Chapter 4

Miss Keane elected Tom for her cavalier, and made him feel very important indeed, by treating him as if he were quite a man; and they got into a very interesting talk about the great painters and their work. She was astonished to find what a thorough knowledge the boy had of the subject, and how well he could talk on what interested him most.

"Robert must see this young artist," was her mental comment. The judge followed behind with Mr. Goldthwaite; while Mr. George Keane and Miss Goldthwaite brought up the rear, walking very slowly, and talking very earnestly. Nobody took any notice of them whatever, evidently being of opinion that they were quite capable of amusing each other. The waggon-path, winding gradually up the mountain side, was rough and stony, and even Billy's cautious feet stumbled sometimes; and the two girls were jolted so that they laughed till they cried.

"I think we'd better get out; don't you, Lucy?" cried Minnie at last, "else there'll be none of us left to see the top of the Peak. I never was so sore in my life. Isn't it fun though?"

"Yes; and the sun is so bright, and everybody so kind, and everything so pleasant, I don't know what to do," said Lucy with softening eyes. Minnie looked at her curiously.

"I say, don't you have any good times at your home, Lucy?" she asked soberly.

"Sometimes--not very often," answered Lucy reluctantly.

"I don't think your aunt is a very nice woman anyway," said Minnie with her usual candour. "She looked at me so one day in church, 'cause I laughed right out at a funny little dog with a stumpy tail running in and right up to Mr. Goldthwaite. Wouldn't you have laughed too?"

"I don't know," said Lucy; "if it was very funny, I daresay I would."

"How pretty you are," said Minnie after a while; "my sister Alice says so--I guess she knows." Lucy blushed, not being accustomed to such plain speaking. "I think Miss Goldthwaite perfectly elegant," went on the young critic. "She is going to marry my brother George, do you know?"

"Is she?" asked Lucy, much interested.

"Yes; and papa and mamma are crazed about her. Everybody is. Isn't she just splendid?"

"There is nobody like her," answered Lucy. Minnie could never know what she had been and was to her.

"Lovers are stupid, don't you think?" asked Minnie again. "They always go away by themselves, and things; you just watch George and Carrie to-day. It is a great trial to me."

"What is?" asked Mr. George Keane, pausing at the side of the waggon. Minnie laughed outright, so did Lucy.

"It's a secret," replied she in a very dignified way.--"O Miss Goldthwaite, are you coming into the waggon?"

"Yes;--will you make room for me, Lucy?"

Lucy moved further up the cushion, and Mr. George Keane assisted Miss Goldthwaite to her place.

"O Carrie, succumbed already!" cried Miss Keane.

"Won't you come in too?" replied Carrie.

"No, thank you; I mean to climb to the top. Somebody must sustain the credit of our sex."

"I know it's safe in your hands, Alice," said Carrie serenely.--"Lucy dear, you look happy. Do you enjoy it?"

The sparkle in Lucy's eyes answered her better than any words.

The road was becoming rougher and steeper, and Billy's progress slower and slower, and the summit of the Peak drawing nearer and nearer. Miss Keane and Tom had got ahead of the waggon, and were the first to reach the top. At last Billy, with a great pull, brought the waggon to the level ground, and then stood still. They all alighted, and, forming a little circle, stood drinking in the beauty of the scene. Wondering how Tom would be affected, Miss Keane turned to speak to him, but he had gone; and looking round, she saw him standing by a huge boulder, but his face was turned away, and understanding why he felt it best to be alone for a few minutes, she did not venture to disturb him. It was a panorama of wonderful beauty. They seemed to stand up among the clouds, the air was so pure and cool and bracing. Far beneath, the houses of the town looked like a tiny ant-nest, enveloped in a filmy haze. The great plain stretched around for miles and miles, dotted here and there by many a pretty homestead, and intersected by the winding river, glinting and glistening in the sun as it hurried on and on to join the far-off sea. Far across the plain the smoke of distant cities obscured the horizon, but none of the noise or bustle was borne on the breeze to this lonely mountain peak. A great silence fell upon the little company, and some bright eyes grew dim as they looked upon the beauty of the world the great Creator had made.

"Just say a few words of prayer, Frank," said the judge at length, in a soft voice; "it will do us all good, I think." Mr. Goldthwaite took off his hat reverently.

"Our Father, we thank thee for this day. We thank thee for sparing us all to come here again; and for the sunshine, and the beauty, and the gladness of the earth. Help us more and more to feel the power and majesty of thy hand, and the great love of thy infinite heart. Be with every one of us to-day, blessing us as only thou canst bless, and help us to live to thy glory; for Jesus' sake. Amen."

"Amen," repeated Judge Keane. "Now we can begin the day with a better heart than ever."

IX.

A DAY TO BE REMEMBERED.

It was great fun unpacking the baskets, and Tom made himself very useful to the ladies; so much so, that Miss Goldthwaite felt constrained to whisper one word of praise in his ear, which sent a glow to his heart. Surely never was meal so enjoyed as that lunch on the summit of Pendle Peak; and they lingered so long over it, that Judge Keane passed a great many jokes on the gigantic appetites, and professed great concern about the small quantity of provisions left for tea. When plates and forks and knives were stowed in the waggon again, the party broke up in twos and threes, and went off exploring. Lucy was tired, and said she would remain beside the goods and chattels, whereupon the judge declared he would keep her company. Mr. George and Miss Goldthwaite went off together to search for ferns, they said; while Mr. Goldthwaite, Miss Keane, Minnie, and Tom went to the ravine on the other side of the Peak to find some rare specimens of wild flowers Miss Keane was anxious to secure for her collection. The judge was to whistle at four o'clock, if they had not then returned; and promised to have tea ready, which was considered a great joke. Lucy sat on the smooth green turf, leaning against a boulder, feasting her eyes on the beauty, of which she thought her eyes could never tire. The judge lay on the grass with half-closed eyes, looking at the girl's sweet face, wondering why it looked older and sadder and more womanly than it ought. It was a good while before either spoke.

"Would you mind telling me, Judge Keane, please," said Lucy timidly, "where Newhaven lies from here, and how far it is?"

The judge raised himself on his elbow, put on his gold eye-glass, and looked along the plain. "There, straight as the crow flies, little one," he said, pointing west. "It is about thirty miles in a direct line from where we sit; by rail about fifty, I think."

"It is a long way," she said, and a little sigh followed, as if she wished it nearer.

"You lived in Newhaven, I think, didn't you?" asked the judge.

"Yes, sir, till mamma died. It is not a nice place, but I love it dearly."

Ay, for a quiet grave there held the loved father and mother who had once made for her a happy home.

The judge did not speak, he did not know what to say just then, and Lucy did not seem to expect an answer. He shut his eyes again, and there was a long silence. Thinking he slept, Lucy rose, and, gently laying a rug over him, slipped away. He opened his eyes directly and watched her. She only moved a few yards from him, and knelt down with her face to the west. He heard a few faltering words, followed by a sob--"O dear papa and mamma, I wonder if you can see Tom and me to-day, and know how happy we are. God bless the dear friends who have made us so, for Christ's sake. Amen."

The judge's lips twitched beneath his mustache, and when Lucy rose again, he drew the rug up over his face, not wishing her to see that he had heard that little prayer. But he never forgot it. Two hours did not take long to slip away, and then the judge sat up and looked at Lucy with a comical smile.

"It is ten minutes to four, little one, and there isn't a sign of the wanderers. Suppose you and I make tea: do you think we could manage it between us?"

"Oh yes, sir; I know how to build a fire, and make tea too, and there are sticks in the waggon. May I try?"

"Of course, and I'll help to the best of my limited ability."

Lucy went to the waggon and got out sticks and the kettle, while the judge made an amateur stove between four stones. Lucy then laid the fire, and in a minute there was quite a cheerful little blaze. Water was the next thing, and the judge remembered there used to be a tiny spring a few yards down the slope, which was found without any difficulty; and he brought back the kettle filled, and placed it on the fire. He had so many odd remarks to make about his new occupation, that Lucy was kept laughing pretty nearly all the time. It was getting on for five o'clock before four heads appeared at the edge of the slope. Mr. Goldthwaite, Miss Keane, Minnie, and Tom arrived laden with flowers and ferns, and reported themselves exhausted, and thankful to see that tea was ready. George and Carrie had not been seen since they departed at two o'clock."

"You made tea all by yourself, Lucy," said Miss Keane, laying her kind hand on Lucy's sunny head. "Clever little maiden, how are we to thank you?"

"Judge Keane helped me, Miss Alice," replied Lucy blushing and smiling.

"Helped! I should think I did," said the judge tragically: "she sat on the waggon like a queen, and commanded me like a slave. She looks meek and mild enough, but don't trust her."

"Papa, how much nonsense do you talk in a day?" she said. "I wish the other two would turn up; I'm famished."

"Are we to wait on them, papa?" inquired Minnie piteously. "I guess they don't want any tea: lovers never want anything to eat. Mayn't we have it now?"

"Yes," said Miss Keane.--"Lucy dear, may I trouble you for the teapot.--Papa, hand the sugar, and make yourself useful."

"What a real nice boy your brother Tom is," said Minnie Keane, dropping down by Lucy's side. "We had a splendid time down there, while Alice and Mr. Goldthwaite talked out of books. Aren't you very fond of him?"

"Of Tom? Of course I am," answered Lucy; "you know I have nobody but him, and he has nobody but me."

"Lucy, your tea is delightful," said Mr. Goldthwaite from the other side of the table-cloth. "I don't know when I enjoyed anything so well."

"Hunger is good sauce," said the judge;--"here are the truants." Mr. George Keane and Miss Goldthwaite appeared now, apparently very much astonished to find themselves behind time. The judge made room for Carrie beside himself, and after looking blankly at her for a few minutes, said solemnly, "I thought I heard you say you wanted ferns; but I must have been mistaken, or possibly they haven't come up in the glen this year.--Some tea here, Alice.--Miss Goldthwaite, may I help you to a piece of cake?" The truants joined in the laugh against themselves, and the rest of the meal was passed in a perfect babel of talking.

"What shall we do now, papa?" said Alice when they had finished. "We won't be going home for a little while."

The judge looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past five: we shall start at six. Well, I propose that each member of the company composes, within the space of ten minutes, four lines of verse descriptive of the scenery. I have brought pencils and paper; and the best writer shall have my gold pencil-case to him or her self."

There was a general exclamation, and each one declared it impossible to perform such a feat.

"Try," said the judge briefly; and he passed round the pencils and the sheets of paper. Then he laid his watch on the cloth, and gave the signal. You would have laughed at the utter stillness then, and at the perplexity on each face. Slowly the hands moved round, till the ten minutes were up, and the judge cried halt.

"You read then, judge," said Mr. Goldthwaite; "begin with your own."

"Well, here I am," said the judge with a very comical smile, and he read slowly and distinctly:--

"It seems to me that if you go Enjoyment for to seek, You'll find out all you want and more Up here on Pendle Peak."

A shout of laughter greeted this effusion, and the judge pretended to be highly offended.

"I object to the 'for' in the second line," said Mr. Goldthwaite.

"Do you think I don't know it has no business there?" said the judge. "But I couldn't get it to rhyme, so I was obliged to put in something. It is not bad for an old fellow who never made two lines rhyme before in his life. Come then, Frank, pass up yours."

"To read a page from Nature's book, In this deep solitude, Uplifts the heart in purer aims, And leads us nearer God."

"True, Frank," said the judge solemnly. "You have beaten me hollow anyway.--Now, Carrie."

"Mine is very poor indeed, Judge Keane," said Carrie, as she passed up her slip. "Like yours it is my first attempt."

"The beauty of the hills, So calm, so free, so bright, Can dim my eyes with tears, And fill me with delight."

"Very good" was the verdict; and then Miss Keane reluctantly gave up her paper.

"How still it is! No rude discord Falls on the ear; We feel all earthly thoughts and aims Must vanish here."

That also was pronounced "very good," and Judge Keane feared he should have some difficulty in adjudicating the prize. Mr. George Keane's was the next.

"I never wrote a poem, but since You will not be refused, I do declare I don't know how, And beg to be excused."

"You have no chance anyway, George," said his father, laughing with the rest. "It has not the remotest reference to the subject in hand.--Well, Lucy."

"Mine last, please," pleaded Lucy.

So the judge took the paper from Minnie's hand and read,--

"Papa, you know I can't make verse, And it was very bad Of you to make us play at this,-- I tell you I'm real mad."

There was another shout at Minnie's performance, and then Lucy timidly slipped her paper into the judge's hand, and drew back behind Minnie. The judge read very slowly this time, and every beautiful word was distinctly heard.

"The calm, still brightness on the hills, The beauty on the plain, Fill all my heart with strange sweet joy, That is akin to pain.

"We stand upon a stepping-stone Up to the Better Land; I seem to see the glory there, And feel my Father's hand.

"And hovering near me seem to be The loved ones gone before; One day we'll mount God's stepping-stones, And weep earth's tears no more."

There was a moment's surprised silence. All eyes were turned to Lucy, who shrank further back with a very distressed face.

"The prize is yours, Lucy," said Judge Keane at length.--"Who would have thought this shy little maiden was the poet of the company?"

There were many other remarks made, which seemed to distress Lucy so much that they held their peace at length, and the judge remembered Tom's contribution had not been called for.

"You thought you were to escape, young man," said he, as he received the paper from Tom's reluctant hand. "Perhaps the last may be best yet, who knows? Well, I never--ha! ha!"

He held up the paper, and lo, a sketch of the circle of anxious faces, with paper and pencil before them, and every expression true to the life. It was wonderfully well done, and created much amusement as it was handed round the company.

"The pencil-case is Lucy's," said the judge. "But I think you deserve a special prize, my lad. Will you let me keep this? Robert must see it."

"Yes, sir, of course," answered Tom. "When I felt a pencil in my hand I had to draw. I always feel so."

"True artist; eh, Carrie?" whispered the judge, and she nodded assent. She had not yet recovered from the surprise Lucy had given her.

"The sun is thinking of setting," said the judge then. "We must be preparing to depart."

There was a general move, and Miss Keane and Miss Goldthwaite proceeded to clear the table.

"Let us sit here and see the sun set, and have a talk, Lucy," said Minnie, drawing Lucy a little apart. "What a perfectly elegant poem that was you wrote. It's 'most as good as Whittier's George reads to mamma sometimes. I guess you'll grow up to be a Mrs. Whittier."

"Oh no," said Lucy, laughing a little; "Miss Keane's was just as good, I think, only I wrote more. How funny yours was."

"I should think so. Mopsy, or Ted, or Silver Tail could do just as well, I believe.--Tom, won't you draw me a picture of my very own to keep? I wish you'd come up and do the kittens; won't you? I ask Robert every time he comes, but he just teases me."

"I'll draw a kitten for you if you like," answered Tom readily, "but I can't promise to come up and do it."

Before very long Billy was harnessed again, and after bidding a reluctant good-bye to the Peak for another year, the descent was begun. Lucy walked part of the way with Mr. George Keane's arm to help her along, and Miss Goldthwaite beckoned Tom to her side.

"I haven't seen much of you to-day, Tom," she said pleasantly. "Have you had a nice day?"

"I shall never forget it, Miss Goldthwaite," answered Tom very gravely.

And though after years brought many happy excursions up the Peak, never was one so exquisitely enjoyed as this had been. The sun had dropped behind the hill when the tired party reached the Red House, and a big moon was coming up serenely in the opal sky. Mr. and Miss Goldthwaite paused at the avenue gate, saying they would not come any further; so the good-nights were said there and the company separated.

"Good-night, my little poetess," whispered the judge as he lifted Lucy from the waggon. "Go on writing, my dear; we will hear of you yet." And he kissed her as he set her to the ground, and added softly, "You have done an old man good to-day though you did not know it."

It was a very quiet walk home by the river-side to the parsonage, but the thoughts were all pleasant ones. Mr. Goldthwaite had not spoken much to Lucy all day, but he had watched her, how closely she did not know. He held her hand at parting, and looked straight into her beautiful eyes, his own very grave and earnest.

"God bless you, Lucy; good-night." She wondered a little at the oddness of his manner. "My soldier has shown to advantage to-day," said Miss Carrie, smiling as she shook hands with Tom. "I have been very proud of him."

"Lucy," said Tom, as they turned into the paddock at Thankful Rest, "do you know what I'm going to do when I'm a man?"

"Be a great painter," answered Lucy promptly. "What else?"

"Anything else?" inquired she in much surprise.

"I'm going to marry Miss Goldthwaite!"

Lucy laughed outright.

"You can't, Tom; she's going to marry Mr. George Keane, Minnie told me."

"Is she? Well, Mr. George Keane is a very good fellow," said Tom in a tone which would have infinitely amused that gentleman had he heard it; "but he isn't half good enough for her.--O Lucy, hasn't this been a day?"

"Yes," answered Lucy, and she turned full eyes up to the quiet sky. "I think papa and mamma must see us, and be glad we have been happy."

"I feel so too," answered Tom with the sudden beautiful earnestness which had often come to him of late.--"Kiss me, Lucy; there are only you and I."

She put her arm about his neck, and kissed him as he wished; then the two went very soberly into the house.

X.

ON THE LAKE.

On the first morning of November the summit of the Peak was draped in white, and a slight sprinkling of snow sparkled on the plain. Frost was hard enough to freeze the duck-pond and the horse-trough. Winter had begun. It was very cold; Lucy shivered over her dressing every morning in her little attic chamber, and had just to work to get warm, as Aunt Hepsy permitted no sitting over the stove. Tom had to turn out of doors at six every morning, and feed a score of cattle before breakfast, and woe betide him if the work was not done up to Uncle Josh's mark. Uncle Josh had a vocabulary of his own, from which he selected many an epithet to bestow on Tom! Sometimes yet the quick temper would fly up, and there would be a war of words; but the lad's strong striving was beginning to bear its fruit, and he found it daily easier to keep hold of the bridle, as Miss Goldthwaite termed it. Keziah had been dismissed also, and Lucy's burden was sometimes more than she could bear. Miss Hepsy refused to see what others saw--that the girl was overwrought; and her feelings had been blunted so long, that only a very sharp shock would bring them into use again. And the time had not come yet. For more highly favoured young folks than Tom and Lucy Hurst, these frosty days brought innumerable enjoyments in their train--skating and sleighing by daylight and moonlight, evening parties, and all sorts of frolics. There were gay times at the Red House, especially when in Christmas week Mr. Robert Keane came home, bringing with him two school-boy cousins from Philadelphia. Miss Alice Keane called at Thankful Rest on her pony, one morning, to ask Tom and Lucy to a Christmas-eve gathering. The invitation was curtly declined by Miss Hepsy, and she was dismissed with such scant courtesy that she departed very indignant indeed.

"What a woman that is at Thankful Rest," she said to Miss Goldthwaite when she called at the parsonage. "I almost forgot myself, Carrie, and nearly gave her a few rude words. I am truly sorry for those poor children."

"Well you may be," answered Carrie with a sigh, knowing better than Alice what their life was.

Only one half-holiday was vouchsafed to them at Miss Goldthwaite's earnest entreaty, and they took tea at the parsonage, after which the party went up to the Red House pond to see the skating there. They were very warmly welcomed--Minnie, especially, being quite overjoyed to see Lucy again.

"Do you skate, Tom?" asked Miss Keane, coming up breathless after a long run down the lake.

"Yes, Miss Keane. But I have no skates; they were left at home--in Newhaven, I mean."

"Here, Minnie, my pet, run to the house and bring out a couple of pairs. You will find them in George's room, I think; and tell Robert _I_ want him on the lake."

Minnie ran off obediently. Pretty soon Mr. George Keane and the two cousins appeared round the bend, and Miss Keane introduced the latter to Tom. They did not take long to become acquainted, and were soon talking quite familiarly. They stood waiting till Minnie returned, her brother with her, carrying the skates. He was a tall, slight young man, rather like Miss Keane; and his face looked a trifle stern at first, as hers did, but that wore off when you got to know him.

"This is Tom Hurst I told you of, Robert," said Miss Keane; and Tom shook hands with him reverentially, remembering he was the great painter all America was talking of.

"I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Robert Keane frankly. "Let us get on our skates, and you and I shall take a run together. I haven't been on the ice this season."

Tom sat down and quickly put on his skates, and the pair set off, keeping close together. Miss Keane turned to Mr. Goldthwaite with a smile. "Robert is interested already. I want him to do something for Tom, and I think he will."

"He will not regret it," answered Mr. Goldthwaite. "They are all off now but we two, Miss Keane; come, we must not be behind."