The Third Violet | Page 2

sky was lemon and pink information of
the sun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and
from time to time he conversed with them in yells.
The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly
mucilaged to their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker,
calmly valuing him.
"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy.
"I like it very well," answered Hawker.
"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot a
bears."
"I hope you may."
"Did you ever shoot a bears?"
"No."
"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'd
look around for one. Where I live----"

"Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side,
"perhaps every one is not interested in your conversation." The boy
seemed embarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence
with an apologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb
the hills, and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the
cushions for fear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid.
Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl with
the--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward and
discovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled in
his seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way and
that way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or a shoulder.
The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Train
was an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll be nine
o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty dark travellin'."
Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?"
"Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' Jim
Hawker's son, hain't yeh?"
"Yes."
"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?"
"Yes."
"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?"
"Yes."
"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?"
"Yes."
"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge
'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em, they'll
walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter."

In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glanced
furtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with the
mother of the children.
CHAPTER II.
When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a broken
hinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the
grass.
"Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle was
instantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle
of delight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly
expressed his emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and
then dancing over the ground with his head and his tail very near to
each other. He gave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally
describe his gladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod," said Hawker, and the
setter, overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully.
There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dog the
door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading their
eyes and peering down the yellow stream. Presently they shouted,
"Here he is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will!
why, Will!" they panted.
"We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation and
unanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, the
paint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house.
He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She had
laid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned the
darkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes were
bright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured
soft and half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one to
another. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was
always fully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this
ceremony of welcome and that everybody was heeding him.

"Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as she
recovered herself. The girls clamoured sentences at him. "Pa's out in
the barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to the
cross-roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. What
made you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!"
The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?"
"No," said Hawker, "but----"
The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you something
right away." They bustled about the