Читать книгу Miss Dexie - Stanford Eveleth - Страница 11

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It was quite late when the young people opened their eyes next morning, and the unfamiliar surroundings made Dexie lift her head with a start; but the sparkle that came from the glowing wood fire in the old-fashioned grate spoke of friendly cheer, and she turned a bright face to her companion as she asked after her welfare.

"My head aches a little, and I feel stiff and sore, but I suppose you feel the same," was the languid reply.

"Not I. I never felt better in my life. I would like to get up and see what the world looks like around here."

Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Taylor stepped into the room.

"So my snow-birds are awake at last; and how do they feel this cold morning?" was the cheery question.

"I am quite well, thank you; but Elsie feels rather tired, I fear," Dexie replied. "May we get up, please?"

"Well, I'll not punish you by making you stay in bed," was the smiling reply, "but I think your sister would be the better of another hour's rest," then adding a few sticks to the blazing logs, she left the room.

Dexie was soon dressing before the fire, her lively tongue keeping up a pleasant chattering as she glanced occasionally through the frosty window-panes to the white world outside, and Elsie soon roused from her lethargy and showed some inclination to bestir herself also.

When Mrs. Taylor returned, bearing a dainty breakfast, she found them standing before the fire, their arms around each other's shoulders, and she thought them very loving sisters, though their looks betrayed no such relationship.

They were indeed a contrast as they stood together before the fire. Dexie was all aglow, her cheeks dimpled and rosy, her merry brown eyes full of life and her pretty hair falling in rings about her forehead, making her look much younger than she really was; while poor Elsie's face looked all the paler against the background of dark hair that grew low on her brow, and hung in two long braids down her back. Her grey eyes looked dull and heavy, and she lacked the sparkle that made Dexie so attractive.

"Come now, and have your breakfast," and Mrs. Taylor drew the little table nearer the fire. "I am going to let you enjoy it alone, but when you are ready step into the room across the hall. Your brother is anxious to see how you look after your adventure."

Dexie was just going to explain that she was no relation to Elsie, when the conversation of the night before came into her mind, and while she hesitated Mrs. Taylor left the room. As the door opened they could hear Lancy's voice as he conversed with the family, and for the first time it brought a flush to Dexie's face. She shrank from the thought of meeting him, but this diffidence was owing more to Elsie's remarks than to any change in her own feelings.

"Come," said Elsie, at last, "we don't want to sit here all day. Let us go and find Lancy."

She stepped at once to his side as they entered the room, and gave him a sisterly embrace, making Dexie's quiet "good morning" seem a cool greeting in comparison; there seemed a strange restraint between them that neither had felt before, which forbade any show of feeling on either side. This was noticed at once by Mrs. Taylor, who was brightening up the fire, and she said:

"Seems to me you haven't such a warm welcome for your brother as your sister gives him, yet he has been inquiring very particularly after you."

"He is not my brother, Mrs. Taylor. I do not know how the mistake has been made, but we are no relation whatever."

"Not your brother! Then who are you, my dear?" smiling at Dexie's blushing face.

"Lancy, introduce me properly," and Dexie rose to her feet.

Catching the spirit of mischief that shone in her eyes, he stepped quickly to her side, and with a flourish made the introduction.

"Allow me to make you acquainted with our next-door neighbor, Miss Dexie Sherwood."

Dexie bowed graciously to the several occupants of the room, who rose to their feet, and all embarrassment fled at once.

"Next-door neighbors those two may be," was the whispered comment of the young girls who were stepping back and forth as they prepared the mid-day meal, "but there is every sign of a closer relationship in the future, if their looks do not belie them."

But the only sentiment in Dexie's heart was gratitude and love to a Higher Power. As she turned the leaves of a music-book she had picked up from the table she passed the book to Lancy, saying in a low tone:

"If I were home, I would like to sit down to the piano and play that."

Lancy glanced at the page, and his eyes told her that he understood, for the words of the anthem to which Dexie referred began, "Out of the depths cried I, and thou, O Lord, hast heard."

"Does the owner of these books play?" and Lancy turned to address Mrs. Taylor, a sudden thought like an inspiration coming to his mind.

"Only a little. Our Susan is wild over music; but our little old piano is all she has to practise on, and during the winter she can only go into Halifax once a week for a lesson. Susan, show them into the sitting-room, and perhaps Miss Sherwood will play something for us."

As Dexie entered the room she took in at a glance the many pretty and tasteful things which adorned the walls and brackets, and she wondered if Susan's fingers had accomplished such marvels in autumn leaves and other little adornments.

The fireplace was a thing of beauty, with its polished andirons, and the ruddy tongues of flame that leaped forth from the heaped-up wood made a cheerful picture.

Several big cushioned chairs were drawn near the hearth and a basket of knitting work was "handy" on a table, while in the old-fashioned rocker the family cat peacefully reposed.

Lancy had no eyes for anything but the piano, and as Susan opened it she smilingly exclaimed:

"Confess, now, that you think there is little music to be got out of this ancient-looking thing."

"Well, it is an odd make, certainly, but some of these old pianos have a fine tone. Sit down and play something for us, Miss Taylor," and he drew the music-stool in place.

"Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!" she replied, smiling. "My playing is not of an entertaining kind as yet, for even mother flies to the kitchen when I try a new piece, but you will find me a good listener."

Was that the same old piano? thought Susan, as she stood by the instrument watching Lancy's fingers passing over the keys. Why, it seemed to be a thing of life; and she moved away almost in awe at the sounds that came forth from the hitherto despised keys.

Presently Dexie began to sing, low and softly at first, then her expressive voice swelled forth, thrilling the listeners that gathered at the door. Susan slipped away, her eyes full of tears.

"Oh! if I could only play and sing like that I would wish for nothing more," said she to her sister. "That anthem means more than the mere words and music."

"Yes, it sounds like family prayers," replied her sister. "I declare I don't know what I am crying for. I wonder if it would be a sin to mash these potatoes while that singing is going on; they will be getting cold, I'm afraid."

But the closing words rang out joyously, "But Thou hast been merciful and heard us; therefore Thy name will we praise all the day long."

Not until she had finished did Dexie realize that she had so many listeners, but she turned a bright face to the group at the door.

"I did not know we had such an audience."

"Don't stop, friends," said Mr. Taylor, coming into the room. "Such music is quite a treat. I guess, Susan, there is more in that piano than you ever dreamed of. Let us hear something else."

Lancy rose from the music-stool, saying to Dexie:

"Play 'The Mocking Bird,' and I'll sing to your whistle."

A moment later Dexie's supple fingers were dancing over the keys in a delightful prelude. Then Lancy's voice filled the room as he sang the well-known song, accompanied by the exquisite notes of the southern mocking bird, and the continuous warble that poured from Dexie's throat during the chorus made her listeners start as if a veritable bird were concealed in the room.

"Well, that spoils the old proverb from this time forth," said Mr. Taylor, as he leaned back against the wall and thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his vest. "Whistling girls and crowing hens will hereafter have a chance to be heard. Old saws ain't always true, eh, Miss Sherwood?"

"Well, I never heard a hen crow yet, Mr. Taylor," and Dexie laughed softly, "and I do not know what is their usual fate, but the proverb does not alarm me in the least."

"Do whistle another piece, Miss Sherwood," said Susan. "It will give us great pleasure to hear you."

Lancy turned over the leaves of a book, then placed it on the piano, saying:

"Try that, Dexie, and I'll whistle with you."

It would be hard to express the pleasure that this exquisite bird-song gave to those who listened. All the songsters in the woods seemed let loose in the room, now singing together in full chorus, then singly or in pairs they twittered and trilled as Dexie's soft whistle followed or joined Lancy's stronger notes, while such bird-like notes came from the keys before her as might have deceived the very birds themselves.

"Nothing will surprise me after this," cried Susan, when the song had ended. "I heard my music-teacher play that once, and I thought it the tamest thing I had ever heard; of course he did not try to whistle it too, but the music itself sounded quite different."

"Perhaps your music-teacher never took the trouble to listen to the birds themselves; that makes a difference, you know," said Dexie.

Just then Mrs. Taylor came into the room, saying:

"I think you must come to dinner, but you must give us some more music afterwards. Really, Susan, that old piano is not such a poor affair, after all; is it, now?"