Under the Country Sky

by Grace S. Richmond

  CHAPTER II

  SOMETHING REALLY HAPPENS

  It might have been any of the village people, as Georgiana expected itwould be when she closed the kitchen door with a bang and wentreluctantly to answer the knock. Since it was almost suppertime it wasprobably Mrs. Shear, who seldom made a call at any other hour, knowingshe would as surely be asked to stay as it was sure that David Warne'sheart would respond to the wanness and unhappiness always written onMrs. Shear's homely middle-aged face. As she went to the door, Georgianafelt an intensely wicked desire to hit Mrs. Shear a blow with her owncapable fist, which should send her backward into the snow. Georgianadid not believe that the lady was as unhappy as she looked. It seemed tobe a day for expression by the use of fists!

  But when the door was opened and the light from the bracket lamp in themanse hall shone out on the figure standing upon the porch, all desireto hit anything more with her fist vanished from the girl's heart. Forwith the first look into the face of the man outside her instant wishwas to have him come in--and stay. Somebody so evidently from the greatworld which seemed so far away from the old village manse--somebody wholooked as if he could bring with him into this dull life of theirs allmanner of interest--it was small wonder that in her present mood thegirl should feel like this. And it must by no means be supposed thatGeorgiana was in the habit of experiencing this sort of wish every timeshe set eyes upon a personable man. Personable men had been many in heracquaintance during the four years of her college life, and more thanone of them had followed her back to the old manse to urge his claimupon her attention.

  "Is the Reverend Mr. Warne at home?" asked the stranger in a low andpleasant voice. "I have a letter of introduction to him."

  "Please come in," answered Georgiana, and led him straight into theliving-room and her father's presence. Then, though consumed withcuriosity, she retired--as far as the door of the dining-room, where sheremained, ready to listen in a most reprehensible manner to theconversation which should follow.

  There was an exchange of greetings, then evidently Mr. Warne was readingthe letter of introduction. Presently he spoke:

  "This is quite sufficient," he said, "to make you welcome under thisroof. My old friend Davidson has my affection and confidence always.Please tell me what I can do for you, Mr. Jefferson."

  "I should like," replied the stranger's voice, "to have a room with you,and possibly board, if that might be. If not, perhaps I could find thatelsewhere; but if I might at least have the room I should be very glad.I am hard at work upon a book, and I have come away from my home andother work to find a place where I can live quietly, write steadily, andbe outdoors every day for long walks in the country. Doctor Davidsonsuggested this place, and thought you might take me in--for anindefinite period of time, possibly some months."

  "That sounds very pleasant to me," Georgiana heard her father reply. "Wehave never had a boarder, my daughter and I, but, if she has noobjection, I should enjoy having such a man as you look to be, in thehouse. Your letter, you see, is not your only introduction. You carrywith you in your face a passport to other men's favour."

  "That is good of you," answered Mr. Jefferson--and Georgiana liked thefrank tone of his voice. It was an educated voice, it spoke for itselfof the personality behind it.

  "I will go and talk with my daughter," she heard her father say, afterthe two men had had some little conversation concerning a book or twolying on the table by Mr. Warne's couch.

  Georgiana fled into the kitchen, where her father found her. When heappeared, closing the door behind him, she was ready for him before hespoke.

  "If he were the angel Gabriel or old Pluto himself I'd welcome him," shesaid under her breath, her eyes dancing. "To have somebody in the housefor you to talk with besides your everlasting old parishioners--why, itwould be worth a world of trouble! And it won't be any trouble at all.Go tell him your daughter reluctantly consents."

  "You heard, then?" queried Mr. Warne, a quizzical smile on his gentlelips.

  "Of course I heard! I was listening hard! I was all ears--regular donkeyears. He's a godsend. His board will pay for sirloin instead of round.We'll have roast duck on Sunday--twice a winter. He can have the bigfront room; I'll have it ready by to-morrow night."

  "Come in and arrange details," urged Mr. Warne.

  Georgiana stayed behind a minute to compose her face and manner, thenwent in, the demurest of young housewives. Not for nothing had been heryears of college life, which had made, when occasion demanded, a quietlypoised woman out of a girl who had been, according to village standards,a somewhat hoydenish young person.

  As she faced the stranger in the full light of the fire-and-lamp-litroom, she saw in detail that of which she had had a swift earlierimpression. Mr. Jefferson was a man in, she thought, the early thirties,with a strongly modelled, shaven face, keen brown eyes behindeyeglasses, a mouth which could be grave one moment and humorous thenext, and the air of a man who was accustomed to think for himself andexpect others to do so. He was well built though not tall, well dressedthough not dapper, and he looked less like a writer of books than aparticipant in action of some kind or other. His dark hair showed athread or two of gray at the temples, but this suggestion of age did notseem at all to age him.

  The stranger, on his part, saw a rather more than commonly charmingGeorgiana, on account of the Indian-red silk frock.

  "It's not fair to him," thought Georgiana, "to show him a landlady wholooks so festive and fine. I can't afford to wear this often, even forhis benefit." But to him she said: "I know it will give my father muchpleasure to have some one in the house besides his daughter. And I amquite willing to have you at our table. I must warn you that we livevery simply, as you must guess."

  "I live very simply myself," Mr. Jefferson assured her. "There are fewthings I do not like. My one serious antipathy is Brussels sprouts," headded, smiling. "With that confession the coast is clear. And--youwould not mind my smoking in my room?"

  Georgiana glanced at her father with a suddenly mischievous expression.He was studying the prospective boarder with interested eyes.

  "I think," confessed Mr. Warne, "that merely to catch a whiff now andthen of a fragrance which is singularly pleasant to me, but which I amdenied producing for myself, would add to the things that give mecomfort. If you wouldn't mind smoking in the hall now and then, or,better yet, by my fireside, I should be grateful."

  Mr. Jefferson nodded. "Thank you, sir. And now--when may I come? I havea room at the hotel, so don't let me in until you are quite ready."

  "You may come to-morrow night for supper," promised Georgiana. "But youhaven't seen the room." She rose.

  "It will be in the upper right front?" hazarded Mr. Jefferson. "And itwill have the customary furnishings and some means of heating?"

  "I should prefer to have you see it," she insisted, and lighted a candlein an ancient pewter candlestick with an extinguisher at the side.

  So the stranger, following her upstairs, surveyed his room and professedhimself entirely satisfied. It looked bare enough to Georgiana as sheshowed it to him, but she told herself that there were possibilities inthe matter of certain belongings of her own room which could betransferred to give an air of homelikeness to this.

  "It is large, and I can have plenty of light and air," commented theprospective boarder. "If I might have some sort of good-sized table bythat south window, for my work, I should consider myself provided for."

  "You will find one when you come," promised the girl.

  "Thank you. Now, I will take myself off at once. Then you may have achance to discuss with your father the probabilities in favour of yournot regretting your quick decision," he said as he descended the stairs.

  "Father and I always make quick decisions," Georgiana remarked.

  "Good! So do I. Do you hold to them as well?"

  "Always. That's part of father's creed."

  "That's very good; that speaks for itself. Well, I promise you I shallbe busy enough not to bother this hou
sehold overmuch. By the way"--heturned suddenly--"that table you spoke of putting in my room--if it islarge, it must be heavy. Your father cannot help you lift it, and youshould not lift it alone. Don't put it in place until I come--please?"

  She smiled. "That's very thoughtful of you. But I am quite equal tomoving it alone."

  "Then let me help you now, won't you?" he offered.

  She shook her head. "It's really not ready to be moved. Don't think ofit again, please."

  He bade them good-night and went away, with no lingering speeches on theroad to the door. He had the air of a man accustomed to measure his timeand to waste none of it. When he had gone Georgiana went back to herfather. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his still boyish eyes.

  "Well, daughter, it looks to me as if this had happened just in time toprevent a bad explosion from too high pressure of accumulated energy.You can now lower the position of the indicator on the steam gauge tothe safety point by spending the whole day to-morrow in sweeping anddusting and baking. If there are any spare moments you can employ themin making over your clothes."

  "Father Davy! Where did you get such a perfectly uncanny understanding?"

  "From observation--purely from observation. And I myself confess tofeeling considerably excited and elated. It is not every day that agentleman of this sort knocks at the door of a village manse and asks tocome in and write a book. If it had not been that my old friend Davidsonis always bringing people together who need each other, I should thinkit the strangest thing in the world that this should happen. Davidsonis the minister of a great New York church where this Mr. Jeffersonattends; and Davidson has never forgotten me, though he took the highroad and I the low so soon after he left the seminary. Well, it willgive us a fresh interest, my dear, for as long as it lasts."

  Georgiana thought it would. She was up betimes next morning, to beginthe sweeping and dusting and general turning upside down of thelong-unused upper front room. In the course of her window washing, hershoulders enveloped in an old red shawl, she was vigorously hailed frombelow.

  "Ship ahoy! Your name, cargo, and destination?"

  Without turning she called merrily back: "The Jefferson, with a cargo ofbooks, bound for the public!"

  "What's that? I don't get you."

  "Never mind. I'm too busy to be spoken by every passing ship."

  "I'll be up," called the voice, and footsteps sounded upon the porch.The front door banged, the same ringing male voice was heard shouting a"Good-morning, sir!" and the owner of the voice came leaping up thestairs and burst into the room without ceremony. He advanced till he wasclose to the open window, and nodded through the glass at thewindow-washer, who sat on the sill with her upper body outside.

  He was a fine specimen of youth and brawn and energy, the young man whomGeorgiana had pointed out to her friends as one of her resources when itcame to the good times they were so anxious to know of. His name wasJames Stuart, and he was a near neighbour of the manse. He was a collegegraduate of three years' longer standing than Georgiana, and he, likeher, had returned to the country home and his father's farm because hisaging parents could not spare him, and he was the only son whose lack ofother ties left him free to care for them. He and this girl had beenschoolmates and long-time friends--with interesting intervals of enmityduring the earlier years--and were now sworn comrades, though they stillquarrelled at times. It looked, after a minute, as if this would be oneof those times.

  "I didn't just get you," complained James Stuart through the window.

  "Wait till I come in. I can't tell all the neighbours."

  Georgiana polished off her last pane, pushed up the window and slippedinto the room, quite unnecessarily assisted by Stuart.

  "I can't understand," began the young man, eying with approval herblooming face, frost-stung and smooth in texture as the petals of arose, "why you're washing the windows of a room that's always shut up."

  "Jimps, if you were Mrs. Perkins next door I'd understand your consumingcuriosity. As it is----"

  "Going to have company?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then--what in thunder----"

  "We're going to have a boarder, if you must know." Georgiana began toattack the inside of the window.

  "A boarder! What sort?"

  "A very good sort. He's a literary person with a book to write."

  "Suffering cats! Not the man at the hotel?"

  "I believe he was to exist at the hotel--if he could--for twenty-fourhours," admitted Georgiana.

  "But that man," objected Mr. James Stuart, "is a--why, he's--he doesn'tlook like that sort at all."

  "What sort, if you please?"

  "The literary. He looks like a--well, I took him for a professional manof some kind."

  Georgiana laughed derisively. "Jimps! Isn't authorship a profession?"

  "Well, I mean, you know, he doesn't look like an ink-slinger; he lookslike some sort of a doer. He hasn't that dreamy expression. He sees withboth eyes at once. In other words, he seems to be all there."

  "Your idea of literary men is a disgrace to your education, Jimps. Thinkof the author-soldiers and author-engineers--and author-Presidents ofthe United States," she ended triumphantly.

  "It doesn't matter," admitted Stuart. "The thing that does is that he'scoming here. I can't say that appeals to me. How in time did he come toapply?" Georgiana told him briefly. Stuart looked gloomy. "That's allright," he said, "as long as he confines himself to being company foryour father. But if he takes to being company for you--lookout!"

  "Absurd! He's years older than I, and he said he would be working veryhard. I shall see nothing of him except at the table. Heavens! don'tgrudge us anything that promises to relieve the monotony of our liveseven a little bit."

  Stuart whistled. "Monotony, eh? In spite of all my visits? All right.But I'd be just as well pleased if he wore skirts. And mind you--yourUncle Jimps is coming over evenings just as often as and a littleoftener than if you didn't have this literary light burning on yourhearthstone. See?"

  He went away, his thick fair hair, uncapped, shining in the morningsunlight, his arm waving a friendly farewell back at the window, where awhite cloth flapped in reply.

  "Dear old boy!" thought the young woman affectionately; "what should Ido without him?"

  That afternoon, just before the supper hour, the boarder's trunkarrived. It was borne upstairs by the village baggageman, complainingbitterly of its weight. It was an aristocratic-looking trunk, and itbore labels which indicated that it was a traveled trunk. Shortlyafterward the boarder himself appeared and was allowed to betake himselfat once to his room, from which he emerged at the call of the bell, andcame promptly down. Meeting Mr. Warne limping slowly through the hall,he offered his arm, and in the dining-room placed his host in his chairwith the gentle deference so welcome from a younger man to an older.

  Georgiana, as she served one of the undeniably simple but toothsomemeals for the cooking of which she was equipped by many years'apprenticeship, noted how bright grew Father Davy's face as the supperprogressed, and how delightfully the newcomer talked--and listened--forif he was an interesting talker he proved to be a still moreaccomplished listener. When the supper was over Mr. Jefferson lingered afew minutes by the fire, then went up to his room, explaining that hemust unpack his books and make ready for an early attack in the morningupon his work.

  In her own room, that night, Georgiana lay awake for a long time. Justbefore she went to sleep she addressed herself sternly:

  "My child, I shouldn't wonder if you've jumped out of the frying pan ofmonotony into the fire of unrest. It certainly means trouble for youwhen you can't get a perfect stranger's face out of your mind for anhour. Now, there's just one thing about it: you've always despised girlswho let themselves leap into liking any man and are so upset by it thateverybody sees it. This one is undoubtedly either married or engaged tobe, and even if he's the freest old bachelor alive you are to behave asif he were the tightest tied. You are to go straight ahead
with yourwork and to remember every minute that you are a poor minister'sdaughter with only a college training for an asset. He's very clearly aman of importance somewhere; he couldn't look like that and be anythingelse. He will never think twice of you. Whatever attention he gives youwill be purely because he is a gentleman and he can't ignore his host'sdaughter--nonsense, his landlady--I might as well face it. He's aboarder and I'm his landlady. Gentlemen don't take much interest inlandladies. So now, Georgiana Warne, landlady--keeper of aboarding-house, be sensible and go to sleep."

  But before she went to sleep her mind, in spite of her, had imaged forher again the interesting, clever-looking face of the stranger under theroof, with his clear, straightforward glance that seemed to see so much,his smile which disclosed splendid teeth, his strongly moulded chin. Andshe had owned, frankly, driven to the confession just to see if itwouldn't relieve her:

  "It's just such a face as I've seen and liked--in crowds sometimes--butI never knew the owner of one. It's such a face as a woman wouldremember to her grave, if its owner had just belonged to her one--hour!Oh, dear God, I've prayed you to let something happen--anything! And nowI'm--afraid!"

  But, in the morning, when pulses beat strongly and courage is bright,Georgiana had another tone to take with herself. She faced her image inthe glass, which looked straight back at her with unflinching dark eyes.

  "I'm ashamed of you! To moon and croon like that! Now, brace up, MissWarne, and be yourself. You've never lacked spirit; you're not going tolack it now. You're going to be strong and sane about this thing. You'regoing to be the sort of girl whose mind no man can guess at. You'regoing to weave rugs for your life, and enjoy Jimps Stuart as you alwayshave, and there's not going to be a whimper out of you from this hour,no matter what happens--or doesn't happen. Do you hear? Well,then--attention! Head up, shoulders back, heart steady; forward,_march_!"

  Two hours later, when, in the absence of the new inmate, Georgiana wentinto his room to put it in order for the day, she found it impossiblenot to note the character of his belongings. They were few and simpleenough, but in every detail they betrayed a fastidious taste. And amongthe articles in ebony and leather which lay upon the linen cover of theold bureau stood one which held her fascinated attention. It was aframed photograph of a young and very lovely woman in evening dress, andthe face which smiled over the perfect shoulder was looking straight outat her.

  Georgiana stared back. "Who are you?" she whispered. "I might have knownyou would be here!"

  "And who, please, are you?" the picture seemed to query lightly, smilingin return for the other's frown. "As for me, don't you see plainly? Ibelong to him. Else why should he have me here? You see I'm the only onehe cared to bring. Doesn't that speak for itself?"

  "Of course it does," agreed Georgiana; then stoutly: "And why should Icare? Of course I don't care. To care would be--absurd!"