THE PICNIC.
Everything was ready at last, and the whole family started for the pier, where they were to meet their friends. Such a crowd of people surrounded them upon their arrival, that Ruth, who merely knew a few of them slightly, felt quite over-whelmed, and wished that her usual companion, Ernest, had been beside her.
The steamer which had been chartered for the occasion now came alongside the pier, and every one was occupied with the business of embarking. When all the party were safely on board, Ruth found herself amongst a number of strangers, far away from Julia, who had evidently quite forgotten her, and was laughing and chatting with a little group of girls at the other end of the vessel. Her aunt was entertaining the ladies, and her uncle walking up and down the deck in earnest conversation with two gentlemen; Rupert was trying to get on the paddle-box, and there was no one near her but Gerald, the facetious leader of a knot of young men. Ruth felt very lonely and rather sorrowful; she had been eagerly anticipating this picnic, and now she seemed to be quite neglected, while every one else was gay and happy. She had not the courage to make her way through the visitors to reach Julia at the other end of the boat, for she had an undefined feeling that if she went she would not be welcomed there. Her thoughts flew back to the one spot of earth where she was always wanted and ever welcomed, and she heaved a little sigh.
"What is the matter, my fair coz?" asked Gerald, who was standing near and heard the sigh. "Are the Fates very unpropitious?"
"No, Cousin Gerald," she answered shyly.
She could not understand the young man who patronized her, and talked to her as if she were a little child, and she fancied that he was making fun of her.
"Then why do you sigh?" he inquired.
"I have nothing else to do," she said, smiling.
"Has Julia left you without any introduction? Well, we will soon remedy that," he said as he led her towards a very fair young girl, dressed in blue and white, and having introduced the two girls he left them talking, and strolled off with a friend.
Ruth's companion was by no means shy, she had a great deal to say, and began by making remarks upon the people on board, and telling little scraps of their personal histories.
"You see that old gentleman walking with Mr. Woburn. That is Mr. Amass, the banker. They say that he is awfully rich, but I am sure that he is a terrible screw. Only look at his wife, and see how shabbily she dresses. Don't you see her over there with the daisies in her bonnet? And that is her niece, Miss Game, flirting with Mr. Trim. Ah! he is walking away now; he prefers a chat with Edith Thorpe. How amused they look! I suppose he is telling her what Miss Game has been saying. Yes, I am sure they are laughing at her!"
"But surely," said Ruth, looking rather shocked, "he would not be so rude as to talk to a young lady, and then go away and laugh at her!"
"My dear child," replied the other, laughing, "every one does it, more or less."
"But are none of them friends? Do none of them care for each other sufficiently to refrain from laughing?" asked Ruth earnestly.
"Very few persons care enough for their friends to be quiet about their follies and weaknesses," replied this worldly-wise young lady, and then she continued her running commentary upon the visitors until the steamer arrived at its destination, a beautiful little bay where the water was so clear that one could see the sea-weeds growing underneath. Tall trees grew not far from the shore, and upon a slight eminence was situated an old castle, not possessing many historical associations, but in a fairly good state of preservation, and much frequented by pleasure parties from Stonegate.
The older ladies at once made their way to a shady nook under the trees, and the rest of the party strolled about the grounds in twos and threes until a tempting repast had been spread, not upon the grass, but upon long wooden tables in the castle yard.
Ruth was utterly astonished. Her ideas of a picnic were gathered from the simple and joyous little parties held in the woods near her home, when the hamper, filled with cold meat, tartlets, and milk or lemonade, was sent on in the milk cart or one of the farm wagons, a white cloth was spread under the shade of a tree, and the whole party sat on the grass round it, and were merry and lively, regarding the little accidents which would occasionally happen as so much cause for mirth.
But this sumptuous collation, with its garnished dishes of poultry and joints, salads, tarts, jellies, blancmange, ices and champagne, with various fruits, all tastefully arranged, and the accessories of glass and flowers, silver forks and spoons, and long seats, with waiters hurrying about, made a picnic quite a different affair, and—Ruth was unfashionable enough to think—took away all the fun of it. She could see that her aunt was somewhat anxious, and was quite as vexed at any slight accident which occurred as if she had been giving a party in her own house.
Of course there were several toasts and a good deal of speech-making, and a considerable quantity of champagne was drunk before the guests left the tables and dispersed, some to the tennis court, others to explore the castle, and a few to take a country walk in the green lanes.
The afternoon was very warm, but the hush of the summer's stillness was broken by the merry voices of the girls as they made their way through the old castle and peeped out of the windows at their friends in the tennis court below. There was a continual flutter of light dresses through the low doorways and up the dingy stairs, and merry sounds of laughter echoed through the empty chambers. It was the first castle that romantic little Ruth had ever seen; and although she could not gather much of its history from the little books sold at the gate, she tried to imagine the scenes that had been enacted there, to people it with knights in armour, and to fancy that the girlish faces which peeped through the windows were those of "fayre ladyes" of bygone days.
She was aroused from her day-dream by a scream from one of the girls, and saw Gerald, looking white and scared, hurrying towards a small door leading to the keep. The tennis players ceased their game, all eyes were turned in one direction, and a frightened whisper ran through the crowd as Mr. Woburn hastened across the ground. On the very edge of a broken tottering wall projecting from the side of the keep sat Rupert—ever an adventurous little fellow—his face white and his legs dangling. He had crept up into the keep alone, and climbed as high as he could, just to give them all a fright. And he had succeeded, but not without risk to himself, for the shriek of terror which some one gave upon seeing him had awakened him to a sense of his danger, and looking down upon the terrified faces below he grew frightened and almost lost the power to keep his seat. It was a terrible moment, and every one paused in horror-stricken silence.
"That's right, Ruey, sit still!" cried a clear, ringing voice. "Shall I come up to keep you company? But you must get to the other end of the wall. Don't try to crawl; push yourself along like this," cried Ruth, sitting on a low fence and propelling herself sideways, clutching it with her hands on either side, quite regardless of the notice she was attracting. It was the best thing she could have done, for the boy, hearing her cheery tones and seeing that the faces below were no longer upturned in terror, began to regain his courage, and imitated his cousin's movements, thus getting farther and farther from the dangerous corner and nearer to the firmer masonry of the keep, through which the young men were hurrying to his rescue. Slowly and awkwardly he shuffled along, and reached the end of the wall just as Ruth reached the end of her fence, for she had kept on all the time for the sake of example.
"Thank God he is safe!" cried Mr. Woburn, as Gerald caught the little fellow in his arms and disappeared within the walls of the building.
"And this young lady has saved him," said a gentleman who had just appeared upon the scene. He had been taking a country ramble, had seen the boy's danger from a considerable distance, and arrived, almost breathless, in the castle yard just as Rupert was lifted from his perilous position.
"If he had fainted or turned giddy he must have fallen, and that wall would not have borne another person. Indeed, if the boy had not been a very light weight, I am afraid it would have given way;" and as if to verify his words a small piece of stone, which had probably been loosened by the boy's movements, came crashing down from the wall.
Ruth was now the universal object of attention, and she felt dreadfully bashful and awkward as one after another gathered round her and praised "her wonderful presence of mind," and "her remarkable courage." "So fearless, too," said one young dandy, who would not on any account have risked his dainty limbs. "I really thought she was going to climb up and fetch him down."
"I should not have been surprised if she had done so," said a young lady near him.
The poor girl blushed, and began to wonder if she had done rightly in calling out so loudly and drawing every one's attention to herself, for her mother had always told her that a young girl should seek to avoid notice.
"And yet," she thought, "it cannot be wrong. I only wanted to cheer little Ru, and I could not stop to think of any other way."