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Updated: July 29, 2025
He's always known he could use this house as he pleased," Vinie ended simply. "Tom and I would go barefoot over fire for Mr. Rand." "Well, my dear, I hope he won't ask you to," said her visitor, with dryness. She rose. "I've a long drive before me, so I'll not sit longer. Who's that I left my glasses in the coach who's that speaking to Gabriel?" "It's Mr. Gaudylock." "Gaudylock!
"Yes," assented the other sombrely, "it explains. Fair, I want to find out when Adam Gaudylock goes West." "Gaudylock!" cried the other; then after a moment, "Well, I'm not surprised at that, either. I can tell you now when he's going. In two weeks' time." "How do you know?" "Unity sent a message about some work or other to Tom Mocket's sister Vinie.
One thing's certain, anyhow; he's not built like Mr. Madison or Mr. Monroe. He'll not be content to travel the President's road always. He'll have a road all his own." The scamp's imagination, not usually lively, bestirred itself under the influence of the day, of wine, and the still audible sound of horses' hoofs. "By George, Vinie! it will be a Roman road, hard, paved, and fit for triumphs!
Rand laughed. "Don't call me 'thir'! Vinie, I'm elected." Vinie set down her pitcher beside a clump of white phlox and wiped her hands on the skirt of her linsey dress. "Are you going away to Richmond?" she asked. "Not until October. When I do I'll go see the little old house you used to live in, Vinie!" "It's torn down," remarked Vinie soberly. "Here's Tom now, and and " "Adam Gaudylock.
She much preferred a mild spree with one of her own cronies. Ed was very careful of her at street crossings and going down steps, and joggled her elbow a good deal. This irked her, though she tried not to show it. She preferred a matinée, or a good picture or a concert with Sarah, or Vinie, or Julia. They could giggle, and nudge and comment like girls together, and did.
You shan't scuttle away until you have spoken to my wife!" "Yeth, thir," said Vinie, her hand in Jacqueline's. "I wish you well, ma'am." Rand and Adam laughed. Jacqueline, with a sudden soft kindliness for the small flushed face and startled eyes, bent her flower-crowned head and kissed Vinie. "Oh!" breathed Vinie. "Yeth, yeth, Mith Jacqueline, I thertainly wish you well!"
"Don't go fishing to-morrow, Tom," said Rand from the desk, "but don't come here either. Stay at home with Vinie." "You won't be coming in from Roselands?" "I won't be coming here." Rand left the desk and stood at the small window where the roses were now in bloom. "I shall send you a note, Tom, to-morrow morning. It will tell you what" He paused for a moment. "What comes next," he finished.
"I don't feel like crying," said Vinie. "There isn't anything the matter with me. I'm going to put the green stuff up, and Tom's got ever so many wax candles and two bottles of Madeira, and you'll come to supper " "I'll send you a brace of wild turkeys Christmas Eve. I'll shoot them over on Indian Run." Vinie shrank back.
Everything, Vinie, except that, coming along the main road, I stopped a moment at the gate to say how d'ye do, and to tell you that Tom would be at home in two or three days. That is all, and my coming into the house and the rest of it never was. Do you understand?" "I won't say anything at all, thir." "It's a promise?" "Yeth, thir. I promise." They went out into the porch together.
"I don't know which ith the prettier, the little white waxen berries or the red." "I like the red," returned the hunter. "That in your hand bright and quick as blood-drops." "No," said Vinie, and let the spray drop to the floor. "Blood ith darker than that." "Not if it's heart's blood that's bright enough. What is the matter, little partridge?" "Nothing," Vinie replied, with an effort.
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