“AND E’EN THE FATES WERE SMILING.”
“Well, Lou Ann,” said farmer Hayn one morning when the month of May had reached that stage when farmers forget their coats except on Sundays, “it’ll seem ’most like takin’ boarders again to have such a big crowd of city folks in the house, won’t it?”
“Not quite as bad as that,” said Mrs. Hayn, carefully moving an iron over one of the caps which she reserved for grand occasions. “Only Mr. and Mrs. Tramlay an’ the two gals.”
“Well, you ortn’t to forget that Phil is city folks now, an—— I declare to gracious, I believe I forgot to tell you that Miss Dinon,—that splendid gal I told you about, that owns a lot of stock in the company,—Phil’s writ that like enough she’ll come down too. She an’ her mother want to pick a lot for a house for themselves before it’s too late for much of a choice.”
“Well, I can’t understand it yet,” said Mrs. Hayn, carefully picking the lace edging of the cap into the proper négligée effect. “It seems like a dream. Here’s me, that’s sometimes been almost a-dyin’ to get away from this farm an’ into the city, an’ there’s a whole passel of city folks goin’ to leave their palaces in New York an’ come down here to live on little pieces of{250} our farm an’ other farms along the ridge. I tell you, I can’t understand it.”
“Well,” said the farmer, picking some bits of oat chaff from his shirt-sleeve, “it ain’t always easy to understand city folks at first sight. Now, there’s that feller Marge. When I fust saw him in New York I wouldn’t have give him his salt for any work he’d do in the country. Yet now look at him! Them roads an’ drives through the company’s property wouldn’t have been half so near done if he hadn’t come down here an’ took hold to hurry things along for the spring trade. Why, some of them fellers that’s doin’ the work has worked for me on the farm, off an’ on, for years, an’ I thought I knowed how to get as much out of ’em as ther’ was in ’em; but, bless your soul, he manages ’em a good deal better.”
“They do say he’s a master-hand at managin’,” Mrs. Hayn admitted, “an’ that it’s partly because he takes right hold himself, instead of standin’ round bossin’, like most city men.”
“Takes hold? Why, he works as if he’d been brought up at it, which I’m certain sure he never was. You can’t see the fun of it, because you never saw him in New York. Why, if you could have seen him there you’d have thought that a gate-post with two pegs in the bottom of it would have had as much go as him. I’ve reelly took a likin’ to him. More’n once I’ve let him know that I wouldn’t mind if he’d leave the hotel in the village an’ put up with us, but somehow he didn’t seem to take to it.”
“That’s strange, ain’t it?” said Mrs. Hayn, with a quizzical look that made her husband stare.{251}
“Oh!” said the old man, after a little reflection.
“You’re growin’ dretful old an’ short-sighted, Reuben,” said Mrs. Hayn; and the farmer made haste to change the subject of conversation.
A day or two later the party from the city arrived, and great was the excitement in the village. Sol Mantring’s wife, who had learned of what was expected, made a trip to Hayn Farm daily on one pretext or other, reaching there always just before the time of the arrival of the train from the city, received the deserved reward of her industry, and before sunset of the day on which the party arrived everybody in the village knew that when Lucia stepped from the carriage, at the farm-house door, Mrs. Hayn caught her in her arms and almost hugged the life out of her. Everybody knew, also, that the party was to be there for only twenty-four hours.
The shortness of the time at their disposal was probably the reason that Phil and Lucia disappeared almost immediately after the meal which quickly followed their arrival. They went to the lily-pond; there were no lilies yet upon the water, but the couple did not notice their absence; they could see them just where they should be,—just where they were, ten months before. They got again into the old birch-bark canoe; it was not as clean as it should have been for the sake of Lucia’s expensive travelling-dress, for the small boys of the Hayn family had not taken as good care of it as Phil would do, but Phil made a cushion of leaves, which Lucia slowly expanded into a couch, as she half reclined while she identified the scenes which her farmer-boy guide{252} and boatman had shown her the summer before. Phil thought her expression angelic as she dreamily gazed about her; yet when her eyes reverted to him, as they frequently did, he informed himself that there were even gradations of angelic expression.
They even rode in the old beach-wagon; the ocean was still as cold as winter; bathing was out of the question; but Phil had a persistent fancy for reminding his sweetheart of every change there had been in their relations, and in himself; and Lucia understood him.
“It’s dreadfully mean of those two to go off by themselves, and not help us have any fun,” complained Margie to Agnes Dinon, when the latter returned from a stroll with Mr. and Mrs. Tramlay, during which she had selected a satisfactory cottage-site. “Let’s have a run. I know every foot of this country. Do you see that clump of dwarfed cedars off yonder on the ridge, with the sky for a background? They’re lovely: I’ve tried again and again to sketch them. Come over and look at them.”
Away the couple plodded. As they approached the clump they saw that a road had been partly sunk in front of it; and as they drew nearer they saw a man sodding a terrace which sloped from the ridge to the road.
“That’s not right,” said another man, who was looking on. “That sod must be laid more securely, or the first rain will wash it away. I’ll show you how to do it. See here.”
“Agnes Dinon!” exclaimed Margie, in a tone which suggested that a mouse, or at least a snake, was in{253} close proximity. “Do you hear that voice?—do yo............