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Page 61
"Oh, father, how could you?" cried Bell, springing to her feet.
"How could I what?" asked her father. "Miranda, have you any
errands for Phil to do?"
He looked at his wife, and opened his eyes wide; for the placid
woman was ruffling all over, like an angry partridge.
"Don't speak to me, Miles Merryweather!" she cried. "Don't dare to
say a word to me! You are a great stupid, stupid,--and Roger is
another! Why I ever married into such a family--"
She ruffled away out of the house; Bell hurried after her without
a word, only casting a reproachful glance at her father as she
went. Mr. Merryweather stood still in utter bewilderment.
"Are these people mad?" he said. "What on earth is the matter?
Gerald, will you give these letters to Phil, and tell him--now
what is the matter with you, I should like to know?"
For Gerald's bright face was clouded over with unmistakable ill-
humour,--a circumstance so amazing that one might well wonder. He
actually scowled at his father, whom he adored.
"Donki foolumque cano!" he said. "No disrespect to anybody, sir,
but I am thinking of emigrating. This family is too much for me."
He stalked out again, leaving Mr. Merryweather more puzzled than
ever.
"Decidedly, they are mad!" he murmured. "Thank goodness, there is
one sensible head among all these feathertops! Oh, here you are,
Roger! Give these letters to Phil, will you, please, and tell him
not to forget the mail."
Roger took the letters, and laughed. His cheek was slightly
flushed, and his eyes danced with something very unlike their
usual calm intelligence. "All right!" he said. "Give me the
letters, Miles. They shall be mailed." He took the packet, and
started to leave the room, but turned back for a moment, to lay
his hand affectionately on his brother's shoulder. "I am a codger,
Miles," he said, "but--do you know--I think you are a bit of a
codger, too. It runs in the blood, I suppose. Good-by, old fellow!
and let the Keewaydin wait until to-morrow, will you?"
He ran out. His brother, now speechless, followed him: saw him put
Phil aside with a word and a smile; saw him lift Hildegarde
lightly into the wagon, and take his seat beside her; saw the
girl, her face bright as a flower, leaning forward to say
farewell, and the other faces crowding round her, eager, loving,
sorrowful; saw handkerchiefs and caps waving, and heard the cries
of "Good-by, dear Hilda! Come again! Oh, come back to us soon!"
Then the woods closed in behind the carriage and it was gone.
Gerald looked long after it; then he advanced to the middle of the
piazza, and deliberately turned three back somersaults.
"Would anybody like to tread on the tail of my coat?" he said,
joyously. "Phil, you are a double-barrelled, self-revolving idiot,
but I love you. Join me, then, in three cheers for the Codger.
Long may he wave! Now, then, hip, hip, hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" cried Phil, who had received enlightenment in some way,
and was beaming like his brother.
"Hurrah!" cried Mrs. Merryweather and Bell in concert, fixing eyes
of triumph on their husband and father.
"Hurrah it is, doubtless," said Mr. Merryweather, looking slightly
nettled,--a rare thing in the most cheerful of men. "But MAY I ask
why my arrangements are changed without a word to me? I intended
that Phil should--"
"Dear Miles!" said his wife. "I am sorry I called you names."
"DEAR papa!" said the Merryweathers in chorus; "we all love you SO
much!"
"And were you ever young?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, no longer
swelling, partridge-like, but taking her husband's arm with her
sweetest smile.
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