Читать книгу The Last of the Foresters - John Esten Cooke - Страница 32

It was a beautiful garden which Verty and Redbud entered, hand in hand;—one of those old pleasure-grounds which, with their grass and flowers, and long-armed trees, laden with fruit or blossoms, afford such a grateful retreat to the weary or the sorrowful. The breath of the world comes not into such places—all its jar and tumult and turmoil, faint, die and disappear upon the flower-enameled threshold; and the cool breath of the bright heavens fans no longer wrinkled foreheads and compressed lips. All care passes from us in these fairy-land retreats; and if we can be happy any where, it is there.

We said that Verty and Redbud entered, hand in hand, and this may serve to show that the young pupil of Miss Lavinia had not profited much by the lessons of her mentor.

In truth, Redbud began to return to her childhood, which she had promised herself to forget; and, as a result of this change of feeling, she became again the friend and playfellow of her childhood's friend, and lost sight, completely, of the "young lady" theory. True, she did not run on, as the phrase is, with Verty, as in the old days—her manner had far more softness in it—she was more quiet and reserved; but still, those constrained, restless looks were gone, and when Verty laughed, the winning smile came to the little face; and the small hand which he had taken was suffered to rest quietly in his own.

They strolled under the trees, and Verty picked up some of the long yellow-rinded apples, which, lay upon the ground under the trees, and offered them to Redbud.

"I didn't want the apples," he said, smiling, "I wanted to see you, Redbud, for I've not felt right since you went away. Oh, it's been so long—so long!"

"Only a few days," said Redbud, returning the smile.

"But you know a few days is a very long time, when you want to see anybody very much."

Redbud returned his frank smile, and said, with a delicious little prim expression:

"Did you want to see me very much, Verty?"

"Yes, indeed; I didn't know how much I liked you," said the boy, with his ingenuous laugh; "the woods didn't look right, and I was always thinking about you."

Redbud colored slightly, but this soon disappeared, and she laughed in that low, joyous, musical tone, which characterized her.

"There it is!" said Verty, going through the same ceremony; "that's one thing I missed."

"What?"

"Your laughing!"

"Indeed!" Redbud said.

"Yes, indeed. I declare, on my word, that I would rather hear you laugh, than listen to the finest mocking-bird in the world."

"You are very gallant!" said Miss Redbud.

"Anan?" said Verty.

"I mean you are very friendly to me, Verty," said Redbud, with a bright look at his frank face.

"Why, what have I done? I hav'nt done anything for you, for ages. Let me see—can't I do something now? Oh yes, there are some flowers, and I can make a nice wreath!"

And Verty ran and gathered an armful of primroses, marigolds, and golden rods; some late roses, too, and so returned to Redbud.

"Now come to the arbor here—it's just like the Apple Orchard one—come, and I'll make you a crown."

"Oh! I don't deserve it," laughed the young girl.

Verty smiled.

"Yes, you do," he said, "for you are my queen."

And he went and sat down upon the trellised bench, and began weaving a wreath of the delicate yellow autumn primroses and other flowers.

Redbud sat down and watched him.

Placed thus, they presented a singular contrast, and, together, formed a picture, not wanting in a wild interest—Verty, clothed in his forest costume of fur and beads, his long, profusely-curling hair hanging upon his shoulders, and his swarthy cheeks, round, and reddened with health, presented rather the appearance of an Indian than an Anglo-Saxon—a handsome wild animal rather than a pleasant young man. Redbud's face and dress were in perfect contrast with all this—she was fair, with that delicate rose-color, which resembles the tender flush of sunset, in her cheeks; her hair was brushed back from her forehead, and secured behind with a large bow of scarlet ribbon; her dress was of rich silk, with hanging sleeves; a profusion of yellow lace, and a dozen rosettes affixed to the dress, in front, set off the costume admirably, and gave to the young girl that pretty attractive toute ensemble which corresponded with her real character.

As she followed Verty's movements, the frank little face wore a very pleasant smile, and at times she would pick up and hand to him a leaf or a bud, which attention he rewarded with a smile in return.

At last the wreath was finished, and, rising up, Verty placed it on

Redbud's forehead.

"How nicely it fits," he said; "who would have imagined that my awkward fingers could have done it?"

Redbud sat down with a slight color in her cheek.

"I am very much obliged to you, Verty," she said; "it was very good in you to make this for me—though I don't deserve it."

"Indeed you do—you are my queen: and here is the right place for me."

So saying, Verty smiled, and lay down at the feet of Redbud, leaning on the trellised bench, and looking up into that young lady's eyes.

"You look so pretty!" he said, after a silence of some moments, "so nice and pretty, Redbud!"

"Do I?" said Redbud, smiling and blushing.

"And so good."

"Oh, no—I am not!"

"Not good?"

"Far from it, Verty."

"Hum!" said Verty, "I should like to know how! I might be better if you were at Apple Orchard again."

"Better?"

"Yes, yes—why can't you live at Apple Orchard, where we were so happy?"

Redbud smiled.

"You know I am growing up now," she said.

"Growing up?"

"Yes; and I must learn my lessons—those lessons which cousin Lavinia can't teach me!"

"What lessons are they?"

"Music, and dancing, and singing, and all."

Verty reflected.

"Are they better than the Bible?" he said, at length.

Redbud looked shocked, and replied to the young savage:

"Oh no, no!—I hardly think they are important at all; but I suppose every young lady learns them. It is necessary," added the little maiden, primly.

"Ah, indeed? well, I suppose it is," Verty replied, thoughtfully; "a real lady could'nt get along without knowing the minuet, and all that. But I'm mighty sorry you had to go. I've lost my teacher by your going."

Redbud returned his frank look, and said:

"I'm very sorry, Verty; but never mind—you read your Bible, don't you?"

"Yes," Verty replied, "I promised you; and I read all about Joseph, and Nimrod, who was a hunter, and other people."

"Don't you ever read in the New Testament?" Redbud said. "I wish you would read in that, too, Verty."

And Redbud, with all the laughter gone away from her countenance, regarded Verty with her tender, earnest eyes, full of kindness and sincerity.

"I do," Verty replied, "and I like it better. But I'm very bad. I don't think I'm so good when you are away, Redbud. I don't do what you tell me. The fact is, I believe I'm a wild Indian; but I'll grow better as I grow older."

"I know you will," said the kind eyes, plainly, and Verty smiled.

"I'm coming to see you very often here," he said, smiling, "and I'm going to do my work down at the office—that old lady will let me come to see you, I know."

Redbud looked dubious.

"I don't know whether cousin Lavinia would think it was right," she said.

And her head drooped, the long dusky lashes covering her eyes and reposing on her cheek. It was hard for Redbud thus to forbid her boy-playmate, but she felt that she ought to do so.

"Think it right!" cried Verty, rising half up, and resting on his hand, "why, what's the harm?"

"I don't know," Redbud said, blushing, "but I think you had better ask cousin Lavinia."

Her head sank again.

Verty remained silent for some moments, then said:

"Well, I will! I'll go this very day, on my way home."

"That's right, Verty," replied the young girl, smiling hopefully, "and I think you will get cousin Lavinia to let you come. You know that I want you to."

Verty smiled, then looking at his companion, said:

"What made you so cold to me when I came at first? I thought you had forgotten me."

Redbud, conscious of her feelings, blushed and hesitated. Just as she was about to stammer out some disconnected words, however, voices were heard behind the shrubbery, which separated the arbor from a neighboring walk, and this created a diversion.

Verty and Redbud could not help overhearing this conversation.