CHAPTER XI

AUDREY OF THE GARDEN


The creek that ran between Fairview and the glebe lands was narrow and
deep; upon it, moored to a stake driven into a bit of marshy ground below
the orchard, lay a crazy boat belonging to the minister. To this boat, of
an early, sunny morning, came Audrey, and, standing erect, pole in hand,
pushed out from the reedy bank into the slow-moving stream. It moved so
slowly and was so clear that its depth seemed the blue depth of the sky,
with now and then a tranquil cloud to be glided over. The banks were low
and of the greenest grass, save where they sank still lower and reeds
abounded, or where some colored bush, heavy with bloom, bent to meet its
reflected image. It was so fair that Audrey began to sing as she went down
the stream; and without knowing why she chose it, she sang a love song
learned out of one of Darden's ungodly books, a plaintive and passionate
lay addressed by some cavalier to his mistress of an hour. She sang not
loudly, but very sweetly; carelessly, too, and as if to herself; now and
then repeating a line twice or maybe thrice; pleased with the sweet
melancholy of the notes, but not thinking overmuch of the meaning of the
words. They died upon her lips when Hugon rose from a lair of reeds and
called to her to stop. "Come to the shore, ma'm'selle!" he cried. "See, I
have brought you a ribbon from the town. Behold!" and he fluttered a
crimson streamer.