WHY MONTY DID NOT GO A-FISHING
Montgomery's love of gossip was his own undoing. When, after the manner
of Moses, worthy guide, the young angler had put his own fishing-tackle
in order, he sought the dining-room, where supper awaited. For once he
was on time, and received a word of commendation from his grandmother,
which so elated him that he mentally reviewed the day's events for a bit
of news with which to enliven her monotony. Then like a flash arose
before him the picture of an unknown girl at Miss Maitland's window.
This was something worth telling, indeed.
With his mouth full of chicken, remnant of Eunice's pullets, he burst
forth.
"A-a-aunt Eunice's got comp'ny."
The punctilious old lady opposite raised her thin hand, protesting: "My
son, you should never attempt to talk when you are eating."
Nothing abashed, the boy swallowed hastily and reiterated his statement.
At which Madam Sturtevant exclaimed, with as much excitement of manner
as she ever showed: "Company? Dear Eunice entertaining guests? Why, son,
how did you learn that? Who are they, pray?"
"D-d-didn't say 'g-guests.' She's a g-g-gir-rl. How I learned, I
s-s-saw. With my own eyes. M-m-more chicken, g-gramma."
"Yes, dear heart. It is delicious poultry, and so sweet of Eunice to
remember us. We were always close friends, and she is still a lovely
woman. So fresh and young looking. But then, Eunice never married nor
was widowed, nor exchanged wealth for poverty, nor reared a--a
grandson," concluded the dame, fixing a too thoughtful gaze upon
Montgomery's freckled face, whose only aristocratic feature was a pair
of exceptionally fine eyes. Her mind was already wandering back into
that past which held so much more of interest to this decayed
gentlewoman than the present; but, wriggling under her survey of
himself, the lad reminded her that Miss Maitland had also had her
trials, in that:
"Un-un-uncle Mose s-says she's raised s-s-s-six sev--en other folks'
ch-ch-ch-childern, anyhow."
"Sixty-seven children! My dear, you must certainly have misunderstood.
But no matter. Finish your food at once. Our duty is plain. I dislike
going out, except on Sundays, and especially at evening, yet dear Eunice
would think me most remiss if I delayed to pay my respects to any guest
of hers. I am dressed sufficiently well for an informal visit, but--"
here the old lady put on her glasses and critically regarded her
grandson's attire, then remorselessly continued: "But you, my son, must
take a bath and put on your best suit. As soon as possible; because the
stranger will be tired and wish to retire early. Finished? That is well.
Strike the bell for Alfaretta."
Though his plate was still heaped with the choice portions of the fowl,
which his doting grandmother had preserved for him, and though he was
still hungry, unlucky Monty sank back in his chair, a limp, crestfallen
lad. With his dejected stare fixed upon her unrelenting face, he
stammered forth:
"B-b-but, g-g-gr-gramma! I'm goin' a-f-f-fishin'!"
"Nonsense. Get ready immediately," said Madam, rising from table, and
measuring out the supper portion of Alfaretta, the one small servant of
a house which had once sheltered many.
Then he also rose, but so languidly that "Alfy" stared, and, glancing
toward his still full plate, inquired: "You sick?"
"No, I ain't. I'm m-m-mad!"
"At me?"
"N-no. Y-y-yes. You're another of 'em. She's a g-g-girl. I've got to go
s-s-s-see her! Just a p-p-plain girl!"
The infinite scorn with which this reply was hurled at her touched
Alfaretta's pride. Was she not, also, a girl? Said she, with intent to
"get even" for some of his former toplofty remarks: "Oh! I thought you
was goin' fishin' with Uncle Mose. I saw Bob Turner go past, quite a
spell ago, and he was whistlin' like lightnin'. And I heard you say,
more'n once, 't _you_ 'hadn't no man to boss you--you could do as you
pleased."
"So I can when--when g-g-gr-gramma ain't r-r-round," replied he, so
meekly that Alfaretta relented. She had been intending to add the
contents of Monty's plate to the less appetizing portion set out for
herself, but now determined to put aside for a future luncheon whatever
he had left. Food was never overabundant at the Madam's, and Alfaretta
made it her business that none of what there was should ever go to
waste.
"Never mind, Monty. To-morrow ain't touched yet, an' there'll always be
fish in the pool," comforted the little maid with real sympathy, for,
despite the fact that he teased her continually, she loved him
sincerely.
But he merely banged the door behind him as he departed to his toilet,
feeling himself the most abused of mortals. For if there was anything
which this "last of the Sturtevants" hated worse than paying a visit it
was taking a cold bath in a tub, an ordinary wooden wash-tub! To have
both bath and visit imposed upon him in one fell hour, was an
undreamed-of calamity.
Therefore, it was a very different appearing youth from his ordinary
merry self who was presented to Katharine in Miss Eunice's lamp-lighted
sitting-room an hour later. In outward matters, also, a vastly improved
one, since his rough denim blouse and overalls had been exchanged for a
fairly modern suit, thoughtfully supplied him by wealthier relatives;
his tangle of close-cropped curls brushed smooth, and his face freed
from all spots save freckles.
"Katharine, you may take Montgomery over to that little table where the
photograph albums are, and show them to him. You and he should be good
friends, as all the Sturtevants and Maitlands have been for generations
before you," said Miss Eunice, after the presentation had been made, and
during which ceremony Monty had wisely refrained from speech.
"Come on, then, and I'm awfully glad to see you. I began to think there
wasn't a single young person in this Marsden, for all I've seen so far
have been gray-haired," said Kate, leading the way to the table, where a
shaded lamp shed a pleasant radiance. But, having arrived there, she
coolly pushed the albums aside, and remarked:
"I hate looking at photographs. Don't you? They're commonly so
inartistic. I'd much rather talk."
By this time Monty was staring with wonder at this creature, who was one
of the despised "girls," who had laughed at him from the window, and
whose speech and appearance were so unlike those of all other girls he
knew. She didn't act shy nor silly, nor drop her g's, nor pretend
"politeness," nor wear her hair or clothes as they did. She was just as
frank and unabashed as a boy among boys, and the visitor began to be
glad that he had come. It would be something worth while telling at
school to-morrow, that he had already made acquaintance with Aunt
Eunice's unexpected company, and that she was real nice.
Something of her charm vanished, however, when she ordered,
peremptorily: "You begin."
Now, although the boy outwardly made light of his own affliction, he was
in reality extremely sensitive concerning it, and naturally he was not
inclined to open conversation with this stranger whose own tongue was so
glib. He, therefore, contented himself with turning his great blue eyes,
fringed with such wonderful lashes, full upon her, and smiling
beatifically. So cherubic was his expression, indeed, that at that
instant Madam, chancing to turn her gaze that way, touched Miss
Maitland's arm and directed that lady's attention toward him,
whispering:
"Isn't he lovely? Isn't he clear Sturtevant?"
"Yes, he is Sturtevant, indeed," assented Aunt Eunice, but with a sigh
that did not betoken satisfaction. "He has the Sturtevant vanity,
Elinor, to the full. You should correct him of it at once. He's a fine
lad--in some respects."
It proved that Montgomery was to be corrected, and at once, though not
by his indulgent guardian. It was Katharine's part to do that, as she
opened her own dark eyes to their fullest, and exclaimed:
"Well! You're the first boy I ever saw make goo-goo eyes! The very first
boy. They're quite pretty, but I'd rather hear you talk than look at
_them_. Tell me things. I've come to this village, and I've got to stay.
I'm a legacy. I'm left to Aunt Eunice yonder, and she can keep me long
as she likes. When she doesn't like, she can send me to boarding-school.
I'm an orphan. I hope she _will_ like, because I love her already, only
she's so correct I know I shall shock her a dozen times a day. I'm
fourteen years old. My home was in Baltimore. I came on to New York
yesterday with a friend of the second Mrs. John's--I mean, of Mrs.
Maitland's--and stayed there last night. To-day I came on the train as
far as it went, then in the stage with the queer driver blowing a horn.
It was just like a story-book. This home, too, and everybody might be
out of a story-book, all so unlike anything I ever saw. But, I beg your
pardon. I've just thought that, though you seem to hear well enough,
maybe you are dumb. Are you? Because if you are I can talk a little
myself in the sign language."
This was too much. Monty burst forth in self-defence, and to stop that
running chatter of hers:
"N-n-n-no! I-I-I-I--"
Then silence. Katharine had never before met a person who stammered, and
she was utterly astonished. At that moment, also, there was a lull in
the animated conversation which the two old ladies opposite had hitherto
kept up, so that Montgomery's loud yet uncertain protest fell like a
bomb on the air.
However, the silence was not to last. Katharine recovered from her
surprise, and demanded, indignantly:
"Why do you say 'I-I-I-I'? Are you mocking me? because if you are, I
consider that more ungentlemanly than to make eyes."
"No, Kate, Montgomery is unfortunate. He stutters. You should apologize.
To jeer at the infirmity of others is the depth of ill-breeding,"
interposed Miss Maitland, hastily crossing the room and laying a
reproving hand upon the girl's shoulder. Then she continued, smiling
affectionately upon the lad: "But we who all know and love Montgomery
are sure that he will, in time, overcome his impediment. 'Tis only a
matter of practice and patience."
The boy made no reply, but sat with down-bent head and flushing face,
wishing again, as when this dreadful visit was appointed him, that
Katharine Maitland had never set foot in Marsden village. Longing, too,
with a longing unspeakable, to retort upon her with a volubility and
sharpness exceeding even her own. But all unconsciously his pride had
received just the sting needed, and his angry thought, in which there
was no halting stammer, was this:
"I'll show her! I'll let her see a Sturtevant is as good as a Maitland
any day! I ain't vain. She sha'n't say it. I have got nice eyes, folks
all say so, and it's easier to talk with them than with my crooked old
tongue. But I'll conquer it. I will. Then I'll show her what kind of a
girl she is to dare--"
To dare what?
In all his previous ignominy there was naught compared with this. For
here was Kate, remorseful, warm-hearted Kate, who never meant to give a
single creature pain, yet was forever doing it, Kate--down upon her
knees clasping Monty's neck with her arms, kissing and beseeching him
"not to mind," exactly as she would have kissed the smallest of all the
Snowballs, and not resenting it in the least because he did not
instantly respond to her entreaties.
Respond?
For the space of several seconds it seemed to the lad that his head was
whirling on his shoulders like a top. Then, with all the rudeness of
his greater strength, he flung the demonstrative girl aside and rushed
from the house. One idea alone was clear in his troubled brain: that he
must get away from everything feminine and go where there were "men."
The fishing-pool. Uncle Moses and the boys. The thought of them was
refreshment, and put all other thoughts, of disobedience and its like,
far from him. Striking out boldly, yet half-blindly through the dim
light, he crossed Miss Maitland's orchard, took a short cut by way of
the great forest--which he nor no other Marsden lad would ordinarily
have entered alone after nightfall--on past the "deserted cottage" in
the very heart of the wood, and then--oblivion.