The Old Stone House by Constance Fenimore Woolson (sites to read books for free .txt) 📕

“Miss Saxon, I assure you—” began Gideon, in an agitated voice, but Rose stopped him again; “Mr. Fish, if you will persist in speaking, I must leave you,” she said, pushing aside the bushes and disclosing the party on the other side to her companion’s gaze. “What, Bessie!—all of you here? How very embarrassing!” Gideon Fish gave one look at the company and then turned and retreated down the glen; when he was out of hearing, the two girls ran away into the wood to indulge in a hearty laugh. They made no confessions to the others, but every one suspected the truth, and when poor Gideon returned to take them aside, one by one, and assure them that he had “no idea what Miss Saxon meant,” that he “admired her exceedingly, but as for anything serious the thought had never occurred to him,” that he was “speaking to her of the tendrils, when suddenly, without any connection, she began talking in the most singular way,” his auditors would laugh merrily and turn away, leaving Gideon more miserable than ever.

“My good fellow,” said Hugh gravely, when his turn came, “let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t try to back out of it now. We all heard you; and we all feel for you. Miss Saxon is a charming young lady, but if she does not like you, you must bear it like a man.”

“But I never intended,—I never thought of such a thing,—it is all a mistake!” stammered the unfortunate Gideon.

“Of course it was a mistake,” replied Hugh. “You thought she liked you and she didn’t. If I was you I wouldn’t say any more about it.”

So poor Gideon got but cold comfort in his trouble. He wandered about looking half-angry, half-perplexed; he almost began to think he had said something to Rose, after all!

“The mighty thoughts evolved from his brain are in some confusion, I fear,” whispered Bessie to Rose; “he will have no trouble in keeping himself down to earth this afternoon, I think.”

After some hours, the party assembled in the glen to join in a round game. “It is very dark,” said Aunt Faith, looking up through the thick foliage; “I fear we are going to have a storm.”

“Let us run down to the lakeshore and look,” said Bessie, and several of the young people started down the glen, followed by the rest of the party at a slower pace; all but Sibyl who still remained on the rock with Graham Marr.

When they reached the beach, a threatening expanse of sky and water met their gaze; the lake was unusually still, but its blue changed into a leaden gray, and out in the west a white streak followed by a black line told of the approaching squall. In the south, and east, the sky was clear and summer-like, but from the north-west great clouds came rolling up, looking black and menacing, and the air was oppressively close.

“A thunder-storm!” said Hugh, “and close upon us too!”

“Oh, I am so terribly afraid of thunder!” said Edith Chase, turning pale. “What shall we do?”

“Why did we not notice the storm before?” said Aunt Faith, in dismay; “it must have been some time coming up.”

“No, Aunt,” said Bessie; “probably not more than ten minutes. That is what I mean when I call the western lakes treacherous; the changes are so sudden.”

“You are right, Miss Darrell,” said Mr. Gay, looking over the dark water with an uneasy expression in his face; “I don’t think much of these fresh water mill-ponds. On the ocean, now, we know what to expect.”

“Isn’t there some house near by, Hugh?” asked Aunt Faith.

“No, Aunt. I selected this place because it was so solitary, you remember; there is no house within two miles.”

“Could we not get there, by driving rapidly, before the storm reaches us?” said Mr. Gay, mindful of his rheumatism.

“I am afraid not, sir,” replied Hugh: “it would take some time to harness the horses, and besides, the house is not on the road, but across the fields towards the south.”

“What shall we do?” said Edith Chase, as the sullen water began to break with a low sound on the beach at her feet.

“The lake is beginning to growl already,” said Hugh. “Come, Aunt Faith, let us go back to the woods; we will make the best shelter we can for you, all. A summer thunder-storm is not such a terrible disaster after all.”

“We can’t trim up the wagon with all the beautiful wreaths we made,” lamented Gem. “It’s too bad!”

“The shower will prevent the show,” said Hugh, laughing.

“Why is Hugh like Tennyson’s Brook,” said Rose Saxon, as the party made their way back to the glen.

“Because he is idyl,” said Bessie.

“Good, but not correct. Because he,—

‘Chatters, chatters, as he goes, Till all our nerves do quiver,— For we may talk, or we may stop, But Hugh puns on forever, Ever, Hugh puns on forever.’”

sang Rose, taking up the well-known air as she sprang over the rocks in advance of the rest.

“We shall have to make an impromptu wigwam under the shelter of those rocks and beech-trees,” said Mr. Leslie, collecting the shawls and water-proof cloaks; “the foliage of the beech is very thick, and the rock will protect you from the west, in which direction the storm is coming. Mr. Marr, please throw down those shawls.”

“What is the matter, Mr. Leslie?” said Sibyl, descending from her perch.

“A thunder-storm!” said Hugh, “and close upon us, too!”

“Surely, then, you are not thinking of remaining here under the trees,” said Graham Marr, hastily putting on his water-proof coat.

“The ladies will be in more danger from the drenching rain, than from the lightning,” replied Mr. Leslie, breaking down branches for his wigwam. “Here, Jonas! Jonas! have you a hatchet there?”

But Jonas did not answer, and Hugh, upon going up to the platform, discovered that he had started homeward with his cart, having first harnessed the four-in-hand. The horses were standing tied to the trees, but they looked uneasy, and one of the leaders pawed the ground restlessly. “I shall have to stay here with them,” thought Hugh, “or they may break away when the storm strikes them.” He ran back and called over the edge of the cliff. “Jonas has gone home, Mr. Leslie, and I shall be obliged to stay with the horses; but here is the hatchet.”

“Very well!” said the clergyman, catching the hatchet with the dexterity of an Indian as Hugh threw it down; “go back to the horses, Mr. Warrington. We can attend to the ladies.”

Under his direction an impromptu wigwam was speedily built of long boughs, with the high rock as a background; this was thatched with bushes, and the shawls and cloaks spread over the whole as the first muttering of thunder was heard. “Oh!” said Edith Chase, “what shall I do? I cannot stand the lightning!”

“Come inside with me!” said Aunt Faith; “you can hide your head in my lap.”

The ladies hurried inside the wigwam, Aunt Faith, Sibyl, Rose Saxon, Edith Chase, Lida Powers, Bessie, Annie Chase and Gem.

“I see there is room for the gentlemen, too,” said Gideon Fish, creeping in.

“I really think we had better all be together,” said Graham Marr, following his example.

“Tom!” called Aunt Faith, pulling aside a cloak that formed part of the wall, “come inside directly.”

“Oh, Aunt Faith! we’ve found a splendid cave up here; it holds Jim and me first-rate,” answered a voice from above.

“They’ve squeezed themselves into a little cranny in the rock, Mrs. Sheldon,” said Mr. Leslie, looking up and laughing to see the ‘splendid cave;’ “I think they will keep dry by force of compression.”

“Aren’t you coming inside, Mr. Mount?” said Lida Powers.

“No. I shall go and help Hugh with the horses; you had better come too, Walter. We may have some trouble with them.”

“Mr. Leslie, you will join us, I hope?” said Rose Saxon, peeping out from between the leaves.

“I think not, Miss Rose. I am hardened, you know; I have camped out in winter storms too many times to dread a July shower. But I insist upon Mr. Gay’s going inside. The ‘Boston man’ will now have an opportunity; he can ‘to a wigwam with a squaw go,’” quoted Mr. Leslie, helping the old bachelor under the overhanging branches.

In a few moments the storm was upon them; first a tornado of wind, then intense and almost continuous lightning, followed by heavy rolling thunder. Edith Chase trembled, and buried her face in her hands.

“This war of the elements affects my nerves,” whispered Graham to Sibyl, by whose side he was crouching.

“Does it?” she replied coldly; “I was not aware you were so timid.”

Then came the rain, falling in sheets, the drenching torrent of a summer thunder-shower. In spite of the foliage, the wet began to penetrate the wigwam; Sibyl, who sat on the outside of the huddled circle, felt the drops on her shoulder through her light dress.

“Take this coat, Miss Warrington,” said Mr. Leslie, stooping down and parting the branches.

“Oh no!” replied Sibyl; “you need it more than I do.”

But the coat was thrown around her, and Mr. Leslie was gone before she could remonstrate.

At last, after half an hour, the fury of the storm was over, but the rain still fell steadily.

“I am afraid it will not clear immediately,” said Mr. Leslie, coming to the wigwam entrance; “I have been down to the lake, and the sky looks as though we should have a wet night.”

“How dark it is!” said Aunt Faith; “What time is it?”

“Half-past seven,” said Mr. Leslie, looking at his watch.

“Oh, how shall we ever get home?” sighed Edith Chase.

“We had better start immediately, I think,” said Mr. Gay; “it will be very unpleasant to ride in the darkness as well as in the rain.”

“And the horses!” said Lida Powers; “I hope they will be quiet. That black was inclined to dance a little when we came out.”

“Now, ladies!” said Mr. Leslie, coming towards the wigwam again, “I have been up on the plateau; the horses are ready, and the sooner we start the better, as more black clouds are gathering in the west. Mrs. Sheldon, let me help you up the bank.”

“Oh, Mr. Leslie, how wet you are!” exclaimed Aunt Faith, as she emerged from the wigwam. “Where is your coat?”

“Miss Warrington has it,” he replied; “I made her take it.”

“Here it is, Mr. Leslie,” said Sibyl, stepping from under cover.

“Keep it, Sibyl,” said the clergyman in a low tone. “It gives me pleasure to see you protected.”

“It is still raining steadily, I perceive,” said Graham Marr, peeping out from the sheltering branches; “don’t you think we had better remain here awhile longer, ladies?”

“The rain won’t wash us away, Graham,” said his cousin Rose.

“It washes out dyes, however? and shows us all in our true colors,” whispered Bessie to Lida Powers. “Look at Graham! He looks like a faded ray!”

“He always was a fair-weather piece of goods,” answered Lida; “high color, you know, don’t stand soaking.”

Reaching the wagon, the company climbed inside, the cushions had been kept dry, but the floor was wet, and the rain still fell with the persistence that betokens what farmers call a “steady soaker.” Edith Chase sat with Aunt Faith at the rear end of the wagon, but Bessie in Edith’s old place, felt her spirits rising with every plunge of the