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Page 5
That night when he got home he found Mat worse. She had been failing for
a long time. She was a large girl now, with great preternaturally bright
eyes, and a spot of crimson in each hollow cheek.
It was more than three months since she had been able to do anything, and
Grandma Rugg was very harsh and severe with her in consequence. There
were black and blue places on her shoulders now where she had been
beaten, but Arch did not know it. Mat never spoke to him about her
sufferings, because it distressed him so, and made him very angry with
the old woman.
He went in and sat down on the straw beside Mat; and almost before he
knew it he was telling her about Margie Harrison. He always brought all
his joys and sorrows to Mat now, just as he used to carry them to his
mother.
The girl listened intently, the spots on her face growing deeper and
wider. She looked at the bluebells wistfully, but would not touch them.
Arch offered her a spray. She shook her head sadly.
"No," she said, "they are not for me. Keep them, Arch. Some time, I
think, you will be rich and happy, and have all the flowers and beautiful
things you wish."
"If I ever am, Mat, you shall be my queen, and dress in gold and silver!"
answered the boy, warmly; "and never do any more heavy work to make your
hands hard."
"You are very good, Arch," she said. "I thank you, but I shall not be
there, you know. I think I am going away--going where I shall see my
mother, and your mother, too. Arch, and where all the world will be full
of flowers! Then I shall think of you, Arch, and wish I could send you
some."
"Mat, dear Mat! don't talk so strangely!" said the boy, clasping her hot
hands in his. "You must not think of going away! What _should_ I do
without you?"
She smiled, and touched her lips to his hand, which had stolen under her
head, and lay so near her cheek.
"You would forget me, Arch. I mean after a time, and I should want you
to. But I love you better than anything else in all the world! And it is
better that I should die. A great deal better! Last night I dreamed it
was. Your mother came and told me so. Do you know how jealous I have been
of that Margie Harrison? I have watched you closely. I have seen you kiss
a dead rose that I knew she gave you. And I longed to see her so much,
that I have waited around the splendid house where she lives, and seen
her time and again come out to ride, with the beautiful dresses, and the
white feather in her hat, and the wild roses on her cheeks. And my heart
ached with such a hot, bitter pain! But it's all over now, Arch: I am not
jealous now. I love her and you--both of you together. If I do go away,
I want you to think kindly of me, and--and--good-night, Arch--dear Arch.
I am so tired."
He gathered her head to his bosom, and kissed her lips.
Poor little Mat! In the morning, when Arch came down, she had indeed gone
away--drifted out with the tide and with the silent night.
After Mat's death the home at Grandma Rugg's became insupportable to
Arch. He could not remain there. The old woman was crosser than ever,
and, though he gave her every penny of his earnings, she was not
satisfied.
So Arch took lodgings in another part of the city, quite as poor a place,
but there no one had the right to grumble at him. Still, because she was
some relation to Mat, he gave Grandma Rugg full half of his money, but he
never remained inside her doors longer than necessity demanded.
In his new lodgings he became acquainted with a middle-aged man who
represented himself as a retired army officer. His name was John Sharp--a
sleek, keen-eyed, smooth-tongued individual, who never boasted or
blustered, but who gave people the idea that at some time he had been
a person of consequence. This man attached himself particularly to Arch
Trevlyn. With insidious cunning he wormed himself into the boy's
confidence, and gained, to a certain degree, his friendship. Arch did not
trust him entirely, though. There was something about him from which he
shrank--the touch of his white, jewelled hand made his flesh creep, like
the touch of a serpent.
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