The Heir of Redclyffe. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

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      ‘He is one of those people who are never in the way, and yet you never can forgot their presence,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone.

      ‘His manners are quite the pink of courtesy,’ said Mary.

      ‘Like his grandfather’s,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone; ‘that old-school deference and attention is very chivalrous, and sits prettily and quaintly on his high spirits and animation; I hope it will not wear off.’

      ‘A vain hope,’ said Charles. ‘At present he is like that German myth, Kaspar Hauser, who lived till twenty in a cellar. It is lucky for mamma that, in his green state, he is courtly instead of bearish.’

      ‘Lucky for you, too, Charlie; he spoils you finely.’

      ‘He has the rare perfection of letting me know my own mind. I never knew what it was to have my own way before.’

      ‘Is that your complaint, Charlie? What next?’ said Mary.

      ‘So you think I have my way, do you, Mary? That is all envy, you see, and very much misplaced. Could you guess what a conflict it is every time I am helped up that mountain of a staircase, or the slope of my sofa is altered? Last time Philip stayed here, every step cost an argument, till at last, through sheer exhaustion, I left myself a dead weight on his hands, to be carried up by main strength. And after all, he is such a great, strong fellow, that I am afraid he did not mind it; so next time I crutched myself down alone, and I hope that did provoke him.’

      ‘Sir Guy is so kind that I am ashamed,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone. ‘It seems as if we had brought him for the sole purpose of waiting on Charles.’

      ‘Half his heart is in his horse,’ said Charles. ‘Never had man such delight in the “brute creation.” ’

      ‘They have been his chief playfellows,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone. ‘The chief of his time was spent in wandering in the woods or on the beach, watching them and their ways.’

      ‘I fairly dreamt of that Elysium of his last night,’ said Charles: ‘a swamp half frozen on a winter’s night, full of wild ducks. Here, Charlotte, come and tell Mary the roll of Guy’s pets.’

      Charlotte began. ‘There was the sea-gull, and the hedgehog, and the fox, and the badger, and the jay, and the monkey, that he bought because it was dying, and cured it, only it died the next winter, and a toad, and a raven, and a squirrel, and—’

      ‘That will do, Charlotte.’

      ‘Oh! but Mary has not heard the names of all his dogs. And Mary, he has cured Bustle of hunting my Puss. We held them up to each other, and Puss hissed horribly, but Bustle did not mind it a bit; and the other day, when Charles tried to set him at her, he would not take the least notice.’

      ‘Now, Charlotte,’ said Charles, waving his hand, with a provoking mock politeness, ‘have the goodness to return to your friends.

      Tea over, Laura proposed the game of definitions. ‘You know it. Philip,’ said she, ‘you taught us.’

      ‘Yes I learnt it of your sisters, Thorndale,’ said Philip.

      ‘O pray let us have it. It must be charming!’ exclaimed Miss Harper, on this recommendation.

      ‘Definitions!’ said Charles, contemptuously. ‘Dr. Johnson must be the hand for them.’

      ‘They are just the definitions not to be found in Johnson,’ said Mr. Thorndale. ‘Our standing specimen is adversity, which may be differently explained according to your taste, as “a toad with a precious jewel in its head,” or “the test of friendship.” ’

      ‘The spirit of words,’ said Guy, looking eager and interested.

      ‘Well, we’ll try,’ said Charles, ‘though I can’t say it sounds to me promising. Come, Maurice, define an Irishman.’

      ‘No, no, don’t let us be personal,’ said Laura; ‘I had thought of the word “happiness”. We are each to write a definition on a slip of paper, then compare them.’

      The game was carried on with great spirit for more than an hour. It was hard to say, which made most fun, Maurice, Charles, or Guy; the last no longer a spectator, but an active contributor to the sport. When the break-up came, Mary and Amabel were standing over the table together, collecting the scattered papers, and observing that it had been very good fun. ‘Some so characteristic,’ said Amy, ‘such as Maurice’s definition of happiness—a row at Dublin.’

      ‘Some were very deep, though,’ said Mary; ‘if it is not treason, I should like to make out whose that other was of happiness.’

      ‘You mean this,’ said Amy: ‘ “Gleams from a brighter world, too soon eclipsed or forfeited.” I thought it was Philip’s, but it is Sir Guy’s writing. How very sad! I should not like to think so. And he was so merry all the time! This is his, too, I see; this one about riches being the freight for which the traveller is responsible.’

      ‘There is a great deal of character in them,’ said Mary. ‘I should not have wondered at any of us, penniless people, philosophizing in the fox and grapes style, but, for him, and at his age—’

      ‘He has been brought up so as to make the theory of wisdom come early,’ said Philip, who was nearer than she thought.

      ‘Is that intended for disparagement?’ she asked quickly.

      I think very highly of him; he has a great deal of sense and right feeling,’ was Philip’s sedate answer; and he turned away to say some last words to Mr. Thorndale.

      The Rosses were the last to depart, Mary in cloak and clogs, while Mr. Edmonstone lamented that it was in vain to offer the carriage; and Mary laughed, and thanked, and said the walk home with Papa was the greatest of treats in the frost and star-light.

      ‘Don’t I pity you, who always go out to dinner in a carriage!’ were her last words to Laura.

      ‘Well, Guy,’ said Charlotte, ‘how do you like it?’

      ‘Very much, indeed. It was very pleasant.’

      ‘You are getting into the fairy ring,’ said Laura, smiling.

      ‘Ay’ he said, smiling too; ‘but it does not turn to tinsel. Would it if I saw more of it?’ and he looked at Mrs. Edmonstone.

      ‘It would be no compliment to ourselves to say so,’ she answered.

      ‘I suppose tinsel or gold depends on the using,’ said he, thoughtfully; ‘there are some lumps of solid gold among those papers, I am sure, one, in particular, about a trifle. May I see that again? I mean—

      ‘Little things

       On little wings

       Bear little souls to heaven.’

      ‘Oh! that was only a quotation,’ said Amy, turning over the definitions again with him, and laughing at some of the most amusing; while, in the mean time, Philip went to help Laura, who was putting СКАЧАТЬ