It was great fun unpacking the baskets, and Tom made himself very
useful to the ladies; so much so, that Miss Goldthwaite felt
constrained to whisper one word of praise in his ear, which sent a
glow to his heart. Surely never was meal so enjoyed as that lunch on
the summit of Pendle Peak; and they lingered so long over it, that
Judge Keane passed a great many jokes on the gigantic appetites, and
professed great concern about the small quantity of provisions left
for tea. When plates and forks and knives were stowed in the waggon
again, the party broke up in twos and threes, and went off exploring.
Lucy was tired, and said she would remain beside the goods and
chattels, whereupon the judge declared he would keep her company. Mr.
George and Miss Goldthwaite went off together to search for ferns,
they said; while Mr. Goldthwaite, Miss Keane, Minnie, and Tom went to
the ravine on the other side of the Peak to find some rare specimens
of wild flowers Miss Keane was anxious to secure for her collection.
The judge was to whistle at four o'clock, if they had not then
returned; and promised to have tea ready, which was considered a
great joke. Lucy sat on the smooth green turf, leaning against a
boulder, feasting her eyes on the beauty, of which she thought her
eyes could never tire. The judge lay on the grass with half-closed
eyes, looking at the girl's sweet face, wondering why it looked older
and sadder and more womanly than it ought. It was a good while before
either spoke.
"Would you mind telling me, Judge Keane, please," said Lucy timidly,
"where Newhaven lies from here, and how far it is?"
The judge raised himself on his elbow, put on his gold eye-glass, and
looked along the plain. "There, straight as the crow flies, little
one," he said, pointing west. "It is about thirty miles in a direct
line from where we sit; by rail about fifty, I think."
"It is a long way," she said, and a little sigh followed, as if she
wished it nearer.
"You lived in Newhaven, I think, didn't you?" asked the judge.
"Yes, sir, till mamma died. It is not a nice place, but I love it
dearly."
Ay, for a quiet grave there held the loved father and mother who had
once made for her a happy home.
The judge did not speak, he did not know what to say just then, and
Lucy did not seem to expect an answer. He shut his eyes again, and
there was a long silence. Thinking he slept, Lucy rose, and, gently
laying a rug over him, slipped away. He opened his eyes directly and
watched her. She only moved a few yards from him, and knelt down with
her face to the west. He heard a few faltering words, followed by a
sob--"O dear papa and mamma, I wonder if you can see Tom and me
to-day, and know how happy we are. God bless the dear friends who
have made us so, for Christ's sake. Amen."
The judge's lips twitched beneath his mustache, and when Lucy rose
again, he drew the rug up over his face, not wishing her to see that
he had heard that little prayer. But he never forgot it. Two hours
did not take long to slip away, and then the judge sat up and looked
at Lucy with a comical smile.
"It is ten minutes to four, little one, and there isn't a sign of the
wanderers. Suppose you and I make tea: do you think we could manage
it between us?"
"Oh yes, sir; I know how to build a fire, and make tea too, and there
are sticks in the waggon. May I try?"
"Of course, and I'll help to the best of my limited ability."
Lucy went to the waggon and got out sticks and the kettle, while the
judge made an amateur stove between four stones. Lucy then laid the
fire, and in a minute there was quite a cheerful little blaze. Water
was the next thing, and the judge remembered there used to be a tiny
spring a few yards down the slope, which was found without any
difficulty; and he brought back the kettle filled, and placed it on
the fire. He had so many odd remarks to make about his new
occupation, that Lucy was kept laughing pretty nearly all the time.
It was getting on for five o'clock before four heads appeared at the
edge of the slope. Mr. Goldthwaite, Miss Keane, Minnie, and Tom
arrived laden with flowers and ferns, and reported themselves
exhausted, and thankful to see that tea was ready. George and Carrie
had not been seen since they departed at two o'clock."
"You made tea all by yourself, Lucy," said Miss Keane, laying her
kind hand on Lucy's sunny head. "Clever little maiden, how are we to
thank you?"
"Judge Keane helped me, Miss Alice," replied Lucy blushing and
smiling.
"Helped! I should think I did," said the judge tragically: "she sat
on the waggon like a queen, and commanded me like a slave. She looks
meek and mild enough, but don't trust her."
"Papa, how much nonsense do you talk in a day?" she said. "I wish the
other two would turn up; I'm famished."
"Are we to wait on them, papa?" inquired Minnie piteously. "I guess
they don't want any tea: lovers never want anything to eat. Mayn't
we have it now?"
"Yes," said Miss Keane.--"Lucy dear, may I trouble you for the
teapot.--Papa, hand the sugar, and make yourself useful."
"What a real nice boy your brother Tom is," said Minnie Keane,
dropping down by Lucy's side. "We had a splendid time down there,
while Alice and Mr. Goldthwaite talked out of books. Aren't you very
fond of him?"
"Of Tom? Of course I am," answered Lucy; "you know I have nobody but
him, and he has nobody but me."
"Lucy, your tea is delightful," said Mr. Goldthwaite from the other
side of the table-cloth. "I don't know when I enjoyed anything so
well."
"Hunger is good sauce," said the judge;--"here are the truants." Mr.
George Keane and Miss Goldthwaite appeared now, apparently very much
astonished to find themselves behind time. The judge made room for
Carrie beside himself, and after looking blankly at her for a few
minutes, said solemnly, "I thought I heard you say you wanted ferns;
but I must have been mistaken, or possibly they haven't come up in
the glen this year.--Some tea here, Alice.--Miss Goldthwaite, may I
help you to a piece of cake?" The truants joined in the laugh against
themselves, and the rest of the meal was passed in a perfect babel of
talking.
"What shall we do now, papa?" said Alice when they had finished. "We
won't be going home for a little while."
The judge looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past five: we shall
start at six. Well, I propose that each member of the company
composes, within the space of ten minutes, four lines of verse
descriptive of the scenery. I have brought pencils and paper; and the
best writer shall have my gold pencil-case to him or her self."
There was a general exclamation, and each one declared it impossible
to perform such a feat.
"Try," said the judge briefly; and he passed round the pencils and
the sheets of paper. Then he laid his watch on the cloth, and gave
the signal. You would have laughed at the utter stillness then, and
at the perplexity on each face. Slowly the hands moved round, till
the ten minutes were up, and the judge cried halt.
"You read then, judge," said Mr. Goldthwaite; "begin with your own."
"Well, here I am," said the judge with a very comical smile, and he
read slowly and distinctly:--
"It seems to me that if you go
Enjoyment for to seek,
You'll find out all you want and more
Up here on Pendle Peak."
A shout of laughter greeted this effusion, and the judge pretended to
be highly offended.
"I object to the 'for' in the second line," said Mr. Goldthwaite.
"Do you think I don't know it has no business there?" said the judge.
"But I couldn't get it to rhyme, so I was obliged to put in
something. It is not bad for an old fellow who never made two lines
rhyme before in his life. Come then, Frank, pass up yours."
"To read a page from Nature's book,
In this deep solitude,
Uplifts the heart in purer aims,
And leads us nearer God."
"True, Frank," said the judge solemnly. "You have beaten me hollow
anyway.--Now, Carrie."
"Mine is very poor indeed, Judge Keane," said Carrie, as she passed
up her slip. "Like yours it is my first attempt."
"The beauty of the hills,
So calm, so free, so bright,
Can dim my eyes with tears,
And fill me with delight."
"Very good" was the verdict; and then Miss Keane reluctantly gave up
her paper.
"How still it is! No rude discord
Falls on the ear;
We feel all earthly thoughts and aims
Must vanish here."
That also was pronounced "very good," and Judge Keane feared he
should have some difficulty in adjudicating the prize. Mr. George
Keane's was the next.
"I never wrote a poem, but since
You will not be refused,
I do declare I don't know how,
And beg to be excused."
"You have no chance anyway, George," said his father, laughing with
the rest. "It has not the remotest reference to the subject in
hand.--Well, Lucy."
"Mine last, please," pleaded Lucy.