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P(R. 9;i^s R^(j PG TO Our Mother and Father. CONTENTS. Poems by Lucy Webling. The Days that are to be A Canadian River Song The Rose of Life .... A Lesson in Love .... May in England .... Serenade My Prairie Poem .... The Wish of My Heart . To Your Beautiful Eyes " I Stood on the Shore " Two Little Slippers and a BigRed Hat Love Song Sunset on a Canadian River The Pathway to the Sun After an Absence . , . . Remembrance .... Lullaby The Song of Youth .... Just for To-day The Voice Across the Sea Page IS 17 21 a4 26 27 29 31 33 34 35 37 38 39 41 4a 43 44 46 48 Stories by Peggy Webling. A Ghosts' Dinner Party Page 55 Crinkleback's Canoe __ The Advent of the Englishman. (A Love Story). . ga Our Great Aunt's Eye . ,30 Success or Failure ? . j^. Go ! (A Canadian Trotting Story) 150 \ T^f*W^' LUCY WEBLING. ■£.' * '■' " POEMS. ilf rv,'«*Jr'MpP THE DAYS THAT ARE TO BE. When the eyes are growing- pensive, And the smile begins to die, And at its death the quickened breath. May tremble to a sigh ; The tender lip can quiver, the smile must linger there, For then the heart is dreaming, of the dear old days that were. If thought and deed together. In sympathy entire May plan and move, the hand may prove, The eyes are filled with fire. And resolute the mouth ; unstayed by any bolt or bar. For now the heart is working in the happy days that are. ■«■ i6 THE DAYS THAT ARE TO BE. When the brow is drawn together And the face, untouched by years, Is turning- old with grief untold, The lashes wet with tears. The look may live a moment, by loving eyes unseen, Buc oh ! the heart was breaking for the days that might have been. When the eyes are wide with longing And the cheek begins to glow, When trouble sleeps and triumph leaps To light the forehead so ; Oh, splendid dream of fortune those burning eyes must see. For then the heart is beating of the days that are to be. A CANADIAN RIVER SONG. I can hear the sighing breeze In the silver willow trees, Oh, the summer days of sunshine And the sky's unfathomed blue ; See your dripping blade sun-kissed And the turning of your wrist. As I lie and fall a-dreaming And we drift in your canoe. Now a swifter stroke, a swing. And a rapid's clattering. Then ;;he sound of ripples dying, With the even dipping too Of your paddle, and the scent Of a flowering tree, that bent To the water, white with blossom, As we glide in your canoe. msmm, mmmmmmm i8 A CANADIAN RIVER SONG. Then a flower — then a bird — Then the aspens ever stirred, Little joys enhance the perfect Joy of floating on with you ; Springs that tinkled in the shade And a mimic rapid made, On a ridge of clay and pebbles, We could hear from your canoe. \f And the sunshine brightly shone — And the river winding on — Where the harebells mocked the heavens Where the mournful cat-bird cries ; Through the waving ferns we trod. Where the glowing golden rod Lends a glory and a brightness To the summer as it dies. Here and there a maple turned To a brilliant beauty, burned, In the fall of evening shadows Slender pine trees darkly rise. And the birch stems glimmer white. In the sky a rosy light. And a vivid line of scarlet Where the sun is setting, lies. .-!_ A CANADIAN RIVER SONG. 19 Fades the day in red and ^old, Fade the g-athered flowers I hold Oh, the bird's song breaks the stillness 5>unset colour leaves the skies ; By the snapping- bonfire blaze ' All the beauty of those days, I can see is held and lingers' In the dreaming- of your eyes. We are drifting- at the will Of the current, lying still Is the paddle, I am dazzled By the pleasant golden haze. See, the moon so red and round Seems to drift across the ground And a song comes floating past us In the dying of those days. And the fire-flies have begun To make brightness, one by one Or they glitter in a cluster Flash and sparkle as we gaze, When a bat comes flitting by,' And a bright star in the sky ' Glistened, shadowed in the water, In the even of those davs. A CANADIAN RIVER SONG. Oh, the red moon turned to white With a flood of silver Hjjht In the darkened sky above us, While the stream reflects the rays ! Ah ! to be again with you Gliding on in your canoe, In my dream I drift for ever Through the sweet Canadian days. *' !<; THE ROSE OF LIFE. When a child she played and playin Heeded not the crimson West, Or that shadows lengthy grew, Or that daisies filled with dew When she lightly sank to rest. For it seemed to her, life opened With the morning just begun, Skies of blue and sunshine bright, Her hereafter but the night At the set of that same sun. And she did not hear the echo Of the patter of her feet. Troubled not at cloud or rain Or that snows should come again, Or that time might be too fleet. aa THE ROSE OF LIFE. For her laughter bubbled upwards At the world, one sweet surprise, Till the day at eve grew pale. When her lashes dropped the veil On the sunshine of her eyes. Until life appeared to open I' As the b"dding flowers part. Then nev*^ joys to her were born. When she trembled at the dawn Of the woman in her heart. And she stretched her hands in gladness At the joy, so newly gained, - And the deep and strange delight Makes her tremble and turn white. Till the tears fall, unconstrained. Then she feels her power growing As she stands exultant, wild. Thought and thought together vied She, rejoicing, in her pride. In her prayers, a timid child. THE ROSE OF LIFE. 23 Sweet her wakinj^f, and her wonder What the coming days may prove, Sweet her past, untouched by pain. And her silence, sweet again, In unspoken dreams of love. Better far her restless watching Than the placid sleep of old, Life and love have grown to be Such a dear reality. Full her heart as heart can hold. Let it go, the baby laughter With the daisies and the dawn. And the rose, unknown before. She will hold for ever more, Thousjh her soul must feel the thorn. s A LESSON IN LOVE. How should I win her, How should I woo ? Cupid, ^'wQ me a lesson, do. What shall I tell her, What shall I say ? Teach me, Cupid, tell me, pray. Cupid answered, " Do not swear She is fair. And radiant as the sky above you. Nor waste your days in words of praise, Only say — I love you." If she be cruel If she be cold. Shall I suffer a grief untold ? Others who love her Kneel at her feet. Must this broken heart retreat ? Cupid answered, " If she smile To beguile Another heart, she means to prove you. Then never grieve or take your leave. Only plead — I love you." A LESSON IN LOVE. '•»5 If she should tremble, If she should weep, Sorrow wakened that lies asleep, If I should brinj^ her To tears for me. Then my life would worthless be. Cupid answered, " Dry her eyes If she cries. You cannot know what sorrows move her. Nor try to tell that all is well. Only look — and love her." If she be angered, If she be stern, Cupid, set me a lesson to learn ; They worship the sun They bow before. So I worship, so adore. Cupid answered, "Take no heed, There's no need, For she's beside you, not above you, And soon your kiss shall tell her this. Sweet, my sweet, — I love you." ' MAY IN KNGLANO. Where the pleasant branches, throw Shadows on the ^rass below, And the nettles bud in white ; Turning- silence into song, Singing soft and loud and long, Hear the birds, in shrill delight. The daintiness of England, lies In violets beneath blue skies. Her lovely music skylarks sing. Wander on, about your feet Blow the cowslips, thick and sweet In the earliness of spring. Linger by the gate, or turn Down the path of flower and fern. Every flower is looking up, Wildly bloom in marsh and mire Glowing king-cups all afire. Golden hearts within the cup. Through the fresh and waving grass, To the gentle stream we pass, Bordered by the spring buds pale. Dear, come down with me to-night, Then, beneath the moonbeams light We shall hear the nightingale. SERENADE. Open the lattice, look down and discover That the eyes looking up are the eyes of your lover, The little white daisy hath folded her petals, No bird, save the love-laden nightingale sings, On the half-closed bud the gay butterfly settles, While the little white moth hath unfolded his wmgs. The breezes are kissing the roses of June, And there is a path of light to-night, beloved, towards the moon. Open the window. All the world is sleeping. Every rose is weeping Tears of glistening dew, Love and a Lover are waiting here for you. 28 SERENADE. Open the lattice, the nig-ht wnid is roving, The river is purling and singing of loving, My heart in the stillness to you is uplifting ; In the flood of the moonlight the current runs pale, Oh, come and be with me, for we must be drift- ing And Cupid shall lend us his wings for a sail. Then lift those sweet eyes and come out to me soon. For there is a path of light to-night, beloved, towards the moon. Open the window, AD the world is dreaming. Every star is gleaming In the dome of blue. Love and a Lover are waiting, dear, for you. MY PRAIRIE POEM. ^1 Drive on the trail, away and away, In the beautiful morning" hours. The joyous prairie — the long June day — The waking of radiant flowers. Over the hot grass and into the pools. Clear in the hollows, from recent rain ; The silent waves of sun and shadow Ripple the still green sea of grain. Drive on and on, where the long fields lie. In the light on the long fields lying, Where tiie edge of the earth is softened in sky. And the grain is moviner and siijhinsf. Where the gopher scampers across the trail, The daisy shines, in her own green leaves. And the gold of her petals foreshadow The bountiful harvest sheaves. I: n 3° MY PRAIRIE POEM. Drive, the sunbeams are level and low, The hoverini;- gfleams of even, And the unbroken circle of earth below, And above, the glamour of Heaven. On quiet wings a bird wheels by, Flying alone to his reed-bound nest ; On the trail the horse hoof raps and rings, The wind comes racing out of the West. l^rive on, night comes and the air grows chill, And the wind my hair is lifting. And only the colour is lingering still On the path where the sun went drifting. The prairie hushed, the prairie dreaming, The wild rose folding, the whispering dies Out of the wheat fields, the large white moon Hangs like a sickle across the skies. L'envoi. You dear, dear days, your sunshine lives. And oh, a sweet remembrance gives Your glad hours an eternity. No Western arch of sky above Is mine to-day, but given me A wide ideal of love. (I «i. THE WISH OF MY HEART. I fill to the thoughts of my— friend, The wine in my g-oblet is glowing-, His life, as this cup, to the end Be brimful of joy overflowing. My eyes are aflame If I whisper one name, I know we have drifted apart ; But behind, and above, and about me is love, I wish you -the wish of your heart. I think of the time that is past, And muse on the dreary to-morrow, I realize sadly at last How closely beside me rides sorrow. I sit in this mood And I ponder and brood, Although we have drifted apart. With an agonized cry, I whisper "If I— If I had the wish of my heart." 32 THE WISH OF MY HEART. For a word never sighed, never known, I long" in a passion of feeling For a kiss never breathed, I'm alone — , And peace on my spirit is stealing. Oh, future unread, Oh, love song unsaid, Oh, measureless moment of pain ; If the wish of my heart, were the wish of your heart, Why, I'd be in Eden again. I i i> TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL EVES. At summer's noon in dreaming" June, The whispering leaves between, I can descry a glimpse of sky, Above an arch of green ; No cloud to mar, so rich they are Those deep and vivid skies, They lend to you, for oh, their blue Is glowing- in your eyes. The white winged ship may onward slip And cleave the ocean through. The lands asleep beneath the deep, Are hid from mortal view ; Oh ! waters wide, oh ! restless tide, And infinite must be The soul, that lies behind those e"es. As fathomless the sea. .'*>w'^ I i i THE PATHWAY TO THE SUN. II Summer brings the languid day, Lazy days, Summer flings a sunny haze, Skyhirk sings. In our long, light boat we glide, And the waters blue divide When our long, lithe oars you guide, All the way. Over the river the sun has thrown A line of glorious light. We've swung the rapids, one by one. Love, Love, your oars uplift, Love, Love, and let us drift All, all alone, the way is bright. And vanish into the sun. i i I 1 'M I ,1 ! {'M ii il 1 (jil I ' 4« THE PATHWAY TO THE SUN. Autumn bring-s the harvest clay, Glowing" clays, Autumn flings a deepened haze, Sickle swings. Through the stubble of the grain Ride, your hand upon my rein. In a golden world again. All the way. Round our feet the stubble shone. But oh, the world is wide. Towards the light we'll run and run. Love, Love, keep pace and pace. Love, Love, and let us race. Side by side, and on and on. And vanish into the sun. AFTER AN ABSENCE. When I came back to Eng-land, April skies Were white with cloud, And violets opened, like the earth's glad eyes. And cuckoos called aloud. I saw the gentleness in your sweet face again. And watched your eyes, grown grave and clear, And joy within my heart touched hands with pain. You looked to find a smile and found — a tear. Some thought, at seeing me, had made you white And made me dumb, My brain was reeling in one mad delight. For oh, my Fate had come. I noted tenderly your new found tenderness, I saw not earth or sky above. But just your eyes, the while my eyes confess, I looked to find a friend, and found — a love I', If. , '■"m 1 1 ; pa,'.! 1 1 u J!, ¥• ( l! REMEMBRANCE. When mighty rivers flow past me again I move, where the redolent pine tree stands, And picture the waving of golden grain, Of peaceful waters, and harvest lands. Or shimmering lakes, where the pictures lie Painted by Heaven, of cloud and sky. And the sleeping flowers, on the golden \erge Of the tender hush of the afternoon, Where the gentle prairies roll, and m^rge In the infinite bluencss of June. And falling of turbulent, musical rills On purple-shadowed and lonely hills. And the same sweet silence ever broods On the dainty flower, when the wind is still. And the awful mountain solitudes. Where the snows are white and chill. And God's eternal beauty lies On earth, and sky, and in your eyes. ii'M LULLABV. My darling is sleeping-, The starlight is peeping, The long lashes cover those large eyes ot thine, I love, And above, The Angels are keeping The white little soul of this baby of mine. i; si' i The bluebells are ringing. The harebells are swinging. So close the big blue of those swe'et e^'j'cs of thine. They chime To the time Of my lullaby singino-, As i rock on my bosom this bab^ of mine. I it ' n i THE SONG OF YOUTH. Ui Life is so f;lad, and the Sun in the skies Is flooding the earth with his light, My spirit wake, from your dreaming arise. Arise from the quiet of Night ! My youth and freedom bloom refreshed again, For hope is like a fire to me, and tingles in each vein. I i I I know the buds of life around me break Into the flowers of love, Away in the stillness the birds awake, Away in the blueness above. And earth, and sky, and sea, as mine I claim, For in my heart ambition burns, and leaping, turns to flame. isf,. THE SONG OF YOUTH. 45 But he, who has passed throug"h the mornhiy days, He shall tell you the world is sad, My heart is beating, and singing, and says. The world is glad, is glad. Who would not give his wisdom and his gold. To lift his face to Heaven, with the same dear joy of old ? The Future seems a golden word to me, The time that is shrouded and dumb. And oil ! this very da} may hold the key Of perfect days that are to come. Of days, when even this delight shall seem As colourless, and pale, and past, as is my last night's dream. If birds can sing in joy all unsurpassed, And the flowers about our feet C m bring the light again to eyes downcast, Because they bloom and are so sweet ; \n'' senseless earth is lovely, and seas that roll, Then what may my life burn and be, with my immortal soul. m ■■»■ t) } m 1 ' i.> JUST FOR TO-DAY. Just for to-day, dear, let us stand apart And let the world rush on. Oh, I could weep' To be so happy, here, against your heart ; Let others yean' and fail, or fail asleep. Or mingle in the si :\s best they may. Just for .j-day. i Just for to-day, love, let there be no light Save in my eyes for you and yours for me, Shut out the troubled gaze, the lips grown white. The dreadful cry of the world's agony, The dull and sodden earth, the sky's dim gray. Just for to-day. Just for to-day, together stand and rest ; Time has been winged with us since first we met. Now in the ecstacy of love confessed. The voice still broken and the lashes wet. The veil of silence gently drawn away — Just for to-day. JUST FOR TO-DAY Just for to-day, my dearest, hand in hand, With pulse and heart in tune, for these brief hours Joy pauses on her pinnacle, we stand Each in the other's heart, among- love's flowers We, in our new found Eden, lose our way ; Just for to-day. ' I ' il ir lit ' El 1^ u i; m THE VOICE ACROSS THE SEAS. There's a calliiii^- in the April wind, A voice across the seas, The monotone of sa.dncss, In the wind of April's madness In the bare, brown maple trees, A tender message dares to bring-, A message from the Motherland Of England in the spring. And the ears of England's lovers Hear the wailing in the wind. Away from home they wander, Yet the exiled one grows fonder. And the heart is unconfined And rushes home in ta.:cy yet, When April's breath is burdened With the scent of violet. I THE VOICE ACROSS THE SEAS. 49 In fancy hear the g'uryfle And the purhng of the brook, Dancing" on towards the river, Overhead, the green leaves quiver, Over seas, I stand and loolc. With April's pale light in the skies. And dream, that budding at my feet The paler primrose lies. Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo calling In an ecstacy of song. In his recklessness rejoicing All the joy and gladness voicing, Crying loud and calling long. While the song birds sing and sing ; Wind of April, blow, and bring me Voices of an English spring. There's a calling in the low-toned wind, A voice across the land, And my tear-filled eyes are yearning And my o'er filled heart is turning For I hear, and understand ; Before me rolls the restless sea. But the sweet, sweet fields of England Are the only home for me. km m •I ii .1; t ,1- 1 1 M 4 u^ II fl PEGGY WEBLING. i STORIES. tfi' it- w ,1 I -i I .• • 1 ! II J i/ P I 1 3 A GHOSTS' DINNER TARTY. " 'ji "The ditliculty seems to be, where are we to send the invitations? " Duncan looked around the room at the coun- cil who were sitting* upon the subject— my wife and I, Jack Heely, and my wife's cousin, Annette Debenham. "And tho next difficulty is, how are we to address the invitations ? Doesn't the whole matter strike one, on serious reflection, as utterly preposterous ? " A decided " Yes " this time from the ladies. " Hang it all, you know, it isn^t half a bad idea, you know," from Jack Heely. "What is your opinion?" from Duncan, turning to me, " Do let the Genius have a word to say about it in his own castle." (They call me the Genius — not because they think I am one by any means). " I should rather enjoy it myself, Duncan," I replied, "It's an unprecedented idea, as Jack says, and when I start a thing I like to go through with it." ;a Oil m I'M (•: , 7 'J i 1^! 14 I m m-. ■■ ^' r r i'"' PI ./I ('•jjl 1 S6 A ghosts' dinner party. «< I po-ree with you, dear, so far," said my wife, "and if it could be managed it would be ,\ novel experience." "A little too novel for me," said Annette, "for I must say that it seems utterly impossi- ble." "And why ? " from all sides. "Just think of it seriously, Mr. Dunoan. Though we are all spiritualists, and Norman is a mesmerist, and I can do thought-rsading (when I am pushed — unconsciously of course !) just because my cousins have a splendid old haunted castle to live in, we actually talk about inviting a dinner party of ghosts ! Isn't it enough to make one laugh ? " And she threw back her pretty head and made us all laugh with her. Yes, that was our idea — a dinner party of ghosts ! It was a great many years ago, when my wife and I were enthusiastic on many sub- jects, and I had inherited (some months before the above conversation took place) a little foriune from my uncle and an old, handsomely furnished house in the North of England. We were naturally proud of it, with its beautiful terraces and rose garden ; its shrubbery, and i m m A ghosts' dinner party. 57 dark oak panelled chambers, with little diamond shaped windows and low window seats ; its one turret ; its wainscotted hall with a great open fire-place, armour and ancestral portraits on the walls ; and last, but by no means least, the Family Ghost ! No one had ever seen our Family Ghost and we had not the slightest idea where it was to be found, what it was like or how it was originally created. Nevertheless, we were determined to unravel the mystery and inspect the Family Ghost, for surely I had inherited him — or her — or it — along with the castle and the furniture, the shubbery and the turret? The departure of a number of visitors and the simultaneous arrival of Duncan, Annette Debenham and Jack Heely, seemed a propitious time to have a little, quiet ghostly party, and invite our own particular phantor. to pay us a visit. We were five tried and old friends ; Jack Heely was a gallant young soldier, every inch of him, from his curly hair to his neat patent leather boots, not particularly enthusiastic or thoughtful perhaps, but a great fellow for practical advice ; Duncan was very different — a dreamer of thirty, with a melancholy turn of fi! ilj I 'I I ul ■H f M i !h lit I I fi ■'1 . li 58 A ghosts' dinner party. n:i "fit ! t I ..ii'-r: I mind ; a man who lived carelessly and lazily in the world of action and ardently still in the world of thoug"ht, with just a vein of romance in his nature that kept him from being a cynic. Lastly, there was Annette Debenham, a really charming girl with the prettiest figure, the brightest smile and the softest brown eyes ; those brown eyes have been the inspiration for a great many poems I believe, but then as Duncan once very truly observed, "Annette was the sort of young lady \.o provoke poetry." At first Annette and my wife went heart and soul into the ghost scheme, but when Duncan began to talk about it w^ithout sneering at the whole project, and finally when I read the invi- tation list they were not quite so enthusiastic. Our plans were fairly well matured, and we had settled all the minor points before the difficulty arose of how and to what place we should send the invitations. Duncan held my list in his hand and looked enquiringly at each of us in turn, as we sat with closed doors in our brightly lighted drawing room. Annette was on a little chair by my wife, and Jack twisted about on the music stool, occasionally turning to the piano to play a chord or the first bars 'ill A GHOSTS DINNER PARTY. 59 of a waltz, while Duncan read the list with slow precision. "The first person to be invited is: A Maiden who was starved to death in a dungeon of the Tower of London. Secondly : The Head of King Charles I. from Windsor. Thirdly : A Woman's Shriek from a ruined castle in Warwickshire. Fourthly : The Girl with the Pig-tails from the old inn near to this house. Fifthly : A Snake-headed Man from Tewkes- bury. And sixthly : The Family Ghost. "Oh, Norman!" cried my v/ife, "If they really came I think it would kill me." "Now look here," said Jack, " Let us go over all the people, ghosts you know, separately and see what we come to." "The bottom of the list, of course," said Duncan; "Well, first we have the Staived Woman from the Tower — " "It seems to me," interrupted Jack, "a little personal to invite a starved person to dinner, and she's crown property, isn't she ? I .i! U .!ijfiyfB'M.i i""'ii"wi';TP. rsn 11 u 60 A GHOSTS DINNER PARTY. Perhaps they will send her down under charge of a Beef-eater." I frowned on Jack to be seiious and Duncan continued. •'The next is 'Head of King Charles I. from Windsor ;' I wish all of his Majesty would favor us. Then, the Ghost of a Woman's Shriek from Warwickshire — " Here my wife objected, she said she didn't know how to pro- vide for it — what would it eat and drink ? "^t appears to me," I replied, "that it will be useful, because you two girls may get nervous and feel inclined to shriek yourselves, and it will only look like a compliment to your guest when you do." •'Hear! hear!" said Jack, ''Leave the Genius alone to knock the right nail on the head! Fire away, Duncan, dear boy." " Fourthly," read Duncan, "The Girl with the Pig-tails." Annette expressed her opinion that a girl (ghost or reality) v/ho wore her hair in pig-tails could not be really " out " and probably unused to dinner parties. Jack said he objected on moral grounds, she must be a vain young per- son or why should she be noted for her pig-tails ? A ghosts' dinner party. I myself felt ext-emely anxious to see those pig- tails, and Duncan agreed with me that she was the most horrible and consequently the most interesting creature on the list. " Fifthly, the Snake-headed Man from Tewkesbury." (Unanimous approbation, and a foolish remark from Jack that we might keep him when we got him and exhibit him to pay expenses.) *' Sixthly," said Duncan, '*and lastly, the Family Ghost." Needless to say that we die n't black ball our own property, our own special apparition. " Is everyone satisfied?" said Duncan, *' Is our list complete ? If you all agree we can post our invitations to-morrow ; now I think it over, all these mysterious beings come from specified places — Tewkesbury, Windsor, and so on — we must trust to the G. P. O. for the cards reach- ing them." "I don't approve of the Starved Young Woman from the Tovver," said Jack, *' Cut her out." *' Don't be an idiot, Heely," exclaimed Duncan, " don't be an idiot. Why on earth should she be omitted ? " i '!!■ I If t : r^i :r 62 A ghosts' dinner party. Jack only shook his head, bade us good night in an unusually quiet manner and retired with the ominous remark : "That Starved Young Woman will spoil it all — mark my words, will spoil it all ! " And the council broke up for the time being. To cut a long matter short, the weeks passed by and the day for the dinner party of ghosts arrived. I need scarcely say we were very excited and a little nervous too. I didn't think that my wife need trouble much about the menu ; we were inviting the ghosts purely for our own entertainment and if they didn't approve — well, they could wait until we were ghosts ourselves, and then we would give them every satisfac- tion. But when the eventful day arrived all these little things were settled. At breakfast- time we were all in high spirits, except Duncan, who growled, asked what time this "business" commenced and did his best to dampen our ardour. At lunch, the atmosphere a trifle misty ; at three o'clock, departure of Duncan for a long walk, to everyone's satisfac- tion ; at four, my wife found alone and tearful : A GHOSTS DINNER PARTY. 63 in one corner of the library ; at five, the Genius takes afternoon tea with the ladies and Duncan, who has been caught in a storm and returned in a much better temper ; at six, excited en- trance of Jack — " I say, what I want to know is, how am I to dress, is it to be swallow-tail or what? It seems an awfully absurd question you know, but I don't know how to appear for such a scratch lot as you expect." " My clear boy, of course you must dress. King Charles is coming (a bit of him), and I don't agree with you that any visitors of ours can be a * scratch lot.' " "Don't be ruffled. Genius; I only wanted your authority to get myself up regardless of expense ! Ah, Duncan, you're back ; didn't you get nearly drowned, old man? It seems to be raining in torrents now ; I suppose the scratch lot— beg pardon, distinguished visitors — will take the fly, and the lady who screams might entertain the cabby on the box ! " The wind was blowing and moaning round the old house, we could hear the wild and ceaseless rustle of the lofty trees, and the fall of the heavy drops on the window-pane. It ' i ! .ti 64 A ghosts' dinner party. Ii was stormy and black without, supremely quiet within. We looked at each other with excited eyes, as we all happened to come down stairs into the great square hall at the same minute ; Jack extremely handsome, the ladies a little pale perhaps, and Duncan just now in agg-ra- vatingly good spirits. We stood for a minute or two by the cheery open fire place, then Duncan stepped beneath the largest hanging lamp and drew out his watch. "Five and twenty past eight," he said, ** Invitations issued for half past, if they in- tended to come they would be here now, but they are evidently not coming. I told you so! " He had «pered. M Jill lliiil M ^'l 76 A GHOSTS DINNER PARTY. "Listen, not a sound, even the Shriek is silent ! " *' Look, dear," said my wife, ** it is actually twelve o'clock, and the lamps are burning quite brightly once again." I th»"^ v open the dining room door, and every thii^ was as quiet as the grave. The table in wild disorder, the fire nearly dead upon the hearth, but no trace of the five ghosts that we had left there. •' They have fled before the light of dawn," said Duncan, seriously. "Oh! I'm so glad ! " said my wife, " But I wonder what became of them ! " "I've hit it '."cried Jack, bursting into a hearty fit of laughter ; "I know what became of them ; I see it all ! First she cleared the table, then (when we were out of the way) she eat up all the other ghosts. Don't you remember I said that the Starved Young Woman would spoil it all ? And she has ! " I do believe that Jack was right, and I know that not even Duncan had the spirit to contradict him ! 1^' i; ^; i 'ii CRINKLEBACK'S CANOE. I- I shall never forget Crinkleback's Canoe. It was one of the most wonderful and unex- pected inventions of the 19th century. We always expected something brilliant from Crinkleback. He is simply "Crinkleback" to all the world ; in the home circle he is known as Fred, and he answers to "Crink" or any other name you say in a particularly hearty voice. He is a clever, energetic, never to be put down, "I'll-hit-the-right-nail-on-the-head" me- chanical genius ; with plenty of pluck and the sunniest temper that ever directed a practical head and cunning fingers. I believe Crinkleback has attempted every- thing that can be attempted ; in his boyhood he added to his income by carpentering work about the house, and as years advanced he spent all his odd time in endeavouring to perfect number- less inventions ; but somehow Crinkleback was always unlucky. f^ k I i:^ l\ 78 crinkleback's canoe. I'll riiii mi heating liJ I recollect his first great appliance for his father's office with a wonderful steam boiler. He slaved at it day and night; his admiring family gave pecuniary assistance; he put it up himself; he started it triumphantly ; he left his father at ten o'clock one morning in a delight- ful sort of Turkish bath; and at four that afternoon the devoted old gentleman was rescued with difficulty from imminent suffoca- tion, and parts of Crinkleback's burst boiler could be found in all parts of the city. But do you think that daunted him? No, indeed; that same evening he commenced to make plans for a child's bicycle to be run (like the heating apparatus) by steam ; and he successfully finished the bicycle, too; and it nearly sent his little brother over to the Great Majority, but he was very proud of it for all that; though Crinkleback himself confessed that it never possessed the beauty of a Brantford Red Bird. But these two capital inventions were mere trifles compared to the canoe, that was a master piece. "It was really awfully clever," Emanuel said; and our Canadian friend, strong, un- CRINKLEBACK S CANOE. 79 II 1 ^^;- polished, generous Harry "Canuck" expressed his approval in the hij^^hest slang- in his vocabulary. How well I remember his words, although it is nearly three years ago since I heard them, when five of us, the best comrades in the world, were discussing canoeing on the banks of a Canadian river. It was a glorious afternoon in the beginning of July, the sky an unclouded blue, the mellow notes of many birds mingled with the rustling of the maples, and murmur of birch trees down to the water's edge, where our canoes were drawn up on the sandy little beach, and we five reclined on the bank among the grasses and ferns; our shady hats drawn over our eyes, and the little whispering breezes just stirring the wild flowers about our heads. In England, by the way, wc hear a great deal about Canadian winters, but little of Canadian summers; much of the frost and snow, little of the heat and brilliance; much of the jingle of sleigh bells and dangerous delight of tobogganing, little of the long summer days and the joys of canoeing. Such days as when we five, — Crinkleback and I, Mohawk, Harry "Canuck" and Emanuel, ♦•The M CRINKLEBACK S CANOE. * ; '■• \l 1:1; ' '% Cambridge Man" — were content to paddle along- in the good old way, before Fred invented his own canoe. It was the first and last summer we all had together. I was only on a visit to Canada for a year, Emanuel the same; Harry "Canuck" after a few weeks holiday had to rush back to business in the States; Mohawk — our Indian g-irl, what would I not gfive to see you ag-ain? The winds tossing back your dark hair, and your own Canadian scenes reflected in your blue-gray eyes! Lastly, there was Fred, — a bank c. rk, and liable at any minute to be ordered off to the other side of the continent. This was in the mind of Emanuel (so called because he was an undergraduate of Emanuel College, Cam- bridge,) when he said these words on the particular afternoon in question : *'You must hurry up, Crinkleback, the summer is getting on, and I rather think you have set yourself a heavy task." "Let me see," said Mohawk, lying at full length like a true Indian after the hunt and the feast, we had just had tea, "it is the third of ,v CRINKLEBACK S CANOE. 8t July, and it will take you a month anyway to make your canoe." "More!" put in Harry "Canuck," finishings the marmalade with a fork and a pocket-knife, "Never mind what Mohawk says, you can't work faster than you can work — just my luck, confound you!" (this last to the pocket-knife, which has slipped into the marmalade bottle.) "Yes, I can," said Crinkleback, "I have heaps of time you know, and as I think of it my plan develops itself. The central idea is this—" "Crink has the floor," muttered Harry, "Order! Order!" "I shall have a strong- paddle of red cedar," continued Crinkleback, "about seven to eight feet in length, you see, my dear Mohawk, it must be long; it will be attached to a light wooden wheel, say about half a foot to a foot in diameter, over this wheel will be drawn a cord, also attached to the top of the paddle, this cord passes from the stern to the bow, where it is connected with a small steam boiler." "Also useful for cookin'," said Harry "Can- uck" in a parenthesis. hi ) si p; I ■! II f it ft£ ^tfii i p.'^i9l 'i^'lnf. ■• 1 itj •■ \ 1^ ilir '-■ if 1 - " 5 "■l ■! h i '' 8s crinkleback's canoe. "Let me see," said Crinkleback, "where was I?" "Sitting on the boiler, old man," said Emanuel. "Yes, the boiler. Well, this boiler, by means of a steam appliance of my own inven- tion, will work the paddle, guided by a small handle held by the man in the bow, who can smoke, read or do anything he pleases, the whole contrivance being at once so simple and so practicable. Do you all follow me ? " I think our feelings were well expressed by a howl of derision from Flip, Crinkleback's small fox terrier. '* It strikes me the animal has hit public opinion, Crinkleback. I should say it could not be done. It's scarcely possible ; Great Scott ! it's so new-fangled, you know," said Emanuel, protesting against anything new, like a staunch Briton, in the peculiar tone (it is not an accent, much less a twang ; it is a " tone.") that all English University men possess. "You can but try, PVed. I don't like the notion of a steam paddle on our little river, but I won't go back on the White Man's inven- tions," said Mohawk, graciously. crinkleback's canoe •3 " Do try, Fred ! " I exclaimed. *' It will be all right on smooth water ; as for the rapids — well, you can always wade, you know ! " •*'Oh, it's a grand scheme," continued Mo- hawk. "You can carry all the kit when we go camping, and all the baskets ; but what about portaging, couldn't your cute little boiler do that too ? " Here Flip interrupted by barking at Harry ''Canuck." "Don't throw birch bark at him, Harry," I protested. *' Pretty fellow, poor dog ! " " Crink's dog — pretty!" exclaimed Harry '* Canuck." "You take care to keep him away from your canoe, old boy, or he'll stop the boiler." " Look ! " said Crinkleback, rapidly making sketches in his note book. " Here's a design for the paddle — see ? Here we have the small fire, boiler and reserve coal supply." "Looks like a soup tureen, doesn't it?" said Emanuel. "Won't it draw too much water and be fearfully heavy ? " " I think not," replied Crinkleback. "Just consider the rate at which we shall be able to travel." 1 1 ■if ■ I 84 CRINKLEBACKS CANOE. '; I! fi i! 11: ■'111' m "The Cunarders won't be in it," said Harry. *' If the rotten old machine doesn't blow up." "No fear of that," said Crinkleback, the evening- sunlight and the enthusiasm together making his honest, tanned face quite handsome. "You have your steam apparatus perfectly under control ; you hold the handk; the paddle moves at the desired rate, you steer by means of another cord (only necessary now and then), that shifts the wheel above the paddle, you cleave the waters evenly and forcibly ; wishing to stop you simply slacken your cord, turn off your steam and dart ashore. Imagine the ease, the comfort, the saving of labor ; it's grand to contemplate! I shall sell the patent for America and the old country, by Jove I shall and leave the Bank ! " We all cheered and clapped our hands ; then we packed our baskets, and while the boys were preparing the canoes for the home- ward trip, Mohawk and I stood on the bank looking over the river to the quietly LStirring maples, black against the glowing warmth of the sky. Then we were ready, and we paddled away in the stillness ; the gay voices of the others : CRINKLEBACKS CANOE. 85 came back faintly to Emanuel and me as we glided slowly through the water, listening to the myriad insects, watching the sparkle of fire-flies on the bank, and talking of something even more delightful than Crinkleback's canoe. Oh, happy Canadian days ! I float back to them once again, I see the gler.m of the paddle held by a lingering hand, I see in the widening circle of the dropping water a glory spread about me, and I see in Emanuel's eyes as we drift along a look that is more than words — quietly, joyously as we drift along towards the brightness of the evening sun. " Where is Crinkleback ? That's the ques- tion, where is Crinkleback ? " It was the end of August. A deeper blue was in the water and the sky, and we four were at the uoathouse once again for an after- noon on the river, Harry *' Canuck " whistling, Mohawk arranging our lunch baskets and the Cambridge Man and I on the lookout for my mechanical genius of a cousin. *' I guess he's failed to accomplish his won- derful canoe," said Harry. L, It '! .:f I' (fkj ft l 1 1 1 1 1 1 f i - 1 i^ m\ 1 i •t I ! •f MM m H III'; :!! 96 crinkleback's canoe. '' He must have been made manager of the Bank, and gone to Europe," said Emanuel. *'Oh, no!" broke in Mohawk's musical voice, " Crinkleback and Flip are coming now, only look ! " Yes, along came Crinkleback driving, ac- companied by a friend to take the buggy back, with Flip rushing like a mad dog behind and very little of his master to be seen on account of an enormous paddle ; yards of cord were on his knees, the boiler and the "small supply of coal " between his feet. "Here I am! "shouted Crinkleback. "How are you all ? Everything finished, it's a grand success ; set the paddle working over a chair last night ; it's under perfect control ; wonder- ful ! Here, Emanuel, take the boiler ; mind the dog ! Give us a hand, Harry, there's a good fellow." Then Crinkleback and all his apparatus tumbled out of the buggy at once. He refused any help, saying everything was so simple he could manage quite well by him- self, so we launched our canoes and paddled a little way out to give Crinkleback room to start. First Crinkleback got his boat in the water, CRINKLEBACK S CANOE. 87 then Flip had to be hauled out of it by the scruff of his neck, then Crinkleback got him- self tangled up in the cords, then he had to light his little fire, burnt his fingers and executed a sprt of war dance around the boat- house. "Poor fellow !" Mohawk cried. " Galoot!" Harry exclaimed. "Oh, I'm tired of waiting," said Emanuel. " I propose that we go on, while you two wait for Fred." "No," said Harry, "I guess we'll all go on. Say, Crink, we're going on, old man, good-bye. See you at the usual place for tea, when you've got your machinery in order." So we paddled off, Mohawk leading, Eman- uel and I as usual lingering behind, pausinj. now and again to wait for Fred, until we reached the usual place, where our former dis- cussion on the steam-propelled canoe had been held. Then we landed, ran up the bank and rested beneath the grand old maples, a slight change of colour in their leaves now and the ground bright with patches of golden-rod. It was perfectly delightful ; Emanuel threw him- self at my feet, I leaned against a birch tree, i III 88 CRINKLEBACKS CANOE. r I li f^i'' closed my eyes, and soon fell from a reverie into a dream. Suddenly I awakened with a start ; we all sprang forward, for Harry's excited voice came ringing up from the little yellow beach below : "Say, Mohawk, Emanuel, all of you, come down, come down. Here's Crinkleback coming along like an express train, by Gum ! here's Crinkleback ! " Mohawk was already by his side. Emanuel gave me hjis hand ; we scrambled down the bank as quickly as we could, and eagerly looked along the river, where Harry pointed to a dark object almost hidden by spray that was simply tearing along. Yes, it was Crinkleback, we could see him plainly sitting in the bow, hanging on the cord with both hands, his dog yelping and barking between the middle thwarts, steam issuing from his boiler in clouds, and his gigantic paddle ploughing the water like the screw of an Atlantic liner. *' He said it would be under perfect control. I'm sure it isn't ! " said Emanuel excitedly. *'Poor old Fred!" cried Mohawk. ''Oh, how it bumps on the stones," "'T^^yy-t^l CRINKLEBACKS CANOE. 89 m *' He'll be smashed to pieces ! " I cried, ** I know he will — oh, and the dog, too ! " Nearer and nearer came the canoe, splash- ing and bumping, the stern quite out of the water, and Crinkleback yelled to us from the bow : " It's — grand — but — it — won't — stop ! " *' You'll be killed, Crinkleback!" we all shouted back. "Jump, Crinkleback," and the whole river rang to the words, **Jump, Crinkle- back ! " There was a pause, a shout, a splash, and Crinkleback jumped. We saw him five minutes after, calmly sitting in the shallow water, with rather a faint smile on his counienance. The wonderful canoe, boiler and all, had reached the land a long way up the river, and we saw the paddle, still paddling itself onward, first over the ground, then high in the air, till it was only a dark speck on the horizon. Three years ago ! Three long years since that exciting Canadian summer, and yet we made n strange discovery — Emanuel and I — only yesterday. 'S I I Hi .-..l-. 8(5 r '■ go CRINKLEIJACK S CANOE. I was sitting- alone when I had written the last words of the story of Crinkleback's canoe, thinking affectionately of the dark-haired Mo- hawk, Harry "Canuck" and dear old Fred, when my husband came up behind my chair, and threw a newspaper over my manuscript on the desk. ** What is this, Emanuel ? " "Read it, my dear girl, read it, and I rather think you will guess." He was laughing- heartily, and I read the paragraph aloud : Paris, June i8lh.— Great excitement was caused in tliis city tliis afternoon by the sudden descent of some unknown flying- machine on the top of the Eiffel Tower. It struck the summit of the loftj"- building when a strong- wind was blowing- from the west, and though the machine was much battered, it was immediately re- moved to the basement of the tower, and examined by the police authorities. It is about sixteen to eighteen feet in length, boat shaped, and apparently made of some strong wood. It has evidently suffered greatly from wear and weather. The supposition of its being a flying machine arises from the fact that attached to one side by a vvonderful entanglement of cords, is a long, worn out, oar-shaped piece of wood ; the other wing must have been lost during its extraordinary perambulations. :\ crinkleback's canoe. Qt it The strangest part of all was the discovery of a small skeleton, believed to be of some animal of the canine species, held fast by the thin cords of the machine. Both these interesting objects are now on view, and are daily visited by crowds of cultivated Parisians. I looked up at Emanuel ; he looked down at me. "That must be," we exclaimed together, " that must be Crinkleback's canoe ! " Ml II "I M.\ W-: ^ |i 9' ;: li| THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. A LOVE STORY. Chris **the Colossal" kicked one shoe off to the right, the other shoe landed upon the I ', his hat he tossed on a chair and then ht ..L down, head low, knees apart, hands clasped lightly, to think it out. The setting sun glowed softly through the white blind, the low hum of numberless insects came to him through the open window, and he was hot and dusty from a long walk in the sultry afternoon. Chris * ' the Colossal " was taking the summer lightly, but the English girl puzzled him ; the blue, blue skies of Western Ontario ; the long lazy days on the river ; the evening drives, when refreshing little winds were to be met with ; the talks and disputes (Chris' intellect could be labelled truthfully ** Immature 22 ") were all old to him, but the English girl was a novelty, an orchid, an olive — delicate, peculiar, an acquired taste. To love a thing one should study it, then a hundred little unknown charms appear, the II il^ THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 03 learning of a language leads one to its books and poetry ; the living in a strange country introduces one to its little customs and graces ; and most of all to take an interest in the alpha- bet of a character, opens to one the courtly sentences, or at least, the one syllable words. When Chris and Rosamund (the English girl) had first met, her impression had been of a frank and blue-eyed young fellow, six feet in height, square shouldered, thin and muscular — Chris was like a well cut seal, bound to make a good impression ; Rosamund summ.ed him up in her private diary as ** typical" — she didn't mention of what. His impression of her was negative ; he objected to eye glasses, and the English girl peeped at life through gold-rimmed little window panes ; he didn't like green and Rosa- mund had an aesthetic green dress ; Chris had decided opinions and he was a hustler, Rosa- mund was shy and didn't talk — Chris thought her dull and ignored her ; he had never heard of Burne Jones or William Morris, Rosamund thought him ignorant. That was six weeks ago, our young man had made two discoveries, namely : Rosamund m m 11 1 i 'i ] ;•• had a complexion like a blush rose and that she could be funny ; our young- girl had found otit she was not is her element and all her well- meaning Canadian relations wished to pull her into theirs. A patient aunt might draw a fish out of his element, a skillful uncle might bring a bird down from his, but all the patience and skill (and Uncle and Aunt Wesley, of Mapleville, possessed neither virtue) cannot make a London- bred girl, superficially but strongly interested in the advanced ideas of her time, at home in a small, bustling, self-satisfied Canadian town. Rosamund enjoyed the beauties of the new world ; the days were long delights to her — -if her friends had only let her alone, if only the three meals had not found her seated between Chris (who appeared without his coat and with his sleeves rolled half way up his big arms) and her pretty little cousin ; then they would ask her to talk, and in spite of all their kindness Rosamund was bored — bored to death. " What is the use," she bitterly wrote in her diary (Rosamund was a little inclined to exist for the benefit of a diary), " what is the use of all the things I have read ? They never care I 'I- I •' THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 95 for anything- hiTo but the Star-Ttanscript - where it tells you that * our worthy Mayor is around ag-ain and some better,' or * Mrs. Some- body is well throuj>h house cleaning- ' — I never see a picture, I never have a talk— its dull ! dull ! I don't think they like me, I'm so igno- rant, I can't cook, or sew or do fancy work ; I don't mind which church 1 go to — how shocked they were when I said I should like to row on Sunday, according to Mapleville laws of morality I ought to be drowned ! Effie only flirts with that empty-headed Spalding- man all the after- noon, and I hate Christopher ! " There was some truth in Rosamund's diary, a great deal in regard to her feeling for Chris- topher ; his idea of amusement was the tor- m»««ting of somebody else, "to get them crazy," was one of his ambitions, and he soon discovered that the English girl was an easy prey; if Chris had thrown energ-\ and enthusiasm into athletic sports, iiito the ma uigof money, he found that this nev^ study of his was intensely interesting. -' R.osamund," he thought, sitting in his room this July afternoon, "conversation slow, notions stiif; made her hopping mad to-day ; is there anything on earth so winning iii \A IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) i/ //^ Zip. 1.0 I.I 1.25 ^ IS 2.0 1.8 U IIM P / <^ /} I%otographic Sdtaices Corporation 23 ¥••'«' 1AAIN STRUT WEBSTiJt, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^^ \^ ^ v^ i^i% '/. ^^ /. ^ m ^ i I Ijt m I!! 96 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. as a little girl on her dignity ? Why doesn't she laugh when all the other girls do ? Proud, I guess. Now, the question is," and Chris rubbed up and down his knees and slowly whistled a few bars of a two-step, "the ques- tion is, shall I get at the drift of little Cherry Cheek or not? I'd like to wake her up, I'd like to get her wild, or make her talk or some- thing, she's a cold little girl alright — I guess I'll go and scare her up a little." And with this amiable intention Chris made himself presentable and ran down stairs humming '* Onward Christian Soldiers." Little Cherry Cheek was sitting at the piano in the parlour reading an accompani- ment with a persistence worthy of a better cause ; her hands were laboriously hunting for the correct keys, and her w?.vy, soft hair seemed to caress the little throat and broad forehead, the first or the second scrutiny of Rosamund didn't interest one, but the third and fourth left an impression of health and bloom and brightness. Chris pulled a rocking chair beside the piano, and glanced up and down from the sheet of music to the keys with rapid anxiety. i ■ THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 97 Rosamund hesitated, grew confused and clasped her fingers in lier lap. "Don't stop irritating the piano on my account ! " said Chris. " I like it, it's so rattling ! " * ' Thank you, I was only practising, I was just going to leave off." Chris lazily pushed the stool against the other side of the piano and kept his hand upon it, so that Rosamund was imprisoned, and turning her back to the keys, she favoured him with a long and curious inspection. They never held a conversation, in lively moments Chris was rather like a young bear in a draw- ing room and in his serious moods he resembled the same animal, muzzled. ** Let me pass, Christopher." Rosamund was too polite to show any annoyance. *' The maple leaf," said Christopher, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, *' is our national em- blem, combined with the beaver — " '* I have a letter to write before supper — please." '* Consequently," said Christopher, still holding the stool, ** maple syrup (adulterated) and the beaver (boiled) are our national dishes." 'Ill 98 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. m iij i: mm If the girl wanted to pass, why didn't she push his hand away, but it would never have entered Rosamund's mind to do anything half as undignified. " I want to ask you something, Rosamund, what do you think now honestly about all of us ? You don't like our crowd, do you ? " She nervously jerked her eye-glasses between her thumb and finger and didn't answer; Chris- topher's laughing blue eyes searched her face. "Spalding now," he continued, "he is pretty nice, isn't he ? Tell me, do you like Spalding ? " "Yes." " He isn't a bad coon ; he's all right ! He knows a good deal more than people think." " And less," said Rosamund. " By ginger ! That's true," said Christopher, " I wish, my dear girl, you would give us your honest opinion of Spalding's intellect — don't move — he thinks you are cute, I know he does. Say, Rosamund, don't girls discuss fellows in England ? " " I don't know." *^ Say, Rosamund, I'm your cousin, ain't I ?" "No." -ws THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 99 '* I'm Effie's cousin, and you are her cousin, so you must be my cousin." ''Really?" ''What does that mean? See here, Rosie — " " I beg" your pardon." "Oh! don't apologize." Rosamund ob- jected to being called Rosie, which Chris knew. " See here, Rosie, why don't you talk, this is like a cross examination, it ought to be like, like—" " Anthony Hope? " said Rosamund. "Who's he?" said Chris. "Never met the gentleman. Why don't you talk ? " " Oh ! I don't know !" At that minute Frank Spalding appeared on the scene ; he lived with the Wesleys and Rosamund could never dissociate Spalding the man, from Spalding the boarder. Frank Spalding was a young druggist, and Rosamund thought in her own mind how nice he would have looked in a fancy glass bottle on a shelf in his own store ; he was a neat, thin young man with good teeth and a little moustache, somewhat delicate and dapper and a trifle too much engrossed in his personal appearance ; he had never been out of Mapleville and (happy H .!> M i >:t 3 *ii i! m loo THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. young- druggist) never wished to go out of Mapleville. Rosamund greeted Spalding with a bright smile, Chris moved back and she perversely seated herself again on the stool — Chris got up and walked to the door, there he turned and looked at Rosamund for a second, with a world of tender admiration in his face, she responded by a blank stare, Chris transformed the look to one of supreme disgust, flung it at the un- conscious Spalding and lounged against the porch of the verandah ; do what he would the English girl haunted his mind ; he thought of her self-possession chiefly, her entire indiff"er- ence to his, or any man's patronage ; there was the puzzle, she could not talk ten minutes with him alone without an obvious shyness, yet she discussed subjects, with sense and humour, that were Greek to our backwoods boy ; she was intensely surprised at an invitation to paddle on the river with Spalding, yet she brought herself across the Atlantic without the shadow of a chaperon. Had she any friends in Mapleville ? No, the girls were constrained in her quiet presence, the boys found her dull — except a young teacher at the high school, he '~>^. THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. lof 'i! spent one lonj^ afternoon reading Emerson with Rosamund ; she expressed her pleasure in this little friendship with the only touch of enthus- iasm Christopher had ever seen her display ; the following week one of the Mapleville ladies (a person with a mind and bonnet to match — cheap and showy) ventured to banter Rosa- mund on her conquest. *' You must think me an observer, Miss Wesley," said the lady. '* No, I certainly do not," said Miss Wesley, and displayed one of her awful accomplishments, she sat still with her eyes gazing into vacancy, and an awkward pause ensued ; her aunt after- v/ards said Rosamund was rude, the girl coloured and in future ignored the unfortunate high school teacher. Christopher was still leaning his broad shoulders against the porch, when Spalding came out of the parlour following Rosamund, she walked up-stairs, he stopped beside Chris. " I can't talk to the girl," he said, kicking the step with the heel of his yellow boot. " She never helps a man out ! " "She seems to have turned him out," said Christopher, " where has she gone ? " I I.* 'I ■ *>t«ii^t<^ I09 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. / " Oh, to study the solar system, I guess." ** Did she say so ? " " Does she ever say anything except ringing the changes between ' Yes ' and ' No ' and * Really.* I tell you what it is, Chris, you can never begin with her where you leave off." "Then don't leave oflf," said Chris in a parenthesis. ** She was quite chummy with me last night and to-day she won't speak." The idea of Rosamund being "chummy," amused Christopher, it must have been a chumminess that freezes. Rosamund wrote that night in her diary : " Our amiable friend Christoper is endeavour- ing to study my character, I know he is ; now I wonder just how much he likes m.e ? I try to puzzle him, oh ! I'm a hypocrite ! I pretend to be ignorant of everything and he kindly en- lightens me ! Bah ! he is so simple and boyish and good and manly. "The dreary, beautiful summer days go on — I want to get away, I'm tired, tired of everyone. How can I say I'm homesick, it would be cruel when they all mean to be kind — I'm tired of the silly talk and the lazy days. I want London, I K( :'>' t1!l THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 103 Hi want the sound, the life, the soul — I want to be free, to do what I like, to talk or be quiet as I like — I am imprisoned here, they give me all they can but — the old cry — I'm bored, bored ! '* Christopher ? Christopher — is — a — possi- bility. Was I ever in love, he asked me, and of course I said no ; all men are simple if you know how to take them ; I never mind imposing on men, they have the best of it in this life, so they ought to do something for us. Poor old Christopher — fool ! " Having looked so far at Rosamund's diary (a really private diary), we may be justified in reading the following disconnected words that were blotted and blurred — Christopher was under the impression, by the way, that Rosa- mund was entirely gentle and artless and that she never cried — ** Oh ! those long days in the park, down the flower path, if I could only see you, best of friends ! If I could only hear from you, only once, if you knew, if you knew ! Shall I write to him ? Shall I dare ? To-day I might have been — oh ! it's no use thinking about it ; I can wait and wait and hope — come to me ; dear i 1 1 h ! 104 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. eyes, kind voice, true heart — come ! come ! " irl Rosamund hoped on, but hope is like bread, it is the staff of life, but it's hard to live on nothing else. The summer drifted on ; golden rod, the fire of the fall, burnt gorgeously in Mapleville, and the trees, pink, yellow and crimson, glowed against the deep skies of September. That year a golden chance came to Chris- topher, he thought it over, and seized his opportunity. One day he started for New York, with a business prospect before him that taxed the literary ability of the reporter on T/ie Star -Transcript to describe with sufficient bril- liancy. ** Good-bye, little Rosie," said Christopher, and he held her two hands in his and smiled down at her with his eye brows drawn clo^ oly together and half-closed eyes— a trick of his, though he had the sight of a bird. Rosamund discreetly withdrew her left hand and said. THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. »o5 " Good-bye, Chris." "Don't you wish me g"ood luclc? Won't you look at me ? " Rosamund raised her eyes and smiled kindly. '• Ah, do take those things off, Rosamund, I've never had a good look at your eyes," and Chris stretching out his hand to remove her ''eternal glasses," touched her cheek; Rosa- mund flashed a frown at him and drew back a step. " I didn't touch you, Rosamund, it wouldn't kill you if I had ! " "Good-bye," said the girl again, and she walked into the house. Chris remembered her promise to go to the station, he wheeled around and caught her by the arm. The colour rushed to her face and she tried vainly to get away, but Chris held her hand straight down by her side in his, so that she was perforce leaning against his shoulder. " Let me go, Christopher, let me go ! " " Will you come to the station ? " "No." "Will you write to me, will you ? " "No." i io6 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. Pulling her nearer he begged her again aqd again to write to him, till his blue eyes grew dangerous, and Rosamund instinctively knew that the time had come for diplomacy. •' Let me gOf Christopher, and I will—" "Yes." ** Write — to — " Christopher loosened his hold and Rosamund fled up-stairs without a backward look ; Chris stood for two minutes, pondering a certain vague question that had only just occurred to him ; then he looked at his watch, dismissed the question with a straightening of the eye-brows and an action with his closed hand as if he were knocking something from him, and for many a week Mapleville knew him no more. " What do you think of Canada now ? " said the station agent at Little Drummond to Rosa- mund Wesley, as he replenished the ugly stove, then stood warming himself before it ; the station agent was an untidy weak-eyed and weak-kneed young man, and the effect of an appalling storm on the mind of a Britisher in- terested him. Rosamund was returning from THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 107 X 1 an eastern city to spend Christmas at Maple- ville, and the prospect of being- snow bound at Little Drummond railway station, for an in- definite period, was not a cheering one. There were two or three commercial travellers, a few young men in high boots and draggled fur coats, a lady with several little boys, their small heads enveloped in Persian lamb caps, and the Eng- lish girl in the waiting room. **D' you think it's clearing, Jimmy ? " asked one of the travellers. "No, it ain't," said the ticket agent, and everyone looked out of the window at the driv- ing snow ; it was falling like a soft veil over the country, all the trees and fences had lost their shape in the whiteness, and the railway line was not to be distinguished from the plat- form. "Where's our train, Jimmy?" asked the traveller, " why don't you 'phone? " "Why don't I which?" said the ticket agent, and he went into his own stuflfy little office and rang the telephone bell, — the tele- graph wires were down. "Hello!" shouted the ticket agent, "is that you, Jack ? Yes — no ! Oh ! she's in a \ m m !i: ' / 108 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. snow drift, is she ? What's that ? No foolin' — when do you think she'll get out of the drift ? Not till the plough goes along, eh ? What's that? I wish I was !— Ha! Ha!— What's that? — let 'er whirl — alri^nt !" ringing off the distant Jack. Rosamund tapped her foot impatiently on the floor ; she was only eight miles from Mapleville and imprisoned here ! She tried to read but it wearied her, she got up and looked absently out into the feathery flurry, she assisted one of the little boys who was being extinguished by his Persian lamb cap, and then she stood by the stove and com- menced to read a letter that she held in her muff". At the first page of the letter (the envelope bore the Mapleville post mark, but the letter was written on thick, plain English note paper) Rosamund longed for the train to come, at the second page she speculated on the possibility of driving; at the third she wondered whether she could walk the eight miles, and at the fourth she tried not to smile, then she returned to her seat in the corner and read the letter all over again. THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. lOQ ii Suddenly through the quietude of the after- noon there jingled on the air the merry sound of bells ; nearer and nearer they rang, and briskly they clashed together as a cutter came to a halt at the back of the station and in a few seconds the snow was being stamped from a pair of heavy boots outside, the waiting room door opened and a big man came in. Chris was colossal indeed in his great fur coat and gauntlets ; he pulled his cap off and came towards Rosamund with out-stretched hand and heightened colour. '*Why, Chris!" said Rosamund, and she smiled at him with frank pleasure and surprise. *' I didn't dream of seeing you. Can you — can you take me to Mapleville ? " Chris brushed the snow off his boots with the universal broom provided for the purpose. " I came on purpose, shall we go? '' *' Did you really ? Yes, yes ! " Rosamund fastened her coat eagerly, put her glasses straight on her nose with two fingers and looked up at him, with her eyes dancing and her lips breaking into a laugh ; he had never thought her so winning. *' Come along then ! " They left the wait- m 1 m r i- • I 1 ^ no THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. tin ;■!! / ,:,iil ing room and plodded their way through the snow to where the cutter stood ; the flurry was passing over and Rosamund was quickly muffled in robes and jingling away from the Little Drummond station. *'An' I hope they get pitched out anyway ! " said the ticket agent. Cold and biting air, rushes of glorious wind, a heaven of gray clouds laden with snow, a world of dazzling, sparkling whiteness ! Chris flourished his whip over his head and laughed his great genial laugh, then he bent to put the furs more closely around Rosamund and to look long, long into her face. He gathered up her two hands in one of his and put them beneath the robe ; he was alone with her, he felt her gentle presence, she had never smiled so brightly, he had never been so happy^poor Chris, Rosa- mund wanted to get to Mapleville, and she smiled on him with as personal a feeling as she would have smiled on the train, if it had reached Little Drummond an hour earlier. ** How long will it take us, do you think ? " she asked, looking at him with happy eyes — he never hated her glasses so much before. " Not more than eight hours, I guess." THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. Ill ,. "No!" " You wait till you see the pitch holes Rosa- mund, I could hardly get here myself and it will be worse getting back." *' Why will it be worse ? " "Two hundred pounds more weight in the cutter ! " *' I weigh a hundred and sixteen," Rosa- mund replied. " Do you !" said Chris "the Colossal," " I weigh a hundred and seventeen, I must train down a pound next summer ! " Rosamund laughed, and Chris whistled "Jingle Bells." Soon Little Drummond, with its small houses half buried in snow, was behind them, and they \y^i;:e, slowly making their way along the road that was only to be followed by the telegraph poles. A little wind was hurrying behind, and occasionally a lump of snow would fly up against them from the horses' hoofs. " How goes the world at Mapleville ? " for a wonder it was Rosamund who spoke first. *' I've only been home a week," said Chris, " and everything is elegant. I'm boarding at ill iiii 112 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. u ;n>:., .,-! the Queen's, you know; I'm tony, Rosamund, you bet ! " Chris hoped that she would ask him about himself and his winter's success. After a pause, she said : ** Why did you come for me this afternoon ? Tell me." '* Oh, just 'cos ! " said Christopher. "That's no reason, did anybody sugg-est it to you ? " '* No, I didn't tell a soul I was coming". Say, Rosamund, sometimes a fellow can't wait, he just has to go ! " " Where? " said Rosamund, on the anxious look out for pitch holes ; the fences were scarcely to be seen and the horses were working" hard. Christopher didn't answer, and Rosamund wondered what he was thinking about, as he looked ahead with the old trick of drawing the brows together. They were silent for some minutes, and then — " I do like sleighing, Christopher ! " "And I love sleighing, Rosamund ! " She turned quickly to look at him, for a change in his voice for a second puzzled her — " Do you, really? " U ;| 1^: THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 113 "Just now — better than anything else on earth, Rosamund ! " If Chris could see the dips and dangers of the road before them, Rosamund could more clearly foresee the words that might be spoken ; she gravely studied his face as he bent towards her ; why had he ever made her miserable ? Why had she ever disliked him? Then she suddenly dropped her eyes and a hundred thoughts chased through her mind — the old homesickness of the summer, the unspoken longing for one face, one voice and now ! now ! '* Chris ! " said Rosamund, ** I'm glad you came to Little Drummond, I'm very grateful, you were always kind to me." " I used to plague you, Rosamund." Her eager thoughts were already at Maple- ville and he wondered, in his turn, what beauty she could see in the changeless road in front of them. *' I'll never tease you again, Rosamund, upon my honour ! " ** I don't care if you do — when you get the chance ! " "You little puzzle! Haven't I the chance f it'll I Ifl n "4 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. !*■ ' il'i:?:. III- ■■■. §M now? Can't I make you more mad than you ever were ? " '* I think not." '• May I try, Rosamund ? " ** Look at your horses, Chris ! " *' May I try, may I try once ? " ''Chris, we shall be over!" '♦ May I try? It's all right, Rosie ! " But Christopher was too late, he had for- gotten everything while he stooped towards Rosamund, and as he spoke his tenm plunged forward, just a thought too far to the right, and Rosamund, robes and all were neatly tossed into a feathery drift. When the English girl jumped up, she found Chris had pushed the cutter back to its right position, and the weary horses were standing still, with drooping heads and snow-flecked manes. "I'm coming ! " said Rosamund, picking up her cap, and eye-glasses that were dangling from her chain. "Stop, Rosamund, I'll lift you in." (( <( (< No, indeed, you will not." Are you hurt, Rosamund ? No, thank you." i: i ■am mtm ft THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. ITS 11, " Don't thank me, it was a pleasure ! We must hustle, my dear, or the poor brutes will fall down ! " While Rosamund was looking pitifully at the weary horses, Chris strode up and lifted her in his arms. " You little bird ! " he said, and Rosamund, angry as she was, felt that to struggle would have been most undignified, so she allowed Chris to put her into the cutter, and after an icy "thank you," she relapsed into silence, waiting for him to apologize ; but unfortunately it didn't enter Chris' head to apologize, and he only wondered stupidly why the drive had grown so gloomy. At their first meeting it had been so easy to laugh and exchange those lightning glances, but now Chris was drifting back into the feel- ing of the summer ; if Rosamund had come out of her shell at all, she was certainly safely back in it again. Christopher was perplexed ; in the old days she had always interested, but often annoyed him, during the last hour she had given him pain; for the first time in his life he lost his I %:u:\ i: M 1x6 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. self-confidence --he was actually afraid of his little Cherry Cheek. '' Rosamund," he said, after a full half hour of silence, "are you happy in Canada? Do you get lonesome sometimes for your old country ? " Had she been asked such a question six months before, her eyes would have filled with tears, but now her very sensitiveness had grown into a hard wall to shield her. " No, I ..m never lonely, it's a waste of energy." ** But, Rosamimd, you told me once you were horribly lonely." *' Yes," said Rosamund, quickly, **and>w^ answered that it would do me good ; that was kind, wasn't it? " "It was too bad, I'm very sorry, Rosamund, upon my word I am. Say ! You forgive me, don't you ? " "Of course, it didn't matter." This time the young lady banged the door of her shell, figuratively speaking, and left Christopher out- side; it's an uncomfortable position to be outside anyone's shell. The gray afternoon was wearing away and ■»>i SS THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 117 \l U it was growing bitterly cold and dreary ; they had taken to the fields and occasionally their cutter wouW almost overturn in the soft, un- even drifts ; the air was singularly still and no sound was heard, but the jingle of the bells and the sou ! sou ! of the horses' feet. Chris often looked at his companion and once he drew her towards him with one strong arm and the words, '* You'll be a little icicle, Rosie, if I don't keep you warm," but he didn't attempt to talk again. Rosamund fell into a delightful day dream ; the Canadian snow melted into a London fog, she was looking at its denseness from the windows of her home ; the gas lamps were like small blurred yellow stars, and through the dingy panes she could see the dark shapes of people and carriages, blindly passing backwards and forwards. Behind her was the glow of a grate fire and she was not alone in her day-dream (one never ft V;. is !) for she heard never-to-be-forgotten words at her ear, and she turned her eyes at last to the V*"^ shadowy face that shfe remembered so well. . " I can see the home lights!" cried Chris- topher, and never was a happy dream more in ■.« ; :! ;^i V '•"a ■ ii8 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. fi.; i! Ii3 Mi S happily turned into reality. Rosamund didn't speak for a minute and then she asked abruptly — " Chris, I wonder whether you have met some one named Turner at Mapleville ? " Chris was just driving- from a field into the high road and he answered, "What's that? A man named Turner? Why, yes — he and I travelled from New York together last week, do you know him ? " ''Yes, I know him." ** He's not half a bad sort of chap, though he didn't speak till we g^ot to Buffalo, kind of still-necked, you know. What's he doing here, Rosamund, what's he after ? " ** I really do not know what Mr. Turner is 'after,'" said Rosamund — her voice was supremely indifferent. *' He's an Englishman, you know, well built, handsome sort of boy, isn't he ? But as independent as a pig on ice ! " ** What do you mean ? " said Rosamund. *' Oh, you know, cool ; if I can't walk said the pig, I'll slide — that's your Englishman all over This comparison of her countryman seemed ■I I J THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. Ill) to amuse Rosamund, for some reason she laughed more gaily than Chris had thought it possible, her demure eyes fairly danced. " How happy you look, Rosie, laugh again!" " I am very happy, Chris, can't you see it? " " Because you are near Mapleville?" ''Yes." " I felt like that, Rosamund, when I got near to Little Drummond." Rosamund was not interested. ** Exactly like that," Chris continued, "for I just wanted to see you, and you looked so pretty in your little cap, just the prettiest little—" ** Home at last ! " cried Rosamund, actually clapping her hands as they drove down the first irregular street. Christopher mentally decided he had talked *Mike a silly fool" all the way, but somehow his disappointment was touched with a vague delight, the unsettled question he had asked himself, when he parted from this girl in the early fall, was being answered for him. He slowly turned to Rosamund ; had she seen the new light in his eyes she would have realized that Christopher was no longer merely ^.' U n 1 i'^ i IS^ • ill- ' T90 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. !.t l!t! tfi a "possibility; " but Rosamund's whole mind was absorbed in anxious expectation — even being in love was not unalloyed bliss. They jingled down the main street, around the market square, they passed Frank Spalding, in the neatest of cutters, with the young lady who was the future owner of his heart and drugs, and at last the Wesley's house was before them and Rosamund became conscious of Christopher. " I am so glad you fetched me, Chris," she said, ** how can I thank you ? " " Just by recollecting I'm alive," said Chris- topher, and he pulled his team up at the door of the house. Ten minutes after that he was driving away at full speed, and Rosamund was realizing how kind and cordial a Canadian welcome can be. Chris wanted to be alone ; he left the horses at the livery stable and walked to the Queen's Hotel. ** Can't I get any supper, Charlie?" he said to the clerk, as he took off his fur coat in the hall. "I guess," said the clerk, ** there's Mr. t ill f M THE ADVENT OP THE fiNGLlSHMAM. xat ''■ t Turner only just come in and he's getting* a lunch, so you can go in at once." Christopher walked into the dining room ; the Englishman was sitting by the stove, and Chris took a seat at the opposite end of his table. " Hello, Turner," said Chris. ** Oh, how are you ? " said the Englishman. He spoke very slowly, this Englishman, and the light from the one lamp fell on his face and showed its clearly cut, dark features ; his eyes , were as honest as Christopher's own, but their expression was soft and gentle ; he smiled very rarely, but when he did so he showed a perfect set of small, white teeth ; his mouth was some- what small, but his chin was square and deter- mined ; a cool, self-contained fellow, this Eng- lishman, difficult to know, and as unprejudiced and free from pride as it was possible for one of his conservative nation to be. There was silence for about ten minutes, while Christopher and Turner mutually *' wres- tled " with the heavy viands of the light lunch ; then the Canadian felt some of his natural viva- city returning to him. He asked Turner what he thought of Mapleville, the Englishman said % I I!' Ml fil » ' ; '.I > I \D i i^ i' ■*■ i''i: .1 In, ill ff I'T i -Im ' 122 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. he liked it very well — his voice was particularly, soft and winning". **Are you acquainted here at all?" asked Chris. " I happen to know some of your people," answered Turner, "at least I introduced myself to them this afternoon — the Wesleys, awfully nice people they are, too." Christopher then remembered that Rosa- mund had spoken to him of Turner during" the driv^e ; it reminded him of the upset, and of how he had lifted Rosamund into the cutter ; he smiled at the recollection, drumming" his fing"ers on the table and with his chair tilted back. Turner's hands were deep in his pockets and his head was bent low. '* I guess you're acquainted with Miss Rosa- mund Wesley anyway ? " asked Christopher. He spoke her name carelessly enough and Turner answered as carelessly. "Yes, I met her in London, you know." "You'll find her quite a little Canadian by this time." "Shall I?" the Englishman got up and turned towards the door, his manner implied an ending of the subject. If THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 123 1 i Christopher rose, he was annoyed, and angry with himself for showing it. " She's dead struck on Mapleville, too !" he said. The Englishman shrugged his shoulders but didn't answer. Christopher's eye ran over his figure ; yes, he had spoken the truth, Greville Turner was well worth powder and shot, though only of middle height he was broad shouldered, deep-chested, and well-developed. Chris didn't understand the impulse that made him fling these words after the other man : "Rosamund is in town now, I drove her over from Little Drummond this afternoon." Turner wheeled around and looked at him. "Is it possible?" he said, and then he greatly surprised Chris by clapping him on the back. "That was awfully kind of you, old man ;" his hand went back to his pocket and he walked out of the dining room without another word. Christopher went to his own room to "think it out," — an invariable habit of his to reach a decision from which he never wavered. "Rosamund! Rosamund!" he muttered, pacing up and down ; then he sat down in his old attitude, with clasped hands, thinking, t : li: li' ill,' , II t ff'l:' f. ll ''';'■ :!' t;.;^ H i,'^ :i 1 !) 194 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. thinking of Rosamund. The long Christmas days were before him and all the future was a brilliant dream. "I think," said Chris the "Colossal," draw- ing a long deep breath, " I think — I will go — and ask that English girl — to marry me." Greville Turner was rarely in a hurry, when he left the dining room he leisurely looked at his watch before putting on his overcoat and hat. *' I must really get some furs if I stay in this beastly country," he thought as he passed into the street. He turned up his collar and started at a good round pace. It soon became quicker and quicker. "What an impatient fool I am!" and he laughed at himself ; would the house never ap- pear? Oh, you running Englishman! Who shall say whether you will find her alone ? When he reached the Wesleys at last, he caught the sound of someone playing the piano indifferently well- -it was Rosamund, she was sitting in the parlour alone. When she heard Turner's sharp ring at the door she con- I i THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 125 tinued playing but she turned her head and listened. She heard her cousin's light step along the hall, the click of the lock and the mingling of voices. Rosamund's hands trembled so much that she could scarcely strike the notes. The parlour door was open but the position of the piano prevented her seeing into the hall ; she heard Turner say something in a low voice to her cousin, who laughed, answered in a whisper, and tripped away ; he was left standing in the hall alone. Rosamund's fingers dropped from the keys, she stood up with her hand resting on the top of the piano, her figure bending forward — from head to foot a vision of expectant joy. Turner came into the room quickly, for one second he did not see her— sweetest second, to be so near and in a flash of thought to realize the next ! "Rosie!" •'Greville!" " Did you think I should never come ? " ** Greville ! Greville ! " Turner put out his foot and kicked the door, it closed upon them and Rosamund laid her two • il jjl t j! f It p •M ta6 THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. ;' t' ;i|i i:? hands on his shoulders and looked into his face ; she dared not trust herself to speak her dee^ eyes were full of tears, her lips were par*:ed in a smile, a beautiful colour flushed her cheeks. Through the frosty air, with a quick and decided step, Christopher was rapidly nearing the house, he looked up at the bright clear stars, he felt all the beauty of the night and he longed to speak to Rosamund ; no one else in the world would understand him now — if Christopher could have heard her voice at that minute ! "I can't talk to you. I should say too much, Greville." ** Only say you expected me ! " "Yes, when I had your letter." " Rosie ! Not before then? I told you I would never take * no ' for an answer." Turner's square chin did not belie him ; if Rosamund at times did not dare, if Christopher on occasion did not dare, the Englishman dared and did. *' Dear ! " said Greville, ** Love ! Have you missed me? But you look so happy, love." ^''NoivT said Rosamund, and she clasped her hands around his neck and whispered ♦'Greville! Greville!" ■: ! i( THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 127 Turner dared again, he actually took off Rosamund's eyeglasses and tossed them on the table. "They are always in the way, dear love ! " said the Englishman. 4 When Christopher reached the house he opened the door and walked in without ringing ; how bright and warm it was after the cold night air, a cheery feeling of home came over him, and he heard Rosamund's voice, speaking eagerly, more decidedly than was her wont. **The whole crowd is in there, I suppose," he thought, and opened the parlour door ; at the same minute a hand was laid on his arm and Effie Wesley (kindest of cousins) told him to stop. Tableau ! Rosamund sprang from her chair with all her well-hidden love and delight in her face ; Christopher's eyes grew hard and won- dering and still. The Englishman was the only one of the party who was unembarrassed, he had one hand on Rosamund's wrist, and he still held it as Christopher stood at the door. Rosa- mund scarcely felt his light touch, but to Chris- i; lad THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. mM r feil topher it expressed all of Turner's right and power ; he turned and shut the door behind him. The cousin laughed, the Englishman smiled, but Rosamund stood, tracing a pattern on the floor with her foot ; she gave one little sigh before she said : " I almost wish, Greville, that we had not kept our secret quite so well — why did we, Greville ? " Christopher went into the dining-room and began to talk to the Wesleys about his life in New York. He listened to the coming of the Englishman patiently enough, but he was in one of his last summer moods and laughed and talked for an hour then he bade them good night and went away. ** Chris!" he turned at the gate and saw Rosamund in the doorway, the red glow from the hall stove falling on her figure, ** You'll wait a minute and walk down with Greville ? " "But I've always gone alone, Rosamund." "Yes, but having the Englishman makes a difference." "I can't wait," said Christopher, "Good- bye, Rosamund." Good night, Chris." (i THE ADVENT OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 129 "I said good-bye, Rosamund." "Well, g-ood-bye," she waved her hand gaily ; all her heart was gay with Greville near her. Christopher turned his face up to the dreary sky as he walked quickly along. A light wind whistled through the frosty boughs of the maples ; the streets were sombre and still, the cold bleak air chilled him to the bone, and he felt the loneliness of that winter night for many and'many a day. i I i! :i I? i ^'r'ii ,', \l I _' |4!l ; j ! I ■ t <( f W>h' ''' )i li; OUR GREAT AUNT'S EYE. Every family owns a joke. There are public jokes and private jokes, in the same way that there are public ghosts and private ghosts, but a joke has an advantage over a ghost in that it is easier to keep ; one can't exactly possess a ghost unless one has a fit habitation for it — a ruined castle or ancient tower for instance — but every household, how- ever small, can have two things all of its very own, a skeleton in a convenient cupboard and a traditional joke. I once heard of a man who spent his whole life in visiting at house after house, and trying to understand family jokes, but it was a dismal failure ; you have to be born into a joke, to laugh at it from your cradle, and you have to believe in it, too. Th .L is the trouble with the story of my great aunt's eye ; the younger branches of our family refuse to believe in it. They have not seen the old lady, they have not seen the eye, and they bring the absurd argument to bear i i:i I tl OUR GREAT AUNT'S EYE. 131 upon the rest of us that photography was only in its infancy at the eventful time of which I write ; in fact they use the vulgar expression that the whole story is all in our great aunt's eye, which is literally the exact truth. It must be about twenty years ago when our great aunt came to live with us. I shall never forget the afternoon of her arrival ; my brother Chumley was stationed at the sitting room window with his camera, all ready for an instantaneous photograph of the stepping of our rich relation out of a four-wheeler. Chumley was devoted to the art of photo- graphy ; he revelled in a damp wine cellar for a dark room ; he was steeped in chemicals, and the negatives that he spoilt monthly were proofs of his enthusiasm. Our great aunt was not prepossessing, and I think that Chumley's attempt at her likeness was extremely successful — he got in the cab, the back of the horse, and our respected rela- tive's boots, larger than life. She was a short old lady, with a remarkable head of hair, quite gray at the back, and with a fringe that could be lifted bodily from the scalp in front, a face that was a perfect map of il ii ;;fc 132 OUR GREAT AUNT S EYE. kfl ', r.' !i London in wrinkles, and ii fixed, shining, not- to-be-mistaken glass-eye. * In fact, as my father once touchingly ob- served of our great aunt, everything about her was false, except her heart, and that was in its right place. Did this prevent Chumley from taking her photograph ? No, he dodged (to use his own words), her little peculiarities and our rich relation took a great fancy to him ; he was a good-looking, obliging fellow, and he treated her with almost jocular affection ; he called her ** Auntie dear " to her face, and "Old Timbers" or "The Ancient Mariner " behind her back. "You see, Ned," said Chumley to me, "I have a grand idea slowly developing itself in my brain connected with our great aunt, so I mean to keep in with her at any cost." " If your grand idea depends on a camera, I haven't much faith in it," said I. " Wait and see," said Chumley. "If I fail it will be my own loss, and if I succeed it will mean the monetary making and social advance- ment of the whole family." Chumley became a man of one idea ; he devoted every Saturday afternoon and all his ! i OUR GREAT AUNT's EYE. •33 1 )i evenings to his invention ; he ignored the dark room and he neglected us all, except our great aunt, whom he courted and waited upon like a sixteenth century youth with Queen Elizabeth. He simply devoured the catalogues, amateur magazines and anything and everything con- nected with photography. At one time I had been his constant com- rade and helper and I asked no questions now, knowing well that Chumley was unable to keep a secret up to the last day ; as his invention neared perfection he would become more and more anxious to reveal it ; and so it turned out to be, but it was not I that he first confided in, it was our rich relation ; it was not my sym- pathetic abuse he sought, it was an old lady's flattery ; it was not my hand grip of congratu- lation he won, it was the beams of pleasure from our great aunt's glass-eye. **Hang Old Timbers!" exclaimed Chumley one evening, sitting alone with me, and with his great invention in a wooden box between his knees. "Hang Old Timbers ! My boy, she's taken it into her noddle to be offended." : i| Ji. > ' ' i' , 'I'l p, 'il! ;■ I i!i.f ,Li I":'; r ;j m! I ' t 'i i 1 li m »34 OUR GREAT AUNT's EVE. I was a little surprised, and I entreated my brother to tell me about it. "I appeal to you," said Chumley. "On your honour now, would anybody take our great aunt's glass-eye for a real one ? " Chum- ley called it '• a crockery optic." **No, Chummy," I returned, **it isn't weak like her other one, but it's glass, of course, you can see through it." "Very well, then, need she be in a raging passion because / saw through it ? Seventy years old and as conceited as a girl." " But what has this got to do with your invention. Chummy ? " " Everything, my boy, everything. Is it an awful affliction to have a glass-eye ? Can it be concealed ? " "A green patch," I hinted. " Don't be a fool," said Chumley. "Who likes to wear a green patch ? No, I have come to the conclusion that it cannot be concealed. Under any circumstances it cannot be orna- mental, so why not make it useful?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "How could that be done ? " " It has been done, for I have done it," said OUR GREAT AUNT'h EYE. «35 Chumley, and he proceeded to unpack the wooden box between his knees, taking from it first a great quantity of paper, then some cotton wool, then a small square leather bag, wrapped around with a piece of black velvet. I could not conceal my curiosity, and I watched him with the closest attention opening the leather bag. He produced from it, with the tenderest care, a tiny polished round wooden case, with several bright little screws about it, a lilliputian concertina as it were at one side, and a square of glass, about the size of a three-penny piece, on the other. A sudden idea flashed through my head. "Chumley," I exclaimed, " is it — " " Yes," said Chumley, holding his invention in the palm of his hand. ** It's the smallest camera in the world, Ned ; It'-- as perfect as the biggest, and it's meant to be used in the place of our great aunt's false eye." I stared at my brother with the surprise and admiration that such an announcement deserved. *'You see," he continued, "what a great scheme it is ; this little camera is perfectly painless to wear ; it can only be used for one m ■PPHMi 136 OUR GREAT AUNT S EYE. 1 . '") II negative at a time at present, but I hope to improve on it lat^r on ; and it could be taken out and slipped into the eye socket again by the smallest child." ** But how does it take the photograph ? " I asked. "That is easily explained. The prepa.^d plate is fixed behind the lens, and the per:jon wearing this camerascopic eye (good nam3, Ned, d'ye think ?) keeps the eyelid closed till the right minute, then opens it once quickly or slowly, according to the exposure needed, and the deed is done. Think of the benefit to all classes of society," continued Chumley, warm- ing with his subject. " An artist for instance has an accident, loses an eye, invests in one of our cameras, is able to continue his work, and take the sweetest little pictures in the world just by the turn of an eyelid. Respectable business man has an accident, loses an eye, buys a camerascopic substitute, enters the police force, and can't you see how invaluable he would be as a private detective ? " "But my dear Chummy, " said I, "all the accidents in the world do not result in people losing their eyes - our great aunt for example, ■B-mrm I ..« OUR ^REAT aunt's EYE. 137 the only person we know who could use your invention, doesn't seem to jump at it." Chumley never could endure opposition, and he almost broke the little invention because I dared to express a less enthusiastic opinion than his own. "You leave the old lady to me," he said, " and by Jove ! if I don't have my camerascopic eye in her antiquated head in less than a week, I'll throw up the sponge and smash my camera." Chumley had a violent temper, but he bottled it up and corked it down for the next few days. He fairly "truckled " to our visitor, and the evident displeasure of the old lady at his discovery of her unfortunate glass-eye, began to give way under the influence of his dutiful manners. Chumley, seeing success in the future, worked himself up into a perfect frenzy of excitement, and the arguments and persuasions that he brought to bear on our great aunt were edifying in the extreme. I used to hear them discussing the matter, and observed how sn-i?.rtly he overruled her many objections. *' My dear, I shall look so ridiculous," ij ( 138 OUR GREAT AUNT's EYE. she would say, *'with one eyelid perpetually closed." " Ridiculous ! " cried Chumley. "As if you could look ridiculous. Think of the delight to us both if it's a success, aunt." "What delight would it be to me, my dear?" "Popularity, aunt! "said Chumley. "Fame! Notoriety! Of course I shall patent the inven- tion, and by Jove, aunt, we'll have your portrait on every advertisement — "The advanced lady who first wore our camerascopic eye ! " Oi;r great aunt began to relent, and after another week of objections overcome, and ridicule suppressed, Chumley was conqueror of the field and had made terms with the enemy ; the old lady consented to try the diminutive camera once and Chumley arranged to take a grand family group, and test his perfected camerascopic eye. Thegreataf*^ernoon arrived, bright and sunny; Chumley pulled and pushed us all into position and then retired to bring forth the heroine of the hour. Our great aunt was visibly excited, and her one closed eyelid over the invention, which OUR GREAT AUNT's EYE. 139 m fitted admirably, gave her a jocular not to say rakish appearance. "What are you laughing at? " said Chum- ley, *' Pray, pray, sit still and don't spoil it all. Now, auntie dear, let me get you into focus. There! " placing her about six feet away frcm the grinning family group. • ' Don't be nervous. I shall only give them a short exposure ; raise the eyelid smartly when I say one, and close it when I say two ; now then, are you ready ? One ! Two ! " Chumley simply rushed at the old laiy a second after, and caught her in his arms. *• You darling old auntie ! " he exclaimed, '* I didn't dare look at you, I was too excited ; but you're a brick, and I'll never worry you agam. Ten minutes later, he and I were alone in the damp wine cellar, developing the smallest negative in the world. •' I hope it's good ! I hope it's good ! " said Chumley, holding the little pan of developer under the red lamp, with trembling hands, and shaking it gently backwards and forwards. "Even if it isn't, old boy," said I, "it's a wonderful invention." I40 OUR GREAT AUNT's EYE. ■ •:.'■■ r«'f' 11:1! ■:i "Oh ! hold your tongue a minute ; " said Chumley, ** I can see it coming, by Jove ! I can see it coming ! " He elbowed me aside, and I waited impatiently behind, expecting every second to hear a cry of triumph. What was my amazement when Chumley, suddenly changing his whole attitude of strained attention to one of furious vexation, dashed the whole contents of the little pan, and the negative . '^npon the ground, and stamped upon them. ''Chummy! " I cried, ''What in the world are you doing ? You've spoilt the whole inven- tion." " I don't care if I have ! " roared Chumley, " Oh ! I was so near success ; and our great aunt — our idiot of a great aunt, after all my v/ork and trouble, has winked twice and fogged the plate ! " I don't know how to make the younger generation believe my story, except by the evidence of two stubborn facts to prove its truth. Our great aunt wore her original glass-eye to the end of the chapter, and Chumley never invented another camera. M kKHH ■^ "SUCCESS OR FAILURE? SEVEN LETTERS. '.I I. To Mr. Edward Amory, Actor. My Dear Ted, I was sincerely pleased to receive your last and most interesting letter. I hasten to reply, and to congratulate you upon the success you have achieved in the melodrama you are now touring with ; but I wish, at the same time, that you personated some character of a more elevating nature than an illiterate Irishman. It would give me no pleasure to see you in yellow stockings, a green coat and breeches, a battered hat and red wig ! This, my dear Ted, is not high art, nor is it instructive, as the stage Irishman is as dis- similar from the real Irishman as I am from the majority of youthful authors. Can I say more? That reminds me. I have just finished writing a little play entitled '< The Passing of Arthur," founded on the old British legend of King Arthur and his Round Table, and it strikes me as the best thing I have yet attempted. r i! *»i-»- ~W | | | H i l ll » T hi 142 SUCCESS OR FAILURE. I ' n iii 11: 1 I li I have little hope that it will appeal to you, as the spirit that predominates is very deep, the characters are ideal, and many of the lines (it is in blank verse entirely, except the death- scenes that I couldn't manage) recall some of Shakespeare's happiest speeches. Don't think me conceited ; it really strikes me in that light, and, in short, I believe that it means a near success for me, and a high claim to distinction among the more intense playwrights of the day — an old and great ambition. I am sending you the MS., and I hope you will read it carefully and give me your opinion as to the most likely theatrical manager to appreciate it. I give no hint as to the idea and drift of my play, as I want your candid opinion. Having only seen a few of my early poems, I am confident that it will be a revelation to you. Kindest remembrances to Miss Toller, of your company. You might show her **The Passing of Arthur." I am sure it will surprise her, coming from me. Ever, my dear Ted, Very ..'ncerely yours, Philip Crumbly Baker. Wil 1!i, 1 1; N i SUCCESS OR FAILURE. »43 II. To P. C. Baker, Esq., Author. Dear Baker, Yours of the 12th to hand. Go ahead, and all g-ood luck to you ! I got the MS., and I must say it t's a revela- tion to me. It knocked me over, my boy ! I didn't think you were up to it. Wny, it's great, and the character of King Arthur fits yours truly like a scalp wig ! This part of the Irishman I am playing now is awfully poor beside it, for, if Kitig Arthur is well hit off, I'll be hanged if there isn't a big laugh in every line. Lily Toller has got it now, and I showed her your letter, just to let her see what a first- rate joker you are. She was surprised. She says you never struck her as being clever ; but you mustn't mind that. Girls of her sort only judge by appearances. We're playing to splendid business every- where, and there's some talk of giving a benefit to our manager in a week or two. We all think him a thickheaded dummy ; but he hasn't gone off with the cash, so we feel grateful, and a benefit is likely to keep him square for the run of the piece. mm*» I. w 144 SUCCESS OR FAILURE. Now, we're not a swagger company, as you may imagine ; but, if you lils! " *' Rather an intricate gait to follow," said Foster, *'a kind of five-barred gate! Now, my * Campus ' — " "Always looks to me," I interrupted, "as if the buggy were shoving him along, instead of him pulling the buggy. But my * Cockney ' — " "A splendid animal for a walking race," said Duncan, " but mighty poor at a trot ! " And the discussion ended in a unanimously expressed desire to back our horses against each other on a fair field. Foster knew the ■»- ■HM II 15a GO. :1 :i •:i I owner of a half-mile track, and we arranged to keep the affair a secret, get the use of thd track some afternoon, and make up a purse between us. But what of th>: preparations ? Foster shut himself up in his own room with a small electric battery, Duncan was engrossed in the making of some mysterious machine which he refused to show us, and I borrowed a sulky and con- tentedly jogged around the track behind my promising colt. August opened in a burst of glorious sun- shine. I shall never forget the day of our race ; the brilliance of the cloudless sky, the heated breeze, and the glare of the whitewashed fenc- ing. I arrived the first and languidly trotted round ; Duncan is the next, with the owner of the track, a boy, and the "Rattler" — hitched to the oldest vehicle (I should imagine) in Canada. *' He looks in good shape, doesn't he. Lancing ? " said Duncan, pointing to the animal. ** Capital, old man ; but what's the matter with his feet ? " New kind o' shoes, I guess," put in the {( \l GO. 153 boy, for the horse had a fairly large, square box attached to each foot. "They look like Saratoga trunks," I re- marked. '* Who's to drive him, Duncan ? " **This young gentleman is my jockey ; you know how to win a race, don't you, sonny ? " ''You bet — "began the boy, when Foster, in a smart yellow sulkey, came plunging down upon us at full gallop. '' Am I late ? " said he, checking his frame- work's mad career, and jumping down. " Not a bit. Are you going to drive your- self? " " No, dear boy. Alec Meloy has promised me — here he comes." Meloy was a professional driver ; a tall, tacitura Canuck, with sleepy eyes, high cheek- bones, and a skin tanned to a dark mahogany color. He got slowly from h uiggy, and tied his horse to the fence. "Wal," he remarked, looking at "Rattler," "that's the kind o' horse to run his head agin a brick wall and not mind it ! " He then paid me the compliment of saying that *' Cockney " was a dandy, and fit to hang on your watch chain. \v 154 GO. ^1 k s fr i *' VVe all agree to the terms of the bet, don't we?" said Foster. "T*^e purse is thirty dollars,- and the first horse to i-ass the line takes th? whole." *'Two out o' three half-mile heats, I suppose, genl'men ? " said Meloy. "No, a single mile race!" we replied. Meloy and I jumped into our seats, and the owner of the track took his position in the judge's stand. I was surprised to see that Foster and Duncan followed their drivers to the place where we turned for the start, and even more so when Duncan, stooping down, removed the square boxes from his horse's feet. I then perceived that the "Rattler" had the most peculiar shoes on, round in shape, and with a hole on one side of each exactly like the keyhole of a large clock. "This is a beautiful animal, boys," said Duncan, " but his limbs can't keep up with his spirit, and so I mean to help him. These shoes are fitted up with a cute clock-work inside ; here's the key, and when you're ready I'll wind him up and let 'er flicker full fling." "Ginger! I thought /was scarcely acting on the square when I brought this, but it's :i 1 ii GO. 155 nothing to your shoes," and Foster forthvich took his electric battery out of Meloy's b>'ggy. *' I intend," he continued, " to give my ' Cain- pus ' a slight electric shock. Lancing, with his superior horse, can't object to being handi- capped." "Are you ready, there?" shouted the starter. "Altogether, please ; are you ready?" Duncan bent down, key in hand, to wind up the " Rattler," I was next him, and "Campus" stood third. " Are you ready — go ! " The shock from Foster, a cloud of dust, a whirr of machinery from the clock-work shoes, violent ringing of the judge's bell, and I was dashing over the ground at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The whitewashed palings seem to be flying past ; we swing round the further curve, and "Cockney" breaks into a run as the judge's stand springs up before me. I pull him in, and we are on again. " Campus " and Meloy keep on passing me at a furious gallop ; I begin to count — six, seven times have they been around to my once. Ah ! there goes Duncan's " Rattler." By Jove, 156 GO. i what a pace. Is he stopping ? Yes — no — yes ; he's stopping-, stopping, stopped ! Before I can wonder why, we are passed once again by the galloping ** Campus," and now we are on the home stretch, and I urge ''Cockney" to mend the pace. The judge's stand is before us ; I see the wire above, but just as I wave my whip with a shout of triumph "Cockney" starts wildly, and plunges away from something on the ground that is flying along directly in front — is it possible ? Trot- ting still — without the " Rattler," all by them- selves, and just ahead of me under the wire, are Duncan's clockwork shoes ! We were half an hour catching those shoes; then we collected the yellow sulky and what was left of Meloy from all parts of the track. And now the question is — who won the race? Was it "Campus," who had galloped eight times around the track? Was it " Cock- ney," who had trotted twice? Or was it the mechanical clock-work shoes of the fiery "Rattler?" i wr aa ■wi'S