  Chester Humphreys was by no means a fool, nor was he unduly influenced by Ladybird’s rhapsodies; but the winsome and beautiful Stella had attracted him very strongly, and were it not for the absurd complications of the case, he would have greatly enjoyed making her further acquaintance; and although he realized that it would perhaps be wiser for him to go away at once, he felt a strong, though vague and undefined hope that he might see the young woman again before his departure. At breakfast next day, then, when he announced his intention of leaving that morning, and his hostesses hospitably begged him to stay until afternoon, he willingly accepted. “Let’s go for a walk,” said Ladybird, as they rose from the table; and the young man assented cordially, for this strange child had a peculiar fascination for him, and he was glad of a further opportunity to study her. Ladybird chattered gaily as they walked through the gardens and orchards, and showed Mr. Humphreys all of her favorite haunts, and the trees which she liked best to climb. She led him through all the orchards of Primrose Place, and as they left the last one, they found themselves at the little brook, and sat down on the bank. “I’m very glad,” said Ladybird, hugging her knees up under her chin, “that you have decided to do what I want you to do; but it seems to me you needn’t have been so long making up your mind.” “Long!” cried Chester Humphreys, in astonishment. “What do you mean? And besides, I haven’t made up my mind!” “Oh,” exclaimed Ladybird, “don’t begin to wobble again! Why, there’s only one thing for you to do! The greatest, beautifulest thing any man can have a chance to do is to rescue a fair lady from distress; and there’s plenty of distress; and here you are, and there’s the fair lady.” “Where?” asked Humphreys, looking around. “Never you mind,” said Ladybird, significantly. “But I’ll just tell you this while I think of it: there’s one thing you didn’t do that you ought to have done.” “What’s that?” asked Humphreys, lazily. He was absently twisting a stem of timothy-grass around his finger and thinking about Stella. “You didn’t bring me any candy. Now I would have preferred a man for Stella who knew enough to bring candy to me.” “I don’t blame you,” said Chester Humphreys, heartily; “you’re quite right; and though I never can forgive myself, it may help a little if I send you a box as soon as I go back.” “That will do nicely,” said Ladybird, gravely. “And now shall we go on?” “Go on where?” “Go on with our walk; we’re taking a walk, you know. Now we’ll cross the brook.” “Across the line of stepping-stones” “Across the line of stepping-stones” Humphreys followed his elf-like guide as she swung herself across the line of stepping-stones, and together they walked through two fields. This brought them to another orchard—the same one in which some time ago Ladybird had discovered Stella; and the child well knew that the girl was more than likely at this hour of the morning to be up in the same old gnarled apple-tree. Without so much as mentioning the fact that this particular orchard was the property of Stella’s grandparents, Ladybird led her companion to the apple-tree in question, and invited him to sit down beneath it. “You haven’t told me yet,” said Ladybird, as they leaned comfortably back against the great crooked trunk, “what you really think of Miss Russell.” She spoke in a high, clear voice, quite loud enough to be heard by any one who might happen to be sitting in the tree above them. “I told you I thought her very beautiful,” said Chester Humphreys. “But do you think her the most beautifulest girl you have ever seen?” persisted Ladybird. “Yes,” said Humphreys, “I really do, and I have seen a great many; but never one with such exquisite coloring and such perfect features.” “And don’t you think she’s as good as she is beautiful?” was the next question. A slight disturbance was heard in the branches, and then a voice cried: “Ladybird, you’ll have to stop that. I really can’t allow myself to hear any more of it.” “Miss Russell!” exclaimed Chester Humphreys, starting to his feet. “Why, Stella,” cried Ladybird, innocently, “are you there? Won’t you come down; or shall we come up?” “I’m not coming down,” said Stella; “and if you choose to come up, I shall be glad to receive you. There are plenty of vacant seats.” “Thank you,” said Ladybird, “we’ll be delighted. Will you go first, Mr. Humphreys?” Being sufficiently athletic, Chester Humphreys swung himself up by the low branches, and after shaking hands with Miss Russell, comfortably settled himself on a bough near her. “Will you look at that child!” exclaimed Stella, pointing down the orchard, where, among the trees, Humphreys could see Ladybird’s flying figure, running as if her life depended upon it. “What is she, anyway?” he exclaimed. “I never saw such a child. And yet she fascinates me by her very queerness.” “She is fascinating,” said Stella; “and she has the dearest, sweetest nature in the world. I don’t always understand her vagaries, but I do understand her warm, loving heart, and her brave, impetuous soul.” “She doesn’t seem to inherit the characteristics of her aunts,” said Humphreys. “No, she is not like them, except in her courage and indomitable will. Her father must have been something unusual. She is probably like him.” “Ladybird’s flying figure” “Ladybird’s flying figure” “And she was brought up in India.” “Yes; that might account for many of her peculiarities; or perhaps the truth is that she grew up in India without having been brought up at all.” “That’s more like it,” assented Humphreys. “But she is not here now, and you are, so I wish you would tell me something about yourself; won’t you?” “Oh, there’s nothing interesting about me,” said Stella, laughing: “I’m not eccentric, I didn’t grow up in India, and I’m really very much like all the other young women you’ve ever met.” “Not exactly,” said Humphreys; “for none of them ever received me in a tree before.” “Oh, that’s mere force of circumstance—I had no intention of doing so; and it’s really only through one of Ladybird’s crazy pranks that you are here now.” “That is true,” said Humphreys, with more meaning than she knew. If Stella Russell had seemed to him beautiful the night before, she seemed a thousand times more so now. Her type is often at its best in the morning. Her youth and wonderful color, with the accessories of fresh, crisp, pink muslin, and the green leaves of the apple-tree, made a picture which Chester Humphreys never forgot. And beside all this perfection of Æsthetic beauty, he saw in the girl a beauty of mind and soul which shone in her dark eyes as they met his across the apple-boughs. All this was brought home to him so positively that only his subconscious sense of the fitness of things kept him from speaking his thoughts aloud; and the situation was appreciably relieved when Stella said casually: “Are you staying down to-day, Mr. Humphreys?” “Yes,” he said conventionally; “I go back this afternoon.” “Ah! you are a relative of the Misses Flint?” “No, not that, but my mother was an old friend; though I had never met the Flint ladies until yesterday.” “And you live in the world?—the great outside world? I have always longed for it.” “And why shouldn’t you have it?” Humphreys’s eyes across the green apple-boughs looked straight into Stella’s. “Because I am not of the world,” she said simply; “because I’m a country girl—country born and bred.” “But that doesn’t mean that you must always continue to live in the country.” “No; though I feel sure I shall. But tell me of the great world. Have you been all over it?” “Not quite that; but I’ve seen the best and worst of it.” “And which did you prefer?” “Neither, I think—I’m not an extremist.” “Nor an enthusiast?” “That, of course. Life wouldn’t be worth living without enthusiasm. It is a part of our youth. Don’t you possess it?” “Yes,” said Stella, very earnestly, “I’m sure I do. But mine has so little to feed on that I fear it may die of insufficient nutrition.” “That seems a pity,” said Humphreys, “when the world is so full of a number of foods for enthusiasm.” “It is a pity,” said Stella, quietly. Their conversation was interrupted just then by Enthusiasm Incarnate, which, in the shape of Ladybird, came flying across the orchard to announce luncheon. “And Stella is invited too,” she declared; “Aunt Priscilla said so.” But Stella declined the invitation, and so Chester Humphreys and Ladybird strolled back to Primrose Hall the same way they had come. “Now,” said Ladybird, with an air that would have sat well upon Napoleon after the battle of Austerlitz, “what have you to say for yourself?” “I have a great deal to say for myself,” said Humphreys, “and it is to be said now, and it is to be said to you, and it is strictly confidential.” “That means I mustn’t tell, doesn’t it?” inquired Ladybird, nodding her wise head. “It means just that; and it also means that I trust you implicitly: that I have faith in your honor, loyalty, and truth.” “You may,” said Ladybird, looking at him with her eyes full of an integrity suggestive of the rock of Gibraltar—“you may depend on me. I am a Flint.” “Very well, then,” said Chester. “Now, my little Flint, listen to me. You did a rash and daring thing when you wrote that letter to the governor; but never mind that part now: it may be that an inscrutable Fate used you for a straw to show which way the wind was blowing.” “Are you going to marry Stella?” demanded Ladybird, who took little interest in proverbial philosophy. “That’s the first thing I want to speak to you about,” said Humphreys; “you must overcome your propensity for asking that question. It is a habit, and unless broken, it may defeat your own ends.” “Oh, talk so I can understand you,” said Ladybird, impatiently. “And, anyway, are you?” “Listen, Ladybird,” said Chester Humphreys, suddenly becoming very straightforward and serious. “You are very fond of your friend Stella, and you want to help her; and it may be that you will be able to do so if you are willing to listen to reason. And first you must stop asking me if I’m going to marry Stella, because that is a thing that a man does not tell other people until he has discussed it with the lady most interested. Also, if it is your wish that I shall marry Miss Russell, the surest way to prevent it is for you to go about repeating that foolish question. Now I told you I intended to be confidential with you, so I will say that I admire Miss Russell very much indeed—more, I think, than any other young woman I have ever met; but it is not nice nor wise from that fact to jump immediately to the conclusion of a wedding. Because I admire Miss Russell is an especial reason why I wish you to treat her with deference, consideration, and delicacy. Matters of this sort must advance slowly and unfold their possibilities as they go on. What may happen in the future cannot be decided now, or even discussed. You have done your part, and though your methods were unusual, your plan succeeded. Now any further attempt on your part to assist will prove only a hindrance. Am I clear?” “You’re not very clear,” said Ladybird, with a thoughtful pucker between her eyebrows, “but I think I understand what you mean. You mean that you’d like to marry Stella, but it isn’t polite to hurry her so, and, anyway, you’re not quite sure about it.” “Well,” said Humphreys, “that states the situation pretty fairly, though without mentioning its more subtle details.” “Well, I’m satisfied,” said Ladybird; “it’s all right, and I think we understand each other. Don’t hurry any faster than you choose; and, anyhow, now that Stella has seen you, I know she’ll never look at Charley Hayes again. And as to your not being quite sure of yourself, I know very well that you’ll only get surer every time you see her.” “Very likely,” said Humphreys. “But remember, Ladybird, this is a confidence that I have intrusted to you, feeling sure that you will prove yourself worthy of it.” “See my finger wet, See my finger dry, See my finger cut my throat if I tell a lie!” chanted Ladybird, suiting to her words actions rather more realistic than dramatic, but which carried conviction. After luncheon Chester Humphreys had an interview with the Misses Flint that somehow induced those ladies to invite him to remain longer under their roof. “You see, aunty,” said Ladybird, when she heard of Humphreys’s acceptance of this invitation,—“you see I am not such a fool as I look.” “Which is fortunate for us all,” said Miss Priscilla, grimly. “Quite so,” said Ladybird, serenely; “for I know sometimes I do look and act most exceeding foolish. But I suppose that is because I am really a Flint.” Whereupon, for some inexplicable reason, Miss Priscilla kissed her. |
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