Lydia of the Pines Part 34

Lydia turned a startled, sunburned face toward the questioner. "Nice!

Why, of course! Kent's like my brother."

"No man but a brother can be like a brother, my dear. Always remember that. What happened yesterday to worry you?"

"Nothing that had anything to do with Kent. Gos.h.!.+ I should say not!"

"Lydia!" cried Miss Towne. "Please don't use such dreadful language!

If you knew how coa.r.s.e it sounds! Oh, my dear, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," as she watched the scarlet face and quivering lips.

"It's just that you are so fine, I can't bear to have you do anything that isn't fine. I've been planning to talk to you for a long time about your slang. Leave that sort of thing to Olga and the rest. Use only the purest Anglo-Saxon. Be a credit to your fine Puritan stock in speech. You already are, in character."

Lydia said nothing. She sat struggling to keep back the tears when a horse's hoof beats sounded under the trees and Levine rode into the camp.

Lydia had been wondering how, when she saw him in town, she was going to meet him, what she was going to say to him. But now, her only thought was that here was the devoted friend who had understood her since babyhood.

As he dismounted, she jumped to her feet. "Oh, my dear Mr. Levine! My dear! My dear!" she cried and hair flying, she ran to him and threw her arms about his neck, burying her face against his rough corduroy coat.

John threw a long arm about her, and held her to him closely, while with his free hand he smoothed back the glory of her hair. And Miss Towne, watching, saw his long saturnine face transformed.

"Why, Lydia, my little sweetheart! I didn't realize you'd missed me so." He held her silently for a moment, then, catching Miss Towne's gaze, he smiled.

"Lydia has few loves, but they're strong," he said. "I'm her foster father. My name's John Levine."

Lydia disengaged herself. "And this is Miss Towne," she said, "my dearest teacher."

"I've heard your praises sung for a long time," said Levine.

"And I've heard Lydia sing yours," returned Miss Towne.

"And no one else, I'll bet," laughed John.

"Sit down," said the chaperone, with what dignity she could muster with her hair down her back, "while Lydia and I finish dressing."

"You'll have lunch with us?" called Lydia as she retreated toward the tent.

"Yes, but I can't stay longer. Must be back in Lake City for supper,"

replied Levine, tying up his horse.

The luncheon was a success. Lydia was delighted to put her hand to cooking again, and while Miss Towne set the table, John chatted with both of them of his Was.h.i.+ngton experiences. He rode away immediately after he had finished eating. Miss Towne wiped the dishes thoughtfully.

"It's hard to realize that he's the scandalous John Levine," she said.

"He's simply charming!"

Lydia flared, flushed and subsided. Never again, she realized, could she contradict aspersions cast on Levine's character. And yet, how like a bad dream the episode of last night seemed. If only it had been a dream!

"You're not resentful still about my criticism of your slang using, are you, Lydia?" asked Miss Towne, anxiously.

"No," muttered Lydia, "I deserved it."

Miss Towne's face cleared. "Well, then, tell me all about your friend.

He interests me."

Nothing could have soothed Lydia more in her half guilty feeling of having spied unfairly on John than to spend the rest of the afternoon in a history of his relations.h.i.+p to her family.

Side by side in the hammock the two lay during the rest of the sunny summer afternoon, gazing up into the pines and talking of the curious personality that was making history for Lake City. In after years, whenever she thought of Levine, Miss Towne's memory brought her two pictures--one of the tall, sardonic faced man clasping the golden haired girl in his arms. The other was of pine boughs, murmuring sadly and persistently above the gentle flow of Lydia's young voice.

That night the young people sat alone around the camp fire. The chaperone complained of a headache and went to bed soon after supper.

When she had disappeared, and the tent flap had dropped behind her, Gustus chanted softly,

"School's closed!

Teacher's dead!

Hooray!"

and deliberately put his arm about Margery and kissed her. Margery gave a little shriek but blushed and looked pleased and Gustus settled down with his head in her lap. Margery sat looking into the fire, and smoothing Gustus' hair.

Olga, who was sitting with Charlie on the opposite side of the blaze, her back against a log, arranged her skirts. "Come on, Charlie," she said, with a glance at Kent. And Charlie ensconced himself comfortably with his head on Olga's knee.

Lydia, who was sitting with Kent, eyed this grouping with interest, and mingled with a little sense of shock and disapproval was just the least little feeling of regret that the boys didn't feel "crazy" about her.

She was sitting bolt upright, with her cheeks flaming a little when she felt Kent's arm stealing round her. She did not resist when he pulled her softly against him. She was utterly surprised at the pleasurable sensation she experienced at having Kent's arm about her. The others were singing but for once Lydia's throaty contralto did not join in.

So this was spooning! Of course, she wouldn't let anybody but Kent do this. And what did it amount to, anyhow! If this was all there was to spooning, why did people think it was wrong?

Under cover of the singing, Kent giving her a little squeeze said, "Didn't think you were such a flirt, Lydia! Let me put my head in your lap, will you?"

"All right," said Lydia nonchalantly. And presently she was smoothing Kent's hair, and he was holding her unoccupied hand. It was the same crisp black hair Lydia had pulled in many a childish quarrel and Kent had held her hands many a time to keep her from slapping his face. And yet there was a thrill about this!

Kent evidently called this flirting. Flirting! Lydia began going back over the conversation with Kent that the eavesdropping episode had crowded from her thoughts. Kent didn't respect girls that flirted and he told her he'd slap her if she flirted and yet, here he was! Lydia went on smoothing the crisp hair, with the thin hand that had the callouses of hard work across the palm.

The others were singing one of Lydia's favorite airs and she joined in.

"The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine."

She sang the words unthinkingly--and stopped. John Levine was helping her in her search for G.o.d, and robbing and betraying the Indians as he did so! And here was Kent, warning her against doing that which he was persuading her to do. What was the matter with men! Was there no trusting them? And yet, she liked to "spoon" with Kent!

"Oh," she thought, "I wish I knew more about men. I wish I could ask Mother."

And memory, like a gentle alarm clock rang its warning. "Lydia," her father had said, "don't do anything you'd be ashamed to have your mother know."

Lydia yawned and gave Kent's hair a little tweak. "Get up, Kent, my foot's asleep," she said.

Kent sat up. The others sang on and Lydia said, "I thought you didn't want me to flirt."

"I don't, but with me it's different!" replied Kent.

Lydia jumped to her feet. "You make me sick, Kent Moulton!" she snapped. "All men make me sick. I'm going to bed." And she stalked off in her hunting boots, without a good night to any one.

Kent looked after her with an expression half sheepish, half admiring.

"What's the matter with Lyd?" asked Olga.