Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 39

"I cannot see how friend Herb should be so opportune," said Mr.

Lawson, with an arch glance at the incorrigible Josie.

"Defend yourself, Sir Knight," cried the latter, in her pretty artful way, that made the wavy ringlets play hide-and-seek with the utmost _abandon_.

"I was on my way to the fis.h.i.+ng grounds, and you can imagine my surprise on being hailed in this wise:--'I say, mister, can you take a pa.s.senger?' On looking around I espied a young lady and bundle waiting for transportation to Suss.e.x, five miles out of my way. Just think of it, and I had to stop, and here you see the pa.s.senger, while your humble servant is without doubt the subject of a few prayers from the boys who are anxiously awaiting a further supply of rations."

"They'll not starve till morning, Mr. Rutherford, and I think we had better all form a party and go with you," exclaimed Mr. Montgomery, who now occupied a seat beside Josie, and was as much a youth as his fourteen-year-old son who had entered un.o.bserved while the conversation was going on.

"Won't that be glorious!" cried Josie, springing from her seat and clapping her hands with delight.

"And I suppose the pantry must suffer for it," said the cheery hostess, who had overheard her husband's suggestion.

"Well, mother, I think you can afford us a good supply, and not suffer the inconvenience of hunger either," said Jennie, placing her hand caressingly upon her mother's shoulder, and thinking in the meantime of the delicious pumpkin pies, tempting doughnuts and soft gingerbread that were piled upon the pantry shelves in a manner that, to quote a younger scion of the Montgomery family, "would make a fellow's teeth water."

The evening was indeed a jolly one at "Gladswood." Josie being sufficient entertainment for a much larger company made the most of her time, and the most shrewd observer could not detect anything like gloom in Phillip Lawson's manner as he laughed and chatted among the happy party.

As the hour was growing late Helen Rushton requested that Josie would sing something for them to "dream on."

The latter possessed a soft, rich and musical voice of much flexibility and easily adapted to meet the tastes of her audience.

"What shall I sing?" cried she in imploring tones as her eyes instinctively met those of Mr. Lawson.

"Anything you like," replied several voices.

As the girl took her seat at the piano she looked everything but a hoyden. A sweet native grace possessed every movement and gave dignity to every gesture. The pretty fingers, somewhat browned by recent exposure, ran over the keys and a prelude soft and bewitching floated around the room, then the bird-like notes warbled forth that well-known song--

"'Tis evening brings my heart to thee."

A solemn stillness prevailed. An exquisite sadness seemed to possess each member of the company, but there was one who felt it keenly.

As Phillip Lawson sat there listlessly turning over the leaves of a handsomely-bound portfolio who could tell of the deep agitation that almost unmanned him? Not a muscle moved, not a sigh was heard, not a look was conveyed, yet deep down in his heart was a fierce conflict.

"My G.o.d," thought the young man in the bitterness of his heart, "will the dead past never bury its dead? Why does it come forth from its shallow sepulchre and meet me on the most trifling occasions?

Even that romping girl has power to unearth the mystic presence."

The last notes had died away and Jennie Montgomery cast a quick glance at the young lawyer. Her intuitive nature was sadly alive to the effect produced upon her friend. "Poor Phillip," thought she, "he thinks he is secure, that none intrude upon the sanct.i.ty of his thoughts. Poor Phillip, I would wish him happier things."

"Such a song to amuse a company," exclaimed Herbert Rutherford. "If Maude was here you might expect a crying match, and judging by the rest of the faces I think we could count upon a pretty fair exhibition of the pathetic."

"Well, Herb, it is not for your individual benefit," cried Josie, closing the book and rising from the piano.

She was about to say something further when a glance from Mr. Lawson caused her to stammer and blush in sad confusion. "What have I done?" thought the girl. "He is angry at me." And whenever she turned the reproachful eyes seemed to confront her.

Was there any real cause for such alarm?

Josie Jordan was of a highly-wrought, imaginative mind, quick to suspect, impulsive and full of vagaries and oftentimes those susceptibilities led many a wild-goose chase. There was another that interpreted the look from a different standpoint. Jennie Montgomery learned to realize Phillip Lawson's thoughts, and she felt that a yearning sympathy had arisen within herself; yet, she knew full well that her friend Josie was ignorant of anything which would suggest the song, and as she was going to ask the hitter for one of her favorites, Mr. Lawson came and stood beside Josie, exclaiming in the softest and most gentle tone, "You sing well, Miss Josie, I'm afraid that you have got yourself into trouble, for I am a lover of song and--"

"Have become a perfect bore," cried Josie, "there I have done you the service to finish the sentence, Mr. Lawson."

"Look here, Miss Jordan, the genial atmosphere of Kings County has not any beneficial effect upon your good behaviour," cried Herbert Rutherford, glancing at the pretty half-grown child with an air of much gravity, and wondering if she will be a child-woman as well.

"I like Mr. Lawson only he has a strange way of looking at you," was Josie's comment as the girls sought a snug little nook upstairs to have a quiet chat before retiring.

"Mr. Lawson is a deep thinker, and ever in his brown-study his eyes may happen to be riveted on you or any other object, yet he sees it not. He is looking upon a picture perhaps fairer, perhaps less fair, as circ.u.mstances may suggest, but depend upon it, he is lost to all outward surroundings."

The words had no sooner escaped Jennie Montgomery's lips than she regretted them, but happily her remarks did not take deep root in the minds of her girl companions.

The many little tidbits of girlish gossip and jokes were followed by merry laughter until the heavy stroke of the old clock of the household suggested that if they wished a good day's sport they must first have refres.h.i.+ng sleep, and soon all was still within the quaint sleeping-rooms, wherein the merry maidens dreamt their girlhood dreams. But in the snowy white chamber hitherto described in a preceding chapter there were subdued sounds which betrayed the disturbed state of the occupant.

Phillip Lawson's couch was yet bedecked in its snowy draperies and its perfect folds showed that no hand had marred its effect by actual contact.

The heavy hunting-case watch lying upon the dressing-case pointed to the wee small hours. Yet it mattered not. The song was ringing in the young man's ears. Ever and anon the beautiful refrain sounded through the quiet room with increasing volume.

"Why am I such a fool?" murmured the young man as he leaned upon the window-sill and looked out upon the beautiful scene below.

"Why are not my thoughts in harmony with this glorious picture-- this realization of a poet's dream. Ah, truly, the heart is an unruly pupil. It is ever rebellious against the teaching of the stern monitress--Duty."

Phillip Lawson heaved a sigh and then continued: "Whatever the future will bring G.o.d only knows; whatever is is all for the best."

A hush fell upon the troubled heart, and taking up the Book of Prayers, the young man read the beautiful and sublime Evening Service of the Episcopal Church, of which he was a consistent and conscientious member, and in whose prosperity he took an active interest, laboring hard both by his purse and by his personal influence to increase its growth, and cherish sacred those memories of the bye-gone past. But of the incoming morn. An unusual babble and hurry-scurry time was going on long ere Herbert Rutherford had thought fit to arouse his friend.

"I say, Lawson, what in the mischief is the matter? Why, the folk downstairs have been kicking up the biggest fuss for the last three hours. How could you sleep? Gracious, how those girls are tearing around--no allowance for nerves here."

Phillip Lawson laughed and soon began to make his morning toilet, while Herbert Rutherford betook himself to the stable to see if everything was in readiness to start. To the latter's surprise he espied Jennie Montgomery coming across the field with her favorite spaniel close in pursuit.

"Good morning, Miss Montgomery. What errand of mercy has demands upon you at this early hour, for certainly it can be nothing less,"

and the glance at the substantial errand basket was significant of the interpretation.

"I am the errand boy on particular occasions," said Jennie, her face aglow with the healthful exercise.

Herbert Rutherford looked at the beaming face and then at the trim but graceful figure in neat print frock just of a length to show a well-formed foot encased in heavy-soled shoes.

"Talk of your city girls--there is a match for any of them,"

muttered the young man as he saw the maiden spring over the opposite stile and then throw back one of her sweetest smiles.

"A pretty fellow, by Jove," said one.

"A nice commissariat," said a second.

"Why didn't you wait until you came to pick up our bones?" shouted another, with force sufficient to show that starvation had not yet attacked the camp.

"You're all right yet, I guess," said Herbert Rutherford, reining up the pretty and spirited animal beside an old hut that served as dining-hall for the party.

"Herb, say, hope you didn't forget the corkscrew this time," shouted a voice from behind an old stump.

"Caesar and Anthony!" was the exclamation as the smiling maidens and their attendants came in sight.