Chapter Six

by Mrs. Elizabeth Prentiss
Edited by Amber Moeller

Horace had nearly recovered his youthful vigor, and was in the midst of unusual activity, when the illness of his father called him home. This illness proved to be sharp and brief, and ended in a peaceful death. Thus he was left without a single near relative on earth, and he took his seat in the train to return to the city, with a sense of isolation that saddened and depressed him. Life looked hard; it wasn't paying its way, he thought; his lame leg was giving him a good deal of discomfort, or rather his artificial leg was. It seemed a dismal prospect to be always suffering thus.

He was in this mood when, at a wayside station, four young girls, escorted by a very assiduous young man, entered the train and seated themselves right behind him: or rather, the girls did so. The assiduous young man arranged them to their liking and then withdrew. He had placed them face to face with each other, and as soon as the train moved off, they began to talk and to chatter and to laugh, as only American girls do talk and laugh in public vehicles, and he could not help hearing all they said, as did everybody around them.

"Can you ride backwards, Mag?" cried one. "And can you, Lou? How fortunate, for neither of us can endure it, can we, Nan?" To which "Nan" asserted vehemently, and then there was a little whispering, till Nan, warming with her subject, began to talk quite loudly again.

"I'll tell you the whole story. You see, when he first proposed to enlist she made a time about it, and said and did all she could to alter his resolution. But go he would, and go he did, and she gave him fair warning, that if he were maimed or disfigured or anything, she should break off with him."

"What a horrid thing she must have been!" cried Lou.

"Well--it wasn't as if she didn't give him fair warning. Do you think it was, Jo?"

"Jo" inclined not to commit herself. But on the whole, she should prefer, herself, to marry a man with two legs.

"Of course," Mag here put in in a low voice, which Horace heard, however, for she sat just behind his head, "but you see, they were engaged. That alters the case. She had no right to break off a solemn engagement."

"As to that there was not much solemnity about it, till our Mag must needs put her finger into the pie. Well, to go on, by-and-by he comes home with one empty coat-sleeve, and a frightful great red scar on one cheek. She fainted dead away when she saw him, and it made her so nervous to look at him, that he only went to see her occasionally. And then it got rumored about the village that the engagement was broken off. Now comes in the ridiculous part. Our Mag--"

"Don't Annie, don't," pleaded Mag. "People will hear you!"

"Spot your ears, if you don't like to hear it, you dear little goose you! Our Mag got down on her knees, and prayed about it!"

"Well, well!" cried Jo and Lou in a breath; while Horace felt like shaking them, for he was sure that the unseen Mag was crying.

"I couldn't help it!" she said, "I pitied him so, and he seemed so heart-broken. To think what sacrifices he had made for his country, and how thankful a girl with a heart as big as--"

"A peppermint?" suggested Nan.

"Yes, a big as a peppermint," said Mag, waxing wroth; "how thankful a girl with the least speck of heart would have been to spend her whole life in making him forget what he had lost."

"What sort of man is he?" asked Lou. "Perhaps Maggie may console him herself."

All three laughed at this very witty suggestion and Nan replied:

"Oh, no! he wouldn't do for Mag. He is a very common sort of fellow. We wouldn't let him look at her. But he'll find somebody, no doubt, before long. That's the way with men. Meanwhile we are going to carry Maggie off out of his reach, lest, what with her patriotism, and what with her pity, she should throw herself into his arms."

"She couldn't do that; for according to you, he has but one arm," said Jo, laughing.

"I don't see how you can joke about such things," said Mag. "They seem to me almost too sacred to speak of. Think of losing so much as one of your own fingers! For my part, I never see a wounded soldier without wishing I might say a kind word to him, if I could do nothing more."

"Oh, your fate is sealed," said Nan; "you'll marry the first one-legged animal that comes along, just out of pity. But if I were a man I should want to be loved for myself, not for compassion."

Miss Maggie vouchsafing no answer, the conversation thenceforth flagged a little, and at last the four girls relapsed into entire silence, and Horace was left to not a few mingled emotions. "Warm-hearted, and patriotic and gentle!" he said to himself, "and a girl who can get down on her knees; all this I know of ‘our Mag,' and yet, have not so much as seen her! She would marry even me, out of pity."

But at that thought he shrugged his shoulders.

"Passengers for Beverly will change cars!" shouted the conductor, as few hours later, whereupon great confusion arose among Horace's fair neighbors.

"Mercy on us! I had no idea we were to change cars!" cried Lou. "Where is my traveling bag? Has anyone seen my waterproof? Make haste, Jo, we shall be carried off as sure as fate."

So they were going off, and he should hear their gay talk no more; going away when he had not had a glimpse of one of them, especially "our Mag!"

I daresay she's red-haired, and coarse and freckled," he said to himself, "but I must and will see her;" and he started up with one of his most graceful bows, and with an "Allow me to assist you, young ladies," was right in the midst of them in a moment.

"Thank you; and if you could reach down my traveling bad, and if you would see if my parasol has fallen under the seat; and oh, thank you, that's it!"

They were all mixed up together, so that he did not know which was which, but he was conscious of a sense of relief when he found that he was to part company with only two; the lively "Nan" and "our Mag" remained behind. The whole scene occupied not more that three minutes, and the train moved on, and he gave a curious look at the two sisters, who were absorbed in getting to rights after the flight of their companions.

At another time he would have been struck with the brightness of the one face, and the sweet earnestness of the other, but Maggie's surprised glad smile of evident recognition quite startled him.

"Who is she? Where can I have met her?" he vainly asked himself. But he had presence of mind not to ask her, and he did not pretend to conceal that he was glad to see her, trusting soon to learn, in conversation, who she really was.

"I hope you have been well since I last had the pleasure of seeing you," he began, hypocritically, and seating himself before her.

"I yes, I am always well. This is my sister Annie; she has never seen you, but has often heart me speak of you; haven't you, Annie?"

"Very likely," returned Annie, coolly. "But I should know better if you would be kind enough to mention the name of your friend."

"Mr. Wheeler," Horace hastily put in.

"Then I can say positively, that I never in my life heard you speak of him," cried Annie.

"Why, yes, Annie, don't you remember? However, as I was never introduced to him, and, till this moment, never heard his name, except," she added smiling, "his Christian name--"

"Horace," suggested our hero.

"Yes, Horace," said Maggie.

"Oh!" quoth Annie, looking very closely and curiously at him, "and so you are Horace!"

He felt not a little flattered that this sweet-looking Maggie had spoke of him to her sister; but how happened it that she remember him, when he had so completely forgotten her? But as he did not expect to see her again, but to lose her as soon as the train reached the city, he determined to make the most of the time remaining. It was far pleasanter to chat with those pretty girls, and such girls! than to sit staring out of the window, getting his eyes full of cinders. And so he went on exactly as if they had been friends for years, and from a light skirmish they at last got into open warfare. Maggie had read everything there was to read about the state of the country, and had some very positive opinions of her own which did not agree with his. And though she was so gentle and lady-like in every look and tone, she would not yield to him an inch.

"But I ought to know, because I was in the army several years," he said, at last.

"In the army! Then why are you not in it now?"

"I was honorably discharged," he replied, and tried to change the subject, but she would not let him.

"I am so disappointed in you," she said. "I did not think you were one of the sort to get discharged," so he muttered something about being ill.

"Oh, but you are quite well now, are you not, and you will enter the army again, won't you?"

"That's the way she talks to everybody," said Annie, naturally misunderstanding his increased embarrassment. "Mother often says she goes to far."

"One can hardly go too far in a good cause," he said, and there the conversation became less animated; he had evidently lost ground with Maggie, and she had less to say.

And now the train went thundering into the depot, and he had not learned who they were, and where they lived. It would have been better, he thought, if he had at the outset frankly owned his ignorance, but that wouldn't do now.

"We shall see you before long, I suppose," said Annie, as they parted.

"Certainly; this is--I should be happy--"

"Oh! Annie did not mean that you should call on purpose to see us. She only thought you would be in and out more or less, while we are in town, and that will be several weeks," said Maggie. So their home was not in the city, as he had taken it for grated it was, and his chance of stumbling upon them by accident was limited to a few weeks. In his eagerness he ran after the carriage which was driving off with them, saying:--

"But you have not told me where you are to be found?"

"At the same dear old place," replied Maggie, as the carriage drove on. He stood looking after it in no little perplexity. They would think it very strange if he should not call; and besides, they were nice, pleasant girls, and it was a shame to let the acquaintance end here.

To be continued ...

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