Cousin Maude | Page 8

scan curiously the faces of Dr. Kennedy and her mother, resting
upon the latter with a puzzled expression, as if she could not exactly
understand it. The doctor persisted in calling her Matilda, and as she
resolutely persisted in refusing to answer to that name, it seemed quite
improbable that they would ever talk much together. Occasionally, it is
true, he made her some advances, by playfully offering her his hand,
but she would not touch it, and after a time, standing upon the seat and
turning round, she found more agreeable society in the company of two
boys who sat directly behind her.

They were evidently twelve or thirteen years of age, and in personal
appearance somewhat alike, save that the face of the brown-haired boy
was more open, ingenuous, and pleasing than that of his companion,
whose hair and eyes were black as night. A jolt of the cars caused
Maude to lay her chubby hand upon the shoulder of the elder boy, who,
being very fond of children, caught it within his own, and in this way
made her acquaintance. To him she was very communicative, and in a
short time he learned that "her name was Maude Remington, that the
pretty lady in brown was her mother, and that the naughty man was not
her father, and never would be, for Janet said so."
This at once awakened an interest in the boys, and for more than an
hour they petted and played with the little girl, who, though very
gracious to both, still manifested so much preference for the brown-
haired, that the other laughingly asked her which she liked the best.
"I like you and you," was Maude's childlike answer, as she pointed a
finger at each.
"But," persisted her questioner, "you like my cousin the best. Will you
tell me why?"
Maude hesitated a moment, then laying a hand on either side of the
speaker's face, and looking intently into his eyes, she answered, "You
don't look as if you meant for certain, and he does!"
Had Maude Remington been twenty instead of five, she could not
better have defined the difference between those two young lads, and in
after years she had sad cause for remembering words which seemed
almost prophetic. At Albany they, parted company, for though the boys
lived in Rochester they were to remain in the city through the night,
and Dr. Kennedy had decided to go on. By doing so he would reach
home near the close of the next day, beside saving a large hotel bill,
and this last was with him a very weighty reason. But he did not say so
to his wife; neither did he tell her that he had left orders for his carriage
to be in Canadaigua on the arrival of the noon train, but he said "he was
in haste to show her to his daughter--that 'twas a maxim of his to save
as much time as possible, and that unless she were very anxious to

sleep, he would rather travel all night." So the poor, weary woman,
whose head was aching terribly, smiled faintly upon him as she said,
"Go on, of course," and nibbled at the hard seedcakes and harder
crackers which he brought her, there not being time for supper in
Albany.
It was a long, tedious ride, and though a strong arm was thrown around
her, and her head was pillowed upon the bosom of her husband, who
really tried to make her as comfortable as possible, Mrs. Kennedy could
scarcely refrain from tears as she thought how different was this bridal
tour from what she had anticipated. She had fully expected to pass by
daylight through the Empire State, and she had thought with how much
delight her eye would rest upon the grassy meadows, the fertile plains,
the winding Mohawk, the drone- like boats on the canal, the beautiful
Cayuga, and the silvery water so famed in song; but, in contrast to all
this, she was shut up in a dingy car, whose one dim lamp sent forth a
sickly ray and sicklier smell, while without all was gloomy, dark, and
drear. No wonder, then, that when toward morning Maude, who missed
her soft, nice bed, began to cry for Janet and for home, the mother too
burst forth in tears and choking sobs, which could not be controlled.
"Hush, Matty--don't," and the disturbed doctor shook her very gently;
"it will soon be daylight, and 'tis a max--" Here he stopped, for he had
no maxim suited to that occasion; and, in a most unenviable frame of
mind, he frowned at the crying Maude, and tried to soothe his weeping
wife, until at last, as the face of the latter was covered, and the former
grew more