AT THE SECOND FALL
Miss Bibby had prepared a delightful meal for her charges from the
generous hamper the caddies carried down to her. Slices of chicken lay
in nests of finely shredded lettuce with a delicate cream dressing
lightly poured on top. A mountain of ruddy strawberries formed a
centrepiece,--delicious and novel cakes made side dishes, jellies
quivered and reflected on their sides the foaming waterfall. While here,
there and everywhere were scattered evidences of the high skill
chocolate manufacturers are attaining to--hatchets, saws, garden rakes,
dolls' tea-sets, animals of every description--all in the most
delightful kind of chocolate.
The children buzzed round the tables like eager flies, but Miss Bibby
would not have them begin until their host had paid the visit he had
promised.
"But I may as well get mine over," she said, "and then I can help all of
you. And it would be too depressing for you, wouldn't it, Paul, to see
me eating what you think my poor meal while you revel in all these
delicacies?" She got out her tiny basket and hastily emptied the
contents of one of the packets on to a plate.
"Dear, darling Miss Bibby," implored Lynn, clinging suddenly to her, "do
eat something nice, just to-day. Oh do, do throw your horrid basket
away, and eat really truly food for once."
"I can't, darling--I really can't," said Miss Bibby, quite distressed at
having to refuse such a lovingly-put plea; "some other day,--next time
you have a picnic. But not to-day." She almost said "Not _his_ food."
"Here he comes, here he comes," shrieked the children.
"Can I begin--can I have a lawberry?" cried Max, fairly dancing in his
impatience.
Hugh came down wiping his hot face with his handkerchief. He took in the
scene at a glance,--the eager children, waiting for him before they
began, Miss Bibby seated at the adjacent slab table where she had piled
the empty hampers, hastily eating a poor meal from a plate before her.
"Fall to, chickens," said Hugh, and the four children made a glad, mad
dash for their seats and with glowing eyes "fell to."
Hugh went to the grey slab table.
"My dear Miss Bibby, am I always to be doing you an injury?" he said.
And at that instant there rolled away from Agnes Bibby's soul all the
heaviness that had oppressed it, and the sun shone out.
Of course, of course there was some mistake,--he had never meant to take
credit for her work!
"Oh," she gasped, "it was a mistake, of course. You--you sent them the
wrong MS, that is all." Why had no lightning flash of this possibility
come to her before in her darkness?
Hugh looked at her in speechless admiration.
Then he spoke, and slowly. "I think," he said, "you are without
exception the most sensible woman I have ever met."
And now there ran into Agnes Bibby's face a flood of colour, quite as
delicate and beautiful as that which sometimes stained the fresh young
skins of Dora and Beatrice. She felt so guilty--she had thought--what
had she not thought? She began to try to tell him she was not as
sensible as he imagined, but he was so busy explaining to her how it all
happened, and pressing the ten-guinea cheque upon her which he insisted
her story had earned, that she simply was afforded no chance.
"But," she said, pushing back the cheque gently--"I can only accept four
guineas of this--that is the most my story would have earned. The rest
your name commanded!"
"Nonsense, nonsense," he said, "that _Review_ always pays well, this is
your own cheque, fairly earned; remember I have deprived you of all the
glory of the story. For I know Wilkie too well to be able to hope that
he will condescend to explain such a mistake in his columns."
So Miss Bibby, dazzled, tucked the bit of pink paper away in her little
basket.
"And now," said Hugh, "will you just see if the children have enough to
eat?"
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Miss Bibby, fluttering up, "I really had
forgotten them for the moment. I--I hope they have not made themselves
ill."
When she had obtained doubtful satisfaction on this point and turned her
head again towards Hugh, she found him in the act of tossing all her
packets of eatables one after the other over the edge of the rock where
the water went plunging down to yet another fall.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted Lynn, who had seen the act, "now she'll have
to eat some of our lovely things."
"Have a lawberry, Miss Bibby, go on," Max enjoined, his little mouth
full of the delicious fruits and red juice dripping down his tunic.
"I--I--" began Miss Bibby.
But Hugh calmly tucked her hand in his arm and led her to the children's
table. "I am taking you into dinner, madam, and I insist that you eat
everything I put before you."
And she did--or almost. Hugh let the children revel as they liked in the
good things, and assured their anxious guardian that he had chosen the
lunch expressly from the point of view of suitability for the delicate
digestions of children. And he laid down the maxim that appetite was the
safest guide in the world, and when it said "More" no one but a Bumble
would say it nay.
He ate excellently himself; he uncorked the champagne, and insisted upon
her joining him with it; the sparkling stuff filled all her veins with
fire. She ate chicken and found that it was good--and very good. She ate
of other delicacies with which he plied her plates and found all her
system rejoiced. In very truth she had lately pushed her diet theory so
far that she was in a state of semi-starvation. She laughed, she chatted
gaily, she made as entertaining a companion for that little lunch at the
foot of the Fall as a man need wish to have. Hugh stared at her in amaze
once or twice; it was as if a white tightly-closed rosebud had suddenly
blossomed into beautiful bloom.
"Happiness," said Hugh to himself, "that is all she needs, and the
independence and responsibilities of a home of her own."
The merry lunch progressed; the talk fell upon the author's own
books--and other books. Again Hugh was surprised--and delighted--at the
lady's discrimination and genuine culture. It was difficult to realize
that any one who wrote so atrociously could think and speak so well.
"It's like Kate's bicycle," he said to himself, "a single woman must
break out somewhere. The probabilities are, if she had a home of her
own, that she would never want to touch a pen again."
Round and round the subject hovered his thoughts; this gentle, quiet
companion for the autumn of his life--the thought was singularly
attractive--infinitely more so than the thought of Dora or Bee that had
always possessed also an element of distraction alarming to a man of
staid habits.
He looked at her with new eyes.
She saw the look and drooped and flushed beneath it.
Then down came Kate, panting and puffing, but quite genial.
"A nice way to treat your guests, Sir," she said, "do you know you have
been away an hour? I don't know what Dora and Bee can think of you."
"By George," said Hugh, "I had forgotten their very existence!"
"Well," said Kate, sinking comfortably on a seat, "others have not been
so forgetful. Two young men have arrived and have been helping us to eat
up the picnic. I have forgotten their surnames, but the girls call them
Charlie and Graham. Medical students, I find, who decided not to attend
lectures, but to take a run up here for the day. Clears the brain, they
told me. Heard at the hotel that their friends were at the Falls, so
just ran down in the hope of stumbling across them. Stumbled across them
in the 'Lovers' Nook.'"
"Ah," said Hugh, "and do the little girls seem pleased to see them?"
"Well," said Kate, "all I can say is one of them, Bee to be exact, has a
ring on her finger that she did not start the day with. I discovered
this by the painful efforts she made at lunch to hide it. And I expect
by this time Dora's finger can keep Bee's company. They are plainly
very masterful young men, and I fancy had determined that the mountain
trip should settle their hearts as well as clear their brains."
"Ah," said Hugh, "I am delighted. I'll go up presently and drink their
healths--if there's a bottle of champagne left. Any more news your end
of the world?"
"Yes," said Kate, and calmly helped herself to some jelly, "Effie has
developed whooping cough while you have been away."
"Oh, oh!" said Muffie, jumping with joy, "may we go up and play with
them now?"
"Look here," said Hugh, "I protest. This is too staggering. I may not
know as much of medicine as this Charlie and Graham you speak of, but I
do know a germ's got to be incubated. There simply has not been time."
"Oh, yes," said Kate. "I have dragged it from Florence that they
foregathered purposely some time ago with the laundress's little boy who
has the same complaint, but since it did not seem to have communicated
itself to them they made another trial to-day. Well, Edith will have to
leave the hotel now and take a cottage for them."
The little Lomaxes were dancing with delight. Only Max was a little
quiet. Teddie Gowan did everything a little better than he, Max, could
do; it would be insupportable if Teddie were able soon to brag that he
whooped louder than Max.
"Praps mine will get worser again," he said hopefully.
"See here," said Kate, "I must go back before much longer. Miss Bibby
and I will pack up, Hugh, and you stay quietly at the tree ferns and
mind the children."
"No," said Hugh gently, "you and the children pack up, K, and I will
mind Miss Bibby."
A delicate wave of colour pulsed over the woman's face.
THE END.
Butler & Tanner The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
WORKS BY ETHEL TURNER
(MRS. H. R. CURLEWIS)
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
_Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, 3s. 6d._
THE STOLEN VOYAGE.
"Miss Ethel Turner is Miss Alcott's true successor. The same healthy,
spirited tone is visible, which boys and girls recognized and were
grateful for in 'Little Women' and 'Little Men,' the same absence of
primness, and the same love of adventure."--_The Bookman._
A WHITE ROOF TREE.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson and others.
"It is a charming picture of young life, painted as the authoress knows
how to depict it. She has a fresh and tender touch indeed, which has
singled her out as the happy successor of Miss Alcott, and won for her
the golden opinions of her juvenile readers. Her charming new story
cannot but multiply her young friends, and enable them to pass many more
delightful hours under the witchery of her spell."--_The Leicester
Post._
MOTHER'S LITTLE GIRL.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
"A beautiful story.... One that draws out all the author's wonderful
capacities for direct and naturally emotional and sentimental writing.
The grown-ups, the little folks, and their every-day experiences, are
portrayed and described with a realism that brings them very near to the
reader, affecting the feelings and impressing the memory."--_The Dundee
Advertiser._
BETTY & CO.
Illustrated.
"Miss Ethel Turner has lost none of her freshness, her tenderness, her
charm, after so many years' writing.... She comes very near genius in
depicting child-life, and she is Australian to the core."--_The Queen._
LITTLE MOTHER MEG.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
This book is another of the Author's delightful stories of child life,
full of the same charms which brought into popularity her earlier
stories; this new story is bound to enhance her reputation as one who
can picture child life in all its natural innocence.
THE STORY OF A BABY.
Illustrations by Frances Ewan and others.
"A pretty and graceful little narrative."--_Daily Telegraph._
"A charming sketch of a girl-wife and the pitfalls of early married
life."--_Liverpool Mercury._
SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
"A capital story, charged with incident of a lively and stirring kind,
in which children play some interesting parts."--_Saturday Review._
"The pictures of their characters and careers seem taken from the life,
and there is a novelty in some of the surroundings of the household
which makes the volume eminently readable.... There are not wanting
passages of true pathos, and some vividly picturesque descriptions of
Australian scenery."--_Daily Telegraph._
THE FAMILY AT MISRULE. A Sequel to the above.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
"Delightful young people they are, with all their mistakes and innocent
naughtiness, yet so bright and natural they cannot fail to
charm."--_Graphic._
"All who were delighted with 'Seven Little Australians'--as all were who
read the charming story--will welcome 'The Family at Misrule.'... The
story is charmingly written."--_Leeds Mercury._
THREE LITTLE MAIDS.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
"A tale of absorbing interest. The book all through is written in a vein
that will afford genuine delight to those into whose hands it may
fall."--_Morning Advertiser._
"A capital story, told with vivacity, point, and humour. Admirably
calculated to interest young people."--_Publishers' Circular._
THE CAMP AT WANDINONG.
Illustrations by Frances Ewan and others.
"Ethel Turner has given us in 'The Camp at Wandinong' such an insight
into the thoughts and nature of childhood as is nothing short of
marvellous. It is no exaggeration to say that in our experience no truer
representations of child life have ever been brought before the public.
Mrs. Curlewis's pathos is of that simple and intimate description that
will find its way straight to the hearts of her readers."--_Ladies'
Field._
MISS BOBBIE.
Illustrations by Harold Copping.
"Simply delightful.... In its humour and its penetrating insight it is
quite a masterpiece, comparable only with Miss Alcott's 'Little
Men.'"--_Daily Mail._
"In every way a delightful book. It is one of those simple histories of
everyday life that children of all ages like to read, full of fast and
furious fun."--_British Weekly._
THE LITTLE LARRIKIN.
Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.
"This is a most delightful, pathetic, and humorous--yet neither too
pathetic nor too humorous--story."--_Speaker._
"So brightly written, and so full of delicate touches of both humour and
pathos."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"An exceedingly clever and amusing story."--_St. James' Gazette._
THE "TIP-CAT" SERIES
BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADDIE."
_Large Crown 8vo, Art Linen Gilt, Illustrated, 2s. 6d._
_Chambers' Journal_ says:--"The diffidence of the authoress of 'Laddie'
has hitherto prevented her real name and portrait from going forth to
the public. But her work is finer, and has more grit, sanity, and beauty
than is the case with writers who are better known. It is possible that
her 'Laddie' may become a classic."
TIP-CAT. By the Author of "Laddie."
A very pathetic story of hardships and sacrifice, telling how the
tenderness and generosity of one may make life smooth and happy for
others.
DEAR. By the Author of "Laddie."
The love-story of the daughter of a simple-hearted country clergyman.
The way she is deprived of her lover, and duped into marrying the
squire's son, and the final attainment of her heart's desire, are told
with great charm and pathos.
FAITHFUL. By the Author of "Laddie."
"An excellent story of great charm and pathos ... a delightful story,
most charmingly told."--_Liverpool Courier._
PEN. By the Author of "Laddie."
A story of the neglect of two motherless children. The sketches of
character and touching love passages are exceedingly well told.
MY HONEY. By the Author of "Laddie."
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'Tip-Cat.' The story is full of charming character drawing."--_Graphic._
ROB. By the Author of "Laddie."
"Interestingly written, and will be read with equal pleasure by members
of either sex."--_Westminster Gazette._
LIL. By the Author of "Laddie."
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OUR LITTLE ANN. By the Author of "Laddie."
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chequered life. The various episodes are cleverly connected, and the
descriptive portions well told.
LADDIE, etc. By the Author of "Tip-Cat."
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Journal._
THE CAPTAIN OF FIVE. By Mary H. Debenham.
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HOLLYBERRY JANET. By Maggie Symington ("Aunt Maggie").
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conceive of. Brimful of quaint and wonderful notions, and teeming with
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THE NIDDING NOD. By H. Escott-Inman.
CATHERINE. By F. M. Peard.
London: WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED.
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Transcriber's notes: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenations (everyday/every-day, |
| wastepaper/waste-paper, bathroom/bath-room) have been retained. |
| |
| On p39 Miss (Agnes) Bibby's rejected novel is listed as being |
| written by "Katherine J. Howard Bibby". This is the only |
| occurrence of "Katherine" in the text and has been left as |
| printed. |
| |
| On p177 the punctuation preceding the quotation "How happy could |
| I be with either" has been adjusted to clarify who is speaking. |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
End of Project Gutenberg's In the Mist of the Mountains, by Ethel Turner