A Country Sweetheart. Dora Russell
“But there are some lives in which there are no tragedies—nor even comedies?”
“About these, if there be such, there are no stories to tell.”
Just at this moment there appeared coming down the hill through the trees behind them the stalwart form of a young man, carrying a gun, and followed by two dogs. He paused a moment when he saw the white dress of the Mayflower, and smiled; but in another moment, perceiving John Temple lying on the grass at her feet, he frowned.
The dogs ran forward and were approaching the Mayflower’s camp-stool in the manner of welcome and familiar friends, when their master harshly called them back, and, hearing his voice, the Mayflower looked round just in time to see the young man savagely strike one of the dogs with a whip which he had drawn from his pocket.
The poor beast yelled and shrank back, and the Mayflower rose indignantly, her fair face flushing as she did so.
“Oh, Mr. Henderson, what a shame!” she cried. “What are you striking the poor dog for?”
The young man, on being thus addressed, came forward, and there was a flush on his handsome face also, as he approached the girl. John Temple did not move; he lay looking up at two figures before him.
“Why did you strike Juno?” repeated the Mayflower, as the young man drew near.
He raised his cloth cap as he answered, and his brown eyes fell.
“One must keep them in order,” he said, half-sullenly.
“But Juno was doing nothing. Come here, poor Juno; I hate cruelty.”
“Yet you sometimes practice it,” retorted the young man in a low tone.
He was singularly striking looking. Tall and splendidly formed, with features—though he was as brown as a gypsy—of remarkable regularity. It was indeed impossible not to remark on his personal appearance. The one defect on his face, perhaps, was his mouth, which was sensual looking, though shaded by a thick, crisp, brown mustache. Still, he was a splendid specimen of young manhood, and John Temple, from his vantage ground, mentally, distinctly admitted this. Yet, in spite of all his physical advantages; in spite, also, of being undoubtedly well-dressed, there was a certain countrified look about him which was almost indescribable.
The Mayflower turned her pretty head away when he spoke of her cruelty, and his brown eyes followed this slight movement with unmistakable eagerness. But she made no answering sign of interest. She looked down at John Temple lying on the grass, and he rose as she did so.
“So you are fond of God’s dumb creatures?” he said.
“I am very fond of horses and dogs,” she answered; “indeed, I think, of all animals.”
“And, no doubt, they are fond of you?”
The girl laughed softly and blushed a little, and then stooped down and stroked poor Juno’s fawn head, who had once more crept to her side, in spite of her master’s lowering looks.
“What a handsome creature!” said John Temple; “and she evidently knows you.”
“Oh, yes; we are old friends,” answered the Mayflower, and she half glanced at the young man she had called Mr. Henderson as she spoke, but he did not look pleased.
“Perhaps you like new friends better?” he said. “Well, good-morning, Miss Churchill,” and once more touching his cap he strode away, whistling for his dogs to follow him.
“Who is the country Adonis?” asked John Temple, smiling.
“Oh, he is called Mr. Tom Henderson of Stourton Grange,” replied the Mayflower, demurely.
“Ah!” said John, still smiling. He understood now, he thought, the cause of Mr. Henderson’s clouded brow and sullen words.
“He is a handsome fellow, don’t you think, Miss Churchill?” he asked.
“People call him good-looking,” answered Miss Churchill, and she cast down her eyes a little consciously. “But I don’t think he has a nice temper; fancy him striking the poor dog!”
“Perhaps he was jealous because she seemed fond of you.”
“That was very foolish then.”
“Ah, but jealousy is a devouring demon,” said John Temple. “But, of course, you never felt it?”
“Oh, yes, I have!”
“I can not believe it, Miss Churchill, though I am sure you have caused much.”
Again that puzzled look stole over the girl’s face. She could not help feeling as though she knew Mr. Temple very well, and would like to talk nonsense to him, and yet she was conscious that perhaps she should not.
“Do you know Mrs. Layton, the vicar’s wife?” now inquired John Temple, remembering the character she had given Miss Churchill.
“Oh, yes, and she’s such a spiteful old woman!”
“She’s an awful old woman, I think. She bored me to death last night when she dined at the Hall.”
“Did she mention me?” now asked the Mayflower, with a glance of fun in her dark blue eyes.
“Well, to tell the truth, she did,” answered John Temple.
“And she abused me, of course?”
“That was impossible.”
“Oh, but I know she did if she mentioned me. I am one of her pet aversions. She says all sorts of hard things about me, and because they call me May at home she always addresses me as ‘Miss Margaret,’ as she thinks it is an ugly name, and I hate it.”
“The vicar told me they called you the Mayflower,” said John, looking earnestly at the girl’s lovely face.
“Oh! that is a foolish name,” she answered, with a blush and a smile rippling over her rosy lips.
“I think it is a charming name, and forgive me if I say—”
“Please don’t say any nonsense—at least I mean—”
She paused here, and blushed more deeply than before.
“You mean I have not to pay you any compliments? What I was going to say is no compliment, but the simple truth. But I will not tell you even the truth unless you like it.”
“I—I do not care for compliments.”
“You do not need them.”
“That is all right then,” smiled the Mayflower. “And—now I must say good-by, Mr. Temple; it is time I was going home.”
She put out her little hand quite timidly, and John Temple took it in his own.
“May I see you again sometimes?” he said. “Will you come here again?”
“I—do sometimes come here.”
“I shall hope to see you then. Good-by, Miss Churchill.”
He took off his cap and stood bare-headed before her, and as with her light feet the Mayflower turned homeward, she was not thinking of her lover, young Henderson, but of the stranger who had just crossed her path.
CHAPTER IV.
THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.
After Mr. Tom Henderson had left the Mayflower with John Temple in Fern Dene, he walked onward with a frowning brow and an angry heart. He was in love with the pretty girl he had just seen sitting with another man lying at her feet; in love with her,