Chapter 3 CORNER OF A STAGE COACH

'Miss Hazel!-Dear Miss Hazel!-Dear me, Miss Hazel!-here's the morning, ma'am,-and Gotham, and Mr. Falkirk!'

So far the young eyes unclosed as to see that they could see nothing-unless the flame of a wind-tossed candle,-then with a disapproving frown they closed again.

'But Miss Hazel?' remonstrated Mrs. Saddler.

'Well?' said Wych Hazel with closed eyes.

'Mr. Falkirk's dressed, ma'am.'

'What is it to me if Mr. Falkirk chooses to get up over night?'

'But the stage, ma'am!'

'The stage can wait.'

'The stage won't, Miss Hazel,' said Mrs. Saddler, earnestly. 'And Gotham says it's only a question of time whether we can catch it now.'

Something in these last words had an arousing power, for the girl laughed out.

'Mrs. Saddler, how can one wake up, with the certainty of seeing a tallow candle?'

'Dear me,' said Mrs. Saddler hurrying to light two tall sperms, 'if that's all, Miss Hazel-'

'That's not all. What's the matter with Mr. Falkirk this morning?'

'Why nothing, ma'am. Only he said you wanted to take the first stage to Chickaree.'

'Which I didn't, and don't.'

'And Gotham says,' pursued Mrs. Saddler, 'that if it is the first, ma'am, we'll save a day to get to Chickaree on Thursday.'

Whereupon, Wych Hazel sprung at once into a state of physical and mental action which nearly blew Mrs. Saddler away.

'Look,' she said, tossing the curls over her comb,-'there's my new travelling dress on the chair.'

'Another new travelling dress!' said Mrs. Saddler with upraised hands.

'And the hat ribbands match,' said Wych Hazel, 'and the gloves. And the veil is a shade lighter. Everything matches everything, and everything matches me. You never saw my match before, did you Mrs. Saddler?'

'Dear me! Miss Hazel,' said the good woman again. 'You do talk so wonderful!'

It was splendid to see her look of dismay, and amusement, and admiration, all in one, and to catch a glimpse of the other face-fun and mischief and beauty, all in one too! To put on the new dress, to fit on the new gloves,-Wych Hazel went down to Mr. Falkirk in admirable spirits.

Mr. Falkirk looked gloomy. As indeed anything might, in that hall; with the front door standing open, and one lamp burning till day should come; and the chill air streaming in. Mr. Falkirk paced up and down with the air of a man prepared for the worst. He shook Wych Hazel grimly by the hand, and she laughed out,

'How charming it is, sir? But where's breakfast?'

'Breakfast, Miss Hazel,' said her guardian solemnly, 'is never, so far as I can learn, taken by people setting out to seek their fortune. It is generally supposed that such people rarely have breakfast at all.'

'Very well, sir,-I am ready,'-and in another minute they were on their way, passing through the street of the little village, and then out on the open road, until after a half- hour's drive they entered another small settlement and drew up before its chief inn. Bustle enough here,-lamps in the hall and on the steps; lamps in the parlours; lamps running up and down the yards and road and dimly disclosing the outlines of a thorough bred stage coach and four horses, with the various figures pertaining thereto. Steadily the dawn came creeping up; the morning air-raw and damp-floated off the horses' tails, and flickered the lights, and even handled Wych Hazel's new veil. I think nothing but the new travelling dress kept her from shivering, as they went up the inn steps. People seeking their fortunes may at least want their breakfast.

But Mr. Falkirk was perverse. As they entered the hall, a waiter threw open the door into the long breakfast room- delicious with its fire and lights and coffee-(neither did the voices sound ill), but Mr. Falkirk stopped short.

'Is that the only fire you've got? I want breakfast in a private room.'

Now Mr. Falkirk's tone was sometimes one that nobody would think of answering in words,-of course, the waiter could do nothing but wheel about and open another door next to the first.

'Ah!' Mr. Falkirk said with immense satisfaction, as they stepped in.

'Ah!'-repeated his ward rather mockingly. 'Mr. Falkirk, this room is cold.'

Mr. Falkirk took the poker and gave the fire such a punch that it must have blazed uninterruptedly for half a day after.

'Cold, my dear?' he said beamingly-'no one can be cold long before such a fire as that. And breakfast will be here in a moment. If it comes before I get back, don't wait for me. How well your dress looks!'

'And I?-Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel.

'Why that's a matter of taste, my dear, of course. Some people you know are partial to black eyes-which yours are not. Others again-Ah, here is breakfast,-Now my dear, eat as much as you can,-you know we may not have any breakfast to-morrow. On a search after fortune, you never can tell.'

And helping her to an extraordinary quantity of everything on the tray, Mr. Falkirk at once went off and left her to dispose of it all alone. And of course he went straight into the next room. Didn't she know he would?-and didn't she hear the duo that greeted him?-'What, Mr. Falkirk!'-'Sir, your most obedient!'-and her guardian's double reply-'Back again, eh?'- and 'Your most obedient, Mr. Kingsland.' Wych Hazel felt provoked enough not to eat another mouthful. Then up came the stage, rumbling along to the front door; and as it came, in rushed Mr. Falkirk, poured out a cup of scalding coffee and swallowed it without a moment's hesitation.

'Coach, sir!' said the waiter opening the door.

'Coach, my dear?' repeated her guardian, taking her arm and whisking her down the hall and into the stage, before the passengers in the long room could have laid down their knives.

'What is the use of being in such a hurry, Mr. Falkirk?' she said at last; much tried at being tossed gently into the stage like a brown parcel-(which to be sure she was, but that made no difference).

'My dear,' said Mr. Falkirk, solemnly, "there is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.' "

And with that he drew off his glove, leaned back, and passed his hand over his brow with the air of a man who had in some shape achieved success.

By this time the stream of passengers began to pour forth; and the coach creaked and swung to and fro, as trunk after trunk and man after man found their way up to the roof. Then the door was flung open, and other passengers tumbled in, the lantern flashing dimly upon their faces and coats. Three and three more,-and another, but his progress was stayed.

'Not in here, sir,' said Mr. Falkirk politely, 'I have paid for three seats.'

'There ain't another seat,' says the driver,-'and he ain't a big man, sir-guess maybe you'll let him have a corner-we'll make it all right, sir.' He had a corner,-and so did our heroine! The new dress! Never mind; the sooner this went the sooner she would get another. And they rolled off, sweetly and silently, upon the country road. The morning was lovely. Light scarfs of fog floated about the mountain tops, light veils of cloud just mystified the sky; the tree-tops glittered with dew, the birds flew in and out; and through an open corner of her leathern curtain Wych Hazel peered out, gazing at the new world wherein she was going to seek her fortune.

'Spend the Summer at Chickaree, Mr. Falkirk?' said a voice from the further end of the coach. Wych Hazel drew in her head and her attention, and sat back to listen.

'I did not say I was going there,' said her guardian dryly.

'Two and two make four, my good sir. There's not even a sign of a place of entertainment between Stone Bridge and Crocus, and Stone Bridge you have confessed to.'

'You consider places of entertainment among the essentials then?'

'Why, in some cases,' said the gentleman, with a suspicious glance at Wych Hazel's brown veil.

'How long is it since you were there, Mr. Falkirk?' inquired

Mr. Kingsland's next neighbour.

The speaker was a younger man than Mr. Kingsland, and whereas that gentleman was a dandy, this one's dress was just one remove from that, and therefore faultless. About his face, so far off as the other end of the stage, there seemed nothing remarkable; it was grave, rather concise in its indications; but the voice prepared you for what a smile declared,-a nature joyous and unembittered; a spirit pure and honest and keen. Even Wych Hazel's guardian softened at his look.

'Pray, Mr. Falkirk?' said the other stranger, 'what is supposed to be the origin of the word "veil"?'

'I never heard,' said Mr. Falkirk dryly. 'Lost in the early records of civilization.'

'My dear sir!-of Barbarism!'

'Civilization has never entirely got rid of barbarism, I believe,' said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth; then out, 'By what road are you going, Rollo?'

'I should be happy to act as guide, sir. I leave the direct route.'

'Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel, 'just put your head a little this way, and see the veil of mist thrown over the top of that hill.'

Mr. Falkirk looked hastily, and resumed: 'You have lately returned, I hear, from your long foreign stay?'

'It was time.'

'Mr. Falkirk,' said his ward, 'do you consider that a remnant of the dark ages?'

'It keeps its place too gracefully for that,' said her guardian dropping his voice, as he looked across Wych Hazel out of the coach window.

'Mr. Falkirk' (sotto voce), 'you are charming!-Between ourselves, this is a hard place to keep gracefully. Please take out your watch, sir.'

Which Mr. Falkirk did, and silently showed it. Forth to meet his came a little gold hunting watch from behind the brown veil.

'You are a minute slow, sir-as usual.' Then very softly,-'Mr. Falkirk, what with being pressed and repressed, I am dying by quarter inches! Just introduce me for your grandmother, will you, and I will matronize the party.'

A request Mr. Falkirk complied with by entering forthwith into a long business discussion with another occupant of the stage coach, also known to him; in which stocks, commercial regulations, political enterprises, and the relative bearings of the same, precluded all reference to anything else whatever. Nobody's grandmother could have had less (visible) attention than Miss Hazel, up to the time when the coach rolled up to the door of a wayside inn, and the party got out to a luncheon or early dinner, as some of them would have called it. Then indeed she had enough. Mr. Falkirk handed her out and handed her in; straight to the gay carpeted "Ladies' room;" shut the door carefully, and asked her what she would have. No other lady was there to dispute possession.

'Only a broiled chicken, sir-and a soufflé-and potatoes à la crême au gratin,' said Miss Hazel, throwing off her bonnet and curling herself down on the arm of the sofa. 'Mr. Falkirk, all my previous acquaintance with cushions was superficial!-And could you just open the window, sir, and throw back the blinds? last November is in this room, apples and all.'

Mr. Falkirk obeyed directions, remarking that people who travel in search of their fortune must expect to meet with November in unexpected places; and then went off into the general eating-room, and by and by, from there or some other insalubrious region came a servant, with half of an imperfectly broiled fowl and muddy dish of coffee, flanked by a watery pickled cucumbers. Mr. Falkirk himself presently returned.

'How does it go?' he said.

'What, Mr. Falkirk?' the young lady was curled down in one corner of the sofa, much like a kitten; a small specimen of which animal purred complacently on her shoulder.

'Could you eat, Miss Hazel?'

'Truly, sir, I could. Mr. Falkirk-what a lovely kitten! Do you remark her length of tail?'

Mr. Falkirk thought he had heard of "puss in boots" before, but never had the full realization thereof till now.

'You have tasted nothing,' he said. 'What shall I get you? We shall be off in a few minutes, and you will not have another chance till we reach Hadyn's Dam.'

'Thank you, sir. A few minutes of undisturbed repose-with the removal of those cucumbers-and the restoration of that chicken to its other and I hope better half, is all that I require.'

'You will have rest at Hadyn's Dam,' said Mr. Falkirk with a face more expressive than his words.-'The bridge there is broken.'

'Queer place to rest, sir! Mr. Falkirk-there is Mr. Kingsland wondering why you keep me here.'

'He's eating his dinner.'

'Is he? I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza,' said Wych Hazel, closing her eyes. 'He says he don't wonder you are kept.'

'What shall I get you, Wych? You cannot go from here to the next stopping place without anything,' Mr. Falkirk said kindly.

'If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this kitten'-

Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful 'chunks' of cake. The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered the various travellers, one by one. 'Mr. Falkirk,' said Mr. Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if his charge might be there, too, 'you are not surely-agoing on alone?'

Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych Hazel set down her empty tumbler.

'My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about you!'

'What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?'

'Take it along, sir.'

'On your lap, I suppose!'

'Mr. Falkirk, the accuracy of your judgment is unparalleled.

Is that our coach at the door?'

'My dear, you will find plenty of cats at Chickaree,' said her guardian, looking annoyed.

'Yes, sir-' said the young lady meekly, dropping her veil and fitting on her gloves.

'All right, sir,' said the landlord appearing at the door. 'Roughish road, Mr. Falkirk-and t'other gents not enough patience to divide among 'em and go half round-'

How much patience Mr. Falkirk carried to the general stock does not appear. But presently, lifting one corner of her basket lid, Wych Hazel drew forth a radiant spray of roses, and laid them penitently upon the averted line of her guardian's coatsleeve.

'Where did you get that?' he said. 'You had better put it in the basket, my dear; it will stand a better chance to keep fresh.'

'Do you prefer pinks, sir?-or here are bachelor's buttons-'

'They seem rather common things to me,' said Mr. Falkirk slowly, yet with a somewhat pacified brow. There was no kitten in the basket!

'I hadn't the heart to bring puss, as we are going to

Catskill,' whispered Miss Hazel.

'We!' ejaculated Mr. Falkirk.

'Nominative case, first person plural, sir.'

'And what's the definition of an adverb?'

'Something which qualifies your suffering-n'est-ce pas, Mr.

Falkirk?'

'Certainly, by its primary action upon your doing, Miss Hazel.

We are going to Chickaree.'

To which statement Miss Hazel for the present made no reply. She retreated to the depths of her own corner and the brown veil; fingering her roses now and then, and (apparently) making endless mental 'studies' of the wayside. The coach jogged lumberingly on: there was no relief to the tiresomeness of the way. It was a long morning. Dusty and weary, the coach- load was set down at last at another country inn; by the side of a little river which had well filled its banks. The travellers were not, it must be noted, upon any of the great highways of passage, but had taken a cut across country, over some of the spurs of the Catskill; where a railroad was not. Mr. Falkirk brought his charge into the 'Ladies' parlour,' and spoke in a tone of irritated business.

'This is Hadyn's Dam. You can have rest and dinner now.'