CHAPTER XII.

THE JOURNEY.

MARION had a very pleasant journey to New York, and spent an agreeable day in seeing the wonders of the city. It might have been still more agreeable but for one drawback. That was her dread of being taken for a country girl; an absurd fear lest of all these thousands of people whom she had never seen, and would never see again, somebody should think that she—Marion McGregor—had not lived in the city all her life.

Now it is evident that of the thirty odd millions who inhabit these United States, but a very small part can live in the city, nor is it easy to see how any disgrace should attach to not living in the city; but Marion could not help feeling that it would be a great misfortune should she be suspected of coming from the country. Consequently she was distressed every time her aunt looked into a shop window, and could not enjoy her walk through Stewart's grand establishment, because she was trying so hard to look as though she had seen it all before.

And after all, she had the mortification of overhearing her uncle say to her aunt:

"Poor child, how terribly stiff and awkward she is! Cannot you give her a hint not to look so like a wooden image?"

"I believe it would only make matters worse," said her aunt.

"Well, I can't help thinking it is well she is going to have a change."

"I am sure it is, for more reasons than one. It is Marion's self-consciousness and sense of her own importance which makes her so awkward and constrained. Therese Beaubien has had no more advantages than Marion, and she would appear well anywhere."

So, that was all she got by being dignified, to be called stiff and awkward! At dinner she went to the other extreme, and talked so much and so loudly that Christian was obliged to check her. The check was very gentle, but it sent Marion into a state of offended silence for the rest of the evening, and a fit of crying when she went to bed.

The next morning Doctor Campbell found an acquaintance in a Philadelphia gentleman, who was going for a part of the way by the same road as Marion, and put her under his care. Before breakfast, Aunt Christian entered Marion's room, carrying a very pretty leather travelling-bag, and a writing-case which Marion had admired the day before.

"I have brought you a little keepsake from uncle and myself," said she; "see, can you put this in your trunk."

"Oh, Aunt Christian, how very pretty!" exclaimed Marion. "And what a beautiful travelling-bag! Just exactly what I wanted. But what shall I do with the old one? I don't see how I can carry them both; I believe I will leave it."

"By no means; you will find it very convenient if you want to go away for a night."

"But what will people think to see me with two travelling-bags?"

"Why, they will think you have two travelling-bags; what should they think? Or who do you suppose will trouble themselves about the matter? But if you are distressed about it, I will take possession of the old bag myself. I am by far too old a traveller to be troubled by any kind or amount of baggage. Dear me! When you have gone on a journey or two with your own tents, portable cooking apparatus, bedsteads, and all other conceivable furniture following you on the back of two or three mules, and convoyed by a half a dozen rather more than half naked muleteers, you will trouble yourself very little about an extra parcel or two.

"So let me have the bag if you are afraid of it. I dare say I shall find a use for it; but I advise you instead to keep it, and I will have a nice lunch put up for you. Come now, it is time you were ready for breakfast. Good-bye, Marion. Tell your father and mother we shall come and make them a visit as soon as we get back from the West. And, Marie dear, let me whisper one last word in your ear. Try not to think of yourself and your own dignity; forget yourself in other people, and don't be always looking out for Marion McGregor, and you will do very well."

The Philadelphia gentleman proved to be a pleasant elderly clergyman, who found Marion a seat on the right side of the car, gave her a new magazine to amuse herself with, and then betook himself to his newspaper. The day wore away very agreeably. Mr. Randall was a pleasant, cultivated man, very polite, and treated Marion with the sort of half-gallant half-paternal kindness which elderly gentlemen are apt to assume towards young girls. He talked enough to keep Marion from feeling lonely and embarrassed, pointed out objects of interest along the road, told her odd and interesting anecdotes of his travels in Europe and the East, and when lunch-time came presented her with an orange and two bananas, which latter fruit Marion had never before tasted.

Marion asked him to share the delicate lunch which Aunt Christian's care had provided.

"No, thank you, my dear," replied Mr. Randall. "I shall be at home before long, and I should only spoil my dinner. Luncheon is a meal only thoroughly enjoyed by young folks. I see somebody I want to speak to, so I will leave you to your repast."

And away went Mr. Randall, leaving Marion disturbed by the idea that he considered her young, which as he was towards seventy, it is very likely he did.

"I have been talking to the conductor about you, my dear," said Mr. Randall when, he came back. "He is acquainted with your family, and he tells me there is a lady on board who is going to the next station to yours, so you will have company. You are sure you know where your checks are—that's right. Don't lose them or your purse, and do just as the conductor tells you, and you will be all right. Good-bye, and God bless you."

Marion had no time to feel lonely, for at the moment they started, the conductor came up with a pretty, delicate-looking woman.

"This is the young lady," said he.

"To be sure," said the stranger, pleasantly. "You are Marion McGregor, my father-in-law's step-daughter. I knew you were expected. But you don't know who I am, of course, I am Asahel Van Alstine's wife, and my name is Gertrude. So I hope you will think of me as your sister."

Mrs. Gertrude's manner was very sweet, and she was both pretty and elegant in appearance. Marion liked her at once.

"I suppose they will meet you at the Falls," continued Gertrude. "I wonder they should let you come from New York alone."

"I did not come alone," said Marion. "Uncle Duncan put me under the care of Doctor Randall."

"Yes, I know for part of the way, but I should have thought Harry might have run up to New York. He goes often enough on his own errands. If Asahel were not expecting me, I would go on to the Falls with you myself. If the boys are not down, I don't know what you will do, for there is no place to stay."

"Don't you think they will come to meet me?" asked Marion, rather alarmed. "Uncle Duncan telegraphed from New York yesterday, and they knew besides when I was coming."

"Oh yes, I dare say they will if the horses are not too busy. Father Van Alstine doesn't like to have them taken away from their work. I found that out when I lived there. You have never seen him, have you?"

"Never—but I have his picture in my book. He is a very handsome man, I think."

"Handsome, oh yes, all the family are handsome except Amity, who isn't really one of the family either, though I believe Father Van Alstine thinks more of her than of all the rest put together. Oh yes, I think Father Van Alstine means to do right, only he has a good deal to contend with, and he is naturally overbearing—all the family have that kind of temper. Amity is no exception there. But I dare say you will get on very well, only you must be a little careful not to cross him. I am glad you are come, I am sure, and I hope you will be a comfort to mother, poor thing."

"Why do you say 'poor thing'?" asked Marion.

"Did I say so? Well, I didn't mean anything particular, only you know she has a hard time of it of course, with all those rough noisy boys—and perhaps she is not as good a manager as some. I used to try to help her when I lived in the Valley, but it didn't answer very well. A second wife you know is apt to be jealous of interference, and there was Amity always at hand. But I dare say it will be different with you, being her own daughter."

And so Mrs. Gertrude ran on, always speaking in the most friendly tone of the whole of her husband's family, but managing to insinuate something to the disadvantage of every one. Presently Marion asked some question about the governess.

"The governess? Oh yes, I understand, you mean Mrs. Andrews. So they call her a governess, do they? Well, that is a genteel way of putting it."

"I don't know that any one used the word governess but myself," said Marion, who began to be a little annoyed. "Mother said they had a little family school and a very good teacher. I don't think they mentioned her name at all."

"No, I dare say not. Well, her name is Mrs. Andrews, and she is a widow, a cousin of the Overbecks, and has been a missionary somewhere."

"A missionary!" repeated Marion. "I wonder where! I wonder if Aunt Christian knows her."

"Very likely. All that kind of people seem to know one another more or less," said Mrs. Gertrude. "Well, Mrs. Andrews is a widow, as I said. You will know that the first minute you see her, for she never appears without being dressed in character. She is very handsome, very demure, and I suppose an excellent teacher: every one says so. I know she has all those boys under her thumbs from the oldest to the youngest in a way that I shouldn't like if I were their mother. However, Father Van Alstine sustains her through thick and thin, and perhaps it is just as well that somebody should govern them."

"Does mother have good servants?" asked Marion, when she had a chance to speak. "Or don't she keep any?"

"Oh, yes, she has two excellent girls, and old James is always pottering about helping here and there. Between ourselves, though I don't want to hurt your feelings, mother is no great things as a housekeeper. She doesn't seem to notice things that would drive me half crazy. Now, though I am sick a great deal and have nobody that compares with Maggy, you don't see many cobwebs hanging about my house. But I hope you will be a great help to her, only you must not be surprised if you don't find things as you are used to seeing them. The boys have the run of the house, and such places as they make of their rooms and the sitting-room with bringing in all sorts of rubbish! To be sure Mrs. Andrews puts them up to it, and mother is nobody against her. Well, here is my station, so good-bye my dear. I see my husband is waiting for me. We shall be over to see you in a few days."

Marion had just time to catch a bow from a tall man in linen clothes before the train whirled on. They had half an hour's ride to the next station, and in that time Marion had rearranged most all her ideas in relation to the family she was going to see. Mr. Van Alstine was a hard, severe man ruling his family with a rod of iron, but governed by an artful, scheming widow. Amity was an interfering overbearing woman, always meddling and making trouble. The boys were rude, lawless, untaught savages, and her poor, gentle, weak-minded, mother was preyed upon and tyrannized over by all in turn. It did not trouble Marion that the different parts of this picture were as much out of drawing as if her father had painted it. She would be the good angel who should bring peace, and cast oil on the troubled waters. She would sustain and strengthen her poor mother, and supply all her deficiencies by her own ready tact; she would soften and conciliate the hard, severe father; in short, all was to be made right and sweet and good, and she, Marion McGregor, would do it all.

"We are coming to the station, miss," said the conductor presently. "You had better be all ready, for we only stop a minute, and it is an awkward place to get off. I hope your brother or some one will be on hand; the Falls isn't just the place where I should like to leave a young lady alone. Oh, yes, there he is; take care and step out on the right side."

It was only a minute or two before the train swept on and left Marion standing on a narrow platform, in company with her trunks and a tall, dark young gentleman in a gray business-suit, who had helped her out.

"You are late; I began to think something had happened," said the tall young man, not at all in the manner of a cub or a savage; "but I must introduce myself. I am Harry Van Alstine, and you, I suppose, are Marion. This is my brother Frank Van Alstine, and—hallo, old fellow, don't be so demonstrative." The last words were addressed to an immense dog of the mastiff persuasion, who, evidently thinking himself neglected, pushed his way into the group and thrust his dark brindled muzzle into Marion's hand.

"He wants to be introduced as well as the rest," said Frank. "This, sister Marion, is Dog Van Alstine, commonly known as Trump, and one of the most respectable and influential members of the family. And now, Harry, I think we had better be going, for we shall hardly be home before dark as it is."

"True," said Harry. "Marion, which trunk would you rather have first? We can take one on the carriage, and the other will come with the team."

Marion found her voice and pointed out the trunk. She was vexed at herself for feeling stiff, embarrassed and shy, when she meant to be affable and amiable. The heiress of the McGregors had been so, and had soon succeeded in setting the boys quite at their ease. But these boys were quite at their ease already, and they were very different from what she expected and from Mrs. Gertrude's description. Harry was fully as elegant a young gentleman as Doctor Prince, who was the model young man of Holford society, and she was obliged to own that Frank seemed as nice a boy as she had ever seen.

[Illustration: _Heiress of McGregor._ Harry Van Alstine.]

"Now, are you afraid to stand here a few minutes while Frank and I put on the trunk?" asked Harry. "And then we shall be ready to set out for home."

Marion stood and looked about her at the odd place in which she found herself.

In all my travelling, I have never seen a place which offered greater facilities for the shipwreck of travellers than the station at the Falls. The train draws up by a narrow platform. On one side is the great, rushing, solemn river, about six feet below the track, with no fence or guard, of any kind between. On the other a wide and deep canal, between which and the train is the narrow platform aforesaid. If you are absent-minded or near-sighted and step off the wrong side of the car, you step into the river. If you go a little too far on the right side, you walk straight into the canal.

A little way below a huge cliff rises apparently to heaven, feathered here and there, where its perpendicular face is broken by a little ledge, with shrubs and plant; wild vines and small evergreens. A little stream falls down the precipice into the river, thus giving a name to the place. The settlement consists of a shabby-looking store or grocery, a still worse-looking tavern and a few more or less forlorn-looking houses.

As Marion looked round her and noticed the appearance of the men who lounged about the place, she did not wonder that the conductor did not like the idea of leaving her there; her gold watch might have changed hands without much ceremony.

"Now, Marion, if you will come this way," said Harry, appearing at the end of the platform.

Marion did so, and soon found herself seated in a roomy, comfortable sort of family carriage; one of her trunks was fastened on a rack behind; the other was being loaded into a large wagon, drawn by four handsome gray mules, profusely decorated with bells and red fringe. Presently one of them opened his mouth, and gave vent to one of those unearthly sounds between a yell and a bray in which mules are used to express their emotions.

Marion started.

"What is that horrid noise?" she exclaimed.

"That is the melodious note of a mule," said Harry, laughing at her astonished face. "I suppose you don't have many of them in your part of the world; I remember hearing mother say she never saw one till she came to the valley."

"I am sure I never did," said Marion. "They are very pretty, I think. What cunning little feet they have!"

"Yes, we drive a pair in the carriage sometimes in dusty weather, because they kick up so much less dust than horses. Van Alstine & Overbeck have the finest mule teams in all the country," said Frank, with evident pride. "They keep six four-mule teams at work all the time."

"How gayly they are trimmed up!"

"That is the doing of the teamsters. They are very proud of their teams, and spend a deal for bells and fringe and silver-plated buckles to make them look pretty. All the mules live in our great barn, and it is curious that while neither father nor Mr. Overbeck dare go into the mule-barn, the children of the teamsters run in and out and attend to the mules quite fearlessly, and no harm comes to them. But come, Frank, start up a little. We are rather late now; mother will be worried, and I am sure Marion must be very tired."

"How is mother?" asked Marion, beginning to feel a little more at her ease.

"Pretty well, only tired. We have had a great deal of company this summer. When Mrs. Andrews is with us, she saves mother a great deal, but she has been away for three or four weeks."

"Of course we all help mother all that we can, but it isn't like having a girl in the family," said Frank, stopping his horses a moment as he reached the top of the long hill. "Don't you want to stand up and look back a little? There is such a fine view."

Marion did so, and beheld a beautiful prospect of river, mountains, and valley, all lighted to a golden glow by the setting sun. She had a keen eye for the picturesque, and admired the view to the young man's content.

"You are used to higher mountains than these," said Harry.

"Yes, but not such a river," said Marion. "How grand it is!"

"Isn't it?" said Frank, delighted. "Some day father will take you down and show you the Wyoming valley; and now if you will sit down, I will hurry up a little, for I want to get through the big woods before it is quite dark."

"Why," asked Marion, who had been rather hoping for an adventure ever since she had left home; "are they dangerous in any way?"

"Oh, no. There are no wolves nor bears, at least not in summer, and no highwaymen, but the road is none of the best in some places," answered Frank. "In fact it is decidedly bad, but you need not be alarmed if we jolt a little. The old ark is very substantial."

Accustomed to mountain roads, Marion did not find the roughness of the present track at all alarming. She was too tired to care about talking, and besides, to her own vexation, she felt rather shy of the tall, handsome driver. She had meant to be very gracious and conciliating to the awkward, overgrown boys she expected to meet, but somehow the awkwardness had been all on her own side. She began to feel that her family picture would need much retouching, if not painting entirely anew. But she did not care to undertake the task at present.

She leaned back in the carriage, tired and sleepy, but yet enjoying the sweetness of the forest air loaded with the scent of the evergreens, and listening to the loud woodland chorus in which crickets, katy-dids, and whip-poor-wills bore the principal part, while an owl occasionally volunteered a solo.

"What thick woods!" said she at last.

"We are just in the edge of the great woods," said Harry. "I will take you through them some day. But we are almost at home now. See, there is the top of our stack just over the hill, and the house is not far away."

"I don't see any stack," said Marion, looking out. "I see the top of what looks like an iron chimney."

"Yes, that is what he means, the smoke-stack of the factory. We shall soon be at the house, and then you will see what a lot of brothers you have," added Frank, laughingly. "Mother would let nobody come but Harry and me, because she said you were not used to boys, and would be frightened. Hallo, there's Hector looking out. Open the gate, will you, old fellow!"

Another black-haired boy, who was evidently on the watch, swung open the gate, and then ran into the house. Frank turned into a carriage road and drew up at the side door of a large house with brightly-lighted windows. The door was open and the hall seemed crowded with people; a tall, dark-bearded man came forward to help her out, and her mother stood on the verandah.

"Gently, boys, don't all speak at once! Let mother have the first chance," said Mr. Van Alstine, shaking Marion by the hand and kissing her cheek. "Marion, my girl, you are welcome home!"

In the course of five minutes Marion had shaken hands with what seemed to her agitated senses at least a dozen of boys, and was carried forward into a large and light dining-room handsomely furnished and with the table spread for supper. But she could eat hardly a mouthful of the dainty meal set before her. It seemed as if she had come away from all her old life into a new world. A sudden feeling of forlorn homesickness came over her, and, greatly to her own disgust, she burst into a fit of hysterical tears.

"You are so tired, poor child!" said her mother tenderly. "You shall go straight to bed and not see another soul to-night. Run up before, Hector; shut the blinds in sister's room and light the lamp. Come, Marie dear—they call you 'Marie,' I suppose. You shall go to bed and have a good long sleep, and you will be all right in the morning. See, this is your room, and I hope you will like it."

Marion tried to check her tears enough to murmur that it was very nice, but she really was tired out and hardly noticed anything save that the bed was delightfully soft and comfortable.

"Don't hurry in the morning; I will call you in time," said her mother, kissing her. "You will hear the whistle at five, but you need not move. Good-night, my love. I hope you will sleep well and be quite refreshed in the morning. Good-night."