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SUNNY SLOPES
by
ETHEL HUESTON
Author of
Prudence of the Parsonage, Prudence Says So, Etc.
Illustrated by Arthur William Brown
[Frontispiece: "A minister's wife! You look more like a little girl's
baby doll."]
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers -------- New York
Copyright 1917
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
This Book
Is Written in Memory of My Husband
Eager in Service, Patient in Illness
Unfaltering in Death, and
Is Dedicated to
The St. Louis Presbytery
To Which I Owe a Debt of Interest
Of Sympathy and of Unfailing Friendship
I Can Ever Hope to Pay
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE BEGINNING
II MANSERS
III A BABY IN BUSINESS
IV A WOMAN IN THE CHURCH
V A MINISTER'S SON
VI THE HEAVY YOKE
VII THE FIRST STEP
VIII REACTION
IX UPHEAVAL
X WHERE HEALTH BEGINS
XI THE OLD TEACHER
XII THE LAND O' LUNGERS
XIII OLD HOPES AND NEW
XIV NEPTUNE'S SECOND DAUGHTER
XV THE SECOND STEP
XVI DEPARTED SPIRITS
XVII RUBBING ELBOWS
XVIII QUIESCENT
XIX RE-CREATION
XX LITERARY MATERIAL
XXI ADVENTURING
XXII HARBORAGE
XXIII THE SUNNY SLOPE
XXIV THE END
ILLUSTRATIONS
"A minister's wife! You look more
like a little girl's baby doll." . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"Silly old goose," she murmured.
Carol, with an inarticulate sob,
gathered her baby in her arms.
"I beg your pardon," she said, sweetly,
unsmilingly, "I did not mean to be rude."
SUNNY SLOPES
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNING
Back and forth, back and forth, over the net, spun the little white
ball, driven by the quick, sure strokes of the players. There was no
sound save the bounding of the ball against the racquets, and the thud
of rubber soles on the hard ground. Then--a sudden twirl of a supple
wrist, and--
"Deuce!" cried the girl, triumphantly brandishing her racquet in the
air.
The man on the other side of the net laughed as he gathered up the
balls for a new serve.
Back and forth, back and forth, once more,--close to the net, away back
to the line, now to the right, now to the left,--and then--
"Ad out, I am beating you, David," warned the girl, leaping lightly
into the air to catch the ball he tossed her.
"Here is a beauty," she said, as the ball spun away from her racquet.
The two, white-clad, nimble figures flashed from side to side of the
court. He sprang into the air to meet her ball, and drove it into the
farthest corner, but she caught it with a backward gesture. Still he
was ready for it, cutting it low across the net,--yes, she was there,
she got it,--but the stroke was hard,--and the ball was light.
"Was it good?" she gasped, clasping the racquet in both hands and
tilting dangerously forward on tiptoe to look.
"Good enough,--and your game."
With one accord they ran forward to the net, pausing a second to glance
about enquiringly, and then, one impulse guiding, kissed each other
ecstatically.
"The very first time I have beaten you, David," exulted the girl.
"Isn't everything glorious?" she demanded, with all of youth's
enthusiasm.
"Just glorious," came the ready answer, with all of mature manhood's
response to girlish youth. Clasping the slender hands more tightly, he
added, laughing, "And I kiss the fingers that defeated me."
"Oh, David," the buoyant voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "I love
you,--I love you,--I--I am just crazy about you."
"Careful, Carol, remember the manse," he cautioned gaily.
"But this is honeymooning, and the manse hasn't gloomed on my horizon
yet. I'll be careful when I get installed. I am really a Methodist
yet, and Methodists are expected to shout and be enthusiastic. When we
move into our manse, and the honeymoon is ended, I'll just say, 'I am
very fond of you, Mr. Duke.'" The voice lengthened into prim and prosy
solemnity.
"But our honeymoon isn't to end. Didn't we promise that it should last
forever?"
"Of course it will." She dimpled up at him, snuggling herself in the
arm that still encircled her shoulders. "Of course it will." She
balanced her racquet on the top of his head as he bent adoringly over
her. "Of course it will,--unless your grim old Presbyterians manse all
the life out of me."
"If it ever begins, tell me," he begged, "and we'll join the Salvation
Army. There's life enough even for you."
"I beat you," she teased, irrelevantly. "I am surprised,--a great big
man like you."
"And to-morrow we'll be in St. Louis."
"Yes," she assented, weakening swiftly. "And the mansers will have me
in their deadly clutch."
"The only manser who will clutch you is myself." He drew her closer in
his arm as he spoke. "And you like it."
"Yes, I love it. And I like the mansers already. I hope they like me.
I am improving, you know. I am getting more dignified every day.
Maybe they will think I am a born Presbyterian if you don't give me
away. Have you noticed how serious I am getting?" She pinched
thoughtfully at his chin. "David Duke, we have been married two whole
weeks, and it is the most delicious, and breathless, and amazing thing
in the world. It is life--real life--all there is to life, really,
isn't it?"
"Yes, life is love, they say, so this is life. All the future must be
like this."
"I never particularly yearned to be dead," she said, wrinkling her
brows thoughtfully, "but I never even dreamed that I could be so happy.
I am awfully glad I didn't die before I found it out."
"You are happy, aren't you, sweetheart?"
She turned herself slowly in his arm and lifted puckering lips to his.
"Hey, wake up, are you playing tennis, or staging Shakespeare? We want
the court if you don't need it."
Mr. and Mrs. Duke, honeymooners, gazed speechlessly at the group of
young men standing motionless forty feet away, then Carol wheeled about
and ran swiftly across the velvety grass, over the hill and out of
sight, her husband in close pursuit.
Once she paused.
"If the mansers could have seen us then!" she ejaculated, with awe in
her voice.