He looked and then he smiled,as he could not well help doing,for it was capitally done, the long,lazy figure on the grass, with listless face,half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar,from which came the little wreath of smoke that encircled the dreamer’s head.
“How well you draw!” he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure at her skill,adding, with a half-laugh, “Yes, that’s me.”
“As you are. This is as you were.” and Amy laid another sketch beside the one he held.
It was not nearly so well done,but there was a life and spirit in it which atoned for many faults,and it recalled the past so vividly that a sudden change swept over the young man’s face as he looked. Only a rough sketch of Laurie taming a horse. Hat and coat were off, and every line of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding attitude was full of energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground, and ears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had mastered him. In the ruffled mane, the rider’s breezy hair and erect attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine grace of the ‘_Dolce far Niente_’ sketch. Laurie said nothing but as his eye went from one to the other, Amy saw him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and without waiting for him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way...
“Don’t you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck,and we all looked on?Meg and Beth were frightened,but Jo clapped and pranced,and I sat on the fence and drew you.I found that sketch in my portfolio the other day,touched it up, and kept it to show you.”
“Much obliged. You’ve improved immensely since then,and I congratulate you.May I venture to suggest in ‘a honeymoon paradise’ that five o’clock is the dinner hour at your hotel?”
Laurie rose as he spoke,returned the pictures with a smile and a bow and looked at his watch,as if to remind her that even moral lectures should have an end.He tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air,but it was an affectation now,for the rousing had been more effacious than he would confess.Amy felt the shade of coldness in his manner,and said to herself...
“Now, I’ve offended him. Well, if it does him good,I’m glad, if it makes him hate me, I’m sorry,but it’s true, and I can’t take back a word of it.”
They laughed and chatted all the way home,and little Baptiste, up behind,thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in charming spirits.But both felt ill at ease.The friendly frankness was disturbed,the sunshine had a shadow over it,and despite their apparent gaiety,there was a secret discontent in the heart of each.
“Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?” asked Amy, as they parted at her aunt’s door.
“Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir,madamoiselle,” and Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand,in the foreign fashion,which became him better than many men.Something in his face made Amy say quickly and warmly...
“No, be yourself with me, Laurie,and part in the good old way.I’d rather have a hearty English handshake than all the sentimental salutations in France.”
“Goodbye, dear,” and with these words,uttered in the tone she liked, Laurie left her,after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness.
Next morning, instead of the usual call,Amy received a note which made her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.
My Dear Mentor, Please make my adieux to your aunt,and exult within yourself,for ‘Lazy Laurence’ has gone to his grandpa,like the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you,and may the gods grant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa!I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser.Tell him so, with my congratulations.
Yours gratefully, Telemachus
“Good boy!I’m glad he’s gone,” said Amy, with an approving smile.The next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room,adding, with an involuntary sigh, “Yes, I am glad,but how I shall miss him.”
CHAPTER FORTY THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
When the first bitterness was over,the family accepted the inevitable,and tried to bear it cheerfully,helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.
The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth,and in it was gathered everything that she most loved,flowers, pictures, her piano, the little worktable,and the beloved pussies.Father’s best books found their way there,Mother’s easy chair, Jo’s desk, Amy’s finest sketches,and every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage,to make sunshine for Aunty Beth.John quietly set apart a little sum,that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.
Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine,sat Beth, tranquil and busy as ever,for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature,and even while preparing to leave life,she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind.The feeble fingers were never idle,and one of her pleasures was to make little things for the school children daily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some small mother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers of the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came to her, full of blots and gratitude.
The first few months were very happy ones,and Beth often used to look round,and say “How beautiful this is!” as they all sat together in her sunny room,the babies kicking and crowing on the floor,mother and sisters working near, and father reading,in his pleasant voice,from the wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words,as applicable now as when written centuries ago,a little chapel, where a paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them that hope can comfort love, and faith make resignation possible. Simple sermons, that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for the father’s heart was in the minister’s religion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read.