Wych Hazel Part 18

'Yes, I ought to do that,' said his ward, 'Where is Dingee?--I will send him right off.'

'Will you write, or shall I?' said Rollo, drawing out paper and pen ready on one of the tables.

She glanced at him as if in momentary wonder that he should offer to write her despatch, then ran off the most summary little note, twisted it into a knot of complications, and again asked for Dingee. Rollo gently but saucily put his own fingers upon the twisted note and bore it away.

The business of the tea-making and preparing was going on; and both Primrose and her old a.s.sistant bustled about the tea table, getting things ready and Dr. Maryland's chair in its right place. A quiet bustle, very pleasant in the eyes of Wych Hazel, with all its homely and sweet meanings. The light had softened a little, and still came through a grey veil of rain; odours of rose and sweet-briar and evening primroses floated in on the warm, moist air, and mingled with the steam of the tea-kettle and the fume in the chafing-dish; and the patter, patter of rain drops, and the dash of wet leaves against each other, were a foil to the tea-kettle's song. Wych Hazel looked on, musingly, till Rollo came back and took her round the room looking at books. Then offering her his arm, he somewhat suddenly brought her face to face with some one just entering by the door.

An old gentleman; Wych Hazel knew at once who it must be.

Middle-sized, stout, with rather thin locks of white hair, and a face not otherwise remarkable than for its look of habitual high thought and pure goodness. It took but a moment to see so much of him. She stopped short, and then came close up to him.

'Is this your charge, Dane? Is this little Wych Hazel?' he went on more tenderly, and folding her in his arms. 'My dear,'

he said, kissing her brow, 'I hope you will be as good a woman as your mother was! I am very glad to see you!--very glad indeed!'

She did not answer at first, looking up into his face with a wistful, searching look that was a little eager; standing quite still, as if the enclosing arms were very pleasant to her.

'Yes sir,' she said, 'I am Wych Hazel. But why are you glad to see me?'

'My dear, I knew your mother and father; and I have a great interest in you. I am told you will be queen of a large court up yonder at Chickaree.'

She laughed a little, and coloured, looking down, then back into his face again.

'Will you like me, sir, all you can?'

'All you will give me a chance for. So you must let us see you a great deal; for affection must grow, you know; it cannot be commanded. Sit down, my dear, sit down; Primrose is ready for us.'

It was a right pleasant meal! There was no servant waiting; the little informalities of helping themselves suited well with the quiet home ease and the song of the tea-kettle.

Primrose made toast for her father, and Rollo blew the coals to a red heat to hasten the operation. Dr. Maryland sometimes talked and sometimes was silent; and his talk was of an absolute simplicity that neither knew in his own nor imagined in other people's minds any reserves of dark corners. Primrose talked little, but was lovingly watchful not only of her father, but of Wych Hazel, and Rollo too; who on his part was watchful enough over everybody.

'And my dear,' said Dr. Maryland, 'why did you not bring Mr.

Falkirk with you?'

'Well, sir, to begin--I did not know I was coming myself! I was out riding, and the rain came--and I jumped off into the first open door I could see. And then Miss Maryland let me stay.'

'But Mr. Falkirk, my dear--where's he?'

'Safe at home, sir. We have been seeking our fortune together, but to-night we got separated.'

'Mr. Falkirk went back and left you?' said Dr. Maryland, looking surprised.

'No, sir, I went ahead and left him. That is,' she added, smothering a laugh, 'he did not set out at all.'

'I thought--I thought, you said you were together?'

'Only in a general way, sir. On all special occasions we divide.'

'What did you say you were doing? seeking your fortune?'

'I set out to seek mine,' said Wych Hazel, 'and of course poor Mr. Falkirk has to go along to look on. He doesn't help me one bit.'

'To seek your fortune, my dear?' said Dr. Maryland, looking benignly curious; 'What sort of a fortune are you looking for?'

'Why I don't know, sir. If I knew,--it would be half found already, wouldn't it?' said the girl.

'But my dear--did Mr. Falkirk never tell you that fortunes are never found ready made?'

'He objected, because he said mine was ready made--but that made no difference from my point of view. And then he said he thought our road would "end in a squirrel track, and run up a tree." And do you know, sir,' said Wych Hazel, the hidden merriment flashing out all over her face, 'that was what it really did!'

'Did what, my dear?'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' she said, trying to steady her voice and bring out words instead of a burst of laughter,--'but--that is a wild Western expression, which Mr. Falkirk used to signify that we should get into difficulties.'

'Why did Mr. Falkirk think you would get into difficulties?'-- Dr. Maryland had not found the scent yet.

'I don't think he has much opinion of my prudence, sir,--and believes firmly that every one who goes off the highway finds rough ground. Now I like a jolt now and then--it wakes one up.'

'Do you want to find rough ground, my dear?'

'I don't mean really rough, sir, in one sense, but uneven-- varied, and stirring, and uncommonplace. It seems to me that I have a whole set of energies that never come into play upon ordinary occasions. I should weary to death of the lives some people lead--three meals a day, and a cigar, and a newspaper. I think I should fast once a week, for variety--and smoke my cigar wrong end first--if there are two ends to it.'

'I heard a lady say the other day, that there was no end to them,'--observed Rollo.

Dr. Maryland looked at her on his part, smiling, and quite awake now to the matter in hand. Yet he was silent a minute before speaking.

'Have you laid your plan, my dear? I should very much like to know what it is!'

'No, sir,' she said, shaking her head with a deprecatory little laugh. 'Of course I have not! People in fairy tales never do.'

'Life is not a fairy tale, Hazel,' said Dr. Maryland, shaking his head a little. 'My dear, you are a real woman. Did you ever think what you would try to do in the world?--what you would try to do with your life, I mean?'

'Do with it?' the girl repeated, her brown eyes on the Doctor's face as if looking for his meaning. 'I think, I should like to enjoy it, if I could. And it has been very commonplace, lately, sir. Mr. Falkirk don't pet me and play with me as he used to--and he won't let me play with him; not much.'

The smile which quivered on Dr. Maryland's face changed and pa.s.sed into a sort of sweet gravity.

'There is one capital way to get out of commonplace,' he said; 'but it isn't play, my dear. If you set about doing what G.o.d would have you to do with yourself, there will be no dullness in your life, and no lack of enjoyment, either.'

She looked at him again--then down; but made no answer.

'Somebody has written an essay, that I read lately,' Dr.

Maryland went on--'an essay on the monotony of piety. Poor man!

he did not know what he was talking about. The glorious liberty of the children of G.o.d!--that was something beyond his experience;--and the joy of their service. It is what redeems everything else from monotony. It glorifies what is insignificant, and dignifies what is mean, and lifts what is low, and turns the poor little business steps of every day into rounds of Heaven's golden ladder. I verily think I could have hanged myself long ago, for the very monotony of all things else, if it had not been for the life and glory of religion!'

'Why papa!' said Primrose.

'I would, my dear, I do think.' He was silent a moment; then subsiding from the excited fire with which he had spoken, he turned to Wych Hazel and went on gently,--

'What else do you want to do, my dear, that is not to be done in that track? you want adventures?'

'Yes, sir,' she answered, without looking up, half hesitating, a little grave. 'I think I do. And more people about,--people to love me, and that I can love. Of course I love Mr.

Falkirk,' she added, correcting herself, 'very much; but that is different. And there's n.o.body else but the servants.'