Mary Finley Leonard

“ As she lay back in her chair, too weary to think; through her mind floated Rosalind's words, "Things always come right in the Forest."
It was after dinner. The sun had set, leaving the sky full of opal tints. The delicate leaves of the white birch barely moved, so still was the air. The whir of the last locust had died away, and the soft splash of the fountain was the only sound, as Rosalind in her white dress flitted past the griffins and joined her uncle on the garden bench. He welcomed her with a smile, and smoked on in silence. They were too good comrades to need to talk. ”

“ A warm-hearted, impulsive man, open handed to the point of extravagance, Dr. Fair had had few enemies and many friends; and loving his work, life had been full of joy to him. In contrast with those happy years the bitterness of his last days seemed doubly cruel to Celia. Whenever she was tired and discouraged, the memory of that dark time rose before her.
She had been only a child when Patterson Whittredge left home, but she could remember how warmly her father had taken his side, and how this had caused the first coolness between him and his boyhood friend, Judge Whittredge. ”

“ Bob is taking me home."
"Do stay; I'll take you home, Miss Celia," said Jack, as Rosalind bestowed marshmallows on the grinning Bob.
Celia hesitated, then turned, as if about to dismiss her escort, when Allan Whittredge stepped into the circle and cast an armful of wood on the fire. Celia retreated into the shadow. "I must go, dear," she whispered to Belle's urging.
A chorus of protest followed her as she hurried up the bank. She had hardly reached the road when she heard her name spoken quietly, and turning, she faced Allan Whittredge in the moonlight. ”

“ Rosalind laughed, as she said, "Then you ought not to groan. I thought when I heard you, perhaps you had fallen from a tree."
"I wasn't groaning," he protested, feeling ashamed.
"Maybe you call it sighing, but it was dreadfully deep."
"Well, I think a fellow has a right to sigh when he can't do anything or go anywhere; and everybody else is having a good time," Maurice felt anxious to vindicate himself.
"I am not having a good time," said Rosalind, "at least not very; but then you know if you stay in the Forest of Arden, something pleasant is bound to happen before long." ”

“ Hollingsworth came forward and stood in the pastor's place at the desk.
Mrs. Molesworth twisted her neck in an endeavor to see if he had notes; Colonel Parton decided promptly that here was no orator; Belle smiled at Rosalind across the aisle, thinking of the detective.
In the president's gaze, as it rested upon the assembly, was the same genial kindliness that had attracted Belle when she first met him on Main Street. It seemed to draw his audience closer to him, to make of it a circle of friends. His manner was simple, his tone almost conversational. ”

“ Suddenly a solitary figure with a dripping umbrella was almost swept into the shop.
"Why, Miss Celia!" cried Maurice.
"I began to think I would be drowned," she said, laughing breathlessly.
The magician dropped his shears and took her umbrella.
"You are wet; we must have a fire," he said.
Celia protested. A summer shower wouldn't hurt. It was too warm for a fire. Rosalind meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside her, the thought of the rose and of Aunt Genevieve's words making her hope Miss Fair would not see her. Her face was gentle; was it possible she could be unkind and disdainful? ”

“ Fair continued discontentedly.
"The spinet won't mind that; it is used to being alone," Celia answered cheerfully, standing before the mirror, fastening an oak leaf on her dress. It reminded her that even if her heart was heavy and her life full of difficulties, she could still be courageous.
"Things are sure to come right in the Forest," she had said to herself again and again. Not because she believed it, but because she longed to, and sometimes she did believe it,—just for a little while,—as she looked from Patricia's Arbor across to that bit of sunny road. ”

“ She ventured to say one day as they drove along a pleasant country road, "Grandmamma, you don't know how bright the sunshine is," and Mrs. Whittredge replied, "I do not wish to know, Rosalind; nothing can ever again be bright to me." Yet if she would only look, she must see that it was bright. This was one puzzle.
Aunt Genevieve's manner was another. It was as if she scorned everything, and sometimes it made Rosalind almost angry.
On the day of her meeting with Maurice, she ate her lunch with a glance every few minutes at her great-uncle Allan on the opposite wall. ”

“ Demure Katherine, dainty Rosalind, saucy Belle,—all as merry as merry could be,—and Curly Q. running in and out among them in an ecstasy of delight, and at imminent danger of upsetting somebody.
"Well, Pigeon, how do you like your new friend?" asked the colonel, as his daughter took her seat beside him on the door-step.
Belle gazed thoughtfully across the lawn. "I like her," she answered, "but she is funny. I suppose it is because she hasn't gone much to school. She isn't like Charlotte, or Katherine, or me. ”

“ Weeds ran riot in the garden, the grass crept stealthily over the walks, and the clematis and honeysuckle on the low stone wall mingled their sweetness in undisturbed luxuriance. The Arden Foresters were free to come and go as they chose, the only other trespasser being Celia Fair, who when her household tasks were done often brought her sewing to Patricia's Arbor, with the feeling that her days there were numbered. ”

“ Maurice agreed.
"Aunt Patricia could have belonged," said Rosalind, her eyes still in the tree top. "I wonder if she knew about the Forest?"
Maurice felt stirred by the picture her words called up of a great company of people all bearing hard things bravely. "There is Morgan," he suggested. "It must be hard to be deaf, yet he is always cheerful."
"Yes, indeed, he could belong. He knows the secret of the Forest. And Maurice, you have a beautiful chance to be brave."
Maurice's face grew red, he pushed his crutch impatiently from him. "I haven't been brave," he said. ”

“ There is no loneliness like that of the unforgiving heart. Celia had never felt it so strongly as after her meeting with Rosalind Whittredge in the cemetery. There had been something in the soft gaze of the gray eyes that she could not forget. It had made her take up the rose again after she flung it away and carry it home with her.
But she must not linger here any longer. There was an order from the Exchange in the city which should be promptly filled if she hoped for others. As she rose she confronted Morgan entering the gate. ”

“ To sell or rent it was not at present practicable, and she could not take boarders, for no one boarded in Friendship. Neither could she leave to try her fortune in the city, so she had been doing whatever her hand found to do. Sewing, embroidering, a little teaching, and, in season, pickling and preserving. Friends had been kind, but Celia was proud and determined to fight her own battle, and sometimes, as this morning, kindness made her burden seem harder to bear.
The worst of it was the root of bitterness in her heart. She could never forgive Mrs. Whittredge. ”

“ Rosalind listened with interest. "Isn't Dr. Fair dead?" she asked.
"Yes. He used to be our doctor, and I liked him so much."
"The Fairs have lost all their money now, so Miss Celia has to teach and do all sorts of things," Katherine remarked.
"Her name belongs to the Forest," thought Rosalind, looking at the ripples, Belle had thrown herself back and was gazing at the sky from under her hat brim; Katherine was busy with a collection of pebbles; the stillness was broken only by the hum of insects and the murmur of Friendly Creek. ”

“ Allan hesitated before this unapproachable, tempestuous Celia. Then he drew his chair nearer. "Celia, dear heart, do not speak so; I have not been tried like you, but give me the chance and see how I will atone for the past."
Suddenly Celia held out her hand; "Oh, Allan, I am so very bad-tempered. I seem always determined to quarrel," she said, with a laugh that was half a sob.
This was enough, the strain was broken; Allan forsook the arm-chair for the settle.
It was perhaps some fifteen minutes later when he asked Celia if she remembered the magician, and the tiger with three white whiskers. ”

“ I thought I never could be the least bit happy without you and Cousin Louis; but the magician and the Forest helped me, and since then I have had a beautiful time. I love Friendship. I almost wish we could live here."
"And desert Cousin Louis and the university?"
"No, I suppose not; but we can come back in the summer, can't we? And, oh, father dear, you'll join the Arden Foresters, won't you?"
As they walked up the winding road at the cemetery, Mr. Whittredge heard something of those puzzles which had so disturbed Rosalind's first weeks in Friendship, beginning with the story of the rose. ”

“ Had not her father taken Patterson's side in the family trouble over his marriage? Ah, but that was long ago, and it was hard to forget that Rosalind, with her sweet, serious eyes, was after all Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter, Genevieve's niece.
"I wish she wasn't, and that I could see her and speak to her, and ask her what she means by the Forest," she thought. "She is gentle and sweet; she is not like the Whittredges. Why should I dislike her because she belongs to them? Oh, it is dreadful to hate people!" Celia hid her face in her hands, "but I do—I do," she added. ”

“ Rosalind, looking at the dignified mansion among the trees, felt the atmosphere of mysterious interest that always surrounds a closed and deserted house, particularly an old one upon which several generations have left their impress. She thought of the young and lovely Patricia, and the sailor lover who never came back.
"Do you know, I feel very sorry for Aunt Patricia, Maurice. To have some one you love never come back—it must be very hard. I can understand a little now since father and cousin Louis went away. Miss Betty said she bore it bravely, too." ”

“ The one that is lost," Rosalind explained, sorting her leaves.
"I fear it is a hopeless quest."
"Maurice," Rosalind exclaimed, "that is the word we wanted,—the 'quest' of the ring. Let's put it in."
"What does it mean?" asked Katherine.
"A search," Celia answered.
"Then why won't 'search' do?"
"But 'quest' sounds more like the Forest," Rosalind urged.
"More romantic," added Belle, adjusting her comb and tying her ribbon.
"One word is as good as another if it means what you want to say," insisted Jack. "They think they are so smart with their 'reciprocity,' and they got it out of a book." ”

“ Rosalind tells me it is a secret society, and of course I am dying to know about it."
"Let's tell her," said Katherine.
"Girls always want to tell everything," remarked Jack, causing Belle to frown upon him sternly.
"The magician has joined," added Rosalind.
"Then I don't see why Miss Celia can't. Do you, Maurice?" asked Belle.
"Listen, Belle," said Celia, laughing, and without waiting for Maurice's reply, "there may be some difference of opinion as to whether I should be a desirable member or not; suppose you go over there under the oak and talk it over. ”

“ Miss Betty had gone to the city, and Sophy was at camp-meeting, as Belle happened to know, so she went over and sat on the porch step beside a large hydrangea. She must decide what to do. She remembered very distinctly the circumstances connected with the disappearance of the ring. Morgan had been one of the last persons to speak to old Mr. Gilpin before the attack of heart failure that ended his life, but no one had dreamed of suspecting him. Could he have had it all this time?
Belle felt ashamed of herself for the thought. If there was an honest person in the world, it was Morgan. ”

“ Rosalind sat with her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands, watching Maurice as he folded the sheet of legal-cap paper on which the constitution was written, and placed it in the book.
"Maurice," she said suddenly, lifting her eyes to the benevolent face of the bank president, "do you know Miss Celia Fair?"
"Miss Celia? Why, of course I do."
"Everybody seems to know everybody in Friendship. It's funny," Rosalind commented thoughtfully. "Then you can tell me just what sort of a person she is."
"She is tip-top; I like Miss Celia," Maurice replied, with emphasis. ”

“ There were fine old homes in Friendship which in their soft-toned browns and grays seemed as much a part of the landscape as the forest trees that surrounded them and shaded the broad street. Associated with these mansions were names dignified and substantial, such as Molesworth, Parton, Gilpin, Whittredge. ”

“ Miss Betty, who adored puzzles and problems of all kinds, was continually adding to her collection, and this evening there was a brand new one, brought from the city only the day before; but even Belle, who was especially good at puzzles, and besides affected not to care about Rosalind Whittredge, could not keep her eyes from the window.
The application of French chalk had been successful, and she wore her blue and white silk; Katherine, in her blue muslin, with ribbons to match on her smooth braids, wished her mother had been more impressed with the importance of the occasion. ”