You'd hev hed a better time
if Louisianny had been at herself. Good-by to ye. Ye'll hev plenty of
moonlight to see ye home."
Their long ride was a silent one. When they reached the end of it and
Olivia had been helped out of the carriage and stood in the moonlight
upon the deserted gallery, where she had stood with Louisiana in the
morning, she looked very suitably miserable.
"Laurence," she said, "I don't exactly see why you should feel so very
severe about it. I am sure I am as abject as any one could wish."
He stood a moment in silence looking absently out on the
moonlight-flooded lawn. Everything was still and wore an air of
desolation.
"We won't talk about it," he said, at last, "but you have done me an
ill-turn, Olivia."
CHAPTER IX.
"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?"
As he said it, Louisiana was at home in the house-room, sitting on a
low chair at her father's knee and looking into the fire. She had not
gone to bed. When he returned to the house her father had found her
sitting here, and she had not left her place since. A wood fire had
been lighted because the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she
seemed to like to sit and watch it and think.
Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. After leaving his
departing guests he had settled down with some deliberation. He had
closed the doors and brought forward his favorite wooden-backed,
split-seated chair. Then he had seated himself, and drawing forth his
twist of tobacco had cut off a goodly "chaw." He moved slowly and wore
a serious and somewhat abstracted air. Afterward he tilted backward a
little, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ruminate.
"Louisianny," he said, "Louisianny, I'd like to hear the rights of it."
She answered him in a low voice.
"It is not worth telling," she said. "It was a very poor joke, after
all."
He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his crossed legs slowly.
"Was it?" he remarked. "A poor one, after all? Why, thet's bad."
The quiet patience of his face was a study. He went on rubbing his leg
even more slowly than before.
"Thet's bad," he said again. "Now, what d'ye think was the trouble,
Louisianny?"
"I made a mistake," she answered. "That was all."
Suddenly she turned to him and laid her folded arms on his knee and her
face upon them, sobbing.
"I oughtn't to have gone," she cried. "I ought to have stayed at home
with you, father."
His face flushed, and he was obliged to relieve his feelings by
expectorating into the fire.
"Louisianny," he said, "I'd like to ask ye one question. Was thar
anybody thar as didn't—well, as didn't show ye respect—as was slighty
or free or—or onconsiderate? Fur instants, any littery man—jest for
instants, now?"
"No, no!" she answered. "They were very kind to me always."
"Don't be afeared to tell me, Louisianny," he put it to her. "I only
said 'fur instants,' havin' heern as littery men was sometimes—now an'
again—thataway—now an' ag'in."
"They were very good to me," she repeated, "always."
"If they was," he returned, "I'm glad of it. I'm a-gittin' old,
Louisianny, an' I haint much health—dispepsy's what tells on a man,"
he went on deliberately. "But if thar'd a bin any one as hed done it,
I'd hev hed to settle it with him—I'd hev hed to hev settled it with
him—liver or no liver."
He put his hand on her head and gave it a slow little rub, the wrong
way, but tenderly.
"I aint goin' to ask ye no more questions," he said, "exceptin' one.
Is thar anything ye'd like to hev done in the house—in the parlor, for
instants, now—s'posin' we was to say in the parlor."
"No, no," she cried. "Let it stay as it is! Let it all stay as it is!"
"Wa-al," he said, meditatively, "ye know thar aint no reason why it
should, Louisianny, if ye'd like to hev it fixed up more or different.
If ye'd like a new paper—say a floweryer one—or a new set of cheers
an' things. Up to Lawyer Hoskin's I seen 'em with red seats to 'em,
an' seemed like they did set things off sorter. If ye'd like to hev
some, thar aint no reason why ye shouldn't. Things has gone purty well
with me, an'—an' thar aint none left but you, honey. Lord!" he added,
in a queer burst of tenderness.
1 comment