Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 March 1900 — AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.

BY WILLIAM BLACK.

CHAPTER XIX. “The top ot the morning to yonr* says Kin Peggy, coming marching into the coffee room, and twirling her bonnet by the strings. There is a gay audacity in her face, and health and youth and high spirits are in her shining eyes. "The same to yon and many of them,” one answers, humbly. “I do believe," she continues, in tones i of tragic vexation, “that your English bootmakers are the immediate descendants of the people who lived in the Age of Iron. Why, French and German hoot- j makers use leather! But your English bootmakers fix your feet with iron clamps.” “So your racing and chasing on Hard- 1 ' ham and Clifton Downs has found you out—l 4 that it? Well, you’ll have to tome better provided to the Highlands—Loots with broad toes, double-soled, and with plenty of nails in them to get a grip of the heather.” “I am not so sure about nty ever going to the Highlands,” she says, with something of a change of manner; and she walks along to the window- and looks out. Then she returns. “Won’t you go for a little stroll until they come down? It Is quite pretty out there.” This is a command rather than an invitation; one fetches hat and stick; Miss Peggy whips on her bonnet and ties the strings; and presently we are lounging about the College Green, which looks very well in the early sunlight. And the sunlight suits Miss Peggy, brightening the dear rose of her complexion, and lending a mystery to her shadowed eyes, and making a wonder and glory of her hair. “Has Mr. Duncombe’s parcel of books come?” she asks presently. “I don't know.” “Do you think he will succeed as a writer?" again she asks, in her careless way. “How can one tell? He hasn’t got very far yet.” “He is very modest about it,” she says. “His simplicity is almost amusing, lie doesn’t' aim at much, does he? Rather a amall ambition, wouldn’t you call R, to be writing these little things, and making up plots for farces? Why, if I were a man, I’d win the Victoria Cross or dial” she adds, with superfluous energy. “Good gracious! if everybody wanted the V. C., how would the world’s business go on?” “I’m talking about myself personally,” she says, resolutely. “To begin with, you would have to be n soldier.” “I would be a soldier.” “You would want an opportunity—” “I would make an opportunity.” “Well, 1 hope you will hear a pibroch or two in the Highlands this year; what makes you think you won’t be able to go?" “Oh, as for that,” she says, with rather a proud and hurt air, “I am sure 1 am at liberty to go, for anything my people at home seem to care about me. They don’t appear to be much concerned as to whether I go or stay.” “No letters this morning?” “Oh, it isn’t this morning—or many a morning back. I don’t believe I’ve heard from home since I left London, and I’ve written regularly to my sister Emily every Sunday, sometimes oftener.” “Don’t you think they assume that you have withdrawn altogether into the wilds, and that it Is no use trying to find you? Or isn’t it just as likely that there has been some mistake about forwarding your letters, and that you will find them all in a bundle when you get back to town? We shall soon be making a bee-line for l/ondon now." “Those people have come down,” she says, discreetly glancing over to the win- : dows of the hotel; “we must go in.” It was now for the first time that a foreshadowing of the breaking up of our party began to weigh upon the spirits of one or two of these good folk—particularly upon Col. Cameron, who became remarkably glum and silent wheu we were counting up the days it would take us to reach the Thames. Iu the afternoon it began to get dear. The clouds gradually lifted; and there were gleams of yellow among the soft purples and grays. The still waters of the windiag Avon mirrored every feature i of the bank; and further off the skies were reflected, too—a shimmer of silver here and there, a breadth ot liquid lilac darkening almost to Mack under the trees; while over the glassy surface darted innumerable swifts and martens, busy in the still, warm, moist air. By this time, of course, waterproofs had been thrown aside; and aa we came to a convenient landing place the boat was stopped as we got ashore—all but Jack Duncombe, who was eager to get at hi* books. Now It was Sir Ewen Cameron who assisted Miss Peggy to step along the gang board; and when she had reached the bank these two naturally vent together— at first walking pretty smartly •• Mto get ahead of the horse. Queen Tita waa in no such hurry. “What is taking that girl back to America?” he asks, presently, looking away along the towpath toward those two. “Who can tell? She doesn’t seem to know herself.” “But perhaps ahe is right.” this small person continues, rather wistfully. “Yea; even ts It ia only some vague kind of feeling. And If she waa once over there, and were to come hack, then we wouldn’t be held responsible tor anything that might happen- Of course, I hope she will come back. It la very curious what a hold that girl goto over one. England wouldn’t be half England to me If I didn’t know that, sooner or later, I could look for- '

has kept so me all the time. Do you think she doesn’t know what men are?” Poor Peggy! She seemed most unusually grave when wc had all to get on board again, for wc were now drawing near to Bath. Not only that, but she appeared to be at once absent minded and apprehensive; subsiding into a deep reverie from time to time, and yet anxiously responding to any remark addressed to her, so that her thoughtfulness might not be noticed. She had no further quips and questions about Jack Duncombe’s bundle of books. She took some tea in silence. And then these two women-folk had to be left to themselves; for we were now getting to the end of the day’s voyage. The approach of the beautiful Queen of the West, by the valley of the Avon, is disappointing in the extreme; indeed, the slums here are about as bad as those of the Totterdown suburb of Bristol. It was abundantly manifest that here was no abiding place for us; agaiu, and for the last time on this trip, we should have to sleep ashore; and sp, when a few things had been put into the various hand-bags, we set off, a small procession, through the streets of Bath, putting up at a hotel where, notwithstanding our suspicious want of luggage, we were made fairly welcome and furnished with rooms. That night, before we separated, the humble chronicler ot these events had a small folded note covertly handed to him; and, on subsequently opening it, he found it to contain these words: "Shall you be down early to-morrow inoruing? I want to say something very particular to you—in private. PEGGY.” Poor Peggy! Was it the thought of going away across the wide Atlantic agaiu that was pressing heavily on her heart?

CHAPTER XX. 1 This day begun with glooms and disappointments; then blossomed forth into a summer-like luxuriance of all beautiful things; and finally ended in joy nnd calm j content. Perhaps it was our general impatience of towns, and our anxiety to be away in the wilderness again, that led us to form so poor an opinion of the np)>caranee of Bath; but, anyhow, the morning was wet and lowering; the windows j seemed dingy; nnd the spectacle of a \ crowd of people hurrying along muddy pavements, most of them with umbrellas ■ up, to their respective shops and offices was modern and commonplace and depressing. This was not what we had expected of the famous Queen of the West. All her former glories seemed to have vanished away behind the mournful pall of rain. And then, again, the appointment that had been planned the evening before did not take place. Everybody seemed to come into the little sitting room about the same moment; and Miss Peggy had no opportunity of saying a word. During breakfast she was quite silent; and thereafter, when there was a general'hunt for waterproofs and umbrellas, she set about getting ready in a mechanical way. At the door of the hotel she merely said, in an undertone: “Some other time I will speak to you,” and then went out. Hunting for Curiosities proved to be an engrossing occupation with our party; so that Miss Peggy was enabled to lag a little behind without being observed, while a slight finger touch on the arm secured her the listener she wanted. The i young lady seemed at once shy and anxi ious; there was more color in her face than usual; and when she spoke it was in a hurried and low undertone. “I want your advice,” said she; “perhaps you may think I should speak to your wife—but—but I would rather have a man's advice. Your wife has very exalted ideas—she might l>c a little too uncompromising; and I would rather you would tell me what ordinary people would say and think.” ! There was a moment of hesitation; then she began to speak, rather slowly, and I with downcast eyes. “Tell me what you think I should be justified in doing. lam involved at home in a half-and-half kind of engagement. Both families were anxious for it—and — and I liked him a little; oh, yes, he is very amusing, and makes the time pass; aud 1 dare say he liked me well enough when everything was going prosperously. Then you know how my father’s affairs went wrong,” she continued, with an occasional glance toward those other people, hr make sure they were not observing her; “and there was a change after that. Yea, he is very sensible, and prides himself oa it. Oh, I know what his ambitions are. He wants to get among the millionaire#; he wants to run the biggest yacht afloat, and to have paragraphs about himself iu the papers. That is why he has never come to Europe; he never will come to Europe until he has money enough to get himself talked about. And then, when my father’s affairs went wrong, 1 suppose it was but natural he should begin to think twicerimd although he has never said he wanted the engagement broken off—no. for he is afraid of quarreling with his own people—he has left me pretty free to imagine that 1 can go if 1 choose. Oh, 1 am not vexed,” she continued. “Of course, a girl does not like to be thrown over.” “You thrown over?” “It is not quite so bad ns that, for he writes me from time to time—in a kind of a way—and I am left to understand that he considers the engagement binding if 1 wish it. Well, a girl doesn’t quite like that,” she added, with just the least passing tremor in her voice; but doubtless it was pride rather than any sense of injury that was driving her to speak.* “So 1 want you to tell me what -l should be justified in doing,” she resumed. “Oh, Miss Rosslyn, come along here for a minute!” a tfeird person broke in; it was Jack Duncombe. “I have discovered tho tablet put up to commemorate the illustrious virtues of Beau Nash. It’s beautiful. Come along, and I will translate it for you." So Miss Rosslyn was haled away, somewhat to the relief of the person whom she had been consulting. For it was not so easy aa it looked to say off-hand what Mias Peggy should do in these dr* The beautiful valley laarlaaad la love-

linen and loneliness as we followed the slow windings of oor galleried waterway, high up on this hillside. We had all this world of sunlight and green leaves and aweet-blowing winds entirety to ourselves. We met with no one. Miss Peggy was up at the bow, her throat bare to the warm breeze, her hair, unshielded by.any bonnet, showing threads of burnished gold in the sunlight. Jack Dnncombe was standing beside her, with an ordnance map spread oat on the roof of the house. ' Then we came to the Dundaa Aqueduct, which spans the wide vale, and here the spacious view ,was more extensive than ever—the landscape disappearing into tender distances of rose-gray and lightest green nutil, at the far horizon line and melting into the silvery sky, there were touches of pale, transluaeut blue. But. this aqueduct carried us across the valley and very soon we had left the wide, open country behind us, and were plunged into umbrageous woods. It was much hotter here; there was hardly • breath of air to stir the shelving branches tljat felt their way out into the sunlight; and it was but rarely that the intervening foliage afforded any shelter. Nevertheless, these good people would insist on going for a stroll along the towpath—all except Miss Peggy, who, at the last moment, abruptly changed her mind and decided to remain with the steersman, to cheer him with her company. "This might be a river in a Brazilian forest,” said she, “for the beauty of it and the solitude.” It was not of any river in Brazil she was thinking; she was but waiting until those people on the bank were out of earshot. Then she said presently: “Have you thought that over?” “Yes.” Her next question was not put into words; it was a nevvous flash of inquiry that appeared iu her eyes. Then she looked down again, as if awaiting judgment. She had a bit of red hawthorn id her hand, and her fingers were pulling into small shreds one or two of the darkgreen leaves. “Well, you see, Miss Peggy, if your description of the situation is literally correct—literally and absolutely correctthen you would be amply justified in telliqg that young gentleman in New York to gu and be hanged. That is what any man would say—off-hand and at once. There may be some explanation. Letters may have been delayed. You may get them when you go back to London.” “And if there were a hundred letters, do you think I don’t know what would be iu them?” she demanded, rather proudly. “And as for drifting and drifting, 1 have grown a little tired of that. It is no great compliment to a girl to pat her in such a position. I dare say, now, if I were over in America—if I were to go to America for even a fortnight, 1 could get the whole matter settled.” “You really and honestly mean that yon want to have it broken off?” “Broken off!” she exclaimed, with just' a touch of indignation in her voice. “It is ho who wants to have it broken off — and hasn’t the courage to say so. He wont own it to me; he won’t own it to his family; but do you think 1 don’t understand? I am not blind. And however stupid a woman may be at other ! time*?, in an affair of this kind she can see clearly enough.” “That is true. But on the other hand, if you think that this half-and-half engagement should come to an end, why not let it gradually die a natural death? It seems pretty moribund at present, do isn’t it? Cease writing to him.” “He hasn’t written to me for nearly two mouths!” “Very well. Stop altogether. If .that doesn’t fotee him to ask for an explanation —if he asks for no explanation, then the matter is at an end. You go your way, and he his.” “I—l suppose that is good advice; and I thank you,” she said, in rather a low voice. (To be continued.)