LATE in the seventies—or, it may have been the first year of the eighties—when Colonel Bolivar Blasengame (so named after the great South American liberator) was working up a "boom" in real estate in and around Halcyondale in middle Georgia, the visitors who responded to his ingeniously worded and highly colored invitations invariably paused (on their way from the depot to the hotel) to admire a fine old house that sat far back from the red and dusty thoroughfare. Invariably, because, if by chance the visitors failed to remark the prospect, Colonel Blasengame was sure to rivet their attention upon it. That done, their admiration might be taken for granted.
And, in this case, admiration was not unreasonable, for the house, which sat in the middle of a five-acre lot, was a very elegant and substantial specimen of the colonial style of architecture. The picture it presented was pleasing to the eye and soothing to the mind. It suggested peace and repose. Munificence and good taste seemed to have joined hands in rearing the structure, which, both in mass and detail, was grandly simple. There was not a flaw in the imposing beauty and dignity of its proportions. The noble columns of the piazza rose to the roof, where they blossomed into carved capitals, while behind them, apparently suspended in the air, hung a balcony beautiful enough to serve as a stage for Juliet's amorous discourse.
The house was painted white, and time had mellowed without dimming the color. On the roof a flock of white and blue pigeons preened and cooed, or rose circling in the upper air, as caprice seized them. This fine piece of architecture was not without its appropriate and harmonious surroundings. Large as it was, it seemed to cuddle in the bosom of the grove of oaks that grew about it, the trees raising their tall tops above it in primitive grandeur. Two immense specimens of box-wood stood like sentinels at the corners of the house fronting the lawn, and neatly trimmed privet hedges enclosed and marked the course of a wide driveway. The hedges parted company at the double-gate, to meet again and merge into one on the thither side of the house.
Colonel Blasengame had gone into the business of speculation for the entire community, and, taking his cue from some energetic and thrifty spirits whose marvellous enterprise had been blown about on the wings of the newspapers, he had arranged a very ingenious and attractive programme for drawing the attention of well-to-do settlers from the North and Northwest. The Colonel had a double purpose in view in calling attention to the fine house and its picturesque surroundings: first, because the structure was one of the "sights" of the neighborhood, giving an atmosphere of distinction to the whole region; and, second, because it served to introduce a story which he rightly judged would make his Northern and Western visitors feel that the air they were breathing was not entirely alien.
It is unnecessary, and it would be improper, to give the Colonel's version of the story. He suppressed or ignored many vital facts, and gave over to hopeless exaggeration many details essentially simple. This may have been due to forgetfulness; for assuredly it was not ignorance that led the Colonel to suppress the fact that he himself was one of the chief actors in the little drama.
The house was built in the forties by Aaron Chippendale, a man of most substantial parts, whose individuality and independence won for him an enviable reputation in middle Georgia, where these characteristics were by no means uncommon. He might have boasted of his ancestors with good reason, but his lot was cast among the most democratic people the world has ever seen, and in a section where, to this day, the ideals of character and conduct are held in higher esteem than wealth or ancient lineage.
In this society the Chippendales lived and flourished until Aaron died in 1855, leaving a widow and two children, Tom and Irene. The widow followed her husband in 1859. When this last bereavement came Tom was twenty-two and Irene nineteen, and both were fully capable of managing the estate—Tom by reason of experience already acquired, and Irene by reason of common-sense and observation; for, although she was a very womanly young woman, she had never chosen to put on the airs or play the part of the grand lady.
Even if Irene had not been brought up in an atmosphere of simplicity and industry, these traits would have been hers by right of inheritance. They were bred in the bone. She had travelled a good deal, and her very liberal education was supplemented by a course of miscellaneous reading. Simple and democratic as she was, her ideals were too high to suit the views of the marriageable young men of Halcyondale. Nevertheless, they continued to hover around her, though in an aimless and a hesitating sort of way; for she was not only very attractive to the masculine eye, but had a comfortable fortune at her command.