"Heighho!" yawned Carroll Hamilton, picking up his long legs from the
grass, "this is not making hay while the sun shines," and he proceeded
leisurely to place a camp stool in position, erect an easel, and spread
out sketching materials.
A few bold, rapid strokes transferred a pretty bit of rural landscape to
the canvas, and this much gained, the amateur artist lit a fine Havana
and lazily drifted off again into reverie. His thoughts were not of
a pleasant nature. Why couldn't a man do as he liked in this world?
Here the particular man in his mind--to-wit his own agreeable self,
had devoted his twenty-four years to acquiring sundry dazzling
accomplishments, zonly to have his interest in life dampened by a
matrimonial scheme, hatched long ago in the fertile brains of his own
parents and the parents of his prospective dulcinea in conspiracy.
Yes, a regular wet blanket had awaited his return from Italia's classic
shores. What an insufferable bore to be pledged, promised, all but tied
to an unknown female whose only merit, he wilfully wagered, lay in her
invincible ground rents.
"Why, my son," his doting mother said, "think of it--two hundred thousand
dollars in her own right, and all yours for the asking."
He did think of it; and he vowed in his own mind to do
something--anything; run away, commit suicide, before he would join
himself for life to any girl he had never seen, especially old
Thornton's daughter, who seemed so willing to jump at him. Not he. In
vain they urged him to cultivate the fair damsel. Not till he had braced
his nerves with country air, he said. This tonic secured, he graciously
consented to be introduced, but would reserve the ratification of the
wedding treaty till later.
What's the use in having fathers and mothers, anyhow? They only plague
the life out of one. They don't ever think of letting a fellow alone
once in a while. They--
What other heinousness they would be guilty of would never be shaped
into thought, for at this moment down came a dainty little slipper, with
a dainty little rosette, from the tree above, plump on to his sketch,
and a violent start and a glance upward revealed a bewildering little
pink-stockinged foot, which was the daintiest of all.
The abrupt spring to his feet brought down the camp stool, cigar, easel
and all, but not the foot, for the rest of the apparition was caught and
hidden by the clustering young shoots of the apple tree.
A whistle--quite involuntary, if not polite--was shaping itself a brief
distance below his staring eyes, when, recovering himself and tiptoeing
to his full height, he peered into the branches and said, a little
irrelevantly:
"I beg pardon!"
Two milk-white hands parted the leaves, and a flushed pink-and-white
face appeared at the opening.
"It's only me," cooed a musical voice, and as if the sound had unlocked
the pent-up silence, two rows of pearls shone between two red lips, two
large blue eyes twinkled with fun, and as charming a peal of laughter as
was ever vouchsafed to mortal ears rippled merrily on the air.
"And who is me, may I ask?" rather saucily asked the routed artist.
"Why, Daisy--Daisy Merrifield; don't you know?"
"Why, no, I don't know; that is, I didn't know, but of course I know
now; and I'm delighted to know."
At all these "knows", the maiden laughed her merry laugh again.
"May I ask what you are doing up there?"
"Doing nothing--just what you are doing down here."
"Ah, but I was doing something very nice down here, only you have nearly
spoiled it," and with mock regret the young man picked up the slipper
and comically surveyed its Cinderella proportions.
"So I did," was the regretful reply, "you see it was awfully poky,
having to sit so still. I must have grown desperate at last and kicked
it off--I am sorry."
"Well, I am not one bit sorry," he said. "I'll do another picture, and
next time I'll sketch the tree," he added, his brown eyes twinkling with
amusement.
"But how did you get up there, and how will you get down?" were his next
queries, putting the little slipper into the pocket of his jacket.
"Well, I climbed up," she admitted. "I suppose I'll have to jump down.
Reach out your hands," she cried, and a sudden rustle showed she was
preparing to spring. "Good gracious me!" was her next exclamation, as
the willing hands were extended, "my hair is all caught."
"Hold perfectly still till I get up there," he said with concern, and
replacing the stool, he was soon on a level with the fair prisoner.
Patiently he disentangled the long golden locks from the infringing
boughs, and gathering them all in her little hands, she gave them a
vigorous twist forward over her face out of further mischief.
"Now, my slipper, please," as the young fellow retreated. Obediently
restoring the truant article, she deftly adjusted it, and cried,
"All ready!"
It is hardly to be wondered at that her descent was arrested, and her
rounded form tenderly lowered to terra firma.
"I like this out here, don't you?" was her next remark, shaking out her
fairy muslin skirts and placidly surveying the scene. "I've been out
every day these--let me see--yes, three days. Aunt Hepsy says I'll get
tanned, but I don't mind. You know Aunt Hepsy, don't you? Everybody
does."
"No, but I'd like to," he said, and he meant it.
"She lives at the farm-house yonder--she and Uncle Reuben. They are the
best old souls! So this is what you were doing," she abruptly added,
picking up the sketch. "You wouldn't think I could draw, but I can,"
with a proud little toss of the hair.
"I would think you could do anything," he gallantly replied.
But she was intent upon the picture, with its bold, true outlines.
"This isn't bad," was her sage critcism.
"Didn't you wear a hat, or something?" he asked, looking around and up
into the tree.
"No--yes--I wore this," and pulling from her pocket a large blue square
of cotton, she tied it under her chin with the utmost naivete.
"It's Aunt Hepsy's," she explained. "There, do you hear that bell?
That's for dinner," and taking a tiny watch from an elf-like pocket, she
added, "Only half-past eleven. But, to be sure, we ate breakfast with
the chickens. It's horrible."
"Don't you live here?"
"Live here?" she echoed. "No, I'm only visiting. Good-bye, I must go. I
am much obliged, though," and as if the recollection were overpowering,
she again burst out into her ringing laugh.
"It was too funny you didn't see me; and I so scared I was afraid to
breathe. Good-bye, I hope you will have a good time with your picture."
"But you are not going to dismiss me, are you? Mayn't I take you home?"
"Yes, if you like; only you musn't stay long. I've got to do Rollin and
Plutarch while I'm out here, and can't be bothered."
With difficulty repressing an explosion, the young man walked beside
the woodland sprite, with his goods and chattels thrown across his
shoulders, and found himself falling--yes, tumbling--headlong in love.
Such an airy, fairy, exquisite piece of humanity it had never been his
fortune to behold.
"You are too young to worry your brain with dry old fossils like Rollin
and Plutarch," he said, with what gravity he could.
"I am a person of twenty," she affirmed with demure satisfaction, as she
tripped along in a manner quite enchanting.
At the door of the farm-house a fair, motherly face smiled a welcome
from the border of a spotless cap, then sobered a little at the sight
of a stranger.
"This is Aunt Hepsy," simply said Daisy, "and you are--?" hesitating.
A flush not born of the sunshine mounted to his brow as with swift
thought he saw the shoals ahead, and did not dare reveal his identity.
"John Smith," he said, with his natural ease.
"Oh!" half exclaimed Daisy, upon hearing such a very common name from
such very uncommon lips; but checking it, and softly humming a tune, she
retired to an inner room to prepare for dinner.
This episode was the beginning of elysium for John Smith. Every day saw
him at the farm-house. Every day revealed some new charm in the Daisy
he had found. She was as industrious and sensible as she was petite and
pretty. Rollin and Plutarch were discarded for modern authors, or for
simple chit-chat about mamma, papa, and little ones at home.
But when the day came for John Smith to tell his love, he met with a
shock that quite paralyzed his senses.
Looking up with her big blue eyes, she said:
"You mustn't talk like that; I'm engaged."
"Engaged?" he stammered, "engaged?"
"Yes, I'm engaged."
"And to whom? May I ask?"
"Oh, I can't tell you his name; it's a secret yet. He is a person I
never saw."
"Sheer madness!" was his horrified ejaculation. "Never saw him, and
going to marry him?"
"I promised, you know; I must, if he wants me," she said in her
unconcerned way.
"But don't you love _me_, Daisy?"
"Yes, I suppose I do, but that can't be helped; a promise is a promise."
"Who is to prevent it?" he exclaimed impatiently. "I say it shall be
helped."
There was not time for further rhapsodies. Aunt Hepsy appeared with a
telegram, calling Daisy home; and home she went next day, leaving Mr.
John Smith in despair. In vain he laid siege to Aunt Hepzibah and
Uncle Reuben; they could not help him.
Then, in a mighty wrath, he too went home, and desperately resolved to
have it out with the Thornton girl, one way or the other; but not "the
other" if Daisy could be brought to terms.
It was easy travelling where the way was all prepared. So a lovely
moonlight evening found him in Squire Thornton's parlor. In a few
moments there floated down to him from the invisible upper regions a
cloud of blue muslin, and the laughing face of Daisy Merrifield was
before him.
"Oh, Daisy, what a surprise! and how sweet you are!" as impulsively he
strained her to his heart. "What joy to find you here!"
"Don't crush my dress," she said, righting up the ruffles; "it's new.
Yes, I am here. Didn't you come to see me?"
"No--that is--I came to see Miss Thornton," and his face fell.
"There is no Miss Thornton," she said, her dimples playing
mischievously. "It is only _I_--_now_ don't you know?"
"But how is it? I was told--I understood--"
"Pshaw! you stupid!" she said, with a bewitching pout, "if you had been
a little more civil, you would have known that I am Mrs. Thornton's
daughter--not Mr. Thornton's; that mamma is mamma, but papa isn't papa,
and--"
But in an ecstacy of surprise and joy the rest of her sentence was
entirely smothered.
"And you knew from the first?" he asked, reproachfully.
"Not from the first, but almost. They were all in the plot. I meant to
snub you outright, only--well, somehow you didn't look as horrid as you
really were! The 'John Smith' was almost too much for me, but I stood
it. Then when the letter came--it was well for you I had seen you under
the tree. So you wouldn't marry the heiress," she said, archly. "I did
my very best to teach you a lesson, young man. Have you learned it?"
The answer was fervently though silently given the merry, rosy, smiling
lips.