A Forest Hearth. Charles Major
forming, and she continued to resist. Doug persisted, and after a moment of struggling she called out, "Dic, Dic!" She had been accustomed since childhood to call upon that name in time of trouble, and had always found help. Dic would not have interfered had not Rita called, but when she did he responded at once.
"Let her alone, Hill," said Dic, as pleasantly as possible under the circumstances. "If she doesn't want to play, she doesn't have to."
"You go to—" cried Doug. "Maybe you think you can run over me, you stuck-up Mr. Proper."
"I don't want to do anything of the sort," answered Dic; "but if you don't let loose of Rita's arm, I'll—"
"What will you do?" asked Doug, laughing uproariously.
For a moment Dic allowed himself to grow angry, and said, "I'll knock that pumpkin off your shoulders," but at once regretted his words.
Doug thought Dic's remark very funny, and intimated as much. Then he bowed his head in front of our hero and said, "Here is the pumpkin; hit it if you dare."
Dic restrained an ardent desire, and Doug still with bowed head continued, "I'll give you a shillin' if you'll hit it, and if you don't, I'll break your stuck-up face."
Dic did not accept the shilling, which was not actually tendered in lawful coin, but stepped back from Doug that he might be prepared for the attack he expected. After waiting what he considered to be a reasonable time for Dic to accept his offer, Doug started toward our hero, looking very ugly and savage. Dic was strong and brave, but he seemed small beside his bulky antagonist, and Rita, frightened out of all sense of propriety, ran to her champion, and placing her back against his breast, faced Doug with fear and trembling. The girl was not tall enough by many inches to protect Dic's face from the breaking Doug had threatened; but what she lacked in height she made up in terror, and she looked so "skeert," as Doug afterwards said, that he turned upon his heel with the remark:—
"That's all right. I was only joking. We don't want no fight at a church social, do we, Dic?"
"I don't particularly want to fight any place," replied Dic, glad that the ugly situation had taken a pleasant turn.
"Reckon you don't," returned Doug, uproariously, and the game proceeded.
Partly from disinclination, and partly because he wanted to talk to Rita, Dic did not at first enter the game, but during an intermission Sukey whispered to him:—
"We are going to play Drop the Handkerchief, and if you'll come in I'll drop it behind you every time, and—" here the whispers became very low and soft, "I'll let you catch me, too. We'll make pumpkin-head sick."
The game of skill known as "Drop the Handkerchief" was played in this fashion: a circle of boys and girls was formed in the centre of the room, each person facing the centre. One of the number was chosen "It." "It's" function was to walk or run around the circle and drop the handkerchief behind the chosen one. If "It" happened to be a young man, the chosen one, of course, was a young woman who immediately started in pursuit. If she caught the young man before he could run around the circle to the place she had vacated, he must deposit a forfeit, to be redeemed later in the evening. In any case she became the next "It." A young lady "It" of course dropped the handkerchief behind a young man, and equally, of course, started with a scream of frightened modesty around the circle of players, endeavoring to reach, if possible, the place of sanctuary left vacant by the young man. He started in pursuit, and if he caught her—there we draw the veil. If the young lady were anxious to escape, it was often possible for her to do so. But thanks to Providence, all hearts were not so obdurate as Rita's. I would say, however, in palliation of the infrequency of escapes, that it was looked upon as a serious affront for a young lady to run too rapidly. In case she were caught and refused to pay the forfeit, her act was one of deadly insult gratuitously offered in full view of friends and acquaintances.
Dic hesitated to accept Sukey's invitation, though, in truth, it would have been inviting to any man of spirit. Please do not understand me to say that Dic was a second Joseph, nor that he was one who would run away from a game of any sort because a pretty Miss Potiphar or two happened to be of the charmed and charming circle.
He had often been in the games, and no one had ever impugned his spirit of gallantry by accusing him of unseemly neglect of the beautiful Misses P. His absence from this particular game was largely due to the fact that the right Miss Potiphar was sitting against the wall.
A flush came to Rita's cheek, and she moved uneasily when she saw Sukey whispering to Dic; but he did not suspect that Rita cared a straw what Sukey said. Neither did it occur to him that Rita would wish him to remain out of the game. He could, if he entered the game, make Doug Hill "sick," as Sukey had suggested, and that was a consummation devoutly to be wished. He did not wish to subject himself to the charge of ungallantry; and Sukey was, as you already know, fair to look upon, and her offer was as generous as she could make under the circumstances. So he chose a young lady, left Rita by the wall, and entered the game.
Doug Hill happened to be "It" and dropped the handkerchief behind Sukey, whereupon that young lady walked leisurely around the circle, making no effort to capture the Redoubtable. Such apathy was not only an infringement of the etiquette of the game, but might, if the injured party were one of high spirits, be looked upon as an insult.
Sukey then became "It," and, dropping the handkerchief behind Dic, deliberately waited for him to catch her; when, of course, a catastrophe ensued. Meantime, the wall was growing uncomfortable to Rita. She had known in a dimly conscious way that certain things always happened at country frolics, but to see them startled her, and she began to feel very miserable. Her tender heart fluttered piteously with a hundred longings, chief among which was the desire to prevent further catastrophes between Dic and Sukey.
Compared to Sukey, there was no girl in the circle at all entitled to be ranked in the Potiphar class of beauty. So, when Dic succeeded Sukey as "It," he dropped the handkerchief behind her. Then she again chose Dic, and in turn became the central figure in a catastrophe that was painful to the girl by the wall. If Rita had been in ignorance of her real sentiments for Dic, that ignorance had, within the last few minutes, given place to a knowledge so luminous that it was almost blinding. The room seemed to become intensely warm. Meantime the play went on, and the process of making Doug "sick" continued with marked success. Sukey always favored Dic, and he returned in kind. This alternation, which was beyond all precedent, soon aroused a storm of protests.
"If you want to play by yourselves," cried Tom, "why don't you go off by yourselves?"
"Yes," cried the others; "if you can't play fair, get out of the game."
The order of events was immediately changed, but occasionally Sukey broke away from time-honored precedent and repeated her favors to Dic. Doug was rapidly growing as "sick" as his most inveterate enemy could have desired. There was another person in the room who was also very wretched—one whom Dic would not have pained for all the Sukey Potiphars in Egypt. The other person was not only pained, she was grieved, confused, frightened, desperate. She feared that she would cry out and ask Dic not to favor Sukey. She did not know what to do, nor what she might be led to do, if matters continued on their present course.
Soon after Tom's reprimand, Sukey found the duty of dropping the handkerchief again devolving upon her pretty self. She longed with all her heart to drop it behind Dic; but, fearing the wrath of her friends, she concluded to choose the man least apt to arouse antagonism in Dic's breast. She would choose one whom he knew she despised, and would trust to luck and her swift little feet to take her around the circle before the dropee could catch her.
Wetmore had been an active member, though a passive participant, in the game, since its beginning. When a young lady "It" walked back of him, he would eagerly watch her approach, and when she passed him, as all did, he would turn his face after her and hope for better things from the next. Repeated disappointments had lulled his vigil, and when Sukey, the girl of all others for whom he had not hoped, dropped the sacred linen behind his reverend form, he was so startled that he did not seize the precious moment. He was standing beside Doug Hill, and the handkerchief fell almost between the two. It was clearly intended for his