THE HAPPIEST PERSON
Easter vacation brought Captain Dean to Hamilton Arms and tumultuous
happiness to Marjorie’s heart. Greatly as she had come to love the Arms
for its stately marvelous beauty and comfort, the loving devotion of
Miss Susanna and the fact that it had been the home of Brooke Hamilton,
she now loved it more strongly because it was graced by her adored
captain’s presence.
Since the morning when she had read the journal of Brooke Hamilton she
had not written another word of his biography. “I can’t write,” she
plaintively complained to Miss Susanna. “Spring and Captain and Brooke
Hamilton’s journal have all got into my brain and won’t be shoved back.
I’ll have to get all over the strenuousness of them before I can go on
writing.”
“I think I shall lock up the study for a while, anyway,” Miss Susanna
threatened. “The Army owes a duty to its superior officer. I shall order
Lieutenant Dean out on guide duty to Captain Dean. Ensign Hamilton and
Corporal Macy will go along for company.”
“_Corporal Macy._” Jerry elevated her nose in deep disgust. “I’m a
lieutenant myself. Kindly remember it. An ensign doesn’t belong to the
Army. An ensign belongs properly to the Navy.”
“I shall be the great exception,” persisted Miss Susanna, laughing.
“Ensign sounds well with ‘Hamilton.’ It is not seemly for youth to
scornfully contradict age.”
“First show me age,” retorted Jerry. “There ain’t no such animal around
here.”
“I’m going to take Captain for a walk around the estate this morning,”
Marjorie announced. “There are oceans of things I want to show her and
talk about. Almost every bush or tree at the Arms has an interesting
history, all its own. Ensign Hamilton and, ahem, Corporal Macy are
cordially invited to join the walk around.”
“_Lieutenant_ Macy doesn’t regret that she has an engagement with Major
Jonas Kent to plant dahlias this morning. Major Kent is far more polite
than certain other officers of the detachment of far lesser rank,” Jerry
declined with significance.
“I ought to be, and I am, the happiest person in the world, I believe.”
Marjorie later voiced this fervent opinion as she sat on a rustic bench
between her Captain and Miss Hamilton.
The three had seated themselves in the sweet spring sunlight at indolent
ease after a long ramble about the magnificently kept grounds of the
Arms. Under their feet the young green grass wove a soft living carpet.
Over their heads spread the iron-strong branches of a mammoth tulip
tree.
“Just because I am so happy, every once in a while I think of Mr.
Brooke, Miss Susanna. Then I grow sad for a little. How beautiful it
would have been for Angela and him to live here year after year in the
perfect happiness of love! I often wonder how he had the courage to go
through so many weary years after she left him. He chose such a patient,
brave-hearted way.”
“Perhaps he accomplished more of good because of such a sorrow than he
might have wrought without it,” sighed Miss Hamilton. “From the time of
Angela’s death he centered himself more than ever on the founding of
Hamilton College. It might well be called a monument to the two women he
loved. The nobility of plan and execution were inspired by his mother.
But the beauty of nature which he cultivated and carried out with such
rare taste and sentiment on the campus is his tribute to Angela. Day
after day, early and late, he busied himself with enhancing the beauty
of that overgrown grass plot. Perhaps his spirit communed with hers as
he worked. This was before my time. You will find a packet of what he
named, ‘My garden letters,’ among the data. If you haven’t already been
over it, you have a joy in store for you.”
Miss Susanna stared absently out over the sea of living green splashed
with the pale pinks, yellows and scarlets of early blooming shrubs. Mrs.
Dean had taken no part in the conversation, preferring to listen.
Marjorie’s wistful observation regarding Brooke Hamilton and Angela
Vernon had raised a feeling of surprise in her mind. It was the most
sentimental word she had ever heard Marjorie utter.
Since her arrival at the Arms she had been permitted by Miss Hamilton to
read the journal over which she had heard the Lady of the Arms and her
lieutenant have several long discussions. Jerry had also been permitted
to read it. She had at first cried over it, then impatiently
characterized stately Brooke Hamilton as a “lovable old stupid” for not
“getting it across” first thing that Angela was in love with him.
“I have a perfectly celostrous idea, children.” Marjorie thus gaily
designated the two beside her. “It came out of what you just said of Mr.
Brooke and the campus.” She lightly clasped Miss Susanna’s arm. “I’ll
put Mr. Brooke’s love idyl in ‘Realization,’ together with his nature
work on the campus. That will do away with having to write of how he
made Angela unhappy for so many years because he didn’t know he loved
her. I will state only that they met first when very young, and without
knowing their own hearts. I think I will keep the entry about her riding
down to the station with the picture to say good-bye to him.” Marjorie
turned to Miss Susanna, her eyes questioning.
“You are to do as you please, Marvelous Manager.” Miss Susanna smiled
into the beautiful, colorful face so near her own. “If you wished to
publish the journal verbatim, I’d not gainsay you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Goldendede.” Marjorie returned the smile with
interest. “I don’t wish him to be misunderstood. He was not
intentionally selfish. He was simply wrapped in his own great dream. The
world, were it to read that journal, might call him hard-hearted. Even
he reproached himself after he found that he loved Angela. I will leave
out anything that I should not care to say of him myself. I pledged
friendship with him in the beginning, you remember.”
“I am glad you feel as I do about his love affair.” Miss Susanna said
with a grateful little nod. “I have always thought mention of it, at
least, important in a biography of him. I was not sure what to do. I had
thought, at the time when I talked with President Burns of having it
prepared for publication, of submitting only a brief paragraph or two
about Angela Vernon. I leave the matter contentedly to you.”
“That’s enough to bring back my lost inspiration,” was the blithe
declaration. “Come on, both of you.” Marjorie sprang to her feet. She
stretched an inviting hand to both her mother and Miss Susanna. “I shall
proceed to hustle you about the rest of the grounds before luncheon. I’m
going to the study to work this afternoon. Don’t dare lock it up.” She
laid energetic command upon Miss Hamilton.
“What’s to become of my sight-seeing tour?” doughtily demanded Miss
Susanna.
“Corporal Macy will conduct it. Order her to it, and promise her a
commission of major,” Marjorie merrily proposed.
“Yes, genius is really beginning to burn again,” Miss Susanna teasingly
commented. “Jerry shall earn her commission.” As she spoke she had
allowed Marjorie to pull her to her feet.
“Let’s walk down by the gate,” Marjorie proposed. “I wish Captain to see
that wonderful Chinese white lilac bush that once grew in the royal
Chinese gardens.”
They were not more than halfway across the space of lawn intervening
between the rustic seat and the white, feathery plumed lilac bush when
the eyes of all three picked up the trim lines of a small black roadster
which had stopped at the entrance gates. There were two persons in the
roadster. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man in gray tweeds and
motor hat to match, was already out of the car. He had turned to give an
assisting hand to a young woman who vaguely resembled him. She smiled
happily at him as she stepped lightly to the ground. The two turned
their backs on the car and approached the gates.
“It’s Leslie Cairns!” Marjorie said in a low, astounded tone.
“It’s—Can it be?” Miss Susanna shaded her eyes from the sun with a
small, sturdy hand. “I believe it is—Peter Carden!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------