Part 18 (1/2)
Williams looked up in surprise. He had not suspected that sarcasm could lurk behind those wonderful eyes, but he was undeceived by her remark, and answered laughingly:--
”That is true, Miss Bays.”
”Boston has much to be proud of,” continued the girl, surprised and somewhat frightened at the rate she was bowling along. She had never before talked so freely to any one but Billy Little and Dic. ”Yes, all good comes out of Boston. I've been told that if you hear her church bells toll, your soul is saved. There is a saving grace in their very tones. It came over in the _Mayflower_, as you might transport yeast. If you walk through Harvard, you will be wise; if you stand on Bunker Hill, treason flees your soul forever; and if you once gaze upon the Common, you are safe from the heresy of the Quaker and the sin of witchcraft.”
”I fear you are making a jest of Boston, Miss Bays,” replied Williams, who shared the sensitiveness peculiar to his people.
”No,” she replied, ”I jest only at your boasting. Your city is all you claim for it; but great virtue needs no herald.”
Williams remained silent for a moment, and then said, ”Have you ever been in Boston?”
”I? Indeed, no,” she answered laughingly. ”I've never been any place but to church and once to a Fourth of July picnic. I was once at a church social, but it brought me into great trouble and I shall never go to another.” Williams was amused and again remained, for a time, in silent meditation. She did not interrupt him, and at length he spoke stammeringly:--
”Pardon me--where did you learn--how comes it--I am speaking abruptly, but one would suppose you had travelled and enjoyed many advantages that you certainly could not have here.”
”You greatly overestimate me, Mr. Williams. I have only a poor smattering of knowledge which I absorbed from two friends who are really educated men,--Mr. Little and Dic--Mr. Bright!”
”Are they old--elderly men?” asked Williams.
”One is,” responded Rita.
”Which one?” he asked.
”Mr. Little.”
”And the other--Mr. Bright--is he young?” asked the inquisitive Bostonian. There was no need for Rita to answer in words. The color in her cheeks and the radiance of her eyes told plainly enough that Mr.
Bright _was_ young. But she replied with a poor a.s.sumption of indifference:--
”I think he is nearly five years older than I.” There was another betrayal of an interesting fact. She measured his age by hers.
”And that would make him--?” queried Williams.
”Twenty-two--nearly.”
”Are you but seventeen?” he asked. Rita nodded her head and answered:--
”Shamefully young, isn't it? I used to be sensitive about my extreme youth and am still a little so, but--but it can't be helped.” Williams laughed, and thought he had never met so charming a girl.
”Yes,” he answered, ”it is more or less a disgrace to be so young, but it is a fault easily overlooked.” He paused for a moment while he inspected the heavens, and continued, still studying astronomy: ”I mean it is not easily overlooked in some cases. Sometimes it is 'a monster of such awful mien' that one wishes to jump clear over the enduring and the pitying, and longs to embrace.”
”We often see beautiful sunsets from this porch,” answered Rita, ”and I believe one is forming now.” There was not a society lady in Boston who could have handled the situation more skilfully; and Williams learned that if he would flatter this young girl of the wilderness, he must first serve his probation. She did not desire his flattery, and gave him to understand as much at the outset. She found him interesting and admired him. He was the first man of his type she had ever met. In the matter of education he was probably not far in advance of Dic, and certainly was very far arrear of Billy Little. But he had a certain polish which comes only from city life. Billy had that polish, but it was of the last generation, was very English, and had been somewhat dimmed by friction with the unpolished surfaces about him. Dic's polish was that of a rare natural wood.
As a result of these conditions, Rita and Williams walked up the river on the following afternoon--Sunday. More by accident than design they halted at the step-off and rested upon the same rocky knoll where she and Dic were sitting when Doug Hill hailed them from the opposite bank of the river. The scene was crowded with memories, and the girl's heart was soon filled with Dic, while her thoughts were busy with the events of that terrible day. Nothing that Williams might say could interest her, and while he talked she listened but did not hear, for her mind was far away, and she longed to be alone.
One would suppose that the memory of the day she shot Doug Hill would have been filled with horror for her, but it was not. This gentle girl, who would not willingly have killed a worm, and to whom the sight of suffering brought excruciating pain, had not experienced a pang of regret because of the part she had been called upon to play in the tragedy of the step-off. When Doug was lying between life and death, she hoped he would recover; but no small part of her interest in the result was because of its effect upon Dic and herself. Billy Little had once expressed surprise at this callousness, but she replied with a touch of warmth:--
”I did right, Billy Little. Even mother admits that. I saved Dic's life and my own honor. I would do it again. I am sorry I _had_ it to do, but I am glad, oh so glad, that I had strength to do it. G.o.d helped me, or I could never have fired the shot. You may laugh, Billy Little--I know your philosophy leads you to believe that G.o.d never does things of that sort--but I know better. You know a great deal more than I about everything else, but in this instance I am wiser than you. I know G.o.d gave me strength at the moment when I most needed it. That moment taught me a lesson that some persons never learn. It taught me that G.o.d will always give me strength at the last moment of my need, if I ask it of Him, as I asked that day.”
”He gave it to you when you were born, Rita,” said Billy.
”No,” she replied, ”I am weak as a kitten, and always shall be, unless I get my strength from Him.”
”Well,” said Billy, meaning no irreverence, ”if He would not give to you, He would not give to any one.”