Part 6 (1/2)
Thus did I, poor worm, commune in my fool's heaven, recking not, nor knowing, that I was setting at naught the plans of my Creator.
At breakfast I was myself, although my hand trembled when I conveyed food to my mouth, and I felt my cheeks coloring when she came in a little late, arrayed in a pink-flowered, flowing gown, and looking as fresh as though she had just risen, bathed in dew, from the blue-and-crimson cup of a morning-glory.
”How did you rest after your night ride?” she smiled, sitting by me and resting her elbows on the edge of the table, then pillowing her round chin in her pink palms.
”I slept better for my outing,” I answered promptly, lying with the ease of a schoolboy. The truth was, my sleep had been broken and poor.
”It's a good thing for Stone that you're back,” thundered Mr. Grundy.
”You're so everlastingly fond of running over all creation, and he has the rovingest disposition I ever saw. Goin' down to salt those sheep this mornin', S'lome?”
”Yes, sir. I made a compact with Mr. Stone last night to act as my esquire on all my expeditions. You've often said I should have some one to go along with me.”
”Don't let her impose on you, Stone,” responded the old gentleman, throwing a quick wink in my direction. ”She's young, you know, and don't know as much as mother. She'll have you climbing an oak tree to get a young hawk out of its nest likely as not.”
Salome laughed, while I boldly a.s.sured them that I would make the effort should she desire such a thing. Mrs. Grundy was quiet, as usual. She contented herself listening to the conversation of the others, and seldom took her eyes off the girl it was plain to see she wors.h.i.+pped.
”Get ready for a walk this morning, Mr. Stone!” called Salome, a short time after breakfast, peeping over the bal.u.s.trades at the top of the stair. ”The lower farm is about two miles, and the walk will be good for us.”
”I'll get my hat and stick; are you coming now?”
”As soon as I can get in another dress. I'll meet you in the locust grove. Tell Tom to get you the salt, and I'll be there before you have missed me.”
She was gone with a pattering of little feet.
I went into my room for my stick and hat with a grim smile upon my face.
The steady ground which I had thought beneath me was becoming s.h.i.+fting sand. I went slowly around the house to the negro quarters with bowed head, briefly gave Tom his mistress' orders, and stood apathetically while the darky hastened away to obey.
A quick scurrying in the gra.s.s, and the pressure of two small paws upon my trousers' leg brought me to myself, and I bent down to pat the yellow head of Fido, who had espied me, and instantly besought recognition.
”You poor, dumb, faithful thing,” I apostrophized, looking at the bright eyes which shone love into mine. ”You are spared this agony of soul, and the futile efforts to solve problems which cannot be known. You love me, and I love you; why could we both not be content?”
”Is Fido going, too?”
I composed my face with an effort, and straightened up as the cheery voice hailed me. She was coming towards me like a woodland sprite, floating, it seemed to me, for her gliding step was so free from any p.r.o.nounced undulation. Her dress of blue checked gingham just escaped the ground, and she wore a gingham sunbonnet with two long strings, which she held in either hand. The sunbonnet was tilted back, and her laughing face, with its rich, delicate under-color of old wine, was fit for a G.o.d to kiss.
”Yes, we will take him along if you do not object. He was the companion of my rambles before you came. We will make a congenial three.”
Tom approached with a bucket of salt, which, after an exaggerated sc.r.a.pe of the foot and a pull at his forelock, he handed to me, and we set out.
Our way led through the orchard at the back of the house, where grew, I think, all sorts of apples known to man. Each bough was freighted with its burden of round, green fruit, and here and there an Early Harvest tree was spattered with golden patches, where the ripened apples hung in their green bower. Beyond the orchard lay a woods pasture, formed of a succession of gentle swells, the heavy bluegra.s.s turf soft as an Oriental carpet to the feet, while scattered about were hundreds of magnificent trees, mostly oak and poplar. Dotting the sward were numerous little white b.a.l.l.s on long stems,--dandelions gone to seed.
These Salome plucked constantly, and, filling her cheeks with wind, would blow like Boreas, until her face was purple. When I inquired the purpose of this queer performance, I was shyly informed that it was to tell if her sweetheart loved her. If she blew every one of the pappus off at one breath, he loved her; if she didn't, he didn't love her. She was certainly very much concerned about the matter, for every ball she came to she plucked and blew. Sometimes all the pappus disappeared, and sometimes they didn't, and so she never reached a decided conclusion.
The pasture crossed, a rail fence rose up before us. I at once stepped forward to let down a gap, but Salome halted me.
”The idea!” she declared. ”I don't mind that at all. You stand just where you are, and turn your back; I'll call you when I'm over.”
I blushed, and obeyed.