“You know I couldn’t ask the minister to a dance, Alden. Now, don’t be
cranky—and do see that Stella has a nice time.”
“Oh, I’ll see that she has a rip-roaring time. Good-night, Aunt Ellen.”
Alden swung off abruptly. Left alone, Mrs. Churchill chuckled.
* * * * *
“Now, if _I_ know anything of human nature, that boy will sail right in
to show me and Richard that he can get Stella if he wants her, in spite
of us. And he rose right to my bait about the minister. I declare, it’s
easy to manage men if you’re half cute. Dear me, this shoulder of mine
is starting up. I suppose I’ll have a bad night.”
She had a rather bad night, but the next evening she was a gallant and
smiling hostess. Her party was a success. Everybody seemed to have a
good time. Stella certainly had. Alden saw to that—almost too zealously
for good form, his aunt thought. It was going a little too strong for a
first meeting that after supper Alden should whisk Stella off to a dim
corner of the verandah and keep her there for an hour. But, on the
whole, Mrs. Churchill was satisfied when she thought things over the
next morning. To be sure, the parlor carpet had been practically ruined
by two spilled saucerfuls of ice-cream: her grandmother’s Bristol glass
candlesticks had been broken to smithereens; and one of the girls had
upset a pitcherful of rainwater in the spareroom which had soaked
downwards and discolored the dining-room ceiling in a tragic fashion;
but on the credit side of the ledger was the fact that, unless all signs
failed, Alden had fallen in love with Stella. Mrs. Churchill thought the
balance was in her favor.
* * * * *
Later, on, she discovered another and more serious debit item. In a
fortnight it transpired that Mrs. Burnham was deeply offended because
she had not been asked to the party. That it was strictly a young
people’s party, and that no elderly people were invited, did not matter.
Mrs. Burnham’s sensitive nature was terribly hurt, and she told sundry
neighbors that she would never feel the same to Ellen Churchill again.
She came no more for friendly evening calls and was frostily polite when
they met elsewhere, Mrs. Churchill was very blue about it. She missed
Mildred terribly, though she thought she was absurdly unreasonable. But
she was repaid on the evening she came upon Alden and Stella, loitering
along arm in arm in the leafy by-road east of the village which
Lancaster folks called Lover’s Lane. Mrs. Churchill perked right up. She
had not been able to find out if her party had produced any lasting
results. Now it was evident things were going all right. Alden was
caught; but what about Stella? Mrs. Churchill knew that her niece was
not the sort of girl to fall ripely into any young man’s outstretched
hand. She had a spice of her father’s contrariness, which in her worked
out in a charming independence.
Stella came to see her aunt the next evening and they sat on the
verandah steps. Beside Stella the big “bridal wreath” shrub banked up on
its June-tide whiteness, making a beautiful background for the girl.
Stella was a pale, slender thing, shy but intensely sweet. She had
large, purplish-grey eyes, with very black lashes and brows, and when
she was excited a wild-rose hue spread over her cheeks. She was not
considered pretty but nobody ever forgot her face.
“I was very sorry to see you strolling in Lover’s Lane with Alden
Churchill yesterday evening, Stella,” said Mrs. Churchill severely.
Stella turned a startled face towards her aunt.
“Why?”
“He isn’t the right kind of beau for you at all, Stella.”
“He is your nephew, Aunt Ellen—and I thought you were so fond of him.”
“He’s my nephew by marriage—and I like him well enough. But he’s not
good enough for you, Stella. He has no _family_ behind him. Why, his
mother’s grandfather _hanged himself_; and her father made his money
hawking a medicine he concocted himself around the country. The
Churchills all felt dreadful bad when George Churchill married her—and
the Churchills themselves weren’t strong on family. I have to admit
that, though I did marry one myself. But that’s not the worst. Alden’s
awfully fickle, Stella. No girl can hold him long. Lots have tried and
they all failed. I don’t want to see you left like that the minute his
fancy veers. Now, just take your aunty’s advice, darling, and have
nothing to do with him. You know how fond and proud of you I am.”
“I know you’ve always been awfully good to me, Aunt Ellen,” said Stella
slowly, “but I think you’re mistaken about Alden.”
“No fear. I’ve known him for thirty years and you’ve known him for two
weeks: Which of us is most likely to understand him? He’ll act as if he
was mad about you for a few months and then he’ll drop you. You can’t
hold him—you’re not his type. He likes the bouncing, jolly girls—like
the Base Line teacher for example.”
“Oh—well—I must be going home,” said Stella vaguely. “Father will be
lonesome.”
When she had gone, Mrs. Churchill chuckled again.
“Now, if _I_ know anything of human nature, Miss Stella has gone off,
vowing she’ll show meddling old aunts that she _can_ hold Alden, and
that no Base Line schoolma’am shall ever get her claws on him. That
little toss of her head and that flush on her cheeks told me that. _I_
can read these young geese like a book.”
When it became a matter of common gossip that Alden Churchill was “going
with” Stella Chase Mrs. Churchill looked out of her door one night with
a sigh.
“The wind is east and I wish I could stay home to-night and nurse my
rheumatism but I must go a-matchmaking. It’s high time I tried my hand
on Mary. She’ll be the hardest nut to crack. But _I_ know how to tackle
her. Everyone has a weak point and I found Mary’s out long ago.”
* * * * *
The Churchill farm was a mile and a half from Lancaster, and Mrs.
Churchill was very tired when she got there. Mrs. Mary Churchill did not
welcome her too effusively either—she never did. The two sisters-in-law
had never cared much for each other. But Aunt Ellen did not worry over
Mary’s coolness. She sat down in a rocker and took out her filet, while
Mary sat opposite to her in a stiff-backed chair, folded her long thin
hands, and gazed steadily at her. Mary Churchill was tall and thin and
austere. She had a prominent chin and a long, compressed mouth. She
never wasted words and she never gossiped. So Ellen found it somewhat
difficult to work up to her subject naturally, but she managed it
through the medium of the new minister, whom Mary did not like.
“He is not a spiritual man,” said Mary coldly. “He believes the kingdom
of heaven can be taken by brains. It cannot.”
“He’s a very clever young fellow,” said Ellen, rocking placidly. “His
sermons are remarkable.”
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