The Last of the Foresters Part 61

On the following morning events happened pretty much as Mr.

Roundjacket had predicted.

Verty wrote for some moments--then stopped; then wrote again for one moment--then twirled, bit, and finally threw down his pen.

Roundjacket chuckled, and observed that there was much injustice done him in not elevating him to the dignity of prophet. And then he mildly inquired if Verty would not like to take a ride.

Yes, Verty would like very much to do so. And in five minutes the young man was riding joyfully toward the Bower of Nature.

Sad news awaited him.

Redbud had suffered seriously from her wetting in the storm. First, she had caught a severe cold--this had continued to increase--then this cold had resulted in a fever, which threatened to confine her for a long time.

Poor Verty's head drooped, and he sighed so deeply that f.a.n.n.y, who communicated this intelligence, felt an emotion of great pity.

Could'nt he see Redbud?

f.a.n.n.y thought not; he might, however, greet her as she pa.s.sed through the town. Word had been sent to Apple Orchard of her sickness, and the carriage was no doubt now upon its way to take her thither. There it was now--coming through the willows!

The carriage rolled up to the door; Miss Lavinia descended, and greeting Verty kindly, pa.s.sed into the house.

In a quarter of an hour the severe lady came forth again, accompanied by the simpering Miss Sallianna, and by poor Redbud, who, wrapped in a shawl, and with red, feverish cheeks, made Verty sigh more deeply than before.

A bright smile from the kind eyes, a gentle pressure of the white, soft hand, now hot with fever, and the young girl was gone from him.

The noise of the carriage-wheels died in the distance.

Verty remained for some moments gazing after it; then he rose, and shaking hands with the pitying f.a.n.n.y, who had lost all her merriment, got slowly into the saddle and returned.

He had expected a day of happiness and laughter with Redbud, basking in the fond light of her eyes, and rambling by her side for happy hours.

He had seen her with fevered cheek and hand, go away from him sick and suffering.

His arms hanging down, his chin resting on his breast, Verty returned slowly to the office, sighing piteously--even Longears seemed to know the suffering of his master, and was still and quiet.

CHAPTER XLIV.

IN WHICH THE HISTORY RETURNS TO APPLE ORCHARD.

Having devoted much s.p.a.ce in the foregoing pages to those scenes, descriptive, grotesque, and sentimental, which took place at the Bower of Nature and Winchester, it is proper that we should now go back to the domain of Apple Orchard, and the inhabitants of that realm, so long lost sight of in the contemplation of the graces and attractions of Miss Sallianna, and the various planets which hovered in the wake of that great feminine sun of love and beauty. Apple Orchard, so long lost sight of, will not longer suffer itself to be neglected; and, fortunately, the return of our heroine, Redbud, affords an opportunity of pa.s.sing away, for the time, from other scenes, and going thither in her company.

Redbud's sickness did not last long. The girl had one of those const.i.tutions which, though they seem frail and delicate, yet, like the reed, are able to resist what breaks more robust frames.

The wetting she had gotten, on the evening whose events we have chronicled, had not seriously affected her;--a severe cold, and with it some slight fever, had been the result. And this fever expended itself completely, in a few days, and left the girl well again, though quite weak and "poorly," as say the Africans.

Redbud, like most persons, was not fond of a sick-room; and after sending word, day after day, to our friend Verty--who never failed to call twice at least, morning and evening--that she was better, and better, the girl, one morning, declared to cousin Lavinia that she was well enough to put on her dressing-wrapper, and go down stairs.

After some demur, accompanied by many grave and solemn shakes of the head, Miss Lavinia a.s.sented to this view of the case; and accordingly set about arranging the girl's hair, which had become--thanks to the fact that she could not bear it tied up--one ma.s.s of curls of the color of gold; and this task having been performed with solemn but affectionate care, the Squire made his appearance, according to appointment, and taking his "baby," as he called our heroine of sixteen and a half, in his arms, carried her down stairs, and deposited her on a sofa, fronting the open window, looking on the fresh fields and splendid autumn forest.

Redbud lay here gazing with delight upon the landscape, and smiling pleasantly. The autumn hours were going to the west--the trees had grown more golden than on that fine evening, when, with sad mishaps to f.a.n.n.y, the gay party had wandered over the hills, though not very far away, and seen the thunder-storm suck in the dazzling glories of the bannered trees. Another year, with all its light, and joy, and beauty, slowly waned away, and had itself decently entombed beneath the thick, soft bed of yellow leaves, with nothing to disturb it but the rabbit's tread, or forest cries, or hoof-strokes of the deer. That year had added life and beauty to the face and form of Redbud, making her a woman-child--before she was but a child; and the fine light now in her tender eyes, was a light of thought and mind, the mature radiance of opening intellect, instead of the careless, thoughtless life of childhood. She had become suddenly much older, the Squire said, since going to the Bower of Nature even; and as she lay now on her couch, fronting the dying autumn, the year which whispered faintly even now of its bright coming in the Spring, promised to make her a "young lady!"

And as Redbud lay thus, smiling and thinking, who should run in, with laughing eyes and brilliant countenance, and black curls, rippling like a midnight stream, but our young friend, Miss f.a.n.n.y.

f.a.n.n.y, joyous as a lark--and merrier still at seeing Redbud "down stairs" again--overflowing, indeed, with mirth and laughter, like a morn of Spring, and making old Caesar, dozing on the rug, rise up and whine.

f.a.n.n.y kissed Redbud enthusiastically, which ceremony, as everybody knows, is, with young ladies, exactly equivalent to shaking hands among the men; and often indicates as little real good-feeling slanderous tongues have whispered. No one, however, could have imagined that there was any affectation in f.a.n.n.y's warm kiss. The very ring of it was enough to prove that the young lady's whole heart was in it, and when she sat down by Redbud and took her white hand, and patted it against her own, the very tenderest light shone in Miss f.a.n.n.y's dancing eyes, and it was plain that she had not exaggerated the truth, in formerly declaring that she was desperately in love with Redbud. Ah! that fond old school attachment--whether of boy or girl--for the close friend of sunny hours; shall we laugh at it? Are the feelings of our after lives so much more disinterested, pure and elevated?

So Miss f.a.n.n.y chatted on with Redbud, telling her a thousand things, which, fortunately, have nothing to do with our present chronicle--else would the unfortunate chronicler find his pen laughed at for its tardy movement. f.a.n.n.y's rapid flow of laughing and picturesque words, could no more be kept up with by a sublunary instrument of record, than the shadow of a darting bird can be caught by the eager hand of the child grasping at it as it flits by on the sward.

And in the middle of this flow of words, and just when f.a.n.n.y makes a veiled allusion to an elderly "thing," and the propensity of the person in question, to rob more juvenile young ladies of their beaux--enter Miss Lavinia--who asks what thing Miss f.a.n.n.y speaks of, with a smile upon the austere countenance.

f.a.n.n.y declines explaining, but blushes instead, and asks Miss Lavinia where she got that darling shawl, which is really a perfect love of a thing; and so, with smiles from Redbud, the conversation continues until dinner-time, when the Squire makes his appearance, and after kissing Miss Redbud, affects to take Miss f.a.n.n.y by the elbows and b.u.mp her head against the ceiling, baby-fashion. In this attempt, we need not say, the worthy gentleman fails, from the fact, that young ladies of seventeen, are, for some reason, heavier than babies, and are kissed with much more ease, and far less trouble, standing on their feet, than chucked toward the ceiling for that purpose.

Having dined and chatted pleasantly, and told a number of amusing tales for Miss Redbud's edification--and against the silent protest and remonstrance of said Miss Lavinia--the Squire declares that he must go and see to his threshing; and, accordingly, after swearing at Caesar, goes away; and is heard greeting somebody as he departs.

This somebody turns out to be Verty; and the young man's face blushes with delight at sight of Redbud, whom he runs to, and devours with his glances. Redbud blushes slightly; but this pa.s.ses soon, and the kind eyes beam on him softly--no confusion in them now--and the small hand is not drawn away from him, but remains in his own.

And f.a.n.n.y--amiable f.a.n.n.y--knowing all about it, smiles; and Miss Lavinia, staidest of her s.e.x, suspecting something of it, looks grave and dignified, but does not frown; and Verty, with perfect forgetfulness of the presence of these persons, and much carelessness in regard to their opinions, gazes upon Redbud with his dreamy smile, and talks to her.

So the day pa.s.ses onward, and the shades of evening take away the merry voices--the bright sunset shining on them as they go. They must come again without waiting for her to return their visit--says Redbud smiling--and the happy laughter which replies to her, makes Apple Orchard chuckle through its farthest chambers, and the portraits on the wall--bright now in vagrant gleams of crimson sundown--utter a low, well-bred cachinnation, such as is befitting in the solemn, dignified old cavaliers and ladies, looking from their laces, and hair-powder, and stiff ruffs, upon their little grandchild.

So the merry voices become faint, and the bright sunset slowly wanes away, a rosy flush upon the splendid sky, dragging another day of work or idleness, despair or joy, into oblivion!

Redbud lies and gazes at the n.o.ble woods, bathed in that rosy flush and smiles. Then her eyes turn toward a portrait settling into shadow, but lit up with one bright beam--and the dear mother's eyes shine on her with a tender light, and bless her. And she clasps her hands, and her lips murmur something, and her eyes turn to the western sky again.

And evening slowly goes away, leaving the beautiful pure face with evident regret, but lighting up the kind blue eyes, and golden hair, and delicate cheek, with a last vagrant gleam.

So the dim cheerful night came down--the day was dead.

CHAPTER XLV.

HOURS IN THE OCTOBER WOODS.

In a week Redbud was going about again: slowly, it is true, and taking care not to fatigue herself, but still she was no longer confined to the house.

She rose one morning, and came down with a face full of happy expectation.

That day had been appointed for a holiday in the woods, and f.a.n.n.y, Verty and Ralph were coming. Soon they came.

Ralph was resplendent in a new suit of silk, which he had procured after numerous directions from our friend Mr. O'Brallaghan; Verty resembled the young forest emperor, which it was his wont to resemble, at least in costume;--and f.a.n.n.y was clad in the finest and most coquettish little dress conceivable. After mature deliberation, we are inclined to believe that her conquest of Ralph was on this day completed and perfected:--the conduct of that gentleman for some days afterwards having been very suspicious. We need only say, that he sat at his window, gazing moonward--wrote sonnets in a very melancholy strain, and lost much of his ardor and vivacity. These symptoms are sufficient for a diagnosis when one is familiar with the disease, and they were exhibited by Mr. Ralph, on the occasion mentioned. But we antic.i.p.ate.

The gay party went out in the grove, and wandering about in the brilliant October sunlight, gathered primroses and other autumn flowers, which, making into bunches, they topped with fine slender, palm-like golden rods:--and so, pa.s.sing on, came to the old glen behind, and just beneath the acclivity which made the western horizon of Apple Orchard.

"Look what a lovely tulip tree!" said f.a.n.n.y, laughing, "and here is the old lime-kiln--look!"