Part 58 (1/2)
SAM MEETS WITH A RIVAL, AND HOW HE TREATED HIM.
That week one of those runs upon the Captain's hospitality took place which are common enough in the bush, and, although causing a temporary inconvenience, are generally as much enjoyed by the entertainer as entertained. Everybody during this next week came to see them, and n.o.body went back again. So by the end of the week there were a dozen or fourteen guests a.s.sembled, all uninvited, and apparently bent on making a good long stay of it.
Alice, who had expected to be rather put out, conducted everything with such tact and dignity that Mrs. Buckley remarked to Mrs. Mayford, when they were alone together, ”that she had never seen such beauty and such charming domestic grace combined, and that he would be a lucky young fellow who got her for a wife.”
”Well, yes, I should be inclined to say so too,” answered Mrs. Mayford.
”Rather much of the boarding-school as yet, but that will wear off, I dare say. I don't think the young lady will go very long without an offer. Pray, have you remarked anything, my dear madam?”
Yes, Mrs. Buckley had remarked something on her arrival the day before yesterday. She had remarked Sam and Alice come riding over the paddock, and Sam, by way of giving a riding-lesson, holding the little white hand in his, teaching it (the dog!) to hold the reins properly. And on seeing Alice she had said to herself, ”That will do.” But all this was not what Mrs. Mayford meant,--in fact, these two good ladies were at cross-purposes.
”Well, I thought I did,” replied Mrs. Buckley, referring to Sam. ”But one must not be premature. They are both very young, and may not know their own minds.”
”They seem as if they did,” said Mrs. Mayford. ”Look there!” Outside the window they saw something which gave Mrs. Buckley a sort of pang, and made Mrs. Mayford laugh.
There was no one in the garden visible but Cecil Mayford and Alice, and she was at that moment busily engaged in pinning a rose into his b.u.t.tonhole. ”The audacious girl!” thought Mrs. Buckley; ”I am afraid she will be a daughter of debate among us. I wish she had not come home.” While Mrs. Mayford continued,--
”I am far from saying, mind you, my dear Mrs. Buckley, that I don't consider Cecil might do far better for himself. The girl is pretty, very pretty, and will have money. But she is too decided, my dear.
Fancy a girl of her age expressing opinions! Why, if I had ventured to express opinions at her age, I----I don't know what my father would have said.”
”Depend very much on what sort of opinions they were; wouldn't it?”
said Mrs. Buckley.
”No; I mean any opinions. Girls ought to have no opinions at all.
There, last night when the young men were talking all together, she must needs get red in the face and bridle up, and say, 'She thought an Englishman who wasn't proud of Oliver Cromwell was unworthy of the name of an Englishman.' Her very words, I a.s.sure you. Why, if my daughter Ellen had dared to express herself in that way about a murderous Papist, I'd have slapped her face.”
”I don't think Cromwell was a Papist; was he?” said Mrs. Buckley.
”A Dissenter, then, or something of that sort,” said Mrs. Mayford. ”But that don't alter the matter. What I don't like to see is a young girl thrusting her oar in in that way. However, I shall make no opposition, I can a.s.sure you. Cecil is old enough to choose for himself, and a mother's place is to submit. Oh, no; I a.s.sure you, whatever my opinions may be, I shall offer no opposition.”
”I shouldn't think you would,” said Mrs. Buckley, as the other left the room: ”rather a piece of luck for your boy to marry the handsomest and richest girl in the country. However, madam, if you think I am going to play a game of chess with you for that girl, or any other girl, why, you are mistaken.”
And yet it was very provoking. Ever since she had begun to hear from various sources how handsome and clever Alice was, she had made up her mind that Sam should marry her, and now to be put out like this by people whom they had actually introduced into the house! It would be a great blow to Sam too. She wished he had never seen her. She would sooner have lost a limb than caused his honest heart one single pang.
But, after all, it might be only a little flirtation between her and Cecil. Girls would flirt; but then there would be Mrs. Mayford manoeuvring and scheming her heart out, while she, Agnes Buckley, was constrained by her principles only to look on and let things take their natural course.
Now, there arose a coolness between Agnes Buckley and the Mayfords, mother and son, which was never made up--never, oh, never! Not very many months after this she would have given ten thousand pounds to have been reconciled to the kind-hearted old busy-body; but then it was too late.
But now, going out into the garden, she found the Doctor busy planting some weeds he had found in the bush, in a quiet corner, with an air of stealth, intending to privately ask the gardener to see after them till he could fetch them away. The magpie, having seen from the window a process of digging and burying going on, had attended in his official capacity, standing behind the Doctor, and encouraging him every now and then with a dance, or a few flute-like notes of music. I need hardly mention that the moment the Doctor's back was turned the bird rooted up every one of the plants, and buried them in some secret spot of his own, where they lie, I believe, till this day.
To the Doctor she told the whole matter, omitting nothing, and then asked his advice. ”I suppose,” she said, ”you will only echo my own determination of doing nothing at all?”
”Quite so, my dear madam. If she loves Sam, she will marry him; if she don't, he is better without her.”
”That is true,” said Mrs. Buckley. ”I hope she will have good taste enough to choose my boy.”
”I hope so too, I am sure,” said the Doctor. ”But we must not be very furious if she don't. Little Cecil Mayford is both handsomer and cleverer than Sam. We must not forget that, you know.”
That evening was the first thoroughly unhappy evening, I think, that Sam ever pa.s.sed in his life. I am inclined to imagine that his digestion was out of order. If any of my readers ever find themselves in the same state of mind that he was in that night, let them be comforted by considering that there is always a remedy at hand, before which evil thoughts and evil tempers of all kinds fly like mist before the morning sun. How many serious family quarrels, marriages out of spite, alterations of wills, and secessions to the Church of Rome, might have been prevented by a gentle dose of blue pill! What awful instances of chronic dyspepsia are presented to our view by the immortal bard in the characters of Hamlet and Oth.e.l.lo! I look with awe on the digestion of such a man as the present King of Naples. Banish dyspepsia and spirituous liquors from society, and you would have no crime, or at least so little that you would not consider it worth mentioning.
However, to return to Sam. He, Halbert, Charles Hawker, and Jim had been away riding down an emu, and had stayed out all day. But Cecil Mayford, having made excuse to stay at home, had been making himself in many ways agreeable to Alice, and at last had attended her on a ride, and on his return had been rewarded with a rose, as we saw. The first thing Sam caught sight of when he came home was Alice and Cecil walking up and down the garden very comfortably together, talking and laughing.