'The fine fat bulls, the dear little sheep,
The fat piggy-wiggy wiggies all in a heap,
The beautiful Moo cows all in a row,
Jolly fine fun at the cattle show.'
Such a lovely day it is; the sun shining forth in all its glory, casting
a touch of gold over everything, while a hush reigns supreme; that
lovely stillness that hangs over the earth in the early morning before
the work of the day begins.
Lippa scarcely took in what the ancestral home of the Dadfords was like,
when she arrived last night, but waking early she dresses hastily in
order to survey the surrounding country, an outing before breakfast she
delights in, when all the world seems fresh and clean, and the humdrum
business of life is barely begun.
Passing down the wide oak staircase she comes across a friendly
housemaid who shows her the way through a conservatory to the garden,
such a lovely garden it is, with its broad walks, its green velvety
lawns and slopes, and its masses of old-fashioned dew beladen flowers,
the perfume of which fills the morning air. Her spirits rise as she
wanders on, drinking in with delight the surrounding beauty, so absorbed
is she in it that she forgets there is such a person as Jimmy
Dalrymple. Quack, quack, quack, go the ducks as she approaches the lake
on which they disport themselves, and gazes down at the sky therein
reflected and at her own image. But she is not admiring her youthful
face and the curly golden hair that stands like a halo round it. No, she
is sunk in a dream; the morning has called forth her greatest
aspirations; the striving after the unattainable; that comes to us all
sometime or other, when we feel that truly life is worth living, and
that there is something beyond, so great that we cannot grasp it, but we
feel it is there producing a great speechless longing within us while
our hearts throb and our pulses stir till we could cry for joy.
Such a state as this Lippa has reached, when she is suddenly brought
down from the elevated height to which her mind has soared, to the
outward circumstances of life, by the squeaking of a window which is
suddenly opened; she is so close to the house, that on looking up she
recognises the brown head that is thrust out for a moment. 'Tis enough;
the spell has been broken and she becomes aware that breakfast would be
a very acceptable thing, so she wends her way back to the house. Of
course everyone is full of the cattle show and the merits of Herefords,
short horns, Devons and Kerrys are discussed together with Jersey
creamers and separators. Most of the guests are old and uninteresting,
and intend leaving on the following day to make room for the younger
folk who can dance.
Dalrymple and Philippa are the only young people at present, besides, of
course, Lady Anne and Chubby.
'I've ordered the dog-cart,' says the latter, in the course of
breakfast, to Lippa, who is sitting next him, 'because I thought we
might leave the old people to go by themselves. I've got an awfully good
animal, which I should like you to see, what! My sister and Dalrymple
will come too, and we can go where we please. That is to say unless,
perhaps, you would prefer to drive in state in the landau. What!'
'No, indeed,' says Lippa, laughing.
'You're wise, I think,' replies Lord Helmdon. 'You don't know what my
respected parent is like at a show, everything must be commented upon. I
went with him once,--didn't get away for hours, and I said to
myself--never again. By ourselves we can come and go just as we please.
By-the-bye, mother,' he goes on, turning to Lady Dadford, 'I suppose
you've asked the Lippingcotts to the ball. I met him yesterday, but he
didn't say anything about it, eh what!'
'I really don't remember; have we, Anne?' says her ladyship.
Lady Anne produces a piece of paper whereon the names of the invited
guests are inscribed, glances down it, and says 'No.'
'How dreadful.'
'It's a pity,' says Anne.
'Not too late yet,' suggests Chubby. 'Little Mrs Lippingcott is so
awfully pretty and dances quite beautifully. It would be a shame if she
wasn't asked.'
'Well; I will write now if you like,' says his mother, ready to do
anything her 'dear' boy wishes. 'They only came back a week ago, I
suppose, that is how they were forgotten.'
'And if I see them I'll say something pretty that will make up, what!'
'Do you really think you could?' says Dalrymple, from the other side of
the table.
'Don't doubt it for a moment,' replies Chubby, 'Miss Seaton I know will
verify my statement.'
When all the older folk have been packed off, the dog-cart appears and
with it the 'awfully good animal,' which of course has to be admired,
and viewed from all points, before the owner sees fit to start. Lippa,
of course, has the place of honour, by the driver, much to Jimmy's
disgust. There is no need to go into details of the show, all of which
are more or less alike, with dogs of all sizes and breeds, barking in
different keys, pigs grunting and squeaking, horses neighing, cows
mooing, cocks crowing, ducks quacking; boys yelling out the price of
catalogues, men requesting people to 'walk up,' and inspect their wares,
which are all warranted to be the very best of their kind; and besides
all this two brass bands which play two different tunes at the same
time. If a deaf man suddenly recovered his hearing at a cattle show, I
am sure he would wish himself deaf again. However, some people enjoy
cattle shows, I do not, but that is neither here nor there.
Lord Dadford, J.P. for the county and owner of some fine short horns, is
surrounded by gaitered and pot-hatted men, who all appear to be talking
at once. Helmdon conducting Philippa and his sister with the ever
constant Jimmy, carefully fights shy of his father.
'What luck to have met you,' he exclaims as they run up against a pretty
woman, Mrs Lippingcott of course, and forthwith they launch into an
eager conversation with humble apologies from him and earnest
entreaties that she will grace the ball with her appearance, and with
any one who may be staying with her.
'Oh, how do you do, Miss Seaton?' makes Lippa turn, who is in earnest
conversation with Dalrymple, and see Harkness standing before her. She
would have liked to give vent to a naughty little expression, but she
merely bows saying--
'I had no idea of meeting you here, isn't it a lovely day?'
'Beautiful,' he replies, 'I am stopping with the Lippingcotts for a few
days; really the country is quite delightful after London.'
'Delicious,' replies Lippa, moving on leaving Harkness gazing at her
and Dalrymple; is that young beggar going to cut him out, it looks
uncommonly like it. Lucky fellow he is, thinks the Captain, winning over
that race last month when the odds were dead against him, and now--
'Thank goodness!' ejaculates Miss Seaton, finding herself free from her
admirer.
'What for?' asks Dalrymple.
'Why, to get rid of him of course.'
'Poor man,' says Jimmy pensively.
'Wherefore?'
'Because he has evidently incurred your displeasure.'
'Oh,' with a little laugh, 'is my displeasure such a very dreadful
thing.'
'It would be to me,' is the reply.
'Well, if you're very good, I will try and be pleased with you, it might
be unpleasant if we--'
'Will it require a great deal of trying?'
'That depends,' says Miss Seaton, glancing up in his face, to find he is
looking at her rather more earnestly than is necessary. But the
conversation is interrupted by Lady Anne.
Poor Lady Anne, there is a romance connected with her life, that nobody
knows of save her parents, and they have almost forgotten it. A romance
in which a young officer figures prominently; when Lady Anne first came
out she fell desperately in love with him, and he with her, they
plighted their troth at a London ball; but her parents said she was too
young to marry just then, and it was agreed to wait a year. But war
broke out and his regiment was 'ordered to the front.' Oh! the sorrow
conveyed in those words, how many, many went out like Lady Anne's lover
and never returned, how many lives like hers were blighted in
consequence. 'God bless you, Dick,' she had said the night before he
started, 'and I hope you will come back soon.'
'Soon,' he had repeated, 'dearest, I may never come back again.'
He was right, for he fell on the field of A----, found dead where the
fight had been fiercest; and Lady Anne's heart was broken. She did not
die of grief, nor did she appear to the world as hopelessly crushed, but
went on living just the same, with a feeling of aching emptiness, that
is, oh, so hard to bear, and she shut away from prying eyes the picture
of her young lover, and round her neck she hung the crystal heart he had
given her, whereon his name was inscribed.--Dick.