John gazed after them with longing in his eyes and resentment in his heart. The longing was for the unattainable; the resentment that it should be unattainable.
What a crassly idiotic, what an altogether blindly stupid, doltish, and utterly mulish thing was convention! Here were three young, gay, and delightful creatures enjoying the summer day in company, together revelling in the glowing sun, the caress of the air soft as thistledown upon one’s face, the scent of the flowers and the warm earth, while he—John—was condemned to loneliness, because, forsooth, of the lack of four words. “May I introduce you.”
There was the password, the magic utterance which would have smoothed away all difficulties. It could be spoken carelessly as you please. It could be spoken by his worst enemy with as great effect as by his dearest friend. Without it a barrier, high as the highest peaks of the Andes, loomed between him and them, a barrier to him insurmountable, indestructible, and named, labelled, and placarded in letters at least a foot long, Convention. Small wonder that John fumed inwardly, the while his eyes gazed after the vanishing three, distilled essence of concentrated longing in their depths.
Chance alone could destroy the barrier,—Chance, the freakish, puckish sprite, who sits with watchful eyes, smiling softly, impishly, till the chosen moment arrives. Then, heigh presto! Chance springs light-footed to your aid, is caught by you laughing, or in deadly earnest, according to your needs. And if the latter, and your grasp is sure, you will find it is no longer an impish, freakish sprite you hold, but a very little demon, battling for you, trampling upon well-nigh incredible difficulties, leading you triumphant to victory.
We cannot see Chance coming in deadly earnest to John at the moment. The imp came mischievous, laughing, and perched, if you will believe me, between the horns of a goat,—a large, a black and white, an over-playful goat. It came prancing over the purple crest of the hill, and bounded, curved, and gavotted in the direction of the momentarily unconscious three.
The younger boy was the first to see it. He turned, startled atom, to clutch at the lady’s white dress, thereby causing her to become aware of the presence of the intruder on the scene. The elder boy, likewise made aware of its presence, seized a small stick from among the heather, a fragile enough weapon, but with it he stood his ground, a veritable small champion, facing the enemy boldly.
But think you that Chance, perched between those horns, was to be daunted by a small boy in green knickerbockers, and holding a flimsy stick? Not a bit of it! For no such paltry pretext would he desert our John. I am very sure he but urged the goat forward, its advance in the face of this defence lending greater colour to the danger.
“Oh!” breathed the white-robed lady, her hands going out protectingly to the little figure clutching at her skirts. And then, “Take care, Tony,” on a note of intense anxiety.
Here was the moment supplied by the mischievous imp. John recognized the sprite’s wiles with fine intuition, cried him a fervent word of thanks, and sprang to the rescue.
That Chance had never intended the slightest peril to the three, you may be certain; since, once seized laughing from his perch by John, he joined with him in ordering the goat to retire. Slightly bewildered at this change of front, the goat gazed for a moment with reproachful eyes.