So Magnus put himself in trim, and charging his sisters not to hurry on his account, and promising faithfully to wait till they came, began to mount the hill. Good for him the girls were busy—and yet, suppose that other girl were hid away in some part of the house to which Rose and Violet could go, while he could not?
Magnus whistled his thoughts down the wind, as he went on, and then, with a sudden fancy to approach unnoticed, hushed his tones and even his steps, and went in, seeing nobody. Through the hall to the back door—and there got another picture to think of in barracks.
XXVIII
ON EXHIBITION
Wise men always
Affirm and say,
That best is for a man
Diligently
For to apply,
All business that he can. —Sir T. More.
The Red House had been set very near the branch road by which he came up, and in front there was only a short path and a bit of greensward, but at the back lay a big old-fashioned garden, sloping gaily down towards a bit of woodland and a talkative brook.
Overlooking all this was a very wide porch with sashes on all sides which could be shut, but which on this warm still morning were all slid back. The porch within was full of flowers, with various rustic holders to hang and to stand and to rest on the sills, a wonderful basket of lilies of the valley being the centre piece on the breakfast table.
There were traces in the house of other days and more Eastern regions, and the little spider-legged table was dark with long years of service, the spoons were slim-stemmed and delicate, the dishes of exquisite blue and white.
But the dishes held very simple viands: bread, milk, wheat, with fruit and flowers, were about the whole, for some hurts or injuries dating back to the war time had slowly brought Mr. Erskine to a semi-invalid state, and Cherry wanted nothing but what her father had.
I have told you nothing about Mr. Erskine—and yet he was a very noticeable man. Hair whitened more with sorrow than years (it had changed suddenly upon the death of his wife), cheeks where the native red still lingered, setting off the look of extremely delicate health, with features refined and above-board in every line. The eyes were both soft and flashing, the smile—once the merriest in the world—now never lost its shade of pathos. Everything about the man was refined, the daintily cared-for hand, the plain, scrupulously neat dress. Across one edge of the placid brow a red scar swept down and hid itself among the thick locks of frosted hair, and now, as you looked further, you could see that the right hand had lost its mate, and the left sleeve hung empty.