Part 58 (1/2)

There was a silver mist across the hills, when Gifford led his horse out of the barn the next morning, and the little sharp paving-stones in the stable-yard, with thin lines of gra.s.s between them, were s.h.i.+ning with dew. The morning-glories about the kitchen porch had flung their rosy horns toward the east, as though to greet the sunrise. Sarah stood under them, surveying the young man regretfully. ”Your aunts won't half like it, Mr. Gifford,” she said, ”that you wouldn't eat a proper breakfast.”

But he put his foot in the stirrup, and flung himself into his saddle. He was too much absorbed in his own concerns to reflect that Miss Deborah would be distressed if her Scotch collops were slighted, and that was not like Gifford. However, he was young and a man, so his grief did not prevent him from lighting a cigarette. The reins fell on the horse's neck as he climbed East Hill, and Gifford turned, with one hand on the bay's broad flanks, to look down at Ashurst. The valley was still full of mist, that flushed and trembled into gold before it disappeared at the touch of the sun. There was a flutter of birds' wings in the bushes along the road, and the light wind made the birch leaves flicker and dance; but there was hardly another sound, for his horse walked deliberately in the gra.s.s beside the road, until suddenly a dog barked. Gifford drew his rein sharply. ”That was Max!” he said, and looked about for him, even rising a little in his stirrups, ”How fond she is of the old fellow!” he thought.

In another moment the dog ran across the road, his red coat marked with dew; then the bushes were pushed aside, and his mistress followed him.

”Why, Gifford!” she said.

”Why, Lois!” he exclaimed with her, and then they looked at each other.

The young man threw away his cigarette, and, springing from his horse, slipped the reins over his arm, and walked beside her.

”Are you going away?” Lois asked. ”But it is so early!”

She had her little basket in her hand, and she was holding her blue print gown up over a white petticoat, to keep it from the wet gra.s.s. Her broad hat was on the back of her head, and the wind had blown the curls around her face into a sunny tangle, and made her cheeks as fresh as a wild rose.

”You are the early one, it seems to me,” he answered, smiling.

”I've come to get mushrooms for father,” she explained. ”It is best to get them early, while the dew is on them. There are a good many around that little old ruin further up the road, you know.”

”Yes, I know,” he said. (He felt himself suddenly in a tumult of uncertainty. ”It would be no harm just to say a word,” he thought. ”Why shouldn't she know--no matter if she can never care herself--that I care?

It would not trouble her. No, I am a fool to think of it,--I won't.”) ”But it is so early for you to be out alone,” he said. ”Do you take care of her, Max?”

”Max is a most constant friend,” Lois replied; ”he never leaves me.” Then she blushed, lest Gifford should think that she had thought he was not constant.

But Gifford's thoughts were never so complicated. With him, it was either, ”She loves me,” or, ”She does not;” he never tormented himself, after the fas.h.i.+on of women, by wondering what this look meant, or that inflection, and fearing that the innermost recesses of his mind might be guessed from a calm and indifferent face.

”You see the old chimney?” Lois said, as they drew near the small ruin.

”Some mushrooms grow right in on the hearth.”

It was rather the suggestion of a ruin, for the walls were not standing; only this stone chimney with the wide, blackened fireplace, and the flat doorstones before what was once the threshold. Gra.s.s and brambles covered the foundations; lilacs, with spikes of brown dead blossoms, grew tall and thick around it, and roses, gone back to wild singleness, blossomed near the steps and along a path, which was only a memory, the gra.s.s had tangled so above it.

Max kept his nose under Lois's hand, and the horse stumbled once over a stone that had rolled from the broken foundation and hidden itself beneath a dock. The mushrooms had opened their little s.h.i.+ning brown umbrellas, as Lois had said, on the very hearth, and she stooped down to gather them and put them in her basket of sweet gra.s.s. From the bushes at one side came the sudden note of a bob-white; Max p.r.i.c.ked his ears.

”Lois,” Gifford said abruptly, still telling himself that he was a fool,--but then, it was all so commonplace, so free from sentiment, so public, with Max, and the horse, and the bob-white, it could not trouble her just to--”Lois, I'd like--I'd like to tell you something, if you don't mind.”

”What?” she said pleasantly; her basket was full, and they began to walk back to the road again.

Gifford stopped to let his horse crop the thick wet gra.s.s about a fallen gate-post. He threw his arm over the bay's neck, and Lois leaned her elbows on the other post, swinging her basket lightly while she waited for him to speak. The mist had quite gone by this time, and the sky was a fresh, clear blue. ”Well,” he began, suddenly realizing that this was a great deal harder than he had supposed (”She'll think I'm going to bother her with a proposal,” he thought),--”well, the fact is, Lois, there's something I want you to know. Perhaps it doesn't really interest you, in one way; I mean, it is only a--a happiness of my own, and it won't make any difference in our friends.h.i.+p, but I wanted you to know it.”

In a moment Miss Deborah's suggestion was a certainty to Lois. She clasped her hands tight around the handle of her gra.s.s basket; Gifford should not see them tremble. ”I'm sure I'll be glad to hear anything that makes you happy.”

Her voice had a dull sound in her own ears.

”Helen put it into my head to tell you,” Gifford went on nervously. ”I hope you won't feel that I am not keeping my word”--

She held her white chin a little higher. ”I don't know of any 'word,' as you call it, that there is for you to keep, Gifford.”

”Why, that I would not trouble you, you know, Lois,” he faltered. ”Have you forgotten?”

”What!” Lois exclaimed, with a start, and a thrill in her voice.