Sweethearts at Home

by S. R. Crockett

But Hugh John is generally shy with the girls who come to our house. He retires to one of his fastnesses, a lonely David in some unknown Engedi. He blots himself out. Simply, he is not—so far, that is, as the rest of the house is concerned. But he has the most sharply defined and sudden affinities. He will see a girl for the first time—the most reserved, unlikely girl, shy as himself. He will go up to her, and lo! as like as not, five minutes afterwards they will pair off like two schoolboys arm in arm.

Grown-up People, after a certain while, forget how their own friendships were formed—how much was chance, how little intention, and they judge us in the light of what they now think they were. They are "out" every time with Hugh John.

For instance, I know Somebody who was afraid he was going to fall in love with Elizabeth Fortinbras. No such good luck! I knew. The first time I surprised them having a good talk together I saw that Elizabeth would take advice from that gray-eyed boy with a man's thoughts which she would scorn from any one else.

It was the day after we had been to see the Donnans. When I got home, Hugh John had merely said, "When does Elizabeth begin?"

"Monday," said I; "but how in the world did you know?"

"I did not know that!" he answered gravely, as usual.

You simply can't surprise Hugh John. A momentary glitter in a pair of rather close-lidded gray eyes—that is the most you can expect from him.

It was at the stile at the entrance into the High Wood that I found them. Elizabeth Fortinbras was seated on the top spar nursing her knees, and sucking the sorrel stems which Hugh John handed up one by one. They never looked at one another, but I saw in a moment (trust a girl!) that I would interrupt their talk. Just fancy me playing gooseberry! No, thank you, kind sir, she said! Besides, I knew very well that Elizabeth did not consult her father—and her mother was not worth consulting. There remained only Hugh John. Of course she could have asked me, but what girl would have taken my advice when she could get Hugh John's?

I don't know what they said—of course not. I did not ask. But what I do know is that Elizabeth and Hugh John talked just as he and I would have done when taking counsel together up in the Cave or at the Feudal Tower.

Sir Toady was better advised than to attempt to make fun, and though the Grown-ups might lift their eyebrows, even they had confidence in Hugh John. Sometimes they asked his advice themselves—though I never heard of their going so far as to take it. Grown-ups, to my thinking, get narrow-minded. Perhaps Hugh John will too some day. But now at least he always just sees the one thing to do, and does it—the one thing another ought to do, and tells him of it.