Part 11 (2/2)
”Oh, it's my left arm, I shouldn't mind very much. You manage so well with one, that I should feel encouraged by your example, if my handcuff should grow too unbearable.”
”Still there are advantages in possessing the use of both, that I would not advise you to give up unnecessarily. For instance, if you wanted a cigar from the case on the top of that etagere, which cannot be reached down without two hands, your temper would be severely tried in having to ring for Thomas to get it for you, or having to depend upon the uncertain charity of a most capricious friend who might or might not, be in the humor to serve you.”
”But I shouldn't be likely to want a cigar,” I said as standing in a chair I lifted down the case, and took out one.
”There are matches on the mantelpiece,” he said nonchalantly as I handed it to him. I brought the matches, drew one, and held it for him, as he lit his cigar.
”Anything more sir?”
”Nothing but the evening paper, which you interrupted me in reading, half an hour ago.”
”I beg your pardon, sir, but you haven't had a paper in your hand since tea,” I said, hunting among the piles of books and papers on the table for it. ”Here it is. Good night.”
”Doesn't common kindness suggest your staying to read it for me.”
”No sir, it hasn't suggested it as yet,” I replied as I took up my long neglected candle. ”It suggests 'good-night,' sir,” and the door closed between us before he could answer.
The moon was making my room so bright, that I soon put out the candle as superfluous, and wrapping my dressing gown about me, sat in the bay window for a long, long while, watching the soft shadows on the lawn, and the silvery smoothness of the lake. Ah! how hateful it would be to leave this quiet place, and go among strangers again! The idea of city life had never been altogether attractive, but now seemed most distasteful. Altogether, my new home in New York did not to-night attract my errant fancy, neither did the old school life draw it back regretfully, from a Present so sufficing that I did not ask myself why it was better than Past or Future; nor why my fancy, usually so eager on the wing, should lie so contentedly in so calm a nest.
CHAPTER VIII.
”Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever, Do n.o.ble things, not dream them, all day long So shalt thou make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song.”
KINGSLEY.
”No one who aspires to the honor of writing my letters,” said Mr.
Rutledge, as I entered the breakfast-room, ”can indulge in such late hours as these. Twenty minutes to eight, Mademoiselle, and the mail goes at ten. You are getting in shocking habits.”
”Why sir!” I exclaimed, ”I've been up two hours at least.”
”And what have you been doing all that time, I should like to be informed?”
”I've been to the barn and fed the kittens, and to the stable and fed the dogs; and then I went to the garden for some flowers, but the frost had been there before me and there wasn't one worth pulling. So to get warm (it's very chilly out this morning) I ran down the avenue, and across to the chestnut wood, and so home by the lake. And here are all the chestnuts those rascally village boys have left!” I exclaimed, throwing a couple of handfuls on the table. ”I do wonder, sir, you allow them to commit such trespa.s.ses, so near the house too. I would keep at least that grove for my own use. I never saw finer trees, and a week ago they were loaded, Stephen says. Yesterday morning there were two boys up thres.h.i.+ng one of the largest trees; I heard them, just as I came under it; the nuts were falling down nicely, so I began to pick them up as unconcernedly as possible, and got my pockets and ap.r.o.n full, while the young vagabonds up in the tree didn't dare, of course, to breathe, for fear of being discovered and had to see me carrying off their precious nuts without a word. I didn't leave a sh.e.l.l, I a.s.sure you; I never enjoyed anything more and went down this morning in hope of another adventure.”
”I hope,” said Mr. Rutledge very seriously, ”that you will never do such an imprudent thing again. You should never go into the woods without taking Kitty with you, least of all, when there are such marauders about.”
”I took Solo and Dash with me, and I would have kept them up there till noon, if I had caught them at it again, the rascals.”
”You are very thoughtless, not to be aware of the danger of provoking such lawless fellows.”
”I cannot see the danger; not half a mile from the house, and with two great dogs to back me. And 'if the worst came to the worst,' I know I could outrun the longest-legged loafer among them.”
The words were hardly out of my mouth, when I remembered that this latter accomplishment had not appeared to win me any favor from Mr.
Rutledge in the unlucky affair of the glove yesterday; and, with a blush, I hastily, by way of effacing the impression, continued:
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