Austin and His Friends | Page 8

after an errant ball of worsted. "What day will suit you

best?"
"Shall we say the 24th?" suggested Austin.
"By all means," replied his aunt briskly. "If you're sure that that won't
interfere with anything else. I've such a wretched memory for dates.
To-day is the 19th. Yes, I should say the 24th will do very well
indeed."
"It will suit me admirably," said Austin, sitting down and beginning to
write with great alacrity, while his aunt busied herself with her knitting.
As soon as the envelopes were addressed, he slipped them into his coat
pocket, and, rising, said he might as well go out and post them there
and then.
"Do," said Aunt Charlotte, well pleased at Austin's sudden capitulation.
"That is, unless you're too tired with your walk. Martha can always
give them to the milkman if you are."
"Not a bit of it," said Austin hastily, as he swung himself out of the
room. "I shall be back in time for dinner."
"He certainly is the very oddest boy," soliloquised Aunt Charlotte, as
she settled herself comfortably on the sofa and went on clicking her
knitting-needles. "Why he dislikes the MacTavishes so I can't imagine;
nice, cheerful young persons as anyone would wish to see. It really is
very queer. And then the way he suddenly gave in at last! It only shows
that I must be firm with him. As soon as he saw I was in earnest he
yielded at once. He's got a sweet nature, but he requires a firm hand.
He's different, too, since he lost his leg--more full of fancies, it seems
to me, and a great deal too much wrapped up in those books of his. I
suppose that when one's body is defective, one's mind feels the effects
of it. I shall have to keep him up to the mark, and see that he has plenty
of cheerful society. Nothing like nice companions for maintaining the
brain in order."
Thus did Aunt Charlotte decide to her own satisfaction what she
thought would be best for Austin.

Chapter the
Third
He stood leaning against the old stone fountain on the straight lawn
under the noonday sun. The bees hummed slumberously around him,

sailing from flower to flower, and the hot air, laden with the scents of
the soil, seemed to penetrate his body at every pore, infusing a sense of
vitality into him which pulsed through all his veins. Austin always said
that high noon was the supreme moment of the day. To some folks the
most beautiful time was dawn, to others sunset, but at noon Nature was
like a flower at its full, a flower in the very zenith of its strength and
glory. He had always loved the noon.
"The world seems literally palpitating with life," he thought, as he
rested his arm on the rim of the time-worn fountain. "I'm sure it's
conscious, in some way or other. How it must enjoy itself! Look at the
trees; so strong, and calm, and splendid. They know well enough how
strong they are, and when there's a storm that tries to blow them down,
how they do revel in battling with it! And then the hot air, embracing
the earth so voluptuously--playing with the slender plants, and
caressing the upstanding flowers. They stand up because they want to
be caressed, the amorous creatures. How wonderful it is--the different
characters that flowers have. Some are shrill and fierce and passionate,
while others are meek and sly, and pretend to shrink when they are
even noticed. Some are wicked--shamelessly, insolently, magnificently
wicked--like those scarlet anthuriums, with their curling yellow
tongues. That flower is the very incarnation of sin; no, not
incarnation--what's the word? I can't think, but it doesn't matter.
Incarnation will do, for the thing is exactly like recalcitrant human flesh.
Lubin!"
"Yes, Sir?" responded Lubin, who was digging near.
"What are the wickedest flowers you know?" asked Austin.
"Well, Sir, I should say them as had most thorns," said Lubin feelingly.
"I wonder," mused Austin. Then he relapsed into his meditations. "How
thick with life the air is. I'm sure it's populated, if we only had eyes to
see. I feel it throbbing all round me--full of beings as much alive as I
am, only invisible. People used to see them once upon a time--why
can't we now? Naiads, and dryads, and fauns, and the great god Pan
everywhere; oh, to think we may be actually surrounded by these
wonders of beauty, and yet unable to talk to any of them! Nothing but
wicked old women, and horrible young men in plaid knickerbockers
and bowler hats, who worry one about odds and handicaps. It's all very
sad and ugly."

"Aren't you rather hot, standing there in the sun, Sir, all this