One Of Them. Lever Charles James

in point – your American acquaintance is exactly one of those I feel the very strongest antipathy to. We have met at least a dozen times during the winter and autumn, and the very thought of finding him in a place would decide me to leave it.”

      It was not Layton’s business to correct what he deemed faulty in this sentiment; but in the sharp glance he threw towards his pupil, he seemed to convey his disapproval of it.

      “‘My Coach,’ Mr. Layton, is dying to tell us both we are wrong, sir,” said the boy; “he likes the ‘kernal.’” And this he said with a nasal twang whose imitation was not to be mistaken.

      Though Heathcote laughed at the boy’s mimicry, his attention was more taken by the expression “my Coach,” which not only revealed the relations of tutor and pupil between them, but showed, by its familiarity, that the youth stood in no great awe of his preceptor.

      Perhaps Layton had no fancy for this liberty before a stranger; perhaps he felt ashamed of the position itself; perhaps he caught something in Heathcote’s quick glance towards him, – whatever it was, he was irritated and provoked, and angrily bit his lip, without uttering a word.

      “Oh, here come the sight-seers! they are doing the grounds, and the grottos, and the marble fountains,” cried the boy, as a large group came out from a flower-garden and took their way towards an orangery. As they issued forth, however, Mrs. Morris stopped to caress a very large St. Bernard dog, who lay chained at the foot of an oak-tree. Charles Heathcote had not time to warn her of her danger, when the animal sprang fiercely at her. Had she not fallen suddenly backward, she must have been fearfully mangled; as it was, she received a severe wound in the wrist, and, overcome by pain and terror together, sank fainting on the sward.

      For some time the confusion was extreme. Some thought that the dog was at liberty, and fled away in terror across the park; others averred that he was – must be – mad, and his bite fatal; a few tried to be useful; but Quackinboss hurried to the river, and, filling his hat with water, sprinkled the cold face of the sufferer and washed the wound, carefully binding it up with his handkerchief in a quick, business-like way, that showed he was not new to such casualties.

      Layton meanwhile took charge of the little girl, whose cries and screams were heartrending.

      “What a regular day of misfortunes, this!” said Agincourt, as he followed the mournful procession while they carried the still fainting figure back to the house. “I fancy you ‘ll not let another batch of sight-seers into your grounds in a hurry.”

      “The ill-luck has all befallen our guests,” said Heathcote. “Our share of the mishap is to be associated with so much calamity.”

      All that care and kindness could provide waited on Mrs. Morris, as she was carried into the villa and laid on a bed. May Leslie took all upon herself, and while the doctor was sent for, used such remedies as she had near. It was at once decided that she should not be removed, and after some delay the company departed without her; the day that had dawned so pleasantly thus closing in gloom and sadness, and the party so bent on amusement returned homeward depressed and dispirited.

      “They ‘re mean vicious, these Alp dogs, and never to be trusted,” said Quackinboss.

      “Heroines will be heroines,” said Mrs. Morgan, gruffly.

      “Or rather won’t be heroines when the occasion comes for it. She fainted off like a school-girl,” growled out Morgan.

      “I should think she did!” muttered Mosely, “when she felt the beast’s teeth in her.”

      “A regular day of misfortunes!” repeated Agincourt.

      “And we lost the elegant fine luncheon, too, into the bargain,” said O’Shea. “Every one seemed to think it wouldn’t be genteel to eat after the disaster.”

      “It is the fate of pleasure parties,” said Layton, moodily. And so they jogged on in silence.

      And thus ended a day of pleasure, as many have ended before it.

      Assuredly, they who plan picnics are not animated by the spirit of an actuary. There is a marvellous lack of calculation in their composition, since, of all species of entertainment, there exists not one so much at the mercy of accident, so thoroughly dependent for success on everything going right. Like the Walcheren expedition, the “wind must not only blow from the right point, but with a certain graduated amount of force.” What elements of sunshine and shade, what combinations of good spirits and good temper and good taste! what guidance and what moderation, what genius of direction and what “respect for minorities”! We will not enter upon the material sources of success, though, indeed, it should be owned they are generally better looked to, and more cared for, than the moral ingredients thus massed and commingled.

      It was late when the party reached the Bagni, and, wishing each other a half-cold good-night, separated.

      And now, one last peep at the villa, where we have left the sufferer. It was not until evening that the Heathcotes had so far recovered from the shock of the morning’s disaster and its consequences as to be able to meet and talk over the events, and the actors in them.

      “Well,” said Sir William, as they all sat round the tea-table, “what do you say to my Yankee now? Of all that company, was there one that showed the same readiness in a difficulty, a quick-witted aptitude to do the right thing, and at the same time so unobtrusively and quietly that when everything was over it was hard to say who had done it?”

      “I call him charming. I’m in ecstasies with him,” said May, whose exaggerations of praise or censure were usually unbounded.

      “I ‘m quite ready to own he ‘came out’ strong in the confusion,” said Charles, half unwillingly; “but it was just the sort of incident that such a man was sure to figure well in.”

      “Show me the man who is active and ready-minded in his benevolence, and I ‘ll show you one who has not to go far into his heart to search for generous motives. I maintain it, Quackinboss is a fine fellow!” There was almost a touch of anger in Sir William’s voice as he said these words, as though he would regard any disparagement of the American as an offence to himself.

      “I think Charley is a little jealous,” said May, with a sly malice; “he evidently wanted to carry the wounded lady himself, when that great giant interposed, and, seizing the prize, walked away as though he were only carrying a baby.”

      “I fancied it was the tutor was disappointed,” said Charles; “and the way he devoted his cares to the little girl, when deprived of the mamma, convinced me he was the party chiefly interested.”

      “Which was the tutor?” asked May, hastily. “You don’t mean the man with all the velvet on his coat?”

      “No, no; that was Mr. O’Shea, the Irish M.P., who, by the way, paid you the most persevering attention.”

      “A hateful creature, insufferably pretentious and impertinent! The tutor was, then, the pale young man in black?”

      “A nice, modest fellow,” broke in Sir William; “and a fine boy that young Marquis of Agincourt. I ‘m glad you asked him up here, Charles. He is to come on Tuesday, is he not?”

      “Yes, I said Tuesday, because I can’t get my tackle to rights before that; and I promised to make him a fly-fisher. I owe him the reparation.”

      “You included the tutor, of course, in your invitation?” asked his father.

      “No. How stupid! I forgot him altogether.”

      “Oh! that was too bad,” said May.

      “Indeed,” cried Charles, turning towards her with a look of such malicious significance that she blushed deeply, and averted her head.

      “Let us invite them all up here for Tuesday, May,” said Sir William. “It would be very unfair if they were to carry away only a disagreeable memory of this visit. Let us try and efface the first unhappy impression.”

      “All right,” said Charles, “and I’ll dash off a few lines to Mr. Layton, I think his name is, to say that we expect he will favor us with his company