The Redemption of Anthony/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V
"THIS day is good enough to put away in sweet lavender and keep for always," said Mrs. Martin, lazily swinging in the hammock, her hands locked under her head. "Tony, how did you ever think of having us all down here? It is too lovely!"
"Well, it certainly is time for me to precipitate myself into the social whirl," he answered, smiling; "and you people are witnessing my first feeble strokes."
"This is no feeble stroke," interrupted Peter; "this is a headlong dive. The Associated Press ere now, no doubt, has telegraphed the news of this house-party from one end of the civilized globe to the other."
At this point Mrs. Crompton appeared, parasol in hand, followed by The Parson.
"Where are you going?" Drake inquired.
Mrs. Crompton pulled a long face, the corners of her mouth turned down, her wicked eyes turned up. "We are going out into the wilderness," she said, in a muffled voice; "and there the saintly Parson is to read aloud to me from Thomas a Kempis—or is it Thomas à Becket? I never can get them straight. Also he is to read the Prayers for the Damned."
"How cheerful!" murmured Peter.
They all laughed, including The Parson.
"What are you going to do with the hammock?" demanded Mrs. Martin.
"Sit in it," replied the lady promptly.
"Both of you?" asked Drake.
"Certainly. It can be done with care, you know."
"That," said The Parson, "is our concession to things worldly."
"You've no idea how nice he looks lying at the other end of the hammock, preaching to me. Oh, even conversion may be made interesting if you just know how to go about it."
"Who's converting whom?" asked Tony.
Mrs. Crompton gave him a dazzling smile.
"We're converting each other," she replied.
"En avant, spiritual pastor and master!"
The Parson held the door open for her, and surveyed their smiling faces, smiling himself. "The only question is, which one wins out first in the conversion," he said.
Mrs. Crompton's laugh floated back to them as they tramped off woodward.
"It really isn't a bad idea—this flirtation of Nan and The Parson," said Mrs. Martin.
"It's all very well for Mary Ann,
But a little tough on Abraham,"
quoted Peter. "He's too good a sort for her to make a fool of."
"Tm not so sure she'll succeed there," said Drake. "I think she's met her match."
"Where's Miss Priscilla?' demanded Peter.
"I don't know, I'm sure. She's playing around somewhere," her mother replied.
"Priscilla's having a splendid time."
"I'm so glad," Drake said sincerely.
"I'm not," said Peter. "She treats me like a dog." He slammed the screen door after him, and marched off in search of her.
"Do you think Peter is in love with Priscilla?" Mrs. Martin asked idly.
A slow red crept into Drake's face, and a look of utter surprise and consternation engraved itself there. "I don't know—I hadn't thought of it—of course, he must be."
Mrs. Martin turned and looked at him.
"It would be only natural, of course. She's such a dear."
"I suppose he's just the sort she would like—jolly and good-looking, and all that."
"I don't know. It's hard to tell just what is going on in that queer little head of hers. I'm constantly surprised at her good sense."
"You're modest."
"Oh, no! I came by mine through hard knocks, but hers is instinctive; and such a power of love as she has packed in her heart—it is alarming!"
"We'll hope Peter is worthy of it."
"I suppose every woman has it—this power of love," she went on; "and the failure or success of her life depends on her getting the right outlet for it."
"The right outlet?"
"I mean the right object. It's a question which is the greater tragedy—to squander your whole treasure of love upon a man who is not worthy, or not to find the man at all, and find this power growing and growing, with no outlet, until it fairly chokes out life, or—"
"Or?"
"To keep it for a man who does not want it."
"Yes, that must be the worst of all. But all that belongs to the romantic age. You and I have gone beyond that. You said once about Priscilla—'the obligations of being greatly loved'—they so disturb life."
"What do you know about it?" she flung out at him. "You've never loved in all your bloodless life."
"Louise!"
"I mean just that. You've no right to an opinion. You've gone along your way, watching, dissecting emotions, and putting the results in books. Well, what of it? What does that amount to—to you, Anthony Drake, the man? You've never leaped to heights undreamed of, and been flung to depths unthinkable, at the merest look of some one you love."
"Why, Louise, what's come to you? The cold-hearted advocate of things Platonic!"
"Ridiculous, isn't it? I'm making out a case for the other side, you see."
"We're too—too settled, you and I, to consider that side now. Fifteen years ago, perhaps—well, we'll do very well without the demands; we'll go abroad and work together, and come out here sometimes in the summer and loaf, Haven't you nearly decided, Louise?"
"Yes, I have nearly decided that if there is no bread a stone must do."
"Which means?"
"Perhaps some day you'll know, Tony, but I hope not."
Peter, meanwhile, strolled until he was out of sight, and then he started off on what might be called a purposeful quickstep. He searched among the willows, and she wasn't there; he tried the hilltop, and she wasn't there; then, hot and irate, he made for the edge of the river, and nearly stepped on her, lying flat on her stomach in the grass, looking into the depths of the water.
"Well," Peter fairly snorted, "so here you are!"
No reply.
"I've been all over the country looking for you, and I'm nearly dead with heat and anxiety."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry? You don't know what it means. You wouldn't care a rap if I dropped dead at your feet with sunstroke!"
"Yes, I would. How would I ever get you home?"
He flung himself down dejectedly and watched her. "Why did you give me the slip?"
"I didn't. I just came away to be by myself."
"Oh, if that's the case, perhaps you'd like me to go?"
She considered a moment. "No, I'd just as soon you'd stay—if you won't chatter."
"Humph!"
He relapsed into enforced silence, and she resumed her scrutiny of the water's depths. Shortly she began to speak softly, as if to herself.
"And after awhile the King, who lived in the Palace of Shells, far under the water, grew old and didn't care about anything in the kingdom, so the people threatened to kill him and get a new king. The King went to the Wise Old Woman of the Sea and asked her what to do, and she said that if he could find the Water-Lily Maiden and induce her to give him one drink from her golden goblet, he would grow young again, and all would be well.
"Whereupon the King sent out his courtiers to the end of the kingdom to find her. He sent water-bugs and fish and snakes, and they all searched in vain. At length the King set forth himself on a prancing dolphin, and he rode to all the countries under the sea, but he found her not; he went to the surface of the water and rode clear round the world, but he found her not; and all the time he was growing older and older, and finally he said to the dolphin: 'Take me home to die.'
"So the dolphin took him homeward, and just as he was about to descend beneath the water, where the Palace of Shells grew, the King spied a clump of water-lilies, and he cried out to them:
"'Know ye where the Water-Lily Maiden dwells who holds the golden goblet?'
"And they answered: 'Yes, she lives here in this village.'
"So the King entered the village of Water-Lilies, and there on a lily pad, swaying with the water's ripple, sat the Water-Lily Maid; and when she saw the King she smiled.
"'I've been around the whole world twice, once under sea and once atop,' grumbled the King.
"'And I've lived beside your door all the time,' she said to him.
"'Give me to drink of the golden goblet,' he commanded.
"''Tis only for the wise to drink,' said she. 'One drop gives supreme happiness, two drops satiety, and three drops death.'
"'Give it me!' cried the King.
"So she lifted the goblet to his lips, and he drank one drop.
"''Tis sweet!' cried the King.
"'Beware!' said the Water-Lily Maiden.
"She raised it again to his lips, and he drank two drops.
"''Tis bitter,' moaned the King.
"'Beware!' cried the Water-Lily Maiden.
"Eagerly he seized the cup and drank. three drops, and then the King fell dead of too much joy, even at his own threshold."
"What was in the cup?" demanded Peter.
"I don't know," she said.
"Well, I'll tell you," said Peter, with sudden passion. "It was love—love—love! Oh, Priscilla, unless you come to the rescue, I shall drink three drops and die!"
Priscilla sat up and inspected him.
"What are you driving at?" she said impatiently.
She looked very young, and Peter felt a thousand years old.
"Priscilla, did you ever hear of love?"
"Of course."
"Do you know what it means?"
She nodded.
"Well, I've got it—I've got it terribly. I'm dying of it."
Her face showed swift concern. "Dear me! I'm so sorry, Peter."
"Of course I know I'm not good enough for her."
Priscilla leaped to a swift conclusion.
"No, you're not."
"No fellow could be. She's the sweetest thing on earth."
"Isn't she?"—warmly.
"But I love her so—"
"Everybody does," said Priscilla promptly.
"Y-e-s, I know," he acknowledged in some surprise.
"Well, then, why on earth should she care most for you? You're too young for her, Peter, and you talk too much, and you act so silly sometimes; and, besides, you just simply couldn't be my father!"
Peter sprang to his feet. "Your father?" he cried. "Your father? Who wants to be your father?"
Priscilla rose, too, and faced him. "I mean that I don't think mother is in love with you."
"Well, what of it? You're the only one I care about."
"Me?"
"Yes, of course."
She blushed furiously. 'Oh, Peter!" she gasped. "You don't mean—me? I thought—oh, Peter!"
She ran away into the woods as fast as she could go, and Peter gave chase, At the first turn in the woods she plunged into Drake's arms. He stood quietly and held her until Peter was almost upon them.
"What is it?" he asked softly, but she only burrowed her head into his coat.
"Take me away—take me away from Peter."
"Priscilla, I insist upon being treated seriously," said Peter firmly, approaching her, and paying no attention at all to Drake.
She raised her head and glared at him.
"Go away—go away! I never want to see you again!" she cried.
With one groan Peter flung away and disappeared among the trees.
"Now, what's it all about?" said Drake.
"He's been saying such things to me!" she confessed. "I thought all along he meant mother, and I said such awful things back, and then he meant—me!"
"Dear me! I suppose he's in love with you—is he?"
"Don't say it! I hate him—it makes me feel so terrible—and grown up."
The last tragic words came out with a burst of tears, and poor Drake stood in helpless amazement, wondering what to do. Finally he put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him, and the yellow head went down on his breast, and then, all at once, a new and utterly unexplainable thrill of happiness went through him and left him trembling.
"You're very good," Priscilla sobbed. "I don't feel at all grown up with you."
"Thanks—I don't with you, either. You're all right now. Come along and play, and forget about Peter."
He led her down to the water's edge again, and found her a seat.
"Want some water-lilies?"
She nodded. He sat down, took off his shoes and stockings, and waded in.
"It's great," he said, grinning back at her. "Come on in."
"Lovely! I'll do it!" cried Priscilla, and jerked off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt, and marched in, with many a squeal of delight.
They made fairy boats of the lilies, and sailed large fleets off to the Islands of the Blest. They laughed and called out to each other like veritable children; and in the midst of things Mrs. Martin appeared on the bank and beheld the spectacle.
"Why, Priscilla Martin," she gasped.
"Tony!"
He turned a boyish face to her. "We've just sent off a splendid cargo of poppy seeds and forgetfulness flowers, bound for the Island of Childhood!"
"Oh, mother," cried Priscilla, "it's such fun! Come in—do."
"No, dear, it is not for old ladies to invite the rheumatism. I've sent my ship from another port—I wonder will our fleets come home again?" she added softly.