"I see him—but think of the figure we would cut."
"Two sons of Aymon!" laughed Ralph.
"I understand: of Jupiter Ammon," said Jinks; "but my legs, sir—my legs?"
"What of 'em?"
"They require stirrups."
"All fancy—your legs, my dear Jinks, are charming. I consider them the chief ornament you possess."
"Really, you begin to persuade me," observed Mr. Jinks, becoming gradually tractable under the effect of the rum which he had been sipping for some minutes, and gazing complacently at his grasshopper continuations in their scarlet stockings.
"Of course," Ralph replied, "so let us set out at once."
"Yes, yes! revenge at once!"
And the great Jinks wiped his mouth with the back of his hands;—brought his sword-belt into position, and assuming a manner of mingled dignity and ferocity, issued forth with Ralph.
The latter gentleman, laughing guardedly, mounted into the saddle, and then rode to the spot at which Jinks awaited him.
"Come," he said, "there's no time to be lost;—recollect, your rival has gone before!"
The thought inspired Mr. Jinks with supernatural activity, and making a leap, he lit, so to speak, behind Ralph, much after the fashion of a monkey falling on the bough of a cocoanut tree.
The leap, however, had been somewhat too vigorous, and Mr. Jinks found one of his grasshopper legs under the animal; while the other extended itself at right-angles, in a horizontal position, to the astonishment of the hostler standing by.
"All right!" cried Ralph, with a roar of laughter.
And setting spur to the terrified animal, he darted from the door, followed by general laughter and applause, with which the clattering of Mr. Jinks' sword, and the cries he uttered, mingled pleasantly. This was the manner in which Jinks set out for revenge.
On the morning of the day upon which the events we have just related occurred, little Redbud was sitting at her window, reading by the red light of sunrise.
If anything is beautiful in this world, assuredly it is the fresh, innocent face of a child, flooded with the deep gold of sunrise, and with cheeks still bathed in the delicate rose-bloom of slumber.
Morning and childhood go together, as all things pure, and fresh, and tender do; and in the face of the child, sitting there in the quiet morning, an imaginative mind might have discerned, without difficulty, more than one point of resemblance. The dews sparkling like diamonds on the emerald grasses, were not brighter or fresher than her eyes;—the merry breeze might have been gayer, but had not half as much thoughtful joy and tenderness as her gentle laugh;—the rosy flush of morning, with all its golden splendor, as of fair Aurora rising to her throne, was not more fair than the delicate cheek.
In a single word, Miss Redbud—about whom we always grow extravagant—was a worthy portion of the bright, fresh morning; and the hardest-hearted individual who ever laughed at childhood, and innocence and joy, (and there are some, God help them,) would have thought the place and time more cheerful and inspiring for her presence.
Redbud had been reading from a book which lay upon the window-sill. The idle breeze turned over the leaves carelessly as though, like a child, it were looking for pictures; and the words, "From dear Mamma," were seen upon the fly-leaf—in the rough uncouth characters of childhood.
This was Redbud's Bible—and she had been reading it; and had raised her happy eyes from the black heavy letters, to the waving variegated trees and the bright sunrise, overwhelming them with its flush of gold. Redbud was clad, as usual, very simply—her hair brushed back, and secured, after the fashion of the time, with a bow of ribbon—her arms bare to the elbow, with heavy falling sleeves—her neck surrounded with a simple line of lace. Around her neck she wore the coral necklace we have seen her purchase.
The girl gazed for some moments at the crimson and yellow trees, on which a murmurous laughter of mocking winds arose, at times, and rustled on, and died away into the psithurisma of Theocritus; and the songs of the oriole and mocking-bird fluttering among the ripe fruit, or waving up into the sky, brought a pleasant smile to her lips. The lark, too, was pouring from the clouds, where he circled and flickered like a ball of light, the glory of his song; and from an old, dead oak, which raised its straight trunk just without the garden, came the quick rattle of the woodpecker's bill, or the scream of that red-winged drummer, as he darted off, playing and screaming, with his fellows.
Beyond the garden all the noble autumn forests waved away in magic splendor—red, and blue, and golden. The oaks were beautiful with their waving leaves—the little alder tree exquisite in its faint saffron—the tall, tapering pines rose from the surrounding foliage like straight spears, which had caught on their summits royal robes of emerald velvet, green at first, but, when the red light fell upon them, turning to imperial purple, as of old, Emperors of Rome!
All these sights and sounds were pleasant things to Redbud, and she gazed and listened to them with a species of tranquil pleasure, which made her tender face very beautiful. At last her eyes returned to her old Bible, and she began to read again from the sacred book.
She turned the leaf, and came to a passage around which faint lines were traced in faded ink;—the words thus marked were those of St. Paul, so sublime in their simplicity, so grand in their quiet majesty:
"Having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ."
These words had been marked by Redbud's mother, and as the child gazed upon the faded ink, and thought of the dear hand which had rested upon the page, a tender regret betrayed itself in her veiled eyes, and her lips murmured, wistfully, "Mamma." Her down-cast eyes were veiled by the long lashes; and the child's thoughts went back to the old happy days, when her mother had taught her to pray, joining her infant hands, and telling her about God and all his goodness.
It was not grief which the child felt, as her mental glance thus went backward to the time when her mother was alive;—rather a tender joy, full of pure love, and so far separated from the world, or the things of the world, that her face grew holy, as if a light from heaven streamed upon it. Oh, yes! she needed no one to tell her that her dear mother's desire had been fulfilled—that she was with Christ; and her heart rose in prayer to the Giver of all good, to bless and purify her, and give her power to conquer all her evil thoughts—and passing through the toils and temptations of the world, come finally to that happy land where her dear mother lived and loved—from which she looked upon her child. She prayed to be kept thus pure; for strength to resist her sinful inclinations, ill-temper, discontent and uncharitable thoughts; for power to divorce her thoughts from the world, spite of its sunshine, and bright flowers and attractions—to feel that holy desire to be with the dear Savior who had died for her.
The child rose with a countenance that was sacred for its purity, and hopefulness, and trust. She gazed again upon the brilliant morning land, and listened to the birds, and smiled—for in the sunlight, and the carol of the bright-winged oriole, and every murmur of the merry wind, she felt the presence of a loving and All-merciful Creator, who would bless her, if she loved and obeyed Him.
And so the tender eyes again beamed with the unclouded light of childhood, and the lips were again calm and happy. The child had sought for peace and joy from the great central source, and found it. Everything was now delightful—all the clouds had passed—and a bright smile illumined her fresh face, and made the sunlight envious, as it poured its fresh golden radiance upon her brow and cheek.
Redbud had just closed her Bible, and was about to put it away upon the shelf, when a light step was heard in the room, and a laughing voice cried, "Well, miss!" and two white arms encircled her neck, two red lips imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.
The arms and the lips belonged to Fanny.
Fanny was overflowing with laughter, and her face was the perfection of glee. Her dark eyes fairly danced, and the profuse black curls which rippled around her face, were never still for a moment.
In her hand Miss Fanny carried a wreath of primroses and other children of the autumn, which spread around them as she came a faint perfume. From the appearance of the young lady's feet, it seemed that she had gathered them herself. Her shoes and ankles, with their white stockings, were saturated with the dews of morning.
After imprinting upon Miss Redbud's cheek the kiss which we have chronicled, Fanny gaily raised the yellow wreath, and deposited it upon the young girl's head.
"There, Redbud!" she cried, "I declare, you look prettier than ever!"
Redbud smiled, with an affectionate glance at her friend.
"Oh!" cried the impulsive Fanny, "there you are, laughing at me, as much as to say that you are not pretty! Affected!"
"Oh, no," said Redbud.
"Well, I don't say you are."
"I don't like affectation."
"Nor I," said Fanny; "but really, Reddy, I had no idea that yellow was so becoming to you."
"Why?" asked Redbud, smiling.
"You are blonde, you know."
"Well."
"I wonder if blonde don't mean yellow," said the philosophic Fanny.
"Does it?"
"Yes."
"What then?"
"Why, of course, I thought yellow primroses would'nt become you;—now they would suit me—I'm so dark."
"You do not need them."
"Fie—Miss Flatterer."
"Oh, no, Fanny, I never flatter."
"Well, I'm glad you like me, then!" cried Fanny, "for I declare I'm desperately in love with you, Reddy. Just think, now, how much flattered Miss Sallianna would have been if I had carried these flowers to her—you know she loves the 'beauties of nature.'"
And Miss Fanny assumed a languishing air, and inclining her head upon one shoulder, raised her eyes lackadaisically toward the ceiling, in imitation of Miss Sallianna.
"No, Fanny!" said Redbud, "that is not right."
"What?"
"Mimicking Miss Sallianna."
"Not right!"
"No, indeed."
"Well, I suppose it is not, and I have been treating her very badly.Suppose I take your wreath of yellow primroses and carry them to her."
"Oh, yes—if you want to," said Redbud, looking regretfully at the wreath, which she had taken from her brow.
Fanny laughed.
"No, I will not," she said; "I have a good reason."
"What?"
"The axiom in heraldry."
"What axiom?"
"Never put color upon color—yellow upon yellow in this instance!"
And Miss Fanny burst into laughter, and fairly shook with glee.
Redbud gave her a little reproachful glance, which showed Fanny the uncharitable nature of her observation.
"Well," said the owner of the soiled ankles, "I ought not to have said that; but really, she is so ridiculous! She thinks she's the handsomest person in the world, and I do believe she wants to rob us of our beaux."
Redbud smiled, and lightly colored.
"I mean Verty and Ralph," Fanny went on, "and I know something is going on. Miss Sallianna is always in love with somebody; it was Mr. Jinks the other day, and now I think it is one of our two visitors."
"Oh, Fanny!"
"Yes, I do! you need'nt look so incredulous—I believe she would flirt with either of them, and make love to them; which," added the philosophic Fanny, "is only another phrase for the same thing."
Redbud remained for a moment confused, and avoiding Fanny's glance. Then her innocent and simple smile returned, and leaning her arm affectionately upon the young girl's shoulder, she said, seriously:
"Fanny, please don't talk in that way. You know Verty is not an ordinary young gentleman—"
"Oh, no—!" cried Fanny, laughing.
"I mean," Redbud went on, with a slight color in her cheek, "I mean, to amuse himself with compliments and pretty speeches—if Miss Sallianna thinks he is, she is mistaken."
"Odious old thing!—to be flirting with all the young men who come to seeus!" said Fanny.
"No, no," Redbud went on, "I think you are mistaken. But as you have mentioned Verty, please promise me one thing, Fanny."
"Promise! certainly, Reddy; just ask me whatever you choose. If it's to cut off my head, or say I think Miss Sallianna pretty, I'll do it—such is my devotion to you!" laughed Fanny.
Redbud smiled.
"Only promise me to amuse Verty, when he comes."
"Amuse him!"
"Yes."
"What do you mean."
"I mean," Redbud said, sighing, "that I don't think I shall be able to do so."
"What!"
"Fanny, you cannot understand," said the young girl, with a slight blush; "I hope, if you are my real friend, as you say, that you will talk with Verty, when he comes, and make his time pass agreeably."
Redbud's head sank.
Fanny gazed at her for a moment in silence, and with a puzzled expression, said:
"What has happened, Reddy, between you and Verty—anything?"
"Oh, no."
"You are blushing! Something must have happened."
"Fanny—" murmured Redbud, and then stopped.
"Have you quarreled? You would'nt explain that scene in the parlor the other day, when I made him tie my shoe. You have quarreled!"
"Oh, no—no!"
"I'm glad to hear it," cried Fanny, "though I could easily have made it up. I would have gone to Mr. Verty, and told him that he was a wretch, or something of that sort, and made him come and be friends again."
Redbud smiled, and said:
"We have not quarreled; but I don't think I shall be able to amuse him very much, if he comes this morning, as I think he will. Please promise me—I don't like Verty to be unhappy."
And the ingenuous face of the young girl was covered with blushes.
"I suppose not!—you and Verty are very good friends!" cried Fanny, looking out of the window, and not observing Redbud's confusion; "but supposemycavalier comes—what then, madam?"
"Oh, then I absolve you."
"No, indeed!"
"'No, indeed' what?"
"I won't be absolved."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know but I prefer Mr. Verty to that conceited cousin of mine."
"What cousin—not Ralph?"
"Yes; I don't fancy him much."
"I thought you were great favorites of each other."
"You are mistaken!" said Fanny, coloring; "I did like him once, but he has come back from college at Williamsburg a perfect coxcomb, the most conceited fop I ever saw."
"Oh, Fanny!"
"Yes, indeed he has!"
And Miss Fanny blushed.
"I hate him!" she added, with a pout; then bursting into a fit of laughter, this young lady added:
"Oh! he promised to bring his album to-day, and show me all the 'good wishes' his friends wrote in it for him. Won't that be funny! Just think of finding out how those odious young college geese talk and feel toward each other."
Redbud smiled at Miss Fanny's consistency, and was about to reply, when the bell for prayers rang.
The two young girls rose, and smoothing their hair slowly, descended, arm in arm, and still conversing, to the dining-room, where old Scowley, as Verty called her, and Miss Sallianna, awaited them, in state, with their scholars.
Prayer was succeeded by breakfast; and then—the young damsels having eaten with the most unromantic heartiness—the whole school scattered: some to walk toward "town;" others to stroll by the brook, at the foot of the hill; others again to write letters home.
As Miss Sallianna had informed Verty, that day was a holiday, and young ladies going to school have, in all ages of the world, appreciated the beauties and attractions of this word, and what it represents—recreation, that is to say.
Redbud and Fanny strolled out in the garden with their arms locked as before, and the merry autumn sunshine streaming on them.
They had a thousand things to talk about, and we may be sure that they did not neglect the opportunity. What donotyoung ladies at school discuss? Scarcely anything escapes, and these criticisms are often very trenchant and severe.
How they criticise the matrimonial alliance between aged Dives with his crutch and money-bags, and the fascinating and artless Miss Sans Avoir, who dedicates her life to making happy the old gentleman!
How gaily do they pull in pieces the beautiful natural curls of Mr. Adonis, who purchased them at the perruquier's; and how they scalp Miss Summer Morning, with her smiles and bright-eyed kindness, in the presence of gentlemen—while behind the scenes she is a mixture of the tigress and the asp! All these social anomalies do young ladies at school talk about—as do those who have left school also.
But Redbud and Fanny did not—they were far too good-natured to take pleasure in such comments, and instead, spent the hours in laughing, playing and reading in the pleasant arbor. Thus the morning drew on, and the lovely autumn day sailed past with all its life and splendor toward the west. Fanny was gazing toward the house, as they thus sat in the arbor, and Redbud was smiling, when a gentleman, clothed in a forest costume, and carrying a rifle, made his appearance at the door of the Bower of Nature.
"Oh, Reddy!" cried Fanny, "there's your friend, Verty; and look what a fright he is!"
Verty paused upon the threshold of the mansion to push back his long, curling hair; and with a glance behind him, toward Cloud, meant as a caution to that intelligent animal and to Longears, deposited his rifle against the door.
The young man, as we have said, had once more donned his rude forest costume; and even at the risk of appearing to undervalue the graces and attractions of civilization with the costume, which is a necessary part thereof, we must say that the change was an improvement. Verty's figure, in the dress which he generally wore, was full of picturesqueness and wild interest. He looked like a youthful Leather-stocking; and seemed to be a part of the forest in which he lived, and from which he came.
He had been cramped in the rich clothes; and the consciousness of this feeling, so to speak, had made his manner stiff and unnatural; now, however, he was forest Verty again. His long hair had already become tangled, thanks to the autumn winds, and the gallop to which he had pushed Cloud;—his person assumed its habitual attitude of wild grace; his eye no longer restless and troubled, had recovered its expression of dreamy mobility, and his lips were wreathed with the odd Indian smile, which just allowed the ends of the white teeth to thread them;—Verty was himself again.
He raised his head, and would have caught sight of the young girls in the garden, but for a circumstance which occurred just at that moment.
This circumstance was the appearance of Miss Sallianna—Miss Sallianna arrayed in all her beauties and attractions, including a huge breastpin, a dress of enormous pattern, and a scarf around her delicate waist, azure-hued and diaphanous like the sky, veiled with an imperceptible cloud.
The lady was smiling more than ever; her air was more languishing; her head inclined farther to one side. Such was her ecstacy of "inward contemplation," to use her favorite phrase, that the weight of thought bent down her yellow eye-lashes and clouded her languishing eyes.
She raised them, however, and glancing at Verty, started.
"Good-morning, ma'am," said Verty—"Miss, I mean. I got your letter."
"Good-morning, sir," said Miss Sallianna, with some stiffness; "where are your clothes?"
Verty stared at Miss Sallianna with great astonishment, and said:
"My clothes?"
"Yes, sir."
"These are my clothes."
And Verty touched his breast.
"No, sir!" said Miss Sallianna.
"Not mine?"
"They may be yours, sir; but I do not call them clothes—they are mere covering."
"Anan?" said Verty.
"They are barbarous."
"How, ma'am?"
Miss Sallianna tossed her head.
"It is not proper!" she said.
"What, ma'am?"
"Coming to see a lady in that plight."
"This plight?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Not proper?"
"No, sir!"
"Why not?"
"Because, sir, when a gentleman comes to pay his respects to a lady, it is necessary that he should be clad in a manner, consistent with the errand upon which he comes."
"Anan, ma'am'?"
"Goodness gracious!" cried Miss Sallianna, forgetting her attitudes, and vigorously rubbing her nose; "did any body ever?"
"Ever what, ma'am?"
"Ever see a person so hard to understand as you are, sir."
"I don't understand long words," said Verty; "and you know I am anIndian."
"I knew youwere, sir."
Verty shook his head, and smiling dreamily:
"I always will be that," he said.
"Then, sir, we cannot be friends—"
"Why, ma'am—I mean, Miss?"
"Because, sir, the properties of civilization require a mutual criterion of excellence—hem!"
"Oh yes," said Verty, very doubtfully, and checking by an effort his eternal exclamation of ignorance; "but I thought you liked me."
"I do, sir," said Miss Sallianna, with more mildness—"I thought we should be friends."
Verty smiled.
"What a funny letter you wrote to me," he said.
"Funny, sir?" said Miss Sallianna, blushing.
"Very pretty, too."
"Oh, sir!"
"But I did'nt understand more than half of it," said Verty with his old dreamy smile.
"Pray why, sir?"
"The words were so long."
Miss Sallianna looked gratified.
"They were expressive, sir, of the reciprocal sensation which beats in my heart."
"Yes, ma'am," said Verty.
"But recollect, sir, that this sentiment is dependent upon exterior circumstances. I positively cannot receive you in that savage dress."
"Not receive me?"
"No, sir."
"What's the matter with my poor dress?"
"It's abominable, sir—oderous; and then your hair—"
"My hair?" said Verty, pulling at a curl.
"Yes, sir—it is preposterous, sir. Did any body ever!"
And Miss Sallianna carried her eyes to heaven.
"I don't know," Verty said; "but it feels better."
"It may, sir; but you must cut it off if you come again."
Verty hesitated.
"I thought—" he began.
"Well, sir?"
"I was thinking," said the young man, feeling a vague idea that he was going wrong—"I thought that you were not so very particular, as you are only a school-mistress, and not one of those fine ladies I have seen riding by in their carriages. They might think some ceremony needed—"
"Not a—very well, sir—a schoolmistress—only—indeed!" said MissSallianna, with dignity.
Verty was too little acquainted with the expression of concentrated feeling to understand these words, and smiling,
"Then," he said, "there was another reason—"
"For what, sir?" said Miss Sallianna, with great dignity.
"For my not being very particular."
"Please state it, sir."
"Yes, ma'am."
The lady sniffed with indignation.
"I meant," said Verty, "that as you had very few beaux here—I believe you call 'em beaux—I could come so. I know that Mr. Jinks comes, but he is too fierce to be agreeable, and is not very nice, I should think."
Miss Sallianna darted a glance of scorn at the unlucky Verty, which would have transfixed that gentleman; but unfortunately he did not see it.
"Yes," he went on, "there is a great deal of difference, Miss Sallianna, between coming to see you, who are only a schoolmistress, and hav'nt much fine company, and the rich ladies;—then you know I thought that the difference between our ages—you being so much older than I. am, about thirty or thirty-five, I suppose—"
The cup was full.
"Mr. Verty," gasped Miss Sallianna, "you will please to end our interview at once, sir!—this language, sir, is intolerated, sir!—if you wish to insult me, sir, you can remain!—I consider your insinuations, sir, as unworthy of a gentleman. The viper!" cried Miss Sallianna, becoming hysterical, and addressing her observations to the ceiling; "the viper which I warmed in my bosom, and who turns and rents me."
Which was very ungallant in the viper not to say extraordinary, as it implied that vipers dwelt in houses "to let."
"Who beguiled himself into this resort of innocence, and attacked my suspicious nature—and now casts reproaches on my station in society and my youth!"
"Oh, ma'am!" cried Verty.
"Don't speak to me, sir!
"No, ma'am."
"Your very presence is deletrious."
"Oh, Miss Sallianna!"
"Go sir—go!"
"Yes, ma'am—but are you well enough?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Have a glass of water?"
"No, sir!"
"I'm so sorry I said anything to—"
"There is reason, sir."
"You don't hate me?"
"No, sir!" said Miss Sallianna, relenting, and growing gradually calmer; "I pity and forgive you."
"Will you shake hands?"
"Yes, sir—I am forgiving, sir—"
"At your time of life you know, ma'am, we ought'nt to—"
Unfortunate Verty; the storm which was subsiding arose again in all its original strength.
"Leave me!" cried Miss Sallianna, with a tragic gesture.
"Yes, ma'am—but—"
"Mr. Verty?"
"Ma'am!"
"Your presence is opprobrious."
"Oh, Miss Sallianna!"
"Yes, sir—intolerant."
"I'm so sorry."
"Therefore, sir, go and leave me to my thoughts again—go, sir, and make merry with your conjugal companions!"
"Yes, ma'am," said Verty; "but I did'nt mean to worry you. Please forgive me—"
"Go, sir!"
Verty saw that this tragic gesture indicated a determination which could not be disputed.
He therefore put on his hat, and having now caught sight of Fanny andRedbud, bowed to his companion, and went—into the garden.
Miss Sallianna gasped, and sinking into a chair, fell into violent hysterics, in which numerous allusions were made to vipers. Poor Verty!
Verty approached the two young girls and took off his hat.
"Good morning, Redbud," he said, gently.
Redbud blushed slightly, but, carried back to the old days by Verty's forest costume, quickly extended her hand, and forgetting Miss Lavinia's advice, replied, with a delightful mixture of kindness and tenderness:
"I'm very glad to see you, Verty."
The young man's face became radiant; he completely lost sight of the charge against the young lady made in Miss Sallianna's letter. He was too happy to ever think of it; and would have stared Redbud out of countenance for very joy and satisfaction, had not Miss Fanny, naturally displeased at the neglect with which she had been treated, called attention to herself.
"Hum!" said that young lady, indignantly, "I suppose, Mr. Verty, I am too small to be seen. Pray, acknowledge the fact of my existence, sir."
"Anan?" said Verty, smiling.
Fanny stamped her pretty foot, and burst out laughing.
"It's easy to see what is the matter with you!" she laughed.
"Why, there's nothing," said Verty.
"Yes, there is."
"What?"
"You're in love."
Verty laughed and blushed.
"There!" cried Fanny, "I knew it."
"I believe I am."
"Listen to him, Redbud!"
"She knows it," said Verty.
"Hum! I don't see how anybody can help knowing it."
"Why?"
"Because it is plain."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir; this very moment you showed it."
"Yes—I believe I did."
"Odious old thing!"
"Who?"
"Why, Miss Sallianna, sir—I don't care if youarepaying your addresses! I say she's an odious old thing!—to be giving herself airs, and setting her cap at all our beaux!"
Verty stared, and then laughed.
"Miss Sallianna!" he cried.
"Yes, sir!"
"I'm in love with her!"
"You've just acknowledged it."
"Acknowledged it!"
"There! you're going to deny your own words, like the rest of your fine sex—the men."
"No—I did'nt say I was in love with Miss Sallianna."
"Did'nt he, Redbud?" asked Fanny, appealing to her friend.
"No," said Verty, before she could reply; "I said I was in love withRedbud!"
And the ingenuous face of the young man was covered with blushes.
Fanny fairly shook with laughter.
"Oh," she screamed, "and you think I am going to believe that—when you spend the first half an hour of your visit with Miss Sallianna—talking, I suppose, about the 'beauties of nature!'"
And the young girl clapped her hands.
"I wanted"—commenced Verty—
"Oh, don't tell me what you wanted!" cried Fanny; "you saw in the garden here two nice young girls, if I do say it—"
"You may—!"
"I am not to be led off in that way, sir! I say you saw two agreeable young ladies here evidently not indisposed to talk with visitors, as it's a holiday—and in spite of that, you pass your time in the house with that old Sallianna, cooing and wooing and brewing," added Miss Fanny, inventing a new meaning for an old word on the spur of the moment, "and after that you expect us to believe you when you say you are not in love with her—though what you see to like in that old thing it would take a thousand million sybils, to say nothing of oracles and Pythonesses, to explain!"
With which exhausting display of erudition, Miss Fanny lay back on her trellised seat, and shook from the point of her slippers to the curls on her forehead with a rush of laughter.
Redbud had recovered from her momentary confusion, and, with a beseeching glance at Fanny, said to Verty:
"How much better you look, Verty, in this dress—indeed you look more homelike."
"Do I?" said the happy Verty, bending his head over his shoulder to admire the general effect; "well, I feel better."
"I should think so."
"The other clothes were like a turkey blind."
"A turkey blind?"
"Oh, you smile!—but you know, when you are lying in the blind, the pine limbs rub against you."
"Yes."
"Then they did'nt suit me."
"No," assented Redbud.
"Idon't dance the minuet—so I did'nt want high-healed shoes—"
Fanny began to laugh again.
"Nor a cocked hat; the fact is, I do not know how to bow."
"See! Come, Mr. Fisher-for-Compliments!" cried Fanny.
"Oh, I never do!"
"Well, I believe you don't."
"Does anybody?"
"Yes; that odious cousin of mine—that's who does—the conceited coxcomb!"
"Your cousin!"
"Yes, sir."
"Who is it?"
"Ralph Ashley."
"Oh—and he comes to see you—and—Miss Sallianna; she said—"
Verty's head drooped, and a shadow passed over his ingenuous face.
"There, you're thinking of Miss Sallianna again!"
"No—no," murmured Verty, gazing at Redbud with a melancholy tenderness, and trying to understand whether there could possibly be any foundation for Miss Sallianna's charge, that that young lady was in love with Mr. Ralph Ashley.
"Could it be? Oh, no, no!"
"Could what be?" asked Fanny.
For once Verty was reserved.
"Nothing," he said.
But still he continued to gaze at Redbud with such sad tenderness, that a deep color came into her cheek, and her eyes were cast down.
She turned away; and then Miss Lavinia's advice came to her mind, and with a sorrowful cloud upon her face, she reproached herself for the kindness of her manner to Verty, in their present interview.
"I think I'll go and gather some flowers, yonder," she said, smiling faintly, and with a sad, kind look to Verty, in spite of all. "Fanny and yourself can talk until I return, you know—"
"Let me go with you," said Verty, moving to her side.
Redbud hesitated.
"Come, Redbud!" said Verty, persuasively smiling.
"Oh, no! I think I would like to get the one's I prefer."
And she moved away.
Verty gazed after her with melancholy tenderness—his face lit up with the old dreamy Indian smile. We need not say that the notable scheme suggested by Miss Sallianna—namely, his making love to some one else to try Redbud—had never crossed the ingenuous mind of the young man. From that pure mirror the obscuring breath soon disappeared. He did not wish to try Redbud—he loved her too much; and now he remained silent gazing after her, and wholly unconscious of the existence of Miss Fanny.
That young lady pouted, and uttered an expressive "hum!"
Verty turned his eyes absently toward her.
"You can go, sir, if you don't like my society—I am not anxious to detain you!" said Miss Fanny, with refreshing candor.
"Go where?" said Verty.
"After Redbud."
"She don't want me to."
"Hum!"
And this little exclamation indicated the light in which Fanny regarded the excuse.
Verty continued to gaze toward Redbud, who was gathering flowers.
"How kind and good she is!" he murmured.
And these words were accompanied by a smile of so much tender sincerity, that Fanny relented.
"Yes, she is!" said that young lady; "I'm glad to see that some of your sex, sir, have a little taste. It is not their failing."
"Anan!" said Verty, smiling.
Fanny laughed; and her good humor began to return completely.
"I know some who are utterly deficient," she said.
"In what?"
"Taste."
"Yes."
And Verty gazed after Redbud.
Fanny burst out laughing; but then remembering her promise to Redbud, to treat Verty well, and amuse him, checked this exhibition of satirical feeling, and said:
"Your taste, Mr. Verty, is such that I ought to quarrel with it—but I'm not going to;—no, not for fifty thousand worlds! If I have any quarreling to do, it will be with some one else!"
"With whom?"
"That coxcomb cousin of mine, Ralph Ashley."
Verty's countenance became clouded; it was the second time his rival's name had been uttered that morning.
"He is a fop," said Fanny—"a pure, unadulterated, presumptuous and intolerable fop. As I live, there he is coming up the road! Oh, won't we have fine times—he promised to show me his college album!"
And the impulsive Fanny clapped her hands, and more loudly than ever.Five minutes afterward Mr. Ralph Ashley dismounted at the door of theBower of Nature.
We shall now return to Miss Sallianna, and see what effect the viper tendencies of Mr. Verty had produced upon that young lady.
The hysterics did not last long.. Miss Sallianna had a large and useful assortment of feminine weapons of this description, and was proficient in the use of all—from the embarrassed, simpering laugh and maiden blush, with down-cast eyes, raised suddenly, at times, toward the "beloved object," then abased again—to the more artistic and effective weapons of female influence, tears, sobs, convulsions, hysterics and the rest. In each and all of these accomplishments was Miss Sallianna versed.
The hysterics, therefore, did not last long; the eyes grew serene again very soon; and contenting herself with a few spiteful looks toward the group in the garden, which glances she accompanied with a determined and vigorous rubbing of her antique nose, Miss Sallianna gently raised her fan, and seeing a cavalier approaching from the town, assumed her habitual air of languishing and meditative grace.
This cavalier was our friend Ralph, who, having deposited Mr. Jinks upon the earth before they emerged from the willows in sight of the Bower of Nature, now came on, laughing, and ready for any adventure which should present itself.
Ralph drew up before the house, tied his horse, and entered.
Miss Sallianna rose graciously, smiling.
"Good morning, sir," said the lady, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, and leaning her head on her right shoulder, "we have a charming day."
"Oh, charming! but that is not all, madam," said Ralph, smiling satirically, as he bent profoundly over the hand given to him.
"Not all, sir?" sighed the lady.
"There is something still more charming."
"What is that?"
"The dear companion with whom good fortune blesses me."
This was so very direct, that Miss Sallianna actually blushed.
"Oh, no—" she murmured.
"Yes, yes!"
"You men—"
"Are sincere—"
"Oh, no! such flatterers."
"Flatterers, madam?" said Ralph, laughing, "that is true of some of us, but not of me; I am so perfectly sincere, and clad in the simplicity of my nature to that degree, that what I say is the pure out-gushing of my heart—ahem!"
The lady smiled, and motioned toward a settee.
"The beauties of nature—"
"Yes, my dear madam."
"Are—ahem!"
"Yes, yes."
"So much more beautiful than those of art," sighed Miss Sallianna, contemplating the ceiling, as though nature had taken up her post there to be gazed at.
"I fully agree with you," said Ralph, "they are."
"Oh, yes—they are—I knew you would—you are so—so remarkable—"
"No, no, Miss Sallianna!"
"Yes, you are—for your intrinsic perspicuity, sir—la!"
And Miss Sallianna ogled her visitor.
"This," said Ralph, with enthusiasm, "is the proudest moment of my life. The beautiful Sallianna—"
"Oh, Mr. Ashley."'
"Yes, madam!" said Ralph, "torture would not make me change the word."
"La! Mr. Ashley!"
"The beautiful Miss Sallianna has declared that I am possessed of intrinsic perspicuity! I need nothing more. Now let the fates descend!"
With which heroic words Mr. Ralph Ashley wiped his brow with solemn dignity, and chuckled behind his handkerchief.
"I always admired perspicuity," said Miss Sallianna, with a languid glance.
"And I, beauty, madam."
"La! sir."
"Admiration is a weak word, Miss Sallianna."
"Opprobrium?" suggested the lady.
"Yes, yes! that is the word! Thank you, Miss Sallianna. I am not as strong in philology as you are. I should have said opprobrium—that is what I have always regarded beauty, such as yours, all my life."
Miss Sallianna covered her face with her fan. Here was an opportunity to supply the place of the faithless Verty and the odious Jinks. As the thought occurred to her, Miss Sallianna assumed an awful expression of favor and innocent fondness. Ralph shuddered as he caught sight of it.
"Are you fond of ladies, sir?" asked Miss Sallianna, smiling.
"Yes, Miss Sallianna, devotedly," said Ralph, recovering, in some degree.
"I should think so."
"Why, madam?"
"From your visits."
"My visits?"
"Oh, yes—you are very sly!"
"Sly?—I?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Never!"
"I think you have grown fond of—"
"Yourself, madam?"
"La—no. I fear—"
"As I do—"
"That such a thing—"
"Is more than I could presume to do," said Ralph, laughing.
Miss Sallianna bestowed upon the young gentleman a look from her maiden eyes, which seemed to say that he might presume to grow fond of her, if it had really become necessary to his peace of mind.
"But I meant Fanny," she said.
"Fanny!"
"Yes, your cousin."
"A mere baby!" said Ralph, with nonchalance.
"I agree with you."
"Which I consider a circumstance of great encouragement, Miss Sallianna. The fact is, Fanny is very well in her way, and in course of time will make, no doubt, a very handsome woman. But at present I only call to see her because I have nothing else to do."
"Indeed?"
"I am just from college."
"Yes."
"And consequently very innocent and inexperienced. I am sure you will take charge of my education."
"La! Mr. Ashley."
"I mean, Miss Sallianna, the education, not of my mind—that is finished and perfect: Oh, no! not that! The education of my heart!"
Ralph was getting on at headlong speed.
"Do you consent?" he said.
"La—really—indeed—"
"Why not, oh, beautiful lady—"
"How can I ever—so inexperienced—so innocent a person as myself can scarcely—"
And Miss Sallianna fell into a flutter.
"Then Fanny must."
"Oh, no!" observed Miss Sallianna, with vivacity.
"Why not?" said Ralph.
"She could not—"
"Could not!"
"She is too young, and then besides—"
"Besides, Miss Sallianna?"
"She is already taken up with her affair with Mr. Verty."
"What!" cried Ralph, beginning to have the tables turned upon him, and to suffer for his quizzing.
"She is evidently in love with Mr. Verty," said Miss Sallianna, compassionately; "that is, the child fancies that she feels a rare and inexpressive delight in his presence. Such children!"
"Yes, madam!" said Ralph, frowning.
"Especially that silly young man."
"Verty?"
"Yes; he is very presumptuous, too. Just think that he presumed to—to—make love to me this morning;" and Miss Sallianna's countenance was covered with a maiden blush. "I could scarcely persuade him that his attentions were not agreeable."
And Miss Sallianna looked dignified and ladylike.
"Fanny in love with him," said Ralph, reflecting.
"Look through the window," said Miss Sallianna, smiling.
Ralph obeyed, and beheld Verty and Fanny sitting on a knoll, in the merriest conversation;—that is to say, Fanny was thus talking. Young ladies always begin to converse very loud when visitors arrive—for what reason has not yet been discovered. Verty's absent look in the direction of Fanny's face might very well have been considered the stare of a lover.
"Do you doubt any longer?"
"Oh, no!"
"Then, Mr. Ashley—"
"Yes, madam."
"In future you will—"
"Care nothing for—"
"The person—"
"Who seems to me the concentration of folly and everything of that description—no, madam! In future I will carefully avoid her!"
And with this ambiguous speech, Mr. Ralph rose, begged Miss Sallianna to excuse him for a short time, and making her a low and devoted bow, took his way into the garden, and toward the spot where Fanny and Verty were sitting.
Fanny complimented Mr. Ralph Ashley with a very indifferent bow, and went on talking with, or rather to, her companion Verty.
Ralph tried to laugh at this; but not succeeding very well, came suddenly to the very rational conclusion that something unusual was going on in his breast. He had never before failed to utter the most contagious laughter, when he attempted the performance—what could the rather faint sound which now issued from his lips be occasioned by?
Puzzled, and at his philosophy's end, Ralph began to grow dignified; when, luckily, Redbud approached.
The young girl greeted him with one of her kind smiles, and there was so much light and joy in her face, that Ralph's brow cleared up.
They began to converse.
The chapter of accidents, whereof was author that distinguished inventor of fiction, Miss Sallianna, promised to make the present interview exceedingly piquant and fruitful in entertaining misunderstanding; for the reader will observe the situation of the parties. Miss Sallianna had persuaded Verty that Redbud was in love with Ralph; and, in the second place, had assured Ralph, a few moments before, that Fanny was in love with Verty.
Redbud was clinching Verty's doubts by smiling sweetly on Ralph;—Fanny was causing dreadful jealousy and conviction of his misfortune in Ralph, by making herself agreeable to Verty.
The schemes of the great Amazonian General, Sallianna, seemed to be crowned with complete success; and, doubtless, all would have turned out as she desired, but for one of those trivial circumstances which overturn the most carefully matured conceptions of the greatest intellects.
This was the simplicity of our friend Verty; and he unconsciously commenced the overturning operation by saying:
"Redbud, did you find the flowers you wanted?"
The young girl replied:
"Oh, yes!"
"'Beauties of nature,' Miss Sallianna would call 'em, would'nt she?" continued Verty, with a smile.
"Now, Verty!" said Redbud, reproachfully.
"I can't help it," returned Verty; "I don't like Miss Sallianna."
"Not like that paragon!" cried Fanny.
"No."
"Why not, sir?"
"She told me a story."
"A story, sir!"
"Yes."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak so disrespectfully of such a divine creature—with so much maiden innocence and intrinsic simplicity," observed Miss Fanny, inclining her head upon one shoulder, and rolling her eyes toward the sky.
Ralph began to laugh.
"I would'nt say it if it was'nt true," Verty said; "but it is."
"What story did she tell you, sir?" Fanny went on.
"She said that Redbud was in love with him—Ralph Ashley."
And Verty smiled.
Fanny burst into a roar of laughter; Redbud blushed; Ralph looked with astonishment at the plain-spoken Verty.
"You know that was a story," said he, simply.
Everybody remained silent for a moment, and then the silence was broken by Ralph, who cried, laughing:
"I'll back you, friend Verty! every word of it!"
"You, sir!" cried Fanny.
"Yes! I wonder if your divine creature—Sallianna by name—did not tell me, ten minutes since, that you—yes, you, Miss Fanny!—were desperately enamored of Mr. Verty!"
The whole party were so overcome by this ludicrous exposé of Miss Sallianna's schemes, that a laugh much louder than the first rang through the garden; and when Miss Sallianna was descried sailing in dignified meditation up and down the portico, her fan gently waving, her head inclined to one side, her eyes fixed upon the sky, Mr. Ralph Ashley entered into a neighboring mass of shrubbery, from which came numerous choking sounds, and explosive evidences of overwhelming laughter.
Thus was it that our honest Verty at once cleared up all misunderstanding—and made the horizon cloudless once again. If everybody would only speak as plainly, when misconceptions and mistakes arise, the world would have far more of sunshine in it!
"Just to think!" cried Fanny, "how that odious old tatterdemalion has been going on! Did anybody ever?"
"Anan?" said Verty.
"Sir?" said Fanny.
"What's a tatterdemalion?" asked the young man, smilingly.
"I don't exactly know, sir," said Fanny; "but I suppose it's a conceited old maid; who talks about the beauties of nature, and tries to make people, who are friends, hate each other."
With which definition Miss Fanny clenched her handsome little hand, and made a gesture therewith, in the direction of Miss Sallianna, indicative of hostility, and a desire to engage in instant combat.
Ralph laughed, and said:
"You meant to say, my dear child, that the lady in question tried to make a quarrel between people wholovedeach other—not simply 'were friends'. For you know she tried to make us dislike one another."
Fanny received this insinuating speech with one of heir expressive "hums!"
"Don't you?" said Ralph.
"What; sir?"
"Love me!"
"Oh, devotedly!"
"Very well; it was not necessary to tell me, and, of course, that pretty curl of the lip is only to keep up appearances. But come now, darling of my heart, and light of my existence! as wehav'ntquarreled, in spite of Miss Sallianna, and still have for each other the most enthusiastic affection, be good enough to forget these things, and turn your attention to material affairs. You promised me a lunch!"
"Lunch!"
"Yes—and I am getting hungry."
"When did I promise?"
"Yesterday."
"Oh—now—"
"You remember; very well. It was to be eaten, you will recollect, on the hill, yonder, to the west, to which our steps were to tend."
"Our picnic! Oh, yes! My goodness gracious! how could I forget it! Come on, Reddie—come and help me to persuade Mrs. Scowley to undo the preserve-jar."
Redbud laughed.
"May I go!" said Verty.
"Certainly, sir; you are not at liberty to refuse. Who would talk withReddie!"
"I don't think—" murmured Redbud, hesitating.
"Now!" cried Fanny, "did anybody ever!"
"Ever what!" said Verty.
"Ever see anybody like this Miss Redbud!"
"I don't think they ever did," replied Verty, smiling.
Which reply caused Miss Fanny and Mr. Ralph to laugh, and Redbud to color slightly; but this soon passed, and the simple, sincere look came back to her tender face.
Redbud could not resist the glowing picture which Fanny drew of the picnic to be; and, with some misgiving, yielded. In a quarter of an hour the young men and the young girls were on their way to the beautiful eminence, swinging the baskets which contained the commissariat stores, and laughing gleefully.