Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 February 1900 — AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.

BY WILLIAM BLACK.

CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued.) “Oh, it isn’t advice—not for worlds would I give her advice about such a thing,” says this small creature, in entirely evident distress. “It’s the responsibility of having brought them together. With Mr. Duncombe that would have been entirely different. 1 was safe there, whatever happened. And that’s the only thing to be done now.” “What is the only thing to be done?” “Why, to beg Mr. Duncombe to come back to us, and at once! 1 never was quite positively certain why he went away; but it was merely through some little quarrel or misunderstanding, 1 dare ■ay they would be inclined now to regret it. In any case, his presence would make a great difference; if she has any sense at all, she would naturally turn to the younger man. with all his advantages.” “And what’s to be done with the colonel?” “I suppose he will go back to Aidershot,” she says, wistfully. “I am sorry—but—but anything rather than this. And even if he stays, Mr. Duncombe’s being with us will make all the difference in the world.” The counsels of the night only increased her fears; and by next morning she had quite convinced herself that, unless some immediate measures were taken, Mfiss Peggy would persist in her folly, and end by marrying a beggar. “She is simply at her tricks again —she can’t help it,” one says to this anxiouseyed mule of a creature. “And as for Cameron, of course he likes to have a pretty girl to talk to; what soldier doesn’t?” “It isn’t tricks at all.” she says. “1 know quite well when Peggy is merely playing pranks—l’ve seen her at it too often. But this is entirely different; her imagination seems to have been taken captive; you can sea that in the interest she displays about the smallest matter connected with Scotland, or the Highland people, or the Highland regiments, for the matter of that; and then, she’is obedient and submissive; she isn’t pretending to be a very proper young lady —with a wink at .you when she gets the chance; it is real this time, or else I am mistaken, and I hope I am.” “Why, how long is it since he first set eyes on her!” one says, by way of protest’ against this ridiculous fancy. “Oh, that is nothing,” she answers. “A single day of this companionship is worth a whole London season.” “But, even if it were true, where would be the harm?” one naturally asks. “Cameron is very far from being penniless.” “He is five-and forty, if he is a day!” she exclaims. “How often must I point out to you that at' five-and-forty a man is' just at the prime of his manhood—the very prime of his physical and intellectual strength?” “Of course you say that,” she retorts, “But ten years ago you said the same of five-and-thirty.” “And haven’t I ten years’ more wisdom to add to my judgment? I tell you now’ it is five-and-forty. And I say that Ewen Cameron is in his prime. Mind you, he can make a poor thing of some of the young fellows when they are out on the hill.” These details do not seem to interest this preoccupied person. “If they had ever met before, at some one vise's house,” she said, absently. “But it will look as if we had expressly asked him to join our party, to—to bring this übout. And how could we have dreamed of such a thing? Peggy knows as well as anyone else what her people expect of her; she has almost told me as much.” “Well,*now, you see the results of cherishing historical prejudices and partisanships," one points out to her. “I suppose you think it a joke?” she demands, indignantly. “I do.” “Well, it is not. You don’t know Peggy as I know her. The only thing is, it can’t have gone very far; and I dare say. if we could get Mr. Duncombe to come back to the boat, she would return to her senses. For she has common sense; she is a remarkubly shrewd young woman. And then, seeing the two of them together, how could she help contrasting them? Now. will you write to Mr. Duncombe?” “If you like.” “Will you telegraph ?" “If you like.” "Supposing he enn get away, there are plenty of towns where he could join us. Tewkesbury ” “Not Tewkesbury—we shall be there to-day.” “Gloucester, then. Yon know,” she added, eagerly, “how anxious he was-to go down that open part, of the Severn with us, to see how the boat would answer. He is sure to come along if you urge Uni.”

CHAPTER XII. Now. when all were together again in the coffee room of this Worcester hotel, one naturally now again glanced at Miss Peggy to gather from her demeauor toward Col. Cameron whether there were any grounds for Queen Tita’s suspicions. But nothing of the sort was visible. She was in an unusually merry mood. We had a busy morning before us; for, of course, we could not set about such a serious undertaking as the navigation of the Severn without having the ship fully provisioned and equipped for all emergencies. And what did this giddy-headed schoolgirl know about paraffine oil, can-, dies, soda water, two-shilling novels, fresh vegetables, preserved fruits, pigeon pies, towing ropes, statftmery, telegram forms and a hundred other things that had to be thoughtrsof? We hade her go about l.er business and bother us no more. And then Col. Cameron remarked that he thought of walking along to seek out some spot from which he could get a better notion of the disposition of Cromwell's and Fleetword’s forces before

the battle of Worcester, she turned to him, and asked him if he was likely to be passing by the cathedral, for that she would like to see again a rose-red hawthorn tree that she had remarked on the previous day, and that she thought was the most beautiful thing that she had met with in England. Of equine, he instantly offered to escort her, and these two went away, It was not, however, until past midday that the four of us. idly lounging about and waiting by the banks of the Severn — at the spot where the canal debouches into the river—beheld that long white Noah’s Ark of a thing slowly approaching. When she came into the last lock we got on board, -and, having seen that the additional towing line was attached, and the longest poles ready, we awaited the opening of the great gates. A pleasanter day for our entrance into the Severn we could not have demanded. There was a soft southerly wind blowing up stream, ruffling the wide yellow waters and stirring the folia®, of the high-wood-ed bank; on the other shore the flat gold-en-green meadows were glowing in the sunlight; and far beyond them, and beyond some darker lines of elms, the pale blue Malvern hills rose into the shining silvery sky. A brisk and breezy day, sufficiently warm and sufficiently cool, altogether an auspicious setting forth. A most beautiful river the Severn is: and on this mellow afternoon the wind had mostly died away; so that the high, red banks, all hanging in foliage, were faithfully mirrored on the smooth surface of the stream, save where some chance puff would come along, breaking the oil russets and olive greens with a keen shaft of blue, the color of the overhead sky. Subjects for a water-color painter formed themselves at every turn and winding; and, at last, when we came in sight of the square gray tower of Tewksbury Abbey, just visible above the trees, and the ruddy houses of the town appearing here and there beyond the warm, green meadows, the tower houses and meadows and trees all aglow in the light streaming over from the w’estern skies. We began to think that too much had Avon and Thames and Kennet' occupied our artists, and that some of them whom we knew and could name might do worse than pilch their tents more frequently just a little further west. At dinner that evening we refrained from lighting the lamps, the twilight without being so singularly beautiful. Now, all this time Queen Tita had said not a word about the possible coming of Jack Duncombe; perhaps she feared that the mere suggestion might be construed by Col. Cameron into a hint that he should vacate his berth. That was not so, as it happened; nevertheless, his offer to quit was sufficiently prompt. “Ob, Peggy,” said she, that’ night after dinner, in an off-hand kind of fashion, “would you be surprised to find an old friend coming to join us at Gloucester?” Miss Peggy glanced up in rather a frightened fashion, for Col. Cameron was also sitting out there in the warm, still night, contentedly smoking his cigar. Queen Tita caught sight of that quick look— the glow from the open door of the saloon falling full on the girl’s face. “No,” said she, gravely, “it isn’t Mr. A’Becket. It is strange we have heard nothing of him.” “Oh, well, I thought’he might have some more information to send you,” her hostess remarked, in a general kind of way. "I don’t think we study the guide books as closely as we ought. However, it isn't Mr. A’Becket. It’s Mr. Duncombe.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Miss Peggy. “That will be very nice.” “I am not sure he is coming,” she continued, “but we have telegraphed to him; and you know how anxious he was to see how the boat would answer in going down the Severn. So l shouldn’t be surprised to find him turning up at Gloucester.” “In that case,” said Col. Cameron, with perfect good humor, “I must clear out. I shall hate him heartily. I know, but still I’ve had my turn ” “Oh, no, no, not at all,” Queen Tita said at once, and most anxiously. “Surely, if this caravansary of a thing has any recommendation it ought to be able to take in another passenger, and easily. Why should not one of you gentlemen sleep in the saloon? Murdoch can make up an extra bed. he has often had to do that for us on other boats; and all that is necessary will be for you to choose among yourselves which is the earliest riser. What can be simpler than that?" “And then his being on board would come in so well just now,” said Miss Peggy, with demure eyes. “There would be Capt. Columbus, Murdoch, Mr. Duncombe, Col. Cameron, yon two, myself—yes, that would just be right—he could take our motto, ‘We are Severn.’ ”

•’Peggy,” said Mrs. Threepenny-bit, severely, “this is business; I won’t be interrupted by your irresjMjnsible frivolity. Well, now, supposing Mr. Duncombe should be able to join us. he is the newcomer, and should take his chance." “But I have had my turn of the cabin," Col. Cameron remonstrated, “and 1 assure you I shall be most comfortable in the saloon. I should call the whole arrangement the height of luxury.” “But your things are all in your cabin, and why should they be disturbed, Sir Ewen?” said she. “Just as you please,” said he, “though I don’t know that it is wholesome training for a soldier to find himself fixed in such comfortable quarters. However, you must promise me one thing—that the moment you find me in the way you will tell “me.” “Oh, yes, I will tell you," said she, with a little laugh. When .this small community was entirely and snugly shut in from the dark and silent world without, there was a vagne hint ventured about a game of whist or something of that sort. “We should have to clear all those things off the table," said Mrs. Three-penny-bit, regretfully, “and they are so handy. Peggy, why don't you bring out your banjo? What has made you so lazy? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” The fact-wits. Miss Peggy had hardly ever touched her banjo since Col. Cameron came on board. Why, we hardly

knew. Bnt somehow she had always •eemed disinclined to open that leather case since Sir Ewen Cameron Joined us. And so she was on this occasion. “It is so delightfully quiet here,” she said, “it is a shame to spoil it by that strumming.” . “I am quite sure Col. Cameron has never heard you sing ‘Nelly Gray.’” Queen Tita suggested, insidiously. “And I should very much like to hear it,” said he. With that she obediently went and got the banjo, and resumed her place on the couch; then, with a few rippling notes of prelude, she began to sing: "There's a low, green valley on the old Kentucky shore, Where I’ve whiled many happy hours away.” And very well she sung, too, if hardly with the confidence she usually displayed. And when she had finished, and when Queen Tita was begging her to sing "The Little Old Cabin in the Lane,” Col. Cameron said: "Well, Miss Rosslyn, when I have the pleasure of receiving you two ladies in the North—when old Duncan, that is, my factotum up there, gets yqur things out of the dogcart, I shall be enormously disappointed if I don’t see that yellow leather case among them.” She looked up suddenly. “A banjo at Inverfask!” she exclaimed, in a kind of awe-stricken way, as though the incongruity was quite startling to her. “Why not?” said he, simply. And surely stranger things than that have happened in this odd mixture Of a world.

CHAPTER XIII. “Do you know what true wisdom is?” “No.” “Would you like to be told?” “Yes.” “Then I will tell you,” says this most amiable and obliging philosopher. “I will tell you,” she says, blandly. “True wisdom consists in recollecting how well off you are. It sounds simple, doesn’t it? Yet people never do it. It’s only their miseries they pay any heed to. The toothache, or an overcharged bill, or an illfitting dress will vex them beyond anything; but when they don’t have these worries or any other, they forget to be grateful. They don’t realize their good fortune. They don't reflect how gle.d they ought to be that at the present moment there isn’t a bit of dust in their eye, and that their boots aren’t pinching their toes. You know not what the physiologists say, that when you are not consicous of having any body at all, when you don’t seem to be aware that you have got a head or a hand or a foot, then everything is going well, and you are in perfect health; you know that?” "I’ve heard something of the kind.” “But people in that happy condition never think of congratulating themselves,” she says. "They take it all as a matter of course; they forget how lucky they are. When they have rheumatism, they make a mighty fuss, but when they haven’t it, they don’t recollect that it’s a very nice thing to be able to walk, or move your arms, just as you please. Now, that is true wisdom, to remember how well off you are, and how many ailments you might have, and haven’t, and to be very grateful and thankful and contented. “Yes. Miss Marcus Aurelius, that is all very well, for you,” one says to her. "You ought to be content, certainly. Look at your position. You are young, you are passably good looking ” “I thank you,” she says, in her cool American way. “—You have excellent health and spirits, you have an abundance of friends and well-wishers, you have nothing in the world to do but look pretty and please people. It would be a singular thing if you were not content. What more would you like? Would you like to be an angel?” “Ah. I see I can’t make you understand,” she says. “It isn’t at all peing merely content; you should make yourself happy by thinking of the various anxieties and ailments and distresses that you have suffered from or might suffer, and that you are now free from; it ifa’t content, it is congratulation. Say,” she continues, in her usual inconsequent fashion, “why is your wife so anxious that Mr. Duncombe should come back to the boat?” She puts this question In an unconcerned manner, and with downcast eyes; in fact, she is now pretending to sketch, on the printed fly-leaf of a novel, some simulacrum of a withered tree on the other side of the stream. (To be continued.)