Bylow Hill | Page 3

remember, Godfrey, we do not
really know but they may work out the happiest union. At any rate, we
must help them to try."
"If they insist on trying, yes; and that will be the best for Leonard."
"The very best. One thing we do know, Godfrey: Arthur will always be
a passionate lover, and dear Isabel is as honest and loyal as the day is
long."
"The day is not long; this one is not--to me. It's most lamentably short,
and to-morrow I must be gone again. I have something to say to you,
Ruth, that"--
The maiden gave him a look of sweet protest, which suddenly grew
remote as she murmured, "Isabel and her mother are coming out of
their front door."

II
ISABEL
There were two dwellings in the Winslow garden,--one as far across at
the right of the Byington house as the other was at the left. The one on
the right may have contained six or eight bedchambers; the other had
but three. The larger stood withdrawn from the public way, a
well-preserved and very attractive example of colonial architecture,
refined to the point of delicacy in the grace and harmony of its details.
Here dwelt Arthur Winslow, barely six weeks a clergyman, alone but
for two or three domestics and the rare visits of Godfrey, his only living
relation. The other and older house, in the garden's southern front
corner, was a gray gambrel-roofed cottage, with its threshold at the
edge of the sidewalk; and it was from this cottage that Isabel and her
mother stepped, gratefully answering the affectionate wave of Ruth's
hand,--Mrs. Morris with the dignity of her forty-odd years, and Isabel
with a sudden eager fondness. The next moment the two couples were
hidden from each other by the umbrageous garden and by the tall white
fence, in which was repeated the architectural grace of the larger house.
Mother and daughter conversed quietly, but very busily, as they came
along this enclosure; but presently they dropped their subject to bow
cordially across to the father of Ruth, and when he endeavored to say
something to them Mrs. Morris moved toward him. Isabel took a step

or two more in the direction of the Winslow elm and its inviting bench,
but then she also turned. She was of a moderate feminine stature and
perfect outline, her step elastic, her mien self-contained, and her face so
young that a certain mature tone in her mellow voice was often the
cause of Ruth's fond laughter. As winsome, too, she was, as she was
beautiful, and "as pink as a rose," said the old-time soldier to himself,
as he came down his short front walk, throwing half his glances
forward to her, quite unaware that he was equally the object of her
admiration.
Though white-haired and somewhat bent he was still slender and
handsome, a most worthy figure against the background of the red
brick house, whose weathered walls contrasted happily with the
blossoming shrubs about their base, and with the green of lawn and
trees.
"Good-afternoon, Isabel. I was saying to your mother, I hope such days
as this are some offset for the Southern weather and scenery you have
had to give up."
"You shouldn't tempt our Southern boastfulness, General," Isabel
replied, with an air of meek chiding. She had a pretty way of
skirmishing with men which always brought an apologetic laugh from
her mother, but which the General had discovered she never used in a
company of less than three.
"Oh! ho, ho!" laughed Mrs. Morris, who was just short, plump, and
pretty enough to laugh to advantage. "Why, General,"--she sobered
abruptly, and she was just pretty and plump and short enough to do this
well, also,--"my recovered health is offset enough for me."
"For us, my dear," said the daughter. "My mother's restored health is
offset enough for us, General. Indeed, for me"--addressing the distant
view--"there is no call for off-set; any landscape or climate is perfect
that has such friends in it as--as this one has."
"Oh! ho, ho!" laughed the mother again. Nobody ever told the Morrises
they had a delicious Southern accent, and their words are given here
exactly as they thought they spoke them.
"My dear," persisted Isabel, rebukingly, "I mean such friends as Ruth
Byington."
Mrs. Morris let go her little Southern laugh once more. "Don't you
believe her, General--don't you believe her. She means you every bit as

much as she means Ruth. She means everybody on Bylow Hill."
"I'm at the mercy of my interpreter," said Isabel. "But I thought"--her
eyes went out upon the skyline again--"I thought that men--that men--I
thought that men--My dear, you've made me forget what I thought!"
They laughed, all three. Isabel, with a playful sigh, clutched her
mother's