spite of the blue flannel suit and dusty shoes, for there was a
certain sylvan freshness about him as he sat there full of reposeful
strength the hills seemed to have given, the wholesome cheerful
days of air and sunshine put into a man, and the clear, bright look
of one who had caught glimpses of a new world from the
mountaintop.
“Tramping agrees with me. I took a dip in the river as I came along
and made my toilet in a place where Milton’s Sabrina might have
lived,” he said, shaking back his damp hair and settling the knot of
scarlet bunchberries stuck in his buttonhole.
“You look as if you found the nymph at home,” said Rose,
knowing how much he liked the “Comus.?
“I found her here,” and he made a little bow.
“That’s very pretty, and I’ll give you one in return. You grow more
like Uncle Alec every day, and I think I’ll call you Alec, Jr.?
“Alexander the Great wouldn’t thank you for that,” and Mac did
not look as grateful as she had expected.
“Very like, indeed, except the forehead. His is broad and
benevolent, yours high and arched. Do you know if you had no
beard, and wore your hair long, I really think you’d look like
Milton,” added Rose, sure that would please him.
It certainly did amuse him, for he lay back on the hay and laughed
so heartily that his merriment scared the squirrel on the wall and
woke Dulce.
“You ungrateful boy! Will nothing suit you? When I say you look
like the best man I know, you gave a shrug, and when I liken you
to a great poet, you shout. I’m afraid you are very conceited, Mac.”
And Rose laughed, too, glad to see him so gay.
“If I am, it is your fault. Nothing I can do will ever make a Milton
of me, unless I go blind someday,” he said, sobering at the thought.
“You once said a man could be what he liked if he tried hard
enough, so why shouldn’t you be a poet?” asked Rose, liking to trip
him up with his own words, as he often did her.
“I thought I was to be an M.D.?
“You might be both. There have been poetical doctors, you know.?
“Would you like me to be such a one?” asked Mac, looking at her
as seriously as if he really thought of trying it.
“No. I’d rather have you one or the other. I don’t care which, only
you must be famous in either you choose. I’m very ambitious for
you, because, I insist upon it, you are a genius of some sort. I think
it is beginning to simmer already, and I’ve got a great curiosity to
know what it will turn out to be.?
Mac’s eyes shone as she said that, but before he could speak a little
voice said, “Aunty Wose!” and he turned to find Dulce sitting up in
her nest staring at the broad blue back before her with round eyes.
“Do you know your Don?” he asked, offering his hand with
respectful gentleness, for she seemed a little doubtful whether he
was a friend or stranger.
“It is ‘Mat,’ ” said Rose, and that familiar word seemed to reassure
the child at once, for, leaning forward, she kissed him as if quite
used to doing it.
“I picked up some toys for her, by the way, and she shall have
them at once to pay for that. I didn’t expect to be so graciously
received by this shy mouse,” said Mac, much gratified, for Dulce
was very chary of her favors.
“She knew you, for I always carry my home album with me, and
when she comes to your picture she always kisses it, because I
never want her to forget her first friend,” explained Rose, pleased
with her pupil.
“First, but not best,” answered Mac, rummaging in his knapsack
for the promised toys, which he set forth upon the hay before
delighted Dulce.
Neither picture books nor sweeties, but berries strung on long
stems of grass, acorns, and pretty cones, bits of rock shining with
mica, several bluebirds’ feathers, and a nest of moss with white