LOUIS ROBERT.
Gloriously beautiful was the morning of August twenty-first. We were up early, for the old stage would not wait for us, and we had much to do just at the last moment. I say we, for I tried to do all that was possible to assist Clara in packing the two large trunks we were to take. One thing puzzled me. I had heard Clara say so many times to Louis, who went over the house with her during the early part of each day, "Now leave everything in shape to be taken at any moment." And this last morning all the chairs were covered, and Louis worked with old Jim, time-honored help, to accomplish it all. I had a secret fear that they were planning to go away to seek another home somewhere, and it troubled me. I wondered the more because Clara said nothing to me, and she was naturally so ingenuous and apt to tell me her little plans freely. It seemed to take less time than it takes to write it ere we were landed at the door of my home, and found father and mother waiting to welcome us. There was a look of surprise on the faces of my parents as Louis descended from the stage and turned so gallantly to his little mother, as he often called her. He was not the boy they expected to see, but a man to all appearance, tall and handsome, and the embodiment of a politeness which is founded, as I believe, on a true respect for the opinions and conditions of others. I felt gladly proud of our supper table that night, and I knew Louis looked in vain for rye bread. He did ample justice to our creamy butter, however, and after supper remarked to me that Miss Lear might like a few pounds of such.
Days passed happily along, and the two weeks allotted for Louis' stay came nearly to a close. I dreaded to have the last day appear. Like his mother, he had dropped into his own appropriate niche, and came into our family only as another ray of the sunshine that brightened our home. I had Halbert in my mind much of the time, and talked of him to Louis until he said he felt well acquainted with him, and looked forward to meeting him as one looks to some happiness in store.
Louis was original in his expressions and different from all others of his age. One evening when we were talking of Hal, as we sat on the old doorstone in the moonlight, he said:
"I have something to do for your brother, Miss Emily, I cannot tell you how, but we shall see, we shall never lose sight of each other, we are always to be friends, Miss Emily."
And the light of his dark eyes grew deep and it seemed as if I looked into fathomless depths as he turned them full upon me for a moment.
"Only a few hours between this long breath I am taking and the school to which I go (mother has written the professor, asking if I can stay longer—we shall have an answer to-morrow). It is doing me good, my mind goes over the country round us here, and I am gathering long breaths that give my mind and body strength. Ah! Miss Emily," he said, as he rose and walked to and fro, "I shall sometime breathe and act as I want to. I pray every day that my little mother may live to see me doing what I desire to do, and, also, for strength. I need great strength, Miss Emily. You will help to keep little mother alive, I know you will."
And he came back, took both my hands in his own; I felt almost afraid—I cannot tell you how powerfully expressive his look, voice and gestures were, and he continued:
"I like you—like you more than you know; you are true, you can be depended on; you call my little mother your fairy cousin, and I call you her royal friend. Do me a favor," he continued, "unbind your massive hair and let it trail over your shoulders." And before I realised it my hair swept the doorstone where I sat. "There," as he brushed it back from my face, "look up and you are a picture; wear your long hair floating—why not?"
"Oh, Louis," I said, "how could I ever work with such a heavy mass about me. If, as you say, I look like a picture, I certainly ought not to, for I am only a country dandelion even as a picture," and I laughed. He looked at me almost fiercely, as he said: