Mrs. Comstock opened her lips, looked at Elnora and closed them. In her heart she was pleased that the girl was so interested in her work that she had forgotten Philip Ammon's coming. But it did seem to her that such a pleasant young man should have been greeted by a girl in a fresh dress. “If she isn't disposed to primp at the coming of a man, heaven forbid that I should be the one to start her,” thought Mrs. Comstock.
Philip came whistling down the walk between the cinnamon pinks, pansies, and strawberries. He carried several packages, while his face flushed with more colour than on the previous day.
“Only see what has happened to me!” cried Elnora, offering her letter.
“I'll wager I know!” answered Philip. “Isn't it great! Every one in Onabasha is talking about it. At last there is something new under the sun. All of them are pleased. They think you'll make a big success. This will give an incentive to work. In a few days more I'll be myself again, and we'll overturn the fields and woods around here.”
He went on to congratulate Mrs. Comstock.
“Aren't you proud of her, though?” he asked. “You should hear what folks are saying! They say she created the necessity for the position, and every one seems to feel that it is a necessity. Now, if she succeeds, and she will, all of the other city schools will have such departments, and first thing you know she will have made the whole world a little better. Let me rest a few seconds; my feet are acting up again. Then we will cook the moth compound and put it to cool.”
He laughed as he sat breathing shortly.
“It doesn't seem possible that a fellow could lose his strength like this. My knees are actually trembling, but I'll be all right in a minute. Uncle Doc said I could come. I told him how you took care of me, and he said I would be safe here.”
Then he began unwrapping packages and explaining to Mrs. Comstock how to cook the compound to attract the moths. He followed her into the kitchen, kindled the fire, and stirred the preparation as he talked. While the mixture cooled, he and Elnora walked through the vegetable garden behind the cabin and strayed from there into the woods.
“What about college?” he asked. “Miss Brownlee said you were going.”
“I had hoped to,” replied Elnora, “but I had a streak of dreadful luck, so I'll have to wait until next year. If you won't speak of it, I'll tell you.”
Philip promised, so Elnora recited the history of the Yellow Emperor. She was so interested in doing the Emperor justice she did not notice how many personalities went into the story. A few pertinent questions told him the remainder. He looked at the girl in wonder. In face and form she was as lovely as any one of her age and type he ever had seen. Her school work far surpassed that of most girls of her age he knew. She differed in other ways. This vast store of learning she had gathered from field and forest was a wealth of attraction no other girl possessed. Her frank, matter-of-fact manner was an inheritance from her mother, but there was something more. Once, as they talked he thought “sympathy” was the word to describe it and again “comprehension.” She seemed to possess a large sense of brotherhood for all human and animate creatures. She spoke to him as if she had known him all her life. She talked to the grosbeak in exactly the same manner, as she laid strawberries and potato bugs on the fence for his family. She did not swerve an inch from her way when a snake slid past her, while the squirrels came down from the trees and took corn from her fingers. She might as well have been a boy, so lacking was she in any touch of feminine coquetry toward him. He studied her wonderingly. As they went along the path they reached a large slime-covered pool surrounded by decaying stumps and logs thickly covered with water hyacinths and blue flags. Philip stopped.
“Is that the place?” he asked.
Elnora assented. “The doctor told you?”
“Yes. It was tragic. Is that pool really bottomless?”
“So far as we ever have been able to discover.”
Philip stood looking at the water, while the long, sweet grasses, thickly sprinkled with blue flag bloom, over which wild bees clambered, swayed around his feet. Then he turned to the girl. She had worked hard. The same lavender dress she had worn the previous day clung to her in limp condition. But she was as evenly coloured and of as fine grain as a wild rose petal, her hair was really brown, but never was such hair touched with a redder glory, while her heavy arching brows added a look of strength to her big gray-blue eyes.
“And you were born here?”
He had not intended to voice that thought.
“Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Just in time to prevent my mother from saving the life of my father. She came near never forgiving me.”
“Ah, cruel!” cried Philip.
“I find much in life that is cruel, from our standpoints,” said Elnora. “It takes the large wisdom of the Unfathomable, the philosophy of the Almighty, to endure some of it. But there is always right somewhere, and at last it seems to come.”
“Will it come to you?” asked Philip, who found himself deeply affected.
“It has come,” said the girl serenely. “It came a week ago. It came in fullest measure when my mother ceased to regret that I had been born. Now, work that I love has come—that should constitute happiness. A little farther along is my violet bed. I want you to see it.”
As Philip Ammon followed he definitely settled upon the name of the unusual feature of Elnora's face. It should be called “experience.” She had known bitter experiences early in life. Suffering had been her familiar more than joy. He watched her earnestly, his heart deeply moved. She led him into a swampy half-open space in the woods, stopped and stepped aside. He uttered a cry of surprised delight.
A few decaying logs were scattered around, the grass grew in tufts long and fine. Blue flags waved, clusters of cowslips nodded gold heads, but the whole earth was purple with a thick blanket of violets nodding from stems a foot in length. Elnora knelt and slipping her fingers between the leaves and grasses to the roots, gathered a few violets and gave them to Philip.
“Can your city greenhouses surpass them?” she asked.
He sat on a log to examine the blooms.
“They are superb!” he said. “I never saw such length of stem or such rank leaves, while the flowers are the deepest blue, the truest violet I ever saw growing wild. They are coloured exactly like the eyes of the girl I am going to marry.”
Elnora handed him several others to add to those he held. “She must have wonderful eyes,” she commented.
“No other blue eyes are quite so beautiful,” he said. “In fact, she is altogether lovely.”
“Is it customary for a man to think the girl he is going to marry lovely? I wonder if I should find her so.”
“You would,” said Philip. “No one ever fails to. She is tall as you, very slender, but perfectly rounded; you know about her eyes; her hair is black and wavy—while her complexion is clear and flushed with red.”
“Why, she must be the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” she cried.
“No, indeed!” he said. “She is not a particle better looking in her way than you are in yours. She is a type of dark beauty, but you are equally as perfect. She is unusual in her combination of black hair and violet eyes, although every one thinks them black at a little distance. You are quite as unusual with your fair face, black brows, and brown hair; indeed, I know many people who would prefer your bright head to her dark one. It's all a question of taste—and being engaged to the girl,” he added.
“That would be likely to prejudice one,” laughed Elnora.
“Edith has a birthday soon; if these last will you let me have a box of them to send her?”
“I will help gather and pack them for you, so