And lips so ripe and red.
Hilda, of the wilful ways,
And small, proud, tossing head.”
And so it went. But, like Hilda, the first incoherent rhapsody gave way presently to soberer thoughts. He was inspired by a desire to do something to prove himself worthy of the girl he loved. He was overtaken with an appalling realization of his shortcomings. What had he to offer Hilda? What had he done to deserve her? He was but one of twenty or more paid “hands” on her father’s ranch. He was penniless; nameless!
She was no ordinary girl. That brown-eyed girl, with her independent toss of head and her free, frank nature, he knew had the tender heart of a mother. Cheerio had watched many a time when she knew it not. He had seen her with the baby colts, the calves, the young live-stock of the ranch; the hidden litter of kittens in the barn, whose existence was so carefully hidden from her father. He had watched Hilda caring for the sick little Indian papoose, wrapping antiseptic salve bandages on a little boy’s sore arm, and stooping to kiss the brown face and pat the shoulder of the little Indian mother. No wonder she was adored by half the country-side. No wonder the Indians called her “little mother” and friend. She was as straightforward, honest, and clean as a whistle. She was fearless and fine as a soldier. There was about her slim, young grace a boyish air of courage. Hilda! There never was another girl like his in all the whole world.
Now Cheerio felt humbled, unworthy. Followed a boyish desire to give Hilda things. He regretted his poverty, and suffered a sense of resentment and irritation for the first time at the thought of the power and pride of a great family name that should by rights be his and Hilda’s. What had he to offer her? Nothing—but the trifling trinket, a family heirloom, in which long since he had replaced the picture of the English girl with the one Sandy had given him of Hilda. Automatically his hand closed about the locket. It was a fine old antique. Hilda would appreciate it. He would show her her own and Nanna’s face inside it. He pictured her shining eyes as she would take the trinket from his hand. Once she had told him she possessed not a single piece of jewellery. P. D. had denounced them as “baubles, suitable for savages only—relics of days of barbarism. The modern woman who pierced her ears,” said P. D. McPherson, “and hung silly stones from them was little better than the half-naked black women who hung jewels and rings from their noses.”
But Hilda did not share her father’s opinion. She had spoken wistfully, longingly, enviously. This was after reading a chapter concerning Anne of Austria’s diamonds and D’Artagnan’s famous recovery of the same.
Well, Hilda should have her first piece of jewellery from his hands. The ancient Chelsmore locket. It would take the place of the ring between them. It would be the symbol of their love.
CHAPTER XXV
As a boy, Cheerio’s inability swiftly to explain or defend himself, had resulted in many unjust punishments. He was not stupid, but became easily confused, and with the best of intentions, he bungled into unfortunate situations. His brother, Reggie, swift-witted and glib of tongue, was far better equipped to defend and care for himself than the often bewildered and stammering Cheerio. He had changed very little, and his love had made him now almost obtusely blind.