In Blue Creek Canon Part 24

But w.a.n.g, by no means abashed by her manner, bestowed upon her a second wink of exceeding craftiness, while he slowly drew a note out from the loose sleeve of his shapeless blue coat.

"w.a.n.g mus' a forgot him; you no tell," he said softly, with a stealthy glance at the dining-room door behind him, as if expecting to see Mrs.

Pennypoker appear on the threshold and swoop down upon him at any moment.

Louise glanced at the letter in her hand. She was annoyed to feel her color come, as she saw that it was addressed to her in Dr. Brownlee's well-known writing.

"Where did you get this, w.a.n.g?" she asked.

"Doc' Blownlee." And w.a.n.g k.u.m smiled knowingly.

"But he didn't tell you to give it to me this way, did he?" she asked again.

"He no tell; w.a.n.g sabe, all samee. w.a.n.g no fool." And w.a.n.g marched back to the dining-room, leaving Louise to read her note un.o.bserved.

As she had supposed, it was merely a message to appoint the hour for a ride they had agreed upon for that afternoon. There was not the slightest reason that she should not have received and read it under the eye of Mrs. Pennypoker; but long experience had taught her that the ways of w.a.n.g k.u.m were past finding out, so she only tucked the note into her belt and went on her way, resolving, however, to warn the doctor to select another Cupid, in the future, to be the bearer of his messages.

Some weeks had slipped away since Ned's illness, and spring had once more come to Blue Creek. The crisis of the fever once pa.s.sed, the boy had quickly rallied, and, thanks to the devoted care of Louise and the doctor, his recovery had been sure and steady, until at length he was p.r.o.nounced nearly well enough to resume his former place among his friends. Then came the time of thoroughly disinfecting and airing the house, for Dr. Brownlee was not the man to leave any uncertainty as to results. His quarantine had been as strict as his later measures were energetic, and he had refused to rest until he was a.s.sured that no danger could come from his patient. Owing to the negligence of Dr.

Hofer, the disease had been spreading across the creek, until the board of health had interfered, and summarily taken the cases from his care to give them into the hand of Dr. Brownlee, whose vigorous treatment had checked the trouble, even though it had incurred the hostility of the parents of the fever-stricken children.

But at last the doctor had said that all danger at the Everetts' was over, and Grant had been allowed to come home once more. In spite of the good times he had been having with Howard and Charlie, in spite of the motherly welcome of Mrs. Burnam, the boy had been thoroughly homesick during the period of his banishment from home. It was the first time that he and his brother had ever been separated, and Ned was his hero and idol, as well as his constant companion. During the long days of waiting, when the fever was at its height, Grant had wandered disconsolately about the house, refusing to be comforted, and looking so pale and miserable as to be a mere shadow of his usual bright self, and to cause Mrs. Burnam many an hour of anxiety lest he, too, were about to be ill. Then came the sudden change for the better, and, for a day or two, Grant was like a wild creature in the exuberance of his joy; but he was restless and anxious to be at home with his brother again, sure that no one else could take as good care of him as he. He had even waylaid the doctor on the street one morning, and tried to bribe him to allow a return home; but Dr. Brownlee was firm, and Grant had been forced to bide his time.

The whole Everett household had been radiant with its new happiness, during these last few weeks. It would have been enough for them all to have Ned brought back to life, after their terrible hours of suspense; and for days they hovered about the boy, almost unable to believe that their bright, affectionate, impish Ned was to remain with them, after all. Even Mrs. Pennypoker had cast aside her strict principles of discipline, and coddled him and fussed over him to her heart's content, while w.a.n.g openly prided himself on being the means of his recovery.

"w.a.n.g went 'way off out doors," he had confided to Louise; "all lonee; hollered heap loud to Up-in-Sky. Up-in-Sky no say anything; he sabe, all samee; came down heap quick to help Mas' Ned."

In the midst of this rejoicing there had come a cause for even increased happiness. On the morning after Ned had turned the dangerous corner, and started on his slow journey back into life once more, Dr. Brownlee had gone into the parlor where Mr. Everett sat writing letters, and had closed the door behind him. His stay was only a short one; then Mr.

Everett came out, and went in search of Louise.

"Come, my girl," he said gently; "Winthrop is waiting for you. Your mother would have been very happy to-day, as happy as I am." And he led her to the parlor door; then he went away, and left them alone together.

To Louise, it had seemed as if the world had suddenly been created anew that spring. The days flew by like one long, happy dream, while she spent hour after hour amusing her brother during his tedious convalescence, or left him to Mrs. Pennypoker's care when she escaped to the parlor, to enjoy the doctor's short, but frequent calls. Ned had been as rapturous as his sister when the good news was told to him; and he had saluted the doctor as Brother Brownlee upon the occasion of his next visit.

"It's just too jolly," he had said, with the first return of his old, irrepressible manner. "I'd rather have you take Lou than anybody else I know; and I'm no end glad I helped it on. You know you'd never have come to the point, if I hadn't scared you both out of your senses; but"--he paused, and then asked wickedly, "but I say, Lou, what do you suppose the Reverend Gabriel will have to say about it?"

The Reverend Gabriel, in the mean time, had kept himself informed on the subject of Ned's illness, and although he had held himself at a prudent distance from all danger of infection, he had not neglected the young invalid. As soon as it was definitely known that the boy was on the way to recovery, Dr. Hornblower had sent him, through the safe medium of the post-office, a little book of "Sick-room Meditations," whose black cover bore the cheering design of a tomb under a pair of weeping willows.

Though the gift was doubtless intended in all kindness, it was received with more amus.e.m.e.nt than grat.i.tude, and Ned kept it under his pillow to read aloud choice bits from it, whenever Louise and Dr. Brownlee were together in his room.

But, during the weeks that the Reverend Gabriel had been unable to call at the Everetts'; he had been slowly making up his mind upon a matter of weighty importance; and now at length the time had come for him to carry out his intentions.

The Reverend Gabriel Hornblower, it should be stated, was a romantic soul; and, in his tanned, weather-beaten old body, there throbbed a heart as ardent as ever beat in the breast of a boy of eighteen. Its manifestations, however, were often a little eccentric, for its owner was as ignorant and unworldly as a child. For years he had fed his elderly imagination upon the most impa.s.sioned love scenes to be found in the pages of novel or biography. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing in the least modern about his literary taste; but he had confined his reading to the histories of the Evelinas and Cherubinas of yore, until his idea of the tender pa.s.sion was as old-fas.h.i.+oned and stilted as the books from which it had been derived. Nevertheless, the Reverend Gabriel was becoming weary of boarding-house existence, and beginning to long for the comforts of home and the charms of conjugal society.

It would be hard to say whether the sight of Louise Everett's blonde beauty, or the contemplation of his own frayed cuffs and ragged b.u.t.tonholes had been the moving cause; but the result was the same.

Upon this particular afternoon, he had spent an hour in reading over one of his old favorites; then, seizing his hat and cane, with an air of desperate resolution, he had hurried out of the house, and up the street towards the Everetts'.

He was ushered into the parlor by w.a.n.g k.u.m, who a.s.sured him that Louise would soon be at home, and rolled out the great leather-covered chair from its accustomed corner, in order that the Reverend Gabriel might be as comfortable as possible, while he awaited her coming. Then he withdrew, leaving the guest to his meditations.

They were not altogether enjoyable ones, however. w.a.n.g k.u.m had told him that Louise was riding with Dr. Brownlee, and the Reverend Gabriel, with the jealous eye of a lover, was not slow to discern a possible rival in the handsome young man, who had been a constant attendant at the house, during the past few weeks. Moreover, the room was very warm, and the Reverend Gabriel was beginning to grow a little uncomfortable, for w.a.n.g k.u.m, with the keen malice of his race, had carefully arranged the chair directly opposite the register, which brought the heat from the stove in the next room. Dr. Hornblower had been feeling rather nervous, all that day; now he feared that he was becoming feverish. He drew his hand across his moist brow, and sighed anxiously. Could it be that he was going to be ill?

At length Louise came in. She looked so bright and pretty in her dark habit, and with her golden hair loosened by the wind and curling about her face, that the Reverend Gabriel felt his admiration momentarily increasing, while he gazed at her. And yet, something in her fresh, girlish beauty made him long to draw back from his coming interview, as he rose to greet her, and caught sight of his own dull, brown face in the mirror above her head.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long," Louise said courteously, while she unb.u.t.toned her gloves and slowly drew them off. "It is such a glorious day that we stayed out a little longer than we meant to."

"It is a fine day, a very fine one," returned the Reverend Gabriel, eagerly catching at the safe topic of the weather.

"Yes, and we were shut in so long that I enjoy being out, more than ever," said Louise, while she speculated vainly as to the doctor's motive for this call.

"You have had a painful experience," he answered gloomily; "a trying and painful experience; but I trust that you are benefited by it. My thoughts were continually with you during the--um--the ordeal."

"Thank you, Dr. Hornblower," Louise returned gratefully. "Our friends were all very kind."

"Doubtless they were," responded Dr. Hornblower, as he sympathetically wiped his eyes. "We were all grieving over the prospective demise of a young brother. And yet some consolation would have reached you, Miss Everett; love is the only pocket-handkerchief to wipe the mourner's eyes."

Louise blushed hotly at the reference. Although she had made no secret of the matter of her engagement, still she was a little surprised to have the Reverend Gabriel allude to it in such an unexpected fas.h.i.+on.

But she was determined to carry off her embarra.s.sment as easily as possible, so she smiled brightly, as she said,--

"Then you have come to congratulate me; thank"--

"Pardon me!" interrupted Dr. Hornblower, as stiffly as if his rheumatism had suddenly penetrated from his joints to his manners. "It is not yet the time for congratulation; and, when the hour comes, it is I who will receive them."

"You?" And Louise stared at the Reverend Gabriel in unfeigned astonishment.

"At least, so it is to be hoped," returned the doctor gravely.

For a moment, there was an awkward pause, while Louise wondered whether the worthy minister had suddenly taken leave of his senses, and the doctor writhed uneasily in his chair, as he realized that his hour had come. The hush was beginning to be painful, and Louise was just opening her lips to speak, to say something, no matter what, when she was suddenly struck speechless by seeing the Reverend Gabriel lay his hat and cane on the floor beside his chair, then clumsily kneel down before her and clasp his hands. For one brief instant, she supposed that he was about to give her the benefit of his professional services, and she composed her face to listen with befitting gravity; but his first words dispelled the illusion.

"Louisa," he began, in a tone so devoid of expression as to suggest the possibility of his having written out the words and committed them to memory; "Louisa, behold me a suppliant before you, begging, imploring"--

But Louise had started from her chair, and stood facing him, her cheeks white with mortification for herself and pity for him.

"Dr. Hornblower," she begged hastily; "get up, please! You mustn't say any more."

"But you do not catch my full meaning," he went on. "I ask you"--

"Get up at once," she repeated. "You mustn't say it; it's impossible!

Suppose some one should come in. Oh, do get up!"

Yielding to her evident alarm, he awkwardly scrambled to his feet, and threw himself down in in his chair once more, with a force that pushed it back against the opposite wall.

"Truly, I never thought of such a thing," Louise said penitently. "I always supposed that you came to see Cousin Euphemia, not me; or I might have prevented this."

"Why should you, Louisa?" returned the Reverend Gabriel, with a cheerful a.s.surance that grated upon her ears. "I am willing to wait and hope; my heart is eternally yours."

"Oh, I hope not!" she answered quickly. "Really, Dr. Hornblower, it never can be, never could have been; I never even thought of such an idea. You have always been very kind to me, I know," she went on hesitatingly, trying to soften her words a little; "but I thought it was only because you felt a fatherly interest in me."

"I'm not so old as you seem to think," began Dr. Hornblower testily; then, bethinking himself that this was not according to his models, he made a dramatic pause, before he asked his final question, "Is there, then, Another?"

Louise hung her head and blushed.

"I'm afraid there is," she faltered.