"Oh, no! the strain is very slight. It will be all over in a day or two."

"Was there really any danger, Hugh?"

"Yes; I think it right that you should know it, because you may be tempted to do the same thing again. The water was deep there, and the brook swollen by the last rains; the current was very strong, and there is a fall just below. But your greatest danger was from the sharp jagged rocks; when I plunged after you I cannot express how alarmed I was!"

Bessie covered her face with her hands. "It was all owing to my obstinate wilfulness," she said in a low tone, "Oh, Hugh! can you forgive me?"

"Do not think of it any more." said her cousin, "but come down and give me some music."

"What! In this old wrapper, Hugh?"

"There speaks feminine vanity. As though I knew a wrapper from a dress?"

So Bessie went down to the sitting-room, and, taking the cover off her harp, sat down in her old wrapper to play for Hugh. When she was in the mood she brought very spirited music out of the silver strings, but to-night she played soft airs, and minor chords, weaving in among them Hugh's favorite plaintive melodies, with her now wild improvisations between. At last she rose and replaced the harp-cover.

"It is late; I must go," she said. "They will be coming home before long, Of course _you_ won't say anything about our ride, Hugh. It would only frighten Aunt Faith. But I have decided not to go again; what happened to-night seems like a warning."

"Superst.i.tious, Bessie?"

"No; I am only trying to stop before I drag you into any more danger.

Think how much trouble I have given you, too! And, oh, Hugh! you had to pay that farmer," added Bessie, as the idea came to her for the first time.

"Run upstairs, Brownie; it is late."

"I shall not run, Hugh. I know very well you had to pay him that ten dollars, and I have robbed you of your last cent," said Bessie tragically.

"Oh, what a dismal face! Run, before Aunt Faith comes."

"And the picture you were going to buy," said Bessie, with tearful eyes.

"Foolish child! as if I cared for the picture; when I am rich I shall buy a whole gallery. Now run; I positively hear their voices at the gate."

As Bessie went away with a full heart, Aunt Faith, Sibyl, and Graham Marr came up the garden-walk and entered the house. "You came away early, Hugh," said Aunt Faith; "do you feel well?"

"I am tired, aunt; that is all."

"It was a pleasant party," continued Aunt Faith; "did you not think so, Sibyl?"

"I enjoyed it!" said Sibyl quietly.

"It was a rare feast," said Graham; "one seldom meets such a combination of aesthetic talent in Westerton."

"Mr. Leslie was not there, however," said Hugh.

"Ah,--no. But ministers are not generally cultivated musicians,"

said Graham, in his slow way. "They have not the time to,--ah,--to muse upon the mystery of harmony."

"Mr. Leslie is a fine musician," said Hugh bluntly; "I have seldom heard so fine a baritone,--so rich and manly."

Now Graham sang tenor,--a very delicate tenor, and naturally he could not sympathize with Hugh's fancy for a rich baritone. As he rose to take leave, Sibyl said, "I wish you would bring over your music, Mr.

Marr, and sing for us. We were all charmed with that little German song you sung this evening; it was so full of pathos."

"Pathos!" whispered Hugh to Aunt Faith, as Sibyl accompanied the poet into the hall. "How can Sibyl endure that calf!"

"As Pete Trone said, '_de gustibus_' and so forth, Hugh," said Sibyl's voice from the hall as she closed the door behind Graham.

"Well, Sibyl; I did not intend you to hear the epithet, but I cannot with sincerity take it back," said Hugh.

"I like calves," said Sibyl, "they have beautiful eyes! Good-night!"

"I never can make Sibyl out!" said Hugh, as his sister disappeared.

"She never loses her temper, and truth always comes out with the temper, you know. Well, Aunt Faith, I have been a very bad boy all day. Will you pardon all my misdeeds?"

"If you are penitent," said Aunt Faith, smiling. Then, more seriously, "You will not forget what I said to you this morning, Hugh?"

"No, aunt; I shall not forget. Your words sank deeper than you knew,"

said Hugh gravely.

CHAPTER V.

FOURTH OF JULY.

The first of July came, and with it the summer heat. Hugh hung up a hammock in the second story hall, between the north and south windows, so as to catch every wandering zephyr; and, armed with a book, he betook himself to this airy retreat for the purpose of study. At least that was his announcement at the breakfast-table. "For the purpose of sleep?" suggested Sibyl. "Day-dreaming!" said Bessie. "Lazying!" said Tom, coining a word for the occasion with true American versatility.

"Very well, fellow-citizens, laugh on," said Hugh; "these are the last strawberries of the season, and I have no inclination to discuss anything at present but their sweetness. But I will venture to a.s.sert that at six o'clock this evening I shall have imbibed more knowledge in that very hammock then any of you in your prosy chairs."

"I shall go and see Miss Skede about my white dresses," said Sibyl, rising.

"Not this warm morning," exclaimed Bessie.

"The very time. I could not have chosen a better day. Miss Skede has no imagination; she can _never_ lift herself beyond the present. If I had gone to her in June, she would have made my dresses heavy, in spite of all my orders and descriptions. Even yesterday, for instance, she would have been unable to conceive anything more than half-way effects; but to-day it is so warm that the heat may inspire her, and I hope to get out of her something as flowing and delicate as a summer cloud."

"I see now, Sibyl, where all your poetry goes," said Hugh, laughing; "the puffs and ruffles get it all!"

"Fortunately Graham has enough for two," said Bessie, looking up with a malicious smile.

But Sibyl's temper was never ruffled: "I like Graham, as you know, Bessie. You, also, have your likes and dislikes, but _I_ do not tease you about them."

"That is true, Sibyl," said Bessie, warmly; "you certainly have the best disposition in the family. I wish I had half your amiability."

Soon after breakfast, Tom and Gem went out into the garden, and sat down under the shade of the great elm-tree. The three dogs were not long in discovering their place of retreat, and invited themselves to join the party with their usual a.s.surance,--Turk stretching himself on the ground alongside, Grip under a currant-bush, and Pete Trone occupying himself in tilling the soil.

"What are you going to do to-day, Tom?" said Gem, as she adorned Turk's s.h.a.ggy back with flowers.

"Well, I don't exactly know," replied Tom; "the B. B.'s are coming, and we've thought a little of building a house up a tree."