"--If that love or gold
Can in this place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
And faints for succour."
The magician was at work in his small garden adjusting some wire netting
for the sweet peas, while Curly Q. looked on with interest, and Crisscross
finished his saucer of milk.
Rosalind came through the shop so softly that only the cat was aware of
it. He gazed at her in evident doubt whether to continue work on the rim
of his saucer or take refuge on the fence.
"I should like to have a little house, and a dog and cat to live with me,"
she thought, sitting down on the step to wait till she should be
observed. Yes, this was more like the Forest of Arden than any place she
knew; her unhappiness seemed melting away in the peaceful atmosphere.
Crisscross decided she was not dangerous, and keeping an eye on her by way
of precaution went on with his supper. It was not long, however, before
Curly Q. discovered her presence and came bounding to her side, with a
sharp bark of welcome, then back to call his master's attention.
"Why! Why!" exclaimed the magician, holding up a pair of rather grimy
hands.
There could be no doubt about his being glad to see Rosalind. He asked how
she was, over and over, and apologized for his hands, and smiled and
nodded and indulged in all sorts of absurd gestures, which made her laugh
so she couldn't try her new accomplishment of talking on her fingers.
Directly he hurried into the house, where she could hear him washing his
hands, and then he came out again with a teakettle, which he filled at the
cistern, and carrying it back set it on a small oil stove, which he
lighted.
"We'll have some tea," he said, sitting down beside her and asking again
how she was.
Rosalind summoned all her learning and spelled out carefully, with the aid
of some very dainty fingers, "I-am-lon--"
"Lonesome?" repeated the magician. "That is too bad. Mr. Pat wouldn't like
that."
Rosalind shook her head. The tears were near the surface, but she kept
them back, and remembering her book she laid it on the magician's knee,
open at the words Cousin Louis had written: "If we choose we may travel
always in the Forest where the birds sing and the sunlight sifts through
the trees; where although we sometimes grow footsore and hungry we know
that the goal is sure. Just outside is the dreary desert in which, alas!
many choose to walk, shutting their eyes to the beauty and peace of the
Forest, and losing by the way the sacred gift of happiness."
The magician read it slowly through, then he smiled at Rosalind over his
glasses. "That's so," he said. "It is hard to keep out of the desert
sometimes, but it all comes right in the end. Why, the other day I was--"
here he shook his head and put on a woe-begone expression of countenance
that made his meaning plain, and caused Rosalind to laugh--"and I looked
up and there you stood in the door and pointed to the motto, 'Good in
everything,' and I felt better."
"Did I really cheer you up?" cried Rosalind, delighted; and nodding quite
as if he heard, the magician answered, "Now I'll cheer you up." Rising, he
beckoned her to follow him inside, and she obeyed, feeling as if she were
somebody in a story.
The kettle was already singing merrily, and from a shelf the magician took
down a fat little teapot and, rinsing it with boiling water, proceeded to
make tea. Next he spread a white cloth on a small table, and from the
cupboard took out some blue and white cups and plates.
"Let me set it," begged Rosalind, in pantomime, entering gayly into the
spirit of the thing.
Laughing, the magician left it to her and went off to his store-room, from
which he emerged with a pitcher of milk and a loaf of brown bread.
There was nothing in the appointments of this simple meal to offend the
most fastidious taste, and it was a sight to bring a smile to the
dolefulest countenance, to see Rosalind and the magician sitting opposite
to each other drinking tea. In the midst of it Morgan jumped up and went
to the store-room, returning with a tumbler of jelly. "Miss Betty Bishop's
jelly," he said. "Do you know Miss Betty?"
Rosalind shook her head.
"She makes good things," he added, as he unscrewed the top.
Rosalind's afternoon in the open air had given her an appetite, and she
did full justice to the brown bread and jelly, the novelty of the occasion
adding a flavor. Through the open door and window came the glow of the
sunset, and the air was sweet with some far-off fragrance. All trouble had
faded from her face; it was as if in the heart of the Forest she had come
upon some friendly inn. Such a small matter as dinner in the house behind
the griffins quite escaped her memory.
"Well, upon my word!"
[Illustration: "DO YOU KNOW MISS BETTY?"]
Startled in the act of feeding Curly Q., Rosalind looked toward the door,
and saw there a lady in a crisp, light muslin. More than this she did
not at once take in, for behind her in the semi-darkness of the shop was
Martin's face. The conviction that he was looking for her, and that
grandmamma would be vexed, overshadowed everything else. She rose, while
the magician greeted the lady as Miss Betty, and offered her a cup of tea.
"I'se been searchin' high and low for you, Miss Rosalind," Martin
exclaimed, coming forward.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Martin; I forgot," said Rosalind.
Miss Betty, who had declined the tea, now held out her hand. "This is
Rosalind Whittredge, of course; I am your Cousin Betty."
"I didn't know I had any cousins," said Rosalind.
"You will find a few if you stay long enough," replied Miss Betty. "How do
you come to be eating supper with Morgan, I'd like to know? I was sitting
on my porch when you went in, so when Martin came along I was able to help
him."
"I like Morgan. I wanted to see him. Father told me about him." Rosalind
felt she couldn't explain exactly.
"I used to know your father very well indeed," said Miss Betty, as they
walked together to the street, after Rosalind had told the magician
good-by. "As you seem to like going out to tea, I hope you will come and
take supper with me sometime," she added, with a twinkle in her eye.
When she reached home Miss Herbert stood at the gate, and in the door was
Mrs. Whittredge. Rosalind's face was full of brightness as she ran up the
path.
"Grandmamma, I meant only to stay a minute, and then I forgot."
"I have been worried about you, Rosalind," Mrs. Whittredge said gravely.
"Why did you not come to me and tell me where you wished to go? Where have
you been?"
"To see the magician--Morgan, I mean. I wanted so much to see him I did
not think of anything else."
"Why did you wish to see him?" continued her grandmother.
The glow was fading from Rosalind's face. "Because--" she hesitated,
"because--"
"Well?"
"Because I was lonely, grandmamma, and I was afraid I was going to cry. I
promised father I would be brave, and--well--Morgan knows about the
Forest, and is very good to cheer you up. He made tea in the dearest
little teapot, and it was so amusing, I forgot. I am sorry."
"Do you mean you took supper with Morgan? Well, Rosalind, you are
amazing!" Aunt Genevieve spoke from the hall.
"Never mind, Genevieve," said her mother. "I am sorry you were lonely,
Rosalind, but I do not understand why you should go to Morgan. And what do
you mean by the 'forest'?"
Rosalind's face was grave again. "I don't know, grandmamma," she faltered,
and indeed she could not have told if her life had depended on it.
"I think you were very easy on her, mamma. It was certainly naughty of her
to run away," Genevieve remarked, after Rosalind, worn out by the
conflicting experiences of the day, had gone to bed.
Mrs. Whittredge did not reply at once. On her lap lay her granddaughter's
little volume of "As You Like It," and she had been reading the words
about the Forest. It had a way of opening to that page.
"She is a peculiar, fanciful child, and quite old enough to know better.
Professor Sargent may be a brilliant man, but it seems to me he has filled
the child's head full of nonsense. I can't see what Patterson has been
thinking of," Genevieve continued.
"I am not inclined to find much fault with her. I did not expect her to be
perfect. She seems naturally sweet and happy," her mother replied.
"Losing by the way the sacred gift of happiness," Mrs. Whittredge's eyes
went back to the book. Surely happiness had slipped from her grasp,
leaving nothing but regret. It was sad to realize that her children found
all their pleasure apart from her. Somewhere she had failed, but pride
told her it was fate; that sorrow and disappointment were the common lot,
that gratitude was not to be looked for.
After her bitter disappointment in her oldest son she had been the more
determined to have her way with Allan. With what result? The extended
tour abroad, planned with a purpose just as his college course was ended,
had weaned him completely from his home. His interests were elsewhere, and
although as joint executor with her of his father's estate he was often in
Friendship, his visits were usually brief. Between herself and her
daughter there was little sympathy. Genevieve, calm and inflexible, had
early declared her independence. But more than all else put together was
her haunting sorrow for her husband. Words of Dr. Fair, spoken long ago in
cruel bluntness, still rang in her ears: "Madam, you are killing your
husband by your obstinacy." Her mind dwelt with morbid persistency upon
them. Had the reconciliation with her son come too late?
At a time of utter weariness with herself she acceded to Patterson's
proposal to send his daughter to her. Genevieve had expostulated,
insisting she would be impossible, a child with no bringing up. Rosalind
had come, and even Genevieve had to admit, so far as manners and
appearance were concerned, she was not impossible.
In the fair young face, with its serious eyes, in whose glance there was
often a singular radiance, Mrs. Whittredge found something that touched
her heart. Her granddaughter had not the Whittredge beauty, she was
nothing of a Whittredge, and yet--One day she had taken up the miniature
on Rosalind's table, with a glance over her shoulder; and when she put it
down and turned away, it was with the reluctant feeling that perhaps there
had been some excuse for her son when he left father and mother and
kindred and home for this young girl.