silvery soft by the forest side,
wine-red, yellow and rose,
the wizard of autumn, faint-blue eyed,
swinging his censer, goes.
—abchibald lampman.
as the tenth of october approached, there was but one subject of interest in the township of oro—the elmbrook fall fair. "the show," it was called, the name indicating that there could be only one. it was as much a social as an agricultural function. oro was largely a scottish township, and on show day there was a gathering of the clans from far and near. old friends who never saw each other between fairs, met on that day, and had a grand review, both in gaelic and english, of the year's doings, and the alien who did not "have" the former language missed half the benefit of the institution.
on the evening before the fair, gilbert was surprised by a visit from malcolm cameron. the boy had left for college only two weeks before, but, like many other sons of oro, he had come back for "the show."
"say," he began, balancing himself on the corner of the doctor's desk, "i'm going to ask you a most awfully big favor."
"ask away," said the other, smiling; "it's granted, if i can do it."
"oh, say, you're the best chap in the country. elsie would kill me if she knew, but you won't let on, will you? i've got to take her to the show in our single buggy. jim's taking mother and uncle hughie in the double rig, and all our truck has to come home in it, and you know—well—marjorie's going with her father and mother, and i might drive her home if elsie had some one to go with, and i thought—if you hadn't made any other arrangements, i thought, perhaps——"
"that miss cameron might come home with me?" interposed gilbert, coming to his aid. "why, i'd be delighted; that is, if she wouldn't mind."
"oh, elsie'd be tickled to death!" cried elsie's brother, growing reckless in his gratitude. "say, doctor, it's awfully decent of you. you see, i won't see marjorie again till christmas, likely—and—you know——"
"yes, yes, i understand," said gilbert sympathetically. "i wonder if i might ask to take your sister there, and you'd have two drives with miss scott," he added, with wonderful generosity.
"i thought of that myself," said malcolm ingenuously, "but mother wouldn't let elsie do that, and it would just be like mrs. scott to object, too; but they won't say anything about just driving home. you'll ask elsie at the show, will you? you're a brick; and don't give it away, or she'd pull all my hair out when we got home."
the elmbrook fair was held in the agricultural hall, about two miles from the village. those who had no horses started off on the happy means of transportation called "chancing it." this consisted in walking along the highway for a short distance, on the sure chance of being picked up by some passing vehicle, for an oro buggy was like a city street car, and always held one more.
gilbert started out alone, and overtook hannah and jake sawyer straying along the dusty roadside, early for once in their lives, having been spurred to the unusual achievement by the energy of the orphans.
little joey trotted between them, but tim had gone to the show in the morning, with keturah, the cow, and isaac and rebekah and the pumpkins; and the twins were far ahead, their parents knew not where. gilbert took hannah and joey in with him, and they joined the long line of vehicles that had already formed and was winding swiftly down the highway.
overhead the sky was deeply brilliant, and near the horizon a tender, misty blue. the golden landscape was lit with patches of gay woodland, and here and there by the roadside a scarlet maple, a clump of flaming sumach, or the blood-red vine of the woodbine. high up on the top of a dead tree-trunk, in the center of a smoky hollow, a flicker was shouting out derisively, "tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" in scorn of all this frivolous humanity gone a-fairing.
the procession crossed the railroad track just as the afternoon express went thundering past. the conductor caught sight of the doctor's buggy, and blew him a salute that set all the horses upon their hind legs in indignant alarm.
a smart vehicle dashed past in a cloud of dust. it was miss long, driving her own horse, with sawed-off wilmott by her side, his chestnut driver having been sent on ahead in charge of a friend.
"ella anne's goin' to show her horse," said hannah admiringly. "she's took first prize every year for ever so long. she's a wonderful driver."
"dere's lorry!" screamed joey, pointing to a little tousled black head peeping from between malcolm cameron and his sister, just a little in advance.
"elsie's awful good to her," said hannah gratefully. "her an' arabella winters jist makes a pet o' that child. lorry says they've got a secret, the three o' them, and she feels that big about it you never saw the likes! why, that's lenny's voice, ain't it?"
from a buggy a little farther down the line greetings were being shrieked back to the black-haired twin. hannah drew a deep sigh of content.
"well, now, there's every single one o' them settled," she exclaimed happily. "if jake jist gets a chance, now, an' timmy gets a prize for his pumpkins, we jist won't have anythin' more to ask."
the elmbrook fair ground was a long field, with a big, barn-like building at one end. gilbert had often passed the place before, and found it silent and grass-grown; but now it was thronged with people, and resounding with a joyous bedlam of all the noises that all the farms in oro, joined together, could produce. horses neighed, cattle bawled, sheep bleated, hens cackled, babies cried and boys shouted. a merry-go-round, that charged only five cents for a horseback ride, was whirling giddily to the tune of "the maple leaf forever." as the doctor guided his horse carefully through the thronged gateway joey spied the twins, already mounted astride the largest team, and spinning around with joyous shrieks. a man with a wheel of fortune was shouting to the passers-by to come and take a turn, and make money enough to buy a farm. a row of tents, each with its roaring proprietor in front, held all sorts of wonderful spectacles, from a three-headed pig to a panorama of queen victoria's jubilee. in front of a large tent, set off in one corner, a solemn, stout man, wrapped in a white winding-sheet, was marching to and fro, ringing a funereal bell, and calling out in melancholy tones that this was the last chance for dinner.
but above all the various clamor one sound arose, penetrating, triumphant, the sound that was the true voice of the elmbrook fair, and without which it would surely have died away in silence—the high, thrilling skirl of the bagpipes. the piper, splendid in kilt and plaid and bare knees, was marching magnificently from the hall to the racing track. lesser beings had to push and jostle through the throng, but he had a long lane sacred to his own footsteps, and no matter what new attraction appeared, he always had his following of gaping admirers.
young ladies, with their attendant swains, in holiday attire, wandered about arm in arm, eating peanuts. some lovers, of the old-fashioned type, who plainly knew very little of the requirements of fashion, went about hand in hand, and were the object of many witty remarks on the part of those who followed the more up-to-date method. farmers with long beards, their backs bent with honest toil, collected around the show horses, or sat in the high buggies, round-shouldered and content, and smoked and chewed and spat, and were, withal, supremely happy. whole family circles, the young father proudly carrying the baby, the mother holding as many as possible by the hand, revolved in an aimless but joyous orbit. old women in plaid shawls gathered in groups near the piper's avenue, and talked a continuous stream of gaelic.
the hall, containing the product of the women's deft fingers, stood near the gates. at one side was a long shed devoted to the display of farm produce, and the homely place was beautiful with scarlet apples, golden pumpkins, cabbages opening like great, pale-green roses, and heaps of purple grapes and plums. opposite this, in a corner, the cattle and sheep, and other farm stock, were herded, each living creature lifting up its voice in protest against the sudden disturbance of its hitherto even and well-ordered life. at the end of the field, opposite the gate, a rocky and uneven road, in the shape of an ellipse, served as the race track. a grand-stand, formed by nature from a grassy knoll, covered with sweet-smelling pines, rose at one side, and made a convenient and delightful resting place.
having handed hannah and joey over to jake, who arrived in a neighbor's buggy, just behind them, gilbert tied his horse and wandered about, shaking hands and looking at the prizes. he was captured by tim and davy, the former in a state of wild excitement, because his pumpkins had taken first prize, and davy's only second. on the other hand, keturah, his cow, had taken only third; but old sandy mckitterick had said that spectacle john was judge, and that he didn't know a cow from a giraffe. and isaac and rebekah had taken first, anyhow, and the doctor must come and see the red tickets on them. gilbert started off through the crowd, but fell a captive by the way. as he passed a gaelic-speaking group of checked shawls he was grasped violently by the sleeve and forced into the circle.
"there she will be now. jist be takin' a look at her, whatefer. och, hoch! this is what you would be doing!" and the young doctor smiled radiantly and blushed like a schoolboy, for there was mrs. mckitterick herself, surrounded by an admiring crowd, and enjoying her first show in ten years! the hero was petted and praised in two languages, and clapped on the back and admired, until he was overwhelmed with confusion. he was rescued from his embarrassment by the impatient orphan and dragged off to witness the triumph of isaac and rebekah. when the geese had been sufficiently admired, and even poor keturah's small achievement duly noted, the doctor escaped, and making a wide detour of the tartan shawls, found his way to the grand-stand. here, seated on the dry pine-needles, under a spreading tree, was a group of three: malcolm cameron, with his sister and the minister's daughter.
"hello, doctor!" cried the boy joyfully. "i've been looking all over for you. come along. we're going to the hall."
"what's to be seen there?" asked gilbert, helping the ladies to rise.
"well, for one thing, there's your new mitts."
"hush, malcolm!" cried his sister. "mrs. mckitterick wanted it kept a secret."
"great caesar! would you let a pair of shackles like that be sprung on an innocent man without a moment's warning?"
"what's this?" asked gilbert, in the alarm that the name of old mrs. mckitterick always raised in his breast. "what's going to happen now?"
"it's only a pair of mittens, dr. allen," said miss marjorie. "mrs. mckitterick knit them, and if they take first prize they are to be given to you."
"it was too bad to tell," said elsie.
"no, it wasn't!" cried her brother. "they're to be presented to him at christmas, and he'll need three months to get resigned. come along and see them."
as they threaded their way toward the hall malcolm glanced at the other young man significantly. gilbert understood.
"miss cameron," he said, "i am all alone in my buggy. won't you drive home with me?"
she glanced up at him with one of her swift, searching looks. "did malcolm ask you to relieve him?" she whispered. this strong, grave girl did not often laugh, gilbert had noticed, but when she was amused her eyes danced. they were sparklingly radiant now.
he felt his face growing hot. "i—i——" he began.
"oh, never mind," she cried, and this time she permitted her lips to join her eyes in a smile. "don't apologize. i know why he did it. he's so transparent, poor lad. i knew last night, when he went over to see you, that he had some tremendous scheme on foot."
"but you are not going to punish me for his sins, surely?" said gilbert, recovering. "if you knew with how much pleasure i grasped the opportunity you would come. won't you?"
"oh, yes," she answered frankly. "it would be too bad to spoil poor malc's happy day; and besides," she added, with a return of her grave dignity, "i am sure i shall enjoy the drive, thank you."
gilbert felt strangely grateful. the girl always made him feel as though she were immeasurably above him. "because she really is, i suppose," he concluded, as he watched her, and thought of all she was sacrificing, silently, for the careless, happy boy walking so gaily ahead. yes, she was very noble, he confessed. and then he sighed, he did not know why.
they squeezed their way into the building and passed slowly around. the long tables were piled with every sort of work that a woman's needle might encompass, and while the two girls examined each exhibit minutely, going into raptures over this or that, the two young men gazed vacantly about in weary bewilderment. there were doilies and tidies and pillow-covers of all patterns, crocheted lace and knitted lace and lace made every other way. there was painting on china and satin and velvet and silk and every other known fabric, and the walls were hung with homespun blankets, quilts and floor rugs.
notwithstanding the growing display and keen competition that each successive fair brought, there were those who had been winners of first prizes ever since the elmbrook show was instituted, and would probably always be. the elmbrook prize-list was a stable institution, and if any one but ella anne long should have taken first for managing a horse, or bella winters for painting apple blossoms on white velvet, or old miss mcquarry for bread and butter, all oro would have felt uneasy, and folks would have begun to doubt the stability of the british empire.
for example, there was mrs. spectacle john cross's quilt. it had taken first prize for the last ten years, and was likely to do so for as many more. it hung resplendent now, like a triumphal banner, the conqueror of yet one more campaign. it was a remarkable quilt, to be sure, and no wonder all competitors faded before it. it was composed entirely of small pieces of silk and velvet, sewed together in that style known as crazy patchwork. nevertheless, there was nothing haphazard about their arrangement. the colors were put together so as to represent a landscape. a large round sun, of pumpkin-colored silk, with rays of red satin flying from it, arose from behind a mountain of green velvet. the sky was of blue silk, with white plush clouds, and in the foreground bloomed a flower garden of such various colors that the eye grew dazzled in contemplation.
"here's your minjekahwun, doctor," whispered malcolm, grasping gilbert's arm. "ain't they lurid? oh, crickey! they've got first prize! you're in for it! you'll look like the prize quilt when you get inside 'em."
the future owner of the mittens surveyed them in some dismay. they were long and roomy, even for his brawny hands, and of many and vivid colors. he looked around appealingly. elsie cameron's face was grave, but her eyes were laughing, while little miss scott was in a fit of merriment.
"cheer up," cried malcolm encouragingly. "they're the very thing to catch the public. you've got the purple and the orange, and that'll suit spectacle john's crowd; and the green'll appeal to the catholics over on the flats; and the whole thing looks like highland tartan. why, there isn't a nationality in oro that'll be able to resist you when you wear them."
they emerged from the crowded building into the brilliant light of outdoors, and gilbert had just helped his companion down the steep, rickety steps, when a new sound arose above the babel of the fair, and quenched for a moment even the scream of the bagpipes. it came from the highway, a hoarse "honk, honk," strange, and yet, to gilbert, familiar. an astonished stillness fell over the group around the gate. the whole show, in fact, stood wide-eyed and agape with wonder, for what should be coming up the road, moving entirely of its own accord, without horse or other visible means of locomotion, but a huge red double buggy, with wheels like a stone-crusher, and the appearance of a threshing-machine! it paused at the gate, and a clear, gay voice called, "good-afternoon, dr. allen!"
with a hasty word of apology, only half uttered, gilbert was down the steps and standing by the motor-car. when the best thing possible happens to a man, the thing far too good to be dreamed of, it is at first unbelievable. but there she was, surely, rosalie, her very self, in a long tan motoring coat, with a filmy scarf tied under her dimpling chin, her cheeks pink, her blue eyes dancing!
"oh!" cried gilbert, too overcome with joy for coherent speech, "it can't be you!"
"yes, it's me," trilled rosalie, laughing at her own lapse of english. "here's aunt eleanor, and maud, and all the rest of us!"
he greeted them in a half-dazed manner. he could see no one but rosalie, could realize nothing but the dazzling joy of her coming.
he scarcely listened even to her explanation of their appearance. they had started north on a short tour, but had never dreamed of going so far. they had spent the night at a friend's in lakeview, and thought they must run out here and see him and his practice in their primitive state. would they come in? why, of course they would! she wanted to get nearer to that gorgeous piper, not to speak of the hens and ducks and pigs. and did he raise geese and turkeys himself? and had he taken a prize?
gilbert helped the ladies to alight. he was well acquainted with rosalie's aunt and sister, and shook hands with the elder woman warmly. she had ever been a good friend to him, and had helped him many a time when rosalie had contrived to make him miserable. the two young men he had met before. he recognized the owner of the car as an old rival, and looked at him with dark suspicion. his name had been coupled with rosalie's during the past season oftener than he liked.
as the party of strangers entered the grounds they caused more excitement than the piper and the merry-go-round combined. such a piece of mechanism as a motor-car had never before come within the range of granny long's telescope. folks who had been fortunate enough to attend the toronto exhibition came home with great tales of having seen just such machines shooting around the city streets without any aid, and bella winters and wes long had even had their pictures taken together in one for twenty-five cents. but to most people this great red monster, looking, for all the world, as spectacle john said, like a live threshing-mill, was an astounding sight. when the party left, a crowd of men gathered about it, keeping carefully out of its track, for william winters had seen one at niagara falls that ran backward as well as forward, and you could never tell when such uncanny things might shoot off in any direction. the women were more interested in the rustling silks and veils of the ladies of the party, and formed a silent and admiring lane for them as they passed to the pine knoll.
as gilbert walked by rosalie's side his tumultuous joy gradually became mingled with other feelings. he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to get a word with her alone, and blackburn was walking at her other side, with a maddening air of proprietorship. he was a genial, harmless sort of young man, but he was wealthy, and the sight of his prosperous complacency made the impecunious young doctor long to do him some bodily injury. and all the while rosalie laughed and chatted as though every one in the world was as happy as herself. she went into fits of merriment over young blackburn's facetious remarks, for, as they walked through the crowds, that gentleman was making presumably witty comments upon all he saw, from piper angus down, and gilbert wondered drearily if even he, himself, thought he was saying anything funny.
"i say, allen!" he cried, "you've got a fine collection for the zoo here. if barnum had only lived to see this day! i—oh, i say! look there!" he stood still, and gazed ahead of him in genuine admiration. "say, there's somebody that doesn't look as if she belonged to this menagerie. the queen of sheba, all right. who is her royal highness? know her, allen?"
gilbert looked in the same direction, and became possessed of an unreasoning anger. elsie cameron was standing by her brother's side, under a spreading pine. her trim, dark-green dress and hat, the soft rose-leaf tints of her face, and the rich bronze gold of her hair, made a picture so perfect that he might easily have excused the stranger's outburst. but he longed, more than ever, to knock him down.
"yes," he answered shortly, "i know her."
"you do! oh, come, now! you've simply got to introduce us. hasn't he, mrs. windale? do make him."
"i should like to meet the young lady," said rosalie's aunt graciously. "she is very beautiful. don't you think so, rose?"
"oh, yes, i suppose so, rather," said rosalie dryly. "but it's the piper i want to meet."
"mrs. windale and i will go up to the throne and present ourselves, if you don't, allen," blackburn cried.
"dr. allen," exclaimed rosalie's sister, with laughing impatience, "do introduce us. guy will rave about her all the way home, and bore us to death, if he doesn't get his own way."
without a word, gilbert led his party up to the pine knoll and presented them to his three friends.
he was conscious of a feeling of relief that they were such as could not possibly provoke the visitors' mirth. as he introduced blackburn he was forcibly impressed by the sudden change in the young man's manner. his flippant gaiety vanished before miss cameron's stately candor, and he addressed her with the greatest deference.
now was gilbert's chance. he turned from the group for a word alone with rosalie. she seemed quite eager for it herself. she had such heaps to tell him, she declared, that she never had time to put into a letter. she had had the most gorgeous summer at the seaside, and had been on two motoring tours since her return, and they were planning for the gayest winter. she chatted away, but with never a word for him; not a question as to his welfare or his work, and though she spoke to him alone, her eyes kept darting annoyed glances toward the two under the pines.
gilbert's heart sank. "and where do i come in, rosalie?" he asked pleadingly.
"you," she said, pouting, "you simply refuse to come in. why don't you leave this dreadful place and come to the city? it must be like living in a graveyard to exist here."
"i have told you often that i can't yet, rosalie," he said humbly. "but you promised not to forget me in the meantime, don't you remember, dear?"
she turned away that he might not see her eyes, for her better self—the real woman that cared for him, and knew his true worth—was looking from them just then. and there was another rosalie that cared, oh, so much, for wealth and social position.
"you know—i—i've told you," she said tremulously, "what i want you to do."
"i know, and i will settle in toronto just as soon as i possibly can. you have my promise. but i cannot come just now."
"when, then?"
"perhaps at the beginning of the new year. if i——"
a frightened look came into her eyes, and she interrupted him.
"if you don't come at the beginning of the year it will be too late," she said breathlessly.
"rosalie! what do you mean?"
"hush! i—oh, i can't tell you," glancing apprehensively toward blackburn. "we are going on through elmbrook when we leave," she whispered hurriedly, "and you may drive me as far as the village, and we can talk over—things."
gilbert felt a chill at his heart. here, indeed, was the irony of fate.
"i—oh, i'm so sorry," he stammered, in blank dismay. "i've promised to drive some one else back." the confession was out before he thought.
"it's that miss cameron with the red hair!" cried rosalie, with startling suddenness.
gilbert's face grew hot. "well, and what of that?" he asked reasonably.
rosalie held her pretty head high. "tell her you must take me," she said firmly.
"rosalie!" cried gilbert, "you couldn't ask me to do that. miss cameron is a lady, and she is proud, and——wait. come for a little drive now. we can be back before the others are ready to leave."
"i will, if you promise me you will not drive her home afterward."
"surely," he cried in dismay, "you wouldn't want me to be rude to her?"
rosalie stood for a moment looking searchingly at him. he was changed. he was not the boy who for three years had been ready to do her slightest bidding, no matter what the consequences. just because she had condescended to become engaged to him he was assuming airs of authority. well, their engagement was a secret yet—she had insisted upon that—and she could soon find a way to frighten him into submission.
"it's the only favor i've asked of you for six months," she said coldly, "and if you do not want to grant it i shall never humiliate myself by asking another."
"rosalie!" cried gilbert desperately, "if you only understood——"
"i understand only too well," she flashed back. "are you coming, or are you not?"
"i am very sorry," said gilbert, politely but stubbornly, "but i cannot be rude to a lady even for your sake."
she turned her back upon him without another word, and walking straight up to elsie cameron, began to talk to her in the friendliest manner. gilbert stood watching her, puzzled and dismayed, and wondering desperately what he should do, when the attention of all was called by a singular proceeding on the race track.
an interesting display, the chief number on the program, had just closed—the exhibition of ladies' horsemanship, and, as usual, ella anne long had carried off the palm. after the prizes were awarded it was the custom for the winners to drive around the ring several times, each lady bearing with her some highly-favored youth, somewhat as the conquering romans attached their most distinguished captives to their triumphal car. while miss long, flushed with victory, was holding her horse till the judge fastened the ticket to his tossing head, sawed-off wilmott stepped forward, feeling sure that the place of honor by ella anne's side would certainly be his. but just as he came sidling up, with a boyish step, a stalwart young farmer, one of the highland scotch giants from the glenoro hills, elbowed his way up to the buggy. he had been casting admiring glances at miss long all afternoon, and now, without permission or apology, he sprang into the seat beside her.
"thanks, awful much!" he cried jovially. then in a lower tone, half humble, half daring, "you're going to take me around, ain't you?"
miss long cast him a disdainful side glance. "well, you are a cool one!" she exclaimed haughtily. nevertheless, she did not order him out, but touched her horse with the whip, and away they sped.
poor sawed-off stood for an instant, glaring after them; then, at a laugh from the bystanders, he turned swiftly and leaped into his own conveyance. his horse was all ready to go on for the next exhibit, and a few of the men were already ambling around the ring in their two-wheeled vehicles. mr. wilmott gave his steed a cut with the whip and dashed fiercely into the ring after his faithless lady and her impudent lochinvar. he would pass them, and humiliate her before the whole crowd. he came thundering down the track, his feet spread out, one on each side of his horse's flanks, his little two-wheeled sulky bobbing up and down over the rough road, his coat-tails flying, his whiskers parted by the breeze and streaming behind, and a forgotten bundle of hay, he had brought to feed his horse, sticking out rakishly from under his seat.
sawed-off was a caution of a driver, every one admitted, and in a few minutes he had all but overtaken the truant pair. miss long turned and took in the situation. she sat just a shade straighter, grasped her whip more firmly, and urged her horse to the utmost. around and around the ring flew the runaways, and around and around behind them, gaining at every leap, bounced the sulky, the hay, and the angry pursuer.
they had just passed the grand-stand for the second time, and the crowd was beginning to cheer, when a third competitor joined the swift procession. the eldest sawyer orphan had been herding his third-prize cow in an ignominious corner, which properly belonged to the pigs and sheep; but growing weary of his task, he had given davy munn half a liquorice stick and three walnuts to whack [transcriber's note: watch?] keturah just long enough to admit of his taking one ride on the merry-go-round. davy had consented; but as the orphan had remained away long enough to ride through all the money jake sawyer had upon his person, mr. munn calmly left keturah to her own devices and swaggered leisurely away. the cow wandered off, and making her way behind the pine grove, arrived at the race course just as the bundle of hay in sawed-off's sulky shot past. whether keturah saw a good meal disappearing, and wisely made after it, or whether the enraged shriek of her young master, who just then discovered her position, frightened the gentle animal into flight, no one will ever know. whatever the cause, keturah threw up her horns, her tail and her heels, and with her third-prize ticket dangling in view of the whole township, she scampered into the ring in the wake of sawed-off's flying coattails; while after her, mad with rage that she should have dared to advertise her shame, and shrieking most un-orphan-like anathemas, came her young keeper.
now, poor sawed-off wilmott, being only a maker of cheese, was naturally considered slightly beneath his farmer neighbors in the social scale. his employment had a touch of effeminacy about it, and gave a man the air of being merely an assistant to the cow. and now, at the sight of this animal pursuing him relentlessly, as though to claim him for her own, the whole of elmbrook fair burst into a thunderous roar of laughter. sawed-off glanced back to see the cause, just as his horse's head passed the front wheel of his lady's buggy. with a start of chagrin he realized his ignominious position. to go around the track again in the face of that jeering crowd, with the cow close at his heels, was impossible. he pulled up sharply, jerked his horse aside, and drove off behind the sheds. miss long and lochinvar made one more triumphant circuit, and disappeared in another direction. tim succeeded at last in forcing keturah to dodge into a path that led to her corner, and the unique race ended.
gilbert's visitors were laughing heartily; rosalie had completely forgotten her ill-temper, and danced about consumed with merriment.
"oh, i say!" cried blackburn, leaning weakly against a tree, "that's better than the king's plate!"
"oh, if piper angus had only got in behind the kid!" cried malcolm cameron. "there's never anything in this world so good but it might be a little better."
"well, this comes as near perfection as anything i ever saw," said blackburn's friend. "come, ladies, this makes a splendid finale; we must be getting on our way."
gilbert walked by rosalie's side to the car. she was radiantly good-humored now, but not a word could he get from her of the subject nearest his heart. of course she forgave him, she declared, choking back her laughter to say it, but oh! oh! did he ever see anything so frantically funny as that outrageous cow and that mad youngster after her? gilbert felt almost as much resentment against keturah as poor sawed-off must have experienced. fate had always used him thus in his dealings with rosalie. whenever he wanted her especially to be serious, then something invariably occurred to set her laughing; but how charming she was, to be sure, when she laughed, with her little head thrown back, and the tears in her dancing eyes!
he tried to join her, with poor success. he was consumed with anxiety to know what the secret was she had intended to confide in him, and had almost made up his mind to obey her, and offend miss cameron and malcolm and everybody. what did it matter when it meant rosalie's favor? but she gave him no second chance. she sprang gaily into the car by blackburn's side, and waved her hand in farewell. she was still laughing as they moved off, and he could hear her saying between ripples, "oh! oh! and to think i didn't want to come, and i might have missed that race!"
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《the end of the rainbow》
