Elizabeth and her German Garden [60]
she glanced nervously up at Peter, whose mild head was visible between the bushes above us. "Shall we get home before dark?" she asked.
The sun had altogether disappeared behind the pines and only the very highest of the little clouds were still pink; out at sea the mists were creeping up, and the sails of the fishing-smacks had turned a dull brown; a flight of wild geese passed across the disc of the moon with loud cacklings.
"Before dark?" echoed Irais, "I should think not. It is dark now nearly in the forest, and we shall have the loveliest moonlight drive back."
"But it is surely very dangerous to let a man who goes to sleep drive you," said Minora apprehensively.
"But he's such an old dear," I said.
"Yes, yes, no doubt," she replied tastily; ,"but there are wakeful old dears to be had, and on a box they are preferable."
Irais laughed. "You are growing quite amusing, Miss Minora," she said.
"He isn't on a box to-day," said I; "and I never knew him to go to sleep standing up behind us on a sleigh." But Minora was not to be appeased, and muttered something about seeing no fun in foolhardiness, which shows how alarmed she was, for it was rude.
Peter, however, behaved beautifully on the way home, and Irais and I at least were as happy as possible driving back, with all the glories of the western sky flashing at us every now and then at the end of a long avenue as we swiftly passed, and later on, when they had faded, myriads of stars in the narrow black strip of sky over our heads. It was bitterly cold, and Minora was silent, and not in the least inclined to laugh with us as she had been six hours before.
"Have you enjoyed yourself, Miss Minora?' inquired Irais, as we got out of the forest on to the chaussee, and the lights of the village before ours twinkled in the distance.
"How many degrees do you suppose there are now?" was Minora's reply to this question.
"Degrees?--Of frost? Oh, dear me, are you cold," cried Irais solicitously.
"Well, it isn't exactly warm, is it?" said Minora sulkily; and Irais pinched me. "Well, but think how much colder you would have been without all that fur you ate for lunch inside you," she said. "And what a nice chapter you will be able to write about the Baltic," said I. "Why, it is practically certain that you are the first English person who has ever been to just this part of it."
"Isn't there some English poem," said Irais, "about being the first who ever burst--"
"'Into that silent sea,'" finished Minora hastily. "You can't quote that without its context, you know."
"But I wasn't going to," said Irais meekly; "I only paused to breathe. I must breathe, or perhaps I might die."
The lights from my energetic friend's Schloss shone brightly down upon us as we passed round the base of the hill on which it stands; she is very proud of this hill, as well she may be, seeing that it is the only one in the whole district.
"Do you never go there?" asked Minora, jerking her head in the direction of the house.
"Sometimes. She is a very busy woman, and I should feel I was in the way if I went often."
"It would be interesting to see another North German interior," said Minora; "and I should be obliged if you would take me.
"But I can't fall upon her suddenly with a strange girl," I protested; "and we are not at all on such intimate terms as to justify my taking all my visitors to see her."
"What do you want to see another interior for?" asked Irais. "I can tell you what it is like; and if you went nobody would speak to you, and if you were to ask questions, and began to take notes, the good lady would stare at you in the frankest amazement, and think Elizabeth had brought a young lunatic out for an airing. Everybody is not as patient as Elizabeth," added Irais, anxious to pay off old scores.
"I would do a great deal for you, Miss Minora," I said, "but I can't do that."
"If we went," said Irais, "Elizabeth and I would be placed with great ceremony on a sofa behind a large, polished oval table with a crochetmat in the centre-- it
The sun had altogether disappeared behind the pines and only the very highest of the little clouds were still pink; out at sea the mists were creeping up, and the sails of the fishing-smacks had turned a dull brown; a flight of wild geese passed across the disc of the moon with loud cacklings.
"Before dark?" echoed Irais, "I should think not. It is dark now nearly in the forest, and we shall have the loveliest moonlight drive back."
"But it is surely very dangerous to let a man who goes to sleep drive you," said Minora apprehensively.
"But he's such an old dear," I said.
"Yes, yes, no doubt," she replied tastily; ,"but there are wakeful old dears to be had, and on a box they are preferable."
Irais laughed. "You are growing quite amusing, Miss Minora," she said.
"He isn't on a box to-day," said I; "and I never knew him to go to sleep standing up behind us on a sleigh." But Minora was not to be appeased, and muttered something about seeing no fun in foolhardiness, which shows how alarmed she was, for it was rude.
Peter, however, behaved beautifully on the way home, and Irais and I at least were as happy as possible driving back, with all the glories of the western sky flashing at us every now and then at the end of a long avenue as we swiftly passed, and later on, when they had faded, myriads of stars in the narrow black strip of sky over our heads. It was bitterly cold, and Minora was silent, and not in the least inclined to laugh with us as she had been six hours before.
"Have you enjoyed yourself, Miss Minora?' inquired Irais, as we got out of the forest on to the chaussee, and the lights of the village before ours twinkled in the distance.
"How many degrees do you suppose there are now?" was Minora's reply to this question.
"Degrees?--Of frost? Oh, dear me, are you cold," cried Irais solicitously.
"Well, it isn't exactly warm, is it?" said Minora sulkily; and Irais pinched me. "Well, but think how much colder you would have been without all that fur you ate for lunch inside you," she said. "And what a nice chapter you will be able to write about the Baltic," said I. "Why, it is practically certain that you are the first English person who has ever been to just this part of it."
"Isn't there some English poem," said Irais, "about being the first who ever burst--"
"'Into that silent sea,'" finished Minora hastily. "You can't quote that without its context, you know."
"But I wasn't going to," said Irais meekly; "I only paused to breathe. I must breathe, or perhaps I might die."
The lights from my energetic friend's Schloss shone brightly down upon us as we passed round the base of the hill on which it stands; she is very proud of this hill, as well she may be, seeing that it is the only one in the whole district.
"Do you never go there?" asked Minora, jerking her head in the direction of the house.
"Sometimes. She is a very busy woman, and I should feel I was in the way if I went often."
"It would be interesting to see another North German interior," said Minora; "and I should be obliged if you would take me.
"But I can't fall upon her suddenly with a strange girl," I protested; "and we are not at all on such intimate terms as to justify my taking all my visitors to see her."
"What do you want to see another interior for?" asked Irais. "I can tell you what it is like; and if you went nobody would speak to you, and if you were to ask questions, and began to take notes, the good lady would stare at you in the frankest amazement, and think Elizabeth had brought a young lunatic out for an airing. Everybody is not as patient as Elizabeth," added Irais, anxious to pay off old scores.
"I would do a great deal for you, Miss Minora," I said, "but I can't do that."
"If we went," said Irais, "Elizabeth and I would be placed with great ceremony on a sofa behind a large, polished oval table with a crochetmat in the centre-- it