"Oh, come, now!" protested Dunham. "I wouldn"t say that!" The cook and Lydia stared at him in equal surprise.

"Well," answered the cook, "I"ll kill the hens first, den. It don"t make any difference to me which I kill. I dunno but de hens is tenderer." He smoked in a bland indifference.

"Oh, hold on!" exclaimed Dunham, in repet.i.tion of his helpless protest.

Lydia stooped down to make closer acquaintance with the devoted birds.

They huddled themselves away from her in one corner of their prison, and talked together in low tones of grave mistrust. "Poor things!" she said.

As a country girl, used to the practical ends of poultry, she knew as well as the cook that it was the fit and simple destiny of chickens to be eaten, sooner or later; and it must have been less in commiseration of their fate than in self-pity and regret for the scenes they recalled that she sighed. The hens that burrowed yesterday under the lilacs in the door-yard; the c.o.c.k that her aunt so often drove, insulted and exclamatory, at the head of his harem, out of forbidden garden bounds; the social groups that scratched and descanted lazily about the wide, sunny barn doors; the anxious companies seeking their favorite perches, with alarming outcries, in the dusk of summer evenings; the sentinels answering each other from farm to farm before winter dawns, when all the hills were drowned in snow, were of kindred with these hapless prisoners.

Dunham was touched at Lydia"s compa.s.sion. "Would you like--would you like to feed them?" he asked by a happy inspiration. He turned to the cook, with his gentle politeness: "There"s no objection to our feeding them, I suppose?"

"Laws, no!" said the cook. "Fats "em up." He went inside, and reappeared with a pan full of sc.r.a.ps of meat and crusts of bread.

"Oh, I say!" cried Dunham. "Haven"t you got some grain, you know, of some sort; some seeds, don"t you know?"

"They will like this," said Lydia, while the cook stared in perplexity.

She took the pan, and opening the little door of the coop flung the provision inside. But the fowls were either too depressed in spirit to eat anything, or they were not hungry; they remained in their corner, and merely fell silent, as if a new suspicion had been roused in their unhappy b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Dey"ll come, to it," observed the cook.

Dunham felt far from content, and regarded the poultry with silent disappointment. "Are you fond of pets?" he asked, after a while.

"Yes, I used to have pet chickens when I was a little thing."

"You ought to adopt one of these," suggested Dunham. "That white one is a pretty creature."

"Yes," said Lydia. "He looks as if he were Leghorn. Leghorn breed," she added, in reply to Dunham"s look of inquiry. "He"s a beauty."

"Let me get him out for you a moment!" cried the young man, in his amiable zeal. Before Lydia could protest, or the cook interfere, he had opened the coop-door and plunged his arm into the tumult which his manoeuvre created within. He secured the c.o.c.kerel, and drawing it forth was about to offer it to Lydia, when in its struggles to escape it drove one of its spurs into his hand. Dunham suddenly released it; and then ensued a wild chase for its recapture, up and down the ship, in which it had every advantage of the young man. At last it sprang upon the rail; he put out his hand to seize it, when it rose with a desperate screech, and flew far out over the sea. They watched the suicide till it sank exhausted into a distant white-cap.

"Dat"s gone," said the cook, philosophically. Dunham looked round. Half the ship"s company, alarmed by his steeple-chase over the deck, were there, silently agrin.

Lydia did not laugh. When he asked, still with his habitual sweetness, but entirely at random, "Shall we--ah--go below?" she did not answer definitely, and did not go. At the same time she ceased to be so timidly intangible and aloof in manner. She began to talk to Dunham, instead of letting him talk to her; she asked him questions, and listened with deference to what he said on such matters as the probable length of the voyage and the sort of weather they were likely to have. She did not take note of his keeping his handkerchief wound round his hand, nor of his attempts to recur to the subject of his mortifying adventure. When they were again quite alone, the cook"s respect having been won back through his ethnic susceptibility to silver, she remembered that she must go to her room.

"In other words," said Staniford, after Dunham had reported the whole case to him, "she treated your hurt vanity as if you had been her pet schoolboy. She lured you away from yourself, and got you to talking and thinking of other things. Lurella is deep, I tell you. What consummate tacticians the least of women are! It"s a pity that they have to work so often in such dull material as men; they ought always to have women to operate on. The youngest of them has more wisdom in human nature than the sages of our s.e.x. I must say, Lurella is magnanimous, too. She might have taken her revenge on you for pitying her yesterday when she sat in that warehouse door on the wharf. It was rather fine in Lurella not to do it. What did she say, Dunham? What did she talk about? Did she want to know?"

"No!" shouted Dunham. "She talked very well, like any young lady."

"Oh, all young ladies talk well, of course. But what did this one say?

What did she do, except suffer a visible pang of homesickness at the sight of unattainable poultry? Come, you have represented the interview with Miss Blood as one of great brilliancy."

"I haven"t," said Dunham. "I have done nothing of the kind. Her talk was like any pleasant talk; it was refined and simple, and--un.o.btrusive."

"That is, it was in no way remarkable," observed Staniford, with a laugh. "I expected something better of Lurella; I expected something salient. Well, never mind. She"s behaved well by you, seeing what a goose you had made of yourself. She behaved like a lady, and I"ve noticed that she eats with her fork. It often happens in the country that you find the women practicing some of the arts of civilization, while their men folk are still sunk in barbaric uses. Lurella, I see, is a social creature; she was born for society, as you were, and I suppose you will be thrown a good deal together. We"re all likely to be a.s.sociated rather familiarly, under the circ.u.mstances. But I wish you would note down in your mind some points of her conversation. I"m really curious to know what a girl of her traditions thinks about the world when she first sees it. Her mind must be in most respects an unbroken wilderness. She"s had schooling, of course, and she knows her grammar and algebra; but she can"t have had any cultivation. If she were of an earlier generation, one would expect to find something biblical in her; but you can"t count upon a Puritanic culture now among our country folks."

"If you are so curious," said Dunham, "why don"t you study her mind, yourself?"

"No, no, that wouldn"t do," Staniford answered. "The light of your innocence upon hers is invaluable. I can understand her better through you. You must go on. I will undertake to make your peace with Miss Hibbard."

The young men talked as they walked the deck and smoked in the starlight. They were wakeful after their long nap in the afternoon, and they walked and talked late, with the silences that old friends can permit themselves. Staniford recurred to his loss of money and his Western projects, which took more definite form now that he had placed so much distance between himself and their fulfillment. With half a year in Italy before him, he decided upon a cattle-range in Colorado. Then, "I should like to know," he said, after one of the pauses, "how two young men of our form strike that girl"s fancy. I haven"t any personal curiosity about her impressions, but I should like to know, as an observer of the human race. If my conjectures are right, she"s never met people of our sort before."

"What sort of men has she been a.s.sociated with?" asked Dunham.

"Well, I"m not quite prepared to say. I take it that it isn"t exactly the hobbledehoy sort. She has probably looked high,--as far up as the clerk in the store. He has taken her to drive in a buggy Sat.u.r.day afternoons, when he put on his ready-made suit,--and looked very well in it, too; and they"ve been at picnics together. Or may be, as she"s in the school-teaching line, she"s taken some high-browed, hollow-cheeked high-school princ.i.p.al for her ideal. Or it is possible that she has never had attention from any one. That is apt to happen to self-respectful girls in rural communities, and their beauty doesn"t save them. Fellows, as they call themselves, like girls that have what they call go, that make up to them. Lurella doesn"t seem of that kind; and I should not be surprised if you were the first gentleman who had ever offered her his arm. I wonder what she thought of you. She"s acquainted by sight with the ordinary summer boarder of North America; they penetrate everywhere, now; but I doubt if she"s talked with them much, if at all. She must be ignorant of our world beyond anything we can imagine."

"But how do you account for her being so well dressed?"

"Oh, that"s instinct. You find it everywhere. In every little village there is some girl who knows how to out-preen all the others. I wonder,"

added Staniford, in a more deeply musing tone, "if she kept from laughing at you out of good feeling, or if she was merely overawed by your splendor."

"She didn"t laugh," Dunham answered, "because she saw that it would have added to my annoyance. My splendor had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, don"t underrate your splendor, my dear fellow!" cried Staniford, with a caressing ridicule that he often used with Dunham. "Of course, _I_ know what a simple and humble fellow you are, but you"ve no idea how that exterior of yours might impose upon the agricultural imagination; it has its effect upon me, in my pastoral moods." Dunham made a gesture of protest, and Staniford went on: "Country people have queer ideas of us, sometimes. Possibly Lurella was afraid of you. Think of that, Dunham,--having a woman afraid of you, for once in your life! Well, hurry up your acquaintance with her, Dunham, or I shall wear myself out in mere speculative a.n.a.lysis. I haven"t the _aplomb_ for studying the sensibilities of a young lady, and catching chickens for her, so as to produce a novel play of emotions. I thought this voyage was going to be a season of mental quiet, but having a young lady on board seems to forbid that kind of repose. I shouldn"t mind a half dozen, but _one_ is altogether too many. Poor little thing! I say, Dunham! There"s something rather pretty about having her with us, after all, isn"t there? It gives a certain distinction to our voyage. We shall not degenerate. We shall shave every day, wind and weather permitting, and wear our best things."

They talked of other matters, and again Staniford recurred to Lydia: "If she has any regrets for her mountain home,--though I don"t see why she should have,--I hope they haven"t kept her awake. My far-away cot on the plains is not going to interfere with my slumbers."

Staniford stepped to the ship"s side, and flung the end of his cigarette overboard; it struck, a red spark amidst the lurid phosph.o.r.escence of the bubbles that swept backward from the vessel"s prow.

IX.

The weather held fine. The sun shone, and the friendly winds blew out of a cloudless heaven; by night the moon ruled a firmament powdered with stars of mult.i.tudinous splendor. The conditions inspired Dunham with a restless fertility of invention in Lydia"s behalf. He had heard of the game of shuffle-board, that blind and dumb croquet, with which the jaded pa.s.sengers on the steamers appease their terrible leisure, and with the help of the ship"s carpenter he organized this pastime, and played it with her hour after hour, while Staniford looked on and smoked in grave observance, and Hicks lurked at a distance, till Dunham felt it on his kind heart and tender conscience to invite him to a share in the diversion. As his nerves recovered their tone, Hicks showed himself a man of some qualities that Staniford would have liked in another man: he was amiable, and he was droll, though apt to turn sulky if Staniford addressed him, which did not often happen. He knew more than Dunham of shuffle-board, as well as of tossing rings of rope over a peg set up a certain s.p.a.ce off in the deck,--a game which they eagerly took up in the afternoon, after pushing about the flat wooden disks all the morning.

Most of the talk at the table was of the varying fortunes of the players; and the yarn of the story-teller in the forecastle remained half-spun, while the sailors off watch gathered to look on, and to bet upon Lydia"s skill. It puzzled Staniford to make out whether she felt any strangeness in the situation, which she accepted with so much apparent serenity. Sometimes, in his frequently recurring talks with Dunham, he questioned whether their delicate precautions for saving her feelings were not perhaps thrown away upon a young person who played shuffle-board and ring-toss on the deck of the Aroostook with as much self-possession as she would have played croquet on her native turf at South Bradfield.

"Their ideal of propriety up country is very different from ours," he said, beginning one of his long comments. "I don"t say that it concerns the conscience more than ours does; but they think evil of different things. We"re getting Europeanized,--I don"t mean you, Dunham; in spite of your endeavors you will always remain one of the most hopelessly American of our species,--and we have our little borrowed anxieties about the free a.s.sociation of young people. They have none whatever; though they are apt to look suspiciously upon married people"s friendships with other people"s wives and husbands. It"s quite likely that Lurella, with the traditions of her queer world, has not imagined anything anomalous in her position. She may realize certain inconveniences. But she must see great advantages in it. Poor girl!

How she must be rioting on the united devotion of cabin and forecastle, after the scanty gallantries of a hill town peopled by elderly unmarried women! I"m glad of it, for her sake. I wonder which she really prizes most: your ornate attentions, or the uncouth homage of those sailors, who are always running to fetch her rings and blocks when she makes a wild shot. I believe I don"t care and shouldn"t disapprove of her preference, whichever it was." Staniford frowned before he added: "But I object to Hicks and his drolleries. It"s impossible for that little wretch to think reverently of a young girl; it"s shocking to see her treating him as if he were a gentleman." Hicks"s behavior really gave no grounds for reproach; and it was only his moral mechanism, as Staniford called the character he constructed for him, which he could blame; nevertheless, the thought of him gave an oblique cast to Staniford"s reflections, which he cut short by saying, "This sort of worship is every woman"s due in girlhood; but I suppose a fortnight of it will make her a pert and silly coquette. What does she say to your literature, Dunham?"

Dunham had already begun to lend Lydia books,--his own and Staniford"s,--in which he read aloud to her, and chose pa.s.sages for her admiration; but he was obliged to report that she had rather a pa.s.sive taste in literature. She seemed to like what he said was good, but not to like it very much, or to care greatly for reading; or else she had never had the habit of talking books. He suggested this to Staniford, who at once philosophized it.

"Why, I rather like that, you know. We all read in such a literary way, now; we don"t read simply for the joy or profit of it; we expect to talk about it, and say how it is this and that; and I"ve no doubt that we"re sub-consciously hara.s.sed, all the time, with an automatic process of criticism. Now Lurella, I fancy, reads with the sense of the days when people read in private, and not in public, as we do. She believes that your serious books are all true; and she knows that my novels are all lies--that"s what some excellent Christians would call the fiction even of George Eliot or of Hawthorne; she would be ashamed to discuss the lives and loves of heroes and heroines who never existed. I think that"s first-rate. She must wonder at your distempered interest in them. If one could get at it, I suppose the fresh wholesomeness of Lurella"s mind would be something delicious,--a quality like spring water."

He was one of those men who cannot rest in regard to people they meet till they have made some effort to formulate them. He liked to ticket them off; but when he could not cla.s.sify them, he remained content with his mere study of them. His habit was one that does not promote sympathy with one"s fellow creatures. He confessed even that it disposed him to wish for their less acquaintance when once he had got them generalized; they became then collected specimens. Yet, for the time being, his curiosity in them gave him a specious air of sociability. He lamented the insincerity which this involved, but he could not help it. The next novelty in character was as irresistible as the last; he sat down before it till it yielded its meaning, or suggested to him some a.n.a.logy by which he could interpret it.

With this pa.s.sion for the arrangement and distribution of his neighbors, it was not long before he had placed most of the people on board in what he called the psychology of the ship. He did not care that they should fit exactly in their order. He rather preferred that they should have idiosyncrasies which differentiated them from their species, and he enjoyed Lydia"s being a little indifferent about books for this and for other reasons. "If she were literary, she would be like those vulgar little persons of genius in the magazine stories. She would have read all sorts of impossible things up in her village. She would have been discovered by some aesthetic summer boarder, who had happened to identify her with the gifted Daisy Dawn, and she would be going out on the aesthetic"s money for the further expansion of her spirit in Europe.

Somebody would be obliged to fall in love with her, and she would sacrifice her career for a man who was her inferior, as we should be subtly given to understand at the close. I think it"s going to be as distinguished by and by not to like books as it is not to write them.

Lurella is a prophetic soul; and if there"s anything comforting about her, it"s her being so merely and stupidly pretty."

"She is not merely and stupidly pretty!" retorted Dunham. "She never does herself justice when you are by. She can talk very well, and on some subjects she thinks strongly."

"Oh, I"m sorry for that!" said Staniford. "But call me some time when she"s doing herself justice."

"I don"t mean that she"s like the women we know. She doesn"t say witty things, and she hasn"t their responsive quickness; but her ideas are her own, no matter how old they are; and what she says she seems to be saying for the first time, and as if it had never been thought out before."

"That is what I have been contending for," said Staniford; "that is what I meant by spring water. It is that thrilling freshness which charms me in Lurella." He laughed. "Have you converted her to your spectacular faith, yet?" Dunham blushed. "You have tried," continued Staniford.

"Tell me about it!"