Harper's Round Table, July 9, 1895 Part 6

Cynthia was a good actress, and she carried herself precisely as Miss Betsey did, and imitated her voice to perfection.

She repeated some of her aunt's best-known tales, and good Mrs. Parker never dreamed of the possibility of her caller being any one but worthy Miss Betsey Trinkett, of Wayborough, whom she had known for years.

Mrs. Parker was a great talker, and usually she was obliged to fight hard to surpa.s.s Miss Trinkett in that respect. During the first part of the call to-day it was as difficult as usual, but Mrs. Parker presently made a remark which reduced her visitor to a state of alarming silence.

"I suppose you have come to announce the news," said the hostess, smiling sympathetically.

"Now I don't know a bit of news. Why, my dear Mrs. Parker, Silas and I we never--"

"Ah, but this has nothing to do with Silas, though it may affect you, more or less. Surely you know what I am alluding to?"

"I haven't the least idea."

And Cynthia bridled with curiosity on her own account as well as Aunt Betsey's. She thought something interesting must be coming.

"Well, now, to think of my being the one to tell you something about your own family! I don't know whether I ought to, but I think it must be true, and you'll hear it in other ways soon enough. You know I have relatives in Albany, where she lives."

"Where who lives?"

"Miss Gordon, Hester Gordon. They say--but, of course, I don't know that it's true, it may be just report, but they do say-- I don't know whether I ought to tell you, I declare! that it won't be long before she's Mrs.

Franklin."

"Mrs. Franklin!"

"Yes, Mrs. John Franklin. Hasn't your nephew told you? Well, well, these men! They do beat all for keeping things quiet."

"Is it true?"

It was Cynthia's natural voice that asked this question. She quite forgot that she was supposed to be Miss Betsey Trinkett.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOUR VOICE SOUNDS SORT OF UNNATURAL, TOO," ADDED MRS.

PARKER.]

"I suppose it is. But, dear me, Miss Trinkett, don't be worried! Seems to me you look very queer, though I can't see your face very well through that veil, and you with your back to the light. Your voice sounds sort of unnatural, too," added Mrs. Parker. "Let me get you some water."

"Oh no, it is nothing," said Cynthia, who had quickly recovered herself, and was now summoning all her energy to finish the call in a proper manner. "You surprised me, that's all, and I never did care much for surprises. But I think there's not much truth in that, Mrs. Parker. I don't believe my fa--nephew is going to be married again. In fact, I'm very sure he is not." And she nodded her head emphatically.

"Ah, my dear Miss Trinkett, you never can tell. Sometimes a man's family is the last to hear those things. And it will be a good match, too. She comes of an old family, and she has a great deal of money. The Gordons are all rich."

"Do you suppose he'd care for that?" exclaimed her visitor, wrathfully.

"Well, well, one never knows! And think how much better it would be for the children. Edith is too young to have so much care, and they say Cynthia runs wild most of the time, just like a boy. Indeed, I call it a very good thing. Though I must say she is a pretty brave woman to take on herself the care of that family."

Here "Miss Betsey" suddenly darted for the door. It could be endured no longer. Mrs. Parker bade her farewell, and then went back to tell her daughters that Miss Trinkett was sadly changed. Though she was still so young in appearance, she was evidently very much broken.

For some time Jack could obtain no reply to his questions, but at last Cynthia's resolution broke down, and she burst into tears. They had turned into a shady lane instead of going directly home, and there was no danger of meeting any one.

"Jack, Jack!" she moaned, "I'll have to tell you. Mrs. Parker says papa is going to be married again! What shall we do! What shall we do!"

For answer Jack indulged in a prolonged whistle.

"Isn't it the most dreadful thing you ever heard of? Jack, how shall we ever endure it?"

"Well, it mayn't be as bad as you think. If she's nice--"

"Oh, Jack, she won't be! Stepmothers are never nice. I never in my life heard of one that was. She'll be horrid to us all."

"Oh, I say, that's nonsense. If you were to marry a widower with a lot of children you'd be nice to them."

"Jack, the very idea! _I_ marry a widower with a lot of children! I'd like to see myself doing such a thing!"

Cynthia almost forgot her present troubles in her wrath at her brother's suggestion.

"Well, after all it may not be true. Because Mrs. Parker says so, doesn't prove it. Where did she hear it?"

"From some of her Albany relations, I suppose. The--the lady lives there. But, oh, Jack! Do you think there is any chance of its not being true?" cried Cynthia, catching at the least straw of hope.

"Why, of course! Father hasn't told us, and you can't believe all the gossip you hear," said Jack, loftily.

"Perhaps it isn't true, after all," exclaimed Cynthia, drying her eyes and smiling once more, "and I've been boo-hooing all for nothing! I sha'n't say a word about it to Edith, and don't you either, Jack. It isn't worth while to worry her, and Mrs. Parker is a terrible gossip."

They went home, and Cynthia gave her sister a gay account of her visit, carefully omitting all exciting items, and then she helped Edith put away some of the things, and finally was free to go on the river in the afternoon. Jack, boylike, had forgotten all about Mrs. Parker's news. He did not believe it, and therefore it was not worth thinking of. But Cynthia's mind was not so easily diverted. She did not believe it, either, but then it might be true, and if it were, what was to be done?

It seemed as if a worse calamity could not happen.

Jack, her usual companion on the river, was busy with some carpentry. He was making a "brooder" like one he had bought, to serve as a home for the little chicks when they should be hatched. He used the "barn chamber" for a workshop, and the sound of his saw and his hammer could be heard through the open window.

Cynthia was deeply interested in poultry-raising, but she wished it did not consume so much of her brother's time and attention.

Edith was going to the village to an afternoon tea at the Morgans'.

Gertrude Morgan was her most intimate friend, and all the nicest girls and boys would be there to talk over a tennis tournament. Cynthia was rather sorry that she had not been asked. She said to herself that she would be of more value in the discussion than Edith, for she really played tennis, while Edith merely stood about looking graceful and pretty. However, she had not been invited, and, after all, the river was more fun than any afternoon tea.

One of the men put the canoe in the water for her, and, with a huge stone to act as ballast, she paddled up stream, browsing along the banks looking for wild flowers, or steering her way through the rocks, of which the river was very full just at this point.

Cynthia, fond as she was of companionship, being of an extremely sociable disposition, was never lonely on her beloved river.

Edith dressed herself carefully and drove off to the tea. She looked very attractive in her spring gown of gray and her large black hat, and as she studied herself in the small old-fashioned mirror that hung in her room she felt quite pleased with her appearance.

"If I only had more nice gloves I should be satisfied," she thought. "It is so horrid to be saving up one pair, and having to wear such old things for driving and whisk them off just before I get to a place and put on the good ones. And a handsome parasol would be so nice. I don't think I'll take this old thing. I don't really need one to-day. I wonder where the children are. I ought to look them up, I suppose, but they are all right, somewhere, and it is getting late. After all, why should I always be the one to run after those children?"

And then she drove away to Brenton, leaving housekeeping cares behind her, and prepared for a pleasant afternoon.

About half a dozen boys and girls had already arrived at the Morgans'

when Edith drove in. It was a fine old house standing far back from the road, and surrounded with shady grounds. The river was at the back. A smooth and well-kept tennis-court was on the left of the drive as one approached the house, and here the guests were a.s.sembled.

"Oh, here's Edith Franklin at last!" cried Gertrude Morgan, while her brother went forward, and, after helping Edith to alight, took her horse and drove down to the stable.

Presently all the tongues were buzzing, each one suggesting what he or she considered the very best plan for holding a tournament. It was finally arranged to have it at the tennis club rather than at the Morgans', as had at first been thought best, and it would be open to all the comers who had reached the age of fourteen.

"That is very young," said Gertrude, "but we really ought to have it open to Cynthia Franklin. She is one of the best players in Brenton."