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THIS STORY IS TOLD BY

THE MISTRESS OF THE HOUSE

AND IS CALLED

THE COT AND THE RILL

A week or so later the Daughter of the House came skipping down one of the broad paths. John Gayther stood still and looked at her, glad to see her coming, as he always was, no matter on what errand she came.

“John,” she cried, before she reached him, “you are to stop work!” Then, as she came up to him, she continued: “Yes; there is to be story-telling this morning. We have told papa about it, and he is coming to what he calls the story-telling place with us, and mamma feels inspired to tell the story. So you may take that troubled look out of your face. Please put the big easy garden-chair in the shade of the summer-house. Papa does so like to be comfortable. And the view from there is so fine, you know–a beautiful land view. Papa must be tired of sea views and shore views, and here he will enjoy the mountains!”

Having delivered all this very volubly, the Daughter of the House skipped away. And as John Gayther busied himself in making the “story-telling place” attractive he felt glad that there were others besides himself who liked to tell stories. There was such a thing as overworking a mine. He was that rare thing, a story-teller who is also a good listener. Moreover, John felt very diffident about telling one of his stories before the Master of the House, who was a man prone to speak his mind. Not that John disliked the Master of the House. Far from it. He, with the family, was pleased when the Master of the House returned from a long cruise and proceeded immediately to make himself very much at home. For the Master of the House was a captain in the navy, and as hearty, bluff, and good-natured as a captain should be.

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. John Gayther stood respectfully until the Master of the House motioned to him to sit on his stool.

“Good morning, John,” he cried heartily. “We’ve piped all hands to yarns. I have heard what you can do in this line, and we shall call upon you before long. This time you are privileged to listen. You can let somebody else cut your asparagus and dig your potatoes this morning.”

“Papa,” said his daughter, “it is too late for asparagus and too early for potatoes. I am afraid you forget about these things when you are at sea.”

“Not at all,” said her father. “On shipboard we cut our asparagus at any time of the year. The steward does it with a big knife, which he jabs through the covers of the tin cans. As for potatoes, they are always with us.”

The Mistress of the House was now prepared to tell her story.

“I am going to tell my story in the first person,” she began.

“There is no better person,” interrupted the Master of the House.

“I do not intend to describe my hero who is to tell the story,” continued his wife. “I will only say that he is moderately young and moderately handsome. Various other things about him you will find out as the story goes on. Now, then, he begins thus: I was driving my wife in a buggy in a mountainous region, and when we reached the top of a little rise in the road, Anita put her hand on my arm. ‘Stop,’ she said; ‘look down there! That is what I like! It is a cot and a rill. You see that cot–not much of a house, to be sure, but it would do. And there, just near enough for the water to tumble over rocks and gurgle over stones to soothe one to sleep on summer nights, is the rill–not much of a rill, perhaps, but I think it could be arranged with a shovel. And then, all the rest is enchanting. I had been looking at it for some time before I spoke. There is a smooth meadow stretching away to a forest, and behind that there are hills, and in the distance you can just see the mountains. Now this is the place where I should like to live. Isn’t there any way of making those horses stand still for a minute?’