FELLOW TRAVELLERS.
'Dinner--and the rest of it,' translated Miss Hazel. 'Will it
be needful to make a grand toilette, sir? or shall I go to the
table as I am? If one may judge of the selectness of the
company by their conversation'--
'You'll see no more of the company,' said Mr. Falkirk; 'they
are going another way, and we have to wait here. The bridge
will be repaired to-morrow, I suppose.'
'Yes, sir. We don't dine upon the bridge, I presume?'
Mr. Falkirk went off, making sure that the door latched behind
him. In a quarter of an hour he came back, with an attendant
bearing a tray.
'At present fortune gives us nothing more remarkable than
fried ham,' he said,--'and that not of the most eatable, I
fear. She is a jade. But we'll get away to-morrow. I hope so.'
'My dear sir,' said Wych Hazel with a radiant face, 'we will
get away to-night. I find that the bridge is not on our road,
after all. So I said it was not worth while to get a room
ready for me,--and the baggage might be just transferred.'
'To what?'
'To the other stage, sir. Or indeed I believe it is some sort
of a baggage wagon--as the roads are heavy--not to speak of the
passengers. It has gone on up the mountain.'
'What has?' exclaimed Mr. Falkirk, whose face was a study.
'The wagon,' said Miss Hazel, seating herself by the table.
'More particularly, your one trunk and my six, sir.'
'Where has it gone?'
'Up the mountain, sir. They were afraid of making the stage
top heavy--the weight of intellect inside being small.'
'Do you mean, to Catskill?'
'Yes, sir. Poor little puss!--Does the vegetation hereabouts
support nothing but pigs?' said Miss Hazel, with a despairing
glance from the dish of ham to a yellow haired lassie in a
blue gown, who just then brought in a pitcher of water. Mr.
Falkirk waited till the damsel had withdrawn, and went to the
window and came back again before he spoke.
'You should have consulted me, Miss Hazel. You are bewildered.
It is not a good time to go up the mountain now.'
'Bewildered? I!' was Miss Hazel's only answer.
'Yes, you don't know what is good for you. I shall send for
those trunks, Wych.'
'Quite useless, sir. There is nothing else going up to the
Mountain House till we go ourselves. We will go for them--there
is nothing like doing your own business.'
'You will find that out one day,' muttered her guardian.
'Seeking my fortune, and wait for the mending of a bridge!'
Hazel went on. 'And then I said I was going to Catskill,--and
then you're the best guardian in the world, Mr. Falkirk, so
it's no use looking as if you were somebody else.'
'I shall be somebody else directly,' said Mr. Falkirk in a
cynical manner. 'But eat your dinner, Miss Hazel; you will not
have much time.'
A meal for which he did not seem to care himself, for there
was no perceivable time when he took it.
The stage coach into which the party presently stowed
themselves, held now but those four--Mr. Falkirk and his ward,
and two gentlemen who had declared themselves on the way to
the mountain. The former established themselves somewhat
taciturnly in the several corners of the back seat, and so
made the journey; that is to say, as much as possible, for Mr.
Falkirk being known to the other could not avoid now and then
being drawn into communication with them. One, indeed, Mr.
Kingsland, made many and divers overtures to that effect. His
elegance of person and costume was advantageously displayed in
an opposite corner, from whence he distributed civilities as
occasion offered. His book and his magazine were placed at the
brown veil's disposal; he stopped the coach to buy cherries
from a wayside farm, which cherries were in like manner laid
at Wych Hazel's feet; and his observations on the topics that
were available, demonstrated all his stores of wit and wisdom
equally at hand and ready for use. But brown veil would none
of them all. The daintiest of hands took two cherries and
signed away the rest; the sweetest of girl voices declined the
magazine or gave it over to Mr. Falkirk. If the eyes burned
brown lights (instead of blue) in their seclusion, if the
voice just didn't break with fun, perhaps only Mr. Falkirk
found it out, and he by virtue of previous knowledge. But in
fact, Miss Hazel gave the keenest attention to everybody and
everything.
A contrast to Mr. Kingsland was their other fellow-traveller.
Mr. Rollo occupying the place in front of Mr. Falkirk, made
himself as much as possible at ease on the middle seat, with
his back upon the persons who engaged Mr. Kingsland's
attention; but he did not thereby escape theirs. When a
society is so small, the members of it almost of necessity
take note of one another. The little brown-veiled figure could
not help noticing what a master he was in the art of making
himself comfortable; how skilfully shawls were disposed; how
easily hand and foot, back and head, took the best position
for jolting up the hill. It amused her as something new; for
Mr. Falkirk belonged to that type of manhood which rather
delights in being uncomfortable whenever circumstances permit;
and other men she had seen few. Mr. Rollo had a book too,
which he did not offer to lend; and he gave his lazy attention
to nothing else--unless when a bright glance of eye went over
to Mr. Kingsland. He was as patient as any of the party; as
truly he had good reason, being by several degrees the most
comfortable. But Mr. Falkirk moved now and then unrestingly,
and the back seat was hot and cramped,--and Wych found the
jolts and heavings of the coach springs a thing to be borne.
And that swinging and swaying middle seat, with its one
occupant came so close upon her premises, that she dared not
adventure the least thing, even to Mr. Falkirk. If the
momentary relief of turning that grey travelling shawl into a
pincushion, occurred to her, nothing came of it; the thick
folds were untouched by one of her little fingers. She put her
face as nearly out of the coach as she could, and perhaps
enjoyed the scenery, if anyone did. Mr. Falkirk gave no sign
of enjoyment, mental or physical, and Mr. Kingsland would
certainly have been asleep, but for losing sight of the brown
veil--and of possible something it might do. Yet now and then
there were fine reaches for the eye, beautiful knolly
indications of a change of surface, which gave picturesque
lights and shades on their soft green. Or a lonely valley,
with smooth fields and labourers at work, tufty clumps of
vegetation, and a line of soft willows by a watercourse,
varied the picture. Then the ascent began in good earnest, and
trees shut it in, and there was everywhere the wild leafy
smell of the woods. Night began to shut it in too, for the sun
was early hidden from the travellers; the gloom, or the
fatigue of the way, gathered inside the coach as well, on all
except the occupant of the middle seat. Some time before this
his ease-seeking had displayed itself in a new way; and
letting himself out of the coach door he had kept up a
progress of his own by the side of the vehicle, which quite
distanced its slow and toilsome method of advance. For Rollo
was not only getting on with a light step up the road, but
making acquaintance with every foot of it; gathering flowers,
pocketing stones, and finding time to fling others, which
rebounded with a racketty hop, skip and jump, down the side of
the deep ravine on the edge of which the way was coasting.
Then making up for his delay by a mode of locomotion which
seemed to speak him kindred to the squirrels, he swung himself
over difficult places by the help of hanging branches of
trees, and bounded from rock to rock, till he was again far
ahead of the horses, and of the road too, lost out of sight in
another direction. Now and then a few rich notes of a German
air came down, or up, to the coach tantalizingly. Certainly
Mr. Rollo was enjoying himself; and it was made more
indubitably certain to the poor plodders along inside the
coach, by the faint fumes of an excellent cigar which 'whiles'
made themselves perceptible.
Now to say the truth, it was all tantalizing to Wych Hazel. In
the first place she was, as she had said, 'cramped to death,'
physically and mentally,--both parts of her composition just
spoiling for a fight; and whereas she had hitherto kept her
face well out of the window, now she drew it resolutely
within, for with somebody to look at, it did not suit Miss
Hazel's ideas to be looking. She could not tease Mr. Falkirk,
who had gone to sleep; Mr. Kingsland was absolutely beyond
reach, except of rather thorny wishes; and when at length the
dilettante cigar perfumes began to assert themselves, Wych
Hazel flung the rest of her patience straight out of the
window, and looked after it. The coach was stopping just then
by another wayside inn, to exchange mail-bags and water the
horses, and favoured by the gathering dusk, a sharp business
transaction at once went into effect between the young lady
within and some one without; wherof nothing at first
transpired. Mr. Kingsland knew only that on one side the tones
might rival a mountain brook for their soft impetuosity. There
was 'a show of hands' too, and then the coach jolted on and
Mr. Falkirk woke up; but not till the tired horses had gone
down one pitch and up another, did he hear a faint 'mew' which
raised its voice at his elbow.
'What have you got there?' he said hastily.
'A pair of whiskers, sir.'
'Where did you get that thing?' was the next demand, made with
considerable disgust.
'Really, sir--whiskers not being contraband--'
Mr. Falkirk was a patient man; at least Wych Hazel generally
found him so; and at present he merely fell back into his
corner, without making his thoughts any further apparent than
the gesture made them. He offered no remark, not even when the
dismayed condition of the whiskers aforesaid suggested sundry
earnest and energetic efforts at escape, with demonstrations
that called up Miss Hazel from the quietude of her corner to
be earnest and active in her turn. Frightened, not sure of the
kind attentions of the little hands that kept such firm hold,--
the kitten struggled and growled, and at last sent forth its
feelings in a series of mews, sostenuto and alto to an
alarming degree. Mr. Kingsland smiled--then coughed,--and Wych
Hazel's laugh broke forth in a low but very defined 'Ha! ha!'
'Mr. Falkirk,' she said, 'please open your heart and give me a
biscuit.'
'Mr. Falkirk,' cried a cheerful voice, rather low, from the
other side of the road, 'what have you got on board?'
If Mr. Falkirk's inward reply had been spoken aloud and in a
past age, it might have cost poor Miss Hazel her life; as it
was, he only said, 'Can you cut a broom-stick, Rollo?' The
answer perhaps went into action, for the young man
disappeared.
Turning its wee head from side to side, as it munched the
biscuit, soothed by the soft touch of soft hands, the kitten
so far forgot herself as to break now and then into a loud
irregular purr; but her little mistress was absolutely silent
and still, though the light fingers never ceased their
caressing, until puss had finished the biscuit and purred
herself to sleep. By this time the coach jogged along in
absolute darkness, except for what help the stars gave. The
plashing of a stream over its rough bed far down below, gave
token sometimes that the wheels of the coach were near an
abyss; the flutter of leaves told that the forest was all
around them always. The irregular traveller had re-entered the
coach and sat among his shawls as still as the rest of the
party; who perhaps were all slumbering as well as the kitten.
It appeared so; for when that small individual started to
consciousness and consequent alarm again, and was making an
excursion among the feet of the gentlemen on the coach floor,
its aroused mistress was only aroused in time to hear a
consolatory whisper from one of her companions--'Poor little
Kathleen Mavourneen, by what misfortune did you get in here?
There--be still and go to sleep.' And as no more was heard, on
either side, it seemed probable the advice had been followed.
At any rate no more was seen of the kitten, not even when the
stage coach swept round the level on which the house stands,
and drew up at the door, where the light of lamps gave
opportunity for observation. Wych Hazel only saw that her
neighbour flung a shawl demurely enough over one shoulder and
arm, where the cat might have been, and letting himself out,
proceeded to do the same office with full dexterity though
with one hand for the little cat's mistress.
Ensconcing herself even closer than ever in mantle and veil,
Wych Hazel passed on through the gay groups to the foot of the
stairs, there paused.
'Mr. Falkirk,' she said softly, 'I want my tea up stairs,
please,'--and passed on after the maid.
'So,' said one of the loiterers in the hall approaching Mr.
Falkirk, 'so my dear sir, you've brought Miss Kennedy! At
last!--Now for candidates. If the face match the hand and foot,
the supply will be heavy.'