A Phyllis of the Sierras | Page 7

hollow in spite of his broad shoulders. His voice, too, had
become less clear and distinct.
Mrs. Bradley, who was still watching him, here rose potentially. "You
ought to take more care of yourself," she said. "You should begin by
eating this biscuit, drinking that glass of whiskey, and making yourself
more comfortable in Jim's room until we can get the spare room fixed a
little."
"But I am not to be sent to bed--am I?" asked Mainwaring, in half- real,
half-amused consternation.
"I'm not so sure of that," said Mrs. Bradley, with playful precision. "But
for the present we'll let you off with a good wash and a nap afterwards
in that rocking-chair, while my cousin and I make some little domestic
preparations. You see," she added with a certain proud humility, "we've
got only one servant--a Chinaman, and there are many things we can't
leave to him."
The color again rose in Mainwaring's cheek, but he had tact enough to
reflect that any protest or hesitation on his part at that moment would
only increase the difficulties of his gentle entertainers. He allowed
himself to be ushered into the house by Mrs. Bradley, and shown to her
husband's room, without perceiving that Miss Macy had availed herself
of his absence to run to the end of the veranda, mischievously try to lift
the discarded knapsack to her own pretty shoulder, but, failing,

heroically stagger with it into the passage and softly deposit it at his
door. This done, she pantingly rejoined her cousin in the kitchen.
"Well," said Mrs. Bradley, emphatically. "DID you ever? Walking
fifteen miles for pleasure--and with such lungs!"
"And that knapsack!" added Louise Macy, pointing to the mark in her
little palm where the strap had imbedded itself in the soft flesh.
"He's nice, though; isn't he?" said Mrs. Bradley, tentatively.
"Yes," said Miss Macy, "he isn't, certainly, one of those provincial fine
gentlemen you object to. But DID you see his shoes? I suppose they
make the miles go quickly, or seem to measure less by comparison."
"They're probably more serviceable than those high-heeled things that
Captain Greyson hops about in."
"But the Captain always rides--and rides very well--you know," said
Louise, reflectively. There was a moment's pause.
"I suppose Jim will tell us all about him," said Mrs. Bradley, dismissing
the subject, as she turned her sleeves back over her white arms,
preparatory to grappling certain culinary difficulties.
"Jim," observed Miss Macy, shortly, "in my opinion, knows nothing
more than his note says. That's like Jim."
"There's nothing more to know, really," said Mrs. Bradley, with a
superior air. "He's undoubtedly the son of some Englishman of fortune,
sent out here for his health."
"Hush!"
Miss Macy had heard a step in the passage. It halted at last, half
irresolutely, before the open door of the kitchen, and the stranger
appeared with an embarrassed air.
But in his brief absence he seemed to have completely groomed

himself, and stood there, the impersonation of close-cropped, clean, and
wholesome English young manhood. The two women appreciated it
with cat-like fastidiousness.
"I beg your pardon; but really you're going to let a fellow do something
for you," he said, "just to keep him from looking like a fool. I really can
do no end of things, you know, if you'll try me. I've done some
camping-out, and can cook as well as the next man."
The two women made a movement of smiling remonstrance, half
coquettish, and half superior, until Mrs. Bradley, becoming conscious
of her bare arms and the stranger's wandering eyes, colored faintly, and
said with more decision:--
"Certainly not. You'd only be in the way. Besides, you need rest more
than we do. Put yourself in the rocking-chair in the veranda, and go to
sleep until Mr. Bradley comes."
Mainwaring saw that she was serious, and withdrew, a little ashamed at
his familiarity into which his boyishness had betrayed him. But he had
scarcely seated himself in the rocking-chair before Miss Macy appeared,
carrying with both hands a large tin basin of unshelled peas.
"There," she said pantingly, placing her burden in his lap, "if you really
want to help, there's something to do that isn't very fatiguing. You may
shell these peas."
"SHELL them--I beg pardon, but how?" he asked, with smiling
earnestness.
"How? Why, I'll show you--look."
She frankly stepped beside him, so close that her full-skirted dress half
encompassed him and the basin in a delicious confusion, and, leaning
over his lap, with her left hand picked up a pea-cod, which, with a
single movement of her charming little right thumb, she broke at the
end, and stripped the green shallow of its tiny treasures.

He watched her with smiling eyes; her own, looking down on him,
were very bright and luminous.