The Redemption of Anthony/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX
MRS. CROMPTON tiptoed down the hall to the top of the stairs, and there she met The Parson, also tiptoeing, She laughed, nodded, and offered him her hand, which he promptly kissed. Together they slipped down the stairs silently.
"Mercy!" said Mrs. Crompton. "Isn't it creepy at this hour? I never was up so early in my life."
"It's fine," he answered; "you have room to breathe. Now, here's the fishing-tackle, the poles, and the bait, and I've got a few sandwiches, in case we're late in getting in. You might take the poles."
"Yes, I suppose it would be civil, but I must say I do hate to carry things, and I. feel sort of sickly within. I think I'm going to regret this."
"Not at all; you'll be all right when you get out into the air."
"Where's the sun? Isn't it time for it?" she asked, as they set out.
"Yes, it's time, but he hasn't appeared yet. A cloudy day, you know, means fisherman's luck."
"How far is it to the place we're going to fish?"
"Oh, about a mile and a half."
Mrs. Crompton heaved a gentle sigh. "I don't think you'll ever be able to make a sportsman of me, Parson."
"My dear madam, when once the fascination of angling has taken possession of your soul, physical discomforts will be as naught."
"I doubt it. Nothing has ever so taken possession of my soul that discomforts counted for naught."
"Then you are facing a new experience."
"Well, that's some compensation."
The Parson breathed rapturously. "Just breathe in that air, and see how fresh everything looks, and be content."
"The air's all right, but it's just as good later. I've no patience with these people who think that nature isn't fit to be seen after eight in the morning. It's very narrow-minded, I think. It seems to me distinctly dreary at this hour."
"Early to bed and early to rise, you know."
"No wonder it's counted a virtue; it's disagreeable enough to be one!"
The Parson stopped. "Very well, we'll go back." He started to retrace his tracks.
"Oh, no, now we're started—"
He kept on. "Come along—back we go. I'd no idea my little pleasure-party would prove such a burden."
"It isn't—only you mustn't expect me to be good-natured at this hour. Wait, Parson!" she called after him, but he kept straight ahead. Mrs. Crompton hesitated one moment, and then gave chase. "Please wait!" she called, hurrying after.
There was a perceptible slowing up in The Parson's gait. "We'll get back for breakfast," he said cheerfully.
"But I don't want to go back for breakfast; I want to go on and fish,"
"You've done nothing but complain since we started, so we'd better go back."
"Give me the basket and I'll go fishing alone," she commanded.
"Not at all. I want to go fishing."
"So do I. Please—please, dear Parson, let us go fishing."
He stopped and faced her sternly. "Will you do your part of the work?"
"Yes."
"Will you put up with the discomforts without grumbling?"
"Y-e-s. Can't I give just one little kick?"
He picked up the basket and started off again.
"All right, all right, I won't!" she cried, seizing his arm.
"Very good," said The Parson. "Now we'll go fishing."
They turned and started in the other direction.
"'Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London,'" said Mrs. Crompton softly. Then they both laughed.
"You're a very nice woman—sometimes," said The Parson, "but in great need of training."
"Oh!" exploded Mrs. Crompton.
In due time and without further recrimination they arrived at the part of the river where fish abounded. The Parson fitted up the poles and turned to Mrs. Crompton. "Pass over a handful of bait," he said.
Mrs. Crompton opened the bucket and promptly dropped it, whereupon a writhing mass of worms squirmed at her feet, and she fled.
"Oh, drat it!' said The Parson, on his knees, shoveling them back. "I forgot you were a woman."
"How can you!" she protested. "Why don't you shovel them in with the lid of the bucket?"
"They don't bite, you know," he assured her, baiting her hook. "Now we'll throw in our lines and walk along the shore until we get a good place."
"Not at all," said she; "I'll get a comfortable rock and sit there, and let the fish come to me."
She acted on this decision, much to The Parson's amusement.
"Would you like a book?" he derided.
"The brook is my book—this day's sermons in stones,"
"I shall fish up-stream. When you get tired, follow."
"But suppose I get a bite?" she called after him.
"You won't—there. But if you do, haul it in, take off the fish, and rebait."
"But I couldn't—I wouldn't rebait for a thousand dollars."
"Then come along with me and fish," he answered.
Mrs. Crompton rose slowly, wrath in her eye. She was used to the brand of cavalier whose whole thought was for her comfort and pleasure. In fact, comfort and pleasure were Mrs. Crompton's household gods, to whom she offered constant libation. Consequently, The Parson's nonchalant indifference to her wishes piqued and interested her as much as it irritated her—or a little more. She followed him slowly. "I feel like a squaw!" she called to him.
"Won't hurt you," he called back. "I promised you a new sensation. Take care of that rock—it's slippery."
Alas for Mrs. Crompton!—the warning came too late. She stepped on the edge of the slippery rock, plunged forward, full length, and dug her arms into the soft, mucky bank up to the elbows, saluting Mother Earth with her forehead. With a shout of dismay, The Parson flew to the rescue, He had fairly to dig her out, and, strange to say, the voluble Mrs. Crompton was.absolutely silent—whether from rage or pain he couldn't make out.
"Are you hurt, Nan?" he asked anxiously.
"Hurt? Hurt?" she blazed. "Can you look at me and ask if I'm hurt?"
She held out her blackened arms and lifted a strangely mottled face.
"But where? But where?" he reiterated anxiously.
"In my feelings, of course. Do you suppose anybody could look like this and not be hurt?"
He got a flat stick and began to scrape her off, solemnly. His expression suddenly struck her, and she sat down on the rock and laughed until the tears came.
"I'm so sorry—" he began, in alarm at this mirth.
"You look it," she said, with another outburst.
"We'll go straight home," he promised.
"We'll do nothing of the sort. Would you mind fishing out my shoe over there?"
She pointed to a partly submerged object, and he waded in and rescued it, scraping it carefully before returning it.
"I am so sorry," he protested again.
"You poor old dear, don't you bother," she said. "It was a case of pride coming before—and the fall was awful. But I'm going to catch a fish now, if I stay a week."
"Really?" he cried. "Oh, Nan, you're the real thing!"
"And that from the Right Reverend—"
"Don't! Give us your hand and come along."
"We'd better wash the hand first. You hold on to my feet, so I won't go in head first."
Whereupon The Parson laid hold of Mrs. Crompton's feet, and she hung over the edge of the rock and washed her hands and sleeves.
"If any one sees us we're compromised for life," she said,
"Birds and bees don't gossip," he answered.
They got up and away again, and this time The Parson looked after his partner carefully.
"I'm glad I tumbled," she said; "you're so much nicer to me."
They fished for awhile with no success, and then, when hope was almost dead, they struck a place where they were biting. Mrs. Crompton almost repeated her plunge when she got her first bite. After that she was insatiable. Even The Parson had no fault to find. Finally he looked at his watch.
"Do you know that it's one o'clock?" he cried.
"One? You don't mean it!"
"I do. Let's stop and eat the sandwiches."
"By all means—I'm starved."
So they picnicked under the trees, like ravenous children, laughing and comparing notes. Then they were off and at it again, until The Parson's weather eye warned him that they were in for a storm. He insisted upon turning back toward the farm, although Mrs. Crompton was for risking all for the joy of another bite. It grew blacker and blacker, and they finally took in their lines and hurried toward home. The lightning crashed down among the trees, and the thunder filled the woods.
"Let's run for it," said The Parson, when they came in sight of the stables.
"All right," said Mrs. Crompton, and started. The poles she carried caught in things, and the string of fish flopped about The Parson's legs; but they kept on, and just as they reached the clearing the storm broke.
"Make for the dog-house!" shouted The Parson; and they tumbled into it, much to the consternation of the resident puppy families.
"Well," said Mrs. Crompton, sinking on the floor in a heap, "if I don't die right here of heart-disease, I miss my guess. Why, I haven't run like that for twenty years."
"You did splendidly," said The Parson, sitting beside her.
"There really isn't room for you," she protested.
"Very well, put out the pups, then," he replied.
"You look perfectly frightful," she said, inspecting him.
"I don't doubt it—so do you. And yet I never saw you look so sweet!"
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Now you look like—you! Not the fashionable Mrs. Crompton, nor the clever Mrs. Crompton, but just Nan Crompton, the sweetest woman in the world."
"Don't! I feel very young and reckless at this moment."
"Good! Then put your hand in mine, dear woman, and say that you will make me happier than I ever dreamed of being."
"I can't—I simply cannot—marry a parson. I've too much sense of humor."
"I don't ask you to marry a parson—I ask you to marry me."
"Aren't you the same?"
"No, the parson is a type, and I am a man."
Just here a terrific crash of thunder shook the dog-house, and Mrs. Crompton's head was buried on The Parson's breast. Here it seems well to draw the curtain. Somewhat later Mrs. Martin and the rest of the party saw a strange sight. Approaching across the garden came the irreproachable Mrs. Crompton, hatless, bespattered with mud, wading along through the wet grass; behind came The Parson, a large straw hat hanging limply about his neck. They laughed and "squashed" along through the water, apparently oblivious of onlookers.
"Mon Dieu, Nan!" 'cried Mrs. Martin, as they came up, "where have you been?"
"Fishing," replied that lady.
"Catch anything, Parson?" asked Tony.
The Parson put down his burdens and faced them all boyishly. "Yes, dearly beloved; I caught a wife."
But Mrs. Crompton was nowhere to be seen.