King Midas: A Romance | Page 4

"Why, Arthur! You here!" she cried.
The other started forward as if he would have clasped her in his arms; but then recollecting himself he came forward very slowly, half lowering his eyes before the girl's beauty.
"So you recollect me, Helen, do you?" he said, in a low voice.
"Recollect you?" was the answer. "Why, you dear, foolish boy, of course I recollect you. But how in the world do you come to be here?"
"I came here to see you, Helen."
"To see me?" exclaimed she. "But pray how--" and then she stopped, and a look of delight swept across her face. "You mean that you knew I would come here the first thing?"
"I do indeed."
"Why, that was beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad I did come."
The glance which she gave made his heart leap up; for a moment or two they were silent, looking at each other, and then suddenly another thought struck the girl. "Arthur," she cried, "I forgot! Do you mean to tell me that you have come all the way from Hilltown?"
"Yes, Helen."
"And just to see me?"
"Yes, Helen."
"And this morning?"
She received the same answer again. "It is twelve miles," she exclaimed; "who ever heard of such a thing? You must be tired to death."
She put out her hand, which he took tremblingly.
"Let us go sit down on the bench," she said, "and then we can talk about things. I am perfectly delighted that you came," she added when she had seated herself, with the marigolds and the lily in her lap. "It will seem just like old times; just think how long ago it was that I saw you last, Arthur,--three whole years! And do you know, as I left the town I thought of you, and that I might find you here."
The young man's face flushed with pleasure.
"But I'd forgotten you since!" went on the girl, eyeing him mischievously; "for oh, I was so happy, coming down the old, old path, and seeing all the old sights! Things haven't changed a bit, Arthur; the woods look exactly the same, and the bridge hasn't altered a mite since the days we used to sit on the edge and let our feet hang in. Do you remember that, Arthur?"
"Perfectly," was the answer.
"And that was over a dozen years ago! How old are you now, Arthur,--twenty-one--no, twenty-two; and I am just nineteen. To-day is my birthday, you know!"
"I had not forgotten it, Helen."
"You came to welcome me! And so did everything else. Do you know, I don't think I'd ever been so happy in my life as I was just now. For I thought the old trees greeted me, and the bridge, and the stream! And I'm sure that was the same bobolink! They don't have any bobolinks in Germany, and so that one was the first I have heard in three years. You heard him, didn't you, Arthur?"
"I did--at first," said Arthur.
"And then you heard me, you wicked boy! You heard me come in here singing and talking to myself like a mad creature! I don't think I ever felt so like singing before; they make hard work out of singing and everything else in Germany, you know, so I never sang out of business hours; but I believe I could sing all day now, because I'm so happy."
"Go on," said the other, seriously; "I could listen."
"No; I want to talk to you just now," said Helen. "You should have kept yourself hidden and then you'd have heard all sorts of wonderful things that you'll never have another chance to hear. For I was just going to make a speech to the forest, and I think I should have kissed each one of the flowers. You might have put it all into a poem,--for oh, father tells me you're going to be a great poet!"
"I'm going to try," said Arthur, blushing.
"Just think how romantic that would be!" the girl laughed; "and I could write your memoir and tell all I knew about you. Tell me about yourself, Arthur--I don't mean for the memoir, but because I want to know the news."
"There isn't any, Helen, except that I finished college last spring, as I wrote you, and I'm teaching school at Hilltown."
"And you like it?"
"I hate it; but I have to keep alive, to try to be a poet. And that is the news about myself."
"Except," added Helen, "that you walked twelve miles this glorious Saturday morning to welcome me home, which was beautiful. And of course you'll stay over Sunday, now you're here; I can invite you myself, you know, for I've come home to take the reins of government. You never saw such a sight in your life as my poor father has made of our house; he's got the parlor all full of those horrible theological works