SILVERY WAVES.
Three years had passed since Zula entered the home of her kind
benefactor. She had improved vastly in every way. In an atmosphere of
love and sympathy, the passionate nature was growing more and more
subdued, though the old spark was still lying deep down in her heart,
and if not so often fanned to a flame was still there.
Mrs. Platts had decided to visit a sister, the wife of a merchant,
who lived in the western town of Clear Lake, situated on a lake of
the same name, whose waters are as clear as crystal, while its
shores are lined with shells and pebbles of rare shapes and colors.
Pleasure boats ply between the mainland and the island lying four
miles out in the lake, whereon stands a commodious hotel, and where
pleasure-seekers find a cool and pleasant resort during the heated
months. Mrs. Platts' sister, Mrs. Horton, like her sister, possessed
a sweet disposition and lady-like manners. She was a fine looking
woman, some years younger than Mrs. Platts. There had always existed a
marked attachment between the two. She was the mother of two
children; a boy of sixteen and a girl of thirteen years of age. Guy
was a very intelligent boy, stout and rosy, and very studious. He
was usually in advance of his class and was called the best writer
in school. In fact, so apt was he in his literary efforts that it had
become a fixed idea with the people of the town that Guy Horton would,
some day, make a mark in the world. Guy's father was wealthy, and
consequently Guy was not to receive one rebuke from strangers for
fear of hurting his feelings. This Zula noticed, after a time, and
she wondered why people were so much more careful of hurting the
feelings of the rich than of the poor. Guy's sister Carrie was a
sweet-tempered girl, ever ready to oblige and seldom ill-tempered.
Mr. Horton always made the visits of his guests pleasant, although
very much occupied with his business.
Mrs. Platts had prepared for Zula a liberal wardrobe, and when she
stood before the mirror in her pretty dress of garnet with its satin
folds, she wondered if the image she saw there was really Zula, the
gypsy, or had she been transformed into a young princess, with
sparkling eyes and raven hair. Although she had no idea that any one
would think she was pretty, yet she was glad that the tan was wearing
off, and that her hands had grown more plump and even more beautiful
in shape than before. She wondered what Crisp would think of her now.
She did not feel quite as much like shooting him as she had
heretofore, but she would just like to see him unhappy, for she still
carried the marks of his cruelty, and would carry them to her grave.
She had said to Mrs. Platts:
"I do so want to take my little pistol, and shoot the heads off the
little birds and squirrels, for I may forget how to shoot if I
don't."
Mrs. Platts shuddered at the thought of so young a girl talking so
freely of using firearms, but since Zula seemed to desire it so much
she consented, first having gained a promise that she would be very
careful, at which Zula gave a half-derisive smile. Truly there were
many evils to root out of the girl's nature, and Mrs. Platts had grown
to the belief that it was her mission to do it, but she prayed for
strength, believing that education and culture alone would do the work
of reform, and though it would take patience on her part, she felt
that there was too much good, too much that was really noble in the
child to be lost. One afternoon about a week after her arrival at the
home of Mr. Horton, Zula sat by the lakeside, whose waters were all
aglow, sparkling like a thousand diamonds, as the soft winds made tiny
waves, which rose and fell with a sweet musical sound. She had
wandered down to the bank, alone, for she loved to go there and watch
the little pleasure boats, and to gather the shells that lay along the
shore. She sat with her broad-brimmed hat shading her face, and her
lap half filled with pebbles. She was looking out over the waters,
while her fingers, which held a pencil, rested on a little book which
lay upon her knee.
"Bless me, there's a pretty little gypsy; only look what a head of
hair!"
Zula saw two fashionably dressed young ladies standing a short
distance behind her.
"How do you know I'm a gypsy?" she asked, angrily.
"Goodness, did you hear me? Well, excuse me, then, please."
"Yes, and I want you to tell me how you know I'm a gypsy."
"Why, I only judged by those long beautiful braids, but I would know
it now by the angry look in your black eyes; so now you may as well
tell the truth about it."
"It's none of your business."
A hearty laugh broke upon the air and floated away over the water. The
young lady had spoken in jest, but her words went like a sharp pointed
arrow straight down into Zula's heart.
"You are saucy enough whatever you are."
"I don't care if I am," said Zula. "If you don't like me all you have
to do is to let me alone."
The young ladies walked on, laughing as they went.
Zula sat for some moments motionless and with eyes looking down into
the clear water before her, thinking deeply. The little pebbles, round
and white, which lay under the water, seemed to form themselves into
tiny shapes. They rose and fell with the soft waves, washing up on the
shore, and at last forming a castle--Zula's castle, the first she had
ever built. Tiny fish darted out and through its arches, sprinkling
drops about with the dip of their silvery fins. The sunbeams gave a
rich golden glow to the little castle so full of bright visions, for
Zula saw within its walls sights so beautiful that they fairly made
her heart leap for joy. She wondered if some day she would not wander
through the halls of such a castle as she saw there. The tears began
to drop one by one from the heavy black lashes.
"Oh, I wish I could; how I wish I could. I wonder if some day--but,
oh, dear, I can't--who ever heard of a gypsy----"
Her pencil went down making marks on the little book on her knee.
"Julia Ellis makes the loveliest pictures, without a bad line in them,
and I wish, oh, how I wish----"
"Why, Cousin Zula, here you are, I have been looking all around for
you, and here you are--drawing, too. What, you haven't been crying?
Are you homesick?"
"Oh, no. What made you think I had been crying?"
"I fancied I saw tears; that was all."
"Well, I did cry a little. There were two of the sauciest young ladies
here--no, I don't believe they _were_ ladies."
"Were they rude to you?"
"I should think they were."
"What did they say?"
"They thought I looked like a gypsy, and I told her it was none of her
business if I was."
"Why, Zula, did you tell her that?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, it was not lady-like. Now if you are to be my cousin, you must
let me talk to you like a cousin. It seems to me that was saucy."
"Now you are scolding me, too. It seems to me that people like to
scold me."
"Oh, no, Zula, I am not scolding you, and you must not blame the lady
for her thoughts, for, really, you do look like a gypsy."
Zula drew herself up proudly.
"Well," she said. "I can't help it, and I don't care to be told of
it."
"It's no disgrace. I have seen many a pretty gypsy girl. There was one
who belonged to a tribe that camped just a little way out of the
village, last summer, and she certainly was a beauty, only she was so
dark."
"Well, I don't want people to think I am one."
"What are you doing, drawing?" Guy asked, as he discovered her pencil
and book.
She covered the paper with her hand.
"Let me see it," he said entreatingly.
"Will you promise that you will not laugh, and that you will never
speak of it?"
"I promise."
He took the book and looking at it closely, a smile passed over his
face.
"Now you are laughing at me and you said you would not."
"Was I laughing? I really did not mean to."
"Perhaps you didn't, but you felt laugh, just as I do when I feel
angry. But tell me what do you think of it."
"No, I would rather not."
"You must."
She said this with such vehemence that he started.
"Well, in that case I will."
"Tell me, then, would you try again?"
"No, I do not believe I would, for I can see nothing to build on."
Zula's castle fell. She looked down into the clear water, and the
shining pebbles lay loose and dull upon the bottom of the lake. She
turned quickly toward Guy, and catching the book from his hand, while
tears of mortification and injured pride stood in her eyes, she said:
"I will never tell any one anything again, never."
"I would not cry, Zula."
"Did you never cry for disappointment?"
"No."
"Then it was because you never had one. I do not believe any one ever
told you that your work was worthless."
"I suppose they had no reason to."
Zula's beautiful red lips curled scornfully. She could not but notice
the self-esteem with which he uttered the words. But Guy could not see
it. He thought they were true and he had received so much flattery
that he doubted not a moment that Zula would consider his decision
correct, which in fact she did accept.
Zula crushed the book tightly in her hand concealing it in her pocket,
just as she looked up to see Carrie, who was coming in search of the
missing pair. "Mama says come right home to tea; it is all ready."
Carrie threw her arm around Zula's waist, and as she did so her hand
came in contact with the heavy braids of shining hair, which hung over
Zula's shoulders.
"What lovely hair you have," Carrie said. "I never saw but one like
it, and it was on the head of a handsome gypsy girl, who was here last
summer."
Zula's eyes flashed and she closed her mouth tightly, with an inward
determination to have at least half her luxuriant hair cut off. Would
she never cease to be reminded that she was a gypsy?
"Why, how angry you look," said Carrie. "Don't you like to have any
one praise your hair?"
"No," Zula answered, forcing a smile.
"Oh, you are a funny girl," Carrie said, twining her arms around
Zula's waist in such a loving way that Zula began to cry.
"Please do not cry; I did not mean to hurt your feelings; I think your
hair is so lovely that I could not help telling you so. Mama always
says flattery is very silly, but really I did not mean it for that; I
do think your hair is just splendid, but I will not let you know it
any more."
"Thank you," said Zula, clasping Carrie's little, soft white hand. "It
is not you who is foolish, it is myself and I will try and behave a
little better. I wish I were like you, Carrie, but I can't be no
matter how hard I try."
"Oh, don't wish to be like me. Sue Haines says I haven't enough spunk
ever to amount to anything in the world; but mama says it does not
take spunk to amount to a good woman, and that, she says, is worth
everything."
"I think so, too," said Zula, drying her eyes.
"We are all going to the island to-morrow," said Guy. "There is to be
an excursion, and I suppose we shall have any amount of fun."
"Oh, won't that be grand!" said Zula. "I do so love to be on the
water."
"Oh, I am always more than half afraid; but of course there is not the
least bit of danger."
"Not the least," said Guy. "Please, Carrie, do not scare Zula so that
she will not wish to go."
"Oh, I am never afraid of the water; I love it."
"I don't believe you are afraid of anything. Why I would not dare to
shoot off a pistol the way you do. I am almost afraid to look at
one."
Zula remarked, just as they were entering the house, that she wished
there was nothing more for her to fear than pistols.