AT THE POST-OFFICE.
Barton found a more attractive group at the store. The post-office
occupied a window and corner near the front of the large,
old-fashioned, square store-room; and, as he entered the front door,
he saw, in the back part of the room, a gay, laughing, warbling,
giggling, chirping group of girls gathered about Julia Markham, as
their natural centre. Barton was a little abashed; he might have
moved up more cautiously, and reconnoitred, had he not been taken
by surprise. There was no help for it. He deposited his letters and
called for his mail, which gave him time to gather his forces in hand.
Now Barton was born to love and serve women in all places, and under
all forms and circumstances. His was not a light, silly, vapid,
complimentary devotion, but deep in his nature, through and through,
he reverenced woman as something sacred and high, and above the vulgar
nature of men; this reformed his mind, and inspired his manners; and,
while he was generally disliked by men, he was favorably regarded by
women. It was not in woman's nature to think ill of a youth who was
always so modestly respectful, and anxious to please and oblige;
and no man thus constituted was ever awkward or long embarrassed in
woman's presence. She always gets from him, if not his best, what
is proper. If he can lose self-consciousness, and receive the full
inspiration of her presence, he will soon be at his ease, if not
graceful.
The last thing absolutely that ever could occur to Barton, and it
never had as yet, was the possibility of his being an object of
interest personally to a woman, or to women. He was modest--almost to
bashfulness; but as he never presumed, he was never snubbed; and now,
on this summer afternoon, he had came upon a group of seven or eight
of the most attractive girls of the neighborhood, accompanied by one
or two strangers. There was Julia, never so lovely before, with a
warm color on her cheek, and a liquid light in her dark eyes, in
whose presence all other girls were commonplace; and her friends Nell
Roberts and Kate Fisher, Lizzie Mun and Pearlie Burnett, and several
others. The young man was seen and recognized, and had to advance.
Think of walking thirty feet alone in the faces of seven or eight
beautiful girls, and at the same time be easy and graceful! It is
funny, what a hush the presence of one young man will bring over
a laughing, romping cluster of young women. At his entrance, their
girlish clamor sunk to a liquid murmur; and, when he approached, they
were nearly silent, all but Julia and a stylish blonde, whom Barton
had never seen before. They were gathered around a cloud and tangle of
women's mysterious fabrics, whose names are as unknown to men as
their uses. Most of the young girls suspended their examinations and
rippling comments, and, with a little heightened color, awaited the
approach of the enemy. He came on, and gracefully bowed to each, was
permitted to take the hands of two or three, and greeted with a little
chorus of--"You have come back!" "Where have you been?" "How do you
do?" Julia greeted him with her eyes, as he entered, with a sweet
woman's way, that thrilled him, and which enabled him to approach her
so well. She had remained examining a bit of goods, as if unaware of
his immediate presence for a moment, and he had been introduced to
the strange lady by Kate Fisher as her cousin, Miss Walters, from
Pittsburgh.
Then Julia turned to him, and, with a charming manner, asked: "Mr.
Ridgeley"--she had not called him Bart, or Barton, since her return
from Boston--"Mr. Ridgeley, what do the girls mean? Have you really
been away?"
"Have I really been away? And if I really have, am I to be permitted
to take your hand, and asked how I really do? as if you really cared?"
"Really," was her answer, "you see we have just received our fall
fashions, and it is not the fall style this year to give and take
hands after an absence."
"A-h! how popular that will be with poor masculines! Is that to be
worn by all of you?"
"I don't know," said Kate; "it is not fall with some of us yet."
"Thank you! and may I ask Miss Markham if it was the spring and summer
style not to say good-bye at a parting?"
The tone was gay, but there was something more in it, and the girl
replied: "That depends upon the lady, I presume; both styles may be
varied at her pleasure."
"Ah, I think I understand! You are kind to explain."
"Mr. Barton," said Lizzie, "Flora and I here cannot determine about
our colors"--holding up some gay ribbons--"and the rest can't help us
out. What do you think of them?"
"That they are brilliant," answered Barton, looking both steadily and
innocently in the faces, in a way that deepened their hues.
"Oh, no! these ribbons?" exclaimed the blushing girl, thrusting them
towards his eyes.
"Indeed I am color blind, though not wholly blind to color." And a
little ripple of laughter ran over the bright group, and then they all
laughed again.
Can any one tell why a young girl laughs, save that she is happy and
joyous? If she does or says anything, she laughs, and if she don't,
she laughs, and her companions laugh because she does, and then they
all laugh, and then laugh again because they laughed before, and then
they look at each other and laugh again; thus they did now, and Barton
could no more tell what they were laughing at than could they; he was
not so foolishly jealous as to imagine that they were laughing at him.
Then Kate turned to him: "You won't go away again, I hope. We are
going to have a little party before long, and you must come, and I
want to see you waltz with my cousin. She waltzes beautifully, and I
want to see her with a good partner. Will you come?"
"Indeed I would be most happy; but your compliment is ironical. You
know we don't waltz, and none of us can, if we try."
"Is that the awful dance where the gentleman takes the lady around the
waist, and she leans on him, and they go swinging around? Oh, I think
that is awful!"
"The Germans, and many of our best ladies, and gentlemen, waltz,"
replied Miss Walters, "as they do in Baltimore and New York, and I
suppose my cousin thought no harm could be said of it at her little
party."
"Oh, I am sure I did not mean that it was wrong, and I would like to
see the dance!" was the eager disclaimer.
Barton had drawn away from this discussion, and lingered a moment near
Julia, to ask after her mother. She replied that Mrs. Markham was very
well, but did not ask him to call and see for himself, nor did she in
any way encourage him to prolong the conversation. So, with a little
badinage and _persiflage_, he took his leave.
I shall not attempt to set down what was said of him after he left,
nor will I affirm that anything was said. Young ladies, for aught I
know, occasionally talk up young men among themselves, and if they do
it is nobody's business.