CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF

Cathalina carefully turned the boat and started shoreward. Lilian, who had her guitar, strummed a few chords.

In these chapters the author has used her own family names, to which she fancies she has a right. There are, however, some changes; it was, for instance, a Katherine Knickerbocker who married a Van Buskirk. The “Aunt Katherine” of the story is really the author’s grandmother, Harriet Cathalina Van Buskirk, a granddaughter of the original Martin Van Buskirk. She taught in the Emma Willard school at Troy, New York, and married William Lee, nephew of Madam Willard and son of her oldest sister, Mary Hart.

To present a happy, normal school life and real girls in the midst of life’s most delightful opportunities is the object of this series.

CHAPTER ICATHALINA VAN BUSKIRK

The maid was doing Cathalina Van Buskirk’s sunny brown hair.

“Do it up high, Etta; it is so hot today! I hope Mother will decide to go to the mountains soon!”

“Just as soon as your brother comes home, Miss Cathalina. I heard her say so yesterday.”

“Last year he met us there!” Cathalina replied, somewhat fretfully.

“Yes, but he is not going back next Fall, you know, and there’s all his things to come here. And then your mother said that she isn’t sure where she will go until she sees him and finds out what he needs and where he wants to go.”

“O, Phil’s always well,—I wish I were!” Cathalina looked mournfully and pityingly in the mirror, where she saw a pretty, delicate face with shadowy, dark blue eyes. A tear threatened to splash over as Cathalina thought what a dull, disagreeable world it was. A miserable piano lesson at ten o’clock, and she supposed she’d have to practice a while before; a party the next day, or was it this afternoon?—and the girls would be offended if she did not go. Always the same old thing anyhow!

Etta quietly took the blue silk kimono that Cathalina had slipped off and brought in exchange a dainty morning dress of fine, sheer lawn.

Cathalina’s bedroom was a beautiful setting for the fair little maid of fourteen years. When the new home was being finished a year before, Cathalina herself, with some direction from her mother, had chosen the blue, white and silver decorations and selected the furnishings. What pride she had taken at first in the delicate effects, the simple, though expensive, fittings. But she was tired of it all now.

As Etta fastened the dress, Cathalina said, with the shy little smile that she always had when she spoke intimately, “I was so cross, Etta, this morning when you brought up my breakfast,—please forgive me!”

“O, Miss Cathie,—if you call that cross! What would you think if you heard what I’ve had to put up with?”

“Better not tell me, Etta,” replied Cathalina, who had been taught not to encourage tales of former service. “I might get hints on how to manage you,” she added, with a laugh. “How loose this dress is getting! Just pin over the girdle a little—or get me that other sash that matches, please.” Then both girls turned to listen to sounds of commotion down stairs.

“What is that? Hurry, Etta,—I do believe it’s Phil! Yes, I hear his voice!”

Gone was Cathalina’s languor. She ran to the door, stood a moment by the bannister, looking over, then flew down the broad stairs as fast as a pair of twinkling feet could carry her.

“O, Phil!”

“Hullo, Kathleen Mavourneen!” And a tall, slim youngster who stood in the hall turned and caught the flying figure on the last stair. He gave her a whirl and then held her off after a brotherly hug. “Why, what’s the matter with you, kitten” for Cathalina was sobbing a little.

“I don’t know—just so glad to see you—I cry at everything lately.”

“Well, come now!” Philip boyishly patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s find Mothery. O, Mother!”

“Is that my boy?” Another graceful figure came down stairs, not quite so fast, but with face eager and smiling. Philip embraced his mother and tipped up her chin that he might get a good look, with “How’s Madam Sylvia Van Ness Van Buskirk?”

“Beautiful as a dream,” answered Cathalina, who had recovered from her tears and was almost feeling frisky, inspired by Philip’s arrival.

“She actually blushes!” laughed Philip. “Now if it were Dad! Still the same pair of lovers, Mothery?”

“Nonsense, Philip. How good it is to have you again! How did you happen to come so unexpectedly?”

“I was all through, lessons and quizzes, and took a notion to come. Packed in an awful hurry and forgot to telegraph. The bunch was along. But let me clean up, Mother, before I answer questions,—I’m so dingy and hot! You see I’m here, husky as ever, and wasn’t fired! Home looks pretty good to me!”

“Very well, saucy boy!” Sylvia Van Buskirk shook her head, in smiling reproof of her son, who turned to give direction to the butler standing near, unhearing, unseeing, a suitcase in each hand. “There’ll be a big bag, a couple of trunks and some boxes of books later, Watts. Don’t know where I did get all the junk. Have Louis bring up the suit-cases right away. And how are you yourself?”

“Watts’” dignity gave way to a warm smile, for all the servants liked Philip Junior, or “Mr. Philip”, as they called him. Three or four at a time, Philip took the low steps, whistling as he went.

“Handsome and full of fun as ever!”

“Now we’ll have a little life in the house!”

So exclaimed Cathalina and her mother together.

“How are you this morning, Cathalina?”

“O, I was simply cross when I waked up with a headache again, but it was gone after breakfast.”

Mrs. Van Buskirk’s brow contracted anxiously as she looked at Cathalina. Then, arm in arm, they crossed the hall and entered the library, where shades and shutters kept out the glare of the morning sun, an electric fan supplied a breeze and the mail lay upon the table.

The Van Buskirk library was what Philip Junior called it, “a thing of beauty” and “a joy forever”. Philip Van Buskirk Senior was a merchant and importer who dealt in all things beautiful of a material sort. Books were his recreation; and as the producing world brought him silks, ivories, jewels and quaint treasures of all kinds, so this world of books brought riches of thought and a quiet companionship away from business cares. The low shelves in the alcoves were filled with reference books galore, with the standard literature and, best of all, the precious copies of the authors dear to the fine man who selected, read and put them upon his shelves, according to his own fancy of arrangement.

Here, in the broad, well-cushioned window seat, Cathalina loved to curl up with a box of candy and a book or favorite magazine. No wonder that meals did not taste well and that there was a headache in the morning!

This morning’s headache, however, could not be charged to candy, for of late that had been forbidden. Some months before this June morning, Cathalina had been seriously ill. Under careful watching and with a return to the program of more childish days, she had been coming slowly back to health and had even taken up a few studies again. But she had no real interest in anything and in spite of a disposition naturally sweet, bid fair to become fretful and spoiled.

The Van Buskirks were wealthy, enjoying the usual luxuries that money can buy. To a certain extent and among their special friends they entertained, but were not given to display. In the midst of the activities that modern life almost thrusts upon men and women of means, they kept as far as possible to the family traditions and domestic realities. Sylvia was one of several sisters noted for their grace and charm; and when Philip Van Buskirk, young, handsome, somewhat timid in these days, first saw Sylvia Van Ness and met a glance from her grave, sympathetic eyes, his choice was made. A wholesome family life, consideration for others, great interest in their children, soft-voiced women and quiet, efficient men were characteristic of these people and their friends.

After finishing her own letters, Cathalina sat quietly and watched her mother as she rapidly read one after another. Mrs. Van Buskirk’s dark hair, perfectly arranged, made a frame for her sweet, thoughtful face. Little rings of hair, curling from the moist heat, strayed about her brow and ears. “Such a pretty mother,” said Cathalina, reaching over to pat the slender hand resting on the table. Her mother drew Cathalina’s fingers within her own and read on down the last page of the last letter.

Cathalina had always wanted to look like her mother. Often as a little child she had stood before the mirror, anxiously looking to see if her hair were not a trifle darker, her nose a trifle longer! Some one had mentioned pug noses with scorn. Could it be that hers was one? For several months she worried over the matter, until one day one of her aunts had said, “I think Cathalina is going to have the Van Buskirk nose.” That was anything but a pug, she knew, and then she feared that she might have a nose as long as Uncle Martin Van Buskirk’s,—which would never do on a girl! Alas the secret fears of childhood, so real, yet so easily forgotten.

“Well, Cathalina, have you any news?”

Cathalina handed her mother an open letter, asking in her turn, “Anything important in your mail?”

“Three requests for money, a funny letter of thanks from your old Irish admirer, Mrs. Sullivan,—look at it;—a letter from our secretary of foreign missions and a note from Aunt Katherine, saying that she will be over some time after lunch. It must have been left by the chauffeur, as there is no sign of its having been through the mails. It should have been brought directly to me.”

“Why didn’t she telephone?”

“She is sending this catalogue for us to look over. Part of her note is about you. How would you like to go to a school like this?” and Mrs. Van Buskirk pushed across the table the neat catalogue of a girls’ school.

Cathalina picked it up without much interest, turning the pages carelessly to look at pictures of fine buildings, beautiful grounds, and girls playing tennis, rowing, or winding in pretty May Day pageant.

“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “It makes me tired just to look at it! I like to read, but I just hate to really study hard! And if I go rowing I’d rather have some nice young man do the work!”

Mrs. Van Buskirk compressed her lips and gave Cathalina a searching look. “Why, my child, that does not sound like you! And since when have you grown sentimental?”

“O, I don’t mean anything silly, Mother, but you get so hot rowing! I’m not athletic, like that horrid Gladys Morrow that ran around with Ann Maria last summer.”

“I wish you had her health,” said Mrs. Van Buskirk.

“And her manners?”

Mrs. Van Buskirk only smiled wisely and drew the telephone apparatus toward her. “I must telephone to Aunt Katharine now.”

“Just a moment, Mother. Do you care if I telephone to Professor Glenn not to come this morning? It is so hot and I want to see Phil. Then we’ll be going away pretty soon anyway, won’t we? I haven’t practiced much and I don’t like the things he gives me. I don’t like him very well either.”

“What a list of excuses!” Mrs. Van Buskirk paused to consider. “If you are feeling ill, Cathalina, I will telephone to him myself. But it hardly seems courteous to be so irregular in the work, to say nothing of your own good. I think we might let the lessons go on until we go away.”

“O, dear!” sighed Cathalina.

“I must talk to your father about it, then.”

“He will only say for you to ‘follow your own judgment.’”

Mrs. Van Buskirk laughed. “Well, I’ll think about it and see your teacher when he comes this morning. Remember that it is bread and butter to him.”

Cathalina puckered up her face at the prospect of the coming lesson, but seeing her mother’s disturbed look, she said, “All right, Mamma, I’ll try to be decent!” With her fingers she pretended to smooth out the frown and turn up the corners of her mouth. “Here is Philly’s happy grin! Is that all right?”

But her mother had called Mrs. Knickerbocker’s telephone number and only gave Cathalina a kindly smile.

“Is this Mrs. Knickerbocker’s residence? Yes;—O, is this Aunt Katherine? This is Sylvia. I have just received your note. Yes; I see. By some mistake it was put with the mail. I am quite interested in your ideas. No, I have not had time to look it over carefully, but will do so. Cathalina is looking at it now. I hardly know. She does not seem to be exactly wild at the prospect.” Mrs. Van Buskirk’s eyes wandered to Cathalina, who was languidly turning the pages of the catalogue again.

“We must talk it over. Are any of Cathalina’s friends going there? Not a soul? Well! What I want to suggest, Aunt Katherine, is that you all come over to dinner tonight. ‘Little Phil’ came home unexpectedly about half an hour ago. No, nothing wrong, finished his examinations and did not care, I suppose, to stay through the Commencement exercises. I’ve hardly seen him yet; he went right to his room for clean attire. O, is Uncle away? I’m sorry. But bring Ann Maria, anyway. Goodbye. Yes, thank you, goodbye.”

CHAPTER IIAUNT KATHERINE GIVES ADVICE

The Van Buskirk dinner hour was approaching. After a heavy thunder storm with hail, a cool breeze freshened the hot city. The dainty lace curtains in the drawing room were blowing dangerously for their gossamer threads. But Sylvia Van Buskirk let them blow while she threw open every one of the long French windows which opened on the veranda. Its stone floor was covered with rose petals and leaves from the vines that twined around the great pillars. “What a storm it was!” she was thinking as she looked out. An easy chair was drawn near one of the windows and she was looking about for the evening paper when Mr. Van Buskirk appeared in evening dress. Some little services for her husband Sylvia kept as her own. It was not one of those houses in which the servants are always in evidence.

Mr. Van Buskirk came smiling toward his wife and putting his arm around her drew her to the window, while he, too, looked out upon the results of the storm. Philip Van Buskirk Senior was a little above average height, well built but not heavy. He did not possess the dark eyes which were characteristic of so many of the Van Buskirks, but blue ones of the unfading blue type, passed on to Cathalina. His hair was beginning to show grey threads, but he looked active and well, and his air was that of the well-poised, successful business man who is accustomed to carry responsibility. His face was rather serious, refined, and just now very tender; for dear as his children were to him, Sylvia had always stood first.

“As soon as you have rested a little, I would like to talk with you about an important matter.”

“I am rested now. Bath, shave and clean clothes always rest a man, that is,—well, do not expect me to do any talking. I’ve been closeted, at different times today, with half a dozen men,—each one trying to put through some scheme.”

“Poor boy! This is a scheme of Aunt Katherine’s, but for our good, not hers, and especially for Cathalina’s benefit. If my experience with Cathalina today is at all suggestive, Auntie’s idea isn’t bad.”

Instead of taking chair and paper, then, Mr. Van Buskirk stretched out upon a couch not far from the windows, and while he closed his eyes and held his wife’s hand as if her nearness rested him, Sylvia outlined Aunt Katherine’s plan for sending Cathalina to a girls’ school.

They had not talked long when the children appeared. Philip at seventeen was already taller than his father. Slender, dark-eyed, his dark brown hair cut in the latest fashion, he looked quite the dandy in his evening clothes. Cathalina, dressed as a little girl rather than a young lady, wore a lacy white frock, simple and pretty.

“There is your Aunt Knickerbocker, I think,” said Philip Senior, rising quickly as the bell rang. “Go to meet her yourself, Phil; she’ll appreciate the attention.” But Philip had already started to the hall.

“Home again, my dear boy!” was Aunt Katherine’s brisk greeting. Philip welcomed her warmly and started to unfasten the wrap which she had worn in the machine.

“You are an improvement on the maid, Philip, and much better looking. No, I’ll not go upstairs, thank you,” and turning, Aunt Katherine stood a moment before a mirror in the hall, put back a wisp or two of silvery hair, patted her white laces and shook out the folds of her clinging black silk draperies. A maid who had just appeared in answer to Philip’s summons, waited a moment in the background, then vanished as Mrs. Knickerbocker entered the room and greeted her advancing host and hostess.

Tall and erect was Aunt Katherine, with well cut features, mouth a little wide, perhaps, nose a trifle long, but well shaped. Nothing could look more uncompromising than that straight, Van Buskirk back; nothing could be more cutting on occasion than a few of her quiet, well directed remarks. But no one in the connection was more respected and generally beloved for her wisdom, good, common sense and real, unselfish kindness.

She put an arm around Cathalina and as Phil had done in the morning, turned up the delicate face to look at it. Soft lights by this time had been turned on, and shone through Cathalina’s hair, making a sort of halo around her face. Her eyes, however, twinkled up into Aunt Katherine’s with a glance more human than angelic.

“Nice little girl,” said Mrs. Knickerbocker, kissing Cathalina’s forehead and turning away to accept the comfortable wicker chair just placed for her by the elder Philip.

“Where is Ann Maria?” asked Sylvia.

“She telephoned from Libbie’s that they are keeping her there for dinner and want Philip and Cathalina to come over as soon as possible. Elizabeth said that she would have liked them both for dinner, but would not expect you to give Philip up tonight. Louise came home yesterday. John passed his examination for the bar, as we knew, of course, he would. His Western trip, too, promises much. But Libbie can’t bear to think of his settling so far away. I judge that nobody but Juliet will see much of him for a while,—his sweetheart, Philip. Will’s knee is better and they think that no serious trouble will result. Charlotte is much better,—hives—and they are all spoiling her as usual, so Libbie says.”

Aunt Katherine herself smiled over her own varied budget of news from Elizabeth Van Ness, often known as “Cousin Libbie”, whose pleasant home was in a suburb near. Cathalina and her mother had drawn their chairs near Mrs. Knickerbocker, while Philip and his father drifted into a little conversation of their own, as Philip recounted recent events at the military school from which he had just returned.

Philip was not the too common prodigal son of a rich man. His father, fond and proud of his son and heir, had studied the boy, taking him into his confidence, and had interested him at first in the more romantic side of his business by stories about the different products and producers. Later Philip was given the opportunity to study different departments and even entrusted with a little responsibility. An allowance, small at first and increasing with the years, was made, and within this he was supposed to bring his personal expenses. To Mr. Van Buskirk’s great satisfaction, Philip was responding to this effort to fit him for responsibility, and as he went about with his father he was unconsciously absorbing much and learning to distinguish the true from the false and the honorable from the dishonorable.

“Before you go, Philip,” said Aunt Katherine after dinner, “may I have some music?”