The House in the Hedge/Chapter 13

always look so different in the morning. All my dark suspicions of the night before melted away in the sunshine, as I dressed and went down to breakfast. Besides, it needed but a glance at Jocelyn to convince me that she was never meant for midnight adventures. She was as calm and radiant, and blooming as ever. Of course Ned had to tell about Larry's appearance at his window and how he had mistaken him for a burglar and we all had a good laugh over it; all except Aunt Myra. Aunt Myra assured Larry that he would be killed some time doing such foolish tricks, and that if there were going to be any more midnight prowlings she would like to know about it, so she wouldn't be scared out of her seven senses; and wouldn't Larry have some more coffee.

“It's funny what has become of Fairfax,” I said. “I'm sure I heard him out there last night.”

“Oh, don't worry,” answered Larry. “He will come back wagging his tail behind him, soon enough. He has the wanderlust, I dare say.”

“Why not?” asked Ned, reaching for the marmalade. “Folks have it; why not animals? We get off into the woods and eat canned meat and sleep on the ground and get 'near to Nature,' as we call it. I suppose that cat of yours, Marjorie, is doing the same thing; sleeping in trees, catching mice and birds, and being a regular feline Nimrod. I sympathize with the old rascal, I do.”

“There's nothing to keep you from sleeping in a tree and eating mice, if you'd rather,” laughed Larry. “You might fix up a bed on the platform out there and set a trap in the stable.”

“As a subject for conversation at the breakfast table” began Aunt Myra severely.

“I'd love to do that,” said Jocelyn.

“Eat mice?” asked Ned.

“No, but sleep on that platform in the tree. I've always been crazy about sleeping out of doors.”

“But think of all the little bugs and caterpillars,” said Larry maliciously.

Jocelyn smiled scornfully.

“I'm not afraid of bugs, Larry.”

“How about tree-toads?” Jocelyn looked doubtful.

Well, I don't like toads,” she admitted. “We had a glorious time last summer in the Adirondacks. We slept for almost a week in shelter tents on pine boughs with blankets spread over them. It was lovely.”

“I know,” said Larry. “I've done that. The balsam needles get through your clothes and down your neck and tickle you.”

“I knew a poor chap had that happen to him,” said Ned. “He died laughing before they could summon assistance.”

“Seems rather a needless death,” murmured Larry. “What's the programme for to-day, folks?

“Stay comfortably at home,” answered Jocelyn promptly, “and sit on the porch and embroider and keep cool. That's what Marjorie and I are going to do. You boys may do what you please; we shan't want you before luncheon.”

“Thanks,” said Larry.

“Well, as I didn't bring my sewing with me,” said Ned, “I guess I'll have to beg off, in spite of your cordial invitation. How about some golf, Larry?”

“I've got you. Dare say, if we stay away all morning they'll appreciate us more when we get back, Ned.”

“Sure to. Absence makes the feminine heart grow fonder. I shall expect Aunt Myra to be awfully sweet to me when I return.”

Larry and Ned drove off in the runabout at a little after ten, and Jocelyn and I went out on the front porch with our fancy work. You wouldn't expect a girl who can manage a horse or use a racket or a golf stick as Jocelyn Hare can to be much good at fancy work. But she embroiders beautifully and makes the most divine lace. I hated to show her that miserable little card-case of mine, but she insisted. I had drawn the initials on with pencil and was half-way through the R.

“Who is 'R. H.'?” she asked. “Anyone I know?”

I told her, expecting she would try to tease me about Mr. Reed. But she didn't. She just looked thoughtful and then began to ask questions about him. I told her what I could, but I could see that she suspected me of knowing a good deal more.

“What an awful thing to have happen to one,” she said. “But why does he shut himself up in such a little box of a place as that cottage over there?”

And when I had explained that she asked:

“And this Mr.—Mr. Tully; what is he like, Marjorie?”

“He's a dear,” I said, “but terrifically serious; like this.” And I tried to draw my face down to look like his. Jocelyn smiled.

“But you like him?”

“Very much. He's as kind and good as he can be. And oh, wonderfully patient with Mr. Reed! And he's very good-looking, Marjorie. He's awfully smart, Mr. Reed says. He writes about political economy, and he gave me one of his books the other day, with his name in it.”

“Really?” asked Jocelyn, frowning over a snarled skein of white silk floss. “Then you and he must be very good friends.”

“We are,” I answered. “But of course I'm so terribly stupid that I could never make a real hit with him.” And I sighed sadly. Jocelyn darted a suspicious glance at me, and then smiled.

“You're a goose, Marjorie,” she laughed. “I wonder if you'll ever be serious enough to care for anyone; any man, I mean.”

“You never can tell,” I replied lightly. “I may fall in love at any moment.”

“With Ned Merrill?” she asked slyly. I drew out my needle and tried to flatten out the puckers by pressing the card-case on my knee.

“Ned is a very nice boy,” I answered thoughtfully. “Next to Larry, I like him as well as—any boy. Of course, though, there is no one quite like Larry.”

“No, Larry is certainly a dear,” answered Jocelyn calmly. I was glad Larry wasn't where he could hear, for her tone wouldn't have sounded very encouraging to him.

“Is that all?” I asked. Jocelyn looked across seriously.

“What do you mean? You don't think I—care for him—in that way, do you, Marjorie?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“It isn't so much what I think, is it? Still, I'll 'fess up that I had had suspicions, Jocelyn.”

“How absurd! Larry is a perfect dear and I'm as fond of him as I can be without—being in love with him. Why, we're more like brother and sister than anything else, Marjorie.”

“Um,” I said, snipping a thread.

“Larry quite understands,” said Jocelyn with dignity.

“Maybe, but you can't always be sure about men understanding,” I replied. “For my part, I have an idea that Larry is—well, is a little sweet on you, dear.” Jocelyn flushed and looked quite worried.

“I'm certain you're quite mistaken,” she said. “You're too romantic, Marjorie.”

“No one ever said that about me before,” I laughed. “But if you're not in love with him and aren't going to be, Jocelyn, I insist on your letting him know it. I'm not going to have you making him unhappy.”

“I don't want to, Marjorie. I never had any idea”

“No, that's what girls always say, but”

“Besides, you are absolutely mistaken if you think that your brother has—has any ideas of that sort.”

“Perhaps I am,” I acknowledged. “And, anyway, I dare say it is just as well for Larry. I'd love to have you for a sister, Jocelyn, but—well, Larry is frightfully jealous and I'm afraid”

“What do you mean?” she demanded quite ferociously. But I wasn't to be put down that way.

“Why, you know, dear, that you are fond of admiration and like to have men around you”

“Oh, I think that's horrid,” cried Jocelyn. If you only knew!” Then she choked and, although she bent her head over her work, I saw a tear trickle down and splash on the linen.

“Jocelyn!” I begged. “Do forgive me, dear. I didn't mean to be nasty. What—what is it?”

But she only sniffed and kept her head down.

“Jocelyn, you're in love!” I whispered. “There's—there's somebody. Tell me about it!”

“I—I can't. I wish I could. Perhaps—some day”

“Is he nice? What does he look like? Is he big or—or”

Jocelyn looked up for an instant, with a tear on the end of her nose, and her eyes very big and bright.

“He's the best in the world,” she said softly. Then she dropped her eyes again. “I can't tell you, Marjorie, but—oh, I wish I could!”

I sighed. It must be nice, I thought, to be in love like that and know—but perhaps that was it! Perhaps she didn't know!

“And he?” I asked. “Does he—does he”

Jocelyn nodded. I sighed again.

“He couldn't help loving you,” I said thoughtfully. “You're so beautiful. Jocelyn, I do wish I didn't have hair like bu lap.”

“You silly!” She looked across with wet eyes and smiled. “You're as pretty as a picture, dear, and I believe you know it very well. And I hope that some day you'll find someone like—like Him and be as happy as I am—when I'm not too miserable for words!”

“Well, I don't see how you can be so happy and so miserable all at once,” I objected. “If I was in love and he loved me, I guess I wouldn't waste time being miserable about it.”

“You don't understand,” murmured Jocelyn sadly.

“I guess I don't. Isn't he—that is, don't your father and mother like him?”

“They—don't know him,” answered Jocelyn after a moment.

“Don't know—but, Jocelyn”

However, just at that moment footsteps sounded on the gravel and there was Mr. Tully, of all persons! And—what do you think? He was actually smiling!

“It's Mr. Tully,” I whispered to Jocelyn. “Don't you dare run away!” I went to the steps to meet him and we shook hands and he said something about the weather. I expected him to just turn straight around and skedaddle down the drive, when he saw Jocelyn, but he did nothing of the kind. He cast a glance at her and then came straight up the steps, hat in hand.

“Jocelyn,” I said, “this is Mr. Tully, who is staying at the House in the Hedge. Miss Hare, Mr. Tully.”

Jocelyn looked up and smiled her sweetest, and Mr. Tully bowed and murmured something polite and looked around for a chair. And presently we were all talking away quite nicely. I'd never seen Mr. Tully look so handsome, or so young, or so frivolous, and I stared and stared at him, until he happened to look up and catch me at it. Then he blushed and I knew that he was the same Mr. Tully. I asked after his patient and he said he was doing nicely, and hoped I wasn't going to give up my visits.



“He enjoys his chats with you so much, Miss Pryde. He missed them sadly while you were away.”

“I'll come over for a little while after luncheon,” I answered, “if I may.”

“He will be delighted. This is your first visit to Eastmeadows, Miss Hare?”

“Not quite.. I was here for a week at this house two summers ago.”

“I hope you will enjoy your stay. We—I—find the place very charming.”

“I expect to enjoy myself very much,” answered Jocelyn. And with that she positively beamed at Mr. Tully, and he, the rascal, beamed back at her! Fancy Mr. Tully beaming! I felt almost scandalized, I plunged desperately into a new subject.

“Such a horrible thing has happened, Mr. Tully. We've lost Fairfax!”

Mr. Tully stared.

“Lost him!” he exclaimed.

“Yes. He disappeared the day I left for New London and no one has seen hide or hair of him since.”

“But—but—Miss Pryde! He isn't lost!”

“Not lost? Then where is he?”

“Sitting on our porch in the sun. He's been with us almost all the time for a week. If I'd known you were worried about him—really, I can't tell you how sorry I am! I never thought that”

“It doesn't matter,” I laughed. He's in excellent hands. But isn't he a rascal to worry us so? I guess I might just as well make you a present of him first as last, Mr. Tully. He seems to have adopted you already. Why, Mr. Tully, are you so fatally fascinating?”

Poor Mr. Tully looked distressed and I caught such a funny look from Jocelyn. It was positively malignant.

“I—I don't think it's me, Miss Pryde,” said Mr. Tully. “The cat is really quite crazy about Mr.—Mr.”

“Reed,” I prompted. He looked grateful for the assistance.

“Yes, Mr. Reed. He spends most of his time lying on the bed with him. And I think I may say that the attachment is—er mutual.”

“I'm glad if it is,” I said. “I wouldn't want Fairfax to make a nuisance of himself.”

“Oh, he doesn't, really, Miss Pryde. My patient is—er—much attached to him. I hope Miss Groves is well?”

“Quite, thank you.” I knew that I ought to go in and tell her of Mr. Tully's visit, but it seemed cruel to subject him to a tête-à-tête with a strange young lady, even for a few minutes. So I didn't go, and we talked on for several minutes. Then Jocelyn looked up and inquired sweetly:

“Don't you think, dear, you'd better tell Aunt Myra that Mr. Tully is here?” So then, there was nothing to do but go, and I excused myself and went, imploring Jocelyn, with a look from the doorway, to be gentle with our visitor. I was away only long enough to acquaint auntie with the fact of Mr. Tully's presence and to break the good news about Lord Fairfax, and then I hurried down again to rescue the poor man. But before I reached the front door I could hear, through the library window, which was open all the way, the sound of their voices. They were talking very low and animatedly, just as though they had a whole lot to say to each other, before I got back, and didn't want to be heard. I stopped at the library door, not to listen, but to wonder. All my suspicions of last night came back with a rush. One thing was certain: Jocelyn and Mr. Tully were not strangers! Then I went out on the porch and they were sitting just as I had left them, Jocelyn busy over her embroidery frame and Mr. Tully observing her silently, with his hat on his knees. Of course, I reflected, they had heard me coming, but for a moment I doubted the evidence of my ears.

Aunt Myra came down presently and she and Mr. Tully did most of the talking. I watched Jocelyn. Once in a while she glanced up with a polite smile, but most of the time she kept her eyes on her work. Either I'm quite mistaken, I thought, or she's a perfectly wonderful actress. Mr. Tully left after an hour or so, reminding me, as he went, of my promised visit.

“What do you think of him?” I asked Jocelyn as he went striding down the drive. Jocelyn smoothed her work out and viewed it critically

“He seems quite a gentleman,” she replied. But I should think he might be rather hard to entertain.”

And she never fluttered an eyelash, the minx!