“Oh, yes,” she said, with the old eagerness of manner, and they were soon on their way to the spot where they had once had their Christmas tree.
It was no longer used for sheep, for the deacon had none. But Kenneth had kept the place up, and when the old chair fell to pieces he made another, in which he sometimes sat on Sunday afternoons, reading Connie’s prayer-book.
“Oh, I remember this place so well,” Connie said, sitting down in the chair, and drawing long breaths as she looked off across the stretches of woods and valleys and hills, bright in their summer robes and bathed in sunshine.
Kenneth was standing where the tree had stood, leaning on a timber which supported that side of the inclosure, and Connie thought what a fine face and figure he had, and felt a faint stir of something she could not define, as she met his eyes fixed so earnestly upon her.
“Tell me of your college life,” she said. “I was so glad when I heard you had gone. Was that cousin of yours there, too, and where is he? You know I have never seen him.”
Kenneth was glad to talk of his own college life, which had closed that summer, but had nothing good to say of Hal, who from Andover had entered Harvard, spending money so recklessly that the deacon had refused to meet his bills. There was lark after lark, as Hal called them, until at last there was one too many, and the deacon was notified to take the young man home, if he would prevent open disgrace. Hal came home, good-natured and silver-tongued as ever, and half made Mr. and Mrs. Stannard believe that the fault had been with the professor, who misunderstood him, and with his companions, who had let him take the blame in which they should have shared. He was of age now and in Boston, pretending to study law and coming home occasionally for a day or so, to be waited upon like a prince by his Aunt Mary, who always went down before his dark eyes and soft, musical voice, which seldom failed to stir the heart of women. Kenneth could not tell this to Connie, but he told her Hal had been in Harvard, and was now in Boston studying law, and then the conversation drifted away from him to Kenneth himself, Connie asking what he meant to do, now he was through college.
“Stay here on the farm?” and her voice implied that she thought he might do better.
Kenneth detected the tone, and answered quickly:
“Not on the farm, perhaps, but here in the country, as an M.D. I am to study medicine with Dr. Catherin at Rocky Point. He is the greatest doctor in these parts,—is sent for far and near for counsel. You’ve heard of him, perhaps?”
Connie believed she had, and was glad that Kenneth was to be with so eminent a man, and hoped he would become as celebrated. She certainly was a little stiff, and remained so the rest of the day, until they were on their way to the station, just as the sun was setting. Kenneth had proposed driving her down, but she insisted upon walking, the evening was so fine, and she wanted the exercise, she said. For a time she was very silent, but when they were half way down the hill, near a bit of broken wall, she said: “Let’s sit here and rest.”