Randy's Summer Part 17

And here another voice chimed in, "Did yer ever taste anything like that candy in yer life?"

"It was just splendid, and I do b'lieve-"

"Have ye noticed Mrs. Jenks? I do declare, she's as much different from what she used ter be as possible. Why, she sent them fine apples, and gave the hull of them pumpkins, and-"

Just at this point Mrs. Buffum e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Well, as I live! ef it ain't half-past ten o'clock," and she commenced at once to collect her brood.

All were loath to leave the joyous scene, but the lateness of the hour made it imperative. Some one proposed a song before saying good night, and soon old and young voices chimed sweetly together as they sang:-

"All the year round, all the year round, What are the seasons to you or to me?

Summer may go, bleak winds may blow, Roses crown winter if cheery we be.

Sounds of the glad spring, pleasures the birds bring, These live in loving hearts where'er they're found; Sweet is the May time, sweet is the hay time, So sweet are loving lips, all the year round."

"Hooray for the apple-bee! Hooray for Miss Dayton!" shouted Reuben Jenks, "Hooray for the bagpipes and the dance!" Every one cheered, and Jotham, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm, shouted, "Hooray for every one and everything!" and they even cheered that; so, laughing and cheering, with lively chatter and s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, wraps were donned and good nights said.

After the last guest had departed, Randy turned from the doorway, and going back into the house she sat down opposite her father, a happy smile upon her lips.

"Well, Randy," said her father, kindly, as he saw she had something to say.

"Oh, father," she said, "doesn't it make you happy to see every one having a good time?"

"Yes, indeed, it does," said father and mother together.

"I mean to try always to make people happy," said Randy.

"So do I," said little Prue; "but now let's go to bed."

Randy laughed, and saying, "You've done bravely, Prue, to keep your eyes open to-night," led her little sister up the stairs to their tiny chamber, where soon they were fast asleep.

The Babson girls talked until after midnight over the evening's entertainment, declaring it to be the "very greatest bee they ever went to."

Phbe Small, having no sister to talk it over with, kept the candle burning until late that night, while she wrote in her diary a lengthy description of the event. Phbe had heard her mother tell of keeping a diary when she was young, so, of course, Phbe, who ardently admired her mother, immediately commenced to keep one.

Old Sandy McLeod, as he gallantly helped Helen Dayton to alight at Mrs.

Gray's door, thanked her over and over again for the pleasure she had given him in allowing him to be her escort, telling her that he was glad enough that she had urged him to play the pipes, since the music had given such pleasure; adding, "Old Nathan and old Sandy hae' na been the best of friends and neighbors, but to-night we hae shaken hands an'

we're to be friends forever."

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Helen.

"And ane thing mair, la.s.s," he interrupted, "about that letter the little la.s.s was talking of, I'll write it to-night!"

"It is late, now," said Helen.

"None too late to write. I'll do it to-night and sen' it to-morrow, as sure as I'm Sandy McLeod."

True to his word, Sandy sat at his table until late into the night, writing a long, long letter. The candle flickered as his hand moved back and forth across the pages.

Many times he paused while writing, and with his head resting upon his hand, he seemed to be thinking how best to express himself, so that his message might find favor with his old friend and playmate.

At last, apparently, the letter was completed satisfactorily; for as the old man arose from the table, a faint smile flitted across his face.

Crossing the room to the old chest by the window, he fumbled about until he brought from its depths a little package; then, walking to the table, he placed the tiny parcel between the folded pages of the letter, put the letter into its envelope, and with utmost care addressed it, reading the address over three times to make sure that it was correct. Under his pillow he placed the letter, saying, "With the light o' day I'll start ye on the journey." And of all the merry party who laughed and sang away the hours at the apple-bee, not one possessed a happier heart than Sandy.

And Helen murmured, softly, as she lay half awake and half asleep, "Every one was happy to-night."

CHAPTER XI-AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

The sun rose in golden splendor one morning to find that a curtain of purple haze prevented his suns.h.i.+p from showing all his dazzling glory.

It was indeed a typical October morning in New England. For a time the haze prevailed, holding her own bravely against the sun, who struggled for supremacy; but at last he rose triumphant, the mist softly melting away beneath his warm rays.

How fair and tall the slender birches looked as the bright rays gilded their white trunks! How cool and deep the little pool which reflected the birches and brakes which overhung its edge; and far away across the field a great black crow flew, cawing as he winged his way, then perched upon a slender twig which swayed beneath his weight. Tiny sparrows twittered and chirped as they hopped about among the dried weeds, searching among the seed vessels for a possible breakfast.

Truly, all things were beautiful that morning; and Randy, from her chamber window, looked out upon the lovely scene, and on her face a smile and tear appeared,-a smile on the sweet lips in memory of the summer's pleasure; a tear at the thought of Helen's departure.

"It has been the nicest summer I have ever known," mused Randy, softly.

"Everything has looked prettier since she taught me how to look at things. How sweetly she thanked me for the rose I cut for her without spilling one of the dewdrops. 'Twas only a little thing, yet she thanked me as if the dewdrops were diamonds. Why, she just made me wild to find something to give to every one, if giving made such pleasure. I remember that I said I often wished I had more to give, and she showed me, oh, so plainly, that a smile or a pleasant word was worth the giving that I felt at once as if I were rich; for any one can say a pleasant word and all of us can smile. Oh, she's done us 'a world of good,' as the parson's wife said."

While Randy dreamed at her window, Helen stood in the doorway at Mrs.

Gray's, and she, too, was thinking of the summer so happily spent.

Soon she would be at home, and in a few months the winter season would bring a round of social engagements.

Why had the days so quietly spent seemed so charming? What was the secret of their charm? Happy she had been,-very, very happy,-and so swiftly had the weeks sped that it seemed impossible that October had arrived. She had chosen to spend the summer, contrary to her usual custom, in a little country village, with no other thought than that in such a place she could be sure of rest and quiet.

She was a girl of generous impulses, and after becoming acquainted with the people of the neighborhood of the Gray homestead, many an opportunity for a gracious word or a generous action presented itself.

How gently and with what ready tact she had made herself a friend to young and old, was proven by the genuine regret manifested whenever her departure was mentioned.

Helen had a host of friends of whom to take leave, and all were charmed and gladdened to hear that they would see her sweet face again sometime during the winter. She had called to see old Sandy once more before her departure, and he had had a wonderful bit of news to tell.

The letter which he had written after his return from the apple-bee he had posted early on the following morning. It was addressed to Miss Margaret McLean, and Sandy explained that, as her father had been a prominent manufacturer in the little Scottish town in which they had lived for years, holding large business interests and owning a number of mills which bore his name, the daughter, his only child, must be well known there; so he had trusted that the letter, written after so many years' delay, might be promptly delivered.

Strangely enough, it had never occurred to Sandy to wonder if his old playmate were still living. To his great joy, an answer to the letter came sooner than he had expected. She was still waiting for him, she said, as she had ever waited, hoping that the time would come when he would forgive her for teasing him,-it had been but a girlish freak,-and tell her that he loved her as of old.

Her father had lost much of his money before he died, but she had a "bit of property," she said, and she had sold her little cottage and would leave on the next steamer for America. She would bring with her a little Scotch la.s.s, an orphan whom she had befriended and trained to be a little maid-servant; and, insisting that Sandy should meet her and go at once to some kirk to be married, she closed her letter with love to Sandy and a blessing for Helen and the wee la.s.s, Prue. To Helen's congratulations he would only say, "It's your doing, la.s.s, yours and the bairnie's."

Sandy confided to Helen that he had been afraid that Margaret might doubt that he and the Sandy McLeod of her youth were one and the same; but, he added: "I had a proof, I had a proof, la.s.s! I had a lock o' her bonnie hair tied wi' a knot o' blue ribbon. I knew she'd na forget gi'en' it to me, and I put it in the letter."

"That was clever," said Helen.

"An' she said she'd bring it back wi' her when she sailed for America,"

added the old Scotchman, joyously; and Helen left him happy in the thought that although her farewell saddened him, there soon would be a dearer friend to greet him.

Farmer Gray had driven to the village early that morning, and when he returned he greeted Helen cheerily, at the same time handing her a letter, saying, "I hope it is full of good news, Miss Dayton."