Other Things Being Equal Part 26

"And disgust the night with lack of appreciation?"

She turned to a corner of the porch and lifted a pair of oars to her shoulder.

"Why," he said in surprise, coming toward her, "you keep your oars at home?"

"On the principle of 'neither a borrower nor a lender be;' we find it saves both time and spleen."

She held them lightly in place on her shoulder.

"Allow me," he said, placing his hand upon the oars.

A spirit of contradiction took possession of her.

"Indeed, no," she answered; "why should I? They are not at all heavy."

He gently lifted her resisting fingers one by one and raised the broad bone of contention to his shoulder. Then without a look he turned and offered his arm to Mrs. Levice.

The crickets chirped in the hedges; now and then a firefly flashed before them; the trees seemed wrapped in silent awe at the majesty of the bewildering heavens. As they approached the river, the faint susurra came to them, mingled with the sound of a guitar and some one singing in the distance.

"Others are enjoying themselves also," he remarked as their feet touched the pebbly beach. A faint crescent moon shone over the water. Ruth went straight to the little boat aground on the sh.o.r.e.

"It looks like a c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l," he said, as he put one foot in after shoving it off. "Will you sit in the stern or the bow, Mrs. Levice?"

"In the bow; I dislike to see dangers before we come to them."

He helped her carefully to her place; she thanked him laughingly for his exceptionally strong arm, and he turned to Ruth.

"I was waiting for you to move from my place," she said in defiant mischief, standing motionless beside the boat.

"Your place? Ah, yes; now," he said, holding out his hand to her, "will you step in?"

She took his hand and stepped in; they were both standing, and as the little bark swayed he made a movement to catch hold of her.

"You had better sit down," he said, motioning to the rower's seat.

"And you?" she asked.

"I shall sit beside you and use the other oar," he answered nonchalantly, smiling down at her.

With a half-pleased feeling of discomfiture Ruth seated herself in the stern, whereupon Kemp sat in the contested throne.

"You will have to excuse my turning my back on you, Mrs. Levice," he said pleasantly.

"That is no hindrance to my volubility, I am glad to say; a back is not very inspiring or expressive, but Ruth can tell me when you look bored if I wax too discursive."

It was a tiny boat; and seated thus, Kemp's knees were not half a foot from Ruth's white gown.

"Will you direct me?" he said, as he swept around. "I have not rowed on this river for two or three years."

"You can keep straight ahead for some distance," she said, leaning back in her seat.

She could not fail to notice the easy motion of his figure as he rowed lightly down the river. His flannel shirt, low at the throat, showed his strong white neck rising like a column from his broad shoulders, and his dark face with the steady gray eyes looked across at her with grave sweetness. She would have been glad enough to be able to turn from the short range of vision between them; but the stars and river afforded her good vantage-ground, and on them she fixed her gaze.

Mrs. Levice was in bright spirits, and seemed striving to outdo the night in brilliancy. For a while Kemp maintained a sort of Roland-for-an-Oliver conversation with her; but with his eyes continually straying to the girl before him, it became rather difficult. Some merry rowers down the river were singing college songs harmoniously; and Mrs. Levice soon began to hum with them, her voice gradually subsiding into a faint murmur. The balmy, summer-freighted air made her feel drowsy. She listened absently to Ruth's occasional warnings to Kemp, and to the swift dip of the oars.

"Now we have clear sailing for a stretch," said Ruth, as they came to a broad curve. "Did you think you were going to be capsized when we shot over that snag, Mamma?"

She leaned a little farther forward, looking past Kemp.

"Mamma!"

Then she straightened herself back in her seat. Kemp, noting the sudden flush that had rushed to and from her cheek, turned halfway to look at Mrs. Levice. Her head was leaning against the flag-staff; her eyes were closed, in the manner of more wary chaperones,--Mrs. Levice slept.

Dr. Kemp moved quietly back to his former position.

Far across the river a woman's silvery voice was singing the sweet old love-song, "Juanita;" overhead, the golden crescent moon hung low from the floor of heaven pulsating with stars; it was a pa.s.sionate, tender night, and Ruth, with her face raised to the holy beauty, was a dreamy part of it. Against the black lace about her head her face shone like a cameo, her eyes were brown wells of starlight; she scarcely seemed to breathe, so still she sat, her slender hands loosely clasped in her lap.

Dr. Kemp sat opposite her--and Mrs. Levice slept.

Slowly and more slowly sped the tiny boat; long gentle strokes touched the water; and presently the oars lay idle in their locks,--they were unconsciously drifting. The water dipped and lapped about the sides; the tender woman's voice across the water stole to them, singing of love; their eyes met--and Mrs. Levice slept.

Ever, in the after time, when Ruth heard that song, she was again rocking in the frail row-boat upon the lovely river, and a man's deep, grave eyes held hers as if they would never let them go, till under his worshipping eyes her own filled with slow ecstatic tears.

"Doctor," called a startled voice, "row out; I am right under the trees."

They both started. Mrs. Levice was, without doubt, awake. They had drifted into a cove, and she was cowering from the over-hanging boughs.

"I do not care to be Absalomed; where were your eyes, Ruth?" she complained, as Kemp pushed out with a happy, apologetic laugh. "Did not you see where we were going?"

"No," she answered a little breathlessly; "I believe I am growing far-sighted."

"It must be time to sight home now," said her mother; "I am quite chilly."

In five minutes Kemp had grounded the boat and helped Mrs. Levice out.

When he turned for Ruth, she had already sprung ash.o.r.e and had started up the slope; for the first time the oars lay forgotten in the bottom of the boat.

"Wait for us, Ruth," called Mrs. Levice, and the slight white figure stood still till they came up.

"You are so slow," she said with a reckless little laugh; "I feel as if I could fly home."

"Are you light-headed, Ruth?" asked her mother, but the girl had fallen behind them. She could not yet meet his eyes again.

"Come, Ruth, either stay with us or just ahead of us." Mrs. Levice, awake, was an exemplary duenna.

"There is nothing abroad here but the stars," she answered, flitting before them.

"And they are stanch, silent friends on such a night," remarked Kemp, softly.