The Story of Kennett | Page 9

cried the disappointed damsel, "Martha! one of us must have
it; ask him, you!"
"No," answered Martha, with her clear blue eyes fixed on Gilbert's face,
"I will not ask."
He returned her gaze, and his eyes seemed to say: "Will you take it,
knowing what the acceptance implies?"
She read the question correctly; but of this he was not sure. Neither, if
it were so, could he trust himself to interpret the answer. Sally had
already resumed her place on his left, and he saw that the mock strife
would be instantly renewed. With a movement so sudden as to appear
almost ungracious, he snatched the brush from his cap and extended it
to Martha Deane, without saying a word.
If she hesitated, it was at least no longer than would be required in
order to understand the action. Gilbert might either so interpret it, or
suspect that she had understood the condition in his mind, and meant to
signify the rejection thereof. The language of gestures is wonderfully
rapid, and all that could be said by either, in this way, was over, and the
brush in Martha Deane's hand, before Sally Fairthorn became aware of
the transfer.
"Well-done, Martha!" she exclaimed: "Don't let him have it again! Do
you know to whom he would have given it: an A. and a W., with the
look of an X,--so!"

Thereupon Sally pulled off her mittens and crossed her forefingers, an
action which her companions understood--in combination with the
mysterious initials--to be the rude, primitive symbol of a squint.
Gilbert looked annoyed, but before he could reply, Sally let go the rein
in order to put on her mittens, and the blinded mare quickly dropping
her head, the rein slipped instantly to the animal's ears. The latter
perceived her advantage, and began snuffing along the edges of the
road in a deliberate search for spring grass. In vain Sally called and
kicked; the mare provokingly preserved her independence. Finally, a
piteous appeal to Gilbert, who had pretended not to notice the dilemma,
and was a hundred yards in advance, was Sally's only resource. The
two halted and enjoyed her comical helplessness.
"That's enough, Gilbert," said Martha Deane, presently, "go now and
pick up the rein."
He rode back, picked it up, and handed it to Sally without speaking.
"Gilbert," she said, with a sudden demure change of tone, as they rode
on to where Miss Deane was waiting, "come and take supper with us, at
home. Martha has promised. You've hardly been to see us in a month."
"You know how much I have to do, Sally," he answered. "It isn't only
that, to-day being a Saturday; but I've promised mother to be at home
by dark, and fetch a quarter of tea from the store."
"When you've once promised, I know, oxen couldn't pull you the other
way."
"I don't often see your mother, Gilbert," said Martha Deane; "she is
well?"
"Thank you, Martha,--too well, and yet not well enough."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," he answered, "that she does more than she has strength to do.

If she had less she would be forced to undertake less; if she had more,
she would be equal to her undertaking."
"I understand you now. But you should not allow her to go on in that
way; you should"--
What Miss Deane would have said must remain unwritten. Gilbert's
eyes were upon her, and held her own; perhaps a little more color came
into her face, but she did not show the slightest embarrassment. A keen
observer might have supposed that either a broken or an imperfect
relation existed between the two, which the gentleman was trying to
restore or complete without the aid of words; and that, furthermore,
while the lady was the more skilful in the use of that silent language,
neither rightly understood the other.
By this time they were ascending the hill from Redley Creek to Kennett
Square. Martha Deane had thus far carried the brush carelessly in her
right hand; she now rolled it into a coil and thrust it into a large velvet
reticule which hung from the pommel of her saddle. A few dull orange
streaks in the overcast sky, behind them, denoted sunset, and a raw,
gloomy twilight crept up from the east.
"You'll not go with us?" Sally asked again, as they reached the corner,
and the loungers on the porch of the Unicorn Tavern beyond,
perceiving Gilbert, sprang from their seats to ask for news of the chase.
"Sally, I cannot!" he answered. "Good-night!"
Joe and Jake Fairthorn rushed up with a whoop, and before Gilbert
could satisfy the curiosity of the tavern-idlers, the former sat behind
Sally, on the old mare, with his face to her tail, while Jake, prevented
by