FICTION

9.3

Arranged

by the Gods

GREGORY H. ROXTON

As I stepped off the train and looked anxiously around the deserted station, my heart sank within me, for my worst fears seemed realized. For the last three summers, Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack had urged me to spend part of the summer vacation with them on their farm at Unionville. Other years, I'd always had something which seemed more important planned, but this year I had nothing definite in mind so I wrote to say that I would arrive on the first of July for a month.

During my trip from Chicago, I had had the feeling that this was a great mistake and that I should have invented an excuse and turned down their invitation. Farms have never held much attraction for me anyway. The further I got from the city the more certain I was that this was the case and now, as I stood gazing at the forlorn little country town, a wave of annoyance and desperation swept over me.

Just at that moment an ancient vehicle, which subsequently proved to be my conveyance, chugged to a stop near me and from it emerged my smiling aunt and uncle. Dear old Aunt Mary clasped me to her bosom in a suffocating embrace while Uncle Jack loaded my things into the motorized wreck.

"Your cousin Chuck, from Cedarton, is coming to spend some time with us, too," Aunt Mary confided during the trip from town to the farm. "We were afraid that you might get lonely without someone your own age around, so we asked him to come, too. I'm sure you'll get along well together."

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mattachine REVIEW

I'd never met this cousin (he was really only my second cousin) since my immediate family never seemed to associate much with the rural members of our family. Actually, I'm afraid we rather looked upon them with something akin to embarassment. The thought of having some hay-seed cousin filled me with anything but delight.

My first sight of the farm caused me utter amazement, for I had expected a rundown ruin, similar to the car, and here before me sprawled a spotless, large white house, shaded by maples and surrounded with a colorful array of flowers. The barn, too, was white and looked newly painted. In the driveway there stood a new Buick. Instead of noise and smell I found myself in a charming, quiet country setting.

At supper that evening I learned that my cousin was not expected to arrive until sometime the next day. For some reason the very mention of this person caused me a great deal of jealousy as I realized that I was not to be the sole center of attention as I had somehow expected. I felt that my relatives might prefer him to me, and this hurt. Later, as I lay in bed before dropping off to sleep, I resolved to treat this cousin with cold reserve and to contrive some way in which to spend my time reading and in solitude. The next morning I awoke, after a thoroughly refreshing sleep of the variety one gets only in the country, to find the household already busily astir. I could hear movements below in the kitchen and detected a voice which I did not recognize. Deciding that it was a hired hand, I dressed slowly and leisurely and then tripped gayly down to breakfast. As I entered the kitchen, I discovered that the voice belonged to a boy of about my own age. His hair was blond and he was dangerously good looking. I had never expected to encounter someone like this in the country. He wore a short-sleeved light blue shirt and a pair of levis, was spare and yet looked very strong at the same time.

For a moment or two I must have gaped in amazement. Then Aunt Mary turned from the stove and exclaimed, "Oh! Good morning, Greg. This is your cousin, Chuck. He just arrived on the early bus from Cedarton." Chuck stood up, smiling a broad, friendly smile and extended his hand in greeting. Our eyes met and held a gaze as we shook hands. Then we sat down at the table, and during breakfast we talked over our backgrounds. I learned that Chuck was not a farm boy at all, but lived in the town of Cedarton, where he had had a job after school in a filling station. All the while we chatted, I found myself unable to take my eyes off him, and was mentally deciding that this month would turn out to be most rewarding after all.

After breakfast was over, I excused myself and went to my room to write some letters. This took a great deal longer than I had expected. After nearly two hours, there came a soft knock at the door and Chuck entered with the

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