"A BIRD IN THE BUSH."
It was while Patty was engaged in doing "the millinery of the cooking,"
that her first swain arrived. Social etiquette in Montfield was not
rigid, and Patty was not at all surprised when the shadow of Burleigh
Blood's broad shoulders fell upon the kitchen-floor, and that enamoured
youth entered without the formality of knocking.
"Good-morning, Burleigh," she said, her eyes bright with the spark of
merriment which always kindled when Mr. Blood appeared. "Can't shake
hands with you without getting you all covered with flour."
"I shouldn't mind that much," he answered awkwardly.
"Sit down, please," she said. "I'm just done with these puffs. Isn't it
a lovely day?"
"It is good growing weather for the corn."
"And for you," she laughed. "You get bigger and bigger every day."
"Do I?" he said disconsolately, looking from his big hand to the one
she was wiping on the long snowy roller. "I am too big now."
"Nonsense--not for a man! I like to see a man big and strong."
"Do you, though, really," he said, a glow of delight spreading over his
honest features. "I--I'm glad of it."
"Come into the other room," Patty said, leading the way: "it's cooler
there.--Bathalina, don't let those puffs burn."
The windows of the sitting-room were open, and the blinds unclosed;
but so thickly was the piazza overhung with honeysuckle and woodbine,
that a cool shade filled the apartment. It was unoccupied, save by
Pettitoes, the cat, who had curled himself up luxuriously in Mrs.
Sanford's work-basket. Mr. Blood stumbled over a chair or two before
he found his way safely into a seat, and then sat, flushed and
uncomfortable, trying to make up his mind to do the errand upon which
he had come. Patty, who knew perfectly well the state of her guest's
mind, played carelessly with Pettitoes, making casual remarks, to which
Burleigh replied in monosyllables.
"I hope it will be as good weather as this for the picnic," she said at
length. "Of course, you are going?"
"Yes, I thought I should; that is, I may."
"Oh, you must! We are sure to have a splendid time. Everybody is going.
I wouldn't miss it for any thing."
"Then you are going?" he asked.
"Of course. I am always ready for a lark," she answered. "And I know
you'll go."
"It depends," said he, "whether I can get any one to go with me."
"Of course you can. There are lots of girls would be delighted. There's
Emily Purdy, or Dessie Farnum. You know you can get some one."
"But I mean one particular one," he said, blushing at his own temerity.
"Oh! you mean Flossy," Patty exclaimed, her eyes dancing. "I'm sure
she'll be delighted. I'll ask her myself for you this minute. You are
so bashful, Burleigh, that you'd never get along in this world, if I
didn't help you."
"Wait, Patty," the unfortunate Burleigh began; but his voice stuck
in his throat. For days he had been summoning his courage to invite
Miss Sanford to ride with him to the picnic; and now it failed him in
his extremity. To add to his confusion, his eye at that moment caught
sight of a rival advancing from the front-gate towards the cottage
in the person of Clarence Toxteth, only child of the richest man in
Montfield. A sudden burning sensation seized young Blood at the sight.
He was ready to pour out his heart and his passion in the moment
that remained to him. But what is love in the heart, albeit never so
burning, when the tongue refuses its office? A flippant rogue without
a soul may defeat the most deeply loyal silent one, and never a word
could Burleigh utter. He was conscious, as if in a dream, that the bell
rang, and that Mr. Toxteth, in all the glory of a light summer suit
and kid gloves, was ushered into the room. He unconsciously glowered
at the new-comer in a way that made it difficult for Patty to preserve
her gravity. The entrance of Mrs. Sanford restored him to himself
somewhat. He always felt more comfortable for her bustling, homely
presence.
"How do you do, Burleigh?" the worthy lady said. "How do you do, Mr.
Toxteth? I knew we should see strangers to-day. You remember, Patty, I
said so at breakfast. Bathalina dropped the dish-cloth, and then a fork
that stood up in the floor, and I never knew either of those signs to
fail. You must be the dish-cloth, Burleigh, and you are the fork, Mr.
Toxteth. I always think the dish-cloth don't mean as much of a stranger
as the fork does."
Mrs. Sanford had a never-ending procession of signs and omens. "The
wisest aunt" could scarcely have extracted more mystical lore from
everyday occurrences to other observers the most commonplace. Every
thing with her was lucky or unlucky, related to the past, or foretold
the future; and the wisdom she extracted from dreams was little less
than miraculous.
What Dr. Sanford was accustomed to term "the religious ceremonies of
a call,"--the remarks upon health and the weather,--having been duly
accomplished, Mr. Toxteth proceeded directly to the point.
"I called," he said, while Mrs. Sanford was asking his rival about the
prospects of the crops, "to beg the honor of your company to-morrow at
the picnic."
"How kind of you!" Patty answered with an appearance of sweet
frankness; the inward struggle which had been going on ever since his
entrance being suddenly decided against him. "I am very sorry, if you
will be disappointed; but, you see, Burleigh came before you."
She spoke so softly that her mother did not hear; yet the words reached
the ears of her earlier caller, and filled him with triumphant joy. For
Patty herself, she was not quite able to understand her own act. She
had beforehand fully determined to accept the invitation to ride behind
the Toxteth span, should she be favored with it; and she certainly had
even now no intention of going with Burleigh Blood. It was partly due,
no doubt, to the fact that the dandified air of the young fop offended
her honest taste; but she was uncomfortably conscious that there was a
stronger reason underlying all others. She had said to herself that it
would be charming to reject an invitation from Mr. Putnam after having
promised to accompany Clarence Toxteth. Now she had refused the latter
upon the mere chance that the former would come. She would gladly have
recalled the words, and given a different answer to the rich young
swell, with his elegant clothes, and a turnout which was the admiration
of all the girls in Montfield. But there was now no help for it; and
with a sigh she saw the form of her rich suitor disappear down the
walk, and turned to the task in hand. She knew Burleigh had overheard
her refusal to Clarence; and, as soon as the latter was gone, she said
lightly, "I knew you wouldn't mind my making you an excuse to put him
off; and, besides, mother was here, and wouldn't have liked it if I had
refused him outright. Here comes Flossy. It is very kind of you to ask
her; for she really knows so few people here."
Flossy Plant was a little maiden much afflicted by dyspepsia, and given
to making odd remarks. Her father was a Boston merchant, noted for his
dinners; and Flossy always maintained that his high living caused her
ill-health.
"I am like that text of Scripture," she declared: "'The fathers have
eaten sour grapes,--or drank their juice,--and the child's stomach is
set on edge.' I don't mind the dyspepsia so much, but oh! think of the
good things father has eaten to give it to me."
Her physician had ordered the constant use of pop-corn; and Flossy was
accustomed to wander about the house at all times of day and night with
a large blue bowl of that dry and aggravating edible tucked comfortably
under her arm. Her hair, fine and flaxen, was generally in a state
aptly enough described by her name; so that it was not without reason
that Will Sanford compared her to a thistle-puff.
"I thought I would wait," Flossy said, as she came into the
sitting-room, "until Clarence Toxteth went away. He always looks so
soft and juicy that I want to eat him, and it makes me dreadfully
hungry to look at him."
Burleigh laughed; but this little pale creature was a mystery to him,
and her dryly-uttered drolleries not wholly devoid of a sibylline
character, it being a profound wonder to him how one could have such
thoughts.
"I don't think he'd be good to eat," he said grimly; "but I guess he'd
be soft enough."
"Did he come to invite you to the picnic, Patty?" Flossy asked,
munching at her pop-corn.
"What would you give to know?" laughed her cousin. "But Mr. Blood has
come to invite you, at least: so you are provided for."
In such a situation what was a bashful man to do, particularly if, like
Burleigh, he was not sure that he was offended at the turn affairs had
taken? Patty was an old friend, indeed, in Montfield parlance a "flame"
of the young man's; yet certainly the stranger cousin exercised over
him a peculiar fascination. He left the house as the promised escort of
Miss Plant, and went home, wondering whether Patty did not know he came
to invite her, and whether he were glad or sorry things had turned out
as they had.
The long sunny day wore on, and no third invitation came for Patty.
She kept her own counsel so completely that the family thought she had
accepted young Toxteth's escort,--an impression which she took pains
not to dissipate. But, although outwardly gay, she grew more and more
heavy-hearted as the day passed with no sign of Mr. Putnam.