Take the little pleasures of life, watch the sunsets
and the clouds, the shadows in the streets and the
misty light over our great cities. These bring joy by
the way, and thankfulness to our Heavenly Father.
—ANNE T. CLOUGH.
In a certain sense all are historians.
—CARLYLE.
Perhaps Elizabeth's conscience pricked her that night, or more probably, being rather a casual and careless young woman, a gentle hint from Dinah may have had its effect.
Dinah had merely remarked in her quiet way, when she was bidding her sister good-night in the Red Gallery, that she feared they were not doing enough for their guest's amusement, and that she thought they had better ask the vicar to dinner.
"Mr. Herrick is a literary man, and they will get on very well together," she observed. "Don't you think so, Betty?" And as Elizabeth did think so, and had no objection to offer, Dinah said that Johnson should take a note round the following morning.
Elizabeth felt a twinge of compunction as she closed her bedroom door; she was by no means given to introspection, but "conscience, that makes cowards of us all," told her that she had not been quite gracious to Mr. Herrick that evening.
"It was too bad of me not to sing to him," she said to herself, as she recalled his disappointed look. "I was not so very tired after all; it was just a fit of laziness, and—" but here Elizabeth checked herself abruptly—self-examination is sometimes embarrassing.
"I will try and make up for it to-morrow," she thought; "he is such a good fellow, and we owe him so much;" and she was still in this complaisant mood when she came down to breakfast.
Even her outward garb was improved: she wore a fresh and extremely becoming morning dress, which set off her fine figure to advantage; and before Malcolm had tasted his coffee or looked at his letters she was challenging him gaily to a game of tennis.
Malcolm was charmed—he had no idea that she played tennis; but her next proposition rather took off the edge of his enjoyment.
"I know you are a good player, Mr. Herrick," she remarked coolly, "but it would be too great an exertion this warm weather for you to beat Cedric and me. Would it not be a good plan," turning to her brother, "for you to go over to the White Cottage on your bicycle and ask Mr. Carlyon to make the fourth? We should have a much better game."
"But we decided to ask Mr. Charrington to dinner, Betty," remonstrated her sister. Then Cedric looked disgusted, and muttered something under his breath about old Dr. Dryasdust spoiling the fun, but Elizabeth put him down with a strong hand.
"People's notions of fun differ," she said severely. "I am quite sure that the vicar and Mr. Herrick will have many interests in common. As for Mr. Carlyon," with a sudden change of tone, "he and Mr. Charrington are such good friends that they dine together two or three times a week, so there is no objection on that score. Well, Cedric," with an amused look at his bored expression, "do you feel equal to the exertion of bicycling over to Rotherwood, or shall Johnson go?"
"I suppose I can do the job," returned Cedric in a grumbling tone. "You may as well give me the vicarage note too, Die." But Dinah, distressed by her darling's ill-humour, followed him out into the hall to explain matters more fully.
"You must not be cross about it, dear," she said, with tender anxiety in her tone. "You see we are bound to entertain a visitor like Mr. Herrick; he is not just an insignificant person." Cedric's brow cleared. "He is a clever man, and it will be a compliment to ask a distinguished scholar like Mr. Charrington to meet him. If the Logans had been here we should have invited them."
Cedric felt a little ashamed of himself. "I daresay you are right," he said grudgingly, "but it will be so precious slow. Well, I'm off. Look after Herrick while I am gone," with a fine assumption of manly dignity. But he need not have troubled himself; Malcolm was not disposed to miss him in the least.
As for Elizabeth, her flow of benevolence was not dry yet. "I heard you tell Dinah last night that you wanted to look over the Crow's Nest," she observed to Malcolm as they rose from the breakfast table, "if you have no letters to write we might stroll down there now."
"Oh, my letters will keep," he returned, with such evident pleasure at the proposition that Elizabeth went off in search of her hat; not the hat with the battered brim, mark you, but a charming hat with cream-coloured lace and delicious yellow poppies, that seemed to match the dewy freshness of the morning, and which would not disgrace the gentleman from London; and although she wore no gloves—Elizabeth always drew the line at gloves—her Indian silk sunshade was worthy of Bond Street. As the Crow's Nest was within sight of the gates of the Wood House, they very soon accomplished the distance.
It was a homely little place enough, and the Kestons had described it pretty accurately. It was a mere cottage, and not a picturesque one either, for the architecture left much to be desired; but the row of trees that divided it from the road, amongst which shone the red berries of the rowans, and the trim, shady lawn, gave it a secluded and pleasant aspect.
The sitting-room was small but cosy, and there was a fair-sized dining-room; but Malcolm at once took a fancy to a small upper room with a window overlooking the road; it had evidently been used as a dressing-room, for there was a gentleman's wardrobe in it, and a writing-table and easy-chair.
"I must coax Verity into giving me this room," he said half to himself; but Elizabeth heard him.
"Verity! is that Mrs. Keston?" she asked. "What a very original name! I do not believe I ever heard it before."
"I daresay not, but it just suits her. Yea—Verily, as her husband calls her." Then Elizabeth looked extremely amused.
"What a droll idea! Your friends seem rather out of the common, Mr. Herrick. I am quite impatient to make their acquaintance. We have a large circle of friends—an inner and an outer circle—but I am always glad to add to the number."
"I think you will like Verity," he returned seriously; "she is such a genuine little soul, and so fresh and original. Oh, I am quite sure you will take to her." Malcolm spoke in such a decided manner, as though it were a foregone conclusion that Verity would be admitted to the privileged inner circle, that Elizabeth's curiosity was strongly excited.
"You seem rather certain of the fact," she said perversely; "but, as my sister would tell you, I am not so easily pleased after all."
"Nevertheless you will like Verity," he returned quickly. "Like attracts like—a transparent, truthful nature, which is absolutely without guile, will not fail to appeal to you; I already know you well enough to predict that with certainty."
Elizabeth turned this speech off with a laugh, but her colour rose at the implied compliment; if like attracts like, as Mr. Herrick said, he must think her original and guileless too. Something in Malcolm's tone—in the expression of his dark eyes—confirmed this impression, and in spite of her stateliness and thirty years the second Miss Templeton felt a little shy.
"We have not seen the garden-room yet," she said hastily, and then she led the way downstairs.
The garden lay on the side of the house, and was well kept and full of flowers; but the temporary building erected by Mr. Logan rather spoiled the view from the back of the house, though a gay flower-border surrounded it.
Elizabeth, who had procured the key from the servant, now opened the door.
It was rather a bare-looking place, as Verity had said; more of a workshop than a studio, though it was used for both purposes, and, as both of them knew, good work had been done there; but Mr. Logan, who had a fine studio in town, was content with rather a primitive state of things in his country cottage.
It was sufficiently large, though part of it was partitioned off as a bedroom; the partition, for the sake of airiness, was only eight or nine feet high, and the furniture was of the plainest description; a white Indian matting covered the floor, and there were pink Madras curtains at the window. As Elizabeth pointed out, it could not have been closed for months, for actually beautiful clusters of roses had not only festooned the casement, but had found their way into the room, and hung their sweet heads over the sill, as though they were trying to reach the floor.
Malcolm declared himself quite enchanted; he had never seen any place he liked better. There was room for his big bath—his tub he called it mentally—and a comfortable chair or two, and when he had concluded these little arrangements to his own satisfaction, he joined Elizabeth, who was making friends with a great sandy cat, who rejoiced in the doubtful name of Old Tom.
"I am glad you are so pleased," she said in quite an interested tone, as they walked down the road again. "I hardly expected that you would be so easily satisfied. Cedric calls the Crow's Nest a wretched little hole."
"Oh, he is so young, Miss Templeton—he is at the age when one has great expectations; we learn to moderate and alter our ideas as we grow older. Don't you remember Carmen Sylva's charming description of youth and age? I like it so much."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I am afraid I do not read enough," she said rather sadly. But he looked at her very kindly.
"She is one of the wisest and wittiest of women," he returned; "and she is your namesake too."
"Oh yes, I know that."
"When I go back to town may I send you her little book—"Thoughts of a Queen" it is called?"
Elizabeth, after a moment's hesitation, thanked him and said she would be glad to see it.
"It is well worth your perusal," he went on, too much engrossed by his subject to notice her hesitating manner. "But I have not given you her definition of youth."
"'In youth,' she remarks, 'one is a mediaeval castle, with hidden nooks, secret chambers, mysterious galleries, trenches, and ramparts; one becomes afterwards a modern mansion, rich, morocco-leathered, elegant, stylish, and only open to the select; and ultimately a great hall open to the whole world, a market, a museum, or a cathedral.'"
"I think I know what she means," returned Elizabeth thoughtfully. "Youth is so fond of mysteries, and all its castles have endless winding galleries, that lead to all sorts of curious nooks and corners. When we grow older our horizon widens—we care more for utility and less for subterranean passages. What could be better than a market, where one sells one's best and most durable goods pro bono publico!"
Malcolm was delighted with this answer. Miss Elizabeth Templeton might not be a profound student of books, but she was certainly an intelligent and sympathetic woman. They had turned into the woodlands by this time, and Elizabeth, who was determined to entertain their guest to the best of her ability, proposed that they should stroll down to the Pool.
"If you will go on, I will just fetch my work," she observed, "and tell Dinah where we are going, and then Cedric will join us. He ought to have been back by now." Then Malcolm, in high good-humour, sauntered over the rustic bridge and amused himself by looking down on Elizabeth's wild garden.
"Oh, Betty, what a pity to wear your pretty new hat!" exclaimed Dinah, looking up from her accounts. She was rather a martinet on the subject of dress, and had funny little old-fashioned notions of her own; but Elizabeth, who was ten years younger, was more up-to-date.
"It was part of the programme," she returned solemnly; "and the sunshade too. I was determined to make myself as nice as possible. Remember, I trimmed it myself, Die, and as I had the materials it only cost me five shillings." Here she took it off and looked at it admiringly, for Elizabeth was rather fond of dress in her way. "My sailor hat will do for the Pool. I wish you could come with us, dear." Then, as Dinah shook her head, "Yes, I see, you are busy, so I will not bother you. Please tell Cedric where we have gone."
Malcolm was still on the little bridge when Elizabeth rejoined him. He looked regretfully at the sailor hat.
"It does not suit her a bit," he thought. "I wonder a sensible woman like Miss Templeton does not know what becomes her. Anna would never have made such a mistake." But Elizabeth, unconscious of this criticism of her offending head-gear, walked on serenely.
Some of the dogs had followed them, and while Elizabeth worked at a piece of beautiful embroidery, Malcolm amused himself with throwing sticks into the pond for their delectation; and as soon as he was weary of the sport, he stretched himself comfortably on the ground beside her and began to talk. How it came about neither of them knew, but all at once Malcolm fell to speaking of his father, and of his lonely boyhood, and by-and-bye, Elizabeth grew so interested that she laid down her work, and propping her chin on her hand, gave him her undivided attention.
Malcolm was very unreserved about his mother. "She is perfectly unique," he said; "a grand worker, with brains and energy that, if she had been a man, would have qualified her for a legislator. She has a gift for organisation. Oh, you would admire her immensely. You are a worker yourself, Miss Templeton, and that would be a bond of union."
"Would it?" she returned quietly. "I am not quite so sure of that. I think your mother would rather look down on my small efforts. Please do not call me a worker, Mr. Herrick. I potter about the village two days in the week, and teach the children needlework, and tell them stories, and read to a bedridden old woman or two, but I am afraid on the whole I waste my time dreadfully," and here she looked at him with one of her beaming smiles. "I do so enjoy my life, especially in summer—the world is so beautiful, and one has the birds and flowers, and it is just lovely to wake to another new day."
"I wish Anna could hear you," he returned; and as she looked a little puzzled at this, he explained that his mother had an adopted daughter—a dear, lovable girl, whom he regarded as a sister. And when he said this. Elizabeth's bright eyes glanced at him a little keenly.
"She is your adopted sister," she said dubiously; "is that not rather a difficult relationship, Mr. Herrick?"
"Not at all," he returned quickly, for somehow this, remark did not quite please him. "Anna was so young when she came to us, I think sometimes that she quite forgets that she is not really my mother's daughter."
"She must be a great comfort to Mrs. Herrick," observed Elizabeth, "especially as you are not always with her." There was nothing in this speech to offend Malcolm's amour propre, nevertheless a dull flush mounted to his brow.
"Of course I should not have left my mother alone," he said so stiffly that Elizabeth opened her eyes rather widely; but her keen woman's wits soon grasped the situation.
"My dear Mr. Herrick, you must not misunderstand me," she said quite gently. "I am quite sure that you are backward in no filial duty. To tell you the truth," colouring a little, "I hardly liked to show you how thoroughly I comprehended things—your home has never been a real home to you, and though you love each other dearly, you and your mother are really happier apart. How can two walk together unless they are agreed?"
"Thank you for saying this," he returned gratefully; "I am sure you mean what you say."
"Most certainly I do."
"I know it—I am sure of it; you are not one of those people who are afraid to speak the truth. Forgive me if I seemed put out for a moment, but something in your manner made me think that you disapproved of the step I had taken."
"Mr. Herrick, I disapprove—a mere acquaintance who has not even seen your mother!"
"Ah, it is you who misunderstand now," in a reproachful voice. "Even a mere acquaintance," dwelling on the word rather pointedly, "can judge pretty correctly of a man's circumstances. I thought you were saying to yourself, 'Mr. Herrick must be a selfish sort of man; he is the only son of a widowed mother, and he has left her roof because her charitable works bore him to extinction.'"
"No—oh, no!" in a shocked voice. "How can you say such dreadful things? I shall begin to be afraid of you; and I have never been afraid of man, woman, or child in my life. Shall I tell you of what I was really thinking when you turned on me in that crushing manner? I was thinking of that poor dear girl, and how dull and moped she must be. Mr. Herrick," rather shyly—Elizabeth never looked more charming or more irresistible than when she put on this soft, appealing manner—"do you suppose Miss Sheldon would care to stay with us while you are at the Crow's Nest. We should so like to have her. You see," her voice softening still more, "you have done so much for us that we want to make some return, and it would be such a pleasure."
"You are very kind," he returned, and indeed he was so surprised and touched by this unexpected speech that he hardly knew how to express his sense of her thoughtfulness. "It is good of you to think of it, and nothing would have given Anna greater pleasure, but—"
"You mean she has some other engagement this summer?"
"Yes; it is a great pity. My mother has taken rooms at Whitby for the middle of next month, and she never goes anywhere without Anna."
"Then it cannot be helped; another time perhaps we shall be more fortunate." And then, as though she were desirous of changing the subject, Elizabeth began talking of her own and Dinah's movements, how they never went away in the spring and summer except for a week or so in town for shopping and picture-galleries, but filled the Wood House with relays of guests.
"For the last three years we have gone abroad in the middle of October, and returned for Christmas and the New Year," she finished, "but we have made up our minds to remain in England this year. Why, here comes the truant, and it is actually nearly luncheon time."
Cedric, flushed and panting, flung himself down beside her.
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