The Science Master of Cheemaun High School put his head in at the door of the room where the "Moderns" teacher was instructing his class in French grammar. There was a flutter among the pupils as a tall young lady in a neat dark-blue dress arose. The flutter had something of apprehension2 in it. Miss Gordon was a prime favorite—and this was not the first time she had been summoned to what was known amongst her schoolmates as The Judgment4 Hall.
"Oh, Beth!" giggled5 the fair, plump young lady who shared her seat. "He's found you out certain!"
"You're in for it, Beth!" whispered another. "Old Primmy's seen your picture!"
Miss Gordon's deep gray eyes took on a look of mock terror. She went out with bent6 head and a comical air of abject7 humility8 that left the room in a titter. The "Moderns" teacher frowned. Miss Gordon was irrepressible.
Nevertheless, when she found herself passing down the wide echoing hall alone, the young lady was seized with misgivings9. For which of her misdemeanors was she to be arraigned10 this time? There was that dreadful caricature she had drawn11 of the Principal—the one with the shining expanse of bald head towards which swarms12 of flies and mosquitoes, bearing skates and toboggans and hockey-sticks, were hurrying gayly, while upon poor old Dr. Primrose13's one tuft of hair shone the conspicuous14 sign, "This way to the Great Slide."
Now, what on earth had she done with that picture? Oh, yes, Horace Oliver had borrowed it to show to Parker Raymond. Perhaps Park had lost it—he was such a careless fellow—and Dr. Primrose had found it! And there was that poem, too, the one on little Mr. Kelly, the Science Master. It was a long, lugubrious16 effusion, telling of the search by a heart-broken chemistry class for a beloved teacher, who had unaccountably disappeared. It described them as wandering about weeping pitifully, looking into desks and ink-bottles, and under books; until at last they discovered to their horror that a careless girl had dropped her pen-wiper upon him and smothered17 him! That poem had circulated through the class, causing much merriment. And where was it now? The poetess could not remember. Suppose someone had dropped it and Mr. Kelly had found it? He was so small, and so sensitive about his size. No wonder Miss Gordon went very slowly to the Principal's room.
Usually her days were all unalloyed joy. High School, except for occasional skirmishes with troublesome teachers, was a delight. For Elizabeth Gordon had arrived at a place in life where one could have a good time without hurting anyone; there was so much fun in the world, laughter was so easy—and nobody seemed ever to be in trouble any more. Even as she tapped at the door beyond which probable retribution lay, she smiled at the nodding lilac bush with its bunch of amethyst18 blossoms that waved a greeting to her from the open window. Miss Gordon's mind was prone19 to wander thus from the subject in hand to such sights, her teachers often found. The song of a yellow warbler in the school maples20, the whirl of scarlet22 leaves across the window pane23, or the gleam of snow on the far-off hilltops, would drive away every item of knowledge concerning the value of (a+b)2 or the characteristics of a parallelogram.
The door swung suddenly open and the Principal's bald head shot into view. His eyes were stern. Evidently he had come in war and not in peace.
"Ah, Miss Gordon!" he said, briskly. "Yes, Miss Gordon! Just step this way a minute!"
He held open the door and Miss Gordon stepped in, leaving all her courage on the other side. She slipped sideways into a chair and looked up at him with scared attention. Evidently it was the picture.
"Miss Gordon," said the Principal, seating himself in his revolving24 chair, which creaked in a way that reminded Miss Gordon horribly of stories of the guillotine, "I am making out the list of those whom I consider competent to write on the final examinations, and I feel it my duty to notify you that I cannot see my way clear to include your name."
Elizabeth fairly crumpled25 up in her chair. This was awful—the thing she had most feared had come upon her at last. She sat speechless.
"Your papers on mathematics are quite hopeless," he continued, growing more querulous because his pity was aroused. "It's out of the question that you should write. I've done my best to show you that you should give less time to English subjects and devote more to Algebra26 and your Euclid." He arose and blustered27 up and down the room.
"You haven't a mathematical head," he was saying for the third time when a sharp rap upon the door interrupted. Dr. Primrose, looking very much relieved, opened it. Miss Gordon turned away to the window to hide the rising tears.
There was a short, hurried conversation at the door, and the teacher turned to his victim. He had a big, warm heart that was vastly relieved at the prospect28 of escape from a most unpleasant duty.
"Ah, Miss Gordon," he said briskly. "Here are two gentlemen to see you. You have permission to go home early this afternoon, by special request. Kindly29 bear in mind what I have told you."
He stepped quickly aside, and ushered30 in two tall, young men, at the same time closing the door behind him.
At the same instant all Miss Gordon's troubles were shut out with him, and her face lit up with rapturous delight. She skipped across the room with a joyful31 scream.
"Oh, John, John Gordon, you dear old sneak32; why didn't you tell me you were coming to-day?"
She flung her arms about his neck and gave him a sounding kiss. John Gordon had been a whole year in college, but he had not yet become sufficiently33 grown-up to accept a salute34 from his sister. He drew back rather embarrassed, but his blue eyes shone in his dark face. He was tremendously glad to see Lizzie again, and could not quite hide the fact.
The other young man seemed equally pleased. "I say, Lizzie!" he exclaimed, as she joyously36 shook both his hands. "You're grown about a yard. And her neck's longer than ever, isn't it, John?"
"You mean old Pretender," she said with a pout37; nevertheless, she did not look offended. Miss Gordon had quite changed her views regarding the possession of a long neck. Estella Raymond, her dearest chum, who was short and plump, had declared many times that she would give ten thousand dollars—not specifying38 how she was to come by such a sum—if she could have a neck one-half as long and slim and graceful39 as Beth Gordon's.
"Never mind, she's getting better looking, I do declare," the Pretender added. "How's everybody?"
"Oh, just splendid—that is, they were when I was home last. I don't go every Friday, you know. When did you come? Am I to go home with you?"
"We just got here on the noon train," her brother explained, "and we swarmed41 up to Annie's and she gave us the dinner of our lives."
"Say, it didn't taste much like boarding-house hash, did it?" cried Mr. MacAllister fervently42.
"And John Coulson's going to stand a treat for the whole family, and drive us all out to The Dale—the Kid and all. And you're to come along. Scoot and get your hat."
Elizabeth danced away down the hall to the cloakroom dizzy with joy. Examinations, mathematics, principals of High Schools, all unkind and troublesome things had vanished in a rosy43 mist. The old delight of getting "off with the boys," was as strong at seventeen as at ten. The boys themselves seemed to have changed their minds in the intervening years as to the advisability of allowing Lizzie to "tag after them." John's deep blue eyes, looking after her dancing figure, showed the love and pride in his sister which he was always so careful to hide, and his companion looked with somewhat the same expression and withal a little puzzled—as one who had seen something unexpected which had dazzled him.
It was but the work of a moment for Elizabeth to put on her hat and gloves. She did not linger over the correct adjustment of the former as she so often did. Miss Gordon was prone to look much in the mirror these days. It was always the fixing of a bow or a frill of lace or some other ornament44 that took her attention. She scarcely looked, as yet, at the shining wealth of nut-brown hair, with the golden strand45 through it, nor at the deep gray eyes, nor the straight line of teeth that gleamed when she laughed. Miss Gordon was not interested in these, but she could become absorbed in the arrangement of ribbon at such length that her sister, Mrs. John Coulson, sometimes worried for fear Lizzie was growing vain.
As she hurried to the main entrance where the boys stood waiting, a group of young ladies came straying out of the classroom for the afternoon recess46.
"Beth Gordon!" cried the fair, plump one, making a dive at her friend. "Are you expelled or are you off for a holiday, you mean thing? Who's out there?" She craned her short neck. "Goodness, what swells47! Are they waiting for you?"
"It's only our John and Stuart MacAllister, they've just got in from Toronto, and I'm going home with them."
"MacAllister and Gordon! Goodness gracious! I'm going to ask them if they've ever met Ted1 Burns at 'Varsity. Ted's just crazy to get me to correspond with him."
She tore down the hall and was soon in hilarious48 conversation with her two old schoolmates, while Elizabeth remained behind to explain her sudden departure.
"Just look at Estella!" cried a tall sallow girl, regarding that vivacious49 young lady with disgust.
"How is it she always has so much attention from boys?" asked Elizabeth Gordon, half-wistfully.
"My goodness, you're so innocent, Beth! Can't you see she runs after them and demands attention. I wouldn't stoop to the means she employs not if a boy never spoke50 to me again, would you?"
Elizabeth was silent. Somehow she could not help thinking it would be most enjoyable to have two or three swains always dancing attendance on one, the way they did on Estella Raymond, even though one did have to encourage them. Of course Estella did resort to means that were not quite genteel—but then boys seemed to always come about her, anyway, as bees did about a flower; while Madeline Oliver never had a beau. Elizabeth had to confess that she hadn't one herself—except Horace, who, of course, didn't count. She sighed. It really would be nice to be like Stella, even though one hadn't Madeline's dignity.
"Good-by, girls!" she called gayly. "I'll bring you some lady's-slippers if they're out," and she ran out to the group on the steps.
It took some time for the two young men to tear themselves away from Miss Raymond's gentle hands. They were further delayed by her following Elizabeth to the gate, her arm about her waist, while she implored51 her darling Beth to come back soon, and kissed her twice before she let her go. They got away at last, and the three went down the leafy street.
They were a very different looking trio from the one that used to stray over field and through woods about The Dale, fishing, berry-picking, nutting, or merely seeking adventure. They had not been separated very long. During the boys' first year in the High School, Elizabeth had worked madly, and when she managed to graduate from Forest Glen, Mother MacAllister had insisted that Charles Stuart take the buck-board and the sorrel mare52 and that the three inseparables drive to and from the town to school.
For though Mrs. Jarvis had really appeared in the flesh at The Dale for that one visit, she had never repeated it nor her munificent53 offer to discuss Elizabeth's future. Her talk had all been of Annie, and what a good match young Mr. Coulson would make. And Miss Gordon had to be content, never guessing that the astute54 young man whose cause the lady championed, and not her own influence had brought Mrs. Jarvis to The Dale.
So Elizabeth's fortune had not been made after all, but she had managed to get on quite well without a fortune, it would seem. Her High School days had been days of perfect joy. Even when the boys had graduated and gone to Toronto, she had managed to be happy. For Annie lived in Cheemaun by this time, lived in a fine brick house too in the best part of the town, and Elizabeth had spent this last year with her. And now nearly five years had passed, and not Mrs. Jarvis, but Mr. Coulson had become the family's hope.
Miss Gordon had long ago become reconciled to the tavern-keeping ancestor. It would appear that social lines could not be strictly55 drawn in this new country, and when one lived in Canada apparently56 one must marry as Canadians married. For it would appear also that here Jack57 was not only as good as his master, but might be in the master's place the next day. And certainly John Coulson was a model husband, and a rising lawyer besides. On the whole, Miss Gordon was perfectly58 satisfied with the match she now firmly believed she had made for her niece. Each year she grew more absorbed in her ambition for William's family. They were all responding so splendidly to her efforts. She would raise them to social eminence59, she declared to herself, in spite of William's neglect and Mrs. Jarvis's indifference60. With John Coulson's help Malcolm had secured a position in the bank of a neighboring town. Jean was teaching school in Toronto, and because Jean must needs do the work of two people, she was reading up the course Charles Stuart was taking in the University and attending such lectures as she could. Even Elizabeth, through Annie's goodness, was getting such learning as she was capable of taking. And John was at college learning to be a doctor. That was the hardest task of all, the sending of John to college. And only Miss Gordon knew how it had been accomplished61. She had managed it somehow for the first year, and John was to earn money during his first summer vacation for his next year.
Down the long leafy street Elizabeth was moving now between the two tall figures. There was so much to tell, so many questions to ask, and she talked all the time. To the boys' disgust they could extract from her very little information respecting any person except the one supreme62 personage who now ruled her days—Annie's baby. She was overcome with indignation that Annie had not already displayed him. What if he was asleep! It was a shame to make anybody wait five minutes for a sight of such a vision. Why, he was the most angelic and divinely exquisite63, sweetest, dearest, darlingest pet that ever gladdened the earth. He was a vision, that's what he was! Just a vision all cream satin and rose-leaf and gold. Elizabeth described him at such length that the boys in self-defense uttered their old, old threat. They would climb a fence and run away—and Elizabeth, whose long skirts now precluded64 the possibility of her old defiant65 counter-threat to follow them, desisted and bade them "just wait."
They were climbing the heights that formed the part of the town called Sunset Hill. It was a beautiful spot, with streets embowered in maple21 trees and bordered by lawns and gardens. At the end of each leafy avenue gleamed Cheemaun Lake with its white sails. Sunset Hill was not only the prettiest residential67 part of the town, it was the region of social eminence; and it were better to dwell in a cot on those heights and have your card tray filled with important names, than exist in luxury down by the lake shore and not be known by Society. The houses on Sunset Hill were all of red brick with wide verandas68 supported by white pillars—the wider the veranda69, and the thicker the pillars, the greater the owner's social distinction. For some years this form of architecture was the only one accepted by people of fashion, until Mr. Oliver, who was a wealthy lumberman, inadvertently put an end to it. He too built his new house on Sunset Hill, and Mrs. Oliver, just to outpillar the other pillars of society, had her veranda supported by groups of columns, three in a group. Thereafter builders lost courage, seeming to feel that the limit had been reached. Shortly after, a daring young contractor70 put up a gray stone house with slim black veranda posts, and no one raised a protest. And fashion, having been chased in this manner from pillar to post, so to speak, Society turned its attention to other than architectural fields. But the dull red bricks of Sunset Hill with their white ornamentations mellowing71 in the keen Canadian winters, stood thereafter as a title clear to unquestionable social standing72.
It had always been a source of great satisfaction to Elizabeth that John Coulson had taken Annie to a white-pillared home on Sunset Hill; for Madeline and Horace lived in the finest home there, and Estella, though on the wrong side of Elm Crescent, the street that, curving round Sunset Hill, divided it from the vulgar world, dwelt in a very fine residence indeed. Elizabeth had learned many things besides French and Chemistry in Cheemaun High School.
They found a big carriage drawn up before the door of Annie's house, and Annie already in it holding the Vision, now merely a bundle of lace and shawls. Elizabeth grasped the bundle from her sister's arms and proceeded to display its many charms. "Oh, John, just look at him! Look, Stuart, see him's dear dear itty nose, an' him's grea' big peepers! Isn't he the darlingest pet——"
The boys attempted to be sufficiently admiring, but just as they were lamely73 trying to say something adequate to the great occasion, to Elizabeth's dismay, the Vision opened its mouth and yelled lustily.
"Betsey, you're a nuisance!" said John Coulson, with that indulgent look he always bent upon the young sister-in-law, who had been such a help to him in those days when he sorely needed help. "Come, tumble in, everybody. All aboard for The Dale,—Champlain and Cheemaun R. R.!" The Vision was quieted, the travelers sprang in, the whip cracked, the wheels rattled74, the horses pranced75, and away they spun76 down the leafy streets—down, down, to the long level stretch of Champlain's Road that ran straight out into the country.
There was much to be told of college pranks77 and college work, and the telling of it lasted until the horses climbed Arrow Hill and the old familiar valley lay stretched before them.
"Yook, yook, Dackie!" chattered78 Aunt Elizabeth, clutching the Vision, whose big blue eyes were gazing wonderingly from the depths of his wrappings. "Yook at de pitty pitty wobin! A teenty weenty itty wobin wed15 best!"
There was a groan79 from the front seat.
"Do you often get it as bad as that, Lizzie?" asked John anxiously.
"Remember The Rowdy, Lizzie?" asked Charles Stuart, "the fellow that used to sing in the hawthorn80 bush?"
"I should think I do—and Granny Teeter. Listen, there is The Rowdy's lineal descendant, for sure!"
It seemed to be The Rowdy's very reincarnation, singing and shouting from an elm bough81 by the roadside.
"That's a gay bachelor all right," said John Coulson, who, because he was so supremely82 happy in his married life, had to make allusion83 to his condition as often as possible, even if only by way of contrast.
"He sounds more like a widower," said Elizabeth gloomily; "one that had been bereaved84 about a year."
"Hush85, hush, Betsey!" cried her brother-in-law. "Remember whose land he's on."
"That's just what I am remembering."
"You don't mean that Jake's beginning to 'take notice,' surely?" asked John Gordon, in wicked delight. For only the spring before poor worn-out Mrs. Martin had suddenly ceased her baking, churning, and hoeing, and had gone to her long rest in the Forest Glen churchyard, and already rumor86 said that Jake was on the lookout87 for another
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