Barbara Ladd Part 15

"I want to examine a certain big rock, where a certain small girl did certain strange things!" replied Glenowen, gravely.

Barbara flushed, and drooped her head.

"I didn't know you knew about that, Uncle Bob!" she said, in a low voice. "Don't let's go there!"

"All right!" a.s.sented Glenowen, cheerfully. He had recalled the old tragedy of deliberate purpose, because, being of Welsh blood, and superst.i.tious, he was afraid Barbara's unparalleled high spirits might bring her some keen disappointment. He had purposed to discipline her with a dash of bitter memories, that he might avert the envy of the G.o.ds; and when her head drooped he had accomplished his purpose. But Barbara had changed her mind.

"No!" she said. "Let's go close to the rock, and look right down into the water, just where I was lying when old Debby pulled me out!"

And they did so. The sand was clear gold down there, but as they looked a huge eel wriggled over it. Barbara shuddered, and seized her paddle once more to get away.

"It's good for me to be reminded, Uncle Bob," she said. "I forget, when I am happy, how wicked and foolish I can be when things go wrong!

But oh, you can never know how unhappy I used to be! You'd have come to me if you had known, Uncle Bob!"

"Poor little girlie!" murmured Glenowen, his kind brown eyes moistening at the corners.

"But I was crazy, both naughty and crazy, and it was all my fault!"

went on Barbara, resting her paddle again as the canoe skimmed fleetly out across the water, away from the sorrowful spot. "It's all so different now! And it's always going to be different!"

Glenowen smiled to himself, as he was apt to do when confronted with any of the pathetic ironies of life. Barbara would not have liked him to smile, for to her a smile meant amus.e.m.e.nt or mirth, and she could never learn to appreciate the depth of tenderness that might lurk beneath a ripple of laughter. But she was looking straight ahead. In his heart and behind his smile, Glenowen said, "Child, dear child, is it all so securely different now, and just eight days gone since you climbed out of your window before daybreak?" But aloud he said, after a silence:

"It is indeed most different, Barb, old girl? Some of your troubles are really done now, thrown into the dark corner with the discarded dollies. The others will keep bobbing up now and then, claiming old acquaintance. But just you cut them dead. They are in sober truth not the same, now that you are older and more responsible. Well I know, what so many forget, that childish sorrows, while they last, are the most bitter and hopeless of sorrows. The wall that a man steps over blots out a child's view of heaven."

"How wonderfully you understand, Uncle Bob!" cried Barbara, with ardent appreciation.

As they neared the other side of the lake, a kingfisher dropped like an azure wedge into the ripples, missed his prey, and flew off down to the outlet clattering harshly in his throat. From the deep reeds of the point above the outlet a wide-winged bird got up heavily as the canoe drew near.

"There goes my old blue heron!" shouted Barbara, gleefully. "You should have seen the way he fixed me with his gla.s.sy eyes as I pa.s.sed, the morning I ran away!"

"He is very old, and very wise, and thinks of lots of things besides frogs!" said Glenowen.

They entered the outlet, and met old Debby's geese. The big gray and white gander, in the pride of many goslings, hissed fiercely at them as they paddled past, so that Keep raised his head and gave him a look of admonition over the gunwale. The next turn brought them out in full view of Debby's cabin, and straightway rose a clamorous outcry from watchful drakes and challenging chanticleers. The yellow pup ran barking down from the steps, and Keep c.o.c.ked a sympathetic ear.

"Lie down, sir!" commanded Barbara, and Keep meekly suppressed his budding interest.

Mrs. Debby Blue was spinning flax, on the hard-beaten clean earth some paces in front of her threshold, when she saw and recognised her approaching visitors. In the presence of Mr. Glenowen she read peace, for her shrewd perception of Barbara's character told her that the girl would never have permitted her a glimpse of the cherished uncle except as a sign of favour. Nevertheless the grim old woman was conscious of a sinking qualm at thought of the first straight look of Barbara's eyes. She knew she had betrayed her; and that knowledge was not wholly mended by the fact that she knew she had done right to betray. Her lonely old heart so yearned to the child that she feared her reproach as she feared no other thing in life. She stopped her wheel, dropped her roll of flax, picked up her stick, and limped st.u.r.dily down toward the landing.

Before she had got half-way the canoe came to land, and Barbara unceremoniously skipped ash.o.r.e.

"Lie down, Keep!" she ordered again, and then, leaving Glenowen to land and follow at leisure, she ran up the path to greet old Debby.

"This does my old eyes good, Miss Barby!" exclaimed the old woman, her voice a trifle unsteady.

Barbara seized her, and kissed her heartily on both cheeks.

"You were very bad to me, Debby," she cried, cheerfully, "but you'd have been worse to me if you hadn't been bad to me! So I forgive you, and love you just the same, you old dear. The most _dreadful_ things might have happened to me if it hadn't been for you!"

Mrs. Blue heaved a huge sigh of relief; but the subject was too difficult and delicate a one for her to expand upon. She gave Barbara a vehement squeeze, looked her up and down, and exclaimed:

"Land sakes alive, Miss Barby, why, if you hain't been an' growed up over night. What've they been doin' to you over there?"

"It was _you_ did it, Debby, much as anybody!" And Barbara flicked her petticoats audaciously before the old woman's eyes, to emphasise their added length. "Such lovely things have happened; and Aunt Hitty and I have made up; and I've so much to tell you, that I must come over some day and spend the whole day with you, after Uncle Bob goes away. And here's Uncle Bob himself, who only came day before yesterday, and has come to see you, Debby dear, before any one else in Second Westings."

As Barbara stopped breathless, Glenowen came up and grasped the old dame warmly by the hand.

"You're looking ten years younger than when I saw you two years ago, Debby!" he declared, sweetly and transparently mendacious.

"'Tain't so much my youth, as my beauty, that I set store by, Mr.

Glenowen, thankin' you jest the same!" retorted the old woman, as she led them into her cabin for refreshment. She was a cunning cook, if somewhat unconventional in her recipes, and she remembered with satisfaction that Barbara's uncle had seemed to share Barbara's weakness for her concoctions. Eight days ago she would have offered Barbara milk to drink; but now she brought out only a strong root wine for which she was famous, a beverage which was extolled throughout the towns.h.i.+p as a most efficacious preventative of all disorders.

"It's a wonder how letting down one's petticoats seems to destroy one's fondness for milk!" said Barbara.

Instead of sitting on the edge of the high bed and swinging her legs, as she would have done eight days ago, she sat on a bench and kept her feet on the floor. And from this old Debby realised, with a pang, that the child had truly grown to womanhood.

CHAPTER XX.

Returning about noon to Westings House, early that they might have time to dress for dinner, Glenowen started to let down the pasture bars.

But Barbara, in high spirits, went over them like a cat, forgetful of her new dignity. So Glenowen vaulted after her. As they rounded the end of the barn, Amos came leading a tall sorrel across the yard; and straightway Barbara a.s.sumed a more stately air, while a quick radiance went over her face.

"That's Robert Gault's horse!" she explained. "I want you to be very lovely to him, Uncle Bob, for he's such a nice boy, and was so very civil to me when I made him help me run away. I gave him a terrible lot of anxiety, you know!"

Glenowen laughed uproariously.

"I don't doubt you did, dear heart!" he agreed. "But Lord, oh, Lord, what a way of commending a young man to a young lady's doting uncle, to say he mighty civilly helped her to run away!"

"Now, Uncle Bob, I won't like you if you talk nonsense! You know very well what I mean. And you are to be nice to Robert!" retorted Barbara, crisply.

As they went up the long, box-bordered path, Mistress Mehitable and Robert came strolling down to meet them; and the warmth of Glenowen's greetings to Robert fulfilled Barbara's utmost demands. For her own part, however, under the sway of a sudden whim, she chose to be by no means extraordinarily civil. And Robert's contentment was dashed by a chilly doubt as to whether or no he had chosen the right day for his visit. Before they went to their rooms to dress, however, Barbara relented.

"You should have come last night, Robert," she said, turning to him graciously at the foot of the stairs. "Then Uncle Bob and I would have taken you over the lake with us this morning, in _the_ canoe, to see old Debby!"

She threw an intimate emphasis on the "the,"--and watched with a curious sense of triumph the swift fading of the cloud from Robert's face.

For this dinner Barbara dressed with unwonted care. Her plain white silk petticoat, duly lengthened, worn under her cream brocaded satin panniers, with buff satin bodice, and white lace short sleeves, gave her, as she could not but think, a most genteel appearance. With her new white silk stockings and white satin shoes, two large red roses in her bosom, and one in the dark ma.s.s of her hair just where the curl hung down, a tiny patch from the adorable new patch-box discreetly fixed near the corner of her mouth, and the new love-hood to be thrown carelessly over her head in due time, she felt herself equipped to be as imperious and unpleasant to Robert as the caprice of the moment might suggest. When she went down-stairs she found Mistress Mehitable waiting in the hall, in a gayer gown than she had ever before seen her wear. It was a silk polonaise, of a tender, gris-de-lin shade, which became her fair colouring to a marvel; and Barbara was astonished to see how young and pretty she looked.

"How _perfectly lovely_ you look, dear!" she cried, turning Mistress Mehitable twice around, and putting a deft touch to the light, abundant, simply coiffured hair. "No one will give one look at me to-day!"

Her aunt flung an arm about her, smiling, then tripped away girlishly, flushed a pretty pink, lifted the edge of her petticoat, and displayed a slender ankle encased in embroidered sky-blue silk. Barbara clapped her hands with approval.

"It is five years since I have worn them," said Mistress Mehitable.

"Seeing that I failed so, child, in my efforts to lead you along the paths of gravity, I have concluded to try and let you lead me along the paths of frivolity--a little! So I got out my blue silk stockings!"

And spreading her skirts, she was in the act of making Barbara an elaborate curtsey, when Glenowen, coming up quickly behind her, caught her and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Mistress Mehitable, startled and taken aback, blushed furiously, and stood for a second or two in confusion. Then she recovered herself.

She made another stately curtsey, and saying, demurely, "Let me turn the other cheek also, Mr. Glenowen," presented her face again for a more formal and less hasty salute.