|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 7
The funeral had taken place on the day fixed for the picnic. The latter,
in consideration of the saddened temper of the young people, was put off
a fortnight.
CHAPTER III.
About half-past eight on the morning of the day set for the postponed
picnic, Henry knocked at Widow Brand's door. He had by no means forgotten
Madeline's consent to allow him to carry her basket, although two weeks
had intervened.
She came to the door herself. He had never seen her in anything that set
off her dark eyes and olive complexion more richly than the simple picnic
dress of white, trimmed with a little crimson braid about the neck and
sleeves, which she wore to-day. It was gathered up at the bottom for
wandering in the woods, just enough to show the little boots. She looked
surprised at seeing him, and exclaimed--
"You haven't come to tell me that the picnic is put off again, or Laura's
sick?"
"The picnic is all right, and Laura too. I've come to carry your basket
for you."
"Why, you're really very kind," said she, as if she thought him slightly
officious.
"Don't you remember you told me I might do so?" he said, getting a little
red under her cool inspection.
"When did I?"
"Two weeks ago, that evening poor George spoke in meeting."
"Oh!" she answered, smiling, "so long ago as that? What a terrible memory
you have! Come in just a moment, please; I'm nearly ready."
Whether she merely took his word for it, or whether she had remembered
her promise perfectly well all the time, and only wanted to make him ask
twice for the favour, lest he should feel too presumptuous, I don't
pretend to know. Mrs. Brand set a chair for him with much cordiality. She
was a gentle, mild-mannered little lady, such a contrast in style and
character to Madeline that there was a certain amusing fitness in the
latter's habit of calling her "My baby."
"You have a very pleasant day for your picnic, Mr. Burr," said she.
"Yes, we are very lucky," replied Henry, his eyes following Madeline's
movements as she stood before the glass, putting on her hat, which had a
red feather in it.
To have her thus add the last touches to her toilet in his presence was a
suggestion of familiarity, of domesticity, that was very intoxicating to
his imagination.
"Is your father well?" inquired Mrs. Brand, affably.
"Very well, thank you, very well indeed," he replied
"There; now I'm ready," said Madeline. "Here's the basket, Henry.
Good-bye, mother."
They were a well-matched pair, the stalwart young man and the tall,
graceful girl, and it is no wonder the girl's mother stood in the door
looking after them with a thoughtful smile.
Hemlock Hollow was a glen between wooded bluffs, about a mile up the
beautiful river on which Newville was situated, and boats had been
collected at the rendezvous on the river-bank to convey the picnickers
thither. On arriving, Madeline and Henry found all the party assembled
and in capital spirits; There was still just enough shadow on their
merriment to leave the disposition to laugh slightly in excess of its
indulgence, than which no condition of mind more favourable to a good
time can be imagined.
Laura was there, and to her Will Taylor had attached himself. He was a
dapper little black-eyed fellow, a clerk in the dry-goods store, full of
fun and good-nature, and a general favourite, but it was certainly rather
absurd that Henry should be apprehensive of him as a rival. There also
was Fanny Miller, who had the prettiest arm in Newville, a fact
discovered once when she wore a Martha Washington toilet at a masquerade
sociable, and since circulated from mouth to mouth among the young men.
And there, too, was Emily Hunt, who had shocked the girls and thrown the
youth into a pleasing panic by appearing at a young people's party the
previous winter in low neck and short sleeves. It is to be remarked in
extenuation that she had then but recently come from the city, and was
not familiar with Newville etiquette. Nor must I forget to mention Ida
Lewis, the minister's daughter, a little girl with poor complexion and
beautiful brown eyes, who cherished a hopeless passion for Henry. Among
the young men was Harry Tuttle, the clerk in the confectionery and fancy
goods store, a young man whose father had once sent him for a term to a
neighbouring seminary, as a result of which classical experience he still
retained a certain jaunty student air verging on the rakish, that was
admired by the girls and envied by the young men.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|