At Five O'clock in the Morning Page #3

"At Five O'clock in the Morning" is a poignant short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery that explores themes of love, loss, and the complexities of human emotion. Set against the backdrop of the early morning hours, the narrative delves into the inner thoughts and reflections of its characters as they grapple with their feelings and the passage of time. Montgomery's signature lyrical prose captures the beauty and melancholy of life's fleeting moments, inviting readers to contemplate the deeper meanings of connection and longing.

• Short story

								

that worried me, although when you have been brought up to regard
yourself as a prospective millionaire it is rather difficult to adjust
your vision to a pauper focus. But it was the thought of alienating
Uncle Dick. I love the dear, determined old chap like a father. But
last night my guardian angel was with me and I decided to remain my
own man. So I wrote to Uncle Dick, respectfully but firmly declining
to become a candidate for Miss Mannering's hand."

"But you have never seen her," said Mollie. "She may
be--almost--charming."

"'If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she be?'" quoted
Murray. "As you say, she may be--almost charming; but she is not Eve.
She is merely one of a million other women, as far as I am concerned.
Don't let's talk of her. Let us talk only of ourselves--there is
nothing else that is half so interesting."

"And will your uncle really cast you off?" asked Mollie.

"Not a doubt of it."

"What will you do?"

"Work, dear Eve. My carefully acquired laziness must be thrown to the
winds and I shall work. That is the rule outside of Eden. Don't worry.
I've painted pictures that have actually been sold. I'll make a living
for us somehow."

"Us?"

"Of course. You are engaged to me."

"I am not," said Mollie indignantly.

"Mollie! Mollie! After that kiss! Fie, fie!"

"You are very absurd," said Mollie, "But your absurdity has been
amusing. I have--yes, positively--I have enjoyed your Eden comedy. But
now you must not come any further with me. My aunt might not approve.
Here is my path to Orchard Knob farmhouse. There, I presume, is yours
to Sweetbriar Cottage. Good morning."

"I am coming over to see you this afternoon," said Murray coolly. "But
you needn't be afraid. I will not tell tales out of Eden. I will be a
hypocrite and pretend to Mrs. Palmer that we have never met before.
But you and I will know and remember. Now, you may go. I reserve to
myself the privilege of standing here and watching you out of sight."

       *       *       *       *       *

That afternoon Murray strolled over to Orchard Knob, going into the
kitchen without knocking as was the habit in that free and easy world.
Mrs. Palmer was lying on the lounge with a pungent handkerchief bound
about her head, but keeping a vigilant eye on a very pretty, very
plump brown-eyed girl who was stirring a kettleful of cherry preserve
on the range.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Palmer," said Murray, wondering where Mollie
was. "I'm sorry to see that you look something like an invalid."

"I've a raging, ramping headache," said Mrs. Palmer solemnly. "I had
it all night and I'm good for nothing. Mollie, you'd better take them
cherries off. Mr. Murray, this is my niece, Mollie Booth."

"What?" said Murray explosively.

"Miss Mollie Booth," repeated Mrs. Palmer in a louder tone.

Murray regained outward self-control and bowed to the blushing Mollie.

"And what about Eve?" he thought helplessly. "Who--what was she? Did I
dream her? Was she a phantom of delight? No, no, phantoms don't milk
cows. She was flesh and blood. No chilly nymph exhaling from the mists
of the marsh could have given a kiss like that."

"Mollie has come to stay the rest of the summer with me," said Mrs.
Palmer. "I hope to goodness my tribulations with hired girls is over
at last. They have made a wreck of me."

Murray rapidly reflected. This development, he decided, released him
from his promise to tell no tales. "I met a young lady down in the
pond pasture this morning," he said deliberately. "I talked with her
for a few minutes. I supposed her to be your niece. Who was she?"

"Oh, that was Miss Mannering," said Mrs. Palmer.

"What?" said Murray again.

"Mannering--Dora Mannering," said Mrs. Palmer loudly, wondering if Mr.
Murray were losing his hearing. "She came here last night just to see
me. I haven't seen her since she was a child of twelve. I used to be
her nurse before I was married. I was that proud to think she thought
it worth her while to look me up. And, mind you, this morning, when
she found me crippled with headache and not able to do a hand's turn,
that girl, Mr. Murray, went and milked seven cows"--"only four,"
murmured Murray, but Mrs. Palmer did not hear him--"for me. Couldn't
prevent her. She said she had learned to milk for fun one summer when
she was in the country, and she did it. And then she got breakfast for
the men--Mollie didn't come till the ten o'clock train. Miss Mannering
is as capable as if she had been riz on a farm."

"Where is she now?" demanded Murray.

"Oh, she's gone."

"What?"

"Gone," shouted Mrs. Palmer, "gone. She left on the train Mollie come
on. Gracious me, has the man gone crazy? He hasn't seemed like himself
at all this afternoon."

Murray had bolted madly out of the house and was striding down the
lane.

Blind fool--unspeakable idiot that he had been! To take her for Mrs.
Palmer's niece--that peerless creature with the calm acceptance of any
situation, which marked the woman of the world, with the fine
appreciation and quickness of repartee that spoke of generations of
culture--to imagine that she could be Mollie Booth! He had been blind,
besottedly blind. And now he had lost her! She would never forgive
him; she had gone without a word or sign.

As he reached the last curve of the lane where it looped about the
apple trees, a plump figure came flying down the orchard slope.

"Mr. Murray, Mr. Murray," Mollie Booth called breathlessly. "Will you
please come here just a minute?"

Murray crossed over to the paling rather grumpily. He did not want to
talk with Mollie Booth just then. Confound it, what did the girl want?
Why was she looking so mysterious?

Mollie produced a little square grey envelope from some feminine
hiding place and handed it over the paling.

"She give me this at the station--Miss Mannering did," she gasped,
"and asked me to give it to you without letting Aunt Emily Jane see. I
couldn't get a chanst when you was in, but as soon as you went I
slipped out by the porch door and followed you. You went so fast I
near died trying to head you off."

"You dear little soul," said Murray, suddenly radiant. "It is too bad
you have had to put yourself so out of breath on my account. But I am
immensely obliged to you. The next time your young man wants a trusty
private messenger just refer him to me."

"Git away with you," giggled Mollie. "I must hurry back 'fore Aunt
Emily Jane gits wind I'm gone. I hope there's good news in your girl's
letter. My, but didn't you look flat when Aunt said she'd went!"
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