Under the Country Sky | Page 4

interest and
affection as it had been when its master went freely in and out. A new
manse had been built nearer the church, for the new man, and the old
house left to Mr. Warne's undisputed possession--proof positive of his

place in the hearts of the community.
"A good time?" murmured Georgiana, in answer to the question. "No, a
hateful, envious, black-browed time, disguised as much as might be
under a frivolous manner. The girls were lovely--and I was a perfect
fiend!"
Mr. Warne did not seem in the least disconcerted by this startling
statement. "The sounds I heard did not strike me as indicating the
presence of any fiend," he suggested.
"Probably not. I managed to avoid giving in to the temptation to snatch
Phyl's sumptuous chinchilla coat, Madge's perfectly adorable hat,
Theo's bronze shoes, Dot's embroidered silk handbag, and Bess's
hand-wrought collar and cuffs."
"It was a matter of clothes, then? How much heart-burning men
escape!" mused Mr. Warne. "Now, I can never recall hearing any man,
young or old, express a longing to denude other men of their apparel."
Georgiana shot him a look. "No, men merely envy other men their
acres, their horses, their motors--and their books. Own up, now, Father
Davy, have you never coveted any man's library?"
The blue-gray eyes sent her back a humorous glance. "Now you have
me," he owned. "But tell me, daughter--it was not only their clothes
which stirred the fiend within you? Confess!"
She looked round at him. "I don't need to," she said. "You know the
whole of it--what I want for you and me--what they have--life! And lots
of it. You need it just as badly as I do--you, a suffering saint at
fifty-five when other men are playing golf! And I--simply bursting with
longing to take you and go somewhere--anywhere with you--and see
things--and do things--and live things! And we as poor as poverty, after
all you've done for the Lord. Oh, I----"
She brought her strong young fist down on the nearly threadbare rug
with a thump that reddened the fine flesh, and thumped again and yet

again, while her father lay and silently watched her, with a look in his
eyes less of pain than of utter comprehension. He said not a word,
while she bit her lip and stared again into the fire, clenching the fist that
had spoken for her bitterly aching heart. After a time the tense fingers
relaxed, and she held up the hand and looked at it.
"I'm a brute!" she said presently. "An abominable little brute. How do
you stand me? How do you endure me, Father Davy! I just bind the
load on your poor back and pull the knots tight, every time I let myself
break out like this. If you were any minister-father but yourself, you'd
either preach or pray at me. How can you keep from it?"
He smiled. "I never liked to be preached or prayed at myself, dear," he
said. "I have not forgotten. And the Lord Himself doesn't expect a
young caged lioness to act like a caged canary. He doesn't want it to.
And some day--He will let it out of the cage!"
She shook her head, and got up. She kissed the gray curls and patted
the thin cheek, said cheerfully: "I'm going to get your supper now," and
went away out of the room.
In the square old kitchen she flung open an outer door and stood staring
up at the starry winter sky.
"Oh, if anything, anything, anything would happen!" she breathed,
stretching out both arms toward the snowy shrubbery-broken expanse
behind the house which in summer was her garden. "If something
would just keep this evening from being like all the other evenings! I
can't sit and read aloud--to-night. I can't--I can't! And the only
interesting thing on earth that can happen is that Jimps Stuart may
come over--and he probably won't, because he was over last evening
and the evening before that, and he knows he can't be allowed to come
all the time. He----"
It was at this point that the old brass knocker on the front door
sounded--and something happened.
CHAPTER II

SOMETHING REALLY HAPPENS
It might have been any of the village people, as Georgiana expected it
would be when she closed the kitchen door with a bang and went
reluctantly to answer the knock. Since it was almost suppertime it was
probably Mrs. Shear, who seldom made a call at any other hour,
knowing she would as surely be asked to stay as it was sure that David
Warne's heart would respond to the wanness and unhappiness always
written on Mrs. Shear's homely middle-aged face. As she went to the
door, Georgiana felt an intensely wicked desire to hit Mrs. Shear a
blow