An Unwilling Guest (4 page)

In truth the visitor had heard very little of what was said. It sounded to her like a country church sociable—though she had never attended such a gathering—and she was simply bored by the account. Her mind was not sufficiently awake as yet to
appreciate the cleverness mani
fested by these village girls in supplying the needs of social life which in the city are ministered to by professionals as a matter of course. She had been idly studying the sweet face before her and wondering what haunting memory was awakened by the expression that flitted across it now and again. Where had she seen some one of whom these people reminded her?

Allison suddenly subsided. She was aware that she had been casting her precious pearls before—well, she was hardly prepared to finish the sentence. But she was a girl whose likes and dislikes were intense, and when she went into anything she put her whole heart into it. This young people's club was dear to her.
She did not relish seeing it de
spised. She was glad that her mother came out just then and made it unnecessary for her to say anything more. Gladder still was she when she saw her father open the gate down among the shadows of the trees and she
could flit down to meet him and come back slowly arm in arm with him, asking about his meeting and knowing that he loved to tell her all about everything. She drew a long breath of relief and felt she had gotten away from the interloper in her pleasant home for a little space.

Meantime the guest watched her in absolute amazement. She tried to fancy herself rushing at her father in that style, and walking arm in arm up the path. Why did this other g
irl do it? And what was the rea
son of that pleasant look of unders
tanding and love that passed be
tween father and daughter as the two reached the steps and paused to finish a sentence before sitting down?

Evelyn Rutherford felt for the second time that there was something missing from her life which might have been pleasant and wondered why it was. Whose fault had it been, hers or her father's?

“M
amma," said Allison the next
morning, as she put on the ket
tle she had just filled with fresh wate
r from the spring, "Had you for
gotten that Maurice is coming next week?"

The mother looked from the eggs she was beating as she said, with a bright smile: "Oh, no indeed, daughter! How could you think I would forget my dear boy for a minute?"

"But suppose—she—is here yet?" and the troubled expression in the dark eyes showed that this was not the first time she had pondered the possibility.

"Why there is room enough, Allison," said the mother, beating some cold rice into the milk and eggs for the delicate batter-cakes she knew how to make to perfection.

"Oh, yes, room enough," said the girl. 'But, mother, think of it! How can we enjoy his visit with her here? She will just spoil everything and Maurice won't like it at all."

"I fancy I should enjoy his visit if there were a whole regiment of strangers here, dear," said her mother, laughing, "and as for one girl being able to spoil it, I think you are mistaken. Besides, your brother is not so easily put out as that."

Allison looked at her mother with the trouble still in her eyes. She was evidently not yet satisfied, though she went thoughtfully about setting the breakfast table. But as she placed the forks and spoons at the stranger's plate, a vision of that young woman in her bewitching black gown and gleaming white shoulders appeared and brought back her trouble in full force. She went to the kitchen door and stood irresolute a moment watching her mother, opened her mouth to speak and
closed it again, and then went back to her cups and plates. She could not quite make up her mind to put
her thought into words and won
dered whether it was wise to trouble her mother with it, even if she could. If it could not be helped why give her mother the anxiety of thinking about it, seeing she had not yet thought of such a thing for herself? Or had she? Did
her
mother think of it and calmly put her anxiety aside because there seemed a duty in the way she was walking?

Allison drew her brows in thought
and went to look out of the win
dow. Twice she went to the kitchen door
and began, "Mother," but when her
mother answered she asked some trivial question about the table and turned away. At last however she threw down the pile of napkins she was placing and deliberately walked to her mother's side.

"Mother," she said, in a low, troubled tone, "I must tell you what I am afraid of. Didn't you notice how pretty she looked last night and how attractive she can be when she tries, with all those beautiful clothes and her city airs? I can't help thinking what a terrible thing it would be if Maurice should take a fancy to her, and—and—marry her—perhaps!" she finished desperately.

The mother stood erect and looked her daughter full in the face gravely.

"Dear child," she said, "do you thi
nk your brother is so easily in
fluenced by a pretty face and a beautiful effect? You give him little credit of discernment. And besides, do you not recognize a higher Power in shaping our lives than a mere chance of meeting? Cannot you trust God when we are in the way of duty?"

"But is this the way of duty?" asked the daughter desperately.

"What would you have me do, de
ar? Refuse my old friend her re
quest? Tell the girl to go?"

Allison turned to the window with tears growing in her eyes. "Wouldn't there be some other way? She doesn't want to stay, I feel sure, and we could just encourage her to go back home. I think that could be done without being any more impolite than she ha
s been.”

"Allison, have you forgotten her aunt? She is one of our oldest, most valued friends. She has come to our rescue in many a time of trouble and now she has asked us to help her. Is it less incumbent upon us to
do it because it is unpleasant? Have you forgotten that this girl is a fellow-mortal, that your
Saviour
died for her? You may be doing her great injustice. You have let your prejudice influence you largely and you forget the wide difference in your home surroundings. Her ideas of what is proper in dress and everything el
se are built on an entirely dif
ferent standard from yours. The life she has led is not
Hillcroft
life."

"I should think not!" said Allison, in a low, repressed tone.

"Allison, won't you try to know this girl's true character before you begin to hate her?"

"Mamma, I should think it was plain enough what her character is, and you know I don't hate her, only it is so hard to think of having Maurice's visit spoiled by her, and it would be just terrible to have her come between me and my brother. I could not bear it."

"I wish my little girl would learn t
o trust her troubles to her Bur
den-Bearer instead of carrying them herself. You may be carrying all this woe unnecessarily. It may be this sickness will not prove serious and she can go to her aunt's in a day or two. But, Allison, have you forgotten that you have been asked to make a friend of this girl and to help her?"

"Mother, I could never help her, and she would never take any help from me," said Allison with firm conviction.

"My daughter, you do not know what you can do with God's help, or rather what God can do with your help."

Then the fried potatoes demanded attention and Allison, unconvinced but somewhat softened by her mother's words, went back and finished her work quickly.

The guest, however, did not put in an appearance at breakfast t
ime
. They waited as long as possible for her and then went on without her, thinking she was weary with the long journey. To Allison it was a relief to have her father and mother to herself. Mrs. Grey realized this and tried to make the little time spent at the table as cheerful as possible, speaking of the expected arrival of the brother and son who had been away for nearly a year and who was to give them a whole week of his precious society before entering his professional career in an Eastern city. But the sister's face was not altogether unclouded and she looked
eagerly for the promised message from the doctor which she hoped would bring word that their guest might leave them soon.

But the doctor did not come and as the morning wore on and he did not send a message, Allison began to have a growing conviction that there would be no good news, else it would have been brought before. Her mother tried to make her look upon the cheerful side, insisting that no news was good news, and try
ing to make her see how inhospi
table she was to actually desire a visitor to leave; but her usually ready smile was slow to come. The mother grew troubled over this persistent feeling on the part of her usually sunny and helpful daughter. It seemed strange that Allison should take such a dislike to another girl. Perhaps she did not realize how deeply some of Miss Rutherford's looks and tones of evident scorn had cut the sensitive nature. Allison writhed inwardly again and again t
hat morning over remembered sen
tences and glances. She worked grimly, taking the utmost trouble to prepare for dinner a dessert so elaborate that it was usually saved for high occasions. Her mother, smiling, understood and let her alone.

And while she worked with foamy eggs, rich whipped cream and
gelatine
, she made up her mind that she would show this city girl how much a country girl could do, and how useless was a frivolous life of mere pleasure. Forgetting that her chief aim should be to show her the adornments of a meek and quiet spirit she let her eyes flash many times as, according to her impetuous habit of mind, she plunged into imaginary scenes and discussions with this new girl from anot
her at
mosphere.

It was nearly eleven o'clock before the visitor came downstairs. She wore an elaborate white morning gown fastened at the belt with a clasp of gold in exquisite design. Th
at dainty buckle worn on a morn
ing costume accentuated the difference
between these two girls to Alli
son. She would have kept such a rare ornament for her best gowns, but this girl doubtless had so many that it was quite common to her. Also,
the stranger carried a novel in
her hand and looked as utterly care-free and lazy as Allison herself would have liked to be, therefore she felt like a martyr and was filled with self-righteousness, and made a show of much bustle and haste. She plunged herself into an unnecessary
piece of work which could not be left without spoiling, so
that her mother had to carry the dainty tray with the lunch of rich milk, brown and white bread and butter, and a bunch of purple grapes to the guest,

Of this lunch Miss Rutherford partook leisurely, sitting in Mr. Grey's large rocking-chair, which always stood in the dining room that he might take a brief rest whenever he came in a little before a meal, and the while read her novel. Allison could see her through the open door and was offended anew. Her frame of mind was growing worse and worse. She resented the stranger's sitting in her father's chair; she resented her lying in bed and being daintily fed whenever she chose to arise; she resented the novel and the white gown and the beauty of the girl; and above all, she resented the fear that she would be there to share in her cherished brother's smiles and conversation.

It was not that her brother Maurice was given to being bewitched by any pretty girl that came along, that she was so worried about this particular one. No, it was rather the reverse with the young man. But he had his mother's gentle, kindly way of meeting every
one pleasantly and giving every
one a fair chance. It hurt Allison to think that this girl, who could be so hateful to her, would be given an opportunity to show how delightful she could be to others, and Allison was quick enough at character reading to know that her brother would be more likely to receive smiles than she had been. She began to recognize in her own feelings an element that she did not admire as the day wore slowly away.

At last, toward evening, came a message from the doctor. The symptoms were very grave. The case was decidedly smallpox. Miss Rutherford desired her niece to remain where she was until the danger was past and she could plan to take her to a safe place. She intimated that she had received instructions from her brother which made her anxious to have his daughter with her as soon as possible, and for the present she was to feel that she had put her in the safest, happiest home she knew in the world, where she h
oped she would be more than con
tented until the danger was past

This message was brought by a member of the doctor's family who had not been near the infected house an
d had received it over the tele
phone from the doctor, but the young lady to whom it came declined to see the messenger or to touch the paper upon which the message was written, preferring to take it from Mrs. Grey's lips. She was annoyed beyond measure at its import and retired to her room to consider plans for her own alleviation.

She was certainly in no enviable frame of mind as she sat looking out the window without seeing the glowing tints of autumn leaves in such profusion. The girl in the next room, who had also fled to a refuge to bear her disappointment, though she insisted that this was just what she had expected all the morning, had the advantage of recognizing in herself the evil spirit that was dominating her being and had a will to be free from it. Not only that, but she understood what to do in order to be free. It was not long before she knelt beside her bed to confess her sin and to beg forgiveness and strength. But her heart was yet hardened toward the intruder in her home.

It was perhaps not to Miss Rutherford's advantage that mention was made that evening of the expected homecoming of the son of the house.

It came about in this way. Mr. Grey asked his wife at the supper table about some arrangements in the house which were to be made in view of Maurice's coming and talk followed in which his name was used several times. Allison said little about him, but once or twice a sentence of hers showed the guest
that whoever it was that was ex
pected, his advent would give Allison great pleasure. She studied her curiously while she ate and the others talked, wondering if he were some commonplace rustic lover, and t
hought it a pity that this hand
some girl should not have a chanc
e among men who were of some ac
count. She sat on the porch alone after supper until Allison and her mother had finished the work. It never
occurred to her to offer her as
sistance. Indeed, she would not have known how to help if she had been so disposed. She looked upon all household tasks as menial, not for such as she.

She had decided that afternoon to write to one or two New York friends and beg for invitations. She had
written several letters confid
ing her disagreeable position and she felt certain that the returning
mail would bring her an invitation to quit this dismal place, believing that she had excuse enough to send to her father. Meantime she must while away the hours as best she might until her release. It would be but a week at most she felt sure. She yawned and wished for something to do. She had read until she was weary of it. She wondered if there were any fun to be got out of the town
. She must find out who this ex
pected Mr. Morris was, as she had settled it in her mind his name should be, though the family had spoken of him as "Maurice" merely.