Part 25

"Why, you are poetical! But these lively stars of white and blue are not the kind to cull, are they, Mistress Mary? Land's sake! but they might prove as big an undertaking as one of those fiery worlds twinkling up there. 'How I wonder what you are!' Why, we don't wonder, we know. I learnt all about them at school. But who knows what I am composed of?"

"'Ribbons and laces and sweet pretty faces!' is what they taught me at my school," said the Young Man, calmly.

"Really, the nightingale can't sing if we all talk so much. Do let us try and be quiet for two minutes," I said.

But Mamie was walking away laughing, and saying the nightingale would soon get used to her dulcet tones, and the Young Man stayed listening with me.

"And yet it's true," he said, "what she says; how is one ever to know about another person, particularly when that other person always turns the conversation when one begins to talk about--"

"You are getting mixed," I interrupted. "Don't you like talking about my garden?"

"Not always."

"Well, then, there's the parish."

"You only do that to annoy."

"I don't! But to please you I will talk of your last sermon."

The Young Man was very hard to please; he said he preferred to know the exact ingredients of the stars, so I stopped Mamie to ask her, but she said we were becoming prosaic; the stars were really little holes in heaven's floor that the angels made to peep through. "That's what they taught at your school, didn't they, Reverend Young Man?"

"They did. My education has greatly helped me to retain my fond delusions and pet prejudices."

"Why, what an ideal education for a clergyman!"

"Since young ladies are taught to weigh the stars and won't listen for nightingales, it does seem good to me."

"Now, don't you get rattled. Mistress Mary, you have been rubbing him up the wrong way, and, mercy me! however can a poor Yank hear your nightingale? That is a delusion I must part with unless he condescends to commence soon."

"Well, wait, do wait quietly for one minute."

So for a brief pause there was silence; and the stir of the leaves and little rustle of unseen creeping things could be heard, and then, yes, there it was! We all raised a warning finger, but the throbbing note broke through the stillness; a little gurgle, a break, and then a longer effort.

"Oh, my! Is that it? It makes me creep all over. Oh, don't let us talk. Will it go on?"

Yes, it went on. After some tentative "jugs" and "jars" it broke into a full-throated throb, and even our fair visitor's exclamation did not scare it.

"It is singing to-night," said One; "really, it must be in honour of you, Mamie. It seldom sings with such vigour!"

In the centre of the sloping field grew a fine clump of trees, birch, chestnut and one or two straight pines; the nightingale had chosen this for his stage, and now again quite distinctly rose the gurgling note, and continued, too, right through Miss Mamie's piercing whisper.

"Why! it's purfectly lovely! I guess I must take one or two back to Amurica. This grove of trees, the dense blue sky, the silence of all you dear people, and just that one divine voice throbbing with love! It makes me feel like melting. If anyone proposed to me now I should just have no strength to refuse. Don't feel nervous, most Reverend Young Man. I am really thinking of that fascinating Mr Jim. Say! has he gone to bed?"

Jim! Where was he? I saw the Young Man give a start, and a quick glance showed me we had both solved the mystery of that persistently gurgling bird. "He ought to be doing his preparation," I said in firm tones.

"Don't, Mary! how you shouted. Now he has stopped. Oh, what a pity!"

The Young Man whistled softly, and after a pause a little answering whistle came from another spot.

"What is that?" asked Mamie.

"Night-jar," suggested the Young Man.

We listened in vain for more warblings from the nightingale. He had flown for good, and they all said it was my fault.