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A Cathedral Courtship
by
So here we are, all lodging together in an ideal English farmhouse. There is a thatched roof on one of the old buildings, and the dairy house is covered with ivy, and Farmer Hendry’s wife makes a real English courtesy, and there are herds of beautiful sleek Durham cattle, and the butter and cream and eggs and mutton are delicious; and I never, never want to go home any more. I want to live here forever, and wave the American flag on Washington’s birthday.
I am so happy that I feel as if something were going to spoil it all. Twenty years old to-day! I wish mamma were alive to wish me many happy returns.
Memoranda: Casual remark for breakfast table or perhaps for luncheon,–it is a trifle heavy for breakfast: “Since the sixteenth century and despite the work of Inigo Jones and the great Wren (not Jenny Wren–Christopher), architecture has had, in England especially, no legitimate development.”
HE
DURHAM, July 19
O child of fortune, thy name is J. Q. Copley! How did it happen to be election time? Why did the inns chance to be full? How did aunt Celia relax sufficiently to allow me to find her a lodging? Why did she fall in love with the lodging when found? I do not know. I only know Fate smiles; that Kitty and I eat our morning bacon and eggs together; that I carve Kitty’s cold beef and pour Kitty’s sparkling ale at luncheon; that I go to vespers with Kitty, and dine with Kitty, and walk in the gloaming with Kitty–and aunt Celia. And after a day of heaven like this, like Lorna Doone’s lover,–ay, and like every other lover, I suppose,–I go to sleep, and the roof above me swarms with angels, having Kitty under it!
We were coming home from afternoon service, Kitty and I. (I am anticipating for she was “Miss Schuyler” then, but never mind.) We were walking through the fields, while Mrs. Benedict and aunt Celia were driving. As we came across a corner of the bit of meadow land that joins the stable and the garden, we heard a muffled roar, and as we looked round we saw a creature with tossing horns and waving tail making for us, head down, eyes flashing. Kitty gave a shriek. We chanced to be near a pair of low bars. I hadn’t been a college athlete for nothing. I swung Kitty over the bars, and jumped after her. But she, not knowing in her fright where she was nor what she was doing; supposing, also, that the mad creature, like the villain in the play, would “still pursue her,” flung herself bodily into my arms, crying, “Jack! Jack! Save me!”
“It was the first time she had called me Jack,” and I needed no second invitation. I proceeded to save her,–in the usual way, by holding her to my heart and kissing her lovely hair reassuringly, as I murmured: “You are safe, my darling; not a hair of your precious head shall be hurt. Don’t be frightened.”
She shivered like a leaf. “I am frightened,” she said. “I can’t help being frightened. He will chase us, I know. Where is he? What is he doing now?”
Looking up to determine if I need abbreviate this blissful moment, I saw the enraged animal disappearing in the side door of the barn; and it was a nice, comfortable Durham cow,–that somewhat rare but possible thing, a sportive cow!
“Is he gone?” breathed Kitty from my waistcoat.
“Yes, he is gone–she is gone, darling. But don’t move; it may come again.”
My first too hasty assurance had calmed Kitty’s fears, and she raised her charming flushed face from its retreat and prepared to withdraw. I did not facilitate the preparations, and a moment of awkward silence ensued.
“Might I inquire,” I asked, “if the dear little person at present reposing in my arms will stay there (with intervals for rest and refreshment) for the rest of her natural life?”