Penelope came in from the farm not long after, and there was much to tell her. Considine was persuaded to remain for dinner, and went away in the evening a happy man.
The hyacinths were getting their chance at last, and he promised himself that with care and shelter they would sprout yet, and bloom in the autumn, as fragrantly and gay as with other fortune they might have done in spring.
CHAPTER XII.
[RANDOLPH'S BUCKLING].
There was a lacrosse match at Montreal that September, the Indians of Brautford against the Indians of Caughnawaga, at which that section of the community interested in sport, and now returned from the regattas of the coast, mustered strong. The Lacrosse Club, the getters-up of the exhibition, were there in a body, the school boys were all there, and the betting men, as well as those who are willing to go anywhere on a fine day on any pretext, and the ladies, who like to see what is the excitement which draws the latter class--the butterfly class--together.
"See how the Caughnawagas have got the ball, and are carrying it on, and on. There--there! They will win. Almost at the goal. But, ah! That little fellow! He seems only a boy. How he breaks through them--See! He has got it away--caught it on his lacrosse--throws it back over his shoulder--away back past them all. Not a Caughnawaga near it. And now Brautford has got it. They strike it again and again. Won! By Jove! Brautford has won. Who would have thought it?"
It was Randolph Jordan who spoke, springing on his chair and waving his hat in the general tumult of applause, and the cheering for "Little Brautford," who now rejoined his comrades amidst the loud plaudits in which they all shared, but which were especially for him who had earned the victory. They had won the first game.
Randolph occupied a chair in front of the grand stand, and beside him sat Adéline Rouget, dressed in cardinal red and white, tolerably conspicuous, and not objecting to be looked at; but still better pleased with the evident admiration in Randolph's eyes, and the devoted attention he was paying her, than with anything else. They were old friends, those two, now. Their friendship dated from the night of their first tobogganing together, when Randolph had discovered to his surprise that mademoiselle was "really a jolly girl, and with no nonsense in her." They had many another tobogganing after that first, and many a jolly waltz, and found that they suited each other to a nicety. Both were fairly good looking, and always well got up, and each felt the presence of the other was a credit and setoff to one's self in the eyes of the world to which both belonged. It is a strong point in a friendship when one is sure that it looks well. A friend of the other sex, with whom one groups badly, may be a delightful companion at home or in the country; but what pleasure can there be in being seen in society dancing with a guy? A certain share of the ridicule will fall on one's self. It must always show one at a disadvantage, and if it is a dance, how can even the finest figure and get-up look well, if awkwardly held or turned round, or rumpled as to flounces, and so forth?--or hung upon, or stood away from, as if people were marionettes?
These two young people realized that they looked well together. Their friends had told them so frequently; therefore it was indubitable, even if they had not known it themselves. Their relations had also told them that they should marry, and as each found the other extremely "jolly" and companionable, and saw in a joint establishment an indefinite prolongation of the gaieties of the past six months, they were nothing loth. People said they were engaged, and they supposed so themselves; in fact, they must have been, for in their conversations that was taken for granted. They were not of a "spoony" disposition, as they said themselves, however, and found many other things to talk about more interesting than an analysis of their affections; and nothing but opposition applied to their head-strong tempers could have fanned their easy-going preference into an appearance of genuine strength. That stimulus was now afforded by the lady's papa, in a way both sudden and unexpected.
Randolph had resumed his seat beside his companion, and plied the fan for her, while she managed the parasol, so as to make a small tent, from under which they could scan their neighbours while greatly sheltered themselves. There was a tap on Randolph's shoulder, accompanied by "Pairmit me, sair."