GOOD-BY
Before breakfast next morning Jim Lascelles said good-by to the Goose
Girl on the slopes of Gwydr. It was an overwhelming day for that
slow-witted, but tenaciously affectionate, creature. Muffin was leaving
also by the eleven-o’clock train.
The eyes of Miss Perry were heavy with the tears she had wept, and
with the tears she had still to weep. Prior to this tragic morning Jim
Lascelles had not spoken to her upon the subject of Lord Cheriton, but
the ruthless Aunt Caroline had very unceremoniously imbued her with a
sense of duty. All too soon the golden age had ended. Somehow she felt
that she would never climb the mountains again.
In obedience to Aunt Caroline’s injunction she had told Muffin nothing
of the tragedy. That practical-minded person and uncommonly sound
sleeper had been awakened six times during the night by Goose’s low
sobs and convulsive caresses. On each occasion she had given Goose a
hug in return, and told her not to be silly, and had immediately gone
to sleep again.
When daylight came and Muffin discovered her sister’s pink-and-white
countenance to be puckered with distress, that acute intelligence at
once sought the remedy.
“I will stay with Aunt Caroline,” said Muffin, “if she will have me,
and you shall go back, Goose darling, to Slocum Magna to dearest papa.
But if you do, you must promise to feed my rabbits, because Milly
always forgets them. Now wipe your eyes, and don’t be a silly.”
Goose promised to feed the rabbits if she went back to Slocum Magna,
but she felt sure that Aunt Caroline would not like her to.
Up till the departure of the eleven-o’clock train Araminta put forth
great efforts to be brave; but she had had such little practice in
the art, owing to having lived a life for the most part where little
bravery was called for, that she did not wholly succeed. However, when
she saw Jim Lascelles striding towards them over the mountains at a
quarter past six, in response to his cheery, “Hallo, you there!” she
contrived to greet him in something of the true Widdiford manner.
In the opinion of Jim Lascelles, the first thing necessary was to get
rid of Muffin for an hour. And this was quite easy, for the devotion of
that practical mind to the fauna and flora of the neighborhood often
caused her to spend an hour in the investigation of a dozen square
yards of the Welsh principality.
Upon this fateful morning less than a third of Gwydr had been ascended
when a profusion of rare ferns and mosses claimed Muffin’s attention.
Jim Lascelles walked forward briskly, with his hand firmly holding the
docile sleeve of the Goose Girl.
“Come on,” said Jim, with an affection of gayety that was most
honorable to him. “Let us leave that Ragamuffin. In she goes, over her
ankles into the mud. Torn a great piece out of her skirt on a brier. By
the way, Goose Girl, has Aunt Caroline said anything to you upon the
subject of Lord Cheriton?”
Mournfully enough the Goose Girl confessed that Aunt Caroline had.
“Well, you must buck up, you know,” said Jim, cheerily. “You are
going to be a countess, and the family of Wakefield--Slocum Magna, I
mean--will come again into its own.”
Miss Perry’s only reply was to break forth into a succession of
slow-drawn sobs, which were so heavy and majestic that Jim declared
they shook the mountain.
“Here is a dry place,” said he. “Let us sit down before you do some
damage to the scenery.”
They sat down together upon Gwydr, with the chill mists enfolding them.
For twenty minutes the Goose Girl said nothing, but merely sobbed
to herself slowly and softly with the daffodil-colored mane pressed
against Jim’s shoulder. Such depth and power had the Goose Girl’s
emotion that it really seemed to Jim Lascelles that, had her heart not
been a particularly robust organ, it must have been broken in pieces.
“I am afraid,” said Jim, rather miserably, “I have been a bit of a cad
for leading you on, you great silly Goose.”
Miss Perry flung her arms about Jim’s neck with such force and
suddenness that she nearly toppled him backwards over a precipice.
“Jim,” she sobbed, “you m-must m-marry M-Muffin.”
As Jim was in the toils of a hug that almost forbade him to breathe, he
was not able to reply immediately.
“That Ragamuffin!” said Jim, as soon as he was able to do so.
“She is such a s-sweet,” sobbed Miss Perry.
“You Goose!” said Jim. “Give me a kiss, you great Goose.”
Miss Perry proceeded to do so.
“That Ragamuffin doesn’t know about it, does she?”
“Oh no,” said Miss Perry. “Aunt Caroline said she was not to.”
“That is a wise old woman. Quite right for the Ragamuffin not to know
about it. She is too young. Now dry those Eye Pieces, Goose Girl, and
don’t be a silly. Old man Cheriton is a very nice, kind, fatherly old
gentleman.”
“He is a dear,” said Miss Perry, with a loyalty that Jim was forced to
admire.
“You are really a very lucky Goose, you know,” said Jim. “You will have
a nice, kind old gentleman to take you to parties and to the circus. He
will give Buszard a contract for the large size, see if he doesn’t.
And Dickie will get a living, see if he doesn’t; and Charley will go
to Sandhurst. As for Papa, you will be able to buy him the Oxford
dictionary; Polly is as good as married to her parson; Milly can go
to a boarding school at Brighton; I am absolutely confident that the
Ragamuffin will have a new mauve; and as for Tobias, he will be able to
live in Grosvenor Square.”
“Do you think so, Jim?” said Miss Perry, tearfully.
Jim Lascelles really covered himself with honor that unhappy morning up
on Gwydr. For it is due to him to say that Aunt Caroline had knocked
the bottom out of his little world. He had been tumbled out of his
fool’s paradise in such a ruthless fashion that he really did not know
how he was going to get over the fall.
From his earliest youth he had had a sneaking fondness for the
Goose Girl. He had bled for her, for one thing. And now that she
had blossomed forth into this gorgeous being who had conquered the
town, she had become so much a part of his fortunes that he found it
impossible to dissociate them from her. The portrait he had painted
of her had absorbed all he had had to give. It could never have been
wrought unless something of her own magnificence had become part of
him. Such a picture was composed of the living tissue of love. It was
almost more than human flesh and blood could endure to be told in a
few blunt words that the source of his inspiration must be a sealed
fountain from that time forth.
However, he went through with his ordeal as well as in him lay. Great
had been his folly that he had ever come to inhabit his paradise at
all. And now that he was tumbled out of it, it behoved him to see that
he made no cry over his bruises, if only because that other foolish
simpleton was striving not to cry over hers.
The departure from the railway station at Dwygyfy was a seemly affair.
The Castle omnibus, a contemporary of the Ark, brought Muffin in state.
She was accompanied, of course, by Polly’s dress-basket, marked “M.
P.” in white letters on a black ground; and was also accompanied by
Miss Burden, Ponto, Lord Cheriton, and the dismal Goose. On the way
they picked up Jim and his mother and their belongings, including the
half-finished picture of The Naiad.
Muffin herself was in high feather. For the first time in her life
she found herself a person of means and position. Aunt Caroline had
marked her esteem for her character and conduct by presenting her with
a bank-note for ten pounds. Muffin, with that practical sagacity which
always distinguished her intercourse with the world, was at first very
uncertain in what manner to convey this royal gift to Slocum Magna.
Eventually she tore it in two pieces, placing half in each stocking.
The Goose Girl behaved with signal bravery upon the down platform at
Dwygyfy. Jim wished at first that she had not come. But she contrived
to restrain her feelings nobly, as of course was only to be expected
of a Wargrave, a family which had gone so often to the scaffold. In
consequence, they were able to snatch a few brief, inexpressibly sad,
yet tender moments before the train arrived from Talyfaln.
“You are a good and brave Goose,” whispered Jim, “and a lucky Goose
too, you know. You must come sometimes to see us humble suburban
people, and we will lay down a red carpet for you, and in every way we
will do our best. Because, you know, you are going to be very grand.”
“I don’t want to be grand,” said the Goose Girl, with whom tears were
still very imminent.
“I have a great idea,” said Jim. “Get old man Cheriton to buy the Red
House at Widdiford, and then ask me and my old lady to come and stay
with you for a fortnight. We will give them such a roasting at the
Parsonage--especially that girl Polly--as they have not had lately.”
Somehow this scheme of Jim’s seemed to infuse a ray of hope in the
forlorn heart of the Goose Girl.
“Jim,” said she in a thrilling voice, “perhaps Lord Cheriton might buy
the Red House for you and Muffin.”
“Or perhaps pigs might fly,” said Jim.
“You _will_ marry Muffin, won’t you? _P-r-romise_ me, Jim, that you
will.”
“What is the good, you Goose, of my _p-r-romising_ to marry the
Ragamuffin? How do you suppose a poor painting chap, who lives with
his old mother at Balham, can marry into a family with a real live
countess in it? What do you suppose that girl Polly would have to say
upon the subject?”
This great idea, however, had insinuated itself into the Goose Girl’s
slow-moving and tenacious mind, and of course it stuck there.
“Jim,” said she, just as the signal fell for the train from Talyfaln,
and the solemn conviction of her tone was such that Jim hardly knew
whether to laugh or to shed tears, yet hardly liking in public to adopt
the latter course, decided in favor of the former; “Jim,” said she,
“I am sure Muffin would love to marry you. And she is such a sweet. I
shall write to dearest papa about it.”
Before Jim could make a fitting reply the train from Talyfaln came
snorting and rattling in with a great display of unnecessary violence.
Jim had to look after the luggage, while Lord Cheriton, with his
accustomed gallantry, handed Jim’s mother, her red umbrella, and
her French novel into a third-class compartment. Muffin personally
supervised the installation of Polly’s dress-basket into the luggage
van, and gave the porter twopence out of her chain purse.
“Get in, you Ragamuffin,” said Jim, sternly, “or else you will be left.”
Muffin gave her sister, who was forlornly witnessing these operations,
a final hug and received one in return. She was then handed with
considerable ceremony into the compartment which contained Mrs.
Lascelles.
Jim gave sixpence to the porter, and then had a craving to kiss the
Goose Girl, but did not quite know how to manage it, as the down
platform at Dwygyfy is such a public place. Therefore he had to be
content with squeezing her hand.
“Now remember,” was his parting injunction, “you are a very lucky
Goose Girl indeed. And your papa and Polly and Milly and all of them
are going to be awfully proud of you. And if you forget the Acacias at
Balham, my old mother will never forgive you.”
As Jim came aboard Cheriton shook his hand with real warmth.
“Good-by, Lascelles,” said he. “I hope there will be some entertaining
at Cheriton House one of these days. I hope I can count on you and your
mother to stand by me. And when the masterpiece is _quite_ finished let
me know and I will tell you what to do with it.”
The guard slammed the door and blew his whistle. As the train moved off
the window of the third-class compartment was occupied by a wonderful
yet substantial vision in mauve, waving affectionate farewells to a
group of three persons and a small dog assembled on the platform. They
all stood watching it, until the sunlight was cheated suddenly of the
daffodil-colored mane gleaming from under the Slocum Magna cucumber
basket by the jaws of the tunnel immediately outside Dwygyfy station,
which is two miles and a quarter in length.