The House in the Hedge/Chapter 3

told you how wicked Fairfax was about running away. When we reached Two Acres we had to watch him very carefully for a while. He had never been in the country before I had got him the previous autumn and we didn't know how he'd act. The first time we let him off his leash, he sat down flat on the lawn for a minute and waved his tail excitedly. Then he raced three times around the side yard, with his back hunched up like a camel's, and climbed a horse-chestnut tree. After he got up about a dozen feet, he looked down and got frightened, I guess, for he began to cry. Elise and I called him and called him, but he wouldn't budge; just clung there and made a dreadful fuss. Finally we had to get Peter to bring a ladder and rescue him. After that we didn't give him his liberty again until that Tuesday morning. Then, as we'd had two rainy days and the poor dear hadn't had much exercise, I decided to try him again. So I took him out on the porch and slipped his collar and leash off. For a while he seemed quite content to lie in the sun and watch the birds, and I was just congratulating myself, when he suddenly gave a bound across the flower bed, landed on the walk, and sped pell-mell across the lawn toward the hedge, I after him as fast as I could go. I suppose I ought to have stayed still and just called him. As it was, he thought it was a foot-race, I guess, for he turned and ran back toward the stable as fast as he could go. Just then Peter came along trundling a wheelbarrow and Fairfax dove through the hedge.

The hedge is so thick that you can't see through it, unless you get down on your hands and knees and sort of look underneath. That's what I did then. But I couldn't catch even a glimpse of Fairfax. So I sat down on the grass and called him.

“Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Fairfax! Come, Kitty! Nice old pussums! Come back home to oo muvver! Come, Kitty! Co-o -me, Kitty!”

But Kitty didn't come, and after waiting a few moments, I got up and went to the hole in the hedge. It isn't exactly a hole, though; it's just a place where the hedge isn't very thick on account of the shade from our stable. Larry and I used to crawl through it when we went over to hunt spooks. I didn't actually go through at first. I just got my head on the other side and looked about for that bothersome cat. But he wasn't to be seen. I called some more, and then, as there was nobody in sight, I stepped out on the other side into the drive, which was almost grown up with chickweed. was at the rear of the cottage and just in front of I the tiny little brown stable. I wondered whether Fairfax had gone in there to look for mice, but it was all closed up tight and I couldn't see any place where he might have got in. So I went on very quietly around the back of the house. The kitchen windows were open and I could hear someone moving around in there. I didn't want to look like a burglar, so I just stopped tiptoeing and walked quite boldly around the farther corner of the cottage and almost over a man who was kneeling by a flower bed, which ran along the side of the house. He had a trowel in his hand and there were some seed packets lying beside him. His back was toward me—and a very big back it looked—and as he didn't turn around I knew he hadn't heard me. For a moment I thought I'd slip out of sight again. But that would be very silly and cowardly, so I said:

“I beg your pardon, but have you seen”

Just then he started and looked around and I stopped short. Then I began to laugh. I couldn't help it, for he was the very serious gentleman I'd seen in the station restaurant. I stopped as soon as I could, though. Meanwhile he'd got to his feet.

“Good-morning,” he said quite calmly. “Your cat is up that tree there. Do you want him?”

I looked, and sure enough, there was Fairfax lying along the branch of a pear tree and blinking amiably down at us.

“Yes,” I said, “but I'm afraid he's out of reach. He climbed a tree the other day and we had to get him down with a ladder. I'm sorry he came into your yard. He's very bad about running away.”

“It's of no consequence,” he said, brushing the loam from his trousers. “I think I can reach him for you.”

“It's very kind of you,” I murmured, following him across to the pear tree. Then, if you'll believe it, he stood on tiptoe, reached up his hand and lifted Fairfax from his perch! And then I realized how very big and tall he was. He held Fairfax in his arms a minute, looking at him, and Fairfax wasn't frightened the least bit in the world, but just kind of rolled over on his back and blinked up at the man.

“A very handsome cat,” he said. “I never cared for cats. I like dogs better. But this chap is certainly a beauty.”

“Yes,” I said. Somehow I couldn't seem to find anything to say. I wanted to laugh, but it makes you feel dreadfully foolish to laugh and have the other person remain as grave as a judge. He handed Fairfax over to me.

“If he comes over here again,” he said, “I'll chase him back, if you wish.”

“Thank you so much,” I answered. “I hope he will behave himself, though, and stay on his own side of the hedge, for I don't want you to think that you have got to spend the summer catching my cat for me.”

He made no answer to this, except to nod his head once. I backed away with Fairfax in my arms, wondering whether I ought to thank him again. He evidently didn't expect me to, however, for he went back and picked up his trowel. Then, just when I'd decided to say “Good-morning” nicely and go away, he asked:

“You are Miss Pryde?”

I acknowledged it.

“I heard by accident that your mother”

“My aunt,” I corrected.

“Pardon me, your aunt is feeling uneasy about the patient here. There is really no occasion, Miss Pryde. You might tell her so. It is not a case of contagious disease, as she evidently supposes”

“Oh, it wasn't that. Auntie is just naturally nervous and she thought—we heard that the patient was—was”

“Well?” he asked encouragingly.

“Was violent," I said. He looked puzzled.

“Violent? I'm afraid I don't understand. Suppose you tell me just what you did hear.” I knew I'd made a blunder, but I told him. He frowned terribly, especially when I mentioned the strait-jacket.

“Nonsense!” he said. “There is no question of insanity. The patient met with an accident some months ago that will probably make him an invalid for life. But his mind is not affected.”

“Oh, I'm so glad," I murmured.

“Of course,” he went on, “there is a certain nervous irritability not unnatural when you consider that Mister—that the patient is a young man who has led a very active life.”

“Oh, quite natural.”

“I dare say that part about the strait-jacket is due to the fact that he was brought down here on a stretcher. Possibly the local intelligence conceives of no difference between the two.”

“You don't seem to have a very good opinion of the local intelligence,” I laughed.

“I haven't. Have you?”

Well, I You see, I am half local myself. My mother was born here and lived here all her life until she married. And we've been spending our summers here for years. So I'm a good deal of an Eastmeadowsite myself.”

“Then you must know something about flowers, and seeds, and things. Will these seeds make plants that will blossom this summer?”

“What are they?”

“Mignonette, sweet peas, nasturtiums, hollyhocks,—er—candy-tuft and—I forget the rest. I am very fond of flowers, although I've never tried to raise any, and this place looks so bare without them. So I bought these seeds in the village yesterday. The man, who sold them to me, assured me that they would grow, but”—he shook his head as he gazed at the scattered packets—“my imagination fails when I try to picture this expanse of soil clothed with leaves and flowers.”

“I'm afraid I don't know very much about growing flowers myself,” I said, “although I used to have a bed all my own when I was a little girl. I'm sure, though, that hollyhock seed has to be planted the year before you want the flowers. And I don't believe sweet peas will do well there. It is rather high, you see, and they need lots of moisture. I wish you'd let me send Peter over for a few minutes. He knows everything to be known about gardening and he can tell you just where, and how, to plant those seeds.”

“Thanks, but I'd rather not trouble him. I dare say I'll blunder through all right.”

“But he hasn't anything special to do, I'm sure. Please let me send him over for a moment.” But he shook his head and sort of frowned.

“No, no! After all, there is more pleasure in doing a thing yourself, even if the results aren't exactly what you look for. I'll remember about the hollyhocks and sweet peas, however.”

I slipped the leash onto Fairfax.

“Please hold him,” I said. Then I sat down on the turf and scooped the seed packets into my lap. “If you won't let Peter help, I'm going to. Now let me see. Snapdragon; that grows tall. I'd put that at the back of the bed. And the balsam, too. Mignonette doesn't grow very high, and that could go toward the front. Sweet alyssum”

“One moment,” he interrupted. better not trust my memory.” He picked up the snapdragon and balsam packets and tossed them on the bed where they were to go. I went through the rest of the packets and sorted them out.



“I wouldn't put climbing nasturtiums here,” I said, “because they'll have nothing to climb on and will choke everything out. You'd better find another place for those and for the sweet peas.”

He looked gravely over the yard.

“I guess I'll have to leave them out,” he said. “You see there are no more beds.”

“But you can make one, can't you?” I laughed. “Haven't you a spade?”

“I suppose I could. I hadn't thought of that. You see I'm a pretty poor gardener. As for a spade, I fear we don't possess such a thing, but I can get one. There's a coal shovel somewhere about; I saw it the other day.”

“Oh, you can't dig flower beds with a coal shovel. You must have a spade; and a rake, too. You can get them in the village.”

“Very well. And where would you advise digging the bed?”

I got up and looked over the situation.

“Why not over there near the corner?” I asked. We went over together, Fairfax trotting demurely along at the end of his leash. “About here, I would say. You mustn't get it too near the hedge or it will be too shaded in the morning. Make it about ten feet long, put the sweet peas at one end and the nasturtiums at the other. You'll have to have something for them to climb on, though.”

“I suppose so. What do they use for that purpose?”

“Oh, brush if you have any. Or chicken wire between posts. Or if you wanted to go to the expense of having a lattice, the carpenter could put up something real pretty for you.”

“Well, I suppose there's no hurry about that?” he questioned. “It will be some time before it's needed, won't it?”

“Oh, yes, a month likely. You could put up something yourself, I guess, couldn't you?” He looked rather doubtful, but nodded his head.

“I dare say I could. About putting the seeds in, now. You just—ah—makes holes, I presume, and drop the seeds into them?”

I strove to remember what garden lore I'd ever known, and then for five minutes I delivered a lecture to him. I think most of what I told him was correct, although I had my doubts later in the summer, when I saw the results of his planting. After I had finished, he thanked me, and conducted Fairfax and me to the front gate. I told him I hoped his garden would be a success, and he said that, if it was, it would be owing to my kindness. And just when he was opening the gate, a voice came from the cottage and made me jump.

“Tully, haven't you got those damn seeds in yet?”

It was a loud voice and didn't sound at all like an invalid's. My host raised his hat hurriedly and ran up the path and disappeared in the door. We didn't hurry away, Fairfax and I, and I heard the voice again, not so loud this time, but quite strong and distinct.

“Young lady?” it asked. “What young lady? What's a young lady doing here?”

A second voice murmured. Then:

“Why didn't you say so? How was I to know you were spooning in the garden, Tully? Is she pretty?”

I hurried out just as the curtains parted at the front window and I had an instant's glimpse of Mr. Tully's distressed countenance.

We went home, slowly and thoughtfully, Fairfax and I. Somehow Mr. Tully's protestations regarding the sanity of his patient didn't impress me. Invalids don't have loud, strong voices such as I had heard. It was evident that the mysterious patient's real condition was to remain a secret if Mr. Tully had his way, but he couldn't deceive me. The strait-jacket might be an exaggeration, and perhaps the patient was quite harmless, but for my part, I wished they had put him on the second floor instead of the first. It would be so easy for him to get out of that window if he wasn't watched!

But there was no need to increase Aunt Myra's uneasiness, so, at luncheon, I told her of my adventure and repeated Mr. Tully's reassuring remarks. I think she would have had something to say to my trespassing in strange gardens and making the acquaintance of strange men, had she not been so pleased with my news.

“It's just as I supposed,” she said triumphantly. “The poor man is merely an invalid and the story about his being a maniac was made out of whole cloth. Did Mr. Tully say where the gentleman was injured in the accident?”

“No, auntie.”

“Well, I think it is our duty to be neighborly. I shall send Peter over with some jelly this afternoon.”

That put an idea into my head, and after luncheon I sought Peter and made him rob the beds of a dozen white geraniums and a dozen hollyhocks. He put the plants in a basket and I wrote a line to go with them: “With Lord Fairfax's compliments.” Then I sent him with the basket to the House in the Hedge and told him to ask for Mr. Tully. When he returned the basket was empty and he bore a verbal message of thanks. Later on, that afternoon, he carried another basket over. In it were two glasses of Aunt Myra's best jelly and her card. Five minutes later Peter was back again with basket, jelly, and card.

“The gentleman said give you his thanks, ma'am, but the patient never eats jelly.”

Aunt Myra was plainly offended. “Never eats jelly, indeed!” she sniffed. “Well, if he ever does it won't be mine.” I smiled quietly. I hadn't told about the geraniums and hollyhocks.