Talbot's Angles

"And do you believe there really was a great-grandfather?"

"Oh, dear, yes; I am convinced of it. The young man has shown us his credentials, and I have no doubt but that in time he can find enough proof to substantiate what he has told us about his claim. If only the trunk could be found, he says he thinks it would be a very simple thing to establish his rights."

"And am I not to see this mysterious stranger? I suppose he comes here sometimes to report."

"If you are very good, I may let you see him through the crack of the door; but he is not for you. I have picked out someone else."

"Oh, you have? So you are a confessed matchmaker, Miss Ri? May I know the name of my knight?"

"No, you may not; that would be enough to make you turn your back on him at once. It is entirely my secret."

"And the picked out person doesn't know he is picked out?"

"Not a bit of it; he hasn't the faintest suspicion. How good that dinner does smell. Phebe is the only thing I wanted that I didn't have, and now I have her."

"Do you really mean, Miss Ri, that you get everything you want in this world?"

"Why, yes; at least of late years it has been so. I found out the secret from Thoreau some ten or more years ago."

"A precious secret, I should say."

"A very simple one. It is easy enough to get what one wants, when one makes it a rule to want only what he can get. If you think you haven't enough for your wants, all you have to do is to reduce your wants."

"I'm afraid my philosophy isn't sufficient for such a state of things," said Linda with a sigh.

"Why isn't it? Now, let's face the question. What do you want that you can't get?"

Linda was silent before she said tremulously, "My brother."

"Ah, my dear, that is all wrong. Don't you believe that you have your brother still? If he were in Europe, in China, in India, wouldn't you still have him? Even if he were in some unreachable place like the South Pole, he would still be your brother, and now because he has gone a little further away, is he not yours just the same?"

"Oh, Miss Ri, sometimes I am afraid I doubt it."

"But I know it, for there was One who said, 'If it were not so, I would have told you.' Even the greatest scoffer among us must admit that our Lord was one who did speak the truth; that is what comforts."

Linda laid her cheek against the other woman's hand. "That does comfort," she said. "I never saw it that way before. Is it that, Miss Ri, that keeps you almost always so bright and happy? You who have lost all your nearest and dearest, too? You so seldom get worried or blue."

"Yes, I suppose it is that and another reason," returned Miss Ri, unwilling to continue so serious a talk.

"And what is the other?"

"I try to make it a rule never to get mad with fools," replied Miss Ri with a laugh. "Of course, I don't always succeed, but the trying helps a lot."

Just here Phebe's head appeared at the door. "Miss Ri, I cain't find no tater-masher. What I gwine do?"

"Oh, dear me; let me see. Oh, yes, I remember; Randy threw it at black Wally the other day when he was pestering her. She didn't hit him and I reckon she never troubled herself to pick up the potato-masher; you'll find it somewhere about the back yard. Randy certainly has a temper, for all she is so slow in other ways. Come along, Verlinda; I promised to show you that old wine-cooler we were talking about the other day. I found it down cellar, when the men were clearing out the trash; I've had it done over, and it isn't bad." She led the way to the living-room, which, rich in old mahogany, displayed an added treasure in the quaint wine-cooler, in which the bottles could lie slanting, around the central receptacle for ice.

"It is a beautiful piece of wood," commented Linda, "and it is certainly curious enough. I do love this room, with all this beautiful old furniture. How do you manage to keep it so beautifully polished?"

"Give it a rub up once in a while; and, you see, between whiles there is no one to abuse the things, so they keep bright. Let us see about the potato-masher; Phebe's found it, I declare. I venture to say it won't lie out of doors for a week, while she's here."

CHAPTER IV

"DEPARTED DAYS"

Miss Parthy Turner's back garden was separated from Miss Maria Hill's by a fence in which a gate was cut that the two might sociably jog back and forth without going around the block. One of Linda's windows overlooked these gardens, where apple-trees disputed right of way with lilac bushes and grape-vines, and where, just now, late roses were cast in the shade by the more brilliant chrysanthemums. Miss Parthy, it may be said, was of a more practical turn than her neighbor in that she gave over to vegetables a larger part of her garden space, so that there were still discernible rows of cabbages, slowly-ripening pumpkins, high-poled beans, and a few late tomatoes.

The morning after her arrival, Linda noticed in the garden, beyond the dividing line, a young man walking about with an evident eye to the quality of the apples shining redly above his head. She regarded this person with some curiosity, conjecturing that he was the mysterious stranger who had taken the photographs for Miss Ri. "He doesn't look like a fake," she told herself. "I suppose his story may be true. By the way, Miss Ri didn't tell me his name nor where he hails from." However, her thoughts did not long dwell upon the stranger, for this was to be her initial morning at school, and she was looking forward to it with dismay and dread. She scarce tasted her breakfast and looked so pale and anxious, that Miss Ri's heart ached for her. Mammy, too, was most solicitous, but knew no better way to express her sympathy than by urging hot cakes upon the girl with such persistence that at last, to please her, Linda managed to eat one.

In spite of fears, the morning went more smoothly than she had anticipated, for Miss Patterson remained to coach her and she became familiarized with the routine, at least. Her pupils were little boys, none too docile, and naturally a new teacher was a target for tricks, if so she did not show her mettle. Under Miss Patterson's watchful eye there was no chance for mutiny, and Linda went home with some of her qualms allayed. She had passed her examinations creditably enough and felt that she could cope with the mere matters of teaching, but the disciplining of a room full of mischievous urchins was quite another question, and the next morning her heart misgave her when she met the rows of upturned faces, some expressing mock meekness, some defiant bravado, some open mirth. Courageously as she met the situation, it was a trying morning. If her back was turned for but an instant, there were subdued snickers; if she made a statement, it was questioned; if she censured, there were black looks and whispers of disapproval. At last one offender, sneaking on his hands and knees to the desk of another boy, was captured and marched off to the principal, a last resort, as poor Linda's nerves could stand no more. She was near to crying, her voice trembled and her heart beat fast. She scarcely knew how she went through the rest of the morning, for, though her summary act had quelled open rebellion, she was not at ease and keenly felt the undercurrent of criticism. She did not realize that the boys were trying her spirit, and she went home discouraged and exhausted, a sense of defeat overcoming her.

As she was entering the gate, she met someone coming out, a young man, rather heavily built, with a keen, clever face, rather than a handsome one. "Ah, Miss Linda," he exclaimed, holding out his hand, "I've just been hearing about you."

"From Miss Ri, of course. Well, what has she been telling you?"

"It wouldn't do to say. How is the school going?"

"The school in general seems to be going very well; as to my part of it, the least said, the better."

"Really? What's the trouble?"

"I don't know exactly. I suppose that I am the trouble, perhaps; Miss Patterson seemed to get along well enough."

"Boys or girls do you have?"

"Boys; little wretches from eight to ten, such sinners, not a saint among them."

"Would you have even one saint? I wouldn't, for he couldn't be a truly normal, healthy boy. But I am keeping you standing and I know you are ready for your dinner. I'll walk back to the house with you, and you can tell me the particular kinds of sin that have annoyed you. I was a boy myself once, you know."

He walked by her side to the house. Miss Ri, seeing them coming, was at the door to meet them. "I thought I sent you home once, Berk Matthews," she said.

"So you did, but I took this way of going. Don't imagine for a moment that my return involves an invitation to dinner, Miss Ri."

"That is an excellent thing, for I don't intend to extend one."

"Could you believe that she would so fail in hospitality?" said the young man, turning to Linda. "I am mortified, Miss Ri, not because of the dinner, but that you should go back on the reputation of an Eastern Shore hostess. Isn't it a world-wide theory that we of the Eastern Shore never turn a guest from the door when there is the faintest possibility of his accepting a bid to a meal? Alas, that you should be the first to establish a precedent that will change the world's opinion of us."

Miss Ri laughed. "You would think I was a client for the other side and that he was using his wiles to get me fined, at least. Come along in, if you must; I can guarantee you better fare than you will get at the Jackson House, I am bound to say."

"That sounds alluring, but my feelings are hurt because I had to hint for an invitation."

"Could anything so obvious be dignified by the name of a hint? Very well, go along and cut off your nose to spite your face, if you like; you will be the loser."

"Not very complimentary, is she?" said Mr. Matthews, laughing. "I believe I will come now, just to show you that I am not to be badgered."

"Then don't stand there keeping us from our dinner. It is all ready, and I don't want it spoiled." Thus adjured, the young man followed the others into the dining-room, where Phebe was just setting forth the meal.

"Well, and how did it go to-day, Verlinda?" asked Miss Ri, when they had seated themselves.