University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.
THE FOX UNDER THE ROBE.

Dora sitting upon the doorstep, with Sunshine nestled
close beside her, was quite astonished to see Mr. Brown
appearing from the forest with Kitty, as his letter had named
no day for his arrival; and she had not expected him so
soon.

She went to meet him, however, with a greeting of unaffected
cordiality; and as, while holding out her hand, she
raised to his her clear and steadfast eyes, the young man's
somewhat serious face lighted with a sudden, happy glow,
making it so handsome, that Kitty, eagerly watching the
meeting, turned white to the very lips, and hastily passed
on toward the house.

“Come, Dolce,” said she, “I will put you to bed. Dora's
lover has come to see her, and she won't have a look for
either of us to-night.”

“I love you, Kitty; and I don't mind if you did throw
away my moss. I won't bring any more into the house.”

But Sunshine, well disposed as, through Dora's careful
suggestions, she had become toward Kitty, was rather
alarmed than pleased at the sudden embrace in which she
found herself wrapped, and the eager kisses, among which
Kitty whispered, —

“O Dolce! do you, do you love poor Kitty a little? You're
an angel, and I'm real sorry about the moss; but you can get
some more, can't you? I'll help you hunt for it to-morrow
while they're gone to walk or ride. They'll be off all day;
but we won't mind. Do you love me, Dolly?”

“Yes, I do, Kitty; and I know a place where the moss
is so thick, you can't step unless you put your foot on it.
But I didn't, 'cause” —

“'Cause what, you darling?”

“'Cause the little creatures that live in the woods come
and dance there nights, and they wouldn't like it if it was
dirty.”

“What creatures? The woodchucks?”

“Why, no, Aunt Kitty! the little girls and boys, or something.
They whisper way off among the trees, and dance
too, just when the sun sets. Didn't you ever see them skipping
in and out among the trees just as far off as you could
look?”

“Those are shadows, Dolly; and the whispering in the
trees is the wind. You mustn't have so many fancies,
child, or by and by you'll get cracked.”

“Then you can boil me in milk, just as you did the teacup,”
murmured Sunshine, half asleep.

Kitty made no answer, but, smoothing the sheet over the
little girl, went to seat herself at the open window.

Far off upon the prairie she heard the night-winds come
and go, — now moaning like some vast spirit wandering
disquieted, now falling soft and low as the breath of the
sleeping earth; and the vague voice and the cool touch
seemed to quiet the fever of the young girl's heart, although
she knew not how or why.

Above, in the purple skies, stood all the host of heaven,
looking down with solemn benediction upon the earth, lying
peaceful and loving beneath their gaze; and even Kitty —
poor, lonely, heartsick Kitty — lifted her hot, tearful face
toward them, and felt the holy calm descend upon her
aching heart.

Falling upon her knees, she raised her arms yearningly
toward heaven; and her whole soul struggled upward in
the cry, —

“Oh, I wish I could, I wish I could, be good! O God!

make me good enough to die and go to where my mother
is!”

A light step upon the stair, a gentle hand upon the latch,
and strange Kitty, perverse even among her best impulses,
started up, and stood cold and silent in the darkness.

“Kitty!” said Dora's voice softly.

“Well. I'm here.”

“Won't you come down now? Sunshine is asleep; isn't
she?”

“Yes.”

“Well, won't you come?”

“By and by: I've got to see to the beds. Where is Mr.
Brown going to sleep?”

“I thought you might give him your room, and come in
here.”

“Indeed I sha'n't!” replied Kitty in a strange voice.
“He is no company of mine; and I don't want him even to
look into my room. I'd never sleep there again if he did
once!”

“Well, then, we can make a bed for Karl on the floor,
and Mr. Brown can have his bed,” said Dora quietly, seeing
nothing deeper in Kitty's refusal than a little impulse
of perversity.

Kitty made no reply; and Dora, groping her way toward
where she stood, put an arm about her waist, saying, —

“Come, Kitty, come down with me. You're tired, I
know; and it is too bad you have so much to do. To-morrow
I will stay at home and help you. Karl can take a
holiday, and show Mr. Brown over the farm.”

“What nonsense! I don't do any thing to hurt; and it
would be pretty well for you to send Mr. Brown off with
Karl, when he came here on purpose to see you.”

“Oh, no, he didn't! He came to see us all; and he
asked where you were just now, when we came in.”

“And that was why you came to look for me; wasn't
it?” asked Kitty suspiciously.

“Not wholly. I had been thinking of it for some minutes.”

“But couldn't bear to leave long enough,” suggested
Kitty; adding, however, “Well, I'll come. I suppose it is
no more than polite, as long as he's company.”

“Of course it isn't; and you know Mr. Brown is very
ceremonious,” said Dora, so archly, that Kitty paused in
smoothing her hair to say, —

“Now, if you're going to make fun of me, Dora” —

“Oh, I'm not! — not a bit of it. There, now, you're nice
enough for any thing.”

In the kitchen, besides Mr. Brown and Karl, the girls
found Mr. and Mrs. Ross; Mehitable demurely seated in a
corner, and knitting a long woollen stocking; while Seth,
under the skilful management of Mr. Brown, was giving
quite an interesting description of life in a Maine logging-camp.

“Do you ever have any trouble from wild beasts in that
region?” asked the chaplain.

“Waal, some. There's lots of b'ar about by spells; and
once't in a while a painter or a wild-cat — wolverines, some
calls 'cm out here.”

“Did you ever meet one yourself?”

“Which on 'em?”

“Either. Bears, for instance.”

“Yes, sir. I've took b'ar ever since I wor old enough
to set a trap.”

“Did you ever have any trouble with one?”

“Waal, I don' know as I did. They was mostly pooty
'commodatin',” said Seth, drawing the back of his brown
hand across his mouth to hide a self-complacent grin at
the recollection of his own exploits.

“Tell Mr. Brown 'bout the painter and Uncle 'Siah's
Harnah,” suggested Mehitable in a low voice; and as Seth

only stirred in his chair, and looked rather reprovingly at
his wife, the guest added, —

“Yes, Mr. Ross, tell us that, by all means.”

“Ho! 'twa'n't much of a story; only the woman thinks
consid'able about it, 'cause it wor a cousin of ourn that wor
took off.”

“Indeed! and what were the circumstances?” politely
insisted Mr. Brown. So Seth, tilting his chair upon its
hind-legs, and crossing his own, stuck his chin into the air,
fixed his eyes upon the ceiling, and began, in the inimitable
nasal whining voice of a Down-East Yankee, the story
narrated in the following chapter.