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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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certainly was not Aunt Crete. Luella flew to the door at the first tap; and there, submerged in a sheaf of American Beauty roses, stood the functionary from the lower floor, with a less pompous manner than he had worn before. The roses had caused his respect for the occupants of the fourth floor, back, to rise several degrees.
Luella stood speechless in wonder, looking first at the roses and then at the servant. Such roses had never come into her life before. Could it be —must it be—but a miserable mistake?
Then the servant spoke.
"Miss Ward sends de flowers, an' is sorry de ladies ain't well. She send her regrets, an' says she can't come to see de ladies 'count of a drive she'd promised to take to-day, in which she'd hoped to have de ladies' comp'ny . She hopes de ladies be better dis even'n '."
He was gone, and the mother and daughter faced each other over the roses, bewilderment and awe in their faces.
"What did he say, Luella? Who sent those roses? Miss Ward? Luella, there's some mistake. Aunt Crete couldn't have sent them. She wouldn't dare! Besides, where would she get the money? It's perfectly impossible. It can't be Aunt Crete, after all. It must be some one else with the same name. Perhaps Donald has picked up some one here in the hotel; you can't tell; or perhaps it isn't our Donald at all. It's likely there's other Donald Grants in the world. What we ought to have done was to go down at once and find out, and not skulk in a corner. But you're always in such a hurry to do something, Luella. There's no telling at all who this is now. It might be those folks you admired so much, though what on earth they should have sent their cards to us for—and those lovely roses—I'm sure I don't know."
"Now, ma, you needn't blame me. It was you proposed sending that note down; you know it was, mother; and of course I had to do what you said. I was so upset, anyway, I didn't know what was what. But now , you see, perhaps you've cut me out of a lovely day. We might have gone on a ride with them."
"Luella," her mother broke in sharply, "if you talk another word like that, I'll take the next train back home. You don't know what you are talking about. It may be Aunt Crete, after all, and a country cousin for all you know; and, if it is, would you have wanted to go driving in the face of the whole hotel, with like as not some old shin - and-bones horse and a broken-down carriage?"
Luella was silenced for the time, and the room settled into gloomy meditation.
CHAPTER VI
AN EMBARRASSING MEETING
Meantime Aunt Crete in the whitest of her white was settling herself comfortably on the gray cushions of the fringed phaeton again, relief and joy mingled in her countenance. It was not that she was glad that Carrie's ankle was so bad, but that she was to have another short reprieve before her pleasure was cut off . Soon enough, she thought, would she be destined to sit in the darkened room and minister to her fussy sister, while Luella took her place in the carriages and automobiles with her handsome young cousin, as young folks should do, of course; but O, it was good, good, that a tired old lady, who had worked hard all her life, could yet have had this bit of a glimpse of the brighter side of life before she died.
It would be something to sit and think over as she scraped potatoes for dinner, or picked over blackberries for jam, or patiently sewed on Val lace for Luella. It would be an event to date from, and she could fancy herself mildly saying to Mrs. Judge Waters, when she sat beside her some time at missionary meeting, if she ever did again, "When my nephew took me down to the shore," etc. She never knew just what to talk about when she sat beside Mrs. Judge Waters, but here was a topic worth laying before such a great lady.
Well, it was something to be thankful for, and she resolved she just would not think of poor Carrie and Luella until her beautiful morning was over. Then she would show such patience and gratitude as
Luella stood speechless in wonder, looking first at the roses and then at the servant. Such roses had never come into her life before. Could it be —must it be—but a miserable mistake?
Then the servant spoke.
"Miss Ward sends de flowers, an' is sorry de ladies ain't well. She send her regrets, an' says she can't come to see de ladies 'count of a drive she'd promised to take to-day, in which she'd hoped to have de ladies' comp'ny . She hopes de ladies be better dis even'n '."
He was gone, and the mother and daughter faced each other over the roses, bewilderment and awe in their faces.
"What did he say, Luella? Who sent those roses? Miss Ward? Luella, there's some mistake. Aunt Crete couldn't have sent them. She wouldn't dare! Besides, where would she get the money? It's perfectly impossible. It can't be Aunt Crete, after all. It must be some one else with the same name. Perhaps Donald has picked up some one here in the hotel; you can't tell; or perhaps it isn't our Donald at all. It's likely there's other Donald Grants in the world. What we ought to have done was to go down at once and find out, and not skulk in a corner. But you're always in such a hurry to do something, Luella. There's no telling at all who this is now. It might be those folks you admired so much, though what on earth they should have sent their cards to us for—and those lovely roses—I'm sure I don't know."
"Now, ma, you needn't blame me. It was you proposed sending that note down; you know it was, mother; and of course I had to do what you said. I was so upset, anyway, I didn't know what was what. But now , you see, perhaps you've cut me out of a lovely day. We might have gone on a ride with them."
"Luella," her mother broke in sharply, "if you talk another word like that, I'll take the next train back home. You don't know what you are talking about. It may be Aunt Crete, after all, and a country cousin for all you know; and, if it is, would you have wanted to go driving in the face of the whole hotel, with like as not some old shin - and-bones horse and a broken-down carriage?"
Luella was silenced for the time, and the room settled into gloomy meditation.
CHAPTER VI
AN EMBARRASSING MEETING
Meantime Aunt Crete in the whitest of her white was settling herself comfortably on the gray cushions of the fringed phaeton again, relief and joy mingled in her countenance. It was not that she was glad that Carrie's ankle was so bad, but that she was to have another short reprieve before her pleasure was cut off . Soon enough, she thought, would she be destined to sit in the darkened room and minister to her fussy sister, while Luella took her place in the carriages and automobiles with her handsome young cousin, as young folks should do, of course; but O, it was good, good, that a tired old lady, who had worked hard all her life, could yet have had this bit of a glimpse of the brighter side of life before she died.
It would be something to sit and think over as she scraped potatoes for dinner, or picked over blackberries for jam, or patiently sewed on Val lace for Luella. It would be an event to date from, and she could fancy herself mildly saying to Mrs. Judge Waters, when she sat beside her some time at missionary meeting, if she ever did again, "When my nephew took me down to the shore," etc. She never knew just what to talk about when she sat beside Mrs. Judge Waters, but here was a topic worth laying before such a great lady.
Well, it was something to be thankful for, and she resolved she just would not think of poor Carrie and Luella until her beautiful morning was over. Then she would show such patience and gratitude as
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