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Queen of Spades
by
“Yes, you do–your time and Hiram’s.”
“Give it up. It’s hardly the season for a picnic. We might go fishing–“
“We must go to bed, so as to be up early, all hands.”
“Oh, hold on, Sue; I do like this wood-fire. If it wouldn’t make you vain, I’d tell you how–“
“Pretty, father. Say it out.”
“Oh, you know it, do you? Well, how pretty you look in the firelight. Even mother, there, looks ten years younger. Keep your low seat, child, and let me look at you. So you’re eighteen? My! my! how the years roll around! It WILL be Bleak House for mother and me, in spite of the wood-fire, when you leave us.”
“It won’t be Bleak House much longer,” she replied with a significant little nod.
The next morning at an early hour the farmer said, “All ready, Sue. Our time is yours till night; so queen it over us.” And black Hiram grinned acquiescence, thinking he was to have an easy time.
“Queen it, did you say?” cried Sue, in great spirits. “Well, then, I shall be queen of spades. Get ’em, and come with me. Bring a pickaxe, too.” She led the way to a point not far from the dwelling, and resumed: “A hole here, father, a hole there, Hiram, big enough for a small hemlock, and holes all along the northeast side of the house. Then lots more holes, all over the lawn, for oaks, maples, dogwood, and all sorts to pretty trees, especially evergreens.’
“Oh, ho!” cried the farmer; “now I see the hole where the woodchuck went in.”
“But you don’t see the hole where he’s coming out. When that is dug, even the road will be lined with trees. Foolish old father! you thought I’d be carried away with city gewgaws, fine furniture, dresses, and all that sort of thing. You thought I’d be pining for what you couldn’t afford, what wouldn’t do you a particle of good, nor me either, in the long run. I’m going to make you set out trees enough to double the value of your place and take all the bleakness and bareness from this hillside. To-day is only the beginning. I did get some new notions in the city which made me discontented with my home, but they were not the notions you were worrying about. In the suburbs I saw that the most costly houses were made doubly attractive by trees and shrubbery, and I knew that trees would grow for us as well as for millionaires–My conscience! if there isn’t–” and the girl frowned and bit her lips.
“Is that one of the city beaux you were telling us about?” asked her father, sotto voce.
“Yes; but I don’t want any beaux around to-day. I didn’t think he’d be so persistent.” Then, conscious that she was not dressed for company, but for work upon which she had set her heart, she advanced and gave Mr. Minturn a rather cool greeting.
But the persistent beau was equal to the occasion. He had endured Sue’s absence as long as he could, then had resolved on a long day’s siege, with a grand storming-onset late in the afternoon.
“Please, Miss Banning,” he began, “don’t look askance at me for coming at this unearthly hour. I claim the sacred rites of hospitality. I’m an invalid. The doctor said I needed country air, or would have prescribed it if given a chance. You said I might come to see you some day, and by playing Paul Pry I found out, you remember, that this was your birthday, and–“
“And this is my father, Mr. Minturn.”
Mr. Minturn shook the farmer’s hand with a cordiality calculated to awaken suspicions of his designs in a pump, had its handle been thus grasped. “Mr. Banning will forgive me for appearing with the lark,” he continued volubly, determining to break the ice. “One can’t get the full benefit of a day in the country if he starts in the afternoon.”