As I have said, Miss Darry and I differed about Annie Bray. Yet her
words, having the weight of her greater knowledge of the world, and
really strong, though prejudiced mind, made their impression upon me.
Instead of regarding Annie with the old brotherly interest, I looked
critically now to see if any sign of rude origin betrayed itself in look
or speech. I found only the wayside bloom and sweetness quite peculiar
to herself, and many a quaint, rare fancy born of lonely rambles in
field and wood; but at fourteen, with no outward stimulus to act upon
her life, she was an undeveloped being, a child to be loved and petted,
but no friend for my growing and restless manhood.
In the evenings I worked hard, endeavoring both to improve myself
intellectually and to progress in my art. I was supplied with constant
reading from the Hillside library; but I had never been there since the
evening when I had driven Miss Darry home. The impression made upon me
at that time by Mr. Lang had not been wholly pleasant. Notwithstanding
his words at the forge, I felt as though he had in some way contended
for making me feel the drawbacks of my position.
One mild day in April, the Spring sun lay warm upon the earth, and the
wind brought from the woods the delicious scent of early flowers. I had
worked very steadily for several days in sole charge of the smithy; for
Mr. Bray had been away to visit a sister who lived some thirty miles
off. I had handed him quite large profits that morning; so I ventured to
ask for a half-holiday. It was granted, and after dinner I went up to my
room to prepare for it. I had practised in water-colors for the last few
weeks, and intended to surprise Miss Darry with a picture from Nature as
the result of the afternoon's work. So I thrust my paint-box into the
pocket of my portfolio, took a tin cup for water, and ran down stairs.
Annie was sitting on the door-step studying Gray's Botany, which at odd
moments in the winter I had attended to with her. My heart smote me for
that egotistic contemplation of myself and my prospects which had led me
to neglect her.
"Come, Annie," I said, "bring your Botany into the woods. We will find
plenty of wild-flowers there, and you shall help me, besides, to paint
my first picture."
The little face which had looked so dull a moment before brightened at
once. She gained her mother's permission, and was soon walking by my
side.
On the slope of the hill which led to the stone house where so many of
my dreams centred, we found innumerable bloodroot and anemone blossoms,
with a few buds of trailing arbutus just blushing at their edges.
Annie had a wonderful fellowship with Nature, liking even its wildest,
most uncouth forms. The snakes, with shining skin and sinuous movement,
glistening like streams of water, or lying coiled like stagnant pools
amid the rank luxuriance of grass and flowers, were as eagerly watched
by her as the most brilliant butterfly that ever fanned a blossom. She
had a faculty for tracing resemblances in the material creation, akin to
that, perhaps, which causes many to see points of likeness in faces, so
that they, as it were, carry their home about with them, and see their
friends in the new costume of every land.
Childhood and genius alike look through and over the lattice-work which
separates the regions of the natural and the supernatural. She had firm
faith in midnight revels in the woods, held by those elves, fairies, and
satyrs who come down to us from the dim and shaded life of earlier
ages, and whose existence she had eagerly accepted when I hinted its
possibility. Her theory of the mutability of species exceeded Darwin's;
for she fancied that the vegetable world was occasionally endowed with
animal life, and that the luxuriant and often poisonous vines, which
choked by their rude embrace so many tenderer forms of life, waked up,
under some unknown influence, into the snakes, of which she felt as
little fear.
As for me, I encouraged this tangle of woodland dreams across her brain,
and liked to think she dwelt apart, blind and deaf to all contamination
through its simple power.
Annie was to-day, therefore, most happy that Spring was reorganizing her
dreamland again; and while I seated myself on a stone to arrange my
materials, she ran to fill the tin cup with water from the brook below.
Then she helped me with my paints, and watched curiously all my
preparations. When these were completed, I said,--
"Now, Annie, prepare a little scene for me, and I will paint it."
At first she was reluctant to make the attempt; but I insisted, and she
did so.
The tiny thread which fed the stream below trickled over a stone beside
us, making rich with its silver beads of moisture a cushion of moss
beneath. On this Annie heaped bloodroots and anemones, a few early
violets, and one or two arbutus-sprays, and then looked up to see if I
was satisfied.
"Yes," I said, "if you will sit on that tree-stump, and leave your hand
there."
She laughed merrily, pleased to be in my first painting. I drew out my
paper, and rapidly sketched the outlines. Then I took my brush; the pale
spring beauties grew beneath its touch, and lay with careless grace on
the soft, damp moss.
Annie had resumed her Botany as the afternoon wore on, reaching forward
occasionally to note my progress; and her hand lay relaxed, the fingers
loosely clasping the last violets laid down.
I was giving most affectionate pats of my camel's-hair to the last
little pink nail, feeling more elated at this first attempt than at many
a better picture since, when I heard the tramp of horses' feet in the
road to the left of the meadow where we sat. I was too intent upon my
work to raise my eyes, and Annie sat with her face turned toward the
woods, so that I thought nothing more of it until we were startled by a
voice at a little distance.
"Well, my young friend, I suppose this studio is open to visitors?"
I looked up, and saw Miss Merton and Mr. Lang.
"We were riding, and called at the forge," said Miss Merton, with a
wondering glance at Annie, whose astonishment had not admitted of a
change of position; "and as Mr. Lang heard there you were off on an
excursion, we have been expecting to see you, and caught our first
glimpse as the horses walked up the hill. Won't you introduce us to your
young friend, Mr. Allen?"
"This is Annie Bray, my master's daughter," I stammered, with a keen and
very unpleasant remembrance of Miss Darry's remarks.
Annie rose, and returned with natural ease Miss Merton's smile and
kindly greeting, while Mr. Lang bent over to look at my painting.
"Alice, look here. This is as pretty a bit of water-color as I've ever
seen. A young girl's hand is a gratifying possession, but I am not sure
that I should have stopped with it in the present instance." And he
looked admiringly at Annie's modest beauty.
Miss Merton walked round the stump, and stood behind me.
"It is indeed pretty. Miss Annie's hand suggests the idea that these
blossoms at least were not 'born to blush unseen.' It reminds me of our
object in seeking you, Mr. Allen. A friend," she added, with an arch
look at Mr. Lang, "has been audacious enough to give me a costly
picture. I am to have a few friends to admire it to-morrow evening. I
know you will enjoy it; so I want you to come, too."
"You are very kind, but"----I hesitated.
"But what?" inquired Mr. Lang. "Speak out boldly, Sandy."
"I should not think you would care to have a poor blacksmith with your
friends. Let me come another evening."
"I am sorry, that, judging by your own feelings, you have arrived at
this conclusion," answered Mr. Lang, dryly. "I might have thought, under
similar circumstances, you would have treated us in the same way. Do as
you choose, of course; but remember, blacksmith or artist, no one will
respect you, unless you so thoroughly respect yourself as to hold your
manhood above your profession, and accept every courtesy in the spirit
in which it is offered."
I began to understand that he would guard me from the vanity and
over-sensitiveness which were the natural outgrowth of my position; yet
I reddened at the implied weakness.
"Pray don't mind Mr. Lang's criticisms," said Miss Merton, noticing my
confusion. "You certainly do not doubt the sincerity of our invitation?"
"Not at all," I exclaimed, warmly.
"Then will you not come to-morrow evening?"
Yielding to the fascinating persuasiveness of her manner, I now
consented so readily, that Mr. Lang, laughing, asked, in the old
friendly tone,--
"Did you paint this picture, Sandy, for any special purpose?"
"Only that I might show it to Miss Darry."
"Ah, well, let us take it to her. I have another use for it besides. Are
there any further touches to be given it?"
I looked; it might have been improved by more work, but I had not the
courage to undertake it before them. So I said I thought it would do.
He lingered a moment, while Miss Merton spoke a few words to Annie, who
only waited until they reached the stile to express warmly her
admiration of the lovely lady, who had invited her also to come some day
to Hillside, to see the air-plants in her conservatory.