The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Dexie, by Stanford Eveleth

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Title: Miss Dexie
       A Romance of the Provinces

Author: Stanford Eveleth

Release Date: November 3, 2005 [EBook #16993]

Language: English

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MISS DEXIE;

A ROMANCE OF THE PROVINCES.

BY

_STANFORD EVELETH._

TORONTO:

WILLIAM BRIGGS,

WESLEY BUILDINGS.

C.W. COATES, MONTREAL, QUE. S.F. HUESTIS, HALIFAX, N.S.

1895.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and ninety-five, by WILLIAM BRIGGS,
Toronto, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa.

Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected.




MISS DEXIE;

A ROMANCE OF THE PROVINCES.




INTRODUCTORY--1864 AND WAR TIME.


The war between the North and South has sent a wail of grief into thousands
of homes throughout the land, and the dreadful death-roll is daily being
added to, for battle follows battle, and the slaughter is appalling, even
to those who have been hardened to the sight by months of action. No wonder
that the faces of wives and mothers are white with anguish--that fearful
death-list has carried desolation to their hearts, and others, just as
dear, are obeying the command, "Forward to Spotsylvania."

Men stop to discuss the situation at street-corners, or hurry to the
telegraph or newspaper offices for the latest news, their anxious faces
telling how their lives have been touched by this outbreak of strife.

Among those who pass along the streets of a New England town, is one whose
genial countenance attracts attention. He is above the average height,
strong and well proportioned, and his quick and energetic step and
wide-awake appearance proclaim him of New England birth.

As he nears a house in the suburbs, a shout of welcome greets him, and he
lifts his eyes and smiles upon a group of young faces in an upper window; a
moment more and the door is thrown open, and childish forms hurl themselves
upon him.

As soon as the children's noisy greeting was over, Mr. Sherwood entered
the room where his wife awaited his appearance, and drawing a chair near
the couch where she was reclining, related the news of the day.

"Yes, I am later than usual, but I received a despatch from mother, and
that detained me," said he, in answer to her remark. "I have arranged to
run down to the farm to-morrow, as mother says my immediate presence is
necessary."

"And is there no word from Charley yet? His name is not in the list of
killed or wounded, but I fear the worst."

"His wife was at the telegraph office while I was there," said Mr.
Sherwood, as they entered the dining-room. "She expected news every hour,
and will send you word directly she gets a message. I tried to persuade her
to return with me, but she was too anxious to leave the office until she
had some reply to her despatch."

"This is a trying time for wives and sisters, and Charley was my favorite
brother. But what new trouble has happened at the farm, that you are needed
in such haste?" Mrs. Sherwood asked, as she poured out the tea.

"It seems that mother has heard that I intend joining the new company, if
it is called out, and she has objections which she wishes to make
personally. You know mother is not a Unionist; her southern prejudices are
too strong for that, and the possibility of my joining the northern army
has embittered her mind. You might come with me to-morrow; the change would
do you good," he added.

"My visits to the farm are doubtful pleasures," replied Mrs. Sherwood, who
had but little sympathy with her husband's people, "but any change will be
welcome while this uncertainty exists about my brother. Can I trust you all
to be good and obedient if I leave you in charge of Nurse Johnson?" she
asked, lifting her eyes to the young faces around the table.

The best of behavior being readily promised, Mrs. Sherwood soon left the
room to make preparations for the unexpected journey, and early next
morning Mr. Sherwood and his wife were on the train bound for Crofton, the
nearest station to the old home farm.

While they are on the way, a glance at the history of his parents will
explain how matters stand at the homestead.

Squire Sherwood was a well-to-do farmer, who was well known outside of his
own village, having held several public offices at various times, but these
had been given up in order to superintend his fine farm, which years of
toil had brought into a high state of cultivation. Early in life, while
doing business in Louisiana, he had married a southern lady; but a few
years later he came into possession of the farm, and they moved North.

His wife found the change very great, and often sighed for the luxurious
life of her southern home; but she fell into New England ways more readily
than might have been expected. When she moved north, she brought Dinah, who
was her particular property, with her; indeed, Dinah was so much attached
to her young mistress that she refused to be left behind, and life on the
farm was made more endurable by her services. When, in the course of time,
a son was born, he was placed in Dinah's care, and little Clarence was as
fond of his black nurse as was ever the southern-born child of its black
"mammy" of the southern plantation.

But Mrs. Sherwood did not lose her individuality by her marriage. The
peculiar institution of the South she would like to have seen extended to
the North as well, and when the disruption took place her sympathies were
with those of her old home; she was heart and soul a southerner. Up to this
time the same friendly feeling existed between mistress and maid as when
they had lived under a sunnier sky; but the sentiments engendered by the
hated Abolitionists, soon found vent in sharp words, and other abuses, that
hitherto the faithful creature had never known.

Dinah felt keenly the change in her mistress, but bore it patiently,
thinking it would soon pass; but village gossip soon spread the report of
Mrs. Sherwood's treatment of her black servant, and the southern
sentiments, so openly expressed, caused the family to lose the estimation
of their neighbors, and gained instead their animosity. Party feeling ran
high, and the villagers declared that if there was another draft made, the
son should be made to fight against the avowed principles of the mother,
and as the sentiments of both parties grew stronger as the war advanced, it
brought matters to a crisis.

Hence the telegram requesting the son's presence at the farm.

When the train arrived at Crofton, the carriage was waiting for the
travellers, in charge of the hired man, and they were soon driving along
the familiar road to the homestead.

"What is the matter at home, Joe?" said Mr. Sherwood. "Are all well?"

"Yes, all well, sir," and Joe touched the horse lightly with the whip; "but
the war news is troubling them, and making your mother very anxious about
you."

Joe was an old and trusted servant, having lived with the family for years,
and so much confidence was placed in him that he seemed like one of the
family. When they arrived at the farmhouse, the son wished to know at once
why he was sent for in such haste, but his father replied: "Plenty time,
Clarence, plenty time ahead of us to talk about the matter; let us have
dinner before we discuss troublesome questions."

But the mother's heart was too full of anxiety to wait, and she asked: "Is
it true, Clarence, that you are going to join the Union army?"

"Well, I am ready to do my duty, mother," he replied, in a conciliating
tone, "but I have not yet joined the company, so you need not be anxious
about me until you have cause."

"But I have cause already! I hear that another draft is soon to be made,
and the people around here are determined that you shall be drawn into the
fight, if only to spite me, but if you enter the army at all it should not
be on the Unionists' side; that would be taking up arms against your kith
and kin, and no son of mine must do that!"

A look of terror spread over the face of the son's wife. Was her husband to
be torn from her side, as the mother feared?

"I cannot argue this question with you, mother, lest we should not agree,"
said the son, gently. "It is a pity that as a family our interests are so
divided; but others have placed their interests against kith and kin, and,
if duty called, I should have to do the same. I own that at present I
shrink from the call, as the forces seem concentrated near my sister
Annie's home. I wish she would come north, but that cannot be expected
while her husband is in danger. He has command of an important position,
but Sherman is sure to dislodge him, and I fear the result will be
disastrous. But I see you have something else in your mind at present, so
what is it that you wish me to do, mother?"

"I want you to leave the country, Clarence. I cannot bear the thought of
you being drafted to fight against my home and people, and your own natural
affections should cry out against uniting with the slayers of your
kindred."

"Oh! this cruel, cruel war!" cried the son's wife. "We are indeed a divided
family, for my brother is with Sherman near Atalanta, fighting against my
husband's people. Oh! Clarence, do as your mother wishes, and let us leave
the country, for my heart will break if you are drafted!"

"You must leave at once, if at all," said the mother; "even a week's delay
may be too late, for the neighbors boast that before the month is out I
shall see my son march away to Washington! I would give every dollar we
possess to help the southern cause, if what they threaten should come to
pass!" she added, in an angry tone.

"Well, mother," replied the son with a smile, "my patrimony is too precious
to run such a risk, and as I am not very anxious to shoot anyone, or be
shot at either, I will do as you wish, and let you live in peace. I feel
confident that a few months will end the struggle, or my decision would be
different; but where do you wish me to go?"

"Go!" her countenance softening at once. "You can decide that for yourself;
as long as you are out of the reach of the Unionists, that is all I ask.
So, go to Halifax, if you like!"

"Very well, mother, to Halifax I'll go, but you do not seem to have the
welfare of your only son very much to heart, after all, by the way you
speak."

"Nonsense! Clarence, you know my heart better than that! I mean that it
matters little where you settle, so long as you are out of American
territory until the war is over."

"Oh! Halifax will suit me very well, mother. Ever since I can remember you
have threatened to send me to Halifax; so now I'll go, and I do not believe
I shall find it a place of torment either. Nelson, who was in partnership
with me when I was in Augusta, has moved his family there, and I may join
him again in business. He is buying up horses and sending them to
headquarters. What! you surely would not object to me making some money out
of the Unionists?" he asked, in answer to his mother's quick look of
surprise.

The discussion lasted some time, but to the relief of the son's wife they
decided to return home the following day, that her husband might have an
opportunity to settle his business in time to catch the first boat to
Halifax.

Becoming aware of the hostility which prevailed among the neighbors, on
account of Dinah's presence at the farmhouse, Mr. Sherwood proposed to take
her with them to Halifax as their hired nurse. He had a kindly feeling for
the good, old woman, who was such a faithful and partial nurse to him in
his boyhood, and he could not help seeing that she was less kindly treated
than formerly, and to his surprise his mother consented to the plan. Dinah
made no objection when the matter was laid before her, for like many
colored women of her age she had an intense love for children. This love
had grown stronger during the years there had been no children at the
farmhouse to lavish it upon, and the short visits that the grandchildren
made at the farm were red-letter days to Aunt Dinah.

Mrs. Sherwood found her cares much lessened with Dinah installed as nurse.
The care of children was always a wearisome burden to the rather indolent
mother, so the irksome duties were readily placed on the willing shoulders
of Dinah.

While Mrs. Sherwood awaited her husband's directions, her brother's wife
appeared one day, bearing the sad announcement that Charley had fallen in
the last battle; and though Mrs. Sherwood had been expecting this from the
first, her grief was more distressing to witness than that of the
afflicted, sad-faced wife.

But there had been no hope in Mrs. Sherwood's heart since her brother had
bidden them farewell, and marched away with his comrades; and her fears
being realized, she was more anxious than ever to leave the country that
might yet claim her husband also, and when word came from Halifax that a
furnished house awaited the family, Mrs. Sherwood easily persuaded her
bereaved sister in-law to accompany them thither.

A few weeks later, the family--consisting of Mrs. Sherwood and her
brother's childless widow; Gussie and Dexie, twin girls of sixteen; Louie,
aged thirteen, Georgie ten, Flossie three, and a year-old baby in the arms
of black Dinah--arrived in Halifax, where this story properly begins.




CHAPTER II.


The new home awaiting the family was situated in the south end of the city.
The house, which is still considered a desirable residence, was built in a
style very common in Halifax, for the accommodation of two tenants. The
owner, a Mr. Gurney, lived in one part of it; he was a native of England,
but at the solicitation of his brother, who was an officer in one of the
regiments, he had removed to Nova Scotia, and was doing a prosperous
business on Granville Street.

Mr. Gurney had a large family. Cora, the eldest, was just out of her teens;
then came Launcelot or Lancy, as he was usually called; then Elsie, and so
on, till you came to an infant in arms. As the cabs containing the Sherwood
family drove up to the house, the nursery windows in the second story of
the Gurney household were filled with childish faces, anxious to see what
sort of playmates their new neighbors might be; and when the young
strangers alighted on the sidewalk they observed the happy faces and smiled
back in return, thus pleasantly intimating that they hoped to be friends.
But when Dinah appeared with the baby, the faces in the window betrayed
their astonishment. "Oh! a black nurse! and the baby don't seem a bit
frightened of her!" they exclaimed in surprise.

"I wonder if they love her when she is so _very_ black," said little
Gracie. "I shouldn't love to kiss her, would you, Percy?" looking at their
own fair-faced nurse in loving approval.

Mrs. Sherwood was surprised to find the house so neatly and comfortably
arranged, but she soon learned that she was indebted to Mrs. Gurney for
this pleasant state of affairs, for she had given Mr. Sherwood much
material assistance in making the rooms look home-like and cheerful.

In the evening, when the family were assembled in the parlor, Mrs. Gurney
tapped lightly at the door, and her cordial greeting seemed more like that
of a friend than the first meeting of strangers, and when Mrs. Sherwood
began to thank her for the thoughtful attentions that had made their
home-coming so pleasant, she stopped her with a word.

"Do not thank me, I beg of you, Mrs. Sherwood," she said, with a smile. "I
have only done for you what I wish someone had done for me when I first
came to Halifax. I know by experience," she added, as a smile lit up her
motherly face, "what it is to come into a strange place, among strange
people, with a hundred things needing to be done at once, and a family of
children to attend to besides. I felt sure you would like the place better
if you found it a bit home-like and settled, but I have come in to explain.
I was afraid you might think I was making myself too busy in your affairs.
Now, I do hope, Mrs. Sherwood, that you will not make strangers of us after
this." Her face beamed with kindness as she spoke, and after a short and
friendly conversation she withdrew.

The next day was a busy one in the Sherwood household, but in the afternoon
the twin girls were invited to go for a walk with the young ladies next
door, while Louie was persuaded to go up to the nursery with the Gurney
children.

Louie felt very shy when she found herself among so many little strangers,
but the kind, good-natured nurse, in white cap and apron, who presided
over this restless brood, soon set her at ease by bidding the children show
Louie their toys. And what a store of them there were to be sure. There
were several miniature sets of dishes of various patterns, and whole
families of dolls, from the aged grandmother in a white frilled cap, to the
tiny china specimen that was too small to be dressed. There were Noah's
arks that held animals that would have astonished old Noah himself, and
rocking-horses in various stages of dilapidation, from the bright new one
with only a scratch on his leg, to the headless and tailless steed that
rocked in a melancholy way in the corner. Then there was a swing that hung
from the ceiling, and a springy teeter-board that could bounce the little
ones quite into the air. These and other treasures were duly inspected by
the shy Louie, who soon entered heartily into the games started for her
amusement.

The twin girls were delighted with their walk. They had viewed the city
from Citadel Hill, and had extended their walk to other spots of interest,
but it seemed to them that they had moved nearer the seat of war, instead
of away from it, for the sword and gun-bearing officers and soldiers whom
they met in different parts of the city seemed more warlike than those who
had passed through the streets of their old home, as they journeyed toward
headquarters.

In a short time the family settled down to the routine of home-life that
comes natural in all households, and having secured competent help, Mrs.
Sherwood was able to order her household without much exertion on her part;
in fact, she began to feel that she might now take life comparatively easy,
and, little by little, the duties of housekeeper were laid upon Aunt
Jennie.

Dinah found the burden and exactions of her small charges quite bearable,
so the not-over-anxious mother was relieved from trouble in that quarter
also. But Dinah seemed well satisfied. Her love for the little ones placed
under her care had been strong enough to silence the superstitious dread
that had filled her heart when she first learned the destination of the
family; but in spite of her efforts to please everyone, Dinah could not
overcome the strong dislike which Biddy openly and emphatically expressed
for all "nagers." Consequently, a wordy warfare spiced the day's doings
occasionally, but, thanks to Aunt Jennie's tact and kindness, even this
grew less and less, as occasion for them vanished.

A few weeks later, Mr. Sherwood accompanied Mr. Nelson to Prince Edward
Island, on a horse-buying expedition, but we will not follow them, as our
story has to do with those in Halifax; it is sufficient to say that they
secured a number of valuable animals for the New York market, at a price
that surprised Mr. Sherwood until he understood that the Island farmers
were ready to dispose of all products "cheap for cash."

As might be supposed, the friendly intercourse between the members of the
two families grew stronger as the taste of each became more apparent.

Dexie and Elsie were "chums" at once, though each possessed an opposite
nature; one supplied what the other lacked, so they agreed charmingly.

Gussie was older in appearance than her twin, Dexie, and preferred the
society of a "grown-up" young lady, and Cora Gurney found her a pleasant
companion.

Launcelot Gurney, or Lancy, was the musical genius of the Gurney family,
and this soon caused a feeling of friendship to spring up between him and
Dexie Sherwood, and few days passed in which they did not spend
considerable time in each other's society. But the closest observer could
find no fault with this intimacy. It sprang from the similarity of tastes,
and the frank, straightforward manner which marked their intercourse denied
the existence of any foolish sentimentality. Though younger than Cora,
Lancy seemed by his steady ways and manly behavior to be the eldest of the
family. Perhaps the fact that his father talked so much with him, and
interested him in matters that seldom claim the attention of youths of his
age, had something to do with his manner, but behind his usual calm
exterior there was an amount of conceit not always apparent to others, a
conceit that placed himself above the ordinary High School boys who had
been his daily associates. This they had felt intuitively, and with his
precise habits and nicety of dress had caused him to be dubbed "the dandy."

Another member of the Gurney household must also be mentioned, for Hugh
McNeil belonged to the family almost as much as Lancy himself, seeing that
he had been cared for by Mrs. Gurney before Lancy was born. He was the son
of a strange marriage, a marriage that had turned out disastrously. His
father had been valet to Mr. Gurney's eldest brother, and, while attending
his master in Paris, had fallen in love with a pretty French waitress, and
secretly married her. On returning to England with his master, the French
wife followed him and revealed the marriage, and this so enraged McNeil's
master that he discharged him on the spot. Whereupon McNeil, after securing
a comfortable lodging for his wife, left for Australia, intending to send
for her as soon as he obtained permanent employment. Before he had done so,
the French wife died in giving birth to little Hugh; and the matter coming
to the knowledge of Mrs. Gurney, she had pitied the motherless babe and had
him placed in a comfortable home. As he grew older, Mrs. Gurney became so
fond of her young protégé that he was taken into the family, and was given
an education that enabled him, in later years, to be of much service to his
benefactors.

In looks he favored both parents, inheriting the strong, sturdy frame of
his Scotch father, with the dark features and piercing black eyes of his
mother. At present, he occupied the position of clerk or general factotum
to Mr. Gurney; his quickness and ability to grasp the requirements of
business, with the general activity of his movements, made him invaluable,
and Mr. Gurney trusted him like a son. Amongst other duties, Hugh
frequently attended auction sales, to watch for bargains in their line of
business, and it was at one of these sales that Mrs. Sherwood met him. She
had accompanied Mrs. Nelson to a sale of bankrupt stock, and wishing to
secure some desired articles she asked Hugh's assistance, and he served her
so well that he was asked to call, and he was received so graciously by
more than one member of the family that the call was often repeated, and he
soon had the "freedom of the house," as Dexie laughingly expressed it.

The English custom of playing at charades or tableaux, was much in vogue
in the Gurney household, and on rainy days the children were sure to be
found in the attic, where a mimic stage had been erected, and drop curtains
of a peculiar style and pattern added to the attractions of the place. The
young neighbors next door were soon initiated into the mysteries of the
"green room," and their added numbers made the audience seem immense, since
it took every available box and board to construct "opera chairs" for the
crowd; but every chair was sure to be filled when the new "star," Signora
Dexina, was announced to appear before the footlights, and if these latter
were but candles left from the last Christmas tree, what mattered it?

One day while up in the attic rehearsing a new piece, the idea occurred to
them that a private entrance into each other's apartments, by way of the
attic, would be a great convenience, so they eagerly searched the partition
for a loose board. Finding one that was quite broad, they put forth every
exertion, and after much shoving and prying, during which their fingers
received many splinters and bruises, they succeeded in getting the board
loose from the floor. By shoving it aside, they could squeeze through the
opening into the opposite attic, then the board would swing back to its old
position.

The "convenience" of this private entrance only children could explain, as
it seemed hardly worth the exertion to climb three pair of stairs for the
pleasure of entering the house of their next-door neighbor by this narrow
doorway, but the children were delighted with it. In after-years others,
long past childhood, did not scruple to use this doorway, and silently
bless the hands that formed it.

The good old custom of family worship was daily practised in the Gurney
household, and appearing suddenly in the dining-room one morning, just as
the family were about to "take books," Dexie stayed to prayers, and was so
impressed with the charm and simplicity of the devotions, that she asked
permission to come again.

The exercises consisted of reading, verse about, a portion of Scripture,
then a verse or two of some well-known hymn was sung, after which Mr.
Gurney made a short prayer, using simple words within the comprehension of
the little ones. Special mention was made of the needs of the family. If
any of them were ill, they were mentioned by name, and it gave Dexie a
curious feeling the first time she knelt with the family to hear Mr. Gurney
ask for a "particular blessing to rest on our young neighbor, who worships
with us this morning." The charm of it all seemed to be in the feeling of
reality there was about it, the decorous behavior of the little ones
showing that it meant more than outside form to them. None of the Gurney
family was excused from this morning worship unless sickness made it
impossible to appear, and it soon became a regular thing for Dexie Sherwood
to make her appearance with her Bible when the bell rang for prayers. Dexie
thoroughly enjoyed these exercises, her religious education having been
limited to the little she had learned in Sunday School, for the Bible was
not a very well read book in the Sherwood household, and its treasures were
almost unknown, until they were opened to her eyes by the Gurneys.

Aunt Jennie was much surprised when she learned the cause of Dexie's
frequent morning visits next door. The evident desire for instruction which
made her niece seek from others what should have been imparted to her at
home, came like a reproach to her heart. She had been reared in a Christian
home, where Bible truths had been imparted to her from her cradle up, so
she now endeavored to supply what was lacking in the religious education of
her young relatives. It was done quietly and without ostentation, but the
last half hour of the day was given to Dexie, and she spent it with her
aunt in the privacy of her chamber, where they studied the Book together.
Dexie tried to persuade Gussie to join these readings, but with no success,
for Gussie, like many others, "cared for none of these things."




CHAPTER III.


When Mr. Sherwood returned from New York, he was accompanied by a Mr.
Plaisted, a gentleman of a speculative turn of mind, who had attached
himself to Mr. Sherwood with a persistency that showed he had "the cheek of
a drummer," and he had invited himself to accompany Mr. Sherwood to his
home in Halifax. Although fond of horses, there was nothing about the
appearance of Mr. Plaisted to suggest the jockey: he was what would have
been termed in a later day a fair specimen of the genus dude. He was of
medium height, and was decidedly foppish in his manner, and with his
elaborate neck-ties and perfumed curls, he was, in his own estimation at
least, quite irresistible. His hands and feet were unusually small for a
man. The latter he was very proud of, always encasing them in boots of the
very latest style; and, no doubt, the "cold cream" and other cosmetics
which he nightly used helped to give his hands and face the fair appearance
that so delighted himself.

His presence in the household seemed to have an opposite effect on the twin
girls. Gussie was delighted with his fine appearance and gallant speeches,
but Dexie seemed to see the ignoble nature behind and kept him at a
distance.

A few evenings after his arrival, when the family were assembled in the
parlor, Mr. Plaisted, who was leaning back in his chair, in an attitude
peculiar to Americans, asked: "Have you a son living in Boston, Sherwood? I
met a young fellow in a broker's office bearing your name. Any relation of
yours?"

"No, neither a son nor a relation; this is my only boy," Mr. Sherwood
replied, reaching for Georgie's ear in a playful manner.

"Ah! that's a pity now! a grown-up son would have been some use to you. If
one of the twins had happened to be a boy, you would have had quite an
assistant by now."

Dexie was sitting behind the window curtain, watching the passers-by. She
resented this speech, and the rude way it was uttered provoked her into
replying:

"One does not need to be born a boy to be of use in this world, allow me
to tell you, Mr. Plaisted! for in all things that he needs help, I am my
father's boy--not ghost!" she laughingly added, as Plaisted, startled by
her sudden appearance, almost overbalanced in his chair.

"Bless me! I didn't notice you were there, Miss Dexie," said he, regaining
his equilibrium with an effort. "Guess you've been studying Shakespeare for
my benefit, eh, Miss Dexie?"

"Oh! that's just like Dexie," said Gussie, with a frown. "She always likes
to make a scene when she can. She will want to go on the stage, I expect,
by and by."

"What nonsense! Gussie," said Dexie, smiling good-naturedly, "when all the
theatrical performances we are allowed to attend are those that take place
up in the attic."

"Oh! come now, Miss Dexie. How often do you slip off to plays with that
young chap next door?" said Plaisted, with a sly wink at Gussie. "I often
see you down street together."

"Your eyesight must be remarkably good, then," was the icy reply, "for I
think no one else can accuse me of 'slipping off' with any person."

"By the way, Miss Dexie, I have been wondering what your name is, ever
since I came. Is it an abbreviation or a nick-name?" said Plaisted, anxious
to turn the conversation. "I have never met with a young lady bearing your
name before."

"And you are not likely to meet one again," was the quick reply, as a flush
of anger covered her face.

Mr. Sherwood looked across at Dexie, knowing full well that Plaisted could
not have broached a more unfortunate subject. Dexie's full name was her
chief annoyance, so he answered in a quiet tone, "Her name is Dexter, but
she would like us all to forget the fact, and call her Dexie instead."

"Since Mr. Plaisted is so inquisitive, it would be wise to gratify his
curiosity at once, and have done with it," and Dexie turned sharply around
and faced the rest. "He had better learn the whole of our names, and the
history of them as well, and then, perhaps, he will be kind enough to drop
the subject forever. Here is the story: At the time father was married he
was doing business in Augusta, Maine; but it happened, unfortunately, that
mother was born and brought up in Dexter. For some reason, that I have
never been able to fathom, when we twins appeared we were honored by being
called after those respective places! Gussie was the smartest and
best-looking baby, I suppose, so she was selected to bear the name of the
capital city, while I had to bear the burden of Dexter! It is a wonder how
I managed to survive the christening, for the very name was enough to
finish one! Oh! I have wished a thousand times that the town of Dexter had
been visited by a conflagration, and wiped out of existence, before
mother's people ever went there! But there! I daresay they would have gone
to Skowhegan! Norrigewock! Mattawamkeg! or some other place with an
outlandish name, and, of course, I should have been named after it, just
the same! Dexie is bad enough, but Skowie, think of it!"

A peal of laughter interrupted Dexter's hot-spoken words; but the mention
of her name always touched a tender spot, and she added, in an injured
tone, that made her father smile in spite of himself:

"And there is Louie. Everybody thinks her name is Louisa, so she escapes
the questions of the curious; but her name is Louisiana, after the State
where grandma's old home is. We were there for a long visit when she was a
baby, and she is not likely to forget that fact all her life. Then papa has
a sister in Georgia; so of course we went to see her, too; but her
plantation was so lovely we were all delighted when papa consented to stay
there a year or two and help Uncle Edward set out some new groves, and get
everything in good running order. We were there when Georgie was born, so
he got off comparatively easy; but then! boys always do!"

Plaisted's shouts of laughter forbade further expressions of displeasure,
and Dexie turned her back again and looked out the window, while she
regained her composure. Nothing so aroused her indignation as the mention
of her name consequently few knew what it really was. Louie liked her
name, for by bearing it she became her grandmother's favorite, and Gussie
could look on the matter with indifference.

"I quite sympathize with Dexie," said Mrs. Sherwood, "but her father has a
New Englander's love for novel names, and gives no thought to the
unnecessary burden that it puts upon the children, one which they have to
bear all their lives."

"Oh! well, Gussie can't complain, I'm sure," said Mr. Sherwood. "No one
will become inquisitive over her name," he laughingly added.

"I have no doubt that Miss Gussie feels thankful she secured first choice,"
said Plaisted, "and that her good looks entitled her to it," and he looked
over at Gussie with bold admiration in his glance.

"I don't think looks had anything to do with it," said Mr. Sherwood, "else
this curly pate would have had first choice," reaching over to pass his
hand over the brown rings of hair.

"Seems to me this conversation is much too personal," said Dexie, rising
from her seat. "I think a change would be welcome to one and all," and she
sat down before the piano.

Mr. Sherwood smiled his approval. He was very proud of his daughter's
musical ability, for she could sing and play to suit the taste of any
audience, and could arouse the inner emotions of those who had any feelings
that were capable of being stirred at all. One of her accomplishments,
which she seldom exhibited before strangers, was that of whistling. Few
people have heard the exquisite notes that can be produced by an adept in
the art, but there are whistlers and whistlers, whose notes differ as much
as those of the linnet and the crow. While accompanying herself on the
piano, Dexie could produce such wonderful trills and quavers, with such
purity of tone, that she could almost rival the very birds themselves, and
she never failed to surprise and charm all that heard her. Wishing to
please her father, as well as convince Mr. Plaisted that her name did not
make her a "ninny," she selected some of her best pieces and sang her most
charming songs; then, after a few soft notes, she broke into a bird-song,
whistling the notes so faithfully true that Mr. Plaisted was startled as
well as delighted, and the conversation he had begun with Gussie came to an
abrupt end.

"Well, Miss Dexie, I must confess that you have surprised me," said he, as
Dexie resumed her seat at the window. "I never heard the equal of that from
the boards of any concert-room in New York. No one would object to paying
'dear for his whistle,' if that quality was purchasable. You would make a
fortune on the stage."

"I hope Dexie will never use her whistle as a money-making gift," said her
father; "but I think, myself, it is about as pretty music as one ever
hears."

"You can bet your life, Sherwood, she would create such a furore in musical
circles that she would make something besides money for you. Bring her out,
Sherwood; it will pay you better than speculating with horses."

"Heaven forbid!" replied Mr. Sherwood, extremely annoyed at the way
Plaisted spoke of his favorite daughter. "I fancy I can make a comfortable
living for my family, without turning my daughter into a public character."

"Thank you, papa," came the clear-cut tones from the window; "but pray do
not waste any more sentiment on Mr. Plaisted. He happens to be one of that
kind of men who would sell their own mothers for profit! But he can't help
it, poor man, he was born that way!" and before Plaisted could recover from
his surprise, Dexie had left the room.

"That was a pretty good slap, and no mistake," exclaimed Plaisted as he
drew out his handkerchief to wipe his hot face. "I meant no offence,
Sherwood, 'pon honor."

"Well, as my daughter did not take it so, be kind enough to be more guarded
in your remarks in the future. However, in a battle of words, I fancy she
is able to hold her own, and come off victor every time, too."

The matter was dismissed with a laugh, though memory lingered long over the
plain-spoken words; but in his secret heart Mr. Sherwood was glad that
Dexie had so answered this New York gentleman. Dexie had won her position
in her father's heart by her prompt and willing service. She it was who
could be depended on to do the numberless little tasks, insignificant in
themselves, perhaps, but of the greatest moment when taken together, for
the joy and comfort of home-life very largely depends on the way these
little things are attended to. Her sister, Gussie, was too fond of pleasing
herself to be of much service to others; but Dexie was quick to see
another's need, and she found it a pleasure to wait on her dear papa, who,
however active and energetic he might be when about his business, dearly
loved to be waited on when once he was inside his own home. He always found
Dexie willing and ready to give all her time for his pleasure. She had even
changed the style of her handwriting so as to help her father with his
correspondence, and she proved herself such an able assistant that, on
giving her verbal instructions, she could write out his letters quite as
clearly and business-like as if his own hand held the pen. Once, in Dexie's
absence, he had pressed Gussie into service, but Mr. Sherwood never
repeated the request, for Gussie's writing resembled the "sprawls of a
many-legged spider that had fallen into the ink bottle, and then wiped his
legs on the writing-paper," according to Mr. Sherwood's description of it.

But Gussie was pretty if she was not useful. She was a perfect blonde, with
a wealth of yellow hair, which she twisted round her head like a golden
coronet. Her eyes were as blue as fresh spring violets, and her slight,
willowy figure gave promise of much grace when fully developed. Her twin
sister, Dexie, was much unlike her in every way, having dark brown eyes,
while a mass of short, light-brown curls covered the well-poised head,
giving her something of a boyish air. She had a clear complexion, but was
not so fair as Gussie, and her figure was shorter and more rounded. She was
quick and alert in all her movements, and laughed when Gussie called her a
tomboy, but she was only thoroughly wide-awake, and enjoyed life with a
zest that was but natural in a girl of her years. She scorned the languid
air that Gussie affected, and looked with disdain on the one-legged storks
that her sister delighted to transfer to canvas, and she wondered how it
was possible for anyone to sit for hours over a bit of fancywork the
usefulness of which was doubtful; but this was the only kind of _work_ that
Gussie ever cared to do.

Since Aunt Jennie had taken up her abode in the family, Dexie had found
great delight in solving some of the mysteries of cookery, and the
toothsome articles she evolved, under her aunt's direction, were exhibited
with as much pride as Gussie felt when she adorned the new sofa pillow with
such gorgeous butterflies that no one dared use it thereafter. But Dexie
was at her best when seated before the piano; then her face glowed with a
beauty far exceeding that of her sister's, for the soul shone in her face,
and she would make the instrument respond to her feelings like a human
being. However ruffled her state of mind might be--for, be it known, Dexie
was not blessed with a very even temper--she could pour out her troubles to
her beloved instrument, as she would to a dear friend, and she always found
peace and consolation there.




CHAPTER IV.


One evening, when Mr. Plaisted was still in Halifax, there was a small
party held at Mrs. Gurney's, to which the Sherwoods were invited. Although
the party was only for "grown-ups," as Elsie Gurney said, invitations were
given to Gussie and Dexie, as company for the young members of the party.
Among those present was Major Gurney, and several of his brother officers,
whose gaily-attired figures added much to the beauty of the rooms.

During the evening music was introduced, and it need hardly be said that
most of the songs sung were thoroughly English, and of course much
applauded; but Dexie, in her loyalty to the land she called _home_, though
living out of its borders, could scarcely conceal her annoyance, and
turning to a table near, she picked up a book of views in order to hide her
vexation. Presently she became aware that the book before her was composed
of views that were unmistakably English; and no sooner was their
nationality noted than she dropped the book as if it had burnt her fingers.

"The idea of that little spot on the earth lording it over all creation!"
she said to herself, and her lip curled in scorn.

Just then the young man at the piano struck up the notes of "Rule
Britannia," which was caught up at once by all the red-coated gentlemen
present, as if the very words were a sweet morsel under their tongues. It
ended at last with a crash, and Dexie gave a sigh of relief when she saw
the piano stool vacant.

But Mr. Gurney was making his way towards her, and, bending over her, said
in a low voice:

"Will you favor the company with some music, Miss Dexie? I have often
listened to some very enchanting strains from your fingers."

"Well, I think I can play something that will be quite as enchanting as
that we have just listened to," Dexie replied. "I don't believe that piece
was ever meant to be sung inside four walls, and those officers shout as if
they intended to raise the roof. I am afraid my playing will seem very tame
after all that bluster," she laughingly added.

"No fear of that," said Mr. Gurney, smiling. "Try and see if you cannot
beat them at their own game."

Dexie looked up quickly, and caught his meaning, and as she crossed the
room her thoughts were flying through her brain, trying to bring to mind
some song that would answer those "red-coated braggarts." A smile came to
her lips, as memory served her. Yes, she could sing something that was
quite as musical as "Rule Britannia," anyway, and echo the praise of her
own land as well. So when she passed her father she whispered:

"Give me the help of your best bass in the chorus;" and bending over
Gussie, who was listening to the remarks of a many-striped officer, who was
standing near her chair, she said in a low tone: "Give me your help this
once, Gussie, and let your alto be heard clear to the citadel."

Seating herself at the piano, she struck a few chords, and then her rich,
ringing voice, with every word clear and distinct, sounded through the
room:

  "Of all the mighty nations in the east or in the west,
  Our glorious Yankee nation is the brightest and the best;
  We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurled
  With a cordial invitation to the people of the world.
  So, come along, come along; make no delay;
  Come from every nation; come from every way.
  The land it is broad enough; you need not be alarmed,
  For Uncle Sam has land enough to give you all a farm."

An amused look passed over the faces of those present as the sentiments of
the singer reached their ears, and Plaisted said, half aloud:

"Good for you, Miss Dexie; I back you there!" and when the chorus was
reached, his fine tenor was equal to any that had been heard during the
evening, his "Come along" ringing out like a bold challenge.

"Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes!" cried Lieutenant Layton, as he joined
in the applause that arose as soon as the song had ended. "Your nationality
is quite apparent, Miss Sherwood. That's right; don't let your own broad
country be sung down."

Dexie found herself immediately surrounded, and was overwhelmed with
entreaties to sing again, for the "back slap" had been as diverting as it
was unexpected, and she found it impossible to leave the piano without
singing again. But she thought that one song in that strain was enough,
though Mr. Gurney came over to her side, saying:

"Give us another like the last, Miss Dexie. It is good for these red-coated
fellows to remember that they have not conquered all the people on the face
of the earth."

"I am afraid it will offend someone," said Dexie, softly. "I couldn't
resist the temptation of letting them know that _I_ don't think England is
supreme. I am a loyal American, even if I do reside in Halifax."

"Oh! there is no danger of offending," Mr. Gurney replied. "The lion has
roared quite enough for one evening, so let the starry flag play awhile in
the breeze."

But Dexie did not like to flaunt the flag too near the lion's face, and in
his own den, as it were; so remembering some of the beautiful, pathetic
songs, that had been inspired by the war, she thought they would be quite
as much enjoyed.

Lancy Gurney was seldom far from the piano, and as Dexie finished her song
she motioned him to her side. A few whispered words passed between them,
then Lancy sat down beside her, when there rang out a symphony that
delighted every ear.

In a few minutes, Dexie took advantage of the movement she had brought
about on purpose to relieve herself, and rose from the piano, leaving Lancy
seated at the instrument.

This musical treat brought Dexie into social prominence, as there were
several members of the "Song and Glee Club" present, and she was much
surprised to receive invitations for herself and sister to join the club.

This club contained some of the best singers in the city, but had no
members so young as those now invited to join them. The invitation was
never regretted, however, for they soon acknowledged that the "Sherwood
twins" were quite an acquisition.

The pleasant evening was over at last, and the twins had received
compliments enough to turn older heads than theirs; but Dexie did not dwell
on the flattering remarks as Gussie did. Her singing and playing came as
natural to her as it did to talk, and she was not puffed up by the praise
bestowed on her for it. But Gussie was always vain of her good looks, and
she magnified the remarks that her pretty face had elicited, and when they
were about to retire Gussie had quite the air of a society belle as she
said:

"I have made quite an impression on Lieutenant Morton. I feel quite sure he
is almost in love with me already." But, receiving no answer to this
remark, she added:

"I hope you are not jealous, Dexie, because I received so many compliments
from those fine-looking officers?"

"Pooh! you silly thing! Jealous! Well, that's rich, I must say," replied
Dexie, in a tone of scorn. "You seem to think it is a fine thing to be
complimented by soldiers, but not so I. Why, didn't Mrs. Gurney tell us
one time that it was not considered respectable to be seen talking to
soldiers on the street, and I can't see how it makes so much difference if
you talk to them behind closed doors."

"Oh, but there was not one soldier invited to Mrs. Gurney's party; they
were all officers, every one of them," was Gussie's reply.

"Pshaw! what difference do a few ornaments on a man's coat make to the man
inside of it, I'd like to know? I expect that half of them, at least, were
common soldiers once themselves, and were bossed around like the very
meanest of them. I declare, I'd rather be a black on auntie's plantation
than be under some of those bawling officers we met to-night."

But Gussie did not care to discuss the matter further, as it required some
time to think the matter out seriously, if she would discover why an
officer should be less open to objection than a common soldier, for it was
true enough that many who wore the stripes had stepped up from the ranks;
yet how few of the better class care to make friends with the common
soldier, be he ever so respectable as a private individual. Was it likely
that a cloak of uncommon respectability was put on with the officer's
uniform? Hardly; else some of them lost the cloak very shortly after it was
put on.




CHAPTER V.


Mr. Sherwood, accompanied by Mr. Plaisted, made a trip to Prince Edward
Island before the winter set in, and though they did not make a very
extensive purchase, they travelled through the country and learned its
resources, visiting many farms where salable horses could be secured in the
spring. They took the horses they purchased direct to New York, where they
were disposed of to good advantage, after which Mr. Sherwood returned to
Halifax and settled down for the winter.

Mr. Plaisted remained in New York, but promised to be in Halifax early in
the spring, and be ready for the first boat that crossed to the Island.

The first winter in Halifax passed very pleasantly to the Sherwoods. The
winter sports were new, and keenly enjoyed, and the "Sherwood twins" soon
became as good skaters as those who had practised the art for years. Yet no
one must imagine that everything ran as smoothly as clockwork in the
Sherwood household, for there are few families who can boast of such
perfect regulations that there is _never_ a jar.

Mrs. Sherwood had been only too willing to throw off all responsibility and
place her duties on Aunt Jennie's shoulders, but there were many things
that must of necessity be left to Mrs. Sherwood herself, and when such
things were put off indefinitely they were apt to prove annoying;
consequently, when "patience ceased to be a virtue," the domestic
atmosphere was sometimes cleared by a small-sized storm.

There are also times when domestic helps are apt to be exasperating in the
extreme, and a word of rebuke or remonstrance is like a match to a can of
gunpowder; the powder is apt to go off, and the girl just as likely, and
both leave an unpleasantness behind them. Queer, too, that both are apt to
go off at the most unexpected and inconvenient moment; but so it is.

The Sherwood family were not exempt from this experience, for Biddy raised
a storm because Dinah seemed to be made more of than she was herself. No
explanations or smooth words would bridge over the difficulty. She refused
to stay in a house where "a big nager could stay in the room wid the missus
and hould the baby as long as she plased;" so she left the house, and quite
suddenly, too.

This disarranged household matters somewhat for awhile, as it was some time
before a capable servant could be found, and Mrs. Sherwood was obliged to
exert herself a little and attend to the wants of the baby, while Dinah
filled the vacant place in the kitchen.

But rheumatism had laid its torturing clutches on poor old Dinah's limbs,
and she could not be expected to get through the same amount of work that
Biddy accomplished, so the help of the twins was frequently necessary to
keep agoing the domestic machinery.

This was no hardship to Dexie; but Gussie, oh dear! it was just horrible to
have to wash up the breakfast dishes, and to polish the silver. And the
rooms _never_ needed to be dusted so often before, that she was sure! and
wherever the dusters went to after she was done with them was a daily
mystery. Dexie offered to solve this trying enigma, but Gussie's wrath
waxed hot when she read the words which Dexie printed in large letters on a
piece of wrapping-paper and stuck on the wall, for the moral was obvious--

"_There is a place for everything_; THEREFORE, _put the dusters
back in their own place when you are done with them, and you will be sure
to find them again._

"(NO CHARGE FOR THIS ADVICE.)"

But things moved along somehow, as they always do, yet everyone was glad
when the new Biddy appeared, who answered to the name of Nancy, and the
ways of the household fell back into former grooves; while the sigh of
relief which Gussie gave as she took up her neglected fancywork again,
might have been heard--well, quite a distance away.

As the weeks went by, the enforced idleness became irksome to Mr. Sherwood;
and having at one time been on the staff of a leading newspaper, he took up
his pen again--or rather Dexie did, as his amanuensis--while he brought
forth from memories' halls, things interesting, amusing or instructive. He
had travelled extensively, and always saw the ludicrous side of things, so
he was able to tell many amusing incidents that to others might have passed
as commonplace. His productions were eagerly accepted, and, what is better,
liberally paid for as well.

The short winter days passed very quickly. Time pleasantly spent is sure to
fly fast, and skating and sleighing parties are always merry gatherings;
thus so many evenings were given to Glee Club practice, church socials and
other like entertainments, that an evening at home was a delightful change.
During the winter the Sherwoods had the opportunity of becoming well
acquainted with many of the military fraternity, but Dexie's reserved
manner forbade the least familiarity. They were merely friends of her
friends, and her dislike to the red-coated gentlemen caused her much
good-natured chaffing; but it never annoyed her, for she always had an
answer ready for the keenest shaft. Lancy Gurney could always depend on
having Dexie Sherwood's company when these little pleasure-parties were
made up; and when he brought his sleigh out for a "spin" Elsie and Dexie
were sure to occupy the back seat, and the vacant place by Lancy's side was
never long empty, for the wit and vivacity of his companion made the seat
very desirable.

Hugh McNeil always had a share in the pleasures of the rest of the family,
and no matter how many offered to fill his sleigh he always kept a seat for
Gussie Sherwood, for he had paid her much attention from the first. Gussie
found it very pleasant to have someone to take her here and there, and feed
her vanity with admiring looks and soft speeches; but if Gussie had a
chance to secure another escort more to her mind, she thought nothing of
snubbing Hugh unmercifully, yet was willing enough to smile him back to her
side when no other gentleman offered his company. But few men care to be
made the plaything of a young girl's caprice, and there came a time when
Gussie's smile lost its power to charm. Her pretty face had been the
attraction; but having ample opportunity of seeing Gussie under the
different light of home-life, he could not help seeing the shallow nature
that lay behind her outward sweetness, or that this sweetness was more
ready to come to the front when self was to be gratified.

But Hugh's heart had been touched for the first time, and when his eyes
were opened he was loth to displace his idol, even though he knew that
common clay was its substance. For a long time he gave no sign of the
change that had taken place in his feelings; he was to all appearances as
devoted to Gussie as ever.

One day, along the first of March, Lancy Gurney walked hastily home from
the store, and entering the Sherwood household, inquired for Dexie.

"What is it, Lancy?" said Dexie, peeping over the stair rail at Lancy in
the hall below.

"Come down, Dexie; I want to speak to you. Can you come for a drive with
me?" he asked, as Dexie reached his side. "Father wishes me to do a little
business for him a few miles out of town, and I want company. Will you
come?"

"Yes, if you will take Elsie as well," was the reply. "How soon are you
going, Lancy?"

"In about half an hour, if we can get ready; but I don't want to take
Elsie. We will take the single sleigh, and three in a seat will not be
comfortable."

"It will be three in a seat or one, Sir Launcelot; so take your choice. Run
in and see if Elsie can go, then I will get ready also. No use coaxing;
your half an hour is rapidly passing," she added, smilingly, as Lancy
lingered, endeavoring to change her decision.

But "three in a seat" was not so uncomfortable as Lancy had imagined, and
they were soon speeding over the road, and in due time reached their
destination.

They were detained much longer than they expected, and so were late
starting for home, and the snow which had been falling in fine, light
particles, soon increased in volume, and it was quite apparent that a
severe storm was upon them.

When they reached the open road, they found they were to suffer for the
delay, for the sharp wind cut their faces and almost blinded them with the
drifting snow.

All landmarks were soon obliterated, and, though the way was familiar under
different circumstances, Lancy found it hard to distinguish the road from
the open field, as the snow fell so thick they could see only a short
distance beyond the horse's head.

The girls were soon so benumbed with cold that they were glad to creep
beneath the sleigh robes, and the roads were becoming so blocked with
drifts that their progress was very slow indeed. Several times they stuck
fast, and Lancy had to get out and tramp down the snow, while, with
encouraging words, he urged the horse along; but in one of these heavy
drifts, snap! went the shaft.

This was a misfortune indeed, for a thorough search in pockets and
sleigh-box failed to produce a string or strap of any kind.

Elsie had been on the verge of crying for some time, and this new disaster
brought the tears in earnest.

"We shall all freeze to death here!" she sobbed. "Whatever shall we do?"

"You can stop crying, Elsie," said Lancy, who felt bewildered by this new
difficulty. "I am bothered enough already. I suppose it is no use to ask
you girls if you have any kind of string in your pockets," he added.

"No, of course we haven't," replied Elsie, quite cross. "Girls don't fill
their pockets with trash!"

"Here is my belt, Lancy," and Dexie held up a strap of Russian leather. "Do
you think you can bind up the shaft with that?"

After some delay, the shaft was strapped together, and they slowly pressed
onward.

"How far do you think we are from Halifax, Lancy?" Dexie asked, after they
had travelled some distance through the drifts.

"I can hardly say, Dexie, we have come so slowly; but I fear we are not
more than halfway."

This was indeed the truth, and the storm seemed increasing in violence; but
if a thought of danger passed through their minds, no voice was given to
it.

Presently they passed a farmhouse, and they almost decided to stop and ask
shelter; but just here the road seemed better, so they pressed on, knowing
that their absence would make those at home very anxious. For some distance
the road was less drifted, owing to the shelter of a line of trees that
skirted it, but farther on they came to drifts that were high and hard
packed, through which the horse gave a plunge, breaking the other shaft,
and this brought matters to a crisis.

"It is no use, girls; we can't get home to-night. It is a pity we did not
stop at that farmhouse," said Lancy, as he ascertained damages. "We will
have to get back somehow, I'm afraid."

But how to get back was a question. They had passed the farmhouse such a
long time ago that it seemed as if it must be miles behind. Lancy was
almost in despair as he felt the broken shaft. How could they reach the
farmhouse in this disabled condition? Although suffering intensely from
the cold, he thought little of it, but he began to have serious misgivings
as to the safety of the girls.

"I am so sorry I asked either of you to come with me," he said, as he bent
his head to speak to the shivering girls. "I shall have to cut the reins
and tie up the shaft with them, but I fear it will be slow work retracing
our way."

"Oh, Lancy, you can't cut the reins! How are you going to drive if you do
that?" said Dexie, in alarm.

"I can walk and lead the horse. There is nothing else to do."

"Wait, Lancy! Here is my silk scarf; it is real long and strong," and Dexie
forced her cold fingers to untie from under her wraps, the pretty scarf
that encircled her neck, which Lancy found to answer his purpose very well.

The sleigh had become so imbedded in the drift, that Lancy was afraid the
shafts would pull apart if the horse put forth sufficient strength to
extract it, so he decided to take the horse out and turn the sleigh
himself. But when the horse found himself free, he refused to stand still,
and Dexie insisted on getting out to hold him. Leading the horse around the
drift to regain the road, Lancy found there was a level stretch extending
in the same direction, and he concluded to follow it and thus regain the
farmhouse. He assisted Dexie through the drifts, and as she held the reins
he endeavored to turn the sleigh. But he had not quite accomplished his
task when a cry from Dexie came through the storm:

"Oh, Lancy! come quick! I cannot hold him, and I hear water running
somewhere! Oh, the horse is in!"




CHAPTER VI.


What new calamity had overtaken them! Their only hope of safety seemed in
the horse, and he had disappeared from sight, leaving only his head showing
above the white mass around him. Lancy was soon at Dexie's side, and
understood the situation at once. The level stretch of snow was but the
covering of a frozen stream that here flowed parallel with the road. He had
led the horse near a weak spot, and the ice had given away beneath him. The
water might not be deep enough to drown him, but Lancy saw at once it would
be impossible to get the horse out without assistance. He helped Dexie back
to the sleigh, saying,

"You and Elsie must cover yourselves up in the sleigh, and wait here till I
walk back to that house for help."

"Oh, Lancy! is there no other way?" Dexie cried, her courage giving way at
the thought of him leaving them. "You will get lost in the storm, and we
will surely freeze to death before help reaches us."

But there seemed no other way out of the difficulty, and he hurriedly
tucked the robes around them, while he tried to quiet Elsie, who was almost
wild with terror when she learned her brother's intention.

"Hush! Elsie, dear. If I stay with you we shall _all_ freeze. You need not
be afraid. I will surely reach the house and send someone to you if I
cannot come back myself. Don't cry, dear. See how bravely Dexie bears it."

"But you are not her brother," she sobbed; "she has only herself to think
of. Oh, what shall we do if you are lost in the storm! How I wish I had
never come!" and she buried her face in the seat before her.

Lancy's heart ached for both of them. Yet to leave them seemed their only
chance of life, for it grew colder every moment. He must find help soon, or
they would not survive the night. Bending over Elsie, he kissed her
tenderly, saying, "Don't be afraid, Elsie. I will find someone to send to
you before I give up; so don't fret. We'll see mother again, never fear."
And bending over to see that she was well covered with the robes, he
whispered, "Good-bye, Elsie; pray for help," and he kissed her again.

Passing round to the other side of the sleigh, he secured the robes around
Dexie so that the wind could not displace them; then putting his face down
close to hers, said, "I am sorry to have brought you into such danger,
Dexie; but you know I did not mean to. Will you kiss me good-bye?"

Dexie lifted her face at once, her heart strangely stirred by the tone in
which he spoke; but she realized their danger, and this might be, indeed,
good-bye.

"Do not fret about us, Lancy," she said. "Think only of yourself, for I am
so afraid you will be lost in the storm."

"Never fear, Dexie. But remember this, girls: Don't go to sleep; keep
awake, no matter how hard it may be to do so. Get up in the sleigh and jump
and scream rather than run the risk of falling asleep here in the cold.
Remember, now! Good-bye, girls; and may Heaven keep you both safe," and
Lancy disappeared in the storm, leaving a comforting feeling behind him
with his last words.

"Oh, Dexie! do you think we shall ever see Lancy again?" Elsie asked, in a
choking voice. "Just think how they will fret at home if anything happens
to us!"

Dexie could not control her voice just then, so she made no reply.

"I wonder if the poor horse will drown or freeze to death; but perhaps it
is warmer in the water than in the wind," and Elsie's thoughts turned again
to Lancy.

Then they put their arms around each other, and talked in a weary,
desultory way. But it was hard to talk when there was nothing pleasant in
their thoughts, and they were so cold, so very cold.

Presently Elsie's head fell over on Dexie's shoulder, and it aroused Dexie
to a sense of their danger. Was she really falling asleep, and allowing
Elsie to do so as well, after the caution Lancy had given? She lifted
Elsie's head gently, saying, "Sit up, Elsie, dear. I'm afraid you are
getting sleepy, and you must not go to sleep, you know."

"Oh, do--leave me--alone! I'm--so tired."

"But I can't leave you, Elsie; you are getting sleepy, and don't you
remember what Lancy said?" and Dexie lifted her up and gave her a gentle
shake.

"Oh, do stop--just a moment."

"No, not a moment!"

Dexie was fully aroused now, and realized Elsie's danger.

"Come, Elsie, you must sit up, for I do not intend to let you sleep;" and
she shook her roughly in her alarm, for Elsie had laid her head on the
seat, in spite of all her efforts to arouse her.

"Here, if you don't lift up your head and wake up, I'll have to rub your
face with snow; so sit up at once. Oh! do, Elsie, dear."

Elsie allowed herself to be lifted into another position, but she seemed
dazed, and Dexie was thoroughly frightened and shook her by the arm, as she
cried, "Oh, Elsie, can't you hear me? Don't you know that if you fall
asleep you will surely freeze to death?"

"Oh, Dexie, I'm freezing now," was the low reply.

Dexie seized her hands and clapped them between her own stiff angers, which
felt like lead, they seemed so heavy, but she succeeded in rousing Elsie so
that she would talk to her.

"Let us try to sing," said Dexie at last; "perhaps it will be easier than
talking," and she began "Jesus, lover of my soul."

But before the verse was finished she became aware that she was scarcely
murmuring the words herself, while Elsie had stopped altogether.

"I'm _not_ going to sleep; so, there!" she said aloud. "I _will_ stay awake
somehow, and make Elsie, too."

She found that the effort she had made to speak aloud had aroused herself.
The drowsy feeling was dispelled, and she bent over Elsie and shook her
until she received a faint answer.

"Do you think Lancy has arrived at the house, Elsie?" she asked a few
minutes later. No answer, for Elsie's head had fallen back on the seat. She
was oblivious to all remarks.

"Dear me, this will never do! However shall I keep her awake more than a
minute at a time? What if Lancy returns and finds her stiff and cold?"

The thought was awful, and for the next few minutes there were some lively
movements under the sleigh robes; but the terror that filled Dexie's heart
gave way to a feeling of relief as Elsie sat up and reproached her friend
for being "so rough."

"But I shall _have_ to use you roughly, Elsie, if you don't stay awake,"
Dexie answered, as she placed the robes around her; "so keep talking, then
I'll be sure of you."

But the intense cold seemed to freeze the words on her lips, and soon an
unintelligible murmur was the only answer to Dexie's questions.

"What shall I do? She will be asleep in another minute, if I don't look
out. If I could only get her cross she would give me less trouble."

As a general thing Elsie was very easy-going, though she had quite a temper
when once it was aroused, but with the excellent training she received from
her mother, she seldom lost control of herself. When she did, she was cross
clear through, and it took her a long time to get over it. Dexie thought
that this was a time when a burst of temper might be justifiable; so she
determined to pick a quarrel with her, and hoped the end would justify the
means.

Shaking her roughly to gain her attention, a few sarcastic remarks soon
started a wordy warfare, and sharp words went back and forth for some time.
Presently their situation occurred to Elsie, and she burst into tears of
repentance.

"Oh, do forgive me, Dexie; to think I would say such things while we are in
such danger! I do not know what is the matter with me."

"It is my fault," cried Dexie, unable to keep up the quarrel under such
contrite circumstances. "I have been provoking you on purpose to make you
scold me; but I didn't mean a word of the unkind things I said to you. I
only wanted to keep you awake;" and thus confessing to one another, they
calmed down into a state that was almost too angelic for safety, but
before they had time to drop asleep again shouts were heard in the
distance, telling of relief close at hand.




CHAPTER VII.


Lancy had a hard struggle to break through the drifts, and began to fear he
would sink down with exhaustion before he had secured help, but he reached
the farmhouse at last, having walked back much faster than the horse had
travelled in going the same distance.

A few words of explanation were enough to arouse the family, and even while
Lancy spoke, the two men in the room began to pull on their boots and get
into their outer garments in a way that showed that they "meant business."

Mr. Taylor and his big son would gladly have gone alone to rescue the
girls, thinking Lancy was not in a fit state to return, but the possible
fate of those dear to him filled Lancy with dread; he must return and see
to their safety. He eagerly drank the hot mixture that Mrs. Taylor placed
in his hand, and when the men declared themselves ready, he felt able to
accompany them.

"This is a terrible night to be out-of-doors," said Mr. Taylor, as he
pulled his coat collar around his ears. "This is the worst storm we have
had for years, and it will be a mercy if your sisters are not badly
frost-bitten, before we can get them to the house. Push on after Tom, and I
will be with you in a minute," and he turned toward the stables.

Lancy found it easier to retrace his steps than when he struggled alone
through the blinding snow, and presently Mr. Taylor passed them on the back
of a horse, carrying a coil of rope and a bundle of rugs, and he was the
first to reach the snow-covered sleigh.

"Are you all right?" he called in a cheery voice.

"We are alive, and that's about all," Dexie answered.

"Well, cheer up; your brother is just behind," and as he spoke Lancy joined
him.

"Now, young man," said Mr. Taylor, "Tom and I will see after your horse,
while you pilot your sisters to the house. They can both ride back on my
horse; he will carry them through the drifts better than they can walk.
Here are some rugs. Now, shall I help you to mount?" turning to Dexie.

"We are so cold I fear we can't hold on," she replied, her teeth chattering
an accompaniment to her words. "I feel as if I had no feet at all," she
added, as they lifted her up and brushed the snow from her garments.

"Oh, Lancy! I can't ride a horse," said Elsie, who was being brushed and
rubbed back to life. "I never could sit on a rocking-horse itself. I'll be
sure to fall."

"Well, you won't have far to fall, so let that comfort you," said Dexie,
who was settling herself to her unusual position. "Lift her up, Lancy.
There! now hold on tight, Elsie, for if you fall off we can't stop to dig
for you!" and the awkward riders moved slowly through the drifts, while Mr.
Taylor and his son disappeared down the bank, and very soon their shouts
told that the submerged horse was rescued.

The poor animal was thoroughly chilled, but warm rugs were spread over him,
and when, in the shelter of the stable, he was rubbed and doctored, he
seemed none the worse for his cold bath. Meanwhile, the women in the
house--good Samaritans, if ever there were any--had everything prepared for
the comfort of the travellers. Rousing fires were blazing in different
rooms, and garments were being warmed before them, while a steaming kettle,
containing some stimulating beverage, was waiting on the hearth. When the
half-frozen girls entered the house they received a warm welcome--warm in
more than one sense of the word, for the quick-handed women soon divested
them of their wearing apparel and placed warm garments upon them--and
before they had time to realize the change, they found themselves seated
before the fire, wrapped in warm blankets, sipping hot negus, a delicious
sense of warmth seeming to pervade their whole being; but as Dexie
possessed the most vitality she was the first to respond to the efforts put
forth for their relief.

Elsie did not rally so quickly. Her teeth chattered and her limbs trembled
long after she thought she was well warmed, but her heart was full of
gratitude as she said:

"I did not know there were such good, kind people in the world. It was
almost worth while to be caught in the storm to be treated so well by
strangers."

And Dexie, from the folds of her blanket, turned her large dark eyes on the
women who were kneeling beside them rubbing their feet, and said in a low
voice:

"We could not expect our best friends to treat us more kindly. Everything
seemed prepared for our comfort before you ever saw us. I'm sure I can't
think of one more thing that could be done for us."

"But there is one more thing to be done, my dears," and Mrs. Taylor smiled
kindly into their young faces. "We must put you to bed."

"Oh, dear! I feel too comfortable to move," and Dexie leaned back in her
big chair with a sigh of content.

"Well, it _is_ a pity to disturb you, but to bed you must go," and, much to
Dixie's surprise, a pair of strong arms lifted her as if she were a child,
and a moment later she found herself in the next room, where a comfortable
bed received her.

"How do you like being a baby again, Elsie?" she laughingly asked, as Elsie
was placed beside her.

"I think I rather like it, but we have made trouble enough for these good
women without letting them carry us to bed. How is it that you can be so
good to strangers?" and Elsie lifted her eyes to the motherly face.

"My dear! have you never read the words, 'I was a stranger, and ye took Me
in.' You know there is such a thing as entertaining angels unawares."

"I thought you were that kind of people," Elsie whispered, as Mrs. Taylor
bent to kiss her cheek.

"Did you, dear? Then I need not remind you that your thanks are due
elsewhere, for I am sure you both have grateful hearts to-night."

"Will you please tell us how Lancy is before you go? We have not heard his
voice since we came in," said Dexie.

"To be sure! but you need not be anxious about him. Your brother is in the
kitchen, snug and warm, by this time. I must go and put him to bed; but I
don't think I shall offer to carry him there," and she laughed softly,
adding, as she reached the door. "Do not get up in the morning till I give
you leave. You cannot get home until the roads are broken; so stay in bed
till the house is well warmed. Good-night, my dears."

There was an interval of silence; then Elsie said softly, "I wonder if our
mothers will be frightened because we are not home. I am afraid mother
would cry if she knew we were out in the storm to-night."

"Oh! they'll not fret, at least my mother will not. They know that Lancy
will look after us."

"Lancy kissed you to-night, didn't he, Dexie? Do you know I believe he has
fallen in love with you," said Elsie, in a confidential tone.

"Oh, Elsie! how can you say such a thing?" and Dexie blushed in the
darkness. "He kissed you good-bye, and, considering our danger, it was
natural enough to treat me the same; indeed he seems like a brother. Even
the people here think I am your sister."

"Oh! you needn't mind me, Dexie. Our folks all like you and would have no
objections, for I heard mamma tell Cora that she was pleased at Lancy's
choice, and thought you would get on very well together."

"Nonsense! Elsie; you must have misunderstood what they were talking about.
Lancy and I have been much together on account of our music, and your
mother would rather he spent his time over the piano with me, than with the
wild young men about the city; that is what she meant. It is only the music
that Lancy thinks of; so don't get foolish notions into your head, Elsie."

"Well, perhaps mamma did mean that, but I'm sure she didn't say it so. I
thought she meant--something else," and whatever suspicions had been
aroused in Elsie's innocent heart were lulled to rest for the time.

But this revelation aroused various feelings in Dexie's heart. She never
thought that the friendship existing between Lancy and herself would be so
differently construed. She liked Lancy very much, and never hesitated to
affirm it, but it made the blood rush to her face when she thought of
Lancy's good-bye kiss in the way Elsie had spoken of it.

"Such silliness! Our good times will all be spoiled if people begin to
imagine such nonsense about us. How shall I be able to meet him in the
morning? But there! it is only Elsie's foolish mistake; I will not think of
it any more," so, resolutely putting the subject from her mind, she fell
asleep.




CHAPTER VIII.


It was quite late when the young people opened their eyes next morning, and
the unfamiliar surroundings made Dexie lift her head with a start; but the
sparkle that came from the glowing wood fire in the old-fashioned grate
spoke of friendly cheer, and she turned a bright face to her companion as
she asked after her welfare.

"My head aches a little, and I feel stiff and sore, but I suppose you feel
the same," was the languid reply.

"Not I. I never felt better in my life. I would like to get up and see what
the world looks like around here."

Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Taylor stepped into the room.

"So my snow-birds are awake at last; and how do they feel this cold
morning?" was the cheery question.

"I am quite well, thank you; but Elsie feels rather tired, I fear," Dexie
replied. "May we get up, please?"

"Well, I'll not punish you by making you stay in bed," was the smiling
reply, "but I think your sister would be the better of another hour's
rest," then adding a few sticks to the blazing logs, she left the room.

Dexie was soon dressing before the fire, her lively tongue keeping up a
pleasant chattering as she glanced occasionally through the frosty
window-panes to the white world outside, and Elsie soon roused from her
lethargy and showed some inclination to bestir herself also.

When Mrs. Taylor returned, bearing a dainty breakfast, she found them
standing before the fire, their arms around each other's shoulders, and she
thought them very loving sisters, though their looks betrayed no such
relationship.

They were indeed a contrast as they stood together before the fire. Dexie
was all aglow, her cheeks dimpled and rosy, her merry brown eyes full of
life and her pretty hair falling in rings about her forehead, making her
look much younger than she really was; while poor Elsie's face looked all
the paler against the background of dark hair that grew low on her brow,
and hung in two long braids down her back. Her grey eyes looked dull and
heavy, and she lacked the sparkle that made Dexie so attractive.

"Come now, and have your breakfast," and Mrs. Taylor drew the little table
nearer the fire. "I am going to let you enjoy it alone, but when you are
ready step into the room across the hall. Your brother is anxious to see
how you look after your adventure."

Dexie was just going to explain that she was no relation to Elsie, when the
conversation of the night before came into her mind, and while she
hesitated Mrs. Taylor left the room. As the door opened they could hear
Lancy's voice as he conversed with the family, and for the first time it
brought a flush to Dexie's face. She shrank from the thought of meeting
him, but this diffidence was owing more to Elsie's remarks than to any
change in her own feelings.

"Come," said Elsie, at last, "we don't want to sit here all day. Let us go
and find Lancy."

She stepped at once to his side as they entered the room, and gave him a
sisterly embrace, making Dexie's quiet "good morning" seem a cool greeting
in comparison; there seemed a strange restraint between them that neither
had felt before, which forbade any show of feeling on either side. This was
noticed at once by Mrs. Taylor, who was brightening up the fire, and she
said:

"Seems to me you haven't such a warm welcome for your brother as your
sister gives him, yet he has been inquiring very particularly after you."

"He is not my brother, Mrs. Taylor. I do not know how the mistake has been
made, but we are no relation whatever."

"Not your brother! Then who are you, my dear?" smiling at Dexie's blushing
face.

"Lancy, introduce me properly," and Dexie rose to her feet.

Catching the spirit of mischief that shone in her eyes, he stepped quickly
to her side, and with a flourish made the introduction.

"Allow me to make you acquainted with our next-door neighbor, Miss Dexie
Sherwood."

Dexie bowed graciously to the several occupants of the room, who rose to
their feet, and all embarrassment fled at once.

"Next-door neighbors those two may be," was the whispered comment of the
young girls who were stepping back and forth as they prepared the mid-day
meal, "but there is every sign of a closer relationship in the future, if
their looks do not belie them."

But the only sentiment in Dexie's heart was gratitude and love to a Higher
Power. As she turned the leaves of a music-book she had picked up from the
table she passed the book to Lancy, saying in a low tone:

"If I were home, I would like to sit down to the piano and play that."

Lancy glanced at the page, and his eyes told her that he understood, for
the words of the anthem to which Dexie referred began, "Out of the depths
cried I, and thou, O Lord, hast heard."

"Does the owner of these books play?" and Lancy turned to address Mrs.
Taylor, a sudden thought like an inspiration coming to his mind.

"Only a little. Our Susan is wild over music; but our little old piano is
all she has to practise on, and during the winter she can only go into
Halifax once a week for a lesson. Susan, show them into the sitting-room,
and perhaps Miss Sherwood will play something for us."

As Dexie entered the room she took in at a glance the many pretty and
tasteful things which adorned the walls and brackets, and she wondered if
Susan's fingers had accomplished such marvels in autumn leaves and other
little adornments.

The fireplace was a thing of beauty, with its polished andirons, and the
ruddy tongues of flame that leaped forth from the heaped-up wood made a
cheerful picture.

Several big cushioned chairs were drawn near the hearth and a basket of
knitting work was "handy" on a table, while in the old-fashioned rocker the
family cat peacefully reposed.

Lancy had no eyes for anything but the piano, and as Susan opened it she
smilingly exclaimed:

"Confess, now, that you think there is little music to be got out of this
ancient-looking thing."

"Well, it is an odd make, certainly, but some of these old pianos have a
fine tone. Sit down and play something for us, Miss Taylor," and he drew
the music-stool in place.

"Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!" she replied, smiling. "My playing is not
of an entertaining kind as yet, for even mother flies to the kitchen when I
try a new piece, but you will find me a good listener."

Was that the same old piano? thought Susan, as she stood by the instrument
watching Lancy's fingers passing over the keys. Why, it seemed to be a
thing of life; and she moved away almost in awe at the sounds that came
forth from the hitherto despised keys.

Presently Dexie began to sing, low and softly at first, then her expressive
voice swelled forth, thrilling the listeners that gathered at the door.
Susan slipped away, her eyes full of tears.

"Oh! if I could only play and sing like that I would wish for nothing
more," said she to her sister. "That anthem means more than the mere words
and music."

"Yes, it sounds like family prayers," replied her sister. "I declare I
don't know what I am crying for. I wonder if it would be a sin to mash
these potatoes while that singing is going on; they will be getting cold,
I'm afraid."

But the closing words rang out joyously, "But Thou hast been merciful and
heard us; therefore Thy name will we praise all the day long."

Not until she had finished did Dexie realize that she had so many
listeners, but she turned a bright face to the group at the door.

"I did not know we had such an audience."

"Don't stop, friends," said Mr. Taylor, coming into the room. "Such music
is quite a treat. I guess, Susan, there is more in that piano than you ever
dreamed of. Let us hear something else."

Lancy rose from the music-stool, saying to Dexie:

"Play 'The Mocking Bird,' and I'll sing to your whistle."

A moment later Dexie's supple fingers were dancing over the keys in a
delightful prelude. Then Lancy's voice filled the room as he sang the
well-known song, accompanied by the exquisite notes of the southern mocking
bird, and the continuous warble that poured from Dexie's throat during the
chorus made her listeners start as if a veritable bird were concealed in
the room.

"Well, that spoils the old proverb from this time forth," said Mr. Taylor,
as he leaned back against the wall and thrust his thumbs into the armholes
of his vest. "Whistling girls and crowing hens will hereafter have a chance
to be heard. Old saws ain't always true, eh, Miss Sherwood?"

"Well, I never heard a hen crow yet, Mr. Taylor," and Dexie laughed softly,
"and I do not know what is their usual fate, but the proverb does not alarm
me in the least."

"Do whistle another piece, Miss Sherwood," said Susan. "It will give us
great pleasure to hear you."

Lancy turned over the leaves of a book, then placed it on the piano,
saying:

"Try that, Dexie, and I'll whistle with you."

It would be hard to express the pleasure that this exquisite bird-song gave
to those who listened. All the songsters in the woods seemed let loose in
the room, now singing together in full chorus, then singly or in pairs they
twittered and trilled as Dexie's soft whistle followed or joined Lancy's
stronger notes, while such bird-like notes came from the keys before her as
might have deceived the very birds themselves.

"Nothing will surprise me after this," cried Susan, when the song had
ended. "I heard my music-teacher play that once, and I thought it the
tamest thing I had ever heard; of course he did not try to whistle it too,
but the music itself sounded quite different."

"Perhaps your music-teacher never took the trouble to listen to the birds
themselves; that makes a difference, you know," said Dexie.

Just then Mrs. Taylor came into the room, saying:

"I think you must come to dinner, but you must give us some more music
afterwards. Really, Susan, that old piano is not such a poor affair, after
all; is it, now?"




CHAPTER IX.


As was expected, they found there was much anxiety at home over their long
absence. Mr. Sherwood was on the watch when the sleigh drove up, and was
beside it in time to help the muffled figures alight, and anxious to hear
the particulars of their protracted drive.

"Let me go into Mrs. Gurney's just a minute, papa," said Dexie, "and I will
tell you all about it when I come back."

Then they found themselves pulled through the hall by the eager children,
who had been watching for their appearance for hours, and into the
sitting-room where Mrs. Gurney sat with a white, anxious face, waiting
their arrival.

In a few minutes the story of their detention was told, Lancy telling his
part and Elsie hers, Dexie finishing the story by confessing to the extreme
measures used to keep Elsie awake, not sparing herself in the least when
telling of the quarrel she had provoked, and there was a suspicious
moisture in Mr. Gurney's eyes as he listened to the story.

"You have been in great peril," said he, as he drew the girls to his side.
"Let us all kneel a moment and return thanks for the safety of these dear
ones;" and all knelt, just as they were: Mr. Gurney with one arm around
Elsie, the other around Dexie; Lancy with his fur coat still on, and the
whip in his hand; the little ones, who had pressed into the room, dropped
to their knees, their arms full of toys; Mrs. Gurney with the baby in her
arms--all knelt, while a few earnest words went up from a father's grateful
heart.

Mrs. Gurney insisted that Elsie should go up to bed at once, and be
doctored for the cold she had evidently contracted, and pressing a kiss on
Dexie's cheek, she followed her daughter upstairs.

But for all their care Elsie was confined to her room for several weeks,
and her recovery was slow and tedious. They were all thankful, though, that
nothing more serious resulted from exposure to the storm, which was the
worst that had visited the country for several years.

Dexie had to tell the story over again when she went home; but she made
light of it all, making much more fun out of their grand ride on horseback
than either she or Elsie had experienced while partaking of it. But the
whole story came out when Lancy came in during the evening, and Mr.
Sherwood's look of tender solicitude contrasted strangely with the mother's
apparent unconcern, as the story of their adventure was related at length.

"I am forgetting that I was sent in here with a message," Lancy said, a few
minutes later. "Elsie has been asking to see you, Dexie, and mother wishes
to know if you are too tired to run in a few minutes."

Dexie followed Lancy into his own door, and running swiftly up the stairs
was soon bending over Elsie, who was wrapped up like a mummy.

"I did not want to see you for anything _very_ particular," Elsie said, in
answer to Dexie's inquiry. "But I could not go to sleep for thinking of
last night. It seems so good to be in my own bed again, safe, after all my
fears, that I wanted to tell you once more how sorry I am for being so
cross with you; for I was _awful_ cross, Dexie, when you talked so harshly
to me."

"Now, Elsie! don't speak as if there were anything for _you_ to be sorry
for, or I shall have such qualms of conscience as will surely make me ill,"
was Dexie's laughing reply.

After a few minutes' chat, Dexie left the room to return home, but Lancy
was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he drew her into the parlor,
saying:

"Stay with me a little while, Dexie, do; no one will disturb us here, and I
want to have a 'sing.' Your father or Gussie are sure to be in the parlor
if we go into your house."

"Well, it will have to be a short 'sing,' Lancy, for the drive in the wind
has made me sleepy."

When Mrs. Gurney passed the door a few minutes later, and peeped into the
dimly lighted room to listen to the soft strains that met her ears, she
smiled and softly withdrew, for Lancy was seated at the instrument, and
Dexie stood by his side, her hand resting carelessly on his shoulder, while
they sang what Mrs. Gurney knew was their private thanksgiving.

As the last notes died away, Lancy turned on the music-stool and took her
hand; Dexie's thoughts had been so engrossed that, for the moment, she let
it rest there, when she heard the low-spoken words: "I want to tell you
something, Dexie."

Instantly Elsie's words flashed into her mind, and she tried to break away
from the arm that encircled her waist.

"Let me go, Lancy," was the startled cry. "It is time I was home."

"I will take you home presently, Dexie; I want to talk to you a few minutes
first," and catching her hands in his he held her close.

"But I do not want to be held here! Oh, Lancy! let go my hands. I must go
home."

"Be quiet and listen to me a minute, Dexie; only a minute. I want to tell
you that, when I left you both in the sleigh last night, I felt far worse
about leaving you than my own sister. Do you know why, Dexie?"

"I don't want to know, Lancy. I don't want to hear another word."

"You can't get away from me, Dexie; so don't try. I want to tell you," he
added, in a lower tone, "that before last night I never knew why it was
that I liked to spend all the time I could with you. I thought it was on
account of our music, but as I walked through the storm last night the
truth came to me. I love you, Dexie, and that is why my heart kept me up
till I found help. I was almost wild with fear that something would happen
to you before I could get you safely sheltered. Yes, darling, I love you;
and the thought has made me feel so light of heart that I could sing all
the time for very joy."

"Oh, Lancy! how can you talk so. You have spoiled all our good times
together, for I'll never come in here again when I know you are home," and
she turned her face away from his earnest gaze.

"Oh, yes, you will; you will not be so unkind as that. If you refuse to
come in here I will go into your house just twice as often; so you can't
get rid of me, Dexie," was the smiling reply.

There was a moment's silence, when Dexie said: "It will be a pity for us to
quarrel, Lancy, but you must not talk to me like this any more. Really, I
did not think you could be so silly. Think how they would all tease us if
anyone should find us here; and you know Gussie would make my life a misery
if she guessed you had been talking such nonsense."

"It is not 'nonsense' to tell you that I love you, but my love shall not be
a source of annoyance to you; no one need know it. Everything will be as
usual, only, Dexie, you will know that I love you, and I will know--well,
what, Dexie? You do not dislike me any more than you did two days ago, do
you?" he whispered.

"I have not changed in the least, but I shall dislike you very much, Lancy,
if you do not try and forget what has been said here this evening."

"I cannot forget it even if I wanted to, Dexie. Do not think that I want to
vex you, dear, but I want you to understand me. Now, there is only one
thing more, Dexie," and his voice grew tender; "that kiss you gave me last
night in the sleigh seems to be resting on my lips yet, and has been a
sweet memory all day long. But, Dexie," and he laughed softly, "you know it
was a very cold kiss, after all. Give me a warm one to take its place, and
I'll let you go."

Dexie shook her head and tried to draw back from him. She felt so
distressed that the tears were on the point of falling. She had gone
through so much during the last few hours, and this unexpected interview
tried her more than Lancy was aware.

"Only one kiss," he urged. "You gave it willingly last night, darling."

"But things are not the same as they were last night."

"No, I love you better, Dexie. May I?" But without waiting for permission
he kissed the face so near him, and found it wet with tears.

"Dexie, darling, I did not think you would care so much. Forgive me if I
vexed you; you kissed me last night without a word."

"But you are not the same, and there was a reason last night. It is not
fair, Lancy. You have quite spoiled our good times for the future."

"No, not spoiled them, only made them dearer. Dexie, you shan't be vexed
with me. Come over on the sofa and let me talk to you."

"No; you said you would let me go home, and I want to go now, this very
minute."

"Very well." He rose and pulled her shawl over her shoulders, then followed
her silently into the shelter of her own door. He would have followed her
into the house as well, forgetting that Dexie's face would tell tales, but
she stopped him at the door.

"I don't want to see you any more to-night, Lancy; I really don't," she
said, as they stood a moment in the front hall.

"You are displeased with me for telling you that I love you. Perhaps I
should have waited a little longer before speaking about it; but, Dexie, I
couldn't keep it to myself. I had to tell you."

"I would not have been any more pleased to hear it, even if you _had_ kept
it longer;" and, lifting her eyes to his face for a moment, added, "I am
not exactly vexed with you, Lancy, but I'm not pleased either. Now, go
home; do." Being thus summarily dismissed, there was no choice left him;
but before he turned to obey her command, he raised her hand to his lips,
and whispered a tender "Good-night, Dexie."

She stood and watched him down the steps, then turned and went quickly to
her own room, and locking the door behind her threw herself face down on
the bed, and for a few minutes wept without restraint. She felt completely
unnerved; so much had happened during the last twenty-four hours that had
tried her strength and courage, that Lancy's declaration had filled up the
measure of her strength.

But her thoughts, always rapid, soon worked out a semblance of order from
the confusion that filled her mind, and she dried her eyes and began to
review her conduct in the light that others probably judged her.

She would not deny, even to herself, that she preferred Lancy's company to
that of any of her male friends; but they were both so young that it was
ridiculous to even imagine that their intimacy meant more than common
friendship. However, if Lancy chose to be silly, that was no reason that
she should become sentimental also. She was not obliged to fall in love
just because Lancy fancied himself in that condition. It would be horrid
not to see him or sing with him again when their voices chorded so well
together; and Lancy never misunderstood her, if everyone else did. Yes, it
would be very hard not to be friendly with him; but, there! surely one can
be friendly with a gentleman without being expected to fall in love with
him, and she felt positive that if there were a Prince Charming for her,
his name was not Lancy Gurney.

Having thus decided the matter satisfactorily to herself, she rose and
quickly prepared herself for bed; for several days after she took good care
not to be left alone with Lancy, and she kept him at a distance by her
saucy speeches.

But his manner to her was the same as usual. The tender look in his eyes,
when they met hers, was the only reminder of his words. The knowledge of
his love, too, ceased to annoy her, or it was crowded back by the many
incidents that filled her life at this time; but it was there, ready to
spring up at the slightest touch.




CHAPTER X.


The first day of April dawned brightly. The warm rays of the sun seemed
doubly welcome after the cold, stormy weather of the previous month, and
the streets were filled with people, who were out enjoying the sunshine
regardless of the mud that covered their feet at every step.

But Nova Scotians are a courageous people the whole country over, as
witness the intrepidity with which they walk to and fro, year after year,
through mud that seems in some places almost bottomless; for, strange
though it may seem to outsiders, who cannot expect to learn the secrets of
the learned road commissioners, the more time and money spent on a road the
softer and muddier it seems to become.

It is a fact that can be vouched for by many responsible persons, that
once, while a poor man was walking along one of the country roads in early
spring, he sank so deep in the mire that, on putting forth his strength to
lift his leg, he pulled it apart above the knee, leaving the lower half
sticking in the mud! Fortunately he was carrying a strong cane, and by
leaning upon it he managed to keep upright until help arrived, when he was
rescued from his perilous position. After much difficulty, the imbedded
limb was extracted from the mud, and safely fastened again in its place--it
was made of wood!

But, leaving facts for fiction, let us step into the Sherwood household,
and we will find Mr. Sherwood busy preparing for another trip to Prince
Edward Island.

Mr. Plaisted had arrived from New York a few weeks previously, and was to
accompany him, though the departure of this gentleman would cause no
regrets in the household, for his true nature had been revealed during his
stay amongst them. His bland and courteous manner was not inborn--it had
but a surface character; and if "to know a man you must live in the house
with him," then it took but a short time to become thoroughly acquainted
with Mr. Plaisted. If he had not been so puffed up with conceit, he would
have felt the altered atmosphere around him; but he was not sensitive--not
in the least--and he could stand an unlimited amount of snubbing without
being touched. His familiarity had indeed "bred contempt," and the hope of
his speedy departure alone kept back the threatened storm. Even Nancy in
the kitchen had been heard to say that, "if the scented dandy didn't kape
out ov her kitchen wid his imperdent speeches, she would give him wan blow
wid her fist that would spoil his beauty for him," and threatened to "give
warnin'" if the mistress did not keep him to his own quarters.

Mrs. Sherwood was more than satisfied to leave all unpleasant things for
Aunt Jennie to settle. It was quite convenient to be an "invalid" when
there was trouble below stairs, and it required more than a hint to make
Plaisted see that he was transgressing all rules of hospitality. When Mr.
Sherwood announced that the Straits were opened, and they would leave at
once to catch the first boat, they were all willing to "speed the parting
guest," even though he would take Mr. Sherwood away with him also.

Strange though it may seem, Gussie was the only one who saw no fault to
find in Mr. Plaisted. He was too free with his compliments to be anything
but pleasant company to her. She was willing enough to listen to his soft
speeches, for in her eyes he was a hero of romance, and the warning words
and admonitions of Aunt Jennie only served to exalt him higher in her
estimation.

Dexie treated him with such frigid politeness that he did not care to meet
her cold stare more often than necessary; so, when he sought Gussie's
society, Mr. Sherwood or Aunt Jennie were the only ones likely to interrupt
the _tete-a-tete_.

But things were not always to run so smoothly for Mr. Plaisted, and this
first day of April brought such discomfiture that his fastidious feelings
were very much upset. About noon, when the streets were thronged with
pedestrians returning from work or school to the mid-day meal, Dexie
noticed Mr. Plaisted sauntering toward the house, twirling his light cane
and looking as if he thought himself the pink of perfection. But what was
it that was fluttering in the breeze behind him? Some urchin--exasperated,
no doubt, by Plaisted's immaculate appearance--had fastened to his
coat-tails a bunch of dirty rags, and as Dexie watched him from the window,
she was convulsed with laughter as she saw him lift his hat and bow
profoundly to the two Desbrasy girls on the opposite sidewalk, who
immediately pulled out their handkerchiefs and applied them to their
faces; but he walked on, unconscious of the diversion he was causing to the
passers-by. As he came into the house, Dexie struck an attitude, and
exclaimed, in a tragic voice, "I could a tale unfold!"

Plaisted stood in the doorway, and looked at her in amazement.

"Dexie, don't be a fool," said Gussie, looking up from her wools, and
frowning at her sister's strange behavior.

"No, Gussie; I don't intend even to _try_ and be one, for when Mr. Plaisted
assumes that character, no one else has a possible chance either as court
fool or April fool."

Plaisted was too surprised to speak, and Dexie took no heed to his
darkening brow, but continued, "So _you_ have been studying Shakespeare,
and this is a practical illustration, I presume; or possibly you are posing
as a disciple of Darwin, and, to prove his theory, have unfolded your tail
to the public gaze. I have often wondered what it was you needed to make
you a perfect specimen of what Nature intended you to be." Then, catching
his arm, she turned him about that Gussie might see, adding, "He is quite
complete now, Gussie--see! This is a specimen of the species known as the
'missing link.'"

"For goodness' sake! how long have you been carrying that?" cried Gussie,
quite horrified at the sight.

Plaisted turned his head, and understood at a glance the meaning of Dexie's
words. Then, angrily grasping the cause of offence, he endeavored to remove
it, till an ominous sound of tearing cloth caused him to desist.

"Take it off! take it off! You, Dexter!" he cried, backing around to her.
"Take off that trash, I say!"

But that word "Dexter" sealed all chance of help as far as Dexie was
concerned, for she put her hands behind her back and surveyed him
scornfully.

"Not I! I wouldn't disfigure you for worlds; it quite completes your
appearance. It would be a sin to remove what Nature seems to have forgotten
in your make-up."

"Do take it off for him, Dexie," said Gussie, coaxingly. I would myself,
only I don't want to dirty my hands."

"And do you think that _Dexter_ is going to soil her beautiful hands by
touching the dirty rags? No; Dexter is not! There might be smallpox on them
for all I know; I'm sure they're spotted enough."

Plaisted turned and twisted himself this way and that, in vain endeavors to
reach the back of his coat, but could not manage it; and as he stood for a
minute, his hands held out in front of him, while he looked over his
shoulder at the unwelcome appendage, he did indeed present a woful figure.

"Why don't you take your coat off?" Gussie said at last.

"Oh! confound it; I never thought of that," as he twisted himself out of
his coat.

"Why, of course you didn't think of it," retorted Dexie. "How could you be
expected to? Everybody knows that creatures with tails are not supposed to
think at all."

"Dexie, I'll tell papa if you won't stop; you are impudent," Gussie said,
sharply.

"Do tell papa, Gussie. I only wish he were here to see the sight himself.
He does not know what he is missing by being late for dinner. It is too bad
that he must get the story second-hand, when he might have enjoyed the
edifying sight himself if he had only been on time."

"I'd like to see the wretch that put that trash on my coat," said Plaisted,
as he flung the mass into the grate. "By George! I'd fix him."

"I'd give a lot to see him myself," said Dexie, exultingly, from the other
side of the table; "and he should have at least a quarter for that piece of
work, though I'm sure it was worth a whole dollar to see you strutting up
the street with signals of distress waving in the breeze behind you. Ha,
ha!"

"I believe you did it yourself before I went out," he said, white with
rage.

"Oh! I do wish I had! How I do wish I had thought of it! How proud I should
feel if _I_ had been the one to give the citizens of Halifax such a grand
idea of what the lost species are like; and how generous of you, too, to
give a free exhibition of yourself, in your proper form, when you might
have gone to the dime museum and earned a fortune!"

Plaisted felt too wrathy to reply, but he gave her a look that was meant to
annihilate her; then turning to Gussie, who seemed to sympathize with him,
said,

"I met those Desbrasy girls as I was coming up the street, and I do believe
they saw it. Confound the thing! I remember now that they pulled out their
handkerchiefs directly I bowed. I daresay they were laughing at me!"

"Laughing! not they!" put in Dexie. "They happened to see your feet, and
were weeping with envy because theirs were so much bigger! Don't fret, Mr.
Plaisted, you are not worth looking at without this finishing touch," and
with a scornful laugh she passed out of the room, slamming the door behind
her.

Plaisted drew a sigh of relief when his tormentor vanished.

"Bless my soul! what a tongue that girl has," and he wiped the perspiration
from his brow. "I hope she don't often let her temper loose like that."

"Well, no; but you have only yourself to blame for it, and I was almost
going to say that it serves you right, too."

"Why! how's that?" said Plaisted, in surprise.

"Well, you know very well that you have tormented Dexie about Lancy Gurney
till you have aroused her temper quite often; but you might have escaped if
you had not insulted her just now."

"Insult her! How, pray? I'm sure I did not."

"You called her 'Dexter,' and that is a name she can't stand from anybody.
I believe she would have taken off those rags for you if you had spoken to
her as 'Dexie,' for she really is obliging, you know, though she did enjoy
seeing you made an April fool."

"Bless my soul! I never noticed that I called her Dexter; and so that was
the spark that caused the explosion? Well, I shall not forget it in a
hurry."

"She generally succeeds in paying back, with double interest, anyone who
uses that name to her, as I know to my sorrow," said Gussie, with a shake
of her head. "Yet, after all, I don't blame her much, either; but it is the
one spot in her make-up that seems vulnerable."

"Well, it is a good thing that I am going away so soon. I expect she will
make it hot for me while I am here."

"Oh, no! I guess you are safe, Mr. Plaisted. The storm is over for this
time, unless you care to brew another like it; the one word will do it, you
know," and she looked up with a smile.

"Thanks; I beg to be excused! That one experience is enough to last me for
one while. Ugh! I wonder if there was any disease on those dirty rags,"
looking at his fingers and then on his coat, as if in doubt which would be
the first to break out with it.

As he left the room to smooth out his ruffled plumage, holding his coat at
arm's length before him, the sounds of laughter in the next room greeted
his ears. As he listened a moment he heard Dexie relating the particulars
of the scene in the parlor, and he shook his fist in the direction of the
sound. This relieved his feelings somewhat, and he vowed a hasty vow that,
for the future, he would leave Dexie Sherwood and her doings alone. He
would have spared himself many unpleasant moments if he had kept his vow.

During the time that Mr. Plaisted was staying with the Sherwoods, Gussie
had been very cool to Hugh McNeil. As the former was about to leave the
city, Gussie thought it time to recall her old "stand-by," and was
surprised to find that Hugh was less ready to return to her side than
formerly. A feeling of jealousy arose in her heart when she saw that Hugh's
attentions were transferred to Dexie.

Hugh had not ceased to come in during the evenings, as usual, even though
Gussie was cool and abrupt with him. Not wishing Hugh to feel hurt by the
change in her sister, Dexie had talked to him, and had played and whistled
for his amusement, till the little spark of kindly regard which had
formerly represented his feelings for Dexie was fast being fanned into a
flame of passion by these little attentions, which were bestowed in a
friendly way, and for her sister's sake.

Dexie was not aware of the change in Hugh McNeil until Mr. Plaisted had
left the city, and she was surprised and displeased to see that Hugh now
ignored Gussie's presence almost as much as Gussie had his when Mr.
Plaisted was near, and turned to her instead.

It was hard to define her true feelings, but when she understood that Hugh
had mistaken her friendliness, her whole being seemed to rise up in a
vigorous protest. As it is "an ill wind that blows nobody good," Lancy was
made happy again by Dexie's presence. She no longer sought to evade him,
and her soft, rippling laughter, mingling with the low tones of Lancy's
voice, was again heard as they lingered over the piano together.

This made Hugh mad with jealousy, and the fact became so plain to Dexie
that her manner was even more gracious to Lancy when Hugh was by to observe
it.

But Hugh's sturdy Scotch nature came to the front, and he made a mental
resolve to win her in spite of everything; even his master's son should not
take Dexie from him. He would wait, but would not vex her by pressing his
suit at present when it seemed so distasteful to her; she might smile on
someone else instead of Lancy, then he could watch her less easily. He
would not meddle with the existing state of things.

Yet he had one bit of comfort given him. He it was who hastily appeared in
the Sherwood household one morning with the startling intelligence of the
assassination of President Lincoln.

The events "at home" were closely watched by all the family, and this
unexpected calamity, just at this time, was as much of a blow to them as to
those nearer the scene of strife.

Hugh had always been "Mr. McNeil" to Dexie. She had never used the more
familiar name, as the rest of the family were in the habit of doing; but
when she heard him tell his news, she caught his arm, and exclaimed:

"Oh, Hugh! do you think it is true, or only a report? Tell us, quickly!"
and she looked eagerly into his face, as if to read the truth there.

Hugh longed to clasp the hand that rested on his arm for a moment, for
during all their intercourse she had never called him "Hugh," and it
thrilled his heart as it fell from her lips. He wished that he might be the
bearer of any news, however unwelcome, if it would cause her to forget her
reserve and repeat again that little word "Hugh."

But nothing happened, and matters went on about the same during the weeks
that followed.

Mr. Sherwood did not return home for some time, for, after selling his
horses, he made a lengthy visit to his mother, who was not in the best of
spirits at this time. She was alarmed at his boldness in coming to see her,
though he assured her he had taken all precaution, her old enemies need not
hear of his presence. His visit so cheered her that he saw she needed
something to take her thoughts away from herself, and from the conflict
that engaged her mind.

Having expressed a desire to have one of her granddaughters come and live
with her for a season, and having a preference for Louie, who seemed to be
a part of the dear old southern home whose name she bore, it was decided
that Mr. Sherwood should bring her to the old homestead for a long visit.

Dinah had been sorely missed by her mistress, though she was slow to
acknowledge it; but, at Mr. Sherwood's suggestion, it was decided to bring
her back with Louie, that the faithful old nurse might spend her last days
with those she had known and loved all her life.




CHAPTER XI.


The influence which a family like the Gurneys unconsciously exert over
those brought in contact with them, was not without effect on the lives of
their next door neighbors. As Dexie was so intimate with the family, and
spent so much of her time amongst them, she was the first to feel it, and
the controlling power which governed the Gurney household was finding root
in her heart also. She did not realize this herself, but the signs were
apparent to those accustomed to look below the surface for the motive that
governs all actions.

Aunt Jennie saw more of Dexie's inner life than did her own parents. To
them she seemed the same good-natured, light-hearted girl, growing,
perhaps, a little more thoughtful and attentive than they could have
expected, considering her active nature; yet, if they had thought to
compare even the Sunday life of the household with what it had been when
they first came to Halifax, they would have been surprised at the change in
themselves.

Formerly it was the custom to spend the greater part of the Sabbath morning
in bed, and, after a late breakfast, Mr. Sherwood read the American papers
until dinner was served. In the evening a walk was indulged in, or, if a
popular preacher was announced to appear in any of the churches, he would
attend, taking some member of the family with him; but it was seldom that
Mrs. Sherwood attended public worship. As the head of the house passed the
Sabbaths in this careless fashion, the rest of the household felt free to
spend it as it pleased themselves also.

No one seemed to hold the day any more sacred than the other six, except
Aunt Jennie; but as Dexie came to note the difference in the Sunday life of
her next-door neighbors, and mentally compared it with how the day was
spent at home, she inwardly resented the feelings that would intrude
themselves, for they pointed out the fact quite plainly that there was
something needed in their lives at home which was engrafted in the
household next door; and, though she scarcely knew what to do to remedy a
difference she did not care to define even to herself, yet she silently
resolved that an outward form at least, similar to what she saw next door,
should yet be practised at home, for she could not bear the silent reproach
any longer.

When Dexie opened her heart to Aunt Jennie about it, she found that the
same thing had troubled her quiet auntie for a long time; so together they
laid plans that eventually brought about a different Sunday life from that
the family had hitherto known. Yet the change began in a very commonplace
way, too; for instead of enjoying the extra sleep that the family usually
indulged in, they were aroused one Sunday morning by repeated calls to
breakfast--calls which were hard to resist when the opened doors let in
such appetizing odors from the kitchen, where Aunt Jennie was
superintending the morning meal. And if their olfactories were closed to
this appeal, their ears were not so easily shut to the sounds that Dexie
was bringing forth from the piano, as hymns, anthems and psalms followed in
succession, and made further sleep impossible.

"What has got into you all this morning? Have you forgotten it is Sunday?"
said Mr. Sherwood, appearing at last. "How can anyone sleep with all this
racket going on, Dexie?" he added, stepping into the parlor. "What on earth
made you rout us out of bed at this hour? Why, it is not nine o'clock yet!"

"Oh! you slept long enough papa. I am sure we don't need more sleep on
Sunday morning than we do any other day. You'll not be sorry you got up
when once you have tasted some of the good things auntie has made for
breakfast," and she raised her mouth for a kiss, then led him to the table.

Gussie made her appearance in time to sit down with the rest, but she
looked cross at Dexie for having disturbed her.

"This is the first Sunday morning we have all met at the breakfast table
for months, I do believe," said Mr. Sherwood, leaning back in his chair, as
he finished the meal. "But where are the papers this morning? What! still
in the office? However am I going to pass the day without my papers?
Strange that no one thought of going for them last night."

Someone had thought of it, but had purposely forgotten again, hoping that
he might be induced to attend some place of worship in the morning, if for
no better reason than to pass the time away.

The Gurneys were members of the Episcopal Church and attended at St.
Paul's. Dexie had often accompanied them on Sundays, and had grown familiar
with the service that was, in after-life, so dear to her; but, knowing that
her father disliked that form of worship, she intended to persuade him to
attend St. Matthew's (Presbyterian), as she knew he had a great respect for
the officiating clergyman.

"Well, papa, since the time will seem long to you with nothing particular
to do, why not come with Gussie and I to hear Dr. Grant? They have a fine
choir at St. Matthew's; so we will be sure to enjoy either the sermon or
the singing, if not both."

"Oh, I'm not going out this morning, Dexie, so speak for yourself," said
Gussie. "It is a horrid bother to dress up so early in the day. I have a
nice book to read, so, if you want to go out, you can go with the Gurneys,
as usual."

"But I would rather go some place with papa," said Dexie; "and it will be
nicer to make a family party of it. Besides, I want to hear what the new
singer is like, and of course I can't go alone. You remember Cora Beverly
was talking about her, and says she has the sweetest voice she ever heard.
You will come with us, won't you, papa?" she asked, coaxingly, as she went
behind his chair and stroked his hair.

"Well, I'll see, by and by," Mr. Sherwood replied. "I may go with you this
evening, though."

"Now, papa, what will prevent you from coming this morning? I do think you
will be most unkind if you refuse, for I have set my heart on hearing that
singer. Now, do say 'yes,' papa."

"Well, you little torment, yes, then! Now, leave my hair alone, or you'll
have my head as bald as the back of my hand," holding her away at
arm's-length.

Dexie bent over and gave him a final kiss; then, turning to Gussie, said:

"Did you see how nicely I have done up your frills and laces, Gussie? That
pretty cream lace will look lovely with your new dress, if you frill it
around the neck."

"New dress, indeed! Old made over thing, you'd better call it!" was the
scornful answer.

"Well, it is too bad that it was not made up to suit you at first. Now that
it has been altered, it looks quite stylish, and becomes you splendidly,
and this is just the day to wear your new hat."

This bit of flattery had the desired effect. Gussie decided that it really
was too fine to stay indoors, so she rose from the table to begin her
preparations for church.

"Seems to me you have taken to psalm-singing very suddenly," said Gussie,
as Dexie accompanied her preparations with some song of David that was
unfamiliar to Gussie's ears.

"Oh, no! they sing psalms every Sunday at the Episcopal Church," and Dexie
hummed away with a light heart.

"But not to such tunes as that! They go hopping along on one note, like a
hen with a sore foot, and then end up altogether differently from what you
expect. Chanting is not singing, and I think it sounds ridiculous."

"Well, a hen with a sore foot would sing a mournful song, I fear; but if
you would come to St. Paul's some morning and hear them sing the _Te Deum_,
you would not think there was anything mournful about it. It sounds just
glorious! Everyone might not think so," she added, noting her sister's
scornful look; "but everyone does not admire psalm-singing after the
Presbyterian style, either. However, chant, psalm or hymn, it's all one to
me so long as I know the tunes, for I hate to stand as dumb as a post when
I go to a place of worship. Some people are content to have nothing more to
do in the service than say 'Amen' at the close of the benediction, but I
think a responsive service claims the attention of careless churchgoers,
and gives people something else to think of besides the style of the
garments of those around them."

"Well, I enjoy looking at the styles when I go to church, and I hope people
will think my hat is becoming," said outspoken Gussie; "I believe other
people put on their fine feathers on Sunday with the same object. However,
I do believe that an ugly hat is as conspicuous as a handsome one."

"Well, I suppose it is! I wonder if there is such a thing as a 'happy
medium' in trimming a hat. Dear me! what a lot of things a person has to
think of in this world!" and with a sigh she followed her sister
downstairs.

Aunt Jennie watched them depart with a prayer in her heart that some
message might reach the heart of her careless brother-in-law, and she
seemed to have had her prayer answered, for he was willing enough to attend
the same church the following Sunday.

But Gussie was not attracted either by the sermon or the singing. Something
else had to be the attraction to draw her out of a Sunday morning, unless
she was urged with a persistency that would have moved a mule in the
tantrums.

But when Mrs. Sherwood announced, one Sunday morning, that she would
accompany the rest to church, Dexie felt that her happiness was complete.
She knew it was owing to Aunt Jennie's influence that her mother had put
forth this extra exertion, and though it was Sunday, Dexie felt like
dancing a jig around the floor, for her mother had become even more
indifferent than her easy-going father in matters pertaining to religion.

In the Gurney household there was no day in the week so gladly welcomed as
the Sabbath, and of a family containing so many young children this is no
light thing to say.

In the first place, the little ones were so anxious not to lose any of the
many extra treats that this glad day afforded them, that they put on their
best behavior with their Sunday garments--and where is the person, little
or big, that does not feel more important in his best clothes, and act
accordingly.

Then instead of having breakfast in the nursery, with nurse at the head of
the table, the family met around the one table, below stairs; and to the
little ones this was a treat indeed. Having the children around him only
one day in seven made it quite a change for Mr. Gurney also, though it
wearied while it delighted him; and each succeeding Sunday he more fully
realized the blessing he possessed in his good wife, for he had none of
that patience and tact that is required to keep such a family in order.

Then on fine Sundays all the children went to church, except the two
youngest, and the advent of a new member in the family was hailed with
delight by one of the family at least; for of course a baby, however new,
counted one, and it was warmly welcomed by the one who was thus raised to
the dignity of a church-goer.

We must not forget the treat that was reserved for Sunday afternoons, for
directly after Sunday-school there was sure to be in readiness for each
member of the family a plate containing what the children called "goodies."
This was a mixture of confectionery, dates or figs, apples, nuts, pears or
oranges, or other fruits as the season might be. As Dexie Sherwood was
expected to spend this part of the day with the family, her plate was
regularly prepared with the rest; and until the time that Lancy had made
known his feelings for her, Dexie had enjoyed the _tete-a-tete_ which he
always managed to arrange in some quiet corner. Even now she was not always
able to avoid it, without being positively rude, for she could not make
Elsie see that her presence was necessary when Lancy managed to give his
sister the impression that it was otherwise; it was quite clear that Mother
Gurney saw nothing amiss in Lancy's desire to take Dexie "somewhere out of
the noise," for the little ones made much of their Sunday freedom.

It was during one of these Sunday afternoon chats that a better
understanding was arrived at between Lancy and Dexie. They were sitting in
the parlor, with a screen drawn between them and any chance observer, their
plates on a small table near them, when Dexie playfully tossed over a piece
of confectionery bearing the words, "You look unhappy."

Lancy looked up with such a tender look in his eyes that Dexie instantly
repented her action, but it was too late, and she dropped her eyes to read
the sweet messenger that fell in her lap, "You have my heart."

Dexie had no answer except, "Do forgive me," and she tossed it over with a
look in her eyes that filled Lancy with an unutterable longing to take her
in his arms.

"What shall I forgive you for?" he said, laying his hand on hers. "I am not
unhappy, only when I see how you try to avoid me. I have kept my promise,
and have not spoken a word that could annoy you. Why do you try never to be
alone with me? It is hard to forgive you for that," he said, in a low tone.

"I did not mean anything by those silly candies; I was only in fun."

"Then you don't want to be forgiven, is that it? or do you mean that you
are going to be good to me in the future?"

"I don't know what 'being good' implies, so I won't promise," she replied,
smiling.

"It means that you will not act as if you were afraid to be alone with me a
minute, and to talk to me as freely as you did before, well--before that
snowstorm. You have never put your hand on my shoulder, and asked me to
take you any place since then. You don't know how I miss the pleasant hours
we used to spend together, or the delight I felt in the pressure of the
hand that has never willingly touched mine since I spoke to you here in the
parlor. The Dexie I knew a few weeks ago seems to have gone away, and I
miss her very much, indeed."

"I can't be the same as I used to be, Lancy. Something is different, and
I'm so afraid someone will make remarks about us if we are so much together
as we used to be."

"What kind of remarks? tell me, Dexie. Something we would be ashamed to
hear?" and he smiled into her distressed face.

"You know what I mean very well, Lancy, and I couldn't bear it."

"Did you ever hear any remarks before--before that snowstorm?"

"No! I never thought there was anything to make remarks about, but I have
been looking at things differently lately."

"In what way, Dexie? Do tell me?" and he caught her hands in a firm clasp.

"Don't, Lancy! Please stop! There has been enough said and done already to
make people talk if they knew about it."

"Only a few words, and one little kiss, that was all, Dexie. If the thought
of what people might say keeps us apart, you are very foolish, for if we
were never to speak to each other again we would be accused of having had a
'lover's quarrel,' so don't keep me at a distance any longer on that
account. You are making us both miserable for nothing; for I don't believe
you are enjoying yourself a bit under the new rule that you have set up.
Confess now, are you? honor bright, Dexie?" and he looked eagerly into her
eyes.

"Well, no, Lancy," and she looked up with a smile. "It isn't quite so nice
as it used to be, and I have stayed home several times when I wanted to go
out. I am not shy, naturally, you know, and I would have asked for your
escort if there had not been reasons to prevent me. Hugh has been very
anxious to show his gallantry, but nothing would tempt me to go three steps
with that big Frenchman."

"Well, I wish Hugh could hear you say that, Dexie, for I was beginning to
feel jealous. He talks so much about you I was afraid he had entered the
lists against me."

"Lancy, what nonsense you talk! Hugh is Gussie's particular property. What
made you fancy that I had stepped into her shoes?"

"Nothing that need vex you, Dexie, so don't frown; but he told me in
confidence, you know, that you were--but there; it was in confidence, so I
won't repeat what he said. I know he cares more for you than for Gussie,
and the fact don't please me very well."

Dexie was silent for some minutes. The remembrance of certain looks and
speeches that Hugh had lately addressed to her were now explained; he
thought she had quarrelled with Lancy, and he was anxious to take Lancy's
place. She lifted her eyes, saying:

"Hugh shall have no chance to think any such a thing. But I know how it has
happened. Gussie had no eyes for anyone else while that Plaisted was here,
so I had to entertain Hugh occasionally; but dear me! how soft he must be,
if my foolish songs have turned his brain."

And then, looking shyly into his eyes, she added, "I won't run away from
you any more, Lancy. We will go back to our old ways, but don't talk any
more nonsense to me, and we will be chums again. Is it a bargain, Lancy?"

Lancy bent nearer to the curly head that was bent to hide her blushing
face, then, seizing her hands, held her close as he whispered, in a tender
voice:

"That's my Dexie back again! I won't annoy you with words, but you know
what my feelings are for you all the same. Now, seal the bargain, Dexie,"
and he turned her face to his.

Well, the perversity of girls! is there anything equal to it? Must it
really be confessed that the girl who thought that one little stolen kiss
was worth crying over should raise her pretty mouth to receive a much
longer caress; yes, and enjoy it, too! But there! come to think of it, that
first kiss in the parlor was a one-sided affair, reluctantly received; and
a one-sided kiss is like--is like--well, whatever is it like? We give it
up!




CHAPTER XII.


Returning home by way of Eastport, Mr. Sherwood took passage in a vessel
bound for Londonderry, a small seaport on the Bay of Fundy, and from there
he travelled by stage to Truro, where he took the train for Halifax.

While on the train an incident took place which, while affording amusement
for the passengers, led to after-results that were quite surprising to the
Sherwoods.

It seems that a countryman, hailing from Prince Edward Island, had
accompanied the vessel in which he had shipped the surplus oats and
potatoes that had grown on his farm, and the vessel had arrived in Halifax
a few days previously. This being his first trip "abroad," he had
determined to see all the sights which the city of Halifax afforded while
he waited for the vessel to discharge her cargo and prepare for the return
trip to Charlottetown.

His innocent air soon attracted the attention of some sharpers, or
"confidence men," as they would have been termed in a later day, and
thinking he had met the "gentry for shure" in the well-dressed scamps that
were so friendly to him, the countryman willingly accompanied them to an
uptown resort, where he was treated to drugged liquor, and then robbed of
the tidy sum that the sale of his produce had brought him. Then, adding
insult to injury, they had taken him to the depot, and, placing a ticket
for Truro in his hatband, they put him on board the cars and left him to
his fate.

He was put off the train at Truro in a dazed condition, and passed the
night in some out-of-the-way corner of the freight house, where he slept
off the effect of the liquor.

His alarm and astonishment when he came to himself and found he was alone
and in a strange place, and with empty pockets, was both painful and
ludicrous to witness. His distress seemed all the greater in that he had
not the faintest idea where he was or how to get back to his vessel waiting
alongside the wharf in Halifax.

It took some time to make his story understood, but when it became known to
the men about the depot they gave him a good breakfast, and determined to
get him "dead-headed" to the city, as the farmer felt sure he could easily
find the thieves and recover his money if he once got back to Halifax. He
had never seen a train of cars in his life, being too drunk the night
before to know how he was travelling; so when the train steamed into the
depot next morning, after announcing its approach by ear-splitting shrieks,
he dropped out of sight behind a pile of boxes, thinking that some wild
creature was let loose upon the streets. Before he could collect his
scattered senses he was seized by strong hands and stowed away in a corner
of a freight car, where, upon bags of potatoes, he was told to "sit down
and keep out of sight." For the first few miles he literally obeyed the
injunction, for he shook and trembled with fright, and with every shriek of
the engine he ducked his head, thinking his very life was in danger; but as
time went by and he still found himself whole and uninjured, he took
courage, and sat up and looked about him as well as the dim and close car
would permit. By and by the motion of the car caused the door to slide open
a few inches, for, fortunately or unfortunately, the door had been left
unlocked, so he crawled cautiously forward and peered through the opening,
wondering greatly at the frightful speed of the "animal" that was drawing
them along, but he concluded that it was "michty encouragin'," for at the
pace they were going he would soon be within reach of the rascals who had
emptied his pockets.

Not content to let well enough alone, he disregarded the injunction given
him to "stay there," and when the train stopped for a few minutes at
Shubenacadie, a station on the line, he stepped out on the platform to have
a look about him; but not being quick or daring enough to step back on the
moving train, he came very near losing his ride.

Fortunately, one of the train hands who had befriended him at first, saw
him as the train moved along, and pulled him aboard the second-class car as
it passed them.

Having previously been stowed away among the freight, he had no idea of the
accommodation for travellers behind him, and the sight of so many people,
sitting quietly on the seats, filled him with awe.

But the good-natured brakeman now drew him inside the car, intending to
place his wandering friend back into his former quarters as soon as the
train stopped at the next station.

When the eyes of the countryman had taken in the scene, the thought
immediately suggested itself that this must be some sort of a meeting-house
or chapel that was travelling along.

He stood for a few minutes regarding the people before him; then turning a
solemn face to the brakeman asked, in a properly subdued voice, as became
the situation:

"Is there preachin' here the day?"

Not comprehending the meaning of this question, but thinking the countryman
meditated a religious attack on those who were present, the brakeman
replied:

"Not to-day; these are good Catholics."

"Ye dinna tell me!" and his eyes and mouth expanded in surprise. "An' are
they repeatin' their prayers?" he innocently asked.

"Oh, yes, everyone of them," was the reply.

"Then let me oot o' this!" he cried, reaching for the door. "It's to
Halifax I want to go, so open the door an' let me oot o' this."

"There! sit down and be quiet, or you'll get put out fast enough," replied
the brakeman, giving the man a shove into the seat. "You sit still where
you are, mind, or you'll get into trouble," he added, as he turned to
attend to his duties outside.

Here was his chance. Our friend from the country felt that he was in
trouble already. He had no intention of joining the worshippers, for he was
a member of the good old Scotch Kirk; so he opened the car-door, and
stepped out to the platform outside.

The swift, sidelong jerks almost took him off his feet. Grasping the
hand-rail, and looking around for some means of escape, he cautiously
stepped across into the better furnished first-class car behind.

"Bless me, but I'm in luck!" was his inward comment, as he beheld the
comfortable seats. Taking the first empty one, he sank down on the cushions
with evident delight shining from his eyes at his blissful surroundings.

But the argus-eyed conductor soon spied him, and not recognizing him as a
ticket-holder, swooped down upon him at once.

"Your ticket, sir."

"The same to yersel', ma frien'!" was the courteous reply, thinking this
some new form of salutation.

"Here! no nonsense! where's your ticket? let's see where you're going."

"Weel, sir, I'm hopin' to get to Halifax some time 'fore long. We seem to
be gaun as the craws flee, so nae doot we'll soon get there. Does
this--er--buildin'--stop there for victuals or--or onythin'?"

The conductor, thinking him out of his mind, said more mildly:

"Who came with you? Who is looking after you aboard the cars?"

"Oh! a nice young chiel yonder; but he left me alane there, so I stepped
oot withoot his kennin' an' popped in here."

"Ah, yes; just so. I've no doubt there is a spare room in one of the public
institutions awaiting you. What sort of a looking man has you in charge?"

"Oh! he's a clever young chiel, wi' a door-plate on his bonnet; the sexton,
I tak' it."

Not making much out of this information, the conductor left him to make
inquiries ahead, tapping his forehead significantly to some passengers
near, who had overheard the conversation, and who, as soon as the conductor
was out of sight, began to question the "harmless lunatic."

His answers to their inquiries were not more clear than those the conductor
had elicited, and Mr. Sherwood, who sat a few seats behind, becoming
indignant at the rude jokes that were being made at the expense of the
unfortunate man, stepped forward to interfere.

Surely he had seen the man before. He gazed at the man's distressed face,
but could not place him.

"What's the trouble, my friend?" he asked, sitting down in the seat behind
and leaning over to speak to him.

"I'm shure I dinna ken, sir, at a', at a'. There's a mistak' afloat
somewhere. I never was in sic a fix afore. This is a queer kintry, I tak'
it."

"Where are you from?"

That question set him on the right track at once. He could tell his story
if once he started at the beginning, though he found it impossible to make
these strangers comprehend his present dilemma; so beginning from the time
he left his own dooryard with the last cartload of potatoes, he gave them a
detailed account of his wanderings up to the time when he met the fine
young gentlemen in Halifax. But he had no idea how he got to Truro; that
was all a blank to him. When Mr. Sherwood explained that the train on which
he was riding was a public conveyance which went back and forth daily to
carry passengers and freight, he could scarcely believe it. His own
explanation seemed the more plausible, for did it not agree with what the
young sexton told him? He had been befooled once too often to listen to the
many explanations of those around him.

But the conductor now appeared, having found out all there was to tell
about the man, and feeling annoyed at his mistake, now demanded of the
countryman either his ticket or his fare, and threatened to put him off the
train at the next station if he did not produce either the one or the
other.

"But, ma guid man, I haena a copper aboot me, or it's wullin' enough I'd be
to gie ye a shullin' or so for this fine drive."

"Well, off you get then the next time we stop."

"But shurely ye wadna be pittin' a puir man oot o' yer waggon, or chapel,
or whatever ye ca' it, whan there's sae mony empty pews? I'm no croodin'
onyane, an' I'm wullin' enough to sit onywhere."

"We don't take people on the cars for nothing," said the conductor,
decidedly. "If you can't pay, you can't ride."

"Weel, it's the rich anes that's aye the stingiest, shure enough," replied
the man, more to himself than to the brass-buttoned figure before him. "But
ye widna fin' the like o' yersel' owre in ma kintry, let me tell ye! The
puirest farmer widna refuse to gie a stranger a lift if he was gaun the
same way as himsel', even if it was only a kairt that he had, an' it loaded
to the brim."

"Can't help it," replied he of the buttons, with a grin. "Off you get at
the next station, or we'll put you off without ceremony."

"But I'll no gang aff, if I may be sae bold as to tell ye!" said the now
angry farmer. "Ye took me to Truro against ma wull, for why did I want to
gang to a place that I never heard o' afore; so, then, ye'll tak' me back
to Halifax again, wullin' or no, an' whan I get my money back I'll sen' ye
the price o' the drive. If ye think I'm croodin' the gentlemen, I'll gang
oot an' sit on the steps o' yer backdoor, but, guidness only kens! there
seems room enough in these empty pews for a dizzen o' ma size."

"Here, conductor, I'll pay the man's fare," said Mr. Sherwood, who had
listened to the conversation with ill-concealed amusement.

This being satisfactory to the conductor, the man was allowed to keep his
seat in peace, and, engaging him in conversation, Mr. Sherwood discovered
that he had been the guest of the man's brother during one of his trips to
Prince Edward Island. His home was on the north side of the island, and the
farm of Roderick McDonald was well known as one of the best-paying places
on the "Garden of the St. Lawrence."

On finding that the man beside him was the Yankee horse-buyer, Mr. McDonald
rose and shook his hand with a warmth that showed his pleasure at the
meeting.

This unexpected kindness from one whom he had learned to consider as a man
of unlimited means and unusual smartness, quite set him up in his own
estimation.

He began to feel quite elated at his present position, and felt himself a
hero as he related to the attentive strangers the many strange things he
had seen since he left home, quite ignoring the fact that some of his
listeners might have been "abroad" as well as himself.

But it was impossible to put a damper on this loquacious countryman, even
though he loudly set forth his own ignorance.

"Oh! but I'm a great traveller!" said he. "There's nae kennin' hoo mony
miles I've travelled since I left ma hame on the north side o' the Islan'!
Let's see; it's thirty miles frae there to the toon, an' it tak's a hale
day to cover the distance wi' a loaded kairt o' tawties, let me tell ye!
Then, whan we were snug aboard the vessel, guidness only kens hoo mony
miles we went afore we cam' fornenst the city o' Halifax, for we were three
days on the michty ocean, at the mercy o' ony storm that micht come alang
unawares. Yes, indeed, an' we travelled alang through the dark nicht as
weel, they tell me, though that I'm no prepared to say, seem' that I was
fast asleep in the hold," and he looked around to see if any of his hearers
doubted his word. "Then, whan we got to the wharf in Halifax, an' I selt ma
tawties an' oats, I cam' ashore an' tramped the streets o' Halifax, up hill
an' doon dale, till ma new buits are a' worn oot behin', as ye can see for
yersel's," and he lifted up his feet, one after the other, that the truth
of his words might be verified; then continuing: "It was whan the thiefin'
scoon'rels met me an' made ma acquaintance that I gaed wrang; but I never
suspected they'd start me on ma travels again, an' withoot ma kennin',
tae--ay, an' sen' me aff withoot as muckle as a copper in ma pocket, at a',
at a'! no even as muckle as wad buy me a bit o' breakfast, which the guid
folk at Truro gied me for naethin', an', if it hadna been for them, I don't
think I wad ever hae been able to fin' ma way back to ma hame on the farm.
But here I am, richt amang the gentlemen an' ladies, travellin' alang like
the Queen hersel' micht be prood to dae. Ay, but it's a long story I'll hae
to tell them at hame whan ainst I get back to ma ain kintry again, an' it's
themsel's that'll be dum'foon'ert to hear me tell aboot the mony kinds o'
folk ain meets whan they gang abroad!"

"Have you met any naked savages since you left your distant country?" asked
one of the sports, with a wink at his comrade.

"Naked savages, is't, you mean? Ay, that I hae, or nearly naked anes," was
the quick reply. "On the streets o' Halifax, sir, near the wharves, sir,
that's whaur ye'll come across them, but, dae ye ken noo, I aye thocht
that savages were black, made sae I mean whan they were born into this
worl'. But, dae ye min', it's masel' thinks that some o' them could be made
white, if only ane had soap an' water enough to dae't. No that I didna see
ony black savages roamin' roon' as weel; but maist o' them had some
claithes on, like decent Christian folk. Some hadna come to that knowledge
yet; but the nakedness o' black skinned savages isna sae noticin' as that
o' white savages, I tak' it."

A hearty laugh followed this last remark, and the conversation became
general, until the train arrived in Halifax.

Mr. Sherwood took the countryman to the police headquarters at once, where
the story of the theft was told at length, and as he could give a good
description of the men who had robbed him it was thought that they might be
captured.

As Mr. Sherwood had received such kind treatment from the man's relations
in Prince Edward Island, he thought it but fair to repay it by looking
after the farmer during the rest of his stay in the city.

To satisfy the man that the vessel had not sailed during his absence he
took him down to the wharf, and, after explaining to the captain the cause
of his detention, Mr. Sherwood insisted on taking him up to visit his own
family.

The farmer demurred at this, saying that his clothes were not in a fit
state to visit anywhere.

This fact was evident, but Mr. Sherwood intended to visit a ready-made
clothing store on his way up town, and make his friend presentable.

This was rather a delicate matter to accomplish without wounding the man's
feelings; but the native tact of the Yankee served him well here, and when
the farmer stepped before the large mirror in the back shop of Silver's
clothing store and saw his own reflection, he hardly knew himself.

"But hoo am I ever gaun to repay ye?" he asked. "If I shouldna get ma money
back I'll be in a bad fix."

"Not at all, Mr. McDonald. I'll buy the best horse you have got, if you
will sell him to me, and we can settle this little matter then; but I made
enough on the big black horse I bought from your brother to give you this
suit and still have a good profit besides."

"Weel, ye're an honest man, for ye paid a guid price for the beast, an'
paid it in cash tae."

"Thank you for your good opinion; but in case the police should not find
those rascals before the vessel sails, it will be rather hard on you to
return home with empty pockets, so let me pay you in advance for that
horse."

It was quite a different-looking man that came out of the store a few
minutes later, for he had been refitted from hat to boots, and he looked
the well-to-do farmer to the life, even the well-filled purse was not
lacking, for Mr. Sherwood had given him the horse's value instead of the
modest sum the farmer stated as the selling price of his animal.

The polite store-keeper promised to send the farmer's cast-off garments to
the vessel, and Mr. Sherwood was soon introducing his friend to the members
of his household.

Mr. Sherwood's unexpected arrival made a joyful excitement, and the farmer
mentally resolved that an account of the happy meeting between the Yankee
horse-buyer and his family should be added to the rest of the story he had
to tell when once he arrived home.

When Mr. Sherwood had privately explained to the family the present
position of his new friend, together with the respectability of the family
and the kind treatment he had received from their hands, he was treated as
an honored guest, and Dexie had never been so gracious to the fastidious
Plaisted or treated him with half the courtesy as she now bestowed on the
honest, kind-hearted, though ignorant countryman.

That this kindness was appreciated was quite evident from the satisfaction
that beamed from every wrinkle on his honest face; and when he found
himself seated in the most comfortable chair in the parlor, listening to
the music that Dexie was bringing forth from the piano for his pleasure,
he doubted in his mind if even the Governor himself was as happy and
fortunate as he.

As the vessel was to sail the next day for Charlottetown, he had to leave
the pleasant rooms for closer quarters on board the vessel; but before he
said farewell he exacted a promise that, should any of them ever go to the
Island, they would visit his home on the north shore.

As the vessel was about to leave the wharf Mr. Sherwood appeared,
accompanied by a member of the police force, who gave over to the hand of
the farmer about half the sum which had been stolen from him, and the man
actually felt richer than when the whole amount had lain in his pocket. He
pressed Mr. Sherwood to accept payment for the drive on the train and for
his new suit, but Mr. Sherwood reminded him of the horse he had purchased,
saying:

"Look well after my horse, McDonald, and if you will find out where I can
get some more good animals I will be glad to pay you for the time and
trouble expended in doing so," and with a hearty hand-clasp Mr. Sherwood
stepped ashore.

In a few minutes the vessel's cable was shipped and she slowly passed down
the harbor, bearing on her deck one who had a heart full of gratitude for
kindness shown a stranger in a strange land.




CHAPTER XIII.


Mr. Sherwood's presence at home seemed to infuse new life into the
household, and the following weeks passed very pleasantly to Dexie, for her
father needed her services again, and for that reason she was excused from
much of the endless sewing that seemed necessary in making up Louie's
outfit.

Sewing machines were not so common at that time as to be considered a
necessary household article, and Mrs. Sherwood was slow to take advantage
of the new invention, preferring the use of fingers instead of feet for
articles that required a needle and thread to fashion them; consequently
Louie's wardrobe took some time to set in order.

Dexie was willing enough to change the needle for the more congenial pen
and ink, and Mr. Sherwood insisted that Gussie should put her needle to
more practical use. Now, while Gussie liked well enough to handle a needle
and thread when something showy and fanciful was to be evolved thereby, she
almost rebelled against the plain sewing, it was such dull, uninteresting
work; it made so much difference if the sharp little instrument held Berlin
wool, floss, etc., or the common cotton thread, which, though so useful,
was too prosaic to suit Gussie.

Do not let this convey the idea that the time was all spent indoors, at
some employment or other, for never were outings so frequently enjoyed.
There were excursions down the coast to Cow Bay, and picnics to various
points of interest, which, in the vicinity of Halifax, are innumerable and
within easy-reaching distance to dwellers in the city.

Mr. Gurney owned a small boat which carried a sail, but there were plenty
of willing hands to row it when the wind failed, and before the summer was
over, Dexie could handle an oar with the dexterity that only practice can
give.

It was very pleasant of a warm summer evening to glide along the waters of
Bedford Basin, through which the boat cut her way as if through molten
silver, and there was many a time when the little craft held but two
persons, one being Lancy Gurney, and the curly head of his companion was
very like to that of Dexie Sherwood's!

The early days of October were marked by the departure of Louie and the
kind old nurse Dinah.

Poor Louie! her heart was rent with conflicting feelings. She had been wild
with delight to think that she had been the one chosen to spend the winter
with her grandma, and, though the journey thither was a pleasure she had
long looked forward to, the final leave-takings were so much harder than
she had anticipated that she felt almost tempted, at the last moment, to
give it up, and stay with those she had never loved so much as she did now,
when prepared to leave them.

We must not stop to tell of all the changes which took place in the old
homestead when it was decided that Louie was to spend the winter there. The
eyesight of the grandparents became so much better as they thought of her
coming, that they noticed with startling clearness how dingy the old
farmhouse had grown. Their brightened vision regarded the faded carpets
with aversion, and when they had given place to new ones the curtains
looked positively shabby, and they were astonished to find how much
difference a little paint on the house and out-buildings made in the look
of the place.

Without chasing away the _homey_ took of the low, comfortable rooms, they
were made brighter and more cheerful, as if rejoicing with the grandparents
in their joy, and joining in the attempt to make the little grand-daughter
feel at home.

Unconsciously, the old folks grew brighter themselves, and Grandma Sherwood
even went so far as to lay aside the cap she had worn so long that it
seemed to belong to her head quite as much as the beautiful grey hair
beneath it; and after putting it away reverently in the bottom drawer of
the bureau, she took out instead her "best cap," and wore it daily, in
anticipation of her grand-daughter's arrival.

The pretty room that had been fitted up for Louie's use lacked nothing to
make it perfect except its occupant, and if Louie needed anything to
reconcile her to a winter's stay in the quiet farmhouse, this pretty room
contained it.

Neither were its treasures revealed in a day, for, weeks after she arrived,
grandma would bid her search for some secret drawer which contained
something that she would like; and Louie's curiosity would be stimulated by
this admission, so that many a stormy day flew rapidly away while she
searched with the ardor of an Arctic explorer for the secret spring or knob
which, pressed at last, revealed delights that only a young girl's heart
can fully enjoy.

Occasionally mysterious packages from the city arrived at the farmhouse
bearing Louie's name in full, and the delightful excitement of untying the
string and removing the wrappings, was entered into by the grandparents
with as much ardor as by Louie herself.

But grandma's heart seemed to grow young again. She knew what would please
her little favorite, and she spared no expense if pleasure and happiness
were procured with the purchases, and thus passed away the pleasant winter,
bringing only that which seemed good into the storehouse of Louie's life
and heart.

Louie was destined to see but little of her own family hereafter, for
during the following summer the grandmother's health became feeble, and she
would not listen to the suggestions that Louie should return home. A few
months later Dinah had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing the last
words of her dying mistress, who passed away in her arms.

Louie was willing to listen to the entreaties of her grief-stricken
grandfather, to remain his little companion a while longer.

The charge of the farmhouse now fell into the hands of Mr. Sherwood's
widowed daughter. She had possessed a fine estate in Georgia, and had lived
a life of ease until Sherman's march to the sea, when her plantation was
devastated, and her well-kept slaves had joined in the destruction of her
property. When her husband's body was brought home for burial, the result
of a distressing accident, there seemed nothing else left to do but to
return to the home of her childhood, reaching it in time to hear her
mother's last request with respect to Louie's future.

Aunt Annie promised to consider the child as her own if she could get the
parents' sanction as well as Louie's free consent. The latter was freely
gained, as Louie was far happier in her present home.

Mrs. Sherwood saw no obstacle in the way when the matter was laid before
her, and she gave up her rights with so little manifestation of regret that
even those who knew her best were astonished, and from that time Louie
ceased to be a member of her father's family.

The second winter in Halifax was even more pleasant than the first had
been, for the Sherwoods had extended their acquaintances, and there seemed
always some new pleasure to look forward to.

The Song and Glee Club started up afresh as the winter evenings set in, and
with a concert in the perspective the rehearsals were frequent and well
attended.

Dexie's fine voice caused her to be given a more prominent part than she
thought was her just due. She had no wish to be thrust forward into notice
when there were older members of the club who were better entitled to her
place, but she had no objection to being accompanist, for in that position
she felt at home. But she was destined to come before the public in a more
conspicuous manner.

One evening a member of the club brought in some new music, and the few who
had heard it were so delighted with its melody, that they eagerly urged its
performance at the approaching concert. A copy of the music being handed to
Dexie by Lancy, she began to hum it softly to herself, but becoming
enraptured with the bewitching strains of the composition, she
unconsciously changed the low hum to a soft whistle, which grew louder as
she proceeded. Sense of time and place disappeared, and she was unaware of
the delight of the little group around her, until the unusual silence
caused her to lift her eyes and understand the meaning of the sudden hush
that had fallen on those present. A burning blush covered her face as she
stammered out:

"I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen; I forgot where I was," and then
sank on a seat near and hid her burning cheeks behind her book.

Lancy was at her side in a moment.

"Never mind, Dexie. You can't think how well it sounded. They were
delighted."

"Oh, how _could_ you let me go on, Lancy? You might have stopped me, I'm
sure," she said, indignantly.

But she was immediately surrounded, and praises and interrogations poured
forth from every side, making Gussie, who stood apart, turn pale with
jealousy.

"Why did you not tell us that you could imitate the birds?"

"I never heard anything so perfectly sweet," said a lady member, pressing
forward to speak to the blushing girl.

Dexie wished the floor would open and let her drop out of sight, but she
gradually regained her composure and listened with displeasure to the
general conversation, during which this new element of music was discussed
at length.

"Miss Sherwood, do come to the piano and try that again with the
accompaniment," said the leader, Mr. Ross. "You really must give us the
benefit of that flute-like whistle; it is perfectly irresistible."

"Please excuse me, Mr. Ross; I really cannot," replied Dexie.

"But we can take no excuse. After hearing you once, nothing but a
repetition will satisfy us. Mr. Gurney will play for you," was the eager
reply.

But Lancy kindly came to her aid, and by a few whispered words succeeded in
drawing off the attention from Dexie, by suggesting that if they would try
the opening piece first and give Miss Sherwood time to reconsider her
refusal, she might whistle later on; and Lancy was rewarded for this short
respite by a grateful look as he passed her the open book.

Dexie felt angry for bringing this embarrassing position upon herself, and
she was wondering if it would be possible for her to slip away unperceived,
when Gussie leaned over her shoulder.

"Well, you did make a show of yourself, you great tomboy! It is a pity that
you can't keep your bad manners out of sight, before strangers, anyway!"

This taunt acted like the prick of a goad, and made Dexie determine to stay
and show Miss Gussie whether her "bad manners" had placed her lower or
higher in the estimation of her friends. When the piece was rehearsed in
which she sang the solo, she put forth her best efforts, and rendered it
with such pathos and feeling that when it was ended, one and all, with the
exception of Gussie, were loud in its praise.

As she lingered a moment beside the piano talking with a member, Mr. Ross
stepped over to her side and begged her to try the new piece, and she
silently bowed in answer; but the hunted look in the dark eyes might have
told how hard it was to nerve herself for this ordeal.

The memory of Gussie's sneering remarks filled her with the needed courage,
and when Lancy sat down and passed his fingers over the keys her heart
ceased to throb; the very chords had a soothing power, and when Lancy
lifted his eyes to her face she replied with a look that she was ready.

The first notes of the piece sounded from the piano, but brought no
response from Dexie's lips. Lancy looked up quickly.

"Oh, Dexie, don't disappoint me!" he whispered.

Softly the bird-like notes ascended, fluttered and quivered, then slowly
gained strength, then the clear, full notes rang through the room, charming
every ear.

Those present listened in breathless silence. It was so faultlessly
rendered that it was hard to believe that weeks of practice had not been
given to bring such perfection of tone; but Dexie whistled for an object,
and that was respect and honor from those present in the face of her
"tomboy accomplishment."

It is not everyone who can whistle for a thing and get their wishes
gratified; but, to the honor and respect which Dexie desired, was added the
praise and approval of the delighted listeners. She felt proud to receive
it, for it would forever silence Gussie as to how her "bad manners" were
regarded.

Dexie was satisfied with her victory, and would not be persuaded into
repeating the piece, though, at the close of the rehearsal, she consented
to accompany Lancy in giving an exhibition of a bird-song.

It was the same chorus that had delighted the listeners the morning after
the adventure in the snow-drifts, and the rendering of it was greatly
enhanced by the better instrument before them.

Lancy played the accompaniment and whistled with her, and their voices
seemed transformed into veritable song-birds, as they joined or answered
each other's call.

"We must have that at our concert, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Ross. "We
cannot afford to miss it. How is it that I never had the pleasure of
listening to this sort of music before, Mr. Gurney? You should have told us
of this new accomplishment, Miss Sherwood."

"Indeed! you never would have heard it at all, if I had not forgotten
myself so completely," said Dexie, smiling; "but as to whistling at the
concert, that is out of the question. It is distressing enough to show my
tomboyism before the members here."

"Nonsense! there is nothing of the 'tomboy' about that kind of whistling,"
said one of the members. "It is an accomplishment few possess."

"Well, it is fortunate for us that you made us aware of this talent of
yours, even though it was unintentional on your part, Miss Sherwood," said
Mr. Ross. "We must persuade you to give others the pleasure of hearing you.
It would add much to the attraction of our concert."

"You are most kind, and your remarks most flattering, but I must be
excused," said Dexie, turning with a smile to those who had addressed her.
"I do not forget that 'whistling girls' are generally frowned down."

"But there is no comparison between the usual tomboy whistle of girls, and
those bobolink, canary-bird notes that come from your lips," said an
enthusiastic member.

"Miss Sherwood, I am going to place that piece third on the programme, and
will call around to-morrow and see you and arrange for these extra pieces.
We can leave out some of the songs rather than miss the treat you can give
to those who will be eager to hear you," said the leader, persuasively.

"Indeed, Mr. Ross, I could not think of whistling before the audience we
hope to have, so I will excuse you from calling upon me, if that is to be
your errand," said Dexie, hurriedly. "I am doing my share as it is."

"Well, if you think it will be too much for you, someone else might take
your solo; but that seems a pity, when you are so well prepared. Do you
find it tiresome to whistle?"

"Oh, it is not that; it would not tire me if I whistled all day. But I
cannot face a hall full of people and whistle to them. It would be
dreadful!"

"I would not urge the matter if I did not feel positive of your success. I
am sure the members of the club have the average intelligence, and, seeing
that you have charmed us all by your unique performance, you need have no
hesitancy in trying your powers before a Halifax audience," was the reply.

"Don't think of it. Oh, I never could do it, Mr. Ross. I should be hissed
off the stage."

"No danger of that, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Markman, the best tenor of the
club. "I'll answer for it that you will so electrify the audience that they
will demand an encore. Don't hide your talent from those who would be so
sure to appreciate it."

"Give the matter serious consideration," said Mr. Ross. "I will run in
to-morrow and see you, even though I may run the risk of a cool reception.
What time shall I call?" he added, with a smile.

"Well, if you must call and see me, I hope it will be on some other errand;
I will be at leisure any time in the afternoon, say three o'clock." Then,
looking up with a smile, added: "Don't imagine I shall reconsider the
matter; I simply could not do it."

"I'll hope to find you in a better frame of mind to-morrow, Miss Sherwood,"
he replied, giving her hand a cordial grasp. "May I ask permission for Mr.
Gurney to be present at the interview?"

"Oh, certainly. I think you can safely venture to do so, seeing that he
will probably come in of his own accord, if you don't ask him," and Lancy
joined in the laugh raised at his expense.

"Well, that settles it, Mr. Gurney, I shall depend on your support in this
difficult matter. Now, before we separate, I think I am voicing the
sentiments of the members here when I ask for one more song. Now, Miss
Sherwood, you have acknowledged that it does not tire you to whistle, so
you will send us home in the best of spirits if you will favor us once
more."

Dexie placed her hands over her ears at the applause that greeted these
words, and amidst the general laughter Lancy drew her to the piano.

"I am going to sing 'The Mocking-Bird,' so you must whistle," he said.
"Come, Dexie, there is no backing out," as she tried to escape him.

"Well, get Gussie to sing with you, and I will; perhaps it will help her
good-nature a little--it needs help," she whispered, laughing.

On being sufficiently urged, Gussie stepped over to the piano beside them,
and joined her alto to the chorus.

Dexie played and whistled, and, as the members listened, all joined Mr.
Ross in thinking that their programme should hold this song also.

"Well, Miss Sherwood, I think you have kept the best to the last. I have
heard that song several times, but never 'listened to the mocking-bird'
after all. The song in itself is beautiful, but, after hearing you whistle,
I see that it is imperfect with the mocking-bird left out. This is rather a
cold climate for that species of bird, Miss Sherwood, but I shall give a
Halifax audience the pleasure of hearing one, if I have to import one from
the South on purpose for the occasion. To-morrow at three o'clock,
remember, Mr. Gurney, and may the fates be propitious!"

When Mr. Sherwood learned of Dexie's refusal to whistle, he was as eager to
change her decision as any member of the club.

For once Gussie sided with Dexie, and said all she could to influence her
against it, but her motive was so apparent that her father reproved her
sharply.

When Mr. Ross and Lancy made their appearance, Dexie had to listen to the
expostulations of three very urgent gentlemen; and though she held to her
refusal for some time, she was obliged to capitulate at last, stipulating
that she should only be asked to whistle one piece. Mr. Ross was obliged to
be content with this, but he found it hard to decide which of the pieces he
would put upon the programme.

But a thought occurred to him, and he smiled as he considered it. Yes, he
would set down the new piece; and if he knew a Halifax audience, and he
thought he did, one piece would not content them. The others would do
nicely for the "encore" which he knew would be demanded.

He smiled with pleasure as he rose to depart.

"I will set you down for the new piece you were running over last evening,
Miss Sherwood," said he, "and Mr. Gurney will play your accompaniment. If
you do as well at the concert as you did last night when you first saw the
music, I shall be well satisfied."

"But what if I should fail, papa?" said Dexie, when she found herself alone
with her father. "How can I stand before so many strange people and
whistle? Oh! I'm sure I cannot. No young lady whistles in public, and I
feel sure they will hiss me off the stage!"




CHAPTER XIV.


The time slipped by bringing the eventful evening. In many homes nimble
fingers had been busy for days fashioning certain garments that were to
make the wearers quite fascinating to beholders. But Dexie declared that as
her best gown was very becoming, she had no intention of getting a new one
on purpose for the occasion, a few extra touches would make it quite
presentable. On the morning of the concert, she found there were still some
minor things needed to complete her toilet, so she went down-town to do a
little shopping.

As she stood in a store waiting for her parcel, her eyes rested on a
handbill lying near, and as she read it her face flushed angrily, then
turned pale to the lips, for those great, staring letters announced the
evening's performance, and she was referred to as one of the chief
attractions, but in terms that aroused her temper to its highest pitch.

Who could have worded that awful handbill? She longed to stamp her foot, or
scream, or give vent to her angry feelings in some way. How dared they
single her out by such a nickname? She snatched the parcel from the hands
of the astonished clerk and left the store with more speed than grace.

While she is flying homeward, her angry eyes shining like stars from her
pale, set face, let us read the cause of her displeasure.

  "Temperance Hall.       Temperance Hall.

                To-night.

  The Halifax Song and Glee Club will give their
            Annual Concert
          In Temperance Hall To-night.

  Full Opening Chorus by the Members.

            First Appearance of
           THE AMERICAN WARBLER,
  The only songster ever known to whistle popular airs to
            piano accompaniment.

              Don't Miss It.

  Programme to consist of Solos, Duets, Quartettes
                   and
              Full Choruses.

        God Save the Queen."

When Dexie reached home she flung open the door and rushed up the stairs to
her own room in a perfect fury.

Gussie had watched her swift approach from the window, and fearing that
some awful calamity must have happened, followed her sister upstairs, and
found her walking the floor like a caged tiger, her eyes positively fierce
as they looked straight before her, though seeing nothing.

"What is the matter, Dexie?" she asked in alarm.

Dexie turned and motioned imperiously for her to leave the room, then shut
the door with a slam that shook the house. Gussie hurried to her father,
saying:

"Oh, papa! do go and see Dexie. I believe she is going to have a fit, for
she looks awful."

"What's that?" and Mr. Sherwood looked up from his paper. "Did you say
something the matter with Dexie?"

"Yes, do go and see what it is, for she turned me out of the room."

"Have you been teasing her again about whistling?" he asked, looking at
her sharply. "I told you to let your sister alone."

"Oh! it isn't that, papa. I have not offended her. She has only just
returned from the store, but there's something the matter with her, for her
very looks frightened me."

Being thus admonished Mr. Sherwood was soon in Dexie's room, and he was
startled at the intense expression of his daughter's face.

"My dear girl! what has happened to you?" he tenderly asked, as he took her
hands and drew her to his side. "Try and tell me." He stroked her ruffled
hair, and spoke in soothing tones, but it was several minutes before she
could utter a word.

"Dexie, my dear, calm yourself, and tell me what is the matter; you will
make yourself ill. What is it all about, my dear?"

Dexie pointed to the crumpled handbill that she had tossed under the table
as she threw off her wraps, and her father stooped and picked it up, then
smoothing it across his knee read the cause of offence.

"Why, you foolish girl! surely it is not this that has put you into such a
passion?"

"I won't have it! How dared they! The 'American Warbler,' indeed! Do they
think I will overlook such insolence and go to their old concert after that
public insult! No, I won't put up with it, so there!" and a flood of tears
brought relief to the overcharged heart.

"Dexie, they never intended to hurt your feelings; it is only a mistake on
your part to think so for a moment. Why, it is quite a joke, one that the
audience will not be slow in appreciating, I'll warrant. Come, dry your
eyes, and never mind this announcement."

But Dexie flung herself on the bed, sobbing through her tears: "Oh, papa,
what made you make me say I would whistle when I did not want to from the
first. I did not think they would treat me so meanly, or I never would have
consented. But I won't go near the old hall to-night; no, not a step!"

Her father sat down on the bed beside her, and pushed away the hair from
her hot face, saying: "You are quite mistaken, dear, in thinking they meant
anything but praise in announcing your part of the programme. If you will
just think a moment, you will see it yourself."

"Praise, indeed! They have insulted me in a most public manner. How dared
they take such liberties with my name, when it was only as a special favor
I consented to whistle at all! Oh, it was such a mean, shabby trick!" and
the tears fell in showers.

"Come, Dexie, I can't let you cry like this," and he lifted her gently and
placed her beside him. "You will surely be sick if you do not control
yourself, my dear. It was too bad to vex you when there is so much
depending on you; but it was done unintentionally, I know, and they will
soon apologize when they know that the announcement has annoyed you."

"But what will be the good of that? An apology will not recall those
handbills, which, I daresay, are all over the city. But I'll make them
repent it; they'll find that even a worm will turn if trampled on."

"Tut, tut, what nonsense! You are not a worm nor the kind of bird that eats
the worm either--but here's Aunt Jennie. Auntie, can't you help me put a
grain of sense into this silly girl's pate? She imagines she has been
insulted by this bit of flattery, hence these tears," and he held out the
handbill for inspection.

"Why, Dexie, this will never do. You will spoil your eyes for to-night,
dear. Nothing so very dreadful has happened, after all. I was quite alarmed
at Gussie's account, and feared something serious had occurred. Don't be so
foolish as to mind this bit of paper."

But Dexie buried her face in her father's shoulder and cried the more.

"Oh, it is too bad of you, auntie. I thought you would care if I was
abused, but nobody does, not even papa; but I'll make somebody sorry, for I
won't go near their old concert," and she jerked away from her father's
arms, and threw herself back on the bed.

Aunt Jennie motioned for Mr. Sherwood and Gussie to leave the room,
thinking she might manage Dexie better alone, for this hysterical crying
needed to be checked at once. She sat down beside her and stroked the hot
face until Dexie's sobs had somewhat ceased. Her gentle voice did much to
soothe the tempest in Dexie's breast, but she seemed to have lost her
persuasive power for the time.

Mr. Sherwood went at once to his wife's room to explain the cause of the
disturbance.

"How inconsiderate of Dexie to cause so much annoyance!" was her fretful
comment. "I am quite sure I shall have the headache, for the way she
slammed that door was enough to upset the strongest nerves. I thought of
going to the concert myself if I finished my book in time, but it seems my
fate to be robbed of all pleasure. Why don't you use your authority,
Clarence, and make her behave herself?"

"You must make some allowance for her, wife, for she feels much hurt over
that announcement. But the trouble is, what's to be done if she persists in
her determination not to appear? I might insist on her going to the hall,
but I doubt if I could make her whistle after she got there."

"Well, if you do not use your authority you need not ask me to interfere.
She has quite upset me as it is."

"It is not very often that she gets worked up like this. I believe she
controls her temper about as well as any of us. She seldom lets her tongue
loose as she used to do when things went wrong, but flies to her room and
fights it out alone. I expect those Gurneys have a good influence over our
wilful Dexie."

"Well, I suppose she does not see those mild, quiet girls fly into a
passion very often, and this tiresome concert is to blame for this
disturbance. I fear if she has made up her mind not to go, you may as well
leave her alone; so let the matter rest, it disturbs me," and Mrs. Sherwood
closed her eyes as if the subject had passed completely from her mind.

But Mr. Sherwood could not let the matter rest so easily, and his wife's
indifference annoyed him exceedingly.

"Confound their stupidity!" he exclaimed at last, beginning to see it with
Dexie's eyes. "They might have known that she would object to such an
announcement, but it will be an awkward thing if she does not appear after
all. I hope Aunt Jennie will bring her to reason."

"I hope so too, I'm sure," answered the wife with a sigh; "but Lancy Gurney
is as much interested in the matter as herself, and I believe he would make
her change her mind if anyone could."

"Well, I think I will run in and see if he is at home, but I'm afraid it
will make a bad matter worse."

A few minutes later Mr. Sherwood was standing in the parlor next door,
shaking hands with Mrs. Gurney.

"We don't seem to meet very often, do we, though we are such near
neighbors," she said, with a smile, when the usual greetings had been
exchanged, "but you look worried. Are all well at home this morning?"

"We are all well disturbed, certainly," he answered, with a short laugh. "I
have just come in to see if I could get someone to help me about Dexie."

"Why? what has happened her? She is not hurt, I hope!"

"Well, her feelings are, tremendously, I can tell you;" and pulling out the
objectionable handbill from his pocket, added, "she came upon this down in
some store, and has come home as mad as a hatter, declaring she has been
insulted, and she vows she won't whistle or go near the concert at all
to-night."

"Well, that _would_ be rather serious, wouldn't it?" was the mild reply.
"Poor girlie, so she don't like to be called the 'American warbler.' It is
the publicity of it, I expect, that has hurt her. Where is she now?"

"Up in her room, crying her eyes out. The more we try to reason with her,
the worse she is; even Aunt Jennie has failed to quiet her."

"Now if you will let me advise--you know I have more experience with
rebellious children than most women," and she smiled up into the anxious
face above her, "let her have her cry out, and say no more to her about it
just now, and, if you care to turn her over to us, I think I can promise
you she will be all right by and by."

"Do you mean that you are willing to take her off our hands for the day?"
and he looked eagerly into her face.

"Yes, if we may. I will send one of the children in to ask her to dinner,
and we will not let her suspect that we know anything about it until she
speaks of the matter herself. We will find something pleasant to take up
her attention until Lancy comes home, and by that time she will have had
time to think of the matter in a different light."

"But do you think she will consent to whistle after all, Mrs. Gurney? That
is the main thing."

"Certainly; I have no fear. If the matter is put before her in a serious
light, she will be sure to do what is honorable. Of course, I quite
understand that until her temper cools off she will be immovable; those
determined natures always are. I have brought up one hot-headed person, and
I think I know the weak spot; and Hugh McNeil was never _quite_
unmanageable. Do not fret about Dexie, I feel sure she will fulfil her part
to-night, and do us all credit."

"Thanks, Mrs. Gurney. You cannot think what a relief it is to hear you
speak so confidently about it. I should feel very much aggrieved if she
persisted in her refusal, for I urged her to whistle, much against her
will, and I feel responsible for her appearance. I think, myself, that it
was not just the fair thing to send those handbills broadcast without
making her acquainted with the contents beforehand."

"Yes, they might have consulted her; but, of course, it never occurred to
them that she would feel offended, and really I wonder that she is myself.
Still, I can quite understand it when I consider how uncertain she must
feel about her reception as a whistler."

"Yes, that is the trouble, but she went out on purpose to buy some little
things to wear to-night, and I would like to know if she has everything
ready. But I daresay it will not be wise to refer to the matter while she
is of the same mind. Yet I want her to look as well as the rest of them,"
said Mr. Sherwood, in an anxious tone.

"To be sure. Well, her dress must be prepared for her. It would be a great
disappointment to Lancy if anything should happen to prevent her going; so
we must unite our efforts and carry the day, in spite of this little freak
of Dexie's. Now, I expect my girls know what Dexie's plans were for
to-night; and as my dressmaker is here finishing Cora's dress, I will have
her attend to Dexie's also; so let Gussie bring in what materials she
purchased while out this morning, and we will hold a consultation on the
matter. Now, do not be alarmed, Mr. Sherwood," she added, seeing his look
of concern. "I will promise to send her to the concert in good trim, and in
good temper too," and she smiled pleasantly as she bade him "Good morning,"
as if it were an everyday affair to bring refractory girls to terms.




CHAPTER XV.


Mr. Sherwood returned home feeling much relieved, and meeting Aunt Jennie
on the stairs, asked after Dexie's present condition.

"She is crying still, though not so violently. I fear she has fully
determined not to take part in the concert to-night. I have done my best,
but I cannot shake her determination, so I have left her to herself to
think it over."

"That's right. I have just been in to Mrs. Gurney's, and she has offered to
settle the difficulty and be responsible for her appearance to-night."

"That is good news, indeed. I have perfect trust in Mrs. Gurney's ability
to succeed where the rest of us all fail; but the next trouble is, I
haven't the least idea what Dexie intended to do with the yards of lace she
brought home this morning, unless she intends to drape it over her dress in
some way."

"Mrs. Gurney has promised to relieve us of that trouble also. She is quite
as anxious as we are that Dexie shall make a good appearance, and if you
will collect the fixings and take them in, Mrs. Gurney says her dressmaker
will do what is necessary."

"Then the trouble may be considered over," said she, with a relieved sigh.

"I will run into Mrs. Gurney's myself, and see what I can do for the
general good. How nice it is to have _real_ friends so near!" she added,
as she followed Mr. Sherwood into the sitting-room.

In about half an hour, Elsie Gurney came running into the house, and as she
came through the hall called, "Dexie, Dexie, where are you?"

Aunt Jennie opened the door, saying: "She is up in her room, Elsie; run
right up."

Dexie heard the call, and, hastily rising, poured some cold water into the
basin, and began to bathe her face. Her head was bent over the basin when
Elsie entered the room.

"Oh, here you are! What on earth are you poking up here for at this time of
day?" was the matter-of-fact greeting. "You are to hurry up and come into
our house and stay to dinner. Mother said you are allowed, so you needn't
stop to ask permission; and, just think, the box that grandma sent from
England has arrived, and it is full of all kinds of finery. You know we
always have a box sent us at Christmas time, but this one was delayed
somehow," and she looked curiously at the flushed face that was buried in
the brimming hands. "There is always something for everyone of us in the
box; but do hurry, Dexie, your face isn't so dirty that it needs soaking, I
hope."

"Well, hardly," was the reply, thankful enough to be given so much time to
recover her composure; "but I may as well tell you before you find it out
yourself that I have had a bad attack of the pouts, and the effect is not
so easy to get rid of. Now, you needn't ask what's up, for I don't intend
to tell you."

"Pshaw! who cares about your pouts? Not I, anyway," was the reply, in a
high and mighty tone. "Come along, if you're coming, and if you're not,
then stay home. I can't wait, for I want to see what is in the box for me."

This unceremonious manner of treatment made Dexie come down somewhat from
the pedestal of injured greatness, and she forced herself to talk to Elsie
to keep her waiting, while she made a fresh toilet.

"Now, do I look a fright?" Dexie asked, as she prepared to follow Elsie
downstairs.

"Well, I can't say that you look much worse than usual, but you certainly
don't look any better. Your nose looks swelled. Shouldn't wonder if you had
it tweaked; but, then, what odds how it looks? Hurry up, and come along. We
have apple dumplings for dinner to-day. Do you like milk or sauce on them
best?"

Dexie did not answer; something of more consequence than dumplings was
troubling her just then, and as she followed Elsie into the front hall, she
was tenderly feeling her nose and mentally comparing it with its usual
proportions, inwardly calling herself all sorts of hard names for being so
silly.

"But I won't whistle to-night, so there!" she kept saying to herself, as if
she needed to keep her determination constantly before herself in order to
back it up.

Elsie rushed up the stairs at once, eager to enjoy the delights that an
English box always contained; but for once Dexie's interest was centred in
herself. Her nose could not be forgotten; in fact, she was trying to reduce
its proportions by pressing it between her thumb and finger. She wondered
if the rest of the family would notice it and make remarks thereon. Lancy
would be sure to know at once that something was wrong; but she would keep
out of sight, for she would _not_ whistle; no, indeed.

"Oh, Dexie, how you do poke along!" Elsie remarked from the top of the
stairs. "I declare, you are enough to try the patience of a Job. Come
along, or I'll rush into the room first, manners or no manners; then mother
will be displeased."

Dexie was up the few remaining steps before Elsie had finished speaking.
She was just as anxious to see the English presents as if half of them were
meant for herself. Her swelled nose was instantly forgotten, and she passed
through the door that Elsie held open for her, and was soon bending over
the treasures with the rest. The room was soon in confusion, as dress
patterns, laces, ribbons, gloves and fans, and trinkets in endless variety
were strewn over bed, table and chairs. The swelled nose could not hide the
beautiful things laid out for her admiring eyes, and she watched with
smiling face as Elsie adorned herself with finery without regard to number
or suitability.

"Oh, what a fine Indian brave am I!" sang Elsie as she danced before the
mirror, her arms adorned with three sets of bracelets, and her neck
encircled with ribbons and lace, while several lockets and charms attached
to velvet bands added to her glory. "Now, with a few of those ostrich tips
in my hair, I shall be ready to start for the Governor's ball," she added,
dancing around the room, sending the ribbons and laces gaily fluttering
behind her.

"You'll bawl at home, my lady, if you spoil anything with your capers,"
said Cora. "Take off those things at once, Elsie; some of them are mine, I
know. Oh! here is a note, mother. The coral set belongs to Elsie, and is
presented by her godmother, and this bangled set is mine. Do you think they
would be too showy to wear to-night, mother?"

"Oh! what is this beautiful thing?" Dexie exclaimed, as she lifted a
handsome lace bertha. "My! isn't it lovely? How do I look in borrowed
feathers--or laces, to be more exact?"

"Oh, fine!" Elsie replied. "I wonder who it was sent to--not me, I hope; it
would make me look like a fright, while it makes you look like a fairy,"
and Elsie turned to examine another parcel.

But Cora had decided in her own mind who it was that should be the first to
wear the pretty lace affair, for as she looked at Dexie with the fluffy
thing around her neck and throat, she seemed to suggest the very character
she was to fill in the evening, and, as she removed it and laid it gently
aside, Cora whispered to her mother:

"It will suit her nicely, don't you think? What else would do to go with
it?"

"Those ribbons and gloves match it perfectly; they were meant to go
together, I expect, for an evening costume. Just see what she takes a fancy
to, and lay it aside; then use your own judgment."

A little scream of delight from Elsie betokened another pleasant discovery.

"Gloves! boxes of gloves, and handkerchiefs by the set, and all hemmed,
too! Oh! and marked; see, these are my initials. Blessings on the
thoughtful person who sent me those, for my handkerchiefs disappear as
mysteriously as ghosts. Now, if I only unearth a box of shoe-laces, I'll
think my cup of joy quite full."

"Shoe-laces! and they so cheap!" Dexie exclaimed in surprise.

"But I have to buy mine with my pocket-money. I break so many of the
tiresome things, that mother thinks it will make me more careful if I have
to replace them myself. But they are always in knots, and when I have to
keep them neat and tidy at my own expense it leaves me little enough for
chocolate creams. Dear me! I think they might have sent me a few dozen, so
that I might get a chance to have one good 'tuck in' for once, as the
street arabs say."

"Why, Elsie, I am surprised at you," was the mother's mild rebuke. "Surely
you can feel grateful, without requiring shoe-laces to 'fill up your cup
with joy,'" and there was a faint smile around the mouth that reproved in
such quiet tones.

"Ah! I know what ails me, mother dear. 'From all selfishness, envy,
uncharitableness,--and all the rest of it, good Lord, deliver me.' I'll say
it next Sunday with a different meaning to it, particularly if I get the
shoe-laces."

"Why, Elsie Gurney! how dare you speak those words so flippantly!" said
Cora severely, looking at her sister in surprise and displeasure.

"I wasn't _thinking_ flippantly, if I did speak so. I wasn't, truly,
mamma," said Elsie, in a contrite tone. "I never thought I was selfish
and--and all the other things when I said it over in church, but I do
believe I am--some--anyway. After this I will say 'deliver me' instead of
'us.'"

"Hasty speeches often lead to thoughtful acts. I will be very glad if the
missing shoe-laces make my daughter a little more thoughtful about things
of greater moment. Do not look so shocked, Cora; it did not _sound_ well, I
know, but she did not mean it irreverently, I'm sure. I remember when I was
a child at home we all had to learn the fifty-first Psalm as a Lenten
lesson, and once my little brother came through the rooms, singing it to
the most rollicking tune that was ever danced by; but the very contrast
between words and tune made the words sink into my heart as nothing else
could have done, for I did not learn very readily. Of course, dear, I do
not approve of it; but children are children, and the longer they remain so
the better, I think," and with a little sigh Mrs. Gurney left the room,
laying her hand lovingly on Elsie's head as she passed her.

More than an hour passed before the contents of the box had been examined,
then with Dexie's assistance the wrappings which covered the floor were
picked up, tables were tidied, and the room put in order.

Mrs. Gurney drew Lancy aside as soon as he entered the house, to explain
the difficulty about Dexie.

"What! Not whistle or go near us!" he cried. "Why, she'll have to!
Everybody is talking about the concert, and inquiring about our 'warbler.'
Those handbills were the greatest success. Not whistle, indeed, when the
crowd will be there on purpose to hear her. Why, mother, she is the chief
attraction! Where is she? I'll show her very soon that she _can't_ back
out. They would mob us if she failed to appear. Why, I couldn't go either
if she did not."

"Softly, softly, my son," laying her hand on his arm. "Wait a moment till I
explain further. Dexie is not one to be forced into doing a thing she does
not like, and if you talk to her in that strain you will only strengthen
her determination to stay at home. She must be treated differently if we
would gain her full consent, and nothing short of that will do. I have
watched her face, and I know that unless quiet measures are used she will
resist to the last. My boy, I am quite as anxious as you are about it, so
do not look so wild. Listen to my plan."

Lancy's excitement cooled down as he listened to his mother's advice, and
he promised to do his part if sufficient self-control were granted him.




CHAPTER XVI.


When they met around the dinner-table Lancy was strangely silent, though
his eyes shone with suppressed feeling, and Dexie began to hope that the
subject of the concert would not be broached; but her hopes were rudely
shattered as Mr. Gurney turned his smiling face and said:

"So you have honored us with your company to-day, Miss Dexie. Are you
aware, wife, that our young neighbor has found a place in the hearts of the
public, though her identity is hidden as yet under the sweet sounding title
of 'American Warbler?' Every one is asking, 'Who is it?'"

Some commonplace remark from Mrs. Gurney, followed by a warning look,
caused the subject to be suddenly changed, and in the conversation that
followed, the angry flush faded from Dexie's cheeks, the firm shut mouth
relaxed; but the workings of her mind were not quite hidden from the
motherly eyes that watched her so closely.

Dexie was fully determined not to go to the concert, yet she would not have
cared to confess it to those around her, knowing how shocked they would be
at such a resolution. Somehow the matter looked different while she was
among them as one of the family. She was sure that the high sense of honor
that prevailed among the Gurneys would be sufficient to make any of them
fulfil a promise once made, even at a great sacrifice to themselves.

But she would not. No! not if they despised her for it! She would not put
up with that impudent advertisement, and she laid down her knife and fork
quite suddenly, and clasped her hands in her lap in that close grasp that
always told when her feelings were stirred.

Mrs. Gurney watched the expressive face, and returned Lancy's look with one
of sympathy.

"Lancy is going to drive to the Four-Mile House this afternoon, Dexie,"
said Mrs. Gurney. "Would you like to go with him?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," was the quick reply, delighted to escape further
questioning.

"Then he will have the sleigh ready as soon as you are. Be sure and wrap
up your mouth and throat. It never do to catch cold, you know."

Dexie lifted her eyes for one brief moment to the smiling face of the
little mother. The reference to her throat brought back the troublesome
resolution that would not stay resolved, try as she would. She longed to
throw herself at her feet and confess the whole hateful story, but she
dared not. That resolution would fall to pieces like a house of cards, if
once the story were told to Mrs. Gurney. But she hated herself for the
deceit she was practising. How would it end?

As Lancy drove round to the front door Cora ran out and whispered:

"Don't speak hastily to her, Lancy. Remember how much depends on the way
you put it. But be sure and get her full consent."

"What time am I to bring her home?"

"As early as possible; if she has not consented by four o'clock, bring her
home to mother. You know we have to dress and have tea."

"And what about Dexie's fine feathers?"

"Only get her consent to go, and we will make a perfect fairy of her.
Grandma's box just came in time."

Just then Dexie appeared, and was quickly tucked under the robes.

"Wish us good luck, or fling a slipper, do, Cora, for we are going to
elope!" Dexie laughingly exclaimed.

"Good luck, then, and with all my heart I wish it; but slippers are costly,
and mine are new," was the laughing reply.

"What happy fortune takes you out of town this afternoon, Lancy?" said
Dexie, a few minutes later. "Make it forty miles, instead of four, if you
wish to earn my everlasting gratitude."

"Any other day, Dexie, I would feel like taking you at your word," and a
look full of meaning flashed from his eyes, which she understood.

By and by they passed a fence that was covered with posters, and in the
most conspicuous place Dexie saw the obnoxious handbills with their great,
staring letters.

"Did you see that?" and Dexie flushed angrily, as she pointed at the
announcement.

"Why, yes! and everybody is coming to the hall to hear you to-night."

"Are they, indeed!" drawing her head back stiffly. "Then they might save
themselves the trouble, for they won't hear me."

"Dexie, you are not in earnest!" and Lancy tried to repress the hot words
that rose to his lips. "You surely would not refuse to whistle after giving
your word, and the posters all over the city?"

"Why was I not consulted about the announcement, if I am of so much
importance? Who was it that dared to use my name in such a manner? If you
know, you can go and tell them that I resent the insult, and will not
appear before an audience under such a nickname!"

"Some people would think the title very complimentary, Dexie."

"Those who do can earn the title and enjoy the compliment, then, for it
won't be me," was the firm and angry reply.

"Dexie, I can't think you mean all your words imply. If you knew how highly
Mr. Ross speaks of your whistling, you would know that he would be the last
one to offend you. Indeed, he is so assured that your performance will be
the chief part of the concert that he gave it the special mention that has
offended you, and he has gone to the expense of fitting up the hall away
beyond anything ever seen in Halifax. He is so lifted up you would think he
was walking on air."

"He will find solid ground under his feet about eight o'clock this evening,
I fancy! for he will find that his 'warbler' has flown to parts unknown."

"Is it possible, Dexie, that you have it in your heart to so disappoint the
members of the club, and the public as well? As for the name he has given
you, what matters it? I have been called 'The Dandy' for years, but I have
as much respect from my friends as if the term were complimentary. Dexie, I
can't think you intend to go back on your word."

"Dexie felt the reproach, but would not relent.

"Mr. Ross had no right to announce my part of the performance at all; it
was only as a favor I consented to whistle. If I am his 'drawing-card,' it
was only fair to consult me about publishing the fact. I feel positive
that, after such an announcement, I will be hissed off the stage before I
utter a dozen notes. Who ever heard of a girl whistling in public before?
It is considered vulgar enough if she is caught at it in private! I cannot
face them, Lancy; I truly cannot."

"If it is your reception you are afraid of, Dexie, then set your mind at
rest. Even the rougher element would as soon think of hissing a canary."

"But you forget, Lancy, that to be the first to appear in a part so unusual
is of itself a risky thing. Had it not been announced I would not mind it
so much, as it would be unexpected by the audience, and the very audacity
of it would have won to my side the rougher element. As it is, the audience
will expect something beyond my power to give them."

"Looking at it in that way, I admit that the announcement was a mistake,
Dexie, since it has made you apprehensive of your power to charm; but no
one else doubts it, dear, and I feel sure that my Dexie will not put her
friends in the embarrassing position that would arise if she purposely
stayed away from the concert to-night. I grant that the announcement was a
mistake, as you look at it, and that it was very thoughtless of those who
got it up to send it to press without submitting it to your inspection; but
having done so, and sold hundreds of tickets on the strength of the
announcement, common honesty should make you fulfil your part. If your
absence only affected the members of the club, it would not matter so much,
but hundreds of outsiders would blame the club for obtaining money under
false pretences; so you see, Dexie, you really cannot stay home. Do be
reasonable, darling."

A deep blush tinged Dexie's cheeks, brought there by something else than
the frosty air, and for a few minutes there was silence between them.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sherwood had started out for a walk in order to quiet the
anxiety that filled his mind, and meeting Mr. Ross down by the Grand Parade
he astonished the man by telling him of Dexie's determination.

"But, Mr. Sherwood, she _must_ come," he cried aghast. "Her performance has
been announced and is the talk of the city."

"Can't help it, Mr. Ross. I am extremely sorry, but it was that very
announcement that has caused the trouble. She says you have insulted her,
and she has cried and scolded ever since she set eyes on it."

"Yet I expected the reverse. What's to be done?"

The question was as helpless as the man's face was hopeless.

"Well, I can't say. I can use my authority and insist on her going to the
hall, but you know the old saying, 'You can drive a horse to water, but you
can't make him drink.' It was only this morning that she came across a
handbill, and she flew home in such a temper that it put the whole house in
an uproar. I can truly say it has quite upset me, for I was anxious to have
her do her best to-night."

"But if I go and apologize, and assure her of my unwillingness to cause her
a moment's annoyance, surely I might make amends for my unintentional
mistake. I will do anything, everything, Mr. Sherwood, that you can
suggest."

"Believe me, Mr. Ross, everything possible has been already done to make
her see that you had no intention of 'insulting' her, and we have had to
pass her over to our next-door neighbors. If they fail, you can try your
persuasive powers. She is out driving with young Gurney just now, and we
are simply living on our hopes."

"I trust he will succeed. I would hardly dare to face the people to-night
without her. Come and see how well the hall looks while we await her
return; then I must see her and explain."

"Better not, Mr. Ross, unless you have some other excuse for calling. If
young Gurney gets her to change her mind, you had better make your peace
with her after the concert is over, instead of risking it beforehand."

"Very true; but I might call with a bouquet for both of your daughters, and
I need not refer to the matter if her consent has been already secured."

"Such an errand would seem natural and should do much towards earning
forgiveness," was the smiling reply.

A revolution was going on in Dexie's mind as the sleigh flew over the level
road, and Lancy watched the varying expressions, for he had learned to read
her face like an open book. Checking the speed of his horse, he turned to
her and asked if she felt the least cold.

"Not at all, Lancy; the air is just frosty enough to make it enjoyable."

"The roads are somewhat better than they were last winter when I took you
out in the storm. Will you ever forget it, Dexie?"

"I am never allowed to, it seems; but I wish I could drop that twenty-four
hours out of my memory,"--annoyed that Lancy referred to the time that was
associated with his declaration of love. "I wish you would forget that
unfortunate drive and all connected with it. It is no pleasure to remember
how near we came to freezing to death," she added.

"Well, Dexie, if you will only look at that side of it, why not repay me
for the trouble I took for you that night, and do me a favor in return?"

"If any favor I can do will forever relieve me of any obligation I may be
under, you have only to name it," said she coolly, "providing the favor is
within reason, though."

"No, I'll not ask it, nor put it that way; not for all the concerts that
will ever be held!" he hotly answered. "But, Dexie," and his voice grew
tender again, "if the same motive would move you to grant me this favor
that impelled me to save you that night, you would make me very happy."

"And this favor, Lancy?"

"Remove the anxiety you have caused us all, and overlook what has vexed
you, and come with me to the concert. You know I can't go without you, and
our absence will spoil it. My wilful Dexie, don't you think you were rather
hasty in your judgment this morning?"

"My judgment don't amount to much when once my temper is up, as you know
very well, Lancy; but I'll acknowledge that I do feel rather ashamed of
myself, for making such a fuss, though I still think it was a shabby trick
to advertise me that way."

"So it was, Dexie; but will you make one shabby trick the excuse for a
second? You will take back your refusal, my Dexie?"

"Well, Lancy, perhaps I would, if it were not too late; but it is too late
to repent now, for my dress isn't ready, and there are endless other
matters to see to that would have kept me busy the whole day, so my
repentance will do no good. In fact I haven't the faintest idea what I did
with the purchases I made this morning, unless I flung them into the street
as I rushed along. What a fright I must have looked! But I don't believe I
met a soul that knew me; that's one comfort, anyway."

"Then you would whistle to-night if only your dress were ready?"

"Well, I hate awfully to say it, Lancy, but I do believe I would, for I did
not think that my absence would spoil your part of the performance when I
spoke so decidedly."

"Then we will consider the matter settled, for your dress will be ready
when it is time to put it on," and a look of relief spread over his face.
"Mother said she would see about it if you would only go."

"Oh, dear! Does your mother know how silly I have been? Who could have told
her?"

"Never mind, Dexie. She knows you won't come back as naughty as you went
out. She felt sure of that."

"Lancelot Gurney! Did you take me out on purpose--on purpose to make me
change my mind? Well, well! how eagerly I ran into the trap that was set to
catch me," and a smothered laugh rang out on the frosty air.

"All's well that ends well, you know. Your father was in despair when your
Aunt Jennie could not manage you, so he turned you over to us. Since I have
proved myself so capable, that ought to speak well for me in the future,
eh, Dexie?" and he smiled mischievously into her eyes. "But I'm not quite
sure of you yet, Dexie. Give me your word that you will whistle
to-night--honor bright, mind."

"Yes, _honor bright_, Lancy. I'll whistle, or try to, if they don't hiss me
when I begin. Now, turn back, and let us get home as quickly as possible;
there will be a lot of humble pie waiting for me. I may as well eat it and
have it done with. I feel worse to meet your mother than all the rest."

"You forget that I have an errand at the Four-Mile House. That will give us
a chance to get warmed, and then for a wild drive home."

When they arrived at the hotel they were glad to find the parlor vacant,
for they could monopolize the fire that burned so brightly in the grate,
besides enjoying the liberty of free speech.

"You may as well lay aside your wraps, Dexie, as we will not start for home
for half an hour," said Lancy, as he returned from an interview with the
landlord.

When the sleigh was again brought to the door, there was a triumphant look
in Lancy's face that contrasted well with the rosy cheeks of his companion.

"We will have the wind in our faces going home, Dexie, so be sure and wrap
up your mouth and throat. It will never do to spoil your whistle after all.
I tell you what, Dexie," he added, as he helped her adjust the fleecy
scarf, "I feel myself quite a diplomatist, and I shall claim remuneration
for this afternoon's work. Do you know what will square the bill?"

"Possibly I may guess your terms, sir, but I shall claim the usual three
months' credit," and a saucy face was lifted to his.

"Not three hours shall I wait," he laughingly replied, as he followed the
figure that passed so swiftly from his arms. "I have a good notion to claim
'cash on delivery,'" helping her into the sleigh.

"I fancy you would not find it easy to enforce your claim, sir."

"Don't be too sure of that, my Dexie. I have had too hard an afternoon's
work to do it for nothing, and 'kiss number two' would settle the account."

There was no chance for further conversation, for Lancy needed to give his
attention to the spirited animal before him. It was generally a "wild
drive" when Bob wore the harness, unless he were kept well in check, and to
those who hastily took the side of the road as the sleigh flew by, it did
indeed look like a "wild drive," for the pace never slacked until the house
was reached.

There were many anxious eyes on the lookout for their arrival, as Dexie
noted with shame, but she determined to face the matter boldly, and if
possible make some amends for the trouble and anxiety she had caused.

The front door of both houses opened simultaneously as the sleigh drove up,
Mr. Sherwood appearing at one and Cora at the other, and a hundred
questions could not have asked more than the one word which fell from the
lips of both--

"Well?"

Dexie sprang out on the sidewalk, and with a wave of her hand in Lancy's
direction, answered the question in dramatic tones:

"See! the conquering hero comes!"

That was enough; they all understood her, and Elsie, who was standing on
the doorstep, flew into the house where the busy needles were flying,
shouting as she ran:

"Yes! she is going! Lancy has managed her! She is all right again!"

"There, save that little comedy till by and by, and come in here," said Mr.
Sherwood, smiling, in spite of himself at the way Dexie had announced her
surrender.

"Come into our house as soon as you can, Dexie," Cora called after her
retreating figure. "We want you for something."

What a feeling of relief her arrival caused! They had scarcely realized how
great was the tension until their anxiety was removed. But all seemed to
breathe more freely, and the preparations for the concert went briskly on.

Dexie threw off her wraps in the hall, and followed her father into the
sitting-room, where Aunt Jennie sat waiting.

"You are back, my dear," was the aunt's quiet greeting.

"Yes, auntie, and ready to eat all the humble pie you have prepared for
me."

"I have prepared none, my dear, but I am pleased to see that you are ready
and willing to eat some. Your father has passed a miserable time waiting
for your appearance."

"Poor papa!" and Dexie threw her arms around his neck. "How horrid I have
been, to be sure. Now, lay on the stripes easy, and I'll promise not to do
so any more," and she playfully held out her hand.

"You had better not, you little tyrant," drawing her to him. "I believe my
hair has turned grey with the anxiety you have caused me."

"Oh, so it has! here is one hair quite grey; yes, actually two of them!
I'll show you," and a couple of hairs were withdrawn with a jerk.

"Stop! you torment," catching her by both arms. "Isn't it enough that my
hair has turned grey? Must you make me bald as well? I thought Lancy was
going to sober you down before he brought you back. I'll have to call him
in to finish his job."

"No, I'm going to be good, I really am; so say you are not cross with me
any more, then I must run off and see about my dress."

"Well, I'll forgive you this time; but if you cut up any more such capers,
I'll hand you over to young Gurney for good."

"But I won't be handed over, you dear old papa," giving him a squeeze that
almost choked him. "I will not exchange my papa for the best-looking young
gentleman you can find in the city. But, papa! do persuade Gussie to leave
my shortcomings alone, for the next few hours at least," she added, in a
low tone.

"I will see that she does not annoy you. Now, don't you think you had
better go and practise awhile?"

"Couldn't think of it, papa mine!" Then, taking her father's face between
her two hands, she looked earnestly into his eyes, saying: "Do you think
there is the _least_ danger of me breaking down to-night? Do you? Confess
the truth, sir!" she laughingly demanded.

"Well, no; I don't think there is."

"Neither do I. Trust your naughty tomboy; she is going to 'eclipse all her
former efforts and cover herself with glory.' But, wait you till I see Mr.
Ross," and she shook her head. "I will forgive him for _this_ night only,
and then--well, never mind! How is mamma? Is she very angry with me?" she
added, presently.

"Not so much as might be expected. You must let her see you when you are
dressed."

"Oh! Aunt Jennie, _did_ you see anything of a stray parcel, with some lace
and other things inside of it? or have I really tossed it into the street?"

"It is in at Mrs. Gurney's with the rest of your apparel for to-night. I
have just finished Gussie's suit, and she is all ready to dress. Gloves and
all are waiting upstairs."

"Oh, dear! what shall I do, auntie? I completely forgot the gloves. That
abominable handbill turned my brain, I do believe; and I thought I was
learning to control my temper! Oh, dear!"

"Don't fret, my dear! The best of us are put out sometimes. But everything
has been prepared for you in at Mrs. Gurney's; for Lancy's success rests on
your appearance, and they were all anxious on his account as well as your
own."

"Well, I suppose I must go in next door and apologize; but I would rather
get a switching than see Mrs. Gurney."

Dexie's appearance was heralded by a number of little voices, as she made
her way to the sewing-room with heightened color and eyes bright with
unshed tears.

"I beg pardon of each one of you, separately and collectively," Dexie
began. "I never dreamed that my fit of temper was going to affect both
households. You are more than kind, and I have no words to thank you."

"Well, don't do it, then," said Elsie; "save your breath, and run upstairs
and see your dress, instead. Come, let me show you the finery."

"Where is your mother? I must see her a moment. How does my nose look now,
Elsie?" she added, as they went through the hall.

"It looks as if it ought to be tweaked again, you bad girl! But oh, Dexie!
your dress is lovely."

And so thought Dexie herself as she stood by the bed whereon it lay, and
she bitterly reproached herself for the anxiety her waywardness had caused.

Tears were in her eyes as Mrs. Gurney came quietly into the room.

"Dear Mrs. Gurney--" She could say no more, but the eloquent eyes told the
story quite as well as if it had been spoken by the quivering lips.

"There, my dear! There! never mind. It was only a mistake, and we all make
mistakes sometimes; so don't fret any more. See how nicely we have managed.
Do you like it, my dear?"

"So very much that I feel I shall never be able to repay you for the
trouble"--her eyes still full of tears.

"Oh, yes, you will, I expect payment this very night," and the firm, cool
hand was laid lovingly across Dexie's shoulder. "When I hear that you have
overlooked the cause of the trouble, and have sung and whistled your very
best, and to Lancy's satisfaction--when I have heard this, I will consider
the debt well paid," and she bent over and kissed the wet cheeks. "You had
better try on the gloves, dear; then see if we have forgotten any one
thing."

The face was soon wreathed in smiles. The many things made ready for her
use by her dear friends made her realize how much they cared for her, and
her girlish heart beat fast as she thought of the triumph she was
determined to win, if only to please them.

"We are going to have an early tea, and then we will begin to dress," said
Cora, making her appearance in the room. "You must put yourself into my
hands to-night, Dexie, so be passive and obedient. We have all set our
hearts on your success, Dexie, dear."

"And I will not disappoint you, I promise. I would be a monster of iniquity
if I did not do my best, after making so much extra trouble for everybody
to-day."

"Ask Gussie to come in with you for tea, Dexie," said Mrs. Gurney, "and if
she will bring in her dress, one can help the other get ready."

"Oh, that will be splendid! But I don't want any tea; we had a nice lunch
at the Four-Mile House, and I won't eat anything more till after the
concert. So you can leave my share till then," she said with a smile.
"What new whim possesses you now, Dexie?" asked Elsie.

"It is not a whim. I am going to put forth my best efforts to-night, and I
can whistle better if I do not eat."

"What nonsense! did you ever try it?"

"Not purposely, but I know I can."

"That is right, Dexie; use every means to enable you to appear at your
best."




CHAPTER XVII.


Mr. Ross had lingered near the house ever since he had parted from Mr.
Sherwood, so anxious was he to hear the decision of his erratic "warbler,"
and he was much relieved when he saw the sleigh drive up to the door at a
much earlier hour than he had dared to hope.

Feeling quite sure that she had reversed her hasty decision, he turned his
steps to the nearest conservatory, from which he emerged later on bearing a
box which contained what he hoped would prove his "peace-offering."

He was received by Mr. Sherwood, who had observed his approach from the
window, and his smiling face told the story before there was time to
exchange words thereon.

"Can I see her?" asked Mr. Ross, as he heard of Lancy's success.

"Well, I'm afraid not; she is engaged, I believe. I suppose you wish to
hear her rehearse?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm afraid you will have to be content with the promise that she
gave to me, that 'she would do her best.' Depend on it, she will not
disappoint any of us to-night. I'll answer for that."

"But I should like so much to see her. I would like to apologize for my
unintentional mistake. Will you take this bouquet to her with my
compliments, and ask if I may see her for a few moments?"

"She is in Mrs. Gurney's at present," said Mr. Sherwood, "but if you will
wait here I will step in and see her; but I do not think it will be wise to
insist on an interview. My daughter has a temper of her own, and that
announcement has provoked her in a way I never saw equalled, so unless she
seems perfectly willing to see you, she should be let alone, until after
the concert any way."

Mr. Sherwood was soon in the next hall inquiring for his daughter, and she
came down the stairs behind Mrs. Gurney, who also stopped to speak to her
next-door neighbor.

"Dexie," said Mr. Sherwood, "Mr. Ross sends his compliments with this
bouquet, and wishes to know if you will see him and allow him to explain,
or apologize, whichever you choose to call it," and he handed her the
fragrant flowers.

Instantly they were flung to the end of the hall, and an angry flush rose
in her cheeks as she exclaimed, hotly:

"Tell Mr. Ross that I--"

"Dexie, my dear, your promise," came the quiet words from Mrs. Gurney.

"Oh! do forgive me, this once more, Mrs. Gurney," and Dexie rushed after
the ill-used flowers; then, in a changed voice, gave the message:

"Tell Mr. Ross that I appreciate his compliments--oh! highly," and she made
a grimace, "also his flowers. They smell nice--what is left of them; but
I--oh, papa!--I can't see him. Must I go and hear him talk when the very
thought of him makes me angry? Make him go away and leave me. I have
promised to do the best I can to-night. What more can he ask?"

"You need not see him unless you choose; I will take him your excuses," and
he left the house, and returned to Mr. Ross.

"I have brought her excuses in place of herself, and you must rest content
with that, Mr. Ross. I think it will not be best to risk the chance of a
second refusal, and but for Mrs. Gurney's interference I would have had to
bring it, I fear. Let it pass till some other time and take no notice of
any coolness she may show to-night, for that public announcement has cut
her deeply."

"I am grieved to hear it, Mr. Sherwood; I will endeavor to atone for it at
some future time," and with a few parting words he left the house. Very
pretty was the picture that the young girls made, as they fluttered about
the rooms helping each other to put the finishing touches to their toilets.
Gussie's pink and white complexion looked lovelier than ever when set off
with a suit in which pale blue and white lace formed the chief parts. Dexie
seemed like a gleam of summer sunshine as she fluttered here and there; her
pretty suit had been draped with some gauzy material, that glistened and
sparkled as the light fell through its folds. The long sleeves had been
replaced by short lace ones, trimmed to match the pretty lace bertha, and
the long handsome gloves quite completed her costume.

"There, I believe we are all ready at last," said Dexie, as she picked up
her neglected flowers. "Let me fasten this cluster of rosebuds in your
belt, Cora, as the finishing touch; then I will make a _boutonniere_ for
Lancy's coat."

"Why, Dexie, you are spoiling your bouquet!" and Cora seized her hand. "I
cannot rob you of your flowers."

"But you will take them as a gift, Cora, since they are so beautiful. It
would be a pity not to use them. I do not intend to carry them, for I want
no flowers from Mr. Ross."

"But perhaps Mr. Ross will not be pleased if you give your flowers away,"
said Gussie, holding her own bouquet daintily to her nose.

"I fancy that his pleasure or displeasure will not affect me," and an angry
gleam brightened her eyes. "I merely accepted them as a peace-offering
which binds me for this night only. If the flowers help to make someone
else entrancing, they will fulfil their mission as well as if I carried
them."

"Well, if we are all ready let us go down and show ourselves to our private
families before we try to charm the eyes and ears of the public," said
Cora. "Your parents are in the parlor, Dexie; go and make your best bow,
before you put on your wraps; Gussie, do likewise," and Cora gave a
sweeping look over their figures. "Why, Dexie!" she added, "are you not
going to wear any jewelry after all?" and she pointed to the case she had
opened for Dexie's selection.

"Please, if you don't mind, I would rather not. I feel dressed enough."

"So you are, Dexie," Lancy exclaimed, coming to the door at this moment.
"Flashing jewels could not improve you, for you look stunning already. But
the horses are waiting in the cold, while you girls are admiring
yourselves."

With that they ran down the stairs, all except Dexie, who turned to the
dressing-table in search of a pin, and as they left the room Lancy came
hastily towards her.

"Oh! is it you, Lancy? I have saved some flowers for you. Shall I pin them
on?"

As she did so, Lancy slipped his arm around her, and his admiring eyes
confirmed the words that fell from his lips. "You are beautiful to-night,
Dexie. You need not fear any audience with those brilliant eyes and cherry
lips. You will win all hearts, as you have mine."

Dexie lifted her eyes in surprise, and saw a lover's face very near her
own, and before she could retreat he had pressed her to his heart, and
kissed her on both cheeks.

"For shame! look!" and she pointed to a mirror where their images were
reflected. "What would your mother say to such rudeness, sir?"

"I think she would say, 'Dexie, give Lancy one kiss for his trouble this
afternoon.' Don't you think I deserve one, my Dexie?"

But Dexie flew past him and downstairs to the parlor, where her parents and
Aunt Jennie were awaiting her.

"How do you like my looks, mamma? Am I not pretty, for once?" she asked.

"If you had behaved as well as you look I would see no cause for
complaint," said her mother coolly; "but a 'daw in borrowed feathers' is
never a pretty sight."

"But, mamma, I am going to be just as good as I look, for this evening
anyway; and I am sure, if my eyesight does not deceive me and my friends do
not flatter, that I never looked better, so I'm content," and she left the
room to put on her outside garments.

She meekly submitted to the extra wraps that Lancy insisted on placing
round her face, and she felt, as she stood beside him, that Lancy's
tenderness and love added not a little to her daily happiness, even though
she had not just the same regard for him as he professed to have for her.

"I think I'll drive down with Hugh," she said teasingly, as they came down
the steps to the street, where both sleighs were waiting.

"But I won't let you," said Lancy quickly. "You are mine for this evening.
I have earned that much, surely. I can't spare you to anyone else, my
Dexie," and he lifted her in beside himself.

They drove quickly to the hall, and were soon in the dressing-room, among
the bevy of young ladies who were to take part in the concert. Gussie's
heart was pierced with envy as she noticed how much attention was bestowed
on her sister, and she heartily wished that Dexie had kept to her refusal
of the morning.

Mr. Ross noticed that his peace-offering was not appreciated, and wisely
refrained from further remarks, giving the necessary directions in as few
words as possible.

Very gay did the Temperance Hall look that evening, with its walls draped
with bunting and its stage decorated with palms and other ornamental
plants; and it never held a larger audience than now awaited the opening
chorus, while the applause that filled the house at its close seemed to
make the rafters ring.

The first selections were admirably performed, and were fully enjoyed by
those present, but when that part of the programme was reached in which the
"American Warbler" made her first appearance, the enthusiasm reached its
height, and found vent in round after round of applause.

Lancy made his appearance first, taking his seat at the piano. This
intimated that he was not the "Warbler," and the audience looked around in
doubt, as if asking each other what next to expect.

A moment later Dexie appeared, and the sea of expectant faces made her
tremble. What if she should fail?

The appearance of this bright young girl, bowing before them, caused a
moment's hush to fall upon the people. Was she the "warbler," and what was
the character of the performance that was rated so highly? After an
exquisitely rendered interlude, Dexie's clear whistle joined the
accompaniment, and seemed to hold the listeners spell-bound. At its close a
moment of silence followed, but when Lancy rose from the instrument the
applause began, and grew louder and more deafening, and Mr. Ross hurried to
Dexie's side as she left the stage.

"You must come forward again, Miss Sherwood; that encore is not to be
resisted," as the thunderous applause grew in volume.

She took Lancy's arm at last, and stepped forward and bowed her
acknowledgement. But that was not enough; nothing but a repetition would
satisfy the enthusiastic audience, and when Mr. Ross asked her to give "The
Mocking Bird" she felt obliged to consent. Mr. Ross had rightly judged a
Halifax audience when he said it would not be content with one performance,
and not till the strains from the piano rang through the building, followed
by the appearance of Dexie, did the uproar cease.

Lancy played a long interlude to give Dexie time to compose herself, then
the first strains of the familiar song floated softly through the hall, and
very tender and touching did the words sound as they fell from Lancy's
lips, for genuine feeling was behind them. It was like a passage in a
love-story, and where is the person that does not enjoy the repetition of
some passages, even though they may, at the same time, pronounce them silly
and sentimental in the extreme?

Dexie stood near the piano. Her soft, low whistle seemed to come from a
distance, then floated nearer and nearer, gaining strength and volume as
the song progressed; and when Lancy sang "Listen to the Mocking Bird," the
joyous, bewildering notes of the birds she was imitating seemed floating
directly overhead, then receded as the next verse was sung, returning
fuller and sweeter to accompany the chorus, each verse seeming to grow more
tender and beautiful, and, when it ended, the enraptured audience showed
their appreciation by applauding with all their strength.

"No; I cannot go out again," Dexie said, as Mr. Ross urged her to appear
once more in answer to the call. "It is not fair to the rest, for there
are other things on the programme much nicer."

"Just this once more," Lancy pleaded, his eyes shining with satisfaction.

"Come on to the stage, at least, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Ross, "or they
will have the house down over our ears. May I announce that you will
whistle again at the conclusion of the programme?" and Dexie had to
consent. Mr. Ross led her to the front of the stage, and the audience,
expecting another repetition, subsided into silence; but it was soon broken
when the announcement was made that they should have another selection
later on.

Mr. Sherwood found his way to the dressing-rooms, and received Dexie with
open arms, while numbers gathered around to congratulate her on her
success.

"I am proud of you, Dexie," her father said, as they stepped aside. "I was
down among the audience while you were whistling, and on every side I heard
words of warmest praise. Your fear of being hissed was a foolish fear,
after all. I am sure you are not sorry that you came here to-night."

"No, papa; but I do hope that Mrs. Gurney will be pleased. I whistled for
her and Lancy to-night, and if they are satisfied, that is enough. But,
listen! That is Gussie's voice; that is the duet between her and Miss
Burns. Oh, I do hope they will applaud her heartily!"

But no such feeling had dwelt in Gussie's heart when Dexie was before the
audience. If she had failed, had completely broken down or been hissed off
the stage, as Dexie herself feared, Gussie would have exulted in her
failure; yet if Gussie had faltered in the least, none would have felt it
so keenly as her twin sister Dexie.

"Did you see Hugh among the audience?" Lancy whispered from behind her
chair.

"Yes; how savage he looked! Such a scowl does not improve his handsome
face, if he only knew it. I never saw him look more fierce."

"I expect that he did not like to see you leaning on my arm before them
all," he whispered. "He is fearfully jealous, Dexie, so do not flirt with
him any more when he goes in to see Gussie," he added, as he stroked his
growing moustache.

"I am not likely to flirt with Hugh McNeil or anyone else," she said, with
some spirit; "but judging by the looks cast in this direction, I am under
suspicion already, so please leave me, Lancy."

The several selections on the programme were performed to everyone's
satisfaction, but every time that Dexie appeared, either as a singer or
accompanist, she was received with such marked favor that it was plainly to
be seen who was the favorite.

"Now, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Ross, as the last piece ended and cries for
"the warbler" arose in the hall, "send them home so well pleased with our
entertainment that they will all be eager to attend our next."

"There is to be no repetition this time, Mr. Ross," said Dexie, decidedly.
"Let Mr. Gurney play the National Anthem directly the piece is ended."

"Very well. I will direct the members of the club to be ready to step
forward the moment your piece is finished, and we will dismiss them with
'God Save the Queen.'"

As Lancy and Dexie made their appearance the clapping of hands arose again,
and, under cover of the noise, Dexie whispered a few words to Lancy, who
immediately secured another piano stool. Then they both sat down before the
instrument and waited for the signal to begin.

A moment later and the outburst of melody that filled the hall seemed to
come from a multitude of song-birds, and the peculiar, bird-like whistle
never sounded sweeter or clearer as it rang out in answer to Lancy's more
powerful notes, their fingers meanwhile flying over the keys in delightful
harmony. Dexie forgot the hundreds of eager listeners. She seemed to have
partaken of the free, joyous nature of the birds she was so cleverly
imitating, and when the last notes had died away the applause that greeted
their ears seemed to shake the building.

It was a decided relief when the notes from the piano overruled the uproar.
A moment later and the stage was peopled by the members of the club, the
notes of the National Anthem sounded through the hall, and the audience
below rose to their feet at this the closing signal.

As the crowd passed out the door, Hugh McNeil made his way to the front;
and as he went at once to help Cora Gurney, and gave Gussie the assistance
she asked for, Dexie thought nothing of his sudden appearance amongst them
until he bent over her and hissed in her ear:

"I could have killed the both of you as you stood there making love to each
other before them all, as if you belonged to him already! You shall be
mine, not his! I swear it! so take care how you trifle with me!"

Dexie, terrified by his angry looks, hurried away, and Lancy, noticing her
white face, asked anxiously:

"What has happened to you, Dexie? You are as white as a ghost."

"Oh! that big Frenchman has frightened me. Didn't you see him talking to me
just now?"

"Yes, but I supposed he was congratulating you on your success."

"It is a pity you could not have heard his congratulations, Lancy. I fancy
you would not consider them complimentary," and they hurried homeward.

Mrs. Gurney had arranged a little supper for those of the household who
attended the concert, and if anyone noticed Hugh's absence, no one dreamed
of the cause thereof.

The skill that was required to keep out of Hugh's way during the weeks that
followed, might have raised Dexie to an eminent position if it could have
been turned into another channel. Such a sharp lookout lest Hugh might find
her alone, such a dodging through doors when his strategy had almost
succeeded in bringing her face to face--really it was a marvel how
skilfully she avoided him. Yet the fact that she did avoid him gave him a
false hope, and he thought if he could once lay his heart before her the
battle would be his.




CHAPTER XVIII.


Winter changed into spring slowly yet surely, and the almanac declared that
summer was nigh long before people were prepared to accept the assurance.

To Elsie Gurney the spring had been particularly trying, and her mother
began to feel anxious as day after day found her lying on a couch, listless
and weary. The doctor advised change of scene as the best means to recover
health and spirits, and Mrs. Gurney decided at last to accept the kind and
repeated invitation of a dear friend living in Charlottetown, and send
Elsie thither under Lancy's escort. Mrs. Gurney wrote to her friend
explaining Elsie's condition, and the kind letter that came in reply caused
preparations to be made at once for the visit.

"My guest chambers are all vacant," wrote Mrs. Fremont, "and my girls are
delighted with the prospect of having someone new to the place to show
around and gossip with. But, with your houseful, surely you can spare more
than two of your family. Remember, I have not seen any of you since we came
to Charlottetown, so be generous. Launcelot must not think of returning for
some weeks, and he must come prepared to see a deal of service, for my
girls have already planned drives and picnics that he must lead to success,
for Huburt has not yet returned from abroad, and an elder brother is sadly
missed in these little pleasure-parties. Elsie shall have the best of care,
and I feel safe in promising that when she returns home all trace of her
illness will be dispelled."

But Elsie shrank from this visit and begged to be allowed to stay at home.
She was naturally shy and reserved, and to go among new faces, and into
strange places, and be expected to take part in the pleasures that were
being prepared, oh! this was worse than being ill at home, for then her own
dear ones would be near her.

But the visit, like the big doses of medicine that the doctor ordered, had
to be taken, whether she liked it or not, and the preparations went on,
though it grieved her mother to see how Elsie shrank from the visit.

One day when Elsie was crying about her "banishment from home," Dexie
Sherwood came into the room, and learning the cause of Elsie's tears she
frankly stated her mind as follows:

"Well, if you are not a baby, then I never saw one! The idea of you lying
there crying until your eyes are red and swollen because you are going off
on a fine cruise! I declare! if I thought I should be treated half so well,
I'd fall sick this very day, and you may be sure I would select some
complaint that required a change of scene to restore me," and, assuming an
expression of extreme woe, she added:

"Your kind friend in Charlottetown didn't say that any sick neighbor might
join you, I suppose? for, ah me! I am beginning to feel awfully bad
already. Where, oh! where can I go to regain my shattered health?"

Elsie's tears of grief changed to tears of laughter, and she replied,

"Well, I suppose it does look silly for me to be fretting because I have to
go away, but I hate to go among strange people. If Cora could come with me
I would not mind it at all."

"But Lancy is going with you," said Dexie, "so you cannot come to any great
harm. The people over there are quite civilized, I'm told, so they won't
likely eat you; not till you get a little more flesh on your bones,
anyway."

Mrs. Gurney, who was in the room, lifted her eyes to Dexie's animated face,
and said in her gentle, motherly tone,

"Dexie, my dear, why couldn't _you_ go with Elsie? I was stupid not to have
thought of it before."

"For my health, do you mean, Mother Gurney? But I am afraid I have
recovered it already. I have made Elsie laugh, and the unusual sound has
cured me like a charm."

"Well, not exactly for _your_ health, my dear, but for Elsie's," she
replied, as she looked into the laughing face before her. "When I think of
the double benefit your companionship would be to her, I wonder that the
thought did not occur to me before."

"Oh! Mrs. Gurney, I feel so ashamed," and Dexie covered her hot cheeks for
a moment with her hands. "I never intended to suggest such a thing when I
made such a thoughtless remark. Oh! what can you think of me! Indeed I only
said it to make Elsie laugh."

"There, there; of course I understood your bit of fun," and Mrs. Gurney
patted the blushing girl on her shoulder, "but when a suggestion made in
sport brings such a change in Elsie's looks, how much good would result if
the jest were turned to earnest."

"But imagine me going to Mrs. Fremont's when she is not aware of my
existence! I couldn't pass myself off as Cora, for I am too unlike any of
the family. Indeed, I fear my wickedness would soon betray me," her
embarrassment giving place to a mischievous air.

"If I write and introduce you, you can feel as sure of as hearty a welcome
as if you were one of my family. But we must not make plans till we consult
your parents," said Mrs. Gurney, turning to leave the room.

"Oh! Dexie, if you only _would_ come with me, it would make all the
difference in the world," said Elsie. "A weight seems lifted off my heart
at the thought."

"Yes, but look at all the nice dresses you are getting made. You would find
me a very shabby companion, for I never dare ask mamma for a new dress
unless Gussie is in need of one also; but now that papa is home I might
manage that difficulty, and I am quite sure of Aunt Jennie's help."

Mrs. Gurney was soon discussing the matter with the parents next door,
making much of the great favor it would be to herself if they would spare
Dexie to accompany Elsie to Charlottetown. Consent was readily granted,
though Mrs. Sherwood could not refrain from expressing a fear that the
necessary preparations would be rather troublesome, as she did not feel
able to make any extra exertion herself.

Mrs. Sherwood was quite an invalid, or at least she thought she was, which
amounted to about the same thing. Necessity did not compel her to bestir
herself very much, so she began to think she _could_ not, and she was
generally found lying on a sofa with a book as companion.

Dexie's absence from home would be rather a pleasant relief than otherwise,
as she had an unpleasant way of finding unfinished work and laying it in a
work-basket by her mother's side for completion. Dexie's brisk ways and
ceaseless activity were extremely annoying, as it seemed a continual
reproach to Mrs. Sherwood, who preferred the easy, languid movements of her
twin sister.

No one raised any objections to Mrs. Gurney's plans except Gussie, and her
objections were many and loudly expressed.

It was shameful of Dexie to thrust herself into the Gurney family as she
was doing. Anyone could see that it was more on Lancy's account than
Elsie's that Dexie was so delighted to accompany them. Why didn't she go
and live with them at once? She might as well, seeing that so much of her
sewing was being prepared in Mrs. Gurney's sewing-room.

This, and pages more, was reiterated daily, till Dexie would snatch up her
work and run to her aunt's room, and she was heartily glad when the time
came to leave Gussie and her unkind words behind her.

Yet it was not only on Gussie's account that she felt so glad to be off,
for, when Hugh McNeil heard of her intended departure, he added his
persecutions also. At first, when he learned that Lancy was to accompany
Elsie, his heart beat high with hope. Dexie would be free from Lancy's
influence, and he hoped much from a few weeks of uninterrupted intercourse.
His passion for Dexie had grown as the weeks went by, and when the one
obstacle, Lancy, was removed, all would be well. His visits to the
Sherwoods were more frequent than ever, and he openly showed his preference
for Dexie's society.

But Gussie had no other admirer just then, and she accepted the attentions
meant for her sister as if they were her own just due. This was so
exasperating to Hugh that, when Dexie turned away from him, he would take
his hat and leave abruptly. This strange behavior Gussie set down to
everything except the true cause, for she did not dream that Hugh's
affections had been transferred to her sister, for Dexie openly snubbed
him.

But, when Hugh learned that Dexie was preparing to accompany the others, he
was almost beside himself with rage. He refused at first to believe it--the
idea was too preposterous! Well it was that the announcement was not made
to him before the assembled household, for his face revealed the fierce
conflict within, and he had quite as many objections to make as Gussie,
though they were not so openly and freely expressed. Chancing to meet Dexie
in the hall, after repeated efforts to catch her alone, his bitter
disappointment was so touchingly expressed that, for the first time, Dexie
felt a sort of pity for the man, though she could not understand the
intense feeling that seemed to possess him.

"Promise me five minutes alone! only five minutes!" he begged, as Dexie
tried to pass him. "You will surely grant me that small favor before you
go! I must speak to you, Dexie, even if you refuse me a private interview."

"I have no right to grant even 'five minutes' interview' to my sister's
lover," was the cool reply. "You can have nothing to say to me that might
not be said before the whole family."

"Am I your sister's lover? You know better, Dexie! I have been blinded by
her pretty face, but my eyesight has returned to me. I want something more
than beauty in my future wife," and he tried to catch her hand.

But Dexie was too quick for this movement, and she hotly replied:

"And I hope you may get it! May she be blessed with a temper hot enough to
make even a Frenchman tire of dancing to the music of her tongue!" and with
this retort she flew past him, and the door slammed behind her.

Hugh stood for a moment and gazed after her; then, turning on his heel,
pulled the ends of his long moustache into his mouth as he muttered to
himself:

"Not so bad, my little girl! The hot temper is there fast enough, but it
won't make me dance, unless it will be for joy at getting the owner of it."

This happened just the day before they started on their journey, and,
through the hours of that busy day, Dexie kept wondering what Hugh wished
to tell her. Should she see him and be done with it? No; for his earnest
looks and half-spoken words told all too plainly the nature of the
interview. Dexie never could explain, even to herself, why she disliked
Hugh so much; but his very presence seemed to raise up all the opposition
there was within her. To a stranger, he would have seemed more attractive
than Lancy Gurney. His figure had attained to manly proportions, and his
manner had a charm that was quite pleasing. His dark, handsome face and
brilliant black eyes seemed to tell of southern birth; and the heavy,
upward-curling moustache added much to his attractions. Dexie had looked
upon him with favorable eyes when she first came to Halifax. He had formed
a striking contrast to Gussie's fair beauty, but the memory of his handsome
face was far from pleasant as Dexie thought of the words he had spoken to
her in the hall.

Yet Hugh succeeded after all, and the five minutes he asked for thrice
repeated themselves before Dexie could escape from his presence.

The back of the house, or ell, which formed the kitchen, was a story less
in height than the main building, and its flat roof was often utilized by
both families as a drying-ground for small articles of clothing, and Dexie
had stepped out of the window that overlooked this roof to bring in some
forgotten articles that hung on the line.

It had been very warm all day, and as Dexie stood a minute, enjoying the
cool breeze that blew in from the harbor, her figure was distinctly
outlined to observers from the rear of the house; but her presence might
have escaped notice, had she not been softly whistling some little song.

Hugh had just returned from the depot, where he had taken the luggage which
was to accompany the young travellers in the morning, and his heart was
full of bitter feelings as he thought of his master's son filling the place
he coveted so dearly.

As he passed into the yard, Dexie's soft whistle reached his ears. He was
too well acquainted with the sound not to recognize the source of it, and,
glancing up, he saw her there in the twilight, the breeze gently lifting
her wavy hair and fluttering the ribbons around her neck, as if
endeavoring to attract his attention. One glance was enough, and before
Dexie knew he had returned from the depot, she was startled by his
appearance beside her.

She turned to enter the house, but Hugh had not gained this opportunity
merely to let it slip by, so he boldly stepped before her and shut the
window, and his exultant face was a strong contrast to the expression
depicted on Dexie's.

They stood thus face to face for several moments, silently regarding each
other--Hugh flushed with triumph, his eyes glowing with a feeling of
victory; Dexie, her heart beating fast in her anger, white and defiant as
she regarded her audacious companion.

It was Dexie who broke the silence. In a tone of the utmost contempt she
said, as she waved him aside:

"Stand back out of my way and let me pass," and she moved towards the
window.

"Not yet, Dexie, just hear me for a moment. I want to speak to you."

"Not a word, sir, let me pass at once! How dare you keep me here against my
will!"

His tone of entreaty changed to command.

"Because it is my will that you shall hear me," and his face grew paler as
he spoke. "For once you shall listen to what I have to say. I can be silent
no longer."

"Well, if you must unburden your mind, talk to the chimney there; it will
care quite as much for what you have to say as I. It is quite in keeping
with the estimate I had formed for you, to keep me here a prisoner on the
house-top. Stand aside at once and let me enter the house."

"Dexie," he said more firmly, "I am not going to let you pass until I tell
you what I came here to say. Is it not enough that I am to lose the sight
of your bright face for such long, weary weeks, that I must be refused
these few moments--moments that I must perforce steal from you if I am to
get them at all? Do I need to tell you what a blank my life will be while
you are away; and not only a blank, but a fearful dream of blasted hopes
and weary longing? Oh, Dexie, take away some of the bitterness that your
absence will cause, by giving me, at least, the promise that you will not
forget me while you are away."

"Not forget you, indeed!" she said in a rising voice. "I may forgive you
this insult, but you may be sure that I will do my best to forget you, just
as quickly as I can. I am not given to remembering unpleasant things."

"Dexie, do not talk so bitterly; you do not mean it; say you do not,
Dexie?" he said, entreatingly. "You are vexed at being kept here against
your will; come, then, let us go inside and talk it over quietly," he
added, persuasively, and he reached for her hand.

"But I _do_ mean every word of it," and she stepped back out of his reach,
"and if you do not wish to hear me express myself more plainly, I'd advise
you to open the window at once."

"Hear me a moment, Dexie. I know you are prejudiced against me on account
of Gussie; but give me time to prove that I am in earnest when I say that
it is you that I love," and her hands were instantly imprisoned in his
strong clasp, "and I love you, Dexie, with the intense love that a strong
man feels for the one woman who is all the world to him, a love that is not
to be compared with the boyish feeling that Lancy Gurney has for you. Give
me some hope, Dexie, that sometime in the future, when you have rightly
considered the matter, you will look on me with a more kindly feeling in
your heart than you are willing to own to to-night."

Dexie freed her hands by a great effort. His words had flowed like a
torrent from his lips, and she took a step back from him, as she replied,

"Mr. McNeil, I will _never_ regard you in the light you are thinking of, so
all this talk is worse than folly."

"Have I spoken too late?" he almost hissed.

His eyes seemed to burn as he looked into her face.

"Have you already promised yourself to Lancy? Tell me!"

"I will not!" came the defiant answer. "You have no right to ask such a
question, and I will not answer it!"

Her defiant air and scornful words angered him. He had buoyed himself up
with the hope that if he once declared his love she would be touched with
the declaration, and, if she did refuse him, would do it in a kindly way
that would bid him hope for better luck by and by; but to have his love
flung back in his teeth, as it were, was more than his passionate nature
could bear.

"Oh! so you love him, do you, and spurn me. Tell me, is it so?"

Again she stepped back from him as he was speaking, and was unaware how
very near she was to the edge of the roof; but Hugh observed it, and
thinking he could force a confession from her lips through fear, if by no
other means, he quickly grasped her arm, saying in a voice trembling with
passion:

"Do you love him? Tell me, or I'll throw you over!"

Dexie turned her head, and for one awful moment, as she realized her peril,
her face blanched to her very lips; but instead of the answer Hugh
expected, she raised her eyes to his, and he quailed beneath their terrible
glance, as she cried:

"Throw me over then, you coward, for I'll never tell you!"

An instant they stood thus face to face, on the very edge of the roof, when
Hugh's better nature asserted itself, and he quickly drew her back to
safety, exclaiming hoarsely:

"Forgive me, Dexie, I never meant to do it, indeed I did not; I would not
harm a hair of your dear head for a thousand worlds!"

He felt weak and small before the girl whom he had thought to bend to his
will, and made no effort now to keep her from entering the house, but
stepped to the window beside her and raised it, endeavoring all the while
to get a word of forgiveness from her close-shut lips. She never even
turned her head in his direction, but entered the house and into her own
room, and Hugh was obliged to descend with a more uncomfortable feeling in
his breast than he had felt there when he sought Dexie's presence on the
roof. "Baffled, after all," was his silent comment; "a coward, she called
me; yes, it was a cowardly thing to do, and I might have known she would
resent it. But how handsome she looked as she defied me on the very edge of
the roof! I believe she would not have opened her lips and answered that
question, even to save her life, after she had once refused to speak! But
I'll win her yet, and she will be doubly dear when conquered at last, my
brave Dexie!" and with feelings that were only intensified by this
interview, he returned to the yard to prepare the carriage for the drive to
the depot next morning.

It was some satisfaction to be able to see that everything possible was
done for the comfort of his darling, though it was bitterness itself to
think of her going away under the escort of Lancy Gurney.

When he re-entered the house, his unusual pallor was quickly noticed by
Mrs. Gurney, and she kindly asked:

"Are you very tired, Hugh?"

Without lifting his eyes, he replied:

"No, not tired, but heart-sick."

"What is it, Hugh? What is the trouble?" she asked, in her kind, motherly
tone.

"Do not ask me, please! it is nothing that can be remedied, believe me,"
and he raised his eyes a moment and met her inquiring gaze.

"Well, my boy, you, like the rest of us, I suppose, have just so much pain
and trouble to bear in this world. Do not let it bear too heavily on your
young heart; all is for the best in the end, you know," and her hand was
laid on his shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, as she passed on.

All for the best! when in all the hasty preparations that are of necessity
left till the last few hours before a journey, no one even thought of the
fierce heart-struggle that was his, or would have cared about it had they
known it! There seemed to be no kind word of remembrance for him, amidst
the bustle and confusion that reigned around him. He felt as if he stood
apart from those who, up to this time, seemed as near to him as kith and
kin.




CHAPTER XIX.


Both families were early astir the next morning, but the hour soon arrived
that the last "good-byes" must be said, and Mrs. Gurney had reason to be
thankful that Dexie was one of the party, otherwise it would have been
impossible to have started Elsie on her journey without seeming to be
harsh. As it was, Elsie clung to each of the family in turn, as if her
journey were to extend to the Cape of Good Hope, and the length of her stay
to be indefinite. She was lifted into the carriage at last, her hat pulled
back on her head, and her disordered apparel otherwise smoothed out by
Dexie, and Hugh was bidden by Mr. Gurney to "drive on quickly," amidst the
shrill choruses of "good-byes" from the little ones of the family who had
gathered on the steps to see them off. Seeing that Elsie still kept looking
back and waving her handkerchief in token of farewell, Mrs. Gurney drew the
children into the house, and then went away to her own room, where, for a
short time, she remained. When she appeared among them again, her face had
regained its usual calm and placid expression. She had left her burden with
the Great Burden-bearer, and though her heart would go after her daughter
in loving solicitude, she felt that Elsie was in safe-keeping, and so could
rest content.

During the drive to the depot, Dexie was all life and animation. She plied
Lancy with questions which she gave little chance to answer, until she
succeeded in getting Elsie's attention turned to outward things, and as
they drove rapidly along the road, they began to speculate whether any of
the occupants of the cabs that were going in the same direction were to be
fellow-travellers.

Hugh was unusually silent--perhaps it was just as well that he was--but the
rest of the party kept up such a stream of talk that his want of speech was
not remarked.

His heart was too sore for speech, for Dexie's cold, indifferent look cut
deeper than she knew. He had not been able to get a word with her since the
unfortunate interview on the roof, but he felt that he _must_ have one
parting word, and he kept revolving in his mind what he could say that
would likely win for him one word of forgiveness for his unguarded words.

But it was not easy to obtain even the smallest speech amidst the bustle
and distraction of the moving crowd at the depot. Lancy hurried the girls
into the car that they might have a choice of seats, then, leaving them
comfortably seated, he left the car to secure their tickets and checks.

Had it not been for the fact that amidst the hurry of gathering up the
wraps, etc., from the carriage, they had forgotten that ever-welcome
addition to one's travelling paraphernalia, the lunch-basket, Hugh might
have been unable to get a word from Dexie beyond the curt "good-bye" that
she had already cut and dried, as it were, and ready to fling out the
window at him at the last moment.

But Hugh's keen eyes observed the forgotten basket, that had been packed
with such care, and seizing it he entered the car, just as Lancy was
leaving it at the opposite door.

Lancy had wisely chosen the centre seats as being the most comfortable, and
Dexie sat chatting gaily to Elsie lest the home-parting should again come
before her mental vision, when she saw Hugh enter the car.

She had just time to compose her face into a look of solemn indifference,
when Hugh reached her side.

"You forgot the lunch-basket, Elsie," he said, looking across at Dexie who
sat facing her. "You left it in the carriage."

"Oh! so we did," said Elsie. "Whatever should we have done if you had not
seen it in time! Wasn't it lucky, Dexie, that he noticed it?"

"Oh! I suppose so," was her indifferent reply, "but we could easily have
bought something when we felt hungry. I hope, Elsie, that you do not think
we are going into a wilderness where people live on grass roots!" and she
coolly leaned back in her seat, rearranged the pretty tie at her throat,
then pulled a book from the strap, as if ready for the perusal of it when
Hugh would be kind enough to relieve them of his presence.

But Hugh was not to be dismissed by hints. Taking the seat by Elsie's side,
and opposite Dexie, he said: "Still, I am sure you would have felt sorry
to have forgotten it; you know it is the last home-cooking you will eat for
some time, Elsie."

Whereupon Elsie's lip began to quiver, and a suspicion of moisture to
appear in her eyes; a word more of home matters would cause the drops to
fall into the handkerchief that Elsie was already pulling out of her
pocket, in readiness to catch the coming shower. Dexie could have boxed
Hugh's ears with a good grace, but she refrained.

"Don't be a goose, Elsie," was her flattering remark. "Just as if no one
else in the country could make a decent cake but your Susan! Don't, for
goodness' sake, get sentimental over eatables just because Mr. McNeil
happens to be struck that way."

The tears forgot to fall, the handkerchief was left in a crumpled heap,
hanging half out of her pocket; and as soon as the lump that was in her
throat could be disposed of, Elsie ventured meekly to remark that she "was
sure Lancy would be late if he did not hurry in."

This recalled Hugh to the fact that unless he made good use of the few
remaining minutes, his words to Dexie would be left unsaid; and as Elsie
leaned out the window in hopes of seeing Lancy, he bent forward to Dexie,
saying in a low voice,

"Say that you forgive me, Dexie, before you go. I was wild with pain at the
thought of you leaving me so long with nothing to hope for. I cannot let
you go without a word of forgiveness for my hasty words; you know I never
meant to do it, Dexie, for I would die to save you from harm."

"Very kind of you, I am sure! but pray do not have any funeral on my
account. I feel quite capable of looking after myself, and I hope you will
not make it necessary for me to repeat this assertion in the future. Say no
more about forgiveness; the occurrence is too recent for that, but I will
try to forget it."

"Dexie, do not speak so cruelly. How can I prove that I love you, and that
it was the thought of losing you that drove me to madness! You can't
believe that I meant to carry out my murderous threat--no! I cannot think
it, when my own heart aches with love and longing for you. If I write to
you, Dexie, and lay my heart open before you, surely you will believe me!"

"Do not trouble yourself to write, Mr. McNeil," was the scornful reply. "If
you have any heart-trouble, you will find me a poor physician, for I have
not the slightest interest in your condition."

"Dexie, are you going to leave me with no kinder remembrance of you than
those cruel words? I _must_ write, Dexie; say that you will answer my
letter," and a look of entreaty beamed from the dark eyes raised to her
face.

"Couldn't think of it! I am going away to enjoy myself, and am not going to
bother writing to every Tom, Dick and Harry, so I'll have to _throw you
over_!" and a pair of defiant eyes met his gaze.

Hugh's passionate nature was raised to the utmost, but he choked back the
words that rose to his lips, and giving her one long, earnest look, said in
a hoarse voice:

"You repeat my words! May you never have a happy moment until you are as
sorry for saying them as I am!" and he rose and left the car, meeting Lancy
on the steps.

"Well, Hugh, we are away at last," said Lancy, gaily. "Good-bye, old
fellow!"

But Hugh merely raised his eyes and hurried past, and before Elsie knew he
had left the car she saw him driving furiously down the road, past cabs and
trucks, escaping collision as if by a miracle, and the speed never slacked
until he had covered more ground than was necessary to take him home.

"What is the matter with Hugh?" said Lancy, as he seated himself beside his
sister. "I do think he might keep his temper occasionally. What has gone
wrong, now?" and he looked over at Dexie for his answer.

"I fear I am the wicked person that has gone wrong and as his eloquence
prevailed not in turning me from my evil ways he feels heart-sick."

"Heart-sick!" cried Elsie, in surprise; "that would not put him in a
temper, surely."

"Love-sick, then," said Dexie, with a smile; "that might account for it."
"Well," said Elsie, in a tone of disgust, "he must be awfully in love with
your Gussie, if he can't leave her long enough to drive us to the depot
without pining for her," whereupon Dexie forgot her surroundings and burst
into such a rippling laugh that Lancy felt forced to join her. The
infection spread to their fellow-travellers, and caused a smile to pass
around, although the cause of the merriment was unknown beyond the little
group from which it started.

"I fancy I can guess the cause of the trouble," said Lancy. "I daresay Hugh
found the parting painful. Am I right?"

Just then the starting-signal sounded, and the train sped away across the
country, and our travellers settled down to whatever comfort there is to be
obtained in a railroad car.

As soon as Lancy could get a word with Dexie, he asked her again what Hugh
had said to her, and she, willing to put his mind at ease, replied:

"He wanted me to promise that I would answer a letter he wished to write to
me, and I gave him to understand that I wanted no correspondence with my
sister's lover, so we had a few words over it and then parted--_not_
friends, I fear!"

Lancy knew that Hugh was only waiting his opportunity to oust him from his
favored position, and it delighted him to hear Dexie speak of him in that
strain.

"Thank you, Dexie; I guess Hugh can hear all he needs to know of you
second-hand."

Dexie smiled, and she did not pull away her hand when, for a moment, Lancy
laid his own shapely one across it. Lancy was her good friend; why should
he not feel sure of it? And a warm pressure of the hand goes a great way
towards proving friendship, to say nothing of a stronger feeling.

We must go back to Hugh, whom we left driving furiously along the road, his
heart full of bitter, angry feelings. He reproached Dexie for her cold,
heartless words, and himself for his ungovernable temper. He would give
worlds to recall those hasty words spoken on the roof, but it was too late;
he doubted if ever Dexie would forgive them. He felt that he could not
meet Mrs. Gurney's searching glance while in such a mood, so he kept on,
seeing nothing and hearing nothing of what was passing around him, his only
thought being to get away from human sight until the heat of the battle had
somewhat passed away.

It was not until some hours later that he made his appearance at Mrs.
Gurney's. She was becoming quite anxious at his long absence, as she wished
to hear the latest news of Elsie. Even when Hugh did return, he lingered so
long in the stable that she had to send a message to him before he made his
appearance.

He felt glad to find her alone in the room; he could not hide his feelings
from her, but others need not know of his weakness.

"How did she keep up, Hugh? Is she all right?"

"Elsie, you mean? Oh, yes. I think she is all right. She did not get a
chance to fret after she left the house."

"But what detained you? I suppose you stayed to see them off, but the train
must have gone hours ago."

"Yes, I know it, Mrs. Gurney; but I--I didn't stay to see them off--I
couldn't," he added, seeing her look of surprise. "I'm a fool, I suppose,
but I couldn't stand there and see her go away without giving me one kind
word, so I drove off down the road until I could hide my folly from others'
eyes. I have driven Bob pretty hard, I'm afraid, but I have rubbed him down
well, and he will be the first to recover from this day's work."

He spoke bitterly, but openly, as any loved son might speak to a tender,
sympathizing mother, and he had found her all that during the long years he
had lived with them; and though her own son had gained, as he thought, the
one thing he longed for, he knew she would feel for his disappointment.

"It is Dexie you mean. You do not like her to be going away with Lancy. Is
that it, Hugh?"

"Yes, but that is not all. She has treated me so scornfully, while
Lancy--." He broke off abruptly, with a gesture that finished the sentence
for him.

"But, Hugh, think a minute! Lancy's tastes are similar to her own. How can
she help showing the preference, when their very music seems to draw them
together? I would not have thought, Hugh, that you would be so willing to
give up Gussie as you seem to be. You are not trifling with both girls, I
hope, Hugh?"

"No, indeed! You do not understand, and I cannot explain; but Gussie is not
what I thought her at first, and Dexie--well, she is so much more. It does
not make it easier to bear to know that I have placed a barrier between us
with my own hands. Oh, my temper! my hateful temper! it has done me more
harm during the last twenty-four hours than during all my life long," and
he laid his arms across the table and bent his head upon them.

"Perhaps it is not so, after all; the last burst of temper always looks the
worst. Don't you think so, my boy? Forget it for a few moments, and tell me
about Elsie. Has she gone off in good spirits?"

"Yes, I believe so, but to tell the truth I had no thought for anyone but
Dexie. Elsie will not get a chance to fret, I feel sure, but I wish Dexie
felt half as bad about leaving home as _she_ does. It would be a comfort to
think about."

"I am quite surprised, Hugh! Surely you can see that Dexie's feelings for
you are far from encouraging, and how can you think that two such
firebrands--yes, you must excuse the term, if you do not like it, but it
suits you both--do you think you two _could_ be happy together? Have you
thought of this matter seriously, Hugh? I am afraid not. Yet one should
study well the character of the one whom we would choose to walk with along
life's road. We all know something of Dexie's temper, for she has not tried
to hide even her worst faults from us. With your own high temper, Hugh, it
would be a great risk to link your life with hers. There is nothing so
beautiful and complete as a happy married life, but there can be nothing so
unutterably miserable as an unhappy marriage."

"Well, it may be as you say, and Dexie may not be suitable in some ways for
me, but I can never care for anyone else as I care for her. If I could only
win her, I would make her so happy that there would never be any cause for
her to get angry with me."

But the memory of the words he had spoken on the roof a few short hours
before stung him at this moment, and sharply reminded him of his inability
to control himself as her lover. Would he be more likely to govern himself
as her husband?

Seeing that Mrs. Gurney was regarding him closely, he hastily rose to his
feet, saying:

"You are right, Mrs. Gurney, as you always are. I should not succeed in
controlling my temper in the future any better than I have done in the
past. I will try to overcome this foolishness. I love Dexie Sherwood too
well to wish to bring one moment of sorrow into her life."

He left the room and sought his own chamber, and during the hour he sat
there in silence he fancied he had buried forever every thought of tender
regard for Dexie Sherwood. He even imagined that he could look with favor
on Lancy, or anyone else, who would make her as happy as she deserved to
be.

His magnanimous feelings were even puffed up to that degree that he was
mentally witnessing her marriage ceremony, with Lancy as chief actor, when
the sound of the dinner-bell recalled him to his senses. Yet, when he sat
down to the table and beheld Lancy's empty seat, he ground his heel into
the rug under the table, as if it were his enemy, for the thought occurred
that Lancy, at this present moment, might be bending over the head so
precious to him, or whispering words in her ears which he never wished her
to hear, unless spoken by himself. Truly he did not know himself, and as
the nature of his thoughts occurred to him he almost despised himself for
his weakness. Surely he needed another grave than that he had dug while in
the privacy of his own room; a grave that would keep entombed that which he
wished to put forever out of his memory! It was only by bringing up to his
mind his own imperfections that he could keep Dexie out of his thoughts.

But as days went by, and other matters of importance intervened, he was
kept so busy, mentally as well as bodily, that his love was put back out of
sight; he felt her absence less keenly, and his love for Dexie was thought
of as a thing of the past.




CHAPTER XX.


We must now return to the young travellers, whom we left in the car,
expecting to reach their destination by nightfall. In this they were
disappointed, for when the train was within a few miles of Truro it came to
a sudden standstill, throwing some of the passengers out of their seats,
but seriously injuring no one.

"Something wrong with the engine!" was the explanation, when heads were
thrust from the windows to inquire the cause of the trouble.

This explanation was received with due submission by those accustomed to
railway travelling, but Elsie, her nerves unstrung by other causes, sat
crying hysterically, and would give no heed to Lancy's repeated declaration
that nothing serious was the matter.

"We will be detained here for a while, Elsie, but that is all," he added.

Elsie, though, seemed unable to control her sobs, and Dexie began to feel
anxious, for these crying fits invariably brought on a nervous headache,
and when at last the train started, Elsie was hardly in a fit state to
continue the journey.

Under the circumstances Lancy deemed it best to stop over at Truro until
the next trip of the Island boat. This would give Elsie time to recover,
and they would have an opportunity to see something of the pretty town they
had heard so highly praised.

Elsie felt relieved at this decision. She was unused to travelling, and
found the short journey tiresome in the extreme; indeed her throbbing
temples called imperatively for quietness and rest.

The train steamed into the dark, tunnel-like depot, and stepping out on the
platform, they found, after some difficulty, the little room that was
designated "The Waiting-Room," where Lancy left the girls to inquire for
hotel accommodations.

While in semi-darkness they waited his return, Dexie tried to ascertain if
there was not a pleasanter outlook than could be obtained from the door,
but the one dust-encrusted window gave a dim and indistinct view from that
quarter.

As if in answer to their wishes, Lancy speedily returned, and as they
gathered up their wraps Dexie asked:

"Do you know why they call this room the 'waiting-room,' Lancy? Give a
guess."

"Can't! I give it up," giving a glance around him.

"Well, I'll just tell you. This room has been 'waiting' for years for
someone to clean it, and that is how it has earned its name. Even the rusty
old stove has taken on the look of dejection that seems to haunt the
place."

Lancy was beginning to think that the little town had been very much
overpraised, as unfortunately the worst-looking part of it was situated
near the depot, and he felt disappointed and vexed that they had not been
able to continue their journey. His annoyance was increased when he learned
that there had been an excursion to the town the day before, crowding the
hotels, which had not yet recovered from the effects of the many
disturbances that had taken place inside their doors.

It was a new experience to the girls, this seeking a temporary home at a
public hotel, and the unpleasant features of hotel life, to which older
travellers shut their eyes, were to them unbearable.

Entering the parlor of the hotel to which he had been directed, Lancy told
the girls to be seated while he saw the proprietor; but the expression on
the faces of both girls gave Lancy some uneasy feelings, and Dexie's
uplifted nose told the cause of her disapproval.

"It will be no use for you to engage rooms here, Lancy," said she, "for if
all smells like this we won't stay."

"Well, I will just order a lunch, and we can decide about rooms later on."

This was found to have been a wise precaution, as the disgusting fumes of
stale tobacco-smoke and liquor, seemed to pervade every corner.

"It's no use being too particular, girls," said Lancy, as they rose from
the table, and re-entered the parlor, "we will not be here but a day or
two, you know."

"Well, but surely we can find some other place to stay in while we are
here. We don't want to appear at Mrs. Fremont's with our clothes smelling
like a bar-room!" said Dexie, rather sharply.

"Well, no doubt the next hotel will suit us better," and a few minutes
later they entered its door.

But it was quite evident, even to Lancy, that they had not bettered their
condition by going farther. The house had probably been very popular the
day before, and there was an air of confusion about the place that added
its unpleasantness to the atmosphere that must be breathed by those that
sought the hospitality of the house. Elsie looked timidly around the parlor
as she entered, as if expecting to see the ghosts of those who had offered
up so much incense; but the room was vacant, all having departed, leaving
behind a disagreeable reminder of their presence.

"We are just as badly off as ever," Elsie whispered timidly to Dexie. "It
is not very much better, is it, Dexie?"

"No, I should say not. The very curtains are full of it. How can people
bear it! Tobacco-smoke and rum! Do let us get out of here, Lancy, before
anyone comes in!"

"Hush, Dexie! Someone will hear you."

"No danger! but do let us run before they see us here."

"But we must stay somewhere, Dexie," said Lancy. "What shall we do?"

Dexie felt provoked at their unpleasant position, and she replied in no
gentle tone.

"Do! Well, I think if nothing better is to be obtained in the town, we will
do as some of our ancient ancestors have done before us, we will 'lodge
without, in the streets,'" and gathering up the wraps she walked out of the
house, closely followed by Elsie, and more uncertainly by Lancy.

The case was becoming serious, but it had its ludicrous side as well, which
reached its height when Dexie stood on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.
Throwing the wraps over her left arm, she raised her right hand high toward
heaven, and exclaimed in dramatic tones:

  "Tell me, ye wingčd winds, that round my pathway roam,
  Is there no hotel in Truro where the landlord sells no rum?"

And the answer came, not from the winds she had apostrophized, but from an
open window that she had not observed; and the answer was:

"Fair lady, there is none."

"There! I told you that someone would hear you, Dexie," said Lancy, vexed,
yet amused at her behavior.

But Dexie stood as if unable to move, and gazed at the open window in
astonishment.

But the owner of the voice now appeared at the door, and Dexie drew a sigh
of relief as she saw what a good-natured, smiling face it was that looked
into her own. He never belonged to that house, she felt sure, though it was
nothing to his credit to be lounging inside its doors. However, it was not
likely he would consider her remarks as personal, so she slowly regained
her composure.

With a profound bow, the gentleman at the window said:

"There are no hotels such as you speak of in the town, but there are
several private boarding-houses where travellers can be made comfortable.
May I have the pleasure of directing you to one?" This to Lancy.

"If it would not be too much trouble, we would be very much obliged," and
Lancy's natural state of mind slowly returned.

"Oh! no trouble at all," said the affable stranger; then turning to Dexie
he relieved her of her armful of wraps, with a simple "Allow me, please,"
and started away with Lancy, who was carrying the so far unused
lunch-basket, leaving the girls to follow at their own pace.

"Oh, Dexie! weren't you startled when that man spoke from the window?" said
Elsie. "I thought I should faint away with fright."

"It is a good thing that you thought better of it, then, for they would
have carried you right back into the hotel, and there would have been no
escaping after that."

"Where do you suppose he will take us?" Elsie asked as they turned a
corner.

"Couldn't say," was the unconcerned reply; "but as the place looks nicer
the farther we go, there is no need to be alarmed. I hope we will be
fortunate enough to secure lodgings on this pretty, tree-shaded street, for
flower-gardens are as thick as houses. Oh, see! he is going into that house
with the nice lawn in front of it."

A moment later they stepped through the gate that Lancy held open for
them, while their new friend went briskly up the walk and entered the house
in a manner that showed he was quite familiar with the place.

He had told Lancy as they walked along that he could recommend the house
where he boarded, and as he gave such a good account of the place, Lancy
determined to seek accommodation there.

"But there is one thing I must tell you," said the smiling stranger. "Mrs.
Morris is pretty sharp of tongue, and may make very strict inquiries as to
who was your grandmother, and what calling your great-grandfather followed,
before she will allow you to engage rooms. But do not mind it. I fancy you
can satisfy her on those points. She is as clean as a new pin and an
excellent cook--two good recommendations, you will allow."

"Well, I hope my ancestors will please her, for my sister is much in need
of rest. Is her husband of the same turn of mind as herself?" Lancy
smilingly asked.

"She is a widow, as is also her sister, who lives with her. It is the
latter who owns the place, but it is the younger and sharper one who keeps
it in running order. But here we are. I'll go ahead and prepare the way for
you," and he left Lancy to follow with the girls.

As they appeared at the door, Mrs. Morris was just coming towards it,
saying in no gentle tone:

"Don't you know any better, sir, than to rush into the house like that,
leaving all the doors wide open behind you! Do you suppose people will want
rooms here if they are swarming with flies?"

"On my honor, madam, there were only two that ventured through the door! I
counted them!" was the positive reply.

"Come in quickly, sir," to Lancy; "and you women--girls, I mean," taking a
second look, and shutting the door the moment they were inside of it. "You
want rooms and board," she added sharply, looking them well over. "And how
comes it that young people like you are travelling around without your
parents? Not running away, are you?"

"Oh, no, madam!" replied Lancy, keeping a straight face by a great effort.
"We were on our way to Charlottetown, but the train was delayed by an
accident, so we thought we would stay over in Truro and wait for the next
boat."

"Didn't get hurt by the accident, did you? for this ain't no hospital, no
way; only a plain boarding house for respectable people."

"We are not hurt in the least, madam, but we are very tired, and hope you
will allow us to stay here for a day or two," Lancy hastened to explain,
for her many objections began to alarm him.

"You come from Halifax, do you? Bad place that. Thieves and robbers thrive
there, I'm told. How long have you lived there?"

This was addressed to Dexie, but she dared not open her mouth to answer
lest she should laugh outright; and Elsie, fearing she might make some
unfortunate speech that would send them to the right-about, hastened to
reply: "For some years, ma'am; we used to live in England before we moved
to Halifax."

"Oh! English, are you? I was afraid you were Irish. You resemble some I
have seen. What trade does your father work at?"

"He has a store on Granville Street; but do let us stay here, please,"
Elsie replied, fearing that this catechising would result disastrously.

"Well, you seem proper enough. I guess you can stay." Then turning suddenly
around to where their guide stood, biting his moustache, "This is Mr.
Maxwell."

The two girls bowed, and Mr. Maxwell replied: "And I believe this
gentleman's name is Gurney. Mr. Gurney, Mrs. Morris."

And Lancy, not to be outdone by all this formality, added: "Allow me to
introduce my sister, Miss Gurney, and her friend, Miss Sherwood."

"What! you are not sisters! I thought you were, though you don't look it,
sure enough," said Mrs. Morris.

"I hope it don't matter, Mrs. Morris," said Dexie, who actually thought the
woman might refuse to keep her. "We are very dear friends, Miss Gurney and
I, and will gladly occupy the one room while we are here."

"Very well. Step into the parlor. I will bring my sister to see you," and
she disappeared in a twinkling, but returned a few moments later in a
quiet, dignified manner with her sister, saying:

"These young people want to stay here a few days. Shall we keep them?"

"Why, to be sure, Matilda. Take off your hats, my dears; you look warm. So
you are only going to make a short visit, my sister tells me."

"Yes; we are going on to Charlottetown in a day or two," Dexie replied.

"Perhaps you would like to go to your room at once? Matilda, let them have
the pink room; it will be the most pleasant. I will try and entertain the
young man while they are gone," said Mrs. Gleason, whose manner was as
quiet and pleasant as her sister's was sharp and abrupt.

But Maxwell had decided to see to the young man himself--long enough, at
least, to find out something about his companion; so, as soon as Mrs.
Morris left the room, he turned to the good-natured sister, saying:

"Let me take him to my room for awhile, Mrs. Gleason; then you will not be
bothered with either of us," and, reading permission in her smiling face,
he led the way upstairs.

The room Maxwell occupied was really worth visiting, and it told at a
glance the character of the owner. Its walls were decorated with articles
that would not have been allowed inside the doors had Mrs. Morris beheld
them in time to utter a protest, for she was as timid about some things as
she was sharp in others. For instance, there was a fine breech-loading
rifle, dear to the heart of Maxwell, that hung on the wall above a brace of
handsome revolvers. These were the cause of constant terror and alarm to
Mrs. Morris, for she never entered the room without a look of fear in their
direction. She fully expected them to "blaze away at her," notwithstanding
the fact that Maxwell had repeatedly assured her that they were not loaded.

Then there were several stuffed animals that had been deprived of life by
these very weapons, and Maxwell had their forms preserved in as natural an
attitude as possible. While these added to the adornment of the room, they
likewise served to increase Mrs. Morris' terror, and she could not get
over the idea that they might "jump at her, for they always looked just
ready to do it."

These, among other things, gave Mrs. Morris a particular aversion to the
owner of the articles, for it was no trifling thing to keep this room well
dusted and in proper order, with one's body in a quiver of fright all the
time, not knowing from what direction she might be assailed.

But the treasure that took Lancy's eyes directly he entered the room was
the display of fishing-rods that hung on the opposite wall, and he stepped
up at once to examine them.

"That is a fine rod you have there," he remarked to Maxwell.

"Yes, rather; fishing is my favorite sport. I have caught a five-pounder
with this light one," and in the discussion of flies, reels, etc., they
were fast forgetting that they were utter strangers but two short hours
ago.

Presently Maxwell asked, as if it had just occurred to him:

"Who is this young friend of yours, this Miss Sherwood? She is very
amusing; quite an original, is she not?"

"Well, she is something different from the average young lady, if that is
what you mean. She is an American."

"Ah! I thought as much; and your _sister's_ particular friend, is she?"
giving a sly look at Lancy.

"Yes," not heeding the look, but aware of the hint conveyed in the words.
"My sister's health is not good, and Miss Sherwood accompanies her to
Charlottetown, as she was not willing to go alone. They have been very
intimate ever since Miss Sherwood moved to Halifax. I am sure they are both
well pleased that we did not stay at the hotel, seeing that through your
kindness we have secured such comfortable quarters here."

"Don't mention it! that appeal to the winds would have moved the hardest
heart. I guess she got a start when I spoke from the window. Ha, ha! I
fancy I see her yet. She would make a fine actress."

"You had better not make that remark to the lady in question. She would not
consider it a compliment, I can tell you," said Lancy.

"No? Then what sort of a speech would your Miss Sherwood call
complimentary?"

"Better try and find out for yourself," said Lancy, smiling. "It has been
too hard a thing for me to discover for myself to give it away."

A few minutes later, hearing the voices of the young ladies in conversation
with Mrs. Gleason downstairs, the young men joined them.

But the entrance of the gentlemen seemed to put a bridle on the tongues of
the little party, for Dexie was not slow in perceiving that Maxwell was
trying to quiz her, and it was very hard to withstand the good-humored
banter of this young gentleman. She stood the teasing as long as she
thought necessary, then her ready tongue made Maxwell confess that for once
he had met his match, and the laughable occurrence of their first meeting
was allowed to drop. Dexie was well aware that her snubbing was not
relished, for Maxwell sat regarding her silently as she conversed in low
tones to Elsie, pulling at his moustache with a restless movement that was
quite annoying, if he only knew it.

Why is it that gentlemen who possess this ornamental appendage to their
upper lip persist in using it so unkindly? You see it at all times and in
all places, at home by their own fireside, in church, when the sermon is
supposed to be occupying their attention, on the streets, in fact
everywhere you will see the moustache undergoing torture at the hands of
its possessor. Some merely smooth it out, or daintily curl the ends of it,
if it happens to be long enough; some lick at it, like an animal at a lump
of salt: some chew it savagely, till you wonder there is a hair of it left;
in fact it is badly misused by the majority of men, for few leave it to
serve its legitimate purpose.

After tea, at Mr. Maxwell's suggestion, the party went out for a walk. They
strolled up and down the principal streets until twilight was almost over,
and their first impression of the place was happily dispelled. They were
willing to accord the same praise to the town as did others who had visited
it. Cleanliness and thrift seemed the characteristics of the majority of
the inhabitants, and the beautiful grounds and gardens that surrounded
most of the houses spoke well for the taste of the owners.

When the time came for them to continue their journey, more than one member
of the family regretted their departure, for their presence had quite
brightened the household, and Dexie had won the approval of Mrs. Morris
herself by her quick movements and practical remarks, and for the decided
manner that refused all attentions from Maxwell.

"If you ever pass this way again you must come and see us," said Mrs.
Morris at parting, "and if any of your friends ever visit the town we will
be happy to accommodate them."

"Thank you, Mrs. Morris," said Dexie; "I will not forget it. We could
hardly advise anyone to make an extended stay in your pretty town if they
were obliged to patronize your hotels," looking up with a smile at Mr.
Maxwell, who was waiting to accompany them to the depot.

"I am afraid our hotels have given you a poor opinion of the place, Miss
Sherwood," said Mr. Maxwell, as he fingered his moustache; "but you must
remember that they are not intended for fastidious young ladies, but for
the accommodation of the general travelling public."

"Then it does not speak well for the tastes of the 'general travelling
public,'" replied Dexie, as they turned towards the depot, "and it is a
pity that the one blot on your pretty town is just where it falls under the
notice of strangers who enter it by the railway."

Years after, when Dexie made her next visit to the town, she was surprised
to see the change that had taken place in the vicinity of the railway
station. The gloomy, dingy depot had given place to one that was light,
airy and commodious, and the unsightly buildings in the neighborhood were
replaced by better and worthier structures.

The hotels she had so justly condemned were either obliterated or so
improved upon as to be unrecognizable; and if the objectionable bar-rooms
were not suppressed, public opinion had caused them to be placed in a more
obscure corner of the building, and the respectable stranger was no longer
insulted by their immediate presence. But of this more anon.




CHAPTER XXI.


The rest of the journey was made without mishap, and when the travellers
arrived at the wharf at Charlottetown, they found Mrs. Fremont waiting to
receive them, Lancy having informed her by telegraph of their detention.

Mrs. Fremont's residence was situated in the suburbs of the city, amidst a
park-like grove that gave it a very English look in Lancy's eyes. The house
was large and roomy, and furnished in a solid, comfortable style, that
would make modern parlors look frivolous in comparison.

Dexie had no fault to find with her reception, for the whole party were so
warmly welcomed that they felt "at home" at once. Mrs. Fremont's two
daughters proved very pleasant companions. Beatrice, the eldest, was of a
gentle, quiet disposition, and her very presence held in check her
frolicsome younger sister; for Gertrude, who was fat, fair and seventeen,
saw too much of the bright side of life to be anything else than
good-natured and jolly, and finding her counterpart in Dexie Sherwood the
days flew by on gladsome wings.

An enjoyable garden party was held a few days after the young people
arrived, and by that means they became acquainted with a number of the
young people in the city, and Elsie forgot her shyness in the pleasant
bustle that made the days pass so swiftly. The daily drives in the low,
comfortable carriage soon began to tell favorably on her health, and she
did not find it at all hard to enter into the amusements planned for her
benefit; but among all the pleasures that were attainable, one alone stood
out above all others, one that neither Elsie nor Dexie ever cared to miss,
and that was--to go marketing.

Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, the country people for miles around
drove into Charlottetown, bringing with them whatever farm produce they had
to dispose of. Great carts bearing vegetables, eggs, butter, berries and
"garden truck" beyond mentioning, might be seen wending their way along the
roads leading to the city in the early mornings on market days, and the
products of the field, garden, poultry yard, etc., were offered for sale
in and around the large market-house that was situated in the centre of the
city. Here the people of the city came by hundreds to purchase whatever
fancy dictated or needs demanded, making a scene that was worth coming far
to see.

To educate her daughters into the difficult part of household management,
Mrs. Fremont had given over to them the task of buying the supplies for the
family. A sum, ample for a week, was given them, and at the end of the week
the accounts were made up under the mother's supervision. If the daughters
had planned wisely there was always a surplus, which was added to their
pocket-money.

When Dexie learned of this, and realized the responsibility which these
young girls took upon themselves as a part of their education, she was
anxious to acquire the same accomplishment, and it became quite amusing to
hear the prices of different articles discussed in such business-like
tones, for Dexie and Elsie were often drawn into these discussions before
they were aware of it.

In consequence of this, when market days came round, there was quite an
important air about the four young ladies who drove towards the
market-house, and there seemed to be a good deal of fun as well as business
going on, if one might judge by their eager, happy faces, and the way the
task was often unnecessarily prolonged.

One evening, when a party of young people were visiting at Mrs. Fremont's,
a remark was made that brought about a discussion of a sect which are known
in Prince Edward Island as McDonaldites or "Jerkers;" and after a
description of the remarkable character of their meetings, there was much
curiosity raised concerning them.

"You ought not to go home without attending a meeting, Mr. Gurney," said
Mr. Holbrook, "for I do not think the like is to be seen anywhere else in
the world. One visit is generally enough to satisfy most people, but to
those who have good nerves one visit only whets the curiosity. For my part,
I like to go and watch them whenever I find the opportunity."

"Well, I went once," said Gertrude Fremont, "and that was quite enough for
me, and I do not call myself nervous or timid either. Still I would not
have missed seeing them _once_ for anything, but that experience is enough
to last me a lifetime."

"I used to think that the people exaggerated when talking about the actions
of the Jerkers," said Beatrice, "but I had to believe my own eyesight; it
certainly is a very strange thing."

"I wonder if it is anything like what the slaves down South used to be
affected with," said Dexie. "I have heard my grandma tell of prayer
meetings in the negro quarters, where some of the slaves would act in the
same way you describe, but I suppose it is not the same thing except in
name. I should like very much to attend a meeting."

After much persuasion, Mrs. Fremont consented to allow the young people
under her charge to attend a meeting of this peculiar sect, under the
escort of Mr. Holbrook, but the consent was given reluctantly.

"I quite understand the curiosity you have to witness such a mode of
worship," she said, smiling kindly at Dexie, "but I fear the result for
Elsie. I am afraid it would quite unnerve her."

"But if she is the least frightened she need not stay in the church to
watch them," said Lancy, who was eager to visit a McDonaldite church. "It
must be a wonderful sight indeed, if the people go through such contortions
as Mr. Holbrook speaks of."

A few days later the little party drove off in the comfortable covered
carriage on a visit to Uigg. As they crossed the river to Southport they
found several other carriages going in the same direction, so they followed
on, journeying by the beautiful Vernon River road towards their
destination.

There was but one thing that marred the enjoyment of the drive to Elsie,
and that was that the day was Sunday; but her conscientious scruples were
overpowered by those who voted that it was "no harm, surely, to drive to
church on Sunday."

But Elsie felt that they were not going to church for a worthy motive, but
only as sightseers, and, judging by the accounts they had heard, a visit
to a McDonaldite or Jerkers' church was similar to going to a play or
circus. Still her scruples were not strong enough to allow Lancy and Dexie
to go without her, but the beautiful scenery through which they passed had
for her no charm, for she felt, for the first time in her life, that she
was a Sabbath-breaker.

Dexie had no such pangs of conscience, but enjoyed the drive to the utmost,
and Elsie's oft-repeated remark that they "ought not to have come" found no
response in the hearts of the rest. Happily for Elsie, a Sunday feeling
soon possessed her, for Dexie, in the fulness of her heart, could not be
silent, and as ordinary talk seemed out of place in the Sabbath stillness,
she began to sing.

Elsie's voice soon joined the rest, and the sound of harmony rolled along
with the carriage, and before they reached the church of the Jerkers, Elsie
felt more at ease with herself and her surroundings.

It seems passing strange that while the Shakers, Quakers and other peculiar
sects have all come in for a share of newspaper discussion, this most
peculiar sect called McDonaldites, or Jerkers, have escaped the pen of the
reporter. This may be due to the fact that, during the life of the great
McDonald, Prince Edward Island was considered by travellers to be rather an
out-of-the-way place and not worth visiting. But year by year the army of
tourists is increasing, as the Garden of the St. Lawrence becomes better
known, and a visit to a McDonaldite church may yet be one of the sights in
store for my reader, for it is doubtful if such a sight can be witnessed in
any other civilized community.

McDonald, the leader of the sect, has been dead many years. He was a man of
powerful physique, and his mind must have corresponded to his large and
vigorous body, for the power or influence which he had over his followers
was something extraordinary, if not alarming. As his presence was not
necessary to set the members of his Church in motion, and the "jerks" are
kept up even to the present day, there may be some other explanation for
the singular behavior of his followers; but the memory of their leader is
held in reverence, and by many the "jerks" are still attributed to his
power.

The writer has attended but one meeting where the great McDonald presided,
and, being then young in years, the dress, or rather the undress, of the
man was itself awe-inspiring. It was something unusual to see a man in the
pulpit with his coat and vest laid aside and his shirt open, laying bare
his brawny neck. The man himself was enough to create fear, but when the
activity of the members began, discretion seemed the better part of valor,
and we escaped without ceremony. It would be impossible to convey to the
reader an idea of the awful excitement that always prevailed among his
followers, when under the direct leadership of McDonald himself. Even the
attempt to do so would be called exaggerated and untrue; but after
witnessing through the open window the surprising actions of the
congregation, we turned away, feeling that the half _could_ not be told,
for words would fail to portray the scene. The reader must be content with
a meagre description of a visit to the church made many years after the
death of the leader, when the excitement was less intense, to which meeting
Lancy Gurney and his party are hastening.

There are several churches of this sect in different parts of the Island,
but the principal church is in a country place called Uigg. The yearly
sacrament is held at this church, and on these occasions the multitudes of
worshippers who come from a long distance to attend this ceremony are
almost doubled by the number of sightseers who flock to witness the sight.
At such times the adjacent fences are lined with vehicles of every
description, giving the place the appearance of a fair or horse market.
These yearly meetings cannot begin to compare with those held during the
lifetime of the leader, but those who never witnessed a meeting conducted
by the Rev. Mr. McDonald could scarcely believe they were ever more
startling than those held in later years.

With this digression we will return to our young travellers, who, having
secured their horse under the sheltering trees by the roadside, and
fortified their courage by doing justice to the lunch Mrs. Fremont had
prepared for them, now entered the crowded church and stood among the
number of observers in the aisle.

The inside of the edifice had an unfinished look, and the arrangement of
the seats was uncommon, but to most people the seats themselves formed a
most unusual sight, for they were all without backs, the reason of which
soon became apparent.

The meeting had commenced, and the minister was preaching, but it must be
confessed that there was little heed given to his words, for the attention
of the people was attracted to the centre of the church, where a number of
people were already under the peculiar influence; but our little party,
being at a distance, watched the proceedings with a feeling of safety, yet
not unmixed with fear and dread.

Presently a young girl about seventeen or twenty, who sat in a seat quite
near, began to be affected, and all eyes were turned in her direction. She
was dressed in what was probably called in her neighborhood the "height of
style." On her head was a saucer-like bonnet of the "gypsy style," covered
with large artificial flowers, which drooped over a chignon of such
remarkable dimensions that it must have required a multitude of hairpins to
keep it together; but her bonnet helped to keep it in place, as strings of
ribbon were placed at the back, then brought forward under her chin in a
flaring knot.

The peculiar actions of these people are well named "the jerks." In this
instance the hands seemed to be the first part affected; a slight twitching
was soon followed by a quicker movement, then her feet jerked about as if
she were dancing a jig; a moment more and she flung her arms around wildly,
while her head began to shake in quick time to the movements of the hands
and feet. This soon loosened her chignon, the ingredients of which flew in
as many directions, and her hair swept wildly about her face. Her bonnet
fell at the back of her neck, but being held by the strings it bobbed up
and down her back like an animated nosegay. She accompanied her movements
with shrieks and screams that were better suited to a madhouse than a place
of worship, and when exhausted nature finally succumbed, she fell back
against those seated behind, who, very good-naturedly, it must be
confessed, for she weighed more than a trifle, helped her to regain her
senses and her seat. When she was able to sit up, her neighbors on either
side handed back the articles of wearing apparel and pieces of headgear
that she had scattered about, and the girl made a fresh toilet, as well as
the limited stock of hairpins allowed.

A number of other cases equally startling were taking place in different
parts of the church, and the backless seats were explained. It certainly
was less dangerous for the "jerkers" to throw themselves back into the laps
of those behind them than against the hard back of a seat. But the feelings
of those who received the form of the exhausted enthusiast we do not
profess to explain. It is probable, however, that those in the near
vicinity of one who had the "jerks" would prepare themselves for the
backward throw that so many execute at the last moment of their paroxysm.
But to those who looked on, it seemed like a game of "give-and-take," as if
each did not know what moment he might be under the same obligation to
someone else.

While standing in the aisle Dexie passed her arm around Elsie's waist, lest
they should be separated in the crowd. Dexie had become so engrossed in
watching the worshippers that she had forgotten how the sight might affect
her friend, but glancing into her face she saw that this was no place for
one of Elsie's temperament. But the aisles were blocked; they seemed
standing in a vice, with no power to move front or backwards. The
_enthusiasm_ seemed increasing every moment, and as almost every seat held
an active member, the excitement in the church was appalling.

One young girl, quite near where Dexie stood, sprang to her feet with a
shriek that caused Elsie to scream with fright, and Dexie bade her hide her
face from the sight. But Elsie felt she must watch what was going on or
else scream again, so great was her terror. The sight was indeed alarming,
for the girl beat the air with her hands while she jumped up and down,
until her movements appeared actually dangerous to those near her. Her head
was thrown backward and forward with such violence and rapidity that it
seemed a marvel how she escaped dislocation, and her whole body was in
violent motion. At last she fell to the floor with a final shriek, where
she struggled about for several minutes, much to the alarm of those in her
immediate vicinity.

On all sides shrieks and cries mingled with the quick movements of those
who had the "jerks," and Elsie could bear it no longer.

"Take me out, Dexie; I can't stay here another minute!" she cried.

Lancy was some distance away, but he pressed to her side, regardless of the
bruised toes and sides he left behind him, and lifting Elsie in his arms
pressed to the door, with Dexie closely following. They hurried away to
where the noise of the worshippers was not quite so audible, and by degrees
Elsie grew quiet and calm. Leaving them seated on the grass by the
roadside, Lancy re-entered the church, the strange doings having a certain
fascination which he could neither explain nor resist.

In a short time Elsie recovered sufficiently to walk around, but curiosity
drew her again to the church, and they watched through the windows the
peculiar actions of the people. But the excitement had now somewhat
subsided, and Elsie urged that they enter the church again. Dexie was
afraid of the effect which another such scene might have upon her friend,
so she tried to persuade Elsie to stay and watch at a safe distance. Elsie
felt sure she would not be alarmed again, so they entered the church and
obtained a seat that had just been made vacant.

A few minutes later, the movements of an old woman attracted notice. They
had watched her as she entered the church a short time before, and had
pitied the poor, feeble creature, as she dragged herself up the aisle by
the aid of a pair of crutches; but all pity left Dexie's heart as she saw
the crippled creature thump the floor with her crutches, and bring them
together over her head with a crash that rivalled the noise made by many of
the hard-handed sons of toil, who had taken the "jerks" during the service.

"What makes them do it, Dexie?" said Elsie, in a whisper. "'And there was
in the synagogue many people possessed of the devil;' that is the only
solution of the mystery that I can see," was the reply.

"Oh, Dexie! do you really think that is what ails them? How awful!"

"'And there was one woman among them who had seven devils,' and that is she
with the crutches, I think. Are you afraid? Shall we go out, Elsie?"

"It does scare me, but I cannot help looking at them," was the answer.

But the "jerks" now spread from one to the other, until pandemonium let
loose could not be much more alarming. Elsie turned white with fear, but it
was impossible to get out at the moment, as the aisles were blocked by
terrified sightseers, their screams of fright mingling with the shrieks of
those who had the "jerks." It is safe to say that no madhouse ever held a
more excited crowd.

At this moment a heavy woman, who sat on the same seat that held Dexie and
Elsie, began to be affected, and as the seats were only supported at each
end, this one began to spring up and down, setting all those who were upon
it in motion.

The two girls were on their feet in an instant, feeling for one awful
moment that they were taking the "jerks" themselves; but finding the floor
steady under her feet, Dexie soon regained her composure, and endeavored to
quiet Elsie, who was now sobbing without restraint.

Out of this they must get at any hazard, and, drawing Elsie after her, she
crossed to the door by stepping on the knees of the people who intervened,
giving no thought to the outraged feelings of those she had used as
stepping-stones to freedom.

As they reached the doorstep, they saw Mr. Holbrook at a distance, and were
soon at his side.

"How soon can we get away from this awful place?" Dexie hurriedly asked.

"Well, I do not know, Miss Sherwood. Are you in a hurry to go?"

"Yes, that I am; I have had enough of this kind of worship, and Elsie must
not go near the church again. Where is Lancy?"

"I believe he is inside the church; I saw him there a short time ago. He is
much interested, I believe. I hope, Miss Gurney, that these excitable
people have not seriously alarmed you."

"Oh, I don't want to see them any more!" cried Elsie. "I wish we could find
Lancy, so we could start for Charlottetown."

"Do you know, I believe he wants you to stay overnight at some place near,
so that he can stay to the evening service. Could you agree to that plan,
do you think?" he asked.

"Certainly; if the place we have to stay is a good piece away from this
church, out of sight and hearing of these people," replied Dexie, feeling
that a drive back to town would be very tiresome after the exciting day
they had spent.

"Well, suppose we start now? The drive will do you good," said Mr.
Holbrook, as he turned towards their carriage; and as he led the horse on
the road, he proposed that they start for Montague Bridge at once,
describing it as a pretty hamlet about two miles from the church.

"But if Lancy should come and find the carriage gone, he would be anxious,"
said Dexie.

"Oh! I'll pin a note to the tree, so if he comes here it will explain our
absence; but I will be back before the service is ended; and I fancy he
will not leave the church till then. You are quite sure you have no
objections to leaving him behind you, Miss Gurney?" he asked.

"Oh, no! But are you quite sure you can get us a nice place to stay? I
suppose you know the place around here very well," she added.

"Yes, indeed; I have spent my life on the Island, Miss Gurney, and I know
my fellow Islanders pretty well. I will leave you quite comfortable, never
fear."

They were soon driving along at a rapid pace, and Dexie hoped that the
scene in the church had passed from Elsie's mind, till her question to Mr.
Holbrook proved the contrary. "Do tell us, Mr. Holbrook, what _is_ it
makes those people act so? Is it the talk of the minister that does it? I'm
sure I could only hear a word now and then, though his lips kept moving
even when the noise was the worst."

"That is a hard question to answer, Miss Gurney," was the reply. "Some say
it is the Heavenly Spirit working within them; others think the spirit is
not of a heavenly origin; others, again, say they are getting relief from
the bondage of sin."

"Well, if that is the way they show their relief, I think it would be
better to stay in bondage," said Dexie. "I wonder if it can be the same
craze that used to affect the colored people down South. Grandma's people
kept slaves, and I have heard of such actions amongst them, but if I ever
heard the explanation of them I have completely forgotten it. Still one
would hardly think that a superstitious negro craze would affect the
clear-headed Scotch people in the same manner. It is a mystery to me how
they live through it."

Mr. Holbrook laid back his head and laughed.

"But they are human, like other people, Mr. Holbrook," she urged; "and how
is it that they do not hurt themselves? There was a man with a shock of red
hair, sitting near the chimney, who took the 'jerks.' I daresay you noticed
him. Now, unless his head is made of something different than ours, it must
be smashed in on one side, for he struck the chimney with such rapidity and
force that it sounded quite sickening from where we sat. Really, I should
not have been surprised had he fallen dead to the floor."

"I daresay he never felt it," said Mr. Holbrook, smiling. "I do not believe
that any of them know what they are about when they take the 'jerks,' or
else some of the women are very careless of appearances."

"Oh! well, don't let us talk about them any more," said Elsie. "Papa often
says that everyone has a right to his own belief, and these people seem to
believe _something_, and they really _must_ believe it without merely
saying so, as so many of us do, or else they could not act out their belief
in such a dreadful manner; but whatever their belief is, it must be
awful!"

In a short time they entered the village, which was situated on both sides
of a river, connected by the bridge that gave the place its name. Mr.
Holbrook drove at once to a house where he knew the girls would have every
attention, and the pleasant face of the woman who welcomed them at the door
seemed to speak of rest and security to be found beneath her roof.

With a few words of explanation Mr. Holbrook left them, promising to be
back in good season with Lancy. He then returned with all speed to the
church of the McDonalds, where he found the energetic members still in
active motion.




CHAPTER XXII.


"What a relief to find ourselves safe and quiet once more!" said Elsie, as
she leaned back in her chair with a sigh of content. "I did not know I was
so tired."

"A visit to the McDonaldite church is apt to fatigue both body and mind,"
said their hostess, Mrs. Gardner. "It does not seem right, does it, for
people to leave their own church to witness such doings?" she added
seriously. There was a mild rebuke in her words, and Elsie remembered with
a pang that it was Sunday. She had given little thought to the fact during
the last few hours.

"No, I am sure it can't be right, Mrs. Gardner," said Elsie, "but we were
so interested when we heard about these 'Jerkers' that we wished to see
them before we went home."

"Then you do not belong on the Island. Where is your home, my dears?" she
asked, as she stepped briskly about preparing the tea.

"We are from Halifax," Dexie answered.

"And is it possible that you are the daughter of Mr. Sherwood, who buys
horses on the Island? Why, we know him well. He always stays here when he
comes this way. Well, well; many's the time he has told us about his twin
girls, but I never expected to see one of them here. Are you the beauty or
the singer?" she smilingly asked.

"Now, Mrs. Gardner," said Dexie, laughing, "I am sure you can see for
yourself that I am not the beauty."

"Then you are the singer; but your looks will do very well. Uncommon beauty
is often a snare to its possessor, and the ability to sing God's praises is
worth far more. Are you too tired to do so to-night?"

Dexie looked up with a question in her eyes, and Mrs. Gardner added,

"There is a service in our meeting-house to-night. Would you like to attend
it with me?" turning to Elsie.

"Yes, indeed; I would love to go. The day will not seem all lost if we
spend a short time of it properly. But do tell us, Mrs. Gardner, what makes
those people take the 'jerks'? It seems such a queer kind of religion."

"My dear, I have lived in these parts for more than twelve years, and I am
acquainted with several families of McDonaldites, but I never yet learned
why they take the 'jerks,' or what they signify, but I know that there are
many good religious people belonging to the sect."

"But they might be good people on _account_ of their religion or in _spite_
of it," said Dexie.

Mrs. Gardner looked over at Dexie with a serious face.

"I wonder if you can repeat the first verse of the first Psalm. Try it, my
dear," she said.

"I do not think I can say it word for word, Mrs. Gardner," said Dexie,
presently; "but it is something like this, 'Blessed is the person who never
goes where he knows he ought not to be, and who never sits down in the seat
of the scornful.' Thank you, Mrs. Gardner, I see the application," she
added, smiling. "I fear I have been on that seat to-day, and I have no
right to be scornful when I am such a heathen myself. Yet I never attend an
impressive service that I do not wish I were a good member of that
particular church, no matter what denomination it happens to be. But
to-day, although I have witnessed the most impressive service of my life, I
never wished I was a good McDonaldite; no, not once. Now, you needn't
laugh, Elsie, for you know yourself I can jump around just as lively as
most people, and I am sure I could go through some of the most surprising
movements if I tried, but I never once felt the least desire to emulate the
members of that church, so I conclude that I have not been benefited by
attending that wonderful gathering; yet I have always thought that any
religious service that does not inspire you with a desire to join heart and
soul in it, is a miserable failure. I am afraid if I had to choose between
the two, I would rather be a dancing dervish than a McDonaldite. However,
perhaps if I understood the doctrines of each I might choose the other way.
But that brings me back to the beginning again, and makes me wonder how it
is that no one seems to really know why they take the 'jerks,'" turning to
Mrs. Gardner.

"Well, since none of us _do_ know, let us try to forget about them for the
rest of the evening," said she. "It is a comfort to know that there is a
religion which the simplest can understand, and a service in which we can
all unite without committing any impropriety."

A few preparations followed, and they were soon on their way to the
Methodist chapel, where the reverential feeling that always filled Elsie's
heart when inside a place of worship was not now wanting, as it had been
while inside the church of the McDonalds, and she followed the example of
Mrs. Gardner and bowed her head in silent prayer.

The service was opened by singing a hymn--one of those good old-fashioned,
heartfelt songs that are dear to the hearts of all Christian people,
whatever may be their Church or creed--and a feeling of strong emotion
filled Dexie's heart as it rolled from the throats of the people around
her, then her own clear, full notes rose above the assembled voices.

The minister lifted his eyes, and rested them a moment on the owner of the
voice; but, thinking that he supposed she was just singing for effect,
Dexie remained silent while the next verse was sung. A look of
disappointment was reflected on the faces of those around her; but Dexie
was not prepared for the pointed rebuke that was given as the minister read
out the next verse.

"When the Lord gives a good voice, He expects the owner to use it for His
glory; so let all sing who can sing, and do not be afraid to praise God in
His own house."

Dexie felt that the words were directed to her, and wisely obeyed, fearing
a more open command might be given her from the pulpit, and she detected
the nod of approval that was given as she lifted her eyes to the preacher.

When the service was over, Mrs. Gardner introduced her young charges to
those near her, and as the minister came down among his congregation he was
presented to the strangers also.

A few pleasant words followed the introduction; then, drawing Dexie aside,
he said:

"I felt sorry to have to reprove you before the whole congregation, seeing
that you were a stranger here; but after showing us that you _could_ sing,
it was very wrong and unkind to be silent. You know, the verse says, 'Let
those refuse to sing who never knew our Lord,' and I would be sorry to
place you on the left hand when you are so well able to sing God's
praises."

Dexie did not know whether to be amused, hurt or vexed. The words uttered
were words of rebuke, but the odd manner in which they were said and the
humorous twinkle in the minister's eyes did not well agree. He waited a
moment for her answer, still holding her hand and looking down into her
face with a serio-comic expression quite unlike a clergyman, until Dexie
answered, in a low tone,

"I will remember what you said, and will always sing when I can, though I
should not like to be spoken to right out in church very often."

"That's right," said Mr. Barkly. "I am glad to know that I have made an
impression on one of my congregation, at least, and that your sin of
omission will not be repeated. There is nothing like a personal remark to
bring people to a sense of their shortcomings; so let this be a warning to
you, Miss Sherwood," and he walked down the aisle at her side. "I hope,
Miss Sherwood," he added, "that your stay amongst us will allow us the
privilege of hearing your voice again. With a good preacher and a fine
singer as inducements, we ought to bring out a large congregation, eh?"

Dexie looked up quickly, but the ministerial air could not hide the rich
vein of humor in the man, and she smilingly replied,

"I should not like to be reproved before a larger audience than was here
this evening, Mr. Barkly, and I might unintentionally do something that
would bring it upon me; so I think the preacher must depend on himself, as
we expect to return to Charlottetown to-morrow."

A few parting words, and the group separated, and Dexie found herself by
Elsie's side, walking towards their temporary home.

As they were very tired, they decided not to await Lancy's arrival, so at
an early hour they asked to be shown to their room, and its spotless purity
spoke well for the housekeeper.

"However shall we get into that bed, Dexie?" said Elsie, as the footsteps
of Mrs. Gardner were no longer audible.

"That is just what I was wondering myself," and Dexie stood regarding the
high, old-fashioned four-poster. "Do you suppose they use a step-ladder, or
jump into it from the table? Why," lifting up the counterpane and sheets,
"it's just a mountain of feathers; we must spring into it from this chair."
A little later her smothered laughter camp from its depths, and the laugh
was repeated when Elsie sank beside her.

When they came downstairs next morning they found Lancy waiting for them,
and a few minutes later Mr. Holbrook put in an appearance, making a merry
little party as they sat round the cosy breakfast table.

At the earnest solicitation of Mrs. Gardner, they consented to stay a few
days longer at Montague Bridge, and visit the places of interest in the
vicinity.

"I will leave the horse and carriage, and return to town with a friend, and
report to Mrs. Fremont," said Mr. Holbrook, "so you can drive around the
country here; and when you are ready for home just follow the telegraph
poles, and you'll not miss your road. You have made a good thing of it by
visiting Montague Bridge."

A few days later the new friends they had made were left behind, and they
were again in sight of Charlottetown.

When they arrived at Mrs. Fremont's they were received with delight, as
there had been a picnic planned, and they were waiting the return of the
little party from Montague, in order to announce the day.

After the pleasant bustle of preparation had resulted in hampers of
delicacies, a lively procession of vehicles, filled with happy people,
started for Stanhope Bay, a lovely spot on the north shore of the Island.

The high sandbanks that here border the waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence
were a source of wonder and amusement to those of the party who were
strangers to the place, but woe to the one who stepped unwittingly near the
edge of the bank! for the yielding sand gave no foothold, and an awkward
slide down the face of the bank was always the result. But the shore below
was as firm and smooth as a sanded floor, and soon every member of the
party had thrown dignity aside and let themselves down through the warm dry
sand to the beach, where they sought for treasures of the deep in the shape
of pretty shells and other sea beauties, that were thrown up by the mighty
waves that here dash on the shore in thundering tones when tempests rule
the waters of the Gulf.

It was only when a sense of hunger brought to mind the full baskets
awaiting them in the grove at the top of the bank, that they turned their
backs on the restless waves, and essayed to climb the steep sandbanks.

But a complete knowledge of mountain-climbing was of little use here; it
was each one for himself in the scramble for the top, for there could be
little help given either in front or rear.

A mad rush up the bank, at an angle that offered some slight foothold,
brought Dexie, hot and panting, to the top, and she turned to give a word
of instruction to Elsie, who was trying to climb the steep face of the bank
only to find that she slipped back almost as fast as she ascended.

"Go back to the bottom, Elsie, and make a run for that bunch of grass where
I came up; you will never get up there; watch Gertrude Fremont. Now, Elsie,
run for it!"

After a few minutes' hard climbing, Elsie reached the top, and the next few
minutes were spent in shaking their skirts, and emptying their shoes from
the accumulation of sand that filled every crevice. A smooth spot was then
found to do duty as a table, and the snowy cloths were spread, when the
contents of the heavy baskets revealed themselves, and all the delights of
a picnic in the woods were present in abundance.

Even the long-legged spiders, who invariably invite themselves to such
gatherings, and persist in walking over and around the various viands, were
here represented by members of the family who seemed to be great
grandfathers of their tribe, judging by their size; and the dexterity shown
by some of the young gentlemen in picking up these wandering vagrants and
sending them back into oblivion, called forth much praise from the female
portion of the party.

After a day of delightful enjoyment, the hour arrived for them to return
home, and having so much less to pack up than there was at starting, they
were soon on the journey homeward.

Before the picnickers separated, there was a driving party arranged to go
to Rustico Beach, Brackly Point or Cove Head, for another day's outing, and
the day was set for the drive.




CHAPTER XXIII.


The next morning, when the mail was opened, Dexie received a letter from
home, in which, beside the commonplace news, there were pages devoted to a
startling and amusing announcement.

"Just think," Gussie wrote, "there is a man at the Gurney's who has come
all the way from Australia to find Hugh, and to tell him about the fortune
left him by his father. It amounts to a very large sum, and will make Hugh
one of the wealthiest men in the Province, so, of course, he is now quite a
different person in my eyes than when he was a mere clerk. Unfortunately
for me, he is not so agreeable and friendly as he used to be, and he does
not come in to see me nearly so often as formerly, but I manage to meet him
frequently, and treat him with so much favor that I am quite sure I will
have no difficulty in securing him. I have been teasing mamma to buy me
some more new dresses, for I feel quite shabby now that there is a prospect
of possessing so much wealth. I am sure we will be a fine-looking couple,
for Hugh looks particularly handsome lately, but rich men always look well
in the eyes of a young lady. If you are asked to stay for a long visit, I
would advise you to do so, as it is much more convenient for me to have you
away just now."

Dexie smiled at this, but turned over the page and read on: "I shall send
you word as soon as I am engaged, for then I shall want your help on my
trousseau. As you are visiting among fashionable people, I wish you would
keep in mind whatever dressy garments you see that would suit my style.
Hugh wished to be remembered to you, and was anxious to know when you would
return, but I do not see that your movements concern him."

There were more pages in the same strain, and Dexie smiled at the many
things Gussie had disclosed without being aware of it. She could read
between the lines, and the reason of Hugh's inquiries on her behalf were
not hard to guess. But Dexie knew it would be a great disappointment to
Gussie if she failed in her schemes, and she was willing enough to prolong
her visit if it favored Gussie's future prospects, but she knew that Hugh's
pocket-book was far dearer to Gussie than Hugh himself.

Lancy had received a letter also, and Hugh's unexpected good fortune was
told at length. Hugh's father had not died during the journey to the
Australian gold diggings, as had been reported, but he had changed his
name, and so was lost sight of, until he had accumulated the fortune that
now fell to his son. Lancy wondered if Hugh's better prospects would have
any influence on Dexie; he knew well that Hugh would use his money as a
stepping-stone to Dexie's favor. Perhaps Dexie surmised what was going on
in his mind, for she passed him her letter with permission to read it.
After they retired from the breakfast room, they discussed the news
together. Lancy felt ashamed to think he could not feel as pleased about it
as he ought, and Dexie listened with heightened color as he told his fear
of being set aside for Hugh.

"Lancy, you must remember I am free to do as I like with my future," she
said, with flushed cheeks, "for I have not given you the least word of a
promise; but let me tell you once and for all, that Hugh cannot buy my
favor, and he has not been able to obtain it by coaxing, or brute force
either."

"Dexie, what do you mean?" was the quick reply. "What has he said or done
that you speak like this?"

"Let us go to the summer-house, Lancy, and I think I can satisfy your mind
on one point, and that is, if I fail to appreciate your attentions as you
think they deserve, you need not lay the blame on Hugh McNeil," and,
standing under the shadow of the swinging vines, Dexie related the
substance of the interview on the kitchen roof the evening before they left
Halifax.

"The scoundrel! and he dared to threaten you, and was actually going to
throw you from the roof! Why did you not tell me, Dexie, and I would have
horsewhipped him if it had cost me my life!" And he dug his heel into the
gravel, as if he had his enemy beneath it.

"Don't, Lancy; it is all over, so try to forget it. I know that Hugh felt
sorry for his burst of temper the moment after, but he could not unsay the
words, and I would not forgive them--that is why he felt so badly when we
parted on the train. I did not intend to tell you of it, Lancy; so do not
look so vexed."

"Oh! if I only could lay my hands on him, I would pay him for his impudence
and brutality! but, Dexie, were you not very frightened?" and he clasped
her hands in his own, and looked earnestly into her face.

"For the moment, when I turned my head and saw the stones beneath me, I was
almost sick with fear, but I think my temper saved my life just then, for I
turned on him and dared him! Oh! I could have torn him limb from limb, I
was that angry! I broke the commandment a dozen times as I stood there
before him--I mean the one that says 'Thou shalt do no murder.' I killed
him in my heart, I mean. However, I feel real pleased to hear of his good
fortune, so I think I must have repented; but I'm not quite sure," she
laughingly added.

"My brave Dexie! that is no easy matter to forgive!" said Lancy earnestly.

"Oh, well! I am going to forgive everything, and be as amiable as possible
to my future brother-in-law. You see, Gussie has claimed him already. Now,
you must keep this to yourself, Lancy, or I will never tell you anything
again; but you see how foolish it is to hold up Hugh as my possible lover.
Are you satisfied now?"

"No, not quite, Dexie, but if you will tell me what you refused to tell
Hugh, then I will be," and he drew nearer her side.

"Then I guess you can remain unsatisfied, Sir Launcelot, for I will not
confess to a feeling I am not sure of possessing."

"But you will confess that no one else holds the first place--that you love
no one else? You will tell me that much, surely, Dexie?" and he tried to
read the answer in her dark eyes.

"Well, yes, Lancy. I can safely concede that much without committing
myself, but you need not begin to build air castles on that!"

A step sounded on the gravel walk, and Elsie's head appeared through the
swinging vines at the door.

"Here I have been searching for you for half an hour! Whatever have you two
been doing here, all by yourselves? Not love-making, surely; but your face
looks guilty, Dexie," and she looked keenly at her brother, to see what his
earnest tones might have meant.

"Well! you little Paul Pry! we were love-making and love-breaking, both.
You came just in time to hear that my engagement to Lancy is--not a settled
thing," and she laughed at the surprise in Elsie's eyes. "So please unsay
what you told Mrs. Fremont in the parlor last evening. But what are your
wishes, Miss Gurney?"

Elsie returned her bow with great formality and replied "Miss Beatrice
Fremont sends her compliments, and will Mr. Gurney be kind enough to drive
us to the market this morning, as Miss Gertrude is otherwise engaged."

"With pleasure, but such dignity ill becomes your youthful brow, sister
mine. Did mother tell you the news about Hugh?"

"No! She said you would tell me the news your letter contained."

"Well, just think! Hugh's father has been alive for years, long enough to
lay by a big fortune for Hugh. But he took a fever and died, just when he
was almost ready to return to England. He managed to get a trusty man to
see after his business, who has arrived in Halifax, and Hugh is rich enough
to buy us all out if he wants to. Mother says he has made no plans for the
future yet, but frequently asks when we are expected home, though why he is
anxious about us, I can't see."

Something caused him to glance at Dexie, and the peculiar smile on her face
made Lancy understand at once the reason of the frequent inquiries. Hugh
did not care to make plans for the future until Dexie had returned, when
her acceptance or refusal of his suit would have something to do with his
future plans. But after hearing Dexie's story, Hugh's anxiety on their
account did not trouble him further.

As they walked towards the house, Elsie expressed a hope "that Hugh and
Gussie would soon get married, and would give them a good party to
celebrate the event," and Dexie heartily seconded her wish.

But even Hugh's good fortune was set aside, for this was market day, and on
no account would they miss the drive to the crowded mart. They were soon
speeding along the level road, past cartloads of farm products of every
kind, which were slowly making their way towards the same goal. While
Beatrice was making her purchases the two girls wandered about to view the
busy scene, but they soon became aware that the attention of a
broad-shouldered countryman was directed to themselves. Dexie wondered
where she had seen the man before, as his face looked familiar, but her
memory was refreshed by the outspoken and hearty greeting that met her
ears.

"Bless yer bonnie face! If this aren't Mr. Sherrud's dochter, I'm mista'en!
What! dinna ye ken the auld farmer McDonald, that was seein' ye in Halifax?
Oh, I thocht ye'd ken me! An' whan did ye come owre?" and her hand was
grasped and given a hearty shake as she tried to answer his many questions,
for the pleasure of the meeting was easily read in the open countenance
before her.

"Weel, weel! but it's pleased I am to hae met ye the day, an' is yer
faither as smart as ever?" and seeing him glance towards Elsie she
remembered herself and introduced her friend.

"She is our next-door neighbor in Halifax," Dexie explained.

"An' ye are both owre for a visit? Weel, weel, an' ye never telt me ye were
comin' at a', at a'. But whaur are ye stayin', if I may ask?"

"At Mrs. Fremont's. I am here at Miss Gurney's invitation, and her friends
have been very kind to me. We have been here a little more than three
weeks."

"An' ye never sent me word! If I had kent ye were here, I wad hae sent doon
for ye afore."

"You are very kind, indeed, Mr. McDonald, but I am here with friends this
time, and I am afraid I cannot leave them."

"Hoot, noo! ye needna leave them; there's room at the farm for ye a'. Hoo
mony is there besides this ane?"

"One young man."

And catching sight of Lancy, a short distance away, she called his name and
he stepped at once to her side.

"This is Mr. Gurney, a brother to my friend here."

"Ay, ay; I remember him," greeting Lancy heartily. "An' hoo dae ye like the
look o' the Islan'?"

"Very much, indeed!" Lancy replied. "It is a fine place, and we have been
enjoying ourselves immensely."

"But ye haena been up oor way yet! If I'd only kent ye were here I wad hae
had ye up afore this," he repeated.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. McDonald, but we could hardly impose on your
good-nature as far as that."

"Impose, is't? Ma dear sir, it's prood an' happy we wad be to hae ye come
to see us. You maun gie me yer promise to come afore ye gang back to
Halifax. The gran'mother wad be sair hurt at no seein' ye. Whan could ye
come, noo?" turning to Dexie.

Just then Beatrice Fremont came towards them, and her smile of recognition
told Dexie that the farmer was well known to her.

"I did not know you were acquainted with my friends, Mr. McDonald," and she
extended her hand.

"I ken her faither weel, an' I met the dochter whan I was abroad," he
replied with a smile, "but I never expected to meet ony Halifax folk the
day. It's her faither that did me the kindness whan I was in Halifax that
I'll never forget, an' it's weel pleased I am to meet them. Is't at your
place they are staying, Miss Fremont?"

"Yes," replied Beatrice, smiling, "but I think I heard you trying to coax
them away from us, Mr. McDonald."

He looked up into the bright face and replied:

"Ay, I want to show them that I dinna forget their kindness to me whan I
was a stranger in a strange land, an' no wishin' to rob ye o' yer visitors
at a', I was tryin' to hae them say whan they wad come up to the farm, for
it's masel' that'll come efter them, whanever they say the word."

"You need not be afraid to accept the invitation, girls," said Beatrice, as
the farmer turned to say a few words to Lancy. "Your presence would cause
no trouble; they are always so glad to have visitors that it is a pleasure
to go. I spent several weeks there last summer, and I know they would all
be glad to see you."

"It is well enough for Dexie to go," said Elsie, "but it would be very rude
for me to go on such short acquaintance."

"There, Elsie, I stand condemned. Behold me, a visitor at Mrs. Fremont's,
and we never knew of each other's existence before the visit was planned,"
said Dexie.

"But this is different, Dexie," Elsie hurried to explain.

"The difference is in your favor, Elsie."

"I think I can promise that they will be as glad to see you both at the
farm as we were to have you here, and you know your being no relation does
not matter to us."

"Well, I would dearly love to go," Dexie said. "It will be such a chance to
see that part of the country, and by the way papa speaks of the McDonald
homestead we would like it very much."

"Then you cannot do better than spend a few days at the seaside with him.
There is a fine beach near, and chances for sea-bathing and all the rest of
the delights of a seaside farm. If you like, Gertrude will go with you and
stay for the first day or two."

"Is there a beach and sandhills like Stanhope Bay?" Dexie asked.

"Yes, only better, I think; and they have boats and go fishing sometimes. I
am sure you would enjoy yourselves."

Lancy had been talking to Mr. McDonald during this conversation, but he now
turned to them, saying:

"What do you say, girls, to accepting this kind invitation? Shall we go in
a body?"

"They would all like to go, Mr. McDonald, but they are afraid they will
crowd you," said Beatrice, smiling; "but I know so much better than that,
that I am going to send Gertrude along with them. You will give her
house-room, I know."

"Hoose-room, is't; there's plenty o' that; but hoo shune can ye a' come
up?" he anxiously inquired.

"Well, not till next week, Mr. McDonald. We have planned to go for a picnic
to Brackly Point, but you can tell the girls at home to look out for them
next Wednesday; you need not take the trouble to come in for them, Mr.
McDonald; I know how busy you are on the farm, and Gertrude knows the road.
You must not let them run wild," she laughingly said, "but keep them well
in order. But I must hurry home or I shall not be in time to give cook
these vegetables for dinner. You must call in and see us on your way out of
town, Mr. McDonald," and promising to do so he walked with them to where
the carriage was waiting, and they drove home discussing the proposed visit
as they went. Dexie then explained how she became acquainted with the
farmer, and gave them a short account of the troubles he had experienced
while visiting Nova Scotia.

"He shows to better advantage when he is at home on his own farm," said
Beatrice. "He told us how he fell among thieves when he was in Halifax, and
how a kind gentleman befriended him, but I did not expect I would ever know
any of the family that he praised so highly when he told us the story. He
supplies us with winter vegetables, and we are quite friendly, I assure
you."

"How strange things do happen! I never expected to set eyes on the man
again, and here we are planning to visit his home. A chain of
circumstances, linked together, stretches a long way, even though the links
are small and insignificant in themselves."

"Yes; it would have been a great disappointment to him had you refused his
invitation. He loves to have visitors in the house. I can speak from
experience, for I have been there with Gertrude. I expect Mr. McDonald did
not impress you favorably when he was in Halifax, but in his own place you
will not find a finer man anywhere."

"I can well believe it, but--oh! Beatrice, what is that?"

As they turned a corner they came upon a man standing in the centre of the
street ringing a bell which he held in his hand, and instantly the doors
and windows in the neighborhood were peopled, and pedestrians within
earshot all stopped at the sound.

"Oh! who is it? What is he saying?" cried the girls.

"Listen," and she checked the horse. "It is old Hatch, the town-crier;
something is lost."

The bell stopped, and in a loud voice the man read from a paper:

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Lost, lost! On market square, a tin box, containing
papers. The finder will be rewarded by leaving it with the city marshal at
the court-house. Oh, yes! Oh, yes!"

The bell rang again at the conclusion of the proclamation, and the man
hurried on to the next street-crossing, where the loss was again set forth,
his voice coming back in waves of sound as the carriage rolled farther
away.

"The 'town-crier,'--that means a crier hired by the town, does it?" said
Lancy. "I thought there was not such a thing this side the Atlantic. Why do
not people advertise their losses?"

"That is the way they do it," said Beatrice, smiling, "and it pays better,
particularly on market days, than to put it in all the city papers. It is
the quickest way to make a loss known, or to advertise a sale, for
everybody listens to old Hatch, or Mr. Hatch, I should say. It is very
old-fashioned to have a town-crier, I suppose, but we should miss him very
much, though I daresay the office will die with the present crier."

"I think it is an old English custom," said Lancy. "I have read of criers
going through the streets to announce great events, such as battles and
other public matters, but I thought they were out of date long ago."

The events of the morning were duly discussed with Mrs. Fremont when they
arrived at the house, and she assured them that no thought of inconvenience
need cause them to shrink from accepting Mr. McDonald's invitation. Their
visit would bring pleasure to all the members of the family.

"You will not find the family rude and rough, as some country people are.
The girls are bright and intelligent, though full of fun and frolic," she
added. "You will be sure to enjoy yourselves, and should there come a rainy
day you will find plenty to amuse you in their quaint though comfortable
farmhouse."




CHAPTER XXIV.


The same comfortable carriage that carried them to Montague Bridge was now
travelling in an opposite direction, and the young strangers viewed with
pleasure the luxuriant fields that surrounded the many farmhouses, and
which promise such abundant harvest to their owners. The drive proved a
very delightful one indeed. In consequence of the many stoppings they made
to regale themselves with the sweet wild berries that grew in abundance by
the roadside, the afternoon was drawing to a close when the little party
reached the McDonald farmhouse.

The hardy pioneer who had first settled on the land that was owned and
tilled by his descendants, must have selected the site on which he built
his first log-house with an eye to the picturesque and beautiful, for no
other spot for miles around had such a far reaching and delightful
prospect. As time went by, and the land gave forth its increase, the
log-house was supplemented by a more pretentious structure, that was "built
on," the original apartments serving for kitchens, outhouses and other
necessary buildings; and as this process of erection went on at later
periods, the farmhouse was large and many sided, and possessed many
conveniences that farmers are apt to consider unnecessary. But the honest
pride that the present owner had in the well-tilled acres extended to the
buildings upon it, and neatness and thrift were everywhere present. No
hingeless gates propped with sticks met the eye; no broken-down doors were
to be seen on his barns; a master hand ruled the land, and his rule brought
prosperity and happiness.

The inmates of the farmhouse were such as you would expect to find amidst
such surroundings--active and intelligent, and not wholly given up to the
pursuit of the things which perish with the using, for the young people, at
least, found time for intellectual pleasures that would have been
considered in some farmhouses a wilful waste of time and means.

The family consisted of two young girls well up in their teens; Tom, a
lively boy of twelve, and Dora, a plump little miss of six; and coming
after these, in her own estimation, was the mother, a model of neatness and
good-nature, a fine dairy woman, whose interests were, of course, centred
in her cows and poultry yard, and she was generally found somewhere near
the vicinity of her particular treasures.

Then there was Phebe, the strong-armed. A very important member of the
family was she, as you would soon learn if you made any stay in the
farmhouse. She it was who solved problems by the aid of washboard and
scrubbing-brush, and the tempting meals she sent out of the kitchen would
have delighted the heart of an epicure. But to see Phebe at her best, one
should be at the farm during the busy haying season. It was her pride and
delight to be considered "as good as any man," and she could "pitch a load"
with a dexterity that even the two farm hands could not equal. These latter
were brothers, and lived in a snug cottage a few rods away, said cottage
being kept, like everything else on the farm, as "neat as a new pin," by
Joe's wife, a brisk little woman, whose head scarcely reached to her
husband's shoulder.

Another inmate of the farmhouse should have a paragraph all to herself, for
"the grandmother" cannot be described in one brief line. Although she had
long since passed the allotted span of life, yet age had not dimmed the
lustre of her keen grey eyes nor dulled her faculties; and though she could
no longer take an active part in the management of the household, yet from
her corner in the pleasant room a potent spell reached out and overshadowed
the members of the household. No crowned monarch on his throne ever ruled
over such deferential and loyal subjects as those that here yielded to her
benign sway. Not that she required it of them--it was graciously accorded
her as to the patriarchs of old, and she seemed to belong to a holier age.
Her soft white hair fell over her brow, and was drawn back under a large
white frilled cap that surrounded her head like a halo, and the placid
countenance that beamed beneath it inspired a feeling of reverence. She was
called by all the household "the grandmother," and was dearly loved by them
all; but the filial love of her son was far above that usually accorded to
aged mothers, and it was easy to see how it warmed her heart.

Such was the household into which our young travellers were ushered about
five o'clock on a beautiful summer day.

Mr. McDonald had been watching for their appearance for some hours, and his
hearty greetings were repeated by the rest of the family. The farmer's
daughters, Maggie and Lizzie, received Gertrude with the cordiality of an
old friend, and though at first they seemed a little shy with the strangers
from "abroad" this soon wore away, and they found their visitors quite as
amiable as if they had been born on the same soil as themselves.

As soon as they had been refreshed, outwardly and inwardly, they were taken
into the room where "the grandmother" sat in her large, comfortable chair,
and were introduced to her with much solemnity; but they only waited for
the few words of welcome to each, and then passed into the pleasant
sitting-room adjoining.

"You must go in to-morrow and see the grandmother, one at a time," said
Lizzie, as she drew a chair near the rest. "She does not see many
strangers, and more than one confuses her. It seemed necessary to introduce
you in a body, but she will be better pleased to become acquainted with you
separately."

"I have something for her," said Gertrude. "She seems to remember me as
well as if I were here only last week."

"I have something for her, too," said Dexie, smiling, "but it is only a
soft foot-rest, and I see she has one now."

"That is kind of you to think of her," said Maggie. "Let me know when you
are going to give it to her, and I will slip in beforehand and pull away
her old one. She will be so delighted to think that you remembered her."

But the beautiful prospect from the windows claimed a closer inspection,
and they went for their hats and started for the beach.

Lancy followed Mr. McDonald to inspect the premises with the happy owner,
promising to join the rest later on. The girls walked along the path that
led across a waving field of grain, and then stood for a few minutes
looking off at the white-topped waves that extended as far as the eye could
reach. The high sandbanks here raised their barriers against the waters of
the Gulf, and shrill screams of laughter, such as only come from girlish
throats, accompanied their descent through the dry, yielding sand to the
beach below. The little white-washed building that served the double
purpose of bathing and boat-house was duly inspected; and when Dexie
admitted her ability to handle an oar, it raised her very much in the
estimation of the bright country lasses, as they were under the impression
that her soft hands were not put to much energetic labor, but one who had
sufficient muscle to handle an oar could surely do other things as well.
While they were on the beach Lancy joined them, and after he had inspected
the boat-house, under Dexie's enthusiastic guidance, they agreed that on
the morrow they would sail across to the distant point, and view the
prospect from that quarter.

"We will take a lunch and have a private picnic," said Lizzie. "I hope the
day will be fine. You have no idea how rough it is here when the wind is
high; the breakers come rolling in so high and grand that it is quite
fascinating to watch them, but dangerous in the extreme to be on the shore.
Vessels have to keep out to sea when there is a storm, for this is
considered a dangerous coast, but there have not been any wrecks along here
for some years."

They returned by a different route, entering the house by a side-door, and
the visitors were surprised to see the display of flowers that bloomed in
the outer porch, making it, indeed, a bower of beauty.

"Why! you have made quite an addition to the house since I was here last,"
said Gertrude, as she stood to admire the blossoms.

"No, not an addition, only a little alteration," said Maggie. "Don't you
remember this old porch where father used to smoke his pipe of an evening?
Well, in the spring, when Joe was making the glass frames to force the
early vegetables for market, we got him to put a glass frame on each side
of the porch. They are not very neatly done, I admit, but they answer the
purpose very well. Then these few shelves were easily fitted up, and this
is the result," she added.

"I missed your flowers, from the window seats, and wondered if you had
found them too much trouble," said Gertrude, fingering some sweet-smelling
leaves near her. "Well, you see, there were so many of them that it was
quite a task to look after them when they were spread over the house. In
the winter we don't mind the trouble so much, as there is so little left of
'green things growing' to rest the eyes upon that we find them quite a
pleasure. In the bright days of spring there is so much to see and do
out-of doors that we thought we would collect them here. Of course, we
still keep the grandmother's window full of blossoms, for she loves them so
dearly."

"It is a pity that the porch is not on the south side of the house," said
Dexie. "I should think it would be quite chilly here when the wind blows."

"So it is," said Lizzie, with a smile, "and I suppose you think we might
have chosen a better situation for our little conservatory when this
many-sided house has better spots to select from, but it was not the
flowers alone we were thinking of."

"Well, what else were you thinking of, if I may ask?" said Gertrude.

Lizzie blushed slightly as she replied:

"This is the door that mother uses to go in and out when about her dairy
work--that is the dairy under the trees at the end of the path--and father
likes to sit here and watch her about her work of an evening while he
smokes his pipe; and when she has done her work she will often sit here and
rest a few minutes with him; but there is not much of a prospect from this
door, except the waters of the Gulf, so we thought we would put our flowers
here and she could see and smell them when she went in and out. She might
be too busy to stop and notice them particularly, but they are something
pleasant to rest her eyes on when she is through with the milk. I always
thought that the restless waves made her think of my brother who was lost
at sea, but now I fancy that the flowers rest her, though perhaps it is
only fancy, after all."

Dexie's thoughts flew back to her own mother lying listlessly on her sofa
so much of the time. How much had she ever done to change the current of
her mother's thought? She made a mental memorandum to try the effect of a
few bright blooms in her mother's window as soon as she returned home.

As they talked, Maggie had taken up her father's pipe that had lain on a
shelf near, and emptying its contents she took from a pouch hanging on the
wall a piece of tobacco and a jack-knife, and, with a practised hand, she
refilled the pipe afresh, then laid it gently on a little shelf within easy
reach of the cosy seat that her father occupied during the warm summer
evenings. It was done so quietly that it was almost unnoticed, but Dexie
saw it and understood the kindly act. She wondered if she loved her own
father enough to perform such an act for him. She felt glad that her father
did not use tobacco, for she would not care to be outdone by these Prince
Edward Island girls; yet in her case she felt that even lovingkindness had
its limit, and that she would have to draw the line _this_ side of the
tobacco pipe.

Maggie felt, rather than saw, that Dexie was watching her, and as she laid
the pipe in readiness for her father's evening smoke she looked up and said
with a smile:

"You never saw a girl do that before, confess now? Well, I don't care for
it, but father likes to find his pipe all ready for him, so I try to
overcome my dislike, and his tobacco-smoke helps to keep my flowers free
from vermin, you know."

As twilight deepened into evening the members of the family all assembled
in the grandmother's room, and a home-like feeling came over Elsie as she
saw Mr. McDonald open the big Bible that rested on a small table near the
grandmother's chair, and read, in his rich Scotch accents, the evening
psalms. Then they quietly knelt, all except the grandmother, who, rising
slowly to her feet and leaning on her staff, offered up the evening prayer.
It made Dexie think of the patriarchs of old, who blessed their families
"leaning on their staffs for very age." Then the family said good-night to
the grandmother, and the polished candlesticks that decorated the mantle
shelf were taken down by the farmer's wife and a lighted candle set in
each; these were then handed to the different members of the family, who
passed out of the room in single file, very much after the manner of a
diminutive torch-light procession.

The family were supposed to retire to their own rooms at once, as "early to
bed" was the rule of the farmhouse, but the laughing group of girls all
assembled in one room for a friendly chat before retiring.

As Lancy sat by his open window enjoying the quiet scene without, the sound
of their voices reached his ears. He would have preferred a walk, or a
short _tete-a-tete_ with Dexie, instead of this early-to-bed arrangement,
but he respected the rule of the house and blew out his candle at an early
hour. He was rewarded for his good behavior by a long refreshing sleep, and
Dexie appearing to him in his dreams was more gracious than ever she had
been during his waking hours.

But, as everyone knows, when young ladies get talking together of an
evening, sleep "comes slowly up that way," and the shortness of their
candles alone warned them that it was time they sought the pillow. But the
short candles were unheeded, for Gertrude was relating reminiscences of a
former visit, and the fun and frolic that prevailed at the farm during
their stay. At last, when one of the candles flared up, then subsided in
smoke, the girls rose to leave the room, but Gertrude turned at the door,
saying:

"Take good care, girls, and sleep well over to the back of the bed, or you
may repeat the performance that took place the first night that Beatrice
and I slept in the house."

"Oh, do tell them about it, Gertrude," said Maggie, laughing. "Our candles
will hold out that long, I think."

Gertrude seated herself on the foot of the bed, while the rest waited for
the story.

"Well, we slept that night in the room that Lancy occupies, at the head of
the stairs, and, do you know, I never enter it but I feel cold shivers
running up my back as I think of that night. You see, Mrs. McDonald's
feather-beds are wonderful for size; they are her pride and joy; but we
were not used to them, so, during the night, we rolled over too near the
front of the bed, when suddenly out we both went, and the feather-bed fell
out on top of us! I thought there had been an earthquake, and so laid quiet
for the next shock. By and by Beatrice crawled out from under the ruins
and tried to lift the feather-bed back on the mattress, but instead of
doing so she fell back on the floor with it in her arms. Over went the
table, and this upset the whole contents of the water-pitcher over my back.
Good gracious! how it scared me! It was pitch dark and I could not tell
what had happened, so I screamed--screamed as if I was being murdered.
Imagine our feelings when the door opened, and in walked Mr. and Mrs.
McDonald, carrying a candle and a poker. Oh! I thought I should die with
shame. They thought that robbers had broken into the house and were
carrying us off, so they ran with the poker to our rescue. It took them
some time to comprehend the true state of affairs, then Mr. McDonald
disappeared in a twinkling. The girls here came running up to see what was
the matter, and they soon tossed the bed and bed-clothes out of the way,
and got some dry garments for poor shivering me. Beatrice escaped with a
lump on her head as big as an egg. I had no outward bruises to speak of,
but I felt bad enough without any; but the water-pitcher had the handle
broken off, and the bed-clothes and feather-bed had to be dried
out-of-doors for days after. Oh, dear! I did feel so ashamed; such a scrape
I never got into before or since. So take my story to heart, and do not
lose your senses if you do fall out of bed," and Gertrude laughed as she
took up her candle and followed the rest from the room, leaving Dexie and
Elsie to the mercy or comfort of their big feather-bed.




CHAPTER XXV.


There was a full breakfast table the next morning, for the young visitors
determined to fall into the ways of the family as much as possible, so
decided to be "early birds" along with the rest.

During the meal, Mr. McDonald suggested the various ways they might pass
the day enjoyably; but when he had exhausted the resources of pleasure
that occurred to his mind, Dexie smilingly said,

"You are very kind, Mr. McDonald, to place so many pleasures within our
reach, but it would not be right to spend the whole day in that way."

"What way would you prefer to pass the day?" said Lizzie, with a smile.

"Well, first, I should like to help wash the dishes, then I should like to
be set to work at anything else that I can do in a passable manner."

"Dear me! is that what you call enjoying yourself, Miss Dexie?" said
Maggie. "I fancy you would not like dish-washing, if you had to do it all
the time."

"Well, perhaps a full day's task of dish-washing would be rather tedious,"
said Dexie, laughing; "but I was only bidding for the breakfast dishes, you
know."

"But there is no need to trouble yourselves about anything," said Mrs.
McDonald. "Enjoy yourselves all you can while you are here; Phebe can
manage the work nicely. Put on your hats, and have a walk through the
fields; it will give you a fine appetite for your dinner."

"But I have a remarkable appetite already, Mrs. McDonald; I shall be
alarmed if it increases much more," was the smiling reply, "and you know
the Bible says, 'If one will not work, neither should he eat,' or words to
that effect, so you must have pity on me, and not keep me idle. Lancy, your
appetite is wonderful too, for that is your second cup of coffee; you had
better hunt up some work also," she laughingly added.

"I will give him some now," said Lizzie. "Before the tide comes in he can
go down to the boat-house and get out the boat. We want to be off by ten
o'clock; the tide will be about right then, and since you are so anxious
for work, Miss Dexie, you may help Maggie pack the baskets. I hope,
Gertrude, you won't ask for something to do, for I want you to take Miss
Gurney around, and show her the poultry yard. Mother will be too busy to
protect her from our feathered enemies."

"Enemies! are they very savage?" Elsie asked in alarm.

"No; the trouble is in the opposite direction," said Maggie. "The creatures
are that tame they are quite a nuisance; you can scarcely step for them.
The greedy things look for something to eat from everybody who ventures
inside the yard, and will fly on your shoulders for the first chance at the
pan. Gertrude knows how to protect herself, so you can put yourself under
her care with safety."

How pleasant it is when one goes visiting to feel as if you are one of the
family; but the expression "Making yourself at home" is more often made
than really experienced. While at the farmhouse our young people did truly
realize the feeling.

It would take too long to tell of the many excursions by water, and drives
by land, that were enjoyed daily, but the vicinity for miles around was
thoroughly explored. Every night Gertrude would say she ought to return
home, but the next day would seem so full of pleasure that it seemed a pity
to miss it.

One evening, when they were seated and idly swinging among the boughs of a
low-limbed tree that stood near the house--a favorite spot with the
girls--Dexie suddenly remarked,

"Lancy, I am just hungry for a 'sing;' do start up something."

"Bless you for the thought," Lancy replied, from a distant limb. "I have
been wondering these few days back what it was I was missing. Take the
first choice yourself, and start away."

But they found it was easier to start the singing than it was to end it,
for they soon had all the household within hearing distance, and "just one
more" was asked for from so many different quarters that their song-hunger
was fully satisfied before they were allowed to stop.

They seemed to sing like the birds, from "lightness of heart, and very joy
of living." After a few moments' silence, a bird-song was whistled by the
"mates in the tree," eliciting strong words of praise, as well as surprise,
from the delighted listeners.

"Oh, that's nothing to what we have to endure at home," said Elsie. "Those
two are always hooting away like a pair of owls. It is a wonder their
throats are not split before this. I almost hope that the piano at home
will be mouldy when we get back."

"We will soon knock the mould out of it, hey, Dexie?" Lancy laughingly
replied, as he lifted his mate down from her perch.

"Oh, how I should love to have a piano, and be able to play on it," said
Maggie, with a long-drawn sigh. "Perhaps we will have one sometime."

"Why, Maggie, how can you say such a thing? A deep sorrow comes before that
joy; and how can you wish for it?" was the stern reproof of her sister.

"Oh, dear! what have I said! I forgot that for the moment!" and there was
such a tone of regret in her words that Dexie's eyes asked an explanation.

"We can't have a piano while the grandmother is alive. She thinks that all
music, except the bagpipes, perhaps, is positively wicked; so we try not to
think about it. We spoke about it to father once, and he felt so badly that
he could not please us and the grandmother too. Of course she comes first;
but he has put the money in the bank to buy an instrument--sometime. I hate
to think about it, though I long for it more than I can tell. It makes me
feel as if I was such a wicked creature; for just think of wishing for a
thing that can only be had over the grandmother's coffin! Oh, dear! I wish
I had never heard the sound of music!" and to the surprise and dismay of
the little group she burst into tears.

"Oh, do forgive me! I am to blame for this, I fear," said Dexie, her face
showing her distress. "I did not know--"

"Don't think of such a thing, Miss Dexie," said Lizzie, putting her arm
around her. "It was not your fault; Maggie has her cry over this same thing
every few weeks, and feels the better for it, too, I believe. We have many
pleasures that few girls on a farm ever think of, and we ought to be
content. But I really do believe that if the grandmother could walk around
the house, and should come across the books and other things that we girls
have brought into it since she was confined to her room, she would die with
the shock. She thinks that everything remains about the same as it was in
her day, and we are careful not to disturb her opinion; for in this case a
little deceit seems wise, or, at least, necessary."

In a few minutes the sunshine again appeared on Maggie's face; but the
feeling that was brought out by the sudden tears seemed to draw Dexie
nearer to this young girl who had such a love of music, yet could not give
it expression until the shadow of death had first walked before her.

The next morning brought a letter from home, and by its tone Lancy felt he
must be needed; so it was decided they should return to Charlottetown,
finish their visit at Mrs. Fremont's, and then return home.

When Mr. McDonald learned that the young people were preparing to leave for
the city, he called Dexie to his side, and turning to a small cupboard
brought out a tin box, saying:

"Someane left this box in ma kairt that day I saw ye in the toon. I jaloose
the owner was buyin' somethin' an' laid it there an' forgot aboot it, but I
never saw it till I got hame. I opened it to see if I could fin' the name
o' the owner, an' I found some papers wi' yer faither's name on them. Can
ye mak' oot whit it means, ma lassie? Somethin' is no richt, I tak' it."

Dexie sat down beside him and read several of the letters and papers, and
their contents filled her with surprise. She was well acquainted with her
father's business, as she wrote many of his letters, and she saw at once
that something was indeed wrong.

"How strange that I should come across this!" she said. "This letter is
written by a man named Plaisted; he does business with papa. He has been on
the Island with him, and knows the people that have had dealings with papa,
before he joined him. What are you going to do with the box, Mr. McDonald?"

"I was gaun to ask Mr. Gurney to return it to the lawyer whase name is on
the inside o' the cover. He's considered an honest man, though he is a
lawyer. Maybe if ye wad tell him aboot this man Plaisted, it micht keep him
frae daein' yer faither ony mischief. It wad dae nae harm, ony way."

"May I copy this letter written by Plaisted? I would like to show papa what
kind of a man this Plaisted is, for I think he trusts him too much."

"Weel, it canna be ony harm, shurely, jist to _copy_ the letter, but ye
needna mention the maitter to onyane; there's nae kennin' whit they wad
mak' o't."

Dexie soon had a copy of the letter and a general knowledge of a few others
in Plaisted's peculiar handwriting, and this proved of much value in
establishing certain facts that came up at a future time, the copied letter
proving the missing link in a chain of evidence that brought Plaisted's
misdoings to judgment.

Lancy was consulted about the box, and promised to see it safe into the
hands of the owner. Soon after they learned that this was the very box that
they had heard the town-crier proclaim as _lost_ when driving home from the
market-house.

With many regrets at leave-taking, both on the part of visitors and
entertainers, the little party drove away, unconscious of the fact that
under the seat of the carriage there were several substantial tokens of
regard, which were, however, discovered, when they arrived at Mrs.
Fremont's.

Mrs. Fremont congratulated them all on the benefit they had undoubtedly
received from their visit, particularly Elsie, who seemed to be a new
creature. Her pale cheeks had been painted by the sun a warm brown, and the
pure sea-air had created an appetite that told its story in rounded limbs
and wide-awake appearance that contrasted greatly with the languid
movements she had brought with her from Halifax.

Lancy sent word to his parents that they would return the following week,
and promised to telegraph the day of starting.

This was glad news to Hugh, who was present when the letter was read, and
heard its contents discussed.

Ever since Hugh had come into possession of his fortune he had looked
forward to the return of the party with much impatience. There were times
when he felt almost tempted to seek Dexie's presence, and try again to win
a word that would give him some hope. All his future plans seemed to depend
on the way Dexie treated him, and he waited her coming, uplifted sometimes
by hope, but more often depressed by fear, and with a restlessness that
made him almost irritable at times. He insisted on filling his usual place
in the store, glad enough to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts away
from himself.

At last one morning the telegraph messenger knocked at the door, and
brought the welcome message.

A broad smile passed over Mr. Gurney's face as he read the telegram, and he
handed it to his wife, saying:

"Dexie sent that telegram or wrote it, or I'm very much mistaken."

Whereupon Hugh was very anxious to read it, and to his great delight Mrs.
Gurney passed it over to him, and this is what he read:

"Kill the prodigal; the fatted calves are on the way."

For the first time in many weeks, Hugh burst into a hearty laugh, and he
read the words over until he could almost fancy he heard Dexie's laughing
voice beside him.

"Well, that message may have seemed incomprehensible to the transmitter of
it, but it tells us a long story," said Mrs. Gurney, a smile lighting up
her face. "It says they are well and in good spirits, that they are glad to
be coming home again, but will be very hungry when they get here, so I had
better bestir myself and 'kill the prodigal,'" and she rose to visit the
kitchen.

"Well, she has told the story within the limit of ten words, too," said
Hugh, making some excuse for keeping the bit of paper so long before him.

"What prodigal are you going to kill, mamma?" said Gracie, following her
mother into the kitchen.

"Oh! that is what we will call the big fat chicken that eats so much oats,
and picks the little ones on the back when they try to get a mouthful. He
will do for a prodigal, so we will have him cooked for Elsie's supper."

Gracie sat down on a low stool, her face wearing a puzzled expression, and
she began to repeat to herself the parable of the prodigal son. Suddenly a
bright look came over her face, for she had solved the troublesome riddle,
and she joyfully exclaimed:

"Oh, mamma! Dexie didn't learn it right; they didn't kill the prodigal, it
was the fatted calf that was cooked! Oh, dear! how funny to make such a
mistake, and she such a big girl! Say, Hugh," as he passed through the
room, "Dexie is the prodigal, and not the fatted calf, isn't she?"

And with more earnestness than the subject demanded he replied: "I hope
so."

It was Mr. Gurney who drove to the depot in the evening to meet the
travellers, much to the disappointment of Hugh, who hoped to be the first
to receive Dexie's greetings; but the excitement of their arrival had
somewhat subsided by the time he made his appearance in the house.

It is needless to say there was great rejoicing in the Gurney household
that evening. Elsie was petted and caressed to her heart's content, and she
listened with a smiling face to the oft-repeated remark that she "looked so
much better."

Hugh's unexpected good fortune came in for a share of the discussion which
took place round the tea-table, and the well-cooked _prodigal_ was the butt
of many jokes. Dexie was asked to come in and get her share of the "fatted
calf," as Gracie persisted in calling it, but she begged to be excused,
feeling that she would prefer to spend her first evening at home.

Gussie lost no time in telling Dexie all her hopes and plans, and she gave
the impression that everything was settled. She could talk of nothing but
the splendid time she expected to have in the future.

"Hugh does not say much to me, but I know I can do just as I like with him
after we are married, so I don't mind if he is rather cool and short
occasionally. Of course he means to marry me, or why did he talk so long to
papa about it?" said Gussie, as she followed Dexie downstairs.

"Did papa tell you about it?" a suspicion of the true state of affairs
entering her mind for a moment.

"No--but--well, to tell the truth, I was listening at the door, but I heard
enough to let me know the nature of the interview, for I heard papa say
quite distinctly, 'I don't think she cares enough for you, and she must
marry to suit herself,' so what else could he have meant? Now, I do not
care so very much about Hugh, I must confess--or I did not, I mean, when he
was merely Mr. Gurney's clerk, but with a fortune in his pocket who could
refuse such a fine-looking man?"

"Well, I could, for one," said Dexie, trying to hide a laugh. "He would
need something more than riches to be attractive to me, for all his fine
looks; but I congratulate you, Gussie. I hope you will be happy."

"Of course I will be happy, so long as the money holds out, anyway," said
she, with a laugh that grated harshly on her sister's ears. "Did you see
any brides when you were away, Dexie, and how were they dressed?"

"I wasn't searching for brides, Gussie. I confined my attention to
pollywogs, crabs, and things of that ilk."

Gussie's remarks jarred on her feelings, in spite of her efforts to seem
careless, but she smiled, as Gussie scornfully replied:

"Well, did I ever! I guess if you searched for a sunburnt face and a
blistered nose, you found _them_ fast enough."

"Yes, unfortunately, one can find those sort of things without searching
for them; they are thrown in with the pollywogs for good measure; but my
nose is not half so ornamental as Lancy's. Don't be cross, Gussie. Let us
go into the parlor and wait for the trunks. I have a lot of nice new
patterns in fancywork for you."

They entered the parlor together, where Aunt Jennie followed them, and they
talked about the many events that had transpired during Dexie's absence.
The room was almost dark. It seemed pleasanter to talk in the twilight, but
a bar of light shone from the sitting-room door, and relieved it from any
sombre appearance. Dexie kept wondering why the expressman did not appear;
she was anxious to see if the little treasures she had collected for
distribution had borne the journey safely. She rose at last and went to
the window to see if there was anyone in sight, but she was disappointed.
Not so Hugh, who was just entering the house, and caught sight of her
outline against the window-pane, and, thinking the unlighted parlor vacant
but for Dexie's presence, he softly opened the door and stepped to her
side. All her cold repulses were forgotten, her curt words of dismissal
faded from his memory, his heart was yearning for her presence, she was
there before him, and in a moment he had her in his arms.

"My darling! my love! do I see you at last. How I have longed for this
moment!"

It was so sudden that for a moment Dexie was powerless to move, but she
freed herself quickly, saying, as she stepped back:

"How dare you! How _dare_ you touch me! It is I; not Gussie," she added,
thinking he might have mistaken the person, though his words belied the
thought. "I was watching for the expressman, and did not notice you had
come in; you made a mistake," came the quick-spoken words.

"Well, I should say it was a mistake, and an odd one too," said Gussie,
coming forward. "How could you mistake that mop of a head for mine, Hugh?"

She had seen the embrace, but the whispered words had not reached her.
Naturally, Hugh was much taken back when he realized that Dexie was not
alone, but he anathematized Gussie in his heart, and bit his lips to keep
back the words that sprang up in reply. If Gussie had known how precious
that "mop of a head" was to her quondam lover, she would not have been so
ready to "give herself away," as the trite saying has it.




CHAPTER XXVI.


The embarrassing silence that followed Hugh's entrance was broken at last
by Aunt Jennie, who made some commonplace remark that allowed free speech
to resume itself again. She saw at once the position of affairs; the reason
of Hugh's coolness when in Gussie's society was no longer any secret. She
thought he had lacked the lover-like eagerness that one might expect,
judging the matter from the standpoint of Gussie's frequent remarks.

But believing that Lancy Gurney had more than a friendly feeling for Dexie,
she felt uneasy for the result of the struggle between the rivals. Dexie
would surely suffer between them.

It was impossible for Dexie to feel at ease after Hugh's extraordinary
greeting. She felt vexed at the thought of the spectacle she must have
presented to those who had witnessed it. Did Hugh really know her, or were
his words meant for Gussie alone? The hope that it was the latter made her
decide that it must be; but if she had noticed how carelessly he replied to
Gussie's entertaining chatter, or observed his eager looks in her own
direction, she might have guessed that his heart was not in Gussie's
keeping.

The arrival of the trunks brought a grateful respite to all, and Dexie
disappeared the moment the expressman arrived, but with the excuse of
helping to lift the trunks into the hall, Hugh followed her. Gussie,
however, was close behind; not for a moment would she leave those two
together. After what she had seen in the parlor there should be no chance
of further _mistakes_, if her vigilance could prevent it.

Dexie was so anxious to show her treasures that she opened her trunk as
soon as Hugh deposited it in the hall.

"Here, Georgie," as her brother came running down the stairs, "take this
parcel to mamma, carefully, mind, and ask her if she is too tired to see me
again to-night. When you come back I will give you the box of something
that I heard you wishing for," and looking up to her sister, who was
bending over to watch her, she added, "Here is your parcel, Gussie, and
this is for auntie. Where is she, I wonder?"

"Oh! do let me see what you brought for auntie?" and Gussie caught the
parcel from Dexie's hands and began to inspect the contents.

Hugh was for the moment forgotten, but he still lingered near the door,
hoping that some chance would favor him. He had so much to say, so much
that had been crowded back into his heart during her long absence, that he
felt he must seize the first opportunity to speak of his hopes, and he
wished to assure her that there had been no mistake on his part when he met
her in the parlor. Just then Gussie stepped over to the lamp for a closer
inspection of some fancy patterns, and Hugh turned to Dexie, saying:

"You seem to have remembered everyone but me, Dexie. You have not even a
kind word to give me."

"Well, I have not an _unkind_ word either, Mr. McNeil, so that ought to
count for something, I think," and she stooped to pick up some paper from
the floor, "but I think you deserve a good many for the ridiculous mistake
you made when you came in."

"I made no mistake, except that of thinking the room held no one but
yourself. Give me a chance to prove it, Dexie."

Dexie pretended not to hear, but turned the conversation by saying:

"I have not congratulated you on the good fortune you have met while we
were away."

"Well! I think it is time you did," Gussie answered, awake to the fact that
a low conversation was being held near her. "I am sure it is no everyday
affair to fall heir to a fortune. Weren't you surprised when I wrote to you
about it?"

"Yes, very," and the memory of the letter brought a smile with it. "And if
the possession of money means happiness, I presume Mr. McNeil feels raised
to the seventh heaven of bliss."

"Not yet, Dexie, but I am looking forward to the 'seventh heaven' you speak
of."

"Mrs. Gurney mentioned that you thought of going abroad. I hope Lancy's
absence has not interfered with your plans, Mr. McNeil?" and she made a
move to ascend the stairs.

"Would you like to go abroad, Dexie?"

There was an eagerness in his tone that Dexie did not understand, so she
answered:

"Well, if going _abroad_ means a visit to Great Britain, I say no, most
decidedly! What do I care for the English, Scotch or Irish--as a race, I
mean? My definition of the term abroad is, a tour through Europe, ending
with Egypt and the Holy Land, and farther still if the pocket-book held
out."

"Dexie, will you go abroad with me?"

Gussie looked from Hugh to Dexie in open-eyed surprise. This invitation
might mean much or little.

"Why, Hugh, it would be improper for Dexie to accept such an invitation,"
she hastily said.

"There would be nothing improper about it, if she went as my wife."

"You are carrying your jokes too far, Mr. McNeil," said Dexie, coldly. "If
you want to turn Mormon you had better 'go West, young man,' for when I go
on _my_ wedding tour I want a husband who will be content with _one_ wife,
and, when he and I go abroad, we will go alone. No offence meant; but two
is company, while three is a crowd. So good-night to you both," and she
turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Hugh looking after her with a beating
heart.

"Well, I hope I have been plain enough this time," was her inward comment.
"Can he really care for Gussie and expect to marry her, as she thinks, or
does he want to turn Mormon and marry the both of us? But whatever he has
said to Gussie don't count, so long as he makes eyes at me. I'm willing to
be pleasant and agreeable, if he is to be my brother-in-law; but he shall
not call me 'his darling' and 'his love,' as if it were me he was engaged
to. I wish I had slapped his face for him."

But, figuratively speaking, she had just done so, and if she had seen the
grieved look on Hugh's face as he groped his way out the front door, she
would have realized that her slap had struck home.

Gussie felt indignant, as she stood in the hall recalling the scene just
passed. Hugh had left her without a word, but she could plainly see that
the blame was not on Dexie's shoulders this time.

"I do believe he cares for Dexie, after all; what else could his words
imply? But she does not care for him, that is plain; and it will be a
strange thing if I cannot arrange matters so that he cannot help but offer
himself. After what he said to papa, I know he wants to marry one of us,
and I will see that it shall be myself."

The next day Dexie had a long talk with her father. She had called him
aside to give him the letter she had copied from the one in Plaisted's
handwriting, and when she had explained the circumstances Mr. Sherwood was
much astonished, and praised her for her thoughtfulness in securing an
exact copy.

"I will write to the parties in question and forbid the payment of any
money to him, but I will say nothing to Plaisted about the matter at
present. I will keep a sharp lookout, and directly he tries to put his
plans into execution I will bring him up short. Thank you, my little woman,
you have done a lucky stroke of business for me; but stay a minute," as
Dexie rose to leave the room, "I want to ask you something. How much do you
care for Hugh McNeil?" said he, as she came over to his side.

"Why, papa, what makes you ask such a question? Didn't you make a mistake
in the name?" she said, archly. "Didn't you mean to say--Lancy Gurney?"

"No; I have a guess that way. But how about Hugh? Come, I have a reason for
asking," and he drew her down to his knee. "Think a minute, and tell me."

"But, papa, I don't need to think a moment in order to answer that
question. I don't like him at all. You should ask Gussie that question."

"I need not, for I think I know what her answer would be; but I have a
little story to tell you, and I want you to give it serious consideration.
As soon as Hugh McNeil knew about the money coming to him, he asked me for
a private interview. From what Gussie said, I expected that he intended to
ask for her. But Hugh was very straightforward, and made the whole matter
plain, and, Dexie, he asked for the liberty of making you his wife. He said
he was willing to wait any reasonable time for you, if only he had the
promise of your hand in the end."

"Papa! you never told him _yes_! say you did not!" cried Dexie, springing
to her feet and regarding him with beseeching eyes. "My dear, I could not;
so do not look so frightened about it," and he drew her back to his side
again. "I am not willing to give my little girl to anyone yet, but I am not
insensible to the fact that a man who loves my daughter as Hugh professes
to love you, and can provide for her so handsomely, is worthy of some
consideration."

"Why couldn't he take Gussie? She wants him and I don't," she answered with
a frown. "I am sure Gussie told me she was all but engaged to him. He
doesn't want the both of us, I hope."

"Dexie, I am sorry to say that Gussie has not acted so well about this
matter as I could wish. She makes no secret of the fact that she would
gladly accept the position he offers you, and it annoys him. Hugh confessed
to me that at one time he did think he cared for Gussie, but found his
mistake, and he has been so open with me about it that I cannot blame him
for the change. Think it well over, Dexie, before he talks to you himself.
A handsome man like Hugh, with a good bank account, will not come in your
way very often. He offered to make a handsome settlement on you, directly
you promised him your hand."

"Dear papa, would you like your poor Dexie to be unhappy for life?"
throwing her arms around his neck. "I am sure you would not," as he drew
her closer to him. "I could never marry Hugh; his very presence makes me
feel pugnacious, and I feel like picking a quarrel with him every time I
speak to him, and I enjoy doing it, too."

"Well, in that case it would not be pleasant to live your life with him,
would it? but still it seems a pity to lose the money when he seems so
anxious to put it into your hands. Your life would be so different with
money at your command. If it were only Gussie, now."

"Yes, if it were only Gussie everything would go smoothly while the money
lasted; but you did not tell me the result of the interview, papa."

"I told him I would leave the matter for you to settle, but I gave my
consent, if he gained yours. I think he would be good to you, Dexie."

"Well! I guess he would have to, if he once got me, or I would know the
reason why! What does mamma say about it, for I suppose she knows?"

"She seems much put out that it is not Gussie he asks for, but she hopes
you will not be so foolish as to throw the chance away. That is the opinion
of the both of us, you see, so do not decide hastily, Dexie."

"Dear me, how provoking it is! Mamma will be vexed, and I cannot help it,
for I really cannot _say_ I consent when I feel such a dislike to the man.
Some young ladies would see nothing but his fortune; but think, papa, we
might live for fifty years! and I can't look forward to fifty years of life
spent with Hugh McNeil. So tell him for me, papa, that it cannot be."

"Take time to think it over, Dexie, before he gets _any_ answer, for Hugh
will be much disappointed if you refuse him. I promised to plead his cause
for him, but I cannot do so against your inclinations, since it will be you
alone who must live your life with him. But, Dexie, many people live
happily together without loving each other overmuch, so do not think it
impossible for you to do the same. Do you care so very much for Lancy
Gurney?" he asked, after a pause.

Dexie did not feel so embarrassed over this question as her father
expected. She was pleased to have her father take such an interest in her
little affairs of the heart, and show his sympathy in things that are
usually left to the mother and daughter to talk over together.

"I do not know if I can explain it to you, papa," she replied with a smile.
"I don't think I should care to marry Lancy--indeed, I am quite sure I
never shall, but I like him very much for all that; but you need not tell
anyone I said so, will you, papa?" she added, seeing a smile in her
father's eyes. "Lancy has been very kind to me ever since we came to
Halifax. You know yourself he has added very much to my pleasure by his
thoughtful attentions, but I do not think it will end as Lancy expects,"
and a pretty blush spread over her face.

"Then you have not given him any promise!" smiling at her red cheeks.

"No, but he seems to think everything will be as he hopes, and is so
pleasant over it that it is a pity to undeceive him. I'll promise not to
allow any love-making, for he knows very well it is useless to become
sentimental with me. Please don't tell my little secrets, not even to
mamma, for she is sure to tell Gussie."

"Do not be afraid to trust me with your little affairs, Dexie," he said,
kissing her cheek. "I am only too glad to be your confidant and adviser. I
am sorry that your mother feels so little inclined to take the same
interest in your affairs; you need her more now than when you were a
child."

Mr. Sherwood watched his daughter with loving eyes as she tripped away from
his side, and he wished for the power to look into the future and see how
matters would end. He sighed as he realized how much depended on her own
judgment; but his daughters must each settle for herself the question that
would make or mar their future lives.

A change took place in the Sherwood household a few weeks later, for Aunt
Jennie was obliged to return to her old home in Vermont, which was such an
unlooked for event to Mrs. Sherwood that it quite upset her. They had all
become so used to looking to Aunt Jennie for everything, that the house
would seem to be without its head if she were gone.

When Dexie told her aunt how the Fremont girls managed the household
expenditure and took the oversight of much of the housekeeping
arrangements, Aunt Jennie replied that she thought her niece quite as
capable as the Fremont girls, and asked Dexie if she could not undertake to
fill her place after she was gone, as she knew Mrs. Sherwood would be glad
to be relieved of the charge. When Dexie broached the matter to her mother,
she found her quite willing to let anyone step into the gap, so Dexie
determined to learn as much as she could while her aunt was present to
advise her.

The little account books were brought out and studied, until Dexie felt
sure she understood what ought to be done, though she doubted her ability
to put the knowledge into practice. But her doubts soon gave way to a
feeling of confidence in herself as, day by day, she mastered new
difficulties.

"I think I will make a wonderful housekeeper, by and by, mamma," Dexie
said, as they were all seated in her mother's room, and Mrs. Sherwood was
regretting Aunt Jennie's approaching departure. "I am learning fast. Even
Nancy gives me encouragement. The only thing that troubles me is the fact
that Nancy thinks I am playing at housekeeping, and I am afraid she will
resent my authority after auntie goes away. I shall have to wear a cap and
spectacles to add dignity to my new position," she laughingly added.

"How absurd you are, Dexie," said her mother, with a frown. "If you intend
to act as housekeeper I hope you will try and be less childish; and to go
through the house whistling like a boy, as you did to-day, is far from
lady-like. Will you ever learn to be genteel like your sister Gussie?"

"I think Dexie should be given her full name in the future," Gussie added,
"if she intends to rush through the house like her namesake round the race
course."

"But I will not be called after Bonner's trotting-horse! I will not!" said
Dexie, angrily. "I fancy this would soon be a queer house if there was no
one in it with more energy about them than you possess! However, let us
return to the matter under discussion," said she, more mildly. "I want to
know, in case I make any savings from the month's allowance, if I can
pocket the remainder."

"I am afraid, Dexie, that you will not find much left over, for the first
few months," her aunt said smilingly. "You must allow something for your
inexperience, you know."

"Oh! I know that, auntie. But can I have it, mamma, much or little? Make
the bargain with me, mamma."

"Certainly, Dexie; but you cannot expect to save much out of the usual
month's allowance unless you scrimp us."

"Oh, I'll promise not to scrimp," was the laughing reply. "But I am going
to begin my reign while auntie is here; then my inexperience will not cost
me so much. I kept my eyes and ears open when I was at Mrs. Fremont's, and
I didn't peep and listen either; but I learned a few things that I think
will be a great help to me in my future sphere."

"I think Gussie had better join you in this branch of study," said Mr.
Sherwood, laying down his paper. "It will be as much benefit to her as to
you."

"Thanks, papa. I beg to decline the honor! I have no wish to shine as a
domestic; it is not in my line," said Gussie, in a lofty tone.

"Well, I do not expect to run the house as smoothly as Aunt Jennie--I am
sure you will not expect it of me, mamma--but I will do my best, and it
will be nice to learn just how to do things."

"That is right, Dexie. Every girl should learn how, even though she may
never have to put her own hands to the work itself. But do not be too
particular about keeping within the monthly allowance; I am quite as
willing to pay for housekeeping lessons as for music lessons."

How Dexie prized the weeks that followed! In after years she looked back to
them with a thankful heart, for Aunt Jennie did not confine her teaching to
the art of housekeeping alone. The inward culture of the heart was not
forgotten. The good seed was sown with no sparing hand, and though some lay
weeks, months and even years without bearing fruit, yet few were altogether
lost.

What a blank her absence caused in the household! She had filled a mother's
place among them, for the loving tact that bridged over the little jars
that are apt to occur in every household was not one of Mrs. Sherwood's
accomplishments.

The first few weeks after her aunt's departure were very trying ones to
Dexie. There seemed much fault-finding that was really unnecessary, but
Dexie honestly tried to do her best. She could see her own failures as well
as her successes, and when she found that much of Nancy's ill-temper was
due to Gussie's interference in the kitchen, she laid the matter before her
father, and that put an end to many petty annoyances.

Dexie had much to bear from her mother also, for Mrs. Sherwood felt
aggrieved that Dexie did not appreciate Hugh McNeil's attentions as she
thought they deserved. His visits were a daily occurrence, and it was
vexing to see Dexie refuse what would have been so acceptable to Gussie.

"If you do not intend to marry him, why do you not tell him so plainly?"
she said one day, when Dexie had shut herself up in her room to avoid
meeting Hugh. "What is the use of keeping out of his way, when you know
what he wants to see you for?"

"Why should I put myself in his way, when I do not want what he has to
offer? He shall not talk to me about it, either, unless he does so before a
third party. I will not see him alone! I sent him a decided answer through
papa, so why can he not be satisfied with that? I declare, I almost hate
the man!"

"Tell him so, plainly; then, and give Gussie a chance. She is not so
foolish as to allow any sentimentality to come between her and a fortune."

"I have already told him so, as plainly as I can, mamma. But if you think I
am standing in Gussie's way, just give Hugh McNeil this message from me.
Tell him that I will _never_ marry him; that I hate the very sound of his
footsteps; that if his fortune were four times multiplied, I would not have
him; that I want him to cease persecuting me with his hateful attentions,
and leave me alone! Now, is that plain enough for any sensible man to
understand, do you think?"

"Dexie! take care! See that you do not repent those words, for I shall see
that they are repeated to him, word for word."

"Thank you, mamma, and if you can make the words sound any stronger, I hope
you will do so. I will be well pleased to see Gussie occupy the position
she craves. When she does, my congratulations will be most sincere and you
will not know me--it will make me so wonderfully good-tempered," and she
put her arm across her mother's shoulder and kissed her cheek. "Dear mamma,
do not be vexed with me; but if I cannot endure Hugh for one hour, how can
I think of spending my whole life with him?"

Mrs. Sherwood gave Hugh the message at her earliest opportunity, but it did
not have the same effect on Hugh as she expected.

Hugh had no intention of accepting Dexie's refusal at second-hand; he would
hear it from her own lips before he would give up hope. It might be an easy
matter to remove the cause of her dislike, if he once found out what it
was.

But Dexie knew her message had been delivered, and so felt herself free;
and as Gussie was in excellent spirits, there seemed no reason why she
should be glum when Hugh was near. She no longer slipped out of the room as
Hugh appeared, though she was just as careful not to allow him to find her
alone; but as Lancy's visits were as frequent as ever, Hugh was supposed to
have given up the fight.

But Hugh had discovered that there was one way left him in which he could
win a smile from Dexie, and he did not scruple to use it, though he was
well aware that by doing so he was giving Gussie a false hope.

He had only to take a seat by Gussie's side, and say a few words to her,
even the most commonplace, and Dexie's reserve would melt at once, so he
spent many pleasant evenings in the parlor by this little scheme. He knew
very well that Gussie was spreading her net, but if he found Dexie
entangled in the meshes instead, Gussie's injured feelings would not
trouble him. All stratagems are fair in love and war, so he smiled to
himself and took courage.

Good fortune did not spoil Hugh. It made his good qualities shine out all
the more brightly, and his friends admired as well as envied him. Dexie
heard his praises sung from so many different quarters that her dislike to
him was fast melting away, and seated by Gussie's side she could look on
him with favor. But Hugh was merely biding his time, and was constantly on
the watch for a favorable opportunity to press his suit personally and
alone, in spite of the fact that Dexie considered the matter forever
settled between them.




CHAPTER XXVII.


The auction rooms on Barrington Street were full to overflowing. A stock of
goods was going under the hammer at ridiculously low prices, and among the
bidders Hugh McNeil was conspicuous. As he turned to speak to a friend, he
was much surprised to see Dexie Sherwood among the crowd. She was alone and
not a little frightened at finding herself jostled about, and she welcomed
Hugh with a smile as he made his way to her side.

"I am so glad to see you, Mr. McNeil. I was just wondering if I should be
able to get out of this alive."

"How did you happen to come here at all; curiosity, I suppose?" and he
smiled down into her face.

"Oh, no, indeed; I came on business, but I did not know what a hard time I
was going to have of it. I heard Mr. Gurney talking about this sale last
night, so I thought I might take advantage of it as well as the rest. I am
Commissary-General now, you know, so I am on the lookout for bargains in my
line," and she laughed softly.

"You want to bid for something, then; come and show me. Take my arm, so we
will not get separated in the crowd," and for the first time in her life
she placed her hand on Hugh's arm and followed his leading, and this
thought came to Dexie with added force as Hugh pressed the hand in token of
the pleasure granted him.

More than one person noted the bright young face that eagerly watched the
several assortments fall under the hammer, and the light that shone in
Hugh's dark eyes was not all caused by the excitement of the sale.

"I feel quite proud of my bargains," said Dexie, as they left the building
and turned towards home. "I am ever so much obliged for your help; it will
make such a difference in my accounts. Oh, you can't think how economical I
am getting to be," said she, with a rippling laugh.

Then Dexie found herself telling her companion how she had gone with the
Fremont girls to purchase household supplies, how they all enjoyed the
excitement of the sales, and how sometimes no one would bid against them,
much to the auctioneer's chagrin; how she was profiting by the Fremont
girls' experience, and was accumulating such a nice little sum, to buy
something very nice for her mother by and by.

Hugh listened with a beating heart. He had known for a long time what a
busy life she led. It had formed the foundation of many excuses when he had
asked her to accompany him to places of amusement; but just now all her
former coolness was forgotten in her present kindness. She had never talked
to him so freely before, and Hugh was lifted up with hope at this
unexpected friendliness.

When they reached home, Hugh detained her at the door.

"Will you grant me a favor, Dexie?" he asked. "Do not go into an auction
room alone again; without me, I mean. You know I am always at your service,
and will only be too happy to help you at any time. You will grant me this,
Dexie?" and he looked earnestly into her face for an answer.

A number of expressions passed over Dexie's face as he spoke. Had she done
a bold, imprudent thing in attending the sale without an escort? She had
not given it a thought. Surely one might go about a matter of business
without a gentleman's escort? The Fremont girls did so. That it might be
improper had not occurred to her, and it vexed her to be reminded of it by
Hugh, so his well-meant offer failed to soften her.

"Yes, and no," Dexie coldly replied. "I will promise not to go again alone,
but I won't promise to go in your company again," and she turned and
entered the house.

Why had he spoken and lifted again the barrier of reserve that had broken
down during their morning's intercourse? was Hugh's thought as he entered
his own door. Might he not have brought about his wishes without exacting a
promise?

The next evening, several young ladies, with their gentlemen friends, met
in the Sherwood parlor to discuss a proposed family picnic, and Hugh came
in during the discussion, and was pressed to join them.

"Where is the picnic to be?" he asked.

"Oh, down the coast towards Cow Bay; we'll pick out a place when we come to
it. The trouble is, to find out how many teams we can get up," said George
Desbrasy.

"Well, the Gurneys are all going, but they cannot take any but their own
crowd, and there are several ladies we must find room for amongst us
somehow," said Fred Beverly.

"Well, I have to drive mother and sis, but I have one spare seat. Will you
accept the seat beside me, Miss Gussie?" said young Desbrasy.

Gussie wished he had not made the offer, as she hoped Hugh would ask her to
drive with him, for Hugh had a fine team of his own now.

But as Gussie hesitated about accepting, she saw Hugh turn to Dexie, and
with the air of a Chesterfield ask, "May I have the pleasure of your
company for the drive down, Miss Dexie?"

"Thank you, Mr. McNeil, but I daresay I am already engaged."

"No chance for you there, McNeil," said Fred Beverly, with a laugh; "Miss
Dexie is spoken for already."

"Did I understand you to say that you were _already_ engaged for the drive,
Miss Dexie?" said Hugh, persistently.

"Well, Lancy has not asked me yet, but since he has promised to go, my
invitation will come all in good time."

"But his team will be full. You had better take your chance with Hugh,"
said Fred.

"There will be room enough for me, never fear," said Dexie, smiling, "so
Mr. McNeil is free to offer his services to some other forlorn damsel."

"First come, first served, Miss Dexie," said Hugh. "I asked you first; come
with me," he added, bending over her chair.

"Couldn't think of it. We would be sure to quarrel all the way, and when I
go to a picnic I want to enjoy every minute."

"It takes two to make a quarrel, and I'll not be one of the pair,"
persisted Hugh. "Come with me, and let me prove to you how much I can add
to your pleasure, when you will let me."

"Prove it now by asking Fanny Beverly or Maud Seeton to drive with you, for
I decline the honor."

"Are you so wrapped up, heart and soul, in Lancy Gurney, that you cannot
spare a moment to anybody else?" said Hugh, angrily.

"Certainly!" Dexie replied, with flashing eyes, "and since you are going to
be so disagreeable, Mr. McNeil, I guess I will leave you," and she joined a
group near the table.

"Where is Lancy, that he is not here to arrange about this picnic, said
Fred Beverly to Cora Gurney, who was sitting by the table.

"Couldn't say. He promised to come in to-night."

"Listen! isn't that Lancy at the piano?" said Maud Harrington, as a sound
of music in staccato style reached their ears. "How plainly you can hear it
through the walls!"

There was a hush for a minute, when Dexie said as naturally as if it were
the most ordinary thing in the world,

"Yes, that is Lancy's call; he wants me for something. Will you excuse me,
friends, for a little while, till I see what is wanted?"

Looks were interchanged amongst some of the young people, and, hoping to
make Dexie feel vexed, Gussie said, "Lancy Gurney has only to whistle, and
Dexie will run like a dog at a call."

But Dexie took it all in good part, saying, with a smile: "Well, even a
faithful dog is not a despised creature, you know, and it is something to
know that Lancy will not whistle for anyone else while I am around," and
turning at the door she added, "In case I do not come back, let me say you
can count on me for anything I can do towards the success of the picnic.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," and, as Hugh lifted his eyes, she
swept him an elaborate courtesy.

Hugh was too vexed to take any further part in the discussion, and he soon
withdrew, intending to find out what it was that drew Dexie away from the
pleasant gathering.

When Dexie entered the parlor next door, she found Lancy seated at the
piano, looking quite unlike himself.

"What is it, Lancy?" going over to his side. "Why did you not come into our
house to-night?"

"I have come across something unusual, Dexie, and I could not leave the
piano until I mastered it. Sit here and listen."

Lancy's hands moved across the keys, drawing forth such thrilling chords
that her heart was stirred to its lowest depths.

"Stop, Lancy, I cannot bear it," said she at last, laying her hand on
Lancy's arm before he had finished a page.

Lancy looked up into the agitated face so near him, saying in a tremulous
voice:

"Then I am not mistaken about it, since it affects you the same as myself.
What is there about those chords that thrills our hearts so painfully? It
is the only piece of music that has ever so affected me. I have not been
able to play it through yet without a break. Sit down and try how far you
can play, Dexie."

Dexie took the offered seat, and her hands swept the keys; but her firm
touch seemed wanting. Wherein was that peculiar power that thrilled her
with such exquisite pain; her hands fluttered, tears rose unbidden to her
eyes, then, with a sudden break in the chords, she bowed her face in her
hands.

Lancy was bending over her in a moment, and drawing her hands gently down,
held them in a firm clasp.

"What is the matter with that music?" she said, at last, in a low tone. "I
do not think I am nervous, but it sets my heart throbbing so that I cannot
bear it."

"I think it is the keynote of our hearts that is struck by those chords,
and gives back such answering thrills. I never came across anything before
that affected me like it."

"Well, whatever it is, it is painfully sweet. I will try it again, but
don't stand looking at me, there's a good fellow, but go away by the window
and look out at--nothing."

Again those wondrous chords filled the room, but the masterful touch that
usually accompanied Dexie's fingering was now wanting, for it was a
trembling hand that followed the printed notes. More the once she faltered,
but after a period of waiting she would repeat the passage and go on. But
presently a longer silence occurred, and Lancy turned from the window to
look at her. Tears were standing in her eyes, and she sat with her hands
clasped tightly before her. Drawing her away from the piano, he led her to
the sofa, and the silent sympathy in his manner was more eloquent than any
flow of words could have been.

"It seems foolish, does it not, Lancy?" she said at last, "but it is no
common piece of music, and I shall never be able to play it before
strangers."

"No; neither shall I, Dexie. That music speaks to your heart and mine
alike. Let it be for ourselves alone, will you, Dexie?" and the grey eyes
looked very dark in their earnestness.

"Well, have it so, Lancy. I will be able to play it properly by and by, I
expect. But I never noticed the name of it."

"It is simply called 'A Song Without Words.' Let us name it again to suit
ourselves."

"Very well. I came in to ask you into our side of the house. The picnic is
being discussed; but I don't feel a bit like going back myself now--that
music has almost upset me."

"Well, stay with me and let us have a quiet 'sing' by ourselves here; that
will be pleasanter than discussing a picnic--shall we?"

When Hugh looked into the door a short time afterwards, he saw nothing that
need have caused such a frown to wrinkle up his manly brow, for Lancy was
only playing a simple ballad, and Dexie was seated in a low rocker some
distance from the piano, her hands clasped behind her head, singing softly,
her whole appearance seeming to suggest rest and contentment. Perhaps that
very suggestion goaded him to bitterness, for why couldn't Dexie be as
contented and happy in his society as in Lancy's?

The picnic came off as planned, and was enjoyed by all excepting Hugh, who,
finding he could not have the companion of his choice, coaxed little
Gracie and Ruth Gurney to go with him, and they willingly consented. But
Gussie looked with angry eyes on the fine turnout, "just wasted on those
little torments," as the light buggy flew past the more sober-going horses
that were bringing up the rear.

She forgot her anger, however, when she returned home and found that Mr.
Plaisted had arrived during their absence.

Bless us! how very amiable we can be when we want to make a deep impression
on someone's soft heart!

Gussie's face was now all smiles. Her words were all sweet when Mr.
Plaisted was by anyway, and as it is an ill wind that blows nobody good,
Dexie felt grateful enough for anything that would cause Gussie to be a
little better-natured than she had been during the last few weeks, and
Gussie's very unexpected offer, to "keep the parlor dusted while Plaisted
is here," touched Dexie to the heart.

But his presence made Dexie's task much harder than usual. Such a
"lie-a-bed" as he was in the mornings, and he expected to be served with a
hot breakfast whatever might be the hour of his appearance.

Nancy remembered him of old, and resented the added work, and Dexie tried
almost in vain to pour oil on the troubled waters.

One evening, when Plaisted was about to retire, Dexie handed him his lamp,
saying:

"Our breakfast hour is eight o'clock, Mr. Plaisted, and if you will rise at
the first bell you will have plenty of time to curl your hair before the
breakfast bell rings."

"Dexie, don't let your tongue run away with you," her father said,
reprovingly. "Plaisted will surely be up in good time to-morrow, as we have
much work ahead of us if we intend to catch the train."

"Yes, I'll be up to-morrow morning without fail," he replied. "I don't see
how it is that I oversleep myself so often when I am here; I fully intended
to get up to breakfast this morning, but missed it. However, you will see
me to-morrow morning at the breakfast table, Miss Dexie, if I am alive," he
added jokingly, as he waved a good-night to Gussie.

"Very well; but if you are not up in time we shan't wait for you," said
Dexie, smiling, "for dead men need no breakfast."

"Oh! you'll see, Miss Dexie, I'll be up to-morrow in time, without fail,"
and he laughed as he disappeared up the stairs.

But when eight o'clock came next morning, it brought no Plaisted with it,
and Dexie horrified them by asking if they had better go up and view the
remains.

Breakfast was eaten in silence. Mr. Sherwood was vexed at Plaisted's
laziness when there was so much need of energetic work to make up for time
lost and wasted.

"Perhaps he did not hear the bell," said Gussie, as the clock struck nine.
"I'll ring it again," which she did, vigorously.

But another hour slipped by, and still he did not appear, much to Dexie's
disgust and annoyance.

While standing by the window waiting his appearance, she became aware of a
great event that was taking place in the backyard. It happened that a pet
cat had met with some accident that had deprived it of life, and the
children were indulging in a funeral. A grave had been dug at the back
corner of the yard, and the procession of mourners was marching back and
forth across the yard with many twists and turns, to make it last longer,
until it at last reached the open grave. Georgie Sherwood, who marched in
the front of the procession, with the remains in a raisin-box, now
deposited it in its last resting-place, while the little Gurneys, who were
sedately following, wailed aloud.

When the grave was covered to their satisfaction, Frankie Gurney came into
the house with Georgie, holding a piece of smooth, white marble, and asked
Dexie if she would write something on it, for it was to be the cat's
tombstone.

"Say that she was the prettiest and best-behaved cat in Halifax, and that
she left a large family of sorrowing kittens behind her."

"Yes, and children, too. Be sure and say that, Dexie," added Georgie.

The inscription was soon written in Dexie's largest and clearest hand, and
it delighted the eyes of the little ones, who could easily read every word.

"Where did you get such a nice stone, Frankie?" she asked.

"Oh, down in the grave-stone shop. The man told me I could have it."

A sudden thought came into her mind, and she smiled as she asked:

"Could you get another piece as big as that, do you think?"

"Oh, yes; there is another piece like this. Someone broke a foot-stone, and
it is no good, the man said. I'll go and get it, if you want it."

"Oh, will you? then run quickly. I'll make you a new kite, if you will
hurry."

In a very short time Frankie was back with the stone, Georgie, meanwhile,
being engaged in setting up the cat's monument.

"What do you want with the stone, Dexie?" he asked, as he regarded her
attentively.

"Come with me, Frankie, and I will show you," and she led him upstairs to
the upper hall.

"I want to play a trick on Mr. Plaisted; but I can't, unless you will help
me."

"Oh, I'll do anything you tell me," his eyes eager for any fun.

"You see, he is a fearful hand to sleep in the mornings. He is not up yet,
and the morning is half gone. He said last night that he would be up in
time for breakfast, if he was alive. Well, you can hear him snoring in the
next room; but, since he is not up, I am going to consider him dead, and I
want you to put up his tombstone. Now, do you think that you can go
carefully and put this at the head of his bed without waking him?"

Laying the stone on her knee, she soon had it written over in large, plain
letters, and hoping that Plaisted might sleep till noon, as he often did,
she slipped downstairs to await results.

It is not often that a man is roused from sleep by his own tombstone
falling on him, but that is how was at last awakened. Quite likely
Frankie, fearing to awaken him, did not place it very securely. However, as
Plaisted was about to turn over for another snooze, down came the marble
slab on his papered head! It almost stunned him for a moment, but curiosity
roused him enough to find out what had struck him.

Lifting his arms above his head, he grasped the object, but not calculating
on its weight, it slipped out of his hands and bruised his head in another
spot. Raising on his elbow, he gazed in bewilderment on the thing, but
turning it over he quickly grasped its meaning, for the words thereon were
plain enough for the dullest man to understand, and read as follows:

                "Sacred to the memory of
                     D.S. PLAISTED,
  who departed this life while in full health and curl papers.
                  His death was sudden,
                   but quite expected.
    This monument was erected by one who fully realized his
                    WORTH-LESS-NESS.
                   Peace to his ashes."

A few moments of awful silence followed the reading of this inscription,
then curses both loud and deep were heard in the room. With a bound he was
out of bed, and opening the door he flung his tombstone over the baluster
to the bottom of the stairs, with a crash that startled the family from
their seats as if a thunderbolt had shaken the house.

Dexie disappeared instantly, knowing what the noise meant, but feeling
thankful that there was no one near the stairs when the crash came, or she
would have had to seriously repent her joke. As it was, the stairs were
dinged and marred, and the fragments of the tombstone were strewn over the
hall.

It did not take Plaisted long to dress that morning, and he soon appeared
before the assembled family, his brow dark and his eyes flashing.

"Who did that?" he demanded as he made his appearance.

"That is just what we have been trying to find out," replied Mr. Sherwood,
who thought he was referring to the noise.

"I mean, who put that stone in my room?"

"What stone? I hardly think you are awake yet, Plaisted," and he regarded
him severely. "Do you know what time it is?"

Plaisted glanced at the clock, and his angry feelings were swallowed up in
the feeling of shame that spread a flush over his face.

"Heavens! I never thought it was so late as that! So we have lost the train
again by my carelessness. Too bad, Sherwood. But that joke was no light
one. Did you put up that stone?"

"What stone? I don't understand," replied Sherwood, angrily.

Plaisted turned back into the hall, and gathered up the pieces he had flung
down in his anger, then piecing it together on the table pointed to the
inscription.

A roar of laughter came from Mr. Sherwood's throat, as he took in the joke.
Dexie, hearing the laughter and knowing its cause, came boldly into the
room, ready enough to confess her share of it, now that she knew her father
would not scold very much about it.

"Dexie, did you do that?" he asked, as she appeared. "That writing looks
very familiar."

"Well, I wrote the inscription," her face never changing expression, "but I
hired another person to set the stone up. Has there been a miracle that you
have come to life again?" she added, turning to Plaisted.

"Well, I'll have to own that you have got the best of me this time, Miss
Dexie; but I'll pay you for that tombstone yet, see if I don't," and he
seated himself to his late breakfast.

There was no need to set up a monument to Plaisted's memory the next
morning, as he was down before the breakfast bell rang, and as Mr.
Sherwood kept him confined to the business they had before them, he found
no time to pay Dexie back for the trick she had played him.

During the day something occurred that referred to business matters in
Prince Edward Island; and becoming annoyed at Plaisted's equivocal answers,
Mr. Sherwood took the copy of the letter Dexie had brought home with her,
and laid it before his eyes. Plaisted read it with a puzzled brow and
shamefaced cheeks.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, in embarrassment.

"No matter; but can you deny it is yours?"

"By thunder! I guess I can! that is not my handwriting," he replied, trying
to bluff it off.

"No, the handwriting is not yours, I know. But dare you say that that is
not an exact copy of a letter that was written by your hand?"

"Well, you have me there, Sherwood, so I may as well own up. I was going to
do a bit of shrewd business for myself, but someone seems to have got ahead
of me. Now I look at this writing, it is singularly like the writing on my
tombstone," he added, as he studied the letter before him; "but, of course,
it isn't possible."

Receiving no answer, he looked up at Mr. Sherwood and seemed to read the
truth in his face.

"You don't mean to say that my conjecture is right?"

"Yes, Dexie's thoughtfulness and quick perception have saved me a good
thousand. Your doings on Prince Edward Island were made known to her in a
singular manner, and she was sharp enough to see the advantage that an
exact copy of your letter would be to me; and as your letter was placed in
her hands quite unexpectedly, she copied it. You and I must part. I'll have
no schemer like you for a partner any longer. I'll not have my name mixed
up with such doubtful dealings."

High words followed, but as Mr. Sherwood had the upper hand, Plaisted was
obliged to submit to his decision, and he soon left the room to collect his
belongings, having received a peremptory dismissal.

"There is one satisfaction that I wish you would grant me, Sherwood," he
said, turning as he reached the door, "Tell me how your daughter chanced
upon that letter." "No, that you need not know; but it was by the merest
accident, and was as great a surprise to her as it has been to me. But she
was sharp enough to see how important her information was, and knew that a
copy of your letter was the best guarantee she could bring me of your
craftiness."

"Sharp! yes, that is just the word for her. She is like a bunch of nettles,
stinging you if you but touch her. She has contrived to give me an
unpleasant memory of her every time I have been here. And so it is to her I
owe this break in our business intercourse;" and with flushed face and
flashing eyes he left the room, and before night he was journeying toward
the "land of the free," a sadder, and, let us hope, a wiser man.




CHAPTER XXVIII.


"Hope long deferred maketh the heart sick," and Hugh became dull and
morose; the happiness he hoped for seemed as far off as ever, and the
continued disappointment was making his life bitter. Mrs. Gurney saw the
change, and tried to persuade Hugh to go abroad. This he longed to do, but
waited; he might yet go abroad with Dexie as his travelling companion. He
would not take the message sent him as final; surely if he could see her
alone, face to face, he would compel her to give her reasons for refusing
him, and he might explain away her objections.

But Dexie considered the matter settled, and feeling herself free she
thought it right to drop her stiff, reserved manner, and be once more
friendly. This change made Hugh think that there was still hope for him,
and he determined to take a lover's privilege, and press his suit face to
face.

With this end in view, he called on the Sherwoods one afternoon, and
finding Mr. Sherwood alone, he asked permission to take Dexie out for a
sail, adding that there seemed no other way of seeing her alone.

"I doubt if she will go with you, Mr. McNeil," said Mr. Sherwood. "Why not
let the matter rest as it is? I don't think you are making much headway;
better not press it any further."

"She has not given me fair play," was the reply. "If I am to be refused,
why must I take it from another's lips? Give me the chance to open my heart
to her, and I will be satisfied."

"Well, Mr. McNeil, I wish you well; but she must choose as she likes. What
is the water like to-day?"

"Smooth as a mill-pond; scarcely a ripple," was the reply, as he followed
Mr. Sherwood into the next room.

"I have called to see if you will go for a sail, Miss Dexie," said Mr.
McNeil, as he entered the room and seated himself beside her. "You have not
been on the water for some time; it is a pity to miss this fine afternoon."

Gussie knew very well that she was not included in the invitation; but she
had no intention of being left out, so she eagerly answered:

"Oh, yes, of course we will go; it will be lovely and cool on the water
this hot afternoon."

Hugh knew it would be useless to hint that it was Dexie alone he wanted,
but he meant to get rid of her society somehow.

"You have not said if you would go, Dexie," said Hugh, looking intently
into her face.

"Oh, yes! certainly. I shall be delighted to go, if Gussie thinks she will
not get sick."

"I don't think Gussie was included in the invitation," said Mr. Sherwood,
looking up from his paper as he became aware of the situation.

"But of course it was understood; I would not go without her," said Dexie.
"What time shall we be ready?"

"I will call in half an hour," and Hugh left the room with his heavy brow
drawn into a decided frown.

During the walk to the wharf Hugh was so silent that Gussie began to banter
him on his gloomy countenance.

"You don't look as if you enjoyed the prospect of an afternoon on the
water, after all!" she said, laughing.

Hugh took no notice of her remarks, but handed the girls into the boat,
threw the shawls on a seat, and shoved off.

"I hope the wind will rise a little," said Dexie, as they seated
themselves. "You will find it rather tiresome to row all the time."

"We will catch a slight breeze after we get out a bit," replied Hugh.

But Gussie no sooner felt the motion of the boat than she repented her
decision in coming. She was a veritable coward on the water; the least
ripple made her shrink with fear, and nothing but her anxiety to keep Hugh
and Dexie apart would have allowed her to overcome her dread. But once on
the water, fear and sickness overmastered all else.

"Oh! do be careful!" she cried in alarm, as Hugh stepped forward to adjust
the sail, causing the little craft to dip slightly on one side.

"No danger, Gussie," said Dexie; "the boat will not tip as easily as you
suppose."

"But do you not think it is getting rough?" she asked, as a slight ripple
came towards them. "Oh! I wish I had not come. Do let us go back."

"The idea! Why, we have not been out ten minutes," said Dexie, who
thoroughly enjoyed the motion that sent the color from Gussie's face.
"Gussie, are you frightened, or sick?" she added, looking into her sister's
face.

"Both. Do ask Hugh to return; I am in misery."

Hugh lost no time in doing as he was requested, and they soon reached the
wharf. Gussie stepped ashore at once, glad to reach _terra firma_ again;
but as Dexie stepped forward to join her, Hugh turned sharply:

"Are you frightened, too? I thought you were made of something better."

The taunt aroused Dexie, and she replied:

"No, I'm not afraid. It was not I that asked to return."

Instantly Hugh stepped into the boat and, gave it a shove that sent it
several rods, saying:

"Then we'll not lose our sail on Gussie's account," and he bent to the
oars, sending the little boat far out into the stream.

Gussie stood on the wharf until she saw that they really meant to leave her
there, and then walked thoughtfully home.

"I wonder what this means?" was Dexie's inward comment when she found
herself alone with Hugh. "There is some method in this madness, for I see
it in his eyes."

She did not offer to begin the conversation until she saw Hugh hoist the
sail and turn towards Point Pleasant.

"Where are you going, Mr. McNeil? I thought we were going up the Basin."

"I think we will try the Arm; there will not be so many crafts about."

"Why this wish for seclusion?" said Dexie, forcing a smile. "Surely there
will be room for us as well."

Hugh paid no attention to this remark until they had turned up the Arm;
then dropping the sail and changing his seat to one opposite Dexie, he let
the boat drift with the tide.

Looking at her earnestly he said,

"It was a lucky thought that made me bring you out on the water. I thought
Gussie would soon get enough of it. We are not likely to be interrupted
here, and you cannot run away from me. Now, do you want me to tell you why
I have brought you here?"

"No; I have not the least curiosity about it," was the seemingly
indifferent reply.

"You know what I wish to say, Dexie, though you do not care to acknowledge
it," he said, in a low tone. "Believe me, Dexie, I have not been playing at
love-making all this time. I never was more in earnest in anything than I
am in this. Tell me, what is it that you have against me?"

"Mr. McNeil, I thought this matter was settled. You received the message I
sent you. Why bring up the subject again? I do not wish to hear another
word."

"You cannot help yourself, Dexie. You have had your own way in this all
along, and have not allowed me to say a word. Now it is my turn, and I will
not be put off. Remember all is fair in love and war."

Dexie was silent. She was a little afraid of Hugh in this mood, but no sign
of her fear appeared outwardly.

"I have reached the limit of torture that I can bear," said Hugh, after a
pause. "I have had harsh words and cold looks for a long time, and you have
slighted me on every possible occasion; but it has made no difference in my
love for you. It has grown until it has taken possession of me, and my life
seems to hold nothing worth living for with you left out of my future.
Dexie, have pity! Is my life of no account to you that you can toss it
aside without a thought?"

Dexie raised her eyes to the earnest face before her as she replied:

"I must think of my own self. Why should I make my life unhappy to please a
passing fancy of yours?"

"A passing fancy! I understand that remark; you mean it as a sneer. It was
a passing fancy with Gussie, I will admit. But, Dexie, it is a strong man's
love that now burns in my heart. Think of all that it is in my power to
give you, if you will only receive it. But the fact that I possess a
fortune gives me no pleasure unless I can share it with you. Say the word,
Dexie, and your every wish shall be gratified, if it is in the power of a
man or money to do so, and my whole life shall be spent in making you
happy. You need never have a care. What more could you ask of me, Dexie?"
His eager eyes seemed to burn into her very soul as he waited her reply.

"I ask you for nothing; but if you will take all this and lay it before
someone who could and would gladly accept it, you would be far happier in
the end. It is a waste of time to try and persuade me to do what my whole
soul refuses to consider, even for a moment."

"But why? Tell me why, Dexie? What have you against me? Is it on Gussie's
account, or is it Lancy Gurney that comes between us?"

"What matters the reason? Call it what you like, it stands between us, and
always will," she answered with rising color.

"You will not say! Can it be possible that you are so much in love with
Lancy Gurney that there is no room for a thought of me? He will never make
you happy; he knows nothing of love as I feel it--a schoolboy attachment,
that will soon be forgotten!"

"Be kind enough to leave Lancy's name out of this discussion altogether,"
said Dexie coldly, "and as there is nothing to be gained by prolonging this
unpleasant interview, we had better return home."

"You are mistaken if you think I am going to end this little excursion
without gaining my end. Do you remember the time Lancy took you to drive,
on purpose to gain your consent to whistle at the concert? Well, he kept
you out until you gave him your promise, and I intend to profit by that
idea of his, and keep you here until you give me a promise also."

"Why! Mr. McNeil, are you crazy?" said Dexie, in alarm. "What parallel do
you see in the case? What good would a promise do you which you know I
would break the moment I reached the shore?"

"You will not break any promise you make. I am not afraid of that. I think
I know you better than you do yourself, Dexie."

Dexie flushed angrily, and turned her eyes to see the position of their
boat. They had been drifting at the will of the tide, and she had given
little thought to it in her excitement. But now, understanding what might
be in store for her, it was necessary to think of some way of escape.

Could she keep Hugh from regarding her movements, and draw his attention
from their boat's course?

After a few minutes' silence she asked, a smile twitching the corners of
her mouth:

"I suppose there is not a piece of paper anywhere about," and she looked
into her pocket and beneath the seat in a vain search; and there was a
gleam of mischief in her eyes as she added: "I suppose you could not
accommodate me with a piece of paper, could you, Mr. McNeil? Oh, thanks.
And a pencil? Much obliged. Now, if there is only an empty bottle around
some place, with a tight cork, I'll not despise the shipwrecked mariner's
post office." "What are you going to do?" said Hugh, looking at her in
surprise.

"Well, if I am to be detained here indefinitely, I would like to send a few
parting words to Lancy. I am sure it would be _such_ a comfort to him, in
case the letter ever reached him, to know that I cared enough for him to
remain true under such trying circumstances."

Was she making fun of him or not? Hugh could not tell, but he snatched the
piece of paper from her hand and flung it over the side of the boat.

"Poor Lancy! how he will grieve for me!" she added in a commiserating tone,
as she watched the receding scrap of paper. "You might have allowed me that
one bit of consolation, I am sure, Mr. McNeil."

"Do you really love Lancy so much? I cannot believe it, Dexie."

"You might, nevertheless; for believe me, Mr. McNeil, if I had but one last
wish granted me, it would be that I might be transported to his side. Ah
me! I do not think I ever cared for him so much as I do at this present
moment," and Dexie began to sing in a minor tone and in the high, cracked
voice of an old woman:

  "Why--do--we--mourn--departed--friends
  Or--"

"Dexie, stop that!" and Hugh's' voice was sharp with pain and annoyance. "I
do believe you are the most vexatious creature that ever lived."

"It makes me happy to hear you acknowledge that, Mr. McNeil; and I think
you are far too sensible to want to spend your whole life with such a
vexatious creature as you know me to be. Put a stop to all this nonsense,
and let us return home."

"Never! You are trifling with a matter that is more than life and death to
me, and you make jokes while I suffer. Do you think I cannot see through
all this professed love for Lancy? Do girls in love confess it to a third
party so freely and openly? No! Lancy has no place in your heart at all. I
have watched you too closely to be mistaken," and before she was aware of
his intention her hands were seized in his strong grasp as he poured out
his heart in a torrent of passionate words.

Dexie was moved in spite of herself. She looked into the face so near her,
and asked herself the question, "Why could she not love him?" He surely
loved her truly, or he would not speak so earnestly. A future such as he
could give her would be eagerly grasped by many young girls. She had never
thought his face half so expressive as it now appeared to her. Yes, he was
very handsome after all; his very soul seemed shining through his eyes, and
as he talked she dropped hers before his earnest gaze.

"It is no use," she said at last, in a low tone. "I cannot, I cannot--

  'I do not love you, Dr. Fell,
  The reason why I cannot tell.'"

But, low as the words were, Hugh heard them.

"Never mind the love, Dexie; marry me, and the love will come afterwards."

"No, Mr. McNeil, I will not risk it," was her low reply, as she pulled her
hands from his close grasp. "I am quite sure we could not live a week in
peace and happiness. There is something in your very presence that raises
up the worst feelings in me, and why should I knowingly spoil all my life?"

"It is no risk, Dexie; you shall never have any reason to be vexed with me.
Your father is quite ready to accept me as a son-in-law; he trusts me, why
cannot you? My darling, you have had time to think it over. Give me your
promise; it need not be fulfilled until you wish it."

"I cannot give a promise I have no wish or intention of keeping, and how
can you ask such a thing? How can you want an unwilling bride?"

"Never mind me, Dexie. Say you will be my wife sometime, and that will be
enough. You will never regret it."

Dexie covered her face with her hands, and thought it over. The few
minutes' silence was broken by Hugh, who hoarsely asked:

"Will you give me your promise, Dexie?"

"No, I will not!"

"But you shall! I swear it! Do you think I am not in earnest?" and the
love-light in his eyes was dimmed by a harder and fiercer look. "You will
return home my promised wife, or not at all!"




CHAPTER XXIX.


They had drifted on and on.

A little to the left a vessel was riding at anchor, and Dexie felt sure
there must be someone on board who would help her. If she could only alter
the course of the boat and get into the current, it might bring them near
enough to attract attention, then she would shout for help.

There was a long silence between them. Hugh regarded her earnestly, feeling
sure she would give in at last. Dexie had no thought of doing so, but was
striving to think of some way to escape him. As she sat, her hands folded
in her lap, she studied well the position of the vessel; noting also the
ladders that hung over the side, and a daring thought entered her mind.

"Dear me!" she said at last, "this is getting very monotonous. I am tired
doing nothing. I think I might learn how to use an oar, even though I may
never have the chance to put my knowledge into practice."

She reached forward and grasped a light oar, handling it rather awkwardly,
as a novice might, but succeeded at last in getting the blade over the
side, more by chance than good management, apparently.

"I thought you knew how to use an oar already," said Hugh, his mind turned
a moment from the subject that had been absorbing him. He watched the
spasmodic dabs that Dexie was making, not thinking there was any purpose in
the seemingly awkward efforts at rowing.

"Well, no--I'm not much of a hand at it--I must confess, but I think--I
could learn--in time," and she glanced up to see if they were nearing the
vessel; but Hugh followed her look and instantly surmised her intention.

"Ha! I see your scheme! Let me warn you not to make any outcry in hope of
getting assistance from that vessel, for I tell you it would come too
late."

"I am not afraid of your threats, sir, as you might know by this time,"
said Dexie, in a firm voice. "I do not forget the time you were going to
throw me from the roof, if I did not say the words you wished to hear. I am
a good swimmer, let me tell you, so you will not find me so easy to drown
as you may imagine; however, accidents will happen, and I would fain die a
dry death, so take up the oars and turn back to the city, or I shall jump
overboard, and try and make for that vessel."

"Sit down, Dexie," said Hugh, fiercely. "Do you think I am such a fool as
to let you escape me, after all? Let me tell you, I planned for all
emergencies before I asked you to come out with me, and yesterday I made my
will and settled up my affairs by writing a letter for your father, in case
we do not return. So take care, it remains with you if there shall be a
tragedy. There shall be no risk of a separation, for if you make any effort
to escape, it will be stopped by this," and a bright revolver gleamed in
the rays of the setting sun.

Dexie shuddered in spite of herself. The dread of firearms was as strong in
her as in most of her sex, and she shrank back in her seat with a horrified
look.

"A fine proof of your regard, I must say, to carry a loaded revolver on
purpose to shoot me!" was the scornful reply.

"I prepared it for myself alone. Don't drive me to use it against either of
us. Will you promise not to call for help?"

And looking at the murderous toy she gave the promise; and Hugh, knowing
she would keep it, laid it on the seat beside him.

"Alone, and with a madman! Heaven help me!" was Dexie's thought. Her heart
beat wildly. She dared not take her eyes from his face. But there was
something in her glance that had power to subdue him, and, feeling this,
she met his gaze unflinchingly. The oar still lay across her lap. Gently,
with an almost imperceptible motion, its blade reached the water, and
slowly, very slowly, the distance between the boat and vessel was
shortened. She sat back in her seat so still that the slight movement of
her wrists was not observed, for Hugh's eyes seemed riveted to her face;
there seemed a mesmeric power in the depths of her eyes that held him, and
obliterated all else from his mind.

Dexie's heart gave a great throb as the shadow of the vessel fell across
the boat; but still he saw nothing till Dexie bent forward to give the
strong pull to the oar that would give her freedom or death. The boat
answered the touch and gave a sideward lurch that sent it broadside against
the vessel, and Hugh woke as from a trance. One upward glance, and he
sprang forward to thrust the boat aside and keep her off. But as he turned
his back Dexie sprang up, and it was but the work of an instant to slip the
revolver into her pocket, and as the boat swept past she grasped the rope
ladder that hung from the vessel's side.

Terror seemed to lend her wings, for she found herself on the vessel's deck
before she had time to draw a breath, where half fainting she lay for some
moments, thanking Heaven for her safety.

But was she yet safe? No sign of life appeared on deck; but might there not
be a number of sailors, drunk, below? Would she be any safer in their
company than with Hugh? She shut her teeth hard at the thought, and
slipping her hand into her pocket, with fear and trembling, she pulled out
the revolver, and laid it at her side. How had she dared to touch it? Yet,
while facing Hugh, the possession of that revolver seemed the one thing to
be desired; but now that she had it she dreaded to touch it, though it was
her only protector in this, her awful position.

When the boat slipped clear of the vessel, and Hugh turned about and
realized that he was alone, he sank down on the seat as if powerless to
move.

Where was Dexie? How had she escaped? No cry had reached his ears, no sound
of splashing water warned him that she had gone over the side. Yet he was
alone, Alone!

His terrified glance swept the water around him, as if he expected to see
her upturned face in the waves that mocked his misery by their ceaseless
motion.

Merciful Heaven, had he lost her, after all; lost the life that was dearer
to him than his own? It could not be. A few rapid strokes, and he was again
at the vessel's side, intending to summon assistance from those on board to
aid him in his search. Had either of them known that the two men on board
the vessel were hopelessly drunk in their berths below, and that the rest
of the crew were about returning from Halifax charged with hell-fire in the
shape of Water Street whiskey, it might have made some difference in the
actions of both.

Dexie watched Hugh's movements with interest, but when she saw him
approaching the vessel her fear of him again increased, and she rose and
confronted him.

"Don't come any nearer, I warn you!" she cried. "I hold the revolver now,
and I shall not scruple to use it for my own safety."

"Dexie, how did you get there?" was the relieved reply. "Put down that
revolver before you do harm with it. You must come back in the boat! Do you
think you are safe among a lot of sailors!"

Hugh seemed perfectly sane how, whatever may have been the condition of his
mind previously, and he shuddered as her unprotected condition flashed over
him.

"Keep off, McNeil! don't come any nearer at your own peril! I will trust
myself among a shipload of drunken sailors before I will put myself in your
power again."

"Dexie, I'll give you my word of honor to take you home at once, if you
will leave the vessel. Come, you need not fear me any more; I think I must
have been mad."

"Keep off, I tell you! I am not so foolish as you think! I don't forget you
prepared that revolver in your sober senses, whatever may have been your
state of mind awhile ago. Keep back, or you shall have the bullet you
prepared for me!"

What could he do? She seemed terribly in earnest, yet, if she did not come
back with him, how should she be able to return at all? Should he make a
dash and rescue her against her will? She seemed to define his thoughts,
for she leaned over the side, saying:

"Go at once, and send someone for me, for if I ever reach Halifax again it
won't be under your care! Go, I say! I hate you! I _hate_ you! You need not
try to reach me," as Hugh rowed nearer. "You just touch that ladder, and
you will find my bleeding body here, not a living person!"

Hugh sat in the boat irresolute, not knowing what to do.

"I cannot leave you there, Dexie; you _must_ come back to me, and come
quickly before you are discovered. I swear I will row you home at once, and
not trouble you with a word," and the boat almost touched the vessel's
side. It was heavily laden, and sat low in the water, and Dexie felt the
distance between them was very short indeed. If Hugh insisted on reaching
her, the struggle would be short and soon over, for nothing would persuade
her to go back in the boat with Hugh again. She raised her arm; and the
sound of a shot was sent over the water, followed simultaneously with a
sharp, splintering sound, as the little leaden missile tore its way along
the stern of the little boat.

Dexie look around, expecting the sound would surely bring someone from
below, and if that someone was not sober, Hugh was still near enough to
help her. But no one appeared; she seemed the only living person on board.
She looked back at Hugh. She had not hurt him, nor had she intended to do
so, but she struck much nearer than she knew, and Hugh went back a stroke
or two.

"Do you believe I am in earnest now?" she asked, as she still held the
revolver in her hand. "Go and bring someone for me while there is time, for
I will never go back with you!"

But as Hugh bent to the oars, sending the little craft so swiftly to do her
bidding, the courage that had hitherto sustained her suddenly vanished.
Alone and unprotected, what might not happen to her? But it was too late to
call Hugh back now, so she must face whatever fate there was in store for
her. What if Hugh had no intention of sending help to her, and should leave
her there? Oh, for some chance to get away!

Dexie had almost given up in despair when the muffled sound of oars was
borne on her ears. She sprang quickly to the other side of the vessel and
looked anxiously in the direction of the sound. Soon the rower came in
sight, and by the stripes and epaulets of the wearer she recognized him as
a military officer, whose strong, rapid strokes were rapidly taking him
citywards. Oh, if he would only take her with him! Dare she ask him? The
hitherto-despised soldier seemed an angel of mercy, as the hope of rescue
sprang up again in her heart. But he is coming near, and she must not let
the chance slip. How should she hail him? In what words make known her
peril? She felt stupid, just when she needed her readiest wit. He was
almost abreast the vessel before Dexie found her voice, and then in
frightened tones came the cry:

"Help, soldier! Help!"

The soldier turned his head, and rested on his oars as he listened.

"Help, soldier! Save me, I beg of you!"

The pleading tones told that the cry was from someone in trouble, and a few
strokes brought him to the vessel's side.

"What's the matter, miss? What's wrong that you are calling for help? What
can I do for you?"

"Oh, take me away from this vessel! You are going to the city, are you
not?"

"Yes; but perhaps I shall get myself into some scrape if I take you away,"
and a smile lit up his face for a moment. "How came you here? Are you here
against your will?"

"Yes, and no. Take me off quickly, and I'll explain," she replied,
hurriedly, for a movement below reached her ears.

She was soon seated opposite her deliverer, who looked at her curiously,
but said nothing till they were quite a distance from the vessel; then,
resting on his oars, he said:

"Now, tell me how you came to be on that vessel; but, first, will you tell
me your name?"

"Oh! must I--" and Dexie dropped her head.

"Well, you need not if you do not wish to. I know you, all the same, though
I have not heard your name. You are the 'American Warbler.' Now, tell me
your story."

"I hardly know how to tell it, though I don't mind you knowing about it.
There is so much to tell before you will understand how I came to be on the
vessel."

"Well, if it is all a secret, I'll promise not to tell anyone except my
wife. She might hear that I have been on the harbor with a young lady, so I
had better tell her myself," and he smilingly waited Dexie's explanation.

"Oh! since you are married, it will not be so hard to tell."

There was quite a pause. Where would she begin?

"Come, now, how did you come to be aboard the vessel?" he repeated.

"But I can't tell you _how_ until I have told you _why_," said she, trying
to control her voice, "so I must tell you all that happened this
afternoon," and, beginning from the time that Hugh prevented her from
joining her sister on the wharf, she told the story of the afternoon,
though not without skilful questionings that made the matter clear, though
hardly comprehensible. She gave no names, but mentioned Hugh as "the young
gentleman."

"You have had quite an adventure, Miss--," and he looked up thinking she
would supply the name, but she smiled and shook her head.

"Miss Jonathan, then; you must have some name for my wife to know you by,"
he added, smilingly. "Now, I don't think you did a very wise thing when you
got on a strange craft for safety. It was all right as it happened, but it
might not have happened all right. However, you are safely out of the
scrape; still, if I am not mistaken in the young man, he thinks too much of
you to really harm you."

"Do you think you know who it was?" and she looked up with a flushed face.

"Well, I suppose it was the same chap that whistled with you at the
concert, wasn't it!"

"No, indeed! I suppose I must tell you more, after all. You don't
understand the half of it yet. It was one who was, at one time, my sister's
lover, or so I thought, but he--"

"He changed his mind, I see," and there was a twinkle of fun in the eyes
that watched the face before him. "I begin to see the point now. That is
why he did not want your sister with you. May I hazard a guess and say that
perhaps it was the dark young man who was glowering at you the night of the
concert? Oh, I saw it all," as she looked up in surprise. "So it was he?"

"Yes, he was out of temper that night, I remember."

"Well, he did not look very amiable, I must say; but, for all that, you
were safer with him than on the vessel, for, if I am not mistaken, that is
the crew going aboard now," and the shouts and songs of the sailors reached
their ears as they rowed towards the vessel.

"Oh! thank you, thank you a thousand times, for coming along just when you
did! What should I have done? But I had this," and she drew forth the
revolver from her pocket.

"Great Scott! have you got that yet? What were you going to do with it?"

"I would have turned it on myself if there was no other way. Would you mind
accepting it? McNeil shall never have it back," and she laid it by his
side.

The oars were poised in the air as he caught the name. "McNeil, you said!
Not the McNeil that has had the fortune left him lately, and is considered
such a great catch?"

"Yes, he has had a fortune left him; as for being a great catch"--and the
shrug of her shoulders finished her answer.

"Well, I don't think he will have to force his attentions on the rest of
the young ladies around Halifax by the aid of a revolver anyway, if all
they say of the young man is true. He is well liked, I hear, by all who
know him. And so you won't have him?"

"No, I won't promise to marry any man, however rich he is, who would ask
it with a revolver in his possession to enforce it. I should hate him for
it."

"There spoke the woman's heart; a loaded revolver is hardly a lover's
weapon, I'll admit. What a bit of romance this will be for my wife! Have I
your permission to tell it?"

"Just as you like; but please do not tell anyone else--your soldier
friends, I mean."

"Certainly not, if you wish it; but young ladies usually like to boast of
their conquests."

"Well, on all other points McNeil is sensible, and, as he will probably
marry someone else some day, it will not be pleasant to have this affair
become known."




CHAPTER XXX.


It was quite dark when they reached the wharf, and Dexie was wondering if
Lancy knew of her absence when she saw his well-known figure outlined
against the sky.

He did not know that the object of his anxious thoughts was so near, as he
stood looking seaward, with a dark frown upon his face.

As the soldier moored the little boat, and prepared to help Dexie ashore,
she suddenly said: "I gave you the revolver, but will you mind giving me
the rest of the bullets in it?"

He looked at her in surprise.

"Certainly," he replied, and he laid them in her hand, "but I think you
will find them unpleasant reminders of an incident you would do well to
forget. A man in love is often a desperate individual, without realizing
his condition; and I have no doubt that, by this time, McNeil would do much
to recall what passed this afternoon. So let me ask you, for him, to
forgive it."

"I could forgive all but the _revolver_ part of it. That was premeditated,
and I shall not forget it. Let me thank you again for your kind assistance.
I shall always think better of the soldiers for your kindness to me."

"I am amply repaid, my fair warbler," replied the soldier, as they stood at
last on the wharf, "and if your excitable lover ever asks for his revolver,
here is my address," and he handed her a card; "but, if I mistake not, a
friend is waiting for you," and he waved his hand towards Lancy.

At that moment Lancy turned, and seeing the object of his thoughts so near,
and in company with a soldier, his face underwent a series of expressions.
But it was really Dexie, though he could scarcely believe his own eyesight,
and he was at her side in a moment.

"Why, Dexie! where have you been? We were afraid there had been an
accident."

A hundred questions were on his lips, but the presence of the soldier kept
them back.

"I have been in danger, but there has been no accident, Lancy; and you must
thank this gentleman for bringing me safely home."

As the memory of it all passed before her, her self-control gave way, and
covering her face with her hands she burst into tears.

This was rather embarrassing to Lancy, who was all in the dark in regard to
Dexie's movements. He was told that she had gone off with Hugh, and here
she was in company with a soldier, and in tears.

"She will be all right in a few minutes," the officer replied, in answer to
Lancy's surprised looks. "She has gone through enough to try a strong
woman's nerves. Wait here; I'll get that cab, if it is empty, and you can
take her home at once," and he darted up the wharf at a rapid pace.

"Where is Hugh?" said Lancy hurriedly; "not drowned, Dexie?"

"No; not that I know of," she said, choking back her tears.

"Then, what does all this mean? How came you to be out with the soldier,
Dexie? I don't know what to think."

"I will tell you presently, but that soldier saved my life. Thank him for
me, Lancy, for I cannot say enough."

The arrival of the cab prevented further explanation, and Dexie allowed
herself to be seated in it without a word.

"I do not yet know what has happened," said Lancy, holding out his hand to
the soldier, "but I thank you very heartily for your kindness. Jump into
the cab with us, as far as your way lies, and tell me what this is all
about."

As they took their seats, Lancy turned to Dexie, who had almost recovered
her composure, saying:

"You have not yet introduced me to your friend. How shall I call him?"

Dexie held up the card she had in her hand, saying: "I do not know myself,
and it is too dark to read."

"I am Lieutenant Wilbur, at your service, and I feel happy in being the
means of rescuing the 'American Warbler' from a very unpleasant situation."

"I am Launcelot Gurney. Now, will one of you tell me what has happened? You
have not been capsized, Dexie, for your clothes are not wet; but you have
been gone since early afternoon, and return in unexpected company. I am
bewildered by the thoughts and suggestions that crowd into my mind."

"Let me tell the story briefly, and she can relate the details later on.
Here it is: Your fair warbler finds herself afloat, and unintentionally
alone with a desperate lover, who demands her heart and hand at the point
of a revolver, with the alternative of a death in his arms. Choosing
neither, said American warbler skilfully guides the boat to a vessel
anchored near, hoping to find a rescuer. This failing her, she takes
advantage of a moment when the aforesaid lover's back is turned, and
escapes to the vessel by aid of a rope ladder, and effectually keeps at bay
the aforesaid lover by a judicious use of the revolver, which had
previously been turned against herself. Then finding himself worsted, the
afore-mentioned desperate lover hies himself away, and your humble servant
turns up in the nick of time, and rescues the almost despairing warbler,
and returns her to the arms of--well--a waiting friend; quite a romance, my
wife will say."

Lancy listened to the story with amazement.

"Dexie, is this possible? or is the lieutenant only joking?"

"It has been no joke to me, Lancy; I can say that," was the reply in a
quivering voice. "I was not off the vessel ten minutes, before we met the
vessel's crew going towards her. I can't bear to think of it."

"But the revolver; surely that is an exaggeration!"

"It is here," and the lieutenant held it towards Lancy, who drew back with
a shudder.

"Heavens! is it possible? I can hardly realize how Hugh was capable of such
an act."

"You had better take this Mr. Gurney, and give it to the owner," said the
lieutenant, still holding out the weapon.

"No!" said Dexie quickly, "he shall not have it back! If you will not keep
it, Lieutenant Wilbur, I will throw it into the harbor the first chance I
get!"

"I will keep it then, fair warbler," and he replaced it in his pocket.

"Does he not know your name?" said Lancy, in a low tone.

"No, but he saw us both in the hall, and remembers me."

"Well, it is but fair, lieutenant," said Lancy aloud, "that you should know
the name of the lady you rescued. This is Miss Dexie Sherwood."

"Ah! happy to know you at last, Miss Sherwood," was the laughing reply, as
he bent over her a moment; "but I must bid you good-bye, as I get off
here," and signalling the driver he lifted his cap, and was soon out of
sight.

They reached home in a few minutes, and Lancy followed Dexie into the
house, saying:

"I must have the story from your lips before I leave you to-night, Dexie."

"Very well; but remember it is long past tea-time, and I am almost
famished."

The family had become very much alarmed at Dexie's prolonged absence, and
Mr. Sherwood had gone out to inquire if any accident had been reported on
the water. As Dexie entered the sitting-room, Gussie looked up in
surprise, as she saw who was Dexie's companion; she expected it would be
Hugh, and it was easy to see that she was not in the best of tempers.

"It is time you were home, miss," was her caustic remark. "It is a wonder
you are not ashamed of yourself to stay out till this hour! Just you wait
till papa comes home--he has been almost wild with fright; and you have
given mamma one of her nervous headaches, and she is quite ill; so you know
just what you may expect from her."

Dexie made no answer, but moved briskly from sideboard to closet,
collecting her supper.

"It would have been better for you if you had come home at the proper time
to your supper, instead of keeping us waiting for you, as you did," and a
torrent of complaints and reproaches were poured out, regardless of Lancy's
presence, till he was moved to reply:

"I think, Gussie, if you knew the cause of her detention, and how much she
has borne because of it, you would not say another unkind word to her
to-night."

"Oh, never mind her, Lancy," said Dexie; "honestly, I rather enjoy it. I
was so afraid this afternoon that I should never hear her scold me again
that I can bear all she has to say as meekly as a lamb."

Gussie looked up in astonishment, then dropped her eyes for very shame.

"What has happened? Were you capsized? Is Hugh drowned?" she asked in
alarm, noticing for the first time how sober they looked.

Her unceremonious exit from the boat had put her out of temper. She felt
angry and mortified when she remembered how glad Hugh seemed to be to get
rid of her. Was the day to end in a tragedy?

Where was Hugh, sure enough?

After leaving Dexie, he rowed across the harbor to some small fishing-boats
that were riding at anchor, and tried to hire the occupants of one of them
to accompany him to the vessel. But the story he told them seemed so
improbable they would pay no attention to him for some time. Hugh was
almost beside himself with fear on Dexie's account; but he at last
succeeded in persuading a crafty old fellow to accompany him, by promising
him more money for his services than the fisherman had ever, at one time,
seen in his life, and finally he accompanied Hugh back to the vessel.

But, by the time they arrived, Dexie had disappeared past George's Island
with the soldier, and Hugh found the vessel's deck alive with a set of men
capable of the darkest deeds that drunken sailors ever perpetrated. Hugh's
inquiries were not understood, of course; but believing the worst, he
demanded to be allowed on board the vessel. This the captain, who now
appeared, and who was about as drunk as his crew, refused to allow. Hugh
urged and argued in vain, the idea of a young lady being aboard the vessel
being hailed with uproarious shrieks of merriment by the vessel's crew.
Hugh was at last obliged to give up in despair, and he rowed back with all
speed towards the city, to secure the aid of the police in his search.

This was the darkest hour Hugh had ever known. The strain on his nerves,
coupled with the anxiety of the previous weeks, was more than he could
bear, and when, with the assistance of two men armed with authority, he
searched the vessel for any trace of Dexie's presence, and found none, his
brain seemed to collapse, and the brass-buttoned officers carried him back
in their boat to Halifax in a state of unconsciousness.

About midnight, with a doctor in attendance, he was carefully carried to
Mr. Gurney's in a state of delirium.

The next morning the startling news was brought into the Sherwood household
that Hugh McNeil was down with brain fever, and that the doctor had not
left the house since midnight.

Why did they all look at Dexie in such a horrified manner? Was she to
blame? Their looks implied as much. She fought against the implication
inwardly, but made no remark whatever as the news was being discussed.

But, as the day wore on, the unnatural stillness of the house seemed to
weigh her down with its oppressiveness, and she caught herself listening to
every sound with strained ears and every nerve on the alert.

She did not dare venture into the next door to make inquiries, not knowing
how much they might be blaming her for Hugh's sudden illness; and the added
trouble and anxiety his sickness necessarily caused, left no time for the
Gurney girls to run in with a report of his condition. Consequently, when
Lancy appeared about nine o'clock in the evening, Dexie's eyes asked the
question her lips had not power to form.

"Hugh is no better--worse, if possible," and Lancy's face was as white as
Dexie's own. "He keeps calling for you in his delirium; he seems to think
you are drowned or worse, and reaches out to catch you. It takes two to
hold him sometimes."

"Oh, Lancy! am I to blame?" she said, bursting into tears. "I have had such
a horrible day with my thoughts. I don't see how I could help it; yet it
was my fault, I suppose."

"Well, under the circumstances, I don't see how you could have done
differently, Dexie; but don't fret about it. It is an uncomfortable affair
all round, to be sure. I can't help feeling proud of you the way you braved
it out rather than give your promise; but, of course, it was hard on Hugh."

"Does your mother know anything about my part of the affair?"

"Oh, yes! I told her all about it. Hugh raved so, I had to explain what I
knew about the trouble. She guessed quickly enough that something had
happened between you."

"And the doctor?"

"Oh! he knows about it too, and he wants to know if you will come in, if
they find they cannot quiet him. Oh, Hugh will not know you," he added,
looking into her frightened face; "but the doctor thinks you might get him
to sleep if you would be willing to try it."

"Oh, dear! I don't want to go near him; but I suppose I must, if there is
any chance of convincing him that I am safe, after all."

The doctor looked up in surprise when Dexie appeared in the room with Mrs.
Gurney a short time after. Was it this slip of a girl that had wrought such
mischief?

"So this is _your_ work," and he waved his hand towards the bed.

Dexie flashed an angry look at him, saying in a low voice:

"I beg your pardon, sir, I think Mr. McNeil can blame himself and no one
else. What can I do, Mrs. Gurney?"

Hugh was tossing about in restless delirium, muttering broken sentences;
and the piteous cry of "Dexie! oh, Dexie!" rang through the room.

"Speak to him; perhaps he will realize you are here," said Mrs. Gurney.

The doctor placed a chair by the bedside for her, then stood by the foot of
the bed, watching.

"I never meant it, Dexie; I would not throw you over for worlds; forgive
me."

Dexie knew that the memory of the scene on the roof was troubling his mind,
and the anguish depicted on Hugh's face brought such a lump into her throat
that she could not speak a word.

"Come back into the boat with me; I'll promise to take you home," he cried.

The doctor eyed Dexie sternly.

"Speak to him," he said, sharply.

"I am here, Mr. McNeil. I have come back safe and well. Try to sleep."

Her voice seemed to pierce the troubled brain, and his face lost much of
its troubled look.

"Sing something, Dexie," said Mrs. Gurney, "and perhaps he will sleep. He
has not been quiet since they brought him home," and, bending down, said
softly, "Try, Dexie. I know it is hard for you, but if he will sleep it
will be almost the saving of him. You will do this for me, I know."

  "Nearer, my God, to Thee; nearer to Thee."

It was almost a whisper, but it soon had a visible effect on Hugh, and in
half an hour the doctor's curt words, "You may go now," were more welcome
than the sweetest praise.

As the fever ran its course, Dexie was frequently called to Hugh's
bedside. How she dreaded those visits, yet stern duty forbade her to
refuse, as her heart often prompted.

Dexie soon saw that she was not in the doctor's good graces, for as Hugh
revealed the past, in broken and disjointed sentences, it gave him the
impression that she had been trifling with Hugh's affections, and she
resented the tone he assumed when speaking to her. However, as the days
passed, and the doctor learned the real truth of the matter, he began to
look at Dexie with less disfavor; but the inquisitive manner with which he
now regarded her was not less objectionable.

"You will marry him yet," the doctor said one night as he watched his
patient through his wildest hours.

Dexie, who was sitting near the window, turned in surprise at the
unlooked-for remark.

"Yes, my word for it, Miss Sherwood, you will marry him yet, after all the
fuss you have made over your refusal."

"Never!" The reply was low, but intense. "I know my own mind, I guess! I
would not stay in the same room with him, though he is unconscious of my
presence, only Mrs. Gurney imagines he is less restless when I am near, and
she is anxious about his recovery."

"Oh! you need not tell _me_! I have heard of such cases before now. I have
seen your eyes full of pity as you have watched beside him with Mrs.
Gurney."

"Perhaps so; but not with the 'pity that is akin to love,' by any means,"
and as Mrs. Gurney returned to the room, she bowed a stiff good-night to
the doctor and went home.

After days of anxiety the fever reached its height, and there was not a
more anxious heart in the house that day than Dexie's own.

As she went about her daily household duties, she mentally pictured to
herself what might happen in case of the worst. Would she be blamed for his
death? and what would become of all Hugh's money?

She speculated as to how he had willed it, and wondered what were the
contents of the letter Hugh had written to her father before that
afternoon's sail. She hoped she would not be summoned again to the
sick-room. But she was not to have that wish, for late in the evening Lancy
came in to bring her over at once.

"The doctor says the next hour will decide whether he lives or not, and he
wants you to be near in case you are needed in a hurry."

Towards midnight Hugh opened his eyes and recognized Mrs. Gurney, who was
bending over him; and as he turned his face and saw the doctor also, he
said, in a faint voice:

"What is the matter? Why am I here?"

"You have been sick, Hugh," said Mrs. Gurney, taking his hand; "do not
talk."

"But I thought--I thought--I was in a boat," he said, faintly, and a
puzzled look came over his face. "I was looking--for someone--or I was
dreaming."

"You must not talk; try not to think itself," said the doctor, as he held
some medicine to his lips. "You have been dreaming, no doubt; but try not
to think about it any more."

Hugh was quiet for some minutes; memory was slowly returning; but at last
the past all came back, and, casting an imploring glance into the doctor's
face, said:

"Tell me! I remember it all now--I was searching for Dexie--is she safe?"

"Yes, safe and well, so make your mind easy."

"If I could--only feel--sure--"

"Will you bring me that pitcher of water, Miss Sherwood?"

The doctor's voice was low, but distinct, and an eager light came into
Hugh's face as he heard the name.

"Pour a little into this glass," the doctor added.

As Dexie came near at the doctor's direction, Hugh looked up, and for one
short moment their eyes met.

But that moment assured Hugh that Dexie was safe; that was all he could
comprehend at present, for he was too weak to ask any more questions. Dexie
could not bear the strain much longer, so, bending over Mrs. Gurney, she
whispered:

"Tell me I may go, if only into the next room. I cannot bear it."

"Just a moment more, Miss Sherwood," the doctor whispered, overhearing the
request "Help me a moment here," he said aloud, "and then you may retire."

She came towards the bed, and complied with his directions, knowing full
well that Hugh's eyes were devouring her face.

"Is it you, Dexie, or your spirit?" the words were low and tremulous, but,
in the stillness of the room, sounded clear and distinct.

"It is I, Mr. McNeil, alive, and well as ever I was."

"Thank God!"

His eyes closed, and with a gesture the doctor dismissed her; then taking
his seat beside the bed, he watched until he was assured that Hugh had
fallen into a natural sleep.

As Dexie left the room, she mentally said a final good-bye to it, feeling
thankful enough that her services would not be needed again to hush the
despairing cries or still the grasping hands that had clutched at space. It
was the last time her eyes rested on Hugh for weeks. She knew he was
recovering, and that was enough.

During his convalescence, Dexie never entered the Gurney household, lest by
some chance she might come face to face with her enemy.

The occurrence on the boat was tacitly dropped by all parties concerned,
and only when Hugh accidentally heard that the Sherwoods were preparing to
return to the States did his reserve break down, and it was to Mrs. Gurney
alone he expressed his regrets and intentions.




CHAPTER XXXI.


"Here's news, girls; we are going back to Maine!" and Georgie rushed into
the sitting-room where his sisters and their girl friends were chatting
together. "Papa says we are going back _for sure_, in just a few weeks,
too! Isn't that jolly?" and he manifested his delight in a series of
handsprings that would have charmed the heart of an acrobat.

"Yes, I heard something of it, but hoped it would not come to pass," said
Dexie.

"It is the best news I've heard for a long time, the sooner we leave this
horrid place the better I'll be pleased," was Gussie's comment.

Elsie was quite depressed at the thought of parting from her friends; but
the intervening weeks were full of pleasure and excitement, and drives and
parties seemed to follow one another in quick succession.

One day Dexie came in from a shopping expedition in great excitement,
saying:

"Oh, girls, I have met my double; met her down in a store on Granville
Street, and I actually followed her until she entered a house on Spring
Garden Road. If she had worn one of my suits, I should have expected her to
walk home instead of me. I began to think 'this could not be I.' Whom do
you think she can be?"

Nobody knew; but a few days after, Lancy related the fact that he had
hurried after a lady, supposing her to be Dexie, and found he had been
following a stranger.

"I am going to find out who this young person is," said Dexie, laughing.
"Who knows, perhaps it is my only chance to 'see myself as others see me.'"

After a few inquiries, it was found that Dexie's double was a Nina Gordon,
only daughter of a widow lately arrived in Halifax, and residing with a
bachelor brother who was travelling for a city firm.

Cora Gurney happened to meet both mother and daughter while making a round
of calls with a friend, and she ran in to tell Dexie of the meeting.

"Your double is not very much like you after all, Dexie," she said. "Her
figure and style of walking are remarkably like yours, even to the poise of
her head; her hair, too, is almost the same shade; the eyes and upper part
of the face are similar: but the mouth and chin are her own--they have no
resemblance whatever to the true Dexie. It is the first sight that strikes
one. When you look for the resemblance, it really seems slight enough, and
when she begins to talk, my! the illusion vanishes at once, for really I do
not think I ever met a person who irritated me as she did. She is a girl
after the 'china doll' pattern, and can only use her brains at the
direction of her mother. I do not think she ventured a remark of her own
all the time I was there."

"Perhaps she did not have the chance," said Dexie, eager to champion the
cause of her double. "Some girls are not allowed to have an opinion apart
from the maternal idea of the fitness of things, and are kept down."

"Nonsense! If you had heard her talking, Dexie, I'm sure you would have
felt like shaking her. It is only when her face is in repose that she
resembles you in the least, for the moment she begins to talk, or even
listen--or try to listen, one might say--she has the most senseless
expression I ever saw on a woman's face."

"Goodness sake! bring me a looking-glass, quick! do, till I see what I look
like when I talk. Does my face assume an idiotic expression when I am
conversing? Be honest and tell me, for sweet charity's sake."

"Ease your mind, Dexie," said Cora, laughing. "Did I not say that there the
resemblance ends? It is only when her face is at rest that the likeness can
be seen at all. If you ask her the simplest question, she must refer to her
mother for advice before she replies. For instance, I asked her if she
liked Halifax. 'Do I like Halifax, mamma, do you think?' and she turned to
her mother with such an affected simper. Really, I almost disliked her the
moment she opened her mouth."

"I hope I shall get a chance to see her before we leave Halifax," said
Dexie.

"Well, I asked her and her mother to call on mamma next week, almost on
purpose for your benefit. Hugh is getting along so well I think mamma can
receive some friends. I will let you know when they come."

A further acquaintance corroborated Cora's idea of Nina Gordon's brains.
She seemed to have no mind of her own; a good thing, perhaps, in some
cases, but a more spiritless person to talk to never vexed the heart of man
or woman either. She had no answer for the simplest question without first
asking it from her mother, and away from her mother's side she was uneasy
and almost dumb.

The mother's idiosyncrasy was always to do "the correct thing." The fear of
not doing it, or the dread of having done it unknowingly, was constantly
before her--the bugbear that troubled her daily. Perhaps the daughter
inherited the mother's dread, and her fear of doing or saying something
that was not just "the correct thing" made her put all the responsibility
of conversation on her mother's shoulder. Dexie was amused, as well as
provoked, as she listened to the efforts at conversation which Cora vainly
endeavored to sustain with her double, and it was evident that Mrs. Gurney
also was surprised as well as amused at Mrs. Gordon's remarks.

"However do you manage with such a large family, Mrs. Gurney?" she was
saying. "Why, with only Nina I am wearied to death; for from the time she
wakes up I must see to everything for her until she goes to bed again at
night. How you manage it for so many, I can't see, I am sure. I should die
of fatigue."

"Oh! the children soon get big enough to help themselves, and the younger
ones, too," Mrs. Gurney replied, with a smile. "I seldom see my girls in
the morning until I meet them at the breakfast table."

"Is it possible! Do you not have to superintend their dressing?" she asked,
in surprise.

"Why, no, Mrs. Gordon! Girls of that age," waving her hand toward the group
by the window, "are supposed to have judgment of their own in such things,
and with some to spare for the little ones."

"Dear me! I should be so afraid they would not do the correct thing if I
was not by."

"Perhaps you are by when she ought to rely on herself," was the smiling
answer. "My girls are relieving me of much of the burden of household
cares."

"Well, well!" and Mrs. Gordon looked across at the girls in surprise. "I
wonder you are not in constant dread that some of them might not do the
correct thing when you are not near with your instructions. How wonderful
that you can trust them alone so much! Nina seems a child in comparison."

Dexie was mentally comparing Nina to a big, useless doll; for she had to
conclude that Nina cared for nothing but "to be dressed up and wait in the
parlor for callers."

The girls coaxed Nina away from her mother's side while the latter was
talking to Mrs. Gurney; but directly she was asked a question she wanted to
rush back to her mother, and see how she should answer it.

"But don't you know yourself whether you like music or not?" Dexie asked
her, as Nina vainly endeavored to catch her mother's eye. "Do you not play
or sing, Miss Gordon?"

Nina picked at her gloves in embarrassment as she replied, with a simper:

"Well, I play scales on the piano sometimes."

"Then you _are_ fond of music, I suppose," said Cora, pleasantly.

"Well, I think I am. I will ask mamma; she knows if I like it. Is it quite
correct to like music, do you think?"

The silly look which accompanied this speech made Dexie almost disgusted
with her, but she turned to Cora and smiled significantly.

"Well," said Dexie, when her double had taken her departure, "she has tired
me out; but with that chin what can anyone expect? It tells her character
at a glance."

"Tell us your opinion of her," said Cora. "Do _you_ see the great
difference there is between you?"

"Why, she is different every way. First in importance is temper; there she
has the best of me, for she is as mild as milk-and-water, and I own it
certainly is not the 'correct thing' to get into such rages as I do. She
gives the impression that she is never determined about anything, and
anyone can persuade her that this, or that is right, as she has no mind to
solve the matter for herself. She will go through life depending on
another's conscience to keep her straight; but with that chin what else
could she do?"

"What does her chin say?" said Cora, smiling.

"'Unstable as water; unstable as water.' I saw the words every time I
glanced at her."

For the next few days Dexie endured much teasing about her intelligent
_double_; but she bore it all so good-naturedly that it soon died away.

Much to everyone's surprise, Dexie endeavored to see Nina frequently, and
tried to induce her to visit them often; and Dexie laughingly gave as her
reason that she would like to knock a little common-sense into her _double_
before she left Halifax, for fear people might think that Nina was her
exact counterpart in everything.




CHAPTER XXXII.


One day, as Dexie was going to the post office, she met Miss Taylor, and
the memory of the adventure in the snowstorm with Lancy and Elsie rose
vividly before her mind as she grasped the outstretched hand in friendly
greeting.

"I am in such a dilemma, Miss Sherwood!" she exclaimed. "I drove into
Halifax with a neighbor, and he was to meet me an hour ago; but I have
discovered that his usual absent-mindedness has caused him to forget all
about me. I am at my wit's end, for mother will be alarmed at my absence."

"Come home with me, Miss Taylor. Oh! you must," as a refusal rose to her
lips, "and if you really _must_ return home to-night, it can easily be
managed, I know."

After much persuasion, Miss Taylor accompanied Dexie home; and as she
explained the necessity of returning that night, Mrs. Gurney told Lancy to
order the horse and buggy and drive her out.

Lancy seconded Miss Taylor's request that Dexie should drive out with them,
and the gay little party reached the Taylor homestead about sundown,
greatly to the surprise and relief of Mrs. Taylor, who feared that Susan
might try and walk the distance rather than miss the evening's festivities;
for there was to be a marriage in the family that night, and Susan had been
obliged to hasten to the city for some necessary trifles that had been
forgotten until the last moment. Lancy and Dexie stayed until after the
ceremony, but, having a long drive before them, declined the kind
invitation to linger.

As they drove homewards the conversation turned on the intending departure
of the family from Halifax.

"I have been waiting for a chance to have a good talk with you, Dexie, ever
since I heard you were going away; but there has been so much going on that
I never seem to see you alone a minute. Are you sorry to go, Dexie?"

"Yes, indeed I am. I have found Halifax so pleasant that I shall always
regret leaving it."

"But you are coming back sometime, you know, Dexie? I am sure you know I am
constantly looking forward to the time when you will be my wife. We
understand each other, do we not?"

"Well, I am not sure that we do, Lancy. I doubt if we look at things in the
same light," and she gave a quick glance into the face that was regarding
her so earnestly.

"But you know how much I care for you--that I love you, Dexie?" he said,
taking her hand. "You have never told me you cared for me in so many words,
Dexie, but I am sure you do. They are all pleased with the idea at home,
and father has promised to take me into partnership the first of the year.
Until then I shall not know just how much of an income I shall have, but I
know it will be enough for us to live on quite comfortably; and we could
live in the part of the house that you occupy now. But you have not said
the word yet that will bind us. Will you be my wife, Dexie?"

"Lancy, I will be honest and plain-spoken; then there will be no
misunderstanding. Of course, I care a good deal for you, but I really do
not believe I love you as a woman should love the man she marries; and you
may meet the one who will give you that love some day, then you will be
sorry you put that question to me. Honestly, Lancy, although we have cared
very much for each other's society, I don't believe we would be half as
happy together as man and wife as we are now. I can't imagine myself living
with you day after day, and performing the little daily services for you
that come so naturally from your mother, and which goes to make your
father's life so comfortable and happy."

"Why need you pattern your future life after that of my mother; your mother
does not--" Lancy paused in embarrassment.

"Oh! you need not mind saying it to me; it is only between ourselves. You
want to say that my mother does not put herself out to do much for the
happiness of the rest of us."

"No, I was not intending to go so far as that, Dexie."

"Well, I hope when I get married that I shall care enough for my husband to
feel like exerting myself a little towards making the house comfortable. I
want a happier married life than I see at home. I suppose we all have our
ideals, but I would sooner take your mother for an example of what a wife
should be, rather than mine."

"I believe you and I would live very happily together, Dexie; if you cared
for me as much as I care for you, there would be no trouble," and he
pressed the hand he held in his.

"Oh! I daresay we might get along quite _passably_, Lancy; but that doesn't
seem to me enough, and I do not want to be bound by a promise which, in the
future, we might both wish was never made."

"Dexie, I never thought you would put me off like this," said Lancy, in a
wounded tone "You have known all this time how much I care for you, and how
it was to end, and yet you think I may fall in love with someone else when
you have gone away. How can you think such a thing?"

"I have no cause to think so, Lancy, for indeed you have been most kind to
me all along; but I cannot help thinking that you may meet someone else who
would suit you better, and yet you would feel bound to me if a promise was
made between us. Let me go away free, Lancy, and if by the time you are
ready to take a wife you find your feelings the same as they are now, ask
me your question again; perhaps I will know my own mind by that time, for I
must confess I hardly do at present."

"I will never change; but you--you want to leave the way open for yourself,
and I thought you cared for me, Dexie."

Dexie felt hurt at his reproachful tone, but she put her hand across his,
saying: "Lancy, don't be silly, for I do care for you. I do not know any
other person, outside my own family, that I like so well as I do you. Now,
will that admission satisfy you? But do not ask a promise from me for a
year; give me even six months; by that time we will know whether we are
necessary to each other's happiness or not."

"Very well, Dexie, but I shall feel that you are mine, even though you have
not given me your promise; so do not let any romantic notions run away with
you when I am not near to watch you."

"But, Lancy," said she, laughing, "supposing I should happen to meet some
person who inspired me with love such as one reads of in story books, would
you care to have me for a wife if my heart were not in the bargain?"

"No, Dexie, I hope you are supposing impossible things. Would you break my
heart?"

"Hearts don't break, Lancy," she said, smiling; "they may ache, but I doubt
if they ever break."

"Dexie, you make my heart ache already. I have planned and hoped so much,
and you give me so little to build on, after all. Is it fair to trifle with
me like this?"

There was a few minutes' silence, then Dexie said:

"Lancy, think a minute. Have I ever been guilty of trifling with anyone's
feelings? Have I not been open and outspoken to you in everything? I am
afraid, Lancy, this very fact has made you think that I care for you more
than I really do, but I think that too many young girls jump into matrimony
with their eyes blindfolded, and I do not intend to add to the number.
There is plenty of time to settle the question, when I know that I really
love you. It would not be honest to deceive you in this, Lancy."

"My Dexie, you could not deceive me if you tried. I am perfectly content
with the love you have for me already, without waiting for the romantic
passion which some story-writers consider necessary before a marriage
should take place. But your answer has disappointed me, Dexie, for I
expected to present you to mother, on our return, as my promised wife.
Indeed I was so sure you would not refuse me, I prepared myself with this,"
and he took from his pocket a little casket containing a handsome
engagement ring.

"Lancy, how could you?" The words seemed to come from the depths of her
heart.

"Do let me put it on your finger, Dexie. Think what happiness you will give
me by wearing it."

"Lancy, I want to please you, really I do, but don't ask me to put it on. I
always think a ring binds the person receiving it the same as it binds the
finger, and, once on, is almost a sacred thing; and feeling as I do, I
don't want to wear it lightly. Lancy, can't you trust me for six months
without a reminder?"

"Yes, but I wish you would wear it as a 'sign between me and thee'; do not
refuse me this, Dexie."

"Let me wear it on my chain, then, and I will take it," and she drew from
her neck a fine gold chain with a pretty charm attached. Detaching the
latter, she held it to him, saying:

"This is my one treasure, Lancy, take it in exchange; if ever you care for
another more than for me, send it back to me. I will wear your ring in its
place on the same conditions," and she clasped the chain around her neck
again, hiding the ring in her bosom.

Lancy placed the precious token in an inside pocket containing some other
treasures, and Dexie blushed as she recognized them as some trifles of her
own.

"I think I can claim that glove," said she, laughing as Lancy tucked the
little parcel in his pocket. "I have missed it for some time."

"You shall have it when the hand is mine that fits it," said he with a
bright smile, as he raised her hand to his lips. "I wonder if you realize
how much I shall miss you, Dexie. The only ray of comfort I can see is the
thought of the pleasure your letters will give me; only for that I would go
melancholy, like Hugh."

"Lancy, don't joke about Hugh; I can't bear it. I was so startled when I
saw him out last Sunday. He looked so pale and thin I could hardly believe
it was he. Does he ever mention my name, Lancy?"

"Never; but if anyone happens to bring it up in connection with anything,
he seems that eager to hear every word, that I can't help feeling sorry for
him. Be careful and don't make me your second victim."

"I do not believe I am responsible for Hugh's condition, and it is not fair
for you to speak as if I was; but now he is able to be about, I am in
constant terror lest he will corner me sometime and renew his attack. That
is the only thing that makes me feel glad that I am leaving Halifax. I am
afraid I could not bear such another scare as he gave me that day in the
boat."

"I will make it known to him in some way that you are to be my wife; and
when he hears it, I am sure he will never trouble you again. When
everything is settled, I will go and claim you; and I fancy Hugh will not
stay in Halifax when we are married. How soon do you think you will be
going away?"

"Sometime within a month. Papa is weatherwise, and thinks the winter will
set in early, so is anxious to hasten our departure."

A few evenings later, there was a small family party at Mrs. Beverly's, to
which Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood and the twin girls were invited. Cora and Elsie
Gurney were also going with Lancy and Hugh. This being the first time Hugh
was able to appear at such a gathering, he was building many air-castles in
connection with it, for he would there meet Dexie for the first time since
his illness. He had made inquiries as to whether Dexie would be present,
and being assured that she intended going, he looked forward to the meeting
with a pleasure that was not unmixed with pain.

But when Dexie heard that Hugh intended going, and had been asking about
her intentions also, she thought she would give it up; yet considering that
she must of necessity meet him sooner or later, she thought it would be
wiser to do so among a number of people.

Everything seemed to go wrong with Gussie that day. She had heard by some
chance that Dexie and Lancy were really engaged, and as Dexie would neither
admit nor deny the fact, she felt exasperated almost to madness.

As the day wore on, Gussie's incessant bickerings became unbearable, and
among other things she charged Dexie with the most heartless behavior in
regard to Hugh, until she could not bear the thought of meeting him, so she
silently decided to remain at home, but to say nothing about her decision
until the last moment; consequently, no one had a chance to tell Hugh that
Dexie had changed her mind.

When the guests were assembled in the commodious parlors, Hugh searched in
vain among the different groups for a trace of the face he was so anxious
to see. Once he gave a start as a face turned towards him--a face that
seemed to belong to the form he was seeking--but when the sound of the
voice reached his ears he turned in disgust, for it was only Nina Gordon.

Later on he learned from Gussie that Dexie had turned "sulky" at the last
moment and refused to come. His face lighted up at the information, and
Gussie never knew that her news sent him to make excuses and adieus to his
hostess, and drove him homeward at a pace that seemed unnecessary, seeing
that he had so much leisure time at his command.

Dexie had gone to the parlor to get a book, and stepping to the bow window
to draw the curtains, saw his well-known figure hurrying down the street.

"Goodness! here is Hugh coming back! What has happened, I wonder?"

It took her but a moment to fasten the hall-door, and running to the
kitchen, said:

"Nancy, if anyone calls, do not admit them to-night. You can say the family
are out. I am going to the upper hall to finish my book." Then, laying her
hand on Nancy's arm, she said in a low tone: "Don't let Hugh McNeil come in
to-night, Nancy. I have fastened the front door, so he can't come in unless
you let him."

"Rest easy, missie; you shan't be troubled if you don't like. But I mind he
is off to the party with the rest."

"I have seen him coming back, so I wanted to warn you."

"All right, then. Ye have had a hard day, missie; run off with yer book.
It's meself that will see ye are not troubled the night by anybody."

Nancy had been in the family long enough to know something of their
affairs, and she took quite an interest in the doings of her favorite. She
saw more than she let anyone suppose, and her apparent stupidity was often
put on as a "blind."

With a book as a companion, Dexie was soon in her favorite retreat, for she
had one cosy little corner which no one cared to dispute with her. The
recess at the end of the upper hall she had curtained off, and besides the
few blooming plants on the wide window-sill it held an old-fashioned but
comfortable sofa, a big chair and a tiny table. It was here Dexie made up
her housekeeping accounts, and performed such other duties as she could
bring to her snug little corner. It was the one spot in the house which she
claimed as her own.

She had no sooner seated herself to read than the sound of the door-bell
echoed through the house. It was several times repeated before Nancy
appeared to answer the summons, and Dexie's heart seemed to leap up in her
throat as she recognized Hugh's voice. But Nancy remembered the injunctions
given her, and refused admittance, saying decidedly that the family were
out; and when Hugh reminded her that Miss Dexie was at home, Nancy boldly
said that Miss Dexie was not going to be disturbed by anybody. Dexie gave a
sigh of relief as she heard the door shut and Hugh's step on the pavement
below. She turned to her book and was soon lost to all outside influences
in her sympathy for the heroine of the story, when a slight movement of the
curtain caused her to look up. The book dropped from her fingers and she
staggered to her feet, her face white, even to her lips. Terror seemed to
rob her of all power to move or speak, as she gazed into the face before
her that was almost as colorless as her own.

With a quick movement Hugh dropped the curtain behind him and came forward
with outstretched hands.

"You cannot keep me away, Dexie. You refused to let me in at the door, but
you forgot the secret passage in the attic. My darling! I did not intend to
frighten you!" noticing for the first time how terrified she looked. "I
only came to ask your forgiveness."

He reached out his hands to catch her, but he was too late, for, as he
spoke, she fell in a heap on the floor in a dead faint. With trembling
hands Hugh lifted the unconscious form to the little sofa, and kneeling
beside her bent over her, chaffing her hands and calling her by all the
tender names which he had only dared to give her in his heart; and the
pent-up emotions of weeks found relief in a shower of kisses, which rained
on the upturned face and ruffled hair that framed it like a glory. It was
very wrong of him, to be sure; but the man who is famishing, and who steals
the loaf that will put life into his starving body, should not be severely
dealt with, and Hugh's hungry heart was sadly in need of some satisfying
food.

Dexie's faint lasted so long that Hugh began to feel alarmed, yet he could
not think of calling to Nancy for help. Not for anything would he have her
know that he had dared to enter the house in this clandestine manner, and
he knew Dexie would feel vexed enough if anyone should find him there with
her; so he hastily opened the nearest chamber door, and securing the
water-pitcher on the stand, he bathed the white face until the quivering
eyelids told that consciousness was returning. A few minutes later Dexie
opened her eyes, and seeing Hugh still beside her she tried to raise
herself, but sank back again on the sofa.

"Leave me at once!" she said, faintly. "Oh! I feel so sick! Go, I say."

"I cannot leave you until I see you better, Dexie. I will not touch you
again, so do not be afraid of me."

Dexie felt too helpless even to object, so she laid back with closed eyes,
wondering what had come over her just when she needed to be strong and
bold. At last, when the silence was beginning to be unbearable to both of
them, she opened her eyes, and Hugh, seeing her efforts to rise, gently
helped her to a sitting posture, then seated himself in the chair beside
her.

"Why did you come here, Mr. McNeil?" looking at him with offended eyes. "It
is unfair to persecute me in this way."

"Forgive me for coming, then, but I had no thought of persecuting you. I
heard news to-day that troubled me, and I was not strong enough to resist
the temptation of coming to see you once more, when I found you were not at
the party."

Dexie sat with tight-clasped hands, but said not a word, and Hugh saw no
relenting look in the dark eyes that looked almost black in their
intensity.

"Dexie, you are displeased with me, and justly so, for my mad behavior in
the boat, but I have longed for the chance to ask your forgiveness, and I
went to Mrs. Beverly's to-night solely to ask it of you. Dexie, your heart
is not as hard as you would have me think, for I know whose kind hands
helped Mrs. Gurney during my illness, and how you watched beside me when
others were too terrified to be of service."

Still no response from the white lips, for Dexie's heart was throbbing too
fast to allow of speech.

"I am going away, Dexie--somewhere--it matters little where--so bear with
me, for this is the last time I shall see you alone. I cannot stay here,
knowing that others have obtained the happiness I longed for," and looking
into her face, he added: "Is it really true, Dexie, that you are going to
marry Lancy? I heard it to-day as a fact."

A deep flush spread over the face that before was so deathly white, and not
wishing Hugh to think there was any doubt about the matter she drew from
her neck the gold chain, and, as she held up the ring, said in a low tone:
"Is that enough to convince you?"

"No, Dexie, it is not, for you would not hesitate to wear the ring in its
proper place if you felt sure of your own heart."

"If I was not sure before, I am now!" and in an instant the ring was
flashing on her finger, and her eyes were lit up by an angry gleam. She
wondered how it was that Hugh always seemed to bring up her worst feelings.
She was angry, and she did not attempt to hide it.

"You have no right to speak to me like that! You have no right even to seek
me here against my will! I have plenty of unpleasant memories of you
already, so be kind enough to go home! When I remember that boat sail, your
very presence seems an insult."

"Dexie, I did not mean to vex you again, but it is not my fault that your
memory is full of unpleasant happenings in connection with me. Fate seems
against me," said he, with a sigh, "but, Dexie, let us part friends," and
he rose from his seat and stood beside her.

But the firm, closed mouth gave no promise of yielding until Hugh dropped
beside her on the sofa, and in a voice choking with emotion made one
further appeal.

"Dexie, if you could but picture the anguish of my heart when I returned
that day to the vessel with other help than mine, and found no trace of
you, I think that even you would admit that I suffered enough for my
madness and folly; and since I have been sick, memory has given me many a
weary hour and adds many a thrust to wounds that are almost unbearable. It
is hard to give up all hope and face the dreary future without you, for you
have robbed my life of all happiness. If I must be sent hopeless away, tell
me, at least, that the unfortunate past is forgiven; it would make it
easier to bear."

His voice had grown soft, and his eager, pleading tone was hard to resist.

Dexie felt her anger giving place to a feeling of pity.

"I do not forgive easily, I fear, Mr. McNeil," said she, in a low tone,
"but I will try and think less bitterly of that unpleasant affair in the
future. I would be sorry to think that I had, even unintentionally, spoiled
your life; but you will not feel so low-spirited when you get stronger. The
best years of your life are yet before you, and I will soon drop out of
your memory as entirely as if you had never known me. Forget me as soon as
you can; that is the best wish I can give you."

"Ah! Dexie, that proves that you do not know what true love really is! When
your heart awakens, as it surely will sometime, you will know how cruel you
have been to me. Well, you have told me to go, and I suppose I must; but
it is hard--hard to leave you so! Do we part friends?" and he held out his
hand as he rose to his feet again.

"Yes, I think so," and she gave him her hand, "but I hope you will not come
here any more; it is unpleasant for both of us."

"And this is to be our good-bye! It is hard to give you up, my darling!"
and he held her hand as if he would never let it go. "I wonder if I shall
ever see you again!"

"Mr. McNeil, I have not troubled you with many favors, so I think you might
grant me one. Please do not leave the Gurneys just now; on my account, I
mean. We are going away from Halifax so soon ourselves, and I know it will
be a disappointment to them if you leave just now. I am sure they do not
wish you to go away until you are stronger. They have all been so kind to
me, I wish you would not make any change until we are gone."

"That is a great temptation, Dexie, coming from you; but a few weeks of
your presence, even though I may not see you, will be heaven itself,
compared to the life I must spend without you. I may, perhaps, see you
again."

"No! Not alone, at least! Let this be good-bye, Mr. McNeil," and she tried
to draw away her hands.

But he drew her close to him, and giving one long, earnest look into her
eyes, he lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a burning kiss upon them;
then the curtain dropped behind him.

Dexie stood where Hugh had left her for some minutes, listening to his
retreating footsteps as he disappeared up the attic