by Thomas Dixon
Two days later a hack rolled up the graveled walk to the white porch, agirl leaped out and bounded up the steps, her cheeks flushed, her wide openblue eyes dancing with excitement.
She was evidently surprised to find that Cleo was an octoroon, blushed andextended her hand with a timid hesitating look:
"This--this--is Cleo--the major's housekeeper?" she asked.
The quick eye of the woman took in at a glance the charm of the shypersonality and the loneliness of the young soul that looked out from herexpressive eyes.
"Yes," she answered mechanically.
"I'm so sorry that the major's away--the driver told me----"
"Oh, it's all right," Cleo said with a smile, "he wrote us to make you feelat home. Just walk right in, your room is all ready."
"Thank you so much," Helen responded, drawing a deep breath and lookingover the lawn with its green grass, its dense hedges and wonderful clustersof roses in full bloom. "How beautiful the South is--far more beautifulthan I had dreamed! And the perfume of these roses--why, the air is justdrowsy with their honey! We have gorgeous roses in the North, but I neversmelled them in the open before"--she paused and breathed deeply again andagain--"Oh, it's fairyland--I'll never want to go!"
"I hope you won't," Cleo said earnestly.
"The major asked me to stay as long as I wished. I have his letterhere"--she drew the letter from her bag and opened it--"see what he says:'Please come at once to my home for as long as you can stay'--now wasn'tthat sweet of him?"
"Very," was the strained reply.
The girl's sensitive ear caught the queer note in Cleo's voice and lookedat her with a start.
"Come, I must show you to your room," she added, hurriedly opening the doorfor Helen to pass.
The keen eyes of the woman were scanning the girl and estimating hercharacter with increasing satisfaction. She walked with exquisite grace.Her figure was almost the exact counterpart of her own at twenty--Helen'sa little fuller, the arms larger but more beautiful. The slender wrists andperfectly moulded hand would have made a painter beg for a sitting. Hereyes were deep blue and her hair the richest chestnut brown, massive andslightly waving, her complexion the perfect white and red of the Northerngirl who had breathed the pure air of the fields and hills. The sure,swift, easy way in which she walked told of perfect health and exhaustlessvitality. Her voice was low and sweet and full of shy tenderness.
A smile of triumph flashed from Cleo's greenish eyes as she watched herswiftly cross the hall toward the stairs.
"I'll win!" she exclaimed softly.
Helen turned sharply.
"Did you speak to me?" she asked blushing.
"No. I was just thinking aloud."
"Excuse me, I thought you said something to me--"
"It would have been something very nice if I had," Cleo said with afriendly smile.
"Thank you--oh, I feel that I'm going to be so happy here!"
"I hope so."
"When do you think the major will come?"
The woman's face clouded in spite of her effort at self-control:
"It may be a month or more."
"Oh, I'm so anxious to see him! He has been acting for my old guardian, whois somewhere abroad, ever since I can remember. I've begged and begged himto come to see me, but he never came. It was so far away, I suppose. Henever even sent me his picture, though I've asked him often. What sort of aman is he?"
Cleo smiled and hesitated, and then spoke with apparent carelessness:
"A very striking looking man."
"With a kind face?"
"A very stern one, clean shaven, with deep set eyes, a firm mouth, a strongjaw that can be cruel when he wishes, a shock of thick iron gray hair,tall, very tall and well built. He weighs two hundred and fifteen now--hewas very thin when young."
"And his voice?"
"Gentle, but sometimes hard as steel when he wishes it to be."
"Oh, I'll be scared to death when I see him! I had pictured him just theopposite."
"How?"
"Why, I hardly know--but I thought his voice would be always gentle like Iimagine a Southern father's who loved his children very much. And I thoughthis hair would be blonde, with a kind face and friendly laughingeyes--blue, like mine. His eyes aren't blue?"
"Dark brown."
"I know I'll run when he comes."
"We'll make you feel at home and you'll not be afraid. Mr. Tom will be hereto lunch in a few minutes and I'll introduce you."
"Then I must dress at once!"
"The first door at the head of the stairs--your trunk has already beentaken up."
Cleo watched the swift, strong, young form mount the stairs.
"It's absolutely certain!" she cried under her breath. "I'll win--I'llwin!"
She broke into a low laugh and hurried to set the table in a bower of thesweetest roses that were in bloom. Their languorous odor filled the house.
Helen was waiting in the old-fashioned parlor when Tom's step echoed on thestoop. Cleo hurried to meet him on the porch.
His face clouded with a scowl:
"She's here?"
"Yes, Mr. Handsome Boy," Cleo answered cheerfully. "And lunch is ready--dorub that awful scowl off your face and look like you're glad."
"Well, I'm not--so what's the use? It'll be a mess to have a girl on myhands day and night and I've got no time for it. I wish Dad was here. Iknow I'll hate the sight of her."
Cleo smiled:
"Better wait until you see her."
"Where is she?"
"In the parlor."
"All right--the quicker a disagreeable job's over the better."
"Shall I introduce you?"
"No, I'll do it myself," he growled, bracing himself for the ordeal.
As he entered the door he stopped short at the vision as Helen sprang toher feet and came to meet him. She was dressed in the softest white filmystuff, as light as a feather, bare arms and neck, her blue eyes sparklingwith excitement, her smooth, fair cheeks scarlet with blushes.
The boy's heart stopped beating in sheer surprise. He expected a frowzylittle waif from an orphanage, blear-eyed, sad, soulful and tiresome.
This shining, blushing, wonderful creature took his breath. He stared atfirst with open mouth, until Cleo's laugh brought him to his senses just ashe began to hear Helen's low sweet voice:
"And this is Mr. Tom, I suppose? I am Helen Winslow, your father's ward,from the West--at least he's all the guardian I've ever known."
Tom grasped the warm little hand extended in so friendly greeting and heldit in dazed surprise until Cleo's low laughter again roused him.
"Yes--I--I--am delighted to see you, Miss Helen, and I'm awfully sorry myfather couldn't be here to welcome you. I--I'll do the best I can for youin his absence."
"Oh, thank you," she murmured.
"You know you're not at all like I expected to find you," he saidhesitatingly.
"I hope I haven't disappointed you," she answered demurely.
"No--no"--he protested--"just the opposite."
He stopped and blushed for fear he'd said too much.
"And you're just the opposite from what I'd pictured you since Cleo told mehow your father looks."
"And what did you expect?" he asked eagerly.
"A stern face, dark hair, dark eyes and a firm mouth."
"And you find instead?"
Helen laughed:
"I'm afraid you love flattery."
Tom hurried to protest:
"Really, I wasn't fishing for a compliment, but I'm so unlike my father,it's a joke. I get my blonde hair and blue eyes from my mother and mygreat-grandfather."
Before he knew what was happening Tom was seated by her side talking andlaughing as if they had known each other a lifetime.
Helen paused for breath, put her elbow on the old mahogany table, restedher dimpled chin in the palm of her pretty hand and looked at Tom with amischievous twinkle in her blue eyes.
"What's the joke?" he asked.
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"Do you know that you're the first boy I ever talked to in my life?"
"No--really?" he answered incredulously.
"Don't you think I do pretty well?"
"Perfectly wonderful!"
"You see, I've played this scene so many times in my day dreams----"
"And it's like your dream?"
"Remarkably!"
"How?"
"You're just the kind of boy I always thought I'd meet first----"
"How funny!"
"Yes, exactly," she cried excitedly and with a serious tone in her voicethat was absolutely convincing. "You're so jolly and friendly and easy totalk to, I feel as if I've known you all my life."
"And I feel the same--isn't it funny?"
They both laughed immoderately.
"Come," the boy cried, "I want to show you my mother's and my grandfather'sportraits in the library. You'll see where I get my silly blonde hair, myslightly pug nose and my very friendly ways."
She rose with a laugh:
"Your nose isn't pug, it's just good-humored."
"Amount to the same thing."
"And your hair is very distinguished looking for a boy. I'd envy it, if itwere a girl's."
Tom led the way into the big, square library which opened on the pillaredporch both on the rear and on the side of the house. Before the fireplacehe paused and pointed to his mother's portrait done in oil by a famousartist in New York.
It was life-size and the canvas filled the entire space between the twofluted columns of the Colonial mantel which reached to the ceiling. Thewoodwork of the mantelpiece was of dark mahogany and the background of theportrait the color of bright gold which seemed to melt into the lines ofthe massive smooth gilded frame.
The effect was wonderfully vivid and life-like in the sombre coloring ofthe book-lined walls. The picture and frame seemed a living flame in itsdark setting. The portrait was an idealized study of the little mother. Theartist had put into his canvas the spirit of the tenderest broodingmotherhood. The very curve of her arms holding the child to her breastseemed to breathe tenderness. The smile that played about her delicate lipsand blue eyes was ethereal in its fleeting spirit beauty.
The girl caught her breath in surprise:
"What a wonderful picture--it's perfectly divine! I feel like kneelingbefore it."
"It is an altar," the boy said reverently. "I've seen my father sit in thatbig chair brooding for hours while he looked at it. And ever since he putthose two old gold candlesticks in front of it I can't get it out of myhead that he slips in here, kneels in the twilight and prays before it."
"He must have loved your mother very tenderly," she said softly.
"I think he worships her still," the boy answered simply.
"Oh, I could die for a man like that!" she cried with sudden passion.
Tom pointed to his grandfather's portrait:
"And there you see my distinguished features and my pug nose----"
Cleo appeared in the door smiling:
"I've been waiting for you to come to lunch, Mr. Boy, for nearly an hour."
"Well, for heaven's sake, why didn't you let us know?"
"I told you it was ready when you came."
"Forgot all about it."
He was so serenely unconscious of anything unusual in his actions that hefailed to notice the smile that continuously played about Cleo's mouth orto notice Andy's evident enjoyment of the little drama as he bowed andscraped and waited on the table with unusual ceremony.
Aunt Minerva, hearing Andy's report of the sudden affair that had developedin the major's absence, left the kitchen and stood in the door a moment,her huge figure completely filling the space while she watched theunconscious boy and girl devouring each other with sparkling eyes.
She waved her fat hand over their heads to Andy, laughed softly and leftwithout their noticing her presence.
The luncheon was the longest one that had been known within the memory ofanyone present. Minerva again wandered back to the door, fascinated by thepicture they made, and whispered to Andy as he passed:
"Well, fer de Lawd's sake, is dey gwine ter set dar all day?"
"Nobum--'bout er nodder hour, an' he'll go back ter de office."
Tom suddenly looked at his watch:
"Heavens! I'm late. I'll run down to the office and cut the work out forthe day in honor of your coming."
Helen rose blushing:
"Oh, I'm afraid I'll make trouble for you."
"No trouble at all! I'll be back in ten minutes."
"I'll be on the lawn in that wilderness of roses. The odor ismaddening--it's so sweet."
"All right--and then I'll show you the old rose garden the other side ofthe house."
"It's awfully good of you, but I'm afraid I'm taking your time from work."
"It's all right! I'll make the other fellows do it to-day."
She blushed again and waved her bare arm high over her dark brown hair fromthe porch as he swung through the gate and disappeared.
In a few minutes he had returned. Through the long hours of a beautifulsummer afternoon they walked through the enchanted paths of the old gardenon velvet feet, the boy pouring out his dreams and high ambitions, thegirl's lonely heart for the first time in life basking in the joyous lightof a perfect day.
Andy made an excuse to go in the garden and putter about some flowers justto watch them, laugh and chuckle over the exhibition. He was just in timeas he softly approached behind a trellis of climbing roses to hear Tomsay:
"Please give me that bud you're wearing?"
"Why?" she asked demurely.
"Just because I've taken a fancy to it."
She blushed scarlet, took the rosebud from her bosom and pinned it on hiscoat:
"All right--there!"
Andy suppressed a burst of laughter and hurried back to report to Minerva.
For four enchanted weeks the old comedy of life was thus played by the boyand girl in sweet and utter unconsciousness of its meaning. He worked onlyin the mornings and rushed home for lunch unusually early. The afternoonusually found them seated side by side slowly driving over the quietcountry roads. Two battlefields of the civil war, where his father had leda regiment of troops in the last desperate engagement with Sherman's armytwo weeks after Lee had surrendered at Appomattox, kept them busy eachafternoon for a week.
At night they sat on the moonlit porch behind the big pillars and he talkedto her of the great things of life with simple boyish enthusiasm. Sometimesthey walked side by side through the rose-scented lawn and paused to hearthe love song of a mocking-bird whose mate was busy each morning teachingher babies to fly.
The world had become a vast rose garden of light and beauty, filled withthe odors of flowers and spices and dreamy strains of ravishing music.
And behind it all, nearer crept the swift shadow whose tread was softerthan the foot of a summer's cloud.