, and Octavius retreated another step towards the door.

"A moment more, Octavius," she said blandly, for she knew he was longing to rid her of his presence; "Mr. Emlie has been here this evening and drawn up the deeds conveying my north sh.o.r.e property to the New York syndicate. Mr. Van Ostend has conducted all the negotiations at that end, and I have agreed to the erection of the granite sheds on those particular sites and to the extension of a railroad for the quarries around the head of the lake to The Corners. The syndicate are to control all the quarry interests, and Mr. Van Ostend says in a few years they will a.s.sume vast proportions, entailing an outlay of at least three millions. They say there is to be a large electric plant at The Corners, for the mill company have sold them the entire water power at the falls.--I hope Aurora is satisfied with what she has accomplished in so short a time. Champney, I suppose, comes home next month?"

Octavius merely nodded, and withdrew in haste lest his indignation get the upper hand of his discretion. It behooved him to be discreet at this juncture; he must not injure Aurora Googe's cause, which he deemed as righteous a one as ever the sun shone upon, by any injudicious word that might avow his partisanship.

Mrs. Champney smiled again when she saw his precipitous retreat. She had freighted every word with ill will, and knew how to raise his silent resentment to the boiling point. She rose and stepped quickly into the hall.

"Tavy," she called after him as he was closing the door into the back pa.s.sage. He turned to look at her; she stood in the full light of the hall-lamp. "Just a moment before you go. Did you happen to hear who the priest is who came with the girl?"

"His name was in the ledger. The Colonel said he was a father--Father Honore, I can't p.r.o.nounce it, from New York."

"Is he stopping at The Greenbush?"

"He's put up there for to-night anyway."

"I think I must see this priest; perhaps he can give me more detailed information about the girl. That's all."

She went back into the library, closing the door after her. Octavius shut his; then, standing there in the dimly lighted pa.s.sageway, he relieved himself by doubling both fists and shaking them vigorously at the panels of that same door, the while he simulated, first with one foot then with the other, a lively kick against the baseboard, muttering between his set teeth:

"The devil if it's all, you devilly, divelly, screwy old--"

The door opened suddenly. Simultaneously with its opening Octavius had sufficient presence of mind to blow out the light. He drew his breath short and fumbled in his pocket for matches.

"Why, Tavy, you here!" (How well she knew that the familiar name "Tavy"

was the last turn of the thumbscrew for this factotum of the Champneys!

She never applied it unless she knew he was thoroughly worsted in the game between them.) "I was coming to find you; I forgot to say that you may go down to-morrow at nine and bring her up. I want to look her over."

She closed the door. Octavius, without stopping to relight the lamp, hurried up to his room in the ell, fearful lest he be recalled a fifth time--a test of his powers of mental endurance to which he dared not submit in his present perturbed state.

Mrs. Champney walked swiftly down the broad main hall, that ran through the house, to the door opening on the north terrace whence there was an un.o.bstructed view up the three miles' length of Lake Mesantic to the Flamsted Hills; and just there, through a deep depression in their midst, the Rothel, a rushing brook, makes its way to the calm waters at their gates. At this point, where the hills separate like the opening sepals of a gigantic calyx, the rugged might of Katahdin heaves head and shoulder into the blue.

The irregular margin of the lake is fringed with pines of magnificent growth. Here and there the sh.o.r.es rise into cliffs, seamed at the top and inset on the face with slim white lady birches, or jut far into the waters as rocky promontories spa.r.s.ely wooded with fir and balsam spruce.

Mrs. Champney stepped out upon the terrace. Her accustomed eyes looked upon this incomparable, native scene that was set in the full beauty of mid-summer's moonlight. She advanced to the broad stone steps, that descend to the level of the lake, and, folding her arms, her hands resting lightly upon them, stood immovable, looking northwards to the Flamsted Hills--looking, but not seeing; for her thoughts were leaping upwards to The Gore and its undeveloped resources; to Aurora Googe and the part she was playing in this transitional period of Flamsted's life; to the future years of industrial development and, in consequence, her own increasing revenues from the quarries. She had stipulated that evening that a clause, which would secure to her the rights of a first stockholder, should be inserted in the articles of conveyance.

The income of eight thousand from the estate, as willed to her, had increased under her management, aided by her ability to drive a sharp bargain and the penuriousness which, according to Octavius, was capable of "making a cent squeal", to twelve thousand. The sale of her north sh.o.r.e lands would increase it another five thousand. Within a few years, according to Mr. Van Ostend--and she trusted him--her dividends from her stock would net her several thousands more. She was calculating, as she stood there gazing northwards, unseeing, into the serene night and the hill-peace that lay within it, how she could invest this increment for the coming years, and casting about in her mathematically inclined mind for means to make the most of it in interest per cent. She felt sure the future would show satisfactory results.--And after?

That did not appeal to her.

She unfolded her arms, and gathering her skirt in both hands went down the steps and took her stand on the lowest. She was still looking northwards. Her skirt slipped from her left hand which she raised half mechanically to let a single magnificent jewel, that guarded the plain circlet of gold on her fourth finger, flash in the moonlight. She held it raised so for a moment, watching the play of light from the facets.

Suddenly she clinched her delicate fist spasmodically; shook it forcibly upwards towards the supreme strength of those silent hills, which, in comparison with the human three score and ten, may well be termed "everlasting", and, muttering fiercely under her breath, "_You_ shall never have a penny of it!", turned, went swiftly up the steps, and entered the house.

III

Had the mistress of Champ-au-Haut stood on the terrace a few minutes longer, she might have seen with those far-sighted eyes of hers a dark form pa.s.sing quickly along the strip of highroad that showed white between the last houses at The Bow. It was Father Honore. He walked rapidly along the highway that, skirting the base of the mountain, follows the large curve of the lake sh.o.r.e. Rapid as was the pace, the quickened eyes were seeing all about, around, above. In pa.s.sing beneath a stretch of towering pines, he caught between their still indefinite foliage the gleam of the lake waters. He stopped short for a full minute to pommel his resonant chest; to breathe deep, deep breaths of the night balm. Then he proceeded on his way.

That way led northwards along the lake sh.o.r.e; it skirted the talus that had fallen from the cliff which rose three hundred feet above him. He heard the sound of a rolling stone gathering in velocity among the rubble. He halted in order to listen; to trace, if possible, its course.

The dull monotone of its rumbling rattle started a train of thought: perhaps his foot, treading the highway lightly, had caused the sensitive earth to tremble just sufficiently to jar the delicately poised stone and send it from its resting place! He went on. Thoughts not to be uttered crowded to the forefront of consciousness as he neared the cleft in the Flamsted Hills, whence the Rothel makes known to every wayfarer that it has come direct from the heart of The Gore, and brought with it the secrets of its granite veins.