THE THREE OF HEARTS
At length Donald said, abruptly, "You haven't asked me anything about
Miss Treville, Smiles."
There was a perceptible pause in the girl's dish-drying, and the simple
mountain ballad that she was happily humming broke off in the middle of
a minor cadence. The man regarded her with curiosity as she slowly
approached him, saying, "I didn't mean to be so forgetful, doctor, and
I'm plumb ashamed. I should be pleased to have you tell me all about
her."
"Why, I don't know as there is much to tell," he replied, a little
nonplussed by the unexpectedness of the implied question. "Of course she
is very nice and very lovely, as I wrote you."
"What does she look like?"
"I am afraid that I cannot hope to give a very accurate description of
her, Rose. It would perhaps be easier if you had ever visited an art
museum, and seen statues of some of the Greek goddesses, for people say
that she looks like one of them. You see she is quite tall for a
woman--almost as tall as I am myself--and ... well, her form and the way
she carries herself is queenly. Then she has hair darker than yours,
and ... her eyes are gray, I guess, although, come to think of it, I
never noticed particularly. She isn't pretty like a wild-flower, but
very beautiful, more like a stately cultivated bloom. When you have seen
conservatory blossoms you will know better what I mean. She is very
serious, too. Even when she is quite happy it is sometimes a bit hard to
tell it, for she seldom really smiles.... I wish she would," he added,
as though to himself, "she has wonderful teeth."
"Oh, she must be very lovely," mused Rose, and added with slight
hesitancy, "I reckon you must love her powerful."
"Yes, of course," Donald answered, and then added, as though a logical
reason for his affection was necessary, "You see, I have known Marion
all her life. She is my sister's closest friend, and almost grew up in
our house."
"I wish I had," said Rose, the note of envy in her voice being
outweighed by the childlike sincerity which her words carried. "What
does she do?"
"Do? Why, I don't know, exactly--what all society girls, with plenty of
money at their disposal, do, I suppose. Of course she has clubs which
she belongs to, and she goes to dances and theatres and ... I think she
is interested in some sort of charity, too." He had an uncomfortable
feeling that he was failing to make out a very strong case for the woman
to whom he was engaged, and at the same time wondering why any
vindication of her should seem necessary, since he had always regarded
her as a bit too perfect, if anything.
"Oh, that is lovely, for the Bible says that the greatest of all is
charity," cried Rose, her eyes sparkling. "And does she go about helping
poor, lonesome city people, and the dear little poor children? It must
be wonderful to have lots of money, so that you can do all sorts of
things to make them happier and better."
"Confound the child," thought Donald, although his exasperation was
directed rather at himself, than at her. "It's positively indecent the
way she gets inside one. Judged by the standards of her class, Marion is
a splendid girl--head and shoulders above the average--yet these
unconsciously searching questions of Smiles' are ... Hang it all, I wish
I had had sense enough not to open the subject."
Aloud he said non-committally, "Yes, of course it is wonderful and I
know that you would do it if you were able."
"I _shall_ do it," was the confident answer. "I can't give money but I
can give myself." There was a moment of silence; then Rose added softly,
"I guess she loves you a lot, too, you are so good to ... to people, and
do such wonderful things. When do you calculate to get married to her,
Doctor Mac?"
"Married?" he repeated in a startled voice, "Oh, some day, of course;
but you know how terribly busy I am, and ..." He stopped, visualizing
himself at that moment as he lolled indolently in the doorway of that
mountain cabin, and wondering if the same thought were in her mind as
was in his. At the same time came a welcome interruption in the
appearance of a small child, brown as the proverbial berry, and bearing
in her arms a large and rather dilapidated appearing doll. For an
instant Donald failed to recognize her, and said, "Hello, here comes one
of your little friends to see you, Smiles. Why, I do believe ... yes,
it's Lou. Come along. You're not afraid of the doctor man who sent you
that doll."
Lou advanced, one finger in her mouth, the corners of which were lifting
in a shy smile. Sensing the approach of another old friend, Mike bounded
out of the doorway where he had lain panting in the shadow, and so
energetic was his greeting that the child was very nearly upset by it,
although as soon as she could regain her equilibrium she flung her
little arms around the roughly coated neck, without a trace of fear.
"Mike's got er broken leg," she announced. The words gave Donald a start
until he saw that she was holding out to him her doll, one of whose
limbs flapped about in piteous substantiation. "Kin yo' make hit well
ergin?"
Examining the injured member, whence the sawdust blood had issued
through a deep incision in the cloth, Donald replied seriously, "It will
require a rather serious operation, but I guess that I can mend it with
the assistance of Nurse Smiles. We will have to sew up the wound and put
the leg in splints."
"Hit haint ergoin' ter hurt her much, air hit?" begged Lou, with all
the solicitude of a young mother.
"No. We'll give her an anesthetic--something to put her sound
asleep--and I guess that she won't know anything about it." Rose joined
them laughingly, bringing a threaded needle and some bits of cloth for
stuffing and in a few minutes the operation was complete, even to the
application of splints, roughly shaped by Donald's jack-knife.
Throughout the process the physician explained each step to Rose, who
cried as they finished, "Oh, I love to do it. It's lots more fun than
book studying or weaving baskets."
"Well, we might have a real lesson in 'first aid' this morning, if Lou
can stay and be your little patient. Bring out that roll of bandages
again."
What a merry hour they spent, helped by Mike, who insisted in doing his
share by licking the patient at every opportunity. The air was so warm
that Lou's little dress could be taken off, and as she giggled or
screamed with merriment, Donald and Rose treated her for every
conceivable fracture, sprain or injury, the former all the while
explaining in the simplest language at his command the major facts of
human anatomy.
Rose proved to be an astonishingly apt pupil, and after each
demonstration insisted on going through both the procedure and
explanation alone.
Finally, in the course of demonstrating an unusually intricate piece of
bandaging, Donald put his arms about Smiles, the better to guide her
hands, and impulsively drew her close against him. He could not see her
face, but he perceived that a quick flush mantled her neck and
delicately rounded cheek. She moved away hastily, saying in a low voice,
"I reckon you oughtn't do like that, Doctor Mac."
"Why, Smiles!" came his response in a hurt tone.
"I don't mean for to hurt you, and of course I cares for you like I used
to, but I guess it ain't ... isn't ... just right for you to put your
arms around me ... that way now. I'm most grown up now, and ... and ...
you're pledged to ... to some one else." During her speech the color had
flamed brighter and brighter.
The man was both surprised and chagrined. He realized, of course, that
in many respects Rose was indeed, 'most a woman now'--that she was far
more mature in certain ways than city-bred girls of the same age; for,
while they might be infinitely more sophisticated in worldly ways than
she, they are still children, whereas she had already entered into the
problems of life and for several years had not only been in full charge
of a home, but in intimate touch with the issues of life and death in
the little community. Understanding all this, he nevertheless looked
upon her as a child because of the childlike simplicity which
characterized her still.
"I see," he answered slowly and a little ashamed, then added lightly,
"but you have apparently forgotten that you adopted me as a
foster-brother this morning."
For a moment she said nothing; then the old misty smile touched her
lips, and she replied, "I shor' most forgot that, and it makes it all
right. Please, Doctor Mac, don't think that I didn't enjoy for you to do
it."
There succeeded another brief, awkward silence. Then Smiles slipped her
arm about Donald's neck with frank, childlike affection, and leaned
close to him, her young, warm being thrilling his senses, as he full
well realized Marion's infrequent embraces never had.
Shocked and distressed by his own emotions, Donald was the first to
withdraw his encircling arm, with an intent to continue the lesson. But
it was ended.
During the brief interlude Lou had stood regarding the man and girl
uncomprehendingly. Now she piped up, "Smiles loves ye er heap, I reckon,
doctor man, an' so does I. Ef she don't marry with ye, I'll do hit when
I gits bigger."
"My, but I'm a fortunate man to have _three_ fair ladies love me, and I
won't forget your promise," Donald laughed merrily.
"But my brother Juddy don't love ye none," said the child, innocently
bringing a cloud over the friendly sunshine in her hearers' hearts.
Donald looked at Rose uneasily as he answered.
"Oh, I hope he will like me some day. We should be the best of friends,
for we both care for the same two dear girls."
"Where _is_ Juddy?" came Smiles' somewhat troubled query.
"Oh, he air away ergin; up in ther mountain."
The shadow deepened on Rose's face and Donald caught the sound of a
distressed, "Oh."
"What's the matter?" he asked without special thought.
"It haint ... it isn't anything ... leastwise it isn't anything that I
can tell you about, doctor Mac. I ... I just don't like for him to go up
there."
A feeling closely akin to jealousy stirred Donald's heart. Did that
uncouth young mountaineer really mean something to her after all?