Stanford Eveleth - Miss Dexie

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"Nonsense! Elsie; you must have misunderstood what they were talking about.
Lancy and I have been much together on account of our music, and your
mother would rather he spent his time over the piano with me, than with the
wild young men about the city; that is what she meant. It is only the music
that Lancy thinks of; so don't get foolish notions into your head, Elsie."

"Well, perhaps mamma did mean that, but I'm sure she didn't say it so. I
thought she meant--something else," and whatever suspicions had been
aroused in Elsie's innocent heart were lulled to rest for the time.

But this revelation aroused various feelings in Dexie's heart. She never
thought that the friendship existing between Lancy and herself would be so
differently construed. She liked Lancy very much, and never hesitated to
affirm it, but it made the blood rush to her face when she thought of
Lancy's good-bye kiss in the way Elsie had spoken of it.

"Such silliness! Our good times will all be spoiled if people begin to
imagine such nonsense about us. How shall I be able to meet him in the
morning? But there! it is only Elsie's foolish mistake; I will not think of
it any more," so, resolutely putting the subject from her mind, she fell
asleep.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was quite late when the young people opened their eyes next morning, and
the unfamiliar surroundings made Dexie lift her head with a start; but the
sparkle that came from the glowing wood fire in the old-fashioned grate
spoke of friendly cheer, and she turned a bright face to her companion as
she asked after her welfare.

"My head aches a little, and I feel stiff and sore, but I suppose you feel
the same," was the languid reply.

"Not I. I never felt better in my life. I would like to get up and see what
the world looks like around here."

Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Taylor stepped into the room.

"So my snow-birds are awake at last; and how do they feel this cold
morning?" was the cheery question.

"I am quite well, thank you; but Elsie feels rather tired, I fear," Dexie
replied. "May we get up, please?"

"Well, I'll not punish you by making you stay in bed," was the smiling
reply, "but I think your sister would be the better of another hour's
rest," then adding a few sticks to the blazing logs, she left the room.

Dexie was soon dressing before the fire, her lively tongue keeping up a
pleasant chattering as she glanced occasionally through the frosty
window-panes to the white world outside, and Elsie soon roused from her
lethargy and showed some inclination to bestir herself also.

When Mrs. Taylor returned, bearing a dainty breakfast, she found them
standing before the fire, their arms around each other's shoulders, and she
thought them very loving sisters, though their looks betrayed no such
relationship.

They were indeed a contrast as they stood together before the fire. Dexie
was all aglow, her cheeks dimpled and rosy, her merry brown eyes full of
life and her pretty hair falling in rings about her forehead, making her
look much younger than she really was; while poor Elsie's face looked all
the paler against the background of dark hair that grew low on her brow,
and hung in two long braids down her back. Her grey eyes looked dull and
heavy, and she lacked the sparkle that made Dexie so attractive.

"Come now, and have your breakfast," and Mrs. Taylor drew the little table
nearer the fire. "I am going to let you enjoy it alone, but when you are
ready step into the room across the hall. Your brother is anxious to see
how you look after your adventure."

Dexie was just going to explain that she was no relation to Elsie, when the
conversation of the night before came into her mind, and while she
hesitated Mrs. Taylor left the room. As the door opened they could hear
Lancy's voice as he conversed with the family, and for the first time it
brought a flush to Dexie's face. She shrank from the thought of meeting
him, but this diffidence was owing more to Elsie's remarks than to any
change in her own feelings.

"Come," said Elsie, at last, "we don't want to sit here all day. Let us go
and find Lancy."

She stepped at once to his side as they entered the room, and gave him a
sisterly embrace, making Dexie's quiet "good morning" seem a cool greeting
in comparison; there seemed a strange restraint between them that neither
had felt before, which forbade any show of feeling on either side. This was
noticed at once by Mrs. Taylor, who was brightening up the fire, and she
said:

"Seems to me you haven't such a warm welcome for your brother as your
sister gives him, yet he has been inquiring very particularly after you."

"He is not my brother, Mrs. Taylor. I do not know how the mistake has been
made, but we are no relation whatever."

"Not your brother! Then who are you, my dear?" smiling at Dexie's blushing
face.

"Lancy, introduce me properly," and Dexie rose to her feet.

Catching the spirit of mischief that shone in her eyes, he stepped quickly
to her side, and with a flourish made the introduction.

"Allow me to make you acquainted with our next-door neighbor, Miss Dexie
Sherwood."

Dexie bowed graciously to the several occupants of the room, who rose to
their feet, and all embarrassment fled at once.

"Next-door neighbors those two may be," was the whispered comment of the
young girls who were stepping back and forth as they prepared the mid-day
meal, "but there is every sign of a closer relationship in the future, if
their looks do not belie them."

But the only sentiment in Dexie's heart was gratitude and love to a Higher
Power. As she turned the leaves of a music-book she had picked up from the
table she passed the book to Lancy, saying in a low tone:

"If I were home, I would like to sit down to the piano and play that."

Lancy glanced at the page, and his eyes told her that he understood, for
the words of the anthem to which Dexie referred began, "Out of the depths
cried I, and thou, O Lord, hast heard."

"Does the owner of these books play?" and Lancy turned to address Mrs.
Taylor, a sudden thought like an inspiration coming to his mind.

"Only a little. Our Susan is wild over music; but our little old piano is
all she has to practise on, and during the winter she can only go into
Halifax once a week for a lesson. Susan, show them into the sitting-room,
and perhaps Miss Sherwood will play something for us."

As Dexie entered the room she took in at a glance the many pretty and
tasteful things which adorned the walls and brackets, and she wondered if
Susan's fingers had accomplished such marvels in autumn leaves and other
little adornments.

The fireplace was a thing of beauty, with its polished andirons, and the
ruddy tongues of flame that leaped forth from the heaped-up wood made a
cheerful picture.

Several big cushioned chairs were drawn near the hearth and a basket of
knitting work was "handy" on a table, while in the old-fashioned rocker the
family cat peacefully reposed.

Lancy had no eyes for anything but the piano, and as Susan opened it she
smilingly exclaimed:

"Confess, now, that you think there is little music to be got out of this
ancient-looking thing."

"Well, it is an odd make, certainly, but some of these old pianos have a
fine tone. Sit down and play something for us, Miss Taylor," and he drew
the music-stool in place.

"Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!" she replied, smiling. "My playing is not
of an entertaining kind as yet, for even mother flies to the kitchen when I
try a new piece, but you will find me a good listener."

Was that the same old piano? thought Susan, as she stood by the instrument
watching Lancy's fingers passing over the keys. Why, it seemed to be a
thing of life; and she moved away almost in awe at the sounds that came
forth from the hitherto despised keys.

Presently Dexie began to sing, low and softly at first, then her expressive
voice swelled forth, thrilling the listeners that gathered at the door.
Susan slipped away, her eyes full of tears.

"Oh! if I could only play and sing like that I would wish for nothing
more," said she to her sister. "That anthem means more than the mere words
and music."

"Yes, it sounds like family prayers," replied her sister. "I declare I
don't know what I am crying for. I wonder if it would be a sin to mash
these potatoes while that singing is going on; they will be getting cold,
I'm afraid."

But the closing words rang out joyously, "But Thou hast been merciful and
heard us; therefore Thy name will we praise all the day long."

Not until she had finished did Dexie realize that she had so many
listeners, but she turned a bright face to the group at the door.

"I did not know we had such an audience."

"Don't stop, friends," said Mr. Taylor, coming into the room. "Such music
is quite a treat. I guess, Susan, there is more in that piano than you ever
dreamed of. Let us hear something else."

Lancy rose from the music-stool, saying to Dexie:

"Play 'The Mocking Bird,' and I'll sing to your whistle."

A moment later Dexie's supple fingers were dancing over the keys in a
delightful prelude. Then Lancy's voice filled the room as he sang the
well-known song, accompanied by the exquisite notes of the southern mocking
bird, and the continuous warble that poured from Dexie's throat during the
chorus made her listeners start as if a veritable bird were concealed in
the room.

"Well, that spoils the old proverb from this time forth," said Mr. Taylor,
as he leaned back against the wall and thrust his thumbs into the armholes
of his vest. "Whistling girls and crowing hens will hereafter have a chance
to be heard. Old saws ain't always true, eh, Miss Sherwood?"

"Well, I never heard a hen crow yet, Mr. Taylor," and Dexie laughed softly,
"and I do not know what is their usual fate, but the proverb does not alarm
me in the least."

"Do whistle another piece, Miss Sherwood," said Susan. "It will give us
great pleasure to hear you."

Lancy turned over the leaves of a book, then placed it on the piano,
saying:

"Try that, Dexie, and I'll whistle with you."

It would be hard to express the pleasure that this exquisite bird-song gave
to those who listened. All the songsters in the woods seemed let loose in
the room, now singing together in full chorus, then singly or in pairs they
twittered and trilled as Dexie's soft whistle followed or joined Lancy's
stronger notes, while such bird-like notes came from the keys before her as
might have deceived the very birds themselves.

"Nothing will surprise me after this," cried Susan, when the song had
ended. "I heard my music-teacher play that once, and I thought it the
tamest thing I had ever heard; of course he did not try to whistle it too,
but the music itself sounded quite different."

"Perhaps your music-teacher never took the trouble to listen to the birds
themselves; that makes a difference, you know," said Dexie.

Just then Mrs. Taylor came into the room, saying:

"I think you must come to dinner, but you must give us some more music
afterwards. Really, Susan, that old piano is not such a poor affair, after
all; is it, now?"

CHAPTER IX.

As was expected, they found there was much anxiety at home over their long
absence. Mr. Sherwood was on the watch when the sleigh drove up, and was
beside it in time to help the muffled figures alight, and anxious to hear
the particulars of their protracted drive.

"Let me go into Mrs. Gurney's just a minute, papa," said Dexie, "and I will
tell you all about it when I come back."

Then they found themselves pulled through the hall by the eager children,
who had been watching for their appearance for hours, and into the
sitting-room where Mrs. Gurney sat with a white, anxious face, waiting
their arrival.

In a few minutes the story of their detention was told, Lancy telling his
part and Elsie hers, Dexie finishing the story by confessing to the extreme
measures used to keep Elsie awake, not sparing herself in the least when
telling of the quarrel she had provoked, and there was a suspicious
moisture in Mr. Gurney's eyes as he listened to the story.

"You have been in great peril," said he, as he drew the girls to his side.
"Let us all kneel a moment and return thanks for the safety of these dear
ones;" and all knelt, just as they were: Mr. Gurney with one arm around
Elsie, the other around Dexie; Lancy with his fur coat still on, and the
whip in his hand; the little ones, who had pressed into the room, dropped
to their knees, their arms full of toys; Mrs. Gurney with the baby in her
arms--all knelt, while a few earnest words went up from a father's grateful
heart.

Mrs. Gurney insisted that Elsie should go up to bed at once, and be
doctored for the cold she had evidently contracted, and pressing a kiss on
Dexie's cheek, she followed her daughter upstairs.

But for all their care Elsie was confined to her room for several weeks,
and her recovery was slow and tedious. They were all thankful, though, that
nothing more serious resulted from exposure to the storm, which was the
worst that had visited the country for several years.

Dexie had to tell the story over again when she went home; but she made
light of it all, making much more fun out of their grand ride on horseback
than either she or Elsie had experienced while partaking of it. But the
whole story came out when Lancy came in during the evening, and Mr.
Sherwood's look of tender solicitude contrasted strangely with the mother's
apparent unconcern, as the story of their adventure was related at length.

"I am forgetting that I was sent in here with a message," Lancy said, a few
minutes later. "Elsie has been asking to see you, Dexie, and mother wishes
to know if you are too tired to run in a few minutes."

Dexie followed Lancy into his own door, and running swiftly up the stairs
was soon bending over Elsie, who was wrapped up like a mummy.

"I did not want to see you for anything _very_ particular," Elsie said, in
answer to Dexie's inquiry. "But I could not go to sleep for thinking of
last night. It seems so good to be in my own bed again, safe, after all my
fears, that I wanted to tell you once more how sorry I am for being so
cross with you; for I was _awful_ cross, Dexie, when you talked so harshly
to me."

"Now, Elsie! don't speak as if there were anything for _you_ to be sorry
for, or I shall have such qualms of conscience as will surely make me ill,"
was Dexie's laughing reply.

After a few minutes' chat, Dexie left the room to return home, but Lancy
was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he drew her into the parlor,
saying:

"Stay with me a little while, Dexie, do; no one will disturb us here, and I
want to have a 'sing.' Your father or Gussie are sure to be in the parlor
if we go into your house."

"Well, it will have to be a short 'sing,' Lancy, for the drive in the wind
has made me sleepy."

When Mrs. Gurney passed the door a few minutes later, and peeped into the
dimly lighted room to listen to the soft strains that met her ears, she
smiled and softly withdrew, for Lancy was seated at the instrument, and
Dexie stood by his side, her hand resting carelessly on his shoulder, while
they sang what Mrs. Gurney knew was their private thanksgiving.

As the last notes died away, Lancy turned on the music-stool and took her
hand; Dexie's thoughts had been so engrossed that, for the moment, she let
it rest there, when she heard the low-spoken words: "I want to tell you
something, Dexie."

Instantly Elsie's words flashed into her mind, and she tried to break away
from the arm that encircled her waist.

"Let me go, Lancy," was the startled cry. "It is time I was home."

"I will take you home presently, Dexie; I want to talk to you a few minutes
first," and catching her hands in his he held her close.

"But I do not want to be held here! Oh, Lancy! let go my hands. I must go
home."

"Be quiet and listen to me a minute, Dexie; only a minute. I want to tell
you that, when I left you both in the sleigh last night, I felt far worse
about leaving you than my own sister. Do you know why, Dexie?"

"I don't want to know, Lancy. I don't want to hear another word."

"You can't get away from me, Dexie; so don't try. I want to tell you," he
added, in a lower tone, "that before last night I never knew why it was
that I liked to spend all the time I could with you. I thought it was on
account of our music, but as I walked through the storm last night the
truth came to me. I love you, Dexie, and that is why my heart kept me up
till I found help. I was almost wild with fear that something would happen
to you before I could get you safely sheltered. Yes, darling, I love you;
and the thought has made me feel so light of heart that I could sing all
the time for very joy."

"Oh, Lancy! how can you talk so. You have spoiled all our good times
together, for I'll never come in here again when I know you are home," and
she turned her face away from his earnest gaze.

"Oh, yes, you will; you will not be so unkind as that. If you refuse to
come in here I will go into your house just twice as often; so you can't
get rid of me, Dexie," was the smiling reply.

There was a moment's silence, when Dexie said: "It will be a pity for us to
quarrel, Lancy, but you must not talk to me like this any more. Really, I
did not think you could be so silly. Think how they would all tease us if
anyone should find us here; and you know Gussie would make my life a misery
if she guessed you had been talking such nonsense."

"It is not 'nonsense' to tell you that I love you, but my love shall not be
a source of annoyance to you; no one need know it. Everything will be as
usual, only, Dexie, you will know that I love you, and I will know--well,
what, Dexie? You do not dislike me any more than you did two days ago, do
you?" he whispered.

"I have not changed in the least, but I shall dislike you very much, Lancy,
if you do not try and forget what has been said here this evening."

"I cannot forget it even if I wanted to, Dexie. Do not think that I want to
vex you, dear, but I want you to understand me. Now, there is only one
thing more, Dexie," and his voice grew tender; "that kiss you gave me last
night in the sleigh seems to be resting on my lips yet, and has been a
sweet memory all day long. But, Dexie," and he laughed softly, "you know it
was a very cold kiss, after all. Give me a warm one to take its place, and
I'll let you go."

Dexie shook her head and tried to draw back from him. She felt so
distressed that the tears were on the point of falling. She had gone
through so much during the last few hours, and this unexpected interview
tried her more than Lancy was aware.

"Only one kiss," he urged. "You gave it willingly last night, darling."

"But things are not the same as they were last night."

"No, I love you better, Dexie. May I?" But without waiting for permission
he kissed the face so near him, and found it wet with tears.

"Dexie, darling, I did not think you would care so much. Forgive me if I
vexed you; you kissed me last night without a word."

"But you are not the same, and there was a reason last night. It is not
fair, Lancy. You have quite spoiled our good times for the future."

"No, not spoiled them, only made them dearer. Dexie, you shan't be vexed
with me. Come over on the sofa and let me talk to you."

"No; you said you would let me go home, and I want to go now, this very
minute."

"Very well." He rose and pulled her shawl over her shoulders, then followed
her silently into the shelter of her own door. He would have followed her
into the house as well, forgetting that Dexie's face would tell tales, but
she stopped him at the door.

"I don't want to see you any more to-night, Lancy; I really don't," she
said, as they stood a moment in the front hall.

"You are displeased with me for telling you that I love you. Perhaps I
should have waited a little longer before speaking about it; but, Dexie, I
couldn't keep it to myself. I had to tell you."

"I would not have been any more pleased to hear it, even if you _had_ kept
it longer;" and, lifting her eyes to his face for a moment, added, "I am
not exactly vexed with you, Lancy, but I'm not pleased either. Now, go
home; do." Being thus summarily dismissed, there was no choice left him;
but before he turned to obey her command, he raised her hand to his lips,
and whispered a tender "Good-night, Dexie."

She stood and watched him down the steps, then turned and went quickly to
her own room, and locking the door behind her threw herself face down on
the bed, and for a few minutes wept without restraint. She felt completely
unnerved; so much had happened during the last twenty-four hours that had
tried her strength and courage, that Lancy's declaration had filled up the
measure of her strength.

But her thoughts, always rapid, soon worked out a semblance of order from
the confusion that filled her mind, and she dried her eyes and began to
review her conduct in the light that others probably judged her.

She would not deny, even to herself, that she preferred Lancy's company to
that of any of her male friends; but they were both so young that it was
ridiculous to even imagine that their intimacy meant more than common
friendship. However, if Lancy chose to be silly, that was no reason that
she should become sentimental also. She was not obliged to fall in love
just because Lancy fancied himself in that condition. It would be horrid
not to see him or sing with him again when their voices chorded so well
together; and Lancy never misunderstood her, if everyone else did. Yes, it
would be very hard not to be friendly with him; but, there! surely one can
be friendly with a gentleman without being expected to fall in love with
him, and she felt positive that if there were a Prince Charming for her,
his name was not Lancy Gurney.

Having thus decided the matter satisfactorily to herself, she rose and
quickly prepared herself for bed; for several days after she took good care
not to be left alone with Lancy, and she kept him at a distance by her
saucy speeches.

But his manner to her was the same as usual. The tender look in his eyes,
when they met hers, was the only reminder of his words. The knowledge of
his love, too, ceased to annoy her, or it was crowded back by the many
incidents that filled her life at this time; but it was there, ready to
spring up at the slightest touch.

CHAPTER X.

The first day of April dawned brightly. The warm rays of the sun seemed
doubly welcome after the cold, stormy weather of the previous month, and
the streets were filled with people, who were out enjoying the sunshine
regardless of the mud that covered their feet at every step.

But Nova Scotians are a courageous people the whole country over, as
witness the intrepidity with which they walk to and fro, year after year,
through mud that seems in some places almost bottomless; for, strange
though it may seem to outsiders, who cannot expect to learn the secrets of
the learned road commissioners, the more time and money spent on a road the
softer and muddier it seems to become.

It is a fact that can be vouched for by many responsible persons, that
once, while a poor man was walking along one of the country roads in early
spring, he sank so deep in the mire that, on putting forth his strength to
lift his leg, he pulled it apart above the knee, leaving the lower half
sticking in the mud! Fortunately he was carrying a strong cane, and by
leaning upon it he managed to keep upright until help arrived, when he was
rescued from his perilous position. After much difficulty, the imbedded
limb was extracted from the mud, and safely fastened again in its place--it
was made of wood!

But, leaving facts for fiction, let us step into the Sherwood household,
and we will find Mr. Sherwood busy preparing for another trip to Prince
Edward Island.

Mr. Plaisted had arrived from New York a few weeks previously, and was to
accompany him, though the departure of this gentleman would cause no
regrets in the household, for his true nature had been revealed during his
stay amongst them. His bland and courteous manner was not inborn--it had
but a surface character; and if "to know a man you must live in the house
with him," then it took but a short time to become thoroughly acquainted
with Mr. Plaisted. If he had not been so puffed up with conceit, he would
have felt the altered atmosphere around him; but he was not sensitive--not
in the least--and he could stand an unlimited amount of snubbing without
being touched. His familiarity had indeed "bred contempt," and the hope of
his speedy departure alone kept back the threatened storm. Even Nancy in
the kitchen had been heard to say that, "if the scented dandy didn't kape
out ov her kitchen wid his imperdent speeches, she would give him wan blow
wid her fist that would spoil his beauty for him," and threatened to "give
warnin'" if the mistress did not keep him to his own quarters.

Mrs. Sherwood was more than satisfied to leave all unpleasant things for
Aunt Jennie to settle. It was quite convenient to be an "invalid" when
there was trouble below stairs, and it required more than a hint to make
Plaisted see that he was transgressing all rules of hospitality. When Mr.
Sherwood announced that the Straits were opened, and they would leave at
once to catch the first boat, they were all willing to "speed the parting
guest," even though he would take Mr. Sherwood away with him also.

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