Part 55 (1/2)
”You will have to be careful; I am so awkward,” said Star, preparing to go through the same acrobatic act.
”Jump, Star!” said Edith, seeing her hesitate.
”Here I go, then!” she said, laughing, as she took the downward dive.
”Oh, my! Miss Barton!” exclaimed John, as she tumbled into his arms, as a big rag doll might. ”Are you hurt?” he asked, as he released her from the necessary embracing he had to perform to prevent her from falling to the ground.
”Not hurt, but a little frightened,” she answered, flushed from the incident, and brus.h.i.+ng out her skirts. ”I am all right.”
”Now, you ladies go into the house with my sister while I put the horses away. Here, Anne, you take the ladies, and I will take the horses,” he said, leaving his guests, and taking up Anne's position in charge of the team.
”May I call you Anne?” asked Edith, as Anne came up to her.
”Yes, Miss Jarney, if you wish; we all use our first names up here,”
responded Anne, opening the gate.
”You may call me Edith, if you like, and this other lady will be our guiding Star,” said Edith, walking with her arm around Anne's shoulders up the walk, her face aflush, her eyes beaming, and seeing everything about, talking continually.
Star was not as talkative; but she was just as seeing as Edith was. She, too, saw something in that home, more than its simplicity, to attract her admiration. Was it the fragrant flowers and hopping birds and cool freshness that she saw? or was it the peace of contentment, indefinably overloading everything? or was it the radical difference in the two homes, ideal though in both, and irresistable in their contradictory elements, that caused her spirits to rise above the normal point of enthusiasm? Or was it something else? Star did not know.
Arriving at the door, arm in arm now, Anne pa.s.sed straight through the opening, holding on to Edith, and Star followed with considerable wonderment at what she might encounter.
”Take off your hats, ladies,” said Anne, withdrawing her arm from Edith's and standing off, with folded hands, looking at her, with gladness all over her face.
”No, you must say Edith and Star,” said Edith, seeing how humbly courteous Anne tried to be.
”If you will have it that way; Edith and Star, take off your hats and gloves. Now, I've said it, and I didn't mean to be so rude,” said Anne, abashed.
”Anne, I will not love you if you do not call me Edith,” said Edith, scolding pleasantly, pulling off her gloves. ”I do not like too much formality. I have had so much of that that it does my heart good to get out where I can be free; and you will let me be free here, Anne, won't you?”
”Oh, yes, Edith,” answered Anne; ”and Star, too; you may be as free as you please, Edith, for we are such common folk, so long as you don't carry off my brother, John.” She said this without the least knowledge of its true meaning; not mentioning her brother James, because she did not think of such things in his connection.
Edith blushed a deep crimson, as well as Star, at this extraordinary remark on this the most extraordinary day that ever came into their virtuous lives. Anne had a faint inkling of what these blushes meant, for she continued: ”Now, Miss Edith, since you want to be free with me, I will be just as free with you, and tell you that my brother l--l--likes you.”
Edith was not prepared for all this, and she had to turn her head in the most confused state of feelings she ever fell into, all for wanting to be tender and kind and loving toward this mountain girl, who was not yet clearly or fully instructed in the propriety of fine speech. Edith made no reply. She stood a moment, after facing Anne, cogitating on what an appropriate reply should be.
”Anne,” she said directly, with a bright smile, ”will you let me kiss you?”
Edith held out her hands for Anne to come to her. Anne responded to the ineffable sweetness of Edith to make amends for her offense, which she realized she had committed against the fine lady opening her heart to her.
”I love you, Anne,” said Edith, holding the dear little girl to her breast; ”I love you; will you be my friend?”
”Why, of course, Edith,” replied Anne; then she broke away, and was gone, leaving Edith and Star alone.
They removed their hats and placed them on a table in a corner; and then sat down on a lounge that graced the wall under a window looking out on the porch, both in bewildered confusion and agitation.
”What do you think of his sister, Star?” asked Edith.
”She is a fine young child; no more than sixteen, perhaps,” responded Star, ”and so lively that I wish I could be here with her all the time.”
”I wonder if they will let us take her with us to the city, Star, to be our companion?” said Edith. ”We would educate her, and teach her music and everything.”