Moods
"Did he see the interesting picture on your side of the wall?"
"No, I was just thinking what friendly eyes he had, listening to his
pleasant talk with the little folks, and watching how they nestled to
him as if he were a girl, when Tilly looked up and cried, 'I see
Silver!' So I ran away, expecting to have them all come racing after.
But no one appeared, and I only heard a laugh instead of the 'stop
thief' that I deserved."
"If I had time I should convince you of the impropriety of such wild
actions; as I haven't, I can only implore you never to do so again on
Geoffrey's premises," said Prue, rising as the carriage drove round.
"I can safely promise that," answered Sylvia, with a dismal shake of the
head, as she leaned listlessly from the window till her brother and
sister were gone.
At the appointed time Moor entered Mr. Yule's hospitably open door; but
no one came to meet him, and the house was as silent as if nothing human
inhabited it. He divined the cause of this, having met Prue and Mark
going downward some hours before, and saying to himself, "The boat is
late," he disturbed no one, but strolled into the drawing-rooms and
looked about him. Being one of those who seldom find time heavy on their
hands, he amused himself with observing what changes had been made
during his absence. His journey round the apartments was not a long one,
for, coming to an open window, he paused with an expression of mingled
wonder and amusement.
A pile of cushions, pulled from chair and sofa, lay before the long
window, looking very like a newly deserted nest. A warm-hued picture
lifted from the wall stood in a streak of sunshine; a half-cleared leaf
of fruit lay on a taboret, and beside it, with a red stain on its
title-page, appeared the stolen book. At sight of this Moor frowned,
caught up his desecrated darling and put it in his pocket. But as he
took another glance at the various indications of what had evidently
been a solitary revel very much after his own heart, he relented, laid
back the book, and, putting aside the curtain floating in the wind,
looked out into the garden, attracted thither by the sound of a spade.
A lad was at work near by, and wondering what new inmate the house had
gained, the neglected guest waited to catch a glimpse of the unknown
face. A slender boy, in a foreign-looking blouse of grey linen; a white
collar lay over a ribbon at the throat, stout half boots covered a trim
pair of feet, and a broad-brimmed hat flapped low on the forehead.
Whistling softly he dug with active gestures; and, having made the
necessary cavity, set a shrub, filled up the hole, trod it down
scientifically, and then fell back to survey the success of his labors.
But something was amiss, something had been forgotten, for suddenly up
came the shrub, and seizing a wheelbarrow that stood near by, away
rattled the boy round the corner out of sight. Moor smiled at his
impetuosity, and awaited his return with interest, suspecting from
appearances that this was some _protege_ of Mark's employed as a model
as well as gardener's boy.
Presently up the path came the lad, with head down and steady pace,
trundling a barrow full of richer earth, surmounted by a watering-pot.
Never stopping for breath he fell to work again, enlarged the hole,
flung in the loam, poured in the water, reset the shrub, and when the
last stamp and pat were given performed a little dance of triumph about
it, at the close of which he pulled off his hat and began to fan his
heated face. The action caused the observer to start and look again,
thinking, as he recognized the energetic worker with a smile, "What a
changeful thing it is! haunting one's premises unseen, and stealing
one's books unsuspected; dreaming one half the day and masquerading the
other half. What will happen next? Let us see but not be seen, lest the
boy turn shy and run away before the pretty play is done!"
Holding the curtain between the window and himself, Moor peeped through
the semi-transparent screen, enjoying the little episode immensely.
Sylvia fanned and rested a few minutes, then went up and down among the
flowers, often pausing to break a dead leaf, to brush away some harmful
insect, or lift some struggling plant into the light; moving among them
as if akin to them, and cognizant of their sweet wants. If she had
seemed strong-armed and sturdy as a boy before, now she was tender
fingered as a woman, and went humming here and there like any
happy-hearted bee.
"Curious child!" thought Moor, watching the sunshine glitter on her
uncovered head, and listening to the air she left half sung. "I've a
great desire to step out and see how she will receive me. Not like any
other girl, I fancy."
But, before he could execute his design, the roll of a carriage was
heard in the avenue, and pausing an instant, with head erect like a
startled doe, Sylvia turned and vanished, dropping flowers as she ran.
Mr. Yule, accompanied by his son and daughter, came hurrying in with
greetings, explanations, and apologies, and in a moment the house was
full of a pleasant stir. Steps went up and down, voices echoed through
the rooms, savory odors burst forth from below, and doors swung in the
wind, as if the spell was broken and the sleeping palace had wakened
with a word.
Prue made a hasty toilet and harassed the cook to the verge of
spontaneous combustion, while Mark and his father devoted themselves to
their guest. Just as dinner was announced Sylvia came in, as calm and
cool as if wheelbarrows were myths and linen suits unknown. Moor was
welcomed with a quiet hand-shake, a grave salutation, and a look that
seemed to say, "Wait a little, I take no friends on trust."
All through dinner, though she sat as silent as a well-bred child, she
looked and listened with an expression of keen intelligence that
children do not wear, and sometimes smiled to herself, as if she saw or
heard something that pleased and interested her. When they rose from
table she followed Prue up stairs, quite forgetting the disarray in
which the drawing-room was left. The gentlemen took possession before
either sister returned, and Mark's annoyance found vent in a philippic
against oddities in general and Sylvia in particular; but his father and
friend sat in the cushionless chairs, and pronounced the scene amusingly
novel. Prue appeared in the midst of the laugh, and having discovered
other delinquencies above, her patience was exhausted, and her regrets
found no check in the presence of so old a friend as Moor.
"Something must be done about that child, father, for she is getting
entirely beyond my control. If I attempt to make her study she writes
poetry instead of her exercises, draws caricatures instead of sketching
properly, and bewilders her music teacher by asking questions about
Beethoven and Mendelssohn, as if they were personal friends of his. If I
beg her to take exercise, she rides like an Amazon all over the Island,
grubs in the garden as if for her living, or goes paddling about the bay
till I'm distracted lest the tide should carry her out to sea. She is so
wanting in moderation she gets ill, and when I give her proper medicines
she flings them out of the window, and threatens to send that worthy,
Dr. Baum, after them. Yet she must need something to set her right, for
she is either overflowing with unnatural spirits or melancholy enough
to break one's heart."
"What have you done with the little black sheep of my flock,--not
banished her, I hope?" said Mr. Yule, placidly, ignoring all complaints.
"She is in the garden, attending to some of her disagreeable pets, I
fancy. If you are going out there to smoke, please send her in, Mark; I
want her."
As Mr. Yule was evidently yearning for his after-dinner nap, and Mark
for his cigar, Moor followed his friend, and they stepped through the
window into the garden, now lovely with the fading glow of summer
sunset.
"You must know that this peculiar little sister of mine clings to some
of her childish beliefs and pleasures in spite of Prue's preaching and
my raillery," began Mark, after a refreshing whiff or two. "She is
overflowing with love and good will, but being too shy or too proud to
offer it to her fellow-creatures, she expends it upon the necessitous
inhabitants of earth, air, and water with the most charming
philanthropy. Her dependants are neither beautiful nor very interesting,
nor is she sentimentally enamored of them; but the more ugly and
desolate the creature, the more devoted is she. Look at her now; most
young ladies would have hysterics over any one of those pets of hers."
Moor looked, and thought the group a very pretty one, though a plump
toad sat at Sylvia's feet, a roly-poly caterpillar was walking up her
sleeve, a blind bird chirped on her shoulder, bees buzzed harmlessly
about her head, as if they mistook her for a flower, and in her hand a
little field mouse was breathing its short life away. Any tender-hearted
girl might have stood thus surrounded by helpless things that pity had
endeared, but few would have regarded them with an expression like that
which Sylvia wore. Figure, posture, and employment were so childlike in
their innocent unconsciousness, that the contrast was all the more
strongly marked between them and the sweet thoughtfulness that made her
face singularly attractive with the charm of dawning womanhood. Moor
spoke before Mark could dispose of his smoke.
"This is a great improvement upon the boudoir full of lap-dogs,
worsted-work and novels, Miss Sylvia. May I ask if you feel no
repugnance to some of your patients; or is your charity strong enough to
beautify them all?"
"I dislike many people, but few animals, because however ugly I pity
them, and whatever I pity I am sure to love. It may be silly, but I
think it does me good; and till I am wise enough to help my
fellow-beings, I try to do my duty to these humbler sufferers, and find
them both grateful and affectionate."
There was something very winning in the girl's manner as she spoke,
touching the little creature in her hand almost as tenderly as if it had
been a child. It showed the newcomer another phase of this many-sided
character; and while Sylvia related the histories of her pets at his
request, he was enjoying that finer history which every ingenuous soul
writes on its owner's countenance for gifted eyes to read and love. As
she paused, the little mouse lay stark and still in her gentle hand; and
though they smiled at themselves, both young men felt like boys again as
they helped her scoop a grave among the pansies, owning the beauty of
compassion, though she showed it to them in such a simple shape.
Then Mark delivered his message, and Sylvia went away to receive Prue's
lecture, with outward meekness, but such an absent mind that the words
of wisdom went by her like the wind.
"Now come and take our twilight stroll, while Mark keeps Mr. Moor in the
studio and Prue prepares another exhortation," said Sylvia, as her
father woke, and taking his arm, they paced along the wide piazza that
encircled the whole house.
"Will father do me a little favor?"
"That is all he lives for, dear."
"Then his life is a very successful one;" and the girl folded her other
hand over that already on his arm. Mr. Yule shook his head with a
regretful sigh, but asked benignly--
"What shall I do for my little daughter?"
"Forbid Mark to execute a plot with which he threatens me. He says he
will bring every gentleman he knows (and that is a great many) to the
house, and make it so agreeable that they will keep coming; for he
insists that I need amusement, and nothing will be so entertaining as a
lover or two. Please tell him not to, for I don't want any lovers yet."
"Why not?" asked her father, much amused at her twilight confidences.