AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE (one of L. Frank Baum's pen names)
1908
Continued....
CHAPTER V.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE NABOBS.
"Well," said Uncle John, looking out of the car
window, "we're nearly
there."
He didn't look the millionaire, or nabob, or
anything else but a modest
little man full of joy at getting into the country.
His clothing was not
distinctive of wealth, his hands were hard and
roughened by years of
toil, and his necktie had a plebeian trick of
sliding under his left
ear. Uncle John was just a plain, simple,
good-hearted fellow before he
acquired riches, and the possession of millions had
in no way altered
his nature.
The three nieces and himself were the only
passengers in the coach,
aside from rosy-cheeked Mary, Patricia's cook.
Finding that the road did
not run a sleeper to Chazy Junction, Mr. Merrick had
ordered one
attached to the train for his especial use; but he
did not allow even
Patsy to suspect this extravagance.
"It seems to me," observed Beth, as she peered out
while the train
puffed up the steep grade, "as if we'd arrived at
the heart of a
wilderness, where farms are likely to be as scarce
as Egyptian temples."
"The truth is," replied her uncle, with a cheerful
smile, "that none of
us has an idea where we're going, or what that farm
of mine looks like.
We're explorers, like Stanley in mid-Africa. That's
the beauty of this
excursion."
"I'm glad I didn't bring any party dresses," said
dainty Louise, shaking
her blonde head with a doubting expression toward
the rock
covered hills.
"Why, you might need them for hay-rides," remarked
Patsy, with a laugh;
"that is, if any hay grows in this land of
quarries."
The train stopped with a jerk, started with another
jerk, and stopped
again with a third that made them catch their
breaths and hold fast to
the seats.
"Chazy Junction, seh," said the colored porter,
entering in haste to
seize their bags.
They alighted on a small wooden platform and their
hand baggage was
deposited beside them. Their trunks were being
tumbled off a car
far ahead.
Then the whistle screamed, the train gave a jerk and
proceeded on its
way, and Uncle John, his nieces and their maid,
found themselves
confronting a solitary man in shirtsleeves, who
yawned languidly, thrust
his hands in his pockets and stared at the strangers
unmoved.
It was six o'clock. The July sun was set in a clear
sky, but the air was
cool and pleasant. Uncle John glanced around with
the eye of a practiced
traveler. Back of the station was a huddle of frame
buildings set in a
hollow. The station-tender was the only person in
sight.
"Isn't there a carriage to meet us?" asked Louise,
in a slightly frigid
tone.
"Seems not," replied her uncle. Then he addressed
the native. "Can you
tell us, sir, where Millville is?" he asked.
"Sev'n mile up the road."
"Thank you kindly. Is there any carriage to be had?"
The man smiled sardonically.
"Kerridges," he said, "don't grow in these parts. I
take it you be the
party fer the Wegg farm."
"You're right," said Mr. Merrick. "I'm glad we are
getting acquainted.
Folks all well?"
"Pretty fair."
"Now, sir, we want some breakfast, to begin with,
and then some way to
get to my farm."
"Peggy orter 'a' looked after you," remarked the
man, eyeing the dainty
gowns of the young ladies reflectively.
"Who's Peggy?"
"That's McNutt, the man you hired to do things."
"Ah, yes; he surely ought to have sent some sort of
a team to meet us,"
agreed Uncle John. "What's that group of houses
yonder?"
"Thet's the Junction."
"Any hotel?"
"Sure."
"And a livery stable?"
"'Course there is."
"Then we'll get along," said Uncle John, assuming a
sudden brisk manner.
"Just keep your eye on our baggage till we get back,
my good fellow.
There are no people to interfere with it, but some
bears or tigers might
come out of the hills and eat it up. Now, girls,
away we go!"
Uncle John's nieces were not so greatly dismayed at
this experience as
might have been expected. They had recently
accompanied their erratic
relative on a European trip and had learned to be
patient under
difficulties.
A quarter of a mile down the dusty road they came to
the hotel, a
dismal, unclean looking place that smelled of stale
beer. Uncle John
routed out the proprietor.
"Folks up?" he inquired.
"Long ago," said the man.
"Get us some boiled eggs, bread and butter and
plenty of fresh
milk--right away," ordered Mr. Merrick. "The quicker
it comes the more
I'll pay you. Bring a table out here on the porch
and we'll eat in the
open air. Where's the livery stable--eh? Oh, I see.
Now, step lively, my
man, and your fortune's made. I'll add a quarter of
a dollar for every
five minutes you save us in time."
The fellow stared, then woke up with a start and
disappeared within.
"By gum, I'll bet a hen it's thet air nabob!" he
muttered.
Leaving his girls and Mary to sit on the wooden
benches of the porch
Uncle John crossed the road to the livery stable,
where he discovered a
man and a boy engaged in cleaning the half dozen
sorry looking nags the
establishment contained. A three-seated democrat
wagon was engaged to
carry the party to the Wegg farm at Millville, and a
rickety lumber
wagon would take the baggage. The liveryman
recognized his customer as
soon as the Wegg farm was mentioned, and determined
to "do the city guy
up brown."
"Road's bad an' up hill, an' my time's vallyble," he
said in a surly
voice. "I'll hev to charge ye three dollars."
"For what?" asked Uncle John, quietly.
"Fer the two teams to Millville."
"Get them harnessed right away, load up the baggage,
and have the
democrat at the hotel in twenty minutes. Here's five
dollars, and if
you'll look pleasant you may keep the change."
"Blame my thick skull!" muttered the livery-man, as
he watched the
little man depart. "What a cussed fool I were not to
say four dollars
instead o' three!"
But he called to his boy to hurry up, and in the
stipulated time the
teams were ready.
Uncle John and his nieces were just finishing their
eggs, which were
fresh and delicious. The milk was also a revelation.
Through the windows
of the hotel several frowsy looking women and an
open mouthed boy were
staring hard at the unconscious city folk.
Even Louise was in a mood for laughter as they
mounted to the high seats
of the democrat. The glorious air, the clear
sunshine and a satisfactory
if simple breakfast had put them all in a good humor
with the world.
They stopped at the station for their hand baggage,
and saw that the
trunks were properly loaded on the lumber wagon.
Then, slowly, they
started to mount the long hill that began its
incline just across
the tracks.
"Sure this is the way?" inquired Uncle John, perched
beside the driver.
"I were horned here," answered the man,
conclusively.
"That seems to settle it. Pretty big hill, that one
ahead of us."
"It's the Little Bill. When we cross it, we're at
Millville."
Seven miles of desolate country could not dampen the
spirits of the
girls. Secretly each one was confident that Uncle
John's unknown farm
would prove to be impossible, and that in a day or
so at the latest they
would retrace their steps. But in the meantime the
adventure was novel
and interesting, and they were prepared to accept
the inevitable with
all graciousness.
When, after the long climb up the hill, they saw the
quaint mill and the
town lying just across rushing Little Bill Creek;
when from their
elevation they beheld the placid lake half hidden by
its stately pines
and gazed up the rugged and picturesque foot-hills
to the great
mountains beyond, then indeed they drew in deep
breaths and began, as
Patsy exclaimed, to be "glad they came."
"That Millville?" asked Uncle John, eagerly.
"Yes, sir."
"And which of those houses belongs to the Wegg
farm?"
"Ye can't see the Wegg house from here; the pines
hide it," said the
man, urging his horses into a trot as they
approached the bridge.
"Pretty good farm?" inquired Uncle John, hopefully.
"Worst in the county," was the disconcerting reply.
"Half rocks an' half
trees. Ol' Cap'n Wegg wasn't no farmer. He were a
sea-cap'n; so it's no
wonder he got took in when he bought the place."
Uncle John sighed.
"I've just bought it myself," he observed.
"There's a ol' addige," said the man, grinning,
"'bout a fool an' his
money. The house is a hunker; but w'at's the use of
a house without
a farm?"
"What is a 'hunker,' please?" inquired Louise,
curiously.
The liveryman ventured no reply, perhaps because he
was guiding his
horses over the rickety bridge.
"Want to stop at the village?" he asked.
"No; drive on to the farm."
The scene was so rude and at the same time so
picturesque that it
impressed them all very agreeably. Perhaps they were
the more delighted
because they had expected nothing admirable in this
all but forsaken
spot. They did not notice the people who stared
after them as they
rattled through the village, or they would have seen
Uncle John's
"agent" in front of his office, his round eyes
fairly bulging from
his head.
It had never occurred to McNutt to be at the
Junction to welcome his
patron. He had followed his instructions and set Mr.
Merrick's house in
order, and there he considered that his duty ended.
He would, of course,
call on the nabob, presently, and render an account
of the money he
had received.
Sam Cotting, the store-keeper, gazed after the
livery team with a sour
countenance, he resented the fact that five
big-boxes of groceries had
been forwarded from the city to the Wegg farm.
"What'n thunder's the use
havin' city folks here, ef they don't buy nothin'?"
he asked the boys;
and they agreed it was no use at all.
Proceeding at a smart trot the horses came to the
Pearson farm, where
they turned into the Jane at the left and
straightway subsided to a slow
walk, the wheels bumping and jolting over the stony
way.
"What's this?" exclaimed Uncle John, who had
narrowly escaped biting his
tongue through and through. "Why did you turn down
here?"
"It's the road," returned the driver, with a
chuckle; "it's the
cobble-stone lane to yer farm, an' the farm's 'bout
the same sort o'
land as the lane."
For a few moments the passengers maintained a dismal
silence.
"The country's lovely," said Patsy, glancing at the
panorama as they
mounted a slight elevation.
"Are you sure, Uncle, that there is a house, or any
place of refuge, on
your farm?" asked Louise, in a mischievous tone.
"Why, there's a rumor of a house, and the rumor says
it's a hunker,"
replied Mr. Merrick, in a voice that betrayed a
slight uneasiness.
"Doubtless the house matches the farm," said Beth,
calmly. "I imagine it
has two rooms and a leaky roof. But never mind,
girls. This has been a
pleasant trip, and we can seek shelter elsewhere if
the worst comes to
the worst."
"I guess the worst has come a'ready," observed the
driver; "for the
house is by odds the best part o' the Wegg farm.
It's big enough fer a
hotel, an' cost a lot o' money in its day. Seems
like the lunatics all
crowd to thet place--fust ol' Cap'n Wegg wasted of
his substance on it,
an' now----"
He paused, perhaps fearing he might become personal
in his remarks, and
Uncle John coughed while the girls shrieked with
laughter.
Expecting nothing, they were amazed when they passed
the orchard and the
group of pines that had concealed the house and
suddenly drew up beside
the old-fashioned stile built into the rail fence.
Every eye was
instantly upon the quaint, roomy mansion, the grassy
sward extending
between it and the road, and the cosy and home-like
setting of the
outbuildings.
"Here's Wegg's," said the liveryman.
"Oh, Uncle," cried Beth; "how lovely!"
Louise's pretty face was wreathed with smiles. Patsy
drew in a long
breath and scrambled out of the high seat.
On the corner of the front porch stood Nora, arrayed
in her neat gray
gown and a cap. Her face was composed, but she felt
herself trembling
a little.
Old Hucks came slowly down the steps to greet the
company. Never in his
memory had his dress been so immaculate. The queer
old fellow seemed to
appreciate this as he raised his smiling face from
the stooped shoulders
and poised it on one side like a sparrow.
"Welcome home, sir," he said to Uncle John. "I'm
Hucks, sir; Thomas
Hucks," and without more words he proceeded to
remove the satchels from
the wagon.
"Ah, yes," returned Mr. Merrick, cheered by the
welcome and the smile of
the old man. "I'd forgotten about you, but I'm glad
you're here."
"And that is my wife Nora, on the porch. She's the
housekeeper, sir."
And then, lowering his voice so that only the girls
and Uncle John could
hear, he added simply: "She's blind."
Patsy walked straight up to the eager, pathetic
figure of the woman and
took her hand in a warm clasp.
"I'm Patricia, Nora," she said, "and I'm sure we
shall be friends."
Beth followed her cousin's lead.
"And I am Beth, Nora. Will you remember me?"
"Surely, miss; by your voice," returned the old
woman, beaming
delightedly at these evidences of kindliness.
"Here is another, Nora," said their cousin, in
gentle tones. "I am
Louise."
"Three young and pretty girls, Nora; and as good as
they are pretty,"
announced Uncle John, proudly. "Will you show us in,
Thomas, or will
your wife?"
"Nora will take the young ladies to their rooms,
sir."
"Not now, Uncle!" they all protested, in nearly
identical words; and
Louise added: "Let us drink in the delights of this
pretty picture
before we shut ourselves up in the stuffy rooms. I
hope they've
been aired."
Patsy ran to a chicken-coop on the side lawn, where
a fussy hen was
calling to her children that strangers had arrived.
Beth exclaimed at
the honeysuckle vines and Louise sank into a rustic
chair with a sigh
of content.
"I'm so glad you brought us here. Uncle," she said.
"What a surprise it
is to find the place so pretty!"
They could hear the rush of the Little Bill in the
wood behind them and
a soft breeze stirred the pines and wafted their
fragrance to the
nostrils of the new arrivals. Uncle John squatted on
the shady steps and
fairly beamed upon the rustic scene spread out
before him. Patsy had now
thrown aside her hat and jacket and lay outstretched
upon the cool
grass, while the chickens eyed her with evident
suspicion. Beth was
picking a bouquet of honeysuckles, just because they
were so sweet
and homely.
"I'm almost sure I sent some hammocks and a croquet
set," remarked Uncle
John.
"They're here, sir," said Old Hucks, who had watched
each one with his
persistent smile and now stood awaiting his new
master's commands. "But
we didn't know jest where ye wanted 'em put."
Mary came out. She had taken off her things and
donned her white apron.
"The house is quite wonderful, Mr. Merrick," she
said. "There is
everything we can possibly need, and all as neat as
wax."
The report stirred the girls to explore. They all
trooped into the big
living room and were at once captivated by its
charm. Nora led them
upstairs to their chambers, finding the way as
unerringly as if she
possessed perfect vision, and here a new chorus of
delight was evoked.
"The blue room is mine!" cried Louise.
"Mine is the pink room," said Beth.
"And I choose the white room," declared Patsy. "The
Major's is just
next, and it will please him because it is all green
and gold. But where
will Uncle John room?"
"The master will use the right wing," said old Nora,
who had listened
with real pleasure to the exclamations of delight.
"It were Cap'n Wegg's
room, ye know, an' we've fitted it all new."
Indeed, Uncle John was at that moment inspecting his
apartment, and he
sighed contentedly as he congratulated himself upon
his foresight in
sending down the furnishings on the chance of their
being needed. They
had effected a complete transformation of the old
house.
But who had arranged everything? Surely the perfect
taste and dainty
touch evidenced everywhere was not to be attributed
to blind Nora. The
little man was thoughtful as he turned to Old Hucks.
"Who did it, Thomas?" he asked.
"Miss Ethel, sir; the school-ma'am."
"Oh. A city girl?"
"No, sir. Crazy Will Thompson's granddaughter. She
lives 'bout nine mile
away."
"Is she here now?"
"Went home this mornin', sir. It were a great
pleasure to her, she said,
an' she hoped as how you'd like everything, an' be
happy here."
Undo John nodded.
"We must call on that girl," he remarked. "We owe
her a good deal, I
imagine, and she's entitled to our grateful thanks."
AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
Continued....
 
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