Tracy Park: A Novel

by Mary Jane Holmes

'Thank you, Jerrie,' he said, picking up the rose as he finished his breakfast. 'It was so nice in you to think of it, just as if I were a king instead of a jack-at-all-trades, but I hardly think it suits my blue checked shirt and painty pants. Keep it yourself, Jerrie,' and he held it up against her white bib apron. 'It is just like the pink on your cheeks. Wear it for me,' and taking a pin from his collar, he fastened it rather awkwardly to the bib, while his face came in so close proximity to Jerrie's that he felt her breath stir his hair, and felt, too, a strong temptation to kiss the glowing cheek so near his own. 'There, that completes your costume,' he said, holding her off a little to look at her. 'By the way, haven't you got yourself up uncommonly well this morning? I never saw you as pretty as you are in this rig. If it would not be very improper, I'd like to kiss you.'

He was astonished at his own boldness, and not at all surprised at Jerrie's reply, as she stepped back from him.

'No, thank you, it would be highly improper for a man of twenty-six, who stands six feet in his boots, to kiss a girl of nineteen, who stands five feet six in her slippers.'

There was a flush on her cheeks and a strange look in her eyes, for she was thinking of Harvard, where he had put her from him, ashamed that strangers should see her kiss him. Harold had forgotten that incident, which at the time had made no impression upon him, and was now thinking only of the beautiful girl whose presence seemed to brighten and ennoble everything with which she came in contact, and to whom he at last said good-bye, just as Peterkin's tower clock struck for half-past five.'

'I must go now,' he said, taking up his basket of brushes. 'I have lost a full half-hour with you, and your steaks, and your coddling me generally. I ought to have been there by this time. Good-bye,' and offering her his hand, he started down the lane at a rapid pace, thinking the morning the loveliest he had ever known, and wondering why everything seemed so fresh, and bright, and sweet.

If he could have sung, he would have done so, but he could not, and so he talked to himself, and to the birds, and rabbits, and squirrels, which sprang up before him as he struck into the woods as the shortest route to Mr. Allen's farm house—talked to them and to himself of Jerrie, and how delightful it was to have her home again, unspoiled by flattery, sweet and gracious as ever, and how he longed to tell her of his love, but dared not yet until he was surer of her and of what she felt for him. He had no faith now in her fancies with regard to herself. Of the likeness to Arthur, which he thought he saw the previous there had been no trace on the face which had almost touched his that morning when he pinned the rose upon her bib. She was not—could not be Gretchen's daughter, and was undoubtedly the child of the woman found in the Tramp House—his Jerry, whom he had found, and claimed as his own, and whom he meant to win some day, when he had his profession, and was established in business. 'But that will be a long, long time, and some one else may steal her from me,' he said to himself, sadly, as he thought of the years which must elapse before he could venture to take a wife. 'Oh, if I were sure she cared for me a little, as I do for her, I would ask her now and have it settled; for Jerrie is not a girl to go back on her promise, and the years would seem so short, and the work so easy, with Jerrie at the end of it all,' he continued, and then he wondered how he could find out the nature of Jerrie's feeling for him without asking her directly, and so spoiling everything if he should happen to be premature.

Would his grandmother know? Not at all likely. She was too old to know much of love, or its symptoms in a girl. Would Nina St. Claire know? Possibly, for she and Jerrie were great friends, and girls always told each other their secrets, so Maude said, and Maude was just then his oracle. He had seen so much of her the last few months that he felt as if he knew her even better than he did Jerrie, and he was certainly more at his ease in her presence. Then why not talk with Maude and enlist her as a partisan. He might certainly venture to make her his confidente, she had been so very communicative and familiar with him, telling him things which he had wondered at, with regard to her father, and mother, and Tom, and the family generally. Yes, he would sound Maude, very cautiously at first, and get her opinion, and then he should know better what to do. Maude would espouse his cause, he was sure, for she liked him and worshipped Jerrie. He could trust her, and he would.

He had reached the Allen farm-house by this time, and though he was perspiring at every pore, for the morning was very hot, he scarcely felt the heat or the fatigue of his rapid four-mile walk, as he mixed his paints and prepared for his work, for there was constantly in his heart a thought of Jerrie, as she had looked in that bewitching dress, and of the bright, smile she had flashed upon him when she said good-bye.

Meanwhile Jerrie had watched him out of sight, whistling merrily:

'Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?'