Beth Woodburn | Page 4

to be a
missionary. He was going away off to Palestine. "I wonder how he can
do it," she thought. "He has his B.A. now, too, and he was always so
clever. He must be a hero. I'm not good like that; I--I don't think I want
to be so good. Clarence isn't as good as that. But Clarence must be
good. His poetry shows it. I wonder if Arthur will like Clarence?"
Mrs. Birch, with a pail of fresh milk on each arm, interrupted her
reverie.
Beth enjoyed her walk home that night. The moon had just risen, and
the pale stars peeped through the patches of white cloud that to her
fancy looked like the foot-prints of angels here and there on the path of
the infinite. As she neared home a sound of music thrilled her. It was
only an old familiar tune, but she stopped as if in a trance. The touch

seemed to fill her very soul. It was so brave and yet so tender. The
music ceased; some sheep were bleating in the distance, the stars were
growing brighter, and she went on toward home.
She was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired
stranger talking to her father in the parlor. She was just passing the
parlor door when he came toward her.
"Well, Beth, my old play-mate!"
"Arthur!"
They would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped
hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her
milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his.
"Why, Beth, you look at me as if I were a spectre."
"But, Arthur, you're so changed! Why, you're a man, now!" at which he
laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen.
Beth joined her father and Arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old
days over again before they retired to rest. Beth took out her pale blue
dress again before she went to sleep. Yes, she would wear that to the
Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room
window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away
and slept her girl's sleep that night.
CHAPTER II.
_A DREAM OF LIFE._
It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror
fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her
father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the evening.
Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying late
and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a delightful
day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were playing at

the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye dwelt on
more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping roof, the
cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls were
swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be sweet
after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted to
write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change their
views sometimes.
It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the
lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great old
lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain yonder,
the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie stretching far
away.
Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired,
winsome creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even
younger. Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way
she twined her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since
the Mayfairs had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs.
Mayfair were sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs.
Mayfair; she was such a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity
and soft grey hair. Mr. Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To
Beth's literary mind there was something about the Mayfair home that
reminded her of a novel. They were wealthy people, at least supposed
to be so, who had settled in Briarsfield to live their lives in rural
contentment.
It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing
confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying on
the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's
attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High
School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had
become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their
names. Beth looked up and saw Edith