Part 8 (2/2)

She readily obtained permission to accompany them, and made some mysterious purchases. From this time onward Roger observed that she was much in her room, and that she went out more for exercise than from the motive of getting through with the weary, idle hours.

For some reason she also gained such an influence over thoughtless Belle that the latter took tolerably good care of little Fred and Minnie, as the children were familiarly called. While she maintained toward him her polite and friendly manner, he saw that he was forgotten, and that it had not entered her mind that he could ever do anything for her or be anything more to her than at the present time. But every hour she gained a stronger hold upon his sympathy, and occasionally, when she thought herself un.o.bserved, he saw a troubled and almost fearful look come into her eyes, as if something were present to her imagination that inspired the strongest dread. At such times he was mastered by impulses of self-sacrifice that would have seemed very absurd if put into plain words. He kept his thoughts, however, to himself, and with an instinctive reticence sought to disguise even from his mother the feelings that were so new, and so full of delicious pain. That he was becoming quite different from the careless, self-satisfied young fellow that he had been hitherto was apparent to all, and after his outburst on Sunday evening his mother half guessed the cause. But he misled her to some extent, and Susan altogether, by saying, ”I've had a falling-out with Amelia Stone.”

”Well, she's the last girl in the world that I'd mope about if I were a man,” was his sister's emphatic reply.

”You're not a man; besides I'm not moping. I'm only cutting my wisdom teeth. I want to do something in the world, and I'm thinking about it.”

”He's a-growing,” said his mother with a smile, and on this theory she usually explained all of her son's vagaries.

He still further misled his unsophisticated sister by making no special effort to seek Mildred's society. After one or two rather futile attempts he saw that he would alienate the sad-hearted girl by obtrusive advances, and he contented himself by trying to understand her, in the hope that at some future time he might learn to approach her more acceptably. The thought that she would soon leave the farmhouse depressed him greatly. She had suggested to him a new and wholly different life from that which he had led hitherto, and he felt within himself no power or inclination to go on with his old ways. These thoughts he also brooded over in silence, and let himself drift in a current which seemed irresistible.

During this period he was under the influence of neither apathy nor dejection. On the contrary, his mind was surging with half-formed plans, crude purposes, and ambitious dreams. His horizon lifted from the farm and Forestville until there seemed s.p.a.ce for a notable career. His soul kindled at the thought of winning a position that would raise him to Mildred's side. So far from fearing to burn his s.h.i.+ps, and strike out unsupported, the impulse grew strong to make the attempt at any cost. He was sure that his father would not listen to the project, and that he would be wholly unaided, but riot many days pa.s.sed before the thought of such obstacles ceased to influence him. ”I'll take my way through the world, and cut my own swath,” he muttered a hundred times as he swung the scythe under the July sun.

Moreover, he had a growing belief in his power to climb the heights of success. His favorite books of travel and adventure that he had devoured in boyhood made almost anything seem possible, and the various biographies that the village library furnished revealed grand careers in the face of enormous obstacles. His mind was awaking like a young giant eager for achievement. Even after the toil of long, hot days he took up his old school-books in the solitude of his room, and found that he could review them with the ease with which he would read a story. ”I've got some brains as well as muscle,” he would mutter, exultantly. ”The time shall come when Mildred Jocelyn won't mistake me for Jotham.”

Poor Mr. Atwood would have been in consternation had he known what was pa.s.sing in his son's mind; and Mildred even less pleased, for after all it was she who had inspired the thoughts which were transforming him from a simple country youth into an ambitious, venturesome man.

He knew of but one way to please her, but he made the most of that, and worked quietly but a.s.siduously whenever he could without exciting his father's opposition. After the day's tasks were over the time was his own. He began by cutting all the weeds and gra.s.s in the door-yard and around the house. Palings that had disappeared from the fence were replaced, and all were whitewashed.

Mrs. Atwood and Susan were greatly pleased at the changes, but thought it politic not to say much about them; one evening, however, his father began to banter him, remarking that Roger must be intending to ”bring home a wife some fine morning.” The young fellow reddened resentfully, and brusquely retorted that they ”had lived in their old slovenly way long enough. People might well think they were going to the bad.” This practical view somewhat reconciled his father to the new ideas, and suggested that Roger was not so daft as he feared. A little time after he was led to believe his son to be shrewder than himself. Needing some money, he took a note to the bank with much misgiving, but was agreeably surprised when one of the officers said affably, ”I think we can accommodate you, Mr.

Atwood. I was by your place the other day, and it is so improved that I scarcely knew it. Thrift and credit go together.”

But Mildred doubted whether thrift and policy were the only motives which had led to Roger's unwonted action, and believed rather that he had awakened to a perception of the value and attractiveness of those things which hitherto he had not appreciated. This, in a sense, was already true, but had she known to what extent she was in his thoughts she would not have smiled so complacently when, on the Sat.u.r.day morning after the completion of his other labors, she noted that the weed-choked flower-borders along the walk had been cleaned and neatly rounded up, and the walk itself put in perfect order. ”The flower-beds remind me of himself,” she thought, as from time to time she glanced at them through her open window.

”They contain a good deal of vacant s.p.a.ce, and suggest what might be there rather than what is. Would to heaven, though, that Mr.

Arnold had more of his muscle and decision. If Vinton were only different, how different all the future might be! But I fear, I fear. We have not enough money to last all summer if we remain here, and father writes so discouragingly. Thank G.o.d, I'm no longer idle, whether anything comes of my work or not,” and the delicate piece of fancy work grew rapidly in her deft hands.

Toward evening she started out for a walk, but uttered an exclamation of surprise as she saw the flower-borders were bright with verbenas, heliotrope, geraniums, and other bedding plants. Roger's buggy stood near, containing two large empty boxes, and he was just raking the beds smooth once more in order to finish his task.

”Why, Mr. Atwood!” she cried, ”it has long seemed to me that a good fairy was at work around the house, but this is a master-stroke.”

”If you are pleased I am well repaid,” he replied, the color deepening on his sunburned cheeks.

”If I am pleased?” she repeated in surprise, and with a faint answering color. ”Why, all will be pleased, especially your mother and Susan.”

”No doubt, but I thought these would look more like what you have been accustomed to.”

”Really, Mr. Atwood, I hope you have not put yourself to all this trouble on my account.”

”I have not put myself to any trouble. But you are in trouble, Miss Jocelyn, and perhaps these flowers may enliven you a little.”

”I did not expect such kindness, such thoughtfulness. I do not see that I am ent.i.tled to so much consideration,” she said hesitatingly, at the same time fixing on him a penetrating glance.

Although he was much embarra.s.sed, his clear black eyes met hers without wavering, and he asked, after a moment: ”Could you not accept it if it were given freely?”

”I scarcely understand you,” she replied in some perplexity.

”Nor do I understand you, Miss Jocelyn. I wish I did, for then I might do more for you.”

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