"Papa, you know I can't make verse,
And it was very bad
Of you to make us play at this,--
I tell you I'm real mad."
There was another shout at Minnie's performance, and then Lucy
timidly slipped her paper into the judge's hand, and drew back behind
Minnie. The judge read very slowly this time, and every beautiful
word was distinctly heard.
"The calm, still brightness on the hills,
The beauty on the plain,
Fill all my heart with strange sweet joy,
That is akin to pain.
"We stand upon a stepping-stone
Up to the Better Land;
I seem to see the glory there,
And feel my Father's hand.
"And hovering near me seem to be
The loved ones gone before;
One day we'll mount God's stepping-stones,
And weep earth's tears no more."
There was a moment's surprised silence. All eyes were turned to Lucy,
who shrank further back with a very distressed face.
"The prize is yours, Lucy," said Judge Keane at length.--"Who would
have thought this shy little maiden was the poet of the company?"
There were many other remarks made, which seemed to distress Lucy so
much that they held their peace at length, and the judge remembered
Tom's contribution had not been called for.
"You thought you were to escape, young man," said he, as he received
the paper from Tom's reluctant hand. "Perhaps the last may be best
yet, who knows? Well, I never--ha! ha!"
He held up the paper, and lo, a sketch of the circle of anxious
faces, with paper and pencil before them, and every expression true
to the life. It was wonderfully well done, and created much amusement
as it was handed round the company.
"The pencil-case is Lucy's," said the judge. "But I think you deserve
a special prize, my lad. Will you let me keep this? Robert must see
it."
"Yes, sir, of course," answered Tom. "When I felt a pencil in my hand
I had to draw. I always feel so."
"True artist; eh, Carrie?" whispered the judge, and she nodded
assent. She had not yet recovered from the surprise Lucy had given
her.
"The sun is thinking of setting," said the judge then. "We must be
preparing to depart."
There was a general move, and Miss Keane and Miss Goldthwaite
proceeded to clear the table.
"Let us sit here and see the sun set, and have a talk, Lucy," said
Minnie, drawing Lucy a little apart. "What a perfectly elegant poem
that was you wrote. It's 'most as good as Whittier's George reads to
mamma sometimes. I guess you'll grow up to be a Mrs. Whittier."
"Oh no," said Lucy, laughing a little; "Miss Keane's was just as
good, I think, only I wrote more. How funny yours was."
"I should think so. Mopsy, or Ted, or Silver Tail could do just as
well, I believe.--Tom, won't you draw me a picture of my very own to
keep? I wish you'd come up and do the kittens; won't you? I ask
Robert every time he comes, but he just teases me."
"I'll draw a kitten for you if you like," answered Tom readily, "but
I can't promise to come up and do it."
Before very long Billy was harnessed again, and after bidding a
reluctant good-bye to the Peak for another year, the descent was
begun. Lucy walked part of the way with Mr. George Keane's arm to
help her along, and Miss Goldthwaite beckoned Tom to her side.
"I haven't seen much of you to-day, Tom," she said pleasantly. "Have
you had a nice day?"
"I shall never forget it, Miss Goldthwaite," answered Tom very
gravely.
And though after years brought many happy excursions up the Peak,
never was one so exquisitely enjoyed as this had been. The sun had
dropped behind the hill when the tired party reached the Red House,
and a big moon was coming up serenely in the opal sky. Mr. and Miss
Goldthwaite paused at the avenue gate, saying they would not come any
further; so the good-nights were said there and the company
separated.
"Good-night, my little poetess," whispered the judge as he lifted
Lucy from the waggon. "Go on writing, my dear; we will hear of you
yet." And he kissed her as he set her to the ground, and added
softly, "You have done an old man good to-day though you did not know
it."
It was a very quiet walk home by the river-side to the parsonage, but
the thoughts were all pleasant ones. Mr. Goldthwaite had not spoken
much to Lucy all day, but he had watched her, how closely she did not
know. He held her hand at parting, and looked straight into her
beautiful eyes, his own very grave and earnest.
"God bless you, Lucy; good-night." She wondered a little at the
oddness of his manner. "My soldier has shown to advantage to-day,"
said Miss Carrie, smiling as she shook hands with Tom. "I have been
very proud of him."
"Lucy," said Tom, as they turned into the paddock at Thankful Rest,
"do you know what I'm going to do when I'm a man?"
"Be a great painter," answered Lucy promptly. "What else?"
"Anything else?" inquired she in much surprise.
"I'm going to marry Miss Goldthwaite!"
Lucy laughed outright.
"You can't, Tom; she's going to marry Mr. George Keane, Minnie told
me."
"Is she? Well, Mr. George Keane is a very good fellow," said Tom in a
tone which would have infinitely amused that gentleman had he heard
it; "but he isn't half good enough for her.--O Lucy, hasn't this been
a day?"
"Yes," answered Lucy, and she turned full eyes up to the quiet sky.
"I think papa and mamma must see us, and be glad we have been happy."
"I feel so too," answered Tom with the sudden beautiful earnestness
which had often come to him of late.--"Kiss me, Lucy; there are only
you and I."
She put her arm about his neck, and kissed him as he wished; then the
two went very soberly into the house.