Opening a Chestnut Burr Part 61

"O, aunty!" said Annie, with a deep blush, "when did I ever hear you indulge in such a witticism before?"

And when, some days later, she received a cordial, brotherly letter from Gregory, relating all that had occurred, a deep content stole into her heart, and she felt, with Miss Eulie, that all would eventually be well. She replied scrupulously, in like vein with himself, and thus began a correspondence that to each became a source of the truest happiness. Their letters were intensely brotherly and sisterly in character, but Annie felt almost sure that, under his fraternal disguise, she detected the warmth and glow of a far stronger affection; and, before many months had pa.s.sed, he hoped the same of her dainty letters, though he could not lay his finger on a single word and say, "This proves it." But Annie's warm heart unconsciously colored the pages, nevertheless.

Of Hunting he briefly wrote, "G.o.d pity him."

In May, Gregory was glad to find that he would have to go to Europe again, and purposed to give Annie a surprise. But he received only a very sad one himself, for, on arriving at Paris, he learned, to his intense disappointment, that Mr. Kemp and his party had suddenly decided to return home. He was eventually comforted by receiving a letter from Annie, showing clearly that she had been as greatly disappointed as himself; but, woman-like, most of the letter was an effort to cheer him.

Still he was growing almost superst.i.tious at the manner in which she seemed to elude his loving grasp, and sighed, "I fear she will always prove to me a spirit of the air."

One bright morning, in the ensuing October, Gregory again greeted, like the face of a friend, the sh.o.r.es of his native country, and the thought that Annie was beyond that blue line of land thrilled his heart with impatient expectation.

As they approached Sandy Hook, the pilot brought abroad a New York paper, and as he was carelessly glancing over it, his eyes were caught by an advertis.e.m.e.nt of the sale by auction of the Walton estate, his old home. He saw by the date that the sale would not take place till the following day, and he now felt sure that he could give Annie a double surprise, for he had not written of his return. He had learned from Annie that her father must have intrusted large sums to Hunting which could not be accounted for, and that beyond the country-place not much had been left. He rightly guessed that this place was about to be sold to provide means for the support of the family. He was surprised that Annie had not written to him about the sale, and indeed she had wished to, thinking that he might like to buy it. But Mr. Kemp had dissuaded her, saying that it was not at all probable that Gregory had the means to buy so large a property, and judging Gregory by himself, he added, "A business man does not want a country-place anyway.

Besides, Annie, if you should suggest it, it might be a source of much pain to him to feel that he could not."

But as soon as Gregory was ash.o.r.e he hunted up one of his senior clerks, and instructed him to go up the following morning and buy the place at any cost, but not to let any one know it was for him. He also told him to a.s.sure the family that they need not vacate the place in any haste.

It soon became evident at the sale that the stranger from the city was determined to have the property, and the other bidders gave way.

When the clerk returned that evening Gregory plied him with questions, and learned that Miss Walton seemed to have great regret at leaving, and was very grateful when told that she could take her own time for departure. In fact, Annie grudged every October day at the old place, that brought back the past so vividly. Gregory could not forbear asking, with a slight flush, "How did Miss Walton look?"

"Like her surroundings," said the clerk, politely blind, "and not like a city belle. Mr. Gregory, I congratulate you on possessing the most home-like place on the river."

Gregory took the earliest train the following morning, and at noon found himself by the cedar thicket again, with a strange thrill, as he recalled all that had occurred there and since. He sat down to rest for a moment on the rock where Annie had first found him more than a year before. Beneath him lay his home--his now in truth--embowered in crimson and golden foliage, that seemed doubly bright in the genial October sunlight, while at his very feet were the orchard's laden boughs, beneath which he had proved to Annie the reality and depth of his love; and there beyond was the cottage of Daddy Tuggar, with that old man smoking upon the porch. But, chief of all, he could mark the very spot by the brook in the garden where Annie's hand, like an angel's, had plucked him from the brink of despair, and given the first faint hope of immortal life. Tears blinded his eyes, but the bow of promise shone in them as he looked heavenward, and said, "Merciful Father! how kind of Thee, in view of my past, to give me this dear earnest of my heavenly home!"

The sound of approaching steps aroused him, and springing up he saw through the thicket, with an emotion so deep that it made him tremble, the one woman of the world to him.

With an expression of deep sadness, and the manner of one taking a lingering leave of a very dear friend, Annie came slowly toward him along the brow of the hill. He tried to still even the beating of his heart, for he would not lose one moment of exquisite antic.i.p.ation. And yet he was deeply agitated, for he knew that he could not maintain the brotherly disguise an hour longer.

Suddenly she looked toward the cedar thicket, and, as if recalling what had occurred there, covered her face with her hands, to hide the painful scene. Then he saw that she would not even come to the place, but was turning to go to the house by another way.

He darted out from his concealment and rushed toward her. At first, in wild alarm, she put her hand to her side, and leaned against a chestnut-tree for support. Then recognizing him, with a glad cry, she permitted him to take her in his arms, while she hid her face on his shoulder. A moment later they recoiled from each other in blus.h.i.+ng confusion.

"Well?" said Gregory, stupidly.

She was the first to recover herself, and said, "O, Walter, I'm so--so glad you have come at last!"

"Do I look sorry?" he asked, taking her hand.

"Oh!" she exclaimed; "this is too good to be true!"

"That's what I think, I feared you would take flight the moment I appeared."

"When did you arrive? Come, tell me everything."

"Not all at once, dear--Annie. But let me give you a seat on the rock by the thicket, and then I will say the catechism."

"Please, no, Walter; not there," she said, drawing back.

"Yes, there; we will give that place a new a.s.sociation."

But she was glad to reach the seat, for she trembled so she could hardly stand.

Then he told her how he purposed to surprise her, and answered every eager question.

"O, Annie!" he concluded, "how I have longed for this hour! Never did that dreadful ocean seem so wide before."

She looked at him more fondly than she knew, and said, "Ah, Walter!

your blood is not on my hands after all."

"Let me see," he said.

"I know it is not," she replied, putting them behind her back; "don't I see you there well and happy?"

"I don't know but it will be on your hands yet," he said, half-tragically, springing up.

She gave him a swift look of inquiry, but her eyes dropped as quickly beneath his eager gaze, while her deep blush caused her to vie with the sugar-maple on the lawn in very truth. But he said after a moment, "Annie, dear, won't you let me interpret another chestnut burr for you?"

"Certainly, Walter," she tried to say innocently, "all that are on the tree."

"Now don't make fun of me, because I'm desperately in earnest. I don't want one like that I chose with a great lonely worm-infested chestnut in it. What a good, wholesome lesson you gave me then! Thank you, Annie, darling."

"Brothers don't use such strong language toward their sisters," said Annie, looking on the ground.

"I can't help it. To tell the honest truth I'm not much of a brother.

Neither do I want one like that which you chose with three chestnuts in it. _Three_, faugh! I've had enough of that. I want to find one like that which you brought me the first day I met you here."

"You will never find it if you stand talking forever."

"You won't go away?"

"Perhaps not."

He looked at her doubtfully, but she would not meet his eye. Then he started on his search, but kept looking back so often that she laughed, and said, "I'm not a chestnut burr."

"I'm afraid of you."

"Then you had better run away."

"Sisters shouldn't tease their brothers."

"Well, forgive me this time."

He caught a branch full of half-open burrs, and peered eagerly in them till he found one to his mind, and pulled it off regardless of the p.r.i.c.king spines, then came and kneeled at her side, and said, "Now, Annie, dear, look into it carefully. This is nature's oracle. You see two solid, plump chestnuts."

"Well?" she said, faintly.

"And you see this false, empty form of sh.e.l.l between them?"