He IS a beauty, isn't he! Now I am ready to go home."That journey home was a strange experience to me.She rode Don and bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle.Iwalked alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the otherwise empty bait pail.The sunshine, streaming through the leaves of the arching boughs overhead, dappled the narrow, overgrown paths with shifting blotches of light and shadow.Around us was the deep, living green of the woods, the songs of birds, the chatter of red squirrels, and the scent of wild honeysuckle.And as we moved onward we talked--that is, she did most of the talking and I listened.Yet I must have talked more than I knew, because Iremember expressing opinions concerning books and operas and pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except occasionally with Mother, and then only because she was still interested in them.
I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man, under the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to hate so cordially.Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it was, the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated me.During that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that I was Ros Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the only child of the city millionaire, that we had, or could have, nothing in common.She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted together as unconsciously and easily as if we had known each other all our lives.
Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether without a purpose.She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, of how they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep sea skippers.George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him highly, telling of his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we rated success locally.
"He manages that bank well," I declared."Everyone says so.And, from what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true.""How do you know?" she asked.
"Because I have had some experience in banking myself.I--"I stopped short.My tongue was running away with me.She did not ask the question which I dreaded and expected.Instead she said, looking down at me:
"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr.Paine.""I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling.
"Are you as loyal to yourself?"
I looked up at her in surprise.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I have been trying to understand you, Mr.Paine.Trying to get the answer to the puzzle.In one way I think I have it.Iunderstand your attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why you came to Denboro and are staying here."I stopped short."You--you know THAT?" I cried.
"I think I do.You believe that your mother needs you and you will not leave her.That is your reason for living here, I think.But, in another way, I cannot understand you at all."She spoke to the horse and we moved on again.I waited for her to continue, but she was silent.
"How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot understand me?" I asked.
"Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?""Yes."
"I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young, educated, and with life before him, can be content to do as you do, spend your time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting.To have no ambition at all.My father was a poor country boy, like your friend, Mr.Taylor, but he worked night and day until he became what he is now.And even now he works, and works hard.Oh, I am proud of him! Not because he is what he is, but because he has done it all himself.If I were a man I would have some purpose in life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only to sell fish from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what is it?--Oh, yes! Theophilus Newcomb."
I did not answer.She had said all that was necessary, and more.
It was quite enough for me.
"There!" she observed, after a moment."You asked me to tell you and I did.If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what I deserve.But I thought it and so I said it.Expressing my thoughts is one of my bad habits....Oh, why, we are almost home, aren't we!"We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's pasture.The grove was on the west side of a little hill.Before us the pasture sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the road beyond it.And beyond that, in the distance, were the steeples and roofs of Denboro.Among them the gables and tower of the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous and costly.
She turned in the saddle."I presume I may leave you now, Mr.
Paine," she said."Even you must admit that the rest of the way is plain sailing.Thank you for your hospitality and for your services as guide.I will send the basket and net over by one of the servants.""I will take them now," I said, shortly.
"Very well, if you prefer.Here they are."I took them from her.
"Good afternoon," she said."And thanks once more for a very pleasant picnic.""You are quite welcome, I'm sure.Thank you for your frank opinion of my--worthlessness.It was kind of you to express it."The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
"I meant it as a kindness," she replied.
