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Show A Game of Croquet. By H. V. Hastings. A warm, lazy July sun, a rippling breeze blowing up from the Hudson, a cool veranda shaded by honeysuckles, a hammock, a novel and a pipe all combined to coax Guy Wallace out of his mother's sitting room and into the air. So darkly, deeply beautifully-blue was the water, so hazily soft the outlines of the Catskill Mountains, so sweet the fresh air to his city-worn brain that he smoked, read and dozed till the sun began to creep down toward the west, tinging [tingeing] the hills with purple, flooding the water with rose-even touching the floating glories of Guy's mustache and converting the gold into flame. He looked very handsome, as he lay there tumbled on a pile of sofa-cushion, with big yellow curls all rumpled, and his eyebrows rubbed the wrong way; his white duck-clad limbs swinging over the side, and the points of his slippers now and then touching the floor. He was hatless, coatless, vestless-all ? ? being ? ? a ? ? ?, not even a colored necktie relieved the virgin whiteness of his attire-only a blue-and-white fancy belt, and the green slippers aforesaid, rather old and rusty. No one came near him except his young stepmother, and she was too busy with visitors all the afternoon to spare him more that a very brief interval between the calls. So he read and smoked till just as "low on the sand, and loud on the stone, the last wheel echoed away." Then he closed the book, and looked out through the sheltering vines, across the lawn, to the next place; for behind it he had caught the flash of a white dress. Said gate flew open, and a young girl came toward the house, flushed and out of breath with running, laughing, yet casting startled glances behind her; and not in the least heeding Guy's terrier, that came yapping and snapping after her. She looked very pretty, scudding along, holding up the front of her dress, and her little Marie Antionette slippers keeping up brisk trot under its edge. She rounded the corner of the house and Guy heard the "click clack" of her heels as she went springing up the front steps, and another "click! Clack!" as she burst open the sitting-room door, and appeared before his mother. "Why, Mollie! What's the matter?" exclaims Mrs. Wallace, surprised at the sudden onslaught. The girl sinks into a chair, laughing. "Oh Mrs. Wallace! Ha, ha, ha! Can I stay here a little while?" "Why of course, my dear. But what in the world's the matter? Is the house on fire?" "Oh, no-there's nothing the matter! Only I-well, I-there's somebody home I don't want to see, and so I ran away!"-bringing it all out with a sudden bolt. "Oh, that's it, is it?" "Yes. You see, I saw him coming from ever so far off-so far, I couldn't tell him from his darky, but I didn't think he was coming to see us. And when I saw him drive in the gate, I jumped out the back window and ran over here." And Mollie Averill subsides into a "sleepy hollow" chair, suffocated with giggles. Mrs. Wallace is a good-natured, buxom young matron, and she laughs, too. "Why, you foolish girl? If your foot had slipped, you might have tumbled out and broken your neck." "Oh, no; it's very near the ground!" "Why didn't you go down and see him?" "Oh, I couldn't!" replies Mollie, in an awe-stricken whisper. "He's perfectly horrid! I told mamma I never would see him again-that I'd certainly run away! And he'd no business to come, either! She adds, with a sudden flash of baby-wrath. "I told him never to come again!" Mrs. Wallace laughs merrily, and the unseen Guy pricks up his ears and inches his head a little more toward the adjacent window. He no longer allows his slipper to scrape idly along the floor; even his breath is noiseless, and a mischievous smile creeps down from his eyes to his mouth. "You told him not to come again? Ah! We all know what that means." "Yes, I suppose you do." Says the girl, with a penitent sigh. "I didn't mean to have told you but I couldn't help it; and anyhow, I don't mind you. Ah, oh, Mrs. Wallace he's bothered me so, and I was afraid he'd do it again!" "Of course, you don't mind me, Mollie!" remarks a rich tenor from outside the window. "Both ladies shriek, and Miss Averill flies to the piazza, but only catches sight of a white streak vanishing round the corner. "Now, that was too bad of Guy!" exclaimed Mrs. Wallace, following her friend. "I'd no idea he was there-I thought he'd gone to his room." "Was it really Guy?" asks Millie with her cheeks all aflame and her baby mouth pouting, almost ready to cry. "I didn't know he was at home." "Of course you didn't. The wretched boy's stepmother sinks into the hammock and shakes. "Don't laugh-it's dreadfull [dreadful]. What shall I do? - burying her mortified face in her hands. "Why, you can't do anything. Ha, ha, ha! I beg your pardon, but I can't help it." "It's too bad of you. I'll go right home!" "Oh, no - don't! And, besides, you can't. That man's there still." "So he is" - dropping her hands in despair. "Good afternoon, ladies," says Guy, stepping out of the sitting room, neat and complete in white coat and blue necktie. Millie bows and stammer, but Mrs. Wallace tries to look severe. "I'm very much displeased with you, Guy," she says, pulling down her pretty mouth. A tortoise-shell kitten comes rubbing and scrubbing against Guy's legs, and he pounces on her at once. "Now, mamma, don't you scold, or I'll dunk Buffer in the cistern," and he holds Buffer, kicking scrabbling, over the water-butt at the corner of the piazza. "But, Guy__" "Another word, and I let go" Buffer is rescued by a simultaneous charge from both ladies, who, on condition of her release, promise to "say no more about it." So peace is restored, and the culprit proposes a game of croquet. All adjourn to the lawn, where the field is laid out, partly screened from the house by a line of evergreens and shrubbery, and shaded by two great elm-trees and a rock-maple. A clump of cardinal flowers nod their scarlet heads in the breeze, and the dim outline of the Catskills-far, far away-make a background for Mollie's pretty figure. Guy picks up the mallets from the grass, where they lie scattered, and hands them to the ladies, who merrily join in the interesting game. "There, Mollie, there's the white for you-stands for youth and innocence, you know. And there mamma, there's the red for you-becoming to your brunette beauty." "How often have I told you, you scamp? Not to call me "momma"? It's too absurd?" "Well, then, my dear child, will you ? "Guy---" "What's the noise?" interrupts Millie. "Carriage-wheels. I declare!" exclaims Mrs. Wallace in disgust. "I was in hopes no one else would call today. Upon my word, what with hearing it's a ?? day, and being bored about Miss Carlin's elopement, and being canvassed for contributions to the fair, my brain is almost addled! Do come and help me, Mollie." "Oh, I can't!" breathes Mollie, fearfully peeping at the carriage from behind a tall lilac bush. "It's his mother and sister, and I can't bear them!-they're almost as horrid as he is!" "Oh! it's Phil Sadler, is it?" cries Guy. Mollie colors furiously and turns away. "You're very mean!-I shall go right home" "You can't" teasingly; "he's there still. Don't you see his nig trotting the horses up and down?" "No; you stay here, Mollie, and play with Guy till I come back. They won't stay long. I'll soon send ‘em flying!" Mrs. Wallace shakes a pretty fist at the carriage, and departs to kiss and be kissed, after the fashion of ladies in the same "set." "You first Mollie," says her adversary; and while the balls go skimming round the field after each other, he adds a straw or two to her burden. "You know, Mollie, if it's Phil Sadler, you might as well give up at once." Miss Averill has sent her ball sliding through the center wicket, and now fires at his and misses it; then she looks up, troubled and surprised. "What do you mean?" Guy hits her ball, and starts on a long run. "Why, you see, Mollie-take care, you are right in the way of my wicket!-he's one of those fellows-that was a scratch!-one of those fellows who when they've made up their minds to a thing, never give it up. There, I'm through! He'll certainly get you in the end, Mollie; it's only a question of time. Mollie stands leaning on her mallet, with her pretty brown eyebrows all in a pucker. "Why, he can't Guy. You know he can't!" "Oh, but he will! You might as well do as the ‘coon did to the Kentucky sharp shooter and say, "Don't shoot Captain Scott; I'll come down! It's your turn, now." "I won't!" says Millie, viciously, croqueting his ball the other end of the lawn. "I won't have him anyway! I'll go off somewhere, where he can't find me!" "Guy brings his ball into position with one rap. "You can't. In these days of detectives anybody can be found: and you know a man of his means can employ the whole force; if he likes." Miss Averill plays, and then stands gulping, while her brown eyes fill with tears. "But what can I do?" she asks, piteously. Guy starts on another long run, "There's only one thing I can think of. There, I said so; there's your father bringing Phil over to find you!" "Oh, dear! I must run out the front gate!" "You can't; if you stir from behind those bushes they'll be down on you. There's no way out of it, except to marry some other fellow!" The girl colors painfully. "Guy, don't be absurd! Of course I can't do that. Oh, dear they'll be here in a minute!" "Stay behind these bushes and talk low, and they won't hear us. Ah!-why can't you do that, Mollie? Click! Click! goes the garden gate and Miss Averill peeps apprehensively between the leaves. "Why, of course I can't! I wouldn't like to. And then besides that, I don't know anybody who'd like to, either," says she thinking more of the "oncoming man" than the one beside her. "Well, I'll tell you what," says her companion, airily; "suppose you marry me?" She flashes round at him a look of surprise and fright from her wide brown eyes and he is about to flee; but his tone suddenly changes, and he holds fast her plump little hand. "Don't run Mollie," he whispers, "you'll go right into Phil's arms if you do. No, don't go the other way either-there's Mrs. Sadler just coming out on the piazza." "Let me go, Guy! She gasps. I must go-somewhere!" "No, don't go Mollie," and the arm slips around her waist. "If you'll take me, my darling, nobody shall ever trouble you again, if I can help it." She struggles a little, but dares not make a noise for the footsteps are very near, and the black-and-tan is yapping again. "Please let me go." "Won't you love me a little, my darling?" The laughing voice has become very serious: the blue eyes look down tenderly into the brown and the arm holds her very tight. All of a sudden Mollie knows she doesn't care to have him take it away; and just as a course voice on the other side the lilacs burst into laughter, she stammers and whispers: "I'll try, if you'll never let him bother me again." "Never again, my darling." And a she looks up to see whether he is laughing at her, the compact is sealed on her sweet baby-mouth, and Mollie's quandary is at and end. |