Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 27

She would never tell, no, not even Tessa; but how could she behave towards him as if she did not know?

"Tessa, did you ever have a secret to keep?"

"Yes. Laura told me once that she had a gold dollar and I've never told until this minute."

"But this is a wonderful, beautiful, happy secret; the wonderfulest and beautifulest thing in the world. And I shall never, never tell. You will never know until you discover it yourself."

"I want to know something to be glad of."

"You will be glad of this. As glad as glad can be. It is rather funny that neither of us ever guessed; and you are quick to see things, too."

"Perhaps I _do_ know, pretty sister."

"No, you don't. I should have seen in your manner. Perhaps I dreamed it; or perhaps an angel came and told me. It is good enough for an angel to tell."

"'Good tidings every day, G.o.d's messengers ride fast.'"

repeated Tessa.

"Tessa," with her face turned away, "do you like Gus very much?"

"Do I like _you_ very much? I should just as soon think of your asking me that."

"Better than Felix or Mr. Towne or Dr. Lake, or any of the ten thousand young men in Dunellen?"

"Why, Dine, what ails you? Are you asking my advice? He hasn't been making love to my little sister, has he?"

"No," said Dinah, "I wonder if he knows how. Daisy Grey's father is dead. There will have to be a new Greek professor at the Seminary. She liked her father."

XII.-GOOD ENOUGH TO BE TRUE.

The afternoon sun was s.h.i.+ning down hot on the head of the soldier on his tall pedestal in the Park; he stood leaning on his gun, his eyes intently peering from under the broad visor of his cap; at his feet a group of children were playing soldiers marching to the war; at the pump, several yards distant, a small boy was pumping for the others to drink, a tall boy was lifting the rusty dipper to his lips while a ragged little girl was wistfully awaiting her turn; nurses in white caps were rolling infants' chaises along the smooth, wide paths; ladies in shopping attire were sauntering with brown parcels in their hands; half-grown boys were lolling on the green benches with cigars and lazy words in their mouths; girls in twos and threes were strolling along with linked arms mingling gay talk with gay laughter; in the arbor seven little girls and three little boys were playing school: a little boy who stammered was trying to spell Con-stan-ti-no-ple, a rosy child in white was noisily repeating "Thirty days hath September," a black-eyed boy was shouting "The boy stood on the burning deck," and a naughty child was being vigorously scolded by the teacher, who held a threatening willow switch above her head. "You are the dreadfulest child that ever breathed," she was declaring. "You are the essence of stupidity, you are the dumbest of the dumb."

A serious voice arrested the willow switch: "I didn't like to be scolded when I was a little girl, it used to make me cry."

The willow switch dropped; the various recitations came to a sudden pause. "But she is such a dreadful bad girl," urged the teacher.

Tessa Wadsworth lingered with her reticule, three parcels, a parasol, and _Sartor Resartus_ in her hands.

"_You_ come and be teacher and tell us a story," coaxed the naughty child.

But Tessa laughed and moved on, to be stopped, however, by a quick call.

"Tessa Wadsworth! I declare that you are a pedestrian."

The voice belonged to a pair of blue eyes, and a slight figure in drab.

"Well, now that you have caught me what will you have?"

"I'll be satisfied with a walk across the Park. Didn't you know that I was home? Gus said that he would tell you."

"Have you had a pleasant time?"

"Oh, I always manage to enjoy myself. How is it that you always stay poking at home?"

"I seem to have found my niche at home. Every one needs me."

"Dunellen is a poky little place, but Nan thinks it is splendid."

"I expect to spend the winter away from home and I don't want to go. I don't see why I must. Mother has been promising for years that the first winter that Dine was out of school I should go for three months, more or less, to an old aunt of hers for whom I was named; she has lost all her seven boys and lives on a farm down in the country with the dearest old husband that ever breathed. If I had such a dear old husband I should always want to be alone with him."

"That sounds just like you. I wanted Naughty Nan to come home with me, but she wouldn't or couldn't. You can't think how thin she has grown, and she mopes like an old woman. I had to coax her to laugh just once for me before I came away. I suppose that I oughtn't to tell, but I will tell you; you are as deep as the sea. You know Dr. Towne?"

"Yes."

"Well it is all _his_ fault," said Mary Sherwood in a mysterious low voice.

"Did he give her something to take outwardly and she took it inwardly?"

asked Tessa gravely.

"That's like you, too. You are always laughing at somebody. How he flirted with poor little Naughty Nan n.o.body knows!"

"How she flirted with him, you mean."

"No, I don't. She was in earnest this time. He made her presents and took her everywhere; he always treated her as if-"

"-She were his mother."

"I won't talk to you," cried Mary indignantly, "you don't know any thing about it. You haven't seen how white and thin she is! It's just another Sue Greyson affair; and every body talks about how he flirted with her.

I comforted Nan by saying that he had done the same thing before and would again."

"Did _that_ comfort her?"

"It made her angry. I don't see how she can mourn over a man with a false heart, do you?"

"She would have no occasion to mourn over a man with a true heart."

"Do you think that he changes his mind?" asked Mary anxiously.

"No, I think that he does not have any mind to change; he has no mind to flirt or not to flirt; he simply enjoys himself, not caring for the consequences."

"H'm! What do you call _that_?"

"I do not call it any thing; it would be as well for you not to talk about your cousin."