"P'raps I'll take you with me," I added weakly.
She clapped her hands rapturously.
"Oh, what fun!" she gurgled. "I can keep house and hang my washing 'cross
the canyon to dry!"
Frankly I did not relish the thought of my canyon's being thus desecrated.
I determined never to allow her to do any such thing, but, at the moment I
was willing to indulge her fancy.
"Yes," she prattled on, "I'll wheel Dorothea up and down the bridge and
watch you work."
Now there was some sense in that. What man does not enjoy being admired
while he does things? In fact Jane had hit upon a great elemental truth
when she suggested this. From that moment I was hers.
Laying Dorothea, toes up, on the grass I proceeded to lead Jane into the
most cherished realms of my fancy. Together we sailed those "perilous seas
in faery lands forlorn," dabbling our hands in the fountain, while the
golden August sunshine kissed our necks.
I said not a word of this at tea. I munched my bread and butter in a sort
of haze, scarcely conscious of the subdued conversation led by Mrs.
Handsomebody, until I heard her say,
"A little great-niece of Bishop Torrance is visiting next door. You are
therefore invited to take tea with her tomorrow afternoon. I trust you will
conduct yourselves with decency at table, and remember that a frail little
girl is not to be played with as a headlong boy."
I felt that she couldn't tell me anything about frail little girls, but I
kept my knowledge to myself. The Seraph said--
"Was you ever a fwail little gel, Mrs. Handsomebody?" Our governess fixed
him with her eye.
"I was a most decorous and obedient little girl, Alexander, and asked no
impertinent questions of my elders."
"Was Mary Ellen a fwail little gel?" persisted The Seraph.
"No," snapped Mrs. Handsomebody, "judging from her characteristics as a
servant, I should say that she was a very riotous, rude little girl. Now
drink your milk."
"I yike wiotous wude people," said The Seraph with his face in the tumbler;
the milk trickled down his chin.
"Leave the table, Alexander," commanded Mrs. Handsomebody, "your conduct is
quite inexcusable." The Seraph departed, weeping.
All that evening I thought about Jane. I had no heart for a pillow fight.
At night I dreamed of her, and saw her weekly washing, suspended from a
line, fluttering in the wind that raced along my canyon.
I strained toward the hour when I should meet her at tea. I had never felt
like this before. True, I had once conceived a violent fancy for a fat
young woman in the pastry shop, but she had been replaced by a thin young
woman who did not appeal to me, and the episode was forgotten.
But, oh, this bitter-sweetness of my love for Jane! My despair when I found
that she was to sit next Angel at tea, till I discovered that, seated
opposite, I could stare at her, and admire how she nibbled her almond cake
and sipped tea from an apple-green cup.
After tea we played musical chairs, in the library, with Margery at the
piano. First marched The Seraph with his brown curls bobbing; and after
him, the stout Bishop in his gaiters; next Angel; then Jane on tiptoes; and
lastly myself in squeaky new boots.
Seraph and the Bishop were soon out of it. They were invariably beaten in
our games, though afterward they always seemed to think they had won. So
Angel, Jane, and I were left, prancing around two solemn carved chairs. The
music ceased with a crash. Jane leaped to one chair while Angel and I fell
simultaneously upon the other. We both clung to it desperately, but he
dislodged me, inch by inch, and I, furious at being balked in my pursuit of
Jane, struck him twice in the ribs, then ran into the dim hall and hid
myself.
There Jane found me, and there her tender lips kissed my hot cheek, and she
squeezed me in her arms. For a moment we did not speak, then she
whispered--
"I wish _you_ had got the chair, John. I love you best of all."
That night I hung about the kitchen while Mary Ellen was setting bread to
rise. The time had come when I must speak to some fellow creature of this
tremendous new element that had come into my life. I watched Mary Ellen's
stout red arms as she manipulated the dough, in much perplexity. The
kitchen was hot, the kettle sang, it seemed a moment for confidence, yet
words were hard to find.
At last I got out desperately:
"Mary Ellen, what is love like?"
"Love is it, Masther John? What do the likes o' me know about love thin?"
She smiled broadly, as she dexterously shifted the puffy white mass.
"Oh, _you_ know," I persisted, "'cos you've been in it, often. You've had
lots of 'followers' now, Mary Ellen, haven't you?"
"Well, thin, if ye must know, I'll tell ye point blunt to kape out av it.
It's an awful thing whin it gits the best av ye."
"But what's it _feel like_?" I probed.
Mary Ellen wiped the flour off each red finger in turn, and gazed into the
flame of the lamp.
"It's like this," she said solemnly, "ye burns in yer insides till ye feel
like ye had a furnace blazin' there. Thin whin it seems ye must bust wid
the flarin' av it, ye suddintly turns cowld as ice, an' yer sowl do shrivil
up wid fear. An' thin, at last, ye fergit all about it till the nixt wan
happens along. Och--I haven't had a sphell fer months! This is an awful
dull place. I think I'll be quittin' it soon."
"Oh, no, no, Mary Ellen!" I cried, alarmed, "you mustn't leave us! When
Jane and I get married you can come and live with us." I blushed furiously.
"And who might Jane be?" demanded Mary Ellen, suspiciously.
"She's the Bishop's great-niece," I explained proudly. "I love her
terribly, Mary Ellen. It hurts in here." I pressed my hand on my stomach.
"Well, well." She shook her head commiseratingly. "I'm sorry fer ye,
Masther John--sthartin' off like this at your age. Here's the spoon I
stirred the cake wid--have a lick o' that. It'll mebbe help ye."
I licked pensively at the big wooden spoon, and felt strangely soothed. My
admiration for Mary Ellen increased.
As I slowly climbed the stairs for bed, visions of Jane hovered in the
darkness above me--airy rainbows, with Jane's laughing face peering between
the bars of pink and gold. I had never known a little girl before, and Jane
embodied all things frail and exquisite.
When I entered our room Angel was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling
his shirt over his head. The Seraph already slept in his place next the
wall.