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Page 4
She was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired
stranger talking to her father in the parlor. She was just passing the
parlor door when he came toward her.
"Well, Beth, my old play-mate!"
"Arthur!"
They would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped
hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her
milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his.
"Why, Beth, you look at me as if I were a spectre."
"But, Arthur, you're so changed! Why, you're a man, now!" at which he
laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen.
Beth joined her father and Arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old
days over again before they retired to rest. Beth took out her pale blue
dress again before she went to sleep. Yes, she would wear that to the
Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room
window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away and
slept her girl's sleep that night.
CHAPTER II.
_A DREAM OF LIFE._
It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror
fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her
father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the
evening. Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying
late and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a
delightful day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were
playing at the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye
dwelt on more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping
roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls
were swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be
sweet after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted
to write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change
their views sometimes.
It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the
lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great
old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain
yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie
stretching far away.
Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome
creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even younger.
Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way she twined
her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs
had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were
sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such
a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr.
Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there
was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They
were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in
Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment.
It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing
confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying
on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's
attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High
School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had
become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their
names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling,
blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth.
"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?"
"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley--"
"Yes, dear. I thought you would guess."
Beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and Edith laughed a
little hysterically. Beth was used to these emotional fits of Edith's.
Then she began to question--
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