CALF LOVE.
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue;
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew--
Her graceful bosom lily white--
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
--Scotch Song.
The arrival of the Rolleston family created a good deal of interest in
the limited society of the lake, and not entirely of a friendly nature.
Needless to say, the adolescent members of it were all more or less
engaged to each other, which, being rather the result of propinquity than
uncontrollable preference, the maidens noticed with angry surprise the
admiration excited in the bosoms of their swains by the apparition of
Bluebell on their hitherto uninvaded waters. Alec Gough and Bernard
Lumley, both morally placarded "engaged," having, as a matter of course,
plighted their troth to two neighbouring fledglings, were wild for an
introduction; and no sooner did Bluebell's canoe leave Lyndon's Landing,
than two corresponding ones were sure to shoot out, apparently actuated
by the same persuasion that there was no more likely place for a fish
than the snag round which she was trolling, and ready to gaff a
maskinonge, or help to land an obdurate bass, if occasion offered.
Any such incident might have commenced an acquaintance, were it not that
Miss Prosody, with a boatful of children, was never far off, and had a
scaring and terrifying effect.
Bluebell rather despised very young men. Still, she was not insensible to
admiration, and was quite aware of these two young aborigines following
in her wake as surely as a gull in that of a vessel.
One day Alec Gough was able to render her some slight assistance, her
line being obstinately entangled in the snag; but Miss Prosody sternly
brought up the boatman to complete the service, and bowed off the
interloper with such extreme severity, that Bluebell could not resist
bestowing a coquettish and dangerously grateful glance, which set his
heart bumping, and instantaneously obliterated the image of his
sandy-haired little love.
It was too bad of Alec, for he had been engaged a year, and had already
cleared (he was a lumberer) space enough in the backwoods to start a
farm, and he was now on a short visit to his betrothed to report progress
and pursue his suit. So he had no business to get his heart entangled
with the line, and his legitimate affections disengaged with the string
he was clearing, under Circe's azure eyes; and why need he, in that
tactless manner, talk of her at tea as "The Lady of the Lake"? which, if
such a senseless _sobriquet_ was worth having at all, Miss Janet Cameron
considered she had an indisputable right to, for could she not row, swim,
dive, and paddle with the best?
Then again, after tea, he actually stole out in his canoe, muttering
something about "looking for ducks," to which Bernard Lumley gallantly
remarked that he "needn't leave home to find them." He certainly _did_
take a gun, but was also provided with a little flageolet, the companion
of his lonely life in the woods; and waiting till nightfall, by the light
of a waning moon, this absurd and reprehensible young lumberer paddled
himself off to Lyndon's Landing.
There he carefully reconnoitred the house, wondering which could be
Bluebell's casement. The insensible building afforded no hint, so he
pulled out his "howling stick," as Bernard called it, and timorously
breathed forth a lay of love, which certainly must have been first cousin
to the one that encompassed the extinction of the cow.
The inmates were apparently asleep, and Alec, getting bolder, played
every suggestive air he could think of. I don't know whether he expected
Bluebell would open the window and enter into conversation; but, in point
of fact, the lattice under which he was serenading was Mrs. Rolleston's,
who not particularly expecting any lovers, was sleeping the sleep of the
just far too soundly to be disturbed by it.
There being no policeman to direct him to "move on," Alec continued his
dismal repertory till he was tired, and then paddled off, not wholly
discouraged, as he hoped that Bluebell, though she would make no sign,
might have been secretly listening to, even watching him, and conscious
of the admiration he sought to convey.
The Lake families called within the next few days. Bluebell did not
appear when the Camerons, mother and daughter, came; and, as Mrs.
Rolleston happened to say _her_ daughter was away, they were quite
mystified as to whom the dangerous stranger could be. Then Coey and
Crickey Palmer came with their mother's cards; and as at that time
Bluebell was present, reading to Mrs. Rolleston, they naturally took her
for one of the daughters, and made acquaintance after the manner of
girls; and, I have no doubt, had Bluebell committed a murder and
absconded next day, either of these young ladies could have given a more
complete and accurate description of her person than detectives are
generally furnished with. Notwithstanding the reluctant admiration that
the inspection resulted in, Coey (Bernard's affianced) heroically hoped,
as she rose to take leave, that Miss Rolleston would spend the afternoon
and stay to tea the following day.
Mrs. Rolleston glanced at Bluebell, who was rather dimpling at the
prospect of a change, and carelessly replied that "her daughter was at
Tadousac, but that her young friend Miss Leigh would be very happy."
I suppose she was, for she certainly was rather solicitous about her
toilette for the occasion--only an innocent brown-holland dress; but two
hours were spent in knotting up some wicked blue bows for throat and
hair, and re-trimming her gipsy hat with the same shade. It is, of
course, an undoubted fact that women dress for their own satisfaction
only, and in accordance with their instincts of "the true and the
beautiful;" so it would be mere hypercritical carping to suspect coquetry
of lurking in the deft folds of that unpretending blue ribbon, or that,
in the face of her _grande passion_ for Du Meresq, she could for a moment
occupy herself with the foolish admiration of Alec and Bernard.
Well, Bluebell is our heroine, and we must make the best of her,--to some
people admiration never does come amiss; and if a demure _oeillade_ can
play the mischief with the too inflammable of the rougher sex, I don't
know who is to be held accountable except the father of lies.
"Palmer's Landing" was a less original building than Lyndon's but on a
more accessible side of the lake. The establishment and furniture were of
the rough-and-ready order. When a too independent help, finding her
mistress didn't suit, gave herself an hour's warning, and went up North,
Coey or Crickey would resignedly cook the family meals till an
opportunity arrived to get another, and as, in addition to those
occasional calls upon them, they were their own dressmakers, they had
less time to get discontented with the monotony of the lake than might
otherwise have been the case.
Bluebell was taken round by the two girls to visit their garden and
poultry-yard. The latter was a source of profit, as they supplied the
house, and drove hard bargains with their mother for the chickens and
eggs. She also was shown their own room, and the rose-wreathed, green
tarlatane, which Miss Crickey explained with conscious pride she was to
wear at a city assembly next week. "I am to stay with my uncle--he has a
large dry-good-store at ----, but he lives on Brock." She was also warned
off trespassing by the full account of Coey's engagement, and by that
time Bernard had arrived to escort the girls for a ramble in the woods.
Crickey, on the principle of doing as she would be done by, marched
Bluebell on in front, so that the others might linger behind, and make
love upon the usual pattern. It was customary at the lake for to tuck
their _fiancées_ under their arm, and cast incessant sheep's eyes at
them, much conversation was not _de rigueur_.
Bernard, however, was somewhat discontented: he thought there were
innumerable opportunities for that kind of thing; so his eyes wandered
from the face of his love to Bluebell's round waist and waving hair.
Instead of incessantly squeezing her arm, he barely held it, and finally
dropped it to remove a briar from the skirt of his distractor.
Bluebell smiled with her big blue eyes, perhaps more gratefully than the
service demanded, which encouraged the youth to commence conversation.
The few platitudes he attempted might have been the most sparkling wit
from the animation with which they were received. Surprised to find
himself so agreeable, he lingered by her side. Crickey, expecting him
every minute to fall back, remained by Bluebell, so poor Coey trudged
behind, and began to experience what jealousy was.
After a while, the others tried to bring her into the conversation by
appeals to her opinion, but Coey was not to be so easily propitiated, and
returned austere answers.
Then Bernard, thinking he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,
became all the more engrossed with his captivator, and it was in at one
of strong discontent that he exclaimed, as they were returning,--"Why,
there's Alec and Janet Cameron coming down to the house!"
Their unexpected arrival was rather a relief to the Palmer girls,
Bluebell only saw more mischief before her, but Bernard's impatience at
the sight of Alec whose motive for coming he easily guessed, was quite
undisguised.
The latter accounted for himself by saying "that Janet wished to make
Miss Rolleston's acquaintance, and, therefore, he had accompanied her."
"Oh, I am not Miss Rolleston," said Bluebell, "I am the governess."
"I have had the advantage of seeing the governess," said Alec, demurely,
"and she is old enough to be your mother."
"But I am the musical one and Freddy is my pupil entirely."
"Are you really?" said he, brightening "Then you _like_ music?"
"I am sure that is not a necessary consequence," said Bluebell, rather
mystified by the meaning tone of his voice, but Alec, believing she had
heard his nocturnal serenade and assuming a secret understanding on the
strength of it, lingered by her side talking in an undertone--really
about nothing in particular, for, like most spoony boys, he trusted more
to his eyes than his tongue. Still it had all the effect of a flirtation,
and when the girls went upstairs to prepare for tea, Bluebell found
herself quite out of court without the support of the other sex. Coey was
already turned into a very belligerent little ring-dove, and Janet
watched her askance, for she had never before known Alec so keen about
partaking of tea at Palmer's Landing. Crickey, whose feelings were not
so powerfully engaged, supplied her with toilette requisites, and such
conversation as hospitality demanded.
Bluebell was rather flattered by the apprehension she excited, and, with
mischievous ostentation, produced from her pocket a weapon of war in the
shape of a blue ribbon, and began weaving it into her chestnut fuzz, too
naturally wavy and long to require frizettes. Coey, who was rather pretty
in the white kitten style, had sparse pale hair, never properly combed
over her "water fall," as she called it, which obtruded itself like a
crow's nest. This attractive peculiarity was more apparent than ever
to-day, the frizette having been caught by a bough in the woods.
Bluebell observed that her decorative preparations were restricted to a
dab of violet-powder on her nose, and a slight application of lip-salve.
"I can't let her go down such a figure," thought she, "though she is
dreadfully angry with me," and, seizing a comb, began silently to effect
a reformation in Coey's _chevelure_.
"Oh, thank you," said the other distantly. "Isn't it right? Never mind.
Dressing is such a waste of time."
"Hugger-muggering with Bernard is not, I suppose?" thought Bluebell,
resolutely continuing her task.
But it was Janet's turn to be angry, when, at tea that evening, utterly
oblivious of the vacant chair next herself, her faithless swain
manoeuvred into one next Bluebell.
"Are you fond of music by moonlight?" he took the first opportunity of
whispering.
"I like it anywhere," replied she, innocently. "I can't say I ever heard
it by moonlight."
Much discomfited, Alec gazed incredulously, and then burst out laughing.
Bluebell naturally inquired what she had said to amuse him; but he evaded
the question, as Janet was evidently listening. Later on, when the former
was at the piano, and he pretending to turn over, he whispered,--"I
wonder under whose window I was making such a lovely noise the other
night?"
"How should I know? And why did you do it?"
"I wanted to give you a welcome to the Lake; but perhaps I serenaded that
vinegar-faced governess instead."
Bluebell was playing rather a pathetic sonata; but the time got decidedly
erratic, as she stared bewildered at Alec, and then went off into a fit
of laughing. "How could you be such a goose? If Colonel Rolleston had
been at home, he would have fired his ten-shooter at you."
"Tell me which is your window," he whispered, "and I'll give you plenty
of music by moonlight. I hope it is the one with the balcony."
"Why?"
"Because," said Alec, audaciously, "you would look so beautiful stepping
out on it, like Julia in 'Guy Mannering.' And we could talk, you know."
"Very well," said Bluebell, who opined it was about time to shut him up.
"Suppose we refer it to Miss Cameron. I understand your heart and
accomplishments are all made over to her. Perhaps she would assist at
the balcony scene!"
Alec bit his lip, and looked rather ashamed. Such a rebuff would not have
embarrassed Bertie, nor awakened in him a slumbering conscience, as it
did in this young lumberer, who was ridiculous enough to be in earnest in
his infidelity.
But Bluebell, knowing she had no quarter to expect from the girls if she
returned to them now, was far from wishing to bring him to a sense of his
duty before the evening was over, so smiled as engagingly as ever, and
continued to accept his attentions, till Janet, fizzing in high dudgeon,
announced her intention of going home, which, of course, involved the
escort of her recreant young man.
"Wait here a quarter of an hour," whispered Alec to Bluebell, "and I will
run back and row you home."
"Gracious, no!" said she, with rather the sensation of a child who has
been sent out to spend the afternoon and has misbehaved. "Here is Mrs.
Rolleston's servant come for me. Go back with Miss Janet and make it up,
for I am never going to speak to you again,"--and she turned away to make
her adieux to Mrs. Palmer, a motherly-looking old lady, who had been
nodding half asleep on the sofa all the time.
"Such a charming musical evening--such a treat!" said she, brisking up,
and quite unaware of what had been passing round her the last two hours.
"Miss Leigh was quite untireable," sneered Janet. "One could not have
_asked_ her to exert herself so much."
"Must you really go?" interposed Crickey, fearing now the music was over
the harmony might cease also.
Bluebell pleaded a promise to return early.
"I am sorry to be the means of taking away any attraction that might have
induced you to stay," put in Janet, determined to give her "one" before
she went.
"Thank you," said Bluebell, sweetly, declining to understand; "but I
could scarcely expect you to stay to amuse me."
"That, I feel sure, would be quite out of my power!" said the other, bent
on provocation; and Crickey nervously dragged Bluebell away to get her
hat.
Alec lingered till she was fairly off, fearing that Bernard would try and
escort her home. He, however, was thoroughly sulky at the way Gough had
monopolized her the whole evening, and was quite as ready as Coey to
pronounce her an arrant flirt; which so mollified the latter, that when,
a few days later, she and her sister were asked to return Bluebell's
visit at Lyndon's Landing, she accepted without the slightest hesitation,
in a perfectly charitable frame of mind.
Alec and Janet, of course, quarrelled going home; but it being not the
first time by a good many, it blew over without a rupture, the gentleman,
for the future, cautiously avoiding Bluebell's name, though he tried all
he knew to meet her alone, in which respect Fortune did not favour him;
and there being no more efficient chaperons than children, with their
sharp observation and fatal habit of repetition, they might meet every
day on the blue water without his obtaining more than a saucy glance or a
few commonplace words, which he would try and put as much meaning into as
he could.