"For my part, I don't favour that bright yaller for hair, Mr. Johnny. I
never knew but one woman have such, and she was more deceitful than a
she-fox."
Lease touched his hat and drove off. He was cousin in a remote degree to
poor Maria Lease, and to Lease the pointsman who had caused the accident
to the train at Crabb junction and died of the trouble. At that moment,
Fred Scott came up; a short, dark young fellow, with fierce black
whiskers, good-natured and rather soft. He was fond of playing billiards
at the Bell at Islip; had been doing it for some years now.
"I say, Ludlow, has that fly come with Juliet Chandler? Is she back
again?"
"Just come. She has brought some one with her: a girl with golden hair."
"Oh, bother _her_!" returned Fred. "But it has been as dull as
ditchwater without Juliet."
He dashed in at Mrs. Cramp's gate and up the winding path. I turned
into the Islip Road, and crossed it to take Brook Lane. The leaves
were beginning to put on the tints of autumn; the grain was nearly all
gathered.
Time the healer! As Mrs. Todhetley says, it may well be called so.
Heaven in mercy sends it to the sick and heavy-laden with healing on its
wings. Nearly three years had slipped by since the departure for Canada
of Valentine Chandler; four years since the tragic death of Oliver
Preen.
There are few changes to record. Things and people were for the most
part going on as they had done. It was reported that Valentine had
turned over a new leaf from the hour he landed over yonder, becoming
thoroughly staid and steady. Early in the summer of this year his
mother had shut up her cottage at North Crabb to go to Guernsey, on
the invitation of a sister from whom she had expectations. Upon this,
Julietta, who lived with her mother, went on a long visit to Mrs. Cramp.
Clementina had married. Her husband was a Mr. Timothy Dawson, junior
partner in a wholesale firm of general merchants in Birmingham; they had
also a house in New York. Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Dawson lived in a white
villa at Edgbaston, and went in for style and fashion. At least she did,
which might go without telling. The family in which her sister Georgiana
was governess occupied another white villa hard by.
Close upon Juliet's thus taking up her residence with her aunt, finding
perhaps the farm rather dull, she struck up a flirtation with Fred
Scott, or he with her. They were everlastingly together, mooning about
Mrs. Cramp's grounds, or sauntering up and down the Islip Road. Juliet
gave out that they were engaged. No one believed it. At present Fred
had nothing to marry upon: his mother, just about as soft as himself,
supplied him with as much pocket-money as he asked for, and there his
funds ended.
Juliet had now returned from a week or two's visit she had been paying
Clementina, bringing with her, uninvited, the young lady with the golden
hair. That hair seemed to be before my eyes as a picture as I walked
along. She was Timothy Dawson's young half-sister. Both the girls had
grown tired of staying with Clementina, who worried herself and everyone
about her just now because her husband was detained longer than he had
anticipated in New York, whither he had gone on business.
* * * * *
Mr. Frederick Scott had said "Bother" in contempt when he first heard of
the visitor with the golden hair. He did not say it long. Miss Cherry
Dawson cast a spell upon him. He had never met such a rattling, laughing
girl in all his born days, which was how he phrased it; had never seen
such bewildering hair. Cherry fascinated him. Forgetting his allegiance
to Juliet, faithless swain that he was, he went right over to the enemy.
Miss Cherry, nothing loth, accepted his homage openly, and enjoyed the
raging jealousy of Juliet.
In the midst of this, Juliet received a telegram from Edgbaston. Her
sister Clementina was taken suddenly ill and wanted her. She must take
the first train.
"Of course you are coming with me, Cherry!" said Juliet.
"Of course I am not," laughed Cherry. "I'm very happy here--if dear Mrs.
Cramp will let me stay with her. You'll be back again in a day or two."
Not seeing any polite way of sending her away in the face of this, Mrs.
Cramp let her stay on. Juliet was away a week--and a nice time the other
one and Fred had of it, improving the shining hours with soft speeches
and love-making. When Juliet got back again, she felt ready to turn
herself into a female Bluebeard, and cut off Cherry's golden head.
Close upon that Mrs. Cramp held her harvest-home. "You may as well come
early, and we'll have tea on the lawn," she said, when inviting us.
It was a fine afternoon, warm as summer, though September was drawing to
its close. Many of the old friends you have heard of were there. Mary
MacEveril and her cousin Dick, who seemed to be carrying on a little
with one another, as Tod called it; the Letsoms, boys and girls; Emma
Chandler, who looked younger than ever, though she could boast of two
babies: and others. Jane Preen was there, the weary look which her mild
and pretty face had gained latterly very plainly to be seen. We roamed
at will about the grounds, and had tea under the large weeping elm tree.
Altogether the gathering brought forcibly to mind that other gathering;
that of the picnic, four summers ago, when we had sung songs in
light-hearted glee, and poor Oliver Preen must have been ready to die
of mortal pain.
The element of interest to-day lay in Miss Cherry Dawson. In her
undisguised assumption of ownership in Fred Scott, and in Juliet
Chandler's rampant jealousy of the pair. You should have seen the girl
flitting about like a fairy, in her white muslin frock, the golden
shower of curls falling around her like nothing but threads of
transparent amber. Fred was evidently very far gone. Juliet wore white
also.
Whether things would have come that evening to the startling pass they
did but for an unfortunate remark made in thoughtless fun, not in
malice, I cannot tell. It gave a sting to Juliet that she could not
bear. A ridiculous pastime was going on. Some of them were holding hands
in a circle and dancing round to the "House that Jack Built," each one
reciting a sentence in turn. If you forgot your sentence, you paid a
forfeit. The one falling to Juliet Chandler was "This the maiden all
forlorn." "Why, that's exactly what you are, Juliet!" cried Tom Coney,
impulsively, and a laugh went round. Juliet said nothing, but I saw her
face change to the hue of death. The golden hair of the other damsel
was gleaming just then within view amidst the trees, accompanied by the
black head and black whiskers of Mr. Fred Scott.
"That young man must have a rare time of it between the two," whispered
Tod to me. "As good as the ass between the bundles of hay."
At dusk began the fun of the harvest-home. Mrs. Cramp's labourers and
their wives sat in the large kitchen at an abundant board. Hot beef,
mutton and hams crowded it, with vegetables; and of fruit pies and tarts
there was a goodly show. Some of us helped to wait on them, and that was
the best fun of all.
They had all taken as much as they could possibly eat, and were in the
full flow of cider and beer and delight; a young man in a clean white
smock-frock was sheepishly indulging the table with a song: "Young Roger
of the Valley," and I was laughing till I had to hold my sides; when
Mrs. Cramp touched me on the back. She sat with the Miss Dennets in the
little parlour off the kitchen, in full view of the company. I sat on
the door-sill between them.
"Johnny," she whispered, "I don't see Juliet and Cherry Dawson. Have
they been in at all?"