Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 8

graceful to bend an' move as the alders along Thunder Branch. There hain't nary other woman in all the world to ekal my Plutiny.

Plutiny--deformed! Why, mum, you-all talk plumb foolish."

The girl was too astonished before this outburst to take offense.

"But you spoke about straighteners for her," she protested.

Zeke stared for a moment, then grinned understandingly.

"Thet's what we-uns call 'em," he said. "You-all call 'em corsets."

Yet, the effect of this conversation reached beyond the humorous. In some subtle fashion, it provoked the girl to keener interest in the young man. She was perhaps, though she would have denied the suggestion hotly, a little piqued by the exaltation with which he praised his rustic sweetheart. Josephine was an exceedingly attractive young woman, and she was accustomed to having men show their appreciation of the fact. It was new to her thus essentially to be ignored, and not quite agreeable. There could be no tender interest between herself and this handsome barbarian. The idea even of flirtation was quite inconceivable. Nevertheless, it was strange that he should be so imperceptive of her charms. Doubtless, his eyes were blind to the refinements of beauty. They should be opened. It would be dreadful if the fellow should grow away from the girl who was waiting for him. And yet--Josephine checked her thoughts, and blushed a little. But a plan matured.

That plan was followed diplomatically when she secured a private interview with her father, after the return on board the yacht.

"Daddy, dear," she said, with a manner as casual as she could contrive, "let's keep this Mister Higgins on board. He's bound for New York, but in no particular hurry. We'll get him there in about ten days."

Mr. Blaise, who was a plethoric, fussy little man, adamant to all the world save his only child, regarded her now in perplexity, his shrewd eyes a bit mischievous.

"I don't imagine it's to be the stereotyped romance, just because you dragged him out of the sea," he said. "The chap has the makings of considerable of a man in him, and he's good-looking enough to catch a girl's fancy; but he's not your sort. So, why?"

"Besides," Josephine retorted, smiling, "Florence has the same right in him as treasure trove. That would make the romance too complicated."

"Why?" Mr. Blaise repeated.

"I've never met anyone like him," the girl explained, with truth, if not all the truth. "He's unique. I want to study him. Such knowledge is broadening--better than books."

"Bosh!" was the comment. "You mean, he's just a freak to you, and you'd like to look him over a little longer. There's no harm in that, if it amuses you. But don't be silly about broadening yourself." He regarded his daughter critically. "And leave out the deserts. They're too broadening, if you like. You're getting plump."

Josephine accepted this meekly, in her satisfaction over having her way as to the new guest.

"I'll go and invite him, right away," she exclaimed. "He'll liven us up."

But her father wrinkled his brows in doubt.

"What about the effect on the young fellow, himself?" he demanded.

"It can't do him any good, Josie. That sort of thing's unsettling, you know."

Josephine attempted no reply, as she went on her way. Her father could not see the flush that touched her cheeks.

Through such devious ways did it come to pa.s.s that the mountaineer entered a world of which he had never even dreamed. His own complete ignorance of social conditions prevented him from appreciating the marvel wrought by fate in his behalf. In the simplicity of his character, he accepted the change as a perfectly natural event in the world that he had set out to explore. It was this simplicity, which kept him from undue self-consciousness, that carried him safely through what must otherwise have been an ordeal. He accepted what had befallen thankfully, and sought to learn what he best might from the novel environment. His interest was conspicuously in others, not in himself. He was greedy of information, lavish in liking. By a benign miracle, there were no sn.o.bs in the yachting party, which included also two young men, and two of the owner's age, besides Josephine's aunt. This chaperon was a motherly soul, and, in sheer kindliness of heart did much to make the situation easy. The informality of the party, too, was a tremendous advantage to the young man, though he never guessed it. On the contrary, he accepted things as they were enthusiastically, with never a thought of dismay. In flannels loaned him by the largest guest, which fitted too snugly, he presented an appearance so excellent that Mr. Blaise was moved to pinch his daughter's ear, while reminding her of the stereotyped romance.

Such was the cause of Plutina's wearisome waiting for the letter that did not come. Zeke found, to his distress, too late that an interval of a week or more must elapse before a letter posted in Bermuda could possibly reach the mountains. But, beyond that, there was nothing to disturb the girl who loved him. The heart of the lad amid the luxuries of life on the yacht was unchanged in its devotion. It was, indeed, as if he saw all things as a frame for her. He was forever thinking how Plutina would look here or there, in connection with this or the other. The gowns of the three women, were viewed critically in relation to the mountain girl. He would imagine her loveliness enhanced by the sheen of silk, by the films of lace, by the l.u.s.ters of jewels. Josephine thought once when she appeared in a dainty evening frock, not too daring, that she had penetrated his armor of aloofness, for he blushed hotly as his eyes went to her neck, and his gaze fell.

She was deceived. He remembered in that moment, how he had once kissed the soft whiteness of Plutina's throat, where the homespun gown lay open. Now, memory of the warm bliss of that kiss sent the blood racing and tingling.

That self-deception was as near as Josephine ever came to triumph.

Florence understood, to some extent, at least, the mood that influenced her friend. A feminine intuition inspired in her a like ambition to pierce this young savage's reserve. Through her own feeling, she readily divined that of Josephine. Thus, the two became unconfessed allies in the employment of their wiles against an unsuspecting victim. It was, indeed, the lack of suspicion on his part that irritated them to the point of exasperation. He was so utterly innocent of their manoeuvers against his peace! Both of the girls were attractive beyond the average. Josephine, a plump blonde, ingenuous of manner, sophisticated, capricious, yet not spoiled, egotistic, but winsome, full of electric vitality; Florence, taller and darker, with an air more sedate, yet doubtless capable of deeper and more enduring emotions. Each possessed excellent features, and the fascinations of radiant health, sufficient culture, and the most exquisite refinements of personal detail. They deserved the humble admiration of any man.

They expected tender adulation from most, and from most they received it. At the outset a certain impa.s.sivity on the part of this wild mountaineer excited their astonishment, then, quickly, their dissatisfaction. They were moved to a caprice against his calm, against this indifference that was an affront. They had no wish to work him serious harm, but his disregard was intolerable. Since the heart of neither was engaged, there was no jealousy between them in the affair. Since each was secretly ashamed of her motives, there was no confidence between them.

Their failure, in the lazy days and evenings of voyaging and of rambling in the Bermudan islands, was undeniable. It was the more aggravating since the young man patently admired them. Even, his admiration was excessive, almost reverential, at times. Yet, it was altogether impersonal. They came eventually to know that this mountaineer regarded them with warm friendliness, with a lively grat.i.tude, with a devoted respect, with a certain veneration. But that was all. No dart from their quiver of charms touched to the pa.s.sionate heart of him--nor ever could. From whichever side the shafts were thrown, always they were shattered against a white shield, and fell harmless. That shield was Plutina.

One night, as the yacht neared New York, Josephine and Zeke sat together, watching the scud of clouds across the moon. The mountaineer spoke softly, after an interval of silence.

"The clouds is runnin' thar jest as I've seen 'em lookin' out across the valley from Stone Mounting--with Plutiny." There was a caress in his voice.

Josephine checked an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of impatience. The savage was incorrigible--quite! Him, and his everlasting Plutina! Perverse curiosity overcame discretion. Perhaps, too, after all, he only needed guidance. She tried to believe, though vainly, that only shyness prevented him from improving an opportunity any other man would have coveted.

"Tell me," she said softly, with a sympathetic lure in her tones, "is Plutina so very beautiful?"

The lure was effective. Zeke turned to her with the hazel eyes darkly luminous in the moonlight.

"Tiny's beautiful," he answered tenderly; and there was music now in the slow drawl. "I 'low she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I'm afraid you're prejudiced," Josephine objected, with a disarming laugh. "Of course, you ought to think so, but, really you know, you haven't quite seen all the beautiful women in the world. Now, have you?"

"All I need to," was the confident a.s.surance. "Why," he continued with an apologetic smile for his boldness. "I done seen you-all, Miss Blaise, an' I reckon you-all are about as beautiful as a woman kin be--'ceptin' Plutina."

The tribute was potent from its very unexpectedness. It eased the chagrin from which vanity had suffered. Evidently, her charms were not disregarded. It was simply that this lover had given his heart, and that he was loyal. The girl sighed a little enviously at the realization. She knew too well that many, perhaps most, in her world were not loyal, even when their hearts were given. She wondered if, in truth, there awaited her the boon of a like faithfulness. Yet she persevered in her probing.

"Out in the world," she said musingly, "where things are so different from up in your mountains, you may change. It may be you won't want to go back, to the hills--to Plutina."

A flush of wrath burned in Zeke's cheeks, visible in the gloom.

"Hit ain't fittin' fer you-all to say no such thing, Miss Blaise. But I kin fergive ye, kase ye hain't seen our mountings. They hain't no other place more beautiful. Mister Sutton done told me so, an' he's been all over the hull world. An', besides, hit's home. A man what don't love his home country better'n any other--why, mum, he's jest a plain skunk.... An' Plutiny, she's the best part o' home. There hain't no land so beautiful, nor no woman. No, mum, I sha'n't change--never! I kain't!"

And Josephine knew that it was so, and once again she sighed.

CHAPTER XI

Uncle d.i.c.k, as he was universally known in the mountains, had celebrated his eightieth birthday before his granddaughters, Plutina and Alvira, by leaping high in the air, and knocking his heels together three times before returning to the ground. There was, in fact, no evidence of decrepitude anywhere about him. The thatch of coal-black hair was only moderately streaked with gray, and it streamed in profuse ringlets to his shoulders. His black eyes were still keen; the leathery face, with its imperious features, was ruddy.

He carried his six-foot-three of bone and muscle lightly.

As of the body, so of the heart. The springs of feeling in him showed no signs of drying up. On the contrary, they threatened to gush forth in a new flood over the Widow Brown, on whose plump prettiness, hardly dimmed by her three-score years, he looked with appreciative and ardent eyes. Indeed, his conduct justified the womenfolk of his household in apprehensions, for witness to the seriousness of the affair was afforded the morning after the raid on Dan Hodges' still.

He demanded of Alvira that she burn the grease from an old skillet with great care.

"If they's a mite of hit, hit makes a sc.u.m, an' floats off the gold on hit," he explained.

The sisters regarded each other in consternation, but forebore questioning. When he had mounted his mare, and ridden away, Plutina spoke with bitterness:

"I reckon Mis' Higgins done hit the nail on the haid 'bout Gran'pap an' the Widder Brown."

Alvira nodded.

"Yep. Hit means business, sh.o.r.e, if he's a-gallavantin' over to Pleasant Valley to pan gold. Hit means he's aimin' to marry her." She waxed scornful, with the intolerance of her sixteen years. "Hit's plumb ridic'lous--at his age."