A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill

								

“Daddy! Please don't! You don't know him. He will explain everything
when he writes, I know he will!”
“But he won't write! He won't have the face to. The idea of his going
straight off from my girl, and getting mixed up in a scrape like this!
You've got to promise me never to speak to the young scoundrel again!”
“But if he explains?”
“Why hasn't he done so? Because he can't. Besides, I don't want him to.
We are through with him from now on. Promise me never to have anything
more to do with him.”
She hesitated, and the Colonel began to fling the things out of his bag
in great agitation.
“Please, Squire Daddy!” She caught his hands, and looked at him, and
something in her pleading eyes and quivering lips was so reminiscent of
another face he had loved, that he broke down completely and had to have
recourse to one of his four clean handkerchiefs that were still in the
bag.
He was an old fool, he declared between violent blowings of his nose,
and clearings of his throat. Was only doing what he thought was his
duty. Didn't mean to make her unhappy. Didn't have sense enough to bring
up a girl. Had tried to, though! Always would try. Only she mustn't be
unhappy; he couldn't stand that. It would kill him if she dared to be
unhappy!
And Miss Lady with her arms about his neck, making futile dabs at his
streaming eyes with her little wet knot of a handkerchief, passionately
declared that she would promise him anything under the sun, that she was
going to be happy, that she was happy!
“Not yet,” said the Colonel, with much mopping of his brow; “but you
will be! We'll straighten it out. Soon as I get back, I'll take the
matter up. Sift it clean to the bottom. We'll give Morley every chance
to square himself. But 'til then, you won't see him if you can help
it, or read his letters, if he writes? You don't mind promising me that
much, do you?”
“I promise, Daddy.”
Oh! the promises made for a day, and kept through the years, what a lot
of tangled lives they have to answer for!
Miss Lady put the Colonel's things back in his bag, and stooped to kiss
him good night.
“Sure you don't mind my going?”, he asked, studying her face. “I'll be
back Saturday night.”
“All right. Good-by, I won't be up in the morning when you start. Have a
good time, Daddy dear, and--and don't worry about me.”
He lit her candle for her and carried it to the steps where he kissed
her again.
“My little girl,” he whispered.
The house grew still. Out on the landing the tall clock ticked off the
hours to midnight; the fire died to an ember; from the porch without
came the drip, drip, drip of the gutter. Still the Colonel sat in his
split-bottom chair, his little eyes like watch fires in the gloom,
listening for the faintest sound of restlessness from the room above.

CHAPTER VI

The sudden light of publicity that had fallen upon the Cant-Pass-It