XX

ASHORE AND AFLOAT

“Your cousin Walter Parish is coming to dine with us to-day,” said Miss Prince, later that morning.  “He came to the Fraleys just after you went out last evening, to speak with me about a business matter, and waited to walk home with me afterward.  I have been meaning to invite him here with his wife, but there doesn’t seem to be much prospect of her leaving her room for some time yet, and this morning I happened to find an uncommonly good pair of young ducks.  Old Mr. Brown has kept my liking for them in mind for a great many years.  Your grandfather used to say that there was nothing like a duckling to his taste; he used to eat them in England, but people in this country let them get too old.  He was willing to pay a great price for ducklings always; but even Mr. Brown seems to think it is a great wrong not to let them grow until Thanksgiving time, and makes a great many apologies every year.  It is from his farm that we always get the best lamb too; they are very nice people, the Browns, but the poor old man seems very feeble this summer.  Some day I should really like to take a drive out into the country to see them, you know so well how to manage a horse.  You can spare a day or two to give time for that, can’t you?”

Nan was sorry to hear the pleading tone, it was so unlike her aunt’s usually severe manner, and answered quickly that she should be very glad to make the little excursion.  Mr. Brown had asked her to come to the farm one day near the beginning of her visit.

“You must say this is home, if you can,” said Miss Prince, who was a good deal excited and shaken that morning, “and not think of yourself as a visitor any more.  There are a great many things I hope you can understand, even if I have left them unsaid.  It has really seemed more like home since you have been here, and less like a lodging.  I wonder how I—­When did you see Mr. Brown?  I did not know you had ever spoken to him.”

“It was some time ago,” the girl answered.  “I was in the kitchen, and he came to the door.  He seemed very glad to see me,” and Nan hesitated a moment.  “He said I was like my father.”

“Yes, indeed,” responded Miss Prince, drearily; and the thought seized her that it was very strange that the same mistaken persistency should show itself in father and child in exactly opposite ways.  If Nan would only care as much for marrying George Gerry, as her father had for marrying his wretched wife!  It seemed more and more impossible that this little lady should be the daughter of such a woman; how dismayed the girl would be if she could be shown her mother’s nature as Miss Prince remembered it.  Alas! this was already a sorrow which no vision of the reality could deepen, and the frank words of the Oldfields country people about the bad Thachers had not been spoken fruitlessly in the ears of their last descendant.