Running To Waste

“Why, Harry! you here?”

The name quickly disappeared from the sands, and a flushed face turned towards her.

“Yes – O, yes – how do you do? Nice evening – isn’t it?” answered Harry, hurriedly.

“Why, what in the world are you doing there? Why don’t you come in?”

“Thank you; not just now. I’m very busy thinking.”

“Indeed! Then perhaps I’d better retire. I wouldn’t for the world interrupt your new occupation,” said Becky; and a merry laugh rippled on her lips.

“That’s right; laugh, Becky. It’s an old occupation, that, very becoming to you,” returned Harry. “It reminds me of the days when we were both so young and innocent. Ah, those good old days! We were great friends then, Becky.”

“I hope we are good friends now, Harry.”

“Of course we are. But now you are quite a woman, full of cares; yet a brave, good, noble little woman, rich and courted.”

“Thanks to those who trained the vine once running to waste, flatterer. What I am I owe to those who loved me; what I might have been without their aid, not all the riches in the world could have prevented.”

“True, Becky. By the by, I have a letter from an old friend will interest you. Oh such startling news?”

Becky colored, yet compressed her lips resolutely. Always that old friend.

“From Alice Parks?” she said.

“Yes, from Alice Parks. You know what an interest I take in that young lady’s welfare, and you shall share in my delight. Look at that.”

He handed her a letter; she took it with a pang of uneasiness; mechanically unfolded it. There dropped from it two cards, fastened with white ribbon. Harry picked up the cards and handed them to her. She glanced at them.

“O, Harry! she’s married!”

“Certainly. Mr. George Woodfern and Miss Alice Parks, after a long and patient courtship, have united their destinies. The designing young woman having engraved herself upon the heart of the young engraver, the new firm is ready for business.”

“O, Harry, I’m so sorry!” faltered Becky.

“Sorry? for what, pray? They’ll be very happy.”

“Sorry for you, Harry. They will be happy; but you – you – you loved her so dearly – didn’t you?”

“Sorry for me? Well, I like that!” And Harry indorsed his liking with a hearty laugh. “Loved her? Why, Becky, what put that into your head?”

Becky was confused. She thought of the uneasiness she had caused Captain Thompson by her suspicions, to say nothing of the uneasiness she had caused herself.

“Why, Harry, you wrote to her, and she wrote to you; and I told your father that I thought you were engaged.”

“Indeed! that accounts for the old gentleman’s fidgets when I received a letter. No, Becky, I admired, and do admire, that young lady; but love her! make her my wife! I never had the least idea of it. My heart is engaged elsewhere.”

“Indeed! I never heard of it.”

“That’s my misfortune, then. I have always loved a dear old playmate, one whom I have watched grow into a strong and beautiful woman; whom I would not wrong with the offer of my hand until I had fully proved my power to win my way in the world. Do you know her, Becky?”

He still sat there, looking up into her face, with eyes so full of strong and tender love, that Becky was almost sure she saw her own image mirrored there; and her heart beat wildly.

“Becky, must I say more?”

He looked at her mischievously; then turned and traced upon the sands the name again – “Becky Sleeper.”

“O, Harry, Harry! I’m so glad, so glad!”

She sank down by his side; his arm was about her, and her head was on his breast. Very much like lovers, now. So thought Mrs. Thompson, as she stepped inside the gate; so thought two old fellows, who just then came from the barn towards them.

“Look there, Cyrus, old boy; there’s poaching on your ground.”

“All right, Paul – if my dove must go. It will be tenderly nurtured there.”

And so, in due time, the “Tomboy” became a lovely bride; and the name Harry Thompson had shaped upon the sand, was written in the old family Bible; and another generation of Thompsons sported in the orchard, and plucked fruit from the old tree where Becky Sleeper had long ago been found Running to Waste.