IN THE GARDEN
Everybody agreed that the weather was remarkable that fall; far into
November it lasted warm and bright, and Walter Grayson who found life
more endurable under the open sky than within four walls, spent a large
part of each day out of doors attended by his faithful Thompson.
Caro’s visit had stirred anew his longing for the old companionships
that had once been his. When at length after their long absence they
had decided to come home, he had looked forward to it almost eagerly,
but his sister whose pride shrank from sympathy took it for granted
that to meet his old acquaintances could be only painful to him, and
those who had ventured to call were not admitted.
Walter was in the habit of acquiescing in her decisions, and in the
first shock of his illness he had felt the same shrinking from pity,
but now the sense of loneliness was becoming almost unbearable. As he
was wheeled about the garden he lived over again the merry days of his
childhood, and the quarrel that had separated him from those he had
cared most for, seemed a small matter in the light of these memories.
The Graysons had long been people of wealth and influence in
Charmington, and in Miss Elizabeth’s opinion it was a direct insult
when her wishes were ignored and the beauty of the avenue which had
been named for her grandfather was, as she thought, forever ruined.
That her personal friends could side against her, added to the
bitterness. She refused to see that Dr. Barrows was not responsible for
his brother’s actions, and proudly withdrew her friendship from the
whole family, and her gifts from the seminary.
No doubt her grief over her brother made her more bitter than she would
otherwise have been; at least so Dr. Barrows thought, and would not
speak ill of her.
Walter upon whom she lavished everything affection could suggest,
or money buy, felt that he could not ask for the only thing he
really wanted. And at times he told himself despondently that he was
forgotten, that his friends no longer cared for him.
Caro’s simple friendliness had won his heart, the possibility of seeing
her again added a little interest to his lonely life; and Thompson too,
seeing the good effect of her visit, was on the watch for her.
When one afternoon they saw her in her scarlet jacket, looking over the
garden wall, Walter waved his hand and Thompson grinned broadly over
the back of the chair, while Caro nodded and smiled in response, quite
as if they had been old friends.
“Don’t you want to see your picture?” Walter asked; “they are on the
library table, Thompson,” he added.
As the man went off Caro swung her feet over on the Grayson side of the
fence, and then in another minute she had slipped down and was beside
Walter’s chair. “I mustn’t stay long,” she said. “Marjorie has gone to
the dentist’s and I told her I’d wait till she came back.”
“How is the cat?”
“He is very well, thank you, but he has been bad. He stole a bird.”
“You don’t say so!”
“Yes, and so have I.”
“You don’t mean you have stolen a bird?”
Caro laughed. “Of course not; I wouldn’t steal, but Marjorie and Tom
and I jumped all the feathers out of Aunt Charlotte’s bed.”
“What naughty children,” said Walter smiling.
“Yes,” agreed Caro with a sigh, “and I meant to be good while grandpa
was away. I promised him I’d try to be a candle and then I forgot.”
“What do you mean by being a candle?”
“Oh--being pleasant and nice to Aunt Charlotte and Jane,--not making
trouble you know. The feathers were all over the front lawn and
Mrs. Rice thought it was snowing.” Caro laughed a little at the
recollection.
“Grandpa said the best way to be a candle was to love people, and I do
love him ever so much, but I don’t love Jane. I love Aunt Charlotte
too, but she doesn’t like to talk to me, so I miss grandpa.”
“I know how that is. I too wish sometimes for someone to talk to,”
Walter replied.
Here Thompson appeared with the photographs, and everything else was
forgotten.
“They are a little too grave,” Walter said, comparing them with the
glowing face beside him; “We must try again sometime.”
“And let’s have Trolley in it too,” Caro suggested.
“Why certainly, that is a good idea. Do you know Caro you remind me of
my little sister.”
“Do you mean Annette?”
“Why what can you know about her?” Walter asked in surprise.
“Grandpa told me. I asked him who lived in your house--and then I saw
her window in the chapel--the Good Shepherd you know. Grandpa said she
was a dear little girl. Do I truly look like her!”
“Yes, there is something in your face and smile that is like her;”
Walter looked thoughtfully at the picture.
“Won’t you please tell me about her?” begged Caro.
And so while Thompson wheeled his master up and down the garden paths,
she walked beside him and listened to the story of those days when the
gate now nailed up was always open, and merry girls and boys ran back
and forth.
“What nice times you did have!” Caro exclaimed, pressing the palms of
her hands together. “I wish we could do some of those lovely things.
Couldn’t we have a picnic and have a fire and roast potatoes and corn?”
Her interest was a pleasant thing to the invalid; he laughed at the
eager face; “Well, why can’t we?” he said. “What do you think Thompson?”
“Why of course we can, sir, if you like,” was the answer.
“And have Marjorie and Tom?” cried Caro eagerly.
It seemed impossible to refuse her, but when he thought of it
afterwards Walter began to doubt if he had been wise. What would his
sister think--or the Barrows, when it was discovered that he had been
entertaining the children in the garden? Still it was too late now--he
had promised.
As for Caro no doubts spoiled her anticipation. She gave Marjorie a
most animated account of the pleasure in store for them, and her
cousin was as interested as she could wish.
“It will be lovely, Caro, and we’ll keep it a secret,” she said, for
there was nothing Marjorie liked so well as a mystery.
Finding Tom, they proceeded to excite his curiosity.
“Say--don’t you wish you knew what we are going to do to-morrow?” they
both exclaimed.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, pulling his ear and realizing
that he was about to be teased.
“We can’t tell, but it is something awfully nice,” said Caro, “Isn’t it
Marjorie?”
“Isn’t it though!” and the two looked knowingly at each other.
“There’s going to be something to eat,” Marjorie added.
“A candy pulling, I bet,” cried Tom.
“No indeed!” they both cried.
After carrying this on for half an hour and goading Tom to the point of
desperation, Marjorie said, “If you’ll promise honest truly you won’t
tell you can come over to-morrow and _maybe_ we’ll let you into it.”
“Truly I won’t tell,” Tom promised, brightening.
“Do you think you’d let him into it Caro? He might spoil it.”
“Oh I guess so,” Caro replied, and they ran off leaving him alone with
his curiosity.
All this mystery added not a little to the delights of the picnic next
day in the Grayson garden, and certainly for its size there was never a
merrier one.
Tom was a little uncomfortable at first, for Marjorie’s dark hints
about the garden had impressed him deeply, but he soon recovered from
this and helped Thompson make a fire on the very spot where Charlie and
Walter had built theirs in days gone by.
The children thought nothing ever tasted so good as the corn roasted
there; there were grapes and apples besides and some fascinating
bon-bons, but the corn was the most fun, they insisted.
Not being in the habit of providing for such feasts Thompson forgot the
salt, and Marjorie and Caro had the excitement of running to the house
and having the cook inquire what they were going to do with salt.
On a seat made of a plank supported on bricks the three children sat
and feasted and chattered, while Walter looked on and enjoyed the
experience of acting once more as host.
Everybody knows the peculiar pleasure of a fire out of doors; the day
was cool enough to make its warmth agreeable, and the sight and sound
of the crackling flames was like a tonic to the spirits.
After the feast was over they played games, such as “I have a word that
rhymes with--” and “My ship comes sailing--.”
They asked conundrums, and Thompson showed himself to be an
accomplished sleight-of-hand man, finding silver dollars in impossible
places, and making handkerchiefs appear and disappear, in a surprising
manner. Never was more fun crowded into one short afternoon.
“It has been a beautiful picnic, and I am very much obliged to you,”
Caro said to Walter as they were separating.
“So am I,” echoed Marjorie, and Tom would have said the same if he
hadn’t been bashful, as it was he could only grin.
“I am just as much obliged to you for coming to my picnic,” Walter
replied, and he added to Caro, “Goodby little Candle.” This was the
first time in more than four years that he had given any pleasure to
anybody, he thought on the way to the house.
Miss Elizabeth stood at the door: “Surely Walter you are staying out
too late,” she said: “Are you not chilled?”
“Not at all; you can trust Thompson for that,” he answered.
As for Thompson, he wished Miss Grayson could have seen her brother
as he told stories and laughed at the pranks of his visitors, and
he determined that if he could bring it about there should be more
occasions of the sort.