'On Lough Neagh's banks, as the fisherman strays,
When the cool, calm eve's declining.
He sees the round towers of other days
Beneath the waters shining.'
Thomas Moore.
A Dublin car-driver told me one day that he had just taken a
picnic-party to the borders of a lake, where they had had tea in a
tramcar which had been placed there for such purposes. Francesca and I
were amused at the idea, but did not think of it again until we drove
through the La Touche estate, on one of the first days after our arrival
at Devorgilla. We left Salemina at Rosnaree House with Aunt La Touche
and the children, and proceeded to explore the grounds, with the view of
deciding on certain improvements to be made when the property passes, so
to speak, into our hands.
Truth to say, nature has done more for it than we could have done; and
if it is a trifle overgrown and rough and rank, it could hardly be
more beautiful. At the very furthest confines of the demesne there is a
brook,--large enough, indeed, to be called a river here, where they have
no Mississippi to dwarf all other streams and serve as an impossible
standard of comparison. Tall trees droop over the calm water, and on
its margins grow spearwort, opening its big yellow cups to the sunshine,
meadow rue, purple and yellow loosestrife, bog bean, and sweet flag.
Here and there float upon the surface the round leaves and delicate
white blossoms of the frogbit, together with lilies, pondweeds, and
water starworts.
“What an idyllic place to sit and read, or sew, or have tea!” exclaimed
Francesca.
“What a place for a tram tea-house!” I added. “Do you suppose we
could manage it as a surprise to Dr. La Touche, in return for all his
kindness?”
“It would cost a pretty penny, I fear,” said Francesca prudently,
“though it isn't as if it were going out of the family. Now that there
is no longer any need for you to sell pictures, I suppose you could
dash off one in an hour or two that would buy a tram; and papa cabled me
yesterday, you know, to draw on him freely. I used to think, whenever
he said that, that he would marry again within the week; but I did him
injustice. A tram tea-house by the river,--wouldn't it be unique? Do
let us see what we can do about it through some of our Dublin
acquaintances.”
The plan proved unexpectedly easy to carry out, and not ruinously
extravagant, either; for our friend the American consul knew the
principal director in a tram company, and a dilapidated and discarded
car was sent to us in a few days. There were certain moments--once when
we saw that it had not been painted for twenty years, once when the
freight bill was handed us, and again when we contracted for the removal
of our gift from the station to the river-bank--when we regretted the
fertility of imagination that had led us to these lengths; but when
we finally saw the car by the water-side, there was no room left for
regret. Benella said that, with the assistance of the Button Boy, she
could paint it easily herself; but we engaged an expert, who put on a
coat of dark green very speedily, and we consoled the Derelict with the
suggestion that she could cover the cushions, and make the interior cosy
and pretty.
All this happened some little time ago. Dr. La Touche has been at home
for a fortnight, and we have had to use the greatest ingenuity to keep
people away from that particular spot, which, fortunately for us, is
a secluded one. All is ready now, however, and the following cards of
invitation have been issued:--
The honour of your presence
is requested at the
Opening of the New Tea Tram
On the River Bank, Rosnaree Demesne,
Wednesday, June 27th, at 4 p.m.
The ceremony will be performed by
H.R.H. Salemina Peabody.
The Bishop of Ossory in the Chair.
I have just learned that a certain William Beresford was Bishop of
Ossory once on a time, and I intend to personate this dignitary, clad
in Dr. La Touche's cap and gown. We spend this sunny morning by the
river-bank; Francesca hemming the last of the yellow window curtains,
and I making souvenir programmes for the great occasion. Salemina had
gone for the day with the Colquhouns and Dr. La Touche to lunch with
some people near Kavan and see Donaghmore Round Tower and the moat.
“Is she in love with Dr. Gerald?” asked Francesca suddenly, looking
up from her work. “Was she ever in love with him? She must have been,
mustn't she? I cannot and will not entertain any other conviction.”
“I don't know, my dear,” I answered thoughtfully, pausing over an
initial letter I was illuminating; “but I can't imagine what we shall do
if we have to tear down our sweet little romance, bit by bit, and leave
the stupid couple sitting in the ruins. They enjoy ruins far too well
already, and it would be just like their obstinacy to go on sitting in
them.”
“And they are so incredibly slow about it all,” Francesca commented.
“It took me about two minutes, at Lady Baird's dinner, where I first
met Ronald, to decide that I would marry him as soon as possible. When
a month had gone by, and he hadn't asked me, I thought, like Rosalind,
that I'd as lief be wooed of a snail.”
“I was not quite so expeditious as you,” I confessed, “though I believe
Himself says that his feeling was instantaneous. I never cared for
anything but painting before I met him, so I never chanced to suffer any
of those pangs that lovelorn maidens are said to feel when the beloved
delays his avowals: perhaps that is the reason I suffer so much now,
vicariously.”
“The lack of positive information makes one so impatient,” Francesca
went on. “I am sure he is as fond of her as ever; but if she refused
him when he was young and handsome, with every prospect of a brilliant
career before him, perhaps he thinks he has even less chance now. He
was the first to forget their romance, and the one to marry; his estates
have been wasted by his father's legal warfares, and he has been an
unhappy and a disappointed man. Now he has to beg her to heal his
wounds, as it were, and to accept the care and responsibility of his
children.”
“It is very easy to see that we are not the only ones who suspect his
sentiments,” I said, smiling at my thoughts. “Mrs. Colquhoun told me
that she and Salemina stopped at one of the tenants' cabins, the other
day, to leave some small comforts that Dr. La Touche had sent to a sick
child. The woman thanked Salemina, and Mrs. Colquhoun heard her say,
'When a man will stop, coming in the doore, an' stoop down to give a
sthroke and a scratch to the pig's back, depend on it, ma'am, him that's
so friendly with a poor fellow-crathur will make ye a good husband.'
“I have given him every opportunity to confide in me,” I continued,
after a pause, “but he accepts none of them; and yet I like him a
thousand times better now that I have seen him as the master of his
own house. He is so courtly, and, in these latter days, so genial and
sunny... Salemina's life would not at first be any too easy, I fear; the
aunt is very feeble, and the establishment is so neglected. I went into
Dr. Gerald's study the other day to see an old print, and there was a
buzz-buzz-zzzz when the butler pulled up the blinds. 'Do you mind bees,
ma'am?' he asked blandly. 'There's been a swarm of them in one corner
of the ceiling for manny years, an' we don't like to disturb them.'...
Benella said yesterday: 'Of course, when you three separate, I shall
stay with the one that needs me most; but if Miss Peabody SHOULD settle
over here anywhere, I'd like to take a scrubbing brush an' go through
the castle, or whatever she's going to live in, with soap and sand and
ammonia, and make it water-sweet before she sets foot in it.'... As for
the children, however, no one could regard them as a drawback, for they
are altogether charming; not well disciplined, of course, but lovable
to the last degree. Broona was planning her future life when we were
walking together yesterday. Jackeen is to be 'an engineer, by the
sea,' so it seems, and Broona is to be a farmer's wife with a tiny red
bill-book like Mrs. Colquhoun's. Her little boys and girls will sell the
milk, and when Jackeen has his engineering holidays he will come and
eat fresh butter and scones and cream and jam at the farm, and when her
children have their holidays they will go and play on 'Jackeen's beach.'
It is the little people I rely upon chiefly, after all. I wish you could
have seen them cataract down the staircase to greet her this morning. I
notice that she tries to make me divert their attention when Dr. Gerald
is present; for it is a bit suggestive to a widower to see his children
pursue, hang about, and caress a lovely, unmarried lady. Broona,
especially, can hardly keep away from Salemina; and she is such a
fascinating midget, I should think anybody would be glad to have her
included in a marriage contract. 'You have a weeny, weeny line between
your eyebrows, just like my daddy's,' she said to Salemina the other
day. 'It's such a little one, perhaps I can kiss it away; but daddy has
too many, and they are cutted too deep. Sometimes he whispers, 'Daddy is
sad, Broona,' and then I say, 'Play up, play up, and play the game!' and
that makes him smile.'”
“She is a darling,” said Francesca, with the suspicion of a tear in her
eye. “'Were you ever in love, Miss Fancy?' she asked me once. 'I was; it
was long, long ago before I belonged to daddy'; and another time when
I had been reading to her, she said 'I often think that when I get
into the kingdom of heaven the person I'll be gladdest to see will be
Marjorie Fleming.' Yes, the children are sure to help; they always do in
whatever circumstances they chance to be placed. Did you notice Salemina
with them at tea-time, yesterday? It was such a charming scene. The
heavy rain had kept them in, and things had gone wrong in the
nursery. Salemina had glued the hair on Broona's dolly, and knit up a
heart-breaking wound in her side. Then she mended the legs of all the
animals in the Noah's ark, so that they stood firm, erect, and proud;
and when, to draw the children's eyes from the wet window-panes, she
proposed a story, it was pretty to see the grateful youngsters snuggle
in her lap and by her side.”
“When does an artist ever fail to see pictures? I have loved Salemina
always, even when she used to part her hair in the middle and wear
spectacles; but that is the first time I ever wanted to paint her, with
the firelight shining on the soft, restful greys and violets of her
dress, and Broona in her arms. Of course, if a woman is ever to be
lovely at all, it will be when she is holding a child. It is the oldest
of all old pictures, and the most beautiful, I believe, in a man's eyes.
“And do you notice that she and the doctor are beginning to speak more
freely of their past acquaintance?” I went on, looking up at Francesca,
who had dropped her work in her interest. “It is too amusing! Every hour
or two it is: 'Do you remember the day we went to Bunker Hill?' or,
'Do you recall that charming Mrs. Andrews, with whom we used to dine
occasionally?' or, 'What has become of your cousin Samuel?' and, 'Is
your uncle Thomas yet living?'... The other day, at tea, she asked, 'Do
you still take three lumps, Dr. La Touche? You had always a sweet tooth,
I remember.'... Then they ring the changes in this way: 'You were always
fond of grey, Miss Peabody.' 'You had a great fancy for Moore, in the
old days, Miss Peabody: have you outgrown him, or does the 'Anacreontic
little chap,' as Father Prout called him, still appeal to you?'... 'You
used to admire Boyle O'Reilly, Dr. La Touche. Would you like to see
some of his letters?'... 'Aren't these magnificent rhododendrons, Dr.
La Touche,--even though they are magenta, the colour you specially
dislike?' And so on. Did you chance to look at either of them last
evening, Francesca, when I sang 'Let Erin remember the days of old'?”
“No; I was thinking of something else. I don't know what there is about
your singing, Penny love, that always makes me think of the past and
dream of the future. Which verse do you mean?”
And, still painting, I hummed:--
“'On Lough Neagh's banks, as the fisherman strays,
When the cool, calm eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
Beneath the waters shining.
. . . . . .
Thus shall memory oft, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over,
And, sighing, look thro' the waves of Time,
For the long-faded glories they cover.'
“That is what our two dear middle-aged lovers are constantly doing
now,--looking at the round towers of other days, as they bend over
memory's crystal pool and see them reflected there. It is because he
fears that the glories are over and gone that Dr. Gerald is troubled.
Some day he will realise that he need not live on reflections, and he
will seek realities.”
“I hope so,” said Francesca philosophically, as she folded her work;
“but sometimes these people who go mooning about, and looking through
the waves of Time, tumble in and are drowned.”