The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aunt Olive in Bohemia, by Leslie Moore

AUNT OLIVE IN BOHEMIA

BY LESLIE MOORE

AUTHOR OF “THE CLOAK OF CONVENTION” AND “THE NOTCH IN THE STICK”

HODDER & STOUGHTON NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1913 By George H. Doran Company

TO MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

AUNT OLIVE IN BOHEMIA

CHAPTER I THE BEGINNING OF THE FAIRY TALE

ONCE upon a time, as the fairy tales have it, there was a certain country town. It was a sleepy little town, where few things happened. It was like a dog grown old and lazy with basking in the sun, undisturbed by motor-cars and modern rush. An occasional event like a fly, and as small and insignificant as that insect, would settle momentarily upon it. For an instant it would be roused, shake itself, and promptly go to sleep again.

The houses in the town were all alike—small, detached, and built of red brick. They were named after the shrubs and trees that grew in their gardens. There was the Myrtles, the Hawthorns, the Laurels, the Yews, the Poplars, and many others.

One May morning, when the flowers on the laburnum trees were hanging in a shower of golden rain, and the pink and white blossoms of the hawthorn bushes were filling the air with a sweet and sickly scent, a single cab, drawn by a horse as sleepy as the town to which it belonged, drove up the small, clean street, and turned in at the gate marked the Poplars.

Two small children with satchels on their backs paused to peep up the drive. They saw two black boxes being hoisted by the driver on to the roof of the cab. There was nothing, one would think, of vital interest in the sight, but it proved more attractive than the thought of lesson books and school-room benches. They remained to gaze.

In a couple of moments a woman came through the front door. She was clad in a black cashmere dress of ample folds, partly hidden by a blade satin jacket, with large, loose sleeves. A wide, white linen collar adorned with a small black velvet bow surrounded her neck; a mushroom-shaped hat, also black, was tied by broad strings beneath her chin. In one hand she held a large and tightly rolled umbrella, in the other was a black satin bag drawn up by a cord. It bulged in a knobby fashion. It had evidently been stuffed to the extent of its capacities.

The woman spoke to the driver, then got into the cab. He climbed to the box, flicked his whip, turned the horse’s head, and drove once again through the gate.

The children scuttled to one side, and the cab drove up the street.

Its occupant sat upright within it, clutching tightly at the umbrella and the black satin bag. Little thrills of happiness were running through her. The May wind blowing through the window fanned her face, bringing with it great puffs of scent from the hawthorn bushes. Sunshine sparkled on the roofs of the houses, birds were singing in the gardens past which she drove. It was a day alive with gladness, warm with the breath of spring, fresh with the sense of youth. And the woman within the cab, whose heart, in spite of her sixty years, was as young as the heart of a child, participated in the gladness.

She watched the people in the streets walking leisurely in the sunshine. She saw the shops with the tradesmen standing idle in the doorways. At the fishmonger’s only there was a little air of bustle, where a maid in a neat print had run in to buy a couple of soles for lunch.

The woman pulled out her watch—a huge affair in solid gold, attached to a black hair chain. For a moment she glanced at it anxiously, then returned it to its place with a little sigh of relief. The horse still trotted on its slow unhurried way. More shops were passed, then more houses. Finally the cab drew up with a little jerk.

The driver got down and opened the cab door.

“Here we are, ma’am; and twenty minutes to spare. I’ll call a porter.”

While the boxes were being taken from the cab Miss Mason opened the black satin bag. From it she extracted a ten-shilling piece.

The boxes were wheeled towards the platform.

“I’ve no change, ma’am,” said the cabby.

“That’s all right,” said Miss Mason hurriedly.

The cabby stared. “You’re very good, ma’am.”

“It’s all right,” said Miss Mason again.

Ten shillings was a small amount to give a man who had driven her a mile towards happiness. She followed the porter on to the platform.

“Victoria, second class,” she said to the man at the ticket office.