February had come, bringing in its train such weather as verified the
warmest praise of New Mexico's perfect climate.
It was on one of its most spring-like afternoons that a walking party of
eight set out to pay a long-proposed visit to the ladies at Hilton
Ranch.
As the little party went gayly along the mesa, Leon, carrying his gun,
shot doves for the evening meal, while the rest walked on, chatting
merrily.
The ladies talking over, by the way, the late attempt of the Apache on
Hilton Ranch, Mrs. Bixbee declared herself curious to see the cellar in
which Miss Paulina had caught that prowling savage. On their arrival
that good lady, informed of this desire, kindly proceeded to gratify her
guest, and the entire party was presently led by her to the kitchen, the
hero of this adventure modestly walking beside the fair lady of his
love. Sholto, busied about the place, was just then out of call, and
Miss Hemmenshaw, intent to afford them a peep into the cellar, begged
the Harvard man to raise for her the heavy trap-door.
The dear lady never quite knew how it was that, leaning forward, she
lost her balance, and, but for the prompt help of Roger Smith, might
have landed, pell-mell, on the cellar bottom; or how, in rescuing her,
he himself made the misstep that, ere he could recover his poise, threw
him to the end of the ladder-like cellar stairs.
Recovering breath, Roger Smith cheerily called up to the affrighted
group at the top, "All right!" but, on pulling himself together to make
the ascent, he suddenly found all wrong. He had sprained his ankle; and
it was with painful effort that he won to the top. At this juncture
Sholto, aroused by the unwonted rumpus, made his appearance,
anticipating no less a disaster than the reappearance of the slippery
savage, for whom he still held the lasso "in pickle." Disabled by the
sprain, the Harvard man submitted himself to the stout arms of the
Mexican, and, by Miss Paulina's direction, was carried into the bedroom
adjoining the ranch parlor.
There, laid upon a movable couch which served the double purpose of sofa
and bed, Sholto having, not without difficulty, removed his boot and
stocking, he submitted the swollen foot to the careful inspection of
Miss Hemmenshaw, who, with a steadiness of nerve not unworthy of her
"Chapter," put the dislocated joint in place, bandaged the injured
member with arnica, administered an internal dose of the same
restorative, and duly followed it with a glass of old Port. This done,
Sholto wheeled the sufferer's couch into the adjoining parlor. Half an
hour later Leon came in with a well-filled game-bag; and after an hour
of mild Koshare merriment, in which the athlete but feebly joined (the
pain of his ankle was still terrible), the little party took its way, in
the fading sunlight, to Alamo Ranch. Miss Paulina, having promptly
decided that her patient was unequal to the return by way of the jolting
Hilton express team, sent to Mrs. Brown an order for supper for her
guest, Louise, and herself. It was duly conveyed to Hilton's by an Alamo
chore-boy. Sholto, as the sole male dependence of Hilton's, must stick
to his post; for, sagely observed the "Daughter of the Revolution," two
women, heroic though they might be, were no match for an Apache
marauder; and as for poor Roger Smith, he could now neither "fight" nor
"run away."
Sholto lighted the lamps, laid the supper on the low Queen Anne table,
added fresh water from the spring, and when a pot of tea had been made
by the hostess' own careful hand, and Sholto had wheeled up the couch of
the invalid, that he might take his supper _à la Roman_, the three made
a cheery meal.
When the man had removed the supper things, and piled fresh wood on the
andirons, the ladies brought their work-baskets; and while they busied
themselves with doily and centre-piece, the Harvard man, lying in the
comfort of partial relief from pain, watched the dainty fingers of
Louise Hemmenshaw as she bent industriously over her embroidery, and
fell fathoms deeper in love with the dear and beautiful girl.
Roger Smith stayed on at Hilton Ranch, where, thrown day after day in
semi-helplessness on the kind attendance of Miss Paulina and the sweet
society of her niece, he (I grieve to say) fell a ready prey to the
suggestions of a certain wily personage who (according to Dr. Watts)
finds employment for idle hands, and thus conceived the wickedness of
cunningly using this accident to further his own personal ends. Thus
devil-tempted, this hitherto upright young person resolved that it
should be a long day before his sprained ankle should permit him to
return to Brown's, and lose this precious opportunity of establishing
himself in the good graces of the aunt, and winning the love of the
niece.
Far from approving the crooked policy which led Roger Smith to feign
lameness long after the injured ankle had become as sound as ever, the
present historian can only, in view of this lapse from integrity, affirm
with Widow Bedott that "we're poor creeturs!" and, with that
depreciative view of humanity, go on with this truthful narrative.
A whole delicious month had been passed by the Harvard man in this
paradise,--Elysian days, while, waited on by Sholto, petted by Miss
Paulina, and companioned by the loveliest of houris, he dreamed out his
dream.
At last, on a certain decisive evening, Roger Smith found himself alone
in the gloaming with Louise Hemmenshaw. The aunt, who through all these
weeks had zealously chaperoned her niece, had passed into the
dining-room to evolve some chafing-dish delicacy for the evening meal.
Without, the setting sun flooded all the west with gold, touched the
distant mountain peaks with splendor, and threw a parting veil of glory
over the wide mesa. Within, the firelight made dancing shadows on the
parlor wall, where the pair sat together in that eloquent silence so
dear to love. "Well," said the athlete to himself (compunctiously
glancing at his superfluous crutches, left within easy reach of his
hand), "this performance can't go on forever. I have made believe about
long enough; what better may I do than own up this very night, and
somehow bring this base deceit to an end."
Mentally rehearsing the formula, in which, over and over, he had asked
the hand of this beautiful aristocrat, his mind still sorely misgave
him. "Why," thought this depressed lover, "was not my name Winthrop,
Endicott, or Sturgis, instead of Smith; and my grandfather a senator, a
judge, or even a stockbroker, rather than a tanner?"
Neither Miss Paulina nor her brother, he discouragedly mused, would ever
countenance this unequal match. His millions would with them weigh
nothing against "the claims of long descent."
The sun had gone down, the after-glow had faded to gray. They were still
alone. The firelight half revealed the lovely figure beside the hearth.
In that gown of golden-brown velvet, with the creamy old lace at wrists
and throat, the brown hair combed smoothly from the white forehead,
knotted behind and fastened with a quaint arrow of Etruscan gold, Louise
Hemmenshaw was simply adorable! It was indeed good to be here; and why
should not a life so sweet and satisfying go on indefinitely?
"It is four weeks to-day since I fell down cellar,"--such was the
commonplace beginning to this much considered tale of love.
"Really?" said the lady, looking innocently up from an absorbed
contemplation of the fender. "It has not seemed so long. I never before
realized what a serious thing it is to sprain one's ankle. You have been
a most patient sufferer, Mr. Smith; and, indeed, for the past two weeks,
a most jolly one. Aunt Paulina was saying to-day that it was high time
we all went back to Alamo for our meals, and helped out the Koshare
doings of the Club."
"Dear Miss Hemmenshaw," here blurted out the culprit, "do not despise me
for my meanness, since it is all for love of you that I have been
shamming lameness. For these last two weeks I could at any time have
walked as well as ever." And, hereupon, without the slightest reference
to his crutches, he rose from his chair and skipped over to her side. "A
sprain," explained this audacious lover, "may be cured in a fortnight,
but it takes a good month to woo and win a fair lady. Having soon after
my accident decided that point, I have done my best. Tell me, dear
Louise," pleaded he, "that my time has been well spent. Say that,
deceitful ingrate though I am, you will take me, for good and all."
"Roger Smith," replied the lady, with much severity, "you have repaid
the devoted care of two unsuspecting females by a whole fortnight of
wilful duplicity. For my aunt I cannot answer; for myself, I can only
reply,--since to err is human; to forgive, womanlike,--dear Roger, on
the whole, I will."
Miss Paulina, a moment later entering the parlor, surprised her invalid
guest, standing crutchless on his firm feet, with his arm thrown about
the waist of her niece. "Well, well!" exclaimed the astonished lady,
"and without his crutches!"
"Dear Miss Paulina," said Roger Smith with a happy laugh, "my ankle is
as well as ever; and your niece has promised to marry me. Say that you
will have me for your nephew."
"I seem already to have gotten you, my good sir, whether I will or no,"
laughed Miss Hemmenshaw. "But, my stars and garters" (mentally added
she), "what ever will my brother say? A tanner's grandson coming into
the family! and he a Hemmenshaw, and as proud as Lucifer!" "Never mind,
Auntie dear," said the smiling fiancée, guessing her thoughts. It will
be all right with father when he comes to know Roger; and besides, let
us remember that under the 'Star Spangled Banner' we have our
'Vanderbilts,' our 'Goulds,' and our 'Rockefellers;' but _no_ Vere de
Veres. And if we _had_, why, Love laughs at heraldry, and is
"'Its own great loveliness alway.'"
"To-morrow," said Miss Paulina decisively, "we will all dine at Alamo
Ranch."