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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 125 ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST
+
+By Gene Stratton-Porter
+
+
+
+
+To All Girls Of The Limberlost
+In General
+And One
+Jeanette Helen Porter
+In Particular
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+ELNORA, who collects moths to pay for her education, and lives the
+Golden Rule.
+PHILIP AMMON, who assists in moth hunting, and gains a new conception
+of love.
+MRS. COMSTOCK, who lost a delusion and found a treasure.
+WESLEY SINTON, who always did his best.
+MARGARET SINTON, who “mothers” Elnora.
+BILLY, a boy from real life.
+EDITH CARR, who discovers herself.
+HART HENDERSON, to whom love means all things.
+POLLY AMMON, who pays an old score.
+TOM LEVERING, engaged to Polly.
+TERENCE O’MORE, Freckles grown tall.
+MRS. O’MORE, who remained the Angel.
+TERENCE, ALICE and LITTLE BROTHER, the O’MORE children.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+
+  A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST
+  CHAPTER I 
+  CHAPTER II 
+  CHAPTER III 
+  CHAPTER IV 
+  CHAPTER V 
+  CHAPTER VI 
+  CHAPTER VII 
+  CHAPTER VIII 
+  CHAPTER IX 
+  CHAPTER X 
+  CHAPTER XI 
+  CHAPTER XII 
+  CHAPTER XIII 
+  CHAPTER XIV 
+  CHAPTER XV 
+  CHAPTER XVI 
+  CHAPTER XVII 
+  CHAPTER XVIII 
+  CHAPTER XIX 
+  CHAPTER XX 
+  CHAPTER XXI 
+  CHAPTER XXII 
+  CHAPTER XXIII 
+  CHAPTER XXIV 
+  CHAPTER XXV 
+
+
+
+
+A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA GOES TO HIGH SCHOOL AND LEARNS MANY LESSONS NOT FOUND IN
+HER BOOKS
+
+
+“Elnora Comstock, have you lost your senses?” demanded the angry voice
+of Katharine Comstock while she glared at her daughter.
+
+“Why mother!” faltered the girl.
+
+“Don’t you ‘why mother’ me!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You know very well
+what I mean. You’ve given me no peace until you’ve had your way about
+this going to school business; I’ve fixed you good enough, and you’re
+ready to start. But no child of mine walks the streets of Onabasha
+looking like a play-actress woman. You wet your hair and comb it down
+modest and decent and then be off, or you’ll have no time to find where
+you belong.”
+
+Elnora gave one despairing glance at the white face, framed in a most
+becoming riot of reddish-brown hair, which she saw in the little
+kitchen mirror. Then she untied the narrow black ribbon, wet the comb
+and plastered the waving curls close to her head, bound them fast,
+pinned on the skimpy black hat and opened the back door.
+
+“You’ve gone so plumb daffy you are forgetting your dinner,” jeered her
+mother.
+
+“I don’t want anything to eat,” replied Elnora.
+
+“You’ll take your dinner or you’ll not go one step. Are you crazy? Walk
+almost three miles and no food from six in the morning until six at
+night. A pretty figure you’d cut if you had your way! And after I’ve
+gone and bought you this nice new pail and filled it especial to start
+on!”
+
+Elnora came back with a face still whiter and picked up the lunch.
+“Thank you, mother! Good-bye!” she said. Mrs. Comstock did not reply.
+She watched the girl follow the long walk to the gate and go from sight
+on the road, in the bright sunshine of the first Monday of September.
+
+“I bet a dollar she gets enough of it by night!” commented Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+Elnora walked by instinct, for her eyes were blinded with tears. She
+left the road where it turned south, at the corner of the Limberlost,
+climbed a snake fence and entered a path worn by her own feet. Dodging
+under willow and scrub oak branches she came at last to the faint
+outline of an old trail made in the days when the precious timber of
+the swamp was guarded by armed men. This path she followed until she
+reached a thick clump of bushes. From the debris in the end of a hollow
+log she took a key that unlocked the padlock of a large weatherbeaten
+old box, inside of which lay several books, a butterfly apparatus, and
+a small cracked mirror. The walls were lined thickly with gaudy
+butterflies, dragonflies, and moths. She set up the mirror and once
+more pulling the ribbon from her hair, she shook the bright mass over
+her shoulders, tossing it dry in the sunshine. Then she straightened
+it, bound it loosely, and replaced her hat. She tugged vainly at the
+low brown calico collar and gazed despairingly at the generous length
+of the narrow skirt. She lifted it as she would have cut it if
+possible. That disclosed the heavy high leather shoes, at sight of
+which she seemed positively ill, and hastily dropped the skirt. She
+opened the pail, removed the lunch, wrapped it in the napkin, and
+placed it in a small pasteboard box. Locking the case again she hid the
+key and hurried down the trail.
+
+She followed it around the north end of the swamp and then entered a
+footpath crossing a farm leading in the direction of the spires of the
+city to the northeast. Again she climbed a fence and was on the open
+road. For an instant she leaned against the fence staring before her,
+then turned and looked back. Behind her lay the land on which she had
+been born to drudgery and a mother who made no pretence of loving her;
+before her lay the city through whose schools she hoped to find means
+of escape and the way to reach the things for which she cared. When she
+thought of how she appeared she leaned more heavily against the fence
+and groaned; when she thought of turning back and wearing such clothing
+in ignorance all the days of her life she set her teeth firmly and went
+hastily toward Onabasha.
+
+On the bridge crossing a deep culvert at the suburbs she glanced
+around, and then kneeling she thrust the lunch box between the
+foundation and the flooring. This left her empty-handed as she
+approached the big stone high school building. She entered bravely and
+inquired her way to the office of the superintendent. There she learned
+that she should have come the previous week and arranged about her
+classes. There were many things incident to the opening of school, and
+one man unable to cope with all of them.
+
+“Where have you been attending school?” he asked, while he advised the
+teacher of Domestic Science not to telephone for groceries until she
+knew how many she would have in her classes; wrote an order for
+chemicals for the students of science; and advised the leader of the
+orchestra to hire a professional to take the place of the bass violist,
+reported suddenly ill.
+
+“I finished last spring at Brushwood school, district number nine,”
+said Elnora. “I have been studying all summer. I am quite sure I can do
+the first year work, if I have a few days to get started.”
+
+“Of course, of course,” assented the superintendent. “Almost invariably
+country pupils do good work. You may enter first year, and if it is too
+difficult, we will find it out speedily. Your teachers will tell you
+the list of books you must have, and if you will come with me I will
+show you the way to the auditorium. It is now time for opening
+exercises. Take any seat you find vacant.”
+
+Elnora stood before the entrance and stared into the largest room she
+ever had seen. The floor sloped to a yawning stage on which a band of
+musicians, grouped around a grand piano, were tuning their instruments.
+She had two fleeting impressions. That it was all a mistake; this was
+no school, but a grand display of enormous ribbon bows; and the second,
+that she was sinking, and had forgotten how to walk. Then a burst from
+the orchestra nerved her while a bevy of daintily clad, sweet-smelling
+things that might have been birds, or flowers, or possibly gaily
+dressed, happy young girls, pushed her forward. She found herself
+plodding across the back of the auditorium, praying for guidance, to an
+empty seat.
+
+As the girls passed her, vacancies seemed to open to meet them. Their
+friends were moving over, beckoning and whispering invitations. Every
+one else was seated, but no one paid any attention to the white-faced
+girl stumbling half-blindly down the aisle next the farthest wall. So
+she went on to the very end facing the stage. No one moved, and she
+could not summon courage to crowd past others to several empty seats
+she saw. At the end of the aisle she paused in desperation, while she
+stared back at the whole forest of faces most of which were now turned
+upon her.
+
+In a flash came the full realization of her scanty dress, her pitiful
+little hat and ribbon, her big, heavy shoes, her ignorance of where to
+go or what to do; and from a sickening wave which crept over her, she
+felt she was going to become very ill. Then out of the mass she saw a
+pair of big, brown boy eyes, three seats from her, and there was a
+message in them. Without moving his body he reached forward and with a
+pencil touched the back of the seat before him. Instantly Elnora took
+another step which brought her to a row of vacant front seats.
+
+She heard laughter behind her; the knowledge that she wore the only hat
+in the room burned her; every matter of moment, and some of none at
+all, cut and stung. She had no books. Where should she go when this was
+over? What would she give to be on the trail going home! She was
+shaking with a nervous chill when the music ceased, and the
+superintendent arose, and coming down to the front of the flower-decked
+platform, opened a Bible and began to read. Elnora did not know what he
+was reading, and she felt that she did not care. Wildly she was racking
+her brain to decide whether she should sit still when the others left
+the room or follow, and ask some one where the Freshmen went first.
+
+In the midst of the struggle one sentence fell on her ear. “Hide me
+under the shadow of Thy wings.”
+
+Elnora began to pray frantically. “Hide me, O God, hide me, under the
+shadow of Thy wings.”
+
+Again and again she implored that prayer, and before she realized what
+was coming, every one had arisen and the room was emptying rapidly.
+Elnora hurried after the nearest girl and in the press at the door
+touched her sleeve timidly.
+
+“Will you please tell me where the Freshmen go?” she asked huskily.
+
+The girl gave her one surprised glance, and drew away.
+
+“Same place as the fresh women,” she answered, and those nearest her
+laughed.
+
+Elnora stopped praying suddenly and the colour crept into her face.
+“I’ll wager you are the first person I meet when I find it,” she said
+and stopped short. “Not that! Oh, I must not do that!” she thought in
+dismay. “Make an enemy the first thing I do. Oh, not that!”
+
+She followed with her eyes as the young people separated in the hall,
+some climbing stairs, some disappearing down side halls, some entering
+adjoining doors. She saw the girl overtake the brown-eyed boy and speak
+to him. He glanced back at Elnora with a scowl on his face. Then she
+stood alone in the hall.
+
+Presently a door opened and a young woman came out and entered another
+room. Elnora waited until she returned, and hurried to her. “Would you
+tell me where the Freshmen are?” she panted.
+
+“Straight down the hall, three doors to your left,” was the answer, as
+the girl passed.
+
+“One minute please, oh please,” begged Elnora: “Should I knock or just
+open the door?”
+
+“Go in and take a seat,” replied the teacher.
+
+“What if there aren’t any seats?” gasped Elnora.
+
+“Classrooms are never half-filled, there will be plenty,” was the
+answer.
+
+Elnora removed her hat. There was no place to put it, so she carried it
+in her hand. She looked infinitely better without it. After several
+efforts she at last opened the door and stepping inside faced a smaller
+and more concentrated battery of eyes.
+
+“The superintendent sent me. He thinks I belong here,” she said to the
+professor in charge of the class, but she never before heard the voice
+with which she spoke. As she stood waiting, the girl of the hall passed
+on her way to the blackboard, and suppressed laughter told Elnora that
+her thrust had been repeated.
+
+“Be seated,” said the professor, and then because he saw Elnora was
+desperately embarrassed he proceeded to lend her a book and to ask her
+if she had studied algebra. She said she had a little, but not the same
+book they were using. He asked her if she felt that she could do the
+work they were beginning, and she said she did.
+
+That was how it happened, that three minutes after entering the room
+she was told to take her place beside the girl who had gone last to the
+board, and whose flushed face and angry eyes avoided meeting Elnora’s.
+Being compelled to concentrate on her proposition she forgot herself.
+When the professor asked that all pupils sign their work she firmly
+wrote “Elnora Comstock” under her demonstration. Then she took her seat
+and waited with white lips and trembling limbs, as one after another
+professor called the names on the board, while their owners arose and
+explained their propositions, or “flunked” if they had not found a
+correct solution. She was so eager to catch their forms of expression
+and prepare herself for her recitation, that she never looked from the
+work on the board, until clearly and distinctly, “Elnora Cornstock,”
+called the professor.
+
+The dazed girl stared at the board. One tiny curl added to the top of
+the first curve of the m in her name, had transformed it from a good
+old English patronymic that any girl might bear proudly, to Cornstock.
+Elnora sat speechless. When and how did it happen? She could feel the
+wave of smothered laughter in the air around her. A rush of anger
+turned her face scarlet and her soul sick. The voice of the professor
+addressed her directly.
+
+“This proposition seems to be beautifully demonstrated, Miss
+Cornstalk,” he said. “Surely, you can tell us how you did it.”
+
+That word of praise saved her. She could do good work. They might wear
+their pretty clothes, have their friends and make life a greater misery
+than it ever before had been for her, but not one of them should do
+better work or be more womanly. That lay with her. She was tall,
+straight, and handsome as she arose.
+
+“Of course I can explain my work,” she said in natural tones. “What I
+can’t explain is how I happened to be so stupid as to make a mistake in
+writing my own name. I must have been a little nervous. Please excuse
+me.”
+
+She went to the board, swept off the signature with one stroke, then
+rewrote it plainly. “My name is Comstock,” she said distinctly. She
+returned to her seat and following the formula used by the others made
+her first high school recitation.
+
+As Elnora resumed her seat Professor Henley looked at her steadily. “It
+puzzles me,” he said deliberately, “how you can write as beautiful a
+demonstration, and explain it as clearly as ever has been done in any
+of my classes and still be so disturbed as to make a mistake in your
+own name. Are you very sure you did that yourself, Miss Comstock?”
+
+“It is impossible that any one else should have done it,” answered
+Elnora.
+
+“I am very glad you think so,” said the professor. “Being Freshmen, all
+of you are strangers to me. I should dislike to begin the year with you
+feeling there was one among you small enough to do a trick like that.
+The next proposition, please.”
+
+When the hour had gone the class filed back to the study room and
+Elnora followed in desperation, because she did not know where else to
+go. She could not study as she had no books, and when the class again
+left the room to go to another professor for the next recitation, she
+went also. At least they could put her out if she did not belong there.
+Noon came at last, and she kept with the others until they dispersed on
+the sidewalk. She was so abnormally self-conscious she fancied all the
+hundreds of that laughing, throng saw and jested at her. When she
+passed the brown-eyed boy walking with the girl of her encounter, she
+knew, for she heard him say: “Did you really let that gawky piece of
+calico get ahead of you?” The answer was indistinct.
+
+Elnora hurried from the city. She intended to get her lunch, eat it in
+the shade of the first tree, and then decide whether she would go back
+or go home. She knelt on the bridge and reached for her box, but it was
+so very light that she was prepared for the fact that it was empty,
+before opening it. There was one thing for which to be thankful. The
+boy or tramp who had seen her hide it, had left the napkin. She would
+not have to face her mother and account for its loss. She put it in her
+pocket, and threw the box into the ditch. Then she sat on the bridge
+and tried to think, but her brain was confused.
+
+“Perhaps the worst is over,” she said at last. “I will go back. What
+would mother say to me if I came home now?”
+
+So she returned to the high school, followed some other pupils to the
+coat room, hung her hat, and found her way to the study where she had
+been in the morning. Twice that afternoon, with aching head and empty
+stomach, she faced strange professors, in different branches. Once she
+escaped notice; the second time the worst happened. She was asked a
+question she could not answer.
+
+“Have you not decided on your course, and secured your books?” inquired
+the professor.
+
+“I have decided on my course,” replied Elnora, “I do not know where to
+ask for my books.”
+
+“Ask?” the professor was bewildered.
+
+“I understood the books were furnished,” faltered Elnora.
+
+“Only to those bringing an order from the township trustee,” replied
+the Professor.
+
+“No! Oh no!” cried Elnora. “I will have them to-morrow,” and gripped
+her desk for support for she knew that was not true. Four books,
+ranging perhaps at a dollar and a half apiece; would her mother buy
+them? Of course she would not—could not.
+
+Did not Elnora know the story of old. There was enough land, but no one
+to do clearing and farm. Tax on all those acres, recently the new
+gravel road tax added, the expense of living and only the work of two
+women to meet all of it. She was insane to think she could come to the
+city to school. Her mother had been right. The girl decided that if
+only she lived to reach home, she would stay there and lead any sort of
+life to avoid more of this torture. Bad as what she wished to escape
+had been, it was nothing like this. She never could live down the
+movement that went through the class when she inadvertently revealed
+the fact that she had expected books to be furnished. Her mother would
+not secure them; that settled the question.
+
+But the end of misery is never in a hurry to come; before the day was
+over the superintendent entered the room and explained that pupils from
+the country were charged a tuition of twenty dollars a year. That
+really was the end. Previously Elnora had canvassed a dozen methods for
+securing the money for books, ranging all the way from offering to wash
+the superintendent’s dishes to breaking into the bank. This additional
+expense made her plans so wildly impossible, there was nothing to do
+but hold up her head until she was from sight.
+
+Down the long corridor alone among hundreds, down the long street alone
+among thousands, out into the country she came at last. Across the
+fence and field, along the old trail once trodden by a boy’s bitter
+agony, now stumbled a white-faced girl, sick at heart. She sat on a log
+and began to sob in spite of her efforts at self-control. At first it
+was physical breakdown, later, thought came crowding.
+
+Oh the shame, the mortification! Why had she not known of the tuition?
+How did she happen to think that in the city books were furnished?
+Perhaps it was because she had read they were in several states. But
+why did she not know? Why did not her mother go with her? Other
+mothers—but when had her mother ever been or done anything at all like
+other mothers? Because she never had been it was useless to blame her
+now. Elnora realized she should have gone to town the week before,
+called on some one and learned all these things herself. She should
+have remembered how her clothing would look, before she wore it in
+public places. Now she knew, and her dreams were over. She must go home
+to feed chickens, calves, and pigs, wear calico and coarse shoes, and
+with averted head, pass a library all her life. She sobbed again.
+
+“For pity’s sake, honey, what’s the matter?” asked the voice of the
+nearest neighbour, Wesley Sinton, as he seated himself beside Elnora.
+“There, there,” he continued, smearing tears all over her face in an
+effort to dry them. “Was it as bad as that, now? Maggie has been just
+wild over you all day. She’s got nervouser every minute. She said we
+were foolish to let you go. She said your clothes were not right, you
+ought not to carry that tin pail, and that they would laugh at you. By
+gum, I see they did!”
+
+“Oh, Uncle Wesley,” sobbed the girl, “why didn’t she tell me?”
+
+“Well, you see, Elnora, she didn’t like to. You got such a way of
+holding up your head, and going through with things. She thought some
+way that you’d make it, till you got started, and then she begun to see
+a hundred things we should have done. I reckon you hadn’t reached that
+building before she remembered that your skirt should have been pleated
+instead of gathered, your shoes been low, and lighter for hot September
+weather, and a new hat. Were your clothes right, Elnora?”
+
+The girl broke into hysterical laughter. “Right!” she cried. “Right!
+Uncle Wesley, you should have seen me among them! I was a picture!
+They’ll never forget me. No, they won’t get the chance, for they’ll see
+me again to-morrow!
+
+“Now that is what I call spunk, Elnora! Downright grit,” said Wesley
+Sinton. “Don’t you let them laugh you out. You’ve helped Margaret and
+me for years at harvest and busy times, what you’ve earned must amount
+to quite a sum. You can get yourself a good many clothes with it.”
+
+“Don’t mention clothes, Uncle Wesley,” sobbed Elnora, “I don’t care now
+how I look. If I don’t go back all of them will know it’s because I am
+so poor I can’t buy my books.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know as you are so dratted poor,” said Sinton
+meditatively. “There are three hundred acres of good land, with fine
+timber as ever grew on it.”
+
+“It takes all we can earn to pay the tax, and mother wouldn’t cut a
+tree for her life.”
+
+“Well then, maybe, I’ll be compelled to cut one for her,” suggested
+Sinton. “Anyway, stop tearing yourself to pieces and tell me. If it
+isn’t clothes, what is it?”
+
+“It’s books and tuition. Over twenty dollars in all.”
+
+“Humph! First time I ever knew you to be stumped by twenty dollars,
+Elnora,” said Sinton, patting her hand.
+
+“It’s the first time you ever knew me to want money,” answered Elnora.
+“This is different from anything that ever happened to me. Oh, how can
+I get it, Uncle Wesley?”
+
+“Drive to town with me in the morning and I’ll draw it from the bank
+for you. I owe you every cent of it.”
+
+“You know you don’t owe me a penny, and I wouldn’t touch one from you,
+unless I really could earn it. For anything that’s past I owe you and
+Aunt Margaret for all the home life and love I’ve ever known. I know
+how you work, and I’ll not take your money.”
+
+“Just a loan, Elnora, just a loan for a little while until you can earn
+it. You can be proud with all the rest of the world, but there are no
+secrets between us, are there, Elnora?”
+
+“No,” said Elnora, “there are none. You and Aunt Margaret have given me
+all the love there has been in my life. That is the one reason above
+all others why you shall not give me charity. Hand me money because you
+find me crying for it! This isn’t the first time this old trail has
+known tears and heartache. All of us know that story. Freckles stuck to
+what he undertook and won out. I stick, too. When Duncan moved away he
+gave me all Freckles left in the swamp, and as I have inherited his
+property maybe his luck will come with it. I won’t touch your money,
+but I’ll win some way. First, I’m going home and try mother. It’s just
+possible I could find second-hand books, and perhaps all the tuition
+need not be paid at once. Maybe they would accept it quarterly. But oh,
+Uncle Wesley, you and Aunt Margaret keep on loving me! I’m so lonely,
+and no one else cares!”
+
+Wesley Sinton’s jaws met with a click. He swallowed hard on bitter
+words and changed what he would have liked to say three times before it
+became articulate.
+
+“Elnora,” he said at last, “if it hadn’t been for one thing I’d have
+tried to take legal steps to make you ours when you were three years
+old. Maggie said then it wasn’t any use, but I’ve always held on. You
+see, I was the first man there, honey, and there are things you see,
+that you can’t ever make anybody else understand. She loved him Elnora,
+she just made an idol of him. There was that oozy green hole, with the
+thick scum broke, and two or three big bubbles slowly rising that were
+the breath of his body. There she was in spasms of agony, and beside
+her the great heavy log she’d tried to throw him. I can’t ever forgive
+her for turning against you, and spoiling your childhood as she has,
+but I couldn’t forgive anybody else for abusing her. Maggie has got no
+mercy on her, but Maggie didn’t see what I did, and I’ve never tried to
+make it very clear to her. It’s been a little too plain for me ever
+since. Whenever I look at your mother’s face, I see what she saw, so I
+hold my tongue and say, in my heart, ‘Give her a mite more time.’ Some
+day it will come. She does love you, Elnora. Everybody does, honey.
+It’s just that she’s feeling so much, she can’t express herself. You be
+a patient girl and wait a little longer. After all, she’s your mother,
+and you’re all she’s got, but a memory, and it might do her good to let
+her know that she was fooled in that.”
+
+“It would kill her!” cried the girl swiftly. “Uncle Wesley, it would
+kill her! What do you mean?”
+
+“Nothing,” said Wesley Sinton soothingly. “Nothing, honey. That was
+just one of them fool things a man says, when he is trying his best to
+be wise. You see, she loved him mightily, and they’d been married only
+a year, and what she was loving was what she thought he was. She hadn’t
+really got acquainted with the man yet. If it had been even one more
+year, she could have borne it, and you’d have got justice. Having been
+a teacher she was better educated and smarter than the rest of us, and
+so she was more sensitive like. She can’t understand she was loving a
+dream. So I say it might do her good if somebody that knew, could tell
+her, but I swear to gracious, I never could. I’ve heard her out at the
+edge of that quagmire calling in them wild spells of hers off and on
+for the last sixteen years, and imploring the swamp to give him back to
+her, and I’ve got out of bed when I was pretty tired, and come down to
+see she didn’t go in herself, or harm you. What she feels is too deep
+for me. I’ve got to respectin’ her grief, and I can’t get over it. Go
+home and tell your ma, honey, and ask her nice and kind to help you. If
+she won’t, then you got to swallow that little lump of pride in your
+neck, and come to Aunt Maggie, like you been a-coming all your life.”
+
+“I’ll ask mother, but I can’t take your money, Uncle Wesley, indeed I
+can’t. I’ll wait a year, and earn some, and enter next year.”
+
+“There’s one thing you don’t consider, Elnora,” said the man earnestly.
+“And that’s what you are to Maggie. She’s a little like your ma. She
+hasn’t given up to it, and she’s struggling on brave, but when we
+buried our second little girl the light went out of Maggie’s eyes, and
+it’s not come back. The only time I ever see a hint of it is when she
+thinks she’s done something that makes you happy, Elnora. Now, you go
+easy about refusing her anything she wants to do for you. There’s times
+in this world when it’s our bounden duty to forget ourselves, and think
+what will help other people. Young woman, you owe me and Maggie all the
+comfort we can get out of you. There’s the two of our own we can’t ever
+do anything for. Don’t you get the idea into your head that a fool
+thing you call pride is going to cut us out of all the pleasure we have
+in life beside ourselves.”
+
+“Uncle Wesley, you are a dear,” said Elnora. “Just a dear! If I can’t
+possibly get that money any way else on earth, I’ll come and borrow it
+of you, and then I’ll pay it back if I must dig ferns from the swamp
+and sell them from door to door in the city. I’ll even plant them, so
+that they will be sure to come up in the spring. I have been sort of
+panic stricken all day and couldn’t think. I can gather nuts and sell
+them. Freckles sold moths and butterflies, and I’ve a lot collected. Of
+course, I am going back to-morrow! I can find a way to get the books.
+Don’t you worry about me. I am all right!
+
+“Now, what do you think of that?” inquired Wesley Sinton of the swamp
+in general. “Here’s our Elnora come back to stay. Head high and right
+as a trivet! You’ve named three ways in three minutes that you could
+earn ten dollars, which I figure would be enough, to start you. Let’s
+go to supper and stop worrying!”
+
+Elnora unlocked the case, took out the pail, put the napkin in it,
+pulled the ribbon from her hair, binding it down tightly again and
+followed to the road. From afar she could see her mother in the
+doorway. She blinked her eyes, and tried to smile as she answered
+Wesley Sinton, and indeed she did feel better. She knew now what she
+had to expect, where to go, and what to do. Get the books she must;
+when she had them, she would show those city girls and boys how to
+prepare and recite lessons, how to walk with a brave heart; and they
+could show her how to wear pretty clothes and have good times.
+
+As she neared the door her mother reached for the pail. “I forgot to
+tell you to bring home your scraps for the chickens,” she said.
+
+Elnora entered. “There weren’t any scraps, and I’m hungry again as I
+ever was in my life.”
+
+“I thought likely you would be,” said Mrs. Comstock, “and so I got
+supper ready. We can eat first, and do the work afterward. What kept
+you so? I expected you an hour ago.”
+
+Elnora looked into her mother’s face and smiled. It was a queer sort of
+a little smile, and would have reached the depths with any normal
+mother.
+
+“I see you’ve been bawling,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I thought you’d get
+your fill in a hurry. That’s why I wouldn’t go to any expense. If we
+keep out of the poor-house we have to cut the corners close. It’s
+likely this Brushwood road tax will eat up all we’ve saved in years.
+Where the land tax is to come from I don’t know. It gets bigger every
+year. If they are going to dredge the swamp ditch again they’ll just
+have to take the land to pay for it. I can’t, that’s all! We’ll get up
+early in the morning and gather and hull the beans for winter, and put
+in the rest of the day hoeing the turnips.”
+
+Elnora again smiled that pitiful smile.
+
+“Do you think I didn’t know that I was funny and would be laughed at?”
+she asked.
+
+“Funny?” cried Mrs. Comstock hotly.
+
+“Yes, funny! A regular caricature,” answered Elnora. “No one else wore
+calico, not even one other. No one else wore high heavy shoes, not even
+one. No one else had such a funny little old hat; my hair was not
+right, my ribbon invisible compared with the others, I did not know
+where to go, or what to do, and I had no books. What a spectacle I made
+for them!” Elnora laughed nervously at her own picture. “But there are
+always two sides! The professor said in the algebra class that he never
+had a better solution and explanation than mine of the proposition he
+gave me, which scored one for me in spite of my clothes.”
+
+“Well, I wouldn’t brag on myself!”
+
+“That was poor taste,” admitted Elnora. “But, you see, it is a case of
+whistling to keep up my courage. I honestly could see that I would have
+looked just as well as the rest of them if I had been dressed as they
+were. We can’t afford that, so I have to find something else to brace
+me. It was rather bad, mother!”
+
+“Well, I’m glad you got enough of it!”
+
+“Oh, but I haven’t,” hurried in Elnora. “I just got a start. The
+hardest is over. To-morrow they won’t be surprised. They will know what
+to expect. I am sorry to hear about the dredge. Is it really going
+through?”
+
+“Yes. I got my notification today. The tax will be something enormous.
+I don’t know as I can spare you, even if you are willing to be a
+laughing-stock for the town.”
+
+With every bite Elnora’s courage returned, for she was a healthy young
+thing.
+
+“You’ve heard about doing evil that good might come from it,” she said.
+“Well, mother mine, it’s something like that with me. I’m willing to
+bear the hard part to pay for what I’ll learn. Already I have selected
+the ward building in which I shall teach in about four years. I am
+going to ask for a room with a south exposure so that the flowers and
+moths I take in from the swamp to show the children will do well.”
+
+“You little idiot!” said Mrs. Comstock. “How are you going to pay your
+expenses?”
+
+“Now that is just what I was going to ask you!” said Elnora. “You see,
+I have had two startling pieces of news to-day. I did not know I would
+need any money. I thought the city furnished the books, and there is an
+out-of-town tuition, also. I need ten dollars in the morning. Will you
+please let me have it?”
+
+“Ten dollars!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Ten dollars! Why don’t you say a
+hundred and be done with it! I could get one as easy as the other. I
+told you! I told you I couldn’t raise a cent. Every year expenses grow
+bigger and bigger. I told you not to ask for money!”
+
+“I never meant to,” replied Elnora. “I thought clothes were all I
+needed and I could bear them. I never knew about buying books and
+tuition.”
+
+“Well, I did!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I knew what you would run into! But
+you are so bull-dog stubborn, and so set in your way, I thought I would
+just let you try the world a little and see how you liked it!”
+
+Elnora pushed back her chair and looked at her mother.
+
+“Do you mean to say,” she demanded, “that you knew, when you let me go
+into a city classroom and reveal the fact before all of them that I
+expected to have my books handed out to me; do you mean to say that you
+knew I had to pay for them?”
+
+Mrs. Comstock evaded the direct question.
+
+“Anybody but an idiot mooning over a book or wasting time prowling the
+woods would have known you had to pay. Everybody has to pay for
+everything. Life is made up of pay, pay, pay! It’s always and forever
+pay! If you don’t pay one way you do another! Of course, I knew you had
+to pay. Of course, I knew you would come home blubbering! But you don’t
+get a penny! I haven’t one cent, and can’t get one! Have your way if
+you are determined, but I think you will find the road somewhat rocky.”
+
+“Swampy, you mean, mother,” corrected Elnora. She arose white and
+trembling. “Perhaps some day God will teach me how to understand you.
+He knows I do not now. You can’t possibly realize just what you let me
+go through to-day, or how you let me go, but I’ll tell you this: You
+understand enough that if you had the money, and would offer it to me,
+I wouldn’t touch it now. And I’ll tell you this much more. I’ll get it
+myself. I’ll raise it, and do it some honest way. I am going back
+to-morrow, the next day, and the next. You need not come out, I’ll do
+the night work, and hoe the turnips.”
+
+It was ten o’clock when the chickens, pigs, and cattle were fed, the
+turnips hoed, and a heap of bean vines was stacked beside the back
+door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+WHEREIN WESLEY AND MARGARET GO SHOPPING, AND ELNORA’S WARDROBE IS
+REPLENISHED
+
+
+Wesley Sinton walked down the road half a mile and turned at the lane
+leading to his home. His heart was hot and filled with indignation. He
+had told Elnora he did not blame her mother, but he did. His wife met
+him at the door.
+
+“Did you see anything of Elnora?” she questioned.
+
+“Most too much, Maggie,” he answered. “What do you say to going to
+town? There’s a few things has to be got right away.”
+
+“Where did you see her, Wesley?”
+
+“Along the old Limberlost trail, my girl, torn to pieces sobbing. Her
+courage always has been fine, but the thing she met to-day was too much
+for her. We ought to have known better than to let her go that way. It
+wasn’t only clothes; there were books, and entrance fees for
+out-of-town people, that she didn’t know about; while there must have
+been jeers, whispers, and laughing. Maggie, I feel as if I’d been a
+traitor to those girls of ours. I ought to have gone in and seen about
+this school business. Don’t cry, Maggie. Get me some supper, and I’ll
+hitch up and see what we can do now.”
+
+“What can we do, Wesley?
+
+“I don’t just know. But we’ve got to do something. Kate Comstock will
+be a handful, while Elnora will be two, but between us we must see that
+the girl is not too hard pressed about money, and that she is dressed
+so she is not ridiculous. She’s saved us the wages of a woman many a
+day, can’t you make her some decent dresses?”
+
+“Well, I’m not just what you call expert, but I could beat Kate
+Comstock all to pieces. I know that skirts should be pleated to the
+band instead of gathered, and full enough to sit in, and short enough
+to walk in. I could try. There are patterns for sale. Let’s go right
+away, Wesley.”
+
+“Set me a bit of supper, while I hitch up.”
+
+Margaret built a fire, made coffee, and fried ham and eggs. She set out
+pie and cake and had enough for a hungry man by the time the carriage
+was at the door, but she had no appetite. She dressed while Wesley ate,
+put away the food while he dressed, and then they drove toward the city
+through the beautiful September evening, and as they went they planned
+for Elnora. The trouble was, not whether they were generous enough to
+buy what she needed, but whether she would accept their purchases, and
+what her mother would say.
+
+They went to a drygoods store and when a clerk asked what they wanted
+to see neither of them knew, so they stepped aside and held a whispered
+consultation.
+
+“What had we better get, Wesley?”
+
+“Dresses,” said Wesley promptly,
+
+“But how many dresses, and what kind?”
+
+“Blest if I know!” exclaimed Wesley. “I thought you would manage that.
+I know about some things I’m going to get.”
+
+At that instant several high school girls came into the store and
+approached them.
+
+“There!” exclaimed Wesley breathlessly. “There, Maggie! Like them!
+That’s what she needs! Buy like they have!”
+
+Margaret stared. What did they wear? They were rapidly passing; they
+seemed to have so much, and she could not decide so quickly. Before she
+knew it she was among them.
+
+“I beg your pardon, but won’t you wait one minute?” she asked.
+
+The girls stopped with wondering faces.
+
+“It’s your clothes,” explained Mrs. Sinton. “You look just beautiful to
+me. You look exactly as I should have wanted to see my girls. They both
+died of diphtheria when they were little, but they had yellow hair,
+dark eyes and pink cheeks, and everybody thought they were lovely. If
+they had lived, they’d been near your age now, and I’d want them to
+look like you.”
+
+There was sympathy on every girl face.
+
+“Why thank you!” said one of them. “We are very sorry for you.”
+
+“Of course you are,” said Margaret. “Everybody always has been. And
+because I can’t ever have the joy of a mother in thinking for my girls
+and buying pretty things for them, there is nothing left for me, but to
+do what I can for some one who has no mother to care for her. I know a
+girl, who would be just as pretty as any of you, if she had the
+clothes, but her mother does not think about her, so I mother her some
+myself.”
+
+“She must be a lucky girl,” said another.
+
+“Oh, she loves me,” said Margaret, “and I love her. I want her to look
+just like you do. Please tell me about your clothes. Are these the
+dresses and hats you wear to school? What kind of goods are they, and
+where do you buy them?”
+
+The girls began to laugh and cluster around Margaret. Wesley strode
+down the store with his head high through pride in her, but his heart
+was sore over the memory of two little faces under Brushwood sod. He
+inquired his way to the shoe department.
+
+“Why, every one of us have on gingham or linen dresses,” they said,
+“and they are our school clothes.”
+
+For a few moments there was a babel of laughing voices explaining to
+the delighted Margaret that school dresses should be bright and pretty,
+but simple and plain, and until cold weather they should wash.
+
+“I’ll tell you,” said Ellen Brownlee, “my father owns this store, I
+know all the clerks. I’ll take you to Miss Hartley. You tell her just
+how much you want to spend, and what you want to buy, and she will know
+how to get the most for your money. I’ve heard papa say she was the
+best clerk in the store for people who didn’t know precisely what they
+wanted.”
+
+“That’s the very thing,” agreed Margaret. “But before you go, tell me
+about your hair. Elnora’s hair is bright and wavy, but yours is silky
+as hackled flax. How do you do it?”
+
+“Elnora?” asked four girls in concert.
+
+“Yes, Elnora is the name of the girl I want these things for.”
+
+“Did she come to the high school to-day?” questioned one of them.
+
+“Was she in your classes?” demanded Margaret without reply.
+
+Four girls stood silent and thought fast. Had there been a strange girl
+among them, and had she been overlooked and passed by with
+indifference, because she was so very shabby? If she had appeared as
+much better than they, as she had looked worse, would her reception
+have been the same?
+
+“There was a strange girl from the country in the Freshman class
+to-day,” said Ellen Brownlee, “and her name was Elnora.”
+
+“That was the girl,” said Margaret.
+
+“Are her people so very poor?” questioned Ellen.
+
+“No, not poor at all, come to think of it,” answered Margaret. “It’s a
+peculiar case. Mrs. Comstock had a great trouble and she let it change
+her whole life and make a different woman of her. She used to be
+lovely; now she is forever saving and scared to death for fear they
+will go to the poorhouse; but there is a big farm, covered with lots of
+good timber. The taxes are high for women who can’t manage to clear and
+work the land. There ought to be enough to keep two of them in good
+shape all their lives, if they only knew how to do it. But no one ever
+told Kate Comstock anything, and never will, for she won’t listen. All
+she does is droop all day, and walk the edge of the swamp half the
+night, and neglect Elnora. If you girls would make life just a little
+easier for her it would be the finest thing you ever did.”
+
+All of them promised they would.
+
+“Now tell me about your hair,” persisted Margaret Sinton.
+
+So they took her to a toilet counter, and she bought the proper hair
+soap, also a nail file, and cold cream, for use after windy days. Then
+they left her with the experienced clerk, and when at last Wesley found
+her she was loaded with bundles and the light of other days was in her
+beautiful eyes. Wesley also carried some packages.
+
+“Did you get any stockings?” he whispered.
+
+“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I was so interested in dresses and hair
+ribbons and a—a hat——” she hesitated and glanced at Wesley. “Of course,
+a hat!” prompted Wesley. “That I forgot all about those horrible shoes.
+She’s got to have decent shoes, Wesley.”
+
+“Sure!” said Wesley. “She’s got decent shoes. But the man said some
+brown stockings ought to go with them. Take a peep, will you!”
+
+Wesley opened a box and displayed a pair of thick-soled, beautifully
+shaped brown walking shoes of low cut. Margaret cried out with
+pleasure.
+
+“But do you suppose they are the right size, Wesley? What did you get?”
+
+“I just said for a girl of sixteen with a slender foot.”
+
+“Well, that’s about as near as I could come. If they don’t fit when she
+tries them, we will drive straight in and change them. Come on now,
+let’s get home.”
+
+All the way they discussed how they should give Elnora their purchases
+and what Mrs. Comstock would say.
+
+“I am afraid she will be awful mad,” said Margaret.
+
+“She’ll just rip!” replied Wesley graphically. “But if she wants to
+leave the raising of her girl to the neighbours, she needn’t get
+fractious if they take some pride in doing a good job. From now on I
+calculate Elnora shall go to school; and she shall have all the clothes
+and books she needs, if I go around on the back of Kate Comstock’s land
+and cut a tree, or drive off a calf to pay for them. Why I know one
+tree she owns that would put Elnora in heaven for a year. Just think of
+it, Margaret! It’s not fair. One-third of what is there belongs to
+Elnora by law, and if Kate Comstock raises a row I’ll tell her so, and
+see that the girl gets it. You go to see Kate in the morning, and I’ll
+go with you. Tell her you want Elnora’s pattern, that you are going to
+make her a dress, for helping us. And sort of hint at a few more
+things. If Kate balks, I’ll take a hand and settle her. I’ll go to law
+for Elnora’s share of that land and sell enough to educate her.”
+
+“Why, Wesley Sinton, you’re perfectly wild.”
+
+“I’m not! Did you ever stop to think that such cases are so frequent
+there have been laws made to provide for them? I can bring it up in
+court and force Kate to educate Elnora, and board and clothe her till
+she’s of age, and then she can take her share.”
+
+“Wesley, Kate would go crazy!”
+
+“She’s crazy now. The idea of any mother living with as sweet a girl as
+Elnora and letting her suffer till I find her crying like a funeral. It
+makes me fighting mad. All uncalled for. Not a grain of sense in it.
+I’ve offered and offered to oversee clearing her land and working her
+fields. Let her sell a good tree, or a few acres. Something is going to
+be done, right now. Elnora’s been fairly happy up to this, but to spoil
+the school life she’s planned, is to ruin all her life. I won’t have
+it! If Elnora won’t take these things, so help me, I’ll tell her what
+she is worth, and loan her the money and she can pay me back when she
+comes of age. I am going to have it out with Kate Comstock in the
+morning. Here we are! You open up what you got while I put away the
+horses, and then I’ll show you.”
+
+When Wesley came from the barn Margaret had four pieces of crisp
+gingham, a pale blue, a pink, a gray with green stripes and a rich
+brown and blue plaid. On each of them lay a yard and a half of wide
+ribbon to match. There were handkerchiefs and a brown leather belt. In
+her hands she held a wide-brimmed tan straw hat, having a high crown
+banded with velvet strips each of which fastened with a tiny gold
+buckle.
+
+“It looks kind of bare now,” she explained. “It had three quills on it
+here.”
+
+“Did you have them taken off?” asked Wesley.
+
+“Yes, I did. The price was two and a half for the hat, and those things
+were a dollar and a half apiece. I couldn’t pay that.”
+
+“It does seem considerable,” admitted Wesley, “but will it look right
+without them?”
+
+“No, it won’t!” said Margaret. “It’s going to have quills on it. Do you
+remember those beautiful peacock wing feathers that Phoebe Simms gave
+me? Three of them go on just where those came off, and nobody will ever
+know the difference. They match the hat to a moral, and they are just a
+little longer and richer than the ones that I had taken off. I was
+wondering whether I better sew them on to-night while I remember how
+they set, or wait till morning.”
+
+“Don’t risk it!” exclaimed Wesley anxiously. “Don’t you risk it! Sew
+them on right now!”
+
+“Open your bundles, while I get the thread,” said Margaret.
+
+Wesley unwrapped the shoes. Margaret took them up and pinched the
+leather and stroked them.
+
+“My, but they are fine!” she cried.
+
+Wesley picked up one and slowly turned it in his big hands. He glanced
+at his foot and back to the shoe.
+
+“It’s a little bit of a thing, Margaret,” he said softly. “Like as not
+I’ll have to take it back. It seems as if it couldn’t fit.”
+
+“It seems as if it didn’t dare do anything else,” said Margaret.
+“That’s a happy little shoe to get the chance to carry as fine a girl
+as Elnora to high school. Now what’s in the other box?”
+
+Wesley looked at Margaret doubtfully.
+
+“Why,” he said, “you know there’s going to be rainy days, and those
+things she has now ain’t fit for anything but to drive up the cows——”
+
+“Wesley, did you get high shoes, too?”
+
+“Well, she ought to have them! The man said he would make them cheaper
+if I took both pairs at once.”
+
+Margaret laughed aloud. “Those will do her past Christmas,” she
+exulted. “What else did you buy?”
+
+“Well sir,” said Wesley, “I saw something to-day. You told me about
+Kate getting that tin pail for Elnora to carry to high school and you
+said you told her it was a shame. I guess Elnora was ashamed all right,
+for to-night she stopped at the old case Duncan gave her, and took out
+that pail, where it had been all day, and put a napkin inside it.
+Coming home she confessed she was half starved because she hid her
+dinner under a culvert, and a tramp took it. She hadn’t had a bite to
+eat the whole day. But she never complained at all, she was pleased
+that she hadn’t lost the napkin. So I just inquired around till I found
+this, and I think it’s about the ticket.”
+
+Wesley opened the package and laid a brown leather lunch box on the
+table. “Might be a couple of books, or drawing tools or most anything
+that’s neat and genteel. You see, it opens this way.”
+
+It did open, and inside was a space for sandwiches, a little porcelain
+box for cold meat or fried chicken, another for salad, a glass with a
+lid which screwed on, held by a ring in a corner, for custard or jelly,
+a flask for tea or milk, a beautiful little knife, fork, and spoon
+fastened in holders, and a place for a napkin.
+
+Margaret was almost crying over it.
+
+“How I’d love to fill it!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Do it the first time, just to show Kate Comstock what love is!” said
+Wesley. “Get up early in the morning and make one of those dresses
+to-morrow. Can’t you make a plain gingham dress in a day? I’ll pick a
+chicken, and you fry it and fix a little custard for the cup, and do it
+up brown. Go on, Maggie, you do it!”
+
+“I never can,” said Margaret. “I am slow as the itch about sewing, and
+these are not going to be plain dresses when it comes to making them.
+There are going to be edgings of plain green, pink, and brown to the
+bias strips, and tucks and pleats around the hips, fancy belts and
+collars, and all of it takes time.”
+
+“Then Kate Comstock’s got to help,” said Wesley. “Can the two of you
+make one, and get that lunch to-morrow?”
+
+“Easy, but she’ll never do it!”
+
+“You see if she doesn’t!” said Wesley. “You get up and cut it out, and
+soon as Elnora is gone I’ll go after Kate myself. She’ll take what I’ll
+say better alone. But she’ll come, and she’ll help make the dress.
+These other things are our Christmas gifts to Elnora. She’ll no doubt
+need them more now than she will then, and we can give them just as
+well. That’s yours, and this is mine, or whichever way you choose.”
+
+Wesley untied a good brown umbrella and shook out the folds of a long,
+brown raincoat. Margaret dropped the hat, arose and took the coat. She
+tried it on, felt it, cooed over it and matched it with the umbrella.
+
+“Did it look anything like rain to-night?” she inquired so anxiously
+that Wesley laughed.
+
+“And this last bundle?” she said, dropping back in her chair, the coat
+still over her shoulders.
+
+“I couldn’t buy this much stuff for any other woman and nothing for my
+own,” said Wesley. “It’s Christmas for you, too, Margaret!” He shook
+out fold after fold of soft gray satiny goods that would look lovely
+against Margaret’s pink cheeks and whitening hair.
+
+“Oh, you old darling!” she exclaimed, and fled sobbing into his arms.
+
+But she soon dried her eyes, raked together the coals in the cooking
+stove and boiled one of the dress patterns in salt water for half an
+hour. Wesley held the lamp while she hung the goods on the line to dry.
+Then she set the irons on the stove so they would be hot the first
+thing in the morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA VISITS THE BIRD WOMAN, AND OPENS A BANK ACCOUNT
+
+
+Four o’clock the following morning Elnora was shelling beans. At six
+she fed the chickens and pigs, swept two of the rooms of the cabin,
+built a fire, and put on the kettle for breakfast. Then she climbed the
+narrow stairs to the attic she had occupied since a very small child,
+and dressed in the hated shoes and brown calico, plastered down her
+crisp curls, ate what breakfast she could, and pinning on her hat
+started for town.
+
+“There is no sense in your going for an hour yet,” said her mother.
+
+“I must try to discover some way to earn those books,” replied Elnora.
+“I am perfectly positive I shall not find them lying beside the road
+wrapped in tissue paper, and tagged with my name.”
+
+She went toward the city as on yesterday. Her perplexity as to where
+tuition and books were to come from was worse but she did not feel
+quite so badly. She never again would have to face all of it for the
+first time. There had been times yesterday when she had prayed to be
+hidden, or to drop dead, and neither had happened. “I believe the best
+way to get an answer to prayer is to work for it,” muttered Elnora
+grimly.
+
+Again she followed the trail to the swamp, rearranged her hair and left
+the tin pail. This time she folded a couple of sandwiches in the
+napkin, and tied them in a neat light paper parcel which she carried in
+her hand. Then she hurried along the road to Onabasha and found a
+book-store. There she asked the prices of the list of books that she
+needed, and learned that six dollars would not quite supply them. She
+anxiously inquired for second-hand books, but was told that the only
+way to secure them was from the last year’s Freshmen. Just then Elnora
+felt that she positively could not approach any of those she supposed
+to be Sophomores and ask to buy their old books. The only balm the girl
+could see for the humiliation of yesterday was to appear that day with
+a set of new books.
+
+“Do you wish these?” asked the clerk hurriedly, for the store was
+rapidly filling with school children wanting anything from a dictionary
+to a pen.
+
+“Yes,” gasped Elnora, “Oh, yes! But I cannot pay for them just now.
+Please let me take them, and I will pay for them on Friday, or return
+them as perfect as they are. Please trust me for them a few days.”
+
+“I’ll ask the proprietor,” he said. When he came back Elnora knew the
+answer before he spoke.
+
+“I’m sorry,” he said, “but Mr. Hann doesn’t recognize your name. You
+are not a customer of ours, and he feels that he can’t take the risk.”
+
+Elnora clumped out of the store, the thump of her heavy shoes beating
+as a hammer on her brain. She tried two other dealers with the same
+result, and then in sick despair came into the street. What could she
+do? She was too frightened to think. Should she stay from school that
+day and canvass the homes appearing to belong to the wealthy, and try
+to sell beds of wild ferns, as she had suggested to Wesley Sinton? What
+would she dare ask for bringing in and planting a clump of ferns? How
+could she carry them? Would people buy them? She slowly moved past the
+hotel and then glanced around to see if there were a clock anywhere,
+for she felt sure the young people passing her constantly were on their
+way to school.
+
+There it stood in a bank window in big black letters staring straight
+at her:
+
+WANTED: CATERPILLARS, COCOONS, CHRYSALIDES, PUPAE CASES, BUTTERFLIES,
+MOTHS, INDIAN RELICS OF ALL KINDS. HIGHEST SCALE OF PRICES PAID IN CASH
+
+Elnora caught the wicket at the cashier’s desk with both hands to brace
+herself against disappointment.
+
+“Who is it wants to buy cocoons, butterflies, and moths?” she panted.
+
+“The Bird Woman,” answered the cashier. “Have you some for sale?”
+
+“I have some, I do not know if they are what she would want.”
+
+“Well, you had better see her,” said the cashier. “Do you know where
+she lives?”
+
+“Yes,” said Elnora. “Would you tell me the time?”
+
+“Twenty-one after eight,” was the answer.
+
+She had nine minutes to reach the auditorium or be late. Should she go
+to school, or to the Bird Woman? Several girls passed her walking
+swiftly and she remembered their faces. They were hurrying to school.
+Elnora caught the infection. She would see the Bird Woman at noon.
+Algebra came first, and that professor was kind. Perhaps she could slip
+to the superintendent and ask him for a book for the next lesson, and
+at noon—“Oh, dear Lord make it come true,” prayed Elnora, at noon
+possibly she could sell some of those wonderful shining-winged things
+she had been collecting all her life around the outskirts of the
+Limberlost.
+
+As she went down the long hall she noticed the professor of mathematics
+standing in the door of his recitation room. When she passed him he
+smiled and spoke to her.
+
+“I have been watching for you,” he said, and Elnora stopped bewildered.
+
+“For me?” she questioned.
+
+“Yes,” said Professor Henley. “Step inside.”
+
+Elnora followed him into the room and closed the door behind them.
+
+“At teachers’ meeting last evening, one of the professors mentioned
+that a pupil had betrayed in class that she had expected her books to
+be furnished by the city. I thought possibly it was you. Was it?”
+
+“Yes,” breathed Elnora.
+
+“That being the case,” said Professor Henley, “it just occurred to me
+as you had expected that, you might require a little time to secure
+them, and you are too fine a mathematician to fall behind for want of
+supplies. So I telephoned one of our Sophomores to bring her last
+year’s books this morning. I am sorry to say they are somewhat abused,
+but the text is all here. You can have them for two dollars, and pay
+when you are ready. Would you care to take them?”
+
+Elnora sat suddenly, because she could not stand another instant. She
+reached both hands for the books, and said never a word. The professor
+was silent also.
+
+At last Elnora arose, hugging those books to her heart as a mother
+clasps a baby.
+
+“One thing more,” said the professor. “You may pay your tuition
+quarterly. You need not bother about the first instalment this month.
+Any time in October will do.”
+
+It seemed as if Elnora’s gasp of relief must have reached the soles of
+her brogans.
+
+“Did any one ever tell you how beautiful you are!” she cried.
+
+As the professor was lank, tow-haired and so near-sighted, that he
+peered at his pupils through spectacles, no one ever had.
+
+“No,” said Professor Henley, “I’ve waited some time for that; for which
+reason I shall appreciate it all the more. Come now, or we shall be
+late for opening exercises.”
+
+So Elnora entered the auditorium a second time. Her face was like the
+brightest dawn that ever broke over the Limberlost. No matter about the
+lumbering shoes and skimpy dress. No matter about anything, she had the
+books. She could take them home. In her garret she could commit them to
+memory, if need be. She could prove that clothes were not all. If the
+Bird Woman did not want any of the many different kinds of specimens
+she had collected, she was quite sure now she could sell ferns, nuts,
+and a great many things. Then, too, a girl made a place for her that
+morning, and several smiled and bowed. Elnora forgot everything save
+her books, and that she was where she could use them
+intelligently—everything except one little thing away back in her head.
+Her mother had known about the books and the tuition, and had not told
+her when she agreed to her coming.
+
+At noon Elnora took her little parcel of lunch and started to the home
+of the Bird Woman. She must know about the specimens first and then she
+would walk to the suburbs somewhere and eat a few bites. She dropped
+the heavy iron knocker on the door of a big red log cabin, and her
+heart thumped at the resounding stroke.
+
+“Is the Bird Woman at home?” she asked of the maid.
+
+“She is at lunch,” was the answer.
+
+“Please ask her if she will see a girl from the Limberlost about some
+moths?” inquired Elnora.
+
+“I never need ask, if it’s moths,” laughed the girl. “Orders are to
+bring any one with specimens right in. Come this way.”
+
+Elnora followed down the hall and entered a long room with high
+panelled wainscoting, old English fireplace with an overmantel and
+closets of peculiar china filling the corners. At a bare table of oak,
+yellow as gold, sat a woman Elnora often had watched and followed
+covertly around the Limberlost. The Bird Woman was holding out a hand
+of welcome.
+
+“I heard!” she laughed. “A little pasteboard box, or just the mere word
+‘specimen,’ passes you at my door. If it is moths I hope you have
+hundreds. I’ve been very busy all summer and unable to collect, and I
+need so many. Sit down and lunch with me, while we talk it over. From
+the Limberlost, did you say?”
+
+“I live near the swamp,” replied Elnora. “Since it’s so cleared I dare
+go around the edge in daytime, though we are all afraid at night.”
+
+“What have you collected?” asked the Bird Woman, as she helped Elnora
+to sandwiches unlike any she ever before had tasted, salad that seemed
+to be made of many familiar things, and a cup of hot chocolate that
+would have delighted any hungry schoolgirl.
+
+“I am afraid I am bothering you for nothing, and imposing on you,” she
+said. “That ‘collected’ frightens me. I’ve only gathered. I always
+loved everything outdoors, so I made friends and playmates of them.
+When I learned that the moths die so soon, I saved them especially,
+because there seemed no wickedness in it.”
+
+“I have thought the same thing,” said the Bird Woman encouragingly.
+Then because the girl could not eat until she learned about the moths,
+the Bird Woman asked Elnora if she knew what kinds she had.
+
+“Not all of them,” answered Elnora. “Before Mr. Duncan moved away he
+often saw me near the edge of the swamp and he showed me the box he had
+fixed for Freckles, and gave me the key. There were some books and
+things, so from that time on I studied and tried to take moths right,
+but I am afraid they are not what you want.”
+
+“Are they the big ones that fly mostly in June nights?” asked the Bird
+Woman.
+
+“Yes,” said Elnora. “Big gray ones with reddish markings, pale
+blue-green, yellow with lavender, and red and yellow.”
+
+“What do you mean by ‘red and yellow?’” asked the Bird Woman so quickly
+that the girl almost jumped.
+
+“Not exactly red,” explained Elnora, with tremulous voice. “A reddish,
+yellowish brown, with canary-coloured spots and gray lines on their
+wings.”
+
+“How many of them?” It was the same quick question.
+
+“I had over two hundred eggs,” said Elnora, “but some of them didn’t
+hatch, and some of the caterpillars died, but there must be at least a
+hundred perfect ones.”
+
+“Perfect! How perfect?” cried the Bird Woman.
+
+“I mean whole wings, no down gone, and all their legs and antennae,”
+faltered Elnora.
+
+“Young woman, that’s the rarest moth in America,” said the Bird Woman
+solemnly. “If you have a hundred of them, they are worth a hundred
+dollars according to my list. I can use all that are not damaged.”
+
+“What if they are not pinned right,” quavered Elnora.
+
+“If they are perfect, that does not make the slightest difference. I
+know how to soften them so that I can put them into any shape I choose.
+Where are they? When may I see them?”
+
+“They are in Freckles’s old case in the Limberlost,” said Elnora. “I
+couldn’t carry many for fear of breaking them, but I could bring a few
+after school.”
+
+“You come here at four,” said the Bird Woman, “and we will drive out
+with some specimen boxes, and a price list, and see what you have to
+sell. Are they your very own? Are you free to part with them?”
+
+“They are mine,” said Elnora. “No one but God knows I have them. Mr.
+Duncan gave me the books and the box. He told Freckles about me, and
+Freckles told him to give me all he left. He said for me to stick to
+the swamp and be brave, and my hour would come, and it has! I know most
+of them are all right, and oh, I do need the money!”
+
+“Could you tell me?” asked the Bird Woman softly.
+
+“You see the swamp and all the fields around it are so full,” explained
+Elnora. “Every day I felt smaller and smaller, and I wanted to know
+more and more, and pretty soon I grew desperate, just as Freckles did.
+But I am better off than he was, for I have his books, and I have a
+mother; even if she doesn’t care for me as other girls’ mothers do for
+them, it’s better than no one.”
+
+The Bird Woman’s glance fell, for the girl was not conscious of how
+much she was revealing. Her eyes were fixed on a black pitcher filled
+with goldenrod in the centre of the table and she was saying what she
+thought.
+
+“As long as I could go to the Brushwood school I was happy, but I
+couldn’t go further just when things were the most interesting, so I
+was determined I’d come to high school and mother wouldn’t consent. You
+see there’s plenty of land, but father was drowned when I was a baby,
+and mother and I can’t make money as men do. The taxes are higher every
+year, and she said it was too expensive. I wouldn’t give her any rest,
+until at last she bought me this dress, and these shoes and I came. It
+was awful!”
+
+“Do you live in that beautiful cabin at the northwest end of the
+swamp?” asked the Bird Woman.
+
+“Yes,” said Elnora.
+
+“I remember the place and a story about it, now. You entered the high
+school yesterday?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“It was rather bad?”
+
+“Rather bad!” echoed Elnora.
+
+The Bird Woman laughed.
+
+“You can’t tell me anything about that,” she said. “I once entered a
+city school straight from the country. My dress was brown calico, and
+my shoes were heavy.”
+
+The tears began to roll down Elnora’s cheeks.
+
+“Did they——?” she faltered.
+
+“They did!” said the Bird Woman. “All of it. I am sure they did not
+miss one least little thing.”
+
+Then she wiped away some tears that began coursing her cheeks, and
+laughed at the same time.
+
+“Where are they now?” asked Elnora suddenly.
+
+“They are widely scattered, but none of them have attained heights out
+of range. Some of the rich are poor, and some of the poor are rich.
+Some of the brightest died insane, and some of the dullest worked out
+high positions; some of the very worst to bear have gone out, and I
+frequently hear from others. Now I am here, able to remember it, and
+mingle laughter with what used to be all tears; for every day I have my
+beautiful work, and almost every day God sends some one like you to
+help me. What is your name, my girl?”
+
+“Elnora Comstock,” answered Elnora. “Yesterday on the board it changed
+to Cornstock, and for a minute I thought I’d die, but I can laugh over
+that already.”
+
+The Bird Woman arose and kissed her. “Finish your lunch,” she said,
+“and I will bring my price lists, and make a memorandum of what you
+think you have, so I will know how many boxes to prepare. And remember
+this: What you are lies with you. If you are lazy, and accept your lot,
+you may live in it. If you are willing to work, you can write your name
+anywhere you choose, among the only ones who live beyond the grave in
+this world, the people who write books that help, make exquisite music,
+carve statues, paint pictures, and work for others. Never mind the
+calico dress, and the coarse shoes. Work at your books, and before long
+you will hear yesterday’s tormentors boasting that they were once
+classmates of yours. ‘I could a tale unfold’——!”
+
+She laughingly left the room and Elnora sat thinking, until she
+remembered how hungry she was, so she ate the food, drank the hot
+chocolate and began to feel better.
+
+Then the Bird Woman came back and showed Elnora a long printed slip
+giving a list of graduated prices for moths, butterflies, and
+dragonflies.
+
+“Oh, do you want them!” exulted Elnora. “I have a few and I can get
+more by the thousand, with every colour in the world on their wings.”
+
+“Yes,” said the Bird Woman, “I will buy them, also the big moth
+caterpillars that are creeping everywhere now, and the cocoons that
+they will spin just about this time. I have a sneaking impression that
+the mystery, wonder, and the urge of their pure beauty, are going to
+force me to picture and paint our moths and put them into a book for
+all the world to see and know. We Limberlost people must not be selfish
+with the wonders God has given to us. We must share with those poor
+cooped-up city people the best we can. To send them a beautiful book,
+that is the way, is it not, little new friend of mine?”
+
+“Yes, oh yes!” cried Elnora. “And please God they find a way to earn
+the money to buy the books, as I have those I need so badly.”
+
+“I will pay good prices for all the moths you can find,” said the Bird
+Woman, “because you see I exchange them with foreign collectors. I want
+a complete series of the moths of America to trade with a German
+scientist, another with a man in India, and another in Brazil. Others I
+can exchange with home collectors for those of California and Canada,
+so you see I can use all you can raise, or find. The banker will buy
+stone axes, arrow points, and Indian pipes. There was a teacher from
+the city grade schools here to-day for specimens. There is a fund to
+supply the ward buildings. I’ll help you get in touch with that. They
+want leaves of different trees, flowers, grasses, moths, insects,
+birds’ nests and anything about birds.”
+
+Elnora’s eyes were blazing. “Had I better go back to school or open a
+bank account and begin being a millionaire? Uncle Wesley and I have a
+bushel of arrow points gathered, a stack of axes, pipes, skin-dressing
+tools, tubes and mortars. I don’t know how I ever shall wait three
+hours.”
+
+“You must go, or you will be late,” said the Bird Woman. “I will be
+ready at four.”
+
+After school closed Elnora, seated beside the Bird Woman, drove to
+Freckles’s room in the Limberlost. One at a time the beautiful big
+moths were taken from the interior of the old black case. Not a fourth
+of them could be moved that night and it was almost dark when the last
+box was closed, the list figured, and into Elnora’s trembling fingers
+were paid fifty-nine dollars and sixteen cents. Elnora clasped the
+money closely.
+
+“Oh you beautiful stuff!” she cried. “You are going to buy the books,
+pay the tuition, and take me to high school.”
+
+Then because she was a woman, she sat on a log and looked at her shoes.
+Long after the Bird Woman drove away Elnora remained. She had her
+problem, and it was a big one. If she told her mother, would she take
+the money to pay the taxes? If she did not tell her, how could she
+account for the books, and things for which she would spend it. At last
+she counted out what she needed for the next day, placed the remainder
+in the farthest corner of the case, and locked the door. She then
+filled the front of her skirt from a heap of arrow points beneath the
+case and started home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+WHEREIN THE SINTONS ARE DISAPPOINTED, AND MRS. COMSTOCK LEARNS THAT SHE
+CAN LAUGH
+
+
+With the first streak of red above the Limberlost Margaret Sinton was
+busy with the gingham and the intricate paper pattern she had
+purchased. Wesley cooked the breakfast and worked until he thought
+Elnora would be gone, then he started to bring her mother.
+
+“Now you be mighty careful,” cautioned Margaret. “I don’t know how she
+will take it.”
+
+“I don’t either,” said Wesley philosophically, “but she’s got to take
+it some way. That dress has to be finished by school time in the
+morning.”
+
+Wesley had not slept well that night. He had been so busy framing
+diplomatic speeches to make to Mrs. Comstock that sleep had little
+chance with him. Every step nearer to her he approached his position
+seemed less enviable. By the time he reached the front gate and started
+down the walk between the rows of asters and lady slippers he was
+perspiring, and every plausible and convincing speech had fled his
+brain. Mrs. Comstock helped him. She met him at the door.
+
+“Good morning,” she said. “Did Margaret send you for something?”
+
+“Yes,” said Wesley. “She’s got a job that’s too big for her, and she
+wants you to help.”
+
+“Of course I will,” said Mrs. Comstock. It was no one’s affair how
+lonely the previous day had been, or how the endless hours of the
+present would drag. “What is she doing in such a rush?”
+
+Now was his chance.
+
+“She’s making a dress for Elnora,” answered, Wesley. He saw Mrs.
+Comstock’s form straighten, and her face harden, so he continued
+hastily. “You see Elnora has been helping us at harvest time,
+butchering, and with unexpected visitors for years. We’ve made out that
+she’s saved us a considerable sum, and as she wouldn’t ever touch any
+pay for anything, we just went to town and got a few clothes we thought
+would fix her up a little for the high school. We want to get a dress
+done to-day mighty bad, but Margaret is slow about sewing, and she
+never can finish alone, so I came after you.”
+
+“And it’s such a simple little matter, so dead easy; and all so between
+old friends like, that you can’t look above your boots while you
+explain it,” sneered Mrs. Comstock. “Wesley Sinton, what put the idea
+into your head that Elnora would take things bought with money, when
+she wouldn’t take the money?”
+
+Then Sinton’s eyes came up straightly.
+
+“Finding her on the trail last night sobbing as hard as I ever saw any
+one at a funeral. She wasn’t complaining at all, but she’s come to me
+all her life with her little hurts, and she couldn’t hide how she’d
+been laughed at, twitted, and run face to face against the fact that
+there were books and tuition, unexpected, and nothing will ever make me
+believe you didn’t know that, Kate Comstock.”
+
+“If any doubts are troubling you on that subject, sure I knew it! She
+was so anxious to try the world, I thought I’d just let her take a few
+knocks and see how she liked them.”
+
+“As if she’d ever taken anything but knocks all her life!” cried Wesley
+Sinton. “Kate Comstock, you are a heartless, selfish woman. You’ve
+never shown Elnora any real love in her life. If ever she finds out
+that thing you’ll lose her, and it will serve you right.”
+
+“She knows it now,” said Mrs. Comstock icily, “and she’ll be home
+to-night just as usual.”
+
+“Well, you are a brave woman if you dared put a girl of Elnora’s make
+through what she suffered yesterday, and will suffer again to-day, and
+let her know you did it on purpose. I admire your nerve. But I’ve
+watched this since Elnora was born, and I got enough. Things have come
+to a pass where they go better for her, or I interfere.”
+
+“As if you’d ever done anything but interfere all her life! Think I
+haven’t watched you? Think I, with my heart raw in my breast, and too
+numb to resent it openly, haven’t seen you and Mag Sinton trying to
+turn Elnora against me day after day? When did you ever tell her what
+her father meant to me? When did you ever try to make her see the wreck
+of my life, and what I’ve suffered? No indeed! Always it’s been poor
+little abused Elnora, and cakes, kissing, extra clothes, and
+encouraging her to run to you with a pitiful mouth every time I tried
+to make a woman of her.”
+
+“Kate Comstock, that’s unjust,” cried Sinton. “Only last night I tried
+to show her the picture I saw the day she was born. I begged her to
+come to you and tell you pleasant what she needed, and ask you for what
+I happen to know you can well afford to give her.”
+
+“I can’t!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You know I can’t!”
+
+“Then get so you can!” said Wesley Sinton. “Any day you say the word
+you can sell six thousand worth of rare timber off this place easy.
+I’ll see to clearing and working the fields cheap as dirt, for Elnora’s
+sake. I’ll buy you more cattle to fatten. All you’ve got to do is sign
+a lease, to pull thousands from the ground in oil, as the rest of us
+are doing all around you!”
+
+“Cut down Robert’s trees!” shrieked Mrs. Comstock. “Tear up his land!
+Cover everything with horrid, greasy oil! I’ll die first.”
+
+“You mean you’ll let Elnora go like a beggar, and hurt and mortify her
+past bearing. I’ve got to the place where I tell you plain what I am
+going to do. Maggie and I went to town last night, and we bought what
+things Elnora needs most urgent to make her look a little like the rest
+of the high school girls. Now here it is in plain English. You can help
+get these things ready, and let us give them to her as we want——”
+
+“She won’t touch them!” cried Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Then you can pay us, and she can take them as her right——”
+
+“I won’t!”
+
+“Then I will tell Elnora just what you are worth, what you can afford,
+and how much of this she owns. I’ll loan her the money to buy books and
+decent clothes, and when she is of age she can sell her share and pay
+me.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock gripped a chair-back and opened her lips, but no words
+came.
+
+“And,” Sinton continued, “if she is so much like you that she won’t do
+that, I’ll go to the county seat and lay complaint against you as her
+guardian before the judge. I’ll swear to what you are worth, and how
+you are raising her, and have you discharged, or have the judge appoint
+some man who will see that she is comfortable, educated, and decent
+looking!”
+
+“You—you wouldn’t!” gasped Kate Comstock.
+
+“I won’t need to, Kate!” said Sinton, his heart softening the instant
+the hard words were said. “You won’t show it, but you do love Elnora!
+You can’t help it! You must see how she needs things; come help us fix
+them, and be friends. Maggie and I couldn’t live without her, and you
+couldn’t either. You’ve got to love such a fine girl as she is; let it
+show a little!”
+
+“You can hardly expect me to love her,” said Mrs. Comstock coldly. “But
+for her a man would stand back of me now, who would beat the breath out
+of your sneaking body for the cowardly thing with which you threaten
+me. After all I’ve suffered you’d drag me to court and compel me to
+tear up Robert’s property. If I ever go they carry me. If they touch
+one tree, or put down one greasy old oil well, it will be over all I
+can shoot, before they begin. Now, see how quick you can clear out of
+here!”
+
+“You won’t come and help Maggie with the dress?”
+
+For answer Mrs. Comstock looked around swiftly for some object on which
+to lay her hands. Knowing her temper, Wesley Sinton left with all the
+haste consistent with dignity. But he did not go home. He crossed a
+field, and in an hour brought another neighbour who was skilful with
+her needle. With sinking heart Margaret saw them coming.
+
+“Kate is too busy to help to-day, she can’t sew before to-morrow,” said
+Wesley cheerfully as they entered.
+
+That quieted Margaret’s apprehension a little, though she had some
+doubts. Wesley prepared the lunch, and by four o’clock the dress was
+finished as far as it possibly could be until it was fitted on Elnora.
+If that did not entail too much work, it could be completed in two
+hours.
+
+Then Margaret packed their purchases into the big market basket. Wesley
+took the hat, umbrella, and raincoat, and they went to Mrs. Comstock’s.
+As they reached the step, Margaret spoke pleasantly to Mrs. Comstock,
+who sat reading just inside the door, but she did not answer and
+deliberately turned a leaf without looking up.
+
+Wesley Sinton opened the door and went in followed by Margaret.
+
+“Kate,” he said, “you needn’t take out your mad over our little racket
+on Maggie. I ain’t told her a word I said to you, or you said to me.
+She’s not so very strong, and she’s sewed since four o’clock this
+morning to get this dress ready for to-morrow. It’s done and we came
+down to try it on Elnora.”
+
+“Is that the truth, Mag Sinton?” demanded Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“You heard Wesley say so,” proudly affirmed Mrs. Sinton.
+
+“I want to make you a proposition,” said Wesley. “Wait till Elnora
+comes. Then we’ll show her the things and see what she says.”
+
+“How would it do to see what she says without bribing her,” sneered
+Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“If she can stand what she did yesterday, and will to-day, she can bear
+’most anything,” said Wesley. “Put away the clothes if you want to,
+till we tell her.”
+
+“Well, you don’t take this waist I’m working on,” said Margaret, “for I
+have to baste in the sleeves and set the collar. Put the rest out of
+sight if you like.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock picked up the basket and bundles, placed them inside her
+room and closed the door.
+
+Margaret threaded her needle and began to sew. Mrs. Comstock returned
+to her book, while Wesley fidgeted and raged inwardly. He could see
+that Margaret was nervous and almost in tears, but the lines in Mrs.
+Comstock’s impassive face were set and cold. So they sat while the
+clock ticked off the time—one hour, two, dusk, and no Elnora. Just when
+Margaret and Wesley were discussing whether he had not better go to
+town to meet Elnora, they heard her coming up the walk. Wesley dropped
+his tilted chair and squared himself. Margaret gripped her sewing, and
+turned pleading eyes toward the door. Mrs. Comstock closed her book and
+grimly smiled.
+
+“Mother, please open the door,” called Elnora.
+
+Mrs. Comstock arose, and swung back the screen. Elnora stepped in
+beside her, bent half double, the whole front of her dress gathered
+into a sort of bag filled with a heavy load, and one arm stacked high
+with books. In the dim light she did not see the Sintons.
+
+“Please hand me the empty bucket in the kitchen, mother,” she said. “I
+just had to bring these arrow points home, but I’m scared for fear I’ve
+spoiled my dress and will have to wash it. I’m to clean them, and take
+them to the banker in the morning, and oh, mother, I’ve sold enough
+stuff to pay for my books, my tuition, and maybe a dress and some
+lighter shoes besides. Oh, mother I’m so happy! Take the books and
+bring the bucket!”
+
+Then she saw Margaret and Wesley. “Oh, glory!” she exulted. “I was just
+wondering how I’d ever wait to tell you, and here you are! It’s too
+perfectly splendid to be true!”
+
+“Tell us, Elnora,” said Sinton.
+
+“Well sir,” said Elnora, doubling down on the floor and spreading out
+her skirt, “set the bucket here, mother. These points are brittle, and
+should be put in one at a time. If they are chipped I can’t sell them.
+Well sir! I’ve had a time! You know I just had to have books. I tried
+three stores, and they wouldn’t trust me, not even three days, I didn’t
+know what in this world I could do quickly enough. Just when I was
+almost frantic I saw a sign in a bank window asking for caterpillars,
+cocoons, butterflies, arrow points, and everything. I went in, and it
+was this Bird Woman who wants the insects, and the banker wants the
+stones. I had to go to school then, but, if you’ll believe it”—Elnora
+beamed on all of them in turn as she talked and slipped the arrow
+points from her dress to the pail—“if you’ll believe it—but you won’t,
+hardly, until you look at the books—there was the mathematics teacher,
+waiting at his door, and he had a set of books for me that he had
+telephoned a Sophomore to bring.”
+
+“How did he happen to do that, Elnora?” interrupted Sinton.
+
+Elnora blushed.
+
+“It was a fool mistake I made yesterday in thinking books were just
+handed out to one. There was a teachers’ meeting last night and the
+history teacher told about that. Professor Henley thought of me. You
+know I told you what he said about my algebra, mother. Ain’t I glad I
+studied out some of it myself this summer! So he telephoned and a girl
+brought the books. Because they are marked and abused some I get the
+whole outfit for two dollars. I can erase most of the marks, paste down
+the covers, and fix them so they look better. But I must hurry to the
+joy part. I didn’t stop to eat, at noon, I just ran to the Bird
+Woman’s, and I had lunch with her. It was salad, hot chocolate, and
+lovely things, and she wants to buy most every old scrap I ever
+gathered. She wants dragonflies, moths, butterflies, and he—the banker,
+I mean—wants everything Indian. This very night she came to the swamp
+with me and took away enough stuff to pay for the books and tuition,
+and to-morrow she is going to buy some more.”
+
+Elnora laid the last arrow point in the pail and arose, shaking leaves
+and bits of baked earth from her dress. She reached into her pocket,
+produced her money and waved it before their wondering eyes.
+
+“And that’s the joy part!” she exulted. “Put it up in the clock till
+morning, mother. That pays for the books and tuition and—” Elnora
+hesitated, for she saw the nervous grasp with which her mother’s
+fingers closed on the bills. Then she continued, but more slowly and
+thinking before she spoke.
+
+“What I get to-morrow pays for more books and tuition, and maybe a few,
+just a few, things to wear. These shoes are so dreadfully heavy and
+hot, and they make such a noise on the floor. There isn’t another
+calico dress in the whole building, not among hundreds of us. Why, what
+is that? Aunt Margaret, what are you hiding in your lap?”
+
+She snatched the waist and shook it out, and her face was beaming.
+“Have you taken to waists all fancy and buttoned in the back? I bet you
+this is mine!”
+
+“I bet you so too,” said Margaret Sinton. “You undress right away and
+try it on, and if it fits, it will be done for morning. There are some
+low shoes, too!”
+
+Elnora began to dance. “Oh, you dear people!” she cried. “I can pay for
+them to-morrow night! Isn’t it too splendid! I was just thinking on the
+way home that I certainly would be compelled to have cooler shoes until
+later, and I was wondering what I’d do when the fall rains begin.”
+
+“I meant to get you some heavy dress skirts and a coat then,” said Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+“I know you said so!” cried Elnora. “But you needn’t, now! I can buy
+every single stitch I need myself. Next summer I can gather up a lot
+more stuff, and all winter on the way to school. I am sure I can sell
+ferns, I know I can nuts, and the Bird Woman says the grade rooms want
+leaves, grasses, birds’ nests, and cocoons. Oh, isn’t this world
+lovely! I’ll be helping with the tax, next, mother!”
+
+Elnora waved the waist and started for the bedroom. When she opened the
+door she gave a little cry.
+
+“What have you people been doing?” she demanded. “I never saw so many
+interesting bundles in all my life. I’m ‘skeered’ to death for fear I
+can’t pay for them, and will have to give up something.”
+
+“Wouldn’t you take them, if you could not pay for them, Elnora?” asked
+her mother instantly.
+
+“Why, not unless you did,” answered Elnora. “People have no right to
+wear things they can’t afford, have they?”
+
+“But from such old friends as Maggie and Wesley!” Mrs. Comstock’s voice
+was oily with triumph.
+
+“From them least of all,” cried Elnora stoutly. “From a stranger sooner
+than from them, to whom I owe so much more than I ever can pay now.”
+
+“Well, you don’t have to,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Maggie just selected
+these things, because she is more in touch with the world, and has got
+such good taste. You can pay as long as your money holds out, and if
+there’s more necessary, maybe I can sell the butcher a calf, or if
+things are too costly for us, of course, they can take them back. Put
+on the waist now, and then you can look over the rest and see if they
+are suitable, and what you want.”
+
+Elnora stepped into the adjoining room and closed the door. Mrs.
+Comstock picked up the bucket and started for the well with it. At the
+bedroom she paused.
+
+“Elnora, were you going to wash these arrow points?”
+
+“Yes. The Bird Woman says they sell better if they are clean, so it can
+be seen that there are no defects in them.”
+
+“Of course,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Some of them seem quite baked. Shall
+I put them to soak? Do you want to take them in the morning?”
+
+“Yes, I do,” answered Elnora. “If you would just fill the pail with
+water.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock left the room. Wesley Sinton sat with his back to the
+window in the west end of the cabin which overlooked the well. A
+suppressed sound behind him caused him to turn quickly. Then he arose
+and leaned over Margaret.
+
+“She’s out there laughing like a blamed monkey!” he whispered
+indignantly.
+
+“Well, she can’t help it!” exclaimed Margaret.
+
+“I’m going home!” said Wesley.
+
+“Oh no, you are not!” retorted Margaret. “You are missing the point.
+The point is not how you look, or feel. It is to get these things in
+Elnora’s possession past dispute. You go now, and to-morrow Elnora will
+wear calico, and Kate Comstock will return these goods. Right here I
+stay until everything we bought is Elnora’s.”
+
+“What are you going to do?” asked Wesley.
+
+“I don’t know yet, myself,” said Margaret.
+
+Then she arose and peered from the window. At the well curb stood
+Katharine Comstock. The strain of the day was finding reaction. Her
+chin was in the air, she was heaving, shaking and strangling to
+suppress any sound. The word that slipped between Margaret Sinton’s
+lips shocked Wesley until he dropped on his chair, and recalled her to
+her senses. She was fairly composed as she turned to Elnora, and began
+the fitting. When she had pinched, pulled, and patted she called, “Come
+see if you think this fits, Kate.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock had gone around to the back door and answered from the
+kitchen. “You know more about it than I do. Go ahead! I’m getting
+supper. Don’t forget to allow for what it will shrink in washing!”
+
+“I set the colours and washed the goods last night; it can be made to
+fit right now,” answered Margaret.
+
+When she could find nothing more to alter she told Elnora to heat some
+water. After she had done that the girl began opening packages.
+
+The hat came first.
+
+“Mother!” cried Elnora. “Mother, of course, you have seen this, but you
+haven’t seen it on me. I must try it on.”
+
+“Don’t you dare put that on your head until your hair is washed and
+properly combed,” said Margaret.
+
+“Oh!” cried Elnora. “Is that water to wash my hair? I thought it was to
+set the colour in another dress.”
+
+“Well, you thought wrong,” said Margaret simply. “Your hair is going to
+be washed and brushed until it shines like copper. While it dries you
+can eat your supper, and this dress will be finished. Then you can put
+on your new ribbon, and your hat. You can try your shoes now, and if
+they don’t fit, you and Wesley can drive to town and change them. That
+little round bundle on the top of the basket is your stockings.”
+
+Margaret sat down and began sewing swiftly, and a little later opened
+the machine, and ran several long seams.
+
+Elnora returned in a few minutes holding up her skirts and stepping
+daintily in the new shoes.
+
+“Don’t soil them, honey, else you’re sure they fit,” cautioned Wesley.
+
+“They seem just a trifle large, maybe,” said Elnora dubiously, and
+Wesley knelt to feel. He and Margaret thought them a fit, and then
+Elnora appealed to her mother. Mrs. Comstock appeared wiping her hands
+on her apron. She examined the shoes critically.
+
+“They seem to fit,” she said, “but they are away too fine to walk
+country roads.”
+
+“I think so, too,” said Elnora instantly. “We had better take these
+back and get a cheaper pair.”
+
+“Oh, let them go for this time,” said Mrs. Comstock. “They are so
+pretty, I hate to part with them. You can get cheaper ones after this.”
+
+Wesley and Margaret scarcely breathed for a long time.
+
+When Wesley went to do the feeding. Elnora set the table. When the
+water was hot, Margaret pinned a big towel around Elnora’s shoulders
+and washed and dried the lovely hair according to the instructions she
+had been given the previous night. As the hair began to dry it billowed
+out in a sparkling sheen that caught the light and gleamed and flashed.
+
+“Now, the idea is to let it stand naturally, just as the curl will make
+it. Don’t you do any of that nasty, untidy snarling, Elnora,” cautioned
+Margaret. “Wash it this way every two weeks while you are in school,
+shake it out, and dry it. Then part it in the middle and turn a front
+quarter on each side from your face. You tie the back at your neck with
+a string—so, and the ribbon goes in a big, loose bow. I’ll show you.”
+One after another Margaret Sinton tied the ribbons, creasing each of
+them so they could not be returned, as she explained that she was
+trying to find the colour most becoming. Then she produced the raincoat
+which carried Elnora into transports.
+
+Mrs. Comstock objected. “That won’t be warm enough for cold weather,
+and you can’t afford it and a coat, too.”
+
+“I’ll tell you what I thought,” said Elnora. “I was planning on the way
+home. These coats are fine because they keep you dry. I thought I would
+get one, and a warm sweater to wear under it cold days. Then I always
+would be dry, and warm. The sweater only costs three dollars, so I
+could get it and the raincoat both for half the price of a heavy cloth
+coat.”
+
+“You are right about that,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You can change more
+with the weather, too. Keep the raincoat, Elnora.”
+
+“Wear it until you try the hat,” said Margaret. “It will have to do
+until the dress is finished.”
+
+Elnora picked up the hat dubiously. “Mother, may I wear my hair as it
+is now?” she asked.
+
+“Let me take a good look,” said Katharine Comstock.
+
+Heaven only knows what she saw. To Wesley and to Margaret the bright
+young face of Elnora, with its pink tints, its heavy dark brows, its
+bright blue-gray eyes, and its frame of curling reddish-brown hair was
+the sweetest sight on earth, and at that instant Elnora was radiant.
+
+“So long as it’s your own hair, and combed back as plain as it will go,
+I don’t suppose it cuts much ice whether it’s tied a little tighter or
+looser,” conceded Mrs. Comstock. “If you stop right there, you may let
+it go at that.”
+
+Elnora set the hat on her head. It was only a wide tan straw with three
+exquisite peacock quills at one side. Margaret Sinton cried out, Wesley
+slapped his knee and sighed deeply while Mrs. Comstock stood speechless
+for a second.
+
+“I wish you had asked the price before you put that on,” she said
+impatiently. “We never can afford it.”
+
+“It’s not so much as you think,” said Margaret. “Don’t you see what I
+did? I had them take off the quills, and put on some of those Phoebe
+Simms gave me from her peacocks. The hat will only cost you a dollar
+and a half.”
+
+She avoided Wesley’s eyes, and looked straight at Mrs. Comstock. Elnora
+removed the hat to examine it.
+
+“Why, they are those reddish-tan quills of yours!” she cried. “Mother,
+look how beautifully they are set on! I’d much rather have them than
+those from the store.”
+
+“So would I,” said Mrs. Comstock. “If Margaret wants to spare them,
+that will make you a beautiful hat; dirt cheap, too! You must go past
+Mrs. Simms and show her. She would be pleased to see them.”
+
+Elnora sank into a chair and contemplated her toe. “Landy, ain’t I a
+queen?” she murmured. “What else have I got?”
+
+“Just a belt, some handkerchiefs, and a pair of top shoes for rainy
+days and colder weather,” said Margaret.
+
+“About those high shoes, that was my idea,” said Wesley. “Soon as it
+rains, low shoes won’t do, and by taking two pairs at once I could get
+them some cheaper. The low ones are two and the high ones two fifty,
+together three seventy-five. Ain’t that cheap?”
+
+“That’s a real bargain,” said Mrs. Comstock, “if they are good shoes,
+and they look it.”
+
+“This,” said Wesley, producing the last package, “is your Christmas
+present from your Aunt Maggie. I got mine, too, but it’s at the house.
+I’ll bring it up in the morning.”
+
+He handed Margaret the umbrella, and she passed it over to Elnora who
+opened it and sat laughing under its shelter. Then she kissed both of
+them. She brought a pencil and a slip of paper to set down the prices
+they gave her of everything they had brought except the umbrella, added
+the sum, and said laughingly: “Will you please wait till to-morrow for
+the money? I will have it then, sure.”
+
+“Elnora,” said Wesley Sinton. “Wouldn’t you——”
+
+“Elnora, hustle here a minute!” called Mrs. Comstock from the kitchen.
+“I need you!”
+
+“One second, mother,” answered Elnora, throwing off the coat and hat,
+and closing the umbrella as she ran. There were several errands to do
+in a hurry, and then supper. Elnora chattered incessantly, Wesley and
+Margaret talked all they could, while Mrs. Comstock said a word now and
+then, which was all she ever did. But Wesley Sinton was watching her,
+and time and again he saw a peculiar little twist around her mouth. He
+knew that for the first time in sixteen years she really was laughing
+over something. She had all she could do to preserve her usually sober
+face. Wesley knew what she was thinking.
+
+After supper the dress was finished, the pattern for the next one
+discussed, and then the Sintons went home. Elnora gathered her
+treasures. When she started upstairs she stopped. “May I kiss you
+good-night, mother?” she asked lightly.
+
+“Never mind any slobbering,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I should think you’d
+lived with me long enough to know that I don’t care for it.”
+
+“Well, I’d love to show you in some way how happy I am, and how I thank
+you.”
+
+“I wonder what for?” said Mrs. Comstock. “Mag Sinton chose that stuff
+and brought it here and you pay for it.”
+
+“Yes, but you seemed willing for me to have it, and you said you would
+help me if I couldn’t pay all.”
+
+“Maybe I did,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Maybe I did. I meant to get you
+some heavy dress skirts about Thanksgiving, and I still can get them.
+Go to bed, and for any sake don’t begin mooning before a mirror, and
+make a dunce of yourself.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock picked up several papers and blew out the kitchen light.
+She stood in the middle of the sitting-room floor for a time and then
+went into her room and closed the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed
+she thought for a few minutes and then suddenly buried her face in the
+pillow and again heaved with laughter.
+
+Down the road plodded Margaret and Wesley Sinton. Neither of them had
+words to utter their united thought.
+
+“Done!” hissed Wesley at last. “Done brown! Did you ever feel like a
+bloomin’, confounded donkey? How did the woman do it?”
+
+“She didn’t do it!” gulped Margaret through her tears. “She didn’t do
+anything. She trusted to Elnora’s great big soul to bring her out
+right, and really she was right, and so it had to bring her. She’s a
+darling, Wesley! But she’s got a time before her. Did you see Kate
+Comstock grab that money? Before six months she’ll be out combing the
+Limberlost for bugs and arrow points to help pay the tax. I know her.”
+
+“Well, I don’t!” exclaimed Sinton, “she’s too many for me. But there is
+a laugh left in her yet! I didn’t s’pose there was. Bet you a dollar,
+if we could see her this minute, she’d be chuckling over the way we got
+left.”
+
+Both of them stopped in the road and looked back.
+
+“There’s Elnora’s light in her room,” said Margaret. “The poor child
+will feel those clothes, and pore over her books till morning, but
+she’ll look decent to go to school, anyway. Nothing is too big a price
+to pay for that.”
+
+“Yes, if Kate lets her wear them. Ten to one, she makes her finish the
+week with that old stuff!”
+
+“No, she won’t,” said Margaret. “She’ll hardly dare. Kate made some
+concessions, all right; big ones for her—if she did get her way in the
+main. She bent some, and if Elnora proves that she can walk out
+barehanded in the morning and come back with that much money in her
+pocket, an armful of books, and buy a turnout like that, she proves
+that she is of some consideration, and Kate’s smart enough. She’ll
+think twice before she’ll do that. Elnora won’t wear a calico dress to
+high school again. You watch and see if she does. She may have the best
+clothes she’ll get for a time, for the least money, but she won’t know
+it until she tries to buy goods herself at the same rates. Wesley, what
+about those prices? Didn’t they shrink considerable?”
+
+“You began it,” said Wesley. “Those prices were all right. We didn’t
+say what the goods cost us, we said what they would cost her. Surely,
+she’s mistaken about being able to pay all that. Can she pick up stuff
+of that value around the Limberlost? Didn’t the Bird Woman see her
+trouble, and just give her the money?”
+
+“I don’t think so,” said Margaret. “Seems to me I’ve heard of her
+paying, or offering to pay those who would take the money, for bugs and
+butterflies, and I’ve known people who sold that banker Indian stuff.
+Once I heard that his pipe collection beat that of the Government at
+the Philadelphia Centennial. Those things have come to have a value.”
+
+“Well, there’s about a bushel of that kind of valuables piled up in the
+woodshed, that belongs to Elnora. At least, I picked them up because
+she said she wanted them. Ain’t it queer that she’d take to stones,
+bugs, and butterflies, and save them. Now they are going to bring her
+the very thing she wants the worst. Lord, but this is a funny world
+when you get to studying! Looks like things didn’t all come by
+accident. Looks as if there was a plan back of it, and somebody driving
+that knows the road, and how to handle the lines. Anyhow, Elnora’s in
+the wagon, and when I get out in the night and the dark closes around
+me, and I see the stars, I don’t feel so cheap. Maggie, how the nation
+did Kate Comstock do that?”
+
+“You will keep on harping, Wesley. I told you she didn’t do it. Elnora
+did it! She walked in and took things right out of our hands. All Kate
+had to do was to enjoy having it go her way, and she was cute enough to
+put in a few questions that sort of guided Elnora. But I don’t know,
+Wesley. This thing makes me think, too. S’pose we’d taken Elnora when
+she was a baby, and we’d heaped on her all the love we can’t on our
+own, and we’d coddled, petted, and shielded her, would she have made
+the woman that living alone, learning to think for herself, and taking
+all the knocks Kate Comstock could give, have made of her?”
+
+“You bet your life!” cried Wesley, warmly. “Loving anybody don’t hurt
+them. We wouldn’t have done anything but love her. You can’t hurt a
+child loving it. She’d have learned to work, to study, and grown into a
+woman with us, without suffering like a poor homeless dog.”
+
+“But you don’t see the point, Wesley. She would have grown into a fine
+woman with us; but as we would have raised her, would her heart ever
+have known the world as it does now? Where’s the anguish, Wesley, that
+child can’t comprehend? Seeing what she’s seen of her mother hasn’t
+hardened her. She can understand any mother’s sorrow. Living life from
+the rough side has only broadened her. Where’s the girl or boy burning
+with shame, or struggling to find a way, that will cross Elnora’s path
+and not get a lift from her? She’s had the knocks, but there’ll never
+be any of the thing you call ‘false pride’ in her. I guess we better
+keep out. Maybe Kate Comstock knows what she’s doing. Sure as you live,
+Elnora has grown bigger on knocks than she would on love.”
+
+“I don’t s’pose there ever was a very fine point to anything but I
+missed it,” said Wesley, “because I am blunt, rough, and have no book
+learning to speak of. Since you put it into words I see what you mean,
+but it’s dinged hard on Elnora, just the same. And I don’t keep out. I
+keep watching closer than ever. I got my slap in the face, but if I
+don’t miss my guess, Kate Comstock learned her lesson, same as I did.
+She learned that I was in earnest, that I would haul her to court if
+she didn’t loosen up a bit, and she’ll loosen. You see if she doesn’t.
+It may come hard, and the hinges creak, but she’ll fix Elnora decent
+after this, if Elnora doesn’t prove that she can fix herself. As for
+me, I found out that what I was doing was as much for myself as for
+Elnora. I wanted her to take those things from us, and love us for
+giving them. It didn’t work, and but for you, I’d messed the whole
+thing and stuck like a pig in crossing a bridge. But you helped me out;
+Elnora’s got the clothes, and by morning, maybe I won’t grudge Kate the
+only laugh she’s had in sixteen years. You been showing me the way
+quite a spell now, ain’t you, Maggie?”
+
+In her attic Elnora lighted two candles, set them on her little table,
+stacked the books, and put away the precious clothes. How lovingly she
+hung the hat and umbrella, folded the raincoat, and spread the new
+dress over a chair. She fingered the ribbons, and tried to smooth the
+creases from them. She put away the hose neatly folded, touched the
+handkerchiefs, and tried the belt. Then she slipped into her white
+nightdress, shook down her hair that it might become thoroughly dry,
+set a chair before the table, and reverently opened one of the books. A
+stiff draught swept the attic, for it stretched the length of the
+cabin, and had a window in each end. Elnora arose and going to the east
+window closed it. She stood for a minute looking at the stars, the sky,
+and the dark outline of the straggling trees of the rapidly dismantling
+Limberlost. In the region of her case a tiny point of light flashed and
+disappeared. Elnora straightened and wondered. Was it wise to leave her
+precious money there? The light flashed once more, wavered a few
+seconds, and died out. The girl waited. She did not see it again, so
+she turned to her books.
+
+In the Limberlost the hulking figure of a man sneaked down the trail.
+
+“The Bird Woman was at Freckles’s room this evening,” he muttered.
+“Wonder what for?”
+
+He left the trail, entered the enclosure still distinctly outlined, and
+approached the case. The first point of light flashed from the tiny
+electric lamp on his vest. He took a duplicate key from his pocket,
+felt for the padlock and opened it. The door swung wide. The light
+flashed the second time. Swiftly his glance swept the interior.
+
+“’Bout a fourth of her moths gone. Elnora must have been with the Bird
+Woman and given them to her.” Then he stood tense. His keen eyes
+discovered the roll of bills hastily thrust back in the bottom of the
+case. He snatched them up, shut off the light, relocked the case by
+touch, and swiftly went down the trail. Every few seconds he paused and
+listened intently. Just as he reached the road, a second figure
+approached him.
+
+“Is it you, Pete?” came the whispered question.
+
+“Yes,” said the first man.
+
+“I was coming down to take a peep, when I saw your flash,” he said. “I
+heard the Bird Woman had been at the case to-day. Anything doing?”
+
+“Not a thing,” said Pete. “She just took away about a fourth of the
+moths. Probably had the Comstock girl getting them for her. Heard they
+were together. Likely she’ll get the rest to-morrow. Ain’t picking
+gettin’ bare these days?”
+
+“Well, I should say so,” said the second man, turning back in disgust.
+“Coming home, now?”
+
+“No, I am going down this way,” answered Pete, for his eyes caught the
+gleam from the window of the Comstock cabin, and he had a desire to
+learn why Elnora’s attic was lighted at that hour.
+
+He slouched down the road, occasionally feeling the size of the roll he
+had not taken time to count.
+
+The attic was too long, the light too near the other end, and the cabin
+stood much too far back from the road. He could see nothing although he
+climbed the fence and walked back opposite the window. He knew Mrs.
+Comstock was probably awake, and that she sometimes went to the swamp
+behind her home at night. At times a cry went up from that locality
+that paralyzed any one near, or sent them fleeing as if for life. He
+did not care to cross behind the cabin. He returned to the road,
+passed, and again climbed the fence. Opposite the west window he could
+see Elnora. She sat before a small table reading from a book between
+two candles. Her hair fell in a bright sheen around her, and with one
+hand she lightly shook, and tossed it as she studied. The man stood out
+in the night and watched.
+
+For a long time a leaf turned at intervals and the hair-drying went on.
+The man drew nearer. The picture grew more beautiful as he approached.
+He could not see so well as he desired, for the screen was of white
+mosquito netting, and it angered him. He cautiously crept closer. The
+elevation shut off his view. Then he remembered the large willow tree
+shading the well and branching across the window fit the west end of
+the cabin. From childhood Elnora had stepped from the sill to a limb
+and slid down the slanting trunk of the tree. He reached it and
+noiselessly swung himself up. Three steps out on the big limb the man
+shuddered. He was within a few feet of the girl.
+
+He could see the throb of her breast under its thin covering and smell
+the fragrance of the tossing hair. He could see the narrow bed with its
+pieced calico cover, the whitewashed walls with gay lithographs, and
+every crevice stuck full of twigs with dangling cocoons. There were
+pegs for the few clothes, the old chest, the little table, the two
+chairs, the uneven floor covered with rag rugs and braided corn husk.
+But nothing was worth a glance except the perfect face and form within
+reach by one spring through the rotten mosquito bar. He gripped the
+limb above that on which he stood, licked his lips, and breathed
+through his throat to be sure he was making no sound. Elnora closed the
+book and laid it aside. She picked up a towel, and turning the gathered
+ends of her hair rubbed them across it, and dropping the towel on her
+lap, tossed the hair again. Then she sat in deep thought. By and by
+words began to come softly. Near as he was the man could not hear at
+first. He bent closer and listened intently.
+
+“—ever could be so happy,” murmured the soft voice. “The dress is so
+pretty, such shoes, the coat, and everything. I won’t have to be
+ashamed again, not ever again, for the Limberlost is full of precious
+moths, and I always can collect them. The Bird Woman will buy more
+to-morrow, and the next day, and the next. When they are all gone, I
+can spend every minute gathering cocoons, and hunting other things I
+can sell. Oh, thank God, for my precious, precious money. Why, I didn’t
+pray in vain after all! I thought when I asked the Lord to hide me,
+there in that big hall, that He wasn’t doing it, because I wasn’t
+covered from sight that instant. But I’m hidden now, I feel that.”
+Elnora lifted her eyes to the beams above her. “I don’t know much about
+praying properly,” she muttered, “but I do thank you, Lord, for hiding
+me in your own time and way.”
+
+Her face was so bright that it shone with a white radiance. Two big
+tears welled from her eyes, and rolled down her smiling cheeks. “Oh, I
+do feel that you have hidden me,” she breathed. Then she blew out the
+lights, and the little wooden bed creaked under her weight.
+
+Pete Corson dropped from the limb and found his way to the road. He
+stood still a long time, then started back to the Limberlost. A tiny
+point of light flashed in the region of the case. He stopped with an
+oath.
+
+“Another hound trying to steal from a girl,” he exclaimed. “But it’s
+likely he thinks if he gets anything it will be from a woman who can
+afford it, as I did.”
+
+He went on, but beside the fences, and very cautiously.
+
+“Swamp seems to be alive to-night,” he muttered. “That’s three of us
+out.”
+
+He entered a deep place at the northwest corner, sat on the ground and
+taking a pencil from his pocket, he tore a leaf from a little notebook,
+and laboriously wrote a few lines by the light he carried. Then he went
+back to the region of the case and waited. Before his eyes swept the
+vision of the slender white creature with tossing hair. He smiled, and
+worshipped it, until a distant rooster faintly announced dawn.
+
+Then he unlocked the case again, and replaced the money, laid the note
+upon it, and went back to concealment, where he remained until Elnora
+came down the trail in the morning, appearing very lovely in her new
+dress and hat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA RECEIVES A WARNING, AND BILLY APPEARS ON THE SCENE
+
+
+It would be difficult to describe how happy Elnora was that morning as
+she hurried through her work, bathed and put on the neat, dainty
+gingham dress, and the tan shoes. She had a struggle with her hair. It
+crinkled, billowed, and shone, and she could not avoid seeing the
+becoming frame it made around her face. But in deference to her
+mother’s feelings the girl set her teeth, and bound her hair closely to
+her head with a shoe-string. “Not to be changed at the case,” she told
+herself.
+
+That her mother was watching she was unaware. Just as she picked up the
+beautiful brown ribbon Mrs. Comstock spoke.
+
+“You had better let me tie that. You can’t reach behind yourself and do
+it right.”
+
+Elnora gave a little gasp. Her mother never before had proposed to do
+anything for the girl that by any possibility she could do herself. Her
+heart quaked at the thought of how her mother would arrange that bow,
+but Elnora dared not refuse. The offer was too precious. It might never
+be made again.
+
+“Oh thank you!” said the girl, and sitting down she held out the
+ribbon.
+
+Her mother stood back and looked at her critically.
+
+“You haven’t got that like Mag Sinton had it last night,” she
+announced. “You little idiot! You’ve tried to plaster it down to suit
+me, and you missed it. I liked it away better as Mag fixed it, after I
+saw it. You didn’t look so peeled.”
+
+“Oh mother, mother!” laughed Elnora, with a half sob in her voice.
+
+“Hold still, will you?” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You’ll be late, and I
+haven’t packed your dinner yet.”
+
+She untied the string and shook out the hair. It rose with electricity
+and clung to her fingers and hands. Mrs. Comstock jumped back as if
+bitten. She knew that touch. Her face grew white, and her eyes angry.
+
+“Tie it yourself,” she said shortly, “and then I’ll put on the ribbon.
+But roll it back loose like Mag did. It looked so pretty that way.”
+
+Almost fainting Elnora stood before the glass, divided off the front
+parts of her hair, and rolled them as Mrs. Sinton had done; tied it at
+the nape of her neck, then sat while her mother arranged the ribbon.
+
+“If I pull it down till it comes tight in these creases where she had
+it, it will be just right, won’t it?” queried Mrs. Comstock, and the
+amazed Elnora stammered,
+
+“Yes.”
+
+When she looked in the glass the bow was perfectly tied, and how the
+gold tone of the brown did match the lustre of the shining hair!
+“That’s pretty,” commented Mrs. Comstock’s soul, but her stiff lips had
+said all that could be forced from them for once. Just then Wesley
+Sinton came to the door.
+
+“Good morning,” he cried heartily. “Elnora, you look a picture! My, but
+you’re sweet! If any of the city boys get sassy you tell your Uncle
+Wesley, and he’ll horsewhip them. Here’s your Christmas present from
+me.” He handed Elnora the leather lunch box, with her name carved
+across the strap in artistic lettering.
+
+“Oh Uncle Wesley!” was all Elnora could say.
+
+“Your Aunt Maggie filled it for me for a starter,” he said. “Now, if
+you are ready, I’m going to drive past your way and you can ride almost
+to Onabasha with me, and save the new shoes that much.”
+
+Elnora was staring at the box. “Oh I hope it isn’t impolite to open it
+before you,” she said. “I just feel as if I must see inside.”
+
+“Don’t you stand on formality with the neighbours,” laughed Sinton.
+“Look in your box if you want to!”
+
+Elnora slipped the strap and turned back the lid.
+
+This disclosed the knife, fork, napkin, and spoon, the milk flask, and
+the interior packed with dainty sandwiches wrapped in tissue paper, and
+the little compartments for meat, salad, and the custard cup.
+
+“Oh mother!” cried Elnora. “Oh mother, isn’t it fine? What made you
+think of it, Uncle Wesley? How will I ever thank you? No one will have
+a finer lunch box than I. Oh I do thank you! That’s the nicest gift I
+ever had. How I love Christmas in September!”
+
+“It’s a mighty handy thing,” assented Mrs. Comstock, taking in every
+detail with sharp eyes. “I guess you are glad now you went and helped
+Mag and Wesley when you could, Elnora?”
+
+“Deedy, yes,” laughed Elnora, “and I’m going again first time they have
+a big day if I stay from school to do it.”
+
+“You’ll do no such thing!” said the delighted Sinton. “Come now, if
+you’re going!”
+
+“If I ride, can you spare me time to run into the swamp to my box a
+minute?” asked Elnora.
+
+The light she had seen the previous night troubled her.
+
+“Sure,” said Wesley largely. So they drove away and left a white-faced
+woman watching them from the door, her heart a little sorer than usual.
+
+“I’d give a pretty to hear what he’ll say to her!” she commented
+bitterly. “Always sticking in, always doing things I can’t ever afford.
+Where on earth did he get that thing and what did it cost?”
+
+Then she entered the cabin and began the day’s work, but mingled with
+the brooding bitterness of her soul was the vision of a sweet young
+face, glad with a gladness never before seen on it, and over and over
+she repeated: “I wonder what he’ll say to her!”
+
+What he said was that she looked as fresh and sweet as a posy, and to
+be careful not to step in the mud or scratch her shoes when she went to
+the case.
+
+Elnora found her key and opened the door. Not where she had placed it,
+but conspicuously in front lay her little heap of bills, and a crude
+scrawl of writing beside it. Elnora picked up the note in astonishment.
+
+DERE ELNORY,
+
+the lord amighty is hiding you all right done you ever dout it this
+money of yourn was took for some time las nite but it is returned with
+intres for god sake done ever come to the swamp at nite or late evnin
+or mornin or far in any time sompin worse an you know could git you
+
+A FREND.
+
+Elnora began to tremble. She hastily glanced around. The damp earth
+before the case had been trodden by large, roughly shod feet. She
+caught up the money and the note, thrust them into her guimpe, locked
+the case, and ran to the road.
+
+She was so breathless and her face so white Sinton noticed it.
+
+“What in the world’s the matter, Elnora?” he asked.
+
+“I am half afraid!” she panted.
+
+“Tut, tut, child!” said Wesley Sinton. “Nothing in the world to be
+afraid of. What happened?”
+
+“Uncle Wesley,” said Elnora, “I had more money than I brought home last
+night, and I put it in my case. Some one has been there. The ground is
+all trampled, and they left this note.”
+
+“And took your money, I’ll wager,” said Sinton angrily.
+
+“No,” answered Elnora. “Read the note, and oh Uncle Wesley, tell me
+what it means!”
+
+Sinton’s face was a study. “I don’t know what it means,” he said. “Only
+one thing is clear. It means some beast who doesn’t really want to harm
+you has got his eye on you, and he is telling you plain as he can, not
+to give him a chance. You got to keep along the roads, in the open, and
+not let the biggest moth that ever flew toll you out of hearing of us,
+or your mother. It means that, plain and distinct.”
+
+“Just when I can sell them! Just when everything is so lovely on
+account of them! I can’t! I can’t stay away from the swamp. The
+Limberlost is going to buy the books, the clothes, pay the tuition, and
+even start a college fund. I just can’t!”
+
+“You’ve got to,” said Sinton. “This is plain enough. You go far in the
+swamp at your own risk, even in daytime.”
+
+“Uncle Wesley,” said the girl, “last night before I went to bed, I was
+so happy I tried to pray, and I thanked God for hiding me ‘under the
+shadow of His wing.’ But how in the world could any one know it?”
+
+Wesley Sinton’s heart leaped in his breast. His face was whiter than
+the girl’s now.
+
+“Were you praying out loud, honey?” he almost whispered.
+
+“I might have said words,” answered Elnora. “I know I do sometimes.
+I’ve never had any one to talk with, and I’ve played with and talked to
+myself all my life. You’ve caught me at it often, but it always makes
+mother angry when she does. She says it’s silly. I forget and do it,
+when I’m alone. But Uncle Wesley, if I said anything last night, you
+know it was the merest whisper, because I’d have been so afraid of
+waking mother. Don’t you see? I sat up late, and studied two lessons.”
+
+Sinton was steadying himself “I’ll stop and examine the case as I come
+back,” he said. “Maybe I can find some clue. That other—that was just
+accidental. It’s a common expression. All the preachers use it. If I
+tried to pray, that would be the very first thing I’d say.”
+
+The colour returned to Elnora’s face.
+
+“Did you tell your mother about this money, Elnora?” he asked.
+
+“No, I didn’t,” said Elnora. “It’s dreadful not to, but I was afraid.
+You see they are clearing the swamp so fast. Every year it grows more
+difficult to find things, and Indian stuff becomes scarcer. I want to
+graduate, and that’s four years unless I can double on the course. That
+means twenty dollars tuition each year, and new books, and clothes.
+There won’t ever be so much at one time again, that I know. I just got
+to hang to my money. I was afraid to tell her, for fear she would want
+it for taxes, and she really must sell a tree or some cattle for that,
+mustn’t she, Uncle Wesley?”
+
+“On your life, she must!” said Wesley. “You put your little wad in the
+bank all safe, and never mention it to a living soul. It doesn’t seem
+right, but your case is peculiar. Every word you say is a true word.
+Each year you will find less in the swamp, and things everywhere will
+be scarcer. If you ever get a few dollars ahead, that can start your
+college fund. You know you are going to college, Elnora!”
+
+“Of course I am,” said Elnora. “I settled that as soon as I knew what a
+college was. I will put all my money in the bank, except what I owe
+you. I’ll pay that now.”
+
+“If your arrows are heavy,” said Wesley, “I’ll drive on to Onabasha
+with you.”
+
+“But they are not. Half of them were nicked, and this little box held
+all the good ones. It’s so surprising how many are spoiled when you
+wash them.”
+
+“What does he pay?”
+
+“Ten cents for any common perfect one, fifty for revolvers, a dollar
+for obsidian, and whatever is right for enormous big ones.”
+
+“Well, that sounds fair,” said Sinton. “You can come down Saturday and
+wash the stuff at our house, and I’ll take it in when we go marketing
+in the afternoon.”
+
+Elnora jumped from the carriage. She soon found that with her books,
+her lunch box, and the points she had a heavy load. She had almost
+reached the bridge crossing the culvert when she heard distressed
+screams of a child. Across an orchard of the suburbs came a small boy,
+after him a big dog, urged by a man in the background. Elnora’s heart
+was with the small fleeing figure in any event whatever. She dropped
+her load on the bridge, and with practised hand flung a stone at the
+dog. The beast curled double with a howl. The boy reached the fence,
+and Elnora was there to help him over. As he touched the top she swung
+him to the ground, but he clung to her, clasping her tightly, sobbing
+with fear. Elnora helped him to the bridge, and sat with him in her
+arms. For a time his replies to her questions were indistinct, but at
+last he became quieter and she could understand.
+
+He was a mite of a boy, nothing but skin-covered bones, his burned,
+freckled face in a mortar of tears and dust, his clothing unspeakably
+dirty, one great toe in a festering mass from a broken nail, and sores
+all over the visible portions of the small body.
+
+“You won’t let the mean old thing make his dog get me!” he wailed.
+
+“Indeed no,” said Elnora, holding him closely.
+
+“You wouldn’t set a dog on a boy for just taking a few old apples when
+you fed ’em to pigs with a shovel every day, would you?”
+
+“No, I would not,” said Elnora hotly.
+
+“You’d give a boy all the apples he wanted, if he hadn’t any breakfast,
+and was so hungry he was all twisty inside, wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Yes, I would,” said Elnora.
+
+“If you had anything to eat you would give me something right now,
+wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Yes,” said Elnora. “There’s nothing but just stones in the package.
+But my dinner is in that case. I’ll gladly divide.”
+
+She opened the box. The famished child gave a little cry and reached
+both hands. Elnora caught them back.
+
+“Did you have any supper?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Any dinner yesterday?”
+
+“An apple and some grapes I stole.”
+
+“Whose boy are you?”
+
+“Old Tom Billings’s.”
+
+“Why doesn’t your father get you something to eat?”
+
+“He does most days, but he’s drunk now.”
+
+“Hush, you must not!” said Elnora. “He’s your father!”
+
+“He’s spent all the money to get drunk, too,” said the boy, “and Jimmy
+and Belle are both crying for breakfast. I’d a got out all right with
+an apple for myself, but I tried to get some for them and the dog got
+too close. Say, you can throw, can’t you?”
+
+“Yes,” admitted Elnora. She poured half the milk into the cup. “Drink
+this,” she said, holding it to him.
+
+The boy gulped the milk and swore joyously, gripping the cup with
+shaking fingers.
+
+“Hush!” cried Elnora. “That’s dreadful!”
+
+“What’s dreadful?”
+
+“To say such awful words.”
+
+“Huh! pa says worser ’an that every breath he draws.”
+
+Elnora saw that the child was older than she had thought. He might have
+been forty judging by his hard, unchildish expression.
+
+“Do you want to be like your father?”
+
+“No, I want to be like you. Couldn’t a angel be prettier ’an you. Can I
+have more milk?”
+
+Elnora emptied the flask. The boy drained the cup. He drew a breath of
+satisfaction as he gazed into her face.
+
+“You wouldn’t go off and leave your little boy, would you?” he asked.
+
+“Did some one go away and leave you?”
+
+“Yes, my mother went off and left me, and left Jimmy and Belle, too,”
+said the boy. “You wouldn’t leave your little boy, would you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The boy looked eagerly at the box. Elnora lifted a sandwich and
+uncovered the fried chicken. The boy gasped with delight.
+
+“Say, I could eat the stuff in the glass and the other box and carry
+the bread and the chicken to Jimmy and Belle,” he offered.
+
+Elnora silently uncovered the custard with preserved cherries on top
+and handed it and the spoon to the child. Never did food disappear
+faster. The salad went next, and a sandwich and half a chicken breast
+followed.
+
+“I better leave the rest for Jimmy and Belle,” he said, “they’re ’ist
+fightin’ hungry.”
+
+Elnora gave him the remainder of the carefully prepared lunch. The boy
+clutched it and ran with a sidewise hop like a wild thing. She covered
+the dishes and cup, polished the spoon, replaced it, and closed the
+case. She caught her breath in a tremulous laugh.
+
+“If Aunt Margaret knew that, she’d never forgive me,” she said. “It
+seems as if secrecy is literally forced upon me, and I hate it. What
+shall I do for lunch? I’ll have to sell my arrows and keep enough money
+for a restaurant sandwich.”
+
+So she walked hurriedly into town, sold her points at a good price,
+deposited her funds, and went away with a neat little bank book and the
+note from the Limberlost carefully folded inside. Elnora passed down
+the hall that morning, and no one paid the slightest attention to her.
+The truth was she looked so like every one else that she was perfectly
+inconspicuous. But in the coat room there were members of her class.
+Surely no one intended it, but the whisper was too loud.
+
+“Look at the girl from the Limberlost in the clothes that woman gave
+her!”
+
+Elnora turned on them. “I beg your pardon,” she said unsteadily, “I
+couldn’t help hearing that! No one gave me these clothes. I paid for
+them myself.”
+
+Some one muttered, “Pardon me,” but incredulous faces greeted her.
+
+Elnora felt driven. “Aunt Margaret selected them, and she meant to give
+them to me,” she explained, “but I wouldn’t take them. I paid for them
+myself.” There was silence.
+
+“Don’t you believe me?” panted Elnora.
+
+“Really, it is none of our affair,” said another girl. “Come on, let’s
+go.”
+
+Elnora stepped before the girl who had spoken. “You have made this your
+affair,” she said, “because you told a thing which was not true. No one
+gave me what I am wearing. I paid for my clothes myself with money I
+earned selling moths to the Bird Woman. I just came from the bank where
+I deposited what I did not use. Here is my credit.” Elnora drew out and
+offered the little red book. “Surely you will believe that,” she said.
+
+“Why of course,” said the girl who first had spoken. “We met such a
+lovely woman in Brownlee’s store, and she said she wanted our help to
+buy some things for a girl, and that’s how we came to know.”
+
+“Dear Aunt Margaret,” said Elnora, “it was like her to ask you. Isn’t
+she splendid?”
+
+“She is indeed,” chorused the girls. Elnora set down her lunch box and
+books, unpinned her hat, hanging it beside the others, and taking up
+the books she reached to set the box in its place and dropped it. With
+a little cry she snatched at it and caught the strap on top. That
+pulled from the fastening, the cover unrolled, the box fell away as far
+as it could, two porcelain lids rattled on the floor, and the one
+sandwich rolled like a cartwheel across the room. Elnora lifted a
+ghastly face. For once no one laughed. She stood an instant staring.
+
+“It seems to be my luck to be crucified at every point of the compass,”
+she said at last. “First two days you thought I was a pauper, now you
+will think I’m a fraud. All of you will believe I bought an expensive
+box, and then was too poor to put anything but a restaurant sandwich in
+it. You must stop till I prove to you that I’m not.”
+
+Elnora gathered up the lids, and kicked the sandwich into a corner.
+
+“I had milk in that bottle, see! And custard in the cup. There was
+salad in the little box, fried chicken in the large one, and nut
+sandwiches in the tray. You can see the crumbs of all of them. A man
+set a dog on a child who was so starved he was stealing apples. I
+talked with him, and I thought I could bear hunger better, he was such
+a little boy, so I gave him my lunch, and got the sandwich at the
+restaurant.”
+
+Elnora held out the box. The girls were laughing by that time. “You
+goose,” said one, “why didn’t you give him the money, and save your
+lunch?”
+
+“He was such a little fellow, and he really was hungry,” said Elnora.
+“I often go without anything to eat at noon in the fields and woods,
+and never think of it.”
+
+She closed the box and set it beside the lunches of other country
+pupils. While her back was turned, into the room came the girl of her
+encounter on the first day, walked to the rack, and with an exclamation
+of approval took down Elnora’s hat.
+
+“Just the thing I have been wanting!” she said. “I never saw such
+beautiful quills in all my life. They match my new broadcloth to
+perfection. I’ve got to have that kind of quills for my hat. I never
+saw the like! Whose is it, and where did it come from?”
+
+No one said a word, for Elnora’s question, the reply, and her answer,
+had been repeated. Every one knew that the Limberlost girl had come out
+ahead and Sadie Reed had not been amiable, when the little flourish had
+been added to Elnora’s name in the algebra class. Elnora’s swift glance
+was pathetic, but no one helped her. Sadie Reed glanced from the hat to
+the faces around her and wondered.
+
+“Why, this is the Freshman section, whose hat is it?” she asked again,
+this time impatiently.
+
+“That’s the tassel of the cornstock,” said Elnora with a forced laugh.
+
+The response was genuine. Every one shouted. Sadie Reed blushed, but
+she laughed also.
+
+“Well, it’s beautiful,” she said, “especially the quills. They are
+exactly what I want. I know I don’t deserve any kindness from you, but
+I do wish you would tell me at whose store you found those quills.”
+
+“Gladly!” said Elnora. “You can’t buy quills like those at a store.
+They are from a living bird. Phoebe Simms gathers them in her orchard
+as her peacocks shed them. They are wing quills from the males.”
+
+Then there was perfect silence. How was Elnora to know that not a girl
+there would have told that?
+
+“I haven’t a doubt but I can get you some,” she offered. “She gave Aunt
+Margaret a large bunch, and those are part of them. I am quite sure she
+has more, and would spare some.”
+
+Sadie Reed laughed shortly. “You needn’t trouble,” she said, “I was
+fooled. I thought they were expensive quills. I wanted them for a
+twenty-dollar velvet toque to match my new suit. If they are gathered
+from the ground, really, I couldn’t use them.”
+
+“Only in spots!” said Elnora. “They don’t just cover the earth. Phoebe
+Simms’s peacocks are the only ones within miles of Onabasha, and they
+moult but once a year. If your hat cost only twenty dollars, it’s
+scarcely good enough for those quills. You see, the Almighty made and
+coloured those Himself; and He puts the same kind on Phoebe Simms’s
+peacocks that He put on the head of the family in the forests of
+Ceylon, away back in the beginning. Any old manufactured quill from New
+York or Chicago will do for your little twenty-dollar hat. You should
+have something infinitely better than that to be worthy of quills that
+are made by the Creator.”
+
+How those girls did laugh! One of them walked with Elnora to the
+auditorium, sat beside her during exercises, and tried to talk whenever
+she dared, to keep Elnora from seeing the curious and admiring looks
+bent upon her.
+
+For the brown-eyed boy whistled, and there was pantomime of all sorts
+going on behind Elnora’s back that day. Happy with her books, no one
+knew how much she saw, and from her absorption in her studies it was
+evident she cared too little to notice.
+
+After school she went again to the home of the Bird Woman, and together
+they visited the swamp and carried away more specimens. This time
+Elnora asked the Bird Woman to keep the money until noon of the next
+day, when she would call for it and have it added to her bank account.
+She slowly walked home, for the visit to the swamp had brought back
+full force the experience of the morning. Again and again she examined
+the crude little note, for she did not know what it meant, yet it bred
+vague fear. The only thing of which Elnora knew herself afraid was her
+mother; when with wild eyes and ears deaf to childish pleading, she
+sometimes lost control of herself in the night and visited the pool
+where her husband had sunk before her, calling his name in unearthly
+tones and begging of the swamp to give back its dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK INDULGES IN “FRILLS,” AND BILLY REAPPEARS
+
+
+It was Wesley Sinton who really wrestled with Elnora’s problem while he
+drove about his business. He was not forced to ask himself what it
+meant; he knew. The old Corson gang was still holding together. Elder
+members who had escaped the law had been joined by a younger brother of
+Jack’s, and they met in the thickest of the few remaining fast places
+of the swamp to drink, gamble, and loaf. Then suddenly, there would be
+a robbery in some country house where a farmer that day had sold his
+wheat or corn and not paid a visit to the bank; or in some neighbouring
+village.
+
+The home of Mrs. Comstock and Elnora adjoined the swamp. Sinton’s land
+lay next, and not another residence or man easy to reach in case of
+trouble. Whoever wrote that note had some human kindness in his breast,
+but the fact stood revealed that he feared his strength if Elnora were
+delivered into his hands. Where had he been the previous night when he
+heard that prayer? Was that the first time he had been in such
+proximity? Sinton drove fast, for he wished to reach the swamp before
+Elnora and the Bird Woman would go there.
+
+At almost four he came to the case, and dropping on his knees studied
+the ground, every sense alert. He found two or three little heel
+prints. Those were made by Elnora or the Bird Woman. What Sinton wanted
+to learn was whether all the remainder were the footprints of one man.
+It was easily seen, they were not. There were deep, even tracks made by
+fairly new shoes, and others where a well-worn heel cut deeper on the
+inside of the print than at the outer edge. Undoubtedly some of
+Corson’s old gang were watching the case, and the visits of the women
+to it. There was no danger that any one would attack the Bird Woman.
+She never went to the swamp at night, and on her trips in the daytime,
+every one knew that she carried a revolver, understood how to use it,
+and pursued her work in a fearless manner.
+
+Elnora, prowling around the swamp and lured into the interior by the
+flight of moths and butterflies; Elnora, without father, money, or
+friends save himself, to defend her—Elnora was a different proposition.
+For this to happen just when the Limberlost was bringing the very
+desire of her heart to the girl, it was too bad.
+
+Sinton was afraid for her, yet he did not want to add the burden of
+fear to Katharine Comstock’s trouble, or to disturb the joy of Elnora
+in her work. He stopped at the cabin and slowly went up the walk. Mrs.
+Comstock was sitting on the front steps with some sewing. The work
+seemed to Sinton as if she might be engaged in putting a tuck in a
+petticoat. He thought of how Margaret had shortened Elnora’s dress to
+the accepted length for girls of her age, and made a mental note of
+Mrs. Comstock’s occupation.
+
+She dropped her work on her lap, laid her hands on it and looked into
+his face with a sneer.
+
+“You didn’t let any grass grow under your feet,” she said.
+
+Sinton saw her white, drawn face and comprehended.
+
+“I went to pay a debt and see about this opening of the ditch, Kate.”
+
+“You said you were going to prosecute me.”
+
+“Good gracious, Kate!” cried Sinton. “Is that what you have been
+thinking all day? I told you before I left yesterday that I would not
+need do that. And I won’t! We can’t afford to quarrel over Elnora.
+She’s all we’ve got. Now that she has proved that if you don’t do just
+what I think you ought by way of clothes and schooling, she can take
+care of herself, I put that out of my head. What I came to see you
+about is a kind of scare I’ve had to-day. I want to ask you if you ever
+see anything about the swamp that makes you think the old Corson gang
+is still at work?”
+
+“Can’t say that I do,” said Mrs. Comstock. “There’s kind of dancing
+lights there sometimes, but I supposed it was just people passing along
+the road with lanterns. Folks hereabout are none too fond of the swamp.
+I hate it like death. I’ve never stayed here a night in my life without
+Robert’s revolver, clean and loaded, under my pillow, and the shotgun,
+same condition, by the bed. I can’t say that I’m afraid here at home.
+I’m not. I can take care of myself. But none of the swamp for me!”
+
+“Well, I’m glad you are not afraid, Kate, because I must tell you
+something. Elnora stopped at the case this morning, and somebody had
+been into it in the night.”
+
+“Broke the lock?”
+
+“No. Used a duplicate key. To-day I heard there was a man here last
+night. I want to nose around a little.”
+
+Sinton went to the east end of the cabin and looked up at the window.
+There was no way any one could have reached it without a ladder, for
+the logs were hewed and mortar filled the cracks even. Then he went to
+the west end, the willow faced him as he turned the corner. He examined
+the trunk carefully. There was no mistake about small particles of
+black swamp muck adhering to the sides of the tree. He reached the low
+branches and climbed the willow. There was earth on the large limb
+crossing Elnora’s window. He stood on it, holding the branch as had
+been done the night before, and looked into the room. He could see very
+little, but he knew that if it had been dark outside and sufficiently
+light for Elnora to study inside he could have seen vividly. He brought
+his face close to the netting, and he could see the bed with its head
+to the east, at its foot the table with the candles and the chair
+before it, and then he knew where the man had been who had heard
+Elnora’s prayer.
+
+Mrs. Comstock had followed around the corner and stood watching him.
+“Do you think some slinking hulk was up there peekin’ in at Elnora?”
+she demanded indignantly.
+
+“There is muck on the trunk, and plenty on the limb,” said Sinton.
+“Hadn’t you better get a saw and let me take this branch off?”
+
+“No, I hadn’t,” said Mrs. Comstock. “First place, Elnora’s climbed from
+that window on that limb all her life, and it’s hers. Second place, no
+one gets ahead of me after I’ve had warning. Any crow that perches on
+that roost again will get its feathers somewhat scattered. Look along
+the fence, there, and see if you can find where he came in.”
+
+The place was easy to find as was a trail leading for some distance
+west of the cabin.
+
+“You just go home, and don’t fret yourself,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ll
+take care of this. If you should hear the dinner bell at any time in
+the night you come down. But I wouldn’t say anything to Elnora. She
+better keep her mind on her studies, if she’s going to school.”
+
+When the work was finished that night Elnora took her books and went to
+her room to prepare some lessons, but every few minutes she looked
+toward the swamp to see if there were lights near the case. Mrs.
+Comstock raked together the coals in the cooking stove, got out the
+lunch box, and sitting down she studied it grimly. At last she arose.
+
+“Wonder how it would do to show Mag Sinton a frill or two,” she
+murmured.
+
+She went to her room, knelt before a big black-walnut chest and hunted
+through its contents until she found an old-fashioned cook book. She
+tended the fire as she read and presently was in action. She first
+sawed an end from a fragrant, juicy, sugar-cured ham and put it to
+cook. Then she set a couple of eggs boiling, and after long hesitation
+began creaming butter and sugar in a crock. An hour later the odour of
+the ham, mingled with some of the richest spices of “happy Araby,” in a
+combination that could mean nothing save spice cake, crept up to Elnora
+so strongly that she lifted her head and sniffed amazedly. She would
+have given all her precious money to have gone down and thrown her arms
+around her mother’s neck, but she did not dare move.
+
+Mrs. Comstock was up early, and without a word handed Elnora the case
+as she left the next morning.
+
+“Thank you, mother,” said Elnora, and went on her way.
+
+She walked down the road looking straight ahead until she came to the
+corner, where she usually entered the swamp. She paused, glanced that
+way and smiled. Then she turned and looked back. There was no one
+coming in any direction. She followed the road until well around the
+corner, then she stopped and sat on a grassy spot, laid her books
+beside her and opened the lunch box. Last night’s odours had in a
+measure prepared her for what she would see, but not quite. She
+scarcely could believe her senses. Half the bread compartment was
+filled with dainty sandwiches of bread and butter sprinkled with the
+yolk of egg and the remainder with three large slices of the most
+fragrant spice cake imaginable. The meat dish contained shaved cold
+ham, of which she knew the quality, the salad was tomatoes and celery,
+and the cup held preserved pear, clear as amber. There was milk in the
+bottle, two tissue-wrapped cucumber pickles in the folding
+drinking-cup, and a fresh napkin in the ring. No lunch was ever
+daintier or more palatable; of that Elnora was perfectly sure. And her
+mother had prepared it for her! “She does love me!” cried the happy
+girl. “Sure as you’re born she loves me; only she hasn’t found it out
+yet!”
+
+She touched the papers daintily, and smiled at the box as if it were a
+living thing. As she began closing it a breath of air swept by, lifting
+the covering of the cake. It was like an invitation, and breakfast was
+several hours away. Elnora picked up a piece and ate it. That cake
+tasted even better than it looked. Then she tried a sandwich. How did
+her mother come to think of making them that way. They never had any at
+home. She slipped out the fork, sampled the salad, and one-quarter of
+pear. Then she closed the box and started down the road nibbling one of
+the pickles and trying to decide exactly how happy she was, but she
+could find no standard high enough for a measure.
+
+She was to go to the Bird Woman’s after school for the last load from
+the case. Saturday she would take the arrow points and specimens to the
+bank. That would exhaust her present supplies and give her enough money
+ahead to pay for books, tuition, and clothes for at least two years.
+She would work early and late gathering nuts. In October she would sell
+all the ferns she could find. She must collect specimens of all tree
+leaves before they fell, gather nests and cocoons later, and keep her
+eyes wide open for anything the grades could use. She would see the
+superintendent that night about selling specimens to the ward
+buildings. She must be ahead of any one else if she wanted to furnish
+these things. So she approached the bridge.
+
+That it was occupied could be seen from a distance. As she came up she
+found the small boy of yesterday awaiting her with a confident smile.
+
+“We brought you something!” he announced without greeting. “This is
+Jimmy and Belle—and we brought you a present.”
+
+He offered a parcel wrapped in brown paper.
+
+“Why, how lovely of you!” said Elnora. “I supposed you had forgotten me
+when you ran away so fast yesterday.”
+
+“Naw, I didn’t forget you,” said the boy. “I wouldn’t forget you, not
+ever! Why, I was ist a-hurrying to take them things to Jimmy and Belle.
+My they was glad!”
+
+Elnora glanced at the children. They sat on the edge of the bridge,
+obviously clad in a garment each, very dirty and unkept, a little boy
+and a girl of about seven and nine. Elnora’s heart began to ache.
+
+“Say,” said the boy. “Ain’t you going to look what we have gave you?”
+
+“I thought it wasn’t polite to look before people,” answered Elnora.
+“Of course, I will, if you would like to have me.”
+
+Elnora opened the package. She had been presented with a quarter of a
+stale loaf of baker’s bread, and a big piece of ancient bologna.
+
+“But don’t you want this yourselves?” she asked in surprise.
+
+“Gosh, no! I mean ist no,” said the boy. “We always have it. We got
+stacks this morning. Pa’s come out of it now, and he’s so sorry he got
+more ’an ever we can eat. Have you had any before?”
+
+“No,” said Elnora, “I never did!”
+
+The boy’s eyes brightened and the girl moved restlessly.
+
+“We thought maybe you hadn’t,” said the boy. “First you ever have, you
+like it real well; but when you don’t have anything else for a long
+time, years an’ years, you git so tired.” He hitched at the string
+which held his trousers and watched Elnora speculatively.
+
+“I don’t s’pose you’d trade what you got in that box for ist old bread
+and bologna now, would you? Mebby you’d like it! And I know, I ist
+know, what you got would taste like heaven to Jimmy and Belle. They
+never had nothing like that! Not even Belle, and she’s most ten! No,
+sir-ee, they never tasted things like you got!”
+
+It was in Elnora’s heart to be thankful for even a taste in time, as
+she knelt on the bridge, opened the box and divided her lunch into
+three equal parts, the smaller boy getting most of the milk. Then she
+told them it was school time and she must go.
+
+“Why don’t you put your bread and bologna in the nice box?” asked the
+boy.
+
+“Of course,” said Elnora. “I didn’t think.”
+
+When the box was arranged to the children’s satisfaction all of them
+accompanied Elnora to the corner where she turned toward the high
+school.
+
+“Billy,” said Elnora, “I would like you much better if you were
+cleaner. Surely, you have water! Can’t you children get some soap and
+wash yourselves? Gentlemen are never dirty. You want to be a gentleman,
+don’t you?”
+
+“Is being clean all you have to do to be a gentleman?”
+
+“No,” said Elnora. “You must not say bad words, and you must be kind
+and polite to your sister.”
+
+“Must Belle be kind and polite to me, else she ain’t a lady?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then Belle’s no lady!” said Billy succinctly.
+
+Elnora could say nothing more just then, and she bade them good-bye and
+started them home.
+
+“The poor little souls!” she mused. “I think the Almighty put them in
+my way to show me real trouble. I won’t be likely to spend much time
+pitying myself while I can see them.” She glanced at the lunchbox.
+“What on earth do I carry this for? I never had anything that was so
+strictly ornamental! One sure thing! I can’t take this stuff to the
+high school. You never seem to know exactly what is going to happen to
+you while you are there.”
+
+As if to provide a way out of her difficulty a big dog arose from a
+lawn, and came toward the gate wagging his tail. “If those children ate
+the stuff, it can’t possibly kill him!” thought Elnora, so she offered
+the bologna. The dog accepted it graciously, and being a beast of
+pedigree he trotted around to a side porch and laid the bologna before
+his mistress. The woman snatched it, screaming: “Come, quick! Some one
+is trying to poison Pedro!” Her daughter came running from the house.
+“Go see who is on the street. Hurry!” cried the excited mother.
+
+Ellen Brownlee ran and looked. Elnora was half a block away, and no one
+nearer. Ellen called loudly, and Elnora stopped. Ellen came running
+toward her.
+
+“Did you see any one give our dog something?” she cried as she
+approached.
+
+Elnora saw no escape.
+
+“I gave it a piece of bologna myself,” she said. “It was fit to eat. It
+wouldn’t hurt the dog.”
+
+Ellen stood and looked at her. “Of course, I didn’t know it was your
+dog,” explained Elnora. “I had something I wanted to throw to some dog,
+and that one looked big enough to manage it.”
+
+Ellen had arrived at her conclusions. “Pass over that lunch box,” she
+demanded.
+
+“I will not!” said Elnora.
+
+“Then I will have you arrested for trying to poison our dog,” laughed
+the girl as she took the box.
+
+“One chunk of stale bread, one half mile of antique bologna contributed
+for dog feed; the remains of cake, salad and preserves in an otherwise
+empty lunch box. One ham sandwich yesterday. I think it’s lovely you
+have the box. Who ate your lunch to-day?”
+
+“Same,” confessed Elnora, “but there were three of them this time.”
+
+“Wait, until I run back and tell mother about the dog, and get my
+books.”
+
+Elnora waited. That morning she walked down the hall and into the
+auditorium beside one of the very nicest girls in Onabasha, and it was
+the fourth day. But the surprise came at noon when Ellen insisted upon
+Elnora lunching at the Brownlee home, and convulsed her parents and
+family, and overwhelmed Elnora with a greatly magnified, but moderately
+accurate history of her lunch box.
+
+“Gee! but it’s a box, daddy!” cried the laughing girl. “It’s carved
+leather and fastens with a strap that has her name on it. Inside are
+trays for things all complete, and it bears evidence of having enclosed
+delicious food, but Elnora never gets any. She’s carried it two days
+now, and both times it has been empty before she reached school. Isn’t
+that killing?”
+
+“It is, Ellen, in more ways than one. No girl is going to eat breakfast
+at six o’clock, walk three miles, and do good work without her lunch.
+You can’t tell me anything about that box. I sold it last Monday night
+to Wesley Sinton, one of my good country customers. He told me it was a
+present for a girl who was worthy of it, and I see he was right.”
+
+“He’s so good to me,” said Elnora. “Sometimes I look at him and wonder
+if a neighbour can be so kind to one, what a real father would be like.
+I envy a girl with a father unspeakably.”
+
+“You have cause,” said Ellen Brownlee. “A father is the very dearest
+person in the whole round world, except a mother, who is just a dear.”
+The girl, starting to pay tribute to her father, saw that she must
+include her mother, and said the thing before she remembered what Mrs.
+Sinton had told the girls in the store. She stopped in dismay. Elnora’s
+face paled a trifle, but she smiled bravely.
+
+“Then I’m fortunate in having a mother,” she said.
+
+Mr. Brownlee lingered at the table after the girls had excused
+themselves and returned to school.
+
+“There’s a girl Ellen can’t see too much of, in my opinion,” he said.
+“She is every inch a lady, and not a foolish notion or action about
+her. I can’t understand just what combination of circumstances produced
+her in this day.”
+
+“It has been an unusual case of repression, for one thing. She waits on
+her elders and thinks before she speaks,” said Mrs. Brownlee.
+
+“She’s mighty pretty. She looks so sound and wholesome, and she’s
+neatly dressed.”
+
+“Ellen says she was a fright the first two days. Long brown calico
+dress almost touching the floor, and big, lumbering shoes. Those Sinton
+people bought her clothes. Ellen was in the store, and the woman
+stopped her crowd and asked them about their dresses. She said the girl
+was not poor, but her mother was selfish and didn’t care for her. But
+Elnora showed a bank book the next day, and declared that she paid for
+the things herself, so the Sinton people must just have selected them.
+There’s something peculiar about it, but nothing wrong I am sure. I’ll
+encourage Ellen to ask her again.”
+
+“I should say so, especially if she is going to keep on giving away her
+lunch.”
+
+“She lunched with the Bird Woman one day this week.”
+
+“She did!”
+
+“Yes, she lives out by the Limberlost. You know the Bird Woman works
+there a great deal, and probably knows her that way. I think the girl
+gathers specimens for her. Ellen says she knows more than the teachers
+about any nature question that comes up, and she is going to lead all
+of them in mathematics, and make them work in any branch.”
+
+When Elnora entered the coat room after having had luncheon with Ellen
+Brownlee there was such a difference in the atmosphere that she could
+feel it.
+
+“I am almost sorry I have these clothes,” she said to Ellen.
+
+“In the name of sense, why?” cried the astonished girl.
+
+“Every one is so nice to me in them, it sets me to wondering if in time
+I could have made them be equally friendly in the others.”
+
+Ellen looked at her introspectively. “I believe you could,” she
+announced at last. “But it would have taken time and heartache, and
+your mind would have been less free to work on your studies. No one is
+happy without friends, and I just simply can’t study when I am
+unhappy.”
+
+That night the Bird Woman made the last trip to the swamp. Every
+specimen she possibly could use had been purchased at a fair price, and
+three additions had been made to the bank book, carrying the total a
+little past two hundred dollars. There remained the Indian relics to
+sell on Saturday, and Elnora had secured the order to furnish material
+for nature work for the grades. Life suddenly grew very full. There was
+the most excitingly interesting work for every hour, and that work was
+to pay high school expenses and start the college fund. There was one
+little rift in her joy. All of it would have been so much better if she
+could have told her mother, and given the money into her keeping; but
+the struggle to get a start had been so terrible, Elnora was afraid to
+take the risk. When she reached home, she only told her mother that the
+last of the things had been sold that evening.
+
+“I think,” said Mrs. Comstock, “that we will ask Wesley to move that
+box over here back of the garden for you. There you are apt to get
+tolled farther into the swamp than you intend to go, and you might mire
+or something. There ought to be just the same things in our woods, and
+along our swampy places, as there are in the Limberlost. Can’t you hunt
+your stuff here?”
+
+“I can try,” said Elnora. “I don’t know what I can find until I do. Our
+woods are undisturbed, and there is a possibility they might be even
+better hunting than the swamp. But I wouldn’t have Freckles’s case
+moved for the world. He might come back some day, and not like it. I’ve
+tried to keep his room the best I could, and taking out the box would
+make a big hole in one side of it. Store boxes don’t cost much. I will
+have Uncle Wesley buy me one, and set it up wherever hunting looks the
+best, early in the spring. I would feel safer at home.”
+
+“Shall we do the work or have supper first?”
+
+“Let’s do the work,” said Elnora. “I can’t say that I’m hungry now.
+Doesn’t seem as if I ever could be hungry again with such a lunch. I am
+quite sure no one carried more delicious things to eat than I.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock was pleased. “I put in a pretty good hunk of cake. Did
+you divide it with any one?”
+
+“Why, yes, I did,” admitted Elnora.
+
+“Who?”
+
+This was becoming uncomfortable. “I ate the biggest piece myself,” said
+Elnora, “and gave the rest to a couple of boys named Jimmy and Billy
+and a girl named Belle. They said it was the very best cake they ever
+tasted in all their lives.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock sat straight. “I used to be a master hand at spice cake,”
+she boasted. “But I’m a little out of practice. I must get to work
+again. With the very weeds growing higher than our heads, we should
+raise plenty of good stuff to eat on this land, if we can’t afford
+anything else but taxes.”
+
+Elnora laughed and hurried up stairs to change her dress. Margaret
+Sinton came that night bringing a beautiful blue one in its place, and
+carried away the other to launder.
+
+“Do you mean to say those dresses are to be washed every two days?”
+questioned Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“They have to be, to look fresh,” replied Margaret. “We want our girl
+sweet as a rose.”
+
+“Well, of all things!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Every two days! Any girl
+who can’t keep a dress clean longer than that is a dirty girl. You’ll
+wear the goods out and fade the colours with so much washing.”
+
+“We’ll have a clean girl, anyway.”
+
+“Well, if you like the job you can have it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I
+don’t mind the washing, but I’m so inconvenient with an iron.”
+
+Elnora sat late that night working over her lessons. The next morning
+she put on her blue dress and ribbon and in those she was a picture.
+Mrs. Comstock caught her breath with a queer stirring around her heart,
+and looked twice to be sure of what she saw. As Elnora gathered her
+books her mother silently gave her the lunch box.
+
+“Feels heavy,” said Elnora gaily. “And smelly! Like as not I’ll be
+called upon to divide again.”
+
+“Then you divide!” said Mrs. Comstock. “Eating is the one thing we
+don’t have to economize on, Elnora. Spite of all I can do food goes to
+waste in this soil every day. If you can give some of those city
+children a taste of the real thing, why, don’t be selfish.”
+
+Elnora went down the road thinking of the city children with whom she
+probably would divide. Of course, the bridge would be occupied again.
+So she stopped and opened the box.
+
+“I don’t want to be selfish,” murmured Elnora, “but it really seems as
+if I can’t give away this lunch. If mother did not put love into it,
+she’s substituted something that’s likely to fool me.”
+
+She almost felt her steps lagging as she approached the bridge. A very
+hungry dog had been added to the trio of children. Elnora loved all
+dogs, and as usual, this one came to her in friendliness. The children
+said “Good morning!” with alacrity, and another paper parcel lay
+conspicuous.
+
+“How are you this morning?” inquired Elnora.
+
+“All right!” cried the three, while the dog sniffed ravenously at the
+lunch box, and beat a perfect tattoo with his tail.
+
+“How did you like the bologna?” questioned Billy eagerly.
+
+“One of the girls took me to lunch at her home yesterday,” answered
+Elnora.
+
+Dawn broke beautifully over Billy’s streaked face. He caught the
+package and thrust it toward Elnora.
+
+“Then maybe you’d like to try the bologna to-day!”
+
+The dog leaped in glad apprehension of something, and Belle scrambled
+to her feet and took a step forward. The look of famished greed in her
+eyes was more than Elnora could endure. It was not that she cared for
+the food so much. Good things to eat had been in abundance all her
+life. She wanted with this lunch to try to absorb what she felt must be
+an expression of some sort from her mother, and if it were not a
+manifestation of love, she did not know what to think it. But it was
+her mother who had said “be generous.” She knelt on the bridge. “Keep
+back the dog!” she warned the elder boy.
+
+She opened the box and divided the milk between Billy and the girl. She
+gave each a piece of cake leaving one and a sandwich. Billy pressed
+forward eagerly, bitter disappointment on his face, and the elder boy
+forgot his charge.
+
+“Aw, I thought they’d be meat!” lamented Billy.
+
+Elnora could not endure that.
+
+“There is!” she said gladly. “There is a little pigeon bird. I want a
+teeny piece of the breast, for a sort of keepsake, just one bite, and
+you can have the rest among you.”
+
+Elnora drew the knife from its holder and cut off the wishbone. Then
+she held the bird toward the girl.
+
+“You can divide it,” she said. The dog made a bound and seizing the
+squab sprang from the bridge and ran for life. The girl and boy hurried
+after him. With awful eyes Billy stared and swore tempestuously. Elnora
+caught him and clapped her hand over the little mouth. A delivery wagon
+came tearing down the street, the horse running full speed, passed the
+fleeing dog with the girl and boy in pursuit, and stopped at the
+bridge. High school girls began to roll from all sides of it.
+
+“A rescue! A rescue!” they shouted.
+
+It was Ellen Brownlee and her crowd, and every girl of them carried a
+big parcel. They took in the scene as they approached. The fleeing dog
+with something in its mouth, the half-naked girl and boy chasing it
+told the story. Those girls screamed with laughter as they watched the
+pursuit.
+
+“Thank goodness, I saved the wishbone!” said Elnora. “As usual, I can
+prove that there was a bird.” She turned toward the box. Billy had
+improved the time. He had the last piece of cake in one hand, and the
+last bite of salad disappeared in one great gulp. Then the girls
+shouted again.
+
+“Let’s have a sample ourselves,” suggested one. She caught up the box
+and handed out the remaining sandwich. Another girl divided it into
+bites each little over an inch square, and then she lifted the cup lid
+and deposited a preserved strawberry on each bite. “One, two, three,
+altogether now!” she cried.
+
+“You old mean things!” screamed Billy.
+
+In an instant he was down in the road and handfuls of dust began to fly
+among them. The girls scattered before him.
+
+“Billy!” cried Elnora. “Billy! I’ll never give you another bite, if you
+throw dust on any one!”
+
+Then Billy dropped the dust, bored both fists into his eyes, and fled
+sobbing into Elnora’s new blue skirt. She stooped to meet him and
+consolation began. Those girls laughed on. They screamed and shouted
+until the little bridge shook.
+
+“To-morrow might as well be a clear day,” said Ellen, passing around
+and feeding the remaining berries to the girls as they could compose
+themselves enough to take them. “Billy, I admire your taste more than
+your temper.”
+
+Elnora looked up. “The little soul is nothing but skin and bones,” she
+said. “I never was really hungry myself; were any of you?”
+
+“Well, I should say so,” cried a plump, rosy girl. “I’m famished right
+now. Let’s have breakfast immediate!”
+
+“We got to refill this box first!” said Ellen Brownlee. “Who’s got the
+butter?” A girl advanced with a wooden tray.
+
+“Put it in the preserve cup, a little strawberry flavour won’t hurt it.
+Next!” called Ellen.
+
+A loaf of bread was produced and Ellen cut off a piece which filled the
+sandwich box.
+
+“Next!” A bottle of olives was unwrapped. The grocer’s boy who was
+waiting opened that, and Ellen filled the salad dish.
+
+“Next!”
+
+A bag of macaroons was produced and the cake compartment filled.
+
+“Next!”
+
+“I don’t suppose this will make quite as good dog feed as a bird,”
+laughed a girl holding open a bag of sliced ham while Ellen filled the
+meat dish.
+
+“Next!”
+
+A box of candy was handed her and she stuffed every corner of the lunch
+box with chocolates and nougat. Then it was closed and formally
+presented to Elnora. The girls each helped themselves to candy and
+olives, and gave Billy the remainder of the food. Billy took one bite
+of ham, and approved. Belle and Jimmy had given up chasing the dog, and
+angry and ashamed, stood waiting half a block away.
+
+“Come back!” cried Billy. “You great big dunces, come back! They’s a
+new kind of meat, and cake and candy.”
+
+The boy delayed, but the girl joined Billy. Ellen wiped her fingers,
+stepped to the cement abutment and began reciting “Horatio at the
+Bridge!” substituting Elnora wherever the hero appeared in the lines.
+
+Elnora gathered up the sacks, and gave them to Belle, telling her to
+take the food home, cut and spread the bread, set things on the table,
+and eat nicely.
+
+Then Elnora was taken into the wagon with the girls, and driven on the
+run to the high school. They sang a song beginning—
+
+“Elnora, please give me a sandwich.
+I’m ashamed to ask for cake!”
+
+
+as they went. Elnora did not know it, but that was her initiation. She
+belonged to “the crowd.” She only knew that she was happy, and vaguely
+wondered what her mother and Aunt Margaret would have said about the
+proceedings.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK MANIPULATES MARGARET AND BILLY ACQUIRES A
+RESIDENCE
+
+
+Saturday morning Elnora helped her mother with the work. When she had
+finished Mrs. Comstock told her to go to Sintons’ and wash her Indian
+relics, so that she would be ready to accompany Wesley to town in the
+afternoon. Elnora hurried down the road and was soon at the cistern
+with a tub busily washing arrow points, stone axes, tubes, pipes, and
+skin-cleaning implements.
+
+Then she went home, dressed and was waiting when the carriage reached
+the gate. She stopped at the bank with the box, and Sinton went to do
+his marketing and some shopping for his wife.
+
+At the dry goods store Mr. Brownlee called to him, “Hello, Sinton! How
+do you like the fate of your lunch box?” Then he began to laugh—
+
+“I always hate to see a man laughing alone,” said Sinton. “It looks so
+selfish! Tell me the fun, and let me help you.”
+
+Mr. Brownlee wiped his eyes.
+
+“I supposed you knew, but I see she hasn’t told.”
+
+Then the three days’ history of the lunch box was repeated with
+particulars which included the dog.
+
+“Now laugh!” concluded Mr. Brownlee.
+
+“Blest if I see anything funny!” replied Wesley Sinton. “And if you had
+bought that box and furnished one of those lunches yourself, you
+wouldn’t either. I call such a work a shame! I’ll have it stopped.”
+
+“Some one must see to that, all right. They are little leeches. Their
+father earns enough to support them, but they have no mother, and they
+run wild. I suppose they are crazy for cooked food. But it is funny,
+and when you think it over you will see it, if you don’t now.”
+
+“About where would a body find that father?” inquired Wesley Sinton
+grimly. Mr. Brownlee told him and he started, locating the house with
+little difficulty. House was the proper word, for of home there was no
+sign. Just a small empty house with three unkept little children racing
+through and around it. The girl and the elder boy hung back, but dirty
+little Billy greeted Sinton with: “What you want here?”
+
+“I want to see your father,” said Sinton.
+
+“Well, he’s asleep,” said Billy.
+
+“Where?” asked Sinton.
+
+“In the house,” answered Billy, “and you can’t wake him.”
+
+“Well, I’ll try,” said Wesley.
+
+Billy led the way. “There he is!” he said. “He is drunk again.”
+
+On a dirty mattress in a corner lay a man who appeared to be strong and
+well. Billy was right. You could not awake him. He had gone the limit,
+and a little beyond.
+
+He was now facing eternity. Sinton went out and closed the door.
+
+“Your father is sick and needs help,” he said. “You stay here, and I
+will send a man to see him.”
+
+“If you just let him ’lone, he’ll sleep it off,” volunteered Billy.
+“He’s that way all the time, but he wakes up and gets us something to
+eat after awhile. Only waitin’ twists you up inside pretty bad.”
+
+The boy wore no air of complaint. He was merely stating facts.
+
+Wesley Sinton looked intently at Billy. “Are you twisted up inside
+now?” he asked.
+
+Billy laid a grimy hand on the region of his stomach and the filthy
+little waist sank close to the backbone. “Bet yer life, boss,” he said
+cheerfully.
+
+“How long have you been twisted?” asked Sinton.
+
+Billy appealed to the others. “When was it we had the stuff on the
+bridge?”
+
+“Yesterday morning,” said the girl.
+
+“Is that all gone?” asked Sinton.
+
+“She went and told us to take it home,” said Billy ruefully, “and ’cos
+she said to, we took it. Pa had come back, he was drinking some more,
+and he ate a lot of it—almost the whole thing, and it made him sick as
+a dog, and he went and wasted all of it. Then he got drunk some more,
+and now he’s asleep again. We didn’t get hardly none.”
+
+“You children sit on the steps until the man comes,” said Sinton. “I’ll
+send you some things to eat with him. What’s your name, sonny?”
+
+“Billy,” said the boy.
+
+“Well, Billy, I guess you better come with me. I’ll take care of him,”
+Sinton promised the others. He reached a hand to Billy.
+
+“I ain’t no baby, I’m a boy!” said Billy, as he shuffled along beside
+Sinton, taking a kick at every movable object without regard to his
+battered toes.
+
+Once they passed a Great Dane dog lolling after its master, and Billy
+ascended Sinton as if he were a tree, and clung to him with trembling
+hot hands.
+
+“I ain’t afraid of that dog,” scoffed Billy, as he was again placed on
+the walk, “but onc’t he took me for a rat or somepin’ and his teeth cut
+into my back. If I’d a done right, I’d a took the law on him.”
+
+Sinton looked down into the indignant little face. The child was bright
+enough, he had a good head, but oh, such a body!
+
+“I ’bout got enough of dogs,” said Billy. “I used to like ’em, but I’m
+getting pretty tired. You ought to seen the lickin’ Jimmy and Belle and
+me give our dog when we caught him, for taking a little bird she gave
+us. We waited ’till he was asleep ’nen laid a board on him and all of
+us jumped on it to onc’t. You could a heard him yell a mile. Belle said
+mebbe we could squeeze the bird out of him. But, squeeze nothing! He
+was holler as us, and that bird was lost long ’fore it got to his
+stummick. It was ist a little one, anyway. Belle said it wouldn’t ’a’
+made a bite apiece for three of us nohow, and the dog got one good
+swaller. We didn’t get much of the meat, either. Pa took most of that.
+Seems like pas and dogs gets everything.”
+
+Billy laughed dolefully. Involuntarily Wesley Sinton reached his hand.
+They were coming into the business part of Onabasha and the streets
+were crowded. Billy understood it to mean that he might lose his
+companion and took a grip. That little hot hand clinging tight to his,
+the sore feet recklessly scouring the walk, the hungry child panting
+for breath as he tried to keep even, the brave soul jesting in the face
+of hard luck, caught Sinton in a tender, empty spot.
+
+“Say, son,” he said. “How would you like to be washed clean, and have
+all the supper your skin could hold, and sleep in a good bed?”
+
+“Aw, gee!” said Billy. “I ain’t dead yet! Them things is in heaven!
+Poor folks can’t have them. Pa said so.”
+
+“Well, you can have them if you want to go with me and get them,”
+promised Sinton.
+
+“Honest?”
+
+“Yes, honest.”
+
+“Crost yer heart?”
+
+“Yes,” said Sinton.
+
+“Kin I take some to Jimmy and Belle?”
+
+“If you’ll come with me and be my boy, I’ll see that they have plenty.”
+
+“What will pa say?”
+
+“Your pa is in that kind of sleep now where he won’t wake up, Billy,”
+said Sinton. “I am pretty sure the law will give you to me, if you want
+to come.”
+
+“When people don’t ever wake up they’re dead,” announced Billy. “Is my
+pa dead?”
+
+“Yes, he is,” answered Sinton.
+
+“And you’ll take care of Jimmy and Belle, too?”
+
+“I can’t adopt all three of you,” said Sinton. “I’ll take you, and see
+that they are well provided for. Will you come?”
+
+“Yep, I’ll come,” said Billy. “Let’s eat, first thing we do.”
+
+“All right,” agreed Sinton. “Come into this restaurant.” He lifted
+Billy to the lunch counter and ordered the clerk to give him as many
+glasses of milk as he wanted, and a biscuit. “I think there’s going to
+be fried chicken when we get home, Billy,” he said, “so you just take
+the edge off now, and fill up later.”
+
+While Billy lunched Sinton called up the different departments and
+notified the proper authorities ending with the Women’s Relief
+Association. He sent a basket of food to Belle and Jimmy, bought Billy
+a pair of trousers, and a shirt, and went to bring Elnora.
+
+“Why, Uncle Wesley!” cried the girl. “Where did you find Billy?”
+
+“I’ve adopted him for the time being, if not longer,” replied Wesley
+Sinton.
+
+“Where did you get him?”
+
+“Well, young woman,” said Wesley Sinton, “Mr. Brownlee told me the
+history of your lunch box. It didn’t seem so funny to me as it does to
+the rest of them; so I went to look up the father of Billy’s family,
+and make him take care of them, or allow the law to do it for him. It
+will have to be the law.”
+
+“He’s deader than anything!” broke in Billy. “He can’t ever take all
+the meat any more.”
+
+“Billy!” gasped Elnora.
+
+“Never you mind!” said Sinton. “A child doesn’t say such things about a
+father who loved and raised him right. When it happens, the father
+alone is to blame. You won’t hear Billy talk like that about me when I
+cross over.”
+
+“You don’t mean you are going to take him to keep!”
+
+“I’ll soon need help,” said Wesley. “Billy will come in just about
+right ten years from now, and if I raise him I’ll have him the way I
+want him.”
+
+“But Aunt Margaret doesn’t like boys,” objected Elnora.
+
+“Well, she likes me, and I used to be a boy. Anyway, as I remember she
+has had her way about everything at our house ever since we were
+married. I am going to please myself about Billy. Hasn’t she always
+done just as she chose so far as you know? Honest, Elnora!”
+
+“Honest!” replied Elnora. “You are beautiful to all of us, Uncle
+Wesley; but Aunt Margaret won’t like Billy. She won’t want him in her
+home.”
+
+“In our home,” corrected Wesley.
+
+“What makes you want him?” marvelled Elnora.
+
+“God only knows,” said Sinton. “Billy ain’t so beautiful, and he ain’t
+so smart, I guess it’s because he’s so human. My heart goes out to
+him.”
+
+“So did mine,” said Elnora. “I love him. I’d rather see him eat my
+lunch than have it myself any time.”
+
+“What makes you like him?” asked Wesley.
+
+“Why, I don’t know,” pondered Elnora. “He’s so little, he needs so
+much, he’s got such splendid grit, and he’s perfectly unselfish with
+his brother and sister. But we must wash him before Aunt Margaret sees
+him. I wonder if mother——”
+
+“You needn’t bother. I’m going to take him home the way he is,” said
+Sinton. “I want Maggie to see the worst of it.”
+
+“I’m afraid——” began Elnora.
+
+“So am I,” said Wesley, “but I won’t give him up. He’s taken a sort of
+grip on my heart. I’ve always been crazy for a boy. Don’t let him hear
+us.”
+
+“Don’t let him be killed!” cried Elnora. During their talk Billy had
+wandered to the edge of the walk and barely escaped the wheels of a
+passing automobile in an effort to catch a stray kitten that seemed in
+danger.
+
+Wesley drew Billy back to the walk, and held his hand closely. “Are you
+ready, Elnora?”
+
+“Yes; you were gone a long time,” she said.
+
+Wesley glanced at a package she carried. “Have to have another book?”
+he asked.
+
+“No, I bought this for mother. I’ve had such splendid luck selling my
+specimens, I didn’t feel right about keeping all the money for myself,
+so I saved enough from the Indian relics to get a few things I wanted.
+I would have liked to have gotten her a dress, but I didn’t dare, so I
+compromised on a book.”
+
+“What did you select, Elnora?” asked Wesley wonderingly.
+
+“Well,” said she, “I have noticed mother always seemed interested in
+anything Mark Twain wrote in the newspapers, and I thought it would
+cheer her up a little, so I just got his ‘Innocents Abroad.’ I haven’t
+read it myself, but I’ve seen mention made of it all my life, and the
+critics say it’s genuine fun.”
+
+“Good!” cried Sinton. “Good! You’ve made a splendid choice. It will
+take her mind off herself a lot. But she will scold you.”
+
+“Of course,” assented Elnora. “But, possibly she will read it, and feel
+better. I’m going to serve her a trick. I am going to hide it until
+Monday, and set it on her little shelf of books the last thing before I
+go away. She must have all of them by heart. When she sees a new one
+she can’t help being glad, for she loves to read, and if she has all
+day to become interested, maybe she’ll like it so she won’t scold so
+much.”
+
+“We are both in for it, but I guess we are prepared. I don’t know what
+Margaret will say, but I’m going to take Billy home and see. Maybe he
+can win with her, as he did with us.”
+
+Elnora had doubts, but she did not say anything more. When they started
+home Billy sat on the front seat. He drove with the hitching strap tied
+to the railing of the dash-board, flourished the whip, and yelled with
+delight. At first Sinton laughed with him, but by the time he left
+Elnora with several packages at her gate, he was looking serious
+enough.
+
+Margaret was at the door as they drove up the lane. Wesley left Billy
+in the carriage, hitched the horses and went to explain to her. He had
+not reached her before she cried, “Look, Wesley, that child! You’ll
+have a runaway!”
+
+Wesley looked and ran. Billy was standing in the carriage slashing the
+mettlesome horses with the whip.
+
+“See me make ’em go!” he shouted as the whip fell a second time.
+
+He did make them go. They took the hitching post and a few fence
+palings, which scraped the paint from a wheel. Sinton missed the lines
+at the first effort, but the dragging post impeded the horses, and he
+soon caught them. He led them to the barn, and ordered Billy to remain
+in the carriage while he unhitched. Then leading Billy and carrying his
+packages he entered the yard.
+
+“You run play a few minutes, Billy,” he said. “I want to talk to the
+nice lady.”
+
+The nice lady was looking rather stupefied as Wesley approached her.
+
+“Where in the name of sense did you get that awful child?” she
+demanded.
+
+“He is a young gentleman who has been stopping Elnora and eating her
+lunch every day, part of the time with the assistance of his brother
+and sister, while our girl went hungry. Brownlee told me about it at
+the store. It’s happened three days running. The first time she went
+without anything, the second time Brownlee’s girl took her to lunch,
+and the third a crowd of high school girls bought a lot of stuff and
+met them at the bridge. The youngsters seemed to think they could rob
+her every day, so I went to see their father about having it stopped.”
+
+“Well, I should think so!” cried Margaret.
+
+“There were three of them, Margaret,” said Wesley, “that little
+fellow——”
+
+“Hyena, you mean,” interpolated Margaret.
+
+“Hyena,” corrected Wesley gravely, “and another boy and a girl, all
+equally dirty and hungry. The man was dead. They thought he was in a
+drunken sleep, but he was stone dead. I brought the little boy with me,
+and sent the officers and other help to the house. He’s half starved. I
+want to wash him, and put clean clothes on him, and give him some
+supper.”
+
+“Have you got anything to put on him?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Where did you get it?”
+
+“Bought it. It ain’t much. All I got didn’t cost a dollar.”
+
+“A dollar is a good deal when you work and save for it the way we do.”
+
+“Well, I don’t know a better place to put it. Have you got any hot
+water? I’ll use this tub at the cistern. Please give me some soap and
+towels.”
+
+Instead Margaret pushed by him with a shriek. Billy had played by
+producing a cord from his pocket, and having tied the tails of
+Margaret’s white kittens together, he had climbed on a box and hung
+them across the clothes line. Wild with fright the kittens were clawing
+each other to death, and the air was white with fur. The string had
+twisted and the frightened creatures could not recognize friends.
+Margaret stepped back with bleeding hands. Sinton cut the cord with his
+knife and the poor little cats raced under the house bleeding and
+disfigured. Margaret white with wrath faced Wesley.
+
+“If you don’t hitch up and take that animal back to town,” she said, “I
+will.”
+
+Billy threw himself on the grass and began to scream.
+
+“You said I could have fried chicken for supper,” he wailed. “You said
+she was a nice lady!”
+
+Wesley lifted him and something in his manner of handling the child
+infuriated Margaret. His touch was so gentle. She reached for Billy and
+gripped his shirt collar in the back. Wesley’s hand closed over hers.
+
+“Gently, girl!” he said. “This little body is covered with sores.”
+
+“Sores!” she ejaculated. “Sores? What kind of sores?”
+
+“Oh, they might be from bruises made by fists or boot toes, or they
+might be bad blood, from wrong eating, or they might be pure filth.
+Will you hand me some towels?”
+
+“No, I won’t!” said Margaret.
+
+“Well, give me some rags, then.”
+
+Margaret compromised on pieces of old tablecloth. Wesley led Billy to
+the cistern, pumped cold water into the tub, poured in a kettle of hot,
+and beginning at the head scoured him. The boy shut his little teeth,
+and said never a word though he twisted occasionally when the soap
+struck a raw spot. Margaret watched the process from the window in
+amazed and ever-increasing anger. Where did Wesley learn it? How could
+his big hands be so gentle? He came to the door.
+
+“Have you got any peroxide?” he asked.
+
+“A little,” she answered stiffly.
+
+“Well, I need about a pint, but I’ll begin on what you have.”
+
+Margaret handed him the bottle. Wesley took a cup, weakened the drug
+and said to Billy: “Man, these sores on you must be healed. Then you
+must eat the kind of food that’s fit for little men. I am going to put
+some medicine on you, and it is going to sting like fire. If it just
+runs off, I won’t use any more. If it boils, there is poison in these
+places, and they must be tied up, dosed every day, and you must be
+washed, and kept mighty clean. Now, hold still, because I am going to
+put it on.”
+
+“I think the one on my leg is the worst,” said the undaunted Billy,
+holding out a raw place. Sinton poured on the drug. Billy’s body
+twisted and writhed, but he did not run.
+
+“Gee, look at it boil!” he cried. “I guess they’s poison. You’ll have
+to do it to all of them.”
+
+Wesley’s teeth were set, as he watched the boy’s face. He poured the
+drug, strong enough to do effective work, on a dozen places over that
+little body and bandaged all he could. Billy’s lips quivered at times,
+and his chin jumped, but he did not shed a tear or utter a sound other
+than to take a deep interest in the boiling. As Wesley put the small
+shirt on the boy, and fastened the trousers, he was ready to reset the
+hitching post and mend the fence without a word.
+
+“Now am I clean?” asked Billy.
+
+“Yes, you are clean outside,” said Wesley. “There is some dirty blood
+in your body, and some bad words in your mouth, that we have to get
+out, but that takes time. If we put right things to eat into your
+stomach that will do away with the sores, and if you know that I don’t
+like bad words you won’t say them any oftener than you can help, will
+you Billy?”
+
+Billy leaned against Wesley in apparent indifference.
+
+“I want to see me!” he demanded.
+
+Wesley led the boy into the house, and lifted him to a mirror.
+
+“My, I’m purty good-looking, ain’t I?” bragged Billy. Then as Wesley
+stooped to set him on the floor Billy’s lips passed close to the big
+man’s ear and hastily whispered a vehement “No!” as he ran for the
+door.
+
+“How long until supper, Margaret?” asked Wesley as he followed.
+
+“You are going to keep him for supper?” she asked
+
+“Sure!” said Wesley. “That’s what I brought him for. It’s likely he
+never had a good square meal of decent food in his life. He’s starved
+to the bone.”
+
+Margaret arose deliberately, removed the white cloth from the supper
+table and substituted an old red one she used to wrap the bread. She
+put away the pretty dishes they commonly used and set the table with
+old plates for pies and kitchen utensils. But she fried the chicken,
+and was generous with milk and honey, snowy bread, gravy, potatoes, and
+fruit.
+
+Wesley repainted the scratched wheel. He mended the fence, with Billy
+holding the nails and handing the pickets. Then he filled the old hole,
+digged a new one and set the hitching post.
+
+Billy hopped on one foot at his task of holding the post steady as the
+earth was packed around it. There was not the shadow of a trouble on
+his little freckled face.
+
+Sinton threw in stones and pounded the earth solid around the post. The
+sound of a gulping sob attracted him to Billy. The tears were rolling
+down his cheeks. “If I’d a knowed you’d have to get down in a hole, and
+work so hard I wouldn’t ’a’ hit the horses,” he said.
+
+“Never you mind, Billy,” said Wesley. “You will know next time, so you
+can think over it, and make up your mind whether you really want to
+before you strike.”
+
+Wesley went to the barn to put away the tools. He thought Billy was at
+his heels, but the boy lagged on the way. A big snowy turkey gobbler
+resented the small intruder in his especial preserves, and with spread
+tail and dragging wings came toward him threateningly. If that turkey
+gobbler had known the sort of things with which Billy was accustomed to
+holding his own, he never would have issued the challenge. Billy
+accepted instantly. He danced around with stiff arms at his sides and
+imitated the gobbler. Then came his opportunity, and he jumped on the
+big turkey’s back. Wesley heard Margaret’s scream in time to see the
+flying leap and admire its dexterity. The turkey tucked its tail and
+scampered. Billy slid from its back and as he fell he clutched wildly,
+caught the folded tail, and instinctively clung to it. The turkey gave
+one scream and relaxed its muscles. Then it fled in disfigured defeat
+to the haystack. Billy scrambled to his feet holding the tail, while
+his eyes were bulging.
+
+“Why, the blasted old thing came off!” he said to Wesley, holding out
+the tail in amazed wonder.
+
+The man, caught suddenly, forgot everything and roared. Seeing which,
+Billy thought a turkey tail of no account and flung that one high above
+him shouting in wild childish laughter, when the feathers scattered and
+fell.
+
+Margaret, watching, began to cry. Wesley had gone mad. For the first
+time in her married life she wanted to tell her mother. When Wesley had
+waited until he was so hungry he could wait no longer he invaded the
+kitchen to find a cooked supper baking on the back of the stove, while
+Margaret with red eyes nursed a pair of demoralized white kittens.
+
+“Is supper ready?” he asked.
+
+“It has been for an hour,” answered Margaret.
+
+“Why didn’t you call us?”
+
+That “us” had too much comradeship in it. It irritated Margaret.
+
+“I supposed it would take you even longer than this to fix things
+decent again. As for my turkey, and my poor little kittens, they don’t
+matter.”
+
+“I am mighty sorry about them, Margaret, you know that. Billy is very
+bright, and he will soon learn——”
+
+“Soon learn!” cried Margaret. “Wesley Sinton, you don’t mean to say
+that you think of keeping that creature here for some time?”
+
+“No, I think of keeping a well-behaved little boy.”
+
+Margaret set the supper on the table. Seeing the old red cloth Wesley
+stared in amazement. Then he understood. Billy capered around in
+delight.
+
+“Ain’t that pretty?” he exulted. “I wish Jimmy and Belle could see. We,
+why we ist eat out of our hands or off a old dry goods box, and when we
+fix up a lot, we have newspaper. We ain’t ever had a nice red cloth
+like this.”
+
+Wesley looked straight at Margaret, so intently that she turned away,
+her face flushing. He stacked the dictionary and the geography of the
+world on a chair, and lifted Billy beside him. He heaped a plate
+generously, cut the food, put a fork into Billy’s little fist, and made
+him eat slowly and properly. Billy did his best. Occasionally greed
+overcame him, and he used his left hand to pop a bite into his mouth
+with his fingers. These lapses Wesley patiently overlooked, and went on
+with his general instructions. Luckily Billy did not spill anything on
+his clothing or the cloth. After supper Wesley took him to the barn
+while he finished the night work. Then he went and sat beside Margaret
+on the front porch. Billy appropriated the hammock, and swung by
+pulling a rope tied around a tree. The very energy with which he went
+at the work of swinging himself appealed to Wesley.
+
+“Mercy, but he’s an active little body,” he said. “There isn’t a lazy
+bone in him. See how he works to pay for his fun.”
+
+“There goes his foot through it!” cried Margaret. “Wesley, he shall not
+ruin my hammock.”
+
+“Of course he shan’t!” said Wesley. “Wait, Billy, let me show you.”
+
+Thereupon he explained to Billy that ladies wearing beautiful white
+dresses sat in hammocks, so little boys must not put their dusty feet
+in them. Billy immediately sat, and allowed his feet to swing.
+
+“Margaret,” said Wesley after a long silence on the porch, “isn’t it
+true that if Billy had been a half-starved sore cat, dog, or animal of
+any sort, that you would have pitied, and helped care for it, and been
+glad to see me get any pleasure out of it I could?”
+
+“Yes,” said Margaret coldly.
+
+“But because I brought a child with an immortal soul, there is no
+welcome.”
+
+“That isn’t a child, it’s an animal.”
+
+“You just said you would have welcomed an animal.”
+
+“Not a wild one. I meant a tame beast.”
+
+“Billy is not a beast!” said Wesley hotly. “He is a very dear little
+boy. Margaret, you’ve always done the church-going and Bible reading
+for this family. How do you reconcile that ‘Suffer little children to
+come unto Me’ with the way you are treating Billy?”
+
+Margaret arose. “I haven’t treated that child. I have only let him
+alone. I can barely hold myself. He needs the hide tanned about off
+him!”
+
+“If you’d cared to look at his body, you’d know that you couldn’t find
+a place to strike without cutting into a raw spot,” said Wesley.
+“Besides, Billy has not done a thing for which a child should be
+punished. He is only full of life, no training, and with a boy’s love
+of mischief. He did abuse your kittens, but an hour before I saw him
+risk his life to save one from being run over. He minds what you tell
+him, and doesn’t do anything he is told not to. He thinks of his
+brother and sister right away when anything pleases him. He took that
+stinging medicine with the grit of a bulldog. He is just a bully little
+chap, and I love him.”
+
+“Oh good heavens!” cried Margaret, going into the house as she spoke.
+
+Sinton sat still. At last Billy tired of the swing, came to him and
+leaned his slight body against the big knee.
+
+“Am I going to sleep here?” he asked.
+
+“Sure you are!” said Sinton.
+
+Billy swung his feet as he laid across Wesley’s knee. “Come on,” said
+Wesley, “I must clean you up for bed.”
+
+“You have to be just awful clean here,” announced Billy. “I like to be
+clean, you feel so good, after the hurt is over.”
+
+Sinton registered that remark, and worked with especial tenderness as
+he redressed the ailing places and washed the dust from Billy’s feet
+and hands.
+
+“Where can he sleep?” he asked Margaret.
+
+“I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered.
+
+“Oh, I can sleep ist any place,” said Billy. “On the floor or anywhere.
+Home, I sleep on pa’s coat on a store-box, and Jimmy and Belle they
+sleep on the storebox, too. I sleep between them, so’s I don’t roll off
+and crack my head. Ain’t you got a storebox and a old coat?”
+
+Wesley arose and opened a folding lounge. Then he brought an armload of
+clean horse blankets from a closet.
+
+“These don’t look like the nice white bed a little boy should have,
+Billy,” he said, “but we’ll make them do. This will beat a storebox all
+hollow.”
+
+Billy took a long leap for the lounge. When he found it bounced, he
+proceeded to bounce, until he was tired. By that time the blankets had
+to be refolded. Wesley had Billy take one end and help, while both of
+them seemed to enjoy the job. Then Billy lay down and curled up in his
+clothes like a small dog. But sleep would not come.
+
+Finally he sat up. He stared around restlessly. Then he arose, went to
+Wesley, and leaned against his knee. He picked up the boy and folded
+his arms around him. Billy sighed in rapturous content.
+
+“That bed feels so lost like,” he said. “Jimmy always jabbed me on one
+side, and Belle on the other, and so I knew I was there. Do you know
+where they are?”
+
+“They are with kind people who gave them a fine supper, a clean bed,
+and will always take good care of them.”
+
+“I wisht I was—” Billy hesitated and looked earnestly at Wesley. “I
+mean I wish they was here.”
+
+“You are about all I can manage, Billy,” said Wesley.
+
+Billy sat up. “Can’t she manage anything?” he asked, waving toward
+Margaret.
+
+“Indeed, yes,” said Wesley. “She has managed me for twenty years.”
+
+“My, but she made you nice!” said Billy. “I just love you. I wisht
+she’d take Jimmy and Belle and make them nice as you.”
+
+“She isn’t strong enough to do that, Billy. They will grow into a good
+boy and girl where they are.”
+
+Billy slid from Wesley’s arms and walked toward Margaret until he
+reached the middle of the room. Then he stopped, and at last sat on the
+floor. Finally he lay down and closed his eyes. “This feels more like
+my bed; if only Jimmy and Belle was here to crowd up a little, so it
+wasn’t so alone like.”
+
+“Won’t I do, Billy?” asked Wesley in a husky voice.
+
+Billy moved restlessly. “Seems like—seems like toward night as if a
+body got kind o’ lonesome for a woman person—like her.”
+
+Billy indicated Margaret and then closed his eyes so tight his small
+face wrinkled.
+
+Soon he was up again. “Wisht I had Snap,” he said. “Oh, I ist wisht I
+had Snap!”
+
+“I thought you laid a board on Snap and jumped on it,” said Wesley.
+
+“We did!” cried Billy—“oh, you ought to heard him squeal!” Billy
+laughed loudly, then his face clouded.
+
+“But I want Snap to lay beside me so bad now—that if he was here I’d
+give him a piece of my chicken, ’fore I ate any. Do you like dogs?”
+
+“Yes, I do,” said Wesley.
+
+Billy was up instantly. “Would you like Snap?”
+
+“I am sure I would,” said Wesley.
+
+“Would she?” Billy indicated Margaret. And then he answered his own
+question. “But of course, she wouldn’t, cos she likes cats, and dogs
+chases cats. Oh, dear, I thought for a minute maybe Snap could come
+here.” Billy lay down and closed his eyes resolutely.
+
+Suddenly they flew open. “Does it hurt to be dead?” he demanded.
+
+“Nothing hurts you after you are dead, Billy,” said Wesley.
+
+“Yes, but I mean does it hurt getting to be dead?”
+
+“Sometimes it does. It did not hurt your father, Billy. It came softly
+while he was asleep.”
+
+“It ist came softly?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I kind o’ wisht he wasn’t dead!” said Billy. “’Course I like to stay
+with you, and the fried chicken, and the nice soft bed, and—and
+everything, and I like to be clean, but he took us to the show, and he
+got us gum, and he never hurt us when he wasn’t drunk.”
+
+Billy drew a deep breath, and tightly closed his eyes. But very soon
+they opened. Then he sat up. He looked at Wesley pitifully, and then he
+glanced at Margaret. “You don’t like boys, do you?” he questioned.
+
+“I like good boys,” said Margaret.
+
+Billy was at her knee instantly. “Well say, I’m a good boy!” he
+announced joyously.
+
+“I do not think boys who hurt helpless kittens and pull out turkeys’
+tails are good boys.”
+
+“Yes, but I didn’t hurt the kittens,” explained Billy. “They got mad
+’bout ist a little fun and scratched each other. I didn’t s’pose they’d
+act like that. And I didn’t pull the turkey’s tail. I ist held on to
+the first thing I grabbed, and the turkey pulled. Honest, it was the
+turkey pulled.” He turned to Wesley. “You tell her! Didn’t the turkey
+pull? I didn’t know its tail was loose, did I?”
+
+“I don’t think you did, Billy,” said Wesley.
+
+Billy stared into Margaret’s cold face. “Sometimes at night, Belle sits
+on the floor, and I lay my head in her lap. I could pull up a chair and
+lay my head in your lap. Like this, I mean.” Billy pulled up a chair,
+climbed on it and laid his head on Margaret’s lap. Then he shut his
+eyes again. Margaret could have looked little more repulsed if he had
+been a snake. Billy was soon up.
+
+“My, but your lap is hard,” he said. “And you are a good deal fatter
+’an Belle, too!” He slid from the chair and came back to the middle of
+the room.
+
+“Oh but I wisht he wasn’t dead!” he cried. The flood broke and Billy
+screamed in desperation.
+
+Out of the night a soft, warm young figure flashed through the door and
+with a swoop caught him in her arms. She dropped into a chair, nestled
+him closely, drooped her fragrant brown head over his little
+bullet-eyed red one, and rocked softly while she crooned over him—
+
+“Billy, boy, where have you been?
+Oh, I have been to seek a wife,
+She’s the joy of my life,
+But then she’s a young thing and she can’t leave her mammy!”
+
+
+Billy clung to her frantically. Elnora wiped his eyes, kissed his face,
+swayed and sang.
+
+“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked at last.
+
+“I don’t know,” said Billy. “I tried. I tried awful hard cos I thought
+he wanted me to, but it ist wouldn’t come. Please tell her I tried.” He
+appealed to Margaret.
+
+“He did try to go to sleep,” admitted Margaret.
+
+“Maybe he can’t sleep in his clothes,” suggested Elnora. “Haven’t you
+an old dressing sacque? I could roll the sleeves.”
+
+Margaret got an old sacque, and Elnora put it on Billy. Then she
+brought a basin of water and bathed his face and head. She gathered him
+up and began to rock again.
+
+“Have you got a pa?” asked Billy.
+
+“No,” said Elnora.
+
+“Is he dead like mine?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did it hurt him to die?”
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+Billy was wide awake again. “It didn’t hurt my pa,” he boasted; “he ist
+died while he was asleep. He didn’t even know it was coming.”
+
+“I am glad of that,” said Elnora, pressing the small head against her
+breast again.
+
+Billy escaped her hand and sat up. “I guess I won’t go to sleep,” he
+said. “It might ’come softly’ and get me.”
+
+“It won’t get you, Billy,” said Elnora, rocking and singing between
+sentences. “It doesn’t get little boys. It just takes big people who
+are sick.”
+
+“Was my pa sick?”
+
+“Yes,” said Elnora. “He had a dreadful sickness inside him that burned,
+and made him drink things. That was why he would forget his little boys
+and girl. If he had been well, he would have gotten you good things to
+eat, clean clothes, and had the most fun with you.”
+
+Billy leaned against her and closed his eyes, and Elnora rocked
+hopefully.
+
+“If I was dead would you cry?” he was up again.
+
+“Yes, I would,” said Elnora, gripping him closer until Billy almost
+squealed with the embrace.
+
+“Do you love me tight as that?” he questioned blissfully.
+
+“Yes, bushels and bushels,” said Elnora. “Better than any little boy in
+the whole world.”
+
+Billy looked at Margaret. “She don’t!” he said. “She’d be glad if it
+would get me ‘softly,’ right now. She don’t want me here ’t all.”
+
+Elnora smothered his face against her breast and rocked.
+
+“You love me, don’t you?”
+
+“I will, if you will go to sleep.”
+
+“Every single day you will give me your dinner for the bologna, won’t
+you,” said Billy.
+
+“Yes, I will,” replied Elnora. “But you will have as good lunch as I do
+after this. You will have milk, eggs, chicken, all kinds of good
+things, little pies, and cakes, maybe.”
+
+Billy shook his head. “I am going back home soon as it is light,” he
+said, “she don’t want me. She thinks I’m a bad boy. She’s going to whip
+me—if he lets her. She said so. I heard her. Oh, I wish he hadn’t died!
+I want to go home.” Billy shrieked again.
+
+Mrs. Comstock had started to walk slowly to meet Elnora. The girl had
+been so late that her mother reached the Sinton gate and followed the
+path until the picture inside became visible. Elnora had told her about
+Wesley taking Billy home. Mrs. Comstock had some curiosity to see how
+Margaret bore the unexpected addition to her family. Billy’s voice,
+raised with excitement, was plainly audible. She could see Elnora
+holding him, and hear his excited wail. Wesley’s face was drawn and
+haggard, and Margaret’s set and defiant. A very imp of perversity
+entered the breast of Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Hoity, toity!” she said as she suddenly appeared in the door. “Blest
+if I ever heard a man making sounds like that before!”
+
+Billy ceased suddenly. Mrs. Comstock was tall, angular, and her hair
+was prematurely white. She was only thirty-six, although she appeared
+fifty. But there was an expression on her usually cold face that was
+attractive just then, and Billy was in search of attractions.
+
+“Have I stayed too late, mother?” asked Elnora anxiously. “I truly
+intended to come straight back, but I thought I could rock Billy to
+sleep first. Everything is strange, and he’s so nervous.”
+
+“Is that your ma?” demanded Billy.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Does she love you?”
+
+“Of course!”
+
+“My mother didn’t love me,” said Billy. “She went away and left me, and
+never came back. She don’t care what happens to me. You wouldn’t go
+away and leave your little girl, would you?” questioned Billy.
+
+“No,” said Katharine Comstock, “and I wouldn’t leave a little boy,
+either.”
+
+Billy began sliding from Elnora’s knees.
+
+“Do you like boys?” he questioned.
+
+“If there is anything I love it is a boy,” said Mrs. Comstock
+assuringly. Billy was on the floor.
+
+“Do you like dogs?”
+
+“Yes. Almost as well as boys. I am going to buy a dog as soon as I can
+find a good one.”
+
+Billy swept toward her with a whoop.
+
+“Do you want a boy?” he shouted.
+
+Katharine Comstock stretched out her arms, and gathered him in.
+
+“Of course, I want a boy!” she rejoiced.
+
+“Maybe you’d like to have me?” offered Billy.
+
+“Sure I would,” triumphed Mrs. Comstock. “Any one would like to have
+you. You are just a real boy, Billy.”
+
+“Will you take Snap?”
+
+“I’d like to have Snap almost as well as you.”
+
+“Mother!” breathed Elnora imploringly. “Don’t! Oh, don’t! He thinks you
+mean it!”
+
+“And so I do mean it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ll take him in a jiffy. I
+throw away enough to feed a little tyke like him every day. His chatter
+would be great company while you are gone. Blood soon can be purified
+with right food and baths, and as for Snap, I meant to buy a bulldog,
+but possibly Snap will serve just as well. All I ask of a dog is to
+bark at the right time. I’ll do the rest. Would you like to come and be
+my boy, Billy?”
+
+Billy leaned against Mrs. Comstock, reached his arms around her neck
+and gripped her with all his puny might. “You can whip me all you want
+to,” he said. “I won’t make a sound.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock held him closely and her hard face was softening; of that
+there could be no doubt.
+
+“Now, why would any one whip a nice little boy like you?” she asked
+wonderingly.
+
+“She”—Billy from his refuge waved toward Margaret—“she was going to
+whip me ’cause her cats fought, when I tied their tails together and
+hung them over the line to dry. How did I know her old cats would
+fight?”
+
+Mrs. Comstock began to laugh suddenly, and try as she would she could
+not stop so soon as she desired. Billy studied her.
+
+“Have you got turkeys?” he demanded.
+
+“Yes, flocks of them,” said Mrs. Comstock, vainly struggling to
+suppress her mirth, and settle her face in its accustomed lines.
+
+“Are their tails fast?” demanded Billy.
+
+“Why, I think so,” marvelled Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Hers ain’t!” said Billy with the wave toward Margaret that was
+becoming familiar. “Her turkey pulled, and its tail comed right off.
+She’s going to whip me if he lets her. I didn’t know the turkey would
+pull. I didn’t know its tail would come off. I won’t ever touch one
+again, will I?”
+
+“Of course, you won’t,” said Mrs. Comstock. “And what’s more, I don’t
+care if you do! I’d rather have a fine little man like you than all the
+turkeys in the country. Let them lose their old tails if they want to,
+and let the cats fight. Cats and turkeys don’t compare with boys, who
+are going to be fine big men some of these days.”
+
+Then Billy and Mrs. Comstock hugged each other rapturously, while their
+audience stared in silent amazement.
+
+“You like boys!” exulted Billy, and his head dropped against Mrs.
+Comstock in unspeakable content.
+
+“Yes, and if I don’t have to carry you the whole way home, we must
+start right now,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You are going to be asleep
+before you know it.”
+
+Billy opened his eyes and braced himself. “I can walk,” he said
+proudly.
+
+“All right, we must start. Come, Elnora! Good-night, folks!” Mrs.
+Comstock set Billy on the floor, and arose gripping his hand. “You take
+the other side, Elnora, and we will help him as much as we can,” she
+said.
+
+Elnora stared piteously at Margaret, then at Wesley, and arose in
+white-faced bewilderment.
+
+“Billy, are you going to leave without even saying good-bye to me?”
+asked Wesley, with a gulp.
+
+Billy held tight to Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.
+
+“Good-bye!” he said casually. “I’ll come and see you some time.”
+
+Wesley Sinton gave a smothered sob, and strode from the room.
+
+Mrs. Comstock started toward the door, dragging at Billy while Elnora
+pulled back, but Mrs. Sinton was before them, her eyes flashing.
+
+“Kate Comstock, you think you are mighty smart, don’t you?” she cried.
+
+“I ain’t in the lunatic asylum, where you belong, anyway,” said Mrs.
+Comstock. “I am smart enough to tell a dandy boy when I see him, and
+I’m good and glad to get him. I’ll love to have him!”
+
+“Well, you won’t have him!” exclaimed Margaret Sinton. “That boy is
+Wesley’s! He found him, and brought him here. You can’t come in and
+take him like that! Let go of him!”
+
+“Not much, I won’t!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Leave the poor sick little
+soul here for you to beat, because he didn’t know just how to handle
+things! Of course, he’ll make mistakes. He must have a lot of teaching,
+but not the kind he’ll get from you! Clear out of my way!”
+
+“You let go of our boy,” ordered Margaret.
+
+“Why? Do you want to whip him, before he can go to sleep?” jeered Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+“No, I don’t!” said Margaret. “He’s Wesley’s, and nobody shall touch
+him. Wesley!”
+
+Wesley Sinton appeared behind Margaret in the doorway, and she turned
+to him. “Make Kate Comstock let go of our boy!” she demanded.
+
+“Billy, she wants you now,” said Wesley Sinton. “She won’t whip you,
+and she won’t let any one else. You can have stacks of good things to
+eat, ride in the carriage, and have a great time. Won’t you stay with
+us?”
+
+Billy drew away from Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.
+
+He faced Margaret, his eyes shrewd with unchildish wisdom. Necessity
+had taught him to strike the hot iron, to drive the hard bargain.
+
+“Can I have Snap to live here always?” he demanded.
+
+“Yes, you can have all the dogs you want,” said Margaret Sinton.
+
+“Can I sleep close enough so’s I can touch you?”
+
+“Yes, you can move your lounge up so that you can hold my hand,” said
+Margaret.
+
+“Do you love me now?” questioned Billy.
+
+“I’ll try to love you, if you are a good boy,” said Margaret.
+
+“Then I guess I’ll stay,” said Billy, walking over to her.
+
+Out in the night Elnora and her mother went down the road in the
+moonlight; every few rods Mrs. Comstock laughed aloud.
+
+“Mother, I don’t understand you,” sobbed Elnora.
+
+“Well, maybe when you have gone to high school longer you will,” said
+Mrs. Comstock. “Anyway, you saw me bring Mag Sinton to her senses,
+didn’t you?”
+
+“Yes, I did,” answered Elnora, “but I thought you were in earnest. So
+did Billy, and Uncle Wesley, and Aunt Margaret.”
+
+“Well, wasn’t I?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“But you just said you brought Aunt Margaret to!”
+
+“Well, didn’t I?”
+
+“I don’t understand you.”
+
+“That’s the reason I am recommending more schooling!”
+
+Elnora took her candle and went to bed. Mrs. Comstock was feeling too
+good to sleep. Twice of late she really had enjoyed herself for the
+first in sixteen years, and greediness for more of the same feeling
+crept into her blood like intoxication. As she sat brooding alone she
+knew the truth. She would have loved to have taken Billy. She would not
+have minded his mischief, his chatter, or his dog. He would have meant
+a distraction from herself that she greatly needed; she was even
+sincere about the dog. She had intended to tell Wesley to buy her one
+at the very first opportunity. Her last thought was of Billy. She
+chuckled softly, for she was not saintly, and now she knew how she
+could even a long score with Margaret and Wesley in a manner that would
+fill her soul with grim satisfaction.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+WHEREIN THE LIMBERLOST TEMPTS ELNORA, AND BILLY BURIES HIS FATHER
+
+
+Immediately after dinner on Sunday Wesley Sinton stopped at the
+Comstock gate to ask if Elnora wanted to go to town with them. Billy
+sat beside him and he did not appear as if he were on his way to a
+funeral. Elnora said she had to study and could not go, but she
+suggested that her mother take her place. Mrs. Comstock put on her hat
+and went at once, which surprised Elnora. She did not know that her
+mother was anxious for an opportunity to speak with Sinton alone.
+Elnora knew why she was repeatedly cautioned not to leave their land,
+if she went specimen hunting.
+
+She studied two hours and was several lessons ahead of her classes.
+There was no use to go further. She would take a walk and see if she
+could gather any caterpillars or find any freshly spun cocoons. She
+searched the bushes and low trees behind the garden and all around the
+edge of the woods on their land, and having little success, at last
+came to the road. Almost the first thorn bush she examined yielded a
+Polyphemus cocoon. Elnora lifted her head with the instinct of a hunter
+on the chase, and began work. She reached the swamp before she knew it,
+carrying five fine cocoons of different species as her reward. She
+pushed back her hair and gazed around longingly. A few rods inside she
+thought she saw cocoons on a bush, to which she went, and found
+several. Sense of caution was rapidly vanishing; she was in a fair way
+to forget everything and plunge into the swamp when she thought she
+heard footsteps coming down the trail. She went back, and came out
+almost facing Pete Corson.
+
+That ended her difficulty. She had known him since childhood. When she
+sat on the front bench of the Brushwood schoolhouse, Pete had been one
+of the big boys at the back of the room. He had been rough and wild,
+but she never had been afraid of him, and often he had given her pretty
+things from the swamp.
+
+“What luck!” she cried. “I promised mother I would not go inside the
+swamp alone, and will you look at the cocoons I’ve found! There are
+more just screaming for me to come get them, because the leaves will
+fall with the first frost, and then the jays and crows will begin to
+tear them open. I haven’t much time, since I’m going to school. You
+will go with me, Pete! Please say yes! Just a little way!”
+
+“What are those things?” asked the man, his keen black eyes staring at
+her.
+
+“They are the cases these big caterpillars spin for winter, and in the
+spring they come out great night moths, and I can sell them. Oh, Pete,
+I can sell them for enough to take me through high school and dress me
+so like the others that I don’t look different, and if I have very good
+luck I can save some for college. Pete, please go with me?”
+
+“Why don’t you go like you always have?”
+
+“Well, the truth is, I had a little scare,” said Elnora. “I never did
+mean to go alone; sometimes I sort of wandered inside farther than I
+intended, chasing things. You know Duncan gave me Freckles’s books, and
+I have been gathering moths like he did. Lately I found I could sell
+them. If I can make a complete collection, I can get three hundred
+dollars for it. Three such collections would take me almost through
+college, and I’ve four years in the high school yet. That’s a long
+time. I might collect them.”
+
+“Can every kind there is be found here?”
+
+“No, not all of them, but when I get more than I need of one kind, I
+can trade them with collectors farther north and west, so I can
+complete sets. It’s the only way I see to earn the money. Look what I
+have already. Big gray Cecropias come from this kind; brown Polyphemus
+from that, and green Lunas from these. You aren’t working on Sunday. Go
+with me only an hour, Pete!”
+
+The man looked at her narrowly. She was young, wholesome, and
+beautiful. She was innocent, intensely in earnest, and she needed the
+money, he knew that.
+
+“You didn’t tell me what scared you,” he said.
+
+“Oh, I thought I did! Why you know I had Freckles’s box packed full of
+moths and specimens, and one evening I sold some to the Bird Woman.
+Next morning I found a note telling me it wasn’t safe to go inside the
+swamp. That sort of scared me. I think I’ll go alone, rather than miss
+the chance, but I’d be so happy if you would take care of me. Then I
+could go anywhere I chose, because if I mired you could pull me out.
+You will take care of me, Pete?”
+
+“Yes, I’ll take care of you,” promised Pete Corson.
+
+“Goody!” said Elnora. “Let’s start quick! And Pete, you look at these
+closely, and when you are hunting or going along the road, if one
+dangles under your nose, you cut off the little twig and save it for
+me, will you?”
+
+“Yes, I’ll save you all I see,” promised Pete. He pushed back his hat
+and followed Elnora. She plunged fearlessly among bushes, over
+underbrush, and across dead logs. One minute she was crying wildly,
+that here was a big one, the next she was reaching for a limb above her
+head or on her knees overturning dead leaves under a hickory or oak
+tree, or working aside black muck with her bare hands as she searched
+for buried pupae cases. For the first hour Pete bent back bushes and
+followed, carrying what Elnora discovered. Then he found one.
+
+“Is this the kind of thing you are looking for?” he asked bashfully, as
+he presented a wild cherry twig.
+
+“Oh Pete, that’s a Promethea! I didn’t even hope to find one.”
+
+“What’s the bird like?” asked Pete.
+
+“Almost black wings,” said Elnora, “with clay-coloured edges, and the
+most wonderful wine-coloured flush over the under side if it’s a male,
+and stronger wine above and below if it’s a female. Oh, aren’t I
+happy!”
+
+“How would it do to make what you have into a bunch that we could leave
+here, and come back for them?”
+
+“That would be all right.”
+
+Relieved of his load Pete began work. First, he narrowly examined the
+cocoons Elnora had found. He questioned her as to what other kinds
+would be like. He began to use the eyes of a trained woodman and hunter
+in her behalf. He saw several so easily, and moved through the forest
+so softly, that Elnora forgot the moths in watching him. Presently she
+was carrying the specimens, and he was making the trips of
+investigation to see which was a cocoon and which a curled leaf, or he
+was on his knees digging around stumps. As he worked he kept asking
+questions. What kind of logs were best to look beside, what trees were
+pupae cases most likely to be under; on what bushes did caterpillars
+spin most frequently? Time passed, as it always does when one’s
+occupation is absorbing.
+
+When the Sintons took Mrs. Comstock home, they stopped to see Elnora.
+She was not there. Mrs. Comstock called at the edge of her woods and
+received no reply. Then Wesley turned and drove back to the Limberlost.
+He left Margaret and Mrs. Comstock holding the team and entertaining
+Billy, while he entered the swamp.
+
+Elnora and Pete had made a wide trail behind them. Before Sinton had
+thought of calling, he heard voices and approached with some caution.
+Soon he saw Elnora, her flushed face beaming as she bent with an
+armload of twigs and branches and talked to a kneeling man.
+
+“Now go cautiously!” she was saying. “I am just sure we will find an
+Imperialis here. It’s their very kind of a place. There! What did I
+tell you! Isn’t that splendid? Oh, I am so glad you came with me!”
+
+Wesley stood staring in speechless astonishment, for the man had
+arisen, brushed the dirt from his hands, and held out to Elnora a small
+shining dark pupa case. As his face came into view Sinton almost cried
+out, for he was the one man of all others Wesley knew with whom he most
+feared for Elnora’s safety. She had him on his knees digging pupae
+cases for her from the swamp.
+
+“Elnora!” called Sinton. “Elnora!”
+
+“Oh, Uncle Wesley!” cried the girl. “See what luck we’ve had! I know we
+have a dozen and a half cocoons and we have three pupae cases. It’s
+much harder to get the cases because you have to dig for them, and you
+can’t see where to look. But Pete is fine at it! He’s found three, and
+he says he will keep watch beside the roads, and through the woods
+while he hunts. Isn’t that splendid of him? Uncle Wesley, there is a
+college over there on the western edge of the swamp. Look closely, and
+you can see the great dome up among the clouds.”
+
+“I should say you have had luck,” said Wesley, striving to make his
+voice natural. “But I thought you were not coming to the swamp?”
+
+“Well, I wasn’t,” said Elnora, “but I couldn’t find many anywhere else,
+honest, I couldn’t, and just as soon as I came to the edge I began to
+see them here. I kept my promise. I didn’t come in alone. Pete came
+with me. He’s so strong, he isn’t afraid of anything, and he’s
+perfectly splendid to locate cocoons! He’s found half of these. Come
+on, Pete, it’s getting dark now, and we must go.”
+
+They started toward the trail, Pete carrying the cocoons. He left them
+at the case, while Elnora and Wesley went on to the carriage together.
+
+“Elnora Comstock, what does this mean?” demanded her mother.
+
+“It’s all right, one of the neighbours was with her, and she got
+several dollars’ worth of stuff,” interposed Wesley.
+
+“You oughter seen my pa,” shouted Billy. “He was ist all whited out,
+and he laid as still as anything. They put him away deep in the
+ground.”
+
+“Billy!” breathed Margaret in a prolonged groan.
+
+“Jimmy and Belle are going to be together in a nice place. They are
+coming to see me, and Snap is right down here by the wheel. Here, Snap!
+My, but he’ll be tickled to get something to eat! He’s ’most twisted as
+me. They get new clothes, and all they want to eat, too, but they’ll
+miss me. They couldn’t have got along without me. I took care of them.
+I had a lot of things give to me ’cause I was the littlest, and I
+always divided with them. But they won’t need me now.”
+
+When she left the carriage Mrs. Comstock gravely shook hands with
+Billy. “Remember,” she said to him, “I love boys, and I love dogs.
+Whenever you don’t have a good time up there, take your dog and come
+right down and be my little boy. We will just have loads of fun. You
+should hear the whistles I can make. If you aren’t treated right you
+come straight to me.”
+
+Billy wagged his head sagely. “You ist bet I will!” he said.
+
+“Mother, how could you?” asked Elnora as they walked up the path.
+
+“How could I, missy? You better ask how couldn’t I? I just couldn’t!
+Not for enough to pay my road tax! Not for enough to pay the road tax,
+and the dredge tax, too!”
+
+“Aunt Margaret always has been lovely to me, and I don’t think it’s
+fair to worry her.”
+
+“I choose to be lovely to Billy, and let her sweat out her own worries
+just as she has me, these sixteen years. There is nothing in all this
+world so good for people as taking a dose of their own medicine. The
+difference is that I am honest. I just say in plain English, ‘if they
+don’t treat you right, come to me.’ They have only said it in actions
+and inferences. I want to teach Mag Sinton how her own doses taste, but
+she begins to sputter before I fairly get the spoon to her lips. Just
+you wait!”
+
+“When I think what I owe her——” began Elnora.
+
+“Well, thank goodness, I don’t owe her anything, and so I’m perfectly
+free to do what I choose. Come on, and help me get supper. I’m hungry
+as Billy!”
+
+Margaret Sinton rocked slowly back and forth in her chair. On her
+breast lay Billy’s red head, one hand clutched her dress front with
+spasmodic grip, even after he was unconscious.
+
+“You mustn’t begin that, Margaret,” said Sinton. “He’s too heavy. And
+it’s bad for him. He’s better off to lie down and go to sleep alone.”
+
+“He’s very light, Wesley. He jumps and quivers so. He has to be
+stronger than he is now, before he will sleep soundly.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA DISCOVERS A VIOLIN, AND BILLY DISCIPLINES MARGARET
+
+
+Elnora missed the little figure at the bridge the following morning.
+She slowly walked up the street and turned in at the wide entrance to
+the school grounds. She scarcely could comprehend that only a week ago
+she had gone there friendless, alone, and so sick at heart that she was
+physically ill. To-day she had decent clothing, books, friends, and her
+mind was at ease to work on her studies.
+
+As she approached home that night the girl paused in amazement. Her
+mother had company, and she was laughing. Elnora entered the kitchen
+softly and peeped into the sitting-room. Mrs. Comstock sat in her chair
+holding a book and every few seconds a soft chuckle broke into a real
+laugh. Mark Twain was doing his work; while Mrs. Comstock was not
+lacking in a sense of humour. Elnora entered the room before her mother
+saw her. Mrs. Comstock looked up with flushed face.
+
+“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
+
+“I bought it,” said Elnora.
+
+“Bought it! With all the taxes due!”
+
+“I paid for it out of my Indian money, mother,” said Elnora. “I
+couldn’t bear to spend so much on myself and nothing at all on you. I
+was afraid to buy the dress I should have liked to, and I thought the
+book would be company, while I was gone. I haven’t read it, but I do
+hope it’s good.”
+
+“Good! It’s the biggest piece of foolishness I have read in all my
+life. I’ve laughed all day, ever since I found it. I had a notion to go
+out and read some of it to the cows and see if they wouldn’t laugh.”
+
+“If it made you laugh, it’s a wise book,” said Elnora.
+
+“Wise!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You can stake your life it’s a wise book.
+It takes the smartest man there is to do this kind of fooling,” and she
+began laughing again.
+
+Elnora, highly satisfied with her purchase, went to her room and put on
+her working clothes. Thereafter she made a point of bringing a book
+that she thought would interest her mother, from the library every
+week, and leaving it on the sitting-room table. Each night she carried
+home at least two school books and studied until she had mastered the
+points of her lessons. She did her share of the work faithfully, and
+every available minute she was in the fields searching for cocoons, for
+the moths promised to become her largest source of income.
+
+She gathered baskets of nests, flowers, mosses, insects, and all sorts
+of natural history specimens and sold them to the grade teachers. At
+first she tried to tell these instructors what to teach their pupils
+about the specimens; but recognizing how much more she knew than they,
+one after another begged her to study at home, and use her spare hours
+in school to exhibit and explain nature subjects to their pupils.
+Elnora loved the work, and she needed the money, for every few days
+some matter of expense arose that she had not expected.
+
+From the first week she had been received and invited with the crowd of
+girls in her class, and it was their custom in passing through the
+business part of the city to stop at the confectioners’ and take turns
+in treating to expensive candies, ice cream sodas, hot chocolate, or
+whatever they fancied. When first Elnora was asked she accepted without
+understanding. The second time she went because she seldom had tasted
+these things, and they were so delicious she could not resist. After
+that she went because she knew all about it, and had decided to go.
+
+She had spent half an hour on the log beside the trail in deep thought
+and had arrived at her conclusions. She worked harder than usual for
+the next week, but she seemed to thrive on work. It was October and the
+red leaves were falling when her first time came to treat. As the crowd
+flocked down the broad walk that night Elnora called, “Girls, it’s my
+treat to-night! Come on!”
+
+She led the way through the city to the grocery they patronized when
+they had a small spread, and entering came out with a basket, which she
+carried to the bridge on her home road. There she arranged the girls in
+two rows on the cement abutments and opening her basket she gravely
+offered each girl an exquisite little basket of bark, lined with red
+leaves, in one end of which nestled a juicy big red apple and in the
+other a spicy doughnut not an hour from Margaret Sinton’s frying
+basket.
+
+Another time she offered big balls of popped corn stuck together with
+maple sugar, and liberally sprinkled with beechnut kernels. Again it
+was hickory-nut kernels glazed with sugar, another time maple candy,
+and once a basket of warm pumpkin pies. She never made any apology, or
+offered any excuse. She simply gave what she could afford, and the
+change was as welcome to those city girls accustomed to sodas and
+French candy, as were these same things to Elnora surfeited on popcorn
+and pie. In her room was a little slip containing a record of the
+number of weeks in the school year, the times it would be her turn to
+treat and the dates on which such occasions would fall, with a number
+of suggestions beside each. Once the girls almost fought over a basket
+lined with yellow leaves, and filled with fat, very ripe red haws. In
+late October there was a riot over one which was lined with red leaves
+and contained big fragrant pawpaws frost-bitten to a perfect degree.
+Then hazel nuts were ripe, and once they served. One day Elnora at her
+wits’ end, explained to her mother that the girls had given her things
+and she wanted to treat them. Mrs. Comstock, with characteristic
+stubbornness, had said she would leave a basket at the grocery for her,
+but firmly declined to say what would be in it. All day Elnora
+struggled to keep her mind on her books. For hours she wavered in tense
+uncertainty. What would her mother do? Should she take the girls to the
+confectioner’s that night or risk the basket? Mrs. Comstock could make
+delicious things to eat, but would she?
+
+As they left the building Elnora made a final rapid mental calculation.
+She could not see her way clear to a decent treat for ten people for
+less than two dollars and if the basket proved to be nice, then the
+money would be wasted. She decided to risk it. As they went to the
+bridge the girls were betting on what the treat would be, and crowding
+near Elnora like spoiled small children. Elnora set down the basket.
+
+“Girls,” she said, “I don’t know what this is myself, so all of us are
+going to be surprised. Here goes!”
+
+She lifted the cover and perfumes from the land of spices rolled up. In
+one end of the basket lay ten enormous sugar cakes the tops of which
+had been liberally dotted with circles cut from stick candy. The candy
+had melted in baking and made small transparent wells of waxy sweetness
+and in the centre of each cake was a fat turtle made from a raisin with
+cloves for head and feet. The remainder of the basket was filled with
+big spiced pears that could be held by their stems while they were
+eaten. The girls shrieked and attacked the cookies, and of all the
+treats Elnora offered perhaps none was quite so long remembered as
+that.
+
+When Elnora took her basket, placed her books in it, and started home,
+all the girls went with her as far as the fence where she crossed the
+field to the swamp. At parting they kissed her good-bye. Elnora was a
+happy girl as she hurried home to thank her mother. She was happy over
+her books that night, and happy all the way to school the following
+morning.
+
+When the music swelled from the orchestra her heart almost broke with
+throbbing joy. For music always had affected her strangely, and since
+she had been comfortable enough in her surroundings to notice things,
+she had listened to every note to find what it was that literally hurt
+her heart, and at last she knew. It was the talking of the violins.
+They were human voices, and they spoke a language Elnora understood. It
+seemed to her that she must climb up on the stage, take the instruments
+from the fingers of the players and make them speak what was in her
+heart.
+
+That night she said to her mother, “I am perfectly crazy for a violin.
+I am sure I could play one, sure as I live. Did any one——” Elnora never
+completed that sentence.
+
+“Hush!” thundered Mrs. Comstock. “Be quiet! Never mention those things
+before me again—never as long as you live! I loathe them! They are a
+snare of the very devil himself! They were made to lure men and women
+from their homes and their honour. If ever I see you with one in your
+fingers I will smash it in pieces.”
+
+Naturally Elnora hushed, but she thought of nothing else after she had
+finished her lessons. At last there came a day when for some reason the
+leader of the orchestra left his violin on the grand piano. That
+morning Elnora made her first mistake in algebra. At noon, as soon as
+the building was empty, she slipped into the auditorium, found the side
+door which led to the stage, and going through the musicians’ entrance
+she took the violin. She carried it back into the little side room
+where the orchestra assembled, closed all the doors, opened the case
+and lifted out the instrument.
+
+She laid it on her breast, dropped her chin on it and drew the bow
+softly across the strings. One after another she tested the open notes.
+Gradually her stroke ceased to tremble and she drew the bow firmly.
+Then her fingers began to fall and softly, slowly she searched up and
+down those strings for sounds she knew. Standing in the middle of the
+floor, she tried over and over. It seemed scarcely a minute before the
+hall was filled with the sound of hurrying feet, and she was forced to
+put away the violin and go to her classes. The next day she prayed that
+the violin would be left again, but her petition was not answered. That
+night when she returned from the school she made an excuse to go down
+to see Billy. He was engaged in hulling walnuts by driving them through
+holes in a board. His hands were protected by a pair of Margaret’s old
+gloves, but he had speckled his face generously. He appeared well, and
+greeted Elnora hilariously.
+
+“Me an’ the squirrels are laying up our winter stores,” he shouted.
+“Cos the cold is coming, an’ the snow an’ if we have any nuts we have
+to fix ’em now. But I’m ahead, cos Uncle Wesley made me this board, and
+I can hull a big pile while the old squirrel does only ist one with his
+teeth.”
+
+Elnora picked him up and kissed him. “Billy, are you happy?” she asked.
+
+“Yes, and so’s Snap,” answered Billy. “You ought to see him make the
+dirt fly when he gets after a chipmunk. I bet you he could dig up pa,
+if anybody wanted him to.”
+
+“Billy!” gasped Margaret as she came out to them.
+
+“Well, me and Snap don’t want him up, and I bet you Jimmy and Belle
+don’t, either. I ain’t been twisty inside once since I been here, and I
+don’t want to go away, and Snap don’t, either. He told me so.”
+
+“Billy! That is not true. Dogs can’t talk,” cautioned Margaret.
+
+“Then what makes you open the door when he asks you to?” demanded
+Billy.
+
+“Scratching and whining isn’t talking.”
+
+“Anyway, it’s the best Snap can talk, and you get up and do things he
+wants done. Chipmunks can talk too. You ought to hear them damn things
+holler when Snap gets them!”
+
+“Billy! When you want a cooky for supper and I don’t give it to you it
+is because you said a wrong word.”
+
+“Well, for——” Billy clapped his hand over his mouth and stained his
+face in swipes. “Well, for—anything! Did I go an’ forget again! The
+cookies will get all hard, won’t they? I bet you ten dollars I don’t
+say that any more.”
+
+He espied Wesley and ran to show him a walnut too big to go through the
+holes, and Elnora and Margaret entered the house.
+
+They talked of many things for a time and then Elnora said suddenly:
+“Aunt Margaret, I like music.”
+
+“I’ve noticed that in you all your life,” answered Margaret.
+
+“If dogs can’t talk, I can make a violin talk,” announced Elnora, and
+then in amazement watched the face of Margaret Sinton grow pale.
+
+“A violin!” she wavered. “Where did you get a violin?”
+
+“They fairly seemed to speak to me in the orchestra. One day the
+conductor left his in the auditorium, and I took it, and Aunt Margaret,
+I can make it do the wind in the swamp, the birds, and the animals. I
+can make any sound I ever heard on it. If I had a chance to practise a
+little, I could make it do the orchestra music, too. I don’t know how I
+know, but I do.”
+
+“Did—did you ever mention it to your mother?” faltered Margaret.
+
+“Yes, and she seems prejudiced against them. But oh, Aunt Margaret, I
+never felt so about anything, not even going to school. I just feel as
+if I’d die if I didn’t have one. I could keep it at school, and
+practise at noon a whole hour. Soon they’d ask me to play in the
+orchestra. I could keep it in the case and practise in the woods in
+summer. You’d let me play over here Sunday. Oh, Aunt Margaret, what
+does one cost? Would it be wicked for me to take of my money, and buy a
+very cheap one? I could play on the least expensive one made.”
+
+“Oh, no you couldn’t! A cheap machine makes cheap music. You got to
+have a fine fiddle to make it sing. But there’s no sense in your buying
+one. There isn’t a decent reason on earth why you shouldn’t have your
+fa——”
+
+“My father’s!” cried Elnora. She caught Margaret Sinton by the arm. “My
+father had a violin! He played it. That’s why I can! Where is it! Is it
+in our house? Is it in mother’s room?”
+
+“Elnora!” panted Margaret. “Your mother will kill me! She always hated
+it.”
+
+“Mother dearly loves music,” said Elnora.
+
+“Not when it took the man she loved away from her to make it!”
+
+“Where is my father’s violin?”
+
+“Elnora!”
+
+“I’ve never seen a picture of my father. I’ve never heard his name
+mentioned. I’ve never had a scrap that belonged to him. Was he my
+father, or am I a charity child like Billy, and so she hates me?”
+
+“She has good pictures of him. Seems she just can’t bear to hear him
+talked about. Of course, he was your father. They lived right there
+when you were born. She doesn’t dislike you; she merely tries to make
+herself think she does. There’s no sense in the world in you not having
+his violin. I’ve a great notion——”
+
+“Has mother got it?”
+
+“No. I’ve never heard her mention it. It was not at home when he—when
+he died.”
+
+“Do you know where it is?”
+
+“Yes. I’m the only person on earth who does, except the one who has
+it.”
+
+“Who is that?”
+
+“I can’t tell you, but I will see if they have it yet, and get it if I
+can. But if your mother finds it out she will never forgive me.”
+
+“I can’t help it,” said Elnora. “I want that violin.”
+
+“I’ll go to-morrow, and see if it has been destroyed.”
+
+“Destroyed! Oh, Aunt Margaret! Would any one dare?”
+
+“I hardly think so. It was a good instrument. He played it like a
+master.”
+
+“Tell me!” breathed Elnora.
+
+“His hair was red and curled more than yours, and his eyes were blue.
+He was tall, slim, and the very imp of mischief. He joked and teased
+all day until he picked up that violin. Then his head bent over it, and
+his eyes got big and earnest. He seemed to listen as if he first heard
+the notes, and then copied them. Sometimes he drew the bow trembly,
+like he wasn’t sure it was right, and he might have to try again. He
+could almost drive you crazy when he wanted to, and no man that ever
+lived could make you dance as he could. He made it all up as he went.
+He seemed to listen for his dancing music, too. It appeared to come to
+him; he’d begin to play and you had to keep time. You couldn’t be
+still; he loved to sweep a crowd around with that bow of his. I think
+it was the thing you call inspiration. I can see him now, his handsome
+head bent, his cheeks red, his eyes snapping, and that bow going across
+the strings, and driving us like sheep. He always kept his body
+swinging, and he loved to play. He often slighted his work shamefully,
+and sometimes her a little; that is why she hated it—Elnora, what are
+you making me do?”
+
+The tears were rolling down Elnora’s cheeks. “Oh, Aunt Margaret,” she
+sobbed. “Why haven’t you told me about him sooner? I feel as if you had
+given my father to me living, so that I could touch him. I can see him,
+too! Why didn’t you ever tell me before? Go on! Go on!”
+
+“I can’t, Elnora! I’m scared silly. I never meant to say anything. If I
+hadn’t promised her not to talk of him to you she wouldn’t have let you
+come here. She made me swear it.”
+
+“But why? Why? Was he a shame? Was he disgraced?”
+
+“Maybe it was that unjust feeling that took possession of her when she
+couldn’t help him from the swamp. She had to blame some one, or go
+crazy, so she took it out on you. At times, those first ten years, if I
+had talked to you, and you had repeated anything to her, she might have
+struck you too hard. She was not master of herself. You must be patient
+with her, Elnora. God only knows what she has gone through, but I think
+she is a little better, lately.”
+
+“So do I,” said Elnora. “She seems more interested in my clothes, and
+she fixes me such delicious lunches that the girls bring fine candies
+and cake and beg to trade. I gave half my lunch for a box of candy one
+day, brought it home to her, and told her. Since, she has wanted me to
+carry a market basket and treat the crowd every day, she was so
+pleased. Life has been too monotonous for her. I think she enjoys even
+the little change made by my going and coming. She sits up half the
+night to read the library books I bring, but she is so stubborn she
+won’t even admit that she touches them. Tell me more about my father.”
+
+“Wait until I see if I can find the violin.”
+
+So Elnora went home in suspense, and that night she added to her
+prayers: “Dear Lord, be merciful to my father, and oh, do help Aunt
+Margaret to get his violin.”
+
+Wesley and Billy came in to supper tired and hungry. Billy ate
+heartily, but his eyes often rested on a plate of tempting cookies, and
+when Wesley offered them to the boy he reached for one. Margaret was
+compelled to explain that cookies were forbidden that night.
+
+“What!” said Wesley. “Wrong words been coming again. Oh Billy, I do
+wish you could remember! I can’t sit and eat cookies before a little
+boy who has none. I’ll have to put mine back, too.” Billy’s face
+twisted in despair.
+
+“Aw go on!” he said gruffly, but his chin was jumping, for Wesley was
+his idol.
+
+“Can’t do it,” said Wesley. “It would choke me.”
+
+Billy turned to Margaret. “You make him,” he appealed.
+
+“He can’t, Billy,” said Margaret. “I know how he feels. You see, I
+can’t myself.”
+
+Then Billy slid from his chair, ran to the couch, buried his face in
+the pillow and cried heart-brokenly. Wesley hurried to the barn, and
+Margaret to the kitchen. When the dishes were washed Billy slipped from
+the back door.
+
+Wesley piling hay into the mangers heard a sound behind him and
+inquired, “That you, Billy?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Billy, “and it’s all so dark you can’t see me now,
+isn’t it?”
+
+“Well, mighty near,” answered Wesley.
+
+“Then you stoop down and open your mouth.”
+
+Sinton had shared bites of apple and nuts for weeks, for Billy had not
+learned how to eat anything without dividing with Jimmy and Belle.
+Since he had been separated from them, he shared with Wesley and
+Margaret. So he bent over the boy and received an instalment of cooky
+that almost choked him.
+
+“Now you can eat it!” shouted Billy in delight. “It’s all dark! I can’t
+see what you’re doing at all!”
+
+Wesley picked up the small figure and set the boy on the back of a
+horse to bring his face level so that they could talk as men. He never
+towered from his height above Billy, but always lifted the little soul
+when important matters were to be discussed.
+
+“Now what a dandy scheme,” he commented. “Did you and Aunt Margaret fix
+it up?”
+
+“No. She ain’t had hers yet. But I got one for her. Ist as soon as you
+eat yours, I am going to take hers, and feed her first time I find her
+in the dark.”
+
+“But Billy, where did you get the cookies? You know Aunt Margaret said
+you were not to have any.”
+
+“I ist took them,” said Billy, “I didn’t take them for me. I ist took
+them for you and her.”
+
+Wesley thought fast. In the warm darkness of the barn the horses
+crunched their corn, a rat gnawed at a corner of the granary, and among
+the rafters the white pigeon cooed a soft sleepy note to his dusky
+mate.
+
+“Did—did—I steal?” wavered Billy.
+
+Wesley’s big hands closed until he almost hurt the boy.
+
+“No!” he said vehemently. “That is too big a word. You made a mistake.
+You were trying to be a fine little man, but you went at it the wrong
+way. You only made a mistake. All of us do that, Billy. The world grows
+that way. When we make mistakes we can see them; that teaches us to be
+more careful the next time, and so we learn.”
+
+“How wouldn’t it be a mistake?”
+
+“If you had told Aunt Margaret what you wanted to do, and asked her for
+the cookies she would have given them to you.”
+
+“But I was ’fraid she wouldn’t, and you ist had to have it.”
+
+“Not if it was wrong for me to have it, Billy. I don’t want it that
+much.”
+
+“Must I take it back?”
+
+“You think hard, and decide yourself.”
+
+“Lift me down,” said Billy, after a silence, “I got to put this in the
+jar, and tell her.”
+
+Wesley set the boy on the floor, but as he did so he paused one second
+and strained him close to his breast.
+
+Margaret sat in her chair sewing; Billy slipped in and crept beside
+her. The little face was lined with tragedy.
+
+“Why Billy, whatever is the matter?” she cried as she dropped her
+sewing and held out her arms. Billy stood back. He gripped his little
+fists tight and squared his shoulders. “I got to be shut up in the
+closet,” he said.
+
+“Oh Billy! What an unlucky day! What have you done now?”
+
+“I stold!” gulped Billy. “He said it was ist a mistake, but it was
+worser ’an that. I took something you told me I wasn’t to have.”
+
+“Stole!” Margaret was in despair. “What, Billy?”
+
+“Cookies!” answered Billy in equal trouble.
+
+“Billy!” wailed Margaret. “How could you?”
+
+“It was for him and you,” sobbed Billy. “He said he couldn’t eat it
+’fore me, but out in the barn it’s all dark and I couldn’t see. I
+thought maybe he could there. Then we might put out the light and you
+could have yours. He said I only made it worse, cos I mustn’t take
+things, so I got to go in the closet. Will you hold me tight a little
+bit first? He did.”
+
+Margaret opened her arms and Billy rushed in and clung to her a few
+seconds, with all the force of his being, then he slipped to the floor
+and marched to the closet. Margaret opened the door. Billy gave one
+glance at the light, clinched his fists and, walking inside, climbed on
+a box. Margaret closed the door.
+
+Then she sat and listened. Was the air pure enough? Possibly he might
+smother. She had read something once. Was it very dark? What if there
+should be a mouse in the closet and it should run across his foot and
+frighten him into spasms. Somewhere she had heard—Margaret leaned
+forward with tense face and listened. Something dreadful might happen.
+She could bear it no longer. She arose hurriedly and opened the door.
+Billy was drawn up on the box in a little heap, and he lifted a
+disapproving face to her.
+
+“Shut that door!” he said. “I ain’t been in here near long enough yet!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA HAS MORE FINANCIAL TROUBLES, AND MRS. COMSTOCK AGAIN
+HEARS THE SONG OF THE LIMBERLOST
+
+
+The following night Elnora hurried to Sintons’. She threw open the back
+door and with anxious eyes searched Margaret’s face.
+
+“You got it!” panted Elnora. “You got it! I can see by your face that
+you did. Oh, give it to me!”
+
+“Yes, I got it, honey, I got it all right, but don’t be so fast. It had
+been kept in such a damp place it needed glueing, it had to have
+strings, and a key was gone. I knew how much you wanted it, so I sent
+Wesley right to town with it. They said they could fix it good as new,
+but it should be varnished, and that it would take several days for the
+glue to set. You can have it Saturday.”
+
+“You found it where you thought it was? You know it’s his?”
+
+“Yes, it was just where I thought, and it’s the same violin I’ve seen
+him play hundreds of times. It’s all right, only laying so long it
+needs fixing.”
+
+“Oh Aunt Margaret! Can I ever wait?”
+
+“It does seem a long time, but how could I help it? You couldn’t do
+anything with it as it was. You see, it had been hidden away in a
+garret, and it needed cleaning and drying to make it fit to play again.
+You can have it Saturday sure. But Elnora, you’ve got to promise me
+that you will leave it here, or in town, and not let your mother get a
+hint of it. I don’t know what she’d do.”
+
+“Uncle Wesley can bring it here until Monday. Then I will take it to
+school so that I can practise at noon. Oh, I don’t know how to thank
+you. And there’s more than the violin for which to be thankful. You’ve
+given me my father. Last night I saw him plainly as life.”
+
+“Elnora you were dreaming!”
+
+“I know I was dreaming, but I saw him. I saw him so closely that a tiny
+white scar at the corner of his eyebrow showed. I was just reaching out
+to touch him when he disappeared.”
+
+“Who told you there was a scar on his forehead?”
+
+“No one ever did in all my life. I saw it last night as he went down.
+And oh, Aunt Margaret! I saw what she did, and I heard his cries! No
+matter what she does, I don’t believe I ever can be angry with her
+again. Her heart is broken, and she can’t help it. Oh, it was terrible,
+but I am glad I saw it. Now, I will always understand.”
+
+“I don’t know what to make of that,” said Margaret. “I don’t believe in
+such stuff at all, but you couldn’t make it up, for you didn’t know.”
+
+“I only know that I played the violin last night, as he played it, and
+while I played he came through the woods from the direction of
+Carneys’. It was summer and all the flowers were in bloom. He wore gray
+trousers and a blue shirt, his head was bare, and his face was
+beautiful. I could almost touch him when he sank.”
+
+Margaret stood perplexed. “I don’t know what to think of that!” she
+ejaculated. “I was next to the last person who saw him before he was
+drowned. It was late on a June afternoon, and he was dressed as you
+describe. He was bareheaded because he had found a quail’s nest before
+the bird began to brood, and he gathered the eggs in his hat and left
+it in a fence corner to get on his way home; they found it afterward.”
+
+“Was he coming from Carneys’?”
+
+“He was on that side of the quagmire. Why he ever skirted it so close
+as to get caught is a mystery you will have to dream out. I never could
+understand it.”
+
+“Was he doing something he didn’t want my mother to know?”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because if he had been, he might have cut close the swamp so he
+couldn’t be seen from the garden. You know, the whole path straight to
+the pool where he sank can be seen from our back door. It’s firm on our
+side. The danger is on the north and east. If he didn’t want mother to
+know, he might have tried to pass on either of those sides and gone too
+close. Was he in a hurry?”
+
+“Yes, he was,” said Margaret. “He had been away longer than he
+expected, and he almost ran when he started home.”
+
+“And he’d left his violin somewhere that you knew, and you went and got
+it. I’ll wager he was going to play, and didn’t want mother to find it
+out!”
+
+“It wouldn’t make any difference to you if you knew every little thing,
+so quit thinking about it, and just be glad you are to have what he
+loved best of anything.”
+
+“That’s true. Now I must hurry home. I am dreadfully late.”
+
+Elnora sprang up and ran down the road, but when she approached the
+cabin she climbed the fence, crossed the open woods pasture diagonally
+and entered at the back garden gate. As she often came that way when
+she had been looking for cocoons her mother asked no questions.
+
+Elnora lived by the minute until Saturday, when, contrary to his usual
+custom, Wesley went to town in the forenoon, taking her along to buy
+some groceries. Wesley drove straight to the music store, and asked for
+the violin he had left to be mended.
+
+In its new coat of varnish, with new keys and strings, it seemed much
+like any other violin to Sinton, but to Elnora it was the most
+beautiful instrument ever made, and a priceless treasure. She held it
+in her arms, touched the strings softly and then she drew the bow
+across them in whispering measure. She had no time to think what a
+remarkably good bow it was for sixteen years’ disuse. The tan leather
+case might have impressed her as being in fine condition also, had she
+been in a state to question anything. She did remember to ask for the
+bill and she was gravely presented with a slip calling for four
+strings, one key, and a coat of varnish, total, one dollar fifty. It
+seemed to Elnora she never could put the precious instrument in the
+case and start home. Wesley left her in the music store where the
+proprietor showed her all he could about tuning, and gave her several
+beginners’ sheets of notes and scales. She carried the violin in her
+arms as far as the crossroads at the corner of their land, then
+reluctantly put it under the carriage seat.
+
+As soon as her work was done she ran down to Sintons’ and began to
+play, and on Monday the violin went to school with her. She made
+arrangements with the superintendent to leave it in his office and
+scarcely took time for her food at noon, she was so eager to practise.
+Often one of the girls asked her to stay in town all night for some
+lecture or entertainment. She could take the violin with her, practise,
+and secure help. Her skill was so great that the leader of the
+orchestra offered to give her lessons if she would play to pay for
+them, so her progress was rapid in technical work. But from the first
+day the instrument became hers, with perfect faith that she could play
+as her father did, she spent half her practice time in imitating the
+sounds of all outdoors and improvising the songs her happy heart sang
+in those days.
+
+So the first year went, and the second and third were a repetition; but
+the fourth was different, for that was the close of the course, ending
+with graduation and all its attendant ceremonies and expenses. To
+Elnora these appeared mountain high. She had hoarded every cent,
+thinking twice before she parted with a penny, but teaching natural
+history in the grades had taken time from her studies in school which
+must be made up outside. She was a conscientious student, ranking first
+in most of her classes, and standing high in all branches. Her interest
+in her violin had grown with the years. She went to school early and
+practised half an hour in the little room adjoining the stage, while
+the orchestra gathered. She put in a full hour at noon, and remained
+another half hour at night. She carried the violin to Sintons’ on
+Saturday and practised all the time she could there, while Margaret
+watched the road to see that Mrs. Comstock was not coming. She had
+become so skilful that it was a delight to hear her play music of any
+composer, but when she played her own, that was joy inexpressible, for
+then the wind blew, the water rippled, the Limberlost sang her songs of
+sunshine, shadow, black storm, and white night.
+
+Since her dream Elnora had regarded her mother with peculiar
+tenderness. The girl realized, in a measure, what had happened. She
+avoided anything that possibly could stir bitter memories or draw
+deeper a line on the hard, white face. This cost many sacrifices, much
+work, and sometimes delayed progress, but the horror of that awful
+dream remained with Elnora. She worked her way cheerfully, doing all
+she could to interest her mother in things that happened in school, in
+the city, and by carrying books that were entertaining from the public
+library.
+
+Three years had changed Elnora from the girl of sixteen to the very
+verge of womanhood. She had grown tall, round, and her face had the
+loveliness of perfect complexion, beautiful eyes and hair and an added
+touch from within that might have been called comprehension. It was a
+compound of self-reliance, hard knocks, heart hunger, unceasing work,
+and generosity. There was no form of suffering with which the girl
+could not sympathize, no work she was afraid to attempt, no subject she
+had investigated she did not understand. These things combined to
+produce a breadth and depth of character altogether unusual. She was so
+absorbed in her classes and her music that she had not been able to
+gather many specimens. When she realized this and hunted assiduously,
+she soon found that changing natural conditions had affected such work.
+Men all around were clearing available land. The trees fell wherever
+corn would grow. The swamp was broken by several gravel roads, dotted
+in places around the edge with little frame houses, and the machinery
+of oil wells; one especially low place around the region of Freckles’s
+room was nearly all that remained of the original. Wherever the trees
+fell the moisture dried, the creeks ceased to flow, the river ran low,
+and at times the bed was dry. With unbroken sweep the winds of the west
+came, gathering force with every mile and howled and raved; threatening
+to tear the shingles from the roof, blowing the surface from the soil
+in clouds of fine dust and rapidly changing everything. From coming in
+with two or three dozen rare moths in a day, in three years’ time
+Elnora had grown to be delighted with finding two or three. Big pursy
+caterpillars could not be picked from their favourite bushes, when
+there were no bushes. Dragonflies would not hover over dry places, and
+butterflies became scarce in proportion to the flowers, while no land
+yields over three crops of Indian relics.
+
+All the time the expense of books, clothing and incidentals had
+continued. Elnora added to her bank account whenever she could, and
+drew out when she was compelled, but she omitted the important feature
+of calling for a balance. So, one early spring morning in the last
+quarter of the fourth year, she almost fainted when she learned that
+her funds were gone. Commencement with its extra expense was coming,
+she had no money, and very few cocoons to open in June, which would be
+too late. She had one collection for the Bird Woman complete to a pair
+of Imperialis moths, and that was her only asset. On the day she added
+these big Yellow Emperors she had been promised a check for three
+hundred dollars, but she would not get it until these specimens were
+secured. She remembered that she never had found an Emperor before
+June.
+
+Moreover, that sum was for her first year in college. Then she would be
+of age, and she meant to sell enough of her share of her father’s land
+to finish. She knew her mother would oppose her bitterly in that, for
+Mrs. Comstock had clung to every acre and tree that belonged to her
+husband. Her land was almost complete forest where her neighbours owned
+cleared farms, dotted with wells that every hour sucked oil from
+beneath her holdings, but she was too absorbed in the grief she nursed
+to know or care. The Brushwood road and the redredging of the big
+Limberlost ditch had been more than she could pay from her income, and
+she had trembled before the wicket as she asked the banker if she had
+funds to pay it, and wondered why he laughed when he assured her she
+had. For Mrs. Comstock had spent no time on compounding interest, and
+never added the sums she had been depositing through nearly twenty
+years. Now she thought her funds were almost gone, and every day she
+worried over expenses. She could see no reason in going through the
+forms of graduation when pupils had all in their heads that was
+required to graduate. Elnora knew she had to have her diploma in order
+to enter the college she wanted to attend, but she did not dare utter
+the word, until high school was finished, for, instead of softening as
+she hoped her mother had begun to do, she seemed to remain very much
+the same.
+
+When the girl reached the swamp she sat on a log and thought over the
+expense she was compelled to meet. Every member of her particular set
+was having a large photograph taken to exchange with the others. Elnora
+loved these girls and boys, and to say she could not have their
+pictures to keep was more than she could endure. Each one would give to
+all the others a handsome graduation present. She knew they would
+prepare gifts for her whether she could make a present in return or
+not. Then it was the custom for each graduating class to give a great
+entertainment and use the funds to present the school with a statue for
+the entrance hall. Elnora had been cast for and was practising a part
+in that performance. She was expected to furnish her dress and personal
+necessities. She had been told that she must have a green gauze dress,
+and where was it to come from?
+
+Every girl of the class would have three beautiful new frocks for
+Commencement: one for the baccalaureate sermon, another, which could be
+plain, for graduation exercises, and a handsome one for the banquet and
+ball. Elnora faced the past three years and wondered how she could have
+spent so much money and not kept account of it. She did not realize
+where it had gone. She did not know what she could do now. She thought
+over the photographs, and at last settled that question to her
+satisfaction. She studied longer over the gifts, ten handsome ones
+there must be, and at last decided she could arrange for them. The
+green dress came first. The lights would be dim in the scene, and the
+setting deep woods. She could manage that. She simply could not have
+three dresses. She would have to get a very simple one for the sermon
+and do the best she could for graduation. Whatever she got for that
+must be made with a guimpe that could be taken out to make it a little
+more festive for the ball. But where could she get even two pretty
+dresses?
+
+The only hope she could see was to break into the collection of the man
+from India, sell some moths, and try to replace them in June. But in
+her soul she knew that never would do. No June ever brought just the
+things she hoped it would. If she spent the college money she knew she
+could not replace it. If she did not, the only way was to secure a room
+in the grades and teach a year. Her work there had been so appreciated
+that Elnora felt with the recommendation she knew she could get from
+the superintendent and teachers she could secure a position. She was
+sure she could pass the examinations easily. She had once gone on
+Saturday, taken them and secured a license for a year before she left
+the Brushwood school.
+
+She wanted to start to college when the other girls were going. If she
+could make the first year alone, she could manage the remainder. But
+make that first year herself, she must. Instead of selling any of her
+collection, she must hunt as she never before had hunted and find a
+Yellow Emperor. She had to have it, that was all. Also, she had to have
+those dresses. She thought of Wesley and dismissed it. She thought of
+the Bird Woman, and knew she could not tell her. She thought of every
+way in which she ever had hoped to earn money and realized that with
+the play, committee meetings, practising, and final examinations she
+scarcely had time to live, much less to do more than the work required
+for her pictures and gifts. Again Elnora was in trouble, and this time
+it seemed the worst of all.
+
+It was dark when she arose and went home.
+
+“Mother,” she said, “I have a piece of news that is decidedly not
+cheerful.”
+
+“Then keep it to yourself!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I think I have enough
+to bear without a great girl like you piling trouble on me.”
+
+“My money is all gone!” said Elnora.
+
+“Well, did you think it would last forever? It’s been a marvel to me
+that it’s held out as well as it has, the way you’ve dressed and gone.”
+
+“I don’t think I’ve spent any that I was not compelled to,” said
+Elnora. “I’ve dressed on just as little as I possibly could to keep
+going. I am heartsick. I thought I had over fifty dollars to put me
+through Commencement, but they tell me it is all gone.”
+
+“Fifty dollars! To put you through Commencement! What on earth are you
+proposing to do?”
+
+“The same as the rest of them, in the very cheapest way possible.”
+
+“And what might that be?”
+
+Elnora omitted the photographs, the gifts and the play. She told only
+of the sermon, graduation exercises, and the ball.
+
+“Well, I wouldn’t trouble myself over that,” sniffed Mrs. Comstock. “If
+you want to go to a sermon, put on the dress you always use for
+meeting. If you need white for the exercises wear the new dress you got
+last spring. As for the ball, the best thing for you to do is to stay a
+mile away from such folly. In my opinion you’d best bring home your
+books, and quit right now. You can’t be fixed like the rest of them,
+don’t be so foolish as to run into it. Just stay here and let these
+last few days go. You can’t learn enough more to be of any account.”
+
+“But, mother,” gasped Elnora. “You don’t understand!”
+
+“Oh, yes, I do!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I understand perfectly. So long
+as the money lasted, you held up your head, and went sailing without
+even explaining how you got it from the stuff you gathered. Goodness
+knows I couldn’t see. But now it’s gone, you come whining to me. What
+have I got? Have you forgot that the ditch and the road completely
+strapped me? I haven’t any money. There’s nothing for you to do but get
+out of it.”
+
+“I can’t!” said Elnora desperately. “I’ve gone on too long. It would
+make a break in everything. They wouldn’t let me have my diploma!”
+
+“What’s the difference? You’ve got the stuff in your head. I wouldn’t
+give a rap for a scrap of paper. That don’t mean anything!”
+
+“But I’ve worked four years for it, and I can’t enter—I ought to have
+it to help me get a school, when I want to teach. If I don’t have my
+grades to show, people will think I quit because I couldn’t pass my
+examinations. I must have my diploma!”
+
+“Then get it!” said Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“The only way is to graduate with the others.”
+
+“Well, graduate if you are bound to!”
+
+“But I can’t, unless I have things enough like the class, that I don’t
+look as I did that first day.”
+
+“Well, please remember I didn’t get you into this, and I can’t get you
+out. You are set on having your own way. Go on, and have it, and see
+how you like it!”
+
+Elnora went upstairs and did not come down again that night, which her
+mother called pouting.
+
+“I’ve thought all night,” said the girl at breakfast, “and I can’t see
+any way but to borrow the money of Uncle Wesley and pay it back from
+some that the Bird Woman will owe me, when I get one more specimen. But
+that means that I can’t go to—that I will have to teach this winter, if
+I can get a city grade or a country school.”
+
+“Just you dare go dinging after Wesley Sinton for money,” cried Mrs.
+Comstock. “You won’t do any such a thing!”
+
+“I can’t see any other way. I’ve got to have the money!”
+
+“Quit, I tell you!”
+
+“I can’t quit!—I’ve gone too far!”
+
+“Well then, let me get your clothes, and you can pay me back.”
+
+“But you said you had no money!”
+
+“Maybe I can borrow some at the bank. Then you can return it when the
+Bird Woman pays you.”
+
+“All right,” said Elnora. “I don’t need expensive things. Just some
+kind of a pretty cheap white dress for the sermon, and a white one a
+little better than I had last summer, for Commencement and the ball. I
+can use the white gloves and shoes I got myself for last year, and you
+can get my dress made at the same place you did that one. They have my
+measurements, and do perfect work. Don’t get expensive things. It will
+be warm so I can go bareheaded.”
+
+Then she started to school, but was so tired and discouraged she
+scarcely could walk. Four years’ plans going in one day! For she felt
+that if she did not start to college that fall she never would. Instead
+of feeling relieved at her mother’s offer, she was almost too ill to go
+on. For the thousandth time she groaned: “Oh, why didn’t I keep account
+of my money?”
+
+After that the days passed so swiftly she scarcely had time to think,
+but several trips her mother made to town, and the assurance that
+everything was all right, satisfied Elnora. She worked very hard to
+pass good final examinations and perfect herself for the play. For two
+days she had remained in town with the Bird Woman in order to spend
+more time practising and at her work.
+
+Often Margaret had asked about her dresses for graduation, and Elnora
+had replied that they were with a woman in the city who had made her a
+white dress for last year’s Commencement when she was a junior usher,
+and they would be all right. So Margaret, Wesley, and Billy concerned
+themselves over what they would give her for a present. Margaret
+suggested a beautiful dress. Wesley said that would look to every one
+as if she needed dresses. The thing was to get a handsome gift like all
+the others would have. Billy wanted to present her a five-dollar gold
+piece to buy music for her violin. He was positive Elnora would like
+that best of anything.
+
+It was toward the close of the term when they drove to town one evening
+to try to settle this important question. They knew Mrs. Comstock had
+been alone several days, so they asked her to accompany them. She had
+been more lonely than she would admit, filled with unusual unrest
+besides, and so she was glad to go. But before they had driven a mile
+Billy had told that they were going to buy Elnora a graduation present,
+and Mrs. Comstock devoutly wished that she had remained at home. She
+was prepared when Billy asked: “Aunt Kate, what are you going to give
+Elnora when she graduates?”
+
+“Plenty to eat, a good bed to sleep in, and do all the work while she
+trollops,” answered Mrs. Comstock dryly.
+
+Billy reflected. “I guess all of them have that,” he said. “I mean a
+present you buy at the store, like Christmas?”
+
+“It is only rich folks who buy presents at stores,” replied Mrs.
+Comstock. “I can’t afford it.”
+
+“Well, we ain’t rich,” he said, “but we are going to buy Elnora
+something as fine as the rest of them have if we sell a corner of the
+farm. Uncle Wesley said so.”
+
+“A fool and his land are soon parted,” said Mrs. Comstock tersely.
+Wesley and Billy laughed, but Margaret did not enjoy the remark.
+
+While they were searching the stores for something on which all of them
+could decide, and Margaret was holding Billy to keep him from saying
+anything before Mrs. Comstock about the music on which he was
+determined, Mr. Brownlee met Wesley and stopped to shake hands.
+
+“I see your boy came out finely,” he said.
+
+“I don’t allow any boy anywhere to be finer than Billy,” said Wesley.
+
+“I guess you don’t allow any girl to surpass Elnora,” said Mr.
+Brownlee. “She comes home with Ellen often, and my wife and I love her.
+Ellen says she is great in her part to-night. Best thing in the whole
+play! Of course, you are in to see it! If you haven’t reserved seats,
+you’d better start pretty soon, for the high school auditorium only
+seats a thousand. It’s always jammed at these home-talent plays. All of
+us want to see how our children perform.”
+
+“Why yes, of course,” said the bewildered Wesley. Then he hurried to
+Margaret. “Say,” he said, “there is going to be a play at the high
+school to-night; and Elnora is in it. Why hasn’t she told us?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Margaret, “but I’m going.”
+
+“So am I,” said Billy.
+
+“Me too!” said Wesley, “unless you think for some reason she doesn’t
+want us. Looks like she would have told us if she had. I’m going to ask
+her mother.”
+
+“Yes, that’s what’s she’s been staying in town for,” said Mrs.
+Comstock. “It’s some sort of a swindle to raise money for her class to
+buy some silly thing to stick up in the school house hall to remember
+them by. I don’t know whether it’s now or next week, but there’s
+something of the kind to be done.”
+
+“Well, it’s to-night,” said Wesley, “and we are going. It’s my treat,
+and we’ve got to hurry or we won’t get in. There are reserved seats,
+and we have none, so it’s the gallery for us, but I don’t care so I get
+to take one good peep at Elnora.”
+
+“S’pose she plays?” whispered Margaret in his ear.
+
+“Aw, tush! She couldn’t!” said Wesley.
+
+“Well, she’s been doing it three years in the orchestra, and working
+like a slave at it.”
+
+“Oh, well that’s different. She’s in the play to-night. Brownlee told
+me so. Come on, quick! We’ll drive and hitch closest place we can find
+to the building.”
+
+Margaret went in the excitement of the moment, but she was troubled.
+
+When they reached the building Wesley tied the team to a railing and
+Billy sprang out to help Margaret. Mrs. Comstock sat still.
+
+“Come on, Kate,” said Wesley, reaching his hand.
+
+“I’m not going anywhere,” said Mrs. Comstock, settling comfortably back
+against the cushions.
+
+All of them begged and pleaded, but it was no use. Not an inch would
+Mrs. Comstock budge. The night was warm and the carriage comfortable,
+the horses were securely hitched. She did not care to see what idiotic
+thing a pack of school children were doing, she would wait until the
+Sintons returned. Wesley told her it might be two hours, and she said
+she did not care if it were four, so they left her.
+
+“Did you ever see such——?”
+
+“Cookies!” cried Billy.
+
+“Such blamed stubbornness in all your life?” demanded Wesley. “Won’t
+come to see as fine a girl as Elnora in a stage performance. Why, I
+wouldn’t miss it for fifty dollars!
+
+“I think it’s a blessing she didn’t,” said Margaret placidly. “I begged
+unusually hard so she wouldn’t. I’m scared of my life for fear Elnora
+will play.”
+
+They found seats near the door where they could see fairly well. Billy
+stood at the back of the hall and had a good view. By and by, a great
+volume of sound welled from the orchestra, but Elnora was not playing.
+
+“Told you so!” said Sinton. “Got a notion to go out and see if Kate
+won’t come now. She can take my seat, and I’ll stand with Billy.”
+
+“You sit still!” said Margaret emphatically. “This is not over yet.”
+
+So Wesley remained in his seat. The play opened and progressed very
+much as all high school plays have gone for the past fifty years. But
+Elnora did not appear in any of the scenes.
+
+Out in the warm summer night a sour, grim woman nursed an aching heart
+and tried to justify herself. The effort irritated her intensely. She
+felt that she could not afford the things that were being done. The old
+fear of losing the land that she and Robert Comstock had purchased and
+started clearing was strong upon her. She was thinking of him, how she
+needed him, when the orchestra music poured from the open windows near
+her. Mrs. Comstock endured it as long as she could, and then slipped
+from the carriage and fled down the street.
+
+She did not know how far she went or how long she stayed, but
+everything was still, save an occasional raised voice when she wandered
+back. She stood looking at the building. Slowly she entered the wide
+gates and followed up the walk. Elnora had been coming here for almost
+four years. When Mrs. Comstock reached the door she looked inside. The
+wide hall was lighted with electricity, and the statuary and the
+decorations of the walls did not seem like pieces of foolishness. The
+marble appeared pure, white, and the big pictures most interesting. She
+walked the length of the hall and slowly read the titles of the statues
+and the names of the pupils who had donated them. She speculated on
+where the piece Elnora’s class would buy could be placed to advantage.
+
+Then she wondered if they were having a large enough audience to buy
+marble. She liked it better than the bronze, but it looked as if it
+cost more. How white the broad stairway was! Elnora had been climbing
+those stairs for years and never told her they were marble. Of course,
+she thought they were wood. Probably the upper hall was even grander
+than this. She went over to the fountain, took a drink, climbed to the
+first landing and looked around her, and then without thought to the
+second. There she came opposite the wide-open doors and the entrance to
+the auditorium packed with people and a crowd standing outside. When
+they noticed a tall woman with white face and hair and black dress, one
+by one they stepped a little aside, so that Mrs. Comstock could see the
+stage. It was covered with curtains, and no one was doing anything.
+Just as she turned to go a sound so faint that every one leaned forward
+and listened, drifted down the auditorium. It was difficult to tell
+just what it was; after one instant half the audience looked toward the
+windows, for it seemed only a breath of wind rustling freshly opened
+leaves; merely a hint of stirring air.
+
+Then the curtains were swept aside swiftly. The stage had been
+transformed into a lovely little corner of creation, where trees and
+flowers grew and moss carpeted the earth. A soft wind blew and it was
+the gray of dawn. Suddenly a robin began to sing, then a song sparrow
+joined him, and then several orioles began talking at once. The light
+grew stronger, the dew drops trembled, flower perfume began to creep
+out to the audience; the air moved the branches gently and a rooster
+crowed. Then all the scene was shaken with a babel of bird notes in
+which you could hear a cardinal whistling, and a blue finch piping.
+Back somewhere among the high branches a dove cooed and then a horse
+neighed shrilly. That set a blackbird crying, “T’check,” and a whole
+flock answered it. The crows began to caw and a lamb bleated. Then the
+grosbeaks, chats, and vireos had something to say, and the sun rose
+higher, the light grew stronger and the breeze rustled the treetops
+loudly; a cow bawled and the whole barnyard answered. The guineas were
+clucking, the turkey gobbler strutting, the hens calling, the chickens
+cheeping, the light streamed down straight overhead and the bees began
+to hum. The air stirred strongly, and away in an unseen field a reaper
+clacked and rattled through ripening wheat while the driver whistled.
+An uneasy mare whickered to her colt, the colt answered, and the light
+began to decline. Miles away a rooster crowed for twilight, and dusk
+was coming down. Then a catbird and a brown thrush sang against a
+grosbeak and a hermit thrush. The air was tremulous with heavenly
+notes, the lights went out in the hall, dusk swept across the stage, a
+cricket sang and a katydid answered, and a wood pewee wrung the heart
+with its lonesome cry. Then a night hawk screamed, a whip-poor-will
+complained, a belated killdeer swept the sky, and the night wind sang a
+louder song. A little screech owl tuned up in the distance, a barn owl
+replied, and a great horned owl drowned both their voices. The moon
+shone and the scene was warm with mellow light. The bird voices died
+and soft exquisite melody began to swell and roll. In the centre of the
+stage, piece by piece the grasses, mosses and leaves dropped from an
+embankment, the foliage softly blew away, while plainer and plainer
+came the outlines of a lovely girl figure draped in soft clinging
+green. In her shower of bright hair a few green leaves and white
+blossoms clung, and they fell over her robe down to her feet. Her white
+throat and arms were bare, she leaned forward a little and swayed with
+the melody, her eyes fast on the clouds above her, her lips parted, a
+pink tinge of exercise in her cheeks as she drew her bow. She played as
+only a peculiar chain of circumstances puts it in the power of a very
+few to play. All nature had grown still, the violin sobbed, sang,
+danced and quavered on alone, no voice in particular; the soul of the
+melody of all nature combined in one great outpouring.
+
+At the doorway, a white-faced woman endured it as long as she could and
+then fell senseless. The men nearest carried her down the hall to the
+fountain, revived her, and then placed her in the carriage to which she
+directed them. The girl played on and never knew. When she finished,
+the uproar of applause sounded a block down the street, but the
+half-senseless woman scarcely realized what it meant. Then the girl
+came to the front of the stage, bowed, and lifting the violin she
+played her conception of an invitation to dance. Every living soul
+within sound of her notes strained their nerves to sit still and let
+only their hearts dance with her. When that began the woman ran toward
+the country. She never stopped until the carriage overtook her half-way
+to her cabin. She said she had grown tired of sitting, and walked on
+ahead. That night she asked Billy to remain with her and sleep on
+Elnora’s bed. Then she pitched headlong upon her own, and suffered
+agony of soul such as she never before had known. The swamp had sent
+back the soul of her loved dead and put it into the body of the
+daughter she resented, and it was almost more than she could endure and
+live.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA GRADUATES, AND FRECKLES AND THE ANGEL SEND GIFTS
+
+
+That was Friday night. Elnora came home Saturday morning and began
+work. Mrs. Comstock asked no questions, and the girl only told her that
+the audience had been large enough to more than pay for the piece of
+statuary the class had selected for the hall. Then she inquired about
+her dresses and was told they would be ready for her. She had been
+invited to go to the Bird Woman’s to prepare for both the sermon and
+Commencement exercises. Since there was so much practising to do, it
+had been arranged that she should remain there from the night of the
+sermon until after she was graduated. If Mrs. Comstock decided to
+attend she was to drive in with the Sintons. When Elnora begged her to
+come she said she cared nothing about such silliness.
+
+It was almost time for Wesley to come to take Elnora to the city, when
+fresh from her bath, and dressed to her outer garment, she stood with
+expectant face before her mother and cried: “Now my dress, mother!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock was pale as she replied: “It’s on my bed. Help yourself.”
+
+Elnora opened the door and stepped into her mother’s room with never a
+misgiving. Since the night Margaret and Wesley had brought her
+clothing, when she first started to school, her mother had selected all
+of her dresses, with Mrs. Sinton’s help made most of them, and Elnora
+had paid the bills. The white dress of the previous spring was the
+first made at a dressmaker’s. She had worn that as junior usher at
+Commencement; but her mother had selected the material, had it made,
+and it had fitted perfectly and had been suitable in every way. So with
+her heart at rest on that point, Elnora hurried to the bed to find only
+her last summer’s white dress, freshly washed and ironed. For an
+instant she stared at it, then she picked up the garment, looked at the
+bed beneath it, and her gaze slowly swept the room.
+
+It was unfamiliar. Perhaps this was the third time she had been in it
+since she was a very small child. Her eyes ranged over the beautiful
+walnut dresser, the tall bureau, the big chest, inside which she never
+had seen, and the row of masculine attire hanging above it. Somewhere a
+dainty lawn or mull dress simply must be hanging: but it was not.
+Elnora dropped on the chest because she felt too weak to stand. In less
+than two hours she must be in the church, at Onabasha. She could not
+wear a last year’s washed dress. She had nothing else. She leaned
+against the wall and her father’s overcoat brushed her face. She caught
+the folds and clung to it with all her might.
+
+“Oh father! Father!” she moaned. “I need you! I don’t believe you would
+have done this!” At last she opened the door.
+
+“I can’t find my dress,” she said.
+
+“Well, as it’s the only one there I shouldn’t think it would be much
+trouble.”
+
+“You mean for me to wear an old washed dress to-night?”
+
+“It’s a good dress. There isn’t a hole in it! There’s no reason on
+earth why you shouldn’t wear it.”
+
+“Except that I will not,” said Elnora. “Didn’t you provide any dress
+for Commencement, either?”
+
+“If you soil that to-night, I’ve plenty of time to wash it again.”
+
+Wesley’s voice called from the gate.
+
+“In a minute,” answered Elnora.
+
+She ran upstairs and in an incredibly short time came down wearing one
+of her gingham school dresses. Her face cold and hard, she passed her
+mother and went into the night. Half an hour later Margaret and Billy
+stopped for Mrs. Comstock with the carriage. She had determined fully
+that she would not go before they called. With the sound of their
+voices a sort of horror of being left seized her, so she put on her
+hat, locked the door and went out to them.
+
+“How did Elnora look?” inquired Margaret anxiously.
+
+“Like she always does,” answered Mrs. Comstock curtly.
+
+“I do hope her dresses are as pretty as the others,” said Margaret.
+“None of them will have prettier faces or nicer ways.”
+
+Wesley was waiting before the big church to take care of the team. As
+they stood watching the people enter the building, Mrs. Comstock felt
+herself growing ill. When they went inside among the lights, saw the
+flower-decked stage, and the masses of finely dressed people, she grew
+no better. She could hear Margaret and Billy softly commenting on what
+was being done.
+
+“That first chair in the very front row is Elnora’s,” exulted Billy,
+“cos she’s got the highest grades, and so she gets to lead the
+procession to the platform.”
+
+“The first chair!” “Lead the procession!” Mrs. Comstock was
+dumbfounded. The notes of the pipe organ began to fill the building in
+a slow rolling march. Would Elnora lead the procession in a gingham
+dress? Or would she be absent and her chair vacant on this great
+occasion? For now, Mrs. Comstock could see that it was a great
+occasion. Every one would remember how Elnora had played a few nights
+before, and they would miss her and pity her. Pity? Because she had no
+one to care for her. Because she was worse off than if she had no
+mother. For the first time in her life, Mrs. Comstock began to study
+herself as she would appear to others. Every time a junior girl came
+fluttering down the aisle, leading some one to a seat, and Mrs.
+Comstock saw a beautiful white dress pass, a wave of positive illness
+swept over her. What had she done? What would become of Elnora?
+
+As Elnora rode to the city, she answered Wesley’s questions in
+monosyllables so that he thought she was nervous or rehearsing her
+speech and did not care to talk. Several times the girl tried to tell
+him and realized that if she said the first word it would bring
+uncontrollable tears. The Bird Woman opened the screen and stared
+unbelievingly.
+
+“Why, I thought you would be ready; you are so late!” she said. “If you
+have waited to dress here, we must hurry.”
+
+“I have nothing to put on,” said Elnora.
+
+In bewilderment the Bird Woman drew her inside.
+
+“Did—did—” she faltered. “Did you think you would wear that?”
+
+“No. I thought I would telephone Ellen that there had been an accident
+and I could not come. I don’t know yet how to explain. I’m too sick to
+think. Oh, do you suppose I can get something made by Tuesday, so that
+I can graduate?”
+
+“Yes; and you’ll get something on you to-night, so that you can lead
+your class, as you have done for four years. Go to my room and take off
+that gingham, quickly. Anna, drop everything, and come help me.”
+
+The Bird Woman ran to the telephone and called Ellen Brownlee.
+
+“Elnora has had an accident. She will be a little late,” she said. “You
+have got to make them wait. Have them play extra music before the
+march.”
+
+Then she turned to the maid. “Tell Benson to have the carriage at the
+gate, just as soon as he can get it there. Then come to my room. Bring
+the thread box from the sewing-room, that roll of wide white ribbon on
+the cutting table, and gather all the white pins from every dresser in
+the house. But first come with me a minute.”
+
+“I want that trunk with the Swamp Angel’s stuff in it, from the cedar
+closet,” she panted as they reached the top of the stairs.
+
+They hurried down the hall together and dragged the big trunk to the
+Bird Woman’s room. She opened it and began tossing out white stuff.
+
+“How lucky that she left these things!” she cried. “Here are white
+shoes, gloves, stockings, fans, everything!”
+
+“I am all ready but a dress,” said Elnora.
+
+The Bird Woman began opening closets and pulling out drawers and boxes.
+
+“I think I can make it this way,” she said.
+
+She snatched up a creamy lace yoke with long sleeves that recently had
+been made for her and held it out. Elnora slipped into it, and the Bird
+Woman began smoothing out wrinkles and sewing in pins. It fitted very
+well with a little lapping in the back. Next, from among the Angel’s
+clothing she caught up a white silk waist with low neck and elbow
+sleeves, and Elnora put it on. It was large enough, but distressingly
+short in the waist, for the Angel had worn it at a party when she was
+sixteen. The Bird Woman loosened the sleeves and pushed them to a puff
+on the shoulders, catching them in places with pins. She began on the
+wide draping of the yoke, fastening it front, back and at each
+shoulder. She pulled down the waist and pinned it. Next came a soft
+white dress skirt of her own. By pinning her waist band quite four
+inches above Elnora’s, the Bird Woman could secure a perfect Empire
+sweep, with the clinging silk. Then she began with the wide white
+ribbon that was to trim a new frock for herself, bound it three times
+around the high waist effect she had managed, tied the ends in a knot
+and let them fall to the floor in a beautiful sash.
+
+“I want four white roses, each with two or three leaves,” she cried.
+
+Anna ran to bring them, while the Bird Woman added pins.
+
+“Elnora,” she said, “forgive me, but tell me truly. Is your mother so
+poor as to make this necessary?”
+
+“No,” answered Elnora. “Next year I am heir to my share of over three
+hundred acres of land covered with almost as valuable timber as was in
+the Limberlost. We adjoin it. There could be thirty oil wells drilled
+that would yield to us the thousands our neighbours are draining from
+under us, and the bare land is worth over one hundred dollars an acre
+for farming. She is not poor, she is—I don’t know what she is. A great
+trouble soured and warped her. It made her peculiar. She does not in
+the least understand, but it is because she doesn’t care to, instead of
+ignorance. She does not——”
+
+Elnora stopped.
+
+“She is—is different,” finished the girl.
+
+Anna came with the roses. The Bird Woman set one on the front of the
+draped yoke, one on each shoulder and the last among the bright masses
+of brown hair. Then she turned the girl facing the tall mirror.
+
+“Oh!” panted Elnora. “You are a genius! Why, I will look as well as any
+of them.”
+
+“Thank goodness for that!” cried the Bird Woman. “If it wouldn’t do, I
+should have been ill. You are lovely; altogether lovely! Ordinarily I
+shouldn’t say that; but when I think of how you are carpentered, I’m
+admiring the result.”
+
+The organ began rolling out the march as they came in sight. Elnora
+took her place at the head of the procession, while every one wondered.
+Secretly they had hoped that she would be dressed well enough, that she
+would not appear poor and neglected. What this radiant young creature,
+gowned in the most recent style, her smooth skin flushed with
+excitement, and a rose-set coronet of red gold on her head, had to do
+with the girl they knew was difficult to decide. The signal was given
+and Elnora began the slow march across the vestry and down the aisle.
+The music welled softly, and Margaret began to sob without knowing why.
+
+Mrs. Comstock gripped her hands together and shut her eyes. It seemed
+an eternity to the suffering woman before Margaret caught her arm and
+whispered, “Oh, Kate! For any sake look at her! Here! The aisle
+across!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock opened her eyes and directing them where she was told,
+gazed intently, and slid down in her seat close to collapse. She was
+saved by Margaret’s tense clasp and her command: “Here! Idiot! Stop
+that!”
+
+In the blaze of light Elnora climbed the steps to the palm-embowered
+platform, crossed it and took her place. Sixty young men and women,
+each of them dressed the best possible, followed her. There were manly,
+fine-looking men in that class which Elnora led. There were girls of
+beauty and grace, but not one of them was handsomer or clothed in
+better taste than she.
+
+Billy thought the time never would come when Elnora would see him, but
+at last she met his eye, then Margaret and Wesley had faint signs of
+recognition in turn, but there was no softening of the girl’s face and
+no hint of a smile when she saw her mother.
+
+Heartsick, Katharine Comstock tried to prove to herself that she was
+justified in what she had done, but she could not. She tried to blame
+Elnora for not saying that she was to lead a procession and sit on a
+platform in the sight of hundreds of people; but that was impossible,
+for she realized that she would have scoffed and not understood if she
+had been told. Her heart pained until she suffered with every breath.
+
+When at last the exercises were over she climbed into the carriage and
+rode home without a word. She did not hear what Margaret and Billy were
+saying. She scarcely heard Wesley, who drove behind, when he told her
+that Elnora would not be home until Wednesday. Early the next morning
+Mrs. Comstock was on her way to Onabasha. She was waiting when the
+Brownlee store opened. She examined ready-made white dresses, but they
+had only one of the right size, and it was marked forty dollars. Mrs.
+Comstock did not hesitate over the price, but whether the dress would
+be suitable. She would have to ask Elnora. She inquired her way to the
+home of the Bird Woman and knocked.
+
+“Is Elnora Comstock here?” she asked the maid.
+
+“Yes, but she is still in bed. I was told to let her sleep as long as
+she would.”
+
+“Maybe I could sit here and wait,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I want to see
+about getting her a dress for to-morrow. I am her mother.”
+
+“Then you don’t need wait or worry,” said the girl cheerfully. “There
+are two women up in the sewing-room at work on a dress for her right
+now. It will be done in time, and it will be a beauty.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock turned and trudged back to the Limberlost. The bitterness
+in her soul became a physical actuality, which water would not wash
+from her lips. She was too late! She was not needed. Another woman was
+mothering her girl. Another woman would prepare a beautiful dress such
+as Elnora had worn the previous night. The girl’s love and gratitude
+would go to her. Mrs. Comstock tried the old process of blaming some
+one else, but she felt no better. She nursed her grief as closely as
+ever in the long days of the girl’s absence. She brooded over Elnora’s
+possession of the forbidden violin and her ability to play it until the
+performance could not have been told from her father’s. She tried every
+refuge her mind could conjure, to quiet her heart and remove the fear
+that the girl never would come home again, but it persisted. Mrs.
+Comstock could neither eat nor sleep. She wandered around the cabin and
+garden. She kept far from the pool where Robert Comstock had sunk from
+sight for she felt that it would entomb her also if Elnora did not come
+home Wednesday morning. The mother told herself that she would wait,
+but the waiting was as bitter as anything she ever had known.
+
+When Elnora awoke Monday another dress was in the hands of a seamstress
+and was soon fitted. It had belonged to the Angel, and was a soft white
+thing that with a little alteration would serve admirably for
+Commencement and the ball. All that day Elnora worked, helping prepare
+the auditorium for the exercises, rehearsing the march and the speech
+she was to make in behalf of the class. The following day was even
+busier. But her mind was at rest, for the dress was a soft delicate
+lace easy to change, and the marks of alteration impossible to detect.
+
+The Bird Woman had telephoned to Grand Rapids, explained the situation
+and asked the Angel if she might use it. The reply had been to give the
+girl the contents of the chest. When the Bird Woman told Elnora, tears
+filled her eyes.
+
+“I will write at once and thank her,” she said. “With all her beautiful
+gowns she does not need them, and I do. They will serve for me often,
+and be much finer than anything I could afford. It is lovely of her to
+give me the dress and of you to have it altered for me, as I never
+could.”
+
+The Bird Woman laughed. “I feel religious to-day,” she said. “You know
+the first and greatest rock of my salvation is ‘Do unto others.’ I’m
+only doing to you what there was no one to do for me when I was a girl
+very like you. Anna tells me your mother was here early this morning
+and that she came to see about getting you a dress.”
+
+“She is too late!” said Elnora coldly. “She had over a month to prepare
+my dresses, and I was to pay for them, so there is no excuse.”
+
+“Nevertheless, she is your mother,” said the Bird Woman, softly. “I
+think almost any kind of a mother must be better than none at all, and
+you say she has had great trouble.”
+
+“She loved my father and he died,” said Elnora. “The same thing, in
+quite as tragic a manner, has happened to thousands of other women, and
+they have gone on with calm faces and found happiness in life by loving
+others. There was something else I am afraid I never shall forget; this
+I know I shall not, but talking does not help. I must deliver my
+presents and photographs to the crowd. I have a picture and I made a
+present for you, too, if you would care for them.”
+
+“I shall love anything you give me,” said the Bird Woman. “I know you
+well enough to know that whatever you do will be beautiful.”
+
+Elnora was pleased over that, and as she tried on her dress for the
+last fitting she was really happy. She was lovely in the dainty gown:
+it would serve finely for the ball and many other like occasions, and
+it was her very own.
+
+The Bird Woman’s driver took Elnora in the carriage and she called on
+all the girls with whom she was especially intimate, and left her
+picture and the package containing her gift to them. By the time she
+returned parcels for her were arriving. Friends seemed to spring from
+everywhere. Almost every one she knew had some gift for her, while
+because they so loved her the members of her crowd had made her
+beautiful presents. There were books, vases, silver pieces,
+handkerchiefs, fans, boxes of flowers and candy. One big package
+settled the trouble at Sinton’s, for it contained a dainty dress from
+Margaret, a five-dollar gold piece, conspicuously labelled, “I earned
+this myself,” from Billy, with which to buy music; and a gorgeous
+cut-glass perfume bottle, it would have cost five dollars to fill with
+even a moderate-priced scent, from Wesley.
+
+In an expressed crate was a fine curly-maple dressing table, sent by
+Freckles. The drawers were filled with wonderful toilet articles from
+the Angel. The Bird Woman added an embroidered linen cover and a small
+silver vase for a few flowers, so no girl of the class had finer gifts.
+Elnora laid her head on the table sobbing happily, and the Bird Woman
+was almost crying herself. Professor Henley sent a butterfly book, the
+grade rooms in which Elnora had taught gave her a set of volumes
+covering every phase of life afield, in the woods, and water. Elnora
+had no time to read so she carried one of these books around with her
+hugging it as she went. After she had gone to dress a queer-looking
+package was brought by a small boy who hopped on one foot as he handed
+it in and said: “Tell Elnora that is from her ma.”
+
+“Who are you?” asked the Bird Woman as she took the bundle.
+
+“I’m Billy!” announced the boy. “I gave her the five dollars. I earned
+it myself dropping corn, sticking onions, and pulling weeds. My, but
+you got to drop, and stick, and pull a lot before it’s five dollars’
+worth.”
+
+“Would you like to come in and see Elnora’s gifts?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am!” said Billy, trying to stand quietly.
+
+“Gee-mentley!” he gasped. “Does Elnora get all this?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I bet you a thousand dollars I be first in my class when I graduate.
+Say, have the others got a lot more than Elnora?”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“Well, Uncle Wesley said to find out if I could, and if she didn’t have
+as much as the rest, he’d buy till she did, if it took a hundred
+dollars. Say, you ought to know him! He’s just scrumptious! There ain’t
+anybody any where finer ’an he is. My, he’s grand!”
+
+“I’m very sure of it!” said the Bird Woman. “I’ve often heard Elnora
+say so.”
+
+“I bet you nobody can beat this!” he boasted. Then he stopped, thinking
+deeply. “I don’t know, though,” he began reflectively. “Some of them
+are awful rich; they got big families to give them things and wagon
+loads of friends, and I haven’t seen what they have. Now, maybe Elnora
+is getting left, after all!”
+
+“Don’t worry, Billy,” she said. “I will watch, and if I find Elnora is
+‘getting left’ I’ll buy her some more things myself. But I’m sure she
+is not. She has more beautiful gifts now than she will know what to do
+with, and others will come. Tell your Uncle Wesley his girl is
+bountifully remembered, very happy, and she sends her dearest love to
+all of you. Now you must go, so I can help her dress. You will be there
+to-night of course?”
+
+“Yes, sir-ee! She got me a seat, third row from the front, middle
+section, so I can see, and she’s going to wink at me, after she gets
+her speech off her mind. She kissed me, too! She’s a perfect lady,
+Elnora is. I’m going to marry her when I am big enough.”
+
+“Why isn’t that splendid!” laughed the Bird Woman as she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+“Dear!” she called. “Here is another gift for you.”
+
+Elnora was half disrobed as she took the package and, sitting on a
+couch, opened it. The Bird Woman bent over her and tested the fabric
+with her fingers.
+
+“Why, bless my soul!” she cried. “Hand-woven, hand-embroidered linen,
+fine as silk. It’s priceless! I haven’t seen such things in years. My
+mother had garments like those when I was a child, but my sisters had
+them cut up for collars, belts, and fancy waists while I was small.
+Look at the exquisite work!”
+
+“Where could it have come from?” cried Elnora.
+
+She shook out a petticoat, with a hand-wrought ruffle a foot deep, then
+an old-fashioned chemise the neck and sleeve work of which was
+elaborate and perfectly wrought. On the breast was pinned a note that
+she hastily opened.
+
+“I was married in these,” it read, “and I had intended to be buried in
+them, but perhaps it would be more sensible for you to graduate and get
+married in them yourself, if you like. Your mother.”
+
+“From my mother!” Wide-eyed, Elnora looked at the Bird Woman. “I never
+in my life saw the like. Mother does things I think I never can
+forgive, and when I feel hardest, she turns around and does something
+that makes me think she just must love me a little bit, after all. Any
+of the girls would give almost anything to graduate in hand-embroidered
+linen like that. Money can’t buy such things. And they came when I was
+thinking she didn’t care what became of me. Do you suppose she can be
+insane?”
+
+“Yes,” said the Bird Woman. “Wildly insane, if she does not love you
+and care what becomes of you.”
+
+Elnora arose and held the petticoat to her. “Will you look at it?” she
+cried. “Only imagine her not getting my dress ready, and then sending
+me such a petticoat as this! Ellen would pay fifty dollars for it and
+never blink. I suppose mother has had it all my life, and I never saw
+it before.”
+
+“Go take your bath and put on those things,” said the Bird Woman.
+“Forget everything and be happy. She is not insane. She is embittered.
+She did not understand how things would be. When she saw, she came at
+once to provide you a dress. This is her way of saying she is sorry she
+did not get the other. You notice she has not spent any money, so
+perhaps she is quite honest in saying she has none.”
+
+“Oh, she is honest!” said Elnora. “She wouldn’t care enough to tell an
+untruth. She’d say just how things were, no matter what happened.”
+
+Soon Elnora was ready for her dress. She never had looked so well as
+when she again headed the processional across the flower and palm
+decked stage of the high school auditorium. As she sat there she could
+have reached over and dropped a rose she carried into the seat she had
+occupied that September morning when she entered the high school. She
+spoke the few words she had to say in behalf of the class beautifully,
+had the tiny wink ready for Billy, and the smile and nod of recognition
+for Wesley and Margaret. When at last she looked into the eyes of a
+white-faced woman next them, she slipped a hand to her side and raised
+her skirt the fraction of an inch, just enough to let the embroidered
+edge of a petticoat show a trifle. When she saw the look of relief
+which flooded her mother’s face, Elnora knew that forgiveness was in
+her heart, and that she would go home in the morning.
+
+It was late afternoon before she arrived, and a dray followed with a
+load of packages. Mrs. Comstock was overwhelmed. She sat half dazed and
+made Elnora show her each costly and beautiful or simple and useful
+gift, tell her carefully what it was and from where it came. She
+studied the faces of Elnora’s particular friends. The gifts from them
+had to be set in a group. Several times she started to speak and then
+stopped. At last, between her dry lips, came a harsh whisper.
+
+“Elnora, what did you give back for these things?”
+
+“I’ll show you,” said Elnora cheerfully. “I made the same gifts for the
+Bird Woman, Aunt Margaret and you if you care for it. But I have to run
+upstairs to get it.”
+
+When she returned she handed her mother an oblong frame, hand carved,
+enclosing Elnora’s picture, taken by a schoolmate’s camera. She wore
+her storm-coat and carried a dripping umbrella. From under it looked
+her bright face; her books and lunchbox were on her arm, and across the
+bottom of the frame was carved, “Your Country Classmate.”
+
+Then she offered another frame.
+
+“I am strong on frames,” she said. “They seemed to be the best I could
+do without money. I located the maple and the black walnut myself, in a
+little corner that had been overlooked between the river and the ditch.
+They didn’t seem to belong to any one so I just took them. Uncle Wesley
+said it was all right, and he cut and hauled them for me. I gave the
+mill half of each tree for sawing and curing the remainder. Then I gave
+the wood-carver half of that for making my frames. A photographer gave
+me a lot of spoiled plates, and I boiled off the emulsion, and took the
+specimens I framed from my stuff. The man said the white frames were
+worth three and a half, and the black ones five. I exchanged those
+little framed pictures for the photographs of the others. For presents,
+I gave each one of my crowd one like this, only a different moth. The
+Bird Woman gave me the birch bark. She got it up north last summer.”
+
+Elnora handed her mother a handsome black-walnut frame a foot and a
+half wide by two long. It finished a small, shallow glass-covered box
+of birch bark, to the bottom of which clung a big night moth with
+delicate pale green wings and long exquisite trailers.
+
+“So you see I did not have to be ashamed of my gifts,” said Elnora. “I
+made them myself and raised and mounted the moths.”
+
+“Moth, you call it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ve seen a few of the things
+before.”
+
+“They are numerous around us every June night, or at least they used to
+be,” said Elnora. “I’ve sold hundreds of them, with butterflies,
+dragonflies, and other specimens. Now, I must put away these and get to
+work, for it is almost June and there are a few more I want dreadfully.
+If I find them I will be paid some money for which I have been
+working.”
+
+She was afraid to say college at that time. She thought it would be
+better to wait a few days and see if an opportunity would not come when
+it would work in more naturally. Besides, unless she could secure the
+Yellow Emperor she needed to complete her collection, she could not
+talk college until she was of age, for she would have no money.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHEREIN MARGARET SINTON REVEALS A SECRET, AND MRS. COMSTOCK POSSESSES
+THE LIMBERLOST
+
+
+“Elnora, bring me the towel, quick!” cried Mrs Comstock.
+
+“In a minute, mother,” mumbled Elnora.
+
+She was standing before the kitchen mirror, tying the back part of her
+hair, while the front turned over her face.
+
+“Hurry! There’s a varmint of some kind!”
+
+Elnora ran into the sitting-room and thrust the heavy kitchen towel
+into her mother’s hand. Mrs. Comstock swung open the screen door and
+struck at some object, Elnora tossed the hair from her face so that she
+could see past her mother. The girl screamed wildly.
+
+“Don’t! Mother, don’t!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock struck again. Elnora caught her arm. “It’s the one I
+want! It’s worth a lot of money! Don’t! Oh, you shall not!”
+
+“Shan’t, missy?” blazed Mrs. Comstock. “When did you get to bossing
+me?”
+
+The hand that held the screen swept a half-circle and stopped at
+Elnora’s cheek. She staggered with the blow, and across her face, paled
+with excitement, a red mark arose rapidly. The screen slammed shut,
+throwing the creature on the floor before them. Instantly Mrs. Comstock
+crushed it with her foot. Elnora stepped back. Excepting the red mark,
+her face was very white.
+
+“That was the last moth I needed,” she said, “to complete a collection
+worth three hundred dollars. You’ve ruined it before my eyes!”
+
+“Moth!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You say that because you are mad. Moths
+have big wings. I know a moth!”
+
+“I’ve kept things from you,” said Elnora, “because I didn’t dare
+confide in you. You had no sympathy with me. But you know I never told
+you untruths in all my life.”
+
+“It’s no moth!” reiterated Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“It is!” cried Elnora. “It’s from a case in the ground. Its wings take
+two or three hours to expand and harden.”
+
+“If I had known it was a moth——” Mrs. Comstock wavered.
+
+“You did know! I told you! I begged you to stop! It meant just three
+hundred dollars to me.”
+
+“Bah! Three hundred fiddlesticks!”
+
+“They are what have paid for books, tuition, and clothes for the past
+four years. They are what I could have started on to college. You’ve
+ruined the very one I needed. You never made any pretence of loving me.
+At last I’ll be equally frank with you. I hate you! You are a selfish,
+wicked woman! I hate you!”
+
+Elnora turned, went through the kitchen and from the back door. She
+followed the garden path to the gate and walked toward the swamp a
+short distance when reaction overtook her. She dropped on the ground
+and leaned against a big log. When a little child, desperate as now,
+she had tried to die by holding her breath. She had thought in that way
+to make her mother sorry, but she had learned that life was a thing
+thrust upon her and she could not leave it at her wish.
+
+She was so stunned over the loss of that moth, which she had childishly
+named the Yellow Emperor, that she scarcely remembered the blow. She
+had thought no luck in all the world would be so rare as to complete
+her collection; now she had been forced to see a splendid Imperialis
+destroyed before her. There was a possibility that she could find
+another, but she was facing the certainty that the one she might have
+had and with which she undoubtedly could have attracted others, was
+spoiled by her mother. How long she sat there Elnora did not know or
+care. She simply suffered in dumb, abject misery, an occasional dry sob
+shaking her. Aunt Margaret was right. Elnora felt that morning that her
+mother never would be any different. The girl had reached the place
+where she realized that she could endure it no longer.
+
+As Elnora left the room, Mrs. Comstock took one step after her.
+
+“You little huzzy!” she gasped.
+
+But Elnora was gone. Her mother stood staring.
+
+“She never did lie to me,” she muttered. “I guess it was a moth. And
+the only one she needed to get three hundred dollars, she said. I wish
+I hadn’t been so fast! I never saw anything like it. I thought it was
+some deadly, stinging, biting thing. A body does have to be mighty
+careful here. But likely I’ve spilt the milk now. Pshaw! She can find
+another! There’s no use to be foolish. Maybe moths are like snakes,
+where there’s one, there are two.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock took the broom and swept the moth out of the door. Then
+she got down on her knees and carefully examined the steps, logs and
+the earth of the flower beds at each side. She found the place where
+the creature had emerged from the ground, and the hard, dark-brown case
+which had enclosed it, still wet inside. Then she knew Elnora had been
+right. It was a moth. Its wings had been damp and not expanded. Mrs.
+Comstock never before had seen one in that state, and she did not know
+how they originated. She had thought all of them came from cases spun
+on trees or against walls or boards. She had seen only enough to know
+that there were such things; as a flash of white told her that an
+ermine was on her premises, or a sharp “buzzzzz” warned her of a
+rattler.
+
+So it was from creatures like that Elnora had secured her school money.
+In one sickening sweep there rushed into the heart of the woman a full
+realization of the width of the gulf that separated her from her child.
+Lately many things had pointed toward it, none more plainly than when
+Elnora, like a reincarnation of her father, had stood fearlessly before
+a large city audience and played with even greater skill than he, on
+what Mrs. Comstock felt very certain was his violin. But that little
+crawling creature of earth, crushed by her before its splendid yellow
+and lavender wings could spread and carry it into the mystery of night,
+had performed a miracle.
+
+“We are nearer strangers to each other than we are with any of the
+neighbours,” she muttered.
+
+So one of the Almighty’s most delicate and beautiful creations was
+sacrificed without fulfilling the law, yet none of its species ever
+served so glorious a cause, for at last Mrs. Comstock’s inner vision
+had cleared. She went through the cabin mechanically. Every few minutes
+she glanced toward the back walk to see if Elnora were coming. She knew
+arrangements had been made with Margaret to go to the city some time
+that day, so she grew more nervous and uneasy every moment. She was
+haunted by the fear that the blow might discolour Elnora’s cheek; that
+she would tell Margaret. She went down the back walk, looking intently
+in all directions, left the garden and followed the swamp path. Her
+step was noiseless on the soft, black earth, and soon she came close
+enough to see Elnora. Mrs. Comstock stood looking at the girl in
+troubled uncertainty. Not knowing what to say, at last she turned and
+went back to the cabin.
+
+Noon came and she prepared dinner, calling, as she always did, when
+Elnora was in the garden, but she got no response, and the girl did not
+come. A little after one o’clock Margaret stopped at the gate.
+
+“Elnora has changed her mind. She is not going,” called Mrs. Comstock.
+
+She felt that she hated Margaret as she hitched her horse and came up
+the walk instead of driving on.
+
+“You must be mistaken,” said Margaret. “I was going on purpose for her.
+She asked me to take her. I had no errand. Where is she?”
+
+“I will call her,” said Mrs. Comstock.
+
+She followed the path again, and this time found Elnora sitting on the
+log. Her face was swollen and discoloured, and her eyes red with
+crying. She paid no attention to her mother.
+
+“Mag Sinton is here,” said Mrs. Comstock harshly. “I told her you had
+changed your mind, but she said you asked her to go with you, and she
+had nothing to go for herself.”
+
+Elnora arose, recklessly waded through the deep swamp grasses and so
+reached the path ahead of her mother. Mrs. Comstock followed as far as
+the garden, but she could not enter the cabin. She busied herself among
+the vegetables, barely looking up when the back-door screen slammed
+noisily. Margaret Sinton approached colourless, her eyes so angry that
+Mrs. Comstock shrank back.
+
+“What’s the matter with Elnora’s face?” demanded Margaret.
+
+Mrs. Comstock made no reply.
+
+“You struck her, did you?”
+
+“I thought you wasn’t blind!”
+
+“I have been, for twenty long years now, Kate Comstock,” said Margaret
+Sinton, “but my eyes are open at last. What I see is that I’ve done you
+no good and Elnora a big wrong. I had an idea that it would kill you to
+know, but I guess you are tough enough to stand anything. Kill or cure,
+you get it now!”
+
+“What are you frothing about?” coolly asked Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“You!” cried Margaret. “You! The woman who doesn’t pretend to love her
+only child. Who lets her grow to a woman, as you have let Elnora, and
+can’t be satisfied with every sort of neglect, but must add abuse yet;
+and all for a fool idea about a man who wasn’t worth his salt!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock picked up a hoe.
+
+“Go right on!” she said. “Empty yourself. It’s the last thing you’ll
+ever do!”
+
+“Then I’ll make a tidy job of it,” said Margaret. “You’ll not touch me.
+You’ll stand there and hear the truth at last, and because I dare face
+you and tell it, you will know in your soul it is truth. When Robert
+Comstock shaved that quagmire out there so close he went in, he wanted
+to keep you from knowing where he was coming from. He’d been to see
+Elvira Carney. They had plans to go to a dance that night——”
+
+“Close your lips!” said Mrs. Comstock in a voice of deadly quiet.
+
+“You know I wouldn’t dare open them if I wasn’t telling you the truth.
+I can prove what I say. I was coming from Reeds. It was hot in the
+woods and I stopped at Carney’s as I passed for a drink. Elvira’s
+bedridden old mother heard me, and she was so crazy for some one to
+talk with, I stepped in a minute. I saw Robert come down the path.
+Elvira saw him, too, so she ran out of the house to head him off. It
+looked funny, and I just deliberately moved where I could see and hear.
+He brought her his violin, and told her to get ready and meet him in
+the woods with it that night, and they would go to a dance. She took it
+and hid it in the loft to the well-house and promised she’d go.”
+
+“Are you done?” demanded Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“No. I am going to tell you the whole story. You don’t spare Elnora
+anything. I shan’t spare you. I hadn’t been here that day, but I can
+tell you just how he was dressed, which way he went and every word they
+said, though they thought I was busy with her mother and wouldn’t
+notice them. Put down your hoe, Kate. I went to Elvira, told her what I
+knew and made her give me Comstock’s violin for Elnora over three years
+ago. She’s been playing it ever since. I won’t see her slighted and
+abused another day on account of a man who would have broken your heart
+if he had lived. Six months more would have showed you what everybody
+else knew. He was one of those men who couldn’t trust himself, and so
+no woman was safe with him. Now, will you drop grieving over him, and
+do Elnora justice?”
+
+Mrs. Comstock grasped the hoe tighter and turning she went down the
+walk, and started across the woods to the home of Elvira Carney. With
+averted head she passed the pool, steadily pursuing her way. Elvira
+Carney, hanging towels across the back fence, saw her coming and went
+toward the gate to meet her. Twenty years she had dreaded that visit.
+Since Margaret Sinton had compelled her to produce the violin she had
+hidden so long, because she was afraid to destroy it, she had come
+closer expectation than dread. The wages of sin are the hardest debts
+on earth to pay, and they are always collected at inconvenient times
+and unexpected places. Mrs. Comstock’s face and hair were so white,
+that her dark eyes seemed burned into their setting. Silently she
+stared at the woman before her a long time.
+
+“I might have saved myself the trouble of coming,” she said at last, “I
+see you are guilty as sin!”
+
+“What has Mag Sinton been telling you?” panted the miserable woman,
+gripping the fence.
+
+“The truth!” answered Mrs. Comstock succinctly. “Guilt is in every line
+of your face, in your eyes, all over your wretched body. If I’d taken a
+good look at you any time in all these past years, no doubt I could
+have seen it just as plain as I can now. No woman or man can do what
+you’ve done, and not get a mark set on them for every one to read.”
+
+“Mercy!” gasped weak little Elvira Carney. “Have mercy!”
+
+“Mercy?” scoffed Mrs. Comstock. “Mercy! That’s a nice word from you!
+How much mercy did you have on me? Where’s the mercy that sent Comstock
+to the slime of the bottomless quagmire, and left me to see it, and
+then struggle on in agony all these years? How about the mercy of
+letting me neglect my baby all the days of her life? Mercy! Do you
+really dare use the word to me?”
+
+“If you knew what I’ve suffered!”
+
+“Suffered?” jeered Mrs. Comstock. “That’s interesting. And pray, what
+have you suffered?”
+
+“All the neighbours have suspected and been down on me. I ain’t had a
+friend. I’ve always felt guilty of his death! I’ve seen him go down a
+thousand times, plain as ever you did. Many’s the night I’ve stood on
+the other bank of that pool and listened to you, and I tried to throw
+myself in to keep from hearing you, but I didn’t dare. I knew God would
+send me to burn forever, but I’d better done it; for now, He has set
+the burning on my body, and every hour it is slowly eating the life out
+of me. The doctor says it’s a cancer——”
+
+Mrs. Comstock exhaled a long breath. Her grip on the hoe relaxed and
+her stature lifted to towering height.
+
+“I didn’t know, or care, when I came here, just what I did,” she said.
+“But my way is beginning to clear. If the guilt of your soul has come
+to a head, in a cancer on your body, it looks as if the Almighty didn’t
+need any of my help in meting out His punishments. I really couldn’t
+fix up anything to come anywhere near that. If you are going to burn
+until your life goes out with that sort of fire, you don’t owe me
+anything!”
+
+“Oh, Katharine Comstock!” groaned Elvira Carney, clinging to the fence
+for support.
+
+“Looks as if the Bible is right when it says, ‘The wages of sin is
+death,’ doesn’t it?” asked Mrs. Comstock. “Instead of doing a woman’s
+work in life, you chose the smile of invitation, and the dress of
+unearned cloth. Now you tell me you are marked to burn to death with
+the unquenchable fire. And him! It was shorter with him, but let me
+tell you he got his share! He left me with an untruth on his lips, for
+he told me he was going to take his violin to Onabasha for a new key,
+when he carried it to you. Every vow of love and constancy he ever made
+me was a lie, after he touched your lips, so when he tried the wrong
+side of the quagmire, to hide from me the direction in which he was
+coming, it reached out for him, and it got him. It didn’t hurry,
+either! It sucked him down, slow and deliberate.”
+
+“Mercy!” groaned Elvira Carney. “Mercy!”
+
+“I don’t know the word,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You took all that out of
+me long ago. The past twenty years haven’t been of the sort that taught
+mercy. I’ve never had any on myself and none on my child. Why in the
+name of justice, should I have mercy on you, or on him? You were both
+older than I, both strong, sane people, you deliberately chose your
+course when you lured him, and he, when he was unfaithful to me. When a
+Loose Man and a Light Woman face the end the Almighty ordained for
+them, why should they shout at me for mercy? What did I have to do with
+it?”
+
+Elvira Carney sobbed in panting gasps.
+
+“You’ve got tears, have you?” marvelled Mrs. Comstock. “Mine all dried
+long ago. I’ve none left to shed over my wasted life, my disfigured
+face and hair, my years of struggle with a man’s work, my wreck of land
+among the tilled fields of my neighbours, or the final knowledge that
+the man I so gladly would have died to save, wasn’t worth the sacrifice
+of a rattlesnake. If anything yet could wring a tear from me, it would
+be the thought of the awful injustice I always have done my girl. If
+I’d lay hand on you for anything, it would be for that.”
+
+“Kill me if you want to,” sobbed Elvira Carney. “I know that I deserve
+it, and I don’t care.”
+
+“You are getting your killing fast enough to suit me,” said Mrs.
+Comstock. “I wouldn’t touch you, any more than I would him, if I could.
+Once is all any man or woman deceives me about the holiest things of
+life. I wouldn’t touch you any more than I would the black plague. I am
+going back to my girl.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock turned and started swiftly through the woods, but she had
+gone only a few rods when she stopped, and leaning on the hoe, she
+stood thinking deeply. Then she turned back. Elvira still clung to the
+fence, sobbing bitterly.
+
+“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Comstock, “but I left a wrong impression with
+you. I don’t want you to think that I believe the Almighty set a cancer
+to burning you as a punishment for your sins. I don’t! I think a lot
+more of the Almighty. With a whole sky-full of worlds on His hands to
+manage, I’m not believing that He has time to look down on ours, and
+pick you out of all the millions of us sinners, and set a special kind
+of torture to eating you. It wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do, and
+first of all, the Almighty is bound to be a gentleman. I think likely a
+bruise and bad blood is what caused your trouble. Anyway, I’ve got to
+tell you that the cleanest housekeeper I ever knew, and one of the
+noblest Christian women, was slowly eaten up by a cancer. She got hers
+from the careless work of a poor doctor. The Almighty is to forgive sin
+and heal disease, not to invent and spread it.”
+
+She had gone only a few steps when she again turned back.
+
+“If you will gather a lot of red clover bloom, make a tea strong as lye
+of it, and drink quarts, I think likely it will help you, if you are
+not too far gone. Anyway, it will cool your blood and make the burning
+easier to bear.”
+
+Then she swiftly went home. Enter the lonely cabin she could not,
+neither could she sit outside and think. She attacked a bed of beets
+and hoed until the perspiration ran from her face and body, then she
+began on the potatoes. When she was too tired to take another stroke
+she bathed and put on dry clothing. In securing her dress she noticed
+her husband’s carefully preserved clothing lining one wall. She
+gathered it in an armload and carried it to the swamp. Piece by piece
+she pitched into the green maw of the quagmire all those articles she
+had dusted carefully and fought moths from for years, and stood
+watching as it slowly sucked them down. She went back to her room and
+gathered every scrap that had in any way belonged to Robert Comstock,
+excepting his gun and revolver, and threw it into the swamp. Then for
+the first time she set her door wide open.
+
+She was too weary now to do more, but an urging unrest drove her. She
+wanted Elnora. It seemed to her she never could wait until the girl
+came and delivered her judgment. At last in an effort to get nearer to
+her, Mrs. Comstock climbed the stairs and stood looking around Elnora’s
+room. It was very unfamiliar. The pictures were strange to her.
+Commencement had filled it with packages and bundles. The walls were
+covered with cocoons; moths and dragonflies were pinned everywhere.
+Under the bed she could see half a dozen large white boxes. She pulled
+out one and lifted the lid. The bottom was covered with a sheet of thin
+cork, and on long pins sticking in it were large, velvet-winged moths.
+Each one was labelled, always there were two of a kind, in many cases
+four, showing under and upper wings of both male and female. They were
+of every colour and shape.
+
+Mrs. Comstock caught her breath sharply. When and where had Elnora
+found them? They were the most exquisite sight the woman ever had seen,
+so she opened all the boxes to feast on their beautiful contents. As
+she did so there came more fully a sense of the distance between her
+and her child. She could not understand how Elnora had gone to school,
+and performed so much work secretly. When it was finished, to the last
+moth, she, the mother who should have been the first confidant and
+helper, had been the one to bring disappointment. Small wonder Elnora
+had come to hate her.
+
+Mrs. Comstock carefully closed and replaced the boxes; and again stood
+looking around the room. This time her eyes rested on some books she
+did not remember having seen before, so she picked up one and found
+that it was a moth book. She glanced over the first pages and was soon
+eagerly reading. When the text reached the classification of species,
+she laid it down, took up another and read the introductory chapters.
+By that time her brain was in a confused jumble of ideas about
+capturing moths with differing baits and bright lights.
+
+She went down stairs thinking deeply. Being unable to sit still and
+having nothing else to do she glanced at the clock and began preparing
+supper. The work dragged. A chicken was snatched up and dressed
+hurriedly. A spice cake sprang into being. Strawberries that had been
+intended for preserves went into shortcake. Delicious odours crept from
+the cabin. She put many extra touches on the table and then commenced
+watching the road. Everything was ready, but Elnora did not come. Then
+began the anxious process of trying to keep cooked food warm and not
+spoil it. The birds went to bed and dusk came. Mrs. Comstock gave up
+the fire and set the supper on the table. Then she went out and sat on
+the front-door step watching night creep around her. She started
+eagerly as the gate creaked, but it was only Wesley Sinton coming.
+
+“Katharine, Margaret and Elnora passed where I was working this
+afternoon, and Margaret got out of the carriage and called me to the
+fence. She told me what she had done. I’ve come to say to you that I am
+sorry. She has heard me threaten to do it a good many times, but I
+never would have got it done. I’d give a good deal if I could undo it,
+but I can’t, so I’ve come to tell you how sorry I am.”
+
+“You’ve got something to be sorry for,” said Mrs. Comstock, “but likely
+we ain’t thinking of the same thing. It hurts me less to know the
+truth, than to live in ignorance. If Mag had the sense of a pewee,
+she’d told me long ago. That’s what hurts me, to think that both of you
+knew Robert was not worth an hour of honest grief, yet you’d let me
+mourn him all these years and neglect Elnora while I did it. If I have
+anything to forgive you, that is what it is.”
+
+Wesley removed his hat and sat on a bench.
+
+“Katharine,” he said solemnly, “nobody ever knows how to take you.”
+
+“Would it be asking too much to take me for having a few grains of
+plain common sense?” she inquired. “You’ve known all this time that
+Comstock got what he deserved, when he undertook to sneak in an unused
+way across a swamp, with which he was none too familiar. Now I should
+have thought that you’d figure that knowing the same thing would be the
+best method to cure me of pining for him, and slighting my child.”
+
+“Heaven only knows we have thought of that, and talked of it often, but
+we were both too big cowards. We didn’t dare tell you.”
+
+“So you have gone on year after year, watching me show indifference to
+Elnora, and yet a little horse-sense would have pointed out to you that
+she was my salvation. Why look at it! Not married quite a year. All his
+vows of love and fidelity made to me before the Almighty forgotten in a
+few months, and a dance and a Light Woman so alluring he had to lie and
+sneak for them. What kind of a prospect is that for a life? I know men
+and women. An honourable man is an honourable man, and a liar is a
+liar; both are born and not made. One cannot change to the other any
+more than that same old leopard can change its spots. After a man tells
+a woman the first untruth of that sort, the others come piling thick,
+fast, and mountain high. The desolation they bring in their wake
+overshadows anything I have suffered completely. If he had lived six
+months more I should have known him for what he was born to be. It was
+in the blood of him. His father and grandfather before him were
+fiddling, dancing people; but I was certain of him. I thought we could
+leave Ohio and come out here alone, and I could so love him and
+interest him in his work, that he would be a man. Of all the fool,
+fruitless jobs, making anything of a creature that begins by deceiving
+her, is the foolest a sane woman ever undertook. I am more than sorry
+you and Margaret didn’t see your way clear to tell me long ago. I’d
+have found it out in a few more months if he had lived, and I wouldn’t
+have borne it a day. The man who breaks his vows to me once, doesn’t
+get the second chance. I give truth and honour. I have a right to ask
+it in return. I am glad I understand at last. Now, if Elnora will
+forgive me, we will take a new start and see what we can make out of
+what is left of life. If she won’t, then it will be my time to learn
+what suffering really means.”
+
+“But she will,” said Wesley. “She must! She can’t help it when things
+are explained.”
+
+“I notice she isn’t hurrying any about coming home. Do you know where
+she is or what she is doing?”
+
+“I do not. But likely she will be along soon. I must go help Billy with
+the night work. Good-bye, Katharine. Thank the Lord you have come to
+yourself at last!”
+
+They shook hands and Wesley went down the road while Mrs. Comstock
+entered the cabin. She could not swallow food. She stood in the back
+door watching the sky for moths, but they did not seem to be very
+numerous. Her spirits sank and she breathed unevenly. Then she heard
+the front screen. She reached the middle door as Elnora touched the
+foot of the stairs.
+
+“Hurry, and get ready, Elnora,” she said. “Your supper is almost
+spoiled now.”
+
+Elnora closed the stair door behind her, and for the first time in her
+life, threw the heavy lever which barred out anyone from down stairs.
+Mrs. Comstock heard the thud, and knew what it meant. She reeled
+slightly and caught the doorpost for support. For a few minutes she
+clung there, then sank to the nearest chair. After a long time she
+arose and stumbling half blindly, she put the food in the cupboard and
+covered the table. She took the lamp in one hand, the butter in the
+other, and started to the spring house. Something brushed close by her
+face, and she looked just in time to see a winged creature rise above
+the cabin and sail away.
+
+“That was a night bird,” she muttered. As she stopped to set the butter
+in the water, came another thought. “Perhaps it was a moth!” Mrs.
+Comstock dropped the butter and hurried out with the lamp; she held it
+high above her head and waited until her arms ached. Small insects of
+night gathered, and at last a little dusty miller, but nothing came of
+any size.
+
+“I must go where they are, if I get them,” muttered Mrs. Comstock.
+
+She went to the barn after the stout pair of high boots she used in
+feeding stock in deep snow. Throwing these beside the back door she
+climbed to the loft over the spring house, and hunted an old lard oil
+lantern and one of first manufacture for oil. Both these she cleaned
+and filled. She listened until everything up stairs had been still for
+over half an hour. By that time it was past eleven o’clock. Then she
+took the lantern from the kitchen, the two old ones, a handful of
+matches, a ball of twine, and went from the cabin, softly closing the
+door.
+
+Sitting on the back steps, she put on the boots, and then stood gazing
+into the perfumed June night, first in the direction of the woods on
+her land, then toward the Limberlost. Its outline was so dark and
+forbidding she shuddered and went down the garden, following the path
+toward the woods, but as she neared the pool her knees wavered and her
+courage fled. The knowledge that in her soul she was now glad Robert
+Comstock was at the bottom of it made a coward of her, who fearlessly
+had mourned him there, nights untold. She could not go on. She skirted
+the back of the garden, crossed a field, and came out on the road. Soon
+she reached the Limberlost. She hunted until she found the old trail,
+then followed it stumbling over logs and through clinging vines and
+grasses. The heavy boots clumped on her feet, overhanging branches
+whipped her face and pulled her hair. But her eyes were on the sky as
+she went straining into the night, hoping to find signs of a living
+creature on wing.
+
+By and by she began to see the wavering flight of something she thought
+near the right size. She had no idea where she was, but she stopped,
+lighted a lantern and hung it as high as she could reach. A little
+distance away she placed the second and then the third. The objects
+came nearer and sick with disappointment she saw that they were bats.
+Crouching in the damp swamp grasses, without a thought of snakes or
+venomous insects, she waited, her eyes roving from lantern to lantern.
+Once she thought a creature of high flight dropped near the lard oil
+light, so she arose breathlessly waiting, but either it passed or it
+was an illusion. She glanced at the old lantern, then at the new, and
+was on her feet in an instant creeping close. Something large as a
+small bird was fluttering around. Mrs. Comstock began to perspire,
+while her hand shook wildly. Closer she crept and just as she reached
+for it, something similar swept past and both flew away together.
+
+Mrs. Comstock set her teeth and stood shivering. For a long time the
+locusts rasped, the whip-poor-wills cried and a steady hum of night
+life throbbed in her ears. Away in the sky she saw something coming
+when it was no larger than a falling leaf. Straight toward the light it
+flew. Mrs. Comstock began to pray aloud.
+
+“This way, O Lord! Make it come this way! Please! O Lord, send it
+lower!”
+
+The moth hesitated at the first light, then slowly, easily it came
+toward the second, as if following a path of air. It touched a leaf
+near the lantern and settled. As Mrs. Comstock reached for it a thin
+yellow spray wet her hand and the surrounding leaves. When its wings
+raised above its back, her fingers came together. She held the moth to
+the light. It was nearer brown than yellow, and she remembered having
+seen some like it in the boxes that afternoon. It was not the one
+needed to complete the collection, but Elnora might want it, so Mrs.
+Comstock held on. Then the Almighty was kind, or nature was sufficient,
+as you look at it, for following the law of its being when disturbed,
+the moth again threw the spray by which some suppose it attracts its
+kind, and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock’s dress front and arms.
+From that instant, she became the best moth bait ever invented. Every
+Polyphemus in range hastened to her, and other fluttering creatures of
+night followed. The influx came her way. She snatched wildly here and
+there until she had one in each hand and no place to put them. She
+could see more coming, and her aching heart, swollen with the strain of
+long excitement, hurt pitifully. She prayed in broken exclamations that
+did not always sound reverent, but never was human soul in more intense
+earnest.
+
+Moths were coming. She had one in each hand. They were not yellow, and
+she did not know what to do. She glanced around to try to discover some
+way to keep what she had, and her throbbing heart stopped and every
+muscle stiffened. There was the dim outline of a crouching figure not
+two yards away, and a pair of eyes their owner thought hidden, caught
+the light in a cold stream. Her first impulse was to scream and fly for
+life. Before her lips could open a big moth alighted on her breast
+while she felt another walking over her hair. All sense of caution
+deserted her. She did not care to live if she could not replace the
+yellow moth she had killed. She turned her eyes to those among the
+leaves.
+
+“Here, you!” she cried hoarsely. “I need you! Get yourself out here,
+and help me. These critters are going to get away from me. Hustle!”
+
+Pete Corson parted the bushes and stepped into the light.
+
+“Oh, it’s you!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I might have known! But you gave
+me a start. Here, hold these until I make some sort of bag for them. Go
+easy! If you break them I don’t guarantee what will happen to you!”
+
+“Pretty fierce, ain’t you!” laughed Pete, but he advanced and held out
+his hands. “For Elnora, I s’pose?”
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Comstock. “In a mad fit, I trampled one this morning,
+and by the luck of the old boy himself it was the last moth she needed
+to complete a collection. I got to get another one or die.”
+
+“Then I guess it’s your funeral,” said Pete. “There ain’t a chance in a
+dozen the right one will come. What colour was it?”
+
+“Yellow, and big as a bird.”
+
+“The Emperor, likely,” said Pete. “You dig for that kind, and they are
+not numerous, so’s ’at you can smash ’em for fun.”
+
+“Well, I can try to get one, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I forgot all
+about bringing anything to put them in. You take a pinch on their wings
+until I make a poke.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock removed her apron, tearing off the strings. She
+unfastened and stepped from the skirt of her calico dress. With one
+apron string she tied shut the band and placket. She pulled a wire pin
+from her hair, stuck it through the other string, and using it as a
+bodkin ran it around the hem of her skirt, so shortly she had a large
+bag. She put several branches inside to which the moths could cling,
+closed the mouth partially and held it toward Pete.
+
+“Put your hand well down and let the things go!” she ordered. “But be
+careful, man! Don’t run into the twigs! Easy! That’s one. Now the
+other. Is the one on my head gone? There was one on my dress, but I
+guess it flew. Here comes a kind of a gray-looking one.”
+
+Pete slipped several more moths into the bag.
+
+“Now, that’s five, Mrs. Comstock,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have
+to make that do. You must get out of here lively. Your lights will be
+taken for hurry calls, and inside the next hour a couple of men will
+ride here like fury. They won’t be nice Sunday-school men, and they
+won’t hold bags and catch moths for you. You must go quick!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock laid down the bag and pulled one of the lanterns lower.
+
+“I won’t budge a step,” she said. “This land doesn’t belong to you. You
+have no right to order me off it. Here I stay until I get a Yellow
+Emperor, and no little petering thieves of this neighbourhood can scare
+me away.”
+
+“You don’t understand,” said Pete. “I’m willing to help Elnora, and I’d
+take care of you, if I could, but there will be too many for me, and
+they will be mad at being called out for nothing.”
+
+“Well, who’s calling them out?” demanded Mrs. Comstock. “I’m catching
+moths. If a lot of good-for-nothings get fooled into losing some sleep,
+why let them, they can’t hurt me, or stop my work.”
+
+“They can, and they’ll do both.”
+
+“Well, I’ll see them do it!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ve got Robert’s
+revolver in my dress, and I can shoot as straight as any man, if I’m
+mad enough. Any one who interferes with me to-night will find me mad
+a-plenty. There goes another!”
+
+She stepped into the light and waited until a big brown moth settled on
+her and was easily taken. Then in light, airy flight came a delicate
+pale green thing, and Mrs. Comstock started in pursuit. But the scent
+was not right. The moth fluttered high, then dropped lower, still
+lower, and sailed away. With outstretched hands Mrs. Comstock pursued
+it. She hurried one way and another, then ran over an object which
+tripped her and she fell. She regained her feet in an instant, but she
+had lost sight of the moth. With livid face she turned to the crouching
+man.
+
+“You nasty, sneaking son of Satan!” she cried. “Why are you hiding
+there? You made me lose the one I wanted most of any I’ve had a chance
+at yet. Get out of here! Go this minute, or I’ll fill your worthless
+carcass so full of holes you’ll do to sift cornmeal. Go, I say! I’m
+using the Limberlost to-night, and I won’t be stopped by the devil
+himself! Cut like fury, and tell the rest of them they can just go
+home. Pete is going to help me, and he is all of you I need. Now go!”
+
+The man turned and went. Pete leaned against a tree, held his mouth
+shut and shook inwardly. Mrs. Comstock came back panting.
+
+“The old scoundrel made me lose that!” she said. “If any one else comes
+snooping around here I’ll just blow them up to start with. I haven’t
+time to talk. Suppose that had been yellow! I’d have killed that man,
+sure! The Limberlost isn’t safe to-night, and the sooner those whelps
+find it out, the better it will be for them.”
+
+Pete stopped laughing to look at her. He saw that she was speaking the
+truth. She was quite past reason, sense, or fear. The soft night air
+stirred the wet hair around her temples, the flickering lanterns made
+her face a ghastly green. She would stop at nothing, that was evident.
+Pete suddenly began catching moths with exemplary industry. In putting
+one into the bag, another escaped.
+
+“We must not try that again,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Now, what will we
+do?”
+
+“We are close to the old case,” said Pete. “I think I can get into it.
+Maybe we could slip the rest in there.”
+
+“That’s a fine idea!” said Mrs. Comstock. “They’ll have so much room
+there they won’t be likely to hurt themselves, and the books say they
+don’t fly in daytime unless they are disturbed, so they will settle
+when it’s light, and I can come with Elnora to get them.”
+
+They captured two more, and then Pete carried them to the case.
+
+“Here comes a big one!” he cried as he returned.
+
+Mrs. Comstock looked up and stepped out with a prayer on her lips. She
+could not tell the colour at that distance, but the moth appeared
+different from the others. On it came, dropping lower and darting from
+light to light. As it swept near her, “O Heavenly Father!” exulted Mrs.
+Comstock, “it’s yellow! Careful Pete! Your hat, maybe!”
+
+Pete made a long sweep. The moth wavered above the hat and sailed away.
+Mrs. Comstock leaned against a tree and covered her face with her
+shaking hands.
+
+“That is my punishment!” she cried. “Oh, Lord, if you will give a moth
+like that into my possession, I’ll always be a better woman!”
+
+The Emperor again came in sight. Pete stood tense and ready. Mrs.
+Comstock stepped into the light and watched the mothh’s course. Then a
+second appeared in pursuit of the first. The larger one wavered into
+the radius of light once more. The perspiration rolled down the man’s
+face. He half lifted the hat.
+
+“Pray, woman! Pray now!” he panted.
+
+“I guess I best get over by that lard oil light and go to work,”
+breathed Mrs. Comstock. “The Lord knows this is all in prayer, but it’s
+no time for words just now. Ready, Pete! You are going to get a chance
+first!”
+
+Pete made another long, steady sweep, but the moth darted beneath the
+hat. In its flight it came straight toward Mrs. Comstock. She snatched
+off the remnant of apron she had tucked into her petticoat band and
+held the calico before her. The moth struck full against it and clung
+to the goods. Pete crept up stealthily. The second moth followed the
+first, and the spray showered the apron.
+
+“Wait!” gasped Mrs. Comstock. “I think they have settled. The books say
+they won’t leave now.”
+
+The big pale yellow creature clung firmly, lowering and raising its
+wings. The other came nearer. Mrs. Comstock held the cloth with rigid
+hands, while Pete could hear her breathing in short gusts.
+
+“Shall I try now?” he implored.
+
+“Wait!” whispered the woman. “Something seems to say wait!”
+
+The night breeze stiffened and gently waved the apron. Locusts rasped,
+mosquitoes hummed and frogs sang uninterruptedly. A musky odour slowly
+filled the air.
+
+“Now shall I?” questioned Pete.
+
+“No. Leave them alone. They are safe now. They are mine. They are my
+salvation. God and the Limberlost gave them to me! They won’t move for
+hours. The books all say so. O Heavenly Father, I am thankful to You,
+and you, too, Pete Corson! You are a good man to help me. Now, I can go
+home and face my girl.”
+
+Instead, Mrs. Comstock dropped suddenly. She spread the apron across
+her knees. The moths remained undisturbed. Then her tired white head
+dropped, the tears she had thought forever dried gushed forth, and she
+sobbed for pure joy.
+
+“Oh, I wouldn’t do that now, you know!” comforted Pete. “Think of
+getting two! That’s more than you ever could have expected. A body
+would think you would cry, if you hadn’t got any. Come on, now. It’s
+almost morning. Let me help you home.”
+
+Pete took the bag and the two old lanterns. Mrs. Comstock carried her
+moths and the best lantern and went ahead to light the way.
+
+Elnora had sat beside her window far into the night. At last she
+undressed and went to bed, but sleep would not come. She had gone to
+the city to talk with members of the School Board about a room in the
+grades. There was a possibility that she might secure the moth, and so
+be able to start to college that fall, but if she did not, then she
+wanted the school. She had been given some encouragement, but she was
+so unhappy that nothing mattered. She could not see the way open to
+anything in life, save a long series of disappointments, while she
+remained with her mother. Yet Margaret Sinton had advised her to go
+home and try once more. Margaret had seemed so sure there would be a
+change for the better, that Elnora had consented, although she had no
+hope herself. So strong is the bond of blood, she could not make up her
+mind to seek a home elsewhere, even after the day that had passed.
+Unable to sleep she arose at last, and the room being warm, she sat on
+the floor close the window. The lights in the swamp caught her eye. She
+was very uneasy, for quite a hundred of her best moths were in the
+case. However, there was no money, and no one ever had touched a book
+or any of her apparatus. Watching the lights set her thinking, and
+before she realized it, she was in a panic of fear.
+
+She hurried down the stairway softly calling her mother. There was no
+answer. She lightly stepped across the sitting-room and looked in at
+the open door. There was no one, and the bed had not been used. Her
+first thought was that her mother had gone to the pool; and the
+Limberlost was alive with signals. Pity and fear mingled in the heart
+of the girl. She opened the kitchen door, crossed the garden and ran
+back to the swamp. As she neared it she listened, but she could hear
+only the usual voices of night.
+
+“Mother!” she called softly. Then louder, “Mother!”
+
+There was not a sound. Chilled with fright she hurried back to the
+cabin. She did not know what to do. She understood what the lights in
+the Limberlost meant. Where was her mother? She was afraid to enter,
+while she was growing very cold and still more fearful about remaining
+outside. At last she went to her mother’s room, picked up the gun,
+carried it into the kitchen, and crowding in a little corner behind the
+stove, she waited in trembling anxiety. The time was dreadfully long
+before she heard her mother’s voice. Then she decided some one had been
+ill and sent for her, so she took courage, and stepping swiftly across
+the kitchen she unbarred the door and drew back from sight beside the
+table.
+
+Mrs. Comstock entered dragging her heavy feet. Her dress skirt was
+gone, her petticoat wet and drabbled, and the waist of her dress was
+almost torn from her body. Her hair hung in damp strings; her eyes were
+red with crying. In one hand she held the lantern, and in the other
+stiffly extended before her, on a wad of calico reposed a magnificent
+pair of Yellow Emperors. Elnora stared, her lips parted.
+
+“Shall I put these others in the kitchen?” inquired a man’s voice.
+
+The girl shrank back to the shadows.
+
+“Yes, anywhere inside the door,” replied Mrs. Comstock as she moved a
+few steps to make way for him. Pete’s head appeared. He set down the
+moths and was gone.
+
+“Thank you, Pete, more than ever woman thanked you before!” said Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+She placed the lantern on the table and barred the door. As she turned
+Elnora came into view. Mrs. Comstock leaned toward her, and held out
+the moths. In a voice vibrant with tones never before heard she said:
+“Elnora, my girl, mother’s found you another moth!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+WHEREIN MOTHER LOVE IS BESTOWED ON ELNORA, AND SHE FINDS AN ASSISTANT
+IN MOTH HUNTING
+
+
+Elnora awoke at dawn and lay gazing around the unfamiliar room. She
+noticed that every vestige of masculine attire and belongings was gone,
+and knew, without any explanation, what that meant. For some reason
+every tangible evidence of her father was banished, and she was at last
+to be allowed to take his place. She turned to look at her mother. Mrs.
+Comstock’s face was white and haggard, but on it rested an expression
+of profound peace Elnora never before had seen. As she studied the
+features on the pillow beside her, the heart of the girl throbbed in
+tenderness. She realized as fully as any one else could what her mother
+had suffered. Thoughts of the night brought shuddering fear. She softly
+slipped from the bed, went to her room, dressed and entered the kitchen
+to attend the Emperors and prepare breakfast. The pair had been left
+clinging to the piece of calico. The calico was there and a few pieces
+of beautiful wing. A mouse had eaten the moths!
+
+“Well, of all the horrible luck!” gasped Elnora.
+
+With the first thought of her mother, she caught up the remnants of the
+moths, burying them in the ashes of the stove. She took the bag to her
+room, hurriedly releasing its contents, but there was not another
+yellow one. Her mother had said some had been confined in the case in
+the Limberlost. There was still a hope that an Emperor might be among
+them. She peeped at her mother, who still slept soundly.
+
+Elnora took a large piece of mosquito netting, and ran to the swamp.
+Throwing it over the top of the case, she unlocked the door. She
+reeled, faint with distress. The living moths that had been confined
+there in their fluttering to escape to night and the mates they sought
+not only had wrecked the other specimens of the case, but torn
+themselves to fringes on the pins. A third of the rarest moths of the
+collection for the man of India were antennaless, legless, wingless,
+and often headless. Elnora sobbed aloud.
+
+“This is overwhelming,” she said at last. “It is making a fatalist of
+me. I am beginning to think things happen as they are ordained from the
+beginning, this plainly indicating that there is to be no college, at
+least, this year, for me. My life is all mountain-top or canon. I wish
+some one would lead me into a few days of ‘green pastures.’ Last night
+I went to sleep on mother’s arm, the moths all secured, love and
+college, certainties. This morning I wake to find all my hopes wrecked.
+I simply don’t dare let mother know that instead of helping me, she has
+ruined my collection. Everything is gone—unless the love lasts. That
+actually seemed true. I believe I will go see.”
+
+The love remained. Indeed, in the overflow of the long-hardened,
+pent-up heart, the girl was almost suffocated with tempestuous caresses
+and generous offerings. Before the day was over, Elnora realized that
+she never had known her mother. The woman who now busily went through
+the cabin, her eyes bright, eager, alert, constantly planning, was a
+stranger. Her very face was different, while it did not seem possible
+that during one night the acid of twenty years could disappear from a
+voice and leave it sweet and pleasant.
+
+For the next few days Elnora worked at mounting the moths her mother
+had taken. She had to go to the Bird Woman and tell about the disaster,
+but Mrs. Comstock was allowed to think that Elnora delivered the moths
+when she made the trip. If she had told her what actually happened, the
+chances were that Mrs. Comstock again would have taken possession of
+the Limberlost, hunting there until she replaced all the moths that had
+been destroyed. But Elnora knew from experience what it meant to
+collect such a list in pairs. It would require steady work for at least
+two summers to replace the lost moths. When she left the Bird Woman she
+went to the president of the Onabasha schools and asked him to do all
+in his power to secure her a room in one of the ward buildings.
+
+The next morning the last moth was mounted, and the housework finished.
+Elnora said to her mother, “If you don’t mind, I believe I will go into
+the woods pasture beside Sleepy Snake Creek and see if I can catch some
+dragonflies or moths.”
+
+“Wait until I get a knife and a pail and I will go along,” answered
+Mrs. Comstock. “The dandelions are plenty tender for greens among the
+deep grasses, and I might just happen to see something myself. My eyes
+are pretty sharp.”
+
+“I wish you could realize how young you are,” said Elnora. “I know
+women in Onabasha who are ten years older than you, yet they look
+twenty years younger. So could you, if you would dress your hair
+becomingly, and wear appropriate clothes.”
+
+“I think my hair puts me in the old woman class permanently,” said Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+“Well, it doesn’t!” cried Elnora. “There is a woman of twenty-eight who
+has hair as white as yours from sick headaches, but her face is young
+and beautiful. If your face would grow a little fuller and those lines
+would go away, you’d be lovely!”
+
+“You little pig!” laughed Mrs. Comstock. “Any one would think you would
+be satisfied with having a splinter new mother, without setting up a
+kick on her looks, first thing. Greedy!”
+
+“That is a good word,” said Elnora. “I admit the charge. I am greedy
+over every wasted year. I want you young, lovely, suitably dressed and
+enjoying life like the other girls’ mothers.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock laughed softly as she pushed back her sunbonnet so that
+shrubs and bushes beside the way could be scanned closely. Elnora
+walked ahead with a case over her shoulder, a net in her hand. Her head
+was bare, the rolling collar of her lavender gingham dress was cut in a
+V at the throat, the sleeves only reached the elbows. Every few steps
+she paused and examined the shrubbery carefully, while Mrs. Comstock
+was watching until her eyes ached, but there were no dandelions in the
+pail she carried.
+
+Early June was rioting in fresh grasses, bright flowers, bird songs,
+and gay-winged creatures of air. Down the footpath the two went through
+the perfect morning, the love of God and all nature in their hearts. At
+last they reached the creek, following it toward the bridge. Here Mrs.
+Comstock found a large bed of tender dandelions and stopped to fill her
+pail. Then she sat on the bank, picking over the greens, while she
+listened to the creek softly singing its June song.
+
+Elnora remained within calling distance, and was having good success.
+At last she crossed the creek, following it up to a bridge. There she
+began a careful examination of the under sides of the sleepers and
+flooring for cocoons. Mrs. Comstock could see her and the creek for
+several rods above. The mother sat beating the long green leaves across
+her hand, carefully picking out the white buds, because Elnora liked
+them, when a splash up the creek attracted her attention.
+
+Around the bend came a man. He was bareheaded, dressed in a white
+sweater, and waders which reached his waist. He walked on the bank,
+only entering the water when forced. He had a queer basket strapped on
+his hip, and with a small rod he sent a long line spinning before him
+down the creek, deftly manipulating with it a little floating object.
+He was closer Elnora than her mother, but Mrs. Comstock thought
+possibly by hurrying she could remain unseen and yet warn the girl that
+a stranger was coming. As she approached the bridge, she caught a
+sapling and leaned over the water to call Elnora. With her lips parted
+to speak she hesitated a second to watch a sort of insect that flashed
+past on the water, when a splash from the man attracted the girl.
+
+She was under the bridge, one knee planted in the embankment and a foot
+braced to support her. Her hair was tousled by wind and bushes, her
+face flushed, and she lifted her arms above her head, working to loosen
+a cocoon she had found. The call Mrs. Comstock had intended to utter
+never found voice, for as Elnora looked down at the sound, “Possibly I
+could get that for you,” suggested the man.
+
+Mrs. Comstock drew back. He was a young man with a wonderfully
+attractive face, although it was too white for robust health, broad
+shoulders, and slender, upright frame.
+
+“Oh, I do hope you can!” answered Elnora. “It’s quite a find! It’s one
+of those lovely pale red cocoons described in the books. I suspect it
+comes from having been in a dark place and screened from the weather.”
+
+“Is that so?” cried the man. “Wait a minute. I’ve never seen one. I
+suppose it’s a Cecropia, from the location.”
+
+“Of course,” said Elnora. “It’s so cool here the moth hasn’t emerged.
+The cocoon is a big, baggy one, and it is as red as fox tail.”
+
+“What luck!” he cried. “Are you making a collection?”
+
+He reeled in his line, laid his rod across a bush and climbed the
+embankment to Elnora’s side, produced a knife and began the work of
+whittling a deep groove around the cocoon.
+
+“Yes. I paid my way through the high school in Onabasha with them. Now
+I am starting a collection which means college.”
+
+“Onabasha!” said the man. “That is where I am visiting. Possibly you
+know my people—Dr. Ammon’s? The doctor is my uncle. My home is in
+Chicago. I’ve been having typhoid fever, something fierce. In the
+hospital six weeks. Didn’t gain strength right, so Uncle Doc sent for
+me. I am to live out of doors all summer, and exercise until I get in
+condition again. Do you know my uncle?”
+
+“Yes. He is Aunt Margaret’s doctor, and he would be ours, only we are
+never ill.”
+
+“Well, you look it!” said the man, appraising Elnora at a glance.
+
+“Strangers always mention it,” sighed Elnora. “I wonder how it would
+seem to be a pale, languid lady and ride in a carriage.”
+
+“Ask me!” laughed the man. “It feels like the—dickens! I’m so proud of
+my feet. It’s quite a trick to stand on them now. I have to keep out of
+the water all I can and stop to baby every half-mile. But with
+interesting outdoor work I’ll be myself in a week.”
+
+“Do you call that work?” Elnora indicated the creek.
+
+“I do, indeed! Nearly three miles, banks too soft to brag on and never
+a strike. Wouldn’t you call that hard labour?”
+
+“Yes,” laughed Elnora. “Work at which you might kill yourself and never
+get a fish. Did any one tell you there were trout in Sleepy Snake
+Creek?”
+
+“Uncle said I could try.”
+
+“Oh, you can,” said Elnora. “You can try no end, but you’ll never get a
+trout. This is too far south and too warm for them. If you sit on the
+bank and use worms you might catch some perch or catfish.”
+
+“But that isn’t exercise.”
+
+“Well, if you only want exercise, go right on fishing. You will have a
+creel full of invisible results every night.”
+
+“I object,” said the man emphatically. He stopped work again and
+studied Elnora. Even the watching mother could not blame him. In the
+shade of the bridge Elnora’s bright head and her lavender dress made a
+picture worthy of much contemplation.
+
+“I object!” repeated the man. “When I work I want to see results. I’d
+rather exercise sawing wood, making one pile grow little and the other
+big than to cast all day and catch nothing because there is not a fish
+to take. Work for work’s sake doesn’t appeal to me.”
+
+He digged the groove around the cocoon with skilled hand. “Now there is
+some fun in this!” he said. “It’s going to be a fair job to cut it out,
+but when it comes, it is not only beautiful, but worth a price; it will
+help you on your way. I think I’ll put up my rod and hunt moths. That
+would be something like! Don’t you want help?”
+
+Elnora parried the question. “Have you ever hunted moths, Mr. Ammon?”
+
+“Enough to know the ropes in taking them and to distinguish the
+commonest ones. I go wild on Catocalæ. There’s too many of them, all
+too much alike for Philip, but I know all these fellows. One flew into
+my room when I was about ten years old, and we thought it a miracle.
+None of us ever had seen one so we took it over to the museum to Dr.
+Dorsey. He said they were common enough, but we didn’t see them because
+they flew at night. He showed me the museum collection, and I was so
+interested I took mine back home and started to hunt them. Every year
+after that we went to our cottage a month earlier, so I could find
+them, and all my family helped. I stuck to it until I went to college.
+Then, keeping the little moths out of the big ones was too much for the
+mater, so father advised that I donate mine to the museum. He bought a
+fine case for them with my name on it, which constitutes my sole
+contribution to science. I know enough to help you all right.”
+
+“Aren’t you going north this year?”
+
+“All depends on how this fever leaves me. Uncle says the nights are too
+cold and the days too hot there for me. He thinks I had better stay in
+an even temperature until I am strong again. I am going to stick pretty
+close to him until I know I am. I wouldn’t admit it to any one at home,
+but I was almost gone. I don’t believe anything can eat up nerve much
+faster than the burning of a slow fever. No, thanks, I have enough. I
+stay with Uncle Doc, so if I feel it coming again he can do something
+quickly.”
+
+“I don’t blame you,” said Elnora. “I never have been sick, but it must
+be dreadful. I am afraid you are tiring yourself over that. Let me take
+the knife awhile.”
+
+“Oh, it isn’t so bad as that! I wouldn’t be wading creeks if it were. I
+only need a few more days to get steady on my feet again. I’ll soon
+have this out.”
+
+“It is kind of you to get it,” said Elnora. “I should have had to peel
+it, which would spoil the cocoon for a specimen and ruin the moth.”
+
+“You haven’t said yet whether I may help you while I am here.”
+
+Elnora hesitated.
+
+“You better say ‘yes,’” he persisted. “It would be a real kindness. It
+would keep me outdoors all day and give an incentive to work. I’m good
+at it. I’ll show you if I am not in a week or so. I can ‘sugar,’
+manipulate lights, and mirrors, and all the expert methods. I’ll wager,
+moths are numerous in the old swamp over there.”
+
+“They are,” said Elnora. “Most I have I took there. A few nights ago my
+mother caught a number, but we don’t dare go alone.”
+
+“All the more reason why you need me. Where do you live? I can’t get an
+answer from you, I’ll go tell your mother who I am and ask her if I may
+help you. I warn you, young lady, I have a very effective way with
+mothers. They almost never turn me down.”
+
+“Then it’s probable you will have a new experience when you meet mine,”
+said Elnora. “She never was known to do what any one expected she
+surely would.”
+
+The cocoon came loose. Philip Ammon stepped down the embankment turning
+to offer his hand to Elnora. She ran down as she would have done alone,
+and taking the cocoon turned it end for end to learn if the imago it
+contained were alive. Then Ammon took back the cocoon to smooth the
+edges. Mrs. Comstock gave them one long look as they stood there, and
+returned to her dandelions. While she worked she paused occasionally,
+listening intently. Presently they came down the creek, the man
+carrying the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while Elnora made her way
+along the bank, taking a lesson in casting. Her face was flushed with
+excitement, her eyes shining, the bushes taking liberties with her
+hair. For a picture of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been
+surpassed, and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.
+
+“Moth-er!” called Elnora.
+
+There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl’s voice, as she
+sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving
+answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock’s heart. She never had heard
+that word so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.
+
+“Here!” she answered, still cleaning dandelions.
+
+“Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago,” said Elnora. “He has
+been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the
+creek fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He
+feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is
+well. What do you think about it?”
+
+Philip Ammon extended his hand. “I am glad to know you,” he said.
+
+“You may take the hand-shaking for granted,” replied Mrs. Comstock.
+“Dandelions have a way of making fingers sticky, and I like to know a
+man before I take his hand, anyway. That introduction seems mighty
+comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves me unclassified. My
+name is Comstock.”
+
+Philip Ammon bowed.
+
+“I am sorry to hear you have been sick,” said Mrs. Comstock. “But if
+people will live where they have such vile water as they do in Chicago,
+I don’t see what else they are to expect.”
+
+Philip studied her intently.
+
+“I am sure I didn’t have a fever on purpose,” he said.
+
+“You do seem a little wobbly on your legs,” she observed. “Maybe you
+had better sit and rest while I finish these greens. It’s late for the
+genuine article, but in the shade, among long grass they are still
+tender.”
+
+“May I have a leaf?” he asked, reaching for one as he sat on the bank,
+looking from the little creek at his feet, away through the dim cool
+spaces of the June forest on the opposite side. He drew a deep breath.
+“Glory, but this is good after almost two months inside hospital
+walls!”
+
+He stretched on the grass and lay gazing up at the leaves, occasionally
+asking the interpretation of a bird note or the origin of an unfamiliar
+forest voice. Elnora began helping with the dandelions.
+
+“Another, please,” said the young man, holding out his hand.
+
+“Do you suppose this is the kind of grass Nebuchadnezzar ate?” Elnora
+asked, giving the leaf.
+
+“He knew a good thing if it is.”
+
+“Oh, you should taste dandelions boiled with bacon and served with
+mother’s cornbread.”
+
+“Don’t! My appetite is twice my size now. While it is—how far is it to
+Onabasha, shortest cut?”
+
+“Three miles.”
+
+The man lay in perfect content, nibbling leaves.
+
+“This surely is a treat,” he said. “No wonder you find good hunting
+here. There seems to be foliage for almost every kind of caterpillar.
+But I suppose you have to exchange for northern species and Pacific
+Coast kinds?”
+
+“Yes. And every one wants Regalis in trade. I never saw the like. They
+consider a Cecropia or a Polyphemus an insult, and a Luna is barely
+acceptable.”
+
+“What authorities have you?”
+
+Elnora began to name text-books which started a discussion. Mrs.
+Comstock listened. She cleaned dandelions with greater deliberation
+than they ever before were examined. In reality she was taking stock of
+the young man’s long, well-proportioned frame, his strong hands, his
+smooth, fine-textured skin, his thick shock of dark hair, and making
+mental notes of his simple manly speech and the fact that he evidently
+did know much about moths. It pleased her to think that if he had been
+a neighbour boy who had lain beside her every day of his life while she
+worked, he could have been no more at home. She liked the things he
+said, but she was proud that Elnora had a ready answer which always
+seemed appropriate.
+
+At last Mrs. Comstock finished the greens.
+
+“You are three miles from the city and less than a mile from where we
+live,” she said. “If you will tell me what you dare eat, I suspect you
+had best go home with us and rest until the cool of the day before you
+start back. Probably some one that you can ride in with will be passing
+before evening.”
+
+“That is mighty kind of you,” said Philip. “I think I will. It doesn’t
+matter so much what I eat, the point is that I must be moderate. I am
+hungry all the time.”
+
+“Then we will go,” said Mrs. Comstock, “and we will not allow you to
+make yourself sick with us.”
+
+Philip Ammon arose: picking up the pail of greens and his fishing rod,
+he stood waiting. Elnora led the way. Mrs. Comstock motioned Philip to
+follow and she walked in the rear. The girl carried the cocoon and the
+box of moths she had taken, searching every step for more. The young
+man frequently set down his load to join in the pursuit of a dragonfly
+or moth, while Mrs. Comstock watched the proceedings with sharp eyes.
+Every time Philip picked up the pail of greens she struggled to
+suppress a smile.
+
+Elnora proceeded slowly, chattering about everything beside the trail.
+Philip was interested in all the objects she pointed out, noticing
+several things which escaped her. He carried the greens as casually
+when they took a short cut down the roadway as on the trail. When
+Elnora turned toward the gate of her home Philip Ammon stopped, took a
+long look at the big hewed log cabin, the vines which clambered over
+it, the flower garden ablaze with beds of bright bloom interspersed
+with strawberries and tomatoes, the trees of the forest rising north
+and west like a green wall and exclaimed: “How beautiful!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock was pleased. “If you think that,” she said, “perhaps you
+will understand how, in all this present-day rush to be modern, I have
+preferred to remain as I began. My husband and I took up this land, and
+enough trees to build the cabin, stable, and outbuildings are nearly
+all we ever cut. Of course, if he had lived, I suppose we should have
+kept up with our neighbours. I hear considerable about the value of the
+land, the trees which are on it, and the oil which is supposed to be
+under it, but as yet I haven’t brought myself to change anything. So we
+stand for one of the few remaining homes of first settlers in this
+region. Come in. You are very welcome to what we have.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock stepped forward and took the lead. She had a bowl of soft
+water and a pair of boots to offer for the heavy waders, for outer
+comfort, a glass of cold buttermilk and a bench on which to rest, in
+the circular arbour until dinner was ready. Philip Ammon splashed in
+the water. He followed to the stable and exchanged boots there. He was
+ravenous for the buttermilk, and when he stretched on the bench in the
+arbour the flickering patches of sunlight so tantalized his tired eyes,
+while the bees made such splendid music, he was soon sound asleep. When
+Elnora and her mother came out with a table they stood a short time
+looking at him. It is probable Mrs. Comstock voiced a united thought
+when she said: “What a refined, decent looking young man! How proud his
+mother must be of him! We must be careful what we let him eat.”
+
+Then they returned to the kitchen where Mrs. Comstock proceeded to be
+careful. She broiled ham of her own sugar-curing, creamed potatoes,
+served asparagus on toast, and made a delicious strawberry shortcake.
+As she cooked dandelions with bacon, she feared to serve them to him,
+so she made an excuse that it took too long to prepare them, blanched
+some and made a salad. When everything was ready she touched Philip’s
+sleeve.
+
+“Best have something to eat, lad, before you get too hungry,” she said.
+
+“Please hurry!” he begged laughingly as he held a plate toward her to
+be filled. “I thought I had enough self-restraint to start out alone,
+but I see I was mistaken. If you would allow me, just now, I am afraid
+I should start a fever again. I never did smell food so good as this.
+It’s mighty kind of you to take me in. I hope I will be man enough in a
+few days to do something worth while in return.”
+
+Spots of sunshine fell on the white cloth and blue china, the bees and
+an occasional stray butterfly came searching for food. A rose-breasted
+grosbeak, released from a three hours’ siege of brooding, while his
+independent mate took her bath and recreation, mounted the top branch
+of a maple in the west woods from which he serenaded the dinner party
+with a joyful chorus in celebration of his freedom. Philip’s eyes
+strayed to the beautiful cabin, to the mixture of flowers and
+vegetables stretching down to the road, and to the singing bird with
+his red-splotched breast of white and he said: “I can’t realize now
+that I ever lay in ice packs in a hospital. How I wish all the sick
+folks could come here to grow strong!”
+
+The grosbeak sang on, a big Turnus butterfly sailed through the arbour
+and poised over the table. Elnora held up a lump of sugar and the
+butterfly, clinging to her fingers, tasted daintily. With eager eyes
+and parted lips, the girl held steadily. When at last it wavered away,
+“That made a picture!” said Philip. “Ask me some other time how I lost
+my illusions concerning butterflies. I always thought of them in
+connection with sunshine, flower pollen, and fruit nectar, until one
+sad day.”
+
+“I know!” laughed Elnora. “I’ve seen that, too, but it didn’t destroy
+any illusion for me. I think quite as much of the butterflies as ever.”
+
+Then they talked of flowers, moths, dragonflies, Indian relics, and all
+the natural wonders the swamp afforded, straying from those subjects to
+books and school work. When they cleared the table Philip assisted,
+carrying several tray loads to the kitchen. He and Elnora mounted
+specimens while Mrs Comstock washed the dishes. Then she came out with
+a ruffle she was embroidering.
+
+“I wonder if I did not see a picture of you in Onabasha last night,”
+Philip said to Elnora. “Aunt Anna took me to call on Miss Brownlee. She
+was showing me her crowd—of course, it was you! But it didn’t half do
+you justice, although it was the nearest human of any of them. Miss
+Brownlee is very fond of you. She said the finest things.”
+
+Then they talked of Commencement, and at last Philip said he must go or
+his friends would become anxious about him.
+
+Mrs. Comstock brought him a blue bowl of creamy milk and a plate of
+bread. She stopped a passing team and secured a ride to the city for
+him, as his exercise of the morning had been too violent, and he was
+forced to admit he was tired.
+
+“May I come to-morrow afternoon and hunt moths awhile?” he asked Mrs.
+Comstock as he arose. “We will ‘sugar’ a tree and put a light beside
+it, if I can get stuff to make the preparation. Possibly we can take
+some that way. I always enjoy moth hunting, I’d like to help Miss
+Elnora, and it would be a charity to me. I’ve got to remain outdoors
+some place, and I’m quite sure I’d get well faster here than anywhere
+else. Please say I may come.”
+
+“I have no objections, if Elnora really would like help,” said Mrs.
+Comstock.
+
+In her heart she wished he would not come. She wanted her newly found
+treasure all to herself, for a time, at least. But Elnora’s were eager,
+shining eyes. She thought it would be splendid to have help, and great
+fun to try book methods for taking moths, so it was arranged. As Philip
+rode away, Mrs. Comstock’s eyes followed him. “What a nice young man!”
+she said.
+
+“He seems fine,” agreed Elnora.
+
+“He comes of a good family, too. I’ve often heard of his father. He is
+a great lawyer.”
+
+“I am glad he likes it here. I need help. Possibly——”
+
+“Possibly what?”
+
+“We can find many moths.”
+
+“What did he mean about the butterflies?”
+
+“That he always had connected them with sunshine, flowers, and fruits,
+and thought of them as the most exquisite of creations; then one day he
+found some clustering thickly over carrion.”
+
+“Come to think of it, I have seen butterflies——”
+
+“So had he,” laughed Elnora. “And that is what he meant.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+WHEREIN A NEW POSITION IS TENDERED ELNORA, AND PHILIP AMMON IS SHOWN
+LIMBERLOST VIOLETS
+
+
+The next morning Mrs. Comstock called to Elnora, “The mail carrier
+stopped at our box.”
+
+Elnora ran down the walk and came back carrying an official letter. She
+tore it open and read:
+
+MY DEAR MISS COMSTOCK:
+
+At the weekly meeting of the Onabasha School Board last night, it was
+decided to add the position of Lecturer on Natural History to our corps
+of city teachers. It will be the duty of this person to spend two hours
+a week in each of the grade schools exhibiting and explaining specimens
+of the most prominent objects in nature: animals, birds, insects,
+flowers, vines, shrubs, bushes, and trees. These specimens and lectures
+should be appropriate to the seasons and the comprehension of the
+grades. This position was unanimously voted to you. I think you will
+find the work delightful and much easier than the routine grind of the
+other teachers. It is my advice that you accept and begin to prepare
+yourself at once. Your salary will be $750 a year, and you will be
+allowed $200 for expenses in procuring specimens and books. Let us know
+at once if you want the position, as it is going to be difficult to
+fill satisfactorily if you do not.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+DAVID THOMPSON, President, Onabasha Schools.
+
+“I hardly understand,” marvelled Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“It is a new position. They never have had anything like it before. I
+suspect it arose from the help I’ve been giving the grade teachers in
+their nature work. They are trying to teach the children something, and
+half the instructors don’t know a blue jay from a king-fisher, a beech
+leaf from an elm, or a wasp from a hornet.”
+
+“Well, do you?” anxiously inquired Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Indeed, I do!” laughed Elnora, “and several other things beside. When
+Freckles bequeathed me the swamp, he gave me a bigger inheritance than
+he knew. While you have thought I was wandering aimlessly, I have been
+following a definite plan, studying hard, and storing up the stuff that
+will earn these seven hundred and fifty dollars. Mother dear, I am
+going to accept this, of course. The work will be a delight. I’d love
+it most of anything in teaching. You must help me. We must find nests,
+eggs, leaves, queer formations in plants and rare flowers. I must have
+flower boxes made for each of the rooms and filled with wild things. I
+should begin to gather specimens this very day.”
+
+Elnora’s face was flushed and her eyes bright.
+
+“Oh, what great work that will be!” she cried. “You must go with me so
+you can see the little faces when I tell them how the goldfinch builds
+its nest, and how the bees make honey.”
+
+So Elnora and her mother went into the woods behind the cabin to study
+nature.
+
+“I think,” said Elnora, “the idea is to begin with fall things in the
+fall, keeping to the seasons throughout the year.”
+
+“What are fall things?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Oh, fringed gentians, asters, ironwort, every fall flower, leaves from
+every tree and vine, what makes them change colour, abandoned bird
+nests, winter quarters of caterpillars and insects, what becomes of the
+butterflies and grasshoppers—myriads of stuff. I shall have to be very
+wise to select the things it will be most beneficial for the children
+to learn.”
+
+“Can I really help you?” Mrs. Comstock’s strong face was pathetic.
+
+“Indeed, yes!” cried Elnora. “I never can get through it alone. There
+will be an immense amount of work connected with securing and preparing
+specimens.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock lifted her head proudly and began doing business at once.
+Her sharp eyes ranged from earth to heaven. She investigated
+everything, asking innumerable questions. At noon Mrs. Comstock took
+the specimens they had collected, and went to prepare dinner, while
+Elnora followed the woods down to the Sintons’ to show her letter.
+
+She had to explain what became of her moths, and why college would have
+to be abandoned for that year, but Margaret and Wesley vowed not to
+tell. Wesley waved the letter excitedly, explaining it to Margaret as
+if it were a personal possession. Margaret was deeply impressed, while
+Billy volunteered first aid in gathering material.
+
+“Now anything you want in the ground, Snap can dig it out,” he said.
+“Uncle Wesley and I found a hole three times as big as Snap, that he
+dug at the roots of a tree.”
+
+“We will train him to hunt pupae cases,” said Elnora.
+
+“Are you going to the woods this afternoon?” asked Billy.
+
+“Yes,” answered Elnora. “Dr. Ammon’s nephew from Chicago is visiting in
+Onabasha. He is going to show me how men put some sort of compound on a
+tree, hang a light beside it, and take moths that way. It will be
+interesting to watch and learn.”
+
+“May I come?” asked Billy.
+
+“Of course you may come!” answered Elnora.
+
+“Is this nephew of Dr. Ammon a young man?” inquired Margaret.
+
+“About twenty-six, I should think,” said Elnora. “He said he had been
+out of college and at work in his father’s law office three years.”
+
+“Does he seem nice?” asked Margaret, and Wesley smiled.
+
+“Finest kind of a person,” said Elnora. “He can teach me so much. It is
+very interesting to hear him talk. He knows considerable about moths
+that will be a help to me. He had a fever and he has to stay outdoors
+until he grows strong again.”
+
+“Billy, I guess you better help me this afternoon,” said Margaret.
+“Maybe Elnora had rather not bother with you.”
+
+“There’s no reason on earth why Billy should not come!” cried Elnora,
+and Wesley smiled again.
+
+“I must hurry home or I won’t be ready,” she added.
+
+Hastening down the road she entered the cabin, her face glowing.
+
+“I thought you never would come,” said Mrs. Comstock. “If you don’t
+hurry Mr. Ammon will be here before you are dressed.”
+
+“I forgot about him until just now,” said Elnora. “I am not going to
+dress. He’s not coming to visit. We are only going to the woods for
+more specimens. I can’t wear anything that requires care. The limbs
+take the most dreadful liberties with hair and clothing.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock opened her lips, looked at Elnora and closed them. In her
+heart she was pleased that the girl was so interested in her work that
+she had forgotten Philip Ammon’s coming. But it did seem to her that
+such a pleasant young man should have been greeted by a girl in a fresh
+dress. “If she isn’t disposed to primp at the coming of a man, heaven
+forbid that I should be the one to start her,” thought Mrs. Comstock.
+
+Philip came whistling down the walk between the cinnamon pinks,
+pansies, and strawberries. He carried several packages, while his face
+flushed with more colour than on the previous day.
+
+“Only see what has happened to me!” cried Elnora, offering her letter.
+
+“I’ll wager I know!” answered Philip. “Isn’t it great! Every one in
+Onabasha is talking about it. At last there is something new under the
+sun. All of them are pleased. They think you’ll make a big success.
+This will give an incentive to work. In a few days more I’ll be myself
+again, and we’ll overturn the fields and woods around here.”
+
+He went on to congratulate Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Aren’t you proud of her, though?” he asked. “You should hear what
+folks are saying! They say she created the necessity for the position,
+and every one seems to feel that it is a necessity. Now, if she
+succeeds, and she will, all of the other city schools will have such
+departments, and first thing you know she will have made the whole
+world a little better. Let me rest a few seconds; my feet are acting up
+again. Then we will cook the moth compound and put it to cool.”
+
+He laughed as he sat breathing shortly.
+
+“It doesn’t seem possible that a fellow could lose his strength like
+this. My knees are actually trembling, but I’ll be all right in a
+minute. Uncle Doc said I could come. I told him how you took care of
+me, and he said I would be safe here.”
+
+Then he began unwrapping packages and explaining to Mrs. Comstock how
+to cook the compound to attract the moths. He followed her into the
+kitchen, kindled the fire, and stirred the preparation as he talked.
+While the mixture cooled, he and Elnora walked through the vegetable
+garden behind the cabin and strayed from there into the woods.
+
+“What about college?” he asked. “Miss Brownlee said you were going.”
+
+“I had hoped to,” replied Elnora, “but I had a streak of dreadful luck,
+so I’ll have to wait until next year. If you won’t speak of it, I’ll
+tell you.”
+
+Philip promised, so Elnora recited the history of the Yellow Emperor.
+She was so interested in doing the Emperor justice she did not notice
+how many personalities went into the story. A few pertinent questions
+told him the remainder. He looked at the girl in wonder. In face and
+form she was as lovely as any one of her age and type he ever had seen.
+Her school work far surpassed that of most girls of her age he knew.
+She differed in other ways. This vast store of learning she had
+gathered from field and forest was a wealth of attraction no other girl
+possessed. Her frank, matter-of-fact manner was an inheritance from her
+mother, but there was something more. Once, as they talked he thought
+“sympathy” was the word to describe it and again “comprehension.” She
+seemed to possess a large sense of brotherhood for all human and
+animate creatures. She spoke to him as if she had known him all her
+life. She talked to the grosbeak in exactly the same manner, as she
+laid strawberries and potato bugs on the fence for his family. She did
+not swerve an inch from her way when a snake slid past her, while the
+squirrels came down from the trees and took corn from her fingers. She
+might as well have been a boy, so lacking was she in any touch of
+feminine coquetry toward him. He studied her wonderingly. As they went
+along the path they reached a large slime-covered pool surrounded by
+decaying stumps and logs thickly covered with water hyacinths and blue
+flags. Philip stopped.
+
+“Is that the place?” he asked.
+
+Elnora assented. “The doctor told you?”
+
+“Yes. It was tragic. Is that pool really bottomless?”
+
+“So far as we ever have been able to discover.”
+
+Philip stood looking at the water, while the long, sweet grasses,
+thickly sprinkled with blue flag bloom, over which wild bees clambered,
+swayed around his feet. Then he turned to the girl. She had worked
+hard. The same lavender dress she had worn the previous day clung to
+her in limp condition. But she was as evenly coloured and of as fine
+grain as a wild rose petal, her hair was really brown, but never was
+such hair touched with a redder glory, while her heavy arching brows
+added a look of strength to her big gray-blue eyes.
+
+“And you were born here?”
+
+He had not intended to voice that thought.
+
+“Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Just in time to prevent my
+mother from saving the life of my father. She came near never forgiving
+me.”
+
+“Ah, cruel!” cried Philip.
+
+“I find much in life that is cruel, from our standpoints,” said Elnora.
+“It takes the large wisdom of the Unfathomable, the philosophy of the
+Almighty, to endure some of it. But there is always right somewhere,
+and at last it seems to come.”
+
+“Will it come to you?” asked Philip, who found himself deeply affected.
+
+“It has come,” said the girl serenely. “It came a week ago. It came in
+fullest measure when my mother ceased to regret that I had been born.
+Now, work that I love has come—that should constitute happiness. A
+little farther along is my violet bed. I want you to see it.”
+
+As Philip Ammon followed he definitely settled upon the name of the
+unusual feature of Elnora’s face. It should be called “experience.” She
+had known bitter experiences early in life. Suffering had been her
+familiar more than joy. He watched her earnestly, his heart deeply
+moved. She led him into a swampy half-open space in the woods, stopped
+and stepped aside. He uttered a cry of surprised delight.
+
+A few decaying logs were scattered around, the grass grew in tufts long
+and fine. Blue flags waved, clusters of cowslips nodded gold heads, but
+the whole earth was purple with a thick blanket of violets nodding from
+stems a foot in length. Elnora knelt and slipping her fingers between
+the leaves and grasses to the roots, gathered a few violets and gave
+them to Philip.
+
+“Can your city greenhouses surpass them?” she asked.
+
+He sat on a log to examine the blooms.
+
+“They are superb!” he said. “I never saw such length of stem or such
+rank leaves, while the flowers are the deepest blue, the truest violet
+I ever saw growing wild. They are coloured exactly like the eyes of the
+girl I am going to marry.”
+
+Elnora handed him several others to add to those he held. “She must
+have wonderful eyes,” she commented.
+
+“No other blue eyes are quite so beautiful,” he said. “In fact, she is
+altogether lovely.”
+
+“Is it customary for a man to think the girl he is going to marry
+lovely? I wonder if I should find her so.”
+
+“You would,” said Philip. “No one ever fails to. She is tall as you,
+very slender, but perfectly rounded; you know about her eyes; her hair
+is black and wavy—while her complexion is clear and flushed with red.”
+
+“Why, she must be the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” she
+cried.
+
+“No, indeed!” he said. “She is not a particle better looking in her way
+than you are in yours. She is a type of dark beauty, but you are
+equally as perfect. She is unusual in her combination of black hair and
+violet eyes, although every one thinks them black at a little distance.
+You are quite as unusual with your fair face, black brows, and brown
+hair; indeed, I know many people who would prefer your bright head to
+her dark one. It’s all a question of taste—and being engaged to the
+girl,” he added.
+
+“That would be likely to prejudice one,” laughed Elnora.
+
+“Edith has a birthday soon; if these last will you let me have a box of
+them to send her?”
+
+“I will help gather and pack them for you, so they will carry nicely.
+Does she hunt moths with you?”
+
+Back went Philip Ammon’s head in a gale of laughter.
+
+“No!” he cried. “She says they are ‘creepy.’ She would go into a spasm
+if she were compelled to touch those caterpillars I saw you handling
+yesterday.”
+
+“Why would she?” marvelled Elnora. “Haven’t you told her that they are
+perfectly clean, helpless, and harmless as so much animate velvet?”
+
+“No, I have not told her. She wouldn’t care enough about caterpillars
+to listen.”
+
+“In what is she interested?”
+
+“What interests Edith Carr? Let me think! First, I believe she takes
+pride in being a little handsomer and better dressed than any girl of
+her set. She is interested in having a beautiful home, fine
+appointments, in being petted, praised, and the acknowledged leader of
+society.
+
+“She likes to find new things which amuse her, and to always and in all
+circumstances have her own way about everything.”
+
+“Good gracious!” cried Elnora, staring at him. “But what does she do?
+How does she spend her time?”
+
+“Spend her time!” repeated Philip. “Well, she would call that a joke.
+Her days are never long enough. There is endless shopping, to find the
+pretty things; regular visits to the dressmakers, calls, parties,
+theatres, entertainments. She is always rushed. I never am able to be
+with her half as much as I would like.”
+
+“But I mean work,” persisted Elnora. “In what is she interested that is
+useful to the world?”
+
+“Me!” cried Philip promptly.
+
+“I can understand that,” laughed Elnora. “What I can’t understand is
+how you can be in——” She stopped in confusion, but she saw that he had
+finished the sentence as she had intended. “I beg your pardon!” she
+cried. “I didn’t intend to say that. But I cannot understand these
+people I hear about who live only for their own amusement. Perhaps it
+is very great; I’ll never have a chance to know. To me, it seems the
+only pleasure in this world worth having is the joy we derive from
+living for those we love, and those we can help. I hope you are not
+angry with me.”
+
+Philip sat silently looking far away, with deep thought in his eyes.
+
+“You are angry,” faltered Elnora.
+
+His look came back to her as she knelt before him among the flowers and
+he gazed at her steadily.
+
+“No doubt I should be,” he said, “but the fact is I am not. I cannot
+understand a life purely for personal pleasure myself. But she is only
+a girl, and this is her playtime. When she is a woman in her own home,
+then she will be different, will she not?”
+
+Elnora never resembled her mother so closely as when she answered that
+question.
+
+“I would have to be well acquainted with her to know, but I should hope
+so. To make a real home for a tired business man is a very different
+kind of work from that required to be a leader of society. It demands
+different talent and education. Of course, she means to change, or she
+would not have promised to make a home for you. I suspect our dope is
+cool now, let’s go try for some butterflies.”
+
+As they went along the path together Elnora talked of many things but
+Philip answered absently. Evidently he was thinking of something else.
+But the moth bait recalled him and he was ready for work as they made
+their way back to the woods. He wanted to try the Limberlost, but
+Elnora was firm about remaining on home ground. She did not tell him
+that lights hung in the swamp would be a signal to call up a band of
+men whose presence she dreaded. So they started, Ammon carrying the
+dope, Elnora the net, Billy and Mrs. Comstock following with cyanide
+boxes and lanterns.
+
+First they tried for butterflies and captured several fine ones without
+trouble. They also called swarms of ants, bees, beetles, and flies.
+When it grew dusk, Mrs. Comstock and Philip went to prepare supper.
+Elnora and Billy remained until the butterflies disappeared. Then they
+lighted the lanterns, repainted the trees and followed the home trail.
+
+“Do you ’spec you’ll get just a lot of moths?” asked Billy, as he
+walked beside Elnora.
+
+“I am sure I hardly know,” said the girl. “This is a new way for me.
+Perhaps they will come to the lights, but few moths eat; and I have
+some doubt about those which the lights attract settling on the right
+trees. Maybe the smell of that dope will draw them. Between us, Billy,
+I think I like my old way best. If I can find a hidden moth, slip up
+and catch it unawares, or take it in full flight, it’s my captive, and
+I can keep it until it dies naturally. But this way you seem to get it
+under false pretences, it has no chance, and it will probably ruin its
+wings struggling for freedom before morning.”
+
+“Well, any moth ought to be proud to be taken anyway, by you,” said
+Billy. “Just look what you do! You can make everybody love them. People
+even quit hating caterpillars when they see you handle them and hear
+you tell all about them. You must have some to show people how they
+are. It’s not like killing things to see if you can, or because you
+want to eat them, the way most men kill birds. I think it is right for
+you to take enough for collections, to show city people, and to
+illustrate the Bird Woman’s books. You go on and take them! The moths
+don’t care. They’re glad to have you. They like it!”
+
+“Billy, I see your future,” said Elnora. “We will educate you and send
+you up to Mr. Ammon to make a great lawyer. You’d beat the world as a
+special pleader. You actually make me feel that I am doing the moths a
+kindness to take them.”
+
+“And so you are!” cried Billy. “Why, just from what you have taught
+them Uncle Wesley and Aunt Margaret never think of killing a
+caterpillar until they look whether it’s the beautiful June moth kind,
+or the horrid tent ones. That’s what you can do. You go straight
+ahead!”
+
+“Billy, you are a jewel!” cried Elnora, throwing her arm across his
+shoulders as they came down the path.
+
+“My, I was scared!” said Billy with a deep breath.
+
+“Scared?” questioned Elnora.
+
+“Yes sir-ee! Aunt Margaret scared me. May I ask you a question?”
+
+“Of course, you may!”
+
+“Is that man going to be your beau?”
+
+“Billy! No! What made you think such a thing?”
+
+“Aunt Margaret said likely he would fall in love with you, and you
+wouldn’t want me around any more. Oh, but I was scared! It isn’t so, is
+it?”
+
+“Indeed, no!”
+
+“I am your beau, ain’t I?”
+
+“Surely you are!” said Elnora, tightening her arm.
+
+“I do hope Aunt Kate has ginger cookies,” said Billy with a little skip
+of delight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK FACES THE ALMIGHTY, AND PHILIP AMMON WRITES A
+LETTER
+
+
+Mrs. Comstock and Elnora were finishing breakfast the following morning
+when they heard a cheery whistle down the road. Elnora with surprised
+eyes looked at her mother.
+
+“Could that be Mr. Ammon?” she questioned.
+
+“I did not expect him so soon,” commented Mrs. Comstock.
+
+It was sunrise, but the musician was Philip Ammon. He appeared stronger
+than on yesterday.
+
+“I hope I am not too early,” he said. “I am consumed with anxiety to
+learn if we have made a catch. If we have, we should beat the birds to
+it. I promised Uncle Doc to put on my waders and keep dry for a few
+days yet, when I go to the woods. Let’s hurry! I am afraid of crows.
+There might be a rare moth.”
+
+The sun was topping the Limberlost when they started. As they neared
+the place Philip stopped.
+
+“Now we must use great caution,” he said. “The lights and the odours
+always attract numbers that don’t settle on the baited trees. Every
+bush, shrub, and limb may hide a specimen we want.”
+
+So they approached with much care.
+
+“There is something, anyway!” cried Philip.
+
+“There are moths! I can see them!” exulted Elnora.
+
+“Those you see are fast enough. It’s the ones for which you must search
+that will escape. The grasses are dripping, and I have boots, so you
+look beside the path while I take the outside,” suggested Ammon.
+
+Mrs. Comstock wanted to hunt moths, but she was timid about making a
+wrong movement, so she wisely sat on a log and watched Philip and
+Elnora to learn how they proceeded. Back in the deep woods a hermit
+thrush was singing his chant to the rising sun. Orioles were sowing the
+pure, sweet air with notes of gold, poured out while on wing. The
+robins were only chirping now, for their morning songs had awakened all
+the other birds an hour ago. Scolding red-wings tilted on half the
+bushes. Excepting late species of haws, tree bloom was almost gone, but
+wild flowers made the path border and all the wood floor a riot of
+colour. Elnora, born among such scenes, worked eagerly, but to the city
+man, recently from a hospital, they seemed too good to miss. He
+frequently stooped to examine a flower face, paused to listen intently
+to the thrush or lifted his head to see the gold flash which
+accompanied the oriole’s trailing notes. So Elnora uttered the first
+cry, as she softly lifted branches and peered among the grasses.
+
+“My find!” she called. “Bring the box, mother!”
+
+Philip came hurrying also. When they reached her she stood on the path
+holding a pair of moths. Her eyes were wide with excitement, her cheeks
+pink, her red lips parted, and on the hand she held out to them clung a
+pair of delicate blue-green moths, with white bodies, and touches of
+lavender and straw colour. All around her lay flower-brocaded grasses,
+behind the deep green background of the forest, while the sun slowly
+sifted gold from heaven to burnish her hair. Mrs. Comstock heard a
+sharp breath behind her.
+
+“Oh, what a picture!” exulted Philip at her shoulder. “She is
+absolutely and altogether lovely! I’d give a small fortune for that
+faithfully set on canvas!”
+
+He picked the box from Mrs. Comstock’s fingers and slowly advanced with
+it. Elnora held down her hand and transferred the moths. Philip closed
+the box carefully, but the watching mother saw that his eyes were
+following the girl’s face. He was not making the slightest attempt to
+conceal his admiration.
+
+“I wonder if a woman ever did anything lovelier than to find a pair of
+Luna moths on a forest path, early on a perfect June morning,” he said
+to Mrs. Comstock, when he returned the box.
+
+She glanced at Elnora who was intently searching the bushes.
+
+“Look here, young man,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You seem to find that girl
+of mine about right.”
+
+“I could suggest no improvement,” said Philip. “I never saw a more
+attractive girl anywhere. She seems absolutely perfect to me.”
+
+“Then suppose you don’t start any scheme calculated to spoil her!”
+proposed Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I don’t think you can, or that any man
+could, but I’m not taking any risks. You asked to come here to help in
+this work. We are both glad to have you, if you confine yourself to
+work; but it’s the least you can do to leave us as you find us.”
+
+“I beg your pardon!” said Philip. “I intended no offence. I admire her
+as I admire any perfect creation.”
+
+“And nothing in all this world spoils the average girl so quickly and
+so surely,” said Mrs. Comstock. She raised her voice. “Elnora, fasten
+up that tag of hair over your left ear. These bushes muss you so you
+remind me of a sheep poking its nose through a hedge fence.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock started down the path toward the log again, when she
+reached it she called sharply: “Elnora, come here! I believe I have
+found something myself.”
+
+The “something” was a Citheronia Regalis which had emerged from its
+case on the soft earth under the log. It climbed up the wood, its stout
+legs dragging a big pursy body, while it wildly flapped tiny wings the
+size of a man’s thumb-nail. Elnora gave one look and a cry which
+brought Philip.
+
+“That’s the rarest moth in America!” he announced. “Mrs. Comstock,
+you’ve gone up head. You can put that in a box with a screen cover
+to-night, and attract half a dozen, possibly.”
+
+“Is it rare, Elnora?” inquired Mrs. Comstock, as if no one else knew.
+
+“It surely is,” answered Elnora. “If we can find it a mate to-night, it
+will lay from two hundred and fifty to three hundred eggs to-morrow.
+With any luck at all I can raise two hundred caterpillars from them. I
+did once before. And they are worth a dollar apiece.”
+
+“Was the one I killed like that?”
+
+“No. That was a different moth, but its life processes were the same as
+this. The Bird Woman calls this the King of the Poets.”
+
+“Why does she?”
+
+“Because it is named for Citheron who was a poet, and regalis refers to
+a king. You mustn’t touch it or you may stunt wing development. You
+watch and don’t let that moth out of sight, or anything touch it. When
+the wings are expanded and hardened we will put it in a box.”
+
+“I am afraid it will race itself to death,” objected Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“That’s a part of the game,” said Philip. “It is starting circulation
+now. When the right moment comes, it will stop and expand its wings. If
+you watch closely you can see them expand.”
+
+Presently the moth found a rough projection of bark and clung with its
+feet, back down, its wings hanging. The body was an unusual orange red,
+the tiny wings were gray, striped with the red and splotched here and
+there with markings of canary yellow. Mrs. Comstock watched
+breathlessly. Presently she slipped from the log and knelt to secure a
+better view.
+
+“Are its wings developing?” called Elnora.
+
+“They are growing larger and the markings coming stronger every
+minute.”
+
+“Let’s watch, too,” said Elnora to Philip.
+
+They came and looked over Mrs. Comstock’s shoulder. Lower drooped the
+gay wings, wider they spread, brighter grew the markings as if laid off
+in geometrical patterns. They could hear Mrs. Comstock’s tense breath
+and see her absorbed expression.
+
+“Young people,” she said solemnly, “if your studying science and the
+elements has ever led you to feel that things just happen, kind of
+evolve by chance, as it were, this sight will be good for you. Maybe
+earth and air accumulate, but it takes the wisdom of the Almighty God
+to devise the wing of a moth. If there ever was a miracle, this whole
+process is one. Now, as I understand it, this creature is going to keep
+on spreading those wings, until they grow to size and harden to
+strength sufficient to bear its body. Then it flies away, mates with
+its kind, lays its eggs on the leaves of a certain tree, and the eggs
+hatch tiny caterpillars which eat just that kind of leaves, and the
+worms grow and grow, and take on different forms and colours until at
+last they are big caterpillars six inches long, with large horns. Then
+they burrow into the earth, build a water-proof house around themselves
+from material which is inside them, and lie through rain and freezing
+cold for months. A year from egg laying they come out like this, and
+begin the process all over again. They don’t eat, they don’t see
+distinctly, they live but a few days, and fly only at night; then they
+drop off easy, but the process goes on.”
+
+A shivering movement went over the moth. The wings drooped and spread
+wider. Mrs. Comstock sank into soft awed tones.
+
+“There never was a moment in my life,” she said, “when I felt so in the
+Presence, as I do now. I feel as if the Almighty were so real, and so
+near, that I could reach out and touch Him, as I could this wonderful
+work of His, if I dared. I feel like saying to Him: ‘To the extent of
+my brain power I realize Your presence, and all it is in me to
+comprehend of Your power. Help me to learn, even this late, the lessons
+of Your wonderful creations. Help me to unshackle and expand my soul to
+the fullest realization of Your wonders. Almighty God, make me bigger,
+make me broader!’”
+
+The moth climbed to the end of the projection, up it a little way, then
+suddenly reversed its wings, turned the hidden sides out and dropped
+them beside its abdomen, like a large fly. The upper side of the wings,
+thus exposed, was far richer colour, more exquisite texture than the
+under, and they slowly half lifted and drooped again. Mrs. Comstock
+turned her face to Philip.
+
+“Am I an old fool, or do you feel it, too?” she half whispered.
+
+“You are wiser than you ever have been before,” answered he. “I feel
+it, also.”
+
+“And I,” breathed Elnora.
+
+The moth spread its wings, shivered them tremulously, opening and
+closing them rapidly. Philip handed the box to Elnora.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I can’t take that one,” she said. “Give her freedom.”
+
+“But, Elnora,” protested Mrs. Comstock, “I don’t want to let her go.
+She’s mine. She’s the first one I ever found this way. Can’t you put
+her in a big box, and let her live, without hurting her? I can’t bear
+to let her go. I want to learn all about her.”
+
+“Then watch while we gather these on the trees,” said Elnora. “We will
+take her home until night and then decide what to do. She won’t fly for
+a long time yet.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock settled on the ground, gazing at the moth. Elnora and
+Philip went to the baited trees, placing several large moths and a
+number of smaller ones in the cyanide jar, and searching the bushes
+beyond where they found several paired specimens of differing families.
+When they returned Elnora showed her mother how to hold her hand before
+the moth so that it would climb upon her fingers. Then they started
+back to the cabin, Elnora and Philip leading the way; Mrs. Comstock
+followed slowly, stepping with great care lest she stumble and injure
+the moth. Her face wore a look of comprehension, in her eyes was an
+exalted light. On she came to the blue-bordered pool lying beside her
+path.
+
+A turtle scrambled from a log and splashed into the water, while a
+red-wing shouted, “O-ka-lee!” to her. Mrs. Comstock paused and looked
+intently at the slime-covered quagmire, framed in a flower riot and
+homed over by sweet-voiced birds. Then she gazed at the thing of
+incomparable beauty clinging to her fingers and said softly: “If you
+had known about wonders like these in the days of your youth, Robert
+Comstock, could you ever have done what you did?”
+
+Elnora missed her mother, and turning to look for her, saw her standing
+beside the pool. Would the old fascination return? A panic of fear
+seized the girl. She went back swiftly.
+
+“Are you afraid she is going?” Elnora asked. “If you are, cup your
+other hand over her for shelter. Carrying her through this air and in
+the hot sunshine will dry her wings and make them ready for flight very
+quickly. You can’t trust her in such air and light as you can in the
+cool dark woods.”
+
+While she talked she took hold of her mother’s sleeve, anxiously
+smiling a pitiful little smile that Mrs. Comstock understood. Philip
+set his load at the back door, returning to hold open the garden gate
+for Elnora and Mrs. Comstock. He reached it in time to see them
+standing together beside the pool. The mother bent swiftly and kissed
+the girl on the lips. Philip turned and was busily hunting moths on the
+raspberry bushes when they reached the gate. And so excellent are the
+rewards of attending your own business, that he found a Promethea on a
+lilac in a corner; a moth of such rare wine-coloured, velvety shades
+that it almost sent Mrs. Comstock to her knees again. But this one was
+fully developed, able to fly, and had to be taken into the cabin
+hurriedly. Mrs. Comstock stood in the middle of the room holding up her
+Regalis.
+
+“Now what must I do?” she asked.
+
+Elnora glanced at Philip Ammon. Their eyes met and both of them smiled;
+he with amusement at the tall, spare figure, with dark eyes and white
+crown, asking the childish question so confidingly; and Elnora with
+pride. She was beginning to appreciate the character of her mother.
+
+“How would you like to sit and see her finish development? I’ll get
+dinner,” proposed the girl.
+
+After they had dined, Philip and Elnora carried the dishes to the
+kitchen, brought out boxes, sheets of cork, pins, ink, paper slips and
+everything necessary for mounting and classifying the moths they had
+taken. When the housework was finished Mrs. Comstock with her ruffle
+sat near, watching and listening. She remembered all they said that she
+understood, and when uncertain she asked questions. Occasionally she
+laid down her work to straighten some flower which needed attention or
+to search the garden for a bug for the grosbeak. In one of these
+absences Elnora said to Philip: “These replace quite a number of the
+moths I lost for the man of India. With a week of such luck, I could
+almost begin to talk college again.”
+
+“There is no reason why you should not have the week and the luck,”
+said he. “I have taken moths until the middle of August, though I
+suspect one is more likely to find late ones in the north where it is
+colder than here. The next week is hay-time, but we can count on a few
+double-brooders and strays, and by working the exchange method for all
+it is worth, I think we can complete the collection again.”
+
+“You almost make me hope,” said Elnora, “but I must not allow myself. I
+don’t truly think I can replace all I lost, not even with your help. If
+I could, I scarcely see my way clear to leave mother this winter. I
+have found her so recently, and she is so precious, I can’t risk losing
+her again. I am going to take the nature position in the Onabasha
+schools, and I shall be most happy doing the work. Only, these are a
+temptation.”
+
+“I wish you might go to college this fall with the other girls,” said
+Philip. “I feel that if you don’t you never will. Isn’t there some
+way?”
+
+“I can’t see it if there is, and I really don’t want to leave mother.”
+
+“Well, mother is mighty glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Comstock, entering
+the arbour.
+
+Philip noticed that her face was pale, her lips quivering, her voice
+cold.
+
+“I was telling your daughter that she should go to college this
+winter,” he explained, “but she says she doesn’t want to leave you.”
+
+“If she wants to go, I wish she could,” said Mrs. Comstock, a look of
+relief spreading over her face.
+
+“Oh, all girls want to go to college,” said Philip. “It’s the only
+proper place to learn bridge and embroidery; not to mention midnight
+lunches of mixed pickles and fruit cake, and all the delights of the
+sororities.”
+
+“I have thought for years of going to college,” said Elnora, “but I
+never thought of any of those things.”
+
+“That is because your education in fudge and bridge has been sadly
+neglected,” said Philip. “You should hear my sister Polly! This was her
+final year! Lunches and sororities were all I heard her mention, until
+Tom Levering came on deck; now he is the leading subject. I can’t see
+from her daily conversation that she knows half as much really worth
+knowing as you do, but she’s ahead of you miles on fun.”
+
+“Oh, we had some good times in the high school,” said Elnora. “Life
+hasn’t been all work and study. Is Edith Carr a college girl?”
+
+“No. She is the very selectest kind of a private boarding-school girl.”
+
+“Who is she?” asked Mrs. Comstock.
+
+Philip opened his lips.
+
+“She is a girl in Chicago, that Mr. Ammon knows very well,” said
+Elnora. “She is beautiful and rich, and a friend of his sister’s. Or,
+didn’t you say that?”
+
+“I don’t remember, but she is,” said Philip. “This moth needs an
+alcohol bath to remove the dope.”
+
+“Won’t the down come, too?” asked Elnora anxiously.
+
+“No. You watch and you will see it come out, as Polly would say, ‘a
+perfectly good’ moth.”
+
+“Is your sister younger than you?” inquired Elnora.
+
+“Yes,” said Philip, “but she is three years older than you. She is the
+dearest sister in all the world. I’d love to see her now.”
+
+“Why don’t you send for her,” suggested Elnora. “Perhaps she’d like to
+help us catch moths.”
+
+“Yes, I think Polly in a Virot hat, Picot embroidered frock and
+three-inch heels would take more moths than any one who ever tried the
+Limberlost,” laughed Philip.
+
+“Well, you find many of them, and you are her brother.”
+
+“Yes, but that is different. Father was reared in Onabasha, and he
+loved the country. He trained me his way and mother took charge of
+Polly. I don’t quite understand it. Mother is a great home body
+herself, but she did succeed in making Polly strictly ornamental.”
+
+“Does Tom Levering need a ‘strictly ornamental’ girl?”
+
+“You are too matter of fact! Too ‘strictly’ material. He needs a
+darling girl who will love him plenty, and Polly is that.”
+
+“Well, then, does the Limberlost need a ‘strictly ornamental’ girl?”
+
+“No!” cried Philip. “You are ornament enough for the Limberlost. I have
+changed my mind. I don’t want Polly here. She would not enjoy catching
+moths, or anything we do.”
+
+“She might,” persisted Elnora. “You are her brother, and surely you
+care for these things.”
+
+“The argument does not hold,” said Philip. “Polly and I do not like the
+same things when we are at home, but we are very fond of each other.
+The member of my family who would go crazy about this is my father. I
+wish he could come, if only for a week. I’d send for him, but he is
+tied up in preparing some papers for a great corporation case this
+summer. He likes the country. It was his vote that brought me here.”
+
+Philip leaned back against the arbour, watching the grosbeak as it
+hunted food between a tomato vine and a day lily. Elnora set him to
+making labels, and when he finished them he asked permission to write a
+letter. He took no pains to conceal his page, and from where she sat
+opposite him, Elnora could not look his way without reading: “My
+dearest Edith.” He wrote busily for a time and then sat staring across
+the garden.
+
+“Have you run out of material so quickly?” asked Elnora.
+
+“That’s about it,” said Philip. “I have said that I am getting well as
+rapidly as possible, that the air is fine, the folks at Uncle Doc’s all
+well, and entirely too good to me; that I am spending most of my time
+in the country helping catch moths for a collection, which is splendid
+exercise; now I can’t think of another thing that will be interesting.”
+
+There was a burst of exquisite notes in the maple.
+
+“Put in the grosbeak,” suggested Elnora. “Tell her you are so friendly
+with him you feed him potato bugs.”
+
+Philip lowered the pen to the sheet, bent forward, then hesitated.
+
+“Blest if I do!” he cried. “She’d think a grosbeak was a depraved
+person with a large nose. She’d never dream that it was a black-robed
+lover, with a breast of snow and a crimson heart. She doesn’t care for
+hungry babies and potato bugs. I shall write that to father. He will
+find it delightful.”
+
+Elnora deftly picked up a moth, pinned it and placed its wings. She
+straightened the antennae, drew each leg into position and set it in
+perfectly lifelike manner. As she lifted her work to see if she had it
+right, she glanced at Philip. He was still frowning and hesitating over
+the paper.
+
+“I dare you to let me dictate a couple of paragraphs.”
+
+“Done!” cried Philip. “Go slowly enough that I can write it.”
+
+Elnora laughed gleefully.
+
+“I am writing this,” she began, “in an old grape arbour in the country,
+near a log cabin where I had my dinner. From where I sit I can see
+directly into the home of the next-door neighbour on the west. His name
+is R. B. Grosbeak. From all I have seen of him, he is a gentleman of
+the old school; the oldest school there is, no doubt. He always wears a
+black suit and cap and a white vest, decorated with one large red
+heart, which I think must be the emblem of some ancient order. I have
+been here a number of times, and I never have seen him wear anything
+else, or his wife appear in other than a brown dress with touches of
+white.
+
+“It has appealed to me at times that she was a shade neglectful of her
+home duties, but he does not seem to feel that way. He cheerfully stays
+in the sitting-room, while she is away having a good time, and sings
+while he cares for the four small children. I must tell you about his
+music. I am sure he never saw inside a conservatory. I think he merely
+picked up what he knows by ear and without vocal training, but there is
+a tenderness in his tones, a depth of pure melody, that I never have
+heard surpassed. It may be that I think more of his music than that of
+some other good vocalists hereabout, because I see more of him and
+appreciate his devotion to his home life.
+
+“I just had an encounter with him at the west fence, and induced him to
+carry a small gift to his children. When I see the perfect harmony in
+which he lives, and the depth of content he and the brown lady find in
+life, I am almost persuaded to— Now this is going to be poetry,” said
+Elnora. “Move your pen over here and begin with a quote and a cap.”
+
+Philip’s face had been an interesting study while he wrote her
+sentences. Now he gravely set the pen where she indicated, and Elnora
+dictated—
+
+“Buy a nice little home in the country,
+And settle down there for life.”
+
+
+“That’s the truth!” cried Philip. “It’s as big a temptation as I ever
+had. Go on!”
+
+“That’s all,” said Elnora. “You can finish. The moths are done. I am
+going hunting for whatever I can find for the grades.”
+
+“Wait a minute,” begged Philip. “I am going, too.”
+
+“No. You stay with mother and finish your letter.”
+
+“It is done. I couldn’t add anything to that.”
+
+“Very well! Sign your name and come on. But I forgot to tell you all
+the bargain. Maybe you won’t send the letter when you hear that. The
+remainder is that you show me the reply to my part of it.”
+
+“Oh, that’s easy! I wouldn’t have the slightest objection to showing
+you the whole letter.”
+
+He signed his name, folded the sheets and slipped them into his pocket.
+
+“Where are we going and what do we take?”
+
+“Will you go, mother?” asked Elnora.
+
+“I have a little work that should be done,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Could
+you spare me? Where do you want to go?”
+
+“We will go down to Aunt Margaret’s and see her a few minutes and get
+Billy. We will be back in time for supper.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock smiled as she watched them down the road. What a
+splendid-looking pair of young creatures they were! How finely
+proportioned, how full of vitality! Then her face grew troubled as she
+saw them in earnest conversation. Just as she was wishing she had not
+trusted her precious girl with so much of a stranger, she saw Elnora
+stoop to lift a branch and peer under. The mother grew content. Elnora
+was thinking only of her work. She was to be trusted utterly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+WHEREIN THE LIMBERLOST SINGS FOR PHILIP, AND THE TALKING TREES TELL
+GREAT SECRETS
+
+
+A few days later Philip handed Elnora a sheet of paper and she read:
+“In your condition I should think the moth hunting and life at that
+cabin would be very good for you, but for any sake keep away from that
+Grosbeak person, and don’t come home with your head full of granger
+ideas. No doubt he has a remarkable voice, but I can’t bear untrained
+singers, and don’t you get the idea that a June song is perennial. You
+are not hearing the music he will make when the four babies have the
+scarlet fever and the measles, and the gadding wife leaves him at home
+to care for them then. Poor soul, I pity her! How she exists where
+rampant cows bellow at you, frogs croak, mosquitoes consume you, the
+butter goes to oil in summer and bricks in winter, while the pump
+freezes every day, and there is no earthly amusement, and no society!
+Poor things! Can’t you influence him to move? No wonder she gads when
+she has a chance! I should die. If you are thinking of settling in the
+country, think also of a woman who is satisfied with white and brown to
+accompany you! Brown! Of all deadly colours! I should go mad in brown.”
+
+Elnora laughed while she read. Her face was dimpling, as she returned
+the sheet. “Who’s ahead?” she asked.
+
+“Who do you think?” he parried.
+
+“She is,” said Elnora. “Are you going to tell her in your next that R.
+B. Grosbeak is a bird, and that he probably will spend the winter in a
+wild plum thicket in Tennessee?”
+
+“No,” said Philip. “I shall tell her that I understand her ideas of
+life perfectly, and, of course, I never shall ask her to deal with oily
+butter and frozen pumps—”
+
+“—and measley babies,” interpolated Elnora.
+
+“Exactly!” said Philip. “At the same time I find so much to
+counterbalance those things, that I should not object to bearing them
+myself, in view of the recompense. Where do we go and what do we do
+to-day?”
+
+“We will have to hunt beside the roads and around the edge of the
+Limberlost to-day,” said Elnora. “Mother is making strawberry
+preserves, and she can’t come until she finishes. Suppose we go down to
+the swamp and I’ll show you what is left of the flower-room that
+Terence O’More, the big lumber man of Great Rapids, made when he was a
+homeless boy here. Of course, you have heard the story?”
+
+“Yes, and I’ve met the O’Mores who are frequently in Chicago society.
+They have friends there. I think them one ideal couple.”
+
+“That sounds as if they might be the only one,” said Elnora, “and,
+indeed, they are not. I know dozens. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Wesley are
+another, the Brownlees another, and my mathematics professor and his
+wife. The world is full of happy people, but no one ever hears of them.
+You must fight and make a scandal to get into the papers. No one knows
+about all the happy people. I am happy myself, and look how perfectly
+inconspicuous I am.”
+
+“You only need go where you will be seen,” began Philip, when he
+remembered and finished. “What do we take to-day?”
+
+“Ourselves,” said Elnora. “I have a vagabond streak in my blood and
+it’s in evidence. I am going to show you where real flowers grow, real
+birds sing, and if I feel quite right about it, perhaps I shall raise a
+note or two myself.”
+
+“Oh, do you sing?” asked Philip politely.
+
+“At times,” answered Elnora. “‘As do the birds; because I must,’ but
+don’t be scared. The mood does not possess me often. Perhaps I shan’t
+raise a note.”
+
+They went down the road to the swamp, climbed the snake fence, followed
+the path to the old trail and then turned south upon it. Elnora
+indicated to Philip the trail with remnants of sagging barbed wire.
+
+“It was ten years ago,” she said. “I was a little school girl, but I
+wandered widely even then, and no one cared. I saw him often. He had
+been in a city institution all his life, when he took the job of
+keeping timber thieves out of this swamp, before many trees had been
+cut. It was a strong man’s work, and he was a frail boy, but he grew
+hardier as he lived out of doors. This trail we are on is the path his
+feet first wore, in those days when he was insane with fear and eaten
+up with loneliness, but he stuck to his work and won out. I used to
+come down to the road and creep among the bushes as far as I dared, to
+watch him pass. He walked mostly, at times he rode a wheel.
+
+“Some days his face was dreadfully sad, others it was so determined a
+little child could see the force in it, and once he was radiant. That
+day the Swamp Angel was with him. I can’t tell you what she was like. I
+never saw any one who resembled her. He stopped close here to show her
+a bird’s nest. Then they went on to a sort of flower-room he had made,
+and he sang for her. By the time he left, I had gotten bold enough to
+come out on the trail, and I met the big Scotchman Freckles lived with.
+He saw me catching moths and butterflies, so he took me to the
+flower-room and gave me everything there. I don’t dare come alone
+often, so I can’t keep it up as he did, but you can see something of
+how it was.”
+
+Elnora led the way and Philip followed. The outlines of the room were
+not distinct, because many of the trees were gone, but Elnora showed
+how it had been as nearly as she could.
+
+“The swamp is almost ruined now,” she said. “The maples, walnuts, and
+cherries are all gone. The talking trees are the only things left worth
+while.”
+
+“The ‘talking trees!’ I don’t understand,” commented Philip.
+
+“No wonder!” laughed Elnora. “They are my discovery. You know all trees
+whisper and talk during the summer, but there are two that have so much
+to say they keep on the whole winter, when the others are silent. The
+beeches and oaks so love to talk, they cling to their dead, dry leaves.
+In the winter the winds are stiffest and blow most, so these trees
+whisper, chatter, sob, laugh, and at times roar until the sound is
+deafening. They never cease until new leaves come out in the spring to
+push off the old ones. I love to stand beneath them with my ear to the
+trunks, interpreting what they say to fit my moods. The beeches branch
+low, and their leaves are small so they only know common earthly
+things; but the oaks run straight above almost all other trees before
+they branch, their arms are mighty, their leaves large. They meet the
+winds that travel around the globe, and from them learn the big
+things.”
+
+Philip studied the girls face. “What do the beeches tell you, Elnora?”
+he asked gently.
+
+“To be patient, to be unselfish, to do unto others as I would have them
+do to me.”
+
+“And the oaks?”
+
+“They say ‘be true,’ ‘live a clean life,’ ‘send your soul up here and
+the winds of the world will teach it what honour achieves.’”
+
+“Wonderful secrets, those!” marvelled Philip. “Are they telling them
+now? Could I hear?”
+
+“No. They are only gossiping now. This is play-time. They tell the big
+secrets to a white world, when the music inspires them.”
+
+“The music?”
+
+“All other trees are harps in the winter. Their trunks are the frames,
+their branches the strings, the winds the musicians. When the air is
+cold and clear, the world very white, and the harp music swelling, then
+the talking trees tell the strengthening, uplifting things.”
+
+“You wonderful girl!” cried Philip. “What a woman you will be!”
+
+“If I am a woman at all worth while, it will be because I have had such
+wonderful opportunities,” said Elnora. “Not every girl is driven to the
+forest to learn what God has to say there. Here are the remains of
+Freckles’s room. The time the Angel came here he sang to her, and I
+listened. I never heard music like that. No wonder she loved him. Every
+one who knew him did, and they do yet. Try that log, it makes a fairly
+good seat. This old store box was his treasure house, just as it’s now
+mine. I will show you my dearest possession. I do not dare take it home
+because mother can’t overcome her dislike for it. It was my father’s,
+and in some ways I am like him. This is the strongest.”
+
+Elnora lifted the violin and began to play. She wore a school dress of
+green gingham, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She seemed a part
+of the setting all around her. Her head shone like a small dark sun,
+and her face never had seemed so rose-flushed and fair. From the
+instant she drew the bow, her lips parted and her eyes turned toward
+something far away in the swamp, and never did she give more of that
+impression of feeling for her notes and repeating something audible
+only to her. Philip was too close to get the best effect. He arose and
+stepped back several yards, leaning against a large tree, looking and
+listening intently.
+
+As he changed positions he saw that Mrs. Comstock had followed them,
+and was standing on the trail, where she could not have helped hearing
+everything Elnora had said.
+
+So to Philip before her and the mother watching on the trail, Elnora
+played the Song of the Limberlost. It seemed as if the swamp hushed all
+its other voices and spoke only through her dancing bow. The mother out
+on the trail had heard it all, once before from the girl, many times
+from her father. To the man it was a revelation. He stood so stunned he
+forgot Mrs. Comstock. He tried to realize what a city audience would
+say to that music, from such a player, with a similar background, and
+he could not imagine.
+
+He was wondering what he dared say, how much he might express, when the
+last note fell and the girl laid the violin in the case, closed the
+door, locked it and hid the key in the rotting wood at the end of a
+log. Then she came to him. Philip stood looking at her curiously.
+
+“I wonder,” he said, “what people would say to that?”
+
+“I played that in public once,” said Elnora. “I think they liked it,
+fairly well. I had a note yesterday offering me the leadership of the
+high school orchestra in Onabasha. I can take it as well as not. None
+of my talks to the grades come the first thing in the morning. I can
+play a few minutes in the orchestra and reach the rooms in plenty of
+time. It will be more work that I love, and like finding the money. I
+would gladly play for nothing, merely to be able to express myself.”
+
+“With some people it makes a regular battlefield of the human
+heart—this struggle for self-expression,” said Philip. “You are going
+to do beautiful work in the world, and do it well. When I realize that
+your violin belonged to your father, that he played it before you were
+born, and it no doubt affected your mother strongly, and then couple
+with that the years you have roamed these fields and swamps finding in
+nature all you had to lavish your heart upon, I can see how you
+evolved. I understand what you mean by self-expression. I know
+something of what you have to express. The world never so wanted your
+message as it does now. It is hungry for the things you know. I can see
+easily how your position came to you. What you have to give is taught
+in no college, and I am not sure but you would spoil yourself if you
+tried to run your mind through a set groove with hundreds of others. I
+never thought I should say such a thing to any one, but I do say to
+you, and I honestly believe it; give up the college idea. Your mind
+does not need that sort of development. Stick close to your work in the
+woods. You are becoming so infinitely greater on it, than the best
+college girl I ever knew, that there is no comparison. When you have
+money to spend, take that violin and go to one of the world’s great
+masters and let the Limberlost sing to him; if he thinks he can improve
+it, very well. I have my doubts.”
+
+“Do you really mean that you would give up all idea of going to
+college, in my place?”
+
+“I really mean it,” said Philip. “If I now held the money in my hands
+to send you, and could give it to you in some way you would accept I
+would not. I do not know why it is the fate of the world always to want
+something different from what life gives them. If you only could
+realize it, my girl, you are in college, and have been always. You are
+in the school of experience, and it has taught you to think, and given
+you a heart. God knows I envy the man who wins it! You have been in the
+college of the Limberlost all your life, and I never met a graduate
+from any other institution who could begin to compare with you in
+sanity, clarity, and interesting knowledge. I wouldn’t even advise you
+to read too many books on your lines. You acquire your material first
+hand, and you know that you are right. What you should do is to begin
+early to practise self-expression. Don’t wait too long to tell us about
+the woods as you know them.”
+
+“Follow the course of the Bird Woman, you mean?” asked Elnora.
+
+“In your own way; with your own light. She won’t live forever. You are
+younger, and you will be ready to begin where she ends. The swamp has
+given you all you need so far; now you give it to the world in payment.
+College be confounded! Go to work and show people what there is in
+you!”
+
+Not until then did he remember Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Should we go out to the trail and see if your mother is coming?” he
+asked.
+
+“Here she is now,” said Elnora. “Gracious, it’s a mercy I got that
+violin put away in time! I didn’t expect her so soon,” whispered the
+girl as she turned and went toward her mother. Mrs. Comstock’s
+expression was peculiar as she looked at Elnora.
+
+“I forgot that you were making sun-preserves and they didn’t require
+much cooking,” she said. “We should have waited for you.”
+
+“Not at all!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “Have you found anything yet?”
+
+“Nothing that I can show you,” said Elnora. “I am almost sure I have
+found an idea that will revolutionize the whole course of my work,
+thought, and ambitions.”
+
+“‘Ambitions!’ My, what a hefty word!” laughed Mrs. Comstock. “Now who
+would suspect a little red-haired country girl of harbouring such a
+deadly germ in her body? Can you tell mother about it?”
+
+“Not if you talk to me that way, I can’t,” said Elnora.
+
+“Well, I guess we better let ambition lie. I’ve always heard it was
+safest asleep. If you ever get a bona fide attack, it will be time to
+attend it. Let’s hunt specimens. It is June. Philip and I are in the
+grades. You have an hour to put an idea into our heads that will stick
+for a lifetime, and grow for good. That’s the way I look at your job.
+Now, what are you going to give us? We don’t want any old silly stuff
+that has been hashed over and over, we want a big new idea to plant in
+our hearts. Come on, Miss Teacher, what is the boiled-down,
+double-distilled essence of June? Give it to us strong. We are large
+enough to furnish it developing ground. Hurry up! Time is short and we
+are waiting. What is the miracle of June? What one thing epitomizes the
+whole month, and makes it just a little different from any other?”
+
+“The birth of these big night moths,” said Elnora promptly.
+
+Philip clapped his hands. The tears started to Mrs. Comstock’s eyes.
+She took Elnora in her arms, and kissed her forehead.
+
+“You’ll do!” she said. “June is June, not because it has bloom, bird,
+fruit, or flower, exclusive to it alone.
+
+“It’s half May and half July in all of them. But to me, it’s just June,
+when it comes to these great, velvet-winged night moths which sweep its
+moonlit skies, consummating their scheme of creation, and dropping like
+a bloomed-out flower. Give them moths for June. Then make that the
+basis of your year’s work. Find the distinctive feature of each month,
+the one thing which marks it a time apart, and hit them squarely
+between the eyes with it. Even the babies of the lowest grades can
+comprehend moths when they see a few emerge, and learn their history,
+as it can be lived before them. You should show your specimens in
+pairs, then their eggs, the growing caterpillars, and then the cocoons.
+You want to dig out the red heart of every month in the year, and hold
+it pulsing before them.
+
+“I can’t name all of them off-hand, but I think of one more right now.
+February belongs to our winter birds. It is then the great horned owl
+of the swamp courts his mate, the big hawks pair, and even the crows
+begin to take notice. These are truly our birds. Like the poor we have
+them always with us. You should hear the musicians of this swamp in
+February, Philip, on a mellow night. Oh, but they are in earnest! For
+twenty-one years I’ve listened by night to the great owls, all the
+smaller sizes, the foxes, coons, and every resident left in these
+woods, and by day to the hawks, yellow-hammers, sap-suckers, titmice,
+crows, and other winter birds. Only just now it’s come to me that the
+distinctive feature of February is not linen bleaching, nor sugar
+making; it’s the love month of our very own birds. Give them hawks and
+owls for February, Elnora.”
+
+With flashing eyes the girl looked at Philip. “How’s that?” she said.
+“Don’t you think I will succeed, with such help? You should hear the
+concert she is talking about! It is simply indescribable when the
+ground is covered with snow, and the moonlight white.”
+
+“It’s about the best music we have,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I wonder if
+you couldn’t copy that and make a strong, original piece out of it for
+your violin, Elnora?”
+
+There was one tense breath, then—— “I could try,” said Elnora simply.
+
+Philip rushed to the rescue. “We must go to work,” he said, and began
+examining a walnut branch for Luna moth eggs. Elnora joined him while
+Mrs. Comstock drew her embroidery from her pocket and sat on a log. She
+said she was tired, they could come for her when they were ready to go.
+She could hear their voices around her until she called them at supper
+time. When they came to her she stood waiting on the trail, the sewing
+in one hand, the violin in the other. Elnora became very white, but
+followed the trail without a word. Philip, unable to see a woman carry
+a heavier load than he, reached for the instrument. Mrs. Comstock shook
+her head. She carried the violin home, took it into her room and closed
+the door. Elnora turned to Philip.
+
+“If she destroys that, I shall die!” cried the girl.
+
+“She won’t!” said Philip. “You misunderstand her. She wouldn’t have
+said what she did about the owls, if she had meant to. She is your
+mother. No one loves you as she does. Trust her! Myself—I think she’s
+simply great!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock returned with serene face, and all of them helped with
+the supper. When it was over Philip and Elnora sorted and classified
+the afternoon’s specimens, and made a trip to the woods to paint and
+light several trees for moths. When they came back Mrs. Comstock sat in
+the arbour, and they joined her. The moonlight was so intense, print
+could have been read by it. The damp night air held odours near to
+earth, making flower and tree perfume strong. A thousand insects were
+serenading, and in the maple the grosbeak occasionally said a
+reassuring word to his wife, while she answered that all was well. A
+whip-poor-will wailed in the swamp and beside the blue-bordered pool a
+chat complained disconsolately. Mrs. Comstock went into the cabin, but
+she returned immediately, laying the violin and bow across Elnora’s
+lap. “I wish you would give us a little music,” she said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK DANCES IN THE MOONLIGHT, AND ELNORA MAKES A
+CONFESSION
+
+
+Billy was swinging in the hammock, at peace with himself and all the
+world, when he thought he heard something. He sat bolt upright, his
+eyes staring. Once he opened his lips, then thought again and closed
+them. The sound persisted. Billy vaulted the fence, and ran down the
+road with his queer sidewise hop. When he neared the Comstock cabin, he
+left the warm dust of the highway and stepped softly at slower pace
+over the rank grasses of the roadside. He had heard aright. The violin
+was in the grape arbour, singing a perfect jumble of everything, poured
+out in an exultant tumult. The strings were voicing the joy of a happy
+girl heart.
+
+Billy climbed the fence enclosing the west woods and crept toward the
+arbour. He was not a spy and not a sneak. He merely wanted to satisfy
+his child-heart as to whether Mrs. Comstock was at home, and Elnora at
+last playing her loved violin with her mother’s consent. One peep
+sufficed. Mrs. Comstock sat in the moonlight, her head leaning against
+the arbour; on her face was a look of perfect peace and contentment. As
+he stared at her the bow hesitated a second and Mrs. Comstock spoke:
+
+“That’s all very melodious and sweet,” she said, “but I do wish you
+could play Money Musk and some of the tunes I danced as a girl.”
+
+Elnora had been carefully avoiding every note that might be reminiscent
+of her father. At the words she laughed softly and began “Turkey in the
+Straw.” An instant later Mrs. Comstock was dancing in the moon light.
+Ammon sprang to her side, caught her in his arms, while to Elnora’s
+laughter and the violin’s impetus they danced until they dropped
+panting on the arbour bench.
+
+Billy scarcely knew when he reached the road. His light feet barely
+touched the soft way, so swiftly he flew. He vaulted the fence and
+burst into the house.
+
+“Aunt Margaret! Uncle Wesley!” he screamed. “Listen! Listen! She’s
+playing it! Elnora’s playing her violin at home! And Aunt Kate is
+dancing like anything before the arbour! I saw her in the moonlight! I
+ran down! Oh, Aunt Margaret!”
+
+Billy fled sobbing to Margaret’s breast.
+
+“Why Billy!” she chided. “Don’t cry, you little dunce! That’s what
+we’ve all prayed for these many years; but you must be mistaken about
+Kate. I can’t believe it.”
+
+Billy lifted his head. “Well, you just have to!” he said. “When I say I
+saw anything, Uncle Wesley knows I did. The city man was dancing with
+her. They danced together and Elnora laughed. But it didn’t look funny
+to me; I was scared.”
+
+“Who was it said ‘wonders never cease,’” asked Wesley. “You mark my
+word, once you get Kate Comstock started, you can’t stop her. There’s a
+wagon load of penned-up force in her. Dancing in the moonlight! Well,
+I’ll be hanged!”
+
+Billy was at his side instantly. “Whoever does it will have to hang me,
+too,” he cried.
+
+Sinton threw his arm around Billy and drew him closely. “Tell us all
+about it, son,” he said. Billy told. “And when Elnora just stopped a
+breath, ‘Can’t you play some of the old things I knew when I was a
+girl?’ said her ma. Then Elnora began to do a thing that made you want
+to whirl round and round, and quicker ’an scat there was her ma
+a-whirling. The city man, he ups and grabs her and whirls, too, and
+back in the woods I was going just like they did. Elnora begins to
+laugh, and I ran to tell you, cos I knew you’d like to know. Now, all
+the world is right, ain’t it?” ended Billy in supreme satisfaction.
+
+“You just bet it is!” said Wesley.
+
+Billy looked steadily at Margaret. “Is it, Aunt Margaret?”
+
+Margaret Sinton smiled at him bravely.
+
+An hour later when Billy was ready to climb the stairs to his room, he
+went to Margaret to say good night. He leaned against her an instant,
+then brought his lips to her ear. “Wish I could get your little girls
+back for you!” he whispered and dashed toward the stairs.
+
+Down at the Comstock cabin the violin played on until Elnora was so
+tired she scarcely could lift the bow. Then Philip went home. The women
+walked to the gate with him, and stood watching him from sight.
+
+“That’s what I call one decent young man!” said Mrs. Comstock. “To see
+him fit in with us, you’d think he’d been brought up in a cabin; but
+it’s likely he’s always had the very cream o’ the pot.”
+
+“Yes, I think so,” laughed Elnora, “but it hasn’t hurt him. I’ve never
+seen anything I could criticise. He’s teaching me so much,
+unconsciously. You know he graduated from Harvard, and has several
+degrees in law. He’s coming in the morning, and we are going to put in
+a big day on Catocalæ.”
+
+“Which is——?”
+
+“Those gray moths with wings that fold back like big flies, and they
+appear as if they had been carved from old wood. Then, when they fly,
+the lower wings flash out and they are red and black, or gold and
+black, or pink and black, or dozens of bright, beautiful colours
+combined with black. No one ever has classified all of them and written
+their complete history, unless the Bird Woman is doing it now. She
+wants everything she can get about them.”
+
+“I remember,” said Mrs. Comstock. “They are mighty pretty things. I’ve
+started up slews of them from the vines covering the logs, all my life.
+I must be cautious and catch them after this, but they seem powerful
+spry. I might get hold of something rare.” She thought intently and
+added, “And wouldn’t know it if I did. It would just be my luck. I’ve
+had the rarest thing on earth in reach this many a day and only had the
+wit to cinch it just as it was going. I’ll bet I don’t let anything
+else escape me.”
+
+Next morning Philip came early, and he and Elnora went at once to the
+fields and woods. Mrs. Comstock had come to believe so implicitly in
+him that she now stayed at home to complete the work before she joined
+them, and when she did she often sat sewing, leaving them wandering
+hours at a time. It was noon before she finished, and then she packed a
+basket of lunch. She found Elnora and Philip near the violet patch,
+which was still in its prime. They all lunched together in the shade of
+a wild crab thicket, with flowers spread at their feet, and the gold
+orioles streaking the air with flashes of light and trailing ecstasy
+behind them, while the red-wings, as always, asked the most impertinent
+questions. Then Mrs. Comstock carried the basket back to the cabin, and
+Philip and Elnora sat on a log, resting a few minutes. They had
+unexpected luck, and both were eager to continue the search.
+
+“Do you remember your promise about these violets?” asked he.
+“To-morrow is Edith’s birthday, and if I’d put them special delivery on
+the morning train, she’d get them in the late afternoon. They ought to
+keep that long. She leaves for the North next day.”
+
+“Of course, you may have them,” said Elnora. “We will quit long enough
+before supper to gather a large bunch. They can be packed so they will
+carry all right. They should be perfectly fresh, especially if we
+gather them this evening and let them drink all night.”
+
+Then they went back to hunt Catocalæ. It was a long and a happy search.
+It led them into new, unexplored nooks of the woods, past a red-poll
+nest, and where goldfinches prospected for thistledown for the cradles
+they would line a little later. It led them into real forest, where
+deep, dark pools lay, where the hermit thrush and the wood robin
+extracted the essence from all other bird melody, and poured it out in
+their pure bell-tone notes. It seemed as if every old gray tree-trunk,
+slab of loose bark, and prostrate log yielded the flashing gray
+treasures; while of all others they seemed to take alarm most easily,
+and be most difficult to capture.
+
+Philip came to Elnora at dusk, daintily holding one by the body, its
+dark wings showing and its long slender legs trying to clasp his
+fingers and creep from his hold.
+
+“Oh for mercy’s sake!” cried Elnora, staring at him.
+
+“I half believe it!” exulted Ammon.
+
+“Did you ever see one?”
+
+“Only in collections, and very seldom there.”
+
+Elnora studied the black wings intently. “I surely believe that’s
+Sappho,” she marvelled. “The Bird Woman will be overjoyed.”
+
+“We must get the cyanide jar quickly,” said Philip.
+
+“I wouldn’t lose her for anything. Such a chase as she led me!”
+
+Elnora brought the jar and began gathering up paraphernalia.
+
+“When you make a find like that,” she said, “it’s the right time to
+quit and feel glorious all the rest of that day. I tell you I’m proud!
+We will go now. We have barely time to carry out our plans before
+supper. Won’t mother be pleased to see that we have a rare one?”
+
+“I’d like to see any one more pleased than I am!” said Philip Ammon. “I
+feel as if I’d earned my supper to-night. Let’s go.”
+
+He took the greater part of the load and stepped aside for Elnora to
+precede him. She followed the path, broken by the grazing cattle,
+toward the cabin and nearest the violet patch she stopped, laid down
+her net, and the things she carried. Philip passed her and hurried
+straight toward the back gate.
+
+“Aren’t you going to——?” began Elnora.
+
+“I’m going to get this moth home in a hurry,” he said. “This cyanide
+has lost its strength, and it’s not working well. We need some fresh in
+the jar.”
+
+He had forgotten the violets! Elnora stood looking after him, a curious
+expression on her face. One second so—then she picked up the net and
+followed. At the blue-bordered pool she paused and half turned back,
+then she closed her lips firmly and went on. It was nine o’clock when
+Philip said good-bye, and started to town. His gay whistle floated to
+them from the farthest corner of the Limberlost. Elnora complained of
+being tired, so she went to her room and to bed. But sleep would not
+come. Thought was racing in her brain and the longer she lay the wider
+awake she grew. At last she softly slipped from bed, lighted her lamp
+and began opening boxes. Then she went to work. Two hours later a
+beautiful birch bark basket, strongly and artistically made, stood on
+her table. She set a tiny alarm clock at three, returned to bed and
+fell asleep instantly with a smile on her lips.
+
+She was on the floor with the first tinkle of the alarm, and hastily
+dressing, she picked up the basket and a box to fit it, crept down the
+stairs, and out to the violet patch. She was unafraid as it was growing
+light, and lining the basket with damp mosses she swiftly began
+picking, with practised hands, the best of the flowers. She scarcely
+could tell which were freshest at times, but day soon came creeping
+over the Limberlost and peeped at her. The robins awoke all their
+neighbours, and a babel of bird notes filled the air. The dew was
+dripping, while the first strong rays of light fell on a world in which
+Elnora worshipped. When the basket was filled to overflowing, she set
+it in the stout pasteboard box, packed it solid with mosses, tied it
+firmly and slipped under the cord a note she had written the previous
+night.
+
+Then she took a short cut across the woods and walked swiftly to
+Onabasha. It was after six o’clock, but all of the city she wished to
+avoid were asleep. She had no trouble in finding a small boy out, and
+she stood at a distance waiting while he rang Dr. Ammon’s bell and
+delivered the package for Philip to a maid, with the note which was to
+be given him at once.
+
+On the way home through the woods passing some baited trees she
+collected the captive moths. She entered the kitchen with them so
+naturally that Mrs. Comstock made no comment. After breakfast Elnora
+went to her room, cleared away all trace of the night’s work and was
+out in the arbour mounting moths when Philip came down the road. “I am
+tired sitting,” she said to her mother. “I think I will walk a few rods
+and meet him.”
+
+“Who’s a trump?” he called from afar.
+
+“Not you!” retorted Elnora. “Confess that you forgot!”
+
+“Completely!” said Philip. “But luckily it would not have been fatal. I
+wrote Polly last week to send Edith something appropriate to-day, with
+my card. But that touch from the woods will be very effective. Thank
+you more than I can say. Aunt Anna and I unpacked it to see the basket,
+and it was a beauty. She says you are always doing such things.”
+
+“Well, I hope not!” laughed Elnora. “If you’d seen me sneaking out
+before dawn, not to awaken mother and coming in with moths to make her
+think I’d been to the trees, you’d know it was a most especial
+occasion.”
+
+Then Philip understood two things: Elnora’s mother did not know of the
+early morning trip to the city, and the girl had come to meet him to
+tell him so.
+
+“You were a brick to do it!” he whispered as he closed the gate behind
+them. “I’ll never forget you for it. Thank you ever so much.”
+
+“I did not do that for you,” said Elnora tersely. “I did it mostly to
+preserve my own self-respect. I saw you were forgetting. If I did it
+for anything besides that, I did it for her.”
+
+“Just look what I’ve brought!” said Philip, entering the arbour and
+greeting Mrs. Comstock. “Borrowed it of the Bird Woman. And it isn’t
+hers. A rare edition of Catocalæ with coloured plates. I told her the
+best I could, and she said to try for Sappho here. I suspect the Bird
+Woman will be out presently. She was all excitement.”
+
+Then they bent over the book together and with the mounted moth before
+them determined her family. The Bird Woman did come later, and carried
+the moth away, to put into a book and Elnora and Philip were freshly
+filled with enthusiasm.
+
+So these days were the beginning of the weeks that followed. Six of
+them flying on Time’s wings, each filled to the brim with interest.
+After June, the moth hunts grew less frequent; the fields and woods
+were searched for material for Elnora’s grade work. The most absorbing
+occupation they found was in carrying out Mrs. Comstock’s suggestion to
+learn the vital thing for which each month was distinctive, and make
+that the key to the nature work. They wrote out a list of the months,
+opposite each the things all of them could suggest which seemed to
+pertain to that month alone, and then tried to sift until they found
+something typical. Mrs. Comstock was a great help. Her mother had been
+Dutch and had brought from Holland numerous quaint sayings and
+superstitions easily traceable to Pliny’s Natural History; and in Mrs.
+Comstock’s early years in Ohio she had heard much Indian talk among her
+elders, so she knew the signs of each season, and sometimes they
+helped. Always her practical thought and sterling common sense were
+useful. When they were afield until exhausted they came back to the
+cabin for food, to prepare specimens and classify them, and to talk
+over the day. Sometimes Philip brought books and read while Elnora and
+her mother worked, and every night Mrs. Comstock asked for the violin.
+Her perfect hunger for music was sufficient evidence of how she had
+suffered without it. So the days crept by, golden, filled with useful
+work and pure pleasure.
+
+The grosbeak had led the family in the maple abroad and a second brood,
+in a wild grape vine clambering over the well, was almost ready for
+flight. The dust lay thick on the country roads, the days grew warmer;
+summer was just poising to slip into fall, and Philip remained, coming
+each day as if he had belonged there always.
+
+One warm August afternoon Mrs. Comstock looked up from the ruffle on
+which she was engaged to see a blue-coated messenger enter the gate.
+
+“Is Philip Ammon here?” asked the boy.
+
+“He is,” said Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“I have a message for him.”
+
+“He is in the woods back of the cabin. I will ring the bell. Do you
+know if it is important?”
+
+“Urgent,” said the boy; “I rode hard.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock stepped to the back door and clanged the dinner bell
+sharply, paused a second, and rang again. In a short time Philip and
+Elnora ran down the path.
+
+“Are you ill, mother?” cried Elnora.
+
+Mrs. Comstock indicated the boy. “There is an important message for
+Philip,” she said.
+
+He muttered an excuse and tore open the telegram. His colour faded
+slightly. “I have to take the first train,” he said. “My father is ill
+and I am needed.”
+
+He handed the sheet to Elnora. “I have about two hours, as I remember
+the trains north, but my things are all over Uncle Doc’s house, so I
+must go at once.”
+
+“Certainly,” said Elnora, giving back the message. “Is there anything I
+can do to help? Mother, bring Philip a glass of buttermilk to start on.
+I will gather what you have here.”
+
+“Never mind. There is nothing of importance. I don’t want to be
+hampered. I’ll send for it if I miss anything I need.”
+
+Philip drank the milk, said good-bye to Mrs. Comstock; thanked her for
+all her kindness, and turned to Elnora.
+
+“Will you walk to the edge of the Limberlost with me?” he asked. Elnora
+assented. Mrs. Comstock followed to the gate, urged him to come again
+soon, and repeated her good-bye. Then she went back to the arbour to
+await Elnora’s return. As she watched down the road she smiled softly.
+
+“I had an idea he would speak to me first,” she thought, “but this may
+change things some. He hasn’t time. Elnora will come back a happy girl,
+and she has good reason. He is a model young man. Her lot will be very
+different from mine.”
+
+She picked up her embroidery and began setting dainty precise little
+stitches, possible only to certain women.
+
+On the road Elnora spoke first. “I do hope it is nothing serious,” she
+said. “Is he usually strong?”
+
+“Quite strong,” said Philip. “I am not at all alarmed but I am very
+much ashamed. I have been well enough for the past month to have gone
+home and helped him with some critical cases that were keeping him at
+work in this heat. I was enjoying myself so I wouldn’t offer to go, and
+he would not ask me to come, so long as he could help it. I have
+allowed him to overtax himself until he is down, and mother and Polly
+are north at our cottage. He’s never been sick before, and it’s
+probable I am to blame that he is now.”
+
+“He intended you to stay this long when you came,” urged Elnora.
+
+“Yes, but it’s hot in Chicago. I should have remembered him. He is
+always thinking of me. Possibly he has needed me for days. I am ashamed
+to go to him in splendid condition and admit that I was having such a
+fine time I forgot to come home.”
+
+“You have had a fine time, then?” asked Elnora.
+
+They had reached the fence. Philip vaulted over to take a short cut
+across the fields. He turned and looked at her.
+
+“The best, the sweetest, and most wholesome time any man ever had in
+this world,” he said. “Elnora, if I talked hours I couldn’t make you
+understand what a girl I think you are. I never in all my life hated
+anything as I hate leaving you. It seems to me that I have not strength
+to do it.”
+
+“If you have learned anything worth while from me,” said Elnora, “that
+should be it. Just to have strength to go to your duty, and to go
+quickly.”
+
+He caught the hand she held out to him in both his. “Elnora, these days
+we have had together, have they been sweet to you?”
+
+“Beautiful days!” said Elnora. “Each like a perfect dream to be thought
+over and over all my life. Oh, they have been the only really happy
+days I’ve ever known; these days rich with mother’s love, and doing
+useful work with your help. Good-bye! You must hurry!”
+
+Philip gazed at her. He tried to drop her hand, only clutched it
+closer. Suddenly he drew her toward him. “Elnora,” he whispered, “will
+you kiss me good-bye?”
+
+Elnora drew back and stared at him with wide eyes. “I’d strike you
+sooner!” she said. “Have I ever said or done anything in your presence
+that made you feel free to ask that, Philip Ammon?”
+
+“No!” panted Philip. “No! I think so much of you I wanted to touch your
+lips once before I left you. You know, Elnora——”
+
+“Don’t distress yourself,” said Elnora calmly. “I am broad enough to
+judge you sanely. I know what you mean. It would be no harm to you. It
+would not matter to me, but here we will think of some one else. Edith
+Carr would not want your lips to-morrow if she knew they had touched
+mine to-day. I was wise to say: ‘Go quickly!’”
+
+Philip still clung to her. “Will you write me?” he begged.
+
+“No,” said Elnora. “There is nothing to say, save good-bye. We can do
+that now.”
+
+He held on. “Promise that you will write me only one letter,” he urged.
+“I want just one message from you to lock in my desk, and keep always.
+Promise you will write once, Elnora.”
+
+She looked into his eyes, and smiled serenely. “If the talking trees
+tell me this winter, the secret of how a man may grow perfect, I will
+write you what it is, Philip. In all the time I have known you, I never
+have liked you so little. Good-bye.”
+
+She drew away her hand and swiftly turned back to the road. Philip
+Ammon, wordless, started toward Onabasha on a run.
+
+Elnora crossed the road, climbed the fence and sought the shelter of
+their own woods. She chose a diagonal course and followed it until she
+came to the path leading past the violet patch. She went down this
+hurriedly. Her hands were clenched at her side, her eyes dry and
+bright, her cheeks red-flushed, and her breath coming fast. When she
+reached the patch she turned into it and stood looking around her.
+
+The mosses were dry, the flowers gone, weeds a foot high covered it.
+She turned away and went on down the path until she was almost in sight
+of the cabin.
+
+Mrs. Comstock smiled and waited in the arbour until it occurred to her
+that Elnora was a long time coming, so she went to the gate. The road
+stretched away toward the Limberlost empty and lonely. Then she knew
+that Elnora had gone into their own woods and would come in the back
+way. She could not understand why the girl did not hurry to her with
+what she would have to tell. She went out and wandered around the
+garden. Then she stepped into the path and started along the way
+leading to the woods, past the pool now framed in a thick setting of
+yellow lilies. Then she saw, and stopped, gasping for breath. Her hands
+flew up and her lined face grew ghastly. She stared at the sky and then
+at the prostrate girl figure. Over and over she tried to speak, but
+only a dry breath came. She turned and fled back to the garden.
+
+In the familiar enclosure she gazed around her like a caged animal
+seeking escape. The sun beat down on her bare head mercilessly, and
+mechanically she moved to the shade of a half-grown hickory tree that
+voluntarily had sprouted beside the milk house. At her feet lay an axe
+with which she made kindlings for fires. She stooped and picked it up.
+The memory of that prone figure sobbing in the grass caught her with a
+renewed spasm. She shut her eyes as if to close it out. That made
+hearing so acute she felt certain she heard Elnora moaning beside the
+path. The eyes flew open. They looked straight at a few spindling
+tomato plants set too near the tree and stunted by its shade. Mrs.
+Comstock whirled on the hickory and swung the axe. Her hair shook down,
+her clothing became disarranged, in the heat the perspiration streamed,
+but stroke fell on stroke until the tree crashed over, grazing a corner
+of the milk house and smashing the garden fence on the east.
+
+At the sound Elnora sprang to her feet and came running down the garden
+walk. “Mother!” she cried. “Mother! What in the world are you doing?”
+
+Mrs. Comstock wiped her ghastly face on her apron. “I’ve laid out to
+cut that tree for years,” she said. “It shades the beets in the
+morning, and the tomatoes in the afternoon!”
+
+Elnora uttered one wild little cry and fled into her mother’s arms. “Oh
+mother!” she sobbed. “Will you ever forgive me?”
+
+Mrs. Comstock’s arms swept together in a tight grip around Elnora.
+
+“There isn’t a thing on God’s footstool from a to izzard I won’t
+forgive you, my precious girl!” she said. “Tell mother what it is!”
+
+Elnora lifted her wet face. “He told me,” she panted, “just as soon as
+he decently could—that second day he told me. Almost all his life he’s
+been engaged to a girl at home. He never cared anything about me. He
+was only interested in the moths and growing strong.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock’s arms tightened. With a shaking hand she stroked the
+bright hair.
+
+“Tell me, honey,” she said. “Is he to blame for a single one of these
+tears?”
+
+“Not one!” sobbed Elnora. “Oh mother, I won’t forgive you if you don’t
+believe that. Not one! He never said, or looked, or did anything all
+the world might not have known. He likes me very much as a friend. He
+hated to go dreadfully!”
+
+“Elnora!” the mother’s head bent until the white hair mingled with the
+brown. “Elnora, why didn’t you tell me at first?”
+
+Elnora caught her breath in a sharp snatch. “I know I should!” she
+sobbed. “I will bear any punishment for not, but I didn’t feel as if I
+possibly could. I was afraid.”
+
+“Afraid of what?” the shaking hand was on the hair again.
+
+“Afraid you wouldn’t let him come!” panted Elnora. “And oh, mother, I
+wanted him so!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK EXPERIMENTS WITH REJUVENATION, AND ELNORA TEACHES
+NATURAL HISTORY
+
+
+For the following week Mrs. Comstock and Elnora worked so hard there
+was no time to talk, and they were compelled to sleep from physical
+exhaustion. Neither of them made any pretence of eating, for they could
+not swallow without an effort, so they drank milk and worked. Elnora
+kept on setting bait for Catacolae and Sphinginae, which, unlike the
+big moths of June, live several months. She took all the dragonflies
+and butterflies she could, and when she went over the list for the man
+of India, she found, to her amazement, that with Philip’s help she once
+more had it complete save a pair of Yellow Emperors.
+
+This circumstance was so surprising she had a fleeting thought of
+writing Philip and asking him to see if he could not secure her a pair.
+She did tell the Bird Woman, who from every source at her command tried
+to complete the series with these moths, but could not find any for
+sale.
+
+“I think the mills of the Gods are grinding this grist,” said Elnora,
+“and we might as well wait patiently until they choose to send a Yellow
+Emperor.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock invented work. When she had nothing more to do, she hoed
+in the garden although the earth was hard and dry and there were no
+plants that really needed attention. Then came a notification that
+Elnora would be compelled to attend a week’s session of the Teachers’
+Institute held at the county seat twenty miles north of Onabasha the
+following week. That gave them something of which to think and real
+work to do. Elnora was requested to bring her violin. As she was on the
+programme of one of the most important sessions for a talk on nature
+work in grade schools, she was driven to prepare her speech, also to
+select and practise some music. Her mother turned her attention to
+clothing.
+
+They went to Onabasha together and purchased a simple and appropriate
+fall suit and hat, goods for a dainty little coloured frock, and a
+dress skirt and several fancy waists. Margaret Sinton came down and the
+sewing began. When everything was finished and packed, Elnora kissed
+her mother good-bye at the depot, and entered the train. Mrs. Comstock
+went into the waiting-room and dropped into a seat to rest. Her heart
+was so sore her whole left side felt tender. She was half starved for
+the food she had no appetite to take. She had worked in dogged
+determination until she was exhausted. For a time she simply sat and
+rested. Then she began to think. She was glad Elnora had gone where she
+would be compelled to fix her mind on other matters for a few days. She
+remembered the girl had said she wanted to go.
+
+School would begin the following week. She thought over what Elnora
+would have to do to accomplish her work successfully. She would be
+compelled to arise at six o’clock, walk three miles through varying
+weather, lead the high school orchestra, and then put in the remainder
+of the day travelling from building to building over the city, teaching
+a specified length of time every week in each room. She must have her
+object lessons ready, and she must do a certain amount of practising
+with the orchestra. Then a cold lunch at noon, and a three-mile walk at
+night.
+
+“Humph!” said Mrs. Comstock, “to get through that the girl would have
+to be made of cast-iron. I wonder how I can help her best?”
+
+She thought deeply.
+
+“The less she sees of what she’s been having all summer, the sooner
+she’ll feel better about it,” she muttered.
+
+She arose, went to the bank and inquired for the cashier.
+
+“I want to know just how I am fixed here,” she said.
+
+The cashier laughed. “You haven’t been in a hurry,” he replied. “We
+have been ready for you any time these twenty years, but you didn’t
+seem to pay much attention. Your account is rather flourishing.
+Interest, when it gets to compounding, is quite a money breeder. Come
+back here to a table and I will show you your balances.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock sank into a chair and waited while the cashier read a
+jumble of figures to her. It meant that her deposits had exceeded her
+expenses from one to three hundred dollars a year, according to the
+cattle, sheep, hogs, poultry, butter, and eggs she had sold. The
+aggregate of these sums had been compounding interest throughout the
+years. Mrs. Comstock stared at the total with dazed and unbelieving
+eyes. Through her sick heart rushed the realization, that if she merely
+had stood before that wicket and asked one question, she would have
+known that all those bitter years of skimping for Elnora and herself
+had been unnecessary. She arose and went back to the depot.
+
+“I want to send a message,” she said. She picked up the pencil, and
+with rash extravagance, wrote, “Found money at bank didn’t know about.
+If you want to go to college, come on first train and get ready.” She
+hesitated a second and then she said to herself grimly, “Yes, I’ll pay
+for that, too,” and recklessly added, “With love, Mother.” Then she sat
+waiting for the answer. It came in less than an hour. “Will teach this
+winter. With dearest love, Elnora.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock held the message a long time. When she arose she was
+ravenously hungry, but the pain in her heart was a little easier. She
+went to a restaurant and ate some food, then to a dressmaker where she
+ordered four dresses: two very plain every-day ones, a serviceable dark
+gray cloth suit, and a soft light gray silk with touches of lavender
+and lace. She made a heavy list of purchases at Brownlee’s, and the
+remainder of the day she did business in her direct and spirited way.
+At night she was so tired she scarcely could walk home, but she built a
+fire and cooked and ate a hearty meal.
+
+Later she went out beside the west fence and gathered an armful of
+tansy which she boiled to a thick green tea. Then she stirred in
+oatmeal until it was a stiff paste. She spread a sheet over her bed and
+began tearing strips of old muslin. She bandaged each hand and arm with
+the mixture and plastered the soggy, evil-smelling stuff in a thick
+poultice over her face and neck. She was so tired she went to sleep,
+and when she awoke she was half skinned. She bathed her face and hands,
+did the work and went back to town, coming home at night to go through
+the same process.
+
+By the third morning she was a raw even red, the fourth she had faded
+to a brilliant pink under the soothing influence of a cream
+recommended. That day came a letter from Elnora saying that she would
+remain where she was until Saturday morning, and then come to Ellen
+Brownlee’s at Onabasha and stay for the Saturday’s session of teachers
+to arrange their year’s work. Sunday was Ellen’s last day at home, and
+she wanted Elnora very much. She had to call together the orchestra and
+practise them Sunday; and could not come home until after school Monday
+night. Mrs. Comstock at once answered the letter saying those
+arrangements suited her.
+
+The following day she was a pale pink, later a delicate porcelain
+white. Then she went to a hairdresser and had the rope of snowy hair
+which covered her scalp washed, dressed, and fastened with such pins
+and combs as were decided to be most becoming. She took samples of her
+dresses, went to a milliner, and bought a street hat to match her suit,
+and a gray satin with lavender orchids to wear with the silk dress. Her
+last investment was a loose coat of soft gray broadcloth with white
+lining, and touches of lavender on the embroidered collar, and gray
+gloves to match.
+
+Then she went home, rested and worked by turns until Monday. When
+school closed on that evening, Elnora, so tired she almost trembled,
+came down the long walk after a late session of teachers’ meeting, to
+be stopped by a messenger boy.
+
+“There’s a lady wants to see you most important. I am to take you to
+the place,” he said.
+
+Elnora groaned. She could not imagine who wanted her, but there was
+nothing to do but find out; tired and anxious to see her mother as she
+was.
+
+“This is the place,” said the boy, and went his way whistling. Elnora
+was three blocks from the high school building on the same street. She
+was before a quaint old house, fresh with paint and covered with vines.
+There was a long wide lot, grass-covered, closely set with trees, and a
+barn and chicken park at the back that seemed to be occupied. Elnora
+stepped on the veranda which was furnished with straw rugs,
+bent-hickory chairs, hanging baskets, and a table with a work-box and
+magazines, and knocked at the screen door.
+
+Inside she could see polished floors, walls freshly papered in
+low-toned harmonious colours, straw rugs and madras curtains. It seemed
+to be a restful, homelike place to which she had come. A second later
+down an open stairway came a tall, dark-eyed woman with cheeks faintly
+pink and a crown of fluffy snow-white hair. She wore a lavender gingham
+dress with white collar and cuffs, and she called as she advanced:
+“That screen isn’t latched! Open it and come see your brand-new mother,
+my girl.”
+
+Elnora stepped inside the door. “Mother!” she cried. “You my mother! I
+don’t believe it!”
+
+“Well, you better!” said Mrs. Comstock, “because it’s true! You said
+you wished I were like the other girls’ mothers, and I’ve shot as close
+the mark as I could without any practice. I thought that walk would be
+too much for you this winter, so I just rented this house and moved in,
+to be near you, and help more in case I’m needed. I’ve only lived here
+a day, but I like it so well I’ve a mortal big notion to buy the
+place.”
+
+“But mother!” protested Elnora, clinging to her wonderingly. “You are
+perfectly beautiful, and this house is a little paradise, but how will
+we ever pay for it? We can’t afford it!”
+
+“Humph! Have you forgotten I telegraphed you I’d found some money I
+didn’t know about? All I’ve done is paid for, and plenty more to settle
+for all I propose to do.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock glanced around with satisfaction.
+
+“I may get homesick as a pup before spring,” she said, “but if I do I
+can go back. If I don’t, I’ll sell some timber and put a few oil wells
+where they don’t show much. I can have land enough cleared for a few
+fields and put a tenant on our farm, and we will buy this and settle
+here. It’s for sale.”
+
+“You don’t look it, but you’ve surely gone mad!”
+
+“Just the reverse, my girl,” said Mrs. Comstock, “I’ve gone sane. If
+you are going to undertake this work, you must be convenient to it. And
+your mother should be where she can see that you are properly dressed,
+fed, and cared for. This is our—let me think—reception-room. How do you
+like it? This door leads to your workroom and study. I didn’t do much
+there because I wasn’t sure of my way. But I knew you would want a rug,
+curtains, table, shelves for books, and a case for your specimens, so I
+had a carpenter shelve and enclose that end of it. Looks pretty neat to
+me. The dining-room and kitchen are back, one of the cows in the barn,
+and some chickens in the coop. I understand that none of the other
+girls’ mothers milk a cow, so a neighbour boy will tend to ours for a
+third of the milk. There are three bedrooms, and a bath upstairs. Go
+take one, put on some fresh clothes, and come to supper. You can find
+your room because your things are in it.”
+
+Elnora kissed her mother over and over, and hurried upstairs. She
+identified her room by the dressing-case. There were a pretty rug, and
+curtains, white iron bed, plain and rocking chairs to match her case, a
+shirtwaist chest, and the big closet was filled with her old clothing
+and several new dresses. She found the bathroom, bathed, dressed in
+fresh linen and went down to a supper that was an evidence of Mrs.
+Comstock’s highest art in cooking. Elnora was so hungry she ate her
+first real meal in two weeks. But the bites went down slowly because
+she forgot about them in watching her mother.
+
+“How on earth did you do it?” she asked at last. “I always thought you
+were naturally brown as a nut.”
+
+“Oh, that was tan and sunburn!” explained Mrs. Comstock. “I always knew
+I was white underneath it. I hated to shade my face because I hadn’t
+anything but a sunbonnet, and I couldn’t stand for it to touch my ears,
+so I went bareheaded and took all the colour I accumulated. But when I
+began to think of moving you in to your work, I saw I must put up an
+appearance that wouldn’t disgrace you, so I thought I’d best remove the
+crust. It took some time, and I hope I may die before I ever endure the
+feel and the smell of the stuff I used again, but it skinned me nicely.
+What you now see is my own with a little dust of rice powder, for
+protection. I’m sort of tender yet.”
+
+“And your lovely, lovely hair?” breathed Elnora.
+
+“Hairdresser did that!” said Mrs. Comstock. “It cost like smoke. But I
+watched her, and with a little help from you I can wash it alone next
+time, though it will be hard work. I let her monkey with it until she
+said she had found ‘my style.’ Then I tore it down and had her show me
+how to build it up again three times. I thought my arms would drop.
+When I paid the bill for her work, the time I’d taken, the pins, and
+combs she’d used, I nearly had heart failure, but I didn’t turn a hair
+before her. I just smiled at her sweetly and said, ‘How reasonable you
+are!’ Come to think of it, she was! She might have charged me ten
+dollars for what she did quite as well as nine seventy-five. I couldn’t
+have helped myself. I had made no bargain to begin on.”
+
+Then Elnora leaned back in her chair and shouted, in a gust of hearty
+laughter, so a little of the ache ceased in her breast. There was no
+time to think, the remainder of that evening, she was so tired she had
+to sleep, while her mother did not awaken her until she barely had time
+to dress, breakfast and reach school. There was nothing in the new life
+to remind her of the old. It seemed as if there never came a minute for
+retrospection, but her mother appeared on the scene with more work, or
+some entertaining thing to do.
+
+Mrs. Comstock invited Elnora’s friends to visit her, and proved herself
+a bright and interesting hostess. She digested a subject before she
+spoke; and when she advanced a view, her point was sure to be original
+and tersely expressed. Before three months people waited to hear what
+she had to say. She kept her appearance so in mind that she made a
+handsome and a distinguished figure.
+
+Elnora never mentioned Philip Ammon, neither did Mrs. Comstock. Early
+in December came a note and a big box from him. It contained several
+books on nature subjects which would be of much help in school work, a
+number of conveniences Elnora could not afford, and a pair of
+glass-covered plaster casts, for each large moth she had. In these the
+upper and underwings of male and female showed. He explained that she
+would break her specimens easily, carrying them around in boxes. He had
+seen these and thought they would be of use. Elnora was delighted with
+them, and at once began the tedious process of softening the mounted
+moths and fitting them to the casts moulded to receive them. Her time
+was so taken in school, she progressed slowly, so her mother undertook
+this work. After trying one or two very common ones she learned to
+handle the most delicate with ease. She took keen pride in relaxing the
+tense moths, fitting them to the cases, polishing the glass covers to
+the last degree and sealing them. The results were beautiful to behold.
+
+Soon after Elnora wrote to Philip:
+
+DEAR FRIEND:
+
+I am writing to thank you for the books, and the box of conveniences
+sent me for my work. I can use everything with fine results. Hope I am
+giving good satisfaction in my position. You will be interested to
+learn that when the summer’s work was classified and pinned, I again
+had my complete collection for the man of India, save a Yellow Emperor.
+I have tried everywhere I know, so has the Bird Woman. We cannot find a
+pair for sale. Fate is against me, at least this season. I shall have
+to wait until next year and try again.
+
+Thank you very much for helping me with my collection and for the books
+and cases.
+
+Sincerely yours,
+
+ELNORA COMSTOCK.
+
+Philip was disappointed over that note and instead of keeping it he
+tore it into bits and dropped them into the waste basket.
+
+That was precisely what Elnora had intended he should do. Christmas
+brought beautiful cards of greeting to Mrs. Comstock and Elnora, Easter
+others, and the year ran rapidly toward spring. Elnora’s position had
+been intensely absorbing, while she had worked with all her power. She
+had made a wonderful success and won new friends. Mrs. Comstock had
+helped in every way she could, so she was very popular also.
+
+Throughout the winter they had enjoyed the city thoroughly, and the
+change of life it afforded, but signs of spring did wonderful things to
+the hearts of the country-bred women. A restlessness began on bright
+February days, calmed during March storms and attacked full force in
+April. When neither could bear it any longer they were forced to
+discuss the matter and admit they were growing ill with pure
+homesickness. They decided to keep the city house during the summer,
+but to return to the farm to live as soon as school closed.
+
+So Mrs. Comstock would prepare breakfast and lunch and then slip away
+to the farm to make up beds in her ploughed garden, plant seeds, trim
+and tend her flowers, and prepare the cabin for occupancy. Then she
+would go home and make the evening as cheerful as possible for Elnora;
+in these days she lived only for the girl.
+
+Both of them were glad when the last of May came and the schools
+closed. They packed the books and clothing they wished to take into a
+wagon and walked across the fields to the old cabin. As they approached
+it, Mrs. Comstock said to Elnora: “You are sure you won’t be lonely
+here?”
+
+Elnora knew what she really meant.
+
+“Quite sure,” she said. “For a time last fall I was glad to be away,
+but that all wore out with the winter. Spring made me homesick as I
+could be. I can scarcely wait until we get back again.”
+
+So they began that summer as they had begun all others—with work. But
+both of them took a new joy in everything, and the violin sang by the
+hour in the twilight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON GIVES A BALL IN HONOUR OF EDITH CARR, AND HART
+HENDERSON APPEARS ON THE SCENE
+
+
+Edith Carr stood in a vine-enclosed side veranda of the Lake Shore Club
+House waiting while Philip Ammon gave some important orders. In a few
+days she would sail for Paris to select a wonderful trousseau she had
+planned for her marriage in October. To-night Philip was giving a club
+dance in her honour. He had spent days in devising new and exquisite
+effects in decorations, entertainment, and supper. Weeks before the
+favoured guests had been notified. Days before they had received the
+invitations asking them to participate in this entertainment by Philip
+Ammon in honour of Miss Carr. They spoke of it as “Phil’s dance for
+Edith!”
+
+She could hear the rumble of carriages and the panting of automobiles
+as in a steady stream they rolled to the front entrance. She could
+catch glimpses of floating draperies of gauze and lace, the flash of
+jewels, and the passing of exquisite colour. Every one was newly
+arrayed in her honour in the loveliest clothing, and the most expensive
+jewels they could command. As she thought of it she lifted her head a
+trifle higher and her eyes flashed proudly.
+
+She was robed in a French creation suggested and designed by Philip. He
+had said to her: “I know a competent judge who says the distinctive
+feature of June is her exquisite big night moths. I want you to be the
+very essence of June that night, as you will be the embodiment of love.
+Be a moth. The most beautiful of them is either the pale-green Luna or
+the Yellow Imperialis. Be my moon lady, or my gold Empress.”
+
+He took her to the museum and showed her the moths. She instantly
+decided on the yellow. Because she knew the shades would make her more
+startlingly beautiful than any other colour. To him she said: “A moon
+lady seems so far away and cold. I would be of earth and very near on
+that night. I choose the Empress.”
+
+So she matched the colours exactly, wrote out the idea and forwarded
+the order to Paquin. To-night when Philip Ammon came for her, he stood
+speechless a minute and then silently kissed her hands.
+
+For she stood tall, lithe, of grace inborn, her dark waving hair high
+piled and crossed by gold bands studded with amethyst and at one side
+an enamelled lavender orchid rimmed with diamonds, which flashed and
+sparkled. The soft yellow robe of lightest weight velvet fitted her
+form perfectly, while from each shoulder fell a great velvet wing lined
+with lavender, and flecked with embroidery of that colour in imitation
+of the moth. Around her throat was a wonderful necklace and on her arms
+were bracelets of gold set with amethyst and rimmed with diamonds.
+Philip had said that her gloves, fan, and slippers must be lavender,
+because the feet of the moth were that colour. These accessories had
+been made to order and embroidered with gold. It had been arranged that
+her mother, Philip’s, and a few best friends should receive his guests.
+She was to appear when she led the grand march with Philip Ammon. Miss
+Carr was positive that she would be the most beautiful, and most
+exquisitely gowned woman present. In her heart she thought of herself
+as “Imperialis Regalis,” as the Yellow Empress. In a few moments she
+would stun her world into feeling it as Philip Ammon had done, for she
+had taken pains that the history of her costume should be whispered to
+a few who would give it circulation. She lifted her head proudly and
+waited, for was not Philip planning something unusual and unsurpassed
+in her honour? Then she smiled.
+
+But of all the fragmentary thoughts crossing her brain the one that
+never came was that of Philip Ammon as the Emperor. Philip the king of
+her heart; at least her equal in all things. She was the Empress—yes,
+Philip was but a mere man, to devise entertainments, to provide
+luxuries, to humour whims, to kiss hands!
+
+“Ah, my luck!” cried a voice behind her.
+
+Edith Carr turned and smiled.
+
+“I thought you were on the ocean,” she said.
+
+“I only reached the dock,” replied the man, “when I had a letter that
+recalled me by the first limited.”
+
+“Oh! Important business?”
+
+“The only business of any importance in all the world to me. I’m
+triumphant that I came. Edith, you are the most superb woman in every
+respect that I have ever seen. One glimpse is worth the whole journey.”
+
+“You like my dress?” She moved toward him and turned, lifting her arms.
+“Do you know what it is intended to represent?”
+
+“Yes, Polly Ammon told me. I knew when I heard about it how you would
+look, so I started a sleuth hunt, to get the first peep. Edith, I can
+become intoxicated merely with looking at you to-night.”
+
+He half-closed his eyes and smilingly stared straight at her. He was
+taller than she, a lean man, with close-cropped light hair, steel-gray
+eyes, a square chin and “man of the world” written all over him.
+
+Edith Carr flushed. “I thought you realized when you went away that you
+were to stop that, Hart Henderson,” she cried.
+
+“I did, but this letter of which I tell you called me back to start it
+all over again.”
+
+She came a step closer. “Who wrote that letter, and what did it contain
+concerning me?” she demanded.
+
+“One of your most intimate chums wrote it. It contained the hazard that
+possibly I had given up too soon. It said that in a fit of petulance
+you had broken your engagement with Ammon twice this winter, and he had
+come back because he knew you did not really mean it. I thought deeply
+there on the dock when I read that, and my boat sailed without me. I
+argued that anything so weak as an engagement twice broken and patched
+up again was a mighty frail affair indeed, and likely to smash
+completely at any time, so I came on the run. I said once I would not
+see you marry any other man. Because I could not bear it, I planned to
+go into exile of any sort to escape that. I have changed my mind. I
+have come back to haunt you until the ceremony is over. Then I go, not
+before. I was insane!”
+
+The girl laughed merrily. “Not half so insane as you are now, Hart!”
+she cried gaily. “You know that Philip Ammon has been devoted to me all
+my life. Now I’ll tell you something else, because this looks serious
+for you. I love him with all my heart. Not while he lives shall he know
+it, and I will laugh at him if you tell him, but the fact remains: I
+intend to marry him, but no doubt I shall tease him constantly. It’s
+good for a man to be uncertain. If you could see Philip’s face at the
+quarterly return of his ring, you would understand the fun of it. You
+had better have taken your boat.”
+
+“Possibly,” said Henderson calmly. “But you are the only woman in the
+world for me, and while you are free, as I now see my light, I remain
+near you. You know the old adage.”
+
+“But I’m not ‘free!’” cried Edith Carr. “I’m telling you I am not. This
+night is my public acknowledgment that Phil and I are promised, as our
+world has surmised since we were children. That promise is an actual
+fact, because of what I just have told you. My little fits of temper
+don’t count with Phil. He’s been reared on them. In fact, I often
+invent one in a perfect calm to see him perform. He is the most amusing
+spectacle. But, please, please, do understand that I love him, and
+always shall, and that we shall be married.”
+
+“Just the same, I’ll wait and see it an accomplished fact,” said
+Henderson. “And Edith, because I love you, with the sort of love it is
+worth a woman’s while to inspire, I want your happiness before my own.
+So I am going to say this to you, for I never dreamed you were capable
+of the feeling you have displayed for Phil. If you do love him, and
+have loved him always, a disappointment would cut you deeper than you
+know. Go careful from now on! Don’t strain that patched engagement of
+yours any further. I’ve known Philip all my life. I’ve known him
+through boyhood, in college, and since. All men respect him. Where the
+rest of us confess our sins, he stands clean. You can go to his arms
+with nothing to forgive. Mark this thing! I have heard him say, ‘Edith
+is my slogan,’ and I have seen him march home strong in the strength of
+his love for you, in the face of temptations before which every other
+man of us fell. Before the gods! that ought to be worth something to a
+girl, if she really is the delicate, sensitive, refined thing she would
+have man believe. It would take a woman with the organism of an ostrich
+to endure some of the men here to-night, if she knew them as I do; but
+Phil is sound to the core. So this is what I would say to you: first,
+your instincts are right in loving him, why not let him feel it in the
+ways a woman knows? Second, don’t break your engagement again. As men
+know the man, any of us would be afraid to the soul. He loves you, yes!
+He is long-suffering for you, yes! But men know he has a limit. When
+the limit is reached, he will stand fast, and all the powers can’t move
+him. You don’t seem to think it, but you can go too far!”
+
+“Is that all?” laughed Edith Carr sarcastically.
+
+“No, there is one thing more,” said Henderson. “Here or here-after, now
+and so long as I breathe, I am your slave. You can do anything you
+choose and know that I will kneel before you again. So carry this in
+the depths of your heart; now or at any time, in any place or
+condition, merely lift your hand, and I will come. Anything you want of
+me, that thing will I do. I am going to wait; if you need me, it is not
+necessary to speak; only give me the faintest sign. All your life I
+will be somewhere near you waiting for it.”
+
+“Idjit! You rave!” laughed Edith Carr. “How you would frighten me! What
+a bugbear you would raise! Be sensible and go find what keeps Phil. I
+was waiting patiently, but my patience is going. I won’t look nearly so
+well as I do now when it is gone.”
+
+At that instant Philip Ammon entered. He was in full evening dress and
+exceptionally handsome. “Everything is ready,” he said; “they are
+waiting for us to lead the march. It is formed.”
+
+Edith Carr smiled entrancingly. “Do you think I am ready?”
+
+Philip looked what he thought, and offered his arm. Edith Carr nodded
+carelessly to Hart Henderson, and moved away. Attendants parted the
+curtains and the Yellow Empress bowing right and left, swept the length
+of the ballroom and took her place at the head of the formed
+procession. The large open dancing pavilion was draped with yellow silk
+caught up with lilac flowers. Every corner was filled with bloom of
+those colours. The music was played by harpers dressed in yellow and
+violet, so the ball opened.
+
+The midnight supper was served with the same colours and the last half
+of the programme was being danced. Never had girl been more
+complimented and petted in the same length of time than Edith Carr.
+Every minute she seemed to grow more worthy of praise. A partners’
+dance was called and the floor was filled with couples waiting for the
+music. Philip stood whispering delightful things to Edith facing him.
+From out of the night, in at the wide front entrance to the pavilion,
+there swept in slow wavering flight a large yellow moth and fluttered
+toward the centre cluster of glaring electric lights. Philip Ammon and
+Edith Carr saw it at the same instant.
+
+“Why, isn’t that——?” she began excitedly.
+
+“It’s a Yellow Emperor! This is fate!” cried Philip. “The last one
+Elnora needs for her collection. I must have it! Excuse me!”
+
+He ran toward the light. “Hats! Handkerchiefs! Fans! Anything!” he
+panted. “Every one hold up something and stop that! It’s a moth; I’ve
+got to catch it!”
+
+“It’s yellow! He wants it for Edith!” ran in a murmur around the hall.
+The girl’s face flushed, while she bit her lips in vexation.
+
+Instantly every one began holding up something to keep the moth from
+flying back into the night. One fan held straight before it served, and
+the moth gently settled on it.
+
+“Hold steady!” cried Philip. “Don’t move for your life!” He rushed
+toward the moth, made a quick sweep and held it up between his fingers.
+“All right!” he called. “Thanks, every one! Excuse me a minute.”
+
+He ran to the office.
+
+“An ounce of gasolene, quick!” he ordered. “A cigar box, a cork, and
+the glue bottle.”
+
+He poured some glue into the bottom of the box, set the cork in it
+firmly, dashed the gasolene over the moth repeatedly, pinned it to the
+cork, poured the remainder of the liquid over it, closed the box, and
+fastened it. Then he laid a bill on the counter.
+
+“Pack that box with cork around it, in one twice its size, tie securely
+and express to this address at once.”
+
+He scribbled on a sheet of paper and shoved it over.
+
+“On your honour, will you do that faithfully as I say?” he asked the
+clerk.
+
+“Certainly,” was the reply.
+
+“Then keep the change,” called Philip as he ran back to the pavilion.
+
+Edith Carr stood where he left her, thinking rapidly. She heard the
+murmur that arose when Philip started to capture the exquisite golden
+creature she was impersonating. She saw the flash of surprise that went
+over unrestrained faces when he ran from the room, without even showing
+it to her. “The last one Elnora needs,” rang in her ears. He had told
+her that he helped collect moths the previous summer, but she had
+understood that the Bird Woman, with whose work Miss Carr was familiar,
+wanted them to put in a book.
+
+He had spoken of a country girl he had met who played the violin
+wonderfully, and at times, he had shown a disposition to exalt her as a
+standard of womanhood. Miss Carr had ignored what he said, and talked
+of something else. But that girl’s name had been Elnora. It was she who
+was collecting moths! No doubt she was the competent judge who was
+responsible for the yellow costume Philip had devised. Had Edith Carr
+been in her room, she would have torn off the dress at the thought.
+
+Being in a circle of her best friends, which to her meant her keenest
+rivals and harshest critics, she grew rigid with anger. Her breath hurt
+her paining chest. No one thought to speak to the musicians, and seeing
+the floor filled, they began the waltz. Only part of the guests could
+see what had happened, and at once the others formed and commenced to
+dance. Gay couples came whirling past her.
+
+Edith Carr grew very white as she stood alone. Her lips turned pale,
+while her dark eyes flamed with anger. She stood perfectly still where
+Philip had left her, and the approaching men guided their partners
+around her, while the girls, looking back, could be seen making
+exclamations of surprise.
+
+The idolized only daughter of the Carr family hoped that she would drop
+dead from mortification, but nothing happened. She was too perverse to
+step aside and say that she was waiting for Philip. Then came Tom
+Levering dancing with Polly Ammon. Being in the scales with the Ammon
+family, Tom scented trouble from afar, so he whispered to Polly: “Edith
+is standing in the middle of the floor, and she’s awful mad about
+something.”
+
+“That won’t hurt her,” laughed Polly. “It’s an old pose of hers. She
+knows she looks superb when she is angry, so she keeps herself furious
+half the time on purpose.”
+
+“She looks like the mischief!” answered Tom. “Hadn’t we better steer
+over and wait with her? She’s the ugliest sight I ever saw!”
+
+“Why, Tom!” cried Polly. “Stop, quickly!”
+
+They hurried to Edith.
+
+“Come dear,” said Polly. “We are going to wait with you until Phil
+returns. Let’s go after a drink. I am so thirsty!”
+
+“Yes, do!” begged Tom, offering his arm. “Let’s get out of here until
+Phil comes.”
+
+There was the opportunity to laugh and walk away, but Edith Carr would
+not accept it.
+
+“My betrothed left me here,” she said. “Here I shall remain until he
+returns for me, and then—he will be my betrothed no longer!”
+
+Polly grasped Edith’s arm.
+
+“Oh, Edith!” she implored. “Don’t make a scene here, and to-night.
+Edith, this has been the loveliest dance ever given at the club house.
+Every one is saying so. Edith! Darling, do come! Phil will be back in a
+second. He can explain! It’s only a breath since I saw him go out. I
+thought he had returned.”
+
+As Polly panted these disjointed ejaculations, Tom Levering began to
+grow angry on her account.
+
+“He has been gone just long enough to show every one of his guests that
+he will leave me standing alone, like a neglected fool, for any passing
+whim of his. Explain! His explanation would sound well! Do you know for
+whom he caught that moth? It is being sent to a girl he flirted with
+all last summer. It has just occurred to me that the dress I am wearing
+is her suggestion. Let him try to explain!”
+
+Speech unloosed the fountain. She stripped off her gloves to free her
+hands. At that instant the dancers parted to admit Philip.
+Instinctively they stopped as they approached and with wondering faces
+walled in Edith and Philip, Polly and Tom.
+
+“Mighty good of you to wait!” cried Philip, his face showing his
+delight over his success in capturing the Yellow Emperor. “I thought
+when I heard the music you were going on.”
+
+“How did you think I was going on?” demanded Edith Carr in frigid
+tones.
+
+“I thought you would step aside and wait a few seconds for me, or dance
+with Henderson. It was most important to have that moth. It completes a
+valuable collection for a person who needs the money. Come!”
+
+He held out his arms.
+
+“I ‘step aside’ for no one!” stormed Edith Carr. “I await no other
+girl’s pleasure! You may ‘complete the collection’ with that!”
+
+She drew her engagement ring from her finger and reached to place it on
+one of Philip’s outstretched hands. He saw and drew back. Instantly
+Edith dropped the ring. As it fell, almost instinctively Philip caught
+it in air. With amazed face he looked closely at Edith Carr. Her
+distorted features were scarcely recognizable. He held the ring toward
+her.
+
+“Edith, for the love of mercy, wait until I can explain,” he begged.
+“Put on your ring and let me tell you how it is.”
+
+“I know perfectly ‘how it is,’” she answered. “I never shall wear that
+ring again.”
+
+“You won’t even hear what I have to say? You won’t take back your
+ring?” he cried.
+
+“Never! Your conduct is infamous!”
+
+“Come to think of it,” said Philip deliberately, “it is ‘infamous’ to
+cut a girl, who has danced all her life, out of a few measures of a
+waltz. As for asking forgiveness for so black a sin as picking up a
+moth, and starting it to a friend who lives by collecting them, I don’t
+see how I could! I have not been gone three minutes by the clock,
+Edith. Put on your ring and finish the dance like a dear girl.”
+
+He thrust the glittering ruby into her fingers and again held out his
+arms. She dropped the ring, and it rolled some distance from them. Hart
+Henderson followed its shining course, and caught it before it was
+lost.
+
+“You really mean it?” demanded Philip in a voice as cold as hers ever
+had been.
+
+“You know I mean it!” cried Edith Carr.
+
+“I accept your decision in the presence of these witnesses,” said
+Philip Ammon. “Where is my father?” The elder Ammon with a distressed
+face hurried to him. “Father, take my place,” said Philip. “Excuse me
+to my guests. Ask all my friends to forgive me. I am going away for
+awhile.”
+
+He turned and walked from the pavilion. As he went Hart Henderson
+rushed to Edith Carr and forced the ring into her fingers. “Edith,
+quick. Come, quick!” he implored. “There’s just time to catch him. If
+you let him go that way, he never will return in this world. Remember
+what I told you.”
+
+“Great prophet! aren’t you, Hart?” she sneered. “Who wants him to
+return? If that ring is thrust upon me again I shall fling it into the
+lake. Signal the musicians to begin, and dance with me.”
+
+Henderson put the ring into his pocket, and began the dance. He could
+feel the muscular spasms of the girl in his arms, her face was cold and
+hard, but her breath burned with the scorch of fever. She finished the
+dance and all others, taking Phil’s numbers with Henderson, who had
+arrived too late to arrange a programme. She left with the others,
+merely inclining her head as she passed Ammon’s father taking his
+place, and entered the big touring car for which Henderson had
+telephoned. She sank limply into a seat and moaned softly.
+
+“Shall I drive awhile in the night air?” asked Henderson.
+
+She nodded. He instructed the chauffeur.
+
+She raised her head in a few seconds. “Hart, I’m going to pieces,” she
+said. “Won’t you put your arm around me a little while?”
+
+Henderson gathered her into his arms and her head fell on his shoulder.
+“Closer!” she cried.
+
+Henderson held her until his arms were numb, but he did not know it.
+The tricks of fate are cruel enough, but there scarcely could have been
+a worse one than that: To care for a woman as he loved Edith Carr and
+have her given into his arms because she was so numb with misery over
+her trouble with another man that she did not know or care what she
+did. Dawn was streaking the east when he spoke to her.
+
+“Edith, it is growing light.”
+
+“Take me home,” she said.
+
+Henderson helped her up the steps and rang the bell.
+
+“Miss Carr is ill,” he said to the footman. “Arouse her maid instantly,
+and have her prepare something hot as quickly as possible.”
+
+“Edith,” he cried, “just a word. I have been thinking. It isn’t too
+late yet. Take your ring and put it on. I will go find Phil at once and
+tell him you have, that you are expecting him, and he will come.”
+
+“Think what he said!” she cried. “He accepted my decision as final, ‘in
+the presence of witnesses,’ as if it were court. He can return it to
+me, if I ever wear it again.”
+
+“You think that now, but in a few days you will find that you feel very
+differently. Living a life of heartache is no joke, and no job for a
+woman. Put on your ring and send me to tell him to come.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Edith, there was not a soul who saw that, but sympathized with Phil.
+It was ridiculous for you to get so angry over a thing which was never
+intended for the slightest offence, and by no logical reasoning could
+have been so considered.”
+
+“Do you think that?” she demanded.
+
+“I do!” said Henderson. “If you had laughed and stepped aside an
+instant, or laughed and stayed where you were, Phil would have been
+back; or, if he needed punishment in your eyes, to have found me having
+one of his dances would have been enough. I was waiting. You could have
+called me with one look. But to publicly do and say what you did, my
+lady—I know Phil, and I know you went too far. Put on that ring, and
+send him word you are sorry, before it is too late.”
+
+“I will not! He shall come to me.”
+
+“Then God help you!” said Henderson, “for you are plunging into misery
+whose depth you do not dream. Edith, I beg of you——”
+
+She swayed where she stood. Her maid opened the door and caught her.
+Henderson went down the hall and out to his car.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+WHEREIN THE ELDER AMMON OFFERS ADVICE, AND EDITH CARR EXPERIENCES
+REGRETS
+
+
+Philip Ammon walked from among his friends a humiliated and a wounded
+man. Never before had Edith Carr appeared quite so beautiful. All
+evening she had treated him with unusual consideration. Never had he
+loved her so deeply. Then in a few seconds everything was different.
+Seeing the change in her face, and hearing her meaningless accusations,
+killed something in his heart. Warmth went out and a cold weight took
+its place. But even after that, he had offered the ring to her again,
+and asked her before others to reconsider. The answer had been further
+insult.
+
+He walked, paying no heed to where he went. He had traversed many miles
+when he became aware that his feet had chosen familiar streets. He was
+passing his home. Dawn was near, but the first floor was lighted. He
+staggered up the steps and was instantly admitted. The library door
+stood open, while his father sat with a book pretending to read. At
+Philip’s entrance the father scarcely glanced up.
+
+“Come on!” he called. “I have just told Banks to bring me a cup of
+coffee before I turn in. Have one with me!”
+
+Philip sat beside the table and leaned his head on his hands, but he
+drank a cup of steaming coffee and felt better.
+
+“Father,” he said, “father, may I talk with you a little while?”
+
+“Of course,” answered Mr. Ammon. “I am not at all tired. I think I must
+have been waiting in the hope that you would come. I want no one’s
+version of this but yours. Tell me the straight of the thing, Phil.”
+
+Philip told all he knew, while his father sat in deep thought.
+
+“On my life I can’t see any occasion for such a display of temper,
+Phil. It passed all bounds of reason and breeding. Can’t you think of
+anything more?”
+
+“I cannot!”
+
+“Polly says every one expected you to carry the moth you caught to
+Edith. Why didn’t you?”
+
+“She screams if a thing of that kind comes near her. She never has
+taken the slightest interest in them. I was in a big hurry. I didn’t
+want to miss one minute of my dance with her. The moth was not so
+uncommon, but by a combination of bad luck it had become the rarest in
+America for a friend of mine, who is making a collection to pay college
+expenses. For an instant last June the series was completed; when a
+woman’s uncontrolled temper ruined this specimen and the search for it
+began over. A few days later a pair was secured, and again the money
+was in sight for several hours. Then an accident wrecked one-fourth of
+the collection. I helped replace those last June, all but this Yellow
+Emperor which we could not secure, and we haven’t been able to find,
+buy or trade for one since. So my friend was compelled to teach this
+past winter instead of going to college. When that moth came flying in
+there to-night, it seemed to me like fate. All I thought of was, that
+to secure it would complete the collection and secure the money. So I
+caught the Emperor and started it to Elnora. I declare to you that I
+was not out of the pavilion over three minutes at a liberal estimate.
+If I only had thought to speak to the orchestra! I was sure I would be
+back before enough couples gathered and formed for the dance.”
+
+The eyes of the father were very bright.
+
+“The friend for whom you wanted the moth is a girl?” he asked
+indifferently, as he ran the book leaves through his fingers.
+
+“The girl of whom I wrote you last summer, and told you about in the
+fall. I helped her all the time I was away.”
+
+“Did Edith know of her?”
+
+“I tried many times to tell her, to interest her, but she was so
+indifferent that it was insulting. She would not hear me.”
+
+“We are neither one in any condition to sleep. Why don’t you begin at
+the first and tell me about this girl? To think of other matters for a
+time may clear our vision for a sane solution of this. Who is she, just
+what is she doing, and what is she like? You know I was reared among
+those Limberlost people, I can understand readily. What is her name and
+where does she live?”
+
+Philip gave a man’s version of the previous summer, while his father
+played with the book industriously.
+
+“You are very sure as to her refinement and education?”
+
+“In almost two months’ daily association, could a man be mistaken? She
+can far and away surpass Polly, Edith, or any girl of our set on any
+common, high school, or supplementary branch, and you know high schools
+have French, German, and physics now. Besides, she is a graduate of two
+other institutions. All her life she has been in the school of Hard
+Knocks. She has the biggest, tenderest, most human heart I ever knew in
+a girl. She has known life in its most cruel phases, and instead of
+hardening her, it has set her trying to save other people suffering.
+Then this nature position of which I told you; she graduated in the
+School of the Woods, before she secured that. The Bird Woman, whose
+work you know, helped her there. Elnora knows more interesting things
+in a minute than any other girl I ever met knew in an hour, provided
+you are a person who cares to understand plant and animal life.”
+
+The book leaves slid rapidly through his fingers as the father drawled:
+“What sort of looking girl is she?”
+
+“Tall as Edith, a little heavier, pink, even complexion, wide open
+blue-gray eyes with heavy black brows, and lashes so long they touch
+her cheeks. She has a rope of waving, shining hair that makes a real
+crown on her head, and it appears almost red in the light. She is as
+handsome as any fair woman I ever saw, but she doesn’t know it. Every
+time any one pays her a compliment, her mother, who is a caution,
+discovers that, for some reason, the girl is a fright, so she has no
+appreciation of her looks.”
+
+“And you were in daily association two months with a girl like that!
+How about it, Phil?”
+
+“If you mean, did I trifle with her, no!” cried Philip hotly. “I told
+her the second time I met her all about Edith. Almost every day I wrote
+to Edith in her presence. Elnora gathered violets and made a fancy
+basket to put them in for Edith’s birthday. I started to err in too
+open admiration for Elnora, but her mother brought me up with a whirl I
+never forgot. Fifty times a day in the swamps and forests Elnora made a
+perfect picture, but I neither looked nor said anything. I never met
+any girl so downright noble in bearing and actions. I never hated
+anything as I hated leaving her, for we were dear friends, like two
+wholly congenial men. Her mother was almost always with us. She knew
+how much I admired Elnora, but so long as I concealed it from the girl,
+the mother did not care.”
+
+“Yet you left such a girl and came back whole-hearted to Edith Carr!”
+
+“Surely! You know how it has been with me about Edith all my life.”
+
+“Yet the girl you picture is far her superior to an unprejudiced
+person, when thinking what a man would require in a wife to be happy.”
+
+“I never have thought what I would ‘require’ to be happy! I only
+thought whether I could make Edith happy. I have been an idiot! What
+I’ve borne you’ll never know! To-night is only one of many outbursts
+like that, in varying and lesser degrees.”
+
+“Phil, I love you, when you say you have thought only of Edith! I
+happen to know that it is true. You are my only son, and I have had a
+right to watch you closely. I believe you utterly. Any one who cares
+for you as I do, and has had my years of experience in this world over
+yours, knows that in some ways, to-night would be a blessed release, if
+you could take it; but you cannot! Go to bed now, and rest. To-morrow,
+go back to her and fix it up.”
+
+“You heard what I said when I left her! I said it because something in
+my heart died a minute before that, and I realized that it was my love
+for Edith Carr. Never again will I voluntarily face such a scene. If
+she can act like that at a ball, before hundreds, over a thing of which
+I thought nothing at all, she would go into actual physical fits and
+spasms, over some of the household crises I’ve seen the mater meet with
+a smile. Sir, it is truth that I have thought only of her up to the
+present. Now, I will admit I am thinking about myself. Father, did you
+see her? Life is too short, and it can be too sweet, to throw it away
+in a battle with an unrestrained woman. I am no fighter—where a girl is
+concerned, anyway. I respect and love her or I do nothing. Never again
+is either respect or love possible between me and Edith Carr. Whenever
+I think of her in the future, I will see her as she was to-night. But I
+can’t face the crowd just yet. Could you spare me a few days?”
+
+“It is only ten days until you were to go north for the summer, go
+now.”
+
+“I don’t want to go north. I don’t want to meet people I know. There,
+the story would precede me. I do not need pitying glances or rough
+condolences. I wonder if I could not hide at Uncle Ed’s in Wisconsin
+for awhile?”
+
+The book closed suddenly. The father leaned across the table and looked
+into the son’s eyes.
+
+“Phil, are you sure of what you just have said?”
+
+“Perfectly sure!”
+
+“Do you think you are in any condition to decide to-night?”
+
+“Death cannot return to life, father. My love for Edith Carr is dead. I
+hope never to see her again.”
+
+“If I thought you could be certain so soon! But, come to think of it,
+you are very like me in many ways. I am with you in this. Public scenes
+and disgraces I would not endure. It would be over with me, were I in
+your position, that I know.”
+
+“It is done for all time,” said Philip Ammon. “Let us not speak of it
+further.”
+
+“Then, Phil,” the father leaned closer and looked at the son tenderly,
+“Phil, why don’t you go to the Limberlost?”
+
+“Father!”
+
+“Why not? No one can comfort a hurt heart like a tender woman; and,
+Phil, have you ever stopped to think that you may have a duty in the
+Limberlost, if you are free? I don’t know! I only suggest it. But, for
+a country schoolgirl, unaccustomed to men, two months with a man like
+you might well awaken feelings of which you do not think. Because you
+were safe-guarded is no sign the girl was. She might care to see you.
+You can soon tell. With you, she comes next to Edith, and you have made
+it clear to me that you appreciate her in many ways above. So I repeat
+it, why not go to the Limberlost?”
+
+A long time Philip Ammon sat in deep thought. At last he raised his
+head.
+
+“Well, why not!” he said. “Years could make me no surer than I am now,
+and life is short. Please ask Banks to get me some coffee and toast,
+and I will bathe and dress so I can take the early train.”
+
+“Go to your bath. I will attend to your packing and everything. And
+Phil, if I were you, I would leave no addresses.”
+
+“Not an address!” said Philip. “Not even Polly.”
+
+When the train pulled out, the elder Ammon went home to find Hart
+Henderson waiting.
+
+“Where is Phil?” he demanded.
+
+“He did not feel like facing his friends at present, and I am just back
+from driving him to the station. He said he might go to Siam, or
+Patagonia. He would leave no address.”
+
+Henderson almost staggered. “He’s not gone? And left no address? You
+don’t mean it! He’ll never forgive her!”
+
+“Never is a long time, Hart,” said Mr. Ammon. “And it seems even longer
+to those of us who are well acquainted with Phil. Last night was not
+the last straw. It was the whole straw-stack. It crushed Phil so far as
+she is concerned. He will not see her again voluntarily, and he will
+not forget if he does. You can take it from him, and from me, we have
+accepted the lady’s decision. Will you have a cup of coffee?”
+
+Twice Henderson opened his lips to speak of Edith Carr’s despair. Twice
+he looked into the stern, inflexible face of Mr. Ammon and could not
+betray her. He held out the ring.
+
+“I have no instructions as to that,” said the elder Ammon, drawing
+back. “Possibly Miss Carr would have it as a keepsake.”
+
+“I am sure not,” said Henderson curtly.
+
+“Then suppose you return it to Peacock. I will phone him. He will give
+you the price of it, and you might add it to the children’s Fresh Air
+Fund. We would be obliged if you would do that. No one here cares to
+handle the object.”
+
+“As you choose,” said Henderson. “Good morning!”
+
+Then he went to his home, but he could not think of sleep. He ordered
+breakfast, but he could not eat. He paced the library for a time, but
+it was too small. Going on the streets he walked until exhausted, then
+he called a hansom and was driven to his club. He had thought himself
+familiar with every depth of suffering; that night had taught him that
+what he felt for himself was not to be compared with the anguish which
+wrung his heart over the agony of Edith Carr. He tried to blame Philip
+Ammon, but being an honest man, Henderson knew that was unjust. The
+fault lay wholly with her, but that only made it harder for him, as he
+realized it would in time for her.
+
+As he sauntered into the room an attendant hurried to him.
+
+“You are wanted most urgently at the ’phone, Mr. Henderson,” he said.
+“You have had three calls from Main 5770.”
+
+Henderson shivered as he picked down the receiver and gave the call.
+
+“Is that you, Hart?” came Edith’s voice.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did you find Phil?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Did you try?”
+
+“Yes. As soon as I left you I went straight there.”
+
+“Wasn’t he home yet?”
+
+“He has been home and gone again.”
+
+“Gone!”
+
+The cry tore Henderson’s heart.
+
+“Shall I come and tell you, Edith?”
+
+“No! Tell me now.”
+
+“When I reached the house Banks said Mr. Ammon and Phil were out in the
+motor, so I waited. Mr. Ammon came back soon. Edith, are you alone?”
+
+“Yes. Go on!”
+
+“Call your maid. I can’t tell you until some one is with you.”
+
+“Tell me instantly!”
+
+“Edith, he said he had been to the station. He said Phil had started to
+Siam or Patagonia, he didn’t know which, and left no address. He
+said——”
+
+Distinctly Henderson heard her fall. He set the buzzer ringing, and in
+a few seconds heard voices, so he knew she had been found. Then he
+crept into a private den and shook with a hard, nervous chill.
+
+The next day Edith Carr started on her trip to Europe. Henderson felt
+certain she hoped to meet Philip there. He was sure she would be
+disappointed, though he had no idea where Ammon could have gone. But
+after much thought he decided he would see Edith soonest by remaining
+at home, so he spent the summer in Chicago.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON RETURNS TO THE LIMBERLOST, AND ELNORA STUDIES THE
+SITUATION
+
+
+“We must be thinking about supper, mother,” said Elnora, while she set
+the wings of a Cecropia with much care. “It seems as if I can’t get
+enough to eat, or enough of being at home. I enjoyed that city house. I
+don’t believe I could have done my work if I had been compelled to walk
+back and forth. I thought at first I never wanted to come here again.
+Now, I feel as if I could not live anywhere else.”
+
+“Elnora,” said Mrs. Comstock, “there’s some one coming down the road.”
+
+“Coming here, do you think?”
+
+“Yes, coming here, I suspect.”
+
+Elnora glanced quickly at her mother and then turned to the road as
+Philip Ammon reached the gate.
+
+“Careful, mother!” the girl instantly warned. “If you change your
+treatment of him a hair’s breadth, he will suspect. Come with me to
+meet him.”
+
+She dropped her work and sprang up.
+
+“Well, of all the delightful surprises!” she cried.
+
+She was a trifle thinner than during the previous summer. On her face
+there was a more mature, patient look, but the sun struck her bare head
+with the same ray of red gold. She wore one of the old blue gingham
+dresses, open at the throat and rolled to the elbows. Mrs. Comstock did
+not appear at all the same woman, but Philip saw only Elnora; heard
+only her greeting. He caught both hands where she offered but one.
+
+“Elnora,” he cried, “if you were engaged to me, and we were at a ball,
+among hundreds, where I offended you very much, and didn’t even know I
+had done anything, and if I asked you before all of them to allow me to
+explain, to forgive me, to wait, would your face grow distorted and
+unfamiliar with anger? Would you drop my ring on the floor and insult
+me repeatedly? Oh Elnora, would you?”
+
+Elnora’s big eyes seemed to leap, while her face grew very white. She
+drew away her hands.
+
+“Hush, Phil! Hush!” she protested. “That fever has you again! You are
+dreadfully ill. You don’t know what you are saying.”
+
+“I am sleepless and exhausted; I’m heartsick; but I am well as I ever
+was. Answer me, Elnora, would you?”
+
+“Answer nothing!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Answer nothing! Hang your coat
+there on your nail, Phil, and come split some kindling. Elnora, clean
+away that stuff, and set the table. Can’t you see the boy is starved
+and tired? He’s come home to rest and eat a decent meal. Come on,
+Phil!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock marched away, and Philip hung his coat in its old place
+and followed. Out of sight and hearing she turned on him.
+
+“Do you call yourself a man or a hound?” she flared.
+
+“I beg your pardon——” stammered Philip Ammon.
+
+“I should think you would!” she ejaculated. “I’ll admit you did the
+square thing and was a man last summer, though I’d liked it better if
+you’d faced up and told me you were promised; but to come back here
+babying, and take hold of Elnora like that, and talk that way because
+you have had a fuss with your girl, I don’t tolerate. Split that
+kindling and I’ll get your supper, and then you better go. I won’t have
+you working on Elnora’s big heart, because you have quarrelled with
+some one else. You’ll have it patched up in a week and be gone again,
+so you can go right away.”
+
+“Mrs. Comstock, I came to ask Elnora to marry me.”
+
+“The more fool you, then!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “This time yesterday
+you were engaged to another woman, no doubt. Now, for some little
+flare-up you come racing here to use Elnora as a tool to spite the
+other girl. A week of sane living, and you will be sorry and ready to
+go back to Chicago, or, if you really are man enough to be sure of
+yourself, she will come to claim you. She has her rights. An engagement
+of years is a serious matter, and not broken for a whim. If you don’t
+go, she’ll come. Then, when you patch up your affairs and go sailing
+away together, where does my girl come in?”
+
+“I am a lawyer, Mrs. Comstock,” said Philip. “It appeals to me as
+beneath your ordinary sense of justice to decide a case without hearing
+the evidence. It is due me that you hear me first.”
+
+“Hear your side!” flashed Mrs. Comstock. “I’d a heap sight rather hear
+the girl!”
+
+“I wish to my soul that you had heard and seen her last night, Mrs.
+Comstock,” said Ammon. “Then, my way would be clear. I never even
+thought of coming here to-day. I’ll admit I would have come in time,
+but not for many months. My father sent me.”
+
+“Your father sent you! Why?”
+
+“Father, mother, and Polly were present last night. They, and all my
+friends, saw me insulted and disgraced in the worst exhibition of
+uncontrolled temper any of us ever witnessed. All of them knew it was
+the end. Father liked what I had told him of Elnora, and he advised me
+to come here, so I came. If she does not want me, I can leave
+instantly, but, oh I hoped she would understand!”
+
+“You people are not splitting wood,” called Elnora.
+
+“Oh yes we are!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “You set out the things for
+biscuit, and lay the table.” She turned again to Philip. “I know
+considerable about your father,” she said. “I have met your Uncle’s
+family frequently this winter. I’ve heard your Aunt Anna say that she
+didn’t at all like Miss Carr, and that she and all your family secretly
+hoped that something would happen to prevent your marrying her. That
+chimes right in with your saying that your father sent you here. I
+guess you better speak your piece.”
+
+Philip gave his version of the previous night.
+
+“Do you believe me?” he finished.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“May I stay?”
+
+“Oh, it looks all right for you, but what about her?”
+
+“Nothing, so far as I am concerned. Her plans were all made to start to
+Europe to-day. I suspect she is on the way by this time. Elnora is very
+sensible, Mrs. Comstock. Hadn’t you better let her decide this?”
+
+“The final decision rests with her, of course,” admitted Mrs. Comstock.
+“But look you one thing! She’s all I have. As Solomon says, ‘she is the
+one child, the only child of her mother.’ I’ve suffered enough in this
+world that I fight against any suffering which threatens her. So far as
+I know you’ve always been a man, and you may stay. But if you bring
+tears and heartache to her, don’t have the assurance to think I’ll bear
+it tamely. I’ll get right up and fight like a catamount, if things go
+wrong for Elnora!”
+
+“I have no doubt but you will,” replied Philip, “and I don’t blame you
+in the least if you do. I have the utmost devotion to offer Elnora, a
+good home, fair social position, and my family will love her dearly.
+Think it over. I know it is sudden, but my father advised it.”
+
+“Yes, I reckon he did!” said Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I guess instead of
+me being the catamount, you had the genuine article up in Chicago,
+masquerading in peacock feathers, and posing as a fine lady, until her
+time came to scratch. Human nature seems to be the same the world over.
+But I’d give a pretty to know that secret thing you say you don’t, that
+set her raving over your just catching a moth for Elnora. You might get
+that crock of strawberries in the spring house.”
+
+They prepared and ate supper. Afterward they sat in the arbour and
+talked, or Elnora played until time for Philip to go.
+
+“Will you walk to the gate with me?” he asked Elnora as he arose.
+
+“Not to-night,” she answered lightly. “Come early in the morning if you
+like, and we will go over to Sleepy Snake Creek and hunt moths and
+gather dandelions for dinner.”
+
+Philip leaned toward her. “May I tell you to-morrow why I came?” he
+asked.
+
+“I think not,” replied Elnora. “The fact is, I don’t care why you came.
+It is enough for me that we are your very good friends, and that in
+trouble, you have found us a refuge. I fancy we had better live a week
+or two before you say anything. There is a possibility that what you
+have to say may change in that length of time.
+
+“It will not change one iota!” cried Philip.
+
+“Then it will have the grace of that much age to give it some small
+touch of flavour,” said the girl. “Come early in the morning.”
+
+She lifted the violin and began to play.
+
+“Well bless my soul!” ejaculated the astounded Mrs. Comstock. “To think
+I was worrying for fear you couldn’t take care of yourself!”
+
+Elnora laughed while she played.
+
+“Shall I tell you what he said?”
+
+“Nope! I don’t want to hear it!” said Elnora. “He is only six hours
+from Chicago. I’ll give her a week to find him and fix it up, if he
+stays that long. If she doesn’t put in an appearance then, he can tell
+me what he wants to say, and I’ll take my time to think it over. Time
+in plenty, too! There are three of us in this, and one must be left
+with a sore heart for life. If the decision rests with me I propose to
+be very sure that it is the one who deserves such hard luck.”
+
+The next morning Philip came early, dressed in the outing clothing he
+had worn the previous summer, and aside from a slight paleness seemed
+very much the same as when he left. Elnora met him on the old footing,
+and for a week life went on exactly as it had the previous summer. Mrs.
+Comstock made mental notes and watched in silence. She could see that
+Elnora was on a strain, though she hoped Philip would not. The girl
+grew restless as the week drew to a close. Once when the gate clicked
+she suddenly lost colour and moved nervously. Billy came down the walk.
+
+Philip leaned toward Mrs. Comstock and said: “I am expressly forbidden
+to speak to Elnora as I would like. Would you mind telling her for me
+that I had a letter from my father this morning saying that Miss Carr
+is on her way to Europe for the summer?”
+
+“Elnora,” said Mrs. Comstock promptly, “I have just heard that Carr
+woman is on her way to Europe, and I wish to my gracious stars she’d
+stay there!”
+
+Philip Ammon shouted, but Elnora arose hastily and went to meet Billy.
+They came into the arbour together and after speaking to Mrs. Comstock
+and Philip, Billy said: “Uncle Wesley and I found something funny, and
+we thought you’d like to see.”
+
+“I don’t know what I should do without you and Uncle Wesley to help
+me,” said Elnora. “What have you found now?”
+
+“Something I couldn’t bring. You have to come to it. I tried to get one
+and I killed it. They are a kind of insecty things, and they got a long
+tail that is three fine hairs. They stick those hairs right into the
+hard bark of trees, and if you pull, the hairs stay fast and it kills
+the bug.”
+
+“We will come at once,” laughed Elnora. “I know what they are, and I
+can use some in my work.”
+
+“Billy, have you been crying?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.
+
+Billy lifted a chastened face. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “This has been
+the worst day.”
+
+“What’s the matter with the day?”
+
+“The day is all right,” admitted Billy. “I mean every single thing has
+gone wrong with me.”
+
+“Now that is too bad!” sympathized Mrs. Comstock.
+
+“Began early this morning,” said Billy. “All Snap’s fault, too.”
+
+“What has poor Snap been doing?” demanded Mrs. Comstock, her eyes
+beginning to twinkle.
+
+“Digging for woodchucks, like he always does. He gets up at two o’clock
+to dig for them. He was coming in from the woods all tired and covered
+thick with dirt. I was going to the barn with the pail of water for
+Uncle Wesley to use in milking. I had to set down the pail to shut the
+gate so the chickens wouldn’t get into the flower beds, and old Snap
+stuck his dirty nose into the water and began to lap it down. I knew
+Uncle Wesley wouldn’t use that, so I had to go ‘way back to the cistern
+for more, and it pumps awful hard. Made me mad, so I threw the water on
+Snap.”
+
+“Well, what of it?”
+
+“Nothing, if he’d stood still. But it scared him awful, and when he’s
+afraid he goes a-humping for Aunt Margaret. When he got right up
+against her he stiffened out and gave a big shake. You oughter seen the
+nice blue dress she had put on to go to Onabasha!”
+
+Mrs. Comstock and Philip laughed, but Elnora put her arms around the
+boy. “Oh Billy!” she cried. “That was too bad!”
+
+“She got up early and ironed that dress to wear because it was cool.
+Then, when it was all dirty, she wouldn’t go, and she wanted to real
+bad.” Billy wiped his eyes. “That ain’t all, either,” he added.
+
+“We’d like to know about it, Billy,” suggested Mrs. Comstock,
+struggling with her face.
+
+“Cos she couldn’t go to the city, she’s most worked herself to death.
+She’s done all the dirty, hard jobs she could find. She’s fixing her
+grape juice now.”
+
+“Sure!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “When a woman is disappointed she always
+works like a dog to gain sympathy!”
+
+“Well, Uncle Wesley and I are sympathizing all we know how, without her
+working so. I’ve squeezed until I almost busted to get the juice out
+from the seeds and skins. That’s the hard part. Now, she has to strain
+it through white flannel and seal it in bottles, and it’s good for sick
+folks. Most wish I’d get sick myself, so I could have a glass. It’s so
+good!”
+
+Elnora glanced swiftly at her mother.
+
+“I worked so hard,” continued Billy, “that she said if I would throw
+the leavings in the woods, then I could come after you to see about the
+bugs. Do you want to go?”
+
+“We will all go,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I am mightily interested in
+those bugs myself.”
+
+From afar commotion could be seen at the Sinton home. Wesley and
+Margaret were running around wildly and peculiar sounds filled the air.
+
+“What’s the trouble?” asked Philip, hurrying to Wesley.
+
+“Cholera!” groaned Sinton. “My hogs are dying like flies.”
+
+Margaret was softly crying. “Wesley, can’t I fix something hot? Can’t
+we do anything? It means several hundred dollars and our winter meat.”
+
+“I never saw stock taken so suddenly and so hard,” said Wesley. “I have
+’phoned for the veterinary to come as soon as he can get here.”
+
+All of them hurried to the feeding pen into which the pigs seemed to be
+gathering from the woods. Among the common stock were big white beasts
+of pedigree which were Wesley’s pride at county fairs. Several of these
+rolled on their backs, pawing the air feebly and emitting little
+squeaks. A huge Berkshire sat on his haunches, slowly shaking his head,
+the water dropping from his eyes, until he, too, rolled over with faint
+grunts. A pair crossing the yard on wavering legs collided, and
+attacked each other in anger, only to fall, so weak they scarcely could
+squeal. A fine snowy Plymouth Rock rooster, after several attempts,
+flew to the fence, balanced with great effort, wildly flapped his wings
+and started a guttural crow, but fell sprawling among the pigs, too
+helpless to stand.
+
+“Did you ever see such a dreadful sight?” sobbed Margaret.
+
+Billy climbed on the fence, took one long look and turned an astounded
+face to Wesley.
+
+“Why them pigs is drunk!” he cried. “They act just like my pa!”
+
+Wesley turned to Margaret.
+
+“Where did you put the leavings from that grape juice?” he demanded.
+
+“I sent Billy to throw it in the woods.”
+
+“Billy——” began Wesley.
+
+“Threw it just where she told me to,” cried Billy. “But some of the
+pigs came by there coming into the pen, and some were close in the
+fence corners.”
+
+“Did they eat it?” demanded Wesley.
+
+“They just chanked into it,” replied Billy graphically. “They pushed,
+and squealed, and fought over it. You couldn’t blame ’em! It was the
+best stuff I ever tasted!”
+
+“Margaret,” said Wesley, “run ’phone that doctor he won’t be needed.
+Billy, take Elnora and Mr. Ammon to see the bugs. Katharine, suppose
+you help me a minute.”
+
+Wesley took the clothes basket from the back porch and started in the
+direction of the cellar. Margaret returned from the telephone.
+
+“I just caught him,” she said. “There’s that much saved. Why Wesley,
+what are you going to do?”
+
+“You go sit on the front porch a little while,” said Wesley. “You will
+feel better if you don’t see this.”
+
+“Wesley,” cried Margaret aghast. “Some of that wine is ten years old.
+There are days and days of hard work in it, and I couldn’t say how much
+sugar. Dr. Ammon keeps people alive with it when nothing else will stay
+on their stomachs.”
+
+“Let ’em die, then!” said Wesley. “You heard the boy, didn’t you?”
+
+“It’s a cold process. There’s not a particle of fermentation about it.”
+
+“Not a particle of fermentation! Great day, Margaret! Look at those
+pigs!”
+
+Margaret took a long look. “Leave me a few bottles for mince-meat,” she
+wavered.
+
+“Not a smell for any use on this earth! You heard the boy! He shan’t
+say, when he grows to manhood, that he learned to like it here!”
+
+Wesley threw away the wine, Mrs. Comstock cheerfully assisting. Then
+they walked to the woods to see and learn about the wonderful insects.
+The day ended with a big supper at Sintons’, and then they went to the
+Comstock cabin for a concert. Elnora played beautifully that night.
+When the Sintons left she kissed Billy with particular tenderness. She
+was so moved that she was kinder to Philip than she had intended to be,
+and Elnora as an antidote to a disappointed lover was a decided success
+in any mood.
+
+However strong the attractions of Edith Carr had been, once the bond
+was finally broken, Philip Ammon could not help realizing that Elnora
+was the superior woman, and that he was fortunate to have escaped, when
+he regarded his ties strongest. Every day, while working with Elnora,
+he saw more to admire. He grew very thankful that he was free to try to
+win her, and impatient to justify himself to her.
+
+Elnora did not evince the slightest haste to hear what he had to say,
+but waited the week she had set, in spite of Philip’s hourly manifest
+impatience. When she did consent to listen, Philip felt before he had
+talked five minutes, that she was putting herself in Edith Carr’s
+place, and judging him from what the other girl’s standpoint would be.
+That was so disconcerting, he did not plead his cause nearly so well as
+he had hoped, for when he ceased Elnora sat in silence.
+
+“You are my judge,” he said at last. “What is your verdict?”
+
+“If I could hear her speak from her heart as I just have heard you,
+then I could decide,” answered Elnora.
+
+“She is on the ocean,” said Philip. “She went because she knew she was
+wholly in the wrong. She had nothing to say, or she would have
+remained.”
+
+“That sounds plausible,” reasoned Elnora, “but it is pretty difficult
+to find a woman in an affair that involves her heart with nothing at
+all to say. I fancy if I could meet her, she would say several things.
+I should love to hear them. If I could talk with her three minutes, I
+could tell what answer to make you.”
+
+“Don’t you believe me, Elnora?”
+
+“Unquestioningly,” answered Elnora. “But I would believe her also. If
+only I could meet her I soon would know.”
+
+“I don’t see how that is to be accomplished,” said Philip, “but I am
+perfectly willing. There is no reason why you should not meet her,
+except that she probably would lose her temper and insult you.”
+
+“Not to any extent,” said Elnora calmly. “I have a tongue of my own,
+while I am not without some small sense of personal values.”
+
+Philip glanced at her and began to laugh. Very different of facial
+formation and colouring, Elnora at times closely resembled her mother.
+She joined in his laugh ruefully.
+
+“The point is this,” she said. “Some one is going to be hurt, most
+dreadfully. If the decision as to whom it shall be rests with me, I
+must know it is the right one. Of course, no one ever hinted it to you,
+but you are a very attractive man, Philip. You are mighty good to look
+at, and you have a trained, refined mind, that makes you most
+interesting. For years Edith Carr has felt that you were hers. Now, how
+is she going to change? I have been thinking—thinking deep and long,
+Phil. If I were in her place, I simply could not give you up, unless
+you had made yourself unworthy of love. Undoubtedly, you never seemed
+so desirable to her as just now, when she is told she can’t have you.
+What I think is that she will come to claim you yet.”
+
+“You overlook the fact that it is not in a woman’s power to throw away
+a man and pick him up at pleasure,” said Philip with some warmth. “She
+publicly and repeatedly cast me off. I accepted her decision as
+publicly as it was made. You have done all your thinking from a wrong
+viewpoint. You seem to have an idea that it lies with you to decide
+what I shall do, that if you say the word, I shall return to Edith. Put
+that thought out of your head! Now, and for all time to come, she is a
+matter of indifference to me. She killed all feeling in my heart for
+her so completely that I do not even dread meeting her.
+
+“If I hated her, or was angry with her, I could not be sure the feeling
+would not die. As it is, she has deadened me into a creature of
+indifference. So you just revise your viewpoint a little, Elnora. Cease
+thinking it is for you to decide what I shall do, and that I will obey
+you. I make my own decisions in reference to any woman, save you. The
+question you are to decide is whether I may remain here, associating
+with you as I did last summer; but with the difference that it is
+understood that I am free; that it is my intention to care for you all
+I please, to make you return my feeling for you if I can. There is just
+one question for you to decide, and it is not triangular. It is between
+us. May I remain? May I love you? Will you give me the chance to prove
+what I think of you?”
+
+“You speak very plainly,” said Elnora.
+
+“This is the time to speak plainly,” said Philip Ammon. “There is no
+use in allowing you to go on threshing out a problem which does not
+exist. If you do not want me here, say so and I will go. Of course, I
+warn you before I start, that I will come back. I won’t yield without
+the stiffest fight it is in me to make. But drop thinking it lies in
+your power to send me back to Edith Carr. If she were the last woman in
+the world, and I the last man, I’d jump off the planet before I would
+give her further opportunity to exercise her temper on me. Narrow this
+to us, Elnora. Will you take the place she vacated? Will you take the
+heart she threw away? I’d give my right hand and not flinch, if I could
+offer you my life, free from any contact with hers, but that is not
+possible. I can’t undo things which are done. I can only profit by
+experience and build better in the future.”
+
+“I don’t see how you can be sure of yourself,” said Elnora. “I don’t
+see how I could be sure of you. You loved her first, you never can care
+for me anything like that. Always I’d have to be afraid you were
+thinking of her and regretting.”
+
+“Folly!” cried Philip. “Regretting what? That I was not married to a
+woman who was liable to rave at me any time or place, without my being
+conscious of having given offence? A man does relish that! I am likely
+to pine for more!”
+
+“You’d be thinking she’d learned a lesson. You would think it wouldn’t
+happen again.”
+
+“No, I wouldn’t be ‘thinking,’” said, Philip. “I’d be everlastingly
+sure! I wouldn’t risk what I went through that night again, not to save
+my life! Just you and me, Elnora. Decide for us.”
+
+“I can’t!” cried Elnora. “I am afraid!”
+
+“Very well,” said Philip. “We will wait until you feel that you can.
+Wait until fear vanishes. Just decide now whether you would rather have
+me go for a few months, or remain with you. Which shall it be, Elnora?”
+
+“You can never love me as you did her,” wailed Elnora.
+
+“I am happy to say I cannot,” replied he. “I’ve cut my matrimonial
+teeth. I’m cured of wanting to swell in society. I’m over being proud
+of a woman for her looks alone. I have no further use for lavishing
+myself on a beautiful, elegantly dressed creature, who thinks only of
+self. I have learned that I am a common man. I admire beauty and
+beautiful clothing quite as much as I ever did; but, first, I want an
+understanding, deep as the lowest recess of my soul, with the woman I
+marry. I want to work for you, to plan for you, to build you a home
+with every comfort, to give you all good things I can, to shield you
+from every evil. I want to interpose my body between yours and fire,
+flood, or famine. I want to give you everything; but I hate the idea of
+getting nothing at all on which I can depend in return. Edith Carr had
+only good looks to offer, and when anger overtook her, beauty went out
+like a snuffed candle.
+
+“I want you to love me. I want some consideration. I even crave
+respect. I’ve kept myself clean. So far as I know how to be, I am
+honest and scrupulous. It wouldn’t hurt me to feel that you took some
+interest in these things. Rather fierce temptations strike a man, every
+few days, in this world. I can keep decent, for a woman who cares for
+decency, but when I do, I’d like to have the fact recognized, by just
+enough of a show of appreciation that I could see it. I am tired of
+this one-sided business. After this, I want to get a little in return
+for what I give. Elnora, you have love, tenderness, and honest
+appreciation of the finest in life. Take what I offer, and give what I
+ask.”
+
+“You do not ask much,” said Elnora.
+
+“As for not loving you as I did Edith,” continued Philip, “as I said
+before, I hope not! I have a newer and a better idea of loving. The
+feeling I offer you was inspired by you. It is a Limberlost product. It
+is as much bigger, cleaner, and more wholesome than any feeling I ever
+had for Edith Carr, as you are bigger than she, when you stand before
+your classes and in calm dignity explain the marvels of the Almighty,
+while she stands on a ballroom floor, and gives way to uncontrolled
+temper. Ye gods, Elnora, if you could look into my soul, you would see
+it leap and rejoice over my escape! Perhaps it isn’t decent, but it’s
+human; and I’m only a common human being. I’m the gladdest man alive
+that I’m free! I would turn somersaults and yell if I dared. What an
+escape! Stop straining after Edith Carr’s viewpoint and take a look
+from mine. Put yourself in my place and try to study out how I feel.
+
+“I am so happy I grow religious over it. Fifty times a day I catch
+myself whispering, ‘My soul is escaped!’ As for you, take all the time
+you want. If you prefer to be alone, I’ll take the next train and stay
+away as long as I can bear it, but I’ll come back. You can be most sure
+of that. Straight as your pigeons to their loft, I’ll come back to you,
+Elnora. Shall I go?”
+
+“Oh, what’s the use to be extravagant?” murmured Elnora.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON KNEELS TO ELNORA, AND STRANGERS COME TO THE
+LIMBERLOST
+
+
+The month which followed was a reproduction of the previous June. There
+were long moth hunts, days of specimen gathering, wonderful hours with
+great books, big dinners all of them helped to prepare, and perfect
+nights filled with music. Everything was as it had been, with the
+difference that Philip was now an avowed suitor. He missed no
+opportunity to advance himself in Elnora’s graces. At the end of the
+month he was no nearer any sort of understanding with her than he had
+been at the beginning. He revelled in the privilege of loving her, but
+he got no response. Elnora believed in his love, yet she hesitated to
+accept him, because she could not forget Edith Carr.
+
+One afternoon early in July, Philip came across the fields, through the
+Comstock woods, and entered the garden. He inquired for Elnora at the
+back door and was told that she was reading under the willow. He went
+around the west end of the cabin to her. She sat on a rustic bench they
+had made and placed beneath a drooping branch. He had not seen her
+before in the dress she was wearing. It was clinging mull of pale
+green, trimmed with narrow ruffles and touched with knots of black
+velvet; a simple dress, but vastly becoming. Every tint of her bright
+hair, her luminous eyes, her red lips, and her rose-flushed face, neck,
+and arms grew a little more vivid with the delicate green setting.
+
+He stopped short. She was so near, so temptingly sweet, he lost
+control. He went to her with a half-smothered cry after that first long
+look, dropped on one knee beside her and reached an arm behind her to
+the bench back, so that he was very near. He caught her hands.
+
+“Elnora!” he cried tensely, “end it now! Say this strain is over. I
+pledge you that you will be happy. You don’t know! If you only would
+say the word, you would awake to new life and great joy! Won’t you
+promise me now, Elnora?”
+
+The girl sat staring into the west woods, while strong in her eyes was
+her father’s look of seeing something invisible to others. Philip’s arm
+slipped from the bench around her. His fingers closed firmly over hers.
+“Elnora,” he pleaded, “you know me well enough. You have had time in
+plenty. End it now. Say you will be mine!” He gathered her closer,
+pressing his face against hers, his breath on her cheek. “Can’t you
+quite promise yet, my girl of the Limberlost?”
+
+Elnora shook her head. Instantly he released her.
+
+“Forgive me,” he begged. “I had no intention of thrusting myself upon
+you, but, Elnora, you are the veriest Queen of Love this afternoon.
+From the tips of your toes to your shining crown, I worship you. I want
+no woman save you. You are so wonderful this afternoon, I couldn’t help
+urging. Forgive me. Perhaps it was something that came this morning for
+you. I wrote Polly to send it. May we try if it fits? Will you tell me
+if you like it?”
+
+He drew a little white velvet box from his pocket and showed her a
+splendid emerald ring.
+
+“It may not be right,” he said. “The inside of a glove finger is not
+very accurate for a measure, but it was the best I could do. I wrote
+Polly to get it, because she and mother are home from the East this
+week, but next they will go on to our cottage in the north, and no one
+knows what is right quite so well as Polly.” He laid the ring in
+Elnora’s hand. “Dearest,” he said, “don’t slip that on your finger; put
+your arms around my neck and promise me, all at once and abruptly, or
+I’ll keel over and die of sheer joy.”
+
+Elnora smiled.
+
+“I won’t! Not all those venturesome things at once; but, Phil, I’m
+ashamed to confess that ring simply fascinates me. It is the most
+beautiful one I ever saw, and do you know that I never owned a ring of
+any kind in my life? Would you think me unwomanly if I slip it on for a
+second, before I can say for sure? Phil, you know I care! I care very
+much! You know I will tell you the instant I feel right about it.”
+
+“Certainly you will,” agreed Philip promptly. “It is your right to take
+all the time you choose. I can’t put that ring on you until it means a
+bond between us. I’ll shut my eyes and you try it on, so we can see if
+it fits.” Philip turned his face toward the west woods and tightly
+closed his eyes. It was a boyish thing to do, and it caught the
+hesitating girl in the depths of her heart as the boy element in a man
+ever appeals to a motherly woman. Before she quite realized what she
+was doing, the ring slid on her finger. With both arms she caught
+Philip and drew him to her breast, holding him closely. Her head
+drooped over his, her lips were on his hair. So an instant, then her
+arms dropped. He lifted a convulsed, white face.
+
+“Dear Lord!” he whispered. “You—you didn’t mean that, Elnora! You——
+What made you do it?”
+
+“You—you looked so boyish!” panted Elnora. “I didn’t mean it! I—I
+forgot that you were older than Billy. Look—look at the ring!”
+
+“‘The Queen can do no wrong,’” quoted Philip between his set teeth.
+“But don’t you do that again, Elnora, unless you do mean it. Kings are
+not so good as queens, and there is a limit with all men. As you say,
+we will look at your ring. It seems very lovely to me. Suppose you
+leave it on until time for me to go. Please do! I have heard of mute
+appeals; perhaps it will plead for me. I am wild for your lips this
+afternoon. I am going to take your hands.”
+
+He caught both of them and covered them with kisses.
+
+“Elnora,” he said, “Will you be my wife?”
+
+“I must have a little more time,” she whispered. “I must be absolutely
+certain, for when I say yes, and give myself to you, only death shall
+part us. I would not give you up. So I want a little more time—but, I
+think I will.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Philip. “If at any time you feel that you have
+reached a decision, will you tell me? Will you promise me to tell me
+instantly, or shall I keep asking you until the time comes?”
+
+“You make it difficult,” said Elnora. “But I will promise you that.
+Whenever the last doubt vanishes, I will let you know instantly—if I
+can.”
+
+“Would it be difficult for you?” whispered Ammon.
+
+“I—I don’t know,” faltered Elnora.
+
+“It seems as if I can’t be man enough to put this thought aside and
+give up this afternoon,” said Philip. “I am ashamed of myself, but I
+can’t help it. I am going to ask God to make that last doubt vanish
+before I go this night. I am going to believe that ring will plead for
+me. I am going to hope that doubt will disappear suddenly. I will be
+watching. Every second I will be watching. If it happens and you can’t
+speak, give me your hand. Just the least movement toward me, I will
+understand. Would it help you to talk this over with your mother? Shall
+I call her? Shall I——?”
+
+Honk! Honk! Honk! Hart Henderson set the horn of the big automobile
+going as it shot from behind the trees lining the Brushwood road. The
+picture of a vine-covered cabin, a large drooping tree, a green-clad
+girl and a man bending over her very closely flashed into view. Edith
+Carr caught her breath with a snap. Polly Ammon gave Tom Levering a
+quick touch and wickedly winked at him.
+
+Several days before, Edith had returned from Europe suddenly. She and
+Henderson had called at the Ammon residence saying that they were going
+to motor down to the Limberlost to see Philip a few hours, and urged
+that Polly and Tom accompany them. Mrs. Ammon knew that her husband
+would disapprove of the trip, but it was easy to see that Edith Carr
+had determined on going. So the mother thought it better to have Polly
+along to support Philip than to allow him to confront Edith
+unexpectedly and alone. Polly was full of spirit. She did not relish
+the thought of Edith as a sister. Always they had been in the same set,
+always Edith, because of greater beauty and wealth, had patronized
+Polly. Although it had rankled, she had borne it sweetly. But two days
+before, her father had extracted a promise of secrecy, given her
+Philip’s address and told her to send him the finest emerald ring she
+could select. Polly knew how that ring would be used. What she did not
+know was that the girl who accompanied her went back to the store
+afterward, made an excuse to the clerk that she had been sent to be
+absolutely sure that the address was right, and so secured it for Edith
+Carr.
+
+Two days later Edith had induced Hart Henderson to take her to
+Onabasha. By the aid of maps they located the Comstock land and passed
+it, merely to see the place. Henderson hated that trip, and implored
+Edith not to take it, but she made no effort to conceal from him what
+she suffered, and it was more than he could endure. He pointed out that
+Philip had gone away without leaving an address, because he did not
+wish to see her, or any of them. But Edith was so sure of her power,
+she felt certain Philip needed only to see her to succumb to her beauty
+as he always had done, while now she was ready to plead for
+forgiveness. So they came down the Brushwood road, and Henderson had
+just said to Edith beside him: “This should be the Comstock land on our
+left.”
+
+A minute later the wood ended, while the sunlight, as always pitiless,
+etched with distinctness the scene at the west end of the cabin.
+Instinctively, to save Edith, Henderson set the horn blowing. He had
+thought to drive to the city, but Polly Ammon arose crying: “Phil!
+Phil!” Tom Levering was on his feet shouting and waving, while Edith in
+her most imperial manner ordered him to turn into the lane leading
+through the woods beside the cabin.
+
+“Find some way for me to have a minute alone with her,” she commanded
+as he stopped the car.
+
+“That is my sister Polly, her fiance Tom Levering, a friend of mine
+named Henderson, and——” began Philip,
+
+“—and Edith Carr,” volunteered Elnora.
+
+“And Edith Carr,” repeated Philip Ammon. “Elnora, be brave, for my
+sake. Their coming can make no difference in any way. I won’t let them
+stay but a few minutes. Come with me!”
+
+“Do I seem scared?” inquired Elnora serenely. “This is why you haven’t
+had your answer. I have been waiting just six weeks for that motor. You
+may bring them to me at the arbour.”
+
+Philip glanced at her and broke into a laugh. She had not lost colour.
+Her self-possession was perfect. She deliberately turned and walked
+toward the grape arbour, while he sprang over the west fence and ran to
+the car.
+
+Elnora standing in the arbour entrance made a perfect picture, framed
+in green leaves and tendrils. No matter how her heart ached, it was
+good to her, for it pumped steadily, and kept her cheeks and lips
+suffused with colour. She saw Philip reach the car and gather his
+sister into his arms. Past her he reached a hand to Levering, then to
+Edith Carr and Henderson. He lifted his sister to the ground, and
+assisted Edith to alight. Instantly, she stepped beside him, and
+Elnora’s heart played its first trick.
+
+She could see that Miss Carr was splendidly beautiful, while she moved
+with the hauteur and grace supposed to be the prerogatives of royalty.
+And she had instantly taken possession of Philip. But he also had a
+brain which was working with rapidity. He knew Elnora was watching, so
+he turned to the others.
+
+“Give her up, Tom!” he cried. “I didn’t know I wanted to see the little
+nuisance so badly, but I do. How are father and mother? Polly, didn’t
+the mater send me something?”
+
+“She did!” said Polly Ammon, stopping on the path and lifting her chin
+as a little child, while she drew away her veil.
+
+Philip caught her in his arms and stooped for his mother’s kiss.
+
+“Be good to Elnora!” he whispered.
+
+“Umhu!” assented Polly. And aloud—“Look at that ripping green and gold
+symphony! I never saw such a beauty! Thomas Asquith Levering, you come
+straight here and take my hand!”
+
+Edith’s move to compel Philip to approach Elnora beside her had been
+easy to see; also its failure. Henderson stepped into Philip’s place as
+he turned to his sister. Instead of taking Polly’s hand Levering ran to
+open the gate. Edith passed through first, but Polly darted in front of
+her on the run, with Phil holding her arm, and swept up to Elnora.
+Polly looked for the ring and saw it. That settled matters with her.
+
+“You lovely, lovely, darling girl!” she cried, throwing her arms around
+Elnora and kissing her. With her lips close Elnora’s ear, Polly
+whispered, “Sister! Dear, dear sister!”
+
+Elnora drew back, staring at Polly in confused amazement. She was a
+beautiful girl, her eyes were sparkling and dancing, and as she turned
+to make way for the others, she kept one of Elnora’s hands in hers.
+Polly would have dropped dead in that instant if Edith Carr could have
+killed with a look, for not until then did she realize that Polly would
+even many a slight, and that it had been a great mistake to bring her.
+
+Edith bowed low, muttered something and touched Elnora’s fingers. Tom
+took his cue from Polly.
+
+“I always follow a good example,” he said, and before any one could
+divine his intention he kissed Elnora as he gripped her hand and cried:
+“Mighty glad to meet you! Like to meet you a dozen times a day, you
+know!”
+
+Elnora laughed and her heart pumped smoothly. They had accomplished
+their purpose. They had let her know they were there through
+compulsion, but on her side. In that instant only pity was in Elnora’s
+breast for the flashing dark beauty, standing with smiling face while
+her heart must have been filled with exceeding bitterness. Elnora
+stepped back from the entrance.
+
+“Come into the shade,” she urged. “You must have found it warm on these
+country roads. Won’t you lay aside your dust-coats and have a cool
+drink? Philip, would you ask mother to come, and bring that pitcher
+from the spring house?”
+
+They entered the arbour exclaiming at the dim, green coolness. There
+was plenty of room and wide seats around the sides, a table in the
+centre, on which lay a piece of embroidery, magazines, books, the moth
+apparatus, and the cyanide jar containing several specimens. Polly
+rejoiced in the cooling shade, slipped off her duster, removed her hat,
+rumpled her pretty hair and seated herself to indulge in the delightful
+occupation of paying off old scores. Tom Levering followed her example.
+Edith took a seat but refused to remove her hat and coat, while
+Henderson stood in the entrance.
+
+“There goes something with wings! Should you have that?” cried
+Levering.
+
+He seized a net from the table and raced across the garden after a
+butterfly. He caught it and came back mightily pleased with himself. As
+the creature struggled in the net, Elnora noted a repulsed look on
+Edith Carr’s face. Levering helped the situation beautifully.
+
+“Now what have I got?” he demanded. “Is it just a common one that every
+one knows and you don’t keep, or is it the rarest bird off the perch?”
+
+“You must have had practice, you took that so perfectly,” said Elnora.
+“I am sorry, but it is quite common and not of a kind I keep. Suppose
+all of you see how beautiful it is and then it may go nectar hunting
+again.”
+
+She held the butterfly where all of them could see, showed its upper
+and under wing colours, answered Polly’s questions as to what it ate,
+how long it lived, and how it died. Then she put it into Polly’s hand
+saying: “Stand there in the light and loosen your hold slowly and
+easily.”
+
+Elnora caught a brush from the table and began softly stroking the
+creature’s sides and wings. Delighted with the sensation the butterfly
+opened and closed its wings, clinging to Polly’s soft little fingers,
+while every one cried out in surprise. Elnora laid aside the brush, and
+the butterfly sailed away.
+
+“Why, you are a wizard! You charm them!” marvelled Levering.
+
+“I learned that from the Bird Woman,” said Elnora. “She takes soft
+brushes and coaxes butterflies and moths into the positions she wants
+for the illustrations of a book she is writing. I have helped her
+often. Most of the rare ones I find go to her.”
+
+“Then you don’t keep all you take?” questioned Levering.
+
+“Oh, dear, no!” cried Elnora. “Not a tenth! For myself, a pair of each
+kind to use in illustrating the lectures I give in the city schools in
+the winter, and one pair for each collection I make. One might as well
+keep the big night moths of June, for they only live four or five days
+anyway. For the Bird Woman, I only save rare ones she has not yet
+secured. Sometimes I think it is cruel to take such creatures from
+freedom, even for an hour, but it is the only way to teach the masses
+of people how to distinguish the pests they should destroy, from the
+harmless ones of great beauty. Here comes mother with something cool to
+drink.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock came deliberately, talking to Philip as she approached.
+Elnora gave her one searching look, but could discover only an extreme
+brightness of eye to denote any unusual feeling. She wore one of her
+lavender dresses, while her snowy hair was high piled. She had taken
+care of her complexion, and her face had grown fuller during the
+winter. She might have been any one’s mother with pride, and she was
+perfectly at ease.
+
+Polly instantly went to her and held up her face to be kissed. Mrs.
+Comstock’s eyes twinkled and she made the greeting hearty.
+
+The drink was compounded of the juices of oranges and berries from the
+garden. It was cool enough to frost glasses and pitcher and delicious
+to dusty tired travellers. Soon the pitcher was empty, and Elnora
+picked it up and went to refill it. While she was gone Henderson asked
+Philip about some trouble he was having with his car. They went to the
+woods and began a minute examination to find a defect which did not
+exist. Polly and Levering were having an animated conversation with
+Mrs. Comstock. Henderson saw Edith arise, follow the garden path next
+the woods and stand waiting under the willow which Elnora would pass on
+her return. It was for that meeting he had made the trip. He got down
+on the ground, tore up the car, worked, asked for help, and kept Philip
+busy screwing bolts and applying the oil can. All the time Henderson
+kept an eye on Edith and Elnora under the willow. But he took pains to
+lay the work he asked Philip to do where that scene would be out of his
+sight. When Elnora came around the corner with the pitcher, she found
+herself facing Edith Carr.
+
+“I want a minute with you,” said Miss Carr.
+
+“Very well,” replied Elnora, walking on.
+
+“Set the pitcher on the bench there,” commanded Edith Carr, as if
+speaking to a servant.
+
+“I prefer not to offer my visitors a warm drink,” said Elnora. “I’ll
+come back if you really wish to speak with me.”
+
+“I came solely for that,” said Edith Carr.
+
+“It would be a pity to travel so far in this dust and heat for nothing.
+I’ll only be gone a second.”
+
+Elnora placed the pitcher before her mother. “Please serve this,” she
+said. “Miss Carr wishes to speak with me.”
+
+“Don’t you pay the least attention to anything she says,” cried Polly.
+“Tom and I didn’t come here because we wanted to. We only came to
+checkmate her. I hoped I’d get the opportunity to say a word to you,
+and now she has given it to me. I just want to tell you that she threw
+Phil over in perfectly horrid way. She hasn’t any right to lay the
+ghost of a claim to him, has she, Tom?”
+
+“Nary a claim,” said Tom Levering earnestly. “Why, even you, Polly,
+couldn’t serve me as she did Phil, and ever get me back again. If I
+were you, Miss Comstock, I’d send my mother to talk with her and I’d
+stay here.”
+
+Tom had gauged Mrs. Comstock rightly. Polly put her arms around Elnora.
+“Let me go with you, dear,” she begged.
+
+“I promised I would speak with her alone,” said Elnora, “and she must
+be considered. But thank you, very much.”
+
+“How I shall love you!” exulted Polly, giving Elnora a parting hug.
+
+The girl slowly and gravely walked back to the willow. She could not
+imagine what was coming, but she was promising herself that she would
+be very patient and control her temper.
+
+“Will you be seated?” she asked politely.
+
+Edith Carr glanced at the bench, while a shudder shook her.
+
+“No. I prefer to stand,” she said. “Did Mr. Ammon give you the ring you
+are wearing, and do you consider yourself engaged to him?”
+
+“By what right do you ask such personal questions as those?” inquired
+Elnora.
+
+“By the right of a betrothed wife. I have been promised to Philip Ammon
+ever since I wore short skirts. All our lives we have expected to
+marry. An agreement of years cannot be broken in one insane moment.
+Always he has loved me devotedly. Give me ten minutes with him and he
+will be mine for all time.”
+
+“I seriously doubt that,” said Elnora. “But I am willing that you
+should make the test. I will call him.”
+
+“Stop!” commanded Edith Carr. “I told you that it was you I came to
+see.”
+
+“I remember,” said Elnora.
+
+“Mr. Ammon is my betrothed,” continued Edith Carr. “I expect to take
+him back to Chicago with me.”
+
+“You expect considerable,” murmured Elnora. “I will raise no objection
+to your taking him, if you can—but, I tell you frankly, I don’t think
+it possible.”
+
+“You are so sure of yourself as that,” scoffed Edith Carr. “One hour in
+my presence will bring back the old spell, full force. We belong to
+each other. I will not give him up.”
+
+“Then it is untrue that you twice rejected his ring, repeatedly
+insulted him, and publicly renounced him?”
+
+“That was through you!” cried Edith Carr. “Phil and I never had been so
+near and so happy as we were on that night. It was your clinging to him
+for things that caused him to desert me among his guests, while he
+tried to make me await your pleasure. I realize the spell of this
+place, for a summer season. I understand what you and your mother have
+done to inveigle him. I know that your hold on him is quite real. I can
+see just how you have worked to ensnare him!”
+
+“Men would call that lying,” said Elnora calmly. “The second time I met
+Philip Ammon he told me of his engagement to you, and I respected it. I
+did by you as I would want you to do by me. He was here parts of each
+day, almost daily last summer. The Almighty is my witness that never
+once, by word or look, did I ever make the slightest attempt to
+interest him in my person or personality. He wrote you frequently in my
+presence. He forgot the violets for which he asked to send you. I
+gathered them and carried them to him. I sent him back to you in
+unswerving devotion, and the Almighty is also my witness that I could
+have changed his heart last summer, if I had tried. I wisely left that
+work for you. All my life I shall be glad that I lived and worked on
+the square. That he ever would come back to me free, by your act, I
+never dreamed. When he left me I did not hope or expect to see him
+again,” Elnora’s voice fell soft and low, “and, behold! You sent
+him—and free!”
+
+“You exult in that!” cried Edith Carr. “Let me tell you he is not free!
+We have belonged for years. We always shall. If you cling to him, and
+hold him to rash things he has said and done, because he thought me
+still angry and unforgiving with him, you will ruin all our lives. If
+he married you, before a month you would read heart-hunger for me in
+his eyes. He could not love me as he has done, and give me up for a
+little scene like that!”
+
+“There is a great poem,” said Elnora, “one line of which reads, ‘For
+each man kills the thing he loves.’ Let me tell you that a woman can do
+that also. He did love you—that I concede. But you killed his love
+everlastingly, when you disgraced him in public. Killed it so
+completely he does not even feel resentment toward you. To-day, he
+would do you a favour, if he could; but love you, no! That is over!”
+
+Edith Carr stood truly regal and filled with scorn. “You are mistaken!
+Nothing on earth could kill that!” she cried, and Elnora saw that the
+girl really believed what she said.
+
+“You are very sure of yourself!” said Elnora.
+
+“I have reason to be sure,” answered Edith Carr.
+
+“We have lived and loved too long. I have had years with him to match
+against your days. He is mine! His work, his ambitions, his friends,
+his place in society are with me. You may have a summer charm for a
+sick man in the country; if he tried placing you in society, he soon
+would see you as others will. It takes birth to position, schooling,
+and endless practice to meet social demands gracefully. You would put
+him to shame in a week.”
+
+“I scarcely think I should follow your example so far,” said Elnora
+dryly. “I have a feeling for Philip that would prevent my hurting him
+purposely, either in public or private. As for managing a social career
+for him he never mentioned that he desired such a thing. What he asked
+of me was that I should be his wife. I understood that to mean that he
+desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother
+his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness.”
+
+“Shameless!” cried Edith Carr.
+
+“To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply?” inquired
+Elnora. “I never was less ashamed in all my life. Please remember I am
+in my own home, and your presence here is not on my invitation.”
+
+Miss Carr lifted her head and struggled with her veil. She was very
+pale and trembling violently, while Elnora stood serene, a faint smile
+on her lips.
+
+“Such vulgarity!” panted Edith Carr. “How can a man like Philip endure
+it?”
+
+“Why don’t you ask him?” inquired Elnora. “I can call him with one
+breath; but, if he judged us as we stand, I should not be the one to
+tremble at his decision. Miss Carr, you have been quite plain. You have
+told me in carefully selected words what you think of me. You insult my
+birth, education, appearance, and home. I assure you I am legitimate. I
+will pass a test examination with you on any high school or
+supplementary branch, or French or German. I will take a physical
+examination beside you. I will face any social emergency you can
+mention with you. I am acquainted with a whole world in which Philip
+Ammon is keenly interested, that you scarcely know exists. I am not
+afraid to face any audience you can get together anywhere with my
+violin. I am not repulsive to look at, and I have a wholesome regard
+for the proprieties and civilities of life. Philip Ammon never asked
+anything more of me, why should you?”
+
+“It is plain to see,” cried Edith Carr, “that you took him when he was
+hurt and angry and kept his wound wide open. Oh, what have you not done
+against me?”
+
+“I did not promise to marry him when an hour ago he asked me, and
+offered me this ring, because there was so much feeling in my heart for
+you, that I knew I never could be happy, if I felt that in any way I
+had failed in doing justice to your interests. I did slip on this ring,
+which he had just brought, because I never owned one, and it is very
+beautiful, but I made him no promise, nor shall I make any, until I am
+quite, quite sure, that you fully realize he never would marry you if I
+sent him away this hour.”
+
+“You know perfectly that if your puny hold on him were broken, if he
+were back in his home, among his friends, and where he was meeting me,
+in one short week he would be mine again, as he always has been. In
+your heart you don’t believe what you say. You don’t dare trust him in
+my presence. You are afraid to allow him out of your sight, because you
+know what the results would be. Right or wrong, you have made up your
+mind to ruin him and me, and you are going to be selfish enough to do
+it. But——”
+
+“That will do!” said Elnora. “Spare me the enumeration of how I will
+regret it. I shall regret nothing. I shall not act until I know there
+will be nothing to regret. I have decided on my course. You may return
+to your friends.”
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Edith Carr.
+
+“That is my affair,” replied Elnora. “Only this! When your opportunity
+comes, seize it! Any time you are in Philip Ammon’s presence, exert the
+charms of which you boast, and take him. I grant you are justified in
+doing it if you can. I want nothing more than I want to see you marry
+Philip if he wants you. He is just across the fence under that
+automobile. Go spread your meshes and exert your wiles. I won’t stir to
+stop you. Take him to Onabasha, and to Chicago with you. Use every art
+you possess. If the old charm can be revived I will be the first to
+wish both of you well. Now, I must return to my visitors. Kindly excuse
+me.”
+
+Elnora turned and went back to the arbour. Edith Carr followed the
+fence and passed through the gate into the west woods where she asked
+Henderson about the car. As she stood near him she whispered: “Take
+Phil back to Onabasha with us.”
+
+“I say, Ammon, can’t you go to the city with us and help me find a shop
+where I can get this pinion fixed?” asked Henderson. “We want to lunch
+and start back by five. That will get us home about midnight. Why don’t
+you bring your automobile here?”
+
+“I am a working man,” said Philip. “I have no time to be out motoring.
+I can’t see anything the matter with your car, myself; but, of course
+you don’t want to break down in the night, on strange roads, with women
+on your hands. I’ll see.”
+
+Philip went into the arbour, where Polly took possession of his lap,
+fingered his hair, and kissed his forehead and lips.
+
+“When are you coming to the cottage, Phil?” she asked. “Come soon, and
+bring Miss Comstock for a visit. All of us will be so glad to have
+her.”
+
+Philip beamed on Polly. “I’ll see about that,” he said. “Sounds pretty
+good. Elnora, Henderson is in trouble with his automobile. He wants me
+to go to Onabasha with him to show him where the doctor lives, and make
+repairs so he can start back this evening. It will take about two
+hours. May I go?”
+
+“Of course, you must go,” she said, laughing lightly. “You can’t leave
+your sister. Why don’t you return to Chicago with them? There is plenty
+of room, and you could have a fine visit.”
+
+“I’ll be back in just two hours,” said Philip. “While I am gone, you be
+thinking over what we were talking of when the folks came.”
+
+“Miss Comstock can go with us as well as not,” said Polly. “That back
+seat was made for three, and I can sit on your lap.”
+
+“Come on! Do come!” urged Philip instantly, and Tom Levering joined
+him, but Henderson and Edith silently waited at the gate.
+
+“No, thank you,” laughed Elnora. “That would crowd you, and it’s warm
+and dusty. We will say good-bye here.”
+
+She offered her hand to all of them, and when she came to Philip she
+gave him one long steady look in the eyes, then shook hands with him
+also.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+WHEREIN ELNORA REACHES A DECISION, AND FRECKLES AND THE ANGEL APPEAR
+
+
+“Well, she came, didn’t she?” remarked Mrs. Comstock to Elnora as they
+watched the automobile speed down the road. As it turned the Limberlost
+corner, Philip arose and waved to them.
+
+“She hasn’t got him yet, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock, taking heart.
+“What’s that on your finger, and what did she say to you?”
+
+Elnora explained about the ring as she drew it off.
+
+“I have several letters to write, then I am going to change my dress
+and walk down toward Aunt Margaret’s for a little exercise. I may meet
+some of them, and I don’t want them to see this ring. You keep it until
+Philip comes,” said Elnora. “As for what Miss Carr said to me, many
+things, two of importance: one, that I lacked every social requirement
+necessary for the happiness of Philip Ammon, and that if I married him
+I would see inside a month that he was ashamed of me——”
+
+“Aw, shockins!” scorned Mrs. Comstock. “Go on!”
+
+“The other was that she has been engaged to him for years, that he
+belongs to her, and she refuses to give him up. She said that if he
+were in her presence one hour, she would have him under a mysterious
+thing she calls ‘her spell’ again; if he were where she could see him
+for one week, everything would be made up. It is her opinion that he is
+suffering from wounded pride, and that the slightest concession on her
+part will bring him to his knees before her.”
+
+Mrs. Comstock giggled. “I do hope the boy isn’t weak-kneed,” she said.
+“I just happened to be passing the west window this afternoon——”
+
+Elnora laughed. “Nothing save actual knowledge ever would have made me
+believe there was a girl in all this world so infatuated with herself.
+She speaks casually of her power over men, and boasts of ‘bringing a
+man to his knees’ as complacently as I would pick up a net and say: ‘I
+am going to take a butterfly.’ She honestly believes that if Philip
+were with her a short time she could rekindle his love for her and
+awaken in him every particle of the old devotion. Mother, the girl is
+honest! She is absolutely sincere! She so believes in herself and the
+strength of Phil’s love for her, that all her life she will believe in
+and brood over that thought, unless she is taught differently. So long
+as she thinks that, she will nurse wrong ideas and pine over her
+blighted life. She must be taught that Phil is absolutely free, and yet
+he will not go to her.”
+
+“But how on earth are you proposing to teach her that?”
+
+“The way will open.”
+
+“Lookey here, Elnora!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “That Carr girl is the
+handsomest dark woman I ever saw. She’s got to the place where she
+won’t stop at anything. Her coming here proves that. I don’t believe
+there was a thing the matter with that automobile. I think that was a
+scheme she fixed up to get Phil where she could see him alone, as she
+worked to see you. If you are going deliberately to put Philip under
+her influence again, you’ve got to brace yourself for the possibility
+that she may win. A man is a weak mortal, where a lovely woman is
+concerned, and he never denied that he loved her once. You may make
+yourself downright miserable.”
+
+“But mother, if she won, it wouldn’t make me half so miserable as to
+marry Phil myself, and then read hunger for her in his eyes! Some one
+has got to suffer over this. If it proves to be me, I’ll bear it, and
+you’ll never hear a whisper of complaint from me. I know the real
+Philip Ammon better in our months of work in the fields than she knows
+him in all her years of society engagements. So she shall have the hour
+she asked, many, many of them, enough to make her acknowledge that she
+is wrong. Now I am going to write my letters and take my walk.”
+
+Elnora threw her arms around her mother and kissed her repeatedly.
+“Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “I will get along all right, and
+whatever happens, I always will be your girl and you my darling
+mother.”
+
+She left two sealed notes on her desk. Then she changed her dress,
+packed a small bundle which she dropped with her hat from the window
+beside the willow, and softly went down stairs. Mrs. Comstock was in
+the garden. Elnora picked up the hat and bundle, hurried down the road
+a few rods, then climbed the fence and entered the woods. She took a
+diagonal course, and after a long walk reached a road two miles west
+and one south. There she straightened her clothing, put on her hat and
+a thin dark veil and waited the passing of the next trolley. She left
+it at the first town and took a train for Fort Wayne. She made that
+point just in time to climb on the evening train north, as it pulled
+from the station. It was after midnight when she left the car at Grand
+Rapids, and went into the depot to await the coming of day.
+
+Tired out, she laid her head on her bundle and fell asleep on a seat in
+the women’s waiting-room. Long after light she was awakened by the roar
+and rattle of trains. She washed, re-arranged her hair and clothing,
+and went into the general waiting-room to find her way to the street.
+She saw him as he entered the door. There was no mistaking the tall,
+lithe figure, the bright hair, the lean, brown-splotched face, the
+steady gray eyes. He was dressed for travelling, and carried a light
+overcoat and a bag. Straight to him Elnora went speeding.
+
+“Oh, I was just starting to find you!” she cried.
+
+“Thank you!” he said.
+
+“You are going away?” she panted.
+
+“Not if I am needed. I have a few minutes. Can you be telling me
+briefly?”
+
+“I am the Limberlost girl to whom your wife gave the dress for
+Commencement last spring, and both of you sent lovely gifts. There is a
+reason, a very good reason, why I must be hidden for a time, and I came
+straight to you—as if I had a right.”
+
+“You have!” answered Freckles. “Any boy or girl who ever suffered one
+pang in the Limberlost has a claim to the best drop of blood in my
+heart. You needn’t be telling me anything more. The Angel is at our
+cottage on Mackinac. You shall tell her and play with the babies while
+you want shelter. This way!”
+
+They breakfasted in a luxurious car, talked over the swamp, the work of
+the Bird Woman; Elnora told of her nature lectures in the schools, and
+soon they were good friends. In the evening they left the train at
+Mackinaw City and crossed the Straits by boat. Sheets of white
+moonlight flooded the water and paved a molten path across the breast
+of it straight to the face of the moon.
+
+The island lay a dark spot on the silver surface, its tall trees
+sharply outlined on the summit, and a million lights blinked around the
+shore. The night guns boomed from the white fort and a dark sentinel
+paced the ramparts above the little city tucked down close to the
+water. A great tenor summering in the north came out on the upper deck
+of the big boat, and baring his head, faced the moon and sang: “Oh, the
+moon shines bright on my old Kentucky home!” Elnora thought of the
+Limberlost, of Philip, and her mother, and almost choked with the sobs
+that would arise in her throat. On the dock a woman of exquisite beauty
+swept into the arms of Terence O’More.
+
+“Oh, Freckles!” she cried. “You’ve been gone a month!”
+
+“Four days, Angel, only four days by the clock,” remonstrated Freckles.
+“Where are the children?”
+
+“Asleep! Thank goodness! I’m worn to a thread. I never saw such
+inventive, active children. I can’t keep track of them!”
+
+“I have brought you help,” said Freckles. “Here is the Limberlost girl
+in whom the Bird Woman is interested. Miss Comstock needs a rest before
+beginning her school work for next year, so she came to us.”
+
+“You dear thing! How good of you!” cried the Angel. “We shall be so
+happy to have you!”
+
+In her room that night, in a beautiful cottage furnished with every
+luxury, Elnora lifted a tired face to the Angel.
+
+“Of course, you understand there is something back of this?” she said.
+“I must tell you.”
+
+“Yes,” agreed the Angel. “Tell me! If you get it out of your system,
+you will stand a better chance of sleeping.”
+
+Elnora stood brushing the copper-bright masses of her hair as she
+talked. When she finished the Angel was almost hysterical.
+
+“You insane creature!” she cried. “How crazy of you to leave him to
+her! I know both of them. I have met them often. She may be able to
+make good her boast. But it is perfectly splendid of you! And, after
+all, really it is the only way. I can see that. I think it is what I
+should have done myself, or tried to do. I don’t know that I could have
+done it! When I think of walking away and leaving Freckles with a woman
+he once loved, to let her see if she can make him love her again, oh,
+it gives me a graveyard heart. No, I never could have done it! You are
+bigger than I ever was. I should have turned coward, sure.”
+
+“I am a coward,” admitted Elnora. “I am soul-sick! I am afraid I shall
+lose my senses before this is over. I didn’t want to come! I wanted to
+stay, to go straight into his arms, to bind myself with his ring, to
+love him with all my heart. It wasn’t my fault that I came. There was
+something inside that just pushed me. She is beautiful——”
+
+“I quite agree with you!”
+
+“You can imagine how fascinating she can be. She used no arts on me.
+Her purpose was to cower me. She found she could not do that, but she
+did a thing which helped her more: she proved that she was honest,
+perfectly sincere in what she thought. She believes that if she merely
+beckons to Philip, he will go to her. So I am giving her the
+opportunity to learn from him what he will do. She never will believe
+it from any one else. When she is satisfied, I shall be also.”
+
+“But, child! Suppose she wins him back!”
+
+“That is the supposition with which I shall eat and sleep for the
+coming few weeks. Would one dare ask for a peep at the babies before
+going to bed?”
+
+“Now, you are perfect!” announced the Angel. “I never should have liked
+you all I can, if you had been content to go to sleep in this house
+without asking to see the babies. Come this way. We named the first boy
+for his father, of course, and the girl for Aunt Alice. The next boy is
+named for my father, and the baby for the Bird Woman. After this we are
+going to branch out.”
+
+Elnora began to laugh.
+
+“Oh, I suspect there will be quite a number of them,” said the Angel
+serenely. “I am told the more there are the less trouble they make. The
+big ones take care of the little ones. We want a large family. This is
+our start.”
+
+She entered a dark room and held aloft a candle. She went to the side
+of a small white iron bed in which lay a boy of eight and another of
+three. They were perfectly formed, rosy children, the elder a replica
+of his mother, the other very like. Then they came to a cradle where a
+baby girl of almost two slept soundly, and made a picture.
+
+“But just see here!” said the Angel. She threw the light on a sleeping
+girl of six. A mass of red curls swept the pillow. Line and feature the
+face was that of Freckles. Without asking, Elnora knew the colour and
+expression of the closed eyes. The Angel handed Elnora the candle, and
+stooping, straightened the child’s body. She ran her fingers through
+the bright curls, and lightly touched the aristocratic little nose.
+
+“The supply of freckles holds out in my family, you see!” she said.
+“Both of the girls will have them, and the second boy a few.”
+
+She stood an instant longer, then bending, ran her hand caressingly
+down a rosy bare leg, while she kissed the babyish red mouth. There had
+been some reason for touching all of them, the kiss fell on the lips
+which were like Freckles’s.
+
+To Elnora she said a tender good-night, whispering brave words of
+encouragement and making plans to fill the days to come. Then she went
+away. An hour later there was a light tap on the girl’s door.
+
+“Come!” she called as she lay staring into the dark.
+
+The Angel felt her way to the bedside, sat down and took Elnora’s
+hands.
+
+“I just had to come back to you,” she said. “I have been telling
+Freckles, and he is almost hurting himself with laughing. I didn’t
+think it was funny, but he does. He thinks it’s the funniest thing that
+ever happened. He says that to run away from Mr. Ammon, when you had
+made him no promise at all, when he wasn’t sure of you, won’t send him
+home to her; it will set him hunting you! He says if you had combined
+the wisdom of Solomon, Socrates, and all the remainder of the wise men,
+you couldn’t have chosen any course that would have sealed him to you
+so surely. He feels that now Mr. Ammon will perfectly hate her for
+coming down there and driving you away. And you went to give her the
+chance she wanted. Oh, Elnora! It is becoming funny! I see it, too!”
+
+The Angel rocked on the bedside. Elnora faced the dark in silence.
+
+“Forgive me,” gulped the Angel. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I didn’t think
+it was funny, until all at once it came to me. Oh, dear! Elnora, it
+_is_ funny! I’ve got to laugh!”
+
+“Maybe it is,” admitted Elnora “to others; but it isn’t very funny to
+me. And it won’t be to Philip, or to mother.”
+
+That was very true. Mrs. Comstock had been slightly prepared for
+stringent action of some kind, by what Elnora had said. The mother
+instantly had guessed where the girl would go, but nothing was said to
+Philip. That would have been to invalidate Elnora’s test in the
+beginning, and Mrs. Comstock knew her child well enough to know that
+she never would marry Philip unless she felt it right that she should.
+The only way was to find out, and Elnora had gone to seek the
+information. There was nothing to do but wait until she came back, and
+her mother was not in the least uneasy but that the girl would return
+brave and self-reliant, as always.
+
+Philip Ammon hurried back to the Limberlost, strong in the hope that
+now he might take Elnora into his arms and receive her promise to
+become his wife. His first shock of disappointment came when he found
+her gone. In talking with Mrs. Comstock he learned that Edith Carr had
+made an opportunity to speak with Elnora alone. He hastened down the
+road to meet her, coming back alone, an agitated man. Then search
+revealed the notes. His read:
+
+DEAR PHILIP:
+
+I find that I am never going to be able to answer your question of this
+afternoon fairly to all of us, when you are with me. So I am going away
+a few weeks to think over matters alone. I shall not tell you, or even
+mother, where I am going, but I shall be safe, well cared for, and
+happy. Please go back home and live among your friends, just as you
+always have done, and on or before the first of September, I will write
+you where I am, and what I have decided. Please do not blame Edith Carr
+for this, and do not avoid her. I hope you will call on her and be
+friends. I think she is very sorry, and covets your friendship at
+least. Until September, then, as ever,
+
+ELNORA.
+
+Mrs. Comstock’s note was much the same. Philip was ill with
+disappointment. In the arbour he laid his head on the table, among the
+implements of Elnora’s loved work, and gulped down dry sobs he could
+not restrain. Mrs. Comstock never had liked him so well. Her hand
+involuntarily crept toward his dark head, then she drew back. Elnora
+would not want her to do anything whatever to influence him.
+
+“What am I going to do to convince Edith Carr that I do not love her,
+and Elnora that I am hers?” he demanded.
+
+“I guess you have to figure that out yourself,” said Mrs. Comstock.
+“I’d be glad to help you if I could, but it seems to be up to you.”
+
+Philip sat a long time in silence. “Well, I have decided!” he said
+abruptly. “Are you perfectly sure Elnora had plenty of money and a safe
+place to go?”
+
+“Absolutely!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “She has been taking care of
+herself ever since she was born, and she always has come out all right,
+so far; I’ll stake all I’m worth on it, that she always will. I don’t
+know where she is, but I’m not going to worry about her safety.”
+
+“I can’t help worrying!” cried Philip. “I can think of fifty things
+that may happen to her when she thinks she is safe. This is
+distracting! First, I am going to run up to see my father. Then, I’ll
+let you know what we have decided. Is there anything I can do for you?”
+
+“Nothing!” said Mrs. Comstock.
+
+But the desire to do something for him was so strong with her she
+scarcely could keep her lips closed or her hands quiet. She longed to
+tell him what Edith Carr had said, how it had affected Elnora, and to
+comfort him as she felt she could. But loyalty to the girl held her. If
+Elnora truly felt that she could not decide until Edith Carr was
+convinced, then Edith Carr would have to yield or triumph. It rested
+with Philip. So Mrs. Comstock kept silent, while Philip took the night
+limited, a bitterly disappointed man.
+
+By noon the next day he was in his father’s offices. They had a long
+conference, but did not arrive at much until the elder Ammon suggested
+sending for Polly. Anything that might have happened could be explained
+after Polly had told of the private conference between Edith and
+Elnora.
+
+“Talk about lovely woman!” cried Philip Ammon. “One would think that
+after such a dose as Edith gave me, she would be satisfied to let me go
+my way, but no! Not caring for me enough herself to save me from public
+disgrace, she must now pursue me to keep any other woman from loving
+me. I call that too much! I am going to see her, and I want you to go
+with me, father.”
+
+“Very well,” said Mr. Ammon, “I will go.”
+
+When Edith Carr came into her reception-room that afternoon, gowned for
+conquest, she expected only Philip, and him penitent. She came hurrying
+toward him, smiling, radiant, ready to use every allurement she
+possessed, and paused in dismay when she saw his cold face and his
+father. “Why, Phil!” she cried. “When did you come home?”
+
+“I am not at home,” answered Philip. “I merely ran up to see my father
+on business, and to inquire of you what it was you said to Miss
+Comstock yesterday that caused her to disappear before I could return
+to the Limberlost.”
+
+“Miss Comstock disappear! Impossible!” cried Edith Carr. “Where could
+she go?”
+
+“I thought perhaps you could answer that, since it was through you that
+she went.”
+
+“Phil, I haven’t the faintest idea where she is,” said the girl gently.
+
+“But you know perfectly why she went! Kindly tell me that.”
+
+“Let me see you alone, and I will.”
+
+“Here and now, or not at all.”
+
+“Phil!”
+
+“What did you say to the girl I love?”
+
+Then Edith Carr stretched out her arms.
+
+“Phil, I am the girl you love!” she cried. “All your life you have
+loved me. Surely it cannot be all gone in a few weeks of
+misunderstanding. I was jealous of her! I did not want you to leave me
+an instant that night for any other girl living. That was the moth I
+was representing. Every one knew it! I wanted you to bring it to me.
+When you did not, I knew instantly it had been for her that you worked
+last summer, she who suggested my dress, she who had power to take you
+from me, when I wanted you most. The thought drove me mad, and I said
+and did those insane things. Phil, I beg your pardon! I ask your
+forgiveness. Yesterday she said that you had told her of me at once.
+She vowed both of you had been true to me and Phil, I couldn’t look
+into her eyes and not see that it was the truth. Oh, Phil, if you
+understood how I have suffered you would forgive me. Phil, I never knew
+how much I cared for you! I will do anything—anything!”
+
+“Then tell me what you said to Elnora yesterday that drove her, alone
+and friendless, into the night, heaven knows where!”
+
+“You have no thought for any one save her?”
+
+“Yes,” said Philip. “I have. Because I once loved you, and believed in
+you, my heart aches for you. I will gladly forgive anything you ask. I
+will do anything you want, except to resume our former relations. That
+is impossible. It is hopeless and useless to ask it.”
+
+“You truly mean that!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then find out from her what I said!”
+
+“Come, father,” said Philip, rising.
+
+“You were going to show Miss Comstock’s letter to Edith!” suggested Mr.
+Ammon.
+
+“I have not the slightest interest in Miss Comstock’s letter,” said
+Edith Carr.
+
+“You are not even interested in the fact that she says you are not
+responsible for her going, and that I am to call on you and be friends
+with you?”
+
+“That is interesting, indeed!” sneered Miss Carr.
+
+She took the letter, read and returned it.
+
+“She has done what she could for my cause, it seems,” she said coldly.
+“How very generous of her! Do you propose calling out Pinkertons and
+instituting a general search?”
+
+“No,” replied Philip. “I simply propose to go back to the Limberlost
+and live with her mother, until Elnora becomes convinced that I am not
+courting you, and never shall be. Then, perhaps, she will come home to
+us. Good-bye. Good luck to you always!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+WHEREIN EDITH CARR WAGES A BATTLE, AND HART HENDERSON STANDS GUARD
+
+
+Many people looked, a few followed, when Edith Carr slowly came down
+the main street of Mackinac, pausing here and there to note the glow of
+colour in one small booth after another, overflowing with gay curios.
+That street of packed white sand, winding with the curves of the shore,
+outlined with brilliant shops, and thronged with laughing, bare-headed
+people in outing costumes was a picturesque and fascinating sight.
+Thousands annually made long journeys and paid exorbitant prices to
+take part in that pageant.
+
+As Edith Carr passed, she was the most distinguished figure of the old
+street. Her clinging black gown was sufficiently elaborate for a dinner
+dress. On her head was a large, wide, drooping-brimmed black hat, with
+immense floating black plumes, while on the brim, and among the laces
+on her breast glowed velvety, deep red roses. Some way these made up
+for the lack of colour in her cheeks and lips, and while her eyes
+seemed unnaturally bright, to a close observer they appeared weary.
+Despite the effort she made to move lightly she was very tired, and
+dragged her heavy feet with an effort.
+
+She turned at the little street leading to the dock, and went to meet
+the big lake steamer ploughing up the Straits from Chicago. Past the
+landing place, on to the very end of the pier she went, then sat down,
+leaned against a dock support and closed her tired eyes. When the
+steamer came very close she languidly watched the people lining the
+railing. Instantly she marked one lean anxious face turned toward hers,
+and with a throb of pity she lifted a hand and waved to Hart Henderson.
+He was the first man to leave the boat, coming to her instantly. She
+spread her trailing skirts and motioned him to sit beside her. Silently
+they looked across the softly lapping water. At last she forced herself
+to speak to him.
+
+“Did you have a successful trip?”
+
+“I accomplished my purpose.”
+
+“You didn’t lose any time getting back.”
+
+“I never do when I am coming to you.”
+
+“Do you want to go to the cottage for anything?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then let us sit here and wait until the Petoskey steamer comes in. I
+like to watch the boats. Sometimes I study the faces, if I am not too
+tired.”
+
+“Have you seen any new types to-day?”
+
+She shook her head. “This has not been an easy day, Hart.”
+
+“And it’s going to be worse,” said Henderson bitterly. “There’s no use
+putting it off. Edith, I saw some one to-day.”
+
+“You should have seen thousands,” she said lightly.
+
+“I did. But of them all, only one will be of interest to you.”
+
+“Man or woman?”
+
+“Man.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“Lake Shore private hospital.”
+
+“An accident?”
+
+“No. Nervous and physical breakdown.”
+
+“Phil said he was going back to the Limberlost.”
+
+“He went. He was there three weeks, but the strain broke him. He has an
+old letter in his hands that he has handled until it is ragged. He held
+it up to me and said: ‘You can see for yourself that she says she will
+be well and happy, but we can’t know until we see her again, and that
+may never be. She may have gone too near that place her father went
+down, some of that Limberlost gang may have found her in the forest,
+she may lie dead in some city morgue this instant, waiting for me to
+find her body.’”
+
+“Hart! For pity sake stop!”
+
+“I can’t,” cried Henderson desperately. “I am forced to tell you. They
+are fighting brain fever. He did go back to the swamp and he prowled it
+night and day. The days down there are hot now, and the nights wet with
+dew and cold. He paid no attention and forgot his food. A fever started
+and his uncle brought him home. They’ve never had a word from her, or
+found a trace of her. Mrs. Comstock thought she had gone to O’Mores’ at
+Great Rapids, so when Phil broke down she telegraphed there. They had
+been gone all summer, so her mother is as anxious as Phil.”
+
+“The O’Mores are here,” said Edith. “I haven’t seen any of them,
+because I haven’t gone out much in the few days since we came, but this
+is their summer home.”
+
+“Edith, they say at the hospital that it will take careful nursing to
+save Phil. He is surrounded by stacks of maps and railroad guides. He
+is trying to frame up a plan to set the entire detective agency of the
+country to work. He says he will stay there just two days longer. The
+doctors say he will kill himself when he goes. He is a sick man, Edith.
+His hands are burning and shaky and his breath was hot against my
+face.”
+
+“Why are you telling me?” It was a cry of acute anguish.
+
+“He thinks you know where she is.”
+
+“I do not! I haven’t an idea! I never dreamed she would go away when
+she had him in her hand! I should not have done it!”
+
+“He said it was something you said to her that made her go.”
+
+“That may be, but it doesn’t prove that I know where she went.”
+
+Henderson looked across the water and suffered keenly. At last he
+turned to Edith and laid a firm, strong hand over hers.
+
+“Edith,” he said, “do you realize how serious this is?”
+
+“I suppose I do.”
+
+“Do you want as fine a fellow as Philip driven any further? If he
+leaves that hospital now, and goes out to the exposure and anxiety of a
+search for her, there will be a tragedy that no after regrets can
+avert. Edith, what did you say to Miss Comstock that made her run away
+from Phil?”
+
+The girl turned her face from him and sat still, but the man gripping
+her hands and waiting in agony could see that she was shaken by the
+jolting of the heart in her breast.
+
+“Edith, what did you say?”
+
+“What difference can it make?”
+
+“It might furnish some clue to her action.”
+
+“It could not possibly.”
+
+“Phil thinks so. He has thought so until his brain is worn enough to
+give way. Tell me, Edith!”
+
+“I told her Phil was mine! That if he were away from her an hour and
+back in my presence, he would be to me as he always has been.”
+
+“Edith, did you believe that?”
+
+“I would have staked my life, my soul on it!”
+
+“Do you believe it now?”
+
+There was no answer. Henderson took her other hand and holding both of
+them firmly he said softly: “Don’t mind me, dear. I don’t count! I’m
+just old Hart! You can tell me anything. Do you still believe that?”
+
+The beautiful head barely moved in negation. Henderson gathered both
+her hands in one of his and stretched an arm across her shoulders to
+the post to support her. She dragged her hands from him and twisted
+them together.
+
+“Oh, Hart!” she cried. “It isn’t fair! There is a limit! I have
+suffered my share. Can’t you see? Can’t you understand?”
+
+“Yes,” he panted. “Yes, my girl! Tell me just this one thing yet, and
+I’ll cheerfully kill any one who annoys you further. Tell me, Edith!”
+
+Then she lifted her big, dull, pain-filled eyes to his and cried: “No!
+I do not believe it now! I know it is not true! I killed his love for
+me. It is dead and gone forever. Nothing will revive it! Nothing in all
+this world. And that is not all. I did not know how to touch the depths
+of his nature. I never developed in him those things he was made to
+enjoy. He admired me. He was proud to be with me. He thought, and I
+thought, that he worshipped me; but I know now that he never did care
+for me as he cares for her. Never! I can see it! I planned to lead
+society, to make his home a place sought for my beauty and popularity.
+She plans to advance his political ambitions, to make him comfortable
+physically, to stimulate his intellect, to bear him a brood of
+red-faced children. He likes her and her plans as he never did me and
+mine. Oh, my soul! Now, are you satisfied?”
+
+She dropped back against his arm exhausted. Henderson held her and
+learned what suffering truly means. He fanned her with his hat, rubbed
+her cold hands and murmured broken, incoherent things. By and by slow
+tears slipped from under her closed lids, but when she opened them her
+eyes were dull and hard.
+
+“What a rag one is when the last secret of the soul is torn out and
+laid bare!” she cried.
+
+Henderson thrust his handkerchief into her fingers and whispered,
+“Edith, the boat has been creeping up. It’s very close. Maybe some of
+our crowd are on it. Hadn’t we better slip away from here before it
+lands?”
+
+“If I can walk,” she said. “Oh, I am so dead tired, Hart!
+
+“Yes, dear,” said Henderson soothingly. “Just try to pass the landing
+before the boat anchors. If I only dared carry you!”
+
+They struggled through the waiting masses, but directly opposite the
+landing there was a backward movement in the happy, laughing crowd, the
+gang-plank came down with a slam, and people began hurrying from the
+boat. Crowded against the fish house on the dock, Henderson could only
+advance a few steps at a time. He was straining every nerve to protect
+and assist Edith. He saw no one he recognized near them, so he slipped
+his arm across her back to help support her. He felt her stiffen
+against him and catch her breath. At the same instant, the clearest,
+sweetest male voice he ever had heard called: “Be careful there, little
+men!”
+
+Henderson sent a swift glance toward the boat. Terence O’More had
+stepped from the gang-plank, leading a little daughter, so like him, it
+was comical. There followed a picture not easy to describe. The Angel
+in the full flower of her beauty, richly dressed, a laugh on her cameo
+face, the setting sun glinting on her gold hair, escorted by her eldest
+son, who held her hand tightly and carefully watched her steps. Next
+came Elnora, dressed with equal richness, a trifle taller and
+slenderer, almost the same type of colouring, but with different eyes
+and hair, facial lines and expression. She was led by the second O’More
+boy who convulsed the crowd by saying: “Tareful, Elnora! Don’t ’oo be
+’teppin’ in de water!”
+
+People surged around them, purposely closing them in.
+
+“What lovely women! Who are they? It’s the O’Mores. The lightest one is
+his wife. Is that her sister? No, it is his! They say he has a title in
+England.”
+
+Whispers ran fast and audible. As the crowd pressed around the party an
+opening was left beside the fish sheds. Edith ran down the dock.
+Henderson sprang after her, catching her arm and assisting her to the
+street.
+
+“Up the shore! This way!” she panted. “Every one will go to dinner the
+first thing they do.”
+
+They left the street and started around the beach, but Edith was
+breathless from running, while the yielding sand made difficult
+walking.
+
+“Help me!” she cried, clinging to Henderson. He put his arm around her,
+almost carrying her from sight into a little cove walled by high rocks
+at the back, while there was a clean floor of white sand, and logs
+washed from the lake for seats. He found one of these with a back rest,
+and hurrying down to the water he soaked his handkerchief and carried
+it to her. She passed it across her lips, over her eyes, and then
+pressed the palms of her hands upon it. Henderson removed the heavy
+hat, fanned her with his, and wet the handkerchief again.
+
+“Hart, what makes you?” she said wearily. “My mother doesn’t care. She
+says this is good for me. Do you think this is good for me, Hart?”
+
+“Edith, you know I would give my life if I could save you this,” he
+said, and could not speak further.
+
+She leaned against him, closed her eyes and lay silent so long the man
+fell into panic.
+
+“Edith, you are not unconscious?” he whispered, touching her.
+
+“No, just resting. Please don’t leave me.”
+
+He held her carefully, gently fanning her. She was suffering almost
+more than either of them could endure.
+
+“I wish you had your boat,” she said at last. “I want to sail with the
+wind in my face.”
+
+“There is no wind. I can bring my motor around in a few minutes.”
+
+“Then get it.”
+
+“Lie on the sand. I can ’phone from the first booth. It won’t take but
+a little while.”
+
+Edith lay on the white sand, and Henderson covered her face with her
+hat. Then he ran to the nearest booth and talked imperatively.
+Presently he was back bringing a hot drink that was stimulating.
+Shortly the motor ran close to the beach and stopped. Henderson’s
+servant brought a row-boat ashore and took them to the launch. It was
+filled with cushions and wraps. Henderson made a couch and soon, warmly
+covered, Edith sped out over the water in search of peace.
+
+Hour after hour the boat ran up and down the shore. The moon arose and
+the night air grew very chilly. Henderson put on an overcoat and piled
+more covers on Edith.
+
+“You must take me home,” she said at last. “The folks will be uneasy.”
+
+He was compelled to take her to the cottage with the battle still
+raging. He went back early the next morning, but already she had
+wandered out over the island. Instinctively Henderson felt that the
+shore would attract her. There was something in the tumult of rough
+little Huron’s waves that called to him. It was there he found her,
+crouching so close the water the foam was dampening her skirts.
+
+“May I stay?” he asked.
+
+“I have been hoping you would come,” she answered. “It’s bad enough
+when you are here, but it is a little easier than bearing it alone.”
+
+“Thank God for that!” said Henderson sitting beside her. “Shall I talk
+to you?”
+
+She shook her head. So they sat by the hour. At last she spoke: “Of
+course, you know there is something I have got to do, Hart!”
+
+“You have not!” cried Henderson, violently. “That’s all nonsense! Give
+me just one word of permission. That is all that is required of you.”
+
+“‘Required?’ You grant, then, that there is something ‘required?’”
+
+“One word. Nothing more.”
+
+“Did you ever know one word could be so big, so black, so desperately
+bitter? Oh, Hart!”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But you know it now, Hart!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And still you say that it is ‘required?’”
+
+Henderson suffered unspeakably. At last he said: “If you had seen and
+heard him, Edith, you, too, would feel that it is ‘required.’
+Remember——”
+
+“No! No! No!” she cried. “Don’t ask me to remember even the least of my
+pride and folly. Let me forget!”
+
+She sat silent for a long time.
+
+“Will you go with me?” she whispered.
+
+“Of course.”
+
+At last she arose.
+
+“I might as well give up and have it over,” she faltered.
+
+That was the first time in her life that Edith Carr ever had proposed
+to give up anything she wanted.
+
+“Help me, Hart!”
+
+Henderson started around the beach assisting her all he could. Finally
+he stopped.
+
+“Edith, there is no sense in this! You are too tired to go. You know
+you can trust me. You wait in any of these lovely places and send me.
+You will be safe, and I’ll run. One word is all that is necessary.”
+
+“But I’ve got to say that word myself, Hart!”
+
+“Then write it, and let me carry it. The message is not going to prove
+who went to the office and sent it.”
+
+“That is quite true,” she said, dropping wearily, but she made no
+movement to take the pen and paper he offered.
+
+“Hart, you write it,” she said at last.
+
+Henderson turned away his face. He gripped the pen, while his breath
+sucked between his dry teeth.
+
+“Certainly!” he said when he could speak. “Mackinac, August 27, 1908.
+Philip Ammon, Lake Shore Hospital, Chicago.” He paused with suspended
+pen and glanced at Edith. Her white lips were working, but no sound
+came. “Miss Comstock is with the Terence O’Mores, on Mackinac Island,”
+prompted Henderson.
+
+Edith nodded.
+
+“Signed, Henderson,” continued the big man.
+
+Edith shook her head.
+
+“Say, ‘She is well and happy,’ and sign, Edith Carr!” she panted.
+
+“Not on your life!” flashed Henderson.
+
+“For the love of mercy, Hart, don’t make this any harder! It is the
+least I can do, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to do it.”
+
+“Will you wait for me here?” he asked.
+
+She nodded, and, pulling his hat lower over his eyes, Henderson ran
+around the shore. In less than an hour he was back. He helped her a
+little farther to where the Devil’s Kitchen lay cut into the rocks; it
+furnished places to rest, and cool water. Before long his man came with
+the boat. From it they spread blankets on the sand for her, and made
+chafing-dish tea. She tried to refuse it, but the fragrance overcame
+her for she drank ravenously. Then Henderson cooked several dishes and
+spread an appetizing lunch. She was young, strong, and almost famished
+for food. She was forced to eat. That made her feel much better. Then
+Henderson helped her into the boat and ran it through shady coves of
+the shore, where there were refreshing breezes. When she fell asleep
+the girl did not know, but the man did. Sadly in need of rest himself,
+he ran that boat for five hours through quiet bays, away from noisy
+parties, and where the shade was cool and deep. When she awoke he took
+her home, and as they went she knew that she had been mistaken. She
+would not die. Her heart was not even broken. She had suffered
+horribly; she would suffer more; but eventually the pain must wear out.
+Into her head crept a few lines of an old opera:
+
+“Hearts do not break, they sting and ache,
+For old love’s sake, but do not die,
+As witnesseth the living I.”
+
+
+That evening they were sailing down the Straits before a stiff breeze
+and Henderson was busy with the tiller when she said to him: “Hart, I
+want you to do something more for me.”
+
+“You have only to tell me,” he said.
+
+“Have I only to tell you, Hart?” she asked softly.
+
+“Haven’t you learned that yet, Edith?”
+
+“I want you to go away.”
+
+“Very well,” he said quietly, but his face whitened visibly.
+
+“You say that as if you had been expecting it.”
+
+“I have. I knew from the beginning that when this was over you would
+dislike me for having seen you suffer. I have grown my Gethsemane in a
+full realization of what was coming, but I could not leave you, Edith,
+so long as it seemed to me that I was serving you. Does it make any
+difference to you where I go?”
+
+“I want you where you will be loved, and good care taken of you.”
+
+“Thank you!” said Henderson, smiling grimly. “Have you any idea where
+such a spot might be found?”
+
+“It should be with your sister at Los Angeles. She always has seemed
+very fond of you.”
+
+“That is quite true,” said Henderson, his eyes brightening a little. “I
+will go to her. When shall I start?”
+
+“At once.”
+
+Henderson began to tack for the landing, but his hands shook until he
+scarcely could manage the boat. Edith Carr sat watching him
+indifferently, but her heart was throbbing painfully. “Why is there so
+much suffering in the world?” she kept whispering to herself. Inside
+her door Henderson took her by the shoulders almost roughly.
+
+“For how long is this, Edith, and how are you going to say good-bye to
+me?”
+
+She raised tired, pain-filled eyes to his.
+
+“I don’t know for how long it is,” she said. “It seems now as if it had
+been a slow eternity. I wish to my soul that God would be merciful to
+me and make something ‘snap’ in my heart, as there did in Phil’s, that
+would give me rest. I don’t know for how long, but I’m perfectly
+shameless with you, Hart. If peace ever comes and I want you, I won’t
+wait for you to find it out yourself, I’ll cable, Marconigraph,
+anything. As for how I say good-bye; any way you please, I don’t care
+in the least what happens to me.”
+
+Henderson studied her intently.
+
+“In that case, we will shake hands,” he said. “Good-bye, Edith. Don’t
+forget that every hour I am thinking of you and hoping all good things
+will come to you soon.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+WHEREIN PHILIP FINDS ELNORA, AND EDITH CARR OFFERS A YELLOW EMPEROR
+
+
+“Oh, I need my own violin,” cried Elnora. “This one may be a thousand
+times more expensive, and much older than mine; but it wasn’t inspired
+and taught to sing by a man who knew how. It doesn’t know ‘beans,’ as
+mother would say, about the Limberlost.”
+
+The guests in the O’More music-room laughed appreciatively.
+
+“Why don’t you write your mother to come for a visit and bring yours?”
+suggested Freckles.
+
+“I did that three days ago,” acknowledged Elnora. “I am half expecting
+her on the noon boat. That is one reason why this violin grows worse
+every minute. There is nothing at all the matter with me.”
+
+“Splendid!” cried the Angel. “I’ve begged and begged her to do it. I
+know how anxious these mothers become. When did you send? What made
+you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
+
+“‘When?’ Three days ago. ‘What made me?’ You. ‘Why didn’t I tell you?’
+Because I can’t be sure in the least that she will come. Mother is the
+most individual person. She never does what every one expects she will.
+She may not come, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
+
+“How did I make you?” asked the Angel.
+
+“Loving Alice. It made me realize that if you cared for your girl like
+that, with Mr. O’More and three other children, possibly my mother,
+with no one, might like to see me. I know I want to see her, and you
+had told me to so often, I just sent for her. Oh, I do hope she comes!
+I want her to see this lovely place.”
+
+“I have been wondering what you thought of Mackinac,” said Freckles.
+
+“Oh, it is a perfect picture, all of it! I should like to hang it on
+the wall, so I could see it whenever I wanted to; but it isn’t real, of
+course; it’s nothing but a picture.”
+
+“These people won’t agree with you,” smiled Freckles.
+
+“That isn’t necessary,” retorted Elnora. “They know this, and they love
+it; but you and I are acquainted with something different. The
+Limberlost is life. Here it is a carefully kept park. You motor, sail,
+and golf, all so secure and fine. But what I like is the excitement of
+choosing a path carefully, in the fear that the quagmire may reach out
+and suck me down; to go into the swamp naked-handed and wrest from it
+treasures that bring me books and clothing, and I like enough of a
+fight for things that I always remember how I got them. I even enjoy
+seeing a canny old vulture eyeing me as if it were saying: ’Ware the
+sting of the rattler, lest I pick your bones as I did old Limber’s.’ I
+like sufficient danger to put an edge on life. This is so tame. I
+should have loved it when all the homes were cabins, and watchers for
+the stealthy Indian canoes patrolled the shores. You wait until mother
+comes, and if my violin isn’t angry with me for leaving it, to-night we
+shall sing you the Song of the Limberlost. You shall hear the big gold
+bees over the red, yellow, and purple flowers, bird song, wind talk,
+and the whispers of Sleepy Snake Creek, as it goes past you. You will
+know!” Elnora turned to Freckles.
+
+He nodded. “Who better?” he asked. “This is secure while the children
+are so small, but when they grow larger, we are going farther north,
+into real forest, where they can learn self-reliance and develop
+backbone.”
+
+Elnora laid away the violin. “Come along, children,” she said. “We must
+get at that backbone business at once. Let’s race to the playhouse.”
+
+With the brood at her heels Elnora ran, and for an hour lively sounds
+stole from the remaining spot of forest on the Island, which lay beside
+the O’More cottage. Then Terry went to the playroom to bring Alice her
+doll. He came racing back, dragging it by one leg, and crying: “There’s
+company! Someone has come that mamma and papa are just tearing down the
+house over. I saw through the window.”
+
+“It could not be my mother, yet,” mused Elnora. “Her boat is not due
+until twelve. Terry, give Alice that doll——”
+
+“It’s a man-person, and I don’t know him, but my father is shaking his
+hand right straight along, and my mother is running for a hot drink and
+a cushion. It’s a kind of a sick person, but they are going to make him
+well right away, any one can see that. This is the best place.
+
+“I’ll go tell him to come lie on the pine needles in the sun and watch
+the sails go by. That will fix him!”
+
+“Watch sails go by,” chanted Little Brother. “‘A fix him! Elnora fix
+him, won’t you?”
+
+“I don’t know about that,” answered Elnora. “What sort of person is he,
+Terry?”
+
+“A beautiful white person; but my father is going to ‘colour him up,’ I
+heard him say so. He’s just out of the hospital, and he is a bad
+person, ’cause he ran away from the doctors and made them awful angry.
+But father and mother are going to doctor him better. I didn’t know
+they could make sick people well.”
+
+“’Ey do anyfing!” boasted Little Brother.
+
+Before Elnora missed her, Alice, who had gone to investigate, came
+flying across the shadows and through the sunshine waving a paper. She
+thurst it into Elnora’s hand.
+
+“There is a man-person—a stranger-person!” she shouted. “But he knows
+you! He sent you that! You are to be the doctor! He said so! Oh, do
+hurry! I like him heaps!”
+
+Elnora read Edith Carr’s telegram to Philip Ammon and understood that
+he had been ill, that she had been located by Edith who had notified
+him. In so doing she had acknowledged defeat. At last Philip was free.
+Elnora looked up with a radiant face.
+
+“I like him ‘heaps’ myself!” she cried. “Come on children, we will go
+tell him so.”
+
+Terry and Alice ran, but Elnora had to suit her steps to Little
+Brother, who was her loyal esquire, and would have been heartbroken
+over desertion and insulted at being carried. He was rather dragged,
+but he was arriving, and the emergency was great, he could see that.
+
+“She’s coming!” shouted Alice.
+
+“She’s going to be the doctor!” cried Terry.
+
+“She looked just like she’d seen angels when she read the letter,”
+explained Alice.
+
+“She likes you ‘heaps!’ She said so!” danced Terry. “Be waiting! Here
+she is!”
+
+Elnora helped Little Brother up the steps, then deserted him and came
+at a rush. The stranger-person stood holding out trembling arms.
+
+“Are you sure, at last, runaway?” asked Philip Ammon.
+
+“Perfectly sure!” cried Elnora.
+
+“Will you marry me now?”
+
+“This instant! That is, any time after the noon boat comes in.”
+
+“Why such unnecessary delay?” demanded Ammon.
+
+“It is almost September,” explained Elnora. “I sent for mother three
+days ago. We must wait until she comes, and we either have to send for
+Uncle Wesley and Aunt Margaret, or go to them. I couldn’t possibly be
+married properly without those dear people.”
+
+“We will send,” decided Ammon. “The trip will be a treat for them.
+O’More, would you get off a message at once?”
+
+Every one met the noon boat. They went in the motor because Philip was
+too weak to walk so far. As soon as people could be distinguished at
+all Elnora and Philip sighted an erect figure, with a head like a
+snowdrift. When the gang-plank fell the first person across it was a
+lean, red-haired boy of eleven, carrying a violin in one hand and an
+enormous bouquet of yellow marigolds and purple asters in the other. He
+was beaming with broad smiles until he saw Philip. Then his expression
+changed.
+
+“Aw, say!” he exclaimed reproachfully. “I bet you Aunt Margaret is
+right. He is going to be your beau!”
+
+Elnora stooped to kiss Billy as she caught her mother.
+
+“There, there!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Don’t knock my headgear into my
+eye. I’m not sure I’ve got either hat or hair. The wind blew like
+bizzem coming up the river.”
+
+She shook out her skirts, straightened her hat, and came forward to
+meet Philip, who took her into his arms and kissed her repeatedly. Then
+he passed her along to Freckles and the Angel to whom her greetings
+were mingled with scolding and laughter over her wind-blown hair.
+
+“No doubt I’m a precious spectacle!” she said to the Angel. “I saw your
+pa a little before I started, and he sent you a note. It’s in my
+satchel. He said he was coming up next week. What a lot of people there
+are in this world! And what on earth are all of them laughing about?
+Did none of them ever hear of sickness, or sorrow, or death? Billy,
+don’t you go to playing Indian or chasing woodchucks until you get out
+of those clothes. I promised Margaret I’d bring back that suit good as
+new.”
+
+Then the O’More children came crowding to meet Elnora’s mother.
+
+“Merry Christmas!” cried Mrs. Comstock, gathering them in. “Got
+everything right here but the tree, and there seems to be plenty of
+them a little higher up. If this wind would stiffen just enough more to
+blow away the people, so one could see this place, I believe it would
+be right decent looking.”
+
+“See here,” whispered Elnora to Philip. “You must fix this with Billy.
+I can’t have his trip spoiled.”
+
+“Now, here is where I dust the rest of ’em!” complacently remarked Mrs.
+Comstock, as she climbed into the motor car for her first ride, in
+company with Philip and Little Brother. “I have been the one to trudge
+the roads and hop out of the way of these things for quite a spell.”
+
+She sat very erect as the car rolled into the broad main avenue, where
+only stray couples were walking. Her eyes began to twinkle and gleam.
+Suddenly she leaned forward and touched the driver on the shoulder.
+
+“Young man,” she said, “just you toot that horn suddenly and shave
+close enough a few of those people, so that I can see how I look when I
+leap for ragweed and snake fences.”
+
+The amazed chauffeur glanced questioningly at Philip who slightly
+nodded. A second later there was a quick “honk!” and a swerve at a
+corner. A man engrossed in conversation grabbed the woman to whom he
+was talking and dashed for the safety of a lawn. The woman tripped in
+her skirts, and as she fell the man caught and dragged her. Both of
+them turned red faces to the car and berated the driver. Mrs. Comstock
+laughed in unrestrained enjoyment. Then she touched the chauffeur
+again.
+
+“That’s enough,” she said. “It seems a mite risky.” A minute later she
+added to Philip, “If only they had been carrying six pounds of butter
+and ten dozen eggs apiece, wouldn’t that have been just perfect?”
+
+Billy had wavered between Elnora and the motor, but his loyal little
+soul had been true to her, so the walk to the cottage began with him at
+her side. Long before they arrived the little O’Mores had crowded
+around and captured Billy, and he was giving them an expurgated version
+of Mrs. Comstock’s tales of Big Foot and Adam Poe, boasting that Uncle
+Wesley had been in the camps of Me-shin-go-me-sia and knew Wa-ca-co-nah
+before he got religion and dressed like white men; while the mighty
+prowess of Snap as a woodchuck hunter was done full justice. When they
+reached the cottage Philip took Billy aside, showed him the emerald
+ring and gravely asked his permission to marry Elnora. Billy struggled
+to be just, but it was going hard with him, when Alice, who kept close
+enough to hear, intervened.
+
+“Why don’t you let them get married?” she asked. “You are much too
+small for her. You wait for me!”
+
+Billy studied her intently. At last he turned to Ammon. “Aw, well! Go
+on, then!” he said gruffly. “I’ll marry Alice!”
+
+Alice reached her hand. “If you got that settled let’s put on our
+Indian clothes, call the boys, and go to the playhouse.”
+
+“I haven’t got any Indian clothes,” said Billy ruefully.
+
+“Yes, you have,” explained Alice. “Father bought you some coming from
+the dock. You can put them on in the playhouse. The boys do.”
+
+Billy examined the playhouse with gleaming eyes.
+
+Never had he encountered such possibilities. He could see a hundred
+amusing things to try, and he could not decide which to do first. The
+most immediate attraction seemed to be a dead pine, held
+perpendicularly by its fellows, while its bark had decayed and fallen,
+leaving a bare, smooth trunk.
+
+“If we just had some grease that would make the dandiest pole to play
+Fourth of July with!” he shouted.
+
+The children remembered the Fourth. It had been great fun.
+
+“Butter is grease. There is plenty in the ’frigerator,” suggested
+Alice, speeding away.
+
+Billy caught the cold roll and began to rub it against the tree
+excitedly.
+
+“How are you going to get it greased to the top?” inquired Terry.
+
+Billy’s face lengthened. “That’s so!” he said. “The thing is to begin
+at the top and grease down. I’ll show you!”
+
+Billy put the butter in his handkerchief and took the corners between
+his teeth. He climbed the pole, greasing it as he slid down.
+
+“Now, I got to try first,” he said, “because I’m the biggest and so I
+have the best chance; only the one that goes first hasn’t hardly any
+chance at all, because he has to wipe off the grease on himself, so the
+others can get up at last. See?”
+
+“All right!” said Terry. “You go first and then I will and then Alice.
+Phew! It’s slick. He’ll never get up.”
+
+Billy wrestled manfully, and when he was exhausted he boosted Terry,
+and then both of them helped Alice, to whom they awarded a prize of her
+own doll. As they rested Billy remembered.
+
+“Do your folks keep cows?” he asked.
+
+“No, we buy milk,” said Terry.
+
+“Gee! Then what about the butter? Maybe your ma needs it for dinner!”
+
+“No, she doesn’t!” cried Alice. “There’s stacks of it! I can have all
+the butter I want.”
+
+“Well, I’m mighty glad of it!” said Billy. “I didn’t just think. I’m
+afraid we’ve greased our clothes, too.”
+
+“That’s no difference,” said Terry. “We can play what we please in
+these things.”
+
+“Well, we ought to be all dirty, and bloody, and have feathers on us to
+be real Indians,” said Billy.
+
+Alice tried a handful of dirt on her sleeve and it streaked
+beautifully. Instantly all of them began smearing themselves.
+
+“If we only had feathers,” lamented Billy.
+
+Terry disappeared and shortly returned from the garage with a feather
+duster. Billy fell on it with a shriek. Around each one’s head he
+firmly tied a twisted handkerchief, and stuck inside it a row of
+stiffly upstanding feathers.
+
+“Now, if we just only had some pokeberries to paint us red, we’d be
+real, for sure enough Indians, and we could go on the warpath and fight
+all the other tribes and burn a lot of them at the stake.”
+
+Alice sidled up to him. “Would huckleberries do?” she asked softly.
+
+“Yes!” shouted Terry, wild with excitement. “Anything that’s a colour.”
+
+Alice made another trip to the refrigerator. Billy crushed the berries
+in his hands and smeared and streaked all their faces liberally.
+
+“Now are we ready?” asked Alice.
+
+Billy collapsed. “I forgot the ponies! You got to ride ponies to go on
+the warpath!”
+
+“You ain’t neither!” contradicted Terry. “It’s the very latest style to
+go on the warpath in a motor. Everybody does! They go everywhere in
+them. They are much faster and better than any old ponies.”
+
+Billy gave one genuine whoop. “Can we take your motor?”
+
+Terry hesitated.
+
+“I suppose you are too little to run it?” said Billy.
+
+“I am not!” flashed Terry. “I know how to start and stop it, and I
+drive lots for Stephens. It is hard to turn over the engine when you
+start.”
+
+“I’ll turn it,” volunteered Billy. “I’m strong as anything.”
+
+“Maybe it will start without. If Stephens has just been running it,
+sometimes it will. Come on, let’s try.”
+
+Billy straightened up, lifted his chin and cried: “Houpe! Houpe!
+Houpe!”
+
+The little O’Mores stared in amazement.
+
+“Why don’t you come on and whoop?” demanded Billy. “Don’t you know how?
+You are great Indians! You got to whoop before you go on the warpath.
+You ought to kill a bat, too, and see if the wind is right. But maybe
+the engine won’t run if we wait to do that. You can whoop, anyway. All
+together now!”
+
+They did whoop, and after several efforts the cry satisfied Billy, so
+he led the way to the big motor, and took the front seat with Terry.
+Alice and Little Brother climbed into the back.
+
+“Will it go?” asked Billy, “or do we have to turn it?”
+
+“It will go,” said Terry as the machine gently slid out into the avenue
+and started under his guidance.
+
+“This is no warpath!” scoffed Billy. “We got to go a lot faster than
+this, and we got to whoop. Alice, why don’t you whoop?”
+
+Alice arose, took hold of the seat in front and whooped.
+
+“If I open the throttle, I can’t squeeze the bulb to scare people out
+of our way,” said Terry. “I can’t steer and squeeze, too.”
+
+“We’ll whoop enough to get them out of the way. Go faster!” urged
+Billy.
+
+Billy also stood, lifted his chin and whooped like the wildest little
+savage that ever came out of the West. Alice and Little Brother added
+their voices, and when he was not absorbed with the steering gear,
+Terry joined in.
+
+“Faster!” shouted Billy.
+
+Intoxicated with the speed and excitement, Terry threw the throttle
+wider and the big car leaped forward and sped down the avenue. In it
+four black, feather-bedecked children whooped in wild glee until
+suddenly Terry’s war cry changed to a scream of panic.
+
+“The lake is coming!”
+
+“Stop!” cried Billy. “Stop! Why don’t you stop?”
+
+Paralyzed with fear Terry clung to the steering gear and the car sped
+onward.
+
+“You little fool! Why don’t you stop?” screamed Billy, catching Terry’s
+arm. “Tell me how to stop!”
+
+A bicycle shot beside them and Freckles standing on the pedals shouted:
+“Pull out the pin in that little circle at your feet!”
+
+Billy fell on his knees and tugged and the pin yielded at last. Just as
+the wheels struck the white sand the bicycle sheered close, Freckles
+caught the lever and with one strong shove set the brake. The water
+flew as the car struck Huron, but luckily it was shallow and the beach
+smooth. Hub deep the big motor stood quivering as Freckles climbed in
+and backed it to dry sand.
+
+Then he drew a deep breath and stared at his brood.
+
+“Terence, would you kindly be explaining?” he said at last.
+
+Billy looked at the panting little figure of Terry.
+
+“I guess I better,” he said. “We were playing Indians on the warpath,
+and we hadn’t any ponies, and Terry said it was all the style to go in
+automobiles now, so we——”
+
+Freckles’s head went back, and he did some whooping himself.
+
+“I wonder if you realize how nearly you came to being four drowned
+children?” he said gravely, after a time.
+
+“Oh, I think I could swim enough to get most of us out,” said Billy.
+“Anyway, we need washing.”
+
+“You do indeed,” said Freckles. “I will head this procession to the
+garage, and there we will remove the first coat.” For the remainder of
+Billy’s visit the nurse, chauffeur, and every servant of the O’More
+household had something of importance on their minds, and Billy’s every
+step was shadowed.
+
+“I have Billy’s consent,” said Philip to Elnora, “and all the other
+consent you have stipulated. Before you think of something more, give
+me your left hand, please.”
+
+Elnora gave it gladly, and the emerald slipped on her finger. Then they
+went together into the forest to tell each other all about it, and talk
+it over.
+
+“Have you seen Edith?” asked Philip.
+
+“No,” answered Elnora. “But she must be here, or she may have seen me
+when we went to Petoskey a few days ago. Her people have a cottage over
+on the bluff, but the Angel never told me until to-day. I didn’t want
+to make that trip, but the folks were so anxious to entertain me, and
+it was only a few days until I intended to let you know myself where I
+was.”
+
+“And I was going to wait just that long, and if I didn’t hear then I
+was getting ready to turn over the country. I can scarcely realize yet
+that Edith sent me that telegram.”
+
+“No wonder! It’s a difficult thing to believe. I can’t express how I
+feel for her.”
+
+“Let us never speak of it again,” said Philip. “I came nearer feeling
+sorry for her last night than I have yet. I couldn’t sleep on that boat
+coming over, and I couldn’t put away the thought of what sending that
+message cost her. I never would have believed it possible that she
+would do it. But it is done. We will forget it.”
+
+“I scarcely think I shall,” said Elnora. “It is something I like to
+remember. How suffering must have changed her! I would give anything to
+bring her peace.”
+
+“Henderson came to see me at the hospital a few days ago. He’s gone a
+rather wild pace, but if he had been held from youth by the love of a
+good woman he might have lived differently. There are things about him
+one cannot help admiring.”
+
+“I think he loves her,” said Elnora softly.
+
+“He does! He always has! He never made any secret of it. He will cut in
+now and do his level best, but he told me that he thought she would
+send him away. He understands her thoroughly.”
+
+Edith Carr did not understand herself. She went to her room after her
+good-bye to Henderson, lay on her bed and tried to think why she was
+suffering as she was.
+
+“It is all my selfishness, my unrestrained temper, my pride in my
+looks, my ambition to be first,” she said. “That is what has caused
+this trouble.”
+
+Then she went deeper.
+
+“How does it happen that I am so selfish, that I never controlled my
+temper, that I thought beauty and social position the vital things of
+life?” she muttered. “I think that goes a little past me. I think a
+mother who allows a child to grow up as I did, who educates it only for
+the frivolities of life, has a share in that child’s ending. I think my
+mother has some responsibility in this,” Edith Carr whispered to the
+night. “But she will recognize none. She would laugh at me if I tried
+to tell her what I have suffered and the bitter, bitter lesson I have
+learned. No one really cares, but Hart. I’ve sent him away, so there is
+no one! No one!”
+
+Edith pressed her fingers across her burning eyes and lay still.
+
+“He is gone!” she whispered at last. “He would go at once. He would not
+see me again. I should think he never would want to see me any more.
+But I will want to see him! My soul! I want him now! I want him every
+minute! He is all I have. And I’ve sent him away. Oh, these dreadful
+days to come, alone! I can’t bear it. Hart! Hart!” she cried aloud. “I
+want you! No one cares but you. No one understands but you. Oh, I want
+you!”
+
+She sprang from her bed and felt her way to her desk.
+
+“Get me some one at the Henderson cottage,” she said to Central, and
+waited shivering.
+
+“They don’t answer.”
+
+“They are there! You must get them. Turn on the buzzer.”
+
+After a time the sleepy voice of Mrs. Henderson answered.
+
+“Has Hart gone?” panted Edith Carr.
+
+“No! He came in late and began to talk about starting to California. He
+hasn’t slept in weeks to amount to anything. I put him to bed. There is
+time enough to start to California when he awakens. Edith, what are you
+planning to do next with that boy of mine?”
+
+“Will you tell him I want to see him before he goes?”
+
+“Yes, but I won’t wake him.”
+
+“I don’t want you to. Just tell him in the morning.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“You will be sure?”
+
+“Sure!”
+
+Hart was not gone. Edith fell asleep. She arose at noon the next day,
+took a cold bath, ate her breakfast, dressed carefully, and leaving
+word that she had gone to the forest, she walked slowly across the
+leaves. It was cool and quiet there, so she sat where she could see him
+coming, and waited. She was thinking deep and fast.
+
+Henderson came swiftly down the path. A long sleep, food, and Edith’s
+message had done him good. He had dressed in new light flannels that
+were becoming. Edith arose and went to meet him.
+
+“Let us walk in the forest,” she said.
+
+They passed the old Catholic graveyard, and entered the deepest wood of
+the Island, where all shadows were green, all voices of humanity
+ceased, and there was no sound save the whispering of the trees, a few
+bird notes and squirrel rustle. There Edith seated herself on a mossy
+old log, and Henderson studied her. He could detect a change. She was
+still pale and her eyes tired, but the dull, strained look was gone. He
+wanted to hope, but he did not dare. Any other man would have forced
+her to speak. The mighty tenderness in Henderson’s heart shielded her
+in every way.
+
+“What have you thought of that you wanted yet, Edith?” he asked lightly
+as he stretched himself at her feet.
+
+“You!”
+
+Henderson lay tense and very still.
+
+“Well, I am here!”
+
+“Thank Heaven for that!”
+
+Henderson sat up suddenly, leaning toward her with questioning eyes.
+Not knowing what he dared say, afraid of the hope which found birth in
+his heart, he tried to shield her and at the same time to feel his way.
+
+“I am more thankful than I can express that you feel so,” he said. “I
+would be of use, of comfort, to you if I knew how, Edith.”
+
+“You are my only comfort,” she said. “I tried to send you away. I
+thought I didn’t want you. I thought I couldn’t bear the sight of you,
+because of what you have seen me suffer. But I went to the root of this
+thing last night, Hart, and with self in mind, as usual, I found that I
+could not live without you.”
+
+Henderson began breathing lightly. He was afraid to speak or move.
+
+“I faced the fact that all this is my own fault,” continued Edith, “and
+came through my own selfishness. Then I went farther back and realized
+that I am as I was reared. I don’t want to blame my parents, but I was
+carefully trained into what I am. If Elnora Comstock had been like me,
+Phil would have come back to me. I can see how selfish I seem to him,
+and how I appear to you, if you would admit it.”
+
+“Edith,” said Henderson desperately, “there is no use to try to deceive
+you. You have known from the first that I found you wrong in this. But
+it’s the first time in your life I ever thought you wrong about
+anything—and it’s the only time I ever shall. Understand, I think you
+the bravest, most beautiful woman on earth, the one most worth loving.”
+
+“I’m not to be considered in the same class with her.”
+
+“I don’t grant that, but if I did, you, must remember how I compare
+with Phil. He’s my superior at every point. There’s no use in
+discussing that. You wanted to see me, Edith. What did you want?”
+
+“I wanted you to not go away.”
+
+“Not at all?”
+
+“Not at all! Not ever! Not unless you take me with you, Hart.”
+
+She slightly extended one hand to him. Henderson took that hand,
+kissing it again and again.
+
+“Anything you want, Edith,” he said brokenly. “Just as you wish it. Do
+you want me to stay here, and go on as we have been?”
+
+“Yes, only with a difference.”
+
+“Can you tell me, Edith?”
+
+“First, I want you to know that you are the dearest thing on earth to
+me, right now. I would give up everything else, before I would you. I
+can’t honestly say that I love you with the love you deserve. My heart
+is too sore. It’s too soon to know. But I love you some way. You are
+necessary to me. You are my comfort, my shield. If you want me, as you
+know me to be, Hart, you may consider me yours. I give you my word of
+honour I will try to be as you would have me, just as soon as I can.”
+
+Henderson kissed her hand passionately. “Don’t, Edith,” he begged.
+“Don’t say those things. I can’t bear it. I understand. Everything will
+come right in time. Love like mine must bring a reward. You will love
+me some day. I can wait. I am the most patient fellow.”
+
+“But I must say it,” cried Edith. “I—I think, Hart, that I have been on
+the wrong road to find happiness. I planned to finish life as I started
+it with Phil; and you see how glad he was to change. He wanted the
+other sort of girl far more than he ever wanted me. And you, Hart,
+honest, now—I’ll know if you don’t tell me the truth! Would you rather
+have a wife as I planned to live life with Phil, or would you rather
+have her as Elnora Comstock intends to live with him?”
+
+“Edith!” cried the man, “Edith!”
+
+“Of course, you can’t say it in plain English,” said the girl. “You are
+far too chivalrous for that. You needn’t say anything. I am answered.
+If you could have your choice you wouldn’t have a society wife, either.
+In your heart you’d like the smaller home of comfort, the furtherance
+of your ambitions, the palatable meals regularly served, and little
+children around you. I am sick of all we have grown up to, Hart. When
+your hour of trouble comes, there is no comfort for you. I am tired to
+death. You find out what you want to do, and be, that is a man’s work
+in the world, and I will plan our home, with no thought save your
+comfort. I’ll be the other kind of a girl, as fast as I can learn. I
+can’t correct all my faults in one day, but I’ll change as rapidly as I
+can.”
+
+“God knows, I will be different, too, Edith. You shall not be the only
+generous one. I will make all the rest of life worthy of you. I will
+change, too!”
+
+“Don’t you dare!” said Edith Carr, taking his head between her hands
+and holding it against her knees, while the tears slid down her cheeks.
+“Don’t you dare change, you big-hearted, splendid lover! I am little
+and selfish. You are the very finest, just as you are!”
+
+Henderson was not talking then, so they sat through a long silence. At
+last he heard Edith draw a quick breath, and lifting his head he looked
+where she pointed. Up a fern stalk climbed a curious looking object.
+They watched breathlessly. By lavender feet clung a big, pursy,
+lavender-splotched, yellow body. Yellow and lavender wings began to
+expand and take on colour. Every instant great beauty became more
+apparent. It was one of those double-brooded freaks, which do occur on
+rare occasions, or merely an Eacles Imperialis moth that in the cool
+damp northern forest had failed to emerge in June. Edith Carr drew back
+with a long, shivering breath. Henderson caught her hands and gripped
+them firmly. Steadily she looked the thought of her heart into his
+eyes.
+
+“By all the powers, you shall not!” swore the man. “You have done
+enough. I will smash that thing!”
+
+“Oh no you won’t!” cried the girl, clinging to his hands. “I am not big
+enough yet, Hart, but before I leave this forest I shall have grown to
+breadth and strength to carry that to her. She needs two of each kind.
+Phil only sent her one!”
+
+“Edith I can’t bear it! That’s not demanded! Let me take it!”
+
+“You may go with me. I know where the O’More cottage is. I have been
+there often.”
+
+“I’ll say you sent it!”
+
+“You may watch me deliver it!”
+
+“Phil may be there by now.”
+
+“I hope he is! I should like him to see me do one decent thing by which
+to remember me.”
+
+“I tell you that is not necessary!”
+
+“‘Not necessary!’” cried the girl, her big eyes shining. “Not
+necessary? Then what on earth is the thing doing here? I just have
+boasted that I would change, that I would be like her, that I would
+grow bigger and broader. As the words are spoken God gives me the
+opportunity to prove whether I am sincere. This is my test, Hart! Don’t
+you see it? If I am big enough to carry that to her, you will believe
+that there is some good in me. You will not be loving me in vain. This
+is an especial Providence, man! Be my strength! Help me, as you always
+have done!”
+
+Henderson arose and shook the leaves from his clothing. He drew Edith
+Carr to her feet and carefully picked the mosses from her skirts. He
+went to the water and moistened his handkerchief to bathe her face.
+
+“Now a dust of powder,” he said when the tears were washed away.
+
+From a tiny book Edith tore leaves that she passed over her face.
+
+“All gone!” cried Henderson, critically studying her. “You look almost
+half as lovely as you really are!”
+
+Edith Carr drew a wavering breath. She stretched one hand to him.
+
+“Hold tight, Hart!” she said. “I know they handle these things, but I
+would quite as soon touch a snake.”
+
+Henderson clenched his teeth and held steadily. The moth had emerged
+too recently to be troublesome. It climbed on her fingers quietly and
+obligingly clung there without moving. So hand in hand they went down
+the dark forest path. When they came to the avenue, the first person
+they met paused with an ejaculation of wonder. The next stopped also,
+and every one following. They could make little progress on account of
+marvelling, interested people. A strange excitement took possession of
+Edith. She began to feel proud of the moth.
+
+“Do you know,” she said to Henderson, “this is growing easier every
+step. Its clinging is not disagreeable as I thought it would be. I feel
+as if I were saving it, protecting it. I am proud that we are taking it
+to be put into a collection or a book. It seems like doing a thing
+worth while. Oh, Hart, I wish we could work together at something for
+which people would care as they seem to for this. Hear what they say!
+See them lift their little children to look at it!”
+
+“Edith, if you don’t stop,” said Henderson, “I will take you in my arms
+here on the avenue. You are adorable!”
+
+“Don’t you dare!” laughed Edith Carr. The colour rushed to her cheeks
+and a new light leaped in her eyes.
+
+“Oh, Hart!” she cried. “Let’s work! Let’s do something! That’s the way
+she makes people love her so. There’s the place, and thank goodness,
+there is a crowd.”
+
+“You darling!” whispered Henderson as they passed up the walk. Her face
+was rose-flushed with excitement and her eyes shone.
+
+“Hello, everyone!” she cried as she came on the wide veranda. “Only see
+what we found up in the forest! We thought you might like to have it
+for some of your collections.”
+
+She held out the moth as she walked straight to Elnora, who arose to
+meet her, crying: “How perfectly splendid! I don’t even know how to
+begin to thank you.”
+
+Elnora took the moth. Edith shook hands with all of them and asked
+Philip if he were improving. She said a few polite words to Freckles
+and the Angel, declined to remain on account of an engagement, and went
+away, gracefully.
+
+“Well bully for her!” said Mrs. Comstock. “She’s a little thoroughbred
+after all!”
+
+“That was a mighty big thing for her to be doing,” said Freckles in a
+hushed voice.
+
+“If you knew her as well as I do,” said Philip Ammon, “you would have a
+better conception of what that cost.”
+
+“It was a terror!” cried the Angel. “I never could have done it.”
+
+“‘Never could have done it!’” echoed Freckles. “Why, Angel, dear, that
+is the one thing of all the world you would have done!”
+
+“I have to take care of this,” faltered Elnora, hurrying toward the
+door to hide the tears which were rolling down her cheeks.
+
+“I must help,” said Philip, disappearing also. “Elnora,” he called,
+catching up with her, “take me where I may cry, too. Wasn’t she great?”
+
+“Superb!” exclaimed Elnora. “I have no words. I feel so humbled!”
+
+“So do I,” said Philip. “I think a brave deed like that always makes
+one feel so. Now are you happy?”
+
+“Unspeakably happy!” answered Elnora.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 125 ***