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John Gayther looked at the Daughter of the House steadfastly and wondered if the Almia of the story had cut off her beautiful hair. He was sure she had had an abundance of light silvery-golden hair which fluffed itself all about her head under her wide hat, and it would be a sort of shock to think of its being cut off. But he asked no questions; he did not want to interrupt too much.
They conversed for a while on some deep subjects, and then they were joined by the two ladies and the Next Neighbor, and the serious discourse changed into light talk; and John Gayther coming up to pay his respects to the Old Professor, the Next Neighbor was seized with an inspiration. "John," she said, "you must tell us a story.
"I have read that novel," said John Gayther, considerably to the surprise of both his hearers, "and it belongs to the same class as mine, of course you know all stories are arranged in classes, but the one I am telling you is much more natural and true to life than the one written by the Frenchman." "I am quite ready to believe that," said the Mistress of the House. "Now please go on."
The boy vanished with celerity, and John Gayther sank upon his stool with an air of resignation. But no sooner had the Frenchman uttered a few sentences than he brightened up, and not only listened attentively but put aside the disagreeable feeling he had had for him. The beginning of the narrative lifted a load from his mind.
"There are patent contrivances for garden-work," said John Gayther, "and I don't say that they don't help, especially in planting-time; but, like the captain, I prefer the old ways that bring the gardener and the earth close together. The old, simple instruments seem like friends.
It turned out to be a big fish, about half my size, and he did not ask any questions, but just swam through the open door, almost brushing me, and went his way." "I wonder you weren't frightened to death!" said the Daughter of the House. "It would be hard to kill me with fright," said John Gayther, "and I'll prove that to you, miss.
One morning, as John Gayther was working in the melon-bed, the Daughter of the House came to him, and greeted him with such a glow on her face that John knew she had something pleasant to tell him. "Yes, miss," John replied to her greeting; "it is a beautiful morning, and I know of something more beautiful than the morning."
The captain had been at home some days, and had been in the garden several times, and now John Gayther was filled with admiration as he saw this fine, sturdy figure, clad all in white, approach the summer-house. With an air of supreme content this figure partly stretched itself in the big garden-chair, while the two ladies seated themselves on the bench.
They waited for the accustomed music, and a hush fell upon them. They were silent for some time, and then the Old Professor spoke: "I see John Gayther below the terrace. Can't we have a story, if we cannot have a song?" John was called up at once, and the Next Neighbor accosted him gayly: "If you had known that I am going to tell a story you would have walked faster."
To be sure, I thought seriously of some things she had said; but then, people can consider things people say without liking the people who say them. I pity her husband." Just then came the summons to luncheon, and this story was not commented upon. John Gayther and the Daughter of the House walked in the garden.
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