"My dear sir!--of Barbarism!"
"Civilization has never entirely got rid of barbarism, I believe," said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth; then out, "By what road are you going, Rollo?"
"I should be happy to act as guide, sir. I leave the direct route."
"Mr. Falkirk," said Wych Hazel, "just put your head a little this way, and see the veil of mist thrown over the top of that hill."
Mr. Falkirk looked hastily, and resumed: "You have lately returned, I hear, from your long foreign stay?"
"It was time."
"Mr. Falkirk," said his ward, "do you consider _that_ a remnant of the dark ages?"
"It keeps its place too gracefully for that," said her guardian dropping his voice, as he looked across Wych Hazel out of the coach window.
"Mr. Falkirk" (sotto voce), "you are charming!--Between ourselves, this is a hard place to keep gracefully. Please take out your watch, sir."
Which Mr. Falkirk did, and silently showed it. Forth to meet his came a little gold hunting watch from behind the brown veil.
"You are a minute slow, sir--as usual." Then very softly,--"Mr.
Falkirk, what with being pressed and repressed, I am dying by quarter inches! Just introduce me for your grandmother, will you, and I will matronize the party."
A request Mr. Falkirk complied with by entering forthwith into a long business discussion with another occupant of the stage coach, also known to him; in which stocks, commercial regulations, political enterprises, and the relative bearings of the same, precluded all reference to anything else whatever. n.o.body"s grandmother could have had less (visible) attention than Miss Hazel, up to the time when the coach rolled up to the door of a wayside inn, and the party got out to a luncheon or early dinner, as some of them would have called it. Then indeed she had enough. Mr. Falkirk handed her out and handed her in; straight to the gay carpeted "Ladies"
room;" shut the door carefully, and asked her what she would have. No other lady was there to dispute possession.
"Only a broiled chicken, sir--and a souffle--and potatoes a la creme au gratin," said Miss Hazel, throwing off her bonnet and curling herself down on the arm of the sofa. "Mr. Falkirk, all my previous acquaintance with cushions was superficial!--And could you just open the window, sir, and throw back the blinds? last November is in this room, apples and all."
Mr. Falkirk obeyed directions, remarking that people who travel in search of their fortune must expect to meet with November in unexpected places; and then went off into the general eating-room, and by and by, from there or some other insalubrious region came a servant, with half of an imperfectly broiled fowl and muddy dish of coffee, flanked by a watery pickled cuc.u.mbers. Mr. Falkirk himself presently returned.
"How does it go?" he said.
"What, Mr. Falkirk?" the young lady was curled down in one corner of the sofa, much like a kitten; a small specimen of which animal purred complacently on her shoulder.
"Could you eat, Miss Hazel?"
"Truly, sir, I could. Mr. Falkirk--what a lovely kitten! Do you remark her length of tail?"
Mr. Falkirk thought he had heard of "puss in boots" before, but never had the full realization thereof till now.
"You have tasted nothing," he said. "What shall I get you? We shall be off in a few minutes, and you will not have another chance till we reach Hadyn"s Dam."
"Thank you, sir. A few minutes of undisturbed repose--with the removal of those cuc.u.mbers--and the restoration of that chicken to its other and I hope better half, is all that I require."
"You will have rest at Hadyn"s Dam," said Mr. Falkirk with a face more expressive than his words.--"The bridge there is broken."
"Queer place to rest, sir! Mr. Falkirk--there is Mr. Kingsland wondering why you keep me here."
"He"s eating his dinner."
"Is he? I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza," said Wych Hazel, closing her eyes. "He says he don"t wonder you are kept."
"What shall I get you, Wych? You cannot go from here to the next stopping place without anything," Mr. Falkirk said kindly.
"If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this kitten"--
Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back with a gla.s.s of milk and a plate of doubtful "chunks" of cake.
The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered the various travellers, one by one. "Mr. Falkirk," said Mr.
Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if his charge might be there, too, "you are not surely--agoing on alone?"
Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-ap.r.o.ned youngsters stood watching every motion as she swallowed the gla.s.s of milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych Hazel set down her empty tumbler.
"My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about you!"
"What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?"
"Take it along, sir."
"On your lap, I suppose!"
"Mr. Falkirk, the accuracy of your judgment is unparalleled.
Is that our coach at the door?"
"My dear, you will find plenty of cats at Chickaree," said her guardian, looking annoyed.
"Yes, sir--" said the young lady meekly, dropping her veil and fitting on her gloves.
"All right, sir," said the landlord appearing at the door.
"Roughish road, Mr. Falkirk--and t"other gents not enough patience to divide among "em and go half round--"
How much patience Mr. Falkirk carried to the general stock does not appear. But presently, lifting one corner of her basket lid, Wych Hazel drew forth a radiant spray of roses, and laid them penitently upon the averted line of her guardian"s coatsleeve.
"Where did you get that?" he said. "You had better put it in the basket, my dear; it will stand a better chance to keep fresh."
"Do you prefer pinks, sir?--or here are bachelor"s b.u.t.tons--"
"They seem rather common things to me," said Mr. Falkirk slowly, yet with a somewhat pacified brow. There was no kitten in the basket!
"I hadn"t the heart to bring puss, as we are going to Catskill," whispered Miss Hazel.
"We!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Falkirk.
"Nominative case, first person plural, sir."
"And what"s the definition of an adverb?"
"Something which qualifies your suffering--_n"est-ce pas_, Mr.
Falkirk?"