Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"Oh, I'm so glad they found out their mistake! How ashamed that sheriff will be! Please, Mr. Metcalf, may I show him his own little Pepita, that was? And thank you for helping him to explain, or for the 'bail,' and everything. Thank you, too, Dr. Wise. Do you know how Mr. Wingate is?"

"Improving. He's pretty badly scared and shocked, but I think he will come out all right."

"Can he tell who struck him? That would clear everything up all right."

"Yes; it would be a simple solution of the matter. I am hoping he will be able to tell, after a while; but for the present my object is to prevent, as far as possible, his recalling the incident. He must not be excited, else there may be fever. But all in good time, I think. Now Mr. Metcalf has invited us to ride behind his new horse. I have an hour of leisure, and I propose to show this old Ardsley boy the changes a few years have made, even in our quiet town. Did I hear anything about a small girl named Amy being one of the party?"

"Indeed, you did. Oh, what a treat! A real Christmas gift. To ride behind a brand new horse, beside a brand new uncle, in a brand new carriage, is enough to turn my head; so forgive me if I'm silly – sillier than common. And oh, Mr. Metcalf, can't Nanette go too? She's so little she takes up no room worth mentioning, and I love her."

It was a merry party. Amy believed that all the morning's trouble had been overcome, and did not realize that being out on bail was in itself sort of an imprisonment to a man of honor. Until the real culprit was found Frederic Kaye would still be under suspicion; yet he could enjoy his parole, and this ride had been purposely planned by his friends as a means of influencing that variable public opinion which had first promptly misjudged him.

Therefore, they drove through the principal streets of the town, past all its business places, and lingered by the haunts of the village gossips, that Ardsleyites might see and comment.

"Well, if that don't beat all!" exclaimed Mrs. Hackett to her customers. "There's Dr. Wise and the 'Supe' driving Mister Fred all over creation. I guess they don't believe anything against him, bad as things look. I don't know as 'tis right, either. I guess I'll wait and see before I make up my mind."

But having already spread the "news" by means of every villager who had visited her place of business that morning, this was rather late in season to stem the tide of rumor; though on the principle of "better late than never," it may have done some good.

When the ride was over and the Kayes deposited at the door of "Charity House," Amy was in the wildest of spirits. It seemed to her as if the world were the loveliest, friendliest place, and her gayety infected all about her. The gentlemen accompanied Mr. Frederic into the new home and spent an hour delightfully with the artist, amid his pictures. Then Cleena, aided by Amy, brought in a tray of luncheon, and they stayed to share it.

"Blessings on Teamster John's turkey. What a lot of comfort it has given lots of folks!" remarked Amy to Cleena, in the kitchen, as she surveyed the neatly arranged tray.

"Yes, so be. Arrah musha, were the man as sensible as his fowl I'd know. But, colleen, keep an eye to that back door. Fayette's behind, in the store closet. It's behind he must stay or there's mischief a-brewin'."

"Indeed, I wonder he isn't putting himself forward, to attract Uncle Frederic's notice, as he always does of strangers. Well, poor lad, I fancy the introduction can wait. When you've carried in the tray, I'll go and serve them."

But after the light meal was over and the guests departed, Hallam became absorbed in the new magazines that his uncle produced from his valise; while the elder Kayes dropped back into the reminiscences that were so interesting to themselves and so dull to Amy. Try as she would, now that all was quiet, she could not keep from her mind a picture of Archibald Wingate, riding home from a pleasant visit and suffering such mischance.

"My first little dinner-party, too. I must go and see him. I must tell him that I am sorry. I must offer to help."

So, after a while, as the afternoon waned, Amy put on her outdoor things, and telling only Cleena her errand, set off for Fairacres. She was admitted by a strange servant, and was passing straight toward the room which her cousin occupied when she was met and prevented by Marshall.

"If you please, miss, he's allowed to see nobody."

"Not even me? Surely, I will not disturb him. I won't even speak to him, if that will hurt him. I just want to satisfy myself how badly he's injured, and maybe smile at him. Just that little bit. Oh, Mr. Marshall, isn't it so sad! I'm so very, very sorry."

"Yes, and well you might be, miss. No, not even to look at him. He's not to be worried by nobody."

So Amy went sorrowfully home again, and as she had to resume her labor in the mill at such an early hour the following day, she could not repeat her visit until another night came round. Frederic Kaye had gone to the mansion, however, and had been coldly assured by the officious Marshall that "the master was doing well." This bulletin had been issued through the upper half of the old-fashioned door, which opened across its middle, and to effect an entrance the caller would have had to force the bolts of the lower half. The valet regarded the Californian with suspicion that, as the latter admitted, was not ill-founded; and he had not forgotten the feel of the stranger's boot-toe on the night of the accident. So he kept a safe barricade of the premises, and Frederic also went away unsatisfied.

For several days these visits were repeated, with similar results; but when Sunday came round and she had daylight for her purpose, Amy again hurried to Fairacres.

"I'll see him this time, if I have to climb over Marshall's objecting shoulders," she merrily cried to Cleena, as she departed.

But when she reached the old homestead she found it desolate. The light snow which had fallen overnight lay everywhere undisturbed. No paths had been cleared nor entrances swept. The windows were closed and shuttered as Amy never had seen them. Even the stables were shut up and deserted; and after a half hour of vain efforts to arouse somebody, the disappointed girl returned to "Charity House."

"Troth, ye went away like a feather, an' you come home like a log. What's happened, me colleen?"

"He's gone. I can't see him. I can't tell him. Oh, I'm so sorry, so sorry!"

To comfort her, Uncle Frederic paid a visit to Dr. Wise, and came back with news that was not very satisfactory. Without consulting the physician, Mr. Wingate had suddenly decided to go south for the winter. Marshall had attended to everything. The horses and cattle had been sent from Fairacres to one of the outlying farms belonging to the estate. There was no reference to future return, and Mr. Metcalf had been instructed to settle all accounts. Beyond this there was no mention of anybody, and no address was left except that of the mill owner's city bankers, who would forward any necessary papers. Mr. Wingate had gone away for absolute rest, and wished not to hear from Ardsley unless under extreme necessity.

So Amy's dream of a reunited family, of that peace and happiness which should exist between Fairacres and "Charity House," came to an end. But other hopes and plans took its place, and she returned to her mill work on the Monday, too busy and eager to spend time in useless regret.

"The best thing about life," observed this wise young person to her Uncle Frederic, "is that it has to keep right on. There's so much to do, and the days are so short, if a body grieves one moment he's sure to laugh the next. And, uncle, I've such a lovely idea about a 'club' for the mill folks. To take the place of one that – doesn't seem to help them much. I believe you're the very man to arrange everything, and that you were sent home just in time."

"Wh-e-w! A Daniel come to judgment? No, a faithful daughter of a brave, unselfish woman. You'll never be Salome, little girl, but maybe you will be an improvement even on her. All her good sense with a little more – snap."

"Considerable more snap than wisdom, I fancy," laughed she, and sped down the hill to join Gwendolyn for her walk millward.

CHAPTER XXV.

MYSTERIES AND MASTERIES

"Sure, Mister Frederic, I'd be proud to show ye the cellar that's doin' below. Would he mind comin' the now?"

"A 'cellar below' is surely in its proper place. I'll be delighted to view it, Mistress Goodsoul."

"Alanna, it was ever yourself had a jest an' a twist of a body's words! To my notion, it's a tidy job, but I sometimes misgives it's no all right for the house."

"Then it surely should be looked after. Who's doing it for you?"

"That silly one I was tellin' you about. He's – he's – " The woman glanced over her shoulder, as if she feared to be heard. This was a curious circumstance in the case of one so frank as she, and her old friend commented on it.

"Why so mysterious, Cleena? Secrets afoot? But it's after Christmas, not before it."

"Come by."

He followed her gayly down the stairs into the one central cellar, and from this slightly farther into another, being opened toward the side. She carried a lighted candle in her hand, and pointed with pride to the neatness of the work as far as it had proceeded.

"Nobody could ha' done it finer, eh?"

"It seems all right. The walls will have to be supported, of course, though it looks a solid rock. Old Ingraham obeyed the Scripture injunction in letter, if not in spirit. What does Cuthbert think of this?"

"The same as of most things – nothin' at all. So long as he's his bit pictures an' books to pore over, the very house might tumble about his ears an' no heed. There's been no nerve frettin' nor crossness since the mistress was called – not once. He's a saint the now. But it's aye good ye're come home, Mister Fred."

"And it's good to hear you say so, old friend. Yet if it suits you just as well, I'd prefer to have you say it up in the open. I'm not a lover of dark cellars, or of holes that may be cellars some day. Come out of it; it gives me the 'creeps.'"

"Ye believe it's all safe, eh?"

"Safe enough so far."

"Come by. If you like not this place, you must e'en bide the kitchen a bit. I've somewhat to speak to you."

Cleena started back over the way they had come, and Mr. Kaye was following her, when he stumbled against something soft, and fell headlong in the mud; but he was up again in an instant, no worse for the accident save by the soil upon his clothing. He had grasped the thing over which he had tripped, and held it up to the candle-light.

"Hello! Seems to me I've seen this garment, or felt it, before. That peculiarity of a cloth coat with a leather collar is noticeable. Whose is it, Cleena?"

"Fetch it," she commanded tersely, and he obeyed her. Once in the better lighted kitchen she extinguished the candle, carefully closed all the doors, and seated herself near her visitor. She had taken the coat from him, and laid it upon her own knees. Her manner was still full of that mystery which consorted so oddly with her honest, open face.