Dr. Heidenhoff's Process Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  About half-past eight on the morning of the day set for the postponedpicnic, Henry knocked at Widow Brand's door. He had by no means forgottenMadeline's consent to allow him to carry her basket, although two weekshad intervened.

  She came to the door herself. He had never seen her in anything that setoff her dark eyes and olive complexion more richly than the simple picnicdress of white, trimmed with a little crimson braid about the neck andsleeves, which she wore to-day. It was gathered up at the bottom forwandering in the woods, just enough to show the little boots. She lookedsurprised at seeing him, and exclaimed--

  "You haven't come to tell me that the picnic is put off again, or Laura'ssick?"

  "The picnic is all right, and Laura too. I've come to carry your basketfor you."

  "Why, you're really very kind," said she, as if she thought him slightlyofficious.

  "Don't you remember you told me I might do so?" he said, getting a littlered under her cool inspection.

  "When did I?"

  "Two weeks ago, that evening poor George spoke in meeting."

  "Oh!" she answered, smiling, "so long ago as that? What a terrible memoryyou have! Come in just a moment, please; I'm nearly ready."

  Whether she merely took his word for it, or whether she had rememberedher promise perfectly well all the time, and only wanted to make him asktwice for the favour, lest he should feel too presumptuous, I don'tpretend to know. Mrs. Brand set a chair for him with much cordiality. Shewas a gentle, mild-mannered little lady, such a contrast in style andcharacter to Madeline that there was a certain amusing fitness in thelatter's habit of calling her "My baby."

  "You have a very pleasant day for your picnic, Mr. Burr," said she.

  "Yes, we are very lucky," replied Henry, his eyes following Madeline'smovements as she stood before the glass, putting on her hat, which had ared feather in it.

  To have her thus add the last touches to her toilet in his presence was asuggestion of familiarity, of domesticity, that was very intoxicating tohis imagination.

  "Is your father well?" inquired Mrs. Brand, affably.

  "Very well, thank you, very well indeed," he replied

  "There; now I'm ready," said Madeline. "Here's the basket, Henry.Good-bye, mother."

  They were a well-matched pair, the stalwart young man and the tall,graceful girl, and it is no wonder the girl's mother stood in the doorlooking after them with a thoughtful smile.

  Hemlock Hollow was a glen between wooded bluffs, about a mile up thebeautiful river on which Newville was situated, and boats had beencollected at the rendezvous on the river-bank to convey the picnickersthither. On arriving, Madeline and Henry found all the party assembledand in capital spirits; There was still just enough shadow on theirmerriment to leave the disposition to laugh slightly in excess of itsindulgence, than which no condition of mind more favourable to a goodtime can be imagined.

  Laura was there, and to her Will Taylor had attached himself. He was adapper little black-eyed fellow, a clerk in the dry-goods store, full offun and good-nature, and a general favourite, but it was certainly ratherabsurd that Henry should be apprehensive of him as a rival. There alsowas Fanny Miller, who had the prettiest arm in Newville, a factdiscovered once when she wore a Martha Washington toilet at a masqueradesociable, and since circulated from mouth to mouth among the young men.And there, too, was Emily Hunt, who had shocked the girls and thrown theyouth into a pleasing panic by appearing at a young people's party theprevious winter in low neck and short sleeves. It is to be remarked inextenuation that she had then but recently come from the city, and wasnot familiar with Newville etiquette. Nor must I forget to mention IdaLewis, the minister's daughter, a little girl with poor complexion andbeautiful brown eyes, who cherished a hopeless passion for Henry. Amongthe young men was Harry Tuttle, the clerk in the confectionery and fancygoods store, a young man whose father had once sent him for a term to aneighbouring seminary, as a result of which classical experience he stillretained a certain jaunty student air verging on the rakish, that wasadmired by the girls and envied by the young men.

  And there, above all, was Tom Longman. Tom was a big, hulking fellow,good-natured and simple-hearted in the extreme. He was the victim of anintense susceptibility to the girls' charms, joined with an intolerableshyness and self-consciousness when in their presence. From thisconsuming embarrassment he would seek relief by working like a horsewhenever there was anything to do. With his hands occupied he had anexcuse for not talking to the girls or being addressed by them, and, thusshielded from the, direct rays of their society, basked withinexpressible emotions in the general atmosphere of sweetness and lightwhich they diffused. He liked picnics because there was much work to do,and never attended indoor parties because there was none. This inordinatetaste for industry in connection with social enjoyment on Tom's part wasstrongly encouraged by the other young men, and they were the ones whoalways stipulated that he should be of the party when there was likely tobe any call for rowing, taking care of horses, carrying of loads, puttingout of croquet sets, or other manual exertion. He was generally an oddone in such companies. It would be no kindness to provide him a partner,and, besides, everybody made so many jokes about him that none of thegirls quite cared to have their names coupled with his, although they allhad a compassionate liking for him.

  On the present occasion this poor slave of the petticoat had been at workpreparing the boats all the morning.

  "Why, how nicely you have arranged everything!" said Madeline kindly, asshe stood on the sand waiting for Henry to bring up a boat.

  "What?" replied Tom, laughing in a flustered way.

  He always laughed just so and said "what?" when any of the girls spoke tohim, being too much confused by the fact of being addressed to catch whatwas said the first time.

  "It's very good of you to arrange the boats for us, Madeline repeated.

  "Oh, 'tain't anything, 'tain't anything at all," he blurted out, with avery red face.

  "You are going up in our boat, ain't you, Longman?" said Harry Tuttle.

  "No, Tom, you're going with us," cried another young man.

  "He's going with us, like a sensible fellow," said Will Taylor, who, withLaura Burr, was sitting on the forward thwart of the boat, into the sternof which Henry was now assisting Madeline.

  "Tom, these lazy young men are just wanting you to do their rowing forthem," said she. "Get into our boat, and I'll make Henry row you."

  "What do you say to that, Henry?" said Tom, snickering.

  "It isn't for me to say anything after Madeline has spoken," replied theyoung man.

  "She has him in good subjection," remarked Ida Lewis, not over-sweetly.

  "All right, I'll come in your boat, Miss Brand, if you'll take care ofme," said Tom, with a sudden spasm of boldness, followed by violentblushes at the thought that perhaps be had said something too free.The boat was pushed off. Nobody took the oars.

  "I thought you were going to row?" said Madeline, turning to Henry, whosat beside her in the stern.

  "Certainly," said he, making as if he would rise. "Tom, you just sit herewhile I row."

  "Oh no, I'd just as lief row," said Tom, seizing the oars with feverishhaste.

  "So would I, Tom; I want a little exercise," urged Henry with ahypocritical grin, as he stood up in an attitude of readiness.

  "Oh, I like to row. 'I'd a great deal rather. Honestly," asseverated Tom,as he made the water foam with the violence of his strokes, compellingHenry to resume his seat to preserve his equilibrium.

  "It's perfectly plain that you don't want to sit by me, Tom. That hurtsmy feelings," said Madeline, pretending to pout.

  "Oh no, it isn't that," protested Tom. "Only I'd rather row; that is, Imean, you know, it's such fun rowing."

  "Very well, then," said Madeline, "I sha'n't help you any more; and herethey all are tying their boats on to ours."

  Sure enough, one of the other boats had fastened its chain to the sternof theirs, and th
e others had fastened to that; their oarsmen were lyingoff and Tom was propelling the entire flotilla.

  "Oh, I can row 'em all just as easy's not," gasped the devoted youth, theperspiration rolling down his forehead.

  But this was a little too bad, and Henry soon cast off the other boats,in spite of the protests of their occupants, who regarded Tom's brawn andmuscle as the common stock of the entire party, which no one boat had aright to appropriate.

  On reaching Hemlock Hollow, Madeline asked the poor young man for hishat, and returned it to him adorned with evergreens, which nearlydistracted him with bashfulness and delight, and drove him to seek asafety-valve for his excitement in superhuman activity all the rest ofthe morning, arranging croquet sets, hanging swings, breaking ice,squeezing lemons, and fetching water.

  "Oh, how thirsty I am!" sighed Madeline, throwing down her croquetmallet.

  "The ice-water is not yet ready, but I know a spring a little way offwhere the water is cold as ice," said Henry.

  "Show it to me this instant," she cried, and they walked off together,followed by Ida Lewis's unhappy eyes.

  The distance to the spring was not great, but the way was rough, and onceor twice he had to help her over fallen trees and steep banks. Once sheslipped a little, and for, a single supreme moment he held her wholeweight in his arms. Before, they had been talking and laughing gaily, butthat made a sudden silence. He dared not look at her for some moments,and when he did there was a slight flush tingeing her usually colourlesscheek.

  His pulses were already bounding wildly, and, at this betrayal that shehad shared his consciousness at that moment, his agitation was tenfoldincreased. It was the first time she had ever shown a sign of confusionin his presence. The sensation of mastery, of power over her, which itgave, was so utterly new that it put a sort of madness in his blood.Without a word they came to the spring and pretended to drink. As sheturned to go back, he lightly caught her fingers in a detaining clasp,and said, in a voice rendered harsh by suppressed emotion--

  "Don't be in such a hurry. Where will you find a cooler spot?"

  "Oh, it's cool enough anywhere! Let's go back," she replied, starting toreturn as she spoke. She saw his excitement, and, being herself a littleconfused, had no idea of allowing a scene to be precipitated just then.She flitted on before with so light a foot that he did not overtake heruntil she came to a bank too steep for her to surmount without aid. Hesprang up and extended her his hand. Assuming an expression as if shewere unconscious who was helping her, she took it, and he drew her up tohis side. Then with a sudden, audacious impulse, half hoping she wouldnot be angry, half reckless if she were, he clasped her closely in hisarms, and kissed her lips. She gasped, and freed herself.

  "How dared you do such a thing to me?" she cried.

  The big fellow stood before her, sheepish, dogged, contrite, desperate,all in one.

  "I couldn't help it," he blurted out. The plea was somehow absurdlysimple, and yet rather unanswerable. Angry as she was, she reallycouldn't think of anything to say, except--

  "You'd better help it," with which rather ineffective rebuke she turnedaway and walked toward the picnic ground. Henry followed in a demoralizedframe. His mind was in a ferment. He could not realize what had happened.He could scarcely believe that he had actually done it. He could notconceive how he had dared it. And now what penalty would she inflict?What if she should not forgive him? His soul was dissolved in fears. But,sooth to say, the young lady's actual state of mind was by no means soimplacable as he apprehended. She had been ready to be very angry, butthe suddenness and depth of his contrition had disarmed her. It took allthe force out of her indignation to see that he actually seemed to have adeeper sense of the enormity of his act than she herself had. And when,after they had rejoined the party, she saw that, instead of taking partin the sports, he kept aloof, wandering aimless and disconsolate byhimself among the pines, she took compassion on him and sent some one totell him she wanted him to come and push her in the swing. People hadkissed her before. She was not going to leave the first person who hadseemed to fully realize the importance of the proceeding to suffer undulyfrom a susceptibility which did him so much credit. As for Henry, hehardly believed his ears when he heard the summons to attend her. At thatthe kiss which her rebuke had turned cold on his lips began to glowafresh, and for the first time he tasted its exceeding sweetness; for hercalling to him seemed to ratify and consent to it. There were othersstanding about as he came up to where Madeline sat in the swing, and hewas silent, for he could not talk of indifferent things.

  With what a fresh charm, with what new sweet suggestions of complaisancethat kiss had invested every line and curve of her, from hat-plume toboot-tip! A delicious tremulous sense of proprietorship tinged his everythought of her. He touched the swing-rope as fondly as if it were anelectric chain that could communicate the caress to her. Tom Longman,having done all the work that offered itself, had been wandering about ina state of acute embarrassment, not daring to join himself to any of thegroups, much less accost a young lady who might be alone. As he driftednear the swing, Madeline said to Henry--

  "You may stop swinging me now. I think I'd like to go out rowing." Theyoung man's cup seemed running over. He could scarcely command his voicefor delight as he said--

  "It will be jolly rowing just now. I'm sure we can get some pond-lilies."

  "Really," she replied, airily, "you take too much for granted. I wasgoing to ask Tom Longman to take me out."

  She called to Tom, and as he came up, grinning and shambling, sheindicated to him her pleasure that he should row her upon the river. Theidea of being alone in a small boat for perhaps fifteen minutes with thebelle of Newville, and the object of his own secret and distantadoration, paralysed Tom's faculties with an agony of embarrassment. Hegrew very red, and there was such a buzzing in his ears that he could notfeel sure he heard aright, and Madeline had to repeat herself severaltimes before he seemed to fully realize the appalling nature of theproposition. As they walked down to the shore she chatted with him, buthe only responded with a profusion of vacant laughs. When he had pulledout on the river, his rowing, from his desire to make an excuse for nottalking, was so tremendous that they cheered him from the shore, at thesame time shouting--

  "Keep her straight! You're going into the bank!"

  The truth was, that Tom could not guide the boat because he did not dareto look astern for fear of meeting Madeline's eyes, which, to judge fromthe space his eyes left around her, he must have supposed to fill atleast a quarter of the horizon, like an aurora, in fact. But, all thesame, he was having an awfully good time, although perhaps it would bemore proper to say he would have a good time when he came to think itover afterward. It was an experience which would prove a mine of gold inhis memory, rich enough to furnish for years the gilding to his modestday-dreams. Beauty, like wealth, should make its owners generous. It is agracious thing in fair women at times to make largesse of their beauty,bestowing its light more freely on tongue-tied, timid adorers than ontheir bolder suitors, giving to them who dare not ask. Their beauty nevercan seem more precious to women than when for charity's sake theybrighten with its lustre the eyes of shy and retiring admirers.

  As Henry was ruefully meditating upon the uncertainty of the sex, anddebating the probability that Madeline had called him to swing her forthe express purpose of getting a chance to snub him, Ida Lewis came tohim, and said--

  "Mr. Burr, we're getting up a game of croquet. Won't you play?"

  "If I can be on your side," he answered, civilly.

  He knew the girl's liking for him, and was always kind to her. At hisanswer her face flushed with pleasure, and she replied shyly--

  "If you'd like to, you may."

  Henry was not in the least a conceited fellow, but it was impossible thathe should not understand the reason why Ida, who all the morning hadlooked forlorn enough, was now the life of the croquet-ground, and fullof smiles and flushes. She was a good player, and had a correspondinginterest
in beating, but her equanimity on the present occasion was notin the least disturbed by the disgraceful defeat which Henry'sawkwardness and absence of mind entailed on their aide.

  But her portion of sunshine for that day was brief enough, for Madelinesoon returned from her boat-ride, and Henry found an excuse for leavingthe game and joining her where she sat on the ground between the knees ofa gigantic oak sorting pond-lilies, which the girls were admiring. As hecame up, she did not appear to notice him. As soon as he had a chanceto speak without being overheard, he said, soberly--

  "Tom ought to thank me for that boat-ride, I suppose."

  "I don't know what you mean," she answered, with assumed carelessness.

  "I mean that you went to punish me."

  "You're sufficiently conceited," she replied. "Laura, come here; yourbrother is teasing me."

  "And do you think I want to be teased to?" replied that young lady,pertly, as she walked off.

  Madeline would have risen and left Henry, but she was too proud to lethim think that she was afraid of him.. Neither was she afraid, but shewas confused, and momentarily without her usual self-confidence. Onereason for her running off with Tom had been to get a chance to think. Nogirl, however coolly her blood may flow, can be pressed to a man'sbreast, wildly throbbing with love for her, and not experience someagitation in consequence. Whatever may be the state of her sentiments,there is a magnetism in such a contact which she cannot at once throwoff. That kiss had brought her relations with Henry to a crisis. It hadprecipitated the necessity of some decision. She could no longer hold himoff, and play with him. By that bold dash he had gained a vantage-ground,a certain masterful attitude which he had never held before. Yet, afterall, I am not sure that she was not just a little afraid of him, and,moreover, that she did not like him all the better for it. It was such anovel feeling that it began to make some things, thought of in connectionwith him, seem more possible to her mind than they had ever seemedbefore. As she peeped furtively at this young man, so suddenly grownformidable, as he reclined carelessly on the ground at her feet, sheadmitted to herself that there was something very manly in the sturdyfigure and square forehead, with the curly black locks hanging over it.She looked at him with a new interest, half shrinking, half attracted, asone who might come into a very close relation with herself. She scarcelyknew whether the thought was agreeable or not.

  "Give me your hat," she said, "and I'll put some lilies in it."

  "You are very good," said he, handing it to her.

  "Does it strike you so?" she replied, hesitatingly. "Then I won't do it.I don't want to appear particularly good to you. I didn't know just howit would seem."

  "Oh, it won't seem very good; only about middling," he urged, upon whichrepresentation she took the hat.

  He watched her admiringly as she deftly wreathed the lilies around it,holding it up, now this way and now that, while she critically inspectedthe effect.

  Then her caprice changed. "I've half a mind to drop it into the river.Would you jump after it?" she said, twirling it by the brim, and lookingover the steep bank, near which she sat, into the deep, dark water almostperpendicularly below.

  "If it were anything of yours instead of mine, I would jump quicklyenough," he replied.

  She looked at him with a reckless gleam in her eyes.

  "You mustn't talk chaff to me, sir; we'll see," and, snatching a glovefrom her pocket, she held it out over the water. They were both of themin that state of suppressed excitement which made such an experiment oneach other's nerve dangerous. Their eyes met, and neither flinched. Ifshe had dropped it, he would have gone after it.

  "After all," she said, suddenly, "that would be taking a good deal oftrouble to get a mitten. If you are so anxious for it, I will give it toyou now;" and she held out the glove to him with an inscrutable face.

  He sprang up from the ground. "Madeline, do you mean it?" he asked,scarcely audibly, his face grown white and pinched. She crumpled theobnoxious glove into her pocket.

  "Why, you poor fellow!" she exclaimed, the wildfire in her eyes quenchedin a moment with the dew of pity. "Do you care so much?"

  "I care everything," he said, huskily.

  But, as luck would have it, just at that instant Will Taylor came runningup, pursued by Laura, and threw himself upon Madeline's protection. Itappeared that he had confessed to the possession of a secret, and onbeing requested by Laura to impart it had flatly refused to do so.

  "I can't really interfere to protect any young man who refuses to tell asecret to a young lady," said Madeline, gravely. "Neglect to tell her thesecret, without being particularly asked to do so, would be bad enough,but to refuse after being requested is an offence which calls for thesharpest correction."

  "And that isn't all, either," said Laura, vindictively flirting theswitch with which she had pursued him. "He used offensive language."

  "What did he say?" demanded Madeline, judicially.

  "I asked him if he was sure it was a secret that I didn't know already,and he said he was; and I asked him what made him sure, and he saidbecause if I knew it everybody else would. As much as to say I couldn'tkeep a secret."

  "This looks worse and worse, young man," said the judge, severely. "Theonly course left for you is to make a clean breast of the affair, andthrow yourself on the mercy of the court. If the secret turns out to be agood one, I'll let you off as easily as I can."

  "It's about the new drug-clerk, the one who is going to take GeorgeBayley's place," said Will, laughing.

  "Oh, do tell, quick!" exclaimed Laura.

  "I don't care who it is. I sha'n't like him," said Madeline. "PoorGeorge! and here we are forgetting all about him this beautiful day!"

  "What's the new clerk's name?" said Laura, impatiently.

  "Harrison Cordis."

  "What?"

  "Harrison Cordis."

  "Rather an odd name," said Laura. "I never heard it."

  "No," said Will; "he comes all the way from Boston."

  "Is he handsome?" inquired Laura.

  "I really don't know," replied Will. "I presume Parker failed to makethat a condition, although really he ought to, for the looks of the clerkis the principal element in the sale of soda-water, seeing girls are theonly ones who drink it."

  "Of course it is," said Laura, frankly. "I didn't drink any all lastsummer, because poor George's sad face took away my disposition. Nevermind," she added, "we shall all have a chance to see how he looks atchurch to-morrow;" and with that the two girls went off together to helpset the table for lunch.

  The picnickers did not row home till sunset, but Henry found noopportunity to resume the conversation with Madeline which had beenbroken off at such an interesting point.