Through stained glass

  CHAPTER XXIII

  "If it's a fine day to-morrow," said Leighton that evening to Lewis,"we'll spend it in the country. Ever been in the country around here?"

  Lewis shook his head.

  "I don't believe Cellette knows anything about the country. It would bea great thing, Dad, if we could take her with us. She's shown me arounda lot. I'd--I'd like to."

  Leighton suppressed a grimace.

  "Why not?" he replied cheerfully.

  The next day was fine and hot. Leighton decided to take a chance oninnovation, and revisit a quiet stretch on the Marne. It was rather ajourney to get there, but from the moment the three were settled intheir third-class carriage time took to wing. As he listened to Lewis'sand Cellette's chatter, the years rolled back for Leighton. He becamesuddenly young. Lewis felt it. For the second time he had the delightfulsensation of stumbling across a brother in his father.

  Cellette felt it, too. When they left the station and started down thecool, damp road to the river, she linked a hand in the arm of each ofher laughing companions, urged them to a run, and then picked up herlittle feet for mighty leaps of twenty yards at a time. "_Ah,_" shecried, "_c'est joli, d'etre trois enfants!_"

  How strange the earth smelt! She insisted on stopping and snuffling atevery odor. New-mown grass; freshly turned loam; a stack of straw,packed too wet and left to ruin; dry leaves burning under the hot suninto a sort of dull incense--all had their message for her. Even of thecountry Cellette had a dim memory tucked away in her store ofexperience.

  They came to the river. From a farmer they hired a boat. Cellette wantedto drift down with the stream, but Leighton shook his head. "No, mydear, a day on the river is like life: one should leave the quiet, lazydrifting till the end."

  Leighton rowed, and then Lewis. They held Cellette's hands on the oarsand she tried to row, but not for long. She said that by her faith itwas harder than washing somebody else's clothes.

  They chose the shade of a great beech for their picnic-ground. Celletteordered them to one side, and started to unpack the lunch-basket thathad come with Leighton from his hotel. As each item was revealed shecast a sidelong glance at Leighton.

  "My old one," she said to him when all was properly laid out, "do notplay at youth and innocence any longer. It takes an old sinner to ordersuch a breakfast."

  It was a gay meal and a good one, and, like all good meals, led todrowsiness. Cellette made a pillow of Lewis's coat and slept. Theafternoon was very hot. Leighton finished his second cigar, and thentapped Lewis on the shoulder. They slipped beyond the screen of thelow-limbed beech, stripped, and stole into the river.

  At the first thoughtless splash Cellette sprang to her feet.

  "Ah!" she cried, her eyes lighting, "you bathe, _hein_?" She startedundoing her bodice.

  Leighton stared at her from the water. "What do you do?" he cried inrapid French. "You cannot bathe. I won't allow it."

  Cellette paused in sheer amazement that any one should think there wasanything she could not do. Then deliberately she continued undoinghooks.

  "Why can't I bathe?" she asked out of courtesy or merely because sheknew the value of keeping up a conversation.

  "You can't bathe," said Leighton, desperately, "because you are tootender, too delicate. These waters are--miasmic. They are full ofsnakes, too. It was just now that I stepped on one."

  "Snakes, eh?" said Cellette, pausing again. "I don't believe you.But--snakes!" She shuddered, and then looked as though she were going tocry with disappointment.

  "Don't you mind just this once, Cellette," cried Lewis, blowing like awalrus as he held his place against the current. "We'll come alone sometime."

  Cellette dried the perspiration from her short upper lip with a littlecotton handkerchief.

  "_Mon dieu_, but men are selfish!" she remarked.

  Once they were in the boat again, drifting slowly down the shadowyriver, she forgot her pet, turned suddenly gay, and began to sing songsthat were as foreign to that still sunset scene as was Cellette herselfto a dairy. Lewis had heard them before. He looked upon them merely asone of Cellette's moods, but they brought a twisted smile to Leighton'slips. He glanced at the pompous, indignant setting sun and winked. Thesun did not wink back; he was surly.

  In the train, Cellette, tired and happy, went to sleep. Her head fell onLeighton's shoulder. With dexterous fingers he took off her hat and laidit aside, then he looked at Lewis shrewdly. But Lewis showed no signs,of jealousy. He merely laughed silently and whispered, "Isn't she a_funny?_"

  They began to talk. Leighton told Lewis he was glad that he had workedsteadily all these months, that Le Brux spoke well of his work, butthought a rest would help it and him.

  "What do you say," he went on, "to a little trip all by ourselvesagain?"

  "It would be splendid," said Lewis, eagerly. Then, after a pause: "Itwould be fun if we could take Cellette along, too. She'd like it a lot,I know."

  "Yes," said Leighton, dryly, "I don't doubt she would." He seemed toponder over the point. "No," he said finally, "it wouldn't do. What Ipropose is a man's trip--good stiff walking. We could strike off throughMetz and Kaiserslautern, hit the Rhine valley somewhere about Duerkheim,pass through Mannheim with our eyes shut, and get to Heidelberg and theNeckar. Then we could float down the Rhine into Holland. That's thetoy-country of the world. Great place to make you smile."

  Lewis's eyes watered.

  "When--when shall we start?"

  "We'll start to start to-morrow," said Leighton. "We've got to outfit,you know."

  Two days later they were ready. Cellette kissed them both good-by.Leighton gave her a pretty trinket, a heavy gold locket on a chain. Sheglanced up sidewise at him through half-closed eyes.

  "What's this?" she asked in the tone of the woman who knows she mustalways pay.

  "Just a little nothing from Lewis," said Leighton. "Something toremember him by."

  "So," said Cellette, gravely. "I understand. He will not come back. Itis well."

  Leighton patted her shoulder.

  "You are shrewd," he said. Then he added, with a smile: "Too shrewd. Hewill be back in two months."

  A fiacre carried them beyond the fortifications. The cabman smiled atthe generous drink-money Leighton gave him, spit on it, and then sat andwatched father and son as they stepped lightly off up the broad highway."Eh!" he called, choking down the curses with which he usually partedfrom his fares, "good luck! Follow the sun around the earth. It willbring you back."

  Leighton half turned, and waved his arm. Then they settled down to thebusiness of walking. They dropped into their place as a familiar part ofthe open road of only a very few years ago, for they were dressed in theorthodox style: knickerbockers; woolen stockings; heavy footwear; shortjackets; packs, such as once the schoolboy used for books; anddouble-peaked caps.

  Shades of a bygone day, where do you skulk? Have you been driven,

  Up, up, the stony causeway to the mists above the glare, Where the smell of browsing cattle drowns the petrol in the air?