On a cheery June day Mrs. Penelope Carrolland her niece Debby Wilder, were whizzing alongon their way to a certain gay watering-place, bothin the best of humors with each other and all theworld beside. Aunt Pen was concocting sundrymild romances, and laying harmless plots for thepursuance of her favorite pastime, match-making;for she had invited her pretty relative to join hersummer jaunt, ostensibly that the girl might see alittle of fashionable life, but the good lady secretlyproposed to herself to take her to the beach andget her a rich husband, very much as she wouldhave proposed to take her to Broadway and get hera new bonnet: for both articles she considerednecessary, but somewhat difficult for a poor girlto obtain.
Debby was slowly getting her poise, after theexcitement of a first visit to New York; for tendays of bustle had introduced the young philosopherto a new existence, and the working-dayworld seemed to have vanished when she made herlast pat of butter in the dairy at home. For anhour she sat thinking over the good-fortune whichhad befallen her, and the comforts of this life whichshe had suddenly acquired. Debby was a truegirl, with all a girl’s love of ease and pleasure;it must not be set down against her that shesurveyed her pretty travelling-suit with muchcomplacency, rejoicing inwardly that she could useher hands without exposing fractured gloves, thather bonnet was of the newest mode, needing noveil to hide a faded ribbon or a last year’s shape,that her dress swept the ground with fashionableuntidiness, and her boots were guiltless of a patch,–that she was the possessor of a mine of wealthin two of the eight trunks belonging to her aunt,that she was travelling like any lady of the landwith man- and maid-servant at her command, andthat she was leaving work and care behind her fora month or two of novelty and rest.
When these agreeable facts were fully realized,and Aunt Pen had fallen asleep behind her veil,Debby took out a book, and indulged in her favoriteluxury, soon forgetting past, present, and futurein the inimitable history of Martin Chuzzlewit.The sun blazed, the cars rattled, childrencried, ladies nodded, gentlemen longed for thesolace of prohibited cigars, and newspapers wereconverted into sun-shades, nightcaps, and fans;but Debby read on, unconscious of all about her,even of the pair of eves that watched her from theOpposite corner of the car. A Gentleman with afrank, strong-featured face sat therin, and amusedhimself by scanning with thoughtful gaze thecountenances of his fellow-travellers. Stout Aunt Pen,dignified even in her sleep, was a “model of deportment”to the rising generation; but the studentof human nature found a more attractive subject inher companion, the girl with an apple-blossom faceand merry brown eyes, who sat smiling into herbook, never heeding that her bonnet was awry,and the wind taking unwarrantable liberties withher ribbons and her hair.
Innocent Debby turned her pages, unaware thather fate sat opposite in the likeness of a serious,black-bearded gentleman, who watched the smilesrippling from her lips to her eyes with an interestthat deepened as the minutes passed. If his paperhad been full of anything but “BronchialTroches” and “Spalding’s Prepared Glue,” hewould have found more profitable employment;but it wasn’t, and with the usual readiness of idlesouls he fell into evil ways, and permitted curiosity,that feminine sin, to enter in and take possessionof his manly mind. A great desire seized him todiscover what book his pretty neighbor;but a cover hid the name, and he was toodistant to catch it on the fluttering leaves. Presentlya stout Emerald-Islander, with her wardrobeoozing out of sundry paper parcels, vacated theseat behind the two ladies; and it was soon quietlyoccupied by the individual for whom Satan wasfinding such indecorous employment. Peepinground the little gray bonnet, past a brown braidand a fresh cheek, the young man’s eye fell uponthe words the girl was reading, and forgot to lookaway again. Books were the desire of his life;but an honorable purpose and an indomitable willkept him steady at his ledgers till he could feelthat he had earned the right to read. Like wine tomany another was an open page to his; he read aline, and, longing for more, took a hasty sip fromhis neighbor’s cup, forgetting that it was astranger’s also.
Down the page went the two pairs of eyes,and the merriment from Debby’s seemed to lightup the sombre ones behind her with a sudden shinethat softened the whole face and made it verywinning. No wonder they twinkled, for ElijahPogram spoke, and “Mrs. Hominy, the motherof the modern Gracchi, in the classical blue capand the red cotton pocket-handkerchief, camedown the room in a procession of one.” A lowlaugh startled Debby, though it was smotheredlike the babes in the Tower; and, turning, shebeheld the trespasser scarlet with confusion, andsobered with a tardy sense of his transgression.Debby was not a starched young lady of the”prune and prism” school, but a frank, free-hearted little body, quick to read the sincerity ofothers, and to take looks and words at their realvalue. Dickens was her idol; and for his sake shecould have forgiven a greater offence than this.
The stranger’s contrite countenance and respecttulapology won her good-will at once; and witha finer courtesy than any Aunt Pen would havetaught, she smilingly bowed her pardon, and,taking another book from her basket, opened it,saying, pleasantly,–
“Here is the first volume if you like it, Sir. Ican recommend it as an invaluable consolation forthe discomforts of a summer day’s journey, and itis heartily at your service.”
As much surprised as gratified, the gentlemanaccepted the book, and retired behind it with thesudden discovery that wrongdoing has its compensationin the pleasurable sensation of being forgiven.Stolen delights are well known to be speciallysaccharine: and much as this pardoned sinner lovedbooks, it seemed to him that the interestof the story flagged, and that the enjoyment ofreading was much enhanced by the proximity of agray bonnet and a girlish profile. But Dickenssoon proved more powerful than Debby, and she wasforgotten, till, pausing to turn a leaf, the youngman met her shy glance, as she asked, with thepleased expression of a child who has shared anapple with a playmate,–
“Is it good?”
“Oh, very!”–and the man looked as honestlygrateful for the book as the boy would have donefor the apple.
Only five words in the conversation, but AuntPen woke, as if the watchful spirit of propriety hadroused her to pluck her charge from the precipiceon which she stood.
“Dora, I’m astonished at you! Speaking tostrangers in that free manner is a most unladylikething. How came you to forget what I have toldyou over and over again about a proper reserve?”The energetic whisper reached the gentleman’sear, and he expected to be annihilated with a lookwhen his offence was revealed; but he was sparedthat ordeal, for the young voice answered,softly,–
“Don’t faint, Aunt Pen: I only did as I’d bedone by; for I had two books, and the poor manlooked so hungry for something to read that Icouldn’t resist sharing my ‘goodies.’ He will seethat I’m a countrified little thing in spite of myfine feathers, and won’t be shocked at my want ofrigidity and frigidity; so don’t look dismal, and I’llbe prim and proper all the rest of the way,–if Idon’t forget it.”
“I wonder who he is; may belong to some of ourfirst families, and in that case it might be worthwhile to exert ourselves, you know. Did youlearn his name, Dora? ” whispered the elder lady.
Debby shook her head, and murmured, “Hush!”–butAunt Pen had heard of matches being made in cars aswell as in heaven; and as an experienced general,it became her to reconnoitre, when one of the enemyapproached her camp. Slightly altering her position,she darted an all-comprehensive glance at the invader,who seemed entirely absorbed, for not an eyelash stirredduring the scrutiny. It lasted but an instant, yet inthat instant he was weighed and found wanting; forthat experienced eye detected that his cravat wastwo inches wider than fashion ordained, that hiscoat was not of the latest style, that his gloveswere mended, and his handkerchief neither cambricnor silk. That was enough, and sentence waspassed forthwith,–“Some respectable clerk,good-looking, but poor, and not at all the thingfor Dora”; and Aunt Pen turned to adjust avoluminous green veil over her niece’s bonnet,”To shield it from the dust, dear,” which processalso shielded the face within from the eye of man.
A curious smile, half mirthful, half melancholy,passed over their neighbor’s lips; but his peace ofmind seemed undisturbed, and he remained buriedin his book Till they reached
