mr. wells proved abundantly able to plead his cause before mrs. corner who finally gave her consent to nan’s presence at a private violin performance. “though why we can’t all be favored, i can’t see,” said mrs. corner.
“well, you see there are very few people i can play before,” confessed the young man.
“but why?”
“don’t know, dear lady. i suppose it’s because i’m made that way. now, i have no end of cheek when it comes to my pictures. they may be mere daubs, but i don’t think so, and am perfectly brazen about sending them to exhibitions or about showing them to any one, but the violin, ah, that is different. i can play before miss nan, jack, pinch, dr. paul and a few others and there you are. i am bound to break down if i get it into my head that i have a critical person in the audience. whether there is such a person or not, doesn’t appear to matter; it’s my thinking there is. i can’t help it, you see.”
“well,” mrs. corner said at last, “even if i[232] can’t see any reason for your extreme modesty in the matter i’ll have to believe it exists and am willing nan should have the pleasure i know it will be to her to listen to your playing.”
therefore when all the others started off to the country store, nan declined to go. she had begged her mother not to tell of the engagement she had made, partly because she did not want to be teased and partly because it was too sweet a secret to share with any one but her mother. mrs. corner guessed the former reason, but did not suspect the latter.
“aren’t you going with us?” asked dr. paul who appeared early in the afternoon. “i thought we were all going to buy out the dry-goods department of mr. davis’s store.”
“no, i am not going.” nan shook her head. “i have something else to do, but i will delegate you to buy the materials for my housewife. in compensation thereof i will make you one.”
“now, what ought i to say? that the compensation is ample? if i do that it will mean i prefer the housewife to your society; on the other hand, i ought to prove my appreciation of such a souvenir as a piece of your handiwork.”
“oh, let the housewife have the compliment,” returned nan laughing. “i can do without it.”[233] she watched him go off to join the others and then went to the empty living-room to pass away the time, till four o’clock, by writing a letter to charlotte loring. she looked frequently at the clock and the letter did not turn out to be a very long or a very interesting one, being disjointed and rather vague, yet nan concluded to send it. then she went to her tent to get ready. she was not given to prinking, being less afflicted with vanity than mary lee, who was generally considered the beauty of the family, yet she took a long time to decide upon her dress. should she go in the blue flannel skirt and blouse she generally wore, or should she wear a skirt and white jumper as she had at the picnic? at first she thought she would wear the latter because mr. wells had chosen to paint her in this costume, but finally she decided that this being a special occasion, she would wear a white linen, only a simple frock, to be sure, with low sailor collar. the only color she added was a soft yellow silk tie which jo had once told her was very becoming. she did her hair carefully, braiding the thick plaits smoothly and tying them with the black ribbon she always wore. let big red or blue bows be for such youngsters as jack or jean. for a moment she thought of doing her hair up higher, but she had never worn it so and it[234] would be marked. so at last she was ready and started out, being careful that the canoe was very clean that she might not soil her dress. she did not want to be late, but she hoped she was not too much ahead of time.
her watch pointed to four when she landed her canoe at the little point which was but a very short distance above the camp. no other canoe was there, so she was first after all. well, at all events, she had the virtue of promptness which the other had not.
yet she had not long to wait for in a few minutes she saw a canoe coming. so elsa had watched lohengrin approach in the swan boat. her heart thrilled at sight of the figure, like lohengrin in white, standing there paddling the canoe. it was almost as if she were at the opera watching the scene, her imagination supplying the music. very soon her lohengrin was within hailing distance and saw her there, a white figure against the lush green.
“ah, there you are,” he cried. “i’m afraid i am a trifle late. i was hunting up some violin strings and couldn’t remember where i had put the things, but i have them all right.” he came ashore and held out his hand. “isn’t this jolly?” he said. “such an afternoon, enough to inspire any one. do you happen to sing, by the way?”
[235]“i have only a feeble pipe,” replied nan smiling.
“your voice and laugh sound as if you would sing a good contralto. perhaps your pipe, as you call it, needs only developing. shall we try it?”
“oh, no, no.” nan shrank from such an ordeal and her tones evinced such fright that her companion laughed.
“oh, then we won’t,” he said. “i say, you look stunning. i dressed for the occasion, too, as you see. these are my very best flannels and i hope you think the red tie is becoming.”
nan thought it was vastly so, but she could only echo feebly, “very becoming.”
“yours is tremendously so, an awfully jolly bit of color.” he stood off and looked her up and down with half-closed eyes in the impersonal way that artists have. “i like you in white,” he continued. “that’s a good scheme of color, too, green, white, yellow, with a dash of dark hair for a sharp accent pretty nice that. well, there is to be no boring you with posing to-day. what shall i play?” he took his violin from its case and began to tune it.
“mein liebe schwan?” said nan questioningly.
“good! somehow suits the landscape, doesn’t it, the lake and all? here goes.”
[236]he stood up while nan took her place under a tree on a grass-hidden rock, to listen, and in a moment her soul was filled with delight. the swan song, and here was lohengrin! little thrills of delicious joy seemed to ooze out of her very finger-tips as she leaned back against the tree to hear. the swan song melted into “elsa’s dream,” and then into the “höchtes vertrauen.” the young man played well, his head thrown back as he watched his hearer from under his lashes. he saw the color come and go, the frequent trembling of her lips, the far-away look in her eyes. “my, what a lot of temperament the girl has,” he said to himself. “it is worth a king’s ransom to be like that.”
he put down his violin. “what’ll you take for your gift of appreciation, miss nan?” he asked.
nan came back from the clouds. “it isn’t for sale,” she answered. “but why do you want mine? haven’t you enough for yourself?”
“well, yes, but i’d like to hand yours over to some person who hasn’t any.”
“and leave me with none?”
“oh, but you have such a lot. you could spare half and then have more than the common run of mortals.”
“what makes you think so?”
[237]“you show it.”
“i am fond of music, you know.”
“i should say so; that’s why i can make this speak for you.” he patted his violin. “you enjoy lohengrin?”
“yes, i love it, though perhaps not more than other operas of wagner’s, only it was the first i ever heard of them, there in munich, and—oh, dear——”
she broke off with a sigh.
“what?”
“nothing, only there was such joy in being able to hear delicious music any time and all the time.”
“i want tremendously to hear you play. you will play for me some time, won’t you?”
nan trembled with delight. what did this not suggest? future meetings after this summer dream was over? “of course i will,” she responded, “if we should ever happen to be together where there is a piano.”
“oh, we shall be. you don’t suppose i shall let you all fade out of sight after all these good times together? you are in new york sometimes, aren’t you? i think i have heard you speak of having friends there.”
“we have some very dear friends, and we generally stop on our way up or down to see them. if you ever talked to mary lee you[238] would have been sure to hear her speak of miss dolores pinckney. she is mary lee’s idol and is to be married in the fall. we are to be her bridesmaids.”
“then you will be walking in to this.” he tucked his violin under his chin and began the bridal chorus. “i hope it will remind you of this special occasion,” he said as he paused. “you must say to yourself: the last time i heard that was when that renegade artist played it for me.”
“oh, but you are not a renegade, i hope.”
“i don’t know whether i am or not. what is a renegade anyhow?”
nan thought for a moment. “some one who is false to his cause, his principles, isn’t it?”
“that is about it, i should suppose. what are my principles, then, my cause?”
“your profession, for one thing.”
“i wonder if i am true to my art. i want to be. i am feeling the way as yet, however. when i get to the place where i am sure of what is true to me in art, i hope i shall stick to that. at present i seem to be in the fix of that fellow in the bible—who was it that asked what is truth?”
“pilate, i believe.”
the young man stood thoughtfully playing[239] little snatches on his violin, only a few notes of a motif or some simple melody. presently he broke into a wild hungarian dance. “let’s be gay, be gay,” he said. “we mustn’t spend time in moralizing. we must live, live. here we are, you and i, young and happy. the world is beautiful, the sky is blue. there is poetry everywhere. listen.” a few crashing chords closed the dance and he began softly to play the motif of the “waldweben” watching nan who leaned forward, her chin in her hand, her eyes fixed on the further shore. as the last notes of the bird song died away he lowered his violin. “well, brunhilde,” he said, “awaken!”
nan smiled. “i was there, in the woods. how did you know?”
“i guessed as much. you see i have been playing on your emotions and you look quite pale. have you had enough of my performance?”
“oh, no, only i am sure you have had, and i must go back.”
“oh, bother, what for? the day is still fairly young. stay and talk to me a while.”
nan hesitated. “i think we’d better go back. we can talk there.”
“where is everybody?”
“gone to davis’s store to buy materials for[240] housewives. each of us has sworn to have one always on hand since hartley’s accident.”
“good scheme. will you make me one?”
“i?” she hesitated. she had already promised one to dr. paul, but she must not let a chance to serve her lohengrin pass her by. “oh, yes,” she answered, “i’ll make you one, if you like.”
“i hope it isn’t a difficult task.”
“not very. we are going to do them on the first rainy day, but i don’t have to wait for that. i really think i should go back now; i promised mother i would not stay very long.”
“then i’ll go, too. we can use one canoe and tow the other one. i’ll hand you back safe and sound to your mother, and tell her you have been an inspiration.”
nan colored under this. “but i haven’t,” she protested.
“oh, yes, you have. any one who loves music as you do is a boon to one who enjoys it, too. do you love anything else as much?”
“no, not quite, although i do love pictures, and some poetry, some authors, too.”
“of course. you would, you know. i could see you loved pictures that first day in the studio, for you had a nice discriminating sense and criticized like a person who really knows what is what.”
[241]“oh, but did i criticize?” nan was quite overwhelmed at the idea of her daring.
“i don’t mean you found fault, but you said such things as showed you knew what you were talking about, and were not talking just for effect.”
“aunt helen taught me about pictures as we went through europe, and so i suppose that is why i have a little sense about them,” said nan modestly.
“ah, that is just it. because you have seen the best under a wise teacher you can tell. it is the same with poetry, isn’t it?”
“oh, yes, aunt helen has guided me there, too, though i always loved to pore over the old poets in my father’s library.”
mr. wells nodded with approving smiles. “i wonder why people nowadays are ashamed to confess to loving poetry. as to quoting it, almost any one will smile if you begin to do that, yet in the old days, not so very old ones either, it was quite an accomplishment. once in a while, in secluded spots, you will run across some old fellow who will quote moore and byron with his hand on his heart.”
“cousin martin boyd, down in virginia, still does that. he is a gentleman of the old school, and his gallantries are so funny, still i always thought them delightful.”
[242]“i’ve not a doubt but that they are, though i can easily see how he couldn’t help being gallant in the presence of certain persons.”
nan had no reply to make to this, and feeling very conscious, she turned to where the canoes were moored. on the way mr. wells stopped to gather a bunch of yellow buttercups. “these will just match your tie,” he said to her as he handed them over. “isn’t it strange that they should be blossoming in september?”
“i have noticed that the flowers don’t keep track of the season up here,” she answered, putting the buttercups in her belt with a resolve to treasure them and press them when the day was done.
“tell me about your home,” said mr. wells as they were gliding along over the lake, and nan described the old brown house, the rambling garden, the hillside where place o’ pines used to be, the ruined walls of uplands, the sunset tree where she had met her aunt helen, the mountain forests and all the rest of it. launched upon this theme she forgot to be conscious and her descriptions were vivid and picturesque.
mr. wells listened interestedly. “i think i’ll have to accept dr. paul’s invitation to go down there some day,” he said. “are you there all the time except in summer?”
[243]“no, we’ve been very little there of late years. aunt sarah keeps the house open, and we go between while, generally at christmas, and sometimes at easter. we were abroad for a year. last winter we were at school in washington, and this year i go to college.”
“oh, you do? and where?”
“to barnard, i think.” nan made the decision suddenly. was it not in new york?
“that’s good; then no doubt but i shall see you often. will all the family be there, too, in new york?”
“i am not sure what the others will do. mother and aunt helen hate to make so many changes in the schools and very likely i shall have my freshman year without them. then mary lee will come along, i hope, and later the twins.”
“but even if they are not there you can come and have tea at the studio. pinch and i have one together, you know, and his sister or some of our friends help at the tea-table.”
“that would be delightful.” nan spoke with less enthusiasm, the chill of a stranger presence touching her.
“you know you will need your friends to rally around you if you are to be there alone,” continued her companion.
“so long as our dear friends, the pinckneys,[244] are near at hand i shall not mind, and no doubt i can do very well anyhow, for we were one year at boarding school while mother and aunt helen were in europe. then, two of my old chums will be with me. jo keyes is one, you know.”
“and a mighty jolly little somebody she is. she must come with you to the studio. we must plan it all out before you leave camp.”
he turned his attention to steering the canoe, and in a short time they had reached the landing. the shoppers had not yet returned, and mr. wells decided to wait for dr. paul that he might not have to walk back to place o’ pines. nan with a demure wisdom, not usually shown by so young a girl, led the way to the porch where her aunt and mother sat, so there was no more opportunity for a tête-à-tête that day.
after a while the shopping party came back, a merry crowd, each carrying a bag of peanuts, and laden with other purchases. they all made a great display of their dry-goods, pretending to squabble over the assumed preëminence of one purchase above another.
“i am sure you will say mine is the very prettiest,” contended dr. paul unrolling a gay piece of cretonne.
“it’s entirely too ornate,” hartley spoke up. “just look at those colors, miss nan. now[245] this subdued gray is in much better taste and is more suitable. i leave it to our artist friend, there.”
“it isn’t to be compared with my reliable old blue,” declared ran, producing his length of linen. “i consider i have made the hit of the season. just look at the quality, nan.”
nan laughingly examined first one then another, but was wise enough not to commit herself to any preference. “did you think of getting flannel for the leaves?” she asked mary lee.
“yes, and ribbon to tie up the things, elastic for the pockets, assorted needles, thread, black and white, and a spool of silk. dr. paul, show nan your stores. he even has two celluloid thimbles; the one for himself is bright red.”
“so easy to find,” explained the doctor. “see how well it fits.” he stuck it on his finger.
“ugh!” exclaimed hartley, “don’t do that. it reminds me of my late accident.”
“yours is blue,” the doctor told nan. “i hope it fits as well as mine does. try it on.”
nan obeyed and announced that it would do very well.
“i believe we bought out the entire stock of thimbles,” said jo. “nan, it was as good as a show to see mr. and mrs. davis. i don’t believe they ever had seen such a crowd of customers at one time in the store. mr. davis[246] was like a pea on a hot griddle, and once or twice looked so wild i thought he would take to flight, but his wife always came to the rescue with ‘they’re on the top shelf, al,’ or, ‘i’ll git ’em, jest you keep still.’”
nan laughed. jo’s imitation of the vernacular was perfect.
“when are you going to make my housewife?” asked the doctor.
nan gave a swift glance at mr. wells. “the first rainy day,” she answered, though she resolved that there should be moments in between when she would secretly find time for the other one. this she decided should be of fair white linen like her dress, and she would embroider yellow buttercups upon it. it should be tied with yellow ribbons and the little leaves for the needles should be worked around with yellow silk. what a joy it would be to make it. she could steal off to the woods to do the work and it would be a charming task.
the visitors did not stay to supper, for there was no moon to guide them on their way and mr. wells had brought no lantern, but they lingered till the last moment, and as the artist bade nan good-bye he gave her hand a slight pressure. “you won’t forget,” he said softly.
how could she forget anything of that wonderful afternoon when the gods had arrived?
