CHAPTER FIVE
The Story of Margaret Gaither
Gabriel and Cephas started toward their homes, which lay in the same direction. Instead of going around by road or street, they cut across the fields and woods. Before they had gone very far, they heard a rustling, swishing sound in the pine-thicket through which they were passing, but gave it little attention, both being used to the noises common to the forest. In their minds it was either a rabbit or a grey fox scuttling away; or a poree scratching in the bushes, or a ground-squirrel running in the underbrush.
But a moment later, Nan Dorrington, followed by Tasma Tid, burst from the pine-thicket, crying, "Oh, you walk so fast, you two!" She was panting and laughing, and as she stood before the lads, one little hand at her throat, and the other vainly trying to control her flying hair, a delicious rosiness illuminating her face, Gabriel knew that he had just been doing her a gross injustice. As he walked along the path, followed by his faithful Cephas, he had been mentally comparing her to a young woman he had just seen in Mr. Goodlett's hack; and had been saying to himself that the new-comer was, if possible, more beautiful than Nan.
But now here was Nan herself in person, and Gabriel's comparisons appeared to be shabby indeed. With Nan before his eyes, he could see what a foolish thing it was to compare her with any one in this world except herself. There was a flavour of wildness in her beauty that gave it infinite charm and variety. It was a wildness that is wedded to grace and vivacity, such as we see embodied in the form and gestures of the wood-dove, or the partridge, or the flying squirrel, when it is un-awed by the presence of man. The flash of her dark brown eyes, her tawny hair blowing free, and her lithe figure, with the dark green pines for a background, completed the most charming picture it is possible for the mind to conceive. All that Gabriel was conscious of, beyond a dim surprise that Nan should be here—the old Nan that he used to know—was a sort of dawning thrill of ecstasy as he contemplated her. He stood staring at her with his mouth open.
"Why do you look at me like that, Gabriel?" she cried; "I am no ghost. And why do you walk so fast? I have been running after you as hard as I can. And, wasn't that Francis Bethune in the waggon with Mr. Sanders?"
"Did you run hard just to ask me that? Mrs. Absalom could have saved you all this trouble." The mention of Bethune's name had brought Gabriel to earth, and to commonplace thoughts again. "Yes, that was Master Bethune, and he has grown to be a very handsome young man."
"Oh, he was always good-looking," said Nan lightly. "Where are you and Cephas going?"
"Straight home," replied Gabriel.
"Well, I'm going there, too. I heard Nonny" (this was Mrs. Absalom) "say that Margaret Gaither has come home again, and then I remembered that your grandmother promised to tell me a story about her some day. I'm going to tease her to-day until she tells it."
"And didn't Mrs. Absalom tell you that Bethune was in the waggon with Mr. Sanders?" Gabriel inquired, in some astonishment.
"Oh, Gabriel! you are so—" Nan paused as if hunting for the right term or word. Evidently she didn't find it, for she turned to Gabriel with a winning smile, and asked what Mr. Sanders had had to say. "I'm so glad he's come I don't know what to do. I wouldn't live in a town that didn't have its Mr. Sanders," she declared.
"Well, about the first thing he said was to remind Bethune of the time when you whacked him over the head with a cudgel."
"And what did Master Francis say to that?" inquired Nan, with a laugh.
"Why, what could he say? He simply turned red. Now, if it had been me, I——"
The path was so narrow, that Nan, the two lads, and Tasma Tid were walking in Indian file. Nan stopped so suddenly and unexpectedly that Gabriel fell against her. As he did so, she turned and seized him by the arm, and emphasised her words by shaking him gently as each was uttered. "Now—Gabriel—don't—say—disagreeable—things!"
What she meant he had not the least idea, and it was not the first nor the last time that his wit lacked the nimbleness to follow and catch her meaning.
"Disagreeable!" he exclaimed. "Why, I was simply going to say that if I had been in Bethune's shoes to-day, I should have declared that you did the proper thing."
Nan dropped a low curtsey, saying, "Oh, thank you, sir—what was the gentleman's name, Cephas—the gentleman who was such a cavalier?"
"Was he a Frenchman?" asked Cephas.
"Oh, Cephas! you should be ashamed. You have as little learning as I." With that she turned and went along the path at such a rapid pace that it was as much as the lads could do to keep up with her, without breaking into an undignified trot.
Nan went home with Gabriel; was there before him indeed, for he paused a moment to say something to Cephas. She ran along the walk, took the steps two at a time, and as she ran skipping along the hallway, she cried out: "Grandmother Lumsden! where are you? Oh, what do you think? Margaret Gaither has come home!" When Gabriel entered the room, Nan had fetched a footstool, and was already sitting at Mrs. Lumsden's feet, holding one of the old lady's frail, but beautiful white hands.
Here was another picture, the beauty of which dawned on Gabriel later—youth and innocence sitting at the feet of sweet and wholesome old age. The lad was always proud of his grandmother, but never more so than at that moment when her beauty and refinement were brought into high relief by her attitude toward Nan Dorrington. Gabriel was very happy to be near those two. Not for a weary time had Nan been so friendly and familiar as she was now, and he felt a kind of exaltation.
"Margaret Gaither! Margaret Gaither!" Gabriel's grandmother repeated the name as if trying to summon up some memory of the past. "Poor girl! Did you see her, Gabriel? And how did she look?" With a boy's bluntness, he described her physical condition, exaggerating, perhaps, its worst features, for these had made a deep impression on him. "Oh, I'm so sorry for her! and she has a daughter!" said Mrs. Lumsden softly. "I will call on them as soon as possible. And then if poor Margaret is unable to return the visit, the daughter will come. And you must be here, Nan; Gabriel will fetch you. And you, Gabriel—for once you must be polite and agreeable. Candace shall brush up your best suit, and if it is to be mended, I will mend it."
Nan and Gabriel laughed at this. Both knew that this famous best suit would not reach to the lad's ankles, and that the sleeves of the coat would end a little way below the elbow.
"I can't imagine what you are laughing at," said Mrs. Lumsden, with a faint smile. "I am sure the suit is a very respectable one, especially when you have none better."
"No, Grandmother Lumsden; Gabriel will have to take his tea in the kitchen with Aunt Candace."
However, the affair never came off. The dear old lady, in whom the social instinct was so strong, had no opportunity to send the invitation until long afterward. Nan was compelled to beg very hard for the story of Margaret Gaither. It was never the habit of Gabriel's grandmother to indulge in idle gossip; she could always find some excuse for the faults of those who were unfortunate; but Nan had the art of persuasion at her tongue's end. Whether it was this fact or the fact that Mrs. Lumsden believed that the story carried a moral that Nan would do well to digest, it would be impossible to say. At any rate, the youngsters soon had their desire. The story will hardly bear retelling; it can be compressed into a dozen lines, and be made as uninteresting as a newspaper paragraph; but, as told by Gabriel's grandmother, it had the charm which sympathy and pity never fail to impart to a narrative. When it came to an end, Nan was almost in tears, though she could never tell why.
"It happened, Nan, before you and Gabriel were born," said Mrs. Lumsden. "Margaret Gaither was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen,