“Uncle Major,” she continued, “used to argue with him, but father
always had the best of it. I reckon, though, you Northerners are sorry
now, aren’t you?”
“Sorry that there was war, yes,” answered Winthrop, smilingly; “but not
sorry for what we did.”
“But if it was wrong?” argued Holly. “’Pears to me you ought to be
sorry! Just see the heaps and heaps of trouble you made for the South!
Julian says that you ought to have paid us for every negro you took
away from us.”
“Indeed? And who, may I ask, is Julian?”
“Julian Wayne is my cousin, my second cousin. He graduated from medical
college last year. He lives in Marysville, over yonder.” Holly nodded
vaguely toward the grove.
“Practising, is he?”
“He’s Dr. Thompson’s assistant,” said Holly. “He’s getting experience.
After awhile he’s going to come to Corunna.” There was a pause. “He’s
coming over to-morrow to spend Sunday.”
“Really? And does he make these trips very often?”
“Oh, every now and then,” answered Holly, carelessly.
“Perhaps there is an attraction hereabouts,” suggested Winthrop.
“Maybe it’s Aunt India,” said Holly, gravely.
Winthrop laughed.
“Is he nice, this Cousin Julian?” he asked.
Holly nodded.
“He’s a dear boy. He’s very young yet, only twenty-three.”
“And eighteen from twenty-three leaves five,” teased Winthrop. “I’ve
heard, I think, that ten is the ideal disparity in years for purposes
of marriage, but doubtless five isn’t to be sneezed at.”
Holly’s smooth cheeks reddened a little.
“A girl ought to marry a man much older than herself,” she said,
decisively.
“Oh! Then Julian won’t do?”
“I haven’t decided,” Holly laughed. “Maybe. He’s nice. I wonder if
you’ll like him. Will you try to, please? He――he’s awfully down on
Northerners, though.”
“That’s bad,” said Winthrop, seriously. “Perhaps he won’t approve of
me. Do you think I’d better run away over Sunday? I might go out to
visit Colonel Byers; he’s asked me.”
“Silly!” said Holly. “He won’t eat you!”
“Well, that’s comforting. I’ll stay, then. The dislike of Northerners
seems to be a strong trait in your family, Miss Holly.”
“Oh, some Northerners are quite nice,” she answered, with a challenging
glance.
“I wonder,” he asked, with intense diffidence, “I wonder――if I’m
included among the quite nice ones?”
“What do you think, Mr. Winthrop?”
“Well, I’ve always thought rather well of myself until I came to
Corunna. But now that I have learned just how poor a lot Northerners
are, I find myself rather more modest.”
Winthrop sighed depressedly.
“I’ll change it,” said Holly, her eyes dancing. “I’ll say instead that
_one_ Northerner is very nice.”
“You said ‘quite nice’ before.”
“That just shows that I like you better every minute,” laughed the girl.
Winthrop sighed.
“It’s a dangerous course you’re pursuing, Miss Holly,” he said, sadly.
“If you aren’t awfully careful you’ll lose a good slave and find a poor
admirer.”
“My admirers must be my slaves, too,” answered Holly.
“I am warned. I thank you. I could never play a dual rôle, I fear.”
Holly pouted.
“Then which do you choose?” she asked, aggrievedly.
“To be your slave, my dear young lady; I fancy that rôle would be more
becoming to middle-age and, at all events, far less hazardous.”
“But if I command you to admire me you’ll have to, you see; slaves must
obey.”
“I haven’t waited for the command,” replied Winthrop.
“You blow hot and cold, sir. First you refuse to be my admirer and then
you declare that you do admire me. What am I to believe?”
“That my heart and brain are at war, Miss Holly. My heart says: ‘Down
on your knees!’ but my brain says: ‘Don’t you do it, my boy; she’ll
lead you a dance that your aged limbs won’t take kindly to, and in the
end she’ll run out of your sight, laughing, leaving you to sorrow and
liniment!”
“You have as good as called me a coquette, Mr. Winthrop,” charged
Holly, severely.
“Have I? And, pray, what have you been doing for the last ten minutes
but coquetting with me, young lady? Tell me that.”
“Have I?” asked Holly, with a soft little laugh. “Do you mind?”
“Mind? On the contrary, do you know, I rather like it? So go right
ahead; you are keeping your hand in, and at the same time flattering
the vanity of one who has reached the age when to be used even for
target practice is flattering.”
“Your age troubles you a great deal, doesn’t it?” asked Holly,
ironically. “Please, why do you always remind me of it? Are you afraid
that I’ll lose my heart to you and that you’ll have to refuse me?”
“Well, you have seen me for a week,” answered Winthrop, modestly, “and
know my irresistible charm.”
Holly was silent a moment, her brown eyes fixed speculatively on the
man’s smiling face. Then――――
“You must feel awfully safe,” she said, with conviction, “to talk the
way you do. And I reckon I know why.”
“And may I know, too?”
“No; that is, you do know already, and I’m not going to tell you. Oh,
what time is it, please?”
Winthrop drew out his watch and then, with a shrug, dropped it back
into his pocket.
“I can’t tell you. The fact is, I forgot to wind it last night. Why
should I wind it, anyhow? What does it matter what time it is in this
place? If the sun is there, I know it’s morning; if it’s somewhere
overhead, I know it’s noon; when it drops behind the trees, I know
it’s evening; when it disappears, I know it’s night――and I go to
sleep. Watches and clocks are anachronisms here. Like arctics and fur
overcoats.”
“I shall go and find out,” said Holly, rising.
“Why waste time and effort in the pursuit of unprofitable knowledge?”
sighed Winthrop. But he received no answer, for his companion was
already making her way through the garden. Winthrop laid his head
back against the tree and, with half-closed eyes, smiled lazily and
contentedly up into the brown-and-green leafage above. And as he did
so a thought came to him, a most ridiculous, inappropriate thought, a
veritable serpent-in-Eden thought; he wondered what “A. S. common” was
selling for! He drove the thought away angrily. What nonsense! If he
wasn’t careful he’d find himself trying to remember the amount of his
balance in bank! Odd what absurd turns the mind was capable of! Well,
the only way to keep his mind away from idle speculation was to turn
his thoughts toward serious and profitable subjects. So he wondered why
the magnolia leaves were covered with green satin on top and tan velvet
beneath. But before he had arrived at any conclusion Holly came back,
bearing a glass containing a milky-white liquid and a silver spoon.
[Illustration]
“It’s past the time,” she said.
“Then you shouldn’t have bothered to bring it,” answered Winthrop,
regretfully. “But never mind; we’ll try and remember it at supper time.”
“But you must take it now,” persisted Holly, firmly.
“But I fear it wouldn’t do any good. You see, your Aunt said distinctly
an hour before meals. The psychological moment has passed, greatly to
my rel――regret.”
“Please!” said Holly, holding the glass toward him. “You know it’s
doing you heaps of good.”
“Yes, but that’s just it, don’t you see, Miss Holly? If I continue to
take it I’ll be quite well in no time, and that would never do. Would
you deprive your Aunt of the pleasure she is now enjoying of dosing me
thrice a day with the most nauseous mixture that was ever invented?”
“Shucks! It isn’t so terribly bad,” laughed Holly.
Winthrop observed her sternly.
“Have you sampled it, may I ask?”
Holly shook her head.
“Then please do so. It will do you lots of good, besides preventing you
from making any more well-meant but inaccurate remarks. And you have
been looking a bit pale the last day or two, Miss Holly.”
Holly viewed the mixture dubiously, hesitatingly.
“Besides, you said ‘Shucks,’ and you owe yourself punishment.”
“Well――――” Holly swallowed a spoonful, tried not to shiver, and
absolutely succeeded in smiling brightly afterwards.
“Well?” asked Winthrop, anxiously.
“I――I think it has calomel in it,” said Holly.
“I feared it.” He shook his head and warded off the proffered glass. “I
am a homœopath.”
“You’re a baby, that’s what you are!” said Holly, tauntingly.
“Ha! No one shall accuse me of cowardice.” He clenched his hands.
“Administer it, please.”
Holly moved toward him until her skirt brushed his knees. As she dipped
the spoon a faint flush crept into her cheeks. Winthrop saw, and
understood.
“No, give it to me,” he said. “I will feed myself. Then, no matter what
happens――and I fear the worst!――you will not be implicated.”
Holly yielded the glass and moved back, watching him sympathetically
while he swallowed two spoonfuls of the medicine.
“Was it awfully bad?” she asked, as he passed the glass to her with a
shudder.
Winthrop reflected. Then:
“Frankly, it was,” he replied. “But it’s a good deal like having your
teeth filled; it’s almost worth it for the succeeding glow of courage
and virtue and relief it brings. Put it out of sight, please, and let
us talk of pleasant things.”
“What?” asked Holly, as she sat down once more on the bench.
“Well, let me see. Suppose, Miss Holly, you tell me how you came to
have such a charming and unusual name.”
“My mother gave it to me,” answered Holly, softly. “She was very fond
of holly.”
“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Winthrop. “It was an impertinent
question.”
“Oh, no. My mother only lived a little while after I was born――about
five weeks. She died on New Year’s morning. On Christmas Day father
picked a spray of holly from one of the bushes down by the road. It
was quite full of red berries and so pretty that he took it in to my
mother. Father said she took it in her hands and cried a little over
it, and he was sorry he had brought it to her. They had laid me beside
her in the bed and presently she placed the holly sprig over me and
kissed me and looked at father. She couldn’t talk very much then.
But father understood what she meant. ‘Holly?’ he asked, and mother
smiled, and――and that was ‘how come.’” Holly, her hands clasped between
her knees, looked gravely and tenderly away across the sunny garden.
Winthrop kept silence for a moment. Then――――
“I fancy they loved each other very dearly, your father and mother,” he
said.
“Oh, they did!” breathed Holly. “Father used to tell me――about it. He
always said I was just like my mother. It――it must have been beautiful.
Do you reckon,” she continued wistfully, “people love that way
nowadays?”
“To-day, yesterday, and to-morrow,” answered Winthrop. “The great
passions――love, hate, acquisitiveness――are the same now as in the
beginning, and will never change while the earth spins around. I hope,
Miss Holly, that the years will bring you as great a love and as happy
a one as your mother’s.”
Holly viewed him pensively a moment. Then a little flush crept into her
cheeks and she turned her head away.
“No,” she said, “I’m not dear and sweet and gentle like my mother.
Besides, maybe I’d never find a man like my father.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Winthrop, “although I hope you will. But even
if not, I wouldn’t despair. Love is a very wonderful magician, who
transmutes clay into gold, transforms baseness into nobility, and
changes caitiffs into kings.” He laughed amusedly. “Great Scott! I’m
actually becoming rhetorical! It’s this climate of yours, Miss Holly;
there is something magical about it; it creeps into one’s veins like
wine and makes one’s heart thump at the sound of a bird’s song. Why,
hang it, in another week I shall find myself singing love songs under
your window on moonlight nights!”
“Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Holly, clapping her hands. “I haven’t
been serenaded for the longest time!”
“Do you mean that such things are really done here?”
“Of course! The boys often serenade. When I came home from the
Academy, Julian and a lot of them serenaded me. It was a white, white
night and they stood over there under my windows; I remember how black
their shadows were on the path. Julian and Jim Stuart played guitars
and some of the others had banjos, and it was heavenly!”
“And such things still happen in this prematurely-aged, materialistic
world!” marvelled Winthrop. “It sounds like a fairy tale!”
“I reckon it sounds silly to you,” said Holly.
“Silly! Oh, my dear young lady, if you could only realize how very,
very rich you are!”
“Rich?”
“Yes, rich and wise with the unparalleled wealth and wisdom of
Youth! Hearken to the words of Age and Experience, Miss Holly,” he
continued, half jestingly, half seriously. “The world belongs to
you and your kind; it is the Kingdom of Youth. The rest of us are
here on sufferance; but you belong. The world tolerates Age, but to
Youth it owes allegiance and love. But your days are short in your
kingdom, O Queen, so make the most of them; laugh and play and love
and _live_; above all, live! And above all be extravagant, extravagant
of laughter――and of tears; extravagant of affection; run the gamut of
life every hour; be mad, be foolish――but _live_! And so when the World
thrusts you to one side, saying: ‘The King is dead! Long live the
King!’ you will have no regrets for a wasted reign, but can say: ‘While
I ruled, I lived!’”
“I――I don’t understand――quite!” faltered Holly.
“Because you are too wise.”
“I reckon you mean too stupid,” mourned Holly.
“Too wise. You are Youth, and Youth is Perfect Wisdom. When you grow
old you will know more but be less wise. And the longer you live the
more learning will come to you and the more wisdom will depart. And
in proof of this I point to myself as an example. For no wise person
would try to convince Youth of its wisdom.” Winthrop stopped and drew
his cigarette-case from his pocket. When he had lighted a cigarette he
smiled quizzically across at the girl’s sober, half-averted face. “It’s
very warm, isn’t it?” he asked, with a little laugh.
But Holly made no reply for a minute. Then she turned a troubled face
toward him.
“Why did you say that?” she cried. “You’ve made me feel sad!”
With a gesture of contrition Winthrop reached across and laid his hand
for an instant on hers.
“My dear, I am sorry; forget it if it troubles you; I have been talking
nonsense, sheer nonsense.”
But she shook her head, examining his face gravely.
“No, I don’t reckon you have; but――I don’t understand quite what you
mean. Only――――” She paused, and presently asked:
“Didn’t you live when you ruled? Are you regretting?”
Winthrop shrugged his shoulders.
“That,” he answered, smilingly, “is the sorry part of it; one always
regrets. Come, let’s go in to dinner. I heard the bell, didn’t I?”