THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER.
Oh, her smile, it seemed half holy,
As if drawn from thoughts more far,
Than our common jestings are.
And, if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware
With a hallow round her hair.
--E. B. Browning.
On the appointed day Traverse took his way to Willow Heights to keep his
tryst and enter upon his medical studies in the good doctor's office. He
was anxious also to know if his patron had as yet thought of any plan by
which his mother might better her condition. He was met at the door by
little Mattie, the parlor-maid, who told him to walk right up-stairs
into the study, where her master was expecting him.
Traverse went up quietly and opened the door of that pleasant
study-room, to which the reader has already been introduced, and the
windows of which opened upon the upper front piazza.
Now, however, as it was quite cold, the windows were down, though the
blinds were open, and through them streamed the golden rays of the
morning sun that fell glistening upon the fair hair and white raiment of
a young girl who sat reading before the fire.
The doctor was not in the room, and Traverse, in his native modesty, was
just about to retreat when the young creature looked up from her book
and, seeing him, arose with a smile and came forward, saying:
"You are the young man whom my father was expecting, I presume. Sit
down; he has stepped out, but will be in again very soon."
Now, Traverse, being unaccustomed to the society of young ladies, felt
excessively bashful when suddenly coming into the presence of this
refined and lovely girl. With a low bow and a deep blush he took the
chair she placed for him.
With natural politeness she closed her book and addressed herself to
entertaining him.
"I have heard that your mother is an invalid; I hope she is better."
"I thank you--yes, ma'am--miss," stammered Traverse, in painful
embarrassment. Understanding the _mauvaise honte_ of the bashful boy,
and seeing that her efforts to entertain only troubled him, she placed
the newspapers on the table before him, saying:
"Here are the morning journals, if you would like to look over them, Mr.
Rocke," and then she resumed her book.
"I thank you, miss," replied the youth, taking up a paper, more for the
purpose of covering up his embarrassment than for any other.
Mr. Rocke! Traverse was seventeen years of age, and had never been
called Mr. Rocke before. This young girl was the very first to
compliment him with the manly title, and he felt a boyish gratitude to
her and a harmless wish that his well-brushed Sunday suit of black was
not quite so rusty and threadbare, tempered by an innocent exultation in
the thought that no gentleman in the land could exhibit fresher linen,
brighter shoes or cleaner hands than himself.
But not many seconds were spent in such egotism. He stole a glance at
his lovely companion sitting on the opposite side of the fireplace--he
was glad to see that she was already deeply engaged in reading, for it
enabled him to observe her without embarrassment or offense. He had
scarcely dared to look at her before, and had no distinct idea of her
beauty.
There has been for him only a vague, dazzling vision of a golden-haired
girl in floating white raiment, wafting the fragrance of violets as she
moved, and with a voice sweeter than the notes of the cushat dove as she
spoke.
Now he saw that the golden hair flowed in ringlets around a fair,
roseate face, soft and bright with feeling and intelligence. As her
dark-blue eyes followed the page, a smile intense with meaning deepened
the expression of her countenance. That intense smile--it was like her
father's, only lovelier--more heavenly.
That intense smile--it had, even on the old doctor's face, an
inexpressible charm for Traverse--but on the lovely young face of his
daughter it exercised an ineffable fascination. So earnest and so
unconscious became the gaze of poor Traverse that he was only brought to
a sense of propriety by the opening of the door and the entrance of the
doctor, who exclaimed:
"Ah, here already, Traverse? That is punctual. This is my daughter
Clara, Traverse; Clare, this is Traverse you've heard me speak about.
But I daresay you've already become acquainted," concluded the doctor,
drawing his chair up to the reading table, sitting down and folding his
dressing-gown around his limbs.
"Well, Traverse, how is the little mother?" he presently inquired.
"I was just telling Miss Day that she was much better, sir," said
Traverse.
"Ah, ha, ha, ha!" muttered the doctor to himself; "that's kitchen
physic--roast turkey and port wine--and moral medicine, hope--and mental
medicine, sympathy."
"Well, Traverse," he said aloud, "I have been racking my brain for a
plan for your mother, and to no purpose. Traverse, your mother should be
in a home of peace, plenty and cheerfulness--I can speak before my
little Clare here; I never have any secrets from her. Your mother wants
good living, cheerful company and freedom from toil and care. The
situation of gentleman's or lady's housekeeper in some home of
abundance, where she would be esteemed as a member of the family, would
suit her. But where to find such a place? I have been inquiring--without
mentioning her name, of course--among all my friends, but not one of
them wants a housekeeper or knows a soul who does want one; and so I am
'at sea on the subject.' I'm ashamed of myself for not succeeding
better."
"Oh, sir, do not do yourself so great an injustice," said Traverse.
"Well, the fact is, after boasting so confidently that I would find a
good situation for Mrs. Rocke, lo and behold! I have proved myself as
yet only a boaster."
"Father," said Clara, turning upon him her sweet eyes.
"Well, my love?"
"Perhaps Mrs. Rocke would do us the favor to come here and take charge
of our household."
"Eh! What? I never thought of that! I never had a housekeeper in my
life!" exclaimed the doctor.
"No, sir; because you never needed one before, but now we really do.
Aunt Moggy has been a very faithful and efficient manager, although she
is a colored woman; but she is getting very old."
"Yes, and deaf and blind and careless. I know she is. I have no doubt in
the world she scours the coppers with the table napkins and washes her
face and hands in the soup tureen."
"Oh, father!" said Clara.
"Well, Clare, at least she wants looking after."
"Father, she wants rest in her old age."
"No doubt of it; no doubt of it."
"And, father, I intend, of course, in time, to be your housekeeper; but,
having spent all my life in a boarding school, I know very little about
domestic affairs, and I require a great deal of instruction; so I really
do think that there is no one needs Mrs. Rocke's assistance more than we
do, and if she will do us the favor to come we cannot do better than to
engage her."
"To be sure; to be sure! Lord bless my soul! to think it should never
have entered my stupid old head until it was put there by Clare! Here I
was searching blindly all over the country for a situation for Mrs.
Rocke, and wanting her all the time more than any one else! That's the
way, Traverse; that's the way with us all, my boy! While we are looking
away off yonder for the solution of our difficulties, the remedy is all
the time lying just under our noses!"
"But so close to our eyes, father, that we cannot see it," said Clara.
"Just so, Clare; just so. You are always ahead of me in ideas. Now,
Traverse, when you go home this evening you shall take a note to your
mother setting forth our wishes--mine and Clara's; if she accedes to
them she will make us very happy."
With a great deal of manly strength of mind, Traverse had all his
mother's tenderness of heart. It was with difficulty that he could keep
back his tears or control his voice while he answered:
"I remember reading, sir, that the young queen of England, when she came
to her throne, wished to provide handsomely for an orphan companion of
her childhood; and, seeing that no office in her household suited the
young person, she created one for her benefit. Sir, I believe you have
made one for my mother."
"Not at all; not at all! If she doesn't come to look after our
housekeeping, old Moggy will be greasing our griddles with tallow candle
ends next! If you don't believe me; ask Clara, ask Clara!"
Not "believe" him! If the doctor had affirmed that the moon was made of
moldy cheese, Traverse would have deemed it his duty to stoutly maintain
that astronomical theory. He felt hurt that the doctor should use such a
phrase.
"Yes, indeed, we really do need her, Traverse," said the doctor's
daughter.
"Traverse!" It had made him proud to hear her call him for the first
time in his life, "Mr. Rocke!" but it made him deeply happy to hear her
call him "Traverse." It had such a sisterly sound coming from this sweet
creature. How he wished that she really were his sister! But, then, the
idea of that fair, golden-haired, blue-eyed, white-robed angel being the
sister of such a robust, rugged, sunburned boy as himself! The thought
was so absurd, extravagant, impossible, that the poor boy heaved an
unconscious sigh.
"Why, what's the matter, Traverse? What are you thinking of so
intently?"
"Of your great goodness, sir, among other things."
"Tut! let's hear no more of that. I pleased myself," said the doctor;
"and now, Traverse, let's go to work decently and in order. But first
let me settle this point--if your good little mother determines in our
favor, Traverse, then, of course, you will live with us also, so I shall
have my young medical assistant always at hand. That will be very
convenient; and then we shall have no more long, lonesome evenings,
Clara, shall we, dear? And now, Traverse, I will mark out your course of
study and set you to work at once."
"Shall I leave the room, father?" inquired Clara.
"No, no, my dear; certainly not. I have not had you home so long as to
get tired of the sight of you yet! No, Clare, no; you are not in our
way--is she, Traverse?"
"Oh, sir, the idea--" stammered Traverse, blushing deeply to be so
appealed to.
In his way! Why, a pang had shot through his bosom at the very mention
of her going.
"Very well, then. Here, Traverse, here are your books. You are to begin
with this one; keep this medical dictionary at hand for reference. Bless
me, it will bring back my student days to go over the ground with you,
my boy."
Clara took her work-box and sat down to stitch a pair of dainty
wristbands for her father's shirts.
The doctor took up the morning papers.
Traverse opened his book and commenced his readings. It was a quiet but
by no means a dull circle. Occasionally Clara and her father exchanged
words, and once in a while the doctor looked over his pupil's shoulder
or gave him a direction.
Traverse studied _con amore_ and with intelligent appreciation. The
presence of the doctor's lovely daughter, far from disturbing him,
calmed and steadied his soul into a state of infinite content. If the
presence of the beautiful girl was ever to become an agitating element,
the hour had not yet come.
So passed the time until the dinner bell rang.
By the express stipulation of the doctor himself, it was arranged that
Traverse should always dine with his family. After dinner an hour--which
the doctor called a digestive hour--was spent in loitering about and
then the studies were resumed.
At six o'clock in the evening Traverse took leave of the doctor and his
fair daughter and started for home.
"Be sure to persuade your mother to come, Traverse," said Clara.
"She will not need persuasion; she will be only too glad to come, miss,"
said Traverse, with a deep bow, turning and hurrying away toward home.
With "winged feet" he ran down the wooded hill and got into the highway,
and hastened on with such speed that in half an hour he reached his
mother's little cottage. He was agog with joy and eagerness to tell her
the good news.