Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 January 1900 — AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD

BY WILLIAM BLACK.

CHAPTER HI (CintinUed) It i« gratifying to be able to state that during the whole of this evening the conduct of Miss Kosslyn was quite beyond reproach. Young Duncombe was in rather an eager and talkative mood perhaps from the cons<‘iotisness that he was entertaining those people; and she paid him the moat scrupulous and courteous attention. Whether he was in jest or in earnest. she listened; and he had adopted a kind of don't-you-think-so attitude toward her, and often her eyes smiled assent and approval even when she did not •peak. One could see that Queen Tita occasionally threw a glance toward the girl that seenuni to savor of sarcasm, hut women are like that, and are not to be heeded. Now, when we left this snug hostelry to return to our “Nameless Barge.” the two women led the way, and they had their arms interlinked and were engaged in conversation. What that conversation was we were not )H»rmitted to overbear; but on reaching the boat which waa alt lighted up, by the way. and in the darkness looked something like one of those illumined toy churches, with colored windows, that Italians used to sell in the streets it was found that Miss Peggy was pretending to )>e very much annoyed with her friend. She wore an injured air. When Murdoch had got out the gangboard and we were all in the saloon again, Mrs. Threepenriysfeit went •nd took down the banjo. “Come, now. Peggy, don’t be vexed. When I talk to you, it’s for your good. Come along, now, and we’ll have 'Carry me back to old Virginny’ as a kind of general good-night.” “Oh, no,” says Miss Peggy, “I’m afraid Mr. Duncombe would think it stupid, for no one knows the words.” Miss Peggy reaches over and takes the instrument that is handed to her. “No,” she says, “but I’ll try an English ballad I heard a little while ago I don’t know whether 1 can manage it with this thing.” She struck the strings, and almost directly we recognized the prelude of one of the quaintest and prettiest of the old ballad airs. And then Miss Peggy sang: “Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a maid sing in the valley below: *O, don’t deceive me! Oh, never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?’ ” And therewithal she looked across the table at Queen Tita, with eyes that s)*oke of injury and reproach, as clearly as the mischief in them would ajlow.

CHAPTER IV. All this world of young summer foliage was thirsting for rain; you could have lniagin<-d that the pendulous leaves of the lime-trees, hardly moving in the light air of the morning, were whispering among themselves, and listening for the first soft patterings of the longed for shower. They were likely to get it, too. The swifts •nd swallows were Hying low over the river, the sky was a uniform pale white, without any definite trace of cloud; there was a feeling of moisture in the faint•tirring wind. It was when we werw passing Holme Park that it began a fewtouches on hand or cheek, almost imperceptible, then heavier drops striking on the glassy surface of the stream, each with its little bell of air ami widening circle around it. The four of us were now together in the stern—Murdoch being engaged in the pantry. On this occaaion Jack Duncombe was entertaining us with a lively account of- certain gayeti«s and festivities that had taken place just before he Left town. Incidentally, lie mentioned the banjo crgze, and made merry over the number of people, among his own acquaintance, who. with a light tieart, had set about learning to play, •nd who had suddenly been brought up •bort, through want of ear or some other cause. “I had a try myself.” he said, modest ly; “but 1 soon got to the end of ;ny tether.” “But you play a little?" said Miss Peggy. “Oh, yes, a little -in a mechanical sort of way. It isn’t everybody has the extraordinary lightness of touch that you have." “I am not a player at all.” she said. “I •m only a strummer. Anyhow, my. banjo wants a thorough tuning some time or other, and 1 should be so much obliged t» you if you would help me; if you would •crew up the pegs while I tune the strings; it is much easier so.” “Not in the rain.” he protested; for a much less ready-witted young man than lie could not have failed to perceive the chance before him. “No; we will go into the saloon, and have a thorough overhauling of the strings. It will be a capital way of passing the time, for I don't •ee much prospect of the weather clearing at present ”

She was quite obedient., She rose, and ■hook the rain drops from her sleeves ■nd skirts, and passed through the door that he had courteously opened for her, he immediately following. When they had thus disappeared, Queen Tita was left alone with the steersman. "That young man had better take care,” she remarked, significantly. “Why, what have you to say against her now? Did you ever see anybody behave better—more simply and frankly •nd straightforwardly?” “If you only knew, it was when Peggy is best behaved that she is most dangerous,” was the dark answer. “She doesn't Uke ail that trouble for nothing, you may be sure.” < “You are always inventing spiteful things about women.” “Perhaps yon ean tell me how long it takes to tune up a banjo?”. They certainly were an unconscionable time about it. The rain had almost ceased: different lights were appearing in

the sky—warm grays that had a cheerful look about them; and the birds had resumed their singing, filling all the air with a harmonious music. We crossed the mouth of the River Rennet, thus beginning the long loop which we hoped to complete by means of the Thames, Severn. Avon and Rennet, with the intermediate canals, until we should return to this very spot. Nearing Parley, the towpath twice crosses the river; and now Jack Duncombe appears at the bow, and gets hold of the long pole, while Miss Rosslyn conies along and joins her friends aft. “I had no idea it had left off raining,” she observes, innocently. “I hope you got the banjo properly tuned?” one of us says to her. "Oh, yes; it is much better now,” she answers pleasantly, and with an artless air. “But Mr. Duncombe was too modest. He can play very fairly indeed. He played two or three things just to try the banjo, and I was quite surprised.” “Oh, you can give him some lessons, Peggy,” her friend says; but the young lady won’t look her way; and the sarcasm if any was intended is lost. We moored at Wallingford that night; and by the time that dinner was ready it’ was dusk enough to have the lamps and candles lighted. And perhaps, as we sat iu this little room and observed our young dramatist's feeble efforts to guess at what dishes were the handiwork of the amateur cooks the place looked all the more snug that the pattering of the rain on the roof was continually audible. Dinner over, the two women-folk retired to the upper end of the saloon, next to the big window; and Mrs. Threepen-ny-bit took down the banjo and, without a word, blinded it to Miss Peggy. “Ah, I know what will fetch you,” the girl said, with a not unkindly smile. She struck a few low notes of introduction, and theh began: "Once in the d<>ar dead days beyond recall.” It was an air that suited hercontralto voice admirably, and when she came to the refrain—" Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low” she .sang that with a very pretty pathos indeed; insomuch that when she had ended Queen Tita did not thank her with any speech, but she put her hand within the girl’s arm instead and let it remain there. With her disengaged arm Miss Peggy held out the banjo. "You now,” she said to Mr. Dmftombe. in her frank way. lie took the banjo from her, of courses? "Oh, 1 can't sing,” he said; "but I’ll try to give you some idea of a rather quaint little ballad that most people know of. though very few have heard the whole of it, 1 imagine." Then he sang, with good expression, if with no great voice: “It's I was a walking one morning in May To hear rhe birds singing and see lambkins play, I espied a young damsel, so sweetly sung she, Down by the Green Bushes where she chanced to meet me.” “Remember,” Said he, “the words were written down from memory, and I may have got them all wrong.” Then he went on: “ ‘Oh, why sire you loitering here, pretty ma id ?' ‘l’m waiting for my true love,’ softly she said; ‘Shall I be your true love, and will you agree To leave the Green Bushes and follow with me? “ ‘l'll buy you the beavers and fine silken gowns, I'll give you smart petticoats flounced to the ground. I'll buy you fine jewels, and live but for thee. If you'll leave your own true love and follow with me.’ ” “The flounced petticoats make me think the ballad must be old.” said the troubadour; and he continued: “ ’Oh, I want not your beavers, nor your silks, nor your hose, For I'm not »o poor as to marry for clothes; But if you'll prove constant and true unto me. Why, I'll leave the Green Bushes and follow with thee. “ 'Come, let us be going, kind sir, if you please. Ob, let us be going from under these trees, For yonder is coming my true love, I see. Down by the Green Bushes where he was to meet me.’ “And it's when he came there and found she was gone. He was nigh heart-broken, and cried out forlorn: ‘She has gone with another and forsaken me. And left the Green Bushes where she used to meet me.' ” “Well, now, I call that just delightful!” Miss Peggy cried, at once. “Why, I haven’t heard anything so quaint and pretty for many a day! Just delightful, I call it. Mr. Duncombe, it is always a shame to steal people's songs, and especially this one, that is in a kind of way. your own property; but, really, I should like to take it back home with me. Would you mind singing it over to me some other time? ,gl think 1 could remember it.” “But I will copy it out for you,” he said, instantly. “It would be too much trouble,” she rather faint-heartedly suggested. “It would give me a great de.al of pleasure to copy it out for you.” said he. quite earnestly, and she thanked him with her eyes cast down. We had some further playing and singing (but no “Virginny;? oh,-no; she was too well behaved; the time was not yet). And by-and-by the hour arrived, for our retiring to our several bunks. CHAPTER V. It rained the next morning, but the afternoon was clearing, though there was still an April look about the banked-up clouds, with their breadths of bronze or saffron-hued lights here and there. We had had some thoughts of pushing on t«

Oxford that evening; but as rain began to fall again, and as we wished Miss Peggy’s first impressions of the famous university town to be favorable, we resolved upon passing the night at Abingdon. Indeed, we were all of us glad to get in out of the wet; and when waterproofs had been removed, and candles lighted, the blinds drawn, and Murdoch’s ml. strations placed on the table, it did not much matter to us what part of England happened to be lying alongside our gunwale. We had no music this evening, for every one was busy in getting his or her things ready for going ashore on the following morning. Alas! for our fond desire that Miss Peggy should approach Oxford under favorable influences of weather. All that night it rained hard; in the morning it was raining hard; when we left Abingdon .it was pouring in torrents.

Well, we may get a better day before we leave Oxford. We are not likely to encounter a worse. The rain keeps pegging away, in a steady, unmistakable, business-like fashion, as we draw nearer to those half-hidden spires among the trees. The river is quite deserted; there is not a single boat out on the swollen and rushing stream. And so we get on to Salters rafts, and secure our moorings there; while Jack Duncombe good-nat-uredly volunteers to remain behind and settle up with Palinurus, and see our luggage forwarded to the hotel. In a few- minutes three of us are in a cab, and driving through the wan,-cold, dripping black-gray thoroughfares. And it is little that the grave and learned seniors of those halls and colleges suspect that a ceriain Miss Peggy has arrived in Oxford town.

Now, whether it was that the gay morning that had raised Miss Peggy’s spirits, and thereby in a measure softened her heart, or whether it was that she was bent on a little willful mischief after having played Miss Propriety during these past few days, she was now showing herself a good deal kinder to Jack Duncombe, and he was proportionately grateful, as he went with the women from shop to shop and carried their parcels for them.

We went to the Canal Company's office to get our permit, and then walked along to the first lock—a little toy box kind of basin it looked; and there we loitered about for awhile in expectation of the "Nameless Barge” making its appearance. Time passed, and there was no sign. Of course it waa all very well for those young people to be placidly content with this delay, and to heed nothing so long as they could stroll up and down in the sunlight and the blowing winds — her eyes from time to time showing that he was doing his best to amuse her; but more serious people, who had been reading the morning papers of the hurricanes and inundations that had recently prevailed over the whole country, and whose last glimpse of the Isis was a yellowcolored stream rushing like a mill race, to be anxious. Accordingly it was proposed, and unanimously agreed, that we should make our way back along the river bank, to gain some tidings. When, at length we came in sight of our gallant craft and her composite crew, we found that Captain Columbus was making preparations for getting her under a bridge, aud also that about half the population of Oxford had come out to see the performance. When we looked at the low arch, and at the headstrong current, it was with no feelings of satisfaction; nevertheless we all embarked, to see what, was about to happen, and Murdoch took the tiller, while the towrope was passed to the Horse-Marine. Now, we should have run no serious risk but for this circumstance: half of the bridge had recently fallen down, and the authorities, instead of rebuilding it, had contented themselves with blocking up the roadway. Accordingly, when, as we had almost expected, the “Nameless Barge” got caught under the arch, we found the masonry just above our heads displaying a series of very alarming cracks; and the question was as to which of those big blocks, loosened by the friction of the boat, would come crushing dawn upon us. However, the worst that befell us was that we got our eyes filled with dust and our hands half flayed with the gritty stone, and eventually we were dragged through, and towed to a place of seclusion. And that was but the beginning of our new experiences; for when—Columbus and the Horse-Marine having reappeared —we went on to the first lock of the canal, we found the toy basin so narrow that we had to detach our fenders before we could enter. Then came another bridge that had almost barred our way by reason of the lowness of the arch. And that again was as nothing to the succeeding bridges we encountered as we got into the open country. Nevertheless, we managed to get on somehow, and these recurrent delays and difficulties only served to give variety and incident to our patient progress. (To be continued.)