Under the Country Sky, Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  A LITERARY LIGHT

  Many hours afterward, the labours of the day over, Georgiana bent herdark head above an old-fashioned writing-desk in a corner of theliving-room, and dashed off the contemplated letter to her almostunknown cousin. How the invitation would be received she had littleidea, but since a letter of thanks was undeniably due in response to the"Semi-Annual" box, it was certainly a simple and natural matter enoughto offer in return for it a possible pleasure and a certain benefit.

  "I'll run straight down to the post-office and mail it," declaredGeorgiana, sealing and stamping her letter after having read it aloud toher father. "A run in this March wind will be good for me after bakingand brewing all day."

  "Do, daughter; and take a tumbler or two of jelly to Mrs. Ames, by theway. And pick a spray or two of the scarlet geranium to go with it." Mr.Warne spoke from the depths of an old armchair by the living-room fire,where, with a lamp at his elbow, he was not too deep in a speech of theelder Pitt on "Quartering Soldiers in Boston," to take thought for aninvalid whom he considered far less fortunate than himself.

  "I will--poor, disagreeable old lady. She doesn't admit that anythingtastes as it should, but I observe our jelly is never long indisappearing."

  Georgiana, now wearing in honour of the close of day a simple frock ofdark-blue wool with a dash of scarlet at throat and wrists, donned a bigmilitary cape of blue, scarlet lined, and twisted about her neck a scarfof scarlet silk (dyed from a Semi-Annual petticoat!), which served lessas a protection than as the finishing touch to her gay winter's nightcostume. She was likely to meet few people on her way, but there werealways plenty of loungers in the small village post-office, and not evena college graduate could be altogether disdainful of the masculineadmiration sure to be found there, though she might ignore it.

  As she closed the house door, lifting her face to a cold, starlit skyfrom which the clouds of the day had broken away at sundown, anotherdoor a few rods down the quiet street banged loudly, and the sharp creakof rapid footsteps was immediately to be heard upon the frozen gravel.Georgiana smiled in the darkness at the coincidence of that bangingdoor.

  "Well met!" called a ringing voice. "Curious that I should break out ofMrs. Perkins's just as you came along!"

  "Very curious, Jimps. How do you manage it? I stole out like a cat justto avoid such a possibility. I knew you were there."

  "Did you, indeed?" inquired the owner of the voice, coming up andstanding still to look at what he could see of the military-caped form.His own strongly built figure took up its position beside hers as if byright. His hand slipped lightly under her arm, and he turned her gentlyto face the direction in which he himself had set out. "That's like yourimpertinence. To pay you for it you shall come this way," he insisted."It's only a step farther, it's not quite so hackneyed, and it willbring us out where we want to be. Look at the stars!"

  "They're wonderful!"

  "Carrying something under that cape? Give it to me, chum."

  "It's only a bit of a basket, Jimps; never mind, you might spill it."

  "You can't carry a bit of a basket when I'm around! Spill nothing! Handit over."

  "Terribly dictatorial to-night, aren't you?"

  "Possibly. I've been bossing a lot of new hands to-day, who didn't knowa pick from a gang-plough."

  "But you've been outdoors every minute!" Her tone was envious.

  "Every blessed minute. And you've been in, puttering over a lot of housejobs? See here, you need a run. Let's take the time to go up HarmonHill and run down it--eh? There'll not be a soul to see."

  She laughed doubtfully. "I'd love to, but--the jelly?"

  "That's easy." He dropped her arm, turned aside to a clump of trees atthe corner of an overgrown old place which they were passing, anddeposited the little basket in the shadow. He came back and caught herarm again.

  "Easy, now, up the hill. I wish the snow wasn't all gone, we'd have afarewell coast at the end of the season. But there'll undoubtedly bemore. Honestly, now, George, hasn't the coasting and tramping helped youthrough this first winter?"

  "Jimps, I don't know what I should have done without it--or you."

  "Thanks; I think so myself. The first winter back in the little oldtown, after the years away at school and college--well---- Anyhow, Ipride myself the partnership has worked pretty well. We've been about asgood chums as you could ask, haven't we now?"

  "About as good."

  "All right." His tone had a decided ring of satisfaction in it, but hedid not pursue the subject further. Instead he changed it abruptly: "Howdoes the new boarder come on?"

  "Very well. We really don't mind having him at all, he's so quiet, andFather enjoys his table talk."

  "Father does, but daughter doesn't?"

  "Oh, yes, I do--only he doesn't talk much to me. I sit and listen totheir discussions--and jump up to wait on them so often that I sometimeslose the thread."

  "The duffer! Why doesn't he get up and wait on you?"

  Georgiana laughed. "Jimps, we're going to have another guest."

  "Another man?" The question came quickly.

  "Not at all. A girl--my cousin, Jeannette Crofton. At least I'm writingto ask her for the fortnight before Easter."

  "Those rich Crofton relations of yours who hold their heads so high forno particular reason except that it helps them to forget their feet areon the earth?"

  "James Stuart, what have I ever said of them to make you speak likethat?"

  "Never mind; go on. Is it the girl whose picture gets into the Sundaypapers--entirely against her will, of course--as the daughter of ThomasCrofton? She's reported engaged, from time to time, and then the reportis denied. She's----"

  "I shall tell you no more about her," said Georgiana Warne, with herhead held quite as high as if she belonged to that branch of the familyto whom James Stuart had so irreverently alluded.

  "All right. I'm not interested in her anyhow, and you'll want yourbreath for the run down. Come on, George; one more spurt and we'reup.... All ready. Take hold of my hand. Come on!"

  In the March starlight the two ran hand in hand down the long, steepHarmon Hill which led from the east into the little town. Stuart's gripwas tight, or more than once Georgiana would have slipped on the roughiciness of the descent. But she did not falter at the rush of it, andshe was not panting, only breathing quickly, when they came to astandstill upon the level.

  "Good lungs, those of yours, George," commented Stuart, in the frankmanner in which he might have said it to a younger brother. "You haven'tplayed basket ball and rowed in your 'Varsity boat for nothing. Sureyou're not letting up a bit on all that training, now that you're back,baking beans for boarders?"

  "And sweeping their rooms, and carrying up wood for their fires,and----"

  "What? Do you mean to say that literary light allows you to tote woodfor him?" They were walking on rapidly now. "I'll be over in the morningand take up a pile that'll leave no room for him to put his feet. What'she thinking of?"

  "Jimps, boy, how absurd you are! How should he know who puts the wood inhis room? I don't go up with armfuls of it when he's there."

  "If you did, he'd merely open the door for you and say: 'Thank you verymuch, my good girl.' I don't like this boarder business, I can tell youthat. Do you let him smoke in his room?"

  "Why not, you unreasonable mortal? He smokes a beautiful briarwood, andsuch delicious tobacco that I find myself sniffing the air when I gothrough the hall in the evening, hoping I may get a whiff."

  "Does, eh? When I bring up the wood I'll smoke up your hall so you won'thave to sniff the air to know you're enjoying the fragrance of Araby."

  In this light and airy mood the pair went on their way, enjoying eachother's company as might any boy and girl, though each had left theirresponsible years behind and had settled down to the sober work ofmanhood and womanhood. To Georgiana Warne, whose necessary presence athome, instead of out in the great world of activity where she longed tobe, Stuart's society, as
he had intimated, had been a strong supportduring this first year and a half since her return. The singularlysimilar circumstances which had shaped the plans of these two youngpeople had been the means of inspiring much comprehending sympathybetween them. An almost lifelong previous acquaintance had put them on afooting of brotherly and sisterly intimacy, now powerfully enhanced bythe sense of need each felt for the other. It was small wonder thattheir fellow-townsmen were accustomed to couple their names as theywould those of a pair long betrothed, and that, as the two came togetherinto the village post-office, where as usual a group of citizens loungedand lingered on one pretext or another, the appearance of "Jim Stuartand Georgie Warne" should cause no comment whatever. To-night more thanone idler noted, as often before, the fashion in which the two wereoutwardly suited to each other. Both were the possessors of the superbhealth which is such a desirable ally to true vigour of mind, and sinceboth were understood to be, in the village usage, "highly educated,"their attraction for each other was considered a natural sequence--as itundoubtedly was.

  The mail procured, the letter posted, and the small basket delivered toa querulously grateful old woman, the young people set out for home.They had somehow fallen into a more serious mood, and, walking moreslowly than before, discussed soberly enough certain problems ofStuart's connected with the commercial side of market gardening. Hespoke precisely as he would have spoken to a man, with the possibledifference that he made his explanations of business conditions a triflefuller than he might have done to any man. But his confidence in hisfriend's ability to grasp the situation was shown by the way in which,ending his statement of the case, he asked her advice.

  "Now, given just this crisis, what would you do, George?" he said.

  She considered in silence for some paces. Then she asked a question ortwo more, put with a clearness which showed that she understoodprecisely the points to be taken into consideration. He answeredconcisely, and she then, after a minute's further communion withherself, suggested what seemed to her a feasible course.

  Stuart demurred, thought it over, argued the thing for a little withher, and came round to her point of view. He threw back his head with arelieved laugh. "I admit it--it's a mighty good suggestion; it may bethe way out. Anyhow, it's well worth trying. George, you're a peach!There isn't one girl in a hundred who would have listened withintelligence enough to make her opinion worth a picayune."

  "I'm not a girl, Jimps. I don't want to be a girl--at twenty-four. Ican't; I haven't time."

  "That's a safe enough statement," replied James Stuart, looking down atthe dark head beside him under the March starlight, "as long as youcontinue to act enough like a normal girl to run down the hills with meafter dark. Well, here we are, worse luck! I suppose you're not goingto ask me in?" There was a touch of appeal in the lightly spokenquestion.

  "Not to-night, Jimps; I'm sorry. Father Davy overdid to-day, in spite ofall my efforts, and I must see him to bed early and read him to sleep."

  "After he's gone the literary light won't come down and smoke hisspices-of-Araby mixture by your fire, instead of his own, while youentertain him, will he?"

  Her low laugh rang out. "You ridiculous person, what a vivid imaginationyou have! Every evening at about this time the literary light goes offfor a long tramp by himself, and often doesn't come back till all ourlights are out, except the one we leave burning for him. He isabsolutely absorbed in his work. We really see nothing at all of himexcept at the table."

  "Just the same, the time will come," predicted James Stuart. "Some nighthe'll take his regular place at your fireside, as he does at your table.I know your father's soft heart. Yours may not be quite so vulnerable,but if the boarder should happen to look low in his mind after atelegram from anywhere, or should get his precious feet wet----"

  "Jimps, go home and be sensible. When Jeannette comes--if she does come,which I doubt more and more--you may be asked over quite a number oftimes during her visit."

  "I presume so. And that's the time you'll have Jefferson down, andyou'll pair off with him, while I do my prettiest not to look like anawkward countryman before the lady who has her picture in the Sundaypapers."

  "Good-night, James Stuart--good-night."

  "Good-night, Georgiana--dear," Stuart responded cheerfully. But the lastword was under his breath.