Part 23

“You impertinent boy! Of course I’m not,” exclaimed Sallie, with an air that proved the contrary. “What do you hate most?” asked Fred. “Spiders and rice pudding.” “What do you like best?” asked Jo. “Dancing and French gloves.” “Well, I think Truth is a very silly play. Let’s have a sensible game of Authors to refresh our minds,” proposed Jo. Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass with a book, which he did not read. “How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw,” said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice. “Why don’t you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it,” replied Miss Kate graciously. “I haven’t time.” “Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine, but I proved to her that I had talent by taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing I should go on. Can’t you do the same with your governess?” “I have none.” “I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, Papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose?” “I don’t go at all. I am a governess myself.” “Oh, indeed!” said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, “Dear me, how dreadful!” for her tone implied it, and something in her face made Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank. Mr. Brooke looked up and said quickly, “Young ladies in America love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves.” “Oh, yes, of course it’s very nice and proper in them to do so. We have many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well bred and accomplished, you know,” said Miss Kate in a patronizing tone that hurt Meg’s pride, and made her work seem not only more distasteful, but degrading. “Did the German song suit, Miss March?” inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an awkward pause. “Oh, yes! It was very sweet, and I’m much obliged to whoever translated it for me.” And Meg’s downcast face brightened as she spoke. “Don’t you read German?” asked Miss Kate with a look of surprise. “Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don’t get on very fast alone, for I’ve no one to correct my pronunciation.” “Try a little now. Here is Schiller’s Mary Stuart and a tutor who loves to teach.” And Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap with an inviting smile. “It’s so hard I’m afraid to try,” said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her. “I’ll read a bit to encourage you.” And Miss Kate read one of the most beautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless manner. Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who said innocently, “I thought it was poetry.” “Some of it is. Try this passage.” There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke’s mouth as he opened at poor Mary’s lament. Meg obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short, but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoiled for her. “Very well indeed!” said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes, and looking as if he did indeed love to teach. Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketch book, saying with condescension, “You’ve a nice accent and in time will be a clever reader. I advise you to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I must look after Grace, she is romping.” And Miss Kate strolled away, adding to herself with a shrug, “I didn’t come to chaperone a governess, though she is young and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are. I’m afraid Laurie will be quite spoiled among them.” “I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses and don’t treat them as we do,” said Meg, looking after the retreating figure with an annoyed expression. “Tutors also have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my sorrow. There’s no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret.” And Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful that Meg was ashamed to lament her hard lot. “I’m glad I live in it then. I don’t like my work, but I get a good deal of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won’t complain. I only wished I liked teaching as you do.” “I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry to lose him next year,” said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the turf. “Going to college, I suppose?” Meg’s lips asked the question, but her eyes added, “And what becomes of you?” “Yes, it’s high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, I shall turn soldier. I am needed.” “I am glad of that!” exclaimed Meg. “I should think every young man would want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay at home,” she added sorrowfully. “I have neither, and very few friends to care whether I live or die,” said Mr. Brooke rather bitterly as he absently put the dead rose in the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave. “Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any harm happen to you,” said Meg heartily. “Thank you, that sounds pleasant,” began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful again, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day. “Don’t you love to ride?” asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned. “I dote upon it. My sister, Meg, used to ride when Papa was rich, but we don’t keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree,” added Amy, laughing. “Tell me about Ellen Tree. Is it a donkey?” asked Grace curiously. “Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses and so am I, but we’ve only got an old sidesaddle and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple tree that has a nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we like.” “How funny!” laughed Grace. “I have a pony at home, and ride nearly every day in the park with Fred and Kate. It’s very nice, for my friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen.” “Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I’d rather go to Rome than the Row,” said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what the Row was and wouldn’t have asked for the world. Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author cards, looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, “I’m afraid you are tired. Can I do anything for you?” “Talk to me, please. It’s dull, sitting by myself,” answered Frank, who had evidently been used to being made much of at home. If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed a more impossible task to bashful Beth, but there was no place to run to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that she bravely resolved to try. “What do you like to talk about?” she asked, fumbling over the cards and dropping half as she tried to tie them up. “Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting,” said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength. My heart! What shall I do? I don’t know anything about them, thought Beth, and forgetting the boy’s misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to make him talk, “I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know all about it.” “I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a confounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds for me,” said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent blunder. “Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes,” she said, turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one of the boys’ books in which Jo delighted. Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her sisters’ surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged protection. “Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him,” said Jo, beaming at her from the croquet ground. “I always said she was a little saint,” added Meg, as if there could be no further doubt of it. “I haven’t heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long,” said Grace to Amy, as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorn cups. “My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl, when she likes to be,” said Amy, well pleased at Beth’s success. She meant ‘facinating’, but as Grace didn’t know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded well and made a good impression. An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain... Alone, alone, ah! Woe, alone, and at the lines... We each are young, we each have a heart, Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart? he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed outright and spoiled his song. “How can you be so cruel to me?” he whispered, under cover of a lively chorus. “You’ve kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, and now you snub me.” “I didn’t mean to, but you looked so funny I really couldn’t help it,” replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and the talk after it. Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly, “There isn’t a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?” “Not a particle, but she’s a dear,” returned Sallie, defending her friend even while confessing her shortcomings. “She’s not a stricken deer anyway,” said Ned, trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do. On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, “In spite of their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows them.” “I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brooke. CHAPTER THIRTEEN CASTLES IN THE AIR Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warm September afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods, for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke’s patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash. Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the Marches coming out, as if bound on some expedition.