The Red Axe

by S. R. Crockett

It was pleasant to watch her. For sometimes when the music refused to run aright, she would frown at the dulcimer, as if the discord had been entirely its fault and it was old enough to know better. Then sometimes she would look across abstractedly to the Red Tower, trying to recall a strain she had forgotten, with her finger all the while making the most bewitching dimple on her plump cheek. It was most sweet and innocent to see. And withal so entirely unconscious that any one could possibly be observing her.

I confess that I sat often and conned my book by the window, long after I knew my portion by heart, in order to watch her deft fingers upon the dulcimer sticks and the play of her dimples. But on my part also this was in all innocence and wholly thoughtless of guile.

Then would I be taken with a spasm of desire to play upon the recorders or the Bavarian single flute, and would pester my father to let me learn.

Now I never had any more ear for music than a deal board that has knot-holes in it. I had ears indeed. But the clatter of the mill-wheel and the lapper of water on the stones of the shore were ever better music to me than singing or playing upon instruments. Nevertheless, at this time, for some reason or other, I was in a great fret to learn.

And, curiously enough, my desire made the Little Playmate call me "Great
Brother" more assiduously than ever. Though again I knew not why.

But Christian's Elsa she could not abide either sight or mention of. Which was passing strange in so sweet and charitable a maid as our Helene. Also the girl at the guard-house was a good daughter, besides being particular of her company, and in that garrison place untouched by any breath of scandal.

But no; Helene would have none of her.

"Feech!" she would say, making a little grimace of disgust which she had brought with her from her northern home; "that noisy, mewling cat, purring and stroking her face, in the window, I cannot abide her. I know not what some folks can see in her. There are surely more kinds of blindness than of those that wait about kirk doors with a board hung round their necks, saying, 'Good people, for the love of God, put a copper in this wooden platter.'"

"Why, Little Playmate, what ails thee at the maid? She is a good maid enough, and, I am sure, a pretty one."

So would I say to try her. Whereat the lass, being slender herself, and with a head that sat easily on her shoulders, would walk off like the haughty little Princess she was, and thrust her chin so far forward that even the pretty round of it bespoke a pointed scorn. And the poutlets would come and go on her red lips so quickly that I would come from the window, leaving my book and Christian's Elsa, and a thousand Elsas, just to watch them.