Under Fire: A Tale of New England Village Life. Frank Andrew Munsey
Bernard's with a proud step and lightsome heart, that he had been blue over the society question for nothing, for, in fact, had he at this time possessed no friend save the single one whose arm now rested upon his own, he would have been fully satisfied. Perchance, in his boyish imaginings, he was more happy than he could ever be in after years, even though his brightest dreams should become a living reality.
And it is but just to Fred to say that his fair companion, as they walked leisurely toward her home, was almost if not quite as happy as himself.
This was the first time they had ever been out together in the evening, and as he somewhat timidly pressed her arm closely to his side, he felt all the pride of a hero in performing such delightful, if not dangerous, escort duty. But indeed there was danger enough awaiting him, though it lay in ambush, and he had not considered the possibility of its existence.
The distance to Nellie's home was not great, but it may reasonably be suspected that the time occupied in traversing it was somewhat prolonged. Under similar circumstances, with such delightful company, the reader himself would perhaps have used every honorable device to consume as many minutes as possible before parting with his fair associate. I shall not criticise such a course, but will be just frank enough to say that this is exactly what Fred did do.
Of course, by way of conversation, it was natural to discuss the evening party and those present. Young De Vere very justly came in for a degree of censure.
"What could have been the trouble with Matthew?" asked Nellie, clinging closely to Fred as they passed a lonesome lane.
"I'd rather not discuss him," replied the latter.
"Why not? Is he such a friend of yours that you will say nothing against him? Surely you can give no excuse for his acting as he did tonight."
"Well, you are partially right."
"In what way?"
"So far as this—that I dislike to speak against any one."
"I thought it could not be you were so friendly that you wished to shield him."
"No, for he is very unfriendly towards me. Didn't you notice that when he asked you to waltz with him?"
"Yes, but you did not hear his remark about you, I hope."
"Oh, yes, I heard it—he probably wanted me to hear it—but I could not notice it there."
"It was hateful and mean in him," replied Nellie sympathetically; "and he was as rude as he could be all the evening."
Fred had too much spirit to take kindly to being insulted, but Nellie's warm hearted manner of sympathizing with him, and her criticism of his rival, made him almost wish De Vere were again present to make some insolent remark, that he might have the pleasure of hearing Nellie still further champion his cause.
"But you did not tell me what made him so uncivil," continued Nellie.
"No."
"Do you know?"
"I suppose he was vexed."
"I should think he must have been very much piqued to act as he did."
"Yes, it would seem so."
"But what could have caused it, I wonder?" asked Nellie, with much innocence.
"Do you really want me to tell you?"
"Why, to be sure I do."
"Couldn't you guess?"
"I know I could not."
"Not if you were to try very hard?"
"No."
"You should be more egotistical, then."
"Why, what do you mean, Fred?"
"I mean that what made him unhappy was just the thing that made me happy, and gave me the pleasantest evening of my life," replied Fred, tightening the pressure slightly on his companion's arm.
"I cannot see how this affects me, or proves, as you say, that I should be more egotistical," replied Miss Nellie, continuing, with feminine perversity, to feign innocence and ignorance, that she might keep Fred longer on a topic at once so flattering and delightful.
"Then I will be plainer—very plain—and say that you were the cause yourself."
If the night had been a light one, Fred would have seen a bewildering blush cover the face of his companion. As it was, he guessed the truth, and realized that the effect of his words was altogether gratifying to Nellie's pride—it could hardly be anything more sentimental than pride.
But now they were at her home—all too soon as it seemed to Fred—and her father and mother had heard them come up the steps; so the "good night" must be brief.
Nellie extended her hand, with its graceful, tapering fingers, to him, and thanked him very prettily for his attention during the evening, and for escorting her safely home. In return, Fred gave her hand a slight pressure from the impulse of his honest, manly heart, that meant a thousand thanks for the pleasure she had given him, which would be a gratifying recollection for weeks and months to come.
V.
While Fred was enjoying the latter part of his evening so thoroughly, Matthew was miserable in his anger, as he and his confederate remained crouched under the shadow of the bushes, chafing at our hero's failure to appear.
Every minute seemed ten to him, there in the cold night wind, as he meditated upon the events of the past few hours, and imagined his rival enjoying the pleasure of escorting Nellie home. The more he thought upon the matter the more vividly he pictured the situation, and the greater the contrast seemed to be between his own position and that of the boy he hated.
And as he dwelt upon this picture, and thought, and thought rightly, that Fred was prolonging the time in reaching Dr. Dutton's house, his anger became more bitter against his intended victim, for being kept there so long in the frosty night.
It was indeed a galling situation for Matthew, and right well he deserved to be placed in it. He was on a wicked errand—an errand for which he should have suffered a severe punishment. Still the time went on, and the cold grew more intense, until their teeth chattered, and their fingers were benumbed; yet Fred did not appear.
Matthew was so bent on revenge that he hated to give up his evil project; but he had waited so long, looked, listened, and hoped, and no sound of footsteps could he hear, that now he broke out angrily:
"Worthington isn't coming, after all—the sneak!"
"Don't believe he is," shivered Tim, who was evidently very anxious to get out of his contract.
"But he must come this way," continued Matthew.
"He might go to the other road and cut across the grove."
"Why should he do that when it is so much farther? Listen, do you hear it? There is a step now!" exclaimed De Vere, clutching his club tightly.
"Sure as I'm alive, there he comes," said Tim, pointing to an approaching object just growing visible.
"Let him get nearly opposite us before striking. Ah, now I'll get square with him—the tramp! I'll teach him better than to interfere with me," continued Matthew, swinging his club as if raining imaginary blows upon the head of his victim.
"I should think so," observed Tim.
"He will think so, too, in about a minute. He will wish he had not crossed my path."
"Where shall I hit him?"
"Hit him on the leg so he can't run."
"He might get my club if he has the use of his arms,