  At half-past three Thursday afternoon Ladybird was in the plum-orchard. It had never occurred to her to doubt the arrival of Chester Humphreys, or that he could experience any difficulty in finding her at her somewhat indefinite address. And being a fairly clever and up-to-date young man, Chester Humphreys did not experience any difficulties, or, if he did, he overcame them; for promptly at the appointed hour he stood before Ladybird, and bowed politely, saying, “Miss Ladybird Lovell?” “Yes,” said Ladybird, rising from her seat on the grass, and suddenly acquiring a new dignity as she heard her name pronounced in such a formal tone. Then she looked at him steadily, without a touch of impertinence, but with an air of gravest criticism. She saw a tall, well-built young man with broad, strong shoulders, and a frank, honest face which showed both perception and responsiveness. “You’re not an earl,” she said; and though her tone showed disappointment, it was more in sorrow than in anger. “How do you know I’m not?” he said, smiling a little. “By your clothes,” said Ladybird, simply. “Of course I know you wouldn’t wear your coronet and robes; but you’d wear something prettier than blue serge.” “I am not an earl,” said her visitor; “but if I were, I would wear on this occasion these very same clothes. And now, tell me all about it.” With a smile that seemed to compel a comfortable confidence, he motioned Ladybird back to her grassy seat under the plum-tree, and then sat down by her side. “First of all, who are you?” he said. “No; first of all, who are you?” said Ladybird. “Quite right,” said the young man; “I accept the rebuke. My name you already know; my home is New York. Just now I’m on my vacation, and in vagrant mood I’m enjoying this part of our country.” “Are you a good man?” said Ladybird. “I am a good man,” said Humphreys, “though very few people know it; still, I’m prepared to prove it whenever it may be necessary.” “Are you accomplished?” said Ladybird. “I can play a few things, work at a few more, and I can sing.” “I’m glad you can sing,” said Ladybird; “Stella is very fond of music.” “But, my dear child,” said Humphreys, “I told you I didn’t come down here in the interest of that philanthropic scheme of yours; I came only to see you. And now it’s your turn to tell me who you are.” “Me? Oh, I’m just Ladybird.” “Is that your real name?” “No, I suppose not,” with a slight frown; “my aunties say it is Lavinia; but I never knew that till I came here. They say, too, I’m fourteen years old; but I know I’m twelve. And they say I used to have yellow hair and blue eyes; but I can’t think I ever did, can you?” “It is hard to think so,” said Humphreys, looking at the little brown face with its big dark eyes and elfish wisps of straight black hair. “At the same time, I dislike to doubt your aunts’ word. Why do they have such apparently contradictory notions?” “I don’t know,” said Ladybird; “I’ve only lived here a little while, you know. My mama was my aunts’ younger sister, and she ran away with my papa, and they lived in India. And I lived there, too, until papa died; and then I was sent here to aunties’. And at first my aunties didn’t like me a bit, and didn’t want me to stay; but I had to stay, so of course they had to like me. You can’t live with people without liking them, you know.” “Can’t you?” said Humphreys. “And do you like them?” “Yes,” said Ladybird, “I love them. I love Aunt Dorinda best; but I love Aunt Priscilla most.” “I should like to know them,” said Humphreys. “Can’t you take me in and introduce me to them?” “I will pretty soon,” said Ladybird; “but first I want to settle about Stella.” “What is this Stella story, anyhow, you ridiculous child? Do your aunts know you wrote that letter to Governor Hyde?” “No,” said Ladybird, seriously, “they don’t. If they had they wouldn’t have let me write it. You see, everything I’ve tried to do to help Stella they scolded me about it, and told me I mustn’t do it, and that it was none of my affair. Now it is my affair, for Stella is my friend; and what can be more your affair than your friend?” “Nothing,” said Humphreys, seeing that an answer was demanded of him. “No, of course not. And so I thought, and I thought; and I decided this was the only way to do it; and I was sure the governor would send somebody nice, because my aunties say he is such a nice man.” “But tell me about Stella; I don’t understand it all yet.” “Well, you see,” said Ladybird, “Stella is the beautifulest, loveliest, angelest girl in the whole world, and she has a horrid old grandfather and grandmother who want her to marry Charley Hayes, and Charley Hayes is horrid too. And Stella doesn’t love him, but she doesn’t hate him as much as I do.” “I should hope not, if she’s going to marry him,” said Humphreys. “But she thinks she’s got to marry him,” went on Ladybird, “because her grandparents say she must, and because there isn’t anybody else in Plainville that would be any better.” “And must she marry somebody?” “Well, she doesn’t want to marry anybody; but old Mr. and Mrs. Marshall say she’s got to. And I mean that I can’t find anybody better for her in Plainville, and so that’s why I wrote to the governor; and I’m glad he sent you, for you’re ever so much handsomer than Charley Hayes, and I really think you’ll do very nicely.” “My dear little girl,” said Humphreys, “you must get that notion out of your head. I told you in my letter that I did not come down in the interests of the fair Stella, but to see you.” “Why did you want to see me?” said Ladybird, her big eyes wide with bewilderment. “Because I wanted to know what kind of a child it was who wrote that letter.” “And the governor didn’t send you?” cried Ladybird. “No, of course the governor didn’t send me.” “Oh, well, it’s all the same,” she said airily; “you came because I wrote that letter to the governor, so it doesn’t make any difference. And you’ll have to marry Stella, you know, because that’s what I sent for you for. You aren’t married to anybody else, are you?” “No, of course not,” said the young man. “Then that’s all right; and Stella is so sweet and beautiful you won’t mind it a bit.” “You said she was beautiful, before,” observed Humphreys. “And now I think, if you please, we will go up to the house and see your aunts. I would like to pay my respects to them. You have a nice dog there.” “Cloppy?” said Ladybird. “Yes; he is the beautifulest dog in the world.” She was kneading him like a mass of dough as she spoke. “He’s such a comfort! He never minds what I do to him.” “And Stella, doesn’t she mind what you do to her, either?” “Stella! Oh, she doesn’t know what I do for her. Of course when you do things for your friends you don’t tell them about it.” “And doesn’t Stella know that you wrote to the governor in her behalf?” “Of course not!” said Ladybird, with great dignity; and rising, she gathered up Cloppy, hung him over her arm and said: “Now, if you please, we will go to the house.” Remarking to himself that this was certainly a jolly go, Chester Humphreys followed the picturesque figure of Ladybird as she flew through the orchards. Crossing the great sweep of lawn, they came to Primrose Hall, where, on the front veranda, sat the Misses Flint, placidly knitting. “My aunties,” cried Ladybird, as she came near them, “this is a friend of mine I have brought to see you. His name is Mr. Chester Humphreys, and he lives in New York, and he came here to see me.” “Chester Humphreys!” exclaimed Aunt Priscilla, rising and dropping her knitting. “Excuse me, sir, but was your mother a Stedman?” “She was,” said the young man; “and my father was Chester Humphreys of Newburyport.” “Then you are the son of one of my dearest girlhood friends,” said Miss Priscilla, “and I am very glad to see you.” Miss Dorinda fluttered about, brought a piazza chair and cushions to make their guest comfortable, while Ladybird seated herself on a cricket, took her chin in her hands, and sat gazing at the young man. “Do you know,” Humphreys observed, “that, notwithstanding my interview with your small niece here, and my subsequent introduction to you, I don’t even yet know the name of my hostesses?” “Flint,” said Miss Priscilla. “We are the daughters of Josiah Flint.” “Then,” said young Humphreys, “I have always known of you; for I have heard of the Flints all my life.” “Yes,” said Miss Priscilla, “Esther Stedman was not one to forget her old friends. And though I have not seen her for many years, I am more than glad to welcome her son to my house.” “And I,” said Miss Dorinda. “But may I ask how it came about? Were you passing through Plainville? And how did you chance to meet Ladybird?” “Perhaps Ladybird would prefer to tell you that herself,” said Chester Humphreys, his grave eyes looking quizzically at the child. “Why, you know, aunties,” said Ladybird, “you know very well, for I’ve told you a hundred million times, that I wanted to find a nice, handsome young man for Stella; and so you see I wrote to the governor for one, and—and Mr. Humphreys came.” “Lavinia Lovell,” exclaimed Miss Priscilla Flint, “do you mean to tell me—” “One moment, Miss Flint,” said Chester Humphreys. “Let me assure you that Ladybird’s letter was quite decorous and proper. Every citizen is privileged to write to his governor; that’s what governors are for. And it was a very nice, ladylike letter. But let me also assure you that I did not come down here in response to what the letter asked for, but merely to meet the plucky and loyal friend who wrote it.” “I am glad to see you, Mr. Humphreys,” said Miss Priscilla. “I beg you will dismiss entirely from your mind this ridiculous performance of my niece, and I will promise you that Lavinia shall not be allowed to think of it again, or to mention it to that very estimable young lady, Miss Stella Russell.” “Oh, no, aunty,” said Ladybird; “I wouldn’t say a word to Stella for anything; but won’t Mr. Humphreys be gorgeous for her?” “Go to your room, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly; and picking up Cloppy, Ladybird went. |
|
