Fernley House

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Title: Fernley House

Author: Laura E. Richards

Illustrator: Etheldred B. Barry

Release Date: May 12, 2008 [EBook #25446]

Language: English

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FERNLEY HOUSE

BOOKS FOR GIRLS

By Laura E. Richards

The MARGARET SERIES

The HILDEGARDE SERIES

DANA ESTES & COMPANY

Publishers

Estes Press, Summer St., Boston

HUGH AND MARGARET, ALL UNCONSCIOUS OF HER SCRUTINY, WERE ENJOYING THEMSELVES EXTREMELY.

FERNLEY HOUSE

BY

LAURA E. RICHARDS

AUTHOR OF CAPTAIN JANUARY, MELODY, "QUEEN

HILDEGARDE, GEOFFREY STRONG," ETC.

Illustrated by

ETHELDRED B. BARRY

BOSTON

DANA ESTES & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1901

By Dana Estes & Company

—————

All rights reserved

FERNLEY HOUSE

Colonial Press

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.

Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FERNLEY HOUSE

CHAPTER I.

A DUET

Well, Margaret!

Well, Uncle John!

Not a word to throw at a dog, as Rosalind says?

You are not a dog, Uncle John. Besides, you know all about it without my saying a word, so why should I be silly, and spoil your comfortable cigar? Dear children! They will have a delightful time, I hope; and of course it is perfectly right that they should go to their father when he wants them; and—the summer will pass quickly.

Very quickly! Mr. Montfort assented, watching his smoke rings float upward.

And Peggy is coming; and—oh, we shall be all right, of course we shall; only—we do miss them, don't we, Uncle?

I should think we did! A house is a poor place without children; and we flatter ourselves that our two—eh, Margaret?

Oh, they are the dearest children in the world, said Margaret with conviction. There is no possible doubt about that.

She sighed, and took up her work; Mr. Montfort blew smoke rings and watched them melt into the air. There was an interval of sympathetic silence.

The children, Basil and Susan D., Margaret's cousins, had hardly been gone two hours, yet the time seemed already long to Margaret Montfort. Fernley House, which only this morning had been so running over with joy and sunlight, and happy noise and bustle, seemed suddenly to have become a great empty barrack, full of nothing but silence. Margaret, after putting away, sadly enough, the things that the children had left about, had been glad to join her uncle on the pleasant back verandah that overlooked the garden.

Fernley was in the full glory of early summer. The leaves were still young, and too soft to rustle in the gently moving air; the laburnums and honey-locusts were in blossom, and the bees came and went, heavy-laden. The sombre, trailing branches of the great Norway spruces touched the smooth green turf, starred here and there with English daisies. Farther back, the tulip-trees towered stately, and the elm branches swept the crest of the tall box hedges.

Margaret's eyes kept wandering from her work. How could she stitch, when things were looking like this? There was the oriole, swinging on the bough beside his nest, pouring out his song, Joy! joy! joy! The eggs might be hatched to-day. Basil had begged her to promise that she would let neither cat nor squirrel meddle with the young birds. What should she do, if she saw a cat up there, forty feet from the ground? Dear Basil! he never could understand why she could not climb trees as well as he and Susan D. Dear Basil! dearest of boys! how nice he looked in his new blue suit; and who would mend the first barndoor that he tore in jacket or trousers?

And little Susan D.! the warm clasp of her arms seemed still about Margaret's neck, in that last strangling hug of parting. She had grown so dear, the little silent child! I will be good, she whispered. Cousin Margaret, I will try not to die without you, and I will remember the things you told me about papa; but don't make me stay very long, because I haven't got enough goodness to last very long, you know I haven't.

Margaret was roused from her reverie by her uncle's voice.

When did you say Peggy was coming, my dear?

Next week, Uncle John. School closes on the eighteenth. Dear little Peggy! think of her being a senior! it seems hardly possible. She is afraid I shall tell her to put her hair up; I certainly shall not, at least while she is here. I am sure you prefer the pigtail, don't you, Uncle John?

Yes! oh, yes! said Mr. Montfort, abstractedly. Pigtail—yes, by all means. And how will you and Peggy amuse yourselves, my dear? No Rita this summer to electrify us all. You will not find it dull?

Dull, Uncle John? how could Fernley possibly be dull? Why, Peggy and I are going to be as happy as possible. I have all kinds of plans made. You see, it is time Peggy was learning something about housekeeping and that sort of thing, and I thought this summer would be the very best time to show her a little. Of course, when she is at home, she wants to be doing twenty thousand things on the farm, just as she always has done, and the time goes so quickly, she has not begun to think yet about the indoor things; so I am going to be the Humdrum-major, Uncle, and give her some lessons; if you approve, that is.

Highly, my dear, highly. Every woman should be able to take care of her own house, and the only way for her to learn is to begin upon some one else's. I should think Peggy might make a vigorous little housekeeper, if a chaotic one. Don't let her loose in the library, Margaret, that is my only prayer.

Uncle John, I really do believe that you think housekeeping consists entirely in dusting and setting things to wrongs, as you call it.

Well, my love, I confess that has always seemed to me a prime element in the art. But I also confess my ignorance, and the depth and darkness thereof. Am I humble enough? Now I must go and take the puppies for an airing. Till dinner-time, May Margaret!

Mr. Montfort strolled away, and Margaret bent with renewed energy over her work, giving herself a little shake as she did so. Her uncle's words still sounded in her ears: You will not find it dull? She had answered out of the fulness of her heart, thinking it impossible that dulness should come where Uncle John was, especially as he happened to be at Fernley House, the most enchanting place in the world. Yet—and yet—it was going to be very, very different, of course, from the life of the past year, so filled full and running over with delight. It was not only that she missed the children; it was that in the care of them, the watching over the growing bodies and the eager minds, she was learning so much herself, feeling the world grow, almost hourly, bigger and brighter and sweeter. The mother-nature was strong in Margaret Montfort, and the children were bringing out all that was best and strongest in her. Well, she must do without that now for awhile; and there was no doubt that the prospect seemed a little flat, even with Peggy to brighten it. Dear Peggy! Margaret loved her fondly; but she was so grown up now, so strong herself, so helpful and self-reliant, that there was no question of taking care of her any more. Why, she knows twenty times as much as I do, said Margaret, about most things, except history. I don't suppose she will ever remember the difference between Mary Stuart and Mary Tudor. But, foolish creature, cried Margaret to herself, what have you just been saying to Uncle John? Here is all the world of housekeeping, about which Peggy knows little or nothing, and which, thanks to Elizabeth and Frances, you do begin to understand a little. Is it a small thing, I ask you, to teach the qualities and fine shades of damask, and the high-lights of huckaback? or the different cuts of meat, and when what is in season? I am ashamed of you, Margaret Montfort! And then there are the puppies, too! Don't let me hear another word of dulness from you, miss, do you hear? Perhaps you would like to be weaving cotton in a factory this heavenly day, or selling yards of hot stuffs in a shop? Go away! and Margaret shook her head severely, and was surprised at herself.

The puppies were two fine young setters, Nip and Tuck by name, which the wise uncle had bought on purpose to soften the blow of the parting with the children. Margaret had never known dogs before, and though Messrs. Nip and Tuck were being strictly trained, and had to spend much of their time in the stable-yard, she still had many a pleasant half-hour with them, when her uncle took them for a run over hill and dale, or gave them a lesson in the garden. Her one anxiety was lest they should meet the Queen of Sheba, her great Angora cat, and there should be trouble; for the Queen was a person of decided temper. Margaret had taken infinite pains, ever since the arrival of the puppies, to keep them out of one another's sight; but Mr. Montfort warned her that she was merely putting off the inevitable, and that the day must come when cat and dogs should meet.

It seemed a little hard that this meeting must take place when the master was not present; but the finger of Fate pointed, and at this very moment, while Margaret was sitting with her peaceful thoughts, Michael, the stable-boy, chanced to drop the leash in which he was leading the puppies to their master. Three minutes later, Nip and Tuck were careering wildly around Margaret, leaping on her with frantic caresses, and talking both at once, and very loud, as dear dogs will sometimes do.

Down, Nip! cried Margaret. Tucky, do behave yourself. Now, boys, however did you get away? Charge, do, like dear boys, and wait for the master; he will be here in a minute.

Nip and Tuck explained breathlessly that they had just got out by the luckiest chance in the world, that they loved her to distraction, and that, upon the whole, they preferred her society to that of any one else in the world, if only she would let them lick her nose. This Margaret firmly refused to do, and they lay down panting for a moment, but only for a moment. Again the finger of Fate pointed; and so it came to pass that as Mr. Montfort came round one corner in search of his run-aways, the Queen of Sheba came round the other. There seemed but one white flash as the two puppies, recognizing their destiny on the instant, flew to meet it, yelling like demons of the pit.

Oh, Uncle John! cried Margaret, starting up in distress. My poor Queen! my poor Sheba! they will—

I wouldn't worry, Margaret, said Mr. Montfort. Sheba can take care of herself, if I am not greatly mistaken.

The great cat stiffened herself into a bristling bow, and waited the charge with gleaming eyes. The dogs' frenzied rush carried them within a foot of her whiskers,