TWO KINDS OF BUD BLOSSOM.
The author whose ambition is that of the rural historian will not
attempt scientifically to analyze the causes which led to the
circumstances herein to be described.
To the reader it may seem improbable, but certain it is that John
Wrengell was received with more favor by the Ratkes. The traditions
which might have thrown light upon the subject were imperfectly kept.
Brown, Thompson and Daggett, excellent authorities on farm-life and
the hunt after the horse-thieves, forgot those trifling incidents, of
which reminiscences would have assisted us in our speculation.
John and Manie began to be better acquainted.
Wrengell's manners and habits were undergoing a change, whether for
the better is a question on which the student and the man of fashion
would differ. He was entering the period which at some age is reached
by most men, the epoch of the anxiety to improve the personal
attractions. Had he possessed an opportunity he would have been
tempted to barter a part of his hard-earned learning for a more
perfect understanding of proprieties. At the church he saw Fred
Loomis, and envied him his style. Dr. Rorus' clerk was not brilliant.
Indeed, he seemed to be an automatic, imitative body, wound up for
life without the troublesome complication of a brain. His walk was
unmistakably that of the young man who is assured of his gentility,
and his hat was tipped at exactly the right angle to be fashionable.
John, before going to Oakville to purchase a suit of clothes, took
observations of Loomis' apparel. The dress suit, his first
extravagance, was praised by the clothier as a perfect fit. John did
not mistrust that the trousers were too short, or that the loose coat
hung in wrinkles about his shoulders.
The Sunday morning after the important purchase he took extraordinary
pains with his attire. But the clothes brush was filled with the lint
of the club-house, and the blacking-brush, which had been used on
greasy boots, would not impart to his shoes a perfect shine.
He was before the mirror, trying to smooth down an obstinate lock of
hair, when Daggett thus addressed him:
"Fix it up nice, John. I would if I was in your place. If you go in
the parlor now, you'll find her alone. She's singing, and all the
rest of them are in the sitting-room."
John determined to make a terrible rejoinder, but before he prepared
it, he was assaulted by Brown and Thompson, and he was unable to
reply to them all. For the purpose of escaping the notice of his
fellows he went to the orchard, and walked around it in pretended
abstraction till he came to its western side. There, seated on the
fence, he chewed splinters from the rails and waited for the
keen-eyed Daggett to turn his attention elsewhere, so that his
arrival in front of the house might not be seen by the fun-loving
hired man. When this occupation became monotonous, he slid from his
position and started across the orchard.
The warm May days had strewn verdure over the limbs of the
apple-trees. Leaves had pushed out, and buds had developed to
blossoms. Dressed in pink and white, the blossoms, stirred by a
strong wind, posed in different attitudes, and at each ample swing
cast off a portion of their loveliness. A few rods ahead of John was
Manie, standing with her back toward him beneath a tree. About her,
as if in homage, were falling the dismembered blossoms. As the wind
lifted her hair and threw a shower of the white leaves on her
shoulders, he thought it would be no misfortune, if he and she, like
Una and the red-cross knight, could be lost in a wood,
"Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, Did spread so
broad that Heaven's light did hide."
She Stretched her hand upward, trying to get possession of a bough
which was beyond her reach.
"Let me help you," said John, stepping quickly to her side. "I will
pull it down, and you can make the selection you wish."
John purposely held the bough so high that, to reach it, she was
obliged to raise herself on tiptoe and remain very close to him until
the desired flowers were obtained.
"I wanted these," said Manie, "because they are fresher than the
others. These are just opened, while most of them are ready to fall.
What do you think of our apple grove, Mr. Wrengell?"
"I think it is a kingly court," replied John, "in which reigns an
absolute monarch. The advent of summer holds perfect sway over our
fancy. Of all periods the beginning of a progressive era is most
interesting. When a state or system has been established a
considerable length of time, it is no longer able to draw the
strongest admiration; but awakening life is never without its charms.
That line of woods is now in its richest beauty. There can be nothing
more picturesque than the spot where that dark green tree is set
diagonally in front of the less deeply tinted background. As its
fellows advance to the same stage of development, the view will grow
less attractive. The reign of this scene around us over human
sympathies is transitory, for those white petals are now falling. In
a few days the trees will be clad in simple green, and in the autumn
they must surrender their authority and yield tribute to those whom
they have ruled."
"The summer brings to the orchard little loss of authority," said
Manie. "You may prefer blossoms to fruit, but Phleet Takum's little
boys will not neglect yonder tree when it is loaded with yellow
pippins. There are Seven of our hired men. Only one of them goes a
rod out of his way to look at leaves and flowers, but they will all
come trooping over here as soon as they are assured that
harvest-apples are ripe. How many of the farmers stay in their
orchards all day now? How many of them will keep away from them when
it is time to gather fruit? You judge of an entire force by its
application in one place. It has not the universality which you claim
or imply that it possesses."
John was in a dilemma. He believed that he ought to continue the
argument in order to appear to advantage before Manie. But he had
learned that in a nervous condition, such as he labored under at that
moment, he was certain to make statements which were fatal to his
logic. Furthermore, he might, under the influence of excitement,
utter some discourteous remark, which would nullify any good
impression which he might have made.
"Are you going to meeting to-day?" he asked as Manie moved toward the
house.
"I think so," answered Manie; "we usually go."
"Can I go too?" inquired John, while his shaking fingers were picking
at a blossom-covered apple-limb.
"Of course you can," answered Manie. "Who is to prevent you?"
"But," persisted John, "can I go with you?"
"If there is room in the buggy you can," said Manie. "Nora, Aunt
Maria and I can sit behind, and perhaps Uncle James will let you ride
with him and Mr. Montcalm."
"No," exclaimed John in desperation, while a flush overspread his
face, "I mean will you go alone with me?"
"Oh!" said Manie, "that is a different matter. Yes, I will go!"
John would have expressed his appreciation of the favor which he was
receiving, but he had not mastered gallantry, and he was overwhelmed
with a sense of his inefficiency as an escort. That which he could
not speak he could act. Regard drew him near her, and the fear of
repulse drew him back, so that he walked in a zigzag line across the
orchard. He pushed aside branches of trees for her to pass; and,
coming to some bars, he threw down all of them but the bottom one,
which was caught at the end. He was tugging away at the unyielding
board when Manie put an end to his strenuous efforts by stepping
quickly over it.
John left Manie at the house and hurriedly went to the road. He did
not dream of the ridicule he was preparing for himself by his excited
manner and walk.
The drive to church furnished him the keenest enjoyment he had ever
known. He was the escort of the most cultured, the most esteemed lady
of that community. Samson-like, he was rending the bonds of his evil
fortune and bearing away the Gazan gate which shut him within the
city of disrepute. From the pit of degradation he raised his head
above its mouth and viewed the hills of respectability, the borders
of which he hoped soon to cross. He could think of nothing to say,
and, indeed, he was too happy to talk. The wind placed invigorating
touches on his face, and the wood to the south, with its thin
light-colored drapery and its flank of dark tamaracks, sent to him an
inspriation which found fellowship with his already awakened
feelings.
At the church he was unpleasantly reminded of his abstraction by the
discovery that he had driven too far from the platform for Manie
conveniently to alight. Wishing to atone for his lack of skill by a
show of agility, he endeavored to clear the distance by a leap, but
as his feet caught in the lines, he was thrown on his hands and
knees; and it was only by very energetic and undignified scrambling
that he escaped falling to the ground. The boys and young men on the
steps contented themselves by exchanging a few knowing looks. When,
however, John had hitched his horse and awkwardly passed into the
church, they commented freely on his behavior.
After this Sunday Ratke's favor toward Wrengell began to wane and
Mrs. Grippin's began to increase. She admitted that John was a very
good musician. He scraped his feet before he came into the house. He
did not always wipe his hands in the center of the towel. He was,
moreover, careful about disfiguring the butter-roll, and did not take
more of the butter than he wanted on his plate.
It was the time of May-baskets, and parties hanging these souvenirs
had been about the neighborhood at night.
John gathered some flowers from the swale which joined the swamp. He
tied them with a ribbon which he had bought for that purpose,
attached to them some poetry, hung them on the knob of the front
door, rapped and ran to the road. These were the stanzas which Manie
read:
"We dwelt amid a marshy haunt,
Where youthful oaks and elms bend low,
Where shade meets sun, where breezes pant,
Where plants their fellows' secret know,
And laugh with joy and sympathize with woe.
"Rude were the hands which bore us hence
From that loved spot where we were born.
The lofty tamarack laments,
The grieving poplar quakes, forlorn,
The grass blade bows its head to weep at morn
"Death to the exiled flowers must steal.
Oh, let us not be spurned, but given
Cold water and this boon to feel,
That we from home have not been driven,
And on us falls the soothing rain of Heaven."