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diff --git a/125-0.txt b/125-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7c8e73 --- /dev/null +++ b/125-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13902 @@ +*** 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 *** |