Country Luck

CAME

us up when you

nvited will never avail himself of the courtesy. Fortunately for the purpose of this story, Master Philip Hayn, whom Mr. Tramlay had

ned to exchange the late summer dust of the country for the early autumn dust of the city, it was Philip who drove the old-fashioned carryall that transported them from the farm to the railway-station. The head of the merchant’s family was attired like a{6} well-to-do business-man; Phili

to take you at

and replied, “Worse men have called upon us, m

oads of fun,” remarke

the family, occupied as many seats near windows

y homeward, declining to rein up and converse with the several sidewalk-loungers who manifested a willingness to converse about the departed guests. When he reached the outer edge of the little village he allowed the horses to relapse

n you come to the city.’ You

oga, and, as Lucia had been “out” a year, and had a sister who expected early admission to a metropolitan collection of rosebuds, against a summer in the country—the rude, common, real country—the protests had been earnest. But the head of the family had said he

ble though old-fashioned, and the people intelligent, though Miss Lucia pronounced them “awfully funny.” The head of the family was one of the many farmers who “took boarders” to give his own family an opportunity to see people somewhat unlike their own circle of acquaintances,—an opportunity which

lips for hours at a time. Then cherries reddened on a dozen old trees which the children were never reminded had not been planted for their especial benefit. Then the successive yield of an orchard was theirs, so far as they could absorb it. Besides, ther

hers commanding fine views, and it was so restful to be able to drive without special preparation in the way of dress,—without, t

his family, he seemed to find congenial society in the head of the hous

ld say, “you know Mr. Hay

—“two reasons, either of which is good enough to make me like a man, unless he happen

ent,” proteste

how, little woman: ’twill be sure t

ound that Hayn, like any other farmer with brains, had done some hard thinking in the thousands of days when his hands were employed at common work, and t

cheerful and full of high spirits, she was nevertheless in perpetual protest{10} against everything that was not exactly as she would have it, and not all the manners that careful breeding could impart could restrain the unconscious insolence peculiar to young and self-satisfied natures. She would laugh loudly at table at Mrs. Hayn’s way of serving an omelet, tell Mrs. Hayn’s husband that his Sunday coat looked “so funny,” exp

the farmer’s son, and forgetting his uncouth dress and his awkwardness of manner in her wonder at his general courtesy, and his superior knowledge in some directions where she supposed she had gone as far as possible. She had gone through a finishing-school{11} of the most approved New York type, yet Philip knew more of languages and history and science than she, when they chanced—never through her fault—to converse on such dry subjects; he knew more flowers than she had ever seen in a florist’s shop in the city; and once when she had attempted to

as those of some girls in the neighborhood. Her figure suggested neither perfect grace nor perfect strength; and yet whatever she did was gracefully done, and her attire, whether plain or costly, seemed part of{12} herself,—a peculiarity that he had never observed among girls born in the vicinity. He soon discovered that she did not know everything, but whatever she did know she talked of so glibly that he could not help enjoying the position of listener. She did not often show earnestness about anything that to him was more than trif

world and perhaps gone to college; secondly, because he did not imagine that any such sentiment would be reciprocated. He came of a family that through generations of hard experience had learned to count the cost of everything, even the a

he woodland belonging to the farm, loading a wagon with wood to be

owin’ too fond of tha

omptly, though as he raised his hea

,” said the old man, after throwing

hat,” Phil replied. “Ther

; the son blushed violent

one of t

at?” said Phil, affecting

gn the young man who thinks so is likely to co

hil, attacking the wood-

e done nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, your old father can see through the

pile, looked in the direction wh

. She’s somebody new to talk to, and she can talk about something beside crops, and cows

does it? Enough to have made millions of bad mat

a moment; then he

m mother’s always laughing at because she thinks a man’s

here’s a bad thunder-storm you’re afraid the lightning’ll strike the ba

ply, so the old

ings in a girl’s eyes than I ever saw in the sky, you don’t know when it

o it that I keep myself w

o its end, analyzing such portions of prayer, hymn, or sermon as did not seem to meet her views. He even allowed his gaze to follow her when she looked more than an instant at other young women, in the ignorance of his masculine heart wondering which of the features of these damsels specially interested her; his mother could have told him that

amiliar subject of thought in the act of disappearance without a personal sense of impending loneliness, and a wild desire to snatch it back or at least go in search of it. Therefore Philip Hayn needed not to be in love, or even to think himse