The Eye of Dread. Erskine Payne

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СКАЧАТЬ name is Lucien Thurbyfil. It’s not so queer, Betty.”

      “Oh, you pronounce it T’urbyfil, just as if there were no ‘h’ in it. You know I thought father said Mr. Tubfull–or something like that, when he introduced him to mother, and that was why mother looked at him in such an odd way.”

      The two girls laughed merrily. “Betty, what if you hadn’t been a dear, and had called him that! And he’s so very correct!”

      “Oh, is he? Then I’ll try it to-morrow and we’ll see what he’ll do.”

      “Don’t you dare! I’d be so ashamed I’d sink right through the floor. He’d think we’d been making fun of him.”

      “Then I’ll wait until we are out in the woods, for I’d hate to have you make a hole in the floor by sinking through it.”

      “Betty! You’ll be good to-morrow, won’t you, dear?”

      “Good? Am I not always good? Didn’t I scrub and bake and put flowers all over the ugly what-not in the corner of the parlor, and get the grease spot out of the dining room rug that Jamie stepped butter into–and all for you–without any thought of any Mr. Tubfull or any one but you? All day long I’ve been doing it.”

      “Of course you did, and it was perfectly sweet; and the flowers and mother looked so dear–and Janey’s hands were clean–I looked to see. You know usually they are so dirty. I knew you’d been busy; but Betty, dear, you won’t be mischievous to-morrow, will you? He’s our guest, you know, and you never were bashful, not as much as you really ought to be, and we can’t treat strangers just as we do–well–people we have always known, like Peter Junior. They wouldn’t understand it.”

      But the admonition seemed to be lost, for Betty’s thoughts were wandering from the point. “Hasn’t he ever–ever–made love to you?” Martha was washing her face and neck at the washstand in the corner, and now she turned a face very rosy, possibly with scrubbing, and threw water over her naughty little sister. “Well, hasn’t he ever put his arm around you or–or anything?”

      “I wouldn’t let a man do that.”

      “Not if you were engaged?”

      “Of course not! That wouldn’t be a nice way to do.”

      “Shouldn’t you let a man kiss you or–or–put his arm around you–or anything–even when he’s trying to get engaged to you?”

      “Of course not, Betty, dear. You’re asking very silly questions. I’m going to bed.”

      “Well, but they do in books. He did in ‘Jane Eyre,’ don’t you remember? And she was proud of it–and pretended not to be–and very much touched, and treasured his every look in her heart. And in the books they always kiss their lovers. How can Mr. Thurbyfil ever be your lover, if you never let him even put his arm around you?”

      “Betty, Betty, come to bed. He isn’t my lover and he doesn’t want to be and we aren’t in books, and you are getting too old to be so silly.”

      Then Betty slowly disrobed and bathed her sweet limbs and at last crept in beside her sister. Surely she had not done right. She had let Peter Junior put his arm around her and kiss her, and that even before they were engaged; and all yesterday afternoon he had held her hand whenever she came near, and he had followed her about and had kissed her a great many times. Her cheeks burned with shame in the darkness, not that she had allowed this, but that she had not been as bashful as she ought. But how could she be bashful without pretending?

      “Martha,” she said at last, “you are so sweet and pretty, if I were Mr. Thurbyfil, I’d put my arm around you anyway, and make love to you.”

      Then Martha drew Betty close and gave her a sleepy kiss. “No you wouldn’t, dear,” she murmured, and soon the two were peacefully sleeping, Betty’s troubles quite forgotten. Still, when morning came, she did not confide to her sister anything about Peter Junior, and she even whispered to her mother not to mention a word of the affair to any one.

      At breakfast Jamie and Bobby were turbulent with delight. All outings were a joy to them, no matter how often they came. Martha was neat and rosy and gay. Lucien Thurbyfil wanted to help her by wiping the dishes, but she sent him out to the sweet-apple tree with a basket, enjoining him to bring only the mellow ones. “Be sure to get enough. We’re all going, father and mother and all.”

      “It’s very nice of your people to make room for me on the wagon.”

      “And it’s nice of you to go.”

      “I see Peter Junior. He’s coming,” shouted Bobby, from the top of the sweet-apple tree.

      “Who does he go with?” asked Martha.

      “With us. He always does,” said Betty. “I wonder why his mother and the Elder never go out for any fun, the way you and father do!”

      “The Elder always has to be at the bank, I suppose,” said Mary Ballard, “and she wouldn’t go without him. Did you put in the salt and pepper for the eggs, dear?”

      “Yes, mother. I’m glad father isn’t a banker.”

      “It takes a man of more ability than I to be a banker,” said Bertrand, laughing, albeit with concealed pride.

      “We don’t care if it does, Dad,” said Jamie, patronizingly. “When I get through the high school, I’m going to hire out to the bank.” He seized the lunch basket and marched manfully out to the wagon.

      “I thought Peter Junior always went with Clara Dean. He did when I left,” said Martha, in a low voice to Betty, as they filled bottles with raspberry shrub, and with cream for the coffee. “Did you tie strings on the spoons, dear? They’ll get mixed with the Walters’ if you don’t. You remember theirs are just like ours.”

      “Oh, I forgot. Why, he likes Clara a lot, of course, but I guess they just naturally expected him to go with us. They and the Walters have a wagon together, anyway, and they wouldn’t have room. We have one all to ourselves. Hello, Peter Junior! Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Junior.”

      “Happy to meet you, Mr. Junior,” said the correct Mr. Thurbyfil. The boys laughed uproariously, and the rest all smiled, except Betty, who was grave and really seemed somewhat embarrassed.

      “What is it?” she asked.

      “Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Craigmile,” said Martha. “You introduced him as Mr. Junior, Betty.”

      “I didn’t! Well, that’s because I’m bashful. Come on, everybody, mother’s in.” So they all climbed into the wagon and began to find their places.

      “Oh, father, have you the matches? The bottles are on the kitchen table,” exclaimed Martha.

      “Don’t get down, Mr. Ballard,” said Lucien. “I’ll get them. It would never do to forget the bottles. Now, where’s the little girl who was to ride beside me?” and Janey crawled across the hay and settled herself at her new friend’s side. “Now I think we are beautifully arranged,” for Martha was on his other side.

      “Very well, we’re off,” and Bertrand gathered up the reins and they started.

      “There they are. There’s the other wagon,” shouted Bobby. “We СКАЧАТЬ