Aikenside | Page 4

to make her Mrs. Holbrook;" and Guy's dark eyes scanned
curiously the doctor's face, as if seeking there for the secret of his proud
young stepmother's anxiety to visit plain Mrs. Conner that afternoon.
But the doctor only laughed merrily at the idea of his being father to
Guy, his college chum and long-tried friend.
Agnes Remington--reclining languidly in Mrs. Conner's easy-chair, and
overwhelming her former friend with descriptions of the gay parties she
had attended in Boston, and the fine sights she saw in Europe, whither
her gray-haired husband had taken her for a wedding tour-- would not
have felt particularly flattered, could she have seen that smile, or heard
how easily, from talking of her, Dr. Holbrook turned to another theme,
to Madeline Clyde, expected now almost every moment. There was a
merry laugh on Guy's part, as he listened to the doctor's story, and,
when it was finished, he said: "Why, I see nothing so very distasteful in
examining a pretty girl, and puzzling her, to see her blush. I half wish I
were in your place. I should enjoy the novelty of the thing." "Oh, take it,
then; take my place, Guy," the doctor exclaimed, eagerly. "She does not
know me from Adam. Here are books, all you will need. You went to a
district school once a week when you were staying in the country. You
surely have some idea, while I have not the slightest. Will you, Guy?"
he persisted more earnestly, as he heard wheels in the street, and was
sure old Sorrel had come again.
Guy Remington liked anything savoring of a frolic, but in his mind
there were certain conscientious scruples touching the justice of the

thing, and so at first he demurred; while the doctor still insisted, until at
last he laughingly consented to commence the examination, provided
the doctor would sit by, and occasionally come to his aid.
"You must write the certificate, of course," he said, "testifying that she
is qualified to teach."
"Yes, certainly, Guy, if she is; but maybe she won't be, and my orders
are, to be strict--very strict."
"How did she look?" Guy asked, and the doctor replied: "Saw nothing
but her bonnet. Came in a queer old go-giggle of a wagon, such as your
country farmers drive. Guess she won't be likely to stir up the bile of
either of us, particularly as I am bullet proof, and you have been
engaged for years. By the way, when do you cross the sea again for the
fair Lucy? Rumor says this summer."
"Rumor is wrong, as usual, then," was Guy's reply, a soft light stealing
into his handsome eyes. Then, after a moment, he added: "Miss
Atherstone's health is far too delicate for her to incur the risks of a
climate like ours. If she were well acclimated, I should be glad, for it is
terribly lonely up at Aikenside."
"And do you really think a wife would make it pleasanter?" Dr
Holbrook asked, the tone of his voice indicating a little doubt as to a
man's being happier for having a helpmate to share his joys and
sorrows.
But no such doubts dwelt in the mind of Guy Remington. Eminently
fitted for domestic happiness, he looked forward anxiously to the time
when sweet Lucy Atherstone, the fair English girl to whom he had
become engaged when, four years before, he visited Europe, should be
strong enough to bear transplanting to American soil. Twice since his
engagement he had visited her, finding her always lovely, gentle, and
yielding. Too yielding, it sometimes seemed to him, while occasionally
the thought had flashed upon him that she did not possess a very
remarkable depth of intellect. But he said to himself, he did not care; he
hated strong-minded women, and would far rather his wife should be a

little weak than masculine, like his Aunt Margaret, who sometimes
wore bloomers, and advocated women's rights. Yes, he greatly
preferred Lucy Atherstone, as she was, to a wife like the stately
Margaret, or like Agnes, his pretty stepmother, who only thought how
she could best attract attention; and as it had never occurred to him that
there might be a happy medium, that a woman need not be brainless to
be feminine and gentle, he was satisfied with his choice, as well he
might be, for a fairer, sweeter flower never bloomed than Lucy
Atherstone, his affianced bride. Guy loved to think of Lucy, and as the
doctor's remarks brought her to his mind, he went off into a reverie
concerning her, becoming so lost in thought that until the doctor's hand
was laid upon his shoulder by way of rousing him, he did not see that
what his friend had designated as a go-giggle was stopping in front