The Battle of Life | Page 5

sisters, out of breath, and laughing gaily, threw herself
upon a bench to rest. The other leaned against a tree hard by. The music, a wandering
harp and fiddle, left off with a flourish, as if it boasted of its freshness; though the truth is,
it had gone at such a pace, and worked itself to such a pitch of competition with the
dancing, that it never could have held on, half a minute longer. The apple- pickers on the
ladders raised a hum and murmur of applause, and then, in keeping with the sound,
bestirred themselves to work again like bees.
The more actively, perhaps, because an elderly gentleman, who was no other than Doctor
Jeddler himself - it was Doctor Jeddler's house and orchard, you should know, and these
were Doctor Jeddler's daughters - came bustling out to see what was the matter, and who
the deuce played music on his property, before breakfast. For he was a great philosopher,
Doctor Jeddler, and not very musical.
'Music and dancing TO-DAY!' said the Doctor, stopping short, and speaking to himself. 'I
thought they dreaded to-day. But it's a world of contradictions. Why, Grace, why,
Marion!' he added, aloud, 'is the world more mad than usual this morning?'
'Make some allowance for it, father, if it be,' replied his younger daughter, Marion, going
close to him, and looking into his face, 'for it's somebody's birth-day.'
'Somebody's birth-day, Puss!' replied the Doctor. 'Don't you know it's always somebody's
birth-day? Did you never hear how many new performers enter on this - ha! ha! ha! - it's
impossible to speak gravely of it - on this preposterous and ridiculous business called
Life, every minute?'
'No, father!'
'No, not you, of course; you're a woman - almost,' said the Doctor. 'By-the-by,' and he
looked into the pretty face, still close to his, 'I suppose it's YOUR birth-day.'
'No! Do you really, father?' cried his pet daughter, pursing up her red lips to be kissed.
'There! Take my love with it,' said the Doctor, imprinting his upon them; 'and many
happy returns of the - the idea! - of the day. The notion of wishing happy returns in such
a farce as this,' said the Doctor to himself, 'is good! Ha! ha! ha!'
Doctor Jeddler was, as I have said, a great philosopher, and the heart and mystery of his
philosophy was, to look upon the world as a gigantic practical joke; as something too
absurd to be considered seriously, by any rational man. His system of belief had been, in
the beginning, part and parcel of the battle-ground on which he lived, as you shall
presently understand.
'Well! But how did you get the music?' asked the Doctor. 'Poultry-stealers, of course!
Where did the minstrels come from?'
'Alfred sent the music,' said his daughter Grace, adjusting a few simple flowers in her
sister's hair, with which, in her admiration of that youthful beauty, she had herself
adorned it half-an-hour before, and which the dancing had disarranged.
'Oh! Alfred sent the music, did he?' returned the Doctor.
'Yes. He met it coming out of the town as he was entering early. The men are travelling
on foot, and rested there last night; and as it was Marion's birth-day, and he thought it
would please her, he sent them on, with a pencilled note to me, saying that if I thought so
too, they had come to serenade her.'
'Ay, ay,' said the Doctor, carelessly, 'he always takes your opinion.'

'And my opinion being favourable,' said Grace, good-humouredly; and pausing for a
moment to admire the pretty head she decorated, with her own thrown back; 'and Marion
being in high spirits, and beginning to dance, I joined her. And so we danced to Alfred's
music till we were out of breath. And we thought the music all the gayer for being sent by
Alfred. Didn't we, dear Marion?'
'Oh, I don't know, Grace. How you tease me about Alfred.'
'Tease you by mentioning your lover?' said her sister.
'I am sure I don't much care to have him mentioned,' said the wilful beauty, stripping the
petals from some flowers she held, and scattering them on the ground. 'I am almost tired
of hearing of him; and as to his being my lover - '
'Hush! Don't speak lightly of a true heart, which is all your own, Marion,' cried her sister,
'even in jest. There is not a truer heart than Alfred's in the world!'
'No-no,' said Marion, raising her eyebrows with a pleasant air of careless consideration,
'perhaps not. But I don't know that there's any great merit in that. I - I don't want him to
be so very true. I never asked him. If he expects that I - But, dear Grace, why