THE Lake at last—a of metal over by trees. Charity and Harney had a and, away from the and the refreshment-booths, they along, the of the shore. Where the sun the water its at the heat-veiled sky; and the least was black by contrast. The Lake was so that the of the trees on its on a solid surface; but gradually, as the sun declined, the water transparent, and Charity, over, her into so clear that she saw the tree-tops with the green of the bottom.
They a point at the end of the Lake, and entering an pushed their against a tree-trunk. A green of them. Beyond the trees, wheat-fields in the sun; and all along the the clear with light. Charity in the stern, and Harney the and in the of the without speaking.
Ever since their meeting at the Creston he had been to these silences, which were as different as possible from the when they to speak were needless. At such times his the she had on it when she had looked in at him from the and again there came over her a of the them; but his of were by of that away the it her.
She was still of the ten he had to the driver of the run-about. It had them twenty minutes of pleasure, and it that anyone should be able to at that rate. With ten he might have her an ring; she that Mrs. Tom Fry's, which came from Springfield, and had a diamond in it, had cost only eight seventy-five. But she did not know why the had to her. Harney would her an ring: they were friends and comrades, but no more. He had been perfectly to her: he had said a word to her. She what the girl was like hand was waiting for his ring....
Boats were to on the Lake and the of the return of the from the ball-field. The across the pearl-grey water and two white clouds near the sun were golden. On the opposite men were at a in a field. Charity asked what it was for.
“Why, the fireworks. I there'll be a big show.” Harney looked at her and a into his eyes. “Have you any good fireworks?”
“Miss Hatchard always sends up on the Fourth,” she answered doubtfully.
“Oh——” his was unbounded. “I a big performance like this, boats, and all the rest.”
She at the picture. “Do they send them up from the Lake, too?”
“Rather. Didn't you notice that big we passed? It's to see the their under one's feet.” She said nothing, and he put the into the rowlocks. “If we we'd go and up something to eat.”
“But how can we afterwards?” she ventured, it would her if she missed it.
He a time-table, a ten o'clock train and her. “The moon so late that it will be dark by eight, and we'll have over an hour of it.”
Twilight fell, and lights to along the shore. The out from Nettleton great in and out among the trees. The eating-houses at the Lake's with lanterns, and the with and and the of oars.
Harney and Charity had a table in the of a over the Lake, and were an chowder. Close under them the water the piles, by the of a little white with which was to up and the Lake. It was already black with them as it off on its trip.
Suddenly Charity a woman's laugh her. The was familiar, and she to look. A of girls and men of societies, with new on their square-clipped hair, had the and were for a table. The girl in the lead was the one who had laughed. She a large with a long white feather, and from under its her painted looked at Charity with recognition.
“Say! if this ain't like Old Home Week,” she to the girl at her elbow; and and passed them. Charity at once that the girl with the white was Julia Hawes. She had her freshness, and the paint under her her thinner; but her had the same curve, and the same cold smile, as if there were some in the person she was looking at, and she had it.
Charity to the and looked away. She herself by Julia's sneer, and that the of such a should affect her. She Harney should notice that the noisy had her; but they no table free, and passed on tumultuously.
Presently there was a soft through the air and a of from the sky. In another direction, Roman up through the trees, and a fire-haired the like a portent. Between these the of the were descending, and in the of the voices of the to to murmurs.
Charity and Harney, by newcomers, were at length to give up their table and through the about the boat-landings. For a while there no from the of late arrivals; but Harney the last two places on the from which the more were to see the fireworks. The seats were at the end of a row, one above the other. Charity had taken off her to have an view; and she to the of some she Harney's against her head.
After a while the ceased. A longer of followed, and then the whole night into flower. From every point of the horizon, gold and up and each other, sky-orchards into blossom, their and their with fruit; and all the while the air was with a soft hum, as though great were their in those tree-tops.
Now and then there came a lull, and a of moonlight the Lake. In a it hundreds of boats, steel-dark against ripples; then it as if with a of wings. Charity's with delight. It was as if all the of had been to her. She not that the world anything more wonderful; but near her she someone say, “You wait till you see the set piece,” and her took a fresh flight. At last, just as it was to as though the whole of the sky were one great pressed against her eye-balls, and out of them of light, the settled again, and a of ran through the crowd.
“Now—now!” the same voice said excitedly; and Charity, the on her knee, it tight in the to her rapture.
For a moment the night to more black; then a great picture out against it like a constellation. It was by a the inscription, “Washington the Delaware,” and across a of the National Hero passed, erect, and gigantic, with arms in the of a slowly moving boat.
A long “Oh-h-h” from the spectators: the and with their trepidations. “Oh-h-h,” Charity gasped: she had where she was, had at last Harney's nearness. She to have been up into the stars....
The picture and came down. In the she her by two hands: her was backward, and Harney's were pressed on hers. With he his arms about her, her against his while she gave him his kisses. An unknown Harney had himself, a Harney who her and yet over she herself of a new power.
But the was to move, and he had to her. “Come,” he said in a voice. He over the of the stand, and up his arm her as she to the ground. He passed his arm about her waist, her against the of people; and she to him, speechless, exultant, as if all the and about them were a of the air.
“Come,” he repeated, “we must try to make the trolley.” He her along, and she followed, still in her dream. They walked as if they were one, so in that the people them on every impalpable. But when they the the was already on its way, its black with passengers. The waiting it were as packed; and the about the was so that it to for a place.
“Last up the Lake,” a from the wharf; and the lights of the little steam-boat came dancing out of the darkness.
“No use waiting here; shall we up the Lake?” Harney suggested.
They pushed their way to the of the water just as the gang-plank from the white of the boat. The electric light at the end of the full on the passengers, and among them Charity of Julia Hawes, her white askew, and the under it with laughter. As she from the gang-plank she stopped short, her dark-ringed malice.
“Hullo, Charity Royall!” she called out; and then, looking over her shoulder: “Didn't I tell you it was a family party? Here's grandpa's little come to take him home!”
A ran through the group; and then, above them, and himself by the hand-rail in a at erectness, Mr. Royall ashore. Like the men of the party, he a in the of his black frock-coat. His was by a new Panama hat, and his narrow black tie, undone, on his shirt-front. His face, a brown, with red of anger and in like an old man's, was a in the glare.
He was just Julia Hawes, and had one hand on her arm; but as he left the gang-plank he himself, and moved a step or two away from his companions. He had Charity at once, and his passed slowly from her to Harney, arm was still about her. He at them, and trying to master the of his lips; then he himself up with the of drunkenness, and out his arm.
“You whore—you damn—bare-headed whore, you!” he slowly.
There was a of from the party, and Charity put her hands to her head. She that her had from her when she jumped up to the stand; and she had a of herself, hatless, dishevelled, with a man's arm about her, that crew, by her guardian's figure. The picture her with shame. She had since about Mr. Royall's “habits”: had him, as she up to bed, in his office, a bottle at his elbow; or home, and quarrelsome, from his to Hepburn or Springfield; but the idea of his himself publicly with a of girls and bar-room was new and to her.
“Oh——” she said in a of misery; and herself from Harney's arm she up to Mr. Royall.
“You come home with me—you come right home with me,” she said in a low voice, as if she had not his apostrophe; and one of the girls called out: “Say, how many she want?”
There was another laugh, by a pause of curiosity, which Mr. Royall to at Charity. At length his parted. “I said, 'You—damn—whore!'” he with precision, himself on Julia's shoulder.
Laughs and were to up from the circle of people their group; and a voice called out from the gangway: “Now, then, step there—all ABOARD!” The pressure of and the actors in the apart, and pushed them into the throng. Charity herself to Harney's arm and desperately. Mr. Royall had disappeared, and in the she the of Julia's laugh.
The boat, to the taffrail, was away on her last trip.
