Wych Hazel. Warner Susan
on to fortune.' "
And with that he drew off his glove, leaned back, and passed his hand over his brow with the air of a man who had in some shape achieved success.
By this time the stream of passengers began to pour forth; and the coach creaked and swung to and fro, as trunk after trunk and man after man found their way up to the roof. Then the door was flung open, and other passengers tumbled in, the lantern flashing dimly upon their faces and coats. Three and three more—and another, but his progress was stayed.
'Not in here, sir,' said Mr. Falkirk politely, 'I have paid for three seats.'
'There ain't another seat,' says the driver—'and he ain't a big man, sir—guess maybe you'll let him have a corner—we'll make it all right, sir.' He had a corner—and so did our heroine! The new dress! Never mind; the sooner this went the sooner she would get another. And they rolled off, sweetly and silently, upon the country road. The morning was lovely. Light scarfs of fog floated about the mountain tops, light veils of cloud just mystified the sky; the tree-tops glittered with dew, the birds flew in and out; and through an open corner of her leathern curtain Wych Hazel peered out, gazing at the new world wherein she was going to seek her fortune.
'Spend the Summer at Chickaree, Mr. Falkirk?' said a voice from the further end of the coach. Wych Hazel drew in her head and her attention, and sat back to listen.
'I did not say I was going there,' said her guardian dryly.
'Two and two make four, my good sir. There's not even a sign of a place of entertainment between Stone Bridge and Crocus, and Stone Bridge you have confessed to.'
'You consider places of entertainment among the essentials then?'
'Why, in some cases,' said the gentleman, with a suspicious glance at Wych Hazel's brown veil.
'How long is it since you were there, Mr. Falkirk?' inquired
Mr. Kingsland's next neighbour.
The speaker was a younger man than Mr. Kingsland, and whereas that gentleman was a dandy, this one's dress was just one remove from that, and therefore faultless. About his face, so far off as the other end of the stage, there seemed nothing remarkable; it was grave, rather concise in its indications; but the voice prepared you for what a smile declared—a nature joyous and unembittered; a spirit pure and honest and keen. Even Wych Hazel's guardian softened at his look.
'Pray, Mr. Falkirk?' said the other stranger, 'what is supposed to be the origin of the word "veil"?'
'I never heard,' said Mr. Falkirk dryly. 'Lost in the early records of civilization.'
'My dear sir!—of Barbarism!'
'Civilization has never entirely got rid of barbarism, I believe,' said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth; then out, 'By what road are you going, Rollo?'
'I should be happy to act as guide, sir. I leave the direct route.'
'Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel, 'just put your head a little this way, and see the veil of mist thrown over the top of that hill.'
Mr. Falkirk looked hastily, and resumed: 'You have lately returned, I hear, from your long foreign stay?'
'It was time.'
'Mr. Falkirk,' said his ward, 'do you consider that a remnant of the dark ages?'
'It keeps its place too gracefully for that,' said her guardian dropping his voice, as he looked across Wych Hazel out of the coach window.
'Mr. Falkirk' (sotto voce), 'you are charming!—Between ourselves, this is a hard place to keep gracefully. Please take out your watch, sir.'
Which Mr. Falkirk did, and silently showed it. Forth to meet his came a little gold hunting watch from behind the brown veil.
'You are a minute slow, sir—as usual.' Then very softly—'Mr. Falkirk, what with being pressed and repressed, I am dying by quarter inches! Just introduce me for your grandmother, will you, and I will matronize the party.'
A request Mr. Falkirk complied with by entering forthwith into a long business discussion with another occupant of the stage coach, also known to him; in which stocks, commercial regulations, political enterprises, and the relative bearings of the same, precluded all reference to anything else whatever. Nobody's grandmother could have had less (visible) attention than Miss Hazel, up to the time when the coach rolled up to the door of a wayside inn, and the party got out to a luncheon or early dinner, as some of them would have called it. Then indeed she had enough. Mr. Falkirk handed her out and handed her in; straight to the gay carpeted "Ladies' room;" shut the door carefully, and asked her what she would have. No other lady was there to dispute possession.
'Only a broiled chicken, sir—and a soufflé—and potatoes à la crême au gratin,' said Miss Hazel, throwing off her bonnet and curling herself down on the arm of the sofa. 'Mr. Falkirk, all my previous acquaintance with cushions was superficial!—And could you just open the window, sir, and throw back the blinds? last November is in this room, apples and all.'
Mr. Falkirk obeyed directions, remarking that people who travel in search of their fortune must expect to meet with November in unexpected places; and then went off into the general eating-room, and by and by, from there or some other insalubrious region came a servant, with half of an imperfectly broiled fowl and muddy dish of coffee, flanked by a watery pickled cucumbers. Mr. Falkirk himself presently returned.
'How does it go?' he said.
'What, Mr. Falkirk?' the young lady was curled down in one corner of the sofa, much like a kitten; a small specimen of which animal purred complacently on her shoulder.
'Could you eat, Miss Hazel?'
'Truly, sir, I could. Mr. Falkirk—what a lovely kitten! Do you remark her length of tail?'
Mr. Falkirk thought he had heard of "puss in boots" before, but never had the full realization thereof till now.
'You have tasted nothing,' he said. 'What shall I get you? We shall be off in a few minutes, and you will not have another chance till we reach Hadyn's Dam.'
'Thank you, sir. A few minutes of undisturbed repose—with the removal of those cucumbers—and the restoration of that chicken to its other and I hope better half, is all that I require.'
'You will have rest at Hadyn's Dam,' said Mr. Falkirk with a face more expressive than his words.—'The bridge there is broken.'
'Queer place to rest, sir! Mr. Falkirk—there is Mr. Kingsland wondering why you keep me here.'
'He's eating his dinner.'
'Is he? I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza,' said Wych Hazel, closing her eyes. 'He says he don't wonder you are kept.'
'What shall I get you, Wych? You cannot go from here to the next stopping place without anything,' Mr. Falkirk said kindly.
'If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this kitten'—
Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful 'chunks' of cake. The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered the various travellers, one by one. 'Mr. Falkirk,' said Mr. Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if his charge might be there, too, 'you are not surely—agoing on alone?'
Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych Hazel set down her empty tumbler.
'My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about you!'
'What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?'
'Take it along, sir.'