Part 44 (1/2)

”That may be,” replied Ralph, with a laugh, ”but when you are driving, you must not rely too much on your reason, but must follow rules and tradition.”

”If I knew as much about driving as I like it,” said she, ”I should be a famous whip. Before we go, I am going to ask Miriam to take me out with her, two or three times, and give me lessons in driving. She told me that you had taught her a great deal.”

”So you would be willing to take your tuition secondhand,” said Ralph. ”I am a much better teacher than Miriam is.”

”Would you like to make up a cla.s.s?” she asked. ”But I do not know how the teacher and the two pupils could ride in this gig. Oh, I see. Miriam and I could sit here, and you could walk by our side and instruct us, and when the one who happened to be driving should make a mistake, she would give up her seat and the reins, and go to the foot of her cla.s.s.”

”Cla.s.s indeed!” exclaimed Ralph; ”I'll have none of it. I will take you out tomorrow and give you a lesson.”

So they went gayly on till they came to a gra.s.sy hill which shut out the western view.

”Do you think I could go through that gate,” asked Cicely, ”and drive Mrs. Browning up that hill? There is going to be a grand sunset, and we should get a fine view of it up there.”

”No,” said Ralph, ”let us get out and walk up, and as Mrs. Browning can see the barn, we will not worry her soul by tying her to the fence. I shall let her go home by herself, and you will see how beautifully she will do it.”

So they got out, and Ralph having fastened the reins to the dashboard, clicked to the old mare, who walked away by herself. Cicely was greatly interested, and the two stood and watched the sober-minded animal as she made her way home as quietly and properly as if she had been driven. When she entered the gate of the barnyard, and stopped at the stable door, Ralph remarked that she would stand there until Mike came out, and then the two went into the field and walked up the hill.

”I once had a scolding from Miriam for doing that sort of thing,” said Ralph; ”but you do not seem to object.”

”I do not know enough yet,” cried Cicely, who had begun to run up the hill; ”wait until I have had my lessons.”

They stood together at the top of the little eminence.

”I wonder,” said Cicely, ”if Miriam ever comes upon this hill at sunset.

Perhaps she has never thought of it.”

Ralph did not know; but the mention of Miriam's name caused him to think how little he had missed his sister, who had seemed to live in his life as he had lived in hers. It was strange, and he could not believe that he would so easily adapt himself to the changed circ.u.mstances of his home life. There was another thing of which he did not think, and that was that he had not missed Dora Bannister. It is true that he had never seen much of that young lady; but he had thought so much about her, and made so many plans in regard to her, and had so often hoped that he might see her drive up to the Cobhurst door, and had had such charming recollections of the hours she had spent in his home, and of the travels they had taken together by photograph, her blue eyes lifted to his as if in truth she leaned upon his arm as they walked through palace and park, that it was wonderful that he did not notice that for days his thoughts had not dwelt upon her.

When the gorgeous color began to fade out of the sky, Cicely said her mother would be wondering what had become of her, and together they went down the hill, and along the roadside, where they stopped to pick some tall sprays of goldenrod, and through the orchard, and around by the barnyard, where Mike was milking, and where Ralph stopped while Cicely went on to the house.

Phoebe was standing down by the entrance gate. She was waiting for an oxcart, whose driver had promised to take her with him on his return to Thorbury. She had arranged with a neighbor to prepare the minister's supper, but she must be on hand to give him his breakfast. As there was nothing to interest her at Cobhurst, and nothing to report, she was glad to go, and considered this oxcart a G.o.dsend, for her plan of getting Mike to drive her over in the spring cart had not been met with favor.

Waiting at the gateway, she had seen Ralph and Cicely walk up the hill, and watched them standing together, ever and ever so long, looking at the sky, and she had kept her eyes on them as they came down the hill, stopped to pick flowers which he gave to her, and until they had disappeared among the trees of the orchard.

”Upon my word an' honor!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Robinson, ”if that old French slop-cook hasn't lied to me, wus than Satan could do hisself! If them two ain't lovers, there never was none, an' that old heathen sinner thought she could clap a coffee bag over my head so that I couldn't see nothin' nor tell nothin'. She might as well a' slapped me in the face, the sarpent!”

And unable, by reason of her indignation, to stand still any longer, she walked up the road to meet the returning oxcart, whose wheels could be heard rumbling in the distance.

La Fleur had seen the couple standing together on the little hill, but she had thought it a pity to disturb their tete-a-tete.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

CICELY READS BY MOONLIGHT

Just before Cicely reached the back piazza, La Fleur came out of the kitchen door with the telegram in her hand.

”Do you know,” she said, ”if Mr. Haverley has come home, and where I can find him? Here is a message for him, and I have been looking for him, high and low.”

”A telegram!” exclaimed Cicely. ”He is at the barn. I will take it to him. I can get there sooner than you can, La Fleur,” and without further word, she took the yellow missive and ran with it toward the barn. She met Ralph half way, and stood by him while he read the message.