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The Cot And The Rill
by
“Who in the name of common sense is Mr. Baxter?” asked the Master of the House. “I like to know who people are when I am being told what they do.”
“I had hoped,” said the Mistress of the House, “that I should be able to tell my story so you would find out for yourselves all about the characters, just as in real life if you see a man working in a garden you know he is a gardener.”
“But he may not be,” said her husband; “he may be a coachman pulling carrots for his horses.”
“But, as you wish it,” continued the Mistress of the House, “I do not mind telling you that Mr. Baxter was my hero’s right-hand man and business manager. And now he will go on:
“After Baxter and I had finished our business I told him about the cot, for if we carried out Anita’s plan it would be necessary for him to know where we were. Then, putting on waterproof coats, we rode over to the place which had excited my wife’s desire to become a cotter. We found the house small but in good order, with four rooms and an adjunct at one end. There were vines growing over it, and at the side of it a garden–a garden with an irregular hedge around two sides; it was a poor sort of a garden, mostly weeds, I thought, as I glanced at it. The stream of water was a pretty little brook, and Baxter, who rode to the head of it, said he thought it could be made much better.
“The house was the home of a widow with a grown-up daughter and a son about fifteen. We talked to them, asking a great many questions about the surrounding country, and then retired to consult. We did not consider long; in less than ten minutes I had ordered Baxter to buy the house and everything in it, if the people were willing to sell; and then to purchase as much land around it as would be necessary to carry out my plans, which I then and there imparted to him in a general way, leaving him to attend to the details.”
“Your nameless hero,” said the Master of the House, “must have been in very comfortable circumstances.”
“I am glad to see that my story is explaining itself,” remarked his wife, and she continued:
“Baxter looked serious for a moment, and said it was a big piece of work; but he did not decline it. Baxter never declined anything.
“‘How much time can you give me?’ he asked.
“‘My wife will want to look at the place to-morrow,’ I replied; ‘that is, if it does not rain: for she says she does not want to see it first in bad weather.’
“‘That’s a help,’ said Baxter. ‘The Weather Bureau promises east winds and rains for to-morrow and perhaps the next day. And, anyway, I know now what you want. I will go back to town by the one-o’clock train and start things going.’
“‘There is one thing I object to,’ said I, when we were on the country road from which Anita had first seen the cot and the rill: ‘the house is in full view from this road. Before we know it we will be making ourselves spectacles to parties from the hotel who happen to discover us and drive out to see how we are getting on.’
“Baxter reflected. ‘Oh, I can arrange that,’ said he. ‘I know this road; it turns again into the highway not far below here. It is really a private road for the benefit of this house and two others nearly a mile farther on. I will include those places in the purchase, and close up the road. Then I will make it a private entrance to this place, with a locked gate. Will that do?’
“‘Very well,’ said I, laughing. ‘But I suppose people could cut across the country and come in at the other end of the road if they really wanted to look into the valley?’