The Twenty-Fourth of June: Midsummer's Day

by Grace S. Richmond

  CHAPTER V

  RICHARD PRICKS HIS FINGERS

  Hoofbeats on the driveway outside the window! Beside the window stoodthe desk at which Richard was accustomed to work at Judge Gray'sdictation. And at the desk on this most alluring of all alluringIndian-summer days in middle November sat a young man with every drop ofblood in his vigorous body shouting to him to drop his work and rushout, demanding: "Take me with you!"

  For there, walking their horses along the driveway from the distantstables, were three figures on horseback. There was one with sunnyhair--Ruth--her brown habit the colour of the pretty mare she rode; onewith russet-gaitered legs astride of the little Arabian pony calledSheik--Ted; one, all in dark, beautifully tailored green, with a softgray hat pulled over masses of dusky hair, her face--Richard could seeher face now as the horses drew nearer--all gay and eager for theride--Roberta.

  Judge Gray, his glance following his companion's, looked out also. Herose and came and stood behind Richard at the window and tapped upon thepane, waving his hand as the riders looked up. Instantly all three faceslighted with happy recognition and acknowledgment. Ruth waved andnodded. Ted pulled off his cap and swung it. Roberta gave a quickmilitary salute, her gray-gauntleted hand at her hat brim.

  Richard smiled with the Judge at the charming sight, and sighed with thenext breath. What a fool he had been to tie himself down to this deskwhen other people were riding into the country! Yet--if he hadn't beentied to that desk he would neither have known nor cared who rode outfrom the old Gray stables, or where they went.

  The Judge caught the slight escaping breath and smiled again as theriders passed out of sight. "It makes you wish for the open country,doesn't it?" said he. "I don't blame you. I should have gone with theyoung folks myself if I had been ten years younger. It _is_ a fine day,isn't it? I've been so absorbed I hadn't observed. Suppose we stop workat three and let ourselves out into God's outdoors? Not a bad idea, eh?"

  "Not bad," agreed Richard with a leap of spirits, "if it pleases you,sir. I'm ready to work till the usual time if you prefer."

  "Well spoken. But I don't prefer. I shall enjoy a stroll down the avenuemyself in this sunshine. What sunshine--for November!"

  It was barely three when the Judge released his assistant, two hoursafter the riding party had left. As he opened the front door and ran tohis waiting car, Richard was wondering how many miles away they were andin what direction they had gone. He wanted nothing so much as to meetthem somewhere on the road--better yet, to overtake and come upon themunawares.

  A powerful car driven by a determined and quick-witted young man mayscour considerable country while three horses, trotting in company, arecovering but a few short miles. Richard was sure of one thing: whicheverroad appealed to the young Grays as most picturesque and secluded onthis wonderful Indian-summer afternoon would be their choice. Not themain highways of travel, but some enticing by-way. Where would that be?He decided on a certain course, with a curious feeling that he couldfollow wherever Roberta led, by the invisible trail of her radiantpersonality. He would see! Mile after mile--he took them swiftly,speeding out past the West Wood marshes with assurance of the fact thatthis was certainly one of the favourite ways.

  Twelve miles out he came to a fork in the road. Which trail? One led upa steep hill, the other down into the river valley, soft-veiled in thelate sunshine. Which trail? He could seem to see Roberta choosing thehill and putting her horse up it, while Ruth called out that the valleyroad was better. With a sense of exhilaration he sent the car up thehill, remembering that from the top was a broad view sure to be worthwhile on a day like this. Besides, up here he might be able to see farahead and discern the party somewhere in the distance.

  Just over the brow he came upon them where they had camped by theroadside. It was a road quite off the line of travel and they were ahundred feet back among a clump of pine trees, their horses tied to thefence-rail. A bonfire sent up a pungent smoke half veiling the figures.But the car had come roaring up the hill, and they were all looking hisway. Two of the horses had plunged a little at the sudden noise, and Tedran forward. Richard stopped his engine, triumphant, his pulsesquickening with a bound.

  "Oh, hullo!" cried Ted in joyful excitement. "Where'd you come from, Mr.Kendrick? Isn't this luck!"

  "This is certainly luck," responded Richard, doffing his hat as thefigures by the fire moved his way, the one in brown coming quickly, theone in green rather more slowly. "Your uncle released me at three and Irushed for the open. What a day!"

  "Isn't it wonderful?" Ruth came up to the brown mare, which was eyingthe big car with some resentment. She patted the velvet nose as shespoke. "Don't you mind, Bess," she reproached the mare. "It's nothingbut a puffing, noisy car. It's not half so nice as you."

  She smiled up at Richard and he smiled back. "I rather think you'reright," he admitted. "I used to think myself there was nothing like agood horse. I'd like to exchange the car for one just now; I'm sure ofthat."

  "It wouldn't buy any one of ours." Roberta, coming up, glanced from thebig machine to the trio of interested animals, all of which were keepingwatchful eyes on the intruder. "Nonsense, Colonel,--stand still!"

  "I don't want to buy one of yours; I want one of my own, to ride backwith you--if you'd let me."

  "Anyhow, you can stop and have a bite with us," said Ted, with a suddenthought. "Can't he, Rob?"

  Roberta smiled. "If he is as hungry as he looks."

  "Do I look hungry?"

  "Starving. So do we, no doubt. Come and have some sandwiches."

  "We're going to toast them," explained Ruth, walking back to the firewith Richard when he had leaped with alacrity over the fence, his hatleft behind, his brown head shining in the sun, his face happier thanany of his fellow-clubmen had seen it in a year, as they would have beenquick to notice if any of them had come upon him now. "We have gingerale, too; do you like ginger ale?"

  "Immensely!" Richard eyed the preparations with interest. "How do youtoast your sandwiches?"

  "On forks of wood; Ted's going to cut them."

  "Please let me." And the guest fell to work. He found a keen enjoymentin preparing these implements, and afterward in the process of toasting,which was done every-one-for-himself, with varying degrees of success.The sandwiches were filled with a rich cheese mixture, and the result oftoasting them was a toothsome morsel most gratifying to the hungrypalate.

  "One more?" urged Ruth, offering Richard the nearly empty box which hadcontained a good supply.

  "Thank you--no; I've had seven," he refused, laughing. "Nothing evertasted quite so good. And I'm an interloper."

  "Here's to the interloper!" Ruth raised her glass and drank the last ofher ginger ale. "We always provide for one. Usually it's a small boy."

  "More often a pair of them. And always there are Bess, Colonel, andSheik." Roberta rose to her feet, the last three sandwiches in hand, andwalked away to the horses tied to the fence-rail.

  Richard's eyes followed her. In the austere lines of her riding-habit hecould see more clearly than he had yet done what a superb young image ofhealth and energy she was.

  "Rob adores horses," Ruth remarked, looking after her sister also. "Youought to see her ride cross-country. My Bess can't jump, but her Colonelcan. I don't believe there's anything in sight Rob and Colonel couldn'tjump. But I can never get used to seeing her; I have to shut my eyeswhen Colonel rises, and I don't open them till I hear him land. But he'snever fallen with her, and she says he never will."

  "He won't."

  "Why not? Any horse might, you know, if he slipped on wet ground orsomething."

  "He never will with her on his back. He's more likely to jump so highhe'll never come down."

  Ruth laughed. "Look at Colonel rub his nose against her, now he's hadthe sandwich. Don't you wish you had a picture of them?"

  "Indeed I do!" The tone was fervent. Then a thought struck him and hejumped to his feet. "By all luck, I believe there's a little camera inthe car. If there is we'll have
it."

  He ran to the fence, took a flying leap over, and fell to searching. Ina moment he produced something which he waved at Ruth. She and Ted wentto meet him as he returned. Roberta, busy with the horses, had not seen.

  "There are only two exposures left on the film, but they'll do, ifshe'll be good. Will she mind if I snap her, or must I ask herpermission?"

  "I think you'd better ask it," counselled Ruth doubtfully. "If it wereone of us she wouldn't mind--"

  "I see." He set the little instrument with a skilled touch and rapidly,then walked toward Roberta and the horses. He aimed it with care, thenhe called: "You won't mind if I take a picture of the horses, will you?"

  Roberta turned quickly, her hand on Colonel's snuggling nose. "Not atall," she answered, and took a quick step to one side. But before shehad taken it the sharp-eyed little lens of the camera had caught her,her attitude at the instant one of action, the expression of her facethat of vivacious response. She flew out of range and before she couldspeak the camera clicked again, this time the lens so obviously pointedat the animals, and not at herself, that the intent of the operatorcould not be called in question.

  She looked at him with indignant suspicion, but his glance in return wasinnocent, though his eyes sparkled.

  "They'll make the prettiest kind of a picture, won't they?" he observed,sliding the small black box back into its case. "I wish I had anotherfilm; I'd take a lot of pictures about this place. I mean always to beloaded, but November isn't usually the time for photographs, and I'dforgotten all about it."

  "If you find you have a picture of me on one of those shots I can trustyou not to keep it?"

  "I may have caught you on that first shot. I'll bring it to you to see.If your hat is tilted too much or you don't like your own expression--"

  "I shall not like it, whatever it is. You stole it. That wasn'tfair--and when you had just been treated to sandwiches and ginger ale!"

  He looked into her brilliant face and could not tell what he saw there.He opened the camera box again and took out the instrument. He removedthe roll of films carefully from its position, sealed it, and held itout to her. His manner was the perfection of courtesy.

  "There are other pictures on the roll, I suppose?" she said doubtfully,without accepting it.

  "Certainly. I forget what they are. But it doesn't matter."

  "Of course it matters. Have them developed--and give me back my own."

  "If I develop them I shall be obliged to see yours--if you are on it. IfI once see it I may not have the force of character to give it back.Your only safe course is to take it now."

  Ted burst into the affair with a derisive shout. "Oh, Rob! What a sillyto care about that little bit of a picture! Let him have it. It was onlythe horses he wanted anyway!"

  The two pairs of eyes met. His were full of deference, yet compelling.Hers brimmed with restrained laughter. With a gesture she waved back theroll and walked away toward the fire.

  "Thank you," said he behind her. "I'll try to prove myself worthy of thetrust."

  "Rufus! Dare you to run down the hill to that big tree with me!" Ted, nolonger interested in this tame conclusion of what had promised to be anexciting encounter, challenged his sister. Ruth accepted, and the pairwere off down a long, inviting slope none too smooth, with a stiffstubble, but not the less attractive for that.

  Richard and Roberta were left standing at the top of the hill near theplace where the fire was smouldering into dulness. Before them stretchedthe valley, brown and yellow and dark green in the November sunlight,with a gray-blue river winding its still length along. In the fardistance a blue-and-purple haze enveloped the hills; above all stretcheda sky upon whose fairness wisps of clouds were beginning to show hereand there, while in the south the outlines of a rising bank of gray gavewarning that those who gazed might look their fill to-day--to-morrowthere would be neither sunlight nor purple haze. The two looked insilence for a minute, not at the boy and girl shouting below, but at thebeauty in the peaceful landscape.

  "An Indian-summer day," said Roberta gravely, as if her mood had changedwith the moment, "is like the last look at something one is not sure oneshall ever see again."

  At the words Richard's gaze shifted from the hill to the face of thegirl beside him. The sunshine was full upon the rich bloom of her cheek,upon the exquisite line of her dark eyebrow. What was the beauty of anIndian-summer landscape compared with the beauty of budding summer inthat face? But he answered her in the same quiet way in which she hadspoken: "Yes, it's hard to have faith that winter can sweep over allthis and not blot it out forever. But it won't."

  "No, it won't. And after all I like the storms. I should like to standjust here, some day when Nature was simply raging, and watch. I wish Icould build a stout little cabin right on this spot and come up here andspend the worst night of the winter in it. I'd love it."

  "I believe you would. But not alone? You'd want company?"

  "I don't think I'd even mind being alone--if I had a good fire forcompany--and a dog. I should be glad of a dog," she owned.

  "But not one good comrade, one who liked the same sort of thing?"

  "So few people really do. It would have to be somebody who wouldn't talkwhen I wanted to listen to the wind, or wouldn't mind my nottalking--and yet who wouldn't mind my talking either, if I took a suddennotion." She began to laugh at her own fancy, with the low, rich notewhich delighted his ear afresh every time he heard it. "Comrades who aretolerant of one's every mood are not common, are they? Mr. Kendrick,what do you suppose those dots of bright scarlet are, halfway down thehill? They must be rose haws, mustn't they? Nothing else could have thatcolour in November."

  "I don't know what 'rose haws' are. Do you want them--whatever they are?I'll go and get them for you."

  "I'll go, too, to see if they're worth picking. They're thorny things;you won't like them, but I do."

  "You think I don't like thorny things?" he asked her as they went downthe hillside, up which Ted and Ruth were now struggling. It was steepand he held out his hand to her, but she ignored it and went on withsure, light feet.

  "No, I think you like them soft and rounded."

  "And you prefer them prickly?"

  "Prickly enough to be interesting."

  They reached the scraggly rosebush, bare except for the bright red haws,their smooth hard surfaces shining in the sun. Richard got out hisknife, and by dint of scratching his hands in a dozen places, succeededin gathering quite a cluster. Then he went to work at getting rid of thethorns.

  "You may like things prickly, but you'll be willing to spare a few ofthese," he observed.

  He succeeded in time in pruning the cluster into subordination, boundthem with a tough bit of dried weed which he found at his feet, and heldout the bunch. "Will you do me the honour of wearing them?"

  She thrust the smooth stems into the breast of her riding-coat, wherethey gave the last picturesque touch to her attire. "Thank you," sheacknowledged somewhat tardily. "I can do no less after seeing youscarify yourself in my service. You might have put on your gloves."

  "I might--and suffered your scarifying mirth, which would have been muchworse. 'He jests at scars that never felt a wound,' but he who jests atthem after he has felt them is the hero. Observe that I still jest." Heput his lips to a bleeding tear on his wrist as he spoke. "My onlyregret is that the rose haws were not where they are now when Iphotographed the horses. Only, mine is not a colour camera. I must getone and have it with me when I drive, in case of emergencies like thisone."

  A whimsical expression touching his lips, he gazed off over thelandscape as he spoke, and she glanced at his profile. She was obligedto admit to herself that she had seldom noted one of better lines.Curiously enough, to her observation there did not lack a suggestion ofruggedness about his face, in spite of the soft and easy life sheunderstood him to have led.

  Ted and Ruth now came panting up to them, and the four climbed togetherto the hilltop.

  Roberta turned and scanned th
e sun. Immediately she decreed that it wastime to be off, reminding her protesting young brother that the Novemberdusk falls early and that it would be dark before they were at home.

  Richard put both sisters into their saddles with the ease of an oldhorseman. "I've often regretted selling a certain black beauty namedDesperado," he remarked as he did so, "but never more than at thisminute. My motor there strikes me as disgustingly overadequate to-day. Ican't keep you company by any speed adjustment in my control, and if Icould your steeds wouldn't stand it. I'll let you start down before meand stay here for a bit. It's too pleasant a place to leave. And eventhen I shall be at home before you--worse luck!"

  "We're sorry, too," said Ruth, and Ted agreed, vociferously. As forRoberta, she let her eyes meet his for a moment in a way so rare withher, whose heavy lashes were forever interfering with any man's directgaze, that Richard made the most of his opportunity. He saw clearly atlast that those eyes were of the deepest sea blue, darkened almost toblack by the shadowing lashes. If by some hard chance he should neversee them again he knew he could not forget them.

  With beat of impatient hoofs upon the hard road the three were off,their chorusing farewells coming back to him over their shoulders. Whenthey were out of sight he went back to the place on the hilltop where hehad stood beside Roberta, and thought it all over. In that way onlycould he make shift to prolong the happiness of the hour.

  The happiness of the hour! What had there been about it to make it thehappiest hour he could recall? Such a simple, outdoor encounter! He hadspent many an hour which had lingered in his memory--hours in placesmade enchanting to the eye by every device of cunning, in the society ofwomen chosen for their beauty, their wit, their power to allure, tofascinate, to intoxicate. He had had his senses appealed to by everyform of attraction a clever woman can fabricate, herself a miracle ofart in dress, in smile, in speech. He had gone from more than one doorwith his head swimming, the vivid recollection of the hour just past adrug more potent than the wine that had touched his lips.

  His head was not swimming now, thank heaven, though his pulses wereunquestionably alive. It was the exhilaration of healthy, powerfulattraction, of which his every capacity for judgment approved. He hadnot been drugged by the enchantment which is like wine--he had beenstimulated by the charm which is like the feel of the fresh wind uponthe brow. Here was a girl who did not need the background ofartificiality, one who could stand the sunlight on her clear cheek--andthe sunlight on her soul--he knew that, without knowing how he knew. Itwas written in her sweet, strong, spirited face, and it was there formen to read. No man so blind but he can read a face like that.

  The darkness had almost fallen when he forced himself to leave the spot.But--reward for going while yet a trace of dusky light remained--he hadnot reached the bottom of the hill road, up which his car had roared anhour before, when he saw something fallen there which made him pull themotor up upon its throbbing cylinders. He jumped out and ran to rescuewhat had fallen. It was the bunch of rose haws he had so carefullydenuded of thorns, and which she had worn upon her breast for at least ashort time before she lost it. She had not thrown it away intentionally,he was sure of that. If she had she would not have flung itcontemptuously into the middle of the road for him to see.

  He put it into the pocket of his coat, where it made a queer bulge, buthe could not risk losing it by trusting it to the seat beside him. Untilhe had won something that had been longer hers, it was a treasure not tobe lost.

  Four miles toward town he passed the riding party and exchanged a fireof gay salutations with them. When he had left them behind he could notreach home too soon. He hurried to his rooms, hunted out a receptacle ofsilver and crystal and filled it with water, placed the bunch of rosehaws in it and set the whole on his reading-table, under the electricdrop-light, where it made a spot of brilliant colour.

  He had an invitation for the evening; he had cared little to accept itwhen it had been given him; he was sorry now that he had not refused it.As the hour drew near, his distaste grew upon him, but there was no wayin which he could withdraw without giving disappointment and evenoffence. He went forth, therefore, with reluctance, to join preciselysuch a party as he had many times made one of with pleasure and elation.To-night, however, he found the greatest difficulty in concealing hisboredom, and he more than once caught himself upon the verge of actualdiscourtesy, because of his tendency to become absent-minded and let themerry-making flow by him without taking part in it.

  Altogether, it was with a strong sense of relief and freedom that he atlast escaped from what had seemed to him an interminable period ofcaptivity to the uncongenial moods and manners of other people. Heopened the door of his rooms with a sense of having returned to a placewhere he could be himself--his new self--that strange new self whosingularly failed to enjoy the companionship of those who had onceseemed the most satisfying of comrades.

  The first thing upon which his eager glance fell was the bunch ofscarlet rose haws under the softly illumining radiance of thedrop-light. His eyes lighted, his lips broke into a smile--the lipswhich had found it, all evening, so hard to smile with anythingresembling spontaneity.

  Hat in hand, he addressed his treasure: "I've come back to stay withyou!" he said.