Part 20 (1/2)

”Well, aunt, I just thought I'd let him come out with Jones and the cart; they might be of use, you know, in case of tramps or gipsies.”

”They! You do not mean to say all the dogs are here?”

But doubt was soon dispelled by the appearance of Pete Trone in person, attracted by the provisions spread out upon the ground. Too well-bred to s.n.a.t.c.h,--for, as Tom said, ”Pete was a truly gentlemanly dog,”--Pete sat upon his hind legs with fore paws drooping on his breast, eying the company gravely as if to call attention to his polite demeanor. ”He certainly is a funny little fellow,” said Rose Saxon, as Hugh gave the terrier a fragment of cake.

”He is the wisest dog I ever saw,” said Hugh.

”There is no end to his knowledge. I was fis.h.i.+ng one day last summer down over the dam at Broad River, and caught a large cat-fish. My line was too slender to haul him up, and I was considering what to do when, much to my astonishment, Pete jumped over, ran out on the stones, and caught the struggling fish in his mouth. That was the first time I ever heard of a dog going fis.h.i.+ng.”

”The rascal seems to reason, too. Once I belonged to the choir, you remember, and of course I could not allow Pete to go to rehearsals, although he was in the habit of following me almost everywhere else.

So, after many futile attempts to send him back, and consequent annoyance at the church, one Sat.u.r.day before starting, I shut him up in the carriage-house and fastened the door. I looked back several times but saw nothing of Pete, and was congratulating myself upon the success of my plan, when, just before I reached the church, at the corner of Huron and South Streets, there he was waiting for me. He had escaped, gone down town another way, and did not show himself until I was so far from home that he knew I would not take him back. Then, what did he do, as soon as he saw me coming, but up on his hind legs with the most deprecating air, sitting there, a ridiculous little black image on the pavement, so that everybody laughed to see him.”

The meal was a merry one although the meat was gone and the cream sour; there was an abundance of cake, the coffee was strong, and the good spirits of the company supplied the rest.

”There is no more sugar for your coffee, Mr. Warrington,” said Edith Chase, as she poured out Hugh's second cup.

”Smile on it, please,” said Hugh, gayly.

”Now, Miss Chase, if you neglect my cup any longer,” said Walter Hart, ”I shall grow desperate; I shall be obliged to give you--”

”Fitz,” interrupted Hugh.

”Bad puns are excluded from this picnic,” said Rose Saxon; ”and, by the way, Mr. Warrington, why do you drop the first syllable of your name?”

”Because it is never p.r.o.nounced rightly,” said Hugh; ”it is either called 'Fitz-He-yew,' or 'Fitchew.'”

”p.r.o.nunciation is a matter of taste,” said Mr. Leslie, laughing. ”A lady once asked me if I did not think Walter Scott's _Rock-a-by_ was a 'sweet thing.' At first I supposed she was alluding to some cradle-song with which I was not familiar, and it was sometime before I discovered that she meant _Rokeby_.”

”I have often been puzzled myself with the names of books,” said Aunt Faith. ”Years ago there was a book published called _Ivar or the Skujts-boy_? I liked it but I never dared to venture on the name.”

”And since then,” said Mr. Gay, ”the names of the heroes and heroines in magazine-stories are really astonis.h.i.+ng. The favorite letter, now is 'Y.' They have 'y's' in the most unexpected places. Such names as 'Vivian' and 'Willis,' for instance. They spell them 'Vyvyan' and 'Wyllys'”

The meal over, the company dispersed through the woods. Graham Marr took a book from his pocket. ”Miss Warrington,” he said, in his slow way, ”I have brought out a new poem; if you care to hear it, there is a mossy rock which will make an admirable sofa.”

Sibyl smiled and accepted this proposal, seating herself on a heap of shawls, and looking at languid Graham as he read, with much apparent interest.

Mr. Leslie was sitting by Aunt Faith's side under the trees at some distance. ”Mrs. Sheldon, I have a plan for yourself and Miss Warrington,” he said, after a pause. ”You have been kind enough to take an interest in Margaret Brown, and I know you will like to help her through the summer. The warm weather is telling on her strength; she has not been able to sew as steadily as usual, and she needs an entire rest. Do you think you could, between you, advance her a small sum of money? She will repay you with her work in the fall.”

”I shall be glad to help her,” said Aunt Faith; ”I consider it a precious opportunity to help a truly deserving woman.”

”And Miss Warrington will aid her also,” said Mr. Leslie. Aunt Faith looked towards the rock and caught the smile with which Sibyl received some remark of the reader's.

”I cannot answer for Sibyl,” she said gravely; ”she is going soon to Saratoga, and she is much occupied with her preparations.”

”To Saratoga?” repeated Mr. Leslie; ”I was not aware of that. Will she be long away?”

”It is uncertain how long; she may return home for a short visit before she goes to Was.h.i.+ngton for the winter,” replied Aunt Faith. ”I shall miss her, but I must make up my mind to losing her before long.

Sibyl is very fond of fas.h.i.+onable life and gayety.” Aunt Faith spoke with a purpose; she wished to open the young clergyman's eyes to her niece's faults.