A SUMMER DAY'S COURTSHIP

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1696, 31 August 1904, Page 9

A SUMMER DAY'S COURTSHIP

(By G. B. juairgin.)

I, Old Job Trestle, gravedigger and innkeeper at the little village of Blundelsluuu in Hertfordshire, found life a perpetual struggle to remember liis promotion to tilt posts of sexton and clerk, from force of habit ho continually pulled off his coat in order to draw beer when he should have been attired in respectable black. His only daughter, Letty, the young squire's old playmate, had also "been promoted to tlie tcachership of the village school —a promotion which arose from her constant association with Mildred Vaughan, the old squire's ward. Mildred was a dark-eyed heiress, proud, jealous, capricious, but very magnanimous and fondly attached to Letty Trestle. The three of them, Lance Errol (“the young' squire," as he was called in the village), Letty, and Mildred had practically run wild together in childhood; and now that Lance was coming of age, the old squire, who wished him to marry Mildred. was not without his misgivings as to the effect of that companionship. To do wav with Lance’s evident admiration for Letty, Captain Erroll had sent him abroad, under the impression that the Continent would effectually broaden his views. In the village tho ringers were practising to celebrate the young squire's coming of age. As Job Trestle, duster in hand, stopped to listen to them there was a quizzical expression on his wrinkled countenance. When Letty came down the steps into the pretty little garden, with its quaint arbour and orchard beyond, his old face lit up with prido and love.

Letty was arranging a blue bow at her throat. "Now, daddy, what do you think of that?" she asked, expectantly. "Do I look like your ‘nut-brown maid’?" Job guiltily drew on his coat. "Ay. ay, lass. A 3 for me, I look like an chi black rooster. Sunday frock and ribbons, too. Going courting?" “Courting, father! Wouldn't^ you expect the accessory to do all that? Letcj asked saucily. “T/d punch his head. ii ho did i t You’re twenty-one, too, Letty, and .I’ve in rav nocket for you. Ah!

here it is. A real gold watch. Bought it with my earnings as grave-digger, just for a momentum-like." Lotty kissed him. "You sweet old daddy. I don’t believe even Mildred Vaughan has a prettier one." Job picked up his duster. “&ho's not going 10 have everything in this world," 110 said with meaning, "though she do marry the young squire." "Oh-h i" “’■What’s the matter?" anxiously asked Job. “Oh, nothing, father. You go and get the address to be presented to Lance this afternoon, and I'll read it over with you." “All right, Letty." Job looked very uncomfortable. "I know it pretty well: 'Wo, Hie undersized inhabitants— —’" “Undersigned, daddy." But she said it very gently. Job went away to get the address, anil Letty guiltily pulled a letter from her pocket: “Dearest Letty,—l am coming down to the Board and Bagpipes the first chance I can get to-morrow morning, and shall leave the people at the Half* to look after themselves. I’ve a little present for you, dear, which I want you to keep for the rest of your life. Look out for me. I must have a word with you before the fun begins.—Yours ever, “Lance Erroll." As Letty re-read the letter for the fiftieth time Mildred Vaughan, looking very handsome, appeared on the old steps and noticed Letty's absorption. Coming playfully up behind her she put one nand on the girl's shoulder. Letty started up with a little cry. “Lance! S'o early!" Mildred laughed. "No it isn't—Lance. The festivities begin at four, so 1 stole away this morning for a chat. Letty, 1 want to know if you can keep a secret,? It's really mo-st important? Mildred, sat down and somewhat nervously began to tap 011 her neat boot. "Have ycu ever dreamt of getting married?" “What! A village school ” "Rubbish. You’ve got just as much •pha-ff as I have, and. oh dear! Fin afraid I’m in love." “You?" “Yes, little Miss Prude. I am over head and ears in love, and the man

doesn't care twopence for me. Cheerful, isn't it?" "Cheerful 1" “Isn't even decently civil to me. Scarcely spoke to me at dinner last night —almost yawned in my face." “I—l'm sorry, Mil " “Oh, there's nothing to be sorry about. I've known him all my life, and yet I was jealous. Glared like a wild cat at Laura Ponsonby when he took her into dinner. But I didn't give her away, didn't even hint to him how much of her was real and how much belonged to antiquity." Letty kissed her fervently. “I hope you will be very, very happy." ‘'Happy!" Why, of course I shall be happy. Haven't I always had my own way in everything—all the sunshine of life, all its happiness—whilst you, poor child, who work for your bread and butter, are worth a hundred gaudy, useless butterflies like me!" “Don't !" said Letty in grieved tones. “You have done everything for me. Had me educated, taught me manners —mu —" “The less we say about the manners I f aught you the better. Your own were always so superior. Get me a glass of water, dear, then I'll be off. My maid hasn't - finished the alterations in my dress for this afternoon " Letty went to the house to get the water, and, in her hurry, left Lance's letter on the seat. As Mildred's eyes fell upon it she gave a little exclamation of surprise. Then she snatched it up, read it. and turned very pale. “I suppose I can't sink much lower after reading another girl's love-letter! So that is why Lance wanted to get away this morning when I tried to keep him. I am cut out by the girl I took from the village inn. And I was awfully fond of her, too. Little hypocrite! I'll make her pay for it. No, no, it isn't her fault. How sweet , she lookeq when 1 caught her just now! They've loved one another all their lives, and I was a fool D/>t to see it. She'll break my heart. I have— What's the good of that! Of coursfi he prefers her sweetness and beauty to my gipsy looks and lond ways. He doesn’t even think that I'm a true woman. But I'll show him he's mistaken. I wish those bells would stop. They drive me mad. I'll prove to them both that I am a true woman, and just crush out this nonsense. It will do me good to suffer: I've made others suffer all my life. I'll give Letty some of my money. Is the whole world coming down here to-day. Here's Lance with his father; they'll see I've been crying. They won't known I'm in the arbour here. It will be awkward if Letty comes back with the water." She glided into the arbour and sat well back as Lance Err oil and his father came in, the old Captain stiff with suppressed rage. II “Shop this confounded fooling, Lance, tyr I'll send you hack to the Continent!’’ the Captain angrily declared. lbe fair-haired, handsome Lance grew angry too. “I'm no longer a boy," he remarked significantly. 'You're a confounded young idiot—a headstrong young fool, that’s what you are, Lance, and I don't care who knows it." “All right, dad. You hinted as much last night. Now. what are you really after? Let's get it over and be friends again." The Captain changed his tone. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty. By Jove! there sho is. Hiding from us in the arbour. See how handsome she is I Go anu propose to her at once, and I’ll look up Trestle. When I was your age the sight of a pretty girl •" “But, dad, my—my affec " The Captain nearly broke a blood-ves-jel. "Don't talk to mie of affections. Think' of all her money coming into the family. Come out, Milly. It’s no good your hiding from us. Lance wants to have a chat with you before the festivities begin." ‘‘l’ve a headache," said Mildred, languidly coming out. “Letty has gone to get me some water. But you mustn't quarrel with the heir, Guardy. I can't imagine Lance wanting to say anything to me. Last night he avoided me as much as possible.” Lanoe looked confused. "Did I, Mildred ? I'm sorry." “It's his confounded, shyness," the Captain declared. “Just like what I was at bis age, though I don't look quite such a fool."

Mildred took the Captain's arm. “Perhaps the sun has gene to hia head. Guardy."

"Take’s after me,” the Captain declared with a chuckle. "Never dared, to look at a girl when I was his age.” "You must have changed later,” said Mildred drily; "that is, if I’m to believe all the stories you’ve told me.” Lance turned in despair to his father "Dad, I think your mare’s cast a shoe. She limped a little just now.” The Captain laughed. "Pretty stale dodge, my boy. Pretty stale dodge. I hope to be casting shoes soon—satin ones and all that sort of thing. I’ll go and tell Trestle about the dinner.” He went off chuckling. Mildred felt that it was time to clear the air a little. The jangling of the bells maddened her.

"What is it, Lance?” she asked, hastily. "Never mind my nonsense. Let us get it over, whatever it is. Is it important?'’ "Awfully important,” Lance declared, with boyish eagerness. "All my future happiness depends on you. vVe- wt va always been good friends, haven't we?” "Yes, Lance, except when we quarelled. which, on the average, has been about a dozen times a day.” Lance pretended to light a cigarette. "We did have little tiffs now and again. Nothing to speak of; and we were always good friends five minutes afterwards. Milly, I've a confession to make.” “1 think I know what it is, Lance.” "Well the plain English of it is I’m in love —desperately in love. . I'm alway’s dreaming of her, Milly. When I'm in a crowd she just gets between me and the people, and I want to put out my arms and tell her how much I love her. I—l can’t explain how it is. but ”

“But I think I can, Lance," Millicent’s voice was very gentle. "Your heart is filled with joy. You thank God for the sunshine, the flowers, for living in a world where she lives,, too. You want to be good to everyone. And when you pray (you do pray sometimes, Lance ?) you thank God for giving you such happiness. Oh, yes, I know what you feel." , “Yes; but I can't rest until I go to her and say, Milly ■" Milly gave a little smothered cry. Had she misjudged him after all? How he would laugh at her when she told him what had been in her mind! “And say c Milly ?'" she queried, breathlessly. '‘And say to her, 'Letty, dearest, I love you.' " “Letty! Oh—h!” ‘Yes—'Letty. Why, Mildred, I seem to have surprised you." Milly hastily regained her composure. “Not at all, you silly boy. Anyone might have guessed. But I didn't understand you at first. Your father?" Lance laughed boyishly in his relief at having got it over. “Oh, yes, I see. So stupid of the pater, wasn't it? Do you know, Mi 1 ly, he actually thought that we So absurd, wasn't it?" _ “Of course. We've quarrelled all our lives like —like brother and sister; and we shall go on quarrelling to the end of the chapter." “Of course we shall. Not but what we're very good friends all the same.” 'You mean when we aren't quarrelling P" “Ah, yes, that reminds me, Milly. I want you to help me with the pater. You know what a benevolent old being he is —when he gets his own way. When he doesn't, he nicks. Wants to cut me off with a shilling, and all that rot." “You—want—me—to—help you ?" “Of course I do. You could always twist him round your little finger. Now, can't you just break, it to him quietly." Mildred hesitated for a moment. “Very well. then. I'll break it to him quietly." “Thanks awfully, Milly." He kissed her gratefully. “Now, I'll lure him away from old Trestlo, and then we’ll go back together in time for the speeches and things." Mildred's eyes followed him as he bounded up the steps. She put her finger to the cheek where Lance had kissed her. Then she rubbed it savagely with her handkerchief. “Ah, well"—her voice was softer with the pain of her regret—“that ends my poor little dream. And he doesn't even know it—which is just as well. Ah! how happy I was last night just because he was near me. If I could only bring back yesterday—forget this pain—the pangs of wounded love and pride. But no. Life will never be the same again. Never again! I—l1 —I wonder whether I shall be a better girl for this? I've never had a grief before—not a real grief. There’s nothing left to live for now but —duty! Oh, my heart, my heart! Is this day never coming to an end! Never coming to an end! Here's the squire again. Everyone comes up and down those steps every few minutes to bring me fresh pain. I’d like to burn the place down." ILL “Mare's right enough," said the old squire. “Como and light my cigar for me Milly. Why, where's Lance? It’s —it’s all over, isn't it?" ‘Yes, Guardy." Milly spoke very quietly as she gathered up the skirt ’of her riding habit. “You’ve come back just in time. It's all over." “My dear girl," said the squire, effusively, “this has been the dream of my life. But where's Lance? Hang it all! Why doesn't he come and ask me for my —my blessing. It's the proper thing to do when a fellow comes of age and wants to get married." “Lance is very busy just now.” Mildred pointed to Lance, who, with his arm round Letty's waist, was walking slowly up and down in tho orchard beyond. "Everyone seems to come down those steps to be unpleasant to-day. Lance had the decency to go round to the back and get into the orchard that way. Letty is supposed to be fetching me a glass of water!" The old squire impetuously seized Milly's arm. “Look at him! The—the young sconndrel! Just after lie’s proposed to you! Gome along, Milly. I’ll horsewhip him. I'll make him ashamed of him——" He almost dragged Mildred to the orchard gate, and bellowed to Lance. “Here, come here. What are you doing? I'm astonished at you, Letty, when Miss Vaughan has just promised to marry Lance." Lance took his arm from Letty's waist. ‘'Promised what? Oh, you’re mad, dad—mad as a hatter! Come on, Letty." Mildred spoke with a touch of mischief. “Don’t be frightened, Lance. It’s all right. Go away for a few minutes and leave your father to me." “Oh, if it’s all right"—Captain Errol was mollified at once—'“of course, if it's all right! I suppose he's telling Letty. Very natural—very. But a word in your ear, my dear girl. You'll have to put a stop to that kind of thing when you and Lance are married. Letty's a very prettygirl, you know. An awfully pretty girl." ‘Yes, Guardy, I know. When we are married 1”

"When? When? What do you mean by that?”

"I msan what I said, Guardy. Sit down and cool off.” "I—l—l won’t cool off!” But he sat down.

"Would it grieve you very much if I didn't marry Lance?” "Grieve me! Of course it would. I I should take to swearing again. Don’t talk nonsense. It’s the dream of my old age.” ‘‘Old age, Guardy! Nonsense! Pathos doesn’t suit you. You’re as straight as an arrow. So you’ve set your heart on my marrying Lance?” "Of course 1 have. Won’t it bring tho property into a ring fence? Haven’t I loved you as a daughter-in-law all my life.”

"And you always will? Now, promise mo.” The Captain became suspicious. What d’yeu mean ? 1 don’t understand you.”

"I—l want to tell you a little story, Guardy.” "I don’t want to heac* little stories; I’m too busy to-day to listen to ’em. I want to know why ” "Yes, now, patience a moment, and, as they say at the theatres, ‘you shall know all.’” The Captain settled himself with a resigned air. "I suppose you will come to the point before the day’s over! Kern ember, the speeches are all to come yet.” "That’s right.’ She took his hand, and, as the sunlight played through the apple boughs upon her beautiful if somewhat haughty face, he could see that she looked very sad. "Once upon a time—they always begin that way, Guardy—there was a Princess.” "Well, there usually is.” "And a Prince.” "German?” "Of course not. And the Prince went away after quarrelling with the Princess. One day he came back and found that the Princess wasn’t all that he thought her, so his fancy fell a-turning to someone else. The Princess was disappointed with the Prince, and when they came together again and tried hard to fall in love with one another, they couldn’t. That* all.” The old squire struggled to his feet. "You—you’re a dashed ungrateful girl, Milly!—dashed ungrateful! I’ve alwajß treated you as a daughter. It was the dream of my life you two shoiild come together—and the property and—and—-and —comfort declining years—and—and all that sort of thing. I—l ve done with you. Don’t come near me. w "-You’re cruelly unjust Guardy. "Well, it is all Lance's doing, then ?’ /fjsf no You mustn’t blame Lance.” "But I'shall if I want to. You’re trying to shield him, that’s what it is.” Lance came quietly into the orchard. "Leave him to me, Milly. "You’re trying to shield him,” repeated the old man, obstinately. "I am not, Guardy. Mildred drew herGfdf un proudly. "You know, Lance is a bit of a prig, and I have a temper. We should never keep step.” Tt suddenly dawned upon Lance that she was trying to shield him "Lance isn’t a png. How dare you say so!” thundered the Captain. "You’ve disappointed me. If it’s your money ” Mildred flashed an imploring glance at Lance, who drew her arm quietly in his. "Stop, father. We’ve had quite enough of this. You forget you are speaking to Milly.” , „ "I don’t forget, and I won t stop.’ "I tell you she’s Hying to shield me.

dad. and I’m not coward enough <-o take shelter behind a woman’s generod •y.” "Give Her time,” suggested the Captain. "That’s all she wants. Give her time.” "I shall never marry him!” flashed Milly. "You hear that, dad? She’s worth someone belter than I ain. I’m <nlv a country squire. . She’s a clever woman, she will some day marry a clever Man.” "Well, sir. if you’d resemble your father ” "But I don’t, dad. She’s been taking all the blame because I love someone else —someone who is gentle and sweet, and who loves you, too.” "Loves me, does she? Very persevering of her. Who may this affectionate pareu gon be?” Lance began to lose his temper. "Letty Trestle,” lie said, curtly. The Captain’s eyes nearly started from their sockets. “Yon —you shouldn’t take too much to drink on the very day you come of age.” ‘‘Don’t be insulting.” "Well, then, if you’re not drunk, you’re mad, Lance. Go back to town and travel abroad. How dare you defy me! Don’t stand grinning there!” "Keep cool, dad. It’s no use your getting wild, for it won’t do. I’m sorry to displease you. but I love Letty, and, with all clue deference to you, I’m going to marry her, whether you like it or not. "You are! Pretty kind of way to speak to your own father!” Mildred slipped away to fetch Letty. "So,” said the infuriated Captain, "you want to marry a pauper—a beggarly pauper—to defile our blue blood ” “Blue blood, dad! Our blue blood’s nothing but malt. You know very well that grandfather was a brewer.” "That doesn’t matter, sir—not a bit. It—it was some time ago. I’ll never consent to ycur marrying the daughter of the village grave-digger.” "I’m very sorry, sir.” Lance was turn, ing nasty. "Grandfather sent his predecessors a good many people to bury.” "It’s false —quite false! Good beer never killed anyone. I’ll stop the rejoicings. I’ll send back the beef and the beer. Tell the villagers there will be no holiday, for there isn’t an heir. We’ll go into sackcloth and ashes, and attend the funeral of our own hopes. A village pauper! A vil ” Mildred brought Letty forward, and pushed her towards Lance. Letty trembled. "Lance, why does your father gay these dreadful things? I thought he loved me.” "Oh, it’s nothing, Letty. He's only in one of his usual tamnero.”

“Yes; you ought to know his vile temper by this time," said Mildred. ‘‘Ho spares no one when he eo far forgets liimBelf." "How dare you say I am in a. bad temper !" spluttered the poor old man. “Never was in a better temper in my life/’ He tided to smile to prove how good-tempered he was, but the effect was sad. “Why, I'm an angel when " “When you get you own way," suggested Mildred. “Letty's a dear, good girl, who hag often borne my sins on her pretty shoulders. She shall marry Lance if she wants to, and I"—she pretended to sob—“will go away and—leave you, and you'll be all alone in the great house, and wish you'd never been born." “Oh, well," said the Captain, bitterly, “I suppose it’s no use saying anything. If that little minx " “’Hake care, sir !" Lance was dangerously white. “I've stood about as much as I can comfortably. I'm very fond of you, dad, but—-you understand." “Here's that old scoundrel of a Trestle," groaned the Captain. “Here you, sir, stop your singing and come here. Take away your daughter " But Letty had already run to her father and hidden her face on his shoulder. The old man's hair went up like a lion’s mane. “Now, my pretty, my pretty, what's the matter “H-husli, father," sobbed Letty. “It's —it's the squire. He’s angry with me because of Lancu" “Angry! Who's he to be angry with my dovel Look here, squire, wove played together as boys. My wife brougiit up your boy when his mother died, and because they love one another, you call my girl—my little nut-brown >kadd—you call her harsh names. Don’t you do it, squire, don't you do it. Come along with me, my dove." Lance took her from the old man’s trembling arms. “Good-bye, dad. Just shake bands before we part. What! You won’t shake hands. Oh, that's churlish, dad." The squire blew his nose violently, turned round, and caught Lance by vl/.o hand. “No, no. Don't go away. I can't spare you. It's a disappointment, but ' take it all back." Trestle picked, up his hat with an air of grim determination. “Job, you exasperating old idiot! what's the matter with you?" asked the squire. “Have you turned on me, too?" “You shan't be ashamed of me; I'm off," said the old man. “Good-bye, Letty." He kissed her and rushed into the house. As .Mildred rode ojl to the Hall, ne bells began again. She sot her white teeth firmly. “I shall get over it," she said. “I snail get over it. But. .thank Heaven,, h© did not know. He did not know." Then to prove how little tins summer day's courtship affected her, sinburnt into tears and rode through the sunlight alona.