XVI
LOVE'S TOUCHSTONE
Ruth, meantime, was still waiting and watching the forest path, andwondering why he did not come back. He nearly always passed Cedar Housemore than once during the day, but he did not return now, although shewaited and watched from early morning till the sun went down. She wastired of hearing the old ladies wrangling over the hearth, and goingoutside the door she had played with the swan, and had grown tired ofthat. Looking listlessly about for something else to do, she caughtsight of David sitting alone under the willows on the river bank. Hethought himself safely hidden for the reading of his book, but thefoliage was thinner now on the slender golden wands; some of them werequite bare, and hung like long silken fringes of shining yellow. Thefirst frost had touched them on the night before; the soft breeze wasfreighted with drifting leaves, and there was a fresh sparkle in thecrystalline air.
She had put on a long coat of dove-colored cloth--one of the finegarments that Philip Alston was always finding for her--on account ofthe cool weather, and she was wearing her gypsy bonnet tied down withits three-cornered handkerchief of white lace, so that she was all readyfor going further from the house. In another moment she was skimmingdown the river bank toward the boy. He saw her coming; but she moved solike a darting swallow that he barely had time to hide his book underthe mossy log on which he was sitting before she fluttered into a seatbeside him, nestling against his arm.
"There now!" she sighed, smoothing down her skirts. "Now we can have anice long talk about love."
The boy moved with the uneasiness that every boy feels at any abstractapproach to the great topic. The girl went straight on, with all theserenity of the least experienced of her sex. Her big blue eyes weregravely fixed on his reddened face. Her own was quite calm, and veryserious indeed. Her soft lips were set as firmly as one rose leaf may befolded against another. The tips of her little fingers met in wisdom'sgesture.
"Listen, David, dear. Listen well, and think hard. I have been thinkinga great deal about love lately. It is right, you know, that all youngpeople should. I will tell you everything that I have thought, and thenyou must tell me what you think. For there are some things that I can'tfind out by myself, though I have tried and tried. And boys ought toknow more than girls about love. But I don't believe they do!"
The blue eyes gazed at him rather severely from under the gypsy hat. Itwas the woman arraigning the man with the eternal challenge. The boylooked down at the ground, and tried not to feel guilty, as thechallenged always do. Ruth saw how it was, and relented, as the womanalways does. She ran her arm through David's, and gave it anaffectionate teasing little squeeze.
"You can't help not knowing anything, can you, poor dear?" she said,with sweet laughter. "Well, then, never mind. We will try to find outtogether. There are only three things that I really must know--that Ican't possibly do without knowing."
The smile faded. She sat silently gazing across the wide, quiet river.
"Only three really very, very important things," she presently went on."The first is this: How may a girl tell what people call 'true love'from every other kind of love? You see, dear, there are so many kinds oflove, and they are all true, too. When a girl like me has loved everyone ever since she could remember--because every one has always been sogood and loving to her that she couldn't help it--she knows, of course,when another kind of love comes; but she doesn't know whether it istruer than all the rest. How can she tell? That is one of the things Iwant to find out--the first of the three really important things that Imost wish to know," checking it off on her small forefinger.
Resting her elbow on her knee, and her chin in the palm of her hand, shefell suddenly silent again, and sat gazing across the river. Her blueeyes seemed to be wistfully seeking the secret of love among the rosymists which the sunset had left beneath the shadowy trees. She did notobserve that the boy made no reply. Her lovely head was intently bent tothe other side, as if listening to hear some whisper from her own heart.When she spoke, it was in a low, absent tone, as though she werewhispering to herself, or thinking only half aloud.
"And what are the signs of true love? That is the next thing. What arethe sure signs that true love may be known by, so that there can be nodanger of making a mistake, no risk of taking one kind of love foranother? That is the question. How do the signs of true love look? Howdo they feel, I wonder? Can it be one of the sure signs of true love tofeel at the first sight of a face that it is the one you have mostwanted to see all your life? Can it be one of the sure signs of truelove to have your heart leap at the first sound of a voice, so that youare glad to be alive--glad--glad as you never were before, although youhave always been happy? I wonder--I wonder! And can it be another of thesure signs of true love to feel utter content in one presence, to feelthat, walled in with it forever away from all the rest of the world,there would be nothing left outside on the whole, wide earth to wishfor? Do you think so, David? I wonder if it can be. And then can it beyet another of true love's sure signs to have a warm, sweet glow comearound the heart, as it never did before, and to have something tell youthat it will grow warmer and sweeter and brighter as long as you live? Iwonder--wonder--wonder. And could it be the surest sign of all, that youdon't know why any of all these things are so; that you only know thateverything some one is and says and thinks and does--satisfies anddelights your eyes and mind and heart and soul."
Two heavy tears, like sudden drops from a summer shower, fell on herclasped hands, although her lips were smiling and she was still softlythinking aloud.
"And yet there is another kind of love--quite, quite different fromthis--and that, too, must be true. A feeling that you have had eversince you could remember must be true, surely. And you are alwaysthinking about this one--always arguing with yourself about how rightand reasonable it is. There isn't any trouble in finding one the reasonsfor this love. The only trouble about this kind of love is in your ownunworthiness. It's somehow disheartening and tiring to be always lookingup, higher than you can see, as though you stood all the time on yourtiptoes. And then when you are always feeling how unwise and childishyou are, it is hard to love wisdom and dignity as they deserve to beloved."
Saying this, Ruth turned suddenly upon David. Her soft eyes wereflashing through her tears.
"Why do you sit there like a stone and never say a word!" she demanded."I knew you didn't know the first earthly thing about love, but I didn'tknow you were dumb. Why don't you speak? Can't you say what a finefellow William is? You know it, just as well as I do! Everybody knowsit. Everybody respects William and looks up to him. Everybody is boundto do it. He always does what is right and sensible. He isn't foreverdoing and saying things that he has to be sorry for, as I am. He alwaysgoes steadily straight ahead. He isn't moved by every heart-beat andswayed by every fancy like you and me. Why even uncle Robert defers toWilliam, because he is so dignified and right-minded. He always knowsjust what to do and say. Uncle Philip often speaks of it. _He_appreciates William. _He_ never criticises him for being serious whenother people are joking. And I've seen you do it many a time, when youdidn't know I was looking. Yes, and uncle Robert, too. I've seen hiseyebrow go up when he didn't know that it did. And I won't have it! Doyou hear? I won't have people laughing at William, just because henever laughs. I like him all the better for it. I think all the morehighly of him because he never understands my silly, light little ways.I do--I tell you I do!"
She sprang up and stamped her foot, and then, sitting down again, burstinto helpless sobbing, and laid her head on the boy's shoulder. He couldonly draw her closer, and hold her in silent tenderness, having no wordsthat he dared utter. After a time her sobs ceased, and lifting her head,she looked round, dimpling and smiling through the tears which werestill heavy on her dark lashes.
"Well, then, since you don't know anything about love, sir, look and seewhat your silly old book says. Oh, you needn't pretend that you haven'tgot it," she said gayly. "If it isn't in your hand, it is in yourpocket, or you have hidden it.
Get it instantly," pretending to shakehim.
The boy bashfully drew the book from beneath the log, while Ruthbantered him with sweet, bubbling laughter that made him think ofawakening birds and blossoming orchards. He turned the leaves inembarrassed haste.
"I don't find anything about love," he stammered. "But here is somethingabout marriage."
"As if they weren't one and the same!" cried Ruth. "Read it. Let's hearwhat it says. Read every word carefully and distinctly."
David then read aloud what the Knight of the Oracle said to the MostFair Constantia:--
"They are truly married that have with united hearts plighted promise ofperpetual friendship, electing one another by true love and not byoutward ceremony; for where true love is not there can be no perfectmarriage, though the outward ceremony be never so well performed."
"As if everybody didn't know that already!" scouted Ruth. "Any goslingof a girl knows that without having to be told. There isn't a singleword there to tell what true love is, and what its signs are. If Ididn't love you so dearly, David, I couldn't love you at all when youare so dull. What do you mean by reading anything so tiresome out ofthat foolish book? I think worse of it than ever."
Her smiles vanished like watery sunbeams. David trembled for fear shemight begin crying again. But she looked fondly up in his face, andbeamed brightly when she saw how frightened he was.
"But you know I do love you, David, dear. You know that you are all Ihave, of my very own," she said. "I am unreasonable--I know that wellenough; but I couldn't help being hurt at your injustice to William.Could I, dear?"
"Oh, no! No indeed!" responded the boy, with vague eagerness.
"Well, then, I will forgive you if you promise never to do it again.And do you know any more about birds than you do about love, you poordear? Look at that one flying over the river. Why do they always crossthe stream in a slanting direction? Why do they never fly straightacross? And why do birds sing so seldom in the depths of the forest? Andis it true that none of the singing birds were here till the settlerscame? It is said that they came with the settlers. I've heard manypersons state that as a fact. But how does anybody know? Did any birdsay so? Those paroquets could tell if they would; but they never will.They only chatter to scold one another. Just listen! I am sure theycould tell lots of things if they liked. They are not so green as theylook--not half so green as you, my dear. I shall have to ask Mr. Audubonif there were any birds here before the settlers came. He will know; hedoesn't go round all the time with his head in the clouds, as you do.You don't even know how old a snow-goose has to be before it turns fromgray to white. And you really ought to know that, because you are agoose yourself. I saw a pure white snow-goose the other day on the pondback of Cedar House, and when the snow-goose comes, then winter is here,and it isn't long till Christmas."
She suddenly stood up shivering, and said she was cold; but it was thethought of Christmas Eve, not the frost in the air, that sent the chillto her heart.
Round Anvil Rock: A Romance Page 16