Love Me Little, Love Me Long Part 20

One day she had studied and spelled four mortal hours, when a visitor was suddenly announced--Miss Dodd. That young lady came briskly in at the heels of the servant and caught Lucy at her work. After the first greeting, her eye rested with such undisguised curiosity on the "mouldy records" that Lucy told her in general terms what she was trying to do for her uncle. "La!" said Eve, "you will ruin your eye-sight; why not send them over to us? I will make David read them."

"And his eyesight?"

"Oh, bless you, he has a knack at reading old writing. He has made a study of it."

"If I thought I was not presuming too far on Mr. Dodd's good nature, I would send one or two of them."

"Do; and I will make him draw up a paper of the contents; I have seen him at this sort of work before now. But there, la! I suppose you know it is all vanity."

"I do it to please my poor uncle."

"And very good you are. But what the better will the poor old gentleman be? We are here to act our own part well; we can't ride up to heaven on our great-grandfather."

These maxims were somewhat coldly received, so Eve s.h.i.+fted her ground.

"After all, I don't know why I should be the one to say that, for my own name is older than your uncle's a pretty deal."

Lucy looked puzzled; then suddenly fancying she had caught Eve's meaning, she said: "That is true. Hail mother of mankind!!" and bowed her head with graceful reverence.

Eve stared and colored, not knowing what on earth her companion meant.

I am afraid it must be owned that Eve steadily eschewed books and always had. What little book-learning she had came to her filtered through David, and by this channel she accepted it willingly, even sought it at odd times, when there was no bread, pudding, dress, theology, scandal, or fun going on. She turned it off by a sudden inquiry where Mr. Fountain was; "they told me in the village he was away." Now several circ.u.mstances combined to make Lucy more communicative than usual. First, she had been studying hard; and, after long study, when a lively person comes to us, it is a great incitement to talk. Pitiful by nature, I spare you the "bent bow."

Secondly, she was a little anxious lest her uncle's sudden neglect should have mortified Miss Dodd, and a neutral topic handled at length tends to replace friendly feeling without direct and unpleasant explanations. She therefore answered every question in full; told her that her uncle had lost a dear friend; that he was executor and guardian to the poor boy, now entirely an orphan. Her uncle, with his usual zeal on behalf of his friends; had gone off at once, and doubtless would not return till he had fulfilled in every respect the wishes of the deceased.

To this general sketch she added many details, suppressing the misanthropy Mr. Fountain had exhibited or affected at the first receipt of the intelligence.

In short, angelic gossip. Earthly gossip always backbites, you know.

Eve missed something somehow, no doubt the human or backbiting element; still, it was gossip, sacred gossip, far dearer than Shakespeare to the female heart, and Eve's eyes glowed with pleasure and her tongue plied eager questions.

With all this, such instinctive artists are these delicate creatures, both these ladies were secretly in ambush, Lucy to learn whether Eve and David were hurt or surprised at not being invited of late, and why she and he had not called since; Eve to find out what was the cause David and she had been so suddenly dropped: was it Lucy's doing or whose?

Each lady being bent on receiving, not on making revelations, nothing transpired on either side. Seeing this, Eve became impatient and made a bold move.

"Miss Fountain," said she, "you are all alone. I wish you would come over to us this evening and have tea."

Lucy did not immediately reply. Eve saw her hesitation. "It is but a poor place," said she, "to ask you to."

"I will come," said the lady, directly. "I will come with great pleasure."

"Will seven be too early for you?"

"Oh, no, I don't dine now my uncle is away. I call luncheon dinner."

"Perhaps, six, then?"

"Pray let me come at your usual hour. Why derange your family for one person?" Six o'clock was settled.

"I must take some of this rubbish with me," said Eve; "come along, my dears"; and with an ample and mock enthusiastic gesture she caught up an armful of ma.n.u.scripts.

"The servant shall take them over for you."

"Oh, bother the servant; I am my own servant--if you will lend me a pin or two."

Lucy drew six pins out from different parts of her dress. Eve noticed this, but said nothing. She pinned up her ap.r.o.n so as to make an enormous pocket, and went gayly off with the "spoils of time."

CHAPTER VII.

"Is that what you call being calm, David? Let me alone--don't s...o...b..r me. I am sure I wish she had said, 'No.' If I had thought she would come I would never have asked her."

"You would, Eve; you would, for love of me."

"Who knows? Perhaps I might. I am more indulgent than kind."

"Eve, do tell me all. Is she well? does she come of her own good will?

Dear Eve!"

"Well, I'll tell you: first we had a bit of a talk for a blind like; and her uncle is away; so then I asked her plump to come to tea. Well, David, first she looked 'No'--only for a single moment, though; she soon altered her mind, and so then, the moment it was to be 'Yes,' she cleared up, and you would have thought she had been asked to the king's banquet. Ah! David, my lad, you have fallen into good hands--you have launched your heart on a deeper ocean than ever your s.h.i.+p sailed on."

David took no notice. He was in a state of exaltation for one thing, and, besides, Eve's simile was sent to the wrong address; we terrestrials fear water in proportion to its depth, but these mariners dread their native element only when it is shallow.

David now kept asking in an excited way what they could do for her.

"What could they get to do her honor? Wouldn't she miss the luxuries of her fine place?"

"Now you be quiet, David; we need not put ourselves about, for she will be the easiest girl to please you have ever seen here; or, if she isn't, she'll act it so that you'll be none the wiser. However, you can go and buy some flowers for me."

"That I will; we have none good enough for her here."

"And, David, tea under the catalpa, as we always do on fine nights."

"You don't mean that."

"Ah! but I do. These fine ladies are all for novelties. Now I'm much mistaken if this one has ever had her tea out of doors in all her born days. What! do you think our little stuffy room would be any treat to her, after the drawing-room at Font Abbey? Come, you be off till half-past five; you'll fidget yourself and fidget me else."

David recognized her superiority, obeyed and vanished.

Eve, having got rid of him, showed none of the insouciance she had recommended. She darted into the kitchen, bared her arms, and made wheaten cakes with unequaled rapidity, the servant looking on with demure admiration all the while. These put into the oven, she got her keys and put out the silver teapot, cream jug and sugar basin, things not used every day, I can tell you; item, the best old china tea service; item, some rare tea, of which David had brought home a small quant.i.ty from China. At six o'clock Miss Fountain came; a footman marched twenty yards behind her. She dismissed him at the door, and Eve invited her at once into the garden. There David joined them, his heart beating violently. She put out her hand kindly and calmly, and shook hands with him in the most unembarra.s.sed way imaginable. At the touch of her soft hand every fiber in him thrilled and the color rushed into his face. At this a faint blush tinged her own, but no more than the warm welcome she was receiving might account for.

They seated her in a comfortable chair under the catalpa. Presently out came a nice, clean maid, her white neck half hidden, half revealed, by plain, unfigured muslin worn where the frock ended. She put the tea things on the table, and courtesied to Lucy, who returned her salute by a benignant smile. Out came another stouter one with the kettle, hung it from a hoop between two stout sticks, and lighted a fire she had laid underneath, retiring with a parting look at the kettle as soon as it hissed. Then returned maid one with bread, and wheaten cakes, and fruit, b.u.t.ter nice and hard from the cellar, and yellow cream, and went off smiling.

A gentle zeal seemed to animate these domestics, as if they, also, in relative proportions, gave the fete, or at least contributed good will. Lucy's quick eye caught this. It was new to her.

The tea was soon made, and its Oriental fragrance mingled with the other odors that filled the balmy air. Gay golden broken lights flickered in patches on the table, the china cups, the ladies'

dresses, and the gra.s.s, all but in one place, where the cool deep shadow lay undisturbed around the foot of the tree-stem. Looking up to see whence the flickering gold came that sprinkled her white hand, Lucy saw one of the loveliest and commonest things in nature. The sky was blue--the sun fiery--the air potable gold outside the tree, so that, as she looked up, the mellow green leaves of the catalpa, coming between her and the bright sky and glowing air, shone like transparent gold--staircase upon staircase of great exotic translucent leaves, with specks of lovely blue sky that seemed to come down and perch among the top branches. Charming as these sights were, contrast doubled their beauties; for all these dimples of bright blue and flakes of translucent gold were eyed from the cool and from the deep shade.

The light, it is true, came down and danced on the turf here and there, but it left its heat behind through running the gauntlet of the myriad leaves. Over Lucy's head hung by a silk line from one of the branches a huge globe of humble but fragrant flowers; they were, in point of fact, fastened with marvelous skill all round a damp sponge, but she did not know that. Thus these simple hosts honored their lovely guest. And while these sights and smells stole into her deep eyes and her delicate nostrils, "Fiddle, David," said Eve, loftily, and straightway a simple mellow tune rang sweetly on the cheerful chords--a rustic, dulcet, and immortal ditty, in tune with summer and afternoon, with gold-checkered gra.s.s, and leaves that slumbered, yet vibrated, in the glowing air.

A bright, dreamy hour; the soul and senses floated gently in color, fragrance, melody, and great calm. "Each sound seemed but an echo of tranquillity."