Bolax Part 13

"I won't stay to watch you; I know you will all obey, so I trust to your honor." And all did obey, for they loved and respected Mr. Royal, who always appealed to their honor.

The next morning the whole college heard of Bo's rats, and had a good laugh at the description of the hunt.

Bolax made great strides in his studies under the kind care of his tutor, Father Anthony, and his reports delighted his father and mother.

At Easter he received a beautiful picture of the Sacred Heart, as a prize for Catechism.

CHAPTER IX.

AMY'S TRIP TO THE SEASh.o.r.e.

For seven long weeks Amy had been under the doctor's care, suffering from Ch.o.r.ea; she had grown thin and pale, and her mother was beginning to worry over her condition.

"What do you think, Lucy, of sending Amy to Atlantic City?" she asked one day when they were consulting what had best be done for the child.

"Dear sister, I feel sure the salt air is the best tonic for nervous trouble. I will take Amy down, but you know it is impossible for me to stay away for any length of time, as I have an important engagement for the summer."

"Well, I shall write to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, begging them to receive our invalid for a few weeks."

Mother Evans, who was Mrs. Allen's particular friend, answered the letter, saying she would gladly care for the little girl, and that she could be sent down as soon as convenient.

When Amy heard of the proposed trip, she was delighted, then upon reflection, expressed herself as being afraid to meet so many strange girls, but when she saw a nice little trunk packed with every article of clothing, suitable for a sojourn by the sea, she was anxious to begin the journey.

When all was ready, Mr. Allen decided that they should take a very early train, so as to arrive in a strange town in full time to be at their destination before dark.

Bo heard the sound of wheels, and looking out saw the pony chaise at the door, Amy gave her mother a fervent good-bye kiss, then all got into the chaise. Bo sprang on the seat, seized the reins, and was soon driving quickly down the road. They were not long in reaching the station. Amy was interested in watching the important business of procuring tickets and seeing her pretty trunk labeled; she wondered if she would be as well equipped as the other girls in the convent, but she need not have wondered, as there are so many little girls and boys, whose treasures bear ample evidence of Mother's loving hands. Those little touches of motherhood, hardly noticed by those whom they are so tenderly lavished upon, seldom, if ever valued until after those dear hands have been removed to another sphere, whence, perhaps, they may be sometimes allowed to come, unseen by mortal eye to bear the loved ones up, whilst these may be longing wearily for that sweet "Touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still."

It was a delightful place to visit, that convent by the sea, and many a pleasant hour Amy spent watching the waves come in on the white sands and break over her bare feet. Sometimes she donned her bathing suit, and paddled in the water with the other children, one of the Nuns always watching over them.

It seemed nothing short of a miracle how quickly the child recuperated.

At the end of six weeks she had so far recovered that her mother, who had come to visit her, thought to take her home, but Mother Evans recommended a stay of sometime longer, so it ended in a visit of twelve happy, joyful weeks.

The kind Nuns became very much attached to Amy, and she to them, and dear Mother Evans began her preparation for First Holy Communion.

August was nearing its end when Mrs. Allen paid another visit to Atlantic City, this time, to bring her little girl home. She took board in a cottage near the convent, wishing to enjoy a few days of sea air.

One day when seated on the beach, both mother and daughter silently watched the waves as they came in gentle ripples almost to their feet.

Amy awoke from her reverie, exclaiming: "Oh, it is so beautiful!" She had been reading of the early explorers of our country, the self-sacrificing missionaries who crossed this same boundless ocean, which now lay so calm before them. Amy went on musingly, as if talking to herself, such a softness had come into her voice--her eyes took a dreamy far-off look, as though it were fresh in her mind--the story of the gallant De Soto and his brave company of six hundred men, the flower of Spanish chivalry, leaving the sunny slopes of his native Estramadura, sailing across these unknown seas, and landing upon these western sh.o.r.es; day after day pressing on through pathless wilds, on towards the sunset, in pursuit of that fabled El Dorado in which they thoroughly believed. And then that sad death upon the banks of the river which his eyes first of all Europeans had beheld--the sorrowing band who resolved to hide his body in the waters--the little skiff, in the gloom of the soft summer night, pushing silently out from the shadowy sh.o.r.e, with oars m.u.f.fled and voices hushed, for fear of the savage arrows hidden among the dark vines--the dull sound as they dropped the body in mid-river, and the sweet, sad music as the priest sang low the requiem of the departed chief--the first requiem that had ever sounded upon those solitary sh.o.r.es, where the waves have for four hundred years chanted their long dirge over the man whose prowess first gave them to the world.

There was, too, the grand old Ponce de Leon, who saw one Easter morning, a land rise out of the Western Sea--a land lovely in all its luxuriant vegetation of a Southern spring, with breath and beauty of flowers. What better name could the romantic hidalgo devise than "Florida," and where more fitly than here could he search for that wonderous fountain of perpetual youth?

Ah, brave old Spanish Cavalier. Did no soft wind wafted gently from afar over the flowery sunset land, whisper to you that, instead of youth and life perennial you should find, under the magnolia shade--a grave?

A hundred wordless dreams went flitting through Amy's mind. I say wordless; for who shall say how we think; by what subtile art a thousand pictures pa.s.s swiftly on before one's fancy, all so lovely and beyond the power of language--I mean our language to describe.

For this reason it is, I suppose, that when a great poet speaks, all the dumb world recognizes what he unfolds. It is for us to feel, for him to paint.

Amy was a very serious girl for her twelve years, constant a.s.sociation with her mother and aunt had given her a taste for books which some might think dull for one so young, but she was always a dreamy child, from the time she used to lie in her baby crib and watch the round moon plowing through the feathery clouds, to this moment when she looks up at the blue sky spanning the boundless ocean.

When Amy and her mother returned to the convent they found that dear Mother Evans had been called to New York. Mrs. Allen made a hasty preparation so as to return home on the same train, happy in being able to avail herself of her dear friend's company on the journey. Amy bade good-bye to all the household, thanking the Nuns for their kindness during her sojourn amongst them.

BO'S SUMMER ADVENTURES.

Bo too, spent a pleasant summer, he and several of his chums often went fishing, or hunting for wild flowers and curious stones, going into swampy places for specimens of plants, and sometimes coming home, as Hetty said, "Looking worse than Italian tramps."

One day Walter Rhue and Ned Thornton came to spend the day, Bo begged Hetty for a basket of luncheon, and off they went to have a day of it in the woods. It was the last week of August, rather warm, and after such a long tramp, they wanted to find a cool place for their picnic.

They reached a brook, which was usually so low that it could be crossed on some stepping stones. But today it was much swollen, owing to a heavy shower, which had fallen the preceding night, the water was three feet deep, and rushed angrily over the stepping stones.

Walter and Ned took up poles, and rolling up their pants, were about to pick their way through the noisy current, but Bolax stopped them, and said: "Look here, fellows, I'll show you how to cross a brook."

"You show me," retorted Ned, "I guess I can beat you at that business any time."

"I guess you can't," rejoined Bo, "just wait a minute and see how I do it."

He then stepped upon an old log on the bank of the brook, and grasping the drooping branches of a large tree, which grew on the opposite side, prepared to swing himself across. He pulled the branch as far toward himself as possible, and then leaped forward, shouting in boastful tones: "This is the way to cross a----"

Alas! For Bo and his boasting. The branch broke and his weight tore it from the tree, so, instead of swinging across, he fell with a tremendous splash into the water.

Walter and Ned burst into a fit of laughter, so uncontrollable, that they almost fell from the stones on which they stood. As soon as they could speak, Ned cried: "I say Bo, you had better take out a patent for your new way of crossing brooks."

But Bo was not prepared to enjoy his friend's joke. He was seated in the brook, with the water almost up to his chin. Seeing him so still, Walter went to the edge of the water, as near to him as possible and said:

"Bo you are rather in a wet place; why don't you come out of it?"

Bo then scrambled out, the water dripping from his clothes. Walter, with all his fun, was not without some thoughtfulness, and fearing lest Bolax's wetting might injure his health, urged him to hurry home to change his clothes.

"No, I'll sit in the sun and dry myself," replied Bo in a surly tone.

Ned tried to persuade him to run home, but he got angry with both boys.

"Bolax, you're a snapping turtle today, and I'll leave you to recover your good temper."

"I don't care; you may both go to the moon, if you like."

"Oh, very well, Mr. President, of the Patent Brook Crossing Company,"

said Walter with a provoking laugh.

"You shut up, or I'll throw you in the brook."

Bo did not usually show such temper, but his ducking had given him a chill, and made him nervous. Ned, the peace-maker, then remarked that it was silly for friends to quarrel.

"Let us make up and get you home, Bo, or Hetty will never give us another lunch for a picnic."