Chapter 26

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.