Then smash!came another thought.She HAD to love him!She couldn't help herself.She had all winter,all last summer,and no one but themselves knew how long before that,and where was there any other man like Laddie?Of course she loved him!Who so deserving of love?Who else had his dancing eyes of deep tender blue,cheeks so pink,teeth so white,such waving chestnut hair,and his height and breadth?There was no other man who could ride,swim,leap,and wrestle as he could.None who could sing the notes,do the queer sums with letters having little figures at the corners in the college books,read Latin as fast as English,and even the Greek Bible.Of course she loved him!
Every one did!Others might plod and meander,Laddie walked the tired,old road that went out of sight over the hill,with as prideful a step as any king;his laugh was as merry as the song of the gladdest thrush,while his touch was so gentle that when mother was in dreadful pain I sometimes thought she would a little rather have him hold her than father.
Now,he was in this fearful trouble,the colour was going from his face,his laugh was a little strained,and the heartache almost more than he could endure--and there she came!I stepped squarely in the middle of the road so she would have to stop or ride over me,and when she was close,I stood quite still.I was watching with my eyes,heart,and brain,and I couldn't see that she was provoked,as she drew rein and cried:"Good morning,Little Queer Person!"I had supposed she would say Little Sister,she had for ages,just like Laddie,but she must have thought it was queer for me to stop her that way,so she changed.I was in for it.I had her now,so I smiled the very sweetest smile that I could think up in such a hurry,and said,"Good morning,"the very politest I ever did in all my life.Then I didn't know what to do next,but she helped me out.
"What have you there?"she asked.
"It's a piece of the very first rhubarb pie for this spring,and I'm carrying it to Laddie,"I said,as I lifted the catalpa leaf and let her peep,just to show her how pie looked when it was right.I bet she never saw a nicer piece.
The Princess slid her hand down Maud's neck to quiet her prancing,and leaned in the saddle,her face full of interest.I couldn't see a trace of anything to discourage me;her being on our road again looked favourable.She seemed to think quite as much of that pie as I did.She was the finest little thoroughbred.She understood so well,I was sorry I couldn't give it to her.It made her mouth water all right,for she drew a deep breath that sort of quivered;but it was no use,she didn't get that pie.
"I think it looks delicious,"she said."Are you carrying it for Candace?""No!She gave it to me.It's my very own."
"And you're doing without it yourself to carry it to Laddie,I'll be bound!"cried the Princess.
"I'd much rather,"I said.
"Do you love Laddie so dearly?"she asked.
My heart was full of him right then;I forgot all about when I had the fever,and as I never had been taught to lie,I told her what I thought was the truth,and I guess it WAS:"Best of any one in all this world!"The Princess looked across the field,where she must have seen him finishing the plowing,and thought that over,and I waited,sure in my mind,for some reason,that she would not go for a little while longer.
"I have been wanting to see you,"she said at last."In fact I think I came this way hoping I'd meet you.Do you know the words to a tune that goes like this?"Then she began to whistle "The Merry Farmer Boy."I wish you might have heard the flourishes she put to it.
"Of course I do,"I answered."All of us were brought up on it.""Well,I have some slight curiosity to learn what they are,"she said."Would you kindly repeat them for me?""Yes,"I said."This is the first verse:
"`See the merry farmer boy tramp the meadows through,Swing his hoe in careless joy while dashing off the dew.
Bobolink in maple high----'
"Of course you can see for yourself that they're not.There isn't a single one of them higher than a fence post.The person who wrote the piece had to put it that way so high would rhyme with reply,which is coming in the next line.""I see!"said the Princess.
"`Bobolink in maple high,trills a note of glee Farmer boy a gay reply now whistles cheerily.'
"Then you whistle the chorus like you did it.""You do indeed!"said the Princess."Proceed!""`Then the farmer boy at noon,rests beneath the shade,Listening to the ceaseless tune that's thrilling through the glade.
Long and loud the harvest fly winds his bugle round,Long,and loud,and shrill,and high,he whistles back the sound.'""He does!He does indeed!I haven't a doubt about that!"cried the Princess."`Long,and loud,and shrill,and high,'he whistles over and over the sound,until it becomes maddening.Is that all of that melodious,entrancing production?""No,evening comes yet.The last verse goes this way:
"`When the busy day's employ,ends at dewy eve,Then the happy farmer boy,doth haste his work to leave,Trudging down the quiet lane,climbing o'er the hill,Whistling back the changeless wail,of plaintive whip-poor-will,'--and then you do the chorus again,and if you know how well enough you whistle in,`whip-poor-will,''til the birds will answer you.
Laddie often makes them."
"My life!"cried the Princess."Was that he doing those bird cries?Why,I hunted,and hunted,and so did father.We'd never seen a whip-poor-will.Just fancy us!""If you'd only looked at Laddie,"I said.
