“Madam, I was fortunate to have this opportunity of serving you,” said the young gentleman, grandiloquently, and then turning to Elise, he added, with deep concern, “I trust that you feel no ill effects from this unpleasant adventure—”
“Oh, no—no, indeed, thank you.” Elise, being very self-conscious, blushed, and looked at her mother as if asking what she should say next.
“Won’t you rest for a moment, sir?” said Mrs. Lambert, “and have something cooling to drink? Carl, my dear, aren’t there one or two more bottles of loganberry down in the stream?” And then turning again to the stranger, who listened very willingly to her invitation to refreshment, she asked him if she might know his name.
“My name, Madam?” he looked around at them all as if to assure himself that they were quite prepared for anything that might follow. “My name is Montgomery,—P. Hyacinth Montgomery!” No one turned a hair. Mrs. Lambert then told him her name, and that of each member of her family, and then they all sat down, under the tree.
Very soon all constraint between the Lambert’s and Mr. Montgomery had quite disappeared. He was an adaptable, sociable person, and with all his eccentricities and absurdities, had a certain air of wistfulness that touched Mrs. Lambert. He did not seem at all loath to talk about himself, especially about his feelings; and the only thing he touched on rather vaguely was the matter of his native section of the country.
He was in “these environs” only temporarily, he said, and was lodging at the Red Fox Hotel, between Frederickstown and Goldsboro.
“Why, then,” said Mrs. Lambert, “we can take you part way home, if you are ready to start soon. We are going in the same direction.”
She could not tell what it was about Mr. Montgomery that seemed to her pathetic, but whatever it was it inspired the kindly woman to be cordial and friendly to the odd little man. He accepted her offer eagerly, and Jane fancied that as he did so he looked timidly at Elise.
While the others were packing up various odds and ends into the picnic basket, he ran off to collect his own possessions which he had left under the oak tree up the stream.
“He’s a queer duck,” remarked Carl, carefully sorting out his specimens of plant and animal life.