Edith and John Part 56

"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.

"Edith, will you be my wife, some day?" he asked, looking with the fervor of an impa.s.sioned youth into her dear blue eyes, and pus.h.i.+ng back the wet hair from her white temples.

"Why, yes; dear John, I love you, as I always have since the first time I met you," she answered, with such an appealing tone for that old responsive note in him that he pressed her closer to his bosom. And the longing in her soul was recompensed in that moment of her eternal bliss.

"You know me, Edith; you know my people now; you know what I am. Are you satisfied?" he asked, still harboring that same old uncertain doubt that always perplexed him so; and still holding her in his arms.

"I know you to be a n.o.ble young man, dear John. I know your people now, and I love them. I am satisfied," she whispered. "You are all that I care for, John--all. I love you, I love you," and she kissed him.

"I am satisfied, dear Edith. It was not an hallucination, after all, was it dear?" he answered.

Thus, plighting their troth, they went hand in hand up the shady wood path as happy as two young children over their mishap.

Life is beautiful, and life is sweet; but what would life be to those young people without the love between them?

Coming to the path where they left James and Star, on parting, they found them sitting there, waiting. When Star saw them coming, she instinctively comprehended, and knew that the crisis was over between Edith and John. Star was happy herself over a secret of her own. And together they returned home.

John proudly, on arriving in the old-fas.h.i.+oned sitting room, announced to his parents and sister his intended bride, and told them they could take her now, in her bedraggled condition, for their daughter and sister.

"Now, will you go with me, Anne, to the city?" asked Edith, after she had been costumed in some of Anne's clothing that fit her narrowly. "I will educate you, and have you for my own dear sister," hugging Anne to her breast.

"Some day, Edith; some day," answered Anne, uncertain in her mind. "When will you come after me?"

"When I am your real sister, Anne," replied Edith, stroking Anne's golden hair, and then she looked up at Anne's mother, who could not fully realize what it meant for her future life. "You will let her go, Mrs. Winthrope?"

"I may some day," answered the good old mother.

"I wouldn't want to leave papa and mamma yet, Edith," said Anne, with a happy smile.

"You shall return to see them often; so shall I," said Edith.

"I will go some time, Edith, after you are my sister," answered the coy Anne.

"That will be soon, dear sister," said Edith, folding Anne in her arms and crying with excessive happiness. "You may have two sisters soon, Anne--Star, I am sure, will be your other sister." Star blushed, and therefore told her tale.

The family stood on the porch that evening, and listened to the receding sound of the rattling wheels and squeaking springs of the rig, as John drove away with his precious load. "G.o.d bless them," said the good old father; and Anne cried when the last hoof beat came down the shadowy roadway. In silence they sat in darkness till they heard the clanking hoofs returning. The mother went in and lighted the lamp; the father went in, the sister went in, the two brothers went in; and they all knelt down in family wors.h.i.+p.

As the curtain of the pa.s.sing night drew thickly over the mountains, and the lights in the corridor of the Summit House became dim, and their room dark, Edith knelt down by her bed and offered up her prayers to the Good Lord, who had brought her safely through her troubles; and Star, kneeling by her side, said, "Amen."

A few days thereafter, after Edith had written her parents of the happy culmination of her fis.h.i.+ng trip, the following message was received by her from them: "Congratulations."

So endeth the story of Edith and John.