THE HILL-SIDE HOUSE.
At the grand entrance of the park a young man had been waiting with a
desperate determination to take some part in the hunt, though he was
well aware that his presence in such company must be an intrusion; for
he was the only son of a farmer on the estate, and had just received
education enough to unfit him for usefulness in his own sphere of life
and render his presumption intolerable to those above him.
He had not ventured on a full hunting-suit, but wore the cap, boots,
and gloves with an air that should, he was determined, distinguish him
from any of the grooms, and perhaps admit him into the outskirts of
the hunt, if audacity could accomplish nothing more. The horse, which
he sat with some uneasiness, had been purchased for the occasion
unknown to his father, who had intrusted the selection of a farm-horse
to his judgment, and was quite ignorant that the beast had been taken
out for any other purpose. As the young man rode this horse up and
down in sight of the gate, a groom came through and answered, when
questioned about the hunting party, that it had started half an hour
before across the park.
With an oath at the time he had lost, young Storms put the horse to
his speed and was soon in the open country, but the animal, though a
good one, was no match for the full-blooded action for which Sir
Noel's stables were famous. After riding across the country for an
hour, as it seemed to him, wondering what course the hunt would take,
the horse suddenly lifted his ears, gathered up his limbs, and, before
his rider could guide the movement, leaped a low wall into a
corn-field and was scouring toward some broken land beyond, when a
flash of darkness shot athwart his path, and the fox, routed from his
covert, dashed across the field. After it came the dogs, red-mouthed
with yelping, clearing the hedges with scattered leaps, and darting
swiftly, as shot arrows, in the track of the fox.
After them came the hunt, storming across the field, over walls and
ditches, and winding up the long slope of the hill, scattering rays of
scarlet flame as it went.
The rush of the dogs, the desperate speed of the fox, maddened Storms,
as the first bay of the hounds had inspired his horse. He plunged on
like the rest, eager and cruel as the hounds. For once he would be in
at the death.
Storms had done some rough riding in preparation for this event, but
he lacked the cool courage that aids a horse in a swift race or
dangerous leap. In wild excitement he wheeled and made a dash at the
wall. The horse took his leap bravely, but a ditch lay on the other
side, and he fell short, hurling his rider among the weeds and
brambles that had concealed its depths.
The young man was stunned by the sudden shock, and lay for a time
motionless among the weeds that had probably saved his life, but he
gathered himself up at last and looked around. The hunt was just
sweeping over the crest of the hill, and half-way up its face his
horse was following, true to its instincts.
The young man felt too giddy for anger, and for a time his mind was
confused; still no absolute injury had happened to him, and after
gathering up his cap and dusting his garments, he would have been
quite ready to mount again, and saw his horse go over the hill with an
oath which might have been changed to blows had the beast been within
his control.
The scenery around him was in some respects familiar, but he could not
recognize it from that standpoint or determine how far he was from
home. In order to make himself sure of this he mounted the hill, from
whence he could command a view of the country.
A lovely prospect broke upon the young man when he paused to survey
it: below him lay a broad valley, composed of a fine expanse of forest
and farming land, through which a considerable stream sparkled and
wound and sent its huddling crystal through green hollows and shady
places till its course was lost in the distance.
This river Storms knew well. It passed through the "Norston's Rest"
estate, but that was so broad and covered so many miles in extent that
his position was still in doubt.
Storms was not a man to occupy himself with scenery for its own sake,
however beautiful or grand; so, after a hurried glance around him, he
proceeded to mount higher up the hill. The declivity where he stood
sank down to the river so gradually that several houses were built on
its slope, and most of the land was under some sort of cultivation.
The nearest of these houses was a low structure, old and dilapidated,
on which the sunshine was lying with pleasant brightness. If nature
had not been so bountiful to this lovely spot, the house might have
been set down as absolutely poverty-stricken, but, years before, some
training hand had so guided nature in behalf of the beautiful, that
Time, in destroying, made it also picturesque.
Storms observed this without any great interest, but he had attained
some idea of thrift on his father's farm, and saw, with contempt, that
no sign of plenty, or even comfort, was discernible about the place.
It was a broken picture--nothing more; but an artist would have longed
to sketch the old place, for a giant walnut-tree flung its great
canopy of branches over the roof, and, farther down the slope of the
hill, a moss-grown old apple orchard, whose gnarled limbs and
quivering leaves would have driven him wild, had yielded up its
autumnal fruit.
There was a low, wide porch in front of the house, over which vines of
scant leafiness and bristling with dead twigs crept toward the
thatched roof. The walls about the house were broken in many places,
and left in gaps, through which currant and gooseberry-bushes wound
themselves outward in green masses.
At the end of this enclosure there had been some attempts at
gardening; but plenty of weeds were springing up side by side with the
vegetables, and both were richly overtopped in irregular spaces by
clusters of thyme that had found root at random among the general
neglect.
All this might have given joy to a man of aesthetic taste, but Storms
would never have looked at it a second time but for some object that
he saw flitting through the garden, that brightened everything around,
as a tropical bird kindles up the dense foliage of a jungle.
It was a young girl, with a good deal of scarlet in her dress and a
silk handkerchief of many colors knotted about her neck. She was
bareheaded, and the sunshine striking down on her abundant black hair,
sifted a gleam of purple through it, rich beyond description.
The young man was bewildered by this sudden appearance, and stood a
while gazing upon it. Then his face flushed and a vivid light came
into his eyes.
"By Jove, there's something worth looking after here," he said. "The
creature moves like a leopard, and jumps--goodness, how she does jump
across the beds! I must get a nearer view."
From that distance it was difficult to judge accurately of the girl's
face; but there was no mistaking the easy sway of her movements or the
picturesque contrast of her warmly hued garments with the leafy
shadows around her.
She was evidently a reckless gardener, for half the time she leaped
directly into the vegetable beds, treading down the shoots that were
tinging them with departing greenness. All at once she dropped on her
knees and began to pull up some beets, from which she vigorously shook
the clinging soil.
When she arose with her handful of green leaves and roots, Storms
became conscious that the old house, with all its proofs of neglect,
made an attractive picture.
"I will ask for a cup of milk or a drink of water," he thought; "that
will give me a good look at her face."
The old house was half-way down the hill, along which the young man
strolled. The gate scraped a semicircle in the earth as he opened it
and made for the porch, from which he could see a bare hallway and a
vista through the back door, which stood open.
A gleam of color which now and then fluttered in view led the young
man on. The boards creaked under his tread as he went down the hall
and stood upon the threshold of the door, watching the girl as she
stooped by the well, holding her garments back with one hand while she
dashed her vegetables up and down in a pail of water which she had
just poured from the bucket.
She looked up suddenly, and something that lay in those large black
eyes, the mobile mouth, the bright expression fascinated him. She was
picturesque, and just a little awkward the moment she became conscious
that a stranger was so near her.
"I have had a long walk, and am thirsty. Will you give me a glass of
water or a cup of milk?" he said, moving toward the well. The girl
dropped her beets into the pail, and stood gazing on her strange
visitor, half shy, half belligerent. At last she spoke:
"The cow has not been milked this morning," she said, "and yesterday's
cream has not been skimmed; but here is water in the bucket, and I
will bring a cup from the house."
"Thank you."
She was gone in an instant, and came back with a tumbler of thick,
greenish glass in her hand, which she dipped into the bucket and drew
out with the water sparkling like diamonds as it overflowed the glass.
As the young man drank, a cow that had been pasturing in the orchard
thrust its head over the wall and lowed piteously.
The young man smiled as he took the glass from his lips.
"I think the cow yonder would be much happier if I had a cup of her
milk," he said.
"Well, if you must have it!" answered the girl, dashing some water
left in the glass on the stones around the well, and, with a careless
toss of the head, she went into the kitchen and came out carrying a
pail in one hand and an earthen mug in the other.
"Shall I go with you?" questioned Storms, holding out his hand for the
pail, but she swung it out of his reach and went down the empty hall,
laughing the encouragement she would not give in words.
The young man followed her. In pushing open the gate their hands met.
The girl started, and a hot blush swept her face.
"You should be a gentleman," she said, regarding his dress with some
curiosity.
Storms blushed crimson. The suggestion flattered him intensely.
"Why should you think so?" he questioned.
"Because working people in these parts never dress like that, gloves
and all!" she answered, surveying him from head to foot with evident
admiration. "A whole crowd of them--ladies too--went by just now with
a swarm of yelping dogs ahead, and a little fox, scared half to death,
running for its life. Are you one of them?"
"I might have been, only the brute of a horse made a bolt and left me
behind," said Storms, with rising anger.
"A horse! oh, yes, I saw one limping over the hill after the rest went
out of sight. Poor fellow, he was lamed."
"I hope so, the brute, for he has given me a long walk home, and no
end of trouble after, I dare say; but if it hadn't happened, I should
have missed seeing you."
Again the girl blushed, but carried her confusion off with a toss of
the head.
That moment the cow, impatient for notice, came up to her, lowing
softly, and dropping foamy grass from her mouth. Usually it had been
the girl's habit to plant her foot upon the grass and sit upon the
heel as she milked; but all at once she became ashamed of this rough
method, and looked around for something to sit upon. The garden wall
had broken loose in places. The young man brought a fragment of rock
from it and dropped it on the ground.
As she seated herself, slanting the pail down before her, he took up
the mug from the grass where she had dropped it.
"I must have my pay first," he said, stooping down, and holding the
mug to be filled.
The soft sound of the milk, as it frothed into the mug, was
overpowered by the laughter of the girl, who saucily turned the white
stream on his hand.
He laughed also, and shook off the drops, while the foam trembled on
his lips; then he bent down again, asking for more. Thus, with his
eyes meeting hers if she looked up, and his breath floating across her
cheek, this girl went on with her task, wondering in her heart why
work could all at once have become so pleasant.
"There," she said at last, starting up from her hard seat, "that is
done. Now she may go back to her pasture."
As if she understood the words, that mild cow walked slowly away,
cropping a tuft of violets that grew by the stone fence as she went.
Storms reached out his hand for the pail.
"Shall I help you?"
"No, thank you," she answered, turning her black eyes, full of
mischief, upon him. "I can do very well without."
If this was intended for a rebuff, the young man would not understand
it as such. He followed her into the house, without waiting for an
invitation, and remained there for more than an hour, chatting
familiarly with the girl, whose rude good-humor had particular charms
for him.
In a crafty but careless way he questioned her of her history and
domestic life. She answered him freely enough; but there was not much
to learn. Her father had come into that part of the country when she
was quite a child. A mother?--Of course she had a mother once, but
that was before she could remember--long before the old man came to
that house, which she had kept for him from that day out.
Storms looked around the room in which they sat, and a faint, derisive
smile came across his lips, for there was dust on everything, and
venerable cobwebs hung in the corners.
"Wonderful housekeeping it must have been!" he thought, while the girl
went on.
Did her father own the house? Of course he did; she had seen the
lease--a long one--which gave it to him for almost nothing, with her
own eyes. Still, that did not make him very rich, and he had to go out
to day's work for a living when farmers wanted help, and not having
much strength to give, got poor wages, and sometimes no work at all.
"Was her father an old man?"
Yes, old enough to be her grandfather. Good as gold, too, for he never
scolded her, and was sure to make believe he wasn't hungry when she
had no supper ready after a hard day's work, which was often enough,
for if there was anything she hated it was washing dishes and setting
out tables.
"Isn't that rather hard on your father?" questioned the young man.
Judith answered, with a heavy shrug of the shoulders, that she did not
think it was, for he never did more than heave a little sigh, then
take up the Bible or some other book, if he could find one, and read
till bedtime.
"A book! Does he read much?" asked Storms, really surprised.
Read! Judith rather thought he did! Nothing seemed to pacify him when
he was tired and hungry like a book. Where did he get the books? Why,
folks were always lending them to him; especially the clergyman. She
herself might never have learned to read or write if it had not been
for her father; and then, what would she have done all alone in the
old house from morning till night? What did she read? Why, everything
that she could lay her hands on. The girls about had plenty of
paper-covered books, and she always managed to get hold of them
somehow. It was when she had promised to read them through in no time
that her father had to go without his supper oftenest.
Storms asked to look at some of these volumes, if she had any on hand.
After a little hesitation, Judith went into the kitchen and brought a
soiled novel, with half the paper cover torn off, which had been
hidden under the bread-tray.
The smile deepened on the young man's lips as he turned over the dingy
pages and read a passage here and there. After a while he lifted his
eyes, full of sinister light, to hers, and asked if her father knew
that she read these books so much.
The girl laughed, and said that she wasn't likely to tell him, when he
thought she was busy with the tracts and history books that he left
for her. Then she gave a little start, and looked anxiously out of the
window, saying, with awkward hesitation, that her father was working
for the clergyman that day, and might come home early.
Storms arose at once. He had no wish to extend the pleasant
acquaintance he was making to the old man, if he was "good as gold."
As he passed into the lane, the cow, that was daintily cropping the
grass on one side, lifted her head and followed him with her great,
earnest eyes, that seemed to question his presence there as if she had
been human.
He took a step out of the way and patted her on the neck, at which she
tossed her head and wheeled up a bank, evidently not liking the
caresses of a stranger.