“Oh, he is certainly worthy, papa,” Mollie asserted with enthusiasm, “you never saw a nicer face than his. He isn’t handsome or stylish, like Phil, you know”—with a little mocking laugh—“but he has a pair of great, earnest brown eyes which make you feel good just to look into. His face is as brown as a nut—all but his forehead, which is white and high and nicely shaped like yours, papa dear,” and she emphasized her statement with a fond little caress planted directly between his brows. “He had no hat on,” she resumed; “he was in his shirt sleeves and wore overalls, and his shoes were as coarse and clumsy as they could be; but I never thought of his clothes after once looking into his face—it was so good, so honest, and true.”
“Really, sweetheart, you are very enthusiastic over this rustic hero of yours,” said Mr. Heatherford, and smiling at her earnestness, “but I cannot wonder, now that I begin to realize something of the feat that he accomplished.”
“And papa”—Mollie went on, now blushing and speaking with some embarrassment, “when we reached New Haven I went to him and thanked him for what he had done, and—I gave him that ring you let me buy last spring.”
“What! that cameo?”
“Yes; you know I wanted to give it to Cousin Rex when he went to California, but his mother had just given him a nice ring, and so I bought him something else and kept the cameo. I have always liked it, for it was so beautifully carved; so, even though it isn’t exactly a lady’s ring, I have worn it, now and then, myself. I happened to have it on yesterday.”
Mr. Heatherford laughed aloud with amusement.
“Well, well, Buttercup! So you gave it to this young Faxon—I believe you said that is his name—as a souvenir! Of course, my darling, I do not care anything about the ring, but what on earth will your rustic hero do with it? He certainly will not want to wear it with overalls and brogans, and if he has a particle of sentiment in his composition, he would never think of realizing money on it when it was presented under such romantic circumstances.”
“Well, papa, I’m afraid it wasn’t the most appropriate gift in the world,” said Mollie, a shadow falling over her bright face, “but I just had to do something to show him how grateful I was, personally, and he certainly looked as if he was glad to be appreciated.”
“Never mind, dear,” said her father comfortingly. “I will write to-day and make some inquiries, and if I find he is all right, I will do something handsome for him. Let me see—you said that he told some of the gentlemen aboard the train he wanted to go to college?”
“Yes, he said that he had nearly finished his course in the academy of the town where he lives, and was going to try to work his way through college,” Mollie replied. “Just think of it, papa!” she went on earnestly, “and it doesn’t seem fair, does it? There is Phil, who really doesn’t care particularly about having a college course, only it is the proper thing, and so he is going to Harvard in September, and he has every wish gratified—plenty of money, fine clothes, and lots of good times; and here is this poor boy, without any one but himself to depend upon, and he is going to work his way through! It is a queer world, isn’t it?” she concluded, with a sigh of perplexity.