With the first faint light of morning, Kate slipped to the door to
find her charge still sleeping soundly. It was eight o'clock when
she heard a movement in the adjoining room and went again to the
door. This time the woman was awake and smilingly waved to Kate
as she called: "Good morning! Come right in. I was wondering if
you were regretting your hasty bargain."
"Not a bit of it!" laughed Kate. "I am here waiting to be told
what to do first. I forgot to tell you my name last night. It is
Kate Bates. I'm from Bates Corners, Hartley, Indiana."
The woman held out her hand. "I'm so very glad to meet you, Miss
Bates," she said. "My name is Mariette Jardine. My home is in
Chicago."
They shook hands, smiling at each other, and then Kate said:
"Now, Mrs. Jardine, what shall I do for you first?"
"I will be dressed, I think, and then you may bring up the manager
until I have an understanding with him, and give him a message I
want sent, and an order for our breakfast. I wonder if it
wouldn't be nice to have it served on the corner of the veranda in
front of our rooms, under the shade of that big tree."
"I think that would be famous," said Kate.
They ate together under the spreading branches of a giant maple
tree, where they could see into the nest of an oriole that brooded
in a long purse of gray lint and white cotton cord. They could
almost reach out and touch it. The breakfast was good, nicely
served by a neat maid, evidently doing something so out of the
ordinary that she was rather stunned; but she was a young person
of some self-possession, for when she removed the tray, Mrs.
Jardine thanked her and gave her a coin that brought a smiling:
"Thank you very much. If you want your dinner served here and
will ask for Jennie Weeks, I'd like to wait on you again."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Jardine, "I shall remember that. I don't
like changing waiters each meal. It gives them no chance to learn
what I want or how I want it."
Then she and Kate slowly walked the length of the veranda several
times, while she pointed out parts of the grounds they could see
that remained as she had known them formerly, and what were
improvements.
When Mrs. Jardine was tired, they returned to the room and she lay
on the bed while they talked of many things; talked of things with
which Kate was familiar, and some concerning which she
unhesitatingly asked questions until she felt informed. Mrs.
Jardine was so dainty, so delicate, yet so full of life, so well
informed, so keen mentally, that as she talked she kept Kate
chuckling most of the time. She talked of her home life, her
travels, her friends, her son. She talked of politics, religion,
and education; then she talked of her son again. She talked of
social conditions, Civic Improvement, and Woman's Rights, then she
came back to her son, until Kate saw that he was the real interest
in the world to her. The mental picture she drew of him was
peculiar. One minute Mrs. Jardine spoke of him as a man among
men, pushing, fighting, forcing matters to work to his will, so
Kate imagined him tall, broad, and brawny, indefatigable in his
undertakings; the next, his mother was telling of such
thoughtfulness, such kindness, such loving care that Kate's mental
picture shifted to a neat, exacting little man, purely effeminate
as men ever can be; but whatever she thought, some right instinct
prevented her from making a comment or asking a question.