A Daughter of the Rich

"Miss Blossom,"–somehow Jack had not quite the courage to say "Rose," although he had been so frankly invited to–"I want to tell you why I came up here; it must have seemed almost an intrusion."

"Oh, no, indeed," said Rose, earnestly, "and I know why you came; Hazel told me."

"Oh, she did," said Jack, rather inanely, and a little uncertain as to his footing, figuratively speaking; for he had given her the chance to ask "Why?"–and she had n't taken it; in which she proved herself different from all those other girls of his acquaintance. To himself he thought, "Well, for all the cordial indifference, commend me to this girl."

"Yes, I 'm sure it would have seemed like anything but Christmas to you in New York with your father in Europe; you must miss him so."

Jack felt himself blush in the moonlight at the remembrance that he had seen his father but little in the last three years, and did not know what it was in reality to miss him. He never remembered to have missed anything or anybody but his mother, and that indefinite something in his life which he had not yet put himself earnestly to seek.

"I suppose you 'll be shocked, Miss Blossom, but I don't really miss my father. I 'm only awfully glad to see him when I get the chance–which is n't often. He 's such a busy man with railroads and syndicates and real estate interests. I wonder often how he can find time to write me even twice a month, which he has done regularly ever since–" he stopped abruptly.

"Since what?" asked Rose, innocently.

"Since my mother died," said Jack, in a hard, dry voice that served to cover his feeling.

"Yes," Rose nodded sympathetically, "Hazel told me." Then–for Rose's love for her own mother was something bordering on adoration–she said softly, under her breath, but with her whole heart in her voice; "Oh, I don't see how you could bear it–how you can live without her!"

"I don't," Jack replied with a break in his voice, "not really live, you know. I've always felt it, but never realized it until last night, when I stood out on the veranda and looked in at the window at you–all. Then I knew I 'd been hungry for that sort of thing for the last seven years–"

Now Rose's heart was swelling with pity for the loneliness of the tall, young fellow swinging along beside her, and at once her inner eyes were opened to see a, to her, startling fact. She turned suddenly towards him.

"Is that why you kissed Martie last night, and came up here to us?" she demanded rather breathlessly.

"Yes;" Jack had forgotten his scheme, and was in dead earnest now.

"Then," cried Rose, impulsively–but at the same time thinking, "I don't care if he is engaged to that Miss Seaton"–"I hope you 'll come to us whenever you feel like it; for," she added earnestly, "I 'm beginning to understand what Chi means when he talks about Hazel's being poor and our being rich, and–and I 'd love to share mine with you."

"You 're awfully good," said Jack, rather awkwardly for him; for, suddenly, in the presence of this young girl, as yet unspoiled by the world, he realized that Life was dependent upon something other than polo and club theatricals, railroad syndicates and Newport casinos, stocks and bonds and marketable real estate.

Jack was young, and the moonlight was transfiguring the face that, framed in a white, knitted hood, was turned towards him full of a frank, loving sympathy for him in his "poverty."–And, seeing it, Jack suddenly braced himself as if to meet some shock, thinking, as he strode along in silence, "Oh, I 'm gone!–for good and all this time."

Rose, a little surprised at the prolonged silence, welcomed the sound of sleigh-bells behind them.

"Why, that's Chi!" she exclaimed. "I thought he was at home long before this. I 'm sure he left long before we did. Where have you been, Chi?" she called so soon as the sleigh was within hailing distance.

"I 've been Chris'musin'," said Chi. "It ain't often you get just such a night on the Mountain as this, and I 've made the most of it. Can I give you a lift?"

"No, thank you, Chi, we 're almost home," said Rose.

"Well, then I 'd better be gettin' along–it's pretty near midnight–chk, Bob–" And Chi drove away down the Mountain, chuckling to himself:

"Ain't a-goin' to give myself away before no city chap that has cut me out as he has. George Washin'ton! When I peeked into the window 'n' saw Marier-Ann sittin' there in front of that kitchen table with all those presents on it, 'n' the little spruce set up so perky in the middle of 'em, 'n' she a-wearin' a great handful of those red, spice pinks in her bosom, 'n' her cheeks to match 'em, 'n' her eyes a-shinin'–I knew he 'd come it over me; he 'd made the first call, 'n' given her the first posies. Guess I won't crow over him after this." Chi undid his greatcoat, and bent his face until his nose rested upon Jack's rose:–

"It ain't touched yet, but it's a stinger; must be twenty below, now." Suddenly Chi gave a loud exclamation: "I must be a fool!–I 've broken one of the N.B.B.O.O. rules not to be afraid of anything, and did n't dare to give my posy to Marier-Ann!–Anyhow, she don't know I was goin' to give it to her, so I need n't feel so cheap about it–Go-long, Bob!"

XVIII

BUDD'S PROPOSAL

Before Mr. Clyde and Jack left the next day, Budd sought an opportunity to interview the latter on a subject, that, for a few weeks past, had been occupying many of his thoughts. The applause, with which his Christmas-day toast had been greeted, had encouraged him to seek an occasion for acquiring more definite knowledge on a subject which lay near his heart. It came when Jack was packing his dress-suit case in the guest chamber.

There was a knock on the half-opened door.

"Come in," said Jack, and Budd made his appearance.

"Halloo, Budd! What can I do for you? Any commissions in New York, or Boston?"

"Don't know what you mean by commissions," replied Budd, cautiously, thrusting both hands deep into the pockets of his knickerbockers, and spreading his sturdy legs to a wide V.

"Anything I can buy with that hen-and-jam money you helped to earn?–you did well, Budd, on that. I congratulate you."

"I have n't any of that money left. You see, we voted to give it to March to go to college with. But I 've got two quarters an' a dollar–Christmas presents, you know; an' that 'll do, won't it?" he asked rather anxiously.

"Well, that depends on what you buy," said Jack, with due seriousness.

"You 'll keep mum, Mr. Sherrill, if I tell you?" said Budd, inquiringly.

"Mum's the word, if you say so, Budd; out with it."

"Well, I want two things; one thing to make me feel grown up, an' I 've wanted it for a year."

"What's that, Budd?" asked Jack, immensely amused at Budd's swelling manhood–"A pair of long trousers?"

"No–" Budd hesitated for a moment, then went on in rather an aggrieved tone; "I hate to wear waists with buttons; it's just like a baby, an' a fellow can't feel grown up when he has to button everything on. I want to hitch things up the way March an' Chi do, an' I want you to buy me a shirt like that one you 're rolling up–only not flannel,–with a flap, you know, to tuck in."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Jack, endeavoring to keep his face and voice from betraying his inward amusement. "Well, I think you can get one for seventy-five cents–plain or striped?"

"I like those narrow blue striped ones like yours best," he replied, pointing to one of Jack's.

"Like mine it shall be, Budd; but you 'll want a pair of suspenders, or there 'll be too much hitching to be agreeable to you."

"March has an old pair, an' I 'm going to borrow them."

"That's an idea; now, what's the second thing?"

"A ring."

"A ring?" Jack looked amazed.

Budd nodded.

"For yourself?" Jack questioned further.

"No–for somebody else."

"Do you mean a finger ring?"

Budd nodded again emphatically.

"Engagement?" laughed Jack, at last, the fun getting the better of him.

Budd's mouth puckered into solemnity; "No–wedding."

Jack gave up the packing, and sat down, shaken with laughter, on the first convenient chair.

"Pardon me for laughing, Budd, but I can't help it. What do you want of a wedding ring? Is it for that 'first wife' of yours you toasted yesterday at dinner?"

Budd nodded again. "I don't see anything to laugh at," he said, with a reproachful glance. "You would n't if you was me."

"No, I don't think I should; you 're right there, Budd," he replied, sobering suddenly after his outburst of laughter. "When is the wedding to be?"

Budd looked thoughtful. "I have n't proposed yet," was his matter-of-fact answer.

"Well, why don't you?" Jack, sinner that he was, scented some fun at Budd's expense.

"I 'm going to when I know how," said Budd, humbly.

"Why don't you take lessons?" suggested Jack.

"I have."

"Of whom?"

"Chi."

Jack shouted. "What did Chi say?" he demanded when he had regained his breath.

"He said if he wanted to marry a girl, he 'd say what he wanted to–tell 'em he was fond of 'em."

"'Fond of them'–hm," repeated Jack, thoughtfully.

"What do you say?" questioned Budd, turning the tables rather suddenly on Jack.

"I don't say–never said," replied Jack, shortly.

"That's what Chi said. He said if I begun early I 'd find out how."

"You seem to be on the right road for it."

"Would you say 'fond of her'?" persisted Budd.

"Yes, I think I should," Jack replied with a peculiar smile; "but, of course, it would depend on the girl."

"Why, that's just what Chi said!"

"He did, did he!" Jack laughed; "Chi knows a thing or two."

"But I thought you 'd know more." Budd's face began to wear a puzzled look.

Just then Jack heard Rose's voice in the long-room asking where Mr. Sherrill was, and the sound brought home to him a realizing sense of the fact that there was but an hour before they left for the station, and every moment too precious to be wasted on Budd. Rising, and proceeding with his packing, he said with perfect seriousness:–

"Well, Budd, all I can say is, that if I were going to ask a girl to marry me, I should ask her if she thought enough of me to take me with all my imperfections and–"

"Where are you, Jack?" called Hazel, at the foot of the stairs; "Chi has to go an hour earlier than he said, and the sleigh is at the door."

In the hurry of Jack's good-byes and departure, the sentence was never finished, and the ring forgotten by him. But Budd remembered.

He was a sturdy little chap, broad of shoulder, strong of limb. His sandy red hair bristled straight up from his full forehead. His pale blue eyes, with thick reddish-brown lashes, were round and serious. His nose was a freckled pug, and his small mouth puckered, when he was very much in earnest, to the size of a buttonhole. From the time he had championed Hazel's coming to them, nearly a year ago, he had never wavered in his allegiance to her, and in his small-boy way showed her his entire devotion. Hazel had been so grateful to him for his whole-souled welcome of her, that she took pains to make his boy's heart happy in every way she could.

For Hazel, Budd was never in the way; never asked too many questions for her patience; never teased her beyond endurance. He found in her a ready listener, a good sympathizer, a capital playmate, and a loving girl-friend, who reproved him sometimes and, at others, praised him. What wonder that his ten-year-old heart had warmed towards her with its first boy-love? and that in his manly, practical way, he made of her an ideal?

"I love Hazel, and when I am big enough, I shall marry her," was what he said to himself whenever he stopped his play long enough to think about it at all. Naturally it seemed the wisest thing to tell her this when he should find the opportunity, and at the same time recall the fact.

Fortified by the testimony of Chi and Jack, he bided his time.

One Saturday afternoon in January, Rose said suddenly to Hazel: "I wish I could do some of the things that you do, Hazel." Hazel looked up from her book in surprise.

"What can I do that you can't do, Rose?"

"You dance so beautifully, and I 've always wanted to know how. I feel so awkward when I see you dance the Highland Fling."

"Is that all?" Hazel laughed a happy laugh. "I can teach you to dance as easy as anything, if you 'll let me."

"Let you!" Rose exclaimed, flushing with pleasure; "just you try me and see. But where can we practise?"

"Oh, out in the barn," cried Hazel. "It'll be lots of fun; of course, it's awfully cold, but the skipping about will keep us warm. I 'll tell you what–I 'll play on the violin, and you and March and Budd and Cherry can learn square dances first."

"What fun!" said Rose.

"What's the joke?" asked March, coming in at that moment with Budd and Cherry.

"We 're going to have a dance in the barn; Hazel's going to teach us. She says she can do it easy enough."

"Oh, bully!" Budd threw up his tam-o'-shanter, and Cherry, attempting to charge up and down the long-room as she had seen Hazel at the Fords', tripped on the rug and fell her length. When March had picked her up she rubbed her nose, which was growing decidedly pink, and sniffed a little, then asked suddenly:–

"Who 's going to be my partner? They always have partners in the story books."

"Sure enough," Rose laughed. "Whatever will we do, Hazel?"

"I never thought of that," said Hazel, ruefully. "Of course, it takes eight."

"Why can't we have chairs for partners?" said Cherry. "We can bow to them just as if they were alive, and make them move round, can't we?"

They all laughed at Cherry's inspiration.

"You 're a brick, Cherry Bounce?" said March, approvingly. "All choose your partners!" And, thereupon, he seized one of the kitchen chairs, and the rest followed his example. Hazel took her violin, and hooded and mittened and coated and mufflered, they trooped out to the barn, each lugging a wooden chair.

"Now I 'll give you the first four changes," said Hazel, illustrating, as well as she could in trying to be two couples at once, the first movements. "Form your square and get ready."

They obeyed with alacrity, and Hazel drew her bow across the strings.

"All curtsy to your partners!" she shouted, and the chair-partners received a bow, and, in turn, were made to thump the floor by being laid over on their backs, and righted suddenly.

"First couple forward and back!" shouted Hazel, and away went Rose dragging her chair after her to meet March and his chair–thumpity-thump–thumpity-thump.

They were in dead earnest, and the chairs were made to behave in a most human way.

All went well until they came to the Grand Right and Left; then there arose such a medley of shrieks of laughter, wild wails from the violin, thumps from sixteen chair-legs, and stampings from eight human ones as was never heard before. In a few minutes all was inextricable confusion, and the noise might have been best compared to a Medicine Dance among the Sioux Indians.

Upon this scene Mr. Blossom and Chi, on their return from the wood, looked with amazement.

"They seem to be havin' a regular pow-wow," Chi remarked dryly, as the exhausted dancers and musician sat down, panting for breath, on their wooden partners. "Rose-pose is about as young as any of 'em–but it beats all, how she's shootin' up into womanhood."

"She 's no longer my little Rosebud Blossom," said her father, rather sadly. "I dread the time when the birds begin to fly from the nest, and I see it coming with March and Rose."

Just then Rose caught sight of her father, and ran to him linking her arm in his. "We 've had such fun, father! We 're learning to dance; you must be my partner sometime, for Hazel's going to teach us the schottische next."

Rose never forgot the look of love her father gave her, nor the feel of his hand as he laid it on her hooded head: "Be my little Rose-pose, as long as you can, dear; you 're growing up too fast."

She recalled afterwards that this first dance in the barn marked the last time that she abandoned herself to the children's fun with a girl's careless heart.

The winter twilight was fast closing about the Mountain and the children just returning to the house, when Chi went out to milk. Leaving his lantern, stool, and pails in the first stall, he entered the third one to tie one of the cows to a shorter stanchion. Before he had finished he heard Budd's voice, and, looking over the partition, saw him standing with Hazel in the circle of light about the lantern. In another minute he began to feel like an eavesdropper.

"What did you want me to come here for, Budd?" said Hazel, dancing on the barn floor to warm her feet.

"I want to tell you something," said Budd, blowing on his cold fingers.

"Well, hurry up and tell; it's simply freezing here. Is it a secret?"

"Kinder," replied Budd, blowing harder; then, suddenly ceasing the bellows movement, he drew a step nearer to Hazel, and, putting the tips of his pudgy fingers together to make a triangle, he puckered his mouth solemnly and said, looking up at her with earnest eyes:–

"I 'm very fond of you."

Hazel laughed merrily. "Why, of course you are, you funny boy; you 've always been fond of me, have n't you? I 'm sure I 've always been fond of you. Is that what you kept me out here in the cold to say?"

"Not all;" Budd nodded seriously. "I 'm very fond of you, an'–an' if you 'll take me with all my perfections–I think that's the way it goes–if I have n't got the ring yet, it will be just the same, you know." He paused, and in the circle of light Chi could see the entire earnestness of his attitude.

"Goodness me, Budd! What do you mean about rings and things?"

"I want to marry you when I 'm big–an' I thought I 'd speak 'fore anyone else did to get ahead of 'em." Budd hastened to explain, as Hazel showed signs of impatience.

"Oh, is that all!" Hazel breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought something was the matter with you. Why, of course you 're fond of me, Budd; but I could n't marry you, for I 'm older than you, you know."

"I never thought of that," said Budd, beginning to blink rather suspiciously, "I thought–"

"Now, look here, Budd," said Hazel, in a business-like way; "I think everything of you, too, and I 'll tell you what you can be–"

"What?" interrupted Budd, eagerly, balancing himself on the tips of his toes.

"My knight!" said Hazel, triumphantly, "and wear my colors. I 'll give you a bow of crimson ribbon–I 'm Harvard, you know–and you must wear it till you die. And I have a white kid party glove I 'll give you, too, and that will mean I 'm your lady-love, and it will be just like the days of chivalry, you know we were reading about them the other day."

"And you won't mind about the ring?" queried Budd, rather wistfully.

"Not a bit–a glove is much nicer than a ring, and–"

"Moo–oo–oo–" came from the next stall.

"Oh, goodness gracious! How that made me jump. I 'm not going to stay out here another minute; so come along if you 're coming"–and the knight meekly followed his lady-love into the house.

XIX

A YEAR AND A DAY

"It seems queer to settle down the way we have, ever since Christmas. We had such fun up to that time." Hazel heaved a long sigh as she wrestled with her Latin and the Third Conjugation.

Rose looked up from her Cicero and smiled at the bored expression on Hazel's face. "I know, Latin is awfully dull at first, but when you can read it, you 'll like it. If only you could hear Cicero give this horrid Catiline–the old traitor–'Hail Columbia' as March says, you could n't help liking Latin. Then, too, if we had n't settled down, where would my French have been?"

But Hazel still pouted a little. "I wish papa had n't wanted me to study at all this winter–I don't see why, when Doctor Heath is always talking about its 'effect on my health–'"

She was interrupted by a merry laugh. Rose threw down her Cicero, caught away the grammar from Hazel, and, seizing her by the hand, drew her into the little bedroom. Then, taking her by the shoulders, she whirled her about until she faced the small looking-glass.

"There!" she exclaimed, still laughing, "look at that face before you talk about any 'effect on your health.'"

Hazel looked at the reflection in the mirror, and smiled in spite of herself. What a contrast to what she was a year ago! For to-morrow would be St. Valentine's day. There were real American Beauty roses on her cheeks; the dark eyes were full of sparkling life; the chestnut-brown hair fell in heavy curls upon her shoulders. She had grown tall, too, but rounded in the process, and the healthful, bodily exercise had given her grace of carriage–she was straight as an arrow, and as lithe as a willow wand.

"Perhaps I shall feel more interest when Miss Alton is here, for she is a regular teacher. When is she coming, Rose?"

"The very last of the month, when the spring term opens. It's our turn to have the district-school teacher board with us, and I 've never liked it before. But now I can't wait for Miss Alton to come. I think she 's lovely."

"She is n't half as lovely as you are, Rose," said Hazel, turning suddenly from the glass, in which she had been scrutinizing her reflection, and giving Rose an unexpected squeeze and a hearty kiss. "I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, I heard Doctor Heath say so; and–I told Jack so on Christmas night."

"I 'll warrant he did n't agree with you," said Rose, with a pleased smile. "You forget Miss Seaton."

"I know." Hazel shook her head dubiously. "He did n't say a word to me about you–I don't care if he did n't, Rose-pose, you 're worth all the Maude Seatons in the world, and I 'd give anything to have you for my real cousin instead of her, if only Jack–"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Hazel," said Rose, interrupting her shortly and sharply.

"And I don't know why you are speaking to me in that tone, Rose Blossom," retorted Hazel, both angry and hurt. "I 've said nothing I 'm ashamed of, and I shall say it whenever I choose and to whomever I please, so now." She flung out of the room, but not before Rose had laid a firm hand upon her shoulder.

"Hazel Clyde, if ever you speak of that again to anyone, I 'll break friendship with you, see if I don't."

"Break then," Hazel twitched her shoulder from under the detaining hand. "I 'll speak whenever I choose. I only said I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I wished that you were going to be my real cousin, instead of Miss Seaton, and you need n't get mad just because Jack does n't happen to think as I do–"

"Hazel Clyde!" Rose stamped her foot, "don't you speak another word to me; I 'll not hear it." Rose stuffed both fingers into her ears, and beat an ignominious retreat to her own room, where she shut herself in, and was invisible until tea-time.

The family were late in sitting down to the table, for Mrs. Blossom wanted to wait for Chi, who had driven down to Barton's River to take Mr. Blossom to the train, and had arranged to bring March home with him.

It was seven already. "We won't wait any longer, children," said Mrs. Blossom. "Something must have detained Chi. Budd, you may say 'grace' to-night?" she added as she took her seat.

Budd looked up in amazement. "Why, Martie, Rose is here and you always–"

"That will do, Budd," said his mother, quietly, ignoring the flame that shot up to the roots of Rose's hair, and the cool look of indifference on Hazel's face. Budd folded his pudgy hands and repeated reverently the words he had heard father, or mother, or sister say ever since he could remember. Scarcely had he finished when Tell's deep note of welcome sounded somewhere from the road, and the sleigh-bells rang out on the still air.

"There they are!" cried Cherry. "May I go to meet them?"

"Yes–but put your cape over you, it's so chilly to-night."

In a minute Cherry was back again, every single curl bobbing with excitement.

"Oh, Martie! Chi's bringing in something all done up in the buffalo robe, and March won't tell me what it is."

She was followed by March, who walked up to his mother, put both arms about her and gave her a quiet kiss.

"There, little Mother Blossom, is my valentine for you," he said half-shyly, half-proudly, and placed in her hands his first term's report and a set of books.