Daughters of the Revolution and Their Times Part 12

"Oh, go on, please, Mr. Walden, and tell me what the seasons say to you."

"I hardly know what they say, but the change from the brightness of summer to the russet of autumn, the falling leaves, ripening fruits, fading flowers, shortening days, the going of the birds are like a sermon to me."

"And why are they like a sermon?" she asked.

"Because the birds will come, the flowers bloom again, but the summer that has gone never will return; the opportunities of to-day will not be here to-morrow. I must make the most of the present, not only for myself but for others. Providence bestows rich gifts; I must give to others."

"Thank you, Mr. Walden."

She was silent. None of the officers, not Major Evelyn or any of the captains of his majesty's troops, ever had uttered such words in her presence. Oh, could she but know if he were the one who rescued her from the hands of the miscreants! She must know.

"Mr. Walden, may I ask if we have not met before?"

"I think we have, Miss Newville."

"I thought so, but was not sure. May I say I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the service you rendered me yesterday. I never shall forget it. I have not mentioned it, not even to my parents, for I would not have them concerned in the future for my welfare."

"I can understand how anxious they might be, and I appreciate your prudence. The incident, I understand, is making some stir in town, especially among the soldiers. Doctor Warren has just informed me of it, and was kind enough to say it would be well for me to be on my guard, as the soldiers threaten retaliation. I learn, also, that no one as yet has been able to discover who the young lady was. People are wondering that no complaint has been made to the proper authorities by her or her friends."

"Oh, I am so glad that no one knows it except ourselves. May I not ask that it shall be our secret, and ours only?"

"Most certainly, Miss Newville."

"I cannot express my obligation to you, Mr. Walden. It is very honorable in you, and you will not let the soldiers injure you?" she said inquiringly.

"I do not think they will molest me. I shall not put myself in their way, neither shall I avoid them. I am a free citizen; this is my country. I know my rights, and I trust I shall ever be enough of a man to resent an insult to myself, and most certainly to a lady."

"Do you remain long in town?" she asked.

"No; only a day or two--over Sunday. I shall start from the Green Dragon for home next Monday morning."

"Do you have melocotoons in Rumford?" she asked, looking up to the luscious fruit, ripening above them.

"Not yet; we have some young trees, but they are not in bearing."

"I should like to send a basket of fruit to your sister, if agreeable to you. Pompey will take it to the tavern Monday morning."

"You are very kind. I will take it with pleasure, and you may be sure Rachel will appreciate your goodness."

He comprehended her proposition,--that it was her delicate way of giving emphasis to her thanks for what he had done.

"Mr. Walden, I shall always be pleased to see you. I would like to hear more about what you see in nature, and the sermons that are preached to you."

Berinthia and Major Evelyn joined them. The band had ceased playing, and the last of the guests were departing.

"I hope you have had an enjoyable afternoon," said Mr. Newville.

"I have enjoyed myself very much, and cannot express my thanks for your hospitality," Robert replied.

"It was very kind in you to honor us with your company," said Mrs.

Newville with a charming grace and dignity.

Miss Newville went with them to the gate, Major Evelyn improving the opportunity to walk by her side. Robert thought there was a shade of vexation on her face.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, while I talk with Miss Brandon a moment," she said, dropping behind. Robert walked on a few steps and waited for Berinthia. Major Evelyn lingered a moment as if to have a last word with Miss Newville, but politeness would not admit his further tarrying; he lifted his hat and walked away.

"Oh, Mr. Walden, what do you think your good cousin has been saying?"

said Miss Newville, calling him once more to the gate.

"Possibly that she has had an agreeable chat with one of his majesty's brilliant officers," Robert replied.

"Instead of being brilliant, he was positively stupid. I don't like epaulets," said Berinthia.

"Not those sent to protect us?" Miss Newville asked.

"No."

"Neither do I."

The words were spoken firmly, with an emphasis which Robert alone could understand.

Miss Newville locked her arm in Berinthia's as if loath to have her go. They lingered by the gate, how long Robert could not say. Just what was said he could not recall. He only knew it was delightful to stand there, to hear her voice, to see the smiles rippling upon her face, and the loving eyes that turned towards him at times. When at last the good-night was spoken, when himself and Berinthia were quite a distance, looking backward he saw her white handkerchief waving them farewell.

VI.

CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES.

Calm and peaceful was the Sabbath morning in Rumford, where the stillness was broken only by lowing cattle and singing birds, but in Boston Robert heard the rattling of drums,--a prolonged roll, as if the drummers found special pleasure in disturbing the slumbers of the people. It was the reveille arousing the troops. Mr. Brandon said the officers of the king's regiments seemed to take delight in having extra drills on Sunday for the purpose of annoying the people. A few of the officers, he said, were gentlemen, but others were vile, and not to be admitted into decent society.

The drums ceased and there was a period of quiet; then suddenly the air was melodious with the music of bells. Berinthia saw the wonder on Robert's face.

"It is Christ Church chimes," she said.

He heard "Old Hundred," sweet and enchanting.

"If you would like, we will go to Christ Church this morning."

Robert replied he would gladly go with her.

"The s.e.xton is a Son of Liberty, Robert Newman; you saw him the other night at the Green Dragon; his brother plays the organ," said Tom.

The s.e.xton welcomed them and gave them seats. Robert gazed in wonder at the fluted columns, the high arched ceiling, the pillars supporting the galleries, the great windows, the recess behind the pulpit, the painting of the Last Supper. He read the words, "This is none other than the House of G.o.d; this is the Gate of Heaven."

The bells ceased their pealing, but suddenly delightful music filled the church.