Part 56 (1/2)

”Yes; it is certain one can't work here and wear silks,” responded James. Then looking down at himself, he was reminded that he was still in his rough garb. ”If you ladies will excuse me, I will make myself more presentable for appearance at dinner.”

He then left them; and when he returned, wearing his best Sunday suit, all brushed and fitting him very well, he was equally as stylish looking as his brother John in his best.

When dinner was announced (dinner is at the noon hour with the mountain people), John lead Edith and James lead Star to the bounteously laden dining table set in the kitchen. It might have been noticed by Edith, had she not been otherwise engaged, that Star was more aflush than ever before, just at this period of her proud behavior. James talked to her very entertainingly during the progress of the long meal, and she was very cordial toward him. She laughed and talked with great glee, being amused at his ready wit and simple manner. But John and Edith were distressingly quiet, for some reason, listening mostly to the conversation of the others. Little Anne, at times, cast side glances at Edith and John, that might have been suggestive of their meaning.

”Would you ladies like to try your hand at fis.h.i.+ng?” asked James, who was warming up for any kind of sport that might be introduced for the entertainment of their guests.

”Oh, delighted!” cried Edith. ”I never fished in my life.”

”Nor I,” said Star; ”will you teach me how, Mr. Winthrope?” (meaning James.)

”I thought we old people were to entertain you this afternoon,” said the father.

”We will return in time for that, father,” James said, rising. ”John, I'll get the bait; you get the tackle, and we will teach these young ladies how to fish.”

”Be careful,” admonished the mother; ”don't fall into the stream.”

”Anne, are you not going?” asked Edith, as she rose with the others.

”I must remain here and help mother; and will await your return,” said Anne, as she came around to Edith and put her arm around her.

”You are a dutiful child, Anne,” said Edith, kissing Anne thereat.

Edith and Star were both dressed in gray serge skirts, white silk waists and sailor hats. While John and James got ready the ladies prepared themselves for the event of their lives. They were in waiting on the porch when John and James came up, with plenty of bait and tackle in their hands. So off they went immediately: John and Edith together, and James and Star, the father and mother and Anne standing on the porch watching their going.

They struck the mountain stream a mile below the house, and the two ladies fell to the sport with the spirited joy of youth. The pair became separated after awhile, as all such sportsmen and women often do. One pair went up the stream, and one went down, after the elusive fish.

John and Edith came to a pool, after wandering through the bypaths of the forest, far below the other two. Around the pool the trees hung low, and the shades were heavy, and the water was dark and deep. By the pool they sat down on a log, and cast their lines to await the fisherman's luck.

”Isn't this delightful,” said Edith, holding her pole with inexperienced hands over the water.

”Fish won't bite, if we talk too loud,” said John, critically, but pleasantly, as he sat below her on the log, slanting into the stream.

She became quiet; he became quiet. The water trickled over the miniature falls at the head of the pool in such an isolated tone of ripling that it made wild sweet music for Edith. The trees above them sighed in a low crescendo, and the birds were singing everywhere. The sun rays glinted through the boughs of the trees, and danced upon the water, making a fretted work of moving lights and shadows. Water riders ran back and forth, as if playing with the sunlight let into their darksome place of habitation, and fish jumped up now and then, as if to taunt the patient anglers. And Edith and John sat quietly--waiting, waiting.

Then a fish came along, and caught the bait of Edith's hook; and went tearing away in its struggle for liberty. So sudden was the unlooked for happening that Edith lost her balance, by reason of the gyrations of the fish, which she pluckily attempted to land, and plunged into the water. It came so sudden that John, who was at that moment meditating on the catch he would make, and on how he would boast over the rest of them when he got home, did not notice Edith's danger till it was too late.

Without a moment's reflection, however, he dropped his pole and leaped into the pool after her. Edith came up with a scared look, beating the water with her hands, as he went down by her side. He seized her around the waist, and swam for the sh.o.r.e, and when they reached the sh.o.r.e, she laughed, being reminded of another watery occasion; but still permitting him to hold her in his arms.

”I am a pretty sight now,” she said, still remaining in his arms on the sloping bank, up which he was a.s.sisting her.

”It seems we have an affinity for water, Edith,” he said, reaching the top of the slope, still holding her in his arms. ”May I call you Edith, now?” he said, clasping her wet form to his.

She laid her dripping head upon his breast, one arm stole around his neck, and she looked up into his face. ”Yes,” she answered. And he kissed her for the first time on those sweet lips that had so often uttered his name before; but now they said, ”John.” And still he held her in his arms.